Seaforth

Book I. Chatter Page

I. The Lonely Child in the Old Picture-Gallery ... 3 II. The Two Brothers ... ... ... ... 9 III. The First Change in the Programme ... ... 13 IV. Lord Seaforth's Dealings with his Younger Son 22 V. The Struggle with Fate and Fortune ... ... 26 VI. The Old Earl's Dying Request ... ... 33 VII. Harold fulfils his Promise to his Father ... 37 VIII. Life at Seaforth under the New Regime ... 45

Book II

I. A Sudden Determination ... ... ... 57 II. The Gambler's Home... ... ... ... 60 III. Hester's Married Life ... ... ... ... 68 IV. The Poisoning of Hester's Home-Life ... 75 V. How will he take it? ... ... ... ... 87 VI. For Old Sakes' Sake ... ... ... 96 VII. Mean to the Last ... ... ... ... 103

Book III

I. Lady Seaforth's Plans ... ... ... Ill II. In the Lion's Den ... ... ... ... 118 III. Fellow-Travellers ... ... ... ... 125 IV. The Meeting of Uncle and Nephew ... ... 131 V. Lady Seaforth's Reception ... ... ... 135 VI. The Ghost in the Picture-Gallery ... ... 142

Book IV

I. The First Day at Seaforth ... ... ... 151 II. The Gamekeeper's Dilemma ... ... ... 159 III. Mutual First Impressions ... ... ... 1C4 IV. Lady Alicia Fullerton's View of Country-House Life ... ... ... ... ... 170 V. Moore's Melodies ... ... ... ... 184 AT. The Meeting under the Gainsbro' ... ... l'.'O VII. Lady Alicia Fullerton reproved ... ... CONTENTS. rnATTEE PAGE VIII. Godfrey and Little Joan ... ... ... 201 IX. Lady Seaforth's Proceedings ... ... 208 X. The Deep Seat in the West Window ... ... 212 XI. The Clashing of Interests ... ... ... 218 XII. A Riddle and its Answer ... ... ... 223 XIII. The Vulnerable Part ... ... ... 230 XIV. The Speech in the Banqceting-Hall ... ... 236 XV. What followed in the Picture-Gallery ... 242

Book V

I. Godfrey at College ... ... ... ... 251 II. The Gathering of the Cloud ... ... 255 III. The Cloud bursts ... ... ... ... 262 IV. At Length we meet again, Love ... ... 267 V. Husband and Wife ... ... ... ... 272 VI. "Not Wanted" ... ... ... ... 279

Book VI

I. The Enchanted Orange-Grove ... ... ... 285 II. Lord Seaforth and his Daughter ... ... 296 III. Joan's First Visit from Home ... ... ... 300 IV. The Assizes ... ... ... ... ... 311 V. The Daisies' Mistake ... ... ... ... 315 VI. Divided ... ... ... ... ... 325 VII. Mr. Waukenphast ... ... ... ... 333 VIII. The Conversation in the Smoking-Room ... 341 IX. Mutual Recognitions ... ... ... ... 349 X. What does it all mean? ... ... ... 354 XI. In the Gardens of Monaco ... ... ... 360 XII. The End of it All ... ... ... ... 364 XIII. Husband and Wife ... ... ... ... 369 XIV. Godfrey's Confession ... ... ... 374

Book VII

I. Godfrey's Twenty-Fifth Birthday ... ... 381 II. The Irony of Fate ... ... ... ... 388

Book VIII

I. Lincoln's Inn Fields ... ... ... ... 393 II. Godfrey's History ... ... ... ... 397 III. Explanations ... ... ... ... ... 406 IV. The Figures by Lord Seaforth's Bedside ... 410 V. The Meeting of the Lovers in the Old Picture- Gallery ... ... ... ... ... 415 VI. Godfrey's Twenty-Sixth Birthday ... ... 418

Book IX

I. A PEEr INTO THE FUTURE ... ... ... ...

Chapter I. The Lonely Child In The Old Picture-gallery

Every old house, it is said, has its haunted chamber and its flitting ghost. Seaforth was no exception. Flitting about its rooms and corridors went a lonely little spirit ; but it was not sprite, nor shade, nor fairy. The ghost that haunted the halls of Lord Seaforth was his own and only child. She lived a little life of her own, which none cared to inquire into, among the relics of past ages, of which the old house was full. She knew no fear of the long, dark corridors and deserted rooms ; the grim knights in armour were her boon companions, and the cold, silent picture-gallery her favourite resort. SEAFORTH. Here she would spend horns by herself, playing with the pictures. Every picture was a friend to her, and she treated them as though they were alive, and talked to them, laughed with them, and quite believed they answered her, and were in sympathy with her varying moods.

The lonely child had no companions, and so made playmates of grandfathers, and great uncles, and great-great aunts, who had all been dead and buried years and years before she was born. But they had been children once, and their pictures seem to have been mostly painted when they were merry little boys and girls. For very smiling faces looked down upon little Joan from the walls, and in the games that some of them were playing she would have been very glad to join. There were groups of children plaj*ing on the grass, making daisy-chains, and twining them round each others' old-fashioned hats ; groups of children chasing butterflies and dancing on the smooth lawn, or standing by the lake, feeding great white swans. Then there were separate pictures of com panionless children like little Joan : a little girl with a kitten in her arms, another leading a pet lamb crowned with flowers, a little boy clinging round the neck of a great Newfoundland dog.

But the favourite of all was a half-length picture of a youth of eighteen, with a thoughtful face and dark, earnest eyes. Under this picture was written, " Godfrey, Earl of SEAFORTH. 5 Seaforth; painted 1763." All the other Earls of Seaforth in the gallery were called Harold, and she often wondered why this was the only one who was called Godfrey. She would talk to this picture by the hour. There was something about the grave, earnest expression of the beautiful face which seemed to invite her confidence. She never had this feeling for any of the children's pictures. They looked at each other, or at their pet animals or flowers, not at her. " Godfrey, Earl of Seaforth ; painted 1763," was the only one who looked straight at her, with his kind, understanding eyes. She had the greatest faith and trust in this picture.

She would put down her dolls and other treasures in front of it, when she was called away from the j.icture-gallery, and say, " Take care of them till I come back. I know I can trust you ; " just as a happier child might have confided its little possessions to the care of an elder brother ; and, of course, they were there when she returned. " I knew I could trust you," she would say ex ultingly when she found everything exactly as she had left it. She would not for a moment have thought of entrusting her treasures to any of the other pictures. She would play with them in her gay moods, holding out her hands in imaginary claspings, or twining fancied daisy-chains with the Harolds and the God freys, the Joans and the Bridgets, of long ago ; but SEAFORTH. only to him did she tell out her childish thoughts and fancies, the mournful regrets and wondering lamenta tions of which her httle life was full.

" You think of nothing but play," she would say sometimes to the laughing groups of children, " and I want a grave talk to-day." And, unhappily, the days when little Joan wanted "a grave talk" came round very often. For she knew well that she was an un-wanted, unloved child. She had had early instilled into her that she was a disappointment and a mistake ; and that as such she was regarded by every one, servants, tenants, and parents included. For her nurse used often to tell her (and the story fascinated while it saddened her) of the circumstances which had attended her birth ; of all the preparations which had been made to welcome the heir ; and of the terrible disappointment she had occasioned. " Tell it me again," she would say, when the tale was finished; "tell me more and more about it."

And then the nurse would begin again, and paint a vivid picture of the unlighted bonfires, the silent joy-bells; of the tenantry separating in silence and returning to their homes in gloom ; of the depression and disappointment that seemed spread all around, and the mournful silence that reigned in the house ; how that it was her father himself who had sent all the crowds away, and forbidden any sign or sound of rejoicing; of how her mother had said, "Take it away ; I do not wish to see it." SEAFORTH. The nurse would proceed to point a moral to her tale by telling her how good she ought to be, how submissive, how obedient, to try and make up to her father and mother for the great grief she had caused them. And, poor child ! she was as obedient and as submissive as possible to her parents ; but all this made her shrink from them — made her wish to keep out • of their way, to be by herself, and to see them as little as possible.

The nurse was not aware of the deep effect her tales had upon the child, nor of the lasting impression they were destined to make upon her, for little Joan never said anything at the time. But in the silence of the picture-gallery she would pour out all her feelings to the picture she loved so well. And " Godfrey, Earl of Seaforth ; painted 1763," always seemed to understand and to be in sympathy with her. Every feeling seemed to find an answer in his earnest eyes. He looked sorry, or tender, or pitying, according to the mood she was in and to the demands she was making upon him. So infinite was the exjDression the master-hand of the painter had thrown into the work ! There were times when the sense of being a disappointment overwhelmed the child. " Godfrey, Earl of Seaforth ; painted 1763 !

" she would sometimes say ; " how I wish I had been you ! How happy your father and mother must have been when you were born ! How the joy-bells must have rung and the cannons fired ! There was no hushing SEaAFORTH. of chimes and sending away of tar-barrejs then ! And your mother did not say, ' Take it away ; I do not want to see it ! ' " Poor child ! this was the hardest part of all, and her little voice would be choked with sobs as she repeated the cold, cruel words, and they be lost in a passionate burst of tears. But even in moods like this the beautiful eyes in the picture would smile down sympathy and comfort. She often wondered what the past events of the family history could have been, that made it so all important that she should have been a boy, and her advent so disastrous to her father and mother.

Her young spirit cried out sometimes in a sudden rebellion against the injustice of her lot. "Could I help it?" she would passionately cry, kneeling in an agony of grief before the picture, and raising her streaming eyes and clasped hands to the calm face above her. The picture could soothe and quiet her, but it could give no answer. No ! It could throw no Hght upon the past; could not tell her why a shadow should have rested on her young life from its beginning, nor why on her fair young brow should be written the cold, cruel words, " Not wanted." Had the little heart not been so tender, had the passionate longing for love not been so great, who shall say what evil might have come out of such a childhood ? Who shall say what a cold, crushed, and hardened being might have been made at last of a child who bore such a brand on her brow?

Chapter II. The Two Brothers

The family of Seaforth was one of the most ancient in Great Britain, and the property had been in its hands, and had descended in direct line from father to son, unentailed, for generations. And it had been the glory and pride of the family that it should have been so. No vaurien, no graceless spendthrift had ever darkened the pages of the family history; and the property had always been as safe and as sure to be handed down to its legal heir as if it had been en tailed and tied-up to the utmost limits of the law. About thirty years before the opening of our story, in the first chapter, the possessor of Seaforth was a widower, with two sons. He was a great invalid. This fact, and the great distance of Seaforth from London, kept him quite stationary, and rendered the boys' home-life an isolated and monotonous one.

In due time they went to school and college, hke other SEAFORTH. boys, and returned three times a year to spend then holidays at home. Harold, the eldest, was a self-contained and silent boy, of a proud and overbearing disposition, with an iron will, an overweening sense of his own importance, and a great love of power ; but a boy of rigid integrity and unsullied conduct. From his boyhood he was trustworthy, and his father could always rely on his word and on his sense of duty and honour. Godfrey, the younger, was as careless and light hearted as his brother was grave and stern. He was weak, yielding, and easily led ; with no sense of responsibility, no reverence for any one or anything, and very little principle. To please himself and to enjoy passing horn was to him of far greater importance than all the honour and duty in the world.

At school and at coUege he was as idle, as thoughtless, and as extravagant as his brother was strict and conscientious. Between two natures so opposite there could be but little sympathy, and the brothers were from childhood always at variance. As years went on mutual indifference deepened into mutual antipathy. For, as his sons grew on into manhood, the old Earl failed yearly in health, and lived more and more the life of an invalid. He felt himself daily less able to cope with a wild and troublesome youth, and was thankful to delegate his parental authority to his eldest son, who was so able and so willing to exercise it. SEAFORTH. Godfrey chafed against and resented the perpetual espionage his brother kept up upon him, both at college and at home. He hated the austere virtue of Harold's character.

Harold, on his side, had a profound contempt for Godfrey's vacillating disposition, and lived in per petual dread of his bringing disgrace upon the family name. And in Harold's eyes there could be no crime less venial. He loved his name, his home, and his family tra ditions with a proud and absorbing affection. To him there was but one place in the world, one house, one name ; and it angered him to know his pride of birth and family were totally unshared by his only brother. To Harold a life spent at Seaforth was a dream of all that was perfect. He asked for nothing better than to establish himself there so soon as his college life should be over, and to nurse the estate for his invalid father until such time should come when it should be all his own. Life he had no wish to see ; travel and adventure formed no part of his plans.

His programme of life was an irreproachable career at college, a brilliant coming of age, a happy mar riage with some beautiful and high-principled woman, and then a useful and honoured life in a place every stone of which he idolised, and every tree of which he held dear. The younger son's day-dream was altogether different. He held the monotonous life at Seaforth in abhor- SEAFORTH. rence. To him it was the acme of dullness, pomp, and formality. His great desire was to escape from it as soon as possible, to enter the army early, and so become his own master at once, and to pass his life as far away from his brother as could possibly be. Within a few months of Harold's coming of age (which in the Seaforth family was not tiU five and twenty), both brothers had succeeded in carrying out the first part of their respective programmes.

Harold was established at Seaforth, the prop and support of his invahd father, and the recognized master of all. Godfrey was a captain in a cavalry regiment, in every way removed from his brother's control. His career, so far, had been just what might have been predicted. He had plunged headlong into a life of reckless extravagance, had developed a passion for gambling, and already had he three times applied to his father to pay his debts, and give him a fresh start. He was on the eve of a fourth application, when he was summoned to Seaforth to attend his brother's coming of age. Godfrey's career had, of course, been pain and grief to Harold. Antipathy had ripened into dislike ; but an event now occurred which converted antipathy and dislike into bitter, undying hatred. CHAPTEB III. THE FIRST CHANGE IN THE PROGRAMME.

It was within, as we have already said, a few months of his coming of age that Harold took up his per manent residence at Seaforth. It was at about the same time, too, that the old rector of the place died, and the living changed hands. A young college friend, whose character closely resembled his own, was chosen by Harold to fill the vacant place. This young man, Edward Stanhope by name, brought with him to the rectory his newly married wife and his orphaned and penniless sister. Beautiful, high-principled, and full of character, the young girl was just the land of woman Harold had dreamed of in his wife. Before he was aware of it himself, indeed, from the hour of his introduction to her, he fell deeply in love with her. The rector and his wife were not slow to perceive it, and did all they could to assist and encourage him.

SEAFORTH. An intimacy sprang up between the hall and the rectory. Almost daily was Harold to be found there ; and, for a time, the hard, stern man forgot his duties at home, neglected his usual avocations, and gave himself up to winning the beautiful girl who exercised so powerful an influence over him. The situation was patent to all. The only person unaware of it was Hester herself. So far was it from her thoughts to connect any thing of sentiment with the cold, stern man, who she looked upon solely as her brother's friend and patron, that the idea of his being in love with her, or, indeed, with any one, never entered her mind for a moment. Herself in the heyday of youth and hope, gifted with tender feelings, quick susceptibilities, and strong powers of affection and devotion ; Harold, with his rigid integrity, untempered by tenderness, and total want of sympathy and imagination, was the very last man in the world to interest her.

All unconscious of the meshes which were being woven round her, she pursued her way unthinkingly ; and, unfortunately, her way was such that Harold's hopes strengthened day by day. Her natural goodness made her kind to every one, Harold among the rest. She always did what she could to please others and make them happy ; and, at his request, would sing or play at any moment, and for any length of time, as she would have done for any one who asked her. Moreover, she took pleasure in doing it, for she SEAFORTH. 15 had a beautiful voice, and an inborn delight in music for its own sake. It was quite as much to please herself as to give pleasure to him that she would sing song after song all through the soft summer evenings. She would have done just the same had she been quite alone. She was quite unaware of him, as he sat silent and enthralled, her voice going through and through him, and raising feelings within him never experienced before.

And Harold, meanwhile, deceived by her kindness and her willingness to comply with his every request ; deceived, also, by her manner of doing it ; mistaking her delight in the performance for its own sake for delight in the performance of his wishes, began to fancy his feelings were returned. And on all this his future hopes now hung. He, for the first time, felt himself completely in the hands of another, and realised that that other had the power to withhold or bestow that on which his heart was set. His whole future life, he soon realised, its happi ness and its success, was dependent on his securing her for his wife. And with this knowledge there crept over him also, for the first time, a feeling of inferiority. He lost sight of himself as his admiration increased for her. At length the crisis came ; and one summer even ing he made his declaration, and placed his future in the young girl's hands.

SEAFORTH. Completely taken by surprise, alarmed, and slightly indignant, Hester instantly and without a moment's hesitation told him that what he asked was impossible, and begged he would never mention the subject again. The denouement caused a terrific fracas at the rectory. Edward Stanhope and his wife were at first incredulous, and then furious. Harold himself staggered under the blow ; and in justice to him we must say that the disappointment far outweighed the astonished mortification. But his friend the rector told him to wait, and not suppose for an instant that Hester's resolution was final. The girl, he said, had been taken by surprise. She was young, she was inexperienced, she was ignorant. She did not know what she was doing. Give her time, and it was almost certain she would come round.

Harold suffered himself to be guided by his friend's advice, and was once more filled with hope. He made up his mind to wait till the eve of his birthday, and then renew his suit ; so that he might on the same day be welcomed by his tenantry as their future master, and present the beautiful girl to them as their future mistress. Meanwhile great pressure was put upon Hester by her brother and his wife. Arguments, entreaties, even threats, were by turns brought to bear upon her. At last she was taunted with her dependent SEAFORTH. position, and given to understand she was de trop in their home. Till this last means of coercion was tried, Hester's resolution had never faltered. Her answer had always been the same : gentle but decided. But they had gone too far. Her independent spirit rebelled against such an implication ; her pride rose, and she plainly told her brother that sooner than be the wife of a man she did not care for, or a dependent in a home where she was not wanted, she would go out as a governess and work for her daily bread.

Edward Stanhope was alarmed. He knew how fearless and determined his sister was, and he was afraid she would act up to her intention. He knew, too, how fully competent she was to undertake such a post, for she had always been the sharer of his studies, and was almost as good a classical scholar as himself, and well-informed and well-read to a remarkable degree. So that he felt it was no idle threat, but one which she was as well able to carry out as she might become determined to fulfil. He saw that it was best to be silent for the present; and he told his wife they had overdone their part, and must let the subject drop for a time. They agreed, therefore, to leave matters as they were, and to maintain a kind of armed neutrality. It was at this juncture that there arrived at Sea forth the younger son.

SEAFORTH. He had been summoned, as we have already said, to attend Harold's coming of age. He would willingly have refused the invitation ; but being about to make a fourth application for money, he did not dare dis obey ; more especially as he thought a personal inter view with his father would be more to his own advantage than a correspondence, which he felt sure was always overlooked by his elder brother. The sequel is easy to guess. The beautiful girl at the rectory exercised the same fascination over him as she had already done over his brother, and her position woke up all his best feelings, and roused his pity and indignation. Certainly no one could have been found who could enter more fully into Hester's feelings than Godfrey Seaforth. Sympathy, cordial and hearty, he would have accorded to any one who shared in his dislike to his elder brother ; but when a young and beautiful girl was in question, every chivalrous feeling was called into play, and he could not stop at sympathy : he must come to her help.

The present moment was, and had ever been, all important in his eyes. No thought of the future, therefore, nor of the responsibilities he was incurring, troubled his thoughts when, filled with pity for the forlorn damsel, he offered to play the part of the knight-errant and to rescue her from the meshes in which she was entangled. He never reflected for a moment on his own SEAFORTH. 19 position, harassed as he was by difficulties, and plunging deeper and deeper into debt. Neither — to his credit be it spoken — did he con sider what an additional burden a wife would be to him. Bash and uncalculating as ever, he invited another to share his already fallen fortunes, and to go with him to poverty and ruin. And in Hester's eyes he contrasted so favourably with his elder brother. He had all the youth, spirits, and sentiment that Harold lacked, and the chivalrous sympathy he showed towards herself roused all her gratitude.

There was nothing about him of that hardness and rigid love of duty that her knowledge of his brother, and her recent experience of her own, had taught her to dislike. Of his real character she, of course, knew nothing. Stories against him she had heard, but in her present state of feeling she was quite ready to believe he had been mismanaged, and was a victim to his brother's austerity. She magnified him into a hero. He was, no doubt, an ill-treated younger son, whose father had been prejudiced against him. Woman-like, she took the part of the injured and oppressed — believed him, pitied him, and loved him. Everything was privately arranged by Godfrey; and on the day previous to the coming of age — the day on which Harold was intending to urge his suit again — she became Godfrey's wife. SEAFORTH.

The marriage took place in London, and a tele gram announcing the event reached Seaforth in the evening. This, then, was the event which made Harold's cup of wrath and hatred brim over, and changed the whole programme of his life. The brilliant coming of age, the happy marriage, the honoured life spent among his own people, with a beautiful and beloved wife at his side — all these dreams faded away. Stunned by the blow, he was not even able to appear among his tenantry on that long-looked-for day. It dawned in silence and in gloom. The rejoicings were postponed, and it passed without festivity or mark of any kind. Postponed at first, they never afterwards took place. From that time Harold became more rigid, more hard and stern, than ever. He isolated himself entirely, shrank from society, and gave himself up to the management of the estate and the care of his invalid father.

He formed for himself a sort of mill-wheel of tasks and duties. Bound and round it went every day, and ho with it. Every hour had its work allotted to it, every day brought with it its special occupation. One act testified to the soreness and bitterness of SEAFORTH. his feelings, but he never opened his lips on the past to any one. This was to procure, through his father's influence with the party then in power, a Crown living for Edward Stanhope, so that with his de parture all association with his bygone sorrow and mortification should be swept away. His property became his idol, and upon its im provement he expended all his time, all his care, all his devotion. In this life he became, to all intents and purposes, completely absorbed. Years went by, and still found him living the same life, still shrinking from society, and drifting by degrees into that eccentricity which seems inseparable from want of contact with our fellow-men.

CHAPTEB IV LORD SEAFORTH'S DEALINGS WITH HIS YOUNGER SON At the time of the marriage the old Earl had been as furious with his younger son as it was in his nature to be; more especially as Godfrey's conduct towards himself on that occasion had been marked by more than his usual duplicity. The evening before his elopement he had so far imposed upon his father by a feigned interest in his brother, and even in his brother's hopes concerning his marriage, as to induce the old man to promise once more to pay all his debts, on condition of an improved behaviour, and to forestall his promise by the immediate gift of a cheque for five hundred pounds. The utter want of principle, of a common sense of honour even, in this transaction, in view of subse quent events, had finally disgusted the old man ; and as he afterwards brooded over the falsehoods of which, in that one short interview, Godfrey had been guilty, he had lashed himself into fury, and had SEAFORTH. sworn he would withdraw his allowance, cut him off with a shilling, and, to use his own expression, " allow him to go to the dogs as fast as possible."