Phœbe Deacon, or The Love that Lives

Front matter

Uniform with " Phœbe Deacon." Crown Svo, cloth. PRICE 3/6 EACH. ST. WYNFRITH. By E. Everett-Green. 2nd Edition. " It is a pretty story, delicately and carefully written, of life in an almshouse." — The Star. JONATHAN MERLE. A West Country Story of the Times. By Elisabeth Boyd Bayly. 5th Edition, " Rich in character and incident, and as charming in substance as it is elevated in tone. In general character it frequently and pleasantly reminds us of the work of Dr. George MacDonald." — Spectator. ALFREDA HOLME. A Story of Australian Life. By Elisabeth Boyd Bayly. 3rd Edition. '• It is not often that we meet with a narrative of experiences so full of freshness and force as are to be found .in this excellent ' Story of Social Life in Australia.' " — Temperance Record. PHŒBE DEACON. By Hude Myddi.eton.

GILDAS HAVEN. By M. S. Haycraft. ALTHEA. By E. Horsman. ZACHARY BROUGII'S VENTURE. 2nd Edition. " We have nothing but unstinted praise for this book." — Cambridge Independent Press. London: Jarrold and Sons, io cV n, Warwick Lane, E.C. OR THE LOVE THAT LIVES BY HUDE MYDDLETON " I thank Heaven, that hath taught me better thoughts than my own vanity suggested, through the medium of so kind a monitress."— Fair Maid of Perth. LONDON JARROLD & SONS, io & n, WARWICK LANE, E.C. [All rights reserved] l895 'gfyisi "gBooit, WRITTEN IN THE PARISH OF WHICH HIS FATHER WAS FOR 42 YEARS VICAR, AND IN THE HOUSE IN WHICn HE LIVED, IS, WITH THE GREATEST ESTEEM, DEDICATED TO EDMUND VALLACK, Esq. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAQE I. Match-making ... ... ... 9 II. The "Uncle" 13 III. Xita ... ... ... ... 22 IV. The Ewans ... ... ... 33 V. Tees-side ... ... . . ... 41 VI.

The Engagement ... ... ... 52 VII. Presentiments ... ... ... 62 VIII. The Doctor ... ... ... 68 IX. Gamlyn Hall ... ... ... 83 X. Tally-ho! ... ... ... 94 XI. "The Swan" ... ... ... 106 XII. Lynton's Proposed Sacrifice ... 109 XIII. The Ladies ... ... ... ... 123 XIV. Easter Day ... ... ... 142 XV. Ivo's Arrival ... ... ... CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XVI. Boating ••• 154 XVII. Up to London ... ... ... 159 XVIII. The Fiend ••• 172 XIX. The Demon's Grip 179 XX. The Demon Foiled ... ... 186 XXI. Ivo's Doubts ... ••■ ... 194 XXII. Mother and Son ... ... 196 XXIII. Complications ... ... ... 206 XXIV. A Catastrophe ... ... 215 XXV. Ivo's Parentage ... ... ... 222 XXVI. Borderland ... ... ... 22S XXVII. The "Good Hope" ... ... ... 235 XXVIII. "Unkev Oos" ... ... ...

Chapter I. Match-making

"I say to thee A lonely lot, an aimless life, The crowning comfort is not there — Son, take a wife." Jean Ingelow. J" ADY STOCKDEN had invited Ivo Browne, who was ■*-* curate-in-charge of a mission chapel in Birmingham, to be her guest at Stockden Castle, the Shropshire seat of the Earl of Stockden, for " the inside of a week," because she had made certain benevolent matrimonial plans for him, the success ful execution of whicli she did not allow herself for one moment to doubt. Her annoyance, therefore, when Ivo refused to enter into them, can be more easily imagined than described. " It seems to me little short of madness on your part," she said, " to engage yourself to a penniless girl, when here is Miss Dalrymple in the unexpected possession of a handsome property, with a good living in her gift.

It is true that she is a year or two older than yourself, but that is no great disparity. You are verging on the forties, with nothing but a curacy and hard work before you for still an indefinite period of time. You have no influential friends, except our selves ; and my husband, as you know, is such a slave to his political party, that all preferment goes straight into their hands. That is not what I approve of, but then I have no power to alter it." Having thus delivered herself, Lady Stockden was about tc stamp her foot with vexation, when a severe twinge of rheumatic gout evoked a most dolorous, " Oh ! " " No, Lady Stockden, my little girl has no one in the world to look to for protection but myself. Her father was my friend when I needed one, and it was his dying request in a foreign land that I would take care of her.

Such care, although it may never have been in his thoughts, I can best exercise as her husband and protector through life. I am not, however, such a fool as to think of marrying upon my present means, and thus add to the numerous class of distressed clergymen's wives. I have seen too much of hardship in the families of my clerical brethren, to think of marrying a woman to be either my cook or my curate. We are quite content to wait— she in her Nonnenwerth of a humble cottage home, in a remote northern dale, and I in my Bolandaeck of a busy town parish — until God sees fit to bring us together." " Well done, my friend," replied Lady Stockden, " chivalry is scarce in these days, aud I admire yours in spite of my own defeated plans. I had hoped to serve you, for as tutor to my son you did your duty by that misguided boy."

Here her haud covered her eyes, as though to shut out a painful vision. Ivo gently asked, " Have you no better news of Eustys? " " No, oh no ! He is going from bad to worse. His father quite recently offered him all the Scotch estates if he would only marry and settle down to a respectable life. He obstinately refused, however, to sacrifice what he called ' his rightful liberty' yet awhile." Browne knew too much of the wild, reckless life led by Lupus Lindsay Aloysius, Viscount Eustys, to be able to offer the mother any comfort, except that of silent sympathy. He could only say, therefore, that he was very sorry. And with that he changed the conversation. " Where is your companion, Miss Fitz-Foster ? I have not seen her since I came." MATCH-MAKING. 11 " No, and you are never likely to see her again. 1 had to dismiss her."

" Have you engaged anyone in her place ? " " No, not yet." " Pray excuse me if I seem presumptuous in my proposal ; but may I bring you my little girl, at least for a time, until you meet with some one quite suitable ? " "My dear sir," exclaimed Lady Stockden, lifting up her hands deprecatingly, " what in the world should I do with a little rustic? A pretty ignoramus, no doubt. A fair-haired, blue-eyed, apple-cheeked darling. Ah, I know the kind of person that you clever men are apt to fall in love with ! She would be very much out of place in our way of life, and would bore me dreadfully." " Well, I trust you will pardon my proposal, but I know fhat you are at present suffering the tortures of rheumatic gout, and that your physician has ordered you rest. It struck me, therefore, that a fresh, sweet young life to bear you company might be acceptable ; and that naive, unsophis ticated manners in your companion, as a change from the hollow conventionalities of life, would be rather pleasant than otherwise."

After a thoughtful pause, Lady Stockden replied : " There is something in what you say. I am not unwilling to entertain second thoughts upon the subject. But is she educated at all ? " " Oh, she can write legibly, read fairly well, and keep simple accounts. But, as she has been accustomed to illness, her forte is that she is a good nurse." " Well, then," said Lady Stockden, " I am inclined to agree to your proposal, and to have her here for a month. I do not suppose you are quite so disinterested as to have my welfare solely and entirely in view in the matter." "You are quite right, Lady Stockden," said Browne, joining in the good-natured laugh which accompanied the last words. " I had the interests of my betrothed very much at heart. Neither was I oblivious of the fact that she would be very much nearer to me here than in Yorkshire !

What do you say to my starting early to-morrow morning to fetch her?" " Are you quite sure she will be willing to come ? Do you mean to give her no choice in the matter ? Why not write and ask her before you go ? " Ivo appeared to think that there would be no opposition, and therefore replied, " If you will allow me to catch an early train, and can con veniently send me to the station, I should prefer to start in the morning. I daresay you will understand a little impatience even in a staid, matter-of-fact lover like myself." " Certainly. By the way, what salary am I to give my new companion ? " " Not any, as it is such a temporary arrangement ; but if you wish to pay her travelling expenses, I shall make no objection." Being prompt in such matters, Lady Stockden handed Browne a five-pound note, which she took from her writing table, and asked him when he proposed to return with his charge.

" Probably by Friday." " That will do nicely. My daughters leave on Wednesday, and Miss Dalrymple will most likely now leave with them. Shall I forward you any letters ? " " No, thank you. I am not expecting any of any import ance. I receive a letter every Monday morning from my lady-love as an antidote to the parson's ailment of ' Monday ishness,' and that I secured before departing from home." "Good night then, and bon voyage! Oh, by the way, you have not told me the young woman's name ! " '• Phœbe Deacon."

Chapter II. The

" UNCLE. " "Lena seca p?ca quemar, caballo viejo para cavalgar, vifio ave jo para beber, amigos ancianos para conversar, y libros antiguos para leer." — El rey D. Alonso de Aragon. TVO BROWNE'S journey affords us an opportunity of -*- understanding how he became engaged to Phœbe Deacon. Her mother had died in giving her birth. Her father, who was an old friend of Browne's, emigrated to Mexico with her. Two years before the circumstances now under narration, Browne received the following letter from his old friend. It was written with a weak and trembling hand : — "Dear Browne, " I am dying ; slowly, perhaps, but certainly. " I write, therefore, to bid you good-bye. And to ask you, for the sake of ' Auld lang syne,' to befriend my young daughter — you remember little Phœbe, whom you used to pet !

I am leaving her penniless and friendless. I wish her to return to England, as this is no country for so tender a plant. My only trouble in leaving this world is that she will be unprotected. It would ease my dying hours if I could know that a good man, like yourself, would look after her, and direct her as to the best way of making her own living in England. She will have only enough money to pay for her passage to Southampton, and then for her journey into Yorkshire. My late wife's brother, who lives there, has promised to receive her. He is advanced in years and asthma confines him closely to his arm-chair. His wife is a home-spun Yorkshirewoman. They are in humble circumstances, and quite unused to travelling. If, therefore, you could kindly meet Phœbe, when she arrives at Southamp ton, you would be doing me a great service.

I have often thought of returning lo the dreary old country for her sake. But, anon, the miserable climate has deterred me. " My life here has been brighter than in England, but it has not been financially successful. The English Company, in whose interests I came out, soon failed through the mis management of their chief agent. I then became manager of some Mexican Amalgamation works at a Hacienda at Guanaxuato. Sometimes my salary was paid, but oftener not. When it was paid, unless hidden safely away, it was seized by the soldier tax-gatherers of a newly-elected president. I sent to a bank iu England what little I was able to save between one pronunciamiento and another, but the bank alas failed ! " Worse followed in the loss of my health. I was ordered to take as much horse exercise as I could in this charming climate.

One day when mounting my horse, my revolver — for no one thinks of going about unarmed — dropped from the holster to the pavement, and going off, the charge passed through my leg. Fever ensued, and now I am in a decline. There is no hope of my recovery. " I have written this at intervals, as strength has permitted. I should be sorry for my little daughter to know sooner than is necessary that my case is hopeless, and that she will soon be an orphan. " To you, a priest of the God of orphans, I commend her, and bid you farewell until we meet in 'the Land o' the Leal.' " Your old friend, " J. Deacon." THE " UNCLE." 15 Mr. Browne lost no time in replying to this letter. He sard he would accept the charge, if necessary. But " whilst there's life there's hope," and there was the possibility that he might yet welcome his friend back to old England.

His next Mexican letter, however, was black-edged and from Miss Deacon herself. She informed him of her father's death, and how, that before it had taken place, he had arranged with an acquaintance, a Mr. Anderson, for her return to England under this gentleman's wife's care. As the hot season had set in, and yellow fever was raging at Vera Cruz, she informed him that they would not be able to start before November, and that she would spend the interven ing months in a convent. He was unable to reply to this letter, since she had given him no address. In a second letter, however, which he received from her as the year was closing, she wrote to say, that in accordance with her father's wishes that she should acquaint him with her movements, she was intending to leave Mexico, under Mrs. Anderson's escort, in the beginning of December, and she hoped to arrive at Southampton towards the end of the month.

From Southampton she would travel to her uncle in Yorkshire. She would feel obliged to Mr. Browne, however, if he would write her a letter of instruction concerning the railway journey. The letter could be sent under cover to the shipping agents at Southampton. And she would ask for it when she landed. It was evident that she did not expect him to meet her. Many inconveniences would arise if he went. The journey was long and expensive. Christmas, with its increased engagements, was coming. He felt, however, that his duty to his dead friend urged him to personal service. He decided to go, and upon the journey he endeavoured to recall to his memory an image of the tiny maiden, whom he had known years before, in England. As far as he could remember she would be about the age of seventeen — that seventeen which is so " sweet " in many a pure and well-guarded English home, but seventeen, and brought up in a wild and lawless country, without a mother's care !

Upon arriving at the Southampton Docks he just caught sight of the vessel coming up the Water. As it reached the landing stage he went on board with others who had come to meet returning friends. Quickly surveying the passengers, who had hurried on deck, he expected to see amongst them a matronly lady with a shy, awkward girl under her wing. Presently he heard his name mentioned in a subdued voice, and at the same time two small white hands were placed on his arm. Turning round he almost started with surprise to see a very graceful maiden clothed in a plain black dress. " How kind of you to come, Mr. Browne," she said. " I am ver}7, very glad to see you, but this is so much more than I could have expected. I felt a chilly kind of dread at the thought of landing without knowing anyone. Now I feel perfectly happy."

He was so taken aback by the fair apparition that he could only blurt out somewhat awkwardly, " Is it Phœbe ? I mean (I beg your pardon) Miss Deacon ? I should not have recognised you." " Ah, but I should have known you anywhere. You have scarcely changed at all." Drawing herself up, she said, " of course girls grow a good deal in ten years. I am nearly eighteen now ; but you ! it was almost impossible that you should go on growing, for you were so tall before." "You were a very wee lassie when I saw you last." " Yes, for I used to sit on your knee in those days, and stroke your beard, as I did my dear father's hair. Ah, his hair was so beautifully white when he died ! The Mexican climate blanches hair much more quickly than the English." As she spoke these last words a change came over her countenance like a cloud over an April sky, and the sweet eyes filled with tears.

" No one can ever be to me like my beloved father. But I THE " UNCLE." 17 feel almost as if you were my uncle. You see I really know you much better than the uncle to whom I am going." He took the two little hands in his, as he said, " I will try to be a good uncle to you. You do not look quite ready to go ashore. I think there is not much time to spare. Had you not better go below aud get ready ? '' " I had arranged to stay on board all night, and I think that it will be better that I should do so." He could not refrain from asking why. "Because," she said, "it is necessary that I should be economical. And my remaining here will save an hotel bill. I will do whatever you tell me, but do you not think that I had better carry out my purpose, for the reason I have given you ? " He assented, and said that he would return for her as early as possible in the morning.

A gentleman, who was passing them, raised his hat to Phœbe and said, " Are you not ready, Miss Deacon ? I believe Mrs. Anderson is just about to leave the ship. Can I do anything to assist you ? " " No, thank you. My guardian is here now, and will do everything for me. I am not going ashore to-night." Another young man approached them, who although he was not so gentlemanly-looking as the other, had a very honest and good-natured looking face. " I say, Miss Deacon, you'll have to hurry up. Mother Anderson's just ready to go. Won't you let me help you to bring your things from below ? " " Thank you ; you are very kind. But as my guardian is here, he will do everything that is necessary for me." Then, with rather a roguish little laugh, she added, " You see I am no longer under Mrs. Anderson's care."

" It strikes me," the young man said, " that she would have been vastly better under your care." Then looking at the guardian, as if it would have been some satisfaction to him L' to have annihilated him, he continued, " But why don't you get ready?" " I am staying on board until the morning." " Oh, my ! What a sell ! " Anything else he had intended to say was cut short by a little girl who ran into Phœbe's arms. This poor little thing was partly deformed, and her small wistful face wore that old look, so unutterably sad to see on the face of a child. She twined her small arms round Phœbe's neck, and begau to talk rapidly to her in Spanish. As Phœbe replied in low, liquid tones, the child burst into tears. Just then a vulgar looking, showily-dressed woman, attended by a rather dissipated-looking cavalier, and a nurse with three more children (one of them being a baby in arms) came up and spoke in Spanish to Phœbe in a very imperious manner.

It was Mrs. Anderson. Phœbe in vain attempted to unclasp the small arms which were tightly twined about her neck. A scene more lively than edifying ensued. Mrs. Anderson stamped with anger, and abused Phœbe in no measured terms. " Do please leave her with me for to-night," pleaded Phœbe. The only reply was an angry grab at the child, who promptly retaliated with kicks, and a still tighter clasp of Phœbe's neck. Matters were getting desperate, for in a few minutes they would have been unable to leave the ship Turning to Mr. Browne, Phœbe said to him, " She will go to you. Take her and carry her very tenderly for me." To his surprise, the child, although sobbing convulsively, allowed herself to be transferred to his arms. Phœbe tied without a word of farewell to anyone. As soon as the party were clear of the ship, Mr. Browne was startled by an exclamation, which was more forcible than refined, and which proceeded from the young man who had recently spoken to Phœbe, and who was now shouting out to someone still on board, " That's uot fair ; why have you not come ?

" THE " UNCLE." 19 " Changed my mind at the last moment," was the reply in a mocking tone, from the gentleman who had first addressed her, and who was now leaning over the ship's side with an expression on his face, whicli struck Ivo as anything but pleasant. Mrs. Anderson's friend, Captain Giles, remarked with a malicious grin, " Oh, all's fair in love and war, my good fellow. It looks like an arrangement between the two." Mrs. Anderson gave Mr. Browne a meaning look, and said, " I should have thought Miss De aeon's uncle would have looked better after her." He, in fact, did feel as though he had begun his guardian ship rather remissly. At the same time he wondered what kind of a chaperon Mrs. Anderson could be, since she had apparently made no arrangements for her charge to accompany her to the hotel, for it was quite evident that Phœbe had not expected to be met.

It was useless for him, however, to regret what could not be repaired. He was content, therefore, to carry his little burden " very tenderly " to the hotel. Exhausted by her passionate struggles, the poor little child had sobbed herself to sleep. He carried her to her bed, and left her in the charge of her nurse, who was a forbid ding-looking woman. He went to the coffee-room to have some refreshment. Tho rest of the company were already assembled there. It was not long, however, before a scrimmage was heard in the passage, and Nita — his small burden — rushed into the room half-undressed, followed by the nurse in full chase. Mrs. Anderson deputed Captain Giles to catch the fugitive, and bring her to have her ears boxed. She, however, dodged both Captain and nurse, and was soon within the shelter of her new friend's strong arms, and talking volubly to him in Spanish, of which he understood not a word.

He imagined, though, from her gestures and expression that she was begging him to do something or other, and that the words " 'tio " and "Febe" often recurred. Phœbe's admirer, who had been " sold " by her not leaving the ship, and whom he had heard addressed by Mrs. Anderson as "Jim," was standing near, looking like the veritable " Knight of the Rueful Counte nance," and Mr. Browne appealed to him for an interpretation. " What is Nita saying ? " " Oh, the upshot of her gabble is, ' Phœbe's uncle. Take me to Phœbe.' " Here Mrs. Anderson interposed, putting her words into as elegant English as she could, for the clergyman's grave and dignified manner rather cowed her. " Ye'll na doot be a family man, sir, ye handle the bairn sae doucely. But she's a varra naughty girl. And aw maun say Miss Deacon have spoilt her shamefu'.

She meet hae taught Nita to talk English beautiful by this time, but she was that obstinate she waldn't. If she wasn't downreet ma sarvent it was nobbut reet s'd due something for gitten' her passage cheaper. Aw didn't ask her to due owt for the bairus. She did it of her awn accord." Mr. Browne looked at her iu some astonishment, and said, " Madam, I fail to understand you. Miss Deacon has come over under your escort, but she is certainly not your servant." Mrs. Anderson was about to reply, but " Jim " interposed angrily. " Just you shut up, aunt. You know very well that Miss Deacon was not your servant. It was only the name of the thing. You behaved right badly to her ; and if she hadn't been the sweetest angel that ever lived, your children would have been shamefully neglected. She didn't spoil them.

She attended to them as their own mother ought to have done, and didn't. It's no wonder they liked her— as most folks do like her except yourself." Having thus discharged his conscience, Jim betook himself to the smoking-room, to soothe his ruffled feelings with a cigar and toddy. Phœbe, who was not in the least ashamed of her poverty, THE " UNCLE." 21 had obtained her passage on much reduced terms by passing as Mrs. Anderson's servant. This was no uncommon thing, for thus a poor and unprotected girl could obtain a saloon passage, with no other drawback than having to take her meals with the nurses and children. Mr. Browue possessed two inestimable qualities — a rare chivalrousness and excellent common sense. His chivalry led him to espouse the cause of forlorn maidens, not only when they were fair, graceful, and seventeen, but also when they were deformed, and of the age of five, as was the case with the deplorable-looking little figure now sitting upon his knee.

He talked soothiugly to the child, and when he had shared his tea and cake with her, he told her all the stories he could rake up from his memory about Phœbe when she was a little girl — until the tired eyelids drooped, and she was sound asleep again. When he had given her back to her nurse he sought Jim out in the smoking-room in order that he might hear from him an account of the voyage, and thus gain some information about Phœbe's fellow-passengers. He found Jim nothing loth to engage in a conversation which had a bearing, however remote, upon Browne's charming niece, as he supposed her to be.

Chapter III. Nita

" And just before the dawning. When the darkness of night was o'er, And the night of her suffering life Was ended for evermore ; ' ' The angels came again, And tenderly they bore her, For whom they had waited long. ' They bore her soul away Beyond the prison bars. Beyond the fading stars, To the brightness of the day." M. E. ToivttxJund. rrUE first beams of an unusually beautiful winter sunrise -*- were just beginning to light up Southampton Water when Browne began to pace up and down the dock, within sight of the Cordoba, ready to go on board. Presently he saw signs of bustle, preparatory to the disembarkation. He could just descry Phœbe on the deck, and perceived that she was looking at the sunrise. She was in the company of an elderly gentleman, and the two were talking very earnestly together.

As soon as Browne went on board Phœbe hurried up to him, and held out both her hands, which he took in his. She looked straight into his eyes with that direct look of hers, NITA. 23 which came of " the eye being single and the w-hole body full of light." This morning, however, there was evidently a question in her look which she wanted to have answered before even her lips could frame it, or his, answer. Then, without a word of greeting she said, " Nita ? " " I have sad news," he answered, which I fear will grieve you, my dear." The " my dear " slipped between his lips involuntarily. " I knew it," she said. " Nita is dead," and, sitting down, she burst into a flood of tears. Then she sobbed out, " If I had only gone with her, it might perhaps not have come yet. It was her passion that did it, and I could always soothe her when she was left to me.

I cannot forgive myself." Ivo sat down beside her, aud related to her all that had happened. In the midst of the narration the elderly gentle man whom he had seen conversing with Phœbe came up to them. The stern, hard lines of the massive face of the old man relaxed very noticeably when, looking up at him with a tear ful face, Phœbe said, " Oh, Dr. Vyvyan, my little Nita is dead ! I told you I was almost sure of it." The old man, placing his hand on her shoulder, said, " Well, my dear, it is only what we expected. I told you that her heart was in such a state that she might die at any moment, in one of her fits of passion. You have the conso lation of knowing that, had it not been for your loving care, the child would hardly have lived the passage out. And not only did you prolong her life, but what was more, you brightened it with a tenderness she seemed never to have known before."