What shall it profit a Man?

Front matter

1Rew jEOition AN D TH EY TWO BY VIOLET TWEEDALE " Well-written, strong, and lofty in sentiment, and irreproachable in tone." — Literary World. "A singularly able production, sends the reader wonderingly and anxiously through every page of a story in which literary power and constructive skill are strongly manifest." — Leeds Mercury. "The character drawing is exceptionally strong, and the descriptive passages are richly and beautifully coloured." — Dundee Advertiser. " A more ambitious and more successful work than any of her previous studies ; a bold venture, but one that will do more good by its exposure of world-glazed vice, than harm by its advocacy of eternal celibacy." — Perth shire Advertiser, "A novel with a purpose." — Pall Mall Gazette. " Essentially a new book, by a new woman." — Figaro.

" An odd interesting book, the sort of book that every one is sure to read. •I'ajiity Fair. "Pascal's striking sentence has seldom found more memorable com mentary than in this accomplished lady's latest novel." — The Pelican. "The latest, the boldest addition to that class of literature which deals with the problem of sex." — Times of India. HENRY & CO., St Martin's Lane, London BY VIOLET TWEEDALE AUTHOR OF "AND THEY TWO " "UNSOLVED mysteries" etc., etc. Xonbon DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 1 8 Bouverie Street, Fleet Street, E.C. Uo LILIAN countess of cromartik IN TOKEN OF A LOVING FRIENDSHIP

Chapter I The

master of Willowlands Hall sat munching his breakfast stolidly and silently. There was a suspicion of cloudiness about his unfurrowed brow, though half an hour ago he had glanced at his thermometer and found it steady, though the sky hung grey and silvery above, and it was as fine a scenting day as ever dawned. His childless wife sat opposite to him. She, too, wore a troubled look, quite alien" to that placid, happy countenance, usually so tranquil and com posed. Evidently some side wind had caused a ripple on the smooth stream of their wedded happiness. It was one of those soft still days in November, when summer seems to return just to have a peep at autumn, and smile a last lingering farewell upon her lovers. A gentle atmosphere that was pleasant to breathe, with its sweet scent of many autumn things ; a day so mild that the breakfast table had been drawn up to the open window, where still a few pale A ? 2 monthly roses looked in on the glittering silver, the dainty dishes, and the fair, drooping head of Mrs Darrell, as she poured out the Squire's third and last dish of tea. ' So you would advise me to take no notice, to leave the letter unanswered?' she ventured timidly.

The Squire glanced up from the bone of his chop. He was scowling in earnest now. ' Certainly do not dream of answering it. Damn it, they want money, that's all. Just like everyone else. It is a clear case of extortion. A regular begging letter, no doubt dictated by that drunken hound of a stable loafer, her husband. Take my advice, Clara, have nothing to do with them. Damn it, the woman forgot she was a lady, and it's your place to forget she ever was one. You have kept clear out of it for years, keep out of it always. But there ! women are such blessed idiots : you never will take my advice, that's how you are always getting into muddles.' ' Oh, Lewis ! he never drank,' Mrs Darrell weakly remonstrated. ' Well, damn it, if he didn't in the past, I'm ready to swear he does in the present. What beats me is how you, as my wife, can dream of meddling in such a dirty business.

Even now, after all these years, you don't seem to have grasped the appal ling disgrace of your sister's act.' ' Oh, Lewis ! we should show mercy to all creatures,' his wife implored. ' Mercy be damned ! ' stormed the Squire. ' Had she eloped with a penniless gentleman, had she ? 3 sunk so low out of pure devoted affection, things might have looked different ; I don't go against temperament and human nature. But her's wasn't human nature, it was unnatural crime, to allow herself to be seduced by her father's groom. No ! there's no pity or mercy for such a girl. It was pure unadulterated vice of the most beastly de scription. There, I have had my say. No doubt you think I'm a brute, but I can't help that. Women are such fools. Come now, cheer up,' he added in a milder voice, as he noted the tears dropping into his wife's tea-cup. ' Chuck the letter in the fire, and think no more about it ; I hate to see you bothered.' He rose and buttoned his pink coat, looking down complacently on his white leathers, top boots, and bright spurs, all well cleaned, and well put on.

The sight seemed to restore his tran quillity. He lit a cigar and came towards his wife, looking no unfavourable specimen of an English gentleman. ' Good-bye, old girl, I must be off now. Don't worry over past troubles for which there is no cure. I sha'n't be late to-day. We'll probably run by Madingly.' He kissed her warmly. They were lovers still, though their honeymoon was a matter of twenty years ago. He left the room with his long, heavy stride, and his wife followed him to the stableyard. She always watched him mount on hunting mornings. A groom was leading out a handsome, grandly shaped bay horse, unquestionable evidence of ? 4 breeding in his well-turned quarters and the setting of his tail. ' Carry fourteen stone, and a child might ride him,' Squire Darrell said, as he looked critically over buckles, straps, length of stirrups, and finally mounted.

He rode the hunter he intended to keep out all day. The meet was only two miles off. ' Ta-ta ! ' he called to his wife. ' Don't froust all day indoors this jolly morning.' She waved her hand to him as he passed through the gate, and watched the man and horse till they disappeared. She did not ride herself. All the horses in the stable were much on the same pampered footing as the dogs in the house, and Mrs Darrell loved animals too well to inflict her ner vous hands on the tender mouths of her favourites. Yet she longed to be with her husband, riding by his side through the sweet mild air, heavy with the scent of summer's fallen leaves. How she loved and admired him ; only she wished men were not so bitter, hasty and resolute in their judgment. She sighed gently as she turned to re-enter the house.

The first trial that had cast its shadow upon her wedded life had fallen at last. She asked herself how it would end, this infant cloud that had shaped itself, no bigger than a man's hand, on her mental horizon. Would it grow apace, looming larger and darker? Or would it gently fade off into the light of coming day, and be no more seen or felt ? Willowlands Hall stood in the midst of some ? 5 two thousand acres of fertile meadow lands on the banks of the Cam — a river, to those accustomed to the lordly Thames, hardly worth the name, but nevertheless much prized by some who dwelt in its vicinity as pleasant to boat on in summer, and excellent to skate on in hard winters. A run from Cambridge to Ely was an easy feat for the hardy fenlanders when miles of frozen water lay out upon the level country, affording sport to thousands, and a scene unique to the stranger, in its quaint, Dutch suggestiveness.

The house was old-fashioned, and oddly over-grown, architecturally partaking of the Elizabethan period, with here and there a portion added, or a window thrown out, giving somewhat of a patched appearance to the exterior. The land had been drained, and the house built, long before the great work of reclamation had been thought of, or the Bedford level undertaken ; built when the surrounding country afforded one vast stretch of flats, interspersed by deep dykes and isolated water-mills. Now, however, those desolated swamps had been reduced to cultivation. Smiling villages had sprung up, and acres of crops surrounded many a snug homestead and lordly mansion. The scenery around Willowlands was not in any sense fine, yet a certain charm that it possessed grew and fastened on the dwellers in its midst.

The beauty of the fen sky is proverbial. There the arch of heaven is spread more amply than else where, and that vastness gives such sunrises, and sunsets, as can be seen nowhere else in the British ? Isles. The morning sky, dappled with delicately tinted grey, presents the appearance of great lofti ness, and at sunset mountains seem to arise like phantom snowpeaks, or the elevation of a heavenly city, glittering with gold and silver light. All the varied hues of ruby, purple and gold exhibit their glorious shadings, and as summer steals into autumn, the full moon rises in the east whilst the sun yet lingers in the glittering west. The long, hot summers are always delicious, but more especially to those who can afford to be idle, for the heat is excessive — when the fens are ablaze with the orange of the marsh marigold and buttercup, the silver ox-eye daisy, the deep glow of the purple orchid, and crimson ragwort ; when streams wind their way through banks fringed with snowy hawthorns, and tangled archways of the dog rose and honeysuckle ; when every ditch is a mass of blossom and verdure, a marvel in itself to aquatic plant seekers ; when the pollard willows put on a brighter green ; when the marsh violet and bog pimpernel steal into view; when the giant bulrush arises with slender polished shaft, and the irises, purple and gold, nod over the slumberous waterlilies basking on the bosom of the waters.

To those who love Dutch art the fen river scenery during winter has a peculiar fascination. When the sun sinks, a fiery globe below the horizon, leaving a flaming glory like a low fire burning at the world's verge; when every mile of ice gleams blood-red, and the weird arms of the water-mills stretch athwart the ruby ? 7 tinted sky; when the fleet skater measures his speed against the vast flocks of wild fowl that start screaming from the stark frozen edges. Through the still air, on, on, over league upon league of ice fields. The weirdness of the frost bound immensity and desolation appeals to the heart as nothing else does, with a strange thrill of awe, out alone with the stars and eternity. It was certain that whoever had laid the founda tion stone of Willowlands had taken care to make its future inhabitants independent of the lack of shade in the surrounding scenery.

Like a jewel in a vast golden setting, the mansion lay deeply buried in magnificent timber. The park lying behind the house was thickly studded with aged oaks and cedars, and flanked by thick belts of cover. The house faced the river, and was only divided from the sluggish flowing stream by a wide sloping lawn, fringed at the edge by venerable willows, whence the place took its name. Inside all was comfortable and commodious. One entered on a large square hall, warmed by a huge open fireplace, where small trees burned cheerfully. A good sized dining-room opened off, having been enlarged and lightened by the addition of a bay window. The drawing-room, full of quaint nooks and corners, gave on the lawn, and was flanked by a large conservatory. The bachelor's wing had been made the acme of comfort.

The house was in truth far too large for the solitary couple who owned it, but the train service ? was good, and cheap, from town, and Squire Darrell was of a sociable turn of mind, so the days in the year were few when some con genial spirits were not in residence. In summer, hacking over to Newmarket, to have a glance through the stables, or sculling on the river, and drinking the Squire's excellent champagne. In winter, exercising the ten first-rate hunters with the several packs round, and revelling in that fine old burgundy which was a specialty on hunting days. When runs were gone over many times, with countless additional dangers circumvented ; when water-jumps, even in that country, widened strangely, and hedges shot up several feet in the space of time it took to eat an excellent dinner ; when early to bed was the welcomed rule after a hard day with the ' Cambridgeshire,' ' Newmarket drag,' or ' Fitz William.' The Squire, an only child, had inherited a considerable fortune from his mother, the only daughter of an iron king.

Money in those days was not so scarce as it is now, and the father had been a careful administrator of his property, and at his death handed it down to his boy in a highly flourishing condition. The mother's wealth had done much to enrich lands which were already in a fine state of cultiva tion, and Lewis Darrell, when he married at the age of twenty-five, was therefore by no means a despicable match for the daughter of an old Kentish landowner, and the grand-daughter of a duke. He had received the ordinary 'education of a gentleman.' Eton first, and Cambridge after, where he had kept the harriers, and skipped the chapels. Paris to taste life, and do some fencing. Then round the world as fast as he could travel. Then a little Melton, a little Newmarket, a little London. Then marriage, the country, and a perpetual warfare waged against increasing weight.

He was a man to whom money meant nothing but a means of barter and exchange. Open-handed and generous to a fault, he yet realised the sin of waste, and the art of clever spending. Everything in the establishment was without ostentation, but in excellent taste, and kept up to the mark of first rateness. Solid comfort, and substantial realities, were the order of the Squire's life — a life of con stant well-doing. He never willingly hurt man or beast, and the sometimes rough exterior and hasty speech only masked the kindest of hearts and most generous of natures. The strong, honest face, that blushed to find its good deeds fame, was the true index to a mind of loftiest ideals and noble characteristics. Clara Travers had been reckoned a great beauty in her day, but a penniless one. Theirs had been a supremely happy union.

No circumstances had hitherto arisen to darken their mutual affection. The fact that they would always be childless had at first cost the Squire a pang or two, but when husband and wife are all in all to one another, children are but a secondary consideration, and ? 10 Lewis Darrell had long since faced the inevitable and was wont to remark in his characteristic way, 'Children were a damned nuisance, much more anxiety than they were worth.' Perhaps his wife was less resigned, but she never let him know it, and the only result of their solitary union was the ultimate sale of Castle Darrell, a huge pile in the Midlands, enclosed in several thousand acres, which had been an investment of the Squire's father, and which his son soon found only an encumbrance in his quiet existence, one ' place ' being as much as he could find time in his life of sport to manage properly.

Clara Darrell was a woman of sweet and gentle temper, leaning on her husband now as she had loved to lean upon him at first, secretly believing in her heart there was no one like him. Neither was intellectually inclined. Both being country bred, they lived both in summer and winter chiefly out of doors, and after dinner the Squire drowsily read his Times after a long day in the open, whilst his wife placidly worked by his side, quite content to be in the presence of the man she loved. Weak in mind she might have been termed, but what mattered that? Was not the loved partner of her life always at hand to see to business matters, so essentially a man's duty, to appeal to in all questions of doubt and un certainty? And then she made up for her lack of commercial enterprise by the pure, womanly qualities so truly her own — her generous heart, her contented disposition — her gentle charity, ? 11 and thoughtfulness for others ; always by her husband's side to soften down an over-harsh retort ; to plead the forgiveness of some duty failed in by those around her ; to dispense those large-handed charities which the Squire's wealth made it so delightfully easy to administer.

From the beginning of her married life she had been devoted to home and housekeeping, delight ing in those simple housewifely duties which are so rarely attended to personally by the wives of rich men. Her mornings were the happiest. First the kitchen, where the Squire's likes and dislikes were gravely discussed between mistress and cook ; then a long potter in the dairy and farmery, where, amongst other well-fed treasures, eight Jersey cows of the purest were pampered on the richest and sweetest of meadow lands, and the most luxurious of housing ; then through the flower gardens, which were noted for their beauty through all the countryside ; the cherished roses, so carefully tended by an autocratic and highly esteemed Scotsman, who was regarded with awe, as a high authority on the subject.

Luncheon succeeded those innocent pleasures — very simple when the master was absent, substantial, yet withal refined, when he was at home. The Squire liked good living, and considered only the best of everything good enough.

Chapter II

The golden glow of the early afternoon was closing in, as Mrs Darrell strolled out to watch the sun set ; the fat old liver-and-white Spaniel ' Bugler ' slowly waddling behind, occasionally treading on his mistress's gown, as a gentle reminder of his presence. The flower beds, which in June blossomed forth in a blaze of colour, were now so many blots of earth and leafless sticks, but the lawns were green with a suspicion of floods to come. A few roses showed their sickly faces to the dying sun, bunches of pale pink ' monthlies ' hung high up on the side of the house, and the holly trees glowed with a rich harvest of scarlet berries. ' No hunting after Christmas,' quoth the Squire as he looked around him on Sunday afternoons, as he strolled, in company with his cigar and his dogs, through the policies.

A rustic seat had been placed beneath a gnarled willow growing close by the waterside, and com manding a view of the Cathedral towers of Ely in the vague distance, and the narrow grey bend of the river in the foreground. ? 13 The Squire's wife seated herself to watch the crimson disc sink behind the dark mass of out lying woods, where the rooks darkened the sky with their wheeling circles as they gradually sought their roosting places. The look of care still rested upon her face, and she sighed deeply as she drew from her pocket a letter, crumpled now, and evidently much read. A simple enough letter, but nevertheless a tragedy on paper. 'Dearest Sister,' — it began, — 'Though many years ago I passed out of your life, seemingly for ever, fate seems to have willed it otherwise. My family with one accord cast me off, and I felt as if nothing in the wide world could ever bring us together again ; but death is a great peace-maker.

You alone remain on earth, and to you, my only near relative, I appeal in the hour of my great extremity. It is twenty years since we saw each other face to face. You would not know me now, could I suddenly stand before you. You chose your life. I chose mine. I will abide by it. Yet now, as my end approaches, I turn to you, not for myself, God knows, but for those who are de pendent upon me — my children, Clara. I have three — two girls and a boy; he is eighteen, my girls are seventeen and fifteen, and I am dying ! How shall I convey to you, in terms pregnant with the solemnity of the situation, the appalling catas trophe this must be to my dear ones ? You who were born as I was, in satin. You who have lived ? 14 ever since swathed in velvet, and I — but I have said I will abide by it. If you can find it in your heart, you who are childless, forgive, not your sister, but her children.

You see I ask nothing for myself. — Farewell, ' Lucille.' The Squire's wife pored long over the crumpled sheet. It was needless; every word was graven upon her brain. Great silent tears welled into her eyes, and dropped unheeded on the paper. That gentle breast was wrung with a pain which she felt would now know no abatement. Almost in her heart she despised the life of luxury she lived. Its golden chains seemed to chafe and madden her with their smooth softness. The fact that she was happy, secure in a good man's love, with the realisation of every wish at her command, stung her at the moment to absolute misery. Ever ready to blame herself, the apparent selfishness of her life rose up, and pointed at her in silent contempt. Her assumptions of religion seemed to stare and leer at her in mocking derision, branding her as hypocrite and sinner, a sorry follower of Him who was ever ready to aid the weak, to forgive the wrong-doer.

In a flash she realised what often takes a life-time to grasp, that the title ' Christian ' is a forgery when usurped by the rich. That only have the poor, and those who have voluntarily stripped themselves of their wealth for the good of others, a right to that name. Like many another, she had interpreted her Bible ? 15 according to her own desires, and not according to the true reading. She buried her face in her hands with a weary wail of misery and helplessness. The past rose up before her, not in all its hideous reality, but softened by the misty veil that time draws over vanished years. The memory of the old home of her birth came floating back to her — the great grey pile of uncertain period ; the beautiful gardens ; the far spreading woods. The father, commanding, stern, a typical country squire.

A man who had never left home since his marriage with the Lady Agusta Mountroyal, eldest daughter of the Duke of St Austins ; who devoted himself assiduously to his wide property and its improvements ; who scorned the idleness of town life, and was bored to death in London ; who rode to hounds as a matter of course, and who mounted his children before they could walk. Her mother ; ah ! that proud, stately mother, whose pride of birth had been brought so low; whose pride of honour and reputation had been trampled to the very dust by a daughter's mad, wild folly. The only son, the pride of the house, had fallen a victim to fever in the first Egyptian campaign. Father, mother, brother, all were dead. The old home passed into the hands of a distant cousin. She and that erring sister alone remained on earth, and now, at length, the silence between them was broken, after a lapse of twenty years.

Mrs Darrell had stood by the death-bed of both ? 16 her parents, and the same final sentence had shaped itself on each pair of dying lips. Un forgiving they had lived, unforgiving they died. With the father, at the end there had been a fierce craving for revenge on the thief who had stolen from him the flower of the flock. Could he at the last have stood face to face with the man, those failing arms would most surely have found strength for murder. With the mother it had been different. From the hour of her girl's departure she had been mute. With that haughty misery, mixed with silent hatred, which is more terrible than the wildest outburst of fury, her daughter's name never passed her lips, nor was uttered in her hearing up till the moment of her death, and she died silent, clinging to her one remaining daughter, who had done honour to her descent and gentle birth by marrying a man in every way her equal.

When Clara Travers reached her eighteenth year, her father was roused out of his old-established habits, and the family moved to town, with the exception of Lucille, the younger sister, just then entering her seventeenth year. It was not con sidered a wise thing by Lady Agusta to take away the girl from her studies, and perhaps unsettle her for the life she had to lead for at least another year. An old governess was left in charge at Travers Court, and the girl lived her untrammelled hours as usual, riding, driving, and pursuing the healthy country existence she loved ; studying several hours daily, and painting animal studies, ? 17 in which she was proficient. Next year, if Clara married, her turn was to come to enter the great world, and make her curtsey to her Queen. Squire Travers had been drawn away from the contemplation of his farms and the summering of his hunters with no small difficulty.

He had been a sportsman all his life, and could handle a gun with most men, but he was, in reality, devoted heart and soul to his property. Day after day, in all weathers, he trudged over his farms, dressed as a practical agriculturalist, intent only on draining, top-dressing, and roots. He only allowed himself three days a week with the hounds, the rest of his time being given over to improvements on the estate. Only the necessity impressed upon him by Lady Agusta, of giving his eldest daughter a suitable ' coming out,' decided him to relinquish those joys for a month or two. He journeyed up to town on a bleak morning in March, and took a house in Mayfair ; visited his tailor, whom he had not seen for years, and who scrutinised the once slim figure with something akin to alarmed disgust ; strolled into Tatter sail's, and pronounced the stables to be full of screws; and finally, on the ist of May, moved with his wife and daughter, many servants and much grumbling, to the Metropolis.

Lucille was left alone at Travers Court. The sole companionship of an ancient governess was hardly enlivening enough to satisfy a high-spirited and beautiful girl, in all the bloom of coming womanhood and ardent health. She took to B ? 18 longer rides than usual, and, according to her father's orders, accompanied, whenever she passed outside the lodge gates, by James Geech, one of the grooms. Geech had been in the establishment close on two years, and was considered highly respectable and eminently trustworthy. Even the old stud-groom, soured by gout and ever ready to find fault, had discovered no flaw, save what he was pleased to term ' the lad's con ceit,' but he did his work well, turned out ex cessively smart, and rode magnificently. He was a man of good figure and curiously refined appearance for one born in that class of life.

The artistic eye would have resented at once his absence from the studio and his presence in the stable. His features were perfect in their type, and shown to advantage by the clean shaving the man prided himself upon. The Squire, who loved to pick his way to a finish without the encumbrance of two girls, had chosen him to accompany his daughters when they rode to hounds, more on account of his smart looks and respectful manners than for any other reason ; and many a smash the man saved his wilful, headstrong charges by his clear judgment and readiness in emergency. How it came about none but the guilty girl and her tempter ever knew, but during those long summer evening rides the servant slipped into the place of the lover, and the girl became infatuated. There are many things in this world which are very hard to account for ; occasions when all the ? 19 blue blood of a hundred earls seems nought but water ; when pride, position, birth, breeding, all go to the wall, and the being who occupied the heights is abased to the depths.

Only heredity can be weakly called in, and possibly the taint of evil blood long since forgotten flowed in the girl's veins. Be that as it may, headlong in love she fell. Possibly with the man's personal beauty ; possibly in that wild, spasmodic way which is only attributable to hysteria in girls of that age, and which, in its blind madness, can only bring black ruin and dire disaster in its train. No one noticed what was going on. Through the peace of the dark, shady lanes they rode at leisure in the hot, still evenings of May and June. No one knew what transpired during those tete-a tete rambles, which never exceeded three hours, for no one saw them. The labourers were in their cottage gardens for the night ; the county families in town. No one dreamed of suspecting that the beautiful Lucille Travers had love passages with her father's groom.