Fortune's Favourite

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LY EMMA JANE WORBOISE, Author of "Esther Wynne" ,: Warleigh's Trusts' " The Story of Penelope," " The Abbey Mill" "Robert Wreford's Daughter" &'c.,&>c. " All is not lost. The warm noon ends in frost, And worldly tongues of promise, Like sheep-bells, die off from us, On the desert hills cloud-crossed : Yet through the silence shall Pierce the death-angel's call, And ' Come up hither/ recover all." *• And friends, dear friends, when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep, Let One, most loving of you all, Say, * Not a tear must o'er her fall ! He giveth His beloved sleep ! ' " Mrs. Barrett Browning. iLonton : JAMES CLARKE & CO., 13 & M, FLEET STREET. HODDER & STOUGHTON, 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1885. Qlbiss HJalumz IS INSCRIBED, WITH THE AUTHOR'S AFFECTIONATE ESTEEM, TO HER OLD AND VALUED FRIEND, MRS. WILLS, OF FIRNVOOD, PORTISHEAD, SOMERSET.

CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. Mr. Osborne's Dream I II. Dolores iS III. Queenie's Wish 30 IV. A Mutual Birthday 43 V. Impending Discipline 54 VI. Kitty 66 VII. In the Night Nursery 80 VIII. Family Affairs 92 IX. A Mother's Perplexities 106 X. The Juvenile Bridesmaids 119 XI. Talking it Over 126 XII. Finally Settled 140 XIII.- Dolly's Misgivings 152 XIV. " Star Sapphires " 166 XV. Drawing the Line 176 XVI. Queenie Discovers a Treasure 190 XVII. Susanna's Diary 204 XVIII. An Unexpected Guest 216 XIX. The Day After the Ball 227 XX. Midnight Confabulations 241 XXI. Late for Church 253 XXII. "Oh, my Sapphires ! " CONTENTS. VIII CHAPTER PAGE XXIII. Inconsolable 283 XXIV. Dead Sea Fruits A 297 XXV. The Derrington Sisters 3°9 XXVI. La Maison D'Or 323 XXVII. Girls' "Wild Oats" 338 XXVIII. By the River-Side 353 XXIX.

The Old School-room 362 XXX. Kitty's Confession 378 XXXI. Several Events Transpire 396 XXXII. China Place Once More 412 XXXIII. The Last of Kitty 426 XXXIV. Wedding Presents 443 XXXV. On the Wedding Journey 455 XXXVI. Seven Years Afterwards 472 XXXVII. The Nurseries at Oakenshaw 482 XXXVIII. Queenie Declines Brighton 500 XXXIX. The Ladies' " Free-and-Easy " 510 XL. The Scales Fall Finally from Queenie's Vision ... 535 XLI. The Earthquake 554 XLII. Susan Speaks Faithfully 573 XLIII. "Beaten with Many Stripes" 582 XLIV. " Until the Day Break " 59!

Chapter I. Mr

OSBORNE'S DREAMS. IT was Christmas Eve, and a remarkably cold one, too. Jonathan Osborne locked up his iron safe, put the keys into his pocket, and made speedy preparations for leaving the counting-house, of Nvhich he had been the presiding genius for about twenty years. To-morroNv would be Christmas Day, and, of course, a holiday; but Christmas Day falling this year on Thursday, and Boxing Day, as a matter of course, succeeding, and Saturday being only half a day, and Sunday non dies, all the business world had agreed to keep closed shutters till the advent of Monday morning. Mr. Osborne was a merchant, and, as was frequently affirmed, a most successful one. Some people said he was rich — very rich ! while others denied the fact, on the ground that he had not had time to realise anything that could reasonably be called wealth.

Still, there Nvas no doubt that, to a certain extent, he had achieved success — the result of a long, steady, persevering, painstaking devotion to commercial pursuits. No sudden stroke of fortune had launched him unexpectedly on the full tide of prosperity ; he had never inherited much more than the brains and the good common sense Nvherewith nature had gifted him. His straightforward integrity, his plodding, business ways, and his quiet, unwavering industry, had doubtless been the chief sources of all that he now enjoyed. Jonathan was a mere nobody when he began life, and a " nobody " he would surely have remained had he not learned a few most important lessons in his youth. He had patiently borne the yoke in those boyish days, and he had uncomplainingly "kept his nose to the grindstone" all through the earlier years of manhood ; hence the happy establishment of practical habits, that bore good, sound fruit in his maturity.

He had not enjoyed any special advantages of education, though he had been favoured with a regular induction into the primary principles of the "three great R.'s." His parents had done their duty to the best of their ability, and what could they do more ? A certain innate ambition had led the boy to profit by his limited opportunities, so that when at the age of fourteen he was taken from school, and " put to business," he was no con temptible scholar for that day — which knew nothing of Board schools, compulsory education, or standards of any kind whatsoever. He could read the Bible, and Gold smith's History of England ; he could spell respectably, and he very seldom murdered the Queen's English, or the King's English, which ever it might have been, so long ago, as interpreted by Lindley Murray ; he wrote a good, clear, bold hand ; and last, but not least, he was a splendid arithmetician, and kept his books — at first his employer's, afterwards his ONvn — in most satisfactory condition.

He had served his time to a business that was not exactly retail or wholesale, but a judicious commingling of both ; then he had continued his services in the same respectable old firm, till they became of so much undoubted value as to justify his admission to a partnership in the concern, on the strength of a capital so small as to be almost nominal ; and by degrees he rose in the scale of importance till at last, partly by retirement, and partly by the death of his seniors, he reigned alone as "Osborne and Co.," of Lawrence Pountney Lane, E.C., the Co. being added, or so people believed, simply in anticipation of the time when Mr. Osborne's sons should be admitted to a share in the business as legal partners. For Jonathan Osborne was a married man, and the father of a family. While still a young man he had wedded a young lady of repute and, for her station, well connected.

She was a farmer's daughter, and had been tolerably educated • she had, moreover, a little income of her ONvn, which her friends took care should be settled upon herself and her children should she have any ; also, she was modest and discreet, and went to the altar with the fullest intention of fulfilling conscientiously all the duties of a wife. She loved her husband unromantically, but sincerely ; she was a good and prudent mother, she looked well to the ways of her household, and was generally respected and approved in the social circle to which she belonged. During the first years of her married life, Christiana Ostjorne had borne five sons ; and then till Philip, the youngest boy, was quite tNvelve . years old, there seemed little probability of the nursery — as such — being ever again reconstituted in that household.

And Jonathan Nvas quite satisfied that his quiver should not be any fuller ; five fine promising lads were enough to content any reasonable father, he frequently averred ; and five sons would task all his energies to educate and settle in the world, according to his ONvn and his wife's fond ambitions. But at the end of twelve years, when the nursery had been turned into a sort of private sitting-room for the use of the elder boys, and when old nurse, who had brought up all five children, was thinking seriously of withdrawing altogether from active service, there seemed some prospect of an addition to the family, not very greatly to the satisfac tion of Jonathan or of Christiana ; for the latter had grown a trifle precise,, and did not care for the inevitable disturb ance that must ensue when there should be once more a little child in the house; and the father had already sketched out a plan of action by which his five sons should be honourably provided for — the arrangements, on which he duly prided himself, had left no room for a sixth!

He began to look upon the expected arrival very much as if it might be an interloper. And it so happened that when Mr. Osborne reached his home that frosty evening, he found things by no means in their usual order ; the younger boys had been sent away to spend a part of their holidays with an old lady, who by virtue of a distant relationship to their mother had ahvays constituted herself "Aunt Jemima." The two elder, although it was Christmas-time, had gone out to spend the evening with a friend. The dinner was on the table, but there was no one to eat it ; the German band that came prepared to perform its selections from Handel before the Osbornes' residence, according to custom, found themselves summarily dismissed, after having received the ordinary gratuity and being treated to hot mulled-claret.

It Nvas Christmas morning before the usually well-ordered^ household subsided, and Mr. Osborne was waiting half anxiously, half fretfully, for tidings, when his Nvidowed sister, Mrs. Fairfax, a matronly lady of high repute on such interesting occasions rushed into the room, where he was sitting rather lugubriously over the ashes of a neglected fire, and rapturously embraced him. '■ Oh, Jonathan ! my dear brother ! " " Well, Rachel ! " " I have to congratulate you, as I never was privileged to congratulate you before ! Christiana is quite as well as can be expected, and very comfortable." " Thank God for that. But there is a baby, I suppose ? " " Oh, yes — indeed ! And what do you think, Jonathan ? '' " There are not two of them, are there ? '' " Well, no. But the one you have is — not a boy ?

" " Then it must be a girl ! " quoth Jonathan, with admir able logic. And feeling a little more overdone than he had affected to be, he quite broke down ; sudden emotion surprising him, and almost in tears he gasped out, " Rachel, I have always longed for a daughter ; I would never tell Chrissie so, lest she should be vexed. But after all these years — after five boys in succession — to think that I should be the father of a little girl ! Well, thank God for all His mercies ! I have always been proud of my boys, and grateful for them, too ; but to-night's blessing fills my heart to overflowing. Now I can talk to people about my daughter." And, indeed, it was true. Jonathan Osborne had longed exceedingly for a daughter. There had been great re joicings when the first two sons were born ; the third time he had hoped secretly for a girl, but he had not confessed to disappointment, though his wishes were crossed; and again and again he had been congratulated on the birth of a fine boy.

Now he was blessed indeed — the desire of his heart was granted to him ; he was almost rapturously happy, as he went up to his wife's bedside and welcomed the " little stranger " who had come to him on this thrice joyous Christmas morning. That was a Christmas Day, indeed, apart from all other Christmas Days, that had ever been celebrated in good old fashion in the Osborne family. There were rejoicings in the dining-room, although the party was but limited ; and there was high-festival in the kitchen, where Miss Osborne's health was drunk with all honours in bumpers of the master's best old port, with cook solemnly installed at the head of the table, and Thomas — coachman, head-gardener, and general factotum — at the foot. And afterwards, both banquets being brought to a happy conclusion, Mr. Osborne, by gracious permission of the authorities, retired to my lady's chamber, there to indulge in conversation with the invalid, and admiration of the baby.

" Is she not a darling ? " asked the mother, fondly con templating her treasure ! " Would you not like to hold her for a minute — just for one minute ? " " I should like it ; I should like it very much indeed. But then, you see, I have no idea hoNv one ought to hold little girls ; boys are so much more hardy." " I fancy the same ways may serve for both, Nvhile they are still so young. I should like to see her in her father's arms, I think. Nurse will not hear of my sitting up, or I would give her to you." " No ; you must not stir. I will venture to take her." And he did venture, and found the girl no more of a burden than the boys had been. The little human bundle of flannel and embroidery, with the tiny limbs and the soft pinky face, reposed quite comfortably in the masculine arms that trembled a little as they enfolded the precious babe.

And tears actually came into the father's eyes as they rested on the small, tender creature that lay so helplessly in his embrace. " Chrissie," he said, after a moment's silence, " this is the best and loveliest Christmas present that you could have given me. She is a gem ! " "She is God's present, dear, not mine, though she has come to you through me. Oh, Jonathan, I have so longed for a girl ! I have told myself that I did not — that I was quite content with my five bonnie boys ; for what mother could be more blessed than I ? Still, I did envy mothers with little baby girls prattling about them, and though you never said so, I felt sure that you would be quite as pleased as I to have a daughter." " Pleased ! I never was so delighted in my life. I could scarcely credit my senses when Rachel brought me the happy news.

Of course I had hoped ; who doesn't hope when there is a bare possibility? But we had begun to take boys as a matter of course ; they run in some families, and they do in ours — I had plenty of brothers, but only one sister, as you know; and Rachel herself has never had a girl. I must confess, Christiana, that I Nvas very much exercised in my own mind in debating Nvhat should be done with the sixth son I was expecting about this time. You see, my dear, our nursery has been empty so long, and we had made our arrangements so satisfactorily as to the boys' careers, that it really would have been a serious concern to make preparations for another. Now, a girl alters the case entirely — a girl does not want a career." " Of course not ; a girl may stay safely under her parents' wings till she has a home of her own — girls are born to be home-birds."

" Certainly they are ; a father who can't or won't provide for his daughters does not deserve any." " And yet, I suppose, one might have too many girls ? Suppose now, this darling were our sixth, instead of our first girl ? — and suppose you had not been a very prosper ous man ? There is your friend, Mr. Lodge, who has nine girls, and not too much to bring them up on ; I don't see how he is to be blamed if some of them have to turn out on the world presently. Boys are a comfort in some ways." " A great comfort, especially when you have a good thriving business of your own, ready for at least tNvo, if not three of them to step into. Now, you know, I have always intended James and John for the ' Co. ' / Oliver must have a downright good commercial education ; of course, it is early days as yet with Herbert and Philip, but the latter seems to have a decided preference for the medical profession, and the former a strong leaning towards litera ture."

" I thought you did not like literature ? " " Nor do I, as a profession ; literature is a very good crutch, but it is better to have legs to stand upon. Now, a good trade is like one's own limbs, sound and sturdy; a profession — unless it be a tremendously successful one — is never much better than a crutch. Give me trade, honest trade." " But literature can never be trade ? " "Yes, it can — or rather, it can be so combined with trade as to make it no losing game. I intend Herbert to be a publisher. Oh, yes, I have mapped out the future of all my sons ; in another year or two Herbert must go to school, first in Paris, afterwards in Germany ; he must travel, too, the more widely the better. Also, I have already the nucleus of what will be Herbert's capital when he requires it. Now, this little pet will only want a liberal education to fit her for her proper sphere in life, and a fortune that will render her independent."

" Oh, yes, a fortune ! a girl should either be well pro vided for, or well fitted to make provision for herself." "And our girl, please God, shall have a fine fortune of her own. And, Chrissie, we must look after the main chance, now more than ever ; if we are to do justice to our boys, they must not suffer because Providence has bestowed upon them a sister." " Oh, no, no ! — my boys are my boys," said the mother, with a smile on her pale lips. " They must have all the advantages you had decreed for them ; only, for the baby's sake, we must be very careful." " Of course we must ; we should not be where we are noNv if Nve had been anything else than careful. We have thriven upon thrift, my dear — industry and perseverance have been our main stepping-stones. But what is baby's name to be? Have you at all considered that point ? '' " I have, and I have not.

I did not dare to count upon a girl — and yet — I thought such a thing might happen, and I wondered whether you Nvould not prefer your mother's name." " My mother's name ? why, that was Dolly." " Dorothy, rather, I fancy ; and Dorothy is the same as Dorothea, is it not? — The gift of God. Can any name be more beautiful ? " " Does it mean that I Well, our darling is the gift of God, certainly. But since this morning I have been thinking of all sorts of pretty names. Do you care particularly for Dorothy — or Dorothea ? " " I am not sure that I do ; and Theodora means just the same thing. Also, Florence is a pretty, soft name ; I had a little sister Florence, who died before I was born. I suppose Florence means a flower — and this is a sweet little flower, I am sure — a sweeter never sprung up on earthly soil.

Or, suppose we said Felicia ? " " Felicia ? That has something to do with happiness, if I don't mistake ; Felicia is the feminine of Felix ; and Rachel said if she had ever had a daughter she would have called her Stella — I am sure I do not knoNv why." " Stella is the Latin for star. I know so much of the language." " And there was a Stella who had something to do with the celebrated Dean Swift ; and I remember that she was not at all a happy woman. We will not have our darling associated with any sort of unhappiness." And then the baby began to cry, and had to be put back into bed again, and hushed upon the mother's arm. And before the little wail was quite ended nurse came in and decreed that her mistress must talk no more that night, she would be too much excited and get no sleep. So Mr. Osborne, as in duty bound, took his departure, not at all sorry to resign himself to the slumbers which had been so much disturbed the night before ; he was by no means accustomed to be mulcted in the matter of regular reDose.

The next day Mrs. Osborne Nvas not quite so well, and doctor and nurse decreed that she was in no wise to be disturbed, so Jonathan spent his holiday rather sadly, in the silent dining-room, and longed for Monday morning, when the world would go on again as usual, and business be resumed. He tried to read, but his newspaper failed to interest him ; he took down a volume from the shelves — it was the inspiriting story of " Ivankoe" — and Mr. Osborne ahvays kept Sir Walter Scott's novels for holiday reading. But the woes of Rebecca the Jewess were dreadfully un real, and not the sort of thing to amuse a man in the nineteenth century he decided ; the streets were very quiet, and the household quieter still ; the fire crackled and blazed, the cat lay stretched upon the hearthrug ; everything con duced to droNvsiness, and ere long the book slipped from Mr. Osborne's hands, and he slept profoundly.

And as he slept, he dreamed — at first in the foolish in consequent fashion in which we generally do dream ; but presently there came some sort of coherence into his dreams, and he was conscious of his own identity. He was Jonathan Osborne, of Lawrence Pountney Lane, and he was balancing his books for the year which was nearly ended. To his surprise the sum total showed a profit so enormous, that he could scarcely believe his eyes ; he went over the page again and again ; he added up the columns till he felt nearly dazed ; he went on repeating to himself the boyish formula he had learned at school — " units, tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, &c," but still with the same bewildering result. His capital had increased so mightily during the twelve months that were past that it puzzled him to read off the figures as they stood at the bottom of the page.

He had begun the year with thousands — he was finishing it with tens of millions ! And even as he gazed, and rubbed his eyes in sheer perplexity, the millions expanded into billions ; and for all his gift of figures, and for all his money transactions, he could not for the life of him read the everlengthening line that stretched further and further from left to right, till there seemed to it neither ending nor beginning. He was fairly aghast — a cold sweat gathered on his brow as he counted on — on — on ! and he gasped for breath when he arrived at quintillions, and found that he had not yet fathomed the extent of his most incredible wealth. His head ached, his eyes were dim, his brain reeled under the strain of that ceaseless torturing counting, which something constrained him to continue.

Was there another quintil lionaire in all the world ? Had anybody alive ever heard of a quintillionaire I And if there were quintillions of money, Nvhy not sextillions — or septillions ? — or, even, dodeca but there he paused, never having even heard the word, which multiplies millions by the dozen. And now the figures covered all the page from top to bottom ; the ledger which he had taken from the safe became enormous ; it expanded its vast proportions far beyond the large office-table on which he had first placed it ; the figures became living creatures, and at every shuddering glance that fell upon them they were trebled and even quadrupled in number. All the arithmetic — all the mathematics — all the algebra on earth, would never — no, never, reduce them to order ! They were intelligible things no longer; they were suddenly invested with an awful intelligence, an entity of their own ; and he was doomed to go on counting — counting — counting to all eternity !

He struggled with the horrible nightmare, and partially awoke. He saw that he was in his own comfortable dining-room, not in the counting-house from which he had been vainly striving to escape. The fire was still at a clear glow, the cat purred still in the luxurious warmth, and " Ivanhoe" lay at his feet upon the rug. With a sense of intense relief he understood that he had been dreaming, and he tried to rouse himself, and even looked doNvn upon the book he had dropped, and thought that, having nothing better to do, he might as well go on with the story, and forget the unpleasant sensations of the last few minutes — for his dream had not occupied longer time. Before he fell asleep he had heard a distant churchbell clanging— as solitary church bells do clang, most un musically — for some belated evening service ; and it was clanging still, like a muffled iron hammer striking lazily on a defective frying-pan.

But while he lay back, still in his easy-chair, lacking the energy to rise, pick up the book, and stroke the cat, as something half-prompted him to do, the discordant bell sounded fainter and fainter, and his senses were lulled once more into unconsciousness. And this time he dreamed, not about actual hard cash, but about the results of cash — such results as he had never even contemplated. He was driving through the streets of the great city, in a wonderfully magnificent equipage ; the carriage was luxu riously cushioned in richest, softest velvet ; the horses — splendid long-tailed Arabs — were caparisoned in silver, and jewelled harness, and obsequious liveried servants were in attendance. He drove on, he knew not whither, till he came to a mansion — or palace, rather, where he knew he must alight.

He ascended flights of steps, passed through a portico of inconceivable grandeur, crossed marble halls adorned with graceful sculpture, and lined with splendid paintings, and finally was ushered into a room Nvherein were assembled crowds of guests in costly and resplendent array. Sweet music resounded from the harps and voices of unseen minstrels, richest perfumes filled the air with subtle frag rance, and flowers of marvellous beauty entwined the jasper and porphyry columns that supported the lofty, star-gemmed roof. He had never in all his life been in a scene of such unimaginable splendour ; he had attended a state banquet at the Mansion House, and he had dined once on a very special occasion at Fishmongers' Hall ; but the glories of those festal civic palaces were not to be compared with these halls of light and splendour, such — as in his dream — he had never dreamed of !

It was Aladdin's Palace and the Garden of Alcinous, all in one. There was one stately figure that instantly riveted his gaze, as he advanced toward what seemed to be a canopied dais at the further end of the long apartment — the figure of a lady, richly clad, and "beautiful exceedingly." A coronet of priceless gems confined her abundant golden tresses, and pressed her snowy broNv ; she was dazzlingly fair, and she bore herself with the grace and majesty of a royal princess. He pressed through the croNvd, which fell back at his approach, and the fair vision raised her Nvhite jewelled hand, and beckoned him towards her. And as she did so, a sudden strange intelligence came to him ; he knew, and yet he did not knoNv, the lady of his dream. She Nvas a queen ; and yet she was the babe he had been holding in his arms only twenty-four hours ago ; years had sped by while he slept — since he had kissed the soft little cheek at his wife's bedside.

The baby had grown up into a beautiful and gracious Nvoman ; and yet he kneNV that she was his own precious daughter — his and Christiana's ! How had it all come about? Then some one near — he did not know who — told him that the radiant creature was indeed a queen — the Queen of Fortune, the Favourite of Nature, the child of Pros perity. And in her perfect lineaments he gradually recognised the inexpressive features of the babe upstairs. It was puzzling — it Nvas incredible even — and as we do sometimes reason in our dreams, he realised the absurd inconsistency of his pleasant vision. He knew he Nvas Jonathan Osborne, and that the infant was still an infant, lying upon its mother's breast, and not yet two days old. He realised the facts as facts ; and yet while he doubted, he could not bring himself to disbelieve the reality of all he thought he saw and heard.

Was it another life upon which he had entered ? Was it the Future— the actual, awful, inscrutable Future — that was thus unrolled before him ? Was the shadowy veil that shrouds the far-off coming years mysteriously withdrawn ? Was he visited with a strange prescience of his darling's fate ? And yet, though all sorts of possibilities and probabilities, and their reverse, were crowding in upon his mind, and he knew that it was mere delusion that filled his brain, he did not awake. For a moment or so, he was conscious of being on his own hearth, and he knew that all that had passed was but a fantasy, unreal and ridiculous ; and incon gruous as unreal. But even while he smiled at his absurd fancies, he lost himself again ; he passed once more into the land of forgetfulness, and this time " a change came o'er the spirit of his dream."