Chapter XVIII.

The evening of the 23rd has arrived, and so have most of the guests at Hobart's house. Maud, Louie, and Frank are there, and on Frank's face there is a look of determination but seldom to be seen. The Parks have also arrived, and the old gentleman has soon made himself quite at home, and has been inspecting the apartments beyond those set aside for the visitors. The ladies, with one exception, are dressed as gaily as ladies usually are on such occasions; the exception is Clara. She is attired in a tight-fitting plain black silk, with no ornament save that she wears round her neck and wrists a little white lace. The dress seems so unlike the style of crinolines worn in those days that the slight figure shows doubly to advantage. Her face looks as beautiful as ever, but there is to-night a rather sad expression on her countenance. Miss Park is dressed in blue silk; but the ever-worn crinoline contrasts unfavourably with the quiet apparel of Clara. Louie is also very plainly dressed, and resembles Clara in more ways than one; and Maud remarks, "See, Louie, you not only copy Miss Hobart in ways, but in dress."

"How could I copy her in dress, Maud, when I did not know what she was going to wear? Besides, you know, I never like loud colours, or anything approaching them."

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"I wish I had thought of it," said Maud; "for the sake of contrast I would have had a magenta."

"Oh, Maud, you only jest. I know you do not mean anything of the kind; and as to myself, you know I prefer all things the reverse of gay."

"Yes, and if you ever marry, Louie, the unfortunate victim of your designs will be melancholy mad before he knows where he is, unless you alter."

"I am not likely to marry, so there will be no occasion to sympathise with anyone."

"Tut, nonsense, Louie, don't talk like that. You know I am only jesting; but don't say you will not marry, for when Mr Right comes, he will say and you perform accordingly. But let's look Clara up now; she has done receiving, and we will ask her why she did not go quite into mourning. Not but what I consider she looks the belle of the room."

"She does look pretty; and what an improvement it makes not wearing the crinoline. I declare I will try the experiment to-morrow."

"And so will I, Louie, and so will we all. But here comes Clara; let's ask her. We were actually coming to ask you," says Maud to Miss Hobart, "why you went so far from your usual rule in dressing so gaily to-night. Do you know, Clara, you eclipse everyone here."

"Thanks for the compliment; but I think the gentlemen here do not deserve any for allowing two young ladies to roam about criticising and making sarcastic remarks on poor me. I must look into this, and rate them soundly for their inattention."

"Kindly do nothing of the sort; as it is we are not bored, but if you do what you threaten, we shall probably be worse page 155than imprisoned for the balance of the evening, while they will think they are conferring on us the greatest of favours by giving us their company. We will dance with them all in good time, but in between the dances we ask a little freedom; and Louie here, you know, will want half-an-hour for thinking presently."

"I certainly am of opinion, Louie, you and I must range ourselves against Maud, for she never lets a chance by of acquainting us with the fact that our ways and movements are observed."

"Gossiping again, I do declare," said Frank, who just then joined the trio. "I think, Miss Hobart, there is now to be the 'Lancers.' May I have the pleasure?"

"Certainly," said Clara; and at the same time two gentlemen came and carried off Maud and Louie, and the sets were almost directly formed.

Now it so happened that Louie and her partner, and Clara, and Frank, were in the same set, and every interval of the music Frank took advantage to whisper, or half-whisper, to Clara something tending to tell her what was uppermost in his thoughts. He was most assiduous in his attentions, considering her every wish; and just as the set broke up he said, loud enough for Louie to hear, "Clara, will you grant me a few minutes to-night before we part; now, if possible—if not, later on."

"Later on," she replied, "not just now;" and within her heart there was a fluttering which, under more favourable circumstances, would have soon blossomed into love.

As to Frank, he was impatience itself. He longed to tell her again how much he loved her, and to beg of her a favourable reply. And Louie, poor Louie, what did she experience when she too heard his request, and saw with what impatience he page 156waited her reply? She wished to be away from the world, and this part of it in particular, but she feared Maud's displeasure too much to talk as yet of going home—in fact, until she went, many times during the evening, when asked questions, her thoughts so ran on what she had heard that, mechanically, she replied, "Later on, but not now." So dance after dance went by and she found no pleasure, for she had learned to love Frank Perryman, and now she saw that she loved one who had no eyes for her. She was aware he could not reciprocate her passion, and so much did she allow the matter to trouble her, that just after a quadrille she tottered, rather than walked, out on to the verandah, past the conservatory, and beyond the bay window, under which there was a garden stool, and on this she rather fell than sat. The position of the bay window prevented her being seen, and so dizzy and faint did she become that she felt quite unable to move for the present.

Frank, as soon as the dance is over, approaches Clara, and requests her to grant him only a minute or two, urging as a further plea that she was so far tired from the effects of the dance that a little quiet would do her good. "Do you know," he adds, "you looked so pale before this dance that I feared you were going to be ill again; but now I see you look better—the excitement of the dance has done you good. Let us pass through on to the verandah. Stay, let me get you a wrapper, lest the night air affect you;" and with this Frank returned to her chair and brought her shawl, which he carefully wrapped round her, placing it carefully over her, and they both passed through the Venetian windows out on to the verandah.

The night was beautifully starlit, and the fragrance from the conservatory made the garden and its surroundings a fit place to talk of what was at this moment uppermost in Frank's mind. Clara, however, knew what was coming, and dreaded it as a child dreads the cane, but she knew not how to stay him. Indeed, if she did not love, she had so much respect and sympathy for him that she scarcely felt inclined to refuse. page 157She experiences again the fluttering sensation, but she inwardly decides she must check any such feeling, and with his first words comes her resolution to be again honest, to him at least.

"Clara," he begins, "you know why I asked you for this interview, for I have already told you how I have loved, and I love you still. But for the pleasure of again telling you this, what I say are only superfluous words."

"Stay, we may be overheard, let us pass on. By the window there is a garden seat; I have much to say, and would say it all without interruption. Let us go from here, and you shall know me for what I am; and then you at least will be spared more deception."

"Clara, what mean you? Your words fill me with alarm, and yet I fear not aught from you. Tell me you are only joking with me, trying my love. I assure you you will find it true to the last."

"Alas! I know too well its truth, and regret I cannot show myself worthy of it. But such is the case."

"Stay, dear one; tell me not further, but say 'yes' to my oft-repeated request, and let all else be buried in oblivion."

"Mr Perryman, hear me before you say more. I know—have felt for ever so long—that the strain on my mind has been too great; try it not further now, but hear all I have to tell you, and then if one speck of compassion for me remains within you, be generous, as you always have been, and say you forgive me. If you do not—if you even curse me,—I know it is but my deserts, and I will for ever pray that some day, when the memory of this night has partly been obliterated, you will have sufficient compassion, and say you have forgiven."

"Freely do I forgive you beforehand, if there is aught to forgive; but I know you only delude yourself. As you wish it, however, I will hear you, then all will, I am certain, be well."

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Clara sat like one stupefied, for every word which he uttered was to her a fresh pang; for did it not show her the goodness of his nature. And how was she about to pierce the heart which was full of nothing but kindness itself. However, nerving herself for the task which she knew now more than ever must be accomplished, she went on:—

"I have to tax your patience, Mr Perryman, for I have much to say, and I ask of you as a favour to hear me out. I know I shall, long before I finish, make you feel how you hate me, and perhaps 'twill be better for you to do so. It will be merciful to you at least, for you alone are to be considered." She now went on, and told him word for word all that had passed;—how her father had told her his tale of misfortune; how Hobart had come to their humble hut, and the after events, until he was as well acquainted with her sad history as is the reader. Poor Frank sat like one in a dream. At times, when her relation of the facts showed how she had suffered, and all for her father's sake, he would look at her with eyes full of pity and love, and oft did he feel inclined to be more generous and clasp her in his arms, and declare that in spite of all he would never give her up; but he checked himself. She told him how she had feared before to inform him of the truth lest harm should befall her father. Now that she had told him all, she would further ask his clemency towards her father; that until she could find out what had become of him, Frank would forbear letting Hobart know what he had learnt.

"I ask you not," she said, "to consider me; but my poor father has suffered so much that it would be a sin that the wrong doing of others should cause him more sorrow. And now," she adds, "how you will hate me; but at least you will not then think of me as you now do, and in this you will be receiving more of what you deserve."

"Hate you, Clara? No, my poor girl, how can I hate page 159you; what have you done but obeyed him you feared to offend, lest the man you loved, as a child should love her parent, should suffer. No, I will try and prove myself more equal to the occasion; I will, as you ask, for the time at least, forbear to say or do aught that will let him, the mean and cowardly scoundrel that he is, know of what you tell me. You say you have written to your father, but have received no reply, and that you gave him the letters to post. Clara, I do not believe one of your letters ever went further than John Hobart; but this also will I find out, and sooner or later you and I will have that satisfaction which I think in this case is due to both of us."

"Oh, how your words cheer me. You think my father still lives then, and that I shall again hear of him?"

"Indeed I do; and further, from what you tell me, I think the fact of your father assaulting Mr Torridge is a lie told by John Hobart to further his own ends, although of course this is pure speculation."

"Oh, thank you for those words. I never could believe myself that he would be guilty of such a crime; but what could I do? I thought all I did was for the best, and now I begin to see that I am to blame for not seeing and hearing more." And here Clara, heart-broken first with what she had had to inflict on him who had proved so noble, and after, at the suggestions of Frank that he was not guilty of this last accusation, broke into the most passionate sobs.

"Do not weep, Clara," said Frank, taking her hand, which she did not withdraw; "I will aid you. Look on me as your friend; aye, look on me as before, for God knows I do love you. Give me but the right, and even now, in spite of everyone, I will clear this accursed mystery."

"Stay, Mr Perryman," she said, withdrawing her hand, "you must not, I pray, speak to me of love. I am in no way page 160worthy of you. I asked you for forgiveness. Give me this; your love, I know, should not be mine. Some day you will find one more worthy of it; and as for me, if you can give me your compassion, it is all I ask."

"Clara, you have told me all; am I not cool, and do I not know fully what I am saying? and now, before God, our only witness, do I tell you I will marry you, and then I shall have a further right to defend you. Mind you, I make this no condition, for equally will I aid you were you to reject me with scorn."

"I reject you with scorn! You alone have that right. But marry you I cannot. 'Tis not because I love another, for I do not; but were I to marry you, I should for ever feel that I had taken advantage of your passion, and that sooner or later you would hate me for it. No, Mr Perryman, ask me not to assist you in what is against your own interests. Aid me, if you will, and I shall be for ever your debtor; and should I find my father, the remainder of my life shall be devoted to him to atone for the wrong that has been caused through my rashness."

"I will not press you now for an answer. Think of what I have said, and in the meantime I will take such steps with reference to the finding of your father that I think best. But to Hobart no word shall escape me, much as I loathe and despise him."

"Oh, how can I ever thank you for your kindness? I know only one way, and that is to be honest. Do not ask me to take time to consider your offer, for I tell you I will never marry. Had things been different, then the case might have been altered; but not now."

"Then you would make your future life miserable, when you might make both our lives so different."

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"In this you delude yourself. For a time I might make you happy, but only while your infatuation lasted. Then your feelings will change, and as for me it matters not. I am to fulfil a certain part, and when that is performed I shall be satisfied. Press me not further, but act at once in respect to my father, for the continual strain on my powers of endurance may prove too much for me. Do this for me, and I shall for ever bless and pray for you. And now, as we shall be missed, let us return. The less comment the better, at least for the present."

Frank reluctantly gave in much against his will, but Clara was determined, and so once more they returned to the room.

Hobart was the first to observe their entrance, and his look at Frank was not one that betokened kindness of heart. As to Clara, at her he looked as though he would like to take her away from the place immediately, so jealous was he lest anyone should ever look at her. She was pale too, for the subject of the late conversation had stirred within her all that was nearest to her heart; but her firmness of mind bore her up, or she must have given way to her feelings.

"Frank," said Maud, some few minutes later, "have you seen Louie? I have been looking for her everywhere, but cannot find or hear where she is."

"No, Maud, I have not. When did you see her last?"

"More than an hour ago."

"I will find Clara, and ask her," said Frank.

"I have just done so, and she doesn't know where she is."

"It is strange," said Frank; "she may have felt unwell, and returned home."

"She would not do so without saying a word. Besides, her hat and other things are here, so I must hunt further."

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Maud accordingly left Frank, who was busy with his own thoughts, or he would have offered his assistance to search for Louie. Before asking her brother, Maud had been all through the house, and she now went out to the verandah, and not finding her there, she gently called "Louie." Still no answer, so she went further out on the small lawn before the house, and which went also down one side. Here she looked about, but not a sign of Louie could be seen, when suddenly turning to go toward the eastern corner she caught sight of what appeared to be a form rising off the grass round the corner where Clara and Frank had just left.

"What, is that you, Louie?" cried out Maud. "Why, whatever is wrong with you? I have hunted everywhere."

"Oh, Maud, I have been so unwell. I must have fainted, for I came out to get the air; and from that time I know not what has happened. When I again came to I had not strength to rise."

"My poor Louie," said Maud, kneeling at her side, and and taking her head and placing it gently on her lap; "and I was so thoughtless that I did not miss you for ever so long."

"You were not thoughtless, Maud. Why should you ever think anything was wrong? I should have known better than to give way, for that had doubtless much to do with it."

"I should like to know how anyone could help giving way when they fainted. Can you get up, Louie? Let me put this wrapper around you"; and Maud took from off her own shoulders a cape and placed it around Louie.

"Maud," said Louie, "will you promise me one thing? A favour indeed, but one easily granted."

"Certainly I will, Louie; what is it?"

"Don't tell Frank; or anyone, in fact, of this, for it will seem so strange to them. Will you promise me this, Maud?"

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"Of course I will promise. If they ask I will merely say I found you all right, and no more."

"Oh, thank you, Maud; I am so grateful. I would not like anyone to know how foolish I have been."

"All right; only don't call it foolish, for I cannot see anything foolish about it. Let us go in now, or they will be looking out for both of us"; and so the two ladies entered the drawing-room, and, as a dance has just started, nobody noticed them.

Little did Maud ever dream why Louie was so earnest lest she should tell Frank. Had she not unwillingly heard all, or nearly all, that had passed between the man who loved and Clara? Yes, she had heard all, but she could not help it. Being seated in the garden, when Frank and Clara were together, Louie rose to go lest she should hear more, but agitated, and pierced to the heart by what she had unwittingly listened to, she had only reached where Maud found her when she felt so overcome that she must have experienced a slight faint. For some seconds she knew not what was said, then again she heard Clara say, "I cannot marry you"; and this was so sweet after hearing the other, that she was too fascinated to move. For some seconds she sat on. Then when she heard Clara relate her misfortunes, compassion for the miserable woman filled her heart. She felt that willingly would she, were it in her power, give Frank up to Clara, for she, in her wholeness of heart, forgot her own troubles when she saw the magnitude of another's compared to her own. Then she realised that she was in the position of an evesdropper, and shame came upon her; but what could she do? To move now would be certain discovery, and then what would Frank and Clara think of her to find her, as it would seem to them, in the very act of listening. No, she must remain on, and to do so was to hear and realise how much and how nobly Clara decided to forfeit—all, even the man she loved, for Louie thought she must love Frank—to follow, as she page 164thought, her path of duty and atonement. Louie saw no wrong that Clara had done. Every word that Clara uttered sunk deep into the true and tender heart of the unknown witness to this midnight confession; and she, too, resolved that the secret should be as safe as ever; and she also resolved that if it ever came within her power to aid Clara, she would do so. So Clara, who thought to make one at least hate her, had really secured possibly two of the best and truest friends she ever had.

And what was occurring in another part of this house on this occasion, which seemed to be nought but adventure, we will see.

In the card-room sit Mr Parks, Mrs Perryman, and two others of similar age, amusing themselves with the usual game of whist, for half-crown points and shilling tricks; and in another room further back stand Mr Felix Fixer and John Hobart.

"Why, Hobart," Fixer is just saying, "do you not be more cautious in your movements? You have been flirting all the night with this Miss Parks. You know that you will only rouse the jealousy of Clara, and then she may upset everything."

"I tell you that it is impossible for me to make her so."

"And I tell you that you do not know woman if you say that, for they get jealous even when they are not in love."

"Your fears are quite uncalled for, Fixer. Besides, I want to make her so if I can, and if not I may find it very convenient to marry this £50,000 heiress."

"John Hobart, are you mad? When you talk to me of marrying, do you forget the place I occupied some years ago?"

"Fixer, your interests are mine, and vice versa. I shall in this affair use my own discretion, and I advise you not to interfere with me, as I don't intend to stand that sort of thing."

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"Your memory must be getting very defective. I must brush it up"; and with these words Fixer left him.

Somewhat later on in the night, or rather morning, after Maud and Louie had sung a duet, the former appealed to Fixer to decide if she was not entitled to make a call upon a gentleman present for a song.

"Most decidedly," said the polite Fixer, "and I shall see that the gentleman complies; not that there is any fear of anyone here refusing you, for who could?"

"Then," said Maud, "I shall call upon Mr Felix Fixer for the next song, and I am sure you will be as good as your word."

This appeal caused a hearty laugh at the victim's expense; but Mr Fixer was equal to this, as he was to all else.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I must certainly throw myself upon your generosity, so far as complying with Miss Perryman's request as made; but if you will allow me to modify, I will then be quite as good as my word. I assure you, I never sing."

"Oh, nonsense," said Maud, "you are trying to shirk."

"Not at all, but hear me out. I cannot, as I just said, sing; but I am quite willing to contribute my mite for the entertainment of those present, in the following manner:—As I cannot sing, I shall be allowed to relate a little incident which came under my personal observation; in fact, to which I was unknowingly a witness. Say, Miss Perryman, will you allow me to proceed?"

"Well, Mr Fixer, as you do everything which you attempt so well, I suppose, in fact feel sure, you will do justice to this, and, unless the company object, we will hear you."

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, what say you?"

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"Go on, by all means," was the general cry, in which Hobart, who had now taken a seat beside Fixer, joined.

"Thanks," said Fixer, "I will. To commence, I must tell you I was an unknowing witness to what I am about to relate, so I trust you will exonerate me from all blame."

"Certainly," was the general response. "Go on; go on."

"Very good then, to commence—."

"You said that before," observed Maud, in her usual lively manner, "pray not so many reiterations."

"I apologise," said Fixer, "and will now resume. It was about the year—, but the exact date matters not, that I had occasion to know one John Hobson"; and Felix paused on the first syllable of the name, which caused Hobart to look sharply round. "This Hobson was not what you would call a conscientious kind of man, but of that I will leave you to judge. He was, at the time I speak of, a kind of—well, what shall I call him? For the sake of illustration, we will say he was a lawyer. You do not object, Mr Hobart?"

"Not I," said Hobart, but it seemed a long time coming.

"Very well, then, we will say John Hobart—Hobson, I beg your pardon, was a lawyer, and that there was a certain young lady of excellent position and birth whom he had decided, in his mind no doubt, would be a very good match for him, as she was possessed of considerable 'siller,' as the Scotch say. Now he made advances to this Mary Torridgent."

A long drawl again on the Torr caused Hobart to whisper, "For God's sake, stop, and I will for ever hear you and consider you more."

Fixer, however, took no notice, but went on. "But she rejected him, and would not hear him at all. Now this John Hobson being of a determined turn of mind—at least when page 167he had only a woman to deal with—decided she should marry him if she wished to or not; and so he went to a certain Wesleyan minister, who was remarkably deaf, and, after much trouble, explained to him that he was to be married to this Mary Torridgent, and that they would come on a certain day and go through the ceremony. At the same time he informed the minister that the young lady, who was just of age, did not want her parents to know, and that she required the affair over as quickly as possible. After this he saw the verger, and told him also of his marriage, asked him to have all in readiness, and as his master was so deaf, to help things on as quickly as he could, so that the pair could get away as soon as possible. Further, he promised the verger, who, by the bye, was a very needy man, that if all came right he should have five pounds for himself. After this he went to another young lady, and asked her if she would officiate as bridesmaid; and when she had agreed, he went to Mary Torridgent, and said that as she would not marry him, he had determined to wed another, and asked her to act as bridesmaid, and thus show she had no ill-will towards him. She consented to this, and all was ready for the Thursday."

"But," said Maud, "you have, so far, not got a bride."

"All in good time, my young lady —." Hobart here, looking very pale and agitated, whispered to Fixer, "For heaven's sake stop, or I must leave."

Fixer took no notice, but went on. "You will soon hear if you listen. The morning on which the ceremony was to take place at last arrived, and sure enough there were the two who had promised to be bridesmaids, and also the bridegroom. Now each of the two bridesmaids had been severally informed by Hobson that the other one was to be the bride; and no sooner did they both arrive than the minister, who wished them to see he understood what he was doing, if he could not hear, proceeded to place both young ladies in their places, and also the page 168bridegroom; and, after this was done, the ceremony proceeded, and in due course he pronounced, in his snuffling style of speaking, Mary Torridgent and John Hobart—I beg your pardon again for the mistake—Hobson I should have said."

"At this, Hobart, who sat quite close to the speaker, tried to rise, but Fixer, ready for this emergency, seized him by the coat-tails, and held him fast to his seat.

"The bridegroom now caught hold of the hand of Miss Torridgent, and placed the ring on in the usual manner. At this she exclaimed, 'Why do you put the ring on my finger?' and he answered in a whisper that it was customary in this church to do so, but that it would be taken off again directly. As the young lady had never seen such a ceremony before, she said nothing. Now came the signing of the register, and in doing this the bridegroom adroitly covered the name when he signed, and then told Miss Torridgent to put her signature as witness, which she did. Then the actual witness signed, and sure enough the lady and the suitor whom she had rejected were declared man and wife. The verger and I signed also as witnesses, and all seemed complete until the old and deaf minister, turning to the so-called pair, commenced his congratulations.

"At this the bride seemed to have awakened to her actual position, and asked, 'But why congratulate me? I have not married this man.'

"'Aye, miss, most assuredly you have.'

"'No, sir,' she cried, weeping as though her heart would break, 'I came but to be bridesmaid for this couple, and not to get married myself.'

"'Then, madam, I have been imposed upon; for this gentleman most assuredly told me it was to you he was to be married, and no one else.'"

"Oh," said Maud, "what a piece of villainy; surely no one page 169could ever perform such a part. But I interrupt you; pray go on."

"My gracious," exclaimed the New Orleans planter, "but this beats all I ever heard of. You surely invented this, Mr Fixer, to get out of your song."

"Horrible," exclaimed Mrs Perryman; "if that clergyman had any goodness in him he would most certainly undo what he had done."

At this all laughed, although they were very much impressed with Fixer's story; and Frank said—

"Unfortunately for the young lady that could not be done, mother."

"Ah, my dear," she answered, "if it were my daughter it should be done, for I would take her from the heartless scoundrel."

"Well," said Maud, "all I have to say is, I wish we had him here between us, we would pull his hair, if nothing else."

"That we would," echoed every lady present.

"However," said Fixer, "before you cut this gentleman up any smaller, I will tell what little there remains to be told. The bridegroom spoke to the girl he had married and told her he loved her, and this was his excuse for doing what he had done. 'Then,' she replied, her eyes flashing with scorn (I fancy I see her now; she looked beautiful as she stood and confronted him she was married to and the minister), 'you have either together, or separately, been guilty of one of the basest plots ever concocted, and, cowards that you are, you have plotted against a woman because you no doubt thought her an easy prey for your villanies. But you shall see; aye, most assuredly shall, you both see. You,' she added, turning to Hobson, shall live to regret this; aye, a very stone will I prove to you, page 170tied round your neck with your own hand, and the time will come when you shall curse the day you ever put it there, but it shall not be cast off. No, never; while I live you shall live to know what it is to have a wife and yet no wife, for I will at least debar you from taking another, even if I have to travel to the other end of the world to let people know who and what you are. And you,' she said, speaking to the minister, 'I will expose you, and let the world know to what such men will stoop for money. Aye, you are like your kind; but you are old and infirm, and might have felt pity on one who is young enough to be your granddaughter, and who never harmed you;' and here the poor girl gave way, and wept like a child."

"And what did the villain of the piece do now?" asked Maud. Oh, the rascal, I hate to think of him."

"He said nothing, but looked on; and, after a time, he turned to the bride, who still wept, saying, 'Come, let us away.' 'Away? Yes, John Hobson, you had better away, lest I save the hangman his work. Go from me! Sooner ten thousand times would I be dead than mate with you for one single hour. No, leave me, and sooner or later you shall live to regret this step as much as I do now. It is true you punish me; but the day will come. Yes, as sure as we all live, the day will come.' And with this she bounded away from the church before the poor old minister could say one word, although the tears were streaming down his face, and several times he had essayed to speak, but the words seemed to stop in his throat. I was so disgusted with what I had seen that I left the church, and the lady I have never seen since. And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have told my story, and I trust you are satisfied."

"Why, I do believe," said Maud, "your story has impressed Mr Hobart more than any of us. He looks quite ill!"

"Ah, Mr Hobart," observed Mrs Perryman, "it is a credit to you to show such feelings. I have been crying myself, and I page 171am not ashamed to own it." And as she spoke she wiped away from her face the tears which had been running down her cheeks.

"I do not feel well, by any means," said Hobart, "nor have I for some hour or more. Of course I know Fixer's story is but fiction, so that has not so much impressed me."

"But," said Louie, speaking for the first time, "Mr Fixer said it was true; did you not?"

"Yes, Miss Branscombe, quite true."

"Oh, I am so sorry; I did so hope it was but as Mr Hobart seemed so certain it was—fiction. I thought you might have been drawing on your imagination."

"Well, Mr Fixer," said Miss Parks, "if ever I am again at a party, and you propose to tell a story, I shall certainly advise the company to prevent you giving one like this. I feel uncomfortable to think there ever was such a man. Why, anyone to act in this way you have described must be a very Satan."

"I am always in trouble," remarked Fixer; "but if you will forgive me this time, ladies, I'll never err again in the same direction."

"Well," said Maud, "tell us what followed. Did the lady go again back to her parents, or away with her husband?—for, of course, such he was by law, if by no other right."

"I believe she returned home; and I know she spoke no further to Hobson."

"Quite right," replied Maud; "but to complete the story after the usual style of fiction you ought to tell us how he started after his bride, but in crossing some river the boat, from some unforseen circumstance or other, capsized, and he was drowned, and then we should all feel satisfied."

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"Yes," said Clara, "that would be a better finish certainly; but we must take Mr Fixer's story as it is, I suppose. And now Miss Branscombe will perhaps cheer us up with that little favourite of hers, 'Thy Voice is Near.'"

"A splendid suggestion," cried Maud; "come Louie, I will help you; you know I can." And Louie, ever willing to do as she was asked, rose, took a seat at the piano, and sang with much feeling the song Clara had asked for.

Shortly after this, as it had grown late, the party broke up, and all there dispersed; and so ended Mr Fixer's attempt to "brush up" Mr Hobart's defective memory.