TABLE of CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER I

Everyone should know, or at any rate should pretend to know, Schwartzbach, that most charming of all the charming Alpine villages. It occupies a little space at the foot of one of the most gigantic of the mountains—those mountains which are all gigantic, which are all majestic, whether those softly sloping in alps and then suddenly becoming precipitous and rugged of ridge, stretching themselves on and on into the utter distance of dazzling ice-fields, or those which spire to the very heaven from their bases and bury their glittering peaks in the bosoms of the clouds that swim over them.

But everyone must know these mountains and remember what were his thoughts when the rumbling of the diligence waxed feeble at the door of the hotel, arid he stood looking through the valley up to the white mountain-plains, up to the gray crags, with the brown hospice built at the bordering line of snow. No one can surely forget what was the effect produced on his mind when suddenly a glance of yellow sunlight swept over the forest of pines by whose side the diligence had passed, and lit up the opposite alp, making its bright green herbage flash like a green wave of a foamless sea, while the nearer mount was still in gloom, but only half way up its side, for its snowy summits towering over all the peaks can never be shadowed.

Upon the gentlest slope at the green base of one of the hills the hotel is built No one could possibly doubt that Providence designed that an hotel should be built in this place.

There is no such position for a hotel to be found in all Europe. You may order a view of the scenery à la carte as easily as you mark off your dinner. What will you have? A bright green alp with pasturing animals, a thread of torrent silver trickling down among the herbage at its side? Then take a room in the south wing. Would you like to see nature in its magnificent nakedness? There is a little room very close to the roof, from the single window of which one can see nothing but tumbled brown lichened crags, and it is expected one will pass the night musing and mourning that man’s foot should ever come nigh to break. in upon the rude grandeur of such a scene. Then from the coffee-room one may see a forest of dark pines overgrowing the valley. But it is from the north wing that the whole splendour of the mountains must be seen; the snow-white splendour of the peaks, the glistening of the torrents among the black chasms, and the waving of fir branches. These are some of the things which have made the Hôtel International famous on both sides of the Atlantic.

But somehow the rooms are not selected solely 'by reason of the view that may be obtained from the window of each. Young Boswell and Johnson who ‘do’ their annual tour together, must have a double-bedded room, and get one, and are very comfortable, though it does not ‘look out’ at all. The Reverend Augustus Wyvern, who comes with the intent of studying the picturesque in nature from a High Church stand-point, will not have his chamber within a certain distance of the billiard-room, and consequently exchanges the one that had been allotted to him for the room of Captain Jeffares, much to the satisfaction of both gentlemen, though by the exchange the clergyman loses the very best chance of watching the sun rise up from the valley without being compelled to get out of bed. Now Captain Jeffares, as he undresses himself on getting to his room, perceives. the first gray dawn-light silvering the ridges, and laughs in a subdued sort of way; then forthwith pulls down his blind and goes asleep, trusting himself—and he knows exactly how far to have confidence in himself—not to awake until noon.

The hotel is of course crowded during the time of the migration of tourists, but at the season at which this story begins it was not at all well filled; so when one evening the diligence arrived with six passengers outside and two inside, the maîre d’hôtel gave his hands the slightest possible rub together.

Five of the gentlemen outside got down, and there was immediately a great deal of loud talk, and a few senseless jests as they stamped their way into the hotel and began calling out for a variety of things to drink in a variety of tongues. Then as a fair little lady and an embarrassed-looking young gentleman brushed past the door of the room where the party were standing with their hats on, there was a whispered laugh which made the little lady’s cheeks blush and made the young gentleman try and look unconcerned as he whistled a temperate air. No One in the hotel could doubt that this gentleman and lady were newly married, and that this Was their honeymoon tour.

The sixth gentleman who got down from the diligence did not go into the hotel at once; he stood looking up at the wonders of peak and ridge that know no limit but the light blue of the sky into which they dwindle; He was a rather tall and thin man; his face was pale though not of that sallow complexion which is called ‘interesting’; his hair was of that indescribable hue known as fairish, and only at one part was in the least inclined to curl; this desire manifested itself in the lock above his left temple. The consequence was that his forehead seemed very narrow with that curl leaning half over it. The man’s eyes were light gray arid anything but good-humoured in their (expression. These eyes had got a most tantalising power of rib-' staining from giving the least attention to anyone in a room when the owner of the eyes entered. Persons who were in the room generally got out of temper at this peculiarity. His dress was English, not Alpine, costume. As he walked into the coffee-room where his fellow-passengers were standing, there was a general pitying smile upon all the compassionate faces in the room as soon as he was perceived, but upon the face of the man there was not the slightest expression of consciousness of the presence of anyone. Somehow, as he stood at one of the windows the loud conversation waned.

He gave his order to the waiter in a whisper, and in a few minutes he had brought to him a long bottle of peculiar wine. The waiter, who knew exactly how many dozens of this brand there were in Europe, felt the highest respect for a man who possessed even as much knowledge as caused him to believe he could obtain a bottle at this hotel.

After refreshing himself, this young man put on his hat and went out of the hotel, and strayed away from the road leading through the valley till he came upon one of the narrow tracks on the hill-side sloping gradually up among mossy crags and green patches of the alps. He went along this track for a long way, but after a while he turned from it, and commenced climbing among the rocks in the direction of one of the lower torrents that tumbled down from the ledge of a ragged cliff, and ran on below to join the large stream that rolled in the hollow of the valley. Crossing this torrent, he went round the brow of the hill, bringing before his sight a splendid view of the most distant mountains— those mountains so distant that it was impossible to discern the green beauty of their bases from the rugged barrenness of their many peaks. It was apparent he was not wandering listlessly without an object He was watching carefully, as he walked, the gradual appearing of one of the furthest hills which came into sight as he went around the brow of the slope. When at last the clear outline stood disclosed against the background of sky, he stopped, and after gazing at it for a moment, sat down on a crag, but continued with his eyes looking over all the scene before him.

‘ This is the very spot,’ he muttered; ‘ and what on earth brought me to it again? God knows. Why I take such trouble to see once more the spot I have reason to hate more than all the places of this earth, God knows. I wonder, do murderers have any interest to revisit the scenes of their crimes? Perhaps they do; better refer the answer to the same Authority as in my case. This was exactly where we sat a year ago. I remember we could see just so much of that hill as is before me now; the line drawn by the edge of this one crossed it at exactly the sarnie place. It seems to me that little cloud is the same we watched . . . . And what were we talking about? .... Bah, that is the worst of this scenery; it brings back every word, every motion, every thought which would have never returned. But now .... ah, yes, I remember how her one ringlet fell down upon this hand— this hand; how her soft gray eyes looked earnestly down at a flower; where is the flower now? As I said .... ah, I remember it all; and here I am now, having learned one thing— that she has forgotten what I said then. If she were here with me now, would she remember, I wonder? If she were to see a sketch of that hill, with the pines and the larch, then would she remember . . . .?’

He was silent for a long time. Then he put his hand in his loose coat pocket, and brought Out a leather case with a clasp, from which he quietly took a burtdle of letters and a few crushed rose-leaves that the mountain breath whirled away. He did not open any of the letters: he only looked at them musingly. Then he brought out a wax match, and set the letters on fire separately. It seemed to be a luxury to watch the ashes brushed away by the breeze, for when he came to the last leaf that remained, he seemed sorry that they had burned so quickly; he held it in his hand for a long time before putting the light to it. When the half of it was gone, he suddenly put out the flame with a convulsive motion, crumpled up the remainder, and pushed it into his pocket ‘ What a fool—a wretched, miserable fool I am! Why should I bum them—the only things I care for in the world? I do care for them. Oh, my God! I do care for them—for her—or why should I be here now? I love every place we were in together—every peak she saw with me,—and I am a fool to think I can reduce my memories to the ashes I made of her words. Oh, fool! fool!’

He put his face down to his hands, and did not raise it for a long time. When he did look up, there was not a trace of any emotion on it. He took out a small sketching-block, and began outlining the far ridges of mountains which seemed no more than a standing mist; then he gradually brought in the nearer slopes, upon the sides of which were discernible the cultivated patches, the forests of pine and larch; then he came in his sketch to the gentle ascent of the hill directly in front of him. He got in the lines of short firs pretty successfully, and the position of the light with the shadow of a peak, upon the paper, but then he suddenly stopped, and seemed to regard a part of the scene with more interest than he had given it hitherto. It was not the effect of a great convulsion of nature that so interested him; he had been sketching colossal upheavals hitherto without a thought, save that this part of the universe had been upturned fifty thousand years or so before, solely that the recollection of a few days in his life might be more clearly defined in his memory; now, however, he looked intently down to the base of the little slope, and paused. It was, after all, only a white thing he saw there—a woman in a white dress sitting far down beneath him.

‘ Ah! ’ exclaimed the artist, ‘ it will do; I wanted a bit of life in the drawing, and it will do very well, though I wish it were sitting up a little higher. I wanted to put it against the outline of the road.’

He spoke quite complacently of the neuter pronoun sitting there; but suddenly it rose from its seat, and hurried along the little winding track till it was lost behind the brow of the hill. Before it disappeared, he saw it stand for a moment as if looking up to his place, then it was gone.

‘Confound it; it might have stayed for a minute longer,' said he, in vexation. ‘It would have done so well for the life. Where is this it was? Ah, yes; I’ll manage without it’

Then he put in the remaining bits of the scene, and pushing the block into his pocket without examining it critically, he jumped to his feet, and commenced walking rapidly away from the place.

As he entered the hotel, he saw two persons who had come in just before him; the one was a little old gentleman, who sat on a chair, mopping his head with a big red silk handkerchief; the other was a young lady, with a white dress, and a fair flushed face.

The artist saw them, and wondered if that fair girl was the bit of neuter life of his sketch.

CHAPTER II

As has been mentioned before, the tourist season at Schwartzbach had not hitherto been prolific.' It must have been very bad indeed when the maître d'Hôtel was seen by one of the waiters to rub his hands together. The maître was invariably imperturbable; if he had not been so he knew he could never hope to command any respect from his waiters. The day that had seen the arrival of the eight passengers by the diligence, had also witnessed the departure of eleven from the delights of the Hdtel International, so that the table d'hôte on this evening numbered only twelve, and all of these were what the waiters called gentlemen. There were only three ladies in the hotel; one was an invalid who had private rooms, another was the honeymooning bride, the third was the girl with the white dress who had been standing at the entrance as the artist came in from his stroll up the hills. None of these appeared at the table.

Among the men who were at the table was the man whose steps we have traced with all the carefulness of the detective of a novel—that supernatural machinery employed by the modem muse for the purpose of getting good people out of scrapes, and bad people into scrapes. He now deigned to see some of the others in the room. He saw the Reverend Augustus Wyvern sitting pensively before his soup; he saw also Captain Jeffares, but this gentleman did not look very pensive. He was engaged with a decanter when he noticed the other man looking at him, for the moment he did look at him; then he opened his eyes very wide, and smiled graciously, saying in a contemplative whisper, ‘ Netherton, by Jove!’

The picturesque tourists who had come with the diligence were all present at the table. They were all talking very loud in a language which a foreigner would perhaps call English; but which no one aware of the correct pronunciation of aspirated words could admit to be in that tongue. They were all very elegant young men, and as to their perfumery, they were irreproachable. Yet the Reverend Augustus. Wyvern, Captain Jeffares, and the man Captain Jeffares had called Netherton smiled together; for they held a theory‘that a man who dressed himself in a picturesque costume, who perfumed himself luxuriously, and who talked loud in the midst of strangers, was a snob. The perfumed gentlemen were in excellent spirits. They had their jokes about everything, jokes by no means obscure, not requiring any supernatural degree of perception to see their point. This was the pleasantest part of their wit; it did not fatigue one trying to penetrate to its secret hidden depth as some kind of wit does. At first its harmless shafts were directed at the young man who had been induced by his bride to spend their honeymoon in that fairy region of her fancy, the Continent. This young man tried to smile, and take the little jokes pleasantly, though indeed his face once did get very hot when the sarcasm alluded to his wife’s absence from the table; but altogether he bore it very good-naturedly; still when he went to this wife of his after dinner, he was in a very bad temper.

By Netherton’s side sat the little old gentleman who had found it necessary to subdue the heat, consequent upon the exertion of walking, by means of a large red handkerchief, as Netherton returned from his stroll. He was rather a peculiar old gentleman. His name was Mr. Dobbin, and he had been staying for the past fortnight at the hotel with his daughter. He did not express himself very freely upon any topic, but when he did it was in the freest possible manner as to grammar and construction. He did not bind himself to any rule in speaking, nor did he betray any refinement of thought through all this uncultivated speech. These peculiarities did not, however, call forth any of the satire of the profound wits; they mercifully took no notice of his blunders, or his want of refinement; but when he quietly poured his champagne into a tumbler, ignoring the broad shallow glass by its side, a general laugh went round the perfumed part of the table, which was not repressed as the old gentleman tucked his napkin under his chin, and commenced eating his fish with the knife which was placed before him for the purpose of carving. At this point the satirists resorted to the clever device of adopting a language which was as like French as their usual language was like English, as a means of getting rid of their jokes. Under this clever screen a hundred good things were said, the least of which, if spoken in a language he could understand, would have appeared to Mr.

Dobbin as the grossest insult Of course these jokes were all insults, but through being spoken in a tongue unintelligible to the person they were aimed at they appeared to be nothing more than good jokes, more especially as he looked so utterly unconscious of being the butt of that wit which caused such loud outbursts of laughter among the jocular gentlemen.

But the success of this last device was very much increased in the opinion of those whose ingenuity had adopted it when they found out by the unmoved countenance of Mr. Netherton, that he was equally ignorant of French. They had been uneasy in their minds when he was in the room with them; on dismounting from the diligence, he had not deigned to look at them, though they had travelled together; and besides he had called for a bottle of a particular sort of wine in a way which was most offensive to them: he wanted the name kept a secret, so he had whispered it to the waiter. He had truly been most insolent to them, but now they were having their revenge, and they roared out their hilarity in a language that caused Henri, the youngest garçon behind the table, to push his napkin into his mouth. But with the exception of the faintest possible smile at some terrible blunder,' Netherton’s face was perfectly unmoved. Once or twice Captain Jeffares winked across the table at him in a sagacious way, but no wink had any effect upon Netherton. He felt utterly disgusted with everything. He wias disgusted with himself for coming to this place while he still retained the memory of his last visit As he sat here now, listening to the wit sparkling round the table, he was even thinking of words that had been spoken at this very table, of the faces he had seen at this table; at last all his recollections of words and circumstances and faces took the form of one face, and when he felt himself thinking of that one face he felt the more disgusted with himself.

After dining, Captain Jeffares came round to Netherton, and clapped him on the back in the most good-natured manner possible.

‘ So you are here again, old fellow; and you are right; it is the jolliest old place on earth. I haven’t been in England since I saw you a year ago. I went to Rome in the winter. Fine sort of place, Rome, you know, only too much art about it; it was a great strain on my mind after leaving this place. Everyone comes back to it, you know, it’s the jolliest of all the regular places. Now, isn’t it? ’

‘ It is the place that I hate above all places on earth,’ said Netherton quietly. ‘I hate it, and all about it, from that white peak we can just see up the valley to this house full of confounded snobs.’

Captain Jeffares paused thoughtfully for a moment, then he gave the slightest little crescendo whistle and smiled.

‘ Ah, I think I see it; she is she——

He paused and saw the other man’s face flush slightly and his forehead become wrinkled, but he did not speak.

‘ Yes, b’Jove, I have it now. But cheer up, Netherton, it’s only a mistake; still, you know, I thought she was quite sure; I am a sort of believer in brown hair and gray eyes; but now I remember there was something of an uncertain look about her long curl; you may remember it? ’

‘Oh,’groaned Netherton, ‘may remember it!'

‘Well, never mind; I say there was a perfidious look about it, and I believe I said so to Ellison when he was here—uncommonly decent fellow Ellison was. And so she——she—— well, never mind; but what the deuce brings you back, tell me? ’

‘Haven’t you heard of pilgrimages, Jeffares? Well this is a pilgrimage with me; I came to perform a religious duty-—a vow I had taken Upon me; this is not a visit of pleasure, you may be sure.’

‘Come into the billiard-room, old boy,’ said Captain Jeffares soothingly, putting his arm within the other’s; ‘come, and tell me how it came about’

Just as they were rising, the stout little man, who had escaped from the running fire of cleverness which was directed at him from the table, came over and stood beside them with a tooth-pick.

‘ Fine mountains these Alps are, Sir; fine view of them from these windows.’

‘Yes, pretty fair,’ said Captain Jeffares patronisingly.

‘ That white sugar-loaf hill, Sir, it would be better if it wasn’t quite so conspicuous. Don’t you agree with me, Sir? ’

‘ I fear that the suggestion is beyond my power of imagination,’ said Netherton. ‘ I must confess an image of the scene with that mountain absent does not present itself very distinctly to my mind.’

‘ Doesn’t it now, Sir? well, I likes hills to look at—they’re ornaments, I says to my daughter, who is mad about hills—but I says they’re for ornament, not use—meaning the climbing, Sir, which knocks me up in no time— but my daughter, Sir, through being young, likes the climbing. She draws too, does Amy, for she has just come from her school in London, a hundred-and-fifty a year without extras; rather a stiff figure, Sir, but, bless you, it’s worth it’

‘ There can be but little doubt about it, Sir,’ said Netherton.

‘Yes, Sir, we went away to-day a good bit round the pass, and she left me and began to get up by one of the tracks, to get a good view of one of the hills to draw, and she comes down to me in about half-an-hour in a great heat saying there was a man on the hill she was drawing who was drawing the hill she was on; it seems they were both drawing the hills that the others were on. It was a great joke, Sir, and so I said to her; but girls are so unreasonable, she got quite into a pet and said it was impudent in the poor young fellow to dare to draw her or her hill. I laughed, Sir, for I thought it a deal impudenter in her to draw the young man and his hill.’

‘ He is a decent enough sort of old fellow,’said Jeffares to his companion when they were alone in the billiard-room. ‘A good deal a better fellow than those in the knickerbockers.’

‘ I’ll tell you what it is, Jeffares,’ said the other, suddenly; ‘ if there is any more of the talk that went on to-day at the table d'hôte, there will be a row. I don’t usually mind that sort of thing, but I won’t see a man insulted in such a brutal manner without making a row; that’s all I have to say about it Will you break?’

‘You’re right Netherton; but take my advice, and keep out of a row with such men; they all come from Bond Street, you know. Now tell us all about your little affair. I’ll listen during some of my long breaks.’

‘Confound my little affair! You are not going to hear any more of it. Rather queer, wasn’t it, about that girl sketching the hill while the fellow was sketching her, eh? ’

‘ Not so very rum, after all, I think. Was it one of the knickerbockers that was sketching? ’ ‘ No,’ said Nethertpn; ‘ it was I.’

‘ Bless my soul; you! ’

‘Yes; and it was the hill where I had told that other girl all I had to tell a year ago.’

‘ Was it really, now? Ah, well, you have more to tell this year, old boy.’

So he had. Netherton told him how his father had died since he was at this place last, and how the wealth he had been reputed to possess proved to be imaginary; and how, in consequence, the girl whom he had met here a year ago, and who had promised to be his wife, had given herself to another—‘ sold herself,’ the excited young man termed it in the heat of his narrative; then he went on to say how it was his intention to study the art of painting as a profession, and that he was even .now on his way to Italy to assist in the carrying out of this intention.

‘ Yes, Jeffares,’ said he, winding up; ‘

Art is to be my future bride; there is some truth, at any rate, in her affection; she cannot be bought or sold with money. There is comfort, and truth, and satisfaction in her love.’

‘ Ah, yes, I’ve no doubt of it whatever,’ said Captain Jeffares, playing carefully.

But when Captain Jeffares got to that room of his which afforded, such a sumptuous view, he sat down on one of the chairs, and was convulsed.

CHAPTER III

The next day Mr. Netherton sought out the maître d’hôtel, who was his friend of last year, and informed him of the circumstances of the previous day’s table.. On hearing of the insults offered to Mr. Dobbin, the maître got into a violent passion, and swore by all the blessed blues in the variety of Nature’s tints, and by all the abstract blessednesses, that if such a thing were ever to take place at his table, he would have the man who should take part in it put from his house.

‘ Ah, Meester Nedderton, I know them all. Why will they come here from zare Bont Streets and from zare Oxfort Streets to sit. at the table with gentlemen? I know them all, my dee sir, every one of them, year by year. It’s no sin, Meester Nedderton, to zell ladies’ ribbons for eleven months in the year; and a gentleman who does so may sit at a table with a printz for the other month; but if zat gentleman shows himself to be no gentleman while he sits at zat table, parbleu, Monsieur, he is to be taught manners. Meester Dobbin, well—he is—well—we know what he is ; he is not you, Meester Ned-derton; he is not even Monsieur the Capitaine; but is he to be insulted at my table by your Meester Brown, or Meester Jonas, or Meester Robeenson? No, he shall not be, pardieu! ’

After duly turning the palms of his hands alternately heavenward and earthward, the maître went about his business, and Mr. Netherton and Captain Jeffares strolled away in the direction of a certain châlet of one Count Girofstein, with whom the former had contracted an acquaintance during his last visit to this neighbourhood.

They returned in the evening to dine, and found the whole party of the real tourists— that is, the gentlemen who assumed the character and costume of tourists—in the highest spirits, consequent upon the intercourse they had all had with Nature in her most exhilarating aspect. They had hired guides, they had held alpenstocks in their hands, they had been tied together by means of a rope, and they had seen a cliff over which a young man had fallen some years before. What more could the heart of an Alpine tourist long for?

They were all in high spirits, talking over the thrilling events of the day as they sat down. They talked even louder than usual, and felt certain that, deeply as Netherton had been chagrined by the consciousness of his ignorance of the French tongue, and the misfortune of not being able to appreciate their wit expressed the previous day through that medium, he would now be doubly mortified on hearing of the exploits of the mountaineering party to which he did not belong.

They were in such excellent spirits that even the young man who was honeymooning smiled more than once in his meek way.

‘Well, old boy,’ remarked the chief wit of the last evening to Mr. Dobbin, ‘ what have you been about all day? This sort of climbing ain’t ’ardly in your line. Legs got old and stiff; eh, old feller? ’

Every one of the party roared at this subtle sarcasm; but Mr. Dobbin got red in the face, and made no answer.

‘Wot!’ continued the other, pleasantly,

‘ wot! getting grumpy, old feller? Oh, don’t you get grumpy, wotever others may.’

‘ I’m not grumpy, Sir,’ said Mr. Dobbin, angrily; ‘.but I think when gentlemen are together they ought to address each other as such, that’s what I think, Sir.'

He was evidently not in a playful mood, but yet they were; and if he refused to participate in their playfulness, surely it was a hardship that they should be obliged to yield to him because he chose to be testy. A consciousness of the injustice they would be inflicting on themselves if they should give in, forced itself upon their minds; so, in the interests of justice, they were obliged to take refuge in the idioms of the language they had spoken on the last occasion of being in company—the concise phrases of English slang literally rendered into French, with the additional advantage of being pronounced with the accent of the original. This addition caused Henri, the youngest waiter, to crumple his napkin over his mouth worse than ever, an act which was detected by the chief linguist, who smiled approvingly, feeling certain it was the poignancy of his wit that caused this manifestation.

Mr. Dobbin’s face got redder than ever, for he could not fail to see that he was being made the subject of'the joking in that alien tongue.

However, he tucked his napkin under his chin vehemently, and ate his soup.

Netherton ate his soup also without a word. The chief linguist perceived this and chuckled; he saw that Netherton was totally ignorant of French, and his hilarity increased.

But, being a lover of fair play, and finding, moreover, that it was rather monotonous to limit his remarks to a single individual, however worthy he might be, this gentleman thought he might as well change the object; he left off talking at Mr. Dobbin, and made the slightest possible allusion to his neighbour, Mr. Netherton. The allusion was very slight indeed, but in an instant Henri had pulled his napkin out of his mouth, and looked grave. But Netherton looked quite unconscious, and continued eating quietly. This was magnificent, the linguist felt; the poor young man was evidently imperfectly educated.

In a short time he saw another chance of saying something good in the same way. It was such a really cutting thing that the chance should not be let slip; and what could it matter? it would be as Sanskrit to the object of its cleverness.

The young man embraced the opportunity, he made his remark; but before the usual laugh of the others of his party had commenced, there was the crash of a chair falling; Netherton was on his feet—a single step, and his hands were on the collar of the linguist’s coat—another crash of a chair falling—a few shouts of ‘ hold him back,’ which Captain Jeffares obeyed by throwing himself against three of the gentlemen who had risen from the table—then a short struggle—another tremendous crash of broken glass; Captain Jeffares sprang forward; it was too late—Netherton stood alone beside the big broken window, through the aperture of which he had just sent the linguist.

‘ Stand back, gentlemen! ’ shouted the maître d’hôtel, who had rushed in. ‘ Thousand devils! sacred blue! stand back! What is the matter?’

‘ Oh, papa! papa! is he safe?’ came another voice from the door; and there stood the figure of a girl in a state of rosy excitement. It was an interesting tableau. At the window stood Netherton, with his face pale, and his coat ruffled, smiling in the angry faces before him; Mr. Dobbin, half risen from his seat, stupefied with astonishment; Captain Jeffares stroking his moustache; while the waiters stood at the other Window looking out; and then that white form at the door. It was a nice group.

The maître was polite by instinct. He heard the lady’s question, and answered it first.

‘ I have the honour to assure you, Mademoiselle, that Monsieur your father is safe.' Francois, assist Mademoiselle to her room, if you please, if she will be so good as to allow you. Ah, gentlemen, this is a terrible thing to happen in my house. Is he killed? is he no more?’

‘ We shall have him arrested, we shall have in the police,’ shouted an excited gentleman.

‘ Are our friends to be insulted in this way, tell me that?’ enquired another in terrible dignity.

‘ Monsieur has already risen, and is dusting his clothes; thousand pots! how they are dusty,’ said a waiter from the other window.

‘ Devil! Monsieur is angry; see how his fist it shakes itself,’ remarked another.

‘ Justice, w’e shall see justice done,’ said a Briton.

‘ Give me your hand, Sir!’ cried Mr. Dobbin to Netherton, when he had partially recovered from his astonishment. ‘ It was the best act I ever saw done. You are a man, Sir. Look here, Monsieur, charge the breaking of that pane to me, and if that puppy doesn’t come back, charge me with his bill. Hang me, Sir, I’ll pay for all! Your coat is tom, Sir, but I’ll have you a new one, a new suit, by Jingo, Sir.’

‘ Gentlemen, gentlemen, compose yourselves, for heaven’s sake!’ said the maître. ‘ Think of this house, gentlemen.’

‘ I shall explain,’ volunteered some one.

‘ Gentlemen,’ said the maître with a flourish,

‘ let me tell you there is no explanation needed for me. If the gentleman who has just gone out of the window had not taken his leave that way, he would have gone by the door this hour. Gentlemen, if anyone fancies he can insult another in my house when he has a mind, he is under a wrong impression. You heard that gentleman out there—no, he is gone now—* insult another gentleman at this table; you saw him put out of that window for it; what more do you wish? Ah, gentlemen, it is very hard for one gentleman to be compelled to put another gentleman out of a window; but it has been done, and he has none to blame but himself. Sacred blue, why do I talk here? Henri, garçon, bring down the portmanteau of Monsieur Brown; the diligence will be here in half-an-hour, and Monsieur Brown proceeds by that diligence.’ Then the speaker paused as Henri was leaving the room, paused and glanced around him, ‘ If any other gentleman would care to go by that diligence, Henri will seek out his portmanteau also.’

‘ And I will settle his bill,’ added Mr. Dobbin, by way of inducement. The young honeymooning gentleman was just about jumping eagerly at the proposal when Netherton spoke.

‘ I should be very sorry indeed if the pleasure of anyone is affected by what has just happened. I should much rather leave the hotel myself than be the cause of the least discord.’ It was a very tranquil remark to make after having just thrown a man out of -a window.

Thereupon the maître d’hôtel got excited, and commenced turning his palms alternately heavenward and earthward, speaking in French to Netherton, who replied in the same language. Then Captain Jeffares joined in, and swore that if Netherton was allowed to leave, he should go with him—a most terrible threat to the Hôtei International, where the Captain is as well known as Francis, the head waiter.

The end of the matter was that everyone remained in the hotel but Mr. Brown, who, with the exception of a good coat being spoiled, and an uneasy feeling about his legs, was uninjured. He went off by the diligence that evening, vowing vengeance on Netherton and the maître d’hôtel. He met with a good deal of sympathy in the way of enquiries after his ribs and arms; but he could not induce any of his party for whose amusement he had suffered, to accompany him.

‘ Hang it, I’m very sorry, you know,’ said a sympathizer, ‘ but my ticket will let me remain here for two more days, and it wouldn’t do for me to go back without having been on the Blueberg, where everybody goes; Young Jenkins of our office is never done talking about having been on it, and I’ll take jolly good care that I’m as good as Jenkins. When a man does a tour, you know, Brown, he can’t be blamed for taking the worth of his money. I’m very sorry, though, that you’re going off; but, to be frank with you, my dear fellow, I must say you were in the wrong; you carried the joke too far. If you feel at all sore try a little of Onslow’s botanical ointment; it’s a first-rate thing for a bruise. Good-bye, old fellow.’

Mr. Brown, as the diligence wound through one of the famous Schwartzbach passes, did feel a little sore—sore at heart, in thinking of the hollowness of th$ world’s friendships. ‘

‘ Botanical ointment! ’ he repeated musingly—this from one of those who had laughed loudest at his jokes at the table. ‘ Botanical ointment! ’ It was very hard for poor Mr. Brown.

As for Mr. Dobbin, his admiration for Netherton knew no bounds; he seemed to be under the impression that it was solely in avenging the insult offered to him and not those aimed at Netherton himself, that he had put Mr. Brown out of the window. Netherton did. not at all relish the tribute of Mr. Dobbin’s admiration, so he declined an invitation to drink tea with Mr. Dobbin and his daughter in one of their rooms; and, instead, turned into the billiard-room with Jeffares.

‘ What a fool I was! ’ he remarked. ‘

What a confounded fool to get up that row! ’

‘ You got out of it all safe, so we had better not say anything more about it,’ said the Captain. ‘ Nice girl that of the old boy’s; never saw her till this evening.’

‘ That was the girl who was on the hill I was sketching yesterday. I felt as I saw her at the door this evening that I should like to paint her as she stood; she would make a fine picture.’

‘ Suggest it to the governor, to-morrow, and agree for a good price You couldn’t have a better commission to begin your little scheme of a profession. He will pay you anything you ask.’

‘I shall never take money for painting-portraits,’ said Netherton with dignity. ‘ To my mind it is nothing less than trading in flesh and blood.’

‘ And why not trade in flesh and blood? It strikes me, young man, you will either have to get sense or give up painting as a profession. You ought to have gone to drink his daughter’s tea this evening. It would have been worth a couple of hundred to you as a commission.’

‘ Pooh, pooh, I’m not so far reduced as that,’ said Netherton; and they had their game of billiards together.

CHAPTER IV

When Netherton got to his room that night he recalled the scene in which he had been a principal performer a few hours before. He felt disgusted with himself, but as this was a feeling he indulged in very commonly, it did not cause him much discomfort. It was not a nice picture that re-formed itself in his mind, but being an artist he felt bound to look at it from an artistic standpoint Herein, then, he became aware of its relieving features. He was convinced that the appearance of that girl in white at the door had a very fine effect—artistically speaking, of course.

He went to the pocket of the coat he had worn on the previous day, and extracted from it the crumpled sketch he had made of the far peaks and the nearer slopes. He looked at it without betraying any of that emotion which undoubtedly must have been in his heart on having his memory brought to the days of a year ago, when he had held a little white hand, and looked out on those peaks which he now had on the paper before him. After musing on it for a while, he took out a pencil and from recollection filled in the track of the path on the very nearest slope till he came to a sudden turn that caused it to be lost behind the pine forest. Here he paused and became thoughtful again.

‘ This is where she was sitting sketching the hills in this direction. I wish I had known she was sketching. Poor girl, she cannot have much sympathy for her love of art inside her family circle.’ Again he paused and was thoughtful. Then, as he put up his sketch, he exclaimed, as the conclusion of all his musings: ‘Yes, there can be no doubt about it, she looked beautiful standing at that door. What a contrast in her earnest face from the wild brutal passion on mine. It would make a good contrast in a picture. Maybe, I’ll try it’ And he went to bed.

And as Mr. Dobbin sat with his daughter in their little sitting-room very far away from the salle à’manger and other noisy apartments, he recounted to her all the nobleness of Mr. Netherton. The girl’s face flushed with the exciting narration, and she felt how great and strong and noble was that white-faced man, whom she had seen enter the hotel while they rested on the previous evening in the hall, and whom she had been frightened at as she saw him stand beside the broken window, with his tossed hair curling upon his large forehead; but when her father became loud and intemperate in the expression of his admiration for this hero, Miss Dobbin laughed quietly, then got cross; and, as her father went on and on vehemently, she boldly declared that in her opinion the hero had acted only the part of a prizefighter. It was very rude, in him, she said, to throw that young man out of the window. And how could he, her father, know that the poor young man had insulted him when he did not know French? Yes, it was certainly very rude, she thought. At this expression of her ideas on the subject of the hero Mr. Dobbin became very cross indeed, and went so far in his great anger as to tell his daughter that she was a girl—a mere girl in her ideas; at which terrible slander Miss Dobbin began to shed tears and call her parent cruel.

Thus the night in this quiet and retired sitting-room was passed, till the young, lady became less nervous and more submissive, and assured her father she did not mean in the least to disparage Mr. Netherton or his feat of arms: she only meant that it was not quite polite in him to pitch the young man out of the window, as the young man might chance to be married and have a wife depending on him, whom his untimely end might ruin. Then Mr. Dobbin retracted the hasty expression he had made use of to his daughter. He assured her he only meant that it was girlish not to be able to admire to the uttermost a man who was——Netherton,. in fact So Miss Dobbin forgave her father his insult, but begged him to say no more about this Mr. Netherton.

When she got to her own room, however, Miss Dobbin went to her drawer and took forth a sketch half finished. It was of the hill with the mountain torrent beside which Netherton had sat, putting his memories on paper. She took out her pencil and traced the course of that mountain-torrent until she came to the group of rocks where he had sat.

‘ That is where he sat,’ she said. ‘ I wonder is he a real painter! I wonder if he knew I was sketching him! I wonder what his drawing is like! Was he angry when I went away so hastily? Did he know me when he passed in to the hall? Does he think papa vulgar? I wonder is he—is he—married! I wonder is she handsome! ’ This was a very deep thought The girl became grave under its influence, and finally found herself before a glass, wondering if she herself were handsome. What her conclusion was who can tell?

At last she put by her drawing with something like a sigh, saying: * How noble he looked there, with all those horrid faces of men staring angrily at him! And how his curl fell over his forehead beautifully! Oh, I should have so liked to have seen him throw that man out! I should not have been frightened; I should have trusted him. I should like to be a painter like him, and I would make a picture of him as he stood there. It would be a splendid picture! ’

Then she mused for some time yet, with a drawing-block before her. She spoilt a good many sheets drawing outlines of heads with curls on their foreheads. They were frightful caricatures. She had the sense to see this at last, and went to bed.

The next day, after the tourist party had gone forth in the care of two guides, Mr. Dobbin found himself in the neighbourhood of Captain Jeffares, who was smoking a pipe on a chair outside the hotel, while he watched the progress of a couple of men who were fitting a new pane in the window of the salle à manger. Mr. Dobbin was uneasy, Captain Jeffares perceived; but, as he himself made it a point never to be uneasy about anything, he had not got much sympathy for the restlessness of Mr. Dobbin.

After walking up and down in front of the windows in an abstracted way, the elder gentleman stopped suddenly by the side of Captain Jeffares’ chair; and they both continued observing the action of the workmen at the new pane.

At length Mr. Dobbin spoke. ‘ It was a brave deed, Sir, that there.’

‘ Ah, yes, I suppose it is rather odd how they manage to cut exactly the proper amount off,’ said the Captain.

‘ I don’t mean that, Sir. I mean the breaking of that pane—that was a noble action, Sir.’

‘The police don’t always look on the action as noble, Sir,’ said Captain Jeffares.

‘ But the way it was broken, Captain; think of that, Sir! ’

‘Yes,’ said the Captain, ‘the police call that sort of thing assault.’

‘ It was the finest thing I ever saw done, Sir,’ said Mr. Dobbin, decisively; and, the other not dissenting, they observed the workmen again. In a moment, however, he spoke once more.. ‘You will excuse the liberty, Captain, but, as you are his friend, maybe you could tell me in what way I could return Mr. Netherton’s kindness for what he did.

‘ Kindness! ’ echoed the other man, taking his pipe out, and opening his eyes. ‘Kindness! I don’t quite take your meaning, Sir.’

‘ I mean, Sir, that as your friend was so brave as to resent the insults offered to me—I don’t know French, but I know they were insults—I feel myself bound to show my gratitude in some way. If it was a servant who had done that, you know, I could give him a five-pound note to show my gratitude; but in this case it is different.’

‘ Yes, very different indeed.’

‘ Then, I would humbly beg you as his friend to tell me what I should do. I know I’m not one of yourselves, Captain; I’ve always been a business man, and I’ve never had an opportunity of travelling before now; so that if I’m not quite up on the ways of the sort of people I meet, I’m sure you’ll not blame me.’

‘ Not by any means, my dear Sir; you are not to blame. That gentleman who lay here last evening’—and Captain Jeffares pointed to a space under the window—‘ he had travelled a great deal, I am sure, and yet you see he was not quite up on the ways of the people he met. But I’ll tell you, Mr. Dobbin, if you take my advice you will never allude to that disagreeable affair of last evening: that is how to show your gratitude best.’

‘ Then I’m obliged to you, Sir; but my heart won’t let me follow the advice you give me. I am bound to do something, and I daresay I’ll make a fool. of myself besides insulting Mr. Netherton. I want to do something delicately, Sir. Tell me, do you think he would like to borrow some money ? ’

Captain Jeffares shook his head mournfully, and became thoughtful. He wondered would Mr. Dobbin esteem it a delicate thing if he were to suggest effecting the loan to Mr. Netherton’s friend. After a while he spoke.

‘ Do you happen to have a favourite pup, Mr. Dobbin—a bull-terrier pup—that you have an affection for? ’

‘ A bull-terrier pup! Bless my soul, no! but if he would like such a thing, I’ll send and get him the best that money can buy.’

‘ Oh, no, no! that is not what I mean;.he wouldn’t have such a thing about him for worlds. You haven’t a kitten, or a monkey, or a parrot? ’

‘ Not such a thing at all, Sir. I don’t quite understand you, Captain. Would you have me understand that Mr. Netherton likes such things? ’

‘ No, not at all; only he is a painter—one of the great painters, you know—and I was thinking if you could give him an order to paint the portrait of your terrier pup, if you had one, or your monkey.’

‘ Bless my soul! I would think it an insult to ask him to paint such brutes.’

‘ Not at all, my dear Sir; that is what all great painters go in for now-a-days: dogs, and cats, and fowl. But as you have nothing in this way maybe you would care about having your own portrait done.’

Mr. Dobbin coloured up to the roots of his hair. ‘No, no, no! Captain, I wouldn’t; but I’ll tell you what, Sir; I have a daughter—bless my soul! here she comes with someone. By George, Sir! it’s Mr. Netherton himself that’s with her.’

‘So it is, indeed!’ exclaimed Captain Jeffares, pulling out his pipe.

So it was indeed Miss Dobbin who came walking up the carriage-way by the side of Mr. Netherton.

She had evidently walked fast, for her face was quite flushed, and lovely it looked thus flushed.

But how they got together remains to be told.

CHAPTER V

Before Captain Jefifares had a thought of arising from his slumbers that morning Mr. Netherton, taking with him the sketch he had been looking at as he went to bed, was going forth from the Hôtel International. It was by no means an early hour: Mr. Dobbin and his daughter had already breakfasted, and all the real tourists were goodness knows how many thousand feet aloft, among the glaciers and crevasses and avalanches of the mountains they loved. Mr, Netherton took the unfinished sketch with him, so that he might fill in some of the particulars which, in his eager carelessness, he had neglected on the evening he commenced it He was not at all eager now. He strolled along the path leading down the valley in a purposeless sort of way; and when he came to the place where the valley way divided into the two tracks up the hills which stood opposite to each other, and formed the lowest slopes of the valley, he went, not on the one he had taken before, but on the opposite. Since he had gone out with the intention of filling in his sketch, it was an absent-minded thing to do, to follow this track instead of the other.

The slope he now walked on was not nearly so precipitous as the other. The track ascended almost imperceptibly, and wound about the brow of the hill, where the valley became broader as its opposing sides turned outwards, Hestood for a moment on the track, and looked across the valley to the place where he had sat and commenced that picture which he had now come to complete. He could distinctly hear the sounds of the tumbling torrent there, and he could see, towering above the brown ridges of the hill, the thousand spires of the far mountains, with the flash of morning shivering upon them. Seeing those icicle-peaks thus he felt that it would be possible to make an equally successful picture from the spot where he stood; He had quite forgotten the thought he had on commencing his drawing. He had not at that moment thought about a successful picture: all he wanted was that the outline of a certain distant hill should cross the ridge of the slope he was on at a certain point, that for evermore he might have before his eyes the scene. Now here he was thinking about a successful picture.

He went on to where the path curved abruptly round the only steep part of the slope. It was a very sudden turn, for he was nearly startled by the abruptness with which he came upon the white figure of the girl who sat among the verduous crags with a drawing-block on her knee, and her blue eyes looking out to the silver-gray shadowy mountains.

He saw how soft and blue her eyes were as they turned quickly to his face at the sound of his footfall. He also saw how sensitive her delicate face was to the motion of her blood, for over it flashed a quick little blush as her head turned and she saw him there.

Of course, it was quite impossible he could pass on his way when he saw that she recognised him, and that she knew that he recognised her. He did not pass on; he became a little awkward as he stood beside her, and tried to mutter something about his grief at having disturbed her.

‘ And, indeed, I feel that an apology at least is due to you, Miss Dobbin, for the fright you •got last evening. It was very stupid in me not to remember you were in the house.’

She turned quickly round on him: ‘ Then I am glad you did not remember, if it would have -stopped you when—’ her flush died away—‘ that is, it was so cruel to insult papa in a language he could not understand.’

She had risen, and was putting up her sketch.

‘ Do not put away your drawing, Miss Dobbin,’ said Netherton. ‘ I am a painter; will you allow me to look at it?’

He was a real painter, then; she felt a thrill of gladness as he told her so. She felt bound to show him her work. There could be no harm in it. It was like a medical man saying: * I am a doctor, let me feel your pulse.’ Surely . any girl might with propriety give her hand to a doctor! She saw all of this in a moment; for, having been but a few months released from a school in which the theories of propriety had been painfully inculcated, she was very particular in not transgressing against even the least of the rules she had learned. But there was that hand stretched out before her, and she put her drawing into it with only a murmur of apology.

‘ It is not at all good, Mr. Netherton,’ she said. ‘ When I can see how very bad it is myself what must it appear to you?’

‘ I don’t know what you mean by bad and good in such a thing as a sketch made for your own pleasure, Miss Dobbin,’ answered this painter. ‘ I think you are putting on paper those wonderful white peaks, with the black ridges of the nearer hills sharply outlined against them, and these green slopes at our feet, only that in years after you may have a recollection of the scene they made a part of, and you may fancy you were happy looking at them.'

‘ And so I am happy looking at them now; they are very lovely,’ and so indeed they were.

‘ But I do wish I could make them liker.’

‘ There are some little bits of detail in your sketch, Miss Dobbin, that will bring this whole scene more clearly before your eyes at another time than if you had been more rigidly correct in larger particulars. That large tuft of lichen at the foot of the rock over there is of more value than the lovely curve of the Blueberg This is one of the chords in painting. You must often have noticed how an entire piece of music which you may have heard before, will be played again for you without bringing back any memory, until a certain harmony in a single bar is struck, then everything about it is remembered; the faces that were near you, the words that were spoken. That small plant is a corresponding musical chord in your sketch.’

‘ Oh, I have felt what you say very often; but indeed I did not think of it when I took pains with the bit of lichen in my poor sketch.’

‘ It is not necessary either that you should take pains or think about it while you are in the act of working. It may be that the particular you take most care with will be the least pleasant to you in after days.’

‘ But our master at school taught us very differently; he was always insisting on our taking the greatest pains with every sketch; but indeed he never spoke to us as you have been speaking to me; he never allowed us to think on our drawings beyond how they would look framed in a drawing-room.’

‘ Very few artists nowadays, Miss Dobbin, will work for the work’s sake; they seem all to have been instructed by your master, to go no deeper into their work than to seek and make it part of the furniture of a drawing-room. The man who paints the pictures nowadays is on an artistic level with the man who carves the side-"board. But pardon me, what a fool I am! What should you care about my fancies? ’

‘ Oh, I do care a great deal—a very great deal, Mr. Netherton,’ cried the young lady with her eyes glistening. ‘ I never had anyone to talk to me about art, and I know so little about it myself, though I feel no sort of life would be so well worth living as a life of art.’

She was so soft and school-girl-like, one would have wondered where she had learnt her cant. She certainly was talking cant, and if Netherton had heard any other voice utter her words he would have sneered and cal d that person a humbug. There was, however, a show of fresh enthusiasm in the young lady’s face that made him believe that she felt a reality in the words she spoke.

‘ I hope that belief of yours may never pass away, Miss Dobbin,’ he 'answered. ‘ With me, as long as I have lived for art I have not been disappointed, as soon as I forsook it I failed. But what is all this to you? Do you mean to stay long at the hotel? ’

They had begun to descend the little track together and had reached the abrupt turn that had hidden her from him on the evening of his arrival. Before they went round it now he looked across the valley to the opposite slope, where he had framed that cruel sketch of his with the intention that it should pierce to the soul the faithless one whose eyes had looked out with his on the beautiful scene it would contain. He had forgotten his resolve long since; and it has been remarked how he had been questioning the probabilities of .his picture’s success from quite another standpoint; but now as he looked across the narrow part of the valley, one sharp little pang shot through his heart as a breath of recollection crept over him from the furthest ridges of the great Blue-berg. It was as if an air from one of its icefields had touched his face a moment and then passed away leaving a sense of chill over him.

‘ I do hope papa may stay a very long time. I do not fancy there could be a lovelier place in Europe.’

The sound of the pleasant voice beside him seemed to him as the breathing of a gracious air of the south over a chilled place.

‘ Then it may be I shall see you again.’ he answered. ‘ I too shall be here some time; I am about commencing a picture which will occupy me a month.’

And this is how they came to walk together up to the Hôtel International.

CHAPTER VI

Mr. Dobbin was profuse in his reception of Netherton, so much so indeed that Netherton seemed quite confused, or why should he have been so absurd as to fancy it necessary to apologise for walking up to the hotel with Miss Dobbin? He took pains to assure Mr. Dobbin how marvellously accidental was his meeting with the lady.

Captain Jeffares, standing by stroking his moustache as he observed with a practised eye the face of the young lady, gave the slightest possible smile as his friend spoke; but when he was alone his smile became a quiet self-commending laugh as he whispered: ‘ If it had been so very much a chance he wouldn’t have taken such trouble to make it appear so. Fellows don’t take so much pains to tell the truth, my boy,’ and he wagged his head in commendation of his great sagacity.

‘ How on earth can you remain at the hotel such a lovely morning, papa?’ cried the young-lady, interrupting her father’s expressions of the pride he would fain impress upon Mr. Netherton he felt at any member of his family being thought worthy of Mr. Netherton’s notice. ‘ You are getting no good of Schwartzbach, papa; you cannot see any of its beauties from here. I have walked ever so far already and I should like some lunch.’

‘ Then we shall go in and have something to eat,’ said Mr. Dobbin; ‘and perhaps,’ he added, with all humility, ‘ perhaps, Captain, you would favour us with your society; and if you would not think me presuming, Sir,’ he turned to Netherton, * I would take it upon me to ask you also.’

A little frown of vexation appeared on the young lady’s face, which the observant Captain Jeffares attributed rather to the speech of her father than to any disinclination she had to the society of either Netherton or himself.

‘ Oh, papa,’ she cried, before Netherton had time to decline the invitation, ‘ what a fuss to make about lunch; people are never invited to lunch. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll get Francis —he is such a friend of mine—to bring a little table out here and we shall not need to go into the hotel for a minute; only I must go to sup plicate Frangois. Now, papa, you are about to say something; please don’t.’ And she ran up the steps, much to her good parent’s dismay, for he had his own ideas as to ceremony in these matters.

He turned to the two gentlemen standing by smiling,

‘ I hope you will pardon my daughter and her foolish ways, gentlemen,’ he said apologetically. ‘ She is very young yet and thinks that things must all be done after her style and manner. I hope you will both do me the honour—’

‘ My dear Mr. Dobbin, believe me, your daughter is quite right,’ said Netherton, breaking in on his speech; ‘ nothing could be more charming than what she proposes; a biscuit and a glass of light wine will make us all contented, unless Captain jeffares. has become more fastidious than artistic.’

‘But he has not,’ said Jeffares. ‘Ah, Mr. Dobbin, I am still content with the frugal crust of a hermit; yes, with a pâte de foie gras and a glass of Burgundy—Clos Vougeot, mind—I do not repine. You think Miss Dobbin will know of the Clos Vougeot? If not, I shall be happy to. instruct Francois.’

‘ Leave it to Amy to ferret it out, Captain. Bless you, she must know the ins and outs of everything. She’s picked up more knowledge of the places and people we’ve seen in a few minutes than I have done in a month. Just trust her to find it out.’

‘ I have no doubt of what you say, Mr. Dobhin,’ said Captain Jeffares, uneasily; ‘ but I doubt if she will prevail on Francois to get it up; it’s becoming rare now, you know.’

‘ Pooh, pooh; make yourself easy, Jeflares,’ said Netherton. ‘ We are Miss Dobbin’s guests this morning. She is just now marking off our wines, unguided by Francois or anyone else.’ Mr. Netherton was also a clever man, but he was quite wrong in this conjecture of his, Miss Dobbin being at that instant lying on her bed with her flushed face in her hands, and her heart beating rapturously as she half cried, half whispered, ‘ I have found him—my ideal—oh, far above my ideal of dreams! Ah, I never thought it would be like this: so noble, such a hero, and—I shall see him again in a minute! ’ The thought was ecstatic, but it caused her to look at a mirror, and to arrange her tossed hair.

Then she calmly descended to the saile à manger, and conferred with the head waiter as to the biscuits he usually supplied for Mr. Netherton’s luncheons. The result was that the little table outside began to bloom with the greatest rarities of the International, whose rarities are the impossibilities of every place else.

Miss Dobbin struck her parent with admiration at the easy way she settled everything without any fuss or anxiety; he could not know how she did it so naturally.

‘ People are never asked to come and have lunch; they always drop in, and if lunch is going, they go in for it—oh, I beg your pardon; I mean they always j’oin in with the others.’ And she smiled as if she was no more than sharing her plum-cake with a few of the schoolgirls she had not parted from longer than a couple of months. Captain Jeffares whispered his admiration of her to Netherton as he made one of the icicle peaks of the distance appear to be enveloped in sunset glory by looking at it through the rosy wine he loved.

‘ My dear Miss Dobbin,’ said he, graciously, ‘ you are to be congratulated on this happy inspiration; it is only a mind like yours so fresh and naif that could outline such an idyl as this.

Why cannot people content themselves with little impromptu lunches like this, where one can luxuriate in the charms of nature, and at the same time be within hail of such a man as Francois, and such a hotel as this? I cannot understand people rushing off with their hampers to some place they have heard of to what they call a picnic. A more absurd thing I can not fancy. If there is a single bottle of drinkable wine remaining at the end of the journey, you are obliged to draw the cork yourself. I was weak enough to allow myself to be brought to such a thing last month. One of the hampers went adrift on the road, and the other, being packed by some imbecile, contained five broken bottles and only one whole, and that contained —pah, hock'! It was I unpacked the hamper. Now I don’t like hock, but I drank a couple of glasses out of it, and then threw the bottle among the other broken ones. When I add that the rolls, and the ham, and the fowls were in that hamper, and subject to the leakage of the wine, you will agree with me in thinking those people have now an aversion to picnics. But here—ah, Clos Vougeot, glory of bottled sunsets! ’

‘ But this, Captain Jeffares, this is so very simple, it is not worth the trouble of approving. If we must lunch, we may as well, have it out here. We can have it every day if Frangois will let us.’

‘ Ah, Miss Dobbin, what would I not give for your freshness! You look at the future through a glass of Châeau La Fite, and it. appears all rosy to you.’

‘ And I hope Miss Dobbin’s fancy does not paint the future in brighter colours than it will be to her,’ said Netherton.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Mr. Dobbin, getting to his feet in a fussy way, ‘ you are very kind in your wishes, and, on the part of my daughter, I thank you heartily. My daughter and I are proud to meet with such gentlemen, though not accustomed to society.’

‘ Oh, papa, it’s not a banquet you are at; and, besides, I returned thanks for Captain Jeffares’ compliments myself,’ cried the young lady, with a laugh. ‘ And you know very well I am accustomed to society; there were seventeen girls at our school at Greenwich: I call that society. Have you ever been over the Blueberg, Captain Jeffares? I have never ceased longing to be oa it since we came to Schwartzbach. I look out to it the last thing at ni£ht, and it looks in to me the first thing in the morning.’

Mr. Dobbin did not like to be interrupted in what he was saying; but his daughter did it so prettily, he allowed his vexed expression to subside, and he took a cigar Captain Jeffares offered him.

Then Mr. Dobbin and Captain Jeffares opened another bottle of wine, while Netherton went into the hotel for his Voghtlander field-glass for Miss Dobbin to see the figures on the Blueberg. When he had procured it, the young lady went with him to a little elevation at the end of the terrace, and they looked at the figures with the utmost happiness.

Suddenly the girl spoke. ‘ Mr. Netherton, I am going to ask a very great favour of you— one that I have no right to ask: will you tell me when you are commencing your picture? ’

' My picture? I really don’t know that, Miss Dobbin. I may begin it to-morrow, and perhaps not for another month. I only work as the fancy seizes me. I cannot work like some men, who can remain at a picture until it is finished. But I think I shall begin mine shortly; be assured I shall let you know when it is finished, at any rate.’

‘ But I do not want that, Mr. Netherton. I should only so much like to see it as it is being* done. If you could know how often I have hoped to be able to see a painting while it is being done, and afterwards to look at it when it is perfect! ’

‘ I fear your fancy will be disappointed, Miss Dobbin. I cannot imagine a more uninteresting thing than a half-finished painting, especially when it is the work of an unfinished painter.’

‘ I only want to ask you to let me see yours, Mr. Netherton,’ she said, and there was the least possible tremulousness in her voice, though she tried to seem decisive.

‘ Then you shall see it every day till it is done; that is, when it is commenced; but, you see, we are talking of a dream—a fancy, as if it were a reality.’

‘ And what is a picture, Mr. Netherton, but a dream or a fancy made real? ’ cried the girl, with her fair face flushed and her hands clutching the field-glass. ‘ It is nothing more than a real dream that does not pass away with dreams —a fancy given form and life that we living people can love—can worship and adore for ever! ’

The painter looked at the flushed fair little girl before him,'marvelling at her passion of the moment He was unaccustomed to see such a manifestation of enthusiasm in art, and at the times when he had seen any such expression he had sneered at it as a spurious emotion; but now he was looking at a girl whose expression of feeling he knew to be involuntary; he saw that she was sorry she had spoken as she had, and he felt how true was her enthusiasm.

He looked at her face without a word for some moments. At length he spoke. ‘You are right, Miss Dobbin, and I have found out that to love and worship anything else is a dream—a dream that passes with the night’

‘ Is it so, then?’ said the girl innocently and half musingly. ‘ Is it so? I have thought so, I am sure, but—’ she stopped, but it did not seem an abrupt stop, for the course of thought of neither of them was interrupted by it. They both looked out up the long valley thinking their thoughts. It must be confessed that Netnerton felt some remorse for having spoken his last sentence. He could not conscientiously wish that this fair, trustful girl should go away from him with the idea that the following of any object in love but a picture was no more than following a dream. He, no doubt, could make himself believe that he felt so truly and earnestly, but still he would be sorry if she should take his word for it; and thus he was beginning to be faintly conscious of his own insincerity. He had talked to Jeffares in the billiard-room about the utter vanity and hollowness of following any love except Art; but he had detected the little grin upon his friend’s countenance all the while, and he knew that his friend had roared laughing as soon as his back was turned; still, he had felt that he had spoken the feelings of his heart at the time; but now that this loving, trustful girl was beside him, he felt that at any rate he would not desire to have her agree with him.

He did not say another word, and the girl slipped away also without speaking.

Then a number of the sojourners at the hotel came about the door, and the little table and empty bottles being removed, Captain Jeffares strolled over to Netherton with his eyes glistening.

‘ B’ Jove, Netherton, that is one of the noblest old gentlemen of Nature’s making I fever fell in with,’ he remarked, as he sat down on the close-shaven grass plot; he found he could express himself better when seated. ‘Such princely liberality — princely — ah, that’s not exactly the word, you know. B’ Jove, Sir, think of Clos Vougeot laid out for a little lunch as if it were hock! That daughter of his, Netherton, look here, she has a cultivated mind—genius, Netherton, genius beyond the common. I never met such a girl. By the way, how did we meet her, I forget somehowand, to do him justice, he did look a little confused.

‘ I was walking up the hill this morning,* said Netherton, ‘ and by the greatest chance we met. She was sketching there alone. I took the liberty of speaking to her in apology for that scene I was such a fool as to bring about; and somehow we got into talk and returned together.’

‘Yes, yes, I remember it all now,’ said Captain Jeffares, in a voice growing somewhat husky. ‘ I remember her very well now that you remind me; her name was Bertha—yes, Bertha Staire; she had brown hair, lovely hair, and you—hallo, what’s the matter?'

Netherton had leapt up from his seat with ' an angry flush on his white face. ‘ How dare you!’ said he, in a voice of suppressed passion ; and then the startled Jeffares looked up. Their eyes met, but not with the same sort of expression on those of both. At the look of drowsy wonder on the Captain’s, Netherton’s ruffled brow became smooth again; he gave a short laugh and sat down in his place. Jeffares took up the laugh where his friend had dropt it, and he prolonged it with all his heart for some minutes.

‘ See it all,’ he murmured complacently; ‘ I was thinking of the other—the other; couldn’t help thinking of her,' Netherton. But never mind her—her, the other one. Don’t think of her, old fellow; a man ought to be above such a thing. After all, Netherton, there’s nothing like Clos Vougeot for a man to love—what am I talking about? There’s nothing like—Art, Netherton, Art; she will not deceive one; you may trust her with all your soul; ah, yes, yes, you were right, quite right!’ For a moment a mournful tear trembled in his eye; then, quite unexpectedly, he caught up the laugh and continued it till the tear fell with a number of others, seeing which Mr. Netherton, muttering something about necessity for sleep, got up and walked away, leaving his friend convulsed but still doing his best to look after him.

‘He is a painter, Amy, one of the great painters, you know,’ remarked Mr. Dobbin to his daughter. as soon as they were alone in their private sitting-room.

‘Who is a painter, papa? Captain Jeffares ?’‘Who? Why, Mr. Netherton, to be sure. Is it the Captain to be a painter? No, no, that’s not his line, I think. What put it into your head it was the Captain I meant?’

‘ Because you were with him so much more than with Mr. Netherton,’ replied the young lady. ‘ I do not know that you spoke a whole sentence to Mr. Netherton. Did Captain Jeffares tell you he was a painter, papa?’

‘ He did; he is of a friendly sort is the Captain, and we got into talk before you came up. He says he paints nothing but animals— cats and dogs and fowl—like all great painters,’ ‘ It is false!’ cried Amy, jumping up, her eyes sparkling; but the sparkle soon died out, and she blushed violently, then burst out into a laugh that would have seemed merry if one could fail to notice how forced it was. Soft tears were standing in her eyes with this hearty laughter of hers. They were tears of vexation at her own weakness in allowing herself to make use of those hasty words. In another moment she was crying in her hands. She was full of vexation at her weakness; and .then, these idle tears that she could not repress being a further sign of weakness, she cried the more, while Mr. Dobbin stood looking at her in amazement.

‘ Bless me! ’ he cried at length, * what is the matter with the girl? A minute ago laughing as if she would never end, and now—don’t be a fool, Amy; what’s the matter with you?’

‘ Oh, papa, papa,’ cried the young lady, once again smiling, but very tremulously, ‘ why will people tell you such funny things, and why will you always come and tell them to me as if you believed them implicitly? Why did Captain Jeffares tell you that rubbish? Dogs and cats and fowl! Oh, I never heard anything half so funny!’

‘ Amy,’ said the father after a pause, ‘ Amy, I don’t understand you at all. I’m beginning to think that that school has put your head astray. You’re not settled for any time together. Last night you called Mr. Netherton as much as a housebreaker, and the first thing I see to-day is you and he walking up together.’

She started up. ‘ Oh, Papa, you are cruel! how could I help that we met? Who could fancy' that he would be walking there this morning?

Didn’t he apologise for it the moment he came up, and how can you now accuse me of meeting him ? I did not want to meet him. Take me away now and I shall never meet him again! ’ She spoke in an excited tone, but did not quite burst into tears again.

‘ Was there ever such utter unreasonableness in any girl under the sun? ’ exclaimed Mr. Dobbin. ‘Accusing me of accusing you of meeting him! Why, my goodness! that is just what the Captain was planning with me; it was the happiest moment of my life when I saw you come up with him.’

‘ How could you make your daughter the subject of your plots with that man, papa—a complete stranger, too? I could not believe it of you.’

‘ You are a fool, Amy, a fool and a girl. You will not listen till I tell you all. I wanted to make Mr. Netherton a return for his noble conduct, and I took the liberty of asking his friend, Captain Jeffares, what I should do in the matter; then it was he told me he was a painter—one of the great painters, and he confidentially advised me to ask Mr. Netherton if he would do my portrait—at a very high figure, of course. I would not have that, I told him; but the thought struck me that a portrait of you would be the best thing, when you and he came up together and interrupted us. Since then, however, I have talked the matter over with the Captain, and he says he is sure Mr. Netherton would take it as a great compliment to be asked to do it. He promised to mention it to him this evening.’

‘ He must not mention it,’ cried the girl, excitedly. ‘ He shall never mention it, I shall go to him now—this moment—and forbid him; it may not be too late. What would Mr. Netherton think of us? How could you ever fancy I would agree to sit to him.’

Then Mr. Dobbin became very angry and bemoaned the evil day in which he had allowed his daughter to become one of that fashionable school which, he declared, had turned her head. He should like to know, he said, what foolish aversion she had taken for such a man as Netherton, that she would not even sit before him for a short time every day until her picture should be done; but his anxiety on this point was not gratified; his daughter declined to answer him, and he was obliged to go in search of Captain Jeffares to cancel his request as to the mentioning of the matter to Netherton.

‘Capitaine Jeffaress, Sare?’ said Francis, ‘ Ah, Meester Doppin, Monsieur le Capitaine is in his room in bed long time ago.’

‘ In bed? why, what’s the matter with him?’

‘ Not much the matter, Meester Doppin— only a leetle attack of Burgundy to the head. He will be at the table all right. Ah, Meester Doppin, Mademoiselle is a sharming young lady, very sharming! ’

Then Mr. Dobbin, in some bewilderment, put on his hat and strolled away from the hotel: things were getting too complicated for him.

CHAPTER VII

There was a good deal of truth in the discovery Mr. Dobbin had made as to the state of his daughter’s mind. He had declared himself quite unable to comprehend its workings; and, indeed, a closer observer of psychological phenomena than Mr. Dobbin might have been puzzled how to account for the various absurd and contradictory movements of the girl’s mind during the interview with her father.

But how much more would one have been bewildered had one seen Miss Dobbin, the instant the door was shut on her father, fling herself upon a sofa and fall into a passionate fit of weeping ? So she did. She cried upon the unimpassioned arm of the sofa for a long time; and it seemed, too, that it was the force of her thoughts which was causing her tears, for when she subsided into sobbing she managed to exclaim a whole sentence: ‘ And yet I would give up all I have in the world to be able to sit before him for an hour looking at him—my love, my dream! ’

It was a puzzling sentence, indeed; but one which, if explained, would furnish a very good clue to the mystery of the girl’s mind. The fact was she had come to think of this man who told her he was a painter, as the realisation of all her dreams, only exceeding them in glory as far as he did in palpability. He had come before her that morning on the mountain as she had read, in some less-than-ordinarily-restricted selection of Grecian mythology, of a great hero-god appearing to a Thessalian maiden. He was her Hero, her Hercules, throwing that monster out of the window of the salle à manger; and then changing, Grecian-god-fashion, into—say, Apollo, on the little slope of the mountain. She felt it all as she lay there in tears, and she knew that she had never felt happier in all her life.

It was true that she fancied she felt she would with cheerfulness give up the remainder of her days for the sake of spending the next week before him, looking at him for an hour every day; and at the same time she felt that it would have been impossible for her to have accepted her father’s suggestion as to the means to employ for being able to have this thing she so much desired granted to her. The very fact of a methodical arrangement being planned for bringing her into his presence was enough to make her shrink from meeting him. Both of her meetings with him had been so by chance they seemed almost divine; and now the thought of meeting him in any other fashion was unbearable to her. She could only pray that Captain Jeffares would not have had time to make known to him the horrible scheme her father and the Captain had concocted. If he should have mentioned it, however, how could she ever meet Netherton again? for he would certainly believe that the suggestion was made with her permission—nay, at her desire. At this thought she made up her mind to entreat of her father to bring her away from this place, to take her to some other place—any other place—it would not now matter where.

After a while, fancying that her mind was. quite made up and full of resolute thought, she sat down and wrote a letter to a young lady whom she had lately parted from at school:

‘ My dearest Clara,—I feel such a comfort to have someone I can talk to as I wish. It is the greatest relief to my mind, especially when I know that you, ma chère, can understand me and sympathise with me; it is so hard to get some person who can understand one; nearly every person one meets is so cold and unsympathetic; but I suppose, dear, we must expect such in this world.

‘ I promised to tell you all about Schwartz-bach; so I will now keep my promise. We are staying at the Hôtel International, and it is lovely; the view from my window is beautiful, and the scenery on every side is most exquisite. Papa cannot climb, so we never go very far away; but once or twice I have left him and strolled away by myself for a long time among the small hills. A few days ago I took it into my head to sketch some of the rocks, and I went up by a little track along the side of the valley till I came to a very beautiful part. I sat down and began drawing something, when suddenly I chanced to’—this was what she had hastened to get at, to be able to tell of the divine accident by which she obtained her first glance of Mr. Netherton; but when she got thus far she paused, though her heart beat very fast. She began to think if she should really tell all about him; it seemed very profane in such a letter to introduce him so abruptly; so she closed the door of her heart that she was beginning to open, and finished her sentence: ‘ I chanced to see the figure of a man standing on the opposite side of the little valley. I was only slightly alarmed at first, but on looking at him attentively I saw that he was gazing across at me, and he had a sketch-book in his hand, too. Of course, the instant I saw this I put up mine, and ran away as fast as I could; though, indeed, now that I think on it, it seems very foolish, for there was the valley between us.

‘ There are a good many people at the hotel now, but not many nice people. One gentleman stays here always, except when he goes away for a short time. His name is Captain Jeffares. Some would think him handsome, but I certainly do not. I think him a horrid man; he knows everything, which is very useful but most provoking. I think he knows every language under the sun. I really believe he could translate the Bible into all the languages it wants to be done in yet; he could, but I am sure he won’t; he is much too fond of paying people compliments. We had such fun here last night. I wish you had been here. One gentleman threw a man, or rather a brute, out of the window of the salle a manger because he insulted papa. The horrid man was sent away by the next diligence, and the pane was put in this morning; so we are all right again.

‘ DEAREST CLARA, write to me at once. The only consolation I have now is in looking forward to a letter from you. Tell me, ma petite, does that handsome fellow ever pass now on his way down to the river in his boating-clothes? Has he ever left any flowers since? Tell me a thousand things I am dying to know. We shall be here a week or’—she paused to conjecture if Mr. Netherton could have his picture of the mountain-scene painted in such a short time; no, he worked by inspiration, not by prosaic method, and so would probably take a considerable time to complete it; so she added —‘ a fortnight, if I can get papa induced; so there will be plenty of time for you to write; Give my kindest regards to the Misses Grim-shaw, and tell Monsieur Lejeune that I make my way famously with all the French I learned.

‘ Believe me, my own dear girl,

‘ Your ever loving ‘ AMIE.’

‘ P.S.—I have begun to write my name this way; there is far more meaning in it this way.’

So she finished her letter, and folded it up without putting in it a single word about her marvellous meeting with Mr. Netherton. She reflected on this at first with a feeling of pride; but then she asked herself if this was a strictly honest and openhearted course to pursue towards her dearest friend, who she knew would be delighted to hear of anything that so affected her happiness as these meetings did. She felt some remorse in her inmost heart; and, seeing that there was a blank space at the end of the postscript, she took up her pen and filled it up hastily:

‘ I was really nearly forgetting to tell you of a gentleman who is living at the hotel. His name is Mr. Netherton. I don’t know what his Christian name is, but he looks very like a Reginald, or a Herbert, or a Percy. He is one of the great painters of the day, I believe—but •don’t tell Mr. Ford so, or you will have him saying he never heard of him, he is so awfully jealous. Mr. Netherton very kindly looked at one of my poor little sketches and said he liked it. Perhaps he did really, for I know he despises paying compliments. H e is commencing a grand new picture, which he will most likely send to the Academy, though I know he would not work for money, and I am sure he would despise the praise of the public. Oh, Clara, he is so very, very different from all the men one meets. Now, don’t take me up wrongly. I don’t mean anything by this; only that it is very seldom one meets with a gentleman who seems the realisation of one’s most enchanting dreams.

‘ Tear this bit off, and bum it when you read it; but I entreat of you, Clara, don’t take any false meaning out of what I have said about him.’

Of course, after the strictness of this injunction, she knew that she need feel no anxiety as to the possibility of a false meaning being taken out of the innocent words of the post-. script She felt how pleasant a thing it was to have a friend on whom she could repose all her confidence. Thus reflecting she went into her own room; and, after gazing out to those great mountains for a long time, she dressed herself.

Meanwhile Mr. Dobbin had been with Captain Jeffares, who felt much refreshed after his little sleep. He had not yet made the suggestion about the painting of the portrait to Mr. Netherton; but now, when Mr. Dobbin informed him that he was to be good enough not to mention the matter at all to the painter, he was surprised.

‘ Very well, Mr. Dobbin,’ said he, ‘ I’ll not say a word about it; but I thought you had made up your mind this morning? ’

‘So I did, Captain, so I did; but I’m not my daughter, Sir, no, I’m not. I’m still of the mind I was, and I feel that this would be the most delicate and gentlemanly way of showing my appreciation of Mr. Netherton’s kindness; but when I mentioned it to my daughter, Sir, you never saw such a scene. She would not hear of it. Girls are so unreasonable, Captain Jeffares; there’s no getting on with them at all. Why she should have taken a dislike to such a man I can’t for the life of me understand. But she’s young, Sir, and just fresh from school: that’s the only excuse for her.’

Captain Jeffares smiled as one smiles who is silently conscious of a superiority of intelligence over another. ‘ Ah, yes, Mr. Dobbin, you are right; Miss Dobbin is still very young, and that accounts for—for a great deal. And she would not sit to Mr. Netherton! Ha, ha, young ladies have many fancies. But will she not come to the table d' hôte this evening? There will be several ladies present, and we have not yet had the pleasure of her company?’

‘ I don’t think she will, Captain. She has a will of her own, though she is a good girl in most other ways.’

‘ The most charming young lady I ever met,' put in the other.

‘ Well, she’s a good girl, Sir, though I am her father who says it But that most ridiculous fancy she has taken against Mr. Netherton, the man that of all others—but never mind, they will have their fancies, and there’s no help for it’

When Mr. Dobbin had bustled into the hotel to dress Captain Jeffares looked round and laughed, and to any casual observer his laugh would have indicated that he was under the impression that Mr. Dobbin was very far deceived in fancying he had made a shrewd deduction from his daughter’s behaviour in the matter of the painting of her portrait; but that he, Captain Jeffares, being gifted with a larger share of the power of perception, and, consequently, being capable of arriving at more truthful results, was inclined to conclude from all he had seen and heard that if Miss Dobbin had conceived in her heart any dislike for Mr. Netherton that dislike would not prove very violent. There was a good deal of concentrated thoughtfulness in one of Captain Jeffares’ little whistles.

‘ Rum old party,’ he murmured, after a while.

‘ He has not the sense to see that the girl is his strong point. He ought never to leave her side; but he will go pottering about on his own account. A fine girl she is; and when she sees with half an eye that Netherton would look on the offer to handle his money just now as little better than an insult, and consequently, with her woman’s tact, pretends that she has got a distaste for Netherton, he believes her. I’ll have a talk with Netherton about it.’

Again he smiled, but his smile was so very full of the subtlest meaning it would be impossible to translate it. Then he strayed into the hotel and met with some of his friends, in converse with whom he soon forgot Mr. Dobbin and his daughter and the affair he was supposed by that gentleman to have nearest his heart. Mr. Netherton was also in the salon, in close companionship with some people who had lately arrived, and when they had gone to the salle à manger none of the three came together.

The next day Mr. Dobbin was confined to his room with a cold; and his daughter, of course, compelled herself to keep him company. When Mr. Netherton and Captain Jeffares heard this they both sent their messages of regret; they were both very polite, but on the whole, perhaps, the latter gentleman was the more sincere.

The maîre d’ hôtel, who conveyed the courteous messages, found Mr. Dobbin just up, sitting in his dressing-gown, with his daughter trying to explain to him the jokes in Punch of the week previous, which had arrived. The maître was courteous on his own account first, feeling a polite grief at the indisposition of Mr. Dobbin, and then .becoming enraptured at the charms of his daughter. Then he told the invalid, in a formal way, how Captain Jeffares and Mr. Netherton—(a little flash of colour which now appeared on the young lady’s forehead did not escape the speaker’s notice)—had conferred on him the honour of bearing to Mr. Dobbin their humble compliments, with most respectful wishes for his speedy recovery. Having delivered his message, adorning its diction with a few oratorical flourishes, he smiled and bowed, with his open palms extended on each side of him, first to the gentleman, then to the lady.

Mr. Dobbin felt the impressiveness of the delivery of the messages by the maître, and was conscious that he should make some graceful reply; but he was unequal to extemporise anything suitable for the moment. He could only say that he was deeply honoured, and placed his trust implicitly in the maître to make the two gentlemen aware of this.

‘ It will be a pride to me to give Monsieur Dobbeen’s polite thanks to Monsieur le Capitaine and Monsieur Netherton,’ said the other. ‘ But when I say that Monsieur Dobbeen remains in the company of Mademoiselle his charming daughter I fear the gentlemen’s commiseration will be greatly decreased. Ah, Monsieur, you are a fortunate gentleman indeed.’

‘ Yes, Monsieur, I am fortunate, I know,’ replied Mr. Dobbin. ‘ I did not know such kindness could exist in strangers till I met with these gentlemen.’

‘ Ah, Monsieur Dobbeen,’ said the maître, smiling significantly, ‘you will find out that there are many charming gentlemen in Europe; and Mademoiselle will find very many also; but she may be sure that none will be worthy of her charming society.’

‘ You are kind to say so, Monsieur,’ said Mr. Dobbin, ‘ but we won’t pick up with many men like Mr. Netherton; I know that pretty well.’

‘ No, Monsieur, no; you are right; you will never meet with another like him. Ah, Monsieur, he is a gentleman indeed—a gentleman perfect. But you should have met him last year, you should indeed. Ah, ah, poor fellow, my heart bleeds for him. He is too sensitive to have met with such a misfortune. Poor fellow! ’ The speaker was all commiseration. There was even a certain dewiness in one of his eyes that seemed like a rising tear. Its presence there, however, did not prevent him from observing the effect his words had produced on the young lady. She had turned her face away from the window with a rapid motion, and it was pale with interest; it turned back again to the view outside the window in a moment; but still that emotional eye of the maître became aware, in spite of its dimness, that she was not observing the view outside, and that the hands holding Punch were very nervous.

‘ I don’t understand you quite,’ said Mr. Dobbin. ‘ You did not mention any misfortune that had happened to Mr. Netherton. I was not aware of anything of the sort. Were you, Amy? He talked with you more than me.’

‘ What are you talking about, papa? Cap tain Jeffares again? Pardon me, Monsieur; I was reading Punch: it is so very funny! ’

“ My dear Mademoiselle, there is no reason; the Punch is very droll,’ and he smiled complacently, having drawn another deduction from his observation of the young lady’s simulated want of attention.

‘ What was his misfortune, Monsieur? ’ inquired Mr. Dobbin.

Then the maître became an impersonation of secresy. He shook his head. ‘ Ah, Monsieur Dobbeen, I am to be pardoned. I did not know but that you were aware of all the story. For me—it would ill become me to—what you call it?—gossip about our good friend Monsieur Netherton and his affairs. No, no; I am too discreet Enough! he was badly treated; she was unworthy of him. Poor fellow! poor fellow! ’

Mr. Dobbin’s curiosity was now completely aroused; his daughter, however, was, on the contrary, more unconcerned than ever. She quite ignored the conversation of the maître and her father, being absorbed in the advertising sheet of Punch. The maître, observing this also, was, beyond doubt, convinced of the injustice of ascribing an undue curiosity to womankind. How enthralled she was, though these interesting advertisements were turned upside down!

‘ Monsieur maîre,’ said Mr. Dobbin, ‘you know that I am a friend of Mr. Netherton, and would seek to serve him in any way that it would be in my power. Of course anything you may say here will go no farther; only it may be that it is in my power to do him a service in some way that I might hear from what you say. You are aware that I would put myself very far about indeed to serve him.'

‘That is enough, Monsieur Dobbeen; you seek to serve him, who can tell how it may turn out? I shall tell you all on that account, for you are his friend. It is this:—Monsieur Netherton came to this hotel just one year ago. The house was never so well filled before; it was not so very full as well filled. They were nearly all English people of title, not one of our Bont Street friends, eh, Monsieur Dobbeen?. Among the ladies was one, Lady Bertha Staire, the daughter of Lord de Steppe, a very great nobleman in his own country, as, no doubt, you know. She was a wonderful lady; beautiful, Monsieur, like a queen. What is Fate? Who can resist it? It comes to one, and never trips on its way. What will you say? It came to Monsieur Netherton. She came to him—his Fate. He was the son of a banker, and his money was as his generosity. It was not strange they were together each day, and people began to smile. Bah! I cannot tell you how it went on; they were engaged, when he got a message to be back in England; his father was on his death-bed. He went away, and in a few days my Lord and his daughter went away too. I did not see any of them again, but I got news that Monsieur Netherton’s father had died, leaving him no money, and that my Lady Bertha had broken off the match, and was even engaged to another. How did I feel, do you ask? Ah, I cannot tell you, Monsieur Dobbeen. To think that the loss of his money should be such a thing in her eyes! Ah, she had no feeling in the world! Then was I not surprised to see our good friend come here the other evening? Why he should come I know not; it cannot be pleasant for him, but who can tell? Ah, Fate is a queer thing; one must believe in it. It may have been his fate that brought him here. Who can tell? Pardon me, Mademoiselle, I have talked too long, and wearied you.’

The good-natured man pretended to interpret the look that her face assumed as the effect of weariness.

‘ Not at all, Monsieur.’ she answered; ‘ I am greatly interested; not perhaps so much as papa, but you know us, Monsieur, how full of curiosity we are. Pray continue.’

To do the maître justice, he certainly did know something about young ladies and their habits, and he could probably have indicated numerically the proportion of curiosity created by his story in the minds of Miss Dobbin and her father.

‘ Continue, Mademoiselle? ’ he exclaimed, then paused. ‘ Ah, no, I have brought the story to a certain point; as for the rest of it—’ again he paused and looked seriously into the girl’s face—.‘ Mademoiselle may be able to finish it herself some day. Who can tell? Ah, Fate, Fate! Mademoiselle believes in the Fate?’

‘ I do not know what I believe,’ said Mademoiselle, ‘only I believe that after we leave your beautiful hotel, Monsieur, we shall never see Mr. Netherton again; papa will be sorry, I am sure. But, Monsieur, you did not say if that woman—lady, I mean—Lady Bertha, had really got married.’

‘Captain Jeffares told me she did marry, but he did not say whom, Mademoiselle. Ah, she was false, very false! ’

‘Yes, to him; but perhaps not to herself and her family, Monsieur. Do you think she ever loved him? I don’t. She could never have been false to him. But why has he come back here? Why does he stay here? ’

‘ Ah, the Fate, the Fate! who can tell what the Fate will do? ’

‘ I knew that that man was a gentleman the moment I saw him,’ cried Mr. Dobbin exultantly, breaking in on the very interesting conversation. ‘ I knew he was by right a gentleman, and when the Captain said he was only a painter I was surprised. He never was born a painter, I knew.’

‘ Monsieur Dobbeen is a student of man,’ said the maître, bowing.

‘ Mr. Netherton may have been bom a rich man—what people in these days call a gentleman—but now he is much more, he is a painter.’

Miss Dobbin had risen from her seat, and when she had spoken these words she stood for a moment with her face flushed, with an expression of pride on it. She bowed an adieu to the maître, whose body instantly was contracted to a right-angle as she passed him.

The maître owned himself surprised at the young lady’s stateliness of speech. It was an involuntary stateliness as it was an involuntary speech, he saw; and he would a great deal rather she had maintained her former dissimulation. He prided himself on being able to draw subtle deductions from his most casual observation; and it had been very satisfactory for him to meet with this young lady, who had endeavoured to mislead his observation; he had felt that there was some cleverness needed to penetrate her mask, but this speech of hers was to him so unguarded, so sincere, he felt that his shrewd observance was all unnecessary. Still he bowed to the ground as she passed.

‘ That’s something she heard at that school in Greenwich, Monsieur; Shakespeare or Byron, or Lord Macaulay or some of them,’ remarked Mr. Dobbin, nodding in the direction of the door his daughter had just closed behind her. She doesn’t mean it, for she somehow has got a dislike to Mr. Netherton. Why, the Captain and I had made it up that we would request Mr. Netherton to paint her picture for whatever price he would choose to name—I wouldn’t hold back for a few hundreds—but last night when I mentioned it to her she broke out in such a way as I never saw her do, and made me hurry off and tell him it wasn’t to be done. I never was so angry in my life, for I am anxious to do something for Mr. Netherton, and now there is no way I can acknowledge his kindness and his manliness.’

The maître looked thoughtful for a few moments; then he spoke in a low voice: ‘ If Monsieur would allow me the liberty of giving him a word of advice, I would tell him how it may be he shall serVe Monsieur Netherton very much indeed.’

‘ Serve him? tell me, Monsieur maître, and I shall evermore feel obliged to you. I do not mind a few hundreds, remember.’

‘ Monsieur is very kind, but it is nothing of money. It is a very simple thing I would suggest. Do not ever speak of Monsieur Netherton to Mademoiselle—not a word of good particularly. Again, let not Monsieur say a word to any soul about making Monsieur Netherton a compliment: let Monsieur drop it from his mind,” and he may be doing him a service Monsieur does not suspect. That is all. It is enough: I cannot explain. Adieu! I have already been too long absent from the house.’

He bowed and passed out before Mr. Dobbin could even ask for an explanation of the mysterious words he had spoken.

When Mr. Dobbin was alone he pondered long on what the other had said. He could not in the least degree understand his words. He might, perhaps, be able to follow the advice they suggested, but he must do so blindly; he was quite bewildered by everything; and his daughter was the most bewildering of all. He almost wished he had never left his home and the business which he completely understood. He had been shrewd in business and had made money by the possession of that quality; but in this hotel, among these people—his daughter included—he was no more than a child looking on at a game he could not understand. All the while he felt a great respect for these players on account of their superior intelligence, though he could not come to any conclusion as to which of them all was the cleverest Perhaps he might learn something as they went on, he thought, by way of consolation. This was not much consolation, however; and the more he thought the more uncertain he became. At last with a sigh of relief there came a real comfort to him. ‘ Never mind,’ said he, reflectively. ‘ I have got two hundred thousand pounds. There’s no doubt about that; it is certain: ’ and he was comforted.

CHAPTER VIII

‘Why does he come here after all that has happened?’ cried a young lady passionately, as she gazed out to the sublime peaks of the far-off Blueberg, which were becoming softly roseate in the last light of the sunset that glanced up the valley. ‘ Why does he come here? how can he come here after that, unless—and it is so, it must be so—he loves her who has deceived him, loves her yet as he once loved her? It is so, every spot they were in together is sacred in his eyes, and will ever remain so. I can feel what he feels now; he has loved and lost, and I—ah! why did I ever come here to see him?—and yet if I thought I might never see him again I would not thiak life worth anything. How shall I ever look on him again, knowing what I know? But I shall never look at him again. I do not want ever to see him again. I shall be strong; and we shall go away from here for ever when papa’s cold is quite well.’ She was very young, indeed, to fancy that she could reason herself into a belief that she was strong-willed. Of course, it was healthy for her to assume the tone of dramatic enquiry to lay her thoughts out in order; and, doubtless, she felt all the relief such a figure of speech could afford her; but on the whole the sequence of her thoughts when expressed would not tend to impress a critical audience with a deep sense of her strength of will. Only, no one, perhaps, could avoid admiring the young lady’s filial affection in recollecting, through the long train of her own bitter reflections, the indisposition of her father. It was pleasant to see how, through all her eagerness for departure, she allowed the fact of her father’s cold to delay the execution of her cherished desire.

Then slowly beneath her eyes the light of the red sunset left the valley, and only was seen upon the furthest peaks of the hills, making them seem like old Bacchanalians, with their foreheads crowned with rose-wreaths. Gradually they were discrowned, and the long valley, with its slopes of pine-trees, became, softly dim. Everything was motionless as the daylight dwindled into twilight; and then, after a space, that marvellous time succeeded which is as great as the birth of a new day—the time when a new light comes into the air, a light which is the shadow of the dark blue sky. All the beauty of these mountains and their valleys stands out under the blue light of night until the stars appear—-and, perhaps, the moon—to change all beneath their light.

Amy Dobbin sat on till the stars were about the peaks. She had not spoken a word to indicate the direction her musings were taking; whether they were leading her back to the glory of the past few days or bearing her forward to the dim and bitter future she was doomed to pass apart from this man she had seen twice. At last, when she saw the pure, compassionate stars glimmering through the azure, she felt less dramatically passionate, and more sentimental. ‘ Oh, stars!’ she murmured, ‘what unutterable bliss it would be to wander with him under your pure rays! Perhaps she wandered by his side in this very place last year; and to think that after that she could prove false! Perhaps even now he is thinking of those days and loving her still, as in another year I shall be reflecting on the beauty of this night when I am near him—near him, perhaps, for the last time!’

This was a bitter thought for one so young and fair; and she clasped her hands and looked up beseechingly to the stars that looked down beseechingly to her. She was silent. It may be that she was invoking the powers of the air to deal gently with the cold of her father.

It will thus be noticed that Miss Dobbin was a young lady of very strong feelings, and also of rapidly-developed affections.

But Mr. Dobbin, who was sleeping audibly in his chair in the sitting-room, had been puzzling his mind in his endeavours to find a conclusion to which he could reasonably come from pondering on the words of the maître d’ hôtel. He could not understand upon what ground he ought to allow his daughter’s fancies, to be given way to. Why should he refrain from talking of Mr. Netherton because she happened to have taken a violent dislike to-him? He could not see this at all; but he was quite aware that his adviser was a person well acquainted with what was right and proper to-be done; and he also knew that he had hitherto always found it to his advantage to gratify his. daughter’s fancies, however unreasonable they might seem to him; so he resolved to yield to her desire, and never mention the name of Mr.

Netherton. Thus it was he fell asleep in the soft blue twilight.

The next day Mr. Dobbin seemed to have nearly recovered from his cold. After breakfast he went downstairs to the empty salon, and read the papers that he could read. In a short time his daughter joined him, arid began reading a French paper, translating chosen bits to him till he began to think that, though that wonderful Greenwich school had its disadvantages, it certainly had its corresponding strong points.

Then Francis, the pleasant head-waiter, came into the room to enquire if monsieur or mademoiselle was in need of anything that he could obtain for them.

‘ Ah, Mees Doppin! ’ said he, after they had spoken together for some moments in the friendly way that had won his heart long ago; ‘ This is a day too fine to be in the doors. You should be far away among our hills. Our people—Mrs. Hamilton, the Lord Bishop, Madame the Bishop—all of them are gone away for the day, and Meester Nedderton and the Captain too. You should be with them, Mees Doppin, if Meester Doppin will be so kind as to pardon me for saying it.’

‘ You are quite right, Francois,’ said Mr. Dobbin. ‘ It’s a shame for me to keep her here with me. It makes me sorry that I ever brought her with me to be keeping her to attend on me when she ought to be amusing herself.’

‘ Why do you talk that way, papa? As if I could want anything better than sitting here with you! I do not want to be wandering about with people I don’t know. You know I have not the pleasure of being acquainted with any of these people, Frangois; and even if I were I do not think I would go with them. Never mind; both papa and I will see enough of the hills before we leave—that is, if we stay as long as we at first intended.’ She recollected that she had determined flying away from Schwartzbach as soon as flight would be possible, and so added that saving clause.

‘ But they would all be glad to have you with them, Mees Doppin,’ said Frangois. ‘ They are all good people. But you will be at the table d’hôte this evening, will you not? You will see them and judge for yourself, Mees Doppin.’

‘ I think we may go to the table d'hote, Amy,’ remarked Mr. Dobbin, after musing for a while, when the head-waiter had gone. ‘ You haven’t been to it since we came, and I don’t see why you shouldn’t. You will- have a chance of meeting with good families, and it will help to enliven you here. I’m dull company for a young girl like you, I . know.’

‘ Come, papa, I won’t have you say a single word like that again. Was it not I that brought you here altogether? You . never heard of the name of the place before I told you. I have a great mind not to go to the table d'hote this evening at ill. I do not want to meet the Lord Bishop or the Lady Bishop. If Francis thinks I want to be patted on the head by such people he is .very far wrong. At the same time, if he fancies I would be afraid to meet any of these great people, he is also mistaken. Only, papa, do not be so polite to them all; it makes me feel uncomfortable. It is very well for the maître and the gargon; but, my dear papa, when people sit down to the same table they are all on an equality; you need not count it an honour to speak to a prince or a duke or even to a bishop who speaks to you; and, above all, you should never let such a man know that you think it an honour; if you do, he will certainly think that you are in the right, and he will want to patronise you. Now, I’m going to dress.’

Her father stared at her as she walked out of the room. He never was so much astonished at her in all his life. When she had disappeared he dropped his hands on his knees and looked up.

‘ Bless my soul! ’ he exclaimed, ‘ she’s a wonder, and no mistake about it! She talks as if she had lived all her life among the best people. And she’s right, too, I know; though where on earth she picked up her information I’d like to know. Bless me! I’m beginning to think she’s a wonderful girl! * And there can be but little doubt that Mr. Dobbin was quite justified in having such a thought In a few hours the strangers and pilgrims began to turn up at the hotel and to slam the doors of their rooms, as all tired people do. The waiters found a good deal of work in replying to the innumerable bells, and the quantity of hot water borne to the various rooms would have been astonishing, could anyone have had an idea of it. There was no one, however, whose attention was sufficiently absent from the hot water before him to allow of his being astonished at the largeness of the aggregate consumption.

The salle à’manger was well filled by the time Mr. Dobbin and his daughter entered it.

She was dressed very carefully; indeed, so carefully that she did not seem to be so. There was no denying that she was simply lovely in every way as she passed through the people she had never seen before without any show of diffidence, but at the same time without any appearance of self-assertion. Some of the gentlemen turned round to look at her, and turned back to whisper a remark after they had observed her for a moment The ladies who thought it worth while noticing her stared in English fashion for rather more than a moment, but it is doubtful if their critical whispers were so just as those of the gentlemen.

But Miss Dobbin was aware of nothing but that Mr. Netherton was not in the room. She saw the Right Reverend Jonathan Griffen, Lord Bishop of Mellingham and Ufford Marshes, whose style and titles she had read in the visitors’ book, where they occupied two lines. The prelate was talking quietly to the Reverend Augustus Wyvern, who called him ‘my Lord’ so emphatically that one might have fancied the prelate was his own private property. The Reverend Augustus Wyvern had almost completed his studies of Nature in relation to the Church, and was anxious to let the Bishop have the earliest benefit of his progress; but the Bishop would not argue any point just then; he merely rubbed his hands, looking down the room, and said ‘ Quite so’ to all of the other’s arguments. Mr. Wyvern did not like this. He expected a good deal of obstinacy on the part of the Bishop; and he began to fear, as he afterwards remarked to Captain Jeffares, that the Bishop was not a man of strong opinions. Nor was he; he happened to be at that moment very hungry, and he wondered why everyone did not sit down to the table.

‘ Will Mademoiselle Dobbeen be so good as to take this seat? ’ whispered the maître d'hôtel. ‘ I have taken the liberty of asking Monsieur Dobbeen to take one at the other side. François! who sits in this seat next Mademoiselle? ’ ‘ That is the chair of Meester Netherton, Monsieur,’ answered Frangois.

‘ Ah, that is very fortunate. Has not Mademoiselle met Monsieur Netherton? I hope Mademoiselle does not object.’

‘ It is too late now: even if Miss Dobbin did object she would not have the courage to say so ; but I hope she does not,’ said Netherton, coming up.

Miss Dobbin laughed, and greeted Nether ton. ‘ I think you are right, Mr. Netherton; I have not the courage, and I feel that, just now, I ought to have a great deal. Is not a table d' hôte a very formidable thing?—and a Bishop, too? ’ she added, in a whisper.

‘The carte is the worst part of the one,’ said Netherton; ‘and, as for the other, I don’t think that outside his diocese he terrifies many people.’

‘ Unless they read his name in the visitors’ book, as I did,’ said Amy. ‘ Why, he’s Bishop of more than one place, Mr. Netherton.’

‘ Yes, Ufiord Marshes. You are greatly interested in ecclesiastical matters, Miss Dobbin? Will you allow me to introduce the Bishop and Mrs. Griffen to you? You will find them charming people, I am sure. We were away together all day at Count Girofstein’s, and we are making a party for the Blueberg Pass tomorrow. Now, if you let me choose your dinner for you, your chief difficulty is over.’

He did choose her dinner for her, and she felt that she had never partaken of such a dinner before. He was exceedingly pleasant all the while; but, though she laughed and chatted with him, she felt that she would rather he would be as he had been when he had walked down with her from the hill where she was sketching. He had not been pleasant then, only poetical and she felt certain that that was his true nature. And then what she had heard from the maître—the story of his love—had made her far more deeply to feel how strongly imbued his life was with poetry, as poetry appeared to her. She could not help reflecting how he had been sitting in this very place a year ago with someone else in the seat she now occupied; only, how differently! She. was to him only .the acquaintance of the hour; but that other—she had been everything to him, she felt He had loved her as only such a man could love; nay, was he not even here at this moment because of his love to her? because he could think of her as she had been when here with him and they were happy together? Ah, even at this moment, when he seemed so conventionally pleasant, was he not thinking of her and contrasting this day with the days of the year before? She felt that it must be so, and she felt that he was untrue to himself in being so pleasant as he really was.

After dinner Miss Dobbin left the table with the rest of the ladies. Mrs. Griffen, the Bishop’s lady, waited behind for a moment, and as she passed Netherton, who had not resumed his seat, she whispered, with a smile:

‘ Can you spare me a moment to introduce me to your charming young lady, Mr. Netherton? She has a perfectly delightful face. Mrs. Hamilton and I are enchanted with her appearance. Will you bring me to her? ’

‘ I shall have great pleasure, indeed,' said Netherton. ‘ She is very much alone here, and I do not think she is acquainted with any ladies in the hotel. If you are in the salon we shall be with you in a minute.’

He hurried up the staircase and overtook Miss Dobbin going in the direction of her own rooms. When he told her that Mrs. Griffen was very anxious to meet her she did not become much excited at the intelligence. It was very kind in Mrs. Griffen, she said, and it would give her a great deal of pleasure to be introduced to Mrs. Griffen. So Mr. Netherton and she walked down together and up to the Bishop’s lady and Mrs. Hamilton, by both of whom she was greeted with all cordiality. Of course, the Bishop’s lady naturally was given to patronising everyone she met; but, then, she seldom made anyone feel that her patronage was disagreeable. Indeed, if her nature in this way had not been very well known, Ufford Marshes would have been a very dull place for the eligible daughters of its clergymen to dwell in. As it was, however, the clergymen’s young ladies idolized her; and it is a very nice thing for a clergyman’s daughter to be fond of the wife of her father’s bishop. Mrs. Hamilton was a lady whose success in life was due to this sort of patronage from Mrs. Griffen, and who even now was protégée in attendance on her. She was a tall young lady of the most perfect classic features and figure one could imagine. Her hair was dark and so were her eye-lashes, and her eyes were of the true Venus gray. Never was there a face that seemed more unconscious of its strength: it took no care for itself; it could afford to laugh and look grave when it suited itself—and it frequently found it suitable to laugh. One could hardly imagine this woman as the protégée of Mrs. Griffen; yet that lady had never met with a more docile subject for her kind-hearted patronage; only, persons were apt to be confused as to which was the patroness, some asserting that the young lady was in that position in spite of her docility. In any case, there can be no doubt that it suited Mrs. Hamilton admirably to be with Mrs. Griffen during the absence on foreign service of her husband, Colonel Hamilton, C.B.

‘No,’ said Mr. Nethierton, in reply to a pleasant little banter of the elder lady, ‘ No, I don’t think I shall go back to the wine; that is, if you will be good enough to permit me to remain here.’

‘ Well, I think we may be brought to allow you, Mr. Netherton, on account of your good conduct in making us acquainted with Miss Dobbin.’

They were all standing before one of the large windows at the furthest end of the room, and there they remained for nearly an hour, before the Bishop came up, attended by the Rev. Mr. Wyvern, who was still in hopes of being able to have as much attention paid to his remarks as would induce his Lordship to enter into a High Church argument But, before . they came up, the chatty party at the window had made their plans for the tour of the Blueberg Pass the next day; Miss Dobbin agreeing to be one of them if she could prevail on her father to grant his permission.

‘ If there is any doubt, my dear, just call me in and I shall plead for you,’ said Mrs. Griffen.

' But there cannot surely be any; we shall be all under the guidance of Mr. Netherton, and I do not think we could have a better guide: he knows so much about this place and every spot near it He was here for ever so long last year.’

The slightest possible shade came over Netherton’s face, but upon Miss Dobbin’s a terrible blush flitted, at the last part of the lady’s sentence. She had hitherto quite forgotten to think about what she had heard of Mr. Netherton and last year, but now all that she had forgotten came before her eyes. It was growing dim in the room. She looked to the figure of Mrs. Hamilton standing dark against the full space of clear sky that was seen through the window, and she could not help thinking how like that figure must be to the one Netherton had often stood beside at that same window in such a soft twilight. She felt so weak she would have found a relief in crying—for the moment only; then she felt strong as before, only with a sense of bitterness at her heart that made her feel it would be intolerable for her to go with him to-morrow over the same scenes.which he had been amongst last year. She would not go. How would he feel with her beside him the next day? The greatness of the contrast would be too bitter for him, and she would spare him the experiencing of it; she was angry with herself for having accepted Mrs. Griffen’s invitation to the party for the Blueberg Pass. She was angry with herself for having gone to the table d'hdte at all; and the affection that had arisen in her heart for the lady who had been speaking to her was almost quenched by the last sentence.

But, a moment after that sentence was spoken, the Bishop came up, smiling very pleasantly; and Miss Dobbin’s flow of thoughts was interrupted by being introduced to him.

‘ Are we not fortunate? ’ cried the lady. ‘ Miss Dobbin has agreed to be of our party to-morrow.’

‘ Oh, indeed,’ said the prelate, still smiling unobtrusively. ‘We are to be congratulated, indeed; only, I am not sure that Miss Dobbin is equally fortunate. You will have to put up with the infirmities of old age, Miss Dobbin; you cannot rely on our climbing, I am afraid.’

‘Nonsense! ’ remarked the lady, ‘ you know there is no climbing needed, and if there were any needed I know you would be the first to attempt it. The Bishop is one of the best mountaineers that could be found, Miss Dobbin; he is quite vain of it, and, like all other vain people, he tries to depreciate his own strong point’

‘Ah, once, my dear; when we were here first I was a different man; but time, Miss Dobbin, time makes great ravages. Still, if put to it, I might yet be able to renew my old associations.’

Miss Dobbin did not feel conscious that the Bishop had said anything that she could note down in her diary. She thought she had heard something similar to what he said about the ravages of time a long while ago, but she did not say anything about it; she only remarked that she hoped her papa would be quite recovered of his severe cold so as to admit of her joining the party. But she felt that it would be an impossible thing for her to walk by Netherton’s side the next day as that other one had walked a single year ago. He was a painter—a poet. Was not that wonderful mountain pass haunted to him? would not the pale phantom of his love look out at him from every place he saw? would not every soft air that came breathing up the valley wail in his ears the dirge of ‘ Nevermore’? and why should she be there with him to intrude upon his recollections and cause him to feel the bitterness of the contrast brought by a single year?

And, indeed, all that she felt on this subject was true. Netherton was standing beside Mrs. Hamilton at the window talking about a certain opera, the scenery in which bore a resemblance to the valley before them, through which the purple of the evening was spreading softly and silently; but he was thinking in his heart the very thoughts Miss Dobbin had, in her sentimental musings, attributed to him. He could fancy that in Mrs. Hamilton’s place there was standing the one who had stood and talked with him in many such soft twilights.

Then Mr. Dobbin came into the room with Captain Jeffares, and was amazed to find his daughter in such a circle. Immediately on his entering, his daughter detached herself from the group, holding out her hand to Mrs. Griffen.

‘ I must say “ Good evening,” Mrs. Griffen. There is papa come at last, and I must go to him.’

‘ Must you, indeed? ’ said Mrs. Griffen. ‘Why not bring your papa to me, that I may set the matter of your coming at rest?

Perhaps he would not mind being introduced.’

Miss Dobbin paused for a moment, slightly embarrassed. She could not help feeling that neither she nor her father would be at ease if he was introduced to a lady of so high an estate as Mrs. Griffen; but then a quick flash of pride came over her. Her papa was good and generous and noble; why should she be the least ashamed of him?

‘ I am sure papa would be very happy to meet you, Mrs. Griffen, though he does not meet many people. Oh, Captain Jeffares is bringing him over.’

Down to the ground bent Mr. Dobbin as soon as Captain Jeffares had pronounced the formula of introduction to the lady, and down again before the gaiters of the prelate; nor did he recover himself under the pressure of the churchman’s hand. Before he had time to assure them of the honour he felt his daughter spoke:

‘ Mrs. Griffen has been so very kind as to ask me to join a party for the Blueberg Pass to-morrow, papa. Do you think you would be well enough to allow me to go? ’

‘We were sorry to hear you had got a cold, Mr. Dobbin,’ said Mrs. Griffen. ‘ But if you think you could spare Miss Dobbin for a day we should all be so delighted.’

‘ Madam,’ said Mr. Dobbin, ‘ my daughter and I are sensible of the honour conferred on us by you and my Lord. If it would not' interfere with your arrangements we would feel deeply grateful by your permitting her to accompany your party.’

‘ How can I thank you sufficiently, Mr. Dobbin?’ exclaimed the lady. * It is kind of you to trust us with your daughter; we shall try and take care of her. I think we have become friends already. So now, dear, it’s settled,’ and she turned to the young lady, ‘and we shall be a very jolly party. They will give us good horses, because Captain Jeffares will be with us, and good wine, because of Mr. Netherton; and, believe me, these are the greatest requisites to the pleasure of such an excursion.’

‘ Next to agreeable companions,’ added Captain Jeffares.

‘ Of course, next to agreeable companions,’ said the lady, severely. .

‘ I hope it will be allowed that Nether ton and myself contribute something to that fund also,’ said the Captain.

‘ You both do largely,’ replied the lady of the Bishop. ‘ See that you maintain your reputation.’

‘ It will be my study,’ murmured Captain Jeffares, in a tone of mock sentimentality which was shocking to Mr. Dobbin.

For the remaainder of the evening the Bishop of Mellingham and Ufford Marshes conversed with Mr. Dobbin on various topics of interest to both of them, commencing with colds—a topic upon which one Englishman may talk with another and be very safe to find a sympathetic listener. Before they had been very long together Mr. Dobbin was surprised at the amount of interest displayed by the Bishop in temporal matters, and, moreover, temporal matters within the limited capabilities of Mr. Dobbin’s elucidation. The Reverend Augustus Wyvern felt constrained to move away to a distant part of the room after the first few minutes of conversation. He was disappointed in the Bishop. Here he had been trying all the afternoon to obtain an audience of his Lordship, but without success, although the subjects he would have introduced were of a nature one might reasonably believe most interesting to a Bishop; while, now, such a man as Mr. Dobbin could engross his attention on topics worthy only of the attention of a man devoted to the world.

But, though the Bishop made himself at home to Mr. Dobbin, there can be no doubt that the estimate he formed of that gentleman was not an unjust one. He saw without much trouble that he had none of the qualifications of a highly-cultivated man, and that he would, perhaps, hardly ever be looked upon as an authority as to the date of an intaglio, or the interpretation of the faces on a picture of Leonardo da Vinci; but, though these were subjects of great interest to the Bishop, he was far from despising a man by whom their wonders were held in light esteem. He could respect a man who, by his own industry, had made a few hundred thousand pounds; and he could find it agreeable to talk with such a man upon the subjects by acquaintance with which those few hundred thousands had been made, even though those subjects might not have any reference to a doubtful intaglio or a perplexing Da Vinci. There are other ways of amassing fortunes besides writing poems and forming opinions on cherubs’ faces, and the Bishop could respect other ways so far as to feel an interest in hearing about them. He found out that Mr. Dobbin was a just and generous man, of good principles and of an unsuspecting nature; a man whose chief fault was want of consciousness of his own importance; whose chief hope was to have his daughter brought into such society as he could see she was qualified to enjoy herself amongst; and, when they shook hands at parting, both gentlemen were satisfied.

The ladies, too, were very well satisfied as they embraced each other, as beings of such nature do, whether they are satisfied or otherwise Mrs. Griffen had made a satisfactory progress in her diplomatizing, considering the limited time she had to construct her plans. She kept Amy by her side for a long while, receiving from her instruction in a complicated stitch, by the employment of which a marvellous effect was capable of being produced; but all the time the secret was being developed Mrs. Griffen was observant of an effect produced on the mind of the young lady beside her every moment she saw her look over to where Mr. Netherton was standing apart with Mrs. Hamilton, talking in a low voice. As Miss Dobbin’s eyes returned to the embroidery on her fingers, after each time of glancing across the room, her explanations were less minute and more inclined to be wandering. Mrs. Griffen, seeing this, smiled very slightly outwardly; but she was very well satisfied with her evening’s progress in the embroidery.

A better-hearted or a more purely unselfish woman than Mrs. Griffen could not be imagined. She had devoted her existence to the advancement of others. As she believed that a young lady’s advancement could only be effected by means of an eligible marriage, she, in the most consistent manner possible, set about arranging all the people near her in eligible couples, so far as she could. Whatever her success may have been, it is certain, as has been before mentioned, that all the young ladies in her husband’s diocese idolized her, and submitted to be patronized by her until they had received the preferment she sought for each. But, on the other hand, the young gentlemen in her neighbourhood did anything but idolize her. She never would allow any of them to indulge in a flirtation, however weak; consequently there was not very good fun to be obtained at any of her levies. Still, when once a young man in that diocese had felt himself possessed of certain intentions with regard to a young lady in the same diocese, he was never known to hesitate in fulfilling them. This good lady had thus, by her well-meaning manoeuvres, made a great number of people unhappy, and a few happy. She had, of course, some very decided successes, the most conspicuous of which was Mrs. Hamilton. It was a custom in Mellingham and Ufford Marshes, in the case of anyone expressing a doubt as to the reality of Mrs. Griffen’s successes, to quote the case of Mrs. Hamilton, pretty much as Scotchmen, on the great music of their language being questioned, produce their one word ‘gloaming’ to set the matter for ever at rest.

And the case of Mrs. Hamilton was this: she, the daughter of a poor clergyman, was gifted with a splendid voice, a wonderful power of making music on a pianoforte, and a marvellously-lovely face; she had received an education far above all the young ladies in Mellinghamshire; she had consented to stay at the Palace for a week one summer, and on the second day of her visit she met Major Hamilton, a young officer who was heir to a large estate in the county, and who was anxious to marry any lady whom he should fall in love with. He had lived with this anxiety for some years, but it had never become a burden to him until now. He proposed for the clergyman’s daughter, and she,without consulting anyone, only consulting her own heart, accepted him. They were married, and loved each other passionately even then. And this was the great triumph of the Bishop’s lady.

It was late before the Bishop and Mr. Dobbin had ended their conversation and Mrs. Hamilton and Mr. Netherton had found time to enquire if Mrs. Griffen had made good progress.

She had made very good progress, she said, smiling, and so they all parted.

CHAPTER IX

The western descending sun had sunk behind the high ridge of hills which shuts out half the sky from the valley of the Blueberg Pass. The western slope was consequently in brown shade, and so was the lower slope on the eastern side, where the shadow was cast; but the lofty peaks standing out clearly in the distance above the valley were still bright, and would remain so for another hour: the sun had not left the world, only the Blueberg Pass.

Mr. Netherton and Miss Dobbin were at this time on the next day standing together on a little track some distance up the western side, just beneath a grove of small pines, watching the shadow crawl up the side of the valley opposite to them. The shadow moved very slowly up the face of the slope, but they did not seem impatient at its motion. It was pleasant to watch it envelop crag after crag that the sun had been glorifying a few minutes before.

It was the design of Mrs. Griffen that they should watch this phenomenon together; so her plans and those of Nature coincided in the sluggishness of its movements.

‘We shall wait until the topmost rock is brown,’ said Mr. Netherton, ‘and then we shall walk round the hill and see the sun that has already set to us. I know exactly where it will set, and I shall bring you to the spot we can see it from to the greatest advantage.’

‘ You are well acquainted with every place about these hills, Mr. Netherton,’ said Miss Dobbin. ‘ I fancy it must take one a long time. to gain your knowledge of them all.’

They had left the dim Pass now and were walking along the gently-ascending track that wound about the hill; they had already gone far enough to see the stream of sunlight that flowed down a hollow in the curve of the line of hills, brighten all the way before them.

‘ I certainly am well acquainted with these hills, at any rate,’ said Netherton. ‘ I do not think I shall soon forget anything of them. I was amongst them for many months last year;

I have seemed all to-day to be in a dream, walking over old tracks. This day has been so very like the last I spent here it seems to me now that I have simply been recalling to my memory, in a continuous line, the events of that former day.’

Her heart was beating very fast as she walked along by his side.

‘A very pleasant dream of recollections it must be, Mr. Netherton.’

He stood still for a moment before he answered her.

‘ It is the dream of a dream, Miss Dobbin. That was a pleasant dream while it lasted. I remember now that in the consciousness of dreaming I was happy, but then, you know, the happier one is when dreaming, the more bitter is the awakening. I was awakened, and found it so.’

‘ Then the recollections you have had today must have been unhappy? ’ she said, turning her head away as she spoke, for she could not trust her face to conceal what her heart felt ‘ No,’ he answered firmly; ‘ I have felt happier to-day than on any day since I was here last Will you let me tell you my vain dream, Miss Netherton, and I shall tell you how I am happier in remembering it? Here we are out in the sunlight again; the sun will not be down for half-an-hour. Shall we sit here?’

She did not answer him, only they both seated themselves among the dark-green herbage of the alp, with their faces turned towards the low sun.

‘ I dare say you have heard such a story as mine before,’ said Netherton, ‘so I do not suppose you will be interested in it; only I think I would feel better for telling it to you. It was here last year 'that I met a woman whom I fancied truer and better than all the women I had ever met. . It is only a year ago, and yet I seem to have gained many years’ experience of the world since then. I was ten years younger at that time. I had the faith and enthusiasm of a boy in my art I studied it only from the standpoint of the ideas I had formed regarding it, and when I obtained the sympathy of her mind with my wild fancies I thought that I had obtained her love as well. Did she love me? I cannot tell. Ah, God, she must have loved me a little! She could not have been so false beyond all nature as not to have some of the love she promised to give me! I told her I loved her with all my soul, and she promised me all her love for ever. We were together day after day among these mountains, till, from every spot, loveliest memories sprang up, and all the hills seemed lovely with our love. But at last the autumn came that withered in a month all these beauties the summer had brought into life. A day came in which I was compelled to hurry home to the deathbed of my father. I left her full of faith and truth and love; her farewell to me was but a deeper promise of devotion. I did not see my father alive; he had died an hour before my arrival at his bedside. After his funeral it was discovered that the great wealth he was said to possess was no more than sufficient to meet his liabilities; so that, instead of being the inheritor of the unlimited fortune I was led to. expect would be mine, I was left with only as many hundreds to spend as I had formerly had thousands. When this became known— and such news makes itself known soon enough —I received a letter from her father, politely regretting, in hollow terms, that my ill-fortune should render it impossible for me ever to see his daughter again in the way I had met her before. Of course, he said, I would see the reason and justice of pursuing this plan; it could never be expected that she would sacrifice herself and her duties to her family for the sake of a sentimental idea. These were his words. I answered the letter and begged an interview with the woman I loved, but I was refused. I demanded to know if the refusal to see me was her own act, and I was told that it was wholly her own desire. That was enough; I never tried to see her again; all that was left for me was to forget her. I made it my study resolutely to blot out every thought of her— every thought of my own that had had her sympathy, and I succeeded for a time; but at last I found that my heart would no longer be subjected to the terrible strain I had put upon it. I broke away from my restraint, and was forced to come back again here, where every day, every hour I am reminded of the past. Nothing can obliterate from the things of Nature the associations that are formed of them in the mind of a man. This is the undying life that exists in inanimate things. I was a fool, you will say, to come here, this being the case; but I have been the better for coming here. I have been the better for having met you in this place to-day, and now I am the better for having told you all my story, such as it is.’

He took her hand within his, and held it for a moment, looking up to her face from where he sat at her feet. She seemed unconscious of his touch; her eyes were looking steadfastly out over that deep, vast valley to the reddening of the sunset. She felt inexpressibly sad at this moment, sadder even as his hand grasped her own. She could not open her lips to speak to him. What could she say to him? How could she tell him all the loving sympathy of her heart for the bitterness his love had led him to? She could not even return the pressure of his fingers that closed on hers for that moment, but she gazed blankly into the sunset spread all about the myriad peaks of the mountains that stood up clearly in the distance.

He, too, did not speak until the crimson of the west had fainted, into the delicate shell-pink, and the blue that had been so very high in the sky had descended and was beginning to overcome the pink, and had already surrounded the crimson clouds, making an archipelago of the west Then he rose, saying something about Mrs. Griffen being surprised if they should delay any longer.

She rose with him and turned round the abrupt front of the hill,' descending towards the pine-trees in the valley of the Blueberg Pass, where the twilight, that outside was blue, now hung like a purple curtain overshadowing all things.

‘ Mr. Netherton,’ she said at last, ‘ you said you meant to paint a scene among these hills; do you still intend doing so? ’

‘ I shall begin it to-morrow,’ he answered.

‘ I promised to show you how I should progress with it; be assured I shall not forget— that is, if you will care to look at it’

‘Thank you, Mr. Netherton; I shall certainly not forget; I shall not soon forget anything I have heard now.’

When they arrived at the narrow part of the Pass, where the remainder of their party were waiting, they both had to submit to a severe reprimand from the Bishop’s lady on account of their delay.

‘ What on earth can have kept you all that time?’ she enquired, as they took their seats in the carriage. ‘ The fascinations of the wondrous sunset, no doubt; and the charm of thinking of some rhymes everyone has in everyone’s head on the subject of sunsets. I hope you haven’t read Byron, Miss Dobbin? Now we must lose no time in getting back to the International.

It is only when one is parted from its comforts for a day that they are appreciated.’

All the way back, through the shadowy road among the mountains, Mrs. Griffen talked rapidly upon a multitude of subjects, while the Bishop sat quietly beside her and opened not his mouth—he was accustomed to hear his wife talk rapidly, and he did not mind in the least how. many subjects her talk embraced, provided nothing ecclesiastical was touched upon. The Bishop was master in his own house. in this matter; his wife knew nothing of the counsels of the Church, and, to do her justice, she never made the attempt to let her voice be heard in any of them. It was chiefly to Miss Dobbin she addressed her remarks at this time; and that young lady sat pensively looking up to stars that would have seemed very faint if seen from any other part of the hills than the Pass, but that were now brilliant above its darkness. Amy Dobbin could think her thoughts without being interrupted by the continuous incontinuity of the elder lady’s discourse. She felt as if the great misfortune that had met the man opposite to her had befallen herself. She felt as bitterly as he did at the deceit that had come upon his love. Nay, he had long since forgiven the woman who had deceived him so cruelly, but Miss Dobbin could not forgive her;' she felt hard and bitter in her heart against her; and, all in her simple way, she wondered if it could not be set right again; if that cruel woman could not be brought to see how much nobler than all mankind was the man she had rejected, and so come to love him once more. Suddenly it flashed upon her what she had heard the maître d'hôtel say:—that the lady had married some other man within a short time of parting from Netherton. Ah, it could not be, then, that they would meet and love again; she sighed as this plan she had built up for herself in thought for the moment fell down. She looked at him as he sat darkly before her, and wondered if he was doomed to remain unhappy to the bitter end of his existence. She had frequently read of such instances of blighted lives; and in most of them the hero—hero by reason of his life being blighted—had been a poet, or a musician, or a painter. It seemed very probable that this painter would form another example of a life withered by deceit. But then she had an after-thought that if it might be that the decree of Fate was in favour of Mr. Nether-ton’s future happiness, or even that his future might not be altogether bitter, how would it be brought about? Whom would Fate employ to make him happy, to cause him to forget his grief? Her heart beat fast as this thought came upon her, and her eyes became dim with tears sprung from the deep pure love of her heart. She knew that she loved him with all her heart; she would do anything for him; she would be content to give up everything for the sake of making him happy; she felt that she could give up even the love she herself bore him for the sake of his happiness, even though life now knew that all the gladness of her own she depended upon being able to love him. She clasped her hands as she sat there and prayed only that he might be saved from his misery; she left it to Providence to decide upon the means for bringing it about.

‘ Let us all dine together upon whatever we can get,’ said Mrs. Griffen, as the smiling maître welcomed the party to what he was pleased to call ‘ home.’ The maître believed Mrs. Griffen to be one of the best women alive, and became even more devoted to her now that he saw how attached she was to her new protègèe. The plans of the maître and Mrs. Griffen were exactly the same.

‘ Ah,’ said he, with his soft smile, ‘ we have not forgotten you, madame and milord. Our mountains give one an appetite, I said, when I took the liberty, to think of the charming party I knew was on the Blueberg. In ten minutes all will be ready in the little salle à manger.’

‘ You’re right, Adolphe,’ said Captain Jeffares, who had ridden outside from the Pass. ‘ These mountains of yours do give a person an appetite. Moses would have found it hard to put in his forty days’ fast in this neighbourhood.’

The maître looked grave as he turned to see if the Bishop was near. Observing that he was long out of hearing, however, he smiled and swore by the sacred azure that Captain Jeffares was a droll man.

But Miss Dobbin was not to be persuaded to continue with her party to dine.

‘ Pray forgive me, my dear Mrs. Griffen,’ she said, imploringly, in answer to that lady’s objection to part with her. ‘ I could not possibly dine to-night. I really am not at all hungry and my head has begun to ache badly. I have been so long in the hotel without moving out of it that the little excursion has knocked me up. Let me say “ Good night” and thank you so very, very much for such a delightful day.

I shall never forget it or your kindness. Please say “ Good night ” to the Bishop and Captain Jeffares for me.’

‘ Well, my dear, if you will not be persuaded, of course, I shall not urge you. It was so good in you to j'oin our old-fashioned party to-day. Mr. Netherton should not have taken you so far to see the sunset; but, maybe, it was worth the trouble; was it, dear? They say the sunsets from the brow of the Pass are something wonderful. Good night; we shall see you yourself again in the morning, I hope.’

The good lady smiled complacently as she walked along the corridor to her rooms. She had watched narrowly the effect of her remark as to the possibility of the advantage of the young lady’s long stroll counterbalancing the fatigue it entailed, and she was satisfied with the light tremulous blush that came over the pretty pale face before her. She. had truly a great mind for ordering events.

They had, indeed, a very charming little dinner in one of the smaller rooms, and Miss Dobbin’s absence was much regretted by everyone for a minute or so. The Bishop was the first in the room, and in a short time he was in his happiest mood, making all around him at their ease as they observed his skill in extracting from its frozen bed the body of an ortolan. The Bishop had his strong point—he could carve.

Mrs. Griffen made but one remark, entering the room; she turned to Mr. Netherton, saying:

‘ What on earth can you have been speaking about to Miss Dobbin in that wonderful sunset, Mr. Netherton? She says she has a terrible headache.’

Mr. Netherton murmured something about the probability of the jolting back to the hotel being equally likely to bring on the same result. But the Bishop, who was making some progress among the ortolan, laughed quietly.

‘If Miss Dobbin’s headache is due to conversational over-burdening, my dear, we would remind you that you had her entirely in your power all the way returning,’ he remarked, looking pleasantly towards his wife. She did not do anything but smile in return. She could smile now, having gained some information from the answer Netherton had made to her remark. This knowledge she conveyed to Mrs. Hamilton as they sat together alone that night.

‘ We shall succeed, my dearest Edith,’ said she. ‘ Have we not made good progress? I am certain he said something to her in the sunset’

‘ I shouldn’t wonder,’ remarked Mrs. Hamilton with a little tone of sarcasm in her clear voice; ‘ persons who are not wholly imbecile do frequently say things when they are together.’

‘ Now, Edith, I will not suffer you to begin any talk in this way,’ said the elder lady. ‘You know very well what I mean, and you yourself ought to know that I mean everything to turn out well and for the advantage both of Mr. Netherton and that little girl. If my plans should succeed—well, I will only say that they are not the first plans of mine that have succeeded.’ She added her last clause in a very significant way that she intended should have an effect as a set-off against Mrs. Hamilton’s sarcasm. That lady was not, however, quite overcome. She smiled gently, saying: ‘ And, no doubt, if they are not successful; one may add with equal truthfulness that they are not the first of your plans that have been unfortunate.’

‘ Why, what on earth is the matter with you, my dear Edith? ’ said Mrs. Griffen. ‘ Confess, now, that we have made the most of the circumstances we have had to deal with. It is impossible to influence the fate that brings about circumstances; but it is in the influencing of the circumstances that occur, to bring about a great design, that the greatness of a mind is exhibited.’

‘ Certainly, there can be no doubt about it,’ said the other. ‘ I have heard you say before now that circumstances were the phrenological development of time—that it all depended upon a skilful hand to turn either to good or bad account’

‘ I believe I did say that; if I did I am convinced every day of its truth. But to the point in question: could you imagine anything turning out more happily than these two young persons taking a fancy to each other? Poor Netherton has been so sadly unfortunate, both in his worldly prospects and also in that other affair.’

‘ You make a nice distinction between his worldly and his other prospects.’

‘ Be good enough not to interrupt me, Edith. I say that if we, seeing things as we now see them, did not do all in our power to assist in directing—I do not say leading—things to a happy conclusion, we would not be doing our duty; that is all I say. Why, my child, could anyone doubt but that it is a dispensation of Providence that Mr. Netherton should meet Miss Dobbin, fall in love with her, and marry her? It would be the happiest thing—humanly speaking, of course, dear—that could befall both of them. She is good and simple, and I can see she idolizes him, and she wili have a fortune of several thousand pounds—I have good authority for it, I assure you. Then, do you think he, being as he is, would not be fortunate if he could marry such a wife? ’

‘ I think you are right, indeed,’ said Edith Hamilton after a pause. ‘ Looking at people in the world from your standpoint, the best thing'and the most reasonable for them to do is to make their fortunes in marriage; and, indeed, I think that you are justified in coming to that conclusion, from the people who come round you; you fill the Palace with such people; but I do not think I am mistaken in believing that Mr. Netherton has a higher object in life than marrying and being given in marriage. I have talked with him a great deal these last few days, and I must confess I believe him to be of nobler aspirations than most of the men I have met with at the Palace or elsewhere. He is seeking to accomplish something better in life than that you would seek to give him.’

‘ Nonsense, my dear Edith; all this is visionary—quite unsubstantial. He has his youthful theories, born of enthusiasm, of course. Most men have their fancies when very young, and lose them when they find out their vanity, which they do, sooner or later. Depend upon it, Edith, a theory is best followed by a man in possession of a few thousand pounds; he can then afford to amuse himself with his own peculiarities. So I entreat of you do not interfere with me in my plans, unless you will work heartily with me. Now, good night, dear, I am fatigued; these days with you young people are beginning to tell on me.’

Then Edith Hamilton rose from her chair and gave her good friend a kiss of peace and departed to her own room.

And soon all of the party, whose movements we have so carefully been tracking, were forgetting their fatigue in sleep; while the peaks they had been amongst through the day were glistening, white and lovely, not beneath the stars, but in the midst of them.

CHAPTER X

Miss Dobbin’s headache had not gone away upon the next morning. She felt it would not be wise for her to leave her room; and there can be but little doubt that, having the thoughts she had, it would not have been wise to run the chance of having them diverted, or, maybe, altogether changed. So she got out her diary, and, having no one to whom she could open her heart, she allowed her thoughts full expression, as she fancied, in its pages. It was a great relief to her thus to be able to chronicle the events of the most eventful day she had yet spent of her life. She was faithful in noting every circumstance, even to the colour of the horses, and the character, so far as she could gather, of the driver. In recalling the sad story of the destruction of Mr. Netherton’s prospects, she was equally minute, so far as the direct narrative was concerned; but her full heart would not rest content with thus reproducing it—it took the opportunity of adding its own remarks as the story was developed; and the consequence was that the composition of her heart had the best of it; she lost all control over herself; she was carried away by the emotions of her heart to a fearful distance from the narrative of the day. Had this diary been destined to be read by any other person than herself, the abruptness of the return to the thread of the tale at its conclusion would have seemed very violent: ‘ If he should be happy I would be content to behold him again—never, nevermore; but I shall see him; he promised to let me see the picture he is about to begin— how very stedfastly and nobly he said he would begin it tomorrow, that is to-day. I knew that when he had said it no power could turn him from his resolution—Oh, if I could but get that picture to look upon, what a different life mine would be! I could gaze upon it when* we would be parted for ever, and feel happy, knowing that it was produced by his Genius; for in looking at a picture I feel that I am looking into the Mind that produced it But enough, my heart, I shall see it! I must be satisfied! I shall be satisfied.’

This was how it ended; it seemed very nice, as it was only meant for her own reading.

And all this time she was writing Mr. Netherton was sitting up at that part of the hill where he had strayed on his first evening at the Hôtel International, and he had his sketchbook in his hand.

On leaving the hotel in the morning it was his intention to make his picture from the side of the valley where he, had first seen Miss Dobbin stand when he had accepted her as a bit of neuter life whose mission in the world was to occupy a very small portion of his canvas; but when he had come to where the valley track divided to make a path on each slope his intention changed; he would not make that his standpoint He felt that the reluctance in his mind to ascend to the part where he destroyed those letters—all but one— was a weakness amounting almost to cowardice. He would crush it out He would overcome all the old sad recollections of the neighbourhood with the new fresh associations that were beginning to form themselves in his mind. All the while he was walking up the little uneven track he was allowing his new thoughts to come at their will; but somehow they did not come as he meant them; he meant that they should associate themselves with that part of the hill he was looking at, that he might never see a picture of those brown crags without seeing the soft, quiet face of the girl who had first come into his view among them. How fair and sweet was that face, he thought to himself, when he got to the painting spot he had chosen. He had been right in saying he had been the better for having met her, for having been in her company; even now he felt the influence of her fresh and simple nature upon his life. And she loved him, he thought; she did not take away her hand from his when he had held it for that instant; and he felt that he loved her dearly, as dearly as it was left for him to love anyone. He would paint the picture for her, and he would tell her that he loved her; and, so thinking, he raised his eyes to the scene before him. It was all as it had been to him on the first day of his return; but it was not this that was his thought as he looked across the mountain-gorge; he only felt that all was the same as it had been a year ago. ‘ A single year,’ he murmured, as he saw the face of the cliff cutting the brink of the very distant range at a certain part, giving to his view just as much of the hills as he remembered seeing on that departed day a year ago—-a single year and here he was re-dreaming all the old dream, instead of allowing it to be for ever blotted from his life. It was not very satisfactory to him; but that former day seemed burnt in on his life, remaining a thing not to be erased; while the new thoughts and the fresh associations were faint and undefined as shadows. He found it impossible to draw anything of his intended picture. He sat there all the day, companioned with his miserable thoughts; and it was late in the afternoon before he had put his brush to paper for the picture he had said he would begin that day. But before he touched it he had formed a resolution which he felt would remedy the incongruity of his thoughts. Suppose he were to go to Amy Dobbin the next day and tell her that he loved her, and could not be happy unless he obtained her promise to return his love-—would not this step be the beginning of a new life to him, the old life and its memories being cast behind him for ever? Yes, he resolved to trust her. He had told her the story of his life, and he would now go to her and offer to devote the remainder of that life to her.

If she accepted him, then, indeed, he knew he could trust himself. The dead Past would bury its dead out of sight—out of mind, and upon its grave would arise sweet flowers to blossom through the future. It was in the strength of this resolve that he was able at last to make a beginning of the picture he intended to paint.

It was to be a sketch of the mountain-scene before him. In the distance were the dim gray pinnacles rising above the Blueberg, shadowy and undefined. The nearer ridge of mountains was dark, and the verdure of its slopes apparent. Between them and the eminence where he sat was the long broad valley, with its pine woods dusky brown, touched by a gleam of sunlight that shot its way through the hollow between two overshadowing cliffs. He would paint this scene as he saw it for this girl, and where he now sat he would make the figure of a girl sitting that should be a portrait of herself.

He did not work at it for long; and, in spite of his resolution, he felt wretched as he went slowly back to the hotel.

Mrs. Griffen and Captain Jeffares were sitting on one of the chairs on the terrace, and saluted him as' he came up.

‘ My deaf Mr. Netherton, you are indefatigable,’ said the lady. ‘ The idea of your being over the hills and far away early in the morning, after the fatigue of yesterday’s excursion, is enough to make us ashamed of ourselves. Why will you do things so unpleasant? Oh, I know your ready excuses,—your profession; your mistress—Art, of course; you work by inspiration, which, so far as i can make out, means by fits and starts. Has any new and great idea come to you from your day among the Passes? You were more intent on making capital out of Nature than we were; you know you strayed away round the hill to see the sunset, and Miss Dobbin too, who, by the way, is laid up with the headache she had last night.’

‘ I am very sorry to hear that,’ said Netherton. ‘ I hope you have not suffered, Mrs. Griffen, nor the Bishop.’

‘ Of course we have suffered; but I believe the Bishop was up and writing his letters even before you were. Captain Jeffares has had lunch with Mr. Dobbin, and they have been talking till within the last half-hour, when I came out, and Mr. Dobbin, rather impolitely, went away to his daughter. By the way, Mr.

Netherton,. our thanks are due to you for bringing such a charming girl to us. She is quite charming, indeed, and seems so unconscious of it She talks so well, too, so girlishly, and with what naiveté! She is a girl meant for the good of society; we are always the better for being with such a simple, noble nature as hers. Captain Jeffares and I were just now wondering what her future lot would be.’

‘ It must have been an interesting problem, but one that I am sure could not fail to be satisfactorily worked out when under the consideration of Mrs. Griffen and Captain Jeffares,’ said Netherton.

‘ You compliment us, Mr. Netherton,’ said the lady, smiling. ‘Well, I believe we did arrive at some conclusion; what is this it was, Captain Jeffares? ’

‘ Something about marrying, I think,’ murmured that gentleman. ‘ You said you thought she would marry some person, Mrs. Griffen. Yes, I remember now, provided she loved him, and that sort of thing; but if you meant to convey, in a delicate manner, that I should endeavour to win her affections, I didn’t take you up.’

‘ Do not begin to talk nonsense when I am talking seriously. We agreed, Mr. Netherton, that any man who should win her would be fortunate.’

‘ There can be no doubt that your conclusion was a most truthful one, Mrs. Griffen,’ said Netherton. ‘ Let us hope that Miss Dobbin will be equally fortunate.’ And he bowed as he passed into the hotel.

Mrs. Griffen looked at Captain Jeffares and smiled significantly as Netherton disappeared. Captain Jeffares smiled also, but without any significance.

‘ I am almost confirmed in my suspicions, or, I should say, in my hopes, Captain Jeffares,’ said the lady. ‘ I know I can talk ±0 you in all confidence, being his friend for so long, and being aware also of the cruel way he was treated last year. I say I am sure he has become attached to Miss Dobbin; did you not see how he flushed slightly at the mention of her name? Very slightly, I admit, but still sufficiently to indicate his feeling. And then you noticed how satirical he became in answer to our remarks; and then how abruptly he parted just now.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Captain Jeffares,^4a day’s fast among the hills would make any man part without much ceremony from his dearest friends and well-wishers. I know, for my own part, last night after that dreadful drive outside—’

‘ My dear Captain Jeffares, you and Mr. Netherton are two very different people. Depend upon it he went off so suddenly only because he was unwilling to talk any more on the subject of Miss Dobbin. Now, you agreed with me this moment when I said I thought it would be one of the happiest of events if these two would be brought to think of each other; and surely, if it is at all within our power to influence them to this end, we should be doing wrong to stand back and withhold our power, such as it may be! Now, Captain Jeffares, if we could but get her father’s ideas on the subject, we would have attained a great point. He seems to me a man who might be influenced very easily one way or another on such a matter; so I want you, as you are familiar with him, to discover what are his ideas regarding his daughter—remember we are planning everything to bring about her happiness—and if you have a desirable opportunity you may mention how fortunate we would all consider it if his daughter could be brought to think of Mr. Netherton.’

‘ I don’t think I would have much difficulty in making the old gentleman see the good fortune of that,’ said J effares; ‘ but don’t you think it would be better to let them go about becoming spooney in their own way, Mrs. Griffen? I can’t see what on earth it is to us whether they become affectionate to each other or not If Providence has shaped their ends so, why I suppose they will get affectionate without our assistance.’

‘Do not be profane, Captain Jeffares,’ said the Bishop’s wife stiffly, which she meant to be solemnly; ‘it is not for us to say what the decrees of Providence are; but, if you do not see it plainly to be your duty to use whatever influence you have to make the future of two persons happy, I shall not urge you.’

‘Well, upon my word of honour, Mrs. Griffen, I cannot see that my duty lies in that way; if it does, why, then, I must say that I am unfortunate in having to do a duty for which I have neither talent nor inclination. If it is to oblige you, Mrs. Griffen, of course, that is a very different thing. I shall be happy to put myself about for that’

‘ You would oblige me very much indeed.

I do not know when I was so anxious about anything before. I have known and admired Netherton for a long time, and I have become very closely attached to Miss Dobbin. I desire only their happiness. I have been called meddling and interfering frequently, Captain Jeffares; but when I reflect on the number of persons who owe their happiness to my meddling and interference I feel an inward satisfaction which quite compensates for any trouble and vexation I may have experienced. Do you .not think I have reason for attributing some value to my . influence when I look at Edith Hamilton as she is now? Oh, yes, Captain Jeffares, my interference is now and again of some worth; and why should not this girl, whom we all acknowledge to be good and sweet, be helped, through our influence, to take a place in the world which, without our assistance, it would be almost impossible she could attain? But I have said enough; you will assist me in the way I suggest, and the result will be a great success.’

Captain Jeffares was almost surprised at the eloquence of the lady; but he had heard once or twice before of the instance of her skill in the case of Mrs. Hamilton, and he held his own opinions on the subject of Mrs. Griffen’s influence in bringing about that brilliant marriage. It was Captain Jeffares who ventured to start the theory of Mrs. Hamilton's accepting the place of patron that Mrs. Griffen meant to occupy herself. Now he smiled grimly, not looking at the lady, and not speaking at once.

‘Upon my word, Mrs. Griffen,’ he said at length, ‘ people have great reason to be obliged to you for your disinterested kindness on their behalf. I wish we had met earlier in life, you-might have taken an interest on my account and picked up an article worthy of my attachment; I fear it is too late now to think of doing anything for me in that way.’

‘ I am sure that even yet, if I thought it possible you could form a serious attachment, my influence would be of assistance to you,’ said the lady hopefully. ‘ But you were never a marrying man, Captain Jeffares,’ she added, despondently.

‘ I don’t think I really ever was,’ he replied, in a confident tone; ‘ but then that may have been that my real nature was never fully developed.’

‘ I’ll tell you what you must do,’ said Mrs. Griffen, after a thoughtful pause. ‘ Come to the Palace in the winter for a month. We should be delighted to see you.’

This was going too far for Captain Jeffares. Was it possible that he himself was going to be a victim to her influence? he asked himself.

‘ Bless my soul, no,’ he cried with a shudder.

‘ Pardon me, Mrs. Griffen, you are very kind, only—my health— no, I couldn’t possibly think of a winter away from Rome.’

‘ Then I shall not think of persuading you.’ And ‘the good lady smiled most pleasantly as she went towards the hotel.

It was fully five minutes before the Captain recovered from the effects of the suggestion which had just been made to him. A month in England in the winter to be spent at the Palace of Mellingham—the habitat of single young ladies—the. very hunting-ground of the Bishop’s wife! He shuddered again as he thought of being there without the possibility of escape from her influence. Yes, he felt that he had gone too far in making that remark which might possibly cause her to turn her attention to his prospects. Who could promise him that after she had brought Netherton’s little matter to a successful conclusion she would not exert her marvellous powers on his, Captain Jeffares’, behalf?

It was a frightful conjecture.

He took a cigar out of his case and lit it in a very thoughtful way, and set his foot upon the smouldering fusee in a determined manner.

‘ I was a fool to allow myself to be confederate with that woman in any way,’ he muttered. ‘ I had no business to promise her anything; in a sort of way it compromises myself; but, by Jove, sir, I’ll take good care, devilish good care, by jingo, that I shall go no farther than I have promised. I’ll find out what the old gentleman thinks of the possibility of his daughter marrying Netherton, but hang me if I go one step farther. I’ll have no more to say in the matter. I’ll cut them all and go to Rome if I find I can’t get on without being troubled by them. Why can’t that woman let us alone to get on in our quiet way? We were all right until she came. I saw that Netherton was safe enough to fall in love with that nice girl, but now the chances are that he won’t She says she has been called meddling and interfering, and, by Jove, whoever called her so knew something about her.’

Having thus soliloquised Captain Jeffares put his feet up on the garden-seat and smoked away at his cigar, becoming himself again under its tranquillising influence.

He knew that Mr. Dobbin would be on the terrace before the hour of the table d' hôte; and as Captain Jeffares had no business to occupy him inside the hotel he occupied the seat outside, and determined patiently to await his coming.

Before he had thrown away the end of his second cigar Mr. Dobbin did come out of the hotel, and, by bringing his legs into their natural position, Captain Jeffares made room for him to sit down on the place they had just vacated.

Mr. Dobbin apologised to the legs for having disturbed them, and then began to speak of the excursion to the Blueberg Pass, by which the gentleman beside him was reminded that Miss Dobbin was suffering from a headache, and he expressed a hope that her indisposition was not so serious as would cause them to be deprived of the pleasure of her society.

‘ Between ourselves, Captain,’ whispered Mr. Dobbin in a shrewd way, ‘ it’s not a great deal that is the matter with her. She has been up all day, and writing in her diary a fine descrip tion of all she has seen. It seems to be a pretty place, that Pass, if - one may judge from her account of it. It’s wonderful what can be done by situation, Captain; I. don’t suppose if we saw one of those cliffs by itself we would think much of it, but when there’s a lot of them together in a nice situation they are seen to advantage and we think a heap of them.’

‘ I have no doubt but they owe a great deal to that, Mr. Dobbin.’

‘Yes, Captain; they say the valley is a noble sight; but if it wasn’t for the mountains that happen to be on each side of it, it would be thought nothing of.’

‘ Very true, Mr. Dobbin. And how does Miss Dobbin seem to like the company she was with on her little excursion? ’

‘ I think she is delighted, though she doesn’t say much,’ said Mr. Dobbin. ‘She has every reason for it, at any rate. I never met with such kindness in my life. Why, she had only met with the Bishop and his lady about an hour when she was asked to go with them. It surprised me; and his Lordship was as friendly as if I had known him for years before the night we met. He is a wonderful man, his Lordship, and knows to be acquainted with Mr. Netherton for some time.’

“ Yes, we were all a good deal together last year,’ said Jeffares. ‘By the way, Mr. Dobbin, what does your daughter think of Mr. Netherton? ’

‘ Amy is very curious these last some days, Captain Jeffares,’ answered the father, gravely.

‘ I cannot altogether understand her sometimes; she goes away whenever I begin to speak of him ; and the other day, when the maître was talking about him, she was reading a paper, and never giving the least attention to what he was saying. Then you remember what she did about the portrait; when I told you I thought I would ask him to paint her, she made me countermand the order—I mean the request I asked you to give him. It annoyed me very much indeed, especially as I can assign no reason for her behaviour.’

‘And yet, Mr. Dobbin, she walked down from the hill with him that day, and yesterday they both went to see the sunset from the valley of the Blueberg. In fact, Mr. Dobbin, my friend Mr. Netherton paid your daughter a great deal of attention.’

‘ Did he really, Sir? ’ said Mr. Dobbin, starting up. ‘You mean, Captain, that——’

‘Not exactly so,’ said the Captain; ‘you hardly understand me, Mr. Dobbin; though his attention to Miss Dobbin was marked—of course, I do not for an instant take upon me to say that Netherton has formed an attachment to your daughter; I am not fond of noticing people closely—the result is hardly ever worth the trouble; but Mrs. Griffen remarked to me, in course of conversation just now, that she fancied Netherton was very attentive to Miss Dobbin. But, of course, Mr. Dobbin, if you would not wish her to be subject to his attentions, Mrs. Griffen, on being aware of your mind, will be very cautious in future. Miss Dobbin will be quite safe with Mrs. Griffen, you may rely on that; you have but to express the slightest desire on the subject, and it will be complied with to the letter.’

‘ My dear sir, my dear Captain, you have surprised me indeed. Do you think I could hope for anything like this for my daughter? I never dreamt of such fortune. But do you not think you are mistaken? I know my little girl well; but that she should attract the°atten- never entered my fancy. Captain Jeffares, such fortune would be too much to dream on.’ Then he paused in his eager, rapid speech, while Captain Jeffares made not the slightest sign.

At length Mr. Dobbin spoke again.

‘Captain Jeffares,’ he said slowly, turning towards his companion, ‘ I know your friend would not be influenced by money; only I may as well tell you that my daughter will have seventy-five thousand pounds from me the day she is married. That’s all I have to say.’

Captain Jeffares did not give the slightest perceptible start; and Mr. Dobbin, unable to conceal his feelings, walked into the hotel.

When he had quite disappeared from Captain Jeffares’ sight that gentleman stood up, and moved slowly to where he could obtain a good view of the valley. He gazed for long from his place in a pensive way, though he had frequently seen the landscape as it now lay before him without being affected by its charms.

‘ Seventy-five thousand pounds! ’ he murmured, as he watched the Brodbach Peak,Ie touched by the yellow fire of the sun, blaze ‘ Seventy-five thousand pounds! And it is his if he takes the trouble to ask for it Past misfortune! By Jove! this is compensation from the hands of Providence. Seventy-five thousand pounds! ’

He turned away with something like a sigh, but what that was the result of it would be impossible to say. It may have been that he noticed how rapidly the gold of the sunlight dwindled away from the peak it had been glorifying, or that he was reflecting on his wasted youth. How was it that such chances never were placed within his reach? he wondered. He was surely equally worthy, and much more in need of them; yet, somehow, the opportunities—-golden opportunities—had passed away from him as the golden light was passing away from the Brodbach.

He played a game of billiards after dinner with Netherton, in the course of which he passed a remark with reference to the discovery he had made.

‘ Do much work among the hills to-day? ’ he enquired. ‘ Professional work, I mean.’

‘ Not very much,’ Netherton replied quickly, as if he did not like the subject deal. You might as well have contented yourself with Mr. Dobbin and me. He is a most confiding old gentleman. If you had been with us you would have learned what I did.’

‘ Give me the benefit of your information,’ Netherton replied, with a slight sneer.

‘Oh, it’s nothing of much consequence to you or me, to be sure; only it shows the confiding spirit of my informant You have seen his daughter, a rather nice quiet little girl? Well, she is to have seventy-five thousand pounds the day she is married. Spot the red ball, please,’ Mr. Netherton put the red ball on the spot

CHAPTER XI

Captain Jeff ares, Mr. Netherton, Mrs. Griffen, and the Bishop of Mellingham and Ufford Marshes were this night each and all acquainted with a fact regarding Miss Dobbin of which that young lady was herself in entire ignorance. She had never been told by her parent that she would some day be in possession of a large sum of money. Had she ever been told so it is probable that she would not have been affected by hearing it. It would have been quite impossible for her to have understood the start Mrs. Griffen gave, and the surprise that showed itself on her face and in the uplifting of her hands, when she received from Captain Jeffares’ lips the knowledge he had become the bearer of. She could not have comprehended the reason of Captain Jeffares’ pensive gaze down the valley, after her father had said his last sentence in conversation with him; and the reason of Mr. Netherton’s loose play towards the end of his game of billiards would most likely have been attributed by her to carelessness; she was so completely unaware of the value of a large sum of money in the eyes of these people. Miss Dobbin’s father was not, however, in such utter ignorance on the matter. He had been accustomed all his life to spend his money very sparingly; and though he did not make money rapidly, yet he made it in a much more rapid proportion than his spending of it. The result of this method was highly satisfactory, as might be expected from so plain a way of doing business; he found himself with much more money than his resources for spending could cope with. Though his daughter was possessed of much larger capabilities in this most delightful of all the arts, he was hardly sensible of the superiority of her power. The aggregate knowledge of how to spend money of both his daughter and himself was much too limited to affect his capital. Still, he was not by any means in ignorance of the importance to be attached to the possession of money, and he was well aware that the knowledge he lacked was not absent from some people in the world. But then there were people to whom the knowledge came, but from whom the wisdom lin gered, in this matter; and he had often been oppressed with the thought it might be that the care of getting rid of his wealth would be entrusted to one of these. If his daughter should marry such a man what a terrible thing it would be!

Now, however, he had discovered a man who, he believed, would be capable of fulfilling the trust, if it should be reposed in him, with wisdom and knowledge. Captain Jeffares had suggested to his mind a possibility that he was determined to do his best to achieve. If Mr. Netherton had indeed thought for a moment about loving his daughter, surely, Mr. Dobbin felt, his being made acquainted with the extent of her fortune would cause him to think of her a second time. He knew that Mr. Netherton’s first thought would never have arisen on the strength of this fact, but surely a second one might be produced by its means! This is all he felt when he made that last remark to Captain Jeffares.

But as he pondered upon the circumstances of the case his heart sunk within him. What would all of Mr. Netherton’s thoughts of love avail if his daughter would continue in her unaccountable antipathy towards him? This question that he asked himself distressed him very much. He confessed to himself that there were some points of his daughter’s character he could not comprehend; but he flattered himself on being sufficiently well acquainted with it to know that when she had conceived a dislike to a person, upon grounds however unreasonable, one would with great difficulty persuade her to become violently attached to that person at a moment’s notice. This insight into her nature brought trouble to his heart. If any step was to be taken to influence her it would be necessary to take it with the utmost caution. But he would certainly take a step towards bringing her round to the side of reason, which was, of course, his side. The side of reason in an argument is invariably one’s own side.

He was to have tea with his daughter in the evening, and while engaged in this way he resolved to find out if she still held to her own absurd opinion which had caused them to quarrel one evening long ago—it was almost a fortnight since. He knew now he had been in the wrong at that time in endeavouring to convince her that Netherton was the most noble man in his actions, when she had just seen him to such a disadvantage as he stood beside the broken window of the salle à’manger. Yes, he had been wrong then, but now he had at his command all the experience of her developed character, which he would not be slow to make use of. He would be cautious with her.

‘ Amy,’ said he, playing with his spoon and looking into his cup innocently, as if he had no great purpose on his mind. ‘Amy, I am beginning to think it was a bright idea of yours to bring me here. It seems like as if I had entered on a new life. And you too, dear, I hope you like it? ’

‘ Oh, papa, it is far beyond anything I imagined it possible to exist in the world for loveliness. But yesterday was the crowning of all. You must see the Blueberg Pass before we leave. Oh, it is the grandest, the most sublime—but it cannot be described, even Byron’s Manfred cannot give one any idea of its magnificence.’

‘ Indeed, do you think not? ’ said her father, looking up in simulated surprise. When even Byron’s Manfred of which he had never heard, could not give any idea on the subject, its grandeur must have indeed been great Then, on the whole, you rather enjoyed your day’s outing? ’ he added.

‘Oh, it was beyond any imagination! ’ cried the young lady.

‘ Ah, I don’t wonder at it. And you were in such society, too, dear; the sort of company I always felt you should be mixing with. The Lord Bishop is a noble old gentleman, and his wife too; by the way, Amy, doesn’t it seem queer that though the Bishop is a Lord his wife is not a Lady? It seems rather hard on her, doesn’t it? Well, never mind, “ the rank is but the guinea stamp,” you know.’

‘I hate Burns!’ said Miss Dobbin.

‘ Never mind, I only mean to say it’s quite possible to be good company without being a Lord Bishop or a Lady Bishop. Is the Bishop good on his feet? Was it he that showed you the beauties, or was it Captain Jeffares?’

‘ Anyone could see the beauties of the Blueberg Pass,’ said Amy. They are the beauties of nature, free for all to look at and enjoy.’

“ Oh, then, you mean that you stayed with the party all the while? I thought you would have gone to some place that his Lordship would not care following you. Young people are fond of climbing and knocking about among the heights. When we first came here don’t you remember how you used to tire me out on that hill where you went to draw? ’

We did not stay together the whole time, papa; Mrs. Grififen was very anxious that I should see the sunset from the lowest slope of-the hill, and I went to see it.’

‘ Not alone, surely? ’ said the designing old man, looking up in apparent alarm.

‘ Mr. Netherton very kindly said he would show me how to find the track round the hill, and as Captain Jeffares had gone asleep after lunch I went with Mr. Netherton for a short time about the hill.’

‘ Ah, indeed; well, I am sure you found his company agreeable, quite as agreeable as the Captain’s would have been. I expect you are beginning to find out that he is not so bad as you fancied him at first You were very hard on him once, Amy.’

‘ What do you mean, papa? ’ she cried, eagerly, her fair face flushing with a start. ‘ I do not understand what you mean by being hard on Mr. Netherton. What do you mean, papa? ’

‘ Oh, never mind, dear, never mind; if your aversion has worn off, I am sure I am only too glad of it’

‘How can you talk so, papa?’ she cried, indignantly. ‘ I never had any aversion to him; but I say I only went with him because Captain Jeffares was asleep; if he had been awake we would all have gone together. Was I to blame if he chose to fall asleep? ’

‘ Hush, hush, Amy; do not be foolish now as you were once. I never hinted a word of blame to you. He is the man above all others I respect. Poor fellow, it is a pity his father did not leave him well off. He has only five or six hundred a year now, Amy, when he once had as .many thousands.’

‘ What does it matter to us, papa; we will soon be away from here, and then we shall most likely never see him again? Besides, I don’t think he cares in the least for money. He will be one of the greatest painters of the day. He lives only for Art.’

I don’t doubt it, dear; only, depend upon it, a man can best carry out his ideas on a subject that doesn’t pay, when he is backed up with a fortune.’

' The greatest geniuses the world has produced were poor, papa.’

‘ Yes, dear, but these great geniuses would have been greater still if they had been rich.

Now I think Mr. Netherton would be like this; if he had twenty or thirty thousand pounds he could afford to paint as he liked, and the people would begin to believe in him.’ All of this Mr. Dobbin had learned from the Bishop’s lady an hour before. He was not aware at that time that this lady had just learned from Captain Jeffares that Miss Dobbin’s fortune would be a large sum. ‘Amy,’ he added, gravely, ‘ I think I ought to have told you before this that your fortune will amount, as nearly as I can say at present, to about seventy-five thousand pounds, that you would get on your marriage-day. When I am dead and gone, of course——’

‘ Papa, papa, why will you talk this way? Who was talking about my getting married? and what does it matter how much money I may have? I wish you would not talk in this way, indeed.’

‘ Amy, I only mean to say that if you should ever like Mr. Netherton well enough to——’

She started from her seat with her face burning and her lips quivering.

‘ Papa, what are you saying? How can you say such a thing to me now, after what you told me long ago? Don’t you remember what you told me about George—George Rylott? Think of that, papa! ’ The tears came about her in a flood as she covered her face with her hands passionately.

It was now her father's turn to be angry. He gave a little start as she spoke the name, but recovered himself in a moment.

‘ Rylott—George Rylott! I was a fool then, Amy. Just think of the two men together! ’ He had got up from his chair, and had strode to the window.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Frangois presented himself- bearing a visiting-card, which Mr. Dobbin took in some surprise.

‘ Good God! ’ he exclaimed, as he read on it the words he had just uttered.

‘ George Rylott’

‘ Gentleman is just arrived by the diligence, Meester Dobbin. He eats in the salle à’ manger.’

‘ My goodness, Amy,’ said Mr. Dobbin, in a whisper, ‘ George Rylott is below. I suppose I must ask him to our rooms after he has dined.’

‘ What brought him here? ’ she said, impatiently. ‘ He cannot come up. Think of my headache, papa! It would be impossible.’

‘ But, my dear, you must recollect he is a relation.’

‘ A second cousin is no relation, papa. You are not bound to him in any way. It is impossible he could be brought up.’

' I never was so much bewildered in my life. I must go to him, I suppose. Confound him, I wish he had stayed where he was.’

And Mr. Dobbin went out of the room, leaving his daughter alone.

For a few moments she stood thoughtfully at the door, then she burst into a mocking laugh that was not nice.

‘ George Rylott! ’ she cried as she laughed. Then all of a sudden she threw herself on a chair, and burst into tears. Her tears were no mockery.

CHAPTER XII

Mr. Dobbin paused at the door of the salle à manger and a frown was on his face. It would have been impossible for anyohe to have detected a symptom of eagerness to enter the room from the way he opened the door.

There were only a few people in the .room when he entered, one of them was a low-sized-young man with a narrow forehead and keen gray eyes—unpleasantly keen, with reddish-brown whiskers, but no beard and no moustache. This young man seemed to be at this moment very hungry. He heard the door open and the sound of feet approaching where he sat, but he did not raise his head from bending over the plate before him.

Mr. Dobbin had glanced round the room until his eyes alighted on this man; then he hurried forward to his side, at which the young man looked up, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and shook hands with Mr. Dobbin.

‘ How do you do, George? ’ said the elder gentleman. ‘ I could hardly believe my senses when I got your card. You didn’t say in your last letter that you intended coming here.’

‘ I thought I might as well take my holiday a bit earlier this year,’ answered the other, looking down at his plate; ‘ especially now we are dull. And then, as there are some things on business I would like to speak to you about, I thought I might as well combine business and pleasure. I don’t believe much in knocking about spending money unprofitably. I like to combine the two things. We’ve had a long drive here, Sir,’ he added, after a pause in which he still kept his eyes on the plate, and, though I was so lucky as to fall asleep and continue that way nearly all the time, yet I felt in a humour for my supper.’

‘ You had better go on with it, then,’ said Mr. Dobbin. ‘ Don’t mind me.’

To do the young man justice he did not mind Mr. Dobbin in the least. ‘ All right, Sir,’ said he, ‘ I’ll be with you in a few minutes.’

Mr. Dobbin sat patiently by, watching him eat. But, however instructive the study may have been, it would have been apparent to anyone that he was not giving his thoughts to it.

The fact was that he was engaged in wishing with all his heart that this young man was eating his meal in some comfortable room in England. He would not have grudged paying his fare there and his bill for one of the choicest little suppers that could be produced, if only he would eat it in some far-off place.

He was startled from his meditations by the young man turning round and addressing him.

‘ Now, Sir,’ said he, ‘ I suppose we may as well commence to business at once. By the way, how do you find your health here? ’

‘ Thank you, George, I never was better in my life. I’m sorry to say, however, that Amy has a very bad headache to-night, which prevents me from asking you to our rooms. She was out on an excursion yesterday that has knocked her up. he said this with some hesitation, just enough to make it seem a polite excuse. it would have been taken for such by anyone accustomed to polite society, but Mr. Geoige Rylott did not accept it in this way. He merely said:

‘ I’m sorry to hear that; but I don’t wonder at it, it’s very heavy travelling about here, up and down hill. If I hadn’t been so very lucky as to continue asleep until just when we were arriving I don’t know how I would have been. The best thing a person can do is to keep indoors, I fancy. The hotel appears comfortable enough.’

‘ Comfortable enough! ’ This for the Hotel International! It was fortunate the maîtr’e was not near to hear it called ‘comfortable enough.’

‘Yes,’ said Mr. Dobbin; ‘but you intend going on, of course; there is much finer scenery among the further Alps, I have heard. You could never think of returning from here without going through them all. A very short time would suffice to show you all about here. Mr. Dobbin was beginning to be very artful and designing in his converse. His friend was anything but that. He gave a low laugh, saying:

‘ I don’t mind seeing any finer scenery than about here, Sir. I don’t think there is much to be gained by spending one’s money in that way. I think I’ll just stay here till my fortnight is up; and we can have talks about the business. I’ve brought some of the books with me and also a few statements to give you an idea how things are doing.’

Then did Mr. George Rylott unlock a moderately-sized square bag—that sort which seems a hobbledehoy, claiming not the title of portmanteau and yet too overgrown to be called handbag—and from it he extracted a few bundles of papers tied together and carefully labelled. Then came a large office account-book, causing the bag to gasp as it was taken out ‘ I’ll just show you my system,’ said Mr; Rylott, spreading all out on a table. And he did attempt to give an explanation of something requiring reference to both book and papers very frequently; but, to his great astonishment, Mr. Dobbin’s eyes did not glisten as the beautiful connection and harmony between them dawned upon him. He did not challenge any of the weaknesses which the young man was prepared to defend, nor did he signify his approval of the overwhelming number of strong points in this explanation. He simply sat by for an hour, murmuring ‘ Quite so,’ ‘ Exactly,’ and ‘Oh, indeed!’

At last he rose with a yawn.

‘ I’m much obliged to you for your trouble, George,’ he then said; ‘ but somehow I think you need hardly have encumbered yourself with bringing the books; I could have understood quite as well by letter. I’ll go through all in the morning, however; at present I think I had better get off to bed. I wish you had sent me a wire; I would have been prepared for your coming.’

‘ I don’t think I would have come if I hadn’t meant to take this as my holiday tour, Sir; and, besides, I thought I might have a chance of speaking to you about another affair, but one that will bear to lie over for a while.’

This last sentence was spoken by the young man with some hesitation, which seemed almost great enough to be called confusion. Mr. Dobbin noticed it and appeared to partake of some of it, for he answered, with nervous rapidity:

‘ Ah, better let it lie over some time; there is no need to be in a hurry.’ Then he expressed a hope that Mr. Rylott would . be comfortable, and went off.

As he entered his room he again expressed himself on the subject of Mr. George Rylott’s. coming, making use of the same words.

‘ Confound him, I wish he had stayed where he was.’

The dissatisfaction he felt was the dissatis faction of a man who, after playing his best card, finds- it taken by an unexpected ace.

The young man in the salle à manger also felt dissatisfied as he put by his papers:—the dissatisfaction of one whose partner does not back him up in his game, causing him to produce a cherished ace prematurely.

Mr. George Rylott was, as Miss Dobbin had said, the second cousin of Mr. Dobbin. His father had somehow not been able to get into the satisfactory way of doing business employed by Mr. Dobbin; instead of making much more money than he could spend, he spent much more than he ever made. The consequence was that when he died his son was left dependent on the charity of Mr. Dobbin. That gentleman undertook the charge without a murmur, and had placed him in his own business, in which he quickly displayed uncommon talents, and became in time Mr. Dobbin’s most confidential man. A year before the commencement of this story, on Mr. Dobbin’s retirement from the fatigues of business, he had made Mr. George Rylott his partner giving him unlimited control in all matters, subject only to his own concurrence in weighty things.

In these successful business days Mr. Dobbin’s ambition was that George Rylott should marry his daughter Amy and so connect himself by name with the great business. He had once hinted this to the young man and had met with his concurrence as to the satisfactoriness of such an arrangement, and he had once mentioned his vision to his daughter; as she was very young he had not done so in a definite way. But, still, it seemed very generally, understood by people in their neighbourhood that Mr. Rylott was to marry Miss Dobbin at some uncertain period.

It was of this understanding that she reminded her father this evening when he had introduced Mr. Netherton’s name in connection with the amount of her fortune. It was very thoughtful and reasonable in her to do so, and her father ought to have been gratified by the high consciousness of justice she exhibited, but he had not been so; he had been startled at the mention of the name of George Rylott, and when he recovered himself he had repeated it with a sneer which must have been very bitter to his daughter, who had just shown her sensitiveness regarding the treatment of absent friends. There was not much time, however, for Mr. Dobbin to analyse his daughter’s sentiment before he was obliged to go to this young man who had appeared so strangely upon the mention of his name; but while he was silently watching the young man eating he began to reflect upon this curious thoughtfulness of his daughter. She had never, so far as he could recollect, mentioned the name of George Rylott. as one whose feelings were worthy of being consulted, on any particular point; she had never hinted to her father the probable happiness George Rylott would derive from her education at the Greenwich school. In fact, Mr. Dobbin could not remember a single instance of her having betrayed such a regard for him as one might be justified in believing her expression in the room to exhibit.

Then all at once it flashed upon him that, perhaps, this secret attachment was the cause of her strange dislike to Mr. Netherton. Surely it must have been so, he felt; this would be the explanation most consistent with her character so far as he could comprehend it.

At first on making this discovery he felt very much irritated. How stupid and insensible must not any girl be who could prefer such a man as that, who was looking neither to the right hand nor to the left from the plate before Jiim, to Mr. Netherton, who was regarded with the deepest respect by everyone, who was the confidential friend of Bishops, and who had been once engaged to enter the family of an earl. But after awhile he became less annoyed about it Why should he be so very intent on trying to achieve something the possibility of which had been only hinted to him? he asked himself. Why should he desire that his daughter.should love and marry this stranger, however noble and superior to other men, when she was not so minded? He had not yet become possessed of the idea of her doing so for more than a few hours, and yet it had taken such a strong hold on his mind that the reasonable answers which he returned to these questions of his failed to make him abandon his idea. All the distance he could reason himself extended no farther than caused him to feel that as logic and the force of circumstances and his daughter’s tastes were all strongly opposed to him, he had, perhaps, better not struggle too far against all their united forces, but submit to destiny.

So he went back to the room where he had left his daughter alone, agreeing within himself to yield gracefully for the sake of her happiness; though he did, when just outside the door, repeat the ungracious words he had used when about to meet his young friend, Mr. George Rylott.

Amy had not gone to bed. She was sitting at the window in the darkness, at the window where she had sat without moving all the time her parent was absent It was a pleasant place for one to sit just at this thoughtful time. The moon had been a crescent in the twilight, but had disappeared behind a steep ridge, leaving the lower sky still aware of its presence and touching with its rays the whole length of a narrow cloud that stood above the hill. Some place outside, not very far away, an Englishman was twanging a guitar and singing an Italian song, at the intervals in which there came the sounds of English laughter.

This made' her feel very lonely, this song and that laughter through the night There was probably a party of merry tourists, all fast friends, outside, while here she was sitting alone far away from anyone with whom she could talk or laugh. She wanted someone she could talk sincerely with, and she felt that there had never been loneliness like hers, while beneath her the guitar went twang, and the laughs made the interludes.

Her mind was not, indeed, disturbed by any particular circumstance that had happened. That communication of her father’s, regarding the money she would possess, gave her no cause for serious thought But could it be possible that he had discovered, or fancied he discovered, that she had allowed her hand to lie in Mr. Netherton’s, as they watched the sunset from the great Blueberg? No, not a soul was there to reveal it, nothing was there; but her remembrance ran back to that wonderful sunset and everything that was about it, and the man lying at her feet, and the words -he had been speaking, till she almost had lost herself in the wealth of sunset-hued memories. Then she felt more lonely, having no one to whom she could tell all she was thinking about; apd beneath her the guitar was louder than ever.

Still, she was quite calm in her mind on one point. She had made a -great mistake, but one for which she easily pardoned herself: she had been resolved never to admit to her father that she could be so foolish as to fall in love with a man she had only seen a few times, and so had rebuked him for his injustice to her by calling to his mind what he had said to her, more than a year ago, about George Rylott Surely nothing could be safer than mentioning the name of a man who is supposed to be several hundred miles away; but suddenly the bearer of the name appears at hand, and embarrassment is the result; only this was her strong point—she would take care and not urge too strongly on her father the remembrance of what he had once said to her about this young man.

Then her father entered the room, and she rose and asked him if he would have a lamp lit.

No, he told her, he was tired and would go to bed shortly; he would sit down by the window.

He sat by the window silently for a moment. She did not want him to fancy she was at all annoyed or out of temper by what he had said to her before. She would show him that she had forgotten it all.

‘ It was so funny, papa,’ she said, with a little laugh; ‘ some poor Englishman has been trying to accompany himself on a guitar that is dreadfully out of tune. You never knew anything so ludicrous. Just listen and you will laugh.’

She put her hand on his, and there was a pause.

‘ Oh, there, he has gone and stopped, as if he knew we were listening. How provoking!’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Mr. Dobbin. ‘I think I’ll go to bed, Amy, if you will ring for the candlesticks.’

She rang the bell, and the candles appeared. Just as he was leaving the room she kissed him, and said hastily:

‘ Oh, by the way, papa, did you see George? ’ ‘ I did.’

“ And is he—quite well? ’

‘ Oh, dear yes, quite well. Good night’

‘ Good night, papa.’

CHAPTER XIII

It is to be hoped that it will hardly be necessary to remind a reader of these chapters in consecutive order of the resolution Mr. Nether-ton had come to, during the progress of his sketch for the picture, on that low hill overlooking the valley of the Schwartzbach. This resolution he had come to without having had that communication made to him by Jeffares at the billiard-table. Up to that time he had not any thought on the subject of a fortune that might be Miss Dobbin’s. Almost every person about the Hôtel International had had some guess regarding the wealth of Mr. Dobbin. The maître, of course, never took the liberty of discussing the matter with Captain Jeffares, but both were well aware it was something worth discussion. The Bishop and Mrs. Griffen had talked it over, and even the Reverend Augustus Wyvern had debated with himself as to the possibility of working Mr.

Dobbin’s mind round into a church-building-and-endowment groove. But Netherton had really never thought about it He had come to the determination that it would be good ior him to love and marry this good and affectionate girl, even though he could not wholly blot out from his heart the old affections.

When Captain Jeffares told him of the money this good and affectionate young girl would have he began for the first time to think about marrying a wife with a fortune.

He lit a cigar at the end of the game of billiards, and went out into the night, strolling from the terrace of the hotel to the broad diligence road, slowly and thoughtfully.'

Here was a possibility of all his wealth being restored to him in a moment—all that he had lost; yea, all. For he knew he could love this girl as well as he had loved the woman who had given him her promise here a year ago. But, though his own mind was clear as to the right he had to marry her if he could, he could not help reflecting on what other people could with reason say about him if he did so. Jeffares, he knew, would be glad of an opportunity of airing his cynicism, and Mrs. Griffen would most likely quote his case as one of her brilliant successes for years to come; people would come to regard him as a man whose success in life was due solely to his marriage. He would not be content to live thus.

If he had not liked Amy Dobbin very much indeed it is certain that he would have abandoned all idea of amending his fortune by her aid; but he did not abandon the idea. He found that his liking for her was sufficient to cause him to decide to run all risks for her sake, the risk of being called the hunter of a fortune by jealous men, and a lucky dog by the good-humoured. He would keep to the resolution framed over the first streaks of his picture.

He would not, however, rush to her at once in the morning; he would wait until he made some progress in that picture he had promised to paint for her. He would, perhaps, ask her to sit for him, that it might be a faithful portrait of her he would have in the foreground. It is just possible that Mr. Netherton had an idea that, if there was any doubt of his having won Miss Dobbin’s affections, this way he had proposed for himself was the most effective he could suggest to remove that doubt.

During this stroll of Netherton’s the subject that occupied his thoughts was made the subject of conversation between the Bishop’s lady and her friend Mrs. Hamilton, in a corner of the salon. The diligence that had conveyed Mr. George Rylott through the beauties of the Schwartzbach valley without disturbing his slumbers had borne many other persons to the protection of the famous hotel, and the large room was very well filled—a few English climbers, an elderly newly-married couple smiling together at a good remark which either fancied the other was going to make but which was never really made, and an invalided young man attended on by an anxious sister. Apart from all of these sat Mrs. Griffen, her husband, and Mrs. Hamilton; the Bishop was quietly reading a book; the ladies, as has been said, were talking about the fortune of Miss Dobbin and the fortune of Mr. Netherton.

The amount which Captain Jeffares had named as having been told him by Mr. Dobbin surprised Mrs. Griffen; and, indeed, although Edith Hamilton heard it mentioned without being visibly affected, she was still greatly surprised at its largeness. The elder lady then gave strict orders to Captain Jeffares on no account to let Netherton know that she had become possessed of his information. She was pretty well aware that his nature was such as would lead him to suppose that she was acting on his behalf mainly through the influence of the largeness of the girl’s fortune which she would reasonably desire to be in possession of one of her friends; and not mainly because of her anxiety to see him married to one whom he loved truly and by whom he was as truly beloved.

Of course, Mrs. Griffen could persuade herself that the latter was the chief influence in her desire; still she did not even make the attempt to show her friend Mrs. Hamilton that it was so.

But she was just now somewhat perplexed how to proceed in the advancement of her wishes. Netherton, she knew, would not be urged by anyone alive to propose to a young lady: if urged he might be inclined to break off any intention he had. As for the young lady, whose headache compelled her to remain out of persuasion’s reach, what could anyone say to her on the matter? She already loved Mr. Netherton well enough, Mrs. Griffen thought, to accept him as a suitor for her hand, and what more could anyone want of her? Still, Mrs. Griffen was unsatisfied; she was only remaining in the hotel for another week, and she would go away with a very heavy heart if this matter should not be settled and in order before the end of that time'. Mrs. Hamilton’s apparent indifference made her much annoyed. If they two worked well and faithfully together it might be that a great deal would be accomplished in this week.

Edith Hamilton’s one thought on the subject was that it might be, if this man who had got such elevated ideas on art married a woman with a great deal of money, he might never carry out his ideas, and his existence would be lost to the world; for she believed that the world was art—that it was the existence of the few righteous men of art that had in all ages saved the world from becoming as Sodom and Gomorrah. If this painter’s great ideas would be developed by his marrying such a girl it would be well that they were married. In any case, she felt that nothing would be gained by putting herself about to achieve a result the end of which she failed to see Consequently she seemed indifferent, strangely and unwisely indifferent, Mrs. Griffen thought.

And so this night passed to all in earnest thought.

The next morning Mr. Dobbin had a painful conviction that he ought to have invited George Rylott to breakfast with him and his daughter; but, not finding his daughter out of her own room,, he decided it would be better for him to consult her feelings before doing so; it might be that her headache would not permit her to meet with strangers; headaches are so very capricious, as he had found out from the way they were in the habit of affecting his daughter. Miss Dobbin also shared her father’s conviction, and she found that, indeed, her head was liable to ache; so she remained within her room, looking, out through a little opening in the blind to the morning scene. The valley was gray with a light mist hovering around it, which made the sun seem as if one were viewing it through a piece of shaded glass. She heard the laughter of the departing tourists as they stood about the door waiting for the last of their party—which of them was it had strummed so woefully on the untuned guitar? she wondered—and she heard the guides responding in broken English to the broken French in which they had been addressed. After awhile they went off, and she peeped still further to catch a glimpse of them winding along the hill-track, pulling their knapsacks up well on their shoulders at intervals, and seeming as if their invaluable alpenstocks were very much in the way.

Then she dressed herself very charmingly, and when she drew up her blind she found that the early mist had almost disappeared, only it clasped the white far-off peaks, and seemed in its dazzling whiteness to be no more than the fleece-foam of the blue sea of sky, broken upon the rocks the sky appeared girding, as the sea encircles a rock.

Suddenly she started back, and her heart began to beat fearfully. Netherton had gone out of the hotel, and was walking upon the little path leading around the hill. She stole to the window again and knelt before it, so that he might not see her if he should by chance look round. She might have stood upright; he never turned to look near the hotel.

It was the most passionate enjoyment for her thus to be able to look out at him, she felt. He had his sketching gear with him, so he was indeed fulfilling his promise to her; he was engaged with his picture of the valley-scene. He would work at it all day—oh, how divine to be able to come near him through the day, and look over his shoulder!—and if they should meet by chance in the evening he might remind her of her desire to see it, and so he would show her how he had progressed. But though she could not see him for all the day she would be thinking of him. The scene which he would be observing she, too, would observe; she would see in fancy every peak, every blue ridge, every dark green alp he would be reproducing on his canvas.

She watched him till he lit a cigar just before rounding the hill, and then disappeared. She rose, all tremulous with her unexpected happiness, and went to the room where they were to have breakfast Her headache was quite gone; she wished with all her heart that George Rylott had been asked to breakfast. If possible she would have him asked now. She felt that she would have delighted in asking a great number of persons to breakfast now.

‘ I would have asked George,’ said Mr. Dobbin, ‘but I did not know how your head was. He will be here soon enough, you may be sure; he has brought the books of the business and wants me to look into some matters for him. He is a very energetic young man indeed.’

‘ Indeed, I think so,’ said Amy. ‘ It was so kind in him to bring all the books here after you. I suppose you will be occupied all the day with him, papa, so I had better leave you this room.’

‘ There is no need for that; no, we shall not be busy all day. The fact is, Amy, though he is a worthy young man, I wish he had just remained at home at this time. I was getting rid of all my business worry, when, here he comes with books and statements.’

‘ In that case, papa, I would not look at any of them. It does not so much matter, I suppose ?’

‘ Oh, yes, now that they are here, I’ll go over them. Maybe, you are right, dear, we shall be best alone here. If you see the Bishop’s lady you will make yourself all right, I’m sure.’

The girl did not answer; but she was glad to see that her father did not make any allusion to the last words of their rather long talk of the previous night. He did not persevere in offering his suggestions regarding Mr. Netherton, and, this being so, she determined that she would be equally generous and not once again remind her father of his old remarks about George Rylott.

In a short time George Rylott came up, and was admitted to the room. He was not at all an unpleasant-looking young man; only, as she saw him on the instant of entering, her father’s words came to her. She contrasted the figure at the door with the figure she had seen go up the hill-side an hour before, and she laughed even out loud.

‘ Oh, George,’ she said, not very eagerly,

‘ how do you do? Papa told me you came last night How is your mother, George? ’

‘ Thank you, she is very well; so am I,’ and he shook hands, not at all awkwardly, There was nothing awkward or bashful or retiring about him. ‘This is the place for sleep,’ he added jocularly, ‘these mountains; I never slept so soundly, except coming up the valley last evening on the coach. I’m very lucky, for I can’t do without my sleep.’

‘ Then you didn’t see the approach to the Schwartzbach, or the pine-wood, or the Blueberg in the distance?’

‘ “What the eye never sees”—you know the rest. My heart won’t grieve much for my loss.’

And he laughed, looking at Mr. Dobbin for approval.

Miss Dobbin joined in his laugh in a quiet way, and he at first fancied that she acquiesced, then he saw she was laughing at him as she left the room.

In the salon she found Mrs. Griffen and Captain Jeffares, who greeted her with cordial enquiries after her health. The Bishop’s lady had the greatest difficulty in restraining herself from making some further allusion to the sunset from the Blueberg. She was too clever a diplomatist, however, to allow herself to become so indiscreet But after some pleasant chat in the course of which Mr. Netherton’s name was mentioned, she said:

‘Would you believe it, Miss Dobbin, our friend Mr. Netherton has taken such an industrious fit, he kept hard at work all yesterday, and I find that he went out this morning before anyone of us was up, to make some sketch from the hill? ’—She was not aware that Miss Dobbin had been up.—‘ He is intent on doing something, it is evident. He has got strange ideas regarding his profession; ideas which I am sure are very noble, but you know, dear, such ideas are fatal to his success in painting— financial success, I mean, of course. It is impossible for a man now-a-days to convince the world of a new truth that is contrary to their accepted ideas unless he has a fortune at his back. If he had got a fortune to support his theories, I have no doubt—nay, I am convinced, that he would succeed in making a great name for himself.’ Then she paused, and continued cutting the leaves of a book on her knees, while Captain Jeffares got up and walked away.

Miss Dobbin recollected that these had been almost the very words of her father on the previous evening. Could it be possible, she asked herself, that this lady had spoken them to him before he had come up to her? She did not mention her suspicions, however.

Then the elder lady looked up, with the paper-knife still between the leaves.

‘ What a noble way to employ one’s wealth it would be to place it in some manner at the disposal of a great and noble genius, that he might find from it a path to the fame he deserves! But, ah! such things do not happen.’ It would be a noble way, Miss Dobbin felt in her heart; by far the noblest in the world, and her heart, thinking it, beat very fast Suddenly Mrs. Hamilton spoke:

‘ I cannot at all agree with you, Mrs. Griffon,’ she said; ‘ depend upon it, the world will be sooner convinced of the sincerity of a man’s belief if he adheres to it unselfishly, in the face of opposition; if he chooses to hold his belief in preference to the advantages the world can offer him.’

‘ No doubt,’ said Mrs. Griffon with a smile;

‘ but, pardon me, my dear Edith, we were only-talking of the possibility of affecting the world by the advancing of the noble thoughts of a great man. A man has got a much better chance of bringing the world round to think with him if he is independent of the result of the world’s approbation than if he was making the world the means of supporting him. I do not want to argue the point just now, dear, especially as it cannot be of any consequence to us. Count Girofstein is to come to us to-day you know, Edith; so we must introduce Miss Dobbin to him, if she will allow us.’

Thus Miss Dobbin’s thoughts were diverted from the grave subject of argument. Count Girofstein, a middle-aged, good-featured man, whom rumour accredited with the proprietorship of the Hôtel International, entered, and Miss Dobbin was introduced. She found the Count a very good-humoured man indeed, but after a while his conversation, which was directed principally to her, began to flag. In a pause, he turned to Jefifares, enquiring where Netherton was.

‘ At work up the hills,’ Jefifares answered.

‘ Ah, dear, dear, poor young man,’ laughed the Count, shaking his head. ‘ So he paints this morning, to keep his pot on his boil, he said to me last week; he will soon tire of it.’

‘ By the way,’ said Mrs. Grififen, ‘ I was thinking just now what fun it would be to go to him in a party and surprise him there. He would be so very much surprised to see us come upon him in the middle of his work. What do you say, Count? ’

‘A lufly idea, Mrs. Greefifen, a sharming thought, that is for Mrs. Hamilton and Mees Dobbin and you, my dear lady, but for me—— ach, no, I am not young enough. Ask our friend the Captain.’

‘ And I am not old enough,’ said Jefifares, with a shrug.

‘You are most disobliging persons,’ answered Mrs. Grififen. ‘ If I were to ask the Bishop he would go at once.’

‘ I am so sorry,’ murmured the Count, ‘ Mrs'. Greeffen’s opinion is an unfavourable one; but for me it would be impossible to go, even to oblige Mrs. Greeffen. But outside, on the' terrace till lunch I am at the ladies’ service.’

Out on the terrace they did go, but it - is impossible just now to do more than briefly notice the varied charm of Count Girofstein’s converse, and the cleverness of Mrs. Griffen’s banter. It is necessary to become a spy in that private sitting-room where Mr. Dobbin was closeted with his young friend, Mr. George Rylott.

Though Mr. Dobbin had on the previous . evening shown a degree of carelessness that shocked his friend during the brief explanation of the progress of his business, yet now, when he gave it his entire attention, he found the old charm it had had for him returning. He began to feel that, after all, the making of money is quite as agreeable as the expending of it. He had had none of his present perplexities in those old days. He had never met with people then whose characters he could not comprehend. Even his daughter’s nature had seemed quite plain to him, but now he felt that he had drifted away from his former tracks; he was getting more and more deeply involved in difficulties, the shallowest of which was certainly not his daughter’s character.

Mr. George Rylott had spread out his books and papers, and became quite .eloquent in explaining how the income of the firm had been multiplied to a surprising extent from the time of his own management of it, though, of course, the time was a mere coincidence; he would be much too modest to ascribe its increase to the excellence of his management. As he went on, most lucidly, Mr. Dobbin became seized with a sudden conviction of his sin in trying to oppose the desire of such a worthy young man, who was .working so hard in his, Mr. Dobbin’s interest; it was assuredly an ill return for his labour to seek, as he had done, to have his daughter’s affections turned away from Mr. Rylott to one who was a complete stranger. Yes, he was wrong, but it was not yet too late to contrive that all should come right in the end. He would relinquish all his vain dreams; they were unworthy of him.

‘ George,’ said he, after a few pleasant hours whiled away in comparing statements of ledgers and copies of large transactions, ‘ George, you are a young man of great capacity. Everything seems to have been conducted with caution and yet profit. I am entirely satisfied with your management.’

‘ I’m glad to hear you think so, Sir; there's great need for caution in the commercial world lately. Everybody about us has been losing money through the large firms stopping payment, but a half-crown piece would cover all our losses.’

‘ Yes, George, I’m very glad you took the trouble to come and explain all, though I confess to you, George, I was not in any anxiety about the business. I am ashamed to say I had nearly forgotten all about it—even in such a short time. By the way,’ he added, after a pause, ‘ you mentioned something about having a matter which induced you to come personally. Yes, you said it could lie over till we had finished our business. Will it suit you to talk about it now?’

Then Mr. Rylott, who had a moment before been extremely fluent, exhibited every symptom of embarrassment; it was with the utmost difficulty he could explain that, as he had always understood it to be a settled thing that if he should propose for Miss Dobbin’s hand his suit would meet with her father’s approbation, he had taken his holiday now for the double purpose of making business matters plain, and also finally settling this other matter.

‘ Of course, I know that you never gave me to understand I. might propose, Sir—not in direct words, at least; but it seems that our business relations should be made closer by such an arrangement. I know that I owe everything to you, Sir; I should be a beggar to-day but for you;. still, I think you have shown that you can trust me, and I know it is generally considered a very natural thing that I should so connect myself with the firm in which I have an interest. So, as I say, Sir, I was wanting you to arrange it all for me after I leave.’

‘ George,’ said Mr. Dobbin gravely, 'there is no man I respect or would trust more in the world than yourself; you are right in saying it is a natural thing in us to desire to become more closely connected when our interests are identical. But, George, you must know that in matters like these girls will think and choose for themselves; my voice would be nothing against Amy’s inclinations, I know well enough.’ ‘ I didn’t think she was like that,’ said Mr. Rylott, with a look of astonishment on his face; ‘ I understood that if you said the word it would be enough for her; it ought, at any rate.’

‘ Girls are changed now-a-days, George, my boy; they have their fancies and their choices. Mind, I don’t say that Amy will not accept you, I have reason to believe she thinks frequently of you; only, you must speak to her yourself, you must indeed.’

‘ I didn’t think that would be necessary,' said George, in a disappointed tone; ‘ however, I suppose she will see things in their proper light Now, Sir, shall we go into the accounts again? it’s early yet’

‘ Certainly,’ said Mr. Dobbin; ‘ but, George,

I don’t think you could speak to Amy too soon; get it over without any delay.’

Then they resumed their accounts.

It will have been observed, from so much of Mr. Dobbin’s conversation as has been repeated, that he had no very great confidence in his own power of translating his daughter’s words and actions. Had she not in the plainest way possible signified to her father, on the evening before, that she recognised the position in which she stood towards George Rylott? She had been compelled to call her father to a sense of his duty towards the absent young man; but then, when he was no longer absent, Mr. Dobbin remembered how her tone had altered.

He admitted he did not understand her, and so he had not been over-sanguine with Mr. George Rylott. He did not feel himself justified in raising his expectations to too high a pitch.

CHAPTER XIV

In the Valley of the Schwartzbach there was repose. The calmness of the blue twilight was over all things of the valley; but the twilight was not long the ruling spirit in the air, for, out of the blue, just where it was softened down towards the shell-pink—the last remnant of the sunset that was still clinging about the western ridges, a crescent moon was becoming clear, and the twilight was melting into moonlight. There was hardly a sound in the valley. From one of the nearer alps the very faint tinkle of a goat-bell came; and, at intervals that were quite unaccountable, one could distinctly hear the sound of a distant torrent It was a very lonely hour in the Valley of the Schwartzbach.

Upon the terrace in front of the hotel a good number of cigarettes were being consumed, and a good number of dialects were being spoken, and in their midst one could never enjoy the tranquillity of the hour.

From the broad diligence-road which leads up to the hotel there branched off a narrow path that turned towards a small pine-wood, and then wound for some distance along the brink of a narrow ravine spanned by a little bridge. This is, beyond doubt, one of the most unknown places of the valley. Few persons stopping at the hotel have been made aware of its existence. The dark wood of pines hides it completely from the road, and there is no path above it on the hill from which it could be seen.

On this evening, however, its scenery had been invaded. Upon the little plank of the bridge Mr. Netherton and Miss Dobbin were standing together, watching the struggle of the twilight and the moonlight. It was a very pleasant study for artists of Nature.

They had come to this place through the force of circumstances. They had dined at the table d’ hôte side by side, for the maître had reserved the seats they had occupied before, all of the party being together; the Bishop; his wife, and Mrs. Hamilton, Captain Jeffares and Mr. Dobbin; but the maître, when he saw Mr. George Rylott, was very sorry he could not find him a place near them. Then, in the salon, after dinner, Mrs. Griffen had proposed leaving the Hotel and accompanying Count Girofstein part of the way back to his Chiteau— a proposal which was very well received Captain Jeffares, Mrs. Hamilton, Netherton,and Miss Dobbin following the party; the Bishop was not anxious to go out, and Mr. Dobbin was engaged with George Rylott Just at the point of setting out, Amy had said something to Netherton about his picture, which he was pleased to think was meant to remind him of his promise to let her see it as he progressed; so he went away to bring it to her; in the meantime, however, the rest of the party had gone on with the Count, and Netherton found Miss Dobbin alone. The exhibiting of the . scarcely-begun picture did not occupy much time; but still, they were so far behind the others they did not seem to think it necessary to try and overtake them. Somehow, then, Netherton had remembered this secret track, and so they found themselves standing on the little bridge in all the tranquillity of the hour.

‘ Miss Dobbin,’ said Netherton, after they had spoken together of the beauties within view, ‘ I want to ask you a great favour: you saw the outline of the sketch from the hill; I want you to let the figure in the foreground be a portrait of yourself; will you give me a sitting ?’

In a moment her quick heart had sent a beautiful hot tinge to her cheeks and forehead. She did not answer him at once; but there was a pause, in which the murmur of the unknown cascade floated over them.

‘ I should only be too glad,' she answered slowly, gravely looking into his face; ‘ that is, if it would please you.’

‘ Thank you,’ he said, ‘ and I shall tell you why I want your portrait there: it is because only your face is powerful enough to overcome the pain of the recollections which looking at that scene brings to me. Until I saw your face that whole landscape brought to me nothing but despair and bitterness of recollection; but then, in the midst of these feelings, the thought of you overcame all my bitterest memories. I felt, as I feel now, how good it has been for me to look on your face and hear you speak.’ He had taken her hand in his, but she was unconscious of his pressure. She was not looking up to his face now; her eyes were gazing down into the hollow of the little ravine beneath her feet The intense and sudden happiness of the moment deprived her of consciousness of everything, even of the possession of that happiness itself.

‘ I have felt how good it is to think of you and to love you more than all else in the world. You have brought me back to that love I believed myself severed from for ever. Amy, I ask you that I may keep that love which has come to me unconsciously.'

In the midst of her delight she could not help wondering how he had come to know her name. She tried to look up and say some word, whatever it might be that would come; but no single word came, only a little tightening of her hand within his, but so faint she knew he could not perceive it.

‘ Forgive me, darling,' he continued—it seemed to her that his eloquence on this subject was boundless—‘ forgive me if I have said what I have had no right to say; I know I have no claim to your love, I have no right to ask you for it after all I told you.'

He let go her hand, but she caught his again in both of hers before it was all withdrawn; she caught it and looked up into his face.

‘ Oh, why should you love me? ’ she cried, passionately. ‘ I have loved you—loved you— loved you, but why should you think of loving me? ’

He had his arm about her, and had drawn her close to him, looking down into her face.

‘ Because there is no one in the world worth loving but you, my darling, my love! ’

He put down his face to hers, and he felt that her eyes were full of tears; the pure intensity of her love had overcome her.

The blue air of the twilight had become saturated with the soft white moonlight, though the orb had sunk very close to the rim of the mountain. They stood and laughed and whispered together, with the rays tenderly touching her fair hair, till they began, to be mindful of the passing of time. Then they went slowly back by the edge of the pines, and so to the road towards the hotel. In a short time they came within sound of the light guitar, upon which the English gentleman was accompanying himself to an Italian song. Then, as on the night before, Amy heard this form of music, and the laughter of the party the gentleman was among; but how differently all sounded tonight! The guitarspieler seemed a most accomplished musician, and the laughter of his friends charmingly good-humoured.

She shook hands with Netherton and saic good night on entering the hotel, without waiting to see if the convoy party of Count Girofstein had returned.

She ran upstairs and threw herself upon her bed bursting into a fit of rapturous weeping. She had never felt such happiness in all her life before; all that she had ever felt was barren compared with this. This man, whom every one must be forced to acknowledge as supreme among mankind, had told her that he loved her. She had heard his voice say the word; he had called her his love. It was too intense a joy for her life! She lifted up her head and whispered an echo of his words, ‘ My love! my love! ’ j She could hardly form an idea of the fulness of I their beauty and meaning; but she repeated them often, and all the world was nothing to her then; she even lost all remembrance of that worthy young man whose name she had so opportunely called to mind on the previous night —Mr. George Rylott.

As for Mr. Netherton, he did not enter the hotel at once; he lit a cigar after a few moments of thought, and sat down on one of the terrace seats. It must be confessed that he, too, felt very happy. He had carried out his resolution, made in the midst of his bitter thoughts on the previous day, and he knew it would be successful in banishing those thoughts. He had told Amy the truth; he felt better now for having seen her and been in her presence; and he loved her very dearly, though not passionately as he had once loved; his passionate love had come to an end, and he could never have it again. How sweet and pure and good was that girl who had given him all her love, he felt; yes, he was right indeed, she was the only one worth loving in the world.

And then there was a new career opened for him in the world. He was beginning to be aware of the difficulty of earning money through the medium of his advanced ideas on Art; he was beginning to feel that the world would not be easily convinced that he was in the right, and so he would be at last compelled to paint to please the’world who wanted to buy pictures of a certain class. But now all would be changed; he would be at liberty to continue working at his Art according to his belief, and he might well be indifferent as to the opinion of the world he had sought to serve. This was also a very comforting thought to him.

After, awhile he went into the salon, and found there Mrs. Griffen and Edith Hamilton. The former lady affected surprise at seeing him.

‘Why, Mr. Netherton, where did you disappear to with Miss Dobbin? we expected you to follow us. The Count was quite distressed at not having said adieu to her.’

‘ I grieve for him,’ said Netherton. ‘ The fact was, Mrs. Griffen, we looked so long at a little picture I have just commenced that I knew it would be impossible to overtake you, so we did not make the attempt. Miss Dobbin told me to apologise to you, as she does not care leaving her room to-night’

‘You had no right to keep her looking at your picture,’ said Mrs. Griffen. ‘ I wanted her particularly to be with me to-night. You went out with your cigar, I suppose, when she had admired your great work, and left her to go away to her room? ’

‘You are a profound diviner, Mrs. Griffen,’ said he, and he soon afterwards disappeared from sight ‘Edith,’ said Mrs. Griffen, solemnly, ‘that young man is one I have no sympathy for. Just reflect on the way I put myself about tonight on account of him; walking out in the night air for more than a mile, solely to give him an opportunity of talking with that girl, and this is how he rewards me. Now, I promise you I shall not take another step on his behalf as long as I remain in this place. He may lose his golden opportunity or accept it, just as he pleases; I shall not help him in the least. Why, could anything be better than the way he was left to-night? He had nothing to do but propose, and he would have been accepted at once; and yet he laughs in one’s face after wilfully declining to embrace the opportunity. I never was so badly treated in my life.’

‘ Perhaps he has no desire to propose marriage to Miss Dobbin,’ said Edith.

‘ Perhaps not,’ said the other; ‘ then why has he not? You will allow that I am competent to judge on these matters, far more competent than Mr. Netherton himself, and I say there is no excuse for him; he ought to have desired it if he didn’t That is all I have to say.’

Mrs. Griffen did not say anything more at that time, nor did her friend; but it was arranged before they separated that they would take their departure from the hotel in a few days. Mrs. Griffen could not bear to tarry to see the triumph of obstinacy on the part of Netherton. As for Mrs. Hamilton, she began to fear that now Netherton would indeed marry Amy Dobbin, Mrs. Griffen’s influence being-removed. She knew very well that so long as an attempt was being made to show him what was the proper course for him to adopt, he would hold out against it; when left to pursue his own inclinations, however, she doubted not that he would be led to think of loving the lovable girl he would see near him always.

Both ladies were clever analysts of the motives of the actions of mankind.

CHAPTER XV

In spite of the native worth that Mr. Dobbin was conscious endowed George Rylott, he felt melancholy in the moming when he rose remembering that the young man had promised to speak to Amy alone on the important matter he had hoped the young lady’s father would make all right for him. It was only a degree of sadness Mr. Dobbin felt; he was too sensible of the advantages of his daughter’s accepting George Rylott to droop much at the shattering of his own fanciful hopes he had built up for her.

He did not try to be merry as he said after a silent breakfast:‘ Amy, will you remain here for a short time until George Rylott comes up; he wants to speak with you alone? ’ He was conscious that it was a business matter, consequently not one to be alluded to with good humour.

‘ With me, papa? ’ said Amy, raising her eyebrows in wonder. ‘ What can he want to say to me, I wonder? Oh, yes, I’ll wait here for him.’

Punctually at the hour appointed George Rylott entered their room. Miss Dobbin had gone over to a window at which she had never before sat; she had just found out this morning that a glimpse of the little pine-wood could, by leaning very far over to one side, be gained—the little pine-wood by the brink of the narrow ravine crossed by a wooden bridge she had lately seen. As Mr. Rylott entered she was leaning deep into the pane and could just see the track.

‘ Now, George, I shall leave you alone and wish you success,’ said Mr. Dobbin, in a whisper.

‘ If it must be,’ said George; ‘ but I can’t see why it need be so. What difference would you make, Sir?’

‘ No, no, George, it would never do.’ And he left them alone.

‘ Well, George,’ cried Amy, with her face flushed from straining after the glimpse of the pines, ‘what have you got to say to me so particularly? ’

‘ It’s nothing so very particular, Amy. I daresay you have heard your father mention it as a very natural thing that he should like you to marry someone before he dies? ’

She looked at him, and a start of fierce anger came to her face and flashed in her eyes.

‘ If you dare to speak to me a word about papa’s dying, I shall leave this room,’ she cried, in as fine a tone as if she had been a woman and had not had very fair hair.

Mr. George Rylott was astonished; he looked at her for a brief moment; then his eyes fell before hers.

‘ I didn’t mean anything,’ he managed to say, ‘ I only meant that he and I were talking together yesterday, and I told him it was considered a very natural thing among people at home that I should become connected closely with your father; the business partnership would be thus strengthened in the eyes of the world and mutual benefit would result’ -.

He paused and glanced up.

‘ Well, George, what do you want? ’ she asked. ‘ If you want to say anything about that you had better speak to papa. How could you expect me to know anything about it? ’

'Yes, I said so to him yesterday; that he could settle it with you better than I could, but he wouldn’t hear me. It is his wish, Amy, and, of course, mine too, that you should be married to me. This is the plain English of the matter;

I’m not one to beat about the bush.’ He was rather proud at having got over it so well.

‘ George,’ said the young lady, after a pause, ‘ I am sorry you should have been so foolish as to have come here with such a thought in your mind. I am too sorry to be angry with you. You must never say anything like this again to me, never at any time. If you want any more money for the business, papa will give you all the money that I am to get, and you may use it as you see fit; I shall never speak to you about it; only, if you ever say such a thing as that you have said, I shall hate you and despise you. Now you may call in papa and tell him this.’

‘Are you joking, Amy?’ said the young man. He had heard of girls joking and making fun with their lovers, though he had certainly not lowered himself to the rank of a lover, he still thought that maybe she was indulging her pretty girlish fancies at his expense ‘Are you joking, Amy? You surely would not like to go against your father's desire? ’

‘Joking!’ she cried, ‘joking with you! How dare you talk in that way to me? How dare you come here to me talking of business and marriage and papa’s death, as if all of these were to work together for the advancement of your selfish ends? How dare you offer me marriage without offering me love first? How could I dream of joking after such an insult as no woman should bear? ’

She sprang from her seat at the word woman, and the affrighted young man felt that she was right; she was a woman, but what had transformed her?

‘ I did not mean anything but for the best, Miss Dobbin; I assure you I did not mean any insult. I am very sorry you should have taken what I said as such.’

Then she calmed down.

‘ Forgive me, George’—she offered him her hand—‘ I was hasty in what I said. You are not selfish, I know; you have been good and you have done a great deal for papa. I hope he will give you the money he meant for me; yes, I shall make him promise. Only, George, you must never speak again of marrying me.’

‘ I think you are unreasonable,’ said George; ‘you do not see things in their proper light But no matter just now; maybe you will come to think differently. There is no use in my staying here any longer, I suppose.’ And he left the room.

When Mr. Dobbin entered, some minutes afterwards he merely expressed to his daughter his utter incapability to understand her. As he had assured her of this fact many times lately she was beginning to feel that very few persons in the dim world were capable of fully comprehending the depth of her nature. What did it matter? One did. It was enough for her. And she strove violently to get another sight of the brown pine-wood outside the window.

Now the good maître d'hAtel\ in face of the many troubles which were brought to him by the arrival daily of fresh tourists, still contrived to think of the advancement of his aims for Mr. Netherton’s future welfare. He was much distressed when Mr. George Rylott presented himself and when he found out, as he speedily did, that he was Mr. Dobbin’s business partner. He had kept his attention fixed upon this Mr. Rylott, but not so closely as prevented his observing Mr. Netherton and Miss Dobbin stray away together and remain absent for more than an hour on the previous evening. When they did return he had smiled and rubbed his hands softly together. Now he noticed Mr. Rylott come away from Mr. Dobbin’s rooms and in a very bad humour apparently. The maître was proportionately merry.

Mr. Rylott asked him some question regarding the running of the diligences, which he answered; from this point they got into conversation; this conversation then turned upon the merits of certain sojourners at the hotel.

Oh, yes, the maître recollected just now that Mr. Rylott had come to see Mr. Dobbin; well Mr. Dobbin was a noble old gentleman, he hoped Mr. Rylott saw an improvement in his health. And Miss Dobbin, too; what a charming young lady was Miss Dobbin, so very much admired! The Lord Bishop, Madame the Bishop, Monsieur the Captain Jeffares, in fact all admired her.

‘ Who was that you said last? ’ enquired Mr. Rylott, with some interest.

‘ Monsieur the Captain Jeffares,’ said the maître.

‘Who is he?’

‘ He is a gentleman of family, Monsieur, a great family; he is well known to the best people who come here; a good gentleman.’

‘You said he admired Miss Dobbin? ’

‘ Admire her! Oh, Monsieur, to distraction; but, ten thousand pardons, I have no right to speak in this way of him and mademoiselle, only Monsieur Rylott will be discreet With a friend of mademoiselle it was different; he would understand.’ The maître became a statue of confidence ‘You are quite safe with me,’ said Rylott ‘ Do you think this man—this gentleman admires her very much? ’

‘Ah, Monsieur, that is not for one as I am to judge; only, one cannot close tight one’s eyes; if one’s eyes are open wide much will be seen even with one of them. Pardon, Monsieur, I must be away; only, let Monsieur keep his eyes open wide and he will see.’

The maître was in a very wicked humour; he knew what Mr. Rylott’s character was and why he had come to see Mr. Dobbin; but the maître would not allow his own plans to be interfered with, even by Mr. Rylott. He walked rapidly away indulging in a self-complacent chuckle, leaving Mr. Rylott a wiser man.

This, then, was the reason she had refused him; with this man, whom she had met no more than a few days ago, she had fallen in love— girlish, sentimental love; and because he admired her, or pretended to admire her, for her fortune —which, of course, everyone knew she would possess—she had met him, Mr. Rylott, with anger, and had scorned his most honourable proposals. She was a fool.

But, then he reflected that he would be a much greater fool if he would voluntarily relinquish her to such a man. He knew that the most of the money he was earning and would still earn for Mr. Dobbin, would become his daughter’s; and must he, then, toil every year to make this fortune-hunter a rich man? It was a bitter thought How much better would it not be if he could still manage to get her to marry him as her father desired, and so the principle of the theory of natural selection might be maintained in the business?

He reflected for a long time and at last he arrived at a certain conclusion. He would not be tame any longer; he would show them all that he was not a fool? He might be able to change this wilful girl’s mind in a way that would surprise them. He had no one with whom to consult, he stood all alone in this foreign place; but he had some confidence in his own powers of dealing with mankind and turning affairs round to work together in his favour; at present it seemed that things were decidedly against him, it would need the exercise of his subtlest ingenuity to change their course.

CHAPTER XVI

Now it so happened that Mr. Netherton, after painting for a few hours, had gone away to dine at Count Girofstein’s and give his judgment on the subject of a certain little picture by Gerard Douw which the Count had just picked up, and in his absence the maître took the liberty of placing Captain Jeffares by the side of Miss Dobbin at the table d'hote. Then, as the wines were choice and the young lady in a happy frame of mind—for she was rather relieved from her fear of being visibly embarrassed in Netherton’s company—Captain Jeffares became devoted to her interests, choosing her p£t6 for her and making himself perfectly agreeable as he could without much exertion. All this time Mr. Rylott was watching them both from his seat farther down the table, with the caution of the maître still on his mind. Before they had risen and Jeffares had make his graceful bow to the young lady he acknowledged the truth of the deductions of the maître, and resolved upon his course of action.

He noticed that Captain Jeffares went outside with a lighted cigar and he took the liberty of .following, but there was no felonious intention in his heart The Captain did not walk fast and he was soon overtaken.

Mr. Rylott noticed the loveliness of the evening when he got alongside him, at which he stared and acquiesced; then Mr. Rylott begged permission to speak for a few minutes to Captain Jeffares, if it would not be thought too much trouble. Again Jeffares stared, took out his cigar, and said ‘Certainly.’ Being opposite a garden seat they turned aside and sat down.

‘Captain Jeffares,’ said Mr. Rylott, ‘you may not be aware that I am cousin to Mr. Dobbin; my name is George Rylott’

Captain Jeffares took off his hat and so did the other.

‘ I am also his business partner and manager of his extensive business.’

‘ Ah, indeed! ’

‘ Yes, Sir. Now, I wish to mention that it has been the desire of Mr. Dobbin for years that, as he has had no son to succeed him, his Q2 daughter should marry someone capable of carrying on the business as well as it has been done. It would be hard for a man not to be able to have such a natural wish of his granted, and you yourself will, I am sure, see the mutual advantage to be derived from such an arrangement.’ He paused, expecting a word of acquiescence.

‘ Pardon me, Mr. Rylott,’ said Jeffares;

‘ what you say is not of the slightest importance to me. Miss Dobbin is a very charming young lady whom I respect highly, but these affairs of business do not concern me.’

‘ Of course not, Sir; but I wanted just to mention that if she marries anyone not capable of directing the business her fortune will of necessity be much smaller.’

‘ Ah, you are capable of directing it, then, Mr. Rylott, this is what you mean, I suppose? ’ said Captain Jeffares, with a smile.

‘ Exactly so, Sir; I occupy her father’s place at present Now, Sir, I thought that in justice to you I should tell you that Miss Dobbin's fortune will be, apart from the business profits, very insignificant.’

‘In justice to me?’ said Captain Jeffares, with a puzzled look; then suddenly a look of intelligence came over his countenance. ‘ Good heavens! you amaze me, Mr. Rylott; I am indebted to you for this information. You wish to be my friend, I think I perceive? ’

‘ I do, Sir, in a certain way; I don’t wish you to compromise yourself through a misunderstanding; and at the same time I admit that it would suit me exactly to marry Miss Dobbin, situated as I am at present; and isn’t it natural, Captain? I never was under any doubt on the subject before to-day. But girls are sentimental, you know, Captain, and have their fancies.’

‘ I have heard so,’ said the Captain.

‘ It is true, Sir; it requires a man to have his eyes open and look a good way ahead before marrying.’

‘ I have no doubt of it; but don’t you think it would be hard on any young fellow to fall in love with Miss Dobbin in the belief that she would have a large fortune and afterwards to find out that it will be insignificant? Yes, it is very hard indeed.’

‘ That is what I am coming to,’ said Mr. Rylott He felt he had played his cards excellently; he had calculated exactly the character of Captain Jeffares; now he must be care- ful with his last card. '‘ Yes, Captain, I agree with you; but, since I would be the one principally benefited by an arrangement which would place Miss Dobbin and me on our former footing, I should feel myself bound—I should indeed, Sir—to make some compensation to the young man who was misled, by hopes of a large fortune, to engage himself to her.’

‘Would you really?’ said Captain Jeffares very eagerly. ‘ Come, now,' and speak definitely to me. I am a man of the world, you know.’

‘ This is exactly what I want to do, Sir,' cried Mr. Rylott, enraptured. ‘ In plain words, Captain, if you will sign a. paper for me tonight, relinquishing all claim to Miss Dobbin and promising never to make any advances to her in the future, I shall give you a cheque for five hundred pounds in your hand.’

Jeffares turned away his head for a while, then he leant it thoughtfully upon his hand. After a thoughtful pause he looked up.

‘ I am not a mercenary man, Mr. Rylott; I shall sign your' paper, provided it does not compromise my honour,’ said he, quietly.

‘ My dear Sir, you may be certain it will not do that. Come with me to the hotel and I shall make out the form.’

‘ I don’t think I should be so precipitate,’ said the Captain, uneasily. ‘ Perhaps I ought to think over the matter for to-night’

‘ It must be done to-night,’ Captain—at once. I have special reasons for it,’ cried the other eagerly. He had quite expected the Captain to hold out for a thousand pounds; and if he should get the night to consult with his friends he might refuse the five hundred in the morning.

‘ Well, if you have special reasons, I suppose it would be unhandsome of me to refuse.’

Back they went to the hotel. Rylott rushed off for a pen and paper, while Jeffares stood in the smoking-room with a fresh cigar. The maître, by a great chance, happened to pass into the room a few minutes later and saw the two gentlemen exchange sheets of paper in a serious manner. The maître paused for a moment, looking well into both of their faces. When he got outside he threw up his hands in wonder and swore again by his favourite colour that the Captain was droll to a marvel.

In less than half-an-hour Mr. George Rylott was back in the pretty little sitting-room he had left in the morning. Miss Dobbin was there alone, which he felt was to his advantage. One lamp was lit, but it was at the farther end of the room and burning dimly; a window was open, and through it the effect of the early moonlight was apparent on the scene without, though the moon itself was hidden.

‘ Amy,’ said George, ‘ I learned something that surprised me from the time I was here this morning. I did not know that you had a lover near you.’

She gave a start and her face burned with the tumultuous blood that rushed to it. She could not find a word to answer.

‘If I had known that before,’ continued George, ‘ I would have delayed coming to you as I did this morning. But, as it is, I can only say that your lover is a most sensible gentleman. He and I became friends in a minute, and I soon showed him how he would be wrong to come between you and me when it was a natural thing for your father to wish to see you united to someone who would interest himself in the business. He quite fell in with my views.’

Her heart was beating so furiously she was compelled to put her hand upon it in an endeavour to still its tumult. She looked at Rylott with her lips parted. He thought she was going to speak, and so paused for a while.

‘ You said that to him? ’ she whispered, faintly.

‘ What is the matter with you, Amy? Do not be alarmed. Yes, we spoke plainly together and he as much as admitted that it was your fortune he was thinking of; this being so, of course, my way was plain; I would not have you bought and sold, Amy. Here is the paper he signed, saying he withdraws himself from you and altogether relinquishes whatever claim he may have had, and at the same time leaves you open to accept anyone else.’

She started wildly forward. ‘ It cannot be,’ she cried, hoarsely. ‘ I know it is false, he is a man with a heart; no man with a heart could contrive such a horrible thing as that paper. Let me see it! Fool, give it to me at once.’

‘ I beg your pardon, Amy, this is a business document and shall not leave my possession. I shall read it all to you, however, if you like. I assure you there is no mistake about it.’

‘ It is false, you have forged it; it is the work of a fiend! ’ she cried, wildly. ‘ I wonder at you very much indeed,’ said George, angrily; he could afford to be angry now, he was no longer a suppliant. ‘How could you suspect such a thing of me? See, here is the signature—you will probably be aware if it is a forgery—“ Gustavus Jeffares,” that is plain enough for anyone.’

Her hands dropped by her sides; she stared straight at the young man.

‘ What do you mean? What do you speak of? What name is there at that—that paper?’

‘ Why, Captain-Jeffares’, to be sure; whose name should it be? ’

‘ It is of him you have been speaking? It is he who—who relinquishes all claim to me? ’

‘ Of course it is. I told him all, and he quite fell in with my ideas.’

Then the young lady fell back in an armchair and burst into a harsh hysterical laugh, which lasted a long time. Mr. Rylott, standing gazing alternately at her and at the document he held in his hand, became at last concerned for the young lady, for now she was crying with her hands over her face. He began to fear there was some mistake.

‘ What is .the matter, Amy? ’ he asked, ‘ I don’t understand what you mean by your fright Then she took her hands from her face and he saw that it was smiling.

‘ Oh, to think of it’ she exclaimed, ‘ I never knew of anything so funny! They have made a fool of you, George. Captain Jeffares! Oh, dear, dear, I had no idea he was so funny! ’

‘ Made a fool of me? What can be your meaning, Amy? ’

‘ Listen to me, George. I no more care for Captain Jeffares than I do for—for—you; and he knows that. Is it he to make any advances to me? Oh, such a thought never entered into his mind. He has not a thought beyond his lunch, though he marked off a lovely dinner for me to-night And you are made a fool of.’

‘ And you,’ he cried hastily, ‘ you, too, have been making a fool of me, pretending to be frightened. You have learned something from your fashionable society you have got into here. But if that scoundrel fancies he will close upon my money he is mistaken; I shall prosecute him for it, it was obtained under false pretences.’

‘ Do, George, prosecute him, and see what the people will say about your cleyemess. Oh, George, George, better go home and do not speak about it. I promise you I shall not if you go.’

‘ He is a mean swindler,’ cried Mr. Rylott, indignantly, and he rushed out of the room.

Later in the evening he met Mr. Dobbin; and informed him that he recollected some most important business that demanded his presence at home without delay; he would be obliged to leave early in the morning. Mr. Dobbin expressed his surprise and regret, but said farewell without much emotion.

The next morning Miss Dobbin received a visit from Captain Jeffares.

‘ Miss Dobbin,’ said he, ‘ I come to ask your forgiveness for having allowed myself to be betrayed into playing a practical joke with which you were associated. Mr. Rylott has gone away, I hear,, but perhaps you will do me the favour of sending this to his address,’ and he handed her a cheque for five hundred pounds.

Miss Dobbin smiled with some slyness and then burst out laughing as she took the cheque.

‘ If I had wanted such a document signed I think I could have made a better guess than that poor young man made,’ said Jeffares, softly; at which the young lady blushed and looked down. ‘Ah, Miss Dobbin,’ he continued, ‘ I am an old fellow, you know, and have outlived these things; but do you not think it is a pleasure to me to see a good girl fall in love with a good man? You love him truly and affectionately, and I can answer for him. If you had known him last year you would know now what a good fellow he is. All the greatest misfortunes that could come to any man came to him, but now there is hope for him. Believe me, Miss Dobbin, I shall ever be your friend and his.’

He held out his hand and the girl took it in both of hers, pressing it tightly as she looked into his face with gratitude, not uttering a word.

But in the smoking-room of the hotel, where Captain Jeffares' met the maître, there were heard sounds of laughter. The maître came out in a few minutes rubbing his palms together joyfully.

He felt himself to be a person of some shrewdness just then. He had set his heart on accomplishing Mr. Netherton’s welfare by certain means. Many difficulties had stood in his way, but by dint of exercising his gifts of penetration and arrangement he had overcome them all. The last difficulty he had seen depart early in the morning.

And what a triumph had this last been! It was a masterpiece of what he was pleased to term ‘ arrangement’ Now there was nothing further in the way; everyone was working into his plans.

Yes, it was impossible for anything to interfere with the carrying out of his desires, thought the maître, with an inward chuckle of self consciousness, as he cut open the envelopes of some letters which he had not yet had time to read. He opened one of the letters, read a few lines, then started back, dropping his hands in dismay.

‘ My God, this is the Fate, the Fate; ah, who can struggle against the Fate? ’

The maître was, it will be observed, not so entirely self-reliant as he had been before reading that letter.

When he read it through he leant against the side of the door lost in thought

CHAPTER XVII

The wife of the Bishop of Mellingham and Ufford Marshes found Miss Dobbin and informed her that the Bishop had discovered it would be impossible for them to remain longer than another day amongst the luxuriant charms of the Hôtel International; they would be obliged to leave for Rome on the following evening; at which information Miss Dobbin expressed her regret. Mrs. Griffon had been so very kind to her, she said, she would never forget it But Mrs. Griffon bade her to be of good cheer, for she was so delighted at meeting Miss Dobbin .she was determined they should meet again; Miss Dobbin must promise faithfully to give her her address when she and her papa returned to England, and then they must come on a visit to The Palace.

Mrs. Griffon had already associated this young lady’s name in her mind with that of a young gentleman in the Bishop’s neighbourhood, whose property was very extensive but by no means remunerative, owing to his want of capital for draining purposes. She had often reflected on the sadness of this, and had at last found out how this needful irrigation must be accomplished. Now, since Mr. Netherton had been such 'a wilful fool as to scorn accepting Mrs. Griffen’s good wishes, she had determined to use that influence of hers which he had refused, for the irrigation of the property of the young< man in the neighbourhood of Ufford Marshes.

She kept Miss Dobbin by her side during the remainder of her stay, and once or twice when Mr. Netherton made his appearance and expressed his feeling of sorrow at her rumoured departure she treated him, not exactly with coldness, but with an absence of her accustomed warmth of friendship. She was not one lightly to pass over his offence. Mrs. Hamilton, however, was more friendly than ever with him, and this seemed to neutralise the effect of the other lady’s unkindness, for he was on the whole in good spirits at the prospect of his future existence in this place with the constiousness of the absence of Mrs. Griffen weighing on him.

But, on the morning that was to see the last of the Bishop’s party at the hotel, the maître rather surprised Mr. Netherton by suggesting to him the possibility of a trip to Rome for a few weeks acting beneficially on him. Of course, the maître merely made the suggestion in his usual humble manner; only, as Netherton laughed and seemed to treat it as a joke, he was surprised to find the maître urge his suggestion with a degree of eagerness he had never known him exhibit before. He mentioned this to the maître, who at once asked his thousand pardons and begged to assure him it was no more than a passing idea, only would not Mr. Netherton find it dull at the International in the midst of strangers? Would he not return from Rome with his spirits much refreshed? Not that he meant to say his spirits were in need of such refreshment; but would not Mr. Netherton find such a little change to better him?

Then Mr. Netherton laughed at the thoughtfulness of the maître, and thanked him, assuring him he had no desire to see Rome for another month, and expressing his belief that if the attention he had hitherto received at the International would not act for his benefit it was impossible that Rome could.

Still, he could not but perceive the dissatis ' faction the maître felt at his decision, and he was puzzled to account for it Netherton himself was not feeling quite satisfied in his heart, but not wholly on account of his failure to understand the motives of the maître.

He had gone up the hill from which he was making his picture the previous morning, and had, when there, found it impossible to work at it He had sat with his eyes fixed upon the fair scene before him, and the thoughts and recollections which came to him were not at all to his satisfaction. He had gazed away his time and felt altogether miserable. There is no time a worker in art feels so wretched as when ' he finds himself unable to do his work. There lay the canvas uncovered before him, with the line of distant mountain spires faintly appearing on it, as faithfully faint as they appeared before his eyes against the sky that hardly defined them with sufficient distinctness; but he could make no effort to touch them this day. So he had caught up the canvas and hurried away from the scene he dared not look upon any more.

Then all that day he had not uncovered the painting. Amy Dobbin had come to him when he was alone, and she asked about his progress; was he ready for his bit of life in the foreground, she enquired, with a laugh. No, he told her quietly, not quite yet; and she had not spoken another word about it. They were not very long together, but her presence near him seemed to refresh his spirits; he felt that if she had been with him all the day he could have worked well. As for Amy, she felt the joy of being near him, so great, his silent mood did not affect her.

On the following morning, then, he went and took leave of the Bishop and his party, at the conclusion of which ceremony he had had the conversation with the maître, and then he got his picture and started for his painting-standpoint. He was resolved that he would work well this day; nothing would be allowed to interfere with him; he would recollect the beautiful face that was to shine for ever in the midst of the scene he was painting—the fair face that had power to banish from his mind all wretched thoughts; with the recollection of its beauty and its charm in his heart he would be capable of feeling as happy as if it had been before him looking into his own face with its soft eyes of love.

Soon again the scene was before him, and in the strength of his resolution he worked for some hours. Then, in the silence of the afternoon, he paused. It was very quiet and soft on that hill overlooking the valley, up from which there came a delicate breeze stirring the longest of the luxuriant weeds of the slope; beneath him he could see the waving of the pines and, at every motion, the trembling of the sunlight upon the boughs. A light cloud, white as silver, was wrapping a gray peak in the distance, and its edges swam along the line of the hills beneath it, but not touching any of them, so that there was a blue band of sky between the hill and cloud. He gazed out to that piece of colour for long, and his picture and his work and the face that he meant to have ever before him were all forgotten. He turned away from them and cast himself down on the ground overcome by the wretchedness of his thoughts.

‘Fool that I was!’ he cried, passionately.

‘ It is impossible to forget. It will be for ever thus; there is no hope for me.’

Suddenly he started up, being conscious of someone approaching on the little track above him. He started up and almost cried out with astonishment. Among the crags above him there stood the figure of a woman intent on gazing out over the valley just as he had been She was absorbed in gazing; her hands were clasped behind her as she stood up without the slightest stooping of her body; and, being farther to the turn at the brow of the hill, he could not see her face until, after she had satisfied herself with gazing, she gave a quick, convulsive movement away from all before her. Then her face was turned to him, and he started as one starts in a dream. She too saw him, her hands fell by her side, she stared at him immovable for a few moments; then, with a strange startled cry, she sprang towards him and would have fallen forward at his feet had he not put out his arms and saved her. He held her but for a moment, and his face was marvellously pale; but the instant he released her she fell on her knees, clutching his hand and holding it close. He put his arm about her and raised her gently, and then they stood face to face.

She was a beautiful woman with her face thus pale from its emotion. It was a perfectly cut face, clear and exquisitely shaped. Her lips were apart and quivering, but her large gray eyes were steadfast beneath their transparent lids.

She had dropped his hand, and they looked into each other’s faces.

‘ It is the same place, the same unchanged scene,’ she said, softly; but what a change has been since we saw it together! ’

‘ Is it so, Bertha? ’ he said. ‘ Can we change at will? ’

She looked at him for a moment,

‘ No,’ she said. ‘ There is no change in me. I know that now. I tried to deceive myself for a year, but now—there is no change.’

‘ And you can tell me this? ’ he cried bitterly.

‘ You can stand on this place with my face so close to yours and tell me there is no change? What words were those we spoke together? What were our actions here a year ago? If there is no change why cannot those words be spoken again, Bertha? Your face is very close to mine now; why may I not kiss it as I did then? ’

She started back and put her hands before her face, but only for a moment. Then she looked at his face and spoke.

‘You are right, everything is changed; you never could have spoken those words to me the last time,’

‘ Ah, then,’ he cried, ‘ I believed you faithful and true as heaven; but now——’

‘You think me as false as hell! Ah, my God, this man thinks me false to him; this man whom I have never slept without thinking of. Oh, my love, my love, have I not prayed to God that I might be able to be false to you? ’ Again she put her hands over her face in true passion, which means suffering. He saw the intensity of the action and his heart was wrung. She had been true in her love to him, while beneath him was lying the picture he was painting for love of another. He it was that had been false.

He put out his hand and softly drew her hands from her face.

‘ Forgive me, Bertha,’ he said, gently. ‘ I did not know what I was saying. You have been false only to yourself.’

‘Yes,’ she cried, passionately, ‘ I thought I could learn to be false—to forget you—to forget this place and the words that were spoken here; but I never forgot any of these for an hour, and I know I shall remember till I die.’

‘ Oh, Bertha, Bertha, what might there not have been? My love lost to me for ever, what might I not have done for love of you?'

She took one of his hands in both of hers and looked into his face.

‘ Listen to me,’ she said. ‘ We have both our lives to live yet You have still to make the world feel that your life has been spent upoa it. We meant that our lives should be a single life ; now they are two, we are sailing each on a separate way; then listen while I call you love for the last time, my love, my love. That is for the last time; between us that word must never be uttered.’

‘ Never again? ’ he cried. ‘ You are right, we have both our lives to spend on the world. What might have been can never be.’

It was a very right compact they had entered into, and they knew it would be faithfully kept. That word must not be so much as named between them from henceforth. It was a sin, and they had each their life to lead on the earth. They felt it to be a faithful compact. Netherton in that last moment had kissed her on the mouth and he had felt her lips return his kiss, but then—ah, never again those lips might frame the word whose pure impulse had brought the action to pass. They swore together never to call each other love, and sealed the oath with a kiss.

They did not descend immediately; they sat down among the lichened crags and talked together just as they had sat and talked on this spot a single year ago. All the bitterness that had been in Netherton’s heart an hour ago had now passed away. He forgot all in her presence, even to the little picture he had intended spending the day in work upon.

At last they came down and entered the hotel side by side. The maître saw them and looked very grave.

‘ Ah,’ he murmured to himself, ‘ if he had only taken my advice and had gone on that excursion to Rome! But it is the Fate. Ah, who can resist the Fate? ’

Captain Jeffares caught a glance of the two figures as they passed the window where he was sitting; he knew Netherton’s figure, but the single glimpse he got of the other caused him to leap to his feet with an impious exclamation of surprise.

He went out of the room he was in and looked after them as they ascended the staircase.

‘ Who is that lady, Adolphe? ’ he enquired of the maître.

‘ Monsieur has seen her before now,’ said the maître, with a grim smile. ‘ Monsieur Netherton has also seen her before, or my memory deceives me. Let us see the name, Captain Jeffares. “ Lord John Slayde and Lady Bertha Slayde.” Ah, I have never had those names in the book before. Our memories, Monsieur Captain, ah, they are bad, very bad.'

‘Good God!’ cried Jeffares, ‘I knew her figure as I should among a thousand; that is Bertha Staire, the daughter of the old Earl de Steppe—Lady Bertha, you remember, Adolphe.’

‘ And Mr. Netherton has not yet forgotten her,’ said the maître. ‘ He would not go to Rome as I wanted him; he would go up to the hill to paint his picture. What will you have? She arrives an hour later—she had written to me to have her rooms—she looks into the hotel, she leaves her Lord John Slayde in the smoking-room, she goes up to that hill, and there they are come back together.’

‘ Has she not done enough? ’ cried the usually imperturbable Captain Jeffares through his teeth. ‘Is it not enough that she should make one year of his life like a life of hell to him, that she must now put herself about to make the rest of his life a curse to him? ’

‘ Hush! ’ said the maître, in great alarm. ‘ Believe me, Captain Jeffares, it is the Fate; we are without power when the Fate works against us. What can we do here? Bah, nothing but look on and see how far the Fate will lead them!’

‘You talk a heap of nonsense sometimes, Adolphe,’ said Captain Jeffares.. ‘You fancy you are always talking to sentimental girls. Who but a girl would do anything but laugh at your Fate? ’

Then the maître elevated his shoulders, bending his head slightly forward, and turning his palms heavenward.

‘What will you have, Monsieur Captain he cried. ‘ Call it what you will, you will find no better name for if than the Fate. You call it chance—providence—what you will, it is the same in the end,’

‘ I call it neither,’ said Jeffares; ‘ I call it the devil/ and he strode away.

^But when he next saw the Lady Bertha Slayde, and she recognised him and did him the honour to introduce him to her husband, Lord John Slayde, a handsome middle-aged man, Captain Jeffares was very civil indeed. Lord John Slayde, who made it the business of his life to find men to dine with him, invited both Nethertonand Jeffares to have a dinner he had ordered in a private room; and, on the Reverend Mr. Wyvern's coming up and being spoken to by his wife, his Lordship begged the pleasure of his company also. Not being a fast-day with the Churchman he agreed to join their party. Miss Dobbin, on coming to the table d’ hôte, was surprised to find herself friendless there. She sat down, however, and ate something in silence. She had entered the salle à’manger in expectation of meeting Nethr erton’s gaze at once; instead of that there were but a number of strange, unsympathetic faces turned towards her. It was a bitter disappointment. So on through the dinner she felt herself alone; and it seemed far worse to be alone in this room, where she had once known the delight of being near him who was now absent.

She left the table as soon as she could, and went up to her room, there to sit alone until it was night.

Suddenly an impulse seized her after she had been sitting for an hour there. She stole out of the hotel by herself, and on down the broad road until she came to the little track near the pine wood. She went along this track in the stillness of the time, and soon she found herself beside the narrow ravine. She sat down on the rail of the small bridge; and here she found the happiness of memory she had been long wanting. She seemed to feel again the kiss of his lips upon her face.

All at once a great fear came upon her, for she heard the sound of someone approaching. It was only for a minute, then Netherton was beside her.

He seemed more surprised at seeing her than she was at his coming. He took her hand and spoke softly with her, but he did not kiss her. She asked if she was never again to see his painting, and a vexed look came over his face, which she at once detected and did not ask him more about it She was afraid she was vexing him with her pretty fancies and enquiries. What was this picture more than another to him?

They went back towards the hotel, hardly speaking a word; but what did that matter to her? He was with her, she could feel his hand holding hers, and that was enough for her.

When they reached the hotel they did not at once go in; they strolled round the terrace under the south wing, for there was no one out in the air, and all was very lonely and silent.

Suddenly the girl stopped and caught Netherton’s arm.

‘ Listen/ she whispered, ‘ someone is singing.’

They both stood silent, and in the pause there came to them the sound of a lovely voice. It was singing that sad song of Shelley’s, and the words were clearly heard as they stood:

‘ When the lamp is shattered

The light in the dust lies dead;

When the cloud is scattered

The rainbow’s glory is shed.

When the lute is broken '

Sweet tones are remembered not,

When the lips have spoken

Loved accents are soon forgot.

• • • • • •

‘ Oh, Love, that bewailest

The frailty of all things here,

Why choose you the frailest

For your cradle, your home, and your bier? ’

There was no more sound heard, though they waited in expectation.

She looked up to his face.

‘ It is the loveliest and saddest song I ever heard.’

But Netherton answered not a word. He had heard that voice sing that song before. He did not even say good night to her as she left him, but he pressed her hand and they parted in silence.

She went up to her room, there to look out on the moon-silvered mountains, with a touch of sadness on her heart; but Netherton stole back to the terrace under the south wing, waiting for any sound that should fall from where the music of the song had come.

All was silent.

CHAPTER XVIII

Captain Jeffares made use of some further words of impiety as he saw Netherton and Lady Bertha walk out together in a purposeless way the next day. It was after they had had lunch, and they had not talked of going to any place in particular. This Jeffares did not like. He would not have minded their appointing to go to some place together, no matter how far-off that place might be situated; but he said those impious words knowing that they had gone out only for the sake of being together, for Captain Jeffares was not aware of the solemn compact that had been entered into among the crags on the day before.

As it was, he had not more than got rid of his second cigar before they returned and stood talking with him for nearly half-an-hour. Nothing could be more purposeless than all of this.

Once or twice when Netherton addressed her hastily he had called her Bertha, and though Jcffares gave a little start at each time, he noticed that the lady did not Then the Captain bit the end of his cigar very tightly and made up his mind to have a few words of conversation with Netherton after dinner.

He did say his few words, too, when they were together.

He could not, of course, tell Netherton that he was aware of his having confessed his love to Miss Dobbin, so he could not bid him- to beware being false to her; he could only proceed in his warning upon the ground of information common to both, and of course he became platitudinal, at which Mr. Netherton had laughed and good-naturedly taken his arm to go out for a walk. That was all very well, Jeffares thought; a good-natured man is sometimes a pleasant thing; but the hand that Netherton laid on his arm was trembling wonderfully, he felt; and he wondered what was the reason of this. Could he have seen Mr. Netherton in his own room some hours after midnight he would, perhaps, not have been able to account for what he would have seen.

He would have wondered how any man could allow wretchedness to take such a hold on him as it had on Netherton. He was awake and spent half the night pacing his room, with his face so pale and haggard no one would have known it to be his. He was utterly cast down in soul, unhoping for anything but the morning, and for that only because it would bring to him the happiness of seeing the woman who had been false to him, who had been the cause of his misery.

On the next day, however, the haggard look of Netherton was noticed both by the maître and Jeffares; they looked significantly at each other, and the word that trembled on the lips of the maître in French found its English equivalent on the mouth of the other. Only the Lady Bertha seemed not to be aware of any, change in him. He was beside her nearly all day. His eyes brightened when she spoke; he hung on every word she uttered, hardly speaking a sentence himself. These signs were carefully observed by the two excellent observers who have been alluded to.

When the night had come over all the valley of the Schwartzbach Netherton left the hotel alone. Down the long valley he walked hastily and in places he had not been in for a year. He did not stand still for an instant to look at anything or to think of anything. There were faint clouds swimming about the moon, so that all its light was soft when it spread itself over the slopes of the valley, over the gentle green slopes that rose to give place to the rugged cliffs, and over the mountains that were shining with their scarfs of snow wound about them. He did not notice anything of the beauty and quietude of the place, but after an hour of this restless wandering he returned to the hotel, and went up to his room without a word.

The maître brought him some wine of his own accord a few minutes after he had gone up. He had seen Netherton leave the hotel and return hot and tired, and he had made a resolution not any longer to be a spectator of his purposeless movements; he would take action forbad or good.

‘ I have taken the liberty to bring you something to drink, Monsieur Netherton,’ he said. Then he stopped short and looked at him as he sat back in a chair, looked at him and solemnly shook his head before uncorking the bottle in his hand. ‘ Monsieur Netherton, my dear sir, this will not do,’ he said gravely. ‘ This morning you looked as if you had had no sleep all the night, and here you go out and walk away till you have no more strength. Could you see yourself now you would believe me. Ten thousand pardons, Monsieur Netherton, for my liberty; but I know you, I would do all in my power to serve you, I swear it, you know it.’

‘You are a good fellow, Adolphe, but you cannot help me now, only by letting me be alone.’

‘ That is what I shall never do, Monsieur Netherton. For what do you take me?’ Then he became excited and broke away into French.

‘ Is it that I am man or fool, Monsieur? Shall I stand here and see you murder yourself? Did I not see you look ill a few days ago, and did I not take the liberty of suggesting a trip across the mountains to Rome? Why is it that you did not go, Monsieur Netherton? That is what you want, that is what will make you all right again. I pledge you my sacred word of honour to it. A week—two weeks, what is that?—Bah, it is nothing to talk about, nothing when your happiness is in question—health I mean, your good health, Monsieur—that is what one must take thought for. Will you not go? Say for one week only, it is not much.’

Netherton shook his head, smiling faintly at the eagerness of the maître.

‘ I cannot go,’ he answered. ‘ I should like to go; I believe you are right in saying it would do me all the good in the world, but it is impossible.’

‘ Why should it be impossible? Heavens! Why should it be impossible? I shall not say any more. I am no more than a servant; why should I have said anything? Good night, Monsieur.’

‘ Adolphe,’ cried Netherton, leaping up from his chair, and seizing him by the hand. ‘ Adolphe, you are my friend. I shall think over what you say. All you say is right; only, I am weak, I am a weak fool. Good night. Do not stay with me.’ He turned and walked to the other end of the room. Then the good maître left his wine and retired.

About noon on the following day Francis, the head waiter, knocked at the door of the room in which Miss Dobbin had just breakfasted with her father, and delivered a letter to the young lady.

Mr. Dobbin was sitting at the window reading a newspaper, when suddenly there came a low cry from his daughter. He started up, and saw her, with her face deathly pale, standing beside the table, one of her hands clutching a letter, the other pressed against her heart ‘ Amy, what on earth is the matter? Speak, dear, what is the matter? ’

She sank down in her chair, her hand still holding the letter, and stared blankly before her as if oblivious of all.

‘ Gone,’ she whispered fearfully, ‘ gone from me for ever. My love, my love! ’

‘ What is it, Amy? ’ cried her father. ‘ For God’s sake tell me why you look so? ’

Then the girl looked up, put her hand to her forehead for a moment; then, starting from her chair, she flung herself into his arms, and burst into a passion of weeping.

‘ Oh, papa, papa,’ she cried, as her astonished father was doing his best to soothe her, ‘ you may know all, now that all is past He is gone, papa, Mr. Netherton is gone, and there is nothing left for me but to die.’

This was not a very satisfactory explanation to Mr. Dobbin.

‘ Calm yourself, Amy; you do not know what you are talking about. Good heavens, how you are trembling! now do not give way to yourself again, dear; quiet your mind. Do not attempt to tell me anything until you are calm.’

‘ Calm! Ah, I do not know how I am so wonderfully calm. Oh, my darling, my love, gone, gone for ever! There, there, read it, but do not ask me to speak any more.’

He took the letter from her and read it.

‘ AMY,—When I told you that I loved you I told you what I felt to be the truth, and what is still the truth; but I have found out since then that it is impossible for me ever to claim from you the pure good love you promised me. I am unworthy of the love of anything that is good and pure. Forgive me, if I deceived you, I have no love left in my heart for anything. I am a coward—I dare not stay any longer where my heart would be wrung by seeing you whom I have so wronged—I cannot think of you without remorse. You have been good to me; I have been made better by seeing you; God knows how I shall live out of sight of you. Do not. think of me again, pray to God that you may be able to forget what is. past, and He may be more merciful to you than He has been to me.

‘ A. NETHERTON.’

Mr. Dobbin looked at the letter and then at his daughter, who sat sobbing, with her face in her hands.

‘ What does it all mean, Amy? ’ he asked again. ‘ I am lost in astonishment. You don’t mean to say that what he says here is true? Did you say that you loved him? ’

‘ I did say so,’ she cried, flashing up. ‘ I said so, and I say now I love him, love him, love him for ever. I shall die loving him—though I shall never see him again, never again! ’

‘ Bless me, and why did. you not tell me so long ago? You were a fool, Amy. But why is he gone away now, can you tell me that.? ’

‘ He loves her still—that woman—that false wicked woman that brought all his misery to him. Every day I knew he was thinking of her. I had no right to love him. He is innocent, all the fault was mine; but I shall suffer for it, I am willing to suffer for it. What is life to me now? ’

‘ Bless me, I never was so surprised in all my life! But why on earth did you give me to understand that you had a dislike to him? My goodness, you have behaved like a fool. I might have been able to set all things right, but instead of that here is a dreadful mess. I shall call the maître and see what he says to it.’

She started up once more. ‘Never, papa, never; no one knows anything about this but' Mr. Netherton and myself. How could I bear to hear that man talk about it? Oh, papa,'papa, it must rest as it is, no one can be of any help now. I can bear it all, papa; I do not want ever to see him again.’

In vain Mr. Dobbin reasoned with his daughter that the maître d' hôtel being a man of sound sense, was eminently qualified to give an opinion as to what it might be prudent to do under such trying circumstances; it was of no use, she would not have a word said to anyone on earth about Netherton.—She could understand him, and that was enough for her.—She would suffer and she was content to suffer all for him. And, so repeating, she went off to her room, there to weep her tears away in its solitude.

The grand salon was occupied only by Lady Bertha Slayde when Captain Jeffares entered.

He had heard of Netherton’s departure from Adolphe, who did not say a word of his own share in bringing about this event. Captain Jeffares might not see with his eyes, he thought to himself, so he turned up his hands and professed to be in total ignorance of Netherton’s motive. Captain J effares was greatly surprised; he was thinking only of Miss Dobbin, who was by this action left deserted. Yes, Adolphe said, he had left a letter, which Francis had delivered to Miss Dobbin; but there was nothing else. No, nothing, no message to the Lady Bertha.

‘Then,’ said Jeffares, ‘I shall take the liberty of giving her one.'

So he entered the salon and stood before her.

‘Are you satisfied with your work now, Lady Bertha? ’ he said quietly. ‘ I should fancy even you could hardly hope for more success.’

‘What do you mean, Captain Jeffares? my work? ’

‘You know what you have accomplished, Lady Bertha. It was a very good year’s work, though the triumph of it has only come now.’

Her face flushed hotly for a moment, then a fearful suspicion seemed to come to her mind. She started up saying—

‘ For God’s sake tell me, tell me, if he is safe, if he is alive! ’

‘ Lord John Slayde is quite safe,’ said Jeffares.

‘ You know I do not mean him. Man, have you a heart? do not torture me, is he safe? ’

‘ Netherton is safe,’ said he, in a changed tone. ‘ Oh, Lady Bertha, have you got any heart—any feeling left? You made him wretched as any woman could make a man; you were false to him when he had placed all his hope on you. Was not that enough for you, if you sought to glory in his misery? It was not enough; you come to him here when he has found a good and true woman whose love could make him forget your falsehood; you come here and make him yours once more, triumphing in his weakness of misery. Now he is gone from you; no, not dead, but gone, fled from you he had no power to withstand. But, had he left you only, it would not have been anything, only the action of a weak man; but that true, true woman, who loves him with all her pure heart and soul, he has been made false to her through you. This is your work, Lady Bertha Slayde.’

‘ Have I done this? ’ she whispered. ' Oh, Captain Jeffares, you are right, I have done it all. Why was I bom to make the man I would die for miserable? I would die for him; I would cut myself off from all happiness in heaven for his sake. Oh, God, why do I talk this way? Had I known that he was beloved by anyone I would have done all to make him happy with her. But I shall do it yet,’ she cried passionately, rising. ‘ Where is he gone? Tell me where he is gone, and I shall bring him back to her.’

‘ Do not try it,’ said Jeffares. ‘ Do not suppose he will be led by you any more, weak as he is. How can he tell that you mean to be true to him? ’

‘Captain Jeffares,’ she said,looking him in the face, ‘ have you not said enough to me? Have you not trampled on me and have I not borne it? Talk not to me of falsehood or truth. I have made him wretched, but all his wretchedness never was like my own. I have prayed to be false to him but I have only been too true. Take me to her he has loved; she is a woman and will believe me.’

‘ I believe you now, Lady Bertha,’ said he. ‘ Forgive me for what I said; I was cruel; I wronged you. Forgive me.’

‘There is nothing to forgive, Captain Jeffares. Do not let us talk here; pray bring me to her.’

Here was a fresh honour fallen to the share of Mr. Dobbin, this introduction to the Lady Bertha Slayde. He began to feel that either the persons about him were very bad judges of the qualifications of those they desired to associate with, or else he himself was totally unaware of his own fitness to mingle with good society. Why should Captain Jeffares delight to honour him by bringing such persons as the Bishop of Mellingham and Ufford Marshes and the Lady Bertha Slayde in contact with him? Here now was this lady enquiring most earnestly after his daughter and saying she was very anxious to speak with her; how could he explain to her that his daughter had shut herself up in her room and refused to see anyone? He did not know how it was to be done, only his daughter had instructed him as to the polite form of speech to be used on suchlike embarrassing occasions, and he recollected it just now. Yes, his daughter had a very severe headache this morning and was compelled to remain in her room; he hoped her Ladyship would pardon her absence.

Her Ladyship would pardon her absence, but as she had something to say to Miss Dobbin of the greatest importance she begged to be admitted to her room for a very few minutes. This request amazed Mr. Dobbin more than anything. What could she want to communicate to his daughter?

‘ You do us great honour, my Lady,’ said Mr.

Dobbin. ‘ If your Ladyship will be good enough to remain here I think I shall prevail on my daughter to leave her room.’

‘ You are very kind indeed,’ said Lady Bertha.

Captain Jeffares followed Mr. Dobbin out of the room and in a few minutes Amy entered alone.

She had started up on hearing the name Lady Bertha pronounced by her father. Did she want to speak with her? Then she would go to her. She would not be afraid to hear her speak; and she herself was prepared to speak to Lady Bertha face to face So she had dried her eyes and entered the room without fear, and here they were both face to face.

Her heart sank within her when she beheld all the strong beauty of the woman whom she saw waiting for her coming. Ah, she thought, what was she, with her fair hair and child’s face, compared with the wonderful beauty of that lady? How could Netherton even think of her for a moment after having seen that other face? She did not blame him for having been overpowered by it, for having fled away from before it; but she could only cry out bitterly in her heart: ‘ Why was that face so cruel as to come between us? ’

And Lady Bertha, when she saw the fair girl’s face with the traces of its tears yet upon it, asked her own heart the same question in bitterness: ‘ Why did I come between him and this pure and true creature? ’

‘ Do you know me? ’ said Lady Bertha, taking Amy’s hand.

‘ I do know you,’ the girl replied. ‘ Oh, Lady Bertha, how could you be so cruel to him —to him? if it was any other one but him, it might have been; but such a man! And he loved you so. Oh, Lady Bertha, you were cruel! ’

‘ To you I have been cruellest of all,’ said she, holding Amy’s hand tenderly. ‘ I can never repair the terrible wrong I have done him, the misery I have caused him for this year, but it may be that it is not yet too late to remedy the evil I have brought on you. Will you forgive me, dear? Will you trust me that I mean well to you? ’

‘ Oh, Lady Bertha, why did you cast him off? He would have been happy with you, . but how could he ever think of loving me after you?’

‘ Because, dear, where I have been false and weak in allowing myself to be led by others to do what I hated, you have been true and noble. He will be happy with you, for you will never betray him.’

‘ Oh, I would do anything for his happiness now, anything in the world; if he would be happier by my never seeing him again I would never want to see him. I do not want him brought back unless you are sure he would be happy. Will he be happy, Lady Bertha? ’

‘You will make him so, Miss Dobbin. I know he will be happy with you. Believe me, dear, if I had kqown that he loved you I would have worked with all my soul to make you both happy. But it is not yet too late. I shall bring him to you again.’

‘ Oh, you are so good,’ cried Amy. You know how I love him. If he did not come back I think I should die. What would I care for living without being able to see him? Oh, bring him back to me. Tell him——oh, you cannot tell him how I love him—love him!’ She threw herself into that stately lady’s arms, crying upon her bosom; but through her passionate grief she could feel her forehead and cheeks kissed softly and tenderly, and that made her cry the more.

The maître was thunderstruck when Lady Bertha sent to inform him that she was about leaving the hotel in the morning. He did not know what to say or what to do in the matter. Certainly, he felt that he was fast being checkmated by Fate, that irresistible power which it was useless to oppose. He knew his own abilities as a diplomatist, but he also was well aware that they had their limit When that element Fate came against him he was nowhere. In this case,-however, he found a consolation in cursing that power which threatened to demolish his most carefully-executed plans. He got into this passion as he reflected on the greatness of his skill in having so altered all the events that had come to clash with his designs as to bring them actually to work in his favour. He had early made the discovery that Miss Dobbin was in love with Mr. Netherton, and he had taken care that Netherton should reciprocate it by giving her into his charge at the table d' hôte, and by causing the influence of the Bishop’s lady to bear upon him. Thus far his skill had succeeded. Then, how had he dealt with Mr. Rylott, who, unless opposed by such a strong mind as that of the maître, would most certainly have succeeded? All these were great triumphs, beyond doubt; but the greatest, the crowning triumph of all was in having sent Netherton away to a place of safety that he did not expect Lady Bertha would be able to discover. But suddenly here was a message to him from Lady Bertha saying that she was about leaving the hotel. The maître threw up his hands; his game was at an end; there was no use in striving any more; he had reached the limit of his skill.

Still, as he walked up and down the hall, he found, as has been said, great relief in abusing the Fate that had followed him.

‘ Heaven,’ said he to Captain Jeffares, whom he quickly found, ‘ Heaven, you do not mean to say you let her know where he was gone! Holy blue, that you come from telling her! She will follow him. All that I have done will be of no use.’

‘Of course I told her, Adolphe. You,do not understand her. She is truly a great woman, and I do not wonder at Netherton’s fascination. By Jove, she is a magnificent creature. She will bring him back, Adolphe, you may be sure of that’

Then the maître laughed long.

‘ She has looked into your eyes too, Monsieur Captain; you are slave to her also. You will believe her until you have found out that she is false. Heaven! that she should have the courage to send me that message. She thinks nothing of following him; and she is so clever as to be able to make you believe she means to bring him back. By the blue, she is a clever woman, you are right, a very clever woman.’

‘ I believe in her implicitly,’ said Jeffares.

‘ That is where she is clever,’ answered the maître. ‘ But why should we talk here? A week will satisfy us both. Who is right will be seen then. Oh, Captain Jeffares, make your farewells to the dear Lady Bertha; we shall have, seen the last of her Ladyship. Cursed be the Fate! ’

CHAPTER XIX

It was undoubtedly an extraordinary proceeding, this following in the track.of a sane man for the purpose of causing him to retrace a step which he’ had deliberately taken. So Lord John Slayde thought, but, still, he did not do more than utter a feeble protest; he never dreamed of opposing his wife in anything. He knew that she was right in everything; if he could not understand her in some things it was not that she did inexplicable things, but that his capabilities for understanding her were insufficient. This he always felt, and was happy in being led by her.

She had told him that it was necessary for them to leave for Rome on the next morning, and he had no more than expressed his surprise. Of course they would go. And they went, leaving Adolphe smiling grimly when he thought of the weakness of Captain Jeffares in allowing himself to be enslaved by that woman so far as to, believe that she would ever return.

And now that all his friends were gone and absent from him, Captain Jeffares began to feel at ease. This sort of hard thinking he had been indulging in of late did not suit him at all. He had hardly ever made himself so interested in the affairs of other people as he had within the past few weeks. He had laughed in the secret of his chamber when Netherton had told him how he had been deceived and how it was impossible he could ever have an ambition beyond that of excelling in his art; and he had laughed still more when he had seen him give himself over to loving this pretty little girl with the nice bright hair; but, all unconsciously, he found that he had become wonderfully interested in all these people. His interest had led him first to play that little innocent trick upon Mr. George Rylott, and then to break into a storm of passion against Lady Bertha; and all this time, he tried to assure himself, he did not care in the least for any of them. He had been a great fool, he felt now, to have been so weak as to allow himself to be at all interested in other people’s matters; but he thanked Heaven he had awakened in time, his interest had not as yet made him very uncomfortable. Still, who could tell what it might do if he allowed it any stronger hold on him?

He felt that the events that had interested him so unusually were now about coming to a natural conclusion. In less than a week Lady Bertha would have returned, and that would bring an end to all this uncomfortable expectancy he had been so weak as to let his mind be imbued with. So he lit his cigar and put up his legs on the seat at the terrace and enjoyed the scenery with his eyes shut.

But to Miss Dobbin the first days after the departure of Lady Bertha Slayde were very dreary. Would he return? she asked herself. Would his love for her cause him to return, or would it be the influence of Lady Bertha? She felt she could answer her heart satisfactorily in this; he would not return unless it was he loved her. She was convinced that Lady Bertha’s feeling towards her was of pure sympathy, not of pity, and she was certain that Netherton really loved her. She had often asked herself how it would be possible he should love her after having loved such a woman as Lady Bertha. She wondered how it could ever be; it seemed impossible; but she nevertheless felt sure at heart that he had loved her, and it might be that he was doing so still, and that this might lead him back.

She was not without some consolation in these days, for Netherton had desired the maître to leave with her the unfinished picture of the mountain-scene; this the maître brought to her, being quite ignorant, of course, of what it was, and of the promise he had made to her connected with it; and it was a great consolation for her to be able to sit before it when the world outside was becoming soft in the time of its twilight, and the valley of the Schwartzbach was lovely under the influence of that ‘ lighted shade and shadowy light.’ She felt at this time that she was indeed breathing of the same air as he had breathed. She knew her eyes were now resting where his must have rested, and this was comforting to her, only, in the foreground there was a blank, the mountain grasses and the moss had been done carelessly until that blank should be filled up. ‘ Ah,’ she thought, ‘ will he ever come back to fill it up? ’ Or would it be that the picture was to be a type of her life: the distant future so faint and yet so sweetly clear as those far-off hills,‘ but evermore that great fatal blank remaining unfilled to the end. She knew that unless he returned her life would be no. more than a great void.

Then, too, she was seized with a desire to go to the brow of the hill where he had been standing when she first saw him. Leaving her father seated on a crag at the end of the valley, she went, with some inconvenience, along the uneven little track till she was at the very spot where he had sat and painted all of the picture he had done. Then, as she looked out, even as he had been looking out, and saw that scene in its reality, she threw herself down on the ground and cried out softly: ‘ Come back to me, my love, my love.’

Thus a week passed without any intelligence having been received from Lady Bertha or Netherton. The maître smiled grimly, bending his head to one side and lifting up his shoulders an inch; but, of course, he did not say a word to Captain Jeffares expressive of the fulfilment of his prophecy regarding that gentleman’s credulity.

Jeffares himself, though very comfortable for a week, began, at the expiration of that time, to feel a little uneasy. Could it be possible that he had indeed been deceived? he thought—that the maître had been right; this woman was deceiving them as she had Nether-ton? He felt very uneasy that all his old interest had returned, and he was as uncomfortable as he was before.

At the end of the second week, however, whatever doubt may have remained on his mind was dispelled. She had deceived them. She was a serpent, he swore—a beautiful, false, fascinating thing, treacherous to the end.

Then, one day, Amy Dobbin came to him where he was strolling about, doing his best to escape from the thoughts that oppressed him. He noticed how pale her face was and how her eyes were dim. She approached him eagerly, and he tried to smile as he shook her trembling little hand.

‘ Captain Jeffares, you will tell me the truth, I know; ypu will not talk to me as papa and the maître do, as if I were a child and not able to bear all the truth. Do they not know that the very worst forebodings come to me from their attempts to conceal what they really think? Tell me, Captain Jeffares, will he return? Have we been deceived by that woman? ’

He still held her hand while he answered her:

‘We have both been deceived, Miss Dobbin; bitterly deceived; she is a wicked woman.’ He spoke his last sentence loud enough to be heard by someone who had been following them. It was Count Girofstein.

‘ Oh, fie! fie! ’ cried the Count. ‘ Shame, Captain, you are no true man. There is no such thing as a wicked woman. Miss Daubeen, I am delighted to see you this morning. And how is it that all our friends are? Milord Bishop and the good lady, and the sharming Mrs. Hamilton? What were you talking about? Now I will be glad to bet that this woman you call wicked is no more wicked than I, and I am as a small infant for innocence.’

‘Count,’ said Jeffares, ‘shall we see you at the hotel in half-an-hour? I am just now speaking to Miss Dobbin.’

‘ Come, come,’ said the Count, ‘ I have no notion of leaving you here with my sharming Miss Daubeen. Suppose I tell you, Jeffares, old boy, that I am speaking to the young lady, and ask you to meet me at the hotel? eh, how Would that do? Well, never mind, stay where you are. I want to say to my Miss Daubeen that her cheeks are pale; she is no longer well. The hotel air does not agree with her; she must come back with me to my little Chiteau at once.’

‘You would oblige us very much by leaving us together for a few minutes, Count,’ said Jeffares. ‘ I never was in a worse humour for joking in my life.’

‘ Then I will humour you, and not joke any more. Listen to me, my dear girl; you have been wondering why your friend, Mr. Netherton, is staying away from you—ah, do not be surprised at my knowing it My dear, I am here to tell you he cannot come to you, he has been lying in my Chiteau for two weeks sick of a fever.’

The girl gave but a single short cry, and fainted in Count Girofstein’s arms.

‘ Good heavens! ’ cried the Count, ‘ I surely broke the news very nicely; a woman could not have done it better; and yet here she lies without any life. Thank Gott for my flask, she will be all right in a minute.’

Under the influence of the contents of the flask and the sprinkling of cold water the girl soon recovered. She looked up and tried to smile at the Count.

‘I am so sorry I was foolish and have given you trouble,’ she managed to murmur.

‘ Please say what you were saying. He is not dead?’

‘ He is not dead; on the contrary, he is alive; he asks for you; he loves you; he must see you. Now, no more information j'ust now for my poor little dove.’

‘ I shall go with you,’ she cried. ‘ I am strong again, we need not return to the hotel’

‘Come, come, do not be foolish again, my dear; take my arm with your lovely little hand, and come back to the hotel. You are, maybe, strong, and not hungry, but I am weak with fasting.’

‘ But then I may go with you, when you have had lunch and are rested? ’

‘ Believe me, I would be afraid to show my face at my own home without you. Yes, yes, we shall go away after awhile.’

Then they managed to walk slowly into the hotel, and Miss Dobbin soon was in her sitting-room, where was her father, reading his papers.

‘ Oh, papa, papa,’ she cried, throwing herself into his arms, ‘ he is safe; I am going to him, he wants me; he is true, true.’ She was crying again, but her tears were sweet ‘ I do not quite understand, Amy; explain what you mean.’

‘ I don’t know anything more, papa; I don’t want to know anything more. Count Girofstein brought me word. Oh, he is a good man. Go to him and he will tell you all.’

But, before Mr. Dobbin had descended, the Count had related how he had met Nether-ton on his arrival at the village where he was dropped by the diligence in whfch he had left the Schwartzbach; seeing him look so very ill, he had compelled Netherton to go with him to his Chateau, and there on the next morning he was found with a violent fever' in his veins, a most terrible thing in a house where there was no one who could fill the office of a nurse. Fortunately, however, on the very next day Lady Bertha arrived, having been told at the village of the place of Netherton’s sojourn. There for all this time this woman had nursed him in his delirium when no nurse could be obtained, and only the previous day he had recovered consciousness under her care.

‘ By Gott,’ said the Count, breaking away from the thread of the story he was telling Captain Jeffares, ‘ that is the greatest of the womankind. When our poor Netherton was raving mad she would come to him, and in a moment he was like a little sheep—a lamb. She did not mind how mad he was, a touch of her hand would make him quiet. I made up my mind for a funeral, my dear fellow, and so it would have been but for her. Then she told me of what I knew long ago from the good lady of our very good Lord the Bishop—Gott, how she can talk!—that Ne-therton was to be married to our sharming young lady up the stairs, but no word would she let be sent to her of his sickness until now, when she could hear that he had asked for her and wanted to look on her. Ah, old boy Jeffares, did you see how the pretty little thing started at the mention of his name, and then—--Gott, what would not you or I give to be able to make a lovely girl faint at the sound of our name? ’

‘ The joy would be cheaply purchased by the sacrifice of all we possess—all but our freedom,’ said Jeffares. ‘ My dear Girofstein, I do not envy any of them. Such a strain to have on one’s thought would quite do away with any possible gratification that would accrue to one’s vanity. For my own part I thank Heaven that this is the last of this affair. It was really becoming too much for me to endure, this thinking about it Here comes the girl, impatient, of course, to be away; and here comes her father.’ This, indeed, was the end of it all, the end of all the story one could tell by relating the facts in sequence.

Count Girofstein brought Miss Dobbin and her father back with him to the Chiteau, where a good number of tears were shed, and subsequently dried carefully. Lord John Slayde and his wife took their departure the next day, but Miss Dobbin and her father remained at the Chateau.

In a short time Netherton was well enough to travel. Before leaving the neighbourhood he went to the Hôtel International. The maître had soon learned how it was that Miss Dobbin had left the house so suddenly, and he was profuse in his congratulations of Mr. Netherton.

‘Oh, Mr. Netherton, you will believe now that it was the Fate that brought everything to happen. If you had not got that fever where would you be now? You would never have been happy again. Then, if you had not had the Lady Bertha for your nurse, where would you be now? It is all the Fate—the Fate. Ah, you laugh, you will not believe; never mind, I am stronger in my thought than ever. We are in the power of the Fate always.'

This is nearly all.

Only, a good number of persons must remember seeing at a recent exhibition of the Royal Academy a picture of an Alpine scene; a fair girl looking out from a hill over a long deep valley to where the hundred peaks stand above the darker ridges. A pretty face, some people thought it; others thought it singularly weak in expression. A careful critic discovered some deep, subtle meaning the painter meant to convey by having the girl’s face turned longingly towards the faint distant hills, while the sunlight—the bright pure light of the sun, he mentioned particularly—was falling on the hill at her back—behind her. Another critic begged confidentially to advise the painter never to attempt an Alpine scene again, but to confine his attention to figures, while another hoped to see some further proof of his great skill in depicting Nature in her sublimest scenes, but trusted he would not find it necessary to introduce a figure in such prominence as he had done in the present instance.

But two critics who looked at it were quite unanimous as to its merits.

‘Confess now, my dear Edith,’ said Mrs. Griffen to Mrs. Hamilton as they stood before it,

‘ Confess that I am sometimes successful. This never would have been but for my influence. Netherton came to see it was right after all. I knew he would.’

‘ Of course,’ said Mrs. Hamilton. ‘ No one could doubt your influence.’

‘ You should not sneer, at any rate,’ replied the offended lady, and they passed on.

This picture was viewed by Captain Jeffares before it was sent to the exhibition.. He studied it with care. The dark brown of the crags and the brightness of the long ferns of the alps; the breadth and richness of the pine forest; then the long uneven valley which ended with the snowy, dim mountains. He looked at it critically, and at the end of his examination drew a long breath before he exclaimed:

‘ Seventy-five thousand pounds! ’