CHAPTER 46 DEBATE AND INTERRUPTION Rachel beheld the things which were coming to pass like an awful dream. She had begun to think, and not without evidence, that Dorcas, for some cause or caprice, had ceased to think of Stanley as she once did. And the announcement, without preparation or apparent courtship, that her brother had actually won this great and beautiful heiress, and that, just emerged from the shades of death, he, a half-ruined scapegrace, was about to take his place among the magnates of the county, and, no doubt, to enter himself for the bold and splendid game of ambition, the stakes of which were now in his hand, towered before her like an incredible and disastrous illusion of magic. Stanley's uneasiness lest Rachel's conduct should compromise them increased. He grew more nervous about the relations between him and Mark Wilder in proportion as the world grew more splendid and prosperous for him. Where is the woman who will patiently acquiesce in the reserve of her husband, who shares his confidence with another? How often had Stanley Lake sworn to her there was no secret that he knew nothing of Mark Wilder beyond the charge of his money, and making a small payment to an old Mrs. Dutton in London by his direction, and that beyond this he was as absolutely in the dark as she or Chelford? What then did Rachel mean by all that escaped her when he was in danger? How the—could he tell? He really believed she was a little, ever so little crazed. He supposed she, like Dorcas, fancied he knew everything about Wilder. She was constantly hinting something of the kind, and begging of him to make a disclosure. Disclosure of what? It was enough to drive one mad, and would make a capital farce.  She is very charming and clever, of course, so long as she speaks of the kind of thing she understands. But when she tries to talk of serious business—poor ratty!—she certainly does talk such nonsense. She can't reason. She runs away with things. It is the most tiresome thing you can conceive. But you have not said, Stanley, that she does not suspect the truth. Of course I say it. I have said it. I swear it, if you like. I've said plainly, and I'm ready to swear it. Upon my honour and soul I know no more of his movements, plans, or motives than you do. If you reflect, you must see it. We were never good friends, Mark and I. It was no fault of mine, but I never liked him. And he, consequently, I suppose, never liked me. There was no intimacy or confidence between us. I was the last man on earth he would have consulted with. Even Lark and his own lawyer is in the dark. Rachel knows all this. I have told her fifty times over, and she seems to give way at the moment. Indeed, the thing is too plain to be resisted. But as I said, poor ratty, she can't reason, and by the time I see her next, her old fancy possesses her. I can't help it, because with more reluctance than I can tell, I, at length, consent, at Larkin's entreaty, I may say, to bank and fund his money. But Dorcas's mind retained its first impression. Sometimes his plausibilities, his vehemence, and his vows disturbed it for a time. But there it remained, like the picture of a camere obscura, into which a momentary light has been admitted, unseen for a second, but the images return with the darkness, and group themselves in their old colours and places again. Whatever it was Rachel probably knew it. There was a painful confidence between them, and there was growing in Dorcas's mind a feeling towards Rachel which her pride forbade her to define. She did not like Stanley's stealthy visits to Redmond's farm. She did not like his moods or looks after those visits, of which he thought she knew nothing. She did not know whether to be pleased or sorry that Rachel had refused to reside at Brandon. Neither did she like the stern gloom that overcast Rachel's countenance when Stanley was in the room. Nor those occasional walks together up and down the short U-walk, in which Lake looked so cold and angry, and Rachel so earnest. What was this secret? How dared her husband mask from her what he confided to another? How dared Rachel confer with him, influence him perhaps, under her very eye, walking before the windows of Brandon, that Brandon, which was hers, and to which she had taken Stanley, passing her gate a poor and tired wayfarer of the world, and made him what? Oh, mad caprice! Oh, fit of retribution! A wild voice was talking this way, to and fro, and up and down, in the chambers of memory. But she would not let it speak from her proud lips. She smiled, and to outward seeming was the same, but Rachel felt that the fashion of her countenance towards her was changed. Since her marriage she had not hinted to Rachel the subject of their old conversations, burning beneath her feeling about it was now a deep-rooted anger and jealousy. Still she was Stanley's sister, and to be treated accordingly. The whole household greeted her with proper respect, and Dorcas met her graciously, and with all the externals of kindness. The change was so little that I do not think any but she and Rachel saw it, and yet it was immense. There was a dark room, a sort of anti-room, to the library, with only two tall and narrow windows, and hung with old Dutch tapestries, representing the battles and sieges of men and periwigs, pikemen, dragoons in buff coats, and musketeers with match-locks, all the grim faces of soldiers, generals, drummers, and the rest, grown pale and dusky by time, like armies of ghosts. Rachel had come one morning to see Dorcas, and awaiting her appearance sat down in this room. The door to the library opened, and she was a little surprised to see Stanley enter.  Oh, did they? Well, you see, I'm here, Addy. Somehow he was not very well pleased to see her. I think you'll find Dorcas in the drawing-room or else in the conservatory, he added. I'm glad, Stanley, I happen to meet you. Something must be done in the matter I spoke of immediately. Have you considered it?" Most carefully, said Stanley quietly, but you have done nothing. It is not a thing to be done in a moment. You can, if you please, do a great deal in a moment. Certainly, but I may repent it afterwards. Stanley, you may regret postponing it much more. You have no idea, Rachel, how very tiresome you've grown. Yes, Stanley, I can quite understand it. It would have been better for you, perhaps for myself, I had died long ago. Well, that is another thing, but in the meantime I assure you, Rachel, you are disposed to be very impertinent. Very impertinent. Yes, indeed, Stanley, and so I shall continue to be until—Pray, how does it concern you? I say it is no business on earth of yours. Stanley Lake was growing angry. Yes, Stanley, it does concern me. That is false. True, true, sir—oh, Stanley, it is a load upon my conscience—a mountain, a mountain between me and my hopes. I can't endure the misery to which you would consign me. You shall do it immediately, too. She stamped wildly as she said it. And if you hesitate, Stanley, I shall be compelled to speak, though the thought of it makes me almost mad with terror. What is he to do, Rachel? said Dorcas, standing near the door. It was a very awkward pause. The splendid young bride was the only person on the stage who looked very much as usual. Stanley turned his pale glare of fury from Rachel to Dorcas, and Dorcas said again, What is it, Rachel, darling? Rachel, with a bright blush on her cheeks, stepped quickly up to her, put her arms about her neck and kissed her, and over her shoulder she cried to her brother. Tell her, Stanley. And so she quickly left the room and was gone. Well, dorky love, what's the matter? said Stanley sharply, at last, breaking the silence. I really don't know. You, perhaps, can tell? answered she coldly. You have frightened Rachel out of the room for one thing, answered he with a sneer. I simply asked her what she urged you to do. I think I have a claim to know. It is strange, so reasonable a question from a wife should scare your sister from the room. I don't quite see that, for my part. I don't think anything strange in a woman. Rachel has been talking the rankest nonsense, in the most unreasonable temper conceivable, and because she can't persuade me to accept her views of what is Christian and sensible, she threatens to go mad. I think that is her phrase.   And pray what does she want you to do, Stanley? The merest nonsense. But what is it? I really can hardly undertake to say. I very well understand it myself. And I have half a dozen letters to write. And really, if I were to stay here and try to explain, I very much doubt whether I could. Why don't you ask her? If she has any clear ideas on the subject, I don't see why she should not tell you. For my part I doubt if she understands herself. I certainly don't. Dorcas smiled bitterly. Mystery already. Mystery from the first. I am to know nothing of your secrets. You confer and consult in my house.  Certainly deeply affecting you and therefore which I have a right to know. And my entering the room is the signal for silence. A guilty silence. For departure and for equivocation. Stanley, you are isolating me. Beware. I may entrench myself in that isolation. You are choosing your confidant. And excluding me. Rest assured, you shall have no confidence of mine while you do so. Stanley Lake looked at her with a gaze at once peevish and inquisitive. You take a wonderfully serious view of Rachel's nonsense. I do. Certainly you women have a marvellous talent for making mountains of molehills. You and Raddy are adepts in the art. Never was a poor devil so lectured about nothing as I between you. Come now, dorky. Be a good girl. You must not look so vexed. I'm not vexed. What, then? I'm only thinking. She said this with the same bitter smile. Stanley Lake looked for a moment disposed to break into one of his furies, but instead he only laughed his unpleasant laugh. Well, I'm thinking too. And I find it quite possible to be vexed at the same time. I assure you, dorkess, I really am busy. And it is too bad to have once time wasted in solemn lectures about stuff and nonsense. Do make Rachel explain herself if she can. I have no objection. I assure you. But I must be permitted to decline undertaking to interpret that oracle.  Dorkess did not deign to look after him. She had heard his farewell address, looking from the window at the towering and sombre clumps of her ancestral trees. Pale, proud, with perhaps a peculiar gleam of resentment, or malignity, in her exquisite features. So she stood, looking forth on her noble possessions, on terraces, long rows of urns, noble timber, all seen in slanting sunlight and long shadows, and seeing nothing but the great word, fool, in letters of flame in the air before her. A Threatening Notice Stanley Lake was not a man to let the grass grow under his feet when an object was to be gained. It was with assure prescience that Mark Wilder's letter had inferred that Stanley Lake would aspire to the representation either of the county or of the borough of Dollington. His mind was already full of these projects. Electioneering schemes are conducted particularly at their initiation, like conspiracies. In fact, they are conspiracies, and therefore there was nothing remarkable in the intense caution with which Stanley Lake set about his. He was not yet feeling his way. He was only preparing to feel his way. All the data, except the muster roll of electors, were in nimba bus. Who would retire? Who would step forward, as yet altogether in the region of conjecture? There are men to whom the business of elections, a life of secrecy, excitement, speculation, and combat, has all but irresistible charms, and Tom Wilden, the town clerk, was such a spirit. A bold, frank, good human fellow, he played at elections as he would at cricket. Every faculty of eye, hand, and thought, his whole heart and soul in the game, but no ill will, no malevolence in victory, no sourness in defeat, a successful coup made Tom Wilden split with laughing.  He celebrated his last great defeat with a picnic in the romantic scenery of Nalton, where he and his comrades in disaster had a roaring evening and no end of chaff, when he and Joseph Larkin carried the last close contest at Dollington. By a majority of two, he kicked the crown out of the grave at Ernie's chimney-pot and flung his own wide awake into the river. He did not show much. His official station precluded prominence. He kept in the background and did his spiriting gently. But Tom Wilden, it was known, as things are known without evidence, was at the bottom of all the clever dodges and long-headed maneuvers. When, therefore, Mr. Larkin heard from the portly and voracious Mr. Larkin, who was on very happy relations with the proprietor of the lodge, that Tom Wilden had been twice quietly to Brandon to lunch, and had talked an hour alone with the captain in the library each time, and that they seemed very harnessed-like and stopped of talking directly he, Mr. Larkin, entered the room with the post-bag, the attorney knew very well what was in the wind. Now it was not quite clear what was right, by which the good attorney meant prudent, under the circumstances. He was in confidential, which meant lucrative, relations with Mark Wilder, ditto, ditto with Captain Lake, of Brandon. He did not wish to lose either. Was it possible to hold to both, or must he cleave only to one and despise the other? Wilder might return any day, and Tom Wilden would probably be one of the first men whom he would see. He must hang out the signal in Galiani. Lake could never suspect it, meaning even were he to see it. There was but one risk in it, which was in the coarse perpity of Mark Wilder himself, who would desire no better fun in some of his moods than boasting to Lake of the whole arrangement in Joseph Larkin's presence. However on the whole it was best to obey Mark Wilder's orders, and accordingly Galiani said, Mr. Smith will take notice that the other party is desirous to purchase and becoming very pressing. In the meantime Lake was pushing his popularity among the gentry with remarkable industry and with tolerable success. Wilden's two little visits explained perfectly the active urbanities of Captain Stanley Lake. About three weeks after the appearance of the advertisement in Galiani, one of Mark Wilder's letters reached Larkin. It was dated from Geneva and said, Dear Larkin, I saw my friend Smith here in the café, who has kept a bright look out. I daresay, and tells me that Captain Stanley Lake is thinking of standing either for the county or for Dollington. I will thank you to apprise him that I mean to take my choice first, and please hand him the enclosed notice open as you get it. And if you please, to let him run his eye also over this note to you, as I have my own reasons for wishing him to know that you have seen it. This is all I will probably trouble you about elections for some months to come, or at least weeks, it being time enough when I go back, and no squalls ahead just now at home, though foreign politics look muggy enough. I have nothing particular at present about tenants or timber except the three acres of oak behind Farmer Tanby's have it took down. Thomas Jones and me went over it last September, and it ought to bring near three thousand pounds. I must have a good handful of money by May next. Yours, my dear Larkin, very truly, Mark Wilder. Folded in this was a thin slip of foreign paper on which were traced these lines. Private, dear Larkin, don't funk the interview with the beast Lake. A hyena has no pluck in him. When he reads what I send him by your hand, he'll be as mild as you please. Parks must act for me as usual. No bluster about giving up. Lake's afraid of yours, M.W. Within was what he called his notice to Stanley Lake, and it was thus conceived. Private, dear Lake, I understand you are trying to make all safe for next election in Dollington or the county. Now understand at once that I won't permit that. There is not a country gentleman on the grand jury who is not your superior, and there is no extremity I will not make you feel, and you know what I mean, if you dare despise this first and not unfriendly warning. Yours truly, Mark Wilder. Now there certainly was need, Wilder's assurance, that nothing unpleasant should happen to the conscious bearer of such a message to an officer and a gentleman. Joseph Larkin did not like it. Still there was a confidence in his own conciliatory manners and exquisite tact. Something too might be learned by noting Lake's looks, demeanour, and language under this direct communication from the man to whom his relations were so mysterious. Larkin looked at his watch. It was about the hour when he was likely to find Lake in his study. The attorney withdrew the little private enclosure and slipped it, with a brief endorsement, into the neat sheaf of Wilder's letters. All similarly noted, and so locked it up in the iron safe. He intended being perfectly ingenuous with Lake, and showing him that he had no secrets, no concealments, all open as the day. By producing the letter in which the notice was enclosed, and submitting it for Captain Lake's perusal. When Lawyer Larkin reached the dim chamber with the Dutch tapestries, where he had for a little while to await Captain Lake's leisure, he began to anticipate the scene now so immediately impending more uncomfortably than before. The notice was indeed so outrageous in its spirit, and so intolerable in its language that knowing something of Stanley's wild and truculent temper, he began to feel a little nervous about the explosion he was about to provoke. The brand in connection, one way or other, was worth to the attorney in hard cash between five and six hundred a year. In influence and what his termed position, it was, of course, worth a great deal more. It would be a very serious blow to lose this. He did not, he hoped, care for money more than a good man ought, but such a loss he would say he could not afford. Precisely the same, however, was to be said of his connection with Mark Wilder, and, in fact, of late years Mr. Joseph Larkin of the Lodge had begun to put by money so fast that he was growing rapidly to be a very considerable man indeed. Everything, as he said, was doing very nicely, and it would be a deplorable thing to mar, by any untoward act, this pilgrim's quiet and prosperous progress. In this stage of his reverie he was interrupted by a tall, powdered footman in the Brandon livery, who came respectfully to announce that his master desired to see Mr. Larkin. Larkin's soul sneered at this piece of state. Why could he not put his head in at the door and call him? But still I think it impressed him, and that diplomatically Captain Lake was in the right to environ himself with the ceremonial of a lord of Brandon. Well, Larkin, how did you do? Anything about Rakey's lease? said the great Captain Lake, rising from behind his desk with his accustomed smile and extending his gentlemanlike hand. No, sir, nothing, Captain Lake. He has not come, and I don't think we should show any anxiety about it, replied the attorney, taking the Captain's thin hand rather deferentially. I've had a such a letter from my client, Mr. Mark Wilder. He writes in a violent passion, and I'm really placed in a most disagreeable position. Won't you sit down? He thinks, well, I thought, on the whole, having received the letter and the enclosure, which I must say very much surprises me. Very much indeed, and Larkin looked reprovingly on an imaginary Mark Wilder, and took his head a good deal. He has not appointed another man of business. Oh, dear, no, said Larkin quickly, with a faint supercilious smile. No, nothing of that kind. The thing, in fact, there has been some gossiping, fellow. Do you happen to know a person at all, versed in Gillingdon matters, or perhaps a member of your club, named Smith? Smith? I don't. I think recollect any particular Smith, just at this moment. And what is Smith doing or saying? Why, he has been talking over election matters. It seems Wilder—Mr. Wilder—has met him in Geneva from whence he dates, and he says—he says—oh, here's the letter, and you'll see it all there. He handed it to Lake, and kept his eye on him while he read it, when he saw that Lake, who bit his lip during the perusal, had come to the end, by his glancing up again at the date, Larkin murmured, something you'll see has gone wrong with him. I can't count for the temper otherwise, so violent. Quite so, said Lake quietly, and where is the notice he speaks of here? Why, really, Captain Lake, I did not very well know. It is such a production. I could not say whether you would wish it presented, and in any case you will do me the justice to understand that I, for my part, I really don't know how to speak of it. Quite so, repeated Lake softly, taking the thin, neatly folded piece of paper which Larkin, with a sad inclination of his body, handed to him. Lake, under the lawyers, small, vigilant eyes, quietly read Mark Wilder's awful threatening through, twice over, and Larkin was not quite sure whether there was any change of countenance to speak of, as he did so. This is dated the 29th, said Lake, in the same quiet tone. Perhaps you will be so good as to write a line across it, stating the date of your handing it to me. I, of course, I can see no objection. I may mention, I suppose, that I do so at your request. And Larkin made a neat little endorsement to that effect, and he felt relieved. The hyena certainly was not showing fight. And now, Mr. Larkin, you'll admit, I think, that I've exhibited no ill temper, much less violence, under the provocation of that note. Certainly, none whatever, Captain Lake, and you will therefore perceive, that whatever I now say, speaking in cool blood, I am not likely to recede from. Lawyer Larkin bowed, and may I particularly ask, that you will so attend to what I am about to say, as to be able to make a note of it for Mr. Wilder's consideration. Certainly, if you desire, but I wish to say, that in this particular matter I beg, it may be clearly understood, that Mr. Wilder is in no respect more my client than you, Captain Lake, and that I merely act as a most reluctant messenger in the matter. Dost so, said Captain Lake. Now, as to my thinking of representing, either county or borough, he resumed, after a little pause, holding Mark Wilder's notice between his finger and thumb, and glancing at it from time to time, as a speaker might at his notes. I am just as well qualified as he in every respect, and if it lies between him and me, I will undoubtedly offer myself, and accompany my address with the publication of this precious document which he calls his notice, the composition in all respects of a ruffian, and which will inspire every gentleman who reads it with disgust, abhorrence, and contempt. His threat I don't understand. I despise his machinations. I defy him utterly, and the time is coming when, in spite of his manoeuvring, I'll drive him into a corner and pin him to the wall. He very well knows that flitting and skulking from place to place, like an escaped convict, he is safe in writing what insults he pleases through the post. I can't tell how or where to find him.  But his game of hide-and-seek cannot go on forever, and when next I can lay my hand upon him, I'll make him eat that paper on his knees, and place my heel upon his neck. The peroration of this peculiar invective was emphasized by an oath, at which the half-dozen short-grizzled hairs that surmounted the top of Mr. Josiah Larkin's shining bald head, no doubt stood up in silent appeal. The attorney was standing during this sample of Lake's Parliamentary rhetoric a little flushed, for he did not know the moment when a blue flicker from the rhetorical thunderstorm might splinter his own bald head, and forever end his connection with Brandon. There was a silence, during which pale Captain Lake locked up Mark Wilder's warning, and the attorney twice cleared his voice. I need hardly say, Captain Lake, how I feel in this business. I— quite so, said the captain, in his soft, low tones. I assure you I altogether acquit you of sympathy, with anything so utterly ruff in there. And he took the hand of the relieved attorney with a friendly condescension. The only compensation I exact for your involuntary part in the matter is that you distinctly convey the tenor of my language to Mr. Wilder, on the first occasion on which he afforded you an opportunity of communicating with him, and as to my ever again acting as his trustee, though, yes, I forgot, he made a sudden pause, and was lost for a minute in annoyed reflection. Yes, I must for a while. It can't last very long. He must return soon, and I can't well refuse to act until at least some other arrangement is made. There are quite other persons, and I can't allow them to starve. So, saying, he rose with his peculiar smile, and extended his hand to signify that the conference was at an end. And I suppose, he said, we are to regard this little conversation for the present as confidential? Certainly, Captain Lake, and permit me to say that I fully appreciate the just and liberal construction which you have placed upon my conduct, a construction which a party less candid and honourably minded than yourself might have failed to favour me with. And with this pretty speech Lachan took his hat and gracefully withdrew. End of Chapter 47. Recording by Diane Lanning at DianeLanning.com Chapter 48 of Wilder's Hand This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Diane Lanning. Wilder's Hand by Jay Sheridan Lefanyu Chapter 48 In which I go to Brandon and see an old acquaintance in the tapestry room. To my surprise a large letter bearing the Gillingdon postmark, and with a seal as large as a florin showing, had I examined the heraldry. The brand in arms with the lake bearings quartered thereon, and proving to be a very earnest invitation from Stanley Lake, found me in London just about this time. I paused. I was doubtful about accepting it, for the business of the season was just about to commence in earnest, and the country had not yet assumed its charms. But I now know very well, that from the first it was quite settled, that down I should go. I was too curious to see the bride in her new relations, and to observe something of the conjugal administration of Lake, to allow anything seriously to stand in the way of my proposed trip. There was a post-script to Lake's letter, which might have opened my eyes as to the motives with this pressing invitation, which I pleased myself by thinking, though penned by Captain Lake, came in reality from his beautiful young bride. This small appendix was thus conceived. P.S. Tom Wilden, as usual, deep in elections, under the rose, begs you kindly to bring down whatever you think to be the best book or books on the subject, and he will remit to your bookseller. Order them in his name, but bring them down with you. So I was a second time going down to Brandon as honorary council, without knowing it. My invitations, I fear, were obtained if not under false pretenses, at least upon false estimates, and the laity rated my legal law too highly. I reached Brandon rather late. The bride had retired for the night. I had a very late dinner, in fact, a supper, in the parlour. Lake sat with me, chatting, rather cleverly, not pleasantly. Wilden was at Brandon about sessions, business, and, as usual, full of election stratagems and calculations. Stanley volunteered to assure me he had not the faintest idea of looking for a constituency. I really believe, and at this distance of time I may use strong language in historical sense, the Captain Lake was the greatest liar I ever encountered with. He seemed to do it without a purpose, by instinct or on principle, and would contradict himself solemnly twice or thrice in a week, without seeming to perceive it. I dare say he lied always and about everything, but it was in matters of some moment that one perceived it. What object could he gain, for instance, by the fib he had just told me? On second thoughts this night he coolly apprised me that he had some idea of sounding the electors. So my meal ended. We went into the tapestry room, where, the night being sharp, a pleasant bit of fire burned in the grate, and Wilden greeted me. My journey, though by rail, and as easy as that of the Persian gentleman, who skimmed the air, seated on a piece of carpet, predisposed me to sleep. Such volumes of fine and various country air, and such an eight-hour procession of all sorts of natural pictures are not traversed without effect. Sitting in my well stuffed chair, my elbows on the cushioned arms, the conversation of lake and the town clock now and then grew faint, and their faces faded away, and little pipes and fragments of those light and pleasant dreams, like fairy tales, which visit such stolen naps, superseded with their picturesque and musical illusions the realities and recollections of life. Once or twice a gnawed a little too deep or sudden called me up, but lake was busy about the Dollington constituency, and the town clock's bluff face was serious and thoughtful. It was the old question about Rogers, the brewer, and whether Lord Adelston and Sir William could not get him, or else it had gone on to the great railway contractor, Dobbs, and the question how many votes his influence was really worth, and somehow, and never got very far into the pros and cons of these discussions, which soon subsided into the fairy tale I have mentioned, and that sweet perpendicular sleep, all the sweeter like everything else, for being contraband and irregular. For one bout, I fancy a good deal longer than the others, my nap was much sounder than before, and I opened my eyes at last with the shutter and a harp horror that accompany an awakening from a general chill, a dismal and frightened sensation. I was facing a door about twenty feet distant, which, exactly as I opened my eyes, turned slowly on its hinges, and the figure of Uncle Lorne in his loose flannel abillement, ineffisibly traced upon my memory. Like every other detail of that ill-omend apparition, glided into the room, and crossing the thick carpet with long, soft steps, passed near me, looking upon me with a malign sort of curiosity for some two or three seconds, and sat down by the declining fire with a side-long glance still fixed upon me. I continued gazing on this figure with a dreadful incredulity and the indistinct feeling that it must be an illusion, and that if I could only wake up completely it would vanish. The fascination was disturbed by a noise at the other end of the room, and I saw Lake standing close to him, and looking both angry and frightened. Tom Wilden, looking odd, too, was close at his elbow, and had his hand on Lake's arm like a man who would prevent violence. I do not know in the least what had passed before, but Lake said, How the devil did he come in? Hush! was all that Tom Wilden said, looking at the gaunt spectre with less of fear than inquisitiveness. What are you doing here, sir? demanded Lake in his most unpleasant tones. Prophecying answered the phantom. You had better write your prophecies in your room, sir, had not you, and give them to the archbishop canterbury to proclaim when they are finished. We are busy here just now, and don't require revelations, if you please.  Let him alone, whispered the town clerk in significant whisper, don't cross him, and he'll not stay long. You're here, ascribe, murmured Uncle Lorne, looking upon Tom Wilden. I saw ascribe, and a Pharisee, a Sadducee, and a Publican, and a Priest, and a Levite, said the Functionary with a wink at Lake. Thomas Wilden, sir, happy to see you, sir, so well and strong, and likely to enlighten the religious world for many a day to come. It's a long time, sir, since I had the honour of seeing you, and I'm always, of course, at your command. Sure, said Lake Angrily. The town clerk pressed his arm with significant side-knot and wink, which seemed to say, I understand him, can't you let me manage him? The old man did not seem to hear what they said, but his tall figure rose up, and he extended the fingers of his left hand close to the candle for a few seconds, and then held him up to his eyes, gazing on his fingertips with a horrified sort of scrutiny, as if he saw signs and portents gathered there, like Thomas Aquinas angels at the needle's points, and then the same cadaverous grin broke out over his features. Mark Wilder is in an evil plight, said he. Is he? said Lake with a sly scarf, though he seemed to me a good deal scared. We hear no complaints, however, and fancy he must be tolerably comfortable notwithstanding.  I, in Italy, everyone knows that, answered Lake. In Italy, said the old man reflectively, as if trying to gather up his ideas. Italy, oh yes, Valombrosa, I, Italy, I know it well. So do we, sir, thank you for the information, said Lake, who nevertheless appeared strangely uneasy. He has had a great tour to make. It is nearly accomplished now. When it is done, he will be like me, humano major. He has seen the places which you are yet to see. Nothing I should like better, particularly Italy, said Lake. Yes, said Uncle Lorne, lifting up slowly a different finger at each name in his catalogue. First, Lucas Mortis. Then, Terra Tenebrosa. Next, Tatarus. After that, Terra Oblivionis. Then, Herbus. Then, Barathrum. Then, Gehenna. And then, Stadium Ignis.  And to think that all the white citizens were once men and women, murmured Uncle Lorne with a scowl. Quite so, whispered Lake. I know where he is, resumed the old man with his finger on his long chin and looking down upon the carpet. It would be very convenient if you would favour us with his address, said Stanley with a gracious sneer. I know what became of him, continued the oracle. You are more in his confidence than we are, said Lake. Don't be frightened, but he's alive. I think they'll make him mad. It is a frightful plight. Two angels buried him alive in Valambrosa by night. I saw it, standing among the lotus and hemlock. A negro came to me, a black clergyman with white eyes, and remained beside me. And the angels imprisoned Mark. They put him on duty forty days and forty nights, with his ear to the river listening for voices. And when it was over, we blessed them. And the clergyman walked with me a long while, to and fro, to and fro upon the earth, telling me the wonders of the abyss. And it is from the abyss, sir, he writes his letters, inquired the town clerk, with a wink at Lake. Yes, yes, very diligent.  But he'll be sent up again at last, a thousand, a hundred, ten, and one. Black marble steps. And then it will be the other one's turn. So it was prophesied by the black magician. I thought, sir, you mentioned just now he was a clergyman, suggested Mr. Wheldon, who evidently enjoyed this wonderful yarn. Clergyman and a magician both.  Maybe it was a vision, sir, suggested the town clerk. Yes, a vision. Maybe, echoed the cavernous tones of the old man, but in the flesh, or out of the flesh. I saw it. You have had revelations, sir, I've heard, said Stanley's mocking voice. Many, said the seer, but a prophet is never honoured. We live in solitude and privations. The world hates us. They stone us. They cut us asunder, even when we are dead. Feel me. I'm cold and white all over.  I'd have had wings now only for that pistol. I am as white as Gehazi, except on my head when that blood comes. Saying which, he rose abruptly, and with long jerking steps limped to the door at which I saw, in the shade, the face of a dark-featured man looking gloomily in. When he reached the door, Uncle Lorne suddenly stopped and faced us with a countenance of wrath and fear, and threw up his arms in an attitude of denunciation, but said nothing. I thought for a moment the gigantic spectre was about to rush upon us in an excess of frenzy, but whatever the impulse, it subsided, or was diverted by some new idea. His countenance changed, and he beckoned as if to someone in the corner of the room behind us, and smiled this dreadful smile, and so left the apartment. The old madman is madder than ever, said Lake, in his fellow's tones, looking steadfastly with his peculiar gaze upon the closed door. German is with him, but he'll burn the house and murder someone yet.  Did you see him at the door? He was on the point of assailing some of us. He ought to be in a madhouse. He used to be very quiet, said the town clerk, who knew all about him. Oh, very quiet. Yes, of course, very quiet, and quite harmless to people who don't live in the house with him, and see him but once in half a dozen years. But you can't persuade me, it is quite so pleasant for those who happen to live under the same roof, and are liable to be intruded upon as we have been to night every hour of their existence. Well, certainly it is not pleasant, especially for ladies, admitted the town clerk. No, not pleasant, and I've quite made up my mind it shan't go on. It is too absurd, really, that such a monstrous thing should be enforced. I'll get a private act, next session, and regulate those absurd conditions in the will. The old fellow ought to be under restraint, and rather think it would be better for himself that he were. Who is he? I asked, speaking for the first time. I thought you'd seen him before now, said Lake. So I have, but quite alone, and without ever learning who he was, I answered. Oh! he is the gentleman, Julius, for whom, in the will under which we take, those very odd provisions are made, such as I believe no one but a wilder or brandon would have dreamed of. It is an odd state of things to hold one's estate under conditions of letting a madman wander about your house and place, making everybody in it uncomfortable and insecure, and exposing him to the imminent risk of making away with himself, either by accident or design. I happen to know what Mark Wilder would have done, for he spoke very fiercely on the subject. Perhaps he consulted you? No. No? Well, he intended locking him quietly into the suite of three apartments, you know, at the far end of the old gallery, and giving him full command of the mulberry garden by the little private stair, and putting a good iron door to it, so that my beloved brother Julius, at present afflicted in mind—Lake quoted the words of the will, with an unpleasant sneer—should have had his apartments and his pleasure grounds quite to himself. And would that arrangement of Mr. Wilder's have satisfied the conditions of the will, said the town clerk? I rather think, with proper precautions it would. Mark Wilder was very shrewd, and would not have run himself into a fix, answered Lake. I do not know any man shrewder. He is, certainly. And Lake looked at us as he added these last words, in turn, with a quick, suspicious glance, as if he had said something rash, and doubted whether we had observed it. After a little more talk, Lake and the town clerk resumed their electioneering conference, and the lists of electors were passed under their scrutiny, name by name, like slides under the microscope. There is a great deal in nature, physical and moral, that had as well not be ascertained. It is better to take things on trust, with something of a distance and indistinctness. What we gain in knowledge by scrutiny is sometimes paid for in a ghastly sort of disgust.  How you find them rated and classified, what odd notes you make to them in the margin, and after the trenchant and rapid vivisection, what sinister scars and seams remain, and how gaunt and repulsive old acquaintances stand up from it. The town clerk knew the constituency of Darlington at his finger's ends, and Stanley Lake quietly enjoyed, as certain minds will, the nefarious and shabby metamorphosis which every now and then some familiar and respectable burgess underwent, in the spell of half a dozen dry sentences whispered in his ear, and all this minute information is trustworthy and quite without malice. I went to my bedroom and secured the door, lest Uncle Lorne or Julius should make me another midnight visit. So that mystery was cleared up, neither ghost nor spectral illusion, but flesh and blood, so in my mind there has always been a horror of a madman akin to the ghastly or demonic. I do not know how late Tom Wilden and Stanley Lake sat up over their lists, but I dare say they were in no hurry to leave them, for a dissolution was just then expected, and no time was to be lost. When I saw Tom Wilden alone next day in the street of Gillington, he walked a little way with me, and said Tom, with a grave wink, don't let the captain up there be hard on the poor old gentleman. He's quite harmless. He would not hurt a fly. I know all about him. But Jack Ford and I spent five weeks in the hall about twelve years ago, when the family were away and thought the keeper was not kind to him.  He fancies, you know, he's a profit, and says he's that old Salon Brandon that shot himself in his bedroom. Well, he is a rum one, and we used to draw him out, poor Jack and me. I never laughed so much. I don't think in the same time before since. But he's as innocent as a child, and you know them directions in the will is very strong. And they say Joseph Larkin does not like the captain a bit too well, and he has the will of every word of it. And I think if Captain Lake does not take care, he may get into trouble, and maybe it would not be a miss if you gave him a hint. Tom Wilden indeed was a good natured fellow, and if he had had his way I think the world would have gone smoothly enough with most people. the attorney. Now I may as well mention here an occurrence which seeming very insignificant has yet a bearing upon the current of this tale, and it is this. About four days after the receipt of the dispatches to which the conference of Captain Lake and the attorney referred, there came a letter from the same prolific correspondent dated 20th March from Genoa, which altogether puzzled Mr. Larkin. It commenced thus, Genoa 20th March. Dear Larkin, I hope you did the three commissions all right. Wilden won't refuse I reckon, but don't let Lake guess what the 150 pounds is for. Pay Martin for the job when finished. It's under 60 pounds mined, and get it looked at first. There was a great deal more, but these were the passages which perplexed Larkin. He unlocked the iron safe, and took out the sheaf of Wilder's letters, and conned the last one over very carefully. Why, said he, holding the text before his eyes in one hand, and with the fingers of the other touching the top of his bald forehead. Tom Wilden is not once mentioned in this, nor in any of them, and this palpably refers to some direction. And 150 pounds? No such sum has been mentioned. And what is this job of Martin's? Is it Martin of the China Kilns, or Martin of the Bank? That too plainly refers to a formal letter, not a word of the sort. This is very odd indeed. Larkin's fingertips descended over his eyebrow, and scratched in a miniature way there for a few seconds, and then his large long hand descended further to his chin, and his underlip was, as usual in deep thought, fondled and pinched between his finger and thumb. There has plainly been a letter lost manifestly. I never knew anything wrong in this Gillingdon office. Driver has been always correct, but it is hard to know any man for certain in this world. I don't think the captain would venture anything so awfully hazardous. I really can't suspect so monstrous a thing, but, unquestionably, a letter has been lost, and who's to take it? Larkin made a fuller endorsement than usual on this particular letter, and ruminated over the correspondence a good while, with his lip between his finger and thumb, and a shadow on his face, before he replaced it in its iron drawer. It is not a thing to be passed over, murmured the attorney, who had come to a decision as to the first step to be taken, and he thought with a qualm of the effect of one of Wilder's confidential notes getting into Captain Lake's hands. While he was buttoning his walking boots, with his foot on the chair before the fire, a tap at his study door surprised him, a hurried glance on the table satisfying him that no secret paper or dispatch lay there, he called. Come in. And Mr. Larkin, the grave butler of Brandon, wearing outside his portly person a black garment then known as a Zephyr, a white choker in black trousers, and well polished but rather splayed shoes, and, on the whole, his fat and serious aspect considered being capable of being mistaken for a church dignitary, or at least for an eminent undertaker, entered the room with a solemn and gentleman-like reverence. Oh, Mr. Larkin, a message? Or business? Said Mr. Larkin urbanely. Not a message, sir, only an inquiry about them fuchsiaes. Answered Mr. Larkin with another serene reverence, and remaining standing, hat in hand at the door. Oh, yes. And how do you do, Mr. Larkin? Quite well, I trust. Yes, about the not injunction. Well, I'm happy to tell you. But pray, take a chair, that I have succeeded and the directors have allotted you five shares, and is your own fault if you don't make two ten and six a share. The chowlies are up to six and a half, I see here. And he pointed to the times. Mr. Larkin's fat face smiled, in spite of his endeavour to keep it under. It was part of his business to look always grave, and he coughed and recovered his gravity. I'm very thankful, sir, said Mr. Larkin. Very. But do sit down, Mr. Larkin. Pray, do, said the attorney, who was very gracious to Larkin. You'll get the script, you know, on executing. But the shares are allotted. They sent the notice for you here. And how are the family at Brandon? Oh, well, I trust. Mr. Larkin blew his nose. All so well. And let me give you a glass of sherry, Mr. Larkin, after your walk. I can't compete with the Brandon sherry, Mr. Larkin. Wonderful fine wine that. But still, I'm told, this is not a bad wine, not withstanding. Larkin received it with grave gratitude, and sipped it, and spoke respectfully of it. And, and any news in that quarter of Mr. Mark Wilder? Any, any surmise? I, you know, I'm interested for all parties. Well, sir, and Mr. Wilder, I can't say as I know no more than he's been a subject of much unpleasant feeling, which I should say there's been a great deal of angry talk since I last saw you, sir, between Miss Lake and the Captain. Ah, yes, you mentioned something of the kind, and your own impression that Captain Lake, which I trust may turn out to be so. Knows where Mr. Mark Wilder is at present staying? I much missed out, sir, it won't turn out to be no good store for no one, said Mr. Larkin, in a low and sad tone, and with a long shake of his head. No good story, hey? How do you mean, Larkin? Well, sir, I know you won't mention me, Mr. Larkin. Certainly not. Go on. When people get hot of talking, they won't mind a body coming in, and that's how the Captain and Miss Rachel Lake carried on their dispute like, though me coming into the room. Just so, and what do you found your opinion about Mr. Mark Wilder on? Well, sir, I could not hear more than a word now in a sentence again, and picking what meaning I could out of what Miss Lake said, and the Captain could not deny. I do suspect sir most serious, as how they have put Mr. Mark Wilder into a madhouse, and that's how I think it's gone with him, and you'll never see him out again if the Captain has his will.   The butler nodded gloomily. Larkin continued to stare on him in silence with his round eyes for some seconds after. In a madhouse? Puh! Puh! Incredible! Puh! Impossible! Quite impossible! Did either Miss Lake or the Captain use the word madhouse? Well, no. Or any other word, lunatic asylum, or a bedlam, or any other word, meaning the same thing? Well, I can't say it says I remember, but I rather think not. I only know for certain, I took it so, and I do believe it's how Mr. Mark Wilder is confined in a madhouse, and the Captain knows all about it, and won't do nothing to get him out. Hmm. Very odd. Very strange. But it is only from the general tenor of what passed, by a sort of guesswork you have arrived at that conclusion? Larkum assented. Well, Mr. Larkum, I think you have been led into an erroneous conclusion. Indeed, I may mention I have reason to think so. In fact, to know that such is the case. What you mentioned to me, you know, as a friend of the family, and holding, as I do, a confidential position, in fact, a very confidential one. A liken relation to Mr. Wilder, and to the family of Brandon Hall, is, of course, sacred. And anything that comes from you, Mr. Larkum, is never heard in connection with your name beyond these walls. And let me add, it strikes me as highly important, both in the interests of the leading individuals in this unpleasant business, and also as pertaining to your own comfort and security, that you should carefully avoid communicating what you have just mentioned to any other party.  Larkum did understand perfectly, and so this little visit ended. Mr. Larkum took a turn or two up and down the room thinking. He stopped, with his fingertips to his eyebrow, and thought more. Then he took another turn, and stopped again, and threw back his head, and gazed for a while on the ceiling. And then he stood for a time at the window, with his lip between his finger and thumb. No, it was a mistake. It could not be. It was Mark Wilder's penmanship. He could swear to it. There was no trace of madness in his letters, nor of restraint. It was not possible, even, that he was wandering from place to place under the coercion of a couple of keepers. No, Wilder was an energetic and somewhat violent person, with high animal courage, and would be sure to blow up and break through any such machination. No. No, with Mark Wilder, it was quite out of the question, altogether visionary and impracticable. Persons like Larkum do make such absurd blunders, and so misapprehend the conversation of educated people. Notwithstanding all which, there remained in his mind an image of Mark Wilder, in the straw and darkness of a solitary continental madhouse, squalid, neglected, and becoming gradually that which he was said to be. And he always shaped him somehow, after the outlines of a grisly print he remembered in his boyish days, of a maniac, chained in a Sicilian cell, groveling under the lash of a half-seen jailer, and with his teeth buried in his own arm. Quite impossible. Mark Wilder was the last man in the world to submit to physical coercion. The idea, besides, could not be reconciled with the facts of the case. It was all a blundering chimera. Mr. Larkum walked down direct to Gillingdon, and paid a rather awful visit to Mr. Driver of the Post Office. A foreign letter addressed to him had most positively been lost. He had called to mention the circumstance, lest Mr. Driver should be taken by surprise by official investigation. Was it possible that the letter had been sent by mistake to Brandon, to Captain Lake? Lake and Larkum, you know, might be mistaken? At all events, it would be well to make your clerks recollect themselves. Mr. Larkum knew that Driver's clerks were his daughters. It is not easy to meet with a young fellow that is quite honest, but if they knew that they would be subject to a sifting examination on oath on the arrival of the commissioner, they might possibly prefer finding the letter, in which case there would be no more about it. Mr. Driver knew him, Mr. Larkum, and he might tell his young men, if they got the letter for him, they should hear no more of it. The people of Gillingdon knew very well that when the rat-like glitter twinkled in Mr. Larkum's eyes and the shadow came over his long face, there was mischief brewing. Chapter 50 New Lights A few days later Josiah Larkin Esquire, the lodge Gillingdon, received from London a printed form, duly filled in, and with the official signature attached, informing him that inquiry having been instituted in consequence of his letter, no result had been obtained. The hiatus in his correspondence caused Mr. Larkin extreme uneasiness. He had a profound distrust of Captain Lake. In fact, he thought him capable of everything, and if there should turn out to be anything not quite straight going on at the post-office of Gillingdon, hitherto an unimpeached institution, he had no doubt whatsoever that that dark and sinuous spirit was at the bottom of it. Still, it was too prodigious and too hazardous to be probable. But the Captain had no sort of principle and a desperately strong head. There was not, indeed, when they met yesterday, the least change or consciousness in the Captain's manner. That, in another man, would have indicated something, but Stanley Lake was so deep, such a mask, in him it meant nothing. Mr. Larkin's next step was to apply for a commissioner to come down and investigate. But before he had time to take this step, an occurrence took place to arrest his proceedings. It was the receipt of a foreign letter of which the following is an exact copy. Venice. March 28. Dear Larkin, I read a rumor of a disillusion during the recess. Keep a bright lookout. Here's three things for you. 1. Try and get Tom Wilden. He is a Sinequinon. Marx Latin was sailor-like. 2. Cash the enclosed order for one hundred fifty pounds more for the same stake. 3. Tell Martin the tiles I saw in August last will answer for the cowhouse, and let him put them down at once. In haste, yours truly, and wilder. Enclosed was an order on Lake for one hundred fifty pounds. When Larkin got this, he was in his study. Why, why, this, positively, this is the letter. How's this? And Mr. Larkin looked as much scared and astonished as if his spirit rose up before him. This is the letter. Aye, this is the letter. He repeated this from time to time as he turned it over and looked at the postmark, and back again at the letter, and looked up at the date, and down at the signature, and read the note through. Yes, this is it. Here it is. This is it. There's no doubt whatever. This is the letter referred to in the last. Weildon, Martin, and the one hundred fifty pounds. And the attorney took out his keys, looking pale and stern like a man about to open the door upon a horror, and unlocked his safe, and took out the oft-consulted and familiar series, letters tied up and bearing the label, Mark Wilder Esquire. Aye, here it is. Genoa, twentieth, and this, Venice, twenty-eighth. Yes, the postmarks correspond. Yet the letter from Genoa, dated twentieth, refers back to the letter from Venice, written eight days later. The—well, I can't comprehend. How in the name of—how in the name? He placed the two letters on his desk, and read them over, and up and down, and pondered darkly over them. It is Mark Wilder's writing. I'll swear to it. What on earth can he mean? He can't possibly want to confuse us upon dates as well as places, because that would simply render his letters for the purposes of business negatory, and there are many things he wishes attended to. Desaii Larkin rose from his desk, ruminating, and went to the window, and placed the letter against the pain. I don't think he had any definite motive in doing this, but something struck him that he had not remarked before. There was something different in the quality of the ink that wrote the number of the date twenty-eighth from that used in the rest of the letter. What can that mean, Mother Larkin, with the sort of gasp at his discovery, and shading his eyes with his hand he scrutinized the numerals twenty-eighth again. A totally different ink! He took the previous letter and frowned on it fiercely from his rat-like eyes, and then, with an ejaculation as like an oath so good a man could utter, he exclaimed, I have it! Then came a pause, and he said, both alike. Blanks left when the letters were written, and the dates filled in afterward. Not the same hand, I think. No, not the same, positively a different hand. Then Josiah Larkin examined these mysterious epistles once more. There may be something in what Larkin said, a very great deal possibly. If he was shut up somewhere, they could make him write a set of these letters off at a sitting, and send them from place to place to be posted, to make us think he was traveling, and prevent our finding where they keep him. Here at his plane there was a slip in posting the wrong one first. Tri-Pend. Kidnapped. Hit away in the crypts of some remote madhouse, reduced to submission by probation and misery. A case as desperate as that of a prisoner in the Inquisition. What could be the motive for this elaborate and hideous fraud? Would it not be a more convenient course, as well as more merciful to put him to death? The crime would hardly be greater. Why should he be retained in that ghastly existence? Well, if Stanley Lake were at the bottom of this horrid conspiracy, he certainly had a motive in clearing the field of his rival. And then, for the attorney had all the family settlements present to his mind, there was this clear motive for prolonging his life. That by the slip in the will under which Dorcas Brandon inherited, the bulk of her estate would terminate with the life of Mark Wilder, and this other motive too existed for retaining him in the house of bondage. That by preventing his marriage and his having a family to succeed him, the reversion of his brother William was reduced to a certainty, and would become a magnificent investment for Stanley Lake, whenever he might choose to purchase. Upon that purchase, however, the good attorney had cast his eye. He thought he now began to discern the outlines of a gigantic and symmetrical villainy emerging through the fog. If this theory were right, William Wilder's reversion was certain to take effect, and it was exasperating that the native craft and daring of this inexperienced captain should first stall so accomplished a man of business as Josiah Larkin. The attorney began to hate Stanley Lake as none but a man of that stamp can hate the person who marrs a scheme of a grandestment. But what was he to do exactly? If the captain had his eye on the reversion, it would require nice navigation to carry his plan successfully through. On the other hand, it was quite possible that Wilder was a free agent, and yet, for the purposes of secrecy, employing another person to post his letters at various continental towns. And this blunder might just as well have happened in this case as in any other that supposed the same machinery. On the whole, then, it was a difficult question, but there were Larkin's conclusions about the madhouse to throw into the balance. And though, as respected Mark Wilder, they were grisly, the attorney would not have been sorry to be quite sure that they were sound. What he most needed were ascertained data. With these, his opportunities were immense. Mr. Larkin eyed the Wilder correspondence now with a sort of reverence that was new to him. There was something supernatural and talismanic in the mystery. The chief of letters lay before him on the table, like Cornelius Agrippa's bloody book, a thing to conjure with. What prodigies might it not accomplish for its happy possessor, if only he could read it or write, and command the spirits, which its spells might call up before him? Yes, it was a stupendous secret, who knew to what it might conduct. There was a shade of guilt in his tamperings with it, akin to the black art which he felt without acknowledging. This little parcel of letters was, in its evil way, a holy thing. While it lay on the table, the room became the holy of holies in his dark religion. And the Link attorney, with tall bald head, shaded face, and hungry, dangerous eyes, a priest, or a magician. The attorney quietly bolted his study door and stood erect with his hands in his pockets, looking sternly down on the letters. Then he took a little gazetteer off a tiny shelf near the bellrope, where was a railway guide, an English dictionary, a French ditto, and a Bible. And with his sharp penknife he deftly sliced from its place in the work of reference the folded map of Europe. It was destined to illustrate the correspondence. And Larkin sat down before it, and surveyed, with a solemn stare the wide scene of Mark Wilder's operations, as a general would the theatre of his rival's strategy. Referring to the letters as he proceeded, with a sharp pen and red ink, he made his natty little note upon each town or capital in succession, from which Wilder had dated a dispatch. Bologna, for instance, a neat little red cross over the town, and Benisse, 12th October, 1854. Brighton, ditto, 20th October, 1854. Paris, ditto, 17th November, 1854. Merci, ditto, 26th November, 1854. Frankfurt, ditto, 22nd February, 1855. Geneva, ditto, 10th March, 1855. Genoa, ditto, 20th March, 1855. Venice, ditto, 28th March, 1855. I may hear mention that in the preceding notation I have marked the days and months exactly, but the years fancifully. I don't think that Mr. Larkin had read the Wandering Jew. He had no great taste for works of fancy. If he had, he might have been reminded, as he looked down upon the wild field of tactics just noted by his pen, of that globe, similarly starred all over with little red crosses, which M. Rodin was want to consult. Now he was going into this business as he did into others, methodically. He, therefore, read what his gazetteer had to say about these hounds and cities, standing for better light at the window. But though the type being small, his eyes were more pink than before, he was nothing wiser, the information being of that niggerly historical and statistical kind, which availed nothing in his present scrutiny. He would get Murray's handbooks and all sorts of works. He was determined to read it up. He was going into this as into a great speculative case in which he had a heavy stake with all his activity, craft, and unscrupulousness. It might be the making of him. His treasure, his oracle, his book of power, the labeled parcel of Wilder's letters with the annotated map folded beside them. He replaced in their red tape ligature in his iron safe. And with Chubb's key in his pocket, took his hat and cane, the day was fine, and walked forth for Brandon and the captain's study.  There was a waving of hands and smiles, and a shouted beautiful day. What a position that poor fellow has got himself into, good Mr. Larkin thought with a shrug of compassion to himself. That reversion. Why, it's nothing. I really don't know why I think about it at all. If it were offered me this moment, positively I would not have it. Anything certain, anything would be better. Little Fairy grew great, in spite of the attorney's smiles whenever he saw him. He was now saying, as holding his Wapsi's hand, he capered round in front, looking up in his face. Why is Mr. Larkin no teeth when he laughs? Is he ever angry when he laughs? Is he Wapsi? Oh, Wapsi, is he? Would you let him whip me if I was naughty? I don't like him. Why does Mama say he's a good man, Wapsi? Because, little man, he is a good man, said the vicar recalled by the impiety of the question, the best friend that Wapsi ever met with in his life. But you would not give me to him, Wapsi? Give you, darling. No, to no one but to God, my little man. For richer, for poorer, you're my own, you're Wapsi's little man. And he lifted him up and carried him in his arms against his loving heart, and the water stood in his eyes as he laughed fondly into that pretty face.  In the meantime, Mr. Larkin had gone among the noble trees of Brandon, and was approaching the lordly friend of the hall. His mind was busy, he had not very much fact to go upon, his theories were built chiefly of vapor, and every changing light or breath therefore altered their coloring and outlines. Maybe Mark Wilder is mad, and wandering in charge of a keeper. Maybe he is in some mad doctor's house, and not mad, maybe in England. And there writes these letters which are sent from one continental town to another to be posted, and thus the appearance of locomotion is kept up. Perhaps he has been unveiled into the hands of Ruffians, and is living as it were under the vault of an inquisition, and compelled to write whatever his jailers dictate. Maybe he writes not under physical, but moral coercion. Be the fact how it may, those lakes, brother and sister, have a guilty knowledge of the affair. I will be firm. It is my duty to clear this matter up, if I can. We must do as we would be done by. CHAPTER 51 A FRACAH IN THE LIBRARY It was still early in the day. Larkin received him gravely in the hall. Captain Lake was at home, as usual, up to one o'clock in the library, the most diligent administrator that Brandon had perhaps ever known. Well, Larkin, letters, letters perpetually, you see. Quite well, I hope. Won't you sit down? No bad news. You look rather melancholy. Your other client is not ill. Nothing sad about Mark Wilder, I hope. No, nothing sad, Captain Lake. Nothing, but a good deal that is strange. Oh, is there, said Lake in his soft tones, leaning forward in his easy chair, and looking on the shining points of his boots. I have found out a thing, Captain Lake, which will no doubt interest you as much as it does me. It will lead, I think, to a much more exact guess about Mr. Mark Wilder. There was a sturdy emphasis in the attorney's speech, which was far from usual, and indicated something. Oh, you have. May one hear it, said Lake, in the same silken tone, and looking down as before on his boots. I've discovered something about his letters, said the attorney, and paused. Satisfactory, I hope, said Lake as before. Foul play, sir. Foul play is there. What is he doing now, said Lake in the same languid way, his elbows on the arms of his chair, leaping forward, and looking serenely on the floor like a man who is tired of his work and enjoys his respite. Why, Captain Lake, the matter is this. It amounts, in fact, to fraud. It is plain that the letters are written in batches, several at a time, and committed to someone to carry from town to town, and post having previously filled in dates to make them correspond with the exact period of posting them. The attorney's searching gaze was fixed on the Captain, as he said this, with all the significance consistent with civility, but he could not observe the slightest indication of change. I daresay the Captain felt his gaze upon him, and he undoubtedly hurried his emphasis, but he plainly did not take either to himself. Indeed, that is very odd, said Captain Lake. Very odd, echoed the attorney. It struck Mr. Larkin that his gallant friend was a little overacting, and showing perhaps less interest in the discovery than was strictly natural. But how can you show it, said Lake, with a slight yawn. While there is such a fellow, I don't the least pretend to understand him. It may be a freak of his. I don't think, Captain Lake, that is exactly a possible solution here. I don't think, sir, he would write two letters, one referring back to the other at the same time, and post and date the latter more than a week before the other. Oh! said Lake quietly, for the first time exhibiting a slight change of countenance, and looking peevish and excited. Yes, that certainly does look very oddly. And I think, Captain Lake, it behooves us to leave no stone unturned to sift this matter to the bottom. With what particular purpose? I don't quite see, said Lake. Don't you think possibly Mark Wilder might think is very imperdinent? I think, Captain Lake, on the contrary, we might be doing that gentleman the only service he is capable of receiving, and I know we should be doing something toward tracing and exposing the imaginations of a conspiracy. A conspiracy? I did not quite see your meaning. Then you really think there is a conspiracy, formed by him or against him which? Against him, Captain Lake, did the same idea never strike you? Not I think that I can recollect. In none of your conversations upon the subject with members of your family continued the attorney with a grave significance. I say, sir, I don't recollect, said Lake, glaring for an instant in his face very savagely, and it seems to me that sitting here you fancy yourself examining some vagrant or poacher at Gillingdon Sessions, and pray, sir, have you no evidence in the letters you speak of but the insertion of dates and the posting them in an inverse order to lead you to that strong conclusion? None, as supplied by the letters themselves, answered Larkin a little doggedly, and I venture to think that is rather strong. Quite so to a mind like yours, said Lake, with a faint gleam of his unpleasant smile thrown upon the floor. But other men don't see it, and I hope at all events there's the likelihood that Mark Wilder will soon return and look after his own business. I'm quite tired of it, and of—he was going to say you—of everything connected with it. This delay is attended with more serious mischief. The vicar, his brother, had a promise of money from him, and is disappointed in very great embarrassments, and in fact were it not for some temporary assistance which I may mention, although I don't speak of such things, I afforded him myself, he must have been ruined. It is very sad, said Lake, but he ought not to have married without an income. Very true, Captain Lake, there is no defending that, it was wrong, but the retribution is terrible, and the righteous man shook his tall head. Don't you think he might take steps to relieve himself considerably? I don't see it, Captain Lake, said the attorney sadly and dryly. Well, you know best, but are not there resources? I don't see, Captain Lake, what you point at. I'll give him something for his reversion, if he chooses, and make him comfortable for his life. The attorney somehow didn't seem to take kindly to this proposition. We know he had imagined for himself some little flirtation on this behalf, and cherished a secret tendre for the same reversion. Perhaps he had other plans, too. At all events it flashed the same suspicion of Lake upon his mind again, and he said, I don't know, sir, that the Reverend Mr. Wilder would entertain anything in the nature of a sale of his reversion. I rather think the contrary. I don't think his friends would advise it. And why not? It was never more than a contingency, and now they say Mark Wilder is married and has children. They tell me he was seen at Ancona? said Lake, tranquilly.  They, they, repeated Captain Lake, why, of course, sir, I use the word in its usual sense. That is, there was a rumour when I was last in town, and I really forget who told me, some one, two or three, perhaps. Do you think it's true, sir? persisted Mr. Larkin. No, sir, I don't, said Captain Lake, fixing his eyes for a moment with a frank stare on the attorney's face, but it is quite possible it may be true. If it is, you know, sir, said Josiah Larkin, the reversion would be a bad purchase at a hipney. I don't believe it either, sir, resumed the attorney after a little interval, and I could not advise the party you named, sir, to sell his remainder for a song. You'll advise as you please, sir, and no doubt not without sufficient reason, retorted Captain Lake. There was the suspicion of a sneer, not in his countenance, not in his tone, not necessarily in his words, but somehow a suspicion which stung the attorney like a certainty and a pinkish flush tinged his forehead. Perhaps Mr. Larkin had not yet formed any distinct plans, and was really in considerable dubitation. But as we know, perceiving that the situation of affairs, like all uncertain conjunctures, offered manifestly an opportunity for speculation, he was perhaps desirous like our old friend Sinbad, of that gleam of light which might show him the golden precious stones with which the floor of the catacomb was strewn. You see, Captain Lake, to speak quite frankly, there's nothing like being perfectly frank and open, although you have not treated me with confidence which, of course, was not called for in this particular instance. I may as well say, in passing, that I have no doubt on my mind you know a great deal more than you care to tell about the fate of Mr. Mark Wilder. I look upon it, sir, that that party has been made away with. O villain! exclaimed Lake, starting up with a sudden access of energy, and his face looked whiter still than usual. Perhaps it was only the light. It won't do, sir, said Larkin, with a sinister quietude. I say there's been foul play. I think, sir, you've got him into some foreign mad-house or place of confinement, and I won't stop till it's sifted to the bottom. It is my duty, sir. Captain Lake's slender hand sprang on the attorney's collar, coat and waistcoat together, and his knuckles, hard and sharp, were screwed against Mr. Larkin's jaw-bone as he shook him, and his face was like a drift of snow with two yellow fires glaring in it. It was farine and spectral, and so tremendously violent, that the long attorney, expecting nothing of the sort, was thrown out of his balance against the chimney-piece.  I'll pitch you out of the window. I—I say, let go, you're mad, sir, said the attorney, disengaging himself with a sudden and violent effort, and standing with the back of a tall chair grasped in both hands, and the seat interposed between himself and Captain Lake. He was twisting his neck uncomfortably in his shirt-collar, and for some seconds was more agitated in a different way than his patron was. The fact was that Mr. Larkin had a little mistake in his man. He had never happened before to see him in one of his violent moods, and fancied that his apathetic manner indicated a person more easily bullied. There was something too in the tone and look of Captain Lake which went a good way to confound in perplexed suspicions, and he half fancied that the master's stroke he had hazarded was a rank and irreparable blunder. Something of this, I am sure, appeared in his countenance, and Captain Lake looked awfully savage, and each gentleman stared the other full in the face with more frankness than became to such diplomatists. "'Allow me to speak a word, Captain Lake. You damned old miscreant,' repeated the kandescent Captain. "'Allow me to say. You misapprehend. You infernal old cur!' "'I mean no imputation upon you, sir. I thought you might have committed a mistake any man may. Perhaps you have. I have acted, Captain Lake, with fidelity in all respects to you and to every client for whom I have been concerned. Mr. Wilder is my client, and I was bound to say I was not satisfied about his present position, which seems to me unaccountable except on the supposition that he is under restraint of some sort. I never said you were to blame, but you may be an error respecting Mr. Wilder. You may have taken steps, Captain Lake, under a mistake. I never went further than that. On reflection you'll say so. I didn't, upon my honour." "'Then you did not mean to insult me, sir,' said Lake. "'Upon my honour and conscience and soul,' Captain Lake, said the attorney, stringing together in his vindication all the articles he was assumed most to respect. I am perfectly frank. I do assure you. I never supposed for an instant more than I say. I could not imagine. I am amazed you have so taken it.' "'But you think I exercise some control or coercion over my cousin, Mr. Mark Wilder. He's not a man I can tell you wherever he is to be bullied. No more than I am. I don't correspond with him. I have nothing to do with him or his affairs. I wash my hands of him.' Captain Lake turned and walked quickly to the door, but came back as suddenly. "'Shake hand, sir. We'll forget it. I accept what you say, but don't talk that way to me again. I can't imagine what the devil put such stuff in your head. I don't care tapents. No one's to blame but Wilder himself. I say I don't care of farthing. Upon my honour I quite see—' "'I now acquit you. You could not mean what you seem to say. And I can't understand how a sensible man like you, knowing Mark Wilder and knowing me, sir, could use such ambiguous language. I have no more influence with him, and can no more affect his doings, or what you call his fate, and to say the truth care about them no more than the child unborn. He's his own master, of course. What the devil can you have been dreaming of? I don't even get a letter from him. He's nothing to me.' "'You have misunderstood me, but that's over, sir. I may have spoken with warmth, fearing that you might be acting under some cruel misapprehension. That's all. And you don't think worse of me, I'm very sure, Captain Lake, for a little indiscreet zeal on behalf of a gentleman who has treated me with such unlimited confidence as Mr. Wilder. I do the same for you, sir. It's my character.' The two gentlemen you perceive, though still agitated, were becoming reasonable, and more or less complementary and conciliatory, and the masks which an electric gust had displaced for a moment, revealing gross and somewhat repulsive features were being readjusted, while each looked over his shoulder. I am sorry to say that when that good man Mr. Larkin left his presence, Captain Lake indulged in a perfectly blasphemous monologue. His fury was excited to a pitch that was very nearly ungovernable, and after it had exhibited itself in the way I have said, Captain Lake opened a little dispatch box, and took there from a foreign letter, but three days received. He read it through, his ill-ohmen smile expanded to a grin that was undisguisedly diabolical. With a scissors he clipped his own name where it occurred from the thin sheet, and then in red ink and Roman capitals he scrawled a line or two across the interior of the letter, enclosed it in an envelope, directed it, and then rang the bell. He ordered the tax cart and two horses to drive tandem. The Captain was rather a good whip, and he drove at a great pace to Dullington, took the train on to Charteris, there posted his letter, and so returned. His temper continuing savage all that evening, and in a modified degree in the same state for several days after. CHAPTER 52 OF WILDER'S HAND This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kathy Barrett. WILDER'S HAND by J. Sheridan Lafanyu. CHAPTER 52 An old friend looks into the garden at Redman's Farm. Lady Chelford, with one of those sudden changes of front which occur in female strategy, on hearing that Stanley Lake was actually accepted by Dorcas, had assailed both him and his sister, whom here too for she had a good deal petted and distinguished with a fury that was startling. As respects Rachel, we know how unjust was the attack. And when the Dowager opened her fire on Rachel, the young lady replied with a spirit and dignity to which she was not at all accustomed.  Lady Chelford ordered her horses, and was about to leave Brandon next morning. But rheumatism arrested her indignant flight, and during her week's confinement to her room, her son contrived so that she consented to stay for the odious ceremony, and was even sourly civil to Miss Lake, who received her advances quite as coldly as they were made. To Miss Lake, Lord Chelford, though not in set terms, yet in many pleasant ways, apologized for his mother's impertnance. Dorcas had told him also the story of Rachel's decided opposition to the marriage. He was so particularly respectful to her. He showed her by the very form into which he shaped his good wishes that he knew how frankly she had opposed the marriage, how true she had been to her friend Dorcas, and she understood him and was grateful. In fact, Lord Chelford, whatever might be his opinion of the modus of Captain Lake and the prudence of Dorcas, was clearly disposed to make the best of the inevitable, and to stamp the new brand and alliance with whatever respectability his frank recognition could give it. Old Lady Chelford's bitter and ominous acquiescence also came, and the presence of mother and son at the solemnity averted the family scandal which the old lady's first access of frenzy threatened. This duty discharged she insisted in the interest of her rheumatism upon change of air, and on arriving at Duxley was quite surprised to find Lady Dullhampton and her daughters there upon a similar quest. About the matrimonial likelihoods of gentlemen with titles and estates fame, that most tough hunting of divinities is always distending her cheeks and blowing the very finest flourishes her old trumpet affords. Lord Chelford was not long away when the story of Lady Constance was again alive and vocal. It reached old Jackson through his sister who was married to the brother of the Marquis of Dullhampton's solicitor. It reached Lake from Tom Twitters of his club who kept the brand and captain au courant of the town talk, and it came to Dorcas in a more authentic fashion, though mysteriously, and rather in the guise of a conundrum than of a distinct bit of family intelligence from no less a person than the old Dowager Lady Chelford herself. Stanley Lake, who had begun to entertain hopes for Rachel in that direction, went down to Redmond's farm, and after his bleak and bitter fashion, rated the young lady for having perversely neglected her opportunities and repulsed that most desirable partie. In this he was intensely in earnest, for the connection would have done wonders for Captain Lake in the county. Rachel met this coarse attack with quiet contempt, told him that Lord Chelford had, she supposed, no idea of marrying out of his own rank, and further that he, Captain Lake, must perfectly comprehend if he could not appreciate the reasons which would forever bar any such relation. But Rachel, though she treated the subject serenely in this interview, was sadder and more forlorn than ever, and lay awake at night, and perhaps if we knew all shed some secret tears, and then with time came healing of these sorrows. It was a fallacy, a mere chimera that was gone, an impractic ability, too. She had smiled at it as such when Dorcas used to hint at it. But are there no castles in the clouds which we like to inhabit, although we know them altogether air-built and whose evaporation desolates us? Rachel's talks with the vicar were frequent, and poor little Mrs. William Wilder, who knew not the reason of his visits, fell slowly and to the good man's entire bewilderment into a chronic jealousy. It expressed itself enigmatically. It was circumlocutory, sad, and mysterious.  But still you love poor old mamma best of all. You would not like to have a new mamma. Ah, no!  I wish I was handsome, my little man, and clever. But wishing is vain.  But it could not last forever. How did it happen? Oh, how! You, such a scholar, so clever, so handsome! My beautiful Willie, how did you ever look down on poor wretched me? I think it will be fine, Willie, and Miss Lake will expect you at Redmond's farm, and Little Fairy will go too.  The vicar, thinking of other things, never seeing the reproachful irony in all this, would take it quite literally, assent sadly, and with Little Fairy by the hand set forth for Redmond's farm, and the good little body to the amazement of her two maids would be heard passionately weeping in the parlor in her forsaken state.  Jealousy is very unreasonable, but have we no compensation in this that the love which begets it is often as unreasonable? Look in the glass, and then into your own heart, and ask your conscience next, am I really quite a hero, or altogether so lovely, as I am beloved? Keep the answer to yourself, but be tender with the vehement follies of your jealous wife. Poor mortals, it is but a short time we have to love and be jealous, and love again. One night after a long talk in the morning with good William Wilder, and great dejection following, all on a sudden Rachel sat up in her bed, and in a pleasant voice, and looking more like herself than she had for many months she said, I think I have found the true way out of my troubles, to-mar, at every sacrifice to be quite honest, and to that, to-mar, I have made up my mind at last, thank God. Come to-mar, and kiss me for I am free once more. So that night passed peacefully. Rachel, a changed Rachel still, though more like her early self, was now in the tiny garden of Redmond's Farm. The early spring was already showing its bright green through the brown of winter, and sun and shower alternating, and the gay gossiping of sweet birds among the branches were calling the young creation from its slumbers. The air was so sharp, so clear, so sunny, the mysterious sense of coming life so invigorating, and the sounds and aspect of nature so rejoicing, that Rachel, with her gauntlets on, her white basket of flower seeds, her trowel, and all her garden implements beside her, felt her own spring of life return, and rejoiced in the glad hour that shone round her. Lifting up her eyes, she saw Lord Shelford looking over the little gate. What a charming day, said he, with his pleasant smile, raising his hat, and how very pleasant to see you at your pretty industry again. As Rachel came forward in her faded gardening costume, an old silk shawl about her shoulders and hood-wise over her head, somehow very becoming, there was a blush. He could not help seeing it, on her young face, and for a moment her fine eyes dropped, and she looked up, smiling a more thoughtful and a sadder smile than in old days.  I'm afraid I am very impertinent, at least a very inquisitive wayfarer, but I could not pass by without a word, even at the risk of interrupting you. And the truth is, I believe, if it had not been for that chance of seeing and interrupting you, I should not have passed through Redmond's Dell to-day. He laughed a little as he said this, and held her hand some seconds longer than is strictly usual in such a greeting. You are staying at Brandon, said Rachel, not knowing exactly what to say. Yes, Dorcas, who is always very good to me, made me promise to come whenever I was at Dracly. I arrived yesterday, and they tell me you stay so much at home that possibly you might not appear in the upper world for two or three days, so I had not patience, you see.  She liked to listen. She would not for the world their little conversation ended before its time, but there was an unwanted difficulty in finding anything to say. It is quite true. I am more a stay at home than I used to be. I believe we learn to prize home more the longer we live. What a wise old lady! I did not think of that. I have only learned that whatever is most prized is hardest to find. And spring has come again, continued Rachel, passing by this little speech, and my labours recommends. Although the day is longer there is more to do in it, you see. I don't wonder at your being a stay at home, for to my eyes it is the prettiest spot of earth in all the world, and if you find it half as hard to leave it as I do, your staying here is quite accounted for. This little speech also Rachel understood quite well, though she went on as if she did not. And this little garden costs, I assure you, a great deal of wise thought. In sewing my annuals I have so much to forecast and arrange, suitability of climate, for we have sun and shade here, succession of bloom and contrast of colour, and ever so many other important things. I can quite imagine it, though it did not strike me before, he said, looking on her with a smile of pleasant and peculiar interest, which somehow gave a reality to this playful talk. It is quite true, and I should not have thought of it. It is very pretty, and he laughed a gentle little laugh, glancing over the tiny garden. But after all, there is no picture of flowers or still life, or even of landscape that will interest long. You must be very solitary here at times. That is, you must have a great deal more resource than I, or indeed almost any one I know, or this solitude must at times be oppressive. I hope so at least, for that would force you to appear among us sometimes. No! I am not lonely. That is, not lonelier than is good for me. I have such a treasure of an old nurse, poor old Tamar, who tells me stories and reads to me, and listens to my follies and temper, and sometimes says very wise things, too. And the good vicar comes often. This is one of his days, with his beautiful little boy, and talks so well, and answers my follies and explains all my perplexities, and is really a great help and comfort. Yes, said Lord Shelford, with the same pleasant smile, he told me so, and seems so pleased to have met with so clever a pupil. Are you coming to Brandon this evening? Lake asked William Wilder, perhaps he will be with us. I do hope you will come. Dorcas says there is no use in writing, but that you know you are always welcome. May I say you'll come? Rachel smiled sadly on the snow-drops at her feet, and shook her head a little. No, I must stay at home this evening. I mean I have not spirits to go to Brandon. Thank Dorcas very much from me. That is, if you really mean that she asked me. I am so sorry. I am so disappointed, said Lord Shelford, looking gravely and inquiringly at her. He began, I think, to fancy some estrangement there. But perhaps to-morrow? Perhaps even to-day. You may relent, you know. Don't say it is impossible. Rachel smiled on the ground as before, and then, with a little sigh and a shake of her head, said, No. Well, I must tell Dorcas she was right. You are very inexorable and cruel. I am very cruel to keep you here so long, and I too am forgetting the vicar who will be here immediately, and I must meet him in a costume lest, like the woman of Endor. Lord Shelford, leaning on the little wicked, put his arm over, and she gave him her hand again. Good-bye, said Rachel. Well, I suppose I too must say good-bye, and I'll say a great deal more, said he, in a peculiar odd tone that was very firm, and yet indescribably tender, and he held her slender hand from which she had drawn the gauntlet in his. Yes, Rachel, I will. I'll say everything. We are old friends now. You'll forgive me calling you, Rachel. It may be perhaps the last time.  I liked you always, Rachel, from the first moment I saw you. I liked you better and better. Indescribably, indeed, I do. And I've grown to like you so that if I lose you, I think I shall never be the same again. There was a very little pause. The blush was deeper, her eyes lower still. I admire you, Rachel. I like your character. I have grown to love you with all my heart and mind, quite desperately, I think. I know there are things against me. There are better-looking fellows than I, and a great many things. And I know very well that you will judge for yourself quite differently from other girls. And I can't say with what fear and hope I await what you may say. But this you may be sure of. You will never find anyone to love you better, Rachel. I think so well. And now that is all. Do you think you could ever like me? But Rachel's hand, on a sudden, with a slight quiver, was drawn from his. Lord Shelford, I can't describe how grateful I am and how astonished, but it could never be. No, never. Rachel, perhaps you mean my mother. I have told her everything. She will receive you with all the respect you so well deserve. And with all her faults she loves me, and will love you still more. No, Lord Shelford, no. She was pale now, and looking very sadly in his eyes. It is not that, but only that you must never, never speak of it again. Oh, Rachel, darling, you must not say that. I love you so. So desperately, you don't know. I can say nothing else, Lord Shelford. My mind is quite made up. I am inexpressibly grateful. You will never know how grateful, but except as a friend. And won't you still be my friend? I never can regard you. Rachel was so pale that her very lips were white as she spoke this in a melancholy but very firm way. Oh, Rachel, it is a great blow. Maybe if you thought it over, I'll wait any time. No, Lord Shelford, I'm quite unworthy of your preference, but time cannot change me. And I am speaking not from impulse, but conviction. This is our secret, yours and mine, and we'll forget it. And I could not bear to lose your friendship. You'll be my friend still, won't you? Goodbye.  And he hurriedly kissed the hand she had placed in his, and without a word more, or looking back, he walked swiftly down the wooded road towards Gillingdon. So then it had come and gone. Gone forever. Marjorie, bring the basket in. I think a shower is coming. And she picked up her trowel and other implements, and placed them in the porch, and glanced up towards the clouds as if she saw them, and had nothing to think of but her gardening and the weather, and as if her heart was not breaking.


Then produce me to a mystery Might be the sound, I'm too misty Too much in love, you can say Through this wonderland, I'm too misty And too much in love Do you keep the music playing You make it laugh Do you keep the song from fading Fast Lose yourself to someone Or do you not run out of new things To say And since we know We're always changing Can it be the same And tell me how You're sure your heart will fall apart Each time you hear her name May not see forever To be the best friend If we can try better As it grows With any luck then I suppose The music be the best friend I speak for everyone when I, Same asopralis and Henry Mancini Two superstars in their own right Who've teamed up into a wonderful combination Both of them, stars in their own right Have sold millions of their records Johnny was a college athlete And then he was discovered at age 19 And his career took off like a sky rocket And Henry was focused on music From the time that his father the piccolo at the age of eight. That was Henry was eight, not his father. But he has become a legend. His many compositions are universally, have a universal appeal for every generation. And he has become something of a legend. So tonight I think all of us are very proud of both of you here. And those who are accompanying you here, this wonderful Marine Orchestra of ours. And there isn't anything to say except again to thank you for sharing your talent with us tonight. You've made our evening. Thank you. Thank you. It was a pleasure. I had the pleasure of singing when the string players are playing for our dinner with Nancy and she sings beautifully. And she knows all the words the songs do.


Item number, SCP-530. Object class, safe. Special containment procedures. No special precautions have yet proven necessary. Carl is very calm and friendly, and at this stage is free to move about the lower levels of the facility. Carl is free also to interact with SCP-529, as the two have proven non-hostile toward each other as well. Staff are not permitted to feed SCP-530 anything other than his approved food twice daily or his approved treats during training. Description. SCP-530 appears to be a small dog in a constant state of physical alteration. Height typically varies between 20 centimeters and 30.5 centimeters at the shoulders. Width across the back typically varies between 7.5 centimeters and 18 centimeters. Length typically varies between 25.5 centimeters and 45.5 centimeters. Larger and smaller sizes have been recorded but are rare and do not last long. The coat of SCP-530 is also in a state of constant change. To date, 467 different hues have been recorded, as well as an unidentified number of patterns. The most extreme flux comes from the growth or absorption of additional limbs, noses, mouths, eyes, ears, and other body parts. While these typically do not last longer than 24 hours, a third eye located slightly left of center on the top of SCP-530's head has remained since approximately one half hour after its discovery. Addendum 530-203A. Agent M fed Carl a slice of deli ham of standard proportions in clear violation of dietary regimen. The resultant odor has been described variously as horrid and plant withering. Agent M has been reprimanded. Lesson complete. If you missed the previous orientation, go watch SCP-529, Josie the half cat, right now, or for the complete course, watch this playlist.