pin-money, but of course you will make me some extra private allowance for the month or two I am in town?" she says to her husband one morning, and his answer is not auspicious. "We will talk about your 'pin-money,' as you call it, by-and-by; but why the devil you calculate on having four hundred a year to squander on your private follies, I don't understand," he answers, peevishly. She feels that now the tug of war between the lesser mind and her own is coming, and she moves very warily. "You spoke of that sum as the allowance you intended making your wife, Clement," she says, temperately. "When I took Gertrude's place, I thought that I took upon myself all the responsibilities and privileges with which she was to have been endowed. I know very well that you will never grudge me anything, and you know very well that I shall never abuse your confidence; therefore, if you object to the stated sum as being too matter-offact an arrangement between us, husband and wife as we are, let me have a few blank signed cheques, and then you will more trouble about my little have no you He checks himself, and grunts by way of finishing the sentence, and she puts in tremblingly-for all the happiness she can ever taste in life while this rough master of hers lives, is in the balance "What will you let me have for my own, then, Clement dear? I ought to know, for it will trouble you if I have to come to you for every penny I shall be compelled to spend, in order to present myself fittingly before the world as your wife." She says it all deprecatingly, meekly, rather sweetly in fact, for she hopes to move him, by a betrayal of her own sense of her utter inability to help herself, to a more generous frame of mind. She does not quite realise as yet that she is dealing with a nature that is even lower than her own. The touch of helplessness, the crowning appeal, will not help her here. "You can present yourself before the world as my wife very fittingly on fifty pounds a year," he says, with a little snigger, that does away with every particle of conscience she has in the matter of " doing him" in the future. "Remember, my dear, how much less you had to live and dress on, when I saw you first, and just reflect what a very respectable appearance you can make on fifty pounds a year!" "Oh, Clement," she cries, becoming genuine for once in her astonishment and pain, "you can't mean it, you don't mean it. Think of the house of which I am mistress; think of the jewels you have given me, and ask yourself, How can I clothe myself in a way that will befit either of them, for such a paltry sum?" "Oh! make your mind at rest on that point," he says, carelessly; "I mean to pull in the expenditure of the house pretty considerably. And as for the jewels, why I have thought over it; you won't have many of them to consider, for they're unbecoming to your station, and to the manner of life I've decided upon living here, and so I shall dispose of them again." He looks at her askance as he speaks, and she dare not rise up and defy him, nor dare she urge that he has brought her to this pass by false pretences, for the pretences on her side have been even falser. In that hour they come to a clear understanding with each other, and they are not elevated in one another's estimation. He has the power and the purse, but she has the cunning and the credulity of a fool to deal with. "I'll get what I want, however I get it," she says to herself; while he says, "I'll know how every penny that woman spends goes. She had little enough before she knew me; what can she want with more for herself now?" There is a fierce battle over the vexed question of her going to London, or rather over the way in which she shall go. She will not go to her brother's house, and she will not agree without a struggle to her husband's other proposition, namely that she shall send all her bills in to him, if she goes into lodgings. She desires to be free, to be free to flaunt herself, in a way that she imagines will be painful, before the eyes of those against whom she cherishes a degree of vindictiveness for which she herself cannot account. She is only conscious of this one fact, that she is a disappointed woman, and she longs with all the force of the feminine longing within her, to wreak her vengeance for her disappointment upon somebody. In her impotent rage she acknowledges to herself, and declares to him, that she has bartered and degraded herself for nothing. He is neither angered nor softened by the confession. "To tell the truth," he says, with his irritatingly small laugh, "he has suspected something of the sort all along; he has been prepared to find out that she was trying to trick him, and it is as well she should understand now that he has seen through her from the first." In her powerlessness she is obliged to confess to herself that she cannot alter this. She is compelled to dwell here in this well-to-do obscurity which has become odious to her (for even the local papers have given her up), with the knowledge impressed upon her mind, and upon the minds of all the household, that she is not of as much importance at Grahamshill as are the upper servants. They at least have the power of being extravagant in their several departments. But she is debarred even from this dubious luxury, for if she indulges in it, intuition tells her that she will have to pay for it out of her fifty pounds a year. Grahamshill is a far grander goal than any she had ever hoped to gain before that unlucky day on which Mrs. Grange, her sister-in-law, "took her up" with a wellunderstood purpose. At the same time, Grahamshill, grand as it is, is not what she bargained for. She panted for freedom, and she has procured servitude of the lowest description. She makes two or three efforts to frce herself from the thraldom that is so infinitely irksome to her efforts that are ignoble in themselves and that tend towards an ignoble end. Mean as he is, unmanly as he is, unworthy as he cannot fail to feel himself to be, her husband does desire to maintain a certain status of respectability in the county in which, by right of his landed property and wealth, he has a certain influence. In learning this fact, she learns, also, that she has a hold upon him; for she is aware that he has bachelor secrets which, as a wellreputed landowner, he would desire to keep from the light of day. It matters little to Charlotte that she can never discover what these secrets actually are by fair means; she is quite ready to try foul. It matters little to her the knowledge that any moral degradation which may befall him will be visited upon his children-if he has any. The woman who has retained her good looks by means of the placidity with which she has re garded every evil that has not immediately affected herself, says now, "Let the next generation look after itself. If I can bend him to my will without exposing him, I'll do it; if I can't, I'll expose him. He would not serve me more gently." The correspondent who has told in The Cheshire Cat the tale of the handsome Mrs. Graham's reception at Grahamshill and in the neighbourhood, is defrauded of the opportunity of narrating some rather sensational events that occur at that "princely residence" during the ensuing months. Only the well-esteemed master of that place knows that he has detected his wife, in the act of rifling his private papers by means of a duplicate key to his secretary, when she believed him to be in bed and asleep. Only the wife knows, through the mediumship of these papers, that she is in a spurious position; and that the title of Mrs. Clement Graham belongs by right to a poor, forlorn, abandoned, helpless, good girl, who believes in Clement Graham still, who is left to her own devices in a miserably uncomfortable home with her brother, a farmer, in Canada. From the moment that she makes this discovery, and is discovered in making it by the bigamist, Charlotte Graham submits to every condition he desires, preferring rather her state of shame and ignominy, which is unknown to the world, to the open hurling down which would be her portion, if she dared be true to a decent womanly impulse and expose him. The picture of what that life at Grahamshill will be flashes itself vividly before us, and will be painted. We can see the pair, between whom there is neither legal nor love-tie, growing older in each others' enforced companionship. We can see the unhappy children of this evil union, passing from childhood to years of understanding, in an atmosphere that is composed of eternal threatenings and false re-alliances. We can hear the bitter reproaches that only such a man and woman can utter to one another the cowardly taunt met by the fierce, half-maddened retort-the unfeeling indifference that can bear the sight of any pain, simply because that pain is powerless to hurt it. But we can never know how much remorse is felt by either of these people for that which they have brought on one another, and on the children who are innocent. The Right of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR ROUND is reserved by the Authors. Published at the Office, 26, Wellington St., Strand. Printed by CHARLES DICKENS & EVANS, Crystal Palace Press, E JALL THE YEAR ROUND No. 323. NEW SERIES. A Weekly Journal CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS" SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1875. PRICE TWOPENce. a stop to. Did Grace show you the letter, my love?" "Yes, Madame Sturm," cried Anne; "I have just returned it to her." Oh, then you know all about it?" said the old lady. "The time is fast approaching now when I shall have to lose my niece. She will be a great lady; and, I suppose, like all the rest of the world, will forget her humble friends." "I don't think that is likely," said Anne, warmly; "and you will allow that in such a matter I may speak from expe "You are quite right, my dear; and I am an old fool for giving utterance to such a sentiment; but I am not very strong either in mind or body now, I think, and I'm beginning to get anxious about that dear girl's future. You have discussed it often with her, I suppose?" "Yes," said Anne; "it is constantly present to both our minds; and the responsibility which will devolve upon dear Grace is so great, that I, at least, cannot contemplate it calmly." "GRACE had a letter from England this morning," said Madame Sturm, as she sat, placidly sipping her coffee, one afternoon, with Anne acting as her companion, and reading out such scraps from the newspaper as she thought might interest the old lady; "a letter from the lawyer-rience." men, on that dreadful blue paper, and in that horrible round-hand which always reminds one of Chancery Lane. There was a young man-such a handsome fellow he was-but, I recollect, he didn't wear any shirt-collar, only a black-satin stock, rather frayed with rubbing under his chin, and two large pins in it, tied together by a little chain. He was a clerk in our bank in the old days, before my poor brother took the management, and he used to see me sometimes come in the carriage, to fetch father away, and he became rather smitten with me, poor fellow. I forget his name now; but I can see him just as though it were yesterday." The old lady placed her coffee-cup upon the table, and fell into a reverie, slowly passing one hand over the other and looking straight before her. "What could have made me think of him now, after so many years?" said she, rousing herself. "Oh! I recollect. He grew bold enough to send me some letters, and they were all written on that blue paper, and in that same roundhand, and he called me, 'Dear Miss;' only he wrote 'Dear''Dr.,' just as though I had been a physician, don't you know; and then it was found out, and all put VOL. XIII. "Nor I, my love," said the old lady. "The only one thing which reconciles me to it, is the knowledge that she will have you at her right hand to counsel and guide her." "I am sorry to tell you that you must give up that idea, dear Madame Sturm," said Anne, laying aside the newspaper. "Grace and I have talked it over thoroughly, and I have proved to her that, however much I might wish it, it will be impossible for me to accompany her to England." "Impossible for you to go with her?" said the Frau Professorin, in alarm. "Why, what can be the reason of that? "Some private family matters, with 323 which I need not trouble you," said Anne, "You must remember," said Anne, with coldly. a smile, "that Grace has a perfectly clear "Oh, indeed," said Madame Sturm, head of her own, and, in all every-day shortly. "Something about those bother-worldly matters, is quite capable of taking ing Wallers, I suppose?" Then, relaxing a little in her tone, she added-" Well, I call that a great blow. I had thoroughly counted upon your being with her; and it was the only comfort I had." "I do not think I need tell you how keenly I feel it," said Anne; "but we have talked it all out, and, though Grace would not hear of it at first, she is now half reconciled to the idea, in thinking that, for some time, at least, I shall be able to remain with you." "You are a sweet angel, Waller," said the old lady rapturously, bending forward her face for Anne to kiss; "and in my wretched state of health are of the greatest possible comfort to me. So long as I live, you shall never want a home; but your heart will naturally be with Grace, and I should have thought myself a horribly selfish old woman to keep you away from her. However, as these bothering Wallers prevent your going, that part of the question is settled. What we have to think of now is who shall be Grace's companion?" "Grace was about to suggest, and I am therefore breaking no confidence in mentioning it," said Anne, "that the professor should go with her to London, and remain with her there, at least for a short time." "The professor!" cried the old lady; why, what are the girls thinking about! Who is to undertake his lectures, and what is to become of me?" "I shall remain behind to take care of you, dear Madame Sturm," said Anne; "and as for the lectures, one of the professor's colleagues could act for him in his absence, and the little change and rest would do him undoubted good." "That is quite true," said the old lady, meditatively; "I have been thinking for a long time past that the professor has been working too hard. There is no reason why he should go grinding on morning and night at the university, for we have quite enough money to keep us in peace and comfort. But the idea of him going to London! He is the simplest-minded, and most easily-bothered man that ever was; and London, even in my time, was a dazing place, but now, what with underground railways, and Thames embankments, and things of that sort, I cannot imagine what it must be like." care of herself. Where business is concerned she will have the advice and assistance of the lawyers, Messrs. Hillman and Hicks, and also of the trustees to her uncle's will, under whose management the bank is now conducted. It will be necessary that she should have some one connected with her-that she should not be alone in fact-that is all." "I see what you mean, my dear," said the old lady, with a laugh, "a figurehead,' as my poor mother used to call it; and the professor will do very well for that. The only question is, whether he will go o?" "There Grace counts upon your persuasion, dear Madame Sturm," said Anne. "He would find himself in a new world, whither his reputation had preceded him, and no doubt would be heartily welcome amongst the scientific men of London." "Some years ago he often used to express a wish to visit England," said the old lady; "but he is no longer a young man, though, no doubt, as you say, the pleasure of finding himself known to celebrated people would act as an incentive to him, for we are all of us vain, my dear, more or less; and I sometimes think that I ought not to grumble about my poor health, as, without it, I might have fallen into many temptations." And the Frau Professorin smoothed her soft grey hair as she spoke, and contemplated her features in the looking-glass with a deprecatory smile. The idea thus struck out was not suffered to slumber. That same evening, when the worthy old professor's heart had been cheered by a good supper and a bottle of Rauenthaler, and when he had lapsed into a dreamy state in listening to a selection of simple Scotch and Irish melodies which Anne had been playing to him, and which he dearly loved, the impossibility of Mrs. Waller's accompanying her friend to London was laid before him, and the suggestion made that he should go in her stead. That such a notion should be broached at all astonished him, but that it should emanate from the Frau Professorin, to whose apron-string, according to the fami liar saying, he was supposed to be tied, transcended his powers of belief. He was far too much overwhelmed to give any definite answer at once, and his companions, knowing his peculiarities, were content to allow him to ramble on in an historical account of the Royal Society, and discourse on English literary and scientific celebrities, until bedtime. It was evident that the idea was not displeasing to the old gentleman, and the next day the Frau Professorin called into council two or three of her husband's colleagues, who, properly indoctrinated, took the opportunity of proving to him that his lectures could be easily arranged for; and that his visit would not merely be a source of pleasure to himself, but of honour to the university, of which he would be looked upon as a kind of non-official representative. The intercourse between the commercial men of Germany and England is constant and unlimited, but the personal relations of "scientists" and littérateurs are still restricted; opportunities of intercourse are not frequently offered, but, when offered, are eagerly seized upon. Thus Herr Pastor Buddé wished to be made acquainted with the style of Dean Stanley's preaching, and Herr Regierungsrath Holthausen yearned for an exposition of Lor' Cock Burn's sentiments on probate law; Hof Arzt Krafft could give Wilhelm Jenner a few wrinkles on the treatment of typhoid fever, and Landwehr Commandant von Stuterheim was anxious that the Herzog von Cambridge should know his opinions on the respective merits of Krupp and Armstrong ordnance; and each and all of these gentlemen had the intention of making Professor Sturm the medium of their ideas. Urged on, first by his wife and then by his colleagues, and pleased with the notion of temporarily entering upon an entirely novel existence, in which he should play no undistinguished part, the old gentleman determined to accompany his niece to England, and at once began making preparations for his departure. "It will be hard work parting with you again, darling, after being so closely and so constantly together," said Grace to her friend on the evening when this decision had been arrived at; "but there is no help for it, and we must accept the inevitable as best we can." "Not in all your other goodness and kindness to me," said Anne, putting her arm round Grace's neck, "has your trust been so thoroughly shown, as by your acceptance of my assurance of the necessity I for silence, in regard to that portion of my life which occurred between our parting at school, and our meeting at Paris. would give all I possess-little enough, Heaven knows, and entirely owing to your bounty," she added, with a smile, "to go with you now; but it is impossible; and you must accept the fact without asking for an explanation." "I do accept it," said Grace, "and ask no more; my one comfort is in thinking that I shall not be so very long away from you, for as soon as business matters are arranged I shall leave London, and we can either continue to live on here, or go for a year's travel, as we may think fit." "You are not making allowance for all the attractions which will await the young heiress in the world of fashion," said Anne, with a sad smile. "It would be unnatural, indeed, if you, with all the advantages which wealth and beauty can command, should abnegate your position and waste the brightest period of your life." "It would be absurd of me to sneer at temptations of which I know nothing,' said Grace, "but the anticipation of them certainly never occupied my thoughts. I shall stop in London, I suppose, because the lawyers and business people will want me there; but I do not imagine that my arrival will cause any great excitement in the fashionable world." "You are an heiress, which in itself will render it quite sufficient for you to be sought after; but in addition to that, there are many of your uncle's friends who will be anxious to make things pleasant to you. You will-you will go to Loddonford, I think you said ?" she added, with an irrepressible tremble in her voice. "Oh, most certainly not," said Grace promptly, and without noticing her friend's emotion. "My poor uncle laid so many plans for our mutual happiness there, that I could never think of it without recurring to him, and all the details of that horrible tragedy, which, for the first few months, haunted me night and day, and which I seem only just to have forgotten, would return. I shall give instructions to have the place sold, and never let its name be mentioned before me." "There you are right," said Anne. "There is no reason why you should retain any link to bind you to a disagreeable past; your future, thank Heaven, bids fair to be bright enough, and with that you should occupy your thoughts." |