"Indeed I am, Clara; I wished to settle up with you. I have married the girl, and the thing's regularly _en train_ now. I have only got to get the money."

"That's just what I wanted."

"Well, I've got it for you."

"Really?" exclaimed the governess, surprised; she had never thought that Markworth would have kept to his compact once he had got the girl off.

But he was "careful about little things," as he had told Tom when he first came down to The Poplars, and he was not going to incur Clara Kingscott's hostility by breaking his agreement, even when there was nothing to force him to keep it.

"Yes, really," he answered; "here's the other hundred I promised you, so you and I are quits, Clara."

"Thank you," she said, turning over the notes in astonishment in her hand; "I never expected you to pay me."

"Did you not. I always keep my bargains."

"Do you," she replied. "You have not always done so."

"Let bygones be bygones, Clara; I promised you the money, and I have paid you now, and you cannot complain."

"It is the first time you ever recollected what you owed me," said the governess, bitterly.

"Don't say that, Clara; let us be good friends. Our compact is now finished, and we need not rake up the past. If there is anything more I can do for you, Clara, let me know; and if it's in my power, I'll do it," said Markworth, magnanimously, for he thought the woman had still a lingering regard for him.

"I don't want anything from you, Allynne Markworth," she said, angrily stamping her foot; "and I don't wish to see you again. You've been the curse of my life! But all's not over yet between us!" she muttered, significantly, as she turned on her heel and walked back towards the house.

Markworth looked after her a moment, and then resumed his way down to the railway station, _en route_ for London. He had a good deal to do before starting for Havre, and wanted to get there before Tom or anyone else went over after Susan.

"That's the way with them all!" he said, to himself, as he walked away rapidly in quick strides. "They get all they can, and then wash their hands of you!"

But he made a great mistake. Miss Kingscott had not by any means washed her hands of Markworth yet. She had gathered a good deal from the conversation between Mr Trump and the dowager on the previous day, to which she had listened attentively through the keyhole of the next room, and she knew that she could not only upset Markworth's plans for obtaining Susan's inheritance, but perhaps, also, get him imprisoned, if she exposed her share in the affair.

This she intended to do, but not until the last moment, just when she should think fit; and at present she would remain at The Poplars, and go on as if she knew nothing of the great event. She might captivate Tom in the meantime, she thought; and, at all events, she as yet had the doctor to fall back upon. Aesculapius had been twice as devoted to her since she displayed so much energy in trying to get Susan back. He had muttered to himself, over and over again, as he rode up to The Poplars, in his daily visits to Tom, "She is a dooced fine girl; and a clever girl, too, by Gad!" and, no doubt, would have repeated that declaration of his which the campaigner's call had nipped in the bud, if the opportunity had only favoured him. But it had not, for the dowager seemed adverse to letting the doctor remain a moment alone with the governess.

When Markworth had gone away, the council between Mrs Hartshorne, and Tom, and the lawyer, was resumed; Tom said that he would go the next day if he was able and fetch back Susan. As for the money matters, the old lady declared she would spare no expense to "cheat that scoundrel" out of his plunder; and Mr Trump was authorised to go to every end to defeat the suit of Markworth _versus_ Hartshorne, which the schemer had stated would be at once commenced, the old lady refusing to surrender her daughter's fortune unless she were compelled to do so. And she "wouldn't even do it then," she declared.

While they were debating over the matter, Miss Kingscott came in quietly and went up to her room--n.o.body knowing what a strong witness she would prove on the side of the defendants in the case, if she so willed it: she now revolved in her mind whether she would or would not act in the matter. It was as yet unsettled, although she had sworn to revenge herself on Markworth. His last words to her had somewhat disarmed her.

Nemesis or _non_ Nemesis: that was the question. The former triumphed.

Mr Trump went back to London; and there he found that the case of Markworth _versus_ Hartshorne, was already "brewing in the storm,"

although it remained to be proved whether it was going to be "nipped in the bud," as the American stump speaker told his audience after he had informed them that he "smelt a rat." With which metaphor the chapter had better be concluded.

Barometer "Fair" again!

Volume 2, Chapter VII.

THE CAMPAIGNER "CARRIES THE FORTRESS."

Like a lamb to the slaughter, Herbert Pringle was led by the wily campaigner to his doom matrimonial.

When the veteran perceived that all her operations _in re_ Tom and the gushing Carry must for a time be postponed, on account of the prostration of the princ.i.p.al combatant, she determined to prosecute the other enterprise to the best of her ability, and declared a sort of _guerre a l'outrance_ against the young inc.u.mbent for the sake of her eldest daughter, the charming Laura.

Of course, she was far too strategic a campaigner to neglect the other affair altogether. She had written Tom an elegant little _billet-doux_ after the sad contretemps of the pic-nic, telling how sorry she was for his accident, and how she had punished Mortimer, "that naughty, naughty boy," and would remember the painful scene "to her grave:" she also caused Carry to scribble a postscript expressing her condolence, besides sending every day, like the Pringles, to enquire how he did. But she could do nothing further there at present, not at all events until Tom was able to come out again, when she had no doubt she would secure him, and oust that "odious little minx," in spite of what she had seen at the pic-nic. She would, indeed, have said more about the matter, only that she would not for the world offend that "dear Mr Pringle," who was "such a love of a preacher," and "a perfect gentleman," which she would persist in telling everyone, as if they disputed the point in the first place, and in the second, as if it was the most extraordinary thing in the world to meet with a member of the cloth who was a gentleman! The surprise on the campaigner's part as to his being a good preacher was, however, perfectly natural: it is not every gentleman that wears a ca.s.sock who is either a fair orator, has a pa.s.sable delivery, or preaches a good sermon.

Men who go into the church appear sadly ignorant of the old Latin proverb, _Poeta nascitur non fit_! They ascribe unto themselves two gifts which they believe that they possess, the gift of literary composition, and the gift of oratory; neither of which one man in a hundred, perhaps, possesses separately, and not one in ten thousand, together! And yet the generality of clergymen seem to think that they can not only write a good sarmon, but preach it also; hence these dismal, dreary plat.i.tudes, and over-and-over-again schoolboy-themes or truisms which set most of us to sleep every Sunday in the family pew.

The short homily of the early clericals was far better than the prosy sermon, of unconscionable length, delivered by the moderns; all of whom seem to think that they were born and brought up, and mercifully ordained to be popular preachers, and nothing else!

The war waged by the campaigner against the young inc.u.mbent of Hartwood church was not one of guns of precision and bloodshed. It was a very rosy sort of campaign, all rose-coloured, fought with honied words and sugar plums, and meant to end in orange blossoms and marriage settlements; only a lawsuit in which the conflicting parties and ends were the languid Laura, and an establishment, _versus_ the celibacy of Herbert Pringle, B.A., Oxon.

Everything favoured the campaigner's manoeuvres. You see, she had the field clear to herself. The bait she offered was very tempting, and summer in the country is a most dangerous time for young, unmarried men.

A week in rural retreats will sometimes do more in the Hymeneal line than weeks of London fashionable life: Coelebs who laughs the hook to scorn, however so delicately baited in town, may be hooked at once with a gaudy May-fly down in the country. Besides, the Reverend Herbert was by no means averse to be caught. He, with all his Oxford experiences, must have to some extent perceived the motives Lady Inskip had for so pressingly cultivating his society; but he did not seek cover as the poor, hunted fox so artfully does. He really found the languid Laura too bewitching to be resisted; so, with hardly a coy make-believe of alarm at what he was doing, he eagerly swallowed the bait, hook and all.

Ever since the pic-nic, Herbert Pringle had become the devoted cavalier of Lady Inskip's eldest daughter.

Morning, noon, and night, the little dapple-grey animal which the young inc.u.mbent bestrode was to be seen tied up to the gateposts of Laburnum Cottage: substantial proof that Pringle was within. Of course this was during the intervals of parochial duties which were by no means heavy, as Hartwood, and Bigton too, for that matter, had no poor to speak of, the population being agricultural, living well on their weekly wage, and inhabiting comfortable looking stone houses with pleasant flower gardens in front, and vegetable compounds in the rear.

Croquet--that pleasantly flirtative game, which demands so little skill or exertion, and affords such rare opportunities for effective _poses_, and desultory chit-chat--was all the rage on the little lawn in front of the Inskip's cottage, during the warm September days: croquet settled the young inc.u.mbent's business.

Laura was afforded such nice little openings here for developing her conquest in an easy manner so suited to her nature, that she entered with some spirit in completing what the campaigner's manoeuvres had begun. She had only to look graceful, and move about imperially, as tall women can well do, and show her exquisite profile--it looked better than her full face: by such means the mischief was done.

Pringle, like most little men, had a fancy for graceful Junos, and here he had one ready-made to his hand. Out of the pulpit he was not much of an orator; but as the languid Laura hardly ever uttered anything but an occasional interjection, they suited each other admirably. Nothing was wanting but the final declaration, and that came quite as soon as the old campaigner had planned. Two or three weeks completed the conquest, thanks to country air and scene, statuesque charms and croquet, and the praiseworthy efforts of the skilful old veteran who had charge of the campaign.

People speak a great deal, in the press and elsewhere, of the insufficiency of public rewards and honours for distinguished services with a good deal of truth; but in all these discussions a large and praiseworthy portion of the community is entirely neglected, and its claims to honour and reward absolutely ignored. I allude to the mothers of families; how do they get their services recognised? We bind the hero's brows with laurels; we raise the brilliant party orator to the peerage; we give the eminent professor of the law a seat on the woolsack; the soldier a medal and a bit of ribbon for his wounds in the country's service; and we dub the worshipful alderman a knight, should he happen to be at the royal kitchen steps when a prince is born, or have invited the Grand Elector of Sauer Kraut to partake of a ham sandwich on his landing at Dover _en route_ to visit the Palace; but the talented and skilful diplomatist--the mother of a family, who marries off her marriageable daughters all to the most eligible of _partis_, pa.s.ses by unnoticed. She, who fights courageously a losing game, against fearful odds, who braves reproach, continually--nay, even disgrace, sometimes in furthering a praiseworthy object, and who deserves our esteem and recognition, gets no reward. Peerages in plenty for parliamentarians, t.i.tles for sycophants, knighthoods for toad eaters--but the campaigners go by without ne'er so much as a ribbon of decoration.

This should not be. In the time honoured cause of woman's rights, this neglect must be protested against. Let us reward our royal plate cleaners and caustic partisans as much as the nation pleases, but think also of the n.o.ble women of England, and their fortune and husband-hunting claims!

Lady Inskip was one of the most skilled and to be honoured of her cla.s.s.

Not only did she lead Pringle up to the point--but, knowing his nervousness, she also saved him the trouble of coming to a declaration.

She did it for him herself, and this is how it happened.

She could be very confidential, you know, and was well fitted to a.s.sume the maternal _role_, and "talk as a mother myself," whenever it was required of her. She had once before done so to Pringle on Lizzie's account, as was mentioned in a former chapter; so nothing was more easy and graceful than to a.s.sume the same _role_ now in his own interests while talking to himself. She determined to make the proposal for him, as he was too shy to make it himself; although in so doing, she spoilt considerable hopes of fun at the "fast" Carry's part, who had declared over and over again in the family circle that she "would give worlds to see the mild parson pop," provoking a mild "how can you be so absurd, Carry!" from Laura, who yet could not prevent a feeble smile at the possibility of such a _tableau_, and "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, miss!" from her mother; while the young imp, Sir Mortimer, gave vent to a triumphant war whoop, and declared that it would be "awful larks! to see Pringle on his knees!" The darling, naughty boy, to be sure! When the campaigner perceived from sundry unmistakable symptoms that things had been brought to a crisis, she prepared to act.

One day, after Pringle had been more bashful and nervous than ever, although still very attentive to Laura, when there had been some weeks of intercourse between the pair since the first descent on Bigton, Lady Inskip "b.u.t.ton-holed" him as he was on his way out, and instead of letting him mount his pony at the gate, entreated him to walk a bit down the road with her, as she had something important to say. Pringle, more bashfully still, a.s.sented, and pa.s.sing the bridle of the dapple-grey through his arm, he and the campaigner sauntered off in close confab, watched from the windows of Laburnum Cottage by the young ladies and Mortimer, who seriously wondered what was "up"--one must use slang sometimes; it is so expressive in these very slangy days.

"My dear Mr Pringle," began the wily campaigner, "I take a great interest in you, in quite a motherly way, indeed; and you will excuse me speaking on a very delicate matter to you?"

"Oh! certainly, Lady Inskip, certainly--anything you know," he stammered, in reply, blushing a rosy red, even beneath his budding whiskers of auburn hue.

"Well, then, my dear Mr Pringle, I have to speak to you about Laura. I am her mother, and it seems strange in me to speak to you; but I look upon you as a son, and I wish I could see things arranged between you.

The darling girl is getting quite thin and pale, and this prolonged suspense is more than she can bear. And I must ask you in the most-- that is--my dear Mr Pringle, I think your feelings are interested, and--"

"Precisely so, Lady Inskip; just what I wanted to say, only I could not say it. Would Laura, eh?--your daughter, do you think, eh?" and he looked nervously into the campaigner's face.

"I think she will consent. I am so glad, my dear young friend; I will speak to her for you, and it will be all arranged, if you will come in again this evening. I have long wished to see my angel Laura married to a Christian gentleman, and since I have known you, you have fulfilled everything which I could have hoped for her to find in a husband"--that he had, with regard to position and competency, besides being easily managed--"and, my dear Mr Pringle, I will tell Laura at once; and this is the happiest moment in my life!"

"Certainly, Lady Inskip, certainly!" stammered the young inc.u.mbent, as he shook hands joyfully with his future mother-in-law; and in the evening he came round again to Laburnum Cottage. Laura received him with a faint blush and a timid pressure of his hand, so it was an understood thing that they were regularly engaged.

After it was all settled, Pringle lost a good deal of his prior bashfulness; and both Carry and young Sir Mortimer regarded him as a very jolly sort of brother-in-law to have. The wedding was fixed for an early date in the following year, after a probationary engagement of some three months.

_Eureka_! The campaigner had carried the fortress after a series of admirable military tactics.