"What is it?" asked Layton.

"Come and stay a week or two with me at my little cottage at Glasnevin; I am a bachelor, and live that sort of secluded life that will leave you ample time for your own pursuits."

"Give me a corner for my glass bottles and a furnace, and I 'm your man," said Layton, laughingly.

"You shall make a laboratory of anything but the dinner-room," cried Holmes, shaking hands on the compact, and thus sealing it.

The guard's horn soon after summoned them to their places, and they once more were on the road.

The men who have long waged a hand-to-hand combat with fortune, unfriended and uncheered, experience an intense enjoyment when comes the moment in which they can pour out all their sorrows and their selfishness into some confiding ear. It is no ordinary pleasure with them to taste the sympathy of a willing listener. Layton felt all the ecstasy of such a moment, and he told not alone of himself and his plans and his hopes, but of his son Alfred,--what high gifts the youth possessed, and how certain was he, if common justice should be but accorded to him, to win a great place in the world's estimation.

"The Captain" was an eager listener to all the other said, and never interrupted, save to throw in some passing word of encouragement, some cheering exhortation to bear up bravely and courageously.

Layton's heart warmed with the words of encouragement, and he confided many a secret source of hope that he had never revealed before. He told how, in the course of his labors, many an unexpected discovery had burst upon him,--now some great fact applicable to the smelting of metals, now some new invention available to agriculture. They were subjects, he owned, he had not pursued to any perfect result, but briefly committed to some rough notes, reserving them for a time of future leisure.

"And if I cannot convince the world," said he, laughingly, "that they have neglected and ignored a great genius, I hope, at least, to make _you_ a convert to that opinion."

"You see those tall elms yonder?" said Holmes, as they drew nigh Dublin.

"Well, screened beneath their shade lies the little cottage I have told you about. Quiet and obscure enough now, but I 'm greatly mistaken if it will not one day be remembered as the spot where Herbert Layton lived when he brought his great discovery to completion."

"Do you really think so?" cried Layton, with a swelling feeling about the heart as though it would burst his side. "Oh, if I could only come to feel that hope myself! How it would repay me for all I have gone through! How it would reconcile me to my own heart!"

CHAPTER XIII. HOW THEY LIVED AT THE VILLA

The Heathcotes had prolonged their stay at Marlia a full month beyond their first intention. It was now November, and yet they felt most unwilling to leave it. To be sure, it was the November of Italy in one of its most favored spots. The trees had scarcely began to shed their leaves, and were only in that stage of golden and purple transition that showed the approach of winter. The grass was as green, and the dog-roses as abundant, as in May; indeed, it was May itself, only wanting the fireflies and the violets. One most have felt the languor of an Italian summer, with its closed-shutter existence, its long days of reclusion, without exercise, without prospect, almost without light, to feel the intense delight a bright month of November can bring, with its pathways dry, its rivulets clear, its skies cloudless and blue,--to be able to be about again, to take a fast canter or a brisk walk, is enjoyment great as the first glow of convalescence after sickness. Never are the olive-trees more silvery; never does the leafy fig, or the dark foliage of the orange, contrast so richly with its golden fruit. To enjoy all these was reason enough why the Heathcotes should linger there; at least, they said that was their reason, and they believed it. Layton, with his pupil, had established himself in the little city of Lucca, a sort of deserted, God-forgotten old place, with tumble-down palaces, with strange iron "grilles" and quaint old armorial shields over them; he said they had gone there to study, and _he_ believed it.

Mr. O'Shea was still a denizen of the Panini Hotel at the Bagni,--from choice, he said, but _he_ did not believe it; the Morgans had gone back to Wales; Mr. Mosely to Bond Street; and Quackinboss was off to "do"

his Etruscan cities, the "pottery, and the rest of it;" and so were they all scattered, Mrs. Penthony Morris and Clara being, however, still at the villa, only waiting for letters to set out for Egypt. Her visit had been prolonged by only the very greatest persuasions. "She knew well--too bitterly did she know--what a blank would life become to her when she had quitted the dear villa." "What a dreary awaking was in store for them." "What a sad reverse to poor Clara's bright picture of existence." "The dear child used to fancy it could be all like this!"

"Better meet the misery at once than wait till they could not find strength to tear themselves away." Such-like were the sentiments uttered, sometimes tearfully, sometimes in a sort of playful sadness, always very gracefully, by the softest of voices, accompanied by the most downcast of long-fringed eyelids.

"I am sure I don't know how May will manage to live without her," said Charles, who, be it confessed, was thinking far more of his own sorrows than his cousin's; while he added, in a tone of well-assumed indifference, "We shall all miss her!"

"Miss her," broke in Sir William; "by George! her departure would create a blank in the society of a city, not to speak of a narrow circle in a remote country-house." As for May herself, she was almost heart-broken at the thought of separation. It was not alone the winning graces of her manner, and the numberless captivations she possessed, but that she had really such a "knowledge of the heart," she had given her such an insight into her own nature, that, but for her, she had never acquired; and poor May would shudder at the thought of the ignorance with which she had been about to commence the voyage of life, until she had fortunately chanced upon this skilful pilot. But for Mrs. Morris it was possible, nay, it was almost certain, she should one day or other have married Charles Heathcote,--united herself to one in every way unsuited to her, "a good-tempered, easy-natured, indolent creature, with no high ambitions,--a man to shoot and fish, and play billiards, and read French novels, but not the soaring intellect, not the high intelligence, the noble ascendancy of mind, that should win such a heart as yours, May." How strange it was that she should never before have recognized in Charles all the blemishes and shortcomings she now detected in his character! How singular that she had never remarked how selfish he was, how utterly absorbed in his own pursuits, how little deference he had for the ways or wishes of others, and then, how abrupt, almost to rudeness, his manners! To be sure, part of this careless and easy indifference might be ascribed to a certain sense of security; "he knows you are betrothed to him, dearest; he is sure you must one day be his wife, or, very probably, he would be very different,--more of an ardent suitor, more eager and anxious in his addresses. Ah, there it is! men are ever so, and yet they expect that we poor creatures are to accept that half fealty as a full homage, and be content with that small measure of affection they deign to accord us! That absurd Will has done it all, dear child. It is one of those contracts men make on parchment, quite forgetting that there are such things as human affections. You must marry him, and there's an end of it!"

Now, Charles, on his side, was very fond of his cousin. If he was n't in love with her, it was because he did n't very well understand what being in love meant; he had a notion, indeed, that it implied giving up hunting and coursing, having no dogs, not caring for the Derby, or even opening "Punch" or smoking a cigar. Well, he could, he believed, submit to much, perhaps all, of these, but he could n't, at least he did n't fancy he could, be "spooney." He came to Mrs. Morris with confessions of this kind, and she undertook to consider his case.

Lastly, there was Sir William to consult her about his son and his ward.

He saw several nice and difficult points in their so-called engagement which would require the delicate hand of a clever woman; and where could he find one more to the purpose than Mrs. Penthony Morris?

With a skill all her own, she contrived to have confidential intercourse almost every day with each of the family. If she wished to see Sir William, it was only to pretend to write a letter, or look for some volume in the library, and she was sure to meet him. May was always in her own drawing-room, or the flower-garden adjoining it; and Charles passed his day rambling listlessly about the stables and the farm-yard, or watching the peasants at their work beneath the olive-trees. To aid her plans, besides, Clara could always be despatched to occupy and engage the intention of some other. Not indeed, that Clara was as she used to be. Far from it. The merry, light-hearted, capricious child, with all her strange and wayward ways, was changed into a thoughtful, pensive girl, loving to be alone and unnoticed. So far from exhibiting her former dislike to study, she was now intensely eager for it, passing whole days and great part of the night at her books. There was about her that purpose-like intentness that showed a firm resolve to learn. Nor was it alone in this desire for acquirement that she was changed, but her whole temper and disposition seemed altered. She had grown more gentle and more obedient. If her love of praise was not less, she accepted it with more graceful modesty, and appeared to feel it rather as a kindness than an acknowledged debt. The whole character of her looks, too, had altered. In place of the elfin sprightliness of her ever-laughing eyes, their expression was soft even to sadness; her voice, that once had the clear ringing of a melodious bell, had grown low, and with a tender sweetness that gave to each word a peculiar grace.

"What is the matter with Clara?" said Sir William, as he found himself, one morning, alone with Mrs. Morris in the library. "She never sings now, and she does not seem the same happy creature she used to be."

"Can you not detect the cause of this, Sir William?" said her mother, with a strange sparkle in her eyes.

"I protest I cannot. It is not, surely, that she is unhappy here?"

"No, no, very far from that."

"It cannot be ill health, for she is the very picture of the contrary."

"No, no," said her mother again.

"What can it be?"

"Say, rather, who?" broke in Mrs. Morris, "and I 'll tell you."

"Who, then? Tell me by all means."

"Mr. Layton. Yes, Sir William, this is _his_ doing. I have remarked it many a day back. You are aware, of course, how sedulously he endeavors to make himself acceptable in another quarter?"

"What do you mean? What quarter? Surely you do not allude to my ward?"

"You certainly do not intend me to believe that you have not seen this, Sir William?"

"I declare not only that I have never seen, but never so much as suspected it. And have _you_ seen it, Mrs. Morris?"

"Ah! Sir William, this is our woman's privilege, though really in the present case it did not put the faculty to any severe test."

For a moment or two he made no reply, and then said, "And Charles--has Charles remarked it?"

"I really cannot tell you. His manner is usually so easy and indifferent about everything, that, whether it comes of not seeing or never caring, I cannot pretend to guess."

"I asked the young man here, because he was with Lord Agincourt," began Sir William, who was most eager to offer some apologies to himself for any supposed indiscretion. "Agincourt's guardian, Lord Sommerville, and myself have had some unpleasant passages in life, and I wished to show the boy that towards _him_ I bore no memory of the ills I received from his uncle. In fact, I was doubly civil and attentive on that account; but as for Mr. Layton,--isn't that his name?"

"Yes; Alfred Layton."

"Layton came as the lad's tutor,--nothing more. He appeared a pleasing, inoffensive, well-bred young fellow. But surely, Mrs. Morris, my ward has given him no encouragement?"

"Encouragement is a strong word, Sir William," said she, smiling archly; "I believe it is only widows who give encouragement?"

"Well, well," said he, hurriedly, and not caring to smile, for he was in no jesting mood, "has she appeared to understand his attentions?"

"Even young ladies make no mistakes on that score," said she, in the same bantering tone.

"And I never to see it!" exclaimed he, as he walked hurriedly to and fro. "But I ought to have seen it, eh, Mrs. Morris?--I ought to have seen it. I ought, at least, to have suspected that these fellows are always on the lookout for such a chance as this. Now I suppose you 'll laugh at me for the confession, but my attention was entirely engaged by watching our Irish friend."

"The great O'Shea!" exclaimed Mrs. Morris, laughing.

"And to tell you the truth, I never could exactly satisfy myself whether he came here to ogle my ward, or win Charley's half-crowns at billiards."

"I imagine, if you asked him, he 'd say he was in for the 'double event,'" said she, with a laugh.

"And, then, Mrs. Morris," added he, with a sly smile, "if I must be candid, I fancied, or thought I fancied, his attentions had another object."