CLARA
VAUGHAN
A
NOVEL
IN
THREE
VOLUMES
R
.
D
.
Blackmore
London
and
Cambridge
:
MACMILLAN
AND
CO.
1864.
The
Right
of
Translation
and
Reproduction
is
reserved
.
CLARA
VAUGHAN
BOOK
I
.
CHAPTER
I
.
I
do
not
mean
to
describe
myself
.
Already
I
feel
that
the
personal
pronoun
will
appear
too
often
in
these
pages
.
Knowing
the
faults
of
my
character
almost
as
well
as
my
best
friends
know
them
,
I
shall
attempt
to
hide
them
no
more
than
would
those
beloved
ones
.
Enough
of
this
:
the
story
I
have
to
tell
is
strange
,
and
short
as
my
own
its
preamble
.
The
day
when
I
was
ten
years
old
began
my
serious
life
.
It
was
the
30th
of
December
,
1842
;
and
proud
was
the
kiss
my
loving
father
gave
me
for
spelling
,
writing
,
and
pronouncing
the
date
in
English
,
French
,
and
Italian
.
No
very
wonderful
feat
,
it
is
true
,
for
a
clever
child
well-taught
;
but
I
was
by
no
means
a
clever
child
;
and
no
one
except
my
father
could
teach
me
a
single
letter
.
When
,
after
several
years
of
wedlock
,
my
parents
found
new
joy
in
me
,
their
bliss
was
soon
overhung
with
care
.
They
feared
,
but
durst
not
own
the
fear
,
lest
the
wilful
,
passionate
,
loving
creature
,
on
whom
their
hearts
were
wholly
set
,
should
be
torn
from
their
love
to
a
distance
greater
than
the
void
of
death
;
in
a
word
,
should
prove
insane
.
At
length
they
could
no
longer
hide
this
terror
from
each
other
.
One
look
told
it
all
;
and
I
vaguely
remember
my
hazy
wonder
at
the
scene
that
followed
.
Like
a
thief
,
I
came
from
the
corner
behind
the
curtain-loops
,
and
trembled
at
my
father
's
knee
,
for
him
to
say
something
to
me
.
Then
frightened
at
his
silence
—
a
thing
unknown
to
me
—
I
pulled
his
hands
from
before
his
eyes
,
and
found
hot
tears
upon
them
.
I
coaxed
him
then
,
and
petted
him
,
and
felt
his
sorrows
through
me
;
then
made
believe
to
scold
him
for
being
so
naughty
as
to
cry
.
But
I
could
not
get
his
trouble
from
him
,
and
he
seemed
to
watch
me
through
his
kisses
.
Before
I
had
ceased
to
ponder
dreamily
over
this
great
wonder
,
a
vast
event
(
for
a
child
of
seven
)
diverted
me
.
Father
,
mother
,
and
Tooty
—
for
so
I
then
was
called
—
were
drawn
a
long
way
by
horses
with
yellow
men
upon
them
:
from
enlarged
experience
I
infer
that
we
must
have
posted
to
London
.
Here
,
among
many
marvels
,
I
remember
especially
a
long
and
mysterious
interview
with
a
kind
,
white-haired
old
gentleman
,
who
wore
most
remarkable
shoes
.
He
took
me
upon
his
lap
,
which
seemed
to
me
rather
a
liberty
;
then
he
smoothed
down
my
hair
,
and
felt
my
head
so
much
that
I
asked
if
he
wanted
to
comb
it
,
having
made
up
my
mind
to
kick
if
he
dared
to
try
such
a
thing
.
Then
he
put
all
sorts
of
baby
questions
to
me
which
I
was
disposed
to
resent
,
having
long
discarded
Cock
Robin
and
Little
Red-riding-hood
.
Unconsciously
too
,
I
was
moved
by
Nature
's
strong
hate
of
examination
.
But
my
father
came
up
,
and
with
tears
in
his
eyes
begged
me
to
answer
everything
.
Meanwhile
my
mother
sat
in
a
dark
corner
,
as
if
her
best
doll
was
dying
.
With
its
innate
pugnacity
,
my
hazy
intellect
rose
to
the
situation
,
and
I
narrowly
heeded
every
thing
.
"
Now
go
,
my
dear
,
"
the
old
gentleman
said
at
last
;
"
you
are
a
very
good
little
girl
indeed
.
"
"
That
's
a
great
lie
,
"
I
cried
;
for
I
had
learned
bad
words
from
a
flighty
girl
,
taken
rashly
as
under-nurse
.
The
old
gentleman
seemed
surprised
,
and
my
mother
was
dreadfully
shocked
.
My
father
laughed
first
,
then
looked
at
me
sadly
;
and
I
did
what
he
expected
,
I
jumped
into
his
arms
.
At
one
word
from
him
,
I
ran
to
the
great
physician
,
and
humbly
begged
his
pardon
,
and
offered
him
my
very
dearest
toy
.
He
came
up
warmly
,
and
shook
my
father
's
hand
,
and
smiled
from
his
heart
at
my
mother
.
"
Allow
me
,
Mrs.
Vaughan
—
allow
me
,
my
dear
sir
—
to
congratulate
you
cordially
.
The
head
is
a
noble
and
honest
one
.
It
is
the
growth
of
the
brain
that
causes
these
little
commotions
;
but
the
congestion
will
not
be
permanent
.
The
fits
,
that
have
so
alarmed
you
,
are
at
this
age
a
good
symptom
;
in
fact
,
they
are
Nature
's
remedy
.
They
may
last
for
seven
years
,
or
even
for
ten
;
of
course
they
will
not
depart
at
once
.
But
the
attacks
will
be
milder
,
and
the
intervals
longer
,
when
she
has
turned
fourteen
.
For
the
intellect
you
need
have
no
fear
whatever
.
Only
keep
her
quiet
,
and
never
force
her
to
learn
.
She
must
only
learn
when
it
comes
as
it
were
with
the
wind
.
She
will
never
forget
what
she
does
learn
.
"
Hereupon
,
unless
I
am
much
mistaken
,
my
father
and
mother
fell
to
and
kissed
and
hugged
one
another
,
and
I
heard
a
sound
like
sobbing
;
then
they
caught
me
up
,
and
devoured
me
,
as
if
I
were
born
anew
;
and
staring
round
with
great
childish
eyes
,
I
could
not
catch
the
old
gentleman
's
glance
at
all
.
Henceforth
I
learned
very
little
,
the
wind
,
perhaps
,
being
unfavourable
;
and
all
the
little
I
did
learn
came
from
my
father
's
lips
.
His
patience
with
me
was
wonderful
;
we
spent
most
of
the
day
together
,
and
when
he
was
forced
to
leave
me
,
I
took
no
food
until
he
returned
.
Whenever
his
horse
was
ordered
,
Miss
Clara
's
little
grey
pony
began
to
neigh
and
to
fidget
,
and
Miss
Clara
was
off
in
a
moment
to
get
her
blue
riding-skirt
.
Even
when
father
went
shooting
or
fishing
,
Tooty
was
sure
to
go
too
,
except
in
the
depth
of
winter
;
and
then
she
was
up
at
the
top
of
the
house
,
watching
all
round
for
the
gun-smoke
.
Ah
,
why
do
I
linger
so
over
these
happy
times
—
is
it
the
pleasure
of
thinking
how
fondly
we
loved
one
another
,
or
is
it
the
pain
of
knowing
that
we
can
do
so
no
more
?
Now
,
the
30th
of
December
was
my
parents
'
wedding-day
,
for
I
had
been
born
six
years
exact
after
their
affectionate
union
.
And
now
that
I
was
ten
years
old
—
a
notable
hinge
on
the
door
of
life
—
how
much
they
made
,
to
be
sure
,
of
each
other
and
of
me
!
At
dinner
I
sat
in
glory
between
them
,
upsetting
all
ceremony
,
pleasing
my
father
,
and
teasing
my
mother
,
by
many
a
childish
sally
.
So
genial
a
man
my
father
was
that
he
would
talk
to
the
servants
,
even
on
state
occasions
,
quite
as
if
they
were
human
beings
.
Yet
none
of
them
ever
took
the
smallest
liberty
with
him
,
unless
it
were
one
to
love
him
.
Before
dessert
,
I
interred
my
queen
doll
,
with
much
respect
and
some
heartache
,
under
a
marble
flag
by
the
door
,
which
had
been
prepared
for
the
purpose
.
My
father
was
chief-mourner
,
but
did
not
cry
to
my
liking
,
until
I
had
pinched
him
well
.
After
this
typical
good-bye
to
childhood
,
I
rode
him
back
to
the
dining-table
,
and
helped
him
and
my
mother
to
the
last
of
the
West
's
St.
Peter
grapes
,
giving
him
all
the
fattest
ones
.
Then
we
all
drank
health
and
love
to
one
another
,
and
I
fell
to
in
earnest
at
a
child
's
delight
.
Dearest
father
kept
supplying
me
with
things
much
nicer
than
are
now
to
be
got
,
while
my
mother
in
vain
pretended
to
guard
the
frontier
.
It
was
the
first
time
I
tasted
Guava
jelly
;
and
now
,
even
at
the
name
,
that
scene
is
bright
before
me
.
The
long
high
room
oak-panelled
,
the
lights
and
shadows
flickering
as
on
a
dark
bay
horse
,
the
crimson
velvet
curtains
where
the
windows
were
gone
to
bed
,
the
great
black
chairs
with
damask
cushions
,
but
hard
and
sharp
at
the
edge
,
the
mantel-piece
all
carved
in
stone
which
I
was
forbidden
to
kick
,
the
massive
lamp
that
never
would
let
me
eat
without
loose
clouds
of
hair
dancing
all
over
my
plate
,
and
then
the
great
fire
,
its
rival
,
shuddering
in
blue
flames
at
the
thought
of
the
frost
outside
;
all
these
things
,
and
even
the
ticking
of
the
timepiece
,
are
more
palpable
to
me
now
than
the
desk
on
which
I
write
.
My
father
sat
in
his
easy
chair
,
laughing
and
joking
,
full
of
life
and
comfort
,
with
his
glass
of
old
port
beside
him
,
his
wife
in
front
,
and
me
,
his
"
Claricrops
,
"
at
his
knee
.
More
happy
than
a
hundred
kings
,
he
wished
for
nothing
better
.
At
one
time
,
perhaps
,
he
had
longed
for
a
son
to
keep
the
ancient
name
,
but
now
he
was
quite
ashamed
of
the
wish
,
as
mutiny
against
me
.
After
many
an
interchange
,
a
drink
for
father
,
a
sip
for
Tooty
,
he
began
to
tell
wondrous
stories
of
the
shots
he
had
made
that
day
;
especially
how
he
had
killed
a
woodcock
through
a
magpie
's
nest
.
My
mother
listened
with
playful
admiration
;
I
with
breathless
interest
,
and
most
profound
belief
.
Then
we
played
at
draughts
,
and
fox
and
goose
,
and
pretended
even
to
play
at
chess
,
until
it
was
nine
o'clock
,
and
my
hour
of
grace
expired
.
Three
times
Ann
Maples
came
to
fetch
me
,
but
I
would
not
go
.
At
last
I
went
submissively
at
one
kind
word
from
my
father
.
My
mother
obtained
but
a
pouting
kiss
,
for
I
wanted
to
wreak
some
vengeance
;
but
my
father
I
never
kissed
with
less
than
all
my
heart
and
soul
.
I
flung
both
arms
around
his
neck
,
laid
my
little
cheek
to
his
,
and
whispered
in
his
ear
that
I
loved
him
more
than
all
the
world
.
Tenderly
he
clasped
and
kissed
me
,
and
now
I
am
sure
that
through
his
smile
he
looked
at
me
with
sadness
.
Turning
round
at
the
doorway
,
I
stretched
my
hands
towards
him
,
and
met
once
more
his
loving
,
laughing
eyes
.
Once
more
and
only
once
.
Next
I
saw
him
in
his
coffin
,
white
and
stark
with
death
.
By-and-by
I
will
tell
what
I
know
;
at
present
I
can
only
feel
.
The
emotions
—
away
with
long
words
—
the
passions
which
swept
my
little
heart
,
with
equal
power
rend
it
now
.
Long
I
lay
dumb
and
stunned
at
the
horror
I
could
not
grasp
.
Then
with
a
scream
,
as
in
my
fits
,
I
flung
upon
his
body
.
What
to
me
were
shroud
and
shell
,
the
rigid
look
and
the
world
of
awe
?
Such
things
let
step-children
fear
.
Not
I
,
when
it
was
my
father
.
CHAPTER
II
.
How
that
deed
was
done
,
I
learned
at
once
,
and
will
tell
.
By
whom
and
why
it
was
done
,
I
have
given
my
life
to
learn
.
The
evidence
laid
before
the
coroner
was
a
cloud
and
fog
of
mystery
.
For
days
and
days
my
mother
lay
insensible
.
Then
,
for
weeks
and
weeks
,
she
would
leap
from
her
bed
in
fits
of
terror
,
stare
,
and
shriek
and
faint
.
As
for
the
servants
,
they
knew
very
little
,
but
imagined
a
great
deal
.
The
only
other
witnesses
were
a
medical
man
,
a
shoemaker
,
and
two
London
policemen
.
The
servants
said
that
,
between
one
and
two
in
the
morning
,
a
clear
,
wild
shriek
rang
through
the
house
.
Large
as
the
building
was
,
this
shriek
unrepeated
awoke
nearly
all
but
me
.
Rushing
anyhow
forth
,
they
hurried
and
huddled
together
at
the
head
of
the
great
staircase
,
doubting
what
to
do
.
Some
said
the
cry
came
one
way
,
some
another
.
Meanwhile
Ann
Maples
,
who
slept
with
me
in
an
inner
room
at
the
end
of
a
little
passage
,
in
the
courage
of
terror
went
straight
to
her
master
and
mistress
.
There
,
by
the
light
of
a
dim
night-lamp
,
used
to
visit
me
,
she
saw
my
mother
upright
in
the
bed
,
and
pointing
towards
my
father
's
breast
.
My
father
lay
quite
still
;
the
bed-clothes
were
smooth
upon
him
.
My
mother
did
not
speak
.
Ann
Maples
took
the
lamp
,
and
looked
in
her
master
's
face
.
His
eyes
were
open
,
wide
open
as
in
amazement
,
but
the
surprise
was
death
.
One
arm
was
stiff
around
his
wife
,
the
other
lax
upon
the
pillow
.
As
she
described
it
in
West-country
phrase
,
"
he
looked
all
frore
.
"
The
woman
rushed
from
the
room
,
and
screamed
along
the
passage
.
The
servants
ran
to
her
,
flurried
and
haggard
,
each
afraid
to
be
left
behind
.
None
except
the
butler
dared
to
enter
.
Whispering
and
trembling
they
peered
in
after
him
,
all
ready
to
run
away
.
Thomas
Kenwood
loved
his
master
dearly
,
being
his
foster-brother
.
He
at
once
removed
the
bedclothes
,
and
found
the
fatal
wound
.
So
strongly
and
truly
was
it
dealt
,
that
it
pierced
the
centre
of
my
dear
father
's
heart
.
One
spot
of
blood
and
a
small
three-cornered
hole
was
all
that
could
be
seen
.
The
surgeon
,
who
came
soon
after
,
said
that
the
weapon
must
have
been
a
very
keen
and
finely-tempered
dagger
,
probably
of
foreign
make
.
The
murderer
must
have
been
quite
cool
,
and
well
acquainted
with
the
human
frame
.
Death
followed
the
blow
on
the
instant
,
without
a
motion
or
a
groan
.
In
my
mother
's
left
hand
strongly
clutched
was
a
lock
of
long
,
black
,
shining
hair
.
A
curl
very
like
it
,
but
rather
finer
,
lay
on
my
father
's
bosom
.
In
the
room
were
no
signs
of
disorder
,
no
marks
of
forcible
entrance
.
One
of
the
maids
,
a
timid
young
thing
,
declared
that
soon
after
the
stable-clock
struck
twelve
,
she
had
heard
the
front
balusters
creak
;
but
as
she
was
known
to
hear
this
every
night
,
little
importance
was
attached
to
it
.
The
coroner
paid
more
attention
to
the
page
(
a
sharp
youth
from
London
)
,
who
,
being
first
in
the
main
corridor
,
after
the
cry
,
saw
,
or
thought
he
saw
,
a
moving
figure
,
where
the
faint
starlight
came
in
at
the
oriel
window
.
He
was
the
more
believed
,
because
he
owned
that
he
durst
not
follow
it
.
But
no
way
of
escape
could
be
discovered
there
,
and
the
eastern
window
was
strongly
barred
betwixt
the
mullions
.
No
door
,
no
window
was
anywhere
found
open
.
Outside
the
house
,
the
only
trace
was
at
one
remarkable
spot
.
The
time
had
been
chosen
well
.
It
was
a
hard
black
frost
,
without
,
as
yet
,
any
snow
.
The
ground
was
like
iron
,
and
an
Indian
could
have
spied
no
trail
.
But
at
this
one
spot
,
twenty-five
yards
from
the
east
end
of
the
house
,
and
on
the
verge
of
a
dense
shrubbery
,
a
small
spring
,
scarcely
visible
,
oozed
among
the
moss
.
Around
its
very
head
,
it
cleared
,
and
kept
,
a
narrow
space
quite
free
from
green
,
and
here
its
margin
was
a
thin
coat
of
black
mineral
mud
,
which
never
froze
.
This
space
,
at
the
broadest
,
was
but
two
feet
and
ten
inches
across
from
gravel
to
turf
,
yet
now
it
held
two
distinct
footprints
,
not
of
some
one
crossing
and
re-crossing
,
but
of
two
successive
steps
leading
from
the
house
into
the
shrubbery
.
These
footprints
were
remarkable
;
the
one
nearest
the
house
was
of
the
left
foot
,
the
other
of
the
right
.
Each
was
the
impression
of
a
long
,
light
,
and
pointed
boot
,
very
hollow
at
the
instep
.
But
they
differed
in
this
—
the
left
footprint
was
plain
and
smooth
,
without
mark
of
nail
,
or
cue
,
or
any
other
roughness
;
while
the
right
one
was
clearly
stamped
in
the
centre
of
the
sole
with
a
small
rectangular
cross
.
This
mark
seemed
to
have
been
made
by
a
cruciform
piece
of
metal
,
or
some
other
hard
substance
,
inlaid
into
the
sole
.
At
least
,
so
said
a
shoemaker
,
who
was
employed
to
examine
it
;
and
he
added
that
the
boots
were
not
those
of
the
present
fashion
,
what
he
called
"
duck
's
bills
"
being
then
in
vogue
.
This
man
being
asked
to
account
for
the
fact
of
the
footprints
being
so
close
together
,
did
so
very
easily
,
and
with
much
simplicity
.
It
was
evident
,
he
said
,
that
a
man
of
average
stature
,
walking
rapidly
,
would
take
nearly
twice
that
distance
in
every
stride
;
but
here
the
verge
of
the
shrubbery
,
and
the
branches
striking
him
in
the
face
,
had
suddenly
curtailed
the
step
.
And
to
this
,
most
likely
,
and
not
to
any
hurry
or
triumph
,
was
to
be
ascribed
the
fact
that
one
so
wily
and
steadfast
did
not
turn
back
and
erase
the
dangerous
tokens
.
Most
likely
,
he
did
not
feel
what
was
beneath
his
feet
,
while
he
was
battling
with
the
tangle
above
.
Be
that
as
it
may
,
there
the
marks
remained
,
like
the
blotting-paper
of
his
crime
.
Casts
of
them
were
taken
at
once
,
and
carefully
have
they
been
stored
by
me
.
The
shoemaker
,
a
shrewd
but
talkative
man
,
said
unasked
that
he
had
never
seen
such
boots
as
had
left
those
marks
,
since
the
"
Young
Squire
"
(
he
meant
Mr.
Edgar
Vaughan
)
went
upon
his
travels
.
For
this
gratuitous
statement
,
he
was
strongly
rebuked
by
the
coroner
.
For
the
rest
,
all
that
could
be
found
out
,
after
close
inquiry
,
was
,
that
a
stranger
darkly
clad
had
been
seen
by
the
gamekeepers
,
in
a
copse
some
half-mile
from
the
house
,
while
the
men
were
beating
for
woodcocks
on
the
previous
day
.
He
did
not
seem
to
be
following
my
father
,
and
they
thought
he
had
wandered
out
of
the
forest
road
.
He
glided
quickly
away
,
before
they
could
see
his
features
,
but
they
knew
that
he
was
tall
and
swarthy
.
No
footprints
were
found
in
that
ride
like
those
by
the
shrubbery
spring
.
I
need
not
say
what
verdict
the
coroner
's
jury
found
.
CHAPTER
III
.
Thus
far
,
I
have
written
in
sore
haste
,
to
tell
,
as
plainly
and
as
briefly
as
possible
,
that
which
has
darkened
all
my
life
.
Though
it
never
leaves
my
waking
thoughts
,
to
dwell
upon
it
before
others
is
agony
to
me
.
Henceforth
my
tale
will
flow
perhaps
more
easily
,
until
I
fall
again
into
a
grief
almost
as
dark
,
and
am
struck
by
storms
of
passion
which
childhood
's
stature
does
not
reach
.
When
the
shock
of
the
household
,
and
the
wonder
of
the
county
,
and
the
hopes
of
constables
(
raised
by
a
thousand
pounds
'
reward
)
had
subsided
gradually
,
my
mother
continued
to
live
in
the
old
mansion
,
perhaps
because
none
of
her
friends
came
forward
to
remove
her
.
Under
my
father
's
will
she
was
the
sole
executrix
;
but
all
the
estates
(
including
house
and
park
)
were
left
to
my
father
's
nearest
relative
,
as
trustee
for
myself
,
with
a
large
annuity
to
my
mother
charged
upon
them
.
There
were
many
other
provisions
and
powers
in
the
will
,
which
are
of
no
consequence
to
my
story
.
The
chief
estate
was
large
and
rich
,
extending
three
or
four
miles
from
the
house
,
which
stood
in
a
beautiful
part
of
Gloucestershire
.
The
entire
rental
was
about
12
,
000
*
l
.
*
a
year
.
My
father
(
whose
name
was
Henry
Valentine
Vaughan
)
,
being
a
very
active
man
in
the
prime
of
life
,
had
employed
no
steward
,
but
managed
everything
himself
.
The
park
,
and
two
or
three
hundred
acres
round
it
,
had
always
been
kept
in
hand
;
the
rest
was
let
to
thriving
tenants
,
who
loved
(
as
they
expressed
it
)
"
every
hair
on
the
head
of
a
Vaughan
.
"
There
was
also
a
small
farm
near
the
sea
,
in
a
lonely
part
of
Devonshire
;
but
this
was
my
mother
's
,
having
been
left
to
her
by
her
father
,
a
clergyman
in
that
neighbourhood
.
My
father
's
nearest
relative
was
his
half-brother
,
Edgar
Vaughan
,
who
had
been
educated
for
the
Bar
,
and
at
one
time
seemed
likely
to
become
eminent
;
then
suddenly
he
gave
up
his
practice
,
and
resided
(
or
rather
roved
)
abroad
,
during
several
years
.
Sinister
rumours
about
him
reached
our
neighbourhood
,
not
long
before
my
father
's
death
.
To
these
,
however
,
the
latter
paid
no
attention
,
but
always
treated
his
brother
Edgar
with
much
cordiality
and
affection
.
But
all
admitted
that
Edgar
Vaughan
had
far
outrun
his
income
as
a
younger
son
,
which
amounted
to
about
600
*
l
.
*
a
year
.
Of
course
,
therefore
,
my
father
had
often
helped
him
.
On
the
third
day
after
that
night
,
my
guardian
came
to
Vaughan
Park
.
He
was
said
to
have
hurried
from
London
,
upon
learning
there
what
had
happened
.
The
servants
and
others
had
vainly
and
foolishly
tried
to
keep
from
me
the
nature
of
my
loss
.
Soon
I
found
out
all
they
knew
,
and
when
the
first
tit
and
horror
left
me
,
I
passed
my
whole
time
,
light
or
dark
,
in
roving
from
passage
to
passage
,
from
room
to
room
,
from
closet
to
closet
,
searching
every
chink
and
cranny
for
the
murderer
of
my
father
.
Though
heretofore
a
timid
child
,
while
so
engaged
I
knew
not
such
a
thing
as
fear
;
but
peered
,
and
groped
,
and
listened
,
feeling
every
inch
of
wall
and
wainscot
,
crawling
lest
I
should
alarm
my
prey
,
spying
through
the
slit
of
every
door
,
and
shaking
every
empty
garment
.
Certain
boards
there
were
near
the
east
window
which
sounded
hollow
;
at
these
I
scooped
until
I
broke
my
nails
.
In
vain
nurse
Maples
locked
me
in
her
room
,
held
me
at
her
side
,
or
even
bound
me
to
the
bed
.
My
ravings
forced
her
soon
to
yield
,
and
I
would
not
allow
her
,
or
any
one
else
,
to
follow
me
.
The
Gloucester
physician
said
that
since
the
disease
of
my
mind
had
taken
that
shape
,
it
would
be
more
dangerous
to
thwart
than
to
indulge
it
.
It
was
the
evening
of
the
third
day
,
and
weary
with
but
never
of
my
search
,
I
was
groping
down
the
great
oak-staircase
in
the
dusk
,
hand
after
hand
,
and
foot
by
foot
,
when
suddenly
the
main
door-bell
rang
.
The
snow
was
falling
heavily
,
and
had
deadened
the
sound
of
wheels
.
At
once
I
slid
(
as
my
father
had
taught
me
to
do
)
down
the
broad
balustrade
,
ran
across
the
entrance-hall
,
and
with
my
whole
strength
drew
back
the
bolt
of
the
lock
.
There
I
stood
in
the
porch
,
unfrightened
,
but
with
a
new
kind
of
excitement
on
me
.
A
tall
dark
man
came
up
the
steps
,
and
shook
the
snow
from
his
boots
.
The
carriage-lamp
shone
in
my
face
.
I
would
not
let
him
cross
the
threshold
,
but
stood
there
and
confronted
him
.
He
pretended
to
take
me
for
some
servant
's
child
,
and
handed
me
a
parcel
covered
with
snow
.
I
flung
it
down
,
and
said
,
looking
him
full
in
the
face
,
"
I
am
Clara
Vaughan
,
and
you
are
the
man
who
killed
my
father
.
"
"
Carry
her
in
,
John
,
"
he
said
to
the
servant
—
"
carry
her
in
,
or
the
poor
little
thing
will
die
.
What
eyes
!
"
and
he
used
some
foreign
oath
—
"
what
wonderful
eyes
she
has
!
"
That
burst
of
passion
was
the
last
conscious
act
of
the
young
and
over-laboured
brain
.
For
three
months
I
wandered
outside
the
gates
of
sorrow
.
My
guardian
,
as
they
told
me
,
was
most
attentive
throughout
the
whole
course
of
the
fever
,
and
even
in
the
press
of
business
visited
me
three
times
every
day
.
Meanwhile
,
my
mother
was
slowly
shaking
off
the
stupor
which
lay
upon
her
,
and
the
new
fear
of
losing
me
came
through
that
thick
heaviness
,
like
the
wind
through
a
fog
.
Doubtless
it
helped
to
restore
her
senses
,
and
awoke
her
to
the
work
of
life
.
Then
,
as
time
went
on
,
her
former
beauty
and
gentleness
came
back
,
and
her
reason
too
,
as
regarded
other
subjects
.
But
as
to
that
which
all
so
longed
to
know
,
not
a
spark
of
evidence
could
be
had
from
her
.
The
faintest
allusion
to
that
crime
,
the
name
of
her
loved
husband
,
the
mere
word
"
murder
"
uttered
in
her
presence
—
and
the
consciousness
would
leave
her
eyes
,
like
a
loan
withdrawn
.
Upright
she
sat
and
rigid
as
when
she
was
found
that
night
,
with
the
lines
of
her
face
as
calm
and
cold
as
moonlight
.
Only
two
means
there
were
by
which
her
senses
could
be
restored
:
one
was
low
sweet
music
,
the
other
profound
sleep
.
She
was
never
thrown
into
this
cataleptic
state
by
her
own
thoughts
or
words
,
nor
even
by
those
of
others
when
in
strict
sequence
upon
her
own
.
But
any
attempt
to
lead
her
to
that
one
subject
,
no
matter
how
craftily
veiled
,
was
sure
to
end
in
this
.
The
skilful
physician
,
who
had
known
her
many
years
,
judged
,
after
special
study
of
this
disease
,
in
which
he
felt
deep
interest
,
that
it
was
always
present
in
her
brain
,
but
waited
for
external
aid
to
master
her
.
I
need
not
say
that
she
was
now
unfit
for
any
stranger
's
converse
,
and
even
her
most
careful
friends
must
touch
sometimes
the
motive
string
.
As
I
recovered
slowly
from
long
illness
,
the
loss
of
my
best
friend
and
the
search
for
my
worst
enemy
revived
and
reigned
within
me
.
Sometimes
my
guardian
would
deign
to
reason
with
me
upon
what
he
called
"
my
monomania
.
"
When
he
did
so
,
I
would
fix
my
eyes
upon
him
,
but
never
tried
to
answer
.
Now
and
then
,
those
eyes
seemed
to
cause
him
some
uneasiness
;
at
other
times
he
would
laugh
and
compare
them
pleasantly
to
the
blue
fire-damp
in
a
coal-mine
.
His
dislike
of
their
scrutiny
was
well
known
to
me
,
and
incited
me
the
more
to
urge
it
.
But
in
spite
of
all
,
he
was
ever
kind
and
gentle
to
me
,
and
even
tried
some
grimly
playful
overtures
to
my
love
,
which
fled
from
him
with
loathing
,
albeit
a
slow
conviction
formed
that
I
had
wronged
him
by
suspicion
.
Edgar
Malins
Vaughan
,
then
about
thirty-seven
years
old
,
was
(
I
suppose
)
a
very
handsome
man
,
and
perhaps
of
a
more
striking
presence
than
my
dearest
father
.
His
face
,
when
he
was
pleased
,
reminded
me
strongly
of
the
glance
and
smile
I
had
lost
,
but
never
could
it
convey
that
soft
sweet
look
,
which
still
came
through
the
clouds
to
me
,
now
and
then
in
dreams
.
The
outlines
of
my
guardian
's
face
were
keener
too
and
stronger
,
and
his
complexion
far
more
swarthy
.
His
eyes
were
of
a
hard
steel-blue
,
and
never
seemed
to
change
.
A
slight
lameness
,
perceptible
only
at
times
,
did
not
impair
his
activity
,
but
served
him
as
a
pretext
for
declining
all
field-sports
,
for
which
(
unlike
my
father
)
he
had
no
real
taste
.
His
enjoyments
,
if
he
had
any
—
and
I
suppose
all
men
have
some
—
seemed
to
consist
in
the
management
of
the
estate
(
which
he
took
entirely
upon
himself
)
,
in
satiric
literature
and
the
news
of
the
day
,
or
in
lonely
rides
and
sails
upon
the
lake
.
It
was
hinted
too
,
by
Thomas
Kenwood
,
who
disliked
and
feared
him
strangely
,
that
he
drank
spirits
or
foreign
cordials
in
his
own
room
,
late
at
night
.
There
was
nothing
to
confirm
this
charge
;
he
was
always
up
betimes
,
his
hand
was
never
tremulous
,
nor
did
his
colour
change
.
CHAPTER
IV
.
My
life
—
childhood
I
can
scarcely
call
it
—
went
quietly
for
several
years
.
The
eastern
wing
of
the
house
was
left
unused
,
and
rarely
traversed
by
any
but
myself
.
Foolish
tales
,
of
course
,
were
told
about
it
;
but
my
frequent
visits
found
nothing
to
confirm
them
.
At
night
,
whenever
I
could
slip
from
the
care
of
good
but
matter-of-fact
Ann
Maples
,
I
used
to
wander
down
the
long
corridor
,
and
squeeze
through
the
iron
gate
now
set
there
,
half
in
hope
and
half
in
fear
of
meeting
my
father
's
spirit
.
For
such
an
occasion
all
my
questions
were
prepared
,
and
all
the
answers
canvassed
.
My
infant
mind
was
struggling
ever
to
pierce
the
mystery
which
so
vaguely
led
its
life
.
Years
only
quickened
my
resolve
to
be
the
due
avenger
,
and
hardened
the
set
resolve
into
a
fatalist
's
conviction
.
My
mother
,
always
full
of
religious
feeling
,
taught
me
daily
in
the
Scriptures
,
and
tried
to
make
me
pray
.
But
I
could
not
take
the
mild
teachings
of
the
Gospel
as
a
little
child
.
To
me
the
Psalms
of
David
,
and
those
books
of
the
Old
Testament
which
recount
and
seem
to
applaud
revenge
,
were
sweeter
than
all
the
balm
of
Gilead
;
they
supplied
a
terse
and
vigorous
form
to
my
perpetual
yearnings
.
With
a
child
's
impiety
,
I
claimed
for
myself
the
mission
of
the
Jews
against
the
enemies
of
the
Lord
.
The
forms
of
prayer
,
which
my
mother
taught
me
,
I
mumbled
through
,
while
looking
in
her
gentle
face
,
with
anything
but
a
prayerful
gaze
.
For
my
own
bedside
I
kept
a
widely
different
form
,
which
even
now
I
shudder
to
repeat
.
And
yet
I
loved
dear
mother
truly
,
and
pitied
her
sometimes
with
tears
;
but
the
shadow-love
was
far
the
deeper
.
My
father
's
grave
was
in
the
churchyard
of
the
little
village
which
clustered
and
nestled
beyond
our
lodge
.
It
was
a
real
grave
.
The
thought
of
lying
in
a
vault
had
always
been
loathsome
to
him
,
and
he
said
that
it
struck
him
cold
.
So
fond
was
he
of
air
and
light
and
freedom
,
the
change
of
seasons
and
weather
,
and
the
shifting
of
the
sun
and
stars
,
that
he
used
to
pray
that
they
still
might
pass
over
his
buried
head
;
that
he
might
lie
,
not
in
the
dark
lockers
of
death
,
but
in
the
open
hand
of
time
.
His
friends
used
to
think
it
strange
that
a
man
of
so
light
and
festive
nature
should
ever
talk
of
death
;
yet
so
he
often
did
,
not
morbidly
,
but
with
good
cheer
.
In
pursuance
,
therefore
,
of
his
well-known
wish
,
the
vaults
wherein
there
lay
five
centuries
of
Vaughan
dust
were
not
opened
for
him
;
neither
was
his
grave
built
over
with
a
hideous
ash-bin
;
but
lay
narrow
,
fair
,
and
humble
,
with
a
plain
,
low
headstone
of
the
whitest
marble
,
bearing
his
initials
deeply
carved
in
grey
.
Through
our
warm
love
and
pity
,
and
that
of
all
the
village
,
and
not
in
mere
compliance
with
an
old
usage
of
the
western
counties
,
his
simple
bed
was
ever
green
and
white
with
the
fairest
of
low
flowers
.
Though
otherwise
too
moody
and
reckless
to
be
a
gardener
,
I
loved
to
rear
from
seed
his
favourite
plants
,
and
keep
them
in
my
room
until
they
blossomed
;
then
I
would
set
them
carefully
along
his
grave
,
and
lie
down
beside
it
,
and
wonder
whether
his
spirit
took
pleasure
in
them
.
But
more
often
,
it
must
be
owned
,
I
laid
a
darker
tribute
there
.
The
gloomy
channel
into
which
my
young
mind
had
been
forced
was
overhung
,
as
might
be
expected
,
by
a
sombre
growth
.
The
legends
of
midnight
spirits
,
and
the
tales
of
blackest
crime
,
shed
their
poison
on
me
.
From
the
dust
of
the
library
I
exhumed
all
records
of
the
most
famous
atrocities
,
and
devoured
them
at
my
father
's
grave
.
As
yet
I
was
too
young
to
know
what
grief
it
would
cause
to
him
who
slept
there
,
could
he
but
learn
what
his
only
child
was
doing
.
That
knowledge
would
at
once
have
checked
me
,
for
his
presence
was
ever
with
me
,
and
his
memory
cast
my
thoughts
,
as
moonlight
shapes
the
shadows
.
The
view
from
the
churchyard
was
a
lovely
English
scene
.
What
higher
praise
can
I
give
than
this
?
Long
time
a
wanderer
in
foreign
parts
,
nothing
have
I
seen
that
comes
from
nature
to
the
heart
like
a
true
English
landscape
.
The
little
church
stood
back
on
a
quiet
hill
,
which
bent
its
wings
in
a
gentle
curve
to
shelter
it
from
the
north
and
east
.
These
bending
wings
were
feathered
,
soft
as
down
,
with
,
larches
,
hawthorn
,
and
the
lightly-pencilled
birch
,
between
which
,
here
and
there
,
the
bluff
rocks
stood
their
ground
.
Southward
,
and
beyond
the
glen
,
how
fair
a
spread
of
waving
country
we
could
see
!
To
the
left
,
our
pretty
lake
,
all
clear
and
calm
,
gave
back
the
survey
of
the
trees
,
until
a
bold
gnoll
,
fringed
with
alders
,
led
it
out
of
sight
.
Far
away
upon
the
right
,
the
Severn
stole
along
its
silver
road
,
leaving
many
a
reach
and
bend
,
which
caught
towards
eventide
the
notice
of
the
travelled
sun
.
Upon
the
horizon
might
be
seen
at
times
,
the
blue
distance
of
the
Brecon
hills
.
Often
when
I
sat
here
all
alone
,
and
the
evening
dusk
came
on
,
although
I
held
those
volumes
on
my
lap
,
I
could
not
but
forget
the
murders
and
the
revenge
of
men
,
the
motives
,
form
,
and
evidence
of
crime
,
and
nurse
a
vague
desire
to
dream
my
life
away
.
Sometimes
also
my
mother
would
come
here
,
to
read
her
favourite
Gospel
of
St.
John
.
Then
I
would
lay
the
dark
records
on
the
turf
,
and
sit
with
my
injury
hot
upon
me
,
wondering
at
her
peaceful
face
.
While
,
for
her
sake
,
I
rejoiced
to
see
the
tears
of
comfort
and
contentment
dawning
in
her
eyes
,
I
never
grieved
that
the
soft
chastenment
was
not
shed
on
me
.
For
her
I
loved
and
admired
it
;
for
myself
I
scorned
it
utterly
.
The
same
clear
sunshine
was
upon
us
both
:
we
both
were
looking
on
the
same
fair
scene
—
the
gold
of
ripening
corn
,
the
emerald
of
woods
and
pastures
,
the
crystal
of
the
lake
and
stream
;
above
us
both
the
peaceful
heaven
was
shed
,
and
the
late
distress
was
but
a
night
gone
by
—
wherefore
had
it
left
to
one
the
dew
of
life
,
to
the
other
a
thunderbolt
?
I
knew
not
the
reason
then
,
but
now
I
know
it
well
.
Although
my
favourite
style
of
literature
was
not
likely
to
improve
the
mind
,
or
yield
that
honeyed
melancholy
which
some
young
ladies
woo
,
to
me
it
did
but
little
harm
.
My
will
was
so
bent
upon
one
object
,
and
the
whole
substance
and
shape
of
my
thoughts
so
stanch
in
their
sole
ductility
thereto
,
that
other
things
went
idly
by
me
,
if
they
showed
no
power
to
promote
my
end
.
But
upon
palpable
life
,
and
the
doings
of
nature
I
became
observant
beyond
my
age
.
Things
in
growth
or
motion
round
me
impressed
themselves
on
my
senses
,
as
if
a
nerve
were
touched
.
The
uncoiling
of
a
fern-frond
,
the
shrinking
of
a
bind-weed
blossom
,
the
escape
of
a
cap-pinched
bud
,
the
projection
of
a
seed
,
or
the
sparks
from
a
fading
tuberose
,
in
short
,
the
lighter
prints
of
Nature
's
sandalled
foot
,
were
traced
and
counted
by
me
.
Not
that
I
derived
a
maiden
pleasure
from
them
,
as
happy
persons
do
,
but
that
it
seemed
my
business
narrowly
to
heed
them
.
As
for
the
proud
phenomena
of
imperial
man
,
so
far
as
they
yet
survive
the
crucible
of
convention
—
the
lines
where
cunning
crouches
,
the
smile
that
is
but
a
brain-flash
,
the
veil
let
down
across
the
wide
mouth
of
greed
,
the
guilt
they
try
to
make
volatile
in
charity
,
—
all
these
I
was
not
old
and
poor
enough
to
learn
.
Yet
I
marked
unconsciously
the
traits
of
individuals
,
the
mannerism
,
the
gesture
,
and
the
mode
of
speech
,
the
complex
motive
,
and
the
underflow
of
thought
.
So
all
I
did
,
and
all
I
dreamed
,
had
one
colour
and
one
aim
.
My
education
,
it
is
just
to
say
,
was
neglected
by
no
one
but
myself
.
My
father
's
love
of
air
and
heaven
had
descended
to
me
,
and
nothing
but
my
mother
's
prayers
or
my
own
dark
quest
could
keep
me
in
the
house
.
Abstract
principles
and
skeleton
dogmas
I
could
never
grasp
;
but
whatever
was
vivid
and
shrewd
and
native
,
whatever
had
point
and
purpose
,
was
seized
by
me
and
made
my
own
.
My
faculties
were
not
large
,
but
steadfast
now
,
and
concentrated
.
Though
several
masters
tried
their
best
,
and
my
governess
did
all
she
could
,
I
chose
to
learn
but
little
.
Drawing
and
music
(
to
soothe
my
mother
)
were
my
principal
studies
.
Of
poetry
I
took
no
heed
,
except
in
the
fierce
old
drama
.
Enough
of
this
.
I
have
said
so
much
,
not
for
my
sake
,
but
for
my
story
.
CHAPTER
V.
On
the
fifth
anniversary
of
my
father
's
death
,
when
I
was
fifteen
years
of
age
,
I
went
to
visit
(
as
I
always
did
upon
that
day
)
the
fatal
room
.
Although
this
chamber
had
been
so
long
unused
,
the
furniture
was
allowed
to
remain
;
and
I
insisted
passionately
that
it
should
be
my
charge
.
What
had
seemed
the
petulance
of
a
child
was
now
the
strong
will
of
a
thoughtful
girl
.
I
took
the
key
from
my
bosom
,
where
I
always
kept
it
,
and
turned
it
in
the
lock
.
No
mortal
had
entered
that
door
since
I
passed
it
in
my
last
paroxysm
,
three
weeks
and
a
day
before
.
I
saw
a
cobweb
reaching
from
the
black
finger-plate
to
the
third
mould
of
the
beading
.
The
weather
had
been
damp
,
and
the
door
stuck
fast
to
the
jamb
,
then
yielded
with
a
crack
.
Though
I
was
bold
that
day
,
and
in
a
mood
of
triumph
,
some
awe
fell
on
me
as
I
entered
.
There
hung
the
heavy
curtain
,
last
drawn
by
the
murderer
's
hand
;
there
lay
the
bed-clothes
,
raised
for
the
blow
,
and
replaced
on
death
;
and
there
was
the
pillow
where
sleep
had
been
so
prolonged
.
All
these
I
saw
with
a
forced
and
fearful
glance
,
and
my
breath
stood
still
as
the
wind
in
a
grave
.
Presently
a
light
cloud
floated
off
the
sun
,
and
a
white
glare
from
the
snow
of
the
morning
burst
across
the
room
.
My
sight
was
not
so
dimmed
with
tears
as
it
generally
was
when
I
stood
there
,
for
I
had
just
read
the
history
of
a
long-hidden
crime
detected
,
and
my
eyes
were
full
of
fierce
hope
.
But
stricken
soon
to
the
wonted
depth
of
sadness
,
with
the
throbs
of
my
heart
falling
like
the
avenger
's
step
,
I
went
minutely
through
my
death-inspection
.
I
felt
all
round
the
dusty
wainscot
,
opened
the
wardrobes
and
cupboards
,
raised
the
lids
of
the
deep-bayed
window-seats
,
peered
shuddering
down
the
dark
closet
,
where
I
believed
the
assassin
had
lurked
,
started
and
stared
at
myself
in
the
mirror
,
to
see
how
lone
and
wan
I
looked
,
and
then
approached
the
bed
,
to
finish
my
search
in
the
usual
place
,
by
lying
and
sobbing
where
my
father
died
.
I
had
glanced
beneath
it
and
round
the
pillars
,
and
clutched
the
curtain
as
if
to
squeeze
out
the
truth
,
and
was
just
about
to
throw
myself
on
the
coverlet
and
indulge
the
fit
so
bitterly
held
at
bay
,
when
something
on
the
hangings
above
the
head-board
stopped
me
suddenly
.
There
I
saw
a
narrow
line
of
deep
and
glowing
red
.
It
grew
so
vivid
on
the
faded
damask
,
and
in
the
white
glare
of
the
level
sun
,
that
I
thought
it
was
on
fire
.
Hastily
setting
a
chair
by
the
pillar
,
for
I
would
not
tread
on
that
bed
,
I
leaped
up
,
and
closely
examined
the
crimson
vein
.
Without
thinking
,
I
knew
what
it
was
—
the
heart-blood
of
my
father
.
There
were
three
distinct
and
several
marks
,
traced
by
the
reeking
dagger
.
The
first
on
the
left
,
which
had
caught
my
glance
,
was
the
broadest
and
clearest
to
read
.
Two
lines
,
meeting
at
a
right
angle
,
rudely
formed
a
Roman
L
.
Rudely
I
say
,
for
the
poniard
had
been
too
rich
in
red
ink
,
which
had
clotted
where
the
two
strokes
met
.
The
second
letter
was
a
Roman
D
,
formed
also
by
two
bold
strokes
,
the
upright
very
distinct
,
the
curve
less
easily
traced
at
the
top
,
but
the
lower
part
deep
and
clear
.
The
third
letter
was
not
so
plain
.
It
looked
like
C
at
first
,
but
upon
further
examination
I
felt
convinced
that
it
was
meant
for
an
O
,
left
incomplete
through
the
want
of
more
writing
fluid
;
or
was
it
then
that
my
mother
had
seized
the
dark
author
by
the
hair
,
as
he
stooped
to
incline
his
pen
that
the
last
drop
might
trickle
down
?
Deciphering
thus
with
fingers
and
eyes
,
I
traced
these
letters
of
blood
,
one
by
one
,
over
and
over
again
,
till
they
danced
in
my
gaze
like
the
northern
lights
.
I
stood
upon
tiptoe
and
kissed
them
;
I
cared
not
what
I
was
doing
:
it
was
my
own
father
's
blood
,
and
I
thought
of
the
heart
it
came
from
,
not
of
the
hand
which
shed
it
.
When
I
turned
away
,
the
surprise
,
for
which
till
then
I
had
found
no
time
,
broke
full
upon
me
.
How
could
these
letters
,
in
spite
of
all
my
vigilance
,
so
long
have
remained
unseen
?
Why
did
the
murderer
peril
his
life
yet
more
by
staying
to
write
the
record
,
and
seal
perhaps
the
conviction
of
his
deed
?
And
what
did
these
characters
mean
?
Of
these
three
questions
,
the
first
was
readily
solved
.
The
other
two
remained
to
me
as
new
shadows
of
wonder
.
Several
causes
had
conspired
to
defer
so
long
this
discovery
.
In
the
first
place
,
the
damask
had
been
of
rich
lilac
,
shot
with
a
pile
of
carmine
,
which
,
in
the
waving
play
of
light
,
glossed
at
once
and
obscured
the
crimson
stain
,
until
the
fading
hues
of
art
left
in
strong
contrast
nature
's
abiding
paint
.
Secondly
,
my
rapid
growth
and
the
clearness
of
my
eyes
that
day
lessened
the
distance
and
favoured
perception
.
Again
—
and
this
was
perhaps
the
paramount
cause
—
the
winter
sun
,
with
rays
unabsorbed
by
the
snow
,
threw
his
sheer
dint
upon
that
very
spot
,
keen
,
level
,
and
uncoloured
—
a
thing
which
could
happen
on
few
days
in
the
year
,
and
for
few
minutes
each
day
,
and
which
never
had
happened
during
my
previous
search
.
Perhaps
there
was
also
some
chemical
action
of
the
rays
of
light
which
evoked
as
well
as
showed
the
colour
;
but
of
this
I
do
not
know
enough
to
speak
.
Suffice
it
that
the
letters
were
there
,
at
first
a
great
shock
and
terror
,
but
soon
a
strong
encouragement
to
me
.
My
course
was
at
once
to
perpetuate
the
marks
and
speculate
upon
them
at
leisure
,
for
I
knew
not
how
fleeting
they
might
be
.
I
hurried
downstairs
,
and
speaking
to
no
one
procured
some
clear
tissue
paper
.
Applying
this
to
the
damask
,
and
holding
a
card
behind
,
I
carefully
traced
with
a
pencil
so
much
of
the
letters
as
could
be
perceived
through
the
medium
,
and
completed
the
sketch
by
copying
most
carefully
the
rest
;
It
was
,
however
,
beyond
my
power
to
keep
my
hand
from
trembling
.
A
shade
flitted
over
my
drawing
—
oh
,
how
my
heart
leaped
!
When
I
had
finished
the
pencil-sketch
,
and
before
it
was
inked
over
(
for
I
could
not
bring
myself
to
paint
it
red
)
,
I
knelt
where
my
father
died
and
thanked
God
for
this
guidance
to
me
.
By
the
time
I
had
dried
my
eyes
the
sun
was
passed
and
the
lines
of
blood
were
gone
,
even
though
I
knew
where
to
seek
them
,
having
left
a
pin
in
the
damask
.
By
measuring
I
found
that
the
letters
were
just
three
feet
and
a
quarter
above
the
spot
where
my
father
's
head
had
been
.
The
largest
of
them
,
the
L
,
was
three
inches
long
and
an
eighth
of
an
inch
in
width
;
the
others
were
nearly
as
long
,
but
nothing
like
so
wide
.
Trembling
now
,
for
the
rush
of
passion
which
stills
the
body
was
past
,
and
stepping
silently
on
the
long
silent
floor
,
I
went
to
the
deep
dark-mullioned
window
and
tried
to
look
forth
.
After
all
my
lone
tumult
,
perhaps
I
wanted
to
see
the
world
.
But
my
jaded
eyes
and
brain
showed
only
the
same
three
letters
burning
on
the
snow
and
sky
.
Evening
,
a
winter
evening
,
was
fluttering
down
.
The
sun
was
spent
and
stopped
by
a
grey
mist
,
and
the
landscape
full
of
dreariness
and
cold
.
For
miles
,
the
earth
lay
white
and
wan
,
with
nothing
to
part
life
from
death
.
No
step
was
on
the
snow
,
no
wind
among
the
trees
;
fences
,
shrubs
,
and
hillocks
were
as
wrinkles
in
a
winding-sheet
,
and
every
stark
branch
had
like
me
its
own
cold
load
to
carry
.
But
on
the
left
,
just
in
sight
from
the
gable-window
,
was
a
spot
,
black
as
midnight
,
in
the
billowy
snow
.
It
was
the
spring
which
had
stored
for
me
the
footprints
.
Perhaps
I
was
superstitious
then
;
the
omen
was
accepted
.
Suddenly
a
last
gleam
from
the
dauntless
sun
came
through
the
ancient
glass
,
and
flung
a
crimson
spot
upon
my
breast
.
It
was
the
red
heart
,
centre
of
our
shield
,
won
with
Coeur
de
Lion
.
Oh
scutcheons
,
blazonments
,
and
other
gewgaws
,
by
which
men
think
to
ennoble
daylight
murders
,
how
long
shall
fools
account
it
honour
to
be
tattooed
with
you
?
Mercy
,
fellow-feeling
,
truth
,
humility
,
virtues
that
never
flap
their
wings
,
but
shrink
lest
they
should
know
they
stoop
,
what
have
these
won
?
Gaze
sinister
,
and
their
crest
a
pillory
.
With
that
red
pride
upon
my
breast
,
and
that
black
heart
within
,
and
my
young
form
stately
with
revenge
,
I
was
a
true
descendant
of
Crusaders
.
CHAPTER
VI
.
To
no
one
,
not
even
to
Thomas
Kenwood
(
in
whom
I
confided
most
)
,
did
I
impart
the
discovery
just
described
.
Again
and
again
I
went
to
examine
those
letters
,
jealous
at
once
of
my
secret
,
and
fearful
lest
they
should
vanish
.
But
though
they
remained
perhaps
unaltered
,
they
never
appeared
so
vivid
as
on
that
day
.
With
keener
interest
I
began
once
more
to
track
,
from
page
to
page
,
from
volume
to
volume
,
the
chronicled
steps
of
limping
but
sure-footed
justice
.
Not
long
after
this
I
was
provided
with
a
companion
.
"
Clara
,
"
said
my
guardian
one
day
at
breakfast
,
"
you
live
too
much
alone
.
Have
you
any
friends
in
the
neighbourhood
?
"
"
None
in
the
world
,
except
my
mother
.
"
"
Well
,
I
must
try
to
survive
the
exclusion
.
I
have
done
my
best
.
But
your
mother
has
succeeded
in
finding
a
colleague
.
There
's
a
cousin
of
yours
coming
here
very
soon
.
"
"
Mother
dear
,
"
I
cried
in
some
surprise
,
"
you
never
told
me
that
you
had
any
nieces
.
"
"
Neither
have
I
,
my
darling
,
"
she
replied
,
"
nor
any
nephews
either
;
but
your
uncle
has
;
and
I
hope
you
will
like
your
visitor
.
"
"
Now
remember
,
Clara
,
"
resumed
my
guardian
,
"
it
is
no
wish
of
mine
that
you
should
do
so
.
To
me
it
is
a
matter
of
perfect
indifference
;
but
your
mother
and
myself
agreed
that
a
little
society
would
do
you
good
.
"
"
When
is
she
to
come
?
"
I
asked
,
in
high
displeasure
that
no
one
had
consulted
me
.
"
He
is
likely
to
be
here
to-morrow
.
"
"
Oh
,
"
I
exclaimed
,
"
the
plot
is
to
humanize
me
through
a
young
gentleman
,
is
it
?
And
how
long
is
he
to
stay
in
my
house
?
"
"
In
your
house
!
I
suppose
that
will
depend
upon
your
mother
's
wishes
.
"
"
More
likely
upon
yours
,
"
I
cried
;
"
but
it
matters
little
to
me
.
"
He
said
nothing
,
but
looked
displeased
;
my
mother
doing
the
same
,
I
was
silent
,
and
the
subject
dropped
.
But
of
course
I
saw
that
he
wished
me
to
like
his
new
importation
,
while
he
dissembled
the
wish
from
knowledge
of
my
character
.
Two
years
after
my
father
's
birth
,
his
father
had
married
again
.
Of
the
second
wedlock
the
only
offspring
was
my
guardian
,
Edgar
Vaughan
.
He
was
a
posthumous
son
,
and
his
mother
in
turn
contracted
a
second
marriage
.
Her
new
husband
was
one
Stephen
Daldy
,
a
merchant
of
some
wealth
.
By
him
she
left
one
son
,
named
Lawrence
,
and
several
daughters
.
This
Lawrence
Daldy
,
my
guardian
's
half-brother
,
proved
a
spendthrift
,
and
,
while
scattering
the
old
merchant
's
treasure
married
a
fashionable
adventuress
.
As
might
be
expected
,
no
retrenchment
ensued
,
and
he
died
in
poverty
,
leaving
an
only
child
.
This
boy
,
Clement
Daldy
,
was
of
my
own
age
,
or
thereabout
,
and
,
in
pursuance
of
my
guardian
's
plan
,
was
to
live
henceforth
with
us
.
He
arrived
under
the
wing
of
his
mother
,
and
his
character
consisted
in
the
absence
of
any
.
If
he
had
any
quality
at
all
by
which
one
could
know
him
from
a
doll
,
it
was
perhaps
vanity
;
and
if
his
vanity
was
singular
enough
to
have
any
foundation
,
it
could
be
only
in
his
good
looks
.
He
was
,
I
believe
,
as
pretty
a
youth
as
ever
talked
without
mind
,
or
smiled
without
meaning
.
Need
it
be
said
that
I
despised
him
at
once
unfathomably
?
His
mother
was
of
a
very
different
order
.
Long-enduring
,
astute
,
and
plausible
,
with
truth
no
more
than
the
pith
of
a
straw
,
she
added
thereto
an
imperious
spirit
,
embodied
just
now
in
an
odious
meekness
.
Whatever
she
said
or
did
,
in
her
large
contempt
of
the
world
,
her
lady-abbess
walk
,
and
the
chastened
droop
of
her
brilliant
eyes
,
she
conveyed
through
it
all
the
impression
of
her
humble
superiority
.
Though
profoundly
convinced
that
all
is
vanity
,
she
was
reluctant
to
force
this
conviction
on
minds
of
a
narrower
scope
,
and
dissembled
with
conscious
grace
her
knowledge
of
human
nature
.
To
a
blunt
,
outspoken
child
,
what
could
be
more
disgusting
?
But
when
upon
this
was
assumed
an
air
of
deep
pity
for
my
ignorance
,
and
interest
in
my
littleness
,
it
became
no
longer
bearable
.
This
Christian
Jezebel
nearly
succeeded
in
estranging
my
mother
from
me
.
The
latter
felt
all
that
kindness
towards
her
which
people
of
true
religion
,
when
over-charitable
,
conceive
towards
all
who
hoist
and
salute
the
holy
flag
.
Our
sweet
pirate
knew
well
how
to
make
the
most
of
this
.
For
myself
,
though
I
felt
that
a
hypocrite
is
below
the
level
of
hate
,
I
could
not
keep
my
composure
when
with
affectionate
blandness
our
visitor
dared
to
"
discharge
her
sacred
duty
of
impressing
on
me
the
guilt
of
harbouring
thoughts
of
revenge
.
"
Of
course
,
she
did
not
attempt
it
in
the
presence
of
my
mother
;
but
my
guardian
was
there
,
and
doubtless
knew
her
intention
.
It
was
on
a
Sunday
after
the
service
,
and
she
had
stayed
for
the
sacrament
.
"
My
sweet
child
,
"
she
began
,
"
you
will
excuse
what
I
am
about
to
say
,
as
I
only
speak
for
your
good
,
and
from
a
humble
sense
that
it
is
the
path
of
duty
.
It
has
pleased
God
,
in
His
infinite
wisdom
,
to
afflict
your
dear
mother
with
a
melancholy
so
sensitive
,
that
she
cannot
bear
any
allusion
to
your
deeply-lamented
father
.
You
have
therefore
no
female
guidance
upon
a
subject
which
justly
occupies
so
much
of
your
thoughts
.
Your
uncle
Edgar
,
in
his
true
affection
for
you
,
has
thought
it
right
that
you
should
associate
more
with
persons
calculated
to
develop
your
mind
.
"
Now
I
hate
that
word
"
develop
;
"
and
I
felt
my
passion
rising
,
but
let
her
go
on
:
—
"
Under
these
circumstances
,
it
grieves
me
deeply
,
my
poor
dear
child
,
to
find
you
still
display
a
perversity
,
and
a
wilful
neglect
of
the
blessed
means
of
grace
,
which
must
(
humanly
speaking
)
draw
down
a
judgment
upon
you
.
Now
,
open
your
heart
to
me
,
the
whole
of
your
little
unregenerate
heart
,
you
mysterious
but
(
I
firmly
believe
)
not
ill-disposed
lambkin
.
Tell
me
all
your
thoughts
,
your
broodings
,
your
dreams
—
in
fact
,
your
entire
experiences
.
Uncle
Edgar
will
leave
the
room
,
if
you
wish
it
.
"
"
Certainly
not
,
"
I
said
.
"
Quite
right
,
my
dear
;
have
no
secrets
from
one
who
has
been
your
second
father
.
Now
tell
me
all
your
little
troubles
.
Make
me
your
mother-confessor
.
I
take
the
deepest
interest
in
you
.
True
,
I
am
only
a
weak
and
sinful
woman
,
but
my
chastisements
have
worked
together
for
my
edification
,
and
God
has
been
graciously
pleased
to
grant
me
peace
of
mind
.
"
"
You
do
n't
look
as
if
you
had
much
,
"
I
cried
.
Her
large
