but if consistent in character and success to the end, the historian of the future will not be content to draw simply the comparison which the sketcher of to-day has outlined in this article, but will liken him to one who in every respect was greater than Sherman or Thomas. But whether successful to the end or not General Grant, like Washington, will live forever in the memories of his countrymen as a good and directs his course through the mazes of the polit- ARMADALE. BY WILKIE COLLINS, AUTHOR OF "NO NAME," "THE WOMAN IN WHITE," ETC. BOOK THE THIRD. CHAPTER V. MOTHER OLDERSHAW ON HER GUARD. "MY 1.-From Mrs. Oldershaw (Diana Street, Pim- of us than the motive you supposed him to have. In plainer words, Lydia, I rather doubted whether you had met with another admirer; and I strongly suspected that you had encountered another enemy instead. There was no time to tell you this. There was only time to see you safe into the house, and to make sure of the parson (in case my suspicions were right) by treating him as he had treated us-I mean, by following him in his turn. I "I kept some little distance behind him at first, to turn the thing over in my mind, and to be satisfied that my doubts were not misleading me. We have no concealments from each other; and you shall know what my doubts were. was not surprised at your recognizing him; he is not at all a common-looking old man; and you had seen him twice in Somersetshire-once when you asked your way of him to Mrs. Armadale's house; and once when you saw him again on "The delay that has prevented me from ex- your way back to the railroad. But I was a plaining my strange conduct is, believe me, a little puzzled (considering that you had your delay for which I am not to blame. One of the veil down on both those occasions, and your veil many delicate little difficulties which beset so down also when we were in the Gardens) at his essentially confidential a business as mine, oc- recognizing you. I doubted his remembering curred here (as I have since discovered) while your figure, in a summer dress, after he had we were taking the air this afternoon in Ken-only seen it in a winter dress; and though we sington Gardens. I see no chance of being able to get back to you for some hours to come, and I have a word of very urgent caution for your private ear, which has been too long delayed already. So I must use the spare minutes as they come, and write. "Here is the caution first. On no account venture outside the door again this evening; and be very careful, while the daylight lasts, not to show yourself at any of the front windows. I have reason to fear that a certain charming person now staying with me may possibly be watched. Don't be alarmed, and don't be impatient; you shall know why. "I can only explain myself by going back to our unlucky meeting in the Gardens with that reverend gentleman who was so obliging as to follow us both back to my house. "It crossed my mind, just as we were close to the door, that there might be a motive for the parson's anxiety to trace us home, far less creditable to his taste, and far more dangerous to both were talking when he met us, and your voice is one among your many charms, I doubted his remembering your voice either. And yet I felt persuaded that he knew you. 'How?' you will ask. My dear, as ill-luck would have it, we were speaking at the time of young Armadale. I firmly believe that the name was the first thing that struck him; and when he heard that, your voice certainly, and your figure perhaps, came back to his memory. 'And what if it did ?' you may say. Think again, Lydia, and tell me whether the parson of the place where Mrs. Armadale lived was not likely to be Mrs. Armadale's friend? If he was her friend, the very first person to whom she would apply for advice after the manner in which you frightened her, and after what you most injudiciously said on the subject of appealing to her son, would be the clergyman of the parish-and the magistrate too, as the landlord at the inn himself told you. "You will now understand why I left you in that extremely uncivil manner, and I may go on to what happened next. "I followed the old gentleman till he turned into a quiet street, and then accosted him with respect for the Church written (I flatter myself) in every line of my face. "Will you excuse me,' I said, 'if I venture to inquire, Sir, whether you recognized the lady who was walking with me when you happened to pass us in the Gardens?' "If I am wrong, Sir, in thinking that you recognized my friend,' I went on; 'I beg to "Will you excuse my asking, ma'am, why apologize. But I could hardly suppose it possiyou put that question?' was all the answer I got. ble that a gentleman in your profession would follow a lady home who was a total stranger to still in Somersetshire, and whether he would him.' "There I had him. He colored up (fancy that, at his age!), and owned the truth, in defense of his own precious character. "I have met with the lady once before, and I acknowledge that I recognized her in the Gardens,' he said. 'You will excuse me if I decline entering into the question of whether I did, or did not, purposely follow her home. If you wish to be assured that your friend is not an absolute stranger to me, you now have that assurance; and if you have any thing particular to say to me, I leave you to decide whether the time has come to say it.' consent to take back in small installments the sum of money which my friend acknowledges that she received by practicing on Mrs. Armadale's fears.' Those were my very words. A neater story (accounting so nicely for every thing) was never told; it was a story to melt a stone. But this Somersetshire parson is harder than stone itself. I blush for him, my dear, when I assure you that he was evidently insensible enough to disbelieve every word I said about your reformed character, your husband in the Brazils, and your penitent anxiety to pay the money back. It is really a disgrace that such a man should be in the Church; such cunning as his is in the last degree unbecoming in a member of a sacred profession. "Does your friend propose to join her husband by the next steamer?' was all he condescended to say when I had done. "He waited, and looked about. I waited, and looked about. He said the street was hardly a fit place to speak of a delicate subject in. I said the street was hardly a fit place to speak of a delicate subject in. He didn't offer to take me to where he lived. I didn't offer to take him to where I lived. Have you ever seen him. two strange cats, my dear, nose to nose on the tiles? If you have, you have seen the parson and me done to the life. "Well, ma'am,' he said, at last, shall we go on with our conversation in spite of circumstances ?' "I acknowledge I was angry. I snapped at I said-'Yes, she does.' 666 asked. How am I to communicate with her?' he "I snapped at him again. 'By letterthrough me.' "At what address, ma'am?' "There I had him once more. "You have found my address out for yourself, Sir,' I said. 'The directory will tell you my name if you wish to find that out for yourself also; other "Yes, Sir,' I said; we are both of us, fortunately, of an age to set circumstances at defiance' (I had seen the old wretch looking at my gray hair, and satisfying himself that his char-wise, you are welcome to my card.' acter was safe if he was seen with me). "Many thanks, ma'am. If your friend wishes to communicate with Mr. Armadale I will give you my card in return.' "Thank you, Sir.' "Thank you, ma'am.' "Good-afternoon, Sir.' "Good-afternoon, ma'am.' "So we parted. I went my way to an ap his in a hurry; which is of itself suspicious. What I can't get over is his heartlessness. Heaven help the people who send for him to comfort them on their death-beds! "After all this snapping and snarling we came to the point at last. I began by telling him that I feared his interest in you was not of the friendly sort. He admitted that much-of course, in defense of his own character once more. I next repeated to him every thing you had told me about your proceedings in Somersetshire, when we first found that he was follow-pointment at my place of business, and he went ing us home. Don't be alarmed, my dear-I was acting on principle. If you want to make a dish of lies digestible, always give it a garnish of truth. Well, having appealed to the reverend gentleman's confidence in this manner, I next declared that you had become an altered woman since he had seen you last. I revived that dead wretch, your husband (without mentioning names, of course), established him (the first place I thought of) in business at the Brazils, and described a letter which he had written, offering to forgive his erring wife if she would repent and go back to him. I assured the parson that your husband's noble conduct had softened your obdurate nature; and then, thinking I had produced the right impression, I came boldly to close quarters with him. I said, 'At the very time when you met us, Sir, my unhappy friend was speaking in terms of touching self-reproach of her conduct to the late Mrs. Armadale. She confided to me her anxiety to make some atonement, if possible, to Mrs. Armadale's son; and it is at her entreaty (for she can not prevail on herself to face you) that I now beg to inquire whether Mr. Armadale is "The next consideration is, What are we to do? If we don't find out the right way to keep this old wretch in the dark, he may be the ruin of us at Thorpe-Ambrose just as we are within easy reach of our end in view. Wait up till I come to you, with my mind free, I hope, from the other difficulty which is worrying me here. Was there ever such ill-luck as ours? Only think of that man deserting his congregation, and coming to London just at the very time when we have answered the advertisement, and may expect the inquiries to be made next week! I have no patience with him-his bishop ought to interfere. "Affectionately yours, "MARIA OLDERSHAW." 2.-From Miss Gwilt to Mrs. Oldershaw. "WEST PLACE, June 20. "MY POOR OLD DEAR,--How very little you know of my sensitive nature, as you call it! Instead of feeling offended when you left me, I went to your piano and forgot all about you till your messenger came. Your letter is irresistible; I have been laughing over it till I am quite out of breath. Of all the absurd stories I ever read, the story you addressed to the Somersetshire clergyman is the most ridiculous. And as for your interview with him in the street, it is a perfect sin to keep it to ourselves. The public ought really to enjoy it in the form of a farce at one of the theatres. "Luckily for both of us (to come to serious matters) your messenger is a prudent person. He sent up stairs to know if there was an answer. In the midst of my merriment I had presence of mind enough to send down stairs and say, 'Yes.' "Some brute of a man says in some book which I once read, that no woman can keep two separate trains of ideas in her mind at the same time. I declare you have almost satisfied me that the man is right. What! when you have escaped unnoticed to your place of business, and when you suspect this house to be watched, you propose to come back here, and to put it in the parson's power to recover the lost trace of you! What madness! Stop where you are; and when you have got over your difficulty at Pimlico (it is some woman's business of course; what worries women are!), be so good as to read what I have got to say about our difficulty at Brompton. "In the first place, the house (as you supposed) is watched. Half an hour after you left me loud voices in the street interrupted me at the piano, and I went to the window. There was a cab at the house opposite, where they let lodgings; and an old man, who looked like a respectable servant, was wrangling with the driver about his fare. An elderly gentleman came out of the house and stopped them. An elderly gentleman returned into the house and appeared cautiously at the front drawing-room window. You know him, you worthy creature -he had the bad taste, some few hours since, to doubt whether you were telling him the truth. Don't be afraid, he didn't see me. When he looked up, after settling with the cab-driver, I was behind the curtain. I have been behind the curtain once or twice since; and I have seen enough to satisfy me that he and his servant will relieve each other at the window, so as never to lose sight of your house here, night or day. That the parson suspects the real truth is of course impossible. But that he firmly believes I mean some mischief to young Armadale, and that you have entirely confirmed him in that conviction, is as plain as that two and two make four. And this has happened (as you helplessly remind me) just when we have answered the advertisement, and when we may expect the major's inquiries to be made in a few days' time. what I myself forced you to do, not three hours before the Somersetshire clergyman met with us. "Has that venomous little quarrel of ours this morning-after we had pounced on the major's advertisement in the newspaper-quite slipped out of your memory? Have you forgotten how I persisted in my opinion that you were a great deal too well known in London to appear safely as my reference in your own name, or to receive an inquiring lady or gentleman (as you were rash enough to propose) in your own house? Don't you remember what a passion you were in when I brought our dispute to an end by declining to stir a step in the matter, unless I could conclude my application to Major Milroy by referring him to an address at which you were totally unknown, and to a name which might be any thing you pleased, as long as it was not yours? What a look you gave me when you found there was nothing for it but to drop the whole speculation, or to let me have my own way! How you fumed over the lodging-hunting on the other side of the Park! and how you groaned when you came back, possessed of Furnished Apartments in respectable Bayswater, over the useless expense I had put you to! What do you think of those Furnished Apartments now, you obstinate old woman? Here we are, with discovery threatening us at our very door, and with no hope of escape unless we can contrive to disappear from the parson in the dark. And there are the lodgings in Bayswater, to which no inquisitive strangers have traced either you or me, ready and waiting to swallow us up-the lodgings in which we can escape all further molestation, and answer the major's inquiries at our ease. Can you see, at last, a little farther than your poor old nose? Is there any thing in the world to prevent your safe disappearance from Pimlico to-night, and your safe establishment at the new lodgings, in the character of my respectable reference, half an hour afterward? Oh, fie, fie, Mother Oldershaw! Go down on your wicked old knees, and thank your stars that you had a she-devil like me to deal with this morning! "Suppose we come now to the only difficulty worth mentioning-my difficulty. Watched as I am in this house, how am I to join you without bringing the parson or the parson's servant with me at my heels? "Being to all intents and purposes a prisoner here, it seems to me that I have no choice but to try the old prison plan of escape-a change of clothes. I have been looking at your housemaid. Except that we are both light, her face and hair and my face and hair are as unlike each other as possible. But she is as nearly as can be my height and size; and (if she only knew how to dress herself, and had smaller feet) her figure is a very much better one than it ought "Surely, here is a terrible situation for two to be for a person in her station in life. My women to find themselves in? A fiddle-stick's idea is, to dress her in the clothes I wore in the end for the situation! We have got an easy Gardens to-day—to send her out, with our revway out of it-thanks, Mother Oldershaw, toerend enemy in full pursuit of her-and, as soon as the coast is clear, to slip away myself and join you. The thing would be quite impossible, of course, if I had been seen with my veil up; but, as events have turned out, it is one advantage of the horrible exposure which followed my marriage, that I seldom show myself in public, and never of course in such a populous place as London, without wearing a thick veil and keeping that veil down. If the house-maid wears my dress, I don't really see why the house-maid may not be counted on to represent me to the life. "The one question is, can the woman be trusted? If she can, send me a line, telling her, on your authority, that she is to place herself at my disposal. I won't say a word till I have heard from you first. "Let me have my answer to night. As long as we were only talking about my getting the governess's place, I was careless enough how it ended. But now that we have actually answered Major Milroy's advertisement, I am in earnest at last. I mean to be Mrs. Armadale of Thorpe-Ambrose; and woe to the man or woman who tries to stop me! Yours, "LYDIA GWILT. "P.S.-I open my letter again to say that you need have no fear of your messenger being followed on his return to Pimlico. He will drive to a public house where he is known, will dismiss the cab at the door, and will go out again by a back way which is only used by the landlord and his friends.-L. G." 3.-From Mrs. Oldershaw to Miss Gwilt. "DIANA STREET, 10 o'clock. "MY DEAR LYDIA,-You have written me a heartless letter. If you had been in my trying position, harassed as I was when I wrote to you, I should have made allowances for my friend when I found my friend not so sharp as usual. But the vice of the present age is a want of consideration for persons in the decline of life. Your mind is in a sad state, my dear; and you stand much in need of a good example. You shall have a good example-I forgive you. "Having now relieved my mind by the performance of a good action, suppose I show you next (though I protest against the vulgarity of the expression) that I can see a little farther than my poor old nose? "I will answer your question about the housemaid first. You may trust her implicitly. She has had her troubles, and has learned discretion. She also looks your age; though it is only her due to say that, in this particular, she has some years the advantage of you. I inclose the necessary directions which will place her entirely at your disposal. "And what comes next? Your plan for joining me at Bayswater comes next. It is very well as far as it goes; but it stands sadly in need of a little judicious improvement. There is a serious necessity (you shall know why presently) for deceiving the parson far more completely than you propose to deceive him. I want him to see the house-maid's face under circumstances which will persuade him that it is your face. And then, going a step farther, I want him to see the house-maid leave London under the impression that he has seen you start on the first stage of your journey to the Brazils. He didn't believe in that journey when I announced it to him this afternoon in the street. He may believe in it yet if you follow the directions I am now going to give you. "To-morrow is Saturday. Send the housemaid out in your walking dress of to-day just as you propose-but don't stir out yourself, and don't go near the window. Desire the woman to keep her veil down, to take half-an-hour's walk (quite unconscious, of course, of the parson or his servant at her heels), and then to come back to you. As soon as she appears send her instantly to the open window, instructing her to lift her veil carelessly, and look out. Let her go away again after a minute or two, take off her bonnet and shawl, and then appear once more at the window, or, better still, in the balcony outside. She may show herself again occasionally (not too often) later in the day. And to-morrow-as we have a professional gentleman to deal with-by all means send her to church. If these proceedings don't persuade the parson that the house-maid's face is your face, and if they don't make him readier to believe in your reformed character than he was when I spoke to him, I have lived sixty years, my love, in this vale of tears to mighty little purpose. "The next day is Monday. I have looked at the shipping advertisements, and I find that a steamer leaves Liverpool for the Brazils on Tuesday. Nothing could be more convenient; we will start you on your voyage under the parson's own eyes. You may manage it in this way: "At one o'clock send out the man who cleans the knives and forks to get a cab; and when he has brought it up to the door, let him go back and get a second cab, which he is to wait in himself round the corner in the square. Let the house-maid (still in your dress) drive off with the necessary boxes in the first cab to the Northwestern Railway. When she is gone, slip out yourself to the cab waiting round the corner, and come to me at Bayswater. They may be prepared to follow the house-maid's cab, because they have seen it at the door; but they won't be prepared to follow your cab, which has been hidden round the corner. When the house-maid has got to the station, and has done her best to disappear in the crowd (I have chosen the mixed train at 2.10, so as to give her every chance), you will be safe with me; and whether they do or do not find out that she does not really start for Liverpool won't matter by that time. They will have lost all trace of you; and they may follow the house-maid half over London if they like. She has my instructions (inclosed) to leave the empty boxes to find their way to the lost luggage office, and to go to her friends in the City, and stay there till I write word that I want her again. |