CHAPTER X.
A few days after this occurrence, Rhoda Berry was seated in her mother’s cottage at Luton, plaiting straw. It was interesting to watch her deft fingers weaving and interweaving the fine splits of straw, until they formed a plait as delicate as that of a woman’s hair. The operation appeared as intricate as that of lace-making, until the ends were worked in and the Grecian pattern became visible.
At her feet sat, or rather tumbled, her baby boy, amusing himself also with the ends of straw his mother dropped. Mrs Berry was bustling in and out of the little kitchen meanwhile, occupied with her domestic duties, and discussing, with some vehemence, the contents of a letter she had received that morning.
‘I can’t think why you object to the idea, Rhoda,’ she said. ‘Here’s a fine opportunity for us both to live like ladies again, and you almost turn up your nose at it! My brother Will is not one to go from his word, and you heard what he said, that since his wife is dead and he is so lonely, with his only son at sea, he would be grateful if you and I would take up our abode at King’s Farm for the rest of our lives. I know what that means, Rhoda! That he intends to leave all he has to us. Will is not the fellow to invite two women to his house like that, and then leave them to starve. And this is next door to starvation. It’s drudging from morning to night, and making a penny how and when we can. And my brother keeps two house-servants, fancy that! And I should have the management of them both!’
‘Mother, dear! why don’t you go, and leave me here? I am quite capable of earning my own living, and you know the obstacle to my going to King’s Farm. How could I take my baby there, to disgrace my uncle and all his family? But it is a shame that my fault should be the means of keeping you from a good home. Do write and accept this offer, mother, and I shall do well enough in Luton, never fear. Why! I’m earning thirty shillings a week now, even in the worst times. I shall do well enough. That’s more than sufficient for me and baby. But I’ll never take him into another man’s house to be scorned and pointed at.’
‘Now, Rhoda, what nonsense you talk!’ exclaimed Mrs Berry, impatiently. ‘As if anything would tempt me to part from you and the little crow! As if you hadn’t suffered enough without your mother forsaking you, poor girl! No, I’m not made of such stuff as that! Either we go to King’s Farm together, or we don’t go at all. But I must say I would like to see the roses back in your cheeks, Rhoda! You used to have such a fine colour before you went up to London. It would do you and the little crow such a world of good, too, to be running about the green fields and lanes of Somersetshire, and to live amongst the cows and sheep and chickens. You’d be another woman in a fortnight.’
‘I know I should, mother, but, you see, this is one of the good things of this life that I have put away from me by my sin. It is part of the penance God has called upon me to perform. And that I must prevent your taking advantage of Uncle Will’s offer, also, makes it doubly hard to bear.’
‘Why, you don’t suppose I could have any pleasure in it all whilst my only girl was moping down here by herself, do you? It’s that bothering little crow that sticks in the way. Suppose we get rid of him, Rhoda?’ said Mrs Berry, playfully. ‘Let’s drown him in the water-butt. No one will be any the wiser, and it would be a blessing to get rid of him, wouldn’t it, now?’
She expected to see Rhoda shake her head sadly at the proposal, but she was not prepared to see her catch her child up and press it passionately to her bosom, whilst she burst into a flood of tears. That was so unlike her patient, humble, quiet Rhoda, that Mrs Berry was fairly taken aback.
‘Why, my dear, my dear,’ she cried, ‘what is the matter? What have I said to upset you so? I was only in fun, Rhoda. Surely you know that? I wouldn’t harm a hair of the child’s head for all the wealth of the Indies.’
‘Yes, mother, yes; I know it,’ replied the girl, still sobbing. ‘Only, I feel, I foresee that my poor bairn will be my curse and yours, perhaps, through life. The trouble and the expense are nothing—nothing. But it’s the shame that is so hard to bear, not only for myself, but for you and him, poor lamb, when he is old enough to understand.’
‘Ay, Rhoda, it’s what was prophesied long ago—the sins of the fathers being visited on the children, but you mustn’t make too much of it. You’ve had your share of fretting, goodness knows! and you’ll kill yourself if you get no rest from it. You’re not over strong, my girl, as it is. I’ve watched your cheeks grow thinner for many a day past, and it’s worried me more than enough. This Mr Walcheren is as much dead to you, Rhoda, as if he was in his grave, where I’m sure I wish to goodness he had been before he had ever met you, and so you must try not to think of him, and that’s why I’d like to see a few more miles put between you. It does you no good to live so near London.’
‘Mother,’ said the girl, as she dried her wet eyes, ‘if you imagine for a moment that I think of Fred in any other light than that of another woman’s husband, you are very much mistaken. If he were free to marry to-morrow, he wouldn’t ask me to be his wife.’
(‘More shame for him,’ interpolated Mrs Berry.)
‘He is grieving too much to dream of marrying again, even if he were in the world. His heart is buried in his wife’s grave.’
‘More shame for him,’ repeated her mother, ‘and with that poor little child running about without a father to his name.’
‘Such a thing has never entered my imagination for a minute,’ continued Rhoda. ‘I am glad that we are friends, and proud that he should consider me worthy to give him advice, but there will never be anything more between us. How could there be?’
‘I understood he had some idea of leaving the Church.’
‘He alluded to it, mother, but I do not suppose he will have the courage to carry it out. It would take the spirit of a hero, or a martyr, to brave the sneers and contempt and abuse of the world for taking such a step. And Frederick was never very strong-minded. He must have altered greatly since I knew him if he has the courage of his own opinions.’
‘He’s not like you, then, my dear, who have, I verily believe, the courage of a lion. But I mustn’t stop chattering any longer, or we shall have no dinner to-day. But think over Uncle Will’s proposal again, Rhoda, before you finally make up your mind. He’s too good a man to throw a girl’s misfortune in her teeth. And we shall never get such a chance again—never.’
Rhoda smiled faintly, but she shook her head all the same. Never had her sin stared her so unpleasantly in the face before. To be disgraced for Frederick’s sake—to bear her shame silently and alone—to have to toil through life to maintain her child—all this she had realised long ago, and made up her mind to bear courageously.
But to stand in the way of her mother’s well-doing—to have to see her toiling, even to old age, because of her daughter’s fault—to know that she stood between her and comfort, between her and the love of her own family, between her and rest, and a home more fitted to her position than the one they had occupied since Rhoda’s father died—this was the bitterest portion of the cup she had been called upon to drink.
When Mrs Berry had left her, the poor girl wept long and bitterly, as she tried to decide whether it might not be her duty to bear the shame and contempt which would be her share if she took her child amongst her mother’s relations. It was hard to contemplate. She had hoped the worst was over—that, the inhabitants of Luton having agreed to overlook her misfortune, there would be no more unpleasantness to encounter, but if it was to be for her mother’s sake—her dear mother, who had clung to her through everything—she would pass through the fire a second time. It was less than she deserved, she knew that, and, if needful, she would be brave and bear it.
She dried her eyes again, and turned to recommence her work. But the baby had got hold of her plait of straw, which had fallen to the ground, and taken advantage of his mother’s abstraction to undo half of it, and spoil the rest.
‘Oh, baby, baby!’ she cried. ‘How naughty you are. You have spoiled poor mother’s work.’
As she spoke, and lifted the child in her arms, a shadow darkened the threshold of the open door, and, glancing up, she encountered the eyes of Frederick Walcheren fixed upon her. Rhoda rose in the utmost confusion. She did not know what to say to him. She was as timid of being caught with the child in her arms as if Frederick had never heard of its existence. The first words she stammered were,—
‘You! Oh, why have you come down here?’
‘Expressly to see you, Rhoda,’ he replied, ‘seeing that I know no one else in Luton. And so this is the little chap, is it? He is a sturdy fellow. And his eyes and hair are very dark, Rhoda.’
‘Yes,’ she answered in a low voice.
She could not understand why, under their present circumstances, Frederick should care to allude to the likeness between her child and himself. It jarred upon her. She put the baby down on the ground and began plaiting the straw again.
‘Mayn’t I come in? Are you not going to ask me to sit down? I am rather tired,’ said Frederick Walcheren, ‘and I have a good many things to talk to you about.’
‘Oh! yes, forgive me,’ she replied, as she rose and set a chair for her visitor at the opposite side of the little room.
‘Are you very much surprised to see me here, Rhoda?’ he commenced.
‘Yes! very! It is so unexpected. I don’t know what mother will say,’ replied the girl, in an uncertain tone.
‘I hope I may be able to relieve her mind. But you haven’t looked at me, Rhoda.’
She raised her eyes then, and gave a little exclamation of surprise.
‘Oh! what is changed in you? What have you done to yourself? You look so different!’
‘Cannot you see? I am in plain clothes.’
She recognised the alteration then. He wore a rough suit of grey tweed, such as gentlemen sport in the country, with a coloured tie, and a round hat.
‘You have discarded your cassock! What does this mean? Have you—can you really have left the Church?’
‘I have indeed, Rhoda! Whatever my friends or enemies may think of my determination, I have resolved to follow the dictates of my own conscience, and be accountable to no one for my actions except God.’
The soft rose colour mounted to the girl’s cheeks with pleasure.
‘I am so glad,’ she whispered.
‘So you ought to be, for it is all your doing. Ever since I saw you last, I have been unable to get those words out of my ears:
“To thine own self be true,
It follows, as the night, the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
I was untrue to myself, Rhoda, when I allowed my friends to persuade me to become a priest, but, at the time, I was in no fit state to judge of anything. But I think I might have remained in it for ever, had it not been for your encouragement and brave advice. I suppose I shall make a great scandal amongst my brethren by leaving it, but they will not make it more public than necessary. The churches always hush up anything that does not redound to their credit. But I am willing, in this case, to take all the blame on myself.’
‘And what are you going to do, Fred? You will not prosecute that unfortunate man, I hope,’ said Rhoda, wistfully.
‘Ah! Rhoda, there is no need to do it! The temptation has been removed from my way. He is dead.’
‘Dead!’ she echoed, wonderingly.
‘Yes. It is true. After I left you that evening, I found your persuasions and arguments had taken such hold upon my mind that I resolved to go on to this man’s dwelling at once and tell him he had nothing to fear from me.’
‘Oh, Fred, how good of you!’ cried the girl, with tears in her eyes.
‘I did so, therefore, and saw the man’s wife, whom I found knew the whole story, and thought I had come to accuse her husband openly of the murder. I set her mind at rest on the subject, and she told me he had determined to leave England the following day. He had retired to rest, so I did not attempt to disturb him, knowing his wife would tell him everything. The next day I received a letter from her to say that, on going up to her husband’s room to communicate the news to him, she found him lying dead on the same bed as his little child. She tried to make out his was an ordinary sudden death, but, at the coroner’s inquest that followed, I see they brought it in as suicide. Undoubtedly, the poor wretch had taken poison under the fear of detection. I had heard he was greatly addicted to the use of morphia. Remorse had driven him out of his mind.’
‘And the poor wife and children—what will become of them?’ asked Rhoda.
‘They have plenty of this world’s goods, child, with which to make themselves comfortable, and the peace of mind, let us hope, will come with time. She has a very kind brother and sister-in-law, who flew to her directly they heard the news of her husband’s death, and they will doubtless be her firm friends in the future. And she has three children, Rhoda, to look to for comfort. I am very glad of it, for she is a good woman and wife and mother, and, I am told, believed in him to the last.’
‘Poor lady,’ sighed Rhoda, ‘how sad for her to find him worthless of her regard. The worst thing we can be called upon to bear is, to find our love has been thrown away.’
‘As you threw yours away on me, Rhoda.’
‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ she answered, colouring. ‘I shouldn’t have said it before you if I had.’
‘But I mean it, Rhoda. I have been a scoundrel to you. I never saw it more plainly than I do to-day, to find you hard at work, with this child crawling at your feet.’
‘Don’t speak of it, Fred, please. It is past. Let the subject be tabooed between us. What are your plans? Tell me what you intend to do?’
‘I am going to leave the country, Rhoda. I don’t wish to bring more discredit on my faith and family than I need, so I shall make my home in a new land, and never offend their sight or hearing again. I am penniless, as you know. Every farthing of my fine fortune has gone into the coffers of the Church. I can’t say I don’t regret it, for I do; but I must accept the loss as part of the penalty of not knowing my own mind.’
‘Money does not make all the happiness of this world,’ said Rhoda, softly.
‘No, but a considerable portion of it. However, least said, in this case, soonest mended. Failing it, I must work with my hands for my daily bread, which, perhaps, will be all the better for me. I shall begin low, but shall hope to rise by-and-by. An old chum of mine has lent me sufficient money to take me out of the country and settle me down a bit, and I am going straight to another chum, who has a big ranch out in the Rocky Mountains, and who, I know, will find me some sort of work to do.’
‘But, Fred—’ began Rhoda, eagerly.
‘Wait a minute, my dear. I have something more to say to you. I shall have to go, of course, any way, but you would make me so much happier if you would go with me.’
‘Go with you!’ exclaimed Rhoda, looking up with startled eyes.
‘Yes, as my wife, of course. You didn’t suppose I was brute enough to add an insult to the wrong I have done you.’
‘But, Fred, I am not worthy,’ cried the girl, with crimsoned cheeks.
‘Not worthy! Don’t make me feel a greater villain than I do, by saying such a thing. Rhoda, dear, I never deceived you. You know I never made what is called “love” to you in the old, thoughtless days, which ended so disastrously for you. I didn’t love anybody at that time, unless it was myself and my own selfish pleasures. I adored my poor wife. I am not afraid to say that before you, because you are not like other women. You like a man to speak the truth, not a lot of lies and flattery. But, if ever I loved a woman in my life, you have made me love you. If ever I felt that anyone was absolutely necessary to my existence, I feel that of you. If ever a fellow-creature has been a true, unselfish, trustworthy friend to me, it is you; and I am only speaking the plain truth when I say, if you will come with me to America and share my rough life there, you will make me far happier than I ever expected to be again.’
Rhoda had slipped from her seat and was kneeling by his side, hiding her face upon his hands.
‘Oh, my love, my love!’ she sobbed, ‘I cannot believe it. It is too wonderful for me to believe. Oh! take me with you as your servant, your slave, anything, so as I may remain near you in sickness or health, to look after your comfort and minister to your wants.’
But he raised her up and sat her on his knee.
‘As my slave. Yes!’ he answered as he kissed her, ‘all wives who love their husbands become slaves, but a slave that will be very near my heart, Rhoda—a slave that shall be honoured above everyone in my household. Is that a bargain, my dear? That we shall promise to be true friends and counsellors to our lives’ end.’
‘Oh! Fred, I am so happy. I never thought or dreamt that it could come to this. I should have been content to be your friend only for ever.’
‘Oh, no! you wouldn’t,’ he said, shaking his head; ‘and if you would, I shouldn’t. But remember, I am a beggar, Rhoda. All those magic bank-notes, that procured us so much pleasure in the old days, are gone for ever. It is a hard lot I ask you to share with me. You are marrying a gentleman who has nothing but the title to recommend him.’
‘But, Fred, it is not so,’ said the girl; ‘you forget that you made Mr Sinclair invest five thousand pounds for baby. I never touched it, darling! I never should have touched it during your lifetime. I told Mr Sinclair so, and it is there for you to take when you choose. And, though it is little to what you used to have, still, it is better than nothing, isn’t it?’
‘Better than nothing! I should rather think so! Why, under the circumstances, it is a fortune. But it is not mine, Rhoda! It belongs to the little chap there!’
‘Oh, Fred, what nonsense! Who gave it him? Who has a better right to it than you? Besides, you have given him value in exchange, twice told.’
‘What is that?’ inquired Frederick.
‘A father,’ she whispered.
At this juncture in bustled Mrs Berry from the kitchen, bearing a smoking beefsteak pudding in her hands.
‘Now, Rhoda, my girl, it’s past two. Where’s the cloth?’ she began, but finished up with, ‘My gracious! whom have we got here?’
Rhoda was too excited and happy to wait for introductions.
‘Mother! mother!’ she cried, springing to Mrs Berry’s arms, and nearly upsetting the pudding altogether, ‘it’s my Fred, and he’s going to marry me, and we’re going to the Rocky Mountains together, and oh, mother! you will be able to go and keep Uncle Will’s house for him now whilst we’re away.’
She clung to her mother, sobbing and laughing at the same time, whilst Mrs Berry and Frederick Walcheren could only stand and gaze at one another in astonishment.
‘Rhoda, Rhoda, my dear! be reasonable!’ at last said Frederick, as he took her hand and tried to pull her away.
‘Reasonable! well, I wish she would!’ exclaimed Mrs Berry; ‘how am I to be expected to understand all this scrimmage, when you’ve never had the decency to tell me the man was in the house? Your Fred, indeed! Why, I thought your Fred was a Roman priest. Are you imposing on me, child? and putting another young man on me instead of him?’
‘No, no! indeed, mother!’ said Rhoda, as she caught up her baby, and prepared to leave the room. ‘Oh, Fred! explain the whole thing to mother, and I’ll be back in a minute.’
She flew upstairs, and spent some time crying and cooing over her child, and telling him, amidst her frantic kisses, what a dear, good father he had, and how very, very much his mother loved them both. She bathed her own eyes, too, and smoothed her golden hair, and descended to the little parlour, blushing like a rose, but with eyes beaming with gratitude and affection.
‘Well, here’s a pretty kettle of fish!’ exclaimed Mrs Berry, as her daughter appeared; ‘and so you’re to be off to the United States in another fortnight, and leave your poor mother to go to King’s Farm by herself. A nice, dutiful daughter you are, upon my word!’
‘Oh, mother darling! you know it is the very thing you would have chosen had you been given your wish!’ said the girl. ‘It is sad to part, dear, but it is all for the best! You will be so happy and comfortable with Uncle Will, and the next time I see England,’ she added, in a whisper, ‘I shall not be ashamed, you know, to go down and pay you and him a visit.’
‘Ah, my poor lamb!’ said her mother, looking fondly at her. ‘Thank God! the shame you have borne so bravely is to be lifted off your brow at last. Mr Walcheren, she has been a true and steadfast wife to you! God grant you may reward her!’
Frederick Walcheren stretched out his hand, and drew Rhoda and her child within the shelter of his arms.
‘May God forsake me,’ he answered, ‘if I ever make her weep again!’
THE END.
COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
LIST OF PUBLICATIONS.
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WHAT THE GLASS TOLD.
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THE MYSTERY OF No. 13. (2d Edition.)
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TURF CELEBRITIES I HAVE KNOWN.
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REMINISCENCES OF MY LIFE.
Translated from the German by Katharine Chetwynd.
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THAT PRETTY LITTLE HORSE-BREAKER.
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THE GIRL IN THE BROWN HABIT.
KILLED IN THE OPEN.
OUR FRIENDS IN THE HUNTING-FIELD.
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BEATRICE AND BENEDICK.
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LONG ODDS.
THE MASTER OF RATHKELLY.
THE OUTSIDER.
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THE ROMANCE OF A CHÂLET.
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THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX.
THE MARCH OF FATE.
TOILERS OF BABYLON.
A YOUNG GIRL’S LIFE.
BASIL AND ANNETTE.
THE DUCHESS OF ROSEMARY LANE.
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THE FREAKS OF LADY FORTUNE.
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A YOUNG WIFE’S TRIAL; or, Ralph Ryder of Brent.
A WITCH OF THE HILLS.
A WILD WOOING.
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VIOLA FANSHAWE
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TWO MASTERS.
INTERFERENCE.
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THE HAUNTED STATION and other Stories.
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SLAVES OF THE SAWDUST.
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SYBIL ROSS’S MARRIAGE.
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BLIND FATE.
A WOMAN’S HEART.
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FOR HIS SAKE.
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A SISTER’S SIN.
IN A GRASS COUNTRY.
JACK’S SECRET.
A LOST WIFE.
A DAUGHTER’S HEART.
WEAK WOMAN.
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THE RIVAL PRINCESS.
By MRS ROBERT JOCELYN.
THE M.F.H.’S DAUGHTER.
THE CRITON HUNT MYSTERY.
ONLY A HORSE-DEALER.
DRAWN BLANK.
A BIG STAKE.
By BRET HARTE.
THE CRUSADE OF THE “EXCELSIOR.”
By the Hon. MRS FETHERSTONHAUGH.
DREAM FACES.
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WHOM GOD HATH JOINED.
THE MAN WITH A SECRET.
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THE HON. MRS VEREKER.
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MISS KATE.
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THE NEW DUCHESS.
SHE CAME BETWEEN.
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MY SISTER THE ACTRESS.
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VIOLET VYVIAN, M.F.H.
By F. C. PHILIPS and PERCY FENDALL.
A DAUGHTER’S SACRIFICE.
MARGARET BYNG.
MY FACE IS MY FORTUNE.
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MY GEOFF. (5th Edition.) By John Strange Winter.
THE OTHER MAN’S WIFE. (5th Edition.) By the same Author.
MRS BOB. (7th Edition.) By the same Author.
BEAUTIFUL JIM. (8th Edition.) By the same Author.
A SIEGE BABY. (5th Edition.) By the same Author.
GARRISON GOSSIP. (6th Edition.) By the same Author.
ARMY SOCIETY. Life in a Garrison Town. (10th Edition.) By the same Author.
THE MAN WITH A SECRET. (3d Edition.) By Fergus Hume.
LONG ODDS. (5th Edition.) By Hawley Smart.
THE PLUNGER. (5th Edition.) By the same Author.
THE MASTER OF RATHKELLY. (5th Edition.) By the same Author.
BEATRICE AND BENEDICK. (2d Edition.) By the same Author.
THE OUTSIDER. (8th Edition.) By the same Author.
A LOST WIFE. (3d Edition.) By Mrs Lovett Cameron.
IN A GRASS COUNTRY. (10th Edition.) By the same Author.
JACK’S SECRET. (3d Edition.) By the same Author.
BLIND FATE. By Mrs Alexander.
BY WOMAN’S WIT. (6th Edition.) By the same Author.
THE HON. MRS VEREKER. By Mrs Hungerford, Author of “Molly Bawn.”
APRIL’S LADY. (3d Edition.) By the same Author.
LANDING A PRIZE. (7th Edition.) By Mrs Edward Kennard.
THAT PRETTY LITTLE HORSE-BREAKER. (4th Edition.) By the same Author.
A HOMBURG BEAUTY. (3d Edition.) By the same Author.
MATRON OR MAID? (4th Edition.) By the same Author.
A CRACK COUNTY. (6th Edition.) By the same Author.
A REAL GOOD THING. (8th Edition.) By the same Author.
STRAIGHT AS A DIE. (8th Edition.) By the same Author.
THE GIRL IN THE BROWN HABIT. (8th Edition.) By the same Author.
OUR FRIENDS IN THE HUNTING-FIELD. By the same Author.
KILLED IN THE OPEN. (9th Edition.) By the same Author.
TWO MASTERS. (3rd Edition.) By B. M. Croker.
MISS KATE; or, Confessions of a Caretaker. (4th Edition.) By “Rita.”
TOILERS OF BABYLON. (2d Edition.) By B. L. Farjeon.
THE DUCHESS OF ROSEMARY LANE. (2d Edition.) By the same Author.
THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX. By the same Author.
A YOUNG GIRL’S LIFE. (3d Edition.) By the same Author.
BASIL AND ANNETTE. (3d Edition.) By the same Author.
THE RIVAL PRINCESS. (3d Edition.) By Justin M‘Carthy, M.P., and Mrs Campbell Praed.
A WOMAN’S FACE. By Florence Warden, Author of “The House on the Marsh,” &c.
A WITCH OF THE HILLS. (3d Edition.) By the same Author.
VIOLET VYVIAN, M.F.H. (3d Edition.) By May Crommelin and J. Moray Brown.
THE FREAKS OF LADY FORTUNE. By May Crommelin.
DAUGHTERS OF BELGRAVIA. By Mrs Alexander Fraser.
SYBIL ROSS’S MARRIAGE: The Romance of an Inexperienced Girl. (3d Edition.) By F. C. Philips and C. J. Wills.
A DAUGHTER’S SACRIFICE. (3d Edition.) By F. C. Philips and Percy Fendall.
MARGARET BYNG. By the same Authors.
THE HEART OF JANE WARNER. By Florence Marryat.
MY SISTER THE ACTRESS. By the same Author.
UNDER THE LILIES AND ROSES. By the same Author.
KATE VALLIANT. By Annie Thomas (Mrs Pender Cudlip).
MATED WITH A CLOWN. By Lady Constance Howard.
KEITH’S WIFE. By Lady Violet Greville.
THE CRUSADE OF THE “EXCELSIOR.” By Bret Harte.
SLAVES OF THE SAWDUST. (A New and Original Work.) By Amye Reade, Author of “Ruby,” &c.
NOT EASILY JEALOUS. By Iza Duffus Hardy.
ONLY A LOVE STORY. By the same Author.
POISONED ARROWS. By Jean Middlemass.
THE SAVAGE QUEEN: A Romance of the Natives of Van Dieman’s Land. (3d Edition.) By Hume Nisbet.
THE BUSHRANGER’S SWEETHEART. An Australian Romance. (5th Edition.) By the same Author.
THE M.F.H.’S DAUGHTER. By Mrs Robert Jocelyn.
THE CRITON HUNT MYSTERY. By the same Author.
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THAT MRS SMITH. (2d Edit.) By the same Author.
THREE GIRLS. (3d Edit.) By the same Author.
MERE LUCK. (3d Edition.) By the same Author.
LUMLEY THE PAINTER. (3d Edition.) By the same Author.
GOOD-BYE. (7th Edition.) By the same Author.
HE WENT FOR A SOLDIER. (8th Edition.) By the same Author.
FERRERS COURT. (6th Edit.) By the same Author.
BUTTONS. (7th Edition.) By the same Author.
A LITTLE FOOL. (10th Edit.) By the same Author.
MY POOR DICK. (Illustrated by Maurice Greiffenhagen.) (9th Edition.) By the same Author.
BOOTLES’ CHILDREN. (Illustrated by J. Bernard Partridge.) (11th Edition.) By the same Author.
THE CONFESSIONS OF A PUBLISHER. By the same Author.
MIGNON’S HUSBAND. (14th Edition.) By the same Author.
THAT IMP. (12th Edition.) By the same Author.
MIGNON’S SECRET. (17th Edition.) By the same Author.
ON MARCH. (10th Edition.) By the same Author.
IN QUARTERS. (11th Edit.) By the same Author.
THE GENTLEMAN WHO VANISHED. (2d Edition.) By Fergus Hume.
THE PICCADILLY PUZZLE. By the same Author.
THE POWER OF AN EYE. By Mrs F. St Clair Grimwood, Author of “My Three Years in Manipur.”
A VERY YOUNG COUPLE. By B. L. Farjeon, Author of “Toilers of Babylon,” &c.
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A STRANGE ENCHANTMENT. By the same Author.
A SILENT TRAGEDY. By Mrs J. H. Riddell, Author of “George Geith of Fen Court,” &c.
THE MYSTERY OF NO. 13. (2d Edit.) By Ellen Mathers, Author of “Comin’ Thro’ the Rye,” &c.
WHAT THE GLASS TOLD. By the same Author.
A STUDY OF A WOMAN; or, Venus Victrix. By the same Author.
MY JO, JOHN. (2nd Edition.) By the same Author.
T’OTHER DEAR CHARMER. By the same Author.
TOM’S WIFE. By Lady Margaret Majendie Author of “Fascination,” “Sisters-in-Law,” &c.
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GRAVE LADY JANE. By the same Author.
THE DOCTOR’S SECRET. (2d Edition.) By “Rita,” Author of “Dame Durden,” “Sheba,” &c.
THE SEVENTH DREAM. By the same Author.
VANITY’S DAUGHTER. By Hawley Smart.
A CONQUERING HEROINE. By Mrs Hungerford, Author of “Molly Bawn,” &c.
A MAD PRANK. By the same Author.
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FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS. By Florence Marryat.
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Transcriber’s note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. The following Printer errors have been changed.
| =CHANGED= | =FROM= | =TO= |
| Page [4]: | “when be comes home” | “when he comes home” |
| Page [8]: | “England for awhile” | “England for while” |
| Page [35]: | “no more mad that you” | “no more mad than you” |
| Page [59]: | “his face here, I’l” | “his face here, I’ll” |
| Page [70]: | “his blood-shot eyes” | “his bloodshot eyes” |
| Page [72]: | “of every-day life” | “of everyday life” |
| Page [80]: | “its lustre less eyes” | “its lustreless eyes” |
| Page [90]: | “wont know yourself” | “won’t know yourself” |
| Page [122]: | “he had a great burthen” | “he had a great burden” |
| Page [139]: | “it’s proper light” | “its proper light” |
| Page [149]: | “push backwards insteads” | “push backwards instead” |
| Page [157]: | “meet ber death” | “meet her death” |
| Page [158]: | “where Catholics tells” | “where Catholics tell” |
| Page [162]: | “dear Fred, some one” | “dear Fred, someone” |
| Page [173]: | “--any-one of which” | “--any one of which” |
| Page [174]: | “effect! At anyrate,” | “effect! At any rate,” |
| Page [217]: | “why have you came” | “why have you come” |
| Page [224]: | “ranche out in the Rocky” | “ranch out in the Rocky” |
| Page [235]: | “Maurice Grieffenhagen” | “Maurice Greiffenhagen” |
| Page [247]: | “GRAVE LADY JANE. by” | “GRAVE LADY JANE. By” |
| Page [248]: | “Its Action is o a” | “Its Action is of a” |
| Page [248]: | “in their way, w th” | “in their way, with” |