Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 696

Marian was extremely effusive about our goodness in coming 'so very soon;' partly, I fancied, to conceal a little embarrassment which she had the grace to feel. 'We did not expect you to be quite so good as this, you know, dear!' she ejaculated, kissing Lilian.

Arthur Trafford was the least at ease. When the rest of us had contrived to assume an everyday tone and manner, he seemed to be growing still more confused and conscious. It was certainly rather embarrassing, for a man so desirous as he of others' good opinion, to be found thus – assuming the attitude of a lover towards Marian Farrar, by the girl whom he had deserted; and so soon after that desertion. The motive was too palpable to be glossed over by any amount of sophistry. To add to his misery, he still loved the girl he had deserted.

The sight of Lilian's white face and grave eyes – the traces of the storm which had swept over her – was too much for him. He stood gazing at her with miserable yearning eyes; and when she presently addressed a few words to him with reference to a book of his to which Marian had drawn her attention, thanking him for the loan of it, and asking him to excuse her having in the hurry of leaving Fairview forgotten to return it, he could endure the torture no longer.

Hurriedly thrusting aside his sister, who had perceived something of what was going on in his mind, and was coming to the rescue, he went out of one of the windows opening to the ground, and we saw him striding down one of the garden paths, as though his only object was to get out of sight as quickly as possible.

Marian looked uneasy as well as annoyed; and watched Lilian more closely, not a little astonished, I think, at her self-possession. There was an awkward silence for a few moments; until Mrs Chichester came to the rescue, and steered us into the shallows again, making talk about nothing, in easy society fashion, until we had all recovered our equilibrium.

Dear little Mrs Tipper came out grandly again; no longer attempting anything in the way of company manners, they saw her as she was, a single-minded, true-hearted woman, with a great deal of natural dignity and self-respect. Utterly disregarding Marian's shocked looks and Mrs Chichester's half-suppressed smiles, she talked about her cottage home and new life with very unmistakable thankfulness for the change which had come about, so far as she was concerned. They had led to it by their compassionate tone, and they could not doubt the sincerity of her replies.

'You mean to be kind, no doubt, ma'am;' in reply to one of Mrs Chichester's polite little speeches. 'But I assure you that as for myself I am more happy and comfortable at the cottage than I have been for many a long day. I was not brought up like gentlefolks, and their ways never came easy to me. My father was a green-grocer, and a very good father he was – I am proud of my father, Mrs Chichester – and though he could not make his children like rich people's children, he taught us not to be ashamed of being what we were. If you don't like your station in life, get out of it as soon as you like; but don't be ashamed of it while you are in it. That is what father used to say; and there was not a tradesman in Camberwell more respected than father was. Jacob worked his way up in the world; but by the time he had got rich it was too late to make me any different.' Smiling at Mrs Chichester's graceful little protest, she cheerfully went on: 'We have none of us been brought up like gentlefolks; and we can't help its shewing. Why any one might see that Lilian is a lady, like her mother before her, and different from such as us, you know;' with a confidential nod towards Marian. 'I once thought that learning French and the piano would do it; but I know better now.'

Marian drew herself up with a few murmured words to the effect that the mistress of Fairview was quite equal to the position she found herself in. But it was of no avail. She was not a gentlewoman in Mrs Tipper's eyes; and Mrs Chichester herself was but a poor imitation of one.

'It is not, I think, usual to find – Camberwell so ready to recognise the claims of birth, Mrs Tipper,' said Mrs Chichester, with the extreme softness which generally accompanied such little speeches from her lips. 'Blue blood is not supposed to reign there.'

'I was not talking about blue blood, ma'am,' returned Mrs Tipper, complacently regarding her. 'Lilian's mother was a gentlewoman;' at which Marian, who had taken offence at Mrs Chichester's remark on her own account, gave it as her opinion that 'blue' blood was all nonsense, and she had never believed in it.

I sat silent, admiring the way in which Mrs Tipper and Lilian shewed their ability to hold their own. Mrs Chichester was inclined to be loftily condescending towards me; but as I met her with smiling cheerfulness, shewing no sign of being aware of my inferiority, the conversation soon languished between us.

Marian did her very best to be kind and conciliating towards Lilian. 'Now you have broken the ice, you will come very often, I hope, dear. It is rather a fatiguing walk up the hill; but there's the carriage always at your service. Of course you will let me send you back now;' going towards the bell as we rose to take leave. 'What I should do without a carriage I really don't know,' she added languidly.

We hurriedly declined the carriage, each very decidedly affirming a predilection for walking exercise; and finding that we were really in earnest, she reluctantly allowed us to depart as we came.

'There; it is over; and we need not go again for ever so long, I am thankful to say!' ejaculated Mrs Tipper with a sigh of relief as we turned homewards.

SEA-SHORE RAMBLES

'Where are you going this year?' is a question that meets every one just now, and is suggestive of coming holidays, when the daily work, be it what it may, is put by for a season, and the tired brain is to be rested and refreshed by more or less change of scene and fresh air. 'Where are you going?' suggests to some perhaps the aspirations of an Alpine climber; to the angler, the joys of uninterrupted days of patient watching by the side or in the middle of a limpid stream in one of our home counties, or in the rougher and more exciting rivers of Scotland and Wales. The schoolboy thinks of long rambles in the fields and woods, or a cruise on the river; whilst Pater and Mater familias consider how best to give rosy cheeks and a month's delight to the little faces clustering round their table. It is chiefly this class of holiday-makers that we have in our minds whilst we cogitate the hints in these pages.

Not that the enjoyment of a sea-side ramble is by any means confined to the young of the household. Nothing is more refreshing to the breadwinner of a family than the perfect absence of restraint and sense of freedom which every well-chosen exodus to the sea-side should produce. Instead of the daily hurried breakfast and rush to catch the train or omnibus which takes him to his office or place of business, there is the leisurely and comfortable meal by the side of the open window, through which the sea-breezes waft, bringing health and vigour with them. The voices of children from the beach, full of life and joy, as they build their castles of sand and dig moats for the water to undermine them, are music to the ears usually half-deafened by the sound of cabs and wagons and the noise of crowded thoroughfares; and we do not wonder that there are many who, though they might go farther if they chose, prefer rather the perfect repose and pure sea-breezes of one of our British sea-coast villages. Perhaps after a few days of this delicious sensation of rest and no hurry, the very want of occupation may pall on the spirit of an active man; and he may find that to sweep over the horizon with a telescope, to sail in a boat, to lounge or loll on a shingly beach, varied by trials of skill in throwing stones into the sea, cannot bear constant repetition without a suspicion of dullness, and that after all he wants something more to do.

The task we propose to ourselves is to suggest what can be done at the sea-side likely to interest and please those who, though not naturalists, are intelligent observers, and who believe in the old proverb, that 'Change of work is as good as play.' The young ones of the household soon become interested in fresh pursuits, and are eager to collect materials for an aquarium, or to commence a botanical collection; or perhaps to search for pebbles, shells, or fossils, if their quarters lie in some favourable position. We will suppose an intelligent mother and father who are not naturalists, who do not boast of any scientific letters after their name, and who belong to none of the learned societies of our land, who yet when at home read the current journals and literature of the day, occasionally attend lectures, and believe that the pursuit of science is interesting as well as useful. Perhaps they may have a medical friend or neighbour who is almost sure to possess a microscope, with which he not only is wont to make pathological investigations, but to interest and amuse his friends. He will often exhibit the circulation of sap in a fresh-water plant leaf, perhaps even the circulation of blood in a frog's foot; and many are the pretty objects afforded by the hairs of a leaf, the sections of a stem, or the wings of a beetle. But if by chance this same microscope be transported to the sea-side, with its proper arrangements for the examination of living organisms, the variety and charm to be derived from its use are endless. Almost every drop of sea-water teems with animal life; and an inch of sea-weed will produce tiny shells, animalcules, and curious forms under the microscope invisible to the naked eye. Then the very water brought from the sea and supplied fresh for the morning bath, or carried home by the little ones in their tiny pails with such delight, half-filled with sea-weed, will often afford such marvels in the shape of zoophytes, or tiny jelly-fishes, as only those can imagine who can recollect their first sight of such wonders under the microscope.

It is very possible that the young ones of such a household as we imagine, are the first to excite inquiry as to the objects around them. They are sure to make friends in their sea-side rambles. The boys will be attracted by some gray-headed old gentleman who goes 'sugaring for moths;' or some crusty old geologist who pulls down the cliffs to get at some coveted fossil, or sits on the beach cracking flints to examine their formation, and delights to give a history of their growth to a youthful audience. The little girls of a family party will to a certainty bring home sea-weeds and sea-shore plants in their baskets, and delightedly take in anything they can learn about them. Father and mother begin to think that after all there is a great deal at the sea-side they do not understand, and ignorant as they are, it is not pleasant to confess it all to the youngsters; so a visit is paid to the bookseller for certain books of reputation, such as Gosse's Year at the Shore; and study begins in earnest.

After a while, the superior intelligence of the elders enables them to master many minor subjects of interest, and to put them in the position of instructors to the children, who are sure to follow them up with avidity. In a little time a sort of extempore aquarium is likely to be formed in the sitting-room or on the outside balcony, if there be one. We can see the row of soup-plates and pie-dishes which serve as domestic rock-pools for their inhabitants. Paterfamilias gets much interested in these, and is found to wait more patiently than usual for the brewing of his morning cup of tea whilst he examines the curious creatures thus imported into his presence. Poking up a sluggish sea-anemone, clearing off dead bits of sea-weed, or removing some unpleasant defunct mollusc, occupies these normally irritating intervals of time. After breakfast, whilst placidly enjoying the fragrant weed, so delicious to the smoker at the sea-side, the boys, who have often seen the fun, inaugurate a battle-royal between two hermit crabs, who, being the very cuckoos of the sea, spend their lives in the shells of other creatures, and have no rightful dwelling-place of their own. The scientific name of the hermit crab is Pagurus, but unlike other members of his class, he has only a portion of his body incased in armour. His hind-parts are soft, covered only by a delicate membrane; but his nature is warlike; and could he not by his own ingenuity supply the wrong done him by Nature, he would fare ill in this combative world; accordingly, he selects an empty shell of convenient size, into which he pops his tender tail, fastening on by hooks on each side, and having thus secured his rear, he scuttles over the sea-bed, a grotesque but philosophic marauder. The impossibility of Pagurus living long without a covering to his extremity is taken advantage of by young and fun-loving naturalists. Selecting two nearly of a size, and removing them from their appropriated shells, they are dropped into a vase of sea-water, and one of the shells, usually a whelk-shell, is placed between them, first breaking off the point of the shell. At once the skirmish begins. One makes direct for the shell, and having first poked in an inquiring claw and found all safe, slips in his tail, and fastening on by his hooks, scuttles away rejoicing. In the case we recall, he was not left long in undisturbed possession. His rival approached with strictly dishonourable intentions, and they both walked round and round the vase, eyeing each other with malignity. No exhibition ever produced more laughter than this amusing and after all, harmless combat, which lasted a full half-hour. The skirmish only terminated when another shell more perfect than the original one was thrown into the water, and the tender tail of the inhabitant poked, so as to make him vacate and enter the new abode, leaving the dilapidated shell to shelter his enemy, who made the best of it, curled up his tail, and reposed in peace after his fatiguing campaign.

In a very short time aquariums multiply, books are read, and excursions are organised to various rock-pools and silent sea-caves, where it is said curious creatures from the deep may be found and secured. We have already in former papers said much about the inhabitants of sea-water aquaria; but the variety that can be found and retained and studied in a temporary arrangement at the sea-coast is much greater than any collection which will bear transportation and town-life. At the sea-side, if one lovely anemone should sicken and fade, it can be removed at once, thrown back into its native element to have a chance of recovery, and its place easily supplied. Queer little fishes which lurk under stones will often live for a long time in a pan of water; and one we once kept in this way had individual habits and ways which were most amusing. After swimming about for some time in an inverted propagating glass resting in a flower-pot, he would sink to the bottom, and then curling his tail round him as a cat would do when making herself comfortable, he would look up with his unabashed eyes and pant away, as if fatigued with his gambols. It was in the evening we caught him, and he was then in full black – evening costume; but next morning we found him arrayed in an entire suit of light brown – cool morning-dress. In the afternoon he again assumed his black appearance.

An excellent plan in the country or the sea-side is to persuade and encourage the children of the household to keep a diary. Everything, however humble in the scale of creation, is worth observing and watching, and is worth recording for after-reference. The motions of a beetle or a butterfly; the flight or song of a bird; the burrowing habits of the mole; the evolutions of a shoal of porpoises; or the commotion betrayed by sea-birds when the herring appear, are each and all worthy a place in the observer's diary. For by such recordings have great works on natural history been given to the world. There are several hours in the heat of the day when to be on the beach or indeed out of shelter is impossible, and we have often found, it difficult to suggest employment for these hours at all consistent with the holiday spirit which pervades everything at the sea-side. Lessons are voted a nuisance and a bore; drying sea-weed and pressing plants found in the evening walks soon becomes tiring; but keeping a diary and chronicling the events of each day is something which seems to carry the interest of the holiday-time with it, and is pleasant to refer to afterwards. The capture of special sea-creatures, their habits and progress, perhaps their death, may be recorded, besides the names of other animals or plants seen or brought home. This, to be accurate, necessitates a little search in such books as may be handy; and the bodily rest so induced is often a great boon to the little folks, who fancy they never feel tired, but get hot and feverish sometimes through overdoing it. We have such a diary before us now, and the first entry is suggestive: 'August 10.– Last night the sea was all on fire; we were just going to bed when papa called out that we might go on to the beach with him; and there were lines of bright light all along the waves. We threw handfuls of pebbles in, and the light shot out brighter, almost like fire-works. Papa called it phosphorescence; and to-day we saw all about it under the microscope, and read about it in Mr Gosse's book. It turns out not to be fire at all, but a curious little jelly-fish, which makes this light. I ran with my pail and got some of the water where the light was; and this morning papa put it under the microscope, and we saw one of the tiny little jelly-fishes which made the brightness.'

Of course this appearance is not uncommon on a smooth sea in hot weather, and many have been the conjectures as to its cause. Our little naturalist is right in the main; but phosphorescence is not caused solely by the presence of one species of jelly-fish, but of various kinds of decaying organisms.

A little hand-net made of muslin slung over the side of a boat will often secure numbers of these lovely transparent creatures. 'A tiny beautiful glass-drop!' cries one of the baby naturalists as she looks at a perfect little Beroe floating in the sea-water drawn up in her little wooden pail. 'See!' says mamma, 'how the sunshine changes its colours, and how curiously it is fringed with tiny hairs, which keep moving to and fro.' Nothing can be more graceful than the movements of this beautiful little creature. A little crystal sphere, delicately striped, and marked with two long tentacles or filaments attached to it, which are in truth its fishing apparatus, and are fringed with slender fibres, which contract and expand apparently at will, seeking for the delicate morsels of food which support the life of this ethereal-like creature. Then on our southern coasts, in the Isle of Wight and elsewhere, we have found other forms of Medusæ, even more charming. The pretty little Turris neglecta was constantly caught in the muslin-net one year. It is like a tiny crystal bell, with an elegant white fringe around it and a bright red coral bead in its centre. The Sarsia prolifera, so funnily described by that humorous and genial naturalist, the late Professor Edward Forbes, is a remarkable instance of the way in which the young ones bud or sprout off from the parent Medusa at certain seasons of the year.

When Professor Forbes wrote his book on the Medusæ, much remained to be worked out and discovered of their nature and organism. He threw out hints of their probable nature, which have been followed up by later naturalists; and no one would have rejoiced more than himself had he lived to see that his own conclusions were not final, but merely the beginning of discoveries which had to be carried on. The whole history of their development would form an interesting subject of thought and investigation for many a long day at the sea-side.

But in seeking for materials for the diaries of our young folks, much that is new and interesting is sure to turn up. One child devotes herself to sea-weeds. She brings them home in her little basket, floats them out in a saucer of fresh-water, and gently introduces half a sheet of note-paper underneath the spray of weed. Carefully lifting it up out of the water, the sea-weed displays itself gracefully on the white paper. If any of the little fronds are out of place, they are gently arranged by means of a camel-hair pencil brush. A bit of linen is laid over the sea-weed, and it is placed between sheets of botanical drying-paper under a press or heavy weight; next day the drying-paper is changed; and in a few days the sea-weed will have dried on its sheet of note-paper and become quite fast. The piece of linen must be carefully removed and the particular specimen named, if it can be identified.

In the diary of our little sea-weed collector we find written: 'In looking for sea-weeds to-day, I found a great many things which I thought were sea-weeds at first, and I tried to dry them in the same way. They were much thicker, however, and would not dry so easily; and I was told they were zoophytes or animals, and not plants or sea-weeds at all. One of them is quite fleshy, and is like a sponge, only very small. I find in Patterson's book that very likely it is really a sponge.' Well done! little naturalist; many an older and wiser head than yours has puzzled over the plant-like appearance of a zoophyte; and surely the history of a sponge from its first stage as a little gemmule to its death and decay in the interior of a flinty sepulchre formed by its own substance, would not be a wearisome lesson. Every department of science is so dependent on another, that no one can now claim to be a good geologist, or botanist, or anatomist who does not know at least something of the other branches of natural history. The rough sketch we have given of some of the occupations and pursuits which may add to the charm of a sea-side visit, is but suggestive of much that cannot be entered upon.

The botany of the sea-coast is special and peculiar, and will repay careful attention. Nowhere else do we see the lovely tamarisk trees forming bright green hedges with their pretty white flowers. The horn-poppy too (Glaucum luteum), with its sea-green leaves and brilliant yellow flower; the sea-holly (Eryngium maritimum) bristling and prickling even through a sea-shore boot; and on the slopes and sandy downs near the sea the beautiful Convolvulus soldenella, with its trailing stem and pretty pink flowers; the tiny sea-shore rose (Rosa spinosissima), the origin of all the garden varieties of Scotch roses, its stems often not rising more than a few inches from the sand in which it grows. Then there is the jointed and fleshy Salicornia, so characteristic of the sea-shore; and the aromatic samphire, only seen growing dangerously on almost inaccessible cliffs. Nowhere have we ever studied the names and habits of plants with the pleasure and enthusiasm we have at the sea-side; partly perhaps, owing to the holiday sensation that must always be associated with the noise of the rushing waves over their shingly bed, in the minds of those who never hear it but when they have thrown work aside for a while. Memories never to be forgotten crowd into the heart at the sight of some well-remembered little plant, growing just where it did thirty years ago, when we were young and enthusiastic, and ready to learn all that we could of the beautiful world, which then seemed made for our delight.

If it ever were the case that the experience of one could be expected to guide others, we would say: Let your young folks read but little during their sea-side holiday; but observe much; write down what they see, and confirm and correct their observations by reference to any good recognised text-book, many of which are now published. The brain will thus get rest, or at least change of work, and will return to its ordinary duties with redoubled vigour and refreshment. The education of our children is now more than ever a puzzling question, and how best to teach them to use their hours of relaxation is involved in it. The naturalist spirit engendered, perhaps, by early rambles on the sea-shore is one to be preciously guarded and cultivated in future life; and those who have most carefully and wisely studied human nature and its tendencies agree as to its beneficial influence on the character. The suggestions we have thrown together, imperfect as they are, may serve to shew that a sea-side ramble may be made just what the seeker for pleasure chooses it shall be. For the schoolboy and philosopher alike, there is something to be studied and much to be wondered at and admired in every rock-pool, on every mountain-side.

SUNSHINE AND CLOUD

IN TWO PARTS

PART II. – CLOUD

CHAPTER III. – TOO BAD OF MR SCAMPLIN

Ten o'clock on the following morning found our party arrived at Dambourne station. It had been arranged that Angela and her brother should spend a long day with Isaac, and if nothing particular were found to be the matter, that he should return with them to town in the evening. On alighting from the train, they started off for Isaac's lodgings at Dambourne End, with the intention of looking at the cottages and garden-ground on their way. As they neared the entrance to the court in which Isaac's property was situated, Herbert could not but notice the sidelong glances which were bestowed upon them by the neighbouring inhabitants. He concluded they were caused by the presence of strangers. Isaac apparently did not observe them. But as the party proceeded up the court itself, the manifestations of interest in their presence became more striking. A group of children who were playing, scampered off at their approach, calling at the top of their voices: 'Ere him come.'

Herbert glanced inquiringly at Isaac, who was looking very complacent. Indeed he accepted this greeting as a sign of the welcome of his tenants on his return to them. As for Angela, she was too busily engaged in picking her way through the large amount of 'matter in the wrong place' with which the court was encumbered, to have much attention to spare for other purposes. For it must be confessed that although its owner had always been an assiduous landlord so far as the collection of rents was concerned, he had not been so assiduous in the improvement of the property either by disbursement, precept, or otherwise.

The children's shouts brought a number of slatternly women to their doors, and poor Isaac's complacency was somewhat rudely disturbed by one virago exclaiming: 'Well, you skinflint, are these some more agents come to look after your dirty cottages?' And by another following up with: 'Ah, you'll just have to dub up some of the money you've screwed out of us, ye ugly stingy thief!'

Isaac was thunder-struck. He had always been received by his tenants with civility, if not exactly with respect; and here was a position in which to be placed before his intended bride! But matters it seemed were not to stop here; for from every turning and from every door angry and bold-faced women emerged. And if things assumed a more hostile shape, as they appeared on the point of doing, the interior of the court would not be a good place from whence to beat a retreat; for if its owner was a Webb, this court was undoubtedly a labyrinth. So with that discretion which is the better part of valour, Isaac hastily muttering 'Let's get away from these blackguards,' fairly turned tail and fled. And not a minute too soon; for he carried away two splashes of mud upon his back, and Angela a portion of a pailful of soap-suds upon her bonnet, as souvenirs of their (soon to be) joint estate.

Without further adventure, Mrs Clappen's shop was reached; and as soon as that lady had got over her first shock of surprise at the sight of Angela, who she imagined was Mrs Webb, and whom she addressed accordingly, she proceeded to throw some light upon the cause of Isaac's reception by his tenantry. Some of them were customers of hers, and she had heard from them all the 'particularities,' as she called them – namely, that Mr Scamplin had very soon after his arrival paid a visit to the cottagers, had announced himself as Mr Webb's agent during his absence from home, and had shewn a paper purporting to be signed by that gentleman, authorising him to act as such; said he had received instructions to give notice that from that day week all the rents were to be raised; had diligently received the rents each week up to the very day before his disappearance, sympathising apparently with the tenants in what he called their harsh treatment by his employer, and in their inability to give immediate notice to quit, owing to the scarcity of cottages in the town; and had otherwise contrived that the onus of these hard measures should fall upon Isaac's devoted head.

An inspection of the box shewed that everything had been turned out of it and the cash removed, but that fortunately the title-deeds and other documents had been replaced. A consultation was held, and it was decided that Angela and her brother should return to town, and that Isaac should remain to set matters right with his tenants. Herbert advised that the robbery should be allowed to pass, since there was no clue as to Mr Scamplin's movements on his leaving the neighbourhood, and extra trouble and expense would be caused by communicating with the police. So in the evening Isaac accompanied his friends to the railway station, carefully choosing a route as distant as possible from the obnoxious court. After their departure, he called on his friend Mr Jones, and requested that gentleman to pay another visit to the tenants and explain to them the mistake that had been made. This, after some hesitation, Mr Jones consented to do.

But Isaac's cup was not yet full. He had no sooner arrived at his lodgings than he received a visit from the sanitary officer, who pointed out to him some very necessary alterations and improvements which must be made in the court and without loss of time; and at Isaac's inquiry, estimating the probable cost at about a hundred pounds.

Poor Isaac! the cloud is rather heavy; but the sunlight of Angela and an income of six hundred a year and more expectations, is streaming behind it.

CHAPTER IV. – WEBB VICE ASHTON

Isaac took no further notice of the robbery, and nothing more was heard of the thief. Mr Jones's attempts at pacification were tolerably successful, and the greater number of Isaac's tenants remained in their cottages on the old terms. At the end of three weeks, Herbert paid Isaac a visit, and received from him the five hundred pounds, for which he gave a receipt, which our hero deposited in his box.

Isaac had wondered several times about young Ashton, and whether Angela had seen or heard anything of him; so he asked Herbert about him.

'He left London,' he answered, 'immediately after he heard of Angela's engagement with you; and the ball we were going to was given up.'

'Poor young man!' exclaimed Isaac compassionately.

'Depend upon it he envies you your success,' said Herbert. 'And now what are you going to do with yourself all the time between this and the wedding?' he asked.

'I have these alterations in the court to see after; and I want to have matters straight for Jones, as I shall put the management of things in his hands when I go away for good. But get over your preparations as fast as you can, Herbert, for I shall be glad to be settled; and unless you want me for anything, I will stay here until I go up to London for the – the wedding.' Isaac brought the last word out with a jerk.

Herbert promised to make all possible haste, and said he would write to Isaac in the course of a week or so. This latter promise he fulfilled by sending Isaac word that he knew of a very desirable house at Brixton; but it could only be obtained by the purchase of the lease. He requested Isaac to let him know by return of post or the chance would be lost, and it was such a bargain. He had spent the greater part of the five hundred pounds on the furniture, which it was desirable to get into its place soon. Angela had been to see the house, and was delighted with it. To purchase the lease and fixtures, two hundred pounds more would be required, and if Isaac liked to close with the bargain, that day fortnight would be time enough for the money. While on the subject of money, he would ask Isaac to lend him a hundred pounds for Angela to make the necessary preparations for her marriage. This he asked on the strength of a remark that Isaac had once made as to his entire confidence in him.

Poor Isaac felt with many a twinge, that he was somehow getting involved. But he felt that it would be over soon, and that when he and Angela were married, and he was in possession of her jointure, he would make up for all this great expenditure by a little judicious saving; so he wrote to Herbert to strike the bargain, and said the three hundred pounds should be ready for him in a week or ten days.