The Greatest Novels of Charles Reade. Charles Reade Reade

videlicet, to set honest men by the ears.

      At half-past eight o'clock the carriage came round to the front door. Its body, all glorious with the Peyton armorials, and with patches of rusty gilding, swung exceedingly loose on long leathern straps instead of springs, and the fore-wheels were a mile from the hind-wheels; more or less. A pretentious and horrible engine; drawn by four horses; only, two of them being ponies impaired the symmetry and majestic beauty of the pageant. Old Joe drove the wheelers; his boy rode the leaders; and every now and then got oft and kicked them in the pits of their stomachs, or pierced them with hedge-stakes, to rouse their mettle. Thus encouraged and stimulated, they effected an average of four miles and a half per hour, notwithstanding the snow, and reached Bolton just in time. At the lodge, Francis got out, and lay in ambush. But only for a time. He did not think it orthodox to be present at a religious ceremony of his Protestant friends: nor common-sense-o-dox to turn his back upon their dinner.

      The carriage drew up at the hall door. It was wide open, and the hall lined with servants, male and female, in black. In the midst, between these two rows, stood Griffith Gaunt, bareheaded, to welcome the guests. His arm was in a sling. He had received all the others in the middle of the hall; but he came to the threshold to meet Kate and her father. He bowed low and respectfully; then gave his left hand to Kate to conduct her after the formal fashion of the day. The sight of his arm in a sling startled and affected her; and with him giving her his hand almost at the same moment, she pressed it, or indeed squeezed it nervously, and it was in her heart to say something kind and womanly: but her father was close behind, and she was afraid of saying something too kind, if she said anything at all; so Griffith only got a little gentle nervous pinch. But that was more than he expected, and sent a thrill of delight through him; his brown eyes replied with a volume, and holding her hand up in the air, as high as her ear, and keeping at an incredible distance, he led her solemnly to a room where the other ladies were, and left her there with a profound bow.

      The Peytons were nearly the last persons expected; and soon after their arrival the funeral procession formed. This part was entirely arranged by the undertaker. The monstrous custom of forbidding ladies to follow their dead had not yet occurred even to the idiots of the nation; and Mr. Peyton and his daughter were placed in the second carriage. The first contained Griffith Gaunt alone, as head mourner. But the Peytons were not alone; no other relation of the deceased being present, the undertaker put Mr. Neville with the Peytons, because he was heir to a baronetcy.

      Kate was much startled, and astonished to see him come out into the hall. But, when he entered the carriage, she welcomed him warmly. "Oh, I am so glad to see you here," said she.

      "Guess by that what my delight at meeting you must be," said he.

      She blushed and turned it off. "I mean, that your coming here gives me good hopes there will be no more mischief." She then lowered her voice, and begged him on no account to tell her father of her ride to Scutchemsee Nob.

      "Not a word," said George. He knew the advantage of sharing a secret with a fair lady. He proceeded to whisper something very warm in her ear: she listened to some of it; but then remonstrated, and said, "Are you not ashamed to go on so at a funeral? Oh, do pray leave compliments a moment, and think of your latter end."

      He took this suggestion, as indeed he did everything from her, in good part; and composed his visage into a decent gravity.

      Soon after this they reached the church, and buried the deceased in his family vault.

      People, who are not bereaved by the death, are always inclined to chatter coming home from a funeral. Kate now talked to Neville of her own accord, and asked him if he had spoken to his host. He said "Yes;" and, more than that, had come to a clear understanding with him. "We agreed that it was no use fighting for you. I said if either of us two was to kill the other, it does not follow you would wed the survivor."

      "Me wed the wretch!" said Kate. "I should abhor him, and go into a convent in spite of you all, and end my days praying for the murdered man's soul."

      "Neither of us is worth all that," suggested Neville, with an accent of conviction.

      "That is certain," replied the lady, drily; "so please not to do it."

      He bade her set her mind at ease: they had both agreed to try and win her by peaceful arts.

      "Then a pretty life mine will be."

      "Well, I think it will, till you decide."

      "I could easily decide, if it were not for giving pain to—somebody."

      "Oh, you can't help that. My sweet mistress, you are not the first that has had to choose between two worthy men. For, in sooth, I have nothing to say against my rival neither. I know him better than I did: he is a very worthy gentleman though he is damnably in my way."

      "And you are a very noble one to say so."

      "And you are one of those that make a man noble: I feel that petty arts are not the way to win you, and I scorn them. Sweet Mistress Kate, I adore you. You are the best and noblest, as well as the loveliest of women."

      "Oh, hush! Mr. Neville, I am a creature of clay; and you are another; and both of us coming home from a funeral. Do think of that."

      Here they were interrupted by Mr. Peyton asking Kate to lend him a shilling for the groom. Kate replied aloud that she had left her purse at home, then whispered in his ear that she had not a shilling in the world: and this was strictly true; for her little all was Tom Leicester's now. With this they reached the Hall, and the coy Kate gave both Neville and Gaunt the slip, and got amongst her mates. There her tongue went as fast as her neighbors', though she had just come back from a funeral.

      But soon the ladies and gentlemen were all invited to the reading of the Will.

      And now chance, which had hitherto befriended Neville by throwing him into one carriage with Kate, gave Gaunt a turn. He found her a moment alone and near the embrasure of a window. He seized the opportunity and asked her might he say a word in her ear. "What a question!" said she, gaily; and the next moment they had the embrasure to themselves.

      "Kate," said he, hurriedly, "in a few minutes, I suppose, I shall be master of this place. Now you told me once you would rather be an abbess or a nun than marry me."

      "Did I?" said Kate. "What a sensible speech! But the worst of it is I'm never in the same mind long."

      "Well," replied Griffith, "I think of all that falls from your lips; and your will is mine; only for pity's sake do not wed any man but me. You have known me so long; why, you know the worst of me by this time: and you have only seen the outside of him."

      "Detraction! is that what you wanted to say to me?" asked Kate, freezing suddenly.

      "Nay, nay; it was about the abbey. I find you can be an abbess without going and shutting yourself up and breaking one's heart. The way is, you build a convent in Ireland, and endow it; and then you send a nun over to govern it under you. Bless your heart, you can do anything with money; and I shall have money enough before the day is over. To be sure I did intend to build a kennel and keep harriers; and you know that costs a good penny: but we couldn't manage a kennel and an abbey too: so now down goes the English kennel and up goes the Irish abbey."

      "But you are a Protestant gentleman. You could not found a nunnery."

      "But my wife could. Whose business is it what she does with her money?"

      "With your money, you mean."

      "Nay with hers, when I give it her with all my heart."

      "Well, you astonish me," said Kate, thoughtfully. "Tell me, now, who put it into your head to bribe a poor girl in this abominable way?"

      "Who put it into my head?" said Griffith, looking rather puzzled: "why I suppose my heart put it into my head."

      Kate smiled very sweetly at this answer, and a wild hope thrilled through Griffith that perhaps she might be brought to terms.

      But at this crisis the lawyer from London was announced, and Griffith, as master of the house, was obliged to seat the company. He