'Be warned, Paul Lessingham-be warned!'

For my part, that settled it. There was a mystery here which needed to be unravelled. Twice had he called upon Paul's name,- and in the strangest fashion! It was for me to learn the why and the wherefore; to ascertain what connection there was between this lifeless creature and Paul Lessingham. Providence might have cast him there before my door. I might be entertaining an angel unawares. My mind was made up on the instant.

'Peter, hasten for Dr Cotes.' Peter pa.s.sed the word, and immediately a footman started running as fast as his legs would carry him. 'Officer, I will have this man taken into my father's house.-Will some of you men help to carry him?'

There were volunteers enough, and to spare. I spoke to Peter in the hall.

'Is papa down yet?'

'Mr Lindon has sent down to say that you will please not wait for him for breakfast. He has issued instructions to have his breakfast conveyed to him upstairs.'

'That's all right.' I nodded towards the poor wretch who was being carried through the hall. 'You will say nothing to him about this unless he particularly asks. You understand?'

Peter bowed. He is discretion itself. He knows I have my vagaries, and it is not his fault if the savour of them travels to papa.

The doctor was in the house almost as soon as the stranger.

'Wants washing,' he remarked, directly he saw him.

And that certainly was true,-I never saw a man who stood more obviously in need of the good offices of soap and water. Then he went through the usual medical formula, I watching all the while. So far as I could see the man showed not the slightest sign of life.

'Is he dead?'

'He will be soon, if he doesn't have something to eat. The fellow's starving.'

The doctor asked the policeman what he knew of him

That sagacious officer's reply was vague. A boy had run up to him crying that a man was lying dead in the street. He had straightway followed the boy, and discovered the stranger. That was all he knew.

'What is the matter with the man?' I inquired of the doctor, when the constable had gone.

'Don't know.-It may be catalepsy, and it mayn't.-When I do know, you may ask again.'

Dr Cotes' manner was a trifle brusque,-particularly, I believe, to me. I remember that once he threatened to box my ears. When I was a small child I used to think nothing of boxing his.

Realising that no satisfaction was to be got out of a speechless man-particularly as regards his mysterious references to Paul-I went upstairs. I found that papa was under the impression that he was suffering from a severe attack of gout. But as he was eating a capital breakfast, and apparently enjoying it,-while I was still fasting-I ventured to hope that the matter was not so serious as he feared.

I mentioned nothing to him about the person whom I had found in the street,-lest it should aggravate his gout. When he is like that, the slightest thing does.

CHAPTER XXVI

A FATHER'S NO

Paul has stormed the House of Commons with one of the greatest speeches which even he has delivered, and I have quarrelled with papa. And, also, I have very nearly quarrelled with Sydney.

Sydney's little affair is nothing. He actually still persists in thinking himself in love with me,-as if, since last night, when he what he calls 'proposed' to me, he has not time to fall out of love, and in again, half a dozen times; and, on the strength of it, he seems to consider himself ent.i.tled to make himself as disagreeable as he can. That I should not mind,-for Sydney disagreeable is about as nice as Sydney any other way; but when it comes to his shooting poisoned shafts at Paul, I object. If he imagines that anything he can say, or hint, will lessen my estimation of Paul Lessingham by one hair's breadth, he has less wisdom even than I gave him credit for. By the way, Percy Woodville asked me to be his wife tonight,-which, also, is nothing; he has been trying to do it for the last three years,- though, under the circ.u.mstances, it is a little trying; but he would not spit venom merely because I preferred another man,-and he, I believe, does care for me.

Papa's affair is serious. It is the first clashing of the foils,- and this time, I imagine, the b.u.t.tons are really off. This morning he said a few words, not so much to, as at me. He informed me that Paul was expected to speak to-night,-as if I did not know it!- and availed himself of the opening to load him with the abuse which, in his case, he thinks is not unbecoming to a gentleman. I don't know-or, rather, I do know what he would think, if he heard another man use, in the presence of a woman, the kind of language which he habitually employs. However, I said nothing. I had a motive for allowing the chaff to fly before the wind.

But, to-night, issue was joined.

I, of course, went to hear Paul speak,-as I have done over and over again before. Afterwards, Paul came and fetched me from the cage. He had to leave me for a moment, while he gave somebody a message; and in the lobby, there was Sydney,-all sneers! I could have pinched him. Just as I was coming to the conclusion that I should have to stick a pin into his arm, Paul returned,-and, positively, Sydney was rude to him. I was ashamed, if Mr Atherton was not. As if it was not enough that he should be insulted by a mere popinjay, at the very moment when he had been adding another stone to the fabric of his country's glory,-papa came up. He actually wanted to take me away from Paul. I should have liked to see him do it. Of course I went down with Paul to the carriage, leaving papa to follow if he chose. He did not choose,-but, none the less, he managed to be home within three minutes after I had myself returned.

Then the battle began.

It is impossible for me to give an idea of papa in a rage. There may be men who look well when they lose their temper, but, if there are, papa is certainly not one. He is always talking about the magnificence, and the high breeding of the Lindons, but anything less high-bred than the head of the Lindons, in his moments of wrath, it would be hard to conceive. His language I will not attempt to portray,-but his observations consisted, mainly, of abuse of Paul, glorification of the Lindons, and orders to me.

'I forbid you-I forbid you-' when papa wishes to be impressive he repeats his own words three or four times over; I don't know if he imagines that they are improved by repet.i.tion; if he does, he is wrong-'I forbid you ever again to speak to that-that-that-'

Here followed language.

I was silent.

My cue was to keep cool. I believe that, with the exception, perhaps, of being a little white, and exceedingly sorry that papa should so forget himself, I was about the same as I generally am.

'Do you hear me?-do you hear what I say?-do you hear me, miss?'

'Yes, papa; I hear you.'

'Then-then-then promise me!-promise that you will do as I tell you!-mark my words, my girl, you shall promise before you leave this room!'

'My dear papa!-do you intend me to spend the remainder of my life in the drawing-room?'

'Don't you be impertinent!-do-do-don't you speak to me like that!-I-I-I won't have it!'

'I tell you what it is, papa, if you don't take care you'll have another attack of gout.'

'd.a.m.n gout.'

That was the most sensible thing he said; if such a tormentor as gout can be consigned to the nether regions by the mere utterance of a word, by all means let the word be uttered. Off he went again.

'The man's a ruffianly, rascally,-' and so on. 'There's not such a villainous vagabond-' and all the rest of it. 'And I order you,-I'm a Lindon, and I order you! I'm your father, and I order you!-I order you never to speak to such a-such a'-various vain repet.i.tions-'again, and-and-and I order you never to look at him!'

'Listen to me, papa. I will promise you never to speak to Paul Lessingham again, if you will promise me never to speak to Lord Cantilever again,-or to recognise him if you meet him in the street.'

'You should have seen how papa glared. Lord Cantilever is the head of his party. Its august, and, I presume, reverenced leader. He is papa's particular fetish. I am not sure that he does regard him as being any lower than the angels, but if he does it is certainly something in decimals. My suggestion seemed as outrageous to him as his suggestion seemed to me. But it is papa's misfortune that he can only see one side of a question,-and that's his own.'

'You-you dare to compare Lord Cantilever to-to that-that-that-!'

'I am not comparing them. I am not aware of there being anything in particular against Lord Cantilever,-that is against his character. But, of course, I should not dream of comparing a man of his calibre, with one of real ability, like Paul Lessingham. It would be to treat his lordship with too much severity.'

I could not help it,-but that did it. The rest of papa's conversation was a jumble of explosions. It was all so sad.

Papa poured all the vials of his wrath upon Paul,-to his own sore disfigurement. He threatened me with all the pains and penalties of the inquisition if I did not immediately promise to hold no further communication with Mr Lessingham,-of course I did nothing of the kind. He cursed me, in default, by bell, book, and candle, -and by ever so many other things beside. He called me the most dreadful names,-me! his only child. He warned me that I should find myself in prison before I had done,-I am not sure that he did not hint darkly at the gallows. Finally, he drove me from the room in a whirlwind of anathemas.