The Bertrams

  CHAPTER III.

  RETROSPECTIVE.--SECOND YEAR.

  The next year passed almost more uncomfortably for George Bertram andfor the ladies at Littlebath than had the latter months of the lastyear. Its occurrences can, I hope, be stated less in detail, so thatwe may get on without too great delay to the incidents of the periodwhich is to be awhile for us the present existing time.

  This year was Harcourt's great year. In January and February andMarch he did great things in Chancery. In April he came intoParliament. In May and June and July, he sat on committees. InAugust he stuck to his work till London was no longer endurable. Inthe latter part of autumn there was an extraordinary session, duringwhich he worked like a horse. He studied the corn-law question aswell as sundry legal reforms all the Christmas week, and in thefollowing spring he came out with his great speech on behalf of SirRobert Peel. But, nevertheless, he found time to devote to the caresand troubles of Miss Baker and Miss Waddington.

  In the spring Bertram paid one or two visits to Littlebath; but itmay be doubted whether he made himself altogether agreeable there. Hestated broadly that he was doing little or nothing at his profession:he was, he said, engaged on other matters; the great excitement towork, under which he had commenced, had been withdrawn from him;and under these circumstances he was not inclined to devote himselfexclusively to studies which certainly were not to his taste. Hedid not condescend again to ask Caroline to revoke her sentence; hepressed now for no marriage; but he made it quite apparent that allthe changes in himself for the worse--and there had been changes forthe worse--were owing to her obstinacy.

  He was now living a life of dissipation. I do not intend that itshould be understood that he utterly gave himself up to pleasuresdisgraceful in themselves, that he altogether abandoned the reins,and allowed himself to live such a life as is passed by some youngmen in London. His tastes and appetites were too high for this. Hedid not sink into a slough of despond. He did not become filthy andvicious, callous and bestial; but he departed very widely astray fromthose rules which governed him during his first six months in London.

  All this was well known at Littlebath; nor did Bertram at allendeavour to conceal the truth. Indeed, it may be said of him, thathe never concealed anything. In this especial case he took a pride inletting Caroline know the full extent of the evil she had done.

  It was a question with them whether he had not now given up the baras a profession altogether. He did not say that he had done so, andit was certainly his intention to keep his terms, and to be called;but he had now no longer a legal Gamaliel. Some time in the Aprilof this year, Mr. Die had written to him a very kind little note,begging him to call one special morning at the chambers in StoneBuildings, if not very inconvenient to him. Bertram did call, and Mr.Die, with many professions of regard and regret, honestly returned tohim his money paid for that year's tutelage. "It had been," he said,"a pleasure and a pride to him to have Mr. Bertram in his chambers;and would still be so to have him there again. But he could not takea gentleman's money under a false pretence; as it seemed to be nolonger Mr. Bertram's intention to attend there, he must beg to refundit." And he did refund it accordingly. This also was made known tothe ladies at Littlebath.

  He was engaged, he had said, on other matters. This also was true.During the first six months of his anger, he had been content to beidle; but idleness did not suit him, so he sat himself down and wrotea book. He published this book without his name, but he told them atLittlebath of his authorship; and some one also told of it at Oxford.The book--or bookling, for it consisted but of one small demy-octavovolume--was not such as delighted his friends either at Littlebath orat Oxford, or even at those two Hampshire parsonages. At Littlebathit made Miss Baker's hair stand on end, and at Oxford it gave riseto a suggestion in some orthodox quarters that Mr. Bertram should berequested to resign his fellowship.

  It has been told how, sitting on the Mount of Olives, he had beenready to devote himself to the service of the church to which hebelonged. Could his mind have been known at that time, how proudmight one have been of him! His mind was not then known; but now,after a lapse of two years, he made it as it were public, and Orielwas by no means proud of him.

  The name of his little book was a very awful name. It was called the"Romance of Scripture." He began in his first chapter with an earnestremonstrance against that condemnation which he knew the injustice ofthe world would pronounce against him. There was nothing in his book,he said, to warrant any man in accusing him of unbelief. Let thosewho were so inclined to accuse him read and judge. He had calledthings by their true names, and that doubtless by some would beimputed to him as a sin. But it would be found that he had gone nofurther in impugning the truth of Scripture than many other writersbefore him, some of whom had since been rewarded for their writingsby high promotion in the church. The bishops' bench was the rewardfor orthodoxy; but there had been a taste for liberal deans. He hadgone no further, he said, than many deans.

  It was acknowledged, he went on to say, that all Scripture statementscould not now be taken as true to the letter; particularly not astrue to the letter as now adopted by Englishmen. It seemed to himthat the generality of his countrymen were of opinion that theinspired writers had themselves written in English. It was forgottenthat they were Orientals, who wrote in the language natural to them,with the customary grandiloquence of orientalism, with the poeticexaggeration which, in the East, was the breath of life. It wasforgotten also that they wrote in ignorance of those natural truthswhich men had now acquired by experience and induction, and not byrevelation. Their truth was the truth of heaven, not the truth ofearth. No man thought that the sun in those days did rise and set,moving round the earth, because a prolongation of the day had beendescribed by the sun standing still upon Gibeon. And then he took thebook of Job, and measured that by the light of his own candle--and soon.

  The book was undoubtedly clever, and men read it. Women also read it,and began to talk, some of them at least, of the blindness of theirmothers who had not had wit to see that these old chronicles werevery much as other old chronicles. "The Romance of Scripture" wasto be seen frequently in booksellers' advertisements, and Mr. Mudietold how he always had two thousand copies of it on his shelves.So our friend did something in the world; but what he did do wasunfortunately not applauded by his friends.

  Harcourt very plainly told him that a man who scribbled never did anygood at the bar. The two trades, he said, were not compatible.

  "No," said George, "I believe not. An author must be nothing if he donot love truth; a barrister must be nothing if he do." Harcourt wasno whit annoyed by the repartee, but having given his warning, wenthis way to his work.

  It was very well known that the "Romance of Scripture" was Bertram'swork, and there was a comfortable row about it at Oxford. The rowwas all private, of course--as was necessary, the book having beenpublished without the author's name. But much was said, and manyletters were written. Bertram, in writing to the friend at Oriel whotook up the cudgels in his defence, made three statements. First,that no one at Oxford had a right to suppose that he was the author.Second, that he was the author, and that no one at Oxford had a rightto find fault with what he had written. Thirdly, that it was quite amatter of indifference to him who did find fault. To this, however,he added, that he was ready to resign his fellowship to-morrow if theCommon-room at Oriel wished to get rid of him.

  So the matter rested--for awhile. Those who at this time knew Bertrambest were confident enough that his belief was shaken, in spite ofthe remonstrance so loudly put forth in his first pages. He hadintended to be honest in his remonstrance; but it is not every manwho exactly knows what he does believe. Every man! Is there, one mayalmost ask, any man who has such knowledge? We all believe in theresurrection of the body; we say so at least, but what do we believeby it?

  Men may be firm believers and yet doubt some Bible statements--doubtthe letter of such statements. But men who are firm believers willnot be those to put forth their
doubts with all their eloquence. Suchmen, if they devote their time to Scripture history, will not bearrested by the sun's standing on Gibeon. If they speak out at all,they will speak out rather as to all they do believe than as to thelittle that they doubt. It was soon known to Bertram's world thatthose who regarded him as a freethinker did him no great injustice.

  This and other things made them very unhappy at Littlebath. The veryfact of George having written such a book nearly scared Miss Bakerout of her wits. She, according to her own lights, would have placedfreethinkers in the same category with murderers, regicides, andhorrid mysterious sinners who commit crimes too dreadful for women tothink of. She would not believe that Bertram was one of these; butit was fearful to think that any one should so call him. Caroline,perhaps, would not so much have minded this flaw in her futurehusband's faith if it had not been proof of his unsteadiness, of hisunfitness for the world's battle. She remembered what he had said toher two years since on the Mount of Olives; and then thought of whathe was saying now. Everything with him was impulse and enthusiasm.All judgment was wanting. How should such as he get on in the world?And had she indissolubly linked her lot to that of one who was soincapable of success? No; indissolubly she had not so linked it; notas yet.

  One night she opened her mind to her aunt, and spoke very seriouslyof her position. "I hardly know what I ought to do," she said. "Iknow how much I owe him; I know how much he has a right to expectfrom me. And I would pay him all I owe; I would do my duty by himeven at the sacrifice of myself if I could plainly see what my dutyis."

  "But, Caroline, do you wish to give him up?"

  "No, not if I could keep him; keep him as he was. My high hopes aredone with; my ambition is over; I no longer look for much. But Iwould fain know that he still loves me before I marry him. I wouldwish to be sure that he means to live with me. In his present mood,how can I know aught of him? how be sure of anything?"

  Her aunt, after remaining for some half-hour in consideration, atlast and with reluctance gave her advice.

  "It all but breaks my heart to say so; but, Caroline, I think I wouldabandon it: I think I would ask him to release me from my promise."

  It may well be imagined that Miss Waddington was not herself when shedeclared that her high hopes were done with, that her ambition wasover. She was not herself. Anxiety, sorrow, and doubt--doubt as tothe man whom she had pledged herself to love, whom she did love--hadmade her ill, and she was not herself. She had become thin and pale,and was looking old and wan. She sat silent for awhile, leaning withher head on her hand, and made no answer to her aunt's suggestion.

  "I really would, Caroline; indeed, I would. I know you are not happyas you are."

  "Happy!"

  "You are looking wretchedly ill, too. I know all this is wearing you.Take my advice, Caroline, and write to him."

  "There are two reasons against it, aunt; two strong reasons."

  "What reasons, love?"

  "In the first place, I love him." Aunt Mary sighed. She had no otheranswer but a sigh to give to this. "And in the next place, I have noright to ask anything of him."

  "Why not, Caroline?"

  "He made his request to me, and I refused it. Had I consented tomarry him last year, all this would have been different. I intendedto do right, and even now I do not think that I was wrong. But Icannot impute fault to him. He does all this in order that I mayimpute it, and that then he may have his revenge."

  Nothing more was said on the matter at that time, and things went onfor awhile again in the same unsatisfactory state.

  Early in the summer, Miss Waddington and her aunt went up for a fewweeks to London. It had been Miss Baker's habit to spend some days atHadley about this time of the year. She suggested to Caroline, thatinstead of her doing so, they should both go for a week or so toLondon. She thought that the change would be good for her niece, andshe thought also, though of this she said nothing, that Carolinewould see something of her lover. If he were not to be given up, itwould be well--so Miss Baker thought--that this marriage should bedelayed no longer. Bertram was determined to prove that marriage wasnecessary to tame him; he had proved it--at any rate to Miss Baker'ssatisfaction. There would now be money enough to live on, as uncleBertram's two thousand pounds had been promised for this summer. Onthis little scheme Miss Baker went to work.

  Caroline made no opposition to the London plan. She said nothingabout George in connection with it; but her heart was somewhatsoftened, and she wished to see him.

  Miss Baker therefore wrote up for rooms. She would naturally,one would say, have written to George, but there were now littlejealousies and commencements of hot blood even between them. George,though still Caroline's engaged lover, was known to have some bitterfeelings, and was believed perhaps by Miss Baker to be more bitterthan he really was. So the lodgings were taken without any referenceto him. When they reached town they found that he was abroad.

  Then Miss Waddington was really angry. They had no right, it istrue, to be annoyed in that he was not there to meet them. Theyhad not given him the opportunity. But it did appear to them that,circumstanced as they were, considering the acknowledged engagementbetween them, he was wrong to leave the country without lettingthem have a word to say whither he was going or for how long. Itwas nearly a fortnight since he had written to Caroline, and, foranything they knew, it might be months before she again heard fromhim.

  It was then that they sent for Harcourt, and at this period that theybecame so intimate with him. Bertram had told him of this foreigntrip, but only a day or two before he had taken his departure. It wasjust at this time that there had been the noise about the "Romanceof Scripture." Bertram had defended himself in one or two newspapers,had written his defiant letter to his friend at Oxford, and thenstarted to meet his father at Paris. He was going no further, andmight be back in a week. This however must be uncertain, as hisreturn would depend on that of Sir Lionel. Sir Lionel intended tocome to London with him.

  Mr. Harcourt was very attentive to them--in spite of his being atthat time so useful a public man. He was very attentive to both,being almost as civil to the elder lady as he was to the younger,which, for an Englishman, showed very good breeding. By degrees theyboth began to regard him with confidence--with sufficient confidenceto talk to him of Bertram; with sufficient confidence even to tellhim of all their fears. By degrees Caroline would talk to him alone,and when once she permitted herself to do so, she concealed nothing.

  Harcourt said not a word against his friend. That friend himselfmight perhaps have thought that his friend, speaking of him behindhis back, might have spoken more warmly in his praise. But it washard at present to say much that should be true in Bertram's praise.He was not living in a wise or prudent manner; not preparing himselfin any way to live as a man should live by the sweat of his brow.Harcourt could not say much in his favour. That Bertram was clever,honest, true, and high-spirited, that Miss Waddington knew; that MissBaker knew: what they wanted to learn was, that he was making prudentuse of these high qualities. Harcourt could not say that he was doingso.

  "That he will fall on his legs at last," said Harcourt once whenhe was alone with Caroline, "I do not doubt; with his talent, andhis high, honest love of virtue, it is all but impossible that heshould throw himself away. But the present moment is of such vitalimportance! It is so hard to make up for the loss even of twelvemonths!"

  "I am sure it is," said Caroline; "but I would not care for that somuch if I thought--"

  "Thought what, Miss Waddington?"

  "That his disposition was not altered. He was so frank, so candid,so--so--so affectionate."

  "It is the manner of men to change in that respect. They become,perhaps, not less affectionate, but less demonstrative."

  To this Miss Waddington answered nothing. It might probably be so. Itwas singular enough that she, with her ideas, should be complainingto a perfect stranger of an uncaressing, unloving manner in herlover; she who had professed to herself that she lived so little forlove!
Had George been even kneeling at her knee, her heart would havebeen stern enough. It was only by feeling a woman's wrong that shefound herself endowed with a woman's privilege.

  "I do not think that Bertram's heart is changed," continued Harcourt;"he is doubtless very angry that his requests to you last summer werenot complied with."

  "But how could we have married then, Mr. Harcourt? Think what ourincome would have been; and he as yet without any profession!"

  "I am not blaming you. I am not taking his part against you. I onlysay that he is very angry."

  "But does he bear malice, Mr. Harcourt?"

  "No, he does not bear malice; men may be angry without bearingmalice. He thinks that you have shown a want of confidence in him,and are still showing it."

  "And has he not justified that want of confidence?"

  To this Harcourt answered nothing, but he smiled slightly.

  "Well, has he not? What could I have done? What ought I to have done?Tell me, Mr. Harcourt. It distresses me beyond measure that youshould think I have been to blame."

  "I do not think so; far from it, Miss Waddington. Bertram is my dearfriend, and I know his fine qualities; but I cannot but own that hejustified you in that temporary want of confidence which you nowexpress."

  Mr. Harcourt, though a member of Parliament and a learned pundit,was nevertheless a very young man. He was an unmarried man also,and a man not yet engaged to be married. It may be surmised thatGeorge Bertram would not have been pleased had he known the sortof conversations that were held between his dear friend and hisbetrothed bride. And yet Caroline at this period loved him betterthan ever she had done.

  A week or ten days after this three letters arrived from Bertram,one for Caroline, one for Miss Baker, and one for Harcourt. Carolineand her aunt had lingered in London, both doubtless in the hope thatBertram would return. There can be little doubt now that had hereturned, and had he been anxious for the marriage, Miss Waddingtonwould have consented. She was becoming ill at ease, dissatisfied,what the world calls heart-broken. Now that she was tried, she foundherself not to be so strong in her own resolves. She was not sickfrom love alone; her position was altogether wretched--though she wasengaged, and persisted in adhering to her engagement, she felt andoften expressed to her aunt a presentiment that she and Bertram wouldnever be married.

  They waited for awhile in the hope that he might return; but insteadof himself, there came three letters. Harcourt, it seemed, hadwritten to him, and hence arose these epistles. That to Miss Bakerwas very civil and friendly. Had that come alone it would havecreated no complaint. He explained to her that had he expected hervisit to London, he would have endeavoured to meet her; that hecould not now return, as he had promised to remain awhile with hisfather. Sir Lionel had been unwell, and the waters of Vichy hadbeen recommended. He was going to Vichy with Sir Lionel, and wouldnot be in London till August. His plans after that were altogetherunsettled, but he would not be long in London before he came toLittlebath. Such was his letter to Miss Baker.

  To Harcourt he wrote very shortly. He was obliged to him for theinterest he took in the welfare of Miss Waddington, and for hisattention to Miss Baker. That was nearly all he said. There was notan angry word in the letter; but, nevertheless, his friend was ableto deduce from it, short as it was, that Bertram was angry.

  But on the head of his betrothed he poured out the vial of his wrath.He had never before scolded her, had never written in an angry tone.Now in very truth he did so. An angry letter, especially if thewriter be well loved, is so much fiercer than any angry speech, somuch more unendurable! There the words remain, scorching, not to beexplained away, not to be atoned for by a kiss, not to be softeneddown by the word of love that may follow so quickly upon spokenanger. Heaven defend me from angry letters! They should never bewritten, unless to schoolboys and men at college; and not often tothem if they be any way tender hearted. This at least should be arule through the letter-writing world: that no angry letter be postedtill four-and-twenty hours shall have elapsed since it was written.We all know how absurd is that other rule, that of saying thealphabet when you are angry. Trash! Sit down and write your letter;write it with all the venom in your power; spit out your spleen atthe fullest; 'twill do you good; you think you have been injured; sayall that you can say with all your poisoned eloquence, and gratifyyourself by reading it while your temper is still hot. Then put itin your desk; and, as a matter of course, burn it before breakfastthe following morning. Believe me that you will then have a doublegratification.

  A pleasant letter I hold to be the pleasantest thing that this worldhas to give. It should be good-humoured; witty it may be, but with agentle diluted wit. Concocted brilliancy will spoil it altogether.Not long, so that it be tedious in the reading; nor brief, so thatthe delight suffice not to make itself felt. It should be writtenspecially for the reader, and should apply altogether to him, and notaltogether to any other. It should never flatter. Flattery is alwaysodious. But underneath the visible stream of pungent water there maybe the slightest under-current of eulogy, so that it be not seen, butonly understood. Censure it may contain freely, but censure whichin arraigning the conduct implies no doubt as to the intellect. Itshould be legibly written, so that it may be read with comfort; butno more than that. Caligraphy betokens caution, and if it be notlight in hand it is nothing. That it be fairly grammatical and notill spelt the writer owes to his schoolmaster; but this should comeof habit, not of care. Then let its page be soiled by no business;one touch of utility will destroy it all.

  If you ask for examples, let it be as unlike Walpole as may be. Ifyou can so write it that Lord Byron might have written it, you willnot be very far from high excellence.

  But, above all things, see that it be good-humoured.

  Bertram's letter to the lady that he loved was by no means one ofthis sort. In the first place, it was not good-humoured; it was veryfar from being so. Had it been so, it would utterly have belied hisfeelings. Harcourt had so written to him as to make him quite clearlyunderstand that all his sins and--which was much more to him--allhis loves had been fully discussed between his friend and MissWaddington--between his Caroline and another man. To the pride ofhis heart nothing could be more revolting. It was as though hisdearest possession had been ransacked in his absence, and rifled andsquandered by the very guardian to whom he had left the key. Therehad been sore misgivings, sore differences between him and Caroline;but, nevertheless, she had had all his heart. Now, in his absence,she had selected his worldly friend Harcourt, and discussed thatpossession and its flaws with him! There was that in all this ofwhich he could not write with good-humour. Nevertheless, had he kepthis letter to the second morning, it may probably be said that hewould have hesitated to send it.

  "My dearest Caroline," it began. Now I put it to all lovers whether,when they wish to please, they ever write in such manner to theirsweethearts. Is it not always, "My own love?" "Dearest love?" "My ownsweet pet?" But that use of the Christian name, which is so deliciousin the speaking during the first days of intimacy, does it not alwaysbetoken something stern at the beginning of a lover's letter? Ah, itmay betoken something very stern! "My dearest Jane, I am sorry to sayit, but I could not approve of the way in which you danced with MajorSimkins last night." "My dearest Lucy, I was at Kensington-gardengate yesterday at four, and remained absolutely till five. You reallyought--." Is not that always the angry lover's tone?

  I fear that I must give Bertram's letter entire to make the mattersufficiently clear.

  My dearest Caroline,

  I learn from Mr. Harcourt that you and Miss Baker are in town, and I am of course sorry to miss you. Would it not have been better that I should have heard this from yourself?

  Mr. Harcourt tells me that you are dissatisfied; and I understand from his letter that you have explained your dissatisfaction very fully to him. It might have been better, I think, that the explanation should have been made to me; or had you chosen to complain, you might have done so
to your aunt, or to your grandfather. I cannot think that you were at liberty to complain of me to Mr. Harcourt. My wish is, that you have no further conversation with him on our joint concerns. It is not seemly; and, if feminine, is at any rate not ladylike.

  I am driven to defend myself. What is it of which you complain, or have a right to complain? We became engaged more than twelve months since, certainly with no understanding that the matter was to stand over for three years. My understanding was that we were to be married as soon as it might reasonably be arranged. You then took on yourself to order this delay, and kindly offered to give me up as an alternative. I could not force you to marry me; but I loved you too well, and trusted too much in your love to be able to think that that giving up was necessary. Perhaps I was wrong.

  But the period of this wretched interval is at my own disposal. Had you married me, my time would have been yours. It would have been just that you should know how it was spent. Each would then have known so much of the other. But you have chosen that this should not be; and, therefore, I deny your right now to make inquiry. If I have departed from any hopes you had formed, you have no one to blame but yourself.

  You have said that I neglect you. I am ready to marry you to-morrow; I have been ready to do so any day since our engagement. You yourself know how much more than ready I have been. I do not profess to be a very painstaking lover; nay, if you will, the life would bore me, even if in our case the mawkishness of the delay did not do more than bore. At any rate, I will not go through it. I loved, and do love you truly. I told you of it truly when I first knew it myself, and urged my suit till I had a definite answer. You accepted me, and now there needs be nothing further till we are married.

  But I insist on this, that I will not have my affairs discussed by you with persons to whom you are a stranger.

  You will see my letter to your aunt. I have told her that I will visit her at Littlebath as soon as I have returned to England.

  Yours ever affectionately,

  G. B.

  This letter was a terrible blow to Caroline. It seemed to her tobe almost incredible that she, she, Caroline Waddington, should beforced to receive such a letter as that under any circumstances andfrom any gentleman. Unseemly, unfeminine, unladylike! These were theepithets her lover used in addressing her. She was told that it boredhim to play the lover; that his misconduct was her fault; and thenshe was accused of mawkishness! He was imperative, too, in laying hisorders to her. "I insist on this!" Was it incumbent on her to complywith his insistings?

  Of course she showed the letter to her aunt, whose advice resultedin this--that it would be better that she should pocket the affrontsilently if she were not prepared to give up the engagementaltogether. If she were so prepared, the letter doubtless would giveher the opportunity.

  And then Mr. Harcourt came to her while her anger was yet at thehottest. His manner was so kind, his temper so sweet, his attentionso obliging, that she could not but be glad to see him. If Georgeloved her, if he wished to guide her, wished to persuade her, why wasnot he at her right hand? Mr. Harcourt was there instead. It did notbore him, multifold as his duties were, to be near her.

  Then she committed the first great fault of which in this history shewill be shown as being guilty. She showed her lover's letter to Mr.Harcourt. Of course this was not done without some previous converse;till he had found out that she was wretched, and inquired as toher wretchedness; till she had owned that she was ill with sorrow,beside herself, and perplexed in the extreme. Then at last, saying toherself that she cared not now to obey Mr. Bertram, she showed theletter to Mr. Harcourt.

  "It is ungenerous," said Harcourt.

  "It is ungentlemanlike," said Caroline. "But it was written inpassion, and I shall not notice it." And so she and Miss Baker wentback again to Littlebath.

  It was September before Bertram returned, and then Sir Lionel camewith him. We have not space to tell much of what had passed betweenthe father and the son; but they reached London apparently on goodterms with each other, and Sir Lionel settled himself in a bedroomnear to his son's chambers, and near also to his own club. There was,however, this great ground of disagreement between them. Sir Lionelwas very anxious that his son should borrow money from Mr. Bertram,and George very resolutely declined to do so. It was now clear enoughto Sir Lionel that his son could not show his filial dispositionby advancing on his own behalf much money to his father, as he washimself by no means in affluent circumstances.

  He went down to Littlebath, and took his father with him. The meetingbetween the lovers was again unloverlike; but nothing could be moreaffectionate than Sir Lionel. He took Caroline in his arms and kissedher, called her his dear daughter, and praised her beauty. I believehe kissed Miss Baker. Indeed, I know that he made an attempt to doso; and I think it not at all improbable that in the overflowing ofhis affectionate heart, he made some overture of the same kind to theexceedingly pretty parlour-maid who waited upon them. Whatever mightbe thought of George, Sir Lionel soon became popular there, and hispopularity was not decreased when he declared that he would spend theremainder of the autumn, and perhaps the winter, at Littlebath.

  He did stay there for the winter. He had a year's furlough, duringwhich he was to remain in England with full pay, and he made it knownto the ladies at Littlebath that the chief object of his gettingthis leave was to be present at the nuptials of dear Caroline andhis son. On one occasion he borrowed thirty pounds from Miss Baker;a circumstance which their intimacy, perhaps, made excusable. Hehappened, however, to mention this little occurrence casually to hisson, and George at once repaid that debt, poor as he was at the time.

  "You could have that and whatever more you chose merely for theasking," said Sir Lionel on that occasion, in a tone almost ofreproach.

  And so the winter passed away. George, however, was not idle. Hefully intended to be called to the bar in the following autumn, anddid, to a certain extent, renew his legal studies. He did not returnto Mr. Die, prevented possibly by the difficulty he would have inpreparing the necessary funds. But his great work through the winterand in the early spring was another small volume, which he publishedin March, and which he called, "The Fallacies of Early History."

  We need not give any minute criticism on this work. It will sufficeto say that the orthodox world declared it to be much more heterodoxthan the last work. Heterodox, indeed! It was so bad, they said, thatthere was not the least glimmer of any doxy whatever left about it.The early history of which he spoke was altogether Bible history, andthe fallacies to which he alluded were the plainest statements of thebook of Genesis. Nay, he had called the whole story of Creation amyth; the whole story as there given: so at least said the rabbisof Oxford, and among them outspoke more loudly than any others theoutraged and very learned rabbis of Oriel.

  Bertram however denied this. He had, he said, not called anything amyth. There was the printed book, and one might have supposed thatit would be easy enough to settle this question. But it was far frombeing so. The words myth and mythical were used half a dozen times,and the rabbis declared that they were applied to the statements ofScripture. Bertram declared that they were applied to the appearancethose statements must have as at present put before the Englishworld. Then he said something not complimentary to the translators,and something also very uncivil as to want of intelligence on thepart of the Oxford rabbis. The war raged warmly, and was taken up bythe metropolitan press, till Bertram became a lion--a lion, however,without a hide, for in the middle of the dispute he felt himselfcalled on to resign his fellowship.

  He lost that hide; but he got another in lieu which his friendsassured him was of a much warmer texture. His uncle had takenconsiderable interest in this dispute, alleging all through thatthe Oxford men were long-eared asses and bigoted monks. It may bepresumed that his own orthodoxy was not of a high class. He had neverliked George's fellowship, and had always ridiculed the income whichhe rec
eived from it. Directly he heard that it had been resigned,he gave his nephew a thousand pounds. He said nothing about it; hemerely told Mr. Pritchett to arrange the matter.

  Sir Lionel was delighted. As to the question of orthodoxy he wasperfectly indifferent. It was nothing to him whether his son calledthe book of Genesis a myth or a gospel; but he had said much, verymuch as to the folly of risking the fellowship; and more, a greatdeal more, as to the madness of throwing it away. But now hewas quite ready to own himself wrong, and did do so in the moststraightforward manner. After all, what was a fellowship to a manjust about to be married? In his position Bertram had of course beenfree to speak out. If, indeed, there had been any object in holdingto the college, then the expression of such opinions, let alone theirpublication, would not have been judicious.

  As it was, however, nothing could have been more lucky. His son hadshown his independence. The rich uncle had shown the warm interestwhich he still took in his nephew, and Sir Lionel was able to borrowtwo hundred and fifty pounds, a sum of money which, at the presentmoment, was very grateful to him. Bertram's triumph was gilded on allsides; for the booksellers had paid him handsomely for his infidelmanuscript. Infidelity that can make itself successful will, at anyrate, bring an income.

  And this brings us to the period at which we may resume our story.One word we must say as to Caroline. During the winter she had seenher lover repeatedly, and had written to him repeatedly. Theirengagement, therefore, had by no means been broken. But theirmeetings were cold, and their letters equally so. She would havemarried him at once now if he would ask her. But he would not askher. He was quite willing to marry her if she would herself say thatshe was willing so far to recede from her former resolution. But shecould not bring herself to do this. Each was too proud to make thefirst concession to the other, and therefore no concession was madeby either.

  Sir Lionel once attempted to interfere; but he failed. George gavehim to understand that he could manage his own affairs himself. Whena son is frequently called on to lend money to his father, and thatfather is never called on to repay it, the parental authority is aptto grow dull. It had become very dull in this case.