AT LOS ANGELES
AUTHOR OF " THE ODD WO.MEN," " IN THE YEAR OF JUBILEE," ETC.
LAWRENCE AND BULLEN
i6, HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.
\ ^1 â–
Northerners in Sunlight 3
Cecily Doran 17
^ CHAPTEE III.
j2 The Boarding-House on the Mergellina . . . . S5
jÂ§ CHAPTEE IV.
Miriam's Brother 54
^ CHAPTEE V.
^ The Artist astray 74
* CHAPTEE VI.
^ Captive Travellers 97
m â– Â», ' â– PAGE
The Martyr 117
Proof against Illusion 12'}
In the Dead City 143
The Declaration 154
The Appeal to Authority 169
On the Heights 186
Echo and Prelude 19;j
On the Wings of the Morning 211
A Corner of Society 243
The Proprieties defended 254
The Denyers in England 280
MuLTUM IN Parvo 295
At P^stum 307
Learning and Teaching 31q
Elgar at Work . "59
In Due Course â€¢ â€¢ . 372
Cecily's Return 380
Onward to the Vague . 393
Suggestion and Assurance 40G
Peace in Show and Peace in Truth .... 417
The Two Faces 426
End and Beginning 440
NORTHERNERS IN SUNLIGHT.
Bt a- window looking from Posillipo upon the Bay of
Naples sat an English lady, engaged in letter-writing. She
was only in her four-and-twentieth year, but her attire of
subdued mourning indicated widowhood already at the stage
when it is permitted to make quiet suggestion of freedom
rather than distressful reference to loss ; the dress, however,
was severely plain, and its grey coldness, which would well
have harmonized with an English sky in this month of
November, looked alien in the southern sunlight. There
was no mistaking her nationality; the absorption, the
troubled earnestness with which she bent over her writing,
were peculiar to a cast of features such as can be found only
in our familiar island ; a physiognomy not quite pure in out-
line, vigorous in general effect and in detail delicate ; a
proud young face, fvill of character and capacity, beautiful
in chaste control. Sorrowful it was not, but its paleness
and thinness expressed something more than imperfect
health of body ; the blue-grey eyes, when they wandered for
a moment in an effort of recollection, had a look of
weariness, even of ennui ; the lips moved jvs if in nervous
impatience until she had found the jihrase or the thought
4 THE EMANCIPATED.
for wticli her pen waited. Save for tliese intervals, she
wrote with quick decision, in a large clear hand, never
undei'lining, but frequently supplying the emphasis of heavy
stroke in her penning of a word. At the end of her letters
came a siguatui'e excellent in individuality : " Miriam
The furniture of her room was modern, and of the kind
demanded by wealthy forestieri in the lodgings they eon-
descend to occupy. On the variegated tiles of the floor were
strewn rugs and carpets ; the drapery was bright, without
much reference to taste in the ordering of hues ; a hand-
some stove served at present to support leafy plants, a row
of which also stood on the balcony before the window.
Round the ceiling ran a painted border of foliage and
flowers. The chief ornament of the walls was a large and
indifferent copy of Raphael's " St. Cecilia ; " there were, too,
several gouache drawings of local scenery : a fiery night- view
of Vesuvius, a panorama of the Bay, and a very blue
Blue Grotto. The whole was blithe, sunny, Neapolitan ;
sufiiciently unlike a sitting-room in Eedbeck House, Bartles,
Lancashire, which Mrs. Baske had in her mind as she wrote.
A few English books lay here and there, volumes of un-
attractive binding, and presenting titles little suggestive of
a holiday in Campania ; works which it would be misleading
to call theological ; the feeblest modern echoes of fierce old
Puritans, half shame-faced modifications of logic which, at
all events, was wont to conceal no consequence of its savage
premises. More noticeable were some architectural j^lans
unrolled upon a settee ; the uppermost represented the
elevation of a building designed for religious purposes,
painfully recognizable by all who know the conventicles of
sectarian England. On the blank space beneath the draw-
ing were a few comments, lightly pencilled.
Having finished and addressed some half a dozen brief
letters, Mrs. Baske brooded for several minutes before she
began to write on the next sheet of paper. It was intended
NORTHERNERS IN SUNLIGHT. 5
for her sister-in-law, a lady of middle age, who shared in
the occupancy of Eedbeck House. At length she penned
the introductory formula, but again became absent, and sat
gazing at the branches of a pine-tree which stood in strong
relief against cloudless blue. A sigh, an impatient ges-
ture, and she went on with her task,
" Tt is very kind of you to be so active in attending to
the things which you know I have at heart. You say I
shall find everything as I could wish it on my return, but
you cannot think what a stranger to Bartles I already feel.
It will soon be six months since I lived my real life there ;
during my illness I might as well have been absent, then came
those weeks in the Isle of Wight, and now this exile. I feel
it as exile, bitterly. To be sure Naples is beautiful, but it
does not interest me. You need not envy me the bright sky,
for it gives me no pleasure. There is so much to pain and
sadden ; so much that makes me angry. On Sunday I was
miserable. The Spences are as kind aa any one could be,
but 1 won't write about it ; no doubt you under-
" What do you think ought to be done about Mrs.
Ackworth and her daughter ? It is shameful, after all they
have received from me. Will you tell them that I am
gravely displeased to hear of their absenting themselves
from chapel. I have a very good mind to write to Mr.
Higginson and beg him to suspend the girl from his employ-
ment until she becomes regular in her attendance at
worship. Perhai;)s that would seem malicious, but she and
her mother ought to be punished in some way. Speak to
them very sternly.
" I do not understand how young Brooks has dared to
tell you I promised him work in the greenhouse. He is
irreclaimable ; the worst character that ever came under my
notice ; ho shall not set foot on the premises. If he is in
want, he has only himself to blame. I do not like to think
of his wife suffering, but it i^ the a^ttribute of sins such as
6 THE EMANCIPATED.
Ms tliat thej involve the innocent with the guilty ; and then
she has shown herself so wretchedly weak. Tiy, however,
to help her secretly if her distress becomes too amte.
"It was impertinent in Mrs. Walker to make such
reference to me in public. This is the result of my absence
and helplessness. I shall write to her â€” two lines."
A flush had risen to her cheek, and in adding the last
two words she all but piei-ced through the thin note-paper.
Then her hand trembled so much that she was obliged to
pause. At the same] moment there sounded a tap at the
door, and, on Mrs. Baske's giving permission, a lady entered.
This was Mrs. Sj^ence, a cousin of the young widow ; she
and her husband had an apartment here in the Villa
Sannazaro, and were able to devote certain rooms to the
convenience of their relative dui-ing her stay at Naples.
Her age was about thirty ; she had a graceful figui'e, a
manner of muchjrefinement, and a bi'ight, gentle, intellectual
face, which just now bore an announcement of news.
" They have arrived ! "
" Already ? " replied the other, in a tons of civil interest.
" Tliey decided not to break the journey after Genoa.
Cecily and Mrs, Lessingham are too tired to do anything
but get settled in their rooms, but Mr. Mallard has come
to tell us."
Miriam laid down her pen, and asked in the same voice as
" Shall I come ? "
" If you are not too busy."a And Mrs. Spence added, with
a snii le, " I should think you must have a certain curiosity
to see each other, after so long an acquaintance at second-
" I will come in a moment."
Mrs. Spence left the room. For a minute Miriam sat
reflecting, then rose. In moving towards the door she
chanced to see her image in a mirror â€” two of a large size
adorned the roomâ€” and it checked her step ; she regarded
NORTHERNERS IN SUNLIGHT, 7
herself gravely, and passed a smoothing hand over the dark
hair above her temples.
By a corridor she reached her friends' sitting-room, where
Mrs. Spence sat in the company of two gentlemen. The
elder of these was Edward Spence. His bearded face,
studious of cast and small-featured, spoke a placid, self-
commanding character; a lingering smile, and the pleasant
wrinkles about his brow, told of a mind familiar with many
by-ways of fancy and reflection. His companion, a man of
five-and-thirty, had a far more striking countenance. His
complexion was of the kind which used to be called adust â€”
burnt up with inner fires ; his visage was long and some-
what harshly designed, very apt, it would seem, to the
expression of bitter ironies or stern resentments, but at
present bright with friendly pleasure. He had a heavy
moustache, but no beard ; his hair tumbled in disorder.
To matters of costume he evidently gave little thought, for
his clothes, though of the kind a gentleman would
wear in travelling, had seen their best days, and the waist-
coat even lacked one of its buttons ; his black necktie was
knotted . into an indescribable shape, and the ends hung
Him Mrs. Spence at once presented to her cousin as
" Mr. Mallard." He bowed ungracefully ; then, with a
manner naturally frank but constrained by obvious shyness,
took the hand Miriam held to him.
" We are scarcely strangers, Mr. Mallard," she said in a
BcK-possessed tone, regarding him with steady eyes.
" Miss Doran has spoken of you frequently on the
journey," he replied, knitting his brows into a scowl as he
smiled and returned her look. " Your illness made her veiy
anxious. You are much better, I hope ? "
" Much, thank you."
Allowance made for the difference of quality in their
voices, Mrs. Baske and Mallard resembled each other iu
speech, They had the same grave note, the same decision.
8 THE EMANCIPATED,
" They must be very tired after their journey," Miriam
added, seating herself.
" Miss Doran seems scarcely so at all ; but Mrs. Lessing-
ham is rather over-wearied, I'm afraid."
'â€¢ Why didn't you break the journey at Florence or
Eome ? " asked Mrs. Spence.
" I proposed it, but other counsels prevailed. All through
Italy Miss Doran was distracted between desire to get to
Naples and misery at not being able to see the towns we
passed. At last she buried herself in the ' Revue des Deux
Mondes,' and refused even to look out of the window."
" I su2)pose we may go and see her in the morning ? "
" My express mstructions are," replied Mallard, " that you
are on no account to go. They will come here quite early.
Miss Doran begged hard to come with me now, but I
wouldn't allow it."
" Is it the one instance in which your authority has pre-
vailed ? " inquired Spence. " You seem to declare it in a
tone of triumph."
"Well," replied the other, with a grim smile, leaning for-
ward in his chair, " I don't undertake to lay down rules for
the young lady of eighteen as I could for the child of twelve.
But my age and sobriety of character still ensure me respect."
He glanced at Mrs. Baske, and their eyes met. Miriam
smiled rather coldly, but continued to observe him after he
had looked away again.
" You met them at Genoa ? " she asked presently, in her
tone of habitual reserve.
" Yes. I came by sea from London, and had a couple of
days to wait for their arrival from Paris."
" And I suppose you also are staying at Mrs. Gluck's ? "
" Oh no ! I have a room at old quarters of mine high up
in the to'wn, Vico Brancaccio. I shall only be in Naples a
" How's that ? " inquired Spence,
NORTHERNERS IN SUNLIGHT. 9
" I'm going to work at Amalfi and Paestum."
" Then, as usual, we shall see nothing of you," said Mis.
Spence. " Pray, do you dine at Mrs. Grluck's this evening ? "
" By no means."
" May we, then, have the pleasure of your company ?
There is no need to go back to Vico Brancaccio. I am suro
Mrs. Baske will excuse you the torture of uniform."
With a sort of grumble, the invitation was accepted. A little
while after, Spence proposed to his friend a walk before sunset.
" Tes ; let us go up the hill," said Mallard, rising abruptly.
" I need movement after the railway."
They left the villa, and Mallard grew less restrained in
" How does Mrs. Baske answer to your expectations ? "
Spence asked him.
" I had seen her photograph, you know."
" Where ? "
" Her brother showed it me â€” one taken at the time of her
" What is Elgar doing at present ? "
" It's more than a year since we crossed each other," Mal-
lard replied. " He was then going to the devil as speedily
as can in reason be expected of a man. I happened to
encounter him one morning at Victoria Station, and he
seemed to have just slept off a great deal of heavy drinking.
Told me he was going down to Brighton to see about selling
a houseful of furniture there â€” his own property. I didn't
inquire how or why he came possessed of it. He is beyond
help, I imagine. When he comes to his last penny, he'll
probably blow his brains out; just the fellow to do that kind
"I suppose he hasn't done it already? His sister has
heard nothing of him for two years at least, and this account
of yours is the latest I have received."
" I should think he still lives. He would be sure to makÂ©
ft cou^ de tJiiiitre of his exit,"
10 THE EMANCIPATED,
" Poor lad ! " said the elder man, with feelmg. " I liked
" Why, so did I ; and I wish it had been in my scope to
keep him in some kind of order. Yes, I liked him much.
And as for brains, why, I have scarcely known a man who so
impressed me with a sense of his ability. But you could see
that he was doomed from his cradle. Strongly like his sister
"I'm afraid the thought of him troubles her a good deal."
" She looks iU."
" Yes ; we are uneasy about her," said Spence. Then,
with a burst of impatience : " There's no getting her mind
away from that pestilent Bartles. What do you think she
is projecting now ? It appears that the Dissenters of Bartles
are troubled concerning their chapel ; it isn't large enough.
So Miriam proposes to pull down her own house, and build
them a chapel on the site, of course at her own expense.
The ground being her freehold, she can unfortunately do
what she likes with it ; the same with her personal property.
The thing has gone so far that a Manchester finn of archi-
tects have prepared plans ; they are lying about in her room
Mallard regarded the speaker with humorous wonder.
" And the fact is," pursued Spence, " that such an under-
taking as this will impoverish her. She is not so wealthy as
to be able to lay out thousands of pounds and leave her
" I suppose she lives only for her religious convictions ? "
" I don't jH-ofess to understand her. Her character is not
easily sounded. But no doubt she has the puritanical spirit
in a rather rare degree. I daily thank the fates that my
wife* grew up apart from that branch of the family. Of all
the accursed But this is an old topic; better not to
heat one's self uselessly."
" A Puritan at Naples," mused Mallard. " The situation
NORTHERNERS IN SUNLIGHT. ii
"Very. But then she doesn't really live in Naples.
From the first day she has sho'wn herself bent on resisting
every influence of the place. She won't admit that the
climate benefits her ; she won't allow an expression of
interest in anything Italian to escape her. I doubt whether
we shall ever get her even to Pompeii. One afternoon I
persuaded her to walk up here with me, and tried to make
her confess that this view was beautiful. She grudged
making any such admission. It is her nature to distrust the
" To be sure. That is the badge of her persuasion."
" Last Sunday we didn't know whether to compassionate
her or to be angry with her. The Bradshaws are at Mrs.
Gluck's. You know them by name, I think ? There again,
an interesting study, in a very different way. Twice in the
day she shut herself tip with them in their rooms, and they
held a dissident service. The hours she spent here were
passed in the solitude of her own room, lest she should wit-
ness our profane enjoyment of the fine weather. Eleanor
refrained from touching the piano, and at meals kept the
gravest countenance, in mere kindness. I doubt whether
that is right. It isn't as though we were dealing with a
woman whose mind is hopelessly â€” immatured ; she is only
a girl still, and I know she has brains if she could be induced
to use them."
"Mrs. Baske has a remarkable face, it seems to me," said
" It enrages me to talk of the matter."
They were now on the road which runs along the ridge of
Posiliipo ; at a point where it is parted only by a low wall
from the westward declivity, they paused and looked towards
the setting sun.
" What a noise from Fuorigrotta ! " munnured Spence,
when ho had leaned for a moment on the wall. " It always
amuses me. Only in this part of the world could so small a
place make such a clamour."
IS THE EMANCIPATED.
They were looking away from Naples. At tlie foot of tlie
vine -covered hillside lay the noisy village, or suburb, named
from its position at the outer end of the tunnel which the
Romans pierced to make a shorter way between Naples and
Puteoli ; thence stretched an extensive plain, set in a deep
amphitheatre of hills, and bounded by the sea. Vineyards
aui maizefields, pine-trees and poplars, diversify its surface,
and through the midst of it runs a long, straight road,
dwindling till it reaches the shore at the hamlet of Bagnoli.
Follow the enclosing ridge to the left, to where its slope cuts
athwart plain and sea and sky ; there close upon the coast
lies the island rock of Nisida, meeting-place of Cicero and
Brutus after Caesar's death. Turn to the opposite quarter
of the plain. First rises the cliff of Camaldoli, where from
their oak-shadowed lawn the monks look forth upon as fair
a prospect as is beheld by man. Lower hills succeed, hiding
Pozzuoli and the inner curve of its bay ; behind them, too,
is the nook which shelters Lake Avernus ; and at a little
distance, by the further shore, are the ruins of Cumae, first
home of the Greeks upon Italian soil. A long promontory
curves round the gulf ; the dark crag at the end of it is Cape
Misenum, and a little on the hither side, obscured in remote-
ness, lies what once was Baise. Beyond the promontory
gleams again a blue line of sea. The low length of Procida
is its limit, and behind that, crowning the view, stands the
mountain-height of Ischia.
Over all, the hues of an autumn evening in Camj^ania.
From behind a bulk of cloud, here and there tossed by high
wind currents into fantastic shapes, sprang rays of fire,
burning to the zenith. Between the sea-beach at Bagnoli
and the summit of Ischia, tract followed upon tract of colour
that each moment underwent a subtle change, darkening
here, there fading into exquisite ti-ansparencies of distance,
till by degrees the islands lost projection and became mere
films against the declining day. The plain was ruddy with
dead vine-leaves, and golden with the decaying foliage of
NORTHERNERS IN SUNLIGHT. 13
the poplars; Camaldoli and its neighbour heigMs stood
gorgeously enrobed. In itself, a picture so beautiful that
the eye wearied with delight ; in its memories, a source of
solemn joy, inexhaustible for ever.
"I suppose," said Mallard, in- the undertone of reflection,
" the pagan associations of Naples are a great obstacle to
Mrs. Baslce's enjoyment of the scenery."
" She admits that."
" By-the-bye, what are likely to be the relations between
her and Miss Doran ? " 1
" I have wondered. They seem to keep on terms of easy
correspondence. But doesn't Cecily herself throw any light
on that point ? "
Mallard made a pause before answering.
" Tou must remember that I know very little of her. I
have never spoken more intimately with her than you your-
self have. Naturally, since she has ceased to be a child, I
have kept my distance. In fact, I shall be heartily glad
when the next three years are over, and we can shake hands
with a definite good-bye."
" What irritates you ? " inquired Spence, with a smile
which recognized a phase of his friend's character.
" The fact of my position. A nice thing for a fellow like
me to have charge of a fortune ! It oppresses me â€” the sense
of responsibility ; I want to get the weight off my shoulders.
What the deuce did her father mean by burdening me in
this way ? "
" He foresaw nothing of the kind," said Spence, amused.
" Only the unlikely event of Trench's death left you sole
trustee. If Doran purposed anything at all â€” why, wlio
knows what it may have been ? "
Mallard refused to meet the other's look ; his eyes wero
fixed on the horizon.
" All the same, the event was possible, and he should have
chosen another man of business. It's worse than being rich
on my own account. I have di'eams of a national repudia-
14 THE EMANCIPATED.
tion of debt ; I imagino dock-companies failing and banka
stopping payment. It disturbs my work ; I am tired of it.
Why can't I transfer the affair to some trustworthy and
competent person ; yourself, for instance ? Why didn't
Doran select you, to begin with â€” the natural man to asso-
ciate with Tronch ? "
" Who never opened a book save his ledger ; who was the
model of a rejDutable dealer in calicoes ; who "
" I apologize," growled Mallard. " But you know in what
sense I spoke."
"Pray, what has Cecily become since I saw her in
London ? " asked the other, after a pause, during which he
smiled his own interpi'etation of Mallard's humour.
" A very superior young person, I assure you," was the
reply, gravely spoken. " Miss Doran is a young woman of
her time ; she ranks with the emancipated ; she is aa far
above the Girton girl as that interesting creature is above
the product of an establishment for young ladies. Miss
Doran has no prejudices, and, in the vulgar sense of the
word, no principles. She is familiar with the Latin classics
and with the Parisian feuilletons ; she knows all about the
newest religion, and can tell you Sarcey's opinion of the
newest play. Miss Doran will discuss with you the merits
of Sarah Bernhardt in ' La Dame aux Camelias,' or the
literary theories of the brothers Goncourt. I am not sure
that she knows much about Shakespeare, but her apprecia-
tion of Baudelaire is exquisite. I dou't think she is naturally
very cruel, but she can plead convincingly the cause of vivi-
section. Miss Doran "
Spence interrupted him with a burst of laughter.
" All which, my dear fellow, simply means that you *'
Mallard, in his turn, interrupted gruffly.
"Precisely : that I am the wrong man to hold even the posi-
tion of steward to one so advanced. What have I to do with
heiresses and fashionable ladies ? I have my work to get on
with, and it shall not suffer from the intrusion of idlers."
NORTHERNERS IN SUNLIGHT. 15
" 1 see you direct your diatribe haK against Mrs. Lessing-
ham. Ho"w has she annoyed you ? "
" Annoyed me ? You never were more mistaken. It'?
with myself that T am annoyed."
" On what account ? "
" For being so absurd as to question sometimes whether
my responsibility doesn't extend beyond stock and share. I
ask myself whether Doran^p-who so befriended me, and put
such trust in me, and paid me so well in advance for the
duties I was to undertake â€” didn't take it for granted that I
should exercise some influence in the matter of his daughter's
education ? Is she growing up what he would have wished