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MR. CARINGTON.

CHAPTER XXIV.

CONSTERNATION IN TWO CITIES.

Astrologos. One city we call Genesis, one Exodus :
There is a city we call Deuteronomy.

Raphael. That's Edinboro': tell me which the others are.
Astrologos. The town of thoughts strong birth . . . the town of exoduses.
The Comedy of Dreams.

ENTERED the Earl of Delamere to the Diana Chamber, looking as
young as if he had dropt a half-century somewhere in the corridor,
and cared too little about it to offer a reward for its recovery. Men
there are who, to use the Scripture phrase, renew their youth like
eagles; and here in his wild Lakeland eyry, held by many a strong,
swift ancestor, the eagle spirit became visible in Delamere.
The long
fogginess of London life was blown away by these wild winds of the
fells; the mountains and meres reclaimed him from the clubs and
hells; no longer was he the London gamester and dandy, but Dela-
mere of Delamere.

To the Marchesa Ravioli Delamere was polite in that fine oldfangled style which has almost perished in the presence of modern freedom and ease. I must, for my poor part, vote for the continuance of homage from man to woman; it is the natural deference of strength to beauty, of daring to purity, of glory to gaiety, of life to love. There is no creature more contemptible than the fellow who is rude to a woman. Mind, it is quite clear that a man's duty is to control his wife, and to keep his daughters in good order, by such physical and mental methods as he can command; but it is also his duty, and will (if he is not a fool) be his pleasure, to treat with chivalrous courtesy the smallest doll in petticoats, thereby teaching her that she is born a lady. Never too soon can a girl be taught that she is a lady, or a boy a gentleman: teach them to obey, by all means, but teach them to respect themselves. Courtesy, chivalry, charity. . . that is my triad. When the trinity of human existence is perfect, these three are one.

"I am delighted to meet you," said the Earl to the piquant little Ravioli, who had risen from her sofa in honour of the mansion's Taster; "Carington has described you as the loveliest woman in Europe, and I have never known Carington, as to the charm of

VOL. XIII.

ladies, make a mistake. I would trust him to choose me a wife, if I wanted one."

"Thank you for your confidence," said Mr. Carington, "but I would much rather not attempt it. A man who has never found a wife for himself can hardly be expected to help a friend in such a ticklish business."

"You will remain here as long as you please," said the Earl to the Ravioli, with whose pretty piquant style he was quite in love already. Carington will see you are comfortable. I am a dull, old invalid, and shall ask to be admitted now and then only."

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"Now you remind me," said Raffaella, "of a strange old song I learned in my youth, the work of a troubadour or minnesinger. I think they said it was Walter of the Bird-Meadow."

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Sing your old song, Raffaella," said Mr. Carington; "here is a piano."

She sat, a tiny thing in white, at the piano of satin-wood. Her pretty little fingers seemed only to tremble on the keys, just bribing the wires to say sweet things at a touch. The song . . . a kind of fairy contralto

"The eagle said, 'I am old; '

Said the tomtit, 'I'm older than you'—

A ball of green and gold,

That had counted summers two.

"And the jackdaw said, from his perch,

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A pulpit of gray old stone,

"Twas I first founded the Church:

Leave questions of age alone.'

"And the raven came with a croak,
A mixture of humour and woe,
And claimed the Druids' oak
And the magical mistletoe.

"But the eagle, far withdrawn,
Remembered old royal words,
When on Eden's sun-touched lawn
GOD said, Let us make the birds.'

"And away into æther rare,

And close to the sun's fierce gold,

Rose the king of the kings of the air,

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"Where in the world do you get those versicles, Raffaella?" asked Mr. Carington. "You don't make them yourself, I'll swear, for you are much too silly a child."

"Polite, sir," says the Marchesa, with a curtesy whose dignity is in inverse proportion to her size, "do you really want to know our poet? He lives in a garret on about twopence a day. Take him out of his garret, and give him a thousand a year; and, 0 dear me ! what nonsense he will write."

you have sung,

Elinor, who all this time had been silent, and who had an absurd respect for poets, not usual with young ladies, said: "Then must poets be miserable to make other people happy? How cruel! If I were rich, and knew the writer of a song like that Marchesa, I would send him something unknown." "Could a gentleman accept it?" said the Earl. "Could a gentleman refuse it?" echoed Elinor. "Do you mean to say that if a poet gives me pleasure which will last my life, I may not give him some slight pleasure in return? I would loyally kiss the man who sang me a lovely song, if he would condescend to let my lips touch him.”

"We've a quaint old manuscript in our library," said the Earl, "called The Triads of Delamere. One is something like this:

'A lady may kiss a wild bird's wing;

A lady may kiss the hand of a King ;

But the mouth of a poet's the sweetest thing.""

"I should very much like to look through those Triads," said Mr. Carington.

"There they are; Lucy can find them for you; they are on a choice shelf in the little library, and are bound in vellum, stamped with the Delamere arms. Here's another :

"Many fools without many fears ;
Many lives without many years;
That is the fate of the Delameres."

"Capital," said Mr. Carington.

"I must look up Lucy, the

librarian, and get a sight of the book. I'd give a trifle to meet the inan who wrote it. Have you another in your memory?"

"Only one, which struck me as a fine rebuke of hypocrisy. It is double, by the way :

"If true is true, no priest needs prayer ;
If brave is brave, no knight need swear;
If chaste is chaste, let maids go bare.
"If true is false, then pray, priest, pray;
If brave is coward, run, knight, away;
If chaste is harlot, maid, dress gay."

"Ah!" remarked Mr. Carington, "the old rhyme suits our own time only too well. Still, we are not worn out. The ancient temper of the English sword will not be spoilt by just a little rust. I think that I could find a priest or two whom Jeremy Taylor would have heartily loved. I think that I could find a knight or two worthy to ride by Philip Sidney's side. I think that I could find a girl or two as beautiful as any Shakespeare sketched. What do you think of it, Delamere? You are the knight, and Elinor's the girl, and luckily the priest is somewhere else."

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Certain persons in the City of Genesis were greatly puzzled and alarmed by the evanishment of Number Two. Gone! no trace left. Despatches and letters untouched. How many people were awaiting the orders of this little woman wrapt in white fur, whom Mr. Carington had as coolly carried away as if she were a baby? But Frank Carington was imperturbable. He would have packed the Pope or the Sultan into a cab and taken him to Colney Hatch with quiet gravity. No other man in Europe would have dared to do this thing, knowing all its consequences; and no other man in Europe could have made the Ravioli obey him. It was a curious mixture of chance and character. This girl had been a child in his arms; he had the strongest will in Christendom. The man who compares humanity with the material universe may find innumerable difficulties. Sometimes you meet a girl who is a diamond; sometimes a man who is gold. Mr. Carington was true steel-" the ice-brook's temper." Still, something more there was in him; the majestic influence which caused him to constrain obedience from many who did not at all like obeying.

The Ravioli's disappearance, leaving no trace, amazed and appalled a good many people. Break one link, and where is your chain? After Number Two, the chief Silent Sister in this unfortunate metropolis was Number Six; she, in addition to her private annoyances, found herself in a position of strange perplexity. It was simply this. She had no orders. She waited at home in Brook Street. She grew troubled and terrified. She had reached that mental state which belongs to most persons who, abjuring their own independence, consent to become links in a chain; so, when nobody knew anything, and she was left utterly to her own devices, she was wholly perplexed. There was no one from whom to take take orders. She had played a sufficiently abominable part when Mr. Carington had seen her. She dared not refuse any order, howsoever hideous, that reached her through her superiors. She was at this moment isolated, and all because that one serious link had been severed by Frank Carington's promptitude and daring.

Ah, but the City of Exodus was most amazed when the news in some mysterious way reached Pantile Palace that there was no Ravioli. Ravioli had been a necessity; for so long a time had suggested, defended, fascinated. Those who desire to know what was the exact limit of the Ravioli's political action, had better ask the well-ininformed and ably-inspired and curiously eloquent correspondent of that famous journal which broke down over Lily Page. In those regions of Fleet Street journalism, there was a dim notion that the Marchesa Ravioli was somebody, somehow. Could they only have found out who and what she was, they might have made a magnifcent harvest.

The Lord of the City of Exodus was deeply troubled when told by his confidential friend that Number Two was not to be found. There

was a shudder through him as, in the Babylon which he had built, he felt the keen touch of outside influence. Against a great idea, your Babylon or Rome has no more strength than a city of cards. Idea reigns it is the writ of God. The poor devil of an Emperor shivers to his heart's core when the happy thought of a writer or speaker touches him in the weakest point of his manufactured armour. It would be quite absurd on my part to assert that any small European nation was ruled by a man who had no right to rule, whose chief qualities for usurpation were shyness and cowardice, who was a crowned conspirator. The annals of the world happily mention no such person, so that this narrative merely deals with what might have been if the tide of purity and patriotism had not risen high enough to swamp all the rascals about, without question of political or personal legitimacy. It was probably Rascal * to whom the vanishment of the Ravioli brought troublous dreams; but it may be at once understood that his unhappiness was purely political, since Raffaella had no fancy for cads, and a cad on a throne is no better than a cad who conducts an omnibus-probably worse. Their vocations are exactly alike. An Emperor's duty is merely to make his vehicle clean, and his fare fair

OMNIBUS.

*

Now I think Rascal * felt never more shaken as to the stability of his position than on the disappearance of Raffaella Ravioli. Rascal * a very legitimate monarch, as titles to monarchy go, was one of those adventurous cowards formed on the model of Shakespeare's Pistol and Parolles. The world is their oyster; they open it as best they may, but usually tell many lies by way of condiment to their oyster suppers. This man, royal-no, imperial, for roi involves loi-was in a great state of alarm when the disappearance of our Marchesa became obvious. It naturally did not occur to him that she was in an English country house, under the care of an English gentleman-about as safe quarters as you will find on the surface of this planet. He got into a dreadful state of fear. What he actually did is not of much consequence at this moment. Other events have occurred in the City of Exodus. Other events will occur, so far as one can estimate the idiosyncrasy of that lovely city. It is eternally self-destructive.

That there should be concern in the two great cities of Genesis and Exodus by reason of Raffaella's disappearance is a matter that deserves historic record. At the same time, it may be as well to indicate the fact about it. In the City of Genesis new powers come daily to the front, and there is not a wasted moment. The mysterious disappearance of a lady, being quietly placed in the hands of the police, would trouble no one except those invaluable myrmidons. Not so in the City of Exodus. There the most trivial

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