



Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Internet Web Archive











Transcriber's Notes:

     1. Page scan source: The Internet Web Archive
        https://archive.org/details/indeadofnightnov02spei
        (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)






IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.

A Novel.




IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.




LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON.
1874.

(_All rights reserved_.)






IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.


A Novel.




IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.




LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON.
1874.

(_All rights reserved_.)






CONTENTS OF VOL. II.

CHAPTER
      I. THE EVE OF THE TRIAL.

      II. THE TRIAL.

     III. A BOTTLE OF BURGUNDY.

     IV. DR. DRAYTON'S SUSPICIONS.

      V. HIDE AND SEEK.

     VI. FLOWN.

    VII. GENERAL ST. GEORGE.

   VIII. CUPID AT PINCOTE.

     IX. AT THE VILLA PAMPHILI.

      X. BACK AGAIN AT PARK NEWTON.

     XI. MRS. MCDERMOTT WANTS HER MONEY.

    XII. FOOTSTEPS IN THE ROOM.

   XIII. THE SQUIRE'S TRIBULATION.













IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.




CHAPTER I.
THE EVE OF THE TRIAL.


Within a week of Tom Bristow's first visit to Pincote, and his
introduction to the Copes, father and son, Mr. Cope, junior, found
himself, much to his disgust, fairly on his way to New York. He would
gladly have rebelled against the parental dictum in this matter, if he
had dared to do so; but he knew of old how worse than useless it would
be for him to offer the slightest opposition to his father's wishes.

"You will go and say goodbye to Miss Culpepper as a matter of
course," said Mr. Cope to him. "But don't grow too sentimental over
the parting. Do it in an easy, smiling way, as if you were merely
going out of town for a few days. Don't make any promises--don't talk
about the future--and, above all, don't say a word about marriage. Of
course, you will have to write to her occasionally while you are away.
Just a few lines, you know, to say how you are, and all that. No
mawkish silly love-nonsense, but a sensible, manly letter; and be
wisely reticent as to the date of your return. Very sorry, but you
don't know how much longer your business may detain you--you know the
sort of thing I mean."

When the idea had first entered Mr. Cope's mind that it would be an
excellent thing if he could only succeed in getting his son engaged to
Squire Culpepper's only child, it had not been without an ulterior eye
to the fortune which that young lady would one day call her own that
he had been induced to press forward the scheme to a successful issue.
By marrying Miss Culpepper, his son would be enabled to take up a
position in county society such as he could never hope to attain
either by his own merits, which were of the most moderate kind, or
from his father's money bags alone. But dearly as Mr. Cope loved
position, he loved money still better; and it was no part of his
programme that his son should marry a pauper, even though that pauper
could trace back her pedigree to the Conqueror. And yet, if the squire
went on speculating as madly as he was evidently doing now, it seemed
only too probable that pauperism, or something very much like it,
would be the result, as far as Miss Culpepper was concerned. Instead
of having a fortune of at least twenty thousand pounds, as she ought
to have, would she come in for as many pence when the old man died?
Mr. Cope groaned in spirit as he asked himself the question, and he
became more determined than ever to carry out his policy of waiting
and watching, before allowing the engagement of the young people to
reach a point that would render a subsequent rupture impossible
without open scandal--and scandal was a bugbear of which the banker
stood in extreme dread.

Fortunately, perhaps, for Mr. Cope's view, the feelings of neither
of the people chiefly concerned were very deeply interested. Edward
had obeyed his father in this as in everything else. He had known
Jane from a child, and he liked her because she was clever and
good-tempered. But she by no means realized his ideal of feminine
beauty. She was too slender, too slightly formed to meet with his
approval. "There's not enough of her," was the way he put it to
himself. Miss Moggs, the confectioner's daughter,