



Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online
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A LIFE'S SECRET.

A Novel.

By

MRS. HENRY WOOD,

AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC.

[Illustration: Logo]

_EIGHTH EDITION._

LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty.

1879.

[_All Rights of Translation and Reproduction are Reserved._]




CONTENTS.


PART THE FIRST.

CHAP.                                       PAGE
   I. WAS THE LADY MAD?                       11

  II. CHANGES                                 32

 III. AWAY TO LONDON                          39

  IV. DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT                      52

   V. MISS GWINN'S VISIT                      67

  VI. TRACKED HOME                            83

 VII. MR. SHUCK AT HOME                      103

VIII. FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS!                  116

  IX. THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER    127


PART THE SECOND.

   I. A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN               136

  II. CALLED TO KETTERFORD                   153

 III. TWO THOUSAND POUNDS                    168

  IV. AGITATION                              186


PART THE THIRD.

   I. A PREMATURE AVOWAL                     204

  II. MR. COX                                221

 III. 'I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL'           238

  IV. SOMEBODY 'PITCHED INTO'                256

   V. A GLOOMY CHAPTER                       274

  VI. THE LITTLE BOY AT REST                 288

 VII. MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET      294

VIII. A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK                309

  IX. ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY               326

   X. THE YEARS GONE BY                      342

  XI. RELIEF                                 359

 XII. CONCLUSION                             369




A LIFE'S SECRET




PART THE FIRST.




CHAPTER I.

WAS THE LADY MAD?


On the outskirts of Ketterford, a town of some note in the heart of
England, stood, a few years ago, a white house, its green lawn,
surrounded by shrubs and flowers, sloping down to the high road. It
probably stands there still, looking as if not a day had passed over its
head since, for houses can be renovated and made, so to say, new again,
unlike men and women. A cheerful, bright, handsome house, of moderate
size, the residence of Mr. Thornimett.

At the distance of a short stone's-throw, towards the open country, were
sundry workshops and sheds--a large yard intervening between them and
the house. They belonged to Mr. Thornimett; and the timber and other
characteristic materials lying about the yard would have proclaimed
their owner's trade without the aid of the lofty sign-board--'Richard
Thornimett, Builder and Contractor.' His business was extensive for a
country town.

Entering the house by the pillared portico, and crossing the
black-and-white floor-cloth of the hall to the left, you came to a room
whose windows looked towards the timber-yard. It was fitted up as a sort
of study, or counting-house, though the real business counting-house was
at the works. Matting was on its floor; desks and stools stood about;
maps and drawings, plain and, were on its walls; not finished
and beautiful landscapes, such as issue from the hands of modern
artists, or have descended to us from the great masters, but skeleton
designs of various buildings--churches, bridges, terraces--plans to be
worked out in actuality, not to be admired on paper. This room was
chiefly given over to Mr. Thornimett's pupil: and you may see him in it
now.

A tall, gentlemanly young fellow, active and upright; his name, Austin
Clay. It is Easter Monday in those long-past years--and yet not so very
long past, either--and the works and yard are silent to-day. Strictly
speaking, Austin Clay can no longer be called a pupil, for he is
twenty-one, and his articles are out. The house is his home; Mr. and
Mrs. Thornimett, who have no children of their own, are almost as his
father and mother. They have said nothing to him about leaving, and he
has said nothing to them. The town, in its busy interference,
gratuitously opined that 'Old Thornimett would be taking him into
partnership.' Old Thornimett had given no indication of what he might
intend to do, one way or the other.

Austin Clay was of good parentage, of gentle birth. Left an orphan at
the age of fourteen, with very small means, not sufficient to complete
his education, Ketterford wondered what was to become of him, and
whether he had not better get rid of himself by running away to sea. Mr.
Thornimett stepped in and solved the difficulty. The late Mrs.
Clay--Austin's mother--and Mrs. Thornimett were distantly related, and
perhaps a certain sense of duty in the matter made itself heard; that,
at least, combined with the great fact that the Thornimett household was
childless. The first thing they did was to take the boy home for the
Christmas holidays; the next, was to tell him he should stay there for
good. Not to be adopted as their son, not to leave him a fortune
hereafter, Mr. Thornimett took pains to explain to him, but to make him
into a man, and teach him to earn his own living.

'Will you be apprenticed to me, Austin?' subsequently asked Mr.
Thornimett.

'Can't I be articled, sir?' returned Austin, quickly.

'Articled?' repeated Mr. Thornimett, with a laugh. He saw what was
running in the boy's mind. He was a plain man himself; had built up his
own fortunes just as he had built the new house he lived in; had risen,
in fact, as many a working man does rise: but Austin's father was a
gentleman. 'Well, yes, you can be articled, if you like it better,' he
said; 'but I shall never call it anything but apprenticed; neither will
the trade. You'll have to work, young sir.'

'I don't care how hard I work, or what I do,' cried Austin, earnestly.
'There's no degradation in work.'

Thus it was settled; and Austin Clay became bound pupil to Richard
Thornimett.

'Old Thornimett and his wife have done it out of charity,' quoth
Ketterford.

No doubt they had. But as the time passed on they grew very fond of him.
He was an open-hearted, sweet-tempered, generous boy, and one of them at
least, Mr. Thornimett, detected in him the qualities that make a
superior man. Privileges were accorded him from the first: the going on
with certain of his school duties, for which masters came to him out of
business hours--drawing, mathematics, and modern languages chiefly--and
Austin went on himself with Latin and Greek. With the two latter Mrs.
Thornimett waged perpetual war. What would be the use of them to him,
she was always asking, and Austin, in his pleasant, laughing way, would
rejoin that they might help to make him a gentleman. He was that
already: Austin Clay, though he might not know it, was a true gentleman
born.

Had they repented their bargain? He was twenty-one now, and out of his
articles, or his time, as it was commonly called. No, not for an
instant. Never a better servant had Richard Thornimett; never, he would
have told you, one so good. With all his propensity to be a 'gentleman,'
Austin Clay did not shrink from his work; but did it thoroughly. His
master in his wisdom had caused him to learn his business practically;
but, that accomplished, he kept him to overlooking, and to other light
duties, just as he might have done by a son of his own. It had told
well.

Easter Monday, and a universal holiday Mr. Thornimett had gone out on
horseback, and Austin was in the pupil's room. He sat at a desk, his
stool on the tilt, one hand unconsciously balancing