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MACHINE
LEARNING FOR
PLANETARY
SCIENCE
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MACHINE
LEARNING FOR
PLANETARY
SCIENCE
Edited by
JOERN HELBERT
MARIO D’AMORE
MICHAEL AYE
HANNAH KERNER
Elsevier
Radarweg 29, PO Box 211, 1000 AE Amsterdam, Netherlands
The Boulevard, Langford Lane, Kidlington, Oxford OX5 1GB, United Kingdom
50 Hampshire Street, 5th Floor, Cambridge, MA 02139, United States
Copyright © 2022 Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-12-818721-0
Contributors ix
Foreword xv
References xvi
5. Tutorial: how to access, process, and label PDS image data for
machine learning 91
v
vi Contents
Steven Lu, Kiri L. Wagstaff, Rafael Alanis, Gary Doran, Kevin Grimes, and
Jordan Padams
5.1. Introduction 91
5.2. Access to PDS data products 92
5.3. Preprocessing PDS data products into standard image formats 97
5.4. Labeling image data 101
5.5. Example PDS image classifier results 106
5.6. Summary 109
Acknowledgments 109
References 109
Index 209
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Contributors
Rafael Alanis
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
R.B. Anderson
U.S. Geological Survey, Astrogeology Science Center, Flagstaff, AZ, United States
I.P. Aneece
U.S. Geological Survey, Western Geographic Science Center, Flagstaff, AZ, United
States
Erik Asphaug
Lunar and Planetary Laboratory, University of Arizona, Tucson, AZ, United States
Deegan Atha
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Michael Aye
Laboratory for Atmospheric and Space Physics, University of Colorado, Boulder,
CO, United States
Saverio Cambioni
Department of Earth, Atmospheric & Planetary Sciences, Massachusetts Institute
of Technology, Cambridge, MA, United States
Joseph Campbell
Carnegie Mellon University, Pittsburgh, PA, United States
Subhajit Chaudhury
The University of Tokyo, Department of Information and Communication
Engineering, Tokyo, Japan
Flynn Chen
Yale University, New Haven, CT, United States
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
ix
x Contributors
Shreyansh Daftry
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Mario D’Amore
German Aerospace Center (DLR), Berlin, Germany
Annie Didier
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Gary Doran
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Roberto Furfaro
Systems and Industrial Engineering Department, University of Arizona, Tucson,
AZ, United States
L.R. Gaddis
U.S. Geological Survey, Astrogeology Science Center, Flagstaff, AZ, United States
Universities Space Research Association, Lunar and Planetary Institute, Houston,
TX, United States
Kevin Grimes
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Tatsuaki Hashimoto
The University of Tokyo, Department of Electrical Engineering and Information
Systems, Tokyo, Japan
Jörn Helbert
German Aerospace Center (DLR), Berlin, Germany
Shoya Higa
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Tanvir Islam
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Contributors xi
Yumi Iwashita
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Hannah Kerner
University of Maryland, College Park, MD, United States
Olivier Lamarre
University of Toronto, Toronto, ON, Canada
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Christopher Laporte
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
J.R. Laura
U.S. Geological Survey, Astrogeology Science Center, Flagstaff, AZ, United States
Steven Lu
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Chris Mattman
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
R. Michael Swan
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Masahiro Ono
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Kyohei Otsu
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Jordan Padams
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
xii Contributors
Sebastiano Padovan
German Aerospace Center (DLR), Berlin, Germany
EUMETSAT, Darmstadt, Germany
WGS, Darmstadt, Germany
Mike Paton
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Dicong Qiu
Carnegie Mellon University, Pittsburgh, PA, United States
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Brandon Rothrock
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Hiya Roy
The University of Tokyo, Department of Electrical Engineering and Information
Systems, Tokyo, Japan
Sami Sahnoune
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Bhavin Shah
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Kathryn Stack
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Adam Stambouli
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Mark Strickland
Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ, United States
Contributors xiii
Vivian Sun
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Virisha Timmaraju
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Kiri L. Wagstaff
Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute of Technology, Pasadena, CA,
United States
Ingo P. Waldmann
University College London, London, United Kingdom
Toshihiko Yamasaki
The University of Tokyo, Department of Information and Communication
Engineering, Tokyo, Japan
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remarked the anger his words had produced, Lord Bellefield turned
and quitted the apartment.
Lewis stood for a moment gazing after the retreating figure, his
chest heaving and his nostrils expanded, like those of some hunted
animal; then pacing the room (his invariable custom when labouring
under strong excitement), he gave vent to the following broken
sentences:—
“He meant to insult me—his words, his look, everything proves it
—and I did not resent it. Perhaps he thinks I fear him—if I believed
so, I’d follow him, and before them all fix on him the blow of shame
that he must avenge, or own himself a coward.” As he spoke he took
two or three hasty strides towards the door; checking himself,
however, as his eye accidentally fell upon Walter, who had entered
with him, and who stood regarding him with looks of stupid
amazement, he continued: “But I must not think of myself only; the
interests of others are at stake—Rose—my Mother—that poor boy—I
dare not sacrifice them.” He flung himself into a chair, and pressing
his hand against his burning brow, resumed, “Oh, why am I called
upon to bear this?—how have I sinned, that this degradation should
be forced upon me?—the coward! he knows I am bound hand and
foot, or he dare not thus insult me; it is like striking a fettered man
—” He paused, then added, “Well, a time may come when I may
meet him more as an equal; at all events, now it is my duty to bear
as much as human nature can, and I’ll do it.” He remained silent for
a few minutes, with his hand over his eyes, waiting till the
excitement should pass away. From this state he was aroused by
feeling something touch him, and looking up, he perceived the idiot,
half kneeling, half sitting by his side, gazing up into his face with
looks of wonder and sympathy. This mute evidence of affection
acted as a balm to his wounded spirit, and laying his hand kindly on
the boy’s shoulder, he said, “Walter, my poor fellow, have I
frightened you? I was not angry with you, you know. Come, we will
walk down to the lake and see the skating. What has become of
Faust, I wonder? We must take him with us, of course.”
“Who was that who went away just now?” returned Walter. “He
with the hair over his mouth, I mean?”
“That was Lord Bellefield, your friend Mr. Leicester’s brother.”
“He’s a bad man, isn’t he?”
“Why should you think so, Walter?”
The boy paused for a few moments in reflection, then answered,
“His eyes look wicked and frighten me; besides, he made you angry
—I hate him.”
“You should not say that, Walter; you know it is not right to hate
any one,” returned Lewis, feeling dreadfully hypocritical; then linking
his arm in that of his pupil, they passed out through the
conservatory.
As the sound of their retreating footsteps died away a figure
peeped timidly into the apartment, and seeing it was untenanted,
entered and gazed after them long and fixedly. It was Annie Grant,
who, returning to learn the result of Lewis’s embassy to her father,
had involuntarily overheard both the insult and the burst of wounded
feeling which it had called forth.
In that short five minutes were sown seeds that, as they grew to
maturity, bore sleepless nights and weary days, and the tearless
sorrow of a breaking heart, as a portion of their bitter fruit.
The lake in Broadhurst Park presented a gay scene on the
afternoon in question. The General, anxious to propitiate the good-
will of the voters, had ordered the park to be thrown open to all who
might choose to witness or join in the amusement of skating. A
sharp frost, which had continued without intermission for several
days, had covered the water with a firm coating of ice, which
afforded a surface as smooth as glass for the evolutions of the
skaters. The sun was shining brightly, bringing out beautiful effects
of light and shade on the steep and rugged banks, and causing the
hoar-frost on the feathery branches of a young birch plantation to
glitter like sprays of diamonds. On the side approached by the drive
from the house a tent had been pitched, in such a direction that any
of the party who feared to expose themselves to the cold might
witness the performances of the skaters and yet be sheltered from
the troublesome intrusion of the north wind.
As Lewis and Walter came in sight of the spot (on which several
groups of well-dressed people, together with a considerable number
of a lower class, were already assembled) the latter uttered an
exclamation of delight, and roused out of his usual state of apathy
by the novel excitement, bounded gaily forward till he reached the
side of Charles Leicester, to whom he had taken an extreme fancy.
“Mr. Arundel is going to teach me how to skate, Mr. Leicester, and
you are to help,” he exclaimed, as soon as he had recovered breath
after his run.
“Am I?” returned Leicester with a good-natured smile “How do you
know that I will help you?”
“Because Mr. Arundel said so; and everybody minds him—Faust
and all.”
“Is that true, Arundel? Am I to do just as you tell me?” inquired
Leicester, as the individual alluded to joined them.
“It is quite right that Walter should think so, at all events,”
returned Lewis; “but I told him to ask you, as a favour, whether you
would lend us your assistance. Walter is anxious to learn to skate,
and to save his cranium from getting a few artificial bumps suddenly
developed upon it, I propose that you and I should each take one of
his arms and keep him from falling, till he learns to stand safely
upon his skates without assistance.”
Leicester gave vent to a deep sigh of resignation, then muttered,
“Well, I should certainly never have dreamed of undergoing such
an amount of exertion on my own account; but I suppose Walter
fancies it will be very charming, and he has not a great many
pleasures, poor fellow!” he continued aside. And so, like a good-
natured, kind-hearted creature, as, despite his affectation, he really
was, he performed the service required of him, and actually exerted
himself till his complexion became, as he expressed it, “redder than
that of some awful ploughboy.” After a time Walter grew tired with
the unaccustomed exercise, and taking off his skates, the trio
proceeded to join the party at the tent. As they approached, Annie
tripped up to Leicester, and seizing his arm, said, “Where have you
been all this time? I wanted you particularly.” She then added
something in a low voice which had the effect of heightening her
cousin’s unromantic complexion to a still greater degree, and elicited
from him the incredulous ejaculation, “Nonsense!”
“I knew you’d be surprised,” returned Annie, laughing. “She is
going to remain here till the party breaks up, so you’ll have plenty of
time to make yourself agreeable, if it’s not ‘too much trouble,’ or
‘such a bore,’” she continued, mimicking Charles’s languid drawl.
“How was this matter brought about, pray?” inquired her cousin;
“and why on earth do you fancy it concerns me in any way?”
“It was all my doing,” returned Annie. “I was not blind when we
were in Scotland; and after you left us I made a point of cultivating
the young lady, and fortunately for you, approving of her, I asked
papa to let me invite her to Broadhurst.”
“Of course, with that discretion which is such a striking
characteristic of your amiable sex, imparting to him all your views in
doing so.”
“Now, Charley, you are very cross and unkind and disagreeable. I
asked her merely because I thought it would give you pleasure; and
though I like sometimes to tease you a little myself, of course I
never dreamed of saying anything to my father which could annoy
you.”
“Well, you are a dear, good little cousin, I know, so I won’t scold
you,” was the reply, and they entered the tent together.
A few minutes afterwards Lewis was engaged in pointing out to
Walter one of the skaters who was performing some very intricate
figure with great success, when he heard a female voice exclaim,
“Surely I am not mistaken—that is Mr. Arundel!” and turning at the
sound, beheld, leaning on the arm of Charles Leicester, Miss Laura
Peyton, the young lady who had penetrated his disguise at Lady
Lombard’s party. Not to return her bow was impossible; but at the
recollection of all that had passed on that evening his cheek flushed
and his features assumed a cold, haughty expression, the result of
mingled pride and vexation, under which he strove to conceal his
annoyance. Annie, who was not aware that Lewis and her friend had
ever met before, glanced from one to the other with looks of the
greatest astonishment, which was by no means diminished when
Miss Peyton continued, “Now let me inquire after the Prince of
Persia. I hope you left his Highness in the enjoyment of good
health.”
While Lewis was striving to frame a suitable reply, Annie, who
could restrain herself no longer, exclaimed, in a tone of the utmost
bewilderment, “The Prince of Persia! My dear Laura, are you out of
your senses?”
The only reply her friend was able for some minutes to return was
rendered inaudible by a fit of laughing, in which Leicester, and at last
even Lewis himself, could not resist joining.
“Now I call that abominable,” continued Annie; “you are all
enjoying some excellent joke, and I am left to pine in ignorance.
Laura, what are you laughing at?”
“Ask Mr. Leicester,” returned Miss Peyton, breathless with laughter.
“Charles, what is it all about?”
“Ask Arundel,” was the reply; “he is the proper person to explain.”
“Mr. Arundel, you must tell me!”
“Really, I must beg you to excuse me,” began Lewis. “Miss Peyton
—that is—Mr. Leicester—in fact, it is utterly impossible for me to tell
you. Come, Walter, you’ve rested quite long enough, you’ll catch cold
sitting still, after making yourself so hot;” and as he spoke he took
his pupil’s arm and hastily quitted the tent.
Of course as soon as he was out of earshot, Annie reiterated her
demand that the mystery should be explained, and of course Laura
begged Charles to relate the affair, and then, woman-like,
interrupted him before he had uttered half-a-dozen words, and being
once fairly off, did not stop till she had told the whole history from
beginning to end, which she did with much spirit and drollery; then,
in her turn, she had to be informed of the position Lewis held in the
General’s family; how wonderfully Walter had improved under his
care, and how much everybody liked him. When they had fully
discussed these matters, they were joined by Lord Bellefield, who
escorted them across the ice to witness more closely the
proceedings of the skaters.
Later in the afternoon a party of young men had undertaken to
skate a quadrille. This being something new, people hurried from all
sides to witness the performance, and a crowd speedily collected.
Walter had expressed a wish to see it, and Lewis, pleased at the
unusual interest he took in all that was going forward, which he
rightly regarded as a proof of the decided progress his intellect was
making, willingly complied.
The crowd still continued to thicken as the quadrille proceeded,
and it had just occurred to Lewis that the weight of so many people
collected in one spot would try the strength of the ice pretty
severely, when a slight cracking sound confirmed his suspicions, and
induced him to withdraw Walter from the group. It was fortunate
that he did so, for scarcely were they clear of the crowd when a
sharp crack, like the report of a pistol, rang in his ears, followed in
rapid succession by one or two similar explosions. Then came a rush
of many feet, accompanied by the shrill screaming of women, and
on looking round Lewis perceived that a portion of the ice had given
way, and that several persons were struggling in the water.
CHAPTER XXI.—FAUST GETS ON
SWIMMINGLY, AND THE READER IS
INTRODUCED TO A DIVING BELLE
“WRINGING” WET.
T
he shrieks alluded to in the last chapter still continued, and
Lewis, consigning Walter to the care of a servant, hastened to
the spot to render any assistance which it might be in his
power to afford. As he reached the scene of action the panic and
confusion were so great that it was no easy matter to ascertain the
extent of the mischief, or to perceive how best it might be remedied.
Lord Bellefield, who seemed the only person at all collected, was
issuing directions in a loud, authoritative voice, to which the majority
of the bystanders appeared too much alarmed and excited to pay
attention. The number of persons who were actually immersed had
been increased by the injudicious attempts of those who had first
endeavoured to assist them by rushing to the edge of the broken
ice, which, giving way under their weight, had plunged them also
into the water. As Lewis came up a rope was flung across the
opening, and held tightly by men on either side. Grasping this firmly
with one hand, the young tutor assisted to extricate several persons
who were clinging to the edges of the ice. He was just springing
back as the portion on which he was standing broke away beneath
his feet, when a cry was raised, “There’s a lady in the water!” and
immediately some one added, “It’s the General’s daughter—it’s Miss
Grant.” Before the words were well spoken Lewis had flung off his
greatcoat and was about to plunge into the water, when his eye
suddenly caught that of Lord Bellefield, who, having in the confusion
accidentally stationed himself by his side, was pointing with
vehement gestures to the spot where, partly sustained by the
buoyant nature of her dress, partly supported by a mass of floating
ice, the form of Annie Grant was to be discerned. At the sight of the
eager face of the man who had insulted him some evil spirit seemed
to take possession of Lewis’s breast; checking himself suddenly, he
stepped back a pace, and fixing his eyes with a piercing glance on
Lord Bellefield’s features, said coldly, “I beg pardon, your lordship
will, of course, rescue Miss Grant.”
For a moment anger and surprise deprived Lord Bellefield of the
power of speaking, but as soon as he could find words he replied,
“Go on, sir; as you could risk your life for a dog, you will surely take
a cold bath to save your master’s daughter.”
The speech was an ill-chosen one, for it excited a degree of
irritation which outweighed all other considerations, and folding his
arms across his chest, Lewis replied in a tone of the bitterest irony,
“Your lordship must excuse me. I am no squire of dames.”
Lord Bellefield’s only rejoinder was an oath, and flinging off his
wrapper, he appeared about to spring into the water. Suddenly
changing his intention, he turned to Lewis and exclaimed, his face
livid with rage and vexation, “Ten thousand curses on you! You know
I cannot swim.”
It is at such moments as these, when by our own wilful act we
have laid ourselves open to his attacks, that the tempter urges us on
to crimes which in our calmer moments we should shudder to
contemplate. A glance of triumph shot from Lewis’s dark eyes; the
fearful thought flashed across him, “She is to be his bride—her
fortune is to repair his extravagance—perhaps he loves her—let him
save her himself, I will not rescue her for him.” And the fiend
prompted the idea, worthy of its originator, that he might revenge
himself on Lord Bellefield by leaving Annie to perish. But, like many
other clever people, for once the demon outwitted himself, the very
magnitude of the offence serving to awaken Lewis to the sinfulness
of the line of conduct he had meditated. Almost in the same moment
in which the idea occurred to him a mist seemed to clear itself away
from his mental vision, and he perceived the abyss of guilt on the
brink of which he was standing. And now the agonising doubt
suggested itself to him whether his repentance might not have come
too late—whether Annie might not sink before he could reach her;
and as Lord Bellefield ran off impetuously to hasten the movements
of a party who were bringing a small flat-bottomed boat towards the
spot, Lewis sprang into the water, clearing a quarter of the distance
in his leap, and swam with vigorous strokes in the direction of the
still floating figure.
His fears were not unfounded. Annie’s dress, which had hitherto
served in great measure to sustain her, was rapidly becoming
saturated with water; every instant she sank lower, and while he was
still some yards from the spot, to his horror he perceived the
fragment of ice on which she rested roll round and slip from her
grasp. The effect was instantaneous. Uttering a piercing shriek,
which rang through his ears like a death-knell, she threw out her
arms in a vain attempt to save herself, and disappeared beneath the
water. At the same moment there was a rush, a bound, a plunge—
some large animal dashed past Lewis, and ere the last fragment of
Annie’s dress disappeared Faust had seized it in his mouth and
prevented its wearer from sinking. The bystanders now drew the
rope which had been flung across the opening in the ice in such a
direction that Lewis could grasp it, and thus supported, he contrived
to raise Annie’s head above the water, and with some assistance
from Faust, to keep both her and himself afloat till such time as the
punt should arrive. This, fortunately, was not long. The instant it was
launched, Lord Bellefield and one or two others jumped into it, and
in another moment Annie Grant was rescued from her perilous
situation, to the horrors of which she was, however, by this time
happily insensible. As they were lifting her into the boat, poor Faust,
who probably did not understand that his services were no longer
needed, still retained his hold on her dress, and Lord Bellefield
struck him so fiercely with the handle of a boathook that he fell back
stunned, and would have sunk had not Lewis, who was still in the
water, thrown his arm round him and supported him.
“The punt can hold no more,” exclaimed Lord Bellefield. “Miss
Grant’s safety must not be endangered for any consideration and as
he spoke he pushed the boat from the spot, leaving Lewis still
clinging to the rope and supporting the weight of the dog, which did
not as yet begin to show any signs of life.
“We will bring the boat back for you, sir, directly” cried one of the
men who were assisting Lord Bellefield in punting.
“You must be quick about it, if you care to be of any use,”
returned Lewis in a faint voice, “for I can’t hold on much longer; my
limbs are becoming numbed with the cold.”
“Better let go the dog if you’re in any difficulty,” suggested Lord
Bellefield with a malicious laugh as the boat moved rapidly away.
“That is the way they would repay your faithful service, eh! my
poor Faust,” murmured Lewis. “Never fear, we’ll sink or swim
together, my dog. If any one deserves to drown for this day’s work
’tis I, not you.” At the sound of his master’s voice the poor animal
opened his eyes and began to show signs of returning animation.
Fortunate was it for them both that Lewis had contrived to place the
rope under his arms in such a position as almost entirely to support,
not only his own weight, but that of the dog also; for long before the
boat returned his strength was entirely exhausted, and his limbs,
from the length of time he had been immersed in the icy water, had
completely lost all sensation, and were powerless as those of a child.
Lord Bellefield contrived to detain the boat on various pretexts, till
at last the man who had promised to return lost all patience, and
pushed off without waiting for permission; in another moment it was
by Lewis’s side.
“Take the dog first,” exclaimed Lewis in a voice scarcely audible
from exhaustion. “Now, you must lift me in, for I can’t help myself.”
With some difficulty (for even with the assistance of the rope Lewis
had been barely able to keep his own head and that of Faust above
water) the men in the boat complied with his directions. The dog
had by this time nearly recovered from the effects of the blow, and
was able to stand up and lick his master’s face and hands as he lay
at the bottom of the punt. Lewis, however, by no means appeared in
such good case; his cheeks and even lips were deadly pale, his
breathing was hard and laborious, and he lay with his eyes closed
and his limbs stretched out with unnatural stiffness and rigidity. As
the boat approached the spot where a landing was practicable,
Charles Leicester, who had assisted his brother in conveying Annie to
the carriage, which was fortunately in waiting, came running back,
and as his eye fell upon the prostrate form of Lewis, he exclaimed—
“Why, Arundel! good heavens, I believe he’s insensible.”
Nor was he wrong. The instant the necessity for exertion was over
the reaction had been too much for Lewis, and he had fainted. He
was instantly lifted from the boat and carried to the tent, where such
restoratives as could be at the moment procured were applied, at
first without success, but after a short time the colour began to
return to his lips, and in a few minutes more he was restored to
consciousness.
“Bravo, that’s all right,” began Charley Leicester, as Lewis, with a
faint smile, sat upright and returned his hearty shake of the hand
with a feeble pressure. “You begin to look a little less like a
candidate for a coffin than you did five minutes ago. I declare, when
I saw you in the boat, thought it was a case of ‘found drowned.’
Faust! good dog, how unpleasantly wet you are—what a bump he’s
got on the top of his head, just where the organ of combativeness—
no, veneration, isn’t it? ought to be. How did that happen? In fact
I’m quite in the dark as to the whole affair, for I had gone to fetch
shawls for some of the ladies, and when I reached the scene of
action Bellefield was fishing his intended, half-drowned, out of a
moist punt, and enlisted me to assist in conveying the dripping
damsel to the carriage. Did you fall in together?”
“You will hear enough about it soon, I dare say,” returned Lewis,
speaking feebly and with apparent difficulty. “I am afraid I have
scarcely sufficient life left in me just now to tell you.”
“Don’t attempt it,” returned Leicester good-naturedly. “And the
sooner you get those soaked clothes off, the better. Of course they
will send back the trap for you.”
“My carriage is on the spot,” interrupted a tall, aristocratic-looking
man who had assisted in conveying Lewis to the tent. “My carriage is
on the spot, and is very much at this gentleman’s service. We must
all feel anxious to prevent his suffering from the effects of his gallant
conduct. The preserver of Miss Grant’s life must be considered as a
public benefactor.”
At this praise a slight colour rose to Lewis’s pale cheeks, and a
look of pain passed across his features. He to be styled Annie’s
preserver!—he who had all but sacrificed her life to his feelings of
revenge! and as the recollection occurred to him a slight shudder ran
through his frame.
“There, you are actually shivering,” exclaimed Leicester. “I shall
not let you stay here any longer. Since Sir Ralph Strickland is so kind
as to offer his carriage, there is nothing to delay us. Can you walk?
Take my arm.”
Lewis, with an inclination of the head to Sir Ralph, took Leicester’s
proffered arm, and having with difficulty risen from his seat,
attempted to walk, but at the first step he stumbled, and would have
fallen had not his friend supported him.
“Steady, there,” continued Leicester; “you’re hardly in marching
order yet. Would you like to wait another minute or two?”
“I think I had better try to proceed,” replied Lewis; “exercise may
serve to restore the circulation.”
“Allow me to take your other arm,” said Sir Ralph Strickland kindly;
“then I think you will be able to reach the carriage—it is close at
hand. The length of time you were in the water has cramped your
limbs. I saw the whole affair, and never witnessed anything more
interesting than the conduct of your noble dog.”
And as he spoke he stooped and patted Faust, then forcing Lewis
to accept his offer of assistance, they left the tent together. As his
blood began once again to circulate the cramp and stiffness
gradually disappeared, and ere the trio reached the carriage Lewis
scarcely required assistance. On reaching Broadhurst he found the
General waiting to receive him, and the instant he alighted he had to
undergo a long, prosy, and pompous harangue, embodying that
noble commander’s gratitude, during the delivery of which oration
the subject of it was kept standing in his wet clothes, a compulsory
act of homage to the cold-water system, by no means congenial to
his feelings, mental or bodily. However, it came to an end at last,
and Lewis was permitted to retire to his own room. Moreover,
Charles Leicester (instigated thereunto by a hint from Miss Peyton)
waylaid the apothecary who had been summoned on Annie’s
account, and caused him to inspect Lewis’s condition, which
measure resulted in a command to have his bed warmed, and
instantly to deposit himself therein; with which medical ordinance
Lewis was fain to comply.
There he lay until, from being much too cold, he became a great
deal too hot, for before night he was in a high state of feverish
excitement, accompanied by violent pains in the head and limbs. His
medical adviser was, however, fortunately really skilful, and by
vigorous and timely measures he contrived to avert the rheumatic
fever with which his patient was threatened; and after spending
three days in bed Lewis arose, feeling indeed especially weak, but
otherwise little the worse in body for his aquatic exploit. We say in
body, for mentally he had suffered, and was still suffering bitterly. As
he lay on the couch of sickness in the silent hours of the night, face
to face with conscience, the recollection of the sin he had committed
(for a sin it was, and he was too honest-hearted in his self-scrutiny
not to recognise it as such) haunted him. The fact that he had been
unable by his own act to repair the consequences of the evil he had
meditated impressed him deeply—but for Faust Annie would have
sunk ere he could have reached the spot, probably to rise no more.
It appeared a special interference of Providence to convince him of
the folly of self-reliance, and to impress upon his mind a sense of
the mercy of God, in saving him from the consequences of his
revengeful feelings. True, he had repented of his fault almost in the
moment of committal; true, he had risked his life in proof of the
sincerity of His repentance; true, the provocation he had received
might, in the eyes of men, serve in great measure to justify him;
still, the knowledge that but for the interposition of Providence he
might now have felt himself a murderer filled him with emotions of
the deepest penitence, and at the same time of the liveliest
gratitude.
In this frame of mind the encomiums passed upon his gallant
conduct were most distressing to him, and a short note from Annie,
thanking him in a few simple words for having saved her life, added
fuel to the fire of his self-condemnation. Amongst other good
resolutions for the future he determined to bear any insults Lord
Bellefield might offer with as much patient endurance as could by
any possibility be consistent with self-respect in one in his dependent
situation; and the reader may judge of the sincerity of his
repentance if he reflects what such a resolution must have cost his
haughty nature. He also determined to seek an opportunity of
confessing to Annie how little he deserved her gratitude, and to
implore her forgiveness for the wrong he had intended her. The
dipping that young lady had undergone did not appear to have
affected either her health or her spirits. By the doctor’s orders she
also had been sent to bed immediately on her return home, where,
falling asleep, she escaped a lecture from Minerva and all other evil
consequences of her immersion, and woke the next morning none
the worse for the accident.
It was about a week after the day on which these events had
taken place, when, the afternoon being fine, Lewis and Walter
proposed to take a ride together. Walter had mounted his pony, and
Lewis was strapping a greatcoat in front of his horse’s saddle, when
Richards, the groom, who had been elevated to the rank of second
coachman (as the illness of the head coachman had rendered his
resignation an act of necessity, and the next in command had
succeeded to his vacant box), came forward, and touching his hat,
asked if he could speak to Lewis a minute.
“Certainly; what is it?” returned Lewis, stepping aside a few paces.
“Why, sir, p’r’aps you know as the General’s gone out a-driving?”
“I was not aware of the fact,” returned Lewis; “but what then?”
“He’s a-driving of hisself, sir,—our iron-greys, Mr. Arundel. Master
ain’t so young as he used to was, and it’s my belief if any-think
startles ’em he won’t be able to hold ’em—they go sweetly now, but
they do pull most amazing. I drove ’em yesterday, and afore I got
home my arms ached properly.”
“Did you mention this to General Grant?” inquired Lewis.
“Well, I told him I was afeard he’d find ’em pull rather stiff; but he
only give me one of his dark looks, as much as to say, ‘Keep youi
advice to yourself, and mind your own business.’ Master’s rather a
hard gentleman to talk to, you see; he’s always been used to
shooting and flogging the blacks, out in the Ingies, till it’s kind a-
become natural to him; and as he can’t act the same here with us
whites, why it puts him out like.”
“I do not see that anything can be done now,” observed Lewis,
after a moment’s reflection. “If I had been here when the General
started I would have told him the trick the iron-greys played us, and
advised him not to drive them just yet; but I dare say it would have
done no good; for, as you say, your master is not over fond of advice
gratis. I suppose he has one of the grooms with him?”
“Only a mere boy, sir, and Miss Annie,” was the reply.
“What!” exclaimed Lewis in a quick, excited tone of voice; “is Miss
Grant with him? Why did you not say so before? Which road have
they taken? How long have they been gone?”
“About twenty minutes, or p’r’aps not so long,” returned Richards.
“I think they’re gone to Camfield—leastways, I heard master tell
Miss Annie to bring her card-case, ’cos he was going to call on
Colonel Norton.”
“That must be eight miles by the road, but not much above five
across the fields by Churton Wood,” rejoined Lewis.
“That is right, Mr. Arundel,” was the reply; “and the gates is
unlocked, for I rode that way with a note for Colonel Norton the day
afore yesterday.”
Ere Richards had finished speaking Lewis was on horseback; and
as soon as they reached the park he turned to his pupil, saying,
“Now, Walter, sit firmly, guide the pony on to the turf, tighten your
reins, and then for a good canter; touch him with the whip—not too
hard—that’s it.” Putting his own horse in motion at the same time,
they rode forward at a brisk canter, which, as the horses grew
excited by the rapid motion, became almost a gallop. Crossing the
park at this pace, they turned down a bridle-path which led through
a wood and across several grass fields, beyond the last of which lay
a wide common. As they approached this Lewis took out his watch.
“Above four miles in twenty mintues,—I call that good work for a
pony. You rode very well, Walter,—you’ve a capital seat on horseback
now.”
“I can leap too,” rejoined Walter. “Richards taught me the days
when you were ill in bed.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” returned Lewis, who, while his pupil was
speaking, had been endeavouring, unsuccessfully, to open a gate,
“for they have fastened this gate with a padlock, and we must find
our way over the hedge.”
“Oh! but I can’t——” began Walter.
“Yes you can,” interposed Lewis, “when I have cleared the road for
you, and shown you how to do it. Sit still and watch me.” So saying,
he selected a place where the hedge was thin and the ditch and
bank practicable, and putting his horse into an easy canter, rode at
it. Being particularly anxious that nothing should go wrong, and that
Walter should be convinced of the feasibility of the attempt, Lewis
was not best pleased when his horse, instead of rising to the leap,
refused it, and replied to a tolerably sharp application of the spur by
plunging violently and turning short round. His rider, however, sat as
firmly as if he were part of the animal, and cantering round two
sides of the field, got him well in hand and again rode him at the
hedge, working his mouth with the bit and giving him the spur. This
discipline produced the desired effect; for instead of refusing the
leap this time, the horse sprang forward with a bound which would
have cleared an obstacle of twice the size, and alighted on the other
side several feet beyond the ditch. Lewis rode on a few yards, and
then turning, leaped back into the field and rejoined his pupil. “Now,
Walter, you must do as I have done. Canter up to that gap, give the
pony his head, touch him on the flank as he approaches the hedge,
sit firmly and press in your knees, and you’ll go over as nicely as
possible.”
But poor Walter’s courage failed him; the conflict between Lewis
and his horse had destroyed his confidence, and he was afraid to
make the attempt. His tutor read it in his blanched cheek and
quailing glance, and being as kind and judicious as he was firm,
forbore to press the point, and dismounting, led the pony through
the gap, and assisted Walter to scramble over on foot; then
remounting his steed, he tested his obedience by once more leaping
him over; and having thus achieved the adventure of the locked
gate, tutor and pupil cantered off across the common. But this little
episode had caused some loss of time, and when Lewis reached the
lane leading to the village, near which Colonel Norton’s house was
situated, he learned from a man who was mending the road that a
phaeton, answering the description of General Grant’s equipage, had
passed a few minutes before.
“My friend Richards’ fears were needlessly excited then, it seems,
and the old gentleman is a better whip than he gave him credit for
being,” thought Lewis. “Come, Walter,” he added aloud, “we will go
back by the road. Don’t trot just yet; the horses are warm, we must
allow them to get a little cool.”
After proceeding about half a mile along the lane, which was only
just wide enough to allow vehicles to pass each other, they overtook
an elderly woman in a red cloak most picturesquely perched
between two panniers on a donkey’s back. Such an arrangement
being a novelty to Walter, he was proceeding to inquire of what use
the panniers were, when Lewis’s quick sense of hearing caught a
sound which caused him to rein in his horse and, enjoining silence,
pause to listen. His ears had not deceived him. Owing to the frosty
weather the road was particularly hard, the ruts also had been lately
mended with coarse gravel, and as he listened the sound of horses’
feet galloping, and the rattle of a carriage proceeding at unusual
speed, became distinctly audible in the lane behind them. The
vehicle was evidently rapidly approaching. The lane being in this part
extremely narrow, Lewis’s first thought was for Walter’s safety.
Seizing the pony’s rein, he set spurs to his horse, and they cantered
on a short distance till they reached a gateway leading into a field.
The gate was fortunately open, and desiring Walter to ride into the
field and wait till he joined him, he turned his horse’s head and
began, to retrace his steps. As soon as he had passed an old oak-
tree which stood at a corner of the road and prevented any one from
seeing beyond it, he perceived the cause of the sounds which had
reached him, and which he had already but too correctly divined.
At about a hundred yards from the spot where he was stationed
appeared a phaeton drawn by a pair of magnificent iron-grey horses,
which Lewis had no difficulty in recognising. From the furious pace
at which they were advancing, it was evident that their driver had
lost all control over them; while about half-way between Lewis and
the equipage in question were the donkey and panniers, with the old
woman in the red cloak before alluded to. The gentleman driving the
phaeton shouted to her to get out of the way, and Lewis made signs
as to which side of the road she had better take; but she appeared
either paralysed with fear or unable to guide her donkey; and ere
she was able to comply with, or probably to comprehend these
directions, the infuriated horses had overtaken her, and dashing
against her, flung her, donkey, panniers and all, to the ground with a
shock like that of a battering-ram. At the same instant Lewis,
availing himself of the temporary check, rode forward, and springing
from his saddle, seized the heads of the phaeton horses, and with
much difficulty, and no inconsiderable personal risk, succeeded in
stopping them.
CHAPTER XXII.—THE TRAIN
ARRIVES AT AN IMPORTANT
STATION.
T
he catastrophe related at the end of the last chapter attracted
the attention of a couple of labourers who had been engaged
in mending the road, and they immediately hastened to the
spot to render any assistance which might be required. By their aid
the poor woman was extricated from her perilous situation, and
fortunately proved to be less injured than could have been expected,
a dislocated shoulder being the most serious hurt she had sustained.
Committing the phaeton and horses to the care of one of the
working men, Lewis and the other labourer carried the poor woman
to a cottage by the roadside, and deposited her on a bed till such
time as the surgeon (for whom General Grant had, by his daughter’s
suggestion, despatched the groom on the horse which Lewis had
ridden) should arrive. Luckily, they had not long to wait, as the boy
met the person he was in search of returning from his round of
professional visits. The dislocated shoulder was soon set to rights
and bandaged up, and the sight of Annie’s well-filled purse rendered
easy an arrangement with the tenants of the cottage to allow the
invalid to continue their inmate till the next day, when she could be
removed without detriment.
In the meantime the General had drawn Lewis on one side, and
was expatiating to him upon the cause of the accident. “You
perceive, Mr. Arundel, that my wrist is slightly swollen? Well, sir, that
is from an old strain received in the little affair at Sticumlÿkphun. I
was only a captain then. The company to which I belonged got
separated from the regiment in crossing a jungle, and a party of the
Rajah’s irregular horse tried to cut us off; they were upon us so
suddenly, we hadn’t time to form a hollow square, and for a minute
our fate appeared sealed;—they rode the men down like sheep. In
the mêlée a gigantic trooper cut down the colour-sergeant and was
about to possess himself of the flag, when I seized the staff with my
left hand and struck at him with my sabre, but, unfortunately, it
broke on his cuirass; his sword had also snapped with the blow
which had caused the sergeant’s death, and a struggle ensued
between us for the possession of the colours. His strength was in
proportion to his height, but although I felt as if every muscle in my
arms was about to snap, I held on till one of my men shot him
through the head. At the same moment a troop of the 14th Lancers
rode up and rescued us—but my wrists-have never recovered the
strain. However, I found little difficulty in holding in these horses, till,
just now, when we had turned to come home, some boys overthrew
a barrow full of stones by the roadside, which startled the animals;
they broke into a gallop, and despite all my efforts to prevent it, the
accident to which you were witness occurred.”
“Had I known of your intention, sir, I should have cautioned you
not to trust them too implicitly,” replied Lewis. “Before your return,—
by Miss Livingstone’s wish,—I went over the stables to ascertain
whether there were any carriage horses she could use. I drove these
greys the second or third time they had ever been in harness, and
they ran away with me in Broadhurst Park; but I have taken them
out several times since, when Walter wished for an airing, and I
believed they had become quiet.”
“Indeed,” returned the General, more graciously than was his
wont, “I was not aware you were so good a whip; that relieves me
from a great difficulty; you will be so obliging as to drive the
phaeton home, and I can ride your horse. With my wrists in their
present condition it would be a great risk for me to attempt to hold
in those animals, and the groom is a mere boy. Annie, my dear,” he
continued, as his daughter approached them from the cottage, “our
difficulties are at an end. Mr. Arundel, it appears, has been in the
habit of driving these horses lately, and will be so good as to take
my place and see you safely home.”
“But, papa——” began Annie in a tone of remonstrance, while a
slight accession of colour replaced the roses which fear had
banished from her cheeks.
“My dear, the arrangement is the only one which appears feasible
under present circumstances. I shall ride Mr. Arundel’s horse and will
keep near, so you need be under no alarm,” returned her father
majestically.
Annie by no means approved of the plan. In the first place, she
was a good deal afraid of the horses, and having no experience of
Lewis’s skill as a driver, was naturally alarmed at trusting herself
again behind them. In the second place, she had a vague idea that it
was scarcely etiquette to take a tête-à-tête drive with the handsome
young tutor. But she saw that her father was quite determined, so,
like a sensible girl, she refrained from offering opposition which she
foresaw would be useless.
Lewis, however, reading in that “book of beauty,” her expressive
face, the secret of her fears, took an opportunity, while the General
was altering the stirrups to suit himself, to reassure her by saying,
“You need not be in the least afraid, Miss Grant. Believe me, I would
not undertake so great a trust as that of your safety did I not feel
perfectly sure that I could drive you home without the slightest
danger.”
As Lewis spoke Annie raised her eyes and glanced at him for a
moment. It has been already remarked, in the course of this
veracious history, that when Lewis smiled, the nameless charm
which in Rose Arundel’s face won the love of all who knew her shed
its lustre over his handsome features. To analyse such an expression
of countenance is scarcely possible, but perhaps the nearest
approach to a correct description of it would be to say that it was a
bright, sunshiny look which inspired others with a conviction of its
wearer’s kindliness of heart and honest truthfulness of purpose.
Such was its effect in the present instance, and when her father
handed her to her seat in the phaeton the uneasiness which had
arisen from a want of confidence in her driver had in great measure
disappeared. Lewis waited, with the reins in his hand, till the General
had mounted and ridden off with Walter, who acquiesced silently in
the change of companion, then springing lightly to his place, he
desired the man at the horses’ heads to stand aside, and drove off.
The iron-greys soon found out the difference between their late
conductor and their present one, and after one or two slight
attempts to gain their own way gave up the point and settled down
into a quiet, steady trot. Annie, whose alarm had quickened her
perceptions on the subject, was not long in remarking the change,
and turning to her companion, observed, “How do you contrive to
make the horses go so quietly, Mr. Arundel? When papa was driving
them they did nothing but dance and caper the whole way, and at
last, as you are aware, ran away with us.”
Lewis, who considered that the present was a favourable
opportunity, which might never occur again, to unburden his mind in
regard to the skating affair, and was debating with himself how he
might best introduce the subject, heard her question mechanically,
as it were, without its reaching the ears of his understanding, and it
was not until he observed her look of surprise at receiving no answer
to her query that he hastened to reply, “I beg your pardon, Miss
Grant, I was thinking on quite a different subject. I have lived such a
hermit’s life of late with poor Walter that I fear I have become
dreadfully absent.”
“I merely asked by what charm you had contrived to tame these
fiery steeds,” returned Annie, smiling at his evident bewilderment.
“The charm of a steady hand and a strong arm,” replied Lewis.
“But these horses and I are old acquaintances; we had a struggle
once for the mastery, and I conquered, which they have not
forgotten.” He then gave her a short account of the runaway scene
in Broad-hurst Park, to which she listened with much interest. When
he had concluded, Annie remarked, “How dreadful it must have been
when they were rushing towards the lake, and you felt uncertain
whether you might be able to check their wild career! That lake
seems destined to become the scene of dangerous adventures. I
must take this opportunity,” she continued with a faint blush, “of
thanking you for saving my life. In the few hurried lines I wrote you,
I am afraid I scarcely made you understand how much I—in fact,
that I am not ungrateful.”
It was now Lewis’s turn to feel embarrassed. The moment he had
sought for was arrived. He must confess that which would turn his
companion’s gratitude into aversion; he must forfeit her good
opinion irretrievably, and probably for this very reason (so perverse
is human nature), he, for the first time, discovered that he valued it
highly. Annie was the only member of the family (with the exception,
perhaps, of Charles Leicester) who had never caused him to feel
painfully his dependent situation; and it had not escaped his notice
how on several occasions she had interfered to save him from some
trifling annoyance, which her woman’s tact led her to feel would be
doubly mortifying to his proud and sensitive nature. Still he had
resolved to make the confession, and with him to resolve and to do
were one and the same thing. Another difficulty which rendered his
task more embarrassing was that, in order to make his explanation
intelligible, he must revert to Lord Bellefield’s insult, and though at
that moment nothing would have given him greater satisfaction than
to bestow on that unworthy scion of nobility a sound horse-
whipping, he shrank from the idea of being supposed capable of the
littleness of revenging himself by injuring his enemy in the affections
of his betrothed. Thinking, however, was useless; the more he
reflected the more embarrassed did he become, so he plunged at
once in media res by exclaiming, “You cannot be aware, Miss Grant,
of the pain your words give me. Far from deserving your gratitude, I
must implore your pardon for having nearly sacrificed your life to my
unfortunately warm temper and revengeful feelings; nor shall I again
enjoy peace of mind till I have obtained your forgiveness, should I
indeed be fortunate enough to succeed in doing so.”