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Praise for Semiotics: The Basics :
‘A very useful book, not only for those who wish to find out
about semiotics, but also for those interested in finding out how
language or any other sign system is far from being a neutral
medium of communication.’
Juan A. Prieto-Pablos,
University of Seville, Spain
‘The book is well written and up-to-date, without unnecessary
verbosity or jargon, and yet reflects the complexity of the field
and its problems.’
Journal of Pragmatics
‘It is no small task to present semiotics in a manner that makes it
accessible to the beginning student, and Chandler achieves this,
describing difficult concepts clearly and thoroughly.’
Donald J. Cunningham,
Indiana University, USA
‘This book is, at once, highly accessible, extremely interesting,
encyclopedic in scope, and authoritative. Highly recommended
for all courses involving semiotics and its applications to media,
culture, and society.’
Arthur Asa Berger,
San Francisco State University, USA
Praise for the fourth edition:
‘Daniel Chandler’s Semiotics is thorough, well organized, and
well written. Provocative and informative, its range, depth, and
erudition should make it of interest, not only to philosophers

and theorists of art, language, and culture, but to anyone
interested in the relation of signs to mind and reality and the
relation of reality and mind to signs.’
Jeffrey Strayer,
Purdue University Fort Wayne, USA

SEMIOTICS
THE BASICS
This fourth edition of the bestselling textbook, now available in print,
eBook, and audiobook, has been fully updated, continuing to provide
a concise introduction to the key concepts of semiotics in accessible
and jargon-free language.
Demystifying what is a complex, highly interdisciplinary field,
key questions covered include: what are signs and codes? What can
semiotics teach us about representation and reality? What tools does
it offer for analysing texts and cultural practices? The fourth edition
of Semiotics: The Basics focuses in particular on its application to
communication and cultural studies. It has been extensively revised
and extended, with an entirely new section on cognitive semiotics,
many more illustrations, and a new glossary.
With updates to theory, further examples, and suggestions for
review and further reading, this must-have resource is both the ideal
introductory text and an essential reference guide for students at all
levels of language, communication, media, and cultural studies.
Daniel Chandler is an Emeritus faculty member at Aberystwyth
University and a consultant in marketing semiotics. He is also the
senior compiler of A Dictionary of Media and Communication (3rd
edition, Oxford University Press, 2020) and A Dictionary of Social
Media (Oxford University Press, 2016).

THE BASICS SERIES
The Basics is a highly successful series of accessible guidebooks
which provide an overview of the fundamental principles of a subject
area in a jargon-free and undaunting format.
Intended for students approaching a subject for the first time, the
books both introduce the essentials of a subject and provide an ideal
springboard for further study. With over 50 titles spanning subjects
from artificial intelligence (AI) to women’s studies, The Basics are
an ideal starting point for students seeking to understand a subject
area.
Each text comes with recommendations for further study and grad-
ually introduces the complexities and nuances within a subject.
PHILOSOPHY OF MIND
AMY KIND
METAPHYSICS (SECOND EDITION)
MICHAEL REA
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BILLY CLARK
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DANIEL CHANDLER
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For a full list of titles in this series, please visit www.routledge.com/
The-Basics/book-series/B

SEMIOTICS
THE BASICS
FOURTH EDITION
Daniel Chandler

Cover image: © 2021 Daniel Chandler
Fourth edition published 2022
by Routledge
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© 2022 Daniel Chandler
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been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
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or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
First edition published by Routledge 2002
Third edition published by Routledge 2017
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Chandler, Daniel, author.
Title: Semiotics: the basics/Daniel Chandler.
Description: Fourth edition. | New York, NY: Routledge, 2022. |
Series: The basics | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021050409 | ISBN 9780367726546 (hardback) |
ISBN 9780367726539 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003155744 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Semiotics.
Classification: LCC P99 .C463 2022 | DDC 302.2–dc23/eng/20211015
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021050409
ISBN: 978-0-367-72654-6 (hbk)
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ISBN: 978-1-003-15574-4 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/9781003155744
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For Jem
‘The subtlety of nature is greater many times
over than the subtlety of argument’
Francis Bacon, Novum Organum
(1620) Aphorism XXIV

CONTENTS
List of illustrations xiii
Preface xvii
Acknowledgements xix
Introduction 1
Definitions 2
Relation to philosophy and linguistics 4
Structuralism 5
Why study semiotics? 8
1 Models 13
The Saussurean model 15
Arbitrariness 19
The relational system 24
The Peircean model 30
Jakobson’s model 39
Sign relations 42
Symbolic relations 46
Iconic relations 49
Indexical relations 52
The case of photography 55
Mixed modes 57
Types and tokens 59
Rematerializing the sign 60

x CONTENTS
Hjelmslev’s model 65
Reflections 67
Further reading 68
2 Realities 69
Categorization 70
Language, thought, and reality 74
Referentiality 78
Modality 81
The word is not the thing 84
Empty signifiers 89
Reflections 93
Further reading 94
3 Structures 97
Horizontal and vertical axes 97
The paradigmatic dimension 101
The commutation test 102
Oppositions 104
Markedness 109
Deconstruction 116
Conceptual alignment 117
The semiotic square 124
The syntagmatic dimension 128
Spatial relations 129
Sequential relations 135
Structural reduction 137
Langue and parole 141
Reflections 146
Further reading 147
4 Codes 149
The language model 151
Digital and analogue codes 155
Typologies 157
Social codes 158
Textual codes 167
Genre 168
Aesthetic realisms 171
Invisible editing 177

xi CONTENTS
Interpretive codes 181
Ways of reading 186
Codification 190
Limitations 192
Reflections 192
Further reading 193
5 Ways of meaning 195
Rhetorical tropes 197
Metaphor 199
Metonymy 204
Synecdoche 206
Irony 207
Master tropes 209
Denotation and connotation 210
Myth 219
Reflections 222
Further reading 223
6 Interactions 225
Models of communication 226
Context and relevance 234
Communicative functions 241
The positioning of the subject 244
Modes of address 249
Intertextuality 253
Problematizing authorship 254
No text is an island 256
Intratextuality 258
Textual framing 259
Reflections 261
Further reading 262
7 Perspectives 263
Structuralist semiotics 263
Poststructuralist semiotics 267
The return of Saussure 269
Social semiotics 273
Cognitive semiotics 278
Cartesian dualism 279

xii CONTENTS
Semiotic stances 280
Mental representation 283
Embodiment 286
Methodologies 289
An ecological and multimodal approach 291
Reflections 297
Further reading 297
Going further 299
Glossary 305
References 317
Index 343

ILLUSTRATIONS
0.1 Semiotic traditions. Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler 3
0.2 The relation of semiotics to philosophy and
linguistics. Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler 4
0.3 The emergence of European structuralism. Source:
© 2021 Daniel Chandler 6
1.1 The classical triadic model of the sign. Source:
© 2021 Daniel Chandler 15
1.2 Saussure’s dyadic model of the linguistic sign.
Source: Adapted from Saussure 1916/1995, 158 16
1.3 The linguistic sign and its interpreters. Source:
© 2021 Daniel Chandler 19
1.4 Planes of thought and sound. Source: Based on
Saussure 1916/1995, 156 25
1.5 The relations between signs. Source: © 2016
Daniel Chandler 27
1.6 A brand positioning grid. Source: © 2016
Daniel Chandler 29
1.7 Peirce’s model as a semiotic triangle. Source:
Adapted from Ogden and Richards 1923, 11 and
N?th 1990, 89 32
1.8 Peirce’s model as a semiotic tripod. Source:
© 2016 Daniel Chandler 33

xiv ILLUSTRATIONS
1.9 Peirce’s successive interpretants. Source: © 2016
Daniel Chandler 35
1.10 Jakobson’s circles. Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler 40
1.11 Knowledge needed for interpreting sign relations.
Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler 45
1.12 Sign relations in road signs. Source: © 2021
Daniel Chandler 46
1.13 Representing the heart. Source: © 2021
Daniel Chandler 48
1.14 Hybridity in sign relations. Source: © 2016
Daniel Chandler 57
1.15 Jakobson’s matrix. Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler,
based on Jakobson 1968a, 700–5 59
1.16 Hjelmslev’s stratified model of a sign. Source: © 2016
Daniel Chandler 66
1.17 Substance and form of expression and content.
Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler 66
2.1 Realism vs. idealism. Source: © 2016 Daniel Chandler 79
3.1 Syntagmatic and paradigmatic axes. Source:
© 2016 Daniel Chandler 98
3.2 Markedness of explicit oppositions in online texts.
Source: © 2016 Daniel Chandler 112
3.3 The unmarked male. Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler 114
3.4 Zones of markedness in a conceptual alignment.
Source: © 2016 Daniel Chandler 120
3.5 The semiotic square. Source: Adapted from N?th
1990, 319 125
3.6 The semiotic square: yes, no, and maybe. Source:
© 2021 Daniel Chandler 127
3.7 The semiotic square: gender. Source: © 2021
Daniel Chandler 128
3.8 Reading direction and diagonals. Source: © 2021
Daniel Chandler 131
3.9 Default side values in visual frames. Source: © 2021
Daniel Chandler 132
3.10 Little Red Riding Hood. Source: Larrucia 1975, 528 140
4.1 Key poles in social relationships. Source: Adapted
from Argyle 1988, 86 163

ILLUSTRATIONS xv
4.2 Patterns of smile return. Source: Derived from data
in Henley 1977, 176–7 164
4.3 Patterns of gaze return. Source: Adapted from Henley
1977, 165 165
4.4 The perceptual cycle. Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler 182
4.5 Gestalt principle of similarity. Source: © 2021
Daniel Chandler 185
5.1 Informational vs. aesthetic functions. Source: ©
2016 Daniel Chandler 196
5.2 Metaphorical substitution. Source: © 2016
Daniel Chandler 201
5.3 A visual metaphor. Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler 202
5.4 The four ‘master tropes’. Source: Adapted from
Jameson in Greimas 1987, xix 209
5.5 Connotations of design features. Source: © 2021
Daniel Chandler 212
5.6 Barthes’s orders of signification. Source: © 2021
Daniel Chandler 214
5.7 Triadic model of denotation and connotation.
Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler, based on Saint-
Martin’s account 1995, 383 214
5.8 Connotations of circles and squares. Source: Adapted
from Liu and Kennedy 1993 215
5.9 Subjective ratings of geometrical shapes. Source:
Adapted from Krampen 1983, 151–2 217
5.10 Sensory connotations in relation to liking. Source:
Adapted from Gombrich 1963, 58–9 217
6.1 Pictorial plaque on Pioneer 10 spacecraft.
Source: Produced by the Pioneer Project at NASA
Ames Research Center and obtained from NASA’s
National Space Science Data Center 227
6.2 Saussure’s speech circuit. Source: Based on
Saussure 1916/1995, 27, 28 232
6.3 Jakobson’s model of communication. Source:
© 2021 Daniel Chandler 233
6.4 Three contextual frames. Source: © 2021
Daniel Chandler 236
6.5 Decoding and inference in sign relations
Source: © 2016 Daniel Chandler 237

xvi ILLUSTRATIONS
6.6 Context and code in representation. Source: © 2016
Daniel Chandler 241
6.7 Jakobson’s six functions of language. Source: © 2016
Daniel Chandler 242
7.1 Lines of influence in the structuralist and Peircean
traditions. Source: © 2016 Daniel Chandler 264
7.2 Saussure’s three irreducible relationships. Source:
© 2016 Daniel Chandler 271
7.3 A psychosocial semiotic triangle. Source: © 2021
Daniel Chandler 277
7.4 Mapping the relation between speech and thought.
Source: Based on Vygotsky’s account 1962, 47 284
7.5 Overlapping fields in cultural semiotics. Source:
© 2021 Daniel Chandler 288
7.6 Morris’s three branches. Source: © 2021
Daniel Chandler 290
7.7 The semiotic realm. Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler 296

PREFACE
The first version of this book was written in 1994 as an online hypertext
document introducing the subject to my own students of communication
and cultural studies, for whom it was often encountered primarily as a
method for analysing texts. Its surprising popularity online eventually
led to an invitation from the publisher to produce a printed book
version for their series, The Basics. My forays into semiotics had been
frustrated by many of the existing books on the subject that seemed to
make it confusing, dull, and deeply obscure, as if designed to keep out
those who are not already ‘members of the club’. This text was therefore
designed to let them in. Like the original online text, the book has been
used around the world as part of university courses in many different
subjects, including advertising, aesthetics, art education, art history,
brand management, communication theory, consumer behaviour,
cultural studies, design, fashion, film studies, journalism, linguistics,
literary theory, media analysis, visual communication, visual culture,
and visual rhetoric. In the light of this readership the focus here is on
cultural semiotics, but readers should note that the semiotic enterprise
has a much broader scope (see Figure 7 .7).
At the request of classroom users, suggestions for review and related
reading are included at the end of each chapter. The independent scholar
may of course ignore this pedagogical apparatus. This fourth edition has
been extensively revised. A new section on cognitive semiotics has been
added, together with a glossary and further illustrations.

xviii PREFACE
In references to Saussure’s Cours de linguistique générale (CLG),
the first page reference is to the French edition (1995); the second is to
Baskin’s translation (2011). If you use Harris’s 1983 translation, note
that he translates signifiant as ‘signal’ and signifié as ‘signification’.
References to the Écrits de linguistique générale (ÉLG) are firstly
to the French edition (2002) and secondly to the English translation
(2006). Citations from Peirce’s Collected Papers (1931–58) follow the
standard practice of listing the volume and paragraph number, thus:
(CP 2.227). In quotations, note that any typographic emphasis is that
of the original author except where otherwise indicated.
The early hypertext version from which this text originally emerged
is still available online, currently at: visual-memory.co.uk/daniel/
Documents/S4B/. A printed Spanish version of the online text, trans-
lated by Vanessa Hogan Vega and Iván Rodrigo Mendizábal, was
published by Ediciones Abya-Yala (Quito) in 1998. There are currently
two online translations, archived here:
Greek (Maria Constantopoulou)
v i s u a l - m e m o r y . c o . u k / d a n i e l / D o c u m e n t s / S 4 B / g r e e k /
and Japanese (Masaya Tanuma)
v i s u a l - m e m o r y . c o . u k / d a n i e l / D o c u m e n t s / S 4 B / j a p a n e s e / .
An audiobook of the third edition, narrated by Ric Jerrom, was
released in 2020. A number of print translations have been published,
including the Korean translation of the first edition by Inkyu Kang
(Seoul: Somyong Publishing, 2006) and various translations of the
second edition: Arabic by Talal Wehbe (Beirut: Arab Organization for
Translation, 2008), Farsi by Medhi Parsa (Tehran: Soureh Mehr, 2010),
Polish by Catherine Hallett (Warsaw: Oficyna Wydawnicza Volumen,
2012), and Spanish by Jorge Gómez Rendón (Quito: Ediciones Abya-
Yala, 2014). A Chinese translation of the second edition by Song Li
and Ping Liu was undertaken in 2014. A new Spanish translation of
the third edition was agreed in 2015 with Editorial Trillas in Mexico.
A Portuguese translation of the third edition was completed in 2019 by
Luisa Peixoto de Magalhães. If you wish to undertake a translation,
please establish the interest of a local publisher before approaching my
British publishers.
Aberystwyth
October 2021

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The original online text might not have found its way into print if it
were not for the unsolicited encouragement to publish that I received
from the philosopher A. C. Grayling, to whom I am especially grateful.
For helpful comments and reviews of previous editions, my particular
thanks go to Edward McDonald, Winfried Nöth, Martin Ryder, Donald
J. Cunningham, Arthur Asa Berger, David Glen Mick, Juan A. Prieto-
Pablos, Ernest W. B. Hess-Lüttich, Kalevi Kull, Jo B. Paoletti, Guy
Cook, Tony Thwaites, Gregory Eiselein, and Rod Munday. For this
new edition I greatly appreciate the reviews and comments by Jeffrey
Strayer, Katarzyna Machtyl, Edward McDonald, Nigel Orrillard,
Thomas Daddesio, Paul Ryder, Leo Francis Hoye, Marcel Danesi,
Gabriele Marino, and my son Huw Chandler. None of these kind peo-
ple can be held responsible for any of my authorial decisions.
The image from the plaque on Pioneer 10 shown in Figure 6.1 was
produced by the Pioneer Project at NASA Ames Research Center and
obtained from NASA’s National Space Science Data Center with the
kind assistance of John F. Cooper. Figure 3.10 is from an article in
Modern Language Notes by Victor Larrucia (1975) and is reproduced
here under the ‘fair use’ provisions of US copyright law with the
approval of the publisher, the Johns Hopkins University Press.
The publisher and author of this book have made every effort to trace
copyright holders and to obtain permission to publish extracts. Any
omissions brought to our attention will be remedied in future editions.

INTRODUCTION
If you go into a bookshop and ask an assistant where to find a book
on semiotics, you are likely to meet with a blank look. Even worse,
you might be asked to define what semiotics is – which would be a
bit tricky if you were looking for a beginner’s guide. It’s worse still
if you do know a bit about semiotics because it can be hard to offer a
simple definition that is of much use in the bookshop. If you’ve ever
been in such a situation, you’ll probably agree that it’s wise not to ask.
Semiotics could be anywhere. The shortest definition is that it is the
study of signs. But that doesn’t leave enquirers much wiser. ‘What do
you mean by a sign?’ people usually ask next. The kinds of signs that
are likely to spring immediately to mind are those that we routinely
refer to as ‘signs’ in everyday life, such as road signs, pub signs, and
star signs. If you were to agree with them that semiotics can include
the study of all these and more, people will probably assume that semi-
otics is about ‘visual signs’. You would confirm their hunch if you said
that signs can also be drawings, paintings, and photographs, and by
now they’d be keen to direct you to the art and photography sections.
But if you are thick-skinned and tell them that it also includes words,
sounds, and ‘body language’, they may reasonably wonder what all
these things have in common and how anyone could possibly study
such disparate phenomena. If you get this far, they’ve probably already
‘read the signs’ that suggest that you are either eccentric or insane, and
communication may have ceased.
DOI: 10.4324/9781003155744-1

2 INTRODUCTION
DEFINITIONS
In semiotics, a sign is traditionally defined as something which ‘stands
for’ (or represents) something else. It can take any form – a word, an
image, a sound, an odour, a flavour, an action, an event, an object,
or whatever. Anything has the potential to be interpretable, but noth-
ing has an intrinsic meaning; for human beings, something becomes
a sign when it is interpreted as signifying something. Conventional
‘symbols’ are obvious examples (such as when a flag is used to ‘stand
for’ a particular country), but we also recognize ‘natural signs’, such as
when we infer that dark clouds are a ‘sign of’ rain. We experience the
world as meaningful. As a species we are above all meaning-makers
(Homo significans), driven to ‘find’ meanings ‘in’ things. The under-
lying metaphor that things are ‘containers’ of meanings exemplifies
the subtle potency of our foremost semiotic system – the language
that we speak. We have no direct, unmediated access to ‘things in
themselves’. We dwell in a symbolic world of human meanings; our
everyday reality is a web of signs. As we will see, communication,
culture, community, and cognition depend upon them.
Semiotics is concerned with how meanings are made and how
reality is represented (and indeed constructed) through signs, sign
systems, and processes of signification. Theories of signs (or sym-
bols) appear throughout the history of philosophy from ancient times
onwards. The early medieval theologian and philosopher Augustine
of Hippo (354–430 ce) is widely regarded as the founder of medieval
semiotics, but it wasn’t until 1690 that the English philosopher John
Locke (1632–1704) coined the term ‘semiotics’ to describe a field of
study that had yet to emerge.
The two primary traditions in contemporary semiotics stem respec-
tively from the Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure (1857–1913)
and the American philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce (pronounced
‘purse’) (1839–1914). They are widely regarded as the co-founders
of what is now generally known as semiotics – despite the fact that
neither of them actually wrote a book on the subject. The first edition
of Saussure’s Course in General Linguistics, published posthumously
in 1916, contains the declaration that he could envisage, and staked
a claim for, ‘a science that studies the life of signs within society’,
which he called semiology, from the Greek sēmeîon, ‘sign’ (CLG
33/16: i.e. Cours de linguistique générale, page 33/Course in General

3 INTRODUCTION
Linguistics, page 16). His use of the term sémiologie dates originally
from a manuscript of 1894. Although Saussure was a linguist, he saw
linguistics as a branch of the ‘general science’ of semiology, which
was in turn an offshoot of (social) psychology. Across the Atlantic,
to the philosopher Charles Peirce the field of study which he calls
‘semeiotic’ (or ‘semiotic’) is the ‘formal doctrine of signs’ that is
closely related to logic (2.227). Working quite independently from
Saussure, Peirce borrowed his term from Locke. Saussure’s term
‘semiology’ is sometimes used to refer to the Saussurean tradition,
while the term ‘semiotics’ sometimes refers to the Peircean tradition
(see Figure 0.1; for a useful discussion, see Daylight 2014). However,
nowadays the term ‘semiotics’ is widely used as an umbrella term
to embrace the whole field (Nöth 1990, 14). We will outline and dis-
cuss both the Saussurean and Peircean models of the sign in the next
chapter.
Some commentators adopt a definition of semiotics by the American
philosopher Charles W. Morris (1901–79) as ‘the science of signs’
(1938, 1–2). The term ‘science’ (used also by Saussure) is misleading.
Semiotics is perhaps best thought of as a way of looking at the produc-
tion of meaning from a particular critical perspective. Its scope and
general principles are still a site of struggle, but semiotics continues to
expand into new areas. The Association Internationale de Sémiotique
(International Association of Semiotics) was founded in Paris in 1969,
and its journal Semiotica first appeared in the same year. The first
world congress of IASS (the International Association for Semiotic
Studies) was held in Milan in 1974. Semiotics is now served by mul-
tiple journals and regular conferences at national and international
FIGURE 0.1 Semiotic traditions
Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler

4 INTRODUCTION
levels (see the appendix, ‘Going Further’). Scholars involved in the
field include linguists, philosophers, psychologists, sociologists,
anthropologists, literary, aesthetic, and media theorists, psychoana-
lysts, market researchers, and educationalists. Indeed, the impact of
semiotics within existing disciplines could be argued to be its greatest
contribution to the advancement of knowledge.
RELATION TO PHILOSOPHY AND LINGUISTICS
As the study of signification, semiotics is intrinsically transdis-
ciplinary, but its strongest disciplinary ties are to philosophy and
linguistics. Within both of those disciplines the study of meaning
is most closely associated with semantics, so the question often
arises: ‘What is the relationship between semiotics and seman-
tics?’ Charles Morris (1946, 217–19), one of the pioneers of modern
semiotics, defined it in 1938 as having three branches (Figure 0.2):
semantics (the meanings of signs), pragmatics (the use of signs), and
syntactics or syntax (the relations between signs). This framework
is still generally accepted as encompassing the scope of semiotics.
It features among the many branches of philosophy and also rep-
resents the principal branches of linguistics (along with phonetics/
phonology). However, no clear distinction can be made between
semantics and pragmatics because the meaning of signs cannot be
divorced from the context of use (a topic to be explored at length
in Chapter 6).
FIGURE 0.2 The relation of semiotics to philosophy and linguistics
Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler

5 INTRODUCTION
The theory of signs is mentioned most often in the subdisciplines of
logic and theoretical linguistics. The first explicit reference to semiot-
ics, ‘the doctrine of signs’, as a branch of philosophy, appeared in John
Locke’s Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1690, IV.xxi.4).
Peirce refers to it as ‘another name for’ logic (CP 2.227: i.e. Collected
Papers vol. 2, para. 227). However, a broader link between semiot-
ics and philosophy is with the philosophy of language (Eco 1984), a
philosophical sub-discipline concerned primarily with meaning and
reference, and especially with relations between language, thought,
and the world. It shares with semiotics a concern with ways of meaning.
Within the philosophy of language, semiotics is also closely related
to hermeneutics – broadly, the theory of interpretation (particularly
the contextual interpretation of texts) – which is sometimes classi-
fied as part of semiotics (e.g. Honderich 1995, 937). Arguably, in their
shared concern with the pragmatics of meaning-making, semiotics
tends to be more system-oriented while hermeneutics tends to be more
process-oriented. From a semiotic perspective, the territory of the phi-
losophy of language forms only part of theoretical semiotics, which
concerns itself with all kinds of signs and sign systems, whether or not
they are linguistic.
Within the philosophical domain of aesthetics , or the philosophy of
art, ‘semiotics’ can also refer to a school of thought associated with
the American philosopher Nelson Goodman (1906–98), who argues
controversially that (contrary to traditional ‘resemblance theory’)
pictures are as conventional as linguistic signs (1968). Philosophical
issues in semiotic theory will be explored at length in Chapter 2 and
they will surface throughout in relation to issues of representation and
‘the social construction of reality’ through the mediation of signs and
sign systems. Points of contact between semiotics and the philoso-
phy of mind (primarily via phenomenology) will be encountered in
Chapters 6 and 7.
STRUCTURALISM
The development of the European tradition of semiology is closely
associated with structuralism – a transdisciplinary academic perspec-
tive that arose in the late 1920s and reached its zenith in the late 1960s
(when it began to transform into poststructuralism). Inspired primar-
ily by Ferdinand de Saussure’s conception of languages as systems of

6 INTRODUCTION
FIGURE 0.3 The emergence of European structuralism
Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler
relations, leading figures in structural linguistics include the Danish
linguist Louis Hjelmslev (1899–1966) and the Russian-born linguist
Roman Jakobson (1896–1982), who first coined the term ‘structural-
ism’ in 1929 (Jakobson 1990, 6). The structural paradigm in linguistics
provided the primary impetus for the broader structuralist ‘movement’,
key figures within which include the Frenchmen Claude Lévi-Strauss
(1908–2009) in anthropology (the standard-bearer of the movement),
Roland Barthes (1915–80) in literary criticism and cultural analysis,
and Jacques Lacan (1901–81) in psychoanalysis (Figure 0.3). Two
other Frenchmen, both philosophers – Michel Foucault (1926–84) and
Louis Althusser (1918–90) – are regularly classified as structuralists,
but both rejected the label (Althusser 1968, 7; Foucault 1969, 15), and
neither was inspired by structural linguistics, so they are untypical of
‘mainstream’ structuralism.
Structuralists seek to apply a linguistic model to a much wider range
of social phenomena. Jakobson writes that
Language is … a purely semiotic system … The study of signs, however,
… must take into consideration also applied semiotic structures,

7 INTRODUCTION
as for instance, architecture, dress, or cuisine … Any edifice is
simultaneously some sort of refuge and a certain kind of message.
Similarly, any garment responds to definitely utilitarian requirements
and at the same time exhibits various semiotic properties.
(Jakobson 1968a, 703)
He adds (ibid., 698) that semiotics ‘deals with those general princi-
ples which underlie the structure of all signs whatever’. Structuralists
search for ‘deep structures’ underlying the ‘surface features’ of sign
systems: Claude Lévi-Strauss in myth, kinship rules and totemism;
Jacques Lacan in the unconscious; Roland Barthes and Algirdas
Greimas in the ‘grammar’ of narrative. Julia Kristeva (1973, 1249)
declares that ‘what semiotics has discovered … is that the law govern-
ing or, if one prefers, the major constraint affecting any social practice
lies in the fact that it signifies; i.e. that it is articulated like a language’.
‘Although language is only one particular semiological system,’
Saussure sees it as the best example of a system based on the arbitrari-
ness of the sign – a principle we will explore shortly. He suggests that
linguistics has the potential to become ‘the master-pattern [le patron
general] for all branches of semiology’ (CLG 101/68). However,
Saussure does not limit all semiological systems to his model of the
language system [langue], as some of his critics claim (Thibault 1997,
21). Indeed, he subordinates linguistics to semiology as a discipline.
Subsequently, structuralist semiotics has drawn heavily on linguistic
concepts – partly because of his influence and also because linguistics
is a more established discipline than the study of other sign systems.
Jakobson (1970/1990, 455) insists that ‘language is the central and
most important among all human semiotic systems’, while Lévi-
Strauss notes that ‘language is the semiotic system par excellence; it
cannot but signify, and exists only through signification’ (1972, 48).
Furthermore, as the French linguist and semiotician Émile Benveniste
(1902–76) observes, ‘language is the interpreting system of all other
systems, linguistic and non-linguistic’ (1969, 239). Although sign sys-
tems can be non-verbal (as with signal flags, for instance), we cannot
read messages or specify meanings in such systems without recourse
to language (Chandler 2022).
As we have noted, Saussure saw linguistics as a branch of ‘semi-
ology’, subject to any general laws that might be discovered by the
new science that he envisaged. He consequently saw it as important

8 INTRODUCTION
to identify what language has in common with all other ‘systems
of expression’, such as rites and customs (CLG 35/16–17; 101/68).
Like Saussure, Jakobson was in no doubt that ‘language is a system
of signs, and linguistics is part and parcel of the science of signs or
semiotics’ (1949a, 50). However, it proved difficult to avoid adopting a
linguistic model in exploring other sign systems. Thus Barthes (1967b,
xi) declares that ‘perhaps we must invert Saussure’s formulation and
assert that semiology is a branch of linguistics’. The American linguist
Leonard Bloomfield (1939, 55) insists that ‘linguistics is the chief con-
tributor to semiotics’, and Jakobson (1963d, 289) defines semiotics as
‘the general science of signs which has as its basic discipline linguis-
tics, the science of verbal signs’.
Following Saussure’s example, Lévi-Strauss (1960, 17) argues that
anthropology is a branch of semiology. It ‘aims to be a semiological sci-
ence, and takes as a guiding principle that of “meaning”’ (1972, 364).
Structuralist methods have subsequently been very widely employed
in the semiotic analysis of many cultural phenomena. This approach
has had considerable influence in contemporary cultural studies, where
films, television and radio programmes, advertising posters, and so on
are commonly referred to as ‘texts’ that require ‘reading’. It is a common
pedagogical strategy to undermine commonsense assumptions about
what features such media may have in common with a symbolic system
like language rather than with what we treat as reality in the everyday
world. However, there is a danger of overextending the linguistic meta-
phor and failing to address the affordances of different semiotic systems.
Semiotics concerns itself with all ways of meaning. Most contempo-
rary semioticians would argue that a linguistic model can, at best, only
ever form part of a general theory of signification that reaches beyond
intentional communication. Useful as it may be in the cultural domain,
semiotics cannot be limited to such a model.
WHY STUDY SEMIOTICS?
‘Why should we study semiotics?’ is a pressing question in part because
the writings of semioticians have a reputation for being dense with jar-
gon: one critic wryly remarks that ‘semiotics tells us things we already
know in a language we will never understand’ (Paddy Whannel, cited
in Seiter 1992, 31). The semiotic establishment may initially seem to
be a very exclusive club, but its concerns are not confined to members.

9 INTRODUCTION
This book is intended to be of particular value to readers who wish
to use semiotics as an approach to the analysis of texts and cultural
practices. However, even within the cultural domain, semiotics is
far more than a method of textual analysis. For instance, it involves
the philosophical exploration of issues of representation and reality.
Studying semiotics can make us less likely to take reality for granted
as something that is wholly independent of interpretive systems. It can
assist us to become more aware of the mediating role of signs and of
the roles played by ourselves and others in constructing social realities.
The technical concept of ‘mediation’ (from the medieval Latin medi-
are, ‘to be in the middle’) is ubiquitous in semiotics and deserves a brief
explanation at the outset. It is a fundamental principle of semiotic the-
ory that all human experience is mediated by signs (and that language
is a sign system that mediates thought and reality). Communication is
the clearest example of the crucial role of semiotic mediation between
the parties involved, who must draw upon a common stock of signs
and conventions for their use. This process applies not only to speak-
ers and listeners (or writers and readers), but also to the makers and
perceivers of any form of expression (such as a work of art).
More broadly, mediation refers to any framework or process which
‘intervenes’ in our perception of the external world and hence contrib-
utes to the construction of our conceptual and experiential worlds. For
instance, opening a door requires us to approach it with ‘preconcep-
tions’: we need to recognize that it belongs to the linguistic category
of ‘doors’ (based on what these are for and how they work). It also
requires us to relate it to the social system, for instance with refer-
ence to whether you own it, whether you are entitled to open it, and
so on. Such prior knowledge forms part of a complex interpretational
framework that mediates the experience and routinely guides our
expectations and behaviour (usually beyond our conscious awareness).
If a door is slammed in your face you may care to reflect that we are
never dealing with a purely physical phenomenon: someone was send-
ing you a message!
The semiotic principle of mediatedness represents a challenge to
‘naïve realism’ as well as to subjective idealism, since sign systems
depend on shared frames of reference. It is not incompatible with ‘crit-
ical realism’, but many cultural semioticians adopt an overtly ‘social
constructionist’ stance. Social constructionism does not entail deny-
ing the existence of ‘external reality’ but it does assume that our sign

10 INTRODUCTION
systems (especially language) play a major part in ‘the social construc-
tion of reality’ (or at least ‘the construction of social reality’). From
this perspective, signs are the intersubjective medium that enables
social and psychological realities to take shape – rather than ‘coming
between’ perceivers and an objective reality that ‘lies behind’ them.
Meanings are intersubjective to the extent that we share common
understandings of things. We develop such understandings through
our use of signs in the context of social interaction (embedded, of
course, in a material context). The most prominent intersubjective
framework is a shared language, but all forms of expression contribute
to this function.
Embarking on a voyage of semiotic discovery for the first time is
not for the faint-hearted. Some of the concepts encountered here may
initially seem daunting, but those that matter most are revisited from
different angles in subsequent chapters. Perhaps the greatest challenge
is that one must be prepared to entertain ideas that are often deeply
counter-intuitive, contrary to some of our own taken-for-granted
assumptions. For instance, it is a struggle to step back from the cate-
gorical systems built into our own mother tongue, so as not to mistake
them for ‘the way things are’. Semiotics demands relational thinking,
and it is not easy for any of us to focus on the relationships between
concepts rather than on the ‘things’ to which our words seem to refer.
Adopting a semiotic perspective helps us to realize that information
or meaning is not ‘contained’ in the world, or in books, computers, or
other media. Meaning is not ‘transmitted’ to us – we actively inter-
pret texts and the world according to a complex and dynamic interplay
of frames of reference. A semiotic perspective helps to make more
explicit the interpretive systems and textual conventions that ordinar-
ily retreat to transparency.
Socially oriented semiotics is a subversive activity. In defining
realities, sign systems serve ideological functions. A critical semiotic
perspective involves investigating the construction and maintenance
of reality by particular social groups. Such an approach has much in
common with that of symbolic interactionism in sociology and social
psychology (Sandstrom et al. 2010). Deconstructing and contesting
reality maintenance systems can reveal whose realities are privileged
and whose are suppressed. To decline the study of signs is to leave
to others the control of the world of meanings that we inhabit. The
semiotic mission is to take apart what is taken for granted. This is a

11 INTRODUCTION
particularly challenging quest because, as the Austrian philosopher and
sociologist Alfred Schutz emphasized, in everyday life we routinely
suspend doubt about the reality of the world (Schutz and Luckmann
1974). Phenomenologists call this the ‘natural attitude’, following the
German philosopher Edmund Husserl (1859–1938). Adopting a semi-
otic perspective requires the cultivation of a critical approach to our
own everyday experience – asking ourselves what we are taking for
granted in making sense of a particular situation (Zerubavel 2018).
Indeed, how do you define the ‘situation’ that you are ‘in’? Learning to
‘stand back’ and reflect like this is not easy, but becoming aware of the
processes of mediation involved in constructing the realities of every-
day life is both inherently fascinating and intellectually empowering.
If you are undeterred and ready for an intellectual adventure, read on.

1
MODELS
Signs are commonly defined in terms of a relation between form
and meaning. However, this simplistic formulation raises the issue
of ‘the meaning of meaning’. Formal models of the sign often dis-
tinguish between two kinds of meaning: conceptual meaning (sense
or designation) and referential meaning (reference or denotation). The
reference of a sign is what it refers to beyond the sign system (known
as a referent or an object). Referents can include things, beings, or
events (real or imaginary) but also more abstract categories. The term
sense is sometimes used interchangeably with ‘meaning’, but it is often
used more specifically to refer to the distinctions made within a lan-
guage. Dictionaries define the various linguistic senses of individual
words (many of which have no reference to things to which we can
point in the world). If we ask what is meant by the word ‘semioti-
cian’, its sense is ‘someone who studies signs’ (as distinct from say,
‘someone who paints signs’), while its reference could be to any of its
practitioners in the world. If someone asks what you do and you reply
(rashly), ‘I am a semiotician’, you have provided a reference but they
will probably be none the wiser; the next thing they will expect (opti-
mistically) is some sense.
The traditional definition of a sign as ‘something that stands for
something else’ is a medieval one (in the scholastic Latin formula,
aliquid stat pro aliquo). The distinction between signs and what they
DOI: 10.4324/9781003155744-2

14 MODELS
are signs of is fundamental in semiotics (as we will see in Chapter 2,
‘the sign is not the thing’), and the traditional formulation foregrounds
the relation between a sign vehicle and its referent. Such a referential
relation is a common feature in models of the sign, but it cannot con-
stitute a viable model in which this is the only relation. ‘The object of
a sign is one thing; its meaning is another’ (Peirce CP 5.6). A purely
referential model reduces meaning to reference (as if meaning resides
‘in’ the world). Indicating what we are talking about (for instance, by
pointing to something) is obviously important, but (to the frustration
of monolingual travellers) it is insufficient for establishing meaning.
Equating what a sign means with what it stands for is unhelpfully
circular.
However, such a dyadic model is implicitly triadic insofar as it
presupposes an interpreter (for whom the sign is meaningful). The
meaning of a sign is not ‘contained’ within it, but arises in its interpre-
tation. The ‘standing for’ sign–object relation requires interpretation
by a conscious being. ‘ “Being a sign of” is a three-term relation’ (Price
1969, 92). A sign stands for (or is a sign of) something, to someone. We
can hardly discuss human meaning-making without reference to the
mind. Augustine’s model (397 ce) is primarily referential (Nöth 1990,
85), but he does acknowledge this third dimension: ‘a sign is a thing
which, over and above the impression it makes on the senses, causes
something else to come into the mind’ (On Christian Doctrine II.1.i).
Although Augustine acknowledges the role of the mind, he does
not focus on the key distinction between sense and reference that
characterizes the classical triadic model of the sign (Figure 1.1). This
t r a d i t i o n a l semiotic triangle features both the relation of reference and
that of signification (sometimes termed, respectively, the sign–object
relation and the sign–mind relation). However, these dyadic relations
are subordinated to the triadic process of mediation (interpretation
being represented here with arrows): sense (or conceptual meaning)
mediates the referent. The broken line at the base of the triangle signi-
fies that there is not necessarily any direct relationship between the sign
vehicle and the referent (Ogden and Richards 1923, 11). Both Aristotle
(c. 350 bce) and the Stoic philosophers (c. 250 bce) developed vari-
ants of this triadic model, in which signs signify referents by means of
mediating concepts. According to Aristotle, who has been described
as ‘the first thinker to theorize in a systematic way about meaning and
reference’ (Putnam 1988, 19), we understand the meaning of a sign

MODELS 15
FIGURE 1.1 The classical triadic model of the sign
Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler
(such as a word) when we associate it with a concept – a representa-
tion in the mind – that determines what it refers to. Aristotle’s model of meaning, advanced in On Interpretation (350 bce), dominated
European thinking for over two millennia.
As will become apparent, a great deal hangs on how we define a sign.
In the medieval ‘language of flowers’, the herb rosemary stands for ‘remembrance’, but it requires someone such as Shakespeare’s Ophelia to interpret it as such: rosemary growing in the kitchen herb garden has no such signification. However, just as meaning cannot be reduced to something ‘in the world’, neither can it be reduced to something ‘in the mind’. The Aristotelian cognitive model does not account for the social grounding of meaning. Rosemary cannot stand for remembrance in the absence of a socially shared code for the symbolism of flowers.
Our natural languages are our primary socially shared sign systems.
We begin our exploration of the most influential contemporary sign mod-
els with a semiotic approach to language that involves a radical challenge
to the traditional ‘standing for’ relation or ‘representational’ model, and to our common sense assumptions about the language–world relationship.
THE SAUSSUREAN MODEL
While the concept of ‘the sign’ is ancient, the notion of sign systems is
a modern one. For the Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure, a leading
contender for the title of ‘founder of modern linguistics’, language is
a system of signs, and linguistic signs make sense only as part of a

16 MODELS
FIGURE 1.2 Saussure’s dyadic model of the linguistic sign
Source: Adapted from Saussure 1916/1995, 158
language’s sign system. Within such a system, a sign has two aspects,
which Saussure termed a signifiant (usually rendered in English as
a ‘signifier’) and a signifié (a ‘signified’) (see Figure 1.2). Although
in contemporary discourse the term signified is often used to refer
generally to ‘meaning’, and in loose usage may involve reference,
Saussure makes it very clear that he is not dealing with the dimension
of reference: ‘The linguistic sign unites, not a thing and a name, but
a concept and an acoustic image’ (CLG 98/66). Thus, for Saussure,
words do not ‘stand for’ things, and his signifier and signified are not
to be understood dualistically as ‘sign’ (vehicle) and ‘referent’ – a
common misinterpretation.
Within the Saussurean linguistic model, the sign is the unified
whole that results from the association of a sound with a concept (ibid.,
99/67). This is a relationship in which the two layers are as inseparable
as the two sides of a piece of paper (157/113). A linguistic sign could
not consist of sound without sense or of sense without sound (144/102–
3). Although the signifier and the signified can be distinguished for
analytical purposes, Saussure defines them as wholly interdepend-
ent, neither pre-existing the other. As we will see, this radical concept
proved challenging not only for his ‘deconstructionist’ critics but even
for his structuralist followers. In Saussure’s semiology, the semiotic
articulation or correlation of the signifier and the signified is a délimi-
tation réciproque: a reciprocal or mutual delimitation or definition
(156/112). The signifier and the signified exist in a symbiotic or bidi-
rectional relation within a relational sign system. The two arrows in
the diagram represent their interaction.

MODELS 17
Any individual sign is a recognizable combination of a signifier
with a particular signified. For instance, the spoken word ‘duck’ is a
sign consisting of:
•• a signifier: a mental representation of a perceptible pattern of
sound, and
•• a signified: the relational concept of a species of waterbird –
not a pictorial ‘mental image’ but a linguistic ‘value’ (a notion
to be discussed shortly).
Both the signifier and the signified are purely psychological, united
in the mind by an associative link. For Saussure, the ‘acoustic image’
is ‘not the material sound, a purely physical thing’ but the impres-
sion made on our senses or its ‘psychological imprint’ (CLG 98/65–6).
Neither of these are material ‘things’; both consist of non-material
form rather than substance. As we will see, this immateriality derives
from Saussure’s radical conception of language as a system of signs
(a network of pairings of sounds with concepts). Note that in post-
Saussurean semiotics (originally in Hjelmslev), the signifier is
commonly interpreted as the material (or physical) form of the sign –
it is something that can be seen, heard, touched, smelled, or tasted – as
with Roman Jakobson’s signans, which he describes (more tradition-
ally) as the external and perceptible part of the sign (1963b/1990, 111;
1984, 98).
Saussure was a linguist, and his focus was understandably on lin-
guistic sign systems. As we have noted, he refers specifically to the
signifier as an ‘acoustic image’ (image acoustique). In the Cours,
writing is referred to as a separate, secondary, dependent, but com-
parable sign system (CLG 32/15, 46ff./24ff., 165–6/119–20). Within
the system of written signs, a signifier such as the written letter ‘t’
signifies a sound in the primary sign system of language (and thus
a written word would also signify a sound rather than a concept).
Jacques Derrida famously argues that, from this perspective, writing
relates to speech as signifier to signified and writing is ‘a sign of a
sign’ (1967a, 43).
Saussure’s signified is a concept in the mind – not a thing but the
notion of a thing. Some may wonder why his model of the sign refers
only to a concept and not to a thing (the ‘common sense’ view). The

18 MODELS
philosopher Susanne Langer (1957, 60) notes that symbolic signs
‘are not proxy for their objects but are vehicles for the conception of
objects’. Such signs perform the extraordinarily powerful function of
enabling us to ‘call to mind’, and communicate about, things that are
not materially present in the here and now.
For Saussure, linguistic signs are wholly immaterial (CLG 32/15).
The immateriality of the Saussurean sign is a feature that tends to be
neglected in many popular commentaries. If the notion seems strange,
we need to remind ourselves that words have no value in themselves –
that is their value. Saussure notes that it is not the metal in a coin that
fixes its value (ibid., 164/118). Several reasons could be offered for this.
For instance, if linguistic signs drew attention to their materiality this
would hinder their communicative transparency. Furthermore, being
immaterial, language is an extraordinarily economical medium, and
words are always ready to hand. Nevertheless, a principled argument
can be made for the revaluation of the materiality of the sign, as we
will see in due course.
Jacques Derrida criticizes Saussure for his ‘psychologism’, dis-
missing the Saussurean model as simply replacing with a mental
representation the referent associated with traditional dyadic models
of the sign (1981, 22–3) – a wilful misrepresentation of Saussure’s rad-
ical conception. Saussure’s model of the linguistic sign (Figure 1.2) is
indeed a psychological one. As such, it presupposes (although it does
not incorporate) a ‘subject’ who interprets the sign. Acknowledging the
interpretive role of the mind enables this ostensibly dyadic model to be
decomposed into a binary structure with two pairs of relata (signifier–
signified, sign–subject), and we may interpret it as implicitly triadic
(see Langer 1957, 57–8).
However, the Saussurean model is not reducible to a matter of
individual psychology. Saussure sees linguistics as closely related to
social psychology (CLG 21/6). Language has both a ‘social side’ and
an ‘individual side’ (ibid., 24/8). The linguistic sign system is socially
grounded and functions as an intersubjective mediator between indi-
viduals in societ y (Fig u re 1.3; cf. Fig u re 6.2). It is reflected as a cognitive
system in the minds of individuals, but it exists in its entirety only
in the masse parlante – the community of speakers (30/14, 112/77).
Language is a social institution that is ‘independent of the individual’
(37/18). It is a cooperative enterprise. Language in use presupposes a
speech community (sharing a common language), and a social (and

MODELS 19
FIGURE 1.3 The linguistic sign and its interpreters
Source: © 2021 Daniel Chandler
material) context in which meaning is negotiated. As Thibault puts
it, ‘Meaning is always the social product of the language system’
(1997, 40). The psychosocial Saussurean model, in which meaning is
socially grounded, is thus radically different from the purely cognitive
Aristotelian model.
ARBITRARINESS
Traditionally, in the theory of signs (before and after Saussure), the
term ‘arbitrary’ refers to sign–object relations, where it is convention-
ally contrasted with ‘natural’ relations. In this context, the issue is
whether the form that the sign takes has some inherent connection
to a referent (as with a shadow) or whether the connection is purely
conventional (as with the word shadow). In Plato’s dialogue Cratylus,
set in the fifth century bce, the issue of ‘the correctness of names’
is debated. This debate produced the first known formulation of an
opposition between resemblance and conventionality as the basis of
signs. Although Cratylus defends the notion of a natural relationship
between words and what they represent, Hermogenes declares that ‘no
one is able to persuade me that the correctness of names is determined

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forgotten that your tastes always did run in that direction."
The Vicar held up his hands. "My love, you are forgetting yourself!"
"Not at all. If I may push my question further--Who is Mrs.
Winslade?"
"You know precisely as much about her as I do."
"Which is equivalent to saying I know nothing about her."
"Her life for the past twelve years is before you to bear witness for
her."
"As much of it as she has allowed to be seen, and that, as you must
admit, is very little. In the first place, Who was she before she made
her appearance at Iselford? She planted herself among us without a
single introduction. To this day nobody knows where she sprang
from. She passes herself off as a widow--who can say with certainty
whether she ever had a husband?"
This was too much for the Vicar. He got up abruptly, his face very
red, and an unwonted sparkle in his eyes. "For shame, Kitty; for
shame!" he exclaimed. "I never thought to hear such words from the
lips of my wife. I will leave you to your uncharitable thoughts and
retire to my study."
It was not often in their little skirmishes that the worthy Vicar
ventured to offer such a bold front of opposition to his wife as he
had this evening, and through all the irritation and annoyance into
which she had stung him he could not help pluming himself
somewhat on his unwonted display of pugnacity. Still, nothing had
been settled, no course decided upon as between husband and wife,
and it was quite evident that the question would have to be
reopened by one or the other of them. And reopened it was next
morning as soon as breakfast was over, with the result that the

following note, addressed to Philip, was delivered by Quince, the
sexton, at Whiteash Cottage early on Sunday afternoon:
"My dear young Friend,--With reference to what passed between us
yesterday afternoon, Mrs. Sudlow and I have come to the decision
that, pending my daughter's arrival at home about a week hence,
when an opportunity will be afforded us of ascertaining her views
and wishes, the question at issue had better remain precisely where
it is at present. Such being the case, it seems to me advisable that
our interview, as arranged for to-morrow, should be postponed till a
future date. You may, however, rely upon it that as soon as I have
any communication to make you shall hear further from me.
"Pray present my remembrances to Mrs. Winslade, and believe me,
"Sincerely yours,
"Louth Sudlow."
CHAPTER III.
THE SECRET TOLD.
On their arrival at the cottage on Saturday evening it was manifest
to Phil that his mother was very tired, and he debated with himself
as to whether it would not be better to delay breaking his news to
her till the morrow. But he felt that it would be hard to have to do

so; so, after waiting till she had rested awhile, and had partaken of
some refreshment, he drew his chair a little closer to hers and
began.
"Mother," he said abruptly, feeling at the same time a hot flush of
colour mount to his face, "I have not only brought you myself to-
day, but some very special news into the bargain."
"Indeed, my dear boy. By very special news I presume you mean
news which I shall be glad to hear. Don't keep me on tenterhooks
longer than you can help."
"The fact is, mamsie, that I've fallen in love with Fanny Sudlow (you
know Fanny--have known her for years), and--and although it may
seem egotistical to say so, I've every reason to believe she doesn't
dislike me--indeed, far from it. My intention was to call on the Vicar
while down here, and ask his consent to our engagement; but, by
great good fortune, I encountered him in the train this afternoon so
I took advantage of the opportunity to tell him what I am now telling
you, and I must say that the dear old boy listened to me most
kindly, and, in short, I'm to meet him at the vestry at eleven on
Monday, when---- But, good gracious, mother, you are ill! What can I
get you? What can I do for you?"
Mrs. Winslade had been lying back in her easy-chair; but the
moment the confession that he was in love escaped Phil's lips her
frame seemed to become suddenly rigid, while her face blanched to
the hue of one at the point of death. Slowly her figure rose from its
half-recumbent position till it sat stiffly upright, her long slender
hands grasping each an arm of the chair. It was at that moment Phil
lifted his eyes and caught sight of her face. He sprang to his feet in
alarm, but his mother put up her hand with a restraining gesture,
and he sank back in his chair, unable to take his eyes off her face.
"It has come at last--that which I have so long dreaded!" said Mrs.
Winslade, speaking in a hard dry voice, wholly different from her

customary low and mellow tones. "Of course it was folly to hope that
the blow could be much longer delayed, and if it had not come now
it must have come a little later." She paused, as if to crush down the
emotion which she found it so hard to keep back. "To-day, when you
asked me to reveal to you my life's secret, I told you that you knew
not what you asked, and for your own sake I refused to tell it you.
Now, however, you must be told. There is no help for it--would to
heaven there were! My poor boy, you are about to pass from the
land of sunshine into that of shadow, and it is my hand that perforce
must thrust you there."
"Mother," said Phil, a little proudly, "it seems to me that you
underrate both my strength and my courage. If you, a woman, have
been able uncomplainingly to carry this dark secret (whatever its
nature may be) all these years, why should you fear that I, a man,
may sink under the burden of it?" Next moment he was on his knees
in front of her and her arms were round his neck. "Forgive me," he
added, "I know that in this, as in everything, you have acted for the
best."
"Mine is a terrible confession for a mother to have to make to her
son," began Mrs. Winslade a few minutes later, when she and Phil
had in some measure recovered their composure. "As you are
aware," she went on, "I have never talked to you much about your
father. He died when you were about three years old, and to you he
is nothing more than a name."
"That is all, mother--a name. Whenever I have ventured to speak of
him, which has not been often, you have seemed so distressed, so
unaccountably put about, that I have refrained from questioning you
about him, and have been glad to turn our talk to other things."
"That I had ample cause for my reticence you will presently learn."
She paused, and sat gazing into the glowing embers in the grate for
what, to Phil, seemed a long time. Then she roused herself with a
sigh, and, turning her eyes full upon him, said slowly: "Do you

happen ever to have heard of a certain criminal, who was notorious
enough in his day, but who by this time is happily well-nigh
forgotten--Philip Cordery by name?"
"Why, it was only the other day, so to speak, that I met with a
magazine article giving an account of his career, which had a strange
fascination for me. He was known as 'The Prince of Forgers.' But
what of him?"
"Merely this--that Philip Cordery, the so-called Prince of Forgers, was
your father."
"Mother!" was the only word that broke from the young man's lips.
It was the half-stifled cry of one struck suddenly in some vital part.
Horror, incredulity, and shame the most bitter, all seemed to appeal
to her out of his dilated eyes to take back her words. Then with an
abrupt gesture he rose. As he crossed the room a groan forced its
way from his lips. Although the lamp had been lighted long before,
the curtains were still undrawn; on these pleasant spring evenings it
was the custom to leave them so till bedtime. Phil opened the long
window and stepped out into the veranda. A fine rain had begun to
fall; sweet fresh odours seemed to be wandering aimlessly to and
fro; there was a sense of silent gratitude in the air, for all nature had
been athirst. Phil stood there minute after minute, resting his head
against the cool pillar of the veranda. His soul was sick within him,
his mind was in a tumult in which nothing formulated itself clearly
save the one hideous, overwhelming fact that Philip Cordery was his
father, and that he was the son of a felon. As yet he only suffered
vaguely, like one who, having been suddenly struck down, comes
back to consciousness by degrees. He was stunned, he was dazed,
the real anguish had yet to come. A dash of cold rain in his face
recalled him in some measure to himself. He stepped back into the
room and shut the window, and, crossing to his mother, he stooped
and pressed his damp cheek for a moment against hers.

In Mrs. Winslade's eyes, as she sat fronting the fire, pale, erect, with
that absolute quietude which comes from the intensity of restrained
emotion, there was nothing to be read but infinite compassion--
compassion for the son whom hard circumstance had forced her to
smite thus sorely.
"So that is the secret you have kept from me for so long a time,"
said Phil quietly, as he resumed his seat.
"That is the secret."
"Well, mother, being what it was, I can't wonder at your locking it up
in your own breast, at your safeguarding it from the world; still, it
might, perhaps--I only say perhaps--have been better if you had told
me years ago."
"Ah, my son, do not say that! Should I not have been a wretch to
cast a blight over your young life one hour before I was absolutely
compelled to do so? But you know, or, at least, you can guess, why I
have at length broken the seal of silence which I imposed on myself
so many years ago, and have told you this to-night."
"Yes, I think I know," he said with a sort of slow sadness. "After
what I told you just now--that I had won the love of one of the
dearest girls on earth--you felt that the time had come when I must
walk blindfold no longer, when, at every risk, the bandage must be
plucked from my eyes."
"The necessity was a hard one, but there seemed to me no help for
it."
"None whatever. It will be a hard thing and a bitter to have to tell
the Vicar on Monday morning."
"After all these years, is there no other way than that?"

"None that I can see. The understanding between Fanny and myself
has gone so far that I could not withdraw from it honourably, even
were I wishful of doing so. No, mother, there is nothing left me save
to tell everything to the Vicar and leave him to decide the matter in
whatever way may seem best to himself."
For a little while neither of them spoke.
Then Phil said: "Mr. Sudlow is an honourable man, no one more so,
and I feel sure, and so must you, mother, that your secret--or ours,
as I must now call it--will be as safe with him as though it were still
unspoken."
Mrs. Winslade did not reply; only to herself she said: "My poor Phil,
you forget that there is such a person as Mrs. Sudlow to be
reckoned with."
Phil was bending forward, staring into the fire with gloomy eyes, his
elbows resting on his knees, and his chin supported by his hands.
"Of course it is too much, altogether too much to expect," he went
on disconsolately, "however good and kind-hearted a man Mr.
Sudlow may be and is, that he will ever consent to accept me in the
light of a prospective son-in-law. No; he will insist on the
engagement being at once broken off; and, under the
circumstances, how can anyone blame him?"
Mrs. Winslade still sat without speaking. Not a word of what her son
had said could she controvert. His life was wrecked so far as his love
for Fanny Sudlow was concerned, and she had not even a solitary
spar to fling to him. Far more clearly than he she realised what must
inevitably come to pass when once her life's secret had passed
beyond her keeping and his.
After a little space Phil's sombre thoughts found a vent for
themselves in another channel.

"Mother," he said abruptly, "it seems to me something incredible that
I should really be the son of such a man as Philip Cordery."
"It is none the less a fact which cannot be gainsaid."
"He--he died in prison, did he not?"
"He did, years before we came to live at Iselford."
Again for a little while the silence remained unbroken. Then Mrs.
Winslade drew herself together like a woman who has nerved herself
for the performance of a duty which, however painful it may be,
must yet be gone through with.
"Now that you have been told so much it is only right that you
should be told more," she presently said. "You shall hear my story
once for all. After to-night I trust there will be no need for either you
or I ever to refer to it again." She closed her lids for a few moments
like one conjuring up in memory the scenes of bygone years.
Then with her still beautiful eyes--large, dark, and just now charged
with a pathos too deep for words--fixed on her son, she began: "My
mother was dead and I was living at home with my father, who was
rector of Long Dritton, in Midlandshire, when I first set eyes on Philip
Cordery. At that time he was a man of two or three and thirty--
handsome, plausible, well-read, or so to all seeming; master of more
than one showy accomplishment, and, in addition, a man who had
been, or professed to have been, nearly everywhere. No wonder
that I, a simple country-bred girl, who knew nothing whatever of the
world, felt mightily flattered when this grand gentleman, for such he
appeared in my eyes, began by complimenting me on my looks, and,
a little later, went on to pay me attentions of a kind which could
scarcely be misunderstood. Such being the case, it is almost
needless to add that I presently ended by falling in love with him.
"Ours was a famous hunting county, and Mr. Cordery, who kept a
couple of horses, had taken rooms for the season in the

neighbouring town of Baxwade Regis. He was hand and glove with
the master, Lord Packbridge, and was made welcome at several of
the best houses round about. He won my father's heart, in the first
instance, by putting down his name for a very handsome
subscription to the Church Restoration Fund. I hardly know how it
came about, but before long he began to be a frequent guest at the
rectory. I suppose my father was taken by him, as most people
seemed to be, and certainly I have never met anyone more gifted
with the faculty of attracting others than he was. Well, there came a
day when Philip Cordery asked my father to bestow on him the hand
of his only child. Before doing so, however, he had drawn from my
lips the avowal that I loved him. In what way he contrived to satisfy
my father as to his means and position in life, I never heard; but
that he did satisfy him is certain, seeing that my father gave his
unqualified sanction to our engagement. I deemed myself the
happiest of girls. We were married in the early summer and went for
a month's tour on the Continent.
"On one point I must do Philip Cordery justice. He did not marry me
for the sake of my fortune, which, indeed, was only a matter of a
few hundreds of pounds left me by my mother's sister. Neither could
he expect anything at my father's death, for the living of Long
Dritton was a very poor one, and my father's purse was never shut
against the claims of charity. It was a great blow to me when, within
a couple of months of my marriage, my father died after a few days'
illness; but when, eighteen months later, my other great trouble fell
upon me, I no longer grieved that he had been taken.
"My husband had hired a small furnished house at St. John's Wood,
London, which stood in its own grounds and was surrounded by a
high wall. Its position was a very secluded one, so much so that it
could not be overlooked from any other house. Your father had
never enlightened me in definite terms as to the nature of the
business in which he was engaged, but I had a vague notion that he
was connected, although in what capacity I was wholly ignorant,
with some important firm in the City. Sometimes his duties took him

from home for a week or ten days at a time. At other times there
would be days when he never went beyond the precincts of his own
garden. He had given me to understand that his great hobby was
experimental chemistry, and he had fitted up a room on the top floor
of the house as a laboratory where he often worked till far into the
night, and the door of which, whether he was engaged there or not,
was always kept locked. Considering the number of people whose
acquaintance he had made in the shires, it seemed strange that he
should know so few people in London, but so it was. He belonged to
no club, we saw very little company, and he rarely took me
anywhere except now and then to the theatre. Such callers as we
had were all men, many of them being foreigners of different
nationalities. I usually got away from them to my own room as soon
as possible, and Philip seemed pleased that I should do so.
"All this time, although many of my illusions had taken to themselves
wings, I was by no means unhappy. Philip, while never
demonstrative, was kind in his careless, easy-going fashion; in fact, I
may say that I believe he was as fond of me as it was in his nature
to be of anyone. And then, by-and-by, you were born, and life
seemed to me a sweeter thing than it had ever been before.
"It was when you were about four months old that the crash came.
There is no need for me to dwell on that time, nor to recapitulate in
detail all I had to go through. It is enough to say--and it may now be
said once for all--that Philip Cordery was proved to have been the
leader and guiding spirit of one of the most notorious gangs of bank-
note forgers with which the present century has had to do. I saw
him but twice after his conviction. A month or two after my second
interview with him he died. A little later, through the death of an
uncle, I came in for a legacy (taking his name at the same time), the
income derivable from which has enabled me to keep up a home
such as you have known as long as you can remember. At my death
the capitalised amount will become yours to deal with as you may
deem best."

Philip had refrained from interrupting his mother's narrative by a
word; indeed, his interest in the tragic story she had to tell was too
intense to allow of his willingly breaking in upon it even for a
moment. When she had come to an end the silence that ensued was
broken by a deep-drawn sigh from him. "Poor mother! poor mother!"
he murmured half aloud. It was on her and on all she had
undergone that his thoughts were dwelling just then, rather than on
that mysterious entity--to him he would remain for ever a mystery
and a wonder--Philip Cordery, the author of his being; or even on
the effect which his mother's revelation might have on his own
future.
Presently Mrs. Winslade spoke again. "You will now be able to
comprehend one thing which has doubtless puzzled you more than
enough in days gone by, and that is why I have led so persistently
secluded a life, seeing so little company under my own roof and
scarcely ever visiting anywhere. Never feeling sure from day to day
that the secret of my past might not by some mischance become
public property, I was determined that the good folk of Iselford
should not have it in their power to say that I forced my way into
their society under false pretences--that I had sought them out and
sat by their firesides, being conscious all the time there was that in
my history which I would be ashamed to have them know. It is they
who have sought me out; it is they who have thrust themselves on
me. In so far my conscience holds me free from blame."
CHAPTER IV.
IN WHICH MISS SUDLOW SPEAKS HER MIND.

Philip Winslade did not accompany his mother to church on Sunday
morning. His heart was still so sore, he was still so mentally shaken
by his mother's revelation that, like the stricken deer, he craved for
solitude the most absolute. It was a craving Mrs. Winslade was too
wise to combat. She herself had suffered in like manner in years
gone by, and her heart bled for her boy.
Phil still held firmly by his overnight determination to make a clean
breast of it to the Vicar at their interview on the morrow, and it was
so evidently the right thing to do that on no account would his
mother have breathed a syllable in any effort to dissuade him
therefrom. In the course of the afternoon the Vicar's note was
delivered at the Cottage, and after a first reading it seemed both to
Phil and Mrs. Winslade as if a brief providential breathing-space had
been accorded them. The evil day was only put off for a time; but it
was a respite, and they were grateful for it.
Further consideration of the note, however, made it evident that,
although the Vicar expressed a wish to defer the Monday's interview
till he should have had an opportunity of consulting his daughter,
that was no sufficient reason why Phil should take on himself to
delay his confession. Was it not, rather, his duty to tell everything to
the Vicar before the meeting in question took place? With the latter
in possession beforehand of all the facts of the case, it could not
afterwards be alleged that any unfair advantage had been taken of
either his or his daughter's ignorance of them. Clearly here also was
the right thing to do.
Next morning after breakfast--such a breakfast as either mother or
son had the appetite to partake of--Phil set out for the vestry. His
mother kissed him and bade him be of good cheer; her eyes were
dry, but there was a wistfulness in the smile with which she followed
him as he left the house which seemed to have its origin in emotions
too profound for tears. As it fell out, however, the Vicar and Phil
were not destined to meet that day. The latter, on reaching the
vestry, was told by Jabez Drew, the parish clerk, that "his reverence"

had been summoned from home by telegram and was not expected
back till next day. Now, Philip Winslade was due back in London at
nine o'clock on Tuesday morning. Evidently there was no help for it.
He must defer what he had to say till the Vicar should appoint a
meeting at his own time and place.
At this stage another difficulty confronted him. He had promised that
he would write to Miss Sudlow and let her know the result of his
interview with her father, by which means she would be forewarned
as to the attitude her parents would be likely to adopt towards her
when she should see them a few days later. But, as Philip asked
himself, how was it possible, under the circumstances, that he
should write to her at all? Nothing would have been easier than for
him to tell her in so many words that the Vicar had postponed all
decision in the affair till he should have seen Fanny herself; but how
could he tell her so much without telling her more? He had written
to her twice already such letters as it is a lover's happiness to indite,
but how dare he mention such a word as love now with that hideous
secret crushing him down like a veritable Old Man of the Sea?
Neither could he tell his tale to her before telling it to her father. To
have done so would have been to take advantage of the Vicar in a
way his pride would not allow--him to stoop to, and would, in
addition, have the appearance of trying to secure, through Fanny's
compassion and womanly pity, a promise to continue true to him
which she might see cause to regret after the influence of her
parents should have been brought to bear on her. Even at the risk of
having hard things thought of him by her he loved so fondly, he
would keep an unbroken silence till he had made his confession to
the person who was entitled to hear it first of all.
Miss Sudlow went down to Iselford on Saturday by the same train
that her lover had travelled by a week before. She had been puzzled
and somewhat put about when day passed after day without
bringing her the expected letter, or a word of any kind from Phil.

That she put a score of questions to herself goes without saying, to
none of which, however, was any answer forthcoming; and it was
not without a certain vague uneasiness and dread of what the next
day or two might have in store for her that she travelled down
home. Nothing of this, however, did she betray to her mother, who,
with one of her sisters, she found awaiting her arrival at the station.
Fanny Sudlow, unlike her mother, was a brunette. She had brown
eyes, frank and vivacious, a great quantity of dark wavy hair, and a
face that depended more on character for its attractiveness than on
any special charm of feature. As we shall presently discover, she was
a young woman of spirit, with a strong sense of independence and
considerable fixity of will, which latter characteristic her mother
called by another name.
"My dear," said Mrs. Sudlow, after she had embraced her daughter,
eyeing Fanny's Saratoga trunk with evident dismay, "pleased as I
am, of course, to see you again, my hope was that you had only
come to pay us a flying visit, and that, in point of fact, you had
contrived to make yourself so indispensable to your aunt that she
would ask you to stay with her altogether."
"I am sorry to disappoint you, mamma, but I have left Aunt
Charlotte for good and all. When I went to her you know it was only
as a makeshift till her companion, Miss Pudsey, whose health had
broken down (and I don't wonder at it) was able to resume her
duties. Then poor Pudsey is terribly afraid of the sea, and Aunt
Charlotte having made up her mind to go in person to America and
look after some property she was afraid she was being swindled out
of, probably thought that I should be of more use to her during the
voyage out and home. Now, however, Pudsey is back in harness, so
aunt and I have said good-bye, mutually glad to have seen the last
of each other for at least a considerable time to come."
"It is a pity, a very great pity, that you were not at more pains to
conciliate your aunt; and she with so many thousands to leave

behind her."
By this time they had packed themselves into one of the station flies
and were being jolted homeward.
"It is just possible that if Aunt Charlotte had been a poor woman
instead of a rich one, I might have been at more pains to please her
than I was. But, for my part, I've no inclination to fill the rôle of
toady to a cross-grained and abominably selfish old woman,
however well-to-do she may be." Then, a moment later, she added:
"Not for a thousand a year would I willingly degenerate into a
Pudsey."
"Still, I cannot help repeating that it is a great pity you could not
bring yourself to put up with your aunt's whims and little infirmities
of temper, especially knowing, as you do, what a number of mouths
there are at home to be fed, and what a little money there is to do it
on. But of course it was too much to expect that you would sacrifice
any of your ridiculous prejudices, whatever might be the gain to
others from your doing so."
Fanny did not reply; she was already debating a certain scheme in
her mind which would reduce the number of mouths to be fed at
home by one.
It was not till rather a late hour, and after the younger members of
the family circle had retired for the night, that Mrs. Sudlow found an
opportunity of being alone with her daughter. The Vicar, with a
prevision of what was coming, had shut himself in his study on the
plea of having to put the finishing touches to his morrow's sermon.
Mrs. Sudlow was not without her misgivings as to the success of the
task she proposed to herself. Her preliminary skirmish with Fanny in
the afternoon had proved to her of what stuff the girl was made. But
the little woman was not deficient in pugnacity, and rather relished a
battle-royal now and again, as tending to diversify the monotony of
everyday existence. Only she would much rather that her antagonist

should have been someone other than her daughter. In the present
instance, however, there was no help for it.
"Your father accidentally encountered young Winslade the other day,
when he was down here over the week-end," began the Vicaress.
"From what I gathered, it would seem that you and he met on the
steamer which brought yourself and your aunt over from New York."
The clear olive of Fanny's cheek flushed to the tint of a damask rose
at the sudden mention of her lover's name. There was something in
her mother's tone, an added flavour of acidity, as it were, which
warned her that she was about to be attacked. A moment later her
coolness came back to her in full measure.
"What you gathered was no more than the truth, mamma," she said.
"Philip Winslade and I met on board the Parthenia, and seeing that
Aunt Charlotte was confined to her state-room the whole way
across, I was glad to have someone to talk to other than strangers."
"I can quite understand that, my dear; and if the matter had only
ended there no harm would have been done. Mr. Winslade, however,
would seem to be gifted with an amazing amount of effrontery and
self-conceit."
"You surprise me, mamma. That he is occasionally a little audacious,
I am willing to admit; but of the other qualities which you attribute
to him I know nothing."
"In any case, it would seem that you have studied him to some
purpose."
"There is so little to do on board ship except study one's fellow-
passengers."
Mrs. Sudlow was becoming slightly nettled.

"There is all the difference between a general study and an
individual one. I have good reason for speaking of young Winslade
as I did. May I ask, Fanny--and I trust you will give me a
straightforward answer--whether you were aware of the particular
object which brought him to Iselford a week ago?"
Again that tell-tale colour dyed Fanny's cheeks, but she answered
her mother as calmly as before.
"I was quite aware, mamma, of the nature of the business which
brought him here. He came to see papa and to ask him for his
sanction to our engagement."
"Your engagement! Can it be possible that the wretched affair has
gone as far as that?"
"That is just as far as the 'wretched affair' has gone."
"You--you astonish me. I can't find words to express a tithe of what
I feel. Do you mean to tell me that you have been cozened into an
engagement with this young man?--that you have allowed him to
extort from you a promise which----"
"Pardon me, mamma, but there has been no cozening, as you term
it, either on one side or the other. Quite the contrary, I assure you.
My engagement with Philip Winslade is the outcome of my own free
action. It was entered into deliberately and with my eyes wide
open."
"Oh, this is too much!" cried Mrs. Sudlow, her hands quivering with
the excitement which she had some ado to keep under. At that
moment she would dearly have liked to box her daughter's ears, as
she had been used to do in days gone by. "But, thank goodness, it is
not too late," she went on. "Your father must interfere. The affair
must be broken off at the earliest possible moment."

"Did papa give Mr. Winslade to understand as much at their
interview last week?"
Mrs. Sudlow paused before answering. She had taken it for granted
that Fanny was acquainted with what had passed between the two
men, but in so thinking she had evidently assumed what was not the
fact. She would have given much to be able to assure the girl that
the Vicar had already sent Phil to the right-about; but, with all her
faults, she was a truthful woman where a question of fact was
involved, and Fanny's question demanded a truthful answer.
"No, Fanny," she replied; "your father, instead of giving Mr. Winslade
his congé there and then, as he ought to have done, was weak
enough to defer his final decision till after your arrival at home."
"Dear, dear papa!" murmured Fanny under her breath. Mrs. Sudlow
saw the added sparkle that flashed suddenly out of her eyes, but did
not hear the words.
"Not that the result will be in any way different," resumed the latter
lady dogmatically. "Your father must write the young man a note on
Monday, informing him that the affair is finally broken off."
"Indeed, and indeed, mamma, he must do nothing of the kind."
"Why not, pray?"
"Because the affair, as you call it, is not broken off--in point of fact, it
is quite a long way from being broken off."
"Disobedient girl! And would you, then, persist in this--this
entanglement in direct opposition to the wishes of your parents?"
"Pardon me, mamma, but I have not yet heard from papa's lips that
he is so wholly opposed to my engagement as you seem desirous of
making him out to be."

"For all that, I tell you that he will write to the purport just now
stated by me."
"I should be very sorry for him to do so. The writing of such a note
would simply have the effect of putting things in more of a tangle
than they are already; and that is hardly necessary, I think."
"Perhaps you won't mind telling me what you really mean."
"Simply this, mamma. Even if papa were to write such a note as you
speak of, it would not have the effect of breaking off my
engagement. I have given my word to Philip, and only he himself
could induce me to take it back, and I am quite sure he is not likely
to attempt anything of the kind. So long as I remain under age my
obedience, up to a certain point, is due to my parents, and I will do
nothing in direct opposition to their wishes. But my engagement will
continue to stand good just the same, and in two years and two
months from now I shall be twenty-one."
It was gall and wormwood to Mrs. Sudlow to be compelled to listen
to this outspoken statement without seeing any means by which it
might be gainsaid. "You are a wilful, headstrong, disobedient girl,"
was all she could find for the moment to say. It was a statement
which Fanny made no attempt to refute.
"Neither you nor your father have an atom of proper pride about
you," resumed Mrs. Sudlow in a tone of cold acidity. "Little did I
think that any daughter of mine--the daughter of a woman who can
trace back her ancestry for upwards of three hundred years--would
ever condescend to marry anyone so low down in the social scale as
Philip Winslade. I know quite well what his Lordship will say when he
hears of it--for hear of it he must. He will say that you have
disgraced the family from which (on your mother's side) you spring,
and he will beg that your name may never be mentioned in his
hearing again." For once the little woman seemed on the verge of

tears. For her the picture her imagination had conjured up was full
of pathos.
Fanny bit her lip and waited for a few moments before trusting
herself to reply. Then she said: "With all deference to you, mamma,
I don't care the snap of a finger what his Lordship may choose either
to think or say--indeed, if it comes to that, I very much doubt
whether he remembers that there is such a person as poor me in
existence, and certainly I am not going to make a fetich of him. I
have not forgotten that day when the Earl and his daughters drove
over from Raven Towers, where they were staying on a visit, and
condescended to partake of luncheon at the Vicarage. As for his
Lordship, I remember that both in manners and appearance he
struck me as being more like a small shopkeeper than a nobleman
with a long line of ancestry, and the way he once or twice snubbed
papa, who is much the finer gentleman of the two, made my blood
boil, young as I was at the time. And then, when I was asked to
show the Lady Anna and the Lady Mary round the garden, I have
not forgotten with what frosty condescension they listened to my
remarks, nor how they stared at my sunburnt cheeks, and my
country-made shoes and my poor print frock--as if, taken altogether,
I were a creature who had strayed by chance from another sphere.
Do you think, mamma, that to themselves, or to each other, they
would acknowledge that the same blood runs in my veins as in their
own? No, I am quite sure they would not."
Mrs. Sudlow cast up her eyes and shook her head. She could not but
acknowledge to herself that she had come off second best in the
encounter. All she could find to say was: "You are incorrigible--yes,
perfectly incorrigible; and I am at a loss to know why Providence has
seen fit to afflict me with such a child."

CHAPTER V
A FAMILY CONFERENCE AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
It was quite by chance that Philip Winslade did not travel down to
Iselford on the second Saturday by the same train that Fanny went
by. As it fell out, however, he was detained at the last moment and
had to wait for a later train. On Sunday morning his mother went to
church without him. If Fanny had reached home she would be sure
to be there, and it seemed better not to run the risk of a chance
meeting with her on the way to or from church, in view of his
impending interview with her father.
When morning service was over and the Rev. Louth Sudlow retired
to the vestry to disrobe himself, he found his wife and eldest
daughter there before him. Mrs. Sudlow had just taken up a note
addressed to her husband which she had found on the table. "Now,
who can this be from?" she was saying as the Vicar entered. Fanny,
who had recognised the writing, blushed and turned away, but did
not answer her mother. The Vicar took the note, opened it, read it in
silence, and then handed it to his wife. It was from Philip Winslade,
asking the Vicar to name an hour when it would be convenient for
him to see the writer on the morrow about "a matter of urgent
moment."
"A matter of urgent moment!" repeated Mrs. Sudlow. "What can that
be, I wonder?"
The Vicar did not reply, but there and then he sat down and wrote
an answer to the note, naming, as before, the vestry for the place of
meeting, and the hour of eleven.
It was only natural that, as Fanny walked home with her parents,
she should feel somewhat disquieted. Why had her lover not written

to her in the course of the week, as he had promised to do? That he
was at Whiteash Cottage was proved by his note; why, then, had he
omitted to accompany his mother to church? Above all, what could
be the matter of urgent moment he was so anxious to see her father
about?
As yet the Vicar had not mentioned her lover's name, nor as much
as hinted at any knowledge of her engagement. But that did not
surprise her. Probably he did not care to enter upon the subject on
the Sabbath. Doubtless he would say what he had to say on the
morrow. His manner towards her had been, or so she fancied, more
than commonly kind and affectionate, and how could she accept that
as anything but a happy augury? Had the news of her engagement
displeased him, or proved a source of annoyance to him, he would
scarcely have failed to make the fact patent to her in one way or
another. She longed for the morrow to come, as young people have
a way of doing. Never had the even-paced hours seemed to drag
themselves to so wearisome a length. She was glad when bedtime
had come, and gladder still when, after a restless night, she saw the
April dawn begin to brighten in the eastern sky.
It wanted a quarter to eleven when the Vicar left home, and the
clock had just struck twelve when Fanny, from the window of the
morning-room, saw him coming back across the lawn. Her heart
sank, so grave and preoccupied did he look. She would fain have
opened the long window and have run to meet him, but her
mother's cold eyes were upon her, and she refrained. When the
Vicar entered the room two minutes later his first act was to cross to
where his daughter was sitting, and taking her head gently between
his hands, to kiss her on the forehead.
"Papa!" exclaimed Fanny, looking up into his face with frightened
eyes, and laying her hand for a moment on his sleeve. That he was
the messenger of ill news her heart portended but too surely.

Mrs. Sudlow was too accustomed to reading her husband's looks not
to know that something was amiss; but although her curiosity was
keen to hear whatever news he might be the bearer of, she set her
thin lips tight and seemed to be intent on her sewing and on nothing
beyond it. The Vicar sat down in his easy-chair and proceeded to rub
his spectacles with his handkerchief.
"Little did I dream when I left home this morning," he began,
sighing as he did so, "that I should have such a strange and
distressing story to tell on my return. Dear me--dear me! Who could
have believed in the possibility of such a thing?"
"My dear, if you would but endeavour to be a little less prolix!" said
Mrs. Sudlow. "If you cannot see that Fanny is dying of impatience, I
can."
The Vicar hemmed and fidgeted in his chair.
"Really, my love," he murmured deprecatingly. Then turning to Fanny
and addressing himself directly to her, he said: "I am afraid, my
child, that what I am about to tell you will distress you greatly, but
unfortunately the blow is one which there are no means of averting.
The reason Philip Winslade wished to see me this morning was that
he might impart to me, in strict confidence, a certain circumstance
connected with his personal history which only came to his own
knowledge a few days ago. It appears that when Mrs. Winslade
became aware of the existence of some sort of an engagement
between her son and you, and was told he was about to seek your
parents' sanction thereto, she revealed to him the circumstance in
question, which had hitherto been kept carefully from him. What she
had to tell him was that her husband and his father was a certain
notorious bank-note forger, Philip Cordery by name, who was tried
and convicted upwards of twenty years ago, and who died in prison
a little while afterwards."

"Ah!" was the sole comment vouchsafed by Mrs. Sudlow; but
although a word of two letters only, it can be made to convey a
variety of meanings, and on the present occasion what it conveyed
to the Vicar was, "I always felt sure that there was something
discreditable in that woman's past, and now you see how right I
was."
Fanny's cheek had turned a shade paler, but as yet she scarcely
realised the full significance of her father's news. After the silence
had lasted a few moments she said, "But why, after keeping the fact
a secret for so many years, should Mrs. Winslade have thought it
needful to speak of it now?"
"Whatever may have been her trials and misfortunes, Mrs. Winslade
is a high-principled woman," replied the Vicar. "When informed that
her son was seeking to become engaged to a certain young lady,
she revealed to him the story of his parentage as a measure of
simple right both to the person in question and her parents. It would
rest with them to accept or dismiss him as they might deem best,
when the truth about him had been told; but in any case Mrs.
Winslade was determined that there should be no risk of accepting
him blindfold and under a cloak of false pretence."
"It seems to me," said Fanny, with a little glow of colour, "that it was
a very magnanimous thing of Mrs. Winslade to do."
"You talk like a school-girl," broke in Mrs. Sudlow. "For very shame
the woman could not do otherwise than as she did."
"On that point, my dear, I must venture to differ from you,"
remarked her husband in his blandest accents. "I fully believe there
are many women who would have continued to keep silence in the
future as they had in the past rather than run the risk of spoiling
their son's chance of marrying into a reputable family. Such persons
might not unreasonably allege that the fact of their having been able
to keep their secret for so long a time might be taken as a strong

argument that they would be able to keep it for ever." Then, a
moment later, he added: "Poor young fellow! I felt truly sorry for
him. There was a touch of manly pathos in the way he told his tale,
which affected me more than anything it has been my lot to listen to
for a very long time."
"It is an extremely disagreeable episode well ended," remarked Mrs.
Sudlow with an air of satisfaction, as her sharp teeth bit in two the
thread she was sewing. "Of course, you gave the young man his
congé there and then?"
Fanny stared at her mother as if doubting whether she had heard
aright.
"I told him that I would write to him in the course of a day or two--
nothing more."
"I think it a great pity you did not send him packing at once. I have
no patience with such temporising ways."
"But, mamma----" began Fanny, and then stopped at sight of her
father's uplifted hand.
"My dear, it was not for me to dismiss the young man after so
summary a fashion. It seemed to me due to Fanny that before
arriving at any decision in the matter, the whole of the circumstances
should be made known to her."
"There I differ from you in toto," said Mrs. Sudlow with accentuated
acidity. "You are Fanny's father, and as such it was your bounden
duty to give young Winslade clearly to understand that all is at an
end between him and her, now and for ever."
"But, mamma, all is not at an end between us. Far from it," said
Fanny, with that little air of determination which her mother was
learning to know so well.

Mrs. Sudlow turned quickly on her.
"Girl, are you mad?" she demanded with a stamp of her foot. "What
way but one can there be of dealing with a man whose father was a
forger and a felon, and whose mother for years has been passing
under a name not her own? Why, even to shake hands with such a
person would make me feel as if there was a gaol taint about me for
days to come."
The Vicar coughed uneasily. "Pardon me, my dear, but your
sentiments are scarcely such as become the wife of a minister of the
Gospel."
Mrs. Sudlow sniffed, but did not condescend to any reply.
"That Philip Winslade's father was what he was," said Fanny, "is
Philip's misfortune, but in no wise his fault; and why such a fact
should be allowed to affect anyone's estimate of him is what, so far,
I fail to understand."
Mrs. Sudlow's dull eyes flamed out as they did on rare occasions
only. "Do you mean to tell me, Fanny Sudlow," she said with a cold,
slow emphasis, which was the more effective in that her anger was
so evidently at white-heat--"do you wish me for one moment to
credit that, after what you have been told, it is not your intention at
once to break off whatever engagement (oh, how rashly entered
into!) may heretofore have existed between yourself and this
unhappy young man?"
"You are right, mamma, when you term him an unhappy young
man. But is not that the very reason why our engagement, instead
of being broken off, should, if possible, be riveted more firmly than
before? Who should stand by him now this great trouble has come
upon him if not I, to whom he has given the greatest treasure a man
has to give?" Her cheeks glowed, her eyes shone with an inner
radiance--never, to her father's thinking, had she looked so beautiful
as at that moment.

Mrs. Sudlow turned upon her husband. "Louth, speak to her!" she
commanded. "If she has so far forgotten herself and the lessons of
her upbringing as no longer to heed her mother's wishes and
commands, it is to be hoped that this new evil influence has not yet
obtained such complete control over her as to induce her to treat
her father's admonitions as contemptuously as she has seen fit to
treat mine."
The Rev. Louth Sudlow felt that his position was anything but an
enviable one. His sympathies were altogether with his daughter; but
to a man who loved peace and quietness as he loved them, to
sanction the unfurling of the flag of rebellion on the domestic hearth
might well represent itself as a very serious thing indeed. Such being
the case, he did what weak men nearly always do when they find
themselves in a corner--he resolved to play the timid game of
expediency, and to attempt the impossible feat of steering a straight
course between two strongly opposite currents.
Addressing himself to Fanny, he said: "My dear girl, while fully
agreeing with you that in the case of a person who has been
overtaken by a misfortune which he has had no hand in bringing on
himself, and yet from the consequences of which it is impossible for
him to escape, it is the duty of those who know him and respect
him--and--and like him--to rally round him, and prove to him that
though the world at large may look askance on him, he will find no
change in them, it is still possible, I think, to push even so admirable
a sentiment to a point at which it not only becomes Quixotic, but--
but, so to speak, indefensible. And this, my dear, as it appears to
me, is just what you seem inclined to do in the case under
discussion. Young Winslade by his action in coming to me first of all
has proved his entire willingness to release you from any promise
you may have made him--such promise having been given in
ignorance of what has since become known, and accepted by him in
equal ignorance. The question therefore now is, whether you ought
not at once to reclaim your promise, and release him from any he
may have given you. Although at present, as far as we are aware,

the knowledge of this painful episode is confined to us three, there
is no knowing how soon, nor by what mischance, it may become
common property. Think, then--consider, I beg of you most
seriously--what in such a case would be your position as a member
of a family which society (always terribly unrelenting in such cases)
would shun and contemn almost as if it were plague-smitten. Are
you willing for the sake of a passing girlish fancy--(you shake your
head; but, knowing the world far better than you know it, I hold by
the phrase)--to run the risk of overshadowing and embittering your
whole future life? Strive to realise all that you would sacrifice by
such a step, and then ask yourself what compensation you can
reasonably expect in return. The wrench of parting might be a sharp
one, and just at first the pain might seem almost intolerable, but
time would heal the wound, as it does the wounds of all of us, and
before long life would again look as bright to you, and as full of
promise, as ever it had done."
When the Vicar ceased he rubbed his white hands softly one within
the other like a man well satisfied with himself. He had not been
oblivious of certain contemptuous sniffs on the part of his wife
during the progress of his little oration; but he was too familiar with
such tokens of disparagement to allow himself to be affected
thereby. Fanny felt that one of the most important moments of her
life had come. Drawing a deep breath she said:
"Papa, when I gave my promise to Philip Winslade that I would one
day become his wife, it was with no intention of ever taking it back,
and far less than ever should I think of doing so now that a shadow
has crept over his life of which neither he nor I knew anything when
my promise was given. As for the world, or that small section of it
which, as you say, would look askance at him and his if his story
were to become known, it seems to me not worth a moment's
consideration when weighed in the balance against other things.
Disgrace comes but as we bring it on ourselves. Papa--and you too,
mamma--permit me, therefore, with all due deference and respect,

Semiotics The Basics 4th Edition Daniel Chandler

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