Guy Earlecourt's wife
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ] GUY EARLSCOURT'S WIFE. OR A WONDERFUL WOMAN," ETC. ETC., ETC. NEW YORK: G. Carleton & Co., Pu s., MAY AGNESN FYEM: . G I YWO U .WOMAN & Pulishers M DCCC LXIII. page: 0[View Page 0] Sterotyped at te 56I e of te and o Park Strcet w York N New York. OF NEW YORK, THS BOOK IS INSCRIBED WITH THE SINCERE ESTEEM OF HS FRIEND. page: 0 (Table of Contents) [View Page 0 (Table of Contents) ] ,4b I. uke iI.-What "I. Mr. M IV- In the V.-Rober VI .--The d VIi.- At St, VIII.-"Whi IX.-At H X.-Told i I.-After i - :y II.-At M , ..^ III.-"All IV.--Face t / * ..: , : V.-Polly' VI.-Whicd VII.- Sow ;iJMe * .VIII.--Lady iX.-The I !:i i , ,X '-TheI ; ,i j , CONTENTS, PART FIRST, WAG 1 1E Mason's Adventure * * * * * 9 1 Duke Mason saw ad heard . . . 6 ' x6 [asoun elopes . . .. , . . . .. 23 : Waiting-room . . . . '. It Hawksley ... . . , , -37 awn of the Fourteenthof April . 45 George's, Hanover Square . . . 57 " istled Down the Wind" . 68 ' alf-Moon Terrace . . ... . . . 74 - 2 in the Twilight . . . 83 PART SECOND. Fourteen Yearse . * * . 94 ntalien Priory .. . 103 night in Lyndith Grange" . . .121 toFace . . . * 133 s MisdeedsFourteent I . 142 . ' i treats of Love's Young Dream and other-things 157 Robert Hawksley kept hs word. . . . 66 Charteris hears the truth . . . . 68o )awn of the New Life .* . . . . 18 8 ast ay . . . . . . . . . I23 ' . ., page: 8 (Table of Contents) -9[View Page 8 (Table of Contents) -9] CONTENTS. ' / PART THRD. PArR C.-After Two Years .20o7 :.--The Road to Ruin.' .221 [.- Paulina . . 232 re "And now I live, and now my life is done" 2. 248 r.-At Brightohn . . 263 [.-In which Miss Lyle is disposed of . . . 274 GvU [.-"A New Way to pay Old Debts" 287 TY8 [.-"Camilla's Husband" 297 C.-On Christmas Eve . . ,. .306. C.-"Such a Mad Marriage never was before" 311 , ;3 PART FOURTH. I.-After Six Years. 32 . 0 I.-A Belle of Five Seasons...... 330 I.-Held asunder .. .. . . 339 '.-Working in the Dark 351 T.--' Paulina to Alice" . . . . 366 I.-"For a Woman's Sake" . . 38 !,*tUK I.--The Verdict of the Coroner's Jury . 399 I.-"H-ow Pride bowed and fell" .. . 40 pe K--Retribution . ... * * * * 2fr through thc K.-"Semper Fidelis". . . 430 o EARLSCOURT'S WIFE. PART FIRST. ----+---i CHAPTER I.: DUKE MASON'S ADVENTURE. DUKE MASON. had lost his way. There could be no doubt about it. As he paused in perplexity and gazed around him, five struck sharply from the distant Speckhaven. churches, clearly heard through the still, frosty air, and at 5:IO the express train from London left Speckhaven station. Only ten minutes to spare, and completely lost and bewildered, a stranger in Lincolnshire, and with not a notion of whereabouts he might be now. Mr. Mason paused with a face of disgust at his own stupidity,', and looked/about him. 'Westward lay the fens and marshes, melting drearily away into the low gray sky; eastward spread the wide sea, a bleak blast sweeping icily up, with all the chill of the German Ocean in its breath; and north and south, the dismal waste land stretched away treeless, houseless, unspeak. ably forlorn and deserted. The month was March, the day the 25th. Was Duke Mason 1*; , . page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 DUKE MAASON'S ADVENTURE. likely to forget the date of that memorable day, when he lost his way, and the romance of his life began? For seven and twenty years his life had gone Oil, as flat, as dull, as uneventful as those flat marshes that lay on every side of him, as gray and colorless as yonder cold gray sea, and on this twenty-fifth of March, wending his way at his leisure, to catch the express train for London, and mistaking the road, an adven- ture so singular and romantic befell him, as to almost atone for those hopelessly stupid and respectable seven-and-twenty years. The short March day was darkening already. The yellow wintry sun had dropped out of sight down there behind the fens and sand hills; sky and sea were both, of the same cold gray, except where one long yellow line westward marked the sombre sunset. "It reminds one of Byron's poetry," thought Mr. Mason, who, being an artist in a very small way, had an eye for atmos- pheric effects; 'lead-colored sea, melting into lead-colored sky -dull yellow glimmer westward. Flat marshes, and wet fens, sea-fog creeping up, and solitary individual in foreground, gazing moodily at the creeping gloom. I've seen worse things on the line, in the academy, and hundreds of people agape with admi- ration, only unhappily this sort of thing is much more attractive ih oil or water colors than in reality, at five o'clock of a cold March evening, without a house or a soul near, and just too late for the train. I wonder where I am. I'll try on' a little way, and find out if I can, without going round to the town." Mr. Mason gave up contemplating the general Byronic as- pect of the scene, and went forward on his lonely road. He was mounting the rising ground now, and in ten minutes more stopped again and' knew exactly where he was. "The Grange, by all that's mysterious I " he exclaimed aloud; "and five miles from the station if an inci. What an ass I must have been, to be sure, to take the wrong turning, when I've been along heie fifty times during the last fortnight." It looked like the end of thd world. ' high stone wall rose up 'abruptly, barring all further progress--to massive stone gates frowned darkly on all observers. Within rose the waving trees of a park, and in their midst you caught sight of tall chimneys and the peaked gables of a red-brick mansion. Duke Mason had come upon the Grange in the spectral twi- light of the March day, and the Grange was that most 'awful habitation, " a haunted house." It was a weird scene and hour. He was perhaps as matter. 1. '4 * -^' '4 /4 - X:W"- 2V- ' 9 DUKE MASON'S ADVENTURE. of-fact and unimaginative a young-man as you will easily finld, but Duke's skin turned to "goose flesh" as he stood and \ thought of the awful stories he had heard of yonder solitary mansion among the trees. It was so deathfully still-it was like the enchanted castle of the Sleeping Beauty, only far more grim, else the handsome young'prince had never summoned up courage to enter; it was like a huge nausoleum; no smoke curled up from the great twisted chimneys, no dog barked, no sound but the moaning 6f the wind among the trees,' broke the ghastly silence. "And yet people eat, and drink, and sleep there," mused Mr. Mason; "and it's .more dismal And more dead than the tomb of, the Pharaohs. And they say there's a lady shut up there as lovely as all the houris of Mahomet's paradise. If a fellow could only get in there now and see for himself." The young man looked wistfully at the frowning gates, at the' solid masonry, as he had many a time looked and longed beo. fore. You have read' low African travellers brave burning winds; sandy deserts, fever and plague, to return to that fatal and fascinating land once they have seen it. Some such'irre- sistible witchery did this lonely, haunted house hold over this very commonplace young man from London. Day after day he had come thither and sketched the grim stone walls, the massive gates, the tossing trees, and the peaked gables, but no sign of life had he ever seen, no glimpse of the Sleeping Beauty, hidden away in its desolate walls, had he ever obtained. The place was known as Lyndith Grange, and like, sweet Thomas Hood's Haunted House, lay "Under some prodigious ban of excommunication." Two hundred odd years ago, before this gray March gloam- ing, in the days when gentlemen wore velvet doublets and slirm rapiers, and pinked their neighbors under the fifth rib for very little provocation, there dwelt in yonder silent mansion a fierce old warrior, who had brought home to the Grange a pale, pen- sive young bride, as fair as a lily and almost as drooping. In- side those walls the honeymoon-had been spent, and then Sir Malise went forth to fight for his king, and the pale bride was left alone. And then, the legend ran, of a fair-haired, handsome cavalier, who' made his way through the ponderous doors of a servant's betrayal, of a fiery husband returning full of jealous page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 DUKE MASON'S ADVENTURE. wrath, of a dueltto the death in one of those oaken rooms, and of the handsome cavalier falling with a sword thrust through the heart at the frantic lady's feet-of a mad woman,shut up to shriek her miserable life away in those same dismal rooms, and' of a stern old general who fell at the head of his men. And the. fair-haired cavalier, and the lady with the wild streaming hair and woful face, haunted (said the legend) Lyndith Grange to the present day. No one lived in the place long, for certain, whether it was the ghosts, or the damp, or the loneliness that drove them away, and things gradually fell to decay, and the ' Lyndith family left the Grange to the rats and the spectres, and its own bad name, for many and many a long year. But two years before this especial evening upon which Mr. ( Mason stands and scrutinizes it, the neighboring town of Speck- haven was thrown into commotion by the news that the Grange was occupied at last. Furniture had come down from London-two servants-a hard-featured old woman, and a stolid boy, had purchased things in the town and brought them to the Grange. And in the silvery dusk of a May evening a tall gentleman-dark and grim-had been driven with a slender lady, closely veiled, to the haunted house from the Speckhaven station. After that, for three or four weeks, no more was known of those mysteridus people or their doings. They were still at the Grange, but no one visited them; their very names were' un- known, the great gates were always locked and bolted, and the hard-featured old woman and stolid boy kept their master's secrets well and told no tales. it - One stormy June night, as Dr. Worth sat in his parlor, in the bosom of his family, slippered and dressing-gowned, thanking his gods that the work of that day was ended, there came such !Ire., a thundering knock at the front door, and directly after such a peal at the office bell, as made the chief physician of Spgck- haven spring to his feet and grind something suspiciously like an oath between his teeth. i "It's a lady took sudden and uncommon bad," his servant announced, "which the gentleman says his carriage is at the door, and you're to come immediate, if you please, sir." Dr. Worth groaned; the rain was pouring, the night was dark as the regions of Pluto, and his ten o'clock glass of punch stood there untasted, and his bed all ready. In five minutes, coated ' and hatted, he joined the gentleman waiting in the passage. He had declined to enter. D7VK, MASON'S ADVENTURE. '3 "I took a sharp look at the fellow, sir," Dr. Worth always said when relating this marvellous story, and it was'a story he was very fond, indeed, of relating. "I had'a sort of presenti- ment, if you believe me, even then, that there was something wrong about this sudden call. None of my lady patients were likely to be' took sudden and uncommon bad.' You see that account could only apply to one interesting class of patients, and I scrutinized my gentleman keenly as he stood in the pas- sage. But his broad-brimmed hat was slouched over his nose, and his overcoat collar so turned up that I could see nothing but a luxuriant crop of black whiskers and a cruelly aquiline nose." "Who's the lady, sir'?" brusquely demanded Dr. Worth. "No patient of mine, I know. And what's the matter?" "For Heaven's sake, don't stop to talk now I " exclaimed the gentleman. "We've five miles to go and the road ig beastly. I'll tell you as we drive along." The doctor hastened after him to the carriage-a handsome landau and pair-and the driver whirled them off directly. Only once during that night drive, through the pouring rain and X inky darkness, did the stranger open his lips. "We are going to Lyndith Grange; and the case is what you medical men call an interesting one, I believe. I have"only one request to make; that is, that you will talk of this matter' as little as possible. I will double, treble, quadruple' your fee." And then silence fell. "And you might have knocked me down without a feather when I "heard our destination," says Dr. Worth, when he tells the story, and he tells it to this day with the greatest gusto. "I was to visit the Lyndith Grange, see the mysterious lady, and get my fee quadrupled.: Not speak 'of it, indeed-I who never had an adventure in my life. It was teeming, a clear, case of cats and dogs, but what would a water-gpout have mat. tered now?" They reached the Grange-the ponderous gates flew open-. they whirled up a long avenue and stopped. A minute later and the doctor, at the heels of -his leader, was traversing draughty corridors and endless suites pf dreary rooms. At the door of an apartment, in a long, chill hall, the mysterious gentleman halted. "Your patient is here, doctor," he said, impressively. "'Use ' all your skill to night. Remember, the lady must be saved / . ' And then he held the door open for the doctor to enteris . page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " D UKE MASON'S ADVENTURE. closing it immediately, and Dr. Worth found himself in a vast room, all oak flooring, oak panelling, massive old furniture, and a huge curtained bed in the centre of the room, big enough 'and gloomy enough for a sarcophagus. A wood fire burned in one of the tiled fireplaces-a couple of wax candles made specks of light in the darkness, and the hard-featured old woman sat in a chair, sewing on little garments by the wan 'light. At half-past ten Dr. Worth entered that room. At half- past two he left it. The old woman held a female infant, this time, in her arms, and during all those hours the Speckhaven doctor had never once seen the face of his patient. The heavy silken curtains shaded her in deepest gloom, and her face had been persistently turned from him and buried in the pillows*, She seemed very young-on the delicate left hand a wedding- ring shone, masses of golden hair'fell like a veil over her-the voice in which once or twice she answered him was sweet and fresh-beyond that all was guesswork. The man, still hatted and overcoated, was pacing up and down the long hall when the doctor came forth. "Well?" he asked, in a voice of suppressed intensity. O'r ( "Well," replied Dr. Worth, rather shortly, "it is well. The lady's 'as well as can be expected,' and the baby's about the size of a full-grown wax doll." i' "r And she' is sure to live?" "That depends upon hich 'she 'you mean. ' They're both shes, If you mean the lady-" "The lady, of course " said the gentleman, angrily and haughtily. ( The lady's all right, then, with common care, but I wouldn't 'like to stake my reputation upon the baby's existence. Still, as it's a girl, and taking the natural obstinacy and contrari- ness of the sex into consideration, I dare say it will insist upon living also, in spite of nature and its present Liliputian pro- portions. I'll return to-morrow, of course, and-" ( And, with all deference to you, sir, you'll do nothing of the sort. You'll return no more. Here's your fee-I think you'll find it ample. My man will drive you back to town, and the less you say of this night's work the better." In another half hour the Speckhaven doctor was again in the bosom of his family, the richer by fifty guineas for his four hours' work. DUKE MASON'S ADVENTURE. Is' And just two weeks later the mysterious inhabitants of the Grange vanished as suddenly and strangely as they had come, and the old house was given over again to the murdered cavas, lier and mad lady. ' For nearly two years, and then again, as unexpectedly at be- fore, a tall gentleman came down by the London train,' b'- ing a slim, veiled lady and same two servants back. The gentleman left the lady and returned by the next train, and who they might be, and whether they were the same, and what they could mean by such unaccountable goings on, all was conjecture in the town of Speckhaven. This was two months before this twenty-fifth of March on which Duke Mason stands and gazes, and no one had penetrated the secret, or seen the lady yet. If he only could be the man. He had wished the same wish at least a score of times, and nothing had come of it. On this evening Destiny had made up her mind to let him have his way. As he stood there in the gloaming, he heard, for the first time, voices and footsteps within. His heart gave a leap. The footsteps were fast approaching, the voices drawing near, carriage-wheels ground over the gravelled avenue. "You'll need to drive fast, Joseph," said a woman's voice. "You haven't ten minutes to get to the station, and it's as much as your place is worth to keep the master waiting.", "Don't I know that-hang 'em I " responded a sulky voice; a string o' oaths fit to sink a ship if a dhap's half a quarter o' a second behind time. I tell you what, Misses Grimshaw, the wages is good, I don't deny, but I'll be jiggered if I can stand this life much longer. Newgate's a pallis 'longside of it"' The sound of bolts withdrawing, of a key turning slowly in a rusty lock, warned the listener they were about "to appear. Duke Mason darted behind one of the huge buttresses--the falling darkness screening him as well. He could see quite plainly, himself unobserved. A heavy-featured groom drove out in a two-wheeled chaise, and an elderly, thin-faced woman stoodliooling after him, and swinging a huge key. ' Look here, Joseph," she said, "I wish you'd lock the gate, and take the key with you; I've the master's dinner to get; and you know how particular he is, and it's nigh on a quarter of a mile's walk down here from the-house, and it's no good fetch. ing me down again when you're coming back. Just lock page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 56 WHAT DUKE MASON SAW AND HEARD. the gate on the outside, Joseph, will you, and take the key along?" She inserted the key on the outside, and'hurried rapidly up the avenue out of the cold, shutting the gate before she went; Joseph looked stolidly at the closed gates. , I've left it unlocked afore, and no harm came. of it,' and I arn't going to get down now. If there never was a lock on . this old rat-trap, people would run a mile sooner than venture in, and wery right they is. I'll be back in an hour, and arn't goin' to get out to do it, and save your old bones, Mothe : Grimshaw." s y With which Joseph gathered up the reins, and gave the horse his head,'and trotted off. Duke Mason emerged, his breath, fairly taken away with sur-: ' prise and delight. i 2l^ . At last I There. stood the gates unlocked and unbolted, anrid the way to the hidden princess was clear. He drew the key from the key-hole, opened the massive gate 'cautiously, drew it after him again, and in the chill gray of the March evening stood within the grounds of the Grange. ' CPAPTER II., WHAT DUKE MASON SAW AND HEARD. "ONG avenue of firs, black against the evening sky, led tip to the house. Through the spectral trees the ?avind wailed in a very uncomfortable and ghastly way, considering the evil reputation of the place, and I ;.don't think Mr. Mason would have been very much surprised, 'if the fair-haired cavalier, all gory and ghastly, had stepped out from beneath the sombre shadows, and barred his way. Noth- I ing ever did surprise Duke very greatly, for that matter; he might have been -a scion of all the Tudor Plantagenets, so un. affectedly nonchalant was he. Grasping his walking-stick a little tighter, Mr. Mason made his way up the gloomy avenue of firs. It was 'quite'dark now, . and the very "blackness of darkness" reigned in this most 'gloomy drive. There would be a moon presently; 'pending its rising, the gloom of Tartarus reigned. 'Lt was just a quarter of WHAT DUKE MASON SAW AND HEARD. 17, ! :';., , mile to the house. Five minutes' sharp walking brought him :o it, looming up a blacker, bulkier shadow among the shadows. A, long, low, irregular mansion, much inclined to run to chim- leys and gables and turrets, with small leaden casementsi, : i?!' ind two lamps burning over the portico entrance. If it had.. : i oeen broad 'day, and he could have deciphered anything :hrough the ivy, the , intruder might have read how the house ' had been built by one Sir Henry Lyndith, in 1.552, when good '"' " Queen Bess, that first asserter of woman's, 'rights, had ruled i"' ": nerry England with an iron rod. The neglected grounds were entirely overrun with tall ferns; the trees grew unpleasantly close to the small diamoncjpane casements. One gigantic elm spread its branches so near that, swinging himself into its lower arms, Mr. Mason could sit at his eaSe;; and stare through the, only lighted windows in the whole long ' facade of the dreary m'ansion. Away in the rear another light. glimmered from the kitchen regions, no doubt. Along the front, a red glow shone 'from the curtainless and open case- . ments, and more vividly interested than he had ever been in the whole course of his life before, Duke Mason bent forward . to listen and look. "If it were a stall in the third row of .the Britannia, and , ' I was waiting for the curtain to rise on a new drama of my owni, * , I could not feel one whit more breathlessly' absorbed," the, . young man thought. "I wonder what Rosanna would say , if she could see me now; and I wonder how this lark of mine. is going to end. Won't the fellow stare when he finds the key' gqne? -' ' ' ' . '- '- : ,' : The picture Mason saw was one that haunted hiniin his sleep- ing and waking dreams his lif4 long. A long lr iob ,' panelled, oak floored, with here and there rich rugs covering -5 its slippery blackness, faded tapestry on the walls, .tapestry/', wrought centuries ago by many a fair Alice and Edith of the Lyndith race, massive furniture, rickety with time, a wood-fire blazing cheerilyon the hearth, the only cheery thing in the . apartment, and a little cottage piano in a corner- standing, open, with music upon it, as if the performer had but lately left, The piano was the only modern innovation, The room took. you back a couple of centuries, and the cavalier wifh his pow- ' dered' love-locks, his velvet doublet, his lace ruffles, and deadly rapier, would' have looked a much more proper gentleman' in yonder than a young man of Mr. Mason's sort in a cutaway page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 WHAT DUKE MASON SAW AND HEARD. coat, mutton-chop whiskers, and the baggy, cross-barred trout sers, so dear to the masculine British heart. "A very charming bit of still life, after Watteau," thought the spectator; "a very pretty interior, indeed. Now, if the dramatis personm would but appear " The thought had barely crossed his mind when, as if it had evoked her, the door opened, and a young lady came in. I)uke gave a gasp-. Here was the sleeping beauty, the hidden princess, the mys. terious houri of the haunted house, herself. ' And, by Jove I a beauty of the first water!" thought Duke, ' with as near an approach to enthusiasm as was in his nature; "the best-looking young woman I've seen this month of- Sun- days." Mr. Mason was right-she was very pretty--ery/pretty in- deed. A 'petite figure, slim, youthful, supple, two great dark ee, es, that lit up her small face like dusk stars, a profusion of waving yellow hair, that fell in a shining shower to her waist. It was before the days of gold powder and copper filings, so that abundant cloud of amber tresses was doubtless the lady's own, direct from a beneficent Providence, instead of a Parisian hair-dresser. The large dark eyes and the golden hair made such a very remarkable contrast that you quite forgot whether her nose wee aquiline or Grecian, whether her forehead were high or low, her mouth' a rosebud or otherwise. A dress of wine-colored silk trailed behind her, diamonds - twinkled in her ears and on her hands, and in the firelight she made a picture so dazzling that Duke gazed breathless, be- ' witched. She went up to the mantel, a tall structure of black miarble, and leaning lightly against it, looked steadfastly into the red flame. Her clasped hands hung loosely before her, the wil- lowy figure drooped, the straight black brows were bent, the mouth compressed, the whole attitude, the whole expression, full of weary, hopeless pain. "Can that be the heroine of Dr. Worth's story?"Duke wondered. "She had a child, and this small 'beauty' seems little better than a child herself. I shouldn't take her to be . seventeen. No, it's quite impossible; it can't be the anme. She's uncommonly prettya4nd got up regardless of expense, but she's in very bad humor all the same." For nearly ten minutes the young lady stood without mov- ing, still gazing with knit brows'into the leaping firelight. Then C '*"V I I i A WHAT DUKE MASON SAW AND HEARD. ' with a long, heartsick sigh,. she started, crossed the room once or twice, always lost in' deep and painful thought, then sud- denly seated herself at the piano, and began to sing. She be- gan very low and plaintively, but as she sung, her voice rose1 her black eyes kiidled, a flush passed over the clear, dark pallor of her face. Her whole heart was in the song, "Roberto oh teu che adoro /" Lovingly, lingeringly, with a sort of imr., passionate intensity, she dwelt on the name, on the caressing Italian words, "Roberto oh tu che adoro /" Then, more suddenly than she had sat down, she arose, her whole face working, and held 'out her arms with a suppressed sob. / "Robert " she cried, "oh, my Robert! my Robert I come, back!" Duke Mason thrilled to the heart as he watched that pas . sionate, despairing gesture-as he heard that wild appeal. It was the old commonplace story, then--so old, so common- place, so unspeakably pathetic always-" crossed in love," as the housemaids call it. This beautiful and mysterious fairy princess, imprisoned here had a lover. in the background, just. like ordinary young persons, and a flinty-hearted parents o t- guardian had shut her up here, pending such time as she should come to her senses. Just at that instant the rapid roll of wheels outside told Duke the chaise was returning. An instant later, and the gates were flung wide open, and the chaise whirled rapidly up the drive to the house. "I wonder what he thought when he found the key gone 1" reflected Mr. Mason with a chuckle. The chaise stopped before the portico entrance, and, by the light,of the lamps, the watcher in the tree saw a tall man' spring out, say a few words rapidlyand authoritatively, as one aCus^ , tomed to command, and disappear into the house. The ct*x; riage was driven round to the rear, and silence fell upon Lyndith, Grange. , The young lady in the lighted room had heard, and seen, too When Duke looked again, her whole attitude had changed. She stood erect, her little figure seeming to dilate and grow tall, her head thrown back, her great eyes alight, her small hands tightly clenched.' t"Like a little game-cock ruffling his feathers for the combat," thought the watcher. '"I wonder if this is Robert now! Not, likely though, or she wouldn't look quite so belligerent." page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 WHAT DUKE MASON SAW AND HEARD. That moment the door was flung open, and the gentleman entered. A tall gentleman, elderly and stout, and florid and good-looking, with a great profusion of whiskers and iron-gray hair. A gentleman as grim and stern as Lyndith Grange itself, who gave the young lady a cool glance, a cool nod, and a cool greeting. "How do, Olivia? How do you find yourself to-night? Any change for the better since I saw you last, two weeks ago?" He whirled up/the easiest chair in the room before the fire as he spoke, stretched out his long legs to the blaze, threw back his head, looked half contemptuously, half compassionately, at the rigid figure of the girl.. "Don't stand there as stiff as though you were posing for one of Pygmalion's statues, Olivia," said the gentleman; "and, for Heaven's sake, don't let us have any high tragedy to-night. It's all very well on the boards of Covent Garden, but in pri- vate life let us drop the tragic toga. Come up hre, and let me see how you look, and tell me if you are tired of Lyndith Grange, and the rats, and the ghosts, and the solitude, and if you are prepared to listen to reason, and return to town yet. Come " " She drew near obediently, leaning in her first attitude against the mantel, her large, starry eyes looking bigger and blacker than ever with excitement and defiance. The firelight shone upon them both-a very striking picture; on the girl's dark red dress and loose golden hair, oh the man's black whiskers, and stern, powerful face. There was a resemblance between them both that marked them of the same blood, and some of the man's iron will flashed back at him out. of the girl'simpas- sioned eyes. "I will never go hack to town on your terms, Uncle Geqff- rey!" she said, her voice trembling with excitement. "Never I neverl II can live here-I can die here, if you will, but I'll never yield I I ly wish I could die, but I live on, and on, with all that makes fe worth living for gone." Her lips trem- bled, her voice did away. The man looked at her with a sneering smile. 9'Which translated means Robert Lisle is gone, and after him the' deluge. I wonder you like to allude to him, my dear. Disgrace has rarely come to people of your blood, and such disgrace as you have brought upon us, rarely comes to any family. You will not yield. May I ask what you mean to do?" CO ,*, - ) .ii t WHAT DUKE MASON SAW AND hEARD. 21 "You shall hear, Uncle Geoffrey," looking at him with a strange, wild light in her dark, dilated eyes. "You know the 'Black Pool over yonder among the firs? Well, sometimes when I remember all that is ,past, of all that is coming, I just' '; think I will go down there, and throw myself in, and make an end of it." ' ' The gentleman shrugged his shoulders, the sneering s le still on his face. . "Indeedl That sensational idea I am quite sure passes away very quickly. And then?" i The girl looked away from him into the fire. "You are harder than stone, harder than iron, Geoffrey Lyn- dith. You have neither heart nor conscience." "My dear Olivia," Mr. Lyndith said, still smiling, "don't be violent, and don't resort to vituperation-it's always, a woman's resource when worsted, and, poor things, how easily they are worsted in any controversy whatever. Yes, I dare say ", I seem hard to you, my poor Livey, but you must recollect We Lyndiths are a hard race, from old Sir Malise, who ran the , young cavalier through the body, in this very room, I believe. " i1 My late lamented brother, your father, was a hard man, and if i you didn't inherit a' little of the traditional hardness, my love, you wouldn't rebel and persist in rebellion in this \obstinate . fashion. And you know, my child, you owe us some reparation for the disgrace of the past." i"Disgracel" repeated the girl, with sullen anger; "you needn't use 'that word quite so often, I think. I'll not marry Sir Vane, Charteris, if that's what you mean. I'll not I I'll die ' first"I Still Mr. Lyndith looked at her, as a man might look at a headstrong child, resisting with all its small might. . , "You'll die first My poor little romantic Livey It Is SQ easy to say that--0o very hard to do. The heroines of your - i favorite three-volume novels die upon the smallest provocation, I am aware-drop quite naturally of heart-disease in the midst of a ball-room, or go off with a hectic flush upon their cheeks, ' and an unnatural lustre in their eyes, when their Charleses or ' : their Roberts desert them. But we don't do; that in everyday life, and you come of such an ulromantically'healthy and long- lived race, my Olivia-much more likely to finish with apoplexy or gout than poetic heart-disease, or decline. And I donWt' :. ^t think you'll kill yourself. Life is verysweet to young persons :i of nineteen, even though they have lost their Robert-" .. I page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] ,2 WHAT DUKE MASON SAW AND HEARD. The girl started up, goaded to a sort of frenzy. "Uncle Geoffrey, do you want to drive me mad? Don't go too'far! I warn you, it is not safe! Ah, Heaven have pity, for there is none on earth!" She broke out into such a wild storm of hysterical sobbing, that the mali she addressed was really a little startled. Only a little, for he knew women very well; and he knew when the tears and the sobs come, they are by no means at their most dangerous. When the lightning blazes there is some cause for alarm; when the rain pours the storm is pretty well spent. He sat and watched her as she wept, her whole slight form shaken by her sobs-watched her quite calmly. Duke Mason, on the outside, set his teeth, and clenched his fists, and felt a true-born friiton's instinct of hitting out from the shoulder strong within him. "What a comfort it would be to goin and polish off the scoundrel 1" thought Mr. Mason. Geoffrey Lyndith stretched out his hand and touched her. She shook it off as though it had been a viper. "Don't touch me!" she cried-" don't speak to me I You have been the cruellest guardian, the most unfeeling uncle that ever lived. You say my father was a hard man. Perhaps so; but he never would have broken my heart, and driven me to despair, as you have done 1" -i. "Your father would have broken Robert Lisle's head!" ie- torted her uncle, coolly. "He would have shot him like a dog, ' as he was, and instead of bearing with your rebellious humors, as I have done, he, would have made you marry Sir Vane Charteris months ago. Take care, Olivia, that you do not weary evert my patience and forbearance I Take care I do not force ybu to obey!" "You cannot!" "That remains to be seen. What is to hinder my fetching Sir Vane and a clergyman down here, and marrying you out of hand?" . "No clergyman would perform such a marriage." "The Reverend George Loftus would. He owes me his liv- ing, and he understands this case exactly, and knows I am but obeying your late father's instructions. I give you one more week, Olivia. If your reason has not returned by'that time, we will try what a little wholesome coercion will do. Once' married, these whims and vapors of yours will end. You wall MR. MASON ELOPES, 23 like Sir Vane-women always like their husbands after mar- riage, you know, and I dare say you'll be a very sensible'wife, as wives go, yet. I'm going down to dinner now." He pulled oult his watch. "Will you take my ar, Miss Lyndith?" "No, I want no dinner." "As you please. Think matters over, my dear, and, for pity's sake, do try to be calm, and drop melodrama. Give me your promise, and I will fetch you back to town to-morrow. We Lyndiths always keep our word." He left the room as he spoke. The girl crossed to the win- dow, wringing her hands in frantic, helpless, despairing appeal. "Oh!" she cried, "is there no help in all heaven and earth for me i " She was standing close by pne of the windows, and the pas. sionate prayer was scarcely uttered before it was answered. A man leaped out from the elm-tree-a man's face looked at her through the glass-a man's voice spoke. "Don't be alarmed," said the voice, as the man pulled off his hat. "I'll help you, if you'll only tell me how I' CHAPTER III. MR. MASON ELOPES. SHE young girl recoiled, as she very well might, from unexpected an apparition, and gazed at the stran- ger with large, frightened eyes. "Don't be alarmed, madame," Mr. Mason re- peated, wihththe greatest respect; "I am a friend, if you will permit me to say so. An hour ago, chancing to pass your gates, and finding them, for a wonder, unlocked, curiosity prompted me to enter. I concealed myself in yonder tree- quite unpardonable on my part, I know; but, again, strong curiosity must plead my excuse. And in that tree I must own I played eavesdropper. I have overheard every word of your conversation with the gentleman who has just left this room. It looks rather suspicious, apparently, I own; but really the conversation, the whole occurrence has been so strange, so out page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 MR. MASON ELOPES. of the usual course, that singularity must plead my pardon. As I said before-now that I am here--if I can be of the slightest use to you, madame, pray command me." 'And Mr. Mason paused for breath. He was not long-winded as a rule, didn't in the least shine in conversation, and lo I here he was breaking forth, an orator. Dire necessities demand 'stringent measures. Mr. Mason rose with the occasion, and was eloquent I The young lady listened and looked at him, still surprised, still doubtful. "I am a stranger here," pursued, Duke. "I came from London two weeks ago, to visit an old friend residing in Speck- haven. To-night I was to have returned home, and thinking of something else, took the wrong turning at the Cross-roads, and found myself here. I am an intruder, I know, and have no business whatever on the premises, but again I repeat: being here, if I can be of any use to you-" She drew near, her lips apart, her eyes shining, her hands clasped. "You will help me I I want to escape. I am a prisoner here. Oh! surely you are not deceiving me I You are not an emissary of Mr. Lyndith ot Sir Vane Charteris I " M' adame, until within the last half-hour, I never knew those two gentleman were in existence. I will help you in any way you may please to name." There was no doubting the sincerity ofhis tone. StiM, the - mysterious young lady gazed at himi, as if to read his heart in his face. Poor Duke I it wasn't at all a handsome face. His eyes were of the palest, most insipid sky-blue--his nose was a decided snub, his whiskers were sparse, and wont to crop up in a variety of pale-yellow' and dull-red stubble, that' surprised even himself. The most sentimental school-girl could not for " the life of her make a hero of Marmaduke Mason, but the silli- est school-girl of them all might have trusted him, as she could have dared to trust few of his sex. Lost dogs wagged their forlorn tails, and followed him horie from the streets; children amne to him and demanded pennies with a confident assurance, touching to see, on a first introduction. Men slapped him on the shoulder, and called him "Mason, my boy!" and "Dukey, old fellow 1" before they had been half an hour in his society. 'It was an honest face, and the cleir eyes searching it knew they might trust him. She leaned forward tO him through the I7/ MR. MASON ELOPES. 2 half-open window. The moon rising now gleamed forth from a bank of jagged clouds, and silvered the sweet, pale, face. ' "Will you help me to escape?" she whispered, earnestly. ii "aim a prisoner here-I have been for the last two monits. yy uncle is my guardian, and he wants me to marry a, man I hte-I HATE!"' she set her little teeth, and the big, black eyes , , flashed. "I will run away to-night, if you will help, me.", "I will help you. Tell me what I am to do?" . "How did you say you got in? The gates are always locked' - j -^ and bolted." . "They were not this evening. The servant who drove to r :0 the station thought it too much trouble to descend and lock themn after him. It appears he is in the habit of leaving them - ufastened, and no harm has ever come of it. I was. in hid- us i ing; the moment he left I drew the key from the lock-liere it . . is- and came in. I don't know what he said or di, ,1nii sure, when he cale back and found it gone." .t ,i Then there is nothing to prevent my escaping. Oh, thank - Heaven! I believe I should go mad if kept another week here .. But it is so much to ask of you, a stranger, to do what I 'want. ' an "Not one whit too much. Please don't think of me. What am I to do?" . The girl glanced anxiously over her shoulder. "If you are seIn I don't know what may happen. Mr. Lyndith is,-oh an awful man! and he will return here di- rectly. He is going to stay all night, and the doors and win. dows will be made fast:in: an hour. If I get away at all it w:i be midnight fully before I dare venture. 'And in the meant f ^ time-" She looked at him more anxiously. . . ", "Yes,. Miss Lyndith. I beg your pardon, but I heard hM . J call you that, you know." . t A /--My name is Olivia Lyndith. But between this and mid- . night-and it is only seven o'clock now, oh, Mr. - "I . , t "Mason, Miss Lyndith." ' . "i Mr. Mason, how will you manage? These March nights are so cold, and five long, lonely, freezing hours! No, lt 1' Ais ' too much!" 'h \ h She clasped her hands and looked at him in despair. Duke smiled. t . . , Please don't think of me, Miss Lyrdith. I will wait with. all the pleasure in life. Idon't mind it-upon mywordand' h - onor I, don't! like' it-yes I do-it's an adventure, yotuee, - and I never had an adventure before in the whole couirse of i. f r , ' 2 * i * ' I . / t / ' . - -+* / I \ .. page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 1X " ' ' \ i. I 26 MR. MASON ELOPES. my existence. I will go back to my friend, the elm-tree, and wait for midnight and you. May I ask how you propose get- ting out?" "Through this window. Oh! how kind, how good you are, sir, and I am quite fiiendless and alone here! These windows are secured by bolts on the inside. I can easily draw them, lift the window, and jump out. And you have the key of the gate, you say?" i "Yes, madame. And then?" "Then--.Mr. Mason, when does the earliest train from Speck- haven start for town?" "I really don't know; that we must ascertain at the station before the people here g,.. up, that is certain. But it is clear fiye miles to Speckhaven; can you. walk it?" "Mr. Mason, I could walk fifty miles, I think, to escape this caeadfzd house. Oh! if I can only reach London and start for Paris before they miss me here." - "For Paris?"Mr. Mason exclaimed. ' Is Robert in Paris, I wonder?" he thought., "Yes; I have friends in Paris--my mother's frielids, who will protect nie' even against my guardian, I think. Hark! Oh, Mr. Mason, go-quick, for pity's sake. My uncle is here!" She Sprang back from the window. Duke made for his tree. Just as he regained his roost the door opened, and Mr Lyn- ,y;;. dith, looking less grim and more. humanized, as the mqst sav- ; age of men, I notice, are apt to do after dinner, came in.-, The young lady had flung herself into his arm-chair bdfore the fire. She arose sullenly at his qntraC e. 'Don't disturb yourself, Olivia--dort, I beg; I am sorry you didn't dine; Mrs. Grimshaw is an excellent caterer really. What! you're not going so soon?" "Your society is so pleasant, Mr. Lyndith, and your con- versation so profitable, that it must seem strange to you, no doubt," the girl said, bitterly. "I am going, nevertheless. Good-night;" "But, Olivia, wait a moment, I beg. Won't you give me some music, my dear? these March evenings-are so confound- edlj)'long, and the wind positively howls dismally enough to give a man the horrors." / \ " ith a clear conscience like yours, Uncle Geoffrey, I won- . .. der such nervous notions trouble you. No; I shall give youSI no mrtsic to-night." "Then, perhaps, you will give me an answer, Miss Lyndith?" '" 7 ' ". " ASON ' - - I Jl'R. MASON ELOPES. . s "' To what, sir?" , ' "Will you return with me to-morrow to London?" , . "Yes, decidedly." : "As the promised wife of Sir Vane Charteris?" "But, Olivia-" . Good-night "Olivia said, with a flash of her great blac ' eyes; and with the words she was gone. The man started up with an path, and made for the door.' . "Come back, Olivia!" he cried. 'I I have something to propose." But only the ghastly 'echo of his own voice came back to hinm t down the lonesome gallery. Miss Lyndith's taper gleamed . ; already far above in the upper rooms, and' the bleak draugt whistled drearily up and down the black-oak hall. 'He closed the door with a shudder, and began pacing moodily up and'downi the long, firelit room. "Blast her obstinacy!"')he muttered. "But I might have known-she was always a headstrong little devil. And she , w n' forget that fellow, dead or alive. In his grave under the stc rny Atlantic, he is as much in my way as he was three years ago here in England. The child is my last resource-she wilt , co ne to terms for its sake. Yes, I must give her the child; sh1 will promise" anything for that-anything. I'll amake her. the offer to-morrow, and end this infernal business. Once in possession of Vane Charteris, and. your airs and vapors will come to an end, my lady." He resumed his chair, rang a hand-bell, ordered wine and cigars in a savage tone, and stared moodily into the fire. r : These refreshments brought, he sat smoking for upward of, an hour, then ordered candles, and departed, A minute later, andg his light shone in an upper window; fifteen more, and M ers. Grimshaw and Joseph went their rounds, fastening .up or ,the , - night. , It don't do no good a badgerin' of a chap noa," Joseph -l was saying, in a voice of sulky injury: " it's gone, and that's all . about it. Your barking won't bring nothing back, willit dinih't lose it, I tell you. I left it in the keyhole, I1 did, so help . e, and when I came back it w clean gone.. ere I don't know nothink more about it. We can bolt the gates, } '* - . . 1 * ' ',1 1 . , y- nigh . , = - . - :.,i :/!L 1, It on' dono ooda bdgein'o hpnw' osp"?";%1 / a aig navieo slyijr:"e oe ndtasal " )f.( page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 MR. MASON ELOPES. can't we who's a-coming to:rob this hold Castle Dismal-and I'll get a key to-morrow dver in Speckhaven." And then the window was closed with a bang, and secured, and the servants left the room, and only the smouldering glow of the dying fire was left to console Mr. Mason onl his perch in the tree. . Joseph slouched down to the gate, returned, and the last door closed for the night. Two more lights shone up aboN e for half an hour longer, then all Lyndith Grange lay Wrapped in the silence and darkness of death. It was now close upon ten o'clock. The cold March moon ,Was sailing silvery up the steeD blue sky, and by its ivory light Duke looked at his watch. Ten! Two, mortal hours yet to wait, in cold and loneliness, and in a haun ed park! He must stay here till midnight-awful hour I when, according to all re- ceived traditions, the gory ghost of the murdered cavalier, and the shrieking lady, might be looked for, if they intended to put in an appearance at all. Duke didn't believe in ghosts;. none of us do, in broad day- light, with the sun! shining, and the world astir abottt us; but this was quite diffreent, you see. "Put yourself in his place" up a tree, not a creature near, in a graveyard, say not reported to be hauntedi even, and see if every gleam of moonlight isn't a ghost, and every sough of wind the unearthly rattle of skeleton bones. "Oh, Lord!" groaned Mr. Mason; "'to think that I, who never lost a wink 'of sleep, or a meal's victuals in my life, like most fellows, for any woman alive, should come to this for a young person I never laid eyes on until within the last two hours. To think that I, who never was in love in my life, should be going to elope at midnight now. Great powers! what would Rosanna say if she could see me now? t And Duke waited. One by one the minutes told off 'on his dial-plate; slo/vly the crystal moon swam up the purple sky; brightly burned the fiosty stars, and slowly, from head to foot, the watcher grew benumbed. Most lugubrious, inost unearthly, wailed and moaned the wind through the trees; in the dead silence he could hear the .dull rbar of the surf six miles away. Would midnight, would Miss Lyndith, never comle? Yes. At half-past eleven exactly he heard the cautious with- drawal of the window-bolts. With an inward thanksgiving, and all cramped and stiff, Duke got down from the tree, and ap- proached. Yes; there she stood, the moonlight shiing on - ) MR. MASON ELOPES. 29 her pale face and starry eyes. She wore a cloak and hood, and held a veil in her hand. She motioned him to silence, opened the windowt, and drew herself carefully through the narrow aper. ture. The distance was not five feet, but Duke lifted het' gently down'before she could spring. Her teeth were chatter-" - ing, partly with cold, partly with nervous terror. "Co'le on!" ' He drew her hand within his arm-it was no time for cere- mony, no time for standing on degree-and hurried with her down the avenue. They never spoke. The gates were se- cured by massive bolts.: Duke shot them back easily, and she stood on the moonlit high-road-free. "Thank Heaven!" he heard her,whisper, as she glanced back, with a shudder, at the gloomy pile. "I will never go back alive." . She took his arm again, and they hastened rapidly on. Ex- . .: citement lent them strength and. speed-plerhaps neither lhad ":; ever walked in their lives as they did that night. They were dead silent by the way--both were breathless. To Duke it was like a dream-this strange adventure-this fairy figure on his arm--this weird, midnight runaway. . o -, I shall awake, presently, to see Rosanna at my door, order- ing me to get up to breakfast," he thought, "and find all thi" : a dream." " He. glanced down at his companion. How pale she was, , how pale; her small face gleamed in the moonlight like snow her black eyes, looked spectral in the cold silver rays. And how pretty, and how young-such a mere child, and iunning ,:, 1 away like this, friendless and persecuted. Duke's heart filled with a great compassion; it is so easy to ^:. compassionate pretty young girls.', "Poor little thiig! and I thought she was the lady of Dr. Worth's story-so youthful and so pretty; and the old rascal called her Miss. Lyndith." Mr. Mason was quite shocked at himself for his late scandal- . ous suspicions. ' She's so pretty that it's a pleasure to look at her. I wish, yes I do wish--that I were Robert." Which was the nearest approach to anything sentimental that Duke. had ever got in his life. He wasn't a wonian-hater; they were very useful in their way, indispensable, indeed, lie was just enough to own, in several respects, but he had a con- tempt for them as a whole, as weak -and :inferior ;animals- as all well-regulated male minds must have.. ' :c page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 MiR. MASON ELOPES. They reached thq town as the Speckhaven clocks were striking the quarter after midnight., It lay still in the moon- light-solemnly still-white and cold. They hurried through its quiet streets, not meeting'half-a dozen people until they had " left it behind. The station stood, as it is in the nature of stations to stand, in a dreary track of waste land, on the outskirts of the town, At half-past twelve they reached it. One or two officials, with blue noses and sleepy eyes,stared at them stolidly. The next train for London was a slow train; and it would pass at 2:15. Nearly two hours to wait! She sank down in a seat, exhausted -White as a spirit. Duke left her by the fire, and went in search of refreshments; but at that hour there was nothing to be had. le returned to tell her so, with a disappointed face, and to his surprise she looked up at himl with great tears shining in the dusk eyes, and took his' hand in both her own. ", How good you are?" she said. "How good! how good! How can I ever thank you, Mr. Mason?" Mr. Mason had, like all his sex-devoid of little weaknesses of any sort, themselves-a strong aversion to scenes. He turned very red; and draw his hand away, as 'if those soft fin- gers burned him-muttering something incoherent about " not mentioning it-taking a little nap in her chair before the train came." "Wait a minute," she said: "we don't know what may happen! I may be followed, and brought back in spite of it' * you; and some day I may need a kind friend's help again. Take this ring; it is worth a great deal. Oh, you must--and keep it for my sake. Give me your London address, now that we have time, and whether we get safe to Paris or not. Some day I may seek your help again; and if I ever need you, you will come?" "I will come," he said, simply. : He gave her the address, No. 50 Half-Moon Terrace, Bloomsbury, and she wrote it in a little pocket-book. The ring she had forced upon him blazed in his hand like a glowing ' coal. It wa. an opal, curiously set in dead gold-most sinister and beautiful of stones. Tl'hank you, Mr. Mason," she repeated, looking gratefully up .with thosewonderful black eyes. "I will never forget your kindness while I live. And now I will try to rest until the train comes." She sank down in her chair before the fire, shading her face * \ . \ IN THE WAITING-ROOM. . 3 with one hand, and Duke left her, and paced up and down the platform. How, the moments lagged-it was worse than wait.: ing in the tree. 'Once in motion, and Speckhaven in the dis- tance, he could feel almost' safe-not before. ' "Poor little thing 1 " he thought; "poor little pretty young lady! What a brute that uncle must be to persecute and im- y, prison such a helpless, tender creature, and wat a lucky fel-- low that Robert is!" One! pealed from the station clokk. An hour, and fifteen minutes yet to wait, and every sec6nd precious. Half-past one!--two!-Duke's heart was beating thick and fast with suspense. Fifteen minutes more-he would go and see if she slept-poor child.. He turned to go-stopped short-his heart stopped too, for carriage wheels were flying through the silept streets, straight along to the station. Nearer, nearer! A sudden stop-a man leaped out and strode straight to the waiting-room. He heard a low, wordless cry within that told him all. Then with clenched fists, and a ferocious feeling in his usually peaceful breast, he made for the waiting-room, and looming up black-stern-grim-awful-he confronted Mr. : b. * Geoffrey Lyndith. CHAPTER IV. iN THE WAITING-ROOM. T was a decidedly striking scene-that sudden appear- M ance of Mr. Geoffrey Lyndith in the waiting-room of X ithe Speckhaven station. - Duke, regarding it from the doorway, thought so. Mr. Mason by profession was a scene-painter. to the Royal Waterloo Britannia Theatre, and viewing the tableau in a purely professional light, he decided it would be rather a strong finish \ tfor a scene on the boards. :The young lady had arisen, and stood facing her guardian. Her small, dark face, always colorless, was blanched to a dull dead white now, but the large, dauntless dark eyes met his full -defiant. She gave one swift, sidelong glance to where Duke stood, and made a rapid and almost imperceptible motion fori- him to remain there. I . , : ' ' ' page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 IN, THE WAITING-ROOM. Mr. Lyndith from his entrance never noticed him, though is glance scanned the bleak apartment in search of any one who might be his runaway niece's conlpanion. He came up :lose to her, grim as an Egyptian cleath's-head. "What does this mean, Olivia?" She looked at him and laughed, a hard bitter, laugh enough. "I think it is pretty plain, Uncle Geoffrey. I am trying to run away. In fifteen minutes more I should have succeeded, :oo. Why have you followed nle, Mr. Lyndith'?" "Rather an insolent question, I think, and an unnecessary one, too.". " For its insolence I don't know-of its necessity I am very rure. Why have you taken the trouble to follow me? You :ertainly don't expect I shall go back?" They iere strikingly like each other, as they stood there,;a red sullen glow of anger burning deep in their eyes, the young girl's handsome, resolute lips complressed. , The man knew her well, and knew that the hour had come when he must play his ast card. He did not answer' her last defiant remark; he asked a question very quietly-: "Are you alone, Olivia?"? "Who is likely to be my companion?" she answered reck- lessly. "What friend have Hthanks to you-who is there in the world to be my companion in any of my' rebellious flights? I stand here as I stand on earthl-alone-Heaven lielI 'me e " Her 'voice broke a little. With a passionate 'gesture sh'e turned away and looked' into the fire. Mr. Lyndith regarded her in stony calm. "' May I ask your pres&nt intentions, Olivia? It .would be' a pity for us to misunderstand each other in 'the least." "I ani going to Paris," she answered, her reckless' manner returning. "Madame le Comtesse de Florial was my mother's friend. She will protect and shelter me." "She will not defy your guardian. A: Frenchwoman brotght up as Madame de Florial las been, would be the very last on earth to countenance a young, unmarried girl in, such. insubor- dination as yours, Olivia; and if it were otherwise, I have law and right on my side. Remember, I am your guardian!" "You are my tyrant-my jailer!. I will never go back to the Grange-never, so help me Heaven!" She raised her arm with a gesture worthy Yachel 'herself. Mr. Mason, in the doorway, contemplated her hfdmiringly. "There is a court of appeal' for such as I, even in England. IN THE WAITING-ROOM. 33 F To that orphan's tribunal I will go, and we will see whether you are to be an Eastern despot, and your slave, or'not.. In ' fifteen minutes the London trjain will be'here; in fifteen min. ':,; utes I leave Sjeckhaven forever. I will NOT go back, Geoffrey : ' i. I,yndith!" " ':",'. He drew out his watch and looked at it, replaced it, and ' came closer to his niece. . : "Very well, Olivia, it shall be as you say; only I cannot permlit 'you to travel alone; I will at least accompany you, and . instead of flying to Payis, you shall' return with le to Park Lane. Such an escapade as that you propose is something more than preposterous-a young lady of your position, my . dear, running about England and France alone! You 'will come home with me, and you will listen to reason, and marry . " Sir Vane Charteris in April, and go back with him to Vienna. ' H-ear me out, please. You once told me you would, on one condition. ' That condition at the time I refused to comply' with. ' I withdraw my refusal to-night. Promise to marry Sir Vane, and I will take you straight to-night to--it/" - She started-up, with the gesture Dluke had seen before-her hands clasped, her eyes dilating and ligh!ting, her lips breathless and apart. "Uncle Geoffrey-you will'?" - I will." ) "It still lives, then, and--is well-happy?". Mr. Lyndith smiled grimly. 'f It still lives; it is well, I believe, and as happy as young persons of one year and nine months usually are. You shall : have it, to, do with it as you please, only I hope, for the honor of the family, Miss Lyndith," he laid strong emphasis on the s i name, "that you will still continue to keep its maternity a t' secret. Upon my word, I don't know what Sir Vane would say or do, if--" 'Olivia Lyndith'is black' eyes flashed upon him with an al- most savage light. "Leave his name out of the question, if you please. This . is yodr last card, I am aware; 'you have played it. Now sup- pose I still refuse?" There'was a whole world of scorn and defiance in' the hand- . , some, mutinous face of this girl of eighteen. She was trem-: !- bling all over, partly with cold, partly with nervous excitement. * Geoffrey Lyndith met her blazing eyes steadily, with a gaze 'cold, hard, inflexible. :t ,. ' : , f .i, page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 . 3 IN THE WAITING-ROOM. 34, "In that case you shall never see it alive or dead. It shall be taken from the comfor/table home in which it is now, and given over to the poorest hind I can discover. It shall be brought up in squalid poverty and vice, a creature, which, when it attains womanhood, you will be the first to shrink with horror from. That is all." A more pallid hue came over the girl's pallid face-lier very lips whitened to ashes. "It will be a fate good enough for Robert Lisle's 'child. For you, Olivia--youi are but eighteen-for three years more do as you will, say as you will, the law makes me your master. Your talk is nothing but talk-the only thing you can bring against me, is that I try to carry out the conditions of your late father's will, and see you Lady Charteris upon your eigh- teenth birthday.. You refise-I have reason to fear you will run away and go to the bad, and to prevent it, I fetch you down to my country house and leave you there with two trusty servants. Your orphan's court will tell you, I am doing my duty. And should you make any such appeal "-his face grew black and rigid as iron-"I will tell to the world the whole story of the shameful past-how you, a' child, scarce sixteen, ran away to Scotland with a yeoman's son-a thief, Miss Lyn- dith, caught in the very act-a fellow drowned, as he deserved to be, in his flight. to America. The world shall know this charming story, though the honor of all the Lyndiths that ever lived go with it. You are very young, Olivia, you are very handsome-you are proud, and came of a proud race-how will it be with you then?" All her high courage-only a frantic woman's courage at best, had given way under the laslh of his scorpion tongue, under his resolute man's strength. She .had covered her face with both hands-dry, hysterical sobs shook her. The excite- ment of the night-the cold-the' desolation, were telling on her, as such things tell on her sex. Duke Mason's fists clenfched-the desire to go and punch Mr. Lyndith's head was growing too great for human strength to bear. i I am sorry to distress you, Olivia," her uncle said, after a very brief pause'; "but 'my poor, impulsive, headstrong child, it is for your own good. You must obey your dead father. You must marry the man he chose for you-you. must submit to the inevitable. Let the disgraceful past be blotted out, become the wife of an honorable gentleman, and jbe- have like a rational being. You can't suppose I want to aT * * ..... 1 * ' / IN TIE WAIING RO0OM . 3 drag the story of that dead boor's rillany, and your folly- ' ' to call it by no harsher term, before the light? I am your best friend, Olivia, though you may not think so. I don't want to ill-treat the little one, to visit the sins of her parents on her. , She has been well treated and cared for since her birth-; on my honor she has, and I will give her to you, to do with as you please, as soon as we return to towh. I promise you this if' you will promise to marry Sir Vane Charteris. There are eight minutes still,before the train comes, I give you five of them to ' decide. Robert Lisle lies at the bottom of the Atlantic, and you must marry some time. Try and consider that, Olivia." He turned and left her. Her hands dropped from before her face, she walked over to one of the windows, and looked out. There was a whole world of despair in the large, melan-' choly, eyes, her arms hung listlessly by -her side; she stood there alone, a very figure of desolation. The brilliant midnight moon shone down with its ivory light,. the dark, sandy waste glimmered in its beams. The wind of the , - cold March morning sighed eerily around the lonely building-- without the dreariness, suiting the utter misery within. She' sighed a long, shuddering, heart-sick' sigh. ' E '"He is right," she thought ; "it is inevitable. Ah, Robert, my love, nay husband, if I were only with you, under the dark Atlantic waves. But I must have your child-my baby-mly darling, at any cost to myself. . What. does it matter what be- comes of such a wretch as I am? If I' must marry some one, he says, as well Sir Vane as another. I will go to St. George's in lace; and. orange-blossoms, and be congratulated,; /I and smile, and play the dreary play out. Oh, me, what a farce' it all is, at the best, and I am so young, and life is so long-so, long I! . . j She leaned against the window, and her thoughts went baik, .' to just such moonlight. nights gone never to come again. -. Nights when he had been by her side, down in the leafy ar- cades of Lyndith Court, in! far-away Staffordshire, and life. bad seemed more beautiful and blissful than a fairy tale, or an Arabian legend. Again she could see him, tall, strong, beautit fill, with man's best beauty; again his, armi was about her- again his voice in her ear. .. "Be true to me, Olivia, trust me through all things---or bet- ter, for worse, and as surely as Heaven shines above us, I will come back to claim you." And she had promised and- page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 IN. THE WAITING-ROOM. "The five minutes have expired, Olivia," 'say the pitiless tones of Geoffrey Lyndith, close beside her; "is it to be yes or no?" She turned around and lifted in the gas-light a face so death- like, eyes so dim and lifeless, that even he shrank away. "It is yes, Uncle Geoffrey, and may Heaven forgive you. I never will." "You are hysterical, Olivia-I pardon your wild words. You promise, if I restore to you your child, to marry Sir Vane Charteris?"? ' "I promise!" i- T The words dropped like ice from her lips. He held out his hand, looking at her uneasily. "It is a compact between us--you will keep your word, Olivia?" She drew back from his extended hand with a gesture of in- describable repulsion. "I will never shake hands with you again as long as I live, and will keep my word. Have you not said we Iyndiths al- ways do that. I could tell. you of a promise' I made two years ago that I am breaking now, but you Would say rash promises made to yeomen's sons are better'broken than kept. Are you quite sure, Mr. Lyndith, you will keep your pledge to me?" "On my sacred honor. And now I must send Joseph back to the Grange,' and there will be barely time to get our tickets before the train comes." He hastened out. Miss Lyndith at once crossed the wait- ing-room to where Duke Mason still stopd unseen. "I am going with my uncle," she said lhurriedly; " there is no alternative. Whatever happens, with all my heart I thank you.^, She took his hand in both her own, and looked steadily up in his honest, homely face. "You have a home, a wife, mother, sister, perhaps? Tell me." "I have a home, such as it is; and a sister to keep it-yes." The large, dark eyes still searched his face, the soft patrician fingers still clasped his own. "You have a good face, an honest face, and a kind, loyal heart, I know. If it is ever in your power, Mr. Masdn, I won- der if you woild aid me again?" / "As freely as I have aided you to-night, madame." "Then-I have your address, you know-if I ever send for ,.$l i' , ........ .......n Vgo/. ,' , 37 you-if I send for you soon--will you come to me, no matter how strange it may seem?" I Ad' "I will come!" /',^ if She lifted his hand and kissed it. Mr. Marmaduke Mason 4.* blushed crimson under his sallow skin, and absolutely tried to draw it away.' ' "Good gracious!" he thought, "if Rosanna could only see this." "Don't let him see you; he may suspect,hand I thank you with all my soul." She left him. Mr. Lyndith strode in and went to the ticket- 1ij ooffice, and on the instant the train came shrieking in. "Colpe, Olivia. l v! He drew her rapidly with him into a first-class compartnment. Duke modestly travelled second-class, and took his place too. There was a shriek, a clanging bell, and away the " resonant ! steam-eagle" rushed through the blue English night, and Speckhaven lay like a place in a dream behind them. It was all over, and he was going back to London to the Royal 'Waterloo Britannia, to Bloomsbury; and Rosanna and his old i[;j humdrum commonplace life, and only the yellow gleam of the -4 opal on his finger was left to remind him that his strange ad- , "' venture of this night was riot all a dream. ' '! J1 .CtCHAPTER V. ,'i . ROBERT HAWKSLEY. X FEii N 'the first of April, in the year of grace I847, the steamship "Landof Columbia" sailed from New York vtI ' . BJC@, tto Liverpool, bearing many passengers to the British 1 . at shores. The run was an uncomhonly swift and pleas- ,i}7, ' ant one, not a single storm came to disturb them; or bring the / Ademon -of sea-sickness into their midst, from the time they 'C th . teamed out of New York bay, until they sighted the cliffs of ]pv\ Albion. i ' / ' You are the only 'heavy swell' we have had, my lord," the captain said to one of his passengers; " we have made, the best page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 ROBERT HA WKSLE Y. run of the year. We will weigh anchor this evening in the Mersey." "Well," the gentleman addressed made answer, "I am sorry to hear it. I never feel so much in my element, as. I do at sea. I believe an All-Wise Providence originally cut me out -t for an old salt, and by some mistake I was born Baron MAonta- lien instead. It's the old story, captain, the round pegs go into the square holes, and vice vers4. As a first-class seaman, I might have been of some use in my generation-as it is"- his lordship shrugged his shoulders, and sauntered away. If you had told Nugent Horatio Earlscourt, Baron Mionta- lien, that he was a very proud man, and an aristocrat to the core of his heart,;I don't think he would have believed you. It was quite true, however. He went in for all sorts of repub- lican doctrines, and radical reforms, and the rights of the peo-. ple, and thought the Americans the greatest and n4blest pe-opt alive (or said he did), and would no more have entertained a mercantile prince, or a cotton-spinning millionnaire at his table, than he would a chaw-beacon off his estate down in the green Wold of Lincolnshire. A Geraldine de Montalien had come over with the Conqueror; .a Rodolf Montalien had forced King. John to sign Magna Charta; a Prior, Francis of Montalien, had been'great Eail Warwick's right-hand man; a Guy Mon. talien had died fighting for the "White Rose and the long heads of hair." A Jasper Montalien, the legend of their house said, had made sad havoc with the virgin heart of Queen Eliza- beth, being a tall and proper gentleman, cunning of fence, and handsome as a Greek god, as it was in his nature to be. They had been strong barons, and skilled warriors, from time imme- morial, and they had quartered their arms with royal houses be- fore now, and brides with princely blood in their veins had stepped across the threshold 6f Montalien. Priory. And the blue blood' of hundreds of haughty barons had gone down .to Nugent, the present lord of Montalien, and he would have looked at you with his classical, patrician face, and told you, the accident of birth was nothing less than nothing, that - . .' "True hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood ;" only "Lady Vere de Vere" had not then been written, and - annihilated you with one glance of his steel-blue eyes, had .you presumed to come one inch nearer than it was his will to let you. II-r ,J,o!"-CL--LUPIU--*5k 4 p ' * . * , Roea ROBERT HAWWSLEY. 39 bIt '. He had been making an American tour incogito as " Earlscourt," for the past nine months, and had almost enjoyed himself. He had hunted buffaloes, and had a shot or twroat hostile bands of Indians, and found life a good deal less of a bo'e than he had done any time these last twenty years. He was f years old now, and there were many silver, threads in his dar, \6 " hair; he )was. unutterably patrician-looking, with the broad ;'. brow, the handsome, classical nose, the. determined, mouth, hereditary in his race. ; "Yes, I am sorry," Lord Montalien thought, as he strolled away. "If it is worth while to regret anything in this lower world, which I greatly doubt, I shall regret America. The big game out 'there have spoiled me for anything at home, and I shall fall a victim once more to that horrible complaint, ennui, . or as our lively French neighbors call it, 'La snaladie sans maladie.' I shall yawn through dreary debates in the House. , I shall be bored to death every Christmas down at Montalien' among the 'horny-handed sons of toil,' and dowagers with :r; * daughters to mairy will make my life a horror to me during . . the season."' i Lord Montalien had drawn near a solitary figure, leaning *4 against the -bulwarks, and gazing with an intensity quite re-' marlkable, 'in the direction whence England lay, gazing so ab- Xi sorbed that he, never heard the approaching footsteps., "Here's that fellow Hawksley, now," the peer thought, with , a sudden sense of injury; "how thoroughly in earnest he seems, how intensely anxiously to get home? I suppose England is. his home. Why can't I feel like that-why don't I long to see Francis . and Guy, after a year's separation. Well, I think I really shall be pleased to see Guy again. How like his mother the lad is? Poor Venetia! I'm afraid it must have been rather a relief to her to die, and I was fond of '-'0' her orice.- Hawksley!" he laid his small, shapely hand-like a woman's i'0 ---on the shoulder of thie man Rho stood gazing at the sunlit sea and sky. - ; 'The man started. He was a young man, some five-and- twenty, perhaps, very tall, very fair, very goodl-ooking. .More thali good-looking, with brilliant, blue eyes; sapphire blue to their very depths luxuriant chestnut beard and hair, and a fair - English skin, tanned golden brown. Among all his fellow-passengers across, the only one in whom - { { b! , 1 S*i fsA a page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 ROBERRT HA WkSLEY. Lord Montalien had deigned to take the slightest interest was -'t this young man. wr . a This young, man who wore a rough, shabby coat, a felt hat, and who was too poor to travel in the first cabin. His name on the passenger list was Robert Hawksley; was a returned Englishman, who had spent the last two ye in roughing it in the Western States; and who, judging by ap- pearances, had not made his fortune. Since he had come on board at New York, an intense, a sickening. longing to reach England possessed him. H-e seemed unable either to eat or sleep. At night, when the midnight stars shone over the pur- ple sea, he paced the deck, hour after. hour, ever gazing toward where England 'lay, with a burning hunger of impatience in his eyes. He Was a self-contained man, who said little to those about him, and this very reticence and quietude first drew the nobleman toward him; he sought to make no acquaintances -he was modest, and unassuming to an unusual degree, and Lord Montalien, who kept sundry very wealthy fellow-passen- gors at a safe distance, and who knew every sailor on board / ,+ by name, was on the most friendly footing with Robert Hawks- ley. If he had sought to force his confidence or companion- ship upon him, his lordship would have sent. him to coventry ' in three minutes, but he never did. 'He talked to my lord, when my lord desired it, and. if he were passed by unnoticed, he did not seem to care one whit. He was, so thoroughly in- depenident, and manly, and simple, that his grave dignity always commanded respect. ' "Well, Mr, Hawksley," his lordship said, "we are almost there at last." "At last!" The young man drew a long breath, a long, , eager sigh.' "You say that as though we had been a month out, and yet i we have had a remarkably speedy passage. , You are very anx- ious to' arrive?" "Very anxious; the passage has been intolerably slow to me, and yet-and yet-perhaps, I had much better not have come at all." o"That depends. You have numbers of friends, no doubt, who will rejoice to greet you after two'years' absence." The young man looked at him with those wonderful blue: t eyes, and then away at the golden light on the sea. "I have no friends, my lord-none. There is but one in all England who cares for me, and she must be either more or less 4 than a friend." , - : " '^' ROBERT HAWKCSLEY 41 "Oh'l I Isee Ha 'lady in the case,' as they say in Irish duels. Then you come honie for a bride; that is the cause of all this burning, impatience. My lad, I congratulate you-I remem- ber being young once myself, and it was very nice. And no doubt the young lady counts the hours even more impatiently than you do." "No!" said Robert Hawksley, "she does not even know I am coming." , "Whal I You did'not write and tell her? You wish to, give her allelodramatic surprise, I suppose?" . "I have never written to her, my lord. During the two . ,: years I\ have been roughing it out there among the prairies, I have never had a line fronm her, nor from any one in England . . She does not even know that I am alive. She is far above J.! me, Lord Montalien, in rank, but'two years ago she loved me.' . 1 "And you are going back, and you expect to find, her un- . i changed," the nobleman said, with a compassionate smile. "g I "My good fellow, in that world no one is remembered two weeks. Is there a-woman living, I wonder, to whom two years absence would not serve as a sponge to. wipe out the memory of the best man alive. What have beautiful, frivolous creatures like those to do with constancy, and honor, and truth, And all such stern masculine virtues? They are butterflies, bprn to . ; flutter in sunlight and flattery, and forget the rose in whose breast they nestle this moment, for the tulip they fly to the next. .That sounds poetical, doesn't it, Hawksley? believe me, though, it is true." ' :i The young man started; he often did, as though the sound ,of his own name were unfamiliar. ' "She will be true," he said huskily; " she loved me!" " "Ah, yes-no doubt-two years ago. And you have never ' heard from her since, and you go back, and expect'to find her- unchanged. ,My lad,'I never expect to find anything as I have . left it, after two months' absence-and to trust to a woman I ,l' Pin your faith to a weathercock, trust to the. shifting quick-. - sands, if you like, but don't look for fidelity from the fair, fickle -;f 'daughters of Eve. I am fifty-three years old, Mr. Hawksley, and I know what I am talking about. And a wiser and greater , thian you or. I, a monarch and a poet, who had several thou- sand wives, if I mistake not, has told u. 'All is vanity.' If sle -- is not the wife of some other man months ago, then you may consider yourself a, fortunate fellow." . ':' page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] ROBERT 1AZ WKSLE Y. Robert Hawksley looked at him with an angry flash of his blue eyes. "She was tmy wife," he said haughtily. "Oh! your wife. Well, that's different, you see. A man may expect fidelity from his wife, with sonme show of reason. And you have never written to her.in two years. Hasn't that been a little oversight on your part, my dear boy ?" " It would have been useless. I have told you, my lord, she is far above me in station, and her uncle, her guardian, would permit no letters of mine to reach her. I know him well enough for that." " Indeed ! Yours was a clandestine marriage, then, I take it?" "It was. Poor child-I. did wrong, I suppose-she was only sixteen, I twenty-two, she an heiress, and of as proud a family as any in England, and I--a nobody ! But we loved each other, and for four months were happy-were in heaven." "Then I don't say you have done so very badly, with your life, after all," Lord Montalien remarked. "'There are some of us who go through the world, and. don't find four (lays- four hours of perfect bliss. And the flinty-hearted uncle wouldn't be reasonable, and accept the inevitable? ' He tore his daughter away, and you became an exile ? And now you are going back--may I ask-why ? " "To claim my wife, in spite of him-to fetch her to America if she will come. I can give her a home there-not such as she has been accustomed to, but if she loves me as she did, she will be happier with me in a cottage than without me in a pal- ace." "If!" Lord Montalien repeated, half cynically, half sadly; "if she loves. you as she did, Robert Hawksley. And she has had two years to forget you I Well, well, Sh6 is your wife; I will not say a word, and I hope-yes, my lad, I hopes you will find her an exception to her sex, and true, and tender, and ready to fly with you to the uttermost ends of the earth. You are a fine fellow, I am certain, and'handsome, and there are women alive, I dare say, who would go with such a man as you to beggary. I've never met any of those paragons myself, and F don't think I ever shall; but 'poets and novelists, and play- wrights, tell us they exist. Those stupid British theories of birth l As if a lusty young fellow like you, well-mannered, well-loobing, healthy in mind and body, were not a mate for a. princess. ROBRT ifA WKSLE Y. 43 , ' 'When Adam delved, and Eve span, Who was then the gentleman? ' When will the day come when all monarchies will end, and the - , Sovereign People rule? I like the Americans; I like their in. dependence, the simplicity of their soc' ty. I consider George - Washington one of the greatest men thl world has' ever seen, and I should ask nothing better than to pend my life among. . the vast, rolling prairies, the herds of bu lo, and the Indian tribes. If I were riot Alexander, I would be-tihe other person. If I were not Baron Montalien, of Montalien, I would bea hur ter - on the western plainls. But noblesse oblige, and all that sort of thing, which, in my case, means I must assume the old tread-mill . life of the House of Lords, and society, and dinner-parties, and ' fox-hunting, and find it all vanity and vexation of spirit. - Why could not that pig-headed English aristocrat, the uncles have left you alone with your pretty bride; why couldn't he have ::: stormed through five acts, as they do in theatres, and. then come round suddenly in the last scene with 'Bless youi my' children I Take. her, you'dog, and be happy i' Why couldn't he? But remember this, my boy," his hand fell kindly on the ;: yoting man's shoulder, "if you ever need a friend, and I can help you, come to me. I never forget any one whom I once ,-;: i fancy, and I fancyyou. Comento me, and command me in any way you please." He gave hilllm a card, With his title, and "Montalien Priory, ;I Lincolnslhire, and Gaunt Street, London," engraved upon it, - : and sauntered away. Robert, Hawksley looked after him, "If Geoffrey Lyndithl or Sir Vane Charteris, had been like ,! that," he thought; "but no, it is only talk after all. If she'had been his daughter, or 'niece, he would have behaved just the same. No, not the same; I don't think Lord Montalien could . ,. stoop to crime and treachery, as Geoffrey Lyndith did to banish me. It sounds-very gracious for-iord Montalien, in his posi.-. tion, to say such things, but haven't. I seen him when thatrich Boston manufacturer tried to be hand and glove with him, put him down with two or three cold, sarcastic sentences?- He EI e i's -like all the rest of his order, but sh/e-ah; my darling:l be faith- ful, be true, until I come, and we will yet be happy together in - spite of thbim all" And - then Rdbert Hawksley, with his handsome face- all; , aglow, -and gilded in the- sunlight, watched the land they were- :, nearing) with hisbJeart in his eyes. Early next day, the passengers of the "Land of Columbia A page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] ROBERT ZHA WJCSLEY Y, were safely in Liverpool. Lord Montalien shook hands with Robert Hawksley on the quay, without one tinge of condescen- sion or patronage. "Remember, Hawksley, if I can ever be of service to you, come to me. I will help you if I can." And Mr. Hawksley had said, "Thank you, my lord, I will remember." And so they had parted, and how was either to dream that that promise involved the future lives of the two. dearest to them both ? . There was an hour to spare before the train by which the young man meant to travel to London would start. He turned into a coffee-house, ordered his breakfast, aind while he Waited, took up a greasy paper, lying on the table. It was a copy of the. Londonl Morning Post three days old, but the returned Englishman, to whom English papers were as'rare as angels' visits, read it with avidity. Ile was reading the fash- ionable intelligence, whoml were party-going, party-giving, who was presented at the last drawing-room, whom were being married; and to whom. And in this list he came upon the following paragraph: " The marriage of Sir Vane Charteris, Secretary of Legation to Vienna, to Miss Olivia Lyndith of Lyndith Court, Staffordshire, niece of Geoffrey Lyndith, Esq., so long postponed on account of the young lady's ill-health, is positively fixed for the fourteenth of the present month. Immediately after the honeymoon, which is to be spent in Italy, Sir Vane' and Lady Charteris depart for the brilliant Viennese Court." Robert Hawksley read this paragraph, and read it again- slowly, painfully, with a face from which every drop of blood surely receded. He held the paper before him, his eves dila- ting, his face, his lips turning to the hue of ashes. No word, no exclamation escaped him; he sat as rigid as a man turning to stone. The waiter brought -him his breakfast, and stared at him aghast. He spoke to him, he did not he r; he touched him, and a pair of sightless eyes looked up fiom the paper. "Ere's your brekwist, sir-'hany think helse, sir ?" But the words fell on dull ears. "Blessed if I don!t think he's going to 'ave a fit!" thought the waiter, and left him. Robert Hawksley sat there, and read again, and again, that. brief, commonplace paragraph in the Morning Post. Waiters and customers stared alike in wonder at the young man, who. sat with his untasted breakfast before him, and with that rigid, awfully corpse-like face. THE FOtURTEENTH OF APRIL. 4$ He rose at last, and laid down the paper. The waiter ap. s proached, and he demanded his bill. He had touched noth' t ing, but he paid it at once, and without a word walked out of the house. The brigfht April sun was shining, the streets were-alive with .: people, but Robert Hawksley seeing nothing, hearing notling, ; ; walked blindly on like a man in a dream.. ' ; ' Married!" the word tolled through his brain like 'a bell. ' :,' "Married on the fourteenth. And this is the thirteenth . ; ^ To-night I will be in London, and to-morrow is her wedding- ' day!" He laughed aloud in an insane sort of way, rather to the surprise of the passers-by. "And two years and a half ago. she was my wife; Lord Montalien was right then, after all.' ' I suppose it will be at St. George's, Hanover Square. Well, I. - am not invited, nor expected, nor, I dare say, wanted, but still, Sir Vane Charteris, I shall go to your wedding.",' ' An hour later, and the expreV train was flying homeward, . aid Robert, Hawksley .sat gaiing straight before him at the flying landscape, alid blue English sky, with that fierce hunger . in his eyes, ard bhs teeth clenched hard behind his auburn ' beard.' I "Married!" that bell in his brain seemed still tolling. "Married to-morrow, to Sir Vane Charteris. Well-.wthen .i . to-morrow comes, we will see!" . . CHAPTER VI. . THE DAWN OF THE FOURTEENTH .OF APRIL. , :5 T was the thirteenth of April, and late in the afternoon. , liAt Sunshine flooded the quiet streets of Bloomsbury, and r ' ' the windows of Half-Moon Terrace, happening to face .- westward, were all aflame with the golden liglht of the " sky,. a sky as blue as tihough Half-Moon Terrace wereiin Venr ice, instead of the parisl of Bloomsbury, London. It 1as an . are of dreary brick boxes, and had, only one side of thd:way,. . the other being mews. 'And in the particular brick b5 6.wh re Mr. Duke. Mason had set up his household godsCl}t!d a ."' ' ' t , .. ,5) % . page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " TAE POUT7ENz , OF APRIL. o chimney-sweep for neighbor in the attic, and a lae cobbler, who kept a shopl-Oon the first floor. Mr. Mason's ddmicile con. sisted of four diminutive' rooms, a kitchen, With a bedroom oft for his sister and housekeeper, a parlor, wih' ditto for himself, lor, which served him as a studio; for Duke was an artist, as you have been told-sce'nic artist, his little sign over the door informed you-assistant scene-painter to the Royal Waterloo Britannia. He was also second iolinist, he likewise ent on, , arid played a witch in Macheth, Second Grave-digger, etc., and such: powerful casts; Being' an adept in the French language, he moreover adapted the plays of that nation, diluting them with insular virtue, and straining the Irench morality a good 'deal, in order to suit British stomachs. He also painted por- traits when he got them to paint, so that you perceive Mr. Ma- nson was a gentleman of brilliant parts and great versatility of talent., ' ia a He stands' in his painting-i-oom this sunny 'April afternoon, hard at work. The ugly, bare room is flooded with sunshine, and walls are covered with the works of Duke's facile brush. Conspicuous among these is his great historical piece, the "Battle of Bannockburn," with a fiery sunset in the background, and-the faces of Sir William Wallace,' andtR'biert Bruce, and K(ing Edward I., all ablaze with crnmson lake and gamboge, from the lurid glory in.'the skies. I am not positive that those three august personages were all at the battle of Bannockburn; no more was the artist; they were in the picture, however, the Scottish heroes, in very short kilts, and standing none too strongly on their legs, the royal Edward ferocious of aspect, and- in scale armor, and breastplate and helnet. Like most other geniuseS, Mr. Mason was unappreciated--the "Battle of Ban- nockburn" wouldn't sell, and the artist had given up historical painting and gone in for the Royal Britannia, which yielded hini an income of forty-five shillings a week. This afternoon he is at work oh a huge square that occups' ill ono side of the rooml and he is stan'ding on a ladder, lutting, a skies and, backgrounds. Close, it looks one hue chaos of uties and purlles, and ultramarine and gold leaf-from the loorway it looks like a g;otto set in golden sands, and in a trong lime light will no doubt come out in dazzling splendor to lc eyes of the frequenters of the Britannia. In the parlor adjoining, the shabbiest and most spotlessi y eat of'parlors, sits sewing Miss Rosanna Mason. Her work I " -. ....'.. . ',.:, , THE FOURTERENTH OF APRIL. 47 is not fancy work-she:does not look like one of your frivolous creatures who give their weak intellects to gold beads and Ber- . .. lin work; it is-don't let me' shock anybody-it is a pair of "Duke's trousers, which she is mending. The full glow of the yellow sunlight floods Miss Mason as she sits and sews in its - ' glory, and if you are a frivolous person you will hover aloof, and gaze with awe and silence. She is a lady of that age which ' is delicately mentioned as uncertain; she is fifteen years the ' Duke's senior, and' Duke is five-and-twenty. She is, tall and spare, as maiden ladies usually are; she has high cheek bones;' and thin lips, and dee-set eyes, and a Roman nose, and a tre-. mendous frontal development; and her hair, which is of the , hue called sandy, is tigltly pinned in a little knot' at the back of her head. Her dress, dd and faded, is daintily clean, as is, in-, . deed, everything abon'her, except, perhaps, Duke, whom she loves, and prays for, and tyrannizes over, as some women do il over the men they like best. There is a tradition extant, that all old maids, at some epoch' in their lives, could have got married, if they had willed it, and . there is, still another cruel tradition, that all old maids want to ," be married. Miss Mason triumphantly vindicated her sex in ' " both these particulars. Nq man had ever asked her to marry him, and no man had ever lived, whom she wanted to marry., . : I hold her up before yo'i in a glow of honest pride-a woman i who was" an old maid pure and simple from choice. She de-' spised men; she despised most women too-weak, purposeless beings, with no higher aim than their husbands and 'their chil- ' dren. She had no weakness herself; she had no pet dogs, ' . or cats; one engendered fleas, the other was,.of the thievish o : propensities. She cultivated flowers;. the windows are'full of ' them at this moment, and very beautiful they are amid the London grime; and she loved children, arid she was a devoted -;;! , sick nurse. Miss Rosanna'Mason was a Christian of the aus, 1' terest sort, who looked upon theatres and ball-rooms as the. ^ threshold of perdition, and a low-necked dress the first step :to' .' l ruin., She was a thoroughly good and earnest woman, in her "i:X way, which was a very gloomy and ascetic way. If you were ^ sick, she would sit up with you night after night, knowing no, weariness, asking no reward, and in the dim watches, when the . pale lamp flickered, and your spirits were at their faintest ebb, - l she would read aloud to you, in a cruel voice, of the awful ter- rors of the Last Day, and the burning torments ofisuch lost and - ' . H worldly souls as yourself, until your blood curdled and yo urt , . , , .i page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 4-3 TIM FOUR TEE NTH OF A4PRIL. hair rose. Duke stood in awe of her; hadn't she brought him up since boyhood, and slapped him, and scolded him for his good, until tpoor -little fellow's life had been a misery to him? She had meant him to be a preacher, a missionary to the heathen, a here he was, at five-and-twenty, a play-actor! It was Miss Mason's bitterest cross, but she bore it, as we all, saints and sinners, must. :Thle fternoon sun dropped low-Miss Mason glancing ott at the crimson golden radiance yonder in the west, opined that it was almost time to go and get tea. Duke must depart for -the "regions of darkness," as she always thought of the Britan- nia, at half-past six, and the pantaloons were done. She glanced at their wearer and her grim face grew a shade more grim. "At it again," thought Miss Mason; "he's growing worse every day." Duke was not doing anything very wrong-in fact, he was not doing anything at all. He sat perched on the top of the lad- der, hiis brushes and palette unused, staring vpry hard at nothing, and whistling a pensive accompaniment to his thoughts. It was quite a new habit of his this day-dreaming, a habit con- tracted since his late visit to Lincolnshire. That was over three weeks ago, now, and as his sister said to herself, he grew worse every day. He had not said a word, as you may sup- pose, of the adventure'of the night of the 25th of March- very few people felt tempted to pour the story of their f6llies into the vestal ear of Rosanna, and he had hidden the opal ring deep in the recesses of his pocket-book. He had, told nobody of that strange adventure, and, he had contracted a custom of thinking about it a great deal.' The fair, proud face of Miss Olivia Lyndith rose very often between him and the canvas, and haunted his dreams. What had become of her? Had she married the baronet?-he was a baronet, Duke supptsed--l or had Robert turned up? Of course not;- Robert was drowned. It was all darkly mysterious. Just at present he was wonder- ' ing how the young lady's escape had come to be discovered so speedily-it was the missing key did it, no doubt. It had been the missing: key. Mrs.' Grimshaw bad found herself unable to sleep that night on account of it. Had the spirit of the slain' cavalier whisked it off, or had Miss Lyndith anything to do with it? After tossing several hours, Mrs. Grimshaw grew desperate-got up-stole to the young lady's chamber to see that all was safe. The door was unlocked, the bed unslept in, 'the young lady gone. Half an hour after, Mr., , . ' ,.' . ' : THE FOURTEENTH OF. APRIL. 49 X Lyndith was tearing along to the station in search of his % ward. L "If J. J. Quill got hold of the story he'd work it up in a five- . act melodramla, and imake his fortune," thought Duke. "J. J, M J. has done all' the dramas they've played at the Britannia for the last fourteen years, except what I've cooked over from the' : B. French. Sle said if she ever needed me she would sehd for -- i* me again; I hope she won't: Rosanna might find it out, but -I then I would like to see her once miore. .How handsome she , looked standing up there, and, defying that old Turk, her uncle " ' ' Mr. Mason unconsciously assumed a defiant attitude himself, ' ' ^ . as he thought' of it. Miss Mason saw him and laid down her work. . "Duke," his sister said, in a deep bass. ,^. Duke started to his usual position;, and laid hold of his 'l brushes in some' trepidation. It wasn't likely his sister could! ' . read his thoughts, but Duke wouldnit be very much surprised i" to find that she could.. - ' : "Duke!" repeated Miss Mabon, in her deepest tones, "let ';,:? there be an end of this. Tell me what it means." "An end of what, Rosanna? Do you mean this scene? -; Well, I'm bringing it to an end a's fast as I can. I suppose : ' those big fellows do make a mess, but there's no help for it. , ' As to what it means, it's the Grotto of the Venus-Aphrodite,' and the piece it's for is a new thing, and will make Tinsel & Spangle, if anything will. It's called the ' Coral Caves of. the Dismal Deep;' and there are six acts and thirty-seven scenes; . and it all happens under the sea, In the ballet, in one, parti where the Venus Aphrodite rises from the ocean, there are -fiye- .. and-forty young women dressed or rather undressed, as mernmaids ' and sirens, and that sort of people dancing around her in a blaze . of golden fire. ' I appear in the C. C. of the D. D. myself, as ^ : a' Triton, with a tail and a tripod.. The Venus will be done, of . 1 course, by Miss Annetta de Courcy-in the bosom of her fam- ' ily Mrs. Ann Bullock-and Spangle himself takes the lovely young Grecian prince, who, going for his morning bath ins thpe AEgean- Sea, is lured to the Coral Caves by the song9pfi}ie . I : sirens. Tinsel. plays Neptune; and one scene is in mixi:^;i- , partments, with six different actions going on at once.,: That '- .:) will be a poser for the machinist, I flatter myself.. It's . gtr "t piece, Rosanna, and we will have to work double tidesi before the scenery is finished." . ,i'; " page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] V 50 T)E -FOURTEENTht OF APRIL. Mr. Mason dashed in his skies and clouds energetically, feeling guiltily all the while, that his accusing angel in the'par- lor was about to bring him to'book. "I don't want to hear about your Coral Caves and your Venus thingamies, Duke Mason," his sister retorted, sternly; "it is bad enough to know such sinful things exist, and that my own brother is risking his eternal welfare among them. 1 want to know what you mean by that odious habit you have con- tracted of sitting for hours and staring at nothing, like an idiot. It means something-don't tell me, sir-I know better!" \ "Then 'I suppose it. means laziness, Rosanna,"' Duke an- swered, good-humoredly.' "It means more than laziness, though that's bad enough. 'You know what the pious and wise Dr.' Watts says: 'In works of'labor and of-'" "Oh, dear! Yes, 'Rosanna, I know; don't repeat it," groaned Duke. "But it isn't laziness; it's,worse, Duke!" in her cruellest voice. "Don't prevaricate to me. You have fallen in love." If Miss Mason had said, and truthfully-; " you have committed a murder," her brother could: hardly have looked more alarmed and guilty. Was it love, to be haunted by day and by night, by one beautiful face, to wear an opal ring in a pocket-book, and have a secret hidden from an only sister? Guilt was there, and guilt told. "I see I am right," Rosanna said, after a thrilling pause. "Duke, who is the young woman?" "Upon my word, Rosanna, there is oib young woman. That is, there isn't-she do'esn't-I mean- " Rosanna shook her head bitterly. "That sounds very plausible, no doubt, brother Duke, but it doesn't deceive me. "There isn't, she doesn't,' indeed I' Oh, Duke, have I brought you up to this time of day, and in- stilled the catechism into you, only to see you come to this? The theatre was bad enough, but to fall in love I And next you will want to get married I Duke I I command you-WOIo is the hussy?" "There's no hussy in the case, and I'm not in love, and I don't want to get married. Good Gracious! Rosanna, what crime will you suspect a fellow of next? Upon my word and honor," cried Duke in a paroxysm of torture, "I haven't a notion of getting married now, or ever-oh! there's the post. man. Don't mind, Rosanna, I'll go." TiE FO URT7EENTH OF APRIL. 5 Duke bounced off his ladder, and rushed to 'th-door. The postman handed him two letters, both addressed thioimself. Rosanna Mason had never been guilty of epistolary follies, any more than other follies, in her life. One was from Tinsel & Spangle, reproving him sharply for recent unpunctuality, and commanlding an -early attendance in the orchestra that evening, on pain of a heavy fipe. Duke flung this to the farthest cor- ner, of the room, and glanced at the -other. Slippery white' satin paper, a faint odor of perfume, a delicate, spidery female hand, a blue wax seal, with crest and a motto. All the blood in Mr. Mason's arteries rushed into his face; and there stood Rosanna-that frigid vestal virgin, with piercing eyes fixed on- that furiously blushing face. She saw his look, and answered it with stinging' sarcasm. "Oh! dmn't mind me. Read your letter, by all meansl iand then tell me, whAn I ask you who it's from, that there isn't- she does't '-thdt ' there's no lady in the case'-and that you've no notion of being married.' Don't mind adding a few more falsehoods to your already over-burdened conscience. Read your letter, unhappy young man, and tell me it'sg from those play-actor men, who employ you in their godless work, if you dare " - One glance of scorn and sorrow combined, and Miss Mason- stalked out to the kitchen. With a sort of groan the badgered scene-painter opened the dainty missive, and read: : "You promised to come to me, i ifshould ever wantyou. The time has come when it remains for you to keep that promise. If you have any pity for an unhappy, frietdless girl, you will come, at three o'clock to-morrow morning, Yo the address below. Be at the area gate at that time, and you will confer a deathless obligation on her whomyou once so generously served. Q. L." There was an address at the bottom of this note--the num- ber ofa house in Park Lane. And the blood left Duke's face, and a cold thrill ran through him, as he thought of the dread- '. ;- ful possibilities involved. Did she want him to run away with her again? Wasn't it a penal offence to'lope with an. heiress?- He wasn't sure-his knowledge of Blackstone was foggy. 'And: ;he would want him to go to France with her, and his- reputa- tion was at stake, not to speak of his time; and what would Rosanna?-no, he couldn't bear to think what Rosanna wouldd say to such horrors as this. He folded the letter up, and thrust' it deep in the cavernous depths of his biggest pocket, and looked distractedly out at the'red light in the sky. At three in page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 528 TltE FOURTEENTH OF APRI.- the morning! Why, there was something unholy in the very hour-it smacked of gunpowder plots, and secret assassina- tion. If he were seen hovering about a gentleman's area, at three in the morning, what would the policemen who guard Park Lane dream, but of burglary? And if he were caught leaving the house with the young lady! "I won't leave the house with her!" resolved Mr. Mason, firmly. "She's very pretty, and all that, but I'll see her farther -first! I'll run away with. nobody any more. Adventures are all very well, but I'd rather take part in them on the stage of the Britannia than in private life. I'll go-I would be a-brute to refuse-and what excuse will I make to Rosanna? Not that it matters much, for she won't believe me, let me fabricate what I please." He rose, and paced softly up and down the parlor, feeling like the wretched conspirator he was. He could hear Rosanna bustling about the kitchen, the clatterof cups and saucers, and the general preparation for tea. "I'll have to stay out all night," mused Duke. "I couldn't sleep if I went to bed. What canl she want? I thought she promised to marry Sir Vane Charteris. It was bad enough to run away with a young lady. It would be worse to run away with a baronet's wife." "Come to supper," called Rosanna, and Duke went out to the kitchen, which was also the dining-room, meekly, and with ;all his wrong-doing palpable in his face. How was he to drink weak tea, and eat slices off a stale quartern, with that secret on his mind, and\that letter buried in his pocket? He rose after two or three gulps swallowed spasmodically. Rosanna, eating with the, powerful appetite of strong virtue that can relish weak tea and stale bread, saw all his confusion. . "You needn't sit up for me, Rosanna," the artist said, with ' nervous hurry. "I shan't be home to-nilht. Tinsel & Span- gle have beein blowing me up for laziness, and'I, shall work 'double tides to make up for it. I shall work at the Britannia - until three or four this morning, and-ah-good-evening, Rosanna." i Lies were not at all ill Duke Mason's way-this was a-mild one, but still it nearly choked him. And, of course, Rosanna did not believe one word, She listened, and ate on in omiinous silence, making no response to the fraternal good-night; and Duke drew a long breath as he closed the street door behind him, and hurried on his way. A blue, silvery haze filled the, THE FOURTEENTH OF APRIL. \ 53,. 4 streets, through which the gas lamps twinkled. One or two early stars shone up in the blue, and a cloudless sunset irra- f ' diated the town. Duke took an omnibus, ard reached the . f; Royal Britannia at an earlier hour than he had done for weeks,' and Tinsel & Spangle congratulated themselves that their .- : blowing up had done their second violinist good.. ' ",.. ., All through the five acts of the melodrama that inight,'-Duke's thoughts were away in Park Lane, and he played false totes, and sometimes forgot to play altogether. It was an unuttera- , ble relief when the curtainfell, and the audience poured out .. into the starlit night, and he was free to think as he pleased. It was just eleven. He turned away from the theAtr' .and his feet half unconsciously took him to Park Lane. He found . the house he sought easily enougl-a big, black-looking house -many ilights gleamed along its aristocratic front. A little, farther down, a long string of carriages blocking the way, told of a gay party. . "I wonder if she is at it?"Duke thought. "I wonder why she couldn't have fixed one in the morning, instead of three? * How am I to get through the next two hours "?. - The moon was shining brilliantly, the stars were numberless, . the night mild as midsummer. This, at least, was a consola-,. I tion; lie thrust his hands into his surtout pockets, and plodded X leisurely along, whistling plaintively. What could she want '; of him? Would she carry him off to Paris Any human creature persistent enough could always do as they pleased , with poor Duke. Was Rosanna asleep by this time, or still keeping vigil? "It's my opinion Rosanna could sit up for a month, without . a wink of sleep, and be none the worse for it," thought Rosanna's only brother. "I wonder if she really sleeps,. at all? She may, but it's like the weasel's, with one eye open. e For Rosanna Mason to snore a long winter night through, in :: forgetfulness of the world and its wickedness, must simply be impossible. 'If I do run away to Paris with Miss Lyndit, I'll' , never dare to face her again-never!" .; Two / by the numberless city steeples. Duke lit a cigar, -a and seated himself in an open square, where the trees made i long shadows in the moonlit ,grass, and the lamps waxed dim in- its silvery rays. What a strange, long nighthit was-would he. ever forget it-and how was it going to end? .I Half-past two I He started up. He was a couple of ihiles . away from Park Lane-it would be: three when he reached it. ' ' ' I page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 7? THE, FOURTEENTH 0F APRIL. Still smoking, he hastened on. One or two "guardians of the night" glanced at him inquiringly-one or two belated pedes- trians he passed, a few hansom cabs tore by him with the haste of abnormal hours, but the aristocratic streets of the West End lay very still under the stars. A feeling of awe came over the young man as he glanced up at that glorious sky, and thought of Him "Who keeps the vast and silent city while it sleeps.'" The big black house in Park Lane loomed up before him as the clocks tolled three. All was dark and quiet now. T'he string of carriages had vanished-the party three doors off had broken up early. He leaned against the area railings, looking up at the dismal, unlighted mansion, when a cold hand was "suddenly and swiftly laid on his. He started, arid barely sup- pressed an exclamation; he had heard no sound, yet here by his side stood a woman. "Hush!" said a voice; "no t a sound. You are Duke Mason?" "I 'alm." "Tell me the name of her who sent for you?" "Olivia Lyndith." "Thank Heaven! Come down-tread softly." He descended the area steps, and stood beside her. She was a tall young woman, but she was not Miss Iyndith. "I am the child's nurse," the girl said, answering that look. "Take off your shoes. The least noise may betray us." Duke obeyed. Her description of herself was rather un- intelligible, though. The child's nurse! and what had he to do with children? Miss Lyndith wasn't a child, by any means, What did she mean? There was no time to ask questions. He removed his shoes, and followed her into the basement regions, up a flight of steps, and found himself in a lofty-domed and carpeted'hall. The moon's rays shone brightly, and tall marble statues gleamed like ghosts in its light. A great staircase, carved, and gilded, went up in majestic sweeps to the regions above. A thick, soft carpet muffled the tread as Duke followed her to a second stately hall, hung with pictures, and lighted by a large Maltese window. Many doors were on either side; one of these she opened, motioning the wandering Duke to follow, and lie found himself in a spacious and elegant antechamber, dimly lighted by two wax candles-an apartment more luxurious and beauti- ful than any the scene-painter had ever beheld. "The Coral Caves of the Dismal Deep are very dazzling. THE FOURTEENTH OF APRIL. . . abodes, no doubt," he thought, "but for permanence give me a big black house in Park Lane." "Wait here," the girl said, laconically. A second after, lift ing a heavy crimson curtain that draped an arch, she let it fall, and disappeared., !"It's uncommonly like the Arabian Nights," mused Mr. Ma.. Son, taking a seat upon a velvet fauteuil, "where Mr. Abou - Hassan falls asleep at the gates of Bagdad, and wakes to find himself in gorgeous chambers, and beside the dazzling Princess of China. I shall awake presently, no doubt, and hear the men in the mews over the way rubbing down their horses, and the little chimney-sweep upstairs starting on his morning's work." He paused. Again, the curtain was lifted by the servant, and this time Miss Olivia Lyndith herself appeared; Duke rose. , She wore a flowing white dressing-gown, her abundanlW it hung loose over her shoulders, her large eyes looked biggeiS and blacker than ever in her small, pale face. Again she took his hand in both her own, as on that memorable night, when they had parted, and looked at him with her dark, -solemn - eyes. . ]'7o "I knew you would come," she said. "I knew I might trust you. I have sent for you on a. matter of life and death to me. v To-morrow-nay, to-day-is my wedding-day." "Oh, indeed "Mr. Mason responded, feeling that politeness required him to say something, and wondering if young ladies generally regarded their wedding-days as matters of life and death, and what she could possibly want of him in this state of affairs. "Inam surrounded by enemies, who call themselves my friends, ,i and in whose power I am. I am going to marry a man whom . I neither love nor respect-a man whom I fear. For myself, it does not so much matter. I don't care what becomes of me--" there was a desperate recklessness in her tone and look, thbt suited her words-" but there is one in this house whom Iado ; ' love, whom I wish to save from the men who, have made my life miserable. It is a child. To obtain possession of her, I have promised to marry the man of my guardian's choice. . This very day, immediately after the cermony, I start for Italy, and she remains behind in the power. o rey Lyndith. I . ' cannot. trust him-I will not trust him-lh- life would be blighted as her mother's has been. - She must b emoved out of their knowledge and out of their power. That . y I have page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56- THE FOURTEENTH OF APRIL. sent for you ; I have not a friend I dare trust-they are all miy uncle's friends, and her birth is a dead secret. Will you take her away with you to-night? Will you keep her, and bring her up as your own?--you and your sister. You shall be well paid, and, if it is ever in my power, I will claim her. Don't re- fuse; have pity online, her most wretched mother; have pity on her, a helpless babe.' You have a kind heart-you helped me before. Help me now, and may Heaven reward you 1" She 4llung to his arml--passionate tears stood in her proud eyes. Duke stood absolutely transfixed. "You shall be well rewarded.: See! here is this pocket-book; it contains one hundred pounds, all I have now, but I will send you more. Take it, take it. You will not refuse-you cannot. Wait one instant and I will fetch her." She darted away. Duke stood looking blankly at the Rus- sian-leather pocket-book in his hand. A cild-rchild-erchild - his head was in an titter whirl. She came back in a moment' holding a bundle wrapped in a shawl, in her arms. She flung this wrap back, as she came close to Duke, and he saw the cherub face of a sleeping child. "She has been drugged to keep her quiet-she will not awake for an hour. See what a lovely little angel she is! Oh, my darling! my darling! my darling!" She covered the baby face with passionate kisses. With her wild, loose hair, her wilder eyes, her frantic manner, she seemed like a creature half distraught. On the instant, far away in the house, they all heard the sound of an opening door. The: ser- vant appeared in alarm. "Miss Olivia, do you hear that? He must go. Mr. Lyn- dith has the ears of a cat, and the eyes, I believe. Give him the child, and let him 1, for pity's sake?" , She absolutely to the child from the arms that pressed it so convulsively, wrappe te shawl closer around it, and caught Duke's hand. "Come!" she said, "there's not a moment to lose." "Be good to it! be good to it!"Miss Lyndith cried; "as you hope for salvation, be good to my child," She sank down in a great carved and' gilded chair-a small white figure, and burying her face in her hands, her suppressed sobbing filled the room. So Duke's last glance saw her as he quitted it. Beyond that "oh, indeed!" he had not spoken a word-he had not been five minutes in the house altogether. Like one in a dreamy swoon, he followed the nurse, through AT ST.: GEORGE'S HANOVER SQUARE. halls and stairways,. until once more they stood under the l stars. "Put on your shoes," the girl said; "you will find a cab-stand over in that direction. The baby will not awake until you get , home." - She pressed the child upon him. He took it mechanicalD .- :i -mechanically descended the area steps, looked back,. and-/ found' the girl gone. 1 "What was he to do? It would never do to stand there . '. ;. and be discovered by a passing policeman, with a suspiciouns bundle in his arms. Still, like a man in a dream, he started for- ward in the direction'the girl had pointed out, found thd ;cab-' . i ( stand, and in five minutes more was rattling over the stony streets, Bloomsburyward. Then he opened the shawl. Day, H was brightly breaking, and the first little pink raystole in and kissed the lovely sleeping face, framed in tiny flaxen curls. - A baby! and he Was taking it home. This was how the ad . - venture of this night had ended. And he had said he would be . painting at the Royal Britannia, until daylight. " "Powers above!" thought Mr. Mason, his very heart seem '-' ing to die within'him. "WHAT will Rosanna say?" . CHAPTER VII. AT ST. GEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUARE. HE sun was just rising, as the hansom tore through the quiet streets of Bloomsbury, waking the peaceful. rate-paying, respectable, third-class inhabitants from their slumbers. Sunrise was a phenomenon Mr. Mason had not often witnessed in the course of his checkered existence-getting him up in the morning before eight being one of Rosanna's bitterest crosses. He looked at it now, at the golden radiance in the east deepening and deepening until. tie whole sky was glorified, in'much the same way as men on1 trial for life note the carved rails of the dock, the hats of the. spectators and the bonnets in the gallery, while waiting for the awfil answer to "Guilty or Not Guilty." * a* - .8 page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 . AT ST. GEOZRG'S, HANOViR SQUARE . And still the child slept peacefully, sweetly, like one of Cbrreggio's smiling angels. He reached Half-Moon Terrace-he paid and dismissed the cab. He met the little black sweep whistling merrily, as he ' started on his day's work, and who gave him good-morning. Duke shrunk'guiltily even from him. The cobbler on the first floor was opening his shop; he too, looked askance from the young man to the bundle, closely muffled now in the shawl. RQsanna was sure to be up; didn't'she always rise at some dismal hour in the bleak and chilly dawn? Duke set his teeth, and opened the kitchen door; a man can die but once; as well face the ordeal first as last. Duke opened the kitchen door, stalked in, and confronted i his sister. If it were possible for Miss Mason to look more uncompromis- ingly awful at one hour of the twenty-four than another, it was at this. Her thin face seemed cut in gray stone, her lips were more rigid, her eyes more steely, her spare figure more angular, and the milk of human kindness in her breast a little more J strongly acid than at oth'eaksons. The Iron Duke himself, or Jack Sheppard, or any other hero, might have quailed before the scathing glance that fell upon the intruder. The pale daylight streaming in through the one window gave Duke a ghastly and unnatural -look perhaps, for she continued to stare speechlessly, first at him, then at the bundle. He set' his teeth a little harder, and opened it. If you have to jump over a precipice and break your neck, shut your eyes and take the .leap at once; the torture ends sooner. He flung pff the shawl, and the sleeping child lay revealed. "DUKE!" i Only one word, but the tone I l'n some such voice of anguish may the great Napoleon, at St. Helena, looking back at one disastrous day, have exclaimed, "Waterloo!'" "It's not mine; Rosanna-I swear it's not "Duke cried out. "I never set eyes on it until within the last two hours." "Not on it, perhaps-but its mother--'- . "Nor its mother either--so help me 1 until three weeks ago I Good gracious, Rosanna I what a mind you must have'to sus- pect a fellow in this way, without giving him a chance to. explain! I never saw the child until it was given to me--no, forced upon me, by Jove I two hours ago; and its mother, if she be its mother, I met for the first time, three weeks ago down in Lincolnshire." " ;, /e* ' ; ' ' ' Z e;,.fq AT ST. GEORGE"S HANOVI R SQUARE.3 g ' And yet you fetch the child home.! Misguided young man I H Do you expect me to believe such a story as this?" ' "I expect you to believe the truth. Don't stare at me in that uncomfortable way, Rosanna, as if you were the Gorgon's . head. If you'll take the child; I'll shut the door, and tell you '^ the whole story. I don't know what to do with it, and here, it's waking up." Miss Mason took the baby. Even Achilles had a vulnera- / ; ble spot somewhere in his heel, and Miss Mason hiad one in6 . her heart; a child always found its way there at once. :She . . , took it with wonderful tenderness, and removed, the'shawl i altogether, a real India shawl, she saw to her great amaze. - The little ofe opened its eyes-two big blue eyes, ald looked with a baby stare of wonder up in her face. It was the pret- tiest little thing conceivable-a child of a year and a half or more, with little chiselled features, a rose-bud mouth, and . beautiful blue eyes, crystal clear. A baby girl with dainty embroidered underclothing, a little blue-silk dress, the hue,of her eyes, and a gold chain and locket round her neck. Curi- :" osity overcame every other feeling, even virtuous maiden in- o u; dignation, in the breast of Miss Rosanna. ",For Heavel's sake, Duke, what does it' mean, and who is - (I5 this child?" - "That's more than I know. I don't know her name, nor . , her age, any more than the dead. All I do know I'll tell yo u now. But first you may keep those things." He drew forl the pocket-book. "There's 'a hundred pounds hered i I , -: her mother gave me, and here's a ring, also given me by hel . mother. Now don't look like that, Rosanna! Miss Lyndith's a great lady, whose very flunkies, I dare say, would look down on me." ' ";- "Mis Lyndith I I thought you were speaking of this child's . mother, Duke?"Rosanna said, in a spectral voice. "So I am. If there's anything wrong it's not my fault. It's a very queer affair from first to last, and much more like one of the five-act dramas at the Britannia than the events of real life." And then while the little one lay in Miss Mason's arms, and gazed about her with solemn, baby eyes, Duke went bacik to ' the 25th of March, and told the story of that night, all he had seen, all he had heard. This was the cause of his dreaminess, his absence of mind, the change she had noticed in. hinm. Then he produced the note of-the previous afternooiandl, page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 AT ST. aGEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUAREI. gave it to her to read, and related all that had befallen him M from three o'clock until now. i His sister listened breathlessly. She had never read a novel, nor witnessed a play in her life. She had never been in . love, she had no data to fall back upon, that might help her to realize this story. It was like hearing Greek to her. All she K knew was that Miss Lyndith, be she never so rich, was a young woman, no better than she ought to be, and that this I child inl her lap was doubtless the offspring of --. But she looked down, and the angelic face broke into the beautiful smile of babyhood, and two little fat hands held themselves up. i "Polly want her bek-fas." The little silver voice went straight to that vulnerable spot . in Miss Mason's chain-mail armor. Perhaps if Nature had never meant her for a wife, it had meant her for a mother. A glow came actually into her tallow complexion, she raised the child, and pressed it to her vestal bosom. . "You're the prettiest little thing I ever saw in my life. My ittle pet, tell me your name." i' Polly," whispered the child. "Polly Want Dozy," :' "What?" "Dozy." . Rosanna looked helplessly at Duke. Duke sat astour ded to hear the midget speak at all. "Perhaps it's her -nurse," he suggested. "I think now, I heard Miss Lyndith call the name Rosie,' in the inner Toom." "Dozy, Dozy," repeated the child, impatiently. "Polly. want Dozy I Polly want her brek-fas. Polly want to get down." , "Polly, put the kettle' on," Duke murmured, abstractedly; "put Polly down, Rosanna. Let's see if she can walk." Polly could walk very well. In her blue-silk dress and flaxen curls, her gold chain and locket, her glimmering bronze boots, and silk stockings, Polly looked a thorough baby aris- tocrat firom top to toe. "Like a small duchess, by George!" said Duke, admiringly; "a fellow might make his fortune if he could paint her. She looks like Miss Lyndith, too, about the nose and chin, and "Duke," his sister said, sternly, "never let me hear the name of that young person from your lips again. We will keep the' child;" her hard face softened, as she looked at - the tiny beauty in blue silk; "but speak no more of a creature who k , ^ ^, AT ST. GEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUARE. 6t1 ' tells you this is her wedding-day, who is called Miss Lyndith, and who ownsothis child to be hers. She has reason to be ri thankful, poor babe, that she has been snatched from that sink ! : , of corruption, the fashionable world, at so early an age. .ty. The poor babe did not seem particularly thankful. . After calling for "Dozy" two or three timles in vain, PolD v "I!, opened her cherub, mouth, and set up such ., howl as made Rosanna's blood cirdle with new terror. "Duke,' she cried, aghast, "what will the neighbors say? We can't tell them this abominable story you have just told- me; and we must account for the child in some way. What is i ' to be done?" , "Tell a lie," said Duke; " there's no other way. We have a cousin down in the country, or up in the moon, who has gone toes up, and left. us his only child; as an heirloom. The cousin was a male cousin by the name of Mason. Her name's ,; Polly Mason. Polly, I don't cotton to that cognomen some- how. She looks like Louisa Victoria, or Eugenia, or Evan- geline. Polly's common for such a little gentlewoman as that. I'll call her Duchess-she looks one--I'm Duke--she's Duch-. ess, by George!" and Duke laughed boyishly at his own ' ;- conceit. It was such a relief to have the story told and Rosanna pacified. , , . ..i "Little Duchess-little Polly, come here, and give me a a kiss." But Polly had a temper, and flung herself away, and wailed dismally for "Dozy, and her bek-fas 1" "Go 'way," she cried, slapping Duke's proffered face. '"Yo's a big, ugly man, and , this is a ugly place, and she's a ugly thing, too. Oh, Polly wanits Dozy Polly wants her bed and milk I '" "Polly shall have bread and milk," Miss Mason said, sooth- ' ' ingly ; "only doAbe quiet, dear. I suppose we must fabricate a story for the neighbors, Duke; and may the Lord fogive us. One can't touch pitch without being defiled. We can't have to do with the wicked ones of the earth, without sharing in . their wickedness.": "And as I've been up all night, Rosanna, I'll turn in until breakfast time," Duke answered; "rout me out at half after,. eight. I am going to strike work this morning, and go to St. Jeorge's, Hanover Square, and mingle with the bloated aris- . i tocracy, and see this young lady's mamma married. -'Beg Your pardon, Rosanna, for' alluding to her--I won't do it 'agai,. What a dickens of a temper the little angel has "l * . . . page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] , .* , , ', . Duke went to bed; Rosanna pacified Polly, with some trouble, and more bread and milk. For once in a way, she was almost excited. A child to dress, and scold, and love, and a hundred pounds in her pocket. C A hundred pounds I She had never had quarter that sum at once before in her life. An illimitable vista of thethings to be had with a hundred pounds, opened before her. A new 'carpet for the, parlor, a painted stand for her flowers, a new Sunday suit for Duke, a new Bible, gilt-edge, morocco-bound for herself, a set of china tea-things, even a dress, perhaps, and iA a pair of new shoes. It would not purchase a farm down in the green heart of rustic England; and that was the life-long-' ing of Rosanna Mason, but it would do so much, so much in the city. And the ring-she was no judge of such things-but the ring nmust be worth fifty guineas, at least. Of course, they wouldn't sell that-it must be kept for the child--poctr little stray waif-and the locket as well. She called the little one over, and opened the locket. It held a short curl of auburn hair, and the picture of a young man-a handsome young, man-who looked up at her bright, smiling, . 'life-like, from the golden setting. A dim possibility, that life held things for the young and handsome, which she had -never known-beautiful, sweet, solemn things-stirred faintly in her forty-year-old heart. She closed the locket, and' kissed the child almost as gently as a fair young mother might have done. i 'Poor little thing " she said; "poor little, pretty baby i There has been a great wrong done somewhere, and you are to pay the penalty. Well, 'the Lord helping me, I will bring you up good and happy, and healthy, if I can." At half-past eight precisely, she summoned Duke to break- fast. The young man found his sister in better and gentler mood than he had ever known her in his life at this early hour. There are a great many people in this world-very good-natured people, too, in the main, who don't get their tempers properly aired, and on, before 'ten A M. It was the humanizing influence of the child, nodoubt. Polly had gorged herself like a small boa-constrictor, with ,bread and milk, and now, standing on one of the parlor chairs, looking out of the window at the busy scene in the mews oppo site, was wailing in a plaintive riino; key for "Dozy." She never called for her mamma, Rosanna noticed, as Inost babies do-always ' Dozy." Duke ate his breakfast, started off at a rapid' pace for the , ' \ * - . &^..'-^J-JVtf&\^.!^^^.i^.^ .. .. . ' aristocratic portals of St. George's, Hanover Square. There would be no end of a row, he thought, at the scene-room of AB i the Britannia in consequence of his non-appearance, and Tin; l'f sel & Spangle wyould fine him, very likely; but a man who is 1:; : the happy possessor of a hundred pounds can afford to defy' "t the minions of,the theatre. , '?' : "I'll see Miss L. turned off," thought Duke, elegantly, "and . : I ' then have at thee, Spangle; and cursed be he who first cries . : , hold! enough " . . It was high-noon when the scene-painter reached his destin- . ation-high-noon on a sunny April day, warm as mid-June. A stately procession of elegant private carriages filled the street- -half the turnouts in May Fair, it seemed to the simple denizen - of Half-Moon Terrace-and a mob of idlers on the lookout to see the quality. . Duke, in his haste, turning sharp round the angles of one of these white-favored vehicles, ran violently against a gentleman coming in equal haste from the opposite direction. "Beg your pardon, sir. Didn't mean anything offensive, ' , you know!"Duke said politely. "I, hope I haven't hurt you." The geitleman made no reply. He did not even seem to hear him. His eyes were fixed upon the church with a hungry; i strained intensity of gaze. ' "Queer customer 1"Mr. Mason thought. "That young man has evidently something on his mind. He is a gentleman, I take it, in spite of his rough shooting-jacket, and foreign hat. - He has something the look of a sailor." On the instant, the object' of his thoughts turned round ' with a suddenness quite disconcerting, and addressed him: .. "Can you t11 me who is being married here this morn- . ; ing?" - "Well, I shouldn't like to swear to it, but I think Sir Vane Charteris." . "Ah!", The stranger ground out that little word between his teeth in a way familiar to Mr. Mason on the boards of the Britannia. ' And to whom?" "Well, I think to Miss Olivia Lyndith. But as it is only supposition on my part, suppose we step in and ascertain?" "I will follow you," the stranger said, falling back a stop. "' For Heaven's sake, hurry!" Duke hastened in, a little surprised, but not nluch. "If this mysterious young man, with the auburn beard, and' - i/: S aA page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " A4T ST. GEORGE'S, HAVOVE R SQUARE. remarkably handsome face,' should be 'Robert' now," he thought: " and she should recognize him, and shrieking, 'It is HE!' fall swooning at his feet, it would be quite a lively scene for St. George's."' These sort of rencontres were very common on the stage, and Duke saw no reason why they should not be in everyday life as well. He led the way into the church. It was almost filled with elegantly dressed people. Two weddings were going oi, and the altar was quite a bewildering spectacle, witlh snow-white and azure-robed ladies, and solemnly black gentlemen. One of the pew-openers gave them a place near the door, as be- came their shabby coats and clumping boots. The stranger, as he removed his hat, Duke saw was a very fair man, despite the golden bronze of his skil and the fixed, gid pallor of his face, the wild intensity of his blue eyes, be- trayed that his interest in what was going on was no ordinary one. They're coining!"Duke said. "We've missed the wedding, after all. The thing's over.". He was right. The newly-wedded pairs had signed the reg- ister, and were sweeping down the aisle., The first bride was a Junoesque lady, with high color and modestly downcast eyes. They barely glanced at her. She and her train sailed by. The second bridal party came-the bride this time-there was no' doubt about it-the late Miss Olivia Lyndith. It is proper, of course, for brides to look pale at this supreme hour of their lives. This bride was pale beyond all ordinary pallor of bridehood. Her face was ghastly; her great dark eyes looked blankly straight before her, with a fixed, sightless stare; her very lips were ashen. The bridegroom, on the con- trary-a portly, undersized, florid, good-looking man-was flushed, excited, exultant. His restless black eyes moved about ceaselessly in a quick, nervous sort of way, and as he drew near, the stranger sitting beside Duke suddenly rose up. It was impossible not to look at him. The stony bride never looked, certainly; but the smiling bridegroom did; and the smile froze, and the florid color died on his face, and an awful look of fear transfixed it. A wordless cry appeared to rise and die upon his lips. He seemed for an instant rooted to the x- spot. Then the crowd, pushing on, bore him with it, and Mr. Mason was alone with his extraordinary companion. The stranger still stood in that rigid attitude, like a nan slowly pet. rifying. , t At ,e AT ST. GEORGE'S, HANO VER SQUARE. 65 "Gad!" thought the scene-painter, "I didn't think any hu. man being except the First Murderer 'of the Britannia could glare in that blood-freezing way. I suppose old Quill kiiows what he is about, after all, when he writes melodramas. This must be Robert. I'll ask him, by George!" .- Duke cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon," he said, "for a seemingly impertinent question, but might your name be Robert?" "Robert? Yes," the stranger answered mechanically. He did not seem surprised at the question; all feeling was stupefied within him. "Oh, it is I Perhaps, also, it may be Lisle!" - This time the young man in the rough jacket did turn round, and looked at his questioner..- "What do you know of Robert Lisle?" lie demanded. "Well, not much, only I have heard the name, and if you . were Mr. Lisle, I think I could understand better your very' evident interest in the lady who has just gone by." ' ;" The young man, whose name was Roberti laid his hand heav- ily on Duke's shoulder. "You know her then?" he exclaimed. "You!" "Well," replied Mr. Mason, " slightly. I have had the honor of doing her some little service in by-gone hours, and thoughl she didn't notice me this morning, we have been very friendly ^ and confidential, I assure you, in, times past. And if you had been Mr. Robert Lisle, and /ad called upon her yesterday, I ' dare say she would have been pleased to see you. Yesterday. she was Miss Lyndith, to-day she is Lady Charteris-all the : difference in the world, you understand." "Then she has spoken of me to you? She has not forgot-. ten-she-", He stopped, his voice husky; his eyes like live coals. "She has not forgotten-decidedly not-but at the samei time she hasn't spoken of you to me. You are Robert Lisle - then?" ' The stranger dropped his hand and turned abruptly away. My name is Hawksley," he said, coldly; " and I must see ther. Yes, by Heaven!"--he clenched his strong white teeth ' -" come what may!" . . "I should advise you to hurry, then," suggested Duke, po- litely. "They start for Italy in an hour's time, I have reason. to know, and if you miss her now it's all UP I Brides don't generally receive strange gentlemen on their wedding morning, Ii -tane eino page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] , Iz*1- --,,n'" .I-,-- - l--1f ' ' - ' * " AT ST. GEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUARE. but this seems an exceptional occasion, and she may see you., Shall I order you a cab and tell them where to drive?" said Duke, inwardly burning with curiosity. Mr. Hawksley nodded and slouched his hat down over his eyes. The last of the aristocratic vehicles had vanished long , before. Duke. led the way to the nearest cab-stand, and en- tered the hansom after the stranger. Mr. Hawksley, mlight order him out, but he was willing to risk it. Mr. Hawksley did not, however; he sat with his hat over his brow, his arms fold- ed, his lips compressed under that beautiful, tawny beard,- the whole way. "He looks like the Corsair by Medora's deathbed," reflect- ed Duke. "He has a very striking pair of blue eyes. So has little Polly. Now wouldn't it be rather queer if (Mr. Robert Hawksley, I think he said,) should be Polly's father?" The carriage containing Sir Vane Charteris and his bride reached the mansion 'of Mr. Geoffrey Lyndith, in Park Lane. The silence that reigned in Duke's hansom reigned also in this elegant coach and four.' The bride sat like some marble bride, 'as pale, as cold, almost as lifeless-the bridegroom sat with a leaden face of abject fear. "Did Lyndith see him, I wonder?" he thought. "He left the church before me. To be balked like this at the last hour, after waiting so long, after risking so much. At the last hour, when the game is all my own, to have him start up as if from the very ,earth. And I thought, we all thought, him dead two years ago." He let down the glass and loosened his neckerchief; some- thing in the" air seemed to choke him. He glanced at his bride, and a storm of rage at her, at himself, at Geoffrey Lyn- dith, at that apparition in the church, swept through him. "She looks more like a dead woman than a bride. ' What will every one say? Why can't she smile, or rouge, or do something except look like that-death in life? I scarcely know whether I love or hate her most-one day or other she shall pay for this. And to think there should have been a child, too, and she should spirit it away. She has the cunning of the old fiend when she likes." The carriage stopped.' He descended, and handed his bride out. The other carriages disgorged themselves. The instant he espied Mr. Lyndith, he motioned him apart. "Come into the library," he said. "I have a word to say to you." AT ST. GEORGES, HANOVER SQUARE. 67 Mr. Lyndith led the way instantly Something had happened. He read it in Sir Vane's leaden face. , "What is it?" he asked nervously.' "Quick, Charteris; they will wonder at our absence. Let's have it in a word." ". I will. ' Ruin!" i "What?" / "Robert Lisle is alive!--is here!-I saw him in the church!" , Charteris, are you mad?" "Not now I I Ywas when I believed your story of Lisle's death. I tell you the fellow is alive, and here. I saw him in church as we came out." ,P "But, great Heave , Charteris! this must be folly-mad- ness! The "Royal Charter" was burned to the water's edge, and every soul on board perished. And he sailed in the "Royal Charter." I tell you it is impossible!" ",And I tell you I saw Robert Lisle, face to face, as I left the ,l: church. She did not, or I think, in my soul, she would have dropped on the spot. He stood up, and gave me a look I'm " not likely to forget. Curse it, Lyndith," he cried, in a sudden fiury, "do you think I could mistake him of all men? Before we leave the house, Robert Lislewill be here." "Great Heaven!" "A," the baronet cried, bitterly, "you will believe it when . he comes. There will be a lovely scene-a beautiful sensation for Park Lane. We know what she will do, if she once catches sight of him. All the story, so long hidden, will come out, and for Geoffrey Lyndith it means simply ruin!" "He shall not see her. By God, he shall not -" ' , "Prevent the meeting if you can. He is a desperate man -if ever I saw desperation in human eyes. You will find' a different man from the Robert Lisle of two years ago. And . now, as you say, we will be missed. We must go up and smile and make speeches, and play our part, until the spectre appears : at the feast." He strode out of the library. Mr. Lyndith followed him. - There was no help for it-their absence was already commented on by their guests. They took their places at the table, all aglitter with silver and crystal; and everybody noted their al- tered looks. Such a ghastly bride, and such a strange pallor on the faces of their host and Sir Vane. Something was wrong. Everybody waited, deliciously expectant of more to come. What they waited for came. The breakfast was not quaiter over, when a knock thundered at the: grand entrance-an omin. page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68. WHFISTLED D O WN THE WIND." ous and authoritative knock, that thrilled through them all. Sit Vane was raising his glass to his lips, and again the smile seemed to freeze on his face, and the glass remained half poised ini his hand. A dead silence fell. In that silence the sound of an altercation in the hall reached them in that distant apartment. Mr. Lyndith rose abruptly-white and stern-made a hurried apology, and hastened from the room. A moment later and all was still. The disturbance was quelled; but Geoffrey Lyn- dith did not come back. What did it mean? Even the pale, cold bride lifted her heavy eyes and looked at the leaden face of the man she had married, and waited for what was to come next; CHAPTER VIII. "WHSTLED DOWN THE WIND." EOFFREY LYNDITH'S face was an index of his character-dark,' stern, resolute. While he had sat at the head of his table, smiling upon his guests, and eating and drinking mechanically, his ready brain had been at work. Plotting was work that subtle brain was well used to, and his mind, prompt in thought, quick in action, grappled at once with his danger. As Sir Vane Charteris had said, the coming of this man in all likelihood meant ruin- ruin for him, Geoffrey Lyndith, Esquire, of Lyndith Grange and Park Lane. He had thought the man dead for certain: he had driven him out of the country over two years. ago, and the' ship in which he had sailed had been burned in mid-ocean, and no soul left to return, and Robert Lisle was here on Olivia's wed- ding-day. Was Satan himself at work to balk him, he won- dered? He had got Robert Lisle in his power two years ago, by a cowardly and infamous plot, worthy the Newgate calen- dar; that power he still held over him, but who knew? His part in it might come to light after all, and what horrible shame and exposure that would involve! And at the first sound of his voice, at the first sight of his face, his niece would fly to his arms, to cling to him through misery and death, if need were. He was poor, and his niece was rich; her money would aid "WHSTLED DO WN THE WIND:" 69 , j his enemy. Ready money was the one great want of this man's life, and on the day he compelled his niece to marry him, Sit B I Vane Charteris had promised him a check for ten thousand pounds. Everything had gone on so well; he had been in a glow of triumphant exultation for a few weeks past, and now--- .i and'nowz His eyes glowed with a red, evil fire as lie descended the staircase, his teeth set behind his black beard. He could con . i front moral or physical danger with the brute courage of a tiger ' -, "A man always gains, be his case strong or weak," he was accustomed to say, " by facing the worst boldly; .weakness and vacillation always fail, as they deserve to do." It was his theory, and he acted upon it, in every crisis of life, and up to' this time had found it succeeded. His face looked as if carved i, in granite, as he descended to the entrance hall, for all tre'pi- datipn, surprise, anger, fear, or any other human emotion it dis- . played. .: ' A porter, a butler, two high footmen, all were formed in a ' . i body to oppose the enemy-a tall, young man in rough coat and broad-brimmed hat. ; "We can't do nothink with him, sir," the butler explained, in t an indignant voice. " which he says, like his impidence, as he will see you, Mr. Lynditl, sir." .: The two men looked each other full' in the face, one level,i powerful gaze. The younger. man took off'his hat. Goodd Heaven! what horrible reason Geoffrey Lyndith had to know , that handsome, sunburnt face. ' "I know this person, Edwards," Mr. Lyndith said, very -a quietly, "and will see him. Follow me, sir." ; He' led the way to the library, a stately apartment filled ;: with books and busts and bronzes, and into which the noon sunlight came, softly tempered through closed venetians. .: Geoffrey Lyndith turned the key in the door, crossed the room, ; 71 leaned his elbow upon the crimson-velvet mantel, and faced . his opponent. It was a duel to the death; and both knew it, no iu'arter to be asked or given--one, or the other must go down before they left that room. . 'The gentleman of the Old Guard, otherwise the master of the house, fired first. "This is an exceedingly unexpected honoi, Robert Lisle. ' ' ' You sailed two years and a half ago in the ship ' Royal Charter,' ' froim Southampton. The .' Royal Charter' was burned, and all. it! - on board perished. May I ask how you came to be alive?". ? /1,., k page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 "WH ISTLE D DOWN THLE WIND.- His tone was perfectly cool; his face admirably calm, his manner as nonchalantly gentlemanlike as though he had been remarking on the fineness of the weather, and the possibility of rain next week. Yet underTall that high-bred composure, what horrible fear he felt of this man! 1 "I did not sail in the 'Royal Charter,' "Robert' Lisle answered; "I took my passage-you saw my name on the passenger list, very likely. At the last hour I met with an accident--a very trifling one-which made me lose it. I sailed in the 'Western Star' the following week. Are you satisfied now that I am no wraith?" - "More than satisfied. I congratulate you upon your escape. Providence,"-the sneering emphasis was indescribable-:"Prov- idence watched over you, no doubt. You were wise to leave England the following week; it was certainly no place for you. 'Why have you been so very imprudent as to return to it?" The flashing eyes of the younger man met the hard, glitter ing black ones with a fiery light. "You ask that question, 'Geoffrey Lyndith?" "Assuredly, Mr. Lisle-why?" . "I have returned to claim my wife. To expose you and your villany to the world you delude; be the penalty to my- self what it may!" "When you use that sort of language, Mr. Lisle," the elder man said, with unruffled composure, "you have the advantage of me, of course. Persons in your class generally do resort to vituperation, I believe, when annoyed. You will oblige me by keeping to the language and bearing of a gentleman, if you can, while talking to me. You have returned to claim your wife! Ah! but there is no such person in England, that I aml aware of. Out there among the aborigines indeed--" Robert Lisle strode toward him, a dangerous light in his blue eyes. "Do you dare to sneer at me-you of all men alive? It is not safe;. I warn you, it is not safe 1" "Ah! I wish you would have the politeness to hear me out. If you mean Lady Charteris, she never was your wife-no, not for one poor hour. And if you have come to claim her, you have just come two years and three months too late. She did' remember you for two or three months after your very abrupt departure from England, I will own, and then 'came the liatural revulsion.. More than she had ever loved-pshaw I fancied she loved the yeoman's son, wikh his tall, shapely figure, tlnd "v "WHSTLED DOWN TME WIND." 71 good-looking face-she hated, abhorred him. Her mad folly, her shame-dawned upon her, in its true light. She saw what she had done, how she had fallen, how you had played upon her childish credulity, and dragged her down, and she hated-- let us have plain words, Robert Lisle-she hated your memory with an intensity I never dreamed she possessed. The haunt- ing fear lest her disgraceful secret should be known to the world nearly drove her mad. She buried herself alive down at lyndith (Grange for a time-she went abroad with me. Her secret so preyed upon her, that her health was affected. All this time her plighted husband, the man of her dying father's: choice, was by her side, ever tender, ever devoted-and she ^i learned to know the full value of that which she had flung away, and she loved him with a love, all the greater that it was tinged with remorse. Then came the news of the loss of the, ' '-.' 'Royal Charter,' and all on board. She was free I remember handing her the paper," Mr. Lyndith said, looking dreamily :: before him, like a man who beholds what he relates; "and ':i pointing out your name among the list of lost. For a moment ' :' she grew deadly pale. She had always a tender heart; poor child-and it seemed a horrible fate to be burned alive in the .?5 midst of the Atlantic. Then she threw the paper down, flung herself into my arms, and sobbed in wild hysterics: 'Oh, , :R i uncle,' she cried, 'is it wicked to be thankful to Heaven for ,: even an enemy's death? And I liked him once, and his fate ' has been an awful one, and yet my heart has no room for any- : ^I thing but thankfulness that I am free. Now the exposure of a divorce court will be unnecessary-an exposure which I think, ':- : would kill me. 'Thanik Heaven, without it He has given me S back my liberty!' And after this she rallied, and gave Sir.' - Vane her promise to become his wife." . * .i Robert Lisle listened to this lengthy speech, with a smile of cynical scorn on his handsome bearded mouth. "You were always an orator, Mr. Lyndith," he said, quietly; $. "spouting was ever your forte, I remember, and graceful fic - '* tion quite a striking trait in your character. I see time but we embellishes your talents. In plain English, I don't believe one word you have told me. Olivia Lyndith was not the sort of. i woman to whistle a lost lover down the wind, after any such fashion-- lmuch less'the husband she loved-Heaven I loved so ' dearly " His face softened; that of Geoffrey Lyndith grew black with suppressed fury. I I . I't . ' ' ' ' .. page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 "WHSTZLED DOWNf fTIEZ WIrND." "You are an insolent boor,' he said: "but you were always that. Two years' sojourn among the refuse of the world in trans-Atlantic cities would hardly be likely to improve you. I tell you Olivia Lyndith never was your wife.--never! You are alive, but no divorce will be needed. A girl of sixteen runs away to Scotland and goes through some sort of Scotch cere- mony, that may pass for marriage beyond the border., It will - not hold in England, as you very well know. A minor con.- tract a legal marriage, forsooth\! You are old enough, atleast, to know .better, my good fellow, The marriage was no mar- riage, the child illegitimate." He stopped short-he had betrayed himself in his miomen- tary burst of anger. 'The young man started, and a dark flush passed over his tanned face. "The child!" he said; " there was a child?" It was too late to draw back-the truth, neatly glossed over with falsehood, must be told. "Yes, a child, who died two days after its birth, thank Heaven. That makes no difference-Sir Vane knows. What was she but a child herself, poor little Livey, when you led her astray. Little wonder she abhors your very memory. And now,. to add one last outrage, you come here to cover her with shame, to rake up from the dead past the story she- be- lieves buried in oblivion, which she would die rather than have the world know. Robert Lisle, you are less than 'man to blight the life of an innocent girl." The face of the young man turned white, a cold moisture broke out upon his forehead. Was this trite, after all? Had Lord Montalien been right? Was he forgotten-abhorred? "I will see her, at least," he cried, hoarsely. ." From her lips alone will I take my death-warrant. If she tells me to go, I will obey her-yes, though I should hang myself within the 'hour. But I, know youl of old, Geoffrey Lyndith-a man with- out heart, or truth, or honor! Oh, don't think I am afraid of ,you! This is no time for fine words. Bring her here-let her tell me she hates me, let her bid me go, and I will go, and never trouble her' more in this world." Geoffrey Lyndith looked at iiin, the dull, red glow more visible than, ever in his evil, black eyes. '"Bring her here?" he repeated: "I would see her dead first! Do 'you know what you ask? 'She does not know whether her first marriage was binding or not-like all girls, she thinks it was. She believed you dead-she thought her. "WHS TLElD D OW'N TIlE WIND." 73 ' ' self a widow, and has married again-a man whom she loves, as in her wildest fancy she never cared for you. Do you knw what' the consequence of bringing her here wtill be? It will kill her, I think-just that! The. exposure, the scandal, the loss of the husband she loves, She would never hold up her head again. If you ever loved her, Robert Lisle, you should if spare her now." "Loved her.! Oh, Heaven!" -He flung himself into a chair, and buried his face in his hands. Was Geoffrey Lyndith not right? She had been proud and sensitive of old, and now the wife of two men, plarted from both, and the first a --. He shuddered through all his frame, as he sat there. . The elder man saw his advantage, and followed it up piti- lessly. . "You insist upon seeing Lady Charteris? Well, if you are determined upo!n it,'of course you can. Would you like to hear the result?., She is torn from the arms of her bridegroom -the story of her folly is given to the world-she is known as - l 'the wife of two men, until at least it is proven that the first was no marriage at all. If the blow does not kill her, she is in' time reunited to Sir Vane, but the scandal follows her her life . long. Supposing the first marriage to have been legal, even, i a divorce can be procured, and she is' still free. In any case, all you can do to Sir Vane is to separate him for a few months from his bride, to whoin finally (always supposing the exposure ' does not kill her) he will'be again united. And now for your- , I seif. In the hour you stand face to face with Olivia Charteris, you'shall be given over to the ;hands of the law. For her sake I spared you two years ago-for her sake you shall be branded ' : ;?, as the thief you are, then. Do you know what your sentence will be? One-and-twenty years, at least, on Norfolk Island.' You will have broken her heart, driven her into her grave, in/ all probability, and yourself in a felon's. cell. Now, ,choose! The way lies yonder. Go tiup t9 the room above, you will find her there, happy, by her bridegroom's side. Go up, I will not 'lift a finger to hinder you, and on the instantsyou set your foot ' 'upon the first stair, my servant shall summon the police.?, f ; Take your choice, 'Robert Lisle, and quickly." . He drew out his watch: in fifteen minutes more the- newly . * 'wedded pair were to start on the first stage of their wedding journey, The self-commaad of Geoffrey Lyndith was great, but his lips were gray'now, and drops of moisture stood on his b 4 'o . , h page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 AT HALF-MOON TERRACE. face. He touched the young man on the shoulder, cold with inward fear. "You have your choice," he said, "decide Go up and kill the woman you pretend to love, by the sight of you, con- demn yourself to a felon's cell for life, or go out of yonder door, and never return. Quick!" Robert Lisle arose, and turned to his torturer. To his dy- ing day, that ghastly. face haunted Geoffrey Lyndith. In that instant he felt as though he had stabbed him to the heart. "I have decided," he said hoarsely, ' and may the God above judge you for it! You are as much a murderer as thlough my blood reddened your hand. Her life shall never be blighted by me; ,her proud head brought low in shame through act of mine. She loved me once-aye, say as you will, liar and traitor!-as she never can love the man by whose side she will spend her life. I go, and as you have dealt by us both, Geoffrey Lyndith, may Heaven deal with you!" He raised his arm, and the man before him recoiled. He, was not superstitious, nor cowardly in any way, but his heart stood still for a second, and that cold dew shone in great drops on his face. "I have conquered," he thought, "and another-such victory would drive me mad!" He heard the door open and shut, and drew a great breath of unutterable relief. His enemy was gone ; he was saved! CHAPTER IX. AT HALF-MOON TERRACE. HE interview had occupied half 'an hour precisely; and during that half-hour, Sir Vane Charteris sat amid his wedding guests, and ate, and drank, and laughed, and was serenely courteous to all, while a horrible tdread filled llim. Except for that one instant, his face, never blanlhed, never altered. Does the old blood tell (the Charteris famnily hac been baronets since James I.), or are they only true to the traditions. and codes of their order? The AT HALF-MOON TERRACE. 75 French Marquis arranges his necktie, and bows his smiling adieux to his friends, on his way to the guillotine: Sir Vane sat at the head of his wedding breakfast, knowing that the bride he had so hardly won might be torn from him forever in'ten minutes,' and smiled, and jested, with an unmoved front. But, would Geoffrey Lyndith never come? He came at last-very, very pale, 'everybody noticed, but quite calm. He apologized with courtly fluency; for his'extra- ordinary absence at such a time, and resumed his place at his own table. Sir Vane never glanced at him after the first mo- inent, and the nuptial breakfast went on, and came to an end at last. At last! 'To the bridegroom it seemed an eternity ' since he had sat down. The bride went upstairs, to put on her travelling-dress-then for a few seconds Sir Vane got Mr. Lyn- dith alone in a recess of one of the windows. ' "He is gone?" he asked. "Gone, and foreyer," Geoffrey Lyndith answered. "I have conquered as I did' before. Of his own free will, he-has left the house, the country, and her forever. If quite conveni- ent, my dear nephew, I will take that promised check. - -The, bridegroom smiled grimly as he produced the check i already filled out, and handed it to his new relative. "I have seen Circassians sold in Stamboul, and quadroons in the West Iidies, but never Circassian nor quadroon were more surely bought and sold than your haughty little niece.' Well, out of such a-dot as hers, one can afford even the price :; of ten thousand pounds." Half an hour later, and the happy pair were off, and away on the first stage of their Italian honeymoon. Like a man struck blind and deaf, Robert Lisle passed out of the dim, green light of Mr. Lyndith's stately hall, to the broad, pitiless glare of the April noon. He staggered almost like a drunken man--a red-hot mist swam before his eyes-a surging rush of many waters sounded in his ears-he put his hand as if to ward off the blinding brightness of the noonday sun. He descended the steps, and passed on; he had forgotten the wait- ing hackney coach, and' his new-found acquaintance still sittinig thebe he remembered' nothing,ut t hat he had lost her-+f . his own choice, had left her unseen, and forever. He went on, still blind and deaf to the busy life around him. ' i "Now, then, my man! do you want to find -yourself under ;i my horses' feet? By Jove t he is there-l" page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 AT HALF-MOON TERRACE. A carriage pole struck him on the head, after he was down. The horses were checked immediately; the driver leaped out and drew the fallen man from beneath his phaeton. ' Such infernal stupidity! Is'the fellow blind? I called to him, but he wouldnz't get out of the way.. If he is killed'it's no fault of mine"-this to the gathering crowd--' I say, my man, I hope you're not very badly hurt. Gad! I'm afraid lie is I Does anybody here know him?" I' 1 know him," said a voice; and Duke Mason elbowed his way through the throng. m ' d '"I wish you swells would mind where you are going, and not knock the brains out of every peaceable citizen who tries to cross the 'street! Hawksley, my poor fellow! Good Heaven! he's dead!" . He did not look unlike it, truly. The blow, at least, had stunned him ; 'he lay quite white and rigid, his eyes 'closed, the blood trickling in a ghastly way from a cut near the temple. , "No, he's not," said the young military " swell" whose phae- ton had knocked him over; "but he came deucedly near it. He's only stunned. Take him to the nearest apothecary, and he'll , fetch him round. . I'm very sorry, and all that, you know; but the'fault wasn',t mine." Witlr which the cprnet got into his trap again, with rather an injured expression, anddrove off. Duke and another man lifted the rigid form of the prostrate, Hawksley, and carried it to the hansom. "Drive to the nearest chemist's," Duke'said to the cabman; and they rattled off, and stopped in five minutes in front of a drug-store. Mr.' Hawksley was borne in, the apothecary's skill set to work, and consciousness after'a while returned. But he only opened his eyes'to close them again with a faint moan of pain, and relapsed into a sort of stup6r. "There's something more to do here than the blow on the temple," the apothecary said, with a perplexed face. "I should think, now, he had had a slight touch of congestion of the brain; Better take him home at once, and nurse him for a few days. Perfect repose may restore him; but I'd call in a regular prac- titioner, if I were you." Take him home! Duke stared blankly at the man of drugs as he uttered the simple word. Take him home! here was his home? He bent over him, called him by name, and tried- to arouse him to consciousness. In vain; he lay in that dull stupor still, only turning his head restlessly and uttering that faint, dumb moan of pain. * ' ' 'i '^'I&.'/ - * AT HALF-MOON TERRACE, ' 7 "It's no use," the apothecary said; "he isn't able to answer or understand yet. He may in a few hours, though. Don't you know where he lives?" "Certainly not," said Duke; "I never saw him in my life until an hour and a half ago. hat shall I do. I couldn't leave himin your charge, now, I .sOtppse?" "No, you couldn't. You might get him admitted into a hos- pital, though, I dare say, if you set about it properly. And now you really must take him along, for it isn't a pleasant sight for customers-a man lying like dead here, you see. I suppose you've got a home of your own? As you seem to be a friend of his, I should think you might take him there." "Should you, indeed?" retorted Duke, in bitter sarcasm. "Suppose you had a sister there, with a temper no better than ' it ought to be, and ,sharpened by one trial already to-day! Here, you " to 'the coachman, " bear a hand here, and help me back with the poor fellow to the cab. . I can't desert him; I must take him home until he comes round, and the Lord only knows what Rosanna will say." He gave the order, "To Half-Moon Terrace!" and sat with feelings by no means to be envied, watching the streets fly by, * and the death-like face of the man before him, until' Blooms- bury was reached. "She likes nursing," Duke mused, darkly; "that's the onily hope I've got. I believe she'd behave like an angel to me if I only had galloping -decline, or asthma, or something of that sort, and was laid upon her hands half the time; but while my present powerful appetite and digestion remain, there's no hope , of anything like that. She'll 'nurse this young man, I have no doubt, like his mother or guardian angel, supposing him 'to have either, and as soon as he's better and well out of the house, won't I catch it I' That's all! 1'll not hear the last of it for ten years to come." Full of these gloomy reflections, Duke alighted. i/ It was a second time that day a hansom cab had started the ; , inhabitants of Half-Moon Terrace out of 'their normal state of repose. And this time female heads came to doors and win- i. dows, as the driver and Duke carried between them what ap- peared to these female eyes to be the stark form of a dead man. Rosanna herself flung open the door before, they had time ' to knock, with a face her brother did not choose to look at; and Robert Hawksley was borne into the little dingy parlor, 'then into the little dipgy bedroom adjoining, and laid on Duke's own neat, plump bed. page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 AT ZIAZLF-MOON TERRACE. The driver was paid and dismissed, and the tug of war very near. Duke had to look at his long-sufferiing sister now, and the expression of that stony face might have frightened a braver man. "Oh, Rosanna! don't scold. I could not help it, upon my sacred honor, I couldn't." Duke cried in a sort of frenzy; "if you'll just listen half a minute I'll tell you all about it," And thereupon, for the second time that day, Duke poured out the story of his adventure into the wondering ears of Rosanna. "Now, could I help it-could I? I put it to yourself, Ro- sanna. You wouldn't leave him to die likes a dog in the street, would you? And he'll come round in half an hour, or so, the apothecary'said he would; and go home himself where he be- longs. Poor. fellow! It seems a pity to see him like that, doesn't it, Rosanna?" Go right round to Mr. Jellup this very minute ; tell him it's a case of life and death, and don't stand chattering there like an overgrown magpie," wascRosanna's answer: " that man will die if something is not done for him shortly, and I'm not going to have any dead man on my hands. If Mr. Jellup isn't here in five minutes, Duke Mason"-" But Dtike did not wait foi the completion of the awful sen- tence-Rosanna's face completed it. He clapped on his hat, and rushed after his sister's favorite practitioner, arid Mr. Jellup was there in five minutes. l Whether Mr. Robert Hawksley lived or died, the scenery for the "Coral Caves of the Dismal Deep " must be painted, and Tinsel &.Spangle would be furious-more than furious, at Duke's losing the best part of the day. But Messrs. Tin- sel & Spangle were men, Duke could stand, the phials of their wrath, and give them as good as they' brought. Mr. Jellup and Rosanna would bring the young man round, if there was any earthly possibility' of it, and wondering a 'great deal whether or no he' might not be little Polly's papa, Mr. Mason went whistling to his work. It was close upon midnight when, the play over, he returned to Half-Moon Terrace. A dim light shone from the parlor windows; he let himself in with his night-key. Rosanna was watching then. That was nothing unusual. Rosanna could sit up to the small hours, and be up with the lark, or rather with the chimney-sweep upstairs, and feel none the worse for it. He opened the parlor door softly, and his sister met him with that ear-splitting "hish-h-h" most nurses affect. "Oh!" said Duke, " he's here still, is he"? And how's he , now, Rosanna?" : He looked into the little bedroom. Robert Lisle's hand- some face looked awfully bloodless in the dim, pale light, but he slept tranquilly as a child. "He'll be up to-morrow. I shall watch with him to-night, through to give him his medicine, and you can sleep -on the sofa, Duke. You'll find your supper in the kitchen." Rosanna was as mild as sweet milk. She might be old, she . might be grim, she had not the faintest touch of sentimentalism in her nature, but she was a woman still, and a man struck down in his strong manhood, and the pallid beauty of that bearded face, went straight to all that was womanly in her grim, old spinster heart. ] ,'She'll be a perfect angel as long as he's sick on her hands," thought Duke, pouring out his tea, with a sort of groan; "and the minute he's gone, down she'll come on me for ever fetch- ing him here. A maiden sister's a blessing, no doubt, but I think some benighted bachelors would be more satisfied if they did not have blessings." Duke stretched himself on the sofa, dressed and all, and * slept the sleep of the just. The sick man slept in his bed; Polly slept in hers off the, kitchen; and sleepless and upright. Rosanna sat and read her Book of Common .Prayer, as befitted , the solemnity of the hour and occasion; and the small. hours wore on, and another-day grew gray in the east. How much had happened in the last twenty-four hours I A sick man to nurse, and a little child to care for. She arose as she thought of Polly, and stole on tip-toe to the bedside. The. 'i baby slept, her, dimpled cheeks flushed, her rosebud lips parted -a lovely vision, as all sleeping children are. The' locket glimmered in the light of Rosanna's candle; with the child's tossing it had'come open, and the tiny curl of auburn hair had fallen out. Rosanna took it up, looked at it-looked at the pictured face-quietly at first-then with strange and sudden intensity. A change came over her own face; she unclasped the locket, took it and the little curl into the sick man's room. She laid the tress close to his hair; the two were the same ex- actly-color, texture, curl. She held the pictured face close; it was, a beardless face, and the sleeper's auburn beard had, hours ago, stirred some faint admiration within her, but the . , .1. . .- . . , . - I M ,. I Lceg- Irlr .#'dIZ*li ru-Udr(jSihlRji4 4;f)X1P*.7^lneq4-.1L page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] SO AT HALF-MOON TERRACE. two faces were the Same. The same beyond doubt. The tress in the locket had been cut from his head, the, picture was the picture of his face-younger and brighter than now. What did it all mean? Rosanna was quite pale as she fastened the locket again about the child's neck. The same thought crossed her mind that had perplexed Duke-was this man Polly's father? It^was Sunday morning. Duke had a holiday in spite of Tinsel & Spangle. It was his first thought as he sat up, yawn- ing," to find the little kitchen glorified by a burst of sunshine, the breakfast in a state of preparation, and Rosanna gazing down on him with a face of owl-like solemnity. Was lie in for it already?"Was the justice of the king about to fall?" "What is it, Rosanna?" he hazarded. 'i Duke," responded Rosanna, "I have something very strange to tell you. That child has a locket, with a man's pic- ture and lock of hair, round her neck. Duke, the picture and hair both belong to that sick man." "Rosanna!" "It is true. Look for yourself, if you like. It's my opinion he's the child's father!" ' "I think it's uncommonly likely," said Duke. "We'll try' and find out before he goes, Rosanna. If we're to bring up jistress Polly, it strikes me I should like to know her name at least." The brother and sister breakfasted together, Duke went out for his morning smoke, and Rosanna washed and dressed Polly, who demanded "Dozy" and her "bekfas," the instant she opened her big blue eyes. - a Miss Mason rarely missed church, but this was an excep- tional Sunday in her life-the recording angel must overlook a little swerving from the straight path for once. Polly's appe- titeappeased, she went to see after her patient, with some tea and toast, and found him lying broad awake, perfectly. calm, and conscious, gazing with dark, melancholy eyes at vacancy. How like those sapphire-blue eyes were to Polly's I It was Rosanna's first thought, as he turned them upon her. "Will you tell me where I -am, and what has happened?" he asked. "Have I been ill?" "For a day, yes, sir,' Rosanna answered respectfully. He spoke and looked like a gentleman, she could see. "You don't remember, I suppose, but you were knocked down by a carriage, yesterday, and my brother brought' you here. I will AT .HALF-MOON TERRACE. 8I bathe your face, if you please, and you will eat some breakfast, and then if you feel well you shall getup." His eyes thanked her. They were beautiful eyes, more and more like Polly's every second.. She bathed his hands and face, placed his tea and toast neatly before him, and watched him, with that profound satisfac- tion only nurses know, eat a few morsels and drink his tea. "My brother will be in directly, and will help you to dress," Rosanna said, kindly.' "-Here he is now." Duke sauntered in, smelling of the stables opposite, where he had been smoking. "Ah, good-morning, Mr. Hawksley," he said. "How do you find yourself to-day? Met with an accident yesterday, you know-might have been worse though. I'll be vally, certainly. Fetch the things along, Rosanna." Mr. Hawksley reeled a little when he first arose, but the weakness passed.' He dressed himself with. some assist- anc9 from Duke, and took the chair his, extempore valet placed for him among the roses and geraniums in the. sunny Mwindow. There was a bottle of wine in the house, kept for rare occa- sions, and' Rosanna gave her brother a large glass for her patient. "And if he'd like to smoke, Duke, I don't mind," she said, curtly; "nothing brings you men to themselves like a cigar." Duke stared in, silent wonder. Mr. Hawksley accepted both the wine and the cigar-very glad to get the latter, though it was execrable. In what depths of despair, in what agonies of unrequited love, won't men smoke and find them- selves consoled? ".You have been most kind, youand your sister," he said, quietly; "believe me, I am very grateful." And then he lit his cigar, and looked at the geraniums, and the men cleaning down the horses opposite, and' the sunlit, close, little street, and was silent again. "If I had known where your home and fiiends were," Duke said,. "I would have taken you there. But you were quite incapable of speech, you see, and I brought you heie." "I have no home,"' Mr. Hawksley answered, in the same quiet tone, "and no friends. I stand quite alone in England, in the world, indeed. I only reached London'yesterday morn- ing, after -two'years'-:sojourn in America. But I will not tres- pass upon your indness much longer, if I may further trouble page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 N AT HALF-MOON TERRACE. you to get Ine a cab and tell the man to taike me to some quiet hotel. I leave England again by the very next steamer." "In that case," said Duke, '" you shall remain where you are until to-iuorrow, at least. Our rooms are of the humblest," with rather a rueful look around, "but such as they are, they ,.re at your service, and you'll be better here than in a noisy, bustling inn, particularly as you are still rather weak." Robert Hawksley stretched out his hand to the scene-painter. He spoke not a word, there were'none ireeded between'them. So while the long, sunny Sunday wore away, the stranger within their gates sat by the window, and puffed his cigar-smoke into the rose-bushes and geraniums, and listened to the sweet ring- ing of the Sabbath bells, and watched the people who went by in the dingy little street below. He ate his dinner, 'when din- ner-time came, a very slender repast on his part, and then went back to the window, to his cigar, and his silence. Half a dpzen times little' Polly ran in and out of the room, artfully sent there by Rosanna, to attract his attentioW, but she signally failed. It is doubtful if he ever saw or heard her. A sort of awe came over Rosanna as she watched him. There were troubles in the world deeper and heavier, she be- gan to realize, than 'brothers who played fiddles late into the night, at godless play-houses, and painted scenes all day long. The peaceful afternoon passed, they drank tea together in the parlor. And the bells clashed out again for evening service, 'and the sun went redly down, and little Polly went to bed, very sleepy and cross, and still Mr. Hawksley sat silent and , smoking, while the silvery twilight fell, the stars came out' above, and the street lamps glimmered below. Duke sat at the other window, and watched him; he was dying of curiosity, but somehow he could not bring himself to intrude on this man's thoughts. It was the man himself who spoke first. The human heart" must find an outlet, even 'in the most stoical, and there is something in that hour between ' the lights peculiarly adapted to confidence. Sitting in that silver-gray twilight, his pale face seeming carved in. marble, ', the stranger whom Duke Mason had befriended told him his strangely eventful story. . I ,:-jl--- TOLD IN TIE TWILIGHT 83 CHAPTER X. TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. OU wonder, very likely," Mr. Hawksley began, with perfect' abruptness, " that I should take a journey all the way across from New York, 'and only remain three or four days before going back. You will wonder more, when I tell you why I came. I came to find my wife." "And-you have found her?" ventured Duke, half alarmed at his own temerity. "Found her, and lost her forever, in the same hour." "She is dead?"Duke had hazarded, again. "Yes," Hawksley said, in a strange compressed sort ot voice. "Dead-dead. Would you like to hear the history of a life that has been a failure? I feel in the mood to-night-for the first time in two years-for the last time perhaps in my life. A romantic story, my good fellow," with a sort of laugh: iof how the son of a yeoman won and lost 'a lady of high degree,' as the old song has it. A' yeoman son, educated far above his sphere, by an eccentric godfather well-to-do in life, and started to push his fortune at the age. of twenty-two, as secretary toa gentleman in the House of Commons. I fulfilled my duties, it appears, so satisfactorily,. and was willing to receive such very qlender wages, that my gentleman, who was neither rich nor generous, resolved to retain me as long as he could. And when the house dissolved, he took me with him to his country- seat down in the heart" of Staffordshire. I met her there. It is over three years ago now, but in this hour, and to the last of my life,'I will see her as' plainly as I saw her that first day, standing breast-high'amid the waves of barley, her hands full'of ! 'corn-flowers and poppies, her white dress waving in the sweet -. summer wind, a golden gray sky over her head, and the rosy : light of the July sunset in her face. She was only sixteen, and' home from scho6l for a two-months' 'vacation, an orphan heiress, with a face like 'one. of Raphael's Madonnas, and a heart '-a heart as constant, and as true, as the rest of her sex., An orphan heiress, engaged from her tenth year to a baronet, bound to marry him by her father's deathbed injunction--her very fortune dependent on it-if she refused, that fortune went to endow and build a hospital and library. . page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. I knew nothing of the engagement-it is doubtful wheth6r it would have mattered much if I had; still I think now it would have been more honest on her part, if she had told me. She didn't care for her affianced husband, of coui'se; he was much her senior-she rather disliked him, indeed, in those early days. And she loved me " He paused, the smoke from his cigar curled upward, amid Rosanna's lemon geraniums, and hid his pale face in the fading daylight.. "We fell in love with each other, after the most approved three-volume romance fashion; and .there were clandestine meetings, and vows of eternal constancy, under the moonlight arcades of the old court. Before a month had elapsed, we had made up our minds, and informed each other, we would assur- edly die if separated, and that separation was very near. She was going to spend a fortnight with a bosom friend in Scotland, before going- back to school, and after that nothing remained but a broken heart, and an early grave.. My poor little girl I HIow pretty she looked in the gloaming, as she clung toTly arm and implored me to save her. Salvation seemed very easy just then to me. She was going across to Scotland; what was there to hinder my following, and having our marriage per- formed there. Private marriage was easy in Scotland-lio license, no witness--a quiet ceremony some fine day, and lo !.. our happiness was secured for life. She was a little frightened at first, at this high-handed proposal, but she consented soon. We said good-by-if any of the household suspected our. secret, I think thle composure with which we parted must effec- tually have deceived them. She went to Scotland. Three days after I received a note from her. The next morning I went to ny employer, and asked a holiday. It was the first hypocrisy of my life, and I bungled over the. simple request, until he looked at me with wonder, but he granted it. I left the Court ostensibly to visit my godfather, in reality to travel ) to Scotland at full speed, " On the very day of my arrival, a pouring September day, our marriage took place. A superannuated old man, who had been a minister, but whose too strong proclivity for the whiskey bottle had caused. a suspension of his duties, performed the ceremony readily enough, for a few crowns. We were married according to Scotch law, without a single witness, but whether such a marriage contracted by a minor under'such circumstan- ces would hold in England; is an open question. i 'TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. 85 ,. "I wonder, Mr.; Mason, as you sit there, and listen to this " story, if you are not thinking me a villain. To win a young *:' girl's affections, to inveigle her into a clandestine marriage-- to expose her to poverty, to bring upon her the anger of hei friends, does seem like the deed of a scoundrel. But we loved each other, and twenty-two does not often stop to reason. She :: A" was impulsive, impassioned, romantic-I was madly in love, . . hot-headed, and with a brilliant career before me. Twenty-two always looks forward to a brilliant career, you know. We '. ,would -arry at all hazards-time enough to listen to common- . sense afterward. , "When her fortnight among her Scottish friends expired, she returned home. I followed her in two days after, and things went' , on in their old way-the moonlight walks, the secret meetings, ; the old vow s, and talk, and bliss-old as Eden-the sweeter always for being stolen., . "She pleaded so hard not to be sent back to school until -. after Christmas, that her uncle, indulgent in all minor matters, consented. Before Christmas we thought we would run away together, lEaving a letter for Uncle Geoffrey, telling all, implor- . ,:; ing pardon, and Uncle Geoffrey would foam, and irage, and ; A swear for a while, like the light-comedy father in the play, and ; the curtain would descend finally upon a beautiful tableau of reconciliation, we at his feet on our -knees, and he with his . ,hands outstretched, sobbing forth 'Bless you, my children, and - be happy.' ' The autumn passed-such a golden autumn We had been 'four months married, when" our well-guarded secret was ;discovered. My employer said nothing-he was a man rather. to act than to talk-but suddenly, without a word ofwarmnig, my wife was spirited away. I was sent early one day on a commission to the neighboring town; when I came back she ' was gone. That is more than two. and a half years ago. I have never seen her but' for one moment sincee, and that was yesterday." He paused again to light another cigar.... Duke/understood him perfectly. He was intensely inter. i ested in this story-far more interested than the narrator yet knew. "There was, no scene, the uncle met me even more blandly . polite than usual;. but I felt he knew allt Two days after, while I was still unresolved what course to pmrsue, he called me to his study--his valet was busy about the room, I remem- i. ' - ,"l page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 TOLD IN THE TWIZLGHT. ber, at the time-and locked up in his safe, in my presence, a quantity of unset jewels, and a sum of money in bank notes. It was an old-fashioned safe, with an ordinary lock, by no means - the kind in which to intrust three thousand pounds' worth of family diamonds, and six hundred pounds in money. He was dictating a letter to me while he did this, and I saw him put - the key of the safe in his pocket. "'cI am going to Swansborough this evening, Robert,' he said to me, in his most confidential way, 'and I shall probably not return for two days at least. In my absence the care of this safe is intrusted to you.' "I looked at him in surprise and distrust. "' Why leave such valuable jewels in the house? Why not deposit them in the Swansborough Bank?' "His answer was very careless, and quite ready. "' Because, immediately upon my return, they are to be taken. up to London, to be new set for Olivia. Her marriage with Sir Vane Charteris is to take place in two months, and they are to be set according to her fancy.' "He looked me straight in the eyes, with a dark, sinister smile, as he said this, and left the house.' It was the middle of the afternoon as he rode away. I recollect' his turning round, I -with the same smile on his dark face, as he rode down the ave- nue. "'Watch the safe, Robert,' he repeated; 'it will be as ,secure in your keeping as though in the strong' room of a 'bank.' "It was the middle of the afternoon. As the dusk of the bleak December evening wore on, the postman brought the mail. There was a note from her, dated London, begging me to come to her at once-to lose not a moment. There was the address of an inn, where I was to stay, and at such an hour ' she would come to me there. I never doubted that note. What was my employer, and his diamonds and his safe, to me then?. I ran to my room, packed my portmanteau, waited until the house was quiet, and that very night, witiout inform. ing any one, was on my way to London. I reached the inn late the next day. A great part of the journey was performed in stage-coaches. I waited for my wife, but she never came. I waited three days. At the end of that time there came, in ) stead of Olivia, her uncle and an officer of the law, armed with a search-warrant. "On the night of my departure, my employer, returning m e TOLD IN THE TWILIGhT. ' 8r rather unexpectedly, found the safe unlocked, the jewels and money gone. I was gone, too. Every inmate of the house was examined, but all proved their innocence. triumphantly, ] was the guilty party beyond a doubt, and I was followed. After' two days' search they found me. I and my luggage were - to be examined. i listened with astonishment and anger and / ' scorn! Examine! Let them examine as long as they pleased I - .They searched me-a degradation I submitted to, afire with rage! They examined my portmanteau. There, carefully sewed up in the lining, thejewels and money were found/ "My late. employer dismissed the detective. We were left , alone together,. He looked at me more in sorrow than in anger; and H sat benumbed. My guilt was' plain; there were the jewels and"money-the number of the notes all taken and found to correspond. What had I to say for myself that I . should not be handed over to the law? I had not a word. I. sat stunned, and listened to him while he talked. 'For my dead parents' sake-poor but honest people-for godfathers ' sake, he was willing to spare me. On condition that I left tkhe country at once and forever, I should not be given over to the :. fate I deserved--hard labor and penal servitude, most likely, for life. His niece, who had been greatly Shocked by the news, .;i , had begged him to hand me a note; he would give me half an' hour to decide and to read what she had to say. I tore open the note as he left me, still too stunned to utter a word.' "She knew all,' she wrote: she begged me for Heaven's sake not to provoke her uncle to prosecute. He was merci- less, if once aroused, and everything was against me. 'She be-, lieved in my innocence, would always love me, and be true to' i me, but I must fly now, and' without seeing her. She' dared . not see me, it would break her heart, it would kill her, if I were arrested and condemned, as I would surely be-hanged, . even, perhaps. She felt as though she were going mad-I ^ " must fly-- I must fly-if I had ever loved her, I would leave . England now.' ; "She gave me an address to which I might write to her, and , she would answer me, would fly to join me presently-an)y- thing, as that I did not suffer myself to be arrested for robbery now. "What could I do?, What would you. have done in such a . case? I knew there was a, vile conspiracy against me, of her uncle's making, but I never thought he forged those letters. To have been arrested would have been an end to all hope--, page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. ' my guilt seemed palpable as the light of noon. In a state of sullen fury I, accepted the scoundrel's terms-I left England, flying from the consequences of a crime I had never committed -aalmost maddened-with no hope, save in her truth and fi- delity and love. . "I began my new life in a thriving western village, rising fast to a populous town. For twelve months luck went steadily' against me; then the turn came. I and another started in a business that flourished; 'we made money-the object of my life was being fast accomplished-a sure and safe competence for the wife I had left behind me. I tell you here only the plain, Simple facts of my story-of my sufferings-of my de- spair, at times, of the hours when I was nearly maddened by failure, and by the loss of all man holds dear-I tell you noth- ing of wlhat sleepless nights and wretched days her silence and my suspense caused me. For she never wrote-no letter came from her to the address in London, to be forwarded to me. I wrote again and again to that address-the letters lay uncalled for. 'It was worse than useless to write to her to the Court; I knew her uncle well enough to be sure they would never reach her. There were times when I was ready to throw up everything, the tide in my affairs that was leadiig me slowly along to fortune, and rush baSk to England, and brave all, and claim her. But these moods passed. It would have been cruelty to seek her out until I had a home, however humble, however unlike that to which she had been accustomed, to bring her to, in this new, strange land. When at last common- sense, reason, prudence, all were forgotten, what do you think caused me to leave all that was becoming so precious to me, and rush madly back into the very danger from which I fled?" Duke made no reply. He was scarcely breathing, so vivid was his interest. Robert Hawksley did not seem to expect a reply-he was looking out at the darkening, lamp-lit street "A dream-neither more nor less! A dream brought me back to England. On the night of the twenty-third of March the dream came to me first. She stood at my bedside, pale and wild as I had never seen her, wringing her hands, and looking at me with sad, imploring eyes. I started up wide awake, to find the moonlight filling my room, and my dream over. The next night, at precisely the same hour, near midnight, I dreamt the same dream again. But it was on the following night that the strangest event of all happened, an event so strange that I have not ceased to wonder' at it yet, and no less prophetic than - strange. TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. 89 "On the night of the twenty-fifth of March, having been veiy busy all day, and suffering from headache I' retired early. I. did not fall asleep directly; I lay tossing about, and thinking of my dream, full of fears for her, and doubt for myself. I think it was nine o'clock, the house was very still, the room entirely darkened, for I had closed the shutters and curtains, and there was neither fire nor light. I was not asleep ; I atm perfectly aware of it; I was as broad awake as I am at this minute, and my eyes were open, when suddenly a picture shone before me through the darkness, and I saw every object more plainly than I see the lamps shining down there, in the twilight. $ I saw a room-long, low, dark, old-fashioned, lit by a wood- fire, on a broad hearth; I saw an open window. I could feel the cold night air upon my face, as I lay. An open piano ' stood near the window, through which I caught a glimpse of a stormy, moonlit sky, and tossing,; wind-blown trees. By the ^ window, looking out into the night, stood a girl, dressed in a dark red-silk robe, which trailed behind her, and glimmered, ; : like rubies in the fireshine. I could see the diamonds flashing , in her ears and on her hands, her yellow, unbound hair, 'her i large, dark eyes. It was Olivia'; pale and wan, as I had seen her in my dreams, her sweet face hopelessly sad, the large eyes hollow and haggard, I saw her stretch forth her hands with a ' passionate gesture, I heard her wild, despairing cry-- Oh, my ; .i. Robert-my Robert--come back .' - "And then it had all faded in the twinkling of an eye, and I , a was in my darkened chamber, sitting up in bed, with the cold L dews heavy on' my face. - - "Six days after, I took passage from New York to England.' ' Dream or vision, whatever it was, it possessed me like an qvil spirit. I left everything, and came back to search for my lost I wife." "And you found her?"Duke breathlessly cried. Robert Hawksley made no reply. His last cigar had been smoked out; he sat like a statue of black marble amid the ^ flowers. "You found her," Duke repeated, unable to contain him- ':) self, "a bride i You found her at the altar, another man's - wife!" Hawksley, the least excited of the two, turned and looked 1 at him. "How do you know that?" he asked. "I know more than you think," said Duke, still excited. " J': page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90o TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. "You found her married to Sir Vane Charteris. The lady you saw in your vision was Miss Olivia Lyndith; and on that very night-the twenty-fifth .of last month-- saw, and heard in reality what You saw and heard in that singular vision." Robert Hawksley was fully aroused now. He had told his story dreamily, as much to himself as to Duke. His tanned face flushed deep red as he rose. "What are you saying?" he said, hoarsely. "You would not dare to trifle with me-" "Sit down-sit down 1"Duke interrupted. "I'll tell you the whole affair. It's the strangest, the most wonderful thing that ever was heard of. Good gracious! what would Rosanna say?" * Then Duke Mason, with breathless volubility, quite unlike himself, poured into the listener's ear the story of the night of the twenty-fifth of March, every word he had heard, all he had seen, up to the moment of Geoffrey Lyndith's appearance at the waiting-room of the Speckhaven station. "And now!" he concluded, out of breath; and glowing with triumph, " what do you 'think of that? Are you satisfied now that she always loved you-always was true to you?" The darkness hid the marble pallor that had fallen once more on Hawksley's face. Only the tremor in his voice be- tokened what he felt, when he answered: "I' don't think I ever really doubted it-no, not when I saw her at the altar with that man, when I listened to her uncle's falsehoods. May Heaven's blight fall uppn him! My dar- ling! my darling!"His voice broke; he put one hand up over his 'face, even in the darkness. For a moment dead silence fell. Mr. Mason, not used to this sort of strong emotion off the stage of the Britannia, felt exceedingly uncomfortable. Hawksley broke the silence, and looked up. "I beg your pardon," he said quietly, in his usual tone; "will you tell me what argument her uncle used to induce her to yield, and go with him? You say she defied him at first, and was resolutely bent on going with you." "She was," Duke said. "It puzzled me for the time, but' I think I have hit on a solution of the mystery now. I did not hear what he said to her after the first moment, but there is a sequel to my story of that eventful night, which to my mind lights up everything." ' Ten Duke went backward, and told that little episode of' , I TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. 91 June .one year and nine months before, when Dr. Worth had been routed out in the rain,:to assist at "the birth of a baby- girl, at Lyndith Grange. Once more Robert Lisle started erect, and eager to listen. He reniembered the words Geoffrey Lyn. dith hadl let fall, of a child that had died on the day of its birth., "My opinion is," Duke said$ " that old fluke of an uncle ab- ducted the child, and kept it from her all along; and on that night, in the waiting-room, promised to give it up to her if she would consent, She thought you dead; she would sacrifice ' . anything, like, most mothers, for her baby, and she consented ' for its sake.. And," continued Duke, in a perfect burst of triumph, " that child is in the next room!" "In the next room?"Mr. Lisle could but just repeat. "In : the next room!"And once again Duke began-there seemed no end to the story-telling-and related the receipt of Olivia's note, and how singularly on her wedding morning she had given the child to his care. "There can be no doubt whatever about it," Duke sai4; "it : is the same child of Dr. Worth's tale, and your wife was the mysterious lady. She told me plainly the child was hers, and to make assurance doubly sure, it has a locket with your picture and hair round its neck. My sister recognized the likeness this morning, and spoke, to me about it. You saw the child half' a dozen times to-day-yours beyond the shadow of a doubt. Its paternity is written in its eyes." ' There was still another. pause. Duke got up and lit the : lamp-he avoided these blanks in the conversation. . i "I'll fetch Polly in, if you like-she calls herself Polly-that ' is, if she's not asleep." - But Polly was asleep; and not for a regiment of fathers would Rosanna have her disturbed. .She was reading Blairs. Sermons by a solitary dip in the kitchen, and looked about as' placable and yielding as a granite Medusa. "As Mr. Hawksley has waited so long, I dare say he can wait until morning," .was'her grim reply, as she went back to Blair's Sermons. . ' "Your sister is right," Mr. Hawksley 'said. He was whitee , as marble, and looked almost as cold. "I will see the child to-morrow to say good-by." i "Good-by Then you mean to leave England-to give tip all claim to-"- , "Lady, Charteris," he spoke the name quite calmly, quite page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. coldly, "is out of England by this time, on the first stage of her bridal tour to Italy. For her sake I once gave up name, character, and my native land; for her sake I make a' greater sacrifice now. I give up herself. Think, for a moment, of- all that is involved in my coming forward and claiming her. I break her heart, I blight her life, and in the moment we meet, we are torn.apart.', I to, stand my trial as a thief. I am inlo- cent; but I cannot prove it. It is the old struggle of might against right. As it is, she may learn to forget; happiness and peace may come to her. I cannot make her the talk of England. I can't drag the story of her girlish indiscretion / before the world. She will cease to think of me; and I--" He, clenched his hands, and' great drops stood on his pallid face. "May God keep me from a suicide's, cowardly end!" His folded arms lay on the table, his head fell forward upon them. So Duke Mason, with bated breath, and a great com- passion in his heart, left him. The morning came, gray and overcast. A London fog had set in, and a sky like brown paper frowned down on the smoky city. But little Polly, in her blue-silk dress, bronze boots, and her golden locket, and flaxea ringlets, looked sunshiny enough to light up the whole parish of Bloomsbury herself., The strange gentleman with the blue eyes so like her own, and tawny beard, took her in his arms, and looked into her .small face; and Polly, who flouted Duke and Rosanna as haughtily as though she had been Czarina of all the Russias, "took to him " in a way that was quite amazing. She kissed' his bearded lips, let hilm look at her locket, told him her name was Polly, and that " Dozy" was " all gone away." "I suppose her name is Mary," Duke suggested, " and she calls herself Polly for short." I "Her name is Paulina," Mr. Hawksley said.quietly. "I 'am quite certain of it. Pauline was the name of--of her maternal grandmother, and of her mother's twin sister-an old family name among the Lyndiths. This child's name is Paulina Lisle, I took my mother's name in America, and shall keep it. Let her grow up as Mason. keep her with you.always, unless her mother should claim her. Her right is always first, and most sacred." He kissed the child yearningly, Wistfully, and put her down. "Half an hour later, and he had left Half-Moon Terrace for- ever. TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. 93 The 'Land of Columbia' leaves again to-tnorrow," he said -' i^ to Duke; I shall return by her." ' They shook hands snd parted, with no more words, and the / !, ,scene-painter went to the Britannia. He was not sentimental, t nor imaginative in any way, but, all that day, and for many. i days, the pale face and dark eyes of Robert Hawksley haunted I.', him like a ghost. The "Land of Columbia' sailed'on Tues- . ' day morning. On Tuesday night there came a letter to Half- - . Moon Terrace, addressed to Duke. A check for five hundred . . pounds fell out when he opened it, and he read these lines: You spoke of wishing to save enough to purchase for yourself a home in Speclihaven, where you said there was a better opening for you than in London. It is my desire that you should do so at once, for my child's - sake. Once a year I will write to you, and you to me, telling me 'of her ,' progress and welfare. I go to make a ifortune for her ;'please God, my , daughter 'shall be an heiress, before whom those who scorn her now shall : yet bow down. Let her grow up as your own-in utter ignorance of her ' . : own story. If I live, I may one day return to England, and to her-if I '. die, be her father in my stead. , "ROBERT HAWKSLEY." ' And so the first' chapter in little Polly's strange history was read and ended. '\ ' ' " ' " " :, ' ,Z' i ' ' ' *.j , 'e { 4, w 1; bt 8 ' / . r '- 1 i. page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] ^ * ' ', * * , t ' .6 PART SECOND. CHAPTER I. AFTER FOURTEEN YEARS. r NND it will be the most splendid thing ever seen in Speck- haven, Rosanna! Figure to yourself yards and yards of Chinese lanterns sparkling through the trees, plash- ing fountains, and the divine music of Holmesdale's nilita"ry brass band! Fancy the long tables groaning-that's he word-groaning under the roast beef of old EnglAnd, and baming flagons of ale! ' Fancy flags flying, and bells ringing, and -verybody eating and drinking, and making merry, and your ittle Polly sharing the glories of the hour with the Honorable Guy Paget Earlscourt, second and favorite son of Lord Monta- ien, of Montalien Priory, Lincolnshire." "Polly!" "Well, I mean as the prettiest girl at the feast. And I'm luite determined to go, Rosanna, so iron my white muslin Iress, like a dear old love, and say no more about it." ' The spirited speaker of this oration stood in the middle of he floor, a tall slip of a girl, with a slim waist, sunburnt hands, ind a clear, ringing, sweet young voice. The prettiest sight ' n earth-a fair, joyous, healthy girl of sixteen. It was high-noon of a delicious June day, and she stood in a burst of sunshine that flooded the little parlor, that flashed 'in . n AFTER FOURTEEN YEARS. .9'5 . 9W her short auburn curls, and sparkled back from her joyous eyes. Fourteen years ago you saw her a lovely baby, and now 'she is an "English miss " of sixteen. And has the fair baby beauty fully - 1 kept its promise in the girl? Well, at first glance y6u might be in- . . i clined to say no. Crop the flowing locks of the Venus Anady-, omene, give her a, sunburnt complexion, and a smudge of dirt , -1: :' ,i on her nose, put her in a torn dress, and what becomes of your ' godsless but a good-looking young woman with a pair of fiine eyes? Pollylabors under all those disadvantages at present, '; after her nice dusty walk through the blazing noonday sun; but in spite of the smudge on her nose, it is a very pretty nose, perfect in shape and chiselling. The mouth may 'be a trifle. larger than a rose-bud, perhaps, but it is a handsome mouth, with that square cut at the corners, which makes a'mouth' at once resolute and sweet. She may be tanned; you may see a - ' few fieckles under her eyes, but oh, those eyes!-so blue, so' radiant, flashing with life, and health, and fun, and mischief, from morning till night You, neither, saw freckles nor tan, .? once their lustre flashed upon you. The auburn hair is short- :' 'cropped, and all curling round her head; and standing there in " the. June stinlight, she looks like a saucy boy, an audaciously ; saucy boy, ready for anything in the way of fun or frolic, fromn smoking a cigar to riding an unbroken colt round the paddock, without saddle or bridle. I Rosanna sits before her-Rosanna, whom old Time no more : i dare approach than any other. man. Fourteen years have left , :^ her absolutely and entirely unchanged-grim of aspect,. kindly ' 1 ^ of heart, sharp of tongue, and a model of all the Christian and domestic virtues, with only one weakness, and that-Pollyl i Polly, who has been her torment, her plague, her idol, any time those fourteen years; whom she worries ab6ut all day, and whose innumerable sins and ill-doings keep her awake all" night.; whom she scolds, and loves, and spoils, and to whose. i will she bows in as abject submission as her weak-minded brother himself., ' Polly's earliest recollection is of this pleasant eight-roomed house, in the suburbs of Speckhaven, with its little flower-gar- dei in front,: its kitchen-garden and paddock in the rear, its . spotless whiteness of wall, and brilliant green )of shutters. Of' London, and "Dozy," 'and her baby life, all memory is gone. i She believed the story of herself current in the town--a very simple story-that she is the orphan child of dear old Duke's ' cousin, dead and gone, and left as the sole legacy of the dy. ing man. page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 AFTER FOURTEEN YEARS. "And a precious legacy I have been!"Polly was wont to observe in parenthesis. 'Duke don't mind my enormities; indeed, if I murdered somebody, I don't think it would surprise or trouble him any, but that poor Rosanna! I've been bring- ing her gray hairs (she won't dye) with sorrow to Speckhaven Cemetery, every hour since she got me first." So Polly had shot up, tall, slim, pretty, healthy, and self- willed. She had persisted in catching every disorder incidental to childhood. She had made Rosanna sit up with her for weeks and weeks together, and she had torn more new dresses, and tumbled off more dizzy heights, than any other child on record. She liked her own' way, and insisted on having it, with an. energy worthy a better cause, and here she stood at sixteen the prettiest and wildest madcap in Lincolnshire-a handsome, blue-eyed brunette. With Robert Hawksley's five hundred pounds Duke had pur- chased this pretty cottage, just outside the large, busy'town of Speckhaven; and Rosanna's dream was realized of a cottage in the country, with flower-garden and poultry-yard. Once every year since then, Duke had received a letter, con- taining fifty pounds, and all of those fifty pounds were safely nestled in Speckhaven Bank for Polly. Mr. Hawksley had gone to California when first the gold fever broke out there, and last Christmas, when his letter came, was there still; but whether making that promised fortune or not, Duke had no means of knowing, and Mr. Hawksley never said. Polly knew him as her godfather, and was very much obliged to him indeed, for his handsome presents, which constituted such a nice little sum for her in the bank. She wrote, him a letter every year since she first learned to write; but beyond this of herself or him she knew nothing. Duke still persevered in his old voca- tion, and was scene-painter-in-chief to Speckhaven Lyceum, and portrait painter to the town. The fourteen years had glided on smoothly, uneventfully- from which one eventful month shone'out a bright oasis in'the desert. He walked to Lyndith Grange sometimes, in the gray of the summer evening, smoking his pipe, and thinking of that cold March night so long ago, when the romance of his life be- gan; Of the actors in that romance he had never seen any- thing, since'the day he had bicden farewell to Robert Hawksley. Of Mr. Geoffrey Lyndith, of Sir Vane and Lady Charteris, he never even heard the names. They might be all dead .and buried, so completely had they dropped out of his life. The AFTER FOURTEEN YEA S. 9 old Grange was utterly deserted now; the grim gateway would - yield to any hand that chose to lpush it, but few ever chose. ' Stray artists who thought it picturesque in its decay,. made sketches of it when the sun shone, but after nightfall neither artist nor peasant liked to linger inits gloomy precincts. Those visits, and an -occasional look at .his treasured opal ring, were all that remained to Duke, besides his bright Polly, to keep the memory of that past time alive, Dr. Worth still told the story : of that rainy night, When he had been carried off bodily to the Grange; but people were getting tired of hearing it, and were iore interested in the great house of the neighborhood,' Mon- : i talien Priory, where great goings-on were this time taking place. Lord Montalien's second son was just of age, on the third of : June, and there was to be a birthday celebration, and that'S. ;.f why Polly stands here flushed, and swinging her gypsy hat by its rosy ribbons, and talking with many gestures: and vast inter- est to Rosanna. "Dinner at sunset on the lawn, Rosanna," the girl wassay-, . : :i. 'ing, with her face 'all alight; "all the tenantry and all th , . tradespeople belonging to the Priory, and anybody the bailiff ,: and Mrs. Hamper, the housekeeper, like to invite beside.-' I ! have an invitation from both of 'em, and I'm going with Alice Warren. Then. after dinner and speech-making, you know, Ei and all that, there's to be a ball in the great entrance hal - among the old chaps in armor, and the antlers, and battle-axes, ?'. ( and boomerangs, and things, A ball, Rosanna-a real out-and. out BALL," repeated Polly, with owl-like. solemnity, and the, largest capitals. "But, Polly, you're not the tenantry, nor the tradespeople," ." retorted Rosanna, who, having not an atom of pride for herselfi . had yet heaps for Polly. "You're a young lady, and-" I ) "Fiddle 1 I beg your pardon, Rosanna, but 'nm not a yoting lady. I'm Duke Mason the scene-painter's poor relationh, ; brought up out of charity, and nothing else. - A young lady, to , - my mind, is a person like-like Miss Hautton, now, who never toasted a muffin, nor washed up the tea-things in her life. I ' know what I am--I wish 'I was a lady, but I'm not., Anid I'mi going tothe dinner and the ball, Rosanna, and as it's my first .; ball, I 'intend to dance with everybody who asls .me. If one ; ; can't be rich 'and aristocratic themselves, it's pleasant to m 'i ' '"-with people that are, and the ladies and gentlemen are ging. -to dance with the common herd, and be sociable for onde; in a way." .. .. ^:, ;1e,;.5 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] )8 . AlFTER FOURTEEN YEARS.- Polly's grammar might be obscure, but her meaning was clear. She was going to the, ball, and would like to see who would stop her.. "Well, Polly) if you insist-but mind, I don't like' it-" "Of course you don't, Rosanna; you never do like fun and frolic, and we're all worms, ain't we ?' But I'm going though, so please hurry up and iron my new muslin dress, for I pirom- ised to call for Alice at four o'clock. .And oh, Rosanna ! who knows ? perhaps Lord Montalien himself may ask me to dance." "Stuff and nonsense, child !. Lord Montalien is sixty-seven years old, and has the gout. A pretty figure an old sinner like that would cut, dancing with a chit like you. Have the quality' come down?" "Came this morning-Lord Montalien. ahd'his two sons, Mr. Francis and Mr., Guy, Sir Vane and Lady Charteris, and their daughter, Miss Maud Charteris, and a Miss Diana Haut- .ton. Sir Vane and Miss Diana are both second cousins of my lord." Polly pronounced those great names with an unction good to hear. "There's a Mr. Allan Fane, too, an artist, Mrs. Hamper told- me, who is said to be paying attention to the rich Miss Haut- ton, and all the gentry in the neighborhood are to be there to-day." "I should think," said Rosanna, getting the muslin irobe ready for the iron, "Lord Montalien would have made all this to-do when his eldest son and heir came of age, instead of this younger one." "Mr. Guy is his favorite-everybody knows it. Mrs. Ham- per told me the story. Lord Montalien," said Polly, intensely interested in her theme, " was married twice-I heard all about it in the peerage, up at the Priory. His first wife was rich, and plain, and ten years older than my lord, and a match of his father's choosing. Lord Montalien was in love with somebody, else, but he yielded to his father and' married the rich and ugly. Miss Hiuntingdon, and hated her like poison." "Polly !" "Well, I don't know, of course--I should think le did--I would in his place I But, fortunately,;she died two years.after her marriage, leaving Mr. Francis, and there was his lordship free again. Of course he immediately returned to his first love, an Italian lady, and oh, such a beauty! Her picture's up there in her boudoir, and Mr. Guy is her son. She died before a AFTER FOURTEEN YEARS. 99 great whi e too, and Lord Montalien has been a sort of Banm. fyld More Carew ever since, wandering about like Noah's dove, and finding no rest for the sole of his foot. - "Polly---don't be irreverent!" "And so you see, Rosanna," pursued Polly, paying no atten- tion, "it's clear enough how Mr. Guy comes to be his favorite. He looks like his mother, whowm his father loved, atd Mr. Francis looks like his mother, who n his father detested. That'S - logic, isn't it? Mr. Francis is very well-looking, you know, ' -i but Mr. Guy--oh, Rosanna! Mr. Guy's an ANGEL!" : .V With which Polly bounced away before' Rosanna's shocked ' 't; exclamation had time-to be uttered.. "Make my dress nice and stiff, Rosanna," she called) over , ' her shoulder; "don't spare starch, please. I must go anid tell ' , - Duke." , ' She ran up stairs, three at a time, like a 'oy, and whistling as she went, as few boys whistle. It was one of the dreadful habits she had contracted, of vhich Rosanna could never break ^ her, and' which half broke her heart. She impetudosly flung- open a door upstairs and flashed in upon Duke like the god:, dess or Hebe. ' . * .- It was a room big and bare, and altogether very much like / , i6 that other painting-room at 50 Half-Moon Terrace. The "' Bat , tle of Bannockburn" blazed here-in the sunshine, as it had dotine , - for the past sixteen years, a trifle 'dimmer and dustier perhaps' .i with time.. "- ' t Duke himself was unchanged-the same pale-buff hair--pales ; .. buff complexion, mild, blue eyes, and paint-daubed, shabby coat.' , To say that Duke idolized Polly-this bright, laughing, joyous fairy, who glorified their humdrum household by her radiant '. presence and ringing voice-would hardly be doing him justice.': He Was'her abject slave. ' She twisted himn round her little fin-, ' ger. She tyrannized over him, and tormented and admired him after the fashion of a spoiled younger sister. She' made -.' him teach her how to paint, to whistle, to row a boat, to fire a gun, to rough-ride the ponies, to play the fiddle, and to sing , comic songs. She had a beautiful voice, a clear, sweet, vibra- ting contralto, and knew everything from Kathleen Mavourtieen to Jiml Crow. She sang in a choir in one of the churchesi'aid ' : on one occasion, at a Speckhaven tea-party, only three i ohtlhs ' d before, had nearly sent Rosanna into fits by giving thelm *Tlhe - night before Larry was stretched" when' solicited for a song . :. The audience, who had expected "Ever of Thee," or "Bieauti : I I. ' ', , ^ / - - ', :; .;d. ; **'- g' page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] OO1 AFTER FOURTEEN YEARS. fill Star," sat spell-bound for an instant, and tlen followed in the roar which Duke led. Everything Polly did, or said, or thought, was good and admirable in Mr. Mason's sight. "Have you heard the news, Duke?" the young lady de. manded; " about the dinner at the Priory, I mean?" ' "Yes," Mr. Mason placidly answered, he had heard some- thing about it; but hadn't paid much attention. Lords and ' ,t ladies and their jinketing didn't greatly trouble his repose. "Well, I'm going, Duke; and as it is my frst ball, I should think you might take a little interest in it, and not go on paint- ing there in that unfeeling way." "A person may paint and not be unfeeling. Don't. be un- reasonable, Polly! So you're going to make your,d6but, are you? What does Rosanna say?" "Rosanna doesn't believe in balls, and thinks dancing the high road to-"Polly pointed downward. "But she's ironing my dress to go, all the same." Duke. looked at her admiringly. "What a clever little thing you are, Polly. I wish I could manage her like that. They say the Iron Duke was. a courage- ous man," the scene-painter said, rather irrelevantly. "I think he and Rosanna must have been made for each other, and that he missed her somehow. And, so you are going to the ball,. Polly? Have the great folks all come down, then?" "Yes, all; Lord Montalien and his sons; Mr. Allan Fane, Miss Diana Hautton, and Sir Vane and Lady Charteris, and ;their daughter, Miss Maud." Duke Mason was very carefully putting a streak of purple into the lorizon of his sketchl, but the brush suddenly dropped from his fingers and spoiled the opal-gray sky, in an unsightly blot. "Sir Vane and Lady Charteris!" lie repeated the names, looking at her blankly; "Sir Vane and Lady Charteris" " 'For fourteen years he had not heard those names, and now. to hear thnh from her lips! "Certainly! 'Good gracious, how you stare, Duke . You . don't know Sir Vane and Lady Charteris, do you?" Mr. Mason drew a long breath and looked at his disfigured sketch. "There's an awkward accidenit, and I've spent all the morn- ing over this. No, I don't know Sir Vane and Lady Charteris, ' but the nawmes sound familiar, somehow. And they'll be at the ball, Polly? But of course you all will see noth'ng of then." AFTER FOUi0 EN YERS. 'O "Of course we, will, though," cried Miss Mason with spirit; , the' gentlemen are to dance with us. girls. Mrs. Hamper told. me so, and the ladies with Lord Montalien's tenants. They f": are going to be gracious and condescending, and mix with the * } common people for once. Oh tuke " the girl cried with sud- den passion, " why wasn't I born a lady, or why wasn't I born ..:}. in some land where the loor man is the equal of the rich man, t in spite of Fortune's caprices?" "'There is'no such country, Duchess."' ' ' I wish I had been bonri in, America," Polly went on, her blue eyes flashing; " there's equality there, where a newsboy at ten may be President at thirty-five-and the equal of Kings. But it's no use talking-I-1'm only Polly Mason, and I'll never be anything else." ' ,.- "Unless some poor fellow in a 'moinent of madness should ' one day marry you, Ducl}ess." Miss Mason looked up, the shadow clearing away, and her smile at its brightest. ' - , "Duke, suppose-it isn't likely, you know, of- course-that *one of these-young Egentlemen should fall in love with me. Jane .i Eyre wasn't prett and see how she married Mr. Rochester. Not that I think it. was any great thing to marry a blind, mid- dle-aged gentleman with only one hand, and homely as sins , Duke, that Guy Earlscourt is splendid--splendid. His picture hangs- in one of the drawing-rooms-such a picture, and Sucih ai drawing-room. He is handsomer than Lord Byron himself, ^ and I'm in love with him already. I say, Duke, you might call i for me after theatre-time--the ball won't break up until mid- night, By-by, when "m dressed I'll come in and you shall see how I look." , She ran out of the room, and dowh the stairs, and Duke was alone. The sunshine streamed on his spoiled picture, and he stood staring vacantly at it, his, brush poised, arid his thouglts ::i a hundred miles away. It had come at last then-what he had dreaded so often,' and Lady Charteris was alive, and here, and this very day would stand face to face with her daughter. She had never once written-no letter from her had ever reached Half-Moon Terrace, and perhaps she was heartless, and proud, and had lost all interest in the child she had givel to a stranger. Would she recognize Polly? she had her father's eyes and trick -1 of manner-would she recognize it? would the name strike ' her memory, or was the manl to whom she had confided her baby, daughter, forgotten too:? Would this\lmeeting of to-day end in l6lly's being taken from them or-" - / 2-- - " ': page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 AFTER FOURTEEN YEARS. The door opened, and Polly came in once more. She had been gone over an hour, while he sat there lost in painful thoughts. To lose "the Duchess!" Life held no misery so bitter as that for Dxlke. She came in dressed for ' the fete-very sinlply dressed in white muslin, a pink ribbon sash, a cluster of pink roses lighting up the pure whiteness, and her gold chain, and locket her sole ornament. So with her cur- ling, auburn hair, her starry, blue eyes, her bright, sparkling face, she stood in the sunlight, a charming vision. "Will I do, Duke?" Something rose in Duke's throat and nearly choked him. , Two willowy arms went round his neck in an instant. "Why, Duke! Dear old Duke, don't you want me to go? I never knew it-why didn't you say so? I'll take off these things, and sit here with you all the afternoon." He held the hands that would have flung the roses out of her belt. No, Duchess, go to the ball, and enjoy yourself-and God bless you, whatever happens. I'll call for you after theatre-time, and fetch you home." He opened the door for her, while she looked at him wonder- ingly, to let her pass out. "But, Duke, you're quite sure you'd just as lief I'd go? Rosanna objects, but then Rosanna says we're all worms, and objects to everything except eating a cold dinner,and going to church three times on Sunday. But if you would rather I stayed- , 4:I had rather you would go-haven't I said so? There! run away, Polly, I must get back to work." "Good-by, then," Polly said, and the white dress and the short yellow curls and pink roses vanished down the stairway, and. Duke went back to his work. To his work. He worked no more tat/ day. He sat holding his brush, and looking blankly at his spoiled canvas. Was his 'dull life again about, to be disturbed by the coming of this great lady? who was Polly's mother? how Would the meeting of this day end'?" The sun' was low in the west, when the door of the painting- rodm was flung open, and Rosanna, pale and excited, stood before him. "Duke," she gasped, "I never thought of it till this minute. I heard the name, and the truth never struck me. Lady Char- teris is at Montalien, and Polly, has gone there; and Duke I Lady Charteris is our Polly's mother!" t AT MONTALIEN PRIO IO CHAJPTER II. AT MONTALIEN PRIORY. '8. .m IT was precisely half-past three, by the parlor clock, when Miss Polly Mason started forth to enjoy herself. 1 9The white muslin dress had been starched to the proper 'degree of stiffness, herkid boots were quite new, .she { had brushed up her chain and locket until they flashed again, and altogether the young lady's state of mind can be described in two words-perfect beatitude, The high road was dusty, but the white muslin was short, and she skirted daintily along the narrow green fringe of grass by the roadside. The sun shone in the sky as blue as that of Italy, the grasshoppers chirped about her, and every person she passed gave the girl a smiling good-day, and an admiring glance. He would have been a churl, indeed, who could have helped admiring her-the fresh girlish face was so brightly pretty, so joyously happy, 'that it was a pleasure only to look at her.-. All her dreams were about to be realized-she was to behold in the actual flesh those splendid beings of that upper world, of whom she had read so often-splendid, brilliant, beautiful, - wicked beings, who peppered their conversation so copiously, with French phrases, who dwelt in halls of dazzling light, and. who lived in perpetual new silk dresses and diamonds. Thric . happy mortals for whom existence was one long round of shop- ping, dressing, dancing, driving, operas, theatres, court balls, 1 and presentations, who never darned woollen hose on long 1 winter evenings, nor washed greasy dinner dishes, nor fetched ^ butter and molasses from the grocer'sl She was to see them at last, as she had hitherto only seen them in books, and in hers . dreams. / 6 , Polly had read considerable-light literature chiefly, and a X great deal of poetry. She knew all about the Cprsair,' and Manfred, and the Giaour, and Lara and the a other gentlemell of that ilk-she could spout whole stanzas of "Childe Harold," ' and inflict copious extracts, of the "Revolt of Islam"n upon you if you would listen. She had cried her pretty blue eyes red as ferrets over the "Scottish Chiefs" and the "Chil dren of the Abbey," and "Fatherless Fanny," in her earlier years, and more lately over beautiful "Ethel Newcome," and page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 AT MONTALIEN PRIORY,- her-troubles. She was intensely romantic. Oh, to be the Lady Helen Mar, and to dress as a page, and seek out the' god-like hero in liis prison, to have him torn from her arms and break his noble heart upon the scaffold, and then in a fev days .- after to break hers, promiscuous, as Mrs. Gamp would say, upo'n his coffin. ]Tat would be bliss! But she was only Polly Mason, whlom the grocer's clerk left old and valued custo- mers to wait upon, and whom the haberdasher's young man saw . home fromn singing school; and the Sir William Wallaces and Lord Mortimers were not for her. Polly had read other, things than novels; she had astonished her teachers by her aptitude for mastering mathematics. She liked history, and was well up in all' the sugar plums-a Joan of Are, a Charlotte Corday, a Walter Raleigh, a beautiful be- headed Scottish Queen, a Merry Mon4rch, a Marie Antoinette. The little French dancing-master of Speckhaven, who hal taught her' to dance like a fairy, had als6 taught her to speak French. She could play the violin beautifully, though sle did not know one note on the piano from another, and she had painted in her way ever since she could hold a brush. She was a very clever little girl altogether, and as self-possessed as any duchess in the land, and life was opening on a new page for her to-day, and her heart was throbbing with expectant rapture. Montalien Priory was just three miles distant from their cot- tage; its great boundary wall began almost where their little garden ended. A vast and noble park spread along all the way to the right-to the left little cottages, standing in pretty trim gardens. One of these, close to the great entrance gates, Polly en- tered. Dozens of people in their Sunday best, witl happy faces, were making for the Priory. "Alice! Alice!"Polly called as she went up the little gar- den path, ' are you ready?" '"Yes, Polly," a voice from an, op en window answered, "wait a moment until I find my parasol." It was the cottage of Mathew Warren, the bailiff, and Mathew * Warren's only daughter was Miss Mason's chosen friend and confidante. She came out of the vine-wreathed doorway now- pretty Alice Warren, two years Polly's senior, resplendent in aPDle-green muslin,' and cherry ribbons in her rich brown hair. T'here were people who called Alice Warren the prettiest girl in Speckhaven, far prettier than Polly, who at this transition age was a trifle too thin, and pale, for certain tastes. Alice was ^ I , *q ,i , . AT MONTALIEN PRIORY. i0d your very ideal of a rustic beauty-plump-rosy-dimpled-a skin milk white and rose pink-white teeth, light-blue eyes, and abundant, nut-brown tresses. c,. '$ '"How nice your white muslin makes up!"Miss Warren re. marked, with an admiring glance. "Rosanna's such a laun.- dress. Oh Polly!" with a sudden change of -tone, "I've got d , .. such a secret to tell you! Guess who came home with me from Speckhaven last night?" "Peter Jenkins," Polly hazarded. Peter Jenkins was a miller, and a very worthy young man, who had been "keeping company" with Miss Warren during the past twelve months. "Peter Jenkins!" retorted the .bailiffs pretty daughter, with what, in a heroine, would have been a tone of ineffable scorn. . "'No, indeed! Polly, you'll never tell, now willyou?" Polly protested. , "Well, then, it was Mr. Francis Earlscourt, the Honorabdle Francis Earlscourt!" said Miss Warren, 'her whole face 6one ' glow of triuriph, "Alice! Mr. Francis! But I thought they only came . down this morning.'" "He came last night, and it was almost dark, you know, '. Polly; starlight, aid that, and I was all alone,'and he came up " to me and spoke, and I knew him at once, and he remembered me too, though he hasn't seen me for four years. And, Polly, ; he offered me his arm, and j was afraid to refuse, and afraid to i take it, and he talked all the way, and I declare I hadn't a 1 word to say." ' , ' What did he talk about? Did he talk like Clive Newcote :- or Ivanhoe, and oh, 'Alice, is he handsome?" "I don't know what he talked about--my neart was in my - mouth, I tell you, Polly. He said it was a beautiful evening, and that he liked the country, and he told me I had grown tall ' and-and prettier than ever," said Alice, blushing. "And I . think him handsome; he's tall and thin, and wears a mustache; and has the softest voice and hands; and-" "Head, perhaps!" said Polly irreverently. "I wish I had been in your place, I'd have talked to him, and if my heart got -, 'into my mouth, I'd' have swallowed it! You'll introduce hini to ,me, won't you, Alice? I should like him to ask me to dance." ' "Oh. I'm sure I don't know," responded Alice, with a sud. den cooling of manner, and a sudden recollection that some people thought Polly Mason quite as good-looking as herself '. . . . . j ' j page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 100 AT r'ONT'ALIE PRIOR Y. "I siouldn't like to make so free as that, you know. Its all very well if they take notice of us, but it wouldn't do for us to force ourselves upon them. He asked, me, if I wouldn't give hinm as many dances as he wanted to-night; and Polly, do 'you know, he said he wouldn't be satisfied unless he 'got every one. And then, he gave me a look-such a look!" ' "I wonder what Peter will say?" suggested Polly, malici- oitsly, and a trifle jealous, as young ladies will be of their best friends on some occasions; "he has given you looks' before now, too, hasn't he? There! don't be vexed, Alice, I hope he'll dance with you the whole night long. I only pray I shan't have to sit out many-- should ,die of vexation if that Eliza ,Long is asked and Pm left."/ They were entering under the great stone arch by this time, with its escutcheon-two mailed hands clasped, and the motto, "Semper Fidelis." This Norman arch, and one part of the Priory, was old as the Conquest itself-erected by the hands of Norman masons. An avenue a mile long led to the Priory, -a lofty and noble mansion, gray and ivy-grown, quaint and picturesque. Tall twisted chimneys reared up against the June sky, its painted windows' blazed in the sun, its pointed gables,' its lofty turrets, where a huge bell swung, and around which 'the ivy, many and many a century old, had clung until its girth was pretty nearly that of an oak-tree. Velvety glades, stone terraces, Where peacocks strutted in the sun, long, leafy arcades, where cool green, darkness ever reigned, and glimpses, as they drew near the house, of a Norman, porch, where wood- bine and dog-roses clustered, and an open d6or, revealing a hall with armor on the walls, skins of Canadian wolves, of Polar bears, and African lions, on the polished oak floor. A noble hall, with a grained roof, and grand staircase, up which you might drive a coach and fdur. ",How beautiful it all is i"Polly cried. "How splendid I How grand! Think how for centuries and centuries it has descended from father to son, all brave warriors, great states- men, noble orators. Andwe .have n6ver had a grandfather! How glorious life must be in the world these people live in 1"I But Alice was not listening to this outhurst--her eyes were wandering in search of some one-some one whom she did not see. It was a pretty sight, too, and well worth 'looking at. The noble Priory, the sunlit glades, smooth and trim as a lawn;, and shadowed 'by magnificent oaks and beeches, 'and gathered there nearly three hundred persons, men, women, and children, AT MfONtA4LIkAVPRIOR Y. t07 tenantry, farm laborers, servants and tradespeople, with their wives, sweethearts,- and children. ,And over all waving' trees, and sunny, serene sky. ' , -' ' . ' "Look i look,' Polly '!" exclaimed Alice, breathlessly; "there come the gentlefolks now." Polly lifted her' dreamy eyes, Something in the golden beauty of the scene stirred her heart with a feeling akin to pain. She looked up at the terrace to which her friend pointed, land. saw a group of ladies and gentlemen looking down at the ani- mated scene below. "Oh; Polly!" breathlessly; "I wonder if he will see us! Look I he is coming down." A tall young man, in a high hat, dress coat, and white waist- coat, ran down the terrace stairs4 Two long tables were spread under the shadow' of the trees, laden with 'substantial 'viands, -and at the head of one of these he took his place. A moment later, and a second young man separated himself from that group on the terrace, and descended the stairs, and took his place at the head of the second table. "It's Mr. Guy," whispered Alice. "Shall we go 'oVeri Polly? They- -he' hasn't seen us." Polly looked at Guy Earlscourt as he came down through the blaze of sunshine, and for years and'years after the splendid image she saw then haunted her with remorseful pain., She' saw the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life-youth; rather, for was not this his twenty-first birthday? He was tall' like his brother-like his brother, he wore a mustache,' as be- ' camne a newly-fledged guardsman, and a certain air, as he'. moved, struck you as similar, Beyond that there was no te,' semblance. Francis Earlscourt was fair, with pale-gray eyes, and light-brown hair,'full, rather large mouth, and .a pale, re- .treating. forehead. Guy Earlscourt still wore his loose velvet "i morning coat-perhaps he knew nothing could harmonize better with the Rembrandt tints of his clear olive complexion, +Y and large, lazy brown eyes-eyes that had a golden light and j a dreamy smile in them. A straw hat was' thrown carelessly on his black curls, a slender chain of yellow' gold glimmered * - across his waistcoat, and Polly clasped her hands as she looked. "'How handsome! How handsome " she said, "Hafnd- "j somer even than the picture. in the crimson drawing-room. Alice, there's no comparing them---Mr. Guy is a thousand. times the handsomer of the two." "Tastes jiffer," Alice said; "I don't' think s6;o;l" s ,.s fither-shail we go and get a place,?" i- page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] I Io8 AT MONT4LIEN PRIORY. "Oh, Mr. Warren, tell us first who are the ladies up on the terrace? I know who they are, of course, but I don't know which is which. That little girl is Miss Maud Charteris, I suppose?" "The little girl in the pink frock is Miss Maud Charteris," said the bailiff, coming up, "' and that small, dark lady, with the, fair hair and black dress, is her mamma. 'The tall, thin young lady is Miss Diana Hautton, the gentleman beside her is Mr. Allan Fane, the short, red-faced, stout gentleman with blacks whiskers is Sir Vane Charteris-and the tall, elderly gentleman with white hair is my lord himself.. Now, you girls, if you want to get a seat, come along." He led them, to his daughter's intense delight, to the table at which Francis Earlscourt presided. That gentleman's face lighted into a smile of pleased recognition at sight of Alice's smiles and blushes. "'Here, Warren, where are you going? Miss Alice, I have been looking for you, in vain the last half-hour." ("That's a story to begin with," thought Polly.) "Here's a seat--I insist upon it-you shall sit here and help me do the honors." He made a place for her beside him, looking almost as ad- miringly at her companion. But there was no room for Polly, who declared she hadn't come to eat and drink, and wasn't hungry, and would wait. The bailiff left her; he had a thou- sand things to do, and Miss Mason, leaning against a huge chestnut-tree at some distance, regarded the people, on the terrace with longing, dreamy eyes. .She did not know what a pretty picture she made standing there, the slanting sunlight on her face and short golden hair, or that the group on the terrace saw her. What a pretty girl! what a very striking face!" exclaime. Mr. Allan Fane, the artist: "there under the chestnut, Miss HauttOn, by herself.' See, Lady Charteris, yonder. Like one of Greuze's blue-eyed, dimpled beauties." Mr. Allan Fane should havd known better, certainly, accus- tomed to society as he was, than to praise one woman ii the presence of another, and that other Miss Diana Hautton. But this was only a peasant-child-a pretty model, perhaps, nothing more. Miss Diana looked rather disdainfully. She was a tall, very thin, very high-bred young lady, with pale features, and an aristocratically aquiline nose-with quite a patrician hook, in- deed. She had three thousand a year in her own right, and K ^ . rf n ..Sto- - ^ i, . .... . i . v * i , - AT' MONTAIJEN PRIOR Y. 109 the best blood, in England in hef veins, but her hair was get- ting thin at the parting, and she Was not-well, she was not as young as she had been ten years ago, when first presented by her kinswoman, the Duchess of Clanronald. Ten years had gone by, and the Honorable Diana was Miss Hautton still, and the attentions of Mr. Allan Fane had been decidedly marked lately, and now he stood here,'and his eyes lighted with the artist's fire as he looked at a wretched little peasant- girl as they never lighted while gazing on her. "You see her, Miss Hautton? Look at those delicate, perfectly chiselled features-look at the noble poise of that head-quite regal, by Jove! look at the exquisite curve of that . slender throat-look at that taper foot, curved foot, like an Andalusian's! And such blue eyes! I have seen their like in Italy sometimes, and nowhere else. Gad! what a model for Hebe she would make!" The man seldom got excited ; the artist sometimes suffered his feelings to carry him away. Miss Hautton raised her eye- glass, and shot a glance of cruel scorn- across at Polly,. "I see a dowdy, village-school girl, in a white frock, and hair cropped like a boy's. I confess I never could see god- desses in sunburnt, red-cheeked dairy-maids." Miss Hautton dropped her glass, and walked over to her cousin, Lord Montalien. Lord Montalien, with a few more crows'-feet under his eyes-a little grayer, a little ylore bored by life and people-otherwise unaltered since fourteen years ago, when he stood on the deck of the "Land of Columbia"," and talked to Robert Hawksley. Mr. Fane saw his mistake, and knew his duty was to follow a and appease the Honorable Diana. But the Hon. Diana was eight years his senior, and sallow of complexion, and ex- acting as to temper, and in spite of her blue blood, and her three thousand a year, apt to pall, sometimes on the frivolous mind of a beauty-worshipping painter of four-and-twenty. Standing on the terrace there, Mr. Fane looked and admired, and fell in love with Polly on the spot. A hand placed suddenly on his own awoke him from his trance--a cold hand' that made him, start, and looking up, he saw Lady Charteris. "Who is that girl?" she 'asked. * Fourteen years had done their work on Olivia, Lady Char- teris.' The dark face Duke Mason had thought so beautiful in, the flickering firelight that March night so long ago, was worn page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] 1 O A i' MONTALIEAt PRIORY. / , . and aged, as though she had suffered much in her tlirty-three years. She was fixedly pale, the large dark eyes looked almost unnaturally large in her small, colorless face, and the smiles that came and went were rare and cold as starlight on snow. Her summer dress of black grenadine, with gold leaves, height- ened her pallor now. "Lady Charteris looks like a person who has seen trouble," people were accustomed to say of her, and then wondered what the trouble could be. She did not love her husband, that was well tenough known, but what of that? Wives who don't love, their husbands are not so rare, and as long as there is no open scandal, nor the Divorce Court called into requisition, what does a little marital estrangement signify? Sir Vane and Lady Charteris, outwardly, were on the po. litest and most amiable terms, the baronet particularly, who on all public occasions was almost remarkably civil and attentive to'his cold, silent, self-contained, handsome wife. Had Lady Charteris forgotten?-had all, those years blotted out the memory of her childhood's romance-of the young hus- band she had loved and lost, of the child, his child, whom she had given to strangers? Her proud, white face, her cold, dark, eyes kept their secret well; but the light in those dark eyes was the fixed light of settled sorrow. She had been leaning idly against a rose-wreathed, pillar, her listless, melan- choly eyes,. gazing without interest on the busy scene below, when Allan Fane's words sent her glance wandering to the chestnut-tree. She saw a slender girl in white muslin, her profile turned toward her, and the sunshine gilding her face, and her heart that had lain like a stone for ,so many years, gave ofie sudden leap. That profile I that attitude! where had she seen them before? She knew even as she asked the qu-estion, and turned faint and sick for an instant. The next she started up, laid "her hand on the young artist's, and asked the question: "1 Who is that girl?" The girl moved on the moment; and her face was turned full toward them. The likeness that had struck on the heart of my lady like a blow vanished. The face she saw now bore no resemblance to that other face over which she believed the waves of the Atlantic to have swept for sixteen dreary years. "Who is that girl?" she repeated. Mr. Fane looked rather surprised; it was something very new for my lady to be much interested in anything. She was n I. A AT MONTLAEN . PRIORY. IIi interested now-her lips were apart-her eyes fixed, ntettly on the fair, childish face that shone like a star under th chest. nut. Mr. Fane did not know, would ascertain, if her ladyship felt the slightest interest in the matter. He was a languid young man, with a delicate pale face, and slender, white hands} whviter and softer a good'deal than, Polly's. Of course you don't know," Lady Charteris said, as if to herself. "Inquire? No, thanks; it is not worth while. It is a striking style of prettiness for a farmer's daughter-that is all." Her listless manner returned-her interest in the girl seemed to fade. Not so Mr. Fane's; he ran down the steps to inquire on his own account. "If I could get her to sit to me for my Rosamond," he thought, "Miss Hautton would do for Eleanor, It is a strik- ing style of beauty for a farmer's daughter, as her ladyship says. From what Arab chieftain did she derive that arched instep, under which water might flow? from what line of 'highly wed, highly fed, highly bred' aristocrats did she inherit that Greciani profile, and that imperial poise of the graceful head? If she had ten thousand a year, instead of the Hon. Diana, or half, or quarter that sum-shall I go up and address her; she seems quite alone?" Mr. Fane wasn't aware whether or no it were necessary to be introduced to this class of young persons; still he beckoned Mathew Warren over to him, and signified his gracious plea. sure. "I say, my good fellow, you're the bailiff, I believe, and know all these people, of course. Who's that pretty girl over there? Introduce -e." Mr. Allan Fane was a clever young many who had made his mark in the academy, ard he spoke with a languid drawl of high life, which sits so gracefully on strong young men, six feet high. He was the third son of John Fane, Merchant Tailors Bond Street, London, who was a son of-well I suppose the handsome artist must have had a grandfather in reality, but he certainly had none to speak of. The Honorable Diana Hautton wanted a husband, no doubt, and Allan Fane was good-looking, and elegant, beyond doubt, but if she had been aware' of this disgraceful fact, (of which We have informed the reader in confidence,) he would have been sent to the right about, within the hour. Diana Hautton, first cousin of a duchess, and a sister of a peer, marry the son of-a page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 AT MONTALIEN PRIOR Y. , merchant tailor! Why, there were dead-and-gone Hauttons in ' the great family vault who would have turned with horror in their graves at the desecration, He had taken his degree at Oxford-society received him and made much of him, for nis . last winter's picture had been a success, and not even Guy , i Earlscourt, his 'Damon just now, knew of the well-to-do tailor of Bond Street. Mr. Mathew Warren performed his part as, master of the cer- emonies, by saying with a grin: "Polly Mason, here be Mr. Fane a-wanting to be introduced to you." And Polly, looked around with a bright smile, And not the least in life abashed. Abashed! Wasn't Alice Warren, her. friend, and Eliza Long, ' her enemy, both looking at her! 'Wasn't Mr'. Francis Earls- court talking to one, and Mr. Guy, the hero of the hour, to the other. And one of these superior beings had taken the trouble to come all the way-down from the terrace to be 'introduced to her. It was a lovely afternoon, Mr. Fane informed her, and how nice it was to see so many people enjoying themselves so heartily. And' how was it Miss Mason had not dined, aid how lid she happen to be quite alone here? Miss Mason responded with perfect self-possession and can- dor. She didn't come for dinner at half-past four in the after- noon. She had had hers -at twelve, and she was' alone-well, waiting until the dancing began, and some one asked her. "Then you are disengaged! Miss Mason, will you honor me with the first quadrille " Honor him! Honor him / Polly looked to see if he were laughing at her, but Mr. Fane was quite in earnest. Yes, Miss Mason would be very much pleased to do so, thank you. "But I shall not be satisfied with the first quadrille-I am going to ask you to keep all the round dances for me? I know you dance like a fairy, Miss Mason. I can always tell. Do you know we were wondering wlio you could be up on the terrace-you look so different, so much superior, if you will par- doei my saying so, to the rest. Lady Charteris was quite inter- ested. She asked me if I knew who you were. If you will accept my arm, Miss Mason, we will take a turn under the beeches; it is pleasanter than standing here In the sun." Polly cast a bright, delighted glance 'up at .the lady on the terrace who deigned to ask about, her. And Lady Charteris AT MONTALIExN PRIORY. ...13 .. caught. that glance, and again the sharp pang of resemblance smote her to the heart. ' Oh! who was this girl? Could it be-?. Her face blanched to a gray, chalky pallor, a sudden wild thought crossed her brain. Could it be? She would be about the agg of this girl now-this girl so like-yet unlike the only man she had ever loved. Other eyes saw them as they paired off. Lord Mon- 'talien put up his glass.-Sir Vane Charteris glanced at Miss Hautton with a covert sneer, "Doosid pretty girl-eh, my lord? Fane's inflammable heart hias struck fire again. We'll see no more of hi'l for the rest of the afternoon." Diana, Hautton's proud eyes flashed. She sauntered past Lady Charteris with a tired air and a suppressed yawn., , " How stupid it is! Groups of peasants are very pretty in cabinet pictures, I la Watteau, but in real life-well I find it a ' bore. I shall go to my room and finish my novel.". . The first gay strains of the brass band reached Miss Haut- . ton's aristocratic ears as she sauntered up to her room, and her recreant lover was standing at the head of one of the quadrilles,. his rather listless countenance more animated than she had ever seen it. He wasn't in love, of course; he was only tempb ' ' rarily fascinated by a pretty face, but it was succh a pretty face . - and the sapphire eyes flashed, back the sunlight so joyously, and the girlish laugh rang out so clear and sweet, that something of ^ . her glad abandon of spirit smeded to infect him. And how she danced I The Hon. Diana freighted with her ' i l ten seasons' experience might have gone to school and learned ' of her. Little Mons. Duclos understood his business, and the p! grace was all inborn and the girl's own. She tossed back her ' short crop of boyish curls, she danced, she talked, she laughed, she flirted without knowing it, and felt as though she stood on air instead of velvet sward. What if Alice had Mr. Francis, and liza Mr. Guy, neither of them could dan'ce or talk half as well . as she could. This. was life, and she was in love with Mr. Allan Fane. She felt he was her destiny! Next to a hero, a ' poet, a William Wallace, or a Lord Byron, her dream had been . of an artist with ,long hair and melancholy eyes, and lo I here he was by her side, paying her compliments, and asking her to -sit to him for his fair Rosamond. "I say, Guy," Francis Earlscourt observed to his brother, with a laugh,'when the quadrille ended-the brothers left "their partners, and chanced to meet--" have you noticed the fierce. page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] t[ . , - . * \ ' C 114 AT MbNTALIRV PRIORY. flirtation Fane's got up with that little girl with the short hair?" t g "What little-.girl? Haven't noticed. As Sir Caliahan O'Brallaham observes, There's so much going on everywhere, there's no knowing what's going on anywhere.' I had a pretty girl myself, but she was tongue-tied, and lisped, and never opened her lips except to say yeth thir, and no thir, pleathe, through the whole dance." "Fane's partner seems to have enough to/say for herself. Hear her laugh now. Her name's Polly Mason,' poor child; but what's in a name. Still I don't' believe we would pity the late Mr. Romeo Montague quite so much if the lady who swal- lowed the poison had been Polly Capulet." Guy Earlscourt looked lazily. The nonchalance affected by Mr. Fane was real enough in him, and honestly inherited from his father. .His Italian mother had given him her splendid eyes, her black silken curls, and the dusk Southern beauty of his olive face. If she had given hiin her Southern fire and passion it all lay latent now, under the languid grace of his creed and his order. At. one-and-twenty this handsome, indo- lent young guardsman fancied he had outlived every phase of human emotion, love, jealousy, ambition, and that life held nothing worth living for, save prime Latakia, good cigars, a waltz with a pretty girl; and a well-made betting book. He looked with his habitual lazy indifference at his friend, and his friend's flirtee. "Ah, yaas, she is pretty; deuced pretty, too pretty, by Jove; for Fane to have things all his own way. I shall make him in- troduce me presently, and go in, and cut him out." "It was not a very elegant sentiment in expression, nor very fraternal to his Pythias, but Guy Earlscourt knew himself quite able to do it. He was the pet of London drawing-rooms, great ladies smiled on him for his fine eyes and his Rembrandt face, so like some old Italian picture, and fair young d6bu- tantes went down before him, during the season, like partridges in September before his fowling-piece. "All is fair in war," thought the young guardsman, strolling along with his eye on Polly, and not looking in the least like a human being in pursuit of anything. Mr. Fane left his partner on a rustic seat under a; tree, and went for an ice, and when he returned, five minutes after, there stood Guy Earlscourt leaning over the back of the chair, and Polly listening, and blushing, and smiling, with timid, downcast eyes, and cheeks flushed like the Junie roses in her sash. 5 tInt * AT MONTALIEN PRIORY. IIg Mr. Fane looked at Mr.. Earlscourt-Damon looked at Py- thias with an absolute' scowl. "What the deuce brings you here? You needn't trouble yourself to say it, Fane," observed Guy, with the Brummel non- chalance that sat so naturally on him; " your face says it quite plainly enough. Doesn't it, Miss Mason? Miss Mason and I are old friends, or ought to be, which amounts to,the same thing. She's been acquainted with my portrait for the past ten years, she tells me, and really, my dear fellow, you can't expect ' a ', to monopolize the belle of the occasion in this preposterous way. Miss Mason has promised me unlimited dances, and she is going to waltz with me in two minutes. "Miss Mason has promised me unlimited dances,- Mr. Earls- court." "Rash promises are much better broken than kept. Tra- la-la-our waltz, Miss Polly!" He whirled her off, and the last thing Polly saw was the an- noyed face of the artist. Her heart throbbed with rapture. This was excitement. Two gentlemen-gentlemen actually quarrelling about her al- ready! Mr. Fane was very well, but Guy Earlscourt, the son of Lord Montalien, the hero of the day, was a great deal bet- ter. And oh I how handsome he was,' and how beautifully he 'danced. She hoped Eliza Long was looking, and dying of envy -Eliza Long, who had once called her a red-haired, for.- ward minx! "Why wasn't Dtike here, and Rosanna, and why hadn't she been born in a sphere where Allan Fanes and Guy Earlscourts were everyday occurrences, If she had only been Miss Maud Charteris now, a baronet's daughter, and some day, perhaps, this splendid guardsman would fall in love with her, and--" The waltz ended all too soon. And "I never regretted the close of a dance before,?' whispered Mr. Earlscourt, in her ear. And he gave her his, arm, and brought her refreshments, and before the ice was eaien, up came Mr. Francis, requesting his brother to present him, with his suave smile. Thrice-blessed Polly I Mr. Francis demanded her hand fot the cotillon, and led her forth almost directly. Alice Warren was dancing with Peter Jenkins, and Eliza Long wasn't dancing / at all. Ppolly's blue eyes were flashing with triumph and de- light, her cheeks burning deep red. With the golden rays of the setting sun upon her she looked positively dazzling Two hours ago she had been a child in heart, but that child's heart page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] x, 6 AT MONTALIEN PR'IORY. . seemed to have g6ne since those three men had held her brown, gypsy hand, and looked in the fi:ank, fearless eyes, and brought that hot rose-tint to her cheeks. All the lissome, childlike grace that never returns to any girl after twenty, was there still, might remain for years, but the little belle of this rustic f te could never again be the happy, unconscious, grown- p child of yesterday. . "She is. a charming little enigmna, Fane," Guy rrlscourt. said to his friend; " she looks like a boy, she talks lile a lady, 'she has the grace and good-breeding of a woman of six seasong, and she is but a handsome, well-grown child. She puzzles met and to be puzzled is the next step to being interested, and'being interested' to falling in love. I object to falling in love on principle, and I don't suppose the governor would wish me to " marry her if I did. I withdraw from the race therefore, Mr. lFane, and leave you to a quiet walk-over." ' . That day was a day to be marked forever in Polly's calendar, a day of perfect, unalloyed bliss. She danced again with Mr. Allan Fane when Mr. Francis Earlscourt was done with her, . and lhe walked with him down, the green, woodland paths, and he quoted. Byron and Moore, and 'other amatory poets, and the band played not earthly music, it seemed to her, but the har- i; mony of Olympus. And Miss Long's green eyes were greener than ever with envy, and Mr. Francis making himself generally agreeable to his people, as became their future lord, had no time to devotE to Alice. Once too, a little later, Mr. Guy came back and asked her for another waltz. He didn't care ' about it himself, he rarely danced, it bored him; but he had asked her for it in the first zest of wishing to cut his'bosom x friend out. The zest was'past, still he would have this dance with her, and then go and talk to little Maud, and smoke a ' cigar upon the terrace. Polly wished all Speckhaven were there to witness her triumph. If she had only known how Lady Charteris was watching her froi her post, that triumph . , vould have been complete. But perfect bliss is not for this ' : ower world. Polly did not know it, and presently the sun vent down in a red and golden glory, and the whOle sky was dlush. Swinging her hat by its pink ribbons, she walked up " und down the leafy aisles, and listened to Allan Fane's melo- lious voice, 'and prormised to sit for the Rosamond. What did hey talk about under those waving trees, with the rosy stnset glorifying earth and sky, and the air full of music? He told her of London, of that fair unknown world 6f her dreams, and AT MONTALIEN PRIORY. 117 I her books, of the- opera, of the theatres, of poets who had . i t stirred her very heart, of. authors at whose feet-she couldi almost have fallen and worshipped. He talked to her as he ' , :i : rarely talked; it astonished even himself. But such a, listener ' -surely Polly at that moment might have inspired a far stw',.,i, pider man, How pretty she was! how pretty! how pretty'l 'j i,3' And he must marry the Honorable Diana, with her three thou-, ' sand per annum, her crows'-feet, her sallow skin, and her thirty- ' , two years! The next moment he 'could halVe laughed at him- self for his folly-bewitched by two blue eyes and the face of a ,. handsome peasant child. ., "Some men-lucky fellows with ten thousand a year, and a name centuries old--might afford this sort of 'thing" (this. sort of thing meaning marriage with Miss Polly Mason), " but' for me, a tailor's son-bah! I'm booked for the Hon. Diana, and . Polly is a delicious, little fairy to help while away a long sum- ^ mer afternoon," . The rosy sunset faded, the white June moon rose up, and the stars came out. Mr. Francis came up once again, and asked her to lead off a contra dance with him. ' Where was the young man fronm the grocer s, and the other young man from the haberdasher's, tow? Annihilated!' They . . had not once ventured to approach her that afternoon. - Miss Iong sneered as she went by. Polly laughed in her happy triumph. ., ," What! sitting out still, Liza?"Miss Mason said superbly. "How stupid it must be! ." , The Hon;"Francis heard, and lau'ghed. inwardly.. "A countess or my cousin Diana could not have stabbed more 'surely," he thought. "What a thoroughbred little filly it is! Not so pretty as the other one, but a deuced sight clev- erer." 2 The "other one" being Alice vhose plumpness, and dim : ples, and Hebe-like style suited him, and for himself he rather ' preferred women that were not clever. ,. ^ Mr. Guy. Earlscourt' detested dancing, as has been said; on . principle-it was so muclh physical labor for very little result, .' He could ride across country like a bird; he could follow tlhe hounds all day, with the wind and sleet in his teeth; he was , ^ dead shot; and long ago, at Eton, had been captain -ofthe ' eight, and renowned as a cricketer. He was clever in spite his indolence; spoke' three or four modern languages; hada.-' , page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] xS8 AT MONTALIEN PRIOR;Y. '5 hazy recollection of his classic studies; he was an ariateur i musician, an amateur artist, an amateur poet, playing on two . or three different instruments, painting in two or three different styles, and distinguishing himself by his pretty complimentary verses in ladies' albums. But all this sort of thing was slow, and he struggled politely with yawns in the face of his last part- ' ner, and toiled weary up to the terrace when it was over, in the last extremity of fatigue. The moon was shining now; the blue was aglitter with stars, and the evening wind swept up from the sea, but 'ady Char- teris still stood at her post, still watching with yearning, wistful eyes that slim, white figure that now flitted before her, now vanished in the hazy distance. The thought had crossed her- r it might be the child whom fourteen years ago she had given away; it might-there was no reason why it should not be. She hardly knew whether she hoped or feared most. If not her lost child, who could this girl of sixteen, who looked so like and yet so unlike Robert Lisle? She was pacing up and down the long stone terrace, looking white as a spirit in the moon- light. A number of visitors-their country neighbors-had ar- ,i rived, and Lord Montalien and her husband and Miss Hautton were entertaining them: Her little daughtei raced up and down with a curly King Charles at her heels. She was quite alone, full of deep and painful anxiety, when she saw Guy Earlscourt lounging lazily up the stairs. She stopped in her walk; he was a favorite of hers, as he was with all women. . 'Awful hard work, Lady Charteris," he said, solemnly; "worse than a day's run after the fastest pack in the county. I've danced three sets of quadrilles, two waltzes, and one co- tillon, and I give you my word, I'm fit to drop. Look at yon- . der light-hearted peasantry disporting themselves. Egad! the energy with which they go in for it is fatiguing only to look at. I never-realized before how thankful we should be that one's majority comes only once in a lifetime," r: He flung himself into an arm-chair, and produced his cigar- case, the picture of an utterly exhausted young nian. . "You will permit me, Lady Charteris?-ah, thanks. Six hours in the saddle on .a rainy day, when. the House meets, is bad enough, but I prefer it to three hours' consecutive dancing on the grass under a June sun, and with such energetic young ladies as those down there. Where's Di?" ' "She has gone in. Guy!" Lady Charteris spoke abruptly. ' ' ,}e . . / ii/ ,AT MOONTALIEN PRIORY. 119 Yes, m lady." "-.... "Who is that pretty girl in white I saw you dancing with half an hour ago? 'Ah there she is now, with Frank-fair- haired, and dressed in white." Guy turned his lazy brown eyes ip the direction indicated. "That's Polly," he answered; "and Polly's as jolly as she's pretty, ,which is saying a good deal. That young person in white-see how she laughs!-it does one good to look at her -is Miss Polly Mason, my Lady Charteris." "MASON!" One slender white hand of'the lady rested .on the youth's shoulder. He felt it close there now with sudden, , ' spasmodic force. "Mason!" . ; There rose before her at the sound of the commonplace . name the vision of a dreary railway waiting-room, a shivering, figure crouching before the fire, and a pale-faced young man repeating his name and address, "Marmaduke Mason, 50 Half- Moon Terrace." She grew so white, so rigid, that Guy half .I removed his cigar, and looked at her in surprise. "My dear Lady Charteris, you are ill! Has the smell of my cigar--" "Guy,' she interrupted suddenly, "will you give me your arm? I should like to go down there-to-" Her voice died away. - The youthful guardsman gave one regretful sigh as he flung his cherished and newly-lighted cigar away, and arose. Some men are born for the martyr's cross and palm, and he was onle . of them. Even Lady Charteris, usually the. most silent and quiet of creatures, herself, was suddenly going in for excite- ment, and he was singled 'out to be the victim of her caprice. He gave her his arm, with one gentle glance of reproaclful sur- prise, quite thrown away upon her, as it chanced; and led her . down below. A thousand a million, it seemed-colored lamps flickered . among the trees, the band still played, lads and lasses still trip3ped the light fantastic, and Gaffers and Goodies sat on rus- tic benches, and contentedly watched the fun. They. would adjourn to the great' domed entrance hall presently, where a second feast awaited them, and at ten o'clock this goodly company would retire, with three cheers, and " many happy re- turns to Mr. Guy, God bless him " ^ That indefatigable Polly Mason was dancing again, this time with a son of a neighboring squire, who had seen her a score ' - of times before and never noticed her until to-night. She was page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 AT MONTALIEN PRIORY. whirling around in a polka as lightly as though she trod on air, and it had been her first dance instead of her twenty-first. Guy looked at her in undisguised admiration... "I wouldn't have believed it,'l he murmured, gently, " if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, that any human creature could possess the staying-power of that girl! And they call w:, woman the weaker sex!"' At that juncture a man approalched from the opposite direc- tion, and' stood ainong some outsiders until the polka should be concluded. Lady Charteris and her escort were drawing near, but neither noticed this new-comer until Miss Mason her- self chanced to espy him. "Duke," she cried, "you haven't come..for me so soon! Please, Mr. Basset, I must speak to my Cousin Duke." -Mr. Basset released her, and Polly, all aglow, her blue eyes shining like azure stars, her lips laughing and aliart, tossing back her short curls, ran up to him. "You haven't come for me so soon, have you, Duke? I can't, go-it's too soon. I'll stay until it's all over. Oh, Duke!" lowering her voice, and her face beaming, "it 'has been a heavenly afternoon!" "I'm past my time at the theatre, Polly," Duke said; "and I only called to: tell you that as this gathering breaks up'two or three' hours earlier than you thought, you had better go home in-Wairen's tax-cart, with Alice. He'll drive you down. I can't come for you as early as ten, you know." Polly looked down demurely, conscious smiles curling her pretty lips, and a curious light in her eyes. "Very well, Duke; I'll get home all safe. What a pity you can't stay and enjoy the fun, too!" "I don't care for the fun. I'm glad you're enjoying your. self. Good-night, little Polly!" There was a touch of sadness in Duke's tone. It was dawn- ing on him dimly that the day was near when Polly would be hs pet and plaything no more, but a woman. He was turning away, when suddenly his eye fell upon a face that rooted him to the spot-that seemed to stop the very beating of his heart. It was only a lady-a pale, black-robed lady, leaning on the arm of Mr. Guy Earlscourt-a lady who looked at him with dark, solemn' eyes, and a face that seemed carved in ivory. Their eyes met, .nd Lady Charteris knew at last that her child-Robert Lisle's child-the baby daughter, whom four- teen years ago-she had resigned, stood yonder, fresh and beauti- tiful, in the moonlight, among Lord Montalien's dependants. ',',:, E"A LL NIGHT IN L NDITH .GRANGE." t2 At ten o'clock, precisely, the merry assembly broke up, and departed, with ridging cheers for my lord's younger son, to their humble homes. And Polly was driven home in the tax- ., cart, of course, by Mathew Warren! Was she, iideed? Alice went in the tax-cart, dutifully, if you like, and Eliza Long was X seen home by the young man from the haberdasher's; but Allan Fane, forgetful of the Hon. Diana, her three thousand a year, the gentlefolks making merry in the long drawing-rooms : ... -forgetful of all the hopes and ambitions of his life, walked home through the blue, moonlit night with Polly Mason I CHAPTER III. "ALL NIGHT IN LYNDITH GRANGE." THE nine o'clock sunshine streaming in Polly's window, awoke her next morning.. Polly, as a rule, was in- dined to be lazy o' mornings, but brisk Rosanna routed her out without mercy at six. To-day, she let her sleep. The child hadn't got home until half-past eleven -three miles, you know, on a lovely moonlight night, with a handsome young man beside you, is a long walk. Rosanna knew nothing of the handsome young man, she knew nothing of the hours during which little Polly tossed on her bed, and could not sleep, Sleep! The red, the yellow, the purple lights flashed before her, the band music clashed in her ears, and the faces of Allan, Fane and Guy Earlscourt swam in a golden mist. Her breast was full of delicious unrest; he was coming to-morrow, and all the to-morrows, and this was bliss, this was love. Poor little Polly! All this glad tumult faded away in sleep-she awoke with a sort of guilty start to see the new day's sunshine. She felt tired, and worn, and suddenly grown old. Yesterday she had been a little girl running wild about the streets of Speckhaven, tearing her clothes, and tormenting Rosanna. She felt as if ll that were over, as if a gulf lay between the Polly of yesterday adid the Miss Mason of to-day. Yes, she was "Miss Mason;" they had called her so; she was ,a grown-up young woman, page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 "ALL NIGHT IN L YNDIYII GRANGE." whom gentlemen asked to dance, and nearly quarrelled over. She got up slowly and dressed herself.. How ugly her well- washed, Well-mended. blue and white gingham looked; how like a boy's was her Holland blouse, belted round her 'slim waist by a leather strap I Why couldn't she wear pink silk like Miss Maud Charteris, and bind 'back her auburn locks with I rosy ribbons? Her face looked thinner and paler than evei in the garish morning sun-she hadn't a trace of good looks about, her. She was'what Eliza Long had called .her, " a red- haired tomboy," and nothing more. Why-oh, why! had she had her hair cropped? Would Clive Newcome ever have worshipped 'Ethel, and Romeo ever have died for Juliet, if those young ladies had had their hair clipped close to their craniums? The reaction had'come, and Polly was miserable. Probably she would feel better after her breakfast; she said her prayers somehow, and went down. Duke was at work in his painting-room, Rosanna was at work just outside the back door, up to her elbows in suds. Polly's toast and tea awaited her, and, in spite of her unhappiness about her looks, and her degraded state generally, she ate three large slices, and drank V two cups of tea. Then she got her sun-hat, and her drawing materials, and prepared to make a morning of it, as she often did under .the greenwood tree or down by the shore-sketch. ing from nature. Rosanna looked up from her suds and in- terrupted. It was wash-day. Would Polly just take off that hat, and put down that trumpery, and stay at home, and prepare the hash for dinner? Hashl Polly loathed the name of hash; she abhorred the thought of wash-day! In that world where they lived, that bright and beautiful world, of exquisite dishes in silver covers, of perpetual snowy linen, there were no such words as hash and 'wash-day. With a sick, spiritless feelings she prepared to obey, and then Rosanna taking a second look at her saw her heavy eyes, pale cheeks, and languid move- ' ments,'and grew alarined. "There's what comes of gadding, and dancing, and staying out till midnight. Look at that child's face " 'IThis to the elements, for there was no one except the cat to look. Put on your hat again this minute, and go out, and try if the fresh air will blow a little life into your dead eyes and pafe cheeks." f "Yes, Rosanna," Polly said, with very unwonted meekness, and wnt. She did not go far, however. She perched herself ^,^ ^ .:^ ^ ^ ^ -- - ^ hnluYgrill ,rrrrs( nlxSiPCU "'1 IA;.3 "ALL NIGHT IN LYNDIT H'GRANGE." 123 ; on the garden wall, and went wandering off into a dreamy : reverie. The faces of yesterday shone beforeher in the sun- shine-the darkling splendid face of Guy Earlscourt, with its brown, brilliant eyes, and lazy, beautiful smile. The face of Allan Fane, fair, womanish, perhaps, buteminently good-look- ing, and what Polly prized more, aristocratic.. Tall, haughty Diana Hautton, dark, pensive Lady Charteris, little Miss Maud, \ with her rose-silk and streaming ribbons. Such high-bred faces all, such lofty, high-sounding names. And she was Polly Mason. Polly, Mason, hopelessly vulgar, and common. . " I suppose I was christened Mary," the young lady thought.' "Mary's no great things, but it's better than Polly." And then mechanically she fell to drawing. The face that haunted her most was the face her pencil drew almost without volition of her own. The pencil sketch was careless and crude, but bold and full of power; so absorbed did she become over her work. that she never heard approaching footsteps, and a voice at her elbow suddenly made her jump. "A very good likeness,. Miss Mason, but don't you think ' ' you have flattered a little-just a little-our friend Guy?"' "Mr. Fane i"Polly jumped from her perch, with a gasp,.and tried to hide away her drawing, in overwhelihhing confusion. What would he think of her? What ,could he think but that she had had the audacity to fall in love with this splendid young guardsman, who had asked her for unlimited dances,. and then only waltzed with her twice? But Mr. Fane set her ahererease. He did feel a twinge of jealousy-the sparkling face had pur Atr. ' sued him in dreams all night-it was such a rare face-suchna piquant face. Pretty faces there were by the score, but only one Polly Mason. j "You promised to show me the seaside cave, where you and ^ Miss Alice Warren used to play Robinson Crusoe and' Man Friday," he said, "and I have come to claim your promise. - And this very afternoon, Miss Polly, I mean to drive you up to the Priory, and have our first sitting for the fair Rosamond. M iss Hautton has been'also kind enough to pose for my Queen Eleanor." . "I think Queen. Eleanor must have looked like that," an- swered Polly, remembering the haughty. glances Miss Hautton had cast upon her humble self yesterday. "She seems as though she could give a rival that pleasant choice between the poison bowl. and the dagger any day. No, thank you, Mr. Fane, I won't take your arm; people don't do that in Speck. haven, unless-" she stopped and blushed. page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] *-r;: 1I24 ^ s.., -,-.. .x "ALL NIGHT IN; L, YN iTH GRNG."i- ....................... ' I24 w"ALL NIG aT IN LYNDITH GRANGE." !"Unless what, Miss Mason? Unless they are engaged-is that x/hat you mean? I see it is. Ah!" with a telling glance under fPolly's old sun-hat. "That, Miss Mason, would be too much happiness." ' He rSally thought so at the moment. When this young gentleman was fascinated by a pretty girl he generally hunted down his prey with something of an Indian trapper's intensity. And the artist must admire those cloudless blue eyes, that angelic mouth, those serene lines of future beauty, let the man cling to Miss Hautton's money-bags ever so closely. Miss Long saw them from her window, and sneered, and felt bitterly envious, and more full of hatred toward that "forward minx" than ever. They went down to the sea-shore, where. the long blue waves washed up on the sands, and the sunlight sparkled until it looked like a sea of gold and fire, where the fishing-boats glided and the fishermen oh the hot sands sung as they mended their nets. What does Byron say of youth and beauty, and the sea; a dangerous combination truly, and she was romantic and he was an artist: "How close to the stars we seemed * That night on the sands by the sea!" "If I could only paint all this-that sea of gold, that sky of fire and azure, those swarthy toilers of the deep, and you, Polly, and immortalize myself, and-and lay my laurel crown at your feet." It was the first time he had called her Polly, and even this was going tolerably fast. Her cheeks were red enough now to suit Rosanna, could she have seen them. And Mr. Allan Fane pulled himself up with a gasp, feeling he was sinking into bottomless quagmires and quicksands of untold danger. "Good Heaven!"' he thought, "what am I saying to this child? 'I shall be telling her I aml in love with her next. I might have known how it would be," Mr. Fane concluded, rather dejectedly, "when I got her to bring me to this con- founded place. The seashore, a-fine day or a moonlight night, and a pretty girl, always did play the dickens with me, and, I dare say, always will." Mr. Fane, seeing his danger, and wise from past sad experi- ence, shied off this. dangerous ground, and betook himself to pleasant generalities. He was a good talker, as talking goes in general society, au fait, of the last -new opera, novel, actress, 1 , , / "ALL NIGHT IN LYNDITH GRANGE." 125 and latest Paris fashion; and all those topics were deliciously fresh and new to Polly. - Was this love, at first sight, Polly wondered; and straightway there arose before her a bridal vision-Mr. Allan Fane, looking unutterably patrician, and she in floating white, with a point- ,- - lace veil and orange blossoms, and the Speckhaven church thronged with eager, envious lookers-on; and after that a rose- colored life of perpetual Paris winters and London seasons, and new bonnets, and jewelry, and the opera, and balls-Speck- haven and wash-days only a hideous memory of the past. They went into the, sea-side cave together, and the artist - made a sketch of it and the girl, with the wide sea before her, and the sunlight on her sweet, fair face. And then Miss Mason sang for him, that he might hear the echo ring along the rocky roof; and Allan Fane wondered more and more. Such a voice--rare, sweet, and powerful. She did not sing "The night before Larry was stretched;" she sang the song young Quintin Durward listened to in rapture, so many years ago, in, the quaint old French town, and her thoughts left Allan Fane, and an olive face shone, before her, lit by two brown eyes-the face of Lord Montalien's favorite son. "Ah! County Guy! the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, Thle orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark, whose'lay has trilled all day, Sits hushed, his partner nigh, ;' Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, 1- But where is County Guy? ' * f "The village maid steals through the shade Her lover's suit to hear: To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born cavalier. The star of love, all stars above, , Now reigns o'er earth and sky, - And high and low his influence know, ,*:; But where is County Guy " "Here!" answered a voice, as the last note died away: "if o you mean me' l" And to the immense confusion of Polly, and the unconcealed annoyance of Allan Fane, Guy Earlscourt stepped round the rocky entrance into the grotto. "Miss Mason, your voice is superb-equal to Lind's, with training. 'Pon my honor, I thought it might be Circe or Calypso, or those what;-you-call-ems, sirens, you know, of the A/gean Sea hbolding a concert by mistake on the Lincolnshire coast." , page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] - . .I X ; * 126 . "ALL NIG T IN LYxNDIfII GRANGE." "What the-what. brought ydu here, Earlscourt?" demand- ed the artist, with no very friendly accent. Guy looked at him lazily from under his thick, black lashes. "In the character of 'Paul Pry,', for this occasion only. Well, my dear boy, don't pour the vials of your wrath on me- ' . I iam B1eauty's messenger. In other words, you lpromised to drive Lady Charteris and cousin Di over to Heath erholrne, after luncheon, and as Di really seems anxious to go, I came in search of you. Had I known -- " with a glance at Polly,; but Mr. Fane cut in rather abruptly: "I asked Miss Mason to bring me here, that I might sketch this grotto. Shall we return, Miss Mason, or-" "Oh, yes, please," Polly answered, shrinking away, she. hardly knew why, under the gaze of the brown eyes she thought the most beautiful on earth. "They will wonder where I have gone to at home." Mr. Fane looked at Mr. Earlscourt, as if saying, "You hear? You're not wanted. Be kind enough to go." And the young guardsman answered the glance, and walking after Polly, began . asking her questions about the town and the sands, as though the topography of Speckhaven were the vital interest of his life. Polly Mason walked back through the noonday brightiess - with two gallants, instead of one, and flashed a look upon Eliza Long, as she passed her window, that made that young lady grind her teeth for very envy. "Montalien's been as dull as death this morning," Guy was saying, plaintively. "Di's been sulky, Lady Charteris a prey to green and yellow melancholy, Frank not to be found (T didn't look in the bailiff's cottage), and little Maud the only human creature in the place to speak to. I think, considering the emergency of the case, and the danger I was in of falling a prey to the blue devils, you needn't look so ferocious, Fane, at, my seeking you out in my dire necessity; need 'he, Miss Mason? '. ' Polly did not feel as if the interruption were by any means an. unwelcome one. Both gentlemen. were delightful, no doubt, but Mr. Guy Earlscourt decidedly the more delightful of the two. 'She walked home in a happy trance, and it was all too soon when the little garden gate came in sight. Rosanna was hanging out' linen on the gooseberry bushes, and Duke could be seen, with his shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbows, painting in his big, bare, fiont 'roomn. e *V "ALL VA-tT IWN LYNDITH GRANGE." 121 tE^ '+ *t ' , .-m ,a' e ei The ,two young entlemen said goodby to Polly, and left her. Mr. Fane made no further allusion to the sitting for his Fair Rosamond that afternoon. Queen Eleanor wished him to , drive her to' Heatherholme, eight miles off, and of course she 'must take precedence in all things. It was almost one, and dinner was over in the cottage . when Polly went in. Her portion of the hash stood covered for her in the oven, and she sat down to partake of that refresh- ment with an appetite four hours' old, and sharpened by the sea wind. One may be in love, but one must eat; still she took time to pick out the onions-never again would she eat vulgar spring onions: that degradation at least it was in her power to avoid. . ' "Who is that young swell in the chimney-pot hat and dandy boots?"Duke asked, when Polly paid her afternoon visit to his painting-room. "I don't mean Guy Earlscourt, you un- derstand." "The other was Mr. Allan Fane," Polly responded, looking out of the window. "He's an artist, Duke, and wants me to sit to himfor Fair Rosamond." "Allan Fane! Allan Fane "Duke repeated, stroking the' red and yellow stubble on his chin. "I've heard that name . before, and I have seen that face somewhere. Its a face I 1don't like, Duchess; it's a weak, womanish face, a false face, or I'm greatly mistaken." Polly looked at him reproachfully. f "That's not like you, Duke," she said; "you don't often speak ill of the absent, and of a stranger, too, whom you don't / know. Mr. Fane was very, very kind to me yesterday, and- ahd-he came home with me last night. I didn't ride (don't - 'be angry, Duke), I didn't ride in the tax-cart. He didn't let me sit out a single dance, and he left the ladies 'at the Priory to wait on me, and of course I feel grateful, and all 'that." Duke looked after her as she walked out of the room, with a wistful light in his eyes,i the yearning light you see sometimes in the eyes of a dog. Polly had. been under his shelter for fourteen years-was the day at band when all his love could shield her from danger no longer? Polly went through her usual afternoon's work of helping Rosanna "redd up," in a. state of dreamy happiness ; little trills of song bubbling to her lips, smiles and dimples chasing each other over her face. She was always happy, but somehow the sun never shone so brightly nor had life ever seemed so page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] , . - 128 "ALL NIGZHT 'XN LYYNDITI GRANGE." sweet as to-day. Rosanna looked at her, and congratulated herself that she had made her go out that, morning. And presently when,tea was over, she took her hat and went to the gate to watch the new imoon rise-and wish-what (did little Polly wish? It was very quiet. The new moon shining in the , opal sky, a Iiightingale singing yonder in Montalien woods, the soft flutter of the evening wind, sweet from the sea; the rich pdor of Rosanna's roses and geraniums in the open window-- that was the scene. And fairer than all, as Mr. Allan Fane would have told her,had he been there to see the tall, slim girl, with the sweet, happy face, and dreamy eyes of blue, softly singing "The Young May Moon." As she stood there a group of four came up the road from the town. Polly's dreamy eyes turned from that silver sickle in the purple sky, and brightened into a light not so pleasant to see as she beheld her arch enemy, Eliza Long. Miss Long was gallanted by the haberdasher's clerk, and behind came Alice Warren and her "young man," Peter Jenkins, of the } Mill. ., "Here she is herself!'" exclaimed Miss Long, with malicious vivacity; "I've just been telling Samuel of the grand conquests you ve made. How are all your frierids at the Priory, Polly, dear? "All my friends at the Priory were quite, well when I saw. them last, Eliza," responded Miss Mason, promptly. "I'll tell them you inquired the next time I see them; they'll feel flat- tered, particularly Mr.' Guy, who danced with you-once, wasn't it, Eliza? and forgot to come back." "I'didn't encourage him as much as some people might," retorted Miss Long. "I don't believe in gentlemen born dangling after country-girls. I should be afraid of what people might say of me," concluded Miss Long, with avirtuous toss of her head. "Then you needn't, Eliza, nobody will ever talk of you in that way, I'm quite sure. Gentlemen have such bad taste." Yes,") said Eliza, with a hysterical little giggle, "I thought so myself when I saw two of them go by with you. I wonder Rosalna isn't afraid." "Afraid of what, Eliza? I'll thank you to speak out."' Polly's eyes were flashing now, as only blue eyes, flaslh. "We all know Polly isn't afraid of anything," cried the young nan from the haberdasher's, who was mortally jealous; She vouldn't go three miles out of her way, as Jenkins did last , veek, rather than pass the haunted Grange." "ALL NIGHT IN LYNDITH GRANGE." I20 No," answered Polly, disdainfully, "I would not." . . "That's easy to say," Miss Long said, with a second toss,. "it's not so easy to prove. Polly's as much ofa coward as the , rest of'us, I dare say, if the truth were known." (i .li not a coward; and I'll thank you not to say so, Eliza. y I'm lfte afraid of you, or what people may say, nor of ghosts either, if it comes to that." - ..t "Prove it," cried the taunting Eliza, " prove it, if you dare; , Polly Mason." . - , Miss Eliza hLong understood her antagonist well. T o darerr Polly to do anything-however mad, however e foolhardy, was to ' , insure its being done. Had she not risked her life, only last winter, one stormy day, when dared to go out in a boat to the o other side of Supeckhaven Bay? And now into Polly's eyes leaped the light that had shone in them then, and her hands , clutcheq together. She looked her adversary straight in the face. "You dare me to what, Eliza?" ' u To pass a night alone in the Grange. You are not afraid of ghosts! Prove it, if you dare?" . "Oh, Eliza,. hush!" cried Alice Warren. You hush; Alice!"Polly said very quietly. She was al- ways quiet when most dangerous. "(1will, do it/ I am not . afraid of ghosts, but if I were as sure as that I am standing ./ here, I should see the ghosts of the knight, and the lady, I would go. I will do it this very night, Eliza Long; will that : satisfy you\!" o ; "No, no, Polly," Alice cried again; and, "oh, by Georige, no, you know," exclaimed the young mlan 'from the haber- dasher's ini consternation, while stolid Peter Jenkins stared aghast: "Duke wouldn't let you, you know." "I shall do it!"Polly said, folding. her arms, and looking daggers and carving-knives at her enemy. "Yes," said Miss Long, "and Duke need never know. We're all going ,to a dance at Bridges'; that's only two miles ' from the Grange, and I'll tell Duke and Rosanna you're coming . : with us. We will go with you to the Grange and leave you, . there, and call for you again when the dance breaks up,l at two / o'clock in the morning. That is, of course, if you really mean . to go, you know. I wouldn't, if I were you, if I felt the least afraid." , The word, the tone, the insolent 'sneer, stung Polly, as she ' meant it should. She opened the gate, and came out so suds- denly and with such a wicked expression that Eliza recoiled., " . ' ' '. ' " I t , q {! r page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 2 i, - 4 1 ' ' 3o O "ALL NIG T 'IN L YND TI GRANGE." 130 "ALL NIGHT IN LYNDIT O GRANGE.' n "I'm not afraid, and I'll thank you not to use the word again. . You're a coward, Eliza Long, and you know it, and you hope something evil may befall me, and you would have given a year of your life to stand in my shoes this morning! Bah! don't think I don't understand you, but I'll go all the same." Eliza laughed, while she'grew white with anger. She did not know she was a murderess in heart, but she did hope the ghosts of the Grange might whisk this insolent Polly Mason off to, the regions of the Styx, although Miss Long had never heard of that gloomy river. She ran up to the house without a word, and came back in five minutes to say Polly might go to Mrs. Bridges' dance. ' Don't do it, Polly," Alice Warren pleaded in mortal dread; "yotf don't know what may happen. It's an awful place, and I should feel as if we had murdered you, if--" Polly stooped and kissed her. "You poor, little, frightened Alice! I 'don't believe in ghosts, I tell you, and I shall'go to sleep as comfortably in the Grange as ever I did in lly life. Don't let us talk about it. Eliza Long shall never call. me a coward." It was quite useless talking to Polly when Polly's mind was made up, whether for good or evil. - Her blood was up, now, and she was equal to anything. Her eyes were. like stars, her cheeks like rose-berries. As they: walked along in the misty moonlight, her laugh rang out clear and sweet, her merry voice made people smile and look after her as she went by. Eliza could have stabbed her, so intense was her hate, her envy. Never mind! let her, pass a night in the Grange'! People who had tried it, legends ran, had been found stark mad next morning. No one would ever blame her; she had asked' Polly not to go. . They passed Bridges': the town with its noise and its lamps lay behind them; the lonely, open road that led to the Grange lay white and deserted before them. They passed the cross- roads, where fourteen years before. Duke Mason had lost his way. A little more than a mile, and they would be at the Grange. Still Polly rattled on; a stranger might have said, to keep up her courage, but in reality the girl was not afraid. Hers was a nature singularly free from superstition or fear of any kind. She was not afraid, every nerve quickened with ex- citement; she longed to show this vindictive rival of hers how superior she was to her taunts. body say and whoknows what may happen Peter, don't let ' * , , - ' ^ ' * 89ALL NIGHT INZLYNDITH GRANGE" 13t A The great gates, the grim wall, loolmed up before them at last, A and Alice suddenly flung both arms about her friend. a a "You shall not go, Polly-you shall not! What will every. body say, and who knows what may happen? Peter, don't let r, her go-Eliza, speak to her" - "She may go if she likes, for me," said Peter, boorishly. "Certainly, Polly, I wouldn't go if I felt the least af---" She did not finish the word, Polly turned up9n her so swiftly and fiercely. ' "You had better not!" she said. "Alice, dear, hold your tongue; there is no danger. There are no human things there, and I am' not afraid of the ghosts. None of you need come any farther, if you don't wish." . She opened the gates-they creaked and moved heavily on j their rusty hinges, and walked resolutely in. Mr. Jenkins held , back, but the other three followed her;. Alice still clinging to her, and half sobbing; a Satanic gleam in Eliza's greenish eyes. ' ' They walked up the avenue in dead silence; the unearthly stillness and gloom of the place awed them. Polly spoke, as the house'came in view, and her voice sounded unearthly. "How am I going to get in? There's a window I know of --if you can only raise'it'for me, Sam." It was the very window, near the elm-tree, in which Duke had sat and stared that memorable night. The ivy made an easy ladder for Mr. Samuel, who in some trepidation moved and shook the casement. Wind and weather had done their work-the window went crashing into the room. Miss Mason turned and faced Miss Long with the look of a duellist waiting to fire. "Will that room do, Eliza, or is there any apartment in the house more especially haunted than 'another? I should like to please you, and it is all the same to me." Oh, don't ask me," said Eliza, shivering slightly as she spoke; "don't say I want you to go; I don't. I think you had much better turn back." Polly laughed bitterly. "I understand' you, Eliza! If ahything happens, you must prove your innocence. Good-night, all; don't fret, Alice, about me." She seized the ivy, and wit .one light, leap was inside the: room. Her dauntless smiling face looked down upon thenm from the window. page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 "ALL NIGHT IN LYNDITZI GRANGE." "Go!" she said; "good-night." "Come," said Eliza, with another shudder; and " oh, Polly, Polly, come back!" came 'faintly from Alice. She felt as though she were leaving her friend to be murdered in cold blood But the others drew her with them, and Polly was alone in the house where, sixteen years ago, she was born. She stood by the'window until the last echo of their foot- 'steps, the heavy clang of the gates, told her they were gone. A great awe. stole over her-not fear-the solemn stillness of the fight-the white spectral light of the moon-the mov- ing of the wind among the trees. It was like living down among the dead. She turned and glanced about the room. The little'old piano stood in its corner, the easy chair in its place before the black hearthstone, a spindle-legged table, the faded tapestry, the bare oak floor. Through the corridors the wind wailed, overhead the rats scam- pered. The girl shuddered for the first time as she listened to ihem. 'It was so deadly still that she heard the clocks of the town toll nine. Nine'! and she must wait until two or three before they would return. If she could only sleep and dream those long, lonesome hours away. Shelwould try. She knelt down, her face in her hands, and said her prayers a little more devoutly than usual, and then ciddled herself up in the arm- chair. Who had sat in this old chair last, she wondered? She shut her eyes, wrapped her summer shawl closer about her, and tried not to think of the cavalier and the mad lady, not to hear the wind or the rats. She tried to think of yesterday's delights, of to-morrow's bliss, when she would go to Montalien Pri- ory, and sit for her picture. She was in'love with Mr. 'Faile -no, with Mr. Guy Earlschurt-she didn't know which. Presently the white lids went down on the purple lustre be- neath,' and the blessed sleep of healthful youth came to Polly. She slept for hours. The moonlight flickered in a ghostly way enough across the floor, unseen; the rats scampered like an army of spirits overhead. ' Was it in her dream that she heard the gates clang again, and the footsteps of her late companions drawing near the. house? Was it in a dream that she heard footsteps that were not the footsteps of the rats overhead? She sat up all at once, with a start, broad awake. The moon had gone under a cloud, and the room was' in. darkness. What was that? Surely, footsteps-human footsteps-along the hall outside, and approaching the door. Yes, the handle turned, the door creaked and opened! The girl rose and stood up by no volition of her own, and seemed staring straight at the opening'door. Her heart had ceased to beat-she was icy cold all over. Was this fear? She had consciousness enough left to wonder. The door' opened wide-there was what seemed to Polly a blaze' of su- pernatural light, and in that glow she saw the form of a woman entering, and coming straight toward her. CHAPTER IV. I FACE TO FACE. I HAD Olivia, Lady Charteris, really grown utterly heartless? Had she entirely forgotten the child she had deserted fourteen years before? Was she a liv- ing woman with a heart of stone? There were peo- ple who said so, people wjho said her nature was as cold and colorless as her pale, unsmiling face, people who said she loved neither husband nor child. Perhaps those people were right in that last surmise. Her estrangement from Sir Vane Charteris the whole world was welcome to know, so far as she was concerned. They dwelt under the same roof, they were outwardly civil to each other, the husband indeed more than civil, assiduously polite and deferential to his statue of a wife; but for all that they were to all intents and purposes as widely sundered as the poles. It had been sq since the birth of little Maud-no one knew the cause. They met by chance -on the stairs, or in the, passages, (the only places they ever met alone,) and the lady swept by with head erect and lashes proudly drooping, shrinking back lest he should touch the hem of her garments. When he, addressed her at the dinner- table her answers were always monosyllabic, and she never looked at him. It was a curious study to watch them-she as cold, as lifeless to him as the Diana of the Louvre, whom people 'said she resembled; 'he with the red glow of sup' : page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 1:i 4 i FACE TO FACE. pressed fury and mortification rising in the sfullen depths of his black eyes. Whose fault was it? Well, as is generally the case, the wife came in for the heaviest share of the blame. She was an ici- cle, not a woman. She was a marble statue, not a wife. Sir Vane-was he not always bland, always sociable, always debon- naire, the most delightfil of men? But opinions differed. Those delightfully social and brilliant men, in public, are some- times intensely selfish and cruel husbands, in private; and there was a gleam in Sir Vane's black eyes-an expression about his heavily-cut mouth-that made some fastidious na- tures shrink away with repulsion, only to look at. Once, and once only, Lady Charteris had spoken of the es- trangement to Lord Montalien, whom she esteemed most of all men she knew, when he had striven (very faintly) to bring about a reconciliation. "Sir Vane Charteris has insulted me, my, lord,". Lady Char- tens said. "Wqmen of my race have given back death be- fore now for less insulting words. If I were on miy death-bed, ,and he knelt before me, I would not forgive him." And the dark eyes had dilated, and filled with so terrible a light, and over the pale face came a glow so deep, so burning, that Lord Montalien knew she meant it. He bowed his head, and said no more, and froml that hour never tried the r6le of peacemaker again. For little Maud, she was her father in miniature-the same black eyes and hair, the same features, the same nature. She was his idol. She had not a look of her mother, and he exulted in it. She was all his own. Coulc Olivia Charteris, hating the father, love the child? And the little girl, clinging to her father, never seemed to have any special love left for her mnother. It was an odd, abnormal 'state of things altogether, and you see people were more than half right in calling Lady ChaKeris a cold, unloving wife and mother. But the child of her love, of Robert Lisle-that was quite another matter. Her very love for that child had made her give it away to strangers, out of the clutches of her uncle and husband. Had fourteen years steeled her heart there, as well? Duke' Mason, standing before her in the twilight of the fate day at Montalien Priory, knew better. Such passionate, yearning love as the eyes fixed on the fair young girl in white expressed, he had never seen in all his life before, except once-once, in an upper 'chamber of a house iii Park Lane, where a mother wept over the child she was resigning, perhaps forever. FACE 't0 A4CE. ' i35 They stood face to face, there under the green trees of the park, and knew each other. Thus they met again. Duke turned cold all over as he stood there. The hour dreaded un- utterably had come. The mother had found her child. Heo eyes spoke to him; they said "Stay!" as plainly as words. Polly was whirling away inn the dance again. Guy Earlscourt was waiting with weary resignation to be led whithersoever her ladyship willed. They moved on, her dress brushed him, her lips whispered, "Wait." They disappeared in the silvery dusk, and Duke was alone. He sat down on one of the rustic seats and stared blankly about him. The lights, the people, the music, all were discord and tumult. He was overdue at the Speckhaven Lyceufli. What did that signify? Polly's mother had found her out- was, in all likelihood, about to take her away. *Polly-the light of their household-the joy of his life--who had loved, and admired, and tormented him for fourteen happy years. Polly, who toasted his muffins, and upset his paint pots, and made fun of his pictures, and worked him pretty neckties, and went singing through their humble home like some fair Esmeralda. "I will never give her up," thought Duke, doggedly; "she has no right to take her away. I'll never give the Duchess up unless-unless she wants to go "-and at that thought Duke broke down. Polly would go-Polly, whose dream of life was to be "a lady "-who loved dress and adornments with the in- tense love of girlhood-yes, Polly would go. The trees, the dancers swain before poor Duke's eyes in a watery mist.' His thoughts went back to last winter, when the small-pox, that loathsome enemy, had come to Speckhaven. Duke had taken it-Duke took everything it was possible to' take, ever since when at-six months he had had the measles- and through dismal days and sickening nights Polly had nursed him, and sat up with him, and bathed his disfigured face and hands, and knew neither weariness nor disgust. She had done the same for Alice Warren, nurging her through it in spite of everybody. And she had never taken it; her perfect health, her splendid vitality, her utter fearlessness had saved her. How brave she was'! What a great, generous heart she pos- sessed! People called her vain. Well, perhaps she was., Her glass showed her a charming face, and she loved beauty in all things. -,She might be vain of that piquant face, but how bravely she had risked its beauty for those she loved! She was wilful, and wayward, ,and reckless, and something of a "toll' page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] A 136C TO FACE. boy," as Eliza Long had called her; but-"God bless her! God Almighty bless her!" thought Duke Mason, and the tears were standing big and bright in his honest eyes; "and if she -wants to go, she shall go, and I'll never grieve her by letting her see how it breaks my heart." The summer light had faded entirely out of the sky, and the moon, and the stars, and the Chinese lanterns had it all their own way; and still Duke sat, and waited as patiently now as he had done fourteen years before, in the elm-tree, for Olivia Lyndith. it^ A cold hand falling on his own aroused him-the same chill i touch that had startled Lord Montalien's favorite son-andl turning round, he saw in the night light Lady Charteris. She. looked like a spirit-so white, so unearthly-her black eyes wild and solemn. She had thrown a scarlet cashmere'over her dark dress, and her small face shone from the rich i'ed folds like a wan star. "Come " she said, "come with me." Her cold fingers still held his hand. Duke shuddered at. , their touch. He was in no way fanciful, but just' then he re- membered legends ran of pale water-spirits bearing. away hap-, less mortal. to their doom. She led him, away from the noise and, the people, down a, green aisle, in whose sombte darkness a murder * mght have been committed. One or two red lamps flickered luridly athwart the blackness, and a nightingale piped its sweet,' mournful lay somewhere in the stillness. Even the braying of the brass band came faint and far-off, here. She clasped both hands around that of her prisoner, anid the dark, spectral eyes fixed themselves upon his face. "She is mine!-iny daughter!-my child!-whom I gave you fourteen years ago?" ) "She is." "You have cared for her all those years I She has grown' up like that-strong, and tall, and healthy, and beautiful- beautiful as he was, and like him, and like him!" "Well, yes," Mr. Mason responded, thoughtfully, and quite forgetting himself, "she is like him, and when her face is washed, the Duchess isn't a bad-looking girl." There was a vision before him as he spoke-Miss Polly,' in the kitchen on washing, ironing and baking days, with spots of soot on hei\ oval cheeks, and perennial smudges of grime on her pretty 'Grecian nose. Indeed, it seemed on these' occas (4 RFACE TO FRACE. 137 sions-as the young lady herself observed, with an injured air -that she couldn't so much as look at a pot or a kettle with- out half the black flying off'and transferring itself to her coun- tenance. "Does she know-'who does she think she is?" the lady hurriedly asked. "She thinks she is Polly Mason, an orphan, the child of a dead cousin of mine. The Duchess hasn't a notion of who shf really is." , "The what?" "I beg your pardon, my lady, I call her the Duchess, be- cause she looks .like one, not that I ever was personally ac , quainted with any duchess," Duke put in parenthetically. "She called herself Polly; but I never took kindly to the name of Polly." "Her name is Paulina." "Yes," said Duke, forgetting himself for the second time. "I know it is. He said so." "Who said so?"' The solemn, dark eyes were fixed on his face, the friendly darkness hid the guilty red that flushed it at the question. "Who said so? who could know her name?"'the lady de- manded, .suspiciously. "It was-it' was a sick man who stopped with us, when she came," stammered Duke, who never could learn the manners of good society, and tell polite liesg; "he suggested that her name might be Paulina." "How should he think of it-who was this sick man?" "His name was Hawksley, my lady." Duke's heart 'was throbbing against his ribs. If she only knew! "If she asks questions enough, she'll surely find it out," he thought, with an inward groan. "I never could stand pump- ing." But my lady's thoughts had drifted away to more important things than sick men by the name of Hawksley. "Why did you leave London?" she asked; "do you know I wrote'to the old address twice, and my letters were returned. The last fell into the hands of Sir Vane, and there was a scene;" she twisted her fingers together as though in pain: "'and I never dared write again. I would rather have seen my darling dead than that he should find her out. Oh! if he should recog- nize the resemblance, and discover her identity, even now l page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 FACE TO FACE. He knew there was a child-he knows I have hidden her away. If he should find out! if he should find out!"She clasped her hands around his arm, and looked up at him with a face of mortal dread. "He will not find out, my lady," Duke said, quietly, " if'you do not betray yourself. How should he--she is Polly Mason, the orphan cousin of a poor scene-painter; apd for the resem- blance, he will not see it as you do. You do not," he half gasped, as he asked the question. "You will not take her away, my lady?" "Take her away!" repeated Lady Charteris; "never, my friend--my good, kind, faithful friend! Do you love her?- tell me- is she indeed dear to you?, Would it grieve you to give her up? "My lady, nothing on earth could grieve me so deeply. I don't know how a father may feel for an only child, but I know no father in this world could love a daughter more than I love Polly." "And your sister-she loves her too?" ' "She is the torment and the idol of my sister's life. Every one loves the Duchess." She put her hands over her face. Tears were falling-the happiest Lady Charteris had ever shed. When she looked up, she wa3 ineffably calm in the dusk. "I have been praying for my darling," she whispered., "Oh, God keep her-God protect her--pure from the world-safe from her enemies!" ' "Her enemies-she has none." "She has a terrible eaemy while. Sir Vane Charteris lives. Save her from, him. Lo6k, Mr. Mason! I was an heiresS, it was for my fortune my uncle persecuted me, Sir Vane mar- ried me. That fortune was so left me that it falls to my eldest child at my death. He idolizes his daughter-it is his ambition that she shall make a lofty marriage--he has become almost a miser that she may be a great heiress. And Paulina isnlmy eldest child-to Paulina it shall all go at my death-if they cannot prove my first marriage illegal and she illegitimate. I speak calmly of these things, my friend, I have thqught of . thenm o often. Paulina will inherit in spite of him-the mar- riage was,legal, I know. I have consulted lawyers on the subject. One hair of her head is dearer to me than a dozen, Mauds-it may be wrong; I cannot help it. At my death Paulina will come into an income of nine thousand a year-h$is daughter will not inherit a shilling. It is well he has sufficient -for her. He is a bad, bold, unscrupulous man, who spares neither man nor woman in his wrath. I tell you this because you know how he married me, while I loathed, him, and told him I loathed him. A man who would stoop th such a mar. riage would stoop to anything. Would Paulina be safe, think you, then, in his power? We only remain here a week, ol two; keep her away from this place during that time. He suspects me now; since our return to England he has'watched ime, as a cat watches a mouse. I don't know what he suspects, what he fears, but it is so. Even now I may be missed, he , may be searching for me. Mr. Mason, I think I am the most wretdhed woman the wide earth holds-I think my heart broke sixteen years ago when. they told me my darling was dead. The only creature in this world whom I love is yonder, and 1, dare not speak one word to her, dare not give her one kiss foi her father's sake." . She covered her face again, and broke out into sobbing- wild, hysterical, but suppressed sobbing. Alas I long years of pain, of surveillance, had taught her, that even grief was a lux- ury she must not indulge in. Duke had nothing to say; a woman crying made him cold and hot, by turns. He wasn't much used to it-Rosanna was superior to crying as to all other weakness of her wretched sex, and for Polly's tears, though they made him exquisitely miser- able at the time, they were speedily dried. They were gener- ally tears of rage, indeed, not of soirow; and as she scolded vehemently all the while she wept, it was not in the nature of things her tempests could last long--their very violence used them up. But this was something different; this was sorrow of which the man knew nothing, and he shrank away, with a strong desire to take to his heels, and escape. Some intuition told her it pained him-she dropped her hands, and smiled through her tears. "I have no right to distress you," she said sweetly, "you who are my best, my only, friend-the only friend at least whomn I can trust with the secret of my life. Tell me of my child- is she truthful, is she generous, is she noble-hearted, is she ami- able; is she, in a word, like her father?" . "Amiable?"Well, Duke wasn't prepared to say that Polly' was on all occasions. She had a tongue and a temper beyond a doubt; she had a will of her own, too, and made. most people mind her. But-and Duke Mason's face lit up, and his eyes page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O FACE TO FACE. glowed, and great love made him eloquent, and he pictured Polly to Polly's mother as he saw her-the bravest, the hand- somest, the most generous and loving little girl in Great Brit- ain. "Thank God!" the mother said. "Thank God! And thank you, who have been her father and friend, for so many years. Keep her still-keep her until I die and she comes in- to her fortune. She will be able to reward you then." "I hope that day is very far off. I don't want any reward for keeping the Duchess. Life without her would not be worth the having." "Teach her what you can-I cannot even give you a paltry hundred or two, for that. I have not a sovereigtn without the knowledge of Sir Vane Charteris-not a trinket that he would no0 miss. I am poorer than she is, Mr. Mason." Oh, Polly isn't poor," cried Duke, forgetting himself for the third tjme; " thanks to Hawksley's gelerosity, she has seven hundred pounds, in the Speckhaven Bank." ' Who is this Mr. Hawksley?" asked Lady Charteris, with renewed suspicion: "who knows Paulina's name, and gives her seven hundred pounds? what does it mean?" "What a dolt-a dunderhead, I am!" thought Duke, ready to bite his own tongue off. " 've got myself into a pretty mess now My lady," he said aloud, "Mr. Hawksley is only a very generous and eccentric young man, who took a fancy to Polly's pretty face when a baby, and sends her a Christmas present of fifty pounds fromn the California gold-diggings every year. He was just from the States, you see, and I dare say thats how he came to guess her namne." She had not the faintest suspicion of the truth, and this very lucid explanation satisfied her. "He is very kind," she said; " take the money then, and educate the child as befits her birth and the station she will one day fill. And now "-she laid her hand upon his arm and drew nearer to him--' a last favor. Will you accompany me to-mor- row night to the Grange? A strange request," she added, as she felt how Duke must be wondering; " "but I dare not venture to go in daytime. He would suspect something. He is always suspecting. And at night I fear to go alone. Not the cav- alier's ghost," with a faint smile, " but the people I might meet at that hour. Will you be my escort to-morrow night?" "Certainly, Lady Charteris."' "I go at night because, when all have retired, I am free-- , / ) . FACE TO FACE. 141 only then. And I go for something I left behind me in my flight fourteen years ago-ah, you remember that night? My husband's miniature--my lost husband's-Sir Vane Charteris is only that in name-some letters-trinkets-the few presents he ever gave me. They are dearer to me than anything in the world, except his child. I had thein ready, and forgot them,' somehlow, that night in my haste. They may have been removed, but I think not-I left them in the secret drawer of an Indian cabinet, and I know none of the large furniture was ever taken from the Grange. At twelve, to-morrow night, I will be at the gates-will you meet me there?" "I will." She took his hand and kissed it, as she had done that night long ago in the waiting-room at the railway. i "Heaven bless you, best of friends. And now I must leave you-lhe has missed me long ere this." She ,flitted away with - 'the words, and he was left alone under the red lamps and niglht- ingale's jug-jug. '-4 ; .H He looked at his watch-nine o'clock-the first act would be over; but better late than never. The first violinist of the Lyceum strode away at a tremendous rate'toward the theatre. Precisely at midnight, the following night, Duke, in, a light ; wagon, was waiting outside the ponderous gate of the Priory. "Were his nocturnal adventures never to end?"Duke won- dered, and " what would Rosanna say to-morrow when she found his bed unslept in?" Lady Charteris was punctual, and he drove her along througl the quiet night to the haunted Grange. "You had better wait outside," the lady said, " and keep watch. I know how to effect an entrance, and I am not in the - - least afraid." She approached the house with a rapid and resolute step. She might be afraid of Sir' Vane Charteris, she certainly was not of suDernatural visitants. The open' window caught her eye, she clambered up the ivy-rope ladder, and entered. The moon chanced to be obscured, and the figure asleep in the chair escaped her eye. She -carried with her a dark-lantern, which she lit now, and passed out of the apartment and up- stairs to the chamber, that ;had long ago been her own. She was right in her surmise. The Indian cabinet had not been removed. She found the spring she. wanted, the drawet- flew out; tlere lay the cherished packet. She caught it up, thrust it into her bosom, and rapidly descended. It was then her footstels awoke the sleeper. page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 POLL Y'S MSDEEDS. She opened the door. Polly was standing erect,',and very wide awake now. Lady Charteris paused on the threshold with a low, startled i cry. There, in the house in which she had been born, sixteen years ago this very month, child and mother stood face to face 1 CHAPTER V. )jy POLLY'S MSDEEDS. ACE to face, in the dead hour of the night, in the desolate Doom of Iyndith Grange, Fate had done her work, and brought those two together at last! For an instant both stood speechless, spell-bound- each with the same wild tholught that they beheld a supernat- ural visitant. Then, as the light of the lantern shone more broadly over the face and figure of the lady, the girl recognized her, and all superstitious fears were swept away in an impulse of uncontrollable surprise. Lady Charteris!" dropped from her lips. The words, the sound of a human voice, broke the spell. Lady Charteris knew the slim figure standing before her was not the. ghost of the mad lady. "Who speaks?" she asked faintly. She was intensely ner- vous, and her heart throbbed almost painfully. "Who are yot?" - "I am Polly Mason." Polly's voice faltered a little as she said it. She always did feel ashamed of that intensely plebeian and unromantic cognomen, poor child. , "Polly Mason!" the name of all others now most dear to the heart of the lady. She drew near hurriedly-half incredu- lous-"Polly Mason!" She lifted her light high-yes, it shone on the slender, girlish figulre, the fair, drooping head, the beseeching eyes, the half- smiling, half-trembling lips, for Polly, thus detected, hardly ' . knew whetler to laugh or cry. "My child I my child!" the lady cried aghast, "what in the world brought you here? You, of all people alive, and at this l POLLY'S AIZSDEEDS. 43 unearthly hour?" Polly laughed a little hysterically-then half sobbed: 5 "Oh, Lady Charteris, it was fdolish, I know, and Duke and Rosanna will be so angry when they find it out. I'm half-sorry now I came, but I could not help it. Eliza Long, you don't know her, of course-butwe hate each other, she and Hdared me. to come here, and spend a night alone among the ghosts, and Hwell, I know I'm a little fool!"Polly cried piteously, and looking up, with her big blue eyes'at the great lady, " but if she dared me to jump into Speckhaven Bay, I think I would. do it. They left me here, and are to call for me at two o'clock. It must be near that now. And please, my lady,":' (very humbly,) "don't tell; I was not afraid, indeed I wasn't, and I slept nearly all the time; but' Duke would be vexed-. (Duke's my cousin, please my lady,) and he's such a dear old cousin, I hate to make him sorry. Oh, Lady Charterisl" Polly clasped her hands, "I know this is your house, but I did not know that you or anybody ever came here, or, I'd never have done it. Oh please don't say I've done anything so very, very wrong." Polly could talk at all times, and awe of ladies, great or small, she did not know. Shewondered to find Lady Charteris here, at such a time, and she hoped Duke wouldn't discover her escapade, but she was as prepared to converse with a baro. net's lady as with Rosanna. It was a moment before my lady answered, a moment dur- ' ing which she stood looking at the girl, with her hand pressed ,: tightly over her heart. The blue, beseeching eyes were so like, so cruelly like eyes that seventeen years ago had been dearer to her than earth and all its glory. It gave her a pang almost as sharp as death to see their counterpart thus. She scarcely heard a word; she only knew that the child of her l1ve stood before her.' "My darling! My darling l" she said, with a smothered .: sob, " oh my darling!" and, the astonished Polly found herself ': caught in the lady's arms, and tears and kisses raining on heri face. Miss Mason's first impulse was that Lady Charteris had gone 1 suddenly mad. It was not an' improbable fancy, under the : circumstances, and much more alarmed than she had been any time yet, she strove to get away. She was prepared to meet a . ghost, if you like, but not a lunatic. Lady Charteris under. * stood her in 'an instant, and at once released her. page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 ,POLL YS MSDEEDS. "I have frightened yop, my dear,". she said, recovering her- self-self-command was i fixed'habit with her now, she was not at all likely to give way again, "but you-you resemble some one I Once knew. My child, what a strange thing for you to do--to come and spend a night in this dismal place. Were you not terribly afraid?" '"Well-no, my lady, at least not until I heard you upstairs. I don't mind a bit so that Duke and Rosanna don't find out." You are very fond of your cousins, my dear?" "Oh, very " said Polly, "D uke especially; but every one lves Duke-the starved dogs in the streets, the little beggars who-ask alms in the town-everybody!" Her eyes lighted-yes, very fondly. Polly loved "dear old Duke." "And you 'are -happy--truly and really happy," the lady asked--so earnestly she asked it. "Happy?"Polly asked; "well, no, not quite; I don't think anybody could be happy whose name was Polly Mason; Polly! it reminds one of a poll parrot in a cage asking for crackers." Lady Charteris smiled in spite of herself. "Is that all?, Well, my child, you can console yourself with the thought that, like most young ladies, you will one day change your name." Polly blushed, and thought of Mr. Fane. "I ought to be a happy girl, I suppose, for everybody is very good to me. My lady, will you please tell me the time?" "It is just half-past one," looking at her watch; "my errand here is done,'and you will return with me. And Polly," she laid her hand on the girl's shoulder, " you know some of the people at the Priory. I saw you dancing, you remember, yes- terday; don't mention to any of those young men, should you chance to see them, that you ever met me here. Now come." "My lady, I cannot go-I promised to wait, and I must. They will call for me at two-only half an hour now; I wouldn't have them find me gone for the world when they return. I should never hear the last of it." "Who are they, my little one?" "Oh, Alice Warren and Eliza Iong,'and two young men;, you wouldn't know any of them. They'll be here at two, and I must wait-I promised." "A promise must be kept, of course. Will you not get a scoldifng to-morrow from-this Duke you love so well, for this madcap prank?" , ' - - -* *- - .,. i., . - \ POLL v'S MSD EEDS. "A scoldingl IDuke' scold "Polly laughed aloud at the stupendous joke-such a sweet, merry laugh. "Oh, dear no, my lady, Duke couldn't scold if he tried-least of all, me. But' be would look grieved, and that would be ten times worse, and never say a word, and be kinder to me than ever. Rosanna would scold, and I shouldn't mind it a bit; but Duke." Polly shook her curly head, with contrition: "No, I hope Duke won't hear of it." "Then, he shall not-from me. And I must go and leave you here. It seems almost cruel." "You are very kind, my lady, but don't mind me; I'm not afraid, and I couldn't go, that's the amount of it. Please let me help you out." Lady Charteris stooped, and kissed her very gently this time.' "You are a brave little girl. Good-night,'and don't come here any more." . The benediction given with the kiss was uttered in the lady's heart. Polly helped her out of the window, and watched 'her as she flitted down the avenue, her light steps lost on the grassy ground. . I "Now I wonder what brought her here?" thought Miss Mason, " all alone, and at this time of night--morning, I mean . .: -for it's close upon two o'clock. Is she going to walk all the I way to Montalien Priory, and does her husband know she's out?' Oh, dear!" Polly yawned dismally. "I do wish they would come." She had not long to wait. Before two struck the quartette stood inder her window, filled with remorse and dire misgivings.' A Would they find her alive when they returned; would. they fihd .her at all? Might not the cavalier's ghost carry her off bodily to the land of restless shadows whence he came? But, Polly, as bright as a new shilling, stood smiling before them, and leaped with the bound of a kid out of the window and into. the arms of the haberdasher's young man. "That will do, Sam; I don't want help," said Miss Mason, rather disdainfully. After Allan Fane and Guy Earlscourt it - wasn't likely she was ever again going to tolerate tradesmen's i apprentices. "Yes, I'm safe, Eliza, in spite of you and the y ghosts and the rats; and I've had a sociable chat with one of'1i the ghosts that haunt the Grange, and a very pleasant ghost it is. I hope you're convinced I'm not afraid now; and if you, or any of you, let Duke or Rosanna find out this night's work, I'll-well, don't you do it, that's alll I mays be an 7 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] * ' * , ' . I "6 POLL Y'S MSDEEDS. idiot for my pains, but I'm not going to worry theni into their graves." Even Eliza Long promised. She had been considerably alarmed during the hours of waiting. If they found Polly dead or gone mad through fright, Peter Jenkins would turn Queen's evidence, she knew, and there was no telling what the law might not do to her-hang her, perhaps. She promised, and she kept her word-for two or three months-and by that time it did no harm to tell. At half-past two exactly, Polly stole in through a kitchen window and upstairs in her stockings to bed, and fell asleep, and woke up and came fresh and smiling down to breakfast, none the worse for her night's dreary frolic. "He will be here presently," was the young lady's thought; and breakfast over, she went back to her room to gef herself up for the occasion. She looked over her wardrobe with a melancholy sense of its deficiencies. A white muslin and a drab silk for Sundays, Polly hated that drab silk, which Ro- sanna had bought as a good serviceable color. Two faded ginghams, much the worse for washing and mending, and last winter's blue merino. That was all. She chose the blue me- ring, faded a little, but low-necked and short-sleeved, and the color that suited her best, and put it on. A blue ;:ibbon, the hue of her eyes, to tie up the short, crisp curls-and that was the whole of her adornment. But the sloping shoulders and the rounded arms shone, and the sapphire eyes sparkled, and the short, boyish curls were like supple gold, and, standing be- fore the glass, the girl knew she was beautiful. Mr. Fane came, and not alone. At eleven o'clock he drove up in a dashing little pony phaeton, with cream-colored, high- stepping ponies, and Miss Maud Charteris by his side. Polly was seated under an arch of morning-glories, reading Tennyson, posing for the occasion, and Mr. Fane's speaking eyes told her pretty plainly what he thought of her looks. He had come to take her to the Priory for that first sitting for the fair Rosa-' mond, and this was Miss Maud Charteris, Miss Mason,'and lie was quite sure each young lady would be charmed with the other. Miss Maud Charteris gave Miss Polly Mason a little, half-patronizing, half-hauglty smile and bow, which the latter returned with equal hauteur. She was not pretty--little Miss Charteris. She was pale and sickly of aspect, with her father's black eyes, and tar-black, hair, straight as an Indian's. The bright silks whif that doting father liked to see her wear con- ,. POLL Y'S MSDEEDS. 147 trasted harshly with her sinall, pinched features and sickly pallor. She was dressed like a doll now, in tartan silk of bril- liant hues, a white lace scarf, a Paris hat, wreathed with pinl rose-buds, and dainty boots, and gloves, and pik-silk and point . lace parasol. Polly saw it all, and the faded blue mering, and her bare. brown hands, and her straw hat, with its cheap ribbons, looked, oh! so unutterably shabby and poor and mean. How could Mr. Fane ever look at her twice, beside the glittering little but- terfly, this baronet's daughter, dressed in rose -silk? She turned sick with hopeless longing, and-yes, the truth must be told, envy--and was driven to Montalien Priory, so silent and dt pressed, that she hardly knew herself. How could she tell that Mr. Fane never saw the tartan silk, the Paris rose-buds, or the- point lace? lie only knew that the baronet's daughter was sallow and puny and not pretty, and that a girl as bright, as blooming, as beautiful as Hebe's self sat beside him, with two blue eyes, whose like he had never seen before. Miss Charteris deigned to talk a little to Miss-aw-Mason, as the steppers bore themi along. Had she really lived all her life in this dull, country town? Had she never been to school, nor to Paris-never even to London? It must be dreadfully dull--such a life. She. regarded the shabby mering and- the common straw hat with pitying wonder. She was unutterably condescending to this dowdy country-girl' whomn Mr. Fane wanted to paint. The little embryo lady took the airs 6f a* grande dame as naturally as a duckling takes to, water, and' ith , every question of the,disdainful patrician, Polly grew more nI ld more angry and sulky, and sorry she came; and it was in a very bad humor, indeed, that she entered the dusky splendor of the Priory, and followed Mr. Fane into an apartment where flowers bloomed, and birds, sang, and beautiful pictures were on the walls, and tall vases-taller than herself-stood, and a Tur- 'key parpet covered the floo;r, and silken draperies hung, and Parian statuettes glimmered in the pale-green light. Her heart sank more and more at sight of all this splendor. No wonder Maud Charteris despised her-Maud Charteris, io 5whom this gorgeous temple was only-an everyday drawing-1Wroni, and who lived in perpetual tartan silks. hr. I'ane left her for a momelit to go in search of, Miss Hautton, he said, who was to sit for Queen Eleanor. aMiss Chaiteris left her, excusing herself elaborately, to remove her page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 POLL Y'S MSDEEDS. a chuich. She glanced about her in awe. But presently, through a curtained arch at the farther end of the room, voices came. One was the voice of little Miss Maud; the other the languid, h aughty accents of Miss Hautton. *'Pretty?" she was repeating, in rather a contemptuous tone. "Did Mr. Fanie really say so, Maud? He must have been jesting, surely. Why, the girl in white, with whom I saw him dancing, was a perfect little dowdy." "Well, I thought so too, Diana," said the piping treble of the little lady of thirteen ; " and to-day-you should see her!-such a dress, old and faded-and made-oh!" Words failed to describe the unfashionable make of this old, faded dress. "How tiresome of Mr. Fane to fetch her here; and one must be civil to the little creature, I suppose. Pretty! a stu- pid country-girl, with red hair and freckles." Polly waited to hear no more; her heart felt full to bursting -she hardly knew whether with anger, or wounded feeling, or what. She had been insulted, cruelly insulted ; why had Mr. Fane ever brought her here? She got up, and made her way out; how, she hardly knew, through long suites of rooms, and down that grand gilded and carved stairway. She was out- of the house, and into the bright sunshine, with the summer wind ] blowing in her hot face, and a swelling in her throat that nearly i choked her. "A stupid country-girl, with red hair and freckles!"That dreadfull sentence rang in her ears like a death-knell all the way home. She went straight up to her room, and threw off the blue dress and blue ribbon, and put on the shortest land most washed-out of the ginghams, and looked at herself in the glass. It was quite true, all they said of her. - She was a dowdy, and looked it. She had red hair, too-it appeared yellow to her. But red or yellow, it was all the same, and she had freckles. The light was very strong, and by straining her eyes, she counted seven under one eye and five under the other. She was neither clever nor handsolle npr good; she was only a sunburnt tomboy, and would never go near the Priory nor those scornful ladies any more; and Mr. Fane should get his confge (Polly knew French) if he ever dared come near her again. Polly worked for the remainder of that day with an energy that completely astonished Rosanna. lrohing was going on, and pOLL Y'S MSDEEDS . * 49 she got a table to herself),'and ironed those clothes with a vin. dictive energy, that left her cheeks crimson, and her eyes fill of streaming light. She was dead silen!t, too, and deClined tak- ing her tea, when-tea-time came, and went out into the garden to let the- evening wind cool off, if it could, her flushed face. And as she reached the gate, there stood Mr. Allan, Pane in person. "Miss Mason-Polly!"' he began, ", what on earth made you 'run away i? Did I leave you too long? I give you my word I could not help it, and I hope you are not offended. What was it?" I Polly looked at him with, flashing eyes. She would have cut off, her right hand sooner tlan let him know how she had been humiliated. What-is it, Polly? I think you said that I might call you ;. Polly," with a tender look. y "You may call Tme anything you please, Mr. Fane-a dowdy, stupid country-girl, such as I am. If I were Miss Diana Haut- ton, or Miss Maud Charteris, it would be quite another thing- but how could a shabby, ignorant, red-haired rustic expect either respect or cor'tesy " si "Polly-Miss Mason i Good Heaven! has any one insulted you? - Who came into the rooms while I was away?" "Not a soul, Mr, Fane. But you should not be surprised at anything a person in lmy class of life may do. We don't know any bette, and I got frightened, very naturally, at all the splendor about me, and ran away--just that. One word, one look from so grand a lady as the Honorable-Miss Hautton would have annihilated me; I ran away. Don't waste your ,i time, I beg, Mr. Fane,'go back to the Priory and the high born ladies there." "You are as thorough. a lady as the best'of them, Miss Ma- ' son, ifyou will pardon my presumption in saying so, and I wouldn't exchange five- minutes with you for a day with -the fairest of te" . I He told, the truth-there was a glow on his placid face very unusual thee. Polly, pretty at all 'iimes, was tenfold prettier when thoroughly angry. The haughty poise of the head, the flashing fire in the blue eyes, the flush on the oval cheeks, the ringing tones of the clear voice, became her well. "Some one has offendedsomne one has insulted you, it may be, Miss Mason, but it was not I. If I only dared )put in words what I think of you; but no, even the deej)est admiration irfay page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 POLLY'S 4MSDEEDS. sometimes appear impertinence. Tell me you are not angry with me-I could not bear that, Polly." His voice softened to a wonderful tenderness, the eyes that looked at her were full of a light that shot the words home. Mr. Fane having spent the past four years at the business was past master of the art of love c la mnode. And Polly's heart stirred for an instant, and the fiery scorn died out of her face, and into its place came a beautiful, tremulous light; but she laughed saucily even while moved. "You are talking treason ti your sovereign, Mr. Fane. What would Miss Hautton say if she heard you?" "Miss 'Hautton may go to Paradise, if she likes. What is Miss Hautton 'to me?" "'The future Mrs. Fane', or rumor tells awful stories!" "Rumor does tell awful stories, always did. .If I cared for Miss Hautton would I be here? Polly, you must sit for that picture, only, by Jove, I shall have to paint you for Queen Eleanor, if you look as you do just now. Won't you ask me in, and give me some tea, please? I came after you in such haste that I never waited for luncheon." "What?"Polly cried, "hag it taken you since one o'clock to walk three miles? Oh1 Mr. Fane, don't think me a greater goose than you can help. Come in, if you like, and I will see ? if Rosanna will let you have the tea." I "That doesn't sound too hospitable," the artist said, "but where one is very anxious to obtain the entree, one must not stand on the order of his invitation. We shall have the sittings here, Miss Polly, instead of at the Priory.'" Mr. Allan Fane never once nqticed the faded gingham; he went into the'house, meeting a rather cool reception from both Duke and Rosanna. Polly was all mortal man could desire, and he lingered until the moon was up, and the loud-voiced kitchen clock struck i nine. The gill went with him to the gate, the moon shone crystal clear; what a night it was, what a beautiful, blissful world altogether! And Rosanna called life a weary pilgrimage and earth a vale of tears. "May I come again-and very soon, Polly?" asked MPr. Fane, holding her hand, and looking into the eyes he thought brighter than all those shining stars above. , ; 7 "Certainly," Miss Mason responded demurely; "and if you make such progress at every sitting as you have done at this, Mr. Fane, the fair Rosamond will be completed before you POLL Y'S, MSDIEDS. I 5 know it." Her clear laugh rang out, the truth being the artist had entirely forgotten fair Rosamond, Allan Fane being so en- grossed by Polly Mason. He lit his cigar and walked home through the soft summer night, with the uneasy conviction dawning upon him that he was falling helplessly in love. There had been moments, this very evening, when it had been all he could do to restrain himself from snatching her to his breast, resigning all the hopes and ambitions of his life, and become possessor of those wondrous eyes of purple light, that darkling, sparkling, beauteous face, that saucy, witching smile. " Jove!" he exclaimed, " what a face that girl has-what a pair of eyes" . He thought of Diana Hautton, and her three thousand a year, her lofty birth, her blue blood. She had blue eyes too, but aristocratic in all things, Miss Hautton was most aristo- cratically near-sighted, and the eyes were wofully dim and faded by comparison with those he had left. "Why wasn't I born with two thousand a year?" the artist thought, moodily. "I'd marry that girl out of hand, and go to Italy, and spend the remainder of my days lying at her feet, looking up at her perfect beauty, and fancy it always afternoon. Or why hasn't she a fortune? My pretty Polly, I fear you and I must part." Mr. Fane did not present himself at the cottage next morn- ing, as Polly half hoped; and after dinner, putting on her hat, she strollbd up to see her friend, Alice Warren. If Mr. Fane was coming, she would meet him, or if he went to the house, and found her out, it would do him no harm to wait. She did not meet him, however, and reaching the bailiff's abode, she found Alice alone, and in some perplexity. "What's the matter, Alice?"Polly asked. "Where's your mother?" ) "Mother's gone 'to Speckhaven; father out attending his business, and Billy's off a-fishing ; and here' a message from father that Billy's to go up to the Priory sfast as he can. There's a sort of water party, and they want im to row one of , the boats." \ Miss Mason pricked up her ears. A water p ty! this was why Mr. Fane had not put in an appearance that morning. Why had he told her nothing of this-? "Mr. Francis and Mr. Guy can row, but that artist gentle- man-you know him, Polly-cannot, and Billy's to row his boat. Whatever shall I do?" . page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 POLLY'S MSDEEDS. A sudden inspiration flashed across Polly's mind-across that speaking face of hers. She could row. An intense curiosity . possessed her to see how M/r. Fane conducted himself in the society of Miss Hautton. He. had told her yesterday, in the plainest terms, the Honorable Diana was nothing, less than. nothing to him. Hferel was a chance to prove his truth or false- hood. Alice read her mischievous design in her face, and clasped her hands. ' "Ohl, Polly, don't," she cried, aghast. Only six weeks before, Polly had brought up some walnut juice and hair-dye, from among Duke's theatrical properties, and arrayed herself in Billy's garments, and stepped down to call upon Rosanna, and actually sat and chatted with that lady full twenty minutes, without her ever discovering how shamne- fully she was being imposed upon. Polly's saucy face was full of laughing, roguish, reckless delight now, at the prospect of fun. "Don't, Polly!" pleaded Alice. "Only think, if you should be found out." ' I shall/" said Polly; and her friend knew that i' I shall" was as unalterable as the laws of the Medes. "And I won't ' be found out. If I am; it isn't a hanging matter. I'l go, and ro)v the gentleman who can't row himself. Get the walnut- juice and hair-wash, and Billy's Sunday-go-to-meetin's, Alice!" Dear, faii, sensitive reader, you .are shocked, I am sure; but lease remember this shocking little madcap was. only sixteen, as full of frolic as a kitten; and even you, perhaps, were not as wise at sixteen as you are now. She acted on impulse-all the evil and misery of the girl's'after-life came fron that. She acted on impulse ; she never paused to think. There had gone into the bailiff's house a pretty, fair-haired girl--there came out a swarthy-skinned, black-haired lad, whose straw hat was very much slouched over his eyes, whose hands were thrust deep in his jacket-pockets, and who walked along with your true boy's swagger. Alice looked after her, in laughing wonder, not un- mixed with dismay. "Her own mother would not know her," the bailiff's daughter thought; "6tut, good gracious! if she should be dis- covered!" This dusky boy, who might have served as a model for Murillo, had that immortal been alive, sped along at a swinging pace. Half a mile on he came face to face with Mathew War- ren himself. "You, Billy! you hurry," called the parent gruffly. He rec- ' s ' aX . POLL Y'S MSDEEDS. .153 ' ognized the hat and jacket, and took 'his offspring for granted. :g' "Cut across-them meadows now, and down to the lake like fun. The gentry's awaitil'." . . The lad bounded across the meadows, every pulse tingling with excitement and the fun of the thing. For the impropriet) ' -well, did not Viola, in the garb of a page, follow her kniglht - : to the wars? And did not Helen Mar, in male attire, pene- , -. trate to the prison of her Scottish chief? and was not Helen : Mar but one remove from an angel? If pages' costume were - the correct thing for ladies a few hundred years ago, where was . the great harm now'in Billy's Sunday jacket and sit-upons? Amid the wooded'slopes of the great park lay the mere, or lake, a broad, deep sheet of water, embosomed in wooded heights, and with two small islands nestling like emeralds on its shiniilg breast. These islands were famous picnic places, and the present destination of the party. There were three boats. As Polly sprang lightly down the green slope, she took in the whole scene, There was Mr.' Francis, already launched in his white skiff, with. Lady Char- teris and a Miss Mortimer, a near neighbor; there was Mr. Guy, with Miss Maud Charteris, and two other young ladies in sky-blue muslin; and there was Mr. Allan Fane, standing be- side Miss Hautton, and looking helplessly at his " boat upon the shore." Why had he never learned to row? Would thel; bailiff's boy never come? For, if one may venture to use sudw an expression with regard to so high-born a lady, Miss Hautton was in the sulks* Had not Francis Earlscourt "chafed"Mr., Fane in her presence concerning his rustic inamorata, and, though the Honorable Diana was disdainfully uplifted and in-.- different to such people, she had felt a sharp pang of anger and jealousy. Just now she was haughty, frigid, and all Mr. Fane's efforts up to this moment had failed to melt her. "Thank Heaven!" he exclaimed ;- "here's that boy at last. You're sure you can row, my lad?" "Quite sure, sir." How the lad's heartwas throbbing under Billy's best waistcoat I but the slouched hat hid the eyes that flashed so wickedly. '( Permit me to assist you, Miss Hautton?"The gentlemanh spread. wraps, and helped his scornful, silent liege lady in with tenderest care. "Shall we go in search of those water-lilies you spoke of sometime since, my dear Miss Hautton?" "As you please," Miss Hautton answered, politely, struggling with a yawn; " as well one place as another." 7P I X page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 POLL Y'S MSDEEDS. The three thousand a year seemed melting away like iorn- ing mist. The young man grew alarmed, he might be in love with a dozen. village girls, but when it came to marriage, Miss Hautton was the lady. His attentions redoubled, his voice took a pathetically tender accent, his looks might have gone to' a heart of flint. Ah! Polly knew these very looks well-they were his stock-in-trade, given to all alike. He had told her falsehoods then, he ewas the suitor of this middle-aged heiress. A red, angry glow began to burn under the walnut-dyed skin. Miss Hautton gradually deigned to relax. The afternoon was hot, the sunshine glorious, no one could be very frigid long in such a tropical temlpeiature. The patrician face under the white parasol relented into a smile at some especially gallant whisper of the gentleman. "Bah!" she said, "how much of all that is real, Mr. Fane? Does your little farmyard nymph appreciate your fine speeches, I wonder?".' She could not for her life help saying it, and yet she hated herself for letting him see she cared enough for him to be jeal- ous. Mr. Fane's face lighted perceptibly. "What!" he said, with his frankest laugh, "little Polly'! my dear Miss Haughton, she is only a handsome child, a pictur- esque model, with tawny hair, and melting blue eyes-a model for Greuze. I have set my heart on making the ' Rosamond :ind Eleanor' a success, and hers is just the face I want fdr my Rosamond. Who would make speeches as you call them to a little rustic school-girl? What I say to you-Diana!" a pause before the name, and a look!"I mean!" "If you want water-lilies, hadn't I better take you there?"' called the voice of the boy who rowed at this juncture; " they're 'thick there, I know!" He pointed to the smaller island of the two-the other boats were making for the larger. And under the straw hat, howe two bright, eyes were flashing. "Very well," the lady said, more and more gracious, "let us go there, then." "Billy" rowed with vicious energy-full of thoughts of ven- geaice. "A rustic school-girl "-a "picturesque model," indeed! Perhaps before the day was ended she would teach this matchless deceiver she was something more. The smaller island, "-Lily Island" it was called, was about ten minutes' walk in circumference, and two hundred yards distant, either from the shore or the other island. Polly-knew / POLL Y'S MSDEEDS. I S . this, also that Mr. Fane could no more swim than row, and a veng'eful resolution came into her wicked, plotting little head. "I'l give you plenty of time to make love, and propose, Mr. Allan Fane," sle thought, as she ran her skiff ashore, and leaped out. Mr.. Fane carefully assisted his lady. Was the boy sure the grass was not damp, that the ground was not marshy? Yes the boy was positive on these points, and led the way to where. the lilies grew-at a point directly opposite the landing, with' pollard willows and alders growing thick between. "Go back to your boat and wait for us, my lad," Mr. Fane said; " we will return in an hour or so." ' Will you?" thought the youth addressed; " that remains to be'seen." The artist made a seat for the heiress, and began filling a small basket, brought for the purpose, with lilies and wild red berries. He did not mean to propose just yet-he rather shrank from that ultimatum, amd wished to postpone his fetters as long as possible, but otherwise he was all that the most ex- acting lady-love could desire. And yards and yards away over the shining lake the boy and the boat had gope. Gone! Polly rowed straiglt to the shore, moored the boat, and with one vindictive, backward look at the distant green speck, went coolly on her homeward way. "He can't swim, and they won't hear him if he calls," thought, the avenger. '4 When they see the boat here, they'll think he's returned, and won't miss them for some hours. There's to be a dinner party to-night, and I rather think two of the guests will be late." Polly returned to the bailiff's, doffed Billy's clothes, washed away the dye and walnut-juice, and went home. Rosanna wondered at her variable mood, for the rest of that day. oSome- times all aglow with inward wrath, and again bursting into in- extinguishable fits of laughter. "Wrecked on a desert island,?' Polly th6ught. I wonder how they find themselves by this time?" How, indeed? The lilies were gathered-the lady and gentleman had had a very pleasant tete-c-tete-the sun was dropping low, and Miss Hautton looked at her watch. Half-past five, and they dined at seven-quite time to go home and dress. She took her escort's proffered arm and went across the island to the boat. To the boat, indeed! the boat was gone. The deserted pair looked blankly around. ' page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 2 I56 POLL Y'S MSDEEDS. '^; "What does this mean?"Mr. Fane asked; "where could that little'wretch have gone?" He left the lady and went round the island. All in vain; no ,'trace of'the boy or the boat remained. He aended the highest point of the island, and looked across to the shore ; yes, there, moored together, were the three boats. he whole party had returned--the diabolical urchin hadgot tired waiting, and gone off; they were quite alone.--not a soul to be seen! The truth burst upon Allan Fane, and the curses, not loud but deep, that followed, would have astonished Miss Hautton could she have heard them. . She. did not swear when the truth was broken to her, but a ilush of intolerable annoyance and mortification crimsoned her pale face. To be the subject of a jest, a source of ridicule and laughter, was beyond all things a horror, to this lady's pride. And would not this story-this being deserted on an island with Allan Fane, serve to keep her friends in merriment for months to come? "What is to be done?" she asked, trying to repress her in- tense anger and mortification. Mr. Fane did not know he was out of his depth altogether. He tried siouting until he was hoarse-all in vain-there was none to hear. And the sun went down, flushing sky and lake with red light, and the mo- ments wore on, and with each Miss HLautton's trouble deep- ened. Great Heaven! she thought, if she should be obliged to pass the night here! The moments, the hours passed-it was past eight. The evening wind arose, chill from the far-off German Ocean, the warm, red glow died out of the sky, it turned cold and gray. A ripple darkened the glassy surface of the lake-a creeping fog was rising. And Diana Hautton covered her face with both hands, and burst into tears of rage, and shame, and fear. B11t relief was at hand--:sent by the wicked plotter himself. Billy -the real Billy, dispatched witlh a bribe, and a promise of in- violable secrecy, launched one of the skiffs, and reached the island just as the darkness of night was wrapping sea and land. Mr. Fane sprang upon him with an oath. "You infernal young rascal! Why did you play us this 'i trick!" ' Billy wriggled himself free, and looked up with a face of in. jured innocence. u w "Lem me go. I didn't play you no trick. I an't been here to-day afore." And looking closely at him, Allan Fane knew he had hot. i "OVE S YOUNG DREAM AND 07THER THNGS. 157 And then there dawned upon him a thought, a wild idea, but a. true one. t He said not a word. He helped Miss Hautton in quite meekly, and did not speak five words all the way home. For Polly, she laid her head upon her pillow that night with' the virtuous pride of one who has brought the wicked to righteous retribution, and heaped coals of fire upon the head :f the deceiver and slanderer. ' CHAPTER VI. WHCH TREATS OF LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM AND OTHER THNGS. [5 IUCHESS," Mr. Mason said, the following morning, as I[ it he arose from the breakfast table, "when you're qitte finished, and got the dishes washed, I wish you would step up to my room before you go anywhere. I have a proposal to make to you." "Oh!" said the Duchess, " a proposal of marriage, Duke?" Paying no attention to this flippant inquiry, the scene-painter went on his way upstairs, to his own peculiar sanctum. He was unusually grave and thoughtful this morning, as Polly might have noticed had she not been in a rather spiritless state herself. The reaction that always follows excitement had set- i in, and though she had raged and laughed alternately yester- day, this morning she was as dull as Miss Hautton had called her. She did not even wonder how they felt after yesterday's adventure on the island. Why should she trouble herself to think of them-she despised her, had' called her ignominious names, and he was amusing himself with her rustic simplicity, and laughing in his sleeve at the effect of his pretty speeches. "Only a handsome model,", indeed I How glad she was she had never given him even one sitting for the Fair Rosamopd. The breakfast service cleared away and the little dining-%oom tidied, she went upstairs wearily to the painting-room. The perennial dabs of black were or} the pretty face and hands, and she looked pale and listless. She found the scene-painter not. yet at work, but sitting before a small shaving-glass, contenm- ;; platively rubbing the stubble on his chin. y rubbin the page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM AND OTHER THNGS. "I wonder if I could postpone it until to-morrow," he said as she entered; " shaving makes a man look cleaner, no doubt, but it is an awful bother. Do you think the bristles will be too strong, if I waited another day, Duchess." "Mr. Mason, was that what you requested me to come up here to decide?" "No, Duchess, don't be in a hurry;"Duke turned from the glass, and leaning forward looked at her. How pale she was in the garish morning light-how dull the brilliant eyes-almost as dull as Miss Hautton's own! "Duchess, what's the matter? You're getting thin. You're losing your appetite-you only took two'cups of tea this morn- ing and three rolls." '"Do you usually count my cups of tea and the number of rolls, sir?" cried Polly firing up, for her powerful school-girl appetite, so unlike her heroines, was rather a sore spot with this young lady. "You're getting thinner and pale; you're losing your good looks, Miss Mason. You want a change, and you shall have it. Duchess, you shall go to boarding-school!" "To boarding-school, Duke!" "To boarding-school, Duchess." . The girl's face flushed, then paled; she walked to the win- dow, and looked silently down the quiet road. To boarding- ,school! Why, it had been the dream of her life to go to school hitherto, but Duke clung to her bright presence with an almost selfish love, and could not bear to part with her. Now her dream was realized, she was to go, and her first sensation was one of blank dismay. Her silence, her rigid attitude, frightened her guardian. It had not been Lady Charteris's words altogether which had de- termined him upon this step; it had been the attentions of Mr. Allan Fane and Polly's evident pleasure in them. To him there was something almost like a sacrilege--like a desecration of holy childhood-in a strange young man talking of love and passion to his little sixteen-year-old child. He would quietly and at once remove her from danger. And now she stood here pale-silent-and could it be that he was too late and the mischief done? "Duchess-Polly!" he exclaimed in a frightened voice, "you always wanted to go. Don't tell me, you are going to object nolw /!" She turned from the window, and the smile he loved lit up I er face. - . "OVE'S YOUNG DREAM AND OTHER THIAGS. 159 " No, Duke, I'm not going to object. I'll go with all the ' pleasure in life. I need school of some kind, goodness knows -such an ignorant, wild, good-for-nothing wretch as I am. Where am I to -go?" ' "To Brompton-to Miss Primrose's establishment. Squire Weldon's daughter went there, you know. And I'll take you next week if you think you can be ready." "That's a question for Rosanna--I can be ready fast enough if my clothes can. Can you afford it, Duke? It will cost dreadfully, won't it?" "You have your own private fortune, Miss Mason," re- sponded Duke, gravely; "it Shall come out of that. Out of seven hundred you. can spare two for your education, I should hope, and then when you can play the piano and work Berlin- wool pincushions, and are five-and:twenty years old, we will marry y'ou to some sensible, middle-aged professional man-say a lawyer or a doctor," concluded Duke, with a ghastly attempt at a jest.' Polly frowned and turned to leave the room. "I hate sensible men-I abhor middle-aged lawyers and doc- tors, and I shall never marry-never! I'll be an old maid like Rosanna; and if Mr. Hawksley ever returns from those savage lands; where they dig gold out of the ground as people here do turnips, I'll keep his house for him if he will let me. And now, as I've got to go into town for Rosanna, I'll bid you good-morn- ing, if you're quite done with me." Polly departed, dressed herself mechanically, and went on Rosanna's commission. The bright sunshine, the fresh air blew away the vapors of the morning, and before she had been fifteen minutes abroad Polly was herself again. Her step grew elastic, her eyes bright, her cheeks rosy, her smile radiant. Go to school I of course she would, and study hard too, and come home accomplished, a piano-playing, fire- screen making, Italian-singing, crayon-drawing, perfectly-finished young lady. Miss Hautton or no one else should call her an ignorant rustic again. It was late in the afternoon when she reached home; and the first person she beheld as she neared the cottage was Mr. Allan Fane. She had spent the whole morning in Speckhaven -dining with a friend there--and now as the western sky was I. reddening, she sauntered homeward trilling a song in very gladhess of heart. It was her favorite ballad of "County Guy," and it was of Guy Earlscourt she was thinking as she page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 LOVE'S YOUNG DREAAM AND OTHER THNGS. sang. He reminded her of the heroes of her books, with hii darkly handsome face, his large Italian eyes, with that sleepy golden light in their dusky depths, and his smile, that not Mr. Allan Fane or his brother could rival. She was heart-whole where the artist was concerned in spite of her pique and mor- tified vanity-a very child playing at being in love, And there was all a child's audacity in the. saucy smile, and glance, and gteeting she gave him now. Allan Fane had been a little doubtfil- about his reception-. ever so little uneasy. A conviction that it was this mischiev- ous sprite who had left him on the island to punish him for his deception, had stolen upon him. I As he met that brightly defi- ant, saucy glance -he felt certain of it. She looked like a boy that moment-a bewitchingly pretty boy, and the blue Gieuze eyes flashed with the wickedest fire he had ever seen in them. How pretty she was! how pretty I how pretty! He was an artist, remember, and an adorer of beauty in all things. She' wore the " serviceable drab silk," but she had lit herself up with knots of cherry-colored ribbon, and her head, with its yel- low curls, was bare to. the red sunshine. She was swinging her hat by its. strings, as she had a trick of doing, altogether heed- less of tan, freckles, or sunburn. "How do, Mr. Fane?"Polly said, with 'that rippling smile; "I hear you had a delightful water-party to Lily Island yes- terday. I do hope, now, you didi't tire yourself tOo much rowing in the hot sun. It's lovely on Lily Island, isn't it?" 'She was quite reckless whether he knew of her masquerade or not. What was he to her-what was she to him? Only a "picturesque model!" "I can't row, Miss Mason, as you very iell know, neither can I swim. As you are strong, be merciful. Do I need to tell you of the melancholy accident that befell me yesterday? How the wicked little Charon who rowed our boat left Miss Diana Hautton and myself alone on that confounded little two- penny halfpenny island; how Miss Hautton wept with anger and vexation ;'how I swore inwardly at my plight; how the sun set, and the fog rose, and it was half-past, nine at night be- fore, sadder, wiser, Wetter, colder, we reached the Priory. Ah, Miss Mason! evenyoze I think mnight have pitied us if you had beheld our forlorn condition." Polly shrugged hershoulders disdaiifully. "I pity no one who is deservedly punished. It was only just retribution for something said or done. I am quite certain "OVE'S YOUNG DREAM AND OTHER THNGS. I61 Charon knew what he was about, and served you right.' What an excellent opportunity it afforded you, Mr. Fane, of turning knight-errant, succoring beauty, in distress. I think you should feel grateful for having been left.". "KInight-errantry went out of fashion with Don Quixote; and succoring beauty in distress-beauty being exemplified lby Miss Hautton-is a r-O/e I shouldn't care to undertake. Under certain circumstances," with his eyes fixed on the face before him, "I can fancy a lifetime spent even on Lily Island might be pleasant." ;. But the same look given her now, had been given to another yesterday, and she met it with a ringing laugh: "Don't you think, 'under all circtmstances, Mr. Fane, you would row over to the mainland after twelve hours or so, for the vulgar bread and butter of everyday life, finding love and lilies pall a little? No; I forget you can't row. Take lessons, sir, before you go on a water-party again." "I will take lessons in anything, Miss Mason, if you will teach me." His face flushed, his eyes sparkled, he came a step nearer. There was something in her manner to-day that made her a hundredfold more bewitching than ever-a sort of reckless defiance, that lit her face with a new, bright beauty. "I have better use for my time, sir. Instead of teaching, I am going to be taught, myself. I am going away to school." "Going away to school i" The girl laughed. Coquetry comes naturally to most pretty women, and Polly was a coquette born. Somehow, to-day she felt as though she were vastly above this young man-older, wiser--his superior. "If I had said 'going to Newgate,' you could not look more blank. Yes, Mr. Fane, I am going away-going to school in London-no, Birompton-for the next two or three years."' "Two or three years!" He did look blank. The possibility of her going away had never occurred to him. He had nbt given the matter much thought, but it had seemed to' him that the bright summer ; months would go on like this, in. pleasant interviews, and de- lightful sittings for his picture. The end must come some time, ' and he must leave this girl with the tawny hair and sap- phire eyes, but the end had only been glanced at afar off, and between lay a golden mist of long delicious days and weeks. And now she was going away, and there broke Upon Allan page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] I62 LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM AND OTHER THNGS. Fane the truth-that he was in love!-not merely smitten, but in love, with a slim, untutored little girl, with the manners, when she chose, of a princess, and the beauty of an embryo goddess. For, the first time in his life, after tenscore flirtations, 'Allan Fane was in love! He was white as a sheet; his eyes, his voice, his careless attitude changed in a moment. The girl saw it with wonder and delight. "Yes," she pursued, mercilessly, "I am going away in a fewx days-as soon as ever my things can be got ready-and I am wild to be gone. Don't you'think Ineed it, Mr. Pane? Even ' a picturesque model' is the better for knowing the nine parts of speech, and'how to spell words of three syllables. When you and Miss Hautton go to St. George's, Hanover Square, please send me the Morning Post containing all the particulars -that is, if you haven't forgotten my very existence long be- fore that time." "I shall never forget you!" He spoke the truth. Allan Fane never did forget her. That hour came back to him years after with something of the pang he felt then. Weak, selfish, he might be, and was, but the pain of loss was there, and as bitter as though he had been a stronger and worthier man. That hour came back many times in his after life, and he saw little Polly Mason again with the red light of the sunset on her sparkling face, and the gleams of scornful humor in her flashing eyes. "You will never forget me!" she repeated with another laugh, that had yet a tone of bitterness in it; " no, I suppose the memory of the. little picturesque model, with the tawny hair, and blue Greuze 'eyes, may serve to amuse you and Miss. Hautton, for some time to come. Pray don't speak in a hurry, Mr. Fane, as I see you are about to do. Who would maker speeches to a little rustic school-girl? What you say to- Diana-you mean." She had remembered his very words, and could launch them back now, with telling reprisal. He caught her hand before she was aware, and held it fast. "I knew it was. you, Polly," he exclaimed; "oh wicked fairy! to come in disguise, and overhear my meaningless words. Don't you know that in society we may pay those sort of compliments, and make these empty speeches to ladies, and ladies take them as matters of course, and never think of them twice. I don't care for Diana Hautton-I swear to you, Polly -I Fson't." "OVE'S YOUNG DREAM AND OTHER THNGS. ' 63 "No;!' Polly said coldly-proudly-and trying to withdraw her hand. "I'dare say you don't care for her, but you are go. ing to marry her all the same. Please let go my. hand, Mr. Fane ; they will see you from the house." "What do I care if they do? what do I care if all the world sees me?"He was quite tarried away now by the excitement of the chase, and his face was flushed, eager. "Forgive me, Miss Mason-Polly-if anything I inadvertently said has wounded you. Believe me, I would offend a hundred Miss Hauttons sooner than lose your good opinion." . "My good opinion can affect you neither one way nor the other. You are a gentleman, I am -" "A lady, by Heaven, if I ever saw one " "An ignorant country-girl," Polly went n, 'a tremor now in her clear tones, and she looked far away at the crimson west; "not so ignorant, though, as to be deceived by looks and words from you. Our paths lie apart-let us say good-by, and meet no more.", "Polly! what a cruel speech 1" L "A sensible one, Mr. Fane. Let me go, pray," rather wearily. "See! you' have dropped something from your pocket.". It was a tiny morocco casket, which lay at his feet. He picked it up, opened it, and took out a ring 'tat blazed in the sunshine. It was a cluster-diamond. The next instant he had repossessed himself of Polly's hand, and the shining circlet shone on one slim finger. He lifted the hand to his lips and kissed it passionately-for the first-the last time! "Wear it, Polly, for I love you!" Alas! for man's truth I A fortnight ago that ring had been ordered of a London jeweller to fit the finger of Diana Haut- ton. He meant to propose down in Lincolnshire, and this was to be the pledge of the betrothal. Only an hour ago the Lon- don express had brought it, and' here it glittered on the finger' of Polly Mason! Heaven knows what further he might have said, what words, what promises might have. been exchanged; Polly might have become Mrs. Alan Fane, perhaps, and this, story had never been written, for the great romance of this young woman's life you have yet to hear, but at this instant (sent there by her guardian angel, no doubt) there appeared' upon the scene tie gaunt form -of Rosanna, summoning sharply her youthful charge in to tea. ,1 ,Ii* "*, ' , page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM AND OTHER THZNGS. d She tendered no invitation to the gentleman. She scowled upon him, indeed, as this exemplary lady could scowl. Ros- 'anna could have told you stories fit to make your hair rise, ol "Squires of high degree," who came'a-courting village maids, and of the dire grief and tribulation the aforesaid maids had, colme to, in consequence. Polly in love, indeed! olly'!- who had taken her doll to bed yesterday, as it were, and sang it to sleep i Mr. Fane lifted his hat and departed at once. The girl would not look at him. She could not meet the glance in his eyes. Her face Was burning, her heart thrilling. She hid the hand that wore the ring, and followed Rosanna meekly into the house. On the stairs she met Duke, and Duke, as gravely as in the morning, summoned her into his own room. Miss Ma- son felt she was in for it. "I wouldn't let that young man dangle after me too much, if I were you, Duchess," he began. "He isn't what he pre- tends to be; .le's a humbug, you'll find; a false, fickle, mean humbug! His father's a very honest man, and a good tailor-- a deuce of a screr, though-but-" "Duke!"Polly cried with indignant scorn. "A tailor!" The young lady said it in much the same tone you or I might exclaim "A demon!" "Yes, Duchess, a tailor. I've bought clothes at the shop in Bond Street many a time, and I've seen Mr. Allan Fane when he was a pale-faced little shaver in roundabouts. He doesn't remember me, of course, and I don't care about renewing the acquaintalce. He's a tailor's son, fast enough, and I dare say it's the only thing about him not to his discredit." It was very unusual for Duke to be bitter, or say cruel things of the absent, but he felt terribly sore on the subject of this dandified artist, with his shining boots and swell, hat, and white hands, and soft voice, making a fool of his little Polly. "He's a humbug, Duchess, and he's trying to get that middle- aged Miss Hautton to marry lim.. She's rich and high-born, and he's only an adventurer, with a good address and a univer- sity education. Don't take, his pretty books, or drawings, or sit for him as a model, or have anything to say to him-that's a good girl, Duchess." "Have you anything more to say, Duke?"Polly asked quite meekly. She felt somehow that what Duke said was true, but still- she looked at her ring and her heart thrilled as she remembered . , \ * ., . atrtffyx:ae-tp-nrnrrr3r rrrrrNqLSr CIUniQI-)ha o , I*-@ , I -.rr ? "OVE'S YOUNG DREAM AND OTHER. THNGS. 165 his words-words so sweet to every girl's ear and heart-"I love you!" And meantime Mr.. Allan Fane walked home, and on the , way found out he had been mad, and a fool., What had he done? Given up all the hopes of his life for a pretty face with blue eyes. Very good and pleasant things in their way, but not available as ready cash: not to be'exchanged for good dinners, horses, opera boxes, and a house in May Fair. What -had he done? Dire alarm filled him as he walked alonig; he cursed his own folly and precipitancy\with a fervor good to hear. Was it, after all, too late yet? He had not asked Miss Polly Mason to be his'wife. He found Miss Hautton walking wearily round and round , 'the great fish pond, and joined her at once. Miss Hautton, like Miss Mason, informed him she was going away. "'Montalien bores me, I find," the lady said, carelessly; "m ore this year even than usual, and the Duchess of Clanron- ald is going to the Italian lakes, and urges me to-" ' A dreary yawn finished the sentence. 'The Duchess of Clanronald! Her grace of Clanronald had a nephew-rather an impover- ished nephew, who had made hard running last year for the -lautton stakes. No doubt he would go to the. Italian Lakes, too. Starry blue eyes, a witching, gypsy face, a. supple form; and sixteen sunny years, are very well, if set off with diamonds and gilded' with refined gold. He couldn't marry Polly Mason; he couldn't turn itinerant portrait-painter in this dull town, and merge his bright individual star of self into a shabby-hatted, rate- paying, tax-fearing, cradle-rocking, family man. It was written- , i it was his fate-he must marry a rich wife; and' so-alas for Polly! Before Miss Hautton's yawn was quite endedhe had poured ' forth the tale of his long admiration, and implored her to be his wife The rosy light of the sun went down, and Diana Hautton lingered by the fish pond with lJer accepted lover. Her accep- ted lover! i He was pale and cold, and something inside his breast, that did duty for a heart, lay like a stone, but he lifted one of the Honoiable Di's Wkin-cold hands to his lips and kissed it. Cold, as that hand was, the touch of his lips seemed to chill it. She looked at him, and wondered at his pallor. But of Iut/of page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 HOW ROBERT HAWI(SLEY KEPT HS WORD. course he was agitated; he loved her so, and had dread d a refusal. Tley entered the house together betrothed, a satisfied smile on Miss Hautton's lips. She liked him very much; he was handsome, and would make her a devoted husband. No ring glittered on her finger-that would be remedied speedily, Mr. Fane whispered. And three miles off a yoling girl; younger, fairer even than the Honorable Diana Hautton, stands watching that rosy light in the sky as it sparkles and flickers on the diamond circlet on her finger. And the happy glow is in her eyes, the happy smile still lingers on her face, when 'all the sky is dark. CHAPTER VII. HOW O6BERT HAWKSLEY KEPT HIS WORD. T was the third day after Polly Mason stood at the parlor window, looking listlessly enough up and down the deserted country road. There was little to- be seen, there were few abroad. The fine June weather, that had lasted steadily over a fortnight, had broken up-yes- terday it had rained all day and all night; to-day it had ceased, but still a sullen, leaden sky frowned darkly on a sod- den earth and muddy roads and lanes. A weak, complaining wind wailed up from the sea to the young girl at the window- all seemed the very abomination of desolation. Within, things were in harmony-Rosanna was laid up with toothache, Duke had quarrelled with his employers of the Lyceum, and was out of spirits, and Allan Fane had never once been near the cot- tage since. There are times in all our lives when everything goes wrong, days that are coldfand dark and dreary, when there seems neither joy on earth nor hope in heaven. Allan' Fane had not been near the cottage since-that was the blank thought uppermost in the girl's mind as she stoo there. " He will be here to-day," was her first thought;' on1 the morning after he had given her the ring, and her eyes and face had glowed with 'such a new baptism of beauty all daythat Duke and Rosanna had looked at her in wonder, and felt in. clined to be resentful that the thought of leaving them and go. ing to school should produce such rapture. 4 fever of restless. ness held her all that day and the next-a fever that burned in her eyes and on her cheeks, and took away appetite and rest. And he never came. Another day, another night, his ring still flashed upon her finger, his words still rang in her ears, his kiss -still burned on the hand that wore the diamond, but he never came. What did it mean ? Was he ill ?-had lie gone away suddenly?-why did he not come? Another time and she would have put on her hat and gone up to the bailiff'szhouse- she would. be sure of ascertaining there; but a new, strange timidity had taken possession of Polly. She did not care to stir out-even to go shopping with Rosanna,. for her new clothes-heavenly occupation at any other time. She just wau- dered about the house-no flying footsteps, no trills of song, no banging of doors, no breezy rushing up and down stairs all day long. The restless fervor held her, but she said nothing, only waited, strangely quiet and docile. : , On the third day, reaction and lassitude followed'. Rosanna was cross with toothache, Polly worked about, and listened to her dreary complainings as she listened to the sobbing rain aid wind, A presentiment of evil took possession of her-she felt that in the very hour he had told her he loved her, Allan Fane had deserted her forever I v She did not love him-no, the surface of the lake is rippled by many a passing breeze, but the storm that stirs it to its very depths comes but rarely. She did not love him, save as she loved Ivanhoe, Clive Newcome, and Co. He was the hero of one of her pet st6ries-stepped out of the leaves into real life -the first well-dressed, well-looking, well-mannered young man . who had paid her attention. Polly wanted to be a lady-he Could make her that-he, a gentleman who had taken his de- gree at Oxford, the friend and guest of Lord Montalien. Had lhe been faithful, her whole heart might have gone out to him- such a great, loyal, loving heart, as she could have given I But it was her girl's vanity that bled now, her woman's pride was up. in arms. He had taken her fancy-not for one second her heart, but the pang of loss and cruel humiliation was there all the same I She had been fooled, and she\ was intensely proud, and felt her wbund bitterly. ' She turned wearily away from the window, at. a call from Ro- sanna for cotton wool for that jumping toothache. "And if it page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] I68 HOW ROBERT ZZAWKSLEY KEPT HS WORD. doesn't hold up in an hour," she said, with a vengeful glare, "I'll go straight into Speckhaven and have it out! I'.m not going to be made -miserable by a double tooth. Polly, there's a knock at the door." Polly's heart gave a leap. , At last! surely this was he! She stood stock still, with the cotton wool in her hand. Duke came out of the painting room in his shirt-sleeves, and opened the. house-door. A portly lady in a black-silk dress stood there, a comfortable-looking basket in her hand-no less a lady than Mrs. Hamper, the housekeeper at the Priory. Mrs. Hamper, as a visitor of distinction, was ushered into the parlor, whither Rosanna and Polly followed. Mrs. Hamper might not be the rose, but she dwelt near that splendid flower -she was not Allan Faue--but she brought news of him, no doubt. She would know now whether he were ill, or false, and Polly sank on a low chair, and leaned her head in a weary way against the back. Her pretty face had dark circles under the eyes, and looked wanner, it seemed to the housekeeper, than she had ever seen it. "You're not looking well, Polly," she remarked; with her eyes fixed on that colorless, small countenance. "You're bili- ous, or growing too fast, may be. Growing girls are always thin -I tell Lady Charteris, Miss Maud will be less pale and puny 'when she grows up. I've brought you some hapricots, and peaches, my dear, which I know you're uncommon fond of both." She opened her basket, displaying a tempting heap of fruit. Polly thanked her, but rather spiritlessly still-she liked peaches and apricots, but there were other things she liked better. "And how are all the gentry at the great house, Mrs. Ham- per?" Duke inquired. '"Lord Montalien got back from town yet?" "No, my lord had not got back yet, and everybody was well at the great house. The latest news-but, of course, Polly had 'heard it long ago from Alice Warren?" "No, Polly had heard nothing; the rainy weather had kept her in-doors, and she was very busy getting ready to go away to boarding-school. What was the news?" Her heart thrilled as she quietly asked the question. bhe knew it was news of Allan 'Fane. "Why, the engagement of the Honorable Miss Hautton to Mr. Allan Fane. Which," Mrs. Hamper said, folding her arms on her fat stomach, "I think myself it's a lowering of a hearl's granddaughter to go and marry a hartist, but then she ain't as HOW ROBERT HAWKSLEY KEPT HS WORD. I69 young as she was, and never a beauty at best of times; and he's A very pleasant-spoken, good-looking, young geitleman, and free )f his money, I'll say that for him, and the family is willin', ', and it's been looked, forward to this some time. He proposed to her on Tuesday hevening last, and he's going to haccompany her to Hitaly shortly for the July and Haugust months." The housekeeper paused for breath, her eyes fixed curiously on Polly's face. Was it altogether -to deliver the fruit Mrs. Hamper had stepped out'of her way, to visit Mr. Mason's? It was no secret in the servants' hall at the Priory how Mr. Fane was running after little Polly Mason, or that Miss Hautton was jealous. She liked Polly, this fat, fair, and forty Mrs. Hamper, but she looked with expectant eagerness, at the same time, for some sign, some token, 'ome cry of pain. There was none. The pale face kept its tired look, the long, dark lashes veiled the blue eyes; Mr, Allan Fane might have beent 4 Mr. Julius Caesar, dead and gone, for all emotion that still face and form showed. -. Duke looked at her too, in wonder and pride at her " pluck." "Blood will tell," he thought; " she's like her mother-ready to die game!" ;N - The engagement has been publicly announced then?" Rosanna said. "Will they be married soon-will the wedding . be at the Priory?" ' "Oh dear, no;" answered Mrs. Hamper; "they won't be nartied here-in London, most likely, next spring; but of course, nothink of that is settled yet. Mr. Fane will wait until my lord comes home and speaks to him as Miss Haut. , ton's nearest relative; though the young lady's quite hold enough to hact for herself. I say again it's a great match for . him-honly a poor hartist-a hear's granddaughter, and three - thousand a year." . An earl's granddaughter, and three thousand a year I And Polly had'thought he was in love with her, and would be : charmed to hear of her seven hundred pounds A crushing sense of her own insignificance, poverty, ignorance, low birth, stunned her, What a little fool she had been not to know Oe . from the first he had been only amusing himself with her. simplicity abid vanity! She clenched, the hand that held the ring firmly but unseen, and her face still kept its utter indiffer- ence. He had proposed on Tuesday evening, and on Tuesday afternoon he had told her he loved her, and had given her that -ring. He had gone straight from her to Miss Hautton,:- ;ndi ' 8- . ' . . ;; page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] " ^ , - - " . ',', * , ' . . . , 170 FOW ROBERT HAWKCSLEY AKEPTr HS WORD. asked her to be liis wife, and they had laughed together, most likely, over the love-scene with the chuntry-girl-the little con- ceited rustic, so easily gulled! Traitor! coward!' The little white teeth clenched-if looks had been lightning, and Allan Fane there, he had never left the house alive. Mrs. Hamper rose to go, just a trifle disappointed. She had looked to see anger, mortification, sorrow on Polly Mason's face, and she had seen nothing. The girl had heard the news with utter indifference. Perhaps the stories of the servants' hall were unfounded after all. It was quite clear that Polly had sense, and thought nothing about him. Duke accompanied the portly lady to the door, and saw her out. When he returned to the parlor he found Polly sitting in the same attitude, her head lying wearily back, her'eyes closed, -her hands folded, so unlike herself. "Will you come to the Lyceum to-night, Duchess?"Duke said, after a long, blank pause-so gently he said it. He was not sentimental in any way, he. had never wanted to marry anybody in his life; yet by some prescience now, he knew just as well how his little girl's heart was bleeding, as though the loved and lost" business had been. as familiar to him as the scraping of his violin:. "They're bringing out a new comedy' in three acts: 'The Prince of Pipesandbeersbad,' and there's a screaming farce to follow. Come, 'and have a good laugh before you go to Miss Primrose and the blackboard." The girl looked up at him with a kind, grateful glance. "Thank you, Duke, 1'll go if Rosanna can spare me, and her , wisdom-tooth stops aching." The scene-painter went back to his work. "Thank God!" he thought, "she doesn't care for the puDpy I'm not ordinarily of a pugilistic hature, and don'tt as a rule, let my angry passions rise, but if I could give Mr. Allan Fane a sound kicking on the first occasion, I think it would do us both good!" Rosanna went to bed, groaning dismally. Polly took her sewing and sat down by the window. The wiid grew wilder, the leaden sky darker as the afternoon wore on, the rain-drops began pattering once more against the glass: And in 'the young girl's breast, as she sat, her needle flying, a sharp:anld cruel pain ached I She had been fooled, deceived, laughed at, her woman's pride hurt to the core -she could never again, her life long, have the same perfect faith in man or woman. Shle had lost sonmething, the ineffable bloom of perfect innocence ' s ad lost sompthing, t ' HOW ROBERT HA WKSLE'Y KEPT'HS WORD. 17i ' ' and childlike trust, and Allan Fane's was the hand 'that had brushed it off. ,^'( "How dare he! how dare he!" she thought, her little hand clenching again; " how dare he trifle with me so 1" She sat there for over an hour her anger rising and swelling with every instant. The rainy twilight was falling, when, sud- ; denly there came a knock at the door. She knew that knock; her work. dropped, but before she could rise the door was opened, and the visitor, hat in hand, walked in. He had come at last! Allan Fane stood before her, his light summer overcoat wet with rain, his high riding-boots splashed with mud, pale, paler than herself!! Why had he come? He could not have told you he could not stay away, though he dreaded, coward that le was, to face her! He had given her up, basely, weakly, selfishly, but' he iust io rPce more into those matchless blue eyes, thoughl the fiery scorn of their glances slew him. And perhaps, too, ' he thought se might not know. the truth. He could not stay away. It mnh f be, it must be, the 'last time, but once again he must loo lpon the lovely face of Polly Mason! , His first glance at her, as their eyes met, t6ld him she knew; all. She rose up and stood before him! Even in the fading light he could see the streaming fire in her eyes, the scornful curl of her handsome lips. The' egal grace of mien that was " this girl's chief charm always, had'neVer been half so uplifted as now! She spoke first-he could not have uttered a word. "You have conie for my congratulations, Mr. Fanej" she began in a clear, ringing voice, that had neither quiver nor.. treimr in it. "I hear you are engaged' to the Honorable Diana Hautton. Well I you have them! It is an eminently. -'? suiable match in every respect: age,"-with cruel emphasis- "birth, fortune; rank, and all 1 " He looked at her with horror-struck eyes. What did she . mean by that stinging sneer? Did she know of that Bond r Street shop? Oh, impossible! it was but a random shot that : had hit home. . ': "It is 'not every day," pursued Miss Mason, with a sini-ei t that stung him, "that the son of a London tailor gets an op- portunity of marrying an earl's granddaughter! Ah! you feel that, Mr. Fane!" with a scornful laugh. : I know your. secret, you see, so carefully gurded! 'But don't be alarmed. I won't go to"the Priory, and tell-Miss Hautton. I am 'afraid, a f " ' , , i page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 HOW ROBERT HAWKSLEY KEPT HZS WORD. devotedly as she is attached to you, she might jilt you if she knew it. I won't tell, Mr... Fane, and I wish you every happi ness'so stiitable a match deserves-if the poor scene-painter's poor relation mlay presume to offer congratulations to a gentle- man of Mr. Fane's staniding! And this ring, which you so kindly forced upon my acceptance the night before last," her voice faltered for the first time, "permit me to return it. It' you haven't purchased an engagement ring for Miss Hautton I dare say you might make this answer." He broke down. He was of'a weak nature, impressionable as wax, but as strongly as it was in his nature to love any one but himself, he loved this girl. He broke, down as a woman might-his face hidden in his hands-his voice falteiing, and asked her to forgive him. She stood and looked at hiem-rage, wounded pride, humilia- tion, scorn, pity, all in her glance. If she had never been beautifil before she was beautiful in this moment. "Forgive you," she repeated, and the lard ring died out of her voice aind a great pathos followed. "You ask me to for- give you! Well, Mr. Fane, I will try. It is not that I care for you much-no, Allan Fane, I know now I never cared for you, but you have hurt me all the same. I shall never have the same faith in mankind again-I. seem to have lost my youth in. the moment it becalmle mine. You have acted badly to me- badly! badly!"-the fire that can only blaze in blue eyes flashed from hers now-" but I will try and forgive you if I can. Take your ring!" "I cannot, oh, Polly"H She flung it at his feet in a sudden tempest of fury-the quick fury of a very child. "Don't ever call. me Polly-how dare you do 'it? Take your ring this moment or I will walk straight out of this house up -to the Priory, and tell Miss Hautton every word! And your books, and your drawings-here they are-everything you. ever gave me, except the flowers, and those I threw into the fire an hour ago. Take theml, I command you, Mr. Fane , 'i Wlat could he do but. obey? He was afraid of her in that hour-afraid of her even if she had not known his secret, but that made him her abject slave. He took the ring, he took the little package, and a very sorry figure the conquering hero cut in the hour of his triumbh. It stirck Polly's sense of the 'ludicrous.' In all tragedies do not the elements of the ridicu- lous linger? and she burst out laughing, with the passionate tears still in her eyes. L ^....,... -.- * -...^ .,^ , ^. ^i &^ fi^ ^ fi ^^1^ HOW ROBERT HAWKSLEY KEPT HS WORp I733 , "You look like a colporteur going his rounds with tracts:.; Don't let me detain you an instabt longer, Mr. Fane ; Miss , Hautton may want you. You have had your sport; and a verlant little country-girl has helped while away a summer : holiday, so there is no' need to linger ndw; I have congratu- lated you, and given you your belongings back, and'now the sooner we say good-by the better." She made him a bow -Miss Hautton could never have sin. passed it, in grace or insolence, and walked straight out of the room. Ahd Allan Fane left the house, and coming to the ' garden well flung his bundle of books to the bottom. He might have flung the ring after, but diamond rings cost, and- and so he put it in his pocket, and went back to his high-born bride. And ah hour after he placed it on her finger, and Di-. ' ana deigned to say she thought it "rather pretty." Duke, fioom his upper window, saw the, young man conme and go, and waited anxiously for supper-time and a pretext to go downstairs. ' ' . gosanna's afflicted molar also gave over aching about that .: time, and the brother and sister met in the small dining-room. Polly had got tea-the table was set, the toast buttered, the ' lamp. litj the kitchen stove burning cheerily. For the girl her- self slIe was quite white, quite still, very silent, and the blue'. eyes 16oked weary and heavy.' She was more womanly tlhanl .: Duke had ever seen her, but he sighed as he looked at her. '; "I sulppose she's better so," he thought; "quiet and young.; lady-like but I think I'd sooner have my wild little girl play- ing Fisher's Hornpipe on the fiddle, or even singing 'The night before Larry was stretched.'" , . Rosanna noticed the pale cheeks, the silence, and the lack of appetite, . ' ' "That child is grqwing' bilious," the elder lady remarked, with lher strong glare fixed on: shrinking Polly, "or about to have an attack of jauiidice. People always turn green, and f fall into low spirits before' jaundice. Do you feel a general '. sinking all over Polly, and an inclination to cry?" ; , Polly looked at Duke and burst out laughing-rather hyster-: ' ically, though. "I don't feel the least inclined to cry, Rosanna, thank you," ihe said, defiantly, and her eyes had a dry, 'tearless glitter. "s I : know what you want, but you shan't victimize me. I wonhtt take herb-tea,.or hot baths, or vegetable pills, or any-of the nostrums you like to drench poor sick mortals With. :Let: me"' alone, Rosanna." page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 HOW ROAWBER'T HAiYfWSLEY AIEPT IlS WORD. She left the room as she spoke. Duke lo6ked. wistfthy after her. "Let her alone, Rosanna," he repeated,' "it's the best thing yotu an do. I kno\w whlat's the matter, and herb' tea won't cure ler. She is fallen into low spirits, as you' remarked, and I'll take her to see our funny new'piece at the Lyceum, to- night, to freshen her up a bit." It rained still, but Polly never minded rain, and taking Duke's armn went with him to the little Speckhaven theatre. She had delighted in the theatre hitherto, before Lord Mon- talien and his guests had come down to disturb the curreint of X her serene life, but to-night she looked at the glittering stage- lamp)s, the tinselled dresses, the rouged faces, with apathetic eyes., "The Prince of Pipesandbeersbad" was a very fat and funny potentate indeed, who kept the Speckhavenites in roars for two' hours, but the figures on the stage flitted before the young girl's gaze like puppets in a magic lantern. She sat with her hands folded, no light in her eyes, no color on her cheeks, her thoughts' far away-far away. Once, and once only, she aroused herself. Eliza Long, taken to the play by the haber- dasher's youngman, watched that altered face with vicious de- k light, and when the curtain was down made her way over to Polly's seat for a little friendly whisper. - "I-ow d'ye do, Polly-isn't it awful droll? I've been dying to see you, do you know, to find out if the'news I've heard be ' true. But, of course, it can't-being so took up as he was with you-I mean Mr. Allan Fane, the artist. William Shanks, that's one of the footmen at the Priory, you know, told pa he was engaged to Miss Hautton." ; Polly lifted her quiet eyes to the; other's spiteful ones, and answered slowly: . "I don't kinow, Eliza-I'm not acquainted with Mr. William Shanks, footman at the Priory; my acquaintance doesn't lie in the servants' hall. Is he the tall footman, or the very tail footman-who has been paying attention to you' since the family came down? As to his information, that sort of people are generally pretty correct in theit news regarding their mas-. ters. In this instance he happens to be perfectly right. Mr. Fane was at our house in a friendly way, as usual, this after- noon, and we had a chat over the matter. tIe is engaged to Miss Hautton, and'they are going to Italy for the summer, and will be married next May in London. Is there anything else 32iB^?^^^ S MrU^^^ ss v. ' l. HOW ROBERT HLA4WKISLEY KEPT HS WORD.,' I7' yotu would like to knoW, Eliza, because I might inquire of Mr. Fane, who would probably be even more correct than Mr. Calves-no, Shanks-the 6ootman 1" CAnd theno Miss Mason turned her back deliberately upon Miss Iong, vlho returned to her seat worsted, as she always was in an encounter with Polly, but rejoicing. And meanwhile lat the Priory its lore. had arrived yby the seven o'clock train, bringing .with him a short, sombre, stout' i man, with a legal look. He was legal-he was Mr. Gripper, of the firm Gripper '& Grinder, Lincol;h's Inn, London.; and he and Lord Montalien were closeted together on important busi- ness for some time after their arrival. Mr. Gripper emerged at last, and was shown to his room. liHe was staying over night, it seemed; and Mr. Fane was shown' into the library, where my lord sat. The curtains were drawn, the lamps shone, while outside the rain fell and the black June night shut down. My lord sat in his grea arm-chair, near 'a writing-table, staring, in a dazed sort of way at' the lamp before him. His usually placid face wore a strange expression, half perplexity, half dismay. For', Mr. Fane, as the servant ushered him in, he too looked pale and strangely disturbed, and both were so absorbed in their own : thoughts that neither noticed the expression of the other's face. Mr. Fane took a seat opposite, looking singularly nervotus indeed.! I am given to understand by nasculine frien0s who' have done the busineys, that asking the consent' of a young lady's papa, or guardian,',is much more disagreeable than ask- ing the young lady herself. -Mr. Fane had got through his part "Amen," the wiords stu-ck in his throat." Lord Montalie3 wrenched his thoughts away from his own absorbing topic with an evident effort, 'and listened with bland suavity to th' ybung man's stumbling words. "W ish to muarry Dian, and hsk my consent? My dear boy, my consent is quite unnecessary, as you know. Very cor- ' rect of you, though, to comre to me. Of course, I have, long foreseen this, and 'as Diana"seems pleased I sincerely offer ,you my congratulations. There's some trifling dispard ty of years,' I um aware, but ,you know the Scotch have a sayng, ithat for the wife to be the elder brings luck to the house." : Mr. Paneutaid nothing,'but he looked somewhat rueful. He %. -: 4 : ' ' /- page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 HOW ROBERT A AWISLEY V EPT HS WORD. yas thinking he would rather dispense with a litle of the luck and have the "trifling disparity" on the other side. "Then I have your approval, my lord," he said, rising, "and may consider all things settled?" "You have my approval and best wishes. Diana is certainly old enough to act for herself"-again the young man winced--- "and her income, as you must know,'dies with her. By the by, Fane,"-changing his voice with abruptness-" you libixed a good deal among the people at, the fete the other day, and may know-was there a man by the name of-of Trowel-no, Mason," referring to his tablets, " here upon that occasion?" Allan Fane started, more nervously than before. "There is a man by the name of Mason living about three miles from here. Mason is a common name, however; there may be many Masons in Speckhaven." "So there may. The fellow I mean is called Marinaduke Mason, and has a maiden sister, Rosamond-Z-Rosalind-no, Rosanna," referring to the tablets again. "By occupation a l scene-painter." "That is the man, my lord. Yes, I know him." "And he has a ward-she passes for his cousin, a girl of six- teen-called Polly?" Had Lord Montalien not' been so engrossed by his tablets and questions he must have noticed Mr. Fane's greatly dis- turbed face. "Yes, my lord, there is a Polly Mason!" "That's the girl!" His lordship shut up his tablets with a ' triumphant snap. "Now, what's she like? I'll lay my life she has thick ankles, a Lincolnshire accent, and a turnedlup nose!" "You would lose your stake, then, my lord. Miss Mason is," with something of an effort he said this, " one of the very , handsomest girls I ever saw in tpe whole course of my life." 9"Ah! is she?" his lordship sighed re'signedly; "all the worse for me. An' heiress and ward with a snub nose would be trouble enough, but a ward with a Grecian nasal appendage and eighty thousand pounds to her fortune! Ah, well, my life ; has been one long martyrdomn-this is only the last straw that very likely will break the camel's back!" Allan Fane looked at, the speaker with a. face, of ghastly. wonder. "My lord,". he said, "Idon't understand. Polly Magon is no heiress--she is this scene-painter's poor relation-biought up out of charity. ' . 4 , ' , ' lt - . ' . . . . ^,..-1 -. ^ w * r ^ te sSASaa ^ ^ ^ ^ ,iZdsd - 'IOW ROBERT HAWIWSLJ Y icLET sIS- WORD. 1" thousand pounds at this moment deposited in the funds for he . . -t "ro0d long a story, J benefit. No, dont look so polo long a story to tell'iyou. There's the, dressing-bel--YOU shall all hear it at dinner." ie arose. Allan iane lquitted the roomin, and went up to his ow. He did not seek his affianced-he was aghast'with his o to ighty thousad pounds and Polly Mason i tret a alf The great bell langng high in the widy turrets, at half- past seven, informed Speckhaven and its inhabitants that my . advantage of a few minutes before going in to dinier, and pre- sented hiscongratulations to his cousin Diana on this interest- ing episode in her life. Mr. Gripper brought up the rearof the dinner procession with Guy, anid was introduded to the otherm people. around the table romance or a fairy "He doesn't look like the haringer of romane or a fairked, godfather, or anything of the kind," Lord Montalien remarked, ' u rthlel S he is. He comes to inform a little country-girl of sixteen that she is my ward, and heiress of eighty thosad pounds. Do any of you beside Fane know her? Her name at present is Polly Mason n" I ,ord Montalien glanced around his own board, and, was somewhat surjrised at the' sensation the very commonplace nameof a very commonplace yyoung 'erson created Diana nameutt of a nd turned co -icy look upon her, lover--hat on start fixed andhs eyes turned his late nd seemed slowly gentleman, fixed his eytes .ad, n looked unutterableP getrifyiflguY suppessed a whistle and looWed unutterable thifyings-aund mY LPay, spooi, dropped into her soup- plate, with a cas --Francis Earlscourt was eagerly interested,' and Sir Vane, after one steady look at his pallid'and startled w ife, waited with composur for the peer's ifext wordskn. ,Well," said his loidship, you all look as if you be - ;I her. I Being o interested before I begin, how will you be thrilled be- fore have finished? Shall I go back and begin- at t'e begl ' ning with this romance of real life,n .s . its lightniung-an"d-tluide r serials? 'y 1,: ,I lli'?": Lord Montalien' pushed away' 11&oup), leaned back' in hiS chair, an 'began to "'thrill "bhis hearers. chaItrs",t fourteen years agd, on the second of last April, that rleft NeW 'Yurk for iverpool. Ii'remlleneber th& date, becauis* I licft ft Liverpo page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] X7'8 tZOV ROBERT ffAWKZSLEY KEPT HS WORD. of the profound regret with, which I left America. I've not had much of what the world generally calls ' enjoyment' in my life," the pathetic tone of"the speaker was remarkable to hear, 'but I tlhink those nine months out there jamong the herds of wild buffalo, and herds of wilder Indians, on the;Western plains came nearer it than I shall ever come again. The passengers of the ' Land of Columbia' were the usual sort of people one, meets, rich mercantile and manufacturing people from the northern cities, with fililliolis of dollars, going over to mak'e the grand tour. There was only one among them I ever found worth the trouble of talking to, and he was a second-class fel- low-splendid proportions-tall and moulded like an athletic Apollo, with a face full of intelligence and self-repression. Self- repression in man or woman I like. This man looked as ifhe had a story-he puzzled me-to be puizzled means to be inter- ested. I was interested in Mr. Robert Hawksley; and on the last day out, he told men his story, mentioning no names, not his own-the name he went by on shipboard, even then, I sus- pected, at tilies, to be assumed. ' He was an Englishman, the only son of a yeoman farmer, but educated as a gentleman. He had been two or three years before secretary to a man in Staffordshire. I think he said this man had a daughter or niece, I forget which,'a great heiress, 'a great beauty, and six years his junior., She was home, from school, romantic as all girls home from school are, and she leets my handsome secretary. What would you have? Why fall in love with each other, of course-run away to Scotland, and be married!" t My lord paused. The fish had been placed upon the table, 'and he took his knife and :foik and refreshed himself with a lit- e theturbot. And over the face of Sir Vane Charteris a strange dark change was passing, and over the face of my lady a deathly whiteness had come. She leaned a little forward, her lips apart, her great eyes dilated-heedless of her husband, of her dinner, of the people who looked at her. What story was this she was shearing? Lord, Montalien complacently set it'all down to ihis oin thrilling" powers of narration, and placidly went on: "Well, those two foolish, unfortunate, happy young lovers kept their secret for four months; thein the truth came out, and then there was the deuce to pay. Little missy was spiritedl away; my handsome secretary, through some nefarious plot on the part of the guardian, was found guilty of robbing money. ' * -. ,OW ROBEssT HA WKSJLE KElPT HS WORD. 179 and jewels, and obliged to fly England. Now, two years after, he had eade a home and a competence, and he was returning to seek out his wife and take her back to that new world.' We parted n the quay. 'As we shook hands I made him promise t'at if ever, in ay wy, I could serve him, he would cdmmand "fourteen years passed and I heard nothing more of, or from, Mr. Robert Hawksley until yesterday Until yesterday,' when Mr. Jamles Gripper e're, alled I p oe tnd' informed m* I lady heiress "o f was solicited to become guardian of a young lady, heiress ot tm ie further'particulars. The lett wasr anly I nt w r . San' ,rnciscl and from my old acquaWl tance, ,I awksley.... H .. frecalled the promise'I had roluntarily made, and in the most , manly and frank, way asked me to fulfil it now by becoming the guardian and protector of his only child. And he told me hi's story in brief, fro the time of our patng on the Liver- pooldoc . .d ce e said le had fond his wife-the wife on whose fidelity he said to me on shipbloard he coulld have stake his existence-how do you think? At the altarb-the lbride of hera ownt whom she had been engaged before he ha nc et her, of ther own rank and station. There are more Ech Ares in e world thank a Ir. Tenyson' heo I H'left England again without speaking a word sto herand he hasever returned since., But by Some imystery, which he does not explain, he discovered tht . his wife had given birth to a child--a daughterfive months after his first flight, from England, which child, at two years old, she had fgiven to a scn nte, named Mason, and his' sister, to bring up. He foun this child,bbegged e Mason pelole to take every care of ler, and they shoud be one day lre warded. 'That day has no come. In the alifornia gold 'mines this man has made a fortune--eighty thousand pounds he inhas deposited to be his iky little daughter's dowry, and Iam as deposited toher guardian le asks me to place her at a schol 0 where she will b educated in a nmanner befitting the staionin life she is destined-fi and he says that she may drop the cognomen of Polly Mason' for her own rightful e of Pau- liaLisle. From this, thereforeit is plain that insteadf is name being Hawksley, it is Robert Lisle 1o L, w ardc ontallen ,paused t ' that. h had finished, by any page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] I80 LADY CZARTERiS lEARS T7E7 TRUTH. means with'his interesting .story--but at that moment, with a gasping cry, Lady Charteris fell forward, hier head on the table. All started up; her liusband lifted her in his arms, almost as' ghastly as hrself. She had fainted dead away i CHAPTER VIII. , "ADY CHARTERIS HEARS THE TRUTH. -^^S the night wore on the rain increased. At half past eleven, whein Duke and Polly left the theatre. it was pitch dark and pouring torents. Polly did not Inild the' rain; in her strong yog girlloo she had not ha .v ad not ma had hanlf a dozen colds in her lifetime, and thegtwo lhad a nice long, muddy walk through the blackness. Hackneycoache, there were, but all had been '1;oiopolized by glreaker folks than the scene-painter and his cousii The"' trudged conenthaly along, and who was to tell either that it was for the last time aThat wiith the new day, so near breaki new fe as to dawn for this girl of sixteene Rosanna was up, waiting with dry clothes, a good fire, and -a cose little suppe . scosy r. 'Sh e was Very tender with her child now that she was going away to school. Polly's spirits had risen with the ; walk in the fresh summer rain; they were too elastic tobe long. depressed, and then her Wound was only 'skin deep. She ate the toast and drank the weak tea Rosanna had prepared and laughed once .more about the "Prince of Pipesandbeersbad in a way that did her hearers' hearts god, and et, ha an hour past midnight, to her own oo'm, sgingi gayly as she went wn oni, sii ' "And the best of all ways to leiigthen your days, Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear." and ^^s^^^^^ s. t "Thank Heaven," Duke thought feicntiy, , she Cal laug h and sig again. It's a complaint everybody has, everybody Very'true, Mr. Duke Mason, nmost people have it, anid most' people get over i. So, too, a great many of us take the small- pox; and some of us get well, and not a trace remains 'to tell "AY CHi'A'TeI' iAL',S E T7YA' 7TU'Tff.. 181 ' that the odious disease has ever been; and others of us ge ' well, and eat, and drink, and are merry, but the scars remain, cruel and deep, to the very last day of our lives! 'The scene-painter, With a yawn, took up his bedroom can- die, bade his sister good-night, and was turning to quit the' room when there came such a knock at the front door as liter- ally made him drop it again withl amaze. A knock that echoed i through the whole house, at a quarter toone, of a pouring pitch-black June morning. The master of the house looked a. his-sister aghast. "Who can it be, Rosanna, at one o'clock in the morning?' , "Give me the light and I'll soon see," retorted the intrepid Rosanna; and taking the, candle her brother had dropped, she marched straight to the door and flung it open. Whoever Miss Rosanna Mason expected to see, it was evji- ' . il dent she did'not expect the visitor she beheld, for with a loud, startled cry she recoiled. At that cry Polly's curly head, peelp- ing curiously over the banister, came down another step or ': two. Duke from his place in the kitchen advanced, and there, standing on the threshold, drenched through, splashed with lmud, pale as death, with wild eyes and disordered hair, he saw-Lady Charteris! Lady' Charteris, alone, wet through, so far from, home, and at that hour. Sone prophetic instinct' , made him understand all. He took the candle from his sister's ^ hand, and whispered in her car: "For God's sake, make Polly go to bed!" " Rosanna left obediently, awed by the sight of that awfully -! corpse-like face. ', i "Come in, Lady Charteris," Duke said gravely. "You will. get your death standing there in the rain. Are you alone?" She did not answer the question. :She came in and 'stood before him -in the warm, lighted kitchen, her wet garments dripping ori the white floor, her loose hair falling. about heri face, her great black eyes fixed with spectral solemnity on the man. ' "Duke Mason," she said, in a hoarse, unnatural sort of . \ voice, " you have deceived me, and I 'trusted you/ My hus -' band is alive?" . ' ll : "Lady Charteris!" A dull, red glow leaped up in the dusky depths of her great I eyes. "I am not Lady Charteris," she said, in the same still, cornm- pressed tone," and you know it! I have never for one hour I page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] I82 LADY CHARTERIS HEARS THE, TRUTH. had a right to that hated name. I am Robert Lisle's wife, and Robert Lisle is alive, and you know it." "My lady-" "You know it," she repeated. "You have deceived me long enough, all ,of you. I am no child. I will be deceived no longer. This night you will tell me the truth. I have. walked three miles through darkness ,and storm to hear the truth, and "you. shall speak it. On the day-the accursed day -upon which I stood at the altar, Sir Vane Charteris' bride, Robert, my Robert, my husband, my love, was in the church looking at my perjuUy. And you knew it like the rest, and like the rest have hidden it from me-you. who knew how I loved him-you whoml I never wronged." Her voice sank to an unutterable pathos, her eyes looked at him' unutterably sad, unutterably reproachful. Duke fairly gave way. " I did, my lady-forgive me if you can! It was wrong-I thought so from the first, but what couild I do? He bade me kecp his. secret from yout-from you most of all on earth. What could I do but obey?" "He-you mean-?" "I mean the man who called himself Robert Hawksley-- who was Robert Lisle, as I know very well now, and your -hus- band. You were out of Englafnd--lhe bound me by a promise never to reveal his existence if I chanced to meet you again. What could I do, my lady? I don't know how you have found this out, the whole thing is so confused that ' hardly kiow which is the right and which the wrong. I wanted to tell you that night in, Montalien Park, but I feared-I feared! What right had I to tell you you were the wife of two living husbands, bound to each by the tie of motherhood? And so I held lmy peace. : I am sorry for you, my lady-sorry from my inmost heart. I would help you, Heaven knows, if I could." "You can!" she said, still retaining that deep, unnatural calm. "I have come to you for help. Twice before you' aided me in my great need ; now help me again, for the third time, in a greater extremity still." ' She held out both hands to him. He remembered the ges- ture-the very same as she stood by the window of Lyndith Grange and implored him to aid her in her flight, as on tlat night he answered, more moved than he cared to show : "I will help you, if I can. Tell me how,:'Lady Charteris? ' "Not that name!" she cried, rising passion in her voice and t' "ADY CHARTERIS .HEARS THE TRUTHt. 183 face. "Never again that name! I loathe it. . I abhor it, as I do the man -that bears it! I am Olivia Lisle--oh, thank God that I can say it! Thank. God! that my darling lives, though I sholld never see his face again!" She sank into a chair, and the womanhood within her gave Way, She covered her face with her hands, and'the room was filled with her anguished sobs-anguish that was still half- delirious joy. .He lived! Oceans rolled between -them, leagues of land' divided them--a deeper gulf than earth or ocean held them asunder-the probabilities that they would ever stand face to face again were as one in ten million-but- he lived " And the woman's heart yielded in such rushing tears, such wild sobs, as shook her from head to foot. A pretty predicament for Duke---Duke Mason--a model of every virtue to all the married and unmarried men of Speck- haven, shut up here with anotherman's wife- nay, the wife of two other men, at this unholy hour of the morning! If anybody in passing should chance to see or hear-and what was Rosanna,' at the key-hole, thinking? Oine may be virtuous and still in- dulge in "cales and ale "-one may be all the cardinal virtutes incarnate, and still listen at a key-hole. Duke kfelt dreadfiuly sorry for this most unhappy lady-her tears and. hysterics unmanned him and made him nearly cry himself, but still he was thinking distractedly if anybody should find it out-if Sir Vane Charteris should unexpectedly appear, outraged, jealous, awful, before him. Visions of a dismal dayldawn,' a lonesbme 4 field, somewhere down alpng the coast, pistols for two, and a vindictive baronet, a dead-shot, with his evil eyes upon him, listening for the fatal "One, two, three!" rose before him ll Lady Charteris looked up at last. ' As on that other night, under the trees of Montalien, she commanded herself for his sake, and held back her passion of tears by the effort of self- repression, that had become habitual to her. She held out her hand to hiim ith a pathetic glance that went straight to his big, tender, honest heart. "Forgive me, Mr. Mason," she said sweetly; ".it is weak and selfish of me to distress you-you, mr best, my most faith- ful friend. I will not give way again. My own cowardice, ly own pitiful weakness in fearing for my child, in wishing to re- gain her, in too readily believing the lies told me of-of I is death, has brought all- this long misery upon me. I must bear it now to my life's close alone. But I must hear all you have to tell-all-every word he spoke, everything he did-every- page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] I14 LADY CGHAR TERIS HEARS THE TRUTH. thing you know. I am I think the most utterly wretched and lost creature this wide earth holds. There are times when I fancy I ar almost mad. 'If you have any pity in your heart for so miserable a wretch, you will speak to-night and tell me the truth." "I will tell you the truth, mly lady," Duke answered, Iis voice full of great pity: "Heaven knows I would have told it you long ago if I had dared. A great wrong has been done- a great and cruel wrong. Whether it can ever be repaired now, is not for me to say. The dead and the living are alike to blame. Geoffreyy Lyndith and Sir Vane Charteris! Thej both knew on your second wedding-day that Robert Lisle wa, alive. "Yes," she said, catching her breath spasmodically, and leaning forward in her eagerness. "Go on! "It was at the church door I saw him first," the scene-' lainter continued. He was walking, up and down' the kitchen floor, now, and his thoughts went back to that past time, and the sunny April morning; the throng of carriages and people before St. George's, and Robert Hawksley's white face, were vividly before him. "I cannot understand it myself, but some instinct told me who he was from the first. I knew but little of your story then, my lady, but I heard both yourself and Mr. Lyndith allude to a Robert Lisle, and when you gave me the child you said was yours, I, of cokrse, concluded that Robert Lisle had been your husband' and was dead. Yet on that morning, wheli we stood face to face, I remember the thought coming into 'my mindl, ' What if this should be Robert Lisle in the 'flesh!' It was the look his face wore, I think, that first sug- gested the idea-a look I cannot describe-such a look' as only a man in a case of the lind could by any possibility wear; We entered the church together. He asked me on the way if I knew who was to be married, and I told him. The ceremony was over when we went in, a few seconds later, and you came down the aisle on Sir Vane Charteris' arm. You did not see us. You seemed to see nothing. Your eyes were fixed straiglt before you in a blind, blank stare. He rose up as you drew near and took a step forward, and his eyes'met those of Sir Vane full. I never saw such a change come over any humaln face as came over fhat of the baronet in that'instant-. an awful, ghastly horror, that seemed to stun him.' But the people pressing behind bore him on. Everybody left the church, and Robert Hawksley and myself and the pew-openers were there alone." , "ADY CHAR TERRIS HEARS TZ TARUYU. I 5' "Iawksley!" "He called himself' Hawksley, my lady. I turned to him, and taxed himll then ahd there wit being Robert Lisle. 'My name is Hawksleyi' he answered, 'and I imust follow that mnah.' i We left the church together, called a hansonm, and drove to t your late uncle's house on Park Lane. I remained in the cab; he descended- and after- some trouble was admitted, and your uncle came down in person, and they'went into the library to. - gether."'" ', ' - "I. remember! I remember'!" my lady said, in a hushed, awe-struck voice. "I remember the, altercation in the hall, my , uncle's leaving us at the table, and a strange hush of expecta . tion falling upon us. Oh, my God! to think-that in that hour he was under the Salme roof with me-in that hour when it was not yet too late!" s": "It was too late!"Duke Mason' answered. "Had he in : sisted upon seeing you, that very instant he would have been given over to the hands of the la to answer for a crime he had never committed. Yet I doubt' if that would have 'held 'him 'back. He was made to believe that you ablorredhis memnory, that you believed him a thief, that you lhad grown to love Sir ; '( Vane Charteris, that if you knew the truth, the shame, the n- - guish of publicity, would break your heart. He was told the marriage as no marriage, 'and would be so proven if he made any attempt to see or speak to you. It was too late, my lady. -Your unle-' triumphed. Robert Lisle left' the house, and fell -- :: like a dead man on the street before he had gone ten steps. I took him home-my sister cared for him, and next day, as 'e sat alone together, he told me his story. He believed what 'Geoffrey Lyndith had said-that you were utterly false and ftdithless. My lady, I knew better. I could not bear to hear you so accused, and right or wrong, told' him all I knew. It was then that he learned that the little child prattling about the house was his. I believe that kniowledge-saved'him from a suicide's grave--it gave him something to live for. Where you were concerned all 'hope was at an end-his mind was made up to leave England again at once and forever. His last words were of little Polly: "She shall be an heiress, yet,' he said, as . we shook hands anOd parted. Every year since that time he has sent her a Christmas token of fifty pounds, and a few short-lines to ask if she were well. There, my lady, is the story of Robert Hawksley "as I know it. May I ask how you have learned that he is alive?" *,-pbi:.r--* *..".:. .V *.Y-6 v k" - .j page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 LADY CHARTER IS HEARS THE TRUTH. She was sitting, leaning forward, her hands clasped tightly to. gether in lspeechless pain, her large dark eyes full of untold de. spair. In a few quiiet words she repeated the story Lord Mon. talien had told at the dinner table that evening. 1.I "I remember listening," she said almost dreamily, , with a feeling as of tightening around mny heart, knowing fro. the first that it was of my Robert he spoke. When he uttered his name at the last, the tension scemed suddenly to give way-a great darkness came before me, the room, the chairs seemed reeling, and I fainted. I was in my own room when 'I recovered, with my maid and the housekeeper and Sir Vane Charteris (for the first time in fourteen years) beside me. I looked at him and pointed'to the door: 'Go out of my room,' I said, 'and never come into it again as long as you live.' l'The two women looked at each other; no one spoke. He went at once, and then for hours and hours it seemed to me I lay there alone. I, don't believe I suffered-all the troubles of my life appeared to fade away-my mind was almost a "blank. I remember looking at the pictures on the wall, at the pattern of the ca/rpet, at the wax- lights burning on the table, with an almost painful intensity of interest. I remember trying to count the rain-drops pattering on the glass; I even believe I slept for a time, and then, all at once, I was sitting up in bed, cold as death, with great drops standing on my face, repeating aloud, 'Robert is alive .1 Robert is alive6! My maid came in from the next room, with a fright- ened face,'looking at me as though she thought me mad. I sprang from the bed, seized a shawl lying near, and rushed out of the room and the house. I ran all the way down to the gates; they were open still, by some chance, and I came straight here. I never felt the rain. I suppose I was mad--. perhaps I am yet." She put her hand to her head in a lost sort of way. Duke Mason looked at her in alarm, her face was as 'wite as the face of a corpse-her eyes' shone with a' dry, bright glitter-hler voice was strangely quiet and slw--she spoke of herself as though speaking of another. The hysterics were nothing to this. Hfad her troubles turned her brain? Should he summon los- anna? o Ros. Before hle could answer his own mental question; a Carriage driven furiously stopped at the door. He heard it flung open with a. crash, a man's heavy step sounded in the hall. The next instant the kitchen dbor was thrown wide, and Sir Vane Chirteris stood before them I "AD Y CHARTERIS HEARS 7HE 'TRUTH. 187 Once again Duke's thoughts flew back fourteen years to the Speckhaven waiting-room, at the same albnormal hour, and Geoffrey Lyndith standing dark and grim as Sir Vane Charteris ' i;i stood now. Once again with the same' gesture the hunted lady lifted her head and looked her pursuer full in the face. . The usually florid countenance of the baronet was faded now to a dull livid pallor. There was a look about, his mouth anr' eyes not good to see. "Lady Chlartdris," he said grimly, " come home!" He .ad vanced toward her.' She shrunk back, both arms outstretched with a scream of fear andhorror. "Don't touch me " she cried. "Don't come near 1me! Don't call me by that name I am not your wife-I nevei was. In the hour you married me you knew my lawful, my only husband was alive I - And you lied to .me and told me he ?i was dead-you false, false, false villain!" .*i He listened with a diabolical Smile, his glittering, sinister eyes never leaving her wild face. "Have you quitedone, madame? This sort of performance ' is entertaining ehough with the stage-lights and appropriate cos- tumes, and at a suitable hour; but allow me to suggest that at one o'clock in the morning Lady Charteris should be at home . and in bed. This is the scene-painter, I suppose," With a sneering look at Duke, "to whom you gave that fellow's illegit-" ' She littered a cry, and half sprung toward him. "If you dare!" she gasped. "You said it once. Take I care! take care!" Ah! I remember," with sneering scorn. "You don't like the 'word. I said it once, over thirteen years ago. I retnem- ber very distinctly. I told. you it was not an agreeable recol- lection for me that I had married the mistress of a country clod, and from that hour to this we have been man and wife only in name. Is Mr. Robert Lisle's interesting daughter and heiress visible, Mr.-ah-M4son?. I suppose not, though, at , this hour. 'I'should really like to see her; but. that pleasure must be reserved for another time. For you, my lady-take my arm!" / . : ' H e looked at her with a terrible glance. She shrunk away, j: trembling from head to foot.. , "Take my arm " he repeated, still with that basilisk, stare, 'and come home. Home I Do you know the sort of home . provided for such women as you?" page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 TIlE DAWN o0 TryE NEW LzIE. She did nl6t speak. Her eyes looked up at him full of a great horror. ' A mad-house / ) Lie literally hissed the words, dIevil of hatred and rage in his black eyes. As he spoke he drew the shrinking hand within h is own, and forced her toward the door. Sh went without a single word. 'On the threshold she Doked back once at the humble, faithfull fiiend she was leaving, and who stood so powerless to help her now.. It was her fare- well. So Duke Mason saw her in his dreams, for 'years and years after, with that look of unutterable horror on her death-cold face. So for years and years that farewell look haunted him with much the' same remorse as though he 1 ad stood by and seen her' slain beforehis eyes. CHAPTER IX. THE DAWN OF THE NEW LIFE. N the stately tturrets and ivy-grown towers of Monta- lien Priory, and on the twh-story 'wooden box of Mr. Duke Mason, the light of a new and glorious day / one. The stonm had passed with the night. The June sunshine / flooded sky and earth, the birds'sang blithely, the bus town was astir, arid at ,his painting-room window Duke Mason sat, ati blanky out, and seeing nothing but darkness and deso. latib1. He was going to lose'the Duchess. It was all said in that. Polly-h is bright, beautiful, laughing, -ischievous, troublesh6a . have been different. She would stillhave been his, belonging to his woandy years she would had ben comthe joy, backthe tormen a .S *,uu, nltn to re t urn - m ore. delight of l/is ife--now she was to be taken fi'om h im. school himself, it-was true, but that sort o' se.'aration, would THE DAWN, 0O THE NEW LIFE. I89 ' . their dull, gray-colored life with her sunshiny presence again. But :now she was Lord Montalien's ward, and heiress of eighty thousand pounds, iand as lost to him, almost, as though the ' coffin lid had closed uponi her. ; I He sat there, unshorn and unwashed, neither handsome nor , interesting to look at, but with a'sorrow as profound, a despair" as great, as the veriest hero of romance could ever feel. He had not been to bed all nigit. He and Rosanna had sat. side by side in the little kitihen, while the storin clouds cleared away-an-.the rosy morning broke, not talking, and with ; the same thoughts uppermost in both minds-Polly was going, : and forever Wofully gray and grim Rosanna looked in this new day's 'B sunshine, but she went about her work without tear or sigh, hiding her trouble deep in her heart, as few women do,' and' feeling it, all the mor$ bitterly. H And upstairs, with her flushed cheek resting on one rounded ' arm, and her sunny curls on the 'pillow, Polly slept, while her new life dawned iitJl the new day. "' Who was that came at such an unearthly hour last night?" / . she asked at breakfast. I heard doors banging and people talking till daybreak, it seems to me. And here you and Duke -look as solemn as a pair of white owls this morning. Rosanna, ": what is it all about?" -; 'hey put her off with some evasive answer.. It was impos- : sible to tell her. The blow must come, but it was beyond iheir strength to inflict it themselves. Selfish, perhaps-but are we not 411 selfish in our love and our sorrow? i The morning mailtuight Duke a lettpr--a foreign letter-,. * and inclosing a briefihnote addressed ito "Paulina Lisle." i Duke laid it aside-that name slote him like a blow-and' -i read his own. No words could be more manly, more grateful, more kindly than those of Robert Lisle, but the decree of part- . ing was irrevocable. )By birth and fortune Paulina was )a lady. As such she had her place to fill in society-in that world to which Lord Montalien, as her guardian, qould present her. It was all quite right, he felt it plainly. as any one, but the pain . was none the less actite. He sat there; for hours, with thl, .: open letter in his hand. Rosanna sat idly by the kitchen fire ' -atd when had Rosanna been idle before? Polly had gone , to make an early call upon her friend Alice, and talk about her f new clothes and her new school prospects-the ticking of the.- old clock sounded preternaturally loud in the blank stillness. - ] X % 1v,4'I page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 90 THE DAWN OF THE XEW LIFE. And so, when, at half-past eleven Lord Montalien reached the house, and knocked at the door, he found them. Rosanna's face betrayed no surprise when she admitted her distinguished visitor. Yes, .she answered, Mr. Duke Mason lived here, and was disengaged, and would sec him. She ushered the peer into the huihble parlor, and Duke got up, and put his letter in his pocket, and went slowly down stairs. "I see by your face, Mr. Mason," his lordship said, quietly, "that you know the errand upon which I have come. You have had a letter from Califoriia by this morning's post." "I have, my lord." "It is doubtless painful to you to part with your adopted daughter after all those years, but the thing is inevitable. In any case, you must have lost her sooner or later. Mr. Lisle is unbounded in his expressions of gratitude and respect, for you. Have you told her yet-does she know?" "She knows nothing, my lord!-I cannot tell her!" Some of poor Duke's pain was in his voice and face as he spoke. "She thinks still, as she thought from the first, that she is the child of a dead cousin of my own. You will kindly undeceive her-you will tell her the, truth. It will not be a hard task, such pleasant news" .! He spoke a little bitterly-his heart was very sore; Lord Montalien looked at him kindly. "I am quite sure the young lady will sincerely regret the change of guardians-the news is pleasant, beyond doubt, but she will not leave her old friends without sincere regret. Mr. Mason, you know more of this young girl's history than even I do, for you knew her mother!" Duke started. The eyes of the two men met-the scene- painter's, startled, alarmed; the peer's, keen, sharp, intelligent. "Don't distress yourself, Mr. Mason; I am not about to ask you any) questions. I had much rather, indeed, not hear the'. mother's name. It is a very painful story-let us hope the worst is over." He spoke with a certain grave earnestness that mae. Duke think he at least suspected the truth. He averted his eyes un- easily. / He longed to ask for Lady Charteris, but dared not.', "Is Miss Mason-nay, I beg her pardon," with a smile, "Miss Lisle in? I should like to see her. I presume you have no objection to my telling her at once?" "Certainly not, my 'lord; she must know it at once, of course. She will be in presently. May I ask how soon.-" He stopped, ashamed of the choking in his throat. t * 2 .' ; " . , THE DiA W OF W LIFE. 191 and 11cri " lords hip eI shall leave that entirely toyo and her his lordshi but I Iswred al "Yyou are aware it canlnot be postponed olog, but Ip shalldnothurryheraway. She is to go to schOPOse sding her t nvent of the Sacred eart, Paris. sav e a ene agai"st fashionable boardingschools, as a rule. ldad I a daughter, she s hould n ever enter one; and I believe thosIe uns of the Sacred Heart to be the best teahers and ( s llthl of theSaaoed^ ^.nder the sun. miost accomlplished ladies underthesun. But,forafewweeks, uick, light step crfinissed the all, a fresh young voice trilled ndoaeat runn'ing over witl curl." She' ptused short, hler ^ hlookedfor a visitor. D uke rosed ip, a, aher e o "IMy lord," he said, "t is is your ward. Polly, Lord Mon- lioend h come lethere t eto see youl et . e e news. Try' and not be angry with me foa r keeing it from you usttIad (I :;ees with bright, large eyes of woner. Lord Montalien took her hancod i both his, ander loked at her. with a: smile th w went straight to her heart. child," he s ho r likred quicked'o, aeped th e lbfll, v fores young . Yord t rilled ' Yandou has set your fathe forSe y ie yoa grdia Mss- him the molslent I saw him first; anlo n t erul ' My fathelo r d" the irl utt and oy herlf sode ord-Duke" cousin"'sey aioe Thatn lett her you hold is e from him, and you are olly Mason no longer, but Faulina Lsle t" is let er She gre 1 ashen pale, ad began to tremble W she was about to hear? ' The band Lord Montaien held grew cold in heis gratsnoeip. i and has slent you a fortunek You ar the h eiress oft eigety thousand pounds, ad I am apponinted yto guardian. Msso alina Lirsle, let me bg wthe first to cong raulite o yo u :: page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] ,I92 THE DAWN OF THE NIW LI F . e fell sddenly back in her chair. Lord Montalien started "I I have told her too abruptly--she is going to faint I migh0t have known it I Whom sha ill g to fal He was going to the door, but she put out one hlad and ,motioned him back. : "Wait,"lishe sai in a voice that trembled. "I shall not faint." She sat up bravely, as she spoke, and tried to smile, with lips that quivered. "Please go on, my lord tell me all." And then, still clasping the small, cold hahd, still looking kindly in the pale young fce, Lord Montalien told her "all."1 How forteen years before he ad come over fro A ica with Robert Hawksleyof the story Robert Hawksley had told hia--of the promise that had passed between them--and how that promise was to be redeemed--ofthe fortune that was hers --of his guardianship-of her new name-o f the new life begin- ning so brightly, Of the new li : She had heard all. He paused, still looking at her, wonder- Mng inwardly what manner of girl this child of sixteen was. She sat quite still, quite pale, the loud tick-tack of the kitchen clock almost painffilly audible, the sunshine streaming unshad owed in among Rosanna's roses and geraniums. Atlast she spoke, to ask a question, looking at 'the nobleman beside her with big; solemn eyes:. eman de her "Who Zwas my mother?" ' "I do not know," he answered gravely; "youivfatler never told me her name." "Does Duke know?" "1 cannot tell; I think it probable. But my dear Miss Lisle, there may be reasons why you should not know." "What reasons?" y "Reason s impossible for me to explain, his lordship said, turningo away in some embarrassment fromthe az the i nocent eyes. "You' can ask Mr. Maon, h'owever. if ith i right ,you should know, he will tell you." wever. f it is "Right A daughter should 2 know her mother's name I the girl rcpeated slowly. "My lord, you have told me about my father---my father who left England five months after his marriage, and never returned for two years. 'How then came 1 to be given to Duke Masonhov caie he to know anyt hin about mne?" n "Your motheir gave you to Duke Masoi, of course., Lord Montalien felt rather awkward as he answered.-the. .. ,*vauasn nsee,& ie. ; 51[i." TlHEL AI VA. Vr U lP' dzl vv w rr., i 193 large bright eyes still solemnly scanned his face. After all, telling this young person her own story, was not so easy a mat- ter as he had thought. ..^ "My mother was a lady, you say;"Polly's heart thrilled as 'p.:I't' she said it. "Of high birth and station and wealth, and she gives me away to a poor mechanic,- and never comes to see or ask after me again/ Lord Montalien, is my mother alive?" . ^ The situation was growing worse and worse; Lord Montalien' felt more uncomfortable than he had ever remembered feeling - ' in his life. I have reason to believe she is," he answered slowly. " Why did she not leave everything, and go to America with . my father when liecame for her?" . , "Paulina-I don't know. Yes, I do-I'll tell you the truth, come what may. She did not return with him because-he found her the wife of another man." - The girl's very lips blanched at the words. "The wife of another man I She thought him dead, then?" "She did." "He did not seek her out and undeceive her?" . "No; he left England again and returned to America, Don't blame your, mother, my child'; she thought him dead;' she was coerced into the second marriage, beyond doubt; and if alive still, thinks your father dead. How she came to give you to Duke Mason, Duke Mason will tell you himself. She , { had cogent reasons, be very sure; and she could not have given you to 'a better man. Rest contented with your wonder- ful good fortune, ily dear, and don't ask too many questions. : You are a great heiress now-try and think of that." V .I "A great heiress!" the girl repeatedi and there was a world - of bitterness in her tone;' "a great heiress, and yet poorer than the poorest, with a father and mother alive whom I have i never seen, never may see-a mother who cast me off in my, infancy-a father at the other end of the world 1 Lord Mon- talien, you may not tell me, Duke may not tell me, but I feel it here Hif my mother is alive, I shall find her. out I " She rose up, striking her hand lightly on her breast, her eyes shining with the fire of inspiration. . "I shall find out my mother, and ask her why she deserted her child. For my father "-she looked suddenly at the note , shevheld--" will you permit me, my lord'?" ie, He ow ed: his head silently. She opened the note and read. page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 TE7zE DAWN OF THE NEW LIFE. It dropped fromn her fingers, she covered her face with Ler hands, and the tears fell, thick and fast. Her moods were the moods of an April day, sunshine and shower, bright and short- lived. She looked up at last and dashed them away, smiling radi-; antly. The color came back to her cheeks, the glad sparkle to her eyes, the joyous ring to' her voice. She was rich, rich beyond her wildest dreams. She was a young lady of birth e and fortune. Lord Montalien was her guardian. All the visions of her life were realized-more than realized. Was she dreaming or awake? "It is like a fairy tale," she said; "like a story from the Arabian Nights. Oh, my lord, is all this true you have been telling me? Am I asleep or in a dream?" Lord Montalien got up to go with a smile, holding out his hand in farewell. "Good-by for the present, Miss Lisle. I shall call again to- morrow. By that time you will probably have convinced yourself that it is a very pleasant reality. You, and your good friends here, shall fix the time of your departure. I shall not hurry you, but I shall certainly expect you during your stay in Speckhaven to be a constant visitor at the Priory." Polly thought of Allan Fane and Miss Hautton, and flushedd all over her fair face! "Or why not make your home altogether at the Priory dur ing the few weeks you remain?" urged Lord Montalien. "It is your home now and' for the future, you know, and'I need not tell you how charmed we all will be." "And leave Duke and Rosanna!"Polly said, looking' at him in wonder. "Oh, no, my lord. Thank you very much all the same." "At least you will come to see us every day?" Polly shook her liead. "You will dine with us, then, once before you go. Don't be obstinate, Miss Lisle, and force me into the role of tyranhical guardian so soon." "Well-if you insist-butlt . Her reluctance was very visible. It was not' shyness that he saw. If the girl had been born in a palace her manner could not have been more simple, more natural, mIore unaffectedly easy. What was it? Lord Montalien wondered. "You know some of my peo;)le, I think,'? he said; "Francis and Guy tell me they are acquainted with yoll, and Allan Fane- ".,qlit an intimat fri nd." di THE' DAWN 0F THE NEW LAIFE. ' 19 He was watching her closely, and the rosy light shone again I in the sensitive face. That was it! The peer understocd at - once that Mr. Fanle had been quite an "intimate friend." "When I come to-morrow," he said, moving to the door, ' I shall fetch Gripper' (Gripper's'your lawyer, my dear), and he has come down here to draw up the necessary documents appointing me your guardian, and to explain to you the cir- cumstances under which you come into your fortune.. They - are somewhat unusual, but considering your father's story, very natural Now, my dear, good-day to you. Don't lose your appetitgind sleep, thinking of this fairy fortune. But where is the use of advising you? Of course you will." . Polly laughed. She'was disposed to like this pleasant new guardian already; and, indeed, it was no hard -task for most women to like Lord Montalien. She watched him out of sight; then she went slowly into 'the house. She opened -her letter and read it again. 'Her father lived, and from over'the wide sea spoke to' her those 'sweet, solemn words of fatherly love; the first she had ever heard. Again the great tears welled up into the blue eyes. She stretched forth her arms with an in. voluntary cry: ".Oh, father! father! Come home!"' 'Only once in the letter he spoke of her mother. "Your mother lives, my child," he wrote; "a lady of rank and title, the wife of another man. But in your heart there must lie no 'hard thoughts of her. Weak she may have been-guilty never. She believed, believes still, that Robert Lisle is dead-as I am to her. One day I may return to Englaril and my precious daughter." ' She kissed the letter, put it in her bosom,J ahd went in search of her friends. . Rosanna was bustling about the kitchen, looking unutterably grim and stern to hide all she felt. "Duke's upstairs," she said curtly to the girl, and turned her back upon her. Strong- . X minded the spinster undoubtedly was, but' she was not strong enough to bear the sight of Polly just then. IDuke was painting and smoking furiously-always a sign of great mental disturbance. He looked round from his work I and smiled, rather a ghastly smile of greeting., Well, Dtichess "I "'Well, Duke!" . She came over and stood beside him, resting one hand' ca-' ressingly on his shoulder. No need to tell he: what Rosanna's grimness and Duke's silence meant; she understood them per page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 THE DAWN OF THE NEW LIFE. fectly, and loved them better in this hour than ever before in her life. "WWho knows but I have been a prophet," the scene-painter said, still trying to speak gayly. "You may be a Duchess yet, Miss Lisle. I suppose it is the correct thing to call Lord Montalien's ward and the heiress of eighty thousand Miss Lisle." "Duke!" He drdpped his. brush and held out his hand. "I wish you, joy, Duchess-upon my soul I do! And I hope you'll be as happy in your new life as-as I have tried to make you in this. You're going away, my dear-going away, to come back no more; but I know you will not quite forget Duke and Rosanna." His voice broke. He dropped her hand and walked away to the window to hide 'the tears of which his manhood was ashamed. Two white arms were about his neck in an instant, two warm lips impetuously kissing his averted face. "Duke! Duke! dear old Duke! the best, the kindest friend ever was in this world! Forget you and Rosanna! Why, what a horrible little monster you must think me.! And I don't know what you mean talking about my going away, never to come back! If I were Queen Victoria's ward, and heiress of fiftyjiundred million pounds," cried this impetuous young woman, "I should come ba,ck just the same. Tlis is my home --at least until my father returns from California to claim me. His right is first, and most sacred. Oh, Duke! to think, Polly Mason should ever have had a father!" Duke smiled in spite of himself. "It is, extraordinary. I should have liked to have told you ages ago, but you see I was bound by promises to both, and dared not." "Promises to both. That means my mother, I suppose?" "Your mother. Yes, Duchess." "Tell me all about her, Duke. My mother I how strange it sounds! What was she like? Was he handsome? Am I like her? That sounds conceited, I alm afraid, but I don't mean it so." "She was-she is beautiful, and you are not in the least like her. You have your father's face and eyes, and a very good face and eyes they are. Her dyes were black, and she was smaller than you." He spoke dreamily, thinking of the great, despairing black THE DAWN .O THE NEW LIFE. I197 eyes that had looked at him so lately, fuill of woman's uttermost woe. "Duke, I don't think I like my mother! She must have been weak and cold-hearted. Why did she give nW up? Why , \i did she marry that othesl man?' I hate to think of it even. Mihy was she not faithful through all things-to death--to the husband and child she loved?" Thle girl's eyes flashed-the rosy light so quick to come and go, under that transparent skin, lit her gypsy face once more. Don't you blame her, D hess, Duhes ke answered, gravely, "since she did it for your sake. She would have preferred death to marrying Sir --, I mean, marrying again on her own account. She sacrificed herself for you. You were taken from her at your birth; she knew you lived, but nothing more, and' she yearned to possess you. Slhe feared for you more than she feared for' herself-for your future happiness, life even; and when you were made the price of her sacrifice she consented. She had bprne imprisonment, even cruelty, rather than yield. She was never more faithful to the husband she thought dead than in the hour when he saw her at the altar, the bride of another man; for she sacrificed her own life to save his child. She gave you to me-with me she knew you would be safe, at least, and she dared not keep you herself. Your mother is the purest, the noblest, the most injured woman on earth; a mar- tyr, Duchess, as surely as ever suffering 'made a martyr. Don't you blame her-I cannot bear to hear you." "You loved my mother like this, -Duke?" "I reverenced her, 'Miss Lisle. I pity her as I never pitied any one in lmy life. She is very, 'very unhappy." "' Is-is her husband unkind to her?" , I, am afraid so, my dear. And she knows you live, and she loves you and must live apart from you, 'and deny you a mother's care. Is that not enough of itself?" ",Duke,"i Polly said, entreatingly, "tell- ne her name. Do! Let me go to her.-only once, ever so secretly, and kiss her, and tell her I love her, 6And am sorry for her too. Dol 'Oh, Duke if you ever cared for your little Duchess, whom you are going i to lose, tell me her name!" She clasped her arms -once more' around his neck; she coaxed him with tears and kisses. The strong man tremnled under that clasp. " I can't, Duchess--dont ask me. God knows I would re- :i fuse you nothing if I could, but it nmust not be. 'You don't :: ;::': page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 'Tt7z D^AW I OFTINEW WLZ. know what you ask be content. Lovher as much as Y011 like-she i^s wort'Love her as much as you like--she is worthy of it all-and hope for the best. But the day when you may know your mother and go to her -is not yet. Look here; I have kept this for you for fourteen years. Your mother gave it me on the night I Saw her first." rigless fi rt le opal ring and slid it on one of Polly's slim, "It is yours, my girl; wear it for youir nother's sake." 'And it is all I may ever know of her," Polly sighed. iIt is all'very sad and very strange. d to thin it would be beautifil to have a histor t I used to think it would be beautifuy story-to be a heroine of romance; and 'low I am, and somehow it saddens me more than' anything ever did before. To think that I should have a mother who dare not acknowledge me; that sonle day I may meet her, and look at her, and not know her. To think I should have a fiather, an exile, a loney, solitary wanderer in those wild, far-off lands, who has lost wife and child, through no fault of his, and 'who may never return. But I will go to him, if he does not come to me. Yes, Duke, when my two years' school-life" are 3ended, if he does not return to me I will go to himl It will ,be like ' Elizabeth and the Exile of Siberia' Over again. And now I shall go straight this very moment, and answer his dear, darling letter., Wich she did on the spot, dashing off page after page in an impetuous, running hand. There wais no end of love, an no end of blots, and scores of notes of exclamation and doubtfil spelling and grammar; but when one's heart is fill to overflowing, and one is a young person of sixteen, what does a little broken orthography or syntax signify? Polly's 'heart was in the right place, if her words ere not; and proba- bly Mr. Robert Lisle, out in, San Francisco, smiled a good deal ovpr this epistlc,' even with the tears in his eyes. The news spread like wildfire. Before the summer stars 'b came out tat nigt, every man, woman, and child in Speck haven knew that Polly Mason was an he chiless, ad not Polly Mfafsonat all. The heiress herself had rushed headlong to see Scoes of tiles efore and promised her inlimited jewelry and, ,Ac o .l'rsell 11a*l -- . drygoodsi, wen she cane into her fortune. And when I leave school you shall comed and live withl me, ,Alice, if you are not married," Polly cried; "and yhen I'm gone you must. write me long, long letters; and I shall ask Lord Montalien for enough of my fortune to buy a lociket for , THE-DAWN OF THE NEW LIFE. . i99 my picture and some. of my hair, to leave you. ' And oh, Alice . I don't believe I shall ever sleep a wink again for thinking of it, as long as I live!" Her dreams were rather broken that night, and it seemed to her the new day would never dawn. She half feared the whole would melt away in the darkness, and she would awake to find herself little Polly Mason again, instead of Miss Paulina Lisle. Paulina Lisle I she repeated the pretty name over and over again with intense, childish ecstasy. She had hated her name of Polly so, she had so longed for some beautiful, stately appel- lation, and lo! here she had it. . I believe her new name' gave her tenfold more pleasure than the thought of her noble inher- itance. Lord Montalien came over next day with Mr. Gripper, which legal gentleman produced documents tied with red tape, and ; read them solemnly aloud to his bewildered little client. It was all Greek or thereabouts to Polly, except one or two conditions which her mind grasped in passing. She was Lord Montalien's ' ward until she should come of age or marry. If Lord Monta- ' lien died before either of those events, the power of appointing a new guardian was vested in him. And in the hour of her-" marriage, whether she married withI or without the consent of , her guardian, or during'her minority, her fortune became abso- : lutely her own from thenceforth.. This was the proviso which his lordship' had mentioned on the previous day as unusual. It was easy enough, by the light of Robert Lisle's own history, to understand it-it was to save her from her mother's fate. How. little he dreamed in provid- ing that saving clause for the happiness of the daughter he loved, how much trouble, and shame, and remorse, it was to: cause her in the days to come. The people from the Priory called upon Lord Montalien's ward with congratulations and cordial expressions of good-will. Mr. Francis, whom Polly did not like, Mr. Guy, whom she admired and liked very much, and Sir Vane Charteris, who' repelled her with. his coarse mouth and fulsome compliments. The girl wondered why he looked at her with such intensity, his small, black eyes seeming to devour her. His little daugh- ter came with him, beautifully dressed, and much more gracious than on that other memorable occasion. Sir Vane expressed his regret that Lady Charteris could not have the happiness of making Miss Lisle's charming acquaintance.' Lady Charteris was ill, confined to her room-a nervous, hysterical attack, biit . : was oust by page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 THE DA WN:X OF THE NEW LIFE. would probably be able to travel on the morrow, when he )pro- posed returning to town to consult an eminent physician on the state of her health. Miss Lisle listened very coldly, she disliked both him and his daughter, and was relieved when they went away. Miss Hautton also called with lher kinsman, Lord Montalien, elegant of costume, indisputably high-bred and patrician, but looking more elderly and faded than ever by con- trast with that fresh, bright face. Mr. Allan Fane did not call -he was eating his very heart out with rage and baffled love. Retribution had come very swiftly to the tailor's ambitious son. Lord Montalien's ward, obeying the behests of her guard- ian, spent oneevening at the Priory. Only one-Duke and Rosanna must have all the rest. She went dressed in white tarlatan (white was the proper thing for a heroiine), with a blue ribbon in her amber curls, and a blue belt around her slim waist. And she looked lovely! The white arms and neck glimmered through the flimsy tarlatan, and there was a flush on her cheeks and a light in her eyes. She entered those stately rooms a guest, an equal, she who had been Polly Mason last week; and she sat at Lord Montalien's right hand at dinner, and was the little queen of the feast. The dishes at that din- ner were of " such stuff as dreams are made of.". She had things put on her plate, and she ate them, and wondered in- wardly all the while what on earth they could be. She drank some sparkling Moselle, and she had a slice of pine-apple, and did not make one single mistake. She was not awkward, she was in no way embarrassed, neither. was she in the least f6r- ward. Altogether she was charming, and Iord Montalien was secretly fascinated by his little ward. "How true and clear she rings!" he thought; "if she had been bred a countess her manners could not be more, simple and perfect. What a charming little rose-bud she is, and how gloriously destined to bloom in the future!" " Allan Fane sat opposite "Miss Lisle" at'dinner, with the faded eyes of his high-born betrothed fixed icily upon him.' He was pale and cold, he sat silent at the banquet, with the fabled vulture of Prometheus gnawing at his vitals! This beautiful little heiress might havenbeen his, in this hour, and he had givenher up, and bound himself to a woman he did not and iever could Jlove. "It might lave been.' He had - wrought his' misery with his own hand. If Polly thirsted for veogeance olr this recreant lover of hers, she had it. But sh6 did not; sie llad met him with a smile of perfect provoking , , "?*t - .%.' , ,; THfn LJA VV* v - Yii " good humor and forgiveness. He was so utterly indifferent to her now that she had no room ein her heart for him even tp wish hm unhappYh..... He might marry Miss Hutton to&morrow, and she would go to his weidding with pleasure. . He knew it too; no wonans eyes ever looked s frnkly into the eyes o a m she cared one straw. In the drawig- roomafter dinner, with some little nrging, polly sang She did not mind singing t all, bt se l PoI'e eard you." h Coy Glaud., and blhed t th e rer is n rance. "That song has huntede ever since, I assure you He led her to the piano, nd obeyed. Hersweet, clear an voice. edthe rooms. With proper trainG g that voice alone Wmight doeshave made tter fortune. Sle saing agaiu"Coaunty;uy." But wo c s fr here is Cour is nigh,? The breeze is on the d ayhe re The lark whose lay has triel w , ? j Breeze, ird, and flower confess' the hour., a naco fs,But whera e ha is unty Guyase nHe wasr beside Lher bending over her, cis dark, dream of her Indays to come did ab ee sweet,o rtful faSe hadltr hisrea mS? Iner the girl' remory that night lived forever he irsA hr new existence arld theore wr hours when Wh Guy Earlsc urt'e - up befor herlikethe fc o a. rmight have madhos hnever forgot it, nr i, as he, sto there beside he, te sdark beuyy of hs southern face, a ' reason to reme The breeze itterlys on the years tcom The should not be savgely jehalous i of every other an' on wh he smiled. GY had been his vnet frind-he felt as looyally toward him as it as hed, his parshiftiner n Iloyal to anye f- e, but heould hae murdered him to nigliht: I l' .......... . . . . ' .... page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 20/ 2'" I 202 7TH1E LAST DAY This girl, his father's ward, with her noble fortune, her peerless beauty, would be one day Guy Eariscourt's wife, and he-he looked with sullen, anryees at r ., . w/re, and he-he and-thirty sullen,ars angry eyes at Diana Hautton, with her three. and-thirty years and her faded face, and walked out of the room and out of the house, The soft sulnmer rain was falling; he never heeded it. e lit his cigar, and walked tp and dovn under the fragrant trees, tip and down, tip and down. It grew late-Miss Lisle was driven ho'e--she insisted upon it-lhe heard the last sound of the wheels that bore her away, and then he flung hiniself on the wet grass, face downward, d knew he had lost forever the happiness of his life. CHAPTER .X. THE LAST DAY. H HE last day had come. It was two weeks precisely since she had first 'heard the wonderful news, and Miss Paulina Lisle was en- tirely ready. The warth and splendor of mid-July lay Over the earth. ' Montalien Priory looked glorious in its green and golden wealth its rich cornfields, itsspreadi grassy slpes, down to te ceaseless sea, and its se depths of woodland, where the rare red-deer herded. The world 'had always been a bright and delightfill world to Polly, but never half so bright , un tmll wor'd to Polly, but never half so bright, 'half so delighgtful as now. Every dream of her life, it seemed to her, was realized--she had a living father and mother, like other people--she was the mis. tress of illimitable wealth, it seemed to her-Lord Montalien I was her guardian, and his world and his order henceforth hers. There were times when this excitable nature was. nearly wild with joy--other times when, looking at the sad, silent faces of her two old friends, her tender heart was stri srcken t fae s o f and she wyould'fling herseifintotir S T With remorsea and she wouldfling herself into their arms, and passionately cy out she was a wretch, a selfish o ad Pasinately cry . out she was a wretch a selfish, ungrateful wretch, to feel all this bliss, when she was' going away from them for two long, enjdless years. Two years I Those faithful learts knew better than that: not for two years, but for all timeforever. When they Bi^?Vf.^*W^6reverfSH.'selBle8K)^ll^!^^ When they '* - ; ' * . '." '***- '-* . T ;^*7 ' THE LAST DAY. ' 203 had said good-by, they had said it; their lives lay apart." It was Duke himself who hurried on the preparations for depart. ure. Had. he so willed it, the girl might have remained with , them until September, when the Convent of the Sacred Heart' opened its school. But it was inevitable, and the sooner it was all over the better. A sort of dull resignation might come when she was gone-- "if any calm, a calm despair." To see her now, knowing it. was the last time, was simply intolerable. Lord Montalien ' had made a proposal of taking the young lady for a midsum-' mer holiday scamper through southern France, the, Tyrol, and up the Rhine; and Polly's eyes had flashed their electric, joy- ous light for an instant, and then grew very grave and tender. (Thank you-no, my lord," she said; "I had rather not go; I want to stay with-with them to the last." But Duke had decided differently.\ ' "You shall go, Duchess; never mind about us; we are going to lose you, and what does a week or two earlier matter? 'You . shall go to. southern France as soon as ever Rosanna has all' your things ready." ; l Her things were all ready now, and the day was fixed forl 'departure. It was a wonderful fit-out in this young lady's eyes I -silks and muslins of all hues and the finest textures, and' linen, like drifted snow, trimmed with real Irish lace. Nothing ' , I like it had ever dazzled the eyes of the late Miss Mason's friends. That seven hundred pounds, so long laid away in the' bank, was drawn forth to furnish this wardrobe. For himself and sister, Mr. Mason positively refused a farthing. His pale face flushed-his mild eyes quite flashed as Lord Montalien, ever so delicately, made the offer. u All the gold in the Bank of England could not repay me for the loss of Polly," he said. "Unless you want to insult me, my lord, you will never allude to this again." . For once Duke was dignified. Lord Montalien wrung his hand, and looked at him admiringly. You are a fine fellow,"' he answered simply, "and have ful- filled your trust to Robert Lisle right loyally." For Polly, she would have liked to fill the little house with . sumptuous adornings, and load down her two friends with costly gifts. They refused everything, and it was only when, hurt and, wounded, the girl was turning away, that Duke. consented to replace his big silverwatch with a gold patent lever, and Ro. sanna, her rusty brown with a new black silk, stiff enough -in lx w page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 THE LAST DAY. its glistening richness to stand alone. Miss Alice Warren got a locket and chain, and numbers of pretty ornaments beside. She would have liked to have sent gold watches and silk dresses to every one in Speckhaven-the charity children in- cluded. She had even made friends with her old foe, with whom she had waged vendetta so long. She had met Eliza Long on the street, and that young woman had turned away with sullen eyes and bitterest envy. There had been a mo- ment's struggle in. Polly's breast-then that generous nature conquered, and she went up to her with extended hand and pleading eyes. "I am going away, Eliza," she said;' "don't let us part bad friends. 1 dare say I have been most in fault all through, but I am sorry. Do shake hands!" Brave words to' come from so proud a spirit! They had melted Eliza, and a reconciliation took place there and then. And that night, when the handsomest brooch and ear-rings money could buy in the town. reached Miss Long, she fairly gave way and sobbed over them, struck with surprise and con- trition. She was at peace with the world and all therein- happy 'Polly-and no shadow of the darkness to come marred to-day's brightness. The visitors at the Priory were nearly all gone. Sir Vane Charteris, his wife and daughter, had left, the day before the one on which the heiress dined here. My lady, closely veiled, and tottering as she walked, came forth leaning on her maid's arm. Once, as Lord Montalien said farewell, she had paused, catch- ing his hand in both her own, and clinging to it as though her last hope were there. But Sir Vane had come foith, and she had dropped. it, and fallen back in a corner of the travelling carriage, with her black veil over her face, and so the peer saw her for the last time on earth. Miss Hautton had gone to Scotland two days after, to join the Duchess of Clanronald; Mr. Fane was to meet them in London, and accompany them to the Italian Lakes; Lord Montalien, when his ward was safely deposited in her convent- school, was to start for Syria; Francis Earlscourt Was going back to Oxford to read for his degree; and Guy was to rejoin, his regiment at Knight's Bridge. So the actors in this life- drama were situated this twenty-first of July, fixed for Polly's departure. Widely enough separated, it would seem, but like the cards in the same pack-sure to come together again in the universal shuffle. , , THE LAST DAY. 2. 205 They were to' start by the noon-day mail, in time to catch the tidal train hat evening for Folkestone. She had bidden good-by to all her old friends in the town, to her garden, to her pets, to her violin, to her little attic room. Lord Monta- -lien's carriage awaited her outside the garden gate. 'My lord sat within in horrible dread of a scene. Alice Warren was sobbing beside', osanna-sobbi bitterly. "I feel as though I were saying god-by forever" said once. It wasgood- by forever, though she little iw T. i he two friends would never look in each other's faces ore oearth. Rosanna, looking as if carved i gay stone, stood stiff and tearless beside the kitchen fire. And up in the painting-roolm, Paulina, in a chlarming trayelling suit of gray and blue, and a little French hat, had her arms around Duke's neck, trying to say farewell. The little watch ticking at her belt pointed to five minutes to two ; at ten minutes p)ast their train started. Oh, Duke! oh, Duke! how can I .say good-by? h, Duke! it breaks mlly heart to go!" She was sobbing wildly. Thee scene-painter unloosed te clinging arms, and put her gently from him, looking at her wifh eyes full of great sadness. "You must go, and at once, Duchess; good-by, my little odie, and God in heaven bless you!" lHe led her out of the room. On thethreshold. he stooped and kissed her for the first time since she had been a little tod- . dling baby, crowing on his shoulder. Then the door shut upon, her; the glory of Duke Mason's life was over--he had lost the Duchess!I He went back slowly to his old seat, sat down, laid his arms on the table, and 'his face upon them, as though he never cared : to'lift it again. And so, when hundreds of xiles lay between : him and his' little one, and the starry suimner twilight shone over the world, his sister found him. She had kissed Alice, she had' kissed Rosanna, sobbing vehe- mently, her tears falling like rain, and she had fled from them, and into the carriage with the. coronet on its panels. The liv- eried coachman started his horses; she'pulled a little blue veil she wore over her face, and turned away from her companion. They were flying through the town. She ,looked out with blinded eyes to take - last glimpse at the familiar streets. Eliza Long waved adieu to her from her window, Francis Earls- court, walking to the station, lifted his hat as she passed. And , then, through all her tempestuous grief it dawned upon the page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] I \ , 206 'THE LAST DAY. young lady that she was reddening her: eyes and swelling her nose in all probability) and that there would be plenty of time to cry on the way up to London. Ah, me! it is but a step from the depths of despair to the absurdly ludicrdus : the philos- opher who laughed at life and its follies and its pitiful weak- ness was the wiser philosopher of the two. Miss Lisle wiped away her tears, and wondered if Guy Earlscourt would also be at the station to say farewell. He was not there. She felt a pang of disappointment as she saw Francis alone. "I liked him best, and he might have come," she thought, as my lord handed her. into the coupe reserved for themselves. It wanted but two minutes of starting-time--he would not come. "Good-by, Miss Lisle; I wish you a pleasant journey," Francis had said, shaking hands and stepping back. And then, at that instant, a tall, black horse came thundering in a cloud. of dust down the road,. bearing a breathless rider. The black horse was Thunder, and the rider Guy Earlscourt, late because he had stopped to fill a dainty little moss-lined basket with rarest flowers and fruit. He leaped off his horse, and gave the basket to the guard for Miss Lisle. The young lady's heart bounded as she saw him; flushed, glowing, handsome. "Rather a close finish," he said laughing,' and holding out his hand. "I should never have forgiven myself liad I been' too late. Good-by, Miss Lisle; don't quite forget your Speck- haven friends in your Parisian: convent, and don't, I conjure you, take the black veil. We cannot afford to lose you." She had barely time to touch the hand he reached her through the window, when'the whistle shrieked and the train started. She sprang up for'a last look; it fell upon him standing there, hat in hand, the July sunshine on his handsome head. And so the last face the girl took out of her old life, with the smile upon it that lit it into such rare beauty, was the dark Italian face of Guy Earlscourt. K' CHAPTER I. 1; .: AFTER TWO YEARS. HE glory of a golden September day lay over the earth. 'It was the middle of the month. Down at s Montalien Priory, for the past two weeks, the sports- men had crashed through the stubble, and turnip-fields and. the sharp ring of their fowling-pieces echoed all day long through the golden richpess. Very fair, very stately, looked 1 the grand ivied old mansion, with its wealth of glowing dog- - roses and shining ivy, its waving oaks and cedars, its yellow harvest-fields, its blooming gardens, all gilt with the glory of There were a half dozen men, all told; Lord Montalien and his brother Guy, Allan Fane, the artist, and husband of the rich Diana Hautton, a Mr. Stedman, a Sir Harry Gordon, and Captain Cecil Villiers, of the Guards. All good men and true, and hot a single woman in the house to mar their sport, all day among the partridges, nor the perfect dinner Mrs. Hamper got 'up for their delectation in the evening. It was Liberty Hall; lord and guest did precisely as they pleased, and enjoyed them- selves adniirably. "There' are times when women are desirable, nay, inevita- ble," Guy Earlscourt said, inhis lazy voice. "'They embellish page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] I , A , - 208 AFTER TWO YEARS. life in a general way. At flower-shows and in ball-rooms they are simply the necessaries of life; but commend me to a com- fortable country-house, in the shooting-season, and not a single enchantress within three miles." "A declaration which, coming from you, Earlscourt, of all men alive, should have weight," observed Captain Villiers. "I always fancied your idea of paradise was borrowed from the Koran: a land of promise, flowing with wine, and peopled with black-eyed houris, or blue-eyed ballet-girls.", "Let me see," said Lord Montalien, peeling his apricots-- "not a single enchantress within three miles! Yes, that's about the distance. The bailiff's cottage is precisely three miles from the gates of Montalien." "And never houri of Mussulinan, nor ballerina of Covent Garden, was half so lovely as the bailiff's blue-eyed daughter," cried Sir Harry Gordon. "The most bewitching, the most divine little piece of calico I ever laid eyes on. She is Hebe personified." "You are all in the same boat, then," remarked Mr. Alan Fane. "In love with pretty Alice-Guy, as usual, stroke oar, and safe to win." Guy Earlscourt glanced across the table at his brother. "Well now, Fane, do you know I'nt not so very sure of that. I'm the best-looking man here by long odds, and women; whether they be peeresses or peasants, do go down, I admit, before nme; but somehow the little warren seems to have very poor taste; and to differ from the rest of her appreciative sex. I don't seem to make as profound an impression as I would like. Do you suppose I can have a rival?" His sleepy, half-closed eyes were fixed upon" his brother. Lord Montalien laughed pleasantly. "If you mean me, Guy, and you look as if you do, I plead not guilty to the soft impeachment. Losing my head about rustic nymphs, be they ever so charming, is not in my line." "No," answered Guy, a little thoughtfully, "as a rule I don't think it is. High-born beauty, with forty thousand down for 'her dowry, is your aim, dear boy. But the little Alice is exceptionally handsome, and somehow, I think-well," he added, rising with half a yawn, " there have been worse-looking Lady Montaliens." There was little in the words, but his brother's face flushed. The women of the house of Montalien had been noted for genera-. tions foi their beauty--the mother of the present lord being the AFTER TWO YEARS. 209 sole exception. The first wife of Nugent, late Baron Montalien, had been hard of feature and sour of temper, as her picture still. could show you; and on this point, Francis, twelfth Baron' Montalien, was especially sensitive., For Francis Earlscout was Lord Montalien now, the late lord having twelve months before passed to a better, and (with all due respect for the British nobility), let us lhope, even a ' higher sphere, where boredom is unknown. 'And his elder son reiglne4 in his stead-that elder son whom, like'his mother, he had never loved. Tlhe men dispersed in the South' Coppice, and soon through ' the sultry noontide the sharp ringing of the guns cleft the hot, still air. Lord Montalien alone was missing as the afternoon sun sank low in the sumnier sky, and a faint, sweet evening breeze arose and stirred the leaves. "Frank bags other game than partridges," Guy said with a , shrug. "He's deuced close about it;' but I khow he's after . . that little girl like a ferret after a rabbit, or a terrier after a rat." , . - "Not a very poetical comparison," laughed Mr. Stedman. "I should compare the lovely Alice to anything but a rat. See! yonder he comes. His wooing, if he has been wooing, 'i has not sped smoothly. Behold I the thunder-cloud on Jove's I' god-like brow!" He pointed away to a fir plantation a quarter of a mile distant, where a solitary figure emerged, carrying a gun. It , : was Lord Montalien, his straw hat pulled over his eyes, and a moody expression on his face. . "I hope it has'not sped smoothly," Guy said, regarding his only brother with no very brotherly glance. "She's a nice little H thing, and I shouldn't. like to see her come to grief. Monti ' had better take care. She's engaged to a fellow in the town, a dusty miller, who would shoot him as fast as I this covey h ere." His fowling-piece rang out, and two birds came tumbling down. "'You think, then-" .Stedman began.- . "Bah!"' interrupted Guy. "I know. And you know, my good fellow, so don't try it on with me. Frank's just the sort of man not to lose his head after women, and to go straight to I the dickens when he does. It's no affair of yours or mine, 'however; we neither of us are prepared to set up as censors, and Mistress Alice must look out for herself." page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 2 T AFTER TWO YEARS. He plunged into the coppice and disappeared. Stedmaln looked after him 'witl a peculiar smile. "If Miss Warren is capable of looking out for herself it is more than you are. You can see my lord's little game there, clearly enough, but you are blind as a mole where you are concerned yourself. He hates you as a pheasant does a red dog. Why, I wonder?" He was a pale young man, this Augustus Stedman, with a high, thoughtful brow, a retreating chin, a thin mouth, and shifting, hazel eyes. He was LordIMontalien's especial friend. There was an affinity in the deep, subtle natures of the two men, both-the truth may as well come out-thoroughly cold- blooded and unprincipled at heart, and outwardly models of all domestic and social virtues. No one could lay any charge whatever at the door of either, and yet there were men who mistrusted them, women who shrank away from them only to see them smile once. Lord Montalien walked up from the plantation, a dark frown on his moody face. Have I described Francis Earlscourt? Up in the long-domed picture-gallery the portrait of his mother, Griselda Huntingdon, of the ancient and wealthy family of Huntingdon, hung. You looked and saw a lady in a higli waist and leg-of-mutton sleeves,-a lady with a thin,' sallow face, a long, hooked nose, cold, glimmering, light eyes, and a wide moutl,-a lady some forty years old. You looked at the present Lord Montalien, and you saw the same, fifteen years younger. His light-gray summer suit, his pale-brown hair, his light eyes, his flaxen whiskers and mustache, his pale complex. ion, were all of the same neutral tints. He was a Huntingdon all over, people said, not one look of the, brilliant, swarthy Earlscourts,. the handsomest men of their county. Did he know-did he feel it? His best friend could not have told. That still, secretive nature made no confidants. He could smile and stab you while he smiled. He was called an excel-, lent young man, an exemplary young man, who neither drank nor gambled, whose name headed every published subscription list -a little close with his money in the everyday concerns of life, and not in the least like his late genial father, or that dreadfully 'dissipated young guardsman, his brother. Of all men, Augustus Stedman understood him best, and hid the knowledge in hsis own breast. Francis, Lord Montalien, walked slowly up to the house, and entered the library by an open French window. A noble room; ' . AFTER rWO' YEARS. 2" its four walls lined with books, statues, and bronzes, everywhere writing-tables and easy chairs strewn around, pleasant recesses for reading,.and the mellow, afternoon sunshine flooding all. There were three pictures in this library-three pictures hang- ing together over the tall, carved mantel. They were three portraits-the late Iord Montalien, his second wife, and younger son. Venetia, Lady Montalien, a portionless Italian girl, with a face of perfect beauty, such as one does not see twice in a' lifetime, and barely eighteen when her son was born. ITat son's portrait hung by hers-the same dark, brilliant face, the same lusti'ous eyes of southern darkness, the same proudly held head, the same exquisite, smiling mouth. The mother had lain in her grave for many a year; and the son's bright beauty was somewhat inarred and haggard now. Those pictures were the first objects Lord Montalien looked upon, as he strode through the window, and a glance of bitter, : vindictive hatred flamed up in his light, cold eyes. He stood an instant regarding them with set teeth, and an expression bad to see. -Ic spoke to them as though they had been sensate things. "c Ay," he said, "you have had your day-it is my timenow I . There you hang-the father who could barely cohceal his dis- like-the woman who supplanted my dead mother--theboy who would have supplanted me had it been in his father's power. You left your younger and favorite son, your Benjamin, every penny you could leave away from the entail; now is the time for me to show my gratitude. In yotr lifetime he was always first-his beauty, his brilliant gifts drew all to his side, while I was passed over. 'What a pity Guy is not the heir 1' my father's fiiends used to say. 'Poor Frank is so dull-so like his motherl You thought so too, my lord-poor Frank went to the wall in your reign. When the heir 'of Montalien tame of age, who knew or cared? When Guy came of age, bells rang, bonfires - blazed, and the tenantry were feasted. Even those boors said What a pity Master Guy isn't the heir.' Ah I well, we'll change all that; I am Lord Montalien now, and Guy Earlscourt is where 1 have led him, on the high road to ruin-nay, a ruined man and a pauper to-day. 'Semper Fidelis' is the motto of our house;' and 'Always Faittful' to my revenge, he shall pay 'e back'for every sneer, every slight, every advantage over me, to the uttermost farthing." Its was the secret of his life. Francis Earlscourt hated hs f brother. , -*^ page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212,4 AF7ER TtWO YEARS. aince, it ras very log a go, some one, an old friend of his s fther's, had remarked to Guy how like hl was to his second. cousin, Clara Earlscourt. "Yes," the lad answered, with the ineffiable calm that always belonged to him, "I believe Clara is very handsome. The Earlscourts have always been a good- looking race, thank God 1 Frank is the only exception on red- ord, and as he inherits his yellow skin and lantern-jaws fromn the distaff side, poor fello, I s ppose he is more to be pitied than blamed."' FLrank was not fifteen at the time, but from the hour in which he heard that flippant speech of his precocious. younger brother, his hatred, dormant before, took shape, and grew with his growth, all the stronger, all the bitterer all the deadlier, for being so closely hidden. It was the old story of Cain's crime over again-he hated his brilliant, careless, hand- some younger brother, and there was no evil that could have befallen him that would not have rejoiced his fratricidal heart. I-e turned away from the three pictures at last-the smiling. faces of Guy and the dead Lady Venetia seeming to mock hiill firom the canvas. "The day is near when I shall have the pleasure of putting you all three in the fire," ]he thought. "The day is near, my Lord Montalien, when yotur beloved one shall drag out the' re- Iainder of ihis brilliant existence within the walls of the Fleet Prison, or become an exile 'for life from his native land." He ttirned his back upon theml brightened as they were by the long red lances of the September sunset, and began pac- -ig 11up and down the long apartment. Ruby and orange and purple, the sunlight streamed through 'the painted windows of'the stately room, bringing out in lurid fire the crest of his noble house, the mailed hand, and the loyal mnotto, " SEMPER FIDELIS." He paced up-and down, up and down, while the sun dropped lower and lower, and not all the glory in the heavens could brighten the dark moodiness of his irate face. "Curse her obstinnacy," he muttered, sullenly. "With her fair, drooping head, her fawn-like eyes, her timid blushes, andc flattering replies, she has the devil's own will . She wot'/ yield -three times a day to church every Sunday, as long as she can remlember, and the Sunday-school between whiles, have done their work. Hcould as easily remove the Baron's. Tower yon. dler as. lhat frail nlilk-arid-rose cottage-girl. What the deuce shall I do?--for, have her, I must, tlihugh I paid the dire pen. alty o -a wedding-ring!" AFTER TWO YEARS. 213 He paced to and fro, revolving this question, " hat'shall I ^; do?" .He had a deep, subtle brain, like his smile, powerful to work good or evil for himself or others. "In the days now past," he mused, "a pbst-chaise-and-fouxi n3 round the corner, two muffled bravoes, and a midnight abduc- tion Would be the thing! Or one might go seek that conveni- ' ; ent college friend, eyer ready to personate the clergyman, and : B a mock marriage would settle the fair one's scruples. But that sort of thing exploded with ruffles and rapiers, I suppose. Anid yet-and yet, I don't know. What has been done can surely be done again. Why not the convenient college friend, and the mock marriage? She is as innocent as her. own field daisies, my dear. little verdant Alice, and she loves me with her whole good little heart, and would consent to a marriage, how- ever private, so that it were a marriage., Without the parson, and the wedding-ring, she won't listen to a word-thanks to - popular rustic prejudice, and the tenets of the Sunday-school.' A mock marriage-why not-why not?" The thoughtful frown deepened on his face as he trod to and fro, thinking it out. Why not? Every moment it grew clearer and clearer, every moment the diabolical scheme, impossible as it seemed at first, grew more and more feasible. The scheme was practicable, but where was the convenient college friend to be found? Most men, not very good men either, would decline to lend themselves to the misery and qestruction of an innocent, trusting young girl.. He thought over the men , ' in the house'one by one. Guy, reckless to madness, he knew !, well would stand and have a bullet sent through his heart sooner than lift a finger in such a matter as this, which he, the spotless elder brother, darkly revolved now. He felt this with secret rage. Allan Fane, weak and selfish, frivolous land false, would be strong in his indignation here. Sir Harry Gordon and Cecil Villiers were officers and gentlemen, to whom 'he would no mlore have breathed a word of his plot than he would have done to his own mother had she lived. But one re- mained Stedmahi-his face suddlenly lighted as he thought of Stedman. n "The heart of a cucumber fried in snow," he tlought, grimly. "A man with neither honor, conscience, principle, nor feeling--a man poor as a church mouse--a man capable of poisoning his own mothel if he could benefit himself by the old lady's demise and not be found out. Yes," he said, un. consciously loud, "Stedman will do it," * " page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 , AFTER TWO YEARS. "Will he, my friend?" said a cool voice, and a tall figure darkened the sunlight, as Mr. Augustus Stedman stepped through the open window. "I thought it was only on the stage and in mad-houses people talked to themselves. And what is our Stedman to do, my lord?" He flung himself into an easy-chair, and proceeded to light a cigar. Lord Montalien looked at lim suspiciously. "What brings you here?" he asked. "How long were you watching me?"' "Not over polite questions from one's host," murmured Mr. Stedman, tenderly pressing his Manilla. "What brings me here? Fatigue, my dear boy-four hours' popping at the par- tridges, under a blazing September sun, is somewhat exhaust- ing. I remembered this apartment was one of the coolest and pleasantest in the whole house, and. that George Sand's last novel was about somewhere, and so I came. Do I intrude. upon your profound cogitations? If so "-he made a motion of rising and leaving. "No, no!"Lord Montalien said, hastily. "Don't go; the fact is, Stedman, I want you." He said it with some embarrassment. Even to this man, without honor or principle, he found it rather awkward to make his proposition. Mr. Stedman, having lit his cigar, puffed away, his hands deep in his trousers pockets, watching his friend' with keen, Steely eyes. "Yes," he said, "you want me. Proceed, my lordly iric nd -the lowliest of thy slaves hears but to obey." "Stedman, will you pledge your honor, your word as a gen- tleman, that this matter shall be an inviolable secret between us?" Mr. Stedman took his right arm out of his trousers pocket, and elevated it. "I swear, by Jupiter and June, by all the goddesses of Olympus, by the honor of many Stedmans, by my father's beard, fiever to reveal to mortal man the secret about to be divulged. Manshallah! Upon my eyes be it " "Stop that rot!" cried Lord Montalien, impatiently; "he serious for' once in your life, if you can. Can you guss, Stedmlan, what the business is'in which I want your help?" "Something about our blue-eyed Hebe, the blushing divin. ity, whose'earthly name is Alice Warren." ' "Exactly, Gus-I'm hopelessly done for in that quarter." / ; , I' c *. AFTER TWO YEARS. 215 'i Knew it ages ago, my friend. Not an hour since I was remarking to Guy that it was as clear a case of spoons as ever I saw in my life. Watched you coming up from the planta. tion, and knew your little game in a twinkling. Oh, my pro- phetic soul! Of course, it is all right, and it is 'Two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one.' Hey?" Everything is not all right," answered his lordship, testily; "if it were, should I come to you for help?" "Probably not. I confess I don't very clearly see my part' in this domestic drama. Is the little Alice insensible to your mahifpld attractions, and do you want your faithful Stedman to go plead your cause with his honeyed words? I saw her blush celestially last Sunday as you walked up the aisle, and thought your passion was reciprocated." ', You don't understand, my good fellow. That is all right enough. The girl loves me with all her heart, but she is fear- . . fully and wonderfully obdurate on the point of marriage. She is quite ready to resign me, and break her heart in the most approved fashion, and go off genteelly in a decline, but-" "She insists on the nuptial knot," interrupted Mr. Stedman, : "which, of course, is simply preposterous; ajid so there's 'i nothing for it but to break both your'hearts, and part. A case of Lord Lovel and Lady Nan-cee over again. Or is there something else on the cards?" "Yes'" said Lord Montalien. And then, still pacing up and down, he laid bare his dark scheme. Augustus Stedman listened, smoking with an immovable face. "Yes," he said slowly, at last, "I see. The thing can be done, I suppose, but it seems rather risky. And my part, dear ;I boy? Am I to play the parson, and tie the knot Unfortu- .i nately, Ia petite knows my interesting physiognomy almost as well as she does your own." "Of course not; but you 'may know some one who will play parson. You have a very extensive and not too select circle of acquaintances in London. Think, and see if there is not one among them who will do'the business; and believe me, I \ shall not speedily forget' your service." / There shot from the eyes of Stedman, as Lord Montalien spoke the last words, a gleam nSt good to see; over his thin lips there dawned a faint, shill smile, that never came there save for evil.. , ' , -.i The acquaintance'of those two congenial spirits had come about rather curiously. Years bfore, a certain dashing young . i '* / ' " J * page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 26 AF TO YARS. 2 16 AFTER TWO, YEARS. London actress had fettered Augustus Stedman in her rose- chains. A thoroughly vicious woman, with nothing but her bold, handsome face to recommend her--coarse, heartless, and avaricious. He had wooed her long, and success seemed near, when the' H-onorable Francis Earlscourt appeared upon the scene, with the longer purse of the two. It is an episode neither pleasant nor profitable to relate. Stedman retired baf- tled, but he took his defeat wonderfully well. From that hour he became the chosen friend and associate of Francis Earls- court, forgiving, him handsomely for his somewhat treacherous. conduct in the little matter, arid, with the patience of an Indian chief, biding his time to wipe out the score.; Five years had passed, and the time had come! 'The gleam in his gray eyes, the pale smile on his cynical mouth, were unseen by his companion. He had turned his face away, and was looking at the amber light in the soft west- ern sky--at the green beauty of the sloping glades. For five minutes silence reigned; then his lordship's patience gave way. ' Well!" he said, with an oath; "speak out, can't you? Does your silence mean you decline?" "Silence means consent. Don't be impatient, my Lord Montalien; a man can't review some six or seven hundred ac- quaintances all in a second. I'll help you in this matter; and I know the very man you want." "You do?" "I' do. A young fellow, destined for the church, on the point of receiving orders more' than once, but the matter has been always. postponed. He is the. slave of the brandy bottle, and ready to do anything short of murder-a highway robbery for a five-pound note. It is my belief he will never be or- dained.;. but he will marry you. He lives with his uncle, the incumbent of the Church of St. Ethelfrida, in the city, and nothing will be easier than for him to. admit you, and perform the mock ceremony in the church after nightfall." "In the church?" "In the church. The uncle is down in Essex, as I happer to know, for a fortnight's holiday; the nephew can. obtain the keys when he pleases. How soon do you want it done?" ' Immediately-day after to-morrow, if possible." "'Ah!"Stedmainsaid, with a covert sneer; ," the proverbial impatience of lovers! I remember once before, five years ago, you were almost equally far gone." "Stedman! I thought you had foigotten ,that. Remember, I was only a lad of onieand-twenty then." AFTER TWO YEARS. 217 "Old enough to be my successful rival," laughed Stedman. "Day after to-morrow will be rather sharp work, but, if the lady be willing, I don't say that it is impossible." "The lady will be willing. I shall see her this very evening, and arrange all.' How do you propose to manage?" "Thus : I shall go up to town by the first train to-morrow, call on the man we want, bribe him; procure a special license (to satisfy herself), and have the job done next day. Miss Warren might go up by to-morrow's evening train, and remain quietly at some decent lodging, until the wedding-hour. Your own movements you must settle' yourself. Shall you acconlm pany her from here?" "No," replied Iord Montalien. "The whole matter must be keptdark, and my name in no way mixed up in it. I shall appear to have nothing to do with her or her flight. She must go alone. I shall follow on the next day. You see I have a . character to keep up," with a short laugh. "I have a lady in . view, whom I mean eventually to make Lady Montaliern. Be-. . ing mixed up in such an affair as this might be a serious draw- back," "Very true. Would it be presumptuous on my part, to ask ;the name of the fortunate lady you intend to honor so highly?" ' "She is Paulina Lisle, my late father's ward; with eighty . -: thousand pounds down upon her wedding-day. Sir Vane Char- teris is her present guardian, and she is still in France, but coming over shortly. I remember her, a handsome, spirited girl of sixteen; and made up my mind, two years ago, to, marry, her as soon as she left school." / v "Happy Miss Lisle i I think I have heard of her. But you . don't imagine you are going,to have everything your own way there. Handsome young ladies, with eighty thousand downon . their wedding-day, generally find more than one admirer." '"I mean to marry her," Lord Montalien said, shortly. , "We won't discuss that question. Let me see. Guy speaks "' of going up to town to-morrow evening-why should not Alice travel with him?" "And he be set down as the companion of her flight Not ,.: half a bad idea. Well, my lord, suppose now you go, and talk the matter over to Miss Warren, as everything depends on her consent; 'and upon your return,I will pack my portmanteau, and run up by the earliest train." ' O, Lord Montalien seized his hat, and grasped Mi? Stedman's hand with a cordiality very unwonted with him. - ! , ,. 10 page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] ' I! . A , 11 * ; v ' ' ' . " 218 ,AFTER TWO YEARS. "You are the Prince of good fellows, Gus! Believe me, I shall not forget this." He wrung his hand, dropped it, hurried through the open window, and disappeared. Mr. Stedman looked after his retreating figure, and the omi, nous smtile, the latent gleam, were very apparent now. i' "No, my Lord of Montalien, I don't rlean you shall forget this. I think before the week ends I shall wipe out that old :grudge about poor Fanny Dashon." Lord, Montalien strode through the dewy meadows and the short, sweet grass, full of triumph and exultation. For Francis Earlscourt, from earliest boyhood, to set his' heart upon any- thing was to strain heaven and earth to compass his ends. Years might come and go, but he remained faithful to his pur- pose. ".Always Faiflfful," the motto of the Earlscourts, was never more strikingly exemplified than in him. By fair means or by foul, he must win Alice Warren I -He found her where he knew she was always to be found at this calm evening hour-milking. Flower; and Daisy, and Moolie stood around her, the sweet scent of new-made hay filled the air, the vesper songs of the birds rang down the pas- toral stillness, the last golden glimmer of sunset was fading in the clear-gray Sky. All things looked fair and sweet; and fair- est, sweetest of all, the girl who rose with a blush and a smile to greet her lover. "Come with me, Alice," he said. "' I have something to say to you-something you must hear at once." She went with him across the long fields to the gloom and solitude of the distant fir plantation. Even in the heat of his wooing and success, he could remember prudence. Beneath the sombre shadow of the trees he passed his arm around her waist, and whispered his proposal. Would she be his wife- secretly, of course, but his wife? The girl lifted, two large, searching' eyes to his face, and clasped both hands round his arm. "Frank!" she cried, "your Wife-your very wife. I, the bailiffs daughter-you, Lord Montalien! Do I hear you arighc? Do you mean it " . "'More than I ever meant anything. Why not, my Alice-- you are fair enotgh and good enough to be a queen, and who is there to. say me nay. Only for the present it must be private-strictly private, relienlber. Not a whisper, of your secret to a living 9 oul," L . , ! . . , t 1 '/ ,. AFTER TWO YEARS' 2'9 And then in soft, caressing tonesjie told her what she was to fdo. To steal quietly from home, and take the 8.50 train'f6r ' London, to go to a quiet hotel, whose address he would send her, and wait tlere for hini until the following day. Ahd ani hour after his arrival they would drive together to some ob- scure church, and be married. Would she consent? Consent! She clasped her hands closer around his arm, her fair face rosy with joy. "Frank! to be your wife, I would risk, would do anything.' Only some day soon, soon after our marriage, you will let me write, and tell father and mother. I can't bear that they--" .- "Of course not. After our marriage you shall tell theQii - everything. Don't fail; and, by the way, if you should met t my brother at the station, you can travel under his protection. ) i Not a syllable to him, of course, for the present, at least. If you love me as you say, Alice, you will be content to wait a little before I present you to the world as Lady Montalien." I If she loved him! the'innocent eyes looking up to him were. full of deathless devotion. They smote him-heartless, selfish . as he was-they smote him, the loving, faithful eyes of the girl 7 he was betraying. ' : A great bell clanged out over the woods, the dressing-bell at the Priory. He stooped hastily and kissed her. "Good-by, my Alice-for the last time. On the day after to-morrow -we will meet in London to part ho more." It was done! He hurried away through the fir woods, aind along to the Priory, triumphant. He had won I he always won -the prize he had wooed so long was his at last! Augustus Stednian still sat where he had left him, alone in I . the shimmering dusk. He said but two words as he strode in and passed him: "All right." E . EHalf an hour later, as a second loudly clanging bell clashed ' 1 down the evening stillness, Alice Warren entered her father's house. Supper awaited, but what cared she for supper. Her heart was full' of bliss too intense for smiles or words." She was going to be his loving wife. . Mathew Warren took down the big, well-worn family Bible: presently, and read aloud the nightly chapter. By what strange ; chance was it the story of Mary Magdalen, that sombre, pathetic story? And then the nightly prayers were offered, and the girl said good-night in a voice, that trembled-the last good-. night the sweet lips ever spoke in the house she had gladdened page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] fi, '^eyclvFvs s .-.' r v e * a c ^.: O : xv fa l:Yir ^v:rvhi'wiss s t in 1111 1 f 220 AFTER TWO YEARS. for twenty peaceful years. . She took her liglt, and stole up to her room-not to go to bed-not to sleep. The clocks of Speckhaven were striking nine. The harvest moon flooded the green earth with crystal glory and shaled her feeble candle. She blew it out, and sat down by the open window, to look at the great, white, summer stars, and think of her lover. How great he was, how good, how generous, howA noble, how handsome! WMs there a king, among all the kings of the world, half so kingly, half so brave ' She loved him, and she was to be his wife-all was said in ihat. It was not for his rank she cared-his rank only frightened her-she loved Francis Earlscourt, and was going to be his wife. She sat there in a trance of bliss tintil past midnight. The new day had come, the day in which she was to fly fromn home. She thought of her father and mother with a sharp pang, in the midst of her joy. They would know the glad truth soon, of course; but mean- time they would suffer, they would miss her. If she only dared write to them-but no-she dared not, she would .say too much. , "I will write to Polly," she thought; "I must tell Polly!" She arose softly, re-lit her candle, and sat down to write. The few words she had to say were soon w-itten: , iY OWN DARLING-I must speak one word to you before I go-be- fore I go away from my home, my dear, dear home, to be married. Yes, Paulina; Alice is to be married to one she loves-oh, so dearly-so dearly .-the best, the noblest of men on'earth. Some day you will know his name, and what a happy, liappy'girl I am. Until then, love me, and trust' always your own , ALICE!" She addressed this brief note to Paris, to "Mle., Paulina Lisle." She, kissed the name, she took the locket from her neck, and kissed the pictured face. "Darling little Polly," she said, "to think that when next we meet, Alice will be a lady too." . And then at last she said her prayers, and went to bed. But the bright broad day was shining gloriously in before the happy eyes were sealed by sleep. The new day-the beginting of a new life. ' ' . THE ROAD TO RUIN. 221 CHAPTER II. - THE ROAD TO RUIN. . ARLY on the following morning Mr. Augustus Sted man " took a run up to town." And late in the even- I ing, Mr. Guy Earlscourt was driven down from the Priory to catch the last express. The gray of the summer evening was fast deepening to darkness as Mr. 'Guy Earlsc9urt jumped out, and ran to the office for his ticket. In. two minutes the train would start-one of these minutes, he spent at the' ticket-office, the other in lighting a cigar and look- ing about him. Half a dozen loungers were scattered about the platform, and save himself, there was but another passen- gei-who wore a close black veil, and who carried a small bag l in her hand. . Something in this lonely female figure, standing there in the gloaming, something familiar, made the young Guardsman look - again. She saw the glance, and came gliding up to him, and i] laid one timid hand upon his arm. .i "Mr. Guy." . "Alice! ... She had not lifted the close mask of black lace, but he recognized the voice, 'the whole form, the instant she spoke. "Yes, Mr. Guy-I am going to London, and-and I am .B frightened to go alone. Might Hwould you--" -' } "Now then, sir," cried the guard, holding open the door of the first-class compartment. "Look sharp, if you please." "This way, Alice," exclaimed Guy, and the three words, . spoken in half a'whisper, reached. the ears of the guard, to be graven on his professional memory, and destined to be re. , peated, years after, with such deadly peril to the unconscious -speaker. . There was no time for parley, no time for questions or re. monstrance, He assisted her in, sprang after, the whistle ' shrieked, and the express train flew away through the darkens ,., ing night. ! ' "Now then, Miss 'Alice Warren, explain yourself? What , does a young lady from Speckhaven mean by running away to London, at this unholy hour and alone? I give you my word, page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 TIE ROAD TO RUIN. I should as soon have expected to bhlold the Czarina of all the Russias at the station as you." The veil was still down-its friendly shelter hid the burning, ,painful blush that overspread the girl's face, but he could see she shrank and trembled. "I am obliged to you, Mr. Guy." ' You are, eh? I hope for everybody's sake, lily old friend Mathew knows all about it. And,'if he does, my old friend Mathewo ought to be ashamed of himself-letting his pretty daughter run wild up to London. Where is Peter Jenkins, too-the sturdy miller-that he doesn't look better after his little affianced?" "I am not his affianced," Alice replied, between a laugh and a sob ;"I never was. And my father and mother don't know I've cd6e-please don't blame them, Mr. Guy." "Then, Alice, are you quite sure you ought to have come at all? It is' no business of mine, that' is certain; but, for old friendship's sake-we were always good friends, Alice, you know -I should like you to tell me what is taking you to London." There was a, gravity and earnestness in his tone and face very unusual. He was the last man in the world to tu'rn censor of other men and women; if'they went all wrong, and came to grief, why, it was only the usual lot, and what had happened to himself. Frank might do precisely as he pleased -it was no affair of his or any man's; and with a woman of the world, Guy would have thought it a pretty equ'al contest, where a fair field and no favor were all either had a right to expect. But this was different-this fresh-hearted, little coun- try-girl whom he had known from childhood. 'As in a glass, darkly," he saw the truth, and for once in his life felt actually . called upon to remonstrate. "Alice," he said, "I don't want to pry into any secret of yours-you know your own affairs best, of course; but is this a wise step you are taking? Think, before it is too late, and turn back while there is yet time." "There is no time. It is too late. And I would not turn back if I could." She spoke more firmly than he had ever heard her.. She was thinking, that this time to-morrow she would be Frank's - I wife. , . i You know best. Pardon my interference. At least, you. will permit me to see you to your destination." She took from her purse a slip of paper and handed it to him. ' * *. * ; * ' -. * * THE ROAD TO R UIN. 293 ' i "I am going there. If you will take me to it I will be very, very thankful." "'Mrs. Howe's Lodgings, 20 Gilbert's' Gardens, Tottenham Court Road," read Guy. "Ah, I don't know. Mrs. Howe's Lodgings, Gilbert's Gardens, sounds rural, though. Yes, Miss Warren, I shall certainly see you there; and now, with your permission, will read the evening paper.. -And then silence fell between them. Alice Warren put 'back her veil, and looked out at the flying night-scene. The ' ' sky was overcast-neither moon nor stars were visible. How weird, how unearthly this wild night-flight seemed to. her What would she have done but for Mr. Guy? He looked to- her-almost as a guardian angel, in her loneliness and strange- ness. If it were possible .to think anything but what was good .! of Frank she might have thought it a little cruel, a little selfish, sending her thus away alone to that big, pitiless, terrible London. But Frank knew best, and this time to-morrow she would be his wife. Her heart throbbed with the joy, the terror of the thlought. She looked askance at her companion. If Mr. Guy knew, she thought, would he be so kind to her as he was now? If She had known, that thought need not have dismayed her. ,Lord Montalien, like King Cophetn, might have married a beggar-maid, and if she were well-dressed and well-looking, Lieutenant Earlscourt would have embraced his new sister, and never given a thought to her antecedents. It was close upon midnight when the countless larmps of o London first shone before the country-girl's dazed eyes. The . bustle and uproar of the station terrified her: she clung in, affright to Mr., Earlscourt's arm. And then they were in a four-wheeled'cab, whirling rapidly away to Gilbert's Gardens. o It's rather an unearthly hour," remarked Guy, looking at his watch. "I only hope Mrs. Horne-no, Mrs. Howe,--is i prepared to receive us." Mrs. e Howe was. Mr. Stedman had arranged 'that as well as other matters; and' Miss Warren was affably received by a thin, little woman, with a pinched nose and a wintry smile, and shown toithe ladies' sitting-room at once. She gave her hand to her companion with a glance of tear- ,ful gratitude. . , "'Thank. you very much, Mr. Guy. 'I don't know howl should have got here but for you. Good-night, and oh, please "--piteously--" don't say anything to anybody down ' home about having met me." lr-";; It.- 1 ' L -1".C, page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 THS KOAD TO ARUW l "Certainly not, Alice-good-nighlt. " He had reached the door when a sudden ipul and he turned back. H e to L ,lden impulse struck hi' looked kindly, ,ityingly down in the sweet, ter-wet fce. Little Ahlce," he said, il'm a good-for.-nothin, fellow, but 1'have a very tender regard for you. If ev'1erou flnd yoursel u t a tree-I mlean in trouble of any ind-I Wish yot'd cotle to mie. IT' help you if I can. fHere is, ai address to which rou canl write at any time, and if e'ver yot ll le I ll never fail yofu." s n call upon ic I will The dark, handsome face, the brown, earnest eyes swan b e- fore the girl in a hot mist, If he had been her brother he could hardly have felt more tenderly toward her than at thlat bitter trouble was in store for her, and he was helpless to warld it off. "I've had the fortune to come across a good malny inscruta. ble cards in my time," he thought, as he ran" down stairs, " but for inscrutability, Monti puts the to)per oln the lot. W t a , infernal scouildrel he is; and what an inconceivable idiot that poor child! Of course, he's going to marry her-notling else would have nduced a gill like :that to take such a step." Mrs. Howe led the way up stairs with a simper on her faded face. "I know all about it, miss," she whispered, confidentially; "the y oung man as was here this meor ning-- a most genteel ' gentleman, as one may see, and the verj 'andsomest as I ever set eyes on." Alice shrunik away, almost with dread. How dare -Mr. Stedman fell this strange woman her secret? She entered her Mrs. Ilowe set down the candle, still simpering, still courtesy. ' room, "And if there's anything else miss, out water, or ab cup ofse bream sr I'd be Ilost ceappy. Whic the y-genteel young ge ltin coth minshire wold. , u, advance ost geerous M rs. Howe set down the cand l, still walkesd y a y . "nd if the k you; I w ,nt nothin , lce answere, hurri edly; m tea,or a plateOf cut 'm. owt, or a y n as . THE ROAD TO RUIN. 25 She closed. and locked the door, and sank down on her knees by the bedside, her hat and shawl still on, with ar ovyer. powering sense of desolation and loneliness. What were they doing at home? What did they think'of her? They would' miss her at the hour for evening prayers, and they would search * for her in vain. She could see her mother's scared; white face, ' her father's stern, angry. , Oh what a bad, cruel girl she was,. only thinking of herself and her own happiness, and never car- , ing for the grief she was leaving behind i Very soon they would know the truth, that she was the happy wife of Lord Montalien, but until then, what grief, what shame, what fear, would she not make them suffer! A clock in the neighborhood struck three. She had scarcely i i slept,the night before-involuntarily her eyes we'e closing now. She got up in a kind of stupor, removed her outer clothing, threw herself half-dressed upon the bed, and slept deeply, dreamlessly until morning. , It was broad day when she awoke and, started up--nine o'clock of a dull, ,rainy morning. The crashing noises without 'half-stunned her for a moment, until she realized she was in -London. - It was her wedding-day! She sprang up with a bound and ran'to the window. The ceaseless rain was falling, a dim yel- - low. fog filled the air,. the sky was the hue of lead. The dreary prospect, the muddy street, the dismal-looking figures with un- - furled umbrellas,) passing beneath, struck with a chill to her heart. Was it an omen of evil that the sun had not shone on 'her wedding-day? - She washed and dressed herself-the 'landlady brought her , - up breakfast, and she sat down by the window to try and pass ' '.. the long, long hours, In the course of thpe forenoon Mr. Sted- : man ,called; she was glad to see even 'hitm then, thougli down ' -'^ at home she hal disliked him. Everything was in readiness, - Mr. Steadman'told her; she might look for Lord Montalien a . t little before six o'clock; Seven hours to wait-would they ever pass, Alice thought. She asked the landlady for a book, and tried to fix her atten- tion upon it, but in vain. For'once a novel failed to absorb Miss Warren. She listened to the hours, and the quarters,as , ' they chimed two, three, four, five. .' In Gilbert's Gardens the dark, rainy day was closing alrcady, \ and yellow lamps glimmered athwart the fog. Half-past five- a quarter of six-oh, would he never come! She had worked 10? ' . - * , ff page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 THE ROAD TO RUIN. herself up into a fever of longing and impatience, when a han- som whirled up to the door, a man very much muffled leaped out, and rushed up the stairs, and, with a cry of joy, Alice flung herself into,the arms of her lover: "Oh, Frank! Frank! I, tlought you would never come! The day has been so long--so long!" He was so closely muffled that the eyes of love alone could, have recognized him. He looked flushed and eager as a pro.. spective bridegrooml should. "Dress yourself as quickly as possible, Alice," he said, hur- riedly ; "we will drive to the church at once." In five minutes the girl's straw hat and simple shawl were on. She drew her veil over her face, and with a beating heart was led by her lover to the cab. A second miore and they were whirling away, and the curious eyes of the landlady were re- moved from the window. "I could not see his face," she remarked afterward; " he was that muffled up, and his hat was that pulled over his leyes, but I know it was the same millingtary gent as brought her the night afore." The Church of St. -Ethelfrida was a very long way renioved from Gilbert's Gardens, and it was entirely dark by the time they reached ft. A 'small and dingy edifice, in a small and dingy court, with not a soul to observe them, and only a soli- tary cab waiting round the corner, from which Mr. Stedman sprang to meet them. An old woman in pattens opened the church-door-an old woman, who with Mr. Stedman was to constitute the witness of the ceremony. A solitary lamp lit the dark edifice, and by its. light they saw a young man, in a sur- , plice, standing behind the rails with a book in his hand. Lord Montalien led the palpitating little figure on his arm up the aisle, and in less than ten minutes the young man in the sur- plice had gabbled through the ceremony, and pronounced Francis. Earlscourt and Alice Warren man and wife. Then came signing and countersigning in a big book-a fee was slipped firom the palm of the bridegroom into that of the young man in the surplice. Alice received her "marriage lines" and all was over. At the church-door, the bridegroom stopped to shake hands with his faithful friend and accomplice. "You're a trump, Stedman! Believe me, I shall not forget . what you have done for me to-night." Mr. Stedman, with his hands in his pocket, and that pale, iomiinos 'smile on his lips, watched bride and bridegroom re- ................A...v v.......2, ...... ..... ...............--'J. - THE ROAD TO RUIZN. 27.1 then he laughed to him7elf- : enter their cab and drive away; then he laughed to hielf-- a soft, low laugh. "No! most noble lord; I don't think you wil! forget in a hurry what I have done for you to-night. I was to be t cat's-paw, was, Hthe hanger-on .ho was to do your dirty work, nd tke my reward in being told I am a trump? In six weeks from now,nif I am hard ui, I shall know where to call, and trust to your gratitude for a check for a couple of thou sand; and I tink that other ,little score, five years oldfls ' pretty clearly wiped out at last." When Guy Earlscourt told Alice Warren that he was"a. : good-fornothing sort of fellow," he uttered a fact in which he -. would have fpund a g any people agree. As fast as man could tread that b road, sunlit, flower-grown highway, known as the "Road to u," Lieutenant Guy Earlscourt had been treading it for the past three years. Ever since'when at twenty years of age he had begun his new, brilght life as fledgling guardsman and emancipated Etonian, he had been going the p acewith essness, a 'ad extravagance, that knew neither bounds non pause. He was but four ...nonthsat threesand twenty now, and over hiad an4 ears in debt, and irretrievably ruined just one year and a half ago his father ha:d died, away in Syria, of 'typhoid fever. Amid stangers, in a strange land, ugent, Baron Montalien's long exile of sixty yr uhad ab-l rupt' ly ended. He driftedout of lie as quietl self-possessed and gentlemanly as he had drifted t o In his last. hour there were o vai regret h, woul I to see for home and friends. Once he had thought he would like to see Gy; it was bt a passing weakness; he did no wish a second time for what was impossible. It wsrather relief, on the - whole, to so-to make an end of the general wdarness and de- lusion of livingor the past He had neither loved nor hated very strongly for the past forty years.. Where was the use, in a world where life at its best wag but as a summer' day, and in its first dawn, in its ' brightest noontide, the eternal night might cone?- ie 'had looked with' a sort of pitying wnder upon hi fe low'-men madly battling along the highway for fame, for wealth, for rank, for power--goals that led nowhere. R Hehad seoi page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 , THE ROAD TO RUI. thpse men in the first fruition of success stricken down, and others stepping in over their stark bodies. The knomtledge that has made men great saints, heroic martyrs, was his in its fullest-the& knowledge of life's nothingness--and it made him a weary wanderer over the earth, With even heaven sometimes looking only a beautiful, impossible fable. His will had been made before he quitted England. ith that it was in his power to\ leave his second- son he had left. It was not much as that son lived-but a drop in the vast ocean of his debts and expenditure. He had but one trouble-the thought of the girl whom Rob- ert Hawksley had left in his-charge. Whom should he appoint guardian in his own stead? He thought over all the men he knew, and there was not one amona them suitable, or, if suita- ble, willing to undertake the 'troublesome duty. He had al- most given up the problem 'in despair, when 'Sir Vane Char- teris suddenly appeared upon the scene. It was no premedi- tated meeting: it was the merest chance-if there be such a thing as chance--if the destiny that was shaping the ends of Paulina Lisle had not driven him hither. He was the one man whom his lordship had not thought of. A vague dislike and distrust of him had been in his mind ever since the day 'upon which Lady Charteris had made her passionate declara- tion that he had insulted her, and that she would never forgive him. Poor Lady Charteris! it mattered little whom she forgave now; she was the inmate of a .mad-house 1 She had never recovered from that sudden illness down at Montalien; and three weeks from the time when her husband had taken her up to town her mind had entirely given way, and she had been ever since the inmate of a private asylum. Her delusion was a singular one.. Sir Vane Charteris was not her husband, she persisted; her lawful husband was alive, and in America, to whom she was always trying to write. And having placed his insane wife in safe keeping, and his daughter at a fashionable boarding-school, Sir Vane Charteris also set out, to drown the great trouble of his life, sight-seeing in distant lands. At the close of a bright summer day, he entered the little Syrian village where my lord lay dying. It seemed a Providence ' to the sick man. Alnost the first words he spoke were the question-' would he assume in his stead the gpuardianship of Paulina Lisle? There rose up over the swarthy face of the baronet a flush * tHE ROAD TO-RUIN. . that was not the rosy light of the Eastern sunset. He had never thought of this I 'Among all the chances that were to place his wife's elder daughter in his power he had never thought of this 1 It was a moment before he could answer- - a moment during which his, face was turned far away from the , dying man, and his black eyes gazed at the rainbow light in the Syrian sky. Then he spoke very quietly: "If it will relieve your mind any, my lord, I willingly accept the charge. With my unfortunate domestic affliction I hadi- not thought of ever again making England my home,'but my duty to my daughter' perhaps, should be paramotnt over every mere personal grief. 'I will become Miss Lisle's guar- dian, and fulfil my duty to the best of ,my ability. She and Maud will be conmpanions, and lmy sister Eleanor-Mrs. Gal' braith, you recollect--will preside over my home. i The necessary documents were imlediately drawn up; and that night, when the great white moon rose up out of the Orient;, Nugent, Lord Montalien, lay white and cold in death. Sir Vane Charteris lingered in the Syrian Village long enopgh ' to perform his last duties to his friend. The body was em- balmed and transported to England; and perhaps among all .: who stood bareheaded around, whilst the great vault down' at Montalien opened to receive another inmate, Guy Earlscrtii't, Was the only mourner at heart. . It had not been the way of: .-:' father or son to speak of it, or even much to think of it, but min their secret hearts theyhad loved each other wonderfully well.. . For Francis, the new Lord Montalien, he looked, as. he always . did, the model of all filial virtues and quiet grief; but th&edark spirit witin him exulted. His was the power now and ,the glory-he, not the dead man's favorite,' reigned in Montalien. He listened with'the same expression of subdued sorrow when the will Was read, and knew that his father had n6t left him one memento of fatherly regard. All had gone to Guy-- i a trifle, perhaps, but all. He grasped his brother's hanld whenl ' they were alone:together, and looked at 'him with glistening eyes. , Guy, old fellow," he said, "thirteen thousand is not much to you with your habits and tastes, but when you are up a tree call upon me ,without fear. The income of Montalien is a; : noble one, and I shall share it as a brother should, 'Stint your . self ih no way-your debts shall be paid." Guy lifted his dark eyebrows, and pulled his must'tche, in dense bewilderment. :: A I ,+ page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 THE ROAD TO RUIN. "Has Frank gone mad, I wonder?" he thought; "he pay my debts! Why, the. selfish beggar would not give a sou to keep' me from starving! What the deuce does he mean by gushing in this way?"But aloud he had answered: ' Thanks, very much; you're not half a bad fellow, Frank!" and had straightway proceeded to squander his legacy, which lie managed very completely to do in a year. Sir Vane Charteris made an end of his Eastern tour, and re- turning home by Paris, proceeded to call upon his ward. He had informed Miss Lisle by letter of the change, and the young lady had shed some very sincere tears over the news, a few for Lord Montalien, whom she had liked, and a few for her- self, that she should be the ward of Sir Vane Charteris, whom she disliked with a heartiness which characterized all this young person's likes and dislikes. The baronet called upon her one July day-the July preceding the September of which I have written-and there descended to the convent parlor, a tall, .. slim young lady, in a gray dress, with a pale face, and large, bright eyes. She gave her hand rather coldly to her guardian, and listened whilst he unfolded his plans for her. She was eighteen now, and the time for leaving schdol had come. Early in October his town-house would be in order, i and his sister and daughter ready to receive and welcome her. It was his wish she should enter society at once; her Grace, the Duchess of Clanronald, had offered to present her- at Coprt. Pending the ides of October, would Paulina mind remaining quietly where she was? "Yes," Miss Lisle answered, " decidedly, she zwozd mind it. She had no notion of spending the midsummer vacation in the convent. She had promised her friend, Mle. Virginia Dupont, to spend August and September in the fraternal mansion, at Versailles. And she was quite willing to make her debut in society immediately, delighted, indeed. If Sir Vane Charteris should choose to come for her about the middle of October she would be ready to go to England. The interview ended, and the baronet had got what he de- 1 sired, an inkling into the character of the heiress. She had a will of her own-that was clear, and a very strong fancy for having her own way. It would require all the tact he pos- sessed, and all the strength of mind to come off victor in a battle with her. "She shall marry in her first season," he. tlhught; "and a man of my choosing. Robert Lisle will never dare return to ":-='-'-'"- .*- .^IIII UCIIW- - fLt; ', . . THE ROAD TO RKN. 23i 'A' England; and Olivia's lfe will soon end in her mad-house. At her death her fortune becomes Maud's, for who is there to say she ever had an elder daughter?" So while Miss Lisle was enjoying herself very much in her friend's home, there were several people across the Channel to whom she was an object of great interest. Sir Vane Charteris, busily preparing his town-house in the aristocratic neighbor- hood of Berkeley Square, for her, reception-Lord Montalien, ' who had made up his mind, entirely to his own satisfaction; to marry ,her, and the spendthrift and prodigal Guy, who was strongly recommended to do the same. His adviser was anl ' old maiden aunt of his father's, from whoii he had expectations, i wlo had already paid his jdebts half a dozen times, and the thought of whose prospective legacy alone kept the Jews from swooping down upon him. ' "You are the most reckless, the emost wickedly extravagant i man in the Guards," this ancient grand-aunt said to him in : a i passion: "and I will pay your debts no more, sir; do you uti- derstand? Gambling and 'drinking and horse-racing are bad ' \ : enough, Heaven knows, but let there come a whisper of any- thing worse to my ears, and I disinherit you, and give every thing to Frank; do you understand?" . "'here is no mistaking your meaning, my dear aunt;"Guy , answered, with imperturbable good temper. "I dare'say yoir , , 't will,eventually; I'm an unlucky beggar generally, and it will,?:. only be of a piece with the rest, if you do disinherit me.: It's .a pity, for Frank's sake, I don't go to the bad altogether." 'i "You have gone there, sir!" cried old Miss Earlscourt. ^ "You're a disgrace to your name and family, sir. Why don't you get married? answer me that, and change your life, and' ' leave the army, and become a decent member of society?" . Guy looked at her with a face of unfeigned horror. ,: "Get married! Heaven forbid! My dear aunt, I don't : like to dpubt your sanity, but to propose marriage to al man of ' my age-three-and-twenty, odd! No, it is not so desperate as i, that, while there is prussic acid'enough left in the chemist's to enable me to glide out of life." Miss Earlscourt struck her stick vehemently on the ground, ' looking very much like a venerable witch. ' ' :' "Lieutenant Earlscourt, I say you shall marry, and at once i . There is this girl, who was your father's ward, she is rich- she - is handsome. I say you shall marry her!" . ; "Shall I?" murmured Guy, helplessly. '? ,i . . . page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] I- [ a 9 - - I d s . --, , ..*--^ ..^.- :,.. . ..... .. . .r.. ., i .:.* V eir, i^ ;. I., 232 PA ULINA. i "She is coming home next month. I asked Frank, and he told me, and you shall make her fall in love with you, and marry you. You are handsome,-one of the very handsomest young men I ever saw, and a favorite with all the women. I don't go into society, but I hear-I tell you, sir, you shall marry this Paulina Lisle, or I will disinherit you!" "But, my dear madame-" "Not a word, not a syllable, sir! It is your last chance be. fore you become altogether disreputable. I have paid your debts for the last time, and my money shall never go to be squandered like water. Marry this young woman with her eighty thousand pounds, and you shall have every farthing r possess. Don't tell me!-a man with such a face, such a tongue, andsuch elegant insolence of manner as yours, can do anything he likes with the women! Now go!" and the witch's stick pointed to the door: "don't let me see your wicked, spendthrift face again until you come to announce this heiress as your affianced wife!" CHAPTER II1. PAULINA. WAY along the dreariest part of the Essex coast there stood, and stands still, a lonely old manor-house, closed in from the outer world by funereal trees, and called "The Firs." It was the country-house of Sir Vane Charteris, and had never been visited by him in the past twenty years. A gloomy and grewsome place, five miles from the nearest country neighbor, a squalid fishing-village lying be- low, the long waves forever breaking upon the shingly shore, and the gaunt, dark firs skirting it, smothering it all around. The "Moated Grange " could hardly have been a more lone- some and eerie dwelling, nor could "Mariana" have bewailed her hard lot in being shut up there much more bitterly than did the Mistress of "The Firs," the Widow Galbraith. Mrs. Eleanor Galbraith was the only sister of Sir Vane Char- teris, and had spent the last nineteen years of her widowhood -,4 Wt. - v ; 3/ PAULINA. : 233 , doing penance at "The Firs." When one-and-twenty she hadr; thrown herself away upon a subaltern in the 6oth Highlanders, which penniless young officer, dying within two years,.left his widow to the cold charity of her only brother. Sir Vane had bitterly opposed the imprudeit match; now lie comforted Mrs. Galbraith in her weeds and widowhood by that cynical aphorism-as she had made her bed so she must lie. . '. He was shortly about to contract a matrimonial alliance with- the wealthy and beautiful MiSs Olivia Lyndith; and a sister in - weeds was an addition he did not at all desire in his nuptial es- . tablishment. There was "The Firs" if she liked. "The Firs" stood in need of a mistress to keep it from falling to decay. He . - e never meant to go near it himself-its dismalness always gave him the horrors. If Mrs. Galbraith chose to go and reside at ' "The Firs," she was entirely welcome, if not- Mrs. Galbraith did choose, wrathfully, and had bechme soci- , X ally. extinct from' that hour. Nineteen years had passed, and . - gray hairs had stolen into her raven locks, and crow's-feet im- pressed themselves under her eyes. She was forty-one years of ' ; age, and was a handsome likeness of her brother. She 'was " :: tall and majestic of stature; she had two bright black eyes, that flashed under straight, thick, black brows; she had a large,.: well-shaped nose, a large mouth, a massive under-jaw, brilliant . ; white teeth, and a mustache. ' "If Vane had but acted as a brother," Mrs. Galbraith was' wont bitterly, to think, "and allowed me to go with him and his ? wife to Vienna, or even permitted me a few seasons in London, ' I might have redeemed my first error, and married well. Hand- bome young widows are almost certain to marry well a second. .: time, if they have the chance." . UA:i : And the years sped on, and she grew gray at "The ,Pirs:, : ; and fell into flesh. Look at her as she sits at her solitary mid-. 2 day meal, with the hot September sunshine filling the long, dark, old-fashioned dining-room. A fine 'woman, most assuredly, ini spite of the crow's-feet-a stout, handsome, middle-aged lady, .? with a-clear brain and a firm will. 'j The rattling of wheels on the drive without reaches her ears. -a most unusual sound. As she springs up and goes to the . , window, she sees, to her ungovernable surprise, her brother, Sirl Vane Charteris. An instant more, and the old ,man who did duty as butler, gardener, and coachman, ushered in the lord of the manor. "Vane! ) ' 'Ib '.- ,-' 3 page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 23A4 i PAULZINA. MrS. Galbraith could just utter the one word. The baronet advanced with more cordiality than he had ever displayed toward her, and held out his hand. "My dear Eleanor, I am glad to see you again." He drew her to him, and kissed her -holesome brown cheek. "Yes, very glad, after so many years; and looking so nicely too. What ' luncheon already!" He flung himself into a chair, and glanced at the substanti- ally spread table. "Dinner, Sir Vane Charteris! I dine at the hour at which people of your world breakfast. One nearly forgets the usages of civilized life after nineteen years' solitude at 'The Firs.' " "I hope rot, Eleanor," answered Sir Vane coolly, "as I de- sire you at once to return to my world, as you call it. I have come down to remove yotufrom 'The Firs'to mytown-house." Mrs. Galbraith gave a gasp. At last!-what she had pined for, prayed her, sighed for, during nineteen years had come! " You have heard of my unfortunate domestic calamity?" pursued the baronet; "I allude to my unhappy wife's insanity. I had half resolved to sell the lease of the Meredan Street house; but circumstances have occurred lately that have caused me to change my mind. I have been appointed guardian to a young lady, an heiress, whom I wish to present to society." "Indeed!" said Mrs. Galbraith, with ler black eyes fixed on her brother's face. "I saw a brief paragraph in the Morning Post concerning it. A Miss Paulina Lisle, formerly the ward of the late Lord Montalien-is it not?" "The same; and a very handsome and charming young lady, I assure you, with eighty thousands pounds as her fortune. She will be presented next season by the Duchess of Clanronald, and make her debut, with yourself for chaperone. Meantime, she comes from France in a month; and will go out a great deal, no doubt, in a quiet way, this autumn and winter. The Christ- mas and hunting season we are to spend at Montalien Priory. My town-house must be set in order at once, and you shall pre- side in my wife's place. Maud shall leave school, and have a governess." "You give yourselves considerable trouble for your new ward," said Mrs. Galbrafth, who knew that giving himself' trou- blefor anything or anybody was not her brother's weakness. "Who is this Paulina Lisle? One of the SuSsex Lisles " "No; I believe the father was of Scotch descent." ; "She is an orphan, of course?" . PA UL INA. 23 -th-ePAUZIXA 3 i fah lv "Oh, no; the father lives out in California, but not in the .. least likely to return to England. He was an old; friend of ' Lord Montalien, and intrusted his heiress to him, with the power to appoint a guardian in his stead in .the event of his death. I have been appointed, and trouble or no, I shall do my duty to this young lady." , "'The mother is dead, I suppose!" ' t :- -"Of course. Can you be ready to return to town with me. to-morrow, Eleanor?" ' Quite ready," said Mrs. Galbraith ;' and'then, while SirVane went to his room, she finished her dinner, regarding her plate with a thoughtful frown . . "Vane has changed very greatly," she mused, " or he never . would have burdened himself with a ward at all. Is h, keep- '. ing something back, I wonder? Has he designs upon this Miss to: Lisle's fortune? Does he expect his wife to die, and that this young heiress will marry him?" . The baronet and his sister returned to town early next day, and Mrs. Galbraith set to work at once with a zeal and energy in^' that showed she had lost none of her sharp faculties during her nineteen years' exile from the world. She saw to the re- furnishing and repainting and rehanging of the house and rooms, to the plate, the linen, the liveries, all. Long before the mid- - dle of October arrived, the house in Meredan Street, Berkeley '; Square, was quite ready for the reception of Miss Paulina Lisle. ' Sir Vane brought his daughter home, and then started for ^ 'France. 'The baronet's daughter was in her sixteenth year now, 'small of stature, dark of skin, and with a pale, precocious little ? face. ^She had quite the air and conversation of a grown-up person, knew a deal of life, and French literature, could, play - a little, sing a little, draw a little, and dance and talk a great deal. Her aunt and she fraternized at once, drove out in the Park together, and speculated what manner of person this Miss Lisle might be now. .' "Your father says she is Very handsome, Maud," observed Mrs. Galbraith. . ' "Handsome! oh dear, no; quite a plain young person, with great eyes, and sandy hair, and the rudest manners. Quite an : uninformed, gawky country-girl " i L ate in the evening of a dismal day in October, Sir Vane and his ward arrived. It had rained and blown heavily all day O long. Miss Lisle had suffered agonies worse than death cross- . ing the Channel, and was as limp, and pallid, and woe-begone page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 PA ULZNA. an object as can be conceived. Mrs. Galbraith shrugged Ilet broad shoulders as she looked at the wan, spiritless face. "And you called her handsome, Vane?"' she said to het brother. : Sir Vane laughed grimly. AS-' "Wait until to-morrow," was his oracular response, as he St . too, in a used-up state, retired to his room. I: Lord Montalien, who since the middle of the previous Sep- teclmber, had spent the chief part of his time in town, chanced ; . to be in the house. He was a fiequeht visitor. The house was pleasant, the wines and cook excellent. Mrs. Galbraith a capital hostess and a clever woman, and little Maud, in a year or two, would be marriageable. Her, mother's fortune would be hers, and should Miss Lisle prove obdurate to his suit, why, it might be as well to win the regards of Miss Char- teris. To marry a rich wife he was resolved-at heart he was a very miser, and worshipped gold for gold's sake. . "A sickly, sallow, spiritless creature as ever T saw!" was Mrs. Galbraith's contemptuous verdict on her return to the drawing-room. "There will not be much .credit in chaperon- ing her. I dare say she will marry; girls with eighty thousand pounds are pretty safe to go off, but half the men in London will certainly not lose their senses about her! And my brother told me she was pretty!" "She was pretty," said Lord Montalien, "more than pretty if I remember right, two years ago. Allan Fane, an artist friend of mine, the man who married Di Hautton, you know, nearly went mad ab6ut her. when she was only a poor, little, penniless country-girl. Some girls do grow up plain, and I suppose she is one of them. We shall be treated to austere convent airs, no doubt, and have to listen to Monastery Bells and Vesper Hymns, whenever she sits down to the piano." "Come to dinner to-morrow and see," was Mrs. Galbraith's response. And; his lordship laughingly promised and left the house. He did not return to his own, elegant bachelor's lodgings in Piccadilly, but drove to Gilbert's Gardens, and spent the even- ing very agreeably in the society of a lady whom he called "Alice," and to whom he did not speak of the return of... Paulina Lisle. Lord Montalien, as a privileged friend of the family, came early to the house of Sir Vane Charteris the following evening. There was to be a dinner-party,:but he was the first of the v[ PA ULNA. 237 guests to arrive. Mrs. Galbraith, in crimson velvet, stately and majestic, received him in the winter drawing-room. Two young ladies were present, one in her simple school-room attire, for Maud did not yet appear in public, another, tall and slender, - : in blue silk, with violets in her shining, gold-brown hair. Lord . I, Montalien approached her at once with outstretched hand. ; "As I was the last to say farewell to Miss Paulina Lisle oni her departure, so let me be the first to welcome her back to England." . I T: Miss Lisle turned round, and gave him her hand, scanning him with blue-bright eyes: , ; "I beg your pardon, you were not the last to say farewell to me upon my departure from England," she retorted, and it was characteristic :that her first words were a contradiction. ' "Your brother came after you; Mr. Earlscourt." . "Not Mr. Earlscourt now, my dear," smoothly insinuated Mrs. Galbraith.. "Lord Montalien." . ' "Oh, yes! . beg your pardon again. The other name was the most familiar." . .? "'Then call me by whatever, is most familiar," with a long, .: tender glance, "as so old a friend should." ' So old a friend!"Miss Lisle pursed up her bright lips with the old saucy grace. "Let me see-we met just three times in our lives before this moment! Now, I shouldn't think three meetings would constitute such very old friendship, but, of course, your lordship knows best." She walked away to a distant window, humming a French song. Lord Montalien looked after her, then at -Mrs. Gal-i braith. ' "A sickly, sallow, spiritless creature," he said, quoting her ? own words of yesterday. "Mrs. Gclbraith, you are one of the , : cleverest womnen I know, but don't you think you made ever i so slight a mistake yesterday y?" " The girl was looking superbly. The slim form had grown v taller and rather fuller, its willowy grace was perfect. 'The ' face, perhaps, was a trifle too pale and thin still, but the large,; brilliant, sapphire' eyes, the sparkling white teeth, the saucy, ever-dimpling smiles, and the aureole of bronze hair, would . have lit-any face into beauty. In her-nineteenth year, enought I ll of childhood yet lingered to give her a frank confidence; that ; ' , rarely lasts through'later years. The blue eyes looked you full, . I brightly, steadily in the face, the frank lips told you the truth, . with all the audacity of a child.. A lovely girl, in her -first. : JI page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 PA ULNA. youth, with a will and a spirit, and a temper, too, of her own, ready at a moment's notice to do battle for friends or with foes. "A half-tamed filly, with a wicked light in the eyes," thought Lord Montalien. "My dear Mrs. Galbraithi I don't want to discourage you, but your spiritless debutante will give you as much trouble in the future as ever d6butante gave chaperone. That young lady means to have her own way or know the reason why." "Young ladies with eighty thousand pounds generally do have their own way," the lady answered. "Do you mean to enter the list, my lord? The competition will be brisk. She is a handsome girl, despite yesterday's sea-sickness. Just the sort of girl men lose their heads for most readily. By the by, she has been asking for your scapegrace brother." Mrs. Galbraith rose to receive some new guest, and Lord Montalien approached the window where Miss Lisle still stood gazing out at the twilit street. She glanced over her shoul- der, and asked him a question before he could speak. "My lord, how long is it since you were at Speckhaven?" "A little over a week, Miss Lisle. You mean to visit it soon, I suppose? By the way, there is quite an old friend of yours stopping at. Montalien." "Indeed! Another old friend, like yourself, whom I have probably seen three times." "More than that, Miss Lisle. I allude to Allan Fane." "Oh!" said Paulina, and laughed and blushed. "Yes, I saw. a good deal of Mr. Fane at one time. He wanted me to sit for a picture, you know. Mrs. Fane is there too, I sup- pose? ' "No, Mr. Fane is alone. Mrs. Fane is in Germany for her health, which is poor. They meet once or twice a year, I be- lieve, and are always perfectly civil to each other; but, as a rule, they get on much more happily with two-or three hundred leagues between them. Mrs. Fane grows old and sickly, and is notoriously jealous of her husband." "Poor Mr. Fane! And your brother, my lord-is he, too, at "You remember Guy, then? poor Guy!" "Certainly I remember Guy. I saw a great deal more of him than I ever did of you; ayd two years is not such an eter. nity! And whypoor Guy?" "Because-because--you haven't heard, tien " ,- , , . Ha . 7, '. ., . ',i .. " a PAULINA. 2,39 , ' Lord Montalien, I only reached England late last night; how was I to hear anything? Nothing very dreadful has be- fallen your brother, I hope?" "Your interest does him too much honor. He is quite un. worthy of it." ! . C"Why, please?" ' : ' "Because - my dear Miss Lisle, it is not a pleasant story for ' me to tell, for you to hear. Guy has gone to the bad, as they say, if you know what that means." "I should think I did; it seems tolerably plain English. It .1 means, I suppose, he has spent all his money, and got into t debt." "It means that, and more," Lord Montalien answered, ,i gloomily; "it means debt, and gambling, and all sorts of horrors."' ' -"Yes. But you are very rich, my lord, and 'he is your only brother. I should thinkihis debts would not signify much while ' you have plenty of money." The dark blood rose up over his lordship's face. ^., "Miss Lisle, you don't understand, and it is impossible to .A' explain-to you. Guy has gone to the bad in every sense!1bf , the word. 'Pray do not ask me any more." He shifted away from the gaze of the innocent, wondering- - blue eyes. She did not in the least comprehend what he wished her to comprehend by his innuendoes. Guy gambled and spent his money; she understood just that, and no more. : : "Well," she said, too highly bred to press an unwelcome subject, "that was not what I wished to say. Did y'ou hear-' . 4 was there any news?" She hesitated a little, and a faint flush -i rose up over her fair. face. "Has anything been heard of Alice Warren?" The question confounded him, and yet he might have ex. : pected it. "Alice Warren," he stammered. "Alice Warren? Who,' l is she?" "Who is she?"Paulina repeated, emphatically; "you did not need to ask that question two years ago,'when you admired ' : her so greatly, Lord Montalien." ' "Admired her so greatly I oh, of course, I know now-how i.. stupid:I am-you mean the bailiff's daughter, of course?" "Yes, I mean the bailiff's daughter. Poor Alice!" . . "There is no news of her, that I have heard. It is a very .: strange thing, her running away from home as she did." page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 PAULIfNA. "Not in the least strange," retorted Paulina, with her cus- tomary frankness.. "She ran away to be married." "To be married!"Lord Montalien's face was startled and pale as he repeated it. ".Certainly. She wrote to me the night before she left home. I have thtter yet. She told me she was going to be married." "Did she tell you to whom?" His heart was beating quick as he asked the question, though he knew what the answer would be. "No. To some one above her in rank, though, I know. Lord Montalien, don't you suspect it was one of the gentlemen staying at your place last month?" He had had..time to control himself, otherwise the gaze of the large, earnest eyes must have disconcerted him horribly. "Miss Lisle, I have thought, I have suspected!, She left late in the evening. Have you heard who travelled up with her to London?" "Of course not; I have' heard nothing but what her own let- ter tells me, and a few brief lines from Duke Mason, saying she was gone, no one knew where or why. Who went with her up to London?" "Miss Lisle, will you take my arm? They are going in to dinner. And will you forgive me if I do not answer your ques- tion? She was your friend-it is not from my lips you should hear the name of her companion." "Do you mean your brother?" she demanded, abruptly. "I am, sorry to say-I do." "Then I don't believe one word that she ran away to be married to himi" answered Miss Lisle, with calm decision. "She never cared for him, and he never paid her the least at- tention whatever. He may have gone up with her to Londdn, but I am quite certain your brother is iot the nan whom she has married." "If she be married!"Lord Montalien said, stung to bitter- ness by her words. Miss Lisle did not blush one whit. She looked at him with surprised, unshamed eyes; the open, fear- less gaze of perfect innocence. . "Of course she is married!". she said; "she told me she was going to be.' Do you think she would run away to seek her fortune alone in London? There were other gentlemen at the Priory, last September, beside your brother, I supppse " "Three others: Allan Fane, Sir Harry Gordon, and Captain Villiers." PA ULINA. 24T1 *r "-And yourself?" "And myself." ' She looked at him searchingly a moment; his face baffled- . her. She turned away, and resumed her dinnei with a resolute , :j i air. .r. :i "I shall find out," she said, quietly; "I am going down to : Speckhaven the day after to-morrow to spend a week; I shall i find out." "Going down to Speckhaven," he echoed, "to spend a week . with your old friend Mason, I presume." C"Yes; dear old Duke I He will be glad to,see me. And ,' I shall find out all about Alice Warren." , Lord Montalien was by no means allowed to monopolize the heroine of the evening. Sir Vane had invited several very eligi- ble unmarried men, and Miss Lisle's beauty and spirited style of conversation had already produced considerable impression. Her manner was simply perfect; a belle of four seasons could not have been more entirely and gracefully at ease. .She talked very much better than most young ladies. Paulinav was clever, and had ideas of her own, and it was quite refreshing to i some of those men about town to hear her fresh views of peo- . ple .and things. She was charming; that was the, universal 4 verdict-beautiful beyond doubt, accomplished and rich. 'She . sang after dinner, and her rich voice astonished her hearers, so .I full, so sweet. / , ( She is equal to Patti " was the verdict of more. than- one present. "It is a superb soprano." Altogether, Miss Lisle's first appearance, though, her part this G evening was a small one, was an entire success. Lord Monta- lien found'himself fascinated in away he could not understand. :i She was so unlike the ordinary English Miss he was accustomed to; she was so piquant, so sparkling, so brightly handsome and audacious, that she bewildered him. She possessed that spell- irresistible in man or woman-the gift of fascination-her joy- ' ous laugh, her ringing voice, the bright flash of her eyes, took your heart by storm before yoa knew it. d Miss Lisle had said, in- all honesty, that she meant to go- down to Speckhaven in two days; but with the best of inten- tions, the sincerest affection for her two friends there, two weeks l elapsed before the promised visit was made. I London might he empty to some people, and the season - over, but to this young lady, fresh from her twilight conyent ' '.: life, it was the most populous and delightful of cities. She[ ' " ' . .. page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 PA ULINA. went out continually; and October was very near its close when, one frosty evening, Miss Lisle opened the little garden gate of Duke Mason's, and walked through the open front door. There were changes, many and great, in herself, but not one here. The roses and geraniums tloomed in perennial freshness, the old cat basked on the hearth, the old order, si- lence, cleanliness prevailed, and Rosanna on her knees was toasting muffins for tea. Two arms went around her neck, and an imjpetuous kiss, the only kiss poor Rosanna had received since she had said good-by to her nursling, was pressed upon her withered cheek. Duke came in presently. The firelight shone redly through the room, the lamp burned on the mantel, the table was spread for supper, and a graceful, girlish figure sat on a low stool, fresh and beautiful as a rose-bud. Duke stood a second regarding this picture, then advanced with out- stretched hand. "Well, Duchess," he said, as if they had parted two weeks instead of two years before, " you have come back, after all." And so "Polly" was home again, but somehow it was not the Polly of old. The fault was not hers: she strove to be in all things precisely the girl who had left them, but she sat be- fore them, a tall young lady, out of their world altogether, with the new dignity of dawning womanhood upon her; educated, refined, rich, handsome, fairer than ever, but never again little "Polly." Late in the evening of the ensuing day, Mr. Allan Fane, busily at work since early morning, threw down brushes and palette, lit a cigar, and started for his daily, brisk, twilight walk. On this particular evening, his steps turned -shoreward'; he strolled along through the lamplit town, and down to Speck- haven sands. The Cave was a favorite resort of his, where he could sit and smoke and watch the gray, whispering sea, and think, perhaps, of the girl who had first brought him 'there. He was thinking of her now as he advanced along the shingly path, whence she had long ago led him. The last rays of the fading daylight were in the cold, gi-ay sky; pale-yellow gleams of wintry brightness lit the west, and there was a ring of sharp- ness in the evening air. His steps echoed loudly on the sands, and a quiet figure standing at the entrance of Ale Cave, watch- ing those pale-yellow gleams,. turned at'the sound. And he and Paulina .Iisle stood face to face! He turned pale at the sight. He had not dreamed she was in Spe khavon, He had been thinking of her, imagining her / id , , A st tH n r- , t* PAULINA. '2243' radiant in tier new life, and here she rose up 'befbre him, likea i * spirit il the gloaming I She recognized him immediately, arid held out her hand, with her frank, bright smile. *^"% "It is Mr. Fane!" she cried. "The very last person I ex- pected to see! Lord Montalien mentioned your being at the' Priory, too, but I had actually forgotten all about it." '^ , Yes--the whole story was told in those lightly spoken words .i -she had "forgotten all about it," and all about him, as corn-. pletely as though he had never entered her life. He had loved her as honestly and strongly as an honester and stronger man -he had given her up of his own accord, and he had no tight to complain. But the bitter sense of loss was ever there-the. brilliant, spirited face haunted him by night and day I "Well," said Miss 'Lisle, "you don't look very cordial, I must say! Do you take me for a ghost, or a niermaid, Mr. Fane? You see I have been paying visits all day to my old - friends; and, this, my' seaside grotto, is the last on the list. And now I really must go home. Poor Rosanna has a horror of night-dews and night-winds. She takes me to be afragile * blossom, that a sharp, autumn blast would nip in twain. If you won't say anything else, Mi. Fane, perhaps you will say good-night!" ; J She laughed-Polly's sweet, gay laugh-drew her shawl i closer about -her, and turned to go. She was very simply;' dressed, in a dark mering, a soft gray shawl, and a little pork- , pie hat, with a scarlet bird's wing. But though,he saw her -' often after in silks and roses, the queen of the ball, never did : she look lovelier than at that moment., He spoke with some- '? thing of an effort-good Heavens, how cold and commonplace: the words sounded I ' ' "'You will permit me to see you home, Miss Lisle-it will be quite dark before you are half way, and the town is full of strangers, down for the October meeting." A provoking smile dawned on her face. She had not en- tirely forgotten the past, and the temptation to give him a small stab was irresistible. "I am- not the least afraid; thanks, very much, Mr. Fane. And, beside--it is quite unpardonable of me to say it-I amn afraid, but I have heard Mrs. Fane is-jealous i Do you think , she would mind very greatly if I permitted you to escort me home?"c? He looked at her-a dark, painful flush rising on his face. "You are merciless," he said. "You had your revenge two / * *' ', * ' page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 2A4"'LIFBnR QPA U I N A. 2441 a PAULgNvA. \ years ago, on the day you gave me back my ring I You might spare me now ' " "The ring you presented the saine night to Miss Hautton! I saw it on her finger when I dined at the Priory. Please don't try to be sentimental, Mr. Fane; I have growii dreadfully old and wise since that foolish time, and pretty speeches are quite thrown away upon me, I assure you. And you may walk home with me--let us hope Mrs. Fane will never hear it." Her eyes were laughing wickedly. Indeed, it was a weak- ness of this heroine of mine. "She is always laughing--that Miss Lisle," an aggrieved ad- mirer had said; "and the deuce.. of it is, a man doesn't know whether she is laughing with him or at him." "Pretty speeches are thrown away upon you, are they?" 'said Mr. Fane, as they walked along, side by side. "I can be- lieve it-surfeited with them 'as you are. Do you know what Madame Rumor says, Miss Lisle?" "Very scandalous things, no doubt. What?" "That you are to be presented. next season as my Lady Montalien!" "Then Rumor tells most unconscionable fibs!" answered Paulina, carelessly. "I'm not!" "You never liked Francis Earlscourt." ' Didn't I?" "You don't like Lord Montalien." "Don't I?" "Miss Lisle, you know you don't'! Your face tells the story of your likes and dislikes plainly enough." "I must be very ungrateful, very unjust, if I do not. ' Lord Montalien is most kind, most courteous, and we are all coming down to spend Christmas and the hunting season at the Pri6ry. To speak ill of one's future host in his absence is return of hospitality not strictly Arabian." "And how does London life suit you?" "Oh, excessively. I have been out every night since my return, and I don't know the meaning of the word fatigue; and I look forward to next seasdn as a child to a holiday. Do you know "-her girlish pleasure shining in her great eyes-" the Duchess of Clanronald is going to present me?" "You are to be envied, Miss Lisle. And after one or two brilliant seasons, the Morning Post will announce a brilliant marriage!" He could not help harping on this string. He had lost her, PAUZmINA. 245 and he loved her now as we do love the things we have forever jlost. "Well, yes," said the young lady, coolly; "I hope so. Everybody marries, and I suppose I shall after four or five sea- sons, when I am quite-oh, quite an elderly person of four or five and twenty-some 'fine old English gentleman who has a great estate.' ' Are you quite alone at the Priory, Mr. Fane; and might one ask why yout bury yourself alive there?" "I am working hard, Miss Lisle, and I find inspiration in the air of Speckhaven. Do you recollect the 'Rosamond and Eleanor'? Yes, I see you do-I am finishing that for the spring exhibition." She looked at him saucily. "Andwhat little country-girl have you chosen for Fair Rosa- - mond now! . Please be merciftil as you are strong, Mr. Fane, ' and don't turn her head with your flatteries." "I paint my Rosamond from memory-my Eleanor is one of the housemaids at the Priory-a tall, black-browed, Roman- ( L- ' nosed young woman, And I am quite alone up in the big, rambling old mansion. Guy was with me during the races, but he has gone." t * . "Ah! Guy Earlscourt! Do you know I have never met him yet? and people speak of him as though he were' the man in the Iron Mask, or Guy Fawkes, or anything else dreadful, Mrs. Galbraith calls him a determenta.,' whatever that may be. Pray, what has that unhappy young man done?" .- "Nothing to any one save himself. You have heard of the. road to ruin, 'I suppose? Well, he has been going at a gallop along, that highway for the last three years. The end must come very soon now. If his old grand-aunt does not die, and leave him her money, he must, in a few months at the most, send in'his papers to sell and fly the country. He is involved beyond redemption. Mrs. Galbraith is quite right; in a mar- ' . rriageable point of view he is a determental." "Poor fellow," Paulina said, her eyes softening. "I am t' ia sorry! I used to like him very much. He) was so hand- some." - ' "And is still I wonder his handsome face has not won him i al;an heiress long ago. It would, I think, if he tried, but he seems to have no time." - v "If he is ruined, as you say, how does he live?" . ',!: "By a well-made betting-book, by a' run of luck at cards, by cleverly-written magazine articles. Once or twice his aunt has r ,!t 'I page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 PSULINA. paid his debts--hle tells me she has refused to do it again. He has gone across to Germany for the autumn races." They had reached the house now, and Rosanna was waiting anxiously in the doorway. Miss Lisle bade him good-night, and Allan Fane strolled homeward through the -sharp October night, thinking-well, not of his wife. Sir Vane Charteris campe down for his ward at the expiration of the week, and Paulina went with him very willingly. It was pleasant to see her old friends, no doubt, but life in Duke Ma- , son's house seemed hopelessly dull to her now. Is there ever 'any going back in this world? Had she never left it she would have grown up there happy and content; now she could no more have taken up the old life than she could have wept burning tears over the sorrows of Amanda Fitzallan. On the night of her return she went to see Ristori in "Mary Stuart." The house was full, the actress magnificent, and Miss Lisle, in pale, flowing silks and pearls, looking charmingly. Two or three of her admirers were in the box; and when the first act was nearly over there entered Lord Montalien. His eyes lit as they fell on her, hers gave him the briefest, coldest possible glance. 'She did4not like Lord Montalien. The girl's perceptive faculties were :very keen. She knew him to be false and cruel, smooth and deceitful. The expression of his mouth revolted her, the hard, cold glitter of his eyes made her shrink away. "I hope you found all your friends at Speckhaven quite well," he said to her as the curtain went down. "Quite," she answered, briefly. "All who remain." Ah! you allude, of course-" "I allude, of course, to my dearest friend, Alice Warren. I told you when I went to Speckhaven I should penetrate the mystery of her flight; and-I have failed." There was a satisfied smile just perceptible about his mouth -gone in an instant. ' "I,feared you would. Her father could tell you nothing." "Nothing that you had not already told me-that your 4 brother travelled with her up to town." "Then Guy is the man. Are you satisfied now that my sus- picions are right?" "Would you like me to tell you whom I do suspect, my lord?"? "Undoubtedly." She looked at him-full, bright, dauntlessly, and answered: v * ^ . * *' , ,[' ; , u * ' V . PAULIAT. " 24 e You0 /" "Miss Lisle!" "My lord, your brother Guy was never the man Alice left home to marry. She never cared for your brother-she did for you. Guy may have travelled, up with her to London-he ' - acknowledges it, indeed, but he had no part in her flight. He went to Mr. Warren's house, and told him so, and the old mar believes him. He tells, frankly enough, his share in the busi ness. He met her at the railway station, he travelled up with her in the same carriage, and at her request he drove with her to her destination. That destination he refuses to tell-she re bound him by promise herself not to do so; and Mathew Warren does not urge him to reveal it. He is bitterly, ctuelly - " - angry-he never wishes to hear her name--if she came to his door a wedded wife he would not take her in. He will never forgive her--he will not lift a finger to seek her. But I will"!" -the blue eyes flashing-"I shall find her, and that before - long!" J "May I ask what you mean to do?'-" "I. shall advertise-I shall employ the best detectives in London-I will move heaven and earth to find her!" "And when she is found, will 'she thank you, do you think, i, for thus forcing her from the privacy she seems to desire?" 'She will forgive me-we loved each other. Lord Monta- lien, will you tell me the truth, will you acknowledge you know' where she is?" "Miss Lisle, from any other lips the question would be an insult. I know nothing of Alice Warren. Wherever 8she is, whosoever's wife she may be, she is not mine. Will you not be- lieve me, when I pledge you my honor, I speak the truth?.. ' She turned from him,.and back' to the stage, as the curtain ^ went up on the next scene. Her face was set with an expires- a, - sion new to every one who saw her. "I shall never rest until I know the truth; I will never:de- : , ,. sist until I discover this secret. I shall find Alice Warren if she be in England, and the man who promised to make her his wife " h 1 - ; page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 2.48 "NOW I LIVE, AND NOW MrY LIFE IS DONE" r CHAPTER IV. "AND NOW I LIVE, AND, NOW MY LIFE IS DONE!" T was the afternoon of the first of November. That dismallest of months had come in with bitter, easterly wind, with dull fog, and miserable drizzling rain, that wet and chilled you to the very marrow. It was about four o'clock, and already the gas flared through tjie city, glimmering in a ghastly way through drizzle and fog. At the window of the lodging-house in Gilbert's Gardens, a woman sat looking out at ,the wretched prospect; at the dark, drifting clouds; at the ceaseless rain, beating heavily against the glass; at the blue-nosed pedestrians, hurrying by, with umbrellas and overcoats, at the one lamp, flaring redly at the nearest corner. -A woman, pale,Aand wan, and haggard, changed almost beyond recognition-Alice / Only seven weeks had gone by since that warm Septeniber night when, for love of Friancis Earlscourt, she had fled from home' and friends, and already the end had come. It was, the natural ending of all such stories; but how'was she to know that i Mad passion for a fortnight, cooling passionfor another, satiety, weariness, disgust. The end had come. It was only the old, old story, told, and told, and told-she had staked all on one throw, and-lost She had sat for hours as she sat now, her hands lying heavily in her lap, her haggard eyes fixed on the murky, London sky. The room was as pleasant as it is in the nature of London lodgings ever to be. A fire burned in the grate, and on the little centre-table stood a glass, filled with yellow and pink - roses. Their fragrance filled the room-their sweetness breath- ing of the summer dead, and of all she had lost with its fading. '!"'e nearest church clock struck the quarter past four. As she hct,rd it, she moved restlessly for 'the first time, and a spasm of intense pain crossed her face. "e should have been here an hour ago," she said; in a sort of frightened whisper. "Will he not come after all? Will he never come again?" She got up, and walked over to the mirror ont the mantel, looking with piteous eyes at her own wasted face and figure. ' - ' - " . " s I . "NOW 1 LIVE, AND NOW MY LIFE IS DONE " 249 She had been crying for hours, crying until there were no more ;J tears to flow, and she beheld the natural result, dim, sunken eyes, a bloated and swollen face. It is not given to all, alas I to shed silent, pearly tears, such as you read of my Lady Rowena shedding in her silken boudoir. Alice had wept for hours, until eyes and heart ached. alike. She had dressed herself in her one best dress-ppo9r( soul! a dress of blue and white that "Frank" had once' said he liked, but it hung loose from her shrunken figure now. Beauty, and youth, and brightness had all gone. She shrunk . away, almost in horror, from the sight of her own pallid face, her hollowed, dulled'eyes! . "And he used to praise my pretty looks " she said. "What ' will le think of me now,?" She felt, without being able to thiiik very deeply, on that or . any other subject, that her pretty looks were the only links that bound him to her. And her face was faded, her beautyr gone in seven weeks! She was not- the sort of woman to swerve from the straight path with impunity; but if her lover had been faithful she might at least have forgotten in the bliss'of that love. He was'not faithful-he had wearied of her in two brief . weeks. - Her pretty face and her tender heart were all the gifts she had-good and pleasant gifts, but not likely to long enchain a man of Lord Montalien's st'amp.. She was not clever-she could not talk to him, could not amuse him, and he yawned in her face three days after that ceremony in the Church of St. Ethelfrida. Already the fatal spell of a fresher beauty-had captivated him-' -the fiiend she loved best on earth; the friend who best loved her had taken him froi-n her! The sparkling beauty, the saucy, : self-willed, outspoken, graceful atudacity of Paulina Lisle held "ord Montalien enthralled. It was'ten days since he had been near Gilbert's Gardens- , ten endless, drearydays. She had nothing to do, nothing to read, not a soul to speak to, only her own miserable, never- dying suspicions for company. Until yesterday, when a friendly face and kindly eyes fronl home had looked upon her, and'those roses fresh front Speckhaven had brought a breath 'of country .. sweetness to her dingy room. She had written last night in her desperation to her husband; and now as the rainy afternoon wore on she waited his coming . As she turned from the glass, the rapid roll of wheels cauglht "* , v' , page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 "NOW I LIVE, AND, NOW MY LIFP IS DONVE!" her ear. She darted to the window. Thank God!--oh, thank God! he had comel-he was here at last! He sprang from the cab, bade the driver wait, and a mighty double knock a second after made, the house shake. Mrs. Howe came to the door in person. She knew that imperious knock-well, and was almost as glad to hear it again as her lodger. Two weeks' rent was due, and "Mrs. Brown," her lodger, never seemed to I have any money, and spent her time in tears and loneliness. It dawned upon the landlady's mind that all was not right, and that the sooner she got rid of her the better. "Which a man that muffles himself up to that degree that' you never see no more of him than two heyes and a nose, is no better than he ought to be, and must have something to hide. I declare to you, mum, Mrs. Brown, if she is Mrs. Brown, has been lodging with me nigh upon seven weeks, and he a-coming and a-going all that time, and I never once, since the first night, had a'good look at his face. A tall and'andsome man as ever I see; but 'andsome is as 'andsome does, and a millingtary 'swell he is, I know, and no more plain Mr. Brown than you or, me." She admitted him now, dropping a courtesy, and scanning him curiously. But the passage was dark at all times, doubly dark now, and the tall 'form of "Mr. Brown." brushed past her, and dashed up the stairs and into her lodger's room. With a cry of joy, a sob not to be suppressed, she flung her- self into his arms.,. "Frank! oh, Frank! you have come at last! I thought you were never going to come again." "You took devilish good care not to let me do that! What do you mean, madame, by writing to me? Did I not expressly forbid you ever to' write, or come near my lodg- ings?" He turned the key'in the door, breaking angrily free from her encircling arms, flung himself into the easy chair she had. placed for him before the fire, and looked at her with a darkly 4 angry glance. She stretched out her hands to him, shrinking away like a child who has been struck a blow. "Forgive me, Frank; I meant no harm. I was so lonely- oh, so- lonely; and it is ten days since-"' Her voice broke, in' spite of her. She covered her face, and hei suppressed sobbing filled the room.. "Oh, Lord!" groaned her visitor, "here it is again, before , , j ,. ' 5 . ' * . :' *1 :J : "NOW I LIVE, AND NOW MY LIFE, IS DONE", 251 I am two seconds in the house! Tears and scenes, reproaches I and sobs-always the same And you complain that I don't come to see you." . He seized the poker, and gave the fire a vicious dig. He had thrown his felt hat on the floor beside him, and his thin, sallow face was set in an angry scowl. He looked a very different KL . man from the suave and courteous gentleman who had bent over the chair of Paulina Lisle at the theatre only the night before-very different from the ardent lover' who had wooed, Alice. Warren's fresh face down among the clover-fields and fir- trees of Montalien. She swallowed her sobs by a great effort, and coming timidly over; knelt down beside hi'mn. "Don't be hard on me, Frank," she pleaded; "I don't mean to reproach you; but I am so' much alone, and I have nothing to do, and no one to speak to, and I get thin! :ng of home, and get low-spirited. Won't you tell me, Frank, why you have stayed away so long?" , 'Ai He looked at her with hard, cruel eyes. "Because I have grown tired of coming! Will that do, Mrs. Brown?"' e: . , ", Frank" i . He was still looking at her, searchingly, pitilessly, not once shrinking from the gaze of the large, horror-struck eyes. "You have not improved in my absence, at all events," hei said, with a short laugh."' "You are actually growing old and ugly. 'Beauty is fleeting'-certainly in your case. If you had looked like this down at Speckhaven, I don't think-well, I, . ^ don't think I should ever have given you the trouble of coming up to town. Pray, what have you been doing since I saw you last?" : "Nothing," her voice seeming hoarse and unnatural. ",Only thinking of you." "A very unprofitable way of spending your time. And now that you have sent for me, will you have the kindness to inform -; 7r ;' me what you want?" "Frank, you ask that question?" i "A very natural question, I think. And in the -first place, will you tell me how you discovered my address at all?" She rose up' from her kneeling position, stung. to the quick by the insolence, more even of. his tone and look than his words. She shed no tears now; she felt cold as death, and her shrink ing eyes met his steadily at last. , " *-t " '. ' ". page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 "NOW I LIVE, AND NOW MY LIFE IS DONE!" "I had the right to send for you, my'lord-to go to you, if I chose. I am your wife!" He listened with a smile, his head lying against the back of the chair-a smile of insufferable insolence. "My wife!" he repeated. "Well, yes, of course, we did go to the Church of St. Ethelfrida together. But, 'my dear Alice, let me give one piece of advice -d 't you presume on that lit. tle ceremony. Don't you write/ me again, and don't visit mne until I give you leave. Per aps you did not hear my ques- tion-let me repeat it--where id you find out my address?" "Your brother told me." "' My brother!" i He started at the words, and then, for the first time, his eyes fell upon the roses on the table. He sprang to his feet. "My brother has been here!" he cried. i "He has." . She answered him quietly. Her heart felt cold'and still in her breast; but she had no intention of disturbing him with "scenes or tears" now. He strode toward her, grasping her wrist until the marks of his cruel fingers remained-his face white to the very lips, as was his way when really moved. ., "And you dared do it! You dared, after all I said, bring ' him here! Guy, of all men I You dared tell him-" "I told him nothing.' My lord, will you let me go? You hurt me!" He dropped his hold, looking down at her with a dangerous light in his pale-blde eyes. "How came he here? You must have brought him, or he never would have found you out.' Tell me the truth, I colr- i mand you." ' She met his angry gaze with a calm ,steadiness, quite new in his experience of her. "He came with me the first night. You remember he trav- elled up with me from Speckhaven. He was very kind; he was always kind. I don't know whether he suspected our secret or . not. I know he advised me to go back while there was yet time." "I wish to God you had taken his advice!" "Yes," she answered, still very' quietly, "itv is a pity. But we won't speak of that, since it is rather late in the day now. It was late that night when we reached Londonl ; it was all strange to me; and I was afraid; and I asked him to come with me here." 4 ' ' NOW I LIVE, AND NQW MJY LIFE IS DONE!" 253 The pressure, tiglttened on her wrist again';. he drew his breath for a moment hard. . i "You did! After all your promises-after all I told you-- 1 you brought him here!"' "I brought him here; but I told him pothing, and I never laid eyes on him since until yesterday." , "He was here yesterday?" . "He was. Frank, do you know they 'think at home I fled with him-that-that I am-not a wife." "Yes; I happen to be quite aware of that fact; and what is', mnore, I mean they shall continue to think so. Hear me out, if you please, and don't interrupt. Do. you suppose I am going to ruin my prospects by acknowledging my marriage with you? A pretty story, forsooth, for Belgravia, that Lord Montalien has married his bailiff's daughter!" "Lord Montalien should have thought of that seven weeks ago." . ' . "I know it. No need for you to,remind me what a fool I have been. And what brought my precious younger brother here yesterday?" "Friendship. Only that. Mr. Guy was alwaysJhe kindest : of friends, the noblest of gentlemen. He thought of nie-he - brought me those flowers' from 'Montalien," her eyes lighting, "because, he fancied they would remind me of home." . The nobleman seized the roses and flung them into the fire. The girl started forward with a cry; if he had struck her he would hardly have done ea more brutal thing. . "Silence!" he said, with an oath. "Go on! What brought him here?' Did you dare to tell him that I--" "I told him nothing-nothing, God help me! I liave kept your secret, Lord Montalien, at the price of my own' good name. .I have broken my mother's heart, bowed my father's : -.:?i head in sorrow and shame, giving up the home where I was happy, the friends who cared for me, for you; and this-this is my reward." She laid her arm upon the mantel, and bowed her face upon it. But in the dark heart of the man beside her there was neither pity nor remorse. "Will you swear to me my brother knows nothing-that you havd not told him?" "I have not told him," she reiterated, and did not lift hei ashen face as she made the reply. . : He turned, arid began pacing to and froup. and dowin the 'I. . page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] , 254 "NOW I LIVE, AND NOW MY LIFE IS DONEP' room. He wanted to shake her off, to have done with her for good; to get her out of the country even, and to do that, was it wise to goad her to despair and desperation? He must get rid of her-that was the one inevitable thing to be done; and to get rid of her quietly, without scandal or exposure, she must still think herself his wife. The time to tell her the truth had not yet come. He must get rid of her, and at once; and kind- ness here would do more than harshness or recrimination. He came over and laid his hand upon her shoulder. "Forgive me, Alice," he said, " and forget my unkind words. You know, as well as I do, that I love you as dearly as ever; that I did not mean them; but I am out of sorts and out of temper to-day., I have a thousand things to worry and annoy me of which you cannot dream; and it did startle me to know Guy was here. I am sorry I destroyed your flowers. I shall send you a handsome bouquet to-morrow. Come, look up, and say we are friends, again." She lifted her head slowly and looked at him. Even he, bad to the core, harder than iron, shifted from the night of settled despair in those haggard eyes.' "Do what you will, say what you will, Frank, I can nevei be other than your friend." Her voice was broken and low, no tinge of color came to her. white face as he stooped and kissed her. She knew the end had come-her heart never beat with hope while she lived again. "That is my own little Alice I And now, to prevent a rep- etition of such visits, you must leave this lodging at once." "Yes." "This very evening I will engage another, and to-morrow I will send a cab for you and your belongings. Early to-morrow evening you will be quite ready to go?" "Yes." "And as it can't be any particular pleasure to me to keeD moving you about from one London lodging to another, for fear of detection, what do you say to going down to the country, or even out of England for a little. You would be better and hap- pier, I am sure. You are used to a country life, and I would come to see you just as often. What do you say?" "I have nothing to say. I will do whatever you please." "That is settled, then." He was delighted with her easy acquiescence. Nothing would be simpler than to send her out of the country altogether " d for good. ---------- [ ' - ' : 'F / , *- ' "NOW I LI zr, AND NOW My. LIPE iS DbOifI 55 x "To-morrow you will leave here, and within the week you shall go to some pleasant country home, either in or out of England, where you will remain until it is in my power to pro- claim you to the world as my wife. You hear, Alice?" "I hear," she answered, wearily. "Frank!" she looked up . at him suddenly, "is it true that Paulina Lisle is in London?" "Guy told you that among his other news, I suppose " "He' did. He told me, too, that you were her lover, or that report said so." "He told you a lie! I visit at the house of Sir Vane Char- teris, and I see Miss Lisle, of course." He spoke carelessly enough, but in his heart he recorded a vow to add this to the long list of hatred he already owed his younger brother. "I meant to speak to you of her. Why did you write and tell her of your elopement and intended' marriage? After all my in- junctions of secrecy and your promises. Was' it well done, Alice?" "I meant no harm.' I did not tell her who I Was going to '; marry." "But you knew she would suspect. You knew she was aware. how greatly I always admired you; but I overlook it, Alice-that and all the rest-and look forward to the day when I can proclaim you to the world as my lawful wife. And now, farewell. To-morrow afternoon, at this time, I will visit you at your new lodging." His lips touched her forehead in another traitor kiss, and then the door opened and closed, and he was gone; Gone! . And Alice, sitting there alone before the fire, knew, her'fate- . knew in her heart that he lied to her-that he would never pro- . claim her as his wife-that hope was at an end, that her life was done. She touched no food, she had no sleep that night. She lay listening to the beating rain, to the complaining Wi nd, at to the hours as they tolled, in a sort of dull stupor of misery. '- She had loved him, she loved him still, and this was the end.- . i The. cab came early next'morning for "Mrs. Brown." Before leaving the previous day his lordship had paid the . landlady, and told her of'her lodgers departure. And now, : ', in the dark November morning, she watched her drive away - i almost with regret. . ' "She looked like death itself as she bade me good-by," Mrs. ;: :- Howe said afterward "it went to mly heart only to see her." The new lodging to which the cibm an drove her was. ii olie of the obscure streets leading from the Strand to the river- - , - . t page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256 "NOW I LVE , AND NOW MY LIFE IS DONE ." dingier, poorer, closer, than that which she had left. But she scarcely noticed how squalid it was, scarcely noticed how unut- terably wretched she herself looked. "What does it matter," she thought, turning away from. the glass, " sincethere is no one in the world to care?" And then she lay down, and the dull, gnawing, ceaseless pain at her heart seemed somehow to go, and in its place her happy' girlhood came back. The dark, wretched room, the foggy day. light faded away, once more the green fields of Montalien, rich with golden corn, the meadows sweet with the scent of new-mown hay, the voice of her mother, the waving trees, the golden summer sky, all. came back 'to her; and Francis Earlscuort's eyes looked love, and his voice spoke softly and sweetly, and his strong arm encircled 'her waist; and her eyes closed, and with the smile of a happy child on her face, she fell asleep. She'slept for hours' The afternoon wore on-the roar of the great city, of the busy Strand, were unheard--even the opening of the door, and the entrance of the man of whom she dreamed, failed to arouse her. He looked at her,'as she slept, without one feeling of pity for the heart he had broken, for the life he had blighted. He had' tired of her, and he must remove her out of the country that he might marry Paulina Lisle. Nothing remained now but that. While he, stood irresolute whether or no to awaken her, there was a tap at the door, and 'the landlady, with a startled face, looked in. "If you please, sir, and asking your pardon for disturbing of you and your good lady, would you come upstairs just a mo- ment? The third-floor-front's a-dying and a-dying hard, and he says he can't go until he has made his confession. There ain't a soul in the house to go for the parson or doctor, and I daren't leave him'alone. Would you be so good, kind'gentle- man, as to step up to his room while I run for the, nearest clergyman' " ' The "kind gentleman" addressed stared at her haughtily in amazement at her presumptuous request. What was her. "third-floor-front" to him, dying though its inmate might be, that he should trouble himself in the matter. "He says he has a confession to make about some very great lady he knew once, and about a great crime he helped to con- mit nearly twenty years ago. He can't die, he says, until he "NOW I LIVE, AND NOWMY LIFE IS DONE!" 257 has confessed it. Maybe it's only his raving, but he says the lady's name was Miss Olivia Lyndith." ' Lord MQntalien svung round, amazed; interested at once. " Miss Olivia Lyndith," he muttered. "Lady Charteris! Now what the deuce does this mean? Lead the way, my good woman; I'll go' up, and hear what your third-floor-front has to say." He followed her up the dark, winding stairs, and into the stifling attic room, .where, on a wretched truckle-bed, a gaunt, emaciated form was stretched. There was no, fire in the little 'k . 'room, and the sickly foggy daylight hardly found its Way through the blurred, dirty glass of its one window. "'Here is a kind gentleman, as says he will stay with you, ! Porter," the landlady said soothingly. "Now do keep quiet "i: like a good soul, and I'll run round for Mr. Spearman. ; She placed a chair by, the. bedside, and was hurrying away, rbut the sick man raised himself on' his elbow, and called after her shrilly: 7 "Fetch pen and ink and paper, Mrs. Young. He must write' it down and give it to her if she be alive. I can't die, I can't, , with the story untold. I'm sorry I ever did it. I see her face so still and white; oh, Lord!' so still and white--sleeping and waking, night and day forever. You'll write it down, sir; you -, look like a gentleman, and you'll find her, and give it to her, if it : she's alive. Promise me that?" . He glared up in Lord Montalien's face with hollow, wild eyes. "I don't know of whom you're talking, my good fell 9w," his - lordship answered coolly. "Wh6 is she " , "Twenty years ago her name was Miss Olivia Lyndith. She ': married Sir Vane Charteris, baronet. You're a gentleman- - perhaps you have heard of Sir Vane Charteris?" His hollow eyes were full of burning eagerness as he asked the question. ' Well, yes, I have heard of Sir Vane Charteris." "And Lady Charteris?" "And Lady Charteris." "Is she alive? Tell me that-is Lady Charteris alive, and well?" "Lady Charteris is alive certainly, but not quite well. She has had some great trouble in her past life, which she has never got over to this day.'" The sick man wrung his hands in a paroxysm of anguish. "I know it-I know it 1 and I did it I I wish I had dropped' page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 "NoW -LIVE, AND ArOW MiY LPE ZIS DONE!" dead before I ever consented I and now I am dying, and her face haunts me night and day. But she's alive, and it's not too late yet. Perhaps he's alive too." "Who?" "Her husband-him that she loved so dearly." "You mean Sir Vane Charteris, I presume? . "No, no, no! She hated him! I mean the other-her first ,husband-her real husband-him that she ran away with- Robert Lisle." "Robert Lisle is alive and well." The dying man uttered a cry-a shrill, wordless cry of de- light. . "Thank God! thank God! then it's not too late! where is he? Can you tell me that?. Notin England?" "Not in England, of course, since he is a criminal amena- ble to the law. Out in America." "He is no criminal. It was me that did it-me! And Mr. Geoffrey Lyndith paid me for doing it. I wish my right hand had dropped off when I lifted it against him! But I'll tell you all, and you'll write it down, and Robert Lisle will come back, and perhaps God will forgive me. Do you think He will, if I confess all-all'!" ' "Well-let us hope so," replied his lordship, rather out of his depth. "Who are you, to begin With?" " He drew the paper toward him, took up the pen, and pre- pared to write., He was full of curiosity and interest. What revelation of villany was this he was about to hear? ' "I'm James Porter, and I was valet to Mr. Geoffrey Lyn- dith twenty years ago. Will you promlse, on your honor as a gentleman, to give this paper you are going to write into the hands of Lady Charteris, and no other, when I am dead?" "I promise. Go on." The sick man clenched the'bedclothes, and began at once, with feverish rapidity: ' "I told you I was Mr. Geoffrey Lyndith's valet twenty years ago. It's nigher on five-and-twenty since I first entered his ser- vice, and a very good place it was. He was a stern man, he liked to have his own way, but he was free with his money, and a kind enough master. When I had been with him well uponl V four years, Robert Lisle came as secretary and companion like. I can see him now!"'-the sick man's eyes looked dreamily before him, as he spoke. "A tall, well-made young man, and the handsomest, I think, I ever saw. There were a great ",NOW I LIVE, AND NOW MY LIFE IS DOA'EI , 259 many gentlemen, and baronets, and lords, used twisit Lyndith Court at Septemberl and Christmas, but there wasn't one 1[s among them, lords and all, looked half as lordly, to my mind, , - I as he did. He was cleverer than master, and wrote his J ' i!:, speeches and leaders for our 'county paper, and letters, and all ,l ( that. Master set no end of store by him, until he got to hate ' 5l him ; and to them he hated, he was the very devil! , " "Master's niece came home firom school: and a rare beauty . " she was, only sixteen, with big black eyes and yellow hair-the ?; kind of beauty you don't often see. She was brought home from boarding-school to live in the 'house with a young' man as handsome and'as clever as this Mr. Lisle. And we in the ser- vants' hall just saw how it would be from thelfirst. But mas- ter- .auks, sir,.it's wonderful how blind the smartest people be about some things; these sort of things particularly-,master he was like a mole. They were a-courting from the first day, and he couldn't see what was going on under his very nose. I used to watch 'em in the pleasant moonlight nights walking up' and' down under the trees; and time and again' it was on : the top of my tongue to give Mr. Lyndith a hint. But I was /a-keeping company with a young woman--the upper house- maid she was, and she wouldn't hear tell of it. All the women in the house were half in love with this Robert Lisle; his good: looks, and his gentlemanlike ways, and his pleasant voice took them all down somehow. 'And,' says Lucy, 'our mas- I ter's old enough and big enough to look after his own niece, and it's not for playing the spy on her you get your wages. He'll find it out soon enough.' "That week Miss Olivia went to Scotland on a visit, and the week after-I think it was-Mr. Lisle followed her. And Lucy says to me: ' Mind, James, Miss Olivia and Mr. Lisle will be married in Scotland as sure as I'm talking to you. And- won't master be tearing mad, when he finds it out?" "You see, sir, this Mr. Lisle, though he looked and spoke, and had the edication of a real gentleman, was only the son of0' ', a yeonian farmer. , "Well, sir, Lucy was right-they did get married in Scot- . land, and came home, not together, but .following each other very soon. And to this day I remember what happy, happy faces those two had, how miss danced about the house like sunshine, and her laugh was the prettiest, sweetest niusi:c I ever heard. And Mr. Lisle didn't say much or laugh much, it wasi't his way,; but somehow, he :looked taller, and nobler, page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 "NOW I LIVE, AND NOW MY LIFE IS DONEl" and handsomer than ever, and his pleasant eyes seemed smiling for very joy whenever they looked at you. And miss begged hard not to be sent back to school, but to stay at the 'dear old court,' as she called it; and her uncle, who was fond of her in *his way, consented. Ahd for four months more they went on together, and he neither saw nor guessed a word of what every one else in the house knew perfectly. , . ; But it couldn't go on so forever,; lie found it out at last. He niever said a word ; that wasn't his sort; he just whisked his' niece away from Staffordshire without a word to any one, And when he came back alone, still pleasant and easy, he sent for me, and asked me if 1 would like to earn five hundred pounds? "You may guess what my answer was. I was always fond of money, and I wan'ted to marry Lticy, and set up a public when I'd saved money enough. I would have done a good deal for half or quarter the money; but I did refuse at first, when lie told me what he wanted me to do. He made me take my book oath never to speak of what passed between us while I lived, and I took it. I never broke that oath till now, but I can't-oh, good Lord!--I can't die with my wicked story untold! . "He told me Robert Lisle had married his niece in S6ot- land, and tha't Sir Vane Charteris, to whom sle had been en- gaged since she was fourteen, would hobl him responsiblei A Scotch marriage was no marriage, he said, but the law couldn't piove that without the public exposure of his niece, and that Sir Vane would never hear of. Robert Lisle must just be got quietly out of the country for good and all, and Miss Livy married to the baronet as if nothing had happened; and I was to help himntto do it. "That night he would place, in my presence and in Lisle's, a sum of money and a quantity of valuable jewels in the little safe in his library, leaving them in Mr. Lisle's charge, and going away himself as if for a few days' absence. And when he was gone, he would write a letter, as if coming from Miss Olivia, .asking her husband to come to her at once. He would go for certain, and take his portmanteau with him. And what lie wanted me. to do, and would pay me five hundred pounds to do, was to take the money and jewels out of the' safe, and ' sew them up carefully in the lining of Mr. Lisle's portmanteau. . They would be found there, and the threat of transportation would make him fly the country. And he gave me the dupli cate key of the safe. ' ': * ^{i "NOW I LIVE, AND NOW MY LIFE IS DONE!" 26i "Well, sir-it's a bad thinig to tell-I did it. I took the five hundred pounds, and I sewed up the money and jewels in the a poor young gentlemanl's travelling-bag. It all turned out as ',it[ masterhad foreseen-he got the letter, he packed his clothes, and started for London, and he was taken there and searched, and i the valuables found . :: "The next I heard, he had left England. I got my five hun- dred pounds-my wages of sin-and I left Mr. Lyndith's ser-r :, vice, and married Lucy, and set up the public-house. But I . never prospered. ' Luck went against me from the first. The -i. money was ill-gotten; it was blood-money-and everything , went wrong. I couldn't forget what I had done. It haunted me as if I had committed a murder, by day and night. I took to drink to drown thought, but I couldn't drown it' I knew I - , ^ had made two innocent people miserable for life.' And two years after our marriage Lucy died; and then I got quite des- perate, and the money went, and went; and at last I was ruined outright. And from that day'I have been a drunken vagrant, and now I'm dying here, and I couldn't die with it on ; my soul. Have you got it all down-all--all? . . He raised himself, once more on his elbow, looking more like a galvanized corpse than a livi g being. "All," replied Lord Montaiien, '"Are you able to sign thifr paper? ' :; "I'll try-give me the. pen." The door opened on the word, and Mrs. Young, the land- lady, entered with an elderly man, a clergyman. ' ' I "Just in time to witness this man's signature," remarked his lordship coolly. "He is dying, he says," addressing the clergy- \ \ mDan, "and has made a deposition wlich I have taken down. 'Will you just witness his signature, and affix your own?" ' It was done. Lord Montalien folded up the paper, and arose. . ' "Your\ wishes; my poor fellow, shall be carried out to the letter. The lady for whom it is designed is known to me, and will receive it at once., Set your mind at rest about that." He quitted the room, the precious- paper in' the breast- pocket of his coat, his eyes shining with a green, cat-like I light. "And so Pvulina Lisle is the elder daughter of Lady Char- teris; and inherits in law my lady's fortune of six thousanda '^ year in addition to her father's fortune. Yes, yes'! If I ha , never made the resolution of marrying her, willing or unwilling, i page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] i t i62 "N'OW Z LIVL AND NOWMY LIFE IS DONE!",; I would make it now. Why, she will be one of the richest heiresses in the United Kingdom ! Whether you like it or no. you shall be my wife, my peerless Paulina !" And then a vision rose before him of Paulina as he had seen *her last night-shining like a fairy, in pink silk, and tulle puffings, and dewy rose-buds in her golden hair-a vision whose very recollection seemed to light up the dingy lodging-house in Barton Street, Strand. "And now for the other," he thought, opening Alice's door -alas! poor Alice! "What an inconceivable ass I have made of myself about this milk-and-water, insipid, weeping non- entity! B ut she shall be disposed of as surely and safely as Geoffrey Lyndith disposed of Robert Lisle." She sat shivering before the smouldering fire as he entered, and rose up without a word as he'approached. The dull daylight was fast fading now, but in'the glow of the fire he could see the dead whiteness of her face; such a con- trast to that other face-fresh, smiling, rose-crowned ! "Awake, Alice?" he said,. kindly. " It is two hours since I first came, and you were asleep on the lounge yonder, and I would not disturb you. I have been sitting since with a wretched sick man, upstairs.". She looked and listened in pale amaze. Frank Earlscourt sitting two hours with a sick pauper ! , "I trust I see you in better -spirits than yesterday," he went on. " How do you like your new lodgings ?" "I have not 'thought about it. They are very well." Her spiritless voice, her spiritless attitude, told more plainly than words the story of her crushed heart., You will remain here quietly for the present; and if I should not be able to come to you as often as you-as I myself Would like, you must promise me to be patient-not to write to me again. You promise this, Alice ?" "I promise." "Of course, I d6n't like to see you unhappy or so.itary or that; but, unfortunately, in our position, it is inevitable. I have made a tremendous sacrifice for you. Don't be less gen- erous. Make this sacrifice for me. Wait until I give you leave to speak. You understand, Alice ?"' "I understand." , . She answered him as an automaton might, never looking up from the fading fire. " And you will obey ? " A r RzrGHTor . 263, :. "I' will obey." ' "On no account must you admit my brother or Stedman, or ' any of the people we know. Go-out as little as possible, and ! i when you do go out, wear a thick veil. In a few weeks, att most, I will find you a pleasant country home, where you will . i wait, in peace and comfort, until I can bring you forward as- , as Lady Montalien! You pledge yourself to' all this, Alice, and you will try not to feel lonely and low-spirited?" She lifted 'her eyes to his face for the second time since his .i entrance---such hopeless, hopeless eyes. : "I will try," she answered, in a voice more mournful than death. Then, gdod-by, Alice. Keep up your spirits, and don't be discouraged if I shouldn't be here again for: a couple of weeks. Trust me that I will come as soon as I can. Good-by." : "Good-by." She said it as mechanically as the rest, not stirring. He put on his hat, opened the door, turned, came" back, stooped and kissed her. For the last, the only time, a pang of compassion touched his heart of stone. "My poor little Alice!" he, said; "good-by." And then he was -gone. Back to that bright other world-'-. back to the velvet-hung, wax-lit world, where - lovely Paulina " Lisle shone a queen! AndiAlice stood where he had left her,. neither stirring nor moving for hours and hours. An outcast. ' -from home,'from parents, from friends, from love-alone for- .' ever and ever. . CHAPTER V. - AT BRIGHTON. N the day succeeding this memorable second of' - 1B [ November,. Sir Vane Charteris 'took his family to. . Brighton to spend thb remainder of the autumn. He' had hired a large furnished house on the East Cliff. : The situation was charming-the broad, bright sea spread away- and away until it melted into the broad bright sky. On very, " clear days you saw the bold coast of Dieppe from the windouws, 1 page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] - , 264 AT BRIGZCTON. and the Chain Pier glimmering in the frosty November sun. shine below the Cliff. Miss Lisle, for whose benefit the removal had chiefly been, enjoyed Brighton amazingly. In the first place, there was the sea, and Paulina loved the sea, pulsing forever through the ' still chill air, there were long canters over the golden Sussex downs, until the young lady's eyes shone like diamonds, and the usually pale cheeks like August roses. There were the pleasant sunny afternoons, when in the most ravishing of Parisian toilets she loitered. along the parade; listening to the band, and the airy, gallant nothings of sundry officers quartered at the Brighton Barracks. She drove to the Dike, in the loveliest little turn-out, with creatincolored high- steppers, for which her guardian had given a most fabulous price at Tattersall's, handling the ribbons like "Four-in-hand- Fossbrook" himself, to the admiration of all beholders. She- was the chief aim for all 'the lorgnettes at the pretty little theatre; and she went night after night to the Pavilion, where ,Patti was now enchanting the Brighton. world. She went ' a through the whole course of Brighton amusements--dining, ' dancing, promenading, theatre-going-and she never grew weary; her bright eyes never dimmed nor her smiles faded. She was the reigning beauty and belle ere she had been a week in the place, counting her admirers by the dozen, and flirting, I am afraid, in the most unconscionable manner. 'And on rainy days there were heaps of new music to practise, heaps of new novels to read; and for' only two years' study Miss Lisle's' playing and singing were really a marvel; her voice, some very enthusiastic admirers protesting, equal to that of Patti herself! And so Miss Lisle was fairly launched upon the sunny sea of society, for which she had been made. There was only one drawhack to all this blissful enjoyment-Lord Montalien, her ogre, who persisted in escorting thenm everywhere, on being the companion of her gallops over the downs, her drives, her. walks, and hanging on the back of her chair at the theatre all the evening long. He was at, the baronet's house by night and day; he dined invariably with the family whenever they dined at home, and half worried Paulina into'a fever with the zeal and oppression of his devotion. People began to link their names together. . ! Montalien was a shrewd fellow--always liked money, and he was going in for Miss Lisle. .Deuced deep fellow,'.a miser at AT BRIGHTON. 6 heart, not a bit like the Earlscourts-a shabby beggar, too, at . bottom-it was a pity so glorious a girl should be flung away upon such a cad! . ;. At the close of the second week Miss Lisle herself rebelled She had beeii trying for days back to throw off the yoke, but - in vain; there was a quiet power and determination about his ,iA lordship that bent most people to his iesolute will. But this young lady of eighteen had a will of her own, quite Us strong as his when she chose to assert it. She had, disliled Lord ,Montalien always ; she simplly detested him -now. His eyes, his smile; when bent upon her, revolted her, the cold touch of his fingers made her shudder with aversion; he stifled her . when he stood beside her at'the piano. He was fast becoming \ the bughear of her life. . She could not eradicate from her . mind the belief that he was the man, whho, under pretence of . marriage, had lured the friend she loved away from her home. . Pretence, for of late the sickening conviction that it had been. ; ' only pretence, had dawned upon her. She felt sure that he, with his artful character and subtle wiles, was the villain, and e i hated him .accordingly. And Paflina Lisle was what Dr. ::.: Johnson would have liked, a "good hater.". "He's like the death's-head at the, Egyptian banquets," she said to Mrs. Galbraith bitterly; "always present and always 'X l spoiling my pleasure.' Why does he niake pretence of stopping ' ^ :a at the Ship Hotel? Why doesn't he fetch his belogngingsand - :' i: take up his abode at once in this house? He is like one's :: shadow, or one's poodle, following forever, ho matter- where ' 1 ,one goes. Can't he see he is not wanted?" . "My dear, what language!" exclaimed Mrs. Galbraith. ' l "His lordship's attentions are most flattering to you. It is plain enough to be seen he is quite infatuated; and it'woulad . be a brilliant, yes, a splendid match for you. His income is , ' I clear fifteen thousand a year, and the title one of the oldest in Britain," - ",I don't object to the title or the income,"- replied Miss ^ Lisle, with candor; "the man I abhor!" " - ; ". Abhor, Paulina! Such strong language!" ' . i "Is not young-lady-like, I know ; but my feelings are strong, - B Mrs. Galbraithi and 'my manners,'have not the repose which . marks the cast of Vere de Vere." When I feel strongly, I :I must speak strongly; and I detest, abhor, and hate Francis. . Earlscourt, Lord, Montalien! There!", . ' ' Perhaps Paulina never really looked so pretty as when, in a i page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 AT BRIGHrTON. passlon. Hecr cheeks fltished up, her eyes sparkled, her whole . face kindled. To the eyes of the man who had entered un- heard, and stood screened by the curtained arch of the door- way, she looked as a blue-eyed Cleoipatra might when her Eastern blood was up. It was Lord Montalien; and the .old adage that listeners never hear any' good of themselves was never more fully verified. . "You! surprise me, Paulina-you shock me! Pray, let no ears but mine hear such language from your lips. Your dislike 'of Lord Montalien is most unjust; he is a model young man . in every respect." ".Yes, I know,'i retorted the, wilful beauty, with a, shrug; "that's one reason why I detest him. I can't bear model - young, men. His virtues are stperrhuman, I ackliowledge; and-I should smother in the same house with him 1 Your model young men, who possess all the cardinal virtues out- * wardly, are always villains at bottom." "Paulina, I really can't listen to this! I repeat he is an excellent, an exemplary young man. He is the best of land- lords, and his name heads every subscription list fqr most munificent sums." . "Everypub/isced subscription list, certainly! And I have read somewhere, . Let not your left hand knowwhat your right hand giveth.' His name heads those lists for munificent sums, and I saw him raise his horsewlip to a poor wretch yesterday who asked him for a shilling. Lord Montalien'has fifteen thousand a year, and he is a miser. If he wants me at all he wants my eighty thousand pounds to add to his store. As you seem to be a friend of his, Mrs. Galbraith, suppose you drop . him a hint to'spare me his company for the future. The mlore I see of him the more I dislike him." "Yot' are more than unjust, / iss Lisle; you are unchristian. I thought you were above repeating such cruel calumnies as these behind his back," "I will say them to his face, if you prefer it! I Will, I pro; test, if' he does not cease dogging me as he does. What 'busi- ness have peolle to couple our names? I would die before I would marry him! You call me unjust. I tell yqu, ' passion- ately,' I am izot. I have reason to hate him-i know he is the man wlo lured poor Alice Warren from her home." "Paulina! that person's name again!" said Mrs. Galbraith, , with austerity. "Did i not tell you it was indelicate of you : even to allude to her?" ' ' *' - - ... . . . . - ' ':, ;1; , :i AT BRIGHTON. 267 } "Yes, you told me, Mrs. Galbraith," the girl answered, with , a hard laugh. "You ,do your duty by me in every respect. She has been ufifortunate, through no fault of hers; she is in misery and poverty, perhaps, and it is indelicate in' her oldest , friend to mention her name 1 Poor little Alice!" "Through no fault of hers! I don't understand you. 'The fault was hers, and she must bear the penalty. You persisted in advertising for her-let that suffice. She is a lost creature, - whose name you should blush to mention. And, for the test, no one thinks of her in connection with his lordship-the un- happy young woman fled from home with his disreputable younger brother." If Never!"Paulina's eyes flashed fire, "They travelled up to London together; a coincidence-nothing more. Guy " Earlscourt affirmed to Alice's father that he was not the part- : ner of her flight, and Mathew Warren believes hini So do I --so does Captain Villiers." "Captain Villiers!" 1" "Yes; he was one of the men stopping in the house at the tihme; and he is here, you know. Yesterday on the pier I i asked himl-" ... "Paulina! you asked him?" ; "Don't faint, Mrs. Galbraith. Yes, I had the shocking aiu- ^ :dacity to ask him if he could throw any light on 'the'stibject- if he believed Lieutenant Earlscourt to be the man: with whom . - ;: she fled. And lhe saidno, emphatically no. They all admired her-he, Sir Harry Gordon, Lord Montalien, and Guy-Guy, least of all; Guy, in the way of'courtship, never." "Perhaps he told you also whom he did suspect?"i : 'B "No, "men don't tell of each other; he did not. But unless ; Alice herself camle before me, and told me Lord Montalien was ; guiltless, I would not believe it.. Now you know why I dislike :' him!' His coniduct to his brother, too, is abominable. Three , ,times last week Guy was arrested for debt,' and taken to some ' . horrid place; a 'sponging-house,' Captain Villiers called it;. and not once did Lord Montalien, with his fifteen thousand pounds a year, come forward to aid him. No, he left it to his ' old maiden aunt. Who could like such a man as thati?. Why . doesn't he pay his brother's debts, as an olly brother should?" - - " 't "You talk like a child, Paulina. Guy Earlscourt deserves ^' I neiiher your pity nor his brother's help. He is one of the fast- est, most reckless young men of his day, possessed of every vitu under heaven, I believe- : ' ,t * ' - . . . ?! , page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] ! * " ,. - ^ * , ' . . , , 268 AT BRIGHTON. "That will do, Mrs. Galbraith! Who is calumniating the absent now?, With all his vices, I believe he'is far the better' man of the two. He used to have al heart, at least. Lord Montalien, like the goddess Minerva, was born withoutthat in- convenient appendage. And now," pulling out her wtlch, and with her brightest smile, "if we have done quarrelling, sup- pose we go for a drive?" Quarrtls like this were bf no rare occurrence between Mrs. Galbraith and her charge. Mrs. Galbraith had the stereotyped idea of what a young lady should be-low-voiced, calm-pulsed -a gentle nonentity, who did what she was told, like a good child; who had no ideas of her own whatever, but took them, as she did her pocket-money, from the hands of her guardian. Paulina was as unlike this ideal'as can well be imagined; her pretty head was full of ideas-new, startling, heterodox- . and her pretty lips gave those ideas utterancei unhesitatingly. She was saucy, wayward, capricious, with strong likes and dis- likes; as rebellious a young person of eighteen as ever bad- gered a chaperone. Perhaps it was her sparkling originality, . so discomfiting to Mrs. Gallraith, that. drew such crowds of admifrrs around her. She was bewitching, she was fascinating, she was a Circe, the spell of whose eyes and smile brought the best men in Brighton to her side and feet. "I wish I could see Mr. Earlscourt," she'thought, as she lay back in the barouche; "I would ask him about Alice. -'He went up with her to London, and he may know something. I will never give up--never rest until I find her." Miss Lisle had het wish' that very night. As she, On her guardian's arm, made her way, near midnight, through some crowded assembly rooms, she saw, standing talking to. Captain Villiers, Guy Earlscourt. An eager light of pleasure and recognition came into her face. He was a spendthrift, a gamblbr-she had heard--he was over head and ears in debt; social outlawry threatened him; the world spoke bitterly of him ; his excellent elder brother hated hil ; and for all this the girl's impetuous, gener- ous heart went out toward him. It was childish, perhaps, but his very misdeeds threw a halo of romance around him. He was Monte Christo, Mephistopheles, Don Giovanni; and, he was so very, very handsome, poor fellow, and he had such a, noble air-there was not another man in the room who looked so distinguished as he. She remembered hiim as she had seen him last, with the suln- AT BRIdZITON. -, 269 - shine lighting up his dark face as he bowed good by. ; The - . M" dark splendor of that Italian face was'a trifle dimmed now- "Iansquenet after balls, and absinthe before breakfast will tell ' . f in the end," as Captain Villiers said to her; he seemed thin and worn, and the great, luminous, pathetic brown eyes looked ' at you with a tired light. Withal, he was dressed in the per. fection of taste--a knot of Russian violets in' his button-hole-- ' and more than one pair of bright eyes beside Paulina's turned upon him with shy admiration as he stood there in that attitude ; of languid'grace. . . - "\ ,I say, Guy! there she is, by Jove! and your brother. in lher wake, as usual. The Lisle, I mean-prettiest thing the ' ;: sun shines on. She rides better, waltzes better, talks better, , and sings better'than any girl I know; and she has eighty thousand; and your brother is making play there in a way that' ; i leaves no room for lesser mortals. Look at her I Loveliest ; woman in the rooms-isn't she?" , Guy looked lazily. He had come expressly down to Brighton i . to have a look at her; but the rooms were warml and not even -. . for the beauty of Brighton was he prepared to excite himself. He looked, with languid admiration, at the exquisite face, -' conscious of his gaze, and drooping a littl, under it. ' "Yes,"' he said, at last; "you're right, Villiers. She is . ; , handsome-always was though, I remember-and thorough- .' bred as a princess. See how disdainfully she glances at Monti.! He has no show, I'm certain; and I'm glad of it. It would be ' a sacrilege to throw such a girl as that away on FTank."' "Suppose you go in and win, yourself; Guy. You could, you know.' She talks of you, and remembers you, and pities you for your misfortunes, as she terms it. Eighty thousand is about your figure; and then it would be a pleasure to cut out ; your brother." ;.1i "Well, yes," Guy said, stroking his black- mustache; "if anything could make me enter the list, it would 'be that; but I don't think I shall add fortune-hunting to my other enormi- ties just-yet. Miss Lisle deserves a better fate, poor little girl, : - than to fall a victim to either of us." , " "She-is looking this way," the other said, eagerly.. "Conie, il Earlscourt, let us go and ask her to dance!" .' -i "What! you, too, George, one, of her slaves? No; jthe 'Tenth' don't dance. Not even Miss Lisle's attractions$ can ^ induce me to the madness of waltzing, wih the thermmdneter I at its present height. I don't know that I shall trouble Miss page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 A T BRZIGITON I isle at all-not worth while, as I return to town again to' morrow." So Captain rilliers went up alone and wrote his name on Miss Lisle's tablets; and if that young lady wondered a little at Guy's neglect, her face did h6t show it.. She danced with Villiers-with nearly every man who asked her, saver and except Iord Montalien; and more than once her eyes followed the tall form of-Guy Earlscourt as he moved in his slow, grace- ful way through the warm roomns. "Why does he not speak to me?" she wondered. "How unkind of hinm! I am determined to speak to him, however, before the evening ends. He must tell me something of Alice." She went into the music-room presently, on the arm of Captain Villiers, and sat down to sing. The rumor that Miss isle was about to sing was enough to insure an audience. She glanced saucily over her shoulder as the apartment filled, and saw, leaning against a column near the doorway, Lieuten- ant Earlscourt, and a sudden inspiration seized her, and the song she, had sung two years ago at Montalien Priory, while lie bent over her, broke like a bird's trill from her lips. : Ah 1 County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange-flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark whose lay has trilled all day, Sits hushed, his partner nigh ; Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, But where is County Guy? "The village maid steals through the shade, Her lover's suit to hear; To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born cavalier. Tho star of love, all stars above, Nowreigns o'er earth and sky, And high and low his influence know-- But where is County Guy?" He had drawn near involuntarily-he was standing close beside her when she arose from the piano, and she held out her hand to him at once with her most radiant, her most saucy smile. . "Bu? where is County Guy? I thought you would remem. )er the old song even if you have forgotten poor me.' Mr. Earlscourt, won't you say 'how do you do' to Polly Mason?' Guy Earlscourt was no stoic. He bent above the little land, and murmured his thanks, at her gracious remembrance. l , . * * ] * - St ' * "- ; O, . ' p JAT BRIGHTONM , v , AT \ "Citron. 7t - "!I had scarcely hoped for so great an honor," he said, ' 5 "among the hundreds of new friends, of adorers, who surround . the belle of Brighton. You must pardon my not coining for- . i ward sooner, and claiming recognition-it. was my very great- modesty, I assure 'ou." . "The first time I ever heard you credited with the virtue," ' ? 'laughed Paulina, taking his arm. She was at her' brightest now; she had had what she sodearly loved-her own way. "Or any other virtue, I fear. Doegn't Mrs. Galbraith do- . is her duty, and tell you what a monster I am?" . ".Mrs. Galbraitl does her duty, and tells me what a monster you are. But I have a great deal of courage-thanks to my - early training; and I'm not afraid of monsters. Mr. Earls . court, I have been wanting'to see you very much, to speak to ii you upon- a subject, the one trouble of my life, and I can't , here, among this crowd. Will you' take me somewhere where' we can talk undisturbed?" . ; Her perfect innocence, and the nearness of the subject tob her heart gave her courage, verging upon boldness, perhaps. ^ But she did not mean to be bold, and she went with hinm out' - on the balcony-deserted by all save themselves. He \had ... - gone to the cloak-room, and got her wrap-a voluminous' drapery of soft blue, woollen stuff, white silk and swan's-down- . ' and wrapped it reverently about her. The night was mild as . . summer, the great stars burned in the purple night' slky, the wide, dark sea lay tranquilly beneath, the music from the ball. ' room came faint and far off. The memory of that night, and of the girl by his side, remained with Guy Earlscourt through all the after years-the sweet, earnest young face, the large, luminous eyes, the trailing golden hair, bound back with pearls ' : . and roses, and the tall, graceful figure, draped in its soft blue'. mantel. It haunted him for wearyyears of exile with nameless le pain. . "You know what I want to tlk to you about, I suppose, Mr. Earlscourt?" she began, inulsively. "Where is Alice - Warren " . - ^ 'I; 'The blue, earnest eyes were curiously watching him.. Wa ^ he guilty? No, guilt never looked back at her as he looked. I wish I knew, Miss Lisle. I don't, I assure you. I ant afraid our poor little friend has come to grief." : . 'f Mr. Earlscourt, you know that some people say---s'ay ." her face drooped a little, " that she fled with you." * "I know it. It is not true. We were up to town togeether page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 7 T' * 'T '7 / I I 7 * 272 AT BRZGHTONe. -that was the first I knew of her flight, and she asked fie to see her safe to her destination. It was night, and she was afraid-alone in London." "And you did?" breathlessly. "I did. I went with her to the place, a lodging in Totten- ham Court Road, and left her in charge of the landlady. That was nine weeks ago." "And you have never seen ler since." "Yes, once ; nearly a fortnight ago. Upon my return fronl Germany, I went to the place a second time. She was still there-only the pallid shadow of the blooming Alice you knew. But she told me nothing, and I asked no questions. She was known in the house by the name of Mrs. Brown." "I will go to London to-morrow and find her," cried impetu- ous Paulina. ." Oh, Mr. Earlscourt, I felt sure you could tell me something. I am so glad, so thankfutl for this!" "Miss Lisle, I am sorry to dash your hopes, but it is too late. She is gone!" "Gone!" , "The following day I returned again. I pitied her very much, Miss Iisle. Her wan, wretched face, her tears, -made me miserable. I went back, and she was gone. The gentle- man, the servant said, had called after I ,had left, and Mrs. Brown looked dreadful when she went away, and he paid the landlady, and told her Mrs. Brown was about to leave London. Next morning a cab came for her and took her and her things away. I could learn no more--the servant knew nothing of 'her destination.' 'Paulina's face looked very blank. "Oh, Mr. Earlscourt, tell me who this man is-this bad, bad man, who has lured her away from her home-who promised faithfully to marry her, and make her happy? You suspect-- you must suspect-tell me who it is!" "Pardon me, Miss Lisle; not even to you may I bi;eathe my suspicions." "It is your brother-I know it is--he always admired her- years ago, when he saw her first, he was struck by, her. And he denies it; but I have vowed to discover the t6uth, andI shall" i Her handsome lips set themselves in a resolute line-her blue eyes flashed in the starlight through her passionate tears. "You are a true friend, Miss Lisle, and they say women do not know, the meaning of the word friendship for each other." * ' , *.. - - * ' I AT BRIGHTON. 273 "I love Alice like a sister. Those I have once liked 1 like always, let them do what they will." "Your friends are fortunate people, Miss Lisle. You should add\ me to the list; it would be a splendid opportunity of exercising your charity. I don't deserve a friend, I am quite aware, still I think it would be pleasant to have one." " I am your friend," she answered, quietly. "What I in spite of all the atrocious things Frank, Sir Vane, Mrs. Galbraith and the world must have told you of such a black sheep as myself?" with his rare smile. "In spite of all. If one deserts one's friends because they are unfortunate, I would not give much for friendship." "Unfortunate I " he smiled again. "That is a mild word to apply to such a ne'er-do-well as I am. Still, I thank you, Miss Lisle; I will not soon forget your kind indulgence." She glanced at hifil, looking very haughty and handsome in the dim light. Then her head drooped-she began playing nervously with her tassels. He was in debt; she had more money than she knew what to do with; she felt a great com- passion for him stirring in her heart; if he would only let her help him. [ "Mr. Earlscourt,' she faltered, " they-say-you are in. debt," words coming slowly and painfully.' "If I am your friend, will you not let me-oh, don't be hurt-don't be offended, please-but won't you let me help you? I have so much money. I don't want it, and it would make me so happy if only you would--" I He made a sudden, swift motin that stopped her. "Not a word more, Miss Lisle I From my soul I am grate- ful to you, but you must see it is impossible. Believe me, I will not readily forget your generosity of this night, unworthy af it as I am."' ^ He was more moyed than he cared to show. She shrank away a little, feeling pain, pity, embarrassment in nis presence. "I am unworthy of your compassion-remember that, Miss Lisle. All they have told you of me is true. Whatever has befallen me 'is merited. I have wrought my own ruin. And the end is very near. ,' Facilis descensus Averni I' And I am at the bottom of the pit. Well, the descent at least has been pleasant, and when oblivion .comes there is nothing to do but let the waters close over my head; to go out to the exile I have richly earned; to accept my fate and sink from sight-; Ink ,?i page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] ^ ' . ^74 IN WHCI'Ilr MSS LISLE IS DISPOSED OF. and when the finale comes-a shot in a gambling hell most likely-to cover my face and die with dignity. Am I boring you with a sermon? and you shiver, while I selfishly keep you here in the cold. Don't waste your pity on me, Miss'Lisle; I don't deserve it?let-ime take you back to the ball-room." She was shivering, but not with cold, and she was very pale in the glaring gaslight when she re-entered the warm rooms. 'He resigned her with a low bow to her next partner. The tears were hardly dry on her long lashes yet as she was whirled away in the redowa, tears not all, perhaps, for Alice Warren. Five minutes after Lieutenant Earlscourt quitted the ball. By the first train next morning he quitted Brighton, carrying with him the memory of the sweet, impassioned face upon which the stars had shone. , / ., .- ,-' , . CHAPTER VI.' . IN WHCH MSS LISLE IS DISPOSEI OF. ISS LISLE was destined to have still another tete-&- tete that memorable night. The redowa over, she sent her partner for an ice-only a pretext to get rid of him, however. The place was stiflingly warm, it seemed 4to her now; the dances had been interminable, tie commonplace nothings of the young officer insufferably stupid. She passed along unobserved, as she fancied, to the half-lit, wholly deserted music-room, and throwing herself into a seat by the window, looked moodily out at the coming dawn. The stars had set; faint streaks of gray in the east be- . tokened the dawn of another morning. The ball was breaking up already. Mrs. Galbraith was looking for her, no doubt; but she never thought of that long-suffering chaperone. Her heart was full of a great pity for the man who had gone-sentimental ahd undeserved, you will say; but she was only eighteen, and he was so very handsome. Had Mr. Earlscourt been the hapless possessor of a pug nose and dull gray eyes, he might have gone to his ruin without causing Miss Lisle a second thought, but the l IN WHCH MSS LISLE IS DISPOSED OF. 275 pale, dark face was simply perfect, and: the large, brown eyes -i , pathetic in their dark, dreamy lustre, although their owner might be musing on the odds for the Derby, or whether the bailiffs mightlnot pounce upon him the instant he returned to London. .?": As she sat there lost in thought, a voice at her elbow spoke: "I have been searching for you everywhere, my dear Miss ' Lisle. I have come to reproach yolu-you have treated me with merciless cruelty all night." " , She looked around angrily at the sound of the voice she dc-i - tested most. Was she never to be rid of this lman? ' Loid Montalien gives himself a great deal of unnecessary trouble," she answered, in her iciest voice, and ignoring the re- proach altogether. "Miss Lisle,' you have danced with"every man in the rooms, I believe, but myself. What have I done?" "Nothing whatever. Like Caesar's wife, my Lord Monta- lien is above replroach." - "How bitterly you say that! Miss Lisle, do you hate me?"! Miss Lisle was silent, playing with her fan . "I will not endure this!" he cried, stung into real or feigned'i , 'passion. "You treat me like a dog, and 1-I would die for you!" , ' Paulina raised her fan to hide a dismal yawn. "Extremely heroic of you, my lord.' I couldn't think of put- ting you to any such inconvenience." '. J "Is this my brother's doing?' I saw you and Guy together' ; on the balcony." - '- "Oh 1 you did! I did not know you had done us the honor- - of watching us!" "I beg your pardon, Miss Lisle," his lordship said, with dignity. "You might have spared me that gratuitous affront. I did not watch you-you went out together openly enough fot all, in the, music-room to see, if they chose. What has Guy " : been saying to my discredit? ' "My lordi you do your brother scarcely justice when you dsk that question. Guy Earlscourt is no coward to stab-in '^ -the dark." '/ - "He has a warn friend in you, it would seem." "l "He has," she-answered, briefly. - "Then, with all his madness, with all his miserable reckless- ness, he is to be envied. You give him your friendship, and. ^ you shut me out, Again I ask, Miss Lisle, what have I done? At least I have the right'to know that 1-"' page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 276 'IN WHZICI MSS LISLE IS DISPOSED OF. ; "And again I answer, Lord Montalien," replied Paulina, struggling with another yawn-" nothing! Your conduct in every phase of life is exemplary. Will that satisfy you? I hear Mrs. Galbraith bleating after her lambkin, in the distance, and mulst go." "Wait one moment!" his lordship impetuously exclaimed -" only one instant! I can bear this suspense no longer!--I must speak to-night! Paulina, I love you! Will you be my wife?" He bent above her, his eyes glowing, his thin, sallow face flushed. The excitement of the chase had carried him away; her very disdain, hardly concealed, spurred him on. He knew perfectly what her answer would be-yet he spoke. She rose up and looked at him, neither surprised nor embar- rassed; then she turned away. "You honor me by your preference," she said, in her coldest voice.' "At the same time, I do not think you expect me to say anything but no!' " She Inoved a step away, but he came before her, his arms folded, that lpale glow in his eyes still. "Miss Lisle, I am to understand you reject me?" She bowed her head. "You do not love me?" ' "I do not love you." "But, PAulina, pause-think. I offer you one of the oldest titles in England; and my position and income are such as to prevent the most malicious from calling me a fortune-hunter. p And I love you to distraction- I would serve for you as Jacob served for Rachel. I will give you time, only do not-do not utterly reject me." His voice broke, he turned away; his acting was perfect, but it was acting, and a faint, cynical smile curved the girl's perfect lips. ' My lord," she said, and her sweet, clear voice rang silvery and distinct, "'let us understand each other. You do not love I me, whatever your motive in asking me to be your wife. My feelings: in regard to you I have not striven to conceal. Be- fore you spoke to me you knew perfectly what my answer would be. I believe you to be, in spite of everything you have said, the betrayer of Alice Warren-I feel it-I know it, as surely as we stand here. Let there be an end of this farce then, at once and forever-cease to persecute me with atten- tions as unwelcome as they are useless." , .., - : I , IN WHCH MSS LISLE IS DISPOSED OF. 277 She had fairly roused him, fairly angered him, as she meant to ' do. His open en'mity was better than his hypocritical devotion. ' Take care!" he said, under his breath, as he always spoke when really moved; "even you may go too far, Paulina. Much as I love you, even from you I will not endure insult. I know nothing of Alice Warren or her miserable story. My brother, of wjlom you speak so tenderly, is the man with whomi she fled." "My lord, will you let me pass? I repeat I hear Mrs. Gal-; braith's voice." "You utterly and forever reject me?" "I utterly and forever reject you!" "Will nothing move you-the devotion of a life? Think again-I adore you-I offer you such a position as may never - be offered you again. You are as ambitious as you are beau- tiful.' Think once more before you refuse to become Lady Montalien." "If I thought for a hundred years it would not make one atom of difference. You are right; I am ambitious; and to the title of Iady Montalien I. only object, because ypu offer it. ^ Is that plain enough? Will you let me pass?" ) He looked at her with a sneering smile, his arms still folded across his chest. . "If Guy stood in my place, you mean, and made you the- , same offer, your answer would be very different." W "I mean that, if you like. I would a thousand times sooner .; marry your'brother, ruined as he is this hour, than you, with ;: your spotless name and immaculate character. Let me pass, i I command you, Lord Montalien ". ' : Her eyes were flashing now--every nerve tingled' at his- sneer, at his insulting tone. , ' "Pass, Miss Lisle," he said; "I forgive and overlook your cruelty, and will still venture to hope on. If you knew meI better you would know I am not a man easily turned from any* purpose on which 1 have set-my heart, and my heart is set very- ' strongly on winning and wedding you. Will you take my arm to the dressing-room? You will not? Ah, well, you are e x-. cited now.. The day may come when. I will repeat my offer, . and you will listen more graciously." .^ "The day will never come," she retorted, in a blaze of defi- . ance. "How dare you address such insolentwords to me, . .- Lord Montalien? You are less'than man; I will never speaklt c one'word to you again as long as I live!" *-- . ' * ' 1 ^ ' ^^-i^ L." IY page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 IV WHCH MISS LISLE, IS DISPOSED OF. He only smiled. "A child's threat, my peerless Paulina." But she had swept away like an outraged young empress, her eyes flashing fire, her whole form instinct with anger and hatred. d "A child's threat," she thought, setting her white, small teeth. "He shall see whether or no I can keep a woman's vow." He stood at the carriage door when she reached it as though nothing had happened, and courteously held out his hand to assist her to enter. Her eyes flashed their fire upon him as she rejected the help proffered, and sank back among her wraps in the remotest corner. Mrs. Galbraith followed, then Sir Vane, and, to her unspeakable disgust, Lord Montalien. He was completely himself again-no trace of the stormy. scene in the music-room showed on his placid face. He dis- cussed the ball with Mrs. Galbraith, his brother's unlooked-for appearance there with Sir Vane, and' once or twice leaned smilingly forward to address a remark to the sullen beauty in the corner. Dead silence followed those remarks-Miss Lisle could keel her word as well as he. "She would never speak' to him again," she had said in her passion; it would seem she meant to keep her word. The pallid dawn was already overspreading the sky when they reached the East Cliff: His lordship followed them into the house. Miss Lisle and Mrs. Galbraith went at once to their respective apartments, and Sir Vane, yawning very much, looked well disposed to follow; but his lordship laid his hand familiarly on his shoulder, and detained him. "Rather an unseasonable hour, I kiow," he said, blandly, "but could I have a word with you in private, Sir Vane, before you retire?" . The baronet looked at him in surprise, and led the way to- ward his study. A fire burned in the grate, two easy chairs were placed before it, a pair of waxlights burned on the man- tel. By their light the baronet saw that his lordship looked as widelyawake, as little sleepy, as though it had been high noon. He flung himself impatiently into one of the arm-chairs, and pulled out his watch. "Half-past five, Montalien," he said; "and I'm infernally sleepy. Look sharp about iti will you, or I shall be as fast as a church before you are half through." . , "' have no such fear, my'dear Sir Vane; you will not go to sleep until you have heard every word, I am quite si're. Can you guess, in the least? what it is I wish to say?" IN WHICH MSS LISLE IS DISPOSED OF. 279 "I am no OEdipus, but I may venture to surmise, it is some- thing about my ward." "Precisely, Sir Vane." "I noticed she cut you dead all night, and in the carriage coning hoime. Have you and she-lhad a quarrel? She's the devil's own temper, I believe, when her blood's up.": "Quite right in every respect, Sir Vane. We have quarrelled, . and she has the devil's own temper. Now who do you suppose, she inherits that unhappy disposition from? Not her mother, surely-Lady Charteris, it seems to me, was the gentlest of created beings." The baronet rose from his chair-his dark face turning yellow. "What do you mean?" he asked. "What has the name o Iady Charteris to do with Miss Lisle?" '- "Sit down, Sir Vane; pray don't excite yourself. I merely . said Paulina must inherit her temper and headstrong disposition from Robert Lisle, Lady Charteris being the most tractable of wives, the most yielding of women." . "Lord Montalien, what am I to understand-" "That I know all," his lordship interrupted, tersely. "That Lady Charteris-nay, give her her rightful name-Mrs. Rob-. ' ef1 Lisle, is Paulina's nother " ' ' The baronet sank doW\n in his scat, livid with amazement! and consternation, ^ I ' : "By what right," he demanded hoarsely, "do you dare make ' tiis insinuation?" . : ' By the right of knowledge, by the right of truth, Paulita , ^ Lisle is the elder daughter and heiress of the lady the'world;' '" thinks your wife. Thinks, only, for she has never fairly one second really been that. Robert Lisle is her husband. Pau- lina Lisle is her daughter and heiress, as I said, and your , i daughter is-"'" 'He paused. Sir Vane sprang from his chair once more, a. , very devil of firy in either eye. ' : "If you dare!" he cried, "I will throttle you where yout sit." ' "Then I will not dare," returned Lord Montalien, with his qtuiet smile, that was like oil thrown upon fire. ".Sit dcwn, Sir ' Vane, .sit down, and don't you lose your temper, as well' as ? your ward. It is only a weak man's folly-a wise one nye y- perlits himself to get angry. Sit down, and let us talk ltis matter out quietly and clearly if we can. I knew you woul]i f : t r page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 IN WHCH MSS LISLE IS DISPOSED OF. interested, and even at half-past fivd in the morning would not fall asleep." ' The baronet sank back in his chair, literally trembling with rage and terror. He had thought his secret so safe-Lady Charteris shut up in a mad-house, Robert Lisle in exile, and. /Duke Mason afraid to speak, bound by promise never to reveal it. And here, in the hour when he thought himself safest, the last man alive he would lave suspected of knowing it, started up, aware of the whole truth! "This has taken you by surprise, Sir Vane," continued the e smooth tones of his lordship, "and yet I have known it for some time. It is no clever guess-work, no supposition, as per- halps you may think. I happen to know what I am saying. I happen to be able to prove it, if necessary. Carry your mind back twenty years ago or so to the lifetime of Mr. Geoffrey Lyndith, and try if you can recollect a very useful valet in his service, by name James Porter." The baronet gaive one inarticulate gasp at the name. "Ah! I see you do remember. Perhaps you thought the man dead. Well, he is dead now, and the deposition he made in his dying hours is in my possession at present. I only won- der a clever man, such as I take the late Mr. Lyndith to have been, should be so weak as to intrust this kind of secret to a servant. Believe, me, we should do these sort of things our- selves, Sir Vane, or leave them undone. The lower classes, you will find, as a rule, are troubled with iervousness-con- science, I think they call it-and sooner or later make a clean breast of the whole affair. Porter did. By the merest accident -one of those accidents that rule the lives of all of us-I came upon him in his dying hours,.and took down his deposi- tion. I have that document safe. I wonder what Robert Lisle or---your wife--let us call her your wife --would not give for it? You comprehenid now, Sir Vane, that your secret is * your secret no longer?" "What do you want?" the baronet asked, in the same hoarse voice. "I want to marry Paulina Lisle." "And to claim the fortune of Lady Charteris?" "No, Sir Vane; if I did I should not ask your aid* I prom. ise to resign all claim upon Lady Charteris' estate, to hand over to you Porter's confession, on condition that you compel Paul- ina to marry me." t Compel "I/ , A . , ' -, ' , . ' I WHCH' MSS LISLE IS DISPOSED 'OF. 281 "Compel-nothing but compulsion will ever make, her do it. She hates me, and makes no secret of her hatred. I have set my heart on winning her-I will move heaven and earth to do it, and I will look to you to aid me.' . "My lord, this is the nineteenth century. Young girls are not forced into marrying men they hate, even by their guardians." . "Sir Vane Charteris, it was the. nineteenth century when Olivia Lyndith was forced by her guardian to marry a man she hated! What was done sixteen years ago can be done again." ( The dark blood rose up over the baronet's face. It was: a moment before he could command his rage sufficiently to speak. "That was different-she had a motive, and her uncle kept her in solitary confinement until she was ready to consent to ' anything." "Her uicle, I repeat, was a clever man. Emulate his ex- ample, my dear baronet. Do as he did-try foul means if ,. fair will not answer. Solitary confinement will have the same wholesome effect, upon the daughter it had upon the mother. ,a There is your -place, 'The Firs'-solitary enough and dreary enough for any prison, Mrs. Galbraith says. Take her down there; keep her there until she yields." "Lord Montalien, it cannot be done. She has the obstinacy of the deuce, and the cunning of the demon. We might keep her shut up there for months, and she would not yield; and what would the world say?" ' "What will the world say when I discover Lady Charteris' , hiding-place, and give her the papers I hold? What will' the : world say when the conspiracy of the late, Geoffrey Lyndith comes to light?" "A conspiracy in which I had no part." Lord Montalien smiled grimly. "Robert Lisle was in the church upon the day of your mar. -riage, and you saw him face to face. Six o'clock." He paused until the last chime vibrated, and then arose. "I will not detain you from your needful rest a moment Ion- ger, Sir Vane. You will think over this matter, and will do as I :suggest, I am .sure. Bring all the influence you and your sister possess to bear upon this wilful girl; let fair means be tried Iuntil patience ceases to be a virtue. Then take her to 1 the Firs.' I will go with you; night and day I shall plead page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 N WHCHZ MSS LISLE IS DISPOSED OF. my suit, until, as constant dropping wears a' stone, she yields at length." The baronet arose, too. The daylight stealing through the curtains and struggling with the waxlights, fell pale on their pale faces. "Lord Montalien, why do you wish so strongly to marry this girl?" , "Rather a delicate question. Because I love her, of course. You don't believe that. Well, here's another reason for you- I want to marry her because I want to marry her. She hates me, she scorns me! Let her! I shall tame that pride yet, bring her to her knees, humble her to the dust. I love her, I admire her, and I hate her altogether. I am determined to marry her in spite of fate,in spite of herself. Sir Vane Char- teris, I wish you good-morning!" "' Mrs. Galbraith, who is to take us to the concert to-night?" Miss Lisle looked up from Le Follet to ask this question. It was the evening succeeding the ball. Dinner was over, and, for a wonder, Lord Montalien had not dined at the East Cliff. The cosey Brighton drawing-room was a pretty picture, with its silken hangings, ruby-hued; its Axminster carpet, its proof engravings, its hot-house flowers, its glowing coal-fire, and its softly abundant gaslights. Outside the wintry stars shQone frostly in the deep blue, and the wintry wind whistled shrilly up from ' the dark, wide sea. The belle of Brightoh, nestling in a low dormouse before the fire-for she loved warmth like a tropical bird-in the full glow of the leaping light, looked fresh as a rose, and quite as lovely. Mrs. Galbraith, shrouded in Chantilly lace, and reading also, laid down her high-church novel, and Miss Maud Charteris, at the piano, ceased singing to hear the answer. "Yesterday morning," pursued the heiress, "it was decided we were to'go with Sir Vane. Two hours ago Sir Vane left by the express train for London. Now, who is- to take us to the concer t?" The concert of which the young lady spoke was a concert of more than usual interest for her. Her love for music amounted ,to a passion, and to-night the Signor. Carlo Friellson- was to make his first appearance. Her heart had been set upon going, as the lady in Chantilly lace very well knew. - "Lord Montalien, of course," she said, in her smooth, even voice: "I expect him every moment; and really, it is almost . eight, and quite time to dress." . . .. ' . . , , . IN WHCH MSS LISLE IS DISPOSED OF. 283 Miss Lisle's eyes fell once more upon the pages. of Le Fiollet, and Miss Lisle's lips set themselves in that resolute line that Mrs. Galbraith very well knew meant " breakers ahead." "Paulina, dear, you heard me?" in her most dulcet tones. "Maud, ring for Paulina's maid. It is tiple to dress for the , concert. There will be such a crush, that it is best to be early.". "Don't trouble yourself, Maud," said Paulina, quietly; "I. shall not go." ' "Not go, Paulina?" / Paulina laid'down Le Follet, ahd looked across at her cha. perone with steady blue eyes. "I shall not go, Mrs. Galbraith. More-I will never go ,anywhere again with 'Lord Montalien. If he had come here to dine to-day, I should have left the table. It is quite out 6f my- power to forbid him the hduse, or Sir Vane's box at the theatre, or you from picking him up whenever we go out to drive, but what is in my power to do I will. 'It shall be no fault 'of mine, if people couple our names together. I told. Lord Mon-. talien last night pretty plainly what I thought of him--now I ; tell you. 'Do not let my whims make any difference in your - 1 plans. You and Maud are both dying to go to the debut of this' ew Mario. Go, by all means-I shall not " ' And then she went back to Le Follet. All Mrs. Galbraith could say was of no avail. Miss Lisle',s ultimatum had been- . Spoken, all the eloquence of men and angels would not have .i4 ' moved her. Lord Montalien called, and Mrs. Galbraith and Maud went. ::: He listened, with his calm smile, .to the story of Paulina's head-- ' strong caprice. *, "As the queen pleases," he said with a shrug; i a little :l solitude will do her no harm. In half an hour she will be fran- tic that she has not come." -il Would she? The instant the carriage drove away Paulina l. jumped up, flung Le Follet across the room, and rang a peal -':i for her maid that nearly broke down the bell. "Quick, Jane," she cried; "dress me in two minutes, and . . make me as pretty as ever you can." . l Her eyes were dancing now. It was little, wild, mischievous i-5 Polly Mason onbcemiore. "Jane was a weil-trained English lady's-maid, and nothingi under the canopy of heaven ever surprised her. She did dress ' her yoUng mistress in ten. minutes, and to perfection. Paulina . looked at herself in the glass, and saw that the flowing pink sil k, hi v ' ?i page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 IN WhlII MSS LISLE IS DISPOSED OF. and the long trailing cluste f lilies in her golden hair were cexquisite. Diamond drop sparkled in her ears, soft illusion veiled the snowy-white bust and arms. Her fan of pearl and rose-silk, her bouquet of lilies and blush roses lay side by side. She looked like a lily herself--tall, slim, fair. "Now my opera cloak. Quick, Jane." Jane flung it over her shoulders, and the hood over her head. Miss Lisle drew on her gloves, gathered tip her shimmering silken train, and swept out of the house with that dancing light in her eyes, that provoking smile on her lips. She tripped down the front steps and along the lamp-lit street t: for a few yards. Then she rang the bell of a large house, and was admitted by a footman. "Is A Mrs. Atcherly at home?" she asked. 1' Whit! Paulina!" exclaimed a lady, in the act of crossing the hall, in full evening dress-"here! alone! and at this hour! 'I thought you were going to the concert?" " "So I am, dear Mrs. Atcherly, if you will take me? I would not miss it for a kingdom. You are all ready, I see-how fortu- nate I am not to be too late." "But, my love-Mrs. Galbraith--" "Mrs. Galbraith has gone, and Maud and Lord Montalien. I'll tell you all about it as we go along. Please don't let us be too late." Mrs. Colonel Atcherly, a stately matron, her daughter and her husband, descended to the carriage. On the way Paulina whispered the story of her insubordination into the elder lady's ear. "Youv know how I detest Lord Montalien, Mrs. Atcherly. I couldint go with him, and I should die-yes, I should, if I missed hearing the Signor Friellson. What will they say when they see me?" "That you are a hare-brained damsel. What a lecture Mrs. 'Galbraith will read you to-morrow!" They reached the pavilion. The curtain had fallen upon the first act as the Atcherly party swept along to their box. Sir Vane's was nearly opposite, and the glasses of Lord Montalien and the baronet's sister fell together upon wicked Paulina. "Good Heavens!"Mrs. Galbraith gasped, "can I believe my eyes!" Lord Montalien burst out laughing. Though the joke told . against him, yet Mrs. Galbraith's face of horror was not to be resisted. -# A'" - . , IN WHIC MSS LISLE, IS DISPOSED OP. 285 "It is Paulina!" cried the lady. "Lord Montalien, is it possible you can laugh?" "I beg one thousand'pardons," the peer said, still laughing. "It is the best joke of the season And, egad t she is moreIf beautiful than ever I saw her ;'; "She has the grace at least not to look this way. How dare ' she do so outrageous a thing! I will never forgive her." All the lorgnettes in the house turned to the Atcherly box--- many to the great heiress-many mote to the noble and lovely - head. Captain Villiers left his seat in the stalls and joined her, . and until the ,curtain fell upon the last act an animated flirta- tion was kept up. Then Miss Lisle flung her bouquet to the .. successful tenor, and took the Guardsman's arm to the carriage. "Mrs. Atcherly," she said laughingly, "your goodness em- boldens me to ask still another favor. Will you keep me all. night? Perhaps; if Mrs. Galbraith sleeps on her wrath, it will fall less heavily upon nle to-morrow." Miss Lisle did not return home all night. Next morning Sir' Vane returned, and was informed of the rebellious and unheard- of conduct of his ward. . The baronet's anger was scarcely less than that of his sister. He went at once for her; and no death's-head ever looked more grim than he as he led her home. , "And now, Miss Lisle," he asked sternly, "may I demand an explanation of this disgraceful conduct?" "Disgraceful, Sir Vane! I don't quite see that; I went to ' the cohcert because I wanted to go to the concert, and I did not go with Miss Galbraith because Lord Montalien was her ,. escort. I hope that is satisfactory!" " "It is not satisfactory, I repeat it; your conduct has been . disgraceful." . "Sir Vane, you may use that word once too often. Neither now, nor at any future time, shall Lord Montalien appear in public with me." "Lord Montalien has done you the honor to propose to you. It is my desire-my cornmand, that you shall accept him." -. , Miss Lisle smiled quietly and to6k a seat. "Lord Montalien has laid a complaint against me, has he, ' and my guardian's power is to be brought to bear in his favor r 'Sir Vane, take my advice aiad spare yourself a great deal of " useless rhetoric and breath.' If Lord Montalien were the ruler of the world, and my life depended on it, I would lay my head , on the block sooner than marry him! I hope that is conclu-' : 'S - ' * page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 AI -IiCHZ MSS LISL E IS DISPOSED OF. hop e thl is conclusivei Then hear ine," cried her guardian, white with anger. Solitary confinement, perhaps, will teach you obedience. Now "I have only one request to make," she said, s till with that provoking smile; "please don't f eed me on bread aned ywater. o I shouldn't like to grow any thinner, and do be kind to poor , to obey." n ; I a tho nilllarsonth She went o u to h er rooms. She hd thre e on the sunny southern side--bedroom dressingroom, naid sitting-roqmi. She glanced around. Heaps of books and magazinesiwe re everywhere, heaps of Berlin wool; and bead-work, heaps of music, and a piano. She rang the bell, and when her maid came she peeped out through a crevice in the door.' "Jane, she said with solemnity, "I'm a prisoner here, .d to prevent the possibility of my escape I am going to lockv- self inl! You will fetch me my meals, and when you want a y- thing, Jane, you will rap, you know, and tell me through e 'keyhole." Sir Vane had followed her and heard every word of this whim- speech. "'What is to be done with such a girl as that?". the baronet demanded'of his sister'; "she is afraid of nothingsimprison. inent-solitude--nothing, I say. Hear her now!' Miss Lisle was seated at her piano, and her high, sweet sing. ing echoed through the house. "Paulina Lisle is dangerous," Mrs. Galbraith said with erm. phasis; " that girl is capable of anything wh/n fully aroused." Mrs. Galbraith was right. She and her brother were speedily to. learn 'of what Paulina Lisle was capable I "4A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS." 287 '- CHAPTER VII. - "A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS." ^ T was the twentieth of December. Francis, Lord Montalien, rose from the luxurious . dinner in his bachelor apartments, prepared by a first-- /. rate French artist, and walked. into his reception. room. L ord Montalien's lodgings, on the sunny side Of St. Jamles street, were rather more luxurious, if possible, than the apartments of a young duchess. Miser he might be, as Paul- * t' ina Lisle had called him, but certainly not where his own corn- ' fort and gratification were concerned. Velvet-piled carpets, " Florentine bronzes, richest hangings, a profusion of hot-house - flowers in the windows and on the tables, frescoed medallions.^ of flowers and fruits on the walls, costly furniture, in white and v gold, books, pictures, bronzes, vases, cabinets, everything to :'i gratify the eye, that wealth could purchase, was here. Ruddy . '? -I fires blazed qn every hearth, wax-lights burned softly in all the . rooms, and dutside the December snow drifted in a white wilt-' derness, and the December wind wildly blew.. His lordship was dressed in deep mourning, but in his gleam- ipg eyes, and over his whole face, there glowed an exultant i light of joy and triumph. He had been drinking more deeply than was his wont, for he was most abstemious, and his fhin, pale face was flushed, and a perpetual smile hovered exultantly, about his lips. "Everything triumphs with me," he cried; ",everything I When Paulina is my wife I shall have nothing left to wish for I , Heavens! howl love that girl! Her beauty, and her devilish . pride, and pluck, and obstinacy, have bewitched my senses. - I elieve I would marry her if she had not one farthing. I shall prosper in my love as I have prospered in my hate I' 'Ah my brilliant Guy Earlscourt, how is it with you now!"' . He paced up and down the exquisite room, that diabolical ssmile of exultation still wreathing hjs thin, sinister lips. He .- . had but come from a funeral a few hours before, the funeral of his rich grand-aunt, Miss Earlscourt. After the funeral the will had been read in the lawyer's office, the will that, to the utter / amaze of everybody, save the lawyer and legatee, left every ' page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 "A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS." shilling she possessed to her elder. nephew, Lord Montalien. Guy had been cut off, without even a guinea to buy a mourn. ing ring, "for his evil, courses," the will pointedly said, the shameful courses, which, for the first time, had brought disgrac ' / upon the name of Earlscourt. In that hour of triumph the elder brother had cast, in spite of himself, one glance of triimph at the disinherited favorite. Guyistood perfectly calm-it was his death-warrant he heard read, but not a muscle nioved, his handsome face looked as se-. renely, as coolly indifferent as though he had half a million or so at his banker's. And Lord Montalien had set his teeth with an inward oath-he could not conquer him-in the'hour of his downfall he rose above him still. "Curse him!" he hissed; "I always hated him for his d--.-d, patrician beauty and languor, his air noble, as the women call it, and his insufferable insolence, and I hate him more now, in his utter downfall, than I ever did before; I wish he were here, that I might for once throw 9ff the mask, and tell him so." The master he served seemed inclined to let him have his way in this as in all other things. The wish had scarcely taken shape, when the door was' flung open, and. his groom of the chambers announced "Mr. Earlscourt." Lord' Montalien paused in his walk, and crossing over to the chimney-piece, leaned his arm upon it, and looked full at his brother, that exultant, Sataiiic smile bright yet on his face. - He had this last desire, as he had had all others; the man he hated, and whom he had helped to ruin, stood before him, in the dark hour of his life. Guy came slowly forward, and stood directly opposite to him, at the other end of the mantel. He too wore mourning, his face was very grave, very haggard, very pale. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, but that noble air, which his brother so hated, had not left him. He looked handsomer, nobler, now in his utterdownfall, beyond all comparison, than the wealthy, ' the well-reputed Lord of Montalien. And Francis Earlscourt saw it and knew it.; Well, Guy," he began slowly, " and so the worst has come. Have you visited me to congratulate me, or to ask 'my sympa.- thy for your own great misfortune? Who would have thought Miss Earlscourt would have hlad the heart to disinherit her fa. vorite?" The mocking tone, the exultant look, were indescribable. MR%. . . -- i ' ir 'A N'W WAi TO' PAY OLP DEB TS." . 289 " Guy lifted his dark eyes, and looked steadily across at him. -. " It must have been a tremendous blow," the elder dontin- ued; "it was your last hope. Perhaps, though, it is not your last hope; perhaps you have come to me to help you in your " hour of need." ' - "No, Frank," Guy said quietly; "I have fallen very low, .? but my misfortunes, or evil courses, which you will, have not quite turned mly brain. I have never asked you for a farthing' .l i yet, and I never will." "And, yet, you remember after our father's death, I told you j' to come to me in your hour of need,-and I would assist you. . ; You were your fathdr's favorite, Guy; you are the son of the , wife'he loved; he left you all he had to leave. I wonder how -:: he would feel if he saw you now?" . ' .-: "We will leave his name out of the discussion, if you please. , . ' ., And as neither now nor at kany past time I ever troubled youtm purse or your brotherly affection, you're. hitting a man when i. he's down is in very bad taste, to say the least of it. I have - neither come here to-night for sympathy nor money. I know i how much of either I would get or deserve to get. Shall I tell you why I have come?" ' " "By all means-to say farewell, perhaps on the eve of your X : life-long exile. What place of refuge have you chosen; Alge- ' f ria, Australia, New Zealand, America? I should really like . - to know!" . " "I did not come to say farewell. I came to speak to you0 of-Alice Warren." , The elder brother started at the unexpected sound of that I name. Not once had he seen her since the night he had vis .; ited her in Barton Street. "Alice Warren," he said, with an oath; "what has Alice ^ Warren to do with it? Do you expect me to look aftet your ' 9 cast-off mistresses when you are gone?" i' "I expect nothing of you-nothing-how often must I re- peat it? And Alice Warren is no mistress of mine-of any . . malr's, I believe in my soul. Whatever she'is, you are the, , : scoundrel who has led her astray, under promise of marriage. . Hear me out, my lord; I have come to be heard, and will. If -, you have one spark' of manhood left, you will atone in some' way for the great wrong you have done an innocent girl. You r,? will iot leave the fresh face you wooed down in Lincolnshire exposed to the disgrace of London gaslight." i "I shall do precisely as I please in this, as in all other ' 13 ' , 4 af'- zX page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 29o "A NAEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS." things. It is refreshing, really, to hear you, of all men, the defender of fehinale innocence, of soiled doves, such as Alice Warren." 'T "At least no innocent girl's ruin lies at my door, no ,man's betrayal. I repeat, if you have one spark of manhood left, you will atone for the wrong you have done her." "As how?" with his sneering smile " by a real marriage? o make the bailiff's daughter my Lady Montalien? May I ask when you had the pleasure of seeing the lady last, and if she commissioned you to come here and plead her case?" .. "I saw her two hours ago, and she commissioned me to do nothing of the sort. I was walking along the Strand with Gus Stedman, and we came face to face with poor Alice. I should not have known her-she has become such a wretched shadow ": of herself. If ever a heart was broken, I believe hers to be. if By Heaven, Frank, it is a cruel shame-if you had murdered her in cold blood you could not be more guilty than you are!" i! The sneering smile never left the other's face, though he was - ; pallid with suppressed passion. He took up his cigar-case, and lit a Manilla, though his hands shook as he did it. .'i "And, she told you, no doubt, a piteous story of my betrayal and my baseness-or is all this accusation but the figment of your own lively' brain?" "She told me nothing; she is true to you, false as you have been to her. We scarcely exchanged words-sle seemed to have something to say to Stedman, and I walked off, and left thelm. It is of no'use your wearing a mask with me. When Alice Warren came. up to London last September, poor, cred- { tlous child, it was to become your wife." "You are right!"' exclaimed Lord Montalien suddenly; "and I will throw off the mask with you, my virtue-plreaching ' younger brother! In that other land to which your- misfor- tunes are driving you, you might, with pleasure to yourself, and profit to your hearers, turn Methodist parson-the r;le seems to suit you amazingly. I shall deal with Alice Warreii exactly as I please, and for marriage, I shall marry Paulina Lisle!" "Poor Paulina," Guy said bitterly. "May Heaven keep her from such a fate!" "You believe in Heaven? At least it has'not dealt very kindly by you. I shall marry Paulina ILisle and her fortune; and it will be the delightful occupation of my life to break that high spirit while you are' breaking stones on the roads out there in Australia. For Alice Warren, she will fare none the better . , 0 -*. . . " z4 . "A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEP3TS. 291 for your advocacy. Let us speak of yourself-I really feel an interest in your fate, though you may not believe it. You have sent in your papers to sell, I suppose? You are not mad ia enough to try and remain in England?", Guy bowed his head in assent, and turned to go. A' "Pray do not be in such haste--I have not half finished what I desire to say to you. Have you chosen as yet the place of your outlawry? "The place of my outlawry is a matter that in no way con- cerns you.", Very true; and what does it signify-America, Australia, Algeria-it is all the same. But don't you feel a curiosity to know how you came to be disinherited?. Most men would, I think, and you were such a favorite with old Miss Earlscourt, as with all women, young and old, indeed." "Through your brotherly kindness, Frank, no doubt." "Quite right-through my brotherly kindness. But for me you would to-day be heir to our lamented maiden aunt s large fortune, able to snap your fingers in the faces of the Jews, and marry Paulina Lisle yourself; if you desired it. 'She was ready to forgive you, seventy times. seven, to pay your debts to the , end of the chapter, and leave you all when she died-but for , me!-but for me! Shall I tell you, Guy, how I did it? ' "If you please;" "By means of the girl whose case you have come here to plead-by means of Alice Warren. Your gambling, your drink- ing, your mad extravagance in every way, she was prepared to forgive and condone, but not the luring from lhome, under pre-. tence of marriage, and ruin of a young and virtuous girl, whose father all his life had loved and served you and yours I I went to her two weeks ago, my brilliant, careless Guy, and I told her this. I made her believe this, the only thing that could have rpined you; and that night she tore up the will that left you all -you hear-all!and made me her heir!" - He paused. Satan himself, triumphing over a lost soul, could not have looked' more diabolically exultant. For Guy, he listened, his elbow on the marble mantel, his, calm, iale face unmoved, his eyes fiked steadfastly on his only brother's face. "You did this," he'said, slowly. "I know you always hated me, but I did not-no, I did not think, base as I know you"to - be, 'that you were capable of this. Fiank," with a sifddfn change of tone, " will you tell me why you have hated me?"I, , have been a worthless fellow, but I never injured you."., page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] ;- Bat"u: . ':9i; ,i - 292 , A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS." D"Did you not?"Lord Montalien ground out, with a deep ,4 oath. "Why, curse you, I believe I have 'hated you from your cradle! You were the Isaac, I the Ishmael; you the petted, the caressed, the admired-I the unlicked cub, the un- loved son of an unloved mother! \I have hated yuh for that beauty which women have so admired, for the talents and ac. complishments Ihat have rendered you a favorite with men; . , and I swore to have revenge-and I have had it. You bril- liant life is over; you are a beggar; you go forth to exile and outlawry aid disgrace-to starve or work in a foreign land! And the title, and the wealth, and the good repute are mine 1 Has more got to be said? I will marry Paulina Lisle before the next London season, and Alice Warren may go, as you have gone, to perdition. Mr. Guy Earlscourt, permit me to wish you good-night!" He rang 'the bell. "Show Mr. Earlscourt to the door," he said to the servant, "and admit him here no more!" He could not forbear this last insult. With one look-a e d A look not soon to be forgotten-Guy went forth, never to cross that threshold again. "And now for Berkeley. Square and Paulina!" exclaimed Lord Montalien, taking up his great-coat. "We will see what frame of mind that obstinate little beauty is in to. night!" But he was not to go yet. The door opened once more, and the groom of the chambers appeared, with a disturbed countenance. "My lord, there is a young person here who says she must see you. I have remonstrated-" He stopped aghast. The young person had had the audac- ity to follow him, and stood now upon the threshold. It was Alice! i 'That will do, Robinson; I will see this woman I Go " The groom of the chalmbers vanished, closing the door after ,'him, and dropping the heavy curtain of crimson cloth that effectually shut in every sound ; and Alice, wan as a spirit, cov- ered with snow, with wild eyes and ghastly face, stood before Lord Montalien in all his splendor. His face was literally black with rage. He hated her, he loathed her, he had forbid- den her in the most emphatic manner ever to write to him or intrude upon him, and she had had the audacity to force her way here! "How dare you!" he said, under his breath, as he always "A NXE WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS." .293 spoke when his passion was greatest "how dare you come here?" -She was trembling with cold. She ws miserably clad and fatigued, but he offered her no chair, lid liot bid her approach the fire. She remained standing near the door, her face, awfully corpse-like, turned upon him. "Why have you come here?" he thundered. "Speak at once-why have you dared to come here?" "I have come for justice, Lord Montalien. I am your wife, and you leave me to starve! I am your wife, and an outcast from home and friends! Frank! Frank!"-her voice rising to a shrill cry-"I have not seen you for six weeks-I had to come here-I Should have gone mad or died if I had not : .:; come." "It is a pity you did not!" he brutally answered. "Go mad and die-the sooner the better; but don't come torment- ing me with the sight of your miserable, white face." - She clasped both hapds over her heart and staggered as though he had given hera blow; her lips moved, but no sound came forth. . ' "'What do you mean by coming here for justice, as you call it?" he went on. "Justice means money, I suppose. Well,. here are ten guineas -tke them, and pay your bill, and be- gone!" . She rallied again; after an effort or two words came froin her ashen lips: "I came for justice, and I must have it-I am your wife-- your lawful, wedded wif-why, then, are you trying to marry. . Paulina Lisle?" 'He strode a step' towards her, then stopped. - - "Who has told you this?" he cried with suppressed fury. "Mr. Stedman. I met him to-day-he told me you were engaged to marry Paulina Lisle, and would marry her. Frank, it must not, shall not bs! I can bear a great deal, but not that. I love Paulina; she shall never be ruined as I have been. You shall own me before the world as what I am-, . your lawful wife, or I. will go to her and tell her all." There was that in her face, in her eyes, in her tone, a firm- - ness, a resolution, he had never seen there before. The crushed worm had turned; he knew she' meant what she had said. "You will do this!" he exclaimed, hoarsely. "I swear I will! My heart is broken, my life ruined-that is past hope-you hate me, and wish to' cast- e off.. But 'she page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 ".4 rEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS." shall be saved-my good name' shall be saved. Unless before this year ends, you promise to proclaim me as your wife, I will go to Paulina Lisle and tell her all." 'Then go!"' he burst forth, in his firy; "go-weak, drivel. ling, miserable fool! My wife! Why, you idiot, you have never been that for one hour, for one second. The man who married us was no clergyman, but a worthless, drunken va. grant, who entered into the plot with Stedman and me. iMy' wife Faugh! I was mad enough, but never half mad enough to do that! Now you know the truth at last-no more my wife than any street-walker in London. Go to your friend, Mr. Stedman, and he will indorse my words." There was a chair near her-she grasped it to keep fronm falling, and in the height of his mad fury he had to shift away from the gaze of the large, horror-struck eyes. "Not his wife!" she whispered; " not his wife!" '"Not my wife, I swear it! I did not mean, to tell you until I had got you quietly out of the country, but as well now as later. And mark you--if you go near Paulina Lisle-I will -kill you " / The last words came hissing through his set teeth. "Not his wife," she repeated once more, in a sort of whis- per; "not his wife!," ) She turned blindly toward the door, groping like one in the dark. He lifted the cur-tain, and opened it for her. "Get a cab, and go home," he said. "I will call upon you in a day or two, and see what can be done. I will provide for you, have no fear of that. Here is the money--go back quietly and wait until I come." She did not seem to hear or heed him. She never noticed the money he offered. She went forward in the same blind way, the servant looking at her curiously, and passed from the. luxurious wealth and light of those costly rooms to the bitter, drifting snow-storm without. "So inuch the better," muttered his lordship; "if she perish in the storm it will save me a world of trouble. Half-past nine! The devil's in it, if I cannot go to Paulina now"I The devil was in it-he was apt to be, horns and hoofs and all in the same room with, Francis, Lord Montalien, Before. his wraps were on, the door was flung open for the third time. and Mr. Stedman announced. "Didn't expect to see ime old boy " his visitor said, swag- gering in with easy familiarity. "Going out, too, to call upon I-f , ! 1 "A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS." " 29$ 5 the lovely Paulina, no doubt. Well, I won't detain you niany than rich, ut when a an's boh lcky and ric, what a en viable mortal he is! Ahi the worlde's a see-saw, and some of'. usgoup nd some ofus sitgo down and Hobe comfortable thiscoalt a fire is such a night-the very dickens of a night, I can tell you: t X: By the by, who do you think I meout athee just nowin the He looked cunningly at Lord Montalien, but Lord Monta- ' ' lien didnot speak. His face was monset in n angry frown. ;at cab- she didn't seem to know where she was going, and paid the drihv t take her hme. I btelieve, in tny scn , she would have perished before morning." "I wish to Heaven she iad and you with her," burst out the, lbadgered peer. "What t he deuce brings you here, Stedant Don't you see I'm going out? t in "Now, that is inhospitable," o nurms ured Mro Stedman, re- proachfullye " and o such a friend as I have been to you, too. Didn't you tell me I had a claim upon your gratitude mXu would lever forget when I chose to call upon you?, The twmu- has come. I leave England, in three days, to seek oy fortune in Australia; and I have called upon you to-night, Lord. Montalien, for a check for three thousand pounds," cilord Montalien laughed scornfully. Three thousand demons, perhaps!" he said. i . it before I quit this room "I t? "You are mad or drunk- which?" N"Neither, most noble lord. Your secret is worth the "' What secret?" with a scornful stare. "That Aiice Warren, the bailiff's daughter, is your, lawful, wedded wife!" * ,.. Mr. Stedman looked up at him with an exultant smite of Vower a 'lc Wre 'wo - mnt a y ule. "That Alice Warren, whom ten minutes ago you htuLed ord, one of them page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 "A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD tDEBTS." ' from your doors to perish in the snow, is your lawful, wedded wife, as fast as the-Archbishop of Canterbury's license and a l clergyman of the Church of England can make her! That is . your secret, my lord! You thought I would be your cat's-paw, run 'hy head in a noose to oblige you-do your dirty work, and take a ' thank you' for my pails. That was your mistake. You are as tightly married to Alice Warrei as'though the cere- mony had been performed under the roof of St. George's, Han. over Square. You can prove my words if you like, easily enough-Alice Warren is Lady Montalien'." The two men looked at each other, and Lord Montalien knew he spoke the truth. In the wax-light hisjce was deadly pale. "Stedman," he said, " why have you S ne this?" "To wipe out an old debt of six years' standing, my lord. You know to what I refer-to Fanny Dashon. You thouglht I had forgotten, didn't you?-that was your little mistake. The debt was cleanly Wiped out on the night you married the bai- liff's daughter. Now will you give me your check for three thousand pounds or not?" ' "And if I do not?' .' "If not I will go straight from this room to Paulina Lisle, and tell her the whole story. To obtain information of her friend she will give me 'at least one thousand, and my revenge will be worth the other two. I think, of the two courses, I really should prefer it." Lord Montalien, without a word, opened his check-book, and wrote an order for three thousand pounds. "What surety have I," he said, " that you will not still go to Miss Lisle when I have given you this?" "My promise, my lord, which I will keel. Give me the 'hek, and I swear to leave England, and keep your secret in-, violate to the end of my life."! Without a word his lordship passed him the slip of paper. Mr. Stedman folded it up with a satisfied smile. "Thanks, my lord, and farewell. I willi detain you no longer." He took his hat and approached the door. Then he turned round for a second, and looked at Lord Montalicn standing like a statue. "My lord,"'he said,."it wasn't her fault. Don't be too hard on her when I am gone." "Good-night, Mr. Stedman," his lordship answered, icily; ' I know what I owe her, and how to deal with her." -.CAMLLA'S HUSBAND." 297 And the heasalone. Alone? No TO Unseen tempters, - And lled the roo. He threw off his overcoat,' and h dark spirits, filled the r lo 1 struck-it was long ' walked upa and down.' Hour after hour struck-it was long : walked up' and down. aseless walk . * past idnight, and still he never aused in that ceaseless walk. Hour after hour Wore by--inornng dawned, white and cold, overaway. o unronftrelight and waxlight,had flickered and died away. And with the morning, Lord Montalien knew how he meant to deal with Alice. CHAPTER VIII. " 4 CAMLLA'S HUSBAND." , R VANE CHARTERIS and his family had been back two days in the house in Berkeley Square. The t Ch stmas fetivities at Montalien had been postponed indefinitely, all through theheadstrong disobedience of that wilful girl, Paulina Lisle. said; "and if you take me by force, I will run away and seek refuge with Duke Mason, an hour after we get there."' :* Her devilish determination I never saw equalled in old or and with plenty of new books and new music, alat could young feel ir Vane said to the rilast day of hisbegan at lfe ast to ask 'i)se woulnd join the e that day at dinner. Miss isle'. Se hd answer was hara teristic: kept her roomS , Vte Charterprise of .erybody, for a fortnight at ith In -havea stay a prisoner here for two weekpleeing a souim hall now sty two ore to ase .nsf... With which the door closed b emhe tisal in troWnsou 1 ' ' page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] ,298 C. II4X l 2CAA!ZLlA'S HUSZAAVD.' aby private theatricals; ad to these theatricals and to this ball Paulina t iha promised hf aiefuily to go. But Sir Vane ruled it w otherwise. sister, "tell her Paulina is Indisposd and unable to atten If she thought e sh c e ...y and unablce to aiten throw herself upoi the Atcherlys' protection, as eoon as notd and the old colonel is a vryo uote asbout wo as en Mrs. Atcherly did call on the twentyfirst, and was told in Mrs. Galbraith's smoothest way, oor Paulin w told not b able to attend-lhe child had been do 'ipe sinWOld not bgeh before they left Brighton indisposed since a fortigt Was the list of -Miss Lisle's. enblrities never to be filled The drawing-room door opened as Mrs. Galbraith spoke, and the young lady herself walked in, her cheeks glowing, hea eyes arkling, the very impersonatio3 of excellent health and spirits. rso t so indisposed, Mrs. Galbraith, that she cannot greet an old friend, And, dear-Mrs. Atchedly I willgo to Twickeji a bleto attren urned- - Passionatelye to Miss islie the instant her visitor had uitted the house; Miss islt e lifted one had, with a haughty gesture, that i stilled the rising tempest. "hrwn-romdrned Mrs. Galbraithe oe han of this) I a Sm no hildtio b VI -ng,enoug "S ^?;,5;^ 'whippend and put to bed, see fit-no poor, timid, spiritless creature, to be tyrannized library-t door ajar-she o was suddenly cheked by heari ge ' h Msr own naLqe from the hated lps of Lord Mon talien ) Doesr theaulin knerow yet you are going to take hler to 'The Firs' for the wint he asked. "Not yet. I otell you, ontalien the deteied will ofuh sthat girl ise past belief She is chle ofanything. he sa era visi t orA she passed tie h see fit---no' a oi o take tier, to '.Tfe Fi;sIaSf;S5SorSSan dp t to b ted . as ,,ke. "Ntyt el oMnaietedtrindwl fi "CAMLLA'S HUSBAND.' 2 9 not know her destination until we are fairly started--Eleapor will fabricate some story to satisfy her. Once at 'The' Firs I have no fear. ' It will be all our own way then-the house is as lonely and desolate as a tomb; and I will take care she ., does not pass the gates. You will be with her day and night X -if you cannot make her consent to marry you before spring, : why then-" ' ' "She shall conset, by fair means or foul. She shall only leave 'The Firs' as jmy wife." A ^ ! He rose as he spoke, and Paulina flitted away. In her owh rooms, she sank down white and cold. What, norrible plot was this they were concocting against her? They were going to imprison her at 'The .Firs' for months and ^ months, that dreary house Mrs. Galbraith' ever spoke of with . a shudder. And Lord Montalien was to be her constant corn- panion, and by fair means or foul, she was only to leave it his - wife. Her heart grew sick within her. Her own will might I be strong, but that of those two mnen was stronger. 'lmpris- I oned there-friendless-how could she hope to outwit tiem?:: '"I will never go to 'The Firs'," she cried, clenching her lit." tie hands frantically; "I will die first " ' What should she do? She was-for the first time in her brave life-horribly afraid. What should she do? TelJ Mrs.; ;.' Atcherly, and ask her to help protect her? Sir Vane was her . ": guardian, and what'was more natural than eshould. . choose to spend the winter waith his family down at his p ce in, , 'K Essex. Her friends could not, dare not, help her. hould slie run away and earn her own 'living? Alas! she han nly two or three shillings in the wide world, and a London de- tiye would find and bring her back in twp days.' And Sir Vane ' i: was capable of anything-he might take out, a writ of lunacy against her, and shut her up in 'a mad-house, as he had done ' his wife. Oh, what-what should she do? She spent a day ; and a night, and another day, alniost maddened by doubt anda fear. How she hated and abhorred these two men! By the- time the evening of the twenty-second came, she had wrought herself up to a pitch of excitement that made her ready for any. ' thing. Yes, anything under the canopy of heaven to escape ihe fate that threatened her. Something must be done to- night," she thought, as she dressed herself for Mrs. Atcherly's ball, She had not the least idea what, but something must be done to avert her fate. Never, never, never I would she go^ down to "The Firs." ' 9 . ,' ,.-! page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 "CAMLLA'S HUSBAND." She was thinking. this as her maid dressed her-thinking it as they drove rapidly through the cold, moonlit night-thinking it as she entered Mrs. Atcherly's pleasant rooms, filled with pleasant people. She was looking beautiful in a dress of silver-. blue moire, with diamonds sparkling in her gold hair, on her marble throat and arms. She was pale as marble herself, but there was a feverish fire in her eyes that told of the unrest within. Sir Vane, Lord Montalien, even Maud, attended this party to witness the theatricals. Bills printed on white satin were t passed around. The play was "Camilla's Husband." "Ca- milla" by Miss Atcherly, and the young artist, who is' the hero of the piece, by Guy Earlscourt. "His last appearance on any stage," laughed his brother to Sir Vane, "before he goes forth into the outer darkness, to be seen and heard of no more. He was always a sort of pet with those people. He has sold out, you know, and must leave England within the week, or the' Jews will be down upon him, i and all his brilliancy, and all his beauty, will be wasted sweet- ness on the desert air of a debtor's prison." "f How you do hate your brother," Sir Vane thought; "and you do not possess even the common decency to conceal it." Perhaps many of those who read this have seen the play called "Camilla's Husband." A young lady, persecuted by a, tyrannical guardian, makes her escape, and asks the first man she meets to marry her. The first man is a strolling artist, who consents, marries her, receives a purse of gold, is told he is never to see or seek her again, and she disappears. Of course it ends, as it ought to end, in the artist saving her life, and eventually winning her love and herself. The curtain arose and the play began. Miss Atcherly, beautifully dressed, and for' an amateur young actless. speaking loud enough to be heard by the first three rows of auditors, at least, is received with applause. Mr. Earlscourt, as the lucky artist, looking' wonderfuliy " 'handsome in a suit of black velvet and gold-appropriate cos- tume for a penniless painter-speaks so that everybody can heai his deep tenoir tones, and comes forward to the foot- lights, trilling a song. Nature had given him every requisite for a first-rate actor; a darkly splendid face, a tall, commanld. ing form; a deep, rich voice, and perfectly natural action. No professional actor could have played better than he; his genius "CAMLLA'S HUSBAND." 30 even warmed up the others in their parts, and gave Miss Atclf every courage to find her voice. Scores there remembered, for years after, how he looked that It-hallaer; the crash haove; thouht, as forever of his old life. come-his brilliant Bohemian existence was t end forever. tlavry- eilss w s . p6rtion, and he stood before them, looking handsomer than ever, and acting asthougl he had not a care in the world d I Palina isle sat atching the progre s of the play, led away paulina Lisle shwall g . ':gowwell he Al Guy was pitel from the ogreat, trouble of iher ife, in its ie e d ow we he. played o she thought, how magnficently he looed o'Camilla s" fate was to her own'! Oh ' if she could but cu 'the Gordian knot of her difficulties by asking somebody to marry her too The hour that made her a wife, made her a free woman, out of the power of Sir Vane and Lord Montalien, and her fortune her own! She did not want to be married- she was not a whit in love with any 1man alive, but if shecould find a man who would consent to leave her, in her wedding. hour, as this atislet Camila--why then. But here waS she to fid such a mane? There were half a dozen men in that very room who would be only too glad to end her difficulties she knew, would resign her forever in the hour that made her his wife. It was only on the stage such nobleminded bride- grooms were to he found. No,' that way thlre was no hope. And yet, if it had been possible, what a triumph it would be over the men she hated! It was' the last scene of the" last act. Camilla is hope- lessly in love with her artist, and that moment is drawing near When she shall fling herself into his arms an "Happy am I, since you are Camilla's husband."l Guy was playing superbly; 'and when, in the last moment, he opens his arms, anid his wife falls into them, the whole house burst forth into a tumult of applause, in the midst of which the curtain fell, and the -play was over. "fow w h ed;" a voice near' Paulina said, as a young officer of the Gards *,rose with a military friend, "for a man irretrievably ruined. i His debts are enormous and'his old aunt has died, and. left all to that cad of an elder oter Wha a pity the days of Faust and Mephistpheles are over! Guy v Earlscourt would sell his soul to the Evil One, I verily believe, without a moment's hesitation, for twenty thousand pounds) E He must leave England in a day or two, and forever." page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 /' "CAMLLA'S HUSBAND." The speaker passed on; but his light-spoken words had been heard and heeded. In that instant, as she listened; it all flashed t upon Paulina like a lightning gleam. Guy Earlscourt was the it man-the man to marry, and save her. The man to take half her fortune and leave her forever. . ) Are there not moments in our lives when the sanest of us i are mad for the time? It was one of those moments with Paulina. She must have been mad, her brain was half-dazed with thinking, her danger was so great and so imminent, and : witnessing this play had wrought her up to the last pitch of ex- citement. Think of this when you condemn her-are horrified I at her! She never excused herself, in after days, when the frenzy of this time had passed-she never looked back to this night with- out turning sick at heart with shame and horror of herself. She leaned against a slender pilaster; the room, the lights, the fEces swimming before her. Her eyes were fixed with the intensity of insanity upon the face of Guy Earlscourt, sur- rounded by all the women in the rooms, receiving their com- pliments and congratulations, with his. usual negligent, courtly grace. All her liking, all her friendship for him, all her pity, vanished. He was hardly a man, only the instrument, the au-' tomaton, who was to save her for a certain, stipulated price. He turned laughingly away at last from his admirers, and saw her. How strangely, how wildly she looked The deadly pallor of her face, the burning brightness of her eyes, what did it .mean-was she ill? He approached--the spell of those fevered eyes drawing him to her. "What is it?" he asked. She caught his arm. I want you," she said, in a breathless sort of way. "Take me out of this room." Wolndering, amazed, curiouS, he drew her hand. within his arm, and led her through several rooms to a sort of small, half- lit boudoir. He was the friend of the house, and he knew it well. A clouded light, like moonlight, filled this small rool, flowers made the air heavy with perfunme. He dropped a Vel- vet curtain over the doorway, and turned to her. "Now?" he said. Something uicommon was coming, he knew not what. . She looked at him; the burning light in her eyes almost frightened him. Was she in the first stage of a brain fever? "You are going to leave England?" she asked abruptly.. *, CAMLLA'S HUSBAND." 303 . "When?" ": "In three days." The new world. I am going to seek my fortune in Amer ica." "You will never return. to England-never, never " . "Never, in all probability." ",Then what can it matter to you It w ill make your fate oThean'it will save me ou shall have half my fortune -do you hear-forty thousand pounds--if you will swear to keep the secret, and never to come back, never to come n a me, never let the world know I married you." The words burst from her wildly--incoherently'. Th1 *eo Ws Ntiss Lsle gods ng He looked at her in blank amaze. Was Miss Lisle going h you don 't Understand," she cried. "I am llke the w6an in that playI a not mad, thoug they will drive m e marry so in the end. I tell you they are go to mak wille kime marry Lord Montalien, and I hate him I hatehim' my- A light began to damn upon Guy. y s inin he understood her at once. rThey--maning Sir Vane Charteris and Mrs. Galbraith, I ,They-meii anie m na y Lord Montalien?" ": suppose-are going to make you, marry Lord ontalien?" Yes. Yot know 'The Firs'-that desolate, abandoned old manor-house, on the Essex coast? They are going to:m- prison me there until I consent. They will do with me as was done with my mother, ,compel ne td marry a man ho And there is only one way of escpe" "And' that is to arry some eoMa else." He was entering into the sprt of the ting now. Mad s- , t'e ,l capads of all orts had been the delight of his life. Whai could be better than to finish his areer in E d b te mad des escHde of all. e undqrstood her as few men would davest escapade oftied her intensely in this hour of her despera- lave done, and pitied. tion ss Lisle" he said, "will you marry me?" "M isle," hesaid, She gave a sort of gasp Ile-had spoken'the words for her! She gave a sort of gasp of intense relief. conditions." "I will-if you consent to my conditions "What are they?" "That you accept half my fortune, and in the momentof our marriage leave me forever. page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] -rrb-m' ., tyry ,ld... 1'. '304 "c4AItILLA'S IUSB,4ND,." "The first is easy enough-the second--well, not so pleasant Still, to oblige a lady in distress-" pleasant There was a small 'Bible bound in gold and pearl, on the ta ble. She snatched it up and held it open to him. Swear," she cried; '"iwear, by all you hold sacred, never to molest me, never to claim any right as'my husband, never come what may, to. betray my secret, to leave me at the church door. Swear " He took the book without a second'sihesitation, and touched it with his lips. "I swear!" he said. She drew a long breath of relief. The cold dew was standing in great drops on her white face., She sank down in a chair and hid her face in her hands, with a dry, choking sob. The young man stood and looked at her with a feeling of intense pity. "Poor child i" he Baid very softly; "? it is hard oil you. , And now-when is it to be?" "They'lmean to start for lThe Firs,' by the earliest train, on Christmas eve. Once there, all is lost." "Then we must be beforehand with them. Gad I what a triumph it will be over Frank 1"Hie laughed as lie spoke-- ruined, and exiled, Guy Earlscourt could stilllaugh. "Let us 'see. Will you be married in a /:hurch in this city, Miss Lisle, at day-dawn, Cllristmas eve?" "Not in a church I such a marriage in a church would seem a mockery-a sacrilege--anywhere else." "Then, by Jove! I have it! What do you say to a lnar- riage before a registrar?' You walk into an office, very. much like any other office, and you see an official, very jmuch like any other official, and a few wordstare said, 'a 'little signing, and countersigning, and the thing is over. A' marriage before a registrar between the hours of eight and 'twelve in the forenoon ith open doors, in the presence of two. witnesses, etc., etc. Nothing can be more simple, and you will leave the office as legally married in the eye of the law (what'you want I take it) as though a dean and chapter had donib the business. 'There will have to be a little 'fibbing about your age; I will arrange that. Will that suit you.?" "Perfectly. My maid will, accompany ne, 'and I will go, di- rectly home when the ceremony is over, and tell them there vthat I am out of their power at last. If you will call at the l"ise, a couple of hours later, Sir Vane shall pay over to you the sum I have promised." \ ; I! , ' / , : * ' - ' ' , ' CAMLLA'S HUSBAND." 3s ) He smiled slightly. "I shall call, Miss Lisle. And now as to the hour. We must be very early, in order to be beforehand with them. Say between eight and nine? Can you be ready so early?"' I could be ready at midnight to save myself' from your brother! At eight o'clock, I 'and my maid will steal from the house, and meet you wherever you say." "My cab shall be in waiting at the corner. The coachman will do for the other witness. Is your maid to be trusted?" "I think so .when- ell paid." . "And you will not change your mind-you will not fail?" He would not have had her fail for worlds now. The ro- mance, the piquancy of the adventure, fired his imagination. Of the future, in that hour, he never thought; just at present it looked a capital, practical joke. "Am I likely to fail?" she cried, bitterly. "Mr. Earls- court," turning to him with sudden passion, I wonder what you think of me!" "I understand you!" he answered respectfully. "Desper- ate cases require desperate remedies. 'Against two such men as Lord Montalien and Sir Vane Charteris you stand no chance. Your marriage with me will save you at least tfrom a'marriage - with him, and you may trust me to keep my oath." She. turned from him in a tumult of contending emotion, . among which, drawing back had no part, and almost ran against Mrs. Galbraith, entering the room in search of her. That lady's angry eyes looked from one to the other. Was this a love-scene she had disturbed? "Have you no regard for your good name; Paulina," she de- manded, drawing her away, "that you hold private interviews with that most disreputable young man? I think it is time we were going home." Paulina laughed-a wild, reckless laugh. "I think so too, Mrs. Galbraith.. I want to go home." Mrs. Galbraith gazed at her in real alarm. She looked any- thing but sane or safe at that moment. "You shall go home, 'Paulina," she answered, soothingly. "Sit here while I go in search of my brother." Two hours later, Paulina Lisle was safely back in the quiet, of her own room, standing pledged to become the wife of Guy Earlscourt on the morning of Christmas eve, by the maddest marriage ever woman contracted. . .. page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 ON CHRISTMAS EVE., ' CHAPTER. IX. ON CHRISTMAS EVE. VER the fire, in her dingy lodgings, on the night pre. ceding Christmas eve, a bloodless, attenuated shadow of a miserable woman crouched. It was Aiice, but Alice so changed, that, her own mother, had she by any chance entered, would have failed to recognize her. Alice, with every vestige of beauty, of youth, of health, gone-as utterly miserable a woman as the dull London light fell on. It was snowing without, and was very. cold. She had drawn a little shawl around her, and crouched with her hands out- stretched to the blaze. The few articles of summer clothing she had brought from home, in September last, were'all she had yet. September last! only four short months! Heaven! what a' lifetime! what an eternity of misery'it looked to her! How, she had reached home that night, after she left .St. James Street, she never knew. Some one put her in a cab; and when, after a day and a night of stupid, painless torpor, she awoke to consciousness, she found herself again in her own poor room, and the landlady's face looking half-compassion- ately, half-impatiently at her. "It was my luck to hive my lodgers always a-falling sick on my hands, and a-dying with their bills unpaid, like that Porter upstairs; and it does make a person hard, I confess," Mrs. Y9ung afterward owned, with remorse. And then memory and consciousness slowly came back, and she recollected all. She was not Frank's wife-she was the lost creature they thought her at home, and Frank was going ,to marry Paulina. No; he should never do that. She scarcely ,LJ felt anger, or sorrow, or even pain now; beyond a certain point suffering ceases to be suffering, and becomes its own an- aesthetic. She had reached that point-she was past hope, past care, past help. She would find out Paulina, tell her her story, save her from a like fate, and--die. Some such thoughts were in. her mind as she crouched shiv- ering over the fire. The wintry twilight was fast filling the room with its creeping darkness, when the door suddenly opened, , O CHRISTMAS EVB. 307 ' 5 and, without a word of warning, Lord Montalien stood before her. She had never thought to see him again in this world. She looked up with a low, strange cry. "Frank!" - "Yes, Alice, Frank! Frank come to beg your, pardon for - the cruel, thoughtless words he spoke the other night.' Frank come back to tell you he loves you, and to ask you to forgive hinm for what he'said." "There is no need. I am iot your wife," she answered, in, a slow, dull way. "I had rather you had not come. I only want to see Paulina, and die in peace." "You want to see Paulina? And why? '" -"To tell her all--to save her from you, Frank! Poor Polly i She used to be Ro bright, so happy, you know, always laughing and singing; it would be a pity to break her heart. Mine is broken; but then it doesn't so much matter about me." Still the same slow, dull oice-the same mournful apathy; 'her eyes fixed on the fire, her hands outstretched. ' .: "1 shan't live long,. Frank, to trouble anybody; but I shall live long enough to tell. Paulina. She will be sorry for me, I think; she used to be fond of Alice. They used to call us the two prettiest girls in Speckhaven-only think of that, Frank I Only think if they could see me now!" She laughed --a low, faint laugh; that might have curdled her ' listener's blood. He bent down and looked at her closely- his face set and stern, though his voice, when ce spoke, was forced into gentleness. Had her trouble turned her brain? ' "I will tell her I am not your wife, and she will go down home, and tell father and mother when I am dead, and perhaps then they will try and forgive me. I've not been a very bad. girl-I'm not afraid to die. It will be Buch rest-such rest!" She drew a long, tired sigh, and leaned her head on her hands. Then suddenly she-looked up in his face. "Frank!" she said, ,in a' voice of indescribable pathos, "' uwhy did you treat me so? I loved you, and I trusted you, and I thought I was your wife!" It might have moved a heart of stone; he had no heart, - even of stone, to be moved. "You foolish child," he said, with a slight laugh, "you are , ; my wife-my only wife, as truly as ever you thought it. Do you really believe the angry words I said to you. the othet . .: night? Silly Alice! I was angry, I own-I did not want you X '"'I page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 , ON CHRIST 7'MS EVE. to come to i-y lodgings, and I spoke to you in my anger, as 1 had no right to speak. You are my wife, and I myself will take you to Miss Lisle, iflyou wish it." She rose lp, her breath coming in quick, short gasps. "Frank! you will! Oh! for Heaven's sake, don't deceive me now! I couldn't bear it!" I am not deceiving you-I am telling you the truth. You are my wife, and you shall leave this miserable hovel, and at once. Early to-morrow morning I will come for you, and I V will take. you first to Paulna, and from her straight down to Montalieh. Your Christmas shall be a happy one yet, Alice." a She took a step forward, staggered into his arms, and lay there, so still, so cold, that he thought her fainting. He shrank too from her clasp with a shudder, and placed her hurriedly back in her chair. "Compose yourself, Alice!" he said, looking away from her. "Can you be ready as early as eight o'clock, or even be- fore it, to-morrow morning?" ' "Whenever you come for me, Frank, I can be ready. Oh, bless God! bless God! and I never thought to see you again, my darling." ,She believed him implicitly. Weakly credulous, you say 1 Ah, well, wiser and 'stronger-minded women than this poor country-girl are apt to be that, where they love. She was neither wise nor' strong in body or mind-he,was her dne earthly hope of salvation. When the dark, bitter waters are closing fast over our heads are we greatly to 'be blamed if we do grasp at straws? , "And now, Alice, as I am pressed for time," he said, draw- ing'out his watch, "I willleave you. Here is some mqney to pay, your bill-tell the landlady you are going home to the country with your husband, and be quite ready before eight to-morrow morning, when I shall call for you." He/left her hurriedly with the words. And Alice alone knelt down and bowed her face upon her hands, and thanked GMo-- who may know how fervently, how gratefully, for her great de- live'rance? She prayed for him, too-for him that Heaven might bless and make him happy, and render her as good a wife as he deserved. Innocent prayers, that might well sear 'and blight his guilty soul. And morning dawned-the morning of Christmas eve. Thousands'of happy people awoke in the great city to wish each other "Merry Christmas," but I doubt if among them A^ , . ON CRZISTMAS EVE. ' , . 3' there was one happier than this poor creature, in her bleak . lodging, waiting for the coming of her idol. She paid the land- lady, repeated her ready-made story, dressed herself in the sickly dawn, and stood by the window watching. It was snow- ing fast-the wind blew cold and shrill, arid her garments were wretchedly thin. The landlady pityingly made some such " remark to her. But Alice only laughed. ' I shall feel no cold, Mrs. Young; and I shall soon be be- yond feeling cold, or ill, or lonely, any more." . She had uttered a prophecy-poor Alice. As the hopeful : words passed her lips a one-horse vehicle drove up to the door, and she saw Frank, muffled beyond any recognition but her own, sitting therein. She gave a little cry of delight. "Good-by, Mrs. Young," she said; "and thank you for your kindness when I was ill." She ran down stairs and out of the house. The man leaned forward and helped her up beside him. And then the whirling, ' a wilderness of snow shut them from Mrs. Young's sight. He did not speak one word. The wind and the snow were . ^ driving in their faces, rendering speech impossible. The morning light was still dull and pale-the city clocks Were only . tolling eight as they quitted the Strand. He drove across one of the bridges, and out to some dismal waste ground in the neighborhood of Battersea, a remote and forgotten tract, as. , wild, and lonely, and forsaken as an African desert. And here: for the first time he spoke : . "There is something the matter with the horse," he said; "you must get out."' . He sprang out himself and gave her his hand to descend. They were close upon somle deserted brick-fields, and he. . made a motion for hemr to follow him. ' , ' "Come out of the storm," he said; "there is a place of shelter near." , ' , He seemed strangely familiar with the desolate locality. He led her to a sort of dry ravine, so hidden away among rubbish and the debris of the forsaken brick-yards as to render entering ; almost an impossibility. She shrunk away in almost nameless ,; :'; fear'. . "Frank!" she cried, in a frightened voice. "I can't go into this hideous place. Oh, my God, Frank I what are you going to do?" "To take your life you fool you babbler " he answered page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] "/, ' a ' . 310 ON CHRISTMAS EVE. in a horrible voice between his clenched teeth. And before she could utter one word, one cry, there came a flash, a report, and Alice fell like a stone at his feet. There was a pause of a second. Had death been instan - taneous No; by a mighty effort she half raised herself, and clasped her arms around his knees. "Frank!" she whispered, "Frank!" and the old death-like devotion looked out of her glazing eyes. "Frank-you haive killed me-and I loved you so-Hoved---you--so! Oh, God, have mercy on me-and forgive-" She fell down with the sentence unfinished-dead. He knew she was dead. He dragged the body away into the darkest depth of the cavern, piled. up the rubbish and heaps of waste bricks again. Thousands of people might pass that dreary tract and never notice this frightful place. And then he was out again in the light of day, with the white snow whirling around him, and his horse standing with bowed head exactly as he had left him. He glanced around. No living soul, far or wide, was to be' ' seen. He looked at his watch-a quarter of nine., He was to breakfast at ten at the house of Sir Vane Charteris, and afterward to accominany the family to Essex. Time enough and to spare, for all that. He leaped in and drove away-drove furiously until the noise of city life began to surge around him again; then he slackened his speed, and at half-past nine was changing his dress in his own luxurious, firelit rooms. He felt neither sorrow, nor remorse, nor fear. Alice had been an obstacle in his way, and he had removed that obsta- cle. It was most improbable that the body should ever be found, or if found, the deed ever traced to him. He was free now to woo and win, in his own way, the bride upon whom he had set his heart. There was more of relief than any other feeling in his mind as he started, faultlessly dressed, for Berkeley Square. "Now for my handsome, high-spirited Paulina!" he thought. "All things succeed with me, and so shall this I In my voca. bulary there's no such word as fail!" xr.- Y ll lr ELU *j LL. 11 2- li. 11 ,^-l U ICLaUi Li -CCW . .Z IU "SSUCH A MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE." 3" 4 ', CHAPTER X. "SUCH A MAD MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE." T her chamber-window, very early in the morning of that same stormy Christmas eve, looking out at the, whirling; fast-falling snow, stood Paulina' Through the gray, chill light her face shone marble-white, mar- ble-cold. Her lips were set in that hard line of iron resolution they could wear at times, and her sombre blue eyes looked straight before her at the storm-drifts. The hour had come that was to witness the crowning recklessness of her impulsive life. The same defiant spirit that had long ago made her pass i, a night alone in the Haunted Grange, and go to the picnic-in male attire, spurred her forward still. During the day and the night that were gone, she had not once thought of hesitating, of turning back. To falter irresolutely in any course, whether for good or bad, was not like Paulina. Come weal, come woe, she would go straight on now to the end. f .., ,*" She was thinking this as she stood there, her heart ffill of bit-, terness and- anger against the two men who had driven her to . this last desperate step. Mrs. Galbraith had brought her home from Twickenham, full of wonder and apprehension. What did that interview in the boudoir with Guy mean? With any other man it would have meant a proposal of marriage, but marriage and a ruined spendthrift were not to be connected together.' During the day and night that had followed Paulina had been ceaselessly watched. There was no knowing what such agirl might do. .; And Paulina had laughed scornfully at the surveillance. ' "What are you afraid of, Mrs. Galbraith'?" she asked; . . "that I'll run away to America, or the antipodes, with Guy ; I Earlscourt? He hasn't asked me, though I should decidedly . ; prefer it to the sort of life I have been leading lately."'; Late in the evening of the night preceding this, snowy morn - ing,.she had spoken to her maid for the first time. The girl, as I lave said, was a well-trained' English domestic, otherwise a human autonlaton, only hearing to obey. This girl, however, ., happened to be attached to her young mistress. With the :; princely spirit Nature had, given her, Paulina had been lavish , :':" of presents and gracious words, and the girl's heart was won. . page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 "SUCH A MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE." ' "Jane," Miss Lisle said, "I want you to do me a great ser- vice, and more, I want you to promise, on oath, never to re- veal it to any human creature until I give you leave. Don't look frightened-I am not going to ask you to commit a crime, only to keep a secret. Are you willing to swear?" Jane's curiosity was roused, but still she hesitated. "Of course, I don't ask you to. do me this favor for noth- ing," Miss Lisle went. on. "What is done for nothing in this world, I wonder? You are engaged to a young man in Wales, I think you told me, and only waiting to save enough to be married. Do what I want to-day, and to-morrow I will give you three hundred pounds." All Jane's scruples gave way at this magnificent offer-curi- osity and cupidity combined were too much for her. She took the oath her mistress dictated, and then waited to hear what was to come. "I am going to be married to-morrow morning, Jane," Miss Lisle went on. "A runaway match, remember, and you are to come with- me and be one of the witnesses. That is all!' Recollect, though, you are bound by oath never to speak of it to a living soul, unless some day, which is most; unlikely, I should release you from your promise." Jane pledged herself to obey-she was a subdued, reticent young woman, quite capable of keeping a secret, even without an oath. And then Paulina had dismissed her, and lain down, dressed as she was, to sleep. Condemned criminals sleep on the night preceding execu- tion-Paulina slept now deeply, dreamlessly. She had reso- lutely shut out thought from' the first-she would iot think, lest at the last hour she might falter and draw back. There was no alternative between this step and becoming the wife' of Lord Montalien, she kept repeating to herself, fand death were better than that. Standing here now she drew forth her watch, and looked at the hour. A quarter of eight. 'At this very moment, in a dis- tant part of the city, Alicd stood waiting for the man she loved. Jane entered the room, on the. instant, with mantle and hat, dressed herself to quit the house. "There's nobody up yet, Miss Paulina," she whispered. "Now is the time, if you want to get away unseen. I beg your pardon, miss, but won't you change those black clothes? It's dreadful bad luck to be married in black." Paulina laughed bitterly. "If I wore crape from head to, I-1 1 ^)-ll- .-ill- - w . . i$SUCH A MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE." 313 foot it would be the fittest attire for my wedding. Put th'en on, Jane, at once." ' She had on a dress of soft, noiseless black silk-the plainest in her wardrobe. The lady's-niaid threw over her shoulders a black-velvet mantle, with wide, flowing sleeves, placed on the fair head a black hat, with a long black ostrich plume, and drew down a thick veil of black lace. The girl finished her work, and regarded this sombre bride with almost a shudder. "I'm a poor servant," she thought, "and I wouldn't be married in that suit for all Miss Lisle's great fortune." "Five minutes of eight," Paulina said; "now, then, Jane, come." She walked out of the room, down the stairs, along the front hall, and noiselessly opened the house door. The drifting . snow; the bitter wind blew in her face, and seemed beating her back. For a moment she did pause, turning sick and faint. Great Heaven! what was this she was about to do? Then the hated image of Lord 'Montalien rose before her-a vision of that dreary old house, down on the dreary Essex coast--and her last hesitation was over. She never paused or stopped to think again. "There is the cab at the corner of the street," Jane said: - "a four-wheeled cab, and see, there is a gentleman waiting." It was Guy-in furred cap and overcoat pacing to and fro to keep himselfwiarm. He espied them the instant they appeared, and came rapidly forward. "Punctual!" he said. "It is eight precisely, Miss Lisle; I hope you are well wrapped, the morning is bitter. Take my . arm-the walking is dangerous." She declined with'a gesture-clinging to Jane. "Go on, Mr. Earlscourt; we will follow you."\ He led the way to the cab, and held the door open for thenm . to enter. Then he. closed it, and sprang up beside the driver, - j solacing himself with a cigar. Paulina shrank away in a corner of the cab, her veil held tightly over her faceher heart lying cold and leaden in her breast, Jane's quiet face betrayed none of her wonder at this , strangely formed runaway match, where the bride declined taking the bridegrom'is arm, and the bridegroom mounted up, - and rode beside cabby in the snowstorm. - They whirled rapidly along, city-ward, through intemiinablee streets, until they reached;the rear of Temple Bar. Onice page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314,' "SUC A MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE." again Paulina looked at her watch; a quarter past eight, and the cab still flying along at a tremendous pace. This part of London was as utterly strange to her as a desert. Were registrars' offices so few and far between, she wondered vaguely, that Mr. Earlscourt need come all this way? They stopped abruptly at last, the cab door opened, and Guy stood ready to help them out. , lThis is the place," he said, briefly; "allow me." iHe half lifted Paulina down, drew her hand within his arm, and led her up a flight of dark stairs, and into a dark and grimy office, where a fire burned in a round stove, and a dirty little boy was sweeping. "Where is Mr. Markham?"Guy asked the boy. "Been called away sudden, sir. Left word, if a party came to be married, le would be back in ten minutes, and you was to take a seat and wait." He placed seats before the stove, staring hard at the lady dressed in black and closely veiled. - "Blessed if! ever see such a bride," he thought; "looks more like a funeral, I should say." Mr. Earlscourt placed Miss Lisle in a leathern arm-chair in front of the stove. "This delay is too bad," he said. I saw the registrar yes- terday, and he promised to be punctual. I hope you have not suffered from the cold, Miss Lisle?" She was shivering even as he spoke, but scarcely with cold. She shrank from the sound of his voice, from the touch of his hand, with a feeling of intolerable shame, What must he think of her-a woman who had asked him to marry her, or as good? And then profound silence fell upon the little room. The boy ceased his sweeping, to stare; the cabman in the doorway shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Guy stood near the window, whistling softly and watching the whirling snow. Jane sat feeling queer and nervous, and wondering how this grewsome wedding was going to end; and the bride elect, in her black drapery and veil, sat like a statue of dark marble, neither speaking nor moving. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed, and still no registrar.' 'It wanted but a quarter of nine not Guy lost all patience at last. "Confound the fellow " he exclaimed, angrily; " what does he mean? He promised faithfully to be here at half-past : ,SUCct A MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE.: 31 - eight, and newa it is almost nine. My lad, here's a crown for you-go and fetch him." No need. The door opened on the instant, and a lively little red-faced man came in.. "Kept you waiting, sir? Ah!" as Guy answered impas, tiently; "very sorry,.but unavoidably detained. Now, then, if the lady will stand up, and the witnesses approach, we'll do your little job for you in a twinkling." Her heart was throbbing with almost sickening rapidity now --throbbing so that she turned sick and faint once more. She looked about her for a second with a wild instinct of flight, but it was too late. Guy had led her forward-how firm, how re s- olute his clasp seemed!-and she was standing before the legal official, answering, as she was told to answer, and hearing -.J's clear, deep tones as in a dreamy swoon. She heard,), ,stili faintly and far off, it seemed, the solemn wrds, "I pro- nounce you man and wife," and then she was signing her name in a. big book, and feeling rather than seeing the little red-faced man staring at her curiously, and knew that she was . , the wife of Guy EarlscourtIl' The registrar placed a slip of paper in her hand. : "Your marriage, certificate, madame," he said, with a bow; "permit me to offer my congratulations, Mrs. Earlscourt." : There was a chair near-she grasped it to keep from falling. ., ' The room, the faces swam dizzily before her for a second; then' : by a 'great effort she mastered the deathly feeling, and stood erect. Guy was watching her; she shrank guiltily from his gaze. He was ver, grave, but as perfectly cool and collected . : ' as she had ever seen him in his most careless hours. The clocks of the district were striking nine as they-left the , office and re-entered the cab; and once again Guy mounted to his seat with the driver, to face the December blasts, and smpke a second consoling' cigar. As before, Paulina' sat in dead silence during the homeward drive. Thirty minutes' rapid driving brought them to Berkeley Square. In front of Sir Vane 'Charteris' mansion the cab . : stoppld, and Mr. Earlscourt assisted them to alight. . Then ^;.i Paulina directly addressed him for the'first time. ' : i ' I shall tell Sir Vane Charteris, the moment 1 enter, what - i has taken place," she hurriedly said: "and if you will call, ^ : within an hour or so, the other. business of paying over the ) forty thousand pounds will be transacted." ;: "'I will call," Guy answered, briefly, " if I may see you'or . a moment to say farewell." page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 31i6 "sUCzh A MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE." She bent her head in token of assent, and flitted up the steps. From the library window Sir Vane Charteris had watched the whole extraordinary proceeding, utterly astounded. What did it mean? Had this reckless girl outwitted them after all? He came forth into the hall. She flung back her veil for the first time, and met his angry, suspicious gaze with flashing, fearless eyes. The sight of him restored all her audacity,'all her desperate courage and defiance. Weakness and faintness were wholly gone now. "Miss Lisle," he demanded, sternly, "what does this mean?" "Sir Vane Charteris," she retorted, meeting his swarth frown without flinching, "it means that you are outwitted-van- quished-that you are no longer my tyrant, nor I your slave. It means that at last I am out of your power-it means that I am free!" His dark face turned yellow with rage. As plainly as he ever understood it after, he understood on the instant what had taken place. She had married Guy Earlscourt., "Go into the library," he said, briefly, and she went. He followed her, and closed the door. She stood before him proudly erect, her eyes alight--her haughty head. thrown back, her resolute face white as death. ' You have married Guy Earlscourt?" , "I have married Guy Earlscourt!" And then, for fully five minutes, they stood face to face-as two combatants in a duel to the death. It was all over then- rage as he might-storm as he would--it was done, and not to be undone. She was married, and out of his power-her for- tune her own-he could do nothing--nothing! "I am married," Paulina said, her voice .ringing hard and clear. - "To escape one brother I have asked the other to marry me. You hear that, Sir Vane Charteris-asked him to marry me-driven to it by you and Lord Montalien. I over- heard your plot to carry me off to 'The Firs,' and bury me alive there, until I should be- forced into a marriage with a man I hate. Sir Vane Charteris, if there had been no other escape, I would have escaped by death. Guy Earlscourt oil the eve of his exile has married me, and freed me from your power." "On the eve of his exile, Paulina! The husband of a lady worth eighty thousand pounds need hardly think of exile." A"No; in his place you certainly would not. Mr. Earlscourt, however, happens to possess' the manliness and generosity to ,' I o l' .f - - , "SUCH A MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE." 317 , leave me free in the hour that makes me his wife. Do, you think, Sir Vane, I am going to let the world know my secret? -do you think I would have married Mr. Earlscourt if he had, meant to reniain in England? He has sworn never to betray tlisecret of our marriage, and he will keep his oath. In an hour he will be here, and you are to make over to him the half of my fortune-forty thousand pounds. In two days he leaves England, and-forever." She turned to quit the room-the bewildered baronet de- tained her. "For Heaven's ike, Paulina, wait! I don't understand- : I can't understand. Do you mean to say this marriage is no marriage? That Guy Earlscourt leaves you free and forever? That he goes from England never to re- turn, while you remain here?" "Precisely! You can't comprehend such generosity as that, can you? You would act very differently under the circuim- stances, and so would his immaculate brother, Lord Montalien. i But there are true men. This marriage shall never be made public if you keep the secret-my maid is sworn to secrecy, and I shall still be Miss Lisle and your ward in the eyes of the world. If, however, you prefer it otherwise-then I shall take ' care to show you as you are tQ society-a guardian so base, so tyrannical, that he drove his ward to the maddest step ever woman took. Now choose!" She stood before him in her beauty and her pride, more defiantly bright than he had ever seen her. He knew her well enough to know she would, to the letter, keep her word. He' camne forward suddenly, and took her hand.. "I will keep your secret, Paulina," he said; "and I beg you to forgive me if I have been harsh. I have been driven to ' it-I hav-inrdeed-I am in Lord Montalien's power, and he forced me to this. I will keep your secret-from him, from my sister-from the world. Let things go on as though this strange marriage had never taken place; you are free to do in all things as you will-I, in the eyes of society, your guardian still. I am sorry for the past; I can say no more. Paulina, will you try to forgive me?" i, "( I will try," she answered, bitterly, and gathering het mantle about her quitted the room. She went up to her own, threw off. her wraps, fell on her knees by the bedside, and buried her face in the satin coverlet. She shed no tears, though her heart was full; she only lay t or e ar -* it w 8*v*s/X as - -V page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 31 "uSUCH A MARRIAGE NEVER WAS BEFORE." he le-sick, tired, numbed, as though she never cared to rise again. No one disturbed her; the minutes went by, the morning with its life' and bustle wore on. At half-past eleven Jane taDDed at the door. "If you please, Miss Paulina,. Sir Vane sends his compli. ments, and would you step down to the library. Mr. Earls- co'urt is there." She rose tip slowly, paaiifflland went down.' It was due to him she should go, but ifle haGEnoly spared her this. Sir Vane admitted her, and locked the door the instant she entered. Another figure, taller, slighter, stood leaning against the mantel staring moodily into the fire. At him Paul'ina did , not dare to look. "You told me, my dear," the baronet said in his most kindly voice, "that 'Mr. Earlscourt was to accept half your fortune. There must be some mistake-he utterly refuses to do it. She turned to him with startled eyes. Guy smiled. "That part of the compact was not in the bond at least. If I have served you I am content. I can only hope that the day may never come when you will regret more than you do at present this morning's work. For the money, I distinctly re- fuse it. I' have fallen very low; but I find there is still a lower depth than that to which I have sunk. To accept your gener- ous offer would be a degradation you must permit me to de- cline. I leave England in two days forever, in all human\ probability; but if, at the other side of the world, the day comes when my wrecked fortunes are retrieved, and I can re- turn with honor, I will return. ,That, too, was not in the, bond." She looked at him-trembling-white to the lips. "You will return," she slowly repeated. If I can, with credit to myself-with my debts paid; most certainly. But you need have no fear; I will keep my oath. Never, come what may in the future, shall I betray your secret. Whether oceans divMe us, or we stand side by side again, will make no difference. If I have saved you 'from nmy half-brother, I am satisfied-I ask no more. And now, Paulina, for the o sake of old times, say 'farewell, and good speed4 before I go." He held out his. hand, the smile that lit it into such rare beauty bright on his face and in his eyes. He stood before her, handsomer, nobler than any man she had ever beheld, in his generous renunciation-his great self-sacrifice; and her heart "SUCHZ A MARRIAGE NEVER $WAS!BEFORE.!' 319 went out to him-and in that moment she knew that she loved the man she had married. She -gave him her hand-her proud head drooping in an agony of shame, of remorse, of pity, of tenderness. If her life had depended on it, she could not have spoken even the " goLad speed" he tsked. Her fingers, icy-cold, were clasped for a second in his warm, firm grasp-one half-sad, half-smiling look fromi the brown eyes, and then she had fled from the room. 'They had parted-perhaps forever, and in the hour that she lost him, she knew that she loved him with a love that would last a life. She was his wife, but she would have died a thou. sand deaths rather than say, "Guy, don't go!" and she knew how utterly unavailing the words would have been, if she could have crushed down her woman's pride and spoken them. It was as fixed as ,fate that he should go. And so she had taken her leap in the dark-taken it blindly-desperately, to save herself from a worse fate. And the hour of her bridehood Was the hour of her widowhood-in the fullest sense of the words, shre was Wedded, Yet No Wife Two days after the "Oneida" steamed:down the Solent from Southampton, bearing away to his long exile Guy Earlscourt. page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] PART FOURTH. CHAPTER I. AFTER SIX YEARS. T was a hot night in Virginia. Up and down a long, bare-looking room, an officer paced restlessly, his hands crossed behind him, his brow bent, his eyes fixed on' the floor. The room was the private apartment of the officer commanding the cavalry division stationed for the time at this outpost, and the officer, was Colonel Hawksley, of, the -th. He was a very tall, very fair 'man, this Colonel Hawksley, with a face so thoroughly Saxon that not aUl the bronze of foreign suns could hide his nationality. He had dark, close-cropped, brown hair, a magnificent tawny beard and mustache, and eyes blue and bright as the Virginia sky without. He was a man of six-and- forty; magnificently iroportioned-a model for an athletic Appo--looking younger than his years, despite the silver th rX dsstreaking his brown hair and the deep lines that care or tought had ploughed along his broad brow. Up and down, up and down, Colonel Hawksley paced, with that thoughtful frown, for upward of an hour. "W/o ioihe?" he muttered, half aloud; " what is he to her? If anything, why is he here?-if nothing, how came he by her picture? The night is fine; he is sufficiently recovered to walk over. I have half a mind to send for himl restore him his property, and ask--" h He stopped to glance out 'at the night. The great, bright .' Southern sta'rs blazed in a cloudless sky, not a breath of air stirred the hot stillness-it was certainly quite fine enough for any one to venture out. The colonel rang' a hand-bell, with a look of decision. An orderly appeared. "Go to the hospital, &nd request Lieutenant Earlscourt, if quite able, to wait upon me here." The soldier touched his cap arid withdrew. The colonel glanced at a little package lying upon the table. It was a gold repeater, set with jewels, and hanging from the ' slender gold chain a locket of rare beauty and workmanship. The officer took up this locket, touched the spring, and looked long and earnestly at the face within. A beautiful and noble face, and a graceful, girlish throat-the photograph of Paulina . Lisle. "What is he to her?-1 ow comes he 'to wear her portrait? Does he know?-but of' ourse he doesn't'! It is strange-- strange." It was somewhat. The jcircumstances were these: A battle had taken place five weeksI before; and during the heat of the:.. engagement, Colonel Hawksley's attention had been attracted I by a young officer of his' o n troop, whose cool courage ,atd - superb fighting rendered h m conspicuous even in that hour. The battle had raged frol 'early morning until dark, and all, day long, where the fire was hottest, and the blows fell thickest, the dark face and tall form of Lieutenant Guy Earlscourt had been foremost. And :at last, as victory turned in their fayor, half a, dozen tremendous blows aimed at him at once htad -'- : hurled him from his saddle. "Killed," the colonel thoughl , with a passing pang of regret, beyond a doubt. It looked like it when they carried his senseless form into : the hospital, and among the list of "killed" returned "after the- fray was the name of "Lieutenant, Guy Earlscourt." But he . : had not, died. 'Covered with wounds from head to foot, there' was not, as it turned out, one of them mortal, not even very dangerous. In five weeks Lieutenant Earlscourt was able to quit his bed, and walk about, for a few moments at a time, in the hos- pital yard. On the day succeeding the battle, while he still lay senseless, his colonel had visited the hospital expressly to make inquiries after him. The young man had fought so daringly, his cool- ' ness had been so remarkable, and something in his general. page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 322 AFTER SIX YEARS. air and manner marked him different from his comrades. He lay terribly like death now, but the rare beauty of his face that had made him the pet of boudoirs in another land, that had made scores of high-born beauties smile upon him; was un- Iaarred still. Whiter, colder than marble, he lay-the breath scarce stirring his bloodless lips. "'Poor lad!"Colonel Hawksley said, looking down upon him with real regret; "he fought like a lion yesterday. Who is he, and wheie does he belong?" No one knew. Except his name, and'that he had entered the ranks as a private, there was simply nothing whatever known of his story nothin whatever "Look here, colonel," the nurse said; "' this belongs to him, and should be taken care of until we see if the poor fellow re- covers. 'His name is on it-engraved here on the case." She handed him the gold watch and chain and locket. Either intentionally or by accident, she touched the spring in handling it, and the locket flew open. And Colonel Hawksley, witl a startled exclamation, caught it up, and looked in amaze upon his daughter's fair, .proud face. It was a vignette of Paulina Lisle beyond a doubt. He wore one near his own heart, a later picture, in which the exquisite face looked older, graver, less brightly smiling than in this- but the same. This stranger was an Englishman, then, and had. known- Paulina. . He examined the watch closely. Beside his -name it bore. the crest of a noble house--a mailed hand, and the motto, "Semper Fidelis." Colonel Hawksley's interest deepened to intense curiosity- who was this young man who had entered the ranks of their army as a common s6ldier, and who wore his daughter's picture and the crest of an English nobleman? "He looks like an Englishman, in spite of his olive skin-and. jet-black hair and mustache. Heaven send him a speedy re. covery, or I shall perish miserably of curiosity." The colonel's prayer was heard-Lieutenant Earlscourt's recovery was astonishing in its rapidity, considering his dozen wounds. And on this night suspense'was to be borne no longer, and Colonel Hawksley had dispatched the orderly to summon the invalid heto to his presence. Fifteen minutes wore away.' Then the orderly's knock came to the door. AFTER SIX YEARS. 32 "Come in," the colonel cried, flinging himself for the first. time into a chair; and the door opened, and Lieutenant Earls court stood before him, with a military salute. "You sent for me, colonel?" "I did, sir. -Come in and) take a seat you are unfit to stand. I trust there has been no imprudence in your ventur- ing into the night air?" "None whatever, colonel, I am happy to say. My scratches are pretty well healed-I shall be fit for service again in a* week." The colonel smiled-he liked the. bold, soldierly spirit--he liked the look and manner of the man altogether. "Hardly, I fear," he said, and indeed the lieutenant, with his arm in a sling, and his dark face still terribly thiri and blood. less, did hardly look like it. "I have been very anxious fgr your recovery, lieutenant- ; that we can't spare so brave a fellow, for one reason-that I want most anxiously to ask yofi;few questions for another." The wounded lieutenant listened in grave silence. He had taken a seat at the desire of his officer, and the lamplight fell , full upon his handsome, pallid face, while that of the elder man was in the shadow. What does it matter now whether they ; wore the blue or the gray; they were both Englishmen, and ^ fought for the cause with which their sympathies lay. .,' ^ ' I have a portion of your property in my possession," con- ' tinued Colonel Hawksley, " given in charge to me on the day after the battle. Permit me to return it to you, and to own L1 that, by the merest chance, I saw and recognized 'the face you wear in that locket." Guy Earlscourt took his' property. To be very much -sur- .^,i: prised at anything would have been in direct opposition to all - the codes of his life. His face betrayed none whatever now. . '. "Recognized it, did you?"I shouldn't have thought that. A very handsome face, colonel-is it not?" - Colonel Hawksley produced from an inner pocket a phofto . graph, and handed it to him. "I received this from Efgland some'three months ago. The face you wear is younger, but the same." Guy Etarlscourt looked) long and earnestly at this- second pic- . ture--of what he felt his calm face showing no sign wlatever. It was Paulina, six years older than when he had seen her last, ' more beautiful in her stately womanhood even than the bright, girlish face and form he remembered so well. ) ; , ' ' ' t ' , ' , . & 1 "1I page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] ago24 AFT-zR SIX YEARS: He handed it back with a bow and smile. "Years mar some of us; they but add to Paulina'LiAle's crown of beauty. It's six years since I saw her, and she has changed; but I should recognize that face anywhere. It is not the kind of face one sees every day." His colonel watched him as he spoke-keenly-closely- but his serene countenance kept his secrets, if he had them, well. "Mr. Earlscourt," he said, abruptly, "I am going to ask you seemingly a very impertinept question, which, of course, you are at liberty to answer or not, as you choose. What is Pau- ina Lisle to you " Guy smiled-perfectly unembarrassed. "An acquaintance, colonel, whom I met in all about half a dozen times in my life, who doesn't in the least know that 1 have the audacity to wear her picture. I was guilty of petty larceny-abstracted it from a friend's album on the eve of my departure from England. I admired Miss Lisle very much, as all men must who have the happiress of knowing her, and I fancied I could not bring with me to liy exile a fairer memento of the life I left. That is the histor of her picture in nmy locket." With the infinite calln which nature and habit both had given him, he replaced the watch in his belt and waited quietly for his companion to speak. And this is all "Colonel Hawksley said. I fancied you might have been--" "A discardedlover? No, colonel, I never was that. Miss Lisle, with her great beauty, and her great fortune, was alto- gether above my humble reach. One might as soon love some bright particular star, etc." "A bove your reach, and you wear the crest of a noble' housel" "A whim, perhaps, like weiring Miss Lisle's portrait." "You are an Englishman, at least." "Undoubtedly, colonel."' , "May I ask how many years since you first came to this country?" "Six years, precisely, next January." "I am afraid my questions are intrusive-impertinent, per- :haps; but I am an Englishman myself, and, somehow, I feel a singular interest in you. You remind me-your voice-your manner-of one whom I knew twenty two years ago. I won. i'* ' i ' * * . s O Fe s ss oo t *Xsoat a h .t q- WX wX A rucs- wwhr c4 * * ze* s id ho v rUii s f . s arkt * n ; s rY I +e .st e+- - (.fr - tJl 1.-.W wMx . . zz}JXti..O B y"-.* ............................... der if you knew him-he was a man of rank-Lord Monta . ' lien." His lieutenant looked at the speaker, suddenly, with a new -' 'interest, a new iimtligeice in his glance. At the mention of his father's name all became clear. Why, the very name of " Hawksley mnight have told him, taken in connection with the :*1 , v recognition of Paulina's picture, this man was her father I "You knew ,ord Montalien?"Colonel Hawksley said, - . leaning forward. "Your face shows it, at least. You are like 5 him, yet unlike. Was he anything to you?" ' ' "Well, yes; he was my father." ' "Your father?" "Yes, colonel. 'You were not aware, perhaps, bur family . name is Earlscourt? My elder brother took the title upon our .: father's death, and Hwell, I may as well own it-I 'squandered' my patrimony and was obliged to fly from England six yea'rs ago, over head and ears in debt. That is my story. I came to this country to retrieve my fallen fortunes, as poor a man:as ':: ever landed at the New York docks." . a Colonel Hawksley listened, his eyes lit up, his face full of, ,wonder and eager interest. "And have you retrieved them?" . 't "Well, partly. I have managed in those six years tO pay. 'i off the greater half of my debts. I fancy it will be half a dozen. , years more, however, before I have sufficiently cleared off my incumbrances to return." "You mean to return?" . - - ;; "Decidedly-as soon as I can." " . '4 "May I, ask in what way you have succeeded in doing even ' x : so much?" ' . Guy laughed. '" "By quill-driving, colonel. I was always a Bohemian-the . ' life suited me, and I turned journalist, magazine writer, book. - maker-all that there is of the most literary. I believe I have ^ A contributed to half the periodicals of America and London. ' . You may, by chance, have lit on the norm de plume of---" ,. : He mentioned a name famous then, far more famous now, in - . - the annals of fictional literature. . "What "Hawksley exclaimed; "are you the authot of. ' 'Paul'Rutherford's Wife?" . . . "I am." "And of Gold and Glitter "'. ' "WYes" ; "Why, you'should have realized a fortune from the sale of at ' , ): 4 page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 AFTAR SIX YEARS. those two works alone. Their popularity over here-has been something, immense." "They have 'paid tolerably well-if they had not I should not have been able, as I have told you, to pay off the larger portion of my debts. My extravagances in the past make my very hair rise now. I'm a reformed character, colonel; there was great room for improvement, too, I assure you. I pursued my scribbling here in camp; it passes one's leisure hours, and ! as far as remuneration goes, I find the pen decidedly 'mightier than the sword.' " "Mr. Earlscourt," the colonel said, "you are one of the cleverest novelists of the day." Mr. Earlscourt bowed wlth gravity. ",You are destined to become a famous man, and I am proud to have made your acquaintance. It was as your father's ward, then, you first met my-Miss Lisle?" "Your daughter, colonel-the confidence may as well be mutual. Of course, I know you are Robert Lisle." "Ah, yes; I suppose my history is familiar to you -from your father." "And from others. Were you not rather surprised, colonel; when you discovered upon whom my father pitched'as his successor in your daughter's guardianship? Now I should imagine Sir Vane Charteris would be the last man alive you would wish to place in power over Paulina." 'A dark flush crept up over the pale bronze of the colonel's face. "And why?" he asked. "Shall I really answer that question, colonel? You see I have had time to think since I came out here, and I have managed to connect past events pretty clearly. I remember my father telling your sto'ry at the dinner-table, and Lady Charteris-poor Lady Chartaris falling in a dead faint at the mention of your name. I look back, and remember hearing she was forced to marry Sir'Vane. I know they were totally estranged from each other, that the shadow of a life-long -sorrow lay upon her, and I knew she was your, wife and Paulina's mother." Colonel Hawksley bowed his face on his haid. Even in the shadow Guy could see how greatly he was moved. "Why do you remain here?" he asked. "Why have oyou not long ago gone back and rescued her from a fate worse than death. You were' her husband, not he; you had the right. Why not have returned and claimed her long ago?" ' - - ) AFTER SIX YEARS. 32 i' Heaven knows! There have been times, of late years, when I have thought myself the veriest coward and idiot to be hunted down as I was, to desert her to her tyrants. But I lay under a criminal charge which I could not disprove-and she was his wife, and I was made to believe loved him. And there would have followed exposure, and-" "Better exposure than such misery as she has been made to sutffer. Colonel Hawksley, do you know she is the inmate of a mad-house now?" "Yes," the word dropped slowlyr heavily from his pale lips, "I know." , " Your daughter told you. I wonder you did not return to England when you first learned that Sir Vane Charteris had been appointed her guardian." "I did not know it for many months after. She wrote me from France-telling me of the change, and that she was satis- fied-that I was in no way to trouble myself about her. Then the war began, and I came here, and I shall remain until the end. Why should I return now-England holls nothing but bitter memories for me." ' i Have you no wish to see, your daughter?" " Every wish.' When she is some good man's wife I shall ask her to come across the ocean to visit me." "Have you no wish to clear the blot off your good name- to disprove the false charge brought against you by Geoffrey ,yndith?" "It would be impossible after all those years." "I don't see that," Guy said, coolly; "more difficult things are done-every day. London detectives are clever, and you are rich enough to pay them well for their work. Geoffrey: Lyndith is dead-you are free to return if you will-if for no other's sake, for that of your wife," Colonel Hawksley rose up passionately. "Do you think I could. bear to see her," he said, "like. that? Why, good Heavens, the thought of her as she is now nearly drives me wild." I[ "Insane, you mean. Well, now, I am not so sure of that, eidier. Every one is not insane who is shut up in a mad- house." \ - "Young man, what do you mean?" "Simply this-that whatever Lary Charteris may be now, she was no more insane than you' or I when placed there first." ' ' " '. - - '- page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 328 AFTER SIX YEARS. ",Great Heaven!" ' Sir Vane Charteris is a man capable of a very villanous deed--I am quite sure of that; and up to a few weeks before the fact of her madness was announced no one ever thought of doubting her ladyship's perfect sanity. They were estranged for years and years before the birth of his only daughter, I be- lieve, but perfectly civil to one another. Lady Charteris fainted, as I have told you, when my father related your story at the dinner-table, after his appointment as Paulina's guardian. That night, it transpired, she fled from the Priory to the house in Speckhaven in which Duke Mason lived, and Sir Vane fol- lowed and brought her back. It was a stormy night, I recol- lect, and whether from the wetting she received, or her excite- ment, she was taken very ill. As soon ,as she was able to be removed, Sir Vane took her. up to town to place her under the charge of the ablest physician. The next news we heard was that she had gone insane, and was placed in a private asylum. No one was permitted to visit her, not her own daughter Maud, but in spite of the baronet's care, the form of her lunacy trans- pired. She refused to acknowledge Sir Vane Charteris as her husband-said her rightful husband was alive and in a foreign land. Now, think, whether or no this statement was the utter- ance of insanity." "Great Heaven! my poor, hearthroken Olivia. If I thought-if I thought this were true--" ' You would return. It is true! Does Lady Charteris still live?" "She does. Paulina mentioned her in her last letter. She had asked Sir Vane to allow her to visit her-little dreaming she is her own mother." "And he refused, of course; and will go on refusing to the end of the chapter. Poor lady! she needs some friend to go to her deliverance, in the power of such a man as Vane Char- teris." The colonel paused abruptly in his walk, came over, and laid his hand heavily on the younger man's shoulder. "Earlscourt," he said, "I will go back to England as speedily as may be, and you shall accompany me, and aid me in the task of recovering and reclaiming my wife. Heaven grant we may not be too late." "Amen! But it's out of the question that I should return. Those little floating bills, you know-and the Jews do come down on a fellow like the wolves to the fold. I shall have to * , AFTER SIX YEARS. 329 write at least two more highly popular novels before I can face the Israelites of London." "Come with me," Hawksley said, earnestly; "I ask it as a favor. For your debts you. will accept a loan from me until those two new nbvels are written.. You will not object-I take it as a personal favor your coming. England will be like a strange land to me after a score and more years. You will come?" He -leld out his hand-Guy placed his therein. "I will go, colonel-thanks all the same'for your kindness. And now, with )our permission, I'll retire-I don't feel quite as strong as Samson, and--" He reeled slightly as he spoke-faint and giddy from weak- ness and recent loss of blood. The colonel hastily poured out a glass of wine and held it to his lips. "I should not have brought you out-you will be the worse for this. My servant shall accompany you to your quarters- you are not fit to walk over that distance alone; Good-night." "Good-night, colonel." The orderly, with the wounded lieutenant, crossed the moon. lit sward on their way to the temporary hospital. And long after Guy Earlscourt lay asleep, with his handsome head pil- lowed on his arm, a smile on his lips, dreaming of England and / Paulina, Colonel Hawksley paced to and fro in his apartment, thinking bitterly of his wasted life and of the fate that had held him and the wife he loved apart. ( "My darling!" he said, " my darling! and you always loved me-always were faithful-I know it now. And H-ah, 'Heaven! why did I not brave all that those plotters could do, and claim you. But the day of retribution is at hand, and let. those who stand between us take care!" " page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 330 A BELLE OF FIVE SEASONS. CHAPTER II. A BELLE OF FIVE SEASONS PAULINA!" There was no reply. The lady addressed sat ab- sorbed over a book. "Paulina," rather louder, "it is almpst five; and quite time to drive. Do you hear?" "Well, yes, I hear, Maud," and Paulina Lisle lifted a pair of serene, sapphire-hued eyes from her book; "but I really don't think I shall go. It is very pleasant here by the fire this chilly May afternoon, and my book interests me, which is more than I can say for the Ride, or the Ring." "What!" cried Maud Charteris, "not even when this is the first day of Lord Heatherland's return from Scotland; and you have not seen him for a fortnight. You are sure to meet him in the Park, and all I've got to say is, that I hope, when JI'i engaged, I'll be a little more anxious to see my fiancd than that., But then, of course, it is an understood thing that the beautiful Miss Lisle, the belle of London, has no heart. I don't suppose it is at all a necessary adjunct to a future duch- ess." There was just the slightest tinge of envy in the tone of Miss Maud Charteris, as she said theie last words. She would never be a duchess, and she knew it She was a small, sallow- complexioned girl of one-and-twenty now, very pale and sickly, with eyes like sloes, and dead, black hair, and a look of Sir Vane Charteris all over her wan, fretted face. The eyes of Paulina Lisle fell suddenly and rested on the fire with something like a smothered sigh. "No heart, Maud!" she repeated slowly; "I sometimes think it would be better for half of us if that impossibility could occur, and we were born without heart, without memory, with- out conscience. Our past enormities would not then rise up to embitter our whole future lives." Miss Charteris pulled out her watch impatiently. "I didn't come here to talk metaphysics, Miss Lisle. Aunt Eleanor sent me to see if you were ready to drive." She was in elegant carriage costume herself as she spoke. "You don't' A BELLE OF FIVE SEASONS. 33. realy mean to say, Paulina, that a new book, no matter how interesting, is a stronger attraction to the reigning beauty of the season than a drive along the Lady's Mile, at the fashionable hour, on a lovely May day? Don't tell me so, for I couldn't believe it." "It is perfectly true, nevertheless. My book is intensely interesting, and the daily drive "at the same hour, in the same place, seeing the same faces, acknowledging the same bows, becomes after five seasons-well, to speak mildly, rather mo- notonous." "What's your book, Paulina?" "Under the Southern Cross,' by the author of ' Paul Ruther- ford's Wife' and ' Gold and Glitter,' .the two best novels of the day, you remember. Even you, Maud, who never read any- thing except the 'Court Circular' and th^.'Morning Post,' read them." '"I remember. They were books of English society, and I, read them because they were so true to nature, to reality. a Half the books of that class are the most wretched caricatures. This man, evidently, knows what he is writing about. They i' were charming stories. Do you know, Paulina, the heroine of the first was very like you!" "Like fie! Is that a compliment to me or Margaret Rutherford, I wonder?" " "To you. Paul Rutherford's wife was a bewitching creat. ure, and I am perfectly sure she was drawn froni real life--. from you, Miss Lisle." "Let me see," said Paulina with a smile; "as far as-I can . remember, she was an impulsive, headstrong, rebellious, pas sionate woman, with good impulses, I grant, but spoiling every- thing by. her reckless impetuosity. Yes, I suppose, that was - like me-in the past, Maud;" a flush rose for a moment over I theperfect pallor of her face. "I shudder-I sicken when I ' think of my desperate deeds of the past. Good Heaven I what a perfectly wild, perfectly reckless little outlaw I was!" ' "Indeed! You never murdered any one like Lady Audley; I suppose. Or you never married a head-groom, or anything of that sort, did you?" ., The flush deepened-deepened perceptibly on Miss Lisle's ; face. I have dore what I can never forget nor forgive," she an- swered in broken tones; "what will haunt me with grief, and shame, and remorse my life long." She was speaking more'to page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] i32 A -BELLE OF FIVE SEASONS. her own thoughts than to her companion now. "People who knew me six years ago. tell me I have changed out of all knowl. edge. I hope I have-I hope I have-in no way, looks or character; thought or action, would I resemble the Paulina Lisle of six years ago." "Then you thave a secret in your life, Paulina I That's ro- mantic; and; if you'll believe me, I always thought so. Your fits of gloom, your abstraction, the change in you somehow, do you know, I always fancied you were like the heroine of a novel, and had gone through the loved-and-lost idea poets make such a howling about. Do tell me, Paulina, who was he?" Paulina looked up and laughed-her own sweet laugh. "My dear Maud, my prophetic soul tells me Mrs. Galbraith will be here in five minutes to scold us both. 'I suppose I should never be forgiven if I did not go-so, farewell, my dar- ling book, until by and by. One hour with you is worth a dozen in the Lady's Mile. What a farce it all is, Maud, this everlasting routine of dressing, and driving, and dining; and all for-what? We are like a flock of sheep jumping through a hedge, and not one of us knowing why we follow our leader. Life's a comedy, at best, and we the prettily-dressed, prettily- I painted actresses; and when the lights are out and the play over, I wonder what account we will be asked to give of lives and talents so spent. There, Maud, don't look so disgusted, dear child. I will run away and dress and prose no more." Miss Charteris walked away to the door with a peculiarly sarcastic smile on her pale, thin lips. "Does she ever talk to the Most Noble the Marquis-of Heatherland like this, I wonder?" she said. "Does she con- fess to him those heinous crimes and secrets of the past, and it 'her general weariness and disgust of life and' rank and society?" "Lord Heatherland is a thousand times too good for such a woman as I am-no one knows that better than I, Maud." "But you don't care a fig for him all the same, Pauling; and, in spite of your fine romance and second-hand senti- mentality, you are marrying him for his rank and his coronet, just as I or any of us in Vanity Fair would do. Paulina Lisle, you're a-it's not a very elegant word, but exceedingly expres- sive-vou're a humbug!I With which Maud Charteris quitted the room, and Paulina was alone. The half-sisters (still ignorant they were such) were consider. ably attached to each other. A- BELLE OF FIVE SEASONS. 333 Maud, with envy and bitterness in her heart for the other's great beauty, had yet a sort of liking and admiration that even her own sex yielded Paulina. Look at her, sitting there in a low chair before the fire, and see what Paulina Lisle has become at four-and-twenty! She is dressed in her morning negligee of silver-gray, band of linen at her throat and wrists, and the bronze brown hair, rippling low on the perfect forehead, gathered in a shining coil at the back of the stately, small head. She is tall, she is grandly pro portioned, every movement is instinct with grace and majesty, the throat, the -arms, are marble fair-she is one of those ex- ceptional women which all men think beautiful. The face and ; form that Rotten Row went wild about, painters and sculptors coveted as a model, and poets might sing of in its noble wo- manhood. The golden-brown hair, the eyes of liquid, sapphire blue, the arched foot, and the swaying grace of motion, whether she waltzed or walked, a skin delicate as the petals of a Bengal rose, and as devoid of color in repose, and a smile an'd a voice that 'even women who envied and disliked her were forced to allow had a charm. She had changed almost out of knowledge in the past six years-the reckless, impetu- ous, self-willed girl of eighteen, had grown to be the, most wo- manlyof women, the gentlest of gentlewomen. The' lips were sweet as well as proud, the brilliant eyes had learned a softer, /. tenderer, it may be, sadder light, the girl had been faulty, erring, rash to madness, the woman was perfect in. her sweet thought ' for others, her unselfishness, her gentleness, her goodness to all. A beautiful and graceful lady she sits here, with softly brood- ;. ing eyes and lips a little parted, even in repose, thinking very kindly, if not lovingly, of the man whom in three weeks she is to marry-the Marquis of Heatherland, bnly son of the Duke : ; of Clanronald. She would fain sit and wait for his coming; here, but Mrs. Galbraith' has issued her decree, and with the gentle temper that has grown habitual to her of late years, the sacrifice of self she has learned to make, she rises with a low sigh, and goes forth into that brilliant Maytime world, ofwhich ' she is one of the acknowledged queens. , It has taken three volumes to record half a dozen months ol her life--te past half a dozen years may be rendered in a . many pags. That e ntfuil Christmas, six years ago, to the great surprise of Mrs. GalbIith, was neither spent at "The Firs" nor at Monta- . lien Priory, nor did Paulina become the wife of Lord Monta . :i}tH page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] ,' 334 A BELLE OF FIVE SEASONS. lien. Miss Lisle, by her own desire, had been taken to France instead, and spent the winter with one of her late school friends. Lord Montalien and her guardian had quarrelled, not loudly nor violently, but the quarrel was none the less deep and deadly. "You can do your worst, my lord," Sir Vane had said, not without dignity. "I have changed my mind--my ward shall not be forced to marry you." And Lord Montalien had gone away baffled, black with sup-. pressed fire and rage. "If the day ever comes, Sir Vane Charteris," he had said, "when I can repay you, trust me not to forget this debt." And then he had gone abroad, and had not once returned to England since. Paulina's secret was kept. Neither Mrs. Galbraith nor Lord Montalien dreamed of it. Jane married and settled in Wales, and had kept her oath, and Miss Lisle had her freedom, and in the eyes of the world was Sir Vane's' ward still. She spent that winter in France, and came back late in April to resume her new life. Her Grace the Duchess of Clanronald, a handsome, haughty dowager of seventy-five, had taken a great fancy to the girl's bright, fair face, and presented her; and the 'Morning Post' re- corded Miss Lisle's diamonds and general splendor of appear- rance, together with her most remarkable beauty. And then followed her first brilliant London season; and those few who had known her the preceding year saw and wondereda little at the growing change in her. Miss Lisle was a great success-men raved of her perfect face, her perfect form, her rare fascination ofumanner, and women en- vied and disliked her with a sincerity that was the highest compli- ment they could pay her charms; ' She made scores of conquests and had three brilliant offers that first season. She declined them all in a way that left no hope. Women called her a co- quette, a heartless coquette. Nature had made her beautiful, and gifted her with that rare, subtle fascination of manner that is even better than beauty. She could not fail to please, to at- tract in spite of herself. Mrs. Galbraith cried out loudly that it was a sin, a crime, to refuse such offers as Paulina gently but resolutely-refused. What did the girl expect? Did she wish one of the royal princes to propose for her? , And Pau' lina listened and smiled-a little sadly, a little wistfully, and the blue eyes looked dreamily afar off, and Guy Earlscourt's ABELLE OF F[IVE SEASONS. - 3 dark face came back to her from over the sea. Where he was, to what distant land le had gone, she did not know; she only knew that she loved him, and that she would rather die than look upon his face again. Her second, third, and fourth sea- sons were a repetition of the first. She grew more beautiful with each. passing year, and more marble-hearted, said the world. She received: more eligible offers than any other woman of her time,.and treated all alike. She had no heart they sai A, or it was like her complexion, of marble.' Women ceased th fear her rivalry-men grew shy of offering their hearts i and hands to this merciless "Refuser." ' And away in America, fighting under an alien flag, there was one whose name she saw at rare intervals in the American papers Colonel Hawksley sent hkr, a name that could make her heart throb, and her pale cheeks flush as none of those men about her had ever done. I At the close of that fourth London season, the Duchess of Clanronald carried Miss Lisle away to her distant Highland . castle, to spend the autumn and winter. She liked Paulina, with a liking that grew stronger with each year. At Clanron- aid Castle Miss Lisle encountered, that autumn, her grace's only son, the Marquis of Heatherland. He had. been absent , , in the East for the past seven years, and had come home, on a flying visit to his mother before starting for Equinoctial Af- rica. He came home, a grave, weather-beaten man of seven- and-forty, with every intention of leaving again in a week, and ' he met Paulina Lisle, and his fate was fixed. He fell in love with her, as scores of other men had done before him, and , Equinetial Africa and gorilla-hunting were forgotten:. He . was seven-and-forty; he had. never been in love in his life;' : women and society bored him; he was grave, silent, and not handsome, and he fell in love as men of seven-and-forty. your potent, wise, and reverend seigneurs--do fall in love at that ab- normal age, without hope, and without reason. In three days his infatuation was patent to the whole .house. The duchess was alarmed, and remonstrated' after the faslhon of mothers, It was the desire of her life to see Heatherlahd married and4 free from his wild, roving life, but not to Paulina Lisle, inu, as she liked her. "It is madness-fatulatioon your part, Heatherlad," she said. "This girl is infinitely below you in rank. She passes in society as a relative of the late Lord Montalien, and an orphan., She is neither. Her father is in America, in self-imposed exile; her mother is-Heaven knows where. I do not even know page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] j 336 A BELLE OF FIVE SEASONS. that her parents were legally married. Of course I would not ' - breathe a word of this to any but you. I like the girl exces- sively; but she is, as I said, infinitely below you in birth and station--not the sort of women the Dukes of Clanroiald have been accustomed to marry." The marquis listened, with his slow, grave, thoughtful smile, and answered quietly.: "Mother, if she were a crossing-sweeper or beggar, and the woman she is, I would marry her if she would accept me. It is fixed as fate. She is the one woman of all women I want-- if she refuses me, I will never marry." "Refuse you!" her Grace exclaimed, in unutterable scorn. "Miss Lisle has refused many offers, but she will not refuse you / There are not many women alive, I think, who would reject the Marquis of Heatherland." Two days after that conversation the marquis proposed, and was rejected! He was a man of few words,. He took his rejection as qui-' etly as he took most things. "And this is final?". he asked, slowly. '"There is no hope, Miss Lisle?" "There is none," she answered. "I esteem you, I respect you highly, my lord, but I will never marry-never!" There was that in her face that told him she meant it. There' was infinite pain in it, too.' It gave her no pleasure, yielded her no triumph-these rejections. She felt like a cheat, like an impostor; she felt shame-humiliation unutterable. She a wedded wife, and men constantly asking her to marry them! It was part of her punishment, richly deserved but very bitter. She went up to her room after he left her, slowly, wearily, sick at heart. A packet of American papers, that should have reached her two months before, lay on the table. She opened the: packet with eagerness-there was mostly news of her father 1 . there-very often mention of another name, quite as eagerly looked for. The papers were three months old, they gave the details of a long and terrible battle, the. lists of killed, wounded, and missing. And almost heading the list of killed she read the name of Lieutenant Guy Earlscourt t Yes, there it was. Guy Earlscourt-killed I The room swam .round her, a hot mist came between her eyes, and the. paper. Killed I, His image rose before her as she had seen him first eight years before-" beautiful with 'man's best beauty," when she had danced with him under the waving trees beauty,"o ,e s A BIELLS OF FIVE , SEASS. 337 I of Montalien, during that bright June day. As she had seen him with the suinshine on his dark face, as he rode up to her carriage to say good-by onl the day she left Speckhaven for school. As she had seen him last in the library of Sir Vane Charteris',house, wlhenihe had refused the money she proffered, and had gone forth penniless to his exile. Killed! And then the mist cleared away, and she forced herself to read. There was a brief paragraph concerning him-very'brief and eloquent. HK was an Englishinan, and he had fouglt like a lion during the whole day. And it had been newly discoverd he was the anonymous author of those two books whichthad dreated such a sensation in the literary world, "Paul Rutherford's Wife " and "Gold and Glitter." The paper dropped from her hands, she sanl down on her knees and buried her pale face in them, Long before she arose they were wet with her tears-tears that came fast and thick from a stricken heart. She had loved him,' and he was dead. Miss Lisle left .the 'Highland Castle abruptly enough 'next day-no doubt because, she had rejected Heatherland, every / One said. She looked so pale, so cold, so wretched, that the duchess had not had the heart to be too severe upon her-the young woman must be mad, simply that. - She went Domle-home to Speckhaven--to Duke, and passed tle winter as though she were once more i' Polly Mason," and . 1i ail her wealth and grandeur but a dream., She was in trouble --those faithful friends saw that, and asked no questions, only ; too happy to have her with them 'once more. When April ; came Sir Vane came with it, and took her back, and the world saw no change in her. - And for the first time for many years the Marquis of Heatherland appeared in society-his old mad- . ' ness strong upon hinm still. He had po hope-but to loo ': upon her face-to .hear her voice, weie temptations top great ; . for him. They met once more, and how it came about need not be told. He proposed again and this time was accepted. She was proud, she was ambitious-she liked and esteemed him highly. " i "I will be your wife," she said simply. "Your faithful wife : I know; your loving wife I hope--ir time." He asked no more.' He lifted the fair, small hand to his lips gratefully, gladly, and 'she was betrothed to the Marquis of Heatherland., page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] ^ f338 - -A BELLE OF FIVE SEASONS. Mrs. Galbraith and her two young ladies came back from the Park to dine and dress for a reception. They had met Lord Heatherland, and shaken hands with him, and he was to be at the reception also. The marriage was to take place in three weeks; he had hurried everything Soon and she had consented. Why should they wait? Even his mother had come round and was willing now. And she was to be a duchess. The title poor Duke had given her long ago in jest was one day to be hers in reality. The present duke had been bedridden for years, an old, old man-she would not long be Marchioness of Heatherland. "How strange it all seems," she thought, with a half-smile, looking at her image in the glass. "I, little Polly Mason, to be in three weeks' time Marchioness of Heatherland. It'is al- most like a fairy tale!" She was looking beautiful tonight, her best, in a dress of blue satin and point-lace overskirt, diamonds in her gold-brown hair, and running like a river of light about the graceful throat. She was looking beautiful, and an octogenarian minister, sprightly as a schoolboy, Came up to shake hands, and congratulate her. "I have been telling Heatherland what an unspeakably for- J; ltunate fellow he is! I think he is as fully sensible of it,.though, s. .as I am. If it were not for my eighty years and one wife al- ready, Miss Lisle, Heatherland should not have had it all his own way." The Marquis of Heatherland was by her side. She blushed and laughed with her own frank grace. "I can imagine no age at which your excellency would not be a dangerous rival," she said. The words had but just passed her lips, and she was turning away, with the smile and blush still lingering, when she stopped suddenly. Had the dead arisen? There, standing a few yards away, gazing at her with grave thoughtfulness, she saw, face to face-Guy Earlscourt I , * 9 - HELD ASUiNDE/R. 339 CHAPTER III. HELD ASUNDER. GUY EARLSCOURT! No myth, no illusion of the senses, no shadow from the dead, but the living, breathing, vigorous man! Somewhat thinner, some- what browner, somewhat worn and grave, as if he had thought and suffered much in the span of the past six years, but as surely as she stood there looking at him---Guy Earls- court! , She did not cry out, she did not faint, though, for an instant, the rooms, the lights, the faces, the flitting forms, swam giddily, and there was the surging roar of many waters in her ears. She stood there stock still, her great eyes dilating, every drop of blood leaving her face. Dimly, after an interval-of five sec- onds, in reality-of five hours it seemed to her-the voice of Lord Heatherland, sounding faint and far-off, came to her ear: "Paulina, you are ill--you are going to faint! For pity's sake, sit down a moment while I go for a glass of water!" She caught at the back of a chair he placed for her, and saw - him hurriedly disappear. Then, by a mighty effort, she collected her dazed senses, and turned, still dizzily, to leave the room. On the very instant of her recognition Gtly Earlscourt had turned slowly away and disappeared in an inner apartment. She made her way-how, she never afterward knew, sick and dizzy as she felt--out of the crowded rooms through an open window, and on to the piazza. There she sank down, half- crouching, half-sittijg, in her gay ball-dress, while the wind of the cold May nighl 'blew upon her uncovered head and death- white face. At first she could not even think. The suddenness of the blow stunned her. She was painfully conscious of outer things -of the great, burning midnight stars; of the distant wilder- ness of lights; of the faint, sweet-sighing of the music; of the chill blowing of the wind; and then those things all faded away, and the present, and the past, and her whole future life lay bare before her. A strange sort of calm that was, almost apathy I-* *, ' 7 2 *' ' page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] 340 hELP ASUNDER. fell upop her, and she thought of herself and her strange situa tion as if she were thinking of another person. lThe report of the American newspaper had been untrue-a mlistake, no doubt. Guy Earlscourt, the man she had married so strangely six years before, was here alive. and well. What feeling was it tlat stirred in her heart at that conviction? Was . it pleasure? Was it pain? She thought-wondering at herself that she could think of so trivial a thing--how han(isome lie had looked a moment ago, standing gazing at her, with those dark, thoughtful eyes! He had changed-grown graver and older, more manly, more noble ihan in the past. he had re- deeied that past, no doubt-paid off his debts, and returned to England a free man. And he was the author, too, of those books she had liked so-great books, whose praises the world rang. Then this thread broke, and she came back to the pres- ent. She must break off, as best she might, her engagement with the Marquis of Heatherland, and at once. A great pang followed this. She was, as I have said, ambitious to wear a r ducal coronet. It had dazzled her; and now that dream of glory mlist be resigned, and she must yield up all the hope of her life. She felt a vague sort of pity for the maiquis, in a sis- terly way, and putting love entirely out of the question, she had liked him very much, and esteemed him very highly. That he literally worshilpped her she knew to be true--how bitter the pang would be then when, without reason, without excuse, she blioke her pledged vow. And the "Morning Post' had announced the approaching nuptials, and the gueCsts were bidden, and the bridal trousseau ready. The world w6tld call her a heartless jilt, an unprincipled flirt, her best friends would , despise her-Lord Heatherland .and the duchess-the kind, proud, stately old duchess would hate her and scorn her, and with reason. And through her own fault-hler own mad, reck- less folly of the past, this had all happened. With her own hand she had wrought her fate. And then those bitter fancies ,lrifted away once more, and Guy's face floated before her in the purple starlight. What must he think of her-could any one's hatred equal his? How utterly he must despise her-how he must curse his own folly in ever having sacrificed himself and his whole future life to her. The world had always, at his worst, adiired and caressec him, howmutch more now, with the past redeemcil, with lis new and. brilliant fame and success as an author. : Why, had he been. free, he might have wooed and won the highest, the H HELD A ,SUNDER. 341 fairest in the land. And in his reckless 'generosity, he had sacrificed every hope of home, of wife, of all man holds most dear-for her. , Her cold hands clasped themselves over her pale'face, her . brain ceased to think, a'sort of stupor, partly of cold, -was creeping upon her, she crouched there in her 'laces and dia- monds, as miserable a, woman as the great city held. Oh, Heaven! to be able to retrievethe past-to recall the Work of that long-gone'Christmas eve. How long she had been there she never knew; probably not more than twenty minutes-an eternity of suffering it seemed to her. In after years, when all , this terrible time was past and gone, she could never recall those moments on the piazza without a shudder ofP the agony . , she had felt then. She was intensely prbud-the world had held her so high, so spotless-and' now the time had come when' she must descend from her pinnacle, and be known as the wretched, unwomanly creature she was. \ A hand was laid on her shoulder7-a voice sounded in her dulled ears. ' "Paulina! Good Heaven! what, are you here? Do you know you will get your death?" I She looked up-to his dying day he never forgot the dumb, infinite, misery of that first. glance. It was the Marquis of Heatherland's anxious face that bent above her. " 'Wh7at is it, Paulina?" he cried; " are you mad to expose yourself like this in the cold night air?" She rose up slowly, shrinking from his touch, and feeling for the first time, with a shiver, how cold it really was. "I am not, mad," 'she said, in a slow, dull. voice, strangely. unlike the soft, musical tones that had been one of her chief charms, "only miserable-the most miserable creature on earth, I think. My lord, let me tell you now, while I have courage--that I retract my promise-that I can never be your wife." The words dropped spasmodically from her lips, with inter- vals between. She did not look at him, her eyes staring straight before her into the'blue bright night. He listened- , not, understanding, bewildered, anxious, incredulous. "Take back your promise-not be my wife I ' he repeated "What is the matter, Paulina? Are you taking leave of your senses?" "It sounds like it,; I dare say," she answered with a heavy, heart-sick sigh; '"but no, my senses, such as they arei or ever . page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] 342 HEL D ASUNDER. were, remain.. Oh, my lord, how can I make you understand --what a base, base wretch I must seem to you. I cannot-do you hear me, Lord Heatherland? I cannot be your wife?" "I hear you, Paulina," he said, growing almost as white as herself, "' but I cannot understand. Will you be good enough to explain?" He was a man of strong seif-command, of powerful will. Ile folded his arms over his chest and waited to hear what she had to say, only the gray pallor of his face betokening in any way what he felt. "I cannot. Think I have changed my mind, think I am a heartless coquette, think anything you will, only release me. Let the world think it is you who cast me off-I deserve it- and-and what does it matter? In a day or two I shall leave England, and forever." Her voice broke in with a hollow sob-if she could only die, she thought, and end it all, "At least I have not deserved this, Paulina," the grave, sad voice of the marquis broke in. "If you claim your promise- your promise is yours. But oh, Paulina! my bride-my wife --it is hard- it is cruel-it is bitter as death," It was the first, -the last, the only time she ever saw him so moved. She fell down on her knees before him and held up her clasped hands. "Forgive me! forgive me!" she cried; 'you shall know all, cost what it may-the wretch, the impostor I am. You thought you knew my whole history-that it was only my pride or my indifference that caused me to refuse so many offers before , I accepted you, and. you honored me for it. Ah, my God-!- how utterly unworthy I am of your respect-of any good man's -Paulina Lisle was, and is. -Six years ago, my lord, I was pledged by the strongest ties to a man who quitted England- forever as I thought. You remember the day I left Clanronald so hastily-the day after that on which you first proposed? On that day I read the account of this man's death in a foreign paper. I don't know that I loved him---I can't tell- at least the news of his death had power to move me as nothing .else had power to do. Then you know what. followed. Next season we met again, and again you renewed your offer, and-' [* I accepted. I did not love you, my lord----but I thought my. s . self friee--and I knew it would be easy to love one so good, so kind, in time. Yoh deserved better than that, and my pride and ambition have received their rightful punishment. My HELD ASUNDER. 343 lord--oh, hovshall I tell you?-this very night I have dis- covered that the man I speak of-whom I thought dead-to whom ties I could not break if I would, bind me-i%. alive and in London P" The broken voice stopped-the pale, tortured face dropped into her hands.' She still knelt before him-drooping-in a strange, distorted attitude of pain. He had listeed w ithout a word, without a moment, the dull allor still blanchig his face-his arms still folded,' When she .ceased, all'that was great, that was noble in' the man's nature wag stirred. She had done him a wrong, perhaps, but she was the woman he' loved, and she knelt before him in her great trouble. Hle stooped and tried to raise her up. "Not here, Paulina! not here," he said; "kneel only to your Maker." "Yes, he herehere" she cried, wildly; "hre on my knees at your feet i Oh, my lord, you cannot forgive me-but you. might pity me if you knew what I'suffer." I do pity you, he answered, gravely "from my soul. Rise, Miss Lisle-I command it!" She rose at once. "And this is all?" "This is all." i .8 "Let me try to understand it, if I can. You are bound by promise to marry this man of whom you speak-you mean to marry him?" "My lord, I will marry no one. Ihave told you I mean to leave England and him forever in a day or two. Of my owin free will I would never look uponhis face again." "Then you do not care for him, this man to whom you stand i pledged?" with a thrill of new hope in his tone, Her face dropped--she turned it far away fromn ,him in the tPaulina, you hear me. Do you or do you not care for this man?" "I- I am afraid I do.", He paused at her answer. The hope that had arisen crushed out in his faithful heart forever. ",You care for him;" he said, after that. pause; "and you tell me in the same breath that you are going to fly from him, that you will never be his wife. Miss Lisle, you have told me part of your secret, but not all. Nay," as she was about to speak, "tell me no more--I do not ask it; I free you utterly -sp.^S^ ^ page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] and entirely from this moment. The woman whose heart is another man's is sacred from me. I would no more ask you, knowing this, to marry me, 'than I would if you were already a wife. And I will try to be just, and forgive you, if I can. You. have done wrong, by your own showing, in not telling me this at first, but you could not foresee what has happened. The secret you have confided to me shall be kept inviolable-the world shall be told you have rejected. me, in justice to myself, since you found you" could not love me. No more need be said, I .think,:and you have been here far too long already. Take my arnl, Miss Lisle, and let me conduct you back to the house." / The dignity of the man rendered his request not to be dis- puted. In all her life she had never admired him. never re- spected him as she did at this instant. How generous, how noble every one was-the marquis-Guy-while she-oh, words are weak to tell. how utterly degraded- she was in her own sight-how bitterly she despised herself. All her. pride was crushed to the very earth.' She took his arm, and in dead silence they walked back to the crowded rooms. What a mockery it all' seemed! the music, the smiling faces, the bril- liant dresses, the lights, the roses, and those tortured huintan hearts! They walked through the midst of their friends, and no one noticed much change in either. Miss Lisle looked very pale-paler than usual, but she never had much color, and( her five seasons' experience had taught her not to wear her heart on her sleeve. The marquis led her to a seat, stood silent for a moment, looking down upon her, then held out his hand. "Paulina!" it was the last time that name ever passed his lips, "will .ou say good-by?" She lifted her eyes to his face-almost for the first time since he had found her on the piazza. How pale he was--pale to the lips. "You are going away?" "I shall start for Africa to-morrow. I am such an old trav- eller that I can pack up for the other end of the world at five minutes' notice. ,And, as 'every one who goes to Central Africa does not invariably return, I should like you to say good- by and good speed, before we part." They sounded almost like the last words Guy had spoken to her when she had seen him last. She laid her hand in that of Lord Heatherlahd but she did. not speak-she could not. "Good-by," he repeated. Her uplifted eyes, full of speechless pain, answered him. One close, warm pressure of her cold hand, and then the ma she had pledged herself to marry had passed forever out of her life. If she could only go home--a wild desire' to fly away from this house and those people, and hide herself forever, came upon her. Where was Mrs. Galbraith, where Maud, or Sir Vane? She looked around, and for the second time was frozen by the sight of Guy Earlscourt. Hec was approaching her, heir old fiiend Mrs. Atcherly on his arm, Mrs. Atcherly chatting gayly and volubly as they came up. Low as the words were spoken, Paulina's strained ear heard them: "To be married in three weeks' time, you know, to the Marquis-of Heatherland-by far the most brilliant match of the season. She is good enough and beautiful enough to marry a, prince, I think. And do you know, Guy," lauglingly, "I used to fancy-to hope, only you were such a shocking wild boy, fnthat you and she-yot understand? But Heatherland will nake her a much better husband than you ever would, or ever - will make any one, Master Guy." "Mrs. Atcherly, don't be vituperative. I've turned over a new leaf-several new leaves, and whoever the lady is who has the honor and bliss of becoming Mrs. Earlscourt, she will be blessed beyond her sex. For Miss Lisle I 'have had always the profoundcst and most hopeless admiration." She heard the carelessly spoken words, and her heart hard- ened and revolted against him. How dared he speak of her in that lighftand flippant tone, when his coming lere had bro- ken her heart, blighted her life? Her eyes brightened, a faint tinge of color came back into her face. She looked at him straighw a hard, cold, steady glance. P"Iaulina, my child," cried' the gay voice of Mrs. Atcherly, : here ;is a surprise for you, a resurrection from the dead-the prodigal returned-a prodigal no longer. Guy, I don't think there is any need of an introduction between you and Pau. lina." "Not the least, I hope, Mrs. Atcherly," Guy answered, bow ing low. She had not offered him her hand; her face looked cold, hard as stone; no smile of recognition passed over it. The mildest, slightest, haughtiest bend of the head acknowledged page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 346 HELD ASUNDER. him. She spoke, and her voice sounded as. hard and icy as her look. "It is a surprise. Months ago I read of Mr. Earlscourt's death in an American paper. But, perhaps, it was another Guy iEarlscourt." "No, I fancy not," Guy said coolly; "I was the mal whosc obituary you read. It was rather a close thing, but good nurs ing brought me safely throughit, as you see." He was not one whit dashed by her freezing hautdur-her re- pellent tone. He stood there before her the most coolly self- possessed man in the room; heedless whether the Marquis of Heatherland's affianced bride smiled or frowned. She saw it with 'silent, suppressed anger, unjust as it was strong. "When did you arrive?" she asked. "Only this afternoon ;' and on the ground of old friendship Ventured to intrude here to-night. Beside, I wished to see: you" . She looked at him, her eyes flashing, her lips quivering. How dared he! "To see me?"' with a fine lady's stare of insolent wc-nder; "and what can Mr. Guy Earlscourt, after his six. years' exile, possibly have to say to me?" A smile curled his mustached lips-a smile of amusement at her look and tone. "Nothing whatever concerning himself-with all his pre- sumption he does not presume so far as that. I came as the messenger of another person, in whom I think even the future Lady Heatherland may be interested." Her fingers tore in half her costly lace handkerchief. ' This storm of contending feelings within her was growing more than she could bear. "I know of no acquaintance of yours, Mr. Earlscourt, in whom I take the slightest interest. I have no idea what you can mean!": - "No," he said; and again the amused smile that half-mad dened her played' around his mouth; "' not even Colonel Rob ert Hawksley." She barely repressed a cry. "My father!" she exclaimed ;" what of him?" "Ah! I thought you would be interested," still smiling. ( Colonel Hawksley is here/ Miss Lisle, and I am his messen- ger." Paulina caught her breath; she arose and looked at Guy, flushed, eager. \ . . * , .; - HELD ASUNDER, 34 "Here!" she cried, "here! my father! at last Oh, Mr., Earlscourt, where is he-take me to him? At once!, at once!" "Restrain yourself, Miss Lisle-at once would be impossi- ble. And his presence here must for a time be a dead secret. Above all, Sir Vane Charteris and his family are to be kept in total ignorance. He bade me'give you this-it explains every- thing, and tells you where to find him. Conceal it quickly- here is Mrs. Galbraith." She thrust the letter he gave her into the folds of her dress, just in time to escape Mrs. Galbraith's keen, black eyes.'l As on that other night, she came noiselessly upon them-- thisi time ^ with a bland smile on her face. , I Iv * "Ah, 'Mr. Earlscourt! so happy to welcome you back. Such a surprise, Paulina, love, is it not? and a celebrated au- thor and hero and everything. Everybody is talking of you and your books, I assure you." -"Everybody does me too much honor, Mrs. Galbraith. Miss Lisle, adieu." He bowed with his old, negligent, courtly grace-his old, careless smile, and sauntered away. Paulina looked, with an i inexplicable expression, after the tail, graceful form, and saw the daughter of the house, Lady Edith Clive, flutter smilingly up to him, with both hands outstretched in glad welcome. She turned abruptly away, and looked no more. "Mrs. Galbraith," she said, "I want to go home."; "Certainly, Paulina, love-but where is Lord Heather- land?"' "Gone long ago. Order the carriage at once; I am tired : and sick to death of it all." Mrs. Galbraith looked at her in astonishment. What was the matter? Where and why had the Marquis of Heatherland gone, and what meant all this unusual, angry impatience? Sir Vane came up at the moment, his florid face a shade or . two less florid than usual, and his small, black eyes looking , strangely startled. "Paulina!" he exclaimed, in a half whisper, "do you know who has come?" . "Yes, I know." "But, good Heaven, Paulina, what is to be done? You showed me the paper that spoke of him as dead, and nowl here he is back .again. And there is Lord' Heatherlaid, and ' the settlements :prepared, and the wedding-day named. Pau- lina, what is to be done?" page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 348 HELD ASUNDER. . "Go home, the first thing," with a hysterical laugh. Let me alone, Sir Vane Charteris; I am not fit to' talk to you or any one to-night." He looked at her, and noticed, forthe first time, the ghastly pallor of her face, the dusky fire in her eyes. He gave lher his arm, without another word, and led her to the carriage. On the way home not a word was spoken. Mrs. Galbraith sat in silent surprise, but asking no questions. Maud lay back half asleep-Sir Vane kept inwardly repeating': "What the deuce will she do? ' And Paulina, in a corner of the carriage, sat white aid cold, witi only a dull, sickening sense of misery in her heart. Her father had come--was here! At any other itime those tidings would have driven her half wild with delight, but even this news had little power to move her now.' They reached holmle. She toiled wearily up the stairs to her own luxurious apartments. Her French maid, English Jane's successor, sat waiting for her young mistress, half asleep in a, chair. Paulina dismissed her at once c "You may go to bed, Odille-I sh11ll not want you this morning." The girl departed, yawning. The I moment lhe was gone Paulina locked the doors, diew a chair close to the waxlights, and took the letter Guy Earlscourt had given her from the cor- sage of hei dress. 'She knew that bold, manly i lnd well; she tore it impetuously open and read its brief contents: "CIIARING CROSS IIOTEL, "T uesday, May iIth, i869.. ( MY PAULINA:-You see I have answered your prayer at last-I am here--here to redress the wrongs of the living or to avenge the dead-here, after two-and-twenty years, to reclaim your lmother-- my wife. "My young friend,. (uy Earlscourt, has 'persuaded mre, convinced me 'Shat this way lies my duty. lie has urged me also to tell you' all, and claim your woman's Awit and aid in my undertaking. The hour has come when it is time for you to learn who your mother really is-that you have been kept in ignoranceso long, may have been a fatal mistake. My daugh- ter, have you never suspected? You have met her, known her. Think!! Shall I tell you her name at once,? Paulina, she whom you knew as Ladty ' Charteris was Olivia Lyndith, five-and-twenty years ago, Robert Lisle's wife, and your mother." The letter dropped froml Paulinia's hand, with a low, startled cry. A thousand things rushed on her memory to convince -her of the truth of her father's words. The night in .lyndith Grange, where my lady had kissed and cried over hie3, the mid.- ' * ' / HELD ASUNDL P. , 349 night visit to Duke's cottage, and, above all, a vague, intangi- ble something that had always drawn her to the unhappy lady. How stupid, how blind she had been, not to guess the truth before '!: I never knew until a few months ago," the letter went on, " the ter- rible fact that she was not insane when shut up in a mad-house. Mr. Earls- court told me. I have returned at the earliest possible moment, and I will never rest until I have found, have reclaimed her. HeaVen be merciful to hunlan error. I may be too late to save her, but I meant it for the best. You will come to, me here-I long to see you, my darling-my Oli via's child. "You will ask for.' Mr. Hawksley,' and cou will, keep the fact of my- presence in England a lead secret. Do not, in any way, show tO Sir Vane J Charteris that you' suspect or know the truth. We must be subtle as serpents in dealing with a serpent. Mr. Earlscourt goes to the COuntess of Damar's ball to give you this to-night-to-morrow, at the earliest possi- ble hour, I shall expect you here. Until I see you, my own dear child. adieu." She knew all at last-at last. Tle mystery that for the past eight years had been the unfathomable mystery of her life was solved. Her mother was found. The reading of the letter had calmed her. She held it to the lighted tapers and watched it burn to ashes. Then she ex- tinguished them. 'The rosy dawn of the sweet May-day was lighting the cast already as she drew back thb curtains of silk and lace and flung wide the casepnents. The fresh, cool air blew' in like a bene- diction on her hot and throbbing head. What a night the past night had been-how a few hours had changed her. whole life! A year seemed to have elapsed silce yesterday-since yester- day, when she stood here with Lord Heatherland's ring on her finger and trills of' song upon her'lips. The flashing diamond was gone now, only a plain circlet of gold on the third finger of her left hand and the opal ring Duke had given her long ago remained. She was peculiar in many things-in this, that she rarely wore jewels of any kind. She looked now at that shin- ing wedding-ring-strange that she had always worn that, and her thoughts reverted back to him, to,herself. "Why had he returned?" she thought, "and how will it end? He scorns and despises me--how can he do otherwise -what is my life to be, bound to him, and held apart from him by that very tie of marriage? And I thought I could have left England and him forever, and now a new duty holds me here. page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] \ TV - 7 c" -v.. ; ;350 HiELD ASUNDER. Well, duty before any selfish interest of my own-I will remain -I will help my father-my mother shall be found, and then- and then, the sooner I pass away from the world's ken and dis appear, the better. My life has been all a mistake, and my own folly alone is to' be blamed. I must remain here and play my part for the present, go into society, and bear the world's insolent wonder at my broken engagenent-worse than that, meet him there, and treat him as I treated hiim last night." She laid her head against the cold glasp with a long, tired . sigh. What a travestied world it was--h6w little life seemed worth the living just then! The sun arose, another busy day hadbegtin for the great city, and Paulina Lisle, in hr floating satin and laces and diamonds, sat there pale and spiritless- utterly worn out. The breakfast-bell rang. She began slowly unclasping the jewels, unloosing her rich dress. Then she threw on a dress- ing-gown; and rang for her maid. "Clear away those things, Odille, and fetch me a cup of tea here."' The girl, with the nimble fingers bf her craft, put away the ball-robe, and diamonds in their casket, and brought up Miss Lisle's breakfast. With an effort she,swallowed a few mouthfuls, drank the tea, and then pushed aside the scarcely tasted meal., "Dress me for the street, Odille, and be quick. I am go- ing for a walk. If Mrs. Galbraith inquires for me you can tell her so." Odille unbound the shining tresses, and built up her young lady's chignon with practised rapidity. In fifteen minutes Miss Lisle stood attired in a walking costume of quiet gray, a close veil over her face. It was no unusual thing for Paulina to start for a brisk morning walk, at the hour when all fashionable peo- ple were asleep; and Odille was in no way surprised. It was just eleven as she hailed a cab, and gave the order to the driver: "Charing Cross'Hotel." Her heart throbbed with almost sickeriing rapidity as the hansom flew along the many streets. At last, at-last-in ten minutes she would be face to face WORKING IN THE DARK. 35 . CHAPTER IV. , WORKING IN THE DARK. N his room at'the Charing Cross H6tel, Robert Hawks- ley sat alone by the open window, smoking his meer-, schaum, and waiting for his daughter's coming with that grave patience that long habit had made second nature. + Crowds passed to and fio on the pavement below, the bright May sunshine gilding every face. Very fresh those rose-and-white English faces looked yi the clear light--how thoroughly English the women were, with their bright bloom, their fair skin. He had seen hundreds of Amer- ican women in Northern cities, with' their delicate, wax-like beauty, their Parisian dresses and their gay Parisian manners, and had admired them from afar off, but here he felt as though he had brothers and'sisters and home.. Why had' he not braved the worst and returned, long ago? He wondered at himself now as he looked back. Why had he not defied'all their treachery and baseness, and torn that day, at the very al- tar, his wife from Sir Vane Charteris' arms? "Is it fate?" he thought. "Is our path beaten for us at our birth, and must we walk straight along willy-nilly'to the ap- pointed end? In a few moments I shall see my daughter- miue--who for nearly five-and-twenty years have been a h us ss, friendless, solitary man, and perhaps find her in spite of her letters, in spite of'all I have heard, cold and selfish and worldly." There was a tap at the door at the moment, and a waiter entered. "A lady to see Mr. Hawksley," he announced; and then a stately figure appeared close behind him, veiled and simply dressed, but looking a "lady" from the crown of her head to the sole of her' foot. ' The waiter disappe/ared, closing the door behind him. Robert Hawksley arose, laying down his pipe-the lady flun'g back her veil- and father and daughter stood face to face. For the space of five seconds they stood in dead silence looking at each other. Shle saw a man -bronzed and weather- page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] J 352 WORKrING IN TIE DARN: beaten, but handsomer and nobler it, seemed to her than any other man she had ever known-save one. He saw a beauti ful and graceful young lady, with soft, sapplhire eyes, and gold bronze hair rippling low over that broad, white brow, with sweet, sensitive lips, and a little curved, spirited chin. They were strikingly alike, too--eves, hair, featurles-the most casual ob erver might have told the relationship. He smiled-a smile of great content passed over Colo(nel Hawksley's bearded lips, and he came forward with both hands outstretched. ;I; "' Paulina! my daughter!" , . ".iMy father!" He drew her to himi and kissed the pure white brow, and the first meeting was over without scenes or exclamations.. I sup- pose it is only on the stage new-found relatives fling themselves into each other's arms with ecstatic screams. In real life, when we feel deeply, our actions and words are apt to be quiet and commonplace in exact proportion. She took the seat he offered her, away from the window, and waited for him to speak. On all ordinary occasions Miss Lisle was never at a loss for plenty to say for herself, but just now her lips were quivering and her heart was full, and no words came. He was the more conpDosed and self-possessed of the two. "Earlscoutit gave you my letter?" She started with a sort of shock that /tat name should be almost the first worldfroilm his lips. "What a surprise it must have been to you " A very great-a very glad,surprise. I can only regret you did not tell me all long ago." "What good would' it have done?" "This! her eyes Iiring up, " that Sir Vane Charteris should never have shut my mother ulp in a mad-house. By soime means or other I wouldlhave rescued her long ago." \ Were you much surprised when you heard your mother's I i linane?)" "No. 'I think not, aid yet I never suspected. How strange-how strange it all is 'I never saw much of her, but I liked her exceedingly. And to'think Sir Vane Charteris knew that I was her daughter all those years." "How has he treated you,. Paulina-hiarshly?" Miss Lisle lifted her imperial head with a haughty gesture. He dare not! I would endure harshness from no gualdian " H e 1 o R, WORKING N' TII E DARK. . 353 ?!. alive. In one instance only did he ever try to coerce me,- and I baffled him in that." Her face gloomed over as. she spoke. Had not that instance in which she had baffled him embittered her whole life? "He did?" her, father said; ")your letters never tdld me, Paulina." , "No," with a sigh; "of what use would it have been-you could not have helped me? I fought my own battle and won." "He wished you to marry some one he had chosen for you- for your fortune, no doubt?" "He wished me to marry Iord Montalien. From what mo- tive, I'do not know. Lord Montalien, with fifteen thousand a year of his own, could scarcely wish to marry me for my for- tune." "Lord Montalien! What! Guy's elder brother?" "Mr. Earlscourt's elder brother." Robert Hawksley looked at her searchingly. The proud, pale face, verylsoft and sweet a moment since,' had grown hard and set at the memory of that past time. "And you wuld not? You did not care for him?" . "I not only did not care for him-one might get over that --I hated him.\ I believed him to have wronged a friend I loved very dearly-I would have died a thousand times sooner than, marry him i He was watching her still-a grave smile upon his face. "I wonder if tat hatred extends to Guy? I hope not, for I have grown as Iond of him as though he were my own son." Her face flushed all over-a deep, painful, burning red. "I have no reason to dislike Mr. Earlscourt," she answered, tle words coming with an effort; " he did me a great service once-a service fw men would have rendered.", "You must have been equally astonished and delighted when he appeared so suddenly before you last night at the Countess o, bamar's ball." \ "Very much surprised beyond a doubt, since I thought him dead. Do you not know that his death was announced many months ago in one of the American papers you sent me N' ' I did not know it. And you really thought him dead until he alpeared like a ghost before you? Not that Guy much resem- bles a ghost at present. It was as'close a-thing as ever I saw -he had half a hundred wounds, and fought through the cam- paign like a lion. lit was while he lay sick in the hospital, al- most to death, that I found your picture in a locket attached page: 354-355[View Page 354-355] j 354 WORKING IN TiE DARK. to his watch-chain, and discovered that he knew you, and was a countryman." That deep flush rose up once more on Paulina's fair face. "My picture!" she said. "How came he by that? I cer- tainly never gave it to him." He told me as much afterward-owned that he purloined it as a souvenir of England and you, to carry into his exile. All, he is a brave lad, and a gallant one. He saved my life once at the risk of his own." "Tell me about it-father." Her voice was strangely soft and tremulous-her face drooped forward on her father's shoulder, something vague and sweet stirring in her heart. It was a theme Robert Hawksley liked well-tle young man had grown as dear to him as a son. He told her, while the moments went by, stories of his bravery, of his generosity, of his genius, of his irreproachable life-of how nobly he had redeemed the past. "I believe, at the worst, his greatest crimes were but the thoughtless follies of youth. Guy Earlscourt has the noblest nature of any man I know. He could not stoop to do a mean or dastardly thing. His comrades idolized him-his officers re- spected him. I believe he is a true genius, and destined to make a shining mark in the literature of his day." An interval of silence followed-his daughter's face was still hidden, but it was to hide the tears that were falling now. And this was the man she thought capable of selling his man- hood for her money-the man who had sacrificed his life to save her from his brother! "I don't see the need of our spending the first hours of our meeting in talking altogether of Earlscourt-fine fellow though he be. It strikes me I should like to hear something of your- self." She lifted her face, and laughed a little bitterly. "A most unprofitable subject. I am a fashionable lady,. wrapped up in dressing, dancing, driving-rather a striking con- trast to the sort of life you have been speaking of." "And engaged to the Marquis of Heatherland?" "No." . "No? Why, I saw in the ' Morning Post'--" "Very likely-still even the press is not infallible. Such an engagement did exist, but it has ceased." } ' "It has ceased! May I ask-since when?" She flinched a little under his grave, steady, kindly eyes. WORKING IN THE DARK. 355 \ ' Since last night." Did you love Lord Heatherland, my daughter? The world speaks well of him." "And he deserves all the world can say-he is one of the best men I ever knew. But-I never loved him. I don't know that I ever loved any one-that I am capable of it. I am hard, and selfish, and worldly, and ambitious, and all evil things-unworthy to be any good man's wife. I shall never nmarry-you need not look at me in that way-I mean it. My ' engagement with Lord Heatherland has ceased-what I am now I will go to my grave. When we find my mother-ah! why should we talk of anything but her?-we three will leave this London life, and all pertaining to it, and grow old, in peace, somewhere out of the world." Her voice gave way in a sort of sob. Not capable of loving any one, when she knew that she loved Guy Earlscourt dearly- dearly, and that she had loved him from the first-ay, in the days when Allan Fane, the artist, had whiled away in her com- pany that rosy summer eight years gone. "Let us talk of my mother," she repeated. "What do you propose to do-how to find hqr?" "The most skilled detectives of Scotland Yard must do that. Can you, living ulnder the same roof with Sir Vane Charteris, throw no light on the place of her concealment?" "I-am afraid not; and yet," Paulina said, thoughtfully, "perhaps I can. I' have repeatedly asked him, and so has Maud-his own daughter, you know-to take us to see her, but his answer was invariably a refusal. It was no sight for young girls, he said. Once Maud told me, in confidence, she- thought her mother was confined somewhere at Cheswick, in a private asylum there. At least it is a clue-you might follow it up." "I will. If she is in England, it should not be so hard'to ' ' find her. My poor Olivia! what has she not suffered all her life long? Can anything in the future ever atone to her for ! tnthe ast?" "Let us hope so, my father. If we can only find her, I am quite sure we can make her happy. You are certain," hesita- tingly, "Sir Vane Charteris cannot invalidate your marriage?" "Quite certain-it is beyond dispute. I shall set detectives on the track at" once, and remain quietly here to await events. Can you come to see me often, Paulina, or will it inconveni ence you too much?" .. page: 356-357[View Page 356-357] I am in every way my own mistress, free to come and go as 1 choose. And now, as it is close upon two o'clock, I think I -had better return. They might possibly fall to wondering what had become of me." He led her to the door, and they parted with a hand-clasp. Hc was never demonstrative, and her relationship was new as yet to Paulina. As she drew her veil over her face and turned to descend, Mr. Earlscou'rt came sauntering up, looking very handsome tn his careless morning costume. He removed his hat, bowed in silence, and passed on into the apartment of his friend. Miss ,isle reached home in time for luncheon. There were always three or four droppers-in for that repast under the baro- net's hospitable roof, and P'ulina found the subject under dis- cussion to be the unexpected return of Guy Earlscourt. "Lucky beggar.! always fell upon his feet; and ,writes books and makes pots of money. Wish I could write books. All the - women throwing themselves at his head already-lady Edith . - Clive'last night, and now you, Miss Charteris. Why couldn't tle fellow stay where he was, and marry a Yankee? Here's Miss Lisle-let's hear what she says. Miss Lisle, Miss Char- teris says Earlscourt's the handsomest man in London. Your taste is indisputable, ylhat is. your opinipn?" "Really, Mr. Challis, I have not thought sufficiently upon the subject to form an opinion. One cannot decide so import- ant a question, and award the palm of masculine beauty all in a moment." "All in a moment!" exclaimed Maud. "Why, Paulina- you knew Guy ages ago, down in Lincolnshire, and when you first came out-or was it before you came out here in London? And I'm sure, last iight, you and he had quite an interesting conversation, to judge from your looks just before we left. Mr. Challis says Lady Edith Clive made love to him for the rest of the night." "So she did," lpursued Mr. Challis ; "so the women always did, even when the fellow was going straight to the dogs. S, will you all-don't tell me-I know you'. Earlscourt's clever, and dcucedly good-looking, and the fashion, and may have his lick and choice before the season ends. He ought to go in for the Lady Edith; her fortune is something immense." "Yes," said Mrs. Galbraith, "he's very handsome, and cl-ever, and fascinating, always was, and has just that sort of - WORKING- IN TIE -DAAK. 357 relptation which. makes all romantic girls lose their heads at once. But, mny dear girls, don't either of you ever be mad enough to fall in-love with a literary man. The wives of iien of genius are the most miserable creatures under the sun. Did you ever read the life of -ayden? And if so, you com- passionated poor Mrs. Hayde I hope. ' Look at Lady Byron, Lady Bulwer, hosts of them, lways the salne story-private misery-public separation. 'ie reason is plain enough. The affections of your men of great talent are not centred on wife and home, like those of commonplace men. The painted canvas on their easel, the blotted manuscript in their desk, are nearer and dearer to them than wife or clild. Marry a man without two ideas in his head, and his heart in the iight place, and you will stand a better chance of happiness than with so brilliant a literary meteor as CGuy Earlscourt." "Quite an eloquelt speech; Aunt Eleanor," commented Maud, " and true, no doubt-though where your experience of men of genius comes from' I don't know. Uncle Ralph was never overburdened with brains, from all I've heard of him. And in spite of your warning, I think I should prefer a little mild melancholy as the wife. of Mr. Earlscourt, to the perfect bliss you speak of with a man ' who has not two ideas in his' head.'" Her-voice and face softened -as she pronoiunced the name with a lingering tenderness, and a faint flush rose up in her pale face. Evidently it was a case of love at first sight. ; Paulina's eyes flashed, .and a resentful, jealous feeling came 7 into her heart. What right had Maud Charteris to talk of be- ing his wife? "Earlscourt will have none of you," said the young gentle- man, wlho had first appealed to Miss Lisle. "I met him at : Fane's studio this morning--Fane, the artist, you know. . Somebody chaffed him about the execution his beautiful eyes and last book had wrought with Lady- dith--she has been able to talk of nothing else since its publication. He laughed at first,.then greA serious. 'It is nothing, of course,' he said-; . , Lady Edith does- me the honor to fancy my bookl perlapc, but wish it to be understood I a't not'going to marry. I afn as -much vowed 't celibacy as though I wore the Templar's Cross. I shall marry no one.' And by Jove! he said it, yov know, as though he meant it." i: Paulina's face flushed-her heart throbbed violently. 'Oh, what had she done!-what had she done I "Yes," said Mrs. Galbraith; "Mr. Earlscourt is a very clever man, and a reader * ,.- page: 358-359[View Page 358-359] $ 58 WORKING IN TIE DARK. of human nature. Such a declaration is all that is needed to throw over him a halo of mystery and romance, and make him simply irresistible. You don't speak, Paulina-what are you thinking of?" "I am thinking how exceedingly kind it is of Mr. EarlsCourt to put us on our guard," Paulina answered, vith that bitterness which was always in her tone when she spoke of Guy ; " he i; such a rdazzling light that we all, poor moths, must inevitably be scorched to death if he had not warned'us away. I sup. pose your hero is no more conceited than most men, Maud; he only shows it a little more plainly. Why not advertise at once in the Times: "The ladies of England are hereby warned not to bestow their affections upon the undersigned, as he is quite unable to reciprocate, and intends to make none of them happy by the offer of his heart and hand.'" She arose as she spoke, angry at herself for the vehemence with which she had spoken. "How you do hate him, Pauiina, dear, don't you?" said Maud. "He never jilted you, did he? At Mrs. Atcherly's, for instance, six years ago, when you and he were surprised together in the ante-room, and poor auntie here was so angry?" The random shot went straight home. Pauliria turned a dead whiteness from brow to chin. She tried to reply, but her voice failed. The others looked at her in surprise. "He did jilt you then!"Maud would have liked to say, but she was afraid. There was that when she was moved in Miss Lisle's face that always awed Miss Charteris. There, was a little, very awkward pause-then Sir Vane came in, and the conversation turned upon something else--Paulina quietly leaving the room. Maud's suspicions were aroused; and from that hour she determined to watch Paulina and Guy Earlscourt when they met. They met night after night, and day after day now-and jealousy had made the small, black eyes. sharp-sighted. '* It was love at first sight with poor Maud. The dusky splendor of Guy's dark face, his tall, graceful figure-his reputation as a hero out there in America-all had dazzled and won her. Long ago-he had been fond of her-good to her-down at Montalien-if there were nothing between Paulina and him, surely she might hope. Mr. Earlscourt had made up. his mind not to reenter society upon his return to London. 'He had learned how hollow and empty it all was-he had learned a healthier kind of life in the WORKING V ' TAHE DARK. 35 : past six years. But he found himself quite a " lion," the hero of the day; society sought him--crowds of invitations poured in upon him from the highest in the land. Many were old friends whom he could not well refuse. So he said to himself, half ashamed of his yielding; but was that solely the reason? Wherever he went he saw the proud, beautiful face of the girl who was his wife. Hivife I what a pang-half pain, half re- - marse-it gave him! He should not have taken advantage of that hour of madness, he thought, when she had besought himi to save her-when, carried away by the excitement of the pri- vate theatricals, she had become his wife. It was blighting her life, he could see. She hated him, and took little pains to conceal it. Night after night he left those gay assemblies where she shone a queen by right divine of her peerless beauty and grace, vowing, in his- passion, never to return, and yet- when to-morrow came, the temptation to look once more upon that perfect face, though colder than marble to him, was irre- sistible, and he yielded. And she never dreamed, in the re- motest way, how with' his whole, strong heart, and for the first time in his life, he was growing to love her. His face, the long training of his life, kept his secret well. She saw him petted, caressed, the brightest eyes, the sweetest lips in the land smil- ing upon him, knew that he studiously avoided herself, was calm and courteous, and indifferent when they met, and knew no more. Walls of pride, stronger than adamant, held those two haughty spirits asunder-were likely so to hold them their lives long. ,d t thi ;Miss Lisle was almost as much an object of interest to So- ciety just now as Guy himself. She had broken off her engage- . nlent with the Marquis of Heatherland at the eleventh hour- ' I positively refusing the best match Of the season-and a pro- spective duke. Lord Heatherland had gone abroad, but be. fore his departure he had taken care to let'the clubs and the drawing-rooms of Belgiavia know that it was by Miss Lisle's. own express desire the match had been broken. -1 "I admire her above all women, and I always shall," had been his words. "It is the great misfortune of my life that she cannot care for me strongly enough to..be my wife." It created a profound sensation. People said very hard things of Miss Lisle behind her back, called her a heartless jilt, who would end, no doubt, as she deserved, by being an old maid. But they looked upon her with new interest, as a woman capable of trampling under foot a ducal coronet; and the beau- tiful heiress was more sought after than ever. , )i - page: 360-361[View Page 360-361] 360 -WORKING IN TIrE DARK Nearly a fortnight had passed. She. visited her father every day-but her mother's hiding-place had not yet been discov- ered, She met Guy perpetually-day and night, and with the rest of the world saw the marked preference Lady Edith Clive showed him. They rarely spoke-a formal bow in passing was the only greeting they exchanged, but in her heart she knew she was intensely jealous. He could not) would not, marry the Lady Edith; her secret now 'nd forever was safe ; but who was to tell he might not learn to love her? She grew restless and lmiserable-the world began to say she was regretting the step she had taken with the marquis-that she was approaching five-and-twenty, and growing quite faded and passee. She was sick at heart-sick body and soul, longig .unspeakably for the hour when her mother might be found, and she herself free to quit England and him forever. It was close upon the last of 'the second week, that, making her morning visit to her father, she found him pacing up and down his hotel sitting-room-flushed, excited, anxious. "You have found her!" was Paulina's first cry as she looked upon his face. He had found her-or rather the detective 'in his employ had. The private asylum was at Cheswick--he held the address in his hand-Lady Charteris was in tolerably good health, both mentally and bodily, and the medical superintendent had been expecting the baronet every day for the past three weeks to come and take.,his wife home. The asylum was a thoroughly respectable institution, and Lady Charteris, he had learned, was almost entirely restored, and ready at any moment to leave. "You must go to Cheswick at once, Paulina," her father said. ".You will introduce yourself as the patient's daughter, sent by Sir Vane, to bring her home. Here is a note 1 have written-a pretty good imitation of his handw riting, 1 think, in which he says illness prevents his accompanying you. You must lose no time-I have arranged everything. When you quit the asylum, you will. take the first train for Lincolnshire. Go to your old'friend, Duke Mason's-I' will follow. On the way you can break to her the news of my arrival-prepare her to meet me at the cottage. Once there, and with me, let Sir, Vane/Chaiteris claim her if he dare!" Paulina listened breathlessly-took the note, and entered the cab her father called. Ten minutes, and she was speeding along rapidly Cheswick-ward, fully prepared for the part she had to play. . - :-mrircru nc,. :...,,, .,,. i, , . f WORKING IN THE DARK. 61 The part was so easy, it required little duplicity to go through with it. Miss Lisle met the medical superintendent, and an- nounced herself as Lady Charteris's daughter. She gaVe him her father's forged note-he read it as a matter of course- bowed low before the stately, beautiful woman, and led her at once to his patient. Paulina's heart beat fast. How was she to tell her mother might not betray her in her first surprise? She paused as the doctor was about to open the door. "Stop," she said; "my mother has not seen me for many years. The shock may be too. nuch for her. Do you go in, and tell her I am here, and let us meet 'quite alone." "As you please, Miss Charteris," the polite superintendent said; "you can wait here." . . i He ushered her into a sunny apartment. She stood, her back turned to the door, looking outof the window, trying to calm her rapid heart-throbbing. She was not kept waiting long. In three minutes the door opened, she turned slowly round-' mother and daughter stood alone together! ' Those six years of misery and imprisonment had done their work upon the wife of Robert Lisle. Her face had blanched to a dead waxen whiteness-her golden hair. had turned to sil- ver. The great black eyes looked out from the bloodless face with a frightened, terrified appeal. She stood on the threshold irresolute-trembling-she did not recognize this tall, Juno-like young lady with the lovely face and large, pitying blue eyes. "Are you?" she faltered; "no, you are' not Maud." She drew away, trenbling violently all over. "I don't know you," she said; "did he send you here?" . Paulina came over, put her strong young arms about her, and., looked down into that frightened face with a brave, loving smile.. , , "I am not Maud," she whispered with a kiss; "I am Pau- . lina Lisle--mother-dear little, suffering mother. No, don't ' cry out; you will spoil all. I have come to take you away, and Sir Vane Charteris knows nothing about it. Don't wait to ask questions now--and be calm-don't excite suspicion. I, am going to take you away-the doctor thinks I am Sir V ane's daughter-don't undeceive himl. Go, get ready at once-every second is precious, and be calm-for all our sakes try and be calm." , * She was calmer than Paulina had hoped. Her eyes lit up - ...- hope flashed over her face.. "I will," she answered firmly;' "wait for me here." page: 362-363[View Page 362-363] 1:363 WORKING IN THE DARK. She left the room-in ten minutes she was back, accompa. nied by the medical man. "I can safely pronounce Lady Charteris perfectly restored, Miss Charteris," he said, blandly. "I told Sir Vane so, weeks ago, and have been expecting him daily. Amusement and change of air are all- she requires now. And how about the Adz luggage?" "You will wait until Sir Vane visits you in person," Pau- lina said quietly, drawing her mother's arm within her own. "He will probably be sufficiently restored by to-morrow." They were at the door-she could hardly credit her own success. The bland superintendent bowed low, as he bade adieu to the baronet's beautiful daughter, and assisted my lady into the cab. The moment after, they were whirling away far from the asylum, where for six long years this poor, pale woman had been incarcerated, Paulina leaned forward to give the driver his order, then she turned and clasped again that weak, frail form in her arms. "You look bewildered, darling mother--oh, how easy, how natural the name comes! It is sufficient to bewilder you, or me, the rapidity with which this has been managed. I know it all, you see-that you are my mother-everything. Who do you think has told me?" She kissed again, with a smile, the appealing face-" my father." "Your-father!" "And your husband-your only, your rightful husband, ' Imdthiler-Robert Lisle." She clasped her wasted hands-she tried once or twice before the words she wanted to say would quit her pallid lips: "Robert-my Robert I he is alive still " "Alive and well, dear mother.; and-now try and bear good news as bravely as you have borne misfortune-coming home to claim you." There was a faint, low cry;. Paulina drew her closer to her, and kissed her again and again. "Poor little mother! Yes-coming home to claim you. You are his wife, you know--he has the right-that wicked baronet, none. He is coming! mother! motherl think' of that!" "Paulina," her mother said, with a sort of cry, " he is here " For all answer, Paulina held her closer. "Tell me," Olivia said; ".tell me, Paulina--I can bear to hear such joyful news-Robert is here!" WORKING IN TSEW DARK. 363 "My father is lere. Nothing can ever come between yout and him again." Her niother fell back, nearly fainting. Paulina caught both hands, and looked straight, almost sternly, into her eyes.. "Mother, if you faint, I will never forgive you. You have a journey to take-we are going down to Lincolnshire, to Duke Mason's. My father will follow by the next train. Then t give you leave to faint, if you will insist upon it. Meantime I ant going to fasten this veil over your face; there is no telling whom we may meet at the station." By one of the fatalities which rule our lives, and which we term chance, Sir*Vane Charteris had chosen that very day to remove his unfortunate captive from' the asylum to another prison., She had been received in all good faith-she was in- sane most likely for the time, and for weeks after her entrance raved in delirium of a brain fever. Upon her recovery, she had been at times wildly excited, demanding to be released, crying out she was no wife of Sir Vane's, and never lad been, that her true husband had been in America. At other times she would lapse into sullen despair and gloom, and pass whole days in speechless misery. So the first years had gone. Of late, however, even the people of the asylum became convinced of her perfect sanity, and the physician had repeat- edly urged the baronet to remove his wife-to take her abroad, and give her amusement and change of air. Sir Vane had. delayed doing so to the last possible moment. At last a happy thought struck him. He would fit up The Firs for her recep- tion, employ a thoroughly unprincipled and trustworthy woman to take care of her, and leave her to drag out the remainder of her wretched existence in the dreary desolation of that desolate coast. 'It was bleak; sea-fogs and east winds were abundant, the house was damp and draughty-death, no doubt, would speedily rid lim of a, hated incumbrance. He longed intensely for her death, and the sole reversion of her fortune to Maud- the time was very near, he thought now. He drove up to the asylum in a four-wheeled cab--he meant to take his wife straight to Essex. He was admitted, and met the doctor in the hall. "What!" the' superintendent exclaimed. ' Sir Vane, so sooi after his messenger? And -your note said you were ill., Yours has been a speedy recovery." "What note? I don't understand you. I have come for my wife." . page: 364-365[View Page 364-365] 364 WORKIPNG IN TE DARK. " Yoar wife/ My dear Sir Vane, of course you know your wife has gone! , ' "Gone!" The baronet started back blankly. "Gone! Do you mean dead?" "Heaven forbid! Lady Charteris' health, consideiirg all things, is remarkably good. Is it possible?-but no, I cannot have been duped. Here is your own note, demanding her release." He handed the baronet the note Paulina had given him with an injured air. Sir Vane read it through, turning the hue of ashes, with mingled amaze and rage. . "This note is a forgery. I never wrote it-so poor a forgery, too, that I am amazed any one could be stupid enough o be deceived by it who ever saw my hand. Do you mean to ell me, Dr. Harding, that Lady Charteris has left your asylum?" , "Left an hour ago," replied the doctor, sullenly. "With whom?" "The bearer of that note." "Who was the bearer of this note " - , His thoughts flew to Lord Montalien--to Lord Montalien, who never forgot nor forgave, and who fully meant to place the paper he held in Olivia's hand, should he ever succeed in finding her. "' A young lady-your daughter." "My daughter I Impossible!" "She announced herself as Lady Charteris's daughter-the same thing, I take it." "Will you tell me what she was like? : I left my .daughter Maud ill at home of a headache." "She was tall, the finest figure and most classically beautiful face I ever saw. She had darkblue eyes, and, gold-brown hair, and the manners of a lady in waiting." "Paulina! ' the' baronet cried, under his breath; "the very last person I should ever think of. Do you know which way they drove upon leaving here, Harding?" "City-ward-I know no iore. Do you really mean to tell me, Sir Vane, there is anything wrong about all this?" "Everything is wrong. It is an infernal plot. You have been a fool, and I am a ruined man." With that answer Sir Vane strode out of the house. Where could Paulina possibly have taken her mother? How she had found her he did not then stop to inquire. He thought over , * -'-^ it y / ' ' ",.: WORKZN WIN THE DA- Q36 the )people he knew' in London; except the Atcherlys, there was not a family whom he could imagine her taking the sick lady to: A sudden, swift inspiration flashed upon him. "She'll take her to Lincolnshire, to her old home, of course. . . She would never attempt to keep her in London. To think that girl has been plotting against me, for months, perhaps, and I never suspected it." i Hie looked at his watch-an express train would leave in an hour. He gave the driver -his order, and fell back in the cab to think. Not pleasant thoughts, by any means. If Paulina took her to Speckhaven, Lord Montalien, at present at the Priory, would hear of it at once, and hand over the. paper which implicated him for bigamy. His marriage could easily be proven illegal, Maud illegitimate, and the fortune he had coveted so, go absolutely to Robert Lisle's daughter. "Curse her!" he muttered; "why did I not poison her when she was in mylipower?" He reached 'the. London terminus, and was about to make inquiries concerning the passengers by the mail, which had left two hours before. Paulina's commanding beauty and peculiar grace could not fail to attract the attention of the officials, even at a crowded London railway-station. But the questions he ' would have asked died upon his lips, as he approached the ticket-office, for standing there, taking his ticket, was a man he knew well. A man he had not seen for close upon a quarter of a century, but whom, in spite of flowing beard, of foreign ' ,bronze, of the slouched sombrero, he knew at once--Robert Lisle . / He drew back among the crowd. All was clear now. Robert Lisle, had come back, a rich mnan, no doubt, to claim - his wife, and expose. the villany that held thein apart so long. - Of what use was it to follow 'now-the game was up-Lord Montalien's revenge was all that was needed for his exposure and disgrace. And yet he, determined to follow-to see the play played out-to face his fate without flinching. He took- his ticket and his place in a different compartment from that of Robert Lisle, and London was left behind like a smoky 4 dream. - ' - "4 Into the fresh country, where the young grass and cowslip were bright-into the rustic heart of Lincolnshire, the express . train flew. It was close upon six, and the afternoon sun was slanting westward as they rushed into the Speckhaven station. Still keeping out of sight, the baronet watched his rival. * ;' "', page: 366-367[View Page 366-367] 366. , "PA ULVA TO ALICE." : , ^ J l Robert Lisle took a fly-the baroilet took another-remaining well in the rear. Duke Mason's house was the destination of the foremost, the other followed. Robert Lisle sprang out and i , garden, and approached. The house 'dpoo was open, he heard a woman's shrill scream, his wife's voice he knew,' and' hurried nearer, and stood looking in. '.. , He saw a very striking picture. Duke Mason and his sister stood apart-Paulina was 'in the middle of the floor, and standing near her was Robert Lisle, and the woinan who had been his wife in the eyes of the world for so many years, lying still and senseless in his arms.. CHAPTER V. [! , . PAULINA TO ALICE." , HE bold, evil spirit within the man rose with the sense of his utter defeat. He set his teeth, and strode' reso- lutely into their midst. Paulina looked up and recognized him-growing very pale. Duke Mason took a step forward with a startled exclamation. And Robert Lisle lifted his face, white from ex- cess of feeling, and looked at him. The two husbands of the one wife after a quarter of a cen- tury were ome more face to face 1' The baronet took the initiative. "What is 'the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Who, are you, sir, who hold my wife? Paulina Lisle, how dare you re-'- move Lady Charteris from the asylum where I placed her?" Before Paulila could reply, her father interfered- 'euite gently. . "Mason, will you carry my wife upstairs?' Paulina, you will accompany Miss Mason, and endeavor to restore her. For this man, Iwill answer his questions." Paulina clasped her hands anxiously about his apnlm "You will not quarrel with him, father. He is not worth it. There will be no altercation-promise me that." ih ' - "sPA, ULINA TO ALICI R" 367- ' He smiled gravely. "I promise, my dear; I have not the slightest intentioi of blustering or quarrelling with Sir Vane Charteris. A stronger - power than mine shall deal with him-the English law." He placed Olivia's fainting form in Duke's arms, and watched him and the two wofnen quit the room. Sir Vane made a ., second noisy attempt to interfere. "'Lady Charteris shall not quit this room I Mason, on your peril you touch my wife!" Duke paid no heed. The baronet surveyed the six-foot, powerful-looking, soldierly figure before him, and wisely hesi- i tated before trying to enforce his words by deeds. In a mo- ment they were alone. / "Now then, Sir Vane Charteris," said Robert Lisle, folding his arms, and looking down at the 'mall, pursy figure of the; baronet, "I will hear what you have to say. You asked me a . moment ago who I was-I don't really think you ever needed , to ask that question." / "You are Robert Lisle, the yeoman's son, who twenty years ago inveigled a simple girl into a sham marriage, who absconded i with her uncle's money and jewels, and afterward fled to, Amer ica to escape transportation. You perceive I know you well." "I thought so. For the sham marriage, as you call it, it is a marriage that our English law holds binding. You, Sir ..Va x: Charteris, are a bigamist with intent. Olivia Lisle nevefr r one instant, was your wife. You- saw me in church on'the morning of that mockery of marriage. How will you answer to a British jury for that? ' When Olivia discovered I was alive, .:i you shut her up in a mad-house for six years-how will you answer a jury for that? As to the other absurd charge you, speak of, I was a fool-the greatest of fools, ever to!t that - . .i bughear,alarm me. Neither you now, nor Geoffrey Lyndith, if he were alive, could support that trumped-up accusation. For ' the rest, I have worked as you did, in the dark-I have found, my wife, and I mean tg keep her. The law shall judge be- tween us of the legality of the first and second marriages. You tl are free to act as you please, in all respects, save intrulding - here--yonder is the door-go--and never dare to degrade this,; house by your presence again, 'unless you wish me to take the . law in my. own hands. Did you ever hear of tJdge Lync/, . 'Sir Vane? T come from a land where he is well known. 'If ,' y3ou ever cross yonder threshold again, I'll strangle you as I - - would a snake that crawled across my path.. Now go 1" i. " ' I *' , *' ' ' . 'g page: 368-369[View Page 368-369] 368 "PAULZINA TO ALICE." "Will you wait one moment?" said a voice in the doorway. Both men turned ound. All this time the house door had stood open, and a third person, quite unlooked for, had wit- nessed the interview. Lord Montalien had spent the past two years travelling for his health. He was passing the London season in the country now, for the same reason-a chronic affection of the heart. Strolling by, taking his usual afteinoon exercise, he had espied the two flies from the railway at Duke Mason's gate. He saw the house door open-it might be Paulina; curiosity prompted him to approach. He saw Sir Vane Charteris, guessed in an instant who his companion must be, and heard every word of Robert Lisle's speech. At last the hour of his revenge had come, at last he could payuoff that debt now six years old. "Excuse me," his lodrdlip said blandly, coming slowly in, "if I have inadvertently:leard every word-Sir Vane Charteris, I am exceedingly happy 'to see you on the present occasion; you, -sir," turning with a'bow' to the other, "are, I .presumne, Mr. Robert Lisle." "I am, sir," was the st'rhrTesponse; "who are you?" "Lord Montalien, Very- rucih at your service, and disposed, like my father b'efore ilh, to do you a good turn. I owe Sir Vane here a little grudge, and am inclined to wipe it off. Have you any recollection in your past life of a man named'James Porter?" The American officer looked bewildered, and Sir Vane stood with bent, black brows, and sullen ferocity, waiting for the end! "He was valet, five-and-twenty years ago, to Geoffrey Lyn- dith-perhaps that will aid your memory." "I recollect," Lisle said brusquely; "what of him?" "Only that he is dead; and upon his deathbed made a deposition which I, took down, and have in my possession At present, duly witnessed. In that confession he gives the whole nefarious plot by which you were driven out of England. It clears you in every respect. If you will doime the honor to call at the Priory this evening, 1 shall be happy to place the docullent in your hands.". He looked with a diabolical smile at the baronet. Sir Vane, livid with fear and fury, moved toward the door. "Robert Lisle shall answer for his abduction and, retention of my wife," he said, trying bravado to the last; "for you and our miserable documents, Lord Montalien, I care nothing. The law shall judge between us." pAAiZINA TO ALICE." 369 e-Y. "The larw shall," Lisle said gravely. "I thank your lord- ship for this unexpected favor. My good name should have been cleared by ly own effrts; but the confession of Porter simplifies all that. I will call this evening at the Priory." Lord Montalien bowed and turned to go. "Perhaps yoqt will be good enough to mention this fact to your daughter," he said. "I wished to make 'her my wife somne years ago, and I am afraid she has never forgiven me for it. She may be induced to think somewhat less harshly of Ume when she learns this. May I also ask one question-.did my brother returt with you?" "He did." "He is at present in London?", "He is." '"A successful author-quite able to meet all his little iabilties ." . Lisle nodded-some hat impatient. "Thahks,' Lord' M talien said; "I shall not detain you any longer. Permit me to congratulate you upon the recovery of your wife and daughter, and to wish youievery happiness in the future." He left the house. The smile faded from his lips, his sallow, worn face darkened and grew bitter with hate and malignity "c , All my plotting has been in vain, then,'he thought. "' Guy has returned-the past wiped out and forgotten-rich, famious; handsomer than ever, no doubt. 'And she always liked him--, always-,-I know it, and will marry him now. Why did she break off with Heatherland if not forlove of him? And one day this accursed heart-disease will carry me off, and he will,reign in. my stead at ' Montalien." His face was black with impotent hatred and rage. All had gone against him. The only woman he had ever wanted. to marry had refused hin--ihe had speculated largely and invaria- bly lost. Ill-health had .overtaken him-at thirty-three he was an old, disappointed, soured man. He had grown nevous ' with illness, and in the dark dead of nightr the white face of ., Alice Warren rose to haunt him and'drive sleep from his pillow. She lay unitiuried and unavenged, but retribution more-diree than any an earthly tribunal could inflict had come home to her murderer. Robert Lisle watched his retreating form from view,' andr then, ascended the stairs. 'His wife had recovered from her-i swoon, and layhelpless and trembling on the couch where theyl page: 370-371[View Page 370-371] 370 "PA ULINA TO ALICE. had placed her. Robert alive! Robert back I After four-and, twenty years of endless, infinite misery, Robert wasto be hers again. The others rose as he entered. Paulina stooped and kissed the wan, startled face, and the long-severed husband and wife were together once more. Prodeedings were immediately instituted to prove the validity of the first, the invalidity of the second marriage. There was little .difficulty in doing so. 'Robert Lisle's Scotch marriage was as binding as though the Archbishop of Canterbury had pro- nounced the benediction. The second marriage was a farce. The suit and its results produced the profoundest sensation. Every day new and interesting revelations came out about Miss Lisle. Now the mystery of her birth was cleared up. She was not an orphan, as half London had supposed, and on the mother's side, at least, her descent was irreproachable. And Sir Vane Charteris was a villain, who had fled to the Continent to bury himself and his disgrace out of sight. Mrs. Galbraith and Maud had become socially extinct down at Essex. And Miss Lisle and her romantic father and mother held themselves sedulously aloof from wondering metropolitan society down in some cottage in Lincolnshire, where sle had been brouglit up. What a romance it Was-equal to any of Mr. Earlscourt's charming plots! Immediately'the suit was ended, Mr. Lisle and his wife (he had discarded the name of Hawksley) were going abroad. Mrs. Lisle's nervous system had been utterly shattered-years must pass of peace, of change, of happiness before she became fully herself again. She grew pale and terrified whe nRobert left her side-she flew to him trembling and panting when he returned. She lived in constant dread of something tearing her from him again-she shrank from strangers as only nervous people can shrink. The sooner she was taken abroad, away from the scene of her troubles, the better. It was evident, too Paulina needled change. In those three weeks of waiting she had grown thin and paleas a shadow. All her old joyousness had left her, she wandered silent and spiritless about the old familiar haunts. Lord Montalien never troubled her solitary rambles now. The friends who loved her, so well looked at her in wonder--it was so unlike Paulina--this pale, silent, noiseless shadow-whose smile 'was as Cold and fleeting as moonlight on snow. Her friend, Mrs. Atcherly, ran down once in la while to see-her old favorite, and retail for her benefit the town gossip. Among her budget, Mr. Earlscouirt had a new '1AULNA iV AL f.-' . 37,; work in press, a d was engaged to be married, so everybody- said, to the Lady Edith Clive. Paulina turned her pale face far away as she listened. Mrs. - Atcherly rattled on . The Lady Edith makes no secret of her preference, and he is certainly at Damar House perpetually. But do you know, Paulina, I don't believe Guy's a bit in love with'her, in spite of her beauty. If he marries her it will be because she is the richest heiress of the day and an earl's daughter. I sometimes fancy he has left his heart behind him in America, among those lovely American women he talks of so much. He says' American ladies are ill pretty-absolutely without exception- - that a plain girl in the streets of New York is as rare as a black , swan. The world says he and Lady Edith will be married for certain next spring." And then Mrs. Atcherly departed; and I greatly doubt' whether Miss Lisle's health or spirits were at all improved by her lively conversation. She longed with feverish,'hidden im- patience for the day of their departure to come. When Eng-' land was left far behind she would be better, she thought. A -fever flush came into her cheeks sometimes, her lips looked dry and parched-her glorious dower of perfect health, that for four-and-twenty years had never failed her, was rapidly failing '.. her now. They spoke of physicians, and she laughed at them -,she would be quite well again, she said, when they started on their travels-it was England and the hot June weather that'. disagreed with her. . .. The last day came. Everything was settled-Mr. Lisle's perpetual flying up and down by express trains, between Lon- ':v$ don and Lincolnshire, was at an end. His legal business was " satisfactorily over. On to-morrow morning they would start I direct for Paris, making no delay in London. - A gentleman accompanied Mr. Lisle from town on this last occasion-a gentleman, who, at his especial request, had 'run ' down to see his .vife. "Where is Paulina I " her father asked. Paulina wSspt as uisual on one of her daily, aimless ram- bles. Itwas athpirky. sort of day, with a light, damp fog cling- ing to everything-a dark, gray sky, lying low over a bleak, wet earth. It was no weather for any one in delicate health to be ' . abroad-but Paulina neither felt inor cared for the damp. It' suited her, this gloomy evening-it seemed somehow like' he.:;r^ cold, gray lige. The last, lingering shadows of the dark dak page: 372-373[View Page 372-373] 372 "PAUfNA TO ALICF." , 372 1 ' " "e2o were departing as she came slowly homeward. In body and mind, heart and brain, she was tired out as she drew near-her face paler than usual, her large eyes haggard, and sunken. A man's tall. figure leaned lightly against one of the gate-posts as she drew near. Her heart gave a great bound, and then passed on, but he stopped her. "Not one word, Paulina?" he said in a low voice ofreproach, and it is the last time we may ever meet. For the sake of eight years ago, when we were friends, when little ' Polly' did not hate me, say good-by!" He held out his hand. Her heart smoe her--she stopped confusedly.-glanced up once into the dark, reproachful eyes, half turned away. Hate hi In that. moient she knew, as she had never nown before, that sheloved him, with a passionate, deathless love, that would remain with her to her life's end. e She gav. him her cold fingers. His hand closed over them -warm; strong, and, firm-his eyes were reading her pale, averted face. "You-you came to say farewell to inmy mother," she fal- tered. ' And to you, Paulina-I may call you so, may I not? It is for the last time. I, too, leave England in a few days and forever." "Forever!" she echoed. A cold, hand seemed to clutch her heart-was Mrs. Atcherly right, after all, in her surmise? She drew her hand suddenly and forcibly from his grasp. "I shall return to America," he said quietly, " and there 'pass my life. As soon as my new book appears, I leave. You will be abroad then, and I could not go without saying good-by, and asking you to forgive me." "Forgive you! For what?" "For letting you sacrifice your life," he -said; firmly, "six years ago. I see, clearly now, that I should have saved you, but not in that way. You were mad that night--:driven wild by their persecution, the fear of imprisonment, and a 1arriage with Francis. The play had excited you-you scarcely knew what you were doing, but I was sane enough, and I have never rgiven myself, in all these years, for taking advantage of your x "PAULIAA TO ALICE.* helplessness and terrors, and making you my wife. You loved the Marquis of Heatherland, and he deserved it as few men do,- and it holds you apart. You hate me, you have not tried; to , conceal it, and, I dare say, I deserve it.. But I shall not banish you from England-my presence here shall be no barrier to your return. Farewell, once more, and try to forgive me if you can when I am gone." ' He lifted his hat, she heard the gate open and shut, heard the light, firm fall of his -footstep on the road growing fainter and fainter. The soft summer rain was falling and wetting her through-lights twinkled in the cottage windows, and Guy was gone-forever ' '1 "Paulinal" her father's voice called from the 'dooiway, "come in! Do you not-know it is raining?" She was standing where Guy had left her, motionless. She started up now, staggered dizzily, and grasped something for support. The next moment her father's strong arm encircled) her. . /"You will get your death," he said; "you look like death now. Did you see Eariscourt?" 1 "Yes." The word dropped heavily and slowly from her lips. , "He has gone." , s o He looked at her keenly. But' even in that hour, when a / pain bitterer than death was piercing her ieart, her pride upp- , held her. The cold, set look that had grown habitual of late; and warded off all questioning, came over her pale, proud face., Her step grew firm; she entered the house, and none present saw anything more than usual in her look. .; Tea was ready--Rosanna's best cream-cakes, and fruit. pies, , and whitest rolls, in honor cf the occasion. As they gathered . . round the bright little lamp-lit table, a loud knock came to th . door. - "Who is this?" said Duke. "I thought -Mr. Guy, was our, '.; last visitor." - * ; Hb opened the door, and saw a middle-aged, sailor-like man, a total stranger 'standing there in the rain. ; Does M. " iss Paiilina Lisle live here? asked this nautical ; visitor., ' , - - Duke nodded. "And what may you want of Miss Lisle, my seafaring ' ' friend?" he asked, Paulina heard, and approached the door,'l0oking at the seai ; man in. profound surprise. : .a :" c page: 374-375[View Page 374-375] 374 'PA ULINA TO ALICE," "You want me?" she inquired. , The sailor pulled off his hat, and scraped a nautical bow. "I do, miss, if so'be as you are the Miss Paulina Lisle what, advertised in the Times, six years ago, about,a Miss Alice War- ren, missing. You offered a reward, you reck'lect, for news of her, dead or alive." She gave a low cry, reached out, and drew the speaker in. "Come this way!" she cried. "I am the Paulina Lisle who advertised, and I am still ready'to give the reward. At last I shall hear of Alice." She drew him int the kitchen-deserted now-placed a chair for him, and stood herself breathless, expectant. ' "What do you know of her?" she exclaimed. "She was my dearest. friend, and I have never heard a word of her since that time. Is she alive or dead?" "Dead, miss!" the sailor said, solemnly. "Mirdered/" She clasped her hands, and staggered back. "Murdered " She whispered the word with ashen lips. "Look here, miss," the man said; and after fumbling a moment, produced from an inner pocket a little parcel rolled in many papers. He undid those slowly, one by one, and something golden glittered in the light. He handed it to her. It was a locket and chain. She gave a second low cry; she recognized it at once. It had been her parting gift to Alice O i? - ere her' departure for the French school. She touched the spring-it flew open-there was her own picture, and a ringlet of her golden hair, and on the reverse 'side this inscription: "Paulina to Alice-1860." "You know that ere locket, miss?" the sailor said. "Yes, I see you do. Well, I have had that these seven years come Christmas eve. On Christmas eve, 1862, the young woman what wore that locket was foully murdered, and her body lies a bleaching, for wliat I know, in the same spot still." She mastered her emotion by a powerful effort. For a mo- ment she had grown sick and faint, and had been pbliged 'o sit down. It passed away,' and the white lips spoke: "Will you tell me all? If this locket and these dreadful facts have been in your possession for six years, how is it you only reveal them now?" "Well, miss, I did wrong, I suppose-I ought to have made a clean breast of it there and then, but, you see, I went to sea, and once before, out in Bermuda, I got into a serape by find- ing a body that way, and nearly got. lagged fog a murder i k . , ,I ,PA ULIrNA T7 ALICE.' 3 75 didn't do I don't know that Id have told now, but it kind of haunted me like, and gave me no rest; so for the past" two months I've been a-trying to find 'you out. A precious deal of trouble it's been, i can tell you. This here's 'the way I cain: by that locket." And then the sailor told his stonry, 'Paulina listening white and!still. ": "My nane's Bill Saunders, miss, which I was christened William James, and I follows the sea for a livin', as you may see for yourself. I'd been away on a yeasrs voyage, and wheni I got home I started from Liverpool to see my old mother, liVTl' at that time at Battersea-way. I stayed with the old wolnan nigh upon seven weeks, coming up to London off and on, and signing articles Christnias week to sail for China in'the 'Golden Pagoda,'on a threeyears' cruise. The' Golden Pagda was to sail down the Thames about noon, Christmas eve, and bright and early in the oriining, I slung my bundle over my I shoulder, bid the old mother good-by, and started. afoot for London. "It was a tarnal stormy morning, miss, axin' your pardon fdr swearing, a-snowin' and a-blowin' like as if it .was Canada instead of old England. I was used to snow-storms though, ". and trudged along neve' mindin', though along the waste felis, and marhes, and old brick-yards, it blew fit to take your hei " off. It wasn't- the sort of mornin' nor the time of day yo , would look to see any one out a-drivin', and so when I see a . horse and wagon a-comin' furious in the other direction, I stood' still behind a pile of rubbish, and made a telescope of my fist, and looked hard to see what the' parties was like. "They was a man and a woman--I c6iuld just make out. il that, and no more; bqth was so muffled up and so white with " snow. While I looke'd, the' wagon stopped sudden' like, thi man jumped out and helped the woman after. Thiiswas;a'i other move I did not lexpect in such a place -and in sucii a storm. ' . .. ' " "' Something wrong with the turriout,' I says to myself, and keeps well out o' sight and waits to see. The- man' looked all about, afid then takes the woman round an old pile o' broken, bricks that hid'thein from sight. A minute after--it could iiot , have been more--I hears te report of a pistol,; and then'I' . -knew for' sartin vhat' I had pected when tj enan first got out,- that foul play was going on, and that I'd Ader keep still, if I didn't want a second pistol ball through my own skull. page: 376-377[View Page 376-377] [ 376 .- PA UL4NA TO ALfCWE". "I waited about two minutes. Mind well. , pulled out my watch, and looked to see the time, afeared I might be late for the sailin' of the 'Golden Pagoda.' It wanted just twenty Ai, minutes o' nine. I can swear to the very minute, for she's a al good one to keep time, she is. As I put the watch back, I sees ,: my cove a-comin' round the heap o' bricks, and taking a second j', look in every direction. If I kept out o' sight afore, you may be sartin I was inwisable, now. Hte looked at his watch, then jumped into his trap, and drove away as if old Nick (savin' your presence, miss) was scuddin' after him. 1i ;,'6 I waited there until he was clear out of sight, then I made, . for the spot. Ahind the pile o' rubbishwas a sort of hole, like * a little cave, made, maybe, 'to hold tools, ad that, when the \,' brick-fields was in use, and into this the body had been dragged. He' had piled up in a hurry agin the entrance a heap o' loose ! brick, and stones, and wood. You might pass the spot scores o' times, and never take notice. There was some blood upon the snow, but not much, and the mark of where he had dragged her in; and away inside I could see, when I took down the piled-up rubbish, a woman's figure lying on its face. "Well, miss," the sailor went on, shifting away uneasily from the gaze of the large, horror-struck eyes, "maybe I did wrong, but I piled up the stuff agin as I found it, and made up my mind to say nothin' of what I'd heard and seen. Out in Bermuda, as I said afore, I nearly got lagged 'for life, getting accused of a murder I didn't do. A burned child, they say, dreads the fire-it was no business o' mine; I would just go off in the ' Golden Pagoda,' I thought, and let the young woman's friends and the London police find her at their leisure. "I was turning, to go away-it was nine now, and I had no time to spare-when somethin' a-sbinin' in the snow caught my eye. I stooped and picked it up. It was that there locket, miss, bent a little, as you see, where it had been tramped on, and the little chain broke off short, as if it had been dragged from her neck. I put it in my pocket, and tramped away to London. That afternoon the 'Golden Pagoda' sailed, and me in her, and I've never set foot in England since, until three weeks ago. "But I couldn't forget what I saw that Christmas eve morn- ing-I couldn't forget' it, miss. In my watcl on deck od nights that there young woman used to come afore me, and I could see, her again lyin' dead on her face in that dismal spot where nobody might ever find her. I couldn't forget it, and at last,/ - PAULIA TO' ALICEY. 377 when I sailed from Canton for England, I ma me uo my mind, come what would, I'd make a clean breast of it, and tell the whole 'story. "I was sitting in a coffee-house in Liverpool the night I landed, thinking' how I had better begin the business, when I came across an oldlLondon paper, six years old, and there, as , if Providence had put it in my way, the very first thing my two eyes lit on was the advertisement offering a reward for any news of one Alice Warren, missing or 'dead. Now, on the locket, I'd seen them words-printed, 'P AULINA TO ALIE, x86o,' and this here missing woman was an Alice too. That was all I had to go by. Any news was' to be brought to a law-firm in . . London. I started for London next morning, and found out, after a sight of trouble, the law-firm. I showed 'ein that adver- ; tisement. I axed 'em who put it in. They couldn't give me a plain answer-they badgered and bothered, and said I was to tell them ariything I knew, I said I'd be blowed if I did 1. That brought them to their bearings, and they said it was a client of theirs, a young lady, Miss Paulina Lisle. When I heard that name, ' Paulina,' I knew I was on the right track. I axed 'em if they'd ever found this here Alice Warren, and they said no; nothin' had ever been heard or seen of her from that day to this. Then I told them I wanted to see Miss Paulhma Lisle; that: I'd something to say to her about this here business :ih she might like to know; and at last, after a deal o' fussin, they gave me the directions here.. Hedre I came; and there, miss, is the whole story. Alice Warren was murdered on Christmas , eve, I862, and her bones ls a-molderin' to this day, for what .. I know, in that hole on Battersea Common." . The sailor had finished his story. Paulina sat perfectly rigid, i with dilated eyes, listening to every word. She spoke now: .: ' ; "And the man who murdered her-tell me what le was like." - ' "I didn't see his face, miss.; he was that muffled up with a great scarf, twisted round the lower part of his face, and a fur .. , cap, with a peak pulled over his nose. He was tall and- slim like; 'he wore a rough-looking great-coat, and I took him to . 1 be a gentleman. But I shouldn't know him again if I saw him." . ( Tall and slim, and like a gentleman." Paulina's thoughts : were of Lord Montalien. - He was tall and slim and gentle- manly. 'But deeply, strongly' as she felt on, tis subject, she , \ was too just to make any rash accusations. in so supreme an -.. . hour . .- A, } , . . . . X,;f page: 378-379[View Page 378-379] / v . --- r. Uc/LIvA TO ALIC. , She rose up with an effort that was almost painful. She ' knev the truth at last. Alice had been murdered -gentle, loving Alice --and for six long years had lain unburied and iunavenged. She felt giddy and sick, as she stood up, and it was a moment before she could speak. "I will call my fathei-,"she said. "Do you waithere. Youa must repeat your story to himl. Something must be d one, and at once!" ' She opened the sitting-room door, and .summoned both her father and Duke. The two men looked, at her in alarm-at her awfully corpse- like face. erPalina, my dearest, what is the matter?" exclaimed Rob- ert Lisle. "Whaf has this nman been telling you? Your friend is--" Murdered, fatherfoully murdered,six years ag in unburied and unavenged i Think of that i man had eve I This man will repeat to you what he has said to me-the horrible story of a horrible murder." "Too horrible for your ears, my poor, overwrouglht child. You look fit to die this moment. For pity's sake, go and lie down! Remember you start upon a journey to-morrow, and just now you appear more fitted for sick,-bed than a- Hengthy journey. ' Go to your mothet, Paulina.;" He kissed the death-like face'tederly, and led her from the lroom. She obeyed with weary patience. Was she ill A dull, heavy pain throbbed in both temples; her forehead seemed encircled with an iron band; a-homist dimmed her eye's She had never been ill in her life; was she going to be ill now? Ne left her in charge of her mother ad Rosanna, and re- turned to the kitchen. Mr. Bill Saunders, very much more at his ease, now that the beautiful lady, with the marble,'pale face was gone, repeated his story, almostword for word as he had told it to Paulina. Duke listened, turning cold with pity and horror. Poor, little, pretty Alice! 1 So sweet! so. gentle Hbeloved by all i- and this had been her fate i "I shall lay this minatter before the police at once," Mr. Lisle said. You will accompany me to town to-morrow, my man, and repeat your story before the propr authorities A most foul inurderhas been done, and must be brought to light." Mr. Saunders expressed his readiness, and took his depart. ure. He was stopping over night at One of the inns in the L d -, 1-- ViV X* Vz ;W. *' i town, and would wait upon Mr. Lisle the firSt thing in the\: morning. "This is a most shocking tlhing, Mason," he said; ' and ini ' Paulina's present state of health there is no telling what effect the news may have upon her. She seems to have been'very ; strongly attached P' this unfortunate Alicq Warren," f "Very, strongly," Duke answered, moved himself more than -ii he cared to show. It is her nature to love with her whole heart those whoin' she' does love-and 'they were like sisters. ;& Poor little Alice" . i "Who was the man with whom she eloped? Wa$ it never known?" "Never for certain." ^ ' "It was suspected?" "It was." "Who was the man?" Duke hesitated. It had always been a story he had shrunk ' fronm-now more than ever. "Who was the man with whom she fled?"Lisle repeated. " "Thet man to whom she fled- I don't know. The man with * whom' se left Speckhaven was-Guy Earlscourt." "Mason J " ' - . "I can't help it," Duke said, doggedly. "Every one here : knows it. She left Speckhaven, and travelled up to London ..? with Mr. Guy; and most people believe him guilty. I don't -.I never did-no more does Mathew Warren or Paulina." " " Will you tell me all about it, Mason?"Lisle said, gravely. He was beginning to foresee the trouble in store for the young : man he liked so strongly. .1 They sat together for over an hour. Duke, confining him- / self to simple facts, told all he knew-the letter Paulina had ^' received, the flight in company with Guy the succeeding even. ' B ; ing-of the revelation of Guy to Paulina at Brighton, which ' i t^ she had repeated to Duke. Lisle listened, growing more'and: : .more grave. 1 , "Earlscourt i t not the man," he said, decidedly. "Guy is simply incapable of luring any girl deliberately to her ruin, however many and greit his faults of the past, For the charge of murder, in connection with him, it is of course utterly mon- strous. But his leaving the place, and accompanying the girl to London may place him in a very disagreeable position, until the criminal is found.. Were none of the other men stoppingB at the Priory suspected at. the time?" page: 380-381[View Page 380-381] 380 ",PAULNZA TO ALICE." "None. That is"-Duke hesitated-- "Paulina suspected Lord Montalien, but Pauliina's suspicions were scarcely unpre- judiced. She always disliked his lordship. No one else ever suspected him, and there never was the slightest proof against him. He may have admired Alice, as they all did; but Guy was the only one among them with whom people connected her flight. It is, a most mysterious and shocking affair alto- gether. I almost wish this sailor, having kept his confession so long, had kept it forever." The kitchen door opened, and Olivia Lisle looked in. Her face had that anxious look it always wore when her husband was out of her sight. "Are you here, Robert? Ah?" brightening as she saw him. "I thought, perhaps, you had gone out. Has that strange man left? What has he been saying to distress Paulina so?" "Where is Paulina?"Robert Lisle asked, following her back to the parlor. "Gone to her room-she would let neither Rosanna nor myself accompany her. She is altogether unfit to be left alone. She insists upon it though. What is the matter?" Lisle told the story the sailor had repeated-his wife and Rosanna listening greatly shocked. "And Paulina loved this girl as a sister," her mother said, rising. "Robert, I must go to her." But Paulina's door was locked. There was no response to her mother's knock. "Paulina, love, it is Hwill you not letjne in?"Mrs. Iisle said, in a frightened voice. Still no reply. Terrified now beyond measure, Olivia's calls brought the other three to her side. In five minutes Robert Lisle's strong hands had forced the door. They entered, the lamp burned upon the table, and Paulina was lying as she had evidently fallen, half across the bed, She never stirred at their entrance. "The child has fainted!"Rosanna cried, shrilly. Her father lifted he up. No, she had not fainted--she was lying in a sort of stupor, thqt rendered her deaf and blind. The last shock had finished the work Guy Earlscourt's sudden applarition weeks before had begun-body and brxin had given way. Before morning broke Paulina Lisle lay tossing in the wild delirium of brain fever. -, i FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE." 38 " ' . )3 CHAPTER VI. ". FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE." OR the first time in her four-and-twenty years of life, Paulina lay ill-ill unto death. The airy, upper chamber in which little Polly Mason had slept her brief, bright life away, was silent and darkened now, A great London physician had been telegraphed for, arid calme, and Rosanna, grim and gray in the green dusk, took her place by the bedside of her nursling. The great London doctor looked portentous, and shook his head. Flushed, and delirious, and restless, Paulina lay, talking, incoherently--or tossing in hot, unrefreshing sleep-very, very ill. Of course all further thought of departure was at an end -who was to tell that Paulina Lisle's first journey might not be to the tomb?e 'And the grief of the faithful hearts, who loved her so devote edly-who shall paint that? They had to banish her mother by force from the sick-room-her self-command had all. gone in those long, miserable years of asylum-life, and her uncon- trollable sobbing filled the place-she was utterly helpless and useless. It needed but one word from the husband to make her yield. "You distress Rosanna-you may disturb Paulina-you will * injure yourself-come, Olivia." He was haggard and pale himself-his very 'life seemed bound up now in his new-found wife and child-that death oi danger should approach either, he had not dreamed. And death and danger were here. But his life's training never ,failed-his grave face told little of the bitter pain-the misera- ble dread within. "You and I will go iup to town, Mason," he said, "by the noonday train. Duty before all other things. If Paulina," he paused for a second, "were with us, she would listen to no delay.' The, information .you can give may be needed. You will accompany me and this man Saunders." "I will do whatever you think 'for the best, Mr. Lisle," answered Duke, but his reluctance was visible; " but I don't like-I don't like repeating this story. It places Mr. Guy in a page: 382-383[View Page 382-383] !,i; ' .382 "FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE." false position, makes him appear guilty, and he is as innocent of any wrong against poor Alice as. I am. It's a story I hate to tell any one-much less an official of the detective police*" Lisle laid his hand heavily on the scene-painter's arm. "Mason," he said, impressively, "Guy Earlscourt is as near. to me as a son-more, it has been one of the dearest desiies of my heart, since I have known him, that he should become my son. That hope I have not yet resigned, and in order that his character may be entirely freed from the slightest imputation of guilt, I wish this matter to be thoroughly investigated, and his part in it made clear to the world. He has suffered already too much in his reputation on this unhappy girl's account. The story of the flight, and the rest of it, is no secret; every man and woman in Speckhaven seems familiar with it. Better that the London police should hear it from your lips than listen to their garbled version. When the real criminal is found, Guy will be free from blame; never before." The three men went up to London by the noon train. Alice's letter to Paulina, written the night before her flight, was searched for, and discovered among her. papers. It' told little to them, but' there was no knowing what it might not reveal to the practised eyes of a detective officer. They drove to Fleet Street, and were set down before the office of Inspector Burn- ham, the detective, who had already discovered the hiding- place of Olivia. Mr. Burnham was' at home--a wiry little man, in black clothes, with a sallow face, compressed lips, and light, restless eyes. Lisle introduced, his two companions, and began with the matter in hand at once. Did Burnham remember the case of the missing girl, Alice Warren, for the discovery of whom a large reward had been offered about six years ago? Mr. Burnham shook his head. There were so many nissing people, and so many rewards offered, that 'it. was impossible for any one human mind to recall them. Had they a copy of the advertisement? he would probably recollect if he saw it, The sailor had. The paper that had attracted his attention in Liverpool he still carried about with him. He handed it now to the detective. , Mr. Burnham recognized it at one. glance. "I remember," he said, "I remember. Case attractid con. siderable attention at the time. I was not concerned in it. Party missing never was found, *r heard of, was she? ' FOR A WOMANS SAKE" . 383 . "Never-up to the present. We think the clue is fund now. We think the girl was murdered."' ,oduered / " Mr. Burnham pricked up his official ears at the agreeable sound of that word. "Ah 1" with professional relish, "murdered,'was she? ' And how long ago,'and how was it,.and how has it come to light? "Tell your story, Saunders," Mr. Lisle said. And Mr. Saunders, who was chewing tobacco, and spitting politely in a corner, removed his quid and repeated his story of 'Christmas Inspector Burnham listened keenly, never for one second taking his light, sharp eyes off the sailor's stolid, sunburned face. "On Christmas eve, 1862, precisely at half-past eight, A M." Mr. Burnham produced ,a dirty pocket-book,!and a stumpy pencil, ' which required to be sucked audibly before it would -.: make its mark. "You're certain of the tinme, my man?" ;, pausing with the stumpy pencil poised, and itransfixing Bill f Saunders. "Precisely half-past eight when the shot was fired? You can swear to this, if necessary? "Before the Lord Chief Justice, sir," responded Saunders, sturdily. "My watch is a watch wot never goes wrong. It was twenty minutes to nine when that ere chap fired that ere shot, and it was just a quarter o' nine when he jumped in his trap and drove away. At nine, sharp, I left the place myself; it wasn't the sort o' pleasant spot to make a man linger." "Let-me see the locket," the detective said. Robert Lisle handed-it to him. "You recognized this locket at once'?" he inquired, examin. ing closely the inscription and picture. "My daughter, recognized it; Mr. Mason, here, recognized I could s wear to the locket," said Duke; "I was with Miss Lisle when she purchased it, and ordered the inscription to be engraved. That is also her'picture, and a tress of her hair. "It is impossible to be mistaken." "Mr. Mason," said the detective, "will you be kind enough to tell me all you know of this girl's story. I recollect, quite distinctly now, the rum0r 'that she ran away from home with some onea-s gentleman much above her in station.", I ai'i right, am I not?" A. bout the rumor? Well, yes," Duke admitted, reluctantly, - ,she did run away." "With-" page: 384-385[View Page 384-385] a ; 384 "'FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE." "She travelled up to London with-Mr. Guy Earlscourt- Lieutenant Earlscourt, he was then, second son of Lord Mon. talien. But, mind you, she didn't run away with him." "No?" Mr. Burnham was taking notes again, sucking the stumpy pencil as if it had been a stick of candy, in the inter- vals. "She went up to London with him, but she didn't run away with him. Now, how was that?" "They met, by chance, at the station," answered Duke, very much discomposed; " by the merest chance. :She told him she was going up to London-it was late in the evening, and she was afraid to travel alone; and she asked him to take care of t her." "Just so; very natural. She asked him to take care of her. She had known Mr. Earlscourt a very long time, I suppose?" "For two years, off and on." "She was a very pretty girl-this Alice Warren?" "Very pretty, indeed." "Did any one present on the occasion hear this conversation passing between Miss Warren and Mr. Earlscourt at the sta- tion?" "No one, that I am aware of." "Mr. Earlscourt saw her to her destination, then. What was her destination?" "Some lodging-house, Tottenham Court Road-way. I forget I the exact address. He took her there, and left her in charge of the landlady." "Ah!" Burnham said. "We must find that landlady. D( 'you know, Mr. Mason, if he ever saw her again?" "Yes, once. He told her friend, Miss Lisle, that, several weeks after, he visited her at her lodgings, and that he found her much changed--looking ill and unhappy. He went again, next day, but in the meantime she had been removed. She has never been heard of since, until now." "Humph "Mr. Burnham said, with a thoughtful grunt. "Did Miss Warren leave no word, no message, no farewell, to anybody before quitting home?" Lisle produced her note, and handed it to him. "She wrote this to my daughter oh the night preceding her departure. You see she speaks of her marriage there, for certain." Mr. Burnham read the note attentively two or three times, then placed it with the locket in his desk. Miss Warren being a pretty girl, as you say, Mr. Mason, she had doubtless numbers of admirers both in her own station "FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE." 385 and above her. The month was September. Were there many gentlemen staying at Montalien Priory in September, 1862?" "There were six," Duke answered, after a second's pause. "Lord Montalien himself, his brother Guy, Mr.. Allan Fane, the artist, Sir Harry Gordon, Captain Cecil Villiers, and a Mr. Augustus Stedman. I remember all their names because there was so much talk at the time." "Yes; and were any of those gentlemen admirers of Miss Warren? Did they visit at her father's house?" "They all visited there-except, perhaps, Mr. Allan Fane, who wa's a married man, and out of the question." "The others all visited at the bailiffs house, then. Did sus. picion fall upon none of these?-did Miss Warren evince no partiality? It must have been pretty' clear which she liked best, and she was evidently very much in love with the man she ran away to marry?" Duke hesitated. He knew Paulina's suspicions of Lord Montalien, but they ',ere only Paulina's suspicions-no one shared them. He had no right to repeat them. "No," he answered after that pause. "I never heard she evinced any particular partiality. They all went, and she was pleasant to all. I know no more." ," And I'm very much obliged to you for telling what you do know, I'm sure," Inspector Burnham said, politely.' "Now, if I only had the addresses of those gentlemen-you couldn't furnish me with tljem, I suppose?" No, Mr. Mason could not. Sir Harry Gordon and Captain' Villiers were in the Guards, Mr. Allan ane and Mr. Guy Earls- court were in London, and easily to be found when wanted. And Lord Montalien was down in Lincolnshire, at the Priory, in very bad health. Mr. Burnham shut up his pocket-book, locked his desk, looked' at his-watch, aind got up. "Half-past four. I don't see anything to hinder our taking a drive out to Battersea-way, and having a look at this spot Mr. 'Saunders. tells us of. We'll'dismiss the cabs some distance off, and go on foot to the place." ^ He rang a bell, whispered a few words to a subordinate, and prepared for the drive. "It's not likely the remains' have ever been discovered, or e'd have heard of it. Curious how those things turn-up. You didn't see the man's face, you say?" to Saunders. "You ^ couldn't identify him again if you mlet, I suppose?" 17 page: 386-387[View Page 386-387] Vt s;. 386 "FOR A' WOMAN'S SAKE." "In course not," answered Saunders; "I never see his face. He had a muffler, or a comforter, twisted up to his nose, and it was snowin' like all creation. He was a tall, slim chap, I see that, with the look of a gentleman, but I couldn't tell him again not if I ran slap agin him this minute." "Cabs waiting, sir," a voice called, and the men went out to the street. Two cabs were before the door, and in the foremost, which. Inspector Burnham entered, a man sat who had an official air, like the inspector. himself. A large box was placed on his knees. "I'll go in this, with my friend Timmins," Burnham said. "You three gentlemen 'will take the four-wheeler." He gave the word, and the'cab started. In the second car- riage the three men sat in profound silence-it was not a pleas- ant errand they were going upo'n-to look at the spot where poor Alice Warren had been so foully murdered, and find all that remained of her after six years. The drive was not a very long one. As the bleak extent of waste ground came in view, bleak even this golden summer day, Inspector Burnham stopped the cab, and with his com- panion got out.. That companion carried under his airm the box before spoken of, and in his left hand a light' spade. The occupants of-the second carriage looked with some curiosity at these things, but no one asked any questions. "You are sure you will recognize the exact spot, Mr. Saun- ders?"' the policeman asked. "Sartin, sir," the seaman responded. "I've seen it, sleeping . and waking, every day and night since I was unlucky enough to lay eyes on it first." He went on ahead, the two detectives following, and Lisle and Duke bringing ip the rear. The July afternoon was at its mellowest as they'crossed the'rommon--yellow sunshine every- where, and a bright, blue heaven over all. Tenminutes' walk- ing, and the sailor stopped short. "This here's the place, sir," he said to the detectives. " Things hasn't changed a mite since I was here six yeaIs ago. There's the old kiln, behind which I watched the man, and this here's' the spot where I picked up the locket. pig among this rubbish at the entrance, and you'll find all that's left of that there misfortunate young 'ooman." The place to which he pointed was a sort of excavation, hol- lowed out of the high, clayey embankment, the entrance choked up with rubbish of every sort, * . 6RF A -WO MAN'S S4KE." 387- "Dig, Timmins," Inspector Burnham said. sententiously, and laying down his box. Timmins set to work. The dry rubbish came away easily enough. Five minutes' work, aid the entrance was cleared. Mr. Burnham stooped dnd looked in. The hollow place was ' quite dark and quite dry-an earthy odor alone' was percepti- ble. It was tolerably large, not high enough for a man to stand upright in. It had evidently been made and used long ago for the purpose of holding tools. "Fetch along the. lantern, Timmins,"' the detective said. "I thought it might be dark," to Mr. Lisle, "and came provided. If you please, I'll trouble you to follow me in." Timmins produced a small lantern from-the box, lighted the' candle, and handed it to his superior officer. Inspector Burn- ham went in at once, holding the light before him. Lisle followed. Tlhe place was perfectly dry and of con- siderable extent. Three steps from the entrance, and what they sought was found.. . A human skull lay at the detective's feet, human bones lay. scattered, and dry, and fleshless, a mass of long, brown hair, and torn fragments of a woman's dress. "Look!" said Inspector Burnham*. ' He picked up the. skull with )erfect coolness, and passed it to his companion. But Robert Lisle declined taking it by a motion. Death, in its most horrible forms, had been familiar to him in his check- ered career, soldiers he had seen mown down like corn before , the sickle, but this was different. A helpless woman, murdered in cold blood, is, perhaps, o6 all terrible and unnatural things the most terrible and unnat- ural. And' this woman had been his beloved daughter's dear- est friend. Timmins," Mr. Burnham sail, setting down his light, and getting on his knees, "fetch us the box." Timmins groled his. way in--the box was evidently brought for the purpose of removing the remains. Lisle watched tlfe detective and the sergeant, wondering at their lrofessional cool- ... ness. They gathered together everything-hair-bones-every . shred of dress. "-Have we all?" asked the inspector, peering with his lan. tern over the ground, .. ' "I think so, No-not all ;,vhat's this?" page: 388-389[View Page 388-389] 383 : "FOR A 'WOMAN'S SA'E." It was a tiny silken bag,. w;ith 'a string, as if it had been worn about the neck. Something like paper crackled within. In. spector 13Burnham opened the'little bag, and drew out a slip of paper. Was it a marriage certificate? No, it was an address --the address of Lieutenant Guy .Earlscourt, Piccadilly--the address Guy had turned back to give Alice on the night 0f1 her arrival at Gilbert's Gardeis,; when he had told her, if ever in trouble or need, to send to him, and he would come to her. She had kept it always in grateful remembrance-poor Alice - -of his kind words and looks. And now it had come to bear its silent witness against him. Nothing' remained-the box and its ghastly contents were. taken out by Timmins. The three. men once more stood in the bright sunlight, and the secret of that dark. excavation was its secret no longer. Timmins shouldered the box and started ba6k for liis cab- the others following-silent, gloomy. All save Inspector Burn- hamn-his silence was the silence of deep thought, not gloom. Here was a splendid case cropping up--a case that would create an excitement throughout the length and breadth of England. The Honorable Guy Earlscourt, the brother of Lord Monta- lien, the Dopular author, hunted down for murder, and' by him, Inspector Burnham. Why, if he could track the deed clearly home to him, his reputation for life was made. / He linked his arm in Duke's, who would much rather not, and drew him a little behind. "I have another question to ask you, Mr. Mason. Are you aware by what name this Miss Warren went in her lodgings? An assumed name, I'll wager." "It was an assumed name," answered Duke. "She was known as Mrs. Brown." "And how do you happen to be aware of it? Oh," care- lessly, "Mr. Earlscourt, no doubt, informed Miss Lisle?" "He did." "Mrs. Brown." The note-book and pencil came, out again. "Tottenham Court load, I think? You don't remember, or, perhaps, you never heard the name of the landlady? It's es.. sential to find that woman, Mr. Mason." "I have heard the name, but I forget. It began with an H, --Holmes, or Hayes, something of that kind." But Miss Lisle will remember, no doubt?" Miss Lisle is ill of brain fever-she will remember nothing," Duke said, and relapsed into silence and-glooim, ",4FOR A WO4AN'S SAKE."' 389 Mr. Burnham left Duke and approached Saunders., "And where shall we find you, my man, whlen we want you? Yor are. the most important personage in the, matter just now, and, must give bonds by and by for your appearance when called upon. Do you return to Lincolnshire or remain in London?" "I stays herc," Saunders answered; ".I ain't got no busi- ness in Lincolnshire, and I mean to stay ashore until I see the end of this here matter. When you Wants me I'm on hand and Willin." He gave an address. Mr. Burnham took it down.. Then they re-entered their respective' cabs, and drove back to Lon-. don.' It was very late when Mr. Lisle and Duke reached home. Olivia flew to her husband as she always did, whether his absende was long or short, forgetting, in the-rapture of his return, every- thing else for'the moment. Paulina was much the same-no better-no worse-knowing no one-restless--parched with thirst- delirious always, calling ?-sleeping and waking-for "Alice, Alice!" Inspector Burnham, of the Metropolitan Police, went to work at once, and with a will, working up thi.,extraordinary case; extraordinary only in that so distinguished a man as Guy Earls. court was the suspected criminal. He notified the coroner of the district, and placed the box and its dreadful contents under his charge. And then he set to work to hunt up the lodgilg- .. house in Tottenham Court Road, to which Mr. Earlscourt hlad brought Alice Warren. The task was not difficult to a man of Mr. Burnham's skill and experience. Mrs., Howe still resided at the salme place, and lin the same house, and remembered, very readily, when Mr. Burnham asked the question about the Mrs. Brown" who six years before had been her lodger. , "Which a nicer young persing, or one as gave less trouble, never, set foot in this 'ouse since or before," said Mrs. Howe; "and from the day she left to this minute, I've never heard tale or tidings. And I do 'ope, sir, as 'ow the poor lady is well and 'appy, which she certingly was neither when she left here." " Neither well nor happy? . Lm sorry to' hear that. Mr., Brown perhaps treated her unkindly " "Brown!" cried Mrs. Howe, in shrill scorn; "no more . Brown than I'm a Dutchman I He: was a mlillingtary swell, as I. ^ always said it from the first, and always shall, and whether, she was his wife or not, he knows best. She thought she was, popr . .. ........:,. ,.s page: 390-391[View Page 390-391] I ' 1; 390 '"FOR A WOMANr'S SAKE." dear, for a more hinnocenter creeter never came up from the country to go to her ruining and misery in London. He was a millingtary gent, and the very'andsomest I ever see, though his hactions were the rewerse of 'andsome. Not but that he paid up the bill without a. word--asking for a receipt in that'aughty to worrit herself to a shadder, as she was when took away." "A millingtary gent," repeated Mr. Burnham. "What was he lke, Mrs. Howe?" "Tall and'andsome, carrying his 'ead like that,"-Mrs. Howe flung up her own-" dark-complected, dark-heyed, black 'air, very glossy, curly, and black mostaches. I never'ad a good look at his face, but once-the night he first brought her here --he halways came muffled up, hafterwards, but I see him as plain now as I did that minute." ," Is this anything like him?" inquired Mr. Burnham quietly. - He produced a photograph, and Mrs. Howe uttered a cry of recognition. "That's him! that's hilm-Mrs. Brown's 'usband! That's the very gent I mean --I could tell that picture anywhere!" Mr. Burnham replaced the photograph of Guv Earlscourt in his pocket. "Now, Mrs. Howe," he said, "I'll tell you who I am. I'm Inspector Burnliam of the detective force." Mrs. Howe gave a gasp. ",Don't be afraid; I'll not do you any harm. This young woman, you knew as Mrs.' Brown, is missing-has been for soilme years back, and we want to find her, that's all. What you've got to do is to tell me everything you knew from the hour Mrs. Brown entered your house until she left it." He produced the note-book, and gave the stumpy pencil a preparatory lick. Mrs. Howe, in mortal terror of a detective, began at the be- ginning--the visit of Augustus Stedman to' engage the rooms for a "party fromn the country, a runaway-match, going to be- married the day after her arrival." "Which," said Mrs. Howe, "them were his own expressions." "You don't know, this young man's name?" "No, Mrs. Howe had never heard it, nd never set eyes on him again, though he did call on the youig lady nextmorning. "Describe him." This was not so. easy as describiaig Guy. Mr. Earlscourt's was a face once seen very easily retnem ered. Mrs. Howe ;'FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE." 30t had a good memory for faces, however, and hit off Mr. Stedman pretty well. "IVell frid him when we want him, I dare say, said the de. tective, writing rapidly. "'Go ahead, Mrs. Howe. y Mrs. Howe described the arrival of Guy and Alice about midnight, and the appearance of both. Mr. Burnhar produced a second portrait this time of Alice, procured from Speckhaven. "Is this anything like her?" "As like as liki-that's Mrs. Brown, as I saw her first; as sweet and pretty a face as ever I set my heyes on. Not that her good looks lasted long, poor thing." "What was the gentleman's manner?-affectionate, now, as* a love? r's might be?" "Well-yes," hesitating somewhat; "he seemed very careful of her and that, and called her ' Halice;' and when he said good-by, and left the room, he ran back to her again. Yes, he Was haffectionate, Mr, Burnham, sir." "Did you hear her address him by his Christian name? The landlady shook her head.. "No, sir, she didn't in my 'earing; I should have remem- bered it if' she had. No, sir, she didn't. And then he went away, and she went up to bed. And the next afternoon, about, six' o'clock I think it was, a cab drove up, and a gentleman got out, and ran up the stairs. I went to the front window to watch them going hoff to be married, but I couldn't see his face. He had a wide, black hat slouched down over his nose, and his" coat-collar, that turned up-there was no getting a look at hif. And it was after dark before they came back. And when he came after that, it was halways in a sort of disguise. Most of the times I was busy in the kitchen, and didn't see him at all -when I did,'I couldn't get another look at his face. He generally dame about dusk, too, and the passage is dark. I No, sir, except"the first night, I never got a look at Mrs. Brown's 'usband's face." . Mrs. Howe had very little more real information to give Mr. Burnham. Would she try, and think-had not the tall, dark,' military young gentleman called afterward, unmuffled and un- disguised? Mrs. Howe shook her head. Not that she had ever seen ; but now Mr. Burnham spoke of it, she did rememller Sarah I-ann (the girD telling her of a visitor Mrs. Brown had had in her absence, who called early, and on the first occasion brought , t page: 392-393[View Page 392-393] 392" ' ." FOR A WOMAN'S SA ." a bouquet of roses. She had been very busy at the time, and paid but little, attention. It was the very day before Mrs. Brown left. Later that same afternoon her husband had called. It might and it mighlt not be him as had l'rought the roses. She'herself had let him. in. It was dark and -ainy, she remnie- b. ered, and he had a shawl wound about the lower part of his face. He and Mrs. Brown had quarrelled--t ey had heard her crying, and his voice raised as if in anger. e had paid' the bill himself in the passage, and informed her ler lodger would leave next day. So she had, for the coUintry somewhere, she had told Mrs. Howe on goin'; "and if. evcr any poor soul 'looked heart-broke," the landlady pathetically concluded, "it was Mrs. Brown, as. she got into the cab and. drove away. From that day to this I've never set eyes or heard tell of her, but Sarah Hann, she told me next day, when/ I camle honie from market, how the tall, dark gent had been Iack again, has- kin' for Mrs. Brown, and seemed upset like whe told she was gone. "Which," con'cluded the landlady, " was like his 'eartless tricks to deceive people, and made them think as 'ov he wasn't the party as took her away himself." Mr. Burnham inquired for "Sarah Hann." ' Mrs. Howe shook her head in a melancholy way. "Sarah Hinn had been dead and gone these two years of a decline. She had no more to tell. To what she had told 'she was ready to, ake her affy- davit in any court in London." "And I'm very much obliged to you, Mrs. Howe," Inspec- tor Burnham said, rising to depart, "for the pleasant 'manner in which you have given your information. If we an only dis- cover now whereabouts Mi. Brown took his wife when she left Gilbert's 'Gardens, I think we shall' have a very pretty little case worked up. Good-day to you, ma'anm.", Two days later, and in his studio, with the slanting rays of the July sun streaming in upon the canvas, an old, fiielid of ours stands, busily painting. It is Allan Fane, the artistl whom, in the press of others' affairs, we have quite lost sight of lately. The studio is a very small, very luxurious little roolm sacred to the artist himself, 'his most cherished pictures, and most inti- mate friends. There is a larger, outer atelier, where gentle- men congregate to smoke and talk, long-haired entlemen mostly, who didn't patronize barbers--the Brotherhood of the Brush. ,FORA WOMA'S:S/Er" ";39" The years that: have been so fraught wiih events for'others, have not. passed without, clange ovrthe head of Allan Fane. , He stands here to-day with the yellow sunshine' on his face, geatly changed, reatly improved, from the effeminate, weakly, indolent, caned selish yong man, who, eight years ago, fell in indolent, and selmsn youn1. g ',ly Ms. The fairer' son- love with and deserted little i'olly Mson. i . what womanish beauty of his face remains, but hs long, tholden lard, and thwe firmer curve of the lips, the graver light ofthe eyes, tell now of strength, and poweray. :fe a niusithin; e , is a' celebrated' man2-- he has won for himself fame and wealth. ind the Bond Street .tailor has cause at last the proud of hi ble origin no more. t month after tlt Octher day on hich e had met paulina down in Speckhaven, after her return from France, his wife hld died abroad. Her fortune had gone with her--that fortune for which he had so weakly sold himself, and onc e more he was free. He tried, manfully enough, to repress the 'feeling of telief and gladness that woul arisehis wedded life had bee unspeakaerly bitter, and eight months after their unin they had parted by mutual cosent-d he was fre- and paulina Lisle.' -ie went back to his brush and iasel, and worked as he had never worked in his life: before. The picture was hi long- dreamed of, long-talked of Rosamon and Eleanor;" and he painted his Rosallmond from memorY. All that winter hespent at Montalle iory over this one painting, and in the spring at Lontaldoen Ptloed of it, a royal gthat picture lis pricS-orders rushed in upon him, and the artist's fortuhe was made. Theworldhad not see auina isle the, but a lit- te later and people began to talk of the arvellous resen btance between Sir Vane Chartris's ward and the fair Rosa- mo ed, and to dihung-ifover that faMiss sle must have satfor the Tihtic e p was a striking onsue ss-w i od tou saw ai the' nleak stone ha ll, a -red, rising oonit at a fabrou its ne-all L ondopen talksement, rening its pie , pri bakcoeushed in upon hiEl and the artisas fortun , blagger eandi e " blrdr -:oe d that Whssav Liusle mustd apve atitfo ben page: 394-395[View Page 394-395] i f . * * I :i ' ' I d ff 394 "POR A WOMAN'S SAKE."' black brows, and eyes of dusky fire, proffering the bowl and dagger. Rosamond stood with the red light of le ri ing moon upon her fair face and flowing golden hair-a forl sl nder and girlish, drawn up to its fthlest height-the face lite as death, the blue eyes flashing as blue eyes only flash, Itle lole fear- less face full of pride and defiant scorn. So, surely, never looked the fair, frail mistress of the king, confronted by the jealous wife, but so Allan Fane ha 1 chosen to paint her. The face shone out so vividly, so s artlingly lif6-like from the canvas, that you seelmed to hear the scornful words of defiance with which shle braved the infuriat queen. Had Paulina/ Lisle ever really looked like that, peo le won- dered? No; but in the twilight, of a summer d , Polly Mason had, as she flung his ring, at Allan Fane's et, and stood before him in her new-found womanhood, scorni g him. While life remained Allan Fane would never forget low she looked, how she spoke then. The picture was a success, and his fortune made. He did not go into society that yearj; he heard in sil nce of her beautyand her triumphs; and the second season le met h-er. The old love, stronger than ever, filled his he rt-he , was famous now, and rapidly acquiring wealth, and lhe aid his laurel crown'very humbly at her feet. He loved her de otedly --with a love that knew no change--would she be hii wife? Her answer had been a refusal, a refusal that crushed out every atom of hope. "The time for all that is past, Mr. Fane," she said quietly, "I could not care for you now if I tried. Will you let me be your friend? Your wife 1 never can be. It is too late.' Too late! The old dreary refrain. Once her lo e had been within his grasp, and he had turned -away from tl e gift, and now it was too late! -He accepted his fate, with a brave patience that made her like himn as nothing else coul( have done, and they had been: " friends," as she wished it, sinle. There are not nlany menwlho will remain the faithful friend of the woman who refuses theni-Allan Fane was one. Wisdom and generosity were coming to him with yea andl suffering. 1He stands this July afternoon painting busily. He s not al9ne. On a Turkish divan, smoking a long, twisted pipe, stretched at full length, lies Guy Earlscourt. It is the last day of his stay in England-by the latest train he departs for liver- pool, to sail to-morrow for New York, and his lasthour he is :'I? ," FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE." 395 "spendifig with his friend. A greyhound lies at his feet, and looks up in his face with darklyloving eyes, as Guy pulls his long ears through his fingers. -te artst orks There is silence in the little room-the artist works indus: triously, and Guy smokes and watches with dreamny eyes a picture hanging opposite It is the fair head and graceful throat of a girl in her first youthw-athe lile, tohe sapphire eyes sparkle with laughing light, and follow you wheveryou go The pcture is rchly framed, and never i!leaves that spot-it isa portrait of "Polly Mason." ", What' do you think of it, Guy?" ,the artist says, at length catWhing themglance. It is like her, I think, as'-a we knew her first."d pissed his lips to It was almost the onl time her name had p d h tGuy. He dreamed not the you t scre urse, but he had seen them together, noted, with surprise,the marked restraint and avoidance between them, and there must be a 5eoret behind. I ",Very ile,. Guy answered; "' so like that I can see that birthday fte and her, as she stood dancing in the sunshine. Allan, I shoalll like a copy of that picture to take with mead "To your second exile. 'You shall he it. I have already promised a copy to another old friend of hers, Duke ,Mason. 'promised acopy to hers has been-little Polly What a strangely checkered life hers has beenlittle olly Mason---reject a Duke! i Guy, I wonder why she thew over Heatherland? It was not like Paulina." Lisle's father stood before thein. Guy sprang erect. "My dear colonel! You here I thoughtyou d left Eng- land a veek ago. Nothing wrong, I hope?" Findr Roert Isle was very pale, very Worn, and grave. Mrs. Lisle!--Paulina!" uy exclaimed; "they are well, cole sth addressed him by the familiar title that had been his -when they first met. Paulinia is ill--very ill. I knew it was your last day in London, and Icalled to tellyou. Your people said . would "Very ill," he repeated, slowl o I on& "ram ,She was taken i on the r nigh ftius othn ever. She had receivedaterrible shock-the revelation o the %i eer h j, rcie page: 396-397[View Page 396-397] 396 1FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE." death of a dear friend, and this, coupled with exposur -to damp and previous ill-health, brought about this result. Shl has been " delirious ever since-she is so still. What the ent will be Heaven only knows." He walked away to the window. Dead silence fell It was b.,roken by a tap at the door, and the entrance of a ser rant with a card. "Inspector Burnham, of the Metropolitan Police," read Mr. Fane, aloud. "Who the deuce is Inspector Burni am, and what does he want here?" !f 'Robert Lisle wheeled round from the window with . startled expression. "He says his business is with Mr. Earlscourt, sir," lhe man answered, '" and is most pressing." Fane looked doubtfully at his friend. ' "I don't know what he wants," Guy said, ahswer ng that look; "but I'll see him all' the same, with your pernission, Fane." Mr. Burnhan appeared on the instant. He bowed espect- fully to Lisle and addressed Guy. . "I believe," Inspector Burnham began, politelyi IL am speaking to the Honorable Guy Earlscourt?" Guy nodded. ' I have been informed, Mr. Earlscourt, that it is y ur in- tention to sail to-morrow for New York. Is it true?" "It is qtfite true," answered Guy. "May I ask, i turn, how my departure can possibly concern you?" ' "LIn this way, Mi. Earlscourt--that it must be postpo ed." "Indeed! And why?" Mr. Burnham glanced at Mr. Lisle, who had growl even paler than upon his entrance, coughed apologetically, and drew a step pearer. "My business here is of a very unpleasant nature, but it must be done." He laid his hand suddenly and heavily upon Guy's shoulder, "Mr. Earlscourt, I' arrest you on the charge of having caused, or been party to, the death of Alice Warren, on the morning of Christmas eve, I862. Mr. Guy Earlscourt, - sir, you must consider yourself my prisoner." There was an exclamation from Allan Fane-a deepening of the gray pallor upon Robert Lisle's face. For Guy, he shook off the hand of the detective, and' stood looking at him-only one expression in his eyesi an expression of utter amaze. "The death of Alice Warren 1" he exclaimed. "You mean to tell me that Alice Warren is dead!" , a*: - "FOR' A WOOMAN'S SAKWoN ' "Alice Warrein has been nimurdered,, repeated InspectoI ice Warren ba S beef! ... d, ' ming Of Clristmas A3urnha'l; "foully murdered, on the .morni o eve L 1862. full eve, 86ered " he reeated the horrible word, staring at the ,fiMurder ,ai r. '"Great Heaven!" officer fiaechanically eraa at vfll possibility is thoughIts flew to his brotr, a o ther ahvu posibiht that suggested itself his dark face blanched to the hue of ashes. Alice' Warilen murdered. He remeibered her as he lind seen her last, wretched and alone in a wild winter storm--he re- membered the look his brother's face had-worn k few hours later when he r. "Who but Montalien had an interest in her deatdh? Every trace of color slowly faded fiollm his face, leaving atim hite to the very lips. Inspector Buin- ham saw the change -was it the consciousness of guilt, he 1ademled Guy slowly recovered himself, and spoke: fs w ondered? Gtell mer urham he said, "iwhat proofs , you have that Alice Waen is ea t all, and why yo have slis )isle cayhastily cause to suspect e ld Robert Before the detective ou s obert Lisle came forward. me," he said. "I was about to tell you of this, Guy, when Buruham entered. My share in bringing about this id- nbvment you mst hear from my own lips." And then he told the story of the sailo's arrival at the cot- tage, and the conlfession made to Paulin, which had ended if her danderous Cillness; of his tnd Duke's'visit the next day to Inspector da Burham, and of their discovery at Battersea. i I nspector Burnhaill knew fib m us, Guy, that you Ver the companion ofi Alice Warren fror Lincolnshire to that you s her afterward at her lod0gings factg we knev you ' wthat h saw her llain freely; told hil yourself, had you been present. I ever dreamed though th"4t" iGuy grasped3 his hand. ' llt. My sare in Say o ore! Yo did quite right. ' 'are Bu thistun- happ girl's story the whole world is free to hear. ut n t dered Gsoo e I It seem s too horribled I cannot dered I Good Heave*l rlize it When did you sayeteene "rs On te morning of Chris tmas eve, 862, between the hours of eight a nd nie. f course this preposterous charge against you will fall to the ground iledistelY i itolywonderd at a ma of ,r. Burha's stuteness. i- foward at all. You ill 'prove an ii at once. Ca yur a 't Christmas eve, six years ago--th very te, wa .... 1 page: 398-399[View Page 398-399] 398 "FORA' WOfN s ffN'KE, - you left. England? Try and recollect wler e and With whon fiyou ee on Ce."lstmas eve, between the hours of eight and Rert Lsle laid Ihis hand affectionatiy on the Youn an'. shoul er, and looked into his face and the whole tryoth bustan "Pj)oll Guy. Q/i Chrisas, eve, x862, 'between the hsours of eig t atd nine his strange marriage had taken pllace I sWhat ngular fatality was this! A darkred flush rose up was very pale, but perfectly cal, as he turned to he detec- t was i ovii nn ther ca lm), asd I nirely tun y -HE "Have yoU, a cab, Mr. B'rn vtice. n abd itke his, coloel! ,am quite at your ser- jo .]J-,isleand Imldin- o--' '-' ' fl.. ntrning, with a sn;ile, j ey to Newd holdng out his and, 'which will postpone m/y journeya to New Yosk. Farewell, for the lresent I Letus hope a few days will set this ridiculon "ut, etod H esh ridiculous err o -USht" "But, god Heaven, Guy ," burst rght!" s urely disprov e this bonsY, i thst forth the artist, "you can surely disprove this monstrous charge at once o Make an effort-you certainly must llenlel b er what you nere t Ma and with wlholm you were on Chrlisthlas eve at that houtr."e I emember as very distinlctly what I was doing, and with Whom I was," Guy said, coolly.. "I do not see'fit, however just at present, to take Mr. Burnham into my confidence r a d q4uite ready to go with him at any ,loment." 2And wen the tune comesin a few hours, or days-yOu Lisle demanded in intense anxiety. " looked at himan we, ith a smile-a sInile t that seemed to have some stran hidden eaning in its depth. "And if I cannot prove an alibi.--if I camiot, or will not, re- veal whereand with wom I was on tha day and at t hour, ill you vebelieve e guilty, coloel t tat , "Never ' e answered Robert Lisle, firmly.. "fut you do not mean this, Gut ym he mean it. chPuad dopth This charge must, aness, fall to the ground of itself; bt, colme what may, it is outfall toy Power to prove an alibi. Good-ba, or the resent I The in quest, no doubt, will set this disageeale businresents all right n He- was gone before wthe womb a sinesa tghal P r i s o n e r . Iyo e s a t b a c k e ii t h e y c o ul d s p e a k t a r his eyes. h at backllthe c age his hand pressed over ' Come Iwhat myY, itwi( kisotj ofak /." "Came what may Z .ill keep my aaah/ ZHft YERDr Tr: OF THE:COROQNES yUR,. 399 He remembered the words well, and to whom they were spoken. Come what might, the secret of that Christmas eve never could, never would be revealed. -' ' * ' { ' CHAPTER VII. THE VERDICT OF THE CORONER'S JURY. IE - i T wav late in the evening of that same day-the day of GCay Earlscourt's arrest. The prisoner was .not alone-Robert Lisle paced up and down the narrow A: bounds of the apartment, looking much as a caged lion mliglit, with his powerful cayalry swing. He was speaking' impatiently, almost angrily: "And you persist in refusing to tell where you'were on the morning of Christmas eve, between eight and nine. Guy, this is folly, this is madness I," Guy looked at him' with his peculiar, gentle smile, quite un- moved, apparently, by his very unpleasant position. They had given him a room as comfortable as it is possible for any room in a-London prison to be the last week of July. He had con- verted the, bed into an easy chair, and looked quite comfortable. - "My dear colonel, how often must I tell you, with every je- sire to manifest my, innocence, an alibi is the one thing it is out of my: power to prove? Between the hours of eight: and 'nine, on the morning of Christmas eve, I believe I was dlriving. about the streets of London in a cab, whose number I am to-. tally ignorant of. It was the day'of my departure, remember, and I had no end of business on hand. Don't distress your- self on my account, I beg; the chain of circumstantial evidence which Inspector Burnhaml has forged may seelp very strong to Inspector Burnham, even perhaps to a coroner's jury; but it. won't,stand the test of the grand jury. At. the very worst,' should the worst' come, it will only be a committal to prison for a few months. A splendid opportunity for quiet meditation, and the writing of another popular novel." Lisle frowned. page: 400-401[View Page 400-401] I . , : 400 orHt VRR9ICT OF TECOROp "i An Opportunity that will effectally lih or reput rin your ProsDects for life." reput "Hardly, I think. It will be disagreeable, nqt a doubt thnlt-if I have a weakness it is for plenty of fresh air and gen, and those are luxuries hardly attainable in Newga 'suI'pose, during the months of August and S ptember. my notoriety will scarcely waft acros s the Atl ti; and therei, you know, the hour I am released-- and it does-- if it does, what does it matter?" Lisle came over, and laid his had te you er man's , I Guy," he said, "ivho is she?" "Colonel! w'h, "IWhlo is'the womnin who is at the bottom O this? WI are you trying to screen?', Guy laughed. "o t clonele"O11 he said, "you go in also'for t cnial i ttherei ust be a woman at the thottom ofallthe toubles mankind. I have told you the truth. I was dving about ILondon streets in a banso m at that fateful ll Oe christl "I believe' that you are trying to screen sone one," Ii anseed resolutely. I believe that some q ixotic piec- foolish generosity will be your ruin. A man's fit duties are God and hisxcountry, the secon d to himself. u could tell. you would, where, and with whom"',you were bet aeen l nine on that molrning, but-rTyoui will not." The smile half faded fi'om Guy's face-a' o k of'strengt and deathless loyalty came into its place, and'lit it with a II bility the elder man had never' seen there before "I will not' I' " he relpeated softly; "not if eath were penalty. Let us say no more on this matter, yfriendsa Always, to the end i) ' 'H4 knew that further urging was vainifidelit to some one man or Woman the latter, lost likel,'had sea,d Guy Earls- couits lips.' He would no more hAve betrayed ohae trust than the Earlscourts of old, .who had gone to the slaffolr, would have saved their heads by the bctrayal of their ki1lg. The inquest began on the morrow. The rIe had -spread already-an immense crowd had kathered. A celebrated auor, the brother of peer, was to be tried fo e der o a village girl. The sensation was urdmmense. o ' THE VERDICT OF THE CORONER'S URY. 4Z William Saunders, the' seaman, was 'the first witness called; and William Saunders told his story to the coroner and his jury with a quietsimplicity and straightforwardness no cross-ques- tioning could shake. He swore positively to the day and the ]hour, to the very moment, almost, at which the deed had beeni done; and testified to his return with Mr. Iisle and the detec- tive officer, and the finding of the remains. The second witness was Robert Lisle, who narrated the ar- ' rival, four days before, of the sailor, at his residence in Speck- haven-their visit to London and to Inspector Burnham next day-their going together to Battersea, and finding the skull and bones in the cave. Those remains there present being exhibited and identified by him, Mr. Lisle stood down. Messrs. Burnham and Timlmins were called upon, and gave' their official evidence-identified the remains found 'at Bat- tersea. The next witness (and at the sound of his name a buzz of expectation and interest ran through the court-room) was Mathew Warren. The crowd leaned forward to look at him with eager interest. Hale and upright, white-haire and stern, the old bailiff advanced and took his place. Alice Warren was his daughter--his only daughter. She was twenty years and seven months old when she had left her home. It would be six years on the twenty-seventh of September next since he, had seen her last. On the evening of the twenty- seventh, without a word of warning or farewell, she had left her home, and had never written or returned since. He had made no inquiries about her-had never tried to find her-would have discarded her had she attempted to return. Suitors? Yes, she had had, many suitors-more than he liked. Flighty -loose in her. ways? No, not that he had ever, noticed or heard; she was generally' thought a sensible girl, rather than otherwise. Yes,.she had lovers in her own class of life-L-,he was as good as engaged' to Peter Jenkins, of the Mill, not out and out, but they had been keeping company four years. Gentlemen? Well, yes, there .had been gentlemen, too; all the gentlemen stopping at the Priory that year used to visit his cottage, except one. Who was the exception? Why, Mr. Allan Fane, of course, who was a mairied man, and had no btisiness running after young women. The rest were all un. : married? Yes, he knew their names; knew them all.- They were Lord Montalien;' his brother, Mr. 'Guy Earlscourt, Cap- tain Villiers and Sir Harry Gordon of the Guards, and a Mr. page: 402-403[View Page 402-403] zi - 402 THE VERDICT OF TE CORONER'S yURY. , Augustus Stedman. How often did these gentlemen visit his h]ouse? Well, he couldn't say for certEain; his business kept him. absent from lhome the best part of the day, and he would not have allowed their visits in the evening. Iis family always retired, and the house was locked for the night at nine o'clock. He had seen them all at the cottage talking to his daughter at different times; couldn't say which came oftenest; they nev er stayed long at a tiple. Yes; Mr. Guy had been there six timnes or more. Fifty timies? Couldn't affirm the number of times. Not so often as that? No, not so often as-that. No.; not any oftener than the others. Sometimes he came alone ; somle- times with the two officers. The rest came alone or together, as they chose. It was the only year gentlemen\ had been down at the Priory, but both Lord Montalien and Mr. Earls- court visited his family whenever' there. 'Alice seemed to like them both; she talked most of Mr. Guy, he thought. She had dark-brown hair, braided generally behind. ' (Hair shown.) Yes; her hair looked like that, only darker'and glossier; that tI looks faded and dirty. Didn't remember the clothes she wore. The locket? Yes; she wore a locket around her neck, given her by Miss Paulina Lisle before going to France. It con- tained Miss Lisle's picture and hair, and L"From Paulina to !\ .Alice" engraven on the case. Yes; that was the locket. \I Couldn't swear positively to it. During his evidence Mathew Warren's rugged old face had kept its set sternness, not a tremor of the voice betokened that it was of his own child he spoke. He stood Idown, and Mrs. Warren was called to take his place.. She came, trembling and weeping. 'The'heart of every one present was moved at the sight of the mother of the murdered girl. Thei coroner was very gentle and kindly in his inquiries. Alice Warrien was her daughter. She confirmed her husband's account of her flight and the date. She had known all the gentlemen stopping at the Priory that' year-Mr. Allan Fane was the only one among them who did not visit their cottage. For the others, some of them dropped in every day-for a drink of milk, for a rest but of the sun. No, she could not tell which came oftenest. They all came about alike. Mr. Guy came no more than the others, not so often as Mr. Stedman and Lord Montalien, she thought, though she wxouldn't swear to it. Sometimes he came alone, A , sometimes with Captain Villiers and Gordon. Mr. Stedman , always came alone; so did Lord Montalien. None of them i. f ^ . S - ) s t t @ v w s e j ^^^^-v ---*, . , --^ THE VERDICT oF Til CORONER'S yTRY. 403' O ever stayed long, none of them ever made love to her d5.ughter that she heard. She and Mr. Guy used to talk of M iss Lisle mostly, then in France, and Alice used to showhinm all Paulina's letters. She never showed any preference for the society of any one. above another, except maybe Mr. Stedman, whom she did not like. Had heard her say she did not like him, and used to hide upstairs occasionally when he came. Never hid trom. any of the others. Might have had a seciet preference-sed to think so, but could not tell for which. Was absent sometimes taking walks-thought it might be with some of the gentdemen- but couldn't tell for certain. Had asked Alice, but her daugh- ter only laughed, and had told her nothing. Had noticed the night previous to her flight that she had returned later than usuanight fromwalking-noticed something odd in her manner all usual fronlkini lseeft u ome in the evening- next day. Had seen her when he left h omethe evening - thought she was going to Speckhav en for something, as she often went, and had taken no notice. Alice had kissed her before she left. ' The witness here became so agitted tha t it was some time before she could go on. Knew what she wore Ivery well-it 1 was a dark-brown mering dress, awhite-aid-blue shawl, a black- sraw hat, trimmed with a blue ribbon, and a black-lace x'eil. She had a bag in her hand, and believed she must hae taken in that bag a second dress, a blue-and-white I'laid, her Sunday best. Would know the latter again if shesaw it. (Pieces of dress shown.) Yes, (greatly agitated,) this was the same, faded and dirty, bt the same pattern and material. (Fragments of and dirty, but the sam pa:te;n " Har shown.) That shawl produced, and identifd immeditely air shown.) T was the color of her daughter' s hair, but brighter, and that was its length, and the way she wore it braided,' (Identified the locket. The note to Miss Lisle was shown.) Yes, that was hler daughter's handwriting. Weie there any distinguishing marks about her daugtes teeth'? she was asked by the coroner. Yes; Alice had very nice a hite teeth, but one of the iront ones slightly overlapped and was longer than the other, and the eye-tooth on the right side had been extracted. (Theskull wa s covered with a cloth, and the teeth exhibited.) Yes, those were!k Alice's--there was the overlapping front tooth, there the eye- tooth extracted. i Mrs. Warren begafn to weep so .wildly that she was permitted to stand,lowniohn Sm as r ' J ohn nS'ith was next called. ,Joh Smith was a railway;'o cil--a guard. On the evening of the 27th of Septemrber;-h ii 1 ila d page: 404-405[View Page 404-405] t C -404 THE 'VERDICT OF TES COQROWRS YURY. remembered it very well, from the talk afterward about the young woman's flight-the only London pass6ngers fr om Speckhaven had been Mr. Guy Earlscourt, the prisoner, and1 a young, woman, who wore a veil over her face. When' lie saw them first' they were talking together on the platform, -lHad tld Mr. Guy to look sharp, or words to that eff'ct, as the train was about to start, and had heard him distinctly remark to the woman, "' Tis way, Alice." They had then entered a first-class carriage together. Knowing Mr. Guy. was curious about the woman, and watched them whenl the train reached London. It was about eleven at night then. Theyl ad got into a'cab and driven away at once together. Mrs. Martha Howe was the next to enter the witness-box, violently agitated and in tears. Mrs. Howe was greatly in- clined to irrelevant matter, and was kept with difficulty to the point. Condensed, her evidence told, dead against the pris- oner. "A gentleman, which Mrs. Howe did ndt know his na'me- a tall, fair, genteel young man, had called early on the morn- 'ng of September 27th, and engaged the two best rooms, which' parlor and bedroom they were, for a party from the country, coming up that night. Remembered the date, because she always kept account of the days she let her lodgings. The party was a lady, he told her, coming up to be married-a run- away match. About twelve o'clock that night, a lady and gentleman drove up in a cab, and the gentleman asked if a lady from the country wasn't expected. They came in. The lady wore a dark-brown mering dress, a blue and-white shawl, a black hat and veil. She was 'middle-sized, plump, and very pretty, with rosy cheeks, blue eyes, dark-brown hair, and about twenty years old. The' gentleman was the prisoner, could sswear to it, knew him the minute sle set eyes upon him. .He stayed only a few minutes, ran down stairs, and then ran back, as if to say something more. Didn't hear what was said. Thinks she asked the young woman if that was the gentleman slhe was going to marry, but knows she wasn't told. Fair young man called next mornilg. Next evening at six o'clock a cab drove up, and some one entered the house. Ran tup from the kitchen in time to see a man handing her lodger into the cab, but no more. Didn't see his face. 'Gentleman came back with her, and remained in the house .yntil next day, but .sle never saw him. Every day, for two weeks, he came every evening, remaining until the following day, but always, coming iTHE- VERDICT OF THE CORONER'S yURY. 405 so late, and departing so early that she didn't see him. He had a latchkey and let himself in. er lodger called ersel Mrs. Brown. She told her, her husband was a gentleman .and that she 'iaruriun away from home. She wore a wedding-ring, I and alocket and a chain round her neck. Yes, that was the locket. She had but two dresses, the brown mring, a blue- and-white plid-very nice. She never got any new things while at her house. Yes, this hair looked like Mrs. Brown's. Had noticed theirregularity of the teeth-those shown were precisely like. After the first fortnight, Mrs. Brown's husbad's visits grew less and less frequent-he was absent for days to- gether--when he did come he never r hour or two. Mrs. Brown began to grow pale and thin, and , ' she had often caught her crying. On two or three occasions she had caught sight of Mr. Brown, but he always had his face muffled up, and his lhat pulled over his eyes, so that she never got a good look at him. And he always came about dusk. It might be the same she saw the first night or it might not. The height and the shape were alike. She wouldn't swear either way. Seldom heard him speak. On one occasion, some time in November, she thought, on her return from marlket one afternoon, her hired girl, Sarah Ann, had informed her that a tall, dark, military gent had been there to see Mrs. Brown, and had left her a bunch of roses. He stayed about an houri The next afternoon, just at dark, Mr. Brown came. He and Mrs. Mrs. Brown was going to leave next day. He was muffled as usual, and the passage was so dark she could hot have re- cognized a feature had he been unmuffed Acab had come, and Mrs Brown had hadgone next morning. She. cried when she left, and looked very pale and wretched. Sfhe had never seen her nor Mr. Brown from that day to this." allen Young was next 'calleod . oung was aot twenty-three years of age, and gave her &vidence clearly a intelligently. She was the dauIghter of Mrs. Sara Young, lodging-house keeper, Barton Street,Strand ermothervas very ill-dying,she thougt, and qoite un able to I ive evidence About six years ago, come next November, a man had callei at their house, and taken lodgings for a lady, a Mus. Brown. I did not see him myself, either then, or at any other tie, except let Strand -y- - -. Her mother wasr"n -: 'r page: 406-407[View Page 406-407] Ili ! "* 8iJ t' t406 THE VERDICrT OF THE' CORONER'S .URY. once, and should not know him again. ,Mother came down' to the kitchen, and told me about it; she said he looked like' a gentleman-did not describe him. ' Mrs. Brown tame next d ty -didn't remember what she wore-a dark dress, L thnk. Slhe was pale and sickly looking, but pretty. She came aldne. The gentleman came again next day--mother told me when I came home from school, that another lodger had died that afternoon, and that Mrs. Brown's gentleman had stayed with him, and .written down a confession he had made. I don't think he came anymore until near Christmas-if, he had mother would have told me. I saw Mrs. Brown often during that time. She seemed very miseralle-had trouble on her mind, arid cried nearly all the time. No one ever came to see her, and she hardly ever stirred out. One evening, it was Christmas week I know, I saw her dress herself and go out. It was near dark, and snowing hard. Two hours after she came home iin a cab, in a sort of faint or fit. The cabman had to carry her upstairs and lay her on the bed. He told mother and me a man had stopped him in St. James Street and put her in, and told him where to drive her. She was very bad for two days, then she was well enough to get up. On the night before Christmas eve, mother came down to the kitchen, where. I was picking raisins, and says: "Ellen, Mrs. Brown's gentle- man has been and gone, alid she's paid her bill at last, and' is going to-morrow." I saw Mrs. Brown very early next day, and she seemed happier and better than I had ever known her. She said to le: . "I'm going away, Ellen,-home to the country, and to my friends. My darling husband is coming for me at eight o'clock." It was snowing fast, and very cold, and mother told her she was too poorly clad to face the storm.. She only laughed, and said she would sdon be beyond feeling cold. She wore a blue-and-white plaid sulmmer dress, a blue-and-white summer shawl. Yes, those are fragments of botl-I can swear 'to them. She had on a straw'hat and aveil. At eight o'clock, or a minute or two before it, a wagon for tWo persois drove up to the door. A man was sitting in it, witl a muffler covering all the lower part of his face, and a fur cap pulled away dqwn, over his eyes. Mrs.'Brown gave a cir of joy, and ran ,ott of the room, and down to him at once. I' saw him help her in, and drive away. The clocks were striking eight as I went down to the kitchen to help get breakfast. That is all I know. ^ Miss Young identified the locket, the hair, the portions of O.HOWPRIDB W0 WD AND FELL."' 407 dress, and was the last witness but one called by the coroner, a to her mother was too ill to appear. Dr.' Leonard Williams gave his medical testimony as to the manner of death. He had examined the skull 'and found a circular aperture in the left temple. On measuring it, it pone to be five-sixteenths of an inchin diameter It as his n- ion the circular aperture in the skull was made by a pistol ball hof very small size. He had no doubt the person to whom that skull belonged had beevn shot by'a pistol bullet. A shot fired into the skull at that place would cause instant deat-the per- son would die from the shodk orfom emrrha e omen- ingeal artery had been entirely severed, so that if thwould veryman had not been instantly killed by the shock she speedily have died of hemorrhage. p The trial and all this evidence had occupied four d ey. coroner told the jury this was all the evidence he had to offer. It was their duty to say who the partyea as whose remains had been fond; if se to herdeth by foul eans; an if so, by whose hand the deed was done. The jury retired and were absent about an hour. Dead si- lence reigned in the crowded court-room when they returned and gave their verdict. It was: That the remains found were those of Alice Warren, and that she came to her death by a pistol, shot fired by the hand of Guy Earlscurt, on the twenty-fourth of December, i862," The coroner then made out his warrant, committinfl Guy Earlscourt to prison for safe keeping until set fi'ee y due course of law. CHAPTER VIII. "HOW PRIDE BOWED AND FELL." It was the. afternoon of the twentv-first of August-the wasy precedeing at tha ulpon which Guy Earlscourt was to appearr at the peliminary examination before a police magistrate, previous to his committal to stand his trial for the wilful murder of Alice Warren. It was a very intensely warm day down among the cornfields page: 408-409[View Page 408-409] 408 " ,OW PRIDE BOWED AND FEIL." asirlstW !" " and golden country meadows, blazinag insuffcrably hot here in Londlon. The atmosphere of the prison-room was stifling. G uy's long limbs w re stretched out tipon the bed--he lay inv 1 for air. He had speht nearly a month ill prison, and looked as he very well miglit after the ordeal, pale, and worn, alnd thin. The sensation the whole affair had created was abso- tly soumething qunpr cedlented ,Guy Earlscourt, the ex- Lord Montalien, to stand his trial for the murder of aeasant irl. ' The best Metropolitan society was thrilled--it was some- thing new under the Sun, something to 'stir and excite even heir languid pulses . All his evil leeds of the past, forgtten in the sunshine of prosperity, were raked up again, stories were afloat of him fit to make your hair I:se-peoDle recalled the sinIsteqr esxDression about hisoututh, and the darkl evil glance ofhisbrown. eyes. lHie had Italian blood in iis veins, too,. really .of his b'i" ;*,'; *,?)"*mfel*iy, to.,gn C. . . .... l, urderous- blood, fi'oml time i me n no.,- a, rand his tre sold like wild-fie, and new editions of his . books wer' ordered as fast as they could beissued. If Mr. Earlscourt had written a second "Ham let ".or "Childe Harold," hhe had never fouhd himself so famous as now. Hle smiled in the solitude of his prison as he read and heard all this. It uas the way of the world--he had expected nothing else-.hle knew the pDublic would be grievously disappointed, if he were not condemned. It -is not given to us every day to witness such a sensational rqmance of real life-a prospective peer and celebrated author is not every day sent to Newgate like a commo' felon. It was really wonderful how his friiends fell off-a little melancholy, too, if Guy had not been a philosopher and rearier of pc. r, weak human nature. A few -friends were faithful in the ddark hour1-tihe Atcherlys, Robert Lisle, Captain Villiers, Allan Fane.) Th'le Lady Edith Clive, too, sent him a, note-a passionrte, vehement, girlish outhurst of hearty nature. She'knew he was innocent-though, all the world believed ix his guilt, she never would-never, neer! He smiled a little sadly as he read it, then, waiting a pipe light half an hour after, I am afraid Lady Edith's note, was twisted up to serve the pulrpose. ie was neither miserable'nor indifferent to his danger and his ruin, Hle saw clearly how. strongly circumstances told against him, and his oWn ilnability to clear himself. He felt, with horror unutterable, that his bhvrtherv was the guilty man. , "HOW PRIDE BOWED AND FELL." 409., Great Heaven! what a double-dyed villain he was, to lure away an innocent, trusting girl, and then, when weary of her, foully murder her. He sickened when he thought of it. Lord Montalieri had not been present at the inquest, but Guy knew he was one of the new witnesses to be examined on the morrow. Most faithful of all his friends and visitors had been Robert Lisle. ;He had never missed a day. His father, had he been alive, could scarcely have felt more bitter pain for Guy than' he - did. His own private troubles were lessening-his daughter long ago had been pronounced out of danger-had been able to sit up during the past nine days. , But .he could not leave England while his young friend's fate remained undecided. : He was with him this sultry August afternoon, walking slowly to and fro, always his wont when deeply moved. They had been talking of indifferent 'things-of'the new book Guy had / begun in' prison-he always avoided talking of his trial, if possible, but Lisle's moody brow showed that his thoughts were of it now. "I ask you once again, Guy, if you do not mean to throw aside this mad reticence, and vindicate your innocence as you . can-as I know you can? You have engaged excellent counsel, . but we don't want his eloquence-we do want a plain, straight. forward statement of facts, as regards your doings' on the morn- ing of the twenty-fourth of December. When an accused man' refuses to account for his conduct with a strong prim4dfacie case made out against him, the law is justified in believing that his silence arises from guilty or sinister motives..- The evidence against you is purely circumstantial and erroneous, of course, but. men have been hanged before now on purely circumstantial" and erroneous evidence." "They won't hang me," Said Guy, shaking ip his pillows sQo as to get the cool side out; "at least, I hope not. The evi- "dence, as I said before, that suffices for a coroner or a police magistrate won't always stand the test of a grand jury. It will be. unpleasant to be committed to Newgate until the assizes,/ biut-well, the world is full of unpleasant things, and I suppose 1 must 'come in for my share. An alibi I cannot prove-it is, as I told you before, simply impossible. If I am cleared, it must be by the breaking of this chain of evidence they have soi skilfully wrought against me-not by any revelation of my own. Don't let us talk about it any more, dear Lisle; it's much too hot to discuss unpleasant subjects. How are they all at SpeCk- haven to-day?" ' t .18 ' ' . '. -' , J . ; page: 410-411[View Page 410-411] "O "HOW PRIDE BOWED AND FELL." "Much as usual." "Miss Lisle continues steadily to improve, I trust?" With some hesitation this. "Paulina does not improve," her father answered, gloomily; "not, at least, as she should. The apathetic state of low spir- its to which she fell a victim before her illness has seized upon her again. She does not rally because she is indifferent on the subject. The doctors can do nothing-they speak of hidden trouble, something preying on her mind-advis change of scene, air, and climate-the old stereotyped medical formula. And this trouble, if there be a hidden trouble, is a subject on which nothing will induce her to speak." Guy's face was much graver now than when discussing his own danger. "You should follow their advice," he said. "You should take her away. I suppose they will want you here to-morrow, but, after that, why not start at once? You can give bonds for your reappearance when needed agaih. Take her abroad, and im.. mediately-her health is much too precious to be trifledwith. longer. She does not-I hope she does not know of my affair? For the sake of past times, when we were good friends, I should not like her to know I am even suspected of the murder of her friend. You have not told her?" Most certainly not-all exciting topics are forbidden. And, strange to say, she has made no inquiries whatever on th sub- ject of her dead friend since her recovery. The apathy that holds her seems to blot out feeling and memory. 'She never reads, she sees no visitors, and we tell her nothing." Guy drew a long breath--a breath of relief., "I am glad of that-tak'e her out of England in ignorance, if you can; and'whatever happens keep her in ignorance. I,et her never learn this; if it is in your power to prevent it. I could not quite bear that. I may tell you now," after a brief pause, "-what I would not tell you out there in Virginia--I love Paulina with a love as devoted as it is hopeless. Alice Warren was to her as a sister; I cannot endure that she should think I was suspected of her murder. Promise me, old friend,"' he held out his hand, " that you will do this, the greatest, perhaps the last favor I shall ask. Promise!" "I promise," Lisle answered, wringing the young man's hand, "to keep her in ignorance while I 'can. Sooner or later she must learn the truth in spite of ne." "Of course; but until the matter is quite decided keep her HOW PRIDE BOWED ANDB FELL." 41' in total ignorance. Take her abroad, amuse her, let her regain her health-she will recover none the quicker for knowing this." At ten o'clock next morning the prisoner was taken into court. The crowd was unpreceiented--many of those who had fled from London the second week of July, as though it were pest-stricken, had returned to witness the trial of Guy Earlscourt. He bowed and smiled to the many faces he knew . as he took his place in the dock. Mr. Carson, a very able law- yer, had been retained on the part of the prisoner, Mr. Hard- ing to conduct the prosecution. Mr. Harding rose on behalf of the Crown to address the bench And lay before them the facts of the case. His addressswas lengthy, and told forcibly against the prisoner. He summed up the evidence laid before the coro- ner in an overwhelming mass, and proceeded to summon the . witnesses. All the more important witnesses who 'had previ- ^ ously appeared were again sulmmioned, and among the new ones, , Mr. Allan Fane was first called.. ' Mr. Fane had very little light to throw upon the case one . way oi another. Had seen prisoner in company with Miss War- ren many times-both the September of her flight and other years during his summer visits to Montalien Priory. Had never - thought Mr. Earlscourt a lover of hers; had not known him to - pay any more attention to her than the other men did stopping at the Priory. Knew that he went up to London one evening , late in S eptember; could not remember the date. Heard next day Miss Warren was missing, and had gone with him. Was surprised at the news; did not credit it. Believed Mr. Earis- , court's own statement that he had met her by accident at the station. Was convinced the prisoner was quite incapable either of deliberate seduction or murder. Knew his reputation had not been stainless in the past, but his- guilt had been the com- mon follies of youth, never crimes. A profound sensation ran through the court at the name of the, next witness. It was Francis, Baron Montalien, the pris. oner's brother. " - e came forward, his face deathly pale, dressed in black, an ominous blue circle surrounding his mouth and eyes, looking unspeakably ill. He shrank away from the dock; his voice when he spoke was almost inaudible from-agitation-the natural agitation of an upright man in seeing his only brother placed in So dreadful a position,. * OrLid -Montalien sworn. The prisoner was his brother, q ..d .Mnale . . .. page: 412-413[View Page 412-413] "2 ",HBW PsRIDE BOWED AND FELL." Had known Alice Warren off and on for many years. Had always had the highest respect for her personally, and for the whole family.. Had never heard her lightly spoken of. Visited the cottage very often when passing.-rarely went there pur- posely. Had often met his brother there-and met him walk- ing with Miss Warren. Had frequeiltly jested with him about his attentions to the bailiffs pretty daughter, but had never considered them serious. Wa's aware of his brother's intention of going up to London on the evening of the 27th, but knew nothing of the girl's flight until next day. Was surprised and shocked when informed they had fled together. Came up to town himself next' day on purpose to remonstrate with his brother, but did not succeed in seeing him then, or for many weeks after. Yes; another of his guests, Augustus Stedman, had also left the Priory for London about the same time, on the same day, or the day before his brother, could not remem- ber which. Mr. Stedman had not returned-was out in Aus- i tralia at. present. Sir Harry Gordon was in India. His' 'brother, Mr. Fane, and Captain Villiers, were the only other' friends staying with him that year. He had remained in Lon- don a week or more on the occasion of his coming. up-then returned for a few days to Lincolnshire. Had never seen Alice Warren after her flight. Yes; his brother had called before his departure for America upon him at his lodgings. It was Christmas week, not Christmas eve-two or three days. before Christmas. They had talked of his departure and of Miss Earlscourt's will, which had disinherited'him. Had not paid his brother's debts.. Miss Earlscourt had done it. Had often advised him for his good. / Had spoken to him more than once on the subject of Alice Warren, but had always been re- buffed. - , Lord Montalien was cross-examined, and allowed to stand down. His emotion had been very great. Profound sympa- thy for his delicate health and deep sorrow was felt through the court. His face was quite ghastly as he left the box, his hand was pressed convulsively in the region of his heart. ,Guy's dark eyes followed him, his handsome face set and stern. He had listened to his deliberate perjury; and if any doubt of his guilt had lingered in his, mind it was dispelled in that hour. Captain Cecil Villiers came next, and the Guardsman, with' every wish to serve his friend, every belief in his innocence, did more to damn his case and hang him thai all the rest. Had known Alice Warren, and admired her--always admired HOW' PRIDE BOWEDU AN t 1Z'L,." 413 :pretty girls, whether peasants or princesses. Was not aware ,of Guy Earlscourt being her loyer-never had thought him such. HaA "chaffed" him on the subject of the flight once or twice, and believed what had been told him, that the meeting at the railway was merest chance. Mr. Earlscourt had jre-. mained at his lodgings for two days previous to his departure from England. He had been absent on duty nearly-all of the 23d of December--found the prisoner alone in his chamber upon his return late at night. They had sat together smoking and talking for a couple of hours-his friend seemed thoughtful- and ott of spirits. Once, when talking of his past reckless career, Guy had burst out laughing, and exclaimed: Cecil, old fellow, what would you say if I told you I was about to close m y mad career by the crowning madness of all to-mor- row?" Had laughed again, and refused to say more-had taken his candle and gone to bed. Awakening next morning- about daylight, he had- seen Guy in the room adjoining, dressy - ing himself by candle-liglt. Had called, and asked him what the deuce he meant bygetting up in the middle of the night The prisoner had answered it was half-past seven o'clock, and that he had a pressing engagement for eight. "There ig a lady in the case, Villiers," he said,; .and ladies brook of no : delay." I fell asleep again, and did not awake until after nine. My servant came with hot water, and I asked him what time. it was, and if Mr. Earlscourt had got back yet? He said it d was, half-past nine, and Mr. Earlscourt had not returned. Earlscourt came in while we were speaking, covered with snow. He told us he had been riding outside in the snow-storm, and was tremendously hungry. We breakfasted together. He , made no further rqfererice to his engagement of the morning, At a little before eleven he left for the house of a friend-Sir Vane Clarteris-4to bidithefamily good-by. Two hours later I saw him depart by the noon train for Southampton. While Captain Villiers was having all this reluctantly ex- torted from him, a messenger had made his way to Mr. Carson, and placed a note in his hand. It was of some length -and of evident importance--the face of the lawyer flushed up with surprise and delight as he read it. It was the middle of the, afternoon; the court must speedily adjourn, Samuel Watters, the servant spoken of by Captain Villiers, was the last witness for the prosecution called, and corrobora- ted his master's statement concerning Mr. Earlscourt's actions upon that morning, his calling the cab for him, the hour of his departure and return. page: 414-415[View Page 414-415] "4 "I/OW PRIDE BOWED AND FELL." v. With his evidence the case for the prosecution closed; and then Mr. Carson arose with the pleasant prefatory remark that his address would be a brief one. He did not, lhe said, rise to assert that his client was'guilt- less of this horn'ble crime laid to his charge-that was to be presumed until the evidence had proven him guilty. That the evidence just heard had done so, he, Mr. Carson, denied. It 'was, fioni first to, last, circumstantial, and improbable in the extreme. He could cite scores of occasions where inn9ceit men had been condemned on far more conclusive circumstan- tial evidence than this, their innocence discovered only when too late. Mr. Earlscourt meets this unhappy girl at the sta- tion, and accompanies her up to- London. She is a stranger -in the great city for tie first time-tired and frightened, and requests him, as a friend and protector in whom she places every confidence, to see her safely to her destination. He does so at onc; using no disguise before the landlady, making no attempt at concealment. On the occasion of his second visit, some weeks later, he did the same, going openly and in broad day. Is this the conduct of that other man, who visits his victim like the criminal he is, disguised, and after dark? What evidence has been offered here to prove that my client and this disguised man are one and the same? Mr. Carson here grew eloquent, and showed distinctly the weakness of this part of the evidence. That they were not one and the same, he was clearly prepared to prove. Mr. Earlscourt had left the lodgings of Captain Villiers at eight o'clock, or a little before, on the morning of the 24th of De- cember, x1862. He had, told Captain Villiers "there was a lady in' the case." He told him the truth; but that that lady was not the murdered girl he was prepared to show the court--that his client had been from a few minutes past eight until. nine- the tine when the murder was colmmitted at Battersea-in company of this lady and her maid, in the city of London. A sense of loyalty to the lady had held his client silent, with a noble generosity, at the peril of his own life. With a gen erosity equal to his own, that lady had now come forward to triumphantly vindicate his honor and his innocence.. Illness had prevented her hearing of lnr Earlscourt's Arrest at an earlier day-yesterday she had discovered it in her h6me miles avl ay. To-day she was-HERE! ' 1 { , , ,t , o , - - , - ' - * ' . '. "HOW PRIDE BsuwOU Evy "A"c". ar A murmur thrilled through the death-like silence of the : crowded court. The face of the prisoner had flushed" crimson to the temples, then faded away, leaving him ghastly pale. The door of the witness-box opened, and a lady stood there, robed in dark silk, tall, elegant, veiled. Every creature in the crowded court leaned breathlessly forward-you might have heard a feather fall. She lifted one gloved hand, and flung back"her veil. The rays of the August' sun streaming in ,through the windows fell full upon her; a thrill, an irrepressible muLrur, ran through the court at sight of that queenly grace, and fixed on the proudly beautiful face of Paulina Lisle i She was white as marble, white as death, as she faced the bench. Once, and once only, she looked at the prisoner. His face wore a strained, passionate look of, appeal, as if even then he would entreat her silence. A smile, the sweet- est, the gentlest, she had ever given him curved her lips-her eyes lit up--the old dauntless resolution was there in every line of that perfect face.; He dropped his own, and shaded his eyes with his hand. Until he stood up free, he never raised his head again. Mr. Carson leaned forward, and blandly spoke. To all the legal gentlemen present Miss Lisle was well known by reputation, the celebrated London beauty, who only a few weeks ago had refused to marry the Marquis of Heatherland. And the beautiful, the wealthy heiress and belle, stood here in a London police-court, to vindicate' the innocence of a man suspected of murder I "Your name, madam,) if you please?" She came a step forward. For an instant the blood rose UPp bright in her pale face. Then,' in that sweet, vibrating voice, that had always been one of her chief charms, she spoke: , I am called Paulina Lisle, but it is not my name. Wait; when you have heard what I am here to say, you will un- derstand." There were scores present who knew her well, but with the exception of two, not one of them understood what this meant' Even her father stood confounded. 'Not her name?--what did she mean? -As the thought' crossed his mind, as he looked at her wonderingly, the' clear, sweet tones of her voice. again were heard, as she began her 'singular story. When Robert Lisle told Guy Earlscourt of the strange state W.. RbtI .. ." page: 416-417[View Page 416-417] l41I6 "HOW PRIDA BOWED AND FELL."- of apathy into which his daughter had fallen in her convales. cence, he had told him the simple truth. Her youth, her splendid'vitality, had made her recovery rapid enough while reason remained absent. The moment entire consciousness of past and present things, the moment memory arid mind returned complete, hef recovery had ceased. She sank into a state very nearly res'embling stupor-she rarely nsmiled, she rarely spoke, she lay or sat, White and stillf speech- less, lifeless. She puzzled the doctors-by all laws of medicine she should have recovered with double rapidity about the 'time- recovery stopped entirely. She distressed her friends beyond measure-they saw her dying before their eyes, and had no clue whatever to her hidden disease. "She has something preying on her mind," the learned Lon- don physician Said, shaking his gray head, " and I cannot min- ister to a mind diseased. Until she tells you what that hidden trouble is, and you find a means of alleviating it, all my efforts are vain." They-sppke to her gently, lovingly, soothingly, and she looked 6at them blankly, andonly answered with a tired sigh, and a lit- tle impatient gesture: "Please let her alone. It worried her to death to talk-thqre was nothing on her mlfind," flushing an- grily, as she said it, -and with all the old wilfulness. "Why should they think so.? She was not very strong yet-that was all." And then the pale lips closed in a Mie of weary pain, and the heavy, melancholy light filled the blue eyes, and she looked away from them all--aay and away over the wide ocean, that' she could see like a stripe of silver ribbon from her window, Alice was dead-Guy was gone forever. Guy I Guy I It was 'the old burden---death toned now. She had lost him forever ; and with him heart and life seemed to have gone. He Was far off in wide America by this time, think- ing her base, and cruel, and heartless, and all selfish and un-. Womanly things, and he would never know how bitterly she had repented, how dearly she loved him. Her life seemed ended-- what was there left to recover and live for now?' She had gone wrong from first to last-her pride, her rebellious, wilful. spirit had led her astray ever since she could remember, and now the end had come. If Paulina had been in her usual healthy state of mind and body she could never have worked herself up to thio morbid and o unwholesome pitch, but all strength was gone, physically and mentally, and there se-emed no power to rally. She sat by her ,HOW PRIDE BOWED AND FELL." 41r window the livelong day, gazing out with blank, dull eyes a that silver sea line, mnelting away into the blue, bright sky, her listesh s lying idly in her lap. She saw no one but the listless handeds Miss Romn hero f r family-she shrank even from her old friend, Mrs. Atcherly, when that lady rn own to see her, She had lost all interest in her friend's murder. Alice was dead--what did i' signify who had done the deed?L-dshe knew who had done it, and he was uy's brother, and it would notrecall Alice tolife hunting him down. So the days and weeks went by and it was the lasti week of August. That same blazing August afternoon preceding Guy's ex- amination before the police-court, oil which 'he had lain pant- ing for air in his stifling prison-room0 a Woman drove up fr9m the railway to the cottage of Duke Mason. It was close upon sunset, the golden light slanted across the rich uplands and meadows, and the fresh breeze blew cool from) the sea. The woman w-as admitted by Rosaina--a stranger to her, a strang r n, ,Speckhaven, a little woman, decently dressed and looking like a respectae matron of Rosanna'sown standing. ' Does Miss Paulina Lisle live here?" this woman asked. , Yes; Miss Paulina Lisle lived there ;" and Rosanna looked grim, and stern, as she made the answer. "Then I must see her, and at once. I have come here on a matter of' the greatest importance, the woman said, in visile agitation. "You cannot see her. She's been ill. She don't see no one," responderd Miss Rosanna Mason. "She will see me-she must see me. Af"st, ma'am,!"Rosanna repeated, with her sternest glare and most awful bass. "She will see me, if you tell her who I am!"-the woman's agitation increasing with ever word-" tell her it's Jane eaer that was her maid sixyears ago. Oh, do tell her, please-it's a matter of life or death. i I've come all'the way up from Wales, where I live, on purpose to see Miss Lisle." "Will you not tell me what you want of her?"Olivia's soft voice said over the shoulder of Rosanna. "I m her mother. Miss isle has been very ill-the slightest excitement is dan- gerous. ' j'ane Seaver dropped a lady's-maid's courtesy. ",Begging your pardon, manam, I cannot tell any one but Miss ,Paulina herself. I should like to ask you on'%' question, 18* page: 418-419[View Page 418-419] ,418 ' HOW PRIDE BOWED AND FELL," though"-visibly embarrassed. "Does she know that-that Mr. Earlscourt is being tried for his life for murder?" "No," Olivia answered, in surprise; "she does not. We keep all exciting topics from her. Is it of that you come to speak?" The woman clasped her hands. "For God's sake let me see her! Tell her I am here, and I know she'will see me. I tell you, ma'am, it is a matter of life and death." p The woman's face told she spoke the truth. Rosanna and Mrs. Lisle whispered together for a moment; then the latter turned to the stranger. "Come in," she said quietly. "I shall tell my daughter you are here, and what you say. Whether she sees you or not, shall be for her to decide." She ascended 'to Paulina's room; pale and uneasy. What could this woman mean? "I wish Robert were here!" she thought, as she opened the dbor-'! or even Duke!" A moment later and she reappeared. "You are to go up," she said; "'Miss Lisle will see you." The woman ascended, and was shown into the young lady's room. Paulina rose up from her chair, with a startled face. "Jane!" she exclaimed--"you!" And the woman had caught both her hands and kissed them, with a cry:' "Oh; Miss Paulina! Miss Paulina!" Mrs. Lisle saw no more; she closed the door and went out. Ten minutes passed-she had descended and joined Rosanna below-when a cry rang through the house-a loud, terrible scream. It was Paulina's voice. Both started and rushed up, and broke into the room simultaneously. In the middle of the. floor stood Paulina, ghastly pale, the woman before hbr pale and trembling, clinging to her, and im- ploring her to be calm. - ' Rosanna hurled her aside as you would brush a reptile. "What have you done to her? . What have you: told her? Paulina! Paulina! what is the matter? " "Miss Paulina, for the love of Heaven!" cried the wornan, ringing her hands. Paulina turned, with eyes that flashed like lighthing, upon her mother and Rosanna.: "Why have you kept it from me? - Did you want me to add HOW PRIDE BOWED AND FELL." 49 murder to my other crimes? Oh, great Heaven! to think that he sold be yig in prison all those weeks-t think the hould be trying him for life, and I the cause of it all l Paullina," said her mother, in terro are you V speaking?' Surely not of poor Guy Earlscourt" I speOfakinuy Earlscourtof Guy Earlscourt, whose curse Il ave been from i ft Whto last. I bound hi by oath, and he has kept it well-wrould have kept ito me scaff ld Wi 'did yo, Dn 'tell me? Did you want to make me a murderess?" She broke down in a passion of hysterical tears, covering her face with her hands, and sobbing untilher whole form shook Jane clung to her, entreating her to I ybe calm. They did not know,' Mis Paula W ysou make your- And it is not too late yet reme nber that. If make your- self ill you will be able to do hi no good. For pity'sske, Miss Paulina, dont i To-morrow alljanel vbe set right She lifted her face; she caght e veheiently by the a-orrow. To-morrow? You are not deceiving me can save him?" ' Before Jane could reply, the door below opened, and men's B f thelreaqd tooka set I f n t de voices were heard. It was Mr. L "London. !" ia cried. 'Here is my husand I She ran down tohi, as she always did, happy and fluttered by his return, and in a few incoherent sentences to im what had taken place . suspicion that had I.,isle listened very gravely. 'The old susic n th Gy h never entirely left him, that there was something betvee Gy and Paulina, something'secret and abnormal, was confirmed. Did this woman know the secret which bound them, yet held hem waentup with his wife and entered his daughter's room;l During the brief int u rval, aulina had calmned strangely. She was walking up and down the room' when her father entered, her lips compressed her eyes alight, her brows knit nsteadyresolv She came forward to her father at once. "I have something I want to say to you, she began, arptly. osanna, will yo take Mrs. Seaver down stairs,' and be kind to her-she has done me great service to-day. Mother', please leave father with me?" They quitted the room. Paulina placed a chair for hei father, and took a seat herself in the shade of the window:cur tains. page: 420-421[View Page 420-421] I$420 . "OdW PRIDE BOW ED 4A D FEL L. Ii V1 "Papa i "--in the same abrupt wa,y-- Mr. Eariscourt is in prison, to be tried for the murder of Alice Warre r i in !HiLi "Sr"Yes, Paulina I am sorry to say he is." "Sorry say Surely papa, between t -guilty?" yi papa, ,ate do not belineve hio him N my daughter but the evidence'is ver strong again t him. Poor Guy's position ost re one. Iak of nothing that an save him fro committasl ng o-morrw but l Clear a/ibi." "' An al ie s Proving his presence in sme other ah hour the murder was committed? e ace at the I ,:. , Lisle nodded assent. ' "Alice was murdered--so this sailorbetween th hours of eight and nine, on Christmas eve, t862, and circut tances point to Mr. Earlscort as. the murderer? i face was set as stone. R rHe Again Lisle nodded, w tching'er neasily. h saiy? , Mr. Ea r Ws .c Saysg it is out of his power--that he was driving about in a cab at that time, and'never noticed the number. iThatis what e sa.. I' believe he. is screening some one-some one whom he thinks it dishonorable to betray. A woman,-o all proba- bilt. liHe laoked at her keenly. ShW met that look, and forward laid her hand on his. ou are right, father; 'and lam that woan." "You /'Paulina! )his bronzed face turning white. "I, father " in the same hard, steady tone; "and you can imagine what his opinion or havi bee si- lent thus long."4 me, ng bn l He 'knows the truth--that we have kept you in ignoeancea And only this very day he begged me, as alast and greatest favor, to take you out Of England, still il "Iate.) dd? .8 S i Jgnorance of his' "He did?" "He did III She turned her face from him, and there was dead silence for a brief ce. When she spoke again, her vocetrembed f or the first time her voicerembled "He is' to be tried to-morrow is he no ather you ilust take me tip to Londoni muist proe n hisinatocenceyu "YOU can do it?" 1'li "HOW PRIDE BOWED AND FELL." 4.t "I can do it., Between the hours of eight and nine, on Christmas eve, 1862, Guy Earlscourt and I were together, Jane Seaver was with us; she can prove it, as well as I. Mr. Earlscourt is the noblest, the most loyal, the most generous of men-it is my tura to do an act of simple justice now. Please leave me alone for a while. I shall trust you, my father, to take me up to town in time to save him to-morrow."' "You may trust me, Paulina--Heaven' bless my brave daughter." He kissed her tenderly, and quitted the room. And Paulina was alone, and knew all. All he had suffered through her, all his brave loyalty, his generosity, his noble fidelity. She sank down on her knees, and hid her face in her hands. How she suffered-how she loved him in that hour was known only to Heaven and herself. Jane Seaver remained at the cottage all night--she was to accqmpany Mr. Lisle and his daughter. on the morrow. The morrow found Paulina quite calm, very gentle, very sad.'. Her pride had fallen from her as a mantle-she was going to -save Guy-she thought of nothing but that. She stood in the witness-box-she had seen his pale, startled face-all the infinite ldve and honor she felt for him shone, forth in her smile. The sea of eager human faces melted away -she only knew Guy was there, and that she was going to save him. The silence in the court, as with a little legal help' shh told her,story, was something almost painful. , "I have known the Honorable Guy Earlscourt fot the past eight years. We w9ere always very good friends. The de- . Fceased was also. my .lo^t intimate friend-that letter was writ- ten to me-I gave ler that locket. Mr. Earlscourt was never her lover-never-I know it. On the night of December a2d, . 1' 862, I met Mr. Earlscourt at ' party atTwickeniham.' We were alone' together in a room for about half an hour. I was in great trouble-my guardian was trying to forge me into a mart- riage with a gentleman I disliked very strongly. I was in his power-until I came of age or married. He was to take me to l'ssex on the 24th, and imprison me in a country-house of his ; . until I consented. I told Mr. Earlscourt this-and he- alked me to marry him instead. He did it only to save me. HeIwilt. going to leave England-our marriage would make 'no differ- ence in his play I say again he only did it to save me, When I, iarried, 'y fortune became my own, and I was out of ' ' amy guardian's power. I consented on conditions, that he. ,illy. ," * ", , , , , 1, x , page: 422-423[View Page 422-423] I- .......... X would keep our marriage a dead secret, that he would never assert his claim as my husbandunder any circmstances H fixed was very early in the morning, because, About nodn guardian neant to take me down to Essex. e wereto ar- ried before a registrar on Christmas eve; and he told ne to, be ready at eight o'clock in the morning. i;as. to matter a secret; I did not wish any one to know e I wa t ar- eve, my maid and I stole from the house,' Mr. Earlscrt was waiting for us at the corner of the street with a cabr es, it was snowing hard. We drove to the registrar's office-a were nearly a quarter of an hour getting there. Mr. Earls'Ot rode on the box outside with the cabman in the snow. WhIen we reached the office we found no one but a boy.; the regist ar was absent.. Wewaited half an hour before he came. In ntime. I'kept looking'at my watch every five minutes. It was a quarter of nine when he arrived. Weere marrie t wase 'is the cer-tificate x,.. ....."7'u. We were married Her is the certificate My maid and I re-entered the cab. hr. Earlscourt mounted beside tie cabman again. It ere as twenty minutes past nine, precisely, when we reached Berkeley Square, Mr. Earlscourt bade me good-morning said he would return about eleven to bid me good-by, and left me. le did come at the hour appointed-he bade me farewell. I wished him to take a' sum of money, but he refused. I sweai that during toi whole of that hour, from eight to nine, on Christmas eve, 1862, Mr. Eariscourt was in. my company. I decline entering into my motives, or speaking any further of myself. I have told you where Mr. Earlscourt was during the time the murder was committed. I am Mr. Earlscourt's wfe--- es." Thle thrill that ran through Guy's heartven at that oment at the words!"A wife cannot . t m om ent .at the avords I "A wife cannot give' evidence for or against a hus- band, you say?' Very well, my maid is here to corroborante my testimony, if mine will not do." It had taken upward of an hour for the speaker to tell her story-7she had grown faint and giddy before it was done. She reeledowith thelast vords-she loOked like death, and as per- mission'n was given her io stand down, she had to gras rails ,to keep from falling. A' second later, she wip in her father's annrms-lifeless and cold' or t .he first .t er fatherslif Palina had faihtece entirely away. ' *- * * * ** . "* ^ - 7."*. . w Jane Seaver was called to the stand, and gave her evidence with a clearness and precision that carried conviction to every hearer. it vindicated Guy completely. She swore positively to the time-at the hour when the murder had been com- mitted--Mr. Earlscourt had been every instant with her and her mistress. No cross-examination could shake or alter her. Guy was free! Before she had' ceased undergoing a rigid cross-examination, there was a sudden bustle'near the door, A man was breaths lessly forcing his way in, by sheer force of strength and elbows. His eyes fell on Lord Montalien-Lord Montalien, with an expression on his face not good to see, standing stock still since Paulina had entered. The new-comer whispered a few words to a policeman. "Don't let Lord Montalien leave the court," and still kept el- bowing his way forward. As Jane Seaver descended, he mounted to the stand, removed his hat, showing a pale and agi- tated face as he turned it to the bench .' "I demand to be sworn! I have important evidence to give in this case. My name is Augustus Stedman." CHAPTER IX. . . - " . '. ' - , . ,. RETRIBUTION. " T this second startling interruption of the ordinary- course of things there was a general movement and [7[murmur through6ut the court. Then dead silence, and in that silence every eye fixed upon the tall, pale young man in the witness-box, who, had been sworn, and was rapidly and incoherently giving his evidence. The court itself had been so startled and excited during the past hour or two that any little informality in Mr. Stedmans; evidence was overlooked, and the bench leaned forward and to listen, almost as profoundly; interested as the silent crowd. And Lord Montalien I The eyes of Inspe'tor Burnham were upon him, the hand of Inspector Burnham ready to fall heayily upon his shoulder at a. second's notice. I hope nobody will . think any the worse of this zealous officer if I say he was bitterly rtl i/, i, ny, 7,* th Vwor, ,,, page: 424-425[View Page 424-425] ' ;424 REPTRIBUTION- disappointed and disgusted at the change affairs had taken, d He had spared no pains in this case, put forth his best talent in ferreting out proof-of the Honorable Guy Earlscourt's guilt, had made sure of fame, and a rapid rise in his profession in consequence, and lo ] at the eleventh hour-a young lady comes forward and proves tn alibi, and knocks all his hopes in the head. It was clear, however, a murder had been committed, and the murderer must be found if in England. It was some satisfaction to suspect Lord'Montalien, if not his brother,'and he stood near, eying him narrowly, as a cat its prey. At the sight of the new-comer's face, at the sound of his name, a grayish pallor had crept slowly over his lordship's face from brow to chin. The game was up! Among all the, chances that might bring detection home to him, he had never He had thought him safe in Australia for life, and yonder he stood, speaking the words that told his life away, There was a singing in his ears, a mist before his eyes, for a momenit a sharp, sudden pain in his left' side. He had reason to dread those swift, keen pangs-his medical men looked grave when he spoke of them, and warned him to avoid agitation of all , kinds. He made no attempt whatever to leaive the court, a fascination he was powerless to control chained him th the spot where he stood. His life, perhaps, depended on his escape now, but he stood there listening as greedily as the most un- concerned spectator. "I have been absent in Australia six years this coming De- li B cember," were the first words he heard Stedman speak clearly; ' I only touched English ground yesterday. I took up a, paper, - and the first thing my eyes rested on was the arrest and trial of the Honorable Guy Earlscourt, for the murder of Alice Warren. I was utterly confounded at first-then, without loss of time, I hastened to London to be present at the examination to-day. My first visit before coming here was to Mrs. Young'slodging- house, Strand. It seemed incomprehensible to me how she could confound him with the man who placed Alice Warren in ho- charge. I found her very ill, but quite conscious; and When I explained to her how an innocent man's life might rest on her identification, she resolved to come here, at all hazards, at once. She is outside in the cab now, and ready to appear when my evidence is concluded. "Six years ago the third of rext month, I was one of a party of men down for the shooting season at Montalien Priory. y , .' , i 425 R TRB UTIrON itgein How? fri ecalse I knly w hl e. ikl. ow who her ac epted n h ver was. ' It asour host, Lord Montalien- arlscous elder brother. On the evening of the tweenty sixth of Septener, I found Lord ien h loe ein the libr, walking about in deep thought. pr ro i e of ofoend I secrecy, he n o. He was nfroatutedly in love O th the ailiff's daughter an d his paossion with my friendly help Alica He as to go ielt Lnd rt to satisfy every doubt, every scrule i before, hich I hd neither forgotte nor forgven, a d though we seemed butwardly friends, I had sworn revenge upon the first oppotn" ity. Here was the opportunitY. i promised all he' demanded, and left forwLondon eary next morning to ar- a word wshiptand hutd consented tothe serearriag believeth is she loved him devotedl, she hd no thff ht of doubt or deon that evening, and he had instructe w' Alice, if she met him at the station, tofbeglhis protection during the journeye. n was innocence, the girl obleyed, in all friendliness and' goodonaktrrp onet she and wpositively r nefariused and that' wt with her that, ever y scruplet to Mrs. Howe's lodgings, otten ha Court Road Wen I left Lord Mont alien h a eof vengeance in my neithead. r liked and ritied the poo. gl. . had ait grdge, as I said before, to nipe out aaorning to ar- I wentn acuaintance of remine, ilewly ordained, and curatebeenS. page: 426-427[View Page 426-427] I426 - RETRZIBUTZOTN of the Church of St. Ethelfrida, in the city, and told him tlh whole thry. Itold him, by Performing the marriage ceremony, he would be preventing a great crime. Hle consented to pler. form it. The needful license was procured, Iod Montalin arrived the following day, and about six o'clock in the evening the marriage rite was over, I, and an old woman, being the witnesses. I saw no more of Alice until the night previous to my departure from England. I had spoken of her to his lord- ship on several occasions, but he was always impatient and inh- tolerant of the subject-.told me she was well, and that it was neces ary for me to know no more. Once he swore that he had been a fool that he had been sick to death of her in a week, and that he warted to get her out of London if he could. She was beginning to be a horrible nuisance, as such wolen always were. lHe admitted on this occasion that he had re- moved her frm Gilbert's Gardens. He said that contenipti. ble spy, his brother, had been to see her, that she had written t fwr Austraslia, Mr. to him, and made a devil of a scene. Iknew Guy Earscourt dicted the rumor. "On the night preceding my departurefor Austraia, Mr. Earlscourtand I dined together at the Guards' Club, and then set ot for a saiinter, o although the nightwas stormy. Itwas thile o20th of'December, I think. On our way along the Strand we saw a, woman hurrying through the storm. The gas-light shone full upon her as she )assed us, wnhd we both knew Alice. It was quite as much as I could do to recognize her--she looked so ill, so wretched, so poorly clad. She stopped at sight of ug, and said she wanted, to speak to me. Mr. earls- She aske edshtoa5 eak tome. M r. E arls- court passed on. She asked me, in a wild sort of way, if I knew where I Frank' was, meaning L'6rd Montalien. He had not been to see her for many weeks; she was dying of want and misery, .and she had heard he was in London, and aying attention to a young lady of wealth and Position. Was this tue? I told her it was; that rumor said he was on the verge of marriage with the young'ladyi qUestin; that I considered. her shamefully ill-used, and, th, t she should go atnonce to his lodgings in St. James Street and demand the acknowledgmen t of her rights, She went with me. I took her to Lord Monta. lien's lodgings, and waited outside while she wnt in. Imeant to call upon him aftenvard myself on a little matter ofY OV. She was gone about half an hour, then came out al6ne. She ave received some .horrible shock; she staggered ^^^^^ {, ,I r O RETRrRIBnrUTO 427 and fell as she touched the pavement. I called a cab and placed her in it, gave the man hei address, (she had told me previously,) and told him to place her in the landlady's care. When I went back, and was admitted to an interview with his lordship, he seemed greatly disturbed and angry. I told him I had met Alice in the street and sent her home. He swore over it; and wished we had both perished in the storm. I told him I was on the eve of sailing for Australia, and asked himl for three thousand pounds. He laughed at me. I told him his secret was worth that.. He asked what secret. That Alice Warren, the bailiffs daughter, was his lawful wedded wife, I an- swercd. He refused to believe at first. I speedily convinced him, however, and referred him to the clergyman who had mar- ried him. If he did not give ne the slm I demanded, I would go instantly to the young lady he was trying to marry, and tell her all. That thought brought him to terms. He gave me a check for the money, and I gave him my promise to still keep' the matter secret. The expression of his face made me uneasy. I stopped in the doorway, and asked him not to be hard on her, Alice,; that she was not to blame. His 'answer was,. I know what I owe her, and how to deal with her.' Next day I left England. My return now is purely accidental. Nothing con- nected with this story brought me back. Alice Warren was the lawful wedded wife of Francis, Lord Montalien. The Registrar of the Church of St. Ethelfrida will confirm my statement." Mr. Stedman was allowed to stand down, and Mrs. Young summoned. She was carried in and placed upon a chair, be- ing unable to stand. Her evidence was drawn from her gently, and the examniination made as brief as possible, in consideration of her weak state. She couldn't remember dates, but 'she thought it was late in the month df November that a gentle- man came and took her two-pair-back for a lady, a Mrs. Brown. "No," surveying Guy from head to foot; "not a bit. like him; fairer, and not so good-looking. Would know him again, she was certain, if she saw him. Mrs., Brown came next day; a poor, pale, sickly young creature, with nothing to say, and a broken-hearted look like. She suspected something :* ^ wrong' from the first, but did not inquire. She was a poor I woman, and glad to let her lodgings without asking too many 1' questions. The gentleman came next day, and stayed over an hour with a sick man uplstairs. When he was gone she asked Mrs, Brown if that was any relation. She answered he was l; her husband. After that first visit he never entered the ho us. page: 428-429[View Page 428-429] 42g . RE TRIB UTZION. but once again, and that was the day before Christmas eve. That afternoon she let him in, herself. Mrs. Brown was bettei then, and able to sit up. Had been ill from the night the cab. mTan fetched her back; remembered it very well. She had watched when he went away. He did not stay over half an hour. Mrs. Brown came out of h er room when le was gone with a sort of joyful look, and paid her bill out of half a dozen sovereigns, and told her her husband was coming early next morning to take her away for good. 'I am gong home, Mrs. Young,' she says; 'to my dear, dear ]home, down in incoln shire, and my husband is going to acknowledge our marriage o'l . I ne atr weirse on ts ..before e ight, I think it as, a man (Irove up to the door.. He was muffled tip to" that degre-e from the storm n rank, and could not do it, I 'clock' w nehi ery his shapenged and his long, fair air.' y rk Frank!' I heard 'Mrs. Browni she hady t sept wink ally nght her breath; joy. S thenat rioshe bidraks 'an she was drssed at hialf-ast seen anhelped aher p besiden for him and drove and way. I have nevere oseen ither of them since. I am ute sure sei aght, I think it ranks, a man swdrove upar to the. I am certain I should know himp to that degree fio t storm that h is face could not be. see-n,' but nI kn hiii"Pointing to Guy; "nots a bit- hl i l. 'h" ank She gazed' slowly all a. Brown sd in a joyufrt. A hundred ayes wer ter breathl an nord Montalien. He st ood stock-nd n stillo hspellbound, never moving. Her eyes, fell ubpson him at last. stri-a ighte atway. him ave "Thatever seen either at'of them since Mrs. I amB surowncalled her hus bankd the man who brought heear to it. am placein I should knowok her Tgat's him. Veywell. Tiat's She breathless slowly ailence aroofnd the court. undred ayes brokewere citurnednt of reath dlessly had attaineLd Montas limaenx. AnHe stood stock-still ord ,ontalien stoodc, in a strage souprt of apathet flick trance, lookgerpointed quietly about him, as though some one else, not he, were the centre and aim! Tof all's those anry eyeMrs. ownaled herus za O.- Z I-;- z u 1 iU lU V. 429 Guy. Earlscourt was dismissed-a warrant was made out on the. spot for the arrest of Lord Montalien. The heavy hand of Inspector Burnham fell with grim satisfaction upon his shoulder, and still he never roused. A numbness was over his mind, his brain felt paralyzed, a bluish pallor lay fixedly on his face, his eyes looked straiglt before him 'at nothing, with a sightless stare. They led him frolm the court-room. He went passively. Once he looked back. He saw his brother, sur- rounded by an eager throng shaking hands and congratulating him. Their glance met . He turied away-he had looked his last on the face of the brother he had hated all his life. ' , He was taken to the room Guy had yesterday occupied, and left alone. It was almost dark, the supnmer twilight lingered softly in the streets, but the prison-room was full of shadows. - Still the sense of his awful situation did not come. He felt j itired, his head seemed sleepy, that dull pain still in the region of his heart. He lay down, dressed as he was, upon the bed, and almost instantly fell into a heavy sleep. It was more like : stupor than sleep; and, after some hours, disturbed dreams broke it. 'A black and terrible river lay before him, heaving - under a black and stormy sky.. On the other side a golden land slione; and on that opposite shore he saw Alice. Not as he had seen her, once beautiful and bright, and happy, but ghastly pale and with the blood streaming from a frightful wound in the left temple. She was on her knees as she' had" fallen where :he had killed her, her hands were clasped, the words she, had. faltered in her death agony she was trying to speak again: "Oh, God have mercy on me-and-forgive-" she could . never finish the prayer. If she could, it seemed to him he might have crossed the roaring river, and reached that golden :other shore in safety. But the words died on her lips-the black, bitter waters were ingulfing him, and with a cry of pain and terror he awoke. , . He sat up in bed, the perspiration standing heavy on his brow. And thought and memory returned with an awful pang I He 'sat up in the lonely prison darkness, and heard a distant clock tolling one. He sat up, and thought of Guy free, and himself here. Guy was the husband of Paulina, and he was the murderer of Alice. Guy would inherit the title and estates, his children and Paulina s would grow up amid the green beauty of Montalien, and he- l..;1 1c.. ' , E. I 1.;.;----.' "'"'":"'.'..;..' page: 430-431[View Page 430-431] i :430 "SEMPER FID ELAT." A vision of a gray dawn rose before him-of a gaping, eager is 'crowd-of a scaffold, ghastly in the chill light-of a condemned man, led forth to die. He fell down on the bed .with a second cry-a cry of anguish and despair, and lay still. Next morning, when the jailer brought in his breakfast, he was surprised to find his prisoner still asleep. He placed the breakfast noiselessly down, and stole out. At ten o'clock a gentleman called to see Lord Montalien. He was a well- known and eminent physician, one of those whom his lordship had lately consulted. He looked very grave as the jailer led him to the prisoner's room, and told how he had found him asleep when he brought in his breakfast. "Asleep! Are you sure he was only asleep?" the doctor asked. "Well, I, thought so, sir," the man answered surprised. "I did not examine, of course." They entered together. Lord Montalien lay in the same position, rigid and still. The doctor approached the bed, bent down, listened as if for his breathing, placed his hand upon the region of his heart, felt the pulse, and stood upright. He was very pale. "It is as I suspected," he'said gravely; "I knew it would kill him. My friend, your prisoner has got his discharge." "Good God, sir!" the jailer cried, horror-struck; "do you ean-" "I mean that he is dead " It was true. Friendless and alone in the dismal prison-room, i . the dark spirit of Alice Warren's murderer had gone forth to answer for its crimes. "SEMPER FIDELIS," Hi r' 1 Y the last train leaving London for Lincolnshire, Guy Earlscourt reached Speckhaven. What new-hope was fit, sweet and strong, that flushed his dark face and lit into fire the dreamy glow of his southern eyes? For the first time--the very first, the thought, the hope, had entered ," SEMPER FIDELIS." 43.1 his mind, that, perhaps, after all, in spite of all, he had a place i in the heart of Paulina.. It was not that she had appeared and told her trying story. in churt to save him; she, would have saved in like manner any man in England, endangered through act of hers, at all costs to herself. it was not that. It was the look, the'smile she had "Montalien Arms" for the, night, but, I am afraid, Mr. Earls court slept even less than he had donel on the eve of his trial A for murder. At the earliest possible hour next morning, he was at the cottage. It was a, glorious August day, and smoking, his morning cigar, in Rosanna's little flower garden, quite alone, he saw Robert Lisle. The elder man advanced toward him with a cordial smile and an outstretched hand. "Wel6ome again, to Speckhavene I had no time to con- gratulate you yesterday, and-I knew, of course, you would be here. I liari heard all. How does he bear his arrest?" - t have not heard. I had not the nerve to visit him-he wouldnot wish. it, I know., And, besides, my first duty was. here. Paulina-how " he ppped abruptly with the quetion unfinished. What nlust Pauda's father think of him? ' , "aulina is ell-far better and calmer than I dared to hope. Instead of injuring, yesterday's excitement hs seemed to help her. The consciousness, I suppose, of a painful duty, per- formed bravely, must' always bring its own consolation." "And you know? She has told you r -2 "All'-everything! You did her a great service, Guy-with a brave self-abnegation and generosity few men in your posi- tionl would have shown. I, her father, thank you. Guy looked at him almost incredulously. That he could view be Marchioness of Heatherland " . "I forget nothing-that' you must have been as blind as a, bat ever since your return from America, among the rest. i"What do you mean " ". ,'V :."' '. page: 432-433[View Page 432-433] ;iz 432 "SEMPAER IDELIS." . Mr. Lisle smiled provokingly. "Go ask Miss Lisle-I beg her pardon, and yours--Ms. Earlscourt. Don't stand there staring in that stupid way. If she does not regret having missed marrying the Marquis of Heatherland, I should think you, after the corfession you made me the other day in prison, would not." "And she does not regret it?" cried Guy, breathlessly. "For Heaven's sake, Lisle---" "Mr. 'Earlscourt, will you permit me to finish my cigar in peace? ' If there is one thing that I detest more than anothet it is being badgered in this way over my after-breakfast smoke. , My daughter is in the parlor yonder-ypu know the way. Any questions of this delicate nature that you have to propound put them to her-don't annoy me. Go!"' He' waved his. hand authoritatively, and turned his back upon his questioner. Guy started impetuously forward--im- petuosity was not one of his most striking traits, but his heart was throbbing at this instant, as perhaps that well'trained organ had never throbbed before. He was in the parlor and in the presence of Paulina-how, Miss Rosanna Mason might tell in after days, he never could.. She was quite alone-she rose up at his abruptiy (j'rance, "Paulina!" "Guy" The names broke so naturally from both their lips, that it would have been the veriest mockery to repress them.' Both her hands were in his, and he was'speaking rapidly, incoherently. ' , ." I have come to thank yoti-I have not words to thank you, for your unheard-of generosity of yesterday. I have not deserved 'it, but my gratitude, is none the less, Paulina-you ar'e the bravest, the noblest woman on earth!" " Oh, hush!" she cried, shrinking away with a look of pain. "I noble! I brave! I have been selfish and a coward from first to last. Such words of praise seem like a bitter mockery from your lips, of all men I ' "They'are true-true as Heaven. I have fancied, in the past, that you hated me---I gave you reasoin, I know, but, in the hour when I thought you abhorred me most, I never-failed to do you justice. It was my rightful punishment-that you, so gentle, so sweet to all the rest of the world, should hate nme." "Hate you!" she withdrew her hands from him, and sank back in her seat. "Oh, blind! blind! blind!" He was bend ing.,above her-flushed, eager--moved as, she had never seenb ! 1* . .- tI 44 SEME-'tK. rUJLo JL , LJ him-as no living man or woman had ever seen Guy Earls- . . ' : court, pouring forth his words in a torrent. 4 I Have I been blind! Can yqu care for me after all, Pau- lina? I have been unworthy, but'-since the hour that 'ade me m m ' v beI your husbfand, I have never done that whiclh would have been an1 insult to your mlemory. I have striven to lead a better and pu^er life Your menory and my great love fdr you have been my redemption., , have striven to redeem my nae andt. hqnor, striven to Nwash out the vice and vileness of the past Through all those years I have had no!hope, no thought, that His voice broke down in a great passion of tenderness and despair at eyen the thougt. Then the hands that 'had been ', withdrawn/.lasped 'his own once mlore of their o bwn accord, and the sweet, clear voice spoke bIavely, though trenbling as it suoke: i d Guy, six 'years ago, i forgot my womanhood, and asked you to mary me. I ask a greater boon now-I ask you to love me and stay with nme." , Paulina!" with a breathless cry of wonder and great joy; , . "do I hear. you aright? Do' you not hate me, then, after all?" " -late you! she looked at hjim, .with something between a laugh and a sob. "Oh, Guy I I have loved you all my life I And then, as Guy Earlscourt held her to his heart in a rap- ture too intense for wor words, he knew that the woman he had wedded six years ago was his WIFE at last! ^"I ' with. a bre ae 30Y. Before the sun set that August day, the ceremony performed before the London registrar was repeated by the rector of Speckhaven, in Duke Mason's little' parlor.' The bride would have itso. She shrank then, and will to the last day of her life, froil the melmory of that terrible time; and veXy quietly,the ceremony was re-performed, and church, as well as State,made her Guy Earlscourt's wife. Nay, Guy Eatrlscourt no molre Tell milfutes after the ben- ediction had been' pronounced, there stood before them a legal- looking gentleman, in solemn black, whbo took Guy aside, and whis ered inemoearyo the news of his tirmthea dveath in tris th ril.,- ceremoy was reper chu h, as fored and el as Stae,'ma(1 page: 434-435[View Page 434-435] lj .1E:,/ .P:: , S ER FID IS, t' gae him a pang-the thought of how he had died there was not a creature On earth to really regret the a And so, in the very hour Ofher age, Paure ine Latdy Montalien- They quitted England at Once, and abroad for their honeymoo m an, London was ringing with'their strangely romantic st would be as well. to keep uietly out of sight until the days' wonder was ended. Their love Was only intensfij hundredfbld by all they had suffered- by their long year estrangement and separation. her once, f t ouken thatnight at ]Brighton' Gu ., her that night hrl--e youranswer have been? You rein :er o -ta when YOlU off erd el said, ' Mss isle, do 'yIe thoed tto Pay my debts? If I debts,' the favor to take me, as well as ebts,' hat would your answer have been?") "Yes, and thank you, sir, for asking," Paulina replied, some of her old sauciness. "Iremember very well Montalien- .No need to remind meof mfolnies. Ohl , 'G how stupid the cleverest of you men ae about thes e thin G Anybooy but yo Yould hak e are ehateaout these thin Any y but you could hav seen that I loved you best w Ihated you most-no. ..n old tmean t needio 'fa B1it I think Guy tnderstood her--no one could. realize t own blindness and stupidity more than he did. realize I Mr. and Mrs. Lise went to Lyndith Court, in Staffordshir where the first happy months of their clandestine mairiage ha been spent. On the way Olivia passed near The Firs, an sent a loving, motherly letter to Maud. She couldnot ent( a house owned by Sir Vane Charteris, but her mother's hea Yearned for her child, even though not the child of her l "Come to me, Maud" she said. "Come to your mother, w lovesl try tyo. darein The past has been bitter for us both we will try to. make you as happy in th future even as I an KS happy. In my husband you will find th tenderest of fathers. Comec to me at once.") Anc poor Maud ad gone wan and hollowaeyed) atnd wretched-.ookig He/ father's wrongdoing nbitterly upon her-she shrank from'his memoryn she never saw or wished to s6e him again. They took her with them to Lyndith Court, and ih Robert Lisle Maud indeed found the tenderest of fathers. And r albraisl aer her brief return to that bright world she loved so dearly t after her elfdamp a'condemned to spend the last of her days in the dismal damp and drearihes of The Firs. "SEMPER FIDEZLIS." Of Sir Vane Charteris, I may here say that he was robb , and murdered by Italian banditti, little better than a year later.- Like the late Lord Montalien, there was not a soul alito re- gret or grieve for him when he was dead. Down in Lincolnshire there was loneliness and loss for the second time in this second going of Paulina. She was happy and at peace-there was consolation in that, but the faithful hearts of Duke and Rosanna missed and cried out for their l nursling always. In the parlor, over the mantel, there hung a crayon head--a present from that eminent artist, Allan Fane, R A.-in which ' Polly" at sixteen smiled 'saucily down on them wherever they turned. Before this picture Duke sat and smoked by the hour-to gaze At it was his one delight. For' Rosanna, years and rheumatismn were doing their fatal work; her household duties We gettingltoo many for her. Fordays together she waylaid up now, and her brother had spoken more than once of Mnploying a servant. But this idea Rosanna scouted with scorn. ' "Don't talk to me of servants-lazy, dirty, thievish abomina- tion I'll have no servants in my house. I know what Iwit have. Duke, do you know what day this is?" It was a gusty afternoon 'in early November. As usual, he sat smoking' and gazing dreamily at Polly's portrait. It was as characteristic of the power Paulina held over the men who loved her once, that no other woman ever usurped her place in their hearts. What was true of Duke Mason, the scene-painter, was true of the most noble, the Marquis of Heatherland, odf' Allan Fane, the artist, and Guy Eaflscourt, the author. Where she had once reigned, she reigned forever. Duke looked up with a start. "What day, Rosanna? Of course I do. It's Wednes , to be sure." "Pooh I I don't mean the day of the week. It's the se enth of November, and your birthday. Duke Mason, have you any idea how old you. ate?" The stern severity of this question rather startled Duke. burely now, Rosanna: couldn't be unjust enough to take a man to task for getting on in years? "How old I am?"Duke had to think a minute. "Yes, Rosanna, H'm afraid I must be forty-nine." "Forty-nine," repeated Rosanna, in a still more cruel, voice; "and may I ask, if it isn't high time at forty-nine to thiof settling respectably in life, and getting married? Don't gape page: 436-437[View Page 436-437] " SEMPER FIDELS." like an idiot in that way-you're none too young, are you? won't have a slattern of a. servant about the house, and son one must come to take charge of it and you. You want a .wil Go and get married." "But-good gracious, Rosanna," Duke began, aghast. "Go-and-get-married!" reiterated Rosanna; "not word now-do as I tell you! While I was able to look aft you it was all very well, but I'm getting fit for nothilngwith til rheumatism. . Go and get married! 'Go and marry Elizabe Knapp!" If Rosanna had said, "go and marry one of the Royal Prin cesses," the prolibilities are Duke would have put on a clean shirt, gone up to Buckinlgham Palace, and made the attempt, at least. He did rebel 'faintly now; he didn't want to, be marlii -least of all to Elizabeth :snapp. O Iss Knapp, was a ve: worthy young woman, of some seven-and-thirty 'summers, model housekeeper, cook, washer, ironer, and:'lain sewer, bl she was also plain in feature-uncommonly plain, indeed, frequently seems to be the case with your exemplary unmarried women of thirty-seven. Long had Miss Knapp secretly sighed for Duke, as Rosanr very well knew, though he did not. She had revolved the mat -ter-somebody must come and do the .housekeeping, iri Duke's shirts, cook his dinners and teas, and darn his stockih Elizabeth fitted the situation better than any one person Ro sanna knewy-she was easy-tempered, too, and properly in aw of her (Rosanna). Yes, Duke must marry Elizabeth icnapp Six weeks later, there came to Florence a package from England for Lprd and Lady Montalien. When opened it was found to contain several slices of bride-cake, of the bride's own D g, aiad a letter from Duke, very subdued and humble i ifle was married. He had rmamilled Elizabeth Knapp- jr ladyship would recollect her; and he and Elizabeth sei their love and duty. Also Rosanna sent hers, and was con fined to bed with 'rheumatism in both legs, and he was the obedient servant, Duke Mason. Lady Montalien actually cried over this letter, the first tea; she had shed since Guy had come back to her. "Dear old Duke!" she said, with?. sob, that enled, in the light of Guy's provoking smile, in a hysterical laugh; "it is a shame I He was too good to be married 1 How can you have the heart to look like that, sir, when my heart is breaking. It all Rosanna's doings, and I wish she had let him alone 1 I love 'StMPER FIDELS" ' , 437 Duke, and I never wanted to seekn he'l be miserable 1" thousand She/loved Duke! Ay, but not one whit, not one thousandt part-as Duke loved her. He married Elizabeth; Knapp, an brought her home, and Was gentle and patient, and yielding to her always, as he had been to is sister, and I am sincerely a to say, that he was not iniserable. But the happienst hours , the hours he spent before that crayon head, his pipe m his mouth, wistful, far-off look in his pale-blue eyes, and his thoughts " .b back years ago intothe golden time of his life with. "Polly." He was the most faithful of husbands, and Elizabeth had no cause to complain, but in her heart of hearts she was bitterly jealous of that picture. She could have taken it down arid put it in the fire with the great pleasure. Duke and hid it away, but Mrs. Mason had helousehod keeton, and hi it away, as all such skeletons are hidden. Of'ady Monthen hersefing , beautiful and gracious, she never thought or dreamed of being the last day of her life. And miles away in Allan Fane's studio, another picture of that' same smiling girlish face hangs e is wealthy and fain. he and Lady Montalien meet often in society, and in crgo . friends . is best wishes are for her and Guy's but he' never goes to Montalien, a'nd he has no "i,.'S: K'nmcere menus. ,ntalien)dn w tho ugph; t of remarrg , n No one in this lower world will ever be to him again quite what "Polly" wasin that lovely June, nine years ago. He will marry again some day, no doubt, but I think Mrs. Fane, number two, will hve quiteas good reason to be jealous of a picture as Mrs. Duke Mason. Winter, spring, summer passed, and when September layai bright on the green glades and waving treeS of altog herni: ' ...ory, Lord and Lady Montalien ca,me home.... ' N algther as they went, for a Swiss nurse accmpanis them, and there is a dark-eyed baby in long robes, whom they call "Robert, and who is the heir of Montalien. The following spring, when the London seson opened, they returned took their place that rillt ond returnword once ore. They were the attraction of the season- his fame, her beauty, and their romanti tor theme of every toigue. Paulinaehad har eeiaess ithera too beautiful not to have, but she was too perfectly happy er ither t know or care. She .and her husba-d lov each other, with a great and perfect love, rarely seen. page: 438-439[View Page 438-439] iv (438 . "SEMPER FIDELIS." She was shining one night, as 'she ever shone, the star queen of a splendid ball,' at which royalty was present. prince, with ribbons and orders over his rich uniform, approached and listened to a group of ladies discussing Montalien. "Ambitious, reckless, and a coquette!" he repeated, with a smile; "perhaps so. I do not know-I have been ab from England, and never saw Lady Montalien until to-ni a lj But this I do know, that never knight or baron of all his n( race brought home to Montalien a iovelier bride than 4 Earlscourt"
