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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 4 5 6 ..,l..-:l'tai 9 ^ LOVE AND . . PERIL. By MARQUIS OF LORNE, K.T. ***■ LOVE I- AND PERIL BY THE MARQUIS OF LOUNE, K. G. . ' /T EATON CO. L'Vpi CI I'Hj'OISt.O'Isy ^1'^ - ^N(eK TORONTO : WILLIAM BRYCE, PUBLISHER. T Entered according to the Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year one thoiiHand eight hundred and ninctj', by Wni. liryce, in the Oftice of the Minister of Ajs'ricnltnrc. >-' .■Hf G59304 t b ^ S7 t^ LOVE AND PEIUL ^ Stor^ of ILtfe in ti)e JFar jHortf) Witi^t BT THE MARQUIS OF LORNE, G.C.M.G. CHAPTER I. HERE is an amount of egotistic vanity about us that makes us fond of recalling our exploits and acts, however silly these may have been. I do not believe that anybody looks back with the hor- ror that novelists imagine men must teel, even upon such a deed as the slaying of a man. On base murder they may look back with horror ; but even then the revengeful feeling which prompted the attempt lives on in the breast of 3 LOVE AND PERIL 1 the slayer, and he is apt to think of his work with some of the gratification of satis- fied anger ratlior than with remorse. So, at least, it lias scorned to me, judging from instnnccs that have come under my observa- tion, both among savages and civilised men. Unless something we have done brings to us misery of some kind, either poverty or danger or difficulty, we do upt regret our actions. When we suffer from them, then, indeed, do we say, " Why the deuce was I fool enough to do it ? " but in this bad world, bad works are not always followed by suffering, and it becomes a daily wonder to those who believe in the prompt return of a sowing of wickedness in a harvest of destruction, how the cause ot wrong is so often apparently triumphant. But I am moralising too much, and the T LOVE AND PERIL $ observations I have made are only due to this — that I once was held by my friends to have behaved in a very silly manner ; and yet I did not at all regret it. On the con trary, I look back with interest, amusement, and even joy to the days when I was acting rather the part of a wild man of the woods than the part taken in real life by your humble servant, John Uptas, Esq., of Toronto, Canada, now barrister-at-law, and doing fairly well in my profession as the times go. I have not yet got a silk gown, but the prospect of such a garment is not far; and Osgoode Hall, the great building where we plead in the Provincial Courts, sees many a more forlorn countenance than mine, and many a figure far more bent, pacing the corridors and passing the handsome Italian doorways of its solid architecture. ml LUVI^ A.\D I'MJiiiL > Gowns and law used not to be to my taste. 1 was always of an active spirit; and stories read in boyhood of adventures in the Far West, made me think that the life of a Hudson's Bay trapper gave a career far finer than that of most generals. "What was the knocking over a few battalions at a distance with heavy artillery, compared to the glory of taking single-handed the life of a grizzly bear ? These impressions con- tinued to exercise their sway on my mind ; and I could not stand college. I loved Pro- fessor Wilson, and admired the talents of several of the gentlemen who adorn the chairs of the University ; but I fled with a friend from their seductions, and resolved, come what might, that a few years among the hunters and tiappers should harden my body, and, as I thought also, improve my mind. "■ LOVE AND rh'RIL 5 Several of us students fell to talkliifr about such aspi rations one evening at supper. I felt tolerably independent, having a few dollars invested in good funds, my heritage from a frugal father, and I magnanimously offered to pay the way for the chum I had asked to accompany me. We both resolved to throw learning to the winds, and to start as soon as might be — where, goodness only knew. Not to the United States. We were patriotic, and we knew that our own North hind afforded opportunity enough for ad- venture. Westward, of course — westward the course of the Empire takes its way. We drank a good many times to the success of our journey. But morning brought neither hot coppers nor repentance. In less than a fortnight's time we had made what little preparations we needed, and i i LOVE AND PERIL 1% we were off by the Grand Trunk Railway to Detroit and Chicago. At that time our own great national enterprise, the Canadian Pacific Railway, was in the ai/, or at most hidden away in the brains of some enthusiastic gentlemen who were looked upon as having more imagination than ballast in their compo- sition. But Cliicago was, of course, already a fact. Thither we proceeded, but stayed only a short while among its straight and multitudinous streets. The weather was fine. It was summer. We passed on to places in the head waters of the Red River of the North, as it was then called, and loving river life, we took to the steamers, and then to boats, and ultimately arrived at Fort Garry, the modern Winnipeg. From thence I remember writing to our dear Professor Wilson at the University, a 'a 'u lOVU AND PERIL 1 letter which was a sort of payment of what the English call "conscience money," when they send to their Finance Minister the arrears on their terrible Income Tax. Thus my letter was a kind of acknowledgment of the debt I owed to our Alma Mater, and the best beloved man there. I had been struck by the accounts of the great freshets that took place, and still take place, in the Red River during the spring- time. Of old these floods caught very many of the buffalo herds that grazed in the wide and rich pastures on the banks of the griat <»tream. The buffaloes were swept awi»y in hundreds, nay in thousands, and I con- nected this in my mind with what I had read of the vast amount of mammoth ivory and skeletons of elephants found at the mouths of the giant rivers of Sil>eria. Wiis 1 it I i1 i» ! 5 LOVE AND PERIL it not possible that the deposits of extinct mammals owed their origin to like causes ? May not herds of elephants as numerous as the herds of our " American Bison " have grazed in olden days on the Prairies of Siberia near those rivers, and may not these spring floods have carried hundreds away, and drowned them, and strewed their car- cases along their banks, and at their estuaries, just in the same way as tho Red River drowned its thousands of buflfaloes, and strewed its banks with their bodies? I thought I should never see Toronto again, and this was my tribute at parting to its learning. We did not pause at Winnipeg except to recruit supplies, but passed on down the stream until the broad expanse of its lake lay before us. Then on its bosom we voyaged many days, until we came to r i^fpi*iiai»Hii*litf^r LOVm AND PERIL » where the gigantic Saskvatchewan enters it through a vast region of marsh, and serlge, and grass-grown flats, where my classical studies called up remembrances of Virgil's description of the Daiuibe, to whose banks he was exiled. There he bewailed his fite, and the frozen wilderness, and longed for the fleshpots of Rome. Not so I. We shot bitterns, and ducks, and pelicans, and geese by the score, and I was in Paradise. And then, getting Indians to aid us, we canoed onwards up the immense river, westward, ever westward. , We had no lack of food — our c^uns gave us all we needed. Oh, the delight after our tame town life to be our own masters, our own purveyors ! Oh, the charm of those evening camp fires when we had our meals We two Btretched ourselves before the fire, 10 LOVE AND PERIL * ■ s ■ 1 1 i c i 1 1 1 i I * 1 made up of willow and poplar wood, and smoked our pipes, and dreamed of further adventure and exploration. . | Only one thing there was to disgust us. Often, after rain, along the prairie paths by the side of the water we came on ex- traordinary-looking beasts or large lizards. Hideous, bloated -looking things they were, that lifted their fat tails above their broad backs, and waddled rather than ran on their fat legs before us among the grass. But we had little time for the study of natural history. All that was not eatable was disgusting, all that was eatable we appreciated. And so we voyaged on until we came to the settlement of the Half Breeds, the Metis, as they call themselves, below the "Forks" — the place where the twin rivers ^-'^r*i^mmmmm LOVE AND PERIL 11 of the North and South Saskatchewan join. Here we were in a wooded fir country, with numerous settlements of these people. But onward still we went, now by land, for the travelling was easier on the wooded banks, the forest jeing not dense enough to impede advance. So we journeyed to the bastioned stockade of Fort Carlton, where was a strong Hudson Bay post, with stores of skins and food, and hearty welcome. Here we deter- mined to go further north, and we crossed the river to its northern bank. My companion had up to this time evinced nothing but a desire to accommodate himself to my ideas, a frame of mind highly creditable, as I thought, to him, for was I not the author and originator of this journey ? What could any opposition to my views do, bat destroy harmony and progress ? IK-HBI !; \ 12 LOVE AND PERIL But the winter was coming on, and I detected a ecrtaiu amount of desire on his part, to accommodate himself to the wishes of some of the young clerks at the establish- ment, who told him he could get plenty of shooting and fun there without going further. This was not to my taste, and at . first he took my counsel, and said he would go on with me. Sometimes, how- ever, he forcibly suggested we should remain I as forcibly suggested we should proceed. I prevaileii. We were to go on upon a well-known route, which, although it involved hard travelling, was a beaten path. But he wanted to keep nearer the river, where we were told we should meet with more game, in the shape of geese and ducks, for a week or two longer. The end was 9 LuVJiJ AND FERIL 13 compromise, always a stupid thing. So we set out, carrying on a toboggan (for snow enough was nov falling to make the drag- ging of a toboggan possible) all our stores. Then came all our difficulties. At first we shot game enough. But the marches became very wearisome. We carried snow-shoes, and we used them for the first time. No one who has not had experience of this mode of travelling, can imagine how tedious progression on snow- shoes becomes to one unaccustomed to the exertion. To European ears the word often eignifies quick ana easy progression. The Norwegian snow-shoe, a long board with a strap for the feet, is the instrument that comes to an old country mind. Our snow- shoes are very different. Imagine a large tennis racquet like a heart, but without the r. .^ : ! i 14 LOVE AND PERIL indeDtation at the broad end, which is shaped into an even curve. There is a space left in the cross catgutting for the toes, over which straps are looped. At first all goes well, and the (;ven tramp, tramp, although monotonous, has the sense of novelty. Then you get into a snowdrift, there may be some small accident — an upset — which only provokes mirth. But after hours and days the ball of the toes is apt to get very sore — the mal de Racquet, as the French call it — and then how tiresome becomes the march, and how the feet ache and ache I The temperature became cold in the evenings, and the nights were far from warm. But we found fuel in the copses that fringed the north bank. I always urged that we should strike north, where ^WiSC'J*-' LOVt: A/.W I'MIUIL 15 ch is is a T the i. At tramp, sense •wdrift, i upset b after is apt luetf as resoine ct aciie in the r from copses always where the country was more full of firs, but the counter-pica was urged, " Let us stick to the river for a few clays yet." My com- panion suffered more from his feet than I did, and became more and more "cross" every evening when we made camp. I had now to go to cut the firewood, for he was so tired and footsore that he always declared that he could do no work when we came to a halt, but help to cook at the fire. He thou^iht me unreasonable: I thouijht him opinionative. The marches were not long enough fojj me ; they were too long for him. Finally, we quai rolled outright. Fat'gue had made our tempers short, although the day's work was still long enough. It became colder and colder. We had but one good robe (a buffalo skin) with us, and this had to be shared by us both at night. But Booa 'T" ^i M I 1 <- ': 16 LOVE AND PERIL my friend became so angered with me — wlietlier it was because I was always too hope- ful and cheerful, whatever the circumstances, or because I had ** given it him back " when he had been too abusive in a gloomy fit, or whether bcc:iuse he had resolved to go no further whenever he had a chance of re- turning, I know not; but he would hardly speak to me. I showed my dislike of this conduct, and absolute silence reigned between us. But while his head got woi*se, as I thought, I observea that his toes got |?etter. He was able to march fully as well as I, and I some- times thought that he was trying to punish me by walking me down. But my toes got better too, and I was deteii^ined to walk him down. So we plodded on, and his silence and sulkiness remained. It was a 1 LOVE AND PERIL 17 ridicalous position. There we were, two lonely mortals, holding to our course, but getting more uncomfortable and doubtful of our own wisdom evening after evetiiug. ^ !! 1 CHAPTER II. ! I I ! i S the blue shadows on the snow vanished, and gave place to the advancing dusk of night, wc searched keenly for willow clumps that coultl afford shelter and fuel, and having come to some suitable spot we silently halted, turned our toboggan, with its load, on edge, so as to afford shelter for the fire which we soon had alight. Then, taking out our robe, we lay close together, cold in body and in manner, but rolled as near together as possible, for the sake of the animal warmth our bodies * dHorded to each other. ■>T»- LOVE AND PERIL 19 I had become the more energetic of the two, and one evening as we continued our march I found that my companion and whilom friend was lagging behind. I saw- it, I am ashamed to say, with delight. •' Now I will make him speak," thought I, with malicious joy. On I went, tramping the Buow with even footfall, on and on. At last, after we had passed some likely places for a camp, I heard a voice behind me. Was it indeed my friend, who had found speech at last ? Yea, verily I ** it, Uptas, we must stop now. Where do you wish to go?" Another oath. I felt half tempted to give no reply, but I relented, and said : " All right, old fellow ; we'll stop here.'' The ice was broken, and we lay down after i^ aarly conversation had taken place^ .# ^^T^ w i' - ■f i . ^ 1 V ( i 1- . f .* \ i Ik ' \ 20 LOVE AND PERIL My friend declared he would take the first opportunity to go back, and I did not demur to his proposition. But we must first find the regular trail, and some Indian lodge or voyageur s tent. We knew well enough that we could best find such to the north of our present position, ard we determined to strike for the chain of posts due north. It was a relief to have thus decided. We had gone some considerable distance too far to the west, but by fnaking an angle to the N.E. we should strike the regular route to Fort a la Crosse by Pelican Lake. I remember that night as we were about to turn in, and were still discussing our pem- mican at the fire, we suddenly saw standing close to us the solitary and silent form of an Indian. How he had got so near us we did not know. There he stood like an LOVE AND PERIL ^i apparition, so motionless and statuelike was he. Not a sound bad escaped him, not a rustling of his snow-shoes had betrayed him as he approached. Wrapped in a blanket, with a short bow in his hand, he stood and gazed solemnly, mournfully, as it seemed to me, at us. We offered him some food, which he took in his hand without a gesture or word. There might be others near us, and I had not got used to the presence of such mysteriously appearing guests. But there was no reason for suspecting him of any evil design. He departed soon into the darkness. We agreed to keep watch by turns, but slumber overcame both of us, and we saw and heard no more of our friend. Yet I shall never forget that suddenly appear- ing figure, rooted apparently to the ground^ and gazing down upon us, looking in ^he I I I ' • I I I 1 ■ i I i ( '! n % LOVE AND psnit ■0 , ■ t firelight like a carven figure, or tbe genius of those wild, steppelike lands. I knew now that I should soon be alone with such com- panions, for my friend had made up his mind to abide no longer than he could help in this wilderness. \ As I went to sleep, the scenes of my jouruey arose again before me — the turbid rush of the Red River; the low banks cut in the rich soil; then the endless expanse nge4 an apparent death was startling and new to us. Whenever we caught them afterwards we did away with the hope of this resurrection by knocking them on the head. So passed this evening, and a good many more, for we were loth to leave our quarters. ^ The winter became more intense in cold, but that we looked for, and we were as- LOVE AND FEiilL 29 tonished at the comparatively small amount of snow that fell, as compared to what we had been accustomed to in Ontario. We certainly never felt so well in Toronto as we did here, on the border of what the geographers rather affectedly call the Sub- Arctic Forest. /J We had made several excursions to look for deer, whose tracks we had observed on the border of the lake, and one day 1 came upon a fine buck, who appeared to be seeking some open water near its shore. He stood still, apparently listening to some noise I must have made, his dusky brown form clearly defined against the snow. My rifle laid him low, and we held high carnival over his flesh, which was excellent. It was a reindeer or Cariboo. About two weeks later we moved on, 1. My r*- 1 i' ■1 ! 1 1 . S i! ; I ill Ml !i 1 i ill '¥ SO LOVE AND PERIL and the ice lieiiig firmer with the increased cold, w« had no difficulty in crossing several lakes whose waters stretched in the direction we wished to take. It was at the end of one of these marches that we saw smoke from fires kindled on the bank beneath the clumps of firs and willow. One of the pleasures of travelling in the wild parts of the Canadian North- West consists -in this, that although in the United States you may be uncertain what welcome may await you among the Indians, in the British territories there is no fear to be apprehended from them. Some events I shall have hereafter to mention, which may seem to prove the contrary, came from accidental and purely temporary causes, the Redskins having been led away by theit kinsmen, the Half BreedOt /^ i MMMiM««|faH|B| WVE AND TEUIL 81 the increased We therefore approached the encamp- ment without any apprehension, and went in among the lodges of the Indians as though we had been long expected. And their manner to us was quite the manner you would regard as usual among your own relatives, who may have been accus- tomed to see you go out and in among them. The elders said absolutely nothing. The younger members of the party came forth from their shelters to look at us, and that was all. We sought the Chief's lodge, and found him before his wigwam. He listened as we asked him if all was well, and if we could stay with him. *' Tukayow, it is cold," he said ; " how many are you ? " " Nesho," we replied, "Two only," and we held up two fingers to emphasize our assertion. "Nipakak," -J "^ \ I i !!■ 93 LOVE AND PERIL he said, after a pause, for the night had fallen, and this meant that we were to sleep ; so we made our camp near to the Indians, and soon obeyed the Chief, for our slumbers were very sound. Next day, my companion forthwith made inquiries as to the means of getting back to Carlton, and on his promising a reward, an Indian undertook to guide him there, so that he should arrive in a few days' time I told them I would stay with them, and the announcement was received with a grunt, apparently of satisfaction. We parted rather sorrowfully, although we had fallen out by the way. Now comes the beginning of my serious adventures. All adventures in love are serious, although they may seem to be of no importance at the time. Yet they leave **«« LOVMJ AND FEIilL 33 traces in a man's future, and the evidences of the attachments of other days creep up when least expected. So I ought to have thought, but I did not, and when I found that this old Chief had a daughter who was certainly pretty, "as Indian ladies go," I am afraid that I was guilty of directing too many of my looks and too many of my remarks in her direction. She was the only daughter of " Okimow," or the Chief, and although I never think that the Red damsels can compare for one moment with the beauties of Toronto, I have to confess that by the side of her native lakes and under the shades of her native pines she was indeed beautiful. She had some fanciful long-winded name, comprising at least two sentences of meaning, some- thing to the effect of ''She is the one to ^im ■ ( i 1 ■ i ! ':> ■.ii 1 ' 1 ! ' ; 5 ■ I 'isii I I ! I ! ! i •} ■iii ,11 I 34 LOVf) AND FEIilL whom all listen when she talks," but I could not get my tongue round so much • of this lingo, and I called her " Kiooshka," which was some imitation of her father's word for " daughter." She managed my name very well when I once graciously took pains to teach it to her. She often came after us on short expeditions, asking to carry something, and I began to fear with a sort of sweet misgiving that I had made too great an impression upon her. Why should she always wish to carr/ things for me, to look after my camp, to let me find a charming pine-twig bed always ready for me when I came back from hunting deer? I had misgivings, but I manfully sup- pressed my misgivings, as most men do under the circumstances, and 1 allowed \ '■"''m JUL LOVE AND PERIL 35 » talks," but I round so much her "Kiooshka." of her father's Q managed my once graciously her. She often 3editions, asking o began to fear ing that I had sion upon h-v. wish to carr;/ r my camp, to pine- twig bed lame back from M hings to happen which in civilised society might have been held as "compromising." But how could I help^ it ? This dear little maiden, with her quick brown eyes, and cheeks of deep nut-brown, with the glow of healthy blood making them flush a lovely dusky red, was my camp-maker, and guardian spirit in my loneliness. I could only get grunts from most of her kindred. She had always a smile for me, ^\ul never for an instant allowed anything tu raar my comfort as far as lay in her power. This is a trait in woman which }& universally appreciated. manfully sup- most men do id I allowed ill i! il ;ll P 1 ;i I \ HI i III iliii m ^ CHAPTER IIL »EAR me, what an angel Kiooshka is!" I used to say to myself, as I stretched myself on the "^r- twig mattress before the fire she had kindled, and helped myself to the nice roast steak of venison, or the smoking fish she had pre- pared. And thus time passed, and I felt no inclination to regret that I did not keep Christmas that year at home in the far-off East. The blaze of the pine logs lit up for me Christmas-trees in the wild forest which seemed to me fairer than any I had helped to delight the children with at home. Our 5an( ffepai %rec ^hei • Btar of c of s goo '^BmO ^ting ^lie eai I SI 'I ^fort "'' Ind thej Kic hia ■% LOVE AND PERIL 37 angel Kioosbka xy to myself, as 5lf on the Gr- ille had kindled, e roast steak of 1 she had pre- , and I felt no did not keep in the far-off logs lit up for Id forest which Y I had helped at home. Our bandies amid the branches were only the Bparks ascending fitfully and dying in the vgreen boughs, through which every here and ^here toward the outer fringes peeped the letars of the clear frosty heavens. My lodge jof cedar and spruce bark, hung around a stack ■;|pf sturdy young tree poles, was as smart and i|good as any in the camp. I had a store of Ismoked fish, and venison strips for all con- •;tingencies. I had deerskins, and furs from "the bodies of some bears we had slaughtered, ^fbeautifuUy cured by Kiooshka, and on these |I sat and smoked the pipe of contentment. I Then came entanglements of a yet more 3j formidable character. I had gone with two i Indians on a hunting expedition. One of ■ these men was a decided admirer of , Kiooshka's, and although she seemed to give m no encouragement, he had been looked lif M i u . y ii'lfi i Nil [I ?- ' 1 "1 1 t 1 i i ;1 ' 1 ,- ! ■ i ! 1 ! : i ' 1 i r. 'Ilii m m .■•[II I I i I :! jl wn 38 LOVE AND PERIL upon as her affianced tusband. This worthy young Brave naturally disliked me, and I saw him sullenly contemplating me often enough. He and the other had been no choice of mine as companions that day, but I hnrl started with a rifle, and they had followed the same path I had taken. After a while, in a thicket of cedar, we came upon traces of moose. By this time the ill-dis- posed Mistusu, Kiooshka's friend, only was with me. Th . other man had diverged from us, and we had not seen him for three hours or more. I had not expected to have much sport, and had only taken three cartridges with me loose in my pocket. In following the game I stumbled U'ore than once, and it must have been then that I lost these spare cartridges. But my rifle was loaded, and looking amid the boughs heavily laden LOVi] AND rERIL m This worthy ed me, and I ing me often had been no that day, but and they had taken. After we came upon ne the ill-dis- end, only was diverged from ■or three hours to have much iree cartridges In following ban once, and I lost these e was loaded, heavily laden with snow, I heard a rush, and saw a dark object for a moment. I raised my rifle and fired, and struggling through the dense and snow-laden boughs of evergreen I came on blood marks, and eagerly tracked them. In about half an hour I came up to a fine bull moose, whose horns were alone at first visible, for the animal was lying down in a little gully. I stopped for a moment to recharge my rifle, and found to my consternation that my few spare cartridges were gone. I pulled out my knife, and rushed on, and as I did so, and when near the moose, he regained his legs, lowered his head, and charged like a Spanish bull. I leaped on one side, but too late to avoid a sweep of his broad antlers, which wounded me in the leg, and threw me on one side. But it was his last effort. He reeled and fell, and I found that my ^i \r H m\\ ■ ■! I 40 LOVE AND PERIL bullet had been well planted behind the shoulder. I shouted to the Indian, but he was no- where to be seen. I now felt my leg very painful, and I dragged myself with difficulty out of the gully, and shouted again through the glades of the woods. There was no answer. Whether the Indian was watching me or not, I never knew. I felt the greatest distrust of Mistusu. I don't think I should have minded Kiooslika's marrying some Indian at this period, but I certainly did dislike very much the idea of her marriage with Mistusu. Now, however, I thought little of ^iooshka, and I shouted again for Mistusu. I certainly could not carry oflf any meat from the carcase without him, and I doubted, so great was the pain in my leg, which was now all swollen and blue if I could get home ¥3i W ml LOVE AND PERIL 41 ere was no without him. It was no joke to be benighted in this lame condition, and I shouted and shouted again. Thexe was no reply. For- tunately I had matches with me. I felt in my pockets for them, and they were there, all right. This relieved me of any very serious apprehension, for I thought that I could surely make my way back slowly, and I should not perish with the cold. A fire could always be made, and Kiooshka or the old man would send men on our track. But time was slipping on, and I determined to make the most of what davlight remained. But my progress was pitifully slow, and the pain was so great that I found I was sweat- ing as if in the tropics with the exertion of hobbling back on the track I had so swiftly made in the morning. At last I could bear it no longer ; I exerted my remaining powers 1 1 \ n ill ■,' ir;! i :^i!|ili I I i! i ■ ilji 11 H '1 42 LOVE AND PERIL of locomotion to get material for a fire, which I accomplished with much trouble, and lay down before my little pile of wood, and husbanding it carefully, scraped away the snow and lit a small fire, keeping the re- mainder to prevent its dying out. My sleep ■ was very broken, my wounded leg hurting me greatly. As soon as it was dawn I crept on, and when nearly exhausted, saw to my ioy Kiooshka with some of her people coming towards me. They lifted me and bore me back to camp, where Kiooshka became my . ministering angel. My hurt was much in- flamed, and she came to me with a white decoction of some species of bark, and made signs to me to bathe it. Never was there a more effective lotion. But movement was *,vidently impossible for some time. The "'Wll tOVB AND PBRIL 4S horns of the powerful animal had torn the muscles and sinews, and some time must elapse before the limb could get whole. The white medicine had alleviated the pain, and nature would do the rest in time. I groaned in bitterness of spirit at this, the end of my sporting expedition. But Kiooshka seemed by no means unhappy. I asked after Mistusu, but my nurse only shook her head. One morning the back doorway was darkened by an uncouth figure, the form of an Indian medicine man "got up," as we would say, " in full canonicals." ,He had come to heal me, I supposed; but I was weak and nervous, and this hideous figure seemed to me a nightmare. On its head were two horns, and strings of feathers depended from them around his head and breast His i&ce was concealed by a mask i ■ : i ■ ■ 1 I 1 1 i \ '' ' ] 'ill 1H ( I '■ 1 1 : ■ i \ 1 \ i 1 ii ■; I 1 ■ ■ 1 ■ !,. 1 1 1-: ■ ,i II ! ■ 1 ' 1 1 i 1 1 1 i! : ; - ■ ■- ! 1 1 [ ' i' L r ■' 1. V; 1 ! 1 ■■ !■ ■ ^ '■ ' ■ ' >; 'i \i\\ *'*^^^**%iw, 44 LOFJG? AND PERIL of some kind of white fur, leaving little visible. A white squirrel or some small animal bad been used for this purpose ; and there were odd tags and rags of all sorts of cloth and beads and feathers all about the figure, which came dancing and gibbering up to where I was lying, bending over me, and making strange incantations. He raised my head and put something to my mouth, and, although I had no doubt the action was well meant, I had strength enough to dash away the ill-smelling stuff which had been held under my nostrils — and then I looked at the bedizened face, and I thought I recognised Mistusu ! I called aloud, and Kiooshka entered. As soon as she saw the figure she ran to us, and uttering cries, and what seemed to me to be energetic but still ladylike imprecations, she pushed the figure aside, and followed it LOVE AND FERIL 45 with maledictions as it disappeared again through the doorway. Her anxiety about me was evident. She picked up the birch cup that had been presented to me, smelt it, and turned it round, and then went to the door and threw it away, and with signs and a great outflow of words made me under- stand that I was to have nothing to do with it. I said "Mistusu?" and she nodded and jabbered with a volubility tliat astonished me, for I bad never seen her yield to excitement before. Whether I was riojht or wronsf I know not, but I imagined she had saved my life, and 1 took her hand and drew ber towards me and kissed her, feeble as 1 was , and thereafter she seemed to be incessantly watchin;]: over me. She allowed no one but herself to see me, and tended me with Ill' I ; ! I'^' ' 1 ' , ■ I i'< ^1 II !'l I I 46 LOVE AND PERIL the jealousy of a woman, and the devotion of a friend. I confess that I found myself longing for her presence, and fretful at her absence. My limb became less sensible of its injury, and I walked a little, and sat trying to make Kiooshka understand my mixture of Cree and English. I began to think that life with lier in the woods would be very tolerable; but then came the re- collection of marriages which had been made by white men with Indian demoiselles, and how I had always seen that the man seemed to descend to the woman's level, rather than the woman be elevated to the man's. To be sure there were exceptions, and was it not only because the man had not given the woman a fair chance that she had not improved? Why should she, and how could she hnprove, unless she LOVE AND PERIL 47 the devotion ■Qund myself retful at her J sensible of itle, and sat :lerrttand my I began to wroods would ame the re- had been demoiselles, at the man man's level, a ted to the exceptions, 16 man had chance that should she, unless she 8-W Pi lived with white people'? In the cases 1 luid known, the man had lived almost entirely with the Indians, or at least by himself with his Indian wife. Yet I had known men happy enough, although they were men as well educated as I was. I remembered seeing a white baby in a lodge, and asking whose it was, and had found it belonged to a young engineer from Ontario who had married a fine-looking squaw. " That beb's half Injun and half engineer," was the observation, and Mrs. Engineer seemed a happy enough wife. "Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay," I quoted to myself; but Canada might be better than old Europe and Cathay put together. Oh, Kiooshka, how weak is man, even though he be a Toronto lawyer 1 Meanwhile, the only decided proposition i m llilii i i: "I i :i N i 48 LOVE AND PERIL made to her was that she should cease to put a vermilion line down the parting of her hair, for this she was apt to do when slic desired to please me most, as well as a little red lead rouge on her cheeks. That I did not like thie rather hurt her, I fear, but I thought her appearance de- cidedly improved without the vermilion. She never wore it after I had shown her I liked her best without it. There was nothing else that was artificial about her. She never wore a bird's cajye in the small of her back, as do the Toronto belles, nor did she ever comb her fine black hair over an old sponge, to make a glossy bunch at the back of her head. All round she was natural and well-shaped, and, as I thought, a very dear little girl. Her teeth were positively beautiful; this nobody could LOVE AND PERIL 4d [deny. Her voice was pleasant, her ex- [pression charming, her helpfulness most laudable. Her dependence on my appro- bation was most flattering, and, as I j thought also, most natural. She could 'quickly be taught anything— of this I was positive. One day I made her put up her hair in our fashion, and certainly she looked very well. I told her so in my best Cree, and she was enchanted. Oh, those pleasant days, how soon to be ended ! She told me one evening that she had seen a deer close to the camp. " Would I like to come and kill it ? " Yes, I was quite well and willing enough, and we were off, wending our way cautiously and slowly, and as noiselessly as possible. We had got deep into the woods when the deer was shown to me by her. I lired, 1 I I ■If 'f|!!'!!"! i ti • ; I lilil i 50 LOVJi: AND FElilL and she and I ran forward to the dying! deer. As we were standing close tofijether over the body, she took my hund in hers and said, simply, " Sak^ ittan." "I love you." What could I do? I kissed her! The next moment — " S-s-s-s-t — thud," an arrow shot just over my shoulder, and struck her full in the chest. She gave one long cry and fell. I was frantic. Turning sharp round, I fired desperately into the bush, where I imagined the enemy to be. Then I flung myself down by her side. To pull out the arrow seemed impossible and useless. There it was, imbedded in her heart. The next moment she had drawn her last breath. I rushed back to camp, and loudly, furiously accused Mistusu, for I felt sure it was he who had shot at me, and had lilL LOVE AND PERIL 51 i to the dying I close together y lijind in hers :tan." "I love I kissed her ! s-t — thud," an shoulder, and est. She gave I was frantic, red desperately ined the enemy f down by her arrow seemed There it was, le next moment bh. p, and loudly, br I felt sure b me, and bad [killed her. All was consternation, but the old Chief and head men were calm and sileni I led them to the body. Where was Mistusu? I demanded him — I swore to kill him. I know not what I said, for I raved. We bore her back to camp. I felt heartbroken. Mistusu had disappeared. Woe betide him, if I met him again. I could not stay in that place any more. I journeyed hurriedly to Carlton Fort, and there bidding good-bye with tears to the two Indians who accompanied me, and to whom I felt as to dear brothers, I took a dog team. Travelling as fast as these could take me by the known route to Portage le Prairie and Fort Garry, I arrived, worn out and harassed in mind and body, at that place. It was not till the spring had again clothed the plains around with grass, (I iilli ilUliii ij ■ i ',1 II M I 1 1 t ^i ,1:1 I ■ ! -^ i I 1 'i > J 1 1 1 * i i ■ 1 1. i 1 f 52 LOVE AND PERIL and the lakes were aofain alive witli wild- fowl, that I thought of proceeding eastwards. But at last I made up my mind to plunge again into my old life, and found my Toronto friends greeting me as if 1 had only just left them. Yet to me years seemed to have passed. Many years did pass before fate again called me from my busy avocations in our Quecix City. But there came again a time that recalled to me all the bitterness of . the days whose story 1 have narratecL :jwas { ■ /•■'' !!| hatch i: fold qi ;I kne ;(the " jthat ' their Frencl [having [and 8l ~^38|iM Jive with wild- sding eastwards, mind to plunge nd found my i as if I had , to me years •lany years did 1 me from my Lx City. I a time that tterness of . the 'ratecU CHAPTER IV. HE Half Breed Insur'rection in the North-West broke out. Riel, who had made mischief in 1871, was again in the field, and was again hatching rebellion, not this time in his old quarters, but far away in those regions I knew too well. There his countrymen, the *' Metis," had taken it into their heads that ** Les Anglais " would interfere with their possessions, which were usually, as in French Canada, elongated slips of land, having a frontage on the Saskatchewan, and stretching back into the country behind. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmim 54 LOVE AND PERIL \'i in I ii'lli 1 The English, they said, would " square* these lands and interfere with their tenure. It was a false idea and could easily have been removed. But they were not reassured in time. They had arms, and got more, with some ammunition. Eiel came at their invitation from the .^jbates, and it was evident that mischief was meant. Already some of the Indians had joined their Half Breed kinsmnn. I had been for some time an enthusiastic member of one of tl^e To^ontp Jfiliti^ regiments. We were ordered up to "the front/' as we already called the scene of impending trouble. But how different was this journey from that I had last under- taken to the North-West Now we were regularly "entrained" in the splendid cars of the Canadian Pacific Railway, ai^d we % ;;■ LOVE AND PERIL 55 reached without much trouble the city of •Winnipeg, now grown into a fine town, and very different from the tumble-down village I remembered. The greatest heartiness was shown by the troops. At that time there were some breaks in the line north of Lake Superior, and we had to march a bit through disagreeable slushy snow and ice, for the spring was coming. Nothing could discourage for a moment the high spirits of our men. This was made very apparent when we left the rail, and began a very tedious and toilsome march over the ^ trail I had years before passed over in mid- winter with my dog team. The food was often insufficient, and the hardship from cold and wet great. But onward we went, all longing to be doing what we could to justify the proud name of the Canadian Militia. ■ m 1 j II 1 i if ! 1 1 ' t " iiiv;:-;' .t iliiip' 11 iiilii '-1 'ii' i;i M'P MW '•if!ii!|i!t! Ii I; III!,' Mil Iiilii 66 LOVE AND PERIL While the main body, after arriving in the neighbourhood of the south branch of the Saskatchewan, were turned towards Batoche, a name soon to become only too famous for the desperate fight which took place there between our men and the enemy, who were in numbers not inferior, and had all the advantages of position ; I was one of a smaller force which was directed further to the west, to prevent a number of Crees and others from joining the rebels. Carlton Fort was again reached, but we found it in ruins ; it had been burnt by the enemy. How strange it seemed to me to be here again, with a number of red- coats, and with a strength great enough, as we believed, to carry all before it I But want of regular supplies of food told to lOVB AND PERIL 67 some ejtent on the men, and we marched on, grumbling but resolute, until another stockaded fort on the river, named Battle- ford, was reached. Here we were com- fortable enough. The long swelling lines of the bare prairie looked cheerless enough, but there was the great shallow stream still rolling past us in the vast hollow it had scooped for itself during the course of ages in the gravels and alluvial sands of the plains. A river always makes a landscape more interesting. Here, too, on the Battle River, which joins at this place the Saskatchewan, was a village among poplar groves. This had been looted by Indians, who, we were assured, had taken the war-path. Well, they should have a taste of our lead and Bteel 1 We had with us men of the Mounted Polioe— ft gallant ooipB— -well moimted, and pi ilf:i:'ili WM n ii!!M ii iiiiii m 58 LOVE AND PERIL accustomed to Indian manners, whether hostile or friendly. We had the brave Short, the beau ideal of an artillery officer^ who would have been an ornament and credit to any service, and was the pride and darling of our own. We heard that Poundmaker, a Cree, who had but lately acted as a guide to the Governor-General when he travelled hence to the Blackfeet, at the foot of the distant Rocky Mountains, had joined the rebels. This seemed to show that the hostile movement must be pretty general, for this man was an intelligent Indian, who had been much among the Blackfeet natives, as well as a leader among the Crees. Our leader determined to prevent these mjen UBLd,er JPoundmaker from joining Eiel, to t(he westward; and as we had good tl WVB AND PSBIL 69 information from our scouts, v« left Battle- ford with a Catling guu, two 7 lb. gunf, 45 waggons, and about 150 men. We halted at night until the tnoon rose, and then marched southwards all night, across long, swelling plains, with here and there a higher hill, and many di^mps of poplar, growing especially in the little ravines. At daybreak we were near the Indian camp. Our guns opened with shrap- nel as soon as the enemy was felt. Their fire was brisk, and our men suH'ered a good deal, their zeal cau^-ng them to expose themselves too freely. I was near Short, who, with Rutherford, yvat directing ;thi fire of the guns. Short, ^ our lead(f (Colonel Otter) afterwards saicj, seeme^^ ff> have a charmed life, as he coolly stood i|i the front lines working his guns. The action ■n. '11 1! ! : '\ nil! ! h II i!i'!iPli!l- it!i!'|i;:iliH ^!Wiili!!Ji illiiiilli h! i! Ip I; ■ ■■ I' ;l i it ili I ' : .•'■ l!i! liiiiii'i!! :,„. -i-xl. _ pj;ii!2i< was very sharp, and it was difficult to see the enemy's sharpshooters, hidden as they were in the brushwood. While I was watching a severe contest on my left, I heard some one shout : " Look out there — look at those fellows,'* and I saw a party of many Indians in the bush close to us. They came quickly, making a rush for the Gatling. In an instant, Short, witli his revolver and sword drawn, had called ns to him, and following him we rushed at the enemy. I remember only seeing Short's light forage cap lifted on his head by a shot that passed through it, and then I saw him aand to hand with the Indians, shooting Dne and rushing for another, who fired at aim but missed. The Indian fell, a war whoop on his lips. We fired and fired, and the enemy ran. I stopped for a moment LOVE AND PERIL tfl at the body of the Indian who had fired last at Shoril What face was that, now pale, and gasping forth blood from the lips ? It was Mistusu I Hero we had met again I had but time to tear away his headgear. In the excitement I should like to have looted all his savage frippeiy,. but we had to rush back to the GaLlinsj. Then occurred more fighting, and it was not until some time later, that we found we had done what we could in breaking the enemy's march westward, and in giving them a lesson, and that our small force was not aide to do more. We limbered up the guns with great difficulty, and retired slowly, the gun-trails having been broken and difficult to move. Short, ever at the post of danger, was the last to go, ever giving a return fire to the sharp pinging of the enemy's bullets. They jt I III i 1 i 1 urn 1 1 ; ;l . ' I i 1 1 ■ !■ 1 ■ 11 1 '•- i i II 1 1 I 1 N: : ^1 1 t 1 I ' i • : 1 . • 1 ' t i Hi I I i ^ jiiii s| !« i ! ■ 11: ■ nyii, '1 i '■■'■ ''!i > 1 : 1 , hi 1 i I > . ill! 1. ' ■ . 62 i:or^ i4JVD pj^EiL did not pursue n^, and we reaichcd Battleford in good order, carrying all our dead but one. I need not pursue the story of our brief campaign and victory. I do not desire more Indian experiences, either in love or war. Our successes were clearly achieved, and a good lesson was afforded by the outbreak to the Ccihadian Government, that lesson being that the r61e of the soldier is one that must be played even among the most peaceful and peace-loving people, and that it is folly not to have at all times a force well organised for defence, or the necessary offence which is the safeguard of defence. If Canada had had more troops regularly enrolled, the outbreak would have been impossible. If she had recognised earlier the Decessity that peace must be guarded LOVE AND PERIL 63 by armed men in good array, she would not have had to deplore the doubtful battle of Cutknife, or the heavy losses at Batoche. My tale is told, and although I say that my Indian experience has been quite enough for me, I am still in Canada's militia, although 1 do carry about in the Law Courts the blue bag which is the badge of the enterprising barrister. I began with some moral reflec- tions on the regret that does not always accompany silly actions. I hope Canada, as a whole, will be wiser than I, a humble Canadian individual. Although long since happily married, I do not regret either my acquaintance with poor Kiooslika or having been " ia at the death " of Mistusu, ' il I i*!^'. tr T I m To Be or Not to Be BY MRS. ALEXANDER. TORONTO: WILLIAM BKYCE, PUBLISHER. ii :lJ _* _J TO BE, OR NOT TO BE By MRS. ALEXANDER J 6 you rmg, mem •jt The question was addressed by a tall, angular, hard-featured, elderly woman, in an old- fashioned black stuff dress, a large snow-white apron, and an equally white cap, closely be frilled in bygone style, to a lady not unlike herself — but older^ slighter whiter, and gentler in aspect — who, clothed in black silk, with a gray Shetland shawl round her shoulders, and a cap of delicate lace on her careiuUy curled white hair, sat by a small fire. t 2 I ^^ 1} ■^ ) 4. . 1 ii! M mm .. .1' iiiii ii i'lif'^ii!; 68 TO Bl'J, on ACT TO BE " I did, Janet. Will you attend to the fire ? It hurts my back to stoop." " And why should ye ? You are aye too ready to fash your&eF." As she spoke the elderly servant knelt down and proceeded to add a few lumps of coal, with much caution, to the dying embers, covering them with the best cinders she could pick from the hearth, which she swept up, and striking the brush against the bars, to shake off the dust, hung it up agam. "Has Miss Ayton returned yet?" " No." "She is very late," said the old lady, querulously ; " she needn't take two hours to buy half a shoulder of mutton and two pounds of potatoes." *• Hoot toot, mem. It's a fine brigtit TO BE, OB NOT TO Lt) GO ttend to the ou are aye morning. What for shouldn't a fine young lassie like Miss Olive tak' a turn round about? Ye ken she is kepit pretty close i' the house." "She has much more liberty than young leddies have' in general," returned her mistress, sitting very upright. "For all the twenty years I was companion and secretary to the Marchioness of Glencairn, I never once knew the Leddies McCallum go out alone." " Eh ! then they might have walked round the world, any one of them, an' naebody give a second look at their reed heeds ! What for should ane sort o* girlie be so sair looked after, and anither just let to face a* the dangers of life alane ? " "Janet, for a Christian woman, you are ft sad democrat I" it niUih I i! ■i'l' ';:;:!i t'i k- il II ■'1 ■_ : i'i:; 'ji 1 1 I 1 i 1 1 1 i ' ' : j i 1.'. -Mil Ij i 'l ! ! I, :;!! IfH.,; PI ' 1'^ I 1! 1 1 1 '■ tf: 1 -i r;,'!- ■ 1 1 i"""^!!!! 70 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE "For a Christian, mem? Weren't Christians the first democrats of a' ? But I hear the gate," ste])ping sl)ar[)]y to a little bay-window. *' Yes, it's herself and Amanda wi' the basket ! Eh I of all the untidy taupics, yon girl's the worst ! Tlieie's half a yard of the braid from her dress stieeling behind her." ** Send Miss Ay ton to me," called her | mistress, as she was leaving the room ; " I want to give her her letter." She took up the letter which lay on I a little work-table beside her and turned it! over, studying the post-marks and evidently! much exercised by its aspect. While she looks and ponders, an ex- s plauatory word. Miss Tabitha Drummond, of Hazel wood! Villas, Notting Hill, was a Scotch gentle- TO BE, OU NOT TO BB n )iiders, an ex- of Hazel woocl woman of good family — indeed a remote kinswoman of that Marchioness of Glencairn, so well known for her works of benevolence and missionary enterprises, and who — in spite of her supposed boundless charities — had left a tolerable fortune, on which a small annuity was charged in favour of the faithful companion who for years had been an almost unpaid attache. This, with the interest of a small sum inherited from a i relative, enabled the good spinster to live I with great economy and some comfort in a tiny house all her own, with her faitliful follower, Janet, erst scliool-room maid in the [gieat Glencairn establishment. Here, when the lasfc summons called her I half-brother, the Rev. John Ay ton, ftom I bis work as vicar of Netlicrly, she received his orphaned, penniless daughter, Olive — il / . !j! a ,.i,;'ii!f ' If ■'!' fill jijji I ■'ihini I m I'll iSllli!} lil! ":" itii 7? TO BE, OR NOT TO BB albeit by no means friendly with the de- ceased, who had forsaken the Kirk and taken holy orders in that semi-Romanist institution, the Church of England, and was altogether too much of a Southern. The girl had been petted and somewhat spoilt. She had never been sent to school, and tliough by no means ignorant, had not been fitted to earn her bread. The poor vicar had invested his little all in a tempting scheme, which smashed according to its kind — his last hours being embittered by the knowledge that his young daughter was left unprovided for. Then he turned to his estranged sister, and she did not fail him. Miss Drummond had laid down the leti:er again, when the door opened, and her niece entered — a tall, slender, willowy-looking girl, with nut-brown hair, and dark eyes of no TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 73 particular colour, bat somewhat sad when she neither spoke nor smiled. She had pale cheeks, but red lips, and a rather wide but sweet mouth, a little suggestive of kind wordn and kisses. *' Did you want me, auntie ? I only stayed to give the things to Janet. I ventured to buy a little seakale, for I know you like it." " I am afraid you are a wasteful bairn — but come your way. Here is an Indian letter for you I " " Ah 1 How good of Selina to write so soon again ! " " It's not from Selina Prendergast ! 'Sialkot* IB the name in the post-mark, and it's a man's writing ; so be frank with me, niece. What man in India has the right to address a letter to you?" "What man?" repeated Olive Ayton, *' -a^t!TKtaai:-i-a-c-j-u-.j 74 TO BE, OR NUT TO BIJ with a tone of frank surprise in Ler soft, fresh voice. " I cannot imagine wliat mnn could write to me ! I don't tliink I have spoken to one since my dear fatlier died — except that dreadful scholastic agency creature. I am sure you are welcome to see it, Aunt Tubl" With anoliier specu- lative look at its exterior, Olive opened the envelope, and proceeded to read the letter enclosed, her eyes growing rounder! and more surprised as she proce(3(led. Finally, with a sudden sigh of astonishment, she excLaimed : "Horace C. Barclay I How| extraordinary ! Did you not know some- thing of him, auntie ? " "Yes, of course I did. I gave him andl his cousin an introduction to your fatlier when they went into country lodgings toi Study, years and years ago. The cousin TO nJ'J, on NOT TO BE 76 was a wiselike l.iddie — but he's dead, poor fellow ! What is it all about, my bniin 1 " "Read it yourself, auntie. I am afraid Horace is not as 'vviselike' as his cousin." Miss Drummoiid put on her sperlacles, and read in a sort of unconscious whisper: "I wonder if my dear, sedate little Olive — my ]ila}fellow of nearly ten years ago — remembers the uncouth medical student who used to tease her, even to tears, durirg his pleasant visits to Netlierly Vicarnge ? If she does, I fear the impression left on her memory is by no means delightful ! Yet, in spite of this conviction, J am going to do what almost every one would declare was foolish, if not insane. Let me say a few words about myself before I avow mv folly. I bade good-bye to you, and to the only bit of life that ever gave me the ■-■■•»*a«i I iii ' 76 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE faintest idea of home, a day or two before starting for India, and here I have been ever since, very busy, and not unsuccessful. Many a time I have sat in the balmy evening air, and tlie silence of some re- mote station, and thought of you and your good fiither. I wrote to 'lim once, but never had a reply, so 1 thought he did not care to bear more of me, and many absorbing matters connected with my profession pushed the past out of my mind, " Ai)out a month ago I was down at Uml»alla, and there I met Colonel Premier- gast, who invited me to his bungalow, and, conversing with his wife, I found that the old Squire at Netheriy was bar father, and that one of her daughters was your especial friend. Thcj' told me that the good vicar was dead — that you had to leave your sweet TO BE, 03 NOT TO BE 77 home and struggle among strangers, as my former patroness, Miss Drummond, coukl not keep you always under her wing ; they showed me your photograph, and I could scarcely refrain from making an ass of my- self, and kissing it before them all ! Then a passionate wish to take you in my arms, and take care of you alwavs. sprang to life in my heart, and set my pulses beating ! A day or two after I returned to the regiment here, and found a letter offering nie an appointment I had been long anxious to gaiiij on the Medical Staff at G . I resolved at once to take eighteen months leave to go home, to offer myself to you, and risk a snubbing if you were so disposed. Now dor't think me presumptuous. You may be married by the time I reach England — you may be engaged ; if so, why, give 't!>' ^ H 78 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE my best wishes to your husl)and or your fiance, and tell him if he makes you happy, I'll be proud to be his friend. If you are still free and heart-whole, don't refuse me right away, give me a chance, and if I am so lucky as to win you, I'll try with all my heart aud soul to make your life as fair and smooth as it was in the old days. Am I a fool to write all this ? God knows I Anyhow, I'll stick to it I cannot resist the impulse that prompts me. I have your address from Miss Prendergast, and I hope to be in London almost as soon as my letter — so good night, sweet little friend ! Will you ever be more ? "Your sincerely attached, "Horace C. Barclay, "P.S.— I shall put up at Morley* Charing Cross." TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 79 (( My hand insr patience ! " ejaculated Aunt Tabitlia, the letter to its owner. (( Did ail' one ever know the like ? Nay, he is not wisclike ; but for all that, I can sec a direct Providence in yon letter, only I'm thinking that ^*f you two agree together, it's but small common sense ye'll have between ye — it's what you're very deficient in, Olive ; and for this young man " " He is — he must be rather crazy," interrupted Olive, who was smiling as she re-read her letter. '* Why, he may not like me when he sees me ! and I — I had nearly forgotten him. He was a dreadful tease, and a great, long, bony creature, with wild black hair. But he was kind. I remember when I slipped and sprained my aiiklo, how he carried me home ; but to marry hrn— that is a very serious matter." fli PPiRPiiliiiipi 4,,^«^ I i 80 TO BE, OR KOT TO BE 1 ! m^ 1; ' i \ I i!' • lltfi 11 1 ■ 1 i ^1 i it, •<* "Ay I a very serious matter indeed Olive Ay ton ! You must just look on it as the workings of a Divine Providence. Here you have been three months looking for an engagement, and never one offered. Even if it did, what would you get ? Five- and-twenty pounds a year at most — you had but twenty besides your keep at Mrs. Kerrmudgeon's, and you had three girls to teach — for-bye th' rudiments o' Latin to two boys 1 Your education has been sore neg- lected. You never acquired French in Paris, your arithmetic is just woful, and you have never passed an examination of any kind. Then you have no style in your composition. Do you think my late kinswoman, the Marchioness of Glencairn, would have put up with me for twenty- seven years as her companion and ama- 'f/ r. -»-''^s«eiart».A.,j|#' TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 81 ;er indeed look on it Providence, .lis lookinof )ne offered, ^et ? Five- lost — you 3p at Mrs. ree girls to a tin to two nuensis, if I had not had some ele^^ance of style in my letter-writing ? " ** I am sure I dread another engnge- rmnt, if I am to meet with a second supply of Kurrmudgeons," said Olive with a Sigh. '* I know I am too ignorant to teach, except quite little children. I would far ra'lier go out as lady's-maid. I love handling pretty clothes, even if they are not my own — only you would be aslianied of me, Auat Tab." "I would be! I am asliamed of you for your want of proper pride ! Now the Lord has shown you an honourable way out of the drudgery you dislike so much. Here is an honest man ready to take you — and it's not many that would take a penniless lass — with or without a * lanor pedigree ' — so you make up your mind, >: -'I m :.i>aLm^St&iti0^^Mi tiiiSiii, i ! ii k 1 ■? i .* !■■ :: 1 •> i t i i • 1 ; , 82 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE and when you meet tliis well -moaning laddie, just accept him with all due dignity and consideration, and you'll have an eas/ life of it." / *' Don't be too sure of that, auncie. From all I see, most married lives are exceedingly wneasy. If I could like PJorace Barclay it would be very nice, buc if I cannot, why, the last state of this young person," tapping her bosom, *' would be a good deal worse than the tirst.'* "Don't quote Scripture m a disrespectful spirit, Olive Ayton. Once ye have the minister's blessing and feel you are pledged for life, a proper degree of affection would spring up " "Or an improper degree of dislike," returned Olive, thoughtfully. Miss Drumtnond continued tX) utter nmch > iii! mm^^ 1 i*E£^; TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 83 admirable and religious sense, but somehow ii did not penetrate to Olive's understanding. Sle somewhat abru[)tly interrupted the flow of her aunt's eloquence by saying she must go and ta1^c oil" her hat and jacket. Il the retirement of her own room she read over more than once the startliug letter she had just received — read it with bludiing cheeks and moist eyes. Its kindly, generous tone touched her heart. This man only asked to give her every- thing, and seemed to look on her acceptance of his affection as a favour. She quickly began to hope she could love him. Perhaps he had grown less angular and wild-looking; she would like to make him happy and comfortable. If he were nice and sym- pi*thetic, how lovely life might be I She seemed suddenly to realise how hard it i':tt' y¥ m-i il:i' ^ i? is'' ».?! %m f\ V ' i \ iii ;,r ■'' 'Iii • 1 .li' ""i' 1. ' ' 84 rO BE, OB NOT TO BS V ■ if i : 1 - ; was at present. The stern necessity of working for herself, of relieving her aunt from the cost of her maintenance, com- ^pelled her in self-defence to shut her eyes to much that she dreaded. The rest of the day passed over in a dreamy condition. Aunt Tabitha talked and drew pictures of the future, but Olive silently plied her needle — and heard her not. And when night came, Horace Barclay might have had reason to hope, could he have known the innocent yet disturbing visions which visited his sleeping love. -■-'--'■^Mi8« nimi'i»i i ir»aaWgw£ffii^^ ;■ .!■ CHAPTER IL ,^/4V)\'3K WEEK had parsed over in a "^O^^ curiously slow yet rapid way, at least to Olive. To her aunt it went fast indeed. She had the whole house cleaned and put in order, fresh muslin curtains were hung up, and as the last extremity of preparation sundry bottles of superior Highland whisky were ordered by Miss Drummond, from the famous firm that formerly supplied her revered patroness. Lady Glencairn. Thus armed at all points. Aunt Tabitha safe down with a quiet conscience to await :in i 'M VWi ^m^^OB^TS:^^^-^^ •■ . I 66 TO BE, OE NOT TO BE the arrival of her niece's future husband, as she determined Dr. Barclay should be. It was rather late in the afternoon, and Olive was busy with her needle as she sat beside her aunt's work-table, occasionally forcing herself to talk in order to resist the thoughts which haunted her, when the sound of a carriage stopping, with an im-, mediate loud peal at the front-door bell, made her heart leap and then stand still. *' Goodness 1 *' said Miss Drumraond, lay- ing down her patchwork. " It can't be " She looked anxiously at her niece. It was not necessary to finish her sentence. Olive knew what she meant, and growing very white, ex(;laimed ; ** Oh, no ! It would be impossible." To them enters Janet, upright aud grim, with a c;i.i'd. m ' f ■'■^■'vm im'm%miwm 'i^ TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 87 **It is," ejaculated Aunt Tabitlia, and read aloud, •• Dr. H. C. Barclay." "Ask the gentleman to step up, Janet." Olive rose, feeling she could scarcely stand. The next moment Dr. Barclay was greeting her aunt. Could this be the tall, lanky, frolicsome Horace she had known ? Yes ; the features, the height, the bold black eyes, the abundant black hair, all were the same, but Ho had grown stout, veiy stout; his massive, fleshy shoidders gave him the air of being short-necked ; his some- what pufty cheeks made his eyes look small and piggish. He was well and fashional)ly dressed ; well groomed from head to foot ; certainly good-looking — but so much older, so different from what she expected, that her heart sank. Meantime Dr. Barclay was greeting her aunt with a. kind of bluiit ^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 I.I 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" _ ► Photographic Sciences Corpordtion ^ #> '^•N? <•-• V ^> :\ V \ ^\^ o"^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY U580 (716) e73-4S03 i V \s CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canftdian Institute for Historical Microreproductions Instifut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 1980 '» 1 , 1 > ''■■ ■ .'I* \\ 'cii'*^'^! '>■■ 1 "^-^l mm 88 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE assurance, by no means pleasing to Olive's fastidiuus taste. "How d'ye do, ma'am' Glad to find you looking as well as ever. Lost no time in coming to see you. Only arrived yester- day. Got your address from Prendergast, son-in-law of the old Squire at Nctherly." **You are exceedingly good, Dr. Barclay, to call so soon on a lonely old woman. I assure you, you are most welcome." "Thank you, thank you." The doctor was slightly short of breath, and puffed a little. "So this is my old friend, Olive" — putting out a large fat hand-^" grown up a deuced pretty girl, by Jove I Hope you are glad to see me, too, Mias Olive — as I suppose I must call you V* "Oh, yes; an old fiiend is always welcome 1" murmured Olive, va^pelj. y^:.w,A TO BE, OE NOT TO BS "That's right 1" looking round uneasily for a seat fitrong enough to bear his weight, • *• Try this," said Olive, perceiving his difficulty, and drawing forward a solid oaken arm-chair — the one piece de resistance in the room. " Ah I thanks I the very thing," said the doctor, taking it and depositing his beautiful new glossy hat on the carpet. "So you have left the Vicarage ? Nice jolly old place. Never tasted better stout or finer home-brewed than at your poor father's. I was awfully cut up when I heard of hia (""eath — though he wasn't a young man, you know. I'd give him sixty-three." "My late brother was sixty-five at the time of his decease/' said Miss Drummond» a little stiffly. !3i !ro BE, OB NOT TO BB "Ah! Indeed. Didn't marry young, 1 suppose ? " continued the docL^^r, still ad- dressing Olive. " And quite right, too I I have no patience with the boys who ruslj into matrimony nowadays. They should wait, as I have done, to be in the prime of life I I begin to think it's time to look out for a wife to take back with me. A fellow is awfully alone in India — one gets sick of always dining in uniform and boots — often tight boots — day after day." " "Why don't you wear easy ones ? " asked Olive, who was rallying from her dismay, largely assisted by her sense of the ridiculous. "Hey?" returned the doctor* "Why? Why, you see the fellows in London send you out a pile of boots in a box — deuced natty, and all that, but they forget the effect a tropical climate has on the extremities. TO BE, OB NOT TO BB 91 You see my hands. I used to take sevens when I went out first, and now 1 take eights and a half — give you my word I do. ' But you haven't told me what the poor vicar died of." "He took a chill, going to see a parishioner — an old labourer, who ** "Ay, it's just like those sort of people. I find no patients half so selfish and in- considerate as paupers — think no more of having you out of your bed in the dead of the night for nothiog than if they were ready with a five-guinea fee.** " Death, too, is very inconsiderate respect- ing times and seasons," said Olive, gravely. " Gad, you've hit it," returned the doctor, seriously, by no means affected by her tone or words. Then, turning to Aunt Tabitha: " You are a good bit older than your broth it, I u 'm 9a TO BE OB NOT TO BB faDcy, but you look hale and «s« TO BE, OR NOT TO BB 97 must, reluctantly, insist on your quitting my house! It is — yes — it's not delicate, or — or ladylike, to think much of a man's ap- pearance. It is a distinct flying in the face of Providence to reject the mercies " The entrance of Janet, who handed a letter to Olive, interrupted her. " It is from the Scholastic Agency," cried Olive, when they were alone, " and comes at the right moment. I shall be able to obey you. I am to be at the office on Tuesday, the 25th, at 10 a.m., to meet the lady principal of a preparatory school for boys, at Margate, who requires a governess for the junior class ; salary, twenty pounds, no washing or travelling expenses. I am advised to go early, as the voung ladies will be interviewed in the order of their coming, and a rush is expected. There is 1^^ 98 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE a brilliant chanco. 1 need not marry Dr. Barclay, and I can quit your house *' *' Don't be too sure ! How do you know you will be chosen out of the ey.pected crowd ? " "That is true. Oh, how dreadful it is to be poor! But I do not want to live on you, auntie; you have little enough for yourself. Why — why did you ask that great staring man to luncheon? He will want no end of goodies." She rose and left the room without waiting a reply, for she felt the tears she could not repress almost welling over. It was a cruel disappointment, and she was ashamed it should be so. She did not ioiow how the castles she could not help build- ing had laid their foundations in her heart. Home — with a kind, delicate, considerate TO Bb\ OB NUT To :i . . j gentleman .for a companion, instead of the rui^geilness of school-life, its sordidness and uncertainty — could she be blamed for dwelling on a picture so fascinating in its contrast to the reverse? But, with all her tenderness. Olive possessed a certain back- hone of re^'olution and self-respect. She could never dream of mirrv'njr a blunt, dull, uninteresting man like Dr. Barclay, and she must not mislead him ; so she took her pen quicdy, and wrote a nice civil little note, thanking him for his kind recollection of her, but avowing that, in consequence of circumstances she could not then explain, she could not accopt his offer — and therefore hastened to enlighten liim as to the true state of affairs as soon as possible. Then she put on her hat and went to post it hersell ^ ,1' '**!! • >■ li'l 100 TO BE, OB NOT TO BB **Now he will not come to luncheon to-morrow — and how angry and disappointed poor auntie will be! I am sure she and Janet are compounding curry in prepara- tion for the feast ; I can smell the frying up here," was her reflection when she re- gained her own room, after an hour's walk through the avenues and "groves" of the surburban neighbourhood. " I am sorry to disappoint auntie; she has been very good to me in her way." -'1' i" i III it#!!l U i •jifci i>ii n '' CHAPTER III. LL the next morning Olive v^as tremulously watchful. Surely a note or a telegram would come, offering some excuse on the part of Dr. Barclay. But no I the hours slipped by and nothing came. One o'clock struck, and Miss Diummond came into the room, inspecting the final arrangements of the table. " It's all very neat and orderly," she 6aid, in a tone of satisfaction, which rapidly changed to shrill disapproval "My 102 TO BE, OR NOT TO BB patience, Olive ! are you going to sit down in that shabby black frock?" "It's not so bad, auntie; and Dr. Barclay won't see what I have on." . " Now that is just a dishonest speech niece ! That man has a pair of sharp eon. Why, I am going to change my Eh' but here he is," interruptiug herself, and as a hansom stc^pped at the door, " I can- not be seen in my morning wrap.'* Rushing from the room, she left poor, dismayed Olive to bear the l.runt of the encounter. The next moment the doctor big, burly, self-satisfied, joyous as ever, was shaking hands with her, while she could nut control the vivid colour that would mount almost to the roots of her hair. '*How are you? Glad to have a word with you by yourself; you know, somehow, TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 103 I didn't think you were all right with me yesterday. Never mind. There's no reason why we shouldn't be fast friends, is there, now ? " " Oh, no ; not at all 1 " cried Olive, eagerly, understanding that the worthy doctor accepted his dismissal, and was anxious to be on a kindly, brotherly footing. " I am quite delighted to , be friends with you." " That's all right ; that's like a girl with no nonsense about her;" and he shook hands with her again. " I've got the cat there in a basket ; let's take him out." *' By all means." Quite relieved at this turn of affairs, Olive went into the hall, where a hamper stood. The doctor pruduceJ a pocket-knife, :•■! P 'V:M ^ 104 TO BE, OB NOT TO BB and cut the cords which tied it, liberating a fine black kitten, adorned by a beautiful bushy tail, who with much self-possession yawned, stretched, and then sat down to contemplate its new surroundings. ** What a beauty ! " cried Olive, taking it up. "Be careful; the little brute bites and scratches, and I am deuced ly afraid of a cat's scratches," said Dr. Barclay. " It seems quiet enough. How delighted auntie will be ! " And Olive carried it into the drawing-room and placed it on the hearthrug, from which it soon started on a tour of inspection. - " I suppose you don't go out much to dances or concerts, or things of that kind, hey ? " asked the doctor. " Never 1 " emphatically. TO Bli, OR NOT TO B13 105 •'Come, that's hard lines for a pretty girl like you. Now we understand each other, you won't mind doing a play with me?" " Not at all ; I shall be delighted." "That's right. I'll settle about it with the old lady." The words had hardly passed his lips when Miss Drummond entered, and the few minutes before lunch were amply filled up by the reception of the kitten and comments on its beauty. , Luncheon was successful on the whole. Dr. Barclay approved the curry, and ate largely of it. He was not quite so un- stinted in his praise of the beer, of which he was evidently a connoisseur, and when after some macaroni cheese, his glass was filled with SMsrry, Olive observed he did not finish it ; still the guest of the day was 106 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 'ii evidently well pleased and did by far the greater part of the talking himself. He told a variety of amusing stories, chiefly illus- trative of his own cleverness in avoiding dangerous situations, and shifting unpleasant responsibilities on other people's shoulders. He chuckled a good deal over his success in these manoeuvres, and seemed quite imper- vious to some rather cutting remarks from Olive, for which Aunt Tabitha cast reproving glances at the delinquent. "I suppo-^^. you never saw much of your cousin ^r you went out to India ? " "No, next to nothing. He w^as a reck- less sort of fellow — went in for sport and all sorts of wild expeditions; don't do you a bit of good, you know — so ** " Ah I just 80 1 generally ends the same v^ay 1 '* interrupted Aunt Tabitha. ^ -'-.^iL^- i. TO BB, OR NOT TO BE 107 Then the doctor turned to Olive. **I will see if I can get places for to-morrow, and come up and tell you what I've done. Now I have a visit to pay at Puti ev —can't tliink what ma!:es pi'itple live in these out- of-the-way places — I'd rather live up here, by Jove. Till to-morrov7, then I I've paid you an awfully long visit — but you are so agreeable, you see. Give you my word I didn't know how to get away " "Now, Olive, )ou have d 'ue very well," said Aunt Tab, approvingly ; ** you may turn up your dainty nose, but you know you have an unusually good chance, and I am ghid to see that, after all, you have some sense." "Indeed, I have not^ according to your idea t " said Olive, flushing. "1 am afiaid yoa will be very vexed with me, but 1 108 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE wrote a line to him yesterday, explaining that I could not really have anything to do with him. Still he must be good-natured, for he said just now there was no reason why wo should not be friends, so you see — — "Olive Ayton,** interrupted her aunt, "I did not think, whatever yoar faults, that you« were a double-dealing taupie! It's plain yon doctor is a wiselike man. He is not going to take the first ' No ' from ^ a bit lassie that doesn't know her own mind ! *' cried Aunt Tabitha, greatly exercised. A few sharp speeches were then exchanged, and Olive had some difficulty in smoothing matters sufficiently to induce her aunt to ling for Janet, and show her the kitten. The doctor showed no ill-feeling, nor did he seem to heed the decided rejection ■.i.ia TO BE, OH NOT TO BE 109 he had received. He came the next day to say he could not secure places for Our Boys until Monday. On this occasion he had two cups at afternoou tea, and proved his appreciation of Janet's thin bread and butter. He described accurately to both ladies the treatment which he pursued in the case of the General's youngest daughter, who suffered the year before from an aggra- vated attack of chicken-pox. Then finding ^ that Olive was going to visit Lady Twenty- penny, a friend of her aunt's who lived in Porchester Terrace, he offered to drive her there in a hansom. Olive preferred walking, whereupon, though he avowed his detesta- tion of that exercise, the gallant doctor offered her his escort. Olive grew touchy. Her aunt was probably right— this tiresome, egotistical, im- '■r i h il'. . I. i 1< ' ■'! no TO BE, UU NOT TO BE pervious man looked upon her as a frivolous baby who would say " yes " to-morrow as readily as she said *' no " yesterday — con- sequently she was by no means an amiable or sympathetic companion. On Sunday the immovable doctor again appeared about tea-time with a fresh batch of stories, and when taking leave of Miss Drummond, exclaimed, as if with a happy thought : " I say ! is there any reason why Miss Olive shouldn't take a bit of dinner with me at the * Cri ' ? — deuced good dinners they give. I could call for her, you know, and Hey I what do you think?" "It is a proposition I should not en- tertain from every one else," said Aunt Tabitha, with much dignity; "but con- sidering that you are an old friend, and TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 111 that I approve your very disinterested intentions, I do not object— n "You must remember, I am not sure how long I may be kept at that schohistic bureau," said Olive, much annoyed by her aunt's speech. "The what?" asked the doctor, with something of horror in his tone. "An agency for obtaining engagements to teach — where I hope to find one," said Olive, steadily. " Oh I Ah — yes, to be sure ; well, do not let me interfere with your arrangements, only if you can be ready at six to-morrow, just drop me a line at my hotel — Morley's, you know — Charing Cross. Gad! it's past six now; I always pay you such awful long visits." With some hasne he left them. "I wonder he cares to come," said Olive. 113 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE "I feel less atnl loss alJe to do the agreeable the longer I know him." " And I wonder at it, too," returned Miss Drummond, solemnly; *'you are be- liaving badly and foolishly, Olive. AVhat made you talk about seeking an engagement and an agoncy office ? Men like Dr. r Barclay hate to hear of working women, or poverty ; even though he might not ask money with you, he would not like to think you had come in contact " *' He need not trouble himself," inter- rupted Olive. •* What I am, or have been, or will be, does not concern him. Do not think about him any more, dear auntie ; I have a sort of hope that Monday may bring me better fortune and you relie£" CHAPTER iVi !UT Olive's prophetic feeling wai but a will-of-the-wisp — false and misleading. The lady before whom the candidates for the magnificent appointment above described were paraded had selected one whose accom- plishments, in the way of darning house- linen, turned the scale before it came to Olive's turn to enter the audience-chamber. As she was rather dejectedly leaving the office, a lady was reading the various in- scriptions which, in the usual way, aaorned the entrance. lU TO BE, OB NOT TO BE *' I am lookinpf for the Scholastic Ap;ency Office." she said in a pleasant voice. ** Wculd you be so good as to direct me ? " " Certainly," returned Olive. ** When you get to the first landing, turn along a passage to the left ; at the end of it there is a dark, narrow stair. Stay, I will show you — it is a little complicated." And Olive led her to the presence oi the agent himself; a small, sallow man, with straggling beard and keen little eyes, who was pleased to be very peremptory with the humble seekers for employment thronging his office, and filling his pockets with their hard-earned shillings. As she left the dusty, dingy bureau, she heard the stranger ask, ';uickly : • •'What is that yoi^ng lady's name?** On reaching Hazelwood Yillai Olive found TO BB, on NOT TO BB 116 her aunt tittiDg up very straight indeed, with her knitting in her hands, and severity enthroned on her brow. "After all, auntie, I haye not had any luck." . "No; Fm thinking you have thrown away your luck. Read that telegram," handing it to her. It was addressed to Miss Drummond, signed H. C. Barclay, and contained these words: "Called out of town — important business — will write." " There's an end of that, or I am much mistaken," she said, bitterly. " I dare say it is. Oh, dear I how sorry I am not to see Our Boys.** " Olive Ayton ! I did not think you were a frivolous, light-headed young woman who would turn your back on the mercies (SfcM-Ji' »»»,«"" rfW- .'■ 1^ r i :■, 1 . ;■ ■ i 116 TO BE, OB NUT TO BE o* Divine Providence, and disregard the counsels o' your only living kinswoman " etc., etc. And Aunt Tabitha scolded on, regardless of the fact that Olive had fallen into deep thought and did not appear to catch the sound of her words. Dr. Barclay's business took him to see an old Indian acquaintance at Cheltenham ; and as his absence from town hardly ex- ceeded forty- eight hours, he did not find it convenient to write according to promise. He reached town in time for his 7.30 repast, and making his way to the coffee-room, asked with some eagerness for the carte. He was studying its contents when another gentleman coming in, made the same demand, in a deep, commanding tone, The doctor looked up hastily, and TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 117 (razed for a moment at the speaker. A tall man — very tall — and bony, even gaunt. He had a fine, strong, embrowned face, though by no means handsome, with re markably dark, piercing eyes, thick black noustache, and abundant black hair, cut close at the back in military fashion. After an inatant's hesitation, Dr. Barclay stepped forward, holding out his hand. " By Jove I I 4id not expect to meet you iiere. Had no idea you were coming home." They shook hands with some cordiality. "Well, it was a rather sudden thought," replied the other ; '* but I fane' I a whifi" of native air would do me good, so here I am. Shall we dine together ? " " By all means — and, look here," seizing the carte, "They make capital (alves* head hash, and let's have a duck-— a pair of ^ 118 TO BE, OB NOT TO BS ducks — and green peas, and a bottle of Moselle — it's not bad here, give you my word. Did you see Allan before you left? He is a wonderful fellow — made such a wonderful hit with the Commander-in-Chief just before I started — tell you all about it at dinner. Here, waiter, the wine carte" The lively doctor chatted eagerly through dinner. It was evident from their talk that they had many reminiscences and acquaint- ance in common, yet they were not especially intimate friends ; the new-comer was re- markably taciturn and frequently did not seem to hear the abundant talk of his companion. At last Dr. Barclay exclaimed : ** What's the matter with you, man ? Are you down on your luck? Tou don't seem yourself! Liver— eh? Do you know, I have invented a capital pill, with a dash TO BE, OB NOT TO BB 119 of mercury in it, which would put you right in a twinkling? I'm chinking seriously of patenting it. It is wonderful ; old Sir Peregrine Pounceby, First Commissioner of Moolahbad, never stirs without a box of 'em in his pocket ; give you my word ! " " Patent it if you like, but don't poison a brother practitioner," returned his friend, with a grim smile. " Fact is, England seems strange and cold to me. I went away a boy, I come back and find — nothing ! I arrived yesterday morning, and yours is the first familiar face I have seen since. I'm thinking of going off to Paris on Saturday, to join Sir Arthur Dacre, the great shikari ^ you know! He is going into Hungary — the Carpathians — on a sort of exploring tour. There is nothing to keep me here,* 120 TO BE, OB NOT TO BB "My dear fellow, London is a first-rate place I I am here barely a fortnight, and I have more engagements than I know how to keep. I've met lots of old friends, and — oh I I knew I had something to tell you I Do you remember the parson, down there at Netherly, where you were so fond of going to fish? Half-brother of that queer old Scotchwoman, the Marchioness's amanuensis — well, I found her out. The youngest Prendergast girl sent home a cat for her — and the devil's own bother I had with that infernal kitten. Well, Miss Drummond has old Ayton's daughter, little Olive, living with her; she has grown up an uncommon pretty girl — uncommon, by Jove ! You remember the Vicarage, and your taking me there after you had been introduced yourself?** TO BE, OR NOT TO BE ISl The other nodded, and began to pull his long moustaches, and listen with an air of profound attention. "Well, you see, though I am pretty wide-awake, I am no wiser, in some respects, than my neighbours, and I was immensely taken 1 She is such a shy, bright, sharp little puss! And I thought it would be deuced amusing to show her about a bit ; she is awfully dull, you know, shut up with old Lady Glencairn's ex-secretary — they haven't a rap, give you my word I But the poor little girl took to me at once; I saw it was all up with her at the second interview. She was all blushes, tremors, and * keep your distance * airs, that we understand, don't we, boy? Ha! ha I ha!" His listener made a sudden movement, and uttered a deep, inarticulate sound, which did 122 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE I 1 not seejp exactly like a blessing. *' She was ready to walk with me, or talk with me, or go to the play with me," resumed Dr. Barclay. "I was always rather a favourite with the women I Well, I had got places for some confounded burlesque here in the Strand, and thinking it w^ould be an awful bore to drive all the way up to their place, to fetch my little girl after dining, I said to Aunt Tabby: *I suppose there is no reason why Miss Olive shouldn't dine with me at the '*Cri," or "Verey's"?' What do you think the old girl said ? * Considering you are an old friend, and that I am aware of your disinterested or honourable intentions, I do not object* — give you my word, she did 1 Now that expression * intentions,* brought me to my senses. It has a deuced ugly sound, hasn't it ? I just said I'd write TO BE, OR NOT TO BS 123 a line and say what hour I'd call for Misa Olive, but I found it wiser to be called out of town, ha ? and I will just let them down easy I Take another glass of claret — it ain't bad, you see. Aunt Tabby knows that I am well up in the Service, and that I have a snug bit of house and other property, and I dare say she has imparted her know- ledge to my pretty, tremulous, saucy little dove, so I mustn't let myself be victimised ; a wife ought to have something more than " Here his listener, who had become rather restless, started from his seat, exclaiming rather inadvertently : " It's infernally hot I Suppose we take a stroll up Whitehall *' ** Don't move so soon after dinner I We have to finish that claret, too. But, I say, won't you go to see our friendil" .»— u^^:,.a>»uj^H 134 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE »(»;).;») I t " No I '* rather roughly. ** They have forgotten me, I dure say. Did Olive — I mean Miss Druminond — ask for me?" *' Never mentioned your name, my dear fellow." No reply. " I tell you who did ask after you very kindly. Shirley ! Don't you remember old Ayton's lantciri-jawed curate ? I met him in Cheltenham yesterday. lie has a grand church there — is a popular preacher — wears a soft hat, white bands, and a coat to his heels. He was struck of a heap at seeing me, for it seems there was a report that 1 died of fever or something a couple of years ago. He asked after you, and said how pleased he'd be to see you again. He thought me so like you, only, of course, better filled out. It is a pity that nothing puts flesh on your bones." , . " I prefer bL'in • • • . 50 1 « • • . 50 , . . . . 50 . 30 ■ • ■ . 30 . 30 BRYCE'S HOME SERIES. PRICE. 1. Ten Nights in a Bar-room 25 8. Mr. Barnes of New York. By Archibald C. Gunter . . IC 4. Mr. Potter of Texas. By Archibald C. Gunter 25 5. Rudder Grange. By Frank R. Stockton 25 6. Geoftrey's Victory. 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" « 30 159. Daughter of Fife. By Mrs. A. E. Barr 40 160. Bow of Orange Ribbon. « " 40 162. That Lass o' Lowrie's. By F. H. Burnett 30 165. Kathleen. By F. H. Burnett 25 BRYCE'S HOME SERIES. 1()7. Ben Hur. By Lew ^^'Jlll{lco ;]0 J67c. " * ^ CIoUi ;r, 1()(S. Carli.slo's Manual of Fruonuxsonry l.oo 169. Tho Test Book of FroemaHonry I.75 170. PalHser's Aiu. Architecture ; every iiifin liis own Imildcr. 1.00 170c. - " " " Cl()tli2.()i) 171. Tlie Diamond Button. By Barclay Noi'tli ;]ii 172. Shadow of Jno. Wallace. By L. Clarkson l]{) 176. The Last of the Van Slacks. By E. S. Van Zile m 177. The Fair God. By Lew Wallace m 178. St. Elmo. By Auo-usta J, Evans Wilson Ho 180. Donovan. By Edna Lyall 25 188. Won by Waiting. By Edna Lyall 25 184. In the Golden Days. '' 25 185. Vashti. By Augusta J. Evans Wilson HO 187. A Hardy Norseman. By Edna Lyall 25 189. Natural Law. By Professor H. Drummond 25 190. Macaria. By A. J. E^vans Wilson HO 193. Inez. By Augusta J. Evans Wilson HO 194 At the Mercy of Tiberius. By A. J. Evans Wilson. ... HO 195. Dr. HeidenhofF's Process. By Ed. Pxaianiy 20 196. Miss Luddington's Sistcsr. By Ed. Bellamy 20 197. Little Wives. By L. M. Alcott 35 198. Between Two Loves. By A. E. Barr 40 199. Lost and Found. By Wm. Scott 30 200. Man from the West. By a Wall Street Man HO 201. Opening of a Chestnut Bur. By E. P. Roe H5 202. Near to Nature's Heart. ' " 35 203. A Young Girl's Wooing. , « 35 204. From Jest to Earnest. " 35 205. An Original Belle. « 35 _, 206. Tho p:arth Trendjled. " 35 207. A ]:>ay of Fate. « 35 208. Ho Fell in Love With His Wife. " • 35 209. What Can She Do. " 35 210. A Knight of the 10th C(>ntury " 35 211. Barriei's Burne. iM-olics of Cupid. Py Paul Lelen 25 25:{. High Poller. Py Fortune ])u l>oisgohey 25 254. Monsieur Judas. Py Fergus Hume 25 255. New Pilgrim's Pi'ogi-ess. Py Mark Twain 25 25(J. Innocents Alti'oad. " 25 257. iMississii^pi IMlot. " 25 25!). i^ickwick Pa])ers. By Charles Dickens 25 2G0. Mademoiselle Ixc; 25 201. Tourmalins Time Che(|ues. Author of Vice Versa 25 202. I\ly Lady Nicotine. Py J. IVI. Parrie ". 25 1i)X An American Clirl in London. Py Sara J. Duncan 30 204. Fontenay, tlio Swoi-dsman. By F. ])u Boisgobey 30 205. A Matter of Skill. By, Beatrice Whitty 30 A Window in Thrums. By J. M. Barrie 30 Alorphinc. By ])eLafoi'est." 25 A Dead Man's Diary 25 ])iaiy of a Pilgi-image. Py J. K. Jerome 25 Adventures of a ( {ii-l in the Karpathians. By IM.M.Dowio 25 What's Bi-edin tlui ]]one. By Grant Allen 25 A Frenchman ii the U. S. and Canada. By Max O'Rell 30 Drunnnond Essays. Complete 30 Lorna Doonc. By R. D. IJackmorc 30 Count of ]\ronto ( ■i-isto. By ])umas 25 llcleii Young. B.v Paul Linden 25 285. A Daught(^r of Earth. ]^>y E. M. Davy 30 208. 270. 271. 272. 278. 275. 270. 277. 278. y I v' i 286. 287. 288. 289. 290. 291. 292. 293. 294. 295. 296. 297. 298. 299. 800. 801. 302. 400. bryce's home series. Tiomanc. By Jacques Vincent 30j The Downfall. By Emile Zola King Billy of Ballarat. By Morley Roberta The Snare of the Fowler. By Mrs. Alexander 3()| Lives and Adventures of Frank and Jesse James (111. Ed.) 2o| Nil n rod & Co. By Georges Ohnet Vanity Fair. By M. Thackeray. (111. Ed.) 25| (xreji.t Scott. By A. L. McGregor 251 His Angel ; Romance of the Far West. By H. Herman %\ Only One Sin. By Bertha M. Clay 251 Charlie Ogilbie. By Leslie Vaughan 251 A Romance of the Rockies 251 Fatima. By A. S. Jackmau 25] E. R Roes Novels '::E: 1 IN BR' SE'S HOME SERIES. s(Ili.Ed.) M Heayy Paper Coyer b 35 cents Eaoh. No. 201 Opening of a Chestnnt Burr. 259 " 202 Near to Nature's Heart. 1 " 203 A Young Girrg Wooing. I " 204 From Jest to Eameit. 1 << 205 An Original Belle. 1 << 206 The Earth Trembled. << 207 A Day of Fate. 1.0 ^1 « 208 He Fell in Love with His Wife. 1 "* 209 What Can She Do. 1 ^ 210 A Knight of the 19th Century. . 1 " 211 Bamers Burned Away. 1 " 213 Without a Home. 1 " 218 Sombre BiTala. 1 " 214 A Faoe Illumined. 1 " 215 Driven Back to Eden. 1 '< 216 Mies Loo. Per Sale by all Bookselleiii or Mailed te Addwet en Receipt of Price. WILLIAM BRYCC, CAM4Mk. '--t-.,. IfEW EDITION-REDUCED IN PRICE, Bryce 's Home Series Library, No. 194. IIUGUSTR J. EVANS WILSON'S LAST NOVEL. u A 4 Al Tk Mercy of Tiberius,' I hare also the following of this celebrated Author's Novell \< my Home Series Library. iro. 14 T Infelice. ^ I4S Bcnlah. **> I7S. HU Elmo. No. 185 Tashti. M 190 inacaria. ^ 193 Inez. 30C. e:.z\.oh:. Smiled Post Free to any Adaress on Receipt of Price- ^fMilMlstieri TORONTO, QhHhtlk. ft V, wU,.'li'*';-H*,,% , ,., l_ ■■■-. ■■.\T'i.^