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SELECT LIBRARY No. 214 
 
 GUY EARLSCOURTS 
 
 WIFE 
 
 v«a:itfj^ 
 
 
 »*«^-" 
 
 /' 1. 
 
 i; \ 
 
 
 .lie// 
 
 
 
 
 
M () r \ r A I, I, I > () \ 
 
 U N F \' I. H s I r V 
 HaLIMI PiCKAHI) WllA. LlliHAKY 
 
 'i O ^J 
 
BOOKS OF QUALITY 
 
 17 
 
 ^ 
 
 SELECT LIBRARY 
 
 Big, Popular Standards 
 
 Fifteen Cents 
 
 This line is truly named. It is Select because each title in it 
 has been selected with great care from among hundreds of books 
 by well-known authors. 
 
 A glance over the following list will show the names of Mary 
 J. Holmes, Marie Corelli, Rider Haggard, "The Duchess," R. D. 
 Blackmore, and translations of some of the more famous French 
 authors like Victor Hugo, and Alphonse Daudet. 
 
 H you are looking for books which will add to your knowledge 
 of literature, a complete set of the Select Library which is so 
 reasonably priced will do more for you than a like amount ex- 
 pended on ordinary fiction between cloth covers. 
 
 ALL TtTLBS ALWAYS IN PRINT 
 
 I — Cousin Maude By Mary J. Holmes 
 
 2 — Rosamond Leyton By Mary J. Holmes 
 
 6 — Beulah By Augusta J. Evans 
 
 10 — The Homestead on the Hillside By Mary J. Holmes 
 
 14 — East Lynne By Mrs. Henry Wood 
 
 i6 — A Romance of Two Worlds By Marie Corelli 
 
 17 — Cleopatra By H. Rider Haggard 
 
 i8 — Maggie Miller By Mary J. Holmes 
 
 27— Under Two Flags By "Ouida" 
 
 28 — Dora Deane By Mary J. Holmes 
 
 2g— Ardath. Vol. I By Marie Corelli 
 
 30— Ardath. Vol. H By Marie Corelli 
 
 31 — The Light That Failed By Rudyard Kipling 
 
 32 — Tempest and Sunshine By Mary J. Holmes 
 
 35 — ^Inez By Augusta J. Evans 
 
SELECT LIBRARY 
 
 36--Phyllis : By "The Duches*" 
 
 42— Vendetta By Marie Corelli 
 
 43 — Sapho By Alphonse Daudet 
 
 44 — Lena Rivers By Mary J. Holmes 
 
 48 — Meadowbrook By Mary J. Holmes 
 
 50 — VVon by Waiting By Edna Lyall 
 
 51 — Camille By Alexandre Dumas 
 
 53 — Uncle Tom's Cabin By Harriet Beecher Stowe 
 
 54 — The English Orphans By Mary J. Holmes 
 
 57— Ethel}^^ Mistake By Mary J. Holmes 
 
 58 — Treasure Island By Robert Louis Stevenson 
 
 59— Mildred Trevanion By "The Duchess" 
 
 60— Dead Man's Rock By "Q." (A. T. Quiller-Couch) 
 
 61 — The Iron Pirate ." By Max Pemberton 
 
 62— Molly Bawn By "The Duchess" 
 
 63 — Lorna Doone By R. D. Blackmore 
 
 66 — Airy Fairy Lilian By "The Duchess" 
 
 67— The Cruise of the "Cachalot" By Frank T. Bullen 
 
 69 — The Last Days of Pompeii By Sir Bulwer Lytton 
 
 71— The Duchess By "The Duchess" 
 
 72— Plain Tales From the Hills By Rudyard Kipling 
 
 75— She By H. Rider Haggard 
 
 76 — Beatrice By H. Rider Haggard 
 
 T] — Eric Brighteyes By H. Rider Haggard 
 
 78 — Beyond the City By A. Conan Doyle 
 
 79 — Rossmoyne By "The Duchess" 
 
 80 — King Solomon's Mines By H, Rider Haggard 
 
 81— She's All the World to Me By Hall Caine 
 
 83 — Kidnaped By Robert Louis Stevenson 
 
 84 — Undercurrents By "The Duchess" 
 
 87 — The House on the Marsh By Florence Warden 
 
 88— The Witch's Head By H. Rider Haggard 
 
 89— A Perilous Secret By Charles Reade 
 
 93— Beauty's Daughters By "The Duchess" 
 
 100 — Led Astray By Octave Feuillet 
 
 102 — Marvel By "The Duchess" 
 
 107 — The Visits of Elizabeth By Elinor Glyn 
 
 108 — Allan Quatermain By H. Rider Haggard 
 
 I IQ— Soldiers Three By Rudyard Kipling 
 
 1 13 — A Living Lie By Paul Bourget 
 
 114— Portia By "The Duchess" 
 
 117 — ^John Halifax, Gentleman By Miss Mulock 
 
 118— The Tragedy in the Rue de la Paix By Adolphe Belot 
 
 119— A Princess of Thule By William Black 
 
 122— Dori^ By "The Duchess" 
 
 123 — Carmen and Colomba By Prosper Merimee 
 
 125 — The Master of Ballantrae By Robert Louis^ Stevenson 
 
 126 — The Toilers of the Sea By Victor Hugo 
 
 127— Mrs. Geoffrey By ^*The Duchess" 
 
 128— Jack's Courtship. By W. Clark Rus«:eU 
 
Guy Earlscourt's Wife 
 
 UK. 
 
 Wedded Yet No Wife 
 
 BY 
 
 MAY AGNEvS FLEMING 
 
 . ■ AUTHOR OF 
 
 *'A Wonderful Woman," ''Silent and True," "Norine's Revenge," 
 "Carried by Storm," and many other ideal romances 
 
 of American life. i 
 
 line 
 
 ;ss 
 
 ««" 
 
 ;. 
 
 STREET &"'SMITI1 CORPORATION 
 
 riTRLTSTlEHS 
 
 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York 
 
r 
 
 Copyright, 1872 
 By G. W. (Jarleton & Co. 
 
 ropyright. lUOO 
 liy Maude A. Fleming 
 
 Guy Earlaoourt's Wile 
 
 J 
 
 i 
 
 (Printed in the United Stat«» of AmerlcaJl 
 
\ 
 
 i 
 
 GUY EARLSCOURT'S WIFE. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DUKE mason's adventure. 
 
 Duke Mason had lost lii>. way. 
 
 There could be no doubt about it. As he paused in per- 
 plexity and gazed around him, five struck sharply from the 
 distant Speckhaven churches, clearly heard through the still, 
 frosty air, and at five-ten th • express train from London left 
 Speckhaven station. Only ten minutes to spare, and com- 
 pletely lost and bewildered, a stranger in Lincolnshire, and 
 with not a notion of whereabouts he might be now, 
 
 Mr. Mason paused with a face of disgust at his own stu- 
 pidity and looked about him. Westward lav the fens and 
 marshes, melting drearily away into the low, gray sky; east- 
 ward spread the wide sea, a bleak bla-^t sweeping icily up, 
 with all the chill of the Tierman Ocean in its breath; and 
 north and south, the di>mal wa^^tc land stretched away tree- 
 less, houseless, unspeaka1)ly forlorn and deserted. 
 
 The month was March, the day the twcntv-fiftli. Was 
 Duke Mason likely to forget the date of that inetnorahle day, 
 when he lost his way. and the romance of his life began? 
 
 For seven and twenty years his life had gone on, as flat, 
 as dull, as uneventful as those flat marshes that lay on every 
 side of him, as "fray and colorless as yonder cold gray sea, 
 and on this twenty-fifth of March, wending his way at his 
 leisure, to catch the express train for London, and mistaking 
 the road, an adventure so singular and romantic befell him 
 as to almost atone for those hopelessly stupid and respectable 
 seven-and-twenty years. 
 
 The short March day was darkening alrcadv. The vellow 
 wintry sun had dropped out, of sight down there behind the 
 fens and sand hills; sky and .sea were both of the same cold 
 
Duke Mason's Adventure, 
 
 Uruy,, t'X('<'|.t wlu'it niic loni;, y. How line wi'stwar*! markfJ 
 the Hoiiihrc Hinisrl. 
 
 "If rciniiitls out! of Ryron's pwrtry," thought Mr Mim»n, 
 who, lic'in;^ ati lulisl in a vi ly siimll way, liad aii »>•».' tor 
 *utiiios|)lH'ii<! i'lTccts; *'!«'a(l-(.'oli»n*(l b<'u, niclliiig into Iruil- 
 L*olori'<i sky -dull yellow ^Hiimicr w<'.stwanl. l'"l;it iiiiii>iM'9 
 and wet U'Us, .-.ra i'<)<r crcrpiiij^ u\), and a soiiiar.T iiidi\ idiial ia 
 for<'i;roiiiid, «:a/.inf,' inootlily ut llu.' «;ii'i*iiin^: ^lo'un. I'.i'scca 
 t^'orse tliiiiMS on the lino, in the acmlcniy, and hundriMls of 
 pcopk; a^apo with admiration, only, uniiappily, this sort of 
 tliin;4 IS inucli irion' att ractivi' in oil or water cokjrs tl.m iu 
 reality, ut five oVIoek of a eoid March evenin^^ without a 
 house or a soul near, .ind jusl too lat(? for iUv. train. I won- 
 der where 1 am. I'll try on a little way, and tind <»ut, it I 
 can, without gcinj^ rouijd to the town." 
 
 Mi. Alason t?ave up eontemplatiriK tho general liynaila 
 asp'r*" of file seme, and Wi'ut forward on his lonely roa<l. 
 
 Ue was muuntin^ tlio rising ^riound now, and in ten min- 
 utes more stopped ai;;ain and knew exactly where he was. 
 
 ''The (jran^e, by all that's njysterious!" lie exdaiii.* vl, 
 aloud, '^nd tive miles from the station if un inch What 
 un ass I must have heen. to he sure, to take the wron>: ^urn- 
 in^t, when I've been alonj^ here fifty times durinj? the last 
 f<-rVniirht." 
 
 It looked like th<- end of the Nvorld. A hi^h stone wall "'^se 
 up abruptly, barring all furtht r projjjress- two massive stone 
 urates frowned darkly on all observers. Within ro^e the 
 waving tre«'s of a paik, and in their midst you cau;ihl sijjht 
 of all chinine.vs and the p<'aked gables of a red-lirick 
 mansion. 
 
 Duke Maaoii had come u))on the Granjj:e in the -peetral 
 twilight of the Mareh day, and the Grange w;:.- that most 
 awful habitation, "a jaunted house." 
 
 ft was a weird scene and hour. He was, perhaps, as mat- 
 ter-of fact and uniinafrinativo a younjcj man as vou will easily 
 find, but iMiko's skin tnrned ti> "rooso flesh'' a.'' he <tood and 
 thoufj'ir of the awfn] stories he had heard of vondei -iolitriry,, 
 mansion amone the tri'cs. 
 
 It was so drathfully still — it was like the enchanted easrle 
 ot the Sleeping Beauty, only fat more irrim, else the hand- 
 «omt youuii prince had never summoned up courage- 'o r-nter; 
 it was like a huge mausoleum, no smoke enred uf» froi-i tLe 
 ureat ♦■^' --^cd cliiiinicys. no dog barked ')<" ■*ound !)nt *he 
 moarnny or the wind amonpr the trees h'-okc tlie ghastiy 
 silence. 
 
 "And yet people eat, and d^ink, and sleep there," mused 
 Mr. MaAou; ''and it's zuoib dismal and more <lead than thff 
 
 
Juke Mas*^ ^ s Adventure. 
 
 -toinl) of tlio IMuuaolis. Aii«, tlwy sny ♦licri''-* a Indy shut up 
 there af» ' "cly us all the houris of Mahomel'.-* |Kir;i(li*«'. II u 
 fcll'iw c. jiily m'i ill tlu'ic now aii'l see for liitii'^clf." 
 
 'I'lic |)hi('c was kiiDwii an I.yii.Hth (I'mh^c, iwA likr sweet 
 Ihou...- iluiurd ''Jliiuntfd llounc," lay 
 
 * UiuWt sonip prodigious ban of cxcomrnunliatluii " 
 
 'J'wo hundred odd year.s ago there dwelt in yondjT sih'iit" 
 inaiisiun a tiereo old warrior, who had hrouKut home Id fa" 
 Griingc a j>ale, ijenslve younj, hride, asi fair as a liiy anil 
 aintost U8 drooping. Inside those walls (Ik; htincymoon had 
 heen spent, and then vSir Alali«>e went forth to fij;ht for hi;* 
 kinu, and the pale brido wa;. left ahuie. And then tl::' le- 
 g.'iid ran of a fair-haired, liand.soi.ie eavalier, who made 
 his way throUKh the ponderous doors, of a servant's hefrayal, 
 of a fiery husband returning full of jealoua wrath, of a duel 
 to the death in one of those oaken ri>oni.-', an<^l of the h:md- 
 some cavalier falling with a awcjrd thru-4 throuMh the heart 
 at the frantic lady's feet — of a mad woman shut up to slu-iek 
 her miserable life away in those same ilisnml rooms, ^nd of a 
 stern old general who fell at the head of his uwii. And the 
 fair-haired eavalier, and the lady with tlie wild, streaming 
 hair and woeful faee, haunted (said the legend) Lyndith 
 Grange to the preseat day. No one lived in the place Imig, 
 for certain, whether it was the ghosts, or the damp, or the 
 loneliness that drove them away, and things gradually fel' to 
 decay, and the Lyndith family left the Grange to the rati- 
 and the sr)ectres and its own bad uame, for many and many 
 a long year. 
 
 Hut two years befort thi' ^special evening upon which 
 Air. Mason stands and scrutinizes it, the neighborhood town 
 of Speekhaven was thrown iiit.< commotion by the news that 
 the Grange was occupied at last. 
 
 I'urniture had come down from Ix)ndon — two servants — a 
 hard-featured old woman and a stolid boy, had purchased 
 thing> iii the town and brougiit then) to the Grange And 
 ill the silvery dusk of a May evening a tall gentleman — 
 dark and grim — had been dr. yen wnr a slender lady, closely 
 veiled, to the hauntect tiou.-.e from rht Speckhaven^ station. 
 
 After that, for thn^ oi tt-ui weeks, no m')re was known of 
 thoee mysterious peopie oi iheii d«)ings. The.> were still at 
 the Grange, but no one visited them; ihcir very names were 
 unknown, the great gate.- vert ilway? ioek':d •inr' bolted, 
 anr the hard-featuroc! old vomar- ;:t;.'. tnlid hoy kept their 
 master's secrets weli mc roicne. inie!-v 
 
 One stormy Junt mght. aj- Dr. Worth sat in hiB rmrlor. n 
 the bosom oi .:^'i tamilj slipperwi ilA dreetui^-«>v>Vi'Med 
 
Ur.k^ Ma.ons A'ventiire. 
 
 tiiiiiiking 
 
 f^ods tlint tlx Wf'ik (if lliiit (]u.y was cinlofl, 
 
 tficic cMifiG suf'h }i tliuiidfriiii' knock jit tL(- front door, and 
 
 lip.'ctl.v alter su<ii a \)* 
 
 al at {]tv oHicc Ix-l!, as nnulc ^'i: chief 
 
 p}iVflic:an ot" Sjx ckiiav«jn spring to l)I.s I'cet and grii;: sonio- 
 ibiii^ su' picioiisly like an oalh bet'.\<'en liis Iccth. 
 
 ''it's a lady took sudden and" uncommon bad," hi?' so;*vant 
 annonncfd, "whiclj the f^enfleman say.s his carriage i.-^ at the 
 door, and you're to come immediate, if you please, sir.'' 
 
 I)r Worth groaned; the rain was pouring, the night was 
 dark as the regions of IMuto, and his ten o'clock ula^s of 
 ;;iMich stood liiere untasted, and his hed all ready. In Hve 
 niinulcs,, c'(»ated and hatted, he joined the gentleman wait- 
 ing in the passage. IJe had declined to enter. 
 
 "Who's the lady, sir^'' brus(iuely demanded Dr. Worth. 
 "No i)ationt of mine, I know. And what's the matte'; ^" 
 
 "i"(jr Heaven's sake, d(..rt stop to talk now!" exclaimed 
 tlic gentleman. "We've five miles to go, and the road is 
 
 beast' 
 
 J'll tell .you as we drive along." 
 
 '!');" <ioctor Ini'^tened after him to the carriage — a handsome 
 landau and ])air — and th(^ driver whirled them off dirtx'tly. 
 Only (jnee during tliat n'ght drive, through the pouring rain 
 and iidiy darkness, did the stranger open his lips. 
 
 "We are go'ng to Lyndith (jlrange; and the case is what 
 von.^ni<>dical men call an interesting one, I believe. 1 have 
 only one reciuest to make; thiit is, that .vou will talk of this 
 liiaiter as little as possible. 1 will double, treble, quadruple 
 your fee." And then silenc;? fell. 
 
 They reached the Grange- -the ponderous gates flew open 
 -ihey whirled up a long avenue and stopped. A minute 
 later and the doctor, at the heels of his leader, wfts travers- 
 ing draughty corridors and endless suites of dreary rooms. 
 At the door of an apartment, in a long, chill hall, the mys- 
 terious gentleman halted. 
 
 "Your patient Is here, doctor," he- said, impressively. 
 "Use all your skill to-night, llemember, the lady must be 
 saved !" 
 
 And then he lield the door open for the doctor to enter, 
 closing it inmicdiately, and Dr. Worth found himself in a 
 vast room, all oak flooring, oak paneling, massive old fur- 
 nivure, and a huge, curtained bed in the center of the room, 
 big enough and gloomy enough for a sarcopha-.U:;, A wood 
 fire burned in one of the tiled fireplaces — a couple of wax 
 eandles made specks of light ih the darkness, and the hard- 
 featured old womail sat in a chair, sewinii on little garments 
 by tlie wan light. - 
 
 At half-past ten Dr. Worth entered that room. At half- 
 i)ast tw» h^ left it* The old woman held a femr.' infant 
 
re. 
 
 (Ir..y wfis ondod, 
 Iroiit (l(.(>r, and 
 
 5 made ^'»', chief 
 
 iiid f,'rn;: soiiio- 
 
 U(th. 
 
 •m]," hi.s sei-vjint 
 
 n-i-ijige is at the 
 
 )leiise, sir.'' 
 
 . tJie night was 
 
 o'clock u]ii>s of 
 ready. In Hve 
 
 lentleman wait- 
 
 r. 
 
 ed Dr. Worth, 
 e matter i" 
 >\v!" exclaimed 
 nd the road is 
 
 ;'e — a handsome 
 'm off dinH'tl.v. 
 le pouring rain 
 lips. 
 
 le case is what 
 
 elieve. 1 have 
 
 11 talk of this 
 
 jle, quadruple 
 
 Duke Mason's Adventure. 
 
 9 
 
 ites flew oi)en 
 A minute 
 vvfts travers- 
 Ireary rooms, 
 lall, the mys- 
 
 imprcssively. 
 lady must be 
 
 ctor to enter, 
 hirnseif in a 
 sive old fur- 
 of the room, 
 uj, A wood 
 ^uple of wax 
 nd the hard- 
 tie ;;«!rment8 
 
 m. At half- 
 nir.' infant 
 
 this time, in her arms, and during all tho ^ hours the Speck- 
 haven doctor luid never once seen the lace of his patii'nt. 
 'Die heavy silken curtaiihs shaded her in deepest gloom, and 
 lier face had been j)(isir5tently turned from liim and buried 
 in the pillows, 
 
 She seemed very young — on the delicate left haiid a wed- 
 ding ring shone, masses of golden, hair fell, like a veil, over 
 her — the voice in which once or twice sue answered him was 
 sweet and fresh — Ix^yond that all was guesswork. 
 
 The man, stil) hatted and overcoated, was pacing up and 
 down the long hall when the doctor came forth. 
 
 "Wellf he asked, in a voice of suppressed intensity. 
 
 "Well," n^plied Dr. Worth, rather shortly, "it is well. The 
 hidy's 'as well as ean be exixcted,' and the baby's about the 
 size of a full-grown wax doll.-' 
 
 •'And she is sure to live?" 
 
 "That depends ui)on which 'she' you mean. They're both 
 shes. If you mean the hul.; " 
 
 "The lady, of course!" said the gentleman, angrily and 
 haugiitily, 
 
 "The lady's all right, then, with common care, but I 
 wouldn't like to stake my reputation upon the baby's exist- 
 ence, rii return to-morrow, of course, and " 
 
 "And, with all deference to you, sir, you'll do nothing of 
 the '-.ort. You'll return no more. Here's your fee — T think 
 you'll find it ample. My man vill drive you back to town, 
 and the less you say of this night's work the better." 
 
 In another half hour the Speckhaven doctor was again in 
 the bosom of his family, the richer by fifty guineas for his 
 four hours' work. 
 
 And just two weeks hiter the mysterioiis inhabitants of the 
 Grange vanished as suddeidy and strangely as they had 
 come, and the old house was givj^n over again to the mur- 
 dered cavalier and mad lady. 
 
 For nearly two j'cars, and then again, as unexpe(!tcdly as 
 before, a tall u-entleman came down by the London train, 
 bringing a slim, veiled lady and same two servants back. 
 The gentleman left the h\dy and returned by the next train, 
 and who they might be, and whether they were the same, and 
 what they could mean by such unaccountable goings on, all 
 was conjecture in the town of Speckhaven. 'J'his was two 
 months before this twenty-fifth of March crt which Duke 
 Afason 'Uands and gazes, and no one had "jc •: 'ated the ^'>- 
 cret, or se(^n the 'ady yet 
 
 As he stood there in the gloaming, he heard, for tiie hrst 
 liiue^- voices and loototeps within. His heart gave • leaj^ 
 
lo What Duke Mason Saw and Heard. 
 
 Tho iootsteps were fast approaohinci. the voices drawing 
 iiear^ carriage wlieel.4 ground over the jiravoled avenue. 
 
 The soinid of boUs withdravini;, of a key turning sk»\vly in 
 a rusi.y iock, '-vanicd the listener. Duke Mason d /ted be- 
 hi:ic" "lii'cf tl e liu^e buUi>-5~os ^{hc falling darkne:-> screen- 
 in:5 bim as well, lie could see quite plainly, himself unob- 
 served. 
 
 A heavy-featured groom drove out ii,i a two-wheeled chaise, 
 and an elderly, thiji-faced woman stood looking after him, 
 and swinginig a huge key. 
 
 "Look here, Joseph," she said, "I wish you'd lock the gate, 
 atid take the key with you; I've the masters dinner to get, 
 and you know how particular he is, and it's nigh on a quarter 
 oi' a mile's walk down here from the house, and it's no good 
 fofching me down again when you're; coming back. Just 
 lock the gate on the outside, Joseph, will you, and take the 
 key along i'' 
 
 She inserted the key 013 the outside, and hurried rapidly 
 up the avenue out of the cold, shutting the gate before she 
 went. Joseph looked stolidly at the closed gate. 
 
 "I've left it unlocked afore, and no harm came of it, and 
 T arn't going to get down now. If there never was a lock 
 on this old rat trap, people would run a mile sooner than 
 venture in, and wery right they is. I'll be back in an hour, 
 and arn't goin' to get out to do it, and save your old bones, 
 Mother Grimshaw." 
 
 With which Joseph gathered up the reirs. and gave the 
 horse h\> head, and trotted oft. 
 
 Dvke Mason emerged, hit breath tdirl> taken away with 
 surprise nnd delight. 
 
 At Inst I There stood the gates unlocked and unbolted, 
 and the way to the hidden princess wa? c'enr. He drew the 
 key from the keyhole, opened the massive ^ate cautiously, 
 drew it after him again, and in the chill gray ot the March 
 eveniuii stood within the grounds o± the Gran^^ 
 
 •,: 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPT^JR n. 
 
 WHAT DUKE MASON SAW AND KeARO. 
 
 Grasping his walking-stick a little tighter, Mr. Mason 
 madt^ his \^^y up the gloomy avenue of firs. It was quite 
 d^rrk now, and the very "blacknnss <oi darkness'" reiiroed in 
 this moiot gloomy drive. Therf would be a moon presently; 
 ponding its rising, the gloom ul TartaruB reigned. It wafi 
 iust a ouActer o< • mik to the houNb £iii mao^ ibaiv 
 
<^'hat Duke ^'a en Saw and Heard, ii 
 
 walking brought him to it, looiulii^ up a l)h\ckor, bulkiei 
 shadow among the shadows. A long, iuw, invguLir mansion, 
 mucli inclined to run to chimneys iind ;r;il)]r-; and tur^'ots, 
 with small leaden casements, and two lami)s burning over 
 the portico entrance. 
 
 Through cue < f the v.ijulnws !N[ason saw a picture that 
 haunted him in his slcepii!g and waking dreams lii< life 
 "long. A long, low room, oak i)aneled, oak floured, with here 
 and there ricli rugs covering its slippery l)lai'kness, l';ide«l 
 tapestry on the walls, tajjcstry wrought centuri'.?; ago hy 
 many a fair / lice and Kilith of the Lyndith raee, mas«;ive 
 furniture, rickety with time, a wood fire blazing clieerily on 
 the hearth, the only cheery thing in the apaftmiMit, nnd a 
 little cottage piano in a corn<!r, standing open, with music 
 flpon it, as if the performer had but lately left. 
 
 "A very charming bit of still life, after Wat tea u," thought 
 the spectator; "a very pretty interior, indeed. Now, if the 
 dramatis personae would but appear!" 
 
 The thought had barely crossed his mind when, at if it 
 had evoked her, the door ojiened, and a yi»ung lady v'ame 
 in. Duke gave a gasp. 
 
 Her*' w«is the sleejjing beauty, the hidden princess "^he 
 my-^terioLis houri of the haunte.l house, herself 
 
 '*And, by Jove? a. beauty of the first water."' thr-ughr Duke, 
 with as near an approach to enthusiasm as was in his nature; 
 'tht be^t-looking voung woman I've seen this mr-nth -^ 
 Sundays." '' 
 
 Mr, Mason was r'^ub^ -she was vei-y pretty - very prf-rty, 
 indeed. A petite figure, sliiu, youthful, supple, two or^at» 
 dark ^yes. that lit up her small fiice like dusk star> a pro- 
 fusion of waving yellow hair, that fell in a shining stiower U> 
 he J w.iist. 
 
 A dress of wine-colored silk trailed behind her. diamonds 
 twinkled in her eiirs and on her hands, and in the firelight 
 nbe made a picture so daz;?ling that Duke gazed breathless, 
 bewitched. 
 
 She went ap to the mantel, a tall structure of black mar- 
 ble, and leaning lightly against it, looked steadfastly into the 
 red flaifte. Her clasped hands hung loosely before h<'r, the 
 willowy Hgure drooped, the straight, black brows were bent, 
 the mouth compresst\l. the whole attitude, the whole ex- 
 pression, full of weary, hopelt. -^ nain 
 
 For nearly ten minutes the voung lady ]to*»d without mov- 
 ing still farintr with 'mi hr«»\\>- into the leapirrtr firelitrht. 
 Then, with a long. heart-i< k ^ijih, -ne sfarled, crosse<i the 
 room once or twice, always* lost in deep and painful thought, 
 tbasi su^derl^ .^eate^ herseii at the piano and bu^au to sin^ 
 
12 What Duke Mason Saw and Heard. 
 
 •iji 
 
 ■i>i 
 
 Thon, rnoro siuMoiily than she had sat down, ahc; aroaft 
 her whole face working, and hehl out lier arms with a aup^ 
 pr(>sso<I 8ob. 
 
 "Robert!" she cried, "oh, my Robert! my Robert! come 
 back!" 
 
 Just at that instant the rapid roll of wheeh outside told 
 Duke the chaise was returning. An instant later, and the 
 gates were flung wide open, and the chaise whirled rapidly 
 up the drive to tlie house. 
 
 "F wonder what he thought when he found the key gone I" 
 reflected Mr. Mason, witli a chuckle. 
 
 The chaise ^topped before the portico entrance, and, by 
 the liglit of the lamps, the watcher saw a tall man spring out, 
 say a few words rapidly and authoritatively, as one accus- 
 tomed to command, and disappear into the house. The car- 
 riage was driven round to the rear, and silence fell upon 
 Lyndith (irange. 
 
 The young huly in the lighted room had heard, and see"n, 
 too. When Duke looked again, her whole attitude had 
 changed. She stood erect, her little figure seeming to dilate 
 and grow tall, her head thrown back, her great eyes alight, 
 her small hands tightly clenched. 
 
 That moment the door was flung open, and the gentleman 
 entered. A tall gentleman, elderly and stout, and florid and 
 good-looking, with a* great porfusion of whiskers and iron- 
 gray hair. A gentleman as grim and sterrk as Lyndith 
 Grange itself, who gave the young lady a cool glance, a cool 
 nod, and a cool greeting. 
 
 "How do, Olivia? IToth do you find yourself to-night? 
 Any change for the better since I saw you last, two weeks 
 
 ago 
 
 v 
 
 "I will never go back to town on your terms, TJncle GeoflF- 
 rey!" she said, her voice trembling with excitement. 
 "Never! never! T can live here — T can die here, if you will, 
 but I'll never yield ! I only wish T could die, but I live on, 
 and on, with all that makes life worth living for gone." Her 
 lips trembled, her voice died away. 
 
 The man looked at her with a sneering smile. "•♦^ 
 
 "Which, translated, means Robert Lisle is gone, and after 
 him the deluge. T wonder you like to allude to him, my 
 dear. Disgrace has rarely co'me to people of your blood, 
 and such disgrace as you have brought upon us rarely comes 
 to any family. You will not yield. Afay T ask what you 
 mean to do?" 
 
 "Disgrace''' loneated the girl, with sullen anger; "you 
 Boedn't use that tt^-^rd duite so ofteu, 1 think, I'll not marry 
 
trd. 
 
 th a aupr 
 
 'I't! come 
 
 side told 
 and the . 
 i rapidly " 
 
 y gone I" 
 
 and, by 
 ring out, 
 e accus- 
 rhe car- 
 ill upon 
 
 id seen, 
 ide had 
 
 dilate 
 i alight, 
 
 itleman 
 rid and 
 d iron- 
 
 yndith 
 
 a cool 
 
 night? 
 weeka 
 
 GcoflF- 
 ?ment. 
 
 1 will, 
 ve on. 
 
 Her 
 
 after 
 p, my 
 
 )lood, 
 
 omea 
 
 you 
 
 "you 
 Larry 
 
 What Duke Mnson Saw and Heard. 1} 
 
 sir Vane Chartoris, if tliiU's what you mrnn. I'll not! I'll 
 die first r 
 
 Mr. Lyndith looked at Iut, as a man might look at a 
 headstrong child resisting- with all its small might. 
 
 "You'll die first! ^ly i)oor, littl(>, rojnantic Livey! It's 
 80 easy to say that — so very hard to do. l^ut I don't tlrink 
 you'll kill yourself, l/ife is very sweet to young persons of 
 nineteen, oven though they li:ive lost their Kohert " 
 
 The girl started up, goaded to a sort of frenzy. 
 
 "rnele (ileoffrey, do you want to drive me mad? Don*t 
 go too far! I warn you, it is jiot safe! Ah, Heaven liave 
 pity, for there is none on earth!" 
 
 She hroke out into such a wild storm of hysterical so])hing 
 that the man she addressed was really a little startled. Ordy 
 a little, for he knew women very well; and he knew when 
 the tears and the sobs come, they were by no means at their 
 ^lost dangerous. 
 
 Geoffrey Lyndith stretched out his hand and touched her. 
 She shook it oflF as though it had l)een a viper. 
 
 "Don't touch me!" she cried; "don't speak to me! You 
 have been the eruelest guardian, the most unfeeling uncle that 
 ever lived. You say my father was a hard man. Perhaps 
 so; but he never would have broken my heart, and driven me 
 to despair, as you have done!" 
 
 "Your father would have broken Robert I.isle's head !" re- 
 torted her uncle, coolly. "Tie would have shot him like a 
 dog, as he was," and instead of bearing with your relx^llious 
 humors, as I have done, he would have ma(ie you marry Sir 
 Vane Charteris months ago. Take cnre, Olivia, that you do 
 not weary even my patience and forbearance! Take care 1 
 do not force* you to obey !" 
 
 "You cannot!" 
 
 "That remains to be seen. ^Yhat is to hinder my fetehing 
 Sfr Vane and a clergyman down here, and marrying you out 
 of hand?" 
 
 "No clergyman wouL/ perform such a marriage." 
 
 "The Rev. George Lot'tus would, lie owes me his living, 
 and he understands this case exactly, and knows I am but 
 obeying your late father's instructions. I give you one more 
 ■<reek. Olivia. If your reason has not returned by that time, 
 we v'ill try what a little wholesome coercion will do. Once 
 married, these whims ^nd vapors of yours will end. You 
 will like Sir Vane — women always like their husbands after 
 marriage, you know, and I dare say you'll be a very sensible 
 wife, as wives go, yet. I'm going down to dinner now." He 
 pulled out b&s watch. "Will you take my arm, Misa 
 tyndithr ,..._-,.,,....,. . :, . , .•..-..,.,, ..,;u.^, 
 
14 
 
 Mr. Mason Elopes- 
 
 •*No, I want r.o dinner." 
 
 ''Ao you please. Think matters over, m^' dear, and, foi; 
 pity's sako, do try to be calm, and drop melodrama. Oive 
 me your promise, and I will fetch you back to town to-mor- 
 row- We Lyndiths always keep our word." 
 
 He loft the rofjin as he spoke. The pfirl crossed to the 
 window, wringing- her hands in frantic, helpless, despairing 
 appeal, ■ 
 
 *'()h!'' she eried, "is there no help in all heaven and 
 earth for me?" 
 
 She was standing clos-i^by one of the windows, and tlie 
 passionate prayer was scarcely uttered before it was an- 
 swered. 
 
 A man's face looked at her through the glass — a man*s 
 voice spoke. 
 
 "Don't he alar.ned," said the voice, as the man pulled off 
 his hat. "I'll help you, if you'll only tell me how I" 
 
 CHlPTER in. 
 
 MB. MA.SON ELOPES. 
 
 The young girl recoiled, as she very well might, from so 
 unexpected an ai>parition, and gazed at the stranger with 
 large, frightened eyes. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed, madam," Mr. Mason repeated, with the 
 greatest respect; "I am a friend, if you will permit me to 
 say so. An hour ago, chancing to pass your gates, and find- 
 ing them, for a wonder, unlocked, curiosity prompted me to 
 enter. I concealed myself in yonder tree — quite unpardon- 
 able on my part, I know; but, again, strong curiosity must 
 plead my excuse. And in that tree I must own I played 
 eavesdropper. I have overheard every word of your conver- 
 sation with the gentleman who has just left this room. It 
 looks rather suspicious, apparently, I own; but really the 
 conversation, the whole occiwrence has been so strange, so 
 out of the usual course, that singularity must plead my par- 
 don. As T said before — now that I am here — ^if I can be of 
 the slightest use to you, madam, pray command me.*' 
 
 And Mr. Mason paused for breath. He was not long- 
 winded as a rule, didn't in the least shine in conversation, 
 and lo! here he was breaking forth, an orator. Dire neces- 
 sities demand stringent measures. j 
 
 Mr. Mason rose with the occasion, and was eloquent! 
 
 The young lady listened and looiied at him. still surprised, 
 ttill doubtful 
 
 'J h 
 
 * ' .•-'4 > 
 
 ■(y-t 
 
Mr Mason Elopes 
 
 15 
 
 ■> and, foL 
 ^a. Give 
 vn to-irior- 
 
 ml to the 
 iespairing 
 
 ^ven and 
 
 and tlie 
 wa3 an- 
 
 -a man*3 
 
 mlled off 
 
 from R<) 
 :er with 
 
 vith the 
 me to 
 id find- 
 1 me to 
 3ardon- 
 y must 
 played 
 ionvlir- 
 m. It 
 ly the 
 >ffe, so 
 y par- 
 be of 
 
 longr- 
 ation, 
 neces- 
 
 rised. 
 
 *T am a stranger hrro," pursuod Diiko. "1 caino from 
 London two weeks a^o, to visit an old friend residing in 
 Rpeckhavnn. To-nij^ht T wis to hnve rotnrned homo, and 
 thinkinj:^ of sonicthinpr else, took the wronff turning at the 
 crossroads, and found niyself htjie. I am an intruder, I 
 know, and have no business whatever on the premises, but 
 tip.ini I repeat: Being here, if T ean be or any use to 
 you 
 
 She drew near, her lips ajiart, her eyes shinincr, iicr hands 
 clasped. 
 
 "You w-11 help nie! I want to escape, I am a prisoner 
 hcrCo Oh I surely you are not deceiving me I You are hot 
 an emissary of Mr. Lyndith or Sir Vane CliartcrJs!" 
 
 "Madam, imtil within the last half hour, T never knew 
 those two gentlemen were in existence. I will help you ia 
 any way you may please to name." 
 
 There was no doubting the sincerity of hi^ tono. Still, 
 the mysterious young lady gazed at him, a,s if to rtad his 
 heart in his face. Poor TVike! it wasn't at all a handsome 
 face. His eyes were of the palest, most insipid sky-blue — 
 his nose was a decided snub, his whiskers were sparse, and 
 wont to crop up in a variety of i)ale-yellow and dull-red 
 Gtubble, that surprised even himself. The n»ost sentimental 
 Rchoolgirl could nut for Hie life of her make a hero of 
 Marmaduke Mason, but tae silliest schoolgirl f>f them all 
 might have trusted him, as she could have dared to ti;uat 
 few of his sex. 
 
 It was an honest face, and the clear eyes searching it 
 knew they might trust him. She leaned forward to him 
 through (lie half-open window. I'he moon, rising, now 
 gleamed forth from a bank of jagged clouds, and silvered 
 the sweet, pale fate. 
 
 "Will you help me to escape?" she whispere«l, earnestly. 
 "I am a prisoner here — 1 have been for the last two months. 
 My uncle is my guardian, and he wants me to mai'ry s man 
 I hate — I hate!" She set her little teeth, and ihe big. black 
 eyes flashed. "1 will run away to-night, if vou will help 
 me." 
 
 "I will help youc lell me what I am to doV 
 *'TIow did you say you got in? The gates f" 
 locked and bolted." 
 
 *''! hey were not this evr-riing. The oervanf wlr:^ drove ^o 
 the station thought it too much trouble to descend and lock 
 them after him. It appears he is in the habit of leaving 
 them unfastened, and no harm has ever come of it. I was 
 in hiding; the moment he left I drew the kes from the 
 
 h 
 
 vays 
 
16 
 
 Mr, Mason Elopes, 
 
 lock— -here it. is — am] canio in. I don't know what hn said oi 
 di'l, I'm sure, when he came back and found it gone," 
 
 "Then there is notliinti: to prevent niy e.s(;ai»infr. Oh, 
 thank lloaven! I belu ve I should fio mad if kept another 
 week lierr. But it is S(» inueh k* a^k of you, a atran^cr, to 
 do what I want." 
 
 *'i\ot one n-hit too m«u h Please don't think of me. Wlinl 
 am T to do ?'' 
 
 The yirl {.?hineed anxio\Js]y over her nhouhJtr, • 
 
 "If you arc seen. J don't know what may happen, Mr, 
 Lyndilli is — oh! an awful nuii! and he will return here 
 directly. lie i-: p>inp: to stay all niffht, and the doors and 
 windows will be made fast in aH hour. If I ^et away at all 
 it will be midnight fully l^efore I dare venture. And in the 
 meantime " She looked at him more anxiously. 
 
 "'Yes. Miss Lyndith. I bog your pardon, but I heard him 
 call you that, you know." 
 
 "My name is Olivia Lyndith. But between this and mid- 
 night — and it is only seven o'clock now — ohT^Mr. '^ 
 
 "Mason, Miss Lyndith." 
 
 "Mr. Mason, how will you manag'c? 1 hese March nights 
 are so cold, and five long, lonely, freezing hours! No, it ia 
 too much!" 
 
 She clasped her hands and looked at him in despair. Duke 
 8m i led. 
 
 "Please don't think of me, Miss Lyndith. I will wait with 
 all the pleasure in life. I don't mind it — upon my word 
 and honor, I don't! I like it — yes I do — it's an adventure, 
 you see, and I never had an adventure before in the whole 
 course of my existence. I will go back to my friend, the 
 elm tree, and wait for midnight and you. May I ask how 
 you propose getting out?" 
 
 "Through this window. Oh! how kind, how good you are, 
 sir, and I am quite friendless nnd alone here! These win- 
 dows are secured by bolts on the inside. I can easily draw 
 them, lift the window, and jump out. Oh, Mr. Mason, go — 
 quick, for pity's sake. My uncle is here!" 
 
 She sprang back from the window. Duke made for hh 
 tree. Just as he regained his roost the door opened, and 
 Mr. Lyndith, looking less grim and more humanized, as the 
 most savage of men, I notice, arc apt to do after dinner, 
 came in 
 
 " The young lady had flung herself inro his ami'^haiT btr 
 fore the are. She arose sullenly at his entrance. 
 
 "One moment. Miss Lyndith," he said. "Will you return 
 with me to-mor.'ow to London?" - , -■ . 
 
 *Y«8, decidedly.'' ^ ., . . „ 
 
Mr. Mason Elopes. 
 
 r; 
 
 ho f5ai(I f>i 
 
 ins-. Oh. 
 >♦ arjotlier 
 
 10. Whnf 
 
 X'n, Mr, 
 n'-M here 
 loors aii(i 
 ■ay at all 
 id in the 
 
 • 
 
 ?ard him 
 md mid- 
 
 h nip^hts 
 
 ^O, it 13 
 
 Duko 
 
 ait with 
 y word 
 'enture, 
 ? whole 
 nd, the 
 3k how 
 
 ^u are, 
 e win- 
 ^ draw 
 
 I. ffO-- 
 
 or hifj 
 
 , and 
 
 as the 
 
 liner, 
 
 r ber 
 eturo 
 
 i.8 the promised wife of Sir Vano Ch:irteri.s?" 
 
 ■-*No!" 
 
 "Then you prefer roinaininpr a prisoner indefinitely?" 
 
 "I prefer anything to marrying Sir Vane Cliarleriri, Good* 
 nifi:ht. Uncle Geoffrey." 
 
 "Hut, Olivia " 
 
 "Good-night!" Olivia said, with a flash of her great, Idack 
 eycri; and with the words she was gone. 
 
 And Duke waited out.side. One by one the minutes told 
 off on his dial-j)late; sloiN'ly the erystal moon swam up t.'io 
 pnri)le sky; brightly burned the frosty stars, and slowly, 
 from head to foot, the wi eher grew benumbed. Most lugu- 
 brious, most unearthly, wailed and moaned the wind through 
 the trees; in the dead silenee he could hear the dull ri)ar of 
 tlie surf six miles away. Would midnight, would Miss Lyn- 
 dith. never come? 
 
 Yes. At half-past eleven exactly he heard the cautious 
 withdrawal of the window bolts. With an inward thank.s- 
 giving, and all cramped and stiff, Duke got do-A'ii from tiio 
 tree, and approached. Yes; there she stood, the moonlight 
 shining on her pale face and starry eyes. She wore a cloak 
 and hood, and held a veil in her hand. She motioned him 
 to silence, opened the window, and drew herself carefully 
 through the narrow aperture. The distance was not fivo 
 fi'ct, but Duke lifted her gently down before she could 
 sjiring. Her teeth were chattering, partly with cold, partly 
 with nervous terror. 
 
 "Come on!" ' 
 
 He drew her hand within his arm — it was no time for 
 ceremony, no time fur standing on degree — and hurried with 
 her down the avenue. They never spoke. The gatas were 
 secured by massive bolts. Duke shot them back easily, and 
 she stood on the moonlit highroad — free. 
 
 "Thank Heaven!'' he heard her whisper, as she glnneej 
 back, with a shudder, at the gloomy pile. "I wiil nev<-- go 
 back alive." 
 
 She took his arm again, and they hastened rapidly on. 
 Excitement lent them strength and speed — i)erhaps neither 
 had ever walked in their lives as they did that night. They 
 were dead silent by the s^-iy-both were breathless. 
 
 They rea« bed tl>^ t'>wn as the Speckhaven oiof-k^^ wcrw 
 striki'i;^ t'f'-' »pjatl.»r ^iii-r niid'iilc:ht. It lay s+ill in the moon- 
 light — solciMily !>till — white and cold. They iiurricd through 
 its c^\vc^ street.>3. iiol meeting half-a-d<'?:en ;^;eoplo until tiny 
 had left it behind. ,' ' ; -- .v'i« >- 
 
 The station stood, a.=< it is in the nature of stations to 
 Stand, in a dreary track of waste land, on the outskiita oi 
 
l^ 
 
 Mr„ Mason Elopes. 
 
 thos town. At haW-past twrlvo t^oy readied it. One or two 
 ofHciah;, with blue noses and sleepy eyes, stared at them 
 p'olidly. 'Die next train for London was a alow train; and 
 it would i)Hss at two-fifteen. Nearly two lunirs to wait! 
 She sai.'v down in a j-cal, exhausted — white as a spirit. Duko 
 left h( r bv the. fir(^, and went in search of refi-eshinents; hut 
 at th it Ijour there was nothing to be ha<l. Me returned to 
 tf'll })er f"\ with a disappointed face, and, to his surprise, she 
 lookcil up at him with great tears shining in the dusky eyes, 
 and 'ook his hand in both her own. 
 
 "J low 'good you are?" she said. "How good! how goodl 
 How ean I ever thank you, Mr. Mason f 
 
 Mr, Mason had, like all his sex — devoid of little weak- 
 nesses of any sort, themselves — a strong aversion to scenes, 
 Jle turned very red, and drew his hand away, as if thohO 
 soft lingers burned him — muttering something incoherent 
 about "not mentioning it — taking a little nap in her chair 
 before the train came." 
 
 "Wait a minute," she said; "we don't know what may 
 haj)pcn! I may bo followed, and brought back in spite of 
 you; and some day I may need a kind friend's help again. 
 Take this ring; it is worth a great deal. Oh, you must — and 
 kee]) it for my sake. Give me your London addnvss, n«»w 
 that we have time, and whether we get safe to Paris or not. 
 Some ilay I may seek your help again; and if I ever need 
 you. you will come?" 
 
 "I will come," he said, simply. 
 
 I'c ;'.v:ive her the address, No. 50 Half-Moon Terrace, 
 BI(>oM'f bury, and she wrote it in a little pocketbo ik. The 
 t ing siie had forced upon him blazed in his hand like a glow- 
 ing coal. It was an opal, curiously set in dead gold — most 
 sini'-trr and beautiful of stones. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Mason," she repeated, looking grate- 
 fully up with those wonderful black eyes. "I will never for- 
 get your kindness while I live. And now I will try to rest 
 until tlic train comes." 
 
 She sank down in her chair before the fire, shading her 
 face with one hand, and Duke left her, and paced up and 
 down the platform. How the moments lagged — it was worse 
 than waiting in the tree. Once in motion, and Speckhaven 
 in the distance, he could feel almost safe — not before. 
 
 "Poor little thing!" he thought; "poor little, pretty, young 
 lady! What a brute that uncle must be to persecute and 
 imprison such a helpless, tender creature, and what a lucky 
 fellow that Robert is !" 
 
 One! pealed from the station clock. An hour and fifteen 
 minutes j9t to wait, and every seoond precioufi. Half paal 
 
 
In the Waifinu-Room. 
 
 N 
 
 one! — two! — Duk<'s ht,nrt was hcatinj; thicu nnd fast '.vith 
 fiusponsc. Fifteen minufe.s iiion* - lie would ^o and see if ^;ho 
 Blo|)t — poor cliild. He tiin.i.'d t«i ^)h -stopjicd slmrt— hi^ lieart 
 el<)p]KMi, too, for carriage vvln'cls were tlyiii^; tliroUKl» tl»" 
 sili'iit streets, straight aloii^ to the station. Xearer. nearer! 
 A sudden stop — a man leaped out and slro(h« strai^^ht to tlie 
 waitin(.r-rooni. lie heiird a low. woi'dle.-ts cry within th;il tild 
 hiui all. Tlien, with elenehed tists and a feroeious feilin;:f'in 
 hi.s usually j)eaeeful hreast, he ini^do for th(i waitinnrooni, 
 and lootiiinj^- n\) hiaek — stern — grim — awful — ho coii fronted 
 Mr. Gcjotfrey Lyndith. 
 
 CHAPTKR IV. 
 
 IN TIIK WAITIN'G-HOOM. 
 
 It wns a decidedly strikinjf scene* — that sudden api)onr- 
 anec of Air. (leoffrey Lyndith in the waiting-room of the 
 S])eckhaven station. 
 
 Duke, regarding it from the doorway, thought so. Mr. 
 Mason, by profession, was a sceno-i>ainter to the Royal 
 Waterloo Britannia Theatre, and, viewing the tableau in a 
 purely professional light, he decided it would be rather a 
 strong -finish for a scene on the boards. 
 
 The young lady had arisen, and stood facing her guardian. 
 Her small, dark face, always colorless, was blanched to a dull, 
 dead white now, but the large, dauntless, dark eyes met his 
 full — defiant. She gave one swift, sidelong glance to wlicro 
 Duke stood, and made a rapid and almost imperceptible} mo- 
 tion for him to remain there. 
 
 Mr. Lyndiih from his entrance never noticed him, though 
 his glance scanned the bleak apartment in search of any one 
 who might be his runaway niece's companion, ile came up 
 close to her, grim as an Egyptian death's-head. 
 
 "What does this mean, Olivia f' 
 
 She looked at him and laughed, a hard, bitter laugh 
 enough. 
 
 "I think it is pretty plain. Uncle Geoffrey. I am trying 
 to run away. In fifteen minutes more I shotild have suc- 
 ceeded, too. W^hy have you followed me, Mr. Lyndith?" 
 
 ^Rather an insolent question, I think, anc^ an unnecessary 
 one, too." ^ 
 
 "For its insolence I don't know — of its necessity I am 
 very sure. "Why have you taken tiie trouble to follow rae? 
 You certainly don't expect I shall go back?" 
 
 Tbfiiy wer« strlkuoglj like each other^ as the^ itood there^ 
 
'li,l^ 
 
 20 
 
 In the Wnitinft-Room 
 
 iiiiii 
 
 n rid, Hullt^n i?lo' of nuRor Iturtiliii,' i]op\) in tfijr ryes, thf 
 young giiT- liai..' 'juw, n-soiute lips r•oIn^)r«'^sl(^. The man 
 kiu'W hor vv«'ll, mill knt'w tlint tlic Ikmit hiul coiiip whon he 
 riiU!-t play hin l;jsf, cml. !!«■ dul not Mii^wrr Iut last tlcfiant 
 reniiiik; \ui nsknl n <!Ursfi»»i), \«ry rjiiictl^ . 
 
 •'Are yoii nlonr, < )Iiviii ?" 
 
 "Who Im Klxdy to be my nonipnnion ^" slu:- nnswcrod, nv-k' 
 lesijy. "What. Iriciid havo 1 — thanks to you — who is there 
 in tho world to l;o my ••onipanion in any of niy rohollioua 
 fliglits? I stand here as 1 s<and on earth---alone— ll'^aveu 
 help n»c!" 
 
 Iler voiee broke a little. With a pa'^^'ionate pesture she 
 Itirncd gway and looked into the fire. Mr. J.yndith regarded 
 her in stony ealni. 
 
 "May I ask your present inteniions, Olivia^ Tt would be 
 a pity for us to niisun<lerstand eaeh other in the least." 
 
 '*1 am going to Varis," .'-he answered, her reekless manner 
 returning. ^'Atadaine hi (^iintesse de Florial was my riiother'a 
 friend. She will protect and slielter me." 
 
 "She will not defy your '' guardian. A Frenchwoman 
 brought up as i^fadame do Florial has been would be the 
 very last on earth to eountenanee a young, unmarried girl 
 m such insubordination as yours, Olivia; and if it were 
 otherwise, I have law and right on my side. Remember. I 
 am your guar ..ian !" 
 
 "You are my tyrant — my jailer! I will never go back to 
 the Grange — never, so help me Heaven!" 
 
 She raised her arm with a gesture worthy Rachel herself. 
 Mr. Mason, in the doorway, contemplated her admiringly. 
 
 "There is a court of appeal for such as I, even in England. 
 To that orphan's tribunal I will go, and we will see whether 
 you are to be an Eastern despot, and I your slave, or not. 
 In fifteen minutes the London train will be here; in fifteen 
 minutes I leave Speckhaven forever. I will not go back, 
 Geoflrey Lyndith!" 
 
 lie drew out his watch and looked at it, replaced it, and 
 came closer to his niece. 
 
 "Very well, Olivia, it shall be as you say; only I cannot 
 permit you to travel alone; T will at least accompany you, 
 and, instead of flying to Paris, you shall return with me to 
 Park lane. Such an escapade as that you propose is some- 
 thing more than preposterous — a young lady of your posi- 
 ti(m, my dear, running abotft England and France alone! 
 You will come honic with me, and you will listen to reason, 
 and marry Sir Vane Charteris in April, and go buck with 
 him to Vienna. Hear me out, please. You once told me you 
 would, on one condition. That condition at the time I re- 
 
 nin 
 
In the Waiting-Room, 
 
 91 
 
 fui»?d to comply widi. I witli.lruw my retusal to-iii>flit, 
 PromiHe to murry Sir Vunc, aiitl I will tiil<r you ulrjiiulit to* 
 Iii^rlit to- it I 
 
 Slio startc'i ii|>. with tlie «^'•^lu^(' Diiivc hid sn m hi t't>i«»- • 
 h«'r iiiiiMl<( ciiispt'd, iwr tyv^ <li';itiiig and lighting, hfj lipg 
 l)roiithI(>vS nnd jiiuirt. 
 
 "riK'lc (Jcofficy — you will?" 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "It still livc.-i, thru, luid — is widl — happy?" 
 
 Mr. r.ymlith smiled M:riiidy. * • 
 
 "It still livoa; it is woll, I U'li<'vt;, nml as happy as y(»ung 
 persons of one year and nine inonth:^ usually arc V<»n shall 
 havo it, to do with it as you ph-asc, only I hopo, tor tha 
 honor of the family, Miss Lyndith." he laid stronj^ emphasi!* 
 on the name, "that you will still continue to keep its mater- 
 nity a secret. I'pon my word, I don't know what Sir Vane 
 would say or do if " 
 
 Olivia T.yndith's black eyes flashed upon him with an al- 
 most savage light. 
 
 "Leave his nanie out of tl^.e question, if you please. Thig 
 is your last card, T am aware; you have played it. N(»w sup- 
 pose I still refuse?" 
 
 There was a whole world of scorn and defiance in th? hand- 
 some, mutinous face of tlvis girl of eighteen. She was 
 trembling all over, partly with cold, partly with, nervous (>x- 
 citement. Geoffrey Lyndith met her blazing eyes steailily, 
 with a gaze cold, hard, inflexible. 
 
 "In that case you shall never see it, alive or dead. It shall 
 be taken from the comfortable home in which it is now, and 
 j^iven over to the poorest kind I can discover. It shall he 
 brought up in squilld poverty and vice, a creature, which, 
 when it attains womanhood, you will be the first to shrink 
 with horror from. That is all." 
 
 A more pallid h je came over the girl's pallid iacc — her 
 very lips whitened .;o ashes. 
 
 "It will be a fate good enough for Tlohcrt Lisle's child. 
 For you, Olivia — you are but eignteen— for Three years more 
 do as you will, say as you will, the law makes me your 
 master. Your talk is nothinpc but talk — the only thing you 
 can bring r gainst me is that I try to carry out the condi- 
 tions of your late father's will, and see you Lady Charteris 
 upon your eighteenth birthday. You refuse — I h^vc reason 
 to fear you will run away and go to tlie bad. and. to t)re- 
 vent it, I fetch you down to my coiintry house aii«l lavs 
 you there with two trusty servants. Your orphan's coiirt 
 will tell you I am doing my duty. And should you make 
 any 8Uch appeal'^ — ^his face grew black and A^id aun^ iron-^ 
 
t i; 
 
 ?x 
 
 In the A/. '"Jr^g'Rooni 
 
 , t 
 
 ir 
 
 It 
 
 ! I 
 
 iHli 
 
 "I will tell to the worl<: the whole story of the shame^uJ 
 past— how you, a child, scarce sixteen, ran away to Scot- 
 land with a yeoman's son— a thief. Miss Lyndith, caught in 
 the very act- -a fellow drowned, as he deserved to be. in his 
 flight to America. The world shall know this charming 
 story, though the honor of all the Lyndiths that ever lived 
 go with it. Ycu are very young, Olivia; you are very hand- 
 •iome — y.tu are proud, and came of a proud race — how will it 
 be with you ftien ?" - i 
 
 All her high courage — only a frantic woman's courage at 
 best — had given way under the lash of his scorpion tongue, 
 under his resolute man's strength. She had covered hot 
 face with both hands — dry, hysterical sobs shook her. Tlie 
 pxcit'oment of the night, the cold, the desolation, were toll- 
 ing .)n her, as such things tell on her sex. Duke Ma.ron's 
 fists clenched — the desire to go and punch Mr. Lyndith's 
 head was growing too great for human strength to bear. 
 
 "I am sorry to distress you, Olivia," her uncle said, after 
 a very brief pause; "but, my poor, impulsive, headstrong 
 child, it is for your own good. You must obey your dead 
 father. You must marry the man he chose for you — y-ou 
 nuji-t submit to the inevitable. Let the disgraceful oast be 
 blotted out. become the wife of an honorable gentleman, and 
 behave like ^ rational being. You can't suppose T want to 
 drag the story of that dead boor's villainy, and your folly — 
 to call it by no harsher term — before the light? I am your 
 best friend, Olivia, though you may not think so. I d(»n't 
 w'Hnt to ill-treat the little one, to visit the sins of her !)a rents 
 on her. ohc has been well treated and cared for since hvT 
 birth, on my honor she has, and I will give her to you to .io 
 with as you please, as soon as we return to town 1 promise 
 you this if you will promise to marry Sir Vane Chnrrciis. 
 There are eight niinutei=! still before the train come-., 1 ^ V^ 
 you five of them to decide. Robert Lisle lies at ihe bott(^:n 
 of the Atlantic, and you must marry some time Try aiul 
 consider that, Olivia," 
 
 He turned and left her. Her hands d'-opped from b('- 
 foro her face; she walked over to one of the windows, and 
 looked oul. Th.erc was a whole world of despair in the larp:(\ 
 mehnvhnlv r-yes; her arms hung listlessly by her side; she 
 stood th"! .^iloiie, a v( ry. tigurc of desolation. 
 
 The bniiir.iU nii(lnii,''ht moon shone down with itt ivory 
 light; the dark, spiidy waste glimmered in its bea'r;^.. The 
 wind of ;hr cold Tkfarch n>orning sighed ecily aioimd tho 
 lonoly bviilfing — without the dreariness, suitir.; '^ -• utter 
 misery within,. She sighed a long, shuddenii'^ : art-sick 
 sigh. 
 
In the Waiting-Room. 
 
 
 '*He is right," she t^-^vc-lit; "it is inovitable. Ah, Robert, 
 , r.iv love, my husband, ■ I were only with you, under th<? 
 dark Atlantic waves, ijut I must have Vour child — my 
 baby — my darling, at any cost to*myself. What (kjos it 
 matter what becomes of such a wretch as 1 am'^ It l must 
 marry some one as he says, as well Sir VTine as another. 1 
 will Ro tn St. George's in lace and orange blosso.ns, and bo 
 congratulated, and smile, and play the dreary play out. 
 Oh, me, what a farce it all is, at the best, ^d I am so 
 young, and life is so long — so long!" 
 
 Slit; leaned against the window, and her thoughts went 
 hack to just such moonlight nights gone never to come again. 
 Nights when he had been by her side, down in the leafy ar- 
 cades of Lyndith Court, in far-away Staffordshire, and life 
 had seemed more beautiful and blissful than a fairy tale, 
 or an Arabian leg^end. Again she could see him, tall, strong, 
 beautiful, with man's best beauty; again his arm was about 
 her — again his voice in her ear. 
 
 "He true to me, Olivia; trust me through p.Il things — for 
 better, for worse; and, as surely as heaven shines above us, 
 I will come back to claim you." 
 
 And she had promised and 
 
 "The five minutes have expired, Olivia," say the pitiless 
 tones of Geoffrey Lyndith, close beside her; "is it to be yes 
 or no ?" 
 
 She turned around and lifted in the gaslight a face sr. 
 deathlike, eyes so d^m and lifeless, that even he shrank 
 away. 
 
 ''Tt is yee. Uncle Geoffrey, and may Heaven forgive vou, 
 I never will." 
 
 '■'You are hysterical. Olivia — I pardon your wild wordc. 
 You promise, if I restore to you your child, to marry S-c 
 Vane Charteris?" ^ 
 
 "T ])romise !" '■ 
 
 The words dropped lik- ice ^rom her lips. He held out 
 h5<i hand, looking at her .iiieasily. 
 
 *Tt is 1 jdmpact between us — you will i<:eeT> Vout woi'd, 
 Olivia?" 
 
 She drew back from hi? extended hand with a gesture ot 
 inviescribable repulsion. 
 
 '*! will never shake hands with you again as long as 1 iire, 
 and will keep my word. Hive you not said we L.vndirhH ql- 
 wuvs do that 1 could te'- -^Xj of 2 proini-:e 1 made 'wo 
 years ngo that 1 am oreaifoa or»vv. out you would sii. v ''ash 
 piomises made to yeomen^ -;on? u'e better broken than kept. 
 Are you quita sure. Mr iciiia /ou will keep you' oledtye 
 
 tome?" 
 

 ((•|! 
 
 •M 
 
 U 
 
 In the Waiting- Roon? 
 
 "On my sacred honor. And now I must srmt Josephba:' 
 to the Grantee, and there will be barely time to ^et our 
 tiek(-ts hef<jre the tram comes. '' 
 
 lie hns<riu'(| out. Miss L.vndith at once crossed ilie wait- 
 ^ny-rooni to \vli(>re Duke Mason still stood unseen. 
 
 "I am ^<)in{\ with aiy uncle," slic said, hurriedly; 'there is 
 no alti-niativc, Wh.it . /er hapj^cns, with all my heart I thank 
 you." * . . 
 
 She took liis hand in both her own, and looked steadily up 
 in his honest, homely face. 
 
 "You have a home, a wife, mother, sister, perhaps? Tell 
 
 me. 
 
 ?» 
 
 n 
 
 "F have a home, sucli as it is, and a sister to keep it — ye 
 
 The lar^e, dark eyes still searched his face, the soft, 
 patrician fin^-ers stiil clasped his own. 
 
 "You have a good face, an honest face, and a kind, loyal 
 heart, I know. If it is ever in your power, Mr. Mason, I 
 v.'onder if you would aid me again ^" 
 
 "As freely as I hav(> aided you to-night, madam." 
 
 "Then — I have your address, you know — if T ever send for 
 you — if I send for you soon — will you come to me, no matter 
 how strange it n:{;y seem?" 
 
 "T will come!" 
 
 She lifted his hand ai.d kissed it. Mr. Marmaduke Mason 
 hliislied crimson under his sallow skin, and absolutely tried 
 to draw it away. 
 
 "tr^iod gracious!" he thought, "if Tiosanna could only see 
 this." 
 
 ' Don't let hiln see you; he may suspect, and I thank you 
 with all my soul." 
 
 She left him. ^fr. Lyndith strode in and went to the 
 ticket-ofllice, and on tlie instant the train came shrieking in. 
 
 "Come, Olivia." 
 
 He drew her rapidly with him into a first-class compavt- 
 nicnt. Duke modestly traveled second-class, and took his 
 place, too. 
 
 Thc^re was a shriek, a clanging bell, and awa." the "resonant 
 steam ea.de" rushed through the blue English night, and 
 Speckhavon lay like a place in a dream behind them. It 
 was .Jl over, and he was going back to London to the Royal 
 Waterloo Britannia, to Bloomsbury, and Eosanna and his 
 old, humdrum, commonplace life, and oiTly the yellow gleam 
 of the opal on his finger was left to remind him that his. 
 Btrange adventure of this night was not all t» dream. . 
 
 ;., '■".?» ^ *"v •> ■ - 
 
CPIAPTKR V 
 
 ROBERT H A W K S I, i: V . 
 
 On the first of April, in the year of griU'<' 1S47, the slcam- 
 Iship Land of Columbia sailcfl from New York to Liverpool, 
 bearing many passengers to the British shores. The rua 
 was. an uneommonly swift and pleasant one — not a single 
 storm came to disturb them, or bring the denujn of sensieii- 
 ness info their midst, from the time they steamed out of 
 New York Bay, until tlupy sighted the eliifs (tf Albican. 
 
 "You arc the only 'heavy swell' we have had, my lord," 
 the eaptain said to one of his [lassengers. "We have made 
 the best run of the year. We will weigh anchor this evening 
 in the Mersey." 
 
 "Well," the gentleman addressed made answer, "I am sorry 
 to hear it. J never feel so mneh in my element as I do at 
 sea. 1 believe an All-Wise Providence originally cut me out 
 for an old salt, and by some mistake I was born Baron 
 Montalien instead. It's the old story, captain; the round 
 pegs go into the s(iuare holes, and vice versa. As afirst- 
 ehiss seamarj, I might have been of some use in my genera- 
 tion — as it is — --" His lordship shrugged his shoulders, and 
 sauntered awaj'. 
 
 Nugent Horatio Earlseourt, Baron Mon alien, had been 
 making an American tour incognito as "Mr. Earlseourt" for 
 the past nine months, and had almost enjoyed himself . He 
 had hunted buffaloes, and had a shot or two at hostile bands 
 of Indians, and found life a good deal less of a bore than 
 he had done any time these last twenty years. He was fifty 
 years old now, and there were many silver threads in his 
 dark hair; he was unutterably patrician-looking, with the 
 broad brow, the handsome, classical nose, the determined 
 mouth, hereditary in his race. 
 
 Lord Montalicn had drawn near a solitary figure, leaning 
 against the bulwarks, and gazijig with an intensity quite re- 
 markable in the direction whence England lay, gazing so 
 absorbed that he never heard the approaching footsteps. 
 
 "Here's that fellow Hawksley, now." the peer thought, 
 with a sudden sense of injury; "how thoroughly in earnest 
 he seems, how intensely anxious to get home! I suppos© 
 Kngland is his home." •" ; 
 
 "Hawksley!'' he laid his small, sliaixdy hand — ^like a 
 woman's — oij the jhoulder of the man who sto"-^ ^T./irir- f^x 
 the sunlit eea aiuTskj. 
 
36 
 
 Robert Hawksley. 
 
 I;!:!'^ 
 
 '^'im 
 
 M 
 
 iiiii'ii 
 
 The man started '. 'c 'as a young: man, some five- and- 
 twenty, perhai-s, very tall, very fair, very good-looking. 
 More tlian {Aood-looking, v/iili l>rilliant blue eyes, sapijhire 
 biiu; to iiic;. v( ly lufili-; iu;.uri,iiil fhestnut beard and hair, 
 ai'.U a lair lui^lish skin, tMiiiicd };ul(kMj bnjvn. 
 
 Anidiig all bis ItllowiJisscngers acroj^s, the only one i-i 
 V'hom Lord Montalien liad deigned to take the slightest iu 
 tcrost was this young nuui. 
 
 'ilii.s youTig man, who wore a rough, shabby coat, a felt 
 hat, i-vd who wa^ too poor to travel in the lirst cabin. 
 
 Iliri nan:e on tiie passenger list w:i« Kobert Ilawksley; he 
 v,-;is a returned Englishman, who had spent tlie last two 
 years in roughing it in the Western States; and who, judg- 
 ing by ap|>eari"iees, had ;:ut made his fortune. Since he 
 • had con*'- on l-uard at New Vork, an intense, a sickening 
 longing I'j roach Engl.'Ui.l p.issessed him. He seemed una))i<3 
 ci'her to eat or sleep. At night, when the midnight stars 
 slmne over the purple so, he jja'-ed the d(H'k, hour after hour, 
 ev( r gazing toward wdiere JOngland lay, with a burning hun- 
 ger of impcitience in his eyes. lie was u self-contained man, 
 who said little to those about him, and this very reticence 
 and (piietude first drew the nobleman toward him. lie sought 
 to nudvc no acquaintances — he was modest and unassuming 
 to an unusual degi*ee, and Lord Montalien, who kept sundry 
 very wealthy fellow-passengers at a safe distance, and who 
 knew every sailor on board by luimc, was on the most friendly 
 footing with Robert llavvksley. If he liad sought to force 
 his confidejice or companionship upon him. his lordship 
 would have sent him to Coventry in three minutes, but he 
 never did. He talked to my lord, when my lord desired it. 
 and if he were passed by minoticed, he did not seem t'. care 
 one whit. He was so thoroughly xndepen lent, and manly, 
 and simple, that his grave dignity always commanded re- 
 spect. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Hawksley,'- .:is lordship said, "we are ahnost 
 there at last." 
 
 '*At ia^t!" The young man drew a long breath, a lonj?, 
 eager sigh. ^ 
 
 "You say that as though we had been a month out, and 
 yet we have had a remarkably speedy passage. You are very 
 anxious to arrive?" 
 
 "Very anxious; the nassage has been intolerably slow to 
 me. and yet — and vet- perhaps, i had much bettei ao; havt 
 ec-me -^t ail" . 
 
 "Tliat depends. Vou na^/* immbers oi iriends, at aouLi, 
 whi will rejoice to irreet -oi/ jiter two seoxst absoui^-'' 
 
some five- and- 
 
 good-looking. 
 
 eyes, sapphire 
 
 )oar(l and hair, 
 
 I. 
 
 e urdy one m 
 le idightest in- 
 
 xy coat, a feifc 
 cabin. 
 
 llawksley; he 
 tlic last two 
 nd wlio, judic- 
 Hc. Since jie 
 ', a sickening 
 jccnied una))io 
 
 lichli.L^'llt ;-{;,rs 
 
 ur after hour, 
 burning hun- 
 Hitained man, 
 .'t-ry reticence 
 n. lie sought 
 1 unassuniing 
 ) kept sundry 
 ice, and who 
 :nost friendly 
 ight to force 
 his- lordship 
 utes. but he 
 desireri it. 
 seem t' eare 
 and manly, 
 mianded re- 
 are almost 
 ath, a long, 
 
 tb out. and 
 ou are very 
 
 bly slow to 
 ei ao; have 
 
 . lit aoub«:. 
 
 Robert '■ ^wksley. 
 
 27 
 
 The ywunj? man looked at him with those wonderful blue 
 I Byes, and then away at the goiden light oi tiie sea. 
 
 "I have no friends, my lord — none. There la l)nt one in 
 ail Kngland who cares for me, and she must be either moi-e 
 lor U'ss than a friend." 
 
 "Oh! 1 see! — a 'lady in the case/ as they say in Irish 
 ! duels. Tlien you come home for a britle; that is the cause 
 of all this burning impatience. My lad, I congratulate you 
 -I remember bein? young once myself, and it was very 
 nice. And, no doubt, the young lady counts the liours even 
 more impatiently than you do." 
 
 *'No!" said Kcbert llawksley; "she does not even know I 
 I am coming." 
 
 "What! You did not write and tell her? You wisK to 
 [give her a melodramatic surprise, I supposed' 
 
 "I have never written to her, my lord. During th^» t\v? 
 years 1 have been roughing it out there on the prairies 
 I have never had 9. line from her, nor from any one in Kng- 
 land. She does not even know that 1 am alive. She is far 
 above me. Lord Montalien, in rank, but two yeari^ ago she 
 loved me." 
 
 ''And you are going back, and you expect to find her un- 
 changed," the nobleman said, with a compassionate smile. 
 
 Robert llawksley looked at him with an angry flash of his 
 blue eyes. 
 ^ "She was my wife," he said, haughtily. 
 
 "Oh! your wife. Well, that's different, you see. A man 
 may expect fidelity from his wife, with some show ot reason. 
 And you have never written to her in two years. Hasn't 
 tliat been a little oversight on your part, my dear boy?" 
 
 "It would have l>een useless. I have told you, ni> lonl, 
 ahe is far above me in station, and her uncle, her gn Indian, 
 would permit no letters of mine tx) reach her. T know him 
 well enough for that." 
 
 "Indeed! Yours was a clandestine marriage, then I take 
 
 it r , 
 
 "It was. Poor child — I did wrong, I auppose — ^he waa 
 only sixteen, I twenty-two; she an heiress, and of as proud a 
 family as any in England, and I — a nobody I But we loved 
 each other, and for four months were happy — were in 
 heaven/' 
 
 "Then I don't say you have dcme so'verv badly with your 
 life, after all," Lord Mor;*alien remarked. "There are some 
 of us who go through tV- world, and don't find four days- 
 four hours of perfe(!t bliss. And the flinty hearted uncle 
 wouldn^ be reasonabk, and accept the luevuabi*'.^ He tort 
 
 nu- .w- 
 
v_^ 
 
 28 
 
 Robert Hawkslev. 
 
 1r li^ 
 
 !(' 
 
 !>!:i. 
 
 'I ' * 
 
 his- mVer aw:iy. and >()U bcciiinc 
 aro going buck — ina.y I ask — wli.y ? 
 
 an exile 
 
 A; 
 
 )'./ a<)'^' \v. 
 
 'Jo ('!:ii;:i n:y wife, in spite of liini — U) fcfcf 'icr !< 
 
 Aniericju it' she will (m)1ii(\ 1 can give h(;r a 1 
 
 lonu 
 
 tl 
 
 ii^re 
 
 I) 
 
 not Kueli lis s)ie has been aeenstoiiM*! to, hut 11" she Icves ii 
 as she J.id, she will he hai)i)ier with nie in a (rottage tl^a 
 without me in a iialaee." 
 . "Ii!" liord Montalien n^peated, halt' c.Vnieally, half sadly, 
 "i; she loves you as she did, Robert Hawkskjy. And she ha." 
 had t vvo years to forget you! Well, well. She is your wile; 
 I will not say a word, and 1 hope — yes, my lad, I hoj)e you 
 will find her an exeeption to her sex, and true, and tender, 
 
 il read: 
 
 fi- 
 
 lth 
 
 th( 
 
 ds of th 
 
 [h 
 
 uttermost 
 
 Bnf^ remember this, my boy," his hand fell kindly on tne 
 young man's shoulder — "if you ever need a friend, and 1 
 >au helj) you, eonie to me. 1 never forget any one whom I 
 once fancy, and I fancy you. Come to me, and command 
 me in any way you please." 
 
 He gave him a card, with his title, and "Montalien Priory. 
 Lincolnshirt\ and Gaunt 8treet, London/' engraved upon it, 
 an i sauntered away. 
 
 Karly next day the passengers of the Land of Columhid 
 were safely in Liverpool. Lord iMontalien shook hands with 
 Robert Ifawksley on the quay, without one tinge of con- 
 descension or patronage. 
 
 ^^Remember, ITawksley, if I can ever be of service to you, 
 come to me. 1 will help you if I can." 
 
 And ivlr. Ifawksley had said, "Thank yea, my lord; I will 
 remember." And so they hatl parted, and how was either to 
 dream that that promise involved the future lives of the two 
 dearest to them both? 
 
 There was an hour to spare before the train })y whic.-h the 
 young man meant to travel to London would start. Ke 
 turned into a coH'eehouse, ordered his breakfast, and whi'a 
 he waited, took up a greasy paper, lying on the table. It 
 was a copy of the London Aforning Fost three days old, but 
 the returned Knglishman, to .vhom English papers were as 
 rare as angels' visits, read it with avidity. He was reading.': 
 the fasliloiiable intelligence, who w^ere party-going, party 
 giving, wlu» was presented at the last drawing-room, who 
 were being married, and to whom. And in thia list he came 
 upon the following paragraph: 
 
 "The marriage of Sir Yane Charteris, secretary of legutio' 
 to Vienna, to Miss Olivia Lyndlth, of Lyndith Court, St'il 
 fordshire, niece of Geoffrey Lyndith, Esq., so lonar pr itponed 
 an accouut of tii« young la(b''s ill-health, is positively iixed 
 
 IJ 
 
 ■"'1 
 
 r"l 
 ill 
 
 inoi 
 
 in] 
 
 Isffl 
 be 
 th( 
 
 «bri 
 
Robert Hawksley. 
 
 29 
 
 P.T)^ 
 
 / ci'iw y^i)!' 
 
 hoiiK tluin; 
 i' she Icvcs im 
 
 ly, half sjidly . 
 , And sh(.' liij- 
 i is your wife; 
 id, I li<>j)e you 
 10, and toudiT, 
 :s of the oartli. 
 kiiuJly on tin- 
 friend, and I 
 y one whom ! 
 and coniniarui 
 
 itaiien Priory, 
 raved upon it, 
 
 ? of Colamhia 
 ok hands with 
 tinge of con- 
 
 lervlce to you, 
 
 lord ; I will 
 was either to 
 
 ■ es of the two 
 
 )y which the 
 d start. He 
 •t, and whilt 
 
 le tahle. It 
 days old, but 
 il)ers were as 
 
 was readini.-: 
 foinj?, party 
 g-rooni, who 
 
 list he came 
 
 y of l(';4;itio' 
 
 Court, St'ii- 
 14? pr ;tpon<'(i 
 
 fni he fourtrenth of the prf^sent month. Inr ' (lately alter 
 the hoiic.\tnooT' which is to he sjiciit in Italy, Sir Vane and 
 l.ady CiiarteM."« depart for the hriltianl Vieiiii' 't Court." 
 
 Rohert Ilawksley read this parajjjraph, and read it af^ain — • 
 [slowly, j)ainfully, with a face from which «'vei\v drop of blood 
 iKiircIy receded, lie he'd the paper before him, his eyes dilat- 
 linjr, his face, his li|»s turning' to the hue of aslu's. So word, 
 jno exclamation escaped liim ; he sal as rigid as a "nan turn- 
 ing to stone, 'ihe waiter brought liim his breakfast, a-nd 
 [stared at liim aghast.' He spokti io him — he did not hear; 
 he tou(\Lied liini, and a pair of sightless eyes looked uj) from 
 [the paj)er. 
 
 " 'Kre's your brekwist, sir — hany think helse, sir?" Hut 
 [the words fell on duH ears. "BlesstMl if 1 don\ think he's 
 [going to 'ave a fit!" thought the waiter, and left him. 
 
 Kobert Hawksley sat there, and read again, ard again, that 
 [brief, eommonplaee paragraph in the Morning Post. Wait- 
 lers and customers* stared alike in wonder at the young man, 
 [who sat with his untaste<l breakfast before him, and with 
 [that rigid, awfull.y corpselike fae«'. 
 
 He rose at last, and laid down the paiKT. The waiter ap- 
 proached, and he demanded his bill, lie had touched notli- 
 ing, but he paid it at once, and without a word walked out 
 I of the house. 
 
 The bright April sun was shining, the streets were alive 
 [with people, but Robert Hawksley, seeing nothing, hearing 
 nothing, walked blindly on like a man in a dream. 
 
 "Married!" The word tolled through his brain like a Iwll. 
 ["Married on the fourteenth. And this is the thirteenth. To- 
 night I will be in London, and to-morrow is her wedding 
 iday!" He laughed aloud in an insane sort of way, rather to 
 the surprise of the pasf^rs-by. "Ami two years and a half 
 jago she was ray wife. Lord Montalien was right then, after 
 [all. I suppose it will be at St. Cieorge's, Hanover S(iuare. 
 [Well, 1 am "not invited, nor expected, nor, I dare say, 
 wanted, but still. Sir Vane Charteris, I shall go to your wed- 
 iding." 
 
 An hour later, and the exi)ress train was flying homeward, 
 and Robert Hawksley sat gazing straight Ixfore him at the 
 flying landscape and blue English sky, witli that fierce hunger 
 in his eyes, and his teeth clenclied hard behind his auburn 
 beard. 
 
 "Married!" That bell in liis brain seemed still tolling. 
 "Married to-morrow, to Sir Vane Charlcris. Well — when 
 to-morro-w comes, we will see!" 
 
OfTAPTKK VI.. 
 
 
 !„,:„ 
 
 IHlli 
 
 \ 
 
 -VHir DAWN OF Tllli lULllTKENTll OF ArrJ-. 
 
 1.'. w.'s ^hr lI.irto(Mith of April, atid late in the aftoinoop. 
 Suiisliine iiooded the (piiet strec^ts of lilooinsbury, and the 
 windows of Ilalf-Aloon Torracc, liappening to face westward, 
 w^re ail allaiuo with the golden Hyht of the sky, a sky as 
 hlnc as thou^li Ilalf-Jiloou Terrace wore in Venice instead 
 of tlie i)arish of Bloomshury, London, It was an arc of 
 dreary brick boxes, and liad only one side of the way, the 
 other Ix'in^' nicws. And in the particular brick box where 
 Mr. Duke Mason had set up his household jrods, he had a 
 eliiiiincy-swrc'p for neighbor in the attic, and a lame cob- 
 bler, who kept a shop on the first floor. Mr. Mason's domicile 
 consistc<l of four diminutive rooms, a kitchen, with a bed- 
 room off for his sister and housekeeper, a-i)arlor, with ditto 
 f((r himself, and a dreary, unplastered apartment, also open- 
 ing off the parlor, which sfcrved hiin as a studio; for Duke 
 was an artist, as you have been told — scenic artist, his little 
 sij^Mi ov( r the door informed you — assistant scene-paiutcr to 
 the Royal Waterloo Britannia. He was also second violinist, 
 he likewise went on, and i)layed a witch in Macbeth, Second 
 Orave-Dig'g'er, etc., and such powerful casts. Beinp an adoi)t 
 in the French lanpua^e, he, moreover, adapted the plays of 
 that nation, diluting tJiem with insular virtue, and straininf^ 
 the French morality a good deal, in order to suit British 
 stomachs. I To also painted portraits when he got them to 
 paint, so that you perc.'ive Mr. Mason was a gentleman oi 
 brilliant parts and great versatility of talent. 
 
 rie stands in his painting-room this sunny April afternoon, 
 hard at work on a huge square that occupies all one side of 
 the room, and he is standing on a ladder, putting in skies 
 and backgrounds. Close, it looks one huge chaos of rubies 
 an<l purples, and ultramarine and gold leaf — from the door- 
 way it looks like a grotto set in golden sands, and in a strong 
 lime light will, no doubt, come out in dazzling splendor to 
 the eyes of the frociucnters of the Britannia. 
 
 In the parlor adjoining, the shabbiest and niost spotlessly 
 neat of parlors, sits sewing Miss Rosanna Mason. She is a 
 lady of that age which is delicately mentioned as uncertain" 
 she is fifteen years the Duke's j;enior, and Duke is five-and- 
 twenty. She is tall and spare, .;;4 uaiden ladles usually arc; 
 she has high cheek bones, and th-ii lips, and deep-set eyes, 
 and a Roman nose, and a tremendous frontal development; 
 
The Dawn of the Fourteenth oi nprfl. 31 
 
 IZL. 
 
 the aitoinoon. 
 ibury, aiui the 
 lace westward, 
 
 sky, a sky as 
 k\niii'C instead 
 v&H ail arc of 
 ■ the way, tiie 
 ick box where 
 rods, he had a 
 d a lame cob- 
 ison's domicile 
 1, with a bed- 
 lor, with ditto 
 ent, also opeii- 
 dio; for Duke 
 rtist, his little 
 eiie-paiutcr to 
 coiid violinist, 
 icbeth, Second 
 Jeing an adept 
 i the plays of 
 
 and straining 
 ) suit British 
 i got them to 
 
 gentleman oi 
 
 )ril afternoon. 
 11 one side of 
 ting in skie> 
 aos of rubies 
 rom the door- 
 id in a strong 
 splendor to 
 
 ost spotlessly 
 in. She is a 
 IS uncertain 
 is five-and- 
 usually arc; 
 leep-set eyes, 
 development; 
 
 ind her hair. whi<'h i-s of tl.f h\u- called *.nndy, 's tightly 
 )inned in a little knot at the li;;ck of her head, lli r <ircsH, 
 >ld and faded, is daintily clean, us is, indL-^'d, everything 
 i!)'.>ut her. except, perhaps, pMike, whom she luvcs, and prays 
 fer, and tyianni^.os over as -onie women do over the mcu 
 (l.ey like be^t, 
 
 'i'lic afternoon nun dropped low — Miss ^^a>^l)n Khni''''»g out 
 It til' crimson, {.'oldeii radi;inct> yonder in the west, opim^d 
 [lint it was almost tinui to go and get tea. Duke must de- 
 ).irt for the "regions of darkness," as she always thought of 
 [he P>ritannia, at half-past six, and tiio i)antaiooii • w<M"e 
 lone. S!ic glanced at their wearer, and her grim face gr(>w 
 
 sii:i(l(^ more grim. 
 
 "At it again," thought Miss ^Nfason; "he's arowing worse* 
 [\(Myydiy." 
 
 Duke was not doing anything very wrong — in fact, ho 
 ^as not' doing anything at ail. lie sat piTchcd on the top 
 >f the ladder, his brushes and palette uinised, staring very 
 i.ird at nothing, and whistling a pensive accompaniment to 
 nis thoughts. It was quite a new habit of liis. this day- 
 ^li'oaming, a habit contracted since his late visit to T.incoln- 
 hire. That was over three weeks agt) now, and, as his sister 
 feaid to herself, he grew worse every day. lie had not aaid 
 P word, as you may suppose, of the adventure of the night 
 ^»f the twenty-fifth of j\larch — very f(nv ])eoide feit tempted 
 %o pour the story of their follies into the vestal ear (^f 
 Kosanna, and he had hidden the opal ring deep in the re- 
 <' -SOS of his pocketbook. He had told* nobody of that 
 fri range adventure, and he had contracted a custom of think- 
 iii._^ about it a great deal. Just at present he wtis v^'omlering 
 h^w the young lady's escajie had come to bo discovered so 
 Fj-tcdily — it was the missing key did it, no doubt. 
 
 It liad been the missing key. Mrs. Orimshaw hnd fo\iiid 
 herself unable to sleep that night on account of it. Had 
 Jlie spirit of the slain cavalier whisked it off, or liad Miss 
 Lyndith anything to do with it? After tossing several hours, 
 Vfrs. CJrimshaw grev/ desperate — got up — stole to the young 
 lady's chamber to see that all was safe. The door was \m- 
 jncked, the I'cd unslept in, the young lady gone. Half an 
 lour after, ?.lr. Lyndith was tearing along to the station in 
 ■earch of his ward. 
 
 "Tf J. T. Quill got hold of the story heM work it up in a 
 five-act melodrama, and make his fortune," thought Duke. 
 I'M. .T. has done all the dramas they've pla.ved at the Britannia 
 for thei last fourteen years, except what I've cooked over 
 From the French.' She said if she ever needed me, sh« 
 
 )uld Bend for me again ; I hope she won't. Bosanna might 
 
'iiP 
 
 ilii 
 
 ji, 
 ill 
 
 32 The Dav'*^ of the Fourteenth of ApH* 
 
 fiii<l It out, l»nt. ^iifn, T would liko to soe hor otjoo mffiVi 
 llow li;iii(lsnin«' slio looked, HtandinjJf up there, and d('fy'"K 
 thnt old Turk, her uiirle!" 
 
 Mr.' Mnson tniconscioiisly a?<suiiiO(j a dt'flaiit attitude him 
 solf, ns )io thoii^lit it. ^fiss Mason saw hir!i and laid down 
 her work. 
 
 'Duke," Jiis sister said, in a deep Lass. 
 
 Duke started to his usual position, and laid h(dd of his 
 brushes in some trepidation. It wasn't likely his sister eonjtl 
 read liis thouf^hts, hut Duke wouldn't be ve?-y much surprise! 
 to find that she eould. 
 
 "Duke!" repeated Miss Mason, in her deepest tones, "ho 
 there he an end of this. Tell ine what it means,"" 
 
 "And end of what. Rosanna? Do you mean thi« scene ^ 
 Well, I'm hrinying- it to an end as fast as T can. I supi)OMo 
 those hi/j: fellows do niake a mess, hut there's no lielp for it. 
 As to wluif. it Tueans, it's the Orotto of the Venus Afiiirodite, 
 and the i»ieee it's for is a new thinpr, and will make Tinsel A' 
 Spanjjfle, if anything will.'' 
 
 Mr. Miison dashed in his skies and clouds energetically, 
 f<«<'linfj: fjuiltily, all the while, that his accusing an^(.'l in th • 
 tvirlor was about to brings him to book. 
 
 "T don't want to hear about your Coral Caves and your 
 Venus thinpfamies, Duke jMason," his sister retorted, sternly; 
 "it is bad enough to know such sinful things exist, and that 
 my own brother is riskinp: his eternal welfare amon^ them. 
 T want to know what you mean by that odious habit you 
 have contracted of . sitting" for hours and staring; at nothing, 
 like an idiot. It means something — don't tell mc, sir— I 
 know^ better!" 
 
 "Then I suppose it means laziness, Rosanna," Duke; an- 
 swered, good-humoredly. 
 
 "It means more than laziness, though that's bad enough 
 You know what the j)ious and wise Dr. Watts says: 'In 
 Works of labor and of '" 
 
 "Oh, dear! Yes, Rosanna, I know; don't repeat it," 
 groaned Duke. 
 
 "But it isn't bi/.iness; its worse, Duke!" in her crudest 
 voice. "Don't i)revarieate to me. You hav^e fallen in love." 
 
 If Mistt Mason liad said, and truthfully, "you have com- 
 mitted a murder," her brother eould hardl.y have looked 
 more alarn!ed arid guilty. Was it love, to be haunied by 
 day and by night by one beautiful face, to wear an opa^ 
 ring in a poeketbook. and have a secret hidden from an otilv 
 sistiM'? Guik was l.here, and guilt told. 
 
 "T see T am right," Rosan-na said, after, a tlirilling paup.: 
 ^'^Duke, who [ ■. the young woman ?" 
 
Dawn of the Fourteenth of April. }) 
 
 'T'poii my word, Uosnniui, 1fi»n» i-* no younji: wfuniui. Tluit 
 18. there isn't — she ihu^sn't — I iiitan " 
 
 Rn>j'ima shook her head hittcM'ly. 
 
 "Tliaf sounds very pl.iusihlo, no doul>t. luother Uuk.', hut 
 it d(to>n't deceive me. 'There isn't, -he «loe>n't,' indeed! 
 Oh. I>nk<'. hnve I hrou^ht you up f(} this time of (hiy. and 
 iiHtilh'd f,he eafcelii^m into yon. only to ^i^i^ yon <'oiin' to 
 
 lid h(d<J of hi-i 
 ids sistiM- eouli! 
 nuch surprise! ^ next you will want to jret married! 1>uke! 1 e<Mnniand you — 
 
 thi>^ 'I'lie theatre was had enonph. hut to fall in love! An<l 
 
 la," Dnk(; an- 
 
 who is the Inissy? 
 
 '^'I'liere's no hns-^y in the ease, aoH I'm not in love, and T 
 don't want to u(>t married, (lood ^raeions! Kn-<anna, what 
 crime will ynn suspect a fellow of next? T'pon my word 
 and liOiioF," cried Duko, in a paroxy.sm of torture. "1 haven't 
 a notion of ^cttin^ married now. or ev»»r — c)h I there's th« 
 po=:inian. Don't mind, Kos'^nna, I'll ^<i." 
 
 Duke honneed oi\' his lado'^r and ru-^hed to (he door. Tho 
 yuistman hande<l him two let ten*, b<»th addressed to himself. 
 Ivosanna !Mason had npvcr Ix^on puilty of epistolary fnllJcM, 
 any more than other follies, in her life. One was '"rom 
 Tinsel iV Kpanj^le. roprovinpr him sharply for reeeiiti un- 
 pnnetuality, and commandinpr an early attendance in the 
 orchestra that evening, on pain of a h">\vy fine. Duke tluiif* 
 thi> to the farthest corner of the ro*.^., arid i^lanced at the 
 other. Slippery white f^atin paper, f\ faint odor of pcr- 
 fiune, a delicate, spidery female hand, a hlue wax seal, with 
 crest and a motto. .^'^ ♦^'n blood in Mr. Mason's arteries 
 rushed into his face; and there stood Rosanmi- -that frigid, 
 vestal virgin, with piercinpr eyes fixed on that furiously 
 blushing face. She saw his look, and answered it with stinji;- 
 h.s: sarcasm. 
 
 "Oh! don't mind me. Read your Tetter, by all means, and 
 then tell me, when T ask you who it's from, that 'there isn't — 
 she doesn't' — tlwt 'there's no lady in the ease' — and that 
 you've 'no notion of being married.' Don't mind adding a 
 few more falsehoods to your a^**»ady overhunh'ned con- 
 sci(>nce. Read your letter, unhappy young man, and tell me 
 it's from those play-actor men, who emjdoy you in their god- 
 less work, if you dare!" 
 
 One glance w. scorn and sorrow r»ombinod, and Miss "Xfasou 
 stalkcHJ out to the kitchcji. With a sort of -roan thc^ hadp;- 
 ered scene-painter opened the dainty niissi\o, and read: 
 
 You promised to conio to me if f should ever naiit yon The 
 time has come when it remains for you to Iceep that promise. 
 If you have any pity for an unhappy, fri-endless girl, you will 
 come, at three o'clock to-morrow morning, to the address be< 
 
34 The Dawn of th:. Fourteenth of Ap^iil. 
 
 tow. Be at thv nrca pnto at &^{ time, an<1 voti wJI! ronfer i 
 •Jcathkss ubli^jatioii on htr wlioiii yuu once so generously 
 sewed. O. L. 
 
 Tlurc was nn auldrcsH at the bottom of this note — the 
 iHiniltcr of a houso in I'jirk lane. And tlir Mo(m1 loft Dnko's 
 faro, and a r<)](] thrill ran thronprh him, as he thought of the 
 drcadfnl possiljilitios involved. Did she want hini to run 
 ftway with hor ai;ain^ Wasn't it a penal olTonso to elo[)C with 
 an Iioircss? 
 
 lie r(^<c, and pa^'cd softly np and down the parlor, feeling 
 like (he wretched conspirator ho waj+. He could hear 
 KoHanna hnstlinjr ahont the kitchen, the clatter of cups and 
 sauecrs. and the jj;('neral prei)aration for tea. 
 
 *'ril have to stay out all ni^ht," mused Duke "T couldn't 
 'de<'p if I went to bed. What can she want ^ T thought she 
 prouii'-ed to marry Sir Vane Charteris. It was had enouuli 
 to run away with a youn^ lady« It would he worse to run 
 away with a haronet's wife." 
 
 "Come to sui)p('r," called Kosanna, and Duke went out to 
 the kitchen, which was also the dininj?-rooni, meekly, and 
 with all his wrongdoing palpaldc in his face. TIow was he 
 to drink weak tea, and enf»pliees oflF a stale quartern, with 
 that secret on his mind, and that letter buried in his pocket! 
 lie rose after two or three gulps, swallowed spasmodically. 
 Rosanna, eating with the powerful ap{)etite of strong virtue 
 that can relish weak tea and stale bread, saw all his confu- 
 sion. 
 
 "You needn't sit up for me, "Rosanna," the artist said, with 
 nervous hurry. "T shan't be home to-night. Tinsel & Span- 
 gle have b(>en blowing me up ^or laziness, and I shall work 
 double tides to make up for it. ^ "<hall work at the Britannia 
 until three or four this morning, and — ah — good-evening, 
 Rosannn." 
 
 Lies were not at all in Duke Mason's- way — this was a 
 mild one, but still it nearly choked him. And, of course, 
 Rosanna did not believe one word. She listened and ate on 
 in ominous silence, making no response to the fraternal good- 
 night; and Duke drew a long breath as he closed the street 
 door behind him, and hurried on his way. A blue, silvery 
 haze filled the streets, through which the gas lamps twinkled. 
 One or two early stars shone up in the blue, and a cloudless 
 sunset irradiated the town. Duke took an omnibus, and 
 reached the Royal Rritannia at an earlier hour than he had 
 done for weeks, and Tinsel & Spangle congratulated them- 
 «elves that their blowing up had done their second violiniet 
 good. 
 
r Ap/ji. 
 
 I ric Dawn of the Fourteenth of April, j? 
 
 \ will confer a 
 so generously 
 O. L. 
 
 Ma iiotf' — the 
 'h\ left Duke's 
 liou^ht of the 
 t bini to run 
 2 to elope with 
 
 parlor, feeling 
 D oould hear 
 r of cups and 
 
 ; "I couldn't 
 
 T thojif^ht she 
 
 IS had <'nou,uh 
 
 worse to run 
 
 e went out to 
 
 Tiiookly, and 
 
 7 low was he 
 
 uartcM'ii, with 
 
 n his pocket! 
 
 ipasniodically. 
 
 strong virtue 
 
 nil his confu- 
 
 tist said, with 
 iirsel & Span- 
 T shall work 
 the Britannia 
 2ood-evcning, 
 
 — this was a 
 d, of course, 
 'd and ate on 
 aternal good- 
 od the street 
 hlue, silvery 
 nps twinkled, 
 d a cloudless 
 mnibus, and 
 than he had 
 ulated them- 
 ond violiniet 
 
 All lliroUKh the five o<*trt of tin' niehxlraina that niKlit. 
 l)uke'H thoUKhtf* w<'re away in l*ark lane, and lie played 
 faU' notes, and Honietinies for^rnt to play alt()K<'tli<'t'. It wu.-* 
 an uMUf t<'ral)!e relief wlit-n tin- curtain fell and the audience 
 p<»ure<l out into the starlit night, and he was free Ui think 
 as \ni pleased, lie turned away from the theatre, and hid 
 feet half unconsciously took him to i'ark lane. 
 
 Two I by the numherloflH city st^'ples. Duke lit a cigar, 
 and sealed hiuself in an open rtipuire, where the trees made 
 loMpr shallows in the moonlit grass, and the laiaps waxvd 
 dim in its silvpry rays. What a strange, long night it wad- 
 Woid4 h«' ever forget it — uud how w>U4 it going to end!" 
 
 Half-past two! Ho started up. He was a couple, of miles 
 away from Park lane — it would h<' thr(H? .when he reacla-d it. 
 Still rimoking, he hastened on. The big, black house in Park 
 lane loomed up l>eforc him as the clocks tolled three. All 
 was dark luid (juiet now. The string of carriages had van- 
 ished — the party thnv doors off had broken up early. Uo 
 leaned against the area railings, looking up at the tlismal, 
 unlighted mansion, when a cold hand was suddenly and 
 swiftly laid on his. He started, and barely suppressed an 
 exclamation; he had heard uo sound, yet iiore by his side 
 
 stood a wonum. 
 "Hush!" said 
 
 M 
 
 a voice; "not a sound. You are Duke 
 
 ason 
 
 "1 am." 
 
 "Tell mo the name of her who sent for you?'* 
 
 "Olivia Lyndith." 
 
 "Thank Heaven! Come down — tread softly." 
 
 He des<*ended tlic area steps, and stood beside her. She 
 was a tall young woman, but she was not Miss Lyndith. 
 
 "I am the child's nurse," the girl said, answering that 
 look. "Take off your shoes. The least noise may betray us." 
 
 Duke obeyed. ITer description of herself was rather un- 
 intelligible, though. The child's nurse! and what had lie to 
 d(V with children? Miss Lyndith wasn't a child, by any 
 means. What did she mean? 
 
 'i'here was no time to ask questions. He removed his 
 sh(K^, «nd followed her into the basement regions, up a 
 flight of steps, and found himself in a lofty-domed and car- 
 peted hall. The moon's rays shone brightly, and tall marble 
 statues gleamed like ghosts in its light. A great staircase, 
 carved and gilded, went up in majestic sweeps to the regions 
 above. A thick, soft carpet muffled the tread as Duke fol- 
 lowetr her to a second stately hall, hung with pictures, and 
 lighted by a large Maltese window. Many doors were on 
 either bide; one of these ahe opened* iQi>tioDixig the wonder* 
 
46 
 
 The Dawn of the Fourteenth of April. 
 
 iij: 
 
 
 liii,,": 'ill 
 
 \ufx T)ukv to follow, and he fomul liinis(>lf in a spacious and 
 elo^ant antc-chainbcr, tliml.v lighted b.v two wax candlos — an 
 apfli'tnicnt more hi.\uri(.iis and ))oautifnl llian any thf.' scene- 
 painter had ever beheld. 
 
 "The Coral Caves of tlie Dismal Deep are very dazzling 
 alxxles, no doubt,"' he thought, "but for permanence give me 
 a big-, black b.ouse in l*ark lane." 
 
 "Wait here," the i^irl said, laconically. A second after, 
 lifting a heavy crimson curtain that draped an arch, she let 
 it fall, and disappeared. 
 
 Again the curtain was lifted by the servant, and this time 
 !Miss Olivia Lyndith herself appeared; Duke rose. She wore 
 a llowing, white dressing-gown, her abundant hair hung 
 loose over her shoulders, her large eyes looked bigger and 
 blacker than ever in her small, pale face. Again she took 
 his hand in l)Oth her own, as on that memorable night, when 
 they had parted, and looked at him with her dark, solemn 
 eyes. 
 
 "I knew you would come," she said. "I knew I might 
 trust you. I have sent for you on a matter of life and death 
 to me. To-morrow — uay, to-day — is my wedding day." 
 
 "Oh, indeed !" Mu. Mason responded, feeling that politeness 
 re<iuired him to say something, and wondering if young 
 ladies generally regarded their wedding days as matters of 
 life and death, and what she could possibly want of him in 
 this state of aifairs. 
 
 "I am surrounded by enemies, who call themselves' my 
 friends, and in whose power 1 am. 1 am going to marry a 
 man whom I neither love nor respect — a man whom I fear. 
 For myself, it does not so i»uch matter. I don't care what 
 becomes of me" — there was a desperate recklessness in her 
 tone and look that suited her words — "but there is one in 
 this house whom I do love, w^hom 1 wish to save from the 
 men who have made my life miserable. It is a child. To 
 obtain possession of her, I have promised to marry the man 
 of my guardian's choice. This very day, innnediately after 
 the ceremony. I start for Italy, and she retnains behind in 
 the power of (jpotfrey T^yndith. I cannot trust him — 1 will 
 not trust him. ITer life would be blighted, as her mother's 
 has been. She must be removed out of their knowledge and 
 out of their j)ower. That is why T have sent for you; I have 
 not a frie^^'.^. I dare trust — they are all my uncle's friends, 
 and her h'.vth is a dead secret. Will you take her away with 
 you tf)-nigiit''! W:'^ vou keep her, and bring her up as your 
 own? — you and your sister. You shall he well paid, and, 'f 
 it is ever in n>y power, I will ilaim hc»'. Don't refuse; have 
 Ditv on me. her most wretched mother; have pity on her, a 
 
 I 
 
 4 
 
April. 
 
 The Dawn of the Fourteenth ot April. 37 
 
 spacious and 
 X caiidlos — an 
 luv the scene- 
 very dazzling 
 icnce give mo 
 
 second after, 
 arch, she let 
 
 and this time 
 se. She wore 
 It hair hung 
 d bigger and 
 jrain she took 
 e night, when 
 dark, solemn 
 
 new I might 
 ife and death 
 g day."^ 
 hat politeness 
 ing if young 
 as matters of 
 mt of him in 
 
 lemselves' my 
 g to marry a 
 whom I fear, 
 n't care what 
 ssness in her 
 ere is one in 
 ave from the 
 
 a child. To 
 arry the man 
 idiately after 
 )is beliind in 
 : him— 1 will 
 
 her mother's 
 lowledge and 
 r you: 1 have 
 icle's friends, 
 er away with 
 r up as your 
 
 paid, and, 'f 
 
 refuse; have 
 ity on her» « 
 
 helpless babe. You have a kind heart — you helped me he- 
 fore. Help nie now, and may Heaven reward you!" 
 
 She (dung to his arm — passionate tears stood in her proud 
 eyes. \)yi\ni stood absolutely transfixed. 
 
 "You shall bo well rewarded. Seel here is this fxx ket- 
 book; it contains one hundred pounds, all I have now, hut J 
 will send you more. Take it, take it. You will not refuse--' 
 ynu cannot. Wait one instant, and I will fetch her." 
 
 She darted away. Duke stood looking blaidxly at the 
 lvu>sian leather pocketbook in his hand. A child — her child! 
 - his head v.'as in an utter whirl. 
 
 She came back in a moment, holding a bundle wrapix'd in 
 a shawl in her arms. She Hung this- wrap back, as she came 
 close to Duke, and he saw the cherub face of a sieepitig 
 chihl. 
 
 "She has been drugged to ke;^p her cpik't — she will not 
 awake for an hour. See what a lovely little ang(d .-^he is! 
 Oh. my darling! my darling! my darling!" ^ 
 
 She covered the baby face with pa'<sionate kisses. Willi 
 her wild, loose hair, her wilder eyes, her frantii; manner, -^he 
 seemed like a creature half distraught. On the instant, tar 
 away in the house, they all heard the sound of an oix'uiiig 
 door. The servant appeared in ahnni. 
 
 "Miss Olivia, do you hear that ^ He must go. Mr. Lyn- 
 ditli has the e4jrs of a cat, and tiie eyes, 1 believe. Ciive him 
 the child, and let him go, for pity's sake!" 
 
 S!ie absolutely took the child from the arms that pressed it 
 so convulsively, wrapped the shawd closer around it, and 
 caught Duke's liaud. 
 
 "Come!" she said; "there's not a monuwit to lose." 
 
 "Be good to it! be good to it!" Miss I.yndith cried: "a.-^ 
 you hojjc for salvatioii, Ix? good to m.i^ child." 
 
 She sank down in a great carved anJ gilded (diair — a small, 
 white figure, and, burying her face in her hands, her sup- 
 pressed sobbing tilled the room. vSo Duke's ia-r glance saw 
 her as he (juitted it, T)eyond fiiat "Oh. indeed!" he had »iot 
 spoken a word— -he had not Ijcen five minnlcs in the house 
 altogether. Like one in a dreamy swoon, he rollowod (he 
 nurse, through halls and stairways, until once more l!iey 
 stood inider the stars. 
 
 "Put on your shoes," the girl saiti; "you will find a cab- 
 stand over in that direction. 'J"he baby will not. :iwake until 
 y(.ni get home." 
 
 She pressed thv' 'hild upon him. He to.ik i( mechanically 
 — nieehanically descended the area steps, looked bacdc, and 
 found the girl gone. 
 
 What was ho to do i It would uever do to stand thoit w d 
 
?8 At Stc George's, Hanover Sqiiare^ 
 
 I (' (iisci.vorcd l)y a passiiii^ policeman, with a suspiciouf 
 bundle ill his arms. Still, like a man in a dream, he started 
 forward in the direction the girl had pointed out, found the 
 ijaLstaiid, and in iive minutes more was rattling over the 
 stony streets, Bloomsburyward. Then he opened tiie shawl, 
 Day was brigiit'y breaking, and the first little pink ray stole 
 in and kissed the lovely sleeping face, framed in tiny Haxrn 
 curls*. 
 
 A baby! and he w^as taking it home.' This was how tlie ad- 
 venture of this night had ended. And he had said he would 
 be i);iiiiting at the Royal Britannia, until daylight. 
 
 '•powers above!" thought Mt. Mason, his very heart seem- 
 iDg *o die within him. "What will Rosanna say ?" 
 
 
 
 • CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AT ST. GEORGE^ HANOVER SQUARE. 
 
 The sun was just rising ^as the hansom tore through the 
 Cjuiet sttieets of Bloomsbury, waking the peaceful rate-])aying, 
 resjx ctable, third-class inhabitants from their slumbers. 
 
 lie reached Half -Moon Terrace — he paid and dismissed the 
 cab. 
 
 Duke opened the kitchen door, stalked in, and confronle*] 
 his sister. 
 
 *M)uke!" • . 
 
 Only one word, but the tone! In some such voice of an- 
 guish may the great Napoleon, at St. Helena, looking back 
 at <)ne disastrous day, have exclaimed, "Waterloo!" 
 
 "It's not mine, Rosanna — I swear it's not!" DuJ^e cried out, 
 as he held out the infant imploringly. "I never set eyes on it 
 until within the last two hours!" 
 
 '*Not on it, perhaps- — but its mother " 
 
 "Nor its mother either — so help me! until three weeks ago! 
 Good gracious, Rosanna ! what a mind you must have to sus- 
 pect a fellow in this way, without giving him a chance to 
 explain! I never saw the child until it was given to me — no, 
 forced upon me, by Jove! two hours ago; and its mother, 
 if she be its mother, I met, for the first time, three weeks ago 
 down in Lincolnshire." 
 
 ''And yet you fetch tlie child home! Misguided young 
 ninn ! Do you exix^ct me to believe such a story as this^" 
 
 "I ( xpect you to believe the truth. Don't stare at me in 
 that uncomfortable way, Rosanna, as if you were the Gor- 
 don's head. If you'll take the child, I'll shut the door, and 
 
 
 il 
 
 to 
 
 
 a! 
 
 4' 
 
 dl 
 
 • 
 
 
 IV 
 
 .1 
 
 IK 
 
 V-. 
 
 fa 
 
 ,a 
 
 n( 
 
 
 ir 
 
 
 h< 
 
 3a 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 
 a 
 
 
 cl 
 
'-•"Co 
 
 lAdl 
 
 a su.<piciou8 
 am, he Htartcd 
 mt, fonnd the 
 ;liiig over the 
 led tlie rihawJ. 
 pink ray stoic 
 ill tiny iJaxcn 
 
 as how the ad- 
 said he would 
 light, 
 •y heart seem« 
 
 e througli the 
 il rate-])aying, 
 lumbers, 
 dismissed tlie 
 
 id confronted 
 
 i voice of an- 
 looking back 
 
 00 !" 
 
 i\ke cried out, 
 set eyes on it 
 
 Be weeks ago! 
 
 t have to sus- 
 
 a chance to 
 
 n to me — no, 
 
 i its mother, 
 
 ree weeks ago 
 
 iuided young 
 
 as thisf' 
 are at me in 
 ^ere the Gor- 
 ;lie door, and 
 
 I 
 
 At St. George's, Hanover Square. 39 
 
 tell you he whole story. I don't know what to do with it, 
 and here, it's waking up." 
 
 Miss ^lason took the baby. Kven Achilles had a vulnera- 
 ble spot somewhere in his heel, and JVJiss Mason had one in 
 her heart; a child always found its way there at once. She 
 took it with wonderful tenderness, and removed the shawl 
 altogether, a real India shawl, she saw to her great atnazo. 
 Tlie little one opened its eyes — two big, blue eyes, and looked 
 with a baby stare of wonder up in her face. It was the pret- 
 tiest little thing conceivable — a child of a year and a half or 
 more, with little, chiseled features, a rose-bud moiiLb, and 
 beautiful, blue eyes, crystal clear. A baby girl with dainty 
 embroidered underclothiiiiif, a little blue silk dress, the Iuk; of 
 her eyes, and a gold chain and locket round Jier neck. Curi- 
 osity overcame every other feeling, even virtuous maiden in- 
 dignation, in the breast of Miss Kosanna. 
 
 "[•'or Heaven's sake, Duke, what does it mean, and wht> is 
 this child ?" 
 
 ''That's more than I know. I don't know her name, nor 
 her age, any more than the dead. All T do know I'll tell you 
 now. P>ut first you may keep those things." He drew for*^h 
 the pocketbook. "There's a hundred pounds here, which her 
 mother gave me,, and here's a ring, also given me by her 
 m(»ther. Now don't look like that, Kosanna! Miss Lyndith'a 
 a great lady, whose very flunkies, I dare say, would look down 
 on me." 
 
 "Afiss Lyndith! I thought you were speaking of thijs 
 child's mother, Duke?" Rosanna said, in a spectral voice, 
 
 "So I am. If there's anything wrong it's not my fault. 
 It's a very queer affair from first to last, and much more like 
 one of tlie five-act dramas at the Britannia than the events 
 of real life." 
 
 And then, while the little one lay in Miss Mason's arms, 
 and gazed about her with solemn, baby eyes. Duke went hack 
 to the twenty fifth of March, and told the story of that nii-ht — 
 all he b.ad se^n, all he had heard This was the cause of his 
 dreaminess, his absence of mind, th' change she had noti'^-ed 
 in him. Them he produced the note of the previous after- 
 noon, and gave it to h ^r to read, and related all that had be- 
 fallen him from three o'clock until now. 
 
 Tlis sister listened breathlessly. She had never read a 
 novel, nor witnessed a play in her life. She had never been 
 in love, she aad no data to fall baok upon that might help 
 her to realize this ?fory. It -va- like he.tring Greek to her. 
 All she knew was that Miss I.yndith, be she never so rich, wa> 
 a young woman no '>etter than she ought to be, and that thifj 
 child in her Icy^ t?^ doub^le^s the offspring of But =5h« 
 
 v. 
 
40 At St. George's, Hanover Square. 
 
 lotjked down, nnd ihe angelic ii\cv bioko into the boautiful 
 eniile of babyhood, and ihc tv.'o little fat bauds held them- 
 selves up. 
 
 "Polly want her bek-fas.'' 
 
 The little silver voice went straij;ht to that vulnerable spot 
 in Miss Mason's chain-mail armor. Perhaps if Nature had 
 never meant her for a wife, it had meant her for a mother. 
 A glow came actually into her tallow complexion; she rai^^€d 
 th« child, and pressed it to her vestal bosom. 
 
 "You're the prettiest little thing I ever saw in my life. 
 My little pet, tell me your name.'" 
 
 "Pollv," whispered the child. "Polly want Dozy." 
 
 "Whatf 
 
 "Dozv.'' 
 
 Kosaiuia looked lieli)l( ssly at Duke. Duke sat astounded 
 to lii'ar ihe midget speak at all. 
 
 "Pci'hnps it'tr her nurse," he sujLrg<'sted. "I think now, I 
 heard Miss T.yndith call the name 'Kosie,' in the inner room.'* 
 
 "Dozy, Dozy," repeated the child, impatiently. "Polly 
 want Dozy! J^oUy w:ii!t her bek-fas. Polly want to get 
 down." 
 
 "Polly. ])ut the kettle on," Duke murmured, abstractedly; 
 "put P(»lly down, K^sanna. Let's see if she can walk.'' 
 
 Polly c(»ul(l walk very well. Tn her blue silk dress and 
 flaxen curls, her gohl cliain and locket, her glimmering bronze 
 boots, and nilk stockings, Polly looked a thorough baby aris- 
 tt)crat from top 1o toe. 
 
 "Like a small duch<'ss, by (Jeorge!'' said Duke, admi'-Ingly; 
 "a f(dl t\v might make his fortune if h '' could paint her. 
 She looks like Miss Lyndith, too, about the nose and chin." 
 
 "Duke,*' his sister said, sternly, "never let me hear the 
 name of that young person from your lips again. Wo will 
 keej) the child;" her hard face softened as she looked at the 
 tiny bcauiy in blue s-'k; "but speak no more of a creature 
 who tells you thi is her w(Hlding day, who is called Mis3 
 Lyndith, and who o\.ns this child to be hers. She has reason 
 to be thankful, poor babe, thai she has been snatched from 
 that sink of corruption, the fashionable world, at so early 
 an age." 
 
 The poor babe did not seom particularly thankful. 
 
 'After calling for "Dozy'' two or three times in vain, Polly 
 opened her cherub mouth, and set up such a howl as made 
 Rosanna's blood curdle with new terror. 
 
 "Polly shall have bread nnd milk," Miss Mason said, sooth- 
 ingly; "only do be quiet, dear. 1 suppose we must fabricate 
 1 story for the neighbors, Duke ; and may the Lord forgive us. 
 One can't toueb Ditch witliout being defiled. We can't iiATt 
 
 i^ 
 
 
 
Liare. 
 
 the boautlful 
 Is held thcm- 
 
 iilnorable spot 
 f Nature had 
 for a mother. 
 )n ; she rai?<€d 
 
 V 111 my 
 
 life. 
 
 >ozy.' 
 
 sat astounded 
 
 think now, I 
 
 inntu' room.'* 
 
 ntly. "Polly 
 
 want to ^et 
 
 abstractedly; 
 1 walk.-' 
 ilk dress and 
 nerinu" hronzo 
 fzh hr.hy aris- 
 
 , admi'-in.uly ; 
 Id ])aint her. 
 >e and ehin." 
 me liear the 
 in. We will 
 looked at the 
 of a creature 
 3 called Mis3 
 le has reason 
 latched from 
 , at so early 
 
 ikful. 
 
 n vain, Polly 
 
 owl HvS made 
 
 1 said, s(K)th- 
 ust fabricate 
 *d forgive us. 
 ^e can't havt 
 
 I 
 
 
 At SL George's, Hnnover ^quare. 41 
 
 to do with the wicked ones of the (arth wit}ii»ut riharing in 
 their wii'kedness/' 
 
 "And as I've been up all ni«:ht, Koaanna, I'll turn in until 
 breakfast time," Duke answered; "roiit me out at half after 
 eij,dit. I am p:oinjj^ to strike \-*ork this iiiorning, and ^o to St. 
 (ieorjAf's, JIanover Square, 'ind minj^le witii the bloati-d aris- 
 tocracy, and see this young lad.v'^ mamma marritnl. \U'^ 
 
 your i>ardoii, Jlosanna, for alludiufi to her -I won't do it 
 ii,irain. What a dickens of a temper the little angel has I" 
 
 Puke went to bed; Kosanna pacified Polly, with some 
 trouble, and more bread and milk. For once in a way, she 
 was almost excited. A child to dress, and scold, and love, 
 and a hundred pounds in her })ock(t. 
 
 At half-past eight precisely ^^lie summoned Duke to break- 
 fast. The young ■ lan found his sister in better and gentler 
 mood than he had ever known her in his life at this early 
 hour. 
 
 Polly bad gorged herself, like a small boa-ccnstrictor, with 
 ln-c-d and milk, and now, standing on one of the pai-lor 
 chairs, looking out of the window at the busy scene in the 
 mews opposite, was wailing in a plaintive minor key for 
 "Dozy."' She never called for her mamma, Rosanna noticed, 
 as most babies do — always "Dozy.'' 
 
 Duke ate his breakfast, started off at a rapid pace for the 
 aristocratic portals of St. George's, Hanover Square. There 
 would be no end of a hav, he thought, at the scene-room of 
 the liritnnnia in conse<iuence of his non-appearance, and 
 Tinsel k Spangle would iine him, very likely; but a m. a 
 who is the happy possessor of a hundred i)Ounds can atlord 
 to defy the minions of the theatre. 
 
 "Pll see !Miss L. turned off," thought Duke, eleg-uitly, "and 
 then have at thee, Spangle; and cursed be he who first cries 
 hold ! enough I" 
 
 It was high, noon when the scene-painter reached bis desti- 
 nation—high noon on a sunny April day, warm as tn id-June. 
 A stately procession of elegant i)riva*te carriages filled the 
 .street — half the turnouts in May fair, it seemed to the sim- 
 ple denizen of Half-Moon Terrace — and a mob of idlers on 
 the lookout to see the qualify. 
 
 Duke, in his haste, turning sharp round ihe angles of one 
 of these whif-e- favored vehicles, ran violently against a geu- 
 flemar. coming in equal haste from the oppositcdircciion. 
 
 "Beg your jiardon, sir. Didn't mean anything offensive, 
 you know!" Duke said, ])olitely. "T hope T haven't hurt you." 
 
 The gentleman made no reply. lie did not even seem to 
 l»ear him. ]Tis eyes were fixed upon the church itl* h ^»un- 
 gry, strained intensity of gaze. 
 
'"Hi 
 
 T"-"'"— ""• '" 
 
 !M' 
 
 1 
 
 % 
 
 42 At St. George's, Hanover Square. 
 
 "Queer customer!^' Mr. Mason thought. "That young mnu 
 has evidently something on his mind. Ho is a gentleman, I 
 take it, iii spite of his rough shooting-jaeket and foreign 
 hat. He has somi'thing the look of a sailor." 
 
 On the instant, the object of his thoughts turnc^l round 
 with a suddenness quite disconcerting, and addressed him: 
 
 "Can you tell me who is being married here this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Well, I shouldn't like to swear to it, but I think Sir Vane 
 Chnrteris." t 
 
 "All I" The stranger f^rouuvl out that little word between 
 his teeth in a way familiar to Mr. Mason on the boards of the 
 Britannia. "And to whom?" 
 
 "Well, I think to Miss Olivia I.yndith. But as it is only 
 supposition on my part, suppose we stop in and ascertain?" 
 
 "I will follow you," the stranger said, falling back a step. 
 "For IKnivon's sake, hurry!" 
 
 Duke hastened in, a little surprised, but not much. 
 
 "If this mysterious young man, with the auburn beard, and 
 remarkably handsome face, should be 'Rob-ert' now," he 
 thought; "and she should recognize him, and shrieking, *It is 
 he.!' fall swooning at his feet, it would be quite a lively scene 
 for St. George's." 
 
 'J'hese sort of recontres were very common on the stage, and 
 Duke saw no reason why they should not be in everyday life 
 as well. 
 
 He led the way into the church. It was almost filled with 
 elegantly-dressed ))c()i)le. Two weddings were eroing vn. diiw 
 the altar was quite a bewildering spectacle, with snow-white 
 and azure-robed ladies, and solemnly biack LTntlemen- One 
 of the ])ew-openers gave them i^ place near the door, as be- 
 came their shabby coats and cltmp-'ng boots. 
 
 The stronger, as he removed bis hat, iHike saw wa? a very 
 fair man, despite the golden b'-oii^o of his «kin', and the fixeo, 
 rigid pallor of his face, the wild i-'tensity of his blue eyes,, be- 
 trayerl that his interest in what vas g'ting on was no ordi- 
 nary oiie. 
 
 "They're coming!" Duke said. ''We've aiASsec int A'eo 
 ding, after all. The thing's all over," , 
 
 He was right. The newly-wedded pairs had signea .the 'Ag- 
 ister, and were sweeping down the aisle. The first bride vjp.~ 
 a Junoesque lady, with high color and modestly do^vncn=^' 
 eyes. They barely glanced at her. She and her tram saile; 
 by. The second bridal party came — the bride this thvc- - 
 there was no doubt about it — tiie late Miss Olivia Lyndi./. 
 
 It is proper, of course, tor brides to look pale at thi ^^■^- 
 preme hour 01 their lives. This brid'3 was pale beyonc til v-j- 
 
 '■t 
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 
 2J 
 
uare. 
 
 at young man 
 , gentleman, I 
 
 t and foreij-^u 
 
 turno^l round 
 ressed him: 
 re this morn- 
 
 link Sir Vane 
 
 word between 
 boards of the 
 
 ; as it is only 
 id aseertain ?" 
 ? baek k\ step. 
 
 mueh. 
 
 irn beard, and 
 rt' now," ho 
 rieking', *Tt is 
 a lively scene 
 
 ;he stag'e, and 
 everyday life 
 
 )&t filled witb 
 roiiig -n. aih. 
 h snow-white 
 tlenien- One 
 " door, as be- 
 
 \v wai^ a very 
 ind the fixeci, 
 )lue eyes,, be- 
 was no ordi- 
 
 >ec int A'oo 
 
 rnea .the "cfr- 
 rst brids v>'n" 
 ly do^nc^t-' 
 
 tram ?9ile; 
 
 this tin>e- - 
 ;i Lyndi.h. 
 at thi" r"-- 
 eyonc i\\' ^>. 
 
 At 
 
 H 
 
 Georg' Hanover Square. 43 
 
 dinnry nallor of bridehond. Tier faee wns ghastly, her great, 
 dark eyes looked blankly straight b(>fove her, with a fixed, 
 sightless stare; her very lips were ashen. 1'he bridt-groom, 
 un til-.' contrary — a portly, undersized, _ llurid, good-looking 
 man — was flushed, excited, exultant. Jlis restless black eyes 
 moved about ceaselessly in a (|uick,^iervous sort of way. and 
 as he drew near, the stranger sitting beside^ Duke suddenly 
 r(»se up. 
 
 It was impossible not to look at him. The stony bride 
 never looked, certainly; but the smiling bridegrooin did; 
 and the smile froze, and the florid color died on his fai^«, and 
 . an awful look of fear transfixed it. A wordless cry appeared 
 to rise and die upon his lips. He seemed for an instant 
 rootcMl to the spot. Then the crowd, pushing on, bore him 
 with it, and Mr. Mason was alone with his extraordinary 
 companion. The stranger still stood in that rigid attitude, 
 like a man slowly petrifying. 
 
 ''(i:;d!" thought the scene-painter. "T didn't think any hu- 
 man being except the First Murderer of the Britannia could 
 glare in that blood-freezing way. I suppose old Quill knows 
 whitt he is about, after all, when he writes melodramas. This 
 must be Eobert. Til ask him, by George!" 
 
 "1 beg your pardon." he said, "fgr a seemingly impertinent 
 (pKstion. but might your name be Robert?" 
 
 '"Uobeit? Yes," the stranger answered, mechanically. He 
 did U'jf SKMU surprised at the question; all feeling was stupe- 
 fied with ill him. 
 
 "Oil, it is! Perhaps, also, it may be Lisle!" 
 
 Til is time the young man iu the rough jacket did turn 
 round, iuid looked at his questioner. 
 
 •'What do you know of Robert Lisle?" he demanded. 
 
 *'\Vcll, not much, only T have heard the name, and if you 
 were Mr. Lisle. I think I could understand better vour very 
 evident interest in the lady who has just gone by." 
 
 'J'he young man, whose name was Robert, laid his hand 
 heavily on Duke's shoulder. 
 
 "Y(.u know her. then?" he exclaimed. "You !" 
 
 ''Well," replied "Mr. Mason, "slightly. I have had th honor 
 of doing her s(.me little service in by-gone hours, and though 
 she didn't noiice me this morning, we have been very friendly 
 and confidcmtifi', I assure you, in times past. And if you 
 had been Mr. (Robert Lisle, atid had called' upon her yester- 
 diiv, I dare say she would have been pleased to see you. Yes- 
 terday she was "Miss Lyndith, to-day she is Lady Charteris — 
 id the difference in the world, you understand." 
 
 "Then she has spoken of me to you? She has not for- 
 goUeri — she- 
 
 w 
 
44 At bt. George's, Hanover Square. 
 
 He. Stopped, lii;* vnicc husky, his eyes like live eoals. 
 
 "She lias not t'orj^otten — (leeidivlly nut — but at the .sanir 
 t'lmo ^\\v hasii't spoken oi" you to nie. You are llobei't J^isle» 
 then r 
 
 'I he stranger dropped his hand nnd turned abru[)tly away. 
 
 "Aly name is i la\vksle_M,'' he said, eoldly; "and J must sec 
 her. Yes. by i!eav<Mi I"— he e'.enehed his strung;, white teeth 
 ■ — "collie what may I" 
 
 ''I should advise you to hurry, then," suggested Duke, po- 
 litely. "They start for Italy in an hour's time, I have rea- 
 son to know, and it" you miss her now it's all up! liriiles 
 don't generally receive strange gentlemen on thi'ir wedding 
 morning, but this seems an exceptional occasion, and she 
 may see you. Shall 1 order vou a cab and tell theai where to 
 drive?" said Duke, inwardly burning with curiosity. 
 
 Mr. Ilawksley nodded and slouched his hat down over hi^ 
 eyes. The last of the aristocratic vehicUs hnd vanished lon^ 
 Ixd'ore. Duke led the way to the* nearest cabstand, and en- 
 tered the hansom aft<'r the stranger. Mv. Ilawksley might 
 order him out, but he was willing to risk it. ]\Ir. Ilawksley 
 did uo[, however; \\o sat with his hat over his brow, his arma 
 folded, his lips compressed under that beautiful, tawny beard, 
 the whole way. 
 
 "Tie looks like the Corsair by Afedora's deathbed," reflected 
 Duke. "He has a very striking pair of blue eyes. So haa 
 little Polly. Now wouldn't it l>e rather (lueer if (Mr. Robert 
 Hawksley, I think he said.) should he Polly's father?" 
 
 The carriage containing Sir Vane Charteris and his bride 
 reached the mansion of Mr. Geoffrey liyndith, in Park lane. 
 The silence that reigned in Duke's hansom reigned also in 
 this elegant coach and four. The bride sat like some marble 
 bride, as pale, as cold; almost as lifeless — the bridegroom snt 
 with a leaden face of abject fear. 
 
 "Did Lyndith see him, I wondcM*?" he thought. "lie left; 
 the church before me. To be balked like this at the last hour, 
 after waiting so long, after risking so much. At the last 
 hour, when the game is all my own, to liave him start up as if 
 from the very earth. And ] thought— we all thought — him 
 dead two years ago." 
 
 lie let down the glass and loosened his neckerchief; some- 
 thing in the air seemed to choke him. He glanced at his 
 bride, and a storm of rage at her, at himself, at (Jeoffrey Lyn- 
 dith, at tliiit apparition in the church, sv.opt through' hnii. 
 
 "She lo(-ks more like a dead woma'n than a biide. What 
 will every one say? Why can't she smile, or rouge, or do 
 something except look like that — death in life? I scarcely 
 know whether I love Jr hate her most — one dav or other she 
 
ire. 
 
 •oak. 
 
 It thr saiiK 
 
 lobtTt J^isloj 
 
 nptly away. 
 
 1 must soo 
 
 white teeth 
 
 i Diiko, po- 
 1 have rca- 
 ip! Hricles 
 >lr wedding 
 in, and slio 
 un whore to 
 t.V. 
 
 i\n over hi> 
 nished lon^ 
 !i<l, and en- 
 ksley might 
 •. Ilawksley 
 w, liis arma 
 iwny beard. 
 
 1," refloeted 
 L»s. So haa 
 Mr. Robert 
 lor?" 
 
 d his bride 
 Park lane. 
 10(1 also in 
 )mo marble 
 ogroom sat 
 
 "JTo loft 
 
 e last hour, 
 
 \t the last 
 
 irt up as if 
 
 ught — him 
 
 liof; some- 
 ict'd at hia 
 otfrcy Lyn- 
 
 i^ir h'lu. 
 lide. What 
 ugo, or do^ 
 
 I scarcely 
 p other sKa 
 
 At St. George's, Hanover Square. 45 
 
 shall May for this. And to think there should have bei'U a 
 eliild, too, and --lie shouKl >|»irit it away. She hari the cun- 
 ning of liio ol<l tiend when she likes/' 
 
 1 he <-arria^e sfoppi-d. lie (hscoiuh'd, and lunuU-d his I. e 
 out. riie (»tlier carriages disgorged them>elv(\s. The instant 
 he espied Mr. Lyndith, he inotion«'d him apart. 
 
 "Come into ihe library," he >aid. "1 ln»ve a word to say 
 to yon." 
 
 •Mr. l.yndith led the way instantly. Sumething had hap- 
 jxMU'd. lie read it in Sir Vamp's leaden face. 
 
 "What is Ur he asked, nervcnisly. "Quick, Chartcris ; they 
 will wouder at our abs»-nee. Let's have it in a woid." 
 
 Kni 
 
 m 
 
 1 wil 
 
 'What r 
 
 'Robert i.islt 
 
 e' 
 
 IS 
 
 al 
 
 IV( 
 
 . ». 
 
 IS 
 
 hei 
 
 'e 
 
 1 
 
 saw 
 
 hii 
 
 n in 
 
 tl 
 
 le 
 
 chnreh.:*' 
 
 "Charteris, are you mad ^" 
 
 "Xot now! 1 was when I b. ueved your story of Lislt's 
 death. I toll you the fellow is alive, and here. 1 saw him in 
 church as wc came out." 
 
 "Ihit, great rioaven, Charteris I this must bo lolly— mad- 
 ness I The Jioi/al ('h<irf(r was burned to the water's edge, 
 an<l every soul on board perished. And he sailed in the 
 lii>)l<d Chnrhr. I toll you it is impossible!" 
 
 "And I toll you T saw Roln-rt Lisl(>, faci^ to face, as 1 left 
 the church. She did not, or 1 think, in my soul, she would 
 have <lroppcd on 1»lie ^jxtt. He stood up, and gave me a look 
 I'm jiot likely to forget. C\irse it, Lyndith," he cried, in a 
 sudden fury, 'Mo you think 1 could mistake him of all men ^ 
 Jiefore we leave the house, Robert l.isle will he hero." 
 
 "(ireat Heaven!" 
 
 "Ay,'' the baronet cried, bitterly, "you will believe it when 
 he comes. There will be a lovely scone — a beautiful sensation 
 for Park lane. We kmnv what she will do, if she oncii 
 catches sigjit of him. All the story, so long hidden, will 
 coine out, and for GeoHrey J.yndith it moans simply ruin!'' 
 
 "He shall not see her. By God, ho shall not!" 
 
 "Prevent the meeting if you can. Ho is a desperate man 
 ■ — if ever I saw desperation in human eyes. You will find a 
 ditfcront man from the Kobert Lisle of two years ago. And 
 now, as you say, we will be missed. We must go up and 
 .smile and make speeches, and pl^y our part, until the specter 
 appears at the feast." 
 
 Ho strode out of the library. Mr. .Lyndith followed him. 
 There was no helj) for it — their absence was already com- 
 mented on by their guests. They took their places at the 
 table, all a-glitter with silver and crystal; and everybody 
 
9* 
 
 Whistled Down the Wind." 
 
 notod tht'ir alteroii looks^. Sucli a KJinstly bric'lc. imd audi tt 
 fttrango pallor on the laci-a of tiieir host and Sir Vane. 
 Sonu'thiiiK was wroiiif. Everybody waited, (iolieionsly (ex- 
 pectant oi more to eonie. 
 
 What they waited for came. The breakfast was nul tjuar 
 tor over, when a knock thundered at the i;rand entrance — an 
 ominous and authoritative knock, that thrilled throu;.;h them 
 all. Sir Vane was raising his j^iass to his lips, and aj^-.nn (ho 
 suiilc seemed to freeze on his face, and the jxlass remained half 
 poised in liis hand. A dead silence fell. \n that silence the 
 sound of an altercation in the hall reached them in that 
 distant apartment. Mr. Lyndith rose abrui)tly — white and 
 Htern — jnade a hurried apology, and hastened from the room. 
 A moment later and all was still, 'i'he disturbance was 
 quelled; but (Jeofti-ey i^yndith did not come back. What did 
 it mean'^ Kven the pale, cold bride lifted lier heavy eyes and 
 looked at the leaden face of the man she had married, and 
 waited for what was to come next. 
 
 chaptp:r viir. 
 
 "WIIISTLKD DOWN THE WIND.'* 
 
 (leofTrcy Lyndith'a face was an index of his character — • 
 dark, stern, resolute. While he had sat at the head of his 
 table, smiling upon his guests, and eating and drinking me- 
 chanically, his ready brain had been at work. Plotting was 
 work that subtle brain was well used to, and his mind, 
 prompt in thought, quick in action, grappled at once wilh his 
 danger. As Sir Vane Chartcris had said, the coming of this 
 man in all likelihood meant ruin — ruin tc him, (iedffn\v 
 Lyndith, Esquire, of Lyndith Grange and Park lane. lie 
 had thought the man dead for certain; he had drivrti him 
 out of the country over two years ago, and the shii) in which 
 he had sailed had been burned in mid-ocean, and no soul left 
 to return, and Robert Lisle was here on Olivia's wedding d:iy. 
 Was Satan himself at work to balk him, he vyonderec^ ? lie 
 had got Robert Lisle in his power two years ago, by a cow- 
 ardly and infamous plot, worthy the Newgat»o calendar; th.it 
 power he still held over him. But who knew? His part in 
 it might come to light after all, and what horrible shain^ 
 and exposure that would involve! And at the first sound of 
 his voice, at the first sight of his face, hisi niece would fly to 
 his arms, to cling to him throuj^h misery and death, if need 
 were. He was poor, and his niece was rich; her money would 
 aid his enemy. Beady money was tiie one great want of this 
 
d. 
 
 99 
 
 h\ 111(1 stich V 
 nd {Sir Vane. 
 loli<*if»nsiv <^x- 
 
 was not «|uar 
 
 cut riiMi'»' - ail 
 
 throiij^li tluMii 
 
 ami a^aiii I ho 
 
 rcniaiiKMi half 
 
 »at siloiifc the 
 
 thciii ill that 
 
 ly — white and 
 
 roiii th(' room. 
 
 itiirhaii('(» vva^i 
 
 L-U. WllMt (li.l 
 
 oavy ey«^ and 
 married, and 
 
 3 character — 
 head of his 
 drinkiii<x nio- 
 Phjtting' w'dti 
 lid his mind, 
 once with lii>? 
 )miii^ of this 
 lini, (leoffrey 
 rk lane. He 
 I driven liim 
 ihip in whieli 
 i no soul left 
 wedding' d;iy. 
 (nderc(^ ? lie 
 ?o, by a covv- 
 alendar; th.jl 
 liis part in 
 rrihle shaiiu^ 
 irst sound of 
 would fly to 
 eath, if need 
 Qioney would 
 want of this 
 
 "Whistled Down tlie Wind." 
 
 47 
 
 nian'ti life, and on the. day Iw eunipt lied liis nitce to marry 
 iiini, Sir Vane Chaiteris liad pioniiMii iiini a eluM-k for ten 
 Ihousand pounds. Kvcrythin^ had j^one on so well; lie had 
 been in a Kh»"'V *'f triumphant e-\ultatH)n lor a few weeks past, 
 ai.d now - and now I 
 
 His ey< s glowed with a red, evil tire as he descended iho 
 slair<ase, his teeth set behind his l)laek beanl. lie could con- 
 front moral or physical dany^er with the brute couraye of a 
 tiuer, 
 
 "A nuui always trains, be his ease strong- or we;)k." he was 
 uciustomed ro say, "by fucinj; the worst boldly; weakness and 
 /acillalion always fail, as they deserve to do." It was his 
 llu'ory, and he at-ted upon it, in every crisis of life, and up to 
 thi-* time hail found it succeeded. His face looked as if 
 carvid in ^rranite, as he descended to the entrance liall, for 
 all trepidation, surprise, anger, fear, or any other huinaii 
 emotion it disj)layed. 
 
 A porter, a butler, tW(j hij^h footmen, all were formed in a 
 body to oppose the enemy- a tall, young man in rough coat 
 and broad-brimmed hat. 
 
 "We can't do nothink with him, sir," the butler explain^'d, 
 in an indignant voice, which he says, like his impidi nee, as 
 he will see you, Mr.^ l.yndith, sir." 
 
 The two men l^Bkcd each other full in the face, one lev(>l, 
 IMiwerf'.il gaze. 'ITie younger man took otf his hat. Ci(jod 
 Ueavi-n! what horrible reason Geulfrey Lyndith had to know 
 that handsome, sunburned face. 
 
 "1 know this i)erson, Edwards," Mr. Lyndith said, very 
 tjuieily, "and will see him. Follow me, sir." 
 
 He led the way to the library, a stately apartment filled 
 with books and busts and bronzes, and into Avhich the noon 
 sunlight came, softly tempered through closed Venetians. 
 (Jeoffrey J.yndith turned the key in the doo., crossed the 
 room, leaned his elbow upon the crimson-velvet mantel, and 
 faced his opponent. It was a duel to the death; and both 
 knew it, no quarter to be asked or given — one or the other 
 must go down before they left that room. 
 
 The gentleman of the Old Ouard, otherwise the master of 
 the house, fired first. 
 
 "This is an exceedingly unexpected honor, Robert^. isle. 
 You sailed two years and a half ago in the ship 'Royal Char- 
 ter,' from Southampton. The 'Royal Charter' was burned, 
 find all on board perished. May I ask how you came to 1)6 
 alive?" 
 
 Hia tone was perfectly cool; his face admirably calm, his 
 manner as nonchalantly gentlcimanlike as though he had been 
 /eraarkiug on the fineness of the weather, and the possibility. 
 
^,, 
 
 im^ 
 
 48 
 
 ** Whistled Down the Wind. 
 
 tff 
 
 of rain ri« \t wed;. W'\ innltr all llial lii^jli bred coiuposuro, 
 what liunil)k' (car lie tVIt <»!' llii?* niaii! 
 
 "I «li(l not sail on the ^J!>>ij<ii Cltortrr,' " luihcit i-isir an- 
 HwtTcd ; "I took iii.v ()a'-a^o--you saw my iiaiiK' on tlio pas- 
 S('nK<i" list. vtTV likely. At the last linnr 1 nirt with an • ci- 
 (Iriit -a very trilling' on(.' which niadr nic lose it. I sailed 
 in the 'Wrsfrni Shir' the followinK" w»'ek. Aro you satisfied 
 now that I am no wraitli ^" 
 
 "More tiian .-^ati^lied. I confiralnlale you upon your es 
 cape. Providence," — tlu» sin'cring" cmphnftis wa^* indescril)- 
 ahlo "I'rovidenci' watched over ;sou, no douht. Vou wer(» 
 wi>e to leave Kngland the following' week; it was certaiidy 
 no place* tor yon. Why havi^ you been so very imprudent a.s 
 to return to it i" 
 
 The llashiuK I'yes of the youni^er man met the hard, ylit- 
 teriiiR hlack ones with a tiei-y lij.?ht. 
 
 "\'ou ask that (piestion, (leotirey I.vndithf 
 
 "A>«snredly, Mr. Lisle— why T 
 
 "I have returned to claim my wife, 'i'o expose you and 
 your villainy to the world you delude; be the penalty to my- 
 8eW' what it may I" 
 
 "When you use that sort- of lan^uaj^c, Mr. Lisle." the elder 
 man said, with unrutiied eomixtsure, "you Inive the advantaj»o 
 of me, of course. Persons in your elnss g^PI»rally do resort to 
 vituperation, I believe, when ajinoyed. You will ol)li^e me 
 by keei)inj? to the lanj^uaj.K' and bearing of a j^entleman, it* 
 you can, while talking- to \\\v. You have returned to claim 
 your wife! Ah! but there is no such person in Kngland, 
 that I am aware of. Out there among the aborig:ines in- 
 deed " 
 
 Robert I^isle strode toward Iwm, a dangerous light in Jiia 
 bhu» eyes. 
 
 "Do you dare to sneer at nie — you of all men alive ^ It isi 
 not safe; 1 warn you, it is not safe!" 
 
 "Ah! T wisli you wnild have the i)oliteness to hear me out. 
 If you mean Lady C'harteris, she never was your wife — no, 
 not for one poor hour. And if you have come to claim her. 
 you have just come two years and tluve months too late. She 
 did rtMuember you for two or three months after your 
 very abrupt dei)arture from England, I will own, and then 
 eanie the natural revulsion. More than she had over loved-- 
 pshaw! fancied r.bc loved the yc^oman's son, with his tall, 
 shap<*]y figure. and good-looking fac(> — she hated, abhorred 
 him. lioi nuid folly, her shanu^ dawned upon her, in its tru(> 
 light. She saw what she had done, Iuhv she had fallen, how 
 you had x^layed ui)on her ehildish credulity, and drajrged 
 her down, and she hated — let us have plain wordflk, Robe*' 
 
 1 
 
I. 
 
 *• 
 
 "Whistled Down the Wind." 
 
 49 
 
 il compusuro, 
 
 lort T-Islc nil- 
 
 :' on tlu' puH- 
 
 wifli Mil ' ci- 
 
 if. I .siiili'd 
 
 you siitislicd 
 
 [)oii your r-< 
 HH iiidcscri!)- 
 Vou we IV 
 v:is certainly 
 mpriKlfiit a.s 
 
 le hanl, glit- 
 
 K)s<> you and 
 tialty to njy- 
 
 Ic," tlio older 
 
 10 advantaj^o 
 : do resort to 
 
 11 oblige met 
 eiitleniaii, if 
 led to claim 
 in England, 
 joriy^ines in- 
 light in Ilia 
 alive ^ It is 
 
 hoar nic out. 
 ur wife — no, 
 claim her. 
 
 00 late. She 
 after your 
 
 n, and then 
 ovor loved-" 
 ■ith liis tall, 
 ?d, abhorred 
 r, in its true 
 
 1 fallen, how 
 md drajTgod 
 ardft, Rober«- 
 
 l-i.^fK- she liatcti your nu'inory wilh an inten"«ity F never 
 dreamed ^lit; ijo^^essed. The hauntiny: fear le-<t Ikt d. - 
 uraceinl srci\'t should be Uiiou n t(» th" world nearly drovt^ 
 her nuid. She buried h<r^elt" alive down :if l.yndith (Irans-o? 
 for a timo — she went abroad with me. Iler secrt'l so pi'-y d 
 upon her. that In r he.ilfh was atreeic il. All ihi- t'uie lu-r 
 pliuhted hu.Hband, the man ot" her dyim; faflier's choice, wa-* 
 by her side. e\cr tender, evr dcvdcd ami -he leaiMied to 
 know the lull value of that which .she had tlun«' away, und 
 slie loved him with a love, all the j,n't'J>t<'i' that it was tiriued 
 wilh renior>-e. Then came ihf lU'Ws of the lo-s of ilie 'lioi/ il 
 Cliiirlii,' ami all on bt>ar<l. She was free I I j-omembfr 
 handinjf her th«' paper." Mr. Lyndifh said, lookinu dt'camily 
 bel'ore him. like a man who behold> what lie rclaii's; "and 
 pointing "ut your mnno amonj^ the list of lo»^t. lor a mo- 
 ment she ^rew deadly pale. She had always a tender heart ; 
 jioor ehihl- and it se<Mned a hori-ible fate to In- Iturned alive 
 in the midst of the Atlantic. Then she threw the paper 
 down, flung herself in my arjus, and sol)bed in wild hysterics: 
 'Oh, uncle,' blie cried, 'is it wi<'ked to be thaid<fid to Ilcav«'n 
 for ( ven an enemy's deaths And 1 liked him once, and his 
 fato has l)een an awful one, and yet my jicari ha-- no room 
 for anything but th: ikfulness that I am free. \t»w the ex- 
 posure of a divorce court will be unecessary — an exposun^ 
 whif.'h 1 think would kill me. 'I'liaidc Heaven, without it ho 
 has given me back my lil)erty!' And jifter tl is she rallied, 
 ami ji^avo Sir Vane her prtmiiso to become his wlf«'." 
 
 Robert Li.sle listcijed to this lengthy speech, with a smile of 
 cynical scorn on his handsome bi'arded mouth. 
 
 "Yon were always an oi-ator, ^Ir. f-yndith," he said, 
 quietly; "spouting- was ever your forto, 1 remember, and 
 graceful fiction quite a striking trait in your characfr-r. I see 
 time but end)ellishes your talents. In plain F.nglish. I don't 
 believe ojie word you have t(»ld me. Olivia l.yndith was not 
 the sort of W(>»man to whistle a lost lover down the wind, after 
 any such fashion — much less the husband ^shc b»ved — 
 Heaven! loved so dearly!" 
 
 His face softened; that of (lef>fTrey LyiMlith grew black 
 with suppressed fury. 
 
 "Von are an indolent boor." ho said, "but you w^r^rc <iiways 
 that. Two years' sojourn among the refuse of the world in 
 transatlantic cities should hardl.v be lik<'ly to improve y(»u. 
 T \(A\ you Olivia Lyndith never was your wife -jiever! Vou 
 are alive, but no* divorce will be luvnled. A girl of si.xler'n 
 runs away to Scotland antl goes through sf)me sort of Scotch 
 ceremony, that nmy pass for marriage beyond the border. \t 
 will not hold in England, as you very well know. A minor 
 
^o 
 
 ^« 
 
 Whistled Down the Wind.' 
 
 contract n le^al marriage, forsooth! You are olc enoiigh^ d» 
 least, to know better, my ii;ood fellow. Tlio niarriag(? was uo 
 inarriaf?c, the child illegitimate.'' 
 
 lie stopped short — he had betrayed himself in his momen- 
 tary burst of anjjrer. The youii^ man started, and a dark 
 flush i)asse<l over his tanned f ice. 
 
 "The child!" he said; ''ihere was a child?" 
 
 It was too late to draw back — the truth, neatly <i:lossed over 
 with falsehood, nmst be told. 
 
 "Yes, a child, who died two days after its birth, thank 
 Ifeaven. That makes no difference — Sir Vane knows. What 
 was she but a child herself, poor little Livey, when you led 
 her astray. J.ittlc wonder shp abhors your very memory. 
 And now, to add one last outrage, you come here to cover her 
 with shame, to take up from the dead past the story she be- 
 lieves burl- d in oblivion, which she would die rather than 
 have the world know. Kobert Lisle, you are less than man to 
 blight the life of an innocent ti:irl." 
 
 The face of the young man turned white, a cold aioistiire 
 broke out upon his forehead. Was this true, after all? Had 
 ].ord Montalien been right? Was he forgotten — abhorred? 
 
 "I will see her, at least," he cried, hoarsely. "From her 
 lips alone will ] take my death warrant. If she teljs me to 
 go, I will obey her — yes, though I should hang myself withiii 
 the hour. But I know you of old, Geoffrey Lyndith — a man 
 without heart, or truth, or honor! Oh, don't think 1 am 
 afraid of you! This is no time for fine words. Bring her 
 here — let her tell mo she hates me, let her bid me go, and I 
 wi^l go, and never trouble her more in this world." 
 
 Geoffrey Lyndith looked at him, the dull, red glow more 
 visible than ever in his evil, black eyes, 
 
 "Bring her here?" he repeated; "I would see her dead first! 
 Do you know what you ask ? She does not know whether her 
 first marriage was binding or not — like all girls, she thinks it 
 was. She believed yoii dead — she thought herself a widow, 
 and has married again — a man whom she loves, as in her 
 wildest fancy she never cared for you. Do you now what the 
 consequence of bringing her here will be? It will kill her, 
 I think — just that ! The exposure, the scandal, the loss of 
 the husband she los'es. vShe would never hold up her head 
 again. If you ever loved her. Robert Lisle, you, should 
 spare her now." 
 
 "Loved her! Oh, Heaven !*' 
 
 He flung himself into a chair, and buried his face in his 
 hands. Was Geoffrey Lyndith not right? She' had been 
 proud and fientitive of old, and now the wife of two vcwim^ 
 
 I 
 
 if;/' 
 
 H 
 
 ■I 
 
 
 
 -Hi 
 
 
 •i 
 
 -f; 
 
 I 
 
 A 
 
!.- 
 
 It eiioiigh*' at 
 ■riagc was no 
 
 1 his inonieu- 
 , and a dark 
 
 r ji^lossed over 
 
 birth, thank 
 inows. What 
 v}ion you lod 
 ery memory. 
 ' to (!over her 
 story she be- 
 ratlier than 
 than man to 
 
 okl r.ioistnre 
 er all? Had 
 -abhorred ? 
 
 "From her 
 e tells me to 
 lyself withiii 
 dith — a man 
 think I am 
 . Bring her 
 ne go, and I 
 Id." 
 [1 glow more 
 
 ?r dead first l 
 whother h(T- 
 she thinks it 
 idf a widow. 
 ^s, as in her 
 ow what the 
 ivill kill her, 
 , the loss of 
 up her head 
 you, should 
 
 i face in his 
 le' had been 
 li two rniOK, 
 
 '•Whistled Down the Wfnd." 
 
 51 
 
 
 .1 
 
 Si 
 
 C 
 
 
 parted from both, and th'^ ^rst a Ho shuddered 
 
 through all hie frame, as he sat there. 
 
 The elder man saw his advantage, and foUoWeil it up piti- 
 lessly. 
 
 "You insist upon, seeing Lady Charteris? Well, if you are 
 determined upon it, of course you can. Would you like to 
 hear the result i She is torn from the arms of her bride- 
 groom — the story of her folly is given to the world — she i^ 
 known as the wife of two men, until at least it is proven that 
 the first was no marriage at all. If the blow does not kill 
 her, she is in time reunited to Sir Vane, but the scandal fol- 
 lows her her li^ long. Supposing the first marriage to hnvo 
 been legal, even, a divorce can be procured, and she is still 
 free. In any case, all you can do to Sir Vane is to separate 
 him for a few months from his bride, to whom finally (al- 
 ways-supposing the exposure does not kill her) he will bo 
 again united. And now for yourself. In the hour yon stavid 
 face to face with Olivia Charteris, you shall be giv(ui over 
 tn the hands of the law. For her Si§ke I spared you two years 
 ago — for her sake you shall be branded as th(> thief you an*, 
 then. Do you know what your sentence will be? One-and- 
 twenty years, at le^st, on Norfolk Island. You* will h.-ive 
 broken her heart, driven her into l»r grave, in all probability, 
 and yourself in a felon's cell. Now, choose! The way I'oo 
 yonder. Go up to the room above, you will find her lh;M.\ 
 happy, by her bridegroom's side. Clo up, I will not lift a 
 finger to hinder you, and on the instant you set your foot 
 U])on the first stair, my servant shall summon the police. 
 Take your choice, Robert Lisle, and quickly." 
 
 lie drew out his watch; in fifteen minutes more the newly 
 wedded pair were to start on the first stage of their wedding 
 journey. The self-command of Geoffrey Lyndith was grcjit, 
 but his lips were gray now, and drops of moisture stood on his 
 face. He touched the young man on the shoulder, cold with 
 inward fear. 
 
 "You have your choice," he said, "decide! Go up a!id 
 demn yourself to a felon's cell for life, or go out of yonder 
 kill the woman you pretend to love, by the sight of you, con- 
 door, and never return. Quick!" 
 
 Robert Lisle arose, and turned to his torturer. To his dy- 
 ing day, that ghastly face haunted Geoffrey Lyndith. in 
 that instant he felt as though he had stabbed him to the 
 ho;i.rt. 
 
 "I have decided," he said, hoarsely, "and may the God 
 above judge j'ou for it! You are as much a mnrdorp.r as 
 though my blood reddened your hand. Her life shall never 
 be blighted by me; her proud head brought low in shame 
 
"'-'«««JH 
 
 ■*» 
 
 \2 
 
 At Half-Moon Terrace. 
 
 tl'roufili act of in inc. Slic loved inc once — nye, say as you 
 wii!, liar aiKJ trjiitcn-I — jis she never can love the man by 
 rv'hc-o side she will sjx'nd her life. I g'c, and as you have 
 dealt ly ns both, (Jeoffrcy I.yndilh, may Heaven deal with 
 
 lie raised his arm, and the man before him recoiled. Ife 
 vviis not sujjci'stitious, nor cowardly in any way, but his 
 he\irt stood still for a second, and that cold dew shone in 
 jureiit drojjs on his f;ic(\ 
 
 "1 have eomiuercd." he thought, "and another such victory 
 would drive me mad!" 
 
 He heard the door open and shut, and drew a great breath 
 of unutterable relief. His enemy was gone; he was saved! 
 
 § 
 
 ClIArTERIX. . 
 
 AT IIAI^-.MOUX Tl.KItACE. V 
 
 Ti»e interview had occupied half an hour precisely; and 
 during that half-hour. Sir Vane Chartcris sat amid his wed- 
 ding gu'ests, and ate, and draids, and laughed, and was vse- 
 renely courteous to all, while a- horrible dread filled him. 
 l^xcept for that one instant., his face never blanched, Mever 
 altered. Does the old blood tell (the Charteris family had 
 been baronets since James I.), or are they only true to the 
 traditions and codes of their order? The French marquis 
 arranges his necktie, and blows his smilinjr adieux to his 
 friends, on his way to the guillotine; Sir Vane sat at the 
 bead of his wedding breakfast, knowing that the bride he had 
 so hardly won n ight be torn from him forever in ten min- 
 utes, and smiled, and jested, with an unmoved front. But, 
 would (leoifrey Lyndith never come? 
 
 lie came at last — very, very pale, everybody noticed, but 
 quite calm. He apologized with courtly fluency, for his ex- 
 traordinary absence at such a time, and resumed his place 'at 
 his own tabl(\ Sir Vane never glanced at him after the first 
 monienh and the nu])tial breakfast went on, and came to an 
 end at "ast. At last! To the bridegroom it seemed an eter- 
 nity sitice he had sat down. The bride went upstairs, to 
 }>ut Oil her traveling dress — then for a few seconds Sir Vane 
 got Mr. Lyndith alone in a recess of one of the windows. 
 
 "He is gone ^" he asked. 
 
 "(lone. and forever," Geoffrey Lyndith answered. "I have 
 coiuiuered as T did before. Of his own free will, he has left 
 the house, the country, and her forever. If quite convenient, 
 my dear nephew, I will take that promised cheek." 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
At Half-Moon Terrnct, 
 
 ) 
 
 3, say as you 
 tlie man by 
 as you have 
 
 ^en chml with 
 
 recoiled. Tfe 
 way, but his 
 Jew shone in 
 
 • such victory 
 
 I prcat breath 
 was saved ! 
 
 •heck 
 
 ►reeisely ; and 
 unid his wed- 
 , and was se- 
 id filled him. 
 mched, mever 
 s family had 
 y true to the 
 mch marquis 
 idieux to his 
 ne sat at the 
 i bride he had 
 in ten min- 
 front. But, 
 
 noticed, but 
 y, for his ex- 
 d his place 'at 
 after the first 
 d came to an 
 mied an eter- 
 : upstairs, to 
 nds Sir Vane 
 o windows. 
 
 red. "I have 
 11. he has left 
 e convenient, 
 3ck." 
 
 The bridegroom sini'cd jj^im'hiIv a^ he proijiiccd ihc 
 already tilled cut, and luuuh'd it, to his new r"!aliv.'. 
 
 **'\ have seen Circassians sold in Stausboul. lyid (luadroons 
 in the W(>st Indies, but nev(^r Circassian nor (luadroon woro 
 moif surely bought and sold than your haU;ylity little nii'ce. 
 Well, out of such a d;»t as hers, one can aiTiM'd even (lie pricu 
 of ten thousand pounds.'' 
 
 Half an hour later, and the happy pair were otT, and away 
 on the first stage of their Italian honeymoon. 
 
 Like a man struck blind and (l(\if, R(«bert Lisle pflsscd out 
 of the dim, green light of ^Ir. Lyndith's stately hall, to tho 
 broad, pitile-^!^ glare of the April noon. He stagf.' >r<'(l almost 
 like a drunken man — a red-hot mist ~\vam before his cy(^ — a 
 surging rush of many waters sounded in his ears — he put hi-? 
 hand as if to ward off the blinding bright n'ess of the noon-. 
 day sun. He descended the steps, and i)assed on*, he had for^ 
 gotten the waiting hackney coach, and his new-found ac- 
 quaintance still sitting there — he remembered nothing, but 
 that he had lost her — of his own choice, had left her unse<'n, 
 and forever. Ho went on, still blind and deaf to the busy lifo 
 around him. 
 
 "Now, then, my man! do you want to find yourself under 
 my horses' fc^^t ? By Jove ! he is there !'' 
 
 He was crossing the street; why, he could not have told. 
 A carriage pole struck him on the head, after he was down. 
 The horses were checked immediately: the driver leaped out 
 and drew the fallen man from beneath his phaeton. 
 
 "Such infernal stupidity! Is the fellow blind? T called 
 to him, but he wouldn't get out of the way. If he is killed 
 it's no fault of mine" — this to the gathering" crowd — "I say, 
 my man, I hope you're not very badly hurt. CJad! I'm 
 afraid he is! Does anybody here know him?'^ 
 
 "I know him," said a voice; and Duke Mason elbowed hia 
 way through the throng. 
 
 I "I wish you swells would mind where you are going, and 
 not knock the brains out of every ]x>aceable citizen who tries 
 to cross the street! Hawksley, my poor fellow! Cood 
 Heaven! he's dead!" 
 
 He did not look unlike it, truly. The blow, at l(>as(. had 
 sturuH'd him; he lay (juite white and rigid, his eyes c1os(m1, tlici 
 blr)od trickling in a ghastly way from a cut near the temple. 
 
 "No, he's not," said the young military "swell" wlio-^n 
 phaeton had knocked him over; "but he came deuced!y T^vir 
 it. He's only stunned. I'm very sorry, and all tlr.it. y.iu 
 know; but the fault wasn't mine." 
 
 With which the cornet got into his trap again^ with rather 
 an injured exprtssion, and drove off. 
 
^1- 
 
 A ^ 
 
 ♦• V 
 
 54 
 
 At Half-Moon Terrace. 
 
 Duke and aiiotlior man lifted the rigid form oi 'the pros- 
 trnte Hawksley, and can'ied it to the Kansom. 
 
 lie gave the order, "To ITalf-Moon Terrace!" and >at witli 
 feelings by no means to be envied, watching the stn-el-* fly by, 
 njid the deathlike face of the man before him, until P)loonis- 
 hury was reached. 
 
 it was a second time that day a hansom cab had startled 
 tlio inhabitants of Half-Moon Terrace out of their normal 
 Hiate of repose. And this time female heads came to (h)()rs 
 and windows, as the driver and TJuke carried between them 
 what appeared to these female eyes to be the stark form of a 
 dead man. Rosanna herself flung open the door before th«'y 
 had time to knock, with a face lu^r brother did not ohoose to 
 look at; and Robert Ilawksley was borne into the little dingy 
 parlor, then into the little dingy bedroom adjoining, and laid 
 on Duke's own neat, plump bed. 
 
 The driver was paid and dismissed, and the tug of war 
 very near. Duke had to look at his long-suffering .sister now, 
 and the expression of that stony face might have frightened a 
 braver man. 
 
 "Oh, Rosanna! don't scold. I could not help it, upon my 
 sacred honor, I couldn't!" Duke cried in a sort of frenzy; '*if 
 you'll just listen half a minute I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 And thereupon, for the second time that day, Duke poun «1 
 out the story of his adventure into the wondering ears of 
 Rosanna. 
 
 "Xow, could I help it — could I? I put it to yourself, Ro- 
 sanna. You wouldn't leave him to die like a dog in t]w 
 street, would you? vVnd he'll come round in half an hour, 
 or so, and then he will be able to ,tc home himself where he 
 belongs. Poor fellow! It seems t >:ty to see him , like thnt, 
 dofsii't it. Rosanna'^" " 
 
 "Go right round to Mr. Jellup this very minute; toll him 
 it's a case of life and death, and don't stand cliattei-ing t]]< r(> 
 like an overgrown magpie," was Rosanna'y an.s^ver; "th;it 
 n:an will die if something is not done for him ahoitiy. and 
 I'm not going to have any dead man on nl^ krnds. If Mr. 
 Jellup isn't here in five mintcs, Duke Maso.^ ' 
 
 But Duke Mason did not wait for the L»ompi':^ticn of tli(^ 
 awful sentence — Rosannn's face completed it. He clapped od 
 his hat, and ruslied after his sister's f avc .i'je practitioner, 
 and Mr. Jellup was there in five minuce^.. 
 
 It was Sunday morning. Duke had - ii".'idpy in snite of 
 Tinsel & Spindle. It was hi^ iirst tr :'i:^.'t a? he s:it v.p, 
 yawiii.i^'', ti> find the little k:t'';iien gl, . i'cd by a burst of sun- 
 shine, the breakfast in a state of preparation, and Rosanna 
 grazing down on him with a lace of owl-like solemnity. Was 
 
 ;^¥ 
 
 ^■,i 
 
fold in the Twilight. 
 
 ^>5 
 
 •m oi "the pros- 
 
 !" and sat willi 
 ie strcf'W fly by, 
 , until J^loonis- 
 
 ab had startled 
 »f their nornial 
 came to doors 
 I between them 
 3tark form of a 
 cor before th«'y 
 d not ohoose to 
 the little din^y 
 )ining, and laid 
 
 the tug of war 
 ring siste»* now, 
 ive frightened a 
 
 ?lp it, upon my 
 t of frenzy; "if 
 all about it." 
 y, Duke pound 
 idering ears of 
 
 o yourself, Ro- 
 a dog in tiie 
 half an hour, 
 mself where he 
 e him ,like that, 
 
 nute; tell him 
 ■hattei-ing there 
 
 answer; "that 
 m ahoitly, and 
 k: nd?. If Mr. 
 
 ii^/i^tion of the 
 He clapped eti 
 e »ractitioner, 
 
 lf»y in vTiite of 
 a-' he s:;t r.p, 
 a bui'st of sun- 
 , and Rosanna 
 lemnity. Was 
 
 ho in for 1^ already? "Was tho justice of the king about to 
 fall?" 
 
 "What is it, Rosanna?" he hazarded. 
 
 "Duke," responded Rosanna, "1 have something ver> 
 strange to trll you. That child has a loek(^t, with a man's 
 picture and lock of hair, round her neck. Duke, the picture 
 and hair both belong to that sick man." 
 
 "RosHuna!" 
 
 "It is true. Look for yourself, if you like. It's m^ 
 opinion Ik's the child's father!" 
 
 "I tbiiik it's uncommonly likely," said Duke. "We'll try 
 ami find out before he goes, Rosanna. If we're to bring up 
 Aiistress Polly, it strikes mo I should like to know her name 
 at least." 
 
 IJy Sunday Mr. Hawksley had sufficiently recovered to bo 
 able to thank his friends and tell them that ho must hnivo 
 the country without delay. 
 
 I Duke was tilled with curiosity, but deferred making any 
 iii'iuiries till the evening, when the stranger .voluntarily told 
 his eventful story. 
 
 CIIArTER X. 
 
 TOLD IN TIIE TWILIGHT. 
 
 "You wonder, very likely" IVfr, Jlawksley began, with per- 
 fect al»ruT»tness^"that I should take a journey all the way 
 ^|across from New York, and only remain three or four days 
 'before u:oii:;i i)acK. You wiii \voii(ler more, when 1 tell you 
 iwtiy ' 'anic J came to tin(: my wile," 
 
 ' An(i--vov. have fouua her?' ventured Duke, half alarmed 
 it his own temerity. 
 
 'Found her, r.nd lost her forever, in the same hour." 
 
 "Sht ;- (ieack" Kuke had hazarded again. 
 Yes. -If.vvksiv'y -^aiu in r s-trange, compressed sort of 
 
 ):ce. '''.Dead — dead, vV\>uld you like to hear the history ot 
 
 'iit xLat nas been a xailure? I feel in the mood to-night - 
 i(<r the first time ir. two years — for the last time iK^riiaps in 
 ny lift. A romantic story my good fellow," with a sort of 
 laugh; "(»f how the son of a yeoman won and lost *a lady of 
 ugh de^-rce," as the old song has if. A yeoman son, educated 
 Far and above his sphere, bv an eccentric godfather well-to- 
 Ic in life, and started to i^ish bis fortune at \he age oi 
 twenty-two, as secretary to a gentleman in the House ot 
 /ommons. I fulfilled my duties, it appears, so satisiaetoriiy, 
 
 id was willing to receive such very slender wages, thav m.^, 
 
 ■X, 
 
^6 
 
 Told in the Twiiic:r» = 
 
 'f 
 
 \i I 
 
 gc'iitl'.'iiiaii, who was iK'itlur rich nor {^fncrcs, rej^olv-* ^ r<' 
 tain ine as Iomjjj as he could. And wlic.i tiio liou)^' d'^solved, 
 he took nic with him to his couiitiy-scat <lo\vn i' tlu' heart, 
 uf Stailoidsliirc. I nut her ih- w. 'It is over three years ago 
 now, but in tliis lio.ir, and to the hist of my life, I will see 
 her as j)iainly a^ I saw her that first d.iy, standing' t)reast- 
 hii^h ami;! tlie waves of l)arley, her hamls full of (.'om-tlowers 
 and pupjiics, h( r wliite dre-s wavinji' in the, sweet summer 
 wiiid, a ;.';ol<len «ray sky over her head, and the rosy li<;ht of 
 the Jr.iy sunset in her fare. She was only sixteen, and 
 home iiom school for u two-numths' vacation, an or[)han 
 /leiress, with a face like one of KaphaeFs Machnmas, and a 
 heart — a heart as constant, and as true, as the rest of her sex. 
 An orfdian heiress, en^'ajicd from her tenth year to a har(»net, 
 bound to marry him by her father's deathbed injunction 
 her very fortune depended on it — if she refused, that f(»rtu:i< 
 went to ( uihnv and build a L.si)ital and library. 
 
 "1 knew nothin;^ of the en{i:;igement — it ij, doubtful whether 
 it \v(tui(l have mattered much if I had; refill I think iiow ii 
 wouM have Loen more honest on her part, if she had toM 
 Pie. She diiin't'care for Iut attiaJieed liusband,, of course: In; 
 was )iiuc!i her senior— she rather disliked him, indeed, iii 
 those early days. And she loved me!" 
 
 He paustMl, the smoke from his ci<j:ar curled upward, aniiil 
 Kosaniui's lemon geraniums, and hid his i)a]e face in the fa^!- 
 injj daylight. 
 
 "We fell in love with each other, after the most approvi .! 
 three-volume romance fashion, and there vyere elan<lestii;<' 
 meetings, and vows of eternal constancy, umh r the nidoiiligh' 
 areades of the old court. Before a month had elapsed. \s<- 
 had made up our minds, and informed each other, we woul'l 
 assuredly die if separated, and that separation was very near. 
 She was going to spend a fortnight with a bosom friend in 
 Scotland, before going back to school, and after that nothini: 
 remained but a broken heart and an early grave. iMy jxm r 
 little girl! How ijretty she looked in the gloaming, as sIm' 
 clung to my arm and implored me to save her. Salvation 
 eecmed very easy just then to me. She was going across \'< 
 Scotland; Avhat was there to hinder my following, and haviiiL' 
 our marriage performed there. ]*i'ivate marriage was easy in 
 Scotland — no license, no witnes- — a <juiet ceremony .'-ohm 
 fine day, and lo! our ha])piliess was secured fm- life. She w;:> 
 a little frightened at fir.t, at this high-handed prone al, but 
 {.-he conseijti'd soon. We said good-b'- — ii any of the hous< - 
 hold suspected our secret, I think the eomjwsure with whi( li 
 we parted must effectually have deceived them. She went io 
 Scotland. Three days after I received a note froni her, Tht 
 
 I 
 
 '4 n 
 
 ?•' it \\' 
 
 ■f I 
 
 ■ft" 1 
 
Told in the Twiiight. 
 
 •fl 
 
 re?olv .' '- ir<' 
 011'^' d's-iolvec], 
 n I' tlu' lifMrt. 
 throe years ago 
 life, I will se«;' 
 Mudiii^' t)reast- 
 nf eoni-llnwers 
 
 sweet siHiinicr 
 le rosy li^lit <>f 
 y sixteen, ini«l 
 on, an orplian 
 iitlmmas, iiiui a 
 rest of lier sex. 
 \r to a l)ar(»net, 
 (1 injnnction - 
 '(J, tliat fortujic 
 
 y. 
 
 )ubtful whetli* r 
 I think now ii 
 f slie had toM 
 1., of conrse; Ik 
 lini, indeed, in 
 
 1 upward, ansiil 
 face in the fad- 
 
 niost approvi .! 
 ■ere ehnid.cst ii;i' 
 r the niiionlif^h' 
 iiad idap>ed. vs' 
 other, we woul'l 
 1 was very ne:ii. 
 H)soni frieinl in 
 tor tliat nothiiiL' 
 ;rave. iMy po( r 
 loaniinii'. as sIm 
 
 her. Stdvati'ii 
 goin^ across t'l 
 ?inp:, and haviiiL' 
 iap:e was easy in 
 ceremony soitu 
 )r life. She w;i> 
 ed propo al, hut 
 ly of the housi 
 sure witli whit li 
 m. She went to 
 t from her. TL« 
 
 .loxt moniinjr T went to my emi>l<tyer, an<l asked a holiilay. 
 
 [it was the tirst hypocrisy (.f my life, and 1 hunj-vled over the 
 
 FinipK recpu'st, until he looked at me with wontler. hut he 
 
 granted it. 1 left tlu; Court ostensibly to visit m- godfather, 
 
 fill reality U> travel to Scotland at full speed. 
 
 'On the very day of my arrival, a pouring Septeml)€r day, 
 four marriage took place. A su])erannuated (dd nnin, who had 
 '^l)een ainini-^tcr, hut whose too strong proclivity for the 
 whisky hottle had eausetl a susj)ension of his duties, per- 
 ^formed the ce'eniony n-adily enough, for a few crowns. 
 ;|^Vc-wc^e married ai-cording to Scotcli law, v/ithout a single 
 ^vitness, hut whether su»di a marriage contracted by a minor 
 guilder such circutnstances would hold in Kngland, is an open 
 ^tpiestion. 
 
 '§ "When her fctrtnight amonr her Scottish friends expired, 
 "|>h<' rcturiu I home. I followed her in two days after, and 
 Jthings went n in their (d<l way — the moonlight walks, the >(>- 
 ICrct mei'ting^, the nUl vows, and talk, and bliss — old as Kdcu 
 '5- the sweeter always for being stolen. 
 
 •^1 "She ]deaded so hard uuf to be ^ent back to school until 
 [after Christmas, that her uncle, indulgent in all minor ?nat- 
 fters. consented. 
 
 "The autumn pas>ea — suen a flden autumn! \Vc had 
 [been four nu»nths nnu-ried, when our well-guard( d secret was 
 [iliscovtred, .Sly empKner -••'d nothing — he was a nuiu ratiier 
 to act than to talk — but suddenly, without a word of warn- 
 ing, m^ wife was spirited away. 1 was .sent early one day i^n 
 a conunissi(jn to tlie neighborinf? town; when I came bai-k 
 ^ t'he was gone. That is more than two and a half years ago. 
 ' ^l have never : een iier but for one moment since,- an<l that was 
 ;,i yesterday. 
 
 I lie ])aused again to light another cigar. 
 
 l'^ Duke understood him perfectly. Tie was intens(dy inter- 
 ested in this story — far more interested tlum the narrator yet 
 knew. 
 -^1 "I'here was no scene; the uncle nut me (>ven more blandly 
 .^jxilite than usual; but T felt he knew all. Two days after, 
 •f while 1 was still unresolved what c-ourse to pursue, he called 
 ,|me to his study-— his valet was busy about the room, I remeiik- 
 ^^ her, at the tinn^ — and locked up in his safe, in my presence, a 
 ^ quantity of unset jewel.s, and a sum (»f money in bank notes. 
 rlt was an old-fashioned safe, with an ordinary lock, by no 
 j_ mcnins the kind in which to intrust three thousand poumls* 
 il worth (d" familv diamonds, and six hundred pounds in money. 
 -I He was dictating a letter to me wdiile he did this, and T saw 
 -4 him put the key of the nafe in his pocket. . j 
 
 M ** 'I am going *Q Swausborougb this evening, nob^nj ^ 
 
 ■''"I 
 
 r 
 
Ii!i 
 
 58 
 
 To!d in the Twilight. 
 
 w 
 
 said to ir.s, -n hie iiuwt ooiifidoiitial way, 'and I shall probaLly 
 not return for two days at Icabt. In uiy absence the care o! 
 this Bflfp is intnistod to you !' 
 
 "J looked at him in surprise and distrust, 
 
 "'Wliy Irnvc r,ucli valuable jewt'ls in the house? Why not 
 deposit tlieiu in the Swansborougli Bank?' 
 
 "Mis answer was very careless, and quite ready. 
 
 •' VHecRuse, immedTately upon my return, they are to be 
 taken up to London, to be new set for Oliv'a. Iler marriage 
 «\itli Sir Vane Charteris is to take^rlace in Ivy'o months, ami 
 they are to be set aeeording to her fancy.' 
 
 "He looked nie straight in the eyes, with a dark, sinist<'r 
 smile, n.^ he said this, and left the house. It was the middle 
 of the afternoon as he rode away. I recollect his turniiit,' 
 round, with the same smile on his dark face, as he rode down 
 the avenue. 
 
 " 'WatcJi the safe, Robert,' he repeated; 4t will be as f^- 
 cure in j'our keeping as though in the strong room of a 
 bank.' 
 
 "It was the middle of the afternoon. As the dusk of the 
 bleak December evening wore on, the postman brought the 
 mail. There was a note from her, dated London, begging me 
 to come to her at once — to lose not a moment. There was tin- 
 address of an inn, where I was to stay, and at such an hour 
 she would come to me there. I never doubted that not(\ 
 What was my employer, and his diamonds and his safe, to me 
 then ? I ran to my room, i)acked my portmanteau, waited 
 until the house was quiet, and that very night, without in- 
 forming any one, was on my way to London. I reached th( 
 inn late the next day. A great part of the journey was per- 
 formed in stageooac les. I waited for my wife, but she nevi r 
 came. I waited three days. At the end of that time ther 
 came, instead of Olivia, her uncle and an officer of the law. 
 armed with a search-warrant. 
 
 "On the night of my departure, my employer, returnim; 
 rather unexpectedly, found the safe unlocked, the jewel? ani 
 money gone. I was gone, too. Every imnatc ot the hou>(^ 
 was examined, but all proved their innocence triumphantlv. 
 I wa^ the guiiry party beyond a doubt, and I was followed. 
 After two days' search they found me. I and my bagga'ic 
 "Were to be examined. I listened with astoiiishment and an 
 ger and -^coit: ! Examine ! Let them ex^imine as long as thev 
 pleased' They searched me — a degradation I submitted to, 
 afire with ragel IhGy examines my port«ianteau. There, 
 carefully sewed up in the lining, the jewels and money were 
 found ! 
 
 ^^'M^ late eooploytr diamiaaed ibe detoottvi^ W9 van hti 
 
 4 
 
 
 ■e. 
 
I shall probaLly 
 nee the care o\ 
 
 )use? Why not 
 
 eady. 
 
 they are to he 
 
 Her iiiarriagc 
 
 vv'j months, aud 
 
 a dark, sinist^'i 
 was tlie midd!*^ 
 ofit his turniiii,' 
 IS he rode down 
 
 t will be as r^. 
 ong room of a 
 
 the dusk of the 
 an brought the 
 Ion, begging me 
 
 There was tin 
 it such an hour 
 bted that not(\ 
 1 his safe, to me 
 lanteau, wait<'(l 
 rht, without in- 
 
 I reached tlic 
 )urney was per- 
 e, but she nevt ) 
 that time thcr 
 icer of the law. 
 
 oyer, returning 
 the jewels aii'i 
 te ot tlie lioiK^e 
 5 triumphantly. 
 I was followed, 
 id my baggasif 
 ;hment and an 
 as long a? thev 
 [ submitted to, 
 mteau. There, 
 nd iiion«y were 
 
 Told in the Twilight. 
 
 59 
 
 Wt 
 
 hii 
 
 lone iogelher. Uo lookrd at me more in :'^r>*ow Mian in 
 tiger; and 1 — 1 sat benumbed. Aly guill wivj. plain; there 
 ^f-re the jewels and money — the nuniinT of tlu' in»t(.'.s ail 
 iken ajid found to correspond. What hail J to .viy tin* njy- 
 f'lf that 1 should ii' t be handed over lo the law ^ 1 had not 
 word. 1 sat stunned, and listened to kim while he talked, 
 ''or my dead parents' sake — i oor but hone^t people — tor god- 
 father's .sake, he was willing to spare me. On conditi<m ihat 
 left the country at once and forever, 1 shouUl not be given 
 j|ver to the fate I deserved — hr.rd labor an<l penal servitude, 
 iriost likely, for life. His niece, who had been greatly 
 Jiockcd by the news, had begged him to hand me a n"fc; 
 le would give me half an hour to dcjide and to read what 
 \hv luul to say. 1 tore open the note is he left me, still too 
 itunned to utter a word. 
 V "'She knew all,' she wrote; 'she begged me for Iloavcn'-i 
 akc not t(; provoke her uncle to p)*osecute. lie was nuM-ci- 
 }ss, if once arousedj and everything was against me. Siio 
 Relieved in my innocence, would always love m(^ and hv truo 
 i> me, but I must fly now, and without seeing her. She 
 IJared not see me, it would break her heart, ii woijld kill hfr, 
 I were arrested and condemned, as I wouhl surely he — 
 langed, even, perhaps. She felt as though she wcrr going 
 lade — 1 must fly — I must fly — if 1 had ever loved her, t 
 ?ould leave Eng:land now.' 
 
 "She gave me an address to which 1 might write to her, and 
 ^he would answer me, would fly to join me presently— ii.iy- 
 ling, as that I did not suffer myself to be arrested for i;ob- 
 ^ry now. 
 
 "What could I do? What would you have done in 'ueh :i 
 
 .^aseif I knew there was a vile conspiracy against me. of h( r 
 
 •^^ making, 'out I never thought he forged those letters. 
 
 M'o have been arrested would have been an end to all hof.n 
 
 Iny i^iilt seemed palpable as the light of noon, hi a -t.ite <»f 
 
 Aulkui fury I accepted the scoundrel's terms — 1 left l.iTjjrijind, 
 
 J|Bying from the con.sefiueiM'es of a crime I had rn^ver rum- 
 
 '^.itted — almost maddened — with no hope, save in her truth 
 
 ,4|ind ii<lelity and love. 
 
 ; "1 began my new life in a thriving Western village, vising 
 
 'fast to a populous town. For twelve months luck weni stewd- 
 
 |ly agains^ iie; then the tuin janje. I and anothci -•tarted 
 
 In a l>usim.ia that flourished; we made money — the object of 
 
 #ny life was beinj^ fast acconipli-bed — a sure and safe com- 
 
 • |.( tenee for the wife T had left '')ehind me. 1 tell r"U here 
 
 Jpnljy -he plain, simplr- facts of my stor>' — of my sur- rings — > 
 
 ,|[>i my despair, at times, of the hours when I was nearly 
 
 i*- ''ddened by failure. Mid hs the loss of all man holds dear — 
 
..-m^t. «E-'Av AV^iT'alMi 
 
 60 
 
 Told in the Twilight. 
 
 I t(.'ll you notliiiiff rf wliat Hlccplcss ni>::lit> iiwl wnMchoil dft\ « 
 her Hiicin'OMii'l my •<us|hmis< caused nir. For sli(» ncviT wro'i 
 — no Ictlcr c.Miu? frojii Iht to ili(> nildrcss in London to hr (i<v 
 wurdi'd to nic. I wrote awjiin and a^ain to tliat address 
 llic Irtters lay unealled for. It was worse than useh-ss t( 
 write to her to tlie Conrt; I kix'W her luiele well enon^h ii 
 be sure tlu-y wonld never roach licr. '1 hen J resolvei' m) throv 
 up everything, the tide in tny alTairs tliat was l;\idinfj: lu" 
 slov.-iy alon;^ t(» fortune, anil rush hack lo Fn^land, an-i 
 brave all, aiul claim \\vr. 
 
 "And vou fonnd hcr^" Duke breathlessly crie<b 
 
 lvob( rt ilawl;s1<'y made no reply. His la->t eiji.ir h.id hec 
 smoked out; h'_' sat like a statue of black marh'e amid th' 
 flo\v( rs. 
 
 "Vou fonnd Iht," Duke rcj)oated, unable to contain h.i'n 
 self, "a bride! Vou found in r at the altar, another man'- 
 wife!" 
 
 llawksley, the least excited of tin; two, turned aiul looked 
 at him. * 
 
 "How do you know thatT' he asked. 
 
 "I know more than you think," said Duke, still excited 
 "^'ou found her married to Sir \'ane (Miarteris. I ha\ 
 lieard tihat you had a sinfzrular vision. Jt ne(Hls uo inler- 
 pretatiou. The lady you saiw in your vision was W'l-. 
 Olivia Lyudith; and on that very nif?ht — the twenty-tilV'i 
 of last month, — I saw, and heard in r(vdit\- what you saw aini 
 heard in that singular vision." 
 
 Kobert Hawksley was fully aroused now. lie had told lii-J 
 story dreamily, as much to himself as to Duke, IIi>^ taniK'ii 
 face flushed deep red as he rose. 
 
 "What are you saying ^" he said, hoarsely. "Vou vvouM 
 not dare to trifle with me " 
 
 "Sit down — sit down!" Duke interrupted. "I'll tell yon 
 the whole affair. It's tin* stranf.rest, the most wonderful thirij: 
 that ever was heard of. Uood gracious! what would Iv«i 
 sanna say ?" j 
 
 Then Duke Mason, with breathless volubility, (piite unlik' 
 hiniself, poured into the listener's ear the story of the night 
 of the twenty-fifth of March, every word he had heard, all 
 he had seen, up to the moment of (ieotTrey Lyndith's 1. i 
 pearanee at the waiting-roam of the Speekbaven station. 
 
 '^Auil now!" he concluded, out of breath, ajid jrlowing with 
 triumidi, "what do y<iu think of that? Are you satisfied now 
 that <])(' always loved you — always wa- true to you?" 
 
 The darkness hid the uiarble pallor that had fallen once 
 more on Hawksley's face. Only the tremor in big voice be- 
 tokened what he f«lt, when he answere'l : ,, .. 
 
ToU in the Twiliuni 
 
 61 
 
 w never wrolc 
 i(!(>n |(t he f<>r- 
 li.it u<ltlress • 
 Kill Usek'HW te 
 ^•ell (Mioiiph Id 
 ')|ve«' M> tliivtv 
 IS hM(liii^ iu<- 
 lMiw:i;in(V, uii'l 
 
 ed. 
 
 i;^.ii* li.id luMM' 
 
 r!>'e jiiiiiil tli'- 
 
 • contain liiin 
 another iniui'' 
 
 ed and looked 
 
 , still excited, 
 eris. I linvi' 
 e<Mls no inter- 
 ion was Mis, 
 le twenty-fiTlh 
 it yon saw aini 
 
 ie had t(.ld hi^ 
 1 lis taniu'd 
 
 "You would 
 
 "I'll tell yon 
 onderful thin:: 
 lat would Ko 
 
 V, (luite unlikr 
 y of the nighi 
 had heard, all 
 Lyndith's ud 
 a station. 
 ^ plowing with 
 I satisfiec^. now 
 1 you ?" 
 •id fallen once 
 1 Viig voice be- 
 
 "T don't tiiink T ever really douhted it -no, u(»^ "ht'n I 
 Jaw her J't the altaV with that man, when I listeji d to her 
 nii'lo' falsch )ods. ^lay Heaven's hlij/ht tall upon him! 
 My /liiiling! my darlinrl' Hi^^ voice hr<tk«'; he jnit ono 
 jiand up over hi'^ face, evi'u in the darkness. For a moment 
 llcjid ^iIenco fel^ 
 
 Mr. MaH(Ui, not uvea to this sort of stroiij^' emotion off 
 the staM'e <d* the 1-ritannia, felt exeee<liiiply uncoml'ortahl(>. 
 
 ilawksley hroke th. sileiu e, and looked up. 
 
 "I heji: your i)i'rdon," he said, iiuietly, in his usual tone; 
 Kvill yovi tell UK what arj^ument Ix'r un(de n>ed to in<lnco 
 lier to yiold, and go with him? You say slu^ detied him at 
 irst, and was res<il"t<ly heiit on going with you." 
 
 *'Sh(! was," Duke said. "It i)U//le(l me f<»r the tinu . hut I 
 think T have hit c^n a solution of the mystery now. I did not 
 [lear what he said to her after the first moment, hut there is 
 
 ■:e(iuel to my story of that event fnl night, which, to my 
 ^nind, lights up everything." 
 
 Tlu^n Cuke went hackwardj and toul that little episode of 
 nne one year and nine months hefore, when Dr. Worth 
 lad heen ntutod out in the rain, to assist at the hirth of a 
 )ahy gir! at Lyudith (irange. Once more Kolx-rt l.islo 
 Started erect, and eager to listen, lie rcniemhered the words 
 heoffrey Lyndith liad let fall, (d" a <hild that had d'lvd on tho 
 lay of its hlrtli. 
 
 "My oi)inion is,'' Duke sai<1, "that old thike of an uindo 
 ihducted the child, and kept it from her ail along; ami on 
 that night, in the waiting-room, promised to give it up to 
 ler if aho would consent. She thought you dead; .she wonld 
 jacrifice anything, like mo- t mothers, fdi- her itahy, and slu^ 
 jonsented ft its sake. And," continued Duke, in a perfect 
 )\ust of triumph, "that ehild is in the next room I" 
 
 "In tlu^ next room ^" ^Ir. Lisle could hut just rejM^at. "In 
 Ihf next room!" And once again Duke hegan — there seemed 
 ^lo end to the story-telling— -and related tlu^ receipt of 
 [)Mvia's note, and hoW' singularly, on her wedding m(»rning, 
 ihe had given the child to his care, 
 
 "There can bo no doubt whatever about it," Dnke said; 
 'it is the same <'hild of Dr. Worth's tale, and y(»nr wife was 
 le mysterious lady. She told mo plainly the <diild was hers, 
 md to UKike assurance doubly sure, .it has a locket with your 
 bicture and hair round its neck, ^ly sister recognized the* 
 likeness this morning, and spoke to me about it. You saw 
 the child half a dozen times to-day — yours beyond the shadow 
 )f a doubt, its ])atprnity is written in its eyes." 
 
 There was still another r.ause. Duke got up and lit the 
 
 mj3 — he avoided these blanks in the conversation. 
 
6) 
 
 Toid *n the Twilight 
 
 'T: 'otch Polly in. if you like— she calls heraolf Polly 
 that is, if ahe'rt not atileep." 
 
 Hut Polly wan asleep; and not for a roKimeut of fath«!ra 
 wopUI l^»^allua have her dinturbcd. She was reading "BiairV 
 Srrriioiis'' by a s(»litMry dip in the kitchen, and looked about 
 as placable and yiebliniLf as a granite Mednsa. 
 
 "As Mr. Ilawksley has waited ho long, I dare say he cin 
 wait until morning," wa3 her grim reply, as she went l>a< k 
 to " Blair's St-rmons." 
 
 "Your sister is right," Mr. Ilawksley said. Tie was whi •• 
 as marble, and lookcil almost as cold. "I will see the rliili 
 to-morrow to say good-by." 
 
 "(«(i()d-by! Then you mean to leave England — to give up 
 all eliiim to " 
 
 "Lady Charteris," he spoke the name quite ealinly. qui!, 
 coldly, "is out of Englan<l by this time, on the first stage m; 
 her bridal lOur to Italy. For her sake T onee gave up naiin, 
 character jmd my native land; for her sake I make a great r 
 sacrlfiee now. I give up herself. Think, for a moment, ■ 
 all that is involved in my coming forward and claiming hi r 
 I break her heart, I blight her life, and in the moment wi 
 me<»t, we are torn upart. T to stand my trial as a thief. I 
 am innocent; but I cannot prove it. It is the old struggle ui 
 might against right. As it is, she may h-arji to forget; hip- 
 pi tu-ss and i)eace inay come to her. T cannot make her tlio 
 talk of Kngland. I can't drag the story of her girlisli iudl- 
 cretion iH'fore the world. She will cease to think of iiiu, 
 
 and T " He clenched his hands, and great drops ston] 
 
 on his pallid face. "May God keep me from a suicidt;'- 
 cowardly end !" 
 
 His folded arms lay on the table, his head fell forw.inl 
 ui)on them. So Duke Mason, with bated breath, and a gr- a; 
 compassion in his heart, left him. 
 
 "• '.T 
 
 * 
 
 The mor!\ing came, gray and overcast. A London fo;' 
 had set in, and a sky like brown pajxjr frowned down on tli 
 siiioky city. But little Polly, in her blue silk dress, bronx. 
 boots and her golden locket and flaxen ringlets, looked sun- 
 shiny enough to light up the whole parish of Bloomsbui; 
 * herself. 
 
 The strange gentleman with the blue eyes so like her own 
 and t«wuy beard, took her in his arms, and looked into litr 
 small face; and Polly, who flouted Duke and Rosanna ii. 
 haughtily as tboucrh she had been Czarina of all the Kuh 
 Bias, "took to him" ia a w^f that waa quite innttsing. Sh» 
 
 
t. 
 
 Is heraolf Polfy- 
 
 [fiineut of fathns 
 is reuding " Blair'? 
 
 and looked about 
 isa. 
 I dare say liP cmii 
 
 bj^ she went back 
 
 id. Tie was whi'-' 
 will see the chili 
 
 gland — to give up 
 
 uite ealinly, quitf 
 
 1 the fir^t stag*' nf 
 nee gave up naiiM;, 
 
 2 I make a great-, r 
 f'or a moment, >; 
 and claindng In r. 
 
 in the moment we 
 trial as a tliief. I 
 the old struggle ui 
 u-i: to forget; hip 
 iinot mak(^ her tli< 
 f her girlish in<ll- 
 
 ' to think of im. 
 
 great drops stonl 
 from a suicide'-- 
 
 head fell forw.in. 
 ireath, and a gp a: 
 
 t. A London fo: 
 3wned down on lli 
 silk dress, bnui/ 
 nglets, looked sun- 
 ish of Bloomsbur; 
 
 ^es so like her own 
 nd looked into Inr 
 e and Rosanna n' 
 na of All the Ku- 
 lite .imyaing« Sh« 
 
 Told i(\ the Twilight. 
 
 ^3 
 
 iissed ins bearded lijjs, let him look at her loeket, tnld him 
 ?r name was Polly, and that *'I)ozy" was "all gone away." 
 "F ^iipfiosc her naine is Mary," Duke suggested, "and sh» 
 tills lier-"lf J»„l]y f<,r short." 
 
 11 cr Tiame is Paulina,'' Mr. llawkslcy said, quietly. "I 
 
 iiii iiuiti' certain (>( it. Pauline was the nafne of — of her 
 
 |i,iN iiial grandmother, and of her mother's twin sister — ati 
 
 Id family natiie among the Lvndiths. This child's name is 
 
 Viuilna i.i>le. I took my mother's name in America, and 
 
 li.dl keep it. Let her grow up as Mason; k«'ep her with you 
 
 [Kvays, unless her mother should claim her. ller right is 
 
 luav- fir^t. and fnosf sacred." 
 
 lie ki-><ed the child yearningly, wistfully, and y.vt lier 
 
 )wri. Half an hour Inter^and he had left Ilalf-Mo«»n T(t- 
 
 lec ff»revcr. 
 
 **Thr Land of Columhia leaves again to-morrow," lu; snid 
 Duke; "T shall return by lu v." 
 
 They shook hands and ])arted, with no !».'»re words, and 
 le scene-painter went to the Britannia. Tie was not .^enti- 
 lerital nor imaginative in any way, hut all that day, and 
 )r many days, the jtale face and dark I'yes of Kohcrt 
 [awksh y haunted him like a gho^f. The Land of Cnhimhin 
 lilec] on Tuesday morning. On Tuesday night there cam*' 
 letter to Ifalf-.Nfooii Terrace, addressed to Duke. A check 
 )r five hundred pounds fell out wh<'n iie opened it, and he 
 Nid these lines: 
 
 "You spoke of wishing to save enough to purdia.-.e for your- 
 »lf a home in Speekhaven, where you said there was a better 
 #»ening for you than in London, It is ray desire that you 
 tpould do so at once, for my child's sake. Once a year I will 
 •ife to you, and you to me, telling me of her progress and 
 Ifare. I go to make a fortune for her; please (iod, i.iy 
 lugliter sliall be an heiress, before whom those wlio scorn 
 'r now shall yet bow down. Let her grow up as your own — 
 utter ignorance of her own stoi-y. If I live, I may one day 
 #turn to Kngland, and to her — \i I die, be her father in my 
 rti ad. Robert riAvvKSMiv/" 
 
 •> And so the first chapter in little Polly's strange history was 
 3|t"d and ended. 
 
 ,• . -.4. 
 
ART SECONL 
 
 CHAPTKR I. 
 
 AFTEll ruLHTKKN YICARS. 
 
 .{ 
 
 And it will bo the most splendid tiling ever scon in Spoi -;• 
 faavon, Rosniiiial Fij^^ure to yoursidf ynrds and yards >-\ 
 Cliinc.-e lanterns spai'Ulint; through the trtes, plashinjuf foun- 
 tains, and tlie divine tnusic of Ilohnesdale's military bra>-; 
 band! Faney the long tables jiroaning — that's the word • 
 groaning und(T the roast beef of old iMigland, and foamin^' 
 flagons of ale I Faney ilags flying, and bells ringing, an i 
 everybody eating and tlrinking, and making merry, and your 
 little Polly sharing t];e glories of the hour with the Hon(H 
 able (luy J\iget Earlscourt, second and favorite son of L<>r,i 
 JVIontalien, of Montalien Priory, Lincolnshire." 
 
 "Polly!" 
 
 "Well, I mean as the i)rettiest girl at the feast. x\nd Tu 
 quite determined to go, Kosanna, so iron my white musli! 
 dress, like a dear old love, and say no more about it." 
 
 The spirited speaker of this oration stood in the mi<ldl(^ ' 
 the floor, a tall slip of a girl, with a slim waist, sunburn* -I 
 hands, and a clear, ringing, sweet, young voice. The pp 
 tiest sight ou earth — a fair, joyous, healthy girl of sixteen. 
 
 Tt was high noon of a delicious June day, and she stood in 
 a burst of sunshine that flooded the little parlor, that flash, i 
 in her short, auburn curls, and si)arkled back from her jov 
 ous eyes. Fourteen years ago you saw her a lovely baby, aui 
 now she is an "English miss" of sixteen. And has the fair 
 baby beauty £ully kept its promise in the girl'? Well, nt 
 first glance you might be inclined t'^ say no. Crop the flow- 
 ing locks of the Venus AiKidyomene, give her a sunburnt 1 
 complexion, and a smudge of dirt on her nose, put her in ) 
 torn dress, and what Ijecomes of your goddess but a gooM- 
 lookinj; vciing woman with a i)air of fitie eyes? Polly labor- 
 under all those disadvantages at present, after her n\ci\ 
 dusty walk through the bla/ing noonday sun; but in spite • t' 
 the smudge on her n(/se, it is a vi'ry pr(^tty nose, perfect i" 
 shape and chiseling. The mouth may be a trifle larger th.i!! 
 a rosebud, perhaps, but it is a handsome moutli, with th it 
 square cut at the corners, which niakcg a mouth at ance re" 
 
 "■I 
 
After Fourteen Year:>, 
 
 65 
 
 scon in Speck- 
 
 and yarJs (tf 
 plasluufjj fouii- 
 
 military brass 
 it's the word - 
 d, and foamiii:; 
 Is ringiiifj:, an'l 
 norry, and yo'ir 
 •ith the Honor- 
 ilo son of Lord 
 e." 
 
 feast. And I'm 
 y white mushii 
 ihout it." 
 n the middle '>{ 
 aist, snnhnnu^'l 
 )ice. The pr- : 
 irl of sixteen, 
 ind she stood \\\ 
 ■lor, that iias]iol 
 k from her jiyv 
 lovely hahy, a til 
 .nd has tho fan- 
 girl'^ Well, .It 
 Crop the flow- 
 ler a siiiibnnu ' 
 ise, pnt her in ' 
 ess hut a godi 
 
 s? 
 
 Polly lahnr 
 
 after her nici", 
 ; bnt in spito ■ ' 
 nose, {)orfeet i" 
 rifle lar/^er th;i'i 
 lonth, with Umt 
 nth at ance re° 
 
 luie and sweet. She niay be tanned; yon may sec a few 
 freckh'S nndcr her eyes, but oh, those eyes! — so blue, .0 radi- 
 ant, llashin^ with lif«'. an<l health, and fun, and misfhicf, 
 from morninj? till night! You neither .saw freekles nor tan, 
 ojx'o their lustre tlashed ui)oi5 you. The auburn hair is short- 
 ('roi)iied, and all eui-linfJT ronnd her luvid; and standing there 
 in the June snnlighl, siie looks like a saucy boy, an anda- 
 eionsly saucy boy, ready for anything in the way X)f fnn or 
 frolic, from smoking a cigp.r to ritling an unbroken I'olt 
 round the paddock wi'hont ^-addlo or bridle 
 
 iio^aiuia sits before her — Eotianna, whom old Time no 
 more dare aj»i)roach than any other man. J''<nirteen yearr, 
 have left her absolutely and entirely inichanged — grin, of 
 as[)eet. kindly of heart, sharp of tongno, and a model O'" al' 
 tlie Christian and donie.stie virtues, with only one wea'.'.nes , 
 and that— i^ol'y ! Polly, wdio ha-^ been her torment, her 
 plague, her id»»l. any time those fourteen years; whom sIk 
 worries about all day, and whose innumerable sins and ill- 
 doings keep her awake all night; whom she scolds, and loves, 
 nn<l spoils, and to whose will she bows in as abject submis- 
 sion as her weak-mimled brother himself. 
 
 r 
 
 ly's 
 
 earliest recollection is of this pleasant ei'vht- 
 
 roomed house, in the suburbs of Si)eckhaven, with its lit lie 
 flower garden in front, its kitchen garden and paddoel' in the 
 rear, its snotless whiteness of wall, and brilliant green of 
 shutters. Of London, and "Dozy," and her bal)y life, all 
 memory is gone. She believed the story of herself current in 
 tli(» town — a very simple story — that she is the orphan child 
 of doai old Duke's cousin, dead and gone, and left as the sole 
 legacy of the dying man. 
 
 "And a precious leg«cy I have been!" Polly was wont to 
 observe in parenthesis. "Duke don't mind my enormities; 
 indeed, if I murdered somebody, 1 don't think it wonid sur- 
 jirise or trouble him any, but ttiat jtoor Uosanmi I I've been 
 bringing her gray hairs (she won't dye), with soitow to 
 SpeckhavtMi (\'metery, ex'cry hour sinei^ «he got me fii-st." 
 
 So P(dly had sliot up, tall, slim, pretty, healthy, and clf- 
 willed. She had i)ersisted in catching ev« ry disoi-d<T inci- 
 dental to childhood. She had made Kosanna sit u\^ with her 
 for weeks and we<ks toi'cther, and sh«^ had torn nioi-t new 
 dresses, and tumbled off more dizzy heights, than any othn- 
 child on record. She liked lier owi vay, an«i 'nsisted «»n 
 having it, with an energy worthy a better cause, nn 1 U- .e ;,ho 
 stood at sixteen, the prettiest an<l wildest madcap in Llncol'i- 
 sbire— -a handsome, blue-eyed brunette. 
 
 WitJi Robert ITawksle.y's fi^o lnui<lred pounds, Duke h;(i 
 purchased this pretty oottage, just outside the large, h: • 
 
^^ 
 
 66 
 
 After Fourteen Year*^. 
 
 town Oi Si><»C'kh«.vrn ; aiul Rosauna's dream vvns i^alized oi 8. 
 eottag:e in the country, with flower garden and pouhry yard. 
 
 Once every year oince then Duke had received a letter, 
 containing fii'ty pounds, and all of those fifty pounds were 
 safely nestled in Hpecldiaven Bank for Polly. Mr- Ilawks- 
 ley had gone to California when" first the gold fever broke 
 out there, and last Christmas, when his letter came, was 
 there still ; but whether making that promised fortune or not, 
 Duke had no means of knowing, and Mr. llawksley never 
 said. Polly knew him as her godfather, and was very muili 
 obliged to Iiiin, indeed, for his handsome presents, which con- 
 stituted such a nice little sum for her in the bank. She 
 wrotc^ him a letter every ye^jr since she iirst learned to write; 
 but beyorid this of herself or him she knew nothing. Duko 
 still persevered in his old vocation, and was scene-])ainter-iii- 
 chief to Spcckhavcn Lyceum, and portrait painter to the 
 town. 
 
 The fourteen years had glided on smoothly, uneventfully — 
 frcin which one evertful montli sl^me out a bright oasis in 
 the desert. He walked to L.yjidilh (Jrange sometiniL^, in the 
 gray of the sunnner evcninr^, smoking his pipe, and thinking 
 of that cold ]\rarch nii^ht o long ago, when the romance of 
 his lift; began. Of J he actors in that romance he had never 
 seen anythiiig, since the day he had bidden farewell to Kob- 
 t>rt liawksley. Of Mr. ('coifrey Lyndith, of Sir Vane and 
 ]j;uly Charteris, he never even heard the names. They miglit 
 be all (lead and buried, so completely had they dropped out 
 of his life. The old Grange was utterly deserted now; the 
 grim gateway would yield to any hand that chose to push it, 
 but few ever chose. Stray artists who thouglit it pictur- 
 escjue in its decay, nuide sketches of it when the sun shone, 
 but after nightfall neitlun* artist nor peasant liked to linger 
 ill its gloomy precincts. Those visits, and an occasiomil look 
 at his treasured opal ring, were all that remained to Duke> 
 besides his bright Polly, to keep the memory of that past- 
 time alive. Dr. Worth still told the story of that rainy night, 
 when he had been carrietl off bodily to the Grange; but peo- 
 ple were getting tired of hearing it, and wero more interested 
 in the great house of the neighborhood, ^Montalien Priory, 
 "where great goings-(»n were this time taking place. ]j<nd 
 Montalien's second son was just of age, on the third of June, 
 aiid there was to be a birthday celebration, and that's why 
 Polly s\ands here flushed, an(^ rwinging her gypsy hat by its 
 rosy ribbons, and talking witi: many gestures and vast intcr- 
 ast to Kosanna. '^ 
 
 "Dinner at sunset on tlie fawn, Roaanna," the girl wa^ 
 et^ying, ivith her face all alight; ''all the tenantry and all the 
 
'^ 
 
 \fter Fourteen Year 
 
 67 
 
 ized ol 9- 
 
 iry yard. 
 
 a letter, 
 
 lids \\i i« 
 
 Ilawks- 
 
 vcr broke 
 
 nue, was 
 
 le or not, 
 
 ley never 
 
 ery muili 
 
 liicli eoii- 
 
 11k. vSho 
 
 to write; 
 
 i^. Duko 
 
 >aiiiter-iii- 
 
 er to tlie 
 
 uiitfuUy — 
 t oasis ill 
 ics, in tlio 
 1 thinkinj^ 
 ainanee of 
 had never 
 11^ to Kob- 
 Vane and 
 hey niiglit 
 opped out 
 now; the 
 to push it, 
 it pietur- 
 5U11 shoiii^ 
 I to linger 
 iional look 
 to Duke> 
 that pa<t 
 liny night, 
 ; but peo- 
 inten st; d 
 ni Pi'i(jry, 
 ice. J void 
 i of June, 
 hat's why 
 hat by its 
 >'ast inter- 
 girl was. 
 nd all i^ 
 
 •\'-m 
 
 t.. Jespeople oelonging: to the ^ oiy, and ai- • idy tlie bailiff 
 and Mrs. Hamper, the housekeeper, like to in^it" beside. [ 
 have an invitation from both of 'e^B, and I'm going with 
 Aliee Warren. TJieii after dinner and speeeh-niaking, you 
 know, and all that, there's to l>c a ball in the great entrance; 
 liall, among tlie old chaps in armor, and the antlers, and 
 battle-axes, and boomerangs, and things. A ball, Rosamni — ■ 
 a real out-and-out ball," repeated Polly, with ov»d like soi.m- 
 nity, and the largest capitals. 
 
 '"But, Polly, you're not the tenantry, nor the tradcsix'ople," 
 retorted Uosanna, who, having not an atom o\' pride for her ■ 
 eelf, had yet heaps for Polly. "You're a young ladv, 
 and- ■'' 
 
 "Fiddle! I. beg" your pardon, Rosanna, but I'm not a 
 young lady. I'm Duke Mason, the scene-painter's poor rela- 
 tion, brought up out of charity, and iioihing else. A young 
 lady, to my mind, is a person likt — like Miss Ilautton, now, 
 who never toasted a muffin, nor wasjied up tlu^ tea-things in 
 her life, i know what I am — I wi^h I was a lady, but I'm 
 m»t. And I'm going to the dinner and the ball, liosaana, 
 and as ifs my first ball, I intend to dance with everylxx^ who 
 a>ks me. If one can't be rich and aristocratic themselves, 
 il's pleasant to mix with peoj)le that ai;e, and the ladies and 
 gentlemen are going to dance with the common herd, and bo 
 sociable for once, in a way." 
 
 Polly's grammar might be obscure, but ]\vv meaning was 
 clear. She was going to the ball, and would like to see who 
 would -top her. 
 
 "Well, Pjlly, if you insist — but mind, I don't iike it " 
 
 ''Of course you (^on't, Rosanna; you never do like fun and 
 frolic, and we're all worms, ain't we^ Hut I'm going though, 
 so please hurry up and iron my new mud in dre-^s, for I j)n)m- 
 ised to call for Alice at four o'clock. And, oh, Rosanmi! who 
 knows? perhaps Lord Montalieii himself may ask me to 
 dance." 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense, child! Lord Montalien is sixty-seven 
 years old, and has the ^vout. A pretty figure an old siinier 
 like that would cut, dancing with a chit like you. Have the 
 quality come down?" 
 
 "Came this morning — Lord Montalien and his two sons, 
 Mr. Francis and Mr. Guy, Sir Vane and Lady Charteris, an<l 
 their daughter, Miss Maud Oharteris, and a Miss Diana 
 Hautt< n. Sir Vane and Miss Diana are both second cousins 
 of my lord." 
 
 Polly pronounced those gieat names with an unction good 
 \rO h^'ar. 
 
 "There's a l][r. ^llan Jane, too, aa art:. , Mrs, Hamper 
 
 
 r^ll 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
.^8 
 
 After Fourteen Years. 
 
 told me, who is suid to bo paying attonfioii to the rich ^liss 
 Jlauttoii, and all the ji^oiitrv in the neighborhood are tj be 
 thrre to-day/' 
 
 . "I should think," said llosainia, getting the muslin robe 
 ready for the iron, "Lord .Moiitalien would have made all 
 this to-do when his eldest son and heir came of age, instead 
 of this younger one.'' 
 
 "Mr. (iuy is his favorite — everybody knows it. Mrs. Ham- 
 per told me the story. Lord M(»ntalien,'' said Polly, in- 
 l-enscly interested in her theme, "was married twice — I heard 
 all about it in the peerage, up at the P "iory. His lii'st wife 
 was ri(,'h, and plain, and ten years oldir than my locd, and a 
 match of his father's choosing. J>ord Montalien was in love 
 V'ith somebody else, but he yielded to his father and n)arried 
 the rich and ugly Aliss Huntingdon, and hated her IWe 
 j)«,»ison.'' 
 
 "J'olly!", 
 
 "\V<'11, 1 d<»n*l know, of course — I should think he did — I 
 would in his place I But, fortun:itely, she died two years after 
 her mari"i.ige, leaving Mr. I'rancis and there was his lord- 
 ship free again. Of course he innnediately returned to his 
 first love, an Italian lady, and, oh, sm h a beauty! Her pic- 
 ture's up there in her boudoir, and ^Ir. (-Iuy is her son. She 
 died before a great while, loo, ami J^urd Montalien has been 
 a sort of Bamfyid Alore C'arew ever since, wandering about 
 like Noah's dove, and finding no rest for the sole of his 
 foot." 
 
 "Polly — don't be irreverent !'' 
 
 "And so you see, Kosanna," i)ursued Polly, ij.ij'ing no at- 
 tention, "it's clear enough how Mr. (iuy c(»mes to be his fa- 
 voi'it(\ He looks like his mother, whom his fath(M' loved, and 
 Mr. Francis k»oks like his mother, whom his father detested. 
 That's logic, isn't it^ ^Mr. Francis is very well-lookiir^'. you 
 know, but Mr. (Uiy — oh, Kosanna! Mr. (Juy's an angel!" 
 ...With whicii Polly bounced away before Kosanrn's shocked 
 exclamation had time to be uttered. 
 
 When Pollv gleefully told Duke nf lier intention to g-^ u- 
 the ball, and of the possibility of her i)eing cajilured by una 
 of the grandees there, something rose in the honest fellow's 
 throat and nearly choked him. Two willo vy arms went 
 round his neck in an iiistant. 
 
 "Why, Duke! Dear old Duke, don't you want me to go? 
 I ne, n' knew it— why didn't you say soi I'll lake off these 
 tilings and sit here with you all the afternoon.'-' 
 
 He held the hands that would have flung the roses put of 
 her belt. 
 
 "Ko, dueliess, g\) to the ball, and enjoy yourself — and God 
 
At Montalien Priory. 
 
 6g 
 
 dJoss you, whatovor hupixMis, I'll call l\>r you aftor tlii^itro- 
 tiino, and fttch you home." 
 
 Ilo (»ii<Mit'd the <iuor for her, while she looked at liiiii won- 
 der! ii|,Hy, to let her pass out. 
 
 "Bui, Duke, you're quite sure youM just as lief I'd {iro? 
 Kosaiiiia ohjeets, hut tlien llosaiiiia says wi 're all worms, 
 and objects to everything', excejft eating a cold dinner, and 
 poiiifj to ehurch three tinu-s on Sunday. Ihit if you would 
 rather J stayed " 
 
 "I had rather you would j<(» — haven't I said So ^ Inhere I 
 run awa./, I'olly, 1 must ^ct hack to work." 
 
 "(lood-hy, then," l*olly said, and the white dress and the 
 &liort, yellow curls and pink roses vanished down the stair- 
 way, and Duke went hack to his work. 
 
 'i'he sun was low^in the west, when the door of the paint- 
 inj<-room was ilunj;' open, and Kosanna, pale and excited, 
 6to(Kl before him. 
 
 "Duke," she p:asped, "I never (hou^dit of it till this minute. 
 I hoard the name, and the truth never struck me. Lady 
 Charteris is at Montalien, and l*i»lly has ^one ili . ■; and 
 Duke! Lady Charteris is our i'oliy't> motlu'r!" 
 
 
 iji!! 
 
 f 
 
 '' 
 
 ^ . CIIAPTKK II. 
 
 AT MONTAI.IKN I'HIOUV. 
 
 Montalien T*riory was just three miles distant From thr. 
 cottage; its great boundary wall began alnuist where thtir 
 little garden ended. A vast and noble park si)read along all 
 the way to the right — to the left little cottages, standing in 
 I)retty, ti'im gardens. 
 
 One of tiie^c, close t<» the 'great entrance gates, Polly en- 
 tered. Dozens of jx'ople, in their Sunday best, with hai>py 
 faces, were making for the J*riorv. 
 
 "Alice! Alice!" Polly <'a]led,\is s!ie went np the little 
 garden path, "are you r«'ady T' 
 
 "Ves, Polly," a voice from an open window answered, 
 "wait a moment until I hud my })ar;i.>(>l.'' 
 
 I', was the cottage of Matlicw \Varr<'!i, th'- bailitf. :ui<l 
 Matla w Warren's only (Jaiightci" was Miss M axon's ch(»en 
 iriend ;!nd conHdante. She can.'- en! of the vi;ie-wr»'!»l!ied 
 doorway now — pretty Alice Wai'ren, two ycarM Polly's senior, 
 re<pl(Mident in ai)ple-grcen muslin, ami cherry ribbons in lier 
 rich, brown iiair. 'J'hei'ci wer(^ people who cali<d Alic*- War- 
 ren the prettiest girl in Speckhaven. far prettier tlian l*o11y, 
 who a!: thi- ;. ,.ition ago was a tril!'. l- ; ''."u, and M^le. fur 
 
 iii 
 
'p- 
 
 - n i m il m il m iiai m a in ^i ii 
 
 mtmm 
 
 70 
 
 4)*: Montc^y :a Priory, 
 
 (•ortaii. tastes. Alice was >oiir very ideal of a rustic beauty 
 — plump — rosy — diiiipled — a skin luijk white and ro.-e pink — • 
 white teeth, light-blue eyes, a'ld al)iindant, nut-brown tresses. 
 
 "How nice yuur white muslin makca uj)!'' Aliss Warren rc- 
 niarl:.d, with an adniii'ing glaiici', "Rosanna's such a laun- 
 (Ires-;;. Oh, Tolly !'' with a sudden change of tone, "I've f^ot 
 suck a secret to tell ywii ! (iuess who came home with me 
 from Spcf'khaven last nigh» ?" 
 
 "Peter Jenkins," Polly hazarded. 
 
 Peter Jenkins was a miller, and a very worthy voung man, 
 who had been "keeping company" with Miss Warren during 
 the past twelve moiiihs. 
 
 "Peter Jenkins!" retorted tho bailiff's pretty daughter, 
 with what, in a heroine, would have been a tone of inelfable 
 scorn. "No, indeed! Polly, you'll never j^ell, now will you V* 
 
 Polly protested. 
 
 "Well, then, it was Mr. Francis Earlscourt, the HonoraVde 
 Franc's Farlscourt!" said Miss Warren, her whole face one 
 ^low of triumpli. 
 
 "Alice! Mr. Francis! V>ut I thought they only came 
 down tliis morning." / 
 
 "He came last night, and it was almost dark, you know, 
 . Pf?ily; starlight, and that, and I was all alone, and he came 
 up to me and spoke, and 1 knew him at once, and he remem- 
 bered me, too, thougli he hasn't seen me for four years. And, 
 Polly, he offered me his arm, and I was afraid to refuse, and 
 afraid to take it, and he talked all the way, and I declare, 
 I hadn't a word to say." 
 
 "What did he talk about? J)id he talk like Clive New- 
 come or Ivanhoe, and, oh, Alice, is he handsome?" 
 
 "I don't know what he talked about — my heart was in my 
 mouth, I tell you, Polly. He said it was a beautiful even- 
 ing, and that he liked the coufitry, and he told me I had 
 grown tall and — and prettier than ever," said Alice, blush- 
 ing. "And I think him handsome; he's tall and thin, and 
 wears a mustache; and has tihe softest voice and hands, 
 and " 
 
 "Head, perhaps!" s;iid Polly, irreverently. "I wish T liad 
 been in your place, Pd have talked to him, and if my heart 
 got into my mouth I'd have swallowed it! You'll introduce 
 him to me, won't you, Alice? 1 should like him to a-k me to 
 dance"." 
 
 "Oh, I'm sure I dont kncv.*," resnonded Alice, witii a sud- 
 den cooling off manner, aiiil a sudden recollection that some 
 people thought Polly Mason quite as good looking as hrv^e'f. 
 "I shouldn't like to mnk(^ so free fs that, you know. It's all 
 very v.cll if they take notice of ua, but it wouldn't do for us 
 
 "■m 
 
 n 
 
nt Monta'ien Priory. 
 
 7i 
 
 istic boauty 
 ro^e pink — 
 Dwii trusses. 
 Warren re- 
 uch a laun- 
 e, "I've got 
 ne with me 
 
 young man, 
 rrcii iluring 
 
 y daughter, 
 
 of ineifable 
 
 sv will you r* 
 
 le IIonoraV)le 
 ole face one 
 
 only came 
 
 :, you know, 
 
 find be came 
 
 d he rcm( in- 
 
 years. And, 
 
 refuse, and 
 id I declare, 
 
 : CHve New- 
 le?" 
 
 rt was in my 
 autiful even- 
 Id me I ha<l 
 Alice, blush- 
 nd thin, and 
 ; and hands, 
 
 ■I wish T had 
 
 1 if my heart 
 u'll introduce 
 I to ask mc to 
 
 p, with a snd- 
 ion that some 
 in.n" as hovsolf. 
 :now. It's all 
 dii't do for us 
 
 to force ourselves upon them, lie r.sked mr if T wouldn't 
 give him as many dances as he wanted to-ni^dit; ami, l*o!ly, 
 do you know, he said he wouldn't bo satisfied unless he jj^ot 
 every one. And then, he jjave nie a look — such a look!" 
 
 "I wonder what J*eter will say T' suj^Kestcd Polly, ma- 
 liciously, and a trifle jealous, as y(nin^- ladies will bo id' tluir 
 best friends on some occasions; "he has ijiven you looks be- 
 fore now, too, hasn't he? There! don't be vexed, Alice, I 
 hoi)0 b il dance with you the whole ni^dit long-. 1 oidy 
 l)ray I shan't hav<} to sit out many — 1 should di'..' of vexation 
 if that Kliza Long is asked and I'm left." 
 
 They were entering under tlie great stone arch by this 
 time, with its (•-•ciileheon — two mailed bands clapped, and tlh 
 motto Scmp<'r Fidclis. This Nonuan arcli. and one part of 
 the Priory, was old as the Comiuest itself — erected by tbe 
 hands of Norman masons. An avenue a mile long led to tbe 
 Priory — a lofty and noble mansion, jrvay and ivv-grown, 
 qr.aint and picturesfjue. Tall, twisted cbimncws rear<'d un 
 against the June sk.^, its painted windows bla/.ed in llie sun, 
 its pointed gables, its lofty turrets, where a huge bell swung, 
 and around whieh the ivy, many and many a century old, 
 had clung until its girth was i)retry nearly that of an oik 
 tree. Vidvety glades, ston(» terrace-, wbere peacocks strutted 
 in the sun, long, leafy arcades, wla^re cool, ^reen. darkness 
 ever reigned, and glimps(>s, as th(\v Irew near the house, id" a 
 Norman pondi, where woodbine and dog- roses (dust(>r«M!, ami 
 an open door, revealing a hall with armor on the walls, «rk;ns 
 of Canadian wolves, of I'luar be;ii-s and Afrie.-tn lions, <>n t!ie 
 ]K»lisheit oak floor. A nobb^ ball, witb a grained roof, and 
 grand i-tairease, up wdiicli vou mi'jfbf drive a coach arui four. 
 
 "How beautiful it all is!'' Polly cried. "How splendid! 
 IIow grand! 'J'hiid^ how, for <'entnriep and centurie-, it liris 
 descended from father to son. all brave warriors, great states- 
 iiK^n, noble rirators. And we linve nevei- bad a granrif-^ither ! 
 lIow glorious life must be in (be world the.se peopU^ live 
 in!" 
 
 But Alice was not listening- [d tihls outburst — her eyes were 
 wandering in search of some one — some one whom she did 
 not see. It was a pretty sight, too, and well worth looking at. 
 '^I'lie noble Priory, the sunlit glades, sniootii and trim as a 
 lawn, and shadowed by magnificent oaks and beeclu's, and 
 gathenil there nearly three bundred persons, men, women 
 and cbiblre!!. tenantry, farm laborers, servants and trades- 
 l)eoi)le, witli their wives, «W(>ethearts and children. And over 
 all waving- trees and sunny, serene sky. 
 
 "Look! look, Polly!" exidaimed Alice, breathlessly; "tliero 
 come the ;fentlefollis now." 
 
 I ■ 
 
■MMMMl 
 
 7'* 
 
 At Montalien Priory. 
 
 t<>(»k hi: 
 "It's 
 Polly? 
 
 Mr, 
 
 I'olly lifted lur dronniy oyos. Soniothinpr in the ':!:ol(k''" 
 I't'jjut^ of tin' siciic stirred her heart with a feeling' akin to 
 jiaiii. She looked up at tTie terraco to which iier friend 
 pointed, and L.aw a group of ladies and {gentlemen looking 
 d n at the aninnited scene helow. "Oil, Polly!" h^oath- 
 le.-isly; "I wonder if ho will see lis! Look! he is coming 
 d<nvn." 
 
 A tall young man, in a high hat, dross coat, and white 
 waistcoat, ran <lown \hv terrace stairs. Two long tahles wen^ 
 spread under tho shadow of tho trees, laden with substantial 
 viand'', and ; t the head of one of these he took his plac(\ A 
 nionii , ] I, and a second young man separated himself 
 from ?(; ft j^inup on the terrace,, and descended the stairs, and 
 Mt the head of the second table. 
 C.'- " whi'^i < red Alice. "Shall we go over, 
 They — iie hasn't seen us." 
 
 Polly looked at Ouy Earlscourt as he came down through 
 the blaze of sunshine, and for years and years after the, 
 splendid image she saw then haunted her with reinorsjful 
 pain. She saw the handsomest man she had ever seen in her 
 life — youth, rather, for was not this his twenty-first birth- 
 <lay? lie was tall, like hl'^ brother — like his brother, he 
 wore a mustache, as became a newly-fledged guardsman, and 
 a certain air, as lie nioved. struck you. as similar. ]](\vond 
 that there was no resemblance. Francis Earlscourt was fair, 
 with pale-gray eyes, and light-brown hair, full, rath<M' large 
 mouth, and a pale, retreating forehead. Ouy Earlscourt still 
 worp his loose velvet morning coat — perhaps ho knew nothing 
 could harmonize better with the Rembrandt tints of his ch^ir, 
 olive complexion, and large, lazy brown eyes — eyes that liad 
 a golden light and a dreamy smile in them. A strav/ liat was 
 thrown carelessly on his Vdack curls, a slender chain of yellow 
 gold glimmered across his waistcoat, and Polly clasped her 
 hands as she looked. 
 
 "TIow handsome! How handsome!" she said. "Tfand- 
 somer even than the picture in the crimson drawing-room. 
 Alice, there's no comparing them— Mr. Guy is a thousand 
 times the handsomer of the two." 
 
 "Tastes differ," Alice said; "I don't think so. ITore's 
 father — shall we go and got a nlace?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Warren, tell us first who are the ladies iip on tho 
 t^Trace? T know who they are, of course, but T don't know 
 which is which. That little girl is Miss Maud Cl.artrris, T 
 suppose ?" 
 
 'The little girl in tho pink frot'k is Miss l^aud Ohar- 
 loris,'' said the bailiff, coming up, "and that small, dark lady, 
 with the fair bair and black dress, is her mamma. The tail. 
 
At Montalien Priory. 
 
 73 
 
 ^1 
 
 1 tlic ';nl(lt''' 
 •lin^? aUin to 
 1 lior frund 
 ?inoii looking? 
 illy!" l)-oath- 
 fic is coining 
 
 it, and white 
 ig tables Avcro 
 h siib-stantinl 
 his phico. A 
 raiod hinisolf 
 ho stairs, and 
 
 we Ri) over, 
 
 Llown thionjrli 
 ■ars aft«'r tlio, 
 th remorseful 
 or seen in her 
 ity-iirst hirth- 
 s brother, he 
 lardsnvan. and 
 lilar. l>eyond 
 'ourt was fair, 
 rath(M* lar^e 
 ^^varlscDurt s;ill 
 knew nothing 
 ts of his clear, 
 -eyes that had 
 strav; luit was 
 hain of yollow 
 ly clasped her 
 
 said. "TTand- 
 dra\vin,i?-rooin. 
 is a thousand 
 
 ik so. 
 
 Here's 
 
 idies up on the 
 t T don't know 
 id Cl'.artcris, T 
 
 s "J.!^aud Char- 
 aall, dark lady, 
 una. The tall. 
 
 hin younR" lady i- Mi-^s Diatia Kanlfon. the ^entlennin bo- 
 ;id(' her is Air Allan I'"ane, tlic short, red- faced. st<»at ^M-n- 
 IllMiiaji witli bhiek wlii-kcrs i-^ Sir Vane (Miart(;ris- and the 
 llall, <dflcriy pcntlenian, with white hair, is my h .(l Iiimself. 
 iKow. you K'rls, if you want to get a scat, come ah»nfT." 
 I He 1( (I tliem, tn ]\\< dani:}it(<r's inten-c dcli;rht, to tlic table 
 it whifli Francis lvirlsc(»urt presided. That j,'cnt lenian h 
 face Huhted int" a smih' of pleased rccngnition at sight of 
 dice's smiles aiul blushes. 
 
 "Here, Warrei., where are you going i* Miss Alice. 1 have 
 been looking for yon in vain the hi-t iialfdiour." ^'That's a 
 story to begin with." thought Polly.) "Kcrc's a seat — 1 in- 
 sist upon it — you shall sit here and help me do the honors." 
 
 He made a |ilacc for her beside iiim, looking almost as 
 nhriiringly at her ('rtmpanion. But there was no room for 
 *oi!y. who dcfdfired she hadn't ' c»mc to eat nd drink, and 
 •asn't hungry, and would wait, 'i'hc bailifi let- 'ler; he had 
 
 thousand things [o do, and Miss .Mason, ^-^ai' r against a 
 fnige chestnut trer' at soin(> dii^tanec. rcgJiNt 1 \i\t i)eoplc on 
 [h( terrace with longing, dreamy eyes. . ,hr did not know 
 ivl.at a r)retty f)ictnre she made stjnuling th re. the slanting 
 sunlight on her f«ee and short, golden h; '•, or that the group 
 bn 'he lerraee s;i\v her. 
 
 "What a pretty girl I what a very striking face!'' <'X<*laitned 
 Vfr. Allan Fane, the artist; "ihere under the chestnut. Miss 
 dautton, by herself. Sec, Lady Charteris, yonder. Like <>ne 
 >f (Jreu/c's blue-eyed, dimpled bcafities." 
 
 Mr. Allarr Kane should have known be*ter, certainly, ac- 
 'ustomed to society as he wa-;, than to i)raise om woman in 
 [he prc^^ence of another, and that other Miss Diana iiaut- 
 [on. Ibit this was only a peasant child — a pretty mo«leI, 
 ()erha|»< nothing more. 
 
 Miss Diana iookc<l rather disdainfidly. She was ji tall, 
 
 ^ery thin, very high-bred young lady, with pale features, and 
 
 m aristocratically afjuilinc no<e — with (]uite a patrician 
 
 look, indeed. She had three thou'^and a year in hei- own 
 
 'itrlit. and t!ie be-t bbxid in b'ngland in her veins, hut her 
 
 jhair was getting thin at the parting, and she was not -well, 
 
 pile was not as yc)nng as she had be< ji ten yciU'^ ago, wIk-ii 
 
 jKrst yiresented by her kinswoman, the Duchess of Clanronald. 
 
 T<'n years had grme by, and the Honorable Diami was ili-»s 
 
 'Lmtton still, and tlie attentionA of Mr. Allan Kan. ha<l 
 
 )een decidedly nuirked lately, and now he stot^'d here, and his 
 
 h'os lighted with the artist's fire as he lottked at a wret(died 
 
 [ittle peasant girl as tliry nev»'r lighted while gating on her. 
 
 Miss Haufton raised \mf eyeglasses, and iiiot " crlance of 
 ruel scorn acroaa at Polly. 
 
 •<^lasf 
 
^- ■'*<»«- 
 
 74 
 
 At Montalien Priory. 
 
 "1 wc* a (Ifrwfly. villii^r scIk ol^iil. in a wliitr irock, ami 
 Imir cropped like a boy 'a. 1 cotilotss 1 iifvcr could !W.>c gotl- 
 dc^'^co 111 niitibunuMl, ro(i-('lKM*kt'(l (lairyuiiiidrt." 
 
 Aliss HaiKton dropiiod ju r kIihs, and walked over to her 
 cousin, Lord Moiitulitn. Lord Alontaiicii, uitii a iVw more 
 cr(»w's feet uiuler his eyes — a lilll<- grayer, a little nxjie bt)re<! 
 by life and people-otherwise unaltered since fourteen years 
 ago, when he stood on the deck of the Land of C<>lumhi<i, aM<l 
 talked to Udbt-rt Ilawkslcy. 
 
 Air. Lane 'saw his mistake, and knew his duty was lo fol 
 vlow and appease the Honorable Diaiui. lint t^he Honorable 
 Diana was eight years his senior, and sallow of conipUxi-Mi. 
 and exacting as to t<'nipcr, and in sjjite of jier blue blood, 
 and iier three thousand a yi-ar, apt to pall sonietinies on th<' 
 frivolous iiiiiid of a beauty-\vorsliii»ing painter of four-and- 
 tv,enty. Standing on the terrace there, Mr. Fane looked and 
 aihnirod, and fi'll in love with INdly on tlie spot. 
 
 A hand i<laced suddeidy on his own a\\'oke him from his 
 trance — a <'oi«l hand that nta<.le him start — and loi>king up, he 
 saw Lady Oharteris. 
 
 "Who is that girl?" she a.^ked. 
 
 Fourteen years had done their work on Olivia, Lady 
 Chartcris. Lhc dark face Duke Mason had thought so 
 beautiful in the llickering firelight that March night so long 
 ago was worn and aged, as though sla; had sullercd mucli in 
 her thirty-three years. She was fixedly pale, the large, dark 
 eyes looked aiiiio-t ui. naturally large in her snudl, colorle>is 
 face, and the smiles that came and nent were rare and cold 
 as starlight on snow. Her summer dress of black grenadine, 
 with g^ild leaves, heightened her pallor now. 
 
 Sir \'anc and La«ly('harteris, outwardly, were on the jm- 
 Hk'st and mo.-.t amiable terms, the baronet particularly, who 
 on all i)ublic occasions was almost remarkably civil and at- 
 icntive to his cold, silent, self-contained, handsome wife. 
 
 Had Lady Charteris forgotten^ — liad all those years blotted 
 out the mcinory of her childhor»d's roi";;nce- -of the young 
 hu-.band -lie bad loved ;:nd lost, cd' the child, his child, whom 
 she had given to strangers if She »aw a sleialer girl in white 
 muslin, her jirotile turned towaid her, and the sunshine gild- 
 ing her face, and her heart, tli:it had lain like a stone for «o 
 many yeais, gave one sudden leap. That profile ! that atti- 
 tude I v.jK're had she seen t^ieia before? She knew, even as 
 she asked the question, and turned faint and sick for an in- 
 stant. The next she started up, laid her hand ©n tlic younpr 
 ariist's, and asked the question: 
 i "Who is that ffirir 
 
 The girl moved on the moment, and her face was turned 
 
was to fol- 
 
 I lonoraltlt^ 
 
 fomp'a'xi'iii. 
 
 Ill from liis 
 kin^ up, he 
 
 was Slimed 
 
 At Mont-iii'^n Priory. 
 
 n 
 
 lull toward them. Tho liktiicss that liail ^uuck on tlio hurt 
 vi r:iy hicly like a hlow, vaiii>httl. '1 he t"u«v she -aw iioW 
 
 >Ol(' 
 
 no rt'st'inhhiiuc to tlial uflicr t" 
 
 jH'c over w.r('!i 
 
 l.e- 
 
 Im vitl ihu waves ot' the Athiiitio to liave swopt lor sixttni 
 ■ Iicitr.v years. 
 
 Who i^ tliat uirW >lie repjattil. 
 
 Mr. V 
 
 am* 
 
 looked 
 
 ratht'r siirprisct 
 
 1; it 
 
 was somet!iiii;.r very 
 
 iiiu for iny hul.v to lie mueh interested in anyf hiiiu;. She 
 uns interested now— her lips were apart— ^her eyi^s fixed in- 
 tiufly on the? fair, ohildlsh face that sh(»ne like a star under 
 till' cliestnut. 
 
 Mr. F.iiie did not know, would aseertain, if her ladyship 
 l«ll tiie slightest inti'rost in the matter, lie was a hniKiiiil 
 youi:;r nifm, with a dedicate, jia'.e face, and slender, white 
 ha nils, whiter and softer a ifood deal than Pvlly's. 
 
 Ot' eourse you (htn't know 
 
 I.aily Ohartcris said, as if t 
 
 o 
 
 linsrlt' "Iiuiuire? No, thanks; it is not worth while. It is 
 a striking,' style of ])rettiness for a farmer's daii^hler-that 
 is all." 
 
 Iltr listless manner returned — her interest in the girl 
 secii.e*! to faile. Not so ^Ir. Fane's; he ran down tin.' steps 
 to iiuiuire on his own aeeount. 
 
 If I could get her to >it to me for my Rosamond," lie 
 
 trik- 
 
 is a s 
 
 tlioiiMht, "Miss llautton vould do for Kieaiun'. It 
 iiig style of heauty l\)r a farnur's daughter, as her ladyship 
 >;iys. From what Aral) chieftain did she derive that arched 
 instep, under which water might How? from what line of 
 Miigjily wed, highly fed, highly bred' aristocrats did she in- 
 herit that (jicrian protilc, amf' that imperial pois(> of the 
 giaceful head? If she had ten th»jusand a year, instead of 
 the Il((ii. Diana, or half, or (luarter tluit sum? Shall I g»j up 
 and address her; she seems (U'ite alone f 
 
 .Mr. V 
 
 lino wasn t aware w 
 
 lietl 
 
 ler or no it were ncc(^ssary to 
 
 he introiluced to this class of young persons; still he Ix-ck- 
 oiicd Mathew Warren over to him, and signitied his gracious 
 pleasure. 
 
 ''I say, my good fcdlow, you're the hailirT, I helicve, and 
 know ;^1 these peoi)le, oi course. Who's that pretty girl over 
 tiiere^ Introduce me." / 
 
 Mr. Allan Fane was a <dever young man, who had matle 
 his iiiark in the academy, and he spoke with a langtiid drawl 
 of high life, which sit 
 
 s so grac< 
 
 ■full 
 
 y on strong young men, 
 
 six feet high, lie was the third son of Jcdui Fane, iiurchant 
 tailor, I'ond stnet, London, who was a son of — we'll. I sup- 
 pose t!ie hantl. oiiie artist must have h.id a .Lvandf.uher in 
 
 reality, but he certaiidy had 
 The Ilc.icrable Diaua II 
 
 none to sp(>ak ul, 
 uuitv^u wanted • 
 
 .nd, iic 
 
 m 
 
\ 
 
 76 
 
 At Montalicn Priory. 
 
 (iMiil)t, im«l A1I:mi Vi\uo wu:^ ^cofMl-lndkliiK', and ('lcu"iiNt, ocyoi ■! 
 (loiibt, but if she lia<l l)»'«'ii aware ot lliis (iisKi'acctuI tact ( f 
 wliicli Nvc li iv»' inlOniK'il llic reader in t'oulideiieo), l>e won I 
 havo been a'j.it In llie ritflit alxtut, \vithi:i tlie hour. Oia.i 
 ILiuttdii, fii ' eiiusin of a duchess, and a si fer td' u pei . 
 marry the sou of a luerehauf tailor I Wliy, ihere were de.ii 
 and |;-oue-I laut foils iii the ^ri'ul family vault who would ]i;i\ • 
 turned with horror in tiieir Rraves at the desecration. Ih- 
 hnd taken his dej^ree at Oxford — Siteiety received him an 1 
 made much of him. for his last winter's picture hud been 1 
 success, and not evt-n (iuy I'larlscourt. his iJamcjii just nn ., 
 knew of the well-to-do tailor of Moiid street. 
 
 Mr. Matiln'W Warren performi'd liis part as muster of tli' 
 ocremonies, hy saying with a tjrin: 
 
 "I'olly Mason, here hv. Mr. Fune, u-wantin«' to he intr-i- 
 duced to you." 
 
 And Polly looked around with a hri^lit smile, and not tho 
 least in life abashed. 
 
 Abashed! Wasn't .Mice Warri-n, hei* friend, and l"]|i/i 
 Lon^', lier enemy, both lookin<^' at her^ Wasn't Mr Kran< .^ 
 Earlscourt tulkiiiff to one, and .Mr. (Iuy. tin* hero of tho hour, 
 to tlio other ^ And one of the-<«' superior beings had tak< 11 
 t/ho trouble to come all the way d<twii from the terrace to Im' 
 introduced to her. 
 
 It was a lovely afternoon, Mr. Fane informed her,, an I 
 how nice it was to see so many people enjoying- tluMnselv' 
 80 heartily. And how was it Miss Mason had not dininl, uii 1 
 how did ahe happen to be (piite alone here^ 
 
 Mis9 Mason responded with perfect s(df-p(>ssession a id 
 candor. She didn't come for <linner at half past four in tli" 
 afternoon. She had had hers at twtdve, and slie was alone 
 well, waiting until the ilancinj^- bcfian. and s(jme one ask' I 
 her. 
 
 "Thep you are diseiif^ag-ed I Miss Mason, will you honor 
 me with the first tiuadrillef 
 
 II 
 
 onor lum 
 
 II 
 
 onor 
 
 hii 
 
 I*(dly l(ii.kt'd In sec if \i? 
 
 wei'c 
 
 it Mr. I'anc was (|Uiit; m <'arnest- Ye-;, 
 )e very much pleased In do so, thank you. 
 
 lauj^hinjJT at her, but Mr 
 J\Iiss Mason wouhl b 
 
 "But I shall not be satisfied with the lii-^i (|Uadrille — I am 
 goin^ to ask you to keep all the round dancer for me! I 
 know yon dance like a fairy. Miss Mason. 1 can always tell. 
 Do you k iow we were wondei'iiif^ who you could l.>e uj) on tliu 
 terrace — you look so different, so much suj)eri(ii', if \(»u wlli 
 pardon me saying- so, to the n'sL Lady ('harti ris w.u. q\ii''' 
 inter(^st('d. She asked me if 1 knew wlio y(m v. ere. If y ; 
 will accept my arm. .Miss Mason, ^we will take a turn umh ; 
 the bee«Jies; it is pleasanter thai. atandiuK here in the sun 
 
 0ifm 
 
 
 
 1 
 tor 
 
 
 c.n 
 
 
 tin 
 
 
 ( 
 
 1 1 
 
At Montnlien Priory. 
 
 77 
 
 iccful t'acrt (of 
 
 i('f>). l'<' wouM 
 
 hour. Uiiiii.t 
 
 Irr «il' a JK'< ,, 
 
 n'c; \V('r<' tlcail- 
 
 liu Wuuld ii:i\'! 
 
 'cratitjii. lit' 
 
 iv<'tl liiiii all 1 
 
 in* liud l)L'i;ii i 
 
 IIKJll just IKiU, 
 
 muster of tlu' 
 
 ig to l«i intro- 
 
 Ks and not tin) 
 
 ii(i, and Kli/a 
 I't Mr FraiK > 
 To of tli(? lloU;, 
 in^-^ had tak< n 
 (' IcrraiM; to h." 
 
 rnunj licr,. anl 
 
 ing' th(fnis('!vt> 
 
 not dincnl, aii I 
 
 possession U'nl ^ 
 last four in tli'' ,J 
 he was ahjnc 
 (jine one uski i 
 
 vvil! .voii honi^r 1 
 
 1 sec if h," we;'' 
 earni'sL Yc-i, 
 • s(», thalik yuii. 
 lUadrilU' — I ain 
 ci'^ for nie! [ 
 ['an always (ril. 
 Id bo uj) on lilt) 'I 
 ior, if vou vviii 1 
 •tt-ris v.:j;. qui''' 
 1 wt-rc. If yi ! 
 e a turn undi ; 
 ;re in tlie sun 
 
 Polly L'lst a brijfht. (hJi^Mtcd uliinrr up ;.f *ho l^y on Mio 
 Itcrraco who (h'lKnrd to a-U ahoui lnr. Aik' 'aaly Cliartrri.s 
 Irau^dit tlmi ^rlnricc, and again ihc «>harp pang of rrscndilaiifO 
 • nioh' her to the heart. ' , 
 
 ( ►li, who wa.> I his trirlf Could it l»r Her face 
 
 iManelied to a tiniy, ehalky pallor, a stnlden wiid tlKiuyht 
 
 T'l^-ed her hrain. Coiihl it he^ She would be ab<»ut the 
 
 Hisr of tiiis ijirl now- this ^firl so like — yet unlike the oidy 
 
 lan >U lia<l ev( r loved. Other eyes saw them as they paired 
 
 hit. Lord .Monlallen jail up his ;:Ia-.> Sir Vane (Miarteris 
 
 lanced at Miss Il.iutton with a covert sneer. 
 
 •I>oo>id pretty ^'irl — eh, my lord^ Fane's intlaminablo 
 licii;! has struck tire aifain. We'll see no more of him for 
 ihc rest of the afternoon." 
 
 ; "I ^ay, (jtiy," I'Vaneis I'!arlsc(»nrt ohxrvcd to hi-; brother, 
 ^vilh a laugh, wlicn v*'e <iuarlrill(> ended the brothers left 
 IIk ir partners, and chanced to meet — '*have you noticed th< 
 (; <• tlirt.itidii Pane's j(ot up uiih that little j^irl with tho 
 di^rt hair'" 
 
 "What little girl^ Haven't noticed. As Sir Callahan 
 !>'nrallahani observes, 'There's so niindi goiu}^ on everywhere, 
 Ihere's no knowing what's i^oin^^ on anywhere.' I had ii 
 pretty jrirl myself, but she wa>^ ton^ue-t ie<l, ancf lisped, and 
 |iev« r opejied her lips except to say yeth thir, and no thir, 
 |)|e;ithe, through tla^ whole (hnicc." 
 
 "lane's paitner s( cm.s to have enough to say for lierself. 
 
 tear her laugh now. Iler name's Polly Mason, jioor child; 
 
 I. Ill what's in a name. Stilf, 1 don't believe we would pity the 
 
 jate Mr. Komco Montague (juite so* much if the lady who 
 
 jwallowed the poison had been Polly Cajudet." 
 
 < tuy Marlscourt looked lazily. 'I'lw^ nonchalance^ affected 
 )y Air. Fane was real enough in him, and honestly inherited 
 from }»is father. Hie Italian mother had given him !ier 
 iplendid <'yes, her black i^ilken curls, and the dusky Southern 
 )eauty of his olive face. If .'^he had given him her Southern 
 ire and i)assion it all lay latent now, under the languid gra<'0 
 if*his creed and his order. At one-and-twenty tiiis hand- 
 i>me, indoknt young guardsman fancied b.e had outlived 
 [very , base of human emotion, love, jealousy, and)ition, and 
 \\\\\ liic held nothing worth living for, save prime Latakia, 
 
 ind cigj'rs, a wait/ with a pretty girl, and a well-made bet- 
 [jng-book. He looked with hi.^ habitual lazy indilference at 
 ii> friend, and his friend's flirtee. 
 
 "Ah, vaas, she is ])retty, deuced pretty, too pre Ity, by Jove, 
 f<'r FaiK to have things all his own way. I shrJl make him 
 ntroduce me presently, and go in, and cut hlin out." 
 
 Mr. Fane left his partner •n a rustic seat iii)der a txeej, &nd 
 
 N 
 
78 
 
 At Mop*r""n Priory. 
 
 wont foi^an leo, and wlion he returned, five minute* aiU^-, 
 there stood Guy Karlscourt leaning over the baek of tlie ehair, 
 and Polly listening-, and blushinjr, and sjniling, with timid, 
 downcast eye.-, and cheeks Hushed like the June roses in her 
 sasli. 
 
 Mr. Fiiiie looked at Mr. Eiirlscourr — Damon looked at 
 Pythias with an absolute scowl. 
 
 "What the deuce brings you here? You needn't troubb 
 yourself to say it, I'ane," observed CJuy. with the Bruninul 
 nonehiilance that siit so naturally on him; "your face says it 
 quite i)hiinly enijugh. Doesn't it. Miss Mason U Miss Mas.m 
 and 1 are old friends, or ought to be, which amounts to tin' 
 same thing. She's been acquainted with my portrnii- for thr 
 payt ten years, she tells nie, and really, my dear fc:.t>'W, y<iu 
 can't exiH'ct to nionoiJolize the belle of the oceasioji in tin- 
 preposterous way. Miss Mason has promised me unliniiic'l 
 dances, and she is going to waltz with me in two minutes.'' 
 
 "Miss Mason has promised mc unlimited dances, Mr. Earls- 
 court.'' ^ 
 
 "Ka^h i-Tomises are much better broken than kept. Tru- 
 la-la— our waltz, Miss Polly!" 
 
 He whirled her oif, and the last thing Polljt saw was th»' 
 annoyed fact of the artist. 
 
 Her heart throbbed with rapture. This was excitemeiii. 
 Two g<'nt!(>!n('n — gentlemen actually quarreling about her ;h 
 ready! ^Ir. Fnne was very well, but Guy Earlscourt, the sni 
 of Lord ilontalien, the hero of the day, was a great deal bet 
 ter. And oh! how handsome he* was, and how beautifully 
 lie danced. She hojied Eliza Long was looking, and dying of 
 envy — Eliza Long, who had onco called her a red-haired, for- 
 ward minx ! 
 
 The waltz ended all too soon. And "I never regretted tlu 
 close of a dance before," whispered Mr. Karlscourt, in her enr. 
 And he gave her his arm, and brought ker refresliments, and 
 before the ice was eaten, up came Mr. P^rancis, requesting 
 his brother to present him, with his suave smil«. 
 
 That day was a day to be marked forever in Polly's cal(*Ti 
 dar, a day of perfect, unalloyed bliss. She danced again 
 with Mr. Allan P^ane when Mr. Francis Jvarlseourt was don ' 
 with her, and she walk<Hi with him dowi' he green, woodlan 1 
 paths, and he quoted Byron and Moore, and other amatory 
 poets, and the band played nm earthly music^ it seemed to 
 her, but the harmony of Olyrajjus. 
 
 TliC rosy sunset faded, the white June moon rose up, ami 
 the stars came out. 
 
 Mr. Francis came up once agu::i, and aaked her to lead otf 
 a oontra danoe with liiiu. 
 
At Montnlien Priory. 
 
 79 
 
 '•|] 
 
 s 11 
 
 miiiulcft aitoi', 
 ac'k of tlie chair, 
 lug, with timid. 
 uiie roses in her 
 
 I moil looked at 
 
 needn't troul)lp 
 h the Bi'Uinnul 
 •(jur lace say» it 
 ni Miss Alas. Ill 
 aniou!\ts to tin' 
 portrait- for the 
 dear fc.t^w, .you 
 occasioji in tin- 
 d me unlimitcil 
 two minutes.'' 
 mccs, Mr. Earls- 
 
 lan kept. Tra- | 
 
 •llj; saw was the 
 
 was excitemeiii. 
 11^ about her ai 
 rlseourt, tlie som 
 1 great deal bet 
 how beautifully 
 1^?, and dying nf 
 L red-haired, for- 
 mer regretted tin' 
 ?()urt, in her ear. 
 'fresliments, aii<i 
 iicis, requestinjr 
 
 in Polly's cal(*Ti 
 e danced again 
 seourt was don ' 
 green, wood la nl 
 1 otlier amatory 
 ic^ it seemed to 
 
 on rose up, ainl 
 
 i her to lead otf 
 
 The moon war «hinini' now; t^." bli'.e was a-'di^ter witli the 
 itars, and tiie «.vening wind swii»t up from tlu' .^ea, biK Lady 
 Ohnrteris still stood at her post, sti!! watching witli yearning, 
 wi.--itu! evt's that slim, wJiitc lip lire that luiw Hit ted before 
 her. n(»\v vanisiied in th«3 hazy distauce, 
 
 A nunilior of visitors — their (!(mntry neighbors -liad ar- 
 rived, and Lord Montali(Mi and lier Innband and ^^iss llant- 
 tun were entt^taining them. Her little (huighter raced up 
 and down with a curly King (-harles at lu-r luels. She was 
 (luitc alone, full of deep and painful anxiety, when she saw 
 (luy I^arl^•court lounging lazily up the stairs. Sh(> >topi»cd in 
 her walk; he was a favorite of hers, as he was with all wonu u. 
 
 "Awful liard work, Lady Charteris," he said, soleniidy; 
 "worse than a day's run after the fastest pa(d< In lh<' county. 
 I've danced three sets of iiuadrilh'S, two waltzes, and oiu co- 
 tillion, and T y:ixe you my word, I'm fit to drop. Look at yon- 
 der lighi-hearted peasairtry disporting themselves. Kgad ! 
 tile energy with which tlieygo in for it i-^ fat^iguing only to 
 lodk at. 1 never realized befoi-e how thankful we should be 
 that one's majority comes only once in a lifetiuie." 
 
 He tinng himself into an armclniir, and produced his cigar- 
 case, the picture of an utterly e?<h;iusted young man. 
 
 "Yon will permit me. Lady Charteris^ — ah, thard-c.-J. Six 
 b.ours in the saddle on a rainy <lay, when the House meets, is 
 bad enough, but 1 prefer it to three hours' conse>cutivG 
 dancing on tlie grass under a June sun, and with smh nier- 
 getic young ladies as those down there. Where's Di:'' 
 
 "She has gone in. Huy!" 
 
 l.ady Charter is spoke abruptly. 
 
 "Yes, my lady." 
 
 "Who is that pretty girl in white I saw you dancing witJi 
 half an hour ago? Ah! there she is now, witii Frank — fair- 
 haired, and dressed in white." 
 
 (luy turned his lazy brown eyes in the direction indicated. 
 
 "That's l*olly,-' he auswered ; "and Polly's as jolly as she's 
 pretty, which is saying a good d(>al. That young person in 
 white — see how she laughs! — it does one good to look at her! 
 — is Miss Polly ]\Iason, my Lady Charteris.*' 
 
 "Masoi>!" One s'cuiler, white hand of the lady reste<l on 
 the youth's shoulder. He felt it close there now with sud- 
 den, spasmo<lic force. "Mason!" 
 
 There rose before her at the sound of the conimonplaee 
 name the vision of a dreary railway waiting-room, a shiver- 
 ing figure crouching before the fire, and a pale-faced youn^ 
 man repeating hib name and addresa, "Marmaduke Mason, 
 Ho. 60 Half-Moon Terrace." She grew so T^'^^e '^ rigid, 
 
8o '^All Night in Lyndith Grange/' 
 
 th:tt (Illy lialf rcinitvcd his cij^ar, and looked af lier in sur 
 prist!. 
 
 ".My dear Lady Charteris. yuu are ill I Has the siiicll of 
 my (MMar " 
 
 "Ciuy," slic interrupted siiddeidv, "will you ^ivo mo your 
 
 arm? I should like to jjr(» down ilu're — to " Ilei* voici^ 
 
 died away. 
 
 lie ^a\e hi-r his rni, with one ^'entle ^lanee (jf rt'proaehtiil 
 suTprisr', (|uite thrown away upon her, a?; it. ehaneed, and led 
 her dovvii below. 
 
 ClIAPTEIl III. 
 
 "all XICniT IX LVNDITII (iRANTJ^." 
 
 Tho nine o'clock sunshine streaming in Polly's window, 
 awoke her next morning. Polly, as a rule, was inclined to 
 be lazy o' mornings, but brisk Kosanna routt^d her out witli 
 out mercy at six. To-day* she let her sleep. The child 
 liadn't got home until half-past eleven— t/iree miles, y<ni 
 know, on a lovely moonlight night, with a handsome .voung 
 man beside you, is a long walk. Rosanna knew nothiiLg- ot' 
 the handsome young man, she knew nothing of the 1 ts dur- 
 ing whi( h little Polly tossed on her bed, and I'ould not sleep. 
 Sleep! The red, the yellow, the purple lights flashed befrirc 
 her, the band music clashed in her ears, and the faces of 
 Allan Fane and Guy Earlscourt swam in a guldcMi mist. Ifer 
 breast was fidl of delicit>us unrest; he was coming to-mor- 
 row, and all the to-morrows, and this was blisSj this was love. 
 Poor little Polly! 
 
 All this glad tumult faded away in sleep — .-^he awoke will 
 a S(»rt of guilty start to see the new day's sunshine. 
 
 |)uk<' was at work in hi-; painting-room, Kosanna was at 
 work just outside the back do(»r, up to her (dbows in sud.~. 
 Polly's toast and tea awaited her, and, in spite of her unhap 
 piyess about her htoks, and her degrad(Ml stat^ generally, sh • 
 ate thre(> large slices, and drank two eujjs of tea. TIkmi s]i ' 
 got her sun-hat, and her drawing materials, and ])repared t > 
 make a morning of it, as .she often did, under the greenwon.t 
 tree or down by the shore — sketehii <* rum nature. 
 
 Sh(> did not go far, however. Sue pt-rched herself on tli'- 
 garden wall, and went wandering otf into a dreamy n'verie. 
 The faces of ysterday shone bofore her in the sunshine — 
 the darkling S))'.cndid face of (iny Earlscourt, with it.s brow'i, 
 brilliant eye.-, and 1a;'y, beautiful smil<\ The face of Allan 
 Fane, fair, womanish, perhaps, but eminently good-looking, 
 

 Of 
 
 at Iw.v In sur 
 
 t the snu»ll (jf 
 
 <4iv(^ iiio your 
 Her Vdico 
 
 of reproachful 
 uiced, and \vA 
 
 )lly'.s window, 
 as inc'liiuHi to 
 
 her ont with 
 p. The <,'hil(i 
 ee niileri, y(ju 
 iid^sonie youiiK 
 cw nothing' of 
 the 1 "rs dur 
 »nhl not siee(). 
 
 flashed hef;tri' 
 ] the faces of 
 ien mist. ITer 
 oniing to-nior- 
 , this was love. 
 
 Ih' awoke will 
 iliirie. 
 
 osanna was .it 
 Ihovvs m su(]s. 
 
 of her unhap 
 
 j?enerally, sh • 
 :ea. Tlien s]u' 
 ul ])re{)ared t > 
 
 the f^rcM'MWonil 
 ure. 
 
 lierself (jii l!i<- 
 reainy n'verii'. 
 
 he sunshine — 
 ,vitli its hrowM, 
 
 fare of Allan 
 ' good-looking, 
 
 '^All Ni.crht in Lyndith Grange" 8i 
 
 and wliat Polly prized more. aristoerati<'. Tali, liaugiuy 
 l)i:ina Ilantton, dark, pensive J.ady Charteri-. little Miss 
 Maud, with her rose-silk anti streaniinjj: rihhons. Such hij^di- 
 Iji'cd f;i<'<'s all; such lofty, iiiph-soundini;- Maii!e->. And sho 
 w IS I^olly Mason. J\)lly Mason, hopeU's>ly vulj^ar. ;iiid com-, 
 
 n.'Wi. 
 
 "I suppose I was christened Mary," the youn;; lady thou;i:lit. 
 ''Mary's no great things, but it's hetter than Polly." 
 
 And tlien mechanically she fell to drawing. The fac*' tluit 
 haunted her most was the face her pencil drew almost with- 
 out volition of her own. 1die pencil sketch was careless ;nid 
 crude, hut bold and full of power; so ahsorbe<l <lid she be- 
 come over her work that she never h(>ard anproaciiing foot- 
 st* if^, and a voice at her elbow suddenly maih her jump. 
 
 A very good likeness. Miss Mason, but don't yon think 
 y.u have flattenxl a little — just a little — our. friend (Juy^" 
 
 "Mr. Panel" Polly jumpecl from her perch, with a gasp, 
 and tried to hide away Ik r drawing in ovcrwhelmimr confu- 
 sion. t^ What would he think of her ^ Wliat could he tliink 
 but that she had had the audacity to fall in love with this 
 splendid young guardsman, who had asked h(>r for unlimite<i 
 (I.Mice-;, an<l then only walt/.c^l with her twice ^ Piit Mr. 
 I'ane set her at her ease. lie <lid feel a twinge of jealousy — 
 the sparkling face had pursued him in dreams all night — it 
 was such a rare face — such a pi<iuant fac(\ Pretty faces 
 there were by the score, but only one Polly Mason. 
 
 ''Vou promised to show me thf" seaside cave, where you and 
 •Miss Alict. Warren used to play I^)binson Crusoe and Man 
 I* riday," he said, "and 1 have come to claim your promis*;. 
 .\iid this very afternoon, Miss Polly, f mean to dri\'e you 
 up to the Priory, and have our first sitting fov tlu' fair Rosa- 
 motid. Miss Ilantton has been also kind enough to pu^e f()r 
 my Queen Eleanor." 
 
 'T think Queen Kleanor nujst have looked like that," au- 
 HW(r<'d Polly, remembering the haughiv glaccs Miss Ilaut- 
 toii had cast n])on her hmuble self yesterday. "She seems n ; 
 i/hoiigh she Could give a rival Unit pleasant choic' betw'-it 
 'he poison bowl and the dagger any day. Ko, thank yon. Mi. 
 I'ane, T won't, take your arm; people don't do that in Speck- 
 liavc!!, unless " she stopped and blushed. 
 
 ''I'liless what. Miss Mason ■^ I'nless tluy are "m;:iged- — is 
 th.nt what y(»u mean? 1 see it is. Ah!" v,ith a telling plai!f> 
 under I'olly's old -undnit. "That, Miss Mason, w<iu!il be t(to 
 rnueli happiness." 
 
 lie iv'dlv thought so at the moment. When thix youti'.^ 
 gentleman was fascinatcil by a pretty girl he g-niirally hui:t«^ 
 down his prey with sumethitig of an Indian trappei'; inteii- 
 
 
 I 
 
,...>,.■. ..,^„.-.»>..^^■.«B»■^^Ia^^;t~a^.«^T^ 
 
 I 
 
 i\' 
 
 \ 
 
 82 "All Night in Lyndith Grangt. 
 
 • 
 
 aity. And the artist must admire those cloiidloes hlut; eyes, 
 that angelic mouth, those serene lines of future beauty, let 
 the man olinR- to Mi?3 Ilautton's money-bag's c^^r so closely 
 
 Mr. Kane, se«in^ his danger, and wibo from past sad ex- 
 perience, shied oif this dangerous ground, and betook liiinself 
 fo pleasant generalities. lie was a good talker, as talkin?^ 
 goes in general society, aii fait of the last new opera, novrl, 
 ni'Iross, and latest Paris fashion; and all those topics were 
 deliciously fresh and new to Polly. 
 
 'i'licy went into the seaside cave together, and ilin art'st 
 m.idf; a sketch of it and the girl, with the wide sea before 
 her, and the sunlight on lier sweet, fair face. AvA then Miss 
 Mason sang for him, that he might hear the echo ring along 
 the rocky roof; and Allan Fane won lered more antl more. 
 Such a voice — rare, sweet, and powerful. Slie did not sijiy 
 "Tlie Xight Before Larry Was Stretched,'' she ssuig the song 
 young Quintin Durward listened to in rapture, s: many years 
 ago, in the quaint old French town, and her thoughts let't 
 Allan Fane, and an olive face shone before her, lit by^wo 
 brown eyes — :he face of Lord Montalien's favorite son. 
 
 "Ah! County Guy! the hour is rigrh, 
 
 The sun has left the lea; 
 The orange flower perfumes the bower, 
 
 The breeze is on the sea. 
 The lark, whose lay has trilled all lay. 
 
 P'ils hushed, his partner nigh; 
 Breeze, bird and flower confess th - hour. 
 
 But where is County Guy? 
 
 "The village maid steals I- ..gh t!o shade. • 
 
 Her lovrj's suit to hear; 
 To beauty sh: . '^y lattice high, 
 
 Fings higi • ijori. cavalier. 
 Th star i' !ov«\ ill stars above. 
 
 Now reig.p u^r earth and sky; 
 And high and low hi. influence know, 
 
 But where is County Guy?" 
 
 "Here!" answered a voice, as the last note dieil av/ay: "if 
 you mean me!" And to the immense confusion of Polly, and 
 the unconcealed annoyance of Allan Fane, Guy Earlscourt 
 stepped round the rocky entrance into the grotto. 
 
 "Miss Mason, your voice is superl) — equal to Lind's, with 
 training. 'Pon my honor, T thought it might be Circe or 
 Calypso, or those what-you-eall-ems, sirens, you know, of the 
 .4-ilgean Sea, holding a concert by mistake on the Lincoln- 
 ^hire coast." 
 
 "What thn — what brought you lierc, Farlscourt?" de- 
 jipinled the artist, with no very friendly accent. 
 
 Gay looked at him lazily from under his thick, black lashea. 
 
pgt. 
 
 11 069 blufc eyes, 
 ure beauty, let 
 c^er so closely 
 111 past sad C'X- 
 betook him^'flf 
 kor, as talkiiijj: 
 w opera, novo!, 
 ose topics were 
 
 and iho art'st 
 viilo sea before 
 
 Aiul then Miss 
 t'ho rin^ aloii!^' 
 lore and more. 
 le did not ^'wA 
 e sanjr the sf.ntr 
 
 S'i many years 
 r thouf-'hts lel't 
 lier, lit by^wo 
 )rite son. 
 
 lay. 
 hour, 
 
 th5 shade, » 
 
 i\V, 
 
 died away: "if 
 in of Polly, and 
 Guy Earlscourt 
 )tto. 
 
 to Lind's, with 
 :ht be Ciree or 
 n\ know, of Iho 
 >u the Liucoln- 
 
 arlsoourt?" de- 
 nt, 
 ck, black lasheg. 
 
 11 
 
 thdu^lit the most beautiful on c^h. ''They will wonder 
 
 ^1^1 
 
 ''All Night in I.yndith Grange.** 83 
 
 V 
 
 "In the f'liflracter of 'Paul Pry,' for this occasion only. 
 Well, ray dear boy, don'i pour the vials of youv wrath on me 
 — I am Pcauty's mosscuffer. In other words, yon promised 
 t-o drive l.ady Charteris and cousin l)i over to ilealiierholnie, 
 after luncheon, and a? Di really seems anxious tn f^o, 1 c'une 
 in search of you. Had I known — — " with a ^rlnncc at T 'lly, 
 but Mr. Fane cut in ratln^r abruptly : 
 
 *'l asked ^liss Mason to brinj;; nu^ lu-re, tiiat I migh! -sketch 
 this ^nitto. Shall wo return. Miss Mason, or '' 
 
 "Oh, yes, please," Polly answered, shrinking:: away, she 
 hardly knew why, under the gaz^ of the brown eyes she 
 
 the most beautiful on 
 where I have ifone to at home.'' 
 
 Mr. Fane look<'d at Mr. Earlscourt, as if sayinir, "Voii 
 hear^ You're not wanted. Pe kind cnouf^h to p:o." And 
 the younjj: jjuardsman answered the glance, and walking after 
 Polly, !)e;^an a-kin^ her (luestions about the town and the 
 saiuN, as thouf!:li the topography of Spec-khaven were the 
 vital interest of his life. 
 
 Polly Mason walked back thronj^h the noonday brij;htne-<s 
 with two gallants, instead of one. and fbished a look up«)n 
 I'^i'/.a l.on^r. as slie y)assed lier window, that aiadc that youn^ 
 lady prrind her tt^th for very envy. 
 
 "^fontalien^s b(>en as dull as death this luorninjjr," (luy w:m 
 saying, plaintively. "Di'sbeen sulky, lady Charteris a i-ivy 
 ia frreen and yellow melancholy, Frank not to be found (i 
 didn't look iji the baililf's cottage), and little Maud the only 
 human creature in the place to speak to. T think, consider- 
 iu^ the emergency of the case, and the daniger 1 was in ol 
 f;dlins' a prey to the blue devils, you needn't look so fero- 
 cious. Fane, at my seeking you out in my dire necessity; 
 need he, ^liss ]\rason?" 
 
 f^olly did not feel as if the interruption were by any means 
 an in 1 welcome one. 
 
 Koth prentlemen were deliprhtful, no doi . but Mr. (tuy 
 K;!rlscourt decidedly the more delitrhtful the two. She 
 
 walked home in a happy trance, and it wa- dl too soon wheji 
 the little jrarden j^rate came in sijjht. Ro> .una was han^inj? 
 out linen on the g'ooseberry lus^hes, and iMike (rould be seen, 
 with his shirt sleeves rolled up above th bows, painting' iti 
 his big, bare, front room. 
 
 The two voung gentlenjcn said good-by to Polly, am-d left 
 her. "Mr. Fane m.nde no further allusion to the sitting tor his 
 Fair Rosamond that afternoon, (^ueen Eleanor wished him 
 to drive her to lleatherhelme, t'l^^ht miles off, and of course 
 siie must take precedence in all things. 
 
 Polly went through her usual af ternooi > work of helping 
 
 k' 
 
 *. 
 
 I 
 
'Il, 
 
 84 
 
 it 
 
 All 
 
 Kight 
 
 in Lyndith Grange." 
 
 
 iLor-iUina "rod up," in ii state of tlreuniy happiness; littlr- 
 trills of iiow'j: Itnhblcd to her lips, sraiios and dinirjlos cbafiiii^,' 
 each rtthor ftvcr lior face. Slio wa;s aiway.s happy, but sotjk - 
 Jio\v (he sun never sl:on».' so briiihtly nor had lifvT ever sooitk d 
 so sweet as to-tlay, J^o.^anna looked at h^-r, and eon^ruiii 
 lated lierself th^t sIk^ liad made her go o'*'" tliiit niorning. 
 And prf'scnlly wlien t<a was (.v( r, she took her hat and went 
 I0 the Male t" wattdi tlie new moon rise — and wi^h — what did 
 litth? INdly wish? It was very quiet. The new moon shih 
 'n\[X iu the ojiul sky, a nit^htin^ialc .-iiigiug yonder in ^lontal 
 ien woods, the ^oft flultgr of the ev<'ninM wind, sweet frosn 
 ihe sea; tlie rich odor ot Ro-^anna's roses and jlcraniuins in 
 the open window— tliai was tlie scene. Aiid fairer than all. 
 as ]\Ir. Allan Fane would hiive told her, had he b(>cn there fn 
 Boe the tall, ^lim ^irl, with tlie sweet, haj)py face, a!i<l drean)\ 
 ryes of blue, softly sin^nng ^'Tlie V(»ung" May Moon." 
 
 As she stood there a {M'ouj) of four came \m the road from 
 the town. P(dly's dreamy eyes turned from that silver sickl* 
 in the purple sky, and l)rightened into a lif^ht not so plertsni.t 
 to see as she beheld her arch enemy, Eliza Long. Mis8 Lou).' 
 was gallanted by the haberdasher's clerk, and behind cann 
 Alice Warren and her "young- man," Peter Jenkins, of I In 
 mill. 
 
 "Here slie is herself!" exclaimed Miss T.onpr, with maliciou- 
 '.'ivacity; "I've just been !'^lling Samiud of ihe grand ooii- 
 que; Is yf»u've made. How are all your friends al the Priory. 
 Polly, di'ar :''■ 
 
 "All nty fri( ixls at the Priory were (luite well when T snw 
 them last, Kli/'.a," responded Miss Mason, pronipt'y. "Di 
 tell them you in^juired the next time 1 sec them; they'll fe< i 
 flattcre>], pai'licularly Mr. (Juy, who danced with you— -once, 
 wasn't it, Eliza? and forgot to come back." 
 
 "T didn'i encourage him as much as some people mighl,"' 
 retort' d INfiss I.ong'. "I; <lon't believe in genilemen boni 
 dangling after country girls. 1 should be afraid of wdi;it 
 people might say of me," concluded "Miss Long, with a virtu- 
 ous toss of her head. 
 
 "Then you needn't, Elixn, nobody \\,!1 ever talk of you in 
 that way. I'm <iuite sure. ('ei.tU e vn have such bad tasti." 
 
 "Yes," said Eliza, with a hyst«'ri< .d little g'ggle, "I thowrbt 
 so tnyself when I saw two ef then; go by Y,ith yovi. T won 
 dcr Posanmi isn't afrai<l." 
 
 "Afraid oi' what, Eliza? I'll thank you to speak out. 
 Polly's eyes ucre flashing row. as only blue eyes flasli. 
 
 "We all know Polly isn't afraid of anything," cried thu 
 young man from the haberdasher's, who was mortally jealous. 
 
!' (I 
 
 ige 
 
 tf 
 
 "All Night in Lyndith Grange 
 
 :* 
 
 85 
 
 fippiiiess; littlr 
 liinr)les ebasiiu' 
 piry. but SOT IK 
 l"o ever sooiTK il 
 niul cotigrutii 
 tli;it inoniiup. 
 r liiit und wfii! 
 w\^\\ — whiit (li<l 
 C'w moon shii, 
 (Icr in ^lontiil 
 11(1, sweet fro' 
 1 pcrjiniunis ii 
 fairer than al!, 
 le been IIktc f" 
 ee, a!i<l dreaniv 
 
 > the road froin 
 lat silver sieki< 
 not so plertsni.; 
 ng. Miss Loll-' 
 d behind caiiM 
 Jenkins, of I hi 
 
 with maliciou- 
 (he jjrand emi 
 s at the Prior.v, 
 
 ,-ell when T ?-;!-\ 
 |)ro!H|it].y. "I"' 
 em : they'll i'ei 
 vith you — one* , 
 
 people nii^hl," 
 lenllenien Ixmii 
 afraid of wh;i! 
 p:, with a virtu 
 
 ' talk o| you ii 
 ueh bad lav.ti .' 
 fffx\v, "I thou'ilii 
 b yovi. I won 
 
 t'l Hnv^-ak out. 
 ?ye8 nasii. 
 linfi'," cried the 
 uortally jealous. 
 
 *'She wouldn't go tlire* niU-- out <d" her way, ;is Jenkins did 
 last wec»k. rather than pa?.s tlje haunted (JrauKc." 
 "Xo," answered I'oily. dixlainfnlly. "1 would not." 
 " i hiit's easy to say/' Mi--. Long -<.iid, with a seeond toss; 
 "it's not so easy to prove. l'ol!\'s ;i-« niueli id" a '-oward as 
 the rest r»f us, 1 dare >:iy. it' the truth were known." 
 
 '•Till not a coward, ;ind I'll thank \on not to -.-ly so, Klizu. 
 I'm not afraid of you, ^>y wh.it peojilr inay'sny. nor of ghosts 
 either, if it comes to tlnit," 
 
 "Trove it," cried the t; noting d'ili/a, "prove it, if you dare, 
 I'njly Masim." 
 
 Mi-s Kli/.a Lftnjf understood her antagonist wtdl. To da.'o 
 Polly t ) do anything- howevt-r nnid. however foolhardy, was 
 to Jii-^iire its hein;r done. Had she not lisked her life, only 
 l;i>l winter, one stormy day. when dared to go (»ut in a boat 
 to the othcj- side of Speckh.iven Ibiyi' And now into Polly's 
 eyes leaped the light that had ^^hone in tlieni tlun, and her 
 h.mds clutched tojjjethcr. She looked her adversary straight 
 ill the face. 
 
 '•^'on dare me t() winit, Mli/aT' 
 
 '*To pass a night alone in the (Jrange. You are not afraid 
 of ghosts! Prove it ifyoudare^" 
 
 "1 shall do it!" Polly sard, folding her arms, and lookinjf 
 'daggers and carving-knives at her enen-y. 
 
 "Ves," said Miss Pong, "and Duke need never know. 
 We re all Koing to a dance at Bridges'; that's only two mile.s 
 from the (Jrantfe, and I'll tell Duke and Kosaima you'n» 
 coming with us. We will go with you to the (}rang:e and 
 lea\-e you there, and call fur you when the dance breaks up, 
 jat two o'clock in the morning. 'I'hat is, of course, if y6\i 
 really mean to go, you know. I wouhPi't if I were you, if 
 [J felt the least afraid." 
 
 The word, the tone, the insolent sncrT, stung Poliy, as she 
 
 {ni( iint it should. She opened the gate, and. came out so .-.ud- 
 
 [denly and with such a wicked exiire.s>ion that EU/.n rec iil«»<i. 
 
 "I'm not afraid, and I'll tliank 5'ou not to use the word 
 
 Jagaiii. You're a coward, Kliza Pong, and you know it, and 
 
 on hope something evil may befall mo, and you would have 
 
 liven a year cd' your liff> to stand in niy -liocs this mornin;^! 
 
 i'>ah! don't think I don't understand yon. hut I'll go all ihe 
 
 >ame 
 
 V.\\7.H laugluil, while die gj-ew wliite \vill) :ing( r. She di I 
 \ii>[ luiow sln' wa • a mnrder"-is in li'vul. I>ii( sIm* did hope tjie 
 thosts of the (Irange might whi-^k this insolent Poily iMa-.on 
 Ml' to the regions of the Ktyx, uithough Miss Pmif^' lunJ never 
 [u'a"d o: th: t ^rlooiUv river. Hiw, run up tu the liom# wlljiout 
 
86 ''All Night 
 
 ill Lyndith Gr::nge." 
 
 l-i^'i 
 
 i{ word, and cajiie hack in iivo uiinutos to say Polly might 
 go lo Mrs. IJridgcs' daiui-. 
 
 "Don't do it, T'olly," Alices Warren pleaded in mortal 
 dread; "yon don't, know what may iuippen. It's an awtul 
 plaee, and 1 slandd feel as if we had mnrdcred yuU, if '' 
 
 I'oily st(>ppe<l and ki.ssed her. 
 
 "\'ou poor, litt.e, frightened Alice! I don't helievo in 
 ghoi^ls, 1 tell yon, and I shall go to sleep as eomforlahly in 
 the drange as <'ver I did in my life. J)on't let us talk about 
 it. I'lliza Lt>ng shall never call mo a coward." 
 
 'I hey passeil iiridges': the town with its noise and its lanipfl 
 lay hehind them; tlu; lonely, open road that led to tlu'(irarig<i 
 lay white>aml deserted before them. They passed the cross- 
 roads, wheic fourteen years before Uuko Mason had lost his 
 way. A little more than a mile, an<l th<\v would be at the 
 ^irange. Still Polly rattled (mi; a stranger might liave said, 
 to ktK^p up her courage, but in reality the girl was not afraid. 
 Hers was a nature singularly free from superstition or fo.ir 
 of any kind. She was not afraid, every nerve (ini(*kened with 
 excitement; sIk^ longed to show this vindietive rival of hers 
 how sujjorior she was to her taunts. 
 
 The great gates, the grim wall, loomed up before them at 
 last, and Alice suddenly flung both arms about her friend. 
 
 "Vou shall not go, Polly — you shall not! What will every- 
 body say, and who knows what may hai)pen ? Peter, don't let 
 her go — KHza, speak to her!" 
 
 "She may go if she likes, for me," said Peter, boorishly. 
 
 "Certainly, Polly, I wouldn't go if T felt the least af " 
 
 She .did not finish tne word, Polly turned upon her so 
 sviftly and fiercely. 
 
 "You had better not!" she said. "Alice, dear, hold your 
 tongue; there is no Janger. There are no human thiiigs 
 there, and Pm not afraid of the ghosts. None of you need 
 come any farther, if you don't wish." 
 
 She opened the gates — they creaked and moved heavily (»n 
 their rusty hinges, and walked resolutely in. Mr. .lenkins 
 ludd back, but the other threx^ followed her; Alice still cling- 
 ing to her, and half sobbing; a Satanic gleam in Eliza's 
 greenish eyes. 
 
 They walked up the avenue in dead silence; the unearthly 
 stillness and gloom of the j-.lace awed them. Polly spoke, as 
 the house ci;ni< in view, juul lu r voice soundiMl unearthly. 
 
 "IldW am J going to get in ^ There's a window I IctxjW of 
 — if you t'an oidy raise it for m<\ Sam." 
 
 It was the v^y window, near the elm tn i', in wh'cli Duke 
 had sat and s^red that memorable night. The ivy niade im 
 e«»y ladder for Mr. Samuel, who in some trepidation moved 
 
."All Night in Lyndith Grange." 87 
 
 and sliook the .casement. Wind and weather liad douo tlu-ir 
 work- -the window went crashing: int<> tlie rooui. 
 
 Miss Mafjon turned and faced Miss Long with the Ktok of 
 a (lit(>li>l waiting lo lire. 
 
 'Will that r'.'oui do, Kliza, or is there any apartment in the 
 liouse more especially haunted than another i I should like 
 t" pl<'a*e you, and it is all the same to me." 
 
 "Oh, don't ask me," Hai<l Kliza, shivering slightly as she 
 spoke; "ilon't say 1 want you to go; 1 don't. 1 tlnnk you 
 ha<l much better turn hack." 
 
 I 'oily hiughe<l bitterly. 
 
 "1 underbtand you, Eliza! If anything happens, you must 
 prove your innocence. CJood-night, all; don't frel, Aliet*, 
 about me." 
 
 She seized the ivy, and with one light leap was inside the 
 r'N.iii. llir d.iuntless, smiling face looked down upon them 
 tioni th(.' window. 
 
 '•do!" she said; "good-night." 
 
 '"Come,'' said Eliza, with anf^ther shudder; iuid "oh, I'olly, 
 Polly, come back!" came faintly from Alice. She felt as 
 though she were leaving her friend to be murdered in cold 
 
 '^:H 
 
 III )0(| 
 
 l)Ut the others drew her with them, and Polly was alone in 
 tlic house where, sixteen years ago, she was ttorn. 
 
 She stooil by the window until the last echo of their foot- 
 steps, {he heavy clang of the gates, told Ikm* tht>y wei'e ^on(\ 
 A ureat awe stole t)ver her — not fear — the solemn stillni'ss 
 ot the night — the white, si)ectral light of th(! moon — the mov- 
 inu of the wind among the tre(\s. 
 
 It was like living down among the dead. She turned and 
 ghmced about the room. The little old piano stood in its 
 corner, the easy-chair in its place bt^fore the black heart li- 
 st .nc, a spindle-legged table, the faded tapestry, the bare oak 
 ll'or. 'J'luvnigh the eorriilors the wind wailed, overhead the 
 r;its scan!i)i.red. The girl shuddered for the lirst time as >)io 
 li-tened to them. Jt was so deadly still that she luanl liio 
 c'o.'ks (»r thi^town toll nijie. 
 
 tv.u or tliree before they would return, ll" sh(» coiiK 
 
 Nine! and she must wait until 
 
 only 
 1- '.'ep and dream those long, hsnesome bours away. She v.Lmid 
 try. She km It down, her face in he," hands, and snid \vv 
 prayers a little more dc^'outly than usaal, ami then eu>l!il;.<l 
 herself up in the armchair. 
 
 ^V!u> had sat in this old chair last, sh^^ woiulered i! Sb.'! 
 shut li(U* eyes, wrapped her summer sliav/l closer ;)bti m Ih-i', 
 and tried not to think of the cavalier and the mad lady, not, 
 to hear the wind or the rats. She tried to tJiink of yt^ster- 
 day'a dall'-ht^p of to-morrow'a bliss, when she wowli' jo u 
 
 li 
 
88 
 
 Face lo Face. 
 
 Hontalif'M Pi*if)ry, jhmI sil for lu r picfur*-. Slio wns in lov 
 witii Mr. I'ain — no, willi Mr. (Iiiy I'); rlscifurt- sin- didn' 
 know wliicli. Present l.v flu* wliife Inls went tlown on \\i- 
 jjurplc lustre ! cnciitli, iind llie i»le^-t(l sleep nT heulthtiil youtli 
 can:e to IVtll.v. 
 
 SIh; ,l('I)l for hours. The njoonli^hi tli<'l;(i((| in n ^ho^tlv 
 vviiv ( noo^h across the Ho(»r; tlw rats scjanipereci like an 
 arni.v oi spirits overhead. 
 
 • Was it in lier dream that Aiv hcartl the ^ale- cdan^' auain, 
 and the toot.->t(p-^ of her late eianpanic-ns drawiiif^ near lln 
 housed Was it in a dreatn that >\u- hoard footsteps that wei' 
 not the footsteps of the rnt> ovi flaad ' 
 
 Slie sat up all at once, with a ->tart, hr.iii.j awake. J li» 
 inoon had fjone under a cloud, and the room \\.i> in darknc>« . 
 
 What was that^ Snndv, foot>tep^ human footsiej)s 
 uhju^"- the hall outside, and approachint; the door. 
 
 V(-s, the handle turned. llu- door ereake«| and opened! 
 
 The girl rose ami ^to(jd u|) h.v n(< volition <d' her «»\vn, and 
 seemed staring' straight at the openin^i' door. Her heart had 
 eeas«'d to l.eat ->he was icy enld all over. Was this feai^ 
 She had consciousness enough hft, to w<tn<ler. 1 he door 
 opened wide- there was what ^eemed to Pidl.v a hlaze of su- 
 I'ormitural light, and in that glow she saw tlu' form (d' a 
 Wfjman entering, and coming straight toward lier. 
 
 CIIAI'TKK IV. 
 
 KACK TO lALi:. 
 
 TTad Olivia, l^ndy Cliarteris, nall.v grown utterly heartless? 
 Had she entirely forgottt-u the child sIh- had deserted four- 
 teen years hefore':^ Was she n living woman with a heart ef 
 fcitone^ There were j)eo|)le. who said .>o, })<■<. pie who sai<l In r 
 iiatuie was as cold and colorless as her pale, unsmiling facf, 
 p<>ople who said slu; lov<'d neither hu>«hand nor child. P( i- 
 haps those jjcople were right in that last surmis*'. Her e-v- 
 tranf:ement fi-om Sir N'ane C'harteris tlie wliole world was 
 \v< l<'o!rie to know, so fur as she was concerned. 'IMiey dwelf 
 under the same luoi', they were outwardly civil tT) each other 
 the hu.-hand, indeed, more than civil, assiduously prdite ami 
 deferential to liis statue of a wife; but for all that they weic 
 to all intents and pm'poses as widely sutidered as the poh s. 
 It had been so since the birth of little Maud — no one knew 
 Iho cause. They met by chance- (»n the stairs, or in the pa^- 
 fiages (the only places they ever met alone), and the lady 
 swept by wi4k head erect and lashes proudly drooping, shrink' 
 
 r^ 
 
Face to Face. 
 
 8<^ 
 
 h 
 
 ' was in lov 
 f--shf ilichr 
 
 il<»wii on I li 
 
 illtilt'lll jOlltll 
 
 ill a jxliu^tly 
 •crcti liko }iii 
 
 i-l}iiij«' iifiiiiii, 
 111^ near lli*- 
 (p.-j tIjMt \vn< 
 
 iiv,nl\«'. J lit 
 - ill (larkiM'>~. 
 I t'totsU'ps 
 r. 
 
 IK'licd I 
 litr «t\vii, Jill 1 
 l<'r ln.-art hiil 
 as this I'c'iii^ 
 r. '1 lie (lonr 
 I MiiZL' of >ii- 
 lic I' inn <j1" a 
 
 •rly licnrtle-^^ ? 
 
 |('>(M't''(l folll 
 
 itli a heart of 
 
 w hfi said h< r 
 
 iisiiiiliiig' fnic, 
 
 r chil.l. P. 1 
 
 lisc Her (■- 
 
 lie world \v;l■^ 
 
 They dwcl* 
 
 T) oaeh Other 
 
 sly polite ninl 
 
 iiat they \v<r<' 
 
 I as the pol( -. 
 
 -no one kn«w 
 
 or in the pa- 
 
 and the lady 
 
 oping, shrink' 
 
 lest lu' should lourh ihc lic;ii »d' lu i frnrinent •. \Vh 
 
 leil 
 
 Idres^i'd her at tlie diiiiur tai>lt' hi'r un>wers \;vn' aKvny» 
 ......xyllahii', and she never lookeil at him. I; .as a ewrioUH 
 
 ii; It. uat<'h liieni she as f(d<l, as lit'ele • to hiiii a- the 
 
 .r.iA (>{ the Koiivre, whom pj'opif saiil she rescnihlrd ; he 
 
 jili thf ri'd f,dow ut' >npprer>ed t'ury and mortiHeat ion rising; 
 
 .-iilleir d«'ptlis ot" his hiaek <'yt' 
 
 W 
 
 IIO-C 
 
 laidt was it ^ Well, as is jremrally the eas*-, il 
 
 r.iiiic in lor tlie heaviest share (d' the hlaiiu-. She was 
 ., Ir. not a wmian. She was .i ?narl»le statue, not a wife. 
 
 aiie — WJis lie n<» 
 
 t al 
 
 wa.^ s 
 
 Id 
 
 ami, always stieninU', always 
 
 \h 
 
 II I 
 
 Klin', tlu' ii'ost d(;li;.'lit ful u[' nit'n f i'nt opinions dif- 
 IM d. i'liose d(dightfully social and hrilliant nion, in pnh- 
 aif sometimes intens«dy s«itish and erutl lui>l»ands, in 
 h\alt ; and there was a Kham in Sir N'ane's hhn'k eyi's -an 
 |hn--ion ahout his lieavily-ciit mtJiith- that made some fas- 
 IliciiN natures shrink away with repulsion, only to look at. 
 ( »inc. iMid once only. I.ady ('Iiarti-ris had spoken of the 
 |ti,iii;.Mn.ent to Lord Moiilalicn, whom she este«Mned mo^t of 
 |l iiK II she knew, when hv had strivtn (very faintly) to hriiijr 
 '111 a rccoiiciliation. 
 
 Sir N'aiic Ch.literis has insnlted me, my Lord," Latiy Char- 
 
 |ii> -aid. *'\V(.men of my race have jfiven hack deatii le- 
 
 iic llow for less insult iiif^- words. If 1 wi-re on my death- 
 
 i|. and he knelt hid'ore me, 1 would not forgive him." 
 
 ,\iid the daik eyes had dilated, and tilled with so tcrrihlc a 
 
 III, and o\er the jiale face came a ^'^low so deep, so hurnin^r, 
 
 It Lord Montalien knew shetneanl it. He howed his lu-ad, 
 
 d -aid n(» more, and from that honr never tried the role of 
 
 ictiiiaKer a^iiiin. 
 
 lor little Maud, she was her father in miniature the sat 
 
 lie 
 
 eyes and hair, the same features, the same nature. She 
 
 a- liis idol She had not a look of her mother, ami 1 
 
 ifi 
 
 lilted in it. SI 
 
 le was a 
 
 II 
 
 Ins OW 
 
 11. ( 'oidd Olivia (Mlarteri^ 
 
 kiting the father, love the child ^ .\iul the little K'ii'K (diiif.,'- 
 \\ii to her father, never seemed to lu'.Ne any speei.il lov«' left 
 her mother. It was an odd, abnormal slate of things 
 Itoiicther, and you see people were more than half right U\ 
 illing r.ady Charteris a cold, unloving wife and mother. 
 
 Hut the child of her love, of Rohert Lisle that was (juiie 
 
 lotlier mattt-r. Wvr very love for that child had made her 
 
 ve it away to strangers, out cd" the (dutches of lier uncle 
 
 id liiishand Had fourteen years <teeled her heart there, 
 
 well ^ I)uke .Mason, standing h(d"ore her in the twilight of 
 
 iP /( 
 
 (' ( 
 
 !(»n 
 
 tal 
 
 leii 
 
 1 
 
 riory, 
 
 ;new 
 
 belt 
 
 er. 
 
 Sucl 
 
 1 pas- 
 
 tixed on the fair young 
 
 [enate, yearning love as the eyes 
 I in wliite expreesett he had never seen i]i all his life be- 
 
A: 
 
 % 
 
 ^. 
 
 o.:\^^Tv^ 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 V 
 
 // 
 
 ^/ 
 
 tip ,WJ 
 
 :«' «?, 
 
 A 
 
 
 ^^. 
 
 f/j 
 
 {/. 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
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 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, NY. 14580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 

l^'fiT 
 
 MWH'M 
 
 90 
 
 Face to F. 
 
 
 fore, except once — one", in ;i!» 1. , cr cliaiuber of a houso J 
 Park lane, where a inclhcr wej't over the child she was 
 iiijT'iing', pci'liajjs fori'VfM". 
 
 'i hey sto<>il i'uee to lao»-, liKirc uiuKr tho .<>r>'en trees ol' ili 
 purk, aiid kjsew ea(;h olhir. 'Iliiis tiiey met ajj^aiii. DukJ 
 turned cold all over as he ^tood tiicre. The hour dronded uii] 
 liltcrably h.id cotmc. 'i'lie n'(;th' r had foiiiul iier chihl. 1!^ 
 eyes spoke to him: they said "Stay!" as plainly as worij 
 Polly was whirling' away in the daiicc ;;^:i*ain. <'Uy l^arlseiupj 
 was waiting-: with we.iry i('siji,n;'>l ion to ho led wilhersy. viJ 
 her ladysliip willed. They niove^l on, her dress brushed 'li'il 
 her lips wiiisjieri'*! "Wait." Tliey disai)peared in the sih,;' 
 d'.'-k, and Du.kc was alone. 
 
 '1 he sunjiuer lifj;lit had faded entirely out of the sky, ,i.i 
 the UKKJii, and tl!(- star.^, and the Chin(>si- lanterns had ii .;. 
 t!i-ir (iwn wjy; ;'nd -tlH Diike sat, and waited as patieiv 
 
 fcurteen y(virs before, in the elm 
 
 •r, 
 
 now a?- he h.ad ('.lie 
 for Olivia i yndilh. 
 
 A cold haiui fading on his own arcused h.ini — the same 'hi 
 touch' tluit ha<l startled Lord Montalien's favorite sou — suioi 
 tu'-nin^' I'oniid, he saw in Ihe night light Lady Charter!- 
 She locked like a spirit — so white, so unearihiy — her b];i(!:i 
 ey.^s wild and solenui. She '.d thrown a scarlet cashn!!!vl 
 over hei' dark dress, and her s;nall face shone from the liclj 
 red fold;-, like a wan star. 
 
 ( oniel she sanl, come vifh me. 
 
 Tier f-old fi Hirers still held his hand. Duke shuddered all 
 their touch. He was in no wa^ fanciful, but just then he roi 
 membered legends ran of pale water-spirits bearing away h;ip| 
 less mortals to their doom. 
 
 She led him away from the noise and the people, down al 
 green aisle, in whose sombre darkness a murder might h.ive 
 been committed. One or two red lamps flickered luriillyj 
 athwart the blackness, and a nightingale piped its sweet, 
 mournful lay somewhere in the stillness. Even the brayi 'sr! 
 of the brass band came faint and far-off, here. She claspiMl| 
 both hands around that of her prisoner, and the dark, fipof 
 tral eyes fixed themselves upon his face. 
 
 "She is mire — my daughter — my child — whom I gave you| 
 f(nirteen years ago?" 
 
 "She is." 
 
 "You have cared for her all those years! She has grown] 
 up like that — strong, and tall, and healthy, and beautiful- 
 Ix^autifnl as he was, and like him, and like him!" 
 
 "Well, yess" ^fr. Mason responded, thoughtfully, and qui 
 forg(tting' hiniselx, "she is like him, and when lier faco 
 waslwd, tliu Duches- isn't a bad looking ^jirl^^ 
 
om I gAve you 
 
 Face to Face, 
 
 91 
 
 .a., 
 
 >0' 
 
 '!ic->lly. 
 to the 
 
 li' .:, was a vision before him as he spoke — Miss L tiiy, in 
 10 ki'-ilieu on washing, ironing and baking days, with spots 
 ' sunt on her oval cheeks, and perennial smudges of grime 
 1 her pretty Greeian nose. Indeed, it seemed on these oc- 
 isi'iiis — as the young lady herself observed, with an injured 
 ir- that she couldn't so much as look at a pot or a kettle 
 ithdiit half the black flying off and transferring itself to her 
 mritenance. 
 
 "Ddos she know — who does she think she is?" the lady 
 ;irri('<lly asked. 
 
 "Slie thinks she is Polly Mason, an orphan, the child of a 
 "i\(\ cousin of raifie. The Duchess hasn't a notion of who 
 ic rciilly is." 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 *'l bog your pardon, my lady, I call her the Duches 
 inisc she looks like one, not that 1 ever was pers-.r •' 
 u.iinterl with any duchess," Duke put in, pa 'eii* 
 Slic cabled herself Polly; but I never took kiiid' 
 aino of Polly." 
 
 "llor name is Paulina." 
 
 "V(<," said Duke, forgetting himself lo.' tiic seco -d time. 
 I know it is. He said so." ' 
 
 "Who said so?" ^ 
 
 Tlu^ solomn, dark eyes were fixed on his face, tlie friendly 
 arkiioss hid the guilty red that flushed it al ihe quc'stion. 
 
 ''Who said so: who could know lier name?" the lady fle- 
 
 iiiidcd, suspiciously. 
 
 "It was — it was a sick man who stopped with us, when sho 
 irnc/' stammered Duke, who never could learn the nianncrs 
 f p>o(l society, and telh polite lies; "he»suggested that her 
 jniie might be Paulina." 
 
 "How should he think of it — who was this sick "mail?" 
 
 "His name was ITawksley, my lady." 
 
 Duke's heart was throbbing against Iris .ribs. If-she only 
 now ' 
 
 "If she asks questions enough, she'll .surely find it out," he 
 I'Might, with an inward groan. "I never could stand pump- 
 >'!,jr." 
 
 But my lady's thoughts had drifte<l away to more import- 
 |n(' things than sick men by the name of ' avvk-^ley. 
 
 "Why did you leave London?" she asked; "do you know 
 
 wrote to the old address twice, and my letters were returniHl. 
 
 he last tell into the hands of Sir Vane, and there wn-^ a 
 
 ^'f-tio,'^ she twisted her fingers togetbr^i as though ii; pain: 
 
 '111(1 1 never dared write again. I ould rather havf* seen 
 
 ly flnrling dead than th..; he should find her out. Oh! if he 
 
 louJ*.' i'egognize the rwiemblance, and discovw her i.'rutity. 
 
 »!tr>— . 
 
 m 
 
 •^ 
 
 h 
 
 
 t '^ 
 
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 <f !■ 'i 
 
 •I 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 s 
 
 - 
 
92 
 
 Face to Face 
 
 \ / 
 
 ^ 
 
 ev(Mi now? lie know ihcro vas a ch'ih] — he know-; ~x 
 hidden her away. If he shoiihl fine out! if he shoiii'l 
 out!" She ehisped her handj^ around his nrin. an<l look> 
 at him witli a face of mortal (h'eack 
 
 "lie will not find out, my lady," Duke said, (juietlv, "j 
 you do not hetray yourself. Iltiw should he — she is P 
 Mason, the orphan eousin of a poor scene-painter; aiil 
 the rescinhlance, lie will not see it as you do. Vou do n 
 he linir f'Msped, as he £sl>ed the (luestion. "You will no! ',; 
 her away, niy lady?" 
 
 "Take her away!" repeated Lady Charteris; "never, 
 friend — my p:oo(k kind faithful friend! Do you love Ik 
 tell me — is she indeed dear to you? Would it grieve y' u 
 ^'wo her up?" 
 
 "]\ly lady, nothing? on earth could grieve me so di | 
 T don't know how a father may feel for an only child, in 
 know no father in this world could love a daughter ni 
 than T love Polly." 
 
 "And your sister — she loves her too?" , 
 
 "She is the torment and the idol of my sister's life. I' 
 one loves the Duchess." 
 
 She put her hai^ds over her face. Tears were falliniv 
 hapi)iest Lady Charteris had ever shed. When she look* i '■■ 
 she was ineffably calm in the dusk. 
 
 "I have been praying for my darling," she whispered. > 
 God keep her — God protect her — pure from tiie world 
 from her enemies!" 
 
 "ITer enemies — she has none." 
 
 "She has a teri^ble enemy while Sir Vane Charteris liv 
 Save lier from him. Look, Mr. MUson ! I was an hciic- 
 it was for my fortune my ujicle persecuted me. Sir Vane mn 
 ried me. That fortune w^s so left me tliat it falls to ni 
 eldest child at my deatli. He idolizes his daughter — it i- li 
 ambition that she shall make a lofty marriage — he has i 
 eomo almost a miser that slie may be a great heiress. Ar 
 Panl'na is my eldest child — to Paulina it shnll all go at 
 death — if they cannot prove itiy first m.arriage illegal 
 skic illegitimate, I speak calnd.v of these things, my friiMij 
 I have thought of them so often. Paulina will in1i(M-if '^ 
 spite n^' him — the marriage was legal, 1 know. T have > 
 suited 1-i'vyers on the sub.iect. One hair of her hea(^ is d'' 
 to inc than a doj^rn "Mauds — it mav be wrong; T cannoi i. 
 it. At my ('eath Paulitia will come into an nmcMne of ', 
 thousand a vear— his daught<!r will not inh-v*^ '^ -hilling- 
 is well he has sufficienl for her. He is a ')ud bold, unscni|iii| 
 lous i.ian, who spares neither man nov woman in his wiMtl 
 It 11 vo?' ■■-'.■ 3eea'^.?e you know how he married me, whi!l 
 
il-'ace to Fnce. 
 
 95 
 
 oris; "ncvor. 
 
 istor's life. I v. 
 
 (uiilitcr — it i 
 
 liiifis, my frii 
 
 ,(i:i!li'0(l hiiTi, and told liiin 1 Idntlicd liim. A in;in wlio 
 iilil stoop to siU'li a lujiiTiiif^c uMild sloop to jinythiiiK. 
 
 Id Paidina bo safo, think yon, llion, in his power'; Wo 
 \y iiiiinin liorc a week, < r two; keep her away from tins 
 r: diM-ini,^ tliat timo. He ^ll-l)0(•{s nic now; since our I'o- 
 
 II t.. i-'iifihuid lio has wat* IkmI ir.o as a cat watcti("s a mouse. 
 !■ ;i'i know what ho snsjK'cts. w]i;U he f(>ars, hut it is >u. 
 
 III iii>w 1 may ho missed, he may he scarohinj; tor nio. 
 ji'. M.i-on, 1 think 1 am the most wretcdiecl woman the v do 
 Irtli liohls- I think my lieai't hroko sixteen yoars afjo Avlun 
 cv loid mo my (hndiii^ was dead. The only creatmv in this 
 
 (1 whom T lovo ii< yondor, and I «laro not speak one word 
 
 !irr. daro not j^ivo her ono kiss for hor fatlior's sake." 
 
 ISlic covorod hor faoo again, and hroke out info sohhinjv — 
 
 {l(!. hysterical, but suppressed sohhiniz'. Ahis! lony' yc^ar-- of 
 
 (in. of survoillanoo, had taught h< r, tliat <'Voii grief was a 
 
 ;ury she must not indulge in. 
 
 [VmiIxc had nf»t!iing to say: a woman orying made him cold 
 1(1 lint, hy turns. He wasn't much used to if — Rosanmi w is 
 ||M ri(.r to crying Jis to all other weaknesses of hor wretched 
 !)tid for Polly's tears, though they made him oxtjuisitely 
 i-crnhle at the time, they were sjx'tMlily dried. They were 
 Hir!;illy tears of rage, indeed, not of sorrow; and as she 
 iMt'd vehi^montly all the while .she W(^pt, it wrs not in tii.:; 
 Iturc of things her tempests could last long — their v<'ry 
 f'ltiice used them up. l^ut this was something different; 
 ji'- w;is sorrow of which the n.ian knew nothing, and lie 
 lr;i!ik ;iway. with a Strang desire to take to his hoids, and 
 piilic. Some intuition told her it pained him — she dro|)p(d 
 |r hands, and smiled through her tears. 
 
 |''I !i;ive no right to dfstress you." she said, sweetly, "yni 
 
 lo are my best, my only, friend — the only friend at least 
 
 ii'iii I can trust with the secret- of my life. Tidl mv of my 
 
 iiid- is slio truthful, is she generous, is she nohlediearfed, 
 
 she amiable; is she, in a word, like her father!!" 
 
 |".\ii]iahle'r' Well, Duke wasn't iireparod to say that Polly 
 
 - on all occasions. She had a tongue and a temper he- 
 
 mI a doubt; she had a will of her own, too, and made m >st 
 
 l"i le mind her. But — and Duke ^Fason's face lit up, and 
 
 ey( s glowed, and groat love made him elo(iuent, and ho 
 
 nred Polly to Polly's mother as he saw her—the brav-t, 
 
 ha'ndsomost, the most generous and loving little girl in 
 
 f It Britain. 
 
 i'Thaidx God!" the mother said. "Thank Hod! Ami 
 vou. who have been hor father and friend, for so many 
 |ar- Keep her still — keep her until I die and she cornea 
 to tier fortune. She will be able to reward yor then.*' 
 
94 
 
 Fac 
 
 o 
 
 Face. 
 
 "I hope thnt flay is vorv fnv off. T don't want any^rewariij 
 fur kecy-uig- tlio Dnclios. iwiV aliiiout her woula not U| 
 worth the l-.avinjj;'." 
 
 "Teach u(ir what you can — 1 /'aniiot oven ^ive you a p.iilri 
 hr.ndrod or two for that. 1 liavo not a sovereig-n witliuuti 
 the knowUMl«40 of Sir Vane ('harteris — not a trinket thai li| 
 v/ould not miss. I am jxtorer than she is, Mr. Mason." 
 
 "Oh, Polly isn't poor," eried Duke, forgettinji: himself fori 
 the thiid lime; "thanks to Jiawksley's gen(M'osity, she !ia 
 seven iiinidred i)oun(ls in tlie Speekliaven Jjank." 
 
 "Who is this Mr. Ilawksley?" asked Lady Charteris, niihl 
 renewed suspicion: "who knows Paulina's name, and giv«l 
 lier seven hundred pounds (f what does it moair^f" 
 
 "What a dolt — a dumh-rhead, I am!" thought Duke, rcailjj 
 to hife his own toiigue off. "Pve got myself into a pn>tty| 
 mess now! My lady," he, said aloud, "Mr. JIawksley is onlyl 
 a very generous and eccentric young man, who took a faiirvj 
 to Polly's pretty face when a bahy, and sends her a Christinj!! 
 p:e<ent of fifty jjounds from the California gold digging^ 
 every year. Tie was just from the States, you see, and I. (liirii 
 say tlutt's how lie came to guess her name." 
 
 She had not the faintest suspicicjn of the truth, and ^h\\ 
 very lucid e.xDlanation satisfied her. 
 
 "T(e is v(^ry kind." she said; "take the money, then, ar.l 
 educate the child as befits her birth and tlie station she will 
 one <lay fill. And now" — she laid her hand upon his arraj 
 and drev; nearer to him — "a last favor. Will you accom])iimj 
 me to-morrow niglit to the Grange? A strange request," she] 
 added, as she felt how Duke must be wondering; "but I ;l;ire| 
 not venture to go in daytime. He would suspect soinetaiiiL') 
 Ho is always suspecting. And at night I fear to go aloiul 
 Not the cavalier's ghost." with a faint smile, "but the peoplej 
 I niighit meet at that hour. • Will you be my escort to-morri/.i 
 night ?" 
 
 "Certainly, Lady Charteris.'" 
 
 "T go at night because, when all have retired, I am fi\ 
 only then. And I go for something I left behind me ix: 
 flight fourteen years ago — ah, you rem(uid;cr that night? J;\ 
 husband's miniature — my lost husband's — Sir Vane Chartcril 
 is only thiit in nnme — some letters — trinkets---the few pnvl 
 ents he ever gave me. They are dearer to me than anj^thiii!!! 
 in the world, except ids child. T had them ready, and for-f 
 got them, somehow, that night in my haste, Tliey may lwve| 
 been removed, but I think not. T left them in the secret 
 drawer of ar "/lulian cabinet, and T know none of the largel 
 furniture : ?,¥er taken from the Grange At tv/elve, to-l 
 
ruth, and ■hii 
 
 »^aiio Chart crN 
 
 Fa 
 
 ce 
 
 to Face, 
 
 Q5 
 
 irrow '^ifi:ht- I will ' ;; ' llu* gntcs-- ''' :;ov. -neet rae 
 
 '•' ^' •^'•" 
 
 ^•lic Cook his liaud aiuJ kissed il, as .she liad (l(»ue that iiig'ht 
 
 li^'' ;ij^o in the waitiiig-iomn at tlie railway. 
 
 "jMeaven bless you, hest of friends. And nn\v I must leave 
 [du he has missed jr)e loiifir ere this.'' Slie ilittt>d away with 
 
 ic words, and he was left alone undi'r llie red lamps uiid 
 liuhiingale's jui^-jug. 
 
 Ic looked at his watch — nine o'eloek — the first act would 
 |o "vcr; but better late than never. The tirst violinist of the 
 .vcciim strode jway at a tremend(>us rate toward the th(>atre. 
 
 Pncisely at midnight, the following night, Duke, in a 
 
 :iit wagon, was waiting outside the ponderous gate of the 
 
 riiiiy. "Were his nocturnal a<lventures never to end!'" 
 Kikt' wondered, and "what would Rosanna say to-morrovi 
 rluii sj^(j found his bed unsle])t in V J.ady (Miarteris was 
 [aiK'tual, and he drove her along through the (luiet night to 
 ]if liiiinited Grange. 
 
 "Vou had better wait outside," the lady said, "and keep 
 |;it<'li. I know how to effect an entrance, and J am not in 
 lie least afraid." 
 
 Sjie approached the house with a rapid and resolute step. 
 
 jlic might be afraid of Kir Vane Charttris; she certainly was 
 
 [ot of supernatural visitants. The open window caught her 
 
 »e, ^he clambered up the ivy-rope ladder, and entered. T he 
 
 Kioii chanced to be obscured, and the figiu'e asleei) in the 
 
 liiir escaped her eye. She carried with her a dark-lantern, 
 fhicli she lit now, and passed out of the apartment and up- 
 |i)irs to tlie chamber that had long ago been her own. 
 
 Slie was right in her surmise. The Indian cabinet ha<l 
 1 1 been removed. She found the spring she wanted, the 
 
 awf'r flew out; there lay the cherished packet. She caught 
 
 up. thrust it into her bosom, and rapiilly descended. 
 
 It was then her footsteps awoke the sleeper. 
 
 "^no opened the door. Polly was standing erect, and very 
 fi'lc awnke now. 
 
 hady Charteris paused on the threshold with a low, startled 
 
 ry. 
 
 1 liore, in the house in which she had been born, sixteen 
 curs ago this very month, child and mother stood face to 
 
 I Si' 
 
 ill • i; 
 
 P. CO 
 
CIIAPTKU V. 
 
 t» O L L Y ' H M I S D K i; F) S . 
 
 i'aco to tuce, in the dead hour of the night, in i\\v do; ii,i 
 room of Lynditli Grange, Fate had doiie licr work. ,n 
 broug'ht those two together at hist! 
 
 Kur an instanr both stood speechless, spi'I'hound- 'w 
 with the same wild tlinuglit that they behehl a suitern;iiiu 
 visitant. Then, as the light of tiie lantern slione ;iri 
 bntadly over the face and figure of the lady, the girl wrut, 
 ^lized her, and all superstitictus fears were swept away \]< 
 impulse of uneontrollable surprise. 
 
 "Lady Charteris!" dropped from her lii)s. The word-, 
 sound of a hnnuui voice, broke the pell. J.ady (Mian. 
 knew the slim figure standing before her was not the t^hn-\ 
 tlie mad lady. 
 
 "Who speaks?" she asked firmly. She was intensely ii. 
 ous, and her heart throbbed almost i)ainfully. "Wh" 
 you r' 
 
 "I am Polly Mason." Polly's voice faltered a little a^ .-!i| 
 said it. She always did feel ashamed of that intensely pin 
 beian and unromantic cognomen, poor child. 
 
 "Polly Mason!" the name of all others now most dear 
 the heart of the lady. She drew near hurriedly — half in 
 credulous — "Polly Mascn !" 
 
 She lifted her light high — yes, it shone on the slender, fj:iri| 
 ish figure, the fair, drooping head, the beseeching eye^, [\'\ 
 half-smiling, half -trembling lips, for Polly, thus dete< 
 hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. 
 
 "M^' child! my child!" the lady cried, aghast, "what in tlil 
 world brought you here? You, of all people alive, and at tli!| 
 itnearthly hour?" Polly laughed a little hysterically — i 
 half sobbed : 
 
 "Oh, Lady Charteris, it was foolish, I know, and Duke ani 
 Rosanna will be so angry when they find it out. I'm liii 
 sorry no^' I came, but I couldn't help it. Eliza Long. \ i 
 don't know her, of course — but we hate each other, she nnii 
 — dared me to come here and spend a night alone ani^ij ill 
 ghosts, and I — well, I know I'm a little fool!" Poll^- v/i 
 piteously, and looking uj), with her big, blue eyes at the mcii 
 lady, "but if she dared me > jump into Speekhaven B;i,v. 
 think T would do it. They left me here, and are to ci^ll t 
 me at two o'clock. It must be near that now. And pi i 
 my lady,": (very humbly,) "don't tell; X ^waft not afraid, i 
 
I- 
 
 and Duke aiij 
 out. I'm hi! 
 liza Loiifi', V'l 
 ther, she nini 
 Olio ain^if: il 
 :" P.)l^ <Tu. 
 cs at I ho m't';'! 
 khavi'U B;t.v, 
 are to ci^li Ui 
 
 Polly's Misdeeds. 
 
 97 
 
 cl( od I wasn't, and I slt-pt nearly all tlio time; l)nk l)uk« 
 wt»iil<l be vexed- -(l)uk(!V my eousin, please, my lady,) and 
 he's such a dear old cousin, 1 hate to make him .--orry. Oh, 
 J>ii.'iy ('harteri-> I" i'olly clasped her luuuKs 'I know fhi.-^ is 
 your liouse, but I did not know that you or anybody ever 
 eaiiic iii're, or I'd never have tlonf it. Oh, p'casu don't say 
 J've ilor.e anytiiini^ so very, \ery wi'on;j;!" 
 
 I'oUn could talk at all times, and awe of lauits. <.;'reat or 
 Miiail, >hc did not know. She wondered to tiiid L.KJy Char- 
 tcris iiere, at such a time, and she hoped Duke wouldn't dis- 
 i'i!\-cr her escapade, but slie was as prepared to conv«.'rse with 
 a baronet's lady a.s with Kosanna. 
 
 it u'as a moment Ix'lore my lady answered, a moment (lur- 
 ing' which she stood h-okinj^; .;t the Mii'l, ^v'ith her hand pres.».c<l 
 ti;;hliy over her lu'art. 'I'he blue, lj(^sccchin^ eyes wei'e so 
 like, so cruelly like eye^s that seven'cen years a^'o ha«l been 
 dearer to her than earth and all its jilory. It <;av(> her a panj; 
 ahnost as ^harj) as death to see their comiterpaii thus. She 
 scarcely heard a word; 8he only knew that the child td' h:^r 
 love .stood before her. 
 
 ".My darling! My darling- J" she said, with a smothorod 
 gob. "(di my darlin/;!" and the astonished Polly found herself 
 cau^'-ht in the laily's arms, and tears and kisses rainini'- on h<'i. 
 f.i.-e._ 
 
 Aliss Mason's first Impulse was that I.ady Charteris iiarj 
 ^ lue suddenly mad. It wa«> not an improbable fancy, inidcr 
 the circumstances, and much more alarmed than she had been 
 rtny time yet, she strove to get away. She was prepared to 
 meet a ghost, if you like, but not a lunatic. Lady Chi.rteri-i 
 understood her in an instant, and at once released he''. 
 
 "I have frightened you, my dear," she said, recovering her- 
 self — s^lf-command was a fixed habit with her now; she was 
 not at all likely to give way again, "but you — you resemblo 
 some one I once knew. My child, what a strange thing for 
 you to do — to come and spend a night in this dismal place. 
 Were you not terribly afraid?" 
 
 "Well — no, my lady, at least not until I heard you upstairs, 
 I don't mind a bit so that Duke aiid Rosanna don't find out." 
 
 "You are very fond of your cousins, my dear?" 
 
 "Oh, very!" said Polly, "Duke especially; but every on( 
 loves Duke — the starved dogs ii ""^-.e streets, tht? little beggars 
 who ask alnif- in the town — everybody!" 
 
 Her eyes lighted — yes, verv fondly Polly loved "dear old 
 Duke." 
 
 "And you are liappy — truly and reall.y happy," the lad,^ 
 asked — so earnestly she asked it. 
 
 "Happy i" Polly asked; "well, no, not Quite; I don't thinly 
 
 ( . 
 
 'Q. 
 
98 
 
 Polly' ; Misdeeds 
 
 I'liybfxly could bo litippj v.'ftn.sr nonie wau I'ol^. ..iason; Poiiyf 
 it nMiiiiitls Olio of a ])ol' parrot in a cage asking for crnckops.** 
 
 Ivjidy (!ha^l« rs Hiiiilcd in spite of licrself. 
 
 "Is tliat nil '{ Well, my cliiJd, you can console yourself with 
 th(! I bought that, like most young kulies, you will one day 
 c^iange your nniue." 
 
 Polly l)liislie(l. and tliongjit of Mr. Fane. 
 
 '4 ought to be a iiappy girl, I sui)i>ose, for eve^-^body is 
 very good to me. iMy lady, will you please tell me the time?" 
 
 "Jt is just half-past one," looking at her watch; "my errand 
 here is done, and you will return with me. And Polly," slic\ 
 laid her hand on the girl's shoulder, "you know some of the 
 |H>ople at the Priory. J saw you dancing, y(»u remenibei', yes*- 
 terdiiy; don't nieiitioii to any of those young men, should y(Jii 
 chancer to see them, that you ever met me here. Xow come." 
 
 "My lady, I cannot g<; — I promised to wait, nnd I must. 
 They will call for me at two — only half an hour now; 1 
 wouldn't have them find me gone for the world when they re- 
 turn. 1 should never hear the Inst of it." 
 
 "Who are they, my little onoil" 
 
 "Oh, Alice Warren and Eliza Long, and two young men; 
 you wouldn't know any of them. They'll be here a^t two, and 
 I must wait — I promised." 
 
 "A promise must be kept, of course. Will you not got a 
 scolding to-morrow from — this Duke you love so well, for thi8 
 madcap p^aiik {" 
 
 "A scolding! Duke scold!" Polly laughed aloud at the 
 stupendous jokc^ — such a sweet, merry laugh. "Oh, dear no, 
 my lady, Duke couldn't scold if be tried — least of all, me. 
 But he would look grieved, and that would be ten times worse, 
 and never say a word, and be kinder to me than ever. Ro- 
 sanna would scold, and I shouldn't mind it a bit; but.Duke." 
 Polly shook hcv curly head, with contrition: "No, I hoi">ei 
 Duke ^von't hofir of it." 
 
 "Then, he shall not — from me. And I must go aiKl leave 
 you here. It seems almost cruel." 
 
 "You are very kind, my lady, but don't mind me; I'm not 
 afraid, and I couldn't go, that's the amount of it. Please let 
 me help you out." 
 
 Lady Charteris stooped, and kissed her very gently this 
 time. 
 
 "You are a brave little girl. Good-night, and don't come 
 here any more." 
 
 The benediction given with the kiss w\ts uttered in the 
 lady's heart. Polly helped her out, of the window, and 
 watched her as she flitted c'own ^he avenue, her light steps 
 lost on the grassy ground. ...,:, - , . .^ -■ ,;. 
 
Polly's Misdeeds 
 
 99 
 
 A .>i.^ »,\^iirf^ (liHinally. ''I do wi^Ij tlioy woul-l come." 
 
 She ha<i ii<»t loiii;" to wait. lU'lort' two <i'f|(,('k the (|Uiirt('f 
 »\<i(n\ uiidtu' her wi!i(l(»w, fill<'(l with rt'morsc mid dire mis- 
 j»iviii^>. WdiiM tlicy tind iicr ;div»' wlicii tl\'.v rcttiriicd; 
 Would tlio.v find Ikt iit i\\\ ( Mi,y;lit not tlic ravalitr's j^host 
 carry lu'i off bodily to tho land oi' restless sliadows wiuMice in? 
 tatiic'^ Jiiit l*olly, us l)ri<;lit as a new sliilliriii'. stood smiiiu'; 
 b<'t'orc iliein, and leaped witli the bound ot" a Uid out id' llu* 
 window and into tiie arms ot' tlie baberdaslu'r'ri youn^: num. 
 
 "Tliat will do, Sam; I don't want ludp," said Miss Mason, 
 rather disdainfully. After Allen Kane and (Juy rarlseourl it 
 wasn't likely she was ever aj^jain yninj; to tolerate lra<U»8men'rt 
 a|)[)rentiees. "V<'s, I'm safe, Kli/.a, in spite of you and the 
 ghosts und the rut«; and I've had a sociable chat with one of 
 th(^ lufhosts that liannt the (^ra^^•e, and a very pheasant ^host 
 il is. I hojH* you're. cojivinoed I'm i.ot afraicl now; and if 
 you, or any (d* you, let Duke or ilosanna iind out this nif^ht's 
 work, I'll — well, "don't you do it, that's all! I may lg> an 
 idiot for my pains, but I'm not f?oinp: to worry th<Mn into 
 their graves," 
 
 Even Eliza Long prcvmised. She had been considerably 
 alarmed during the lu)urs of waiting. If they found Polly 
 dead or gone mad through fright, Peter Jenkins would turn 
 (Queen's evidence, she knew, and there was no telling what 
 the law might not do to her — hang her, perhaps. Sh(> prom- 
 ised, and she kc^pt her word — for two or three months — and 
 by that time it did no harm to tell. 
 
 At half-past two exactly, Polly stole in through a kitchen 
 window and upstairs in her stockings to bed, and fell asleep, 
 and woke up and came fresh and smiling down to breakfast, 
 none the worse for her night's dreary frolic. 
 
 •*He will be here presently," was the young lady's thought; 
 and breakfast over, she went back to her room to get herself 
 up for the occasion. 
 
 jMr. Fane came, and not alone. At eleven o'clock he drove 
 up in a dashing little pony phaeton, with cream-colored, high- 
 stepping ponies, and Miss ]\raud Charteris by his side. Polly 
 WHS seated under an arch of morning glories, reading Tenny- 
 son, posing for the occasion, and Mr. Fane's speaking eyi^s 
 told her pretty plainly what he thought of her looks. He had 
 come to take her to the Priory for that first sitting for the 
 fair Rosamond, and this was Miss Maud Charteris, Miss 
 Mason, and he was Cjuite sure each yoTing lady would \m 
 charmed with the other. IMiss ^laud Charteris gave Miss 
 TVdly Mason a little half-patronizing, half-haughty smile and 
 bow, which the latter returned with equal hauteur. She was 
 not prettv — little Miss Charteris. She was jSale and sickly o£ 
 
 .„% 
 
loo 
 
 Polly's Misdeeds. 
 
 aHjMH't, with nor fntlnr's l»Ia<'k cyps, iuu\ tnr-hliick 'uiir, 
 .--t raifrlH' as an Iiidian's. 'I'lir brijiht silks wliich that (li.riiiR 
 lather Wkod t(» st«' Iht wear coiilra.^Utl har->lil.y wilh licr small, 
 I>iii<'h('(i features ami sickly pallor. Siie was drussed like u 
 • loll MOW, 111 tartan silk i>f hrilliiiiit hues, a wiiitc lace searl', a 
 I'aris hat, wreathed with pink roselmds, and dainty bootrf, 
 and ^^loves, and pink-silk and itoint-l.iec parasol. 
 
 Miss (.'harteris dei^ined to talk a little to Miss — aw — Muson, 
 as the steppers bore them alon^. Had sin- really lived all lur 
 life in this <lull, eountry town { Had >he never l)e<'n to school, 
 nor to I'jiiis— never even heen to London^ It must he dread- 
 fully dull — sueh a life. She rej^ar<led the ^hahhy merino and 
 the common straw hat with pityin/j; wonder. She was uniM- 
 lerahly cond<'scondin|jr to this dowdy country j^irl whom Mr. 
 Fane wanted to i)aint. The litth; embryo lady took the airs 
 ot a ffi'iinfU' ddini' as naturally a.s a duckling takes to water, 
 and wilh every (imstion of the disdainful patrician, Polly 
 ^rn-w more and more anj^ry and sulky, and sorry she came; 
 and it was in a very had humor, indeed, that she entered the 
 «lusKy si)lendor of the Pri(»ry, and followed Mr. Fane into an 
 aparlMient where (lowers bloomed, and birds san^, and beauti- 
 ful pictures were on the walls, and tall vases — taller than lie**- 
 self — stood, and a Turkey ('ari)et covered the floor, and silken 
 drai)eries hunu-, and Parisian statuett(«s ^dimmered in the pale 
 j-reen li^lit. Xo wonder Maud Cliarteris (lesj)ised her — Maud 
 ('hart(M-is, to whom this jj^orj^eous temple was only an everyday 
 drawini4-rof>m, and who lived in perpetual tartan silks. 
 
 Mr. Fane left her for a moment to ^^o in search of Miss 
 llautton, he said, who was to sit for Queen Eleanor. Mis& 
 (^hart(MMs left her, exeusinji' herself elaborately, to remove her 
 hat and scarf. Polly was alone. Silence reigned. It was like 
 a church. She glanced about her in fiwe. But presently, 
 throush a curtained arch at the fuither end of the room, 
 voices came. One was the voice of little Miss Maud; the 
 other the languid, haughty accents of Miss TTautton. 
 
 "Pretty?" she was repeating, in rather a contemptuous 
 tone. "Did Mr. Fane really say so, Maud? Tie must have 
 been jesting, surely. Why, the girl in white, with whom I saw 
 him dancing, was a i)erfect little dowdy.'' •^ 
 
 "Well, I thought so too, Diana," said the piping treble of 
 the little lady of thirteen; "and to-day — you should ser? her! 
 — such a dress, old and faded — and made — oh!" 
 
 Words failed to describe the unfashionable^ make of this old, 
 faded dress. 
 
 "How tiresome of Mr. Fane to fetch her here; and one 
 must be civil to the little creature, T suppose. Pretty! a stu- 
 pid country girl,*' with red hair and freckles." 
 
Polly's Misdeeds, 
 
 loi 
 
 Polly wultc«l to lu'iir n.» mon'; hvr lirnrf folt full to l)Uisf- 
 iii^ • 'inrdl.v knew \\lutln'r willi jitii-ci,, or wtHiinhMl ft'«l- 
 
 iii^'.or vhat. Slic U-.ui Lccii in-ullcil, miclly iii-^ullrd. Wij.v 
 Iciil Mr Faiio rvt'i l)nnij;!it licr lurc^ She ^ot up. hihI made 
 lici* way out — how, slu- luirdly kiirw- tliroui-'h luiifjr >ultt's of 
 r'MMiis, niid d;),/ii tlial ^rand gilded and rarvtd -stairway. S)i(.> 
 was (lul ot' the liou^c, and iiitu tlic l»i-i^lif >uii-hiin'. \*itli tin; 
 .suiMtiicr wind l)l(»\\iiiy in licr hot t'a<'»', and a -wcllitiu' in hi'i 
 thi'oaf tliaf nearly cliokf-d her. 
 
 "A stupid country ^irl. witli n'd hair and t'rccklol" That 
 dreadful sentence ranir in her ear-; li!>;e a death i<nell all the 
 way home. 
 
 I'oUy worked for the remainder of that day wllh an enerji:,v 
 that completely astonislu'd Itosiinna. Ironinjr was m)in^ on, 
 and sh(^ jj^ot a talde t<» hei's»df. and ironed tho<e clothe> with ii 
 vindictive onerj^y, that left her idieeks crimson, and her eyes 
 full of sitreamin^ li^ht. She was dead siitnt, t(»o, and de- 
 clined taking hor tea, when teatim*^ came, and went (»ui into 
 tlic garden to lot the evening wind cool orF, if it could, her 
 flushed face. And as she reaehcil tlu' gate, there stood Mr. 
 •Mian Fane in person, 
 
 "Miss Mason — Polly!" he hegan. 'Svhat on earth nnide you 
 run away? Did 1 leave you too long^ I give you my word I 
 could not help it, and I hope vou are not otVendecl. What was 
 
 itr 
 
 Polly looked at him with flashing eyes. She would have cut 
 otT her right hand 5*ooner than let him know how she had 
 heen humiliated. 
 
 '^What is it, Polly? T think you ^aid that I miglit call you 
 Polly," witrli a tender look. 
 
 "You may call nie anything you phrase, Afr. Fane — a 
 d(»wdy, stupid country girl, such as T am. If T were Aliss 
 Diana Hautton, or Miss Maud Charteris, it would he (piite 
 another thing — hut how could a shahhy, ignorant, n^d-liairiMl 
 rustic expect either respect or courtesy !" 
 
 ''Polly — Miss Mason! (Ioo<l Heaven! has any one itisulte4l 
 you? Who came into the rooms whiU^ I was away r' 
 
 "Xot a soul, Mr- Fane. l>ut yon should not he surprised 
 at anything a person in my class of life may do. Wc don't 
 know any better, and T got frigh.tened, very naturally, at all 
 the splendor about me; and ran away — jusr that. One word, 
 one look from so grhnd a lady as the TToiiorable ?.[!-■ ir.iutton 
 would have annihilated me; I ran away. Doii'l waste your 
 time, T beg, Mr. Fan(^ — go back to ttie T'riory and the high- 
 born ladies there." 
 
 "You are as thorough a lad.y as the best of thein, ■NFisa Ma- 
 son, if y. will pardon my presumption in saying 8o, and T 
 
 if 
 
B02 
 
 Polly's Misdeeds 
 
 wouldn't exchr.nfte five miTiu+:: ~vith you lor a day with the 
 fairest of them !" 
 
 He told the truth — there was a glow on his placid face very 
 unusual there. Polly, pretty at all times, was tenfcild prettier 
 whcTi thorouffhly angry. The haughty poise of the lioad, the 
 flashing fire in the blue eyes, the flush on the oval cheeks, the 
 ringing tones of the clear voice, became her well. 
 
 "Some one has offended — some one has insulted you, it may 
 be. Miss Mason, but it was not I. If T only dared put in 
 words what I think of you; bat no, even the de(^pest admiia- 
 tion sometimes appear impertinence. Tell me you are not 
 angry with me — I could not bear that, Polly." 
 
 Tlis voice softened to a wonderful tenderness, the eyes that 
 looked at her were full of a light that shot the words home. 
 Mr. Fane having spent the past four years at the business was 
 past master- of the art of love a la mode. And Polly's heart 
 stirred for an instant, and the fiery scorn died out of her face, 
 and into its place came a beautiful, tremulous light; but she 
 laughed saucily even while moved. 
 
 "You are talking treason to your sovereign, Mr. Fane. 
 What would Miss Hauiton say if she heard you?" 
 
 "Miss Hautton may go to Paradise, if she likes. What is 
 Mi^s TIautton to me?" 
 
 "The future Mrs. Fane, or rumor tells awful stories!" 
 
 "Rumor does tell awful stories, always did. If I cared for 
 l^^iss Hautton would I be here? Polly, you must sit for that 
 picture, only, by Jove, I shall have to paint you for Queen 
 Eleanor, if you look as you do just nov\ Won't you ask me 
 in, and give me some tea, please? I came after you in such 
 haste that I never waited for luncheon." 
 
 "What?" Polly cried, "has it taken you since one o'clock 
 to walk three miles? Oh, Mr. Fane, don't think me a greater 
 goose than you can help. Come in, if you like, and I will seo 
 if Rosanna will let you have the tea." 
 
 "That doesn't sound too hospitable," the artist said, "but 
 where one is very anxious to obtain the entree, one must not 
 stand on the order of his invitation. We shall have the sit- 
 tings here, ]\riss Polly, instead of at the Priory." 
 
 Mr. Allan Fane wont into the house, neeeting a rather cool 
 reception from both Duke and Rosanna. 
 
 Polly was all mortal man coidd desire, and he lingered until 
 the moon was up, and the loud-voiced kitchcMi clock struck 
 nine. The girl went with him to the gate, the moon shone 
 crystal clear; what a night it was, what a beautiful, blissful 
 world altogether! And 'Rosanna called life a weary pilgrim- 
 age and earth a vale of tears. 
 
 **Ms^ I come_agaiii — and very soon, Polly?'* ashed Mr. 
 
Love's Ycjng Dream. 
 
 103 
 
 Fane, holding her hand, and locking irto tht- eyes he thought 
 brig'hter than all tliose shining- stars abovo. 
 
 "Certainly," Miss Mason responded, doniurely; "and if yon 
 make such progress at every sitting*as you have done at this, 
 l\Ir. Fniio, the fair Rosamond will be eoni]d(t('(i before you 
 know it." Her clear lang-h rang out, the truth being the art- 
 ist had entirely forgotten fair Kosan'onr, Allan Fane being 
 r,() angYOii^cd by Polly Mason. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LOVES YOUNG DRKAM. 
 
 "Duchess," Mr. Mason said, the following morning, as he 
 arose from the breakfast table, "when you're quite finished, 
 aiul got- tlie dishes washed, I wish you would step up to my 
 room before you go anywhere. I have a proposal to make to 
 
 yy 
 
 you. 
 
 "Oh!" said the Duchess, "a proposal of marritige, Duke?" 
 
 Payiiv^ no attention to the flippant iiuiuiry, the scene- 
 painter went on his way upstairs, to his own peculiar sanc- 
 tum. 
 
 ''I wonder if I could postpone it until to-morrow," he said 
 as she entered. "Shaving makes a man look cleaner, no 
 doubt, but it is an awful bother. Do you thitd< the bristles 
 will be too strong, if I waited another day, Duchess?" 
 
 "Mr. Mason, was that what you reciuested me to come up 
 here to decided' 
 
 "No, Duchess; don't be in a hurry." Duke turnt^l from the 
 glass, and leaning forward looked at her. D.ow pale she was 
 in the garish morning light — how dull the brilliant eyes — al- 
 most as dull as ]\Iiss Hautton's own! 
 
 "Duchess what's the matter? You're getting thin. You're 
 losing your appetite — you only took two cups of tea this morn- 
 ing and three rolls." 
 
 "Do you usually count my cups of tea and the number of 
 rolls, sir?" cried Polly, firing up, for her powerful schoolgirl 
 fippetite, so uidike her heroines, was rather a sore spot with 
 t his young ladx, 
 
 ^*f^^^|^^rag thinner and pale; you're losing your good 
 looks, ^liss Mason. You want a change, and you shall have 
 it. Duchess, you shall go to hoarding-school!" 
 
 "To boarding-school, Duke!" -^ 
 
 "7'o boarding-school, Duchess." 
 
 The girl's Tace flushed, then paled; »he walked to the win- 
 dow, aud looked silently down the quiet. road.^lXo boarding- 
 
 
 m ■ 
 
 ■irv 
 
f04 
 
 Lovers Young Dream 
 
 i 
 
 sciiool ! Why, it had been the drcf.m of hor ]ife to;?o ic c! ool 
 liitherto, but Duke clung to her brigb.t presence with an al- 
 most selfish love, and could not bear to part with her, No\7 
 lier dream was realized, ske was to go, and her firsi sensation 
 was one of blank dismay. 
 
 "Duchess — Polly!" lie exclaiined, in a frightened voice, 
 "you always wanted to go. Don't tell me you r».re going to 
 object now I" 
 
 She turned from the window, and the smile he loved lit up 
 her face. 
 
 "No, Duke, I'm not going to object. I'll go with all the 
 pleasure in life. I need school of some kind, goo<lness knows 
 -^such an ignorant, wild, good-for-nothing wretch as I am. 
 Where am 1 to go ^" 
 
 "'I'o Bromjiton — to Miss Primrose's establishment. Squire 
 Weldon's daughter went there, you know. And Fll take you 
 next week, 'f you think you can be ready." 
 
 "That's a question for Rosanna — I can be ready fast 
 enough if my cloth':>s can. And now, as I've got to go into 
 town, ril bid you good-morning, if you're quite done with 
 
 V 
 
 me. 
 
 It was late in tlyj; afternoon when Polly returned home, and 
 the lirst person she beheld as she neared the cottage was Mr. 
 Allan Fane. She had spent tlio whole morning in Speckhaven 
 — dioing with a friend there — and now as the western sky was 
 reddening, she sauntered homeward, tiilling a song in very 
 gladness of heart. It was her fa\T)ri(e ballad of "County 
 (5uy," and it was of Guy Eariscourt she was thinking as she 
 sang, lie reminded her of the heroes of her books, with his 
 darkly hanvlsome face, his large Italia»i eyes, with that sleepy 
 gohh'n light in their dusky depths, liwd his smile, that not Mr. 
 Allan Fane or his brother could rival. She was heart-whole 
 where tlie artist was concerned in spite of her pique and mor- 
 tified vanity — a very child playing at being in love. And 
 there was all a child's audacity in the saucy smile, and 
 glance, aiid greeting she gave him now. 
 
 Allan Fane had been a ^.ittle doubtful about his reception — 
 ever so little uneasy. 
 
 "ITow do, Mr. Fane?" Polly said, with that /-ipiding smile. 
 "Have you heard the news? I am going away — going to 
 echool in London — no, lirompton — for the next two or three 
 years." . • ,. • 
 
 "Two or three years !" 
 
 He did look blank. The possibility of her going away had 
 never occurred to him. He had not given *the matter much 
 thought, but it had seemed to him that the bright summer 
 months would i)^L^Q 1^ ^^ ii^ pleasant interview^ Aad d»- 
 
hh 
 
 ( ll 
 
 Love's Young Dream. 
 
 los 
 
 lijzlitl'iil sittnj^s f(»v Ills ])i\:tiire. Thf tid must conio (khiw 
 time, unci ho must leave lliis jzirl witli tlic tav.ny liair and sap- 
 1 !iire eyes, but the eud had only been glanced ai afar off, aud 
 itiv.\-'i! lay a Moldcii mist i/f lon^^, dodcious days and w. -ks. 
 And now she was {^.tiiii^ away, aud thei? liiokc upo i Allan 
 l";in(! tde truth — that he was in love! — not merely smitten, hut 
 ill luvp, with a slim, untutored little jiirl, with the manners, 
 when she tihuse, of a priueess, aud the beauty of an end)ryt> 
 i^oddess. For the tirst time in his life, after teuscoro liirta- 
 tions, Allan Fam; was in love! He was white as a slieet ; his 
 tvcs, Ids voice, his careless attitude eluuij^i d in a moment. 
 1 lie j^irl saw it with wonder aud. delight. 
 
 "\'es," she pnr^la■(l, mercilessly, '*! am golujif away in a few 
 ii;iys---as soon as ever my things can he got ready — and f am 
 wild U, l)e g(jue. Don't you think 1 need it, .\1 r. Fane^ Kven 
 ';i pictnres(iue nKalel' is the h<'tter for knowing the nine i)arts 
 cf speech and how to spell words of three syllables. Wla ii 
 \u\\ and Miss llauttou go to St. (ieorge's, llauovcr Scjuare, 
 pit ase send me the Morn In t] I'ost containing all the l)articu- 
 l:irs — that is, if you haven't forgotten my very existence h)ng 
 befctre that time." 
 
 "I shall never forget you!'' 
 
 He spokn the truth. Allan Fane never did forget her. 
 'I hat hour cjune back to him years after with something of 
 the pang he ii'\X then. Weak, sellish, he might be, and was, 
 hut tile pain of loss was there, aud as bitter as though he had 
 LctMi a slrouger aud '.vorthier num. That hfljur came back 
 ni;iny times in his aftc^r life, and he saw little Polly Mason 
 <\)i:\\n with the rofl liglit of the sunset on her sparkling face, 
 and the gleams of scornful humor in her flashing eyes. 
 
 ' Voii v/ill never forget me!" she reiMBatcd, with another 
 laugh, that had yet a tone of bitterness in it; "no, I suppose 
 the memory of the little picturescjue model, with the tawny 
 hair, and blue Greuze eyes, may serve to amu^e you and iMiss 
 llauttou for some time to come. Pray don't sjjeak in a 
 hurry, Mr. Fane, as I see you are ahout to do. Who would 
 make speeches to a little rustic schoolgirl? What yon say to 
 -Diana- you mean. Our paths He apart — let us ^ay 
 U(»()d-by, aud meet no more." 
 
 ■'Polly! what a cruel speech!" 
 
 "A sensible one. Mr. Fane. Fet me go, i)ray," rather 
 Wearily "Se^^'I vou' have dropjied .something from youj 
 pocket!" 
 
 it was a tiny niorocco casket, which lay at his feet. Tlo 
 picked it up, openetl it, iind took out a ring that blazed iit the 
 biDiakuufe> It wa» « olueter diamond. The next instaAi hm 
 
io6 
 
 fjove's YoikHg Dream. 
 
 
 !:ii ^ 
 
 .•■r1i4 
 
 had repossessed himself of Polly's band, and the eViJiiing eh 
 clet shone on one slim finger. 
 
 He lifted the hand to his lips and kissed it passionately- ' 
 for the first — the last time! 
 
 "Wear it, Polly, for I love you!" 
 
 Alas! for man's truth! A fortnight ago that ring had becu 
 ordered of a London jeweler to fit the finger of Diana IJaut- 
 ton. lie meant to propose down in Lincolnshire, and this wm 
 to be the i^ledge of the betrothal. Only an hour ago tlio Lon- 
 don express had brought it, and here it glittered on the finger 
 of Polly Mason! 
 
 Heaven knows what further he might have said, what word-, 
 what promises might have been exchanged; Polly might have 
 become Mrs. Allan Fane, perhaps, and this story ha<l nevn- 
 been written, for the great romance of this young v.-oniaii's 
 life you have yet to hear, but at this instant (sent tlieio ijy ji' i' 
 guardian angel, no doubt) there appeared upon the sc;?*!' 
 gaunt form of Kosanna, summoning sharply her y 
 charge in to tea. 
 
 She tendered no invitation to the gentleman. She ?;:.>v.\ i 
 upon him, indeed, as this exemplary lady could seov/j. K- 
 sanna could have told you stories fit to make your hair i -e, > 
 "squires of high degree," who came a-courting' villtigc •iV;iii . 
 and of the dire grief and tribulation the aforesaid ma!.' • I;<i ; 
 come to in consequence. Polly in love, indeed! Pt-lly- 
 who had taken her doll to bed yesterday, as it were, and ;^;.)!;; 
 it to sleep ! '^ 
 
 Mr. Fane lifted his hat and departed at once. Tiie g'll 
 would not look at him. She could not meet the glance in h; ; 
 eyes. ITer face was burnina", her heart thrilling. She hid {hi 
 hand tliat wore the ring, and followed Rosantia nieekly iii!) 
 the house. On the stairs she met Duke, and Duke, as gravely 
 as in the morning, summoned her into his own room, Mi>s 
 Mason felt she was in for it. 
 
 "I wouldn't let that young man dangle after me too mucli, 
 if I were you. Duchess," he began. "He isn't what he pre- 
 tends to be; he's a humbug, you'll find; a false, fickle, mean 
 humbug ! His father's a very honest man, and a good tailor — 
 a deuce of a screw, though — but " 
 
 "Duke!" Polly cried, wit'i indignant scorn. "A tailor!" 
 
 The young lady said it in much the same tone you o^' 
 miglio exclaim "A demon !" 
 
 "Yes, Duchess, a tailor. I've bought clothes at the shor 
 Bond street many a time, and I've seen ^r. Allan. Fane w:.\ 
 he was a pale-faced little shavv?r in roundabouts. He dopr , 
 Nmember me, ^i course^ and I don't enre about rejyewbzi^ t 
 
 f 
 
love's Young Dr^am, 
 
 »07 
 
 ecquaintancec He'- a tailor's son, fast onougrh, and I dare say 
 il's the only thiuj^ about him nut to his discredit." 
 
 It was very unusual for Duke to be bitter, or say cruel 
 of the absent, but ho felt terribly sore on the subject of 
 danditied artist, with his shining' boots jqid swell hat, and 
 
 tln:!gs 
 
 llii- 
 
 while hands, and soft voice, making- a fool of his little Polly. 
 
 "lie's a humbug, Ducfhess, and he's trying to g(,'t that mid- 
 dle-aged Mi^s liautton to marry him. She's rich and high- 
 born, and he's only an adventurer, witJi a good address and a 
 university educaition. Don't take his pretty books, or draw- 
 ings, or sit for him as a model, or hare anything to say to 
 him — that's a good girl. Duchess." 
 
 "Have you anything more to say, Duke?" Polly asked, 
 tjuite meekly. 
 
 She felt somehow that what Duke said was true, but still — 
 she looked at her ring and iier heart thrilled as she romeni- 
 bered his words — ^words so sweet to every girl's ear and heart 
 — "1 love you !" 
 
 And meantime Mr. Allan Fane walked home, and on the 
 way found out he had been mad, and a fool. What had ho 
 done ? Given up all the hopes of his life for a pretty face with 
 blue eyes. Very good and pleasant things in their way, but 
 not available as ready casih; not to be exchanged for good din- 
 ners, horses, opera boxes, and a house in Alayfair. What 
 had he done? Dire alarm tilled him as ho walked along; he 
 cursed his own folly and precipitancy with a fervor good to 
 hoiu*. Was it, after all, too late yet? He had not asked Miss 
 i'olly Mason to be his wife. 
 
 He found Miss Hautton walking wearily round and round 
 the ureat iis'li pond, and joined her at once. 
 
 Miss Hautton, like Miss Mason, informed him she was go- 
 ii>g away. 
 
 ".Montalien bores me, I find," the lady said, carelessly; 
 '•mure this ye«r even than usual, and the Duchess of Clanron- 
 
 o\(\ is going to the Italian lakes, and urges me to " A 
 
 dreary yawn finished the sentence. 
 
 The Duchess of Clanronald! 
 
 Her grace of Clanronald had a nephew — rather an impover- 
 ished nephew, who had made hard running last year for the 
 Hautton stakes. No doubt he would go to the Italian lakes, 
 too. Starry blue eyes, a witching, gyp^y face, a supple forni, 
 find sixteen sunny years, are very well, if set oif with dia« 
 nionds and gilded with refined gold. He couldn't marrv Poll^ 
 Hnson; he couldn't turn itinert#it portrait painter in this dull 
 
 m, and merge his bright in,(fividual star of self into a 
 4 >bbv-hatteda rate-paying, tax-fearflig, cxadle-rockvng^ family 
 
 S' -f 
 
 ',iM - 
 
io8 How Hawksley Kept His Word. ^ 
 
 man. It was written — it was his fat<:- -he nui.st nnirry a lio!' 
 wiiV; iuitl so — auuj for I'olly ! 
 . Ik'foro Miss Ihintton's yawn w^is (iiiif(3 ennod, hr \v.\i] 
 I)oun'(l forth tlio tal;- cf liis ion^ admi ration, and iin;»1()r('<l 
 her to be his wife! 
 
 Th() rosy hj^ht of tho ;vun went down, and Diana llautton 
 lingered Ijy the fis.li i)ond with her a<cei)ted h)ver. Jler ao- 
 eepted lover! 
 
 lie was pale and cold, and something inside his breast, that 
 did duty for a heari, lay like stone, but he lifted ono of tlw 
 Honorable Di's skin-cold hands to his lips and kissed it- Cold 
 as that hand was, the touch of his lips seemed to chill it. 
 
 She looked at him, and wondered at his pallor. But of 
 course he was agitated; he loved her so, and had dreaded a 
 refusal. 
 
 They entered the house together betrothed, a satij^fied 8nul(» 
 on Miss ITautton's lii)s. She liked him very much; he wa.s 
 handsome, and would make her a devoted husband. No ring 
 glittered on her fing(^r — that would be remedied speedily, 
 Mr. Fane whispered. - 
 
 And three miles oti" a young girl — younger, fairer even than 
 the Honorable Diana Kautton — stands watching that rosy 
 light in the sky as it sparkles and flickers on the diamond cir- 
 clet on her finger. And the happy glow is in her eyes, the 
 happy smile still lingers on her f aee, when all the sky is dark. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 HOW HAWKSLEY KEPT HIS WORD. 
 
 It was the third day after Polly Mason stood at the parlor 
 window, looking listlessly enough up and down the deserted 
 country road. 
 
 There came a knock at the door. Polly's heart gave a leap. 
 At last! surely this was he! Duke came out of the painting- 
 room in his shirt sleeves, and opened the house door. A 
 portly lady in a black silk dress stood there, a comfortable- 
 looking basket in her hand — no less a lady than Mrs. Hamper, 
 tlie housekeeper at tlie Priory. 
 
 Mrs. Hamper, as a visitor of distiivctiun, w^as ushered into 
 the parlor, whither Kosanna and Polly fdlowed. Miv^. Ham- 
 per might not he the rose, but slu^ dwelf near the .•< iondid 
 flower — she was not Allan Fane, but she brought n(^v^5 of him, 
 no doubt. She would know ncfsv whether he were ill, or fals(\ 
 and Polly sans on a low chai'r,.and leaned her head in a vvear> 
 way agaius-t the baok. H«v pretty face liad darkiOircles under 
 
How Hawksley Kept His Word. 109 
 
 the eyes, idul l()(»ko<l wniiiUM*, it seeimd lo tlic housekeeper, 
 llinii she had ever seen il. * ' 
 
 "Voii're not looking' v.cl!, roily," she remarked, with her 
 evex lixed on tluit colorless, siiuiU eoinitc iuiic{\ *'\'(»irre bil- 
 ious or growing- too fast, may be. (Jro'viui; gii-ls are always 
 thin. 1 tell LfXily C'harteris Miss Aland \iil lie less i>ale and 
 ,)uny when slie grows uj>. I've broujiht y«>u some hai)rieols, 
 ynd peaches, n^y dear, which 1 know yfm're une(»minon I'ojul 
 ef both." !She opened her basket, displayinj^' a tempt inj»* heap 
 of fruit. Polly thanked hv.v, but rather spiritlessly still — slio 
 hked peaches and apricots, but there were other things she 
 liked betit'.T. 
 
 "And liow are all the g-entry at the great b.ouse, Afrs, ITam- 
 povC Duke incpiired. 'VLor<l Alantaiien got back from town 
 yet^'' 
 
 "Xo, my lord had not got hack yet, and everybody was well 
 at tlie gri'at h(nis(\ The latest news — but, of ce-.u-se, Polly liad 
 heard it long ago from Alice Warren^" 
 
 *'\o, Polly had hoard nothing; the rainy weather had kept 
 her indoors, and she was very Uusy getting ready to go away 
 to boarding-school. What was the news ^" 
 
 Her heart thrilled as she (jnio'lly asked the qu^tion. She 
 knew it was news of Allan Fane. 
 
 "Why, the engagement of the' Honorable Aliss ITautton tx) 
 Mr. Allan Pane. Which" Mrs. J Tamper said, folding her 
 arms on her fat st(rtnach, "1 think myself it's a lowering of a 
 hcarl's granddaughter to go and marry a hartist, but tken she 
 ain't as young as she was, and never a beauty at best of times; 
 and he's a very pleasant-spoken, good-looking, young gentle- 
 man, and free of his money, I'll say that for him, and tlie 
 family is willin', and it's been looked fonward to this some 
 time. ITe proposed io her on Tuesday hevening last, and he's 
 going ix) haccompany her to Ilitaly shortly for the July and 
 Uaugiist months." 
 
 The housekwiper paused for breath, her eyes fixed curiously 
 en P.olly's face. Was it altogetlier to deliver the fru>t Mrs. 
 Ihunper had stejjped out of her way to visit Mr. Mason's? It 
 uns no secret in the servants' hall at the Priory how Mr. Pane 
 was running after little Polly .Mason, or that Miss Hautton 
 v.as jealous. Sh<' liked Polly, this fat, fair and forty Mrs. 
 ifamper, but she looked with expectant e{',;ern(^ss, at the same 
 time* for some sign, some t(.l<;'n, some cry of \)n\n. There 
 v,as none. The pale face kept its tired look, the long, dark 
 hisi>es veiled tlie blue ''yes; Mr. Allan Fane might fiave been 
 Mr, Juliii>: Cysar, dead and gone, for all emotion that still 
 face a;id fiirm showed 
 
 Diil'Le looK-pd at her, too, in wonder and pride ftt her 
 
 ill 
 
 ^( 
 
 i"' 
 
no How Kawksley-Kept His Word, 
 
 «pluck." "Blood will toll," ;c thought; "she's like hoj 
 mother — ready to die game!'' 
 
 Mrs. IIanii)or rose to go, just a trifle disappointod. Sh<", 
 had looked to sec anger, mortification, sorrow on Polly Ma 
 son's I'lce, and she had seen nothing. The girl had hoard 
 the news with utter indiiierence. I'erliaps the stories of th(! 
 servants' hall were unfounded after all. It was quite clear 
 that Polly had sense, and tfiought nothing about him. 
 
 Duke ac'ojnpanied the portly lady to the door, and saw 
 her out, then went baek to. his work. 
 
 "Thank (Jod!" he thought, "she doesn't care for the puppy! 
 I'm not ordinarily of a pugilistic nature, and don't, as a rul<', 
 let my angry passions rise, but if I could give ISlr. Allan 
 Faae a sound kicking on the first occasion, I think it wouM 
 do us both good !'' 
 
 PolV took her serving and sat down by the, window. Tho 
 wind grew wilder, the leaden sky grew darker as the after 
 noon wore on, tho raindrops began pattering once more 
 against the glass. And in the young girl's breast, as she sat, 
 her needle flying, a sharp and cruel pain ached. She had btH'M 
 , fooled, derived, laughed at, her woman's pride hurt to the 
 corjG — she could never again, her life long, have the same per- 
 fect faith in man or woman. She had lost something, the in- 
 effable bloom of perfect innocence and childlike trust, and 
 Allan Fane's was the hand that had brusihed it off. 
 
 "How dare he! how dare he!" she, thought, her little haul 
 clenching again ; "how dare he trifle with me so !" 
 
 She sat there for over an hour, her anger rising and swell- 
 ing with every instant. The rainy twilight was falling, when 
 suddenly there came a knock at the door. She knew that 
 knock; her work dropped, but before she could rise the door 
 was opened, and the visitor, hat in hand, walked in. He had 
 come at lastf 
 
 Allan Fane stood before her, his light summer overcoat wot 
 with^ rain, his high riding boots splashed with mud, palo, 
 paler than herself! \ 
 
 She spoke first — he could not have uttered a word. 
 
 "You have come for my congratulations, Mr. Fane," she 
 began, in a clear, ringing voice, that had neither quiver nor 
 tremor in it. "I hear you are engaged to the Ilonorablo 
 Diana Hautton. Well! you have them! It is an eminently 
 suitable match in every respect; age," — ^with cruel emphasis 
 — "birth, fortune, rank, and all!" 
 
 He looked at her with horror-struck eyes. What did she 
 mean by that stinging sneer ? Did she know of that Bond 
 street shop ? Oh, impossible I It was but a random shot ih&i 
 bad hit home. 
 
k 
 
 How Hawksley Kept His Word. 
 
 
 ! ' ' 
 
 "It is no* ovc^ry dny," piii«!r.od '^\\m MnsoTi with a smile 
 iliat stunt? ^'-ini, "that tlie bdii of a J.oiuion tailor gets ai' op- 
 portunity of ninrrj'iupr ini carl's graiiddaug-liter! Ah ! you feel 
 iliat, Mr. Fane!" with a scornful lau^Hi. "I know ymir scori't, 
 Vou SCO, so carefully guardcMl! Hut don't be alarmed, I won't 
 -o to the Priory, and tell IVIi-.s llautton. I am nfr;iid, as de- 
 votedly as she is alt^iehed to you, slie might iilt you if nhe 
 knew it. I won't tell, Mr. Fane, and I wish you every happi- 
 ness so suitable a mateh d(>serves — if the poor scene-painter's 
 (loor relation may presume to offer congratulations to a genlle- 
 )iian of Mr. Fane's standing! And this ring, which you so 
 kindly forced upon my accei)tanee the night before la>t" — her 
 voice faltered for the fi- t time — "permit me to return it. Tf 
 you haven't purchased an engagement ring for ^liss Uautton, 
 I dare say you m'ght make this ansAver." 
 
 lie broke down. ITe wa»s of a weak nature, impressionablo 
 as wax, but as strongly as it was in his nature to love no 
 one but himself, ho loved this girl. 
 
 IFe broke down as a woman nn'ght — ^liis face hidden in his 
 hands — his voice faltering, and asked her to forgive him. 
 
 She stood and looked at him — rage, wounded pride, humil- 
 iation, scorn, pity, all in her glance. Tf she 'had never been 
 beautiful before she was beautiful in this'moment. 
 
 "Forgive you," she repeated, and the hard ring died out of 
 lier voice and a great pathos followed. "You a.-k me to for- 
 cive you ! Well, Mr. Fane, I will try. It is not that I care for 
 you nuich — no, Allan Fane, I know now I never cared for 
 yon, but you have hurt me all the same. I shall never have 
 the same faith in mankind again — I seem to have lost my 
 youth in the moment it became mine. You have acted badly 
 to me — badly! badly!" — the fire that can only blaze in blue 
 eyes flashed from hers now — "but I will try and forgive you 
 if T can. Take your ring!" 
 
 "I cannot; oh, Polly!" 
 
 She flung it at 'his feet in a sudden tempest of fury — the 
 quick fury of a very child. 
 
 "Don't ever call me Polly — how dace you do it? Take your 
 ring this moment or I will walk straight out of this house up 
 to the Priory, and tell Miss Hautton every word ! And your 
 hooks, and your drawings — here they are — everything you ever 
 ^ave me, except the flowers, and those T threw into the five an 
 hour ago. Take them, I command you, Mr. Fane!" 
 
 What could he do but obey ? He was afraid of lier in that 
 hour — afraid of her even if sh6 had not known his secret, but 
 that made him her abject slave. ITe took the ring, he took 
 the little package, and a very sorry figure the conquering hero 
 cut in the hour of his triumph. It struck Polly ^s sense of the 
 
U2 how Hawksley Kept HisVvonf. 
 
 luditToiis. Ill nil trn,u:e(li('s do not the clcnuuifs of tho ridicu- 
 lous linger^ and she burst out laughing, with tiio pat^siouatd 
 learti still in her cyos. 
 
 "Y^ou look like a colportour goinj[>: liis rounds with Ir.-u'ts. 
 Don't let nio dc'tiiin you nn instant longer, Mr. Fan<-; Mis.^ 
 Jlantton niay want y(tu. ^'(»n havo had y<»nr sport; and a vet- 
 dant lilthwtountry girl has hoipi-d whih; away a siniinicr iioii 
 day, so there, is no Jiced ',o linger now; I have congratuhile<| 
 you, and given you your helonging's Iniek, and novv tho sooner 
 we say good-hy tho better." 
 
 Slie made him a low bow — Miss llautton eould nev(n* havn 
 sni passed it in graec or insoleiU'(? — ^and walked straight out of 
 the room. And Allan Fano left the liouse, and eoming lo the 
 garden well flung his bundle of books to the bottom. Ho 
 might havo flung the ring after, but <liamond rings cost, anil 
 — and so he put it in his poeket, and went Uaek to his high- 
 bnru bride. And an hour after he plaeed it oi\ her linger, and 
 Diana deigned to say she thought it "rather pretty." 
 
 The lord of the Priory had arrived by the seven o'eloek 
 train, bringing with him a short, S(»mbre, stout man, with a 
 legal look. He was legal — he was Mr. Crijjper, of th(^ firm 
 (}rii)pcr & Grinder, Lineoln's Fun, London; and he and Lord 
 Montalien were eloseted together on important business for 
 some time after their arrival. IVfr. (Jrii)i)er (mierged at last, 
 and was sho^vu to his room. He was staying over night, it 
 seemed; and Mr. Fane was shown into the library, where my 
 lord sat. 
 
 The curtains were drawn, the lamps shone, while outside 
 the rain fell and the blaek Juno night shut down. My lord 
 sat in his great armchair, near a writing table, staring in n 
 dazed sort of way at the lamp before him. ITis usually placid 
 face wore a strange expression, half perplexity, half disnniy. 
 For Mr. Fane, as the servant ushered him in, also looked 
 pale and strangely disturhed, and both were so ab*4orbed in 
 their own thoughts that neither nod:iced the expression of the 
 other's face. 
 
 Mr. Fane took a seat opposite, looking singularly nervous 
 indeed. I am given to understand by masculine friends wlio 
 havo done the business, that asking the consent of a youn?.: 
 lady's papa, or guardian, is much more disagreeable than ask- 
 ing the young lady herself. Mr- Fane had got through hi>^ 
 part with Miss TTautton glibly enough, and this asking Lord 
 Montalion was tho Tnorest matter of form; still, like Mne- 
 heth's "Am^n, ' the words "stuck in his throat." Lord Monta- 
 lien wrenched his thoughts away from his own absorbing 
 topic with an evident effort, and listened with bland suavi^ 
 to the young man's stumbling: words. 
 
in 
 
 rf 
 
 micr Moll 
 
 How Hawksley Kept Hfs Word, i i ) 
 
 'Wish to ninrry Diuiwi. jiiul ask my c.iiispTif ^ My diar Ixiy, 
 niy '(Mist'iit is »iuil(' iiiin»c«'-,siii'y, ms voii know. V»'ry t'or- 
 Yi'i't of you, IIiou^aIi, to coiiK' to iiu'. Of" ('(Hii-ic, I have \<>uti 
 f»^roso(ii tills, and, as Diana srcriis pleased, 1 sinccri'ly oII.t 
 you my ('on;j:iMtuIal ions. 'I'licrc's some trillinj^ disparity of 
 yoars, I am awMc, l»ut you know the Scotcli havo a sayiiiK"* 
 tiiaf for flio wifo 1^ Ih» tlic elder l»riiifis luck fo tla^ lior.se." 
 
 Mr. l-'ano said nothing; but. he h)ok<'(l soniewiiat ru<f)d. Ilo 
 was ihinkin^f lie would rather dispense withui little of tho 
 IneK and have the "Irillinjj;' (lisi)arity" on the other side. 
 
 "Tlim I have your ap]»rM\al, my k.rd,'' Ik saiil, rl-inir, "and 
 may eonsider all thiji<;s settled?" 
 
 "Vou liave my approval and best; wishes. Diana Is certainly 
 old enough to act for herself"— a^;a in the youn^r ,,ian winced - 
 ''and her ii.-'ome, as you miisf know, dies with her. l>y Hie 
 hy, l'"an(\" — ehan^'inV his voice with abrupt ne^'i-'*yon mixed 
 a ^'ood deal amonj^' the i)eople at the f<'/>' the otiu'r day. and 
 may know — was there a man by the name of — of Trowel — no 
 Mason," referring' to his tabh^s, "hereupon that occasion?" 
 
 Allan Fane startecl, more nervously than befoi-e. 
 
 ''There is a man by the name of l^fason living- about threo 
 miles from here. Mason is a eoiumon nam(% however; there 
 may be many Masons in Speckhaven." 
 
 "So there may. The fellow T mean is called Afarmadnko 
 ^Nfason, and has a maiden sister, llosamond — Rosalind- no, 
 Rosanna," referring to the tablets again. "By occupation a 
 scone-painter." 
 
 "That is the man, my lord. Ves, T know him." 
 
 "And he has a ward — she passes for his cousin, a girl of 
 sixteen— called Polly?" 
 
 TTad Lord Montalien not been so engrossed by his tablets 
 and questions he must have notice<l Mr. Fane's greatly dis- 
 turbed face. 
 
 "Ves, my lord, there is a Polly Mason!" 
 
 "That's the girl!" His lordship shut up his tablets with a 
 triumphant snap. "Xow, what's she like? Fll lay my life she 
 has tliick ankles, a f.incohishire accent, and a turne<l-up 
 nose!" 
 
 "You would lose your stake, then, my lord. Miss Mason is* 
 ■ — with something of an effort he said this —"one of the vei*y 
 handsomest girls T ever saw in the v/holo course of my life." 
 
 "Ah! is shci" his lordship siglicd resignedly: "all the worse 
 for me. An heiress and ward v/ith a snub nose would bo 
 trouble enough, but a ward with a Grecian nasal appen<latro 
 and eighty thousand pounds to her fortune! Ah, well, my lifa 
 has been one long martyrdom — this is onlj tho last straw that 
 very likely will break the cainePs backl" 
 
 :5. ■. .-i 
 
 i;'i 
 
114 How Hawksley Kept His Word. 
 
 Allan Fano looked at the fipoitkor with a fwco of ghk^.iy 
 ^orulor. 
 
 "Aly lord," he; snid, "I doTi't iiiidrrstMiid. Polly Mn-ion is no 
 hcircs' — sho is thia sccne-paiiitcr'n poor print ioa brought up 
 out of charity." 
 
 "My jfood follow," Lord Moiitjilicn Piiid, i)lnintiv('ly, "shoe's 
 nothiti^ of thci kind. She is luy ward, aiid sho lias ci^dit.y 
 tliousiind pounds at this nioniont deposited in the funds lor 
 her benefit. No, don't look so iniplorin^^ly — it's too l<»ng a 
 etory to t^'ll ymi. There's the dressing-bell— you shtdl all hour 
 it at diimer." 
 
 Ho arose. Alhtn Fano quitted the room, and wont U]) to 
 his own. J To did not seek his aftinneed — ho was a{.hast with 
 wouder and alarm. What did it mean? Eighty thraisujid 
 pounds and Polly -Mason! 
 
 Tlio great bell elanging high np in the windy fjurels, at 
 half-past seven, informed Sj)eekhav<'n and its inhaltitants that 
 my lord and his family were about to dine. Lord Mitnialirn 
 took advantage of a few minutes before going into diniu^r, 
 and presented his congratulations to his eousin '^)iana on tlu9 
 interesting episode in her life. Mr. Ciripper br.'Tif^lit up tlio 
 rear of the dinner proeession with CJuy, and wa- intr(;du''ed 
 to the other people around the table. 
 
 "IFe doesn't look like the harbinger of romnneo or n fairy 
 godfather, c./ anything of the kind," Lord ?kIontalk'n re- 
 marked; "nevertheless he is. TTe comes t/) infonii n litll« 
 country girl of sixt-c>en that she is my ward, and heiress of 
 eighty thousand pounds. Do any of you beside Faiio kn(jw 
 her? Her name at present is Polly Miison!" 
 
 Lord Montalien glaneed around his own board, and was 
 somewhat surprised at the sensation the very oonii:ifin])biee 
 name of a very commonplace young person created. Diana 
 Hautton started, and turned an icy look upori lier k»ver — that 
 gentleman fixed his eyes upon his plate and seemed slowly 
 petrifying — Guy suppressed a whistle and looked imuttcrable 
 things — and my Lady Charteris' spoon dropped into her soup- 
 plate with a clash — Francis Earlscourt was eagerly interested^ 
 and Sir Vane, after one steady look at his pallid and startled 
 wife, waited with composure for the peer's next words. 
 
 "Well," said his lor^^hip, "you all look as if you knew her. 
 Being so interested before I begin, how will you be thrilled 
 before I have finished? Shall I go back and begin at the be- 
 ginning with this romance of real life, as the Penny Herald 
 calls its lightning-and-thunder serials. Yes, I will?" 
 
 Lord Montalien pushed away his soup, leaned back in his 
 ehair, and began to "thrill" his hearers. 
 
 "It's just fourteen years a^o, on the second of last AorlL 
 
How Hawksley Kept His Word. .15 
 
 \..dt - Joft New YorU for Livrrjtool. I n'mcmlxT the ds'' \ 
 Iwcunise of the profnuiu! n-Rij't willi which I h'lt Anirrid'.. 
 V\v I )t had imn'h of what the wurM m-inTally <*aIU '••iijoy- 
 iiH'Mt' ill JJi.y life"- th«' piifhctii' ti,:u' of the spoakcr was rc- 
 iiiarkahu^ to hear — "hut i think lh<i-.»' niii(> iiuuithM out thcro 
 iiiiioii^ till' licnlrt of wihl hullah>, aiui herds (tf vvihlrr Indians, 
 on tlu) VVcstorn phiins cani.' in anT il than * shall rvor como 
 aM'ain. 'I'hc passcnRcTs ol the /jtiiid of i'ulumhia wrro tim 
 usual sort of people imo nioets-^rieh mereantile and inatuifa**- 
 turiuK peof»l(! from the N(»rth 'I'u eiti(;s, with niillio!i8 of dol- 
 lars, f^oin^ over to niako the j^rand tour, 'I'herc was only one 
 aniou^' thcni I ever fouri(l worth tin* trouhle (jf talking to. and 
 h(^ was a s(U'f»nd-elass lelhrvv — sjtjendid proportiitiis — tall and 
 molded like an atliletic Apollo, with a ix\vx\ full of intelli- 
 pi neo and self-repression. Self-repres.sion in man or woman 
 I like, 'j'his man looked as if he had a story — he pu/./led nw 
 -- to he pu/z.led means to he inter<'stedr. 1 was itterestcd iti 
 Mr. Kohert Hawksley; and on the h»st day out, he told me his 
 ^tory, menti(jning' no names, not his own — tli« name ho wont 
 hy on shiphoard, even then. I suspected, at limes, to W as- 
 sumed. 
 
 "He was an Kn^rlishnian, the oidy son of a yeonian farmer, 
 hut educated as a Kfitleman. lie had hoeii two or throe years 
 heforo secretary to a man in Staifcjrdshire. I think h(» said 
 this man had a daughter or niece, 1 forget which, a great 
 heiress, a irroat heauty, and six years his junior. She was 
 home from schiKDl, romantic as all girls home from school are, 
 and she meets my handsome secretary. What would you 
 have'^ Why fall in love with each other, of course — run 
 away to Scotland, and be married !'] 
 
 My lonl paused. The fish had heen placed uprtn the table, 
 and he took his knife and fork and refreshfsd himself with a 
 little turbot. And over the face of Sir Vane Charteris a 
 strange, dark change was passing, and over the face of my 
 lady a deathly whiteness had come. She leaned a little for- 
 ward, her lips apart, her great eyes dilat(Ml — heedless of her 
 husband, of lier dinner, of the people who jooked at her. 
 What story was this she was hearing'^ 
 
 Lord ^lontalien complacently set it all down to his own 
 "thrilling" powers of narration, and placidly went on: 
 
 "Well, those two foolish, unfortunate, happy younj? lovers 
 kept their secret for four months; th(Mi the truth canio out, 
 and then there was the deuce to j)ay. Little missy was spirited 
 away; my handsome secretary, through some nefarious ))!ot 
 on the part of the guardian, was found guilty of robbing 
 money and jewels, and obliged to fly England. Now, two 
 years after, he had made a home and competonoe, and iiz v i 
 
 *l( ' 
 
 ; I 
 
u6 How Ha wksley Kept His Word. 
 
 i-cturiiing to seek out his wife and take her back to that new 
 world. We jtarttMl oii thf <iuay. As wo shook hands I made 
 hhii promise that if ever, in any way, 1 could serve him, he 
 W(tuld conimand me. I liked the lad greatly — it was a brave 
 and loyal nature, J truly believe. 
 
 "Well," said l.ord ^lontalien, taking a little more turbot, 
 "fourteen years passed, and I heard nothing mora of , or from, 
 Air. RolK-rt Ilawksley until yesterday. Tntil j'Csterday, when 
 when Mr. flaiues (jii'ii)per here, called upon me and in Formed 
 me J was xtlicited to become guardian of a young lady, 
 heircsb of eighty thousand j)ounds, and jiresenting me with a 
 letter containing further particulars. The Ic'tter was all the 
 way from San Francisco, and from my old acquaintap,ce, 
 Hawkslcy. Jle recalled the ))romise 1 had voluntarily made, 
 and in the most manly ami frank way asked me to fultill it 
 now by becoming t|^e guardian and protector of his only 
 child. And he told me his story in brief, from the time of 
 our parting oil the Liverpool dock. 
 
 "ife had found his wife — the wife (»n whose fidelity he said 
 to me on shij)l)oard he could have staked his existence — how 
 do you thiid<^ At the altar — the bride of another — a man to 
 whom she had been engaged before he had met her. of her own 
 rank and station, There are other Enoch Ardens in the 
 world besides Mr. Tennyson's hero, lie left England again 
 without speaking a word to her, and he has never returned 
 since. But by some mystery, which he does not explain, he 
 discovered that his wife had given birth to a child — a 
 <laughter — iive months after his first flight from England, 
 which child, at two years old, she had given to a scene- 
 ])ainter, named Alason. and his sister, to bring up. Ilr found 
 the child, begged the Mason people to take every care of her, 
 and they shouhl be one day well rewarded. That day has now 
 conic. In the California gold mines this man has made a 
 fortune. Eighty thousand pounds he has deposited to be his 
 lucky daugiiter's dowry, and 1 am appointed her guardian. 
 \Jo asks me to place her at a school where she will be become 
 <^ducated in a nmnner befitting the station in life she is 
 <leslinod to till; and he says that she may droj) the cognomen 
 of 'Polly Mason' for her own rightful name of Pauline Lisle. 
 Prom this, tlierefore, it is ]dain that instead of his name being 
 Hawkslcy. it is Hubert Lisle!" 
 
 Lord Mont alien naused — not that he bad tinished by any 
 means with bis interesting story — but at. that moment, with a 
 gasping cry. Lady Charteris fell forward, her head on the 
 table. All started up; her husband lifted her in his arnw, al- 
 most as ghastly as herself. She had fainted dead awayl 
 
CIIAI'TEU Vlll. 
 
 '\ 
 
 i( ! 
 
 LADY ClIAllTKKIS IIKAUS TIIK TUUTIJ 
 
 As 
 
 the night wore on the rain increased. ,\i ha!:-past 
 eleven, when Duke and Polly left the tiieatrc it was piu-li 
 dark and pouring iorrents. Polly did not mind the r;Mii; in 
 her strong young girlhood she had not had halt'-a-do/.en 
 c'o'ds in her lifetime, and the two had a niee, htug, muddy 
 walk through the blackness. Hackney-coaches thcrc^ were, hut 
 all had been monopolized by greater folks than the xviic- 
 l)aiiiter and his cousin. Tliey trudg<>d contentedly aloni;', and 
 who was to tell either that it was for the last time^ That 
 with the new day, so near breaking, a new life was to dawn 
 for this girl of sixteen'^ 
 
 Rosanna was up, waiting with dry clothes, a good lire, and a 
 cozy little supper. She was very tender with her child now 
 that she was going away to school. Polly';; spirits had risen 
 with the walk in the fresh sunnner rain; they wci'c too elastic 
 to be long depressed, and then her wound was oidy skin dc(^p. 
 
 The scene-painter, with a yawn, took up his bedroom can- 
 dle, bade his sister good-night, and was turning to quit the 
 room, whjir^ere came such a knock at the front door as liter- 
 ally made him drop it again with amaze. A knock that 
 echoed through the whole house, at a quarter to one, of a 
 pouring pitch-black June morning. The master of the houso 
 looked at his sister agha t. 
 
 "Who can it be, Rosanna, at one o'clock in the morning ?" 
 
 '''(live mo the light and I'll soon see," retorted the intrejiid 
 Kosaniia; and taking the candle her brother had dropped, she 
 marched straight to the door and flung it open. 
 
 Whoever Miss Rosanna Mason expected to see, it was evi- 
 dent she did not expect the visitor she beheld, for with a lond, 
 startling cry she recoiled. At that cry Polly's curly head, 
 peeping curiously over the banister, caiiie down another step 
 or two. Duke from his place in the kitchen advanced, and 
 there, standing on the thresliold, drenched through, splaslu^d 
 V\-ith I'.ind, pale as death, with wild eyes and disordered fmir, 
 lie saw — Lady Charteris! Lady Charteris, alone, wet 
 through, so far from home, and at that hour. Some pro- 
 phetic instinct made him understand all. lie took the can- 
 dle from his sister'si hand, and whispered in her oar: , 
 
 "For (irod's sake, nmke Polly go to l)ed I" 
 
 Rosanna left obediently, awed by the sight of that awfuily. 
 oorpsclike faoe, \ ^ * 
 
 iKf, 
 
 ml * . '^ 
 
J 
 
 •\- 
 
 ii8 Lady Charten.. Hea : the Truth. 
 
 ''Co: -c; ill, Lrdy Ohtirtcris/' Duke sai^' gravely. "You will 
 i^vi your (loath staiKling there in the rain. Are you alone?" 
 
 She did not answer the question. She came in and stood 
 before him in tlie warm, lighted kitchen, her w^t garments 
 dripping on the white floor, her loose hair falling aixmt her 
 face, her great black eyes fixed with spectral solemnity on tlie 
 man. 
 
 'Duke Mason," she said, in a hoarse, unnatural sort of 
 voice, "you have deceived nie, and I trusted you! My hus 
 band is alive ?" 
 
 "].:uly Charteris!" 
 
 A dull, red glow leaped up in the dusky depths of her great 
 eyes. 
 
 "i am not Lady Chorteris," she said, in the same still, com- 
 prt^sst-d tone, "and you know it! I have never for one hour 
 had a right to that hated name. I am Robert Lisle's wife, 
 and Robert Lisle is alive, and you know it." 
 
 "My lady " 
 
 "You know it," she repeated. "You have deceived me loup: 
 enough, all of you. I am no child. I will be deceived no 
 longer. This night you will tell me the truth. I have 
 walkecl three miles through darkness and storm to hear the 
 truth and you shall spei^k it. On the day — the accursed day 
 • — upon whicih I stood at the altar, Sir Vane Charteris' bride, 
 rioleit, my Robert, my htisband, my love, was in the church 
 looking at my perjury. A.nd you knew it like the rest, and 
 lil<". the rest have hidden it from me — you knew how I 
 loved him — you whom I never wronged." 
 
 Her voice sank to an unutterable pathos, her eyes looked at 
 hi;n unutterably sad, unutterably reproachful. Duke fairly 
 g:nt> way. 
 
 "1 did, my lady — forgive me if you can! It was wrong — I 
 ibowaht so from the first, but what could I do? ITe bade me 
 ke( 1) liis secret from you— from you most of all on earth." 
 
 "Tie — you mean — 
 
 //>" 
 
 "j mci'n the man who called himself RoL"'rt ITawksley — 
 who was Robert Lisle, as I know very well now, and your hus- 
 b.: 'd. You were out of England — he bound me by a promise 
 nev<r to reveal his existence if I chanced to meet you again. 
 What could I do, ray lady? I don't know how you have found 
 t^iis out; the whole thing is so confused that I hardly know 
 wb.ich is the right and which is the wrong. I wanted to tell 
 you that night at Montalien Park, V»nt I feared — T feared! 
 What '■■Lht had 1 to tell you were the v;ife of two living 
 husbanil-;, bound to each by the tie of moLiierhood ? And so 
 1 held my peace, I am sorry for you, my lad — sorry from 
 
P.ady Cha.teris Hears the Truth. n9 
 
 my in..-:-t heart. T would liclp you, Heaven knows, if I 
 could." 
 
 "Vou can!" »lic said, still rctainiiif^- that deep, uiiiiiitural 
 calm. "1 have eoiao to ^vou ior help. Tv.ice iutron^ you aided 
 mo in my {^reat need; now help nic for the third time, in a 
 gr(»ator extremity still." 
 
 She held out both hands to him. Tie rcTuembered th(> fi^es- 
 ■'■urc^ — the very same as she stood by tlie window of Lyndith 
 (Jranj^e and implored him to aid lier in her tli^'ht, a.^ on that 
 U^ht he answerer^, more moved than he cared to show : 
 
 "I will holj) you, if I can. Tett me hov. Lady Charterls?" 
 
 "Not that name!" she cried, rising passion in her voice and 
 
 face. ''Never again that name! 1 loathe; it. i abhor it, a.s 
 
 l do U\e man that bears it!^ I am Olivia Lisle — oh, thank 
 
 lod! that 1 can say it! Thank God! that my darling lives, 
 
 though I slu'uld never see his face again!" 
 
 She sank into a chair, and the womanhood within her gave 
 way. She covered her face with her hands, and the room was 
 tilled with anguished sobs — anguish that was still half-deliri- 
 ous joy. He lived ! 
 
 Lady (.\harteris looked up at last. As on that other night, 
 under (he trees of Montalien, she commanded herself for his 
 sake, and held })aek her passion of tears by the effort of self- 
 repression, tliat had become habitual to her. She held out 
 h'.'i' hand to him with a pathetic gh'nce that went straight to 
 liis big, tender, honest lieart. 
 
 "Forgive me, Mr. Mason," she said, -v;eetly; "it is weak 
 and selfish of me to distress you — you, my best, my most 
 fitithful friend. T will not give way again. My own cow- 
 iirdie(N my own ])itiful weakness in fearing for my child, in 
 wishing to regain her, in too readily believing the lies he told 
 mo of — of his death, has brought all this long misery upon 
 me. I must hear it to my litVs close alone, lint 1 must hear 
 ;)1! you have to tell — all — every word he s})oke, everything he 
 did — everything you know. 1 am i think the mcjst utrerly 
 wretched and lost creature this wide earth hold-. There are 
 times when I fancy I am almost nnul. If you have any pity 
 in yoin- lieart for so miserable a wretch, you will speok lo- 
 night and tidl me the truth." 
 
 Duke told her all that had -appened, and ended with the 
 question : 
 
 "Xdw, my lady, may T a-k how you have learned that Rob- 
 IL.wksley — no, itobert Lisle — is alive'^" 
 
 She was sitting, leaning fo;-\vard, hev hnnd.-: clasped ttghtly 
 together in speechle-s pain, her large dark eye.5 full of untold 
 despair. In a fev; nuiet words she repeated the aUiv- Lord 
 v^iMon^'^lien had tolcl a; the dinner that evenincc. 
 
120 Lady Charteris Hears the 1 ruth, 
 
 *'I r(Mi\oii!l'('r listening"," «he said, nliiiost dreaniil.T, Svitli 
 fcciirjj^ of tig'litt'iiing around ni.v }ic:irt, knowing- t'roin tho 
 first that it was of my Kohert lie rjx'kc. Wlun lio iUt( led bi:^ 
 muno at the last, the tension Keenicd t^iiddenly to pive way — ^a 
 great darknc^^ eaine before me, the room, the eltairs seemed 
 reeling, and I fainted. J was in my own room when 1 recov- 
 ered, with my maid mu] the lions(keeper and Sir Vane Char- 
 teris (for tlie iirst time in fourteen yearf>) beside me. I 
 looked at him and poijited to the door: '(Jo out of my room,' 
 I said, 'and never (>^ne into it aj?ain as bnig as you livi'.'' The 
 two woj.'-.en hooked at eaoh other; no one spoke. lie wi'ut at 
 on-^'e, and tli^n for hours and hours it heemed to nje 1 lay 
 iheic alone. I even believe I sh^pt for a time, and then, all 
 at o})ee, 1 was sitting up in bed, eold as death, with great 
 drups ^tandinw on my faee, repeating aloud, 'Robert is alive! 
 iJohe-.t is aiiv(I' My maid eame in from the next room, with 
 a frigiitened face, looking at me as though she thought me 
 mad. I sprang from the bed, s(>ized a shawl lying near, and 
 ruslied out of tlie room and the house. I ran all the way 
 down to the gat(>s-, they were oi)en still, by some ehanee, and 
 1 ri}\ne straiglu here. I never felt the rain. J suppose I was 
 mad — )ierha})s I am yet." 
 
 She ])Ut her hand to her head in a lost sort of way. Dnko 
 iVIason looked at her in alarm, her faee was as white m the 
 faee of a oorpse — her eyes shone; with a dry, bright glitter — 
 lier Vdiee was strangely quiet and slow — slie spoke of herself 
 as though speaking of anotlier. The hysterics were nothing 
 to tiiis. Had her troubles turned her brain? Should he 
 sunnnon Rosanna'^ 
 
 Before he eould answer his own m.ealal (|uestion, a carriage 
 driven furiously stopped at the door. He \eard it flung open 
 with a crash, a man's heavy step sounded in the hall. The 
 next instant the kitchen door was thrown wide, and Sir Vane 
 Charteris stood before them ! 
 
 Once again Duke's thoughts flew back fourteen years to th<> 
 S]}eckhaven waiting-r(»om, at the same abnormal hoin*, and 
 (leoffrey ]iyndith standing dark and grim as Sir V«no Char- 
 teris stood now. Once again with the same gesture the 
 liunted lady lifted her head and looked her pursuer full in 
 ^he face. 
 
 The usually ilorid countenance of the baronet was fau«>d 
 now to a dull livid pallor. There was a look about his mouth 
 jind Hves not good to see. 
 
 '"Lady Charteris," he said, grimly, "c^me home!" He ad- 
 vanced tow.ird her. She shrunk baA, both arriis out- 
 stretched, with a screan. of fear and horror. 
 
 "Don't touch me!" she cried. "DonH come^ near ne! 
 
Lady Charteris Hears the Truth. !2i 
 
 Don't call mo by thai name! 1 am not youi wife — 1 never 
 wa.-. In 'he hour you marrit^rl nio you knew my lawful, my 
 (lul.v iius;band vvtrs alive! And you lied to i.'e iiiid told mo lie 
 \vii> <l('ad — you I'alsy, false, false villain!'' 
 
 lie listened with a diabolical smile, his glittering, sinister 
 py( s never le«ving her wild face. 
 
 "Have you tjuite done, madanie^ This sort of performance 
 is fiitertaining enough with the stage-lights and appropriate 
 (•((^(innes, and at a suitable hour; but all(»'W me to suggost 
 ll);it at one o'clock in the morning Lady (Miart(n'is should be 
 at home and in bed. This is the scene-iiainter, I supposo," 
 wiili a sneering look at Duke, "to wjiom y(.u gave that fel- 
 low's illegit " 
 
 She uttered a cry, and half sprang toward him. 
 
 "If you dare!' she gasped. "You said it ojice. Take r-are! 
 tiiku care!" 
 
 "Ail! I remember," with sneering scorn. "You don't like 
 the word. I said it once, over thirteen years ago. I lemem- 
 ber very distinctly. J told you it was not an agreeable recol- 
 lection for me that 1 had married the mistreas of a country 
 (led. and from that hour to this we have been man and wife 
 only in name. Is iMr. Kobert Lisle's interesting daughter and 
 heiress visible, Mr. — ah — Mason? 1 suppose not, though, at 
 this hour. I should really like to see her; but that pleasure 
 must l>e reserved for another time. For you, my lady — take 
 
 inv arm 
 
 I" 
 
 He looked at her with a terrible glance. She shrank away, 
 trctiibling from head to foot. 
 
 "Take my arm!" he repeated, still with that basilisk stare, 
 "iiiid come home. Home! Do you kjiow the sort of hotno 
 ])r(tvidcd for such women as you?" 
 
 She did not speak. Iler eyes looked up at- him full of a 
 gn nt horror. 
 
 "A madhouse!" 
 
 He literally hissed the words, a i\v\[\ of hatred and rage 
 ill his black eyes. As he spoke he drew the shrinking hand 
 within his own, and forced her toward the door. 
 
 She went without a single word. On the threshold she 
 looked bacl< once at the humble, faithful friend she was leav- 
 ing, and who stood so powerless to help her now. It was her 
 f;irewell. 
 
 So Duke Mason saw her in his dreams, ior years and years 
 Jifter, with that look of unutterable horrar on her death-cold 
 face. So for years and years that farewell look haunted him 
 with muoh the same remorse as though he had atood by and 
 seen her riain before his eyes. j.^ v. ._ ,.^ : ; : 
 
 r-'V 
 
 " m 
 
 1 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE DAWN OF THE NEW LIFE. 
 
 ) On the stately turrets and ivy-grown towers of Montalicn 
 
 Priory, and on the two-story wooden box of Mr. Duke Mason, 
 the light of a new and gk)rious day shone. 
 \ «. The storm had passed with the night. The June sunsliine 
 
 flooded sky and earth, the birds sang blithely, the busy town 
 ' ' was astir, and at his painting-room window Duke Mason sat, 
 
 gazing blankly out, and seeing nothing but darkness and d(\so- 
 lation. 
 
 lie was going to lose the Duchess. It was .all said in that. 
 • Polly — his bright, beautiful, laughing, mischievous, tronhlc- 
 some, loving little Polly — was going from him to return no 
 more. For fourteen happy years she had been tlie joy, the 
 torment, the delight of his life — now she was to be taken 
 fiom him. And what remained? He had intended to send 
 iier away to school himself, it was true, but that sort of 
 separation would have been different. She would still have 
 been his, belonging to his world, and one day she would liave 
 come back to lighten their dull, gray-colored life with her 
 sunshiny x*rcsence again. But now she was Lord Moiita- 
 lien'g ward, and heiress of eighty thousand pounds, and as 
 lost to him almost as though tlic coffin lid had closed iii)i'ii 
 her. 
 
 The morning mail brought Duke a letter — a foreign In- 
 tor — and inclosing a brief note addressed to "Paulina Lisle." 
 Duke laid it aside — that name smote him like a blow — ai'.l 
 read his own. No words could be more manly, more grateful, 
 more kindly than those of Robert Lisle, but the decrco of 
 parting was irrevocable. By birth and fortune Paulina wa~ a 
 lady. As such she had hor place to fill in society — in tliat 
 world to which Lord Montalien, as \\qv guardian, could 
 present her. It vVas all quite right, he felt it plain a« any one, 
 , but the pain was none the less acute. He sat there for hours, 
 
 with that open letter in his hand. Rosanna sat .idly by the 
 kitchen fire — ^and when had Rosanna boeii idle beforr? 
 " ■ " Polly had gone to make an early call upon her friend Alice, 
 and talk about her new clothes and her new school prospects — 
 the ticking of the old clock sounded preternaturally loud iti 
 the blank stillness. And so, when at half-j^st eleven Lord 
 Montalien reached the house, and knocked at the door, lie 
 iuund them. 
 
 Bosanna's faee betrpv^d no surprise when she admitted hor 
 
 disti' 
 
 i^'i 
 
 lived 
 
 h 
 
 lishi 1 
 
 vd 
 
 and ) 
 
 )Ut 
 
 -i 
 
 St'( 
 
 "that 
 
 s 
 
 have 
 
 ha 
 
 "1 
 
 ha 
 
 '•1 
 
 i^ 
 
 daui; 
 
 ht( 
 
 an.v 
 
 •as 
 
 uuhi 
 
 un 
 
 you. 
 
 1 
 
 "< 
 
 l,r» 
 
The Dawn of the New Life. 
 
 12} 
 
 Emitted hor 
 
 disti'ifeuishod v'r^itor. Yes, she answtroil, 3.1 r, ')iiko Mason 
 lived liero, ana was disi-iiiiagcd, and would .-oc iiim. Slio 
 iislit red the ju'or into tfio luuid)le parlor, and Didie j^of n|), 
 ami i)Ut his letter in his pocket, and went slowiy (lo\vn^tan•s. 
 
 "I si'e by your I'aee, Air. Mason," his lon|slii[) said, (iU.etiy, 
 "that you know the errand upon which I have cu.ac Vou 
 have had. a letter fnan California by tiiis niorninj-i's pit^tT' 
 
 "1 have, my lord." 
 
 "It is doubtless jjaini'ul to you to j)art wlih your adopttKl 
 daiii;htcr after all these years, but the thing is inevitable. In 
 any case, you must have lost her sooner or later. Mr. i.islc is 
 uiilxtunded in his exjjressions of gratitude and respcc, t\>r 
 yi)U. Have you told hvT yet — does she know (" 
 
 "Slio knows nothing, my lord! — ] cannot tell her!" Some 
 of poor Duke's pai'i was in his voice and face a- he >poki'. 
 "Slui thinks still, as she' thought from the first, that she is the 
 child of a dead cousin of my own. You will kindly undeceive 
 hi'r--you will tell her the truth. It will not b(; a hard task, 
 such pleasant news!" 
 
 lie spoke a little bitterly — his heart was very sore. 
 
 Jiord Montalien looked at him kindly. 
 
 "I am quite sure the young lady will sincerely regret the 
 change of guardians — the new is plwisant, beyond <htnbt, but 
 she will not leave her old friends without sincere regret. Mr. 
 .Mason, you know more of this young girl's history than <'ven 
 I (In, for you knew her moth<^r!" 
 
 Duke started. The eyes of the two men met — 'tlie scvuo- 
 painter's, startled, alarmed; the peer's, keen, sharj), imelli- 
 ETcnt. 
 
 "Don't distress yourself, Mr. Mason; T am not .'^bonl to ask 
 you any cpiestions. I had much rather, indeed, not iiear tlie 
 mothor's name. It is a very painful story — let us hope tlie 
 worst is over." 
 
 He spoke with a certain grave earnestness that maile Duke 
 think he at least suspected tlie trutli. I^e averted his eyes 
 tnicasily. He longed to ask for Lady (Muirteris, but dared 
 Hot. 
 
 *'Ts Miss Mason — nay, T beg her pardon," with a smile, 
 "Miss Lisle in? I should lijve to see her-? T presume you 
 liave ho objection to my telling her at once?" 
 
 "(\'rlalnly not, my lord; she must know It fit once, of 
 
 ooiu'se. Bhe vill be in ]}resently. May T ask how soon " 
 
 Up stopned, ashamed of the choking in his tliroat. 
 
 "f shall leave that entirely to you and her/' his lordship an- 
 swered. "You are awarr it cannot be postjxtned long, but I 
 shall not hurry her away. She is to go to sciiool. I propose 
 Bending her to the Convent of the Sacred Hoaita in Paris. I 
 
124 The Dawn of the New Life. 
 
 m 
 
 }i}iv(; a y")reju<]i»'e n^aiti-^t fasliionalilc IxordiiiK-scliools, i.- a| 
 rule. Had i a dau^^litrr, slu* should ucvi'i- c iilcr one; ahl 
 l)(diov(! lh(><(' mii.s nt the Sacred Ilcait to be llic li-tl 
 teachers and most ji<*('onii(li.>ii('d hulics uikKt the suu- liiii,| 
 for a few weeks, if .she ehoosos " 
 
 He <lid i:ot tiuisli llie seiitciiee. The lioiiso (h)or Ol)eIl^d. al 
 quick, li;;ht stej) cio^sc d tlie hall, a I'rcsh .vouiig voice Lrilhla 
 merry time, the parh^r door opened, and Polly herself st i.m1| 
 revealed ! 
 
 ivord Montalieii looked at lier earnestly. \Vh;it did he mi 
 A tail, slim figure, two flushed cheeks, twf) hright hlue i >v 
 and a head "runniuj.'; over with curls." She jjaused shor* licrj 
 V)n{j: dying- away in a sort of consteritation at sij?ht of ,- .m- 
 bokcid tor a visitor. Duke rose up, and led her forward. 
 
 "My lord," he said, "this is your ward; Polly^ Lord Mmh- 
 ^alien has come here to see you and tell you some wondeiiul 
 news. Try and not be angry with me for keeping it from ,vuu| 
 so long; and when you have heard all, read this letter." 
 
 He put her father's note in h( r passive hand, and went <iiit| 
 of the room. Polly sank down in the chair he had vacai'lj 
 with bright, large eyes of wonder. Lord Montalien took h 
 hand in both his, ard looked at hec with a smile that vvciitj 
 straight to her" heart. 
 
 - "You have your father's face, my child," he said. "I 11I,^m1| 
 him the moment I saw him first; and I like you." 
 
 "My father!" the gfirl uttered. "You knew my father, m!,v| 
 lord — Duke's cousin?" - 
 
 "Not Duke's cousin— no tie of blood or name binds you toj 
 this good young man who has brought you up Your fallior 
 is alive! That letter you hold is from him, and you are P(>l!,v| 
 Mason no longer, but Pauline Lisle!" 
 
 She grew ashen pale, and began to tremble. What was tliisl 
 she was about to hear? The hand Lord Montalien held g;vw| 
 cold in his grasp, 
 
 "No need to tremble — no need to fear, my child. My nrwsl 
 is wonderful news — the best of news for you. Your fatlMrj 
 lives, and has sent you a fortune. You are the heiress ot| 
 eighty thousand i)ounds, and I am appointenl your guardi in 
 Miss Paulina Lisle, let me be the first to congratulate yon!" 
 
 She fell suddenly back in her chair. Lord Montaliiii 
 Itarted u}) in alarnu 
 
 "I have told her too abruptly — she is going to faint! ' 
 might have known it ! Whom shall I call V 
 
 He was going to the door, but she put out one hand ainij 
 motioned him back. 
 
 "Wait," •'he said in a voice that trembed. "T shall notl 
 
The Dawn of the Nevv Life. 
 
 12^ 
 
 H ' i' 
 
 oor opcii! ■!, a 
 v<Avv Irilli I a 
 
 luM'Solf si Ji(| 
 
 lid. "I \\h"\\ 
 
 J." 
 
 ly fatiier, my 
 
 binds you to 
 
 Your fallior 
 
 vou are Polly 
 
 to faint ! 
 
 me hand ;iii'i| 
 
 "T shall Jioti 
 
 ;iiiit," She sal up bravely, as she spoki', and tried to smile, 
 
 itii lips that (juivered. "I'iease ^o (in, Jiiy lord; ted nie all.'' 
 
 Aiid then, still ('lasjjinj; the -mail, cold hand, sti.'l looking 
 
 iiidly in the jiale VfUin^' t'lir'c. I.(»rd Montalien told hrv "idl." 
 Slic >.at (juite still, quite pali. the l<iud tick-tack i»f tlio 
 
 iiiclicii clock almost painfuiiy awdilrlc, liic .^nn^liine stre^nn- 
 
 liiiLt nil 
 
 had. 
 
 H 
 
 owed in aiiion^' nosanna s ro<e-> and 
 
 geraniums. 
 
 |,\i I," f she sjiokc, to ask it ipiestiou, looking' at (lie noldcuiau 
 •>;il' her with hi.ii, soleiiMi eyes: 
 
 •w 
 
 lo wi'.s my nudlier 
 
 I do 1 
 
 lO 
 
 t k 
 
 now 
 
 h 
 
 le answered jjira\clv; "your father never 
 
 tdld MIC her name. Rest < ontented with your wonderlnl ^•ood 
 iiiuiie, my dear, and (hai't a-k too many (juestions. Vou 
 
 liiic ;i yreat heiress now— ti'y and think (d" that." 
 ",\ ^reat lieii'essl" the girl repeated, juid there was a world 
 f liiit.'rness in her tone; "a ^reat heiress, and yet p(»(trcr 
 
 tli;iii the poorest, with a father and mother alive whom i hav(! 
 
 |i< vcr seen, nev(M* nniy see — a mother wfio east nu^ ott in my 
 
 •h 
 
 )if 
 
 it'iiiicy — a father at the othei* i'wd of tl 
 
 le Wo 
 
 rid. Lord Mon- 
 
 iti;, you may not tell me, Duke may not tell me, but I i'vvl 
 
 \\ Ik re I — if my mother is alive, I shall find her out !" 
 
 l.oi'dMuntalien eanie over next day with Mr, (iri])per, 
 vliicli leu^al licnth^inan produced (hx-uments tied with red 
 npc, and read them >olemidy aloud to liis bewildered little 
 •liiiit. It was all (Jreek or thereabouts to Pcdly, exeepj^ one 
 
 Iv two conditions which her mind grasped in passing. Slw? 
 
 [viK Lord iVlontalien's ward until slie should come of iige or 
 iiiii'iy. If Lord Montalien died before either of tho>e escnls, 
 he power of ai)pointing a new guardian wa^ vested iji him. 
 
 I^imI in the hf)ur (;f her mai-riage, whether she married with 
 
 wi 
 
 thout the consent (d' her 
 
 guardian, or during Ik r 
 
 Ininnrity, her f.jrtnne became absolutelv her own from then 
 
 ce 
 
 Icrih. 
 
 riiis was the proviso which his lordshij) had mentioned on 
 Iif pi'evious day as unusual. It was easy enougli, by tl 
 
 lie 
 
 lilt of Holjert Lisle's f>wn history, to understand it-- it was 
 •> save her from her mother's fate. How lifile he dreamed 
 II providir.ji: that saving clause for the haj)piness of the 
 laughter he loved, how much trouble, and shame, and re- 
 
 liior' 
 
 it was to cause Ikm* in the davs to come!' 
 
 Tli( people from the l-*riory called uixai Lord Aionlalien's 
 
 nl With congratulations and con 
 
 dial 
 
 ( x)>ressions oj 
 
 good- 
 
 Mr. Francis, whom P(dly did not like; Mr. (Jny, whom 
 le admired and liked verv much, and Sir Vane Charteris, 
 
 no 
 
 repelled her with hi 
 
 s ('(.arse mourn am 
 
 th 
 
 <1 ful 
 
 some eomi)!i 
 
 li- 
 
 nts. The girl wondered why he looked at her with sucli 
 it^uBity, his small, black eyes seeming to de^"»nr her. Hia 
 
 1 11 
 
126 The Dawn o« the New Life. 
 
 SiiiK' it again, Miss Lisle, apd exorcise it." 
 
 He led her to the piano, and she obe.\ed. Her sweet, cloarl 
 voice filled the rooms. With proper training, that voice alone 
 might have made her fortune. She sang again "Couu*y 
 Guy." 
 
 "Ah, County Guy! the hour is nigh, 
 The Fun has left the lea, 
 The orange flower perfumes yie bower. 
 The oreeze is on the sea. 
 ^ . The lark, whose lay has thrilled all das 
 
 Sits hushed, his partner nigh — 
 r?**eeze, bird, and flower confess the hou** 
 ;v^ <^' But where to County Q«yr' 
 
 He vy 
 
 (tulinii 
 
 think (li 
 liaiuit 
 
 forever. 
 Lvhcii (J 
 
 he t';ic(' 
 Ihiiii, iis 
 jSoiitht'i- 
 |(i';ist h) 
 
 luippy ^ 
 Iterly in 
 
 little daughter cann' with him, beautifully dresxsed, and dwM 
 more gi'a<'ion.-> thun (»m that cither niemorahW occasiou. Sir 
 Vane expressed his regret tin»i Lady Charteris could not liave| 
 the luippiness (jI making Miss Lisle's charming acqUiiinliUKx' 
 Lady Chartej'L* was ill, conlined to her r<M>m--a nervnuJ 
 hy>»UM'ical attnek, hut would jjiohahly he able to travel dii 
 the morrow, when he proposed returning to town to consult 
 an eniinenl physieian on the htale of her health. Miss Li-le 
 listened very c(ddly; she disliked both him and his daughiir, 
 and was relieved when they went away. Miss Hauttcni al i 
 ctdled with, her kinsman. Lord Monlalicni, elegant of eostiitiie, | 
 indisputably high-bred and patrician, but looking \\u\\\ 
 elderly and faderl than ever by ctmtrast with that fn'slJ 
 bright face. Mr. Allen Fane did not call — he was eatinn liiJ 
 very heart out with rage and batlled love. Retribution liaill 
 come V(>ry swiftly to the tailor's ambitious son. 
 
 i^ord Montalien's ward, obi'ying the baJiests of her giianl 
 ian, spent one evening at the Priory. Only one — Duke .iinil 
 Kosanna must have all the vest. She went dressed iu white 
 tarlatan (whi^e wius the proper thing for a heroine), with a 
 blue rihbon in her amber curls, and a blue belt around her 
 slim waist. And she looked lovely! The white arms and 
 neck glin)mered through the flimsy tarlatan, and tlier^ was a 
 flush on her cheeks and a light in her eyes. She entt ivj 
 those stately rooms a guest, an equal — she wlio had hrou 
 Polly Mason last week; and she sat at Lord Montalien's ri^lul 
 hand at dinner, and was the little queen of the feast. 
 
 In the drawing-room, after dinner, with some little urgiii;; 
 Polly sang. She did not mind singing at all, but she oiilyl 
 played accompaniments of her own; she did not undcr^laiid| 
 the piano. 
 
 "What does that matter, Miss Lisle," said Guy Earlscouit;! 
 "who cares for the accompaniment. I know you can sii!fi-| 
 I've heard you." Polly laughed, and blushed at the renieiii- 
 brance. "That song has haunted me ever since, I assure .voiLH'iaiul 
 
 The la 
 
 It wa> 
 wtuulcrfi 
 
 It wa.- 
 and runs 
 like (h'it 
 like it h 
 friends, 
 the haid' 
 liimself ; 
 His ])i\h 
 Mdiitalic 
 in the H 
 I'.illy," 1 
 will nev< 
 
 For 01 
 and, an 
 
 n'ou 
 fill HI led 
 
 Fer P. 
 
 Isumptuo 
 
 (Wtly gi 
 
 luirt and 
 
 senti'd tc 
 
 and Ros 
 
 jenoiigh i 
 
 Warren 
 
 meats b 
 
 matches 
 
 ^^'S'--'' 
 
The Last Day, 
 
 127 
 
 Uf v»ad Dosirto lior, boiMling over her, his dark, (Irparuy, 
 Italian eyes iixcnl on her face. What (lid^(iiiy Earlscourt 
 think of her? Jii days to come did tlmt sweet, yoiilhfiil I'ncc 
 iHunt hin (h'ehms'if In the glrVa ineniory that night lived 
 forever, the first of her new existence, and there wen> honis 
 Ia'Ik'ii (tiiy Karls<'ourt'H dark face rose up hcfoie her. like 
 ihe tiice of a reproachful j^host. She never forj^ot it, nor 
 Ihini. iis he stood therci heside her, the dark i)eiu>ty of hin 
 ISmilliern face, and his jet-hlack hair, snch a nuu'ked enn- 
 Jtrast to her own. How handsome he had lookrvl ' How 
 happy she liad heenl She had reason to rcniem.her it — bit- 
 terly in the years to come. 
 
 II 
 
 IniK 
 lik. 
 lik. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 T II H LAST A Y . 
 
 The last day had come. 
 
 It was two weeks precisely since she had first heard the 
 |\vuii(l(rful news, and Miss Paulina Ti^le was entin ly ready. 
 It was a wonderful fit-out in this younjj; bidy's eyes— silks 
 muslins of all hues and the finest textures, and linen, 
 drifted snow, trinune<l with real Irish lace. Nothing 
 like it had ever dazzled the- eyes of the late Miss .Maf?on's 
 j'friciids. That sm'en hundred pounds, so lonu' laid away in 
 Ithc liaid?, was drawn forth to furnish this wardrobe. For 
 iiiiii-elf and sister, Mr. Mason positively refused a fartliin^'. 
 His pale face flushed — his mild eyes quite Hashed as Lord 
 ^loiit.ilien, ever so delicately, made the offer. "All the ^old 
 in tiie J-Jank of Enjijland could not repay ivo for the loss of 
 Polly," he said. "Unless you want to insult me, my lord, you 
 will never allude to this aKam." 
 
 Vov once Duke was dignified. Lord Montalicn wrung his 
 hand, and looked at him admiringly. 
 
 *'\'ou are a fine fellow,'' he answered, si)ii])ly, "and liavo 
 fiiltilled your trust to Robert Lisle right loyally." 
 
 Fdr Polly, she would have liked to fill the little house with 
 suiii])tnous adornings, and load down her two friends Mitii 
 jcostly gifts. I'hey refused everything, iuid it was only when, 
 jliurt and wounded, the girl w'as turning away, that Duke e-n- 
 Isonted to replace his big silver watch with a gold patent lever, 
 land Rosanna, her rusty bro\n\ with a new black si!k, stiff 
 lenough in its glistening richness to stand alone. Miss Al;<'e 
 IWarren got a locket and eliain, and niunbers of pretty ormi- 
 Imeiits l^esides. She would have liked to have sent gold 
 Ivatches and silk dreMCB to every one in SpecJdiaven — ^ths 
 
 "^ 
 
128 
 
 The last Day. 
 
 cliarif-y fhiWrou iiwludf*!. Slio )i;hi cvon nindo frifiuls v.-iij 
 li(M' old foe, willi wlioiii slu! Iind WJiKt'l vrudclta no Ikm^'. 
 had mel, Kiizu i.uli^ on tlic stnM't, and that .yoiiiiK vvotiian 
 turin'<l away witli sulli-ii cAfs aiMl hitfcrcst envy, 'rhcic 
 
 X'CIl a tllOllHMll s 
 
 strui^l^dc 
 
 III I'dll.v's hrtast -then thai 
 wciif up to lier wit! 
 
 Slid 
 
 ila,i 
 
 ii,i.| 
 
 'I :i- 
 
 oiMiis luituic <'oii(ju('n'd, and .sIk 
 tcndrd hand and ]>ic'adinjijr <'.V('.s. 
 
 "i ani Koin;4' away- Kliza," sh« said; "(hm't let us i)ai'l l.mi 
 friends. I daics.iy J have been most, in fault all through. Init 
 1 am sorry. Do shako hands!'' 
 
 Hra\(', words to conu* from s() proud ;i spiiill They limj 
 melted Kliza, aial a reeom;iliation took plaee tliere and iinn 
 And that. ni^;ht, when the haudsuniest hi(»(M'h and earriii;^ 
 moni'.y could Ituy in the l.own reached i\liss L(.nK^ she f.'riv 
 Kave way and s<thhe(l over them, struck with surpris<' amj 
 (•out ritiwn. Slu; was at pea(;o with the W'.i'ld and a'l thchln 
 - liappy I'olly — 'und no shadow of the darkness to .im; 
 marred to-(hiyV hri*.; illness. 
 
 The visitors at the I*riory wrTO nearly all ffone. Sir \';iiio| 
 Chiii-icns, his wife and dauKhUT, had left the day before \\w\ 
 one •;.•! which the lanress dined hero. My lady, closely veiltil, 
 and loitering* as she walked, came foi'th leaning" on ihr 
 maid's arm. Onc(*, as Lord Montalien said farewell, she had 
 paused, catehinj^' his hand in both her own, and (••lin^iii;; to 
 it a."* though liei' last hope were there. But Sir Vane liail 
 come forth, and she had droi)ped it, and fallen back in a 
 corner of tho traveling carriu^'e, with her black veil over !ur| 
 face, and so tlu; peer saw her for the last time on earth. 
 
 Miss Ilauttou had gone t'» Scotland two days after, to j mi 
 the Duchess of Clanronald; ^'^r. Fane was to meet them in 
 i^ondon, ami accompany them to the Italian lakes; I, ml 
 ^Montalien, when his ward was safely d(!posited in her (in- 
 vent school, was to start for Syria; Francis EarlscoMat was 
 goinii' hack to Oxford to rejid for his degree; and Guy was 
 to rejoin his regiment at Knight's Bridge. So the act(jr-. in 
 this life-drama were situated this twenty-first of July, li.M!il 
 for Polly's dejuirture. Widely enough separated, it would] 
 seem, but like tlie cards in the same pack — sure to come 
 gether again in the univei*sal shuffle. 
 
 They were to start by the noonday mail, in time to ealch 
 the tidal train that evening for Folkestone. She had bi(M<!i 
 good-by to all her old friends in the town, to her garden, U)\ 
 her i)(>ts, to her violin, to her little attic room. Lord Moiita- 
 lien's carriage awaited her outside the garden gate. My lun' 
 sat within in horrible dread of a scene. Ati<;e Warren wa- 
 sobbing beside Rosanna — sobbing bitterly. "I feel as thou^zi 
 I were saying good-by forever," she said once. It was gouu 
 
The Last Day. 
 
 129 
 
 by tov .r, UioukIi Aw littlo knew il. The two friend. vvduM 
 never look in eaeli «t!»<r's i ;»(•«■< more (>i\ earth. 
 
 IJosiinna, lookiiij^ as if e;irvei| in <,n'ay stone, sto.wl stiff and 
 ti-arles.'^ heside the Uiteln-n tin-. And \\[i in llie paint in^'-rooni, 
 I'auliiui, in u ehannin;;- travelinu' -uii of ^ruy and h\\w, ami 
 n litih' Kreneii hat, had hiT arms around Onkc's neck, trying 
 to say farewelL The little wnteh ticking;- at her helt pointed 
 Ut five ininu'es 10 two; ut ten minutesi pa4 their I rain 
 started. 
 
 "Oh, Dnkel oh. Di.ke! !i';r - I say •••.•o<l-hy^ Oh, 
 l)nk<'! it hreaks my luMrt to uo'" 
 
 Sjie was sohhin;^" wildly. The .scene-pain, »r unloosed tho 
 ciiiiMiuK arms, and imt her Mcnily fr(»in him, lookinj^' at her 
 with eyes full of ^reat sadiiesa. 
 
 "Vou must "o, and at onee, Duchess; good-hy my litt'e 
 r»iie, and' (lod in heaven hless you!" 
 
 lie 1(mI her out jf the room. On the thre^iiold he stooped 
 ^nd kis<sed her tor the firs^ time sinco ahe ha<l heeii a little 
 toddling hahy, erowinj? on his shoulder. Then the door siniL 
 upon !ier; the y:\ory of Duke Masoa'."^ life was over — he had 
 lost the Duchesst! 
 
 lie wont hack slowly to his old seat, sat down, laid hi*!? 
 arms on the table, and hi.s rtn^. upon tlu-m, as thouj^h ho 
 never cared to lift it a^ain. And so, when hundreds of mile.^ 
 l:jy hetween him and his little one, and the starry summer 
 twiHf^ht shone over the world, Jiis sister found hini. 
 
 She had kissed Alice, she had kissed Ro.sanna. s<thl>in^v vo- 
 liemently, her tears faiii»^: like rain, and she had lied from 
 them, and into the carriage with the coronet on its i)anels. 
 The liveried coachnmn started his lior.ses; slie pulled a little 
 lihii' veil she wore over her fare, and turned away fr(»m her 
 f'ompanion. They were flying- throug'h the town. Slie looked 
 nut with blinded eyes to take a last g'limi)se at the fatniliar 
 streets. Eliza Long- waved adieu to her from her window; 
 Traneis Earlseourt, walking: to the station, liftecl his hat as 
 pihe passed. And then, J. rough all hei* t(^mpe>tuous grief, it 
 dnwned upon the young lady that srhe was r<>d(lening her eye.s 
 iUid swelling her nose in all jirohahility, and that there would 
 be plenty of time to cry on t!' ' way up to London. Ah, me! 
 it is but a step f r »r!i tlie depths of desoair to tlu' absurdly 
 ridiculous; the philosophet ..iio laugho<l at life and its follies 
 and its pitiful weakness wn.'< the wi.ser philosophe'* A' the 
 two. iVfiss Lisle wij>ed away Tier rears, and wondere , if <^}uy 
 Karlscourt would also be at tlie station to say fannvell. 
 
 lie was not tliere. She felt a pang of (li.sappointmei: -"S 
 she saw Francis p'oiie. 
 
 "I liked hini best, and be wii^ht have come," she tlioug4it% 
 
 H' 
 
 I t 
 
130 
 
 The Last Day. 
 
 fi'^ my lord liaiidcd hov iiilo tlic coupe "cs&rvfcii for them- 
 selves. It wanted but two iiiinutey of startiiiif time — 'lift 
 wnidd not conic. 
 
 "(lood-by. Miss J. isle; 1 wish you a ideasant journey/' 
 Fraufis had l^nid, shaking' hands and stepping back. And 
 then, at that instant. '» tall, black horse came thiinderinf,^ in 
 a cloud of dust down the road, bearing a breathless rider. 
 Tli(^ black liorse was Thund(M', and the rider Guy Earlscourt, 
 laie because he luul stopiJcd to fill a dainty little ninss-linci) 
 ba:d\et with rarest flowers and fruit. He leaped off his hor-( , 
 and gave the basket to the guard for Miss Lisle. The youii^' 
 lady's heart bounded as she saw him; flushed, [^flowing, hand- 
 some. 
 
 "Kath(>r a close tinish," he said, laughing, and holding cnt 
 his hand. "1 shoidd never have forgiven myself had 1 been 
 too late, (ilood-by. Miss Lisle; don't quite forget your Spock- 
 liaven friends in your Pari = inn convent, and don't, I conjure 
 you, take the black veil. Vv'e cannot afford to lose yeii." 
 
 She had barely time to touch the hand he reached her 
 through the window, when the whistle shrieked and the train 
 started. She sprang up for a h^.st look; it fell upon him 
 standing tnore, hat in hand, the July sunshi«e on his hand- 
 some head. And so the lai?t face the girl took out of her old 
 life, with the smile upon it that lit it into such rare beauty, 
 was the d:irk. Italian face of Guy Earlscourt, 
 
 1- 
 
 • y.- ■■■■'■ "'• v .•M^, : ■ •••' ■:•: ,-■ >. ^ ■ 
 
 • 
 

 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AFTER TWO YEARS. 
 
 The {^iory of a golden September day lay over the (>artli. ft 
 was the midtUe of the month. Down at Montalicn Prioi-y, I'or 
 the i)asi. two weeks, the sponsinen had crashed thr(Jiijj;li the 
 H^uhble, and turnip fields, and the sharp rin^ of their fowling 
 pieces echoed all day long- tlirouffh the jjjolden richness. Ver.y 
 fair, very stately, looked the grand, ivied, old mansion, with 
 its wealth of glowing doi? rosos and shinirio' ivy, its waving 
 oalis and cellars, its yellow liarvest fields, its bh^oming gar- 
 dens, all gilt with the glory of the, cloudless Spptend)er sun. 
 
 There were a half-dozen n^ien, all told — l^jrd Montalien 
 and his brother Guy, Allan Fane, the artist, and husband of 
 the rich Diana Hautton, a Mr. Stedman, a Sir Harry (Jonjon 
 and Captain Cecil Villiers, of the Guards. All good men and 
 true, and not a single woman in the house to mar their sporty 
 all day among the pai'tridges, nor the perfect dimmer Mrs. 
 Hamper got up for their delectation in the evening. It was 
 Liberty Hall; lord and guest did precisely as they pleased, 
 and enjoyed themselves admirably, 
 
 "There are times when women are dftsiraWe, nay, inevita- 
 ble." Guy Earlscourt said, in his lazij- voice. "They embellish 
 iife in a general way. At flower shows and in ballrooms they 
 1}.ve 5imply the necessaries of life; but commend me to a com- 
 fortable country house in the shooting season, and not a 
 single enchantress within three milee." 
 
 "A declaration which, coming from you, Karlscourt, ( I" all 
 men alive, should have weight," observed Capaln Vjlliers. 
 "1 always fancied your idea of j^aradise was borrowed from 
 the Koran — a land of promise, flow'ug with wine, and peo- 
 pled with black-eyed houris. or blue-eyed ballef-girU." 
 
 "I^t me see," said Lord Montalien, peeling his apricots — 
 "r.ot a single enchantress within three n»iles! Yes, that's 
 al>out the distance. The bailiff's cottage is precisely three 
 miles from the gates of Montalien." 
 
 "And never houvi of j\rus>uluian, nor ballerina of Covetit 
 Garden, was half so lovely as the bailiff's blue-eyed daugh- 
 ter," (H-ied Sir Harry Gordon. "The luoet bewitching, tho 
 
 ». 
 
 <;; 
 
 
n- 
 
 After Two Years. 
 
 mo^l divine little pii^ce oi" calico I ever laid eyes or. She h 
 i k'lte i)ersuiii1ied.'' 
 
 "Voii are all in the same boat, then," remarked Mi Allan 
 Vane. "In love witli pretty Alice — Ouy, as usual, stroke oar, 
 and sale to win."' 
 
 (luy Earlscourt glanced across the table at his brother. 
 
 *'\Vell now Fane, do you know I'm not so very sure of that. 
 I'm the hest-lookinj^ man here by long odds, and women, 
 whether they be peeresses or peasants, do go down, I admit, 
 before me; but somehow the little warren seems to have very 
 I)oor ta.<te, and to differ from the rest of her appreciative sex. 
 1 don't seem to make as profound an impression as I would 
 like. Do you suppose I can have a rival?" 
 
 His sleepy, half-closed ,©yes were fixed upon his brother. 
 L(jrd Montalien laughed pleasantly. 
 
 '"If you mean me, Ouy, and you look as if you do, I plead 
 not guilty to the soft impeachment. Loeing my head about 
 rustic nymphs, be they ever so charming, is not in my line " 
 
 ''No," answered Guy, a little thoughtfully, "as a rulo I 
 don't think it is. High-born beauty, with forty thousand 
 down for her dowry, is your aim, dear boy. But the litth' 
 Alice is exceptionally handsome, aftd somehow, I think 
 well," he added, rising with half a yawn, "there have bci ii 
 worse-lot>king Lady Montaliens." 
 
 There was little in the wordc-, but his brother's face flusln d. 
 The women of the house of Montalien had been noterl fur 
 generations for their beauty — the mother of the present lord 
 being the sole exception. The first wife of Nugent, late 
 r^aron Montalien, had been hard of feature and sour of tcin- 
 I)er, as her picture still could show you; and on thi« point, 
 Francis, twelfth Baron "Montalien, was especially sensitive. 
 
 For Francis Earlscourt was Lord Montalien now, the late 
 lord having fewelve months l^efore passed to a better, and 
 (with all due respect for the British nobility), let us hope, 
 even a higher sphere, where boredom is unknown. And his; 
 elder son reigned in his stead — that elder son whom, like his 
 nutther, ho had never loved. 
 
 The men dispersed in the South Coppice, and soon through 
 the sultry noontide the sharp ringing of the guns cleft the 
 hot, still air. Lord Montalien alone was missing as the after- 
 noon sun sank low in the summer sky, and a faint, sweet 
 f'veiiing breeze arose and stirred the leaves. 
 
 "Frank bags other game than partridges," Guy said, with 
 a shrug. "He's deuced close about it; but I know he's after 
 that little tfirl like a ferret after a rabbit, or a terrier after 
 a rat." 
 
After Two Years. 
 
 1 I 
 
 13? 
 
 His fowlm^- piece r;ui;v out, ami two birds came tuinblinj^ 
 down. 
 
 "You fliitik, tlif'ii " StediiKii; Ix'^aii. 
 
 "ii;ili;" iiitfnuj)(0(] (iuy. "1 kiiou". And you know, my 
 ^■, ud IV'llow, so don't try it on with me. I-'rank's just tiu' ^ort 
 ol" man not to lose his head after wonieu, and to ^o sirai^;iit 
 to the dickens when he does. It's no alTairs of yours or 
 ii'.iiie, however; we. iieitlier of us are {jreparcd to -^i-t up as 
 ecusors, and ]\Tistrers Alice mu>t look'"out for hei'-clf." 
 
 li(> plunj;ed into the eop[)ice and disappc^ircd. Stodman 
 looked after him with a jjeeuliar smile. 
 
 '•[f Miss Warren is capabla of lookinjj: out for liersolf 1*1 is 
 iiior(> than you are. You can see my lord's little ^ame there, 
 clearly enough, hut you are blind as a mole wIkm'c you are 
 (Mucerned yourself. lie hates you as a j)heasant does a red 
 (lo.i^. Why, I wonder?" 
 
 He was a pale youn.a: man, this Auji'ustus Stedman, with a 
 lii<;h, thoughtful brow, a retreating chin, a thin mouth, and 
 shifting:, hazel eyes. Jle was Lord Mont alien's (special 
 friend. There was an affinity in the tlec^p, subtle natures of 
 the two men, both — the truth may as well come out — 'thor- 
 ouft'hly cold-blooded and unprincii)led at heart, and out- 
 wardly models of all domestic and social virtm^s. No one 
 could lay any charge wdiatever at the door of either, and yec 
 there were men who mistrusted them, women who shrank 
 away from them only to see them smile once. 
 
 PVancis, Lord Montalien, walked slowly uj) to the house, 
 and entered the library by an oj)en French window. A noble 
 room; its four walls lined with books, statues, and bronzes, 
 everywhere writing-tables and easy-chairs strewn around, 
 pleasant recesses for reading, and the mellow, aftern(»on sun- 
 shine flooding all. 
 
 There were three i)ietures in this library — three pit-tures 
 hanging together over the tall, carved mantel. They were 
 three portraits — the late Lord Mo.'talieii, hi^j, second wife, 
 and younger son. Venetia, Lady ^fontalien, a portionless 
 Italian girl, with a face of perfect beauty, such as one does 
 not see twice in a lifetime, and barely eighteen when lu^r son 
 was born. That son's portrait hang by hers — the same dark, 
 brilliant face, the same lustrous eyes of SoutluMTi darkness, 
 the same proudly-held head, the sann* ex'pH'"itt', smiling 
 nioulh. 
 
 The mother had lain in her grave for ma:iy a yvnv; and the 
 son's bright beauty was s(>niewhat marred und lii.ggard jiow. 
 Those pictures were the first objects Lord MontaTum lfx>ke<l 
 upon, as he sh-ode through the windo>,v. nv;d a glance of bit- 
 tor, vindictive hatred flamed up in ids liuht. cold eyof* ^e 
 
 i-*i 
 
 t 
 
 i ' 
 
 ,'WI 
 
lilj, 
 
 134 
 
 After Two Years> 
 
 8UH)d an instant regardinp^ ti'"jr with set teeth, and an ex- 
 pression bad to see. lie spoke to iliem as though they bad 
 been s(?rjsate things. 
 
 "Ay," he said, **you have had your day — it is my tin\e now! 
 There you haiij^' — tlic father who could barely coiieeal liis dis- 
 like-- the woman who sui>planted my dead mothm* — the boy 
 who would have supphuitod nie had it been in his father's 
 power. You left your younprer and favorite son, your Henja- 
 ttiiu, every penny you'l'ould leave away from the entail; now 
 is the time for me to show my gratitude. In your lifetime 
 he was always first — his beauty, his brilliant gifts, drew all to 
 his side, while I was passed over. 'Whati a pity Guy is not 
 the heir!' niy father's friends used to say. 'Poor Frank is so 
 dull — so like his mother!' You thought so too, my lord — 
 poor Frank went to the wall- in your reign. When the heir 
 of Montalien came of age, who knew or cared 'i When Guy 
 jame of age, bells rang, boTifires blazed, and the tenantry 
 were feasted. Kven those boors smd 'What a pity Master 
 Guy isn't the heir.' Ah ! well, we'll change all that ; I am 
 Ijord Montalien now, and Guy Karlscourt is where 1 have hd 
 him, on the high road to ruin — nay, a ruined man and a pau- 
 r)er to-day. 'temper Fidi'Us' is the motto of our house; and 
 'Always Faithful' to my reveniio, he shall pay me back for 
 every sneer, every slight, every advantage over me, to the ut- 
 termost farthing." 
 
 ]t was the secret of his' life. Francis Earlscourt hated his 
 brother. 
 
 lie turned away from the three pictures at last — the smil- 
 ing fae^s of Guy and the dead Lady Venetia seeming to 
 mock hini ^rom the canvas. 
 
 "The day is near when I shall have the pleasure of putting 
 you all three in the fire," he thought. "The day is nejir, 
 my Lord Montalien, when your beloved one shall drag out 
 the remainder of his brilliant existence within the walls of 
 the Fleet Prison, or become an exile for life from his native 
 land." 
 
 IFe ])ac('d up and down, up and down, while the sun 
 dropped lower and lower, and not all the glory of the heavens 
 could brighteirthe dark moodiness of his irate face. 
 
 "(^irsc her obstinacy," he muttered, sullenly. "With her 
 fair, drooping head, Iut fawnlike eyes, her timid blushes, 
 and flattering, replies, s.he has the devil's own will! She 
 won't yield- -three times a day to church every Sunday, as 
 long -is she c;in reivcnnber, and the Sunday school be*^,Vv.n 
 whiles, have done their work. I could as easily remove the 
 ' Baron's Tower yonder as that frail milk-and-rose cottage 
 
After Two Years. 
 
 09 
 
 ^rL What, the deiico shill I do? — for, have her, I must, 
 thoug-h I i)ai(l the dire penally of — a weddinj.? rinpf!" 
 
 ITe paced to and fro, revolving: this riuostion. "What shall 
 \J do'^" lie had a deep, suiaie brain, like Ills smile, pi»vvt'ri"ul 
 to work good or evil for liini.^elf or otliera. 
 
 "In the days now past," he mused, "a post-chaise-nnd-four 
 round the corner, two muffled bravoes, and a nii(hiifUH altduc- 
 tioM wouhl be the thing"! Or one niipht go seek that (!on- 
 venient college friend, ever ready to pei'soiiare the clrrgynian, 
 and a mock marriage would st>tti(> the fair one's seruplfs. lint 
 that sort of thing exploded with rutHes and ra))iers, 1 suppose. 
 And yet — and yet, I don't know. What has been don(> can 
 surely be done ag. in. Why not the convenient college friend, 
 and tlie mock marriage? She is as innocent as lu;r ovvn liiild 
 daisies, my dear little Terdant Alice, and slu; loves nie witii 
 her whole good little heart, and would consent to a marriage, 
 however private, so that it were a marriage. Without the 
 [uu'son, and the wedding ring, she won't listen to a Wijrd — 
 I hanks to popular rustic prejudice, and the tenets of the 
 Sunday school. A mock marriage — why not — why not?" 
 
 The schenVe was practicable, but v/hcre was the convenient 
 college friend to be found. But one, Stodman — his face sud- 
 denly lighted as he thought of Stednian. 
 
 ''The heart of a cucumber fried in snow," lie tliought, 
 grimly. "xA man with neither honor, conscience, princif^?, 
 nor feeling — a man poor as a elmrch mouse — a man capable 
 of poisoning his own mother if he corld benefit himself b,v 
 the old lady's demise, and not be found oivt. Yes," he said, 
 unconsciously loud, "Stedman will do it." 
 
 "WTll he, my friend?" said a cool voice, and a tall figure 
 darkened the sunlight, as Mr. Augustus Stedman stepped 
 through the open window. "I thought it was only on the 
 stage and in madhouses people tall«^ to themselves. And 
 what is our Stedman to do, my lord?" 
 
 lie flung himself into an easy-chair and proceeded to light 
 u cigar. Lord Montalien looked at him suspiciously. 
 
 "What brings you here?" he asked, "llow long were you 
 watching me?" 
 
 "Do I intrude upon your jirofound cogitations? If so '* 
 
 ho made a motion of rising and leaving. 
 
 "Xo, no!" Lord Montalien said, hastih, 'Don't go; the 
 fact is, Stedman, I want you. Oan you guess;, Slednian, 
 what the business is?" 
 
 "Something 'about our blue-eyed Hebe the blushing di- 
 vinity, whose earthly name is Alice Warren.' 
 
 "Exactly, Gus — I'm hopelessly done for in tliat «|uarter% 
 The tprl loves me with all her heart, but she i» tearfully and 
 
 ■1 
 
 m 
 
 
n6 
 
 Hiter Two Years. 
 
 wonderfully obdurate on tlio point of rnarriap:c. Sh I': quiU 
 ready to resigii nK\ and break her li<2art in tlic niOH, ap- 
 proved fashion, and go off genteelly in a decline, but " 
 
 "She insists on the nuptial knot,'' interrupted Mr. Ste<l- 
 jnan, "which, of course, is simply preposterous; and so there's 
 nothwig for it but to break both your hearts, and part. A 
 case of Lord Lovel and Lady Naji — cee over again. Or is 
 there something else on the cards?" 
 
 "Yes," said Lord Montalien. 2\ik\ then, still pacing up and 
 down^ he laid bare his dark scheme. 
 
 Augustus Stedman iistened, smoking, with an immovable 
 face. 
 
 "Yes," he said, slowly, at last, "I see. The thing can be 
 done, I suppose, but it seems rather risky. And my part, 
 dear boy? Am I to play the parson, and tie the knot? Un- 
 fortunately, la ix't'itc knows my interesting physiognomy 
 almost as well as she does your own." 
 
 "Of course not ; but you may know some one who will piny 
 l>arson. You have a very extetisive and not too select circli.' 
 of acquaintances in J^ondoij. Think, and see if there is mA. 
 ouQ among them who will do th(^ business; and believe me, I 
 shall not speedily forget your si-rvice." 
 
 There shot from the eyes of Stedman, as Lord Montalien 
 spoke the last words, a gleam not good to see; over his thin 
 lips there dawned a faint, chill smile, that never came there 
 save for evil. 
 
 The acquaintantt' of those two congenial spirits had come 
 about rather curiously. Years before, a certain dashing 
 young London actress had fettered Augustus Stedman in her 
 rose chains, A thoroughly vicious woman, with nothing but 
 her bold, handsome face to recommend lier — coarse, heartless, 
 and avaricious, lie had wooed her long, and success seemed 
 near, when the Honorable Francis Earhicourt appeared upon 
 the scene, with the longer purse of the two. It is an episode 
 neither pleasant nor profitable to relate. Stedman retired 
 baffled, but he took his defeat wonderfully well. From that 
 hour he became the chosen friend and associate of Francis 
 Earlscourt, forgiving him handsomely for his somewhat 
 treacherous conduct in the little matter, and, with the pa- 
 tience of an Indian chief, biding his time to wipe out the 
 score. 
 
 Five years had passed, and the time had come! 
 
 The gleam in his gray eyes, the pale smile on his cynical 
 mouth- were unseen by his companion. lie had turned his 
 face away, and was looking at the amber light in the eolt 
 weetern sk^Y'^'At tb^ «^reen beauty of the sloping gkdes. l^ist 
 
After Two Years, 
 
 <)7 
 
 live niiiiutes siilence rolKHOil ; tlicii liis lordship's paticiiw 
 gave way. 
 
 "Well!" he said witli an oatli; "speak out, ean'l .V(.u? 
 Dce.s your silence mean you declined' 
 
 "Silenee means consent. Don't l.c impatient, my Lord 
 Montaliin; a man can't review some six or seven hundred ac- 
 quaintances all in a second. I'll help you in this matt(M'; and 
 1 know tlie verv man vou want." 
 
 "Vou doT' 
 
 "1 do. A younj? fellow, destined for tlie church, on the 
 point of re(feivinjj: orders nio?'(r than onee,. hut the uuitter has 
 been alway^^ i)osf{)on«^d. lie is the slave of the brandy bot- 
 tle, and leaily to do anything' short of murder — a highway 
 robbery for a tive-pound note, it is my belief he will never 
 be ordained; but he will marry you. He lives with his uncle, 
 the incumbent of the (Miurch of St. Kthelfrida, in the city» 
 and nothing will l)e easier tliaii for him to admit you, and 
 I)erform the mock (teremony in the church after nightfall." 
 
 "In the church r' 
 
 "In the church. The uncle is <lown in Essex, as I happen 
 to know, for a fortnight's holiday; the nephew can obtain the 
 keys when he pleases, llow soon do you want it (hnief' 
 
 "Imnu'diately — day after to-morrow, if possible." 
 
 "Ah!" Stedman said, with a covert sneer; "the proverbial 
 impatience of lovers! I renuMuber onee before, five years ago, 
 you were almost equally far gone." 
 
 "Slcdman! 1 thought you had forgotten that. Remend>er, 
 1 was only a lad of one-and-twenty then." 
 
 "Olvl enough to be my successful rival," laughed Stedman. 
 "Day after to-morrow will be rather sharp work, but, if the 
 lady be willing, 1 don't say that it is iimpossible." 
 
 "The lady will be willing. I shall see her this very even- 
 ing, and arrange all. How do you propose to managed" 
 
 "Thus: 1 shall go up to town by the first train to-morrow, 
 call on tlie man w^e want, bribe him, procure a special license 
 (to satisfy he'self), and have the job done next day. Miss 
 Warren might go up by to-morrow's evening train, and re- 
 main quietly at some decent lodging, until the weddinsjr hour. 
 Your own movements you must settle yourself." 
 
 Lord Montalien seized his hat, and g-rasped Mr. Stedniaii'a 
 banU with a cordiality very unwonted with him. 
 
 "You are the prince of good fellows, Gus! Believe Ine, 1 
 shall not forget this." 
 
 lie wrung his hand, dropped it, hurried through the open 
 window, and disi^^peared. 
 
 Mr. Stednum looked after his retreating? figure, and th© 
 wuinou.'^ Muuile the latent gleam, were verj^- apparent now. 
 
 ' ! 
 
138 
 
 After Two Years. 
 
 "No, iny Lord of Moiitalioii. T d'-n't mean you shall forgot 
 tins. 1 tliink lu'lorc tlu; \v(;ck I'lids 1 sliali vvipe out tlftit old 
 griulji^o about podr Fanny Da.slion." 
 
 \mv([ MonUilicn strtxh; tlnou^h llu; dowy meadows and the 
 siioi'l. hvvw't grass, fu'l of triumph and exultation. For 
 Francis Karls<'ourt, from earliest boyhoo<l, to set his heart 
 upon anything was to strain heaven and earth to eonipasg 
 his ends. Years might come and go, but he remained faith- 
 ful to his purpose. "Always faithful," the motto of the 
 Karlscourld, was never more strikingly exemplified than in 
 him. J^y fair means or by foul, he must win Alice Warren! 
 
 He found her where ho kn. w she was always to be found 
 at this calm evening hour — milking. Flower, and Daisy, and 
 Anxdii stood around lier, the sweet scejit of new-made hay 
 filled the air, the vesper songs of the birds rang down the 
 pi(=;toral stillness, the last golden glinmier of sunset was fad- 
 ing in the clear gray sky. All things looked fair and sweet; 
 and fairest, sweetest of all, the girl who rose with a blush a«nd 
 a smile te greet her lover. 
 
 "Come with me, Alice," he said. "I have something to say 
 to you — something you must hear at once." 
 
 She went with him across the long fields to the gloom and 
 solitude of the distant fir plantation. Even in the heat of 
 his wooing and sucv*ess, he could remember prudene^ Be- 
 neath ihe sombre shadow of the trees he passed his arm 
 around her waist, and whispered his proposal. Would she bo 
 his wife — secretly, of course, but his wife? 
 
 The girl lifted two large, searching eyes to his face, and 
 clasped both hands round his ajm. 
 
 "Frank!" she cried, '"your wife — your very wife. I, the 
 bailiff's daughter — you, Lord Montalien ! Do I hear you 
 aright? Do you mean it?" 
 
 "More than I ever meant anything. "Why nQt, my Alice — 
 you are fair enoush and good enough to be a queen, and who 
 is there to say me nay. Only for the present it musA be pri- 
 vate — strictly private, remember. -Not a whisper of your se- 
 cret to a living soul." 
 
 And then, in soft, caressing tones, he told her what she was 
 to do. To steal (}uietly from home, and take the eight-fifty 
 train for London, to go to a quiet hotel, whose address he 
 would send h^r, and wait there for him until the following 
 day. 'And an hour after his arrival they would drive to- 
 gether to some obscure church, nnd be niarried. Would she 
 consent i 
 
 Consent! She cla.sjji'ti iier hands closer aroun-d his arm, 
 her fair face rosy with joy. ^ 
 
 "Frank I to be your wife, I wcxuld riak, wc>uid 'k» smfthiog, 
 
Th^ u.oad to Ru'i., 
 
 J?9 
 
 Only soiiic aay kooii, s(»()ii fiftcr our niHrrinMt'. you wii ^i me 
 write, and tell futli'-r and mother. 1 can't \)Oht that 
 tlK'y- " 
 
 ''Of ('((urse not. After o\ir ninrruiM'e you shull tell tliem 
 everything. Don't fail: and, hy the way, if you should n)»et 
 my brotlier at llie .station, you ean travel under liis protcc- 
 tion Not a sylhdde to hinj, of course, for tlie i)re.sent, at 
 least. Jf you love luc us you say, Aliei-, you will he couts nt 
 to wait a little before 1 present you to the w<irld as i-ady 
 Montaiien." 
 
 If she loved him! the innocent eyes h^okin^'- up to him were 
 full of deathless devotion. They smot(> him -licartloss, self- 
 ish as he waS' — they smote hit the l(>viiip, faithful eyes of 
 the girl he was betraying. 
 
 A great bell clanged out over the woods, the dressing bell 
 at the Priory. He stooped hastily and kis-ed her. "(iood-by, 
 my Alice — for the last time. On the day after to-morrow wc 
 will meet in London to part no more." 
 
 Alice retired as usual to her room, but not to .sleep. At 
 midnight she lighted her candle and sat down to write a 
 hasty note to Polly." 
 
 The few words she had to say were soon written: 
 
 "My Own Dahi,f.N(j: — I mu.st speult one word to you ticfor" I 
 go— Vicforc I go away from my home, my (l<'ar, dnai' hiune, 
 to be married. Yes. Paulina; Alice Is to l)o married to one 
 Bhc loves — oh, so dearly— so dearly—the best, the noblest of 
 men on earth. Some day you will know hi« n nne. and wliat 
 a happy, happy girl I am. Until then, love nie, and trust 
 always your own. ALiei::" 
 
 She addressed this brief note to Paris, to "Mile. I'auliria 
 IJsle." She kissed the name, she tof*k the locket from her 
 neck, and kissed the pictured face. "Darling little Polly," 
 siie said, "to think that when next we meet, Alice will be a 
 lady, too." 
 
 And th.nn at last she said her jjrayers, and wyiit to bed. 
 But the bright, broad day was shining gloriously in before 
 the happy eyes were sealed by sleep. The new day — the 
 beg'Inning of a new life. 
 
 51 
 
 ClIAPTEK II. 
 
 TilK HOAn TO lU IN'. 
 
 Early on the following morning Mr, \u<:cu3tus fttedman 
 'took a run ap to tinvi.'' And late \n lu( -v '.;i*ig, Mr. Guy 
 Karlscourt was driven down from the i*riory to ('.itcb. tlie Jast 
 expr'.\33r The ST^ay of the summer evening • • ''•?^ deepen- 
 
 .P.t 
 
140 
 
 The Road to Ruin. 
 
 inir to darknoss as Mr. (!ny Kmi-'ht <nrt .umipofl out, and ran 
 to tho oflico for his tick' t. In two inmutcs (Ik^ train wonld 
 stnrt. ^ One of ihcsc ininutcs ho Mp<'nt at tlio tickcl otiico. tho 
 othor in lInhtiM;;' a cif^ar and I'tokiiij:- al)ont him, llalt'-a 
 dozen loiinj^crs wtTo scattorcd abonl the jjlatfonn, nn(' sav*} 
 hinisc'lt', tlicTf! was hut anotlicr ))ass(>ngor--\vlio \vor(^ a t'h)s(», 
 bhick voih and who carried a snndl haj^ in licr liajid. 
 
 Somcthiiifi: in tliis lonely t'enialo fif.nire, standing there in 
 th(^ ^loaniinyf, something faniiliar, nnide th(» young (Juards- 
 man l(n)k again. She saw the glance, and came gliding up lo 
 him, and laid one timid hand upon his arm. 
 
 "i\lr. (^uy." ,- 
 
 "AH 
 
 1C( 
 
 fv 
 
 She had not lifti-d tlie close nuisk of bhiek lace, hut he 
 recognized the voice, the whole form, the instant slir si)oke. 
 
 "Yes, Mr, Guy — I am gtnng to London, and — and 1 am 
 frightencnl to go alone. Might I — would you " 
 
 "Now then, sir,"" cried the guard, holding open tho door of 
 the fii>t-(dass compartment. "Look sharp, if you please." 
 
 "This way, Alice," exclaimed (luy, and the three words, 
 spoken in half a whisper, reached the ears of the guard, to he 
 graven on his professional memory, and destined to be re- 
 peated, years after, with such deadly peril to the unconscious 
 speaker. 
 
 There was no time for parley, no time for questions or re- 
 monstrance. He assisted her in, sprang after, the whistle 
 shrieked, and the express train flew away through the dark- 
 ening night. 
 
 "Now, then, Miss Alice Warren, explain yourself? What 
 does a young lady from Speckhaven mean by running {.way 
 to London at this unholy hour, and alone? I give you my 
 word I should as soon have expected to behold the Czarina of 
 all the Russias at the station as you." 
 
 The veil was still down — its friendly shelter hid the burn- 
 ing, painful blush that overspread the girl's face, but he 
 could see she shrank and trembled. 
 
 "I am obliged to you, ^fr. Guy." 
 
 "You are, eh? T ho])c for everybody's sake, liiy old friend 
 Mathew knows all about it. And, if ho does, my ohl friend 
 Mathew ought to be ashamed of himself — letting his pretty 
 daughter run wild uji to London. Where is Peter eTeidvins, 
 too — the sturdy miller — that he doesn't lor^k better after his 
 little affiapced V 
 
 "T am not his affiaiu .(.'," Alice replied, betwer^n a laugh and 
 a ^b; "I never was. And my father ami mother don't know 
 I've come — plcise don't blame tliem, Mr. Guy." 
 
The Road to Ruin. 
 
 141 
 
 '\s in a ^lasfl, darkly," ho naw the truth, and for once id 
 hi:, life t't'lt actually called upon to rcinon.strate. 
 
 "Alice," ho said, "I don't want to pry into ;.ny st'crcf of 
 yours- you know your own atTairs best, ol" cour.-.i ; luit is this 
 a wise step you arc taking^ 'Plunk, hcfoic it is too latt', and 
 turn back while there is yet time." 
 
 "'{'hero is no time. It is too late. Aji 1 T would not turn 
 back if 1 could." 
 
 Slie sp(»ke more firmly than he had ever heanl her. Sh»^ 
 was thlnkiniA' that this time. to-morrow she would be l''rank's 
 w i t'e. 
 
 "You know hest. Pardon my interference. At least. y»Mi 
 will i)ermit me to see you to your destination." 
 
 She took from her purse a slip of i)a])er and handed it to 
 him. 
 
 "I am yoinjr there. If you will take me to it I will bo 
 very, very thankful." 
 
 "Mrs. Howe's ].o(l<;ings, 20 (Jilbert's (Jardcns, Tottenliam 
 CoiV't Road," read (luy. "Ah, I don't know. Mrs. Howe's 
 Ix)dK'iugs, (Jilbert's (Janlens, sounds rural, though. Ves, 
 Miss Warren, I shall certainly see you there; and now, with 
 your permission, will read the evening j)aper." 
 
 And then silence fell between them. 
 
 It was elose upon midnight when the countless lamps of 
 London first shone before the country girl's ilazed eyes. Tiu; 
 bustle and upritar of the station terrified her; she chnig in 
 atfright to Mr. Earlscourt's arm. And then tlu'y wci-c in a 
 four-wheeled cab, whirling rapidly away to (Jilbert's (Jar- 
 diMia. 
 
 "It's rather an unearthly hour," remarked Ciuy, looking at 
 his watch. "I only hope Mrs. Home — no, \'.s. Ilow(^ — is pre- 
 pared t{> receive us." 
 
 Mrs. Howe was. Mr. Stedman had arranger^ that as well 
 as other matters; and Miss Warren was affably received by ^ 
 tliin, little woman, with a ]>inched noso and a wintry smile, 
 and shown to the ladies' sitting room at once. 
 
 She gave her hand to h( r companion with a glance of Itar- 
 fnl gratitude. 
 
 "Thank you very much, "Nfr. Guy. I don't kiiow Ik.w T 
 should have got here but for you. CJood-night, and, oh, 
 l)lease"— piteously — "don't say anything to anybody down 
 jjonie about having met me." 
 
 "Certainly not, Alice — good-night." 
 
 He had reached the door when a sudden intpulse struck 
 him, and he turned back. He took both her Iwnids in his own 
 and looked kindly, pityingly, down m the sweety tear wftt 
 face. ■ , . . 
 
142 
 
 The Road to Ruin. 
 
 "Little Alice," he Hai<l, "I'm a prood-for-not-liinff follow, hut 
 1 have ii very teiider rcKanI for you. It over yon find your- 
 fttdf up a tn'c--! monn in trouble of any kind — I wi^li youM 
 Comic to nic. I'll iiclp you if I ran. Here is an addrc^-. to 
 wlncli you fan write* at any time, and if ever you call ujuju 
 nu' I will never fail you." 
 
 'V\u' d.krk. hand<«oni« face, tho brown, oarnoat ovo?; swam 
 hetoi'e the ^nrl in a hot inist. If he bad l)e(»n her brotber be 
 cudd hardly have felt more tenderly toward her than ,it tbat 
 nioutenl. 'I'rouble! He krjew, if »ho did not, what dark and 
 bitu-r h()nl)!(» was in store for her, and lio was helpless to 
 Wiird it oH". 
 
 "I've bad the fortune to come across a good many ifiseruta- 
 hh' (tard^; in my time," ho thought, as he ran downstairs, "but 
 for in-crulability, Monti puts the topper on the lot. What 
 an iiifeiiiiil scoundrel he is; and what an inconceivable idiot 
 th'it poor child! Of course, he's p)inM' to 'marry her -notb- 
 inj4: else would have induced a girl like that to take such a 
 step." - . 
 
 Mrs. TIowo led the way upstairs, with a simper on her 
 faded face. 
 
 "I know all about it, miss," she whispered, confidentially; 
 "the youn^ man as was here this morning — a most genteel 
 young man he is — 'told me that you was going to be married, 
 you know, mis.s, and that is the gentleman, of course, a mili- 
 tary gentleman, as one may see, and the very 'andsomest as I 
 ever set eyes on." 
 
 Alice shrunk away, almost with dread. How dare Mr. 
 Steduinn tell this strange woman her secret? She entered 
 her room, a neat 'little apartment enough, but insufferably 
 close and stuffy, as it seemed to the country girl, used to the 
 fresh breath of the German Ocean, and the sweet breeze of 
 tho Lincolnshire wold. 
 
 Afrs. TTowe set down the candle, still simpering, still cour- 
 tesy ing. 
 
 "And if there's anything else, miss — hot water, or a cup of 
 tea, or a plate of cut 'am, or anything as you might men- 
 tion — I'm sure I'd me most happy. Which the genteel young 
 goTit this morning paid up in advance, most generous " 
 
 "No, thank you; I want nothing," Alice answered, hur- 
 riedly; and the simpering landlady, with -a last dip, walked 
 away. 
 
 She closed and locked the door, and sank down on her 
 knees by the bedside, her hat and shawl still on, wit^ an over- 
 lowering sense of desolation and loneliness. Wh«t were they 
 doing at home? What did they think of ber? They would 
 miss her at the hour for 6veiuii£f p^ayeIi•^ and thfi^ woold 
 
it 
 
 hut 
 
 cour- 
 
 The Road to Ruin. 
 
 14? 
 
 !h 
 
 .!i 
 
 p:^Hrrl> for her iu vain. ^-'Ijo cdiild sor lirr TnothorV-* wurM 
 white \'i\(v, licr fiilhor's stern, jiiip-y. Oli, what a bad, criii; 
 jrirl >}h' wh«, otiI.v tjiinkiptr (tf }HM's<'lf ntid lur <• vri h!!pi)iii(ss, 
 and iicvcr caring for llic/^ricf slio wan h'livm^ iK-liiiul! Very 
 soon tlicy would know (he trntli, (iliHt she wan the happy wifo 
 of I,ord Montulicn, hut until then, whiif Krief, whiit shamo, 
 •vhat fear, woidd slie not tnaUe them sutler! 
 
 A (d«)ek in the nei^dihorhood ntrnck three. Site luid 
 Fcnreely slept tlie tii^-lit hoforc^— -invohnitnrily her eyes w<'ro 
 oiosin^f now. She ^ot up in a kind of stupor, removed her 
 Duler clothing-, threw herself half-clressed ujjon the bed and 
 8le[it (h'i'ply, drf>iimlessly, uutil niorniii';-. 
 
 Tt was hroafl day when she awol;o and startwl up — nine 
 o'clock of a dull, rainy mornhig'. The crashing? noises with- 
 out half stunned her fy ti moment, until she realized sho 
 was in T.ondoiK 
 
 In the cdurse of tlie foretioon ^Ir. Stedmnn called; >he was 
 triad to see even him then, though down nt home she had dis- 
 liked him. Fverythirifj: was in readiness, Mr. Steadman told 
 her; she might look for Lord Montalien a little before six 
 o'clock. 
 
 Seven hours to wait — would they ever i)ass, Alice thought. 
 8he asked the Intidlady for a book, ai^L tried to fix her at- 
 tention upon it, but in vain. For once a novel faihd to ab- 
 sorb Miss Warreri. She listened t/) the hours, and the quar- 
 ters, as they chimed two, three, four, five. 
 
 In Gilbert's Gardens the dark, rainy day was closinj? al- 
 ready, and yellow lamps glimmered atliwart the fopr. TTalf- 
 past five — a quarter of six — oh, would he never come! She 
 had worked herself up into a fever of longing and impatience, 
 when a hnnsom whirled uj) to the door, a man very much 
 muffled leaped out, and rushed up the stairs, and, with a cry 
 of joy, Alice flung herself into the arms of her lover: 
 
 "Oh, Frank! Frank! T tlufught you would never coinel 
 The day has been so long — so long!" 
 
 lie was so closely muffled tliat the eyes of love alone could 
 have recognized him.- Tie looked flushed and eager as a 
 prospective bridegroom should. 
 
 "Dress yourself as (piickly as possi})le, Alice," he said, hur- 
 riedly; "we will drive to the cliurch at once." 
 
 Tn five minutes the girl's straw hat and simple shawl were 
 on. Slie drew her veil over her face, and with a beating 
 heart was led by her lover to the cab. A second more and 
 they W'cre whirliug away, and the curious eyes of the land- 
 lady were removed from the window. 
 
 "I could r^t see his face," she remarked afterward; "he 
 was thtti muffled up, and his hat was that pulled over his 
 
 t i ff 
 
 ^11 
 
144 
 
 The Road to Ruin. 
 
 heyes, but I know it was the same millingtnry :;:j\1 ?x 
 brought her the night afore." 
 
 T'he Church of St. Ktholfrida was a very h>ng way n ■ nivcd 
 from (Jilberl's (iardon, an<l it was entirely dark by I lie time 
 they reached it. A small and dingy edihce, in a sn:ali and 
 dingy court, with not a soul to observe them, ani^ only a 
 Bolitary cab waiting round the corner, from which Mr. Sted- 
 man sprang to meet them. An T)ld woman in pattens ojumunI 
 the church door — an old woman, .who, with Mr. Stedman, was 
 to constitute the witness of the ctrcmony. A solitary lainp 
 li't the dark edifice, and l>y its light they saw a young man in 
 a surplice, standing behind the rails, with a book in his 
 hand. Lord ^Montalien led liie palpitating little tigure on 
 his arm U]) the aisle, and in less than ten minutes the young 
 man in the surplice had gabbled through the ceremony, and 
 pronounced Francis Eiirlsconrt an(f Alice Warren man and 
 wife. Then cnmo signin^r and countersigning in a big book 
 — a fee was slipped from the palm of the bridegroon' into 
 that of the young man in the surplice. Alice received her 
 "marriage lines" and all was over. At the church door the 
 bridegroom stopped to shake hands with Ir-; faithful friend 
 and accomplice. 
 
 "You're a trump, Stedman! Believe me, I shall not forget 
 what you have done* for me to-night." 
 
 Mr. Stedman, with his hands in his pocket, and that pale, 
 ominous smile on his lips, watched bride and bridegroom re- 
 enter their cab and drive away; then he laughed to himself — 
 a soft, low laugh. 
 
 "No! most noble lord; I don't think you will forget in a 
 hurry what I have done for you to-night. I was to bo the 
 cat's-paw, was I — the hanger-on who was to do -your dirty 
 work, and take my reward in being told I am a trump? In 
 six weeks from now, if I am bar I up, I shall know where to 
 call, and trust to your gratitude for a check for a couple of 
 thousand; and I think that other little score, five years old, 
 is pretty clearly wiped out at last." 
 
 When Guy Earlscourt told Alice Warren that he was "a 
 good-for-nothing soi-t of fellow," he uttered a fact in which 
 he would have found a great n^any iwople a^r»c. As fast as 
 man could tread that broad, sunlit, flower-grown highway, 
 known as the "Iload to Ruin," Lieutenant Guy Earlscourt 
 hail been treading it for the past three years. 
 
 Ever since when at twenty years of age he had begun his 
 Hew, bri^'Mt lite as fledgling guardsman and emancipated 
 £touiftu, lie had been goin^ the pace with a reckleseiLeeSy a 
 
The Road to Ruin. 
 
 M? 
 
 nuKl extra vapraiK'o, tliat know npitbor bounds nor pause. Ho 
 wa> but four months pa<l thivc^-and-twonty now, ajid over 
 lu'.i'l and ears in debt, and i'Totricvably rninc^d." 
 
 rlu.-^l o]ie .year and a half afz:o his father liad died, away in 
 Syiiii, of tyi)hoid fever. Amid strangers, in i) slran^c huid, 
 Nimcnt, Baron Moutalien'.s boi^' exih' of sixty ycuirs had ab- 
 nipily endech He drifted out ol' life as (juietly, as thor- 
 onulily self-possessed and gentlemanly as he had drifted 
 tlirnugh it. Ill hi»» last hour there were no vain regrets, (ir 
 Idiinin^s for home and friends. Once he had thonjrbt he 
 would like to sec Guy; it was but a passinu: weakness; he did 
 iiM» wish a seeond time for what was impossible. It v a.i 
 rather a relief, on the whole, to go — to make an end of the 
 {j:(ii('ral weariness and delusion of livinp;. 
 
 ll(^ had but one trouble — the thoupiht of tlie ^-irl whom 
 Ivilicrt Ilawksley had left in his ehar-^e. W4om should he 
 aiii'oint f^uardian in his own stead? He thought over all the 
 UKii he knew, and there was not one amonff them suitable, 
 or. if suitable, willing to undertake the troublesome duty. He 
 Ii id almost given up tiie problem in despair, when Sir Vane 
 Cliarteris suddenly appeared upon the scene. It was no pre- 
 iiii'litated meeting; it was the merest ehanee — if there be 
 such a thing as chance — if the destiny that was i^lkiping the 
 cuds of Paulina Lisle had not driven him hither. He was 
 the one man whom his lordship had not thought of. A vague 
 f|i>like and distrust of him had been in his mind ever since 
 the day upon which Lady Charteris had made her passionate 
 declaration that he had insulted her, and that she would n(>ver 
 forj^ive him. 
 
 Poor Lady Charteris! it mattered little whom she forgave 
 iinw; she was the inmate of a madhouse! She liad never 
 recovered from that -sudden illness down at Montalien; and 
 three weeks from the time when her husband had taken her 
 up to town her mind had entirely given way, and she had 
 been* ever since the inmate of a private asylum. Her dehi 
 sin!i was a singular one. Sir Vane Tharteris was not her 
 husband, she persisted; her lawful husliand was alive, and in 
 America, to whom she was always trying to write. And liav- 
 iiiii,' placed his insane wife in safe keeping, and his daughter 
 at a fashionable boarding-school. Sir Vane Charteris nlso set 
 ont, to drown the great trouble of his life, sight-seeing iu 
 distant lands. 
 
 At the close of a bright summer day, h*' entcM'ed the little 
 Byrian village where my hn'd lay dying. It >*eenied a Provi- 
 Ai'}\{% Lo the sick man. Almost tlu^ fii*st v/ords he spoke were 
 the question — would he assume in his stead Lh« guard iiinship 
 of Paulina Lisle ^ 
 
 1 1 
 
146 
 
 The Road to Ruin. 
 
 There rose np over the swarthy face of the haronv . a flbsh 
 that was not the rosy light of the Kastern sunset. I Jo liad 
 never thou^t of this! Among all the chances thyt were to 
 place his wife's elder daughter in his power he hid '\ i 
 thought of this! It was a moment before he could ainvvr ' - 
 a moment during which his face was turned far away ivon 
 the dying man, and his black eyes gazed at the rainbow ]i^;pt 
 in the Syrian sky. Then he spoke very quietly: 
 
 "If it will relieve your mind any, my lord, I willingly ;,"- 
 cept the charge. With my unfortunate domestic afflictior I 
 had not thought of ever again making England my home, 
 but my duty to my daughter, perhaps, should be paramount 
 over every mere personal grief. I will become Miss Lisle a 
 guardian, and fulfill my duty to the best of my ability. tSUe 
 and Maud will be companions, and my sister Eleanor — Mr.^ 
 Galbraith, you recollect! — wiU preside over my home." 
 
 The necessary documents were immediately drawn up; 
 and that night, when the great white moon rose up out ..f 
 the Orient, Nugent, Lord Montalien, lay white and cold iu 
 death. 
 
 Sir Vane Charteris lingered in the Syrian village loi.;^' 
 enough to perform his last duties to his friend. The body 
 was embalmed and transported to England; and perhiips 
 among all who stood bareheaded around, while the gve-it 
 vault down at Montalien opened to receive anothrr iuiiuit., 
 Guy Earlscourt was the only mourner at heart. It h;ul not I" "m 
 the way of father or son to speak of it, or even iiiucli to tlijik 
 of it, but in their secret hearts they had losfd each o{1k i- 
 wonderfully well. For Francis, the new Lord A'trntalieii, l.e 
 looked, as he always did, the model of all till il viri;rf> ai'd 
 quiet grief; but the dark spirit within him exulted. His ^/ns 
 the power now and the glory — he, not the dead man's fnv :- 
 ite, reigned in Montalien. 
 
 He listened with the same expression of subdvied sorr. w 
 when the will was read, and knew that Ids falhf i- hu] Vi.l 
 left him one memento of fatherly regard. All hu] ^rv.i- to 
 Guy — a trifle, perhaps, but all. Ho grasj)ed his 1 vjthct's 
 hand when they were alone together, and looked-at hii-i w.ih 
 glistening eyes. 
 
 "Guy, old fellow," he said, "thirteen thousand is not rr. ■ 'i 
 to you with your habits and tastes, but when you are np :i 
 tree call upon me without fear. The income of Montalir!) is 
 a noble one, and I shall share it as a brother shouldo Stmt 
 yo'irself in no way — your debts shall be paid." 
 
 Guy lifted his dark eyebrows, and pulled his mustache in 
 dense b©widerme»t. 
 
 "Has ^rank go»e mad, I wonder?" he thougi^t; "he paj 
 
The Road to Ruta. 
 
 >47 
 
 my debts! iVhy, the selfish beprerar would no*; ,^.re a sou to 
 keep me fram etarvii;g! What t!»'.' (U'ucc docs he nioiiii by 
 gushing in this way?" But aloud h^ had ansvprt-od: "Tliaiikn, 
 very muoli; you're not half a bad fellow, Frank!" and had 
 straightway proceeded to squander his kjj:a<'y, w)ii."h he m.iri- 
 atfed very completely to do in a year. 
 
 Sir Vane Charteris made an end of his Eastern tour, au<l 
 returning home by Paris, proceeded to call upon his warJ. 
 He had informed JVIiss Lisle by letter of the change, and 'he 
 y«ung lady had shed some very sineere tears over- the n^-n's, 
 a few for Lord Montalien, whom she had liked, and a f<".v 
 for herself, that she should be the ward of Sir Vane (Jliar- 
 teris, whom she disliked with a heartiness which charaetei"- 
 izi;d all this young person's likes and dislikes. The barnr>et 
 C:i1!e(l upon her one July daj' — the July preceding the S' p- 
 tr/riher of vv'hieh I have written — and there descended )u the 
 C'invoTit parlor, a tall, slim young lady, in a gray dres^. \v:t!j 
 « n.ile face, and large, bright eyes. She gave her hand rather 
 (•'idly to her guardian, and listened while he unfolded his 
 |i' i:.i for her. 
 
 <lie v/as eighteen now, and the time for leaving school had 
 c tme. Early in October his town bouse would be in order, 
 ,Mi(l his sister and daughter ready to receive and welcome 
 K^. ]t was his wish she should enter society at once; her 
 •rrtice, the Duchess of ^Clanronald, had offered to present her 
 at Court. Pending the ides of October, would Paulina mind 
 remaining quietly where she was? 
 
 "Yes,'' Miss Lisle answered, "decidedly, she woidd mind 
 it/' She had no notion of spending the midsummer vacation 
 in the convent. She had promised her friend, Mile. Vir- 
 j-^inia Dupont, to spend August and September in the frater- 
 nnl mansion, at Versailles. , And she was quite willing to 
 rrrike her dehui in society immediately — delighted, indeed. 
 If Sir Vane Charteris should choose to come for her about 
 the middle of October she would be ready to go to England. 
 
 The interview ended, and the baronet had got what he de- 
 sired, an- inkling into the character of the heiress. She had 
 a will of her own — that was clear — and a very strong fancy 
 for having her own way. It would require all the tact he 
 possessed, and all the strqjigth of mind to come off victor in 
 a battle with her. 
 
 "She shall marry in her first season," he thought ; "and a 
 man of my choosing. Robert Lisle will never dare return to 
 England; and Olivia's life will soon end in her madhouse. 
 At her death her fortune becomes Maud's, for who is there 
 to say she everTiad an elder daughter?" 
 
 So ivthik Miia Lisle was enjoying herself very viuch in her 
 
 ■1 
 
148 
 
 The Road to Rum. 
 
 frloiid's noiiie, thcro wero st'veral p€0])lc acrr „ ■<-hc Channel 
 \o vvhoTii she was an object of gnat iiittT^st. Sir Vane 
 Chartiris, busil.y preparing hi;< town lu»iJse, in the aristocr;uic 
 uoifiljl'orhoud of J)( 'kehw S(piarc\ ffji' her reception — jj.rd 
 ]\Iontalicn, who ^col made up his mind, entirely to his rwn 
 Batisfaetion, to marry her, and thn spendthrift and prodiual 
 (iiiy, who was strongly recommended to do the same. J lis 
 advit-er was an old maiden aunt of his father's, from wli<.ni 
 bo had expectations, who liad already paid his debts halt-a- 
 dozen times, and the thought of whose prospective legiuy 
 alone kept the Jews from swooping down upon him. 
 
 "You are the most reckless, the most wickedly e"^travagai)t 
 man in the Guards," this ancient grandaunt said to hini in 
 a passion; "and I will pay your debts no more, sir; do VdU 
 understand? Gambling and drinking and horse racing are 
 bad enough, Heaven knows, but let there come a whisper cf 
 anything worse to my ears, and I disinherit you, and give 
 everything to Frank; do you understand?" 
 
 "There is no mistaking your meaning, my dear aunt,"' 
 Guy ansAvered, with imperturable good temper. "I dare tay 
 you w^ill, eventually; I'm an unlucky beggar generally, juid 
 it will only be of a piece with the rest, if you do disinherit 
 me. It's a pity, for Frank's sake, I don't go to the bad al- 
 together." 
 
 "You have gone there, sir!" cried old Miss Earlscomt. 
 "You're a disgrace to your name and family, sir. AVliy 
 don't you get married? — answer me that — and change y(air 
 life, and leave the army, and become a decent member of 
 society ?" 
 
 Guy looked at hev with a face of unfeigned horror. 
 
 "Get married! Heaven forbid! My dear aunt, I don't 
 like to doubt your sanity, but to propose marriage to a ni.iii 
 of my age — three-and-twenty, odd ! No, it is not so despr r- 
 ate as that, while there is prussic acid enough left in lhe 
 chemist's to enable me to glide out of life." 
 
 Miss Earlscourt struck her stiQk vehemently on the grou'id, 
 looking very much like a venerable witch. 
 
 "Lieutenant Earlscourt, I say you shall marry, and at 
 once! There is this girl, who wa^ your father's ward; she i^ 
 rich — she is handsome. I say you shall marry her!" 
 
 "Shall I?" murmured Guy, helplessly. 
 
 "She is coming home next month, I asked Frank, and lie 
 told me, and you shall make her fail in love with you, a ml 
 marry you. You are handsome — one of the very handsoni'st 
 young men I ever saw — and a favorite with? all the wouk a. 
 I dan't go into society, but I hear — I tell you, sir, you shall 
 marry this PaulixiA Lisl^ or I will diaiuherit you! !Now 
 
Paulina. 
 
 149 
 
 go '' and the witch's stick pointed io ttio, door; "don't let nie 
 ^'c your wicked, spondtiiri It face n^ain until you. comG to 
 announce this heiress as your afHanccl wife!" 
 
 CIIAPTKR IIL 
 
 PAULINA. 
 
 Away along the dreariest part of tho Essex coajt there 
 s^ood, and stands still, a lonely oM manor liouse, closed in 
 from the outer world by funereal trees, juid called "Tht^ 
 Firs." It was the country house of Sir Van*^* Charteris, an 1 
 had never been visited by him in the i)ast twenty years. A 
 frloomy and grewsome place, five miles from the nearest 
 country neighbor, a squalid fishing village lying below, the 
 long waves forever breaking upon the shingly shore, and the 
 gaunt, dark firs skirting it, smothering it all around. 
 
 The "Moated Grange" could hardly have been a more lone- 
 sonic and eerie dwelling, nor could "Mariana" have bewailed 
 her hard lot in being'shut up there much more bitterly than 
 did the mistress of "The Firs," the Widow (lalbraith. 
 
 Mrs. Eleanor Galbraith was the oidy sister of Sir Vane 
 Charteris, and had spent the last nineteen years of her 
 widowhood doing penance at "The Firs." When oue-and- 
 twenty she had thrown herself away uj)on a subaltern in rlio 
 Si.xtieth Highlanders, which penniless young officer, dying 
 within two years, left his widow to the cold charity of her 
 only brother. 
 
 Sir Vane had bitterly opposed the imprudent malch; now 
 he comforted Mrs. Galbraith in her \v(^e<ls and widowhood 
 by that cynical aphorism — as she had m; ,Ie her bed so she 
 must lie. He was shortly about to contract a matrimonial al- 
 liance with the wealthy and beautiful Miss Olivia Lyndith; 
 and a sister in weeds was an addition he did not at ail de- 
 sire in his nuptial establishment. There was "Tlie Firs" if 
 ■^he liked. "The Firs" stood in need (-f a mi -tress to keep it 
 from falling to decay. He never. n>eant to go near it him- 
 sef — its dismalness always gave him the horrors. If Mrs. 
 Galbraith chose to go and reside at "The Firs," she was en- 
 tirely welcome, if not 
 
 Mrs. Galbraith did choose, wrathfully, and had become 
 sonaPy extinct from that hour. Nineteen years had passe;!, 
 and gray hairs had stolen into her raven locks, and crow's- 
 feet impressed themselves under hei* eyc^s. She was forty- 
 o'le years of age, and was a hamlsonie likeness of her 
 brother ."^^ck at her as she sits at her solitary midday meal. 
 
 l^M 
 
150 
 
 P^^ulina. 
 
 ./■ 
 
 with the hot Repteinber sinisJiino filling the long, dark, oUl. 
 fashioned dining-room. A line woman, most assuredly, in 
 spite of the crow's-feet — a stout, handsome, middle-iiged Indy, 
 with a clear brain nnd a firm will. 
 
 The rattling of wheels on the drive without reaches h(r 
 ears — a must unusual sound. As she springs up and goes to 
 the window, she sees, to her ungovernable surprise, Ik r 
 brother. Sir Vane Charteris. An instant more, and the (M 
 man who did duty as butler, gardener, and coachman, usli- 
 ered in the lord of the manor. 
 
 "Vane!" 
 
 Mrs. Galbraith could just utter the one word. 
 
 The baronet advanced with more cordiality than he had 
 ever displayed toward her, and held out his hand. 
 
 "My dear Eleanor, I am glad to see you again." lie 
 drew her to him, and kissed her wholesome brown cheek. 
 "Yes, very glad, "after so many years; and looking so nicely, 
 too. What! luncheon already?" 
 
 He flung himself into a chair, and glanced at the substan- 
 tially spread table. 
 
 "Dinner, Sir Vane Charlieris! I dine at the hour at which 
 people of your world breakfast. One nearl.f forgets the 
 usages of civilized life after niuv^teen years' solitude at 'Tlie 
 Firs.' " 
 
 "I hope not, Eleanor," answered Sir Vane, coolly, "as I de- 
 sire you at once to return to my world, as you call it. I have 
 come down to remove you from 'The Firs' to my town- 
 house.'' 
 
 . Mrs. Galbrajith gave a gasp. At last! — what she had pined 
 for, prayed for, sigTied for, during nineteen years had come! 
 
 '■'You have heard of my unfortunate domestic calamity^' 
 pursued the baronet; "I allude to my unhappy wife's in- 
 sanity. I had half resolved to sell the lease of the Merednn 
 street house; but circunastances have occurred lately that 
 have caused me to change my mind. I have been appointed 
 guardian to a young lady, an heiress, whom I wish to pre- 
 sent to society. 
 
 "Indeed !" said Mrs. Galbraith, with her black eyes fixed on 
 her brother's face. "I saw a brief paragraph in the Mornitifj 
 Post concerning it. A Miss Paulina 7>isle, formerly the ward 
 of the late Lord Montalien — is it not ?" 
 
 "The same; and a very handsome and charming youiifr 
 Indy, I assure you, with eighty thousand pounds as her for- 
 tune She will be presented next season by tlie Duchess <f 
 Chinronald,'and make her dehut, with yourself for e:iaixr<ihi', 
 Meantime, she comes from France in a month, and will ?ro 
 out a great deal, no doubt, in a quiet way, this autumn and 
 
Pftulina. 
 
 151 
 
 ark, old- 
 redly, in 
 ged Indy, 
 
 icVies lirr 
 d goes to 
 irise, li< r 
 d the old 
 nan, u^li- 
 
 lU he liad 
 
 ain." lie 
 
 wn chetk. 
 
 so niocdy, 
 
 e substan- 
 
 r at which 
 Drgets the 
 de at 'The 
 
 (I 
 
 as 
 
 I d« 
 
 it. I have 
 my town- 
 had piiud 
 |kad con 10 ! 
 ;alaraity^*' 
 I wife's in- 
 Mcredan 
 lately that 
 appointed 
 Ish to pre- 
 
 les fixed on 
 
 le Morninf] 
 the ward 
 
 ling yowA 
 is her f'^T- 
 
 luches^ (1 
 lelraiHrTdi:;'. 
 Ind will }ro 
 
 ituinn and 
 
 winter, ihc Christmas and hunting season we arc to spend 
 at Montalien Priory. My town house must be set »u onler at 
 oiicp, and you shall preside in my wife's place. Maud shall 
 k'.ivo scdiool, and have a governess." 
 
 ''Vou give yourselves considerable trouble for your new 
 \v;ird," said Mrs. Galbraith, who knew that giving hiniscdf 
 trouble for anything or anybody was not her brother's weak- 
 ness. "Who is this Paulina J^isle? One of the Sussex 
 Lisles?" 
 
 ^'No ; I believe the father was of Scotch descent." 
 
 "She is an orphan, of course?" 
 
 "Oh. no; the father lives out in California, but not in the 
 K';i-.t likely to return to England. He w^as an old friend cd' 
 Lord Mont.alien, and intrusted his heiress to him, with flic 
 power to appoint a guardian in his stead in the event of his 
 death. I have been appointed, and trouble or no, I shall do 
 my duty to this young lady." 
 
 "The mother is dead, I suppose!" 
 
 "Of course. Can you be ready to return to town with me 
 tci-morrow, Eleanor ?" 
 
 "Quite ready," said Mrs. Galbraith; and then, while Sir 
 Vane went to his room, she finished her dinner, regarding 
 her plate with a thoughtful frown. 
 
 "Vane has changed very greatly," she mused, "or he nevtu- 
 would have burdened himself with a ward at all. Is he krcp- 
 ing something back, I wonder? lias he designs upon this 
 Miss Lisle's fortune? Does he expect his wife to die, and 
 that this young heiress will marry him?" 
 
 The baronet and his sister returned to town early next day, 
 and Mrs. Galbraith set to work at once with a zeal and cn- 
 enxy that showed she had lost none of her sharp faeulti<'S 
 (hiring her nineteen years' exile from the world. Sim saw to 
 the refurnishing and repainting and rehaftging of tln^ house 
 and rooms, to the plate, the linen, the liveries — alh Long 
 before the middle of October arrived, the house in Mcrcdan 
 street, Berkeley Square, was quite ready for the reception of 
 Miss Paulina Lisle. 
 
 Sir Vane brought his daughter home, and tlien started foi- 
 France. The baronet's daughter was in her sixteenth yeai 
 now, small of stature, dark of skin, and with a pah% preco 
 cious little face. She had quite the air and conversation of 
 aj;rown-up person, knew a deal of life, and French literature, 
 Onuld play a little, sing a little^ draw a little, and dance and 
 talk a great deal. Iler aunt and she fraternized at once, 
 1 drove out in the Park together, and 3peculated what r>"M.Ti€M* 
 of person this Miss Lisle might be now. 
 
152 
 
 Paulina. 
 
 '■Youi fntli'Vi' says sho is vnry hnndsoiiw, Maud/' )bsiMvo(] 
 IVIrs. Calbntitli. 
 
 "liaiidsdUK'! oh dear, no; quite a plain young person \,tli 
 . i^iviit evis, and sandy liair. and tho rndest inannern. (^iiite 
 im uninforiiU'd, gawky country j^irl!'' 
 
 I-al(^ in tho evening" of a dismal day in Ootobor, Sir V:iiifi 
 i\:u\ his ward, arrived. Jt liad rained and blown heavilv ;ill 
 day long. MiH« Lisle had sufiered agonieb worse than (1< ;ith 
 erossinj^ the Channel, and was as limp, and pallid, and wm- 
 l)ef2:()ne an object as can be conceived. Mrs, Galbriiiih 
 shriiji}.:ed her broad shoulders as she looked at the wan, spii it- 
 less I'ace. 
 
 "And you called her handsome, Vane?" she said to lur 
 brother. 
 
 Sir Vane laughe<l grimly. 
 
 "Wait until to-morrov,-," was his oracular response, as Ic, 
 too, in a used-up state, retired t.o-his room. 
 
 Lor<l Montalien, who, since the middle of the previous >rii- 
 teniber, had spent the ch'cf part of his time in town, chau. id 
 to l;e in tlie house. II'^ was a frequent visitor. The li .iih' 
 v.as pleasant, the-^inrs and cook excellent, Mrs. Galbniifli 
 a c.ipital hostess and a clever* woman, and little Maud, in a 
 y«>ar or two, would be marriageable. Her mother's forluiie 
 v.ould be hers, and should Miss Lisle prove obdurate to his 
 mit, why, it might be as well to win the regards of Mi>* 
 Chartcris. To marry a rich wife he was resolved — at lit ;irt 
 he was a very niivSer,'and worshiped gold for gold's sake. 
 
 "A sickly, sallow, spiritless creature as ever 1 saw!" was 
 ^Irs. (^albraith's contemptuous verdict on her return to tlie 
 drawing-room. "There will not be much credit in chapi i 'ii- 
 ing her. 1 dare say she will marry; girls with eighty tlinii- 
 sand pounds are pretty safe to go off, but half the hk ii i: 
 London will certainly not lose their senses about her! .' .;il 
 my brother told me she was pretty!" 
 
 "She was pretty," said Lord Montalien, "more than pretty.' 
 if I remember right, two years ago. Allan Fane, an artist 
 friend of mine, the man who married Di Ilautton, you know, 
 nea. / went mad about her when she was only a poor, lit lie, 
 ,/cni./^s» country girl. Some girls do grow plain, and I sup- 
 ;ip A one of them. We shall be treated to austere ron- 
 ,-j"»r .-v. . .). doubt, and have to listen to monastery bills 
 , anc "•''•*^r lymns, whenever she sits down to the pian(»."' 
 ^ 'Vome o dinner to-morrow and see," was Mrs. Galbraith's 
 r^ponse. And his lordship laughingly promised and left th«| 
 house. 
 
 He did not return to hks own elegant bachelor lodgings in 
 Piccadilly, but drove to Gilbert's Gardens, and spent tin I 
 
Paulina. 
 
 153 
 
 said to litr 
 
 evening very agroeably in Oio ^or-ioty of a ]\c.y whom lio 
 called "Alice," and to wiiOiH he did not speak of the return 
 of Paulina Lisle. 
 
 Lord Montalien, as a privileged friend of the family, came 
 early to the house <.f Sir ViMio Cliarteris the followinjr oven- 
 in^'. There was to be a dinn<>r party, \>\\{ lie u is the first of 
 the puests to arrive. Mrs. Galbraith, in crimson velvet, 
 stately and majestic, received him in the winter drawinjf- 
 ri'um. Two young ladies were present, one in her simple 
 schoolroom attire, for Maud did not yet appear in public, 
 another, tall and slender, in blue silk, with violets in her 
 shining, gold-brown hair. Lord Montalien ai)proaehed her 
 iit once with outstretched hand. 
 
 "As I was the last to say farewell to Miss Paulina Lisle on 
 her departure, so let me be the first to welcome her back to 
 England." 
 
 Miss Lisle turned round, and gave him her hand, scanning 
 him with blue bright eyes. 
 
 **I beg your pardon, you were not the last to say farewell to 
 iiie upon my departure from England," she retorted, and it 
 was characteristic that her first words were a contradiction. 
 "Vour brother came after you, Mr. Earlscourt." 
 
 "Not Mr. Earlseourt now, my dear," smoothly insinuated 
 }!rs. Galbraith. "Lord Montalien." 
 
 'Oh, yes! I beg your pardon again. The other name was 
 the most familiar." 
 
 "Then call me by whatever is most familiar," with a long, 
 tender glance, "as so old a friend should." 
 
 "So old a friend!" Miss Lisle pursed up her bright lips 
 with the old saucy grace. "Let me see — we met just three 
 times in our lives before this moment! Now, I shouldn't 
 think three meetings would constitute such very old friend- 
 ship, but, of course, your lordship knows best." 
 
 She walked away to a distant window, humming a French 
 song. Lord Montalien looked after her, then at Mrs. Gal- 
 braith. • 
 
 "A sickly, sallow, spiritless creature," he said, quoting her 
 words of yesterday. "Mrs. Galbraith, you are one of the 
 cleverest women I know, but don't you think you made ever 
 ^o slight a mistake yesterday?" 
 
 The girl was looking superbly. The slim form had grown 
 taller and rather fuller, its willowly grace was i)erfect. The 
 face, perhaps, was a trifle too pale and thin still, out the 
 large, brilliant, sapphire eyes, the sparkling white teeth, the 
 ^;incy, ever-dimpling smiles, and the aureole of bronze hair, 
 would have lit any face into beauty. In her nineteenth year, 
 enough of childhood yet lingered to give her a frank confi- 
 
 t 
 
 .1:,' 
 
tM 
 
 Paulina, 
 
 (Iciu'o that raivl"' Iflsts thrnu;^]; Intor years. The blj: eyr? 
 looked yoii full, brif,}iil,y, .stc! liiy iri fho fncc, the friitik 
 lips told .voii the truth, v\ilh iili the audacity of a child. A 
 lately ii'irl, iu her lin.l .;, .«utli, v.i;li o will and a spirit, and ;i 
 temper, trio, .)f bcr own, ready ait d moinent^a notice to (!(i 
 hiittle for frirndrt or with fn;s. 
 
 "A half-tan;od filly, v.ith a wicked light in tiio eyes," 
 thought Lord Alontaiien, "Aly dear Mrs. (Jialhraith, I don't 
 want to dijJcourage you, but your spiritless dehntantc. will 
 give you as much trcjuldo in the future i.^ ever dehufanh', 
 gave ebap(rone. 'J Iiat y-'Unf? lady means to have her own 
 way or know the reason wiiy." 
 
 ''Young ladios with eifihty thousand pounds generally d » 
 have their own way," flu; hidy answered. "Do you monn In 
 enter the list, my lord' The competition vvill I)e brisk. Si,i' 
 is a handsome girl, (^•"spi.'-: yesterday's sea -sickness. r!u.-;i 
 t= = £ort of {-irl men lo.-o tb.eir bonds for most readily. By tlie 
 bv, f,;hn ha>^ boon asking for your scapegrace brother." 
 
 Alls. (Jaibraith rose to receive some new guest, and Loi ! 
 miontalien approach(>tl the v.'ind(^w wherjs ]\[i^.s Lisle rti'-. 
 stiiod gazin:::: out at the twilit street. She glanced over h; r 
 Hhoulder, and asked him a question before he could speak. 
 
 "My lord, how long is it si)ice you were at Speckhavi n?" 
 
 "A little over a woek, JVIiss Lisle. You mean to visit it 
 soon, T ^uppo^e? By the way, there is quite an old friend <>{ 
 yours stoi)ping at IMontaiien.'^ y- 
 
 "Indeed! Another old friend, like yourself, whom 1 hav(^ 
 probably seen three tin.es.' 
 
 "More than that, Miss Lisle. I allude to Allan Fane." 
 
 "Oh!" said Paulina, and laughed and blushed. "Yes, I 
 saw a good deal of Mr. Fane at one time. He wanted me to 
 sit for a picture, you know. Mrs. Fane is there too, 1 sup- 
 pose ?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Fane is alone. Mrs. Fane is in Germany for her 
 health, which is poor. They meet once or twice a year, I be- 
 lieve, and are always perfectly ci^l to each other; but, as a 
 rule, they get on much more happily with two or three hun- 
 dred leagues between them. Mrs. Fane grows old and sickly, 
 and is notoriously jealous of her husband." 
 
 "Poor Mr. Fane! A.nd your brother, my lord — is he, too, 
 at Montalien?" 
 
 "You remember Guy, then? — ^poor Guy!" 
 
 "Certainly I remember Oxiy. I saw a great deal more of 
 him than I ever did of you ; and two years ia not such an 
 eternity! And why poor Guy?" 
 
 "Because — because — ^you haven^t heard, then?" 
 
 "Lord MontalienJ I only reached England late last night; 
 
Paulina. 
 
 •55 
 
 l:nvv was i to lioar anything ^ Ni.tluJig v(.rv 'Iroadful hay ho- 
 falloii yoiir hroilicr, I liopc^"' 
 
 "Y()i!r iiilrrrst tiocH liiin too inurii lioiior. ilr is (juito uii- 
 v.-ortliy of it.'' 
 
 "Why, plrnse?" 
 
 "Hccjmsf - Tiiy dear Miss l/islr, it is iiol a plciisnit sfory 
 for iiK! \o ti'll, for you «j iicar. (Juy has ^oiic \n the ha<l, ag 
 thoy say, if y(»u know wliat thai iik aus." 
 
 "I sliouhl think I (lid; it scenis toh>rahly jkhiiji I'liijilisli. U 
 (IK aiis, 1 su])poiJC, he has sjxMit all his inniu'v, ai d ^;it into 
 (l(l)t." 
 
 "It, means that, and njorc,'' Lord Monlalicn answrrcd, 
 gloomily; "it means debt, and Manihlinfr, and ail sort.^ of 
 horrors." 
 
 "Yos. But you are very rich, my lord, iwu] he i-; your only 
 brother. T should think his debts would imt sij^nify niuch 
 while you have plenty of money." 
 
 The dark blood rose up over his lordship's fnci* 
 
 "Miss l-i^lc, you don't understand, and it is imjiossihle to 
 explain — to you. Guy has gone; to tlie bad in every sense of 
 the word. Pray do not ask me a:iy more." 
 
 He shifted away from the ^aze of the innoc Mit. wonderin;:^ 
 blue eyes. She did not in the least eonipreheiMl vhat- ho 
 wished her to comprehend by his innuendoes. (Juy i^'aniLled 
 and spent his money; she understood just that, and no more. 
 
 "Well," she said, too hijirhly bred to press an ninveleoine 
 suhjeet, "that was not what I wished to say. Did you bear- 
 was there any news?" She hesitated a lit lie. and a faint 
 Hush rose «p over her fair faee. "Has aT-ythin^'- boen heard 
 of Alice Warvpu i" 
 
 The questic confounded him, and yet he mit?ht have t.x- 
 l)octed it. 
 
 "Alice Warren," he stammered. "Alice W^arren ? Who '9 
 she>" 
 
 "Who is she?" Paulina rei)eated, emphatically; ^'\(>u did 
 not need to ask that question two years ago, when you ad- 
 n ired her so greatly, Lord Montalien." 
 
 "Admired her so greatly I oh, of course, I knov/ now — how 
 stupid I am — you mean the bnilifPs daughter, of eoiirse?" 
 
 "Vcs, I mean the bailiff's daughter. Poor Alic* I" 
 
 ''There is no news of her, that 1 have h(>ard. Tl is a very 
 ftrai^ge thing, her running av.-ay from home as sbg did." 
 
 "Xot in the least strange," retorted Paulina, with her eus- 
 1(tr)U!''y frankness. "Slie ran away 1o be married " 
 
 "To be married!'' Lord Montalien's face wae siait'ed and 
 pale as he repeated it. 
 
 "Certainly o Sh© wrote to me tlie niij^ht befcra she laffc 
 
i|fi;6 
 
 Paulina. 
 
 Ijorrm. T luivc flic letter yft. Slie tf»I(1 ine sne \van U >inM *■•: 
 bo niMrried." 
 
 "Did she tell you t(» wlioin'r 
 
 His licint was l-eiitiiiK <iuiek us he asked tlui iUfslin:! 
 t,hi>Uf;}i li(f knew what tlu» answer would he. 
 
 "Nil. To HoiiH'. oik; above her in rank, thou^rli, 1 kiinn- 
 Jiord Montaiien, don't you suspecit it was one of tiie gentli- 
 • men slaying!: at ynur place last month?" 
 
 lie had had time to ('ontr(d himsc^if, otherwise the g";i/( if 
 the iaiK<S earnest eyes nuist havc^ disconcerted him liorriMy. 
 
 "Miss Lisle, 1 have thought, T have suspected! She !< tl 
 late in the evening. Have you heard who traveled up wiili 
 her to Lond(tn ?'' 
 
 "Of course not; I have heard nothing hut what her own 
 letter tells itu', and a few hrief lines from Duke Mason, say- 
 ing sjie was gone, no one knew where or why. Who went 
 with her up to London?" 
 
 "Miss Lisle, will you take my arm? They are going in tt 
 dinner. And will you forgive me if I do not answer ymir 
 question? She was your friend — it is not froui my iij)s y. j 
 should hear the name of her companion." 
 
 "Do you mean your brother?" she demanded, abruiitiy. 
 
 "T am sorry to say — T do." 
 
 "Then I don't beliiRve one word that she ran a way to ' ' 
 married to him!" answered Miss Lisle, with calm dec -i m. 
 "She never eared for him, and he never paid her the le;i<t 
 tentlon whatever, lie may have gone up with her to Lon I u,, 
 but I am quite certain your brother is not th(^ man whui': s . ■ 
 has married." 
 
 "If she be married!" Lord Montalien said, stung to 1 it! :- 
 ness by her words. Miss Lisle did not blush one whit. S ;,> 
 looked- at him wirh surprised, unshamed eyes; the open, fo:!i- 
 Icss gaze of perfect innocence. 
 
 "Of course she is married!" she said; "she told me sli(> w s 
 going to be. Do yon Ihink she would run away to seek I-r 
 fortune alone in Londcn? There were othtr gentlemen in tlic 
 Priory last September besides your brother, T suppo.-o ?" 
 
 "Thr*^*^ others — Allan l\\no, ^ir Harry Gordon, and C::i)- 
 tain Villiers." • « 
 
 "And yourself?" i^ 
 
 "And myself." ~^" '^ 
 
 She looked at him searchingly a moment: his face batHi'l 
 her. She turned away, and resumed her dinner with a rcso 
 lute air. 
 
 "1 shall find out," she said, quietly; "F am goin,? down k\ 
 Spef"khaven f h " day afteifc to-morrow to spsnd a we«)k; I shall 
 find out" 
 
i,llt 
 
 Hwor yo'ir 
 
 Paulina. 
 
 IS7 
 
 '^oiriK down lo S|m'«|<||}iv«'h." lir (('lii.cd. "to sporul a weok 
 •il!t.y(M:i (iM fririi<l Ma>i)ii, 1 pit sumr." 
 
 "Vcs; (Iciir (till Dukcl lie will Ik* n;|;i<' I . rn o itir. And 
 '' iij;!! iin«l nut iill aliitiit Alicr Wnrrcn." 
 
 U»r(l Moiitalirn was li.y u*> iruMins allnwfil ■ > mt»ri(»|M»li/r ilio 
 (1. i'ltiiic (<f the ovrninj^. Sir N'anc liad iiivitcd several Tcry 
 (1 i'.i|>!«' imniaiTicd nieii. and Miss Li-K'n l<;mty iitid spirited 
 i.t\l«! of t'(inv«r!'al ion li.id idr«'j;d.v pidduced rnii^id.Tiililr ini- 
 luvHsicMi. Ilcr uianncr was sijii|.l.y prrfrct ; a licllc of four 
 Masons conM not have been inort' entirely and ^r-ieefnlly at, 
 Ciise. Slie talked v<'ry nineli lictter than most yonn^; ladies, 
 rauiina was clever, and liad id<'as of her own, and it wan 
 (luile refr(?shinf^ to some (d tlhtse men ahoul town to hear .ler 
 li' -h vi(»vvs (»f people and tilings. She was charming'; that 
 Wiis tJH^ univerKal verdict — iu-autifnl beyond donht. aceoin- 
 plished and rich. She san^ after dinner, and iier rich v(»:eo 
 ; -lonished her hearers, so full, so sweet. 
 
 "She is (Miual to Patti!" was tlu' verdict of more tiian ono 
 present. "It is a wiiperh so|)rano." 
 
 Altofifetlier, Miss Lisle's first appearance, tliou^h Ik r i)art 
 this eveninjj: was a small one, was an entire succ(v^s. ]a)V(\ 
 .Montulien fouiid himself fas<Mnated in a way la; could not 
 luiderstand. She was so unlike the ordinary English ndss 
 he was aceustonied to; slie was so pi(]uant, so sparkliufr. so 
 laij^htly handsome and audacious, that she bewildered liiin. 
 She possessed that apell irresistible in man or woman- the 
 frilt of fascination — her joyous laugh, her ringing voice, tli«>. 
 bright flash of her eyes, took your lieart by storm before you 
 kiicw it. 
 
 Miss Lisle had said, in all honesty, that she meant t(t go 
 down to Speekhaven in two days; but with the best of inten- 
 tions, the sincerest affection for her two friends there, two 
 W(( ks elapsed before the promised visit was made. 
 
 London might be empty to some people, and the season 
 over, but to this young lady, fresh from her twilight convent 
 life, it was the most populous and delightful of cities. She 
 \v( nt out continually; and October was very near its close 
 \vli( n, one frosty evening, Miss l.ksle oi)ene(l.the little garden 
 Kate of Duke Mason's, and walked through the open front 
 door. There were changes, many and great, in herself, but 
 not one here. The roses and geraniums bloomed in pereii- 
 ni.il freshness, the old cat basked on the hearth, the .old order, 
 silence, cleanliness prevailed, and Rosanna,. on her knees, was 
 to'cisting muffins for tea. Two arms went around her n* rk, 
 and an impetuous kiss, the only kiss poor Rosanna had re- 
 ceived since she had said good by to her nursling, w^as ])ressed 
 Upon her withered cheek. Duke came in presently. The fire- 
 
 4 
 
 ■ i 
 
 1 !- 
 
1^8 
 
 Paulina, 
 
 lierht shone rrrilv throupfh tlio room, the lamp burned on tlin 
 niaiitol, tho tai)le was spivail for supper, and a j^raeeful, girl 
 jah figure sat on a low stool, frcrfh and beautiful as a rosebiiil. 
 Duke sttA)d a second legariling this picture, then advanced 
 with outvSt retched hand. 
 
 "^Vell, Piiehess," lie said, as if they had "parted two ^vecks 
 instead of two years before, "you have come back, after all." 
 
 And so ''Polly" was home again, but somehow it was not 
 tlie T*oily of old. The fault was not hers; she strove to be in 
 all thi?!gs preeiacly the girl who had left them, but she sat Ix- 
 fore them, a tall young lady, out of their world altogetlur, 
 with the new (dignity of dawning womanhood upon her — edu- 
 cated, refined, rich, handsome, fairer than ever, but never 
 again little "Polly." 
 
 Late in the evening of the ensuing day, Mr. Allan Faii(\ 
 bnsily at work sin(;e early morning, threw down brushes and 
 palctt", lit a eigar, and started for his daily brisk twilight 
 walk. On this particular evening, his steps tum«Ml shore- 
 ward, he str(dled along through the lamplit town, and d<)\^ri to 
 Si;eekhaven sands. The Cave was a favorite resort of his 
 where he could sit and smoke and watch the gray, whisperiiii,' 
 aea, and think, perhaps, of the girl who had first brought him 
 there, lie wns thinking of her now as he advanced along t! .■ 
 shingly path whence she had long ago led him. The last rays 
 of the fading daylight were in the cold, gray sky; pale yellmv 
 ghvinis of wintry brightness lit the west, and there was a riii;,' 
 of sharpness in the evening air. His steps echoed loudly "ii 
 the sands, and a quiet figure standing at the entrance of the 
 (^tve, watching those pale yellow gleams, turned at the 
 sound. And be and Paulina Lisle stood face to face! 
 
 Ife turned jiale at the sight. He had not dreamed she w.i> 
 in Speckhaven. Tie had been thinking of her, imagining her 
 rafliant in her new life, and here she rose up before him, like 
 a spirit in the gloaming! She recognized him immediately, 
 and held out her hand, with her frank, bright smile. 
 
 "It is Mr. Fane!" she cried. "The very last person 1 ex- 
 pected to see! Lord Montalien mentioned your being at ihe 
 Priory, too, but I had actually forgotten all about it." 
 
 Yes-the wliole story was told in those lightly ?})ukeii 
 words — she had "forgotten all about it," and all about hiri, 
 as conii>letcly a** though he had never entered her life. He 
 had loved her as honestly and strongly as an honester m'mJ 
 stronger man — he had given her up of his owu accord, and he 
 bad no right to complain. But the bittt^r ?ei.-e < f I^^^.s w.s 
 ever there — the brilliant, spirited face haunted him by night 
 and day ! 
 
 ^^Well,^' said Miss Lisle, ''you doo't look vwy cordial, I 
 
Paulina. 
 
 159 
 
 ;d on tlio 
 )ful, girl 
 i rosebud, 
 advanced 
 
 wo weeks 
 ifter all." 
 t waa Hilt 
 e to be in 
 he sat U'- 
 [Itojjcether, 
 her — edii- 
 but never 
 
 Ian Fane, 
 •usheH and 
 k twllifzlit 
 awl shore- 
 ad dov?n to 
 ort of hi-, 
 svhlsperiuL,' 
 ought him 
 I along tlf 
 \e last ra>s 
 jale yell'uv 
 was a rinjjf 
 loudly "II 
 mce of tiie 
 ed at the 
 cei 
 
 ed she was 
 gining lur 
 e hi in, like 
 lined! ately, 
 
 ile. 
 
 Tson I c^' 
 ?ing at the 
 it." 
 
 tly «fi)(jkeii 
 ibout hini. 
 life. Ih^ 
 best or a '.id 
 n*d, and li*' 
 :f lor.s \V:i^ 
 }\ by nlglit 
 
 cordial, I 
 
 must say : Do you take nie for a ghost, or a mermnid, Mr, 
 Fane? You see I have been paying »;isits iill djiy to my old 
 friends; and this, my seaside grotto, is the last on the list. 
 And now I really must go huir.e. Poor Rosannn has a horror 
 !)f night dews and night winds. She takes me to be a fragile 
 b!(»ssom, that a sharp, autumn blast would nip in twain. If 
 vnn won't say anything else, Mr. Fane, i)erhai)s you v>ill say 
 ^(XKl-night !" 
 
 She laughed — Polly's sweet, gay Inugh — drew her ?(iia\>l 
 cldser about her, and turned to go. She was very simply 
 dressed, in a dark merino, a soft gray shawl, and a little 
 I (tik-pie hatj with a searlet bird's wing, l^nt tli^UKh he saw 
 her often after in silks and roses, the que<m of the ball, never 
 (lid she look lovelier than at that moment. Ife spoke with 
 sniiiething of an effort — good Heavens, how cold and coin- 
 nionplaee the words soundetl I 
 
 ''You will permit me to st^e j^ou home, Mi-s Lisle — it w'l 
 he quite dark before you are half way, and the town i.^ full 
 pf strangers, down for the October meeting." 
 
 A provoking smile dawned on her face. She had not en- 
 tirely forgotten the past, and the temptation to give him a 
 stiiall stab was irresistible. 
 
 "1 am not the least afraid; thanks, very much, Mr. Fane. 
 And, beside — it is quite unpardonable of me to say it — I am 
 afraid, but I ha/e heard Mrs. Fane is — jealoin! Do you 
 think she would mind very greatly if I permitted you to es- 
 cert me home?" 
 
 He looked at her — a dark, painful flush rising on his face. 
 
 "You are merciless," he said. "You had your nn-enge two 
 years ago, on the day you gave ine back my ring! You might 
 spare me now!" 
 
 "The ring you presented the same night to Mis> TIantton! 
 1 saw it on her finger when T dined at the Priory. Please 
 (leirt try to be sentimental, ^Ir. Fane; T have grown dread- 
 fully old and wise since that foolish time, and pretty sp^-ecdies 
 are (luite thrown away upon me, T assure you. And you may 
 walk home with me — let us hope !Mrs. Fane will never 
 hoar it." 
 
 After vainly trying to coniine the conversation to the (Om- 
 itiniiplace, Allan Fa^ie said, suddenly: 
 
 "Do you recollect the 'Jiosamond and Eleanor? Yes, I see 
 Villi do — I am finishing that for the spring exhibition." 
 
 She looked at him saucily. 
 
 "And what little country ^irl have you eho-jen for Fair 
 iiosamond now! Please be merciful as you are strong, Mr. 
 Fane, and don't turn her head with your flatteries." 
 
 "I paint my Rosamond from memory — my Eleanor is one 
 
 
 ;| 
 
 !■ 
 
 i 1 
 
 t 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 ■ 
 
 ■ ' it' 
 
 
 ' 1 
 
 
 1 i 
 
 1 : 
 
i6o 
 
 Paulina. 
 
 of the houseninids at the Priory — a tall, black-browcd, Ro- 
 iiiaii-iiosod youn^' woman. And I am quite alone up in llio 
 bi^, rambling old mansion. Ciuy was- with me durinj? tlie 
 races, but he has gone." 
 
 •"Ah! (iuy Kailscouit ! Do you kno\y T have never met 
 him yet? and people s])Oidv of him as though he were the m;iii 
 in the Iron !\t;isk. or (»uy Fawkt's, or anything cise dreadful, 
 Mrs. Galbraith calls him 'a determental,' whatever that m.iy 
 be. Pray, what has that unluippy young man doncf 
 
 "Nothing to any one save himself. You have heard of tho 
 road to ruin, I supi)ose? Well, he has been going at a giillip 
 along that highway for the last three years. The end nni-t 
 conio very soon now. If his old grandaunt does not die, ainl 
 leave him her njoney, he must, in a few months at the niu f, 
 send in his papers to sell and fly the country. He is involved 
 beyond redemption. Mrs. Galbraith is quite right; in a mar- 
 riageable point of view, he is a determental." 
 
 "Poor fellow," Paulina said, her eyes softening. "I atn 
 sorry! I used to like him very much. He was so handsome" 
 
 "And is still. T wonder his handsome face has not wm 
 him an heiress long ago. It would, I think, if he tried, l»ut 
 he seems to have no time." 
 
 "If he is ruined, as you say, how does he live?" 
 
 "By a well-made betting book, by a run of luck at cards, hy 
 ele^'erJy written magazine articles. Once or twice his aunt 
 has paid his debts — he tells me she has refused to do it agiiii. 
 He has gone across to Germany for the autumn races." 
 
 They had reached the house now, and Rosanna was w\aitiiii," 
 anxiously in the doorway. Miss Lisle bade him good-ni^ht, 
 and Allan Fane strolled homeward through the sharp Octohir 
 night, thinking — well, not of his wife. 
 
 Sir Vane Charteris came down for his ward at the exiiiia- 
 tion of the week, and Paulina went with him very williii!;ly. 
 It was pleasant to see her old friends, no doubt, but life in 
 Duke Mason's house seemed hopelessly dull to her now. 
 
 On the night of her return she went to see Ristori in 
 "IVIary Stuart." The house was full, the actress magnifin i!. 
 and^ Miss Lisle, in pale, flowing silks and pearls, lo.ikil 
 charnMUgly. Two or three of her admirers were in the 1."n; 
 and when the first act was nearly over there entered l.-n'l 
 Montalien. His eyes lit as they fell on her, hers gave liiiu 
 he briefest, eoldest possible glance. She did not like l.od 
 Montalien. The girl's perceptive faculties were very knii, 
 She knew him to be false and cruel, sm^'oth and deceli u'. 
 iThe expression of his mouth revolted her, the liard, iCMj 
 «5litier of hi: (.-os made her shrink away. 
 
Paulina, 
 
 I6l 
 
 ''*- nope you found all your frieiulA at Spookliavon (luita 
 leoll,'' he said to her as the eurtaiii weiit down 
 
 '^'Quitc," she answered, briefly. "All who remain.'" 
 
 ''Ah; you allude, of eourse — — ** 
 
 "] allude, of eourse, to n>y d(>arest friend, Aiiee Warren. 
 I toid you when I went to Speekhaven 1 sliould lu'natrnt*' ti»« 
 mystery of her flijiht, and — I have fjiilcd.'' 
 
 There was a satisfied smile just pereeptilile al»<)ut his mouth 
 — :<A{)ne in an instant. ^ 
 
 "I feared you would. Her father eould tell you n"othin<^." 
 
 "Xolhin.1^ that you had not aln^idy told nic — th;it your 
 brother traveled with her up to town." 
 
 "Then Ouy is the umn. Are you satisfied now th;it my 
 suspieions are ri.uht V' 
 
 "W<iuld you like me tg tell you whom I do suspeet. mv 
 
 lord r 
 
 "I'ndoubtedly." 
 
 She looked at him — full, bright, dauntlessly, and answered: 
 
 "You !" 
 
 "iMiss Lisle I' 
 
 "My lord, -your brother Cuy vvna never the man Alice left 
 home to lUarry. ^he never cared for your brother- -she did 
 for you. Guy may have traveled uj) witii her to Lotuhsn — he 
 acknowledges it, indeed, but he hnd no part in her flight. lie 
 went to Mr. Warren's house, and told him so, and the old 
 man believes him. He tells, frankly enough, his share in tile 
 business. He :met her at the rnin^riy station, he traveled up 
 with her in i\e same carriage, and at her retiuest lie drove 
 with her to her destination. That destinatio» he r* fuses to 
 tell — she bound him by promise lun-self not to do so; and 
 Mathew Warreti does not urge him to reveal it. Jle is bit- 
 terly, cruelly angry — he never wishes to hear her name— if 
 she came to his door a wedded wile he would not t;ikt> her in. 
 He will never forgive her — he will not lift a finger to si-ck 
 her. But I will!" — the blue eyes flashing — "T shall find her. 
 and that before long!" 
 
 "May T ask what you mean to do?" 
 
 "T shall advertise — T shall emj)loy the best detectives in 
 YiOndon — T will move heaven ;intl earth to find her!" 
 
 "And when sIk^ is found, will she tlinnk you, do you t}ii'd<, 
 for thus forcing her from the piiva<'y she seems to desircf" 
 
 "She wili forgive itic — we loved e;)ch other. T.oi'd MmiiI •- 
 lien, will you tell mc the truth, will you acknowdedge you 
 know where she is?" 4. 
 
 "Mi^'3 Lisle, from any other lips the question would be an 
 insult I know noth'ing of Alice Warren. Wherever she is. 
 
 "■ T'1 
 
 1 
 
i62 Now I Live, Now My Life Is Done! 
 
 / ,.. 
 
 wliosoover's wife sho may be, she is not mine. Will you not 
 believe me, when I pledge you my honor, I speak the truth ?^ 
 
 She turned from him, and back to the stage, as the eurfain 
 went up on the next scene. Her face was set with an expres- 
 sion }\vw to every one who saw her. 
 
 "1 shall never rest until T know the truth; T will never de- 
 sist until I discover the secret. I shall find Alice Warren if 
 fthe l)e in England, and the man who promised to make her 
 his wife !" . " • ^ 
 
 • CTTAPTER IV. 
 
 NCnV I LIVK, NOW MY LIFE IS DONT:! 
 
 It was the afternoon of the first of NovenibeF> 
 
 That disnialest of mouths had come in with bitter, east- 
 erly wind, with dull fog, and miserable, drizzling rain, that 
 wet and chilled you to the very marrov/. 
 
 It W41S about fo\ir o'clock, and already the gas flared 
 through the city, glinunering in a gliastly way through drizzle 
 and fog. 
 
 At tlje window of the lodging-house in Gilbert's Gardens, 
 a vvv)ni.'in sat looking out at the wretched prospect; at the 
 daik, drift ing clouds; at the ceaseless rain, beating heavily 
 against the glass; at the blue-nosed pedestrians, hurrying Ly, 
 vvilli lurdirellas and overcoats, at the one lamp, flaring redly 
 lit llie utMrest corner. A woman, pale, and wan, an<l haggard, 
 t hanged almost beyond recognition — Alice! 
 
 On^y seven weeks had gone by since that warm September 
 nigiit vvhen, for love of Francis Earlscourt, she had fled from 
 hon:e and friends, and already the end had cam.e. It was the 
 natur:)! ending of ail such stories; but how was -she to know 
 thnti IVIad passion for a fortnight, cooling passion for an- 
 other, satiety, weariness, disgust. 
 
 The end had come. It was only the old, old strry, told, 
 and told, and told — she had staked all on one throw, and — 
 lost ! 
 
 She had saf for hours as she sat nov/, her hands lyin^, 
 heavily in her lap, her haggard eyes fixed on the murky Lon- 
 don sky. The room was as pleasant as it is in the nature of 
 Lo! 'on lodgings ever to be. A fire burned in the grate, and 
 on the little center table stood a glass filled with yellbw ainl 
 pink roses. Their fragrance filled the room — their sweetness 
 breathing of the summer dead, and of all she had lost with 
 its fading. • 
 
 The nearest church clock struck the quarter past four. As 
 
 that li 
 gone 
 swervi 
 loM'r 
 the bl 
 of her 
 Her 
 had — ^ 
 a man 
 could 
 in her 
 St. Et 
 Aire 
 him — t 
 loved 
 th(^ saul 
 Lisle 
 
 It Wl 
 ton em 
 read, : 
 dying 
 friendl; 
 and th( 
 of COUl 
 
 
I not 
 
 rfain 
 
 pres- 
 
 ir (le- 
 ■en if 
 e her 
 
 , fast- 
 1, that 
 
 flaroil 
 drizzle 
 
 ardeus, 
 at the 
 leavily 
 iig hy, 
 r redly 
 
 [iggard 
 
 teniber 
 Id from 
 ^vas the 
 know 
 or an- 
 
 , told, 
 and — 
 
 lyini, 
 :y Loii- 
 Iture of 
 Ite, and 
 Ibw and 
 }e6tne>*s 
 Ut with 
 
 mr. 
 
 As 
 
 , .,vv/ I Live, Now My Lite is Donef i6) 
 
 ehc heard it, she moved -ostlossly tor the first time, and a 
 spasm of intense pain crorisod her face. 
 
 "He should have heen here an hour a^o," she said, in p* 
 »()vt of fritfhtoncd whisper. "Will he nut eouie after aW'i 
 Will he never come agaWn if" 
 
 She t;ot up, and walked over to the mirror on the numtel, 
 lfK)king with i)iteous eyes at her own wasted fac-e and figure. 
 She had been crying- for hours, crying until there W(>re no 
 more tears to flow, and slie helield the natural ro«ult — dim, 
 sunken eyes, a bloated and swollen face. It is not given to 
 allf alas! t*' shed silent, pearly tears, such as you read of my 
 Lady Kowena shedding in her silken boudoir. 
 
 Alice had wept for hours, until eyes and heart ached 
 alike. She had dressed herself in Iut one best dress — i)oor 
 soul! a dress of blue and whit^* that "Frank" had onee said 
 he liketl, but it hung loose fr 'i lier shrunken figure now. 
 
 Beauty and youth and hrightn(\ss had all gone. She 
 shrunk away, almost in liorror, from the sight of her own 
 pallid face, her hollowed, dulled eyes! 
 
 "And he used to praise my pretty looks!" she said. "What 
 will he think of me now ^" 
 
 She felt, without being able to thiidv very deci)ly, on that or 
 any otlier subject, that her pretty looks were the only links 
 that bound him to her. And her face was faded, her beauty 
 gone in seven weeks ! She was not the sort of woman to 
 swerve from the straight path with impunity: but if her 
 lover had been faithful she might at least have forgotten in 
 the bliss of that love. He was not faithful — he had wearied 
 of her in two brief weeks. 
 
 Her pretty face and her tender heart were all the gifts she 
 had — good and j)leasant gifts, but not likely to lon^j enchain 
 a man of Lord ]\Iontalien's stamp.^ She was not clever — she 
 could not talk to him, could not amuse him, and he yawned 
 in her face three days after tJiat ceremony in the Church of 
 St. Kthelfrida. 
 
 Already the fatal spell of a fresher beauty had captivated 
 him — the friend she loved best on eai'th; the friend who best 
 loved her had taken him from her! The sparkling beauty, 
 the saucy, self-willed, outspokej», graceful audacity of Paulina 
 Lisle held Lord Montalien (^ithralled. 
 
 It was ten days since he had been \h\\v (iilbert's Gardens — 
 ten endless, dreary days. She had nothing to do, nothing to 
 read, not a soul to speak to, only her own miserable, never- 
 dying suspicions for company. Until yesterday, when a 
 friendly face and kindly eyes from home had looked upon her, 
 and those roses fresh from Sjjeckhaven had brought a breath 
 of country sweetnetjs to her dingy room. She had written 
 
 I 
 
 1 '11 
 
 • I 
 
l64 Now I Live, Now My Life is Done! 
 
 i' I 
 
 ,,., I 
 
 last iiiKli^^^ ill iier <l<'spcration, to hor husV)and; and now, as 
 >ho rainy afternoon wore , on, slic waited iijs coining. 
 
 As she turned ffoni the gUiss, the rapid roll of wheels 
 caught lier ear. She (hirted to the wln(h>w. Tiiank God! — 
 oh, thank God! he had eoii:f — lie ^ as here at last! lie 
 sprang from the cah, hade the <lriver wait, and a mighty 
 double knock a sec«nd after made the hcjuse shake. Mrs. 
 Howe came to the d(K)r in person. Sj;e knew that imperious 
 knock well, and was almost a.! glad to hear it again as her 
 lodger. Two weeks' rent was due, and "Mrs. Brown," her 
 lodger, never seemed to have any money, and spent her time 
 in tears and loneliness. U dawned upon the landlady's mind 
 that all was not right, and that the sooner she got rid of her 
 the better. 
 
 ^'Whieh a man that mutfles hiniself up t-o that degree that 
 you never see no more of him than two heyes and a nose, is 
 no better than he ought to be, and must have something to 
 hide. I declare to you, mum, Mrs. Brown, if she is Mrs. 
 lirovvn, has been lodging with me nigh upon seven weeks, and 
 he a-eoming and a-going all that time, and I never once, 
 since the first night, had a good look at his face. A tall and 
 'ancteome man as ever I see; but .andsome is as 'andsome 
 does, and a millingtary swell he is, 1 know, and no more jjlain 
 Mr. Brown than you or me." 
 
 She admitted him now, dropping a curtesy, and scanning 
 him curiously. But the passage was dark at all times, doubly 
 dark now, and the tall form of "Mr. ]>rown" brushed past 
 her, and dashed up the stairs and into her lodger's room. 
 
 With a cry of joy, a sob not to be supjiressed, she iiung 
 herself into his arms. 
 
 ou have c( 
 i^gain." 
 
 "You took devilish good care not to let me do that! What 
 do you mean, madam, by writing to me? Did I not ex- 
 pressly forbid you ever to write, or come near my lodgings if" 
 
 He turned the key in the door, breaking angrily_ free from 
 her encircling arms, flung himself into the easy-chair she had 
 placed for him before the fire, and looked at her with a darkly 
 angry glance. 
 
 She stretched out her hands to him, shrinking away lik. a 
 child who has been struck a blow. 
 
 "Forgive me, Frank; I meant no harm. T wr.', '-.n lonely ■ 
 oh, so lonely; and it is ten days since " 
 
 Her voice broke, in spite of h(»r. She covered her faei', and 
 her sn]>pressed sobbing tilled the room. 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" groaned her visitor, "here it is again, before 
 I am tw<i seconds in the house I Tears and scenes, reproaches 
 
 "Frank! oh, Frank! you have come at last! I thought you 
 were never going to com^gs 
 
jv, as 
 
 heels 
 
 j(l !- 
 
 lie 
 
 Mrs. 
 
 IS her 
 " her 
 
 • time 
 miiul 
 
 of lier 
 
 se that 
 ose, is 
 ing to 
 s Mrs. 
 is, ami 
 
 • ontH% 
 all and 
 iidsmne 
 [e plain 
 
 aiming 
 (louhly 
 d past 
 
 lom. 
 llunK 
 
 rht yon 
 
 What 
 not ex- 
 
 ^e from 
 she had 
 darkly 
 
 V Ilk." ;i 
 
 uuely- - 
 
 .»ee, and 
 
 I, before 
 )roache3 
 
 Now i Live, Now My Life is Done! i6s 
 
 and sob\i — always tiio same! And you eomphiin that [ don't 
 come to sec you." . .* 
 
 Ho seized the i)()ker, and ^ave the fire a vieiou:* dig" Ho 
 had thrown 4»is felt liat on the lloor heside him, and his tliin, 
 saUow faee was set in an ant?ry scowl. il(> Kx.ked a ver> 
 different man from the suave and eourtoous genthMnan wlio 
 had bent over the chair of I'anlina Lisle at the theatre oidy 
 the ni^ht before — very ditl'erent from the ardeut \uvcr who 
 had wooc'l Alice Warren's fresh face down amoiij< llu^ clover 
 fields and lir trees of Moutalien. 
 
 She swallowed her subs l)y a great etiort, and coming tim- 
 idly over, knelt down beside liim. 
 
 "Don't be hard on me, Traid-c,'' she pleaded; "I don't menu 
 to reproach you; but 1 am so mueli alone, and 1 have mith- 
 ing to do, and no one to speak to, and i get thinking of home, 
 and get low-spirited. Won't you teil me, Frank, why you 
 have stayed away so long^' 
 
 He looked at her with hard, cruel eyes. 
 
 "Because I have grown tired of coming! Will that do, 
 Mrs. Browr ?" 
 
 "Frank !'\ 
 
 He was still looking at her. searchingly, pitilessly, not once 
 shrinking from the gaze of the large, horrorstru(;k eyes. 
 
 "You have not improved in my absence, at all events," ho 
 said, with a short laugh. '"V^ou are actually growing old and 
 ugly. 'Beauty is fleeting' — certainly in your case. If you 
 had looked like this down at Speckhaven, I don^t thiidv — 
 well, I don't think I should ever have given you the trouble 
 of coming up to town. Pray, what have you been doing since 
 I saw you last ?" 
 
 "Nothing," her voice seeming hoarse and unnatural. 
 "Only thinking of you." 
 
 "A very unprofitable way of spending your time. And now 
 that you have sent for me, will you have the kindness to in- 
 form me what you want ?" 
 
 "Frank, you ask that question ?" 
 
 "A very natural question, 1 think. And m the first place, 
 will you tell me how you discovered my address at all?" 
 
 She rose up from her kneeling position, stung to the cjuick 
 by the insolence, more even of his tone and look than his 
 words. She shed no tears now; she felt cold as death, and 
 her slu'.nking eyes met his steadily at last. 
 
 "I liad the right to send for ^ou, my l«»rd — to go to you, 
 if 1 chose. I am your wife!" 
 
 1I(^ listened with a smile, his jiead lying against the back 
 ©t the chair — a smile of insufferable insoh nee. 
 
 "My wife!" he rei/Cated. "Well, yes, of course, we did §iQ 
 
 I :i 
 
|66 Now I Live, Now y / Life is Done! 
 
 to the Church of St. Etholfrida topother 13ut, my deal 
 Alice, let me give you one piece of advice — don't you pix^eume 
 on that little ceremony. Don't you write to njo a^ain, and 
 don't visit me until I give you leave. Perhaps you did )iot 
 hear my question — let me repeat it — where did you tijnl i>at 
 my address?" 
 
 "Your brother told me." 
 
 "My brother!" 
 
 He startecl at the words, and then, for the first tini*'. Li? 
 eyes fell upon the roses on the table. He sprang to l»is t''.< t. 
 
 "My V other 'as been here?" he cried. 
 
 "Ho h. ' 
 
 Slio an. Vi red ' im quietly. Her heart felt cold and siill In 
 her breast, ■ :!. o^e had no intention of disturbing him with 
 *'sconos or tears" l . 
 
 He strode toward her, grasping her wrist until the maiks 
 of liis cruel fingers remained — his face white to the very lips, 
 as was his way when really moved. 
 
 "And you dared do it! You dared, after all I said, bring 
 him here! Guy, of all men! You dare tell him " 
 
 "I told him nothing. My lord, will you let me go? You 
 hurt me!" 
 
 H J dropped his hold, looking down at her with a dangerous 
 light in his pale blue eyes. 
 
 ''How came he here? You must have brought hin, or ha 
 never would have found you out. Tell me the truth, I com- 
 mand you." 
 
 She met his angry gaze with a calm steadiness, quite new 
 in his experience of her. 
 
 ''He came with me the first night. You rer .ember he trav- 
 eled up with me from Speckhaven. He was very kind; he 
 v;as always kind. I don't know wjiether he suspected our 
 secret or not. I know he advised me to go back while there 
 was yet time." 
 
 "I wish to God you had taken his advice !" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, still very quietly, "it is a pity. But 
 we won't speak of that, since it is rather late in the day now. 
 It was late that night when we reached London; it was all 
 strange to me; and I was afraid; and I asked him to come 
 with me here." 
 
 The pressure tightened on her wrist*- again; he drev,- his 
 breath for a moment hard. 
 
 "Vou did! After all your promises — after all T told you— - 
 you ])rought him here !" 
 
 "I brought him here; but I told him nothinsr ar^c* ^ -eve; 
 laid eyes on him since until yesterday." 
 
 *^« was here yesterday V* 
 
deal 
 
 I, and 
 cl not 
 1(1 i>at 
 
 Lie, l»i? 
 
 is tVt't. 
 
 s,iU\ iu 
 m with 
 
 1, bring 
 
 )? You 
 
 ugeroua 
 
 ^., or ha 
 I eom- 
 
 lite new 
 
 Ihe trav- 
 Lind; be 
 ;ted our 
 Ue there 
 
 ty. 13ut 
 
 [ay now. 
 
 was all 
 
 [to c<Mne 
 
 Ivev bis 
 
 Id VC!U— 
 
 Now I Live Vow My Life is Lionel l^? 
 
 r. 
 
 "He "was. Frflnk. do 'cu know th'>y think At himiA I iit-u. 
 with him — that--tbat 1 ain — not a wife." 
 
 "Yes; I hapiifii to ho quito awaro of that faol; and whait 4 
 more, I mean tlicy shall continwe to tliink so. Hear m© oi^U 
 if you please, and don't intrrrupt. Do you suppose I an» 
 ffoing to ruin my prosj)(H*ts i>y acknowlodprin^ my mnniaR'i 
 with you? A pretty htory, forsooth, for Bclgravia, that Loii* 
 Montalien has married his bailiff's danphterl" 
 
 "Lord Montalien should have thought of that seven weeka 
 airo. 
 
 "I know it. No need for you to remind me what a fool I 
 have been. And what brought my precious younge? broihc^t 
 hero vest(>r(lay ?" 
 
 "Friendship. Only that. Mr. Guy was always the kinde.^i 
 of friends, the noblest of genth men. He t .-•qpht of me— h-s 
 broup:bt me thosp flowers from Montalien,'' 'ler yyes lightiBi;« 
 "heeause he faneied they would remind m of. - no." 
 
 The nobleman seized the roses and tlun i. Ptca. into thA firo. 
 The f-irl staTted forward with a cry; i,f .le ^'..i struck her hi> 
 would hardly have done a more brutal thinj,. 
 
 "Sil( nee!"' he said, with an oath. "(' or ' What brougli 
 him hcre^ Did you dare to tell him thai i- " 
 
 "^I told him nothing — ^nothing, God help me! I have keT< 
 your secret, Lord Montalien, at the price of my own gooi 
 name. I have broken my mother's heart, bowed my father 4 
 head in sorrow and shame, g-iving up the home where I wai 
 happy, the friends who cared for me, for you; and thia— thki 
 is my reward." 
 
 She laid her arm upon the mantel, and bowed her far>j(> 
 upon it. Biit in the dark heart of the man beside heff the- •:, 
 was neither pity nor remorse. 
 
 "Will you swear to me my brother knows nothing— 4Ji:>.a 
 yoahavo not told him?" 
 
 "I have not told him," she reiterated, and did not lift hf '.. 
 ashen face as she made the reply. 
 
 He turned, and began pacing to and fro up and doTfni th-i 
 room. He wanted to shake her off, to have done with her ir-c 
 good;, to get her out of the country even, and to do that» Wii.J 
 it wise to goad her to despair and desperation? He muert iX^-^X 
 rid of her — that was the one inevitable thing to be done; ai I 
 to get rid of her quietly, without scandal or exposure, s ' '. 
 must still think herself his wife. The time to tell her .- i 
 truth had not yet come. He must get rid of her^ and at or-'* ; 
 and kindness here would do more than harshneflfi or ."^ecr ■ 
 ination. He came owr and laid his hand upon iier shoai - , 
 
 "Forgive me, Alice," he said, "and forget n^ unkirio t» j ■ . 
 ^on know« as well as I do* that I lore yim. as cb**'<riy ?^ >?^ 
 
 t ■ 
 
 »v 
 
|68 Now ! Live, Now My Life is Done! 
 
 that I did not moan thcni , but I am out of sorts and ou^ o^ 
 tomi)or to-day. I have a thousand t hinges to worry and annoy 
 mj of which you cannot droam; and it did startle mo to know 
 'luy was hero. I am sorry I destroyed your flowers. I shall 
 send you a handsome l>ou<|uet to-morrow, (.^omc, look Up, 
 and say ve are friends apain." 
 
 She lifted her head slowly and looked at him. Even he, bad 
 to the core, harder than iron, shifted from the night of set- 
 tled despair in those haggard eyes. 
 
 "Do what you will, say what you will, Frajik, I can never 
 be other than your friend." 
 
 Her voice was broken and low, no tinge of color came to 
 her white face as he stooped and kissed her. 
 
 She knew the end had come — her heart never beat with 
 hope while she lived again. 
 
 "That is my own little Alice! And now, to prevent a rei>e- 
 titicn of such visits, you nmst leave this lodging at once." 
 
 "Ye3." 
 
 "This very evening I will engage another, and to-morrow I 
 will send a cab for you and your belongings. Early to- 
 morrow evening you will ha quite ready to go?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And as it can't be any i)nrticular pleasure to me to keep 
 moving you about from one London lodging to another, for 
 -fear of detection, what do you say to going down to the 
 country, or even out of England for a little. You would be 
 better and happier, I am sure. You are used to a country 
 life, and I would come to see you just as often. What do you 
 say ?" 
 
 "I have nothing to say. I will do whatever you please." 
 
 "That is settled, then." 
 . He was delighted with her easy acquiescence. Nothing 
 would be simpler than to send her out of the country alto- 
 gether and for good. • '../.*! 
 
 "To-morrow you will leave here, and within the week you 
 shall go to some pleasant country home, either in or o^t of 
 England, where you will remain until it is in my power to 
 proclaim you to the world as my wife. You hear, Alice?" 
 
 "I hear," she answered, wearily. "Frank!" she looked up 
 at him suddenly, "is it true that Paulina Lisle is in Lon- 
 don?" 
 
 "Guy told you that among his other news, I suppo-r^?" 
 
 "He did. lie told me, too, that you were her lover, or tlint 
 report said so." 
 
 "He told you a lie! I visit at the lumse of Sir, Vane Char 
 teris, and I see Miss Lisle, of course. He spoke cai-rfessly 
 enough* but in his heart he recorded a vow to add this te the 
 
Now I live. Now My U^p is }^'^ne\ 169 
 
 ••.por )rolher. "I 
 
 and lell her 
 
 V. lio I was «'oiiig to 
 Yen knew -\\o v/as 
 
 i./ng list of hatrf'd he nlronrly ownrl Hi; yi;: 
 
 meant, to speak to .yoii of hor Wliy did you 
 
 of your c'lopcnirnt and intondod inarrijifrf ' nd nil my in 
 
 .iiincti(»ns of socreoy niid yruii ^lr(•llli■^(•. -A i.s it will dom- 
 
 AiiceT , ^ 
 
 "1 meant no harm. I did u<A fell iicj 
 marry." 
 
 "But you knew she would Kuspect. 
 'Uvare how prently I always admired yon. luit I overlook it, 
 Alice — tliat arid all (he rest— and look forward to the day 
 wjien 1 can proclaim you to the world as iuy lawful wife. 
 And now, farewell. To-morrow afternooii, at this time, I will 
 'isit you at your new lodpinp." 
 
 His lips touched h^T forehead in another traitor ki^s, and 
 then the door opened and closed, and he was •j:one. Gone! 
 \nd Alice, sitting there alone hefore the fire, knew her fate — 
 kn'^w in her heart that he lied to her — 'that he woui<l never 
 proclaim her as his wife — that hope was at an end, ihat her 
 life was done. She touched no food, she had no sleep that 
 '.if^ht. She lay listening to the heating rain, to the com- 
 plaining wind, to the hours as they tolled, in a sort of dull 
 stni)or of misery. She had loved him, she loved him still, and 
 this was the end. 
 
 The cah eaine early next morning for "Mrs. Brown.'' 
 
 Before leaving the previous day his lordship had paid the 
 l.mdlady, and told h<'r of her lodger's d«>parture. And now, 
 in the dark Xcveniher nmrning, she watched her drive away 
 almost with- regret. 
 
 "She looko'l like death itself as she hade me good-hy," Mrs. 
 Howe said afterward; "it we, it to my heart only to see her.'* 
 
 The new lodging to which the enhiiian dr'sve her was in one 
 of the obscure streets leading from the Strand to the river — 
 dingier, poorer, closer than that which she had left. But she 
 scarcely noticed how scinnlid it was, scarcely noticed how un- 
 utterahly wretclied she herself looked. 
 
 "What does it matter," she thought, turning away from the 
 ^dass, "since there is no one in the world (o care?" 
 
 And then she lay down, and the dull, gnav.-ing, ceaseless 
 pain at her heart seemed somehow to go, and in its place her 
 lia])py girlhood came hack. ^ The dark, wretched room, the 
 foggy daylight faded away, once more the j!^reen fields of 
 Montalicn, rich with goldoi corn, the meadows sweet with 
 tl'e seoKe of .new-mown hay, the voiee of her mother, the wav- 
 ing trees, the golden sumn er sky, all eame Vvack to her; and 
 Francis Earlscourt's eyes looked love, and his voice spoke 
 Boftly and sweetlj* and Ma strong arm encircled her waist; 
 
170 Now ! Live, Now My Life is Done! 
 
 » 
 
 oii'l her pyf's rlosr>d, nnd witli Hie smilo of n happy child oi 
 her fiu'f, sho fell iislerp. 
 
 Sho slept for hours. Tin* aftornoon wore on — tho roar of 
 tho jiieat c'i^-, of the busy Strand, worn uiihoanl h'voii tlip 
 op<'niii;4' of tlic door, i\m\ the oiitraiico of tho man of whom 
 she drcnnu'd, failed to arousp her. 
 
 lie lookcrl Mt her, as slu^ slept, witluiuf one feelinp of pify 
 for tho heart he had broken, for the life ho hud blighted, lb' 
 }iiad tired of her, and he must remove her out of tho counlry 
 that ho miMht marry Paulina Lisle. Nf)thing remained nou- 
 but that. 
 
 While ho stood irresolute whether or no to awaken hii\ 
 there was a taj) at tho door, and the landlady, with a startle- 
 fae(\ looked in. 
 
 "If you i)lense, sir, and askinp your i)ardon for dij*tur)»inii 
 of you an(l your jijood lady, would you eome upstair--^ ju>t a 
 moment? The third-floor-front'i* a-dyin^:i:. and a-dyin^ ijard 
 and he says he can't so until ho has made his confession. 
 There ain't a soul in the house to ro for the j)araon or doctor 
 and I daren't leave him alone. Would you lie so ffood, kii) I 
 gentleman, as to step up to his room while 1 ruu f©r the neai- 
 est c'lers-yman ?" 
 
 The "kind genrleman" addressed stared at her haughtily in 
 amazement at her presumptuous request. What was her 
 "third-lloor-front" to him, dying though its inmate might I'l', 
 that He should trouble himself in the matter. 
 
 "lie siiys he has a confession to make about some v(M-y 
 great lady he knew once, and about a great crime he heli)ed 
 to commit nearly twenty years ago. Ho can't die, he sa>-, 
 until he has confessed it. Maybe it's only his raving, but !;•' 
 says the lady's name was Miss Olivia Lyndith." 
 
 Lord Montalien swung round, amazed, interested at once. 
 
 "Miss Olivia I.yndith," he muttered. "Lady Charteri>! 
 Now wdiat the deuce does this mean? Lead the way, my 
 good woman; I'll go up, and hear what your third-lloor-froni; 
 has to say." 
 
 He followed her up the dark, winding stairs, and into tho 
 stifling attic rooni, where, on a wretched truckle-bed, a gau!i'. 
 eniaciated form was stretched. Therenvas no fire in the liiil 
 room, and th. sickly, foggy daylight hardly found its way 
 through the blurred, dirty glassi of its one window. 
 
 •'TTero is a kind gentleman, as says he will stay with you, 
 Porter,'' the landlady siaid, soothingly. "Now do keep qui'^'. 
 like a good soul, and I'll run round for Mr. Spearmnii." 
 
 She placed a chair by the bedside, and w^s hurrying^away, 
 but the sick man raised himself on his elbow, and called after 
 her shrilly : 
 
 first h 
 
 with— 1 
 
 "Rob 
 
 The 
 
 delight. 
 
 "Tha; 
 he ( ( •; 
 
 ''Not 
 
 ble to t 
 
 "He 
 
 Air. (if, 
 Hght h: 
 I^ut I'll 
 
I i 
 
 Now ! Live, Now My Life is Done! 171 
 
 ""Fetch pon nnd ink nnci pnper, Mrs. Vnuiiff. TTo niiint 
 write it down and give it to lier if flie ho alive. T can't die, 
 1 can't, with the ntory untold. I'm sorry T ever did it. I yee 
 her face so 8till nnd white; oh, Lord! fto still and whiti— 
 slet'i-inK ;nid wakinjc. ni^ht and day forever. Voji'll \\rite it 
 (jowFi, sir; you l(«ok like n p:entleman, nnd you'll find h. r, nnd 
 irive it to her, if she's alive. IVoinisc tnc that 'r' 
 
 lie ghired up in J.ord Montalien's face with hollow, wild 
 
 fcves. 
 
 « 
 
 T don't know of whom you're talking, my ^ood- fellow 
 
 »» 
 
 his lordship answered, <*rif»lly. "Who is she?' 
 
 "'i'wenty years a^^o her name was Mins Olivia Lyndith. 
 She married Sir Vane Chartcris, haronet. You're a .ir«'ntle« 
 /nan — perhaps you hnve heard of Sir Vnne Chnrtoris?*' Hii 
 liollovv eyes wero full f hurniji^c ea^t-rness a^ he asked the 
 (iiKistion. 
 
 'Well, yes, T have heard of Sir Vane riiartfri? 
 'And Lady Charteris? 
 
 M 
 
 »> 
 
 » 
 
 wt 
 
 'And Lndy (^harteri' 
 
 *ls she alive? Tell me that — is Ladv Charteris nlive, and 
 
 ll?" 
 
 "Lady Charteris is alive certainly, hut not quite well. Slift 
 has had some preat trouble in her pa«l life, which -^hc hap 
 never ^ot over to this day.'' 
 
 'rh(? sick man wruti^'- his hamls in a ]>nro\ysm ..f aimnisli. 
 
 "f know it — r know it! and I did it! T v.i-h 1 )i;m1 dropped 
 (lend 1)( foi'c I ever cons(nte(l! and now I am dyiii^. and her 
 t'a<e haunts me ni^ht and day. l^nt she's alive, and it's not 
 too late yet. Perhaps he'^J alive too." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Wvv husband- liim that she loved so dcnrly." 
 
 "You mean Sir Vane Cliarteris, T presume?" 
 
 110 ! She hated him! T mean the other — her 
 
 e ran away 
 
 no. 
 
 firf^t husband — her real husband- -him that sh 
 with— Robert Lisle." 
 
 'Robe it Lisle is nlive nnd well. 
 
 Tl 
 
 le (. niir man uttered a crv — a s 
 
 brill. 
 
 (11 
 
 wordless civ (j1 
 
 ere is 
 
 (leliojit. 
 
 "TliaidvCod! thank CJod! then it's not too late T Wh 
 he? Can you tell me that? Xot in Ki;frland^" 
 
 "Not in Knjrland, of c(»ur'.'e, since he i< o c^injinal .nueua- 
 blc to tlic law. Out in Am«M'ii'a." 
 
 'Mlo is Iff) criiTiinnl. It was me that did it hi,'! \<\<\ 
 Air. (it'otricy Lyndith {;nid me for doiutr it. f wis)- my 
 ri^ht hantl b:ui droi>ped off when I lifted it airainst him I 
 But 1*11 tell you all, and you'll writ* it dowii. and Robert 
 
 I i 
 
r 
 
 J72 Now I Live, Now My Life is Done! 
 
 Lisle- will conio bnck. and porliaps Ood will forg-ive rue. Dq 
 you think Ih' will, if [ confess ail — all (" 
 
 "Well — let us ho))o so," roi'lii'i] his lordship, rather out of 
 his depth. "Who are you, to ucfvin with f 
 
 Tie drew tlie jjuper toward liiiu, toi^k up the jx'U, and 
 prepared to write, IFe was full ol" (niri.)sity and interest. 
 What revelation of villainy was this he was ahout to hear? 
 
 "I'm Jaines Porter, and ' was valet to Mr. Oeoti'rey Lyii- 
 dith twenty years a^'o. Will you jjroniise, on your houijr 
 as a jrentlenian, to ^ivo this paper yo\i are j.?oinf^ to wrih; 
 into the hands of Laviy Charter is, and no other, wlien I aiu 
 deadr 
 
 *;f p.'o!:iist». Cio on." 
 
 The sick man cleneluMl tlie bedclothes, and began at one* . 
 with feverish rapidity: 
 
 "I told you I was Mr. (Jeoffrey Lyndith's valet twenty 
 years ij^o. It's ni^her on five-and-tvventy since I first en- 
 tered his service, and a very j?ood place it was. lie was a 
 st<»rn man, he liked to have his own way, but he was fret- 
 with his money, and a kind enijugii master. Whi-n I had 
 been with liim well upon four years, Robert Lisle came as 
 secretary and companion like. 1 can see him now!'' The 
 sick man's eyes looked dreamily before him, as he spoke. 
 "A tall, well-nnide youn^- man, and the handsomest. I think, 
 I ever saw. There were a ^reat nmny gentlemen, and baro- 
 nets, and lords, used to visit Lyndith C(jurt at September 
 and Christmas, but there wasn't one amonfr them, lords and 
 all, looked half as lordly, to my mind, as he did. He was 
 cleverer than master, and wrote his spe(?ehes and headers for 
 our county paper, and letters, and all that. Master set no 
 end of store by him, until he g-ot to hate him; and to them 
 he hated, he was the very devil! 
 
 "Master's niece came home from school: and a rare beauty 
 she w^as, only sixteen, with big black eyes" and yellow hair — 
 the kind of beauty you don't often see. She was brought 
 home from boarding-school to live in the house with a young 
 njan as handsome and as clever as this Mr. Lisle. And w« 
 in the servants' hall just saw how it would be from the first. 
 But master — lawks, sir, it's wonderful how blind the smart- 
 est people be about some things; these sort of things par- 
 tieularlv — master he was like a nxde. They were a-eourt- 
 ing from the first day, and he couldn't see what was goiriir 
 on under his very nose. I used to watch 'em in the pleasaii* 
 mooidiirht nights walking up and down under the trees; an»i 
 time 'i!i 1 agaiTi it was on the tip of my tongue to give Mr. 
 Lyndith a hint, liut I was a-keeping company with a youn^ 
 woman— -the m^por housemaid she was, and she wouldn'' 
 
ne. 
 
 Do 
 
 r out of 
 
 icu, and 
 iiitorf'^L 
 to hear? 
 roy Lyii- 
 ir lionor 
 to write 
 eii I am 
 
 at oner, 
 
 t twenty 
 first eu- 
 
 le was a 
 was free 
 
 en I h:vl 
 came as 
 
 w: 
 
 v 
 
 The • 
 
 ht' spoke. 
 . r think, 
 and haro- 
 "'eptonduM- 
 ords and 
 lie was 
 idors for 
 r set no 
 to them 
 
 ivi' heauty 
 uw hair- 
 brought 
 1 a younf? 
 And WH 
 the first, 
 he smart- 
 lings par- 
 e a-eourt- 
 wa> goiii^-- 
 pleasai ' 
 trees; an<i 
 give Mr. 
 ,h a youn^ 
 ! wouldn' 
 
 Mow I Live, Now My Life is Done! 17 J 
 
 hear tolT of i4. All the wonien in the liou:-;- were half in 
 love with this Kol)ert J. isle; his good looks, and his gontlfe- 
 manlike ways, and his pleasant voiee took them all clown 
 sor ^liow. *And,' say.-. Lucy, 'our master's old enough and 
 big enough to look after liis own niece, and it's not for 
 playing the spy on her you get your wages. Jle'll find it 
 out soon enough.' 
 
 "That week ^Mi^s Oliviii wc^it to Scotland on a visit, and 
 tlie week after — I think it was — Mr. IJslo followed her. 
 And Lucy says to me: 'Mind, James, Miss Olivia and Mr. 
 Lisle w'ill he married in Scotland a< sure as I'm talking to 
 you. And won't master be tearing mad, wlieu he finds it 
 out?'^ 
 
 V'ou see, &ir, this Mr. Lisle, though he looked and spoke, 
 and had the education f>f a real gentl(M.nan, \\as only the son 
 of a yeonuin farmer. 
 
 "Well, sir, Liu-y was right — they did get married in Scot- 
 land, and came home, not together, imt following each other 
 very soon. And to this day I remeinlx r what happy, happy 
 faces those two had, how miss danced about the house like 
 •-unshine, and her laugh was the prettiest, sweetest music I 
 ever heard. And Mr. Lisle didn't say much or laugh nnich, 
 it wasn't his way; but somehr)w, he looked taller, and nobler, 
 and handsomer than ever, and his pleasant eyes seemed smil- 
 ing for very joy whenever they looked at you. And miss 
 begged hard not to be sent back to school, but to stay at the 
 'dear old court,' as she called it; and her uncle, who was 
 fond of her in his way, consented. And for four months 
 more they went on together, and he neither saw nor guessed 
 a word of what every rme els<? in the house knew ixrfectly. 
 
 "fJut it couldn't go on so forever; he found it out at last. 
 He never said, a word; that wasn't his s<.rt; he just v;hisked 
 liis niece away from Staffordshire without a word to any 
 one. And wh.'n he came back alone, still ])leasant and ea^^y, 
 lie sent for me, and a>l<ed uk- if 1 v.-ould like to enrii five 
 hundred pounds? 
 
 "You may guess what my answ( r was. 1 was always f(,nd 
 of money, and 1 wanted to marry Lucy, and set up a public; 
 when I'd saved money enough. I would liave done a good 
 f'eal for half or quartf r the money; but I <b. refuse at first 
 wlien^he told me what he wanted me to do. lie made me 
 take my book oath nc'ver to speak of whit |)asse(| between 
 us while I livofb and I tof>k it. I never bioke that oath till 
 !iow but I can't-- oh, good Lonll— I c:,n't die with my 
 wicked story untold! 
 
 "He told me Ilobert Lisle had nwrric'd his niece in Sccjt- 
 iand, and that Sir Vane Charteris, to whom she had bt^n 
 
174 Now ! Live, Now My Life is Done! 
 
 eng-aged since slie was fourteen, would hold him responsible 
 A Scotch marriage was no marriage, he said, but the law 
 couldn't prove that without the ])ublic exposure of his niece, 
 an4 that Sir Vane wouhj never hear of. Robert Lisle must 
 just be got quietly out of the country for good and all, and 
 Miss Livy married to the baronet as if nothing had hap- 
 peneo ; and I was to help him to do it. 
 
 "That night he would place, in my prest«ce and in Lisle's, 
 a sum of money and a quantity of valuable jewels in the 
 little safe in his library, leaving them in Mr. Lisle's charge, 
 and going away himself as if for a few days' absence. Anil 
 when he was gone, ho would write a letter, as if coming 
 from jVli?^s Olivia, asking her husband to come to hnr at 
 once. He would go for certain, and take his portmanteau 
 with him. And what he wanted me to do, and would pay 
 me five hundred pounds to do, was to take the money and 
 jewels out of the safe, and se\V them up carefully in the 
 lining of Mr. Lisle's portmanteau. They would be found 
 there, and the threat of transportation would make him tly 
 the country. And he gave me the duplicate key of the 
 safe. 
 
 "Well, sir — it's a bad thing to tell — I did it. I took thft 
 five hundred pounds, and I sewed up the money and jewels 
 ill the poor young gentleman's traveling bag. It all turned 
 out as masirr had foreseen — he got the letter, he pack.vi his 
 clothes, and started for London, and he was taken then^ 
 and searched, and the valuables found. 
 
 "The next I heard, he had left England. I got my iivc 
 hundred pounds — my wages of sin — and I left Mr. Lynditli's 
 service, and married Lucy, and set up the public-house. But 
 T never prospered. Luck went against me from the first. 
 The money was ill-gotten; it was blood-money — and every- 
 thing went wrong. I couldn't forget what I had done, li 
 haunted mo as if I had committed a murder, by day ami 
 night. I took to drink to drown thought, but I couldn't 
 drown it. I knew I had made two innocent people miserabl ■ 
 fcr life. And two years after our marriage Lucy died; ^n 1 
 then I got, quite desperate, and the money went, and went . 
 and at last 1 was ruiyed outright. And from that day i 
 have been a drunken vagrant, and now I'm dying bore, an! 
 I couldn't die with it on my soul. IT-^^-? you got »it all 
 down— all— all ?" 
 
 ITo raised himself once more on his elbow, looking mo;.; 
 like a galvanized corpse than a living being. 
 
 "i\ll," replied Lord Montalien-. "Are you able to sign 
 this paper?" 
 
 "I'll try — give me the p«n." 
 
brcast- 
 ciitliko 
 
 Lady 
 
 t' six 
 Yes, 
 
 Now I Live, Now My Life is Donel 175 
 
 Tho <lo(tr oponed on the word, and Mrs. Young, the land- 
 lady, tntcrcd with an elderly nuni, a clerj2:yirian. 
 
 'Sfuist in time to witi>o<!s this man's si<rnature," renmrkod 
 iiis IdixUhip, coolly. ''He is dyinj;-, h(> says." addressinjj: the 
 i!( rgyiiian, "and has made a iloposition whioh 1 have taken 
 down. Will you just witness iiis signature, and atlix vour 
 ;.wnr' 
 
 It was done. Lord ^fontalien folded uj) tlie paper, and 
 arose. 
 
 ''Your wishes, my poor fellow, shall be carried out to the 
 letter. The lady for whom it is designed is known to niv, 
 and will receive it at once. Set your mind at rest about 
 that." 
 
 Ke quitted the room, the precious i)aper in the 
 p..eket of his coat, his eyes shining with a jireen, 
 light. ^ ... 
 
 "And so Paulina Lisle is the elder daughter of 
 Charterif*; and inherits in law my lady's foi-tune < 
 tliousand a year in addition to her father's fortune, 
 yes! If I had never made the resolution of marrying her, 
 willing or unwilling, I would wtike it now. Why, she will 
 be one of the richest heiresses in the United Kingdom! 
 Whether you like it or no, you shall be my wife, my peer- 
 less Paulina !" 
 
 And' then a vision rose before him of Paulina as he had 
 seen her last night — shining like a fai'ry, in pink silk, and 
 tulle puffir'fs, and dewy rosebuds in her golden hair — a 
 vision whose very recollection seemed to light up the dingy 
 lodging-house in Harton street, Strand. 
 
 "And now for the other," he thought, opening Alice's door 
 — alas! poor Alice! "What an inconceivable ass I have 
 made of myself about this milk-and-water, insi))id, weeping? 
 nonentity! But she sliall be disposed of as surely ar.<l safely 
 as Geoffrey Lyndith disposed of Robert Lisle." 
 
 She sat shivering before the smoldering fire as he entered, 
 and rose up without a word as he approached. 
 
 The dull daylight was fast fading now, but in the glow of 
 the fire he could see the dead whiteness of her face; such a 
 contrast to that other face — fresh, smiling, rose-crowned! 
 
 "Awake, Alice?" he said, kindly. "It is two hours since 
 I first came, and you were ash^^p on the lounge yonder, arid 
 I would n(jt distjrb you. I have been sitting since with a 
 wretched sick nuin, upstairs." 
 
 She looked 'ind listened in pale amaze. Frank Earlscourt 
 !-:lting two hours with a sick pauper! 
 
 "F trust I see you in better spirits than yesterday," he 
 went on. "How do you like your new lodgiiigs ?" 
 
•r 
 
 176 Now I Live, Now My Life is DoneP 
 
 "I havo not tliouf^ht about it. Tliey are very well." 
 
 llcr t;piritleas voice, her spiritless attitude, told moit. 
 plaiidy than words the story of her er-'-hed Ih^miI. 
 
 "Yoii will remain here quietly for the present; and if I 
 should not \k', able to eonie to you as often as you — as I my- 
 s<lf would like, you must promise me to he pat-enl — not to 
 write ii> ;ne a^aiii. You promise this, Ali(!e^" 
 
 "1 promise." 
 
 "Of course, 1 don't like to see you unhappy or solitary or 
 that; hut, unfortunntely, in ou; position, it '.s inevitable. I 
 havo made a tremendous suer Ifiee for you. Don't be less 
 generous. Make this sacrifice for me. Wait until I giva 
 you leave to speak. You understand, Alice?" 
 
 "I understand." . , 
 
 She answered him as an automaton migh^, never lookinj^ 
 up from the fading fire. 
 
 "And you will obey?" 
 
 "1 will obey " 
 
 "On no account must yon admit my brother or Sledman, 
 or any of the people we know. Go (mt as little :.^ possible, 
 and when you do ^o out, wear a thick veil. In it lew weeks, 
 at most, I will find you a pleasant eountiy home, where you 
 will wait, in peace and comfort, until I cun 1 inj^ you for- 
 ward acs — as Lady IVIontalien! You j)hMlge yourself to all 
 this, Alice, and you will try not tt) feel lofuly and low- 
 spirited ?" 
 
 She lifted her eyes to his face for tl.' cond time since 
 his entrance — such ho»K''ess, hopeUss eye.*. 
 
 "I will try," she answc >; ^n a voice more mournful than 
 death. 
 
 "Then, g'oo<l-by, Alice, ivvt-p up your spirits, an<l don't 
 be discouraged if 1 shouldn't ^)e n^ve again for a couple of 
 we(^ks. Trust me that I will come as soon as I can. 
 (;()od-by." 
 
 "(Jo')d-by." She said it as mechanically as the rest, n(jl 
 etirring-. Ife put on his hat, opened the door, turned, came 
 back, stooped and kissed her. For the last, the only time, a 
 IKUig of compnssion touched his heart of stone. 
 
 "My poor little Alice!" he said; "good-by." 
 
 And (hen he was goii(\ Back to tlint bright othei- world—- 
 back to the velvet-hung, wax-lit world, wliere lovely Paulina 
 Lisle shone a queen! And Alice stood where he had left. 
 her, neither . tirring m-r moving for hours and hours. An 
 <n"+cast— from iiome, from parents, from friends, from lo^c-- 
 alone lovever and :/ .1. 
 
♦'■^- 
 
 '3|: 
 
 • x- 
 
 X. C'lIAI'TKlt \T 
 
 \r iU{i(;iiTuN. 
 
 On , day snccccfliivL' lliis nicii;4»ialilc second ol' Xovctu- 
 ber, Sir Vane ( "li;irlcri> took his fmnily («» l{rij^lituii to spend 
 the reniain(U'r of the :iutiini!i. lie hud hired a hir«-e I'ur- 
 iiislu'd' houso on the Mast (Mill". The situation was eharniin/j: 
 -the hroad, hri^ht sea spread a\vay and away until it 
 melted into the hroad hrij-'ht >l<y. On vei-y i-h'ar days you 
 saw the hohl eoast of Dieppe from tlie windows, and tlui 
 Chain Tier jiiinmierinj^' in llie fro^tv Xovemher sunshine 
 helow the (Mitf. 
 
 Miss Lish', for whose henetil lh<' rennval had ehielly heeii, 
 (•n.joy«Ml liri«ihf(;ii anmzin^Iy In the lir-^i phiee, there 'wat< 
 the sea, and Paulina loved the sea, pu!^i,i!> forever ihrou^li 
 the still chill air, there were lonj^ canter^ ovi-r the j^ojdeii 
 Sussex Downs, until the younf"- lady'^ eyes .-,1 one like dia- 
 monds, and the usually pale cheeks like Au^u t i-oses. 
 
 There were the pleasant sunny afternoop^, when in tho 
 most ravishing of Parisian toilet-- she loiten-d alon^ tho 
 l)arade, listeuiii^ to the Iwuid, and the airy, gallant n(<thl'!i^s 
 of sundry officers (luartercd at the liri^hton P>arracks. She 
 drove to the Dike, in the loveliest little turnout, with creatn- 
 colored highsteppers, for which her ^Miardian had ^iven a 
 most fabulous price at Tattersall's, handlinj^- the rihhons 
 like "P'our-in-Hand r'osshrof)k" himself, to the admiration of 
 all beholders. She'^vas the chief aim for all the lor^niettes s;t 
 the pretty little theatre; and she v.'Ont ni^ht after nighi t'> 
 the Pavilion, where Patti wa^ioiow enchant ing^he P)rightou 
 world. She went through the whole cour- of Hri^^htori 
 amusements — dining, dancing, i>romenading leatre-going — 
 and she never grew \ve»ary; her bright ey 
 nor her smiles faded. 
 
 And so Miss Lisle was fairly lumched u 
 of soeiet.v, for which she had been made, 
 one drawback to all this blissful <^njoy! 
 lien, her ogre, who persisted in escortin>, them everywhere,, 
 on being the eoni])anion of her gallops over the downs^ her 
 drives, her v alks, and hanging on the back of her chair at 
 the theatre all the evening long. He was at the baronet's 
 lioui?e by night and day; ho dined invariably with the family 
 whenever they dined at home, atid half worrie«l Paulina into 
 a fever with, the zeal and oppression of hi devotion. ]*eo- 
 ple began to link their names together. 
 
 Montali^n was a shrewd fellow—always liked money, and 
 
 % 
 
 never dinuned 
 
 n tlie sunny sea 
 
 There was only 
 
 it — Lord Monta- 
 
178 
 
 At Brighton. 
 
 ho was ffoinp: in for Miss Lisle. Doueed deep iellow, a 
 miser at liQart, not a bit like the Karlscourts — a sliahh)* 
 he^KHr, too, at bottoirt*— it was d pity >o glorious a fjrirl 
 slioiild i)e fluii;^ away iiptni siiclj a cad! 
 
 At the close of the second week Miss Lisle herself rebelled 
 She had lx^e*i tryin,sr for days back to throw otf the yok(,, 
 but ill vain; there was a <iuiet power and determination 
 about his lerdship that bent most jHiople to his resolute will, 
 liut this young- lady of eighteen had a will of her own, (luito 
 as strong as his when she chose to assert it. 
 
 "He's like the death's-head at the EgyiTiian banquets,*' 
 she said to Mrs. (ialbraith, bitterly; "always pn^sent ami 
 always si)oiling my pleasure. Why does he make pretense 
 of st()])ping at the Sliip Hotels Why doesn't he fetch his 
 belongings, and take up his abode 'at once in this house? 
 IJ(^ is like one's shadow, or one's poodle, followijig forever, 
 no matter where one goes. C^m't he see he is not wanted r' 
 
 "My dear, what language!'' exclaimed Mrs. (Jalbraitli. 
 * His lordship's attentions are most flattering to you. It is 
 plain enough to be seen ho is quite infatuated; and it 
 would bo. a brilliant, yes, a splendid match for you. His 
 in<'()me is clear fifteen thousand a year, and tl^^ title one of 
 the oldest in Britain." 
 
 "f>ord Montalien has fifteen thousand a year, and he is a 
 miser If he wants me at all he wants my eighty thousand 
 IKtunds t add to his store. As you seem to be a friend of 
 his, Mrs. Galbraith, suppose you drop him a iiint to spar..' me 
 his company for the future. The more I see of him the 
 more I dislike him." • 
 
 "You are more than unjust, Miss Lisle; you are unchris- 
 tian. I the i^ht yon were above repeating such cruel caluni- 
 nies as ihij-^c behind his back." 
 
 "1 will say them to his face, if you prefer it ! I will, 1 
 protest, if he does not cease dogging me as he does. What 
 business have people to couple our names? I would die bo- 
 fore 1 would marry him! You call me unju-t. I tell yon, 
 'passionately,' I am not. I have reason to hale him — 1 know 
 ho is the man who lured poor Alice Wan^n fr(»m hev home." 
 
 "Paulina! that person's name again!" sai<l Airs. (Jalbraith, 
 with austerity. "Did I not tell you it was indelicate of yuu 
 even to allude to her?" 
 
 "Yes, you told me, Mrs. (Jalbraith," the girl answered, 
 with a hard laugh. "You do your duty by mo in every 
 respi^ct. She has been unfortunate, through no fault of 
 hers; she is in misery and poverty, perhaps, and it is indeli- 
 cate in her oldest friend to mention her name I l*oor little 
 Alice!" 
 
u \ 
 
 At Brighton. 
 
 179 
 
 "Inrousli no fault of Ikts! I don't understand you. 
 Tho fault was hors, aihj slio must l»oar tho poualty. Ynu 
 IKTwistod in advortisiti^ for licr — let that suffice, v^lu' is a 
 IfKMt ereature, wiiosc name you shouM Mush to mention. 
 And, for tlie re«t, no one thinks of iier in oonnoetioii with 
 hin lordship — the unhappy yonnjj: woman H«>d from homo 
 with his disreputahle younger hrother." 
 
 "Never!" J^aulina's eyes flaslu-d fire. "They traveled 
 up to London toi/cthcr ; a eoineidence^ — nothing? more. (Ju-r 
 Farlscourt affirmod to Alice's father that he was not the 
 partner of h(>r flight, and Mathew Warren hclitn-cs hin>.' So 
 do I — so does (^iptain Villiers." 
 
 "Captain Villiers!" 
 
 "Yes; he was one o#the men stopi)in^ in the hou^^e at the 
 time; and he is here, you know. Yesterday on the pier E 
 asked him " 
 
 "Paulina! you asked him?" 
 
 "Don't faint, Mrs. Galhraith. Yes, I had the shockinjj: 
 audacity to ask him if he could throw any lijijht on the s^ib- 
 jcct — if he believed Lieutenant Karl.Acourt to be the mini 
 with whom she iled. And he said no, emphatically no. 
 They all admired her — he. Sir Harry Gordon, Lord Monta- 
 lien, and Guy — Guy, least of all; Guy, in the way of court- 
 ship, never." 
 
 "Perhaps he told you also v/hom he did suspect?" 
 
 "No, men dim't tell of each other; he did not. Put uidess 
 Alice herself came before me, and told me Lord Montalion 
 was p^uiltlcvss, T would not believe it. Now you know why I 
 dislike him! His conduct to his brother, too, is abomina- 
 ble. Three times last week Guy was arrested for debt, and 
 taken to some horrid place; a 'sponpfin^-house.' Captain Vil- 
 liers called it; and not once did Lord ^[(<ntalien, with his 
 fifteen thousand ])ounds a year, come forward to aid him. 
 No, he left it to his old maiden aunt. Who could like such 
 a man as that ? Why doesn't he pay his brother's debts, as 
 an only brother should ?" 
 
 "You talk lik(^ a child, Paulina. Guy Farlscourt de- 
 serves neilhei' your pity nor his brother's help. He is one 
 of the fastest, most reckle*;s younp' men of his fhy, pos- 
 sessed of every vice inider huuen, T believe " 
 
 "That will do, Mrs. Gfllbraith! Who is cnlumniatinpr the 
 absent now? With all his vices, T Im Heve he is far the 
 belter man of the two. He used to have a h.^art, at lejist. 
 liord l\fontalien, like the ^ochhvss Minerva, was born without 
 that inconvenient appendajxe. And now," nnllifiur ftut her 
 watch, and 'with her brighleH^ Hudle, "if wc have donft quav- 
 rol>iiflr» fiiyjpofle we go for a drl?o?" 
 
 
 -m 
 
-— • '' 
 
 i8o 
 
 At Brighton 
 
 "I wish I could seo Mr. Karlscourt/' fiho thought, as sht 
 hiy baek in the l)an>u(.*hc'; "1 would ask h'lin about Alice 
 He went up with h«'r to Lt>nd()n, an<l Ik* may know some- 
 thing. I will n<"»('j t^iv«* uj.- -never re.-t U)ilil i tind her." 
 
 Miss Lisle had Iht wish that very nij^lit. As she, on her 
 guardian's arm, made her way, near mi<lnight, through 
 feome crowded assembly rrjoms, she saw, htanfiing talking to 
 il'aptain Villiers, (Juy Karlseourt. . , . 
 
 An eager light of jjlensure and reeognition eame into her 
 face, lie was a spendthrift, a gandiler — she had heard — 
 lie was over head and ears in debt ; social outlawry threat- 
 ened him; the world spoke bitterly ot him; his (?xcellent 
 elder brother hated him; and for all^thls the girl's impetu- 
 ous, gen(>rous heart went out toward him. It was eiiildish, 
 perhaps, but his very misde^'ds thr('\v a halo of romance 
 around him. He was Monto ('ri^1o, .Mephistoi)heles, Don 
 Giovanni; and he was so very, vi/ry handsome, i)oor fellow, 
 and he had such a noble air — there was not another man in 
 the room who looked so distinguished as he. 
 
 She remembered him as she had seen him last, with the 
 sunshine lighting up his dark face as he bowed good-by. 
 The dark splendor of that Italian face was a trifle dimmed 
 now — "lans(iuenet after balls, and absinthe before breakfast 
 will tell in the end," as Captain Villiers said to her; he 
 seemed thin and worn, and the great, luminous, pathetic 
 brown eyes looked at you with a tired light. Withal, he was 
 dressed in the i)erfection of taste — a knot of Russian violets 
 in his buttonliole — and more than one pair of bright eyes 
 b ide Paulina's turned upon him with shy admiration as 
 • be stood there in that attitude of languid grace. 
 
 "I say, Guy! there she is, by Jove! and your brother in 
 her wake, as usual. The Lisle, I mean — prettiest thing the 
 sun shines on. She rides better, waltzes better, talks better, 
 and sing* better than any girl I know; and sihe has eighty 
 thousand; and your brother is making play there in a way 
 that leaves no room for lesser mortals. Look at her! 
 : Loveliest woman in tlie rooms — isn't she?" 
 
 Guy looked lazily. He had come exi>rcssly (;lown to Brighton 
 to have a look at her; but the roonts were warm^ and not 
 even for the beaut.v of Brighton was he prepared to excite 
 himself. He looked, with lanj-niid {idmii'atien, at the ex- 
 quisite face, conscious of Ms gaze, and (lrfiO])ing a h'ttle 
 under it. 
 
 "Yes," he 'said, at Inst; "you're right, N'iiliers. She •« 
 
 . handsonw^ — always was though, I remember — and thorough - 
 
 bfpd Fis a i)riTicess. See how disdainfully he glances at 
 
 Monti! He has no show, I'm certain; and Im ^flad oi it 
 
u 
 
 as Bhi 
 
 Alice 
 
 sonie- 
 icr. 
 
 on her 
 tii-cnijfh 
 ciiiyj to 
 
 ito her 
 icifrd— 
 thri'Mt- 
 scoUent 
 iiupolu- 
 ■hiUli>li, 
 oinancB 
 28, Don 
 ■ fellow, 
 man in 
 
 vith the 
 good-by. 
 dimmed 
 rcakfast 
 her; he 
 pathetic 
 he was 
 violets 
 ht eyes 
 tion as 
 
 )ther in 
 ling tb«^ 
 better, 
 eighty 
 ii a way 
 lal her I 
 
 ; right on 
 
 lind not 
 
 excite 
 
 Itbe cx- 
 
 la lUtle 
 
 She '-H 
 
 |(»rougii- 
 
 |nfM?s at 
 
 ot it. 
 
 At Brighton. 
 
 Si 
 
 ft would bo a saeriligo to (brow sucli a girl as thai aw ly 
 on rraiik.* 
 
 "SuppcKSo yon go in and win, yoursi'If, Ciuy. Yon oou'ld, 
 you know. Slic talks of yon, and I'ciMcnihcrs yon, and pities 
 you for your misfortunes, as siic terms it. Migliiy tliiui«,;iud 
 is about your figure; and tlicn it would \h- a pleasure lo eut 
 out your brother." 
 
 "Well, yes," (Jny said, stroking bis bhick iiin-t.-iclio; "if 
 anything eould make me enfer iIm' li'>t, it would lie that; but 
 I don't thiid< 1 shall add fortunediniiting to my otlier 
 enormities just yet. Miss I.islt* de.-^erves n hetter fate, pooi 
 little girl, than to fall a victim to either (d' n-;." 
 
 "She is looking thin way." the (ttber said, eagerly. "C'-ine, 
 Earlseourt, let us go and ask her to daneel" 
 
 "What! you, too, George, one of her slaves? No; iho 
 'Tenth' don't dance. Not even Mi -; Lisle's attractions c.iii 
 induce me to the madness of waltzing, with the thermoiue- 
 tiT at its present height. I don't know that I shall tronbbi 
 Miss Lisle at all — not worth while, as T return to town again 
 to-morrow." 
 
 So Captain Villier.s went up alone and wrote his name on 
 Miss l^isle's tablets; and if that young lady vvundered a I'ttle 
 at Guy's neglect, her face did not show it. She danced 
 with Villiers — witli nearly every man who asked her. savo 
 and except T^ord Montalieji; and more than once her eyes 
 followed the tall form of Guy Isarlseonrt as he moved iu 
 his slow, graceful way through the warm rormis, 
 
 "Why does he not spe^k to me''?" she wondered. "I low 
 unkind of him! I am detfM'mine<l to s[)eak to liiin, how- 
 ever, before the evening ends, lie must tell me somethiog 
 of Alice." 
 
 She went into the music-room presently, on the arm (»f 
 Captain Villiers, and sat down to sing. The rnm(»r that 
 Miss Lisle was about to sing was enonjxh to insure an audi- 
 ence. She glanced saucily over he« shoulder as the ap;iit- 
 ment filled, and saw, leaning against a column near the door- 
 way, Lieutenant Karlscourl, and a sudden insjiirati(.n sei/';l 
 her, and the song >be had sutig two years ago at Mnolaiit-M 
 Priory, while he bent ov -r her, broke like a bird's trill \'v'.i\ 
 her li])s. 
 
 He had dra\Cn near involuntarily — be was standinu' r]t>-() 
 b<^>side b.er when ^he aro-e from the piano, and she held "U" 
 her hand to him at ojice with her nu)st radiant, hev w \. 
 sauc.v smile. 
 
 "But where is County Guy? T thought you would ic- 
 membei :he old song even if you ha?© forgotten pooa jri*\ 
 
 '' t 
 
 U- 
 
 t 
 
• V 
 
 1 82 
 
 At Brighton. 
 
 Mr. Karlsc'ourt, won't you nuy 'how do yoi? do' to iVllj 
 Ahisoii f 
 
 (riuy Karlsroiirfc was no htoio. IIo bent above tlie li'tle 
 haiul, and niurniurecl liis thanks, at iter gracious leniciu- 
 braiicc. 
 
 "T \\a(\ scarroly boixsd for so ^rcat an lionoi," he said, 
 ''aiiMtiig' the liundrcds f)f new friends, of adoi;ers, wlio '-ur- 
 round tlie beUe of Hrij»l»ton. You must pardon in^f not com- 
 ing forward sooner, and ehnniing recojjnilion — it was uiy 
 V<My ^^reat modesty, I assure you." 
 
 '"The first time T ever lieard you credited witli tlie virtue," 
 laufjfhed I*aidlna, taking l»is arm. She was at her bri^ditent 
 IX'W : she liad iiad wiiat sh(» so dearly loved — her owti way. 
 
 *'()r any other virtue, T fear. Doesn't Mrs, Galbraitli do 
 ht'v duty, and tell you what a monster T am?" 
 
 "Mrs. (Jalbraith does her duty, and tcdls me what a mon- 
 H\i .' you are. Hut I have n jrrent deal of eouraj^e — thanks 
 to my early training; and I'm not afraid of monsters, Mr. 
 Earlseourt, I have been wanting to see you very much, to 
 s|)eid< to you ujion a suliject, the one trouble of my life, 
 ni'd I (';Mi'l liens amon^' tliis crowd. Will you take me some- 
 whore where we can talk undisturbed C" 
 
 Her i)erfeet innoeenee, and the nearness of the subjeet to 
 h( r luart pave her eourajxe, verjiiuf? upon boldness, perhaps. 
 ]>ut -he did not mean to \)v bold, and she went with him out 
 on tlie baleony — d( serted by all save themselves, 
 
 ''You know what I want to talk to you about, \ sujipo-e, 
 Mr, Earlseourt?" she beit?an, impulsively. "When* is Alice 
 Warnn?" 
 
 ' The blue, earnest eyes were curiously watchinjjf him. Was 
 he truilty? No, fjruilt never looked back at her as he lookod. 
 
 "T wisli I knew, AIis«*»Lisle. T don't, T assure you. I am 
 afraid our poor little friend has come to grief." 
 
 ""Mr. Earlseourt, you know that some people say — say,'' 
 lur face dmoped a little, "that she fled with you." 
 
 "I know it. It is not true. We were up to town toorether 
 — that was the first I knew of her flight, and ehe askeul ine 
 to see her safe to her destination. It was night, and she 
 was afraid — alone in London." 
 
 "And you did?" breathlessly. 
 
 "1 did. T went with her to the place, a lodging in Tot- 
 tenham Court Koad, and left her in oharge of the landlady, 
 Tlint was riin.e weeks ago." 
 
 "And you have never seen her since." 
 
 "Yes, (.iK-e, nearly a fortnight ago. Upon my teturn from 
 viermauy I went to the place a second time. She was still 
 there— oui;y ^liie paiUd shadow 9f the blooming Alioe yoC 
 
At Brifrhton. 
 
 «»l 
 
 lit1c 
 
 3 sui<l, 
 lo »ur- 
 t coiii- 
 
 ■irtiu," 
 
 vny. 
 lith ilo 
 
 a m<»ii- 
 -thnnks 
 «». M r. 
 lueh, to 
 ny life, 
 some- 
 
 |l)jpot to 
 
 liiii out 
 
 iUppO-M?, 
 
 is A life 
 
 .. Wns 
 
 looked. 
 
 1 nm 
 
 —say,'' 
 
 totrether 
 kkoil int 
 land >lit 
 
 111 Tot- 
 nullady. 
 
 I III from 
 ja& still 
 
 kn«w. But sh(> rold mo nothing?, mux I M-^kc.l ih, que^Htions. 
 Slic was k^iowii ill tlio hduso l)y Hi..' name ol Airs, iinnvii." 
 
 "1 will p:o to LqjkIoii to-iuon-ow and lind Ium'," cried im- 
 petuous Tauliiia. "Oii. .Mr. Karlscourl. I irlt Miro you 
 could tell iiic .soiiirtliin^r. 1 am so j^iad, so lliaiikful for 
 Uiis!" 
 
 "Miss JJsle. I am sorry to dusli your liopes, but it is too 
 late. She is ^oiio !' 
 
 ''doner' 
 
 "J'he following'- day 1 returncMl ap:ain. I pitied her very 
 mu(;li, KII.-- Lisle. Hor wan, wn^tclied face, iier tears, made 
 ine miseraMe. I \n^nt hack, and she wa.s ^'one. The ^jontle- 
 man, t^li(> servant, said, had ealled after 1 iiad left, and Irs. 
 iii'own looked (ir(^a(iful when she ut-nt away, and he jiaid 
 tin- laiulhhly, and told her Mrs. lirown was about to leav(! 
 London. >»'ext inorninjf a cab came for her and took her 
 and her things away. I could hiarn no more — the servant 
 km^w nothing of her destination." 
 
 J'auliiia's t"ae<' looked very blank. 
 
 '*()h, Mr. Karl>eoiirt, tell me who this man is — this bad, 
 l)ad man, who has lured her away from her home — who 
 pn^miscd faithfully to marry her, and make her liappy ^ 
 Ynu suspeet — you must suspeet — tell me who it is I" 
 
 "J*ardon me, Miss Lisle; not even to you may 1 breatho 
 my su>{)ieions." 
 
 "Ft is your bfMther — I know it is — ho always admired her 
 — years a^o, v.lieii lie saw her first, he was struck l)y her. 
 And h(! dcirn'>s it; but I have vowed to discover the truth, 
 fw'id 1 shall !" 
 
 Her handsome lijxs sot tlieniselves in a resolute line — her 
 blue ey»'s flashed in the starlight through her passionate 
 tears. 
 
 "Vou are a true friend, Miss Lish-, and they say women 
 do not know tlie meaning of the word frieydship for eacji 
 other." 
 
 **I love Alice like a sifter. Those I have once liked I like 
 always, let them do what they will." 
 
 "Your fri('n<ls are fortunate |)eople,"» ^Fiss Lisle. You 
 t^hould^dd me to the list; it would be a splendid opportunity 
 of exerCTSin^ your charity. I don't deserve a friend, J am 
 quite aware, still 1 think it would be phnisant to have one." 
 
 "I am your friend," she answered, qnietly. 
 
 "What! in spite of all the atrocious thini^'s Frank, Sir 
 Vane, ]\Irs. Cialbraith and the world must have told you of 
 Suoh a black sheep as myself?" with his ra?e smile. 
 
 "In apite ot all If one deserts one's friends because they 
 ff© aiLioir',uaie;, I would not give much for frieudsJiipc'' 
 
IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
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 1.8 
 
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 /a 
 
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 'c5 
 
 
 
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 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, NY. MS80 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 
 
 u 
 
 rv 
 
jH 
 
 At Brighton. 
 
 ■^r'nfortun'ate!" l:e smiled again. "That is a miM word 
 \o apjuy to such a ne'cT-do-wclJ as 1 am. Stili, 1 'tlu iik you, 
 Ali^s Lisl{i; 1 will not soon forget your Ji'uid indiil^T'iice." 
 
 She glanccnl at him, looking very haugJity and handsome 
 in the dim light. Tlien her head droojicd — she begun play- 
 ing n(.'rvously witli her tassels. Jle was in (hht ; she had 
 riH^re money than she knew wliat to do with; ^he felt a great 
 compassion for hirn stirring in her heart; if he would only 
 let he I' help him. 
 
 "Mr. Earlscourt," she faltered, "they — say — you are in 
 debt," words coming slowly and painfully. "If I ani ycjur 
 friend, will you not let me — oh, don't* be hurt — don't he 
 offended, please — but won't you let me help you? I have so 
 niue'h moicy. I don't want i*, and it would make me so 
 happy if only you would " 
 
 Jle made a sudden, swift motion that stopped her. 
 
 "Not a word more, Miss Lisle! From my soul I am grate- 
 ful to you, but you must see it is impossible. Believe me, 1 
 ■will not readily forget your generosity of this night, un- 
 worthy of it as I am." 
 
 lie was more moved than he eared to show. 
 
 She shrank away a little, feeling pain, pity, embarra.ss- 
 incnt in his presence. 
 
 "I am un-worthy of your compassion — remember tli.it. 
 Miss JJsle. All they have told you of me is true, Wluit- 
 rver has befallen me is merited. I have wrought my own 
 ruin. And the end is very near. 'FdclH.^ dcsccnsuf! AvernH' 
 And I am at the bottom of the i)it. W(>11, the descent at 
 least has been pleasant, and when oblivion comes thvYo is 
 iiothing to do but let the waters close over my head; to g) 
 out to the exile I have richly earned; to accept my fate and 
 sink from sight; and when the finale comes — a shot in a 
 gambling hell most likely — to cover my face and die witli 
 dignity. Am I boring you with a sermon? and you shiver. 
 while I selfishly keep' you here in the cold. Don't waste 
 your pity on me, Miss Lisle; I doii't dc^^erve it; let me take 
 you back to the ballroom." 
 
 She was shivering, but not with cold, and she was veiy 
 pale in the glaring gaslight when she re-ejiteied the warm 
 rooms. He resigned her with a low Ixnv to her nexl^ partner. 
 The tears were hardly dryon h«'r long lashes yet as she w;is 
 whirled away in the redowa, tears not all; jierhaps, for Alief 
 Warren 
 
 Five minutes after Lieutenant Larlseonrt <iuitted the ball. 
 By the first train next morning he quitted Brighton, carry- 
 ing with him the memory of th« sweet, iuipaesioned face 
 upon which the stars had 8hop«. * l 
 
..■'■■ t 
 
 ill the on«t be- 
 ball was break- 
 
 -. OHAI»'JKR VV. • 
 
 IN WHKII Miss LlSI.i: IS DISi'oSKl) v>F. 
 
 Miss T.islo was (b'stiiiod to liavo still aiiotluM- fete-a-teh 
 ♦liat meniorable iiij^ht. The rcdowa ovt-r, she snit her part- 
 ner for an ice — cmly a pretext to get rid of him, however. 
 The i)laee v.as stiHingly warm, it se(Mned to her now; tlie 
 (lances had been interininabhs the eominoiiplaee nothing 
 <if the youn^ officer insufferably stupid. 
 
 She passed alonj^ unobserve<l, as she fancied,' to the half- 
 lit, wholly deserted music-room, and throwing herself into a 
 seat by the window, lo(^ked moodily out at the eoiiiinp 
 (lawn. 
 
 The stars had set; faint strejTks of gray 
 lokened the down of another morning, "^rhe 
 ing up already. 
 
 Mrs. Galbraith was h)oking for her, no doubt; but she 
 n(!ver thought of that long-suffering chaperon. Iler heart 
 was full of a great pity for the man who had gon(>--seiiti^ 
 mental and undeserved, you will say; but she was on]y eight' 
 een, and he was so very handsome. IJad Mr. Karlseourt 
 heen the hapless possessor of a i)ug lUise and dull gray 
 eyes, he might have gone to his ruin without causing Miss 
 Lisle a second thought, but the )>ale, dark face was simjdy 
 perfect, and the large, brown eyes pathetic in their dark, 
 dreamy lustre, although their owner might be musing on the 
 odds for the Derby, or whether the bailiffs might not pounce 
 upon liim the instant he returned to Londoiu 
 
 As she sat there lost in thought, a voice at her elbow 
 spoke : 
 
 "I have been searching for yon everywhere, my dear Miss 
 'Lisle. I have come to reproach you — you have treated me 
 with merciless cruelty all night." 
 
 She ^ooked around angrily at tne sound of the voice sh« 
 detested- most. Was she never to be' rid of this man? 
 
 "Lord Montalien gives himself a g"eat deal of unneces- 
 sary trouble," she answered, in her iciest voice, and ignoring? 
 the reproach altogether. 
 
 "Miss l.isle, you have danced with every man in, the 
 rooms, T believe, but myself. What have I done?" 
 
 "Xothing whr/:Gver. Like Ca'sar's wiTe, my Lord Monta- 
 li(>n is above reproach." 
 
 **How bitterly you say that! Miss Lisle, do ^ ^a hate m»f* 
 
 iBw Lisle V;:;:; 3ileBt, playisg with her ffti. < 
 
 i' i 
 
 
i86 fn WhicVi Miss Lisle is Disposed Of. 
 
 "Ag'ain I ask. Miss Lisle, what have I done?- At loa-t ] 
 have the right to know that!" 
 
 "And again I answer, Lord MontaHen," replied Pauliun. 
 atruggling with another yawn — "nothing! Your conduct iv 
 every phase of life is exemplary. Will that satisfy you ( [ 
 hear Mrs. Galbraith bleating after her lambkin in the dis- 
 tance, and must go." 
 
 "Wait one moment!" his lordship impetuously exclaiiiic! 
 — "only one instant! I can bear this suspense no longer! I 
 must speak to-night! Paulina, I love you! Will you be mv 
 wife?" 
 
 lie l)ent above her, his eyes glowing, his thin, sallow fac* 
 flushed. The excitement of the ahase had ca^'ried him away ; 
 her very disdain, hardly concealed, spurred him on. \U 
 knew perfectly what her answer would be — yet he spoke. 
 ^She rose up and looked at him, neither surprised nor eiii- 
 barrasseil; then she turned away. 
 
 "You honor mo by your preference," she aaid, in her cold- 
 est voice. "At the sam^j time, I do not think you expect 
 me to say anything but *no !' " 
 
 She moved a step away,' but he came before her, his ariiLS 
 folded, that pale glow in lys eyes still. 
 
 "Miss Lisle, I am to understand you reject me?" 
 
 She bowed her head. 
 
 "You do not love mo?" 
 
 "I do not love you." 
 
 "But, Paulina, pause — think. I offer you one of the oldest 
 titles in England; and my position and income are such as 
 to prevent the most malicious from calling me a fortune 
 huntei'. And I" love you to distraction — I would serve t tr 
 you as Jacob served for Rachel. I will give you time, onlv 
 do not — do not utterly reject me." 
 
 His voice broke, he turned away; his acting was xx^rfeci, 
 but it was acting, and a faint, cynical smile curved tho girl's 
 perfect lips. 
 
 "My lord," she said, and her sweet, clear voice rang silvrrv 
 and distinct, "let us understand each other. You d() n<^t 
 love UiC, whatever your motive in asking me to be your 
 wife. My feelings in regard to you I have not slrlvt.'u ij 
 conceal. Before you spoke to me you kn';^w perfectly whrit: 
 my answer would be. I believe you to be, in sspite of eveiy 
 thing you have said, the betrayer of Alice Warren— T ^V " 
 it — I know it, as surely as we stand here. Let there be ii' 
 jnd of this farce then, at once and forever — cease to per '^ 
 Bute m«» with attenions as unwelcome as they arc useles: 
 
 8he bad fitivij^ rous^ itim, lairl> au^j^orod his^ m sh.9 
 
 meant 1 
 critical 
 
 "Tak. 
 when n 
 Much a: 
 1 know 
 brother, 
 wlu>m s 
 
 "My 
 (ialbrait 
 
 "Pass, 
 •ruelty, 
 U'tter yi 
 any pur 
 ^et very 
 take my 
 >(;u are 
 1)1 V o^Vr 
 
 '-The 
 iieliancc 
 n:e, l-dfi 
 -p'':!k Oil 
 
 He on 
 
 "A ch' 
 
 Hut s] 
 iici" eyes 
 and hnti 
 
 'V\ (dl 
 
 tCJMh. " 
 
 ■>} 
 
 He St 
 I hough I 
 hand to 
 him as k 
 her wrai 
 then Si; 
 Montalit 
 
 He wa 
 f^ene in 
 cussed t] 
 f(»r iipp( 
 h'ancu h 
 leauty i 
 
 Miss I 
 never sj 
 would s( 
 
 The \i 
 
1 know iiotliiiij^ of Alice WuiTcii orNlicr ini-;t'ral»le >->t.)r.v. 
 Lrother, of whom .you isin-uk so U'ii<i(ily, is \ho iiuiii 
 
 i\ii-s. 
 
 your 
 
 In Wh«ch M^ss Lisle is Disposed Of. 187/ 
 
 meant to do. II in oi-vn onniity wa.i bottor thai his hypo- 
 critical ilf'votiou. 
 
 ''Takn caiv!" he suid, under his hrcalh, as he always Hpoke 
 wiieri roally moved; "even yuu mny f^o tc) far, I'aulina. 
 Much as I love you, even from you 1 will not e'xlure ins',;lt. 
 
 My 
 
 with 
 
 wlumi she H(m1," 
 
 "My lord, will you let me pass' 1 re])eat 1 hear 
 (lalbraitii's voice." 
 
 "Pa»a, Miss Lisle," he said; "I forgive and overlook 
 •ruclty, a»^d will still venture to hope on. If you knew me 
 better you would kuow I am not a man easily turned from 
 any purpose on which 1 have set my heart, and niv heart is 
 M't very sirongly on winnin.a: and wedding you. Will you 
 fiike niy arm to the dressing-room^ You will not ^ Ah, well, 
 ,v(;u are exinted now. The day niay e(»me when 1 will repeat 
 iiiy o5er, and you will listen more graciously.''' 
 
 "The day will never come," she retorted, in a blaze of 
 lieiianee. "How dare you address such insolent words lo 
 ii!(\ I.ord Montalien? You are less tiian man; 1. will never 
 ^p'.'k one word to yon again as h;ng as I live!" 
 
 JJe only saiiled. 
 
 "A child's threat, my jjeerless Paulina." 
 
 liut she had sw(?pt away like an outraged y(uing empress, 
 her eyes flashing fire, her whole form instinct with auger 
 and hatred. 
 
 "A child's threat," she thought, setting- her white, ktuhII 
 t<eilL "He shall see whether or no I can keep a woman's 
 
 fill 
 
 . oV. 
 
 lie stood at the carriage door when she reached if as 
 Though nothing had happened, and courteously held out his 
 liand to assist her to enter. Her eyes flashed their fire upon 
 him as she rejected the lielp proti'ered, and sank back among 
 h(T wraps in the remotest corn( r. Mrs. riall)r;rith followed, 
 then Sir Vane, and, to her unspeakable disgust, Lord 
 Montalien. 
 
 He was completely himself again — no trace of the stormy 
 f^ene in the music-room showed on his placid face. He dis- 
 cussed the ball with Mrs. (lalbraith, his brothj^r's mdooked- 
 U>i' ai)p<?arance tliere with Sir Vane, and once or twice 
 leaned smilingly forward to addr(?ss a renmrk to the sullen 
 Leanty in the corner. Dead silence followed those reuiaiks 
 -Miss Lisle could keep her word as well as he. "She would 
 never speak to him again," she had said in her passion; it 
 would seem she meant to keep her wor<l. 
 
 The ji/allid dawn was already overspref \^ th«» ukjf y/ihun 
 
 \ 
 
i88 In Which Miss Lisle is Disposed Of. 
 
 thf'.v r( u'liod tlie Ivist C-liff. His lorflsliip followed tiit-di 
 iiit-o the house. Miss Lisle tiud Mrs. (lalhr.iitli went at oik-o 
 to their res})eetive apartiri'. iits, aiwl Sir Vane, yawninj^ v;'iv 
 much, looked well dispc'scd to follow, hut his lordshii id 
 Ins hand farniliarlv on his shoulder, and detained liini. 
 
 "Rather an unse.i'^onablo hour, I know," he said, blandly, 
 "but could I have a word with you in private, Sir Vane, be- 
 fore you retire?" 
 
 The baronet looked it him in surprise, and led the vv;iy 
 toward his study. A fire burned in the grate, two easy- 
 ohairs were placed before it, a i)air of wax lights on the man- 
 tel. By their light the baronet saw that his lordship look( d 
 as widely awake, as little sleepy, as though it had been hinh 
 noon. 
 
 He flung himself impatiently into one of the armchairs, 
 and i)ulled out his watch. 
 
 "iralf-i)aut five, Montalien," he said; "and I'm infernally 
 sleepy. Look sharp about it, will you, or I shall be as fast 
 as a church before you are half through." 
 
 "I have no such fear, my dear Sir Vane; you will not \s:o 
 to sleep until you have heard every word, I am qui^e sure. 
 Can you guess, in the least, what it is I wish to say?" 
 
 "I am no Oedipus, but I may venture to surmise, it is 
 something about my ward." 
 
 "Precisely, Sir Vane." 
 
 "I noticed she cut you dead all night, and in the carriiif^e 
 coming home. Have you and she had a quarrel? She's 
 the devil's own tefnper, I believe, when her blood's up." 
 
 "Quite right in every respect, Sir Vane. We have qiuw- 
 reled, and she hqs" the devil's own temper. Now who do 
 you suppose she inherits that unhappy disposition froin^ 
 Not her mother, surely-^Lady Charteris, it seems to me, was 
 xhe gentlest of created beings." 
 
 The baronet rose from his chair — his dark face turning? 
 ^,Acm. \ \ .. .. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he asked. "What has the name of 
 Lady Charteris to do with Miss Lisle?" 
 
 "Sit down. Sir Vane; pray don't excite yourself. I moridy 
 uaid Paulina must inherit her temper and headstrong dispo- 
 sition from Robert Lisle, Lady Charteris bein;:: the most 
 fcractaWe ot wives, the most yielding of women." 
 
 "Lord Montalien, what am I to undcri^tand- 
 
 ''That I know all," his lordship interrupted, tersely, 
 **Tha:t Lady Charteris — nay, give her her richtfu^ name-— 
 Mrs. Robert Lisle, is Paulina's mother I" 
 
 The baronet sank down in his seat, livid with amaze* 
 inent and consternation.. 
 
 )> 
 
mise, 11 13 
 
 In Which Miss Lisle is Disposed Of. i8q 
 
 "By what rij^'ht." lie (IcmMiidcd, Iionrscly, '\\o you dure 
 irinkp this iiisiiuiatioi) ^" 
 
 "P.y th(^ ri^lit of kiiowlcdj^o, l.y tlic ri^li* of truth. I'iinliim 
 \.\-<]o is the t'l(h'r dauj^'lit*'!' and heiress cd Hie Lidy the world 
 thinks your wife. Thinks, ^iily, for .1 lias never for 
 Olio secoud really been that. Kohort Lisle is her husband. 
 Paulina Lisle is her cbiuj^hti'r and heirless, as I said, and 
 yiiur daughter is " 
 
 fic paused. Sir Vane sprang from his ehair once mort^ 
 I very devil of fuiy in eitiher eye. 
 
 "If you dare!" he cried, "I will throttb^ you where you 
 ^it." 
 
 "Then I will not dare," returned Lord Montali(!n, with 
 is quiet smile, that was like oil thrown upon fire. "Sit 
 lewu. Sir Vane, sit down, and don't you lose your temiK^r, 
 (s well as your ward. It is only a weak man's folly — a wise 
 '10 never permits himself to i2;Qt nu^ry. Sit downi, and let 
 is talk tihis matter out quietly and elearly if we can. I 
 knew you would be interested, and even at half-past five in 
 the morning would not fall asleej)." 
 
 The baronet sank back in his ehair, literally trembling 
 vvith rage and terror, lie had thought his secret so safe — 
 L;idy Charteris shut up in a madhouse, llobert Lisle in 
 exile, and Duke Mason afraid to speak, bound by promise 
 never to reveal it. And here, in the hour when he thought 
 himself safest, the last man alive he would have sus{K»c't<Hi 
 nf knowing it, started up, aware of the whole truth! 
 
 "This has taken you by surprise. Sir Vane," continued the 
 imooth tones of his lordship, "and yet I have known it for 
 .>eme time. It is no clever guesswork, no supposition, as 
 perhaps you may think. ,1 happen to know what T am say- 
 'iig. I happen to be able to" prove it, if necessary. Carry 
 ^•our mind back twenty years ago or so to the lifetime of Air. 
 Oi'offrey Lyndith, and try if y(m can recollect a very useful 
 ''.ilet in his service, by name James Porter." 
 
 The baronet gave one inarticulate gasp at the name. 
 
 "Ahl I see you do remember. Perhaps you thought the 
 man dead. Well, he is dead now, and the deposition he 
 made in his dying hours is in my possession at present. I 
 only wonder a clever man, such as I take the late Mr. 
 Lyndith to have been, should be so weak as to intrust this 
 kind of secret to a servant. Believe me, we should do the«;e 
 p''"t of things ourselves. Sir Vane, or leave them inulone. 
 '^ ne lower classes, you will find, as a rule, are troubled with 
 nervousness — conscience, I think they call it — and scHiner or 
 later make a clean breast of the whole aflPair. Porter did. 
 By tibe moreet accident — one of those accident ^ 'hat rule th© 
 
'i ♦ 
 
 190 In Which Miss Lisle ^i. Disposed Of 
 
 livf'S of all of us — I camp upon him ir his dyin^ hours, and 
 took down his doposition. I have that document aafe. 1 
 wonder what Robert \A»\e or — .your wift^ — let us call her 
 your wile — would not give for hi You comprehend n(jw, 
 Sir Vane, that youv secret is your secret no longer?" 
 
 "What do you want?" the baronet asked, in the same 
 hoarse voice. 
 
 "I want to marry Paulina Lisle." 
 
 "And to claim the fortune of Lady Charteris?" 
 
 "iSO, Sir Vane! if I did I should not ask your aid. T 
 proniide to resi^ni all claim upon Lady Charteri.s' estate, ta 
 hand over to you J*orter's confession, on condition that yiju 
 con)i)el Paulina to marry me." 
 
 "(^lorapel !" 
 
 "l^rin^ all the influence 'you and your sister possess tr 
 bear upon this willful ftirl ; let fair means be tried until 
 patience ceases to be a virtue. Then take her to 'The Firs.' 
 I will ^o with you; night and day I shall plead my suit, 
 until, as constant dropping wears a stone, she yields at 
 lenfi:tli." 
 
 The baronet arose, and the two men coldly^ shook hanils 
 and separated. 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 "Mrs. Galbraith, who is to take us to the concert to- 
 night?" 
 
 Miss Lisle looked up from Le Follet to ask this question. 
 It was the evening succeeding the ball. Dinner was ov( i-. 
 and, for a wonder. Lord Montalien had not dined at the Last 
 Cliif. 
 
 "Yesterday morning," pursued the heiress, "it was decided 
 we were to go with Sir Vane. Two hours ago Sir Vane left 
 by the express train for London. Now, who is to take us to 
 the concert ?" 
 
 The concert of which the young lady spoke was a concert 
 
 f more than usual interest for her. Her love for •mu^-'v^ 
 
 anounted to a passion, and to-night the Signor Carlo" Friell- 
 
 son was to make his first appearance. Iler heart had beeu 
 
 set upon going, as Mrs. Galbraith very well knew. 
 
 "Lord Montalien, of course," she said, in her smooth, even 
 voice; "I expect him every moment; and really, it is al- 
 most eight, and quite time to dress." 
 
 Miss Lisle's eyes fell once more upon he pages of Lf 
 Folh'i, anj Miss Lisle'o lips set themselves in that reaohite 
 line that Mrs. Galbraith very well knew meant "breaker!* 
 ahead." ^■„, - $¥'■ 
 
 "Paulina, dear, you lieard meV in her most dnksei toned. 
 
' I i 
 
 book liainU 
 
 coiipcrt to- 
 
 nkiei tones. 
 
 In Which Miss Lis!e is Disposed Of. lOi 
 
 ^TMaud, riiij? for Paulina's maid. It is tinu' to dro-^s for tlio 
 ocTicert. There will bo aiich a crush, that it is best to bo 
 early." 
 
 '^Doii't trouble yourself, Maud," euid raulina, quietly; "1 
 shall not go." 
 
 ♦'Not fro, Paulina?" i 
 
 Paulina laid down Le Follet, and looked aoross at lier 
 cliaperon with steady blue eyes. 
 
 "I shall ixot go, Mrs. (Jalbraith. More — T will never ffo 
 iiiywhere again with Lord Montalien. Tf he h;id eoine here 
 to dine to-day, I should have left the table. It is quite out 
 of ni.y powcT to forbid him the house, or Sir Vane's box at 
 tlie theatre, or you from picking him up whenever we go out 
 to drive, but what is in my power to do I will. Tt shall be 
 no fault of mine if peox)le couple our names to^'etlier. T 
 t<il(l Ix)rd Montalien last night pretty plainly what I iliought 
 of him — now I tell you. Do not let my whim make any 
 difference in your plans. You and Maud are both dying to 
 p> to the dchut of this new Mario. Go, bv all means — I 
 AuiW not!" 
 
 And then she went back to Le Fftllct. All Mrs. Galliraith 
 cdukl say was of no avail. Miss Lisle's ultimatum had Ixhmi 
 spoken, all the eloquence of men and angels would not have 
 moved her. 
 
 Lord Montalien called, and Mrs. Oalbraitli and Maud 
 wont. lie listened, with his calm smije, to the story of 
 Paulina'ji Jieadstrong cajirice. 
 
 ''As the queen pleases," he said, with a shrug; 
 
 « 
 
 a 
 
 littl 
 
 solitude will do her no harm. In half an hour she will be 
 frauitic that she has not come " 
 
 Would she^ The instant the cfirringe drove away 
 Paulina jumped up, flung Le Follpt across tlie room, and 
 rang a peal for her maid that nearly broke down the l)ell. 
 
 "Quick, Jane," she cried; "dress me in two minutes, and 
 make me as pretty as ever you can." 
 
 Her eyes were dancing now. ft was little, wild, mischie'V- 
 ous Polly Mason once more. 
 
 .lane was a well-traiufnl English lady's maid, and nothing 
 iHi(l(>r the canopy of heaven ever surprised hef. She did 
 dross her young mistress in ten minutes, and to perfection. 
 Paulina looked at herself in the glass, and saw that the flow- 
 ing pink silk, and the long trailing cluster of lilies in lier 
 golden hair were exquisite. Diamond drops sparkk'd in her 
 ears, soft illusion veiled the snow-white bust and arms. Her 
 fan of pearl and rose silk, her bouciuet of lilies and blush 
 roses lay side by eide. She looked like a lily herslf — tall, 
 aUm, faij^ . 
 
 i»5;i. 
 
 ■^ 
 
I9J In Which Miss Lisle is Disposed Of 
 
 "Now my opoin rloiik. (^uick, June." 
 
 Jane lluiifj: If ovrr Uvr shouKlcrs iind the hood over li ■; 
 lio;wl. Mlsa \ah\c drew on her j^I(»ves, |raili(»re(I np hor shivi- 
 nitM'iii^r silk«'n (rain, ;ind swrpt out of tho honso with th it 
 djJiK'ii)^' Iif,''ht in Ikm- «'y(>s, that provoking sniik; on lier lii>s. 
 
 Sho li'ippod (h)wn the front steps and ah)njj: the lanipliL 
 fltroot for a few .yt'rds. Then she ran^ tlio hell of a hn'm? 
 Iiousc, and was afhnitcil hy a fool man. 
 • "Is Mrs. Atclirrl.v at liomc^" she asked. 
 
 "What! Tanliiia!"' cxchiimcti a hidy, in tho act of cro^- 
 iiif^' (ho hall, in fnll cvonin^- (h'oss — "here! alone! and at tlii-> 
 honr! I thonuht yon wen> ^oin^- to the concert?'' 
 
 'So I am, dear Mrs. Atcheriy, if you will take me? [ 
 would !K»t miss it for a kingdom. You are all ready, 1 see - 
 how tVutunate I am n<'t to he to() la(e." 
 V "Hnt, my love— Mrs. (Jalhraith " 
 
 "Mrs. (Jalhraith has frone, and Maud and Lord Montalit m. 
 I'll tell you all ahout it as we fxo alon^. IMease don't let us 
 he too late." 
 
 Mrs. (Jolonel Atcheriy, a stately matron,' her (huij?hter ind 
 her hushand, descended to the cari'iaji'c. On the way Pau- 
 lina whisi»cred the story of her insuhcrdination into the ehiir 
 lady's ear. 
 
 "You know how T detest Lord Montalien, Mrs, Atcheriy. 
 T couldn't go with him, and T should die — yes, I should, if 1 
 missed hearing the Signor Friellson. What will they say 
 when they see me?" 
 
 "That you are a hare-brained damsel. What a lecture Mrs. 
 Galhraith will read you to-morrow!" 
 
 They reached the pavilion. The curtain had fallen upon 
 the first act as the Atcheriy party swept along to their hox. 
 Sir Vane's was nearly opposite, and the glasses of LoiJ 
 Montalien and the -baronet's sister fell together upon wickiil 
 Paulina. 
 
 Good Heavens!" Mrs. Oalbraith gasped, "can I bel 
 
 «n 
 
 i(n'i> 
 
 my eyes!" 
 
 Lord Montalien burst out laughing. Though the joke tuld 
 against him, yet Mrs. Galhraith's face of horror was not l«> 
 be resisted. " 
 
 "It is Paulina!" cried the lady. "Lord Montalien, is it 
 possible you can laugh?" 
 
 "1 beg one thousand pardons," the peer said, still laujili 
 ing. "It is the best joke of the season! And, egad! she i-! 
 more beautiful than ever I saw her!" 
 
 "She has the grace at least not too look this way. IInw 
 dare she do so outrageous a thingi I will never forgive her.' 
 
 All th« lorgnettes in the house turned to the Atcherlj box 
 
over li •• 
 luM* shi' 1- 
 kvitli til :'. 
 icr lii>s. 
 e laniplit, 
 f a liiiM' 
 
 of cro-=i- 
 11(1 nt tin- 
 
 e mo ? I 
 
 ly, I s<'»' - 
 
 Vrontnlirii. 
 )ii't let us 
 
 ifjjhtor riiid 
 way Paii- 
 ) the el(l>r 
 
 1 Ateherl.v. 
 lould, if 1 
 they say 
 
 c'tuve Mis. 
 
 Ion uix'ii 
 their h<>x. 
 of Loll 
 on wiekifl 
 
 I believ.' 
 
 joke told 
 vas not to 
 
 lien, is it 
 
 till lan^li 
 ad! she i- 
 
 ay. llnw- 
 give her.' 
 cherly box 
 
 »n V^^ich Miss Lisle is Disposed Of. 19) 
 
 — nian.v to tin* K''eat ludre - -'iia'i^ more to l!i<' noM*^ and 
 Jovcly li(ii<l. (^iptain Viilicrs left hi?» .scat, in iJie Htnlls and 
 jofiic tier, and until tlio curtain foil upon the last not an 
 aninui.cd ilirtation was kepi up. 'i hen .Miss Li^lo. tltin^ 
 her boufiuet to tlie fllioer-vsful tono:*, and took tlie (iuarda- 
 nnuTrt arm t<» tho ciirrla^c. 
 
 "Mr^^. Atcliorly,'' A\o said. Iau«:hin}r1y, "your ^r"o<lMess em- 
 boldens UK! to a.-k still an itlu'r f'av<;r. Will you ke<'p nie all 
 ui^lit ^ I'crhaps, if Mr-i. (1 illiraith ile^^ps on her wrath, it 
 will fall less heavily ui>on iu2 tomorrow." 
 
 MisH Lisle did not return hntnc all uit,''ht. Next morning 
 Sir Vane returned, and was informed of the reh.lUtnis and 
 uida-ard-of (onduet ol his ward. 
 
 The baronet's anger W'HP^ scmtpoIv less than that of hi.s 
 sister. lie went at once for her; and no death's-head ever 
 looked more grim than lie jm lie l-'-d he r home. 
 
 •'And now, Miss Lisle,'' he aslvod, sornly. "may I demand 
 an explanation of this disgraceful eondnet f" 
 
 "Disgraeeful, Sir Vane! 1 don't (luiti- see that; I went to 
 the eoneert beeauso 1 want<'d to g(j to the eoneert, and \ did 
 Hot go with Mrs. (lalbraith because Lord ^l(»ntalien w;is her 
 eseort, 1 hope thai is satisfa(;tory !" 
 
 "It is not satisfactory. I rojieat it; your conduct has been 
 dis^Taceful." 
 
 "Sir Vane, you may ubc that word oncf« loo often. Xeilher 
 low. nor at any future time, sliall Lord MontalicMi appear in 
 public with me." 
 
 "Lord Montalien has done you rno honor to propose to you. 
 It is my desire — my connnand — that you shall accept him.'f 
 
 iMiss Lisle smiled (juietiy and took a seat. 
 
 "Lord* Montalien iias h.id ii coinplaint against me. has Iio, 
 and my giiardian's jjower h to be brouglit to bear in his 
 favor '^ Sir Vnne, tuke my advice and spare yourself a great 
 deal of useless rlu torlc ami breath. If Lord .Montalien were 
 the ruler of the v;orld, and my lite depended on it, I would 
 lay my head on the bloek sooner than marry him! f hopo 
 that is conclusive! I will never step across his thr 'shold, 
 or sit at the same table with him. I will not g4< down t/> 
 Montalien at Christmas. I ho])c that is eoncUisive !" 
 
 "Tlien hear me," eried her guardian, whit«' with anger. 
 "Until you do speak to him, sit at the same ^''hle with hiiu, 
 and consent to marry him, you s-iall remaiii in your room 
 w;!t('hed. The escapade of lar-.t'r.ij^lit shalhnot accuv again. 
 Solitary confinement, perhaps, will teach you ohe<liencH. 
 
 11: 
 
 N 
 
 OW go I 
 
 t» 
 
 Mias Lisle rose at once. TTe had expceted an outburst . f 
 iiidi^rnant protest and ixassion, but who was to judge iLi^ 
 
 •1 
 
194 
 
 ff 
 
 A New Way to Pay OH Debts/' 
 
 irir]? She pn{ up T^■itll fl p''' ^^'l^i'iK ^^milo on Ikt fflvT, aud 
 vvalk»Mi straight out of tlio ruuiu." lu tlic duurway uhc 
 paused. 
 
 "I liavo oidy ono roquf^t to niM^c," slic said, still with that 
 pr()Vokill^^ sinilr; "iUm.-t dor^t fct d iiic on hrcaii and wnter. 
 1 sliouldn't IIIk; to firow uuy thiiUHT, and do hv kind to poor 
 littlo I'aiulorc! (hc^r roodlo). For tho refit, Sir Vane, I hoar 
 but to oboy." 
 
 She: wen*: Up lo her room'=«. Slio.had tlii-eo on the sunify 
 RouthciJi side I't'droon', dressing-room and sitting room. 
 8ho glaiicf'd around. Heaps of hooks and magazines wore 
 everywhere, heaps of P>(»rlin wool, and beadwork, heaps of 
 nmsic and a pirtno. She risng the hell, and wl' n lier maid 
 eanio slie pt('j)ed out through a crevices in the door. 
 
 "flane,'* she said, with soh'innity, 'Tm a ]»ri^oner here, and 
 t^) prevent tlie pospihility of my escape I am going to hjck 
 myself in! You will fetch me my nie-ds, niul when you wiint 
 anythin.iif, Jane, you will raj), you know, and tell me through 
 the keyhole.*' 
 
 8Ir Vaiio had followed her and heard every word of this 
 whimsical speech. 
 
 '^What is to 1k' done w lh such a girl as thai ?" the haronet 
 demancknl of his sister; '*shc is afraid of notliing— imprison- 
 ment, solitude — notliin^;-, I say. Jlear her now!" 
 
 Mis=^ Lisle was seated at lier piano, and her high, sweet 
 BingiU;? echoed through the house. 
 
 "Paulina Lisle is danirerous." Mrs. GHlhr;ilth said, with 
 emphasis; "that girl is capable of anything when fally 
 aroused." 
 
 Mrs. CJalhraith was right. She and her brotl^pr were 
 speedily to learn of what Paulina Lisle was capaWe! 
 
 CTTAPTER VIL 
 "a new way to pay old debts.*' 
 
 It A7as the twentieth of December. 
 
 Francis, Lord Montalien, rose from the luxurious dinner 
 iji his bachelor apartments, prepared by a first-rate French 
 artist, and wilkcd into his reception-room. Lord Montalien's 
 lodgings \fere on the s"»Hiny side of 8t. James street, and rather 
 more luxurior-, if po^^sible than th? apartments of a youii£» 
 duch(r«s. lie had but coi^a from a funeral a few hours be- 
 fore, the funeral of his vich grandaimt. Miss Eerlscourt. 
 After the funeral the will had been read in the lawyBi^s office 
 the will tha^ V> the utter amaze of everybody save the lav 
 
i 
 
 A iNew Way to Pay Old Debts '* 195 
 
 y«»r Jiinl lt'p:k»t«M'. Icf' i-r\ sliilliui,' s)u' l)osv♦.s^Pfi to }ur t-Mer 
 iirphc'W, 1 'U'd Mdiiiii.M : . liuy ji ..'1 lufti cut oi\ witli'iuf •'Wii 
 ti «uin«rt u> buy a un'uniin^f riiiv;, "tor his <'vil courses," \\w 
 Afcill ptiiiifrdly said — tl)o shaiMiful (ouiscs waich, for llu* t'lr^l 
 linH', 1»!mI ljro»i><lit di->;rju't( \i»)on the iiaiiH- af I'larlscourt. 
 
 Ill fli.it hour of triiitiiph the rhlor lirolhcr h;id cast, in spito 
 ut himself, one Khinco (»f lriuiii|>li at the di-^iidu'ritcd favur- 
 itc. (Juy stood perfectly «;idrM — it wmh his de itli-w:irraiit ho 
 heard read, hut lut! a iiiiisch' moved; his liaudsdiin' iTice 
 looki'ii as serenely, a- eo'dly indifferent as ihoiii^h he liad half 
 a iiiilliuii or so at his h.MikriV. And Lord Mout.ilieTi had 
 set his t(»efh with an inward (»alh--lie could not coiKpn r him 
 — iu the hour of his «l<»wnfall ho rose above him still. 
 
 '•(Jurse him!" ho hisseii; "I always hatetl him for his 
 
 d d patrician beauty and lanvrm^r, his air nohh'. ;n tlio 
 
 Women calT it, and his insutferable insojeiiee, and I hate him 
 more now, in Ids utter downfall, than I ever did before. I 
 wisli h(; worf> la re, that I nii^'bt for once throw off the mask 
 and tell liiin »(»." 
 
 The mn>tc'r )h* served seeinod iiK'linod to let him have his 
 way in this as in all otiur things. The wish had scarcely* 
 taken shajie, when tli(» door was tlun^ open, and his juroom 
 of the chambers announced "iMr. KarNcourt." 
 
 Lord Montalien paus<'d in his walk, an<l, crossinf^ over to 
 the chinirieypiece, leanerl his arm upf)n it, and looked full at 
 his brother, that exultant, Satanic smile brij^ht yi^t on his 
 face. J To l)ad this last desire, as lie had had all others; tho 
 man ho hated, and whom he had helped to ruin, stood before 
 him, in tho dark hour of his life. 
 
 (Juy camo slowly forward nwd stood directly of)posite to 
 him, at tho other end of the mantel. Ile» too, won? mourn- 
 ing:, his face was very prravc, very hnf.':p:ard, very pale. r>ark 
 circles surrounded his ey(v., but that noble air, which his 
 brother so hated, had not h'ft him. Tie looked handsomer, 
 nobler, now in his utter downfall, beyond all co!ri{)arison, 
 than the w<'althy, the well-reimtcd T.ord if Montalien. And 
 Francis Earlscourt saw it and kn<w it. 
 
 "Well, Ouy," he began, slowly, "and so the worst has come. 
 Have you visited me to congratulate leC, or to ask my sy^tn- 
 pathy for your own great misfortune? Who would have 
 thought Afiss Farlscourt would have had the heart to disin 
 herit her favorite?'* 
 
 Tho mocking toi;.e, fhe oxultan- look, were indescribable. 
 
 Guy lifted his dark eye: and loo.cd stenlHly across at him. 
 
 "It must have b*3en a tremendous blow," the elder con- 
 tinued; "it WiK. your ias^ hope. Perhape, though, I': is not 
 
196 *^A New Way to Pay Old DeHs 
 
 9* 
 
 t'.. 
 
 i.i ■■ : i 
 
 aw, ,!gi ,.r 
 
 your \i\'^i lio])o; .;< rhnps you have -conic to me to. help you iB 
 J'ftur liour (f lire;!/' 
 
 "No, Frank."' Uuy said, (luietly, "I have fallen very low, 
 but my misfortunes, or evil courses, which you will, have not 
 (juitc turned my brain. I have never asked you for a far- 
 ihinj^: ret, and T never will.'' 
 
 "And yet, you remember after our father's death, I told 
 yon to come to me in your hour of need, and I would assist 
 you. You were your father's favorite, Guy; you are the son 
 of tlie wife he loved ; he left you all he had to leave. I won- 
 der hov/ he would feel if he saw yoii novv?" 
 
 "We will leave his name out of the discussion, if you 
 please. And as neither now nor at any past time I ever 
 troubled your purse or your brotherly aifection, you're hit- 
 ting a man v^hen he'« down is in very bad taste, to say the 
 least of it. I have neither 3ome here to-night for symjiathy 
 nor money I know how much of either I would get or de- 
 serve to jj^et. Shall I tell you why I have come?" 
 
 "By all means — to say farewell, perhaps, on the eve of 
 your lifelong exile. What place of refuge have you chosen — 
 Algeria, Australia, New Zealand, America? I should really 
 like to know!" 
 
 "I did not come to say farewell. I came to speak to you 
 of — Alice Warren." 
 
 The elder brother started at the unexpected sound of tliat 
 luime. Not once had he seen her since the night he had vis- 
 ited her in Barton street. 
 
 "Alice Warren," he said, with an oath; "what has Alice 
 Warren to do with it ? Do you expect me to look after your 
 cast-off mistress when you are gone?" 
 
 "I expect nothing of you — nothing — how often must I re- 
 peat it? And Alice Warren is no mistress of ^nine — of any 
 man's, I believe in my soul. Whatever she is, you are- the 
 scoundrel who has led her astray, under promise of marriage. 
 Hear me out, my lord; I have come to be heard, an<' will. If 
 you have one spark of manhood left, you will atone in some 
 way for the great wrong you have done an innocent girl. 
 You will not leave the fresh face you wooed down in Lin- 
 colnshire exj)osed to the disgrace of London gaslight." 
 
 "I shall do precisely as I please in this, as in all other 
 things. It is refreshing, really, to hear you, of all men, the 
 defender of female innocence, of soiled doves, such as Alice 
 Warren." 
 
 "At least no innocent girl's ruin lies at my door, no man's 
 betrayal. I repeat, if you have one spark of manhood left, 
 you "ill atono for the wro»ng you have done her." 
 
 "As how ?" with his sneering amiie; "by a real marriage— 
 
you IE 
 
 ^ry low, 
 lave not 
 : a far- 
 
 , I told 
 
 Id a.-sist 
 
 the sou 
 
 I won- 
 
 , if you 
 } I evor 
 u're bit- 
 I say the 
 ympathy 
 et or de- 
 
 e eve of 
 chosen — • 
 lid really 
 
 ,k to you 
 
 d of that 
 had vis- 
 
 las Alice 
 ftcr your 
 
 ust I re- 
 ! — of any 
 1 are- the 
 marriage, 
 will. If 
 in some 
 ent girl, 
 in Lin- 
 it." 
 
 all other 
 
 men, the 
 
 as Alice 
 
 no man's 
 hood left, 
 
 arriage— 
 
 ••A >Jew Way to Pay Old Debts/' 197 
 
 make the hailiiT's diuKhtcr my I.ady Moiitali-ti ? M.^y 1 a-^k 
 when you had the pleasure of seeing the l.idy l.i^t. and ff 
 she connnissioned you to conic here and plead her ''a^c?" 
 
 "1 f.aw lior two hours ago, and she comniissioncd me to do 
 nothing of the sort. I was walking along tlie Stra;. 1 wilh 
 Gus Stedman, and we camo face to fac(^ witli poor A!:'-e. I 
 should not have known her — she has become such a /re.elied 
 shadow of herself. If ever a heart was hntken, 1 believe Imts 
 to be. By Heaven, Frank, it is a cruel shanu — ii vou iiad 
 murdered her in cold blood you could not be more guilty 
 than you are !" 
 
 The sneering smile never left the other's face, though he 
 was pallid with supjfre.ssed passion. lie took up his eig;ir 
 case and lit a ^lanilla, though his hands shook as he did it. 
 
 "And she told you, no doubt, a piteous story of my be- 
 trayal and my baseness — or is all this accusation but the 
 figment of your own lively brain i"^ 
 
 "She told me nothing; she is true to you, false as you hi've 
 been to her. We scarcely exchanged words — she seemed !o 
 have something to say to Stedman, and 1 walked off, and Irft 
 them. It is of no use your wearing a mask with me. Wluu 
 Alice Warren came up to London last Septend)er, p( or, cred- 
 ulous child, it was to become your wife." 
 
 "You are right!" exclaimed Lord Montalieti, suddenly; 
 "and I will throw off the mask wtih you, iny virtue-preaching 
 younger brother! In that other land to which your — mis- 
 fortunes are driving you, you might, with p-easure to yoiir 
 self and profit to your hearers, turn Metliodi-^t parson the 
 role seems to suit you amazingly. I shall deal witli .Mice 
 Warrer. exactly as T please, and for niarriagv', I slinll marry 
 Paulina Lisle!" 
 
 "Poor Paulina," Cluy said, bitterly. ^'May Heaven kc(>p 
 her from such a fate I" 
 
 "You believe in Heaven? At least It has not dealt very 
 kindly by you. T s-hall marry Pauli)ia i.isle and lu r for- 
 tune; and it will he the delighlfu! occupation of my li!( to 
 break that high spirit while you are hrt-ak'ng s.oms oi, i he 
 roads out there in Australia. ¥(^r Alice Warren, slie will 
 far(^ none the better for yoi»r pdvocacy. l.er u- -,)>"'!; r-t' 
 yourself — I really feel ati interest in yi ur fate, thoimli you 
 may not believe it. You have ^ent in your pa;:ers to >c]l, 
 T suppose? You are not mad enough to try rtn<l rcmi'.i in 
 England?" 
 
 (luy bowed his licad in asse!it,,and turned t<o go, 
 
 "Pray, do not b'^^ in sui-h haste — I have not half tinislied 
 what 1 desire to say to you. Have you chosen as yet the 
 place of your outlawry t" 
 
 '. ' ♦ 
 
198 *'A New Way to Pay Old Debts.'' 
 
 ''T]u> place of my outlawry is a inatter that in no way coih 
 L'vnis you.'' 
 
 ''V('ry true; and what dct'S it signify — America, Australia, 
 A!;i<-ria — i' is all the , same. But don't you feel a curiosity 
 lo kiiow how you came to he disinherited? Most men would, 
 { 'li i k; and you were t^uch a favorite with old Miss Earls- 
 coiTt, as with all women, young and old, indeed." 
 
 "'J'hrou<.Th your hrothorly kindness, Frank, no doubt." 
 
 **(^uite right — through my brotherly kindness. l>ut for 
 ine you would to-day be heir to our lamented maiden aunt's 
 large fortune, able to snap your fingers in the faces of the 
 Jews, and marry Paulina Lisle yourself, if you desired it. 
 She was ready to forgive ^'ou, seventy times seven, to pay 
 your de!)ts to the end of the chapter, and leave you all when 
 she died — but for me! — but for me! Shall I tell you, Guy, 
 how I did it ?" 
 
 "If you please." 
 
 "By means of the girl whose case yon have come here to 
 plead — by means of Alice Warren. Your gambHng, your 
 ;lrinking, your mad extravagance in every Avay, she Wi!-- ])r(> 
 pared to forgive and condone, but not the luring from home, 
 under pretense of marriage, and ruin of a young and virtu- 
 ous girl, whose father nil his life had loved and served you 
 and yours! T went to her two weeks ago, my brilliant, care- 
 less (luy, and I told her this. I made her believe this, tha 
 only thing tha>: could have ruined you; and that nig it she 
 tore up the will that left you all — you hear — all! — and made 
 me her heir!" 
 
 He paused. Satan himself, triumphing over a lot t soul, 
 could not have looked more diabolically exultant, r or Guy, 
 liQ listened, his elbow on the marble mantel, his calm, pale 
 face unmoved, his eyes fixed steadfastly on his only brother's 
 face. 
 
 "You did this," he said, slowly. "I know you always 
 hated me, but I did not — no, I did not think, base as I 
 know you to be, that you were capable of thil. Frank," 
 with a sudden change of tone, "will you tell me why you 
 have hated me? I have been a worthless fellow> b"^t I neveT 
 injured you." 
 
 "Did you not?" I-ord Montalien ground out, with a deep 
 oath. "Why, curse you, T believe I have haied you from 
 your cradle! You were the Isaac, I the Ishmacl; you the 
 prttcil. the caressed, the admired — I the unlicked cub, the 
 .nlovcd son of an unloved mother! T have hated yen for 
 that beauty which v>^omen have so admired, for the taleii's 
 an<l acvomplishments that have rendered you a favorite with 
 men; and I swore to tave re jnge — and I have had it. Your 
 
 sp 
 
 8t( 
 Wf 
 hr 
 W 
 
 an 
 
 8p( 
 
 hei 
 
 fa( 
 
 one 
 
coib 
 
 alia, 
 jsity 
 :)uld, 
 larls- 
 
 t for 
 unt's 
 f the 
 :k\ it. 
 3 pay 
 when 
 Guy, 
 
 ere to 
 your 
 
 2? Y)rc- 
 hoine, 
 virtn- 
 3(1 you 
 , care- 
 is, tha 
 it she 
 i mdtlo 
 
 soul, 
 r Guy, 
 n, pale 
 ■other's 
 
 always 
 io as I 
 ^rank," 
 hy you 
 I novoT 
 
 a deep 
 u from 
 
 ou the 
 ub, the 
 you foT 
 
 taleii'!^ 
 ite with 
 
 '*A New Way to Pay Old Debts." 199 
 
 brilliant life is over; you . iv a be^gnr; yen a:o forth to 
 exile and outhnniy and (li>i,n-aco — to starve or work in a for- 
 eign land! And tlie title, and the weaUh, an<l ihe l-mm'I re- 
 pute are mine! lias nu)ro ;j()t to be said^ i wid rnirry 
 IV.ulinii Lisle before thf next London season, and Aliee V/ar 
 rcu nniy go, as you have gone, to perdition. Mr. Guy Kails- 
 court, permit nie to wish you good-night!" 
 • IIo rang the bell. 
 
 "Show Mr. Karlseourt tu the (ln,,r," he -aid to the servant, 
 ^'and admit liini hej'c no more I" 
 
 He could not forbear this last in>ult. With (nie look — a 
 look not soon to be forgotten — (luy went forth, never to eroas 
 that threshold again. 
 
 "And now for Berkeley Square and Paulirui!" exelaiinod 
 Lord ^VFontalien, taking up his greatcoat. *'\Ve will see 
 what frame of mind that obstinate little beauty is in to- 
 night!" 
 
 But he was not to go yet. The door opened once more, and 
 the groom of the chambers ap{)eared, with a disturbed 
 countenance. 
 
 "j\Iy lord, there is a young i)erson here who says she must 
 see you. I have remonstrated -'" 
 
 lie stopped aghast. The young person had had the au- 
 dacity to follow him, and stood now upon the threshold. It 
 was Alice! 
 
 "That will do, Kobinson; I will ^ee this wonian ! CJo!" 
 
 The groom of the elunnbers vanished, closing the door 
 after him, and dropping the heavy curtain of erinisoii cloth 
 that effectually shut in every sound; and Aliee, wan as a 
 S})irit, covered with snow, with wild eyes and ghastly face, 
 stood before Lord !Montalien in all his splendor. His face 
 was literally black with rage. lie hatod her, he loathed her, 
 ho had forbidden lujr in the r'lo-t emphatic.' manner ever to 
 write to him or intrude upon him, and she had had the 
 audacity to force li(M' way hei'e ! 
 
 "llovv dare you!" he saiil, under his breath, as he always 
 spoke v^hen his passion was greatest — "how dare you come 
 here?" 
 
 She was trembling with cold. Slie was miserably clad and 
 fatigued, but he offered her no chair, did not bid b"r ap- 
 proach the fire. She remained stamling near tlie door, h'-r 
 face, awfully corpselike, tnnie(I uixni him. 
 
 "Wliy have you come here?" he thundered. "Speak at 
 once — why have you dared +o come here?" 
 
 "I have come for justice, L(jrd ?\lontalien. 1 am your 
 wife, and you leave me to starve! I am your wife, and an 
 outcast from home and friends! Frank 1 Frank 1" — her voice 
 
 . ,1 ■ 
 
 i 
 
 V 
 
 1 ■ 
 ■i 
 
 m 
 
 1; 
 
 * 
 
 :>..'L 
 
•• > 
 
 200 ''\ New Way to Pay Old Debts." 
 
 rising to a ?}jii]l ci'y — "I havo not scp.i you for six week.^--= 
 1 liiid to come lure— I should havf jr(»iM: mad or died i A 
 had not c!onio." 
 
 "It lii a pity you did not!" hn hrutally answered. "Go 
 mad and die — the sooner the better; lut don't come torment- 
 ing nie with the sight of your niiseralde, white face." 
 
 She clasped both luMids over her heart and staggered as 
 though he had given her a blow; her lips moved, but no 
 Bound came forth. 
 
 "What do you mean by coming here for justice, as you 
 call it J" he went on. "Justice means money, I suppose. 
 Well, here are ten guineas — take them, and pay your bill, 
 and begone !'' 
 
 She rallied again; after an effort or two words came from 
 her aslien lii)s: 
 
 "I came for justice, an<1 T must liave it — I am your wife 
 — your lawful, wedded wife — why, tlien, are you trying to 
 marry Paulina l.isle^" 
 
 He strode a ste{> toward lier, then stopped. 
 
 "Who has told you this'" he cried, with suppressed fury. ' 
 
 "Mr. Stedman. I met him to-day — he told me you were 
 engaged to marry Paulina l.isie, and would marry her. 
 Frank, it must not, shall not be! T can bear a great deal, 
 but not that. 1 love Paulina; she shall never be ruined as I 
 have been. You shall own me before the world as what I 
 am — your lawful wife,, or 1 will go io her and tell her all." 
 
 There was that in her fac<', in h(^r eyes, in her tone, a 
 firmness, a resolution, ho had never seen there before. The 
 crushed worm had turned; he knew she meant what she had 
 said. 
 
 "You will do this!" he exclaimed, hoarsely, 
 
 "I swear I will! My heart is broken, my life ruineil-'^that 
 is past hope — you hate me, and wish to cast me off. But 
 she shall be saved — my good name shall be saved. Unless 
 before this year ends you promise to. proclaim me as your 
 wife, I will go to Paulina Lisle and tell her all." 
 
 "Then go!" he burst forth, in his fury; "go — weak, drivel- 
 ing, miserable fool! My wife! Why, you idiot, you have 
 never been that for one hour, for one second. The man who 
 married us was no clergyman, but a w(»rthle , drunken va- 
 grant, who entered into the plot with Stedman and me. My 
 wife! Faugh! T was mad enough, but never half mad 
 enough to <lo that! Now you know the truth at last — no 
 iuore my wife than any streetwalker in London. Go to your 
 friend, Mr. Stedman, and he will indorse my words." 
 
 There was a ''^•■^'^ near her — eh© grasped it to keep from 
 
 "D 
 
 gerin; 
 
 upon 
 
 many 
 
 What 
 
 fellow 
 
 stead 
 
 Miss 
 
 born 
 
 what 
 
 and 
 
 fortal 
 
 a nig! 
 
 out tl 
 
 ,. ^^'' 
 
 n'en ( 
 
 "Tl 
 in a c 
 
"A New Way to Pay Old DeMs.'* 201 
 
 falling, and in the licig'hl of his mad fur^ ':c liad to shift 
 away from tlie gaze of llic lar^c, horror-' ruck vyvs. 
 
 "5sot ills wifcl" she wliispcred; "not his wife!" 
 
 *'\ot my wife, I swear it I I did iK.t nxan \<, tell you 
 until 1 liad g<)i you (|uietly out (d" llie coinury. hut as weH 
 now as hiter. And, mark you — if vou '^o near I'aniina Lisle 
 —I will— kill you!" 
 
 The last words came hissin^^ llirongh his set teeth. 
 
 "Not his wife," she repoaled '.nco more, in a sort of whis- 
 per; "not his wife!" 
 
 Sh(^ turned hlindly toward the door, grooinpr like one in 
 the dark. He lifted the eurtain, and opened it for her. 
 
 "(Jet a jL'uh, and go home," he said. "I will call ujjon you 
 in a day or two, and see what can he done. I will prctvide 
 for you, have no fear of that. Jlere is the money — go hack 
 <iuietly and wait until 1 eome." 
 
 She did not seem to hear or heed him. She never notieed 
 the money he offered. Slie w( nt forward in the same hlind 
 way, the servant looking at her curiously, and passed from 
 the lu.xurious wealth and light of those eostly rooms to the 
 bitter, drifting snowstorm without. 
 
 "So niueli the better,"" muttered his lordship; "if she p(T- 
 isli in the storm it will save me a world of trouble. Half-past 
 nine! The devil's in it, if I cannot go to Paulina now!" 
 
 The devil was in it — he was apt to be, horns and hoofs and 
 all in the same room with Fraticis, Lord Montalien. Hifore 
 his wraps were on, the <lof)r was Hung open for the third 
 time, and Mr. Stedman announced. 
 
 "Didn't exj^eet to see nie, old boy!" his visitor said, swag- 
 gering in with easy familiarity. "(Joing out, too, to call 
 upon the lovely Paulina, no doubt. Well, T wc^i't detain you 
 many minutes. So let us sit down and be comfortable. 
 What a cozy erib you have here. I'rank, and what a lucky 
 fellow you are! All Miss Karlscourt'^ money left to you, in- 
 stead of that unfortunate beggar, (iuy. And now the rich 
 iMiss Lisle is goiiig to marry you, they say. It's better to be 
 born lucky than rich, but when a man's both lucky and rich, 
 what an enviable mortal he is! Ah! the world's a seesaw, 
 and some of us go up and some of us go down! flow coui- 
 fortable this coal fire is such a night- the very dickens of 
 a night, rean tell you. Hy the by, who <lo,you thi'^k I met 
 out there just now in the storm?" >. . ~ -,- 
 
 Tie looked cunningly at Lord Montalien, but Liu'd Montn- 
 :ien did not srx'ak. His face was set in ai; angry frown. 
 
 "That poor, little, unfortunate Alice of yours. I put her 
 in a cab~-6lie didn't seem to know where she was going, and 
 
ao2 "A New Way to Pay Old Debts.' 
 
 ii' 
 
 paid tho drivc^r to take her hom: I believe, in my soiii 
 she would have perished before morning." 
 
 "I wish to Heaven she had, and you with her!" burst out 
 the badgered peer. "What the deuce brings you here, Sted- 
 ujan i Don't you see I'm going outi" 
 
 "Now, that ig inhospitable,'* murmured Mr. Stedmaji, ro- 
 proac'hi'uliy; "and to such a friend as I have been to you, 
 too. Didn't you tell me I had a claim upon your gratitude 
 you would never forget when I chose to call upon you ? The 
 time has come. 1 leave England in three days, to seek my 
 fortune in Australia; and I have called tipon you to-night, 
 Lord Montalien, for a check for three thousand pounds." 
 
 Lord Montalien laughed scornfully. 
 
 "Three thousand demons, perhaps 1" he said. 
 
 "No, my lord, one of them 1 find quite enough to deal with 
 at once. I want three thousand pounds, and I mean to have 
 it before I quit this room!" 
 
 "You are mad or drunk — which?" 
 
 "Neither, most noble lord. Your secret is worth the 
 money." 
 
 "What secret?" with a scornful stare. 
 
 "That Alice Warren, the bailiff's daughter, is your lawful, 
 wedded wife!" 
 
 "What!" 
 
 Mr. Stedman looked up at him with an exultant smile of 
 power. 
 
 "That Alice Warren, whom ten minutes ago you turned 
 from your doors to perish in the snow, is your lawful, wedded 
 wife, as fast as the Archbishop of Canterbury's license and a 
 clergyman of the iChurch of England can make her! That is 
 your secret, my lord! You thought I would be your cat's- 
 paw, run my licad in a noose to oblige j'ou — do your dirty 
 work, and tak(^ a 'thank you' for my pains. That was your 
 mic'take. You are as .tightly married to Alice W^arrcu as 
 though the ceremony h?)d been performed under the roof of 
 St. George's, Hanover Square. You can prove my words if 
 you like, easily enough — Alice Warren is Lady Montalien/' 
 
 The two men looked at each other, and Lord Montalien 
 knew he spoke the truth. In the waxlight his face was 
 deadly pale. 
 
 "Stedman," he .«aid, "why hnve you done this?" 
 
 "To wi{)e out all old debt of six years' stivnding, my lonl. 
 Y(ni know to what I refer — to Fanny Dashon. You thought 
 I had forgotten, didn't you? — that was your little mistnke. 
 The debt was cleanly wiped out on the night you married thr 
 bailiff's daug^hter. Now will you give me your chock :.c 
 three thousand pounds or not i'' 
 
'•C-jmili."'': Husband. 
 
 «• 
 
 303 
 
 i do not ^ 
 
 ■If lior, T will ^o ^•1r;^i;.Mlc from this room a> Pauliiui Lisle. 
 
 rihI tell hrr the wholes story. To obtniu iuformnt 
 
 ic,:\ ■) 
 
 f 1 
 
 1 
 
 nciu 
 
 1 sli 
 
 V uili f,'-iv(' me ut least oiic tlousniul. juui mv rrvi'i 
 
 
 will l.o worth the (ithcr two. 1 think, of iho two courMs, 1 
 really should jtrcfcr it.'' 
 
 L'trd Montalieii, witlu^iit a word, opened his cheeklx'ok 
 and wrote an order for three thousand ixmiid-. 
 
 "What surety have I," he saitl, ''that yon will not -till ;:o 
 to ]VI!ss Lisle when 1 havc^ ^ivcMi you this?"* 
 
 "My promise, niy .ord, wliieh I will keejt. (Jive nir \\u) 
 chick, and I swear to leave Enj.rl.ind, and keep yom* -een't 
 invi.i'ate to the end of my life.'" 
 
 \Vi;hout a word his lord.ship passed him tin- slip .,f jtapir. 
 ?»lr. Stedman folded it up with a satisfied smile. 
 
 "Tiianks, my lord, and farewell. I will d<'Miii ycju no 
 
 He took his hat and aj^pvoaehed the door. Then he turned 
 round for a second, and looked at Lord .Moutalit'n slandiiVc 
 like a statur". 
 
 'Jv h)rd," ho said, "it wasn't her fault. Don't he * 
 
 OO 
 
 h'r.vil on h<'r wdien 1 am i-oi 
 
 le 
 
 ,*-..) 
 
 d-ni^ht, Mr, Stedman,"' his lordship ans\vere<l, icily 
 
 \ know what T ov.-e her, and how to leal with her. 
 
 iVUi 
 
 1 tl 
 
 leii he was aume. 
 
 Al 
 
 one 
 
 .\ 
 
 o , 
 
 r 
 
 nseen tempt<^rs. 
 
 dark spirits, filled the room. Tie thi'cw off his overcoat and 
 walked U]) and down. Tlonr after hour sti'uek — it was h'li^' 
 past midnight, and still he never })aused in that ceaseh*ss 
 walk. Jlonr after hour wore by — morning- datvned, white and 
 cold, over London — firelight and waxli^ht lunl flickered and 
 died away. 
 
 And with the morninji;, Lord ^rontalicn know how he 
 meant to deal witii Alice. 
 
 i 
 
 1i'-.| 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 CAMILLA S HUSBAND ' 
 
 Rir Vane Charteris and his family had heen back two 
 days in the house in Berkeley Square. The Christmas i\'s- 
 tivities at Montalien had been postponed indefinitely, all 
 throuj^h *the headstrong disobedience of that wilifnl girl, 
 Paulina Lisle. 
 
 a 
 
 I will never jro to ^Afontalien Priory of my own wi 
 
 11, 
 
 >» 
 
 she 
 
 .said; 'and if you take me by force, I >vill 
 
 •un 
 
 refuge with Duke Mason, an hour after we get tlitre. 
 
 away and .seek 
 
 » 
 
204 
 
 <« 
 
 Camilla's Husband.' 
 
 "jicr (J('vlli-^]i (li'tcriiiiu'Uioii 1 uovor saw cf[uaki<l in old 
 or .yonii^!" Sir \'i\nv. .said tt> ilu* last day of his litV. 
 
 And indeed there was truth iit the forciljh- remark. Slje 
 had I;' pt her rooms, t;j the surprint,' of everyljody for a foil 
 iiij^ht at JJri^hton — iiavliif^' her meals sent up to her, not 
 seeiii;^- a soul l)Ul lier maid .lane. Tlie, weather had h'-cn 
 dismal thi-ouidioiit, and with jilenty of new hooks and lew 
 music, I'aulina eould not fe<d very lonely. The Brighton 
 world bejjjan at last t(» ask so many questions about its 
 bright favorite tliat at length Sii* \'ane sent up his own 
 man, with a polite recpie?. : that Miss Lisle would join them 
 that day at dinner. Miss T.isle's prompt answer was ehar- 
 aeteri.'.t ic : 
 
 "Tell Sir Vano Charteris, Brownson, with my e(jmpli- 
 ments, that J have stayfd a prisoner here for two weeks to 
 please him — I shall now stay two more to please myself!" 
 
 With which the door closed emphatically in Brownson's 
 bewildered face. And Miss Lisle would hav(^ been as good as 
 Her word had not the baronet wdiisked his whole family back 
 to town. 
 
 I.ojidon was deserted now by their world, but Mrs. Atch- 
 erly, Paulina's friend, had a country seat at Twickenham; 
 and on the twenty-second of December was to give a grand 
 ball, to be preceded by private theatricals; and to these theat- 
 ricals and to this ball Paulina had promised faithfully to go. 
 
 But Sir Vane ruled it otherwise. 
 
 "If Mrs. Atcherly should happen to call," he said to his 
 sister, "tell her Paulina is indisposed, and unable to attend. 
 If she thought she was to be taken to 'The Firs,' she would 
 throw hej'self upon the Atcherlys protection, as soon as not, 
 and the old colonel is a veritable Don Quixote about women." 
 
 Mrs. Atcherly did call on the twenty-first, and was told, in 
 Mrs. CJalbraith's smoothest way, i)oor Paulina would not be 
 able to attend — the child had been indisposed since a fort- 
 night before they left Brighton. 
 
 Was t]u> list of Miss Lisle's enormities never to be filled^ 
 The drawing-room door, opened as Mrs. Galbraith spoke, and 
 the yonng lady herself walked in, her cheeks glowing, her 
 eyes sparkling, the very impersonation of excellent health 
 and spirits. 
 
 "Not so indisposed, Mrs. CJalbraith, that she cannot grci't 
 an old friend. And, dear Mrs, Atcherly, T will go »to Twick 
 enham to-morrow night if T have to walk there!" 
 
 "I am ;-o glad. Kemember, Mrs. Oalbraith," risii?g to :r<-, 
 "we shall assuredly expect you and Miss Lisle." 
 
 Mrs. Galbraith turned passionately to Miss Lisle the in- 
 stant her visitor had quitted the house. 
 
«t 
 
 Camilla's Husbarri/ 
 
 20^ 
 
 iliss Lislo lifted muc Iniiid. with linu^dit.v ^'osturo, thirt 
 stilled tiu' risiii/^- Icmpcst. 
 
 'VMi . (iiilltraitli,"' >li(' sjiid. in n voice flinl rjinir. "eiinim-h 
 of lhi>I 1 am nil cliiid to In- wliipiicd and pnt to IxmI, ;is you 
 see iit — no i)Oor, timid, spiritless ereMtnre. to lie tynmni/cd 
 over by y<in. ov your brother! I ^Indl ^'o t • 'I'wickenliMm t(j- 
 nuM'row i.i^lit as .surely as to-murrow ni^ht comes." 
 
 She sweiit out of liie room superbly. A-; he jvissed I ho 
 library--<lie door ajar — she was suddenly ehecke*! by hearing 
 her ev n name from the hated lii)s of I^ird Montalien. 
 
 "Does raulinu know yet you are. koIuk to take her to ''i'ho 
 Firs' for the winter?" he asked. 
 
 "Not yet. 1 tell ytju, ^Montalien, tli.' determined will of 
 that g^irl is past belief! She is capable of a!lythin^^ Sho 
 shall not know her destination until we are fairly started — 
 Eleanor will fabricate some story to satisfy her. Once at 
 •The Firs' J hav<' no fear. It will b(> all our own way then — 
 the house is as lonely and desobite as a'toirdi; and I will 
 take care she does not pass tlu; gates. You will be with her 
 day and niidit — -f you cannot inake br-r consent to marry 
 you before s[)ring, why then ;" 
 
 "She .-hall consent, by fair means or foul. She shall only 
 leave 'The Firs' as my wife." 
 
 lie rose as he spoke, and Pa\dina Hit ted away. 
 
 In her own rcx)ms, she sank down, white and cold. Wiiat 
 horrible plot was this they were concocting against her? 
 They were going to imprison her at "The Firs" f(/r months 
 and months, that dreary house Mrs. (lalbraitb ever s[)oke of 
 with a shudder. And Lord Alontalien was to be her constant 
 companion, and by fair means or foul she was <Mdy to leave 
 it his wife. Her heart grew s'ick witinn her. Her own will 
 might be strong, but that of those two men was stronger. 
 Imprisoned there- — friendless — bow could she hop(! *<■ outwit 
 them i 
 
 . "Something must be done to-night,'' slie tlwHiglit, as she 
 dressed herself for Mrs. Atcherly's ball. She h.id not the 
 least idea what, but something must be (.ne to avert her fate. 
 Never, never, never! would she go rlown to "The Fir*s." 
 
 She was thinking this as her maid dressed lier — thinking 
 it as they drove rajiidly throrgh tb.e cold, mnotdit ni.!.iht — 
 thinking it as she entered' Mrs. Atclierly's pleasant rooms, 
 filled with pleasant people. She was looking beautiful in a 
 dicss of silver-blue moire, with diauK-nds ^pnrkling in her 
 rold hair, on her marble throat and arms. She was jjale as 
 ma-'ble herself, but there was a feverish fire in her eyes that 
 told of the unrest within. 
 
 Sir Vane, Lord Montalien, even Maud, attended this part^ 
 
;{..! 
 
 > . 
 
 206 
 
 "Camilla's Husband." 
 
 t'» witness the thoatricnls. Hills priritof^ cv whifo Hatin were 
 |)tis8('(l aromid. Tin* phiy was ''Camilla's llusbaii*!." "Ca- 
 milla," l>y Miss Att'hcrly, and tho yomi^ artist, who is the 
 hero ot" tho piece, by Cuy KarUeourt. 
 
 "His h^^^t ap|)oaraiiee on any sta^e," laughed liis Irotli'T to 
 Sir Vane, "before ho goes forth into the outer tlarkne'>, te 
 be seen and heard of no more. lie was a' ways a sort of [iv\ 
 with those {teople. He has Bold out, y u know, and must 
 leave Knuhind within th<^ week, or the Jews will be down 
 upon him, and all his brilliancy, and all his b«'auty, will 
 Ik' wasted sweetness on the des<:rt air of a <lebtors prison.'' 
 
 "How you do hate your brother," Sir Vane thought; '"and 
 you do nut possess even the common decency to conceal it." 
 
 l*erliaj>s many of those who reail this have seen the play 
 called "('amilla's Husband." A youn^ huiy, persecuted by a 
 tyiaimical KU{>''dian, makes her escape, and asks the tirst 
 man slie meets to marry her. 
 
 The lirst man i^ a strolling artist, who consents, marries 
 her, receives a jiurne of y!;o\d, is told he is never to see or 
 seek her a^ain, and slie disappears. Of course it ends, as 
 it ought to tiul, in the arti^ saving her life, and eventually 
 winning her hnc and herself. 
 
 Paulina Lisle sat watching the progress of the play, led 
 away from the great trouble of her life in its Intercast. How 
 well he playe<l, slie thought; how magnificently he looke<l! 
 llow like Camilla's fate was to her own! Oh! if she could 
 but cut the Gordian knot of her difficulties by asking some 
 body to marry her too! 
 
 It was the last scene of the last act. Camilla is hopelessly 
 in love with her artist, and that moment is drawing near 
 when she shall fling herself into his arms and declare that 
 "irapi)y am I, since you are Camilla's husband." 
 
 CfUy was playing superbly; and when, in the last monjont, 
 he opens his arms, and his wife falls into them, the whuh' 
 house lan>t forth into a tumult of applause, in the midst of 
 which tho curtain fell, and the play was over. 
 
 "I Tow well he acted," a voice near Paulina said, as a young 
 ofRcer of the Guards arose with a military friend, "for a man 
 irretrievably ruined. His debts are enonnous; aifd his old 
 ftuut lias died, and left all to that cad of an elder brother. 
 What a pity the days of Faust and Mephistopheles are over! 
 Guy Earlscourt wouM sell his soul to the Evil One, I verily 
 believe, without v. moment's hesitation, for twenty thousand 
 pounds! He must leave England in a day or two, and for- 
 ever." 
 
 The speaker passed on; but his light-spoken wonis had 
 been beard and iieeded. In that instant, as alie Iktenedf it 
 
II 
 
 Camilla's Husb;- 
 
 .} •! 
 
 207 
 
 ail jU:"ihc(] upon y*uulin.i like -^ '"'lihMTip; r-lonm. l*;iy Knils- 
 C(»i!i-t \<*i' till iiiMii— llu" iriaa Ir- iiiiri-.v, and nave Ium The 
 Mi'^'i to t il\n linlf lior fortniu^ and l«':iv(' Ium* forovor. 
 
 i-di ' I'juiioti ugaiu.st a sioinltir pilustt'r; \.\\v room, tin- iightn, 
 *Vc' rj/'. J swinuijin^i: iu fciro iu r. \\i>v i'.yrs wrrc tixtd witli \hc. 
 iiiU'i'-ity of iiiMuity upon tlio face, of (liiy Karlsroiirt, sur- 
 1^ 'ivded by ail tlic vdnion in tlic vootiim. rcfcivinji^ tlwir <'t>?ii- 
 I'limont^ and coiigratnlationp, witli ids n<ual n('^:lif;ont, 
 courli.v j^raco. Ail licr lilvinjr, ail lii*r frltMidsliip for Idin, all 
 her j ity, vanisiiod. He was liardly a man, oidy tlio iinltu- 
 Moi; :, tiic aiitcniaton, wlio was to save hw for a certain stip- 
 ulatod ])rir'». 
 
 ilo turneci laug-liiiiprly away at last from Ins adnun r-^, and 
 saw Irr. How stranprrly, liow wildly slio looked! 'i'hc deadly 
 pallor of lier faeo, tin? I)i "idiif]^ hri^htne-^s of her <'yo<, what 
 did it luean — was she ill? He approached — the 14 »e II (d those 
 fevered (>yes drawin^^ him to her. 
 
 ''What is it r ho asked. 
 
 Siie eau^ht his arm. 
 
 "1 want you," she said, iti a hreathless sort of way. "Take 
 me out of this room." 
 
 Wouderinf:!'. ama/ed, curious, he drew her hand within his 
 arm and led her through several ror)!ns t<) a sort of small, 
 half-lit boudoir, lie was the friend of tlu^ house, atifl h.<' knew 
 it well. A clouded light, like moonlight, idled this small 
 room, flowers nnule the air heavy with jx-rfume. Mo dropped 
 a velvet (curtain over tho doorway, and turiK^l to her. 
 
 "Nowf he said. Somethinj^ uncommon was ef)ming', ho 
 knew not what. 
 
 8he looked at liini; tlie burning light in her v.yv^ almost 
 friglitened him. Was she in the first stage of a brain fever? 
 
 "V(ju arc going to leave England?" she asked, abruptly, 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "When ?" 
 
 "In three days." 
 
 "For where?" 
 
 "The new world. I am going to setik my fortune in Amer- 
 ica." 
 
 "You will never return to England — never, never!" 
 
 "Never, in all j)rol)ability." 
 
 "'J'hon v.hat can it matter to you! It will make your fat« 
 no worse, and it will save me. You shall have half my for- 
 tune — cW you hear — ^forty tliou^and pounds — if you will 
 swt'ar tPkecp tho seciet, and never to come back, never to 
 come near me, never let the world know I married you," 
 
 The words hurst from her wildly — incoheren^t^* 
 
208 
 
 ''Camilla's Husband. 
 
 9t 
 
 llo lookod a( Ihm' in iJaiik ainnzo. Wn-; Miss Li-ilf fynliiR 
 
 iiwmI i 
 
 (t 
 
 ()l», you don't iindcrstjiiMl,'' site ••ri«d. "I am liko the 
 woinaii in tliut pla.v — 1 a/n iiwf in.-id, though tlie.v will drive 
 liK! so ill tlic "lid. 1 t<'II \ou tlicy arc noiii^ to iiiak*' na' 
 marry Lord Moiifalicn, ami [ liatc liimi I li.ifc him! 1 will 
 kill myself first!" 
 
 A li^lit l»f'/^an i dawn upon (iiiy. By soiiu* sul»H«^ instinct 
 ho understood her at on«'e. 
 
 "They — meaning Sir \'ane Charteris and Mrs. (lalhraifh, 
 I sui)pose-- are f^'ointT '<» iiiake yoii marry Lord Montjilien ^" 
 
 "^'<•s. You k.iow 'The I'lrs' — that desolalr', ahaiuloned old 
 inanordiouse. on th(^ I'lssex coasts 'They ure Roin;^ to im- 
 prison me there \nilil 1 eonsent. They will do with mo as 
 wa^» doiui with my mother," compel me to marry a man I 
 ahhor. AmL there is only one way of eseupe." 
 
 u 
 
 » 
 
 And that is tx) marry some one else 
 
 lie was ent(?rin^ into the sj>irit of thr» thing now. Mad 
 escapades of all sorts had hcen the delifjriit of his life. What, 
 could h(! better than to finish his caicer in Kngland by th<^ 
 niaddest e^seai>ado of all. He understood her as few men 
 would have done, and pitied her intensely in this hour of her 
 desperation. 
 
 "Miss Lisle," ho said, "w"T you marry me?" 
 
 He had spoken the words for her! She gave a sort oj gayp 
 of intense relief. 
 
 "I will — if you consent to my conditions." 
 
 "What are theyT 
 
 "That you accept half my fortune, and in the moment of 
 our marriage leave me forever." 
 
 "'I'he first is easy enough — the second — well, not so pleas- 
 ant. Still,' to oblige a lady in distress " 
 
 'I'here was a ^jinall Bible, bound in gold and pearl, on the 
 table. She snatched it uj) and held it open to him. 
 
 "Swear," she cried; "swear, by all you hold sacred, never 
 to molest me, never to claim any right as my husband, 
 never, come what niay, to betray my secret, to leave me at 
 the church door. Swear!" « y 
 
 He took the book without a second's hesitation, and 
 touched it with his lips. 
 
 "I swear!" Iw, said. 
 
 She drew a long breath of relief. The cold dew was stand- 
 ing in great drops on her white face. She sank down in a 
 chair and hid her face in her hands, with a dry, choking 
 sob. The young -'lan stood and looked at her with a feeling 
 of intense pity. 
 
€t 
 
 vo t)ie 
 
 (li'ivc 
 
 ko nif' 
 
 I will 
 
 ifttitu't 
 
 hraitlj, 
 iiM'ii : 
 
 l(>() old 
 
 t<» im- 
 
 nio as 
 
 iriaii I 
 
 , Mm.1 
 
 Wliut 
 
 by th(r 
 
 ■ of lier 
 
 oi {^asp 
 
 nont of 
 
 pleas- 
 
 oii the 
 
 , iiover 
 nsbaii(K 
 me at 
 
 n 
 
 , ami 
 
 stand- 
 
 ,vii in a 
 
 hoking 
 
 feeling 
 
 Camilla's Husband/' 
 
 209 
 
 ti 
 
 And 
 
 Poor cliild!" 1m' said, very Moftly; ''it la hard on yttu. 
 
 now- when is 1 
 
 it to 1 
 
 "They nuMiii to start for 'The I'lr^ l.y tli" eailiesl iraiii, 
 on ( 'liii>tnuis I'!\c. Onci' il.cn. all i•^ )i.-f.'' 
 
 " Ihcn wr iiiii^t be h«'l".r»'}iai.d will; tln-m. CJad! svlmt »i 
 triumph it will lo over Kraiih!" lie laUKlird as lie spok.- — 
 ruiiii'd, and exiled. (Iny l'!ai l.-t .uirt cmld «.|i|| jiiu^^h. "I.rt 
 
 UH see. 
 
 Will 
 
 yoii iu« iniin'K (I in a ••iuircli m flux eitv 
 
 Li^le, at daydawn, Christinas Kvef' 
 
 M 
 
 H.I 
 
 Xot ill a cluirch! such a iiiania«t' in a cluiivh 
 
 a nio( 
 
 a 
 
 Th 
 
 kf-ry 
 en, 
 
 by J 
 
 I sacrih'm'- aiiywiicic r 
 
 won 
 
 Id 
 
 •(•em 
 
 ove 
 
 1 
 
 have it I What do yon s.iv to a mar 
 
 riaue before a re^i-trar:' \i>\i walk into an otlicf. verv nnK-Ii 
 like any ot>bi'r f)lli<'t', and you sre an ollicial, very much likn 
 any other oilicial, and a few words are said, a littli? si^niiiLT 
 and cMuntcrsif^MiiiiM'. and the tiling is over. A inarriaiAc he- 
 fore a registrar lu^tween the iiours of ei^ht and twelve in the 
 f<jrenoon, with open doors, in the presenee of two witnesses, 
 etc., (>te. Nothing <'an he uu.w -imple, and you wi!! leave 
 the otHee i\A le;;ally married in the eye of the Ijiw ("what yoii 
 want. I take iti as though a iliMii and chapter had doiu' the 
 business. There will have to \.o a little fibbing about your 
 age; ^ will arrange that, 
 
 W 
 
 hat 
 
 ujil you 
 
 ■rerfectly. My niai<l will accompany me. and \ will go di- 
 rectly home when the cerennMiy l^ over, ami tell them there 
 that I am out of their power at last. If you will call at tho 
 house, a eouple of hours lat<'r, Sir Vane will pay over to you 
 til!' sum I have promi>ed." 
 
 He smiled slightly. 
 
 "I shall eall, Miss T.isle. And now as to the hour. Wo 
 must be very early, in order to be beforehand with them. 
 Say botwe(m eight and nine? (\in you be ready so early?" 
 
 "1 e(»ul(l be r(\idy at nudnight to save myself from y<»ur 
 brother I At eight o'clock I and my maid will steal from the 
 house and meet you wherever you say." 
 
 Mv cab shall be 111 waiting at the eorner. The eoaeliman 
 
 « 
 
 will do for the other witness. Is your maid to be trn<fc,l 
 
 <( 
 
 I think so, wluni — well paid. 
 
 "And you will not change your mind — you will not faiH" 
 
 lie would not have had hei fail f(»r worlds now. Tie- ro- 
 mance, the piquancy of tlu^ adventure, fired his imagination. 
 Of the future, in that lionr. he never tb.oufrl,t; jumt at nresent 
 it look(>d a eapital ])raclical joke, 
 
 "Am I likely to failf she cried, bitterly. "Mr. lOarls- 
 court," lurni^ig to him with sudden passion, ^ I wonder wliat 
 you t«hink of me !" 
 
 "I understand you!" he answered, respectfully. "Desper- 
 
210 
 
 On Christmas Eve. 
 
 ate cases require desperate remedies. A^a7nst two ^uch men 
 as Lord Montalien and Sir Ynne Charteris you stand no 
 cTiance. Your marriage with me will save you at least from 
 a marriage with him, and you may trust me to keep my 
 oath." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ON vJ II RIST M AS E VE. 
 
 Over the fire, in her dingy lodgings, on the night preceding 
 Ciiri.-tmas Eve, a bloodless, attenuated shadow of a misr-r- 
 able woman crouched. It was Alice, but Alice so changed 
 that her own motht r, had she by any chance entered, would 
 have faile<l to recognize her. Alice, with every vestige of 
 beauty, of ycruth, of health, gone — as utterly miserable a 
 woman as the dull London light fell on. 
 
 It wjis snowing without, and was cold. Sho had drawn a 
 little shawl around her, and crouched with her hands out- 
 strctclif'd to the blaze. The few articles of summer clothing 
 she had brought from home, in September last, were all she 
 had yet. 
 
 September last I only four short months ! Heaven I what a 
 lifetime! what an eternity of misery it looked to her! 
 
 How she had reached home that night, after she left St. 
 James street, sho never knew. Some one put her in a cab; 
 and when, after a day and a night of stupid, painless torpor, 
 she awoke to consciousness, she found herself again in her 
 own poor room, and the landlady's face looking half-compas- 
 sionatc'!y,half-impatiently at her. 
 
 "It was my luck to have my lodgers always a-falling sick 
 on my h'lnds, and a-dying with their bills unpaid, like that 
 Porter upstairs; and it does make a person hard, T confess," 
 Miss Young afterward owned, with remorse. 
 
 And then memory and consciousness slowly came back, 
 and she recollected all. She was not Frank's wife — she was 
 the lost creature they thouf;ht her at home, and Frank v.TiS 
 going to marry Paulina. No; he should never do that. Slie 
 scarcely felt anger, or sorrow, or oven pain now; beyond a 
 certain point suflFering eensos to be suffering, and becomes 
 its own ana^estlu'tic. She had reached that point— she w.js 
 past hope, past care, past help. Sho v.-ould iind out Paulitia, 
 toll her her story, save her from a like fate, and — die. 
 
 Sonu^ such thoughts were \u her mind as she crov.ched shiv- 
 ering over the fire. The wintry twilight was fast filling tlie 
 room wiA its creeping darkness, when the uo5r suddenly 
 opened, and, without a word of warning, Lord Montalien 
 stood before h». 
 
f * 
 
 On Christmas Eve. 
 
 211 
 
 She had never tliousht to soo hhn ngain in this world. 
 She looked up with a low, strariirc fry. 
 
 ''Frank!" 
 
 "Yes, Alice, Frank I — Fraiik *•!-.,> t.) \-o^ your pMrd'>!i for 
 the crue), thonpfhtloss words he s]v>k(' the otlKM- nijxlit. Fr:i»)k 
 come back to tell you he loves you. iU).! to ask you to ior--ivo 
 him for what he snid." 
 
 "There is no. need. 1 jini not voiir wife." she answrrod, 
 in a slow, dull way. ''I hat! rather you had not eoau'. I 
 only want to see Paulina, and di(> in |k\'U'(>.'' 
 
 Andwhvr 
 
 "You want to stH* ^aulina ^ 
 
 ii'^V 
 
 Vo fell her all — to save her frov.) you, Frank! Poor 
 Polly! She used to be so l)ri^lit, so liai)i)y, you know, aUvav.-i 
 lauyrhinfJT and sin^nng-; it w«uld be a pity to break her liei.. 
 Mine is ])rokcn; but then, it doesn't so much mati.'r ul>oul 
 
 nie." 
 
 She drew a \ou^, tired sij^'-h, and leaiif^d her head on her 
 hand^s. Then suddenly she lof)ked up in his faer^. 
 
 "Frank!" she said, in a voice of indescribable pathos, "w!^ 
 did you treat mc so? T loved you, and I trusted you, and I 
 thought T Avas your wife!" 
 
 It misht have moved a heai't of stcuie; he had no lieart, 
 even of stone, to be moved. 
 
 "You foolish child, "'he said, with a sli;j:ht lauprh, "you aro 
 my wife — my only wife, as truly as ever you thouj^dit it. Do 
 you really believe the an^ry words T said to you the other 
 night? Silly Alice! I was an^ry, T own — I did not want you 
 to come to my lodj^inprs, and I spoke to you in my anf2:er, as T 
 hr.d no ri^ht to speak. You are my wife, and I myself will 
 take you to Miss Lisle, if you wish it." 
 
 She rose up, her breath cominji: in (juick, short irasi)s. 
 
 "Frank! you will! Oh! for TTeaven's sake, don't decH'ive 
 me now! I couldn't beai^ it!" 
 
 "I am not deceivinj*- you — T am telling you the truth. You 
 are my wife, and you shall leave this miserable hovel, and at 
 once. Pearly to-morrow morning T will ctmo for you, and I 
 will take you first to Paulina, and from her straight down 
 to Montalien. Your Christmas shall be a happy one yet, 
 Alice." 
 
 She took a step forward, staggered into his arms, and lay 
 there, so still, so cold, that he thought her fainting. Il»^ 
 shrank, too, from her clasp with a shudder, and placed her 
 hurriedly back in her chair. 
 
 "Compose yourself, Alice!" he said, looking away Irom 
 her. "Can you be ready as early as eight o'clock, or oven 
 before it, to-morrow morning T* 
 
 "WhenevtT you come for me, Franks X can bo ready. Oh. 
 
 i-t 
 
 L- 
 
312 
 
 ^ On Christmas Eve 
 
 Mess O 0(1! bloss Gofl! and I never thoiigli: o see you again 
 iny darling.'" 
 
 Morning dawned — the ^norning of Christmas Kve. Thou- 
 sands <jf liiiiJi).v people awoke in the great city to wish eacih 
 otlu^r "Merry Chrij^tinas," but I doubt if among them tliere 
 "Was one happier than this poor ereaturc, in her bleak lodg- 
 ing, waiting for the coming of her idol. She i)aid the land- 
 lady, dressed herself in the sickly dawn, and stood by the win- 
 dow watoliing. It was snowing fast — the wind blew cold and 
 shrilh aiid her garment^ were wretchedly thin. 1'he landlady 
 pityingly made some such remark to her. But Alice only 
 laughed. 
 
 "I shall feel no cold, Mrs. Young; and I shall soon be 
 beyond feeling cold, or ill, or lonely, any more." 
 
 8he had uttered a prophecy — poor Alice. As the hoi)eful 
 words passed her lii)s a one-horse vehicle drove up to the 
 door, and she saw Frank, muffled beyond any recognition but 
 her own, sitting therein. 
 
 •She gave a little cry of delight. 
 
 "(Jood-by, Mrs. Young," she said; "and thank you for 
 your kindness when I was ill." 
 
 She ran downstairs and out of the house. The man leanecl 
 forward and helped her up beside him. And then the whirl- 
 ing wilderness of snow shut them from Mrs. Young's sight. 
 
 He did not speak one word. The wind and the snow were 
 driving in their ^aces, rendering speech impossible, 'i'he 
 morning light was still dull and pale — the city clocks wt ic 
 only tolling eight as they quitted the Strand. Tie drove across 
 one of the bridges, and out to some dismal waste ground in 
 the neighborhood .of Battersea, a remote and forgotten tract, 
 as wild, and lonely, and forsaken as an African desort. And 
 here for the first time he spoke r* 
 
 "There is something the matter with the horse," he said; 
 "you Tnust get out." 
 
 He si)rang out himself and gave her his hand to deseenn. 
 They were close uj)on s:)me deserted brickfields, and he madt 
 a motion for her *o follow him. 
 
 "Comu out of the storm," he said; there is a place of 
 shelter near." 
 
 He seemed strangely familiar with the desolate locality. 
 Tie led her to a sort of dry-ravine, so hidden away among 
 rubbish and the debris of the forsaken brickyards as to ren- 
 der I'litei'ing almost an impossibility. She shrank away in 
 almost nameh'ss fear. 
 
 "FraTik!" she cried, in a frightened voice. "I can't go intc 
 this hideous place. Oh^ my God, Frank! what are you going 
 to do^ 
 
igain 
 
 Thon- 
 1 each 
 thi've 
 : lodg- 
 ' Imid- 
 10 win- 
 lid and 
 ndlady 
 •v only 
 
 lOon 
 
 1)6 
 
 hopeful 
 
 to the 
 
 tion buT 
 
 you 
 
 for 
 
 h lean»'<l 
 le vvhivl- 
 
 sij:,ht. 
 
 o\v w'i-vo 
 
 k^ wove 
 Ive across 
 ound in 
 on traet, 
 rt. And 
 
 he said; 
 
 (lesccnn, 
 he niadr 
 
 plaee of 
 
 locality- 
 ^y amonjr 
 IS to run- 
 away in 
 
 ^'t go intc 
 rou goirg 
 
 A Mad Marriage, 
 
 7\% 
 
 "To take your lii^^! — you f(-ol— y(Hi l.alil.ler!" he nn'^werrd, 
 in a horribh} voice, betwoon fiis clenched tcctlj. And Ijcforo 
 8he could utter one word, one cry, tlicic <',ti! c a Ha.ih. a re- 
 poi-{, and Alice fell like a stone at hi> fed. 
 
 Tlierc was a pause of a second. Had dealh i)een instan- 
 taneous ? No; by a mi^liiy eH'ort sh<' !;;df rai>eil lierseif. and 
 cla-ped her arms around his knees. 
 
 "Frank!" she whispered; "Frank!" and the old deatidike 
 devotion looked out of her Klazinu' (»ves. '* Frank — von h.ive 
 
 lo\ed- 
 
 vou— so ! Oh, ( iod. 
 
 killed nie — and I loved you so — 1- 
 have mercy on me — and for^ivc^ " 
 
 She fell down with the sentence nntinished—dead. 
 
 He knew she was dead. He drat^{;ed the i)ody away into 
 the darkest depth of tlie cavern, piled up the rubbish and 
 heaps of waste bricks again. Thousands of jx-ople nii^-lit 
 pass that dreary tract and never notice this frij^htful i)!ace. 
 
 And then he was out again in the light of day, wili the 
 white snow whirling around him, and his horse standing with 
 bowed head exactly as he had left hini. 
 
 "Now for my handsome, high-spirited I*aulina!" he 
 thought, as he leaped in and drove away. "All thingu suc- 
 ceed with me, and no shall this! In my vocabulary there's no 
 sueh word as fail !" 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A MAD MARRIAGE. 
 
 Paulina did not find it difficult to "buy over" her maid to 
 
 secrecy, and on the morning of Christnuis Kve they set out 
 
 together for the appointed place of meeting. 
 
 Guy was waiting, pacing up and down by a four-wheeled 
 
 coach. 
 
 "Punctual!" he said. "It is eight precisel.y. Miss Lisle; I 
 
 hope you are well wrai)ped; the morning is hittiM-. Tak<' my 
 
 arm — the walking is dangerous." 
 
 She declined with a gesture — clinging to dane, 
 
 "(fo on, Mr. Earlscourt; we will follow yo.i." 
 
 He led the way to the cab and held the door oi)en for iheni 
 
 to enter. Then he closed it and sprang up beside rhe driver, 
 
 solacing himself with a cigar. 
 
 They stopped aliruptly at last, the cab door opened, and 
 
 (Juv stood readv to help them out, 
 
 "This is the place," he said, briefly; "allow me." 
 
 He half lifted Paulina down, drew her hand within his 
 
 arm, and led her up a flight of dark stairs, and into a dark 
 
 WHtt 
 
 * i 
 
^ 
 
 214 
 
 A Mad Marriasfe, 
 
 and i^rimy office, wliere a fire burned in a round stove and H 
 dirty little boy was swwpiiig. 
 
 "Where is %\\ Markhanrf Guy asked the boy. 
 
 The dooj* opened on the instant, and a lively little red- 
 facerl man came in. 
 
 "Kcjit you waiting, sir? No?" as Guy answered impa- 
 tiently; "well, I am huky for this once! Now, then, if the 
 huly will stand up, and the witnesses approach, we'll do youp 
 little job for you in a twinkling-." 
 
 lior heart was throbbing with almost sickening rapidity 
 now— throbbing so that she turnc \ sick and faint once more. 
 She looked about her for a second with a wild instinct of 
 Hight, but it was too late. Guy had led her forward — how 
 firm, how resolute his clasp se&med ! — and -«he was standing 
 before the legal official, answering, as she was told to answer, 
 and hearing Guy's clear, deep tones as in a dreamy swoon. 
 She. heard, still faintly and far oif, it seemed, the solemn 
 wo^ds, "I pronounce you man and wnfe," and then she was 
 signing her name in a big book, and feeling rather than 
 seeing the little red-faced man staring at her curiously, and 
 knew that she was the wife of Guy Earlscourt! 
 
 The registrar placed a slip of paper in her hand. 
 
 "Vour marraige certificate, madam," he said, with a bow; 
 "permit me to offer my congratulaions, Mrs. "Earlscourt.' 
 
 The clock:: of the district were striking nine as'tliey left 
 the office and re-entered the cab; and once again Guy 
 mounted to his seat with the driver, to face the December 
 blasts, and smoke a second consoling cigar. As before, Pau- 
 lina sat in dead silence during the homeward drive. 
 
 Tliirty minutes' rapid driving brought them to Berkeley 
 Square. In front of Sir Vano Charteris' mansion the cab 
 stopped, and Mr. Earlscourt assisted them to alight. Then 
 Paulina directly addr'^ssed him for t>he first time. 
 
 "I shall tell Sir Vane Charteris, the moment I enter, what 
 has taken place," she hurriedly said; "and if you will call, 
 within an hoyr or so, the other business of paying over tho 
 forty thousand pounds will be t ansactcd." 
 
 "I will call," Guy answere<l, briefly, "if I may see you for 
 a moment to say farewell. ' 
 
 She bent her head in token of assent, and flitted up tlio 
 steps. From the library window Sir \'ane Charteris had 
 watched the "whole extr. ordinary i)roceeding, utterly '•^^' 
 tounded. What did it mean? Had this reckl«ss girl out- 
 witttnl them after all? He came forth into the liall. She 
 ..flung back her vi^ii for the lit t time, and met his angry, sus- 
 picious .t4.')K0 witii {Jasliiug, karless eyes. Tho sight of liini 
 
 "On I 
 Worth 
 
A Mad Marriage. 
 
 215 
 
 id 
 
 red- 
 
 mpa- 
 
 i the 
 
 your 
 
 piAity 
 more. 
 t\ct of 
 , — bow 
 
 luswer, 
 swoo«. 
 solcnm 
 ibe was 
 er than. 
 ^ly, and 
 
 a bow; 
 
 uvt.'- 
 
 boy leit 
 ill (»viy 
 (H'einber 
 
 lue, Tii^- 
 
 berlveley 
 
 the cab 
 
 It. Tben 
 
 Iter, what 
 
 Urn call, 
 
 over tbo 
 
 [e you 
 
 lor 
 
 U\ up t^'O 
 
 •tcris bad 
 
 torly ^^^' 
 
 o-irl o>^t" 
 
 ■all ^^^® 
 
 ...111* 
 
 nijfTy 
 
 SU8- 
 
 ibt of ^^^ 
 
 restored all her aiidaoity, ?\\ her dc poratc courage and de- 
 fiance. Weakness and faintnesd were wholly gone now. 
 
 "Miss Lisle," ho doniandrd, sternly; "what dtws this 
 mean ?" 
 
 "Sir Vane ChaiU'ris," ^he returtetl, meeting his swartli 
 frown without Hinching, "it iiH>ans that you are outwitted 
 — vanquished — that you are no longer my tyrant, nor I your 
 slave. It means that at last I am out of your power — it 
 means that I am free !" 
 
 Ilis dark face turned yellow with rage. As plainly alT he 
 ever understood it after, he understood on tlie instant what 
 had taken place. She had married Guy Earlscourt. 
 
 "Go into the library," he said, brielly, and she went. He 
 followed her, and closed the door. She stood before him, 
 proudly erect, her eyes alight, her haughty head thrown hack, 
 her resolute face white as death. "You have married Guy 
 Earlscourt?" 
 
 "I have married Guy Earlscourt !" 
 
 And then, for fully five minutes, they stood face to face — 
 as two combatants in a duel to the death. U was all over 
 then — rage as he "might — storm as he would — it was done, 
 and not to be undone. She was married, and out of his 
 power — her fortune her own — he could do nothing — nothing! 
 
 "I am married," Paulina said, her voice ringing hard and 
 clear. "To escape one brother I have asked the other to 
 marry me. You hear that, Sir Vane Ckarteris — asked him 
 to marry me — driven to it by you and Lord ]\rontalien.' 1 over- 
 heard your plot to carry me off to ^The Firs,' and bury mo 
 alive there, until I should be forced into a marriage with a 
 man I hate. Sir Vane Charteris, if there had been no other 
 escape, I w^ould have escaped by death. Guy Earlscourt, on 
 the eve of his exile, has married me, and freed me from your 
 power." 
 
 "On the eve of his exile, Paulina! The husband of a lady 
 worth eighty thousand pounds need hardly think of exile." 
 
 "No; in his place you certainly would not. Mr. Earlscourt, 
 however, happens to possess the manliness and genero.-ity to 
 leave me free in the hour that makes hk^ his wife. Do you 
 think, Sir Vane, I am going to let the world know my secret'? 
 — do you think I would have married Mr. Earlscourt if he 
 had meant to remain in England? lie has sworn never to 
 betray the secret of our marriage, and he will keep his oaih. 
 In an hour he will be here, and you are to makr over to hiui 
 the half of my fortune — Torty tliousav.d i)onnds. In two 
 days he leaves England, and — f()rev(>r." 
 
 She turned to quit the room. The bewildered baronet de- 
 tained her. 
 
■ \ 
 
 2l6 
 
 A Mad Marriage. 
 
 "For Heaven's yakc, Paulina, wait! ] ilon'c audcrstanu— 
 
 1 can't understand. Do you mean to say this marriage is 
 
 no marriage^ That (Juy Karlseourt leayes you free and lor- 
 
 ♦ everC Tliat lie goes from England never to return, while you 
 
 remain here ("^ 
 
 "Precisely! You can't comprehend such generosity as that, 
 vnn you ^ You would act very differently under the circum- 
 stances, aftd so would his immaculate brother. Lord Monta- 
 lie^i. But there are true men. This marriage shall never bo 
 made public if you keep the secret — my maid is sworn to se- 
 crecy, and I shall still be Miss Lisle and your ward in the 
 eyes of the world. If, however, you prefer it otherwise — tluMi 
 1 shall take care to show you as you are to society — a 
 guardian so bas»s so tyrannical, that he drove his ward to the 
 maddest step ever woman took. Now choose!" 
 
 She stood before Irm in her beauty and her pride, more 
 defiantly bright thaa he had ever setni her. He knew her 
 well enough to know she would, to the letter, keep her word. 
 He came forward suddenly, and took her hand. 
 
 "I will k«H^p your secret, Paulina," he said; "and I beg you 
 to forgive me if 1 have been harsh. I havt been driven to it 
 • — I have indeed — I am in J-.ord Montalien's power, and he 
 forced me to do this. I will keep your secret — from hini, 
 from my sister — from the world. ]-.et things go on as thougli 
 this strange marriage had never taken place; you are free to 
 do in all things as you will — L in the eyes of society, your 
 guardian still. I am sorry for the past; 1 can say no more. 
 Paulina, will you try to forgive me il" 
 
 "J. will try," she answered, bitterly, and gathering her 
 mai.tle about her, quitted the room. 
 
 She went up to her own, threw off her wraps, fell on h<r 
 kn"cs by the bedside, and buried her face in the satin cov* i- 
 h I. She shed no tears, though her heart was full; she < 'y 
 lay there — sick, tired, numbed, as though sh-^ never cared .i< 
 rise again. 
 
 No one disturbed her; the minutes went by, the mornin.tr 
 with its life and bustle wore on. At half-i)ast eleven Jai.t 
 tapped at the door. 
 
 "H you please, Miss Paulina, Sir Vane sends his conipli 
 ments, and would you stej) down to- the library. Mr. Ivarls- 
 court is there." 
 
 She rose up slowly, painfully, and Went down. It was due 
 to him she should go, but if he had only spared her this. 
 
 Sir Vane admitted her, and locked the door the instant slie 
 entered. Another ligure, trailer, slighter, stood leaning 
 against the mantel staring moodily into the fire. Ai him 
 Paulina did not dar« to look^ 
 
 m 
 
A M:id Marriage. 
 
 117 
 
 ^'ifou told Yxw, my (Nmi." ' C hiintin t said, in his most 
 kindly voice, "tlimt Mr. I^iitl-comi uus to accept lialf your 
 fortune. There must l»e son.c ii.i>l.;k(- lie utterly refuses to 
 
 doit." ; 
 
 She turned to him with staith'd eyes. (Juy siiiile<l. 
 
 "That part of the compact was jk^i in the hoiui at least. 
 If I liave served you 1 am ecntent. I ca)i mily Iioik* tliat tlio 
 day may never come when you will nurct uk re than you do 
 at present this morning's work. For the money, I distinctly 
 refuse it. J have fallen very low; hut 1 find there is still a 
 lower depth than that to which I Injvc sunk. To accept your 
 generous offe would he a dcMradatfon you must permit me to 
 decline. 1 leave Kn^laiid in two tlay< forever, in all hninau 
 j>robahility ; hut if. at the otlier side of the world, the day 
 comes when my wre.-ked fortunes ;.i-e retrieved, and I can re- 
 turn with honor, i will return. 'Jliat, too, was not in the 
 hond." 
 
 Hhv looked at him — trcndding — white to the lips. 
 
 "You will return," she slov,Iv repi-ated. 
 
 "If I can, with credit to myself— with my debts paid; uiost 
 certiaiidy. l^nt you need Inive no fear; T will keep n»y oath. 
 .Never, come what may in the future, shaU 1 betray your se- 
 <ret. Whether oceans divide us, or we stand side by side 
 nj.'-ain, will make no ditTcrence. If I have saved you from my 
 half brother, I am ^a'isfied — 1 ask no more. And now, 
 Paulina, for (he sake of old times, say 'farewell, and j;ood 
 .^jxed' before I pro.'' 
 
 Jfe held out his hand, the smile that lit it into such rare 
 beauty bright on his face and in his eyes. He stood b^'fore 
 her, handsomer, nobler than any man she had ever beheld, in 
 his generous renunciation — his great self-sacrifice; and her 
 lieajt went out to him — and in that moment she knew that 
 she loved the man she had married. 
 
 She gave him her hand — her proud head drooping in an 
 agony of shame, of remorse, of pity, of teiulerness. If her 
 life had depended on it, she could not have spoken even tlie 
 "good speed'' he asked. Her lingers, icy-ccdcl, w(Te clasped 
 for a second in his warm, firm grasp — one half-sad, half- 
 f^miling look from the \>rown eyes, and then she had fled from 
 the room. 
 
 They had parted — perhaps forever — and in the hour that 
 'A\Q lost hiru, she knew that she loved him with a love that 
 uould last a life. She was his wife, but she would have died 
 a thousand deaths rather than say, "Guy. don't go!" and die 
 knew how utterly unavailing tlie words would have been, if 
 she could havf^ crusJied down her woman's pride and spoken 
 them. It wa& as fixed %a fate that he should eo. And «« 
 
 ,') I 
 
 
 ^i: 
 
 4 
 
2l8 
 
 A Mad Marriage. 
 
 she had lal<eii her leap in tho tlurk — taken it blindly, des- 
 perately — to save herself from a worse fate. And the hour of 
 her bridchood was the hour of her widowhood — in the fuUe^st 
 sense of the words, she was wedded, yet no wifel 
 
 Two days after th(; Oneida steamed down the Solent from 
 SouthaniptoH, bearing away to his long exile Guy Eurlscourt. 
 
 # » 
 
 ■f^ 
 
 i 
 
 /. '» 
 
 ?'v/ 
 
HaKT ^^OUHi.. 
 
 CHAI'TKU I. 
 
 Arri:ii six vf-\hs 
 
 j.|i| 
 
 ic was a hot night in Virginia. 
 
 I'p and down a long, bun'-lo(»i<ing room, as iuUvvv paced 
 restlessly, his hands crossed behind Itini, Ins brow bout, his 
 Hy(\s iixed on the floor. The nxnn was the privnte iipaittrK rit 
 nf the officer commanding the eavalry division stiitioned for 
 tlie time at this outpost, and the officer was Colonel jjjiwks- 
 ley, of tJie — th, IJe was a very tal), \ory fair man, tin's 
 ('olonel flawksley, with a face so thoroughly Sa.\(jti that n(ft 
 all the bronze of foreign sums could hi«le his nationality. lie 
 hiid dark, close-cropped, brown hair, a niugnificciit tiiwuy 
 beard and uiustache, and eyes blue and bright :is the X'irginia 
 sky without. lie was a man oi" six-aiid-forty ; magniticenf ly 
 jir<jportioned — a model for an ath!<'tie Ajxtllo — looking 
 younger than his years, despite the silver threa<ls streaking 
 Ins brown hair, and the deejj lines that can' or thought had 
 plowed along his broad brow. 
 
 Tj) and down, up and down, Coionej JIawk.-.ley paced, with 
 iliat thoughtfid frown, for npwar<l f>f an hour. 
 
 "Who is he^" he uiuttere<l, hulf-ali>ud ; 'Sviiat is lie to ]\i y'i 
 If anything, why is he hereof — if nothing, how came he by her 
 [•icture? "J'he night is fine; he is e iiHl»ieiitly rccovere*! to 
 walk over. I have half a mind to sci d for him, restore him 
 ]i!s prop'erty, and ask '' 
 
 He stopped tt> glance out iit the night. The great, briglit 
 Southern stars blazed in a cloudless >ky. not a bnitl; <»f air 
 stirr(d the hot stillTK\ss — it was certainly (piite fine enough 
 for jiuy one to vejiture out. The colonel rang a^ handbell, 
 with a look of (bvision. An orrh.Tiy apj>eai'ed. 
 
 "(io to the hospital, and iwjue-t Lieutciumt Karlst ourt, if 
 qnite able, to wait ujxai mc licic"' 
 
 The soldier tonchcd his ca[) and v.ithdrcw. 
 
 Tl'.o colonel glance<l at a little package lying ii;)o!i the 
 table. It was a gold repeater, >-f't with jewels, and ieui^ifij? 
 Ircm the slender gold chain a bucket of rare beauty anl wiirk- 
 manship. The officer took up this If.'ckrt, touched the >pring, 
 and looked long and cHrtiestly at th« face within. A beauti- 
 
 
220 
 
 After Six Years 
 
 fill and .lo'lo inoo, niul a j!:r:i('('fiil. girll.-ih l];rr»at -V.:? pbotr^ 
 i.\:.\] li i.f pjuiliii 1 I/'m!('. 
 
 "VVIwit is hc' to hcr^ — how cmiiics he to wear lic?r porli'i'J 
 iNx'H hi' know ?--but, of c-oursc, lio docMii't! It ia Strang', 
 strjiii^e." 
 
 It was ^oii'cwliiit. 'I he circiiiiisluiKT'-i wfrc llic^e: A hatil< 
 liiid taken i)la<'o tivi* weeks liofnre; and during the licat of ih- 
 <'ii«;aKonient, Coloiirl I lauksK-y's allention Imd 'oeen attract J 
 by a younjj; ottieer of liis own tnjop, wliose cool oouraKO ."Uil 
 superb fiKhtiiitr rendii'cd him conspieuoiis oven in that hum. 
 The battle had ra^cd froni early iiioniin}^ nutil dark, aiiil .ill 
 day lon^, whei-e the fire uas hoth'St, and llio blows fell thiik- 
 est, the dark face and tall form of IJeuten«nt (jruy Kari - 
 <'ourt had been foreniowt. And at last, as vietory turned in 
 tlieir favor, half-a-dozen tremulous blows aimed at Iiim it 
 ouee had hurled him from his sachlle. "Killed," the eoloin I 
 thought, with a passing pang of regret, beyond a doubt. 
 
 It looked like it when they earried his senseless form inio 
 the hospital, and among the list of "killed" returned after fii<; 
 fray was the name of "Lieutenaiit Ouy Karlseourt." But Ik; 
 had not died. Covered with wt)unds from head to foot, tin n- 
 was not, as it tiwned out, one of them mortal — not even very 
 dangerous. — 
 
 In five weeks Lieutenant Karlseourt was able to quit his 
 bed, and walk about, for a few moments at a time, in the hos- 
 pital yard. 
 
 On the day sueceeding the battle, wdiile he still lay senc- 
 les3, his colonel had visited the hospital expressly to make in- 
 quirias after him. The young man liad fought so daring !>, 
 his coolness had been so remarkable, and somoihing in iiii 
 general air and manner marked him different from his ouin- 
 rades. He lay terrHdy like death now, but the rare beauty if 
 his face, that had made him the pet of boudoirs in anotli'T 
 land, that, had made scores cf higli born beauties smile up^n 
 him, was unmarred still. Whiter, c(diler than marble, he 1 iv 
 — the breath scarce stirring his bloodless lij)s. 
 
 "Poor lad!" Colonel Tli^wksley said, looking down oc -m 
 him with real regret; "h(^ fought lilce a lion yesterday. W'li* 
 •is he, and where does he belong?"' 
 
 No one knew. Except his name, an<l tliat he had eiitenii 
 the ranks as a private, there was simply nothing whatevi-r 
 known of his story. 
 
 "Look here, colonel." the nur-'e said; "this belongs to him, 
 and should be taken (*are of until we see I'' the poor fello,; 
 recovers. His name is on it — engraved here on the ease." 
 
 She handed him the gold watch and chain and lock' ' 
 Either intc itionally or by accident, she touched the sprim; a 
 
After Six Ye: 
 
 2?! 
 
 })Hn(lIinj? it, and the lo<-|<(.| tl<\v <>\y'\\. And (il.iru'i II.wUh- 
 ]ey, with a startlcci <\('l}niijiti(tii, citn^lit ii up. .u.il 1 •••kcd in 
 iiniuzc upon ids djiuf^'litcr's fjiir, pnjtid j'iKr 
 
 if. was a vi^r.'Httc of I*auliiia \a<U l)cy,;in! a d.>;:'. t. Ifo 
 wrirc ofic near ids dwii in jirl, a lairr pictu»<'. in wliirij (!;" < x- 
 
 f'/.»il 
 • I >^ n 
 
 iidsito face l(tnl<('d dlder, fxi'avcr, less l)rl^iilly snd!; 
 in tlds — l)ut tiie sauii'. 
 
 'i'iiis stran^r-r was an Iji^rlisluinin, iIk n, an I h i-i 
 I'aulina. 
 
 llo cxaniinrd file watcli closely, I'c-idc lii-* nm < 
 tlio crost of a iioldc iioursc — a mailed hand, and tl':* 
 "Semper Fidel is." 
 
 (lolnncl liawk^lcy's int«M-cst d< cpc!ic<l tn Intcn-c c 
 Wi»o was tins ydwii^ rn;in wiio had entered flic rank^ <;f t!i:dr 
 winiy as a cnmrnon soldier, and who wm-e ins daughter's pic- 
 fnre and tiic crest of an En>j:lisli nol)lenuin ^ 
 
 "He looks like an Enfilishitnm, in sj)ite of his oIi\e skin 
 Hfid jet-black hair and innstaelie. Heaven >end hini a- speedy 
 recovery, or I sliall ])eri>li mi-erahly liy curiosity." 
 
 The coloticl's prayer was heard — laeuteinnit Karlscourl's 
 recovery was astonishing: in its rai»idity, considering his 
 dozen wounds. And on tins niji'ht susj)ense was to he hoi-ne 
 no longer, and Colonel Ilawk^ley had dis[)atched the orderly 
 to summon the invalid hero to his presence. 
 
 Fifteen minutes wore away. Then the orderly's kii ^-k 
 cimie to the door. 
 
 "Come in," the colonel cried, flinpin^' liimself for tlie fir^t 
 time into a chair; and the door oi»ened, and Lieutenant Kar's- 
 court stood before him, with a nnlitary saJute. 
 
 "You sent for me, colonel '^" 
 
 ".I did, sir. Come in and take a seat; you are unfit to 
 stand. I trust there has heeji no itnyirudenc(» in your ventnr- 
 iii;.' into the night air'!" 
 
 "None whatever, colonel, T am happy to say. My s<'r;it<-hes 
 are pretty well healed — I slndl he fit for service a^aln in a 
 wr-ek." 
 
 The colonel snnled — he liked the hold, -oldi( rly s])!i'it Ia) 
 liked the look and manner of th<' man altoj^cther. 
 
 "Hardly, I fear," he said, and indeed the lieutenant, wiili 
 his arm in a sling, and his dark face still terribly thin :::ul 
 bloodless, did hardly look lik(^ it. 
 
 "T have been very anxious for your recovery, lieut( ntnt - 
 that we can't spare so brave a fellow, for one reason; tint f 
 ^ .mt most anxiously to ask you a few (piestion^. for ;in- 
 
 omer. 
 
 7? 
 
 The wounded lieutenant listened in grave silence. He ha<l 
 [taken a seat at the desire of his officer, and the lamplight fell 
 
323 
 
 After Six Years. 
 
 fi»il upon Ilia hnndsonjc. palli<l fafo, while that of tho (»lil >? 
 111. Ill WJH in thf .-hiKhnv. What, duos it matter now whctli-r 
 tiu'.v wore tlir l)liM' (tr tU«; K'''*'y • 1 hey wcn^ both iCnjj^li'i. 
 riKMi, iiiid fou^rht for the Cau.-'-c witli whii'li their synipath.i -. 
 l.y. 
 
 "I have a portion of your property in my poi-sftssion," eun- 
 timit'd Colonel llawivslcy, "friven in cliMr^e to me on I'lc 
 day after the battle. Permit mo to return it to you, nnii ;.) 
 own that, by tho merest ('han<'e, 1 saw and recoj^nizcfd ihn 
 faeo you wear in that loeket." 
 
 (iuy p]arlse<<urt took his prcjju'rty. To bo v<'ry much sin-- 
 prised at anything wowld hav«* beO!i in direet opposition to 
 all tho codes of his life. His fa(?o betrayed none whatew." 
 now. 
 
 "Recognized it, did you i \ shouldn't havo thouj^ht tli:tt. 
 A very handsome fa^'o, eoloncd — is it not ^" 
 
 Colonel Ifawksloy produ('e<l from an inner pookot a ph'»t i- 
 graph, ^iiid handed it to liim. 
 
 "1 received this from England some throo months ai^D. 
 Tlu^ face you wear is younger, but tho satne." 
 
 C»uy ICarlscourt looked Ion;;- and earnestly at this aoeond 
 picture — of what he felt his calm face showing no siffn wli.if 
 ever. It was Paulina, six years older than when Ihj had •" < ii 
 lier last, more beautiful in her stately womanhood even tiiati 
 the brij^^ht, j^irlish face and form ho remendiored srt well. 
 
 He handed it back with a bow and smile. 
 
 "Years mar some of us; they })ut add to Paulina Li>1i'-! 
 crown of beauty. It's six years since I saw her, and she h:is 
 changed; but I should recognize that face anywhere. It is 
 not tho kind of face one sees every day." 
 
 His colonel watched him as he spoke- -keenly — closely— 
 but his serene countenance kept his secrets, if he had ihein, 
 
 well. 
 
 ".Mr. Earlscourt," he said, abruptly, "I am Roing to a-k 
 you -eeminR-ly a very impertinent question, which, of cour-c, 
 you are at liberty to answer or not, as you choose. What is 
 Paulina Lisle to you?" 
 
 Ciuy smiled — perfectly unembarrassed. 
 
 "An ac(iuaintance, colonel, whom I met in all about half :i- 
 dozeii times in my life, who doesn't in the least know that I 
 havo tho audacity to wear her picture. T was guilty of potty 
 larceny — abstracted it from a friend's album on the eve of 
 my departure from England. T admired Miss Lisle vory 
 much, as all men must who have the happiness of knovviiiL' 
 hor, and I fancied I could not bring with ma to my exiio aj 
 fairer memento of the life I left. That is the history of her| 
 picture in my locket." '. 
 
After Six Years. 
 
 323 
 
 inlK'li "^iii'- 
 po^iti<>^ to 
 
 With tho 'rfinitr cnlin 'x\\iv]\ n.ifurc mu] liahit butli li.ul 
 jrivcn him, ho rcpliu-ciJ llu; wutc)i in hi& belt and wuilod 
 ijiiij'tly for his coiiiiMiiiion in ."jxak. 
 
 "And I his is uHT' Cohuicl lluvvk>U\v snid. 'I fjucicd you 
 ii.i;.^l)t iuivc h(.'( ri-* " 
 
 "A (lisc'ard('(i lover? No, (.'oloiicl, 1 ncvir was tiiat. JMiss 
 l-islc, witli lior K''<'iit hcaiily, and licr ^n at f-trt'iiu', was alto- 
 (Tfth'T above my Jiumltlc reach. Oiu,' might a« soon h)vo 
 Komc bri;,dit j)arlii nhir star, otcv' 
 
 "Above y(Jiir reach, and you wear the en >! ol" a noblo 
 
 Una Li si''-' 
 and sho h:is 
 here. It \^ 
 
 \f — closely- 
 had llicin, 
 
 oinp to i'-'^ 
 1, of eoii !•-<■, 
 ;e. What is 
 
 bout hnlf :i- 
 know th:it I 
 ilty of pelty 
 the evp ct 
 Lisle very 
 of knovyiiiu 
 my exile a 
 istory of her 
 
 tliil|K( 
 
 .'/" 
 
 "A wliim, perliaps, like wearing ^\U^ Liale'b i>ortrait."' 
 
 "Y'ou are an KiiKlishman, at least." 
 
 "I'ndonbtedly, colonel.'' 
 
 "May 1 ask liow many years .since you tir.>t came io U\\:', 
 •ountry i" 
 
 "Six years, i)reelsely, ne.xt January." 
 
 "I am afraid my (lue-tions are intrusive — impertinent, 
 perhaps; l)ut 1 am an Knglislmian my.-elf, and, .someluiw, I 
 fe(>l a singular interest in you. ^'ou remintl nie — -yuur voice 
 --your manner — of one whom I knew tvv(!nty-two y<ujr3 ago. 
 I wonder if yoii knew him — he was a man of rank — Lord 
 Mnntalien." 
 
 Ili.s lieutemnit looked at tlio si»eaker, su<ldenly, with a nev 
 interest, a new intelligc.'nce in his glance. At tlie jnentioi: ol 
 fatlier's name all Ixcamo clear. Why, the very n;une ot 
 Ilawksley nnght have t^'ld him, taken in connection with the. 
 recognition of l*,iuliiia's i)icture, this man was her father! 
 
 "You knew Lord Montalien !!'' Colonel Ilawksley said, 
 I loaning forward. "Your face .shows it, at least. Yuu are 
 |like him, yet unidce. Was he anytlung to you i!" 
 
 "Well, yes; he v;as my fathor.'' 
 
 "Your father?" 
 
 "Yes, colonel. You were not aware, i)erhai)s, our family 
 |n;i«ie is Earlseourt? My elder 'brother took the title ujton 
 nur father's death, and 1 — well, I may as well own it — I 
 |?quandered my patrimony and was oliliged to fly from Eng- 
 land six years ago, over he;id and ears in (lei)t. That is my 
 htory. I came to tliis country to retrieve my fillen fortunes, 
 |as poor a man as ever landed at the New York docks." 
 
 Colonel Hawkslcy listened, his eye,' lil uj). his face fuil 
 |of wonder and eager interest. 
 
 "And have you retrieved them?" • 
 
 "Well, partly. 1 have managed in those six years to pay 
 Iff the greater* half of my debts. 1 fancy it will lie half a 
 Idozen years more, however, before I have sufficiently cleared 
 loff my incumbrances to return." 
 
 
 ■^ 
 
224 
 
 /fter Six Years. 
 
 ?> 
 
 "^'Deci Icdly — as . ooii its I can 
 
 "May J ask' in what way you have succeeded in doing even 
 
 so llUU'll V 
 
 Guy lauirliocl, 
 
 "By (juili-'lrivinu, coloiicl. 1 w',\a alw'ny>i a Doliciiiian — the 
 life suited 'ne, and 1 turned journalist, nui^a/ine writ'.-r, 
 l)ook-nud<er — all that tli('r(> is of th(; most literary. 1 boiu; ■; 
 T have contributed to half Uic i)eriodi('als of Aineriea aii'l 
 London. You may, by ehance, have lit on the nam de plume 
 of " 
 
 ITe nM'utioncd a name famous then, far more famous nov, 
 ill the annals of iictional literature. 
 
 "What!" IFawksloy exclaimed; "are you the author of 
 'Paul Kutherford's Wife?'" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 ''And of 'Gold and Glitter?'" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why, you should have reali/.cd a fortune from the sale nf 
 those two works alon(>. 1'heir popularity over here has bcin 
 something: inn»iense." 
 
 "They have paid toh^'ably well — if they had not I should 
 not have been able, las I have told you, to pay off the larLccr 
 I>ortion of my debts. My extravaj^'ances in the past make my 
 very hair rise now. I'm a reformed character, colonel; th' i'* 
 \vas great room for improvcunent, too, I assure you. 1 ])i)r- 
 sned my scribbling; here in camp; it passes one's leisiirt^ 
 hours, and as far as renjuneration goes, T find the pen <l- 
 eidedly 'mightier than the sword.' " 
 
 "Mr. Earlscourt," tJie colonel said, "you are one of t!ie 
 cleverest novelists of the day." Mr. Karlscourt bowed wltli 
 gravity. "You are destined to become a famous man, and 1 
 am proud to h.ave made your acquaintance. ]t was as yi^r 
 father's vard, then, you first met my — Mi-s Lisle?" 
 
 "Your daughter, colonel — the confidence may as. well be 
 mutual. Of course, I know you are Robert Lisle." 
 
 "Ah, yes; T suppose my history is familiar to you fruin 
 your father.'' 
 
 "And from others. Were you not rather surpriscMl. colon;!, 
 vl^en you discovered upon whom niy father pitelu-d as liis 
 successor in your daughter's guardianshij)? Now T shouM 
 imagine Sir Vane Charteris would be the last man alive y^n 
 would wisli to place in ])ower over Paidimi." 
 
 A dark flusli crei)t up over the pale bronze of the colon<Ti 
 
 face, 
 
 "And why?" ho asked. 
 
 '"^hall I really answer that queetion, colonel ? You see i 
 
• -> 
 
 After Sin Ye.irs. 
 
 225 
 
 loing even 
 
 iinian — tlie 
 ne \vrit'-r, 
 I boh. * 
 iierioa iiii'l 
 I de plunte 
 
 imnus uov.-, 
 
 author o'l 
 
 tlie sale of 
 ro has be 11 
 
 ot T shoul'l 
 f tlie hiru'iT 
 st make my 
 lonel; th< i-^ 
 ou. 1 l»iir- 
 p.e's leis\irp 
 tlie pen .K- 
 
 one of l!ie 
 
 bowed with 
 
 man, and I 
 
 was as your 
 
 as. well be 
 
 o you fr-iiii 
 
 S(mL colonel, 
 
 (.'IkmI as liii 
 )w T should 
 in alive yu 
 
 the colonfT-5 
 
 You SCO A 
 
 bave had time to think siiu-c I came out hero, and I have 
 managed to eoniieul past eveiiis pretty eli^arly. I remeinbor 
 my father telling your story it tlie dinner table, and l.ady 
 Charteris — poor Lady Chnrteris — f;illiiif;- in a <lead faint at 
 the mention of your n;nne. 1 look b.:iek. and remember hear- 
 ing: she was foreeil to marry Sir VaiH\ 1 know lh(\v were to- 
 tally estranged from eaeh other, thnt the sliadow of a life- 
 long sorrow lay upon her, and ' l.i".nv sho was your wife and 
 Paulina's mother." 
 
 Colonel Ilawksley bowed liis face ou lii> hand. l']ven in 
 the shadow (ruy could see how g*r itly he was moved. 
 
 "Why do you remain here T' he asked. "Why Inre you not 
 long ago gone back and rescued Ihm* f'ron a fate worse than 
 death. You were her hie;))and, not he; you !iad the rigiit. 
 Why not have roturiu (?^and chiimed her long ago f' 
 
 ^'Heaven knows! There have been times, of late years, 
 when 1 have thouglit myself the veriest coward and idiot to 
 be hunted down as I was, to desert her to her tyrants. J>ut I 
 lay under a criminal charge which I could not disprove — and 
 she was his wife, and I was made to believe loved him. And 
 there would have f(dlowed expt)sure, and " 
 
 "Better exposure than such misery as she has been mnd \ 
 to suffer. Colonel IlavNksley, do you know she is the iiima' : 
 of a madhouse now?" 
 
 "Yes," the word dropped slowly, heavily from his pale lips, 
 "I know." 
 
 "Your daughter told you. I wonder you did not return to 
 England when you first learned that Sir Vane Charteris had 
 been appointed her guardian." 
 
 "I did not know it for mariy months after. She wrote mc 
 from France — telling me of the change, and that slie was sat- 
 isfied — that I was in no way to trouble myself about her. 
 Then the war began, and I came here, and I shall remain 
 until the end. Why should 1 return now? England holds 
 nothing but bitter memories for me." 
 
 "Have you no wish to see your daugliter?" 
 
 "Every wish. When she is some good man's wH'e I shall 
 ask her to come across the ocean to visit me." 
 
 "Have you no wish to clear the blot off your good name — 
 to disprove the false cluirge brought against you by Ceoffrey 
 Lyndith?" 
 
 "It would be impossible after all tnese years." 
 
 "I don't see that." ^'^rviy said, coolly; "more difhcult thi>igs 
 are done every day. T.e-'bm <' loctives nre cl"ver, and you 
 are rich enough to pay chem v. 11 for tlieir wovk. (l(>offrey 
 Lyndith is dead — ynu are free to return if jou will — if for no 
 Other's sake, for that of your wif§." 
 
226 
 
 After Six Year«. 
 
 Colonel ITawksley rose up, passionately. 
 
 "Do you think I could bear to see her,*^ he said, ''libft 
 that? Why, pood Heavens, the thought of her as she is now 
 nearly drives me wild." 
 
 "Insane, you meai\ Well, now, 1 am not so sure of that 
 either. P'very one is not insane who is shut up in a mad- 
 house." 
 
 "Younf? man, what do you mean?'* 
 
 "Simply this — that whatever Lady Charteris may he now, 
 she was no more iiisane than you or I when placed there 
 first." 
 
 "(Jreat Heaven!" 
 
 "Sir Vane Charteris. is a man capable of a very villainous 
 deed — I am quite sure of that ; and up to a few week^ before 
 the fact of her madness was announced no one ever thought 
 of doubting her ladysliii^'s perfect sanity. They were es- 
 trang-ed for years and years before tlie birth of his only 
 daughter, I believe, but perfectly civil to one another. Lady 
 Charteris fainted, as I have told you, when my father related 
 your story at tlie dinner table, after his appointment as Pau- 
 lina's guardian. That night, it transpired, she fled from the 
 Priory to the house in S])eckhaven in which Duke Mason 
 lived, and Sir Viane followed and brought her back, Tt was a 
 stormy night, I recollect, and whether from the wetting she 
 received, or her excitement, she was taken very ill. As soon 
 as she was able to be removed, Sir Vane took her up to town 
 to place her under the charge of the ablest physician. The 
 next news we heard was that she had gone insane, and wjis 
 placed in a private asylum. No one vfas permitted to visit 
 her, not her own daughter Maud, but in spite of the baronet's 
 care, the form of her lunacy transpired. She refused to ac- 
 knowledge Sir Van Charteris as her husband — said her right- 
 ful husband was alive and in a foreign land. Now, think, 
 whether or no this statement was the utterance of insanity." 
 
 "Great Heaven! my poor, heartbroken Olivia. If I 
 thought — if I thought this were true " 
 
 "You would return. It is true! Does Lady Charteris still 
 live?" 
 
 "She does. Paulina mentioned her in her last letter. Sk ; 
 had asked Sir Vane to allow her to visit her — little dreaming 
 she is her own mother." 
 
 ".Ind he refused, of course; and will go on refusing to tl , 
 end of the chapter. Poor Irdy! she needs some friend to go 
 to her deliverance, in the power of such a man n=^ Vane Char- 
 teris." 
 
 The colonel paused abruptly in his walk, came over, an*- 
 laid his hand heavily on the youBger maa's shoulder. 
 
 .^ 
 
y 
 
 » 
 
 still 
 
 A Belle of Ffve Sea^^ons 
 
 227 
 
 '^KarlsL-.Lirt," ho said, "I will aro Kick to England aa 
 Bpcc'dily ;is iii;i,\ bo, and you slia'.l act'oiiipaiiy mo, and aid 
 me in tW: task of rcoovtTinir and rt'clainiin^ my wile. 
 H>>av('n K^'init \vc may not be t^^o late." 
 
 "AiTK'ii! lint ii's r)nt of the (|U«v-^tion thai I sliould return. 
 Those little iloatinu bill-*, you I'.now — and tin* Jews do come 
 down on a fellow like the wolves to tlie told. I sliall have to 
 "writo at least two more b.iyb'y {vpiilar novels before 1 can 
 face the Isra:ditos of I.ondon.'" 
 
 *'Conie with nic'VIIawksley said, earnestly; "I ask it an a 
 favor. For your dents you will accept a loan from inc until 
 those two new novels are written. You will not object — [ 
 tijke it as a personal favor your conn■nK^ Kngland will be like 
 a strange land to me after Ur score and more years. You will 
 come?" 
 
 lie hold out his hand — Guy placed his thereip. 
 
 **f will j?o, colonel — thanks all the same for your kindness. 
 And nt w, with your permission, I'll retire — I don't feel unite 
 as stronpr as Samson, and " 
 
 lie reeled slij^htly as ho spoke — faint and f?i<l(ly from 
 weakness and recent loss of blood. The colonel hastily i)Oure<l 
 oat a p-lass of wine and held it to his lips. 
 
 "I should not have broug:ht you out — you will be the worse 
 for tliis. ^ly servant shall accompany you to your (piarhTS 
 — you arc not fit to walk over that distance alone. (Jood- 
 ni-ht." 
 
 "Good-niii"l}t, colonel." 
 
 The orderly, with the wounded lieutenant, crossed the 
 moonlit sward on their way to the temporary hospital. And 
 long after Guy Karlscourt lay asleep, witii his handsome h(»;)d 
 pillowed on his arm, a smile on his lips, dreamitnr of Kr.j^'land 
 and I'aulina, Colonel Hawksley paced to and fro in his apart- 
 ment, thinkinj^ bitterly of his wasted life and of the fate 
 that had held him and the wife he loved ai)art. 
 
 "J\[y darling!'' he said, "my darling! and you always loved 
 me — always wt>re faithful — I know it now. And T — ah, 
 Heaven f why did T not brave all that those plotters coidd do, 
 and claim you. P>ut the day of retribution is at hand, and let 
 those who stand between us take care!'' 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 A BKLLE OF KnT: SEASONS. 
 
 'Taulina!" 
 
 There r^^a^ nr reply. The lady addrepsed sat absorbed over 
 
 book ' t ' 
 
228 
 
 A Belle of Five Sensons, 
 
 ''Paulina," ratlier louder, "it is almost five, and quite time 
 to drive. Do you hear^' 
 
 "Well, yes, I hear, Maud," and Paulina Lisle lifted a pair 
 of serf ne, sapphire-hue d eyes from lier-book; "hut I really 
 don't til ink 1 shall go. It is very pleasant, hero by the fire 
 this chilly May afternoon, and my book interests me, which 
 is nM>i'e than I can say for the ri<le, or the ring." 
 
 "What!" cried Maud Charteris, "luvt even when this is 
 the rirst day of Lord Ileatherland's return from Scotland* 
 and you have not seen him for a fortnight. You are sure to 
 meet him in the J'ark, and all I've got to say is, that I hoi)e, 
 when Pm engaged, PlI I o a little more anxious to see my 
 fiancee than that. But then, of course, it is an understood 
 thing that the beautiful Miss l.iale, the belle of London, has 
 no heart. I don't supi)ose it is at all a necesspry adjunct to a 
 future di.chess." 
 
 There v.as just the slightest tinge of envy in the tone of 
 Miss Maud Chaiteris, as she said these last words. She 
 would never be a duchess, and she knew it. She was a small, 
 sallow-complexioned girl of one-and-twenty now, very pale 
 and sickly, with eyes like sloes, and dead, black hair, and a 
 look of Sir Vane Charteris all over her wan, fretted face. 
 
 The eyes of Paulina Lisle fell suddenly and rested on the 
 fire with something like a smothered sigh. 
 
 "No heart, Mauil!" sh(^ repeated, slowly; "I sometimes 
 think it would be better for half of us if that impossibility 
 could occur, and we were born without heart, without mem- 
 ory, without conscience. Our past enormities would not then 
 ris(^ up to embitter our whole future live:-s." 
 
 Miss Charteris pulled out her watch impatiently. 
 
 "1 didn't come here to talk metaphysicns. Miss Lisle. Aunt 
 Eleanor sent me to see if you were ready, to drive." She was 
 in elegant carriage costume herself as she spoke. "You don't 
 really mean to say, Paulina, that a new book, no matter how 
 interesting, is a stronger attraction to the reigning beauty 
 of the season than a drive along the Lady's Mile, at the fash- 
 ionable hour, on a lovely May day? Don't tell me so, for I 
 couldn't believe it." 
 
 "It is perfectly true, nevertheless. My book is intensely 
 interestiwg, and the daily drive at the same hour, in the same 
 place, seeing the same faces, acknowledging the same bows, 
 becomes after five seasons — well, to speak mildly, rather mo- 
 notonous." _f , 
 
 "What's your book, Paulina?" 
 ' "Tnder the Southern Cross,' by the author of *Paul 
 Rutherford's Wife' and 'Gold and Glitter,' the two best 
 novels of the day, yau remember. Even you, Maud, who 
 
'Paul 
 
 o best 
 1, who 
 
 " A Belle of Five Seasons 
 
 229 
 
 never read anylhiiij; ox-.-pt \hv Court ('ircHl,>r imd the Mi>in- 
 xnt) I'ifst, read thciji." 
 
 "I reineniher. Tlhv were houks of English society, and 1 
 read tlicni because they wire so true to nature, to reality. 
 Half the books of that class are th(^ most \vre}clie<l carica- 
 tuies. 1'his man. evidently, kiiows wlwit he is writing' about. 
 TIk.v were charminfr stories. Do you know, Paulina, the 
 h<'r()ine of the first was very like you!" 
 
 "Like luo! Is that a com|)liment t() m(> or ^^a^^'■aret 
 Rutherford, I windei-^" 
 
 "To you. Paul Rutherford's wife was a bewitcliin^ ererf- 
 ture, and I ara perfectly sure she was drawn from real life — 
 from you, Miss J. isle." 
 
 "Let me see," said Paulina, .-ith a smile; "as far as I can 
 re.Hend)er, she was an impulsive, hea<istronf^% rebellious, pas- 
 sionate woman, with sood impnlsps. I ^-rant, hut spoiling 
 evrvry thing by her reckless impetuosiiy. Y(\s, I suppose, that 
 was like me — in the past, Maud." A .thish rose for a moment 
 over the perfect pallor of her face, "l shudder — I sicken 
 when T think of my desperate^ deeds of the past. Good 
 Heaven! what a perfectly wild, perfectly reckless little outlaw 
 I was! Thofe, Maud, don't look so disf-fusted, dear child. I 
 will run away and dress and prose no more." 
 
 Miss Charteris walked away to the door with a peculiarly 
 sarcastic smile on her pale, thin lips. 
 
 "Does she ever talk to the Most Noble the Marquis of 
 Heatherland like this, I wond(>r'?" she said. "Does she con- 
 fess to him those hcin 'is crimes and secrets of the ;)ast." 
 
 "Lord Heatherland is a thousand times too ffood fr>r such 
 a woman as I am — no o\w knows that hotter than L Xfaud." 
 
 "But you don't can^ a Hg for him all the same, T*aulina; 
 and, in spite of your tine romance and seeon<l-hand senti- 
 mentality, you are marrying him f<;r his rank and his coro- 
 net, just as I or any of us in Vanity Fair would do. Paulina , 
 Lisle, you're a — it's not a very elegant word, !mt exceedingly 
 expressive — vou're a hinnbug!" 
 
 With which ^laud Charteris quitted the room, and Paulina 
 was alone, 
 
 '^''h'> half-sisters C^till ignorant they were 3Uv.h) were con- 
 siderably attachecl to each <j)ther. 
 
 Maud, with envy and bitterness in her h art for the other's 
 great beauty, had yet a sort of liking and .djuiraiioti that 
 even her own sex yieliii^d Paulin;;. 
 
 Look at her, sitting there in a low eliair hoforr- the fire, aii 1 
 see what" Paulina Lisle has become at four-an<l-twent.v! Sh 
 is dre^ssed in her morning negligee oi silver-gray, a hand or 
 Unen at her throat and wrists, and the bronze brown hair, rip* 
 
2?0 
 
 A ^eWe ^' five Sei^sons. 
 
 pling low on the perfect forchoad, gathered in a shining co?[ 
 at the back of the stately, small head. She is tall, slie is 
 grandly proportioned, every movement k instinct w^tli grace 
 and majesty, the throat, the arms, arc marble fair — slio is (.ne 
 cf those exci ptional women which all men think beautiful. 
 
 A beautiful and graceful lady, she sits luav, with softly- 
 brooding eyes and lips a little parted, even in reix)se, tli ink- 
 ing very kindly, if not lovingly, of the nmn whoui in three 
 weeks she is to marry — the Marquis of ITeatherland, only son 
 of the Duke of Clanronald. She would fain sit and wait for 
 his coming here, but Mrs. Galbraith has issued her decree, 
 and with the gentle temper that has grown habitual to her (jf 
 late years, the sacrifice of self she has learned to make, j^he 
 rises with a low sigh, and goes forth into that brilliant May- 
 time world, of which she is one of the acknowledged queens. 
 
 It ha!? taken three volumes to record half a dozen months 
 of her life— the past half a dozen years may be rendered in 
 as many pages. 
 
 That eventful Christmas, six years ago, to the great sur- 
 prise of Mrs. Gkilbraith, was neither spent at ''Tlie Firs" nor 
 at Montalien Priory, nor did Paulina become the wife of 
 Lord Montalien. Miss Lisle, by her own desire, had been 
 taken to France instead, and spent the winter with one of her 
 laic school friends. 
 
 Lord Montalien and her guardian had (luarreled, not 
 loudiy nor violently, but the quarrel was none the less dt^^p 
 and deadly. 
 
 *'You can do your worst, my lord,'"' Sir Vane had said, not 
 "without dignity. "I have changed my mind — my ward shall 
 not be forced to marry you." 
 
 And Lord Montalien had gone away baffled, black with 
 supi)ressed fury and rage. 
 
 "Ti the day ever comes, Sir Vane Charteris," ho had said, 
 "when I can repay you, trust me not to forg'^t this debt." 
 
 And then he had gone abroad, and had not once returned 
 to Fn gland since. 
 
 Paulina's secret was kept. Neither Mrs. Galbraith nor 
 Lord Montalien dreamed of it. 
 
 ITer Grace the Duchess of Clanronald, a handsome, 
 haughty dowager of seventy-five, had taken a great fancy to 
 the girl's fa'r face, and presented her; and the Morning 
 Po.<!l recorded Miss Lisle's diamonds and general splendor 
 of nppearanee, together with her most remarkable beauty. 
 And then followed her first brilliant Lo]1»lon season; and 
 tliose few who had known her tlie preceding year saw and 
 wondered a little at the growing change in her. 
 
 At the close of tjie fourth London season, the Duchess of 
 
 CO 
 
:i 
 
 A Belle of Five Season*. 
 
 231 
 
 ^j 
 
 Olanronald carrird !^^is.s Lisle nway to hor dijitnut TTitrhlMiid 
 castle, to speiul flic auluiiiii and winter. She liked l*uuliiui, 
 •wit^a a likinjiT that ^^rew stroiijjor with each year. At (M;ni- 
 roiiald Castle Miss Lisle eiieountered, th:it iUitUMin, her 
 grace's only son, the ^Inrfiuis of l[(^jilherl:intl. lie hnd l.een 
 absent in the East for the i)ast seven years, an<l had eointi 
 home on a Hyinjr visit to his niotiier before starting- f(»r 
 E(iuinoclial Africa. He cann; home, a .urave, vveather-beiiicii 
 man of seven-and-forty, with every intention of leaving 
 attain in a week, and he nw^t Paulina Lisle, and his fate wa^ 
 fixed. Jfe fell in love" with her, as scores of otluT men had 
 done before him, and Equinoctinl Africa and gorilla hunting 
 were forgotten. In three days his infatuation was patent to 
 the whole house. 
 
 Two days after the marquis proposed, and was rejected ! 
 
 lie was a man. of few words. He took his rejection as 
 quietly as he took most things. 
 
 "And this is final?" he asked, slowly. "There is no hope. 
 Miss Lisle r 
 
 "There is none," she answered. "I esteem you, I respect 
 you highly, my lord, but I will never marry — nev(>r!" 
 
 There was that in her face that told him she meant it.' 
 There was infinite pain in it, too. It gave her no pleasure, 
 yielded her no triumph — these rejections. She f(dt like a 
 cheat, like an impostor; she felt shame — -humiliation iniutter- 
 able. She a wedded wife, and men constantly asking her to 
 marry them ! It was part of her punishment, richly deserved 
 but very bitter. 
 
 , She went up to her room after he left her, slowly, wearily, 
 sick at heart. A packet of American papers, that shonhl 
 have reached her two months before, lay on the table. She 
 opened the jiackot with eagerness — there was mostly news 
 of her father there — very often mention of another name, 
 quite as eagerly looked for. The i)a{)ers were three months 
 old, they gave the details of a long and terrible battle, the 
 lists of killed, wounded, and missing. And almost h'ading 
 the list 01 killed she read' the name of Lieutenant Guy Earls- 
 couri. 
 
 Yes, there it was. Guy Earlscourt — killed! The room 
 arwam round her, a hot mist came between her eyes aud the 
 paper. Killed! His image rose before her as she had seo.n 
 him first eight years before — "beautiful with man's best 
 beauty," when she had danced with him' undc* the waving 
 trees of Montalicn during that bright June day. As she had 
 seen him with the bunshine on his dark face, as he rode up 
 to her carriage to say good-by on the day she left Speck- 
 haven for scJiooL As she had seen him last in ^ke libraiy of 
 
 »>. 
 
 '-^i 
 
235 
 
 A Belle of Five Seasons. 
 
 Sir Vane Cliartoris' lunisc, wlicn he lir.d refused tlie onej 
 f-he proffered, and liad pone fortli penniless to his oxile. 
 Killed! And then the mist eleared away, and she foreed her- 
 self to read. Tlu^re was a brief i)arafrrai)h ertneernin/;? him — 
 very brief and elociurnt. He was an Knj?lishman, and he 
 liad fouirht like a lion diirinp the whole day. And it had 
 beerx newly discovered he was the anonymous author of those 
 two books wliieh had created sueli a sensation in the literary 
 world, "Paul Kutherford's Wife" and "CJold and Glitter." 
 
 The paper dropped from her hands, she sank down on her 
 knees and buried her pale face in them. Lonp: before she 
 arose they were wet with her tears — tears that eame fast and 
 thick from a stricken \u art. She had loved him, and he was 
 dead. 
 
 Miss Lisle left the Highland Castle abruptly enough next 
 day — no doubt because she had rejected TTeatherland, every 
 one said. She looked so pale, so cold, so wretched, that the 
 duchess had not the heart to be too severe upon her — the 
 young' woman must be mad, simply that. 
 
 She went home — home to Speckhaven — to Duke, and 
 passed the winter as though she were once more "Polly 
 Mason," and all her wealth and grandeur but a dream. She 
 was in trouble — those faithful friends saw that, and aske<l no 
 questions, only too hanpy to have hr'r vvith them once more. 
 When April came Sir Vane came with it, and took her back, 
 and the world saw no change in her. And for the fir-^t time 
 for many years the Marquis of TTeatherland appeared in so- 
 ciety — his old madness strong upon liim still. Tie had no 
 hope — but to look U])on her fac(> — to hear her voice, were 
 temptations too great for him. They met once moic. and 
 how it came about need not be told. ITe proposed agnin. and 
 this time was accei>ted. 
 
 She was proud, slie was ambitious — she liked and esteemed 
 him highly. . r 
 
 "T will be your wife," sh(^ said, sim]>ly. "Your faithful 
 wife I know, your loving wife T hope — in time." 
 
 TTe asked no more. Tfe lifted tl.e fair, small hand to his 
 lips gratefully, gladly, and she was betrttthed to the ^Fanpiis 
 of PTeatherland. 
 
 Mrs. Galbraith and her two young ladies came back from 
 the Park to dine and dress for a reception. 
 
 They had met Lord lleatherland, and shaken hands with 
 him, and he was trt be at the reception also. The marriage 
 was to take place in thr(^e weeks; he had hurried rverything 
 on and she had <'onsented. Why should they wait? 
 
 And she was to be a duchess. The title poor Duke had 
 given her long ago in jest, wsi one day to bo hers in reality. 
 
 passe 
 
 blu^li 
 
 dea( 
 
 her 
 
 KarJ 
 
 shiid 
 
 man 
 
 and 
 
 span 
 
 looki 
 
 stani 
 svvai^ 
 in h( 
 
 iiig, 
 intcil 
 
 to hi 
 far-(i 
 
 HI 
 
 sakej 
 
Held Asunde-. 
 
 2^3 
 
 The pres''iit duke lufd Ix < n ludritldcii for ycixn^, an (>U|» old 
 iiinn — she wouUl not long l»<* >^!;l^(•l»ion^^■^^^ of lloatlu-i Ijind. 
 
 'MI(»w stranj^e it all sccnis," she thou^lit, with a lian-sinile, 
 l(M'kinK J»t hor inia|?e in the glass. "1, little I*oll.v Mas(»n, 
 to 1)0 in three weeks' time Marehioness of Heatherland. It 
 18 almost like a fairy tale !" 
 
 She was looking beautiful to-night, her best, in a dress of 
 blue satin and point laee overskirt, diamonds in her goVl-. 
 brown hair, and running like a river of light about the graee- 
 ful throat. She was looking beautiful, and an oetogenarian 
 minister, sprightly as a schoolboy, eame up to shake hands, 
 and congratulate her. 
 
 "I 1 ve been telling Heatherland what an unspenkably for- 
 tuna J fellow he is! I think he is as fully "^ ble of it, 
 though, as I am. If it were not for my eighty ,, ears and one 
 wife already. Miss Lisle, Heatherland should not have had it 
 all his own way." 
 
 The Marquis of Heatherland was by her side. She blushed 
 and laughed with her own frank grace. 
 
 "T can imagine no age at which your excellency would not 
 bo a dangerous rival," she said. The words had but just 
 pas^ifd her lips, and she was turning away, with the smile anii 
 blu-ili still lingering, when she stoi)p<'d suddenly. Had the 
 dead arisen? There, staiuling a few yards away, gazing at 
 her with grave thoughtfulness, she saw, face to face — («uy 
 Karlscourt ! 
 
 CHArTKU TTT. 
 
 H K L 1> A s r N ii«: H . 
 
 Guy Karlscourt! No myth, no illu>;ion of the senses, no 
 shiidow from the dead, hut tlie living, breathing, vigontus 
 man! Sonunvhat tliinnrr, somewhat browner, soinewliat W(»rn 
 and grave, as if he had thought and suflF« nul much in the 
 span of the i)ast six years, but as surely as she stood there 
 hooking at him — Ouy Karlscourt! 
 
 She did not cry out, she did not faint, though, for an in- 
 stant, the rooms, .the liglits, the fares, the flitting forms, 
 swam giddily, and there was the surging roar of many waters 
 in her ears. She stood there stock still, her great eyes dilat- 
 ing, every drop of blood leaving her face. Dimly, after an 
 interval — of five seconds, in reality— of five hours it seemed 
 ^,^ n(.,.__the voice of Lord Heatherland, sounding faint and 
 far-oft. came to her ear: 
 
 "Paulina, you ar« ill — you are going to faint! ^ For pity's 
 sake, sit down a nwmf/nt wliile I go for a gla«» c '■ water I** 
 
 I- 
 
JM 
 
 Held Asunder. 
 
 She caught at tlio hack of a chair he plftcod toi her, and 
 Baw him hurriedly disi^upcar. 
 
 Tiu'ii, by a nullity eiiort, she colUictod her dazed senses, 
 and luriK.'d, still dizzily, to leave the room. 
 
 On the very instant of her recop^nition Guy Karlscourt had 
 turned slowly away and disappeared in an inner apartment. 
 
 She made her way — how, she never afterward knew, sick 
 and dizzy as bhe felt — out of the crowded rooms throuj^h an 
 open window, and on to the piazza. There she sank down, 
 half-eronchin^, half-sitting, in her gay ball dress, while the 
 wind oi the cold May night blew upon her uncovered head 
 an<l death-white face. 
 
 Jler cold hands clasped themselves over her pale face, her 
 brain ceased to think, a sort of stupor, partly of cold, was 
 creeping upon her, she crouched there in her laces and dia- 
 monds, as miserable a woman as the great city heUh Oh, 
 Heaven ! to be able to retrieve the past — to recall the work of 
 the long-gone Christmas bve. How long she had been there 
 she never knew, probably not more than twenty minutes — an 
 eternity of suifering it seemed to her. 
 
 A hand was laid on her shoulder — a voice sounded in her 
 dulled ears. 
 
 "Paulina! Good Heaven! what, are you here? Do you 
 know you will get your death ?" 
 
 She looked up — to his dying day he never forgot the dumb, 
 infinite misery of that first glance. It was the Marquis of 
 neatherland's anxious face that bent above her. 
 
 "What is it. Paulina?" he, cried; "are you mad to expose 
 yourself like this in the cold night air?" 
 
 She rose up slowly, shrinking from his touch, ani feeling 
 for the first time, with% shiver, how cold it really was. 
 
 "T am not mad," she said, in a slow, dull voice, strangely 
 unlike the soft, musical tones that had been one of her chief 
 charms, "only miserable — the most miserable creature on 
 earth, 1 think My lord, let me tell you now, while I have 
 courage — tlia.t I retract my promise — that I can never be 
 your wife." 
 
 The words dropped spasmodically from her lips, with inter- 
 vals between. She did not look at hini, her eyes staring 
 straight before her into the blue briii^ht night. He listened-- 
 not uiwlerstanding, bewildered, anxious, incredulous. 
 
 "Take back your promise — not be my wife!" he repeated. 
 "What is the matter, Paulina? Are you taking leave of your 
 senses ?" 
 
 "It sounds like it, I dare say," she answered, with a heavy. 
 heartsick sigh; "but no, my senses, such as they are, or ever 
 were, remain. Oh, my lord, how caa I nuke jou uaderstand 
 
Held Asunder. 
 
 215 
 
 —what a 1)080, r^ : wroto^ ^ TiiUHt n(rm to yni I - .innt— 
 do you hear ine, '..>rtl Ih'alhcrlaiid ^ I caiiiiot !•<■ .v«.i;r wilrf" 
 
 "I hear you, Paulina," ho said. ^Tfiwiu^' altiiost as white ns 
 licr.soli*, "but 1 cannot understand. Will you he too^J <ii(tUKh 
 to oxTjl.'tin ?" 
 
 He wan a nnni of stronjjf self-conjinaiid, of p.twerrul will. 
 Ho folded his arms over his chest an<i wail(Ml to hear what 
 slie had to nay, only the i;ri\y j)all(»r of his face hetokenin^ in 
 any way what he felt. 
 
 "] cannot. 'J'liink 1 liave clijin<:('d my mind, tliink I am a 
 heartless co<|Uette, thiidv anything you will, oidy release me, 
 JvOt the world think it is you who cast nic^ off — I deserve it — - 
 and — aiul what does it matter^ In a day or two 1 shall leave 
 Knj^land, and forever." 
 
 Her voice broke in with a hollow sob — if she could only 
 die, slu5 thought, and end it all. 
 
 "At least I have not deserved this, J*aulimi," the grave, snd 
 voice of the niarcjuis broke in, "If you claim your promise — • 
 your promise is yours. But oh, Paulina! my bride — my wife 
 — it is hard — it is oTuel — it is bitter as death." 
 
 It was the first, the last, the only time she over saw him so 
 moved. She fell down on her knees before him and held up 
 her clasped hands. 
 
 "J'OrKive me! forgive me!" she cried; "you shall know 
 all, cost what it may — the wretch, the impostor I am. You 
 thou^jfht you knew my whole history — that it was only my 
 pride or my indifference that caused me to refuse so many 
 offers before I accej)te(l you, and you honored me for it. Ah, 
 my God! how utterly unworthy I am of your respect — of any 
 good man's — Paulina Lisle was, and is. Six years ago, my 
 lord, I was pledged by the strongest ties to a man who 
 (luitted England — forever as T thought. You n'mend)cr the 
 day 1 left Clanronald so hastily — the day aft(T that on which 
 you tirst proposed^ On that day 1 read the account of this 
 man's death in a foreign paper. T don't krow that I loved 
 him — I can't tell — at least the news of his t.eath had power 
 to move rie as nothing else had power to do. Then yf)u know 
 what followed. Next season we met again, and again you 
 renewed your offer, and — I accepted. I did not love you, my 
 lord — but I thought myself free — and I knew it would be 
 easy to love one so good, so kind, in tiiic. \'ou (h^servciJ 
 better than that, and my j)rido and ambition have received 
 iboir rightful punit-hment. ^fy lord-r-oh, how shall T tell 
 vou? — this very nipht I have discovered that the man [ speak 
 of — whctrn I thought dead — to wliom ties 1 could not break if 
 1 would, bind me — is alive and in London!" 
 
 The broken voice 6topi>ed — the pale, tortured face droi>ped 
 
2)6 
 
 Held Asunder. 
 
 into her hands. SIjo still knelt Wforc liim— droopinp- -in tt 
 etran^c, distorted attitude of pain, lie* had listened without- 
 a word, without a iiioveiii •nt, the dull palk^r ^till hlaiiehiiig 
 his fae<.» — ^his arms still f( Idcd. WIk'M she ceased, all that 
 was i^reat, that was noblo in the man's nature wa.s stirred. 
 Slie had doiu^ him a wrong, ju'rliaps, hut she was the vvoinau 
 he loved, ami she knell, Iwioro him iu he r great trouble, lie 
 Stooped and tried to rais«' her up. 
 
 "Not here, Paulina! not here," he said; "kneel only to 
 your Maker." 
 
 "Yes, here, here!" she eried, wildly; "hero on my knees at 
 your feet! Oh, my lord, you cannot forgive me — but you 
 iniu,ht pity me if you knew what I suflFcr." 
 
 "1 do pity you," he answered, gravely, "from my soul. 
 Rise, iMiss Lisk?— 1 command it!" 
 
 She rose at once. 
 
 "And this is all?' 
 ' "'J1<is is all." 
 
 "J^'t me try to understand it, if T oan. You arc bound by 
 promise to marry this man of whom you speak — you mean to 
 marry himT' 
 
 "My lord, I will marry no one. I have told you I mean to 
 leave England and him forever in a day or two. Of my own 
 free will I would never look upon his face again." 
 
 "Then you do not care for him, this man to whom you 
 stand pledged?" with a thrill of new hoiX5 in his tone. 
 
 Her face dropped — she turned it far away from him in the 
 starlight. 
 
 "Paulina, you hear mo. Do you or do you not care for 
 iliis man?" 
 
 "I— I am afraid I do." 
 
 He paused at her answer. The hope that had arisen 
 crushed out in his faithful heart forever. 
 
 "You care for him," he said, after that pause; "and you 
 tell me in the same breath that you an- going to tiy trom him, 
 that you will never be his wife. Miss Lisle, you have told 
 me part of your secret, but not all. Nay," as she was about 
 to speak, "tell me no more — I do not ask it; I free you ut- 
 terly and entirely from this moment. The woman whose 
 heart is another man's is sacred from me. I would no more 
 ask you, knowing this, to marry me. than T would if you 
 were already a wife. And I will try to be just, and forgive 
 you, if I can. You have done wrong, by your own showing, 
 in not telling me this at first, but you could-not ft»rese(> what 
 has ha])i)ened. The secret you have confided to me shall be 
 kept inviolable — the world shall be told you have rejected me, 
 in justice to oyself. since you found you c»uld not love mft 
 
•4. 
 
 Held Asunder 
 
 3^7 
 
 No more need be Baid, I think, ami you Imvo beer ncrc for 
 too loiiK alrendy. Take my ami, Aliss iii^l^•, and U-l mo cou« 
 duct you back to fho house" 
 
 Tho (liKiiity of the niau rendered his rciiucst ii(»it to U' dirt- 
 putcd. In all her life nho luid never admind liiyi; iirvcr re- 
 H|)('('ii'«l him as she did at this instant. Now ^ncniU"', how 
 nolilc every one woh — tlie niiirquin (inv- wUih' slic — <di, 
 words are weak to tell how utli'tly dejrrided slie was in her 
 own si^fiit — ^liow bitterly she despised her.-tlf. All Iht pri«lo 
 was eru-'hed to the very earth. She tof»k his arm, and in dead 
 silence they walked back to the crowded moiiis. Wiiaf a 
 mockery it all seemed 1 thi; music, tlu; smiling laces, the hril- 
 liant dressea, the liglits, the roses, and those tortured human 
 liearts! They walked through the midst of their frien<ls, and 
 iio (Mie noticed much chauK^ in either. Miss Lisle htoked 
 v<>ry pale — paler than usual, but she never had much color, 
 and her five seasons' experience had taught her not to wear 
 her heart on her sleeve. The manjuis led her to a seat, stood 
 Bilent for u moment, looking- down upon her, then held out 
 bis hand. 
 
 'M*aulina!'' it was the la-t time iiiat name ever pa^ed hia 
 lips, "will you say goo(l-by r 
 
 She lifted her eyes to his face — almost for the first time 
 Binco he had found liai" on the piazza, J low pale he was — 
 pale to the lips. 
 
 (» 
 
 Vou 
 
 are going away 
 
 >" 
 
 "1 shall start for Africa to-morrow. I am such an old trav- 
 el(^r that 1 can p'ack up for tho other end of the world at five 
 minutes' noti<'e. And. ;is rvery one who goes to Central Af- 
 rica does not invariably return, 1 should like you to say good' 
 by and good spiH'd, before we part." 
 
 They soumh'd almost like the last words Guy had spoken 
 to h(r when she had seen him last. 
 
 She laid lu-r hand in that of Lord lleatherland, but f^he did 
 not speak— she could ncit. 
 
 "CJood-by," he repeated. 
 
 Tier uplifted eyes, full of speechless pain, answered him. 
 One close, warm pressure of her cold hand, and then the nuui 
 she had pledged herself to marry had passed forever out of 
 her life. , 
 
 It slio could only go home — a wild desire o fly away from 
 this house and those peoi)le, ,iind hide herself forever, camo 
 iipoi! her. \Vhere was .NIrs. Galbraith, where ^^auh or Sir 
 Vaner She hM.ked around, antl f(M* the second time waa 
 frozen by tiie sight of (Juy Earlscourt. 
 
 lie was approaching her, her old friend Mrs. Atcherly on 
 his arm* Mx0* Atcherly chatting gayly and volubly m thej 
 
ns 
 
 Held Asunder. 
 
 came up. Low as the words were spoken, Paulina's strainjei 
 ear heard them : 
 
 "To be married in three weeks' time, you know, to the 
 Marquis of Ileailrjrland — by far the most brilliant match of 
 the season. She is good enough and beautiful enough to 
 marry a prinee, I think. And do you know, C4uy," laugh- 
 ingly, "I used to fancy — to hope, only you were such a shock- 
 ing wild boy, that you and sihe — you understand? But 
 Heatiierland will make her a much better husband than you 
 ever would, or ever will make any one, Master Guy." 
 
 "Mrs. Atcherly, don't be vituperative. I've turned over a 
 new leaf — several new leaves, and whoever the lady is who 
 has the honor and bliss of becoming Mrs. Earlscourt, she will 
 be blessed beyond her sex. For Miss Lisle I have had always 
 the profoundest and most hopeless admiration." 
 
 She heard ihe carelessly spoken words, and her heart hard- 
 ened and revolted against him. IIow dared he sx)eak of her 
 in .that light and flippant tone, when his coming here had 
 broken her heart, blighted her life? Her eyes brightened, a 
 faint tinge of color came back into her face. She looked at 
 him straight — a hard, cold, steady glance. 
 
 "Paulina, my child," cried the gay voice of Mrs. Atcherly, 
 "here is a surprise for you, a resurrection from the dead — the 
 prodigal returned — a prodigal no longer, Guy, I don't think 
 there is any need of an introduction between you and Pau- 
 lina." 
 
 "Not the least, I hope, Mrs^ Atcherly," Guy answered, bow- 
 ing low. 
 
 She had not offered him her hand; her face looked cold, 
 hard as stone; no smile of recognition passed over it. The 
 coldest, slightest, haughtiest bend of the head '\cknowledged 
 him. She spoke, and her voice sounded as hiird and icy as 
 her look. 
 
 "It is a surprise. Months ago I read of Mr. Earlscourt's 
 death in an American paper. But, perhaps, it was another 
 Guy Earlscourt." 
 
 "No, I fancy not," Guy said, coolly; "I was the man whose 
 oJ)ituaiy* you read. It was rather a close thing, but good 
 nursing br(»ught nie safely through it, as yoy see." 
 
 He was not one whit dashed by her freezing hauteur — her 
 repellent toiu'. He stood theite before her the most coolly 
 self-possessed man in the room : heedless whether the Marquii: 
 of Ileatherland'S aiHanced bride smiled or frowned. She saw 
 it with silctit, suppressed anger, um'ust as it was strong. 
 ^ •*When did you arrive ?" she asked. 
 
 Hhify iksB •ftermxio; and <m the ground oC M ftJgmWiiy 
 
 Li! 
 
ainej 
 
 o the 
 k'h of 
 t^b to 
 augh- 
 sliock- 
 But 
 111 you 
 
 )vcr a 
 who 
 ic will 
 always 
 
 t hard- 
 of her 
 re had 
 ened, a 
 jked at 
 
 tcherly, 
 ad — the 
 't think 
 id Pau- 
 
 id, bow- 
 
 3d cold, 
 t. The 
 wledged 
 I icy as 
 
 scoart's 
 auothei 
 
 n whose 
 lit good 
 
 ur — her 
 t coolly 
 Marquis 
 She saw 
 
 iflodship 
 
 IS.K 
 
 2)9 
 
 to see 
 
 Held Asunder. 
 
 ventured to nitriide here to-night. Besido, I w 
 you I'* 
 
 **To see me?" with. a fine lady's stare of insolent v.'onder; 
 **and what can Mr. (Juy Karlscourt, after his bix yuar?^' exile, 
 possibly have to say to nie i" 
 
 A sniilo curled his mustaehed lii)S — a smile of lunusenient 
 at her look and tone. 
 
 •'Nothing whatever concerning myself — with .'11 bis pre- 
 sumption he does not presume so far as that. L canu' as the 
 messenger of another person, in whom I think even the fu- 
 ture Lady Heatherland may be interested." 
 
 Her fingers tore in half her costly lace handkerchief. This 
 6torn> of contending feelings within her was growing more 
 than she could bear. 
 
 "I know of no acquaintance of ^ours, Mr. Earlscourt, in 
 whom I take the slightest interest. I have no idea what you 
 rjan n>'ean !" 
 
 "No," he said; and again the amused smile that half-mad- 
 dened her played around his mouth; "not even Colonel Kob- 
 ert Hawksley." 
 
 She barely repressed a cry. 
 
 "My father!" she exclaimed; "what of him?" 
 
 "Ah! I thought you would be interested," still smiling. 
 "Colonel Hawksley is here, Miss Lisle, and I am his messen- 
 ger." 
 
 Paulina caught her breath; she arose and looked at Guy, 
 flushed, eager. 
 
 "Here!" she cried, "here! my father! at last! Oh, Mr. 
 Earlscourt, where is he — take me to him? At once! at 
 once !" 
 
 "Ilestrain yourself. Miss Lisle — at once would be impossi- 
 ble. 7\nd his presence here must for a tinu; be a, dead secret. 
 Above all. Sir Vane Charteris and his family are to be kept 
 in total ignorance. lie bade me give you tliis — it explains 
 everything, and tells you where to find him. Conceal it 
 quickly — here is Mrs. Galbraith." 
 
 Sh(i thrust the letter he gave her into the folds of her 
 dress, just in time to escape Mrs. Galbraith's keen, black 
 eyes. As on that other night, >he canii^ noiselessly upon 
 them — lliis time with a bland smile on her face. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Earlscourt! so happy to welcome you back. 
 Such a surprise, Paulina, l(»ve, is it not? and a celebrated 
 author and hero and everything. Everybody is talking of 
 you and your books, 1 assure you." 
 
 "Everybody does me too much honor, Mrs. Galbraith. Miss 
 Lisle, adieu." 
 
 He bowed with his old, negligent, courtly grace— his old. 
 
 -F,< 
 
740 
 
 Held Asunder. 
 
 careless smile, and snunUrofl away. Paulina looked, with tLv' 
 incxplicMble expression, after the tall, graceful form, and saw 
 the (lauMliter of the house, Lady Kdith Clive, flutter smil* 
 inprly up to him, with both han\ls outstretcluHl in ^hul wel- 
 Con;o. tShc turned abn!i>tly away, and looked no more. 
 
 "Mrs. Galbraith," she said. "I want to go home." 
 
 "Certainly, Pau'' ui, love — but where is Lord Heather 
 land?" 
 
 "(iono lonjJT ago. Order the carriage at once; I am tired 
 ,and sick to deatli of it all." 
 
 Mrs. Galbraith looked at her in astonishment. What was 
 the matter? Where and why had the Marquis of Heather- 
 land gone, and what meant all this unusual, angry impa- 
 tience ? 
 
 Sir Vane came up at the moment, his florid face a shade or 
 two less florid than usual, and his small, black eyes looking 
 strangely startled. 
 
 "Paulina!" he exclaimed, in a half whisper, "do you know 
 who has come?" 
 ... "Yes, I know." 
 
 "But, good Heaven, Paulina, what is to be done? You 
 showed me the paper that spoke of him as dead, and now 
 here he is back again. And^there is Lord Heatherland, and 
 the settlements prepared, and the wedding day named. Pau- 
 lina, what is to be done?" 
 
 "Go home, the flrst thing," with a hysterical laugh. "Let 
 me alone. Sir Vane (Miarteris; I am not fit to talk to you or 
 any one to-night." 
 
 He looked at her, and noticed, for the first time, the 
 ghastly pallor of her face, the dusky fire in her eyes. He 
 gave her his arm, without another word, and le<l her to the 
 carriage. On the way home not a word was spoken. Mrs. 
 Galbraith sat in silent surprise, but asking no questions. 
 Maud In.v back half aslec]) — Sir Vane kept inwardly repeat- 
 ing: "What the deuce will she do?" And Paulina, in a 
 corner of the carriage, sat white and cold, with only a dull, 
 sickening sense of misery in her heart. Her father had 
 come — was here! At any other time those tidings would 
 have driven her half wild with delight, but even this news 
 had little power to move Ikm* n(.w. 
 
 They reached honie. She toihnl wearily up the stairs to 
 her own luxurious apartm^Mits. ITer Pn^nch maid. Knglish 
 Jane's successor, sat waiting for her young mistress, half 
 asleep in a chair. Paulina dismissed her at once. 
 
 "You may vo to bed, Odille -1 shall not want you this 
 morning.' 
 
 The girl departed, yawning. The mom^it she was gone 
 
 tr 
 
 Si 
 h( 
 cl 
 
 li 
 tl 
 
 63 
 
Ill 
 
 Held Asunder. 
 
 S41 
 
 Paulina locked the doors, drew a chair close to tjie waxlif^hts, 
 and took the letter (hiy Karlscourt had ^iven Ivr from tlio 
 corsape of her dress. She knew tiiat hold, manly liand well; 
 she tore it impetuously oi)en and read its brief eont<'nts: 
 
 » . Chariiie: Crnss Hotr'.. 
 
 . Tuesday, May 11th. IStU). 
 
 . (My Paulina: — You see I have answered yi>ur prayer at last 
 
 — I am here — here to redres.s the wronKs of the living or to 
 
 avenge the dead — here, after two-and-twcnty yt\irs, to rwhiim 
 
 your mother— my wife. 
 
 My young friend, Guy Earlscourt. has persuaded mo, con- 
 vinced mo that this way ties my duty. He has urged me also 
 to tell you all, and claim your woman's wit and aid in my uti- 
 dertaking. The hour has come when it (s time for you to 
 learn who your mother really is — that you have been kcpL in 
 Ignorance bo long may have been a fatal mistake. My daugJi- 
 ter. have you never suspected? You have met her. known h-.-r. 
 Think! Shall I tell yoii her name at once? Paulina, she who'n 
 you knew as Lady Charteris was ruivia I.,yndiih. t1v.'-:in 1- 
 twenty years ago, Robert Lisle's wife, and your iiiot)ier. 
 
 • 
 
 The letter dro])i)ed from Paulina's hand, witli a low, 
 startled cry. A thousand tilings rushed 011 lui memory to 
 convince her of the trntli of li<r father's words. 'I'lie iii-xlit, 
 in Lyndith Grange, where my lady had kissed and cried over 
 her, the midnight visit to Duke's cottage, and, ahove all, a 
 vague, intangible something that had always drawn her t'» 
 the unhappy lad.v. How stupid, how blind she had been, not 
 to guess the truth before ! 
 
 The letter went on : 
 
 I never knew, until a few months ngo, tiie terribb? fact f-' it 
 she was not insane when sliut up in a madhouse. Mi-. ElIv 
 court told me. T have returned it the earliest [)os«iMe moment, 
 and I will never rest until I have found, have reelaimed h'-r. 
 Heaven be merciful to human error. I may be too late -to s ive 
 her, but I meant it for the best. You will come to rne here— I 
 long to see you, my dailing— my Olivia's child. 
 
 You will ask for "Mr. Hawk^ley," and .von will ke.-p the fact 
 Of my presence in England a deH<l secret. Do not, in any way. 
 show to Sir Vane Charteris that you suspect or know the 
 truth. We must be subtle as serpents in dealing with a ser- 
 pent. Mr. Earlscourt mies to the Countess of Damar's ball to 
 
 give you this to-night -to-morrow 
 
 it the earliest possible 
 
 hour. T shall expect you here. T'^ntil I see you, my own dear 
 child, adieu. 
 
 She knew all at last— at last. The mystery that for tke 
 past eight years had been the unfathomable mystery of her 
 life was solved. Her mother wa>^ found. 
 
 ling of the letter had calmed her. .She held it to 
 
 Tl 
 
 le reading 
 
 the lightcul tajjers and watched it ^i"'" t<^ ashes. Then she 
 extingui.shv'd them. 
 
 The rosy dav/n of the sweet May day was lighting the east 
 
 ili^ 
 
 itKi I 
 
 ',}f: • 
 
 m 
 
 .11 
 
242 
 
 Working in the P^ X. 
 
 already as she drew back the curtains of silk auu lace dud 
 Uuiif^ ^ido the casements. 
 
 'Jlie sun arose, another busy day had bcKun for the great 
 fity, ijiid Paulina Lisle, in her floating satin and laces and 
 diamonds, sat there pale and spiritle:5S — utterly worn out. 
 
 The breakfast bell rang. She bep^an slowly unclaspinp: the 
 jewels, unloosing her rich drc^s. Then she threw on a dress- 
 ing-Rown, and rang for her maid. 
 
 "Clear away those things, Odille, and fetch me a cup of 
 tea here." 
 
 The girl, with the nimble fingers of her craft, ]>ut away the 
 ball robe, and diamonds in their casket, and brought up Miss 
 Lislf'.'s breakfast. 
 
 With an effort she swallowed a few mouth fuls, drank the 
 tea, and then pushed aside the scarcely tasted meal. 
 
 "Dress me for the street, Odille, and be quick. I am going 
 for a walk. If Mrs. Galbraith inquires for me you can tell 
 hqr so." 
 
 Odille unbornd the s^hining tresses, and built up her young 
 lady's chignon with practiced rapidity. In fifteen minutes 
 Miss Lisle stood attired in a walking cosfumo of quiet gray, 
 a close veil over her face. It was no unusual thing for Pau- 
 lina to start for a brisk morning walk at the hour when all 
 fashionable people were asleep; and Odille was in no way 
 surprised. 
 
 It was just eleven as she hailed a cab, and gave the order 
 to the driver: 
 
 '^Charing Cross Hotel." 
 
 Tier heart throbbed with almost sicker ing rapidity as the 
 liSnsoiri flew along the many streets. 
 
 At last, at last — in ten minutes she would be face to facs 
 witli lier unseen father! * 
 
 X 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WORKING IN THE DARK. 
 
 In his room at the Charing Cross Hotel, Robert Hawke- 
 loy snt alone by the open window, smoking his meerschaum, 
 and waiting for his daughter's coming with that grave pa- 
 t:ence that long habit had mad(5 second nature. > 
 
 Th-^re was a tap at the door and a waiter entered. 
 
 '^A ic.dy to see Mr. Hawksley," he announcgd; and then a 
 stately figure appeared close behind him, veiled and simply 
 dressiHl, but looking a "lady" from the crown of her head to 
 the sole of her foot. '. 
 
 The waiter disappeared, doting the door behind him. 
 
Working fn the Dark. 
 
 243 
 
 i.t^»Di. c TTawk^loy arose, lavinti: down bis pijie — the lady 
 fluhjf back her veil, and fathor diuI duugbtLT stood face to 
 face. 
 
 I'or tbe space of five isoeonds tliey slood in dead silence 
 lookinjiT iit eaeb oilier. Sh<' s.iw n niaii bronzed and weatlier- 
 beaten, but bandsonier and nobler it seemed to ber tban any 
 otiier man sbe liad ever known — save one. Iff? saw a Ix^auti- 
 ful and graceful yonnj? lady, witli soft, sa|)pbire eyes, and 
 gold bronze hair ri[)i)linj,r low over tlint broad, white brow, 
 with sweet, sensitive lips, and a liltle curved, sj)irited chin. 
 
 They were strikingly alike, too — eyes, hair, features — the 
 most casual observer might have told the n-iationship. 
 
 He smiled— a smile of great content })assed over Colonel 
 ITawksley's bearded lips, and he came forward with both 
 hands outstretched. 
 
 "Paulina! my daughter!" 
 
 "My father!" 
 
 He drew her to him and kissed the pure white brow, and 
 the first meeting was over w.ithout seencvs or exclamations. 
 
 For long they talked togetiier, relating the grim actualiti(^4 
 that had made up their lives and specubiting as to what 
 might have been. 
 
 Presently Ilobert ITawksley touched upon Ouy Earlscourt. 
 
 "I wonder," he said, "if your hatn^d of Lord Montalieii 
 extends to Guy? I hope not, for 1 have grown as fond of 
 him as though he were my own son." 
 
 Her face flushed all over — a deep, painful, burning re<l. 
 
 "I have no reason to dislike' Mr. Earlscourt," she answered, 
 the words coming with an effort; "he did me a great service 
 once — a service few men would have rendered." 
 
 "You must have been equally astonished and delighte<l 
 when he appeared so suddeidy before you last niglit at the 
 Countess of Damar's ball." 
 
 "Very much surprised beyond a doubt, since T thought hini 
 dead. Ho you not know that his death was announced many 
 months ago in one of the .American papers you sent me?" 
 
 "T did not know it. And you really thought him dead 
 until he appeared like a ghost before you? Not that (luy 
 much resembles a ghost at present. Tt was as close a thing 
 at; ever T i^aw — he liad half a Inindred wounds, and fought 
 through the camiKwgn like a lion. It was while he lay si(?k 
 in the hospital, almost to death, that F foun<l your picture in 
 a locket attached to his watchchain, and discovered that he 
 -•knew you, and was a countryman." 
 
 That Jeep flush rose up once more on Paulina's fair face. 
 
 "My picture!" 'he said. "How oam« he by that? I cer- 
 tainly ney«r £ave it to him." 
 
 i ' 
 
 I 
 
244 
 
 Working in the Dark. 
 
 "ITe told me as much af'terwanl — owiiod that he piinoinGcl 
 it as a souvenir {»f Kii/iUmd and .v(<u, to carry into his exile. 
 Ah, he is a hrave hid, and a gallant one. He saved my life 
 oiico at the risk of his own." • 
 
 "Tell me about it— father." 
 
 Ilcr voice was straiigcly soft and tremulous — her facQ 
 droojjcd forward on her father's shoulder, something vague 
 and sweet stirring in her heart. It was a theme Robert 
 llawksley liked well — the young man had grown as dear to 
 him as a won. Jle told her. while the moments went by, 
 stori(>s of his braver^', of his generosity, of his genius, of his 
 irrej)roachable life — of how nobly he had redeemed the ])ast. 
 
 'I believe, at the worst, his greatest crimes were but the 
 thoughtless follies of youth. TJuy Karlseourt has the noblest 
 nature of any man I know. He eould not stoop to do a mean 
 or dastardly thing. His comrades idolized him — his officers 
 respected him. 1 believe he is a true genius, and destine^l to 
 make a shining mai'k in the literature of his day." 
 
 An interval of silence follo\ved — his daughter's face was 
 still hidden, but it was to hide the tears that were falling 
 now. 
 
 And this was the man she thought eapable of selling his 
 manhood for her money — th{» man who had sacrificed his life 
 to s{!\'e her from his brother! 
 
 "1 don't see the need of our spending the first hours of our 
 meeting in talking altogether of Earlseourt — fine fellow 
 though he be. It strikes me I should like to hear some- 
 thing of yourself." 
 
 She lifted h?t'^-face, and laughed a little bitterly. 
 
 "A most unprofitable subject. I am a fashionable lady, 
 wra])ped up in dressing, dancing, driving — rather a striking 
 contrast 'to the sort of life you have been speaking of." 
 
 "And engaged to the Marquis of Heatherland ?'* 
 
 "No." - o > 
 
 "No? Why, T saw in the 'Mornhir/ Post' " 
 
 "Very likely — still even the press is not infallible. Such 
 an engagemcjjt did exist, but it has ceased." 
 
 "It has ceased' IVfay 1 ask—since when?" 
 
 Rh" flinched a little under his grave, steady, kindly eyes. 
 
 "Since last night." 
 
 "Did you love Lord Heatherland, my daughter? The 
 World siie;;ks well of him." 
 
 "And he deserves all_ the world v .m say — he is one of the 
 best men I «>v<>r knew. Hut — T never loved him. I don't 
 know that 1 ever loveil any one — that T am capable of it. I 
 am hard, and selfish, and worldly, and ambitious, and all evil 
 things — ^unworthy to be any good man's wife. I shall never 
 
Working: in the DnrkJ 
 
 245 
 
 marry— .yuu lual luit Inok nt ice in tli;ii way — T moan it. 
 My <Mi;^M<-r(MiM'iit willi j.onj I It'.itlKMhiiid li:i-; ('f\H(.'«l wliat t 
 am now I will no to my frr;ivr. \Vlj*'ii we find njy mother - 
 all I why should we t;i]k of ;iny tiling" bu! h«>r I - w<' three will 
 leave this J.ondon life, ;iiid ;i!i pertaiiiiiijj: to it, niid j^row old, 
 in pcaee, somewhere out of the worhl." . 
 
 Her voiee *;ave wjiy in .1 ^<>r\ of -uh. Xut eajjnhic of lovinj? 
 any one, wlien she knew thnl sh( loved (Jny K.trlsecdirt dearly 
 — dearly, and that sjie had loved him from the first -ay, in 
 the days when Alhin F;ine. the .irtist, iiad whiied away in. 
 her company that rosy sununer ei^iht years ^-one. 
 
 "T.et us talk of my motlier," she n'pe;ited. "What do you 
 propose to do — how to find her ^" 
 
 "I shall set detectives on the track at once, and renniiii 
 quietly here to await events. Can you come to see me often, 
 Paulina, or will it inconvenience you too much?" 
 
 "I shall come to see you every day at this hour, if you like. 
 I am in every way my own mistress, free to come and fi^o a.H 
 I choose. And now, as it is close upon two o'clock, I think 
 I had better return. They mi^ht [)ossii)ly fall to wondeiing 
 what had become of me.'' 
 
 He led her to the door, and they parted with a handclasp. 
 He was never demonstrative, an<l la r relationship was new 03 
 yet to Paulina. 
 
 Guy Earlscourt had made up his mind not to re-enter 
 society upon his return to London. lie hud learned how 
 hollow and empty it all was — he had learned a healthi{>r kind 
 of life in the past six years. IJut he found himscLf (juite a 
 "lion," the hero of the day: society s<iujj:ht him — crowds of 
 invitations pc^ined in upon him from the hij^hest in the land. 
 Many were old friends whom Ik^ could not well refuse. So 
 he said to himself, half ashamed of this yielding; but was 
 that solely the reason^ Wherever he went he saw the proud, 
 beautiful face of the girl who was his wife, flis wife! what 
 a pang — half pain, half remorse — it gave him! He should 
 not have taken advantage of that hour of madness, ha 
 thought, when she had besought him to save lu^r — wh(>n, car- 
 ried away by the excitement of the private theatricals, she 
 had become his wife. It was blighting her life, he could see. 
 She hated him, and took little pains to conceal it. Night 
 after night he left those gtiy ass(>nd)lies where she shone a 
 (jueen by right divine of her peerless beauty and grace, vow- 
 ing, in his passion, never to return, and yet — when to-morrow 
 came, the temptation to look ence more upon that perfect 
 face, though colder than marble to him. was irresistible, find 
 he yitlded. And she never dreamed, in the rtmotoftt wa.y« 
 
 v 
 
\* 
 
 246 
 
 Working in the Dark. 
 
 how with hin whole, stnd!*^ heart, nud foi the first titiie ic 
 his life, he wm:; j^iowiii^ to love her. 
 
 Miss I, Isle wu-s alnio-t as much an ohjVct of interest to so- 
 ciety just now as (luy irnnseif. She had broken c*fT Iier en- 
 gagement with the Manjuis ol" rieatherhnul at tiie elevchth 
 hour-- positively refusing the best mateh of the season — and 
 a prospective duke. J.ord JTeatlierland had gone abroad, but 
 before his departuie he had taken care to let the ehdis and 
 the drawing-rooms of JJclgraviu know tliat it was by ^'iss 
 Lisle's own express desire the mateh had been broken. 
 
 **r admire her above all women, and I always sIimII," !:;id 
 been his words. "It is the great misfortune of my life that 
 she cannot care for me strongly enough to be my wife."" 
 
 It created a profound sensation. Peoj)le said very hard 
 things of Miss Lisle behind her back, called her a heart!(-s 
 jilt, who would end, no doubt, as she deserved, by being an 
 old maid. But they locked upon her with new interest, as a 
 woman capable of tramjding under foot a ducal c ironet ; and 
 the beautiful heiress was more sought after thar. ever. 
 
 Nearly a fortnight had passed. She visited h( r father 
 every day — but her mother's hiding-place had not yet hrvn 
 discovered. She met (luy perpetually — day and night, nut] 
 with the rest of the world saw the marked preference Lady 
 Kdiih ('live showed him. They rarely spoke — a formal bov^ 
 in jjassing was the oJily gr(u>ting they exchanged, but in bn 
 heart she knew she was intensely jealous. He could net, 
 would not, marry the Lady Edith; her secret now and for- 
 ever was safe; l)ut who was *o tell he might lot learn to lf)ve 
 her; She grew rest!' ss and miserable — the world began to 
 say she v^as regretting the step she had taken with th-^ ir.ar- 
 (luis— tli.'it she was approaehing five-and-twenty,«inid growing 
 quite faded uid pn.sse. She was sick at heart — sick, body 
 and soul longing uns{)eakal)ly for the hour when her mother 
 migljt Ih' found, and she herself free to (juit England and 
 him forever. 
 
 It was ckn-e u})on the la^^f of the second week, that, making 
 her morning visit to her father, she found him pacing up 
 and down his hotel sitting-room — Hushed, excited, anxious. 
 
 "You have found her!" was Paulina's first cry as she looked 
 upon liis fiice. 
 
 fie li;ul found her — or rather the detective in his employ 
 hud. 'llw i)rlvat<' asylum was at Cheswick — ^he held the 
 adflre^s in his hand — \.A<]y Cliarteris was in tolerably good 
 heairli. both nn'otally and bodily, and the medical superin- 
 tender; i;-ii been < xpeetiiig Mio baronet every day for the 
 past tliice weeks to eome and take his wiie home. The 
 asyluni war a tborouglilj respectable institution, and Lady 
 
IC 
 
 Working in ttie Dark 
 
 247 
 
 ci 
 
 n\: 
 
 hiid I 
 
 cMiiKMi, \vn.-4 almost ciitirelv rosforcd, an«' 
 
 rendy Jit any moiiiciil to leave 
 
 (( 
 
 Veil must ^'o to C.'heswiek at mico, Paulina," Ium- fatlier 
 
 said. 
 
 )U will introduce; yoursclt" as the patient's dau;;hter 
 
 snit ly Sir Vane, to lirin^ liei liouie. Here is a note 1 liav»! 
 written--a j.retty good imitation of his handwriting', I tliink, 
 in which lie says illness nrevonts 1 
 
 ns aeeompanyuij^r yon. 
 
 "iou must lose no time — I liave arranj^ed evc^rytliiug. When 
 yuu (luit the a.^vlum, you will take the tit: t train for Lin- 
 Cvlnshire. (io t<j your old friend, l>uke Masoji's- I will fol- 
 low. On the way you ean hreak to her the news of my ar- 
 rival — prepare her to uK'et me at the cottaKt'. ()ne<' there, 
 and with me, let Sir Vane Charteris eliiim her if he dare!" 
 
 Paulina listened hreathlessly — took the note, and ( titere<l 
 the cah her father ealle<l. 'Vvn minutes, and she was speed- 
 in;^' aloni^ rapidly Cheswiekwanl, fully i)repari'd f.)r the part 
 she had tc play. 
 
 The part was so easy, it required little duplicity to fj^o 
 through with It. Miss Lisle met the medical superintendent, 
 and announced herself as Lady Charteris' (lau;.jit(!r. She 
 gave him her father's forged note — he read it as a matter of 
 course- — bowed low before the stately, beautiful woman, and 
 led her at once to his patient. Paulina's heart beat fast. 
 How was she to tell her mother might not betray her in her 
 first surprised She paused as the doctor was about to open 
 tho door. 
 
 "Stop," she said; "my mother has not seen me for many 
 years. The shock may be too much for Ium-. Do you go in, 
 and tell her I am here, and let u.i meet <iuite alone;." 
 
 "As you please, Miss Charteris," the polite superintendent 
 sa'd; "you can wait here." 
 
 He Ushered her into a sunny apartment. She stood, her 
 back turned to the door, looking out of th<' window, trying to 
 calm her rapid heart-throbbing. She was not kept waiting 
 long. In three minutes the door opened, she turned slowly 
 re und— mother and daughter stood alone together! 
 
 Those six years of misery and im7)ris()nment iiad donc^ 
 their work upon the wife of Robert Lisle. Her face had 
 blanched to a dead waxen whiteness — her golden hair had 
 turned 10 silver. The g.oat black eyes looked out from the 
 bloodless face with a frightened, terrified appeal. She stood 
 on the threshold irresolute — trembling — she (lid not ieco;jni/.(^ 
 this tall, Juno-like young lady with the lovely face and 
 large, pitying blue eyes. 
 
 "Are you?" she faltered; "no, you are not Mau(i." vSh ■ 
 .Irew away, trembling violently all over. "J. Ho*Vi- kno 
 
 ^.vo 
 
 u. 
 
 ;he said; "did he send you here'i 
 
 ';'> 
 
 ^^ 
 
 II ■■ 
 
 
 m\ 
 
MS 
 
 Working in the Dark. 
 
 r 
 
 un'iiiji cjirno oVfr, put licr "^fiwtfi^r youii^ nrni' 
 
 l)OU 
 
 t lief. 
 
 aimI !<;<ik('<l <l()\vn into that l'riKii«''H(Ml tncc with a hii.vc ov- 
 ji:^ sii.ilc. 
 
 "I Mill not MamJ," she wliispcKwl with a kiss; "I am Pau- 
 lina I.isl*'- mother — dear little, snfferin^r mother. No, don'* 
 ^ly out; you will spoil all. 1 have eoiiie to take yfiu away 
 and Sir N'ane Cijarteris knows nothinjj ahout il. Don't wait 
 to ask questions now — and he enlin— don't excite suspicion. 
 1 am ^ioiiif? to lake you away — the do<tor thinks 1 am Sir 
 Vane's daughter- don't undeceive him. (lo, ^^'t ready at 
 once- every second is jjiccious, and l.c 'aim — for all otir 
 sakes try an<l he calm." 
 
 She was ci'^ner th*n Pauliia had h(»i)cd. Her eyes lit up 
 - hop«' flaslu'il over iier tace. "1 will," she answered, firndy; 
 "wait for nie heic." 
 
 She '(ft the room — in ten minutes sIh; wad back, accom- 
 l)ani('d hy the medical man. 
 
 "I can safely pronounce l-.a(ly (^harieris })erfoctly restored, 
 Miss Charteris." he said, blandly." "I told Sir Vane so, 
 weeks ajjfo. and Jiave hccn expectinjj;^ liim daily. vVmusement 
 and <'lian.u,'e cd" air are all she reciuires now\ And how about 
 tlio hv^i-a^e?" 
 
 "You will wjiit until Sir Vane visits you in person," Pau- 
 lina said (piietly, drawing' ber mother's arm witbin bcr own. 
 "ITo will i)robably be sufficiently restored by to-moridw." 
 
 They \Korv at the do<tr — slio could hardly i^redit lier own 
 f^uceess. 'i'be bland superintendent bowed- low, as he bade 
 adieu to the baronet's beautiful daughter, and assisted my 
 lady into'tbe cab. The uioment after, they jicre whirling 
 awa.T far from the asylum, where for six lonj.^ years this jxior, 
 pale woman had been incarcerated 
 
 Paulina leaned forward to jjrive the driver his order, then 
 ehe turned and clasped aj<ain that weak, frail form in her 
 arms. 
 
 "You look bewildered, darlin^r motlier — oh, how easy, how 
 :!iatural the name comes! Tt is suftit'ient to bewilder you, or 
 ijie, the rapidity with which this has been manajjeil. 1 know 
 all, you see — that you are my mother— everything'. Wlio do 
 you think has told me?" She kissed again, with a smile, the 
 appealing: face — "my father." _ f*.^ 
 
 "Your— father!" 
 
 "And your husband — yonr <mly, your rightful husband, 
 mother — Hobert Lisle." 
 
 She clasped her wasted hands^— she tried once or twice 
 before the words she wanted to say would (luit her pallid lii>8: 
 
 "Robert — my Robert! he is alive still!" 
 
 "Alive and well, dear mother ; and — now try and bear irood 
 
 "P 
 
 "M( 
 
 Ry 
 
 term 
 renio> 
 prisoi 
 sane 
 entra 
 covi 
 be re 
 nevei 
 At ot 
 and 
 had 
 () 
 conv 
 peat< 
 abro 
 Van^ 
 last 
 for 
 trns 
 out 
 dtiso 
 
Workinor in the Dark. 
 
 249 
 
 lis 
 
 news as hrnvcl.v mv. you Iuitc honu' inisforfim* crHniiJif hcit 
 to cliiiiii .voii." 
 
 'I luTo was a faiiii, luw cry; PiniliMa drow lu-r closip to hor, 
 :tii<l kissed lici* nK!i>i> :iii(i a^aiii. 
 
 "I'oor liftl«' inotlurl ^'cs corniu^r Ikhim' ti clnirii you. 
 Noll art' his witV, you know- iu' luis the rijrlit Mhat \v;(;k(»d 
 baronet, none, lie is coining?! mother! inotlier! tliiiik of 
 that!" 
 
 'M'aulitia," lur iiiothor said, wilh a sort of erv, "he !• 
 hero r 
 
 \'\>v an answer, Paulina held her eJo-er. 
 
 "'I\'ll me," Olivia said; "tell me. ! aulina- I rati hear to 
 hear such joyful news — Uohert is lure!" 
 
 "My fa I lu-r is hero. Nothinj; ean ever cojne between you 
 
 him af^ain." 
 
 and ,, 
 
 fler mother fell ba<'k, noarly falntiii^r. Paulina eauKht 
 b(»th hands, and lookrul straijfht, almost sternly, into her oyos. 
 
 "Mother, if you faint, 1 will never forgive you. Von have 
 a jcnirney to take — we are ^oin^r <lown to Lincolnshire, to 
 Duke Mas(in'<. My lath* r will follow by the next iiain. 
 Tlien 1 K've y(tu leave to faint, if you will insist upon it. 
 Meantime 1 am Moinji' to fasten this veil over your fac 
 there is vo telling' whom w(; may m.-et at the station." 
 
 •e; 
 
 •X- 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 By one X)f tlie fatalities which rule our lives, and which \v« 
 term chance. Sir \':inc Charteris had chosen that very day to 
 ren.ove his unfoi'ttniate captive from the a.sylum to another 
 prison. She had been received in all ^^ood faith — she was in- 
 sane most likely for the time, and for weeks after her 
 entrance raved In delirlnm c^ a brain feve". Upon her re- 
 covery, she had been at time.- vildly exeitea, demanding,' to 
 be )'el<Mised, crying out she was no wife of Sir Vane's, and 
 never had been, that her true husband had been in America. 
 At other times she would lapse into sullen despair and f^loom, 
 and i)ass wliole days in speechless misery. So the first years 
 had jione. 
 
 Of late, however, even the jicople of the asylum became 
 convi!»ced cd' her perfect sanity, an<l the physician had re- 
 peatedly urjicd the baronet to remove Ids wife — to take her 
 abroad, and give her amusement and change of air. Sir 
 Vane had delayed doiiifj: so to the last possible moment. At ^ 
 last a happy thoutrht struck him. lie would fit up "The Firs" 
 for her reception, employ a thoroufrhly unprineiplpd and 
 tnistworthy woman to take care of her, and leave her lO draj? 
 out the remainder of her wretched existence in the dreary 
 dttkjulation of that desolate coast. It wa^ Mf ^; sea iog» and 
 
 • » 
 
 • 1'J 
 
 |!1 
 
a;o 
 
 vVorking in the Darlr. 
 
 (.MHt winds wcro ahuiuiuiit, tli: hoiiso was djiinp nud drauglifcy 
 — <ff;ith, no doubt, would simm dily rid him of a hatod in- 
 ('unil)ranco. He longed intras<'ly for her death, an<l tlie mlo 
 reversion of her fortune tq^ ^laud — the time was very near, 
 li«' thoimlif now. 
 
 rie drove up to thr asylum in a four-wheeled eal)— ho 
 meant to take his wife straijfht to Kssex. He was admitted, 
 and met the doetor in the hail. 
 
 ''What!" the suixM-intcndeiit exclaimed. "Sir Vane, so 
 (Boon after hi.s niessen^'er? And your note said you were ill. 
 Yours has been a speedy recovery." 
 
 '*\Vhat note ^ I d<«i't understand you. I have eomo for 
 my wife." 
 
 "Your wTFe! My dear Sir Vane, of course you know your 
 wife has gone!" 
 
 "Oone!" The baronet started hack blankly. "Gone! Do 
 you mean dead f ' 
 
 "HeavfMi forbid! Lady Chartcria* health, considering all 
 things, is remarkably good. Is it possible? — but no, I cannot 
 have been duped. Here is your own note, demanding her 
 release." 
 
 Ho handed the baronet the note Paulina had given him, 
 with an injured air. Sir Vane read it through, turning the 
 hue of ashes, with mingled amaze and rage. 
 
 "This note is a forgery. I never wrote it — so poor a 
 forgery, too, that I am amazed any one could be stupid 
 enough to be deceived by it who ever saw my U»nd. Do you 
 mean to tell me, Dr. Harding, that Lady Charteris has left 
 your asylum?" 
 
 "Left an hour ago," replied the doctor, sullenly. 
 
 "With whom?" 
 
 "The bearer of that note." 
 
 "Who was the bearer of this note?" 
 
 His thou^'hts flew to Lord Mont«dien — to Lord Montalien, 
 who never forgot nor forgave, and who fully meant to place 
 the pap(T he held in Olivia's hand, should he ever succeed Iv 
 finding her. 
 
 "A young lady — your daughter." 
 
 "My daughter! Impossible!" 
 
 "She announced herseli as Lady Charteris' daughter — the 
 same thing, I take it." 
 
 "Will you tell me what she was like? 1 i«ift my daughter 
 Maud ill at home of a headache." 
 
 "She was tall, the finest figure and mof5t class^icaliy beauti- 
 ful face T ever saw. She had daik-blue eyes, and gold-browu 
 hair, and the manners of a lady in waiting." 
 
 "Pau^'na!" the baronet cried, under hi» breath; "the vets 
 
 last iK*rso 
 th# dro\ 
 "Cilyw 
 Mie, Sir ^ 
 "Kver^v 
 bevw a 1( 
 
 With 
 Where e( 
 yho ha<l 
 thought < 
 trlys, th 
 takin;; tl 
 upon hii 
 "She'l 
 She won 
 that girl 
 an«l 1 n 
 He lo 
 an hour, 
 eah to 
 Paulina 
 at tlu' I 
 ])aper w 
 easily I 
 lie had 
 "Cun 
 she wa 
 1 fe n 
 inouirii 
 left tw 
 l)eeulia 
 (•Hieial> 
 questio 
 j^ro.ul 
 tii-ket, 
 for <*1<> 
 flowinj. 
 he kiif 
 
 He 
 evt Li 
 wif«'. 
 Of wli 
 I'.hMiia 
 posuri 
 ^ee tl 
 He t. 
 
 K 
 
^ 
 
 Working U\ the D:irk. 
 
 2^1 
 
 last iHTHon T nln.iiM rvrr think of. W, \i>\\ kriov, vvl»i«'li wny 
 th# (Irovr upon Living lirrt;, llanliiiK''' 
 
 "Cil.Ywani — I know no rnoro. Do you rrnlly monn t(. ti II 
 un\ Sir V;nu', tlitTo in nnytliin^ wroii^ iiLout nil this^' 
 
 •'Kvcr^VtliiiiK i"* wron^'. It in an iiifcrnii! plot. Ymu Ikivc 
 l)ocn ii 1(M»1, iind I jini a ruined mnn." 
 
 With that answor Sir Vano strctd** out of \\w hnu-^e. 
 Wht'H' could Paulina y)ossihl>' havo takon Iht niothcr!' ]]• w 
 sho ha<i fo\ind her he did not tin n stop to iiuiuir' . Ho 
 thought over tho people Ik; knew in i-(nidon; except the Afch- 
 crlys, there wn.s n(»t a family wlioni he could inKi;^iiic her 
 takinj; the sick lady to. A sudden, swift inspiration lla-hed 
 upon him. 
 
 SI 
 
 'She'll 'ake her to T.incohisliire, to her old home, of em 
 
 I r--e. 
 
 le u 
 
 ould never attempt to kicp her in London, 'i'o ihink 
 
 that f-'irl has heen i)lo1tin^!: against me, for month-, j ("h.i| s, 
 an<l I nev(!r suspected it." 
 
 He h)oked at his watch — uii express train would j : ■" In 
 
 an 
 
 hoi 
 
 ir, 
 
 II 
 
 e ga 
 
 ve the driver his oi-der. and fell h:iek i 
 
 cah to think. Not jdea-aiit tlioUiihl-. \>y any e c 
 Pjiulina to(»k her to Speekhaven, Lord MniifMli-ii. .-i 
 
 I I 1 1 ! 
 
 ■MJlt 
 
 at the Priory, 
 
 won 
 
 Id 1 
 
 lear ot It at t.nee 
 
 ind 
 
 paper which implicated him for hii^amy. His mani. 
 
 I r ( 
 
 d 
 
 j'asi 
 
 l.v 1 
 
 te proM'U ill< 
 
 '.laud 
 
 ii;( uif iiiiate. and i 
 
 he had coveted so go ahsolutely to liohert Li->'(''- d i i.' ''i r, 
 "(Hirse her!'' ho muttered; "why did 1 not j)oi.<m !;• : .\i.. m 
 she was in my power?*' 
 
 Jfo reached the London tcrnunu'', and was al ont '' »; ikc* 
 injjuiries e(»ncerning the pas-en/jertA hy liw n:«i]. »■• '• ■ '•• !i d 
 left two hours l.efore. Pjudina'^ co!iiiii;;nd;ii^ Iwi;* • "n\ 
 ])eeuliar grai-e could not fail t<» attra<t the atteu:'**': . i -'.e 
 oHicials, even at a crovviled liondou railwjy stutitni. I'; i tlu» 
 «luestions he would have a^ked died upon his lips, ; .i|>- 
 
 proarhed the ticket ofHce. for standing thei-e tik ;u h'S 
 ticket, was a nian h«- knew well. .\ migi lie lia<i n ti -iM-n 
 for eloso u]ion a (|Uarter of a century, hi!t v\!ieni, in p'te of 
 flowing heard, of foieijiii hronze, of the slcrchcd >o!!:l't< j-o, 
 lie knew at once -IJohert Lish^! 
 
 lie drew l»ack among the crowd. All w;h c'ear im •.'•. ' I?<"h- 
 ert Lisle had <'ome hai-k. a I'leli man, n<i doul'i. lo c1."mi his 
 wif<', ami ex|)ose tlu- villainy llial l:ei<l j'umh an.irt ••(; h.- :r. 
 Of what use was it to folhiw now -the game wi's up— I o"<4 
 i.loni.alieii's revenge was rdl that \\ 'js needed for hi-^ • .\- 
 posure and disgi-ace And y»i he d«^'t''rndned to foliftw to 
 ^'O the play playec? out — to face his fate without flnichinj?. 
 fie took his ticket and his place in a different rtomuartinejit 
 
 f: 
 
2*)!! 
 
 "Paulina to Alice.' 
 
 from that of Robert Lislo, aiul London was left beliind lilu 
 a ."-nioky dream. *' 
 
 Into t!io fresh conntrv, wliero i\\o younj^ gra-^s and rowslip 
 were l.riglit — into tlie iiiritic lieait of IJneolnshire. the e;-; 
 press train flew. It was close upon six, and tlie at'lerno!-! 
 sun was slanting westward as tlic.v rnshrd into tlie Speck 
 haveji station. Still kcepin/:;' out of si^^lit. the haroru * 
 watched his rival. Roliert Lisle took a fly- -the haronc^t took 
 another— remaining? well in the rear. Duke Mason's hou^i 
 was tlie destination of the forere.ost. the othei followeil, 
 liol crt Lisle sprang' out and eiitercd the litth^ p:ard(Mi ^at \ 
 will) rapid steps approaehinj? the house. Sir Va!^(^ (^harlcr;- 
 al-.'. disn)ounted, also entered the f2:arden, and approaelu^d. 
 'ill ' li'^ise door was opon, he heard a womati's shrill scream. 
 I.\ w'fe's voice he knew, and hurried nearer, and stood look- 
 irj.^ -n. 
 
 He >aw a very striking picture. 
 
 Duke Mason and his sister stood apart — Paulina was in 
 the middle of the floor, and standinp: near her was Robert 
 Lisle, and the woman who had been his wife in the eyes of th<^ 
 world for so many years, lying still and senseless in his 
 arms. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 *'PADLINA TO ALICE." " 
 
 The bold, evil spirit within the man rose with the sense of 
 his utter defeat. He set his teeth, and strode resolutely in4o 
 their midst. 
 
 Paulina looked up and recognized him — growing very pahv 
 Duke Mason took a step forward with a startled exclama 
 tion. Atid Robert Lisle lifted his fa«e, white from excess of 
 feeling, and looked at him. 
 
 The two husbands of tbo one wife after a quarter of a 
 cei t'-jv were once more face to face! ■ ' - 
 
 T!i( it'i-enet took the initiative. 
 
 "Wli '( '< tlie tr(>tniini.' of tlii-if" ]\c demandcMl. ''Who are 
 you, sir who lio^d my wife? Paulina Li^ie. how dare you 
 remov; I ndy (harteris from the asylum where I placed her?" 
 
 ]?el'i.!v Paulina could rejily, hr c father interfered — quite 
 gent1.\ 
 
 "^la-;in. will you carry nty wife U]»stair-''' Panhna, you 
 will a(.'coiin)any Miss Mason, and endeavor to restore her 
 For this man, T will answer his questions." - ^ 
 
 Pa i'^ uv clasp^ -hter hands anxiously abunt his arr^- 
 
 **You \ 
 
 K. Ther 
 
 Tie sm 
 
 •'1 pro 
 
 ()lijsie:ini 
 
 ■ tron.Kt'V 
 law. 
 
 IIo pi; 
 watched 
 made a '■ 
 "Lady 
 peril yoi 
 Dnke 
 powerful 
 liesitatec 
 monuMit 
 ''Now 
 his arm? 
 haronet, 
 moment 
 to ask t 
 "You 
 ago inv( 
 sconded 
 fled to 
 know y 
 "I ll 
 a marr 
 Vane C 
 never, f 
 on the 
 answer 
 I was 
 how wi 
 charge 
 to let 
 rey Ly 
 accusa 
 dark - 
 law sli 
 second 
 respect 
 never 
 unless 
 you o\ 
 land 
 
 K 
 
ii;i(l lik( 
 
 <'(>wslin 
 fho (>•: 
 t(>n)(Mi'i 
 
 r» Sju'ck- 
 haroiic' 
 
 iK^t fook 
 
 ollov.Oi), 
 
 (Ml fJTilt ', 
 
 screen! I. 
 xh] jook- 
 
 a wns in 
 'OS of tllP 
 
 s in his 
 
 "iTiitiiilfliiMi 
 
 I sensp of 
 itoly \^yio 
 
 'ery ])n]<\ 
 oxclnrn.i 
 excess nf 
 
 t'ter of a 
 
 Who ore 
 (hire vmi 
 •ed lior?" 
 'H — qiiile 
 
 ^u\{\, you 
 toi'p hor 
 
 ''Paulina to Alict 
 
 2S? 
 
 **You will Tiot (junrrcl with him. falhti. Tie is not \V(jith 
 K. Tliere will be no ahcrcatidu iiroiiiis* ikc that." 
 
 Tic stiiiled gravely. 
 
 •'1 promi-e, my tl^'Jir; I have ii(;t the slif:iu('>t intciitiuii (if 
 {iluslniii^ (»r (lunrrelin^ willi Sir Vaiu- Charteris. A 
 ■.troM.Kcr power tliaii mine shall deal with iiirn — the Kii^lish 
 law." 
 
 IIo i)laced Olivia's faint in^^ form in Duke's arm-, and 
 walchfd him and the two wonuMi <iuit the room. Sir \'ano 
 made, a s<'c'ond iiois,v attempt to interfere. 
 
 "Lady (-havteris shall m.t (juit this room! Mason, on your 
 poril you t(»iieh my wife!" 
 
 Duke paid no heod. 'i'he haroiiet surveyed the six-foot, 
 po\\»'rfu!-lookinji", soldierly iijrure hoforc him, and wisely 
 liesitated before tryinj? to enforeo his w(»rds by deeds. In a 
 moment tluy were alone. 
 
 ''Now then. Sir Vane (^harteris," said Hobert Lisle, folding 
 his arms, and lookiiij]^ down at the small, pursy figure of the 
 baronet. "I will hear what you have ro say. You asked me a 
 moment ago who I was — J don't really think you ever needed 
 to ask that (piestion." 
 
 "You an- itobert T.isle, the yeoman's son, who twenty years 
 ago Inveighed a sim[)l(? girl into a sham marriage, you ab- 
 sconded with her unde's nuuiey and jewels, and afterward 
 tied to America to escape transportation. You perceive I 
 know yon well." 
 
 "I thought so. For (lie sham marriage, as you call it, it is 
 a marriage that <»ur English law holds binding. ^'<»u. Sir 
 Vane Charteris. are a bigamist with intent. Olivia Lisle 
 never, fxir one instant was your wife. You saw me in chun-h 
 on the morning of that mockery of marriage. IIov; will you 
 answer to a Kritish jury for that ^ WlicTi Oliv-ia discov(U"e(' 
 I was n^ive, you shut her up in a madhou-^e t'or six yt>ars — 
 how will you answer a jury for that { As to tlie other alxurd 
 i-harge you speak of, 1 was a fool — the greatest of ftxds, ever 
 to let tliat bugbeai- alarm me. Xeiiher you now, nor (JeofT- 
 rey Lyndith, if he wer(> alive, » niild support that trumped-up 
 accusation. For the rest, I have work» tl as you did, in the 
 dark —I have found my wife, ami 1 mean to keep her. Tho 
 law shall ju«lge between u- of the legality- <d' the fir-t and 
 second marriages. You are free to act as yoii please, in all 
 respects, save intruding here— yonder is the door — go — and 
 never dare to degrade this house by your presence ag.iin, 
 unless you wish mejo take the law in my own hands. Did 
 you ever hear of Judge Lynch, Sir Vane^ I conu- from a 
 land where he ia well known. If you ever «ro«» yonder 
 
 -H 
 
 li 
 
254 
 
 'Paulina to Alice. 
 
 •f 
 
 thrcsliold again, I'll straii^le ,011 as^ I woulfl a snake that 
 
 CI'MW 
 
 Ird 
 
 atToss 
 
 sy I' 
 
 iith. X 
 
 ow 
 
 Will you wait one nionu iit ?" said n voice in the doorway. 
 l>oth men tiiiiujd round. All this time the house dour lia<l 
 stood open, and a third person, quitv^ unlooked for, had wii- 
 
 ness^H 
 
 1 thf 
 
 ^ interview, 
 
 J.ord IVIontalien had sjient the past two years traveling for 
 his health, lie was passing the J-ondon season in the eouii- 
 try now, for the same reason — a chronic affection of the 
 heart. Strollinci: by, taking his usual afternoon exercise, ho 
 had es])ied the two Hies from the railway at Duke Mason's 
 jfHte. ile saw the house door open — it might be Paulin?i; 
 curiosity proni{)ted him to approach. lie saw Sir Vane 
 Charteris, guessed in au instant who his companion must be, 
 and heard every word of Robert Liale's speech. At last thi' 
 hour of his revenge had come, at last he could pay off thiit 
 debt now six years old. 
 
 "Excuse me," his lordship said, blandly, coming slowly in, 
 "if 1 have inadvertently heard every word — Sir Vane Char- 
 teris, I am exceedi'igly ha}>py to see you on the present oc- 
 casion; you, sir," turning with a bow to the other, "^ire, 1 
 presume, Mr. Robert ]Jsle." 
 
 "I am, sir," was the stem response ; "who are you ?" 
 
 "Lord Montalien, very much at your service, and disposed, 
 like my father before me, to do you a good turn. X owe Sir 
 Vine here a little grudge, and am inclin(Hl to wipe it off. 
 Have you any recollection in your past life of a man namerl 
 James Porter^" 
 
 Th American officer looked bewildered, and Sir Vane 
 stood with bent, black brows, and sullen ferocity, waiting for 
 the <'nd! d 
 
 "He was valet, five-and-twenty years ago, to Geoffrey Lyn- 
 dith — perhaps that- will aid your memory." 
 
 "I recollect," Lisle said, brusquely; "what of him?" 
 
 "Only that he is dead; and upon his deathbed made a-depo- 
 sition which I took down, and have in my possession at pres- 
 ent, duly witnessed. In that confession he gives the whole 
 nefarious plot by which you were driven out of England. It 
 clears you in every respect. If you will do me the honor to 
 call at the Priory this eveniiig, I shall be happy to plae( 
 the document in your hands." 
 
 Ile looked with a diabolical smile at the baronet. Sir 
 Vane, livid with f \ir and fury, moved toward the door. 
 
 ''Robert Lisle shall answer for his abduction and retention 
 of my wife," he said, trying bravado ,0 the last; "for you and 
 your miserable documents. Lord Mwutalien, I care nothing. 
 The law shall i'»:dge between ua."' 
 
 "A 
 
 :-«-^*< 
 
"Paulina to Alice.- 
 
 as5 
 
 "The law shall," Lislp snid, Travely. "I thank roiir lord- 
 ship for this tmexpccted fav(.r. My ^ood name shouhl have 
 been cleared by my ovvii efforts; but the conforfsion of Porter 
 simY)lifios all that. I will call this cvcniuu: at the Priory." 
 
 Lord Montalion bowed, and turned to go. 
 
 "Perhaps you will be good enouj^h to mention this fact to 
 y< iir daug'hter," he said, "t wisjied to make her my wife 
 some years ago, and I am afraid f^he has never forgiven me 
 for it. She may be induced to think somewhat lessMinrdly of 
 me when she learns this. May 1 also a^k one question — did 
 my brother return with vou f 
 
 "He did." 
 
 "He is at present in London f" 
 
 "He is." 
 
 "A successful author — (juite able to meet all his little 
 liabilities r 
 
 Lisle nodded — somewhat inipnti^ently. 
 
 "Thanks," Lord Montalien 'aid; "I shall not detain you 
 any long(>r. Permit me to congratulate you upon the recov- 
 ery of your wife and daughter, and to wish you every hai)pi- 
 ness in the future." 
 
 He left the house. The smile faded from his lips, his sal- 
 low, worn face darkened an-i grew, bitter, with hate and 
 malignity. 
 
 "All my i)lotting has been in vain, then," he thought. 
 "Guy has returned — thf? past wiped out and forgotten — rich, 
 famous, handsomer than ever, no doubt. And she always 
 liked him — always — 1 know it, and will marry him now. 
 Why did she break off with Heatherland if not for love of 
 liim? And one day this accursed heart disease will carry mo 
 off, and he will reign in my stead at Montalien." 
 
 His face was black with impotent hatred and rage. All 
 had g07ie against him. The only woman he had ever wanted 
 to marry had rtd'used him — he had speculated largely and 
 invariably lost. Ill health had overtaken him — at thirty-three 
 he was an <^)ld, disappoinled, soured man. He had grown 
 nervous with illness, and in the dark dead night, the white 
 face of Alice Warren ro<e to haunt him and drive sleep from 
 his pillow. vShe lay unburied and unavenged, but retribution 
 more dire than anV an ear*hly tribunal could intiict had come 
 home to h(^r murderer. 
 
 Kobert Lisle watched his retreating form from view, and 
 then ascended the stairs. His wiTe had recovered from her 
 swoon, and lay he]i)less and tn-nibling on the couch wh« re 
 they had placed her. Roi)eri alive! Kobert back! After 
 four-and-twenty years of endless, intinite misery, Robert was 
 to be hcFft again. The others rose as he eatored* Fanllna 
 
 A 
 
 llliliii 
 
 "^ 
 
256 
 
 ''Paulina to Alice. 
 
 »» 
 
 etooped and kissed thv wan, startled Wn'.v, nud tlie !oiig- 
 Bovcrc'd husband and wife were loj4:('ihcr -ouc(^ inor(\ 
 
 J'roceedin^s were itnniediau'ly institiifc^l to prove (ho 
 validity of tlu; fi;st, liie invalidity of the se'-ond niarriaj^o 
 1'here was little ditticulty in iloin^ so. Itohert J. isle's Scot<'li 
 marriage was ns bindini; as though tlx* Archhishoi) of (Pinter- 
 bury lijid pronounced the benediction. The second niarriagv 
 was a farc(\ The suit and its results produced tho pro- 
 foundest sensation. Kvery day new and interesting? revela 
 tions came out about Miss Lisle, Xow the myster.v of her 
 l»irth way cleared up. She was not an orjihan, as half I.^mi- 
 don had supposed, and on the mother's sid«\ at least, her 
 descent was irreproaehable. And Sir Vane ("harteris wn?i fi 
 villain, who liad lied l<< the Continent to bury himself and 
 his di^>{.',rac<» out r»f siuht. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbraith and Maud had become socially extinct down 
 at Essex, And Miss Lisle and hei* ronnmtic fatluM* and 
 mother held tJiemselvcs sedidously aloof fr<Hn wonderiufr niet 
 ropolitan society down in some cottage in i^incolnshii'c, wIkm-c 
 she l^ad been broug:ht up. What a nnnanec it was — r(iinil to 
 any of Mr. Earlscourl's charminf;- plots! 
 
 Inunediately the suit was ended, Mr. Lisle and his wife (he 
 iiad discarded tl^e name of. Uhwksley) were goin^ abroad. 
 Mrs. Lisle's nervous system had been utterly shattered — years 
 must j)ass of peace, of change, of hajipiness before she be- 
 came fully herself a^ain. She j^rew pale and territie<l wheii 
 Kobert left her side — she Hew to him trembling and pant- 
 ing when he returned. She lived in constant dread oi some- 
 t'ling tearing her f n m him again — she shrank from stran- 
 gers as only nervous people can shrink. The sooner she was 
 taken abroad, away from the scene of her troubles, the better. 
 It was evident, too, Paulina needed change. In those three 
 weeks of waiting she had grown thin and pale as a shadow. 
 All her old joyousness had left her, she wandered silent and 
 .spiritless about the old familiar haunts. Lord Montalieu 
 never troubled her solitary rand)los now. The fricMids who 
 loved her so well lookid at her in wonder — it was so unlik*^ 
 Paulina — this pale, silenl, noiseless bhadow — whose smile was 
 as cold and fleeting as moonlight on sllow. Her friiMid, Mrs. 
 Atcherly, ran down once in a whilh to see her old favorite, 
 and retail for her benefit the town gossip. Auiong Ihm 
 budget. Mr. Karlscourt had a new work in press, and was 
 engaged to be married, m> evervbod.v said, to the Lady Edith 
 Clive. 
 
 Paulim\ turned her pale face far away as she listenec' 
 Mrs. Atcherly rattled on: 
 
 "The Lady Edith makes no secret of her preference, and i» 
 
" Paulina to Mice." 
 
 257 
 
 is certainly at Daiitar House perpetually. But, do you know, 
 Paulina, 1 don't bcaeve Guy's a Uit in love with hvv, in spito 
 of her beauty. 1^ he marries her it will he heeau-^e she i^ 
 the riehest heiress of the day and an earl's daughter. I some- 
 times fancy ho has left his heart heliind him in Amt^riea, 
 amonf? those lovely American women he talks of so much. 
 He says American ladies are all pretty — al)solut(iv without 
 exception — that a plain girl in the streets of New York is as 
 rare as a black swan. The world says he and Ljuly Kdith will 
 be married for certain nex'^ spring." 
 
 And then Mrs. Atcherly departeti; and I greatly doubt 
 whether Miss Lisle's health or spirits were at all improved by 
 her lively conversation. She longed with feverish, hidden 
 impatience for the day of their departure to come. When 
 Kngland was left far behind she would be bet' r. she thought. 
 A fever Hush came into her cheeks sometimes, her lips I«M)ked 
 dry and parched — her glorious dower of perfect health, that 
 for four-and-twenty years had never failed lu>r, v. as rapidly 
 failing her nov 'J'hey spoke of physicians, and she laughed 
 at them — she W(uld be (luite well agnin, she said, when they 
 started on their travels — it was England and the hot .lunc 
 weather that disagreed with her. 
 
 The last day came. Everything was seftle<i — Air. Lisle's 
 peryetual flying up and down by express trains between Lon 
 don and Lincoliis'hire was at an end. His legal business was 
 satisfactorily over. On to-morrow morning they would -tart 
 direct for Paris, 'iiaking no delay in London. 
 
 A gentleman accompanied Mr. Lisle from town on this last 
 occasion — a gentleman, who, at his esj^eoial reqittmr, IkkI run 
 down to see his wi"'*e. 
 
 "Where is Pauli la !" her father asked. 
 ' Paulina was ou<, as usual, on one of her daily aimless ram- 
 bles. It was a murky sort of day, with a light, damp fog 
 cLnging to ever.'? thing — a dark, gray sky, lying low over a 
 bleak, wet earth. It was no weather for any one in delieate 
 healt)- K. be abr )a(l — 1> t Paulin/> neither felt nor eared for 
 the drtiUi). It : uited ner, this ',,'loomy evening — it seemed 
 somehow like he 'cold, ,';ray life. The last, lingesing shadows 
 of the dark da.V were departing >is she cmuc si )wly ln'me- 
 ward. In bod,/ and mind, heart and brain, she wr ; tir.-d tuir, 
 as she drew ne ir — her face pal(>r th.an u->ua\, her lar^if eyes 
 haggard and Kuiken. A man's tall tigun leaned i' litly 
 against one ol the gate posts as .-.he drew near. Her heart 
 g-ave a great bc^und, and then seemed to ee ise its beating alt*^- 
 geth'-r, 'So need '.o look twice to recognize (iuy Earlscourt. 
 
 lie jaw hor and opeued the gate. Without lifting her eyea 
 
 i 
 ( I 
 
 
 ■I 
 
 ^ 
 
158 
 
 " Paulina to Alice. 
 
 99 
 
 ,to his face, 'without speaking, she bowtxl, ana would have 
 |)asbc(l on, but be stopped her. 
 
 "Not one word, Paulina?" he said, in a low voice of re- 
 pi oycli ; aiid it is the l.'iHt time w© may ever meet. For 
 the sake of eight years ago, when we wore friends, when little 
 'Polly' did not hate me, say good-by !" 
 
 lie held out his hand. Her heart smote her — she stopped 
 ('(ijii'usrdl.v — giiinced up once into the dark, reproach+'ul eyes, 
 half turned away. 
 
 II.'iic iiint! In that moment she knew, as she had never 
 kn<)\\ii U't'ore, that stH3 lovet' him. with a paG.-.iouate, death- 
 leys love, that would remain with ner to her life's end. 
 
 She ^ave him her cold fingei-s. IIIl- hand closed over them 
 — wanii, strong and firm; his eyes were reading her pale, 
 Bv«i-ted face. 
 
 "You — you eame to say farewell to my mother," she fal- 
 tered. 
 
 "And to you, Paulina — I may call you so, may 1 not ^ It 
 ifi for tlio last time. I, too, leave England in a few days, and 
 forever." 
 
 "Forever f" she echoed. A cold hand seemed to clutch 
 hi'V henrt — was Mrs. Atcherly right, after all, in her surmise? 
 Hlv'. (how 4ier hand suddenly and forcibly from his grasp- 
 
 "1 shall return to America," he said, quietly, "and tJiere 
 pass my life. As soon as my new book appears, I leave. You 
 will be abroad then, and I could not go without saying good- 
 by, and asking you to forgive me." 
 
 "Forgive you! For what?" 
 
 "For letting you sacrifice your life," he said, firmly,, "six 
 years ago. I see clearly now that I should have saved you, 
 but not in that way. You were mad that night — driven wild 
 by their persecution, the fear of imprisonment, and a mar- 
 riage with Francis. The play had excited you — you scarcely 
 knew what you were doing, but I was sane enough, and I 
 have never forgiven myself, in all these years, for taking ad- 
 vantage of your helplessness and terrors and making you my 
 wife. You loved the Marquis of Ileatherland, and he de- 
 served it as few men do, and it holds you apart. You hate 
 me, you have not tried to conceal it, and, I dare say, I de- 
 serve it. But I shall not banish you from England — my 
 prc.Liice here shall be no barrier to your return. Farewell, 
 once more, and try to forgive me if you can when I ara 
 gone." 
 
 lie lifted his hat, she heard the gate open and shut, heard 
 tbe light, fiiTu fall of his footstep on the road growing faintwr 
 And fainter. Tli« soft euminer rain was falling and wetting 
 
 «< 
 
 mai 
 
 advj 
 Wal 
 
 SI 
 
 advj 
 I si 
 
 sl 
 
 chi 
 
 ..t a •.— «.-- 
 

 <( 
 
 Paulina to Alice." 
 
 259 
 
 her tlu'ough — lights twiiikl«Hl in the cottage windows, and 
 Chiy was gone- -lurovorl 
 
 "Paulina!'' her father's voice called froilti tiie doorway, 
 "conu; ill I Do you not know it is raiiiiiigr' 
 
 She wa3 standi ii^jt where (Juy had left her, motionless. Sin* 
 atarted up now, staggered dizzily, and grasped something 
 for support. The next uioinent her father's strong arm en- 
 circled her. 
 
 ,"Vou will get your death" he said; "you look like death 
 now. Did you see Karkcourt?"' 
 
 "Yes." The word dropjied heavily and slowly from her 
 lil*H. "He lias gone." 
 
 He looke<l "at her keenlj. But even in that hour, when a 
 pain bitterer than death was piercing her heart, her pride 
 upheld her. The cold, set look that had grown habitual of 
 late !ind warded off all questioning, came over her pale, 
 proud lace. Her step grew iirm; she entered the house, and 
 iione present saw anything more than usual in her look. 
 
 Tea was ready — Kosanna's best cream cakes, and fruit pies, 
 and whitest rolls, in honor of the occasion. As they gathered 
 round the bright little lamplit table, a loud knock came t<) 
 tiie door. • 
 
 "Who is thisT' said Duke'. "I thought Air. (iuy was our 
 last visitor." 
 
 He opened the door, and saw a middle-aged, sailor-like 
 man, a total stranger, standing there in the rain. 
 
 "Does Miss Paulina Lisle live here?" asked this nautical 
 visitor. 
 
 Duke nodded. 
 
 "And what may you want of Miss Lis!**, my seafaring 
 friend?" he asked. 
 
 Paulina heard and approached the door, looking at the sea- 
 man in profound surprise. 
 
 "You want me?? ??he inquired. 
 
 The sailoi* pulled off his hat and scraped a nautical bow. 
 
 "I do, misB, if so be you are the Miss Paulina Lisle what 
 advertised In the Times, six years ago, about a Miss Alice 
 Warren, missing. You offered a reward, you reck-lect, for 
 news of her, dead or alive." 
 
 She gave a low cry, reached out, and drew the speaker in. 
 
 "Come this way!" she cried. "T am the Paulina Lisle who 
 advertised, and I am still re<uly to give the reward. At last 
 I sliall hear of Alice." 
 
 She drew him into the kitchen — deserted now — place<l a 
 chair for him, and stood herself, breathless, expectant. 
 
 ^What do ^ou know of iierl" Bhe excUimed. ^'She wia 
 
 '•r 
 
 ■)■■■ 
 
26o 
 
 * r*aiilina to Alice.'' 
 
 tny dpfirrst frieiifl, ni.«l 1 linvo iipvor hoard ft word of hei 
 fciiicr iliat time. Is she ulivc; nr dciid f" 
 
 "Dciid, miss!*' tlin sailor said, solonndy. "MurdorodI" 
 ' She clasped her hands mid sta/^'^p:ered hack. » 
 
 "Murdered!" She whisjx'rcd tlie word with aslieii lips. 
 
 "Look here, miss," the man said; and after fumhlin^'a 
 moment, produced from an inner pocket a little TJarcel rolled 
 in nuHiy i)apers. He undid those sh»wly, one i:)y on'^ and 
 something golden glittered in the light.' He handed it to her. 
 It was a locket and chain. She gave a second low cry; she 
 recognized it at once. It had heen ber narting gift to Alice 
 ere her (^ parture for the F 'ch hool. -She touched the 
 spring — it ilew open — tliere w h*.*' own picture, and a ring- 
 let of her golden hair, and on ihn r ,'erse side this inscrip- 
 tion : "Paulimi to Alice— 18()0.'- 
 
 "You know that ere locket, miss?" the sailor said. "Yes, 
 I see you do. Well, I have had that these seven years come 
 Christmas Eve. On Christmas Eve, 1862, the young woman 
 what wore that locket was foully murdered, and her body lies 
 a-hleaching, for what I know, in the same spot still." 
 
 She mastered her emotion hy a powerful effort. For a mo- 
 ment she had grown sick and faint, and had been obliged to 
 sit down. It passed away, and the white lips spoke: 
 
 "Will you tell lue all ? If this locket and these dreadful 
 facts have been in; your possession for six years, how is it 
 you only reveal them now ?" 
 
 "Well, miss, I did wrong, f suppose — I ought to have made 
 a clean breast of it there and then, but, you see, I went to 
 sea, and once before, out in Bermuda, I got into a scrape by 
 finding a body that way, and nearly got lagged for a murder 
 1 didn't do. I don't know that I'd have told now, but it 
 kind of haunted me like, and gave me no rest; so for the 
 ])ast two months I've been a-trying to find you out. A pre- 
 cious deal of trouble it's been, I can tell yop. This here's the 
 way I came by that locket." 
 
 And then the sailor told his story, Paulina lisjtening, white 
 an.d still. 
 
 "My name's Bill Saunders, miss, which T was christened 
 William James, and T follows the sea for a livin', as you 
 n)ay see for yourself. I'd been away on a year's voyage, and 
 when I got home I started from Liverpool to see my old 
 mother, livin' at that time at Battersea-way. I stayed with 
 the old woman nigh upon seven weeks, coming up to London 
 off and mi, and sig-ning article? Christmas week to sail for 
 (^hina in the Golden Pagodh, on a three years' cruise. Tlie 
 Golden' Pagoda, was to sail down the Thames about noon, 
 Christmas Eve, and, bright and early in the morning, I slung 
 
C( 
 
 Paulina to Alice. 
 
 »» 
 
 26! 
 
 my buiidlo over my slioirKIor, liid the old iiiMtlior ^ood-hy, aiid 
 started nt'oot for London. 
 
 "It \v;is a tariial stormy inoriiinp:, mis^, nxin' your pardon 
 for swearing, a-snowiu' aii<| a-lilowiiT liUe jis if it was ('aiiad:i 
 instead of old lOii^land. I was used to snowstorms, though, 
 and trudged along-, never nilndin', tliough aloiif^ the waste 
 fields, iJiid marslus, and old hriekyaids it hiew lit to take 
 your head off. It wasn't the sort <tf inornin' nor the time 
 of day you would look to see any one out a-(h'iviir, and so 
 when I see a horse and wagon a-eomin' furious in the other 
 direetion 1 stood still Ix^hind a pile of ruhhish, and made a 
 teleseope of my fist, and looked hard to see what tlie parties 
 was like. 
 
 "They was a man and a woman — I eould just make out 
 that, and no more; hoth was 30 muttied up and so white with 
 snow. While I looked, the wa^on stoi»i)ed sudden likt». the 
 man jumped out and help<'d the woman after. 'I'his was an 
 other move I did not expeet in sueh a i)laee and in sueh u 
 storm. 
 
 "'Something wrong- with the turnout,' I says to n»ys*'i, 
 and keeps well out o' sigrht and waits to see. Th(» man IowKi d 
 all about, and then takes the womiTii round an old pile e 
 broken brieks that hid them from sight. A minute af ' — 
 it eould not have Invn more — I hears the r(»port of a |)i .0 ; 
 and then I knew for sartin what I had suspeeti ( ■ when the 
 man first got out, that Un\\ play was going- on, aiid that I'd 
 better keep still if I didn't want a seeond pistol hall through 
 my own skull. 
 
 "I waited about two minutes. IMind well. 1 pulU'<l (,ut 
 my wateh, and looked to see the time, afeared T might be late 
 for the sailin' of the (loldcn P'lf/oda. It wanted just twenty 
 minutes o' nine. T ean swear to the v(>ry mitnite, for she's a 
 good one to keep tin.e, she is. .As I put the wateh back, \ 
 sees my cove a-eomin' round the heap o' brieks, and taking a 
 second look in every direction. If 1 kejjt out o' sight afore, 
 you may be sartin 1 was inwisa!>le now. He lor.ked at his 
 watch, then jump.ed into his trap, and drove awa.v as if o!<l 
 Nick (savin' your presence, miss) was scuddin' after him. 
 
 "T waited there until he was clear out of sight, then T 
 made for the spot. Ahind the i)ile <•' rubbish was a sort 
 of hole, like a little cave, made, maybe, to hold tools, and 
 that, when the brick fields was in use, and into this the botly 
 had been dragrged. lie 1;nd piled uj* in a hurry agin the en- 
 trance a heaj) o' ]no>o brick, and stone>, and wood. Y(.u 
 migrht pass the sf)ot scores o' times an»l never take notice. 
 There was some blood ui)on the snow, but not mugh, and the 
 mark of where he had dragged her in; and away insido I 
 
 .1^,, 
 
 1 >, 
 
 tl 
 
 m 
 
• ^*.-.-. » • 
 
 262 
 
 •' Paulina to Ance." 
 
 could see, when I took down the piled up rubbish, i nomaD't 
 iit^ure lying on its face. 
 
 "Well, inies," the sailor went on, ehiftinK away unensily 
 frohi the gaze of the large, horror-Htruck eyes, "nui.vhe I did 
 wrong, but 1 piiwl up the stuff agin as I found it, and made 
 uj) my mind to say nothin' of what I'd heard and seen. Out 
 in lierniuda, as 1 said afore, I nearly got lagg(Kl for life, 
 getting accused of a murder 1 didn't do. A burned child, 
 they say, dreads the fire — it was no business o' mine; I 
 wouhi just go off in the Ooldim Pagoda, I thought, and lf«t 
 tiic .young woman's friends and the London police find her 
 at their leisure. 
 
 "I was turning to go away — it was nine now, and I l; .d 
 no time t(; spare — when- somethin' a-ahinin' in the snow 
 caught my eye. I stcoi)cd and picked it up. It Wiis that 
 there l(»(;ket, miss, bent a little, as you see, where it had been 
 tramped on, and the little chain broke off short, as if it had 
 be<^n dragged from her neck. I put it in my pocket and 
 tram|)ed nway to London. That a/temoon the Golden Pa- 
 goda sail(id, and me in her, and I've never set foot in Eng- 
 land since, until three weeks ago. 
 
 "Hut I couldn't forget what I saw that Christmas Kve 
 mors ling — 1 couldn't forget it, miss. In my watch on deck o' 
 nights that there young woman used to come afore me. and 
 ] could see her again lyin' dead on her faex3 in tliat disiiial 
 S{)ot, wliere nobody might ever find her. I couldn't forget 
 it, and at hist when I sailed from Canton for England. I 
 made up my mind, come what would, I'd make a clean breast 
 of it and tell the whole story. 
 
 ''T was >;itting in a coffeehouse in Liveri><)ol the night T 
 landed, thinking how I had better begin the busiiiess, when I 
 came across an old London i)aper, six years old, and th<'io, 
 as if Providence had put it in my way, the very first thing 
 my two eyes lit on was the advertisement offering a reward 
 for any news of one Alice Wairen, misring or dead. Now, 
 on the locket I'd seen them words i)rinted, 'Paulina to Ai:ce 
 --18(50,' and this here missing woman was an Aliec, too. 
 That Vas all I had to go by. Any news was to be brouj:(it 
 to a law firm in London. I started for London next morn- 
 ing, and found out, after a sight of trouble, the law firm. I 
 showed 'em that advertisement. T axed 'em who put it in. 
 They couldn't give me a })lain answer — they badgered raid 
 botliered, -MMd said 1 ^^h^, to tell thpm anything I kuf n . T 
 said I'd hf' Mowed if I iJid! 'hat brought then) to tlrr 
 bearings, and they said it was n client of theirs, a young 
 lady. Miss Paulina Lisle. When I heard that name. 'Paul- 
 ina/ I knew I was on the right track. I axed 'em h they'd 
 
"Paulina to Alice." 
 
 26) 
 
 •rer fouiul this nero Alicu Warren, and they atiid no; nothiii' 
 had fvor bo<Mi heard or s( en ol" her iron* that (hiy io thw. 
 'ilien I told them I wanted to see Miss Paulina Lisle; that 
 I'd -oiiuthinjy; to say to her ahout this lure husinj ss .she 
 inifjiu like, to know; and at last, utter a <leal o' fns.-^in', they 
 Kave inc tlie direetions Lure. Here I eaine; and there. nii>w, 
 i» tho whf»le sjlory. Aliee Warren was murdered on Clirisl- 
 iTi IS live, ISd-J, and her hones lii-s a-nmlderin' to this day, Tor 
 what 1 know, in that hole o!i Baftersea Connnon." 
 
 The sailor liad finish(Ml his story. I*aulina sat perf(:<.'tl^ 
 ri^id. with dilated eyes, listonin^ to ov(M\y word. She spoke 
 now; 
 
 ".\n(l the man who murdered her — tell me what he was 
 like." 
 
 '•J didu'fc see liis face, miss; he was thai muiiityj up with 
 ^a great iicarf,j^isted round th(i lower part of his face, and 
 a fur cap, wiln a peak pulled over his nose. He was tall 
 and slim like; he 'voro a rouj^li-lookinj^ ^nvateoat, and I took 
 him to he a gentleman. Rut I s^houldn't know him Hguin if 
 I ^aw hinj." 
 
 "Tall aiid .slim, and lik(^ a gentleman." Paulina's thou^-hts 
 were of Tord Montalien. lie was tall and slim and gentle- 
 manly, hut deeply, strongly as sh(» felt on this suhjeet. sho 
 was too just to make any rash aeeusations in so supreme an 
 hour. 
 
 She rose Uf» with an effort that was ahnost painful. She 
 knew tho trutii at la>t. Alice had Ix'cn murdered l-^'-efi tie, 
 lovinjj: Aliee! — and for six long' years hud lain unhuried and 
 unavenged. She felt f;iddy and si<-k, as she stood up, and it 
 was a moment hefore she e<<uld speak. 
 
 "I will call my father," she said. ''Do you wait here. You 
 must repeat your story to hinj. Something must he done, 
 and at once I" 
 
 She opened the ?sitt ing-room door, and sununonod both lier 
 father and Duke. 
 
 The two men looiu-d al her in alarm — at her awfully * 
 cori)se-lIk<i face. 
 
 "Paulina, my dearest, vvluit is the matter?" exclaimed Rob- 
 ert Lisle. "What has this maii been telling you? Your 
 friend is " 
 
 "Murdered, father^ — foully murdered, six years ago — lyin^ 
 unburi(^d and unavenged! Think of that! Thi.s uum will 
 repeat to you what he has said to nt(> — the horrible story of a 
 horrible murder." • 
 
 "Too horrible for your ears, my poor, overwrought (^ild. 
 You look fit to die this moment. For pity's sake, go and lio 
 down ! Keraember- you start upon a ymnuaw Un^moscromp and 
 
 ^r 
 
264 
 
 ••Paulina to Alice." 
 
 •k-l)0(l than Itrif^thy 
 
 just iK.w you npiM'iir more fittc*! f<»r i\ sirl 
 jonrrify. (lo to .voiir motlicr, INiuliiia." 
 
 lie kissi'd tlx' «If'Mtlilik«' fat'c triulfrly antl led Ikp fr''Vn 
 llic r(M»iii. Slir <i|,('.\;'«l wifli wi-ary pat iciUM'. Was HiU' ill^ A 
 <liill, iiravy pain tlir(»l)l.r<l in lidth tcniplcri; hor forclwad 
 HrnnrMl rncirclcd with an iron hand; a hot mist diiniii<<l her 
 ryos. She ha<l never heen ill in her life; wart sho lU'oinj; to 
 ho ill now i 
 
 lie left her in eliarKe of her mother and KuHtvnna, and re- 
 turned to the kitchen. 
 
 jMr. Hill Sann<lers, very much more at hi« enHo, ii(»w that 
 the luautiful lady with the nnirhle-})ale faee was gone, rr- 
 peated his story, ahnost word fftr word as he had told it to 
 I'anlina. 
 
 Duke listen<'d, tnrnin^r eold with pity and horror. I 
 
 nor. 
 
 little, pretty Alice! So sweet! so f^ontle! — beloved hy alll- 
 and this had heen her fate! 
 
 "I shall lay this matter hefore the jwlice at once," Mr. 
 LJHle said. "You will aecoinpany me to town to-morrow, niy 
 man, and repeat your story hefore the proper authorities. A 
 most f(Mil murder has hren d<»ne, and must be brought to- 
 light." 
 
 Mr. Saunders expressed his readiness, and took his de- 
 l)artiure. TFe was st(»i>ping over night at one of the inns in 
 the town, and would wait upon Mr. Lisle the first thing in 
 the morning. 
 
 "This is a nio^t shocking thing, "Mason," he said; "and in 
 Paulina's present state of health there is no telling what 
 effeet the news may have u|)on \\or. She seems to have heen 
 very strongly attaehed to this unfortunate Aliee Warren." 
 
 "Very strongly," Duke answered, moved himself more than 
 he eared to show. "It is her nature to love with her whole 
 liearfc those whom she does love — an<l they were like sisters. 
 Poor little Alice!" 
 
 "Who was the man with whom she eloped? Was it never 
 known ?" 
 
 "Never for certain." * 
 
 "Tt was suspected ?" • • - . ' 
 
 "Tt was." ^ <• • . 
 
 "Who was the man?" 
 
 Duke hesitated. Tt had always h<^en a story he had strunk 
 from- — now niore than ever. 
 
 "Who was the man with whom she fle<l ?" Lisle vei)eated. 
 
 "The man to whom she flinl I don't know. The man with 
 whom she left Speckhaven was — Guy Earlseourt. ' 
 
 "Mason!" • ' • 
 
 ''I can't lielp iV* ^^^ B&i<l> doggedlj. ^'Evflry one Iier^ 
 
ly 
 
 n 
 A 
 
 11(1 
 
 liT 
 to 
 
 l.lt 
 
 r«'- 
 to 
 
 ink 
 
 <> 
 
 Paulina to Alice. 
 
 2f)5 
 
 knows il. Shr l«ft S[)(rkl\}iv»M, siiid irjjvi'N-d up to Loinlon 
 willi Mr. < iiJ.v ; tuid most pc*i|)t<> lt«'lnv«' liin miill.v. I dmrt 
 
 I 
 
 rn vrr (IhI 
 
 no niorr <|(H'S 
 
 M 
 
 tri.rw 
 
 w 
 
 irmi '»! 
 
 r 
 
 lUiiiiia. 
 
 "Will ,vwu (rli n\v itil iiltniil ir, Miist.i;^' l.Av said. Kravtly. 
 lit' was ln^Mniiii!/'' to torc^cc iKc tiniiUIr in store lor the 
 younj? man hn [ikt-d >o. stronKl.. . 
 
 TIh-.v >n{ top-tlirr I'nr i'\rr an Imiir. hii! » 'M>n(lniiiK him- 
 self to simple laci.-. Injd all he knew I he letfr r I'auliiui had 
 
 e riUeeecMlin^ 
 
 n 
 
 eeived, flic liijjit in cunipari.v with (iiiy lli 
 
 <!venin^r- of the revelatiop of (In.v fo Paulina at JiriKhton, 
 which she had r( p<atcd \n Duke. Li>l(^ listened, ^rowiujc 
 more }ind iiKtcc ^rravc. 
 
 Karls 
 
 court IS no 
 
 t tl 
 
 ic man. 
 
 h 
 
 aid 
 
 (lecH 
 
 Icdl: 
 
 •( 
 
 lU.V I? 
 
 simply incapaldc of lurii^f any ^'irl deliheratdy to her ruin, 
 however many and jfrcat his faults >f the past. I'nr ihe 
 <har^re of niurder, in coniMction wiih him, it i.-' .d <;«MirHe 
 ntterly mon.'tmiis. lint his leaving the place, and ac<'om- 
 panyiiiK' the ^iil to Ldiidon may plaee him in a very dis- 
 Hpreeahle posliion until the criminal is foun<l. Were none 
 of the f)lher men st )ppiii^' at the Priory suspected at the 
 time ^'' 
 
 "Xotic. That i-^"- Duke liesitated — "Paulina .««uspected 
 L(»rd Montalien, hut Paulina's suspici(»ns wore .scarcely un- 
 prejudiced. She always disliked his lordship. No one else 
 ♦•ver suspected him, and there never was tho slightest proof 
 afjrainst him. lie may have a<lmirc<l Alic(\ as they all did; 
 but (Juy was the only one amonjr 4hem with wh«)m i)eopIe 
 eonnocted her flight. It is a most mysterious and shockinj^c 
 affair altojrether. I almost wish tliis sailor, having kept his 
 confession so lonrr. had kept it forever,'' 
 
 Tlie kitchen door openc(|, and Olivia Lisle hxtked in. Her 
 face had that anxious look it always won- when herhushand 
 was out of her sight. 
 
 "Are you here. Jv'ihert ? Ah!" hriirhtcniiig as she saw liiin. 
 "I thought perhaps you had gone (tut. lias that strange man 
 k'f t ? What has lie he<'n .-jiying to distress Pjuilina so^' 
 
 "Where is Paulii f K(»hert I. isle a-ked, following her 
 hack to ttie parlor. 
 
 "(iojie to lier room she w(»u1d let neither Rosanna nor 
 jnysrlf accompany her. She is altogether untit to U- h-ft 
 alone. She insists upon it, though. What ia the matter^" 
 
 liislo told the story the sailor had repeated — his wife and 
 Kosanna listening, greatly shocked. * 
 
 "And Paulina loved this girl as a sister," her motlur «*4iid, 
 rising. "Robert, I must go toiler." 
 
 But Paulina's door was locked. There was no response to 
 her niotli€jr*s kiiock. ^ . 
 
 I 
 
 w 
 
 I'ii 
 
 fit' 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 tii'ip 
 
 -N 
 
s66 
 
 For a Woman's SakCo 
 
 "Paulina, " ..v, it is T — wiP you not let me in?" Mrs, Ludit 
 «iii(J, ill a frightened voice. 
 
 Still no ''.-ply. Terrified now beyo;id measure, Olivia's 
 Crtlls bruuiiht the other thier to her i 'de. Ij. five m"nut(!S 
 It'jhert J.isl' 's ptrong hands had orccd the door. They en- 
 tered, the ]anij» h'nnof^ v.pon the able, and Paulina was 
 lyinu: lis sh<* had ,-vidently fallen, half across the bed. Slie 
 ijover ^(iJ•r<'(l at their ntrauce. 
 
 'The child has fainted!" Kosanna cried, shrilly. 
 
 Her father lifted her up. No, she Iiad liOt fainted — she 
 was lyirifir in a sort of stupor, that rendered her d«;af and 
 Min<l. The last shock had finished the work Guy Earlsiourt's 
 iuidden apparitioji weeks befoce had be^n — body and brain 
 had i^iven way. Before rnorninp^ broke Paulina Lisle lay 
 tosrfinjj: in the wild delirium of brain fever. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Foil A woman's sake. 
 
 For the first time in her four-and-twenty years of life 
 Paulina lay ill — ill unto death. The airy upper chamber in 
 which little Polly Mason, had slept her brief, bright life away 
 was silent and <laikened now. A great London physician had 
 been teleg^raphed for, and came, and Kosanna, grim and gray 
 in tiie green dusk, took her place by the bedside of her 
 nursling. 
 
 The great lyoiulon doctor looked portentous, and shook 
 his head. Flushed, and delirious, and restles:^, Paiiliiia \uy, 
 talking incoherently — or tossing in hot, unrofrcshing sleup — 
 very, very ill. Of course all further thought of departure 
 was at an end — who was to tell that Paulina Lish'b first 
 journey nn'ght not be to the tomb? 
 
 And the grief of the faithful Iiearts, v.'ho loved her so de- 
 votedly— wlio shall jiaiiit that? They had to banish hov 
 mother by force from the sick-room — her self-coinnT;nid had 
 all gone in those long, miserable years of asylum lif(\ and 
 her uncontrollable sobbing filled the place — she was utt<M'!y 
 helpless and useless. It needed but one word from the hus- 
 band to make her yield. 
 
 "You distress Kosanna — you may disturb Paulina — you 
 will injure^ y(<urself — come, Olivia." 
 
 He was haggard and pale himself — his very life seemed 
 bound up now in his' new-found wife and ch'ild — that death 
 or danger should api»roach either he had not di*eamed. And 
 death and danger w(,'re here, i^ut his life's training never 
 failed — ^his grave face told little of the bitter pa«n — the mis- 
 erable dread witliiiL 
 
 
■Mr*<u«» 
 
 For a Woman's Sake- 
 
 267 
 
 ^TToTi and I will go up to town, Mason," he said, *'by th« 
 noomhy train. Duty before all other things. If Paulina,* 
 he paused for a second — "'were with us, she would listen to nd 
 dehiy. The information you can give may be needed. Yon 
 will accompany me and this man Saunders." 
 
 "I will do whatever you think for the best, Mr. Lisle,* 
 answered Duke, but his reluctance was visible; "but I don't 
 like — I don't like repeating this story. It places Mr. Guy in 
 a false position, makes him appear guilty, and he is as inno- 
 cent of any wrong against poor Alice as I am. It's a story 
 I hate to tell any one — much less an official of the detective 
 poHce." 
 
 JJbIc laid his hand heavily on the scene painter's arm. 
 
 "Mason," he said, impressively, "Guy Earlscourt is as near 
 to me as a son — more, it has been one of the dearest desires 
 of my heart, since I have known him, that ho should become 
 my son. That hope 1 have not yet resigned, ant' 'n order 
 that his character may be entirely freed from the slightest 
 imputation of guilt, I wish this matter to be thoroughly in- 
 vestipalcd, and his part in it made clear to the world. He 
 has suffered already too much in his reputation on this un- 
 hajjfjy girl's account. The story of the flight, and the rest 
 of it, is no secret; every man anri womnn in Speckhaven 
 seems familiar with it. Hotter that the London police should 
 hear it from your lips than listen to their garbled version. 
 When tlie real criminal is found, (iuy will be free from 
 blame; never before." 
 
 The three men went up to London by the noon train. 
 Alice's letter to Paulina, written the night before her flight, 
 was senrchcd for, and disc'overed among her papers. It told 
 little to them, but there was no knowing what it might rot 
 reve«l to the practiced eyes of a detective officer. Ttiey 
 drrvo to P'leet street, and were set down before the office of 
 Inspector Burnharn, the detective, who had already discov- 
 ered the hiding place of Olivia. 
 
 Mr. Burnliam was at honiC — a wiry little man, in olack 
 clothes, with a sallow face, compressed lips, and light, n.'st- 
 less eyes. Lisle introduced his two companions and began 
 with the matter in hand at once. 
 
 Did Burnham remend»er the case of the missing girl, Alice 
 Warren, for tlie discovery of whom a large reward had been 
 offered about si'x years af;o? 
 
 Mr. Bnrnham shook his head. There were so many miss- 
 ing pcftple, and so many vrwnrds offered, that it was impossi- 
 ble for any one liuman mind to recall them. Had they a 
 copy of the advcrtiscmenl ? He would probably recollect il 
 be saw it, . . . .--^ 
 
268 
 
 For a Woman's Sake. 
 
 The sailor luul. I'he jinpoi tliat had attraotcKl his attontion 
 ill J.ivcrpuol he n^ill carriiMl ah(»iit with liiiii. J!*^ lian<l«Ml it 
 now to the detect ivi'. Mr. i'.undiam rec(>f4nized il at one 
 glance. 
 
 ''1 reiMciniier." he Siiid, 'I nnieiidx'i-. (-ase altraet(;d cun- 
 siderahle aUentinn ;il the (iiiie. I was not coiieenuKl in it. 
 Party niissin;^ nev.'r was lound, or lieard of, was slje i" 
 
 "i\ever — np to th(! present. \\v tiiiidv th<! eh^w is found 
 now. We thiid\ the ^irl was niur«Jen;(h'' 
 
 "Murdered!'' Mr. l^iuahaui |»rici<ed uj) his oHieial ears at 
 ,tho agreeahle sound ot* that worcL '*Ah!" with professional 
 relisl). "inunjered, was slie ^ And liow h)\\i^ a^o, and h(jw wad 
 it. aiid h(>vv has it co.ne to lij^hl f 
 
 "'I'eil your story, Saunders," Mr. l.isle said. And Mr. 
 iSauiniers, who was ehewiiiji tohaeco, and spittini;^ politely in 
 » e .Tiier. reiiu'veil his (juid and repeated liis story of (>hrist- 
 uia r.'i :'S<»i>. 
 
 InspM'tor Bui'nhani listened k'-enly, never for one second 
 takin.r his light, sharp eyes off tlie sailor's stolid, sunhurned 
 face. 
 
 "On Christmas Eve, 1S(;2, pncisely at half-past eight 
 a. hk' Mr. Burnhain produced a dirty poekefhook and a 
 stumpy pencil, whi<'h retiuired to he sucked audibly before it 
 would make its nmrk. "You're certain of the time, my 
 man v'" paiioinj? with the stumpy peiicii poised and transfix- 
 ing Bill Saunders. "Precisely half-past eighi wheii the shot 
 was fired? You can swear to this, if necessary V" 
 
 "Before the Lord Chief Justice, sir," responded Saunders^ 
 sturdily: "My watch is a yvatch wot never goes wrong. It 
 was twenty minutes to nine wlu^n that ere chap fired that 
 ere shot, and it was ju.^t a (luarter o' nine when he jumped in 
 his trap and drove away. At nine, sharp, I left the place 
 myself; it wasn't the sort o' pleasant spot to make; a maa 
 linger." . 
 
 "Let me see the locket," the detective said. 
 
 i-iobert Lisle handed it to him. 
 
 "You recogni/.ed this locket at once?" he inquired, exam- 
 ining closely the inscription and picture. ^ 
 
 "My daughter recognized it; Mr. Mason, here, recognized 
 it at first sight." 
 
 "1 could swear to the locket," said Huke; "I was with 
 Miss Lisle when she purchased it, and ordi red the inseriptio;?. 
 to be t n^raved. That is also her picture, and a tress of her 
 haia*. It is impossible to be mistaken." 
 
 "Mr. Mason " said the detective, "will you be kino, uough 
 to tell me all you know of this girl's story. I reeoilect, quite 
 distinctly no\7, the rumor that she ran away from home witlt 
 
For a Woman's Sake. 
 
 269 
 
 some one — a gcntlcinan imirh ahuw lui in station 1 am 
 right, am 1 not i" 
 
 "^bout the rumor? Well, yes," Duf^c a.lmittod, n-luc- 
 iantl.v. "slie did run awav." 
 
 "Witli " 
 
 "SIu' (raveled up to London witli Mr. ^Juy Karlseourt — 
 LieutcnanL Karlseourt li<- was thcji s»<'(,?id son of Lord 
 JVIontaiicn. I)Ut Jiiind you, she didn't run away with him." 
 
 "No';:" Mr. i^urnliam was takinj; note .■•• a^ain, suckiuK the 
 stumpy penc-il, as if it liad hcon a slick of candy, in tlie inter- 
 vals. , "She went up to '.niid(,ii witJi Idni, but slie di<ln't run 
 away with Ijim. Xow, liow was tiiat C 
 
 "They met, by chance, at the .•station." answered Duke, 
 very mueh disef r.posed ; ''by the merest chance. Siie told 
 him she was going up t ' London — it was late iji the evening, 
 and she was afraid to travel alone; and slu; asked him to 
 take eare of her." 
 
 "Ju^t so; very natural. She a>ked Jum to take eare of 
 her. She ht'.d known Air. Karlseourt a very long time, 1 
 suppose V 
 
 "For two years, off and on." 
 
 "She was a very pr< ny girl— this Aliec Warren?" 
 
 "Very pretty, indeed." 
 
 "Did any one ftres* nt on the occasion hear this eonverna- 
 tion passing between Miss Warren and Mr. Karlseourt at the 
 station iJ" 
 
 "No one, that I am awire of." 
 
 "Air. Karlseourt saw her to her destination, then. What 
 was her destination f 
 
 "Some lod^itig-liouse, Totteidiam Court road way. I for- 
 get tlie exai'l a<ldress. lie took her there, and left her in 
 eharge (^f the huifllady" 
 
 "Ah!" F^urrdiam said. "We mu<t find tiiat landlady. Do 
 you know. Mr. Mason, i'f he ever J^aw her again?"' 
 
 "^'e^, once. Wo t(»ld lier friend. Miss Li le. that, several 
 weeks after, lie visited In r at her I(»dgings, and (hat he foun<l 
 her mueh ch;»nged- -looking ill and uidiappv. He went 
 again, next flay, brit in the meantime s!ie had Ix-en removed. 
 She has never be.-n heard of since, until now." 
 
 "Humph!" Mr. Lurnbarn said, with a thotightful grunt. 
 "Did Miss Warven leave no word, no mcs-age, 10 farewell, to 
 anybody befrtre (luitting boTuer' 
 ' l^isb' produ<'ed her riote, and bande<l it to h-'m. 
 
 "She wrote this to mv daughter on the night preceding her 
 departure. You will see she speaks oT b.er marriage there for 
 eertaiik" 
 
 I 
 
 ■ 
 
 § 
 
270 
 
 For a Woman's Sake. 
 
 * Mr. Burnham read the note nttentively two or three timw, 
 tlu-n placed it with the h'tkct in his desk. 
 
 "Miss Warren bein? a pretty f?irl, as you say, Mr. Mason^ 
 slie had doubthss u'.imbers of admirers both in her own sta 
 ticMi ftnd above her. Tlje month was Seiitember. Were there 
 maiiv j^entlemen stayinj^ sit Montalien Priory in Septem- 
 ber, lH(;2r' 
 
 '*'rbere were six," Dnke answered, after a second's pause. 
 "Lord Montalien himself, his brother Guy, Mr. Allan Fane, 
 the artist, Sir Harry (Gordon, Captain Cecil Villiera, and a 
 Mr. Auj^ustus SUHJnian. I remember all their names be- 
 cause there \va» so much talk at the time.'" 
 
 "Yes; and were any of those gentlemen admirers of Miss 
 Warren? Did they visit at her father's house?" 
 
 "They all visited there — except, perhaps, Mr. Allan Fane. 
 who wjis a married man, and out of the question." 
 
 "The others all visited at the bailiff's house, then. Did 
 suspicion fall upcvi none of these? — did Miss Warren evince 
 no partiality? It must have been pretty clear which she 
 liked best, and -^lie was evidently very much in love with the 
 man she ran away to marry?''* 
 
 Duke hesitated. He knew Paulina's suspicions of Lord 
 Montalien, but they were only Paulina's suspicions — no one 
 6hare<^, thein. He had no right to repeat them. 
 
 "No," he answered, after that pause. "T never heard she 
 evinced any particular partiality. They all went, and she 
 was pleasant to all. I know no more." 
 
 "And Pm very much obliged to you for telU; ;. what you 
 do know, Pm sure," Inspector Bu^nham said, politely. 
 "Now, if I only had the addresses of those tjentlcnien — you 
 couldn't furnish me with them, I suppose?" 
 
 Nu. Mr. Mason could not. Sir Harry Gordon and Captain 
 Vllliers were in the Guards, Mr. Allan Fane and Mr. Guy 
 Eaxl^^eourt were in London, and easily to be found when 
 wanted. And Lord Montalien was down in Lincolnshire, 
 «t the Priory, in very bad health. 
 
 Mr. Burnham shut up his pocketbook, locked his desk, 
 looked at hi'< watch, and got up. 
 
 "Half-p: -^t four. I don't see anything to hinder our tak- 
 ing a drive oui *o Batt^rsea way, and having a look at this 
 spot Mr. Raun((< rs telis us of. We'll dismiss the cabs some 
 distance o^, ,\V'] »/. nn foot to the place." 
 
 He rang a ':eU, \Vii>.\;pe^*Hl a fev words to a subordinate, 
 and preparr] for the ririye. 
 
 "ItV not i'yk'cly -fae remain* have ewer been discovered, or 
 we'd have hea^ : of t. Curious how those tjiioge l;#ra w»». 
 
For a Woman's Sake. 
 
 271 
 
 ti 
 
 Yf)U 
 
 "liv4 tiidnVsee the man^s face, you say?" to Saunders. 
 couldn't ideiitif;y him again ix you met, 1 supposed' 
 
 "In course not," answered Saunders; "1 never see his face. 
 He had a muiiier, or a comforter, twisted up to his nose, and 
 it was snowin' like all creation. He was a tall, slim chap — i 
 sea that — with the look of a gentleman, but I couldn't tell 
 him af^ain not if 1 ran slap agin him this minute." 
 
 "Cabs waiting, sir," a voice called, and the men went nnt 
 io the street. Two cabs were hefore the door, and in the 
 foremost, which Inspector Burnham entered, a man >at who 
 had an official air, like the inspector himself. A large box 
 was placed on his knees. 
 
 "I'll go in this, with my friend Timmins," Burnliara said. 
 "You three gentlemen will take the four-wheeler." 
 
 He gave the word, and the cab started. In tlie second '-ar- 
 riage the three men sat in profound silence. It was not a 
 pleasant errand they were going upon — to look at tli" spot 
 where poor Alice Warren had been so foully murdered, and 
 tind all that remained of her after six years. 
 
 The drive was not a very long one. As the bleak cxtcnl- of 
 waste ground came in view, bleak even this golden suturirer 
 day. Inspector Burnham stopped the cab, and with his cv»ni- 
 panion got out. That conif)ani()n carried under hi- arm the 
 box before spoken of, and in his left hand a liglit spadf. Tlie 
 occupants of the second carriage looked witli some furiosity 
 at these things, but no one asked any quc-^tions. 
 
 "You are sure you will recognize the exact spot, Mr. Saun- 
 ders ^" the policeman asked. 
 
 "Sartin, sir," the seaman respondwl. "I've se<'n it. sleep- 
 ing and waking, every day and night since I was unlu<'ky 
 enough to lay eyes on it first." 
 
 He went' on ahead, the two detectives following, and T/re| 
 and Duke bringing up the rear. The July aftern<)»»n was n 
 its mellowest as they crossed the comnion — yellow sunshine 
 everywhere, and a bright, blue heaven over all. Teii rninui s* 
 walking, and the sailor stopfwd short. 
 
 "This here's the place, sir,"' he said 4o tl»<' letec' ' s. 
 "Things hasn't changed a mite since I was here >ix years ago. 
 There^s the old kiln, behin'l which I watched the man, and 
 this here's the spot where I picked np the locket. Dig among 
 this rubbish at the entrance, and you'll find all that's hft of 
 that there misfortunatc young 'ooman." 
 
 The place to which he pointed was a s«rt of excavation, 
 hollowed out of the high, clayey embankment, the mtra! ^*9 
 choked up with rubbish of every sort. 
 
 "1%, Timmins," Tngpector Burnham saiH. sentcntiously, 
 •nd Wimc ciown bu bcs. 
 
 i 
 
 \ 
 
 M' 
 
272 
 
 For a Woman's Sake. 
 
 'i'iiiniiiiirf ftot 1m work, 'i'lio «Jrv inljlrfsh came away easily 
 t'liniigh. Five i!iiiiuU's' work, and the fiitiaiico was cloarcnL 
 
 Mr. lUiriilinin sfoopcd and luolu'd in. The liollow place 
 was (tiiilc dark ami (juitc liry an cartliy inlov aloJUi was per- 
 cept ildc. It was Icderaldy Inrpfc, nof hi^'h ct:ou^ii for a maa 
 to >tand upriiiht in. It had ('\idently Ijccii mad«i and used 
 lon^' a^o for the purpose of lioldin^r tocds. 
 
 '*l'"ct«'li aion^' the lantern, 'i'immins," the; (kitective said. 
 "I thought it mij;ht be dark," to Mr. Lisle, "and came j)ro- 
 ■ vided. Il" you please. I'll trouble you to follow nu; in." 
 
 Tinunins ])roduced a small lant«'rn from the box, 'if^hted 
 the candle, and handed it to his supt^ior oflicer. Inspector 
 liurnham went in at once, holdinf^c the li^ht befoi'(? him. 
 
 Lisle followed. The idace was perfectly dry and of con- 
 siderable exteul. 
 
 Three steps from the entrance, and what they sought was 
 found. 
 
 A human skull lay at the detective's feet, human bonr^s lay 
 scattered and dry and flesld(>ss, a mass of long, brown hair, 
 and torn frag:ments of a woman's dress. 
 
 "Look!" said In^^pectof l>urnham. 
 
 lie picked u,* the skull with perfect coolness, an^ passed it 
 to his companion. 
 
 P»ut Robert Lisle declined takiiif^ it by a motif)n. Death, 
 in its Most horrible forms, Jmd been familiar to him in his 
 checkered career: scddi^rs he had seeii mown down like corn 
 before the sickle; but this was different. 
 
 A helpless woman, nuirdered in cold bio • 1. is, perhaps, of 
 all terrible an<l unnatural thini^s, the mo lerribk; and un- 
 natural. And this w<amin had been his i 'oved daughter's 
 deares' friend. 
 
 "Til unins,'' IVIr. Burnham said, setting- down his light, and 
 ;:ettin^ on his knees, "fetch us the box." 
 
 Tinniiins groped his way in — the box was evidently 
 
 iirought for the })urpose of removing the renniins. Lisle 
 
 - watehcd till' deteclive and the sergeant, wondering at their 
 
 ' professional coolness. They gathered together everything — 
 
 hair — bones — every shred of dress. 
 
 "Have we all?" asked the inspeotor, peering with his lan- 
 tern over the ground. 
 
 "I think so. No— not all; what's this?" 
 
 It was a tiny silken bag, with a string, as if it had Ihh'U 
 wovTi al out the iiCi-k. Something like paper crackled within. 
 Inspector l^urnham opened tlu^ little bag. and drew out a slin 
 ' of paper. Was it a niarriage c(»rtitieate? No, ic was an ad- 
 dress — the ad(keas of Lieutenant Guy Karlscourt, Piccadilly 
 — the a^ldress Guj had turned back to give Alice on the iiiKht 
 
 of 
 
ror a Woman's Sake. 
 
 27J -, 
 
 of her arriv 1 at fJilhort's (Jardcus, wlit'ii lie had told lu?r, if 
 ever in trouble or need, to send t(j him. and he wuuhi eoine to 
 her. 
 
 SIh.' had kept it al\v;iys in p^iMfeful renieiiihranee- -jk>uP 
 Aliv'^* — of his kind words and looks. And now it had ('onic to 
 bear !-;ilent witness a^ain^^t him, 
 
 Notliing- renniined— the hox nnd its j.vhr.sti.v ennf. nfs wero 
 taken out h.y 'I'immins. 'ili i thre«* mcfi once more stood in 
 tiie bright snnliglil, and the se<;ret of th:it d;irk exe.ivatioii 
 was its seertj no longer. 
 
 Timmins shouldered the bt)X and started bifk for his eab 
 — the others foll(»wiiig--silei)t, ^fxim.v. All save Inspeetor 
 liuridiMni — his silence w.is the siK-nee of deep thought, not 
 gloom. Here was a splendid e;ise cropping ii})- a ciisc that 
 would create an excitcTnent throughout the length and 
 breadth of P^ngland. 
 
 The Honorable iUiy Kiirlseourt, the brother of T.ord Monf- 
 alion, the popular author, hunted down for murder, and by 
 him. Inspector liuriduim. Why, if he could track the deed 
 clearly home to him, his reputation for life was ma<l<'. 
 
 He linlced his arm in Duke's, who would much ratlvr not, 
 and drew him a little behind, 
 
 "T have another question to a^k you, Mr, Mason. .\re you 
 a'vare by what Jianie this IVIiss Warren went in her lodgings? 
 An assumed name, I'll wager." 
 
 "Tt was an assumed name," answered Duke. "She was 
 known as Mrs. Brown." 
 
 "And how do you happen to bo aware of it^ Oh." care- 
 lessly, "Mr. Earlscourt, no doubt, infornu'd Mi"-'s Lisle?" 
 
 "He did." 
 
 "Mrs. Brown." The notebook and pencil came out again. 
 "Tottejdiam Court road, I thinks ^'ou don't remettd)er. or, 
 perhaps, you never heard, the name of the landlady^ It's (;s- 
 sential to find that woman, Mr. Mason." 
 
 "1 have head the name, but I forget. It began with an TI 
 — Holmes, <ir Ila.M-^. sonielhing of that kind." 
 
 "liul Miss I. isle will remendier. no doubt T' 
 
 "Miss I. Isle is ill of brain fever- she will r< 'oember noth- 
 ing," Duke said, and relapsed into silence and glocnn. 
 
 Mr nurnham left Dnke and appioai'lied Saundei'> 
 
 "And where shall we find yon, my nian, win n we \\m\t 
 yaWi You w'v tfie most imporlanf personage in the matter 
 just now, and must giv<' bonds by and by for y*»i|r apftear- 
 ntU'e when called tipou. Do ynu return to T/meolnsliin> or 
 remain in London V 
 
 "I stays here," Hiiunders answered; '*! ain't got no busi- 
 neefi in Lincolnshire, and I menu to stay asljore until 1 ^^ 
 
 ■1 
 
 i it t 
 
^u 
 
 r^or a Woman's Sak 
 
 When you wants me 
 
 f TO 
 
 0« 
 
 Th 
 
 thti cud of tliiH horo matter. 
 hand . ud williu'." 
 
 Jle j^avc an uddross. Mr. liurnliiiiu took it down, i uea 
 thc-y re-entered tluir resjtoctive eubj;, and drove back to Lou- 
 don. 
 
 It was very late when Mr. Lisle and Duke reached homo. 
 Olivia tiew to lior husband as slie always «li(i, wliethcr liin 
 absenee was long or short, lorgeltinu, in tlie rapture of his 
 return, everything else for thl; moment. 
 
 Paulina was much the same — no better— no worse — know- 
 ing no one — resth'ss — parehed with thirst — delirious always, 
 calling — sleeijintr and waking — for "Alice, Alice I" 
 
 Lispector I)U. diam, of the Metropolitan J'oliee, went to 
 work at once, and with a will, working up this extraordinary 
 ease; extraordinary only in that .so distinguished a man aa 
 Guy Karl-court was the sus[)ecte(l criminal, lie notilied the 
 coroner of the district, and placed the box and its dreadfid 
 contents under his charge. And then ho s« c to work to hunt 
 up the lodging-house in Tottenham Court road, to which 
 Nlr. Karlscourt had brought Alicu' Warren. 
 
 T' task was not difficult to a man of Mr. Burnham's skill 
 and experienc(\ ^Irs. Howe still resided at tlie same phu;e, 
 and in the same house, and remembered, very readily, wh<>n 
 Mr. Burnham asked the question about the "Mrs. Brown" 
 who six years before had been her lodger. 
 
 '"Which a nicer young persing, or one as gave less trouble, 
 never set foot in this 'ouse since or before," said Mrs. Howe; 
 "and from the day she !- ft to this minute, I've never heard 
 tale or ti<lings. And I do 'ope, sir, as 'ow the poor lady is 
 W(.'ll and 'appy, which she certainly was neither when she left 
 here." 
 
 "Xeither well nor hap])y? I'm sorry to hear that. Mr. 
 Brown, ])erhaps, tn^ated lier unkindly?" 
 
 "Hrown!" cried Mrs. Howe, in shrill scorn; "no more 
 Brown than I'm a Dutchman! He w^as a millingtary swell, 
 as I always said it from the first, and always shall, and 
 whetlur she was his wife or not, he knows b(!st. She thought 
 Bhe was, poor donr, for a^ more hiimocenter ereoter never 
 came up from the country to go t«) her ruining and misery in 
 London. Tie was a millingtary gent, and the very 'and- 
 soniest T <§ver see. thoijjih hi"^ hnctions were the rewerse of 
 'andsoire. Not brt that he raid up the bill without a word 
 — basking iin a receipt in th;it 'anghty way of his — bul he 
 treated her shameful, poor soul, and left her to worrit herself 
 to a shadder, as she was when took away." 
 
 "A raillinf^ary gent," repeated Mr. Bumham. ^'What was 
 lie like. Mrs. Howef" 
 
For a Woman's Sake, 
 
 275 
 
 "Tall 5111(1 'aniLsomc, carrying hia 'oad liko thftt," — Mm. 
 Howo flunpr UP her own — "dark-complectcd, (lark-h«\vfij, 
 black 'iiir, very j^losny, curly, jui.i black inuHtach<». I iicvor 
 'ad a good look at his faco, hut onco — tbc ni^^ht be first 
 brouffbt bor berc — bo balways came rriulHcd up bat'tcrvvardH, 
 but 1 s<*e bim as j^Iaiii now ns 1 did tbat minute." 
 
 "Is tliis anytbing like bim f incjuired Mr. IJurubam, 
 quietly. He im-<m1uc«m1 a pbotof^rapb, and Mrs, Howe utt<'re(l 
 a cry of recognition. 
 
 "Tba^t's bim! tbat's bim— Mra. Brown's 'usband! Tbat's 
 the very gent I mean — I could tell tbat picture anywbere!" 
 
 Mr. Hurnbanj replaced tlie pbotograi)b of (iuy Harlscourt 
 in bis pocket. 
 
 "Now, Mrs. ffowe," bo said, "I'll tell you wbo I am. I'm 
 Inspector Burnliam, of tbe dotoctivo force." 
 
 Mrs. IIovvo gave a gasp. "Don't bo afraid; I'll not do you 
 any barm. Tbis young woman, you knew as Mrs. lir avn, is 
 missing — bas l)oon for some years back — and we want to \iiu\^ 
 hor, tbat's all. Wbat you've got to do is to tell me every- 
 tbiiig you knew froni tbo bour Mrs. Brown entered your 
 bouse until sbe left it." 
 
 Ho produced tbe notebookf and gave tbe stumpy pencil a 
 preparatory lick. 
 
 Mrs. Howe, in mortal terror of a detective, began at tbo 
 beginning — the visit of Augustus Stednian to engiig;' the 
 rooms for a "party from tbe country, a runaway match, g'>- 
 ing to be married tbe day after bor arrival." "Wbicb," said 
 Mrs. Howe, "them were bis own expressions." 
 
 "You don't know tbis young man's name?" 
 
 No; Mrs. Howe had never heard it, and never set eyes on 
 him again, though be did call on tbe young lady next morn- 
 ing. 
 
 "Describe him.'* • 
 
 This was not so easy as describing Guy. Mr. Karlscourt's 
 was a face, once seen, very easily remembered. Mrs. Howe 
 liad a good memory for faces, however, and bit off Mr. Sted- 
 man pretty well. 
 
 "We'll find him when we want bim, I dare say," said tbe 
 detective, writing rapidly. "Go ahead, Mrs.TTowe." 
 
 Mrs. Howe described tbe arrival of Guy and Alice about 
 midnight, and tbe appearance of both. 
 
 Mr. Burnham produced a second portrait, this time of 
 Alice, procured from Speckhaven. 
 
 "Is this anything like her?" 
 
 "As like as lil^^ — that's Mrs. Brown, as T saw her first; ae 
 swe*t and pretty a fac^ a? ever I set my hoyes on. Not that 
 her good looks lasted long, poor thing.'* 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 t i 
 
 t 
 
 'W 
 
276 
 
 For a Womnn*s Snke. 
 
 What wuH tlw ifcutle'iuan's iiiuuikt K-Hffectionato, now. 
 
 >f 
 
 arr 
 
 HH a lf»vor'H rjuKht !►<' ( 
 
 "Well — y<'s," Iicsitjitiii^r sniiHvvluit ; "In.' -.<*cmfil vi'ry c 
 fiH of licr iiiMi lliiil, iiml «-iilI((l her 'I lalirc;' jitid wlici he >»ii«| 
 tf(»(i(l-l»y, iiii<l left tlic rooiii. In- ran hack to licr u^iiiii. Yes, 
 ho WHS hafl«'rtioiuit<'. Mr. liuinliam, sir." 
 
 "Did .you \unv hrr juidn'ss him hy his (Miristiuii narnoif" 
 
 Tlw luiHJlad.v shook licr hrad. 
 
 "X(t, sir, ^\h' didn't in my 'raring; 1 slio\dd liavc nMiicni- 
 hcrcd it if siic Ijaih No, sir, sh«' diihi't. And I lien he wrnl 
 away, an<l she went up to hcd. And tlic next aftcriionn, 
 alxiut six fi'cdock I think it was, » t-ah drove up, and a jjcntle- 
 man j^ot (»ul, and ran upstairs. I went to the fr<»nt window 
 to see llieni jioin^ holT to h<' married, hut I eouKUi't ^ee liis 
 face, lie ha<l a wide, hhick Init, shiudwd down over his nose, 
 and lii> coal collar, that turned up there was no j^ettin^' a 
 h)ok at him. And it was after (huk hefore they eanie hack. 
 'And when he came after that, it was lialvvays in a sort (d' dis- 
 guise. M(»st of the times I was husy in the kitchen, and 
 didn't see him at all — when 1 did, 1 couldn't get another hi^k 
 at his face. He genrwally cjyne ah<niT dusk, too, and the 
 l)assap' Is daik, Xo. sir, except the lirst night, 1 never got a 
 look at Mis. Hrown's 'ushand's face.*' 
 
 Mrs. Howe had very little more real information to give 
 Mr. Hurnliam. W(»uld she try, and think — had not the tal', 
 (huk, military young gentleman called afterward, unmntHed 
 and undisguicd '.'' 
 
 Mrs. Ih^wc shook her h:nul. Not that she had over seen; 
 hut now Mr. Hurnham spoke of it, she did rememher Sarah 
 Hann (the girl) telling her of a visitor Mrs. Brown had had 
 in her ah-^<!ice, who called early, and on the first oci-asiou 
 hrought a hont|U«'t <d' roses. SJk; ha<l h<»en very husy at the 
 time, and j)aid hut little attention. It was the very day he- 
 fore Mrs. Hr(»wn left. Later that same afternoon her hus- 
 })and had called. It might and it might not he him as had 
 }»rought the roses. She hei'self .had let him in. It was dai'k 
 and rainy, she remendierecl, and he had a shawl wound about 
 the lower part <d' his face. He and Mrs. Brown had <|uar- 
 Tcled— they had heard her crying, and his voice raised as if 
 i)i anyer. He had i)aid the hill himself m the passage, and 
 informed her her lodger would leave n<\\t day. So she had— 
 for the country somewhere, she ha«l told Mr<. Howe i>n goin'; 
 "and if ever any poor soul looked hearthroke," the landlady 
 pathetically coufduded, "it was Mrs. l>rown as she got into 
 the cab and drove away. From that^day to this I've never 
 set eyes or heard tell (»f her, hut Sarah Hann, she told nie 
 next day, when I came home from market, how the tall, dark 
 
 tor 
 in V 
 di^c" 
 left 
 llttl.' 
 
For a Woman's S;iko. 
 
 277 
 
 fXeui liiid Im'Cii liiirk i»u;iin, li.i.sUiii' f-tr Al 1 -. Hrown, .-nui 
 S4'<'irn'(i upset like wIhh told sjic wiis {','>•>«'. **\\ li «'li," ruii^ 
 chulcil tlio lauHllad.v, *'\vji-> lil<" li's '••jirtl'.'s^ fiiikx l<» dcccivM 
 pr.ipic, iiiid iiiixln tlu'iM tliiiiU ;is 'ii\v lir wn^n'i llic party as 
 took Imt away Iiiiii-rlf." 
 
 Mr. lUiniham inqiiirfd fur "Sarah ll.niii." Mi'-. Now** 
 sIiomU her lirad in -i i.M'laiclioly way. "Surah llann hi>d htM-ii 
 (|('a(| and ^oim* lh(-c two year- of a dt'cliiic. Slw had 110 
 nioH' lo tril. To what slic had fold she was ready to l.d\«' her 
 ali\da\*t in any eoiiit in !,(»ndon." 
 
 ";^ hd I'm very niueh ohlin:ed to you, Mr-. Howe." In-ipee- 
 • <)!• I'urnhanj sai<!, ri-lny; to depart, "for the pN-asanf manlier 
 in wlilt h you h;ive ^iven your inlorniat ion. If \\v <'an only 
 di-ei'\» •• now, wherealioijfs Mr. l»rown took liis wife when sho 
 left (iilicit's (larcVii , I think wo shall have a very pretty 
 
 Utile case worked up. (lood-day to you, nui'ani." 
 
 •;: -x- * * * * * 
 
 Two <lays later, and in his studio, with the slantiiiLf rays 
 of the .July sun streaming: in upon the canvas, an oM friend 
 of ours stands, busily painlinu;. It is Allan Fane, the artistr, 
 wlioni, in the press of others' affairs, wo have (|uit(^ lo^t sij^ht 
 of lately. The studio is a v.ery small, very luxurious iitthi 
 room, sacred to the ai-list him<(df, his most cherish(>d jdc- 
 tures, and most intimate friends. There is a lartrer, outer 
 atelier, where fjrentlemen cou^refi:ate to smoke and talk — lon^- 
 liair(>(l gentlemen mostly, who didn't patronize harhers — the 
 Brotherliood of the Brush. 
 
 The years that have Ixmmi so frauj?ht witih events for others, 
 have not passed without chanfj:e over the heiid of ,\Ilan Fane. 
 He stands hero to-day with tlie y(dlow sunshine on hi'^ face, 
 p:reatly chanp-ed, greatly improved, from the effeminate, 
 weakly, iiahdent, and selfish youn^ man. Wi»o. ei^ht years 
 aji:o, fell in love with aiid <lescrted little Polly Ma-i-n. Tho 
 fairer, soniewhat womanish beauty of his face remains, hue 
 his lon^^ ^(.Iden beard, and the firmer curve of the lips, tlu^ 
 graver lipiit of the eyes, tell now of str(Mif?th and power-ay, 
 penius within. Tie is a celebrated man— he has won for 
 himself fane and wealth; and the Bond street tailor hart 
 ear.sc at last to be proud of his son- -a soji, wh(» has sendo 
 enough to be ashained of his humble (tri^in no mr)rc. 
 
 A month after that October day on which he ha<l met 
 T'anliiiii down in Siieckhaven, after her retiirii froui France, 
 1 i ■.''*.' Iiad died nbroa<l. ITer fortune had p:on<^ with her — 
 t!: ! !'':triM> i'ov which h.*^ had so weakl.y sold himself, and 
 (/I." r-arc he was free. Ffe tried, manfully enon;.ih, to re- 
 press the feelinf^ of relief and pfladness that would «rise— his 
 wedded Jife had beea unspeakably bitter, aud eiflrbtt months 
 
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 278 
 
 For a Woman's Sake. 
 
 after their union t]iey had parted by mutual conscnl — and he 
 was free — and Paulina Lisle. 
 
 He went back to his brush and easf 1, and worked r.c he had 
 never worked in his life before. The picture was his long- 
 drcamc(!-of, lon«j:-talkeH-of "Rosamond and Eleanor;" and he 
 painted his RoHariiond from memory. All that vfinter he 
 spent at Montalien Priory over this one pjlinting, and in the 
 Hpring it went to the exhibition. On the chances of that pic- 
 ture his whole future hung — if it failed, his ruin was com- 
 plete. The picture was a great, a wonderful success — crowds 
 flocked daily to see it, the newspapers praised and abused it 
 without bounds — all London talked of it, a royal duke bought 
 it a fabulous price — orders rushed in upon him, and the ar- 
 tist's fortune was made. • The world had not seen Paulina 
 Lisle then, but a little later, and people began to talk of the 
 marvelous resemblance between Sir Vane Charteris' ward 
 and the fair Rosamond, and to discover that Miss Lisle must 
 havfi !*at for the original. 
 
 The picture was a striking one. 
 . You saw a bleak stone hall; a "red, rising moon through its 
 one wide-open casement, rending it? way up through piles of 
 jajrgered black clouds. Queen Eleanor stood, a wrathful, 
 murderous womov.^ robed in heavy purple draperies, with 
 bent, black brows, and eyes of dusky fire, proffering the bowl 
 and dagger. Rosamond stood with the red light of the rising 
 moon upon her fair face and flowing golden hair — a form 
 slender and girlish, drawn up to its fullest height — the face 
 wliite as death, the blue eye* flashing as b^iie eyes anly flash; 
 the whole fearless face full of pride and defiant scorn. 
 
 So, surely, never looked the fair, frail mistress of the king, 
 confionted by the jealous wife, but so Allan Fane had 
 choi^en to paint her. The face shone out so vividly, so star- 
 tlingly lifelike, from the canvas, that you seemed to hear the 
 scornful words of defiance with which she braved the in- 
 fuiiato queen. Had Paulina Lisle ever really looked like 
 that, people wondered? No; but in the twilight of a summer 
 day, P0II5 Mason had, as she flung his ring at Allan Fane's 
 ftet, and stood before him in bar new-found womanhood, 
 scorning him. 
 
 While life remained, Allan Fane would never forget how 
 slie looked, how she spoke then. 
 
 'J'iie ])icture was a success, and his fortune made. 
 
 ITc f]id not go into so( icty ihtxi year; he heard in silence 
 of her beauty and her triuniplis: and the second 'season he 
 met her. T1k3 old love, stronger than ever, filled his heart — 
 he was famous now, 'and rapidly acquiring wealth, and ht 
 laid his kurd crown very humblb^ at her feet. He Iq^ved hm 
 
 de 
 
 hi 
 cr 
 
kiuR, 
 Ivad 
 star- 
 r the 
 e in- 
 iike 
 m 
 ane's 
 hood» 
 
 ence 
 
 n he 
 
 rt— 
 
 d h« 
 
 For a Woman's Sake. 
 
 279 
 
 devotedly — with a love th^t knew no change — would she- ho 
 his wife? Her answier liad beeu a refusal, a refusal that 
 crushed out every atom of hope. 
 
 "The ffme for all that is past, Mr. Fane," she said, cjuiotly. 
 "T could/not care for you now if 1 tried. Will you let mo 
 be^your friend ? Your wife I never can be. It is too lati-." 
 
 Too late! The old, dreary refrain. Once her love had 
 been within his i^rasp, and he had turned away from the pi ft, 
 and now it was too late! He accepted his fate, with a brave 
 patiOiii'e that made her like him as nothing else could have 
 done, and they had been "friends," as she wished it, since. 
 
 There are not many men who will remain the faitltful 
 friend of the woman who refuses them — Allan Fane was one. 
 
 Wisdom and generosity were coming to him with years and 
 suffering! 
 
 Ue stands this July afternoon painting busily. He is not 
 <ilonQ. On a Turkisu divan, smoking a hmg, twisted pipe,- 
 stretched at full length, lies Guy Earlscourt. It is the last 
 day of his stay in England — by the latest train he departs 
 i>.T Liverpool, to sail to-morrow for New York, and his last 
 hour he is spending with his friend. A greyhound lies at his 
 feet, and looks up in his face with darkly loving eyes, as 
 Guy pulls his long ears ti>r »ugh his fingers. 
 
 There is silence in the little room — the artist works indus- 
 triously, and Guy smokes and watches with dreamy eyes a 
 picture hanging opposite. It is the fair head and graceful 
 throat of a girl in her first youth — the lips wear a saucy 
 smile, the sapphire eyes sparkle with laughing light, and fol- 
 k)w you wherever you go. The picture is richly framed, and 
 never leaves that spot — it is a portrait of "Polly Mason." 
 
 "What do you think of it, Guy?" the artist says, at length 
 catching the glance. "It is like her, I think, as — as we knew 
 her first." 
 
 It was almost the only time her name had passed his lips 
 to Guy. lie dreamed not of the yoiing author's secret, of 
 course, but he had seen them together, noted, with surprise, 
 the marked restraint and avoidance between them, and felt 
 thece must be a secret I ehind. 
 
 "Very 'like," Guy answered; "so like that I can see that 
 birthday fete and her, as she stood dancing in the sunshine. 
 Allan, I should like a copy of that picture to take with" 
 me " 
 
 "To your second exile? You shall have it. T have already 
 promised a copy to another old friend of hers — Duke Mason. 
 What a strangely checkere<l life hers has been— little Polly 
 Mason — reject a duke! Guy, I wonder why ahn threw over 
 Ueatheflaud 2 It it not like Paulina.^' 
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
28o 
 
 For a Woman's Sake. 
 
 Ja'ovc (jJii.y could sprak, xho «l(>(tr ojx'ned, and Paulina 
 I.isU-V iatlifr stood bifore tlu'iii. (Juy spraii^' erect. 
 
 "My dour colonel! Ycni hcic! I thouKtit .you had left 
 Kiijiiaiid a week atfo. X(jtliiiiji: vvrdii^'. J liope^" 
 
 I'or Robert Li>le v. very pule, very worn, ai'. rave. 
 
 "Mrs. Lislol-Paulina I"' (Juy exelaimed; *'t' :' are well, 
 
 ile still addressed liim l»y the faiuili.ir title that had Ixmm 
 his when tliey first met. 
 
 "Paulina is ill — very ill. J knew it was your last day in 
 London, and 1 called to tell you. Your people said I would 
 find you Ikm-c." 
 
 Allan Fane dropped his brush, and turned very pale, (iuy 
 listened — what he felt, his dark face sliowin/j: little. 
 
 "Very ill," he rejjeated slowly; "how lonj? if" 
 
 "Slie was taken ill on the nij?ht you left us. It is brain 
 fever. She had received a terrible shock — the revelation of 
 file death of a dear friend, and this, coupled with expctsure 
 to damp and previous ill-health, broujrht about this result. 
 She lujs been delirious ever sincf! — she is so still. What the 
 end will be Heaven only knows." 
 
 Fie walked away to the window. Ikm] silence fell. It whs 
 broken by a tap at the door, and the entrance of a servant 
 ■with a card. 
 
 "Inspector Burnham, of the Metropolitan Police," read Mr. 
 Pane, aloud. "Who the d#uee is Inspector Burnham, and 
 •what does he want here ^" 
 
 Kobert Lisle wheeled round from the window with a star- 
 th^l expression. 
 
 "He says his"business is with Mr. Karlscourt, sir," the man 
 answered, "and is most pressing." 
 
 Fane looked doubtfully at his friend. 
 
 "I don't know what he wants," Ouy said, answerintr that 
 look; "but PH see him all the same, with your permissif)n, 
 Fane." 
 
 Mr. Burnham appeared on the instant. He bowed respo<t- 
 fully to Lisle and addressed Guy. 
 
 "I believe," Inspector Burnham bej;an, politely, "I am 
 sp<»akinjj: to the Honorable Ouy Farlscourt?" * 
 
 Guy nodded. 
 
 "F have been informed, Mr. Fd.-lscuurt. that it is your in- 
 tenti<»n to sail to-morrow for New York. Is it true?" 
 
 "It is (juite true." answered (Juy. "May T ask, in turn, 
 how niy dei)arture can possibly concern you f 
 
 "In this way, Mr. Earlscourt — that it must be postponed." 
 
 "Indeed! And why?" 
 
 \It. Burnham glanced at Mr. Lisle, who had grown even 
 
 f 
 
For a Woman's Sake. 
 
 381 
 
 paler than upon I'is entrouce,' couglutl apologoticjilly. and 
 drew a stt n nearer. 
 
 "^ly bvisiness here is of a very unpleasant nature, but it 
 must be done." Il(> laid hi-< hand suddenly juul heavily upon 
 (Juy's shoulder. "Mr. Karlscourt, I arrest you on the fliar^e 
 of havinj^ caused, (jr been i)arty to, the death of Aliif War- 
 ren, on the morning of Christmas Eve, 18(52. Mr. (Juy Karls- 
 eourt, sir, you must cojisiiler yourself my prisoner." 
 
 Thero was an exclamation fron Allan Fane — a dccpt niii^ 
 of the gray i)allor upoii Robert Lisle's face. For (luy. he 
 shook ofT-the hand of the detective, and stood lookin^^ iit iilrii 
 — only (»ne expression in his eyes; an expression t»t utter 
 amazf. 
 
 "The death of Alice Warren I" he exclaimed. "Vou mean 
 to tell me that Alice Warren is dead!" 
 
 "Alice Warren has been murdered," repeated Inspector 
 Burnham ; "foully murdered, on the morninp: of Christmas 
 Eve, 1SH2." 
 
 ".Murdired I" h<^ n^peated the horrible word, starinj^ at the 
 officer mechanically. "(Ireat Heaven I" 
 
 His thoughts flew to his brother, and at the awful pos- 
 sibility that su^jicsted itself his dark face blanched to the 
 hue of ashes. Alici' Warren Uiurdered. He renuMubered her 
 as he had seen her last, wretched and alone in a wild winter 
 storm- he remembered the l<iok his brother's face had worn a 
 few lioui's later when he had spoken of her. Who but .Monta- 
 Won had an interest in her death? Kvery trace of color 
 slowly faded from his face, leaving? him white to the very 
 lips. Inspector Tiui'nham saw th«' chang<^ — was it the con- 
 sciousness of ^uilt, he W'(>lulered ? (luy slowly recovered 
 himself, and spoke: 
 
 "Will you tell me, ^fr. TJurnham," he said, "what proofn 
 you have that Alice Warren is dead at all, and why you hav» 
 cause to suspect me?" 
 
 Before the detective could speak, Kobert Lisle came hastily 
 forward. 
 
 "Allow me," he said. "T was about to tell you of this. (Iny, 
 when Buridiam e'ntered. My shaie in bringing about this 
 denouriicni you must hear from my own lips." 
 
 And then he told the story of the sailor's arrival at the cot- 
 tage, and the confession made to Paulina, which had tinled 
 in her dangerous illnt49l»«i his and Duke's visit the next 
 day to Inspector Bundiam, and of fheir discovery at Ihittor- 
 Fea. 
 
 "Insjxctor Bnrnham knew from ns, (luy, that you were fhi» 
 companion of Alice Warren from Lincolnshire to London; 
 that yon Mw her aftenvard at her lodging;* — facts W£ Wtievv 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 
 t 
 
ml 
 
 282 
 
 For a Woman *s Sake. 
 
 yon woulJ have willingly, freely, tola him yourself, had you 
 been prosent. I never dreainetl though that " 
 
 (tuy pranped his hand. 
 
 "Say no more! You did (luite right. My share in this 
 unhai>]\v ^'irl's story the whol(» world is free to hc^ir. iJut 
 niurdiTcd I (IcKid TFeavcfn! It seems too horrible! 1 eannni 
 reaii/c il ! When did you say?" 
 
 '*(^M the nidrninp: of Christmas Eve, 1802, between the 
 liours (;f eij:,dit and nine. Of (course, this prei)Osterous ehar^^'d 
 afiainst you will fall to the Ki*f>""<l imnuKliately. I only 
 wond(>r at a man of Mr. Burnham's astuteness hrin^in^ it 
 forward at all. You will prove an afihi at once. Carry your 
 mind haek to Christmas Eve, six years apo — the very time, 
 was it not. wlien you left Enj^land? Try and reeolleet whore 
 and with whom you were on Chri^mas Kve, between tlie 
 hours of cijjrht and nine." 
 
 Robert Lisle laid his hand affectionately on the youn^? 
 man's shoulder, and looked into his face; and the whole truth 
 burst upon (hiy. 
 
 On Christmas Eve, 1862, between the hours of eig-ht and 
 nine, his strange nnirriage had taken place! 
 
 What singular fatality was th's! A dark-red flush rose up 
 over his olive face, then faded slowly and entirely away. He 
 was very pale, but perfectly calm, as ho turned to the de 
 tective. 
 
 '"Have you a cab, Mr. Burnham ? I am quite at your 
 service. An absurd mistake this, colonel!" turning:, with a 
 smile, to Lisle, and holding out his hand, "which will post- 
 p<tne my journey to New York. Farewell, for the present! 
 Let us Jioi)e a few days will set* this ridiculous en'br right!" 
 
 "Rut, good Heaven, Guy!" burst forth the artist, "you can 
 surely disprove this monstrous charge at once! Make an 
 eifort — -.you certainly rememl>er what you were doing, and 
 with whom you were on Cliristmas p]ve at that hour." 
 
 "1 remember very distinctly what I was doing, and with 
 wiiom I was,'' (iuy said, coolly. "I do not see fit, however, 
 ju^t at present, to take Mr. Burnham into my confidence. "T 
 am quite ready to go with him at any moment." 
 
 "And when the time comes — in a few hours, or days — you 
 will prove an nUhl and overthrow this preposterous charged' 
 Lisle demanded, in intense anxiety. 
 
 Guy looked at him with a smile — a smile that seemed to 
 have some *trange, hidden meaning in its depth. 
 
 "And it i ^nnot prove an alihi — if I cannot, or will not, 
 ^voal where and with whom I was on that dajjr and at that 
 ^' ir, will £0U believe me guilty, coloudlf 
 
 ■-:■.•* 
 
ft 
 
 had 
 
 ' '"'J tin's 
 >'•. FJiit 
 
 '•'•'U tlio 
 f oiiiy 
 
 '^•iiiK it 
 'I'.v you,. 
 
 .V tiiJic, 
 1" where 
 
 f'f'll till. 
 
 If^ truth 
 •Jit and 
 
 I'oso up 
 .V. He 
 he (lo- 
 
 t your 
 U'ith a 
 
 I post- 
 vseiit! 
 iffht!" 
 
 II can 
 ko an 
 » and 
 
 vvffh 
 'ever, 
 'e. I 
 
 -you 
 
 pre ?" 
 
 <1 to 
 
 not, 
 that 
 
 Semper Fidelife." 
 
 283 
 
 "Never!" answered Robert Lisle, firmly. "But you do not 
 mean this, Guy ?" 
 
 "I mean it. This charg'c must, and will, doubtless, fall to 
 the ground of itself: but, come what may, it|is out of my 
 power to prove an alibi, (iood-by, for the present ! The in- 
 quest, no doubt, will set this disagreeable business all right.'* 
 
 He was gone before they could speak — Mr. Btirnham' < pris- 
 oner. He sat back in the carriage, his hand pressed over 
 his eyes. 
 
 '*Come what may, I will keep my oath !" 
 
 He remembered the words well, and to whom thev were 
 spoken. Come what might, the secret of that Christmas Kve 
 never could, never would be revealed 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 "semper fidelis." 
 
 After the arrest of Guy Earlscourt every effort was made 
 to persuade him to tell where he' was on the morning mI 
 Christmas Eve between the hours of eight and nine, but he 
 persisted in refusing to give any information on the subject. 
 
 The trial and all the evidence occupied four days, and tlie 
 verdict of the jury was "that the remains found were tl:o>e 
 of Alice Warren, and that she came to her death by a pistol 
 shot fired by the hand of Guy Earlscourt, on the 24th of De- 
 cember, 1862." 
 
 The coroner then made out his warrant committing Guy 
 Earlscourt to prison foj safe keeping until set free by due 
 course of law. 
 
 Most faithful of all his friends had been Robert Lisle. He 
 called on him every day. His own private troubles were 
 lessening. His daughter had been pronounced out of dani^cr 
 and wns now able to sit up. But he could not leave I'Jig- 
 land while his young friend's fate remained undeci<led. Ml 
 his efforts and persuasions, however, to get Guy to ^tate 
 where he had been on that fateful morning were of no 
 avail. He was with him the day before the trial, and as he 
 was about to leave, Guy asked hesitatingly, "Miss Lisle con- 
 tinues to improve, I trust?'' 
 
 "Not as she should." answered her father gloomily. "The 
 (loctnrs speak of hidden trouble, something preying on l.er 
 mind, and advi^^e change of air and climate; the old stereo- 
 typed formula." • 
 
 "You should follow their advice," said Guy, "take ?^er 
 abroad immediately. I hope she does nut know of :::y 
 
 <r, 
 
 rrr 
 
►•- 
 
 284 
 
 ( ( 
 
 Sieniper Fidelis." 
 
 affair. I 'or the sake (if past times, wlien we were ^ocA 
 friends. I should not Hke her to know 1 am even siispecU'd 
 of tlie ninrder of her friend. \'ou have not told her?" 
 
 "Most eerl.'unly not. And, strange to say, she lias UuuW 
 no inquiries whatever on the subject of her dead friend sinct' 
 her recovery. She is in a state of apathy that seems to 
 blot out ad feehng and memory. She never reads, she .see- 
 no visitors, and we tell her nothing." 
 
 (lUy drew a long breath of relief. "I am glad o* that. 
 Take her out of Hngland in ignorance if you can, and let 
 her never know of this if it is in your power to prevent 
 it." And after a pause: "I may tell you now what I wouM 
 not tell you out there in Virginia. I love Paulina with ;i 
 love that is as devoted as it is hopeless. Alice Warren wa> 
 to her as a sister, and I cannot endure that she should 
 think I was suspected of her murder. Promise me, <.I 1 
 friend, that you will do this, the greatest, the last favor. 
 I shall ask of you. Promise." 
 
 "I promise," Lisle answered, wringing the young man > 
 hand, "but sooner or later she must learn thr- truth in spite 
 of me." 
 
 At ten o'clock the next morning the prisoner was taken 
 to the court. Mr. Fane was the first witness and he had 
 very little light to throw upon the case one way or another. 
 Had seen prisoner in company with Miss Warren many 
 times. Both the September of her flight and other years 
 during his summer visits to Montalicn Priory. Had nevor 
 thought Mr. Earlscourt a lover of hers; had not known him 
 to pay any more attention to her than other men did 
 stopping at the Priory. Knew that he went up to London 
 one evening late in September ; could not remember the 
 date. Heard next that Miss Warren was missing and had 
 gone with him. Was surprised at the news. Did not credit 
 it. Believed Mr. Earlscourt's own statement that he had 
 met her by accident. Knew that the reputation of the pris- 
 oner had not been stainless in the past, but his guilt ha<l 
 been the common follies of youth, never crimes. 
 
 A profound sensation ran through the court at the name 
 of the next witness. It was Francis Baron Montalien, the 
 prisoner's brother. His face was deathly pale as he was 
 sworn, and when he spoke his voice was almost inaudible 
 from agitation, the natural agitation of an upright man 
 seeing his only brother placed in so dreadful a position. 
 
 He had known Miss \^'lrren for many years, and always 
 had the highest respect for her personallv and for t'.ie 
 whole family. Had visited the cottajje often in passini;-. 
 and had met his brother there. Had frequently jested hiui 
 
 >f3 
 
*'Semner Fideiis 
 
 fri 
 
 r?" 
 
 i"^ made 
 ifl since 
 cems to 
 
 ^ that 
 and let 
 
 Wfiiil,! 
 
 witli a 
 
 n ua> 
 
 should 
 
 pe, old 
 
 favor. 
 
 I spite 
 
 taken 
 e had 
 other. 
 
 many 
 years 
 nevor 
 1 hini 
 1 did 
 )ndo[i 
 - the 
 : had 
 red it 
 
 had 
 pris- 
 
 had 
 
 anie 
 the 
 was 
 ih!e 
 nan 
 
 avs 
 the 
 
 iini 
 
 ja is^htor, 'Ml nac 
 
 .icV' li.; brothct* .vcn. 
 
 i/tli, but '-lid no: 
 
 day. VVn.; surpriscc 
 
 ♦kd :;ogether. Had 
 
 I- several limes, biv 
 
 'lloweci o stand 
 Profounrl sym 
 Iccp sorrow wis 
 iuitc ghastly as he 
 . ed convulsively in 
 yes followed him, 
 lad istened to his 
 
 ius r:^uilt had lingcrec 
 'lour. 
 
 ivery wish 
 
 felf: 
 left 
 the 
 hi: 
 dc 
 
 about hiis attentions to the bailiff's pret'> 
 never considered them serious. Knew m 
 to London on the evening oi the 
 hear of the girl's tlight until the nex 
 and shocked when informed they ha< 
 tried to speak with him on the sub) ". 
 had always been rebuffed. 
 
 Lord Montalien was cross-examine unci 
 down. His emotion had been very '41 eat. 
 pathy for his delicate health and 
 through the court. His face wa . 
 the witness box, his hand was pre 
 region of his heart. Guy's dark 
 handsome face set and stern. A 
 liberate perjury, and if any doubt 
 in his mind it was dispelled in Jr.. 
 
 Captain Cecil Villiers came nc -.i, and \vith 
 to save his friend, did more to l.aiig !iim ihan ill Ihe rest. 
 He had known Alice Warren, an( .ulmired her c;s every one 
 else did. Was not aware that G ^v ^arlscourt had been her 
 lover, and believed that the neetiiii^ M the railway had been 
 mere chance, as he had been old. Mr. Earlscourt had 
 stayed at his lodgings for two c ys .)revious to his departure 
 from England. He had been hsent .on duty n ly all of 
 the Si^d of December, .^^"ound i.he .jrisonei in his cham- 
 bers upon his return late it light. They lad^ sat ogethcr 
 smoking and talking for i couple r^ lours aefore .Toins; lo 
 bed. Awakening next mcrni'v iboit daylight, ic lad rccii 
 Gny in the room adjoining 'rcssin^', limself )y candlelip;hl. 
 and asked him what he .3 -^ettin?^, ip 'n he niddle nf ih ■ 
 night for. The prisoner ^ad answered Jiat t ^-as la'f pas: 
 seven, that he had a pressing engagement for :vght. "There 
 is a lady in the case, Villiers," he had said, 'ano adic'^, 
 brook of no delay." He came back about half past ninr 
 covered with snow. He said he had been out riding, and 
 was tremendously hungry. We breakfasted together. .\t 
 a little before eleven he left, and two hours later I saw him 
 go off on the noon train for Southampton. 
 
 While Captain Villiers was having all this reluctantly ex- 
 torted from him, a messenger had made his way to the pris- 
 oner's counsel, Mr, Carson, and placed a note in his hand. It 
 was of evident importance, for the face of the lawyer flushed 
 up with surprise and delight as he read it. 
 
 When the case for the prosecution closed with everything 
 pointing to the guilt of the prisoner, Mr. Carson rose, and 
 after a few prefatory remarks on the evidence given he 
 observed that, in regard to the silence of -the prisoner as to 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 r: 
 
 M 
 
286 
 
 "Semper Fidelis." 
 
 his doings on the moriftnp: of that memorable Christiua.s 
 Kv€, Mr Karlscourt had admitted that there was a lady in 
 the casa, and this was the truth, but that lady was not the 
 murdered j;irl, as he was prepared to show the court, f(jr 
 his client had been from eight til^ nine in the morninp;, the 
 time when the murder was committed at Battersea, in com- 
 pany of tiiis lady and her maid. Illness had prevented her 
 hearing of Mr. iCarlscourt's arrest until yesterday, when she 
 was away in her home in the country. To-day she was — 
 here ! 
 
 The door of the witness box opened and a lady stood 
 there, tall, elegan^, veiled. She lifted one gloved hand and 
 flung back her veil, and four hundred eager eyes fell and 
 fixed on the proudly beautiful face of l^aulina Lisle. She 
 was white as marble as she faced the bench. Once and once 
 only she looked at the prisoner. He dropped his head, and 
 until he stood up free he did not raise it a.^ain. 
 
 Mr. Carson leaned forward and blandly spoke. 
 
 "Your name, madam, if you please?" 
 
 To the legal gentlemen present Miss Lisle was we'l known 
 by reputation, the celebrated London beauty, who only a 
 few weeks ago had refused to marry t'-e Marquis of Healh- 
 erland. And the beautiful wealthy heiress and belle stood 
 licrc in a London police court, to vindicate {he innocence of 
 a man suspected of murder ! She came and stepped forward. 
 For an instant the blood rose up bright in her pale face. 
 Then, in that sweet vibrating voice, that had always been 
 one of her chief charms, s!ie spoke: 
 
 "I am called Paulina Lisle, but it is not my name. Wait; 
 when you have heard what I am here to say you will under- 
 stand." 
 
 There were scores present who knew her well, but with 
 the exception of two none of them understood what this 
 meant. Even her father stood confounded. 
 
 Simply and without hesitation she told the storv of her 
 marriage to Guy Earlscourt. It took her upwards of an 
 hour. She grew faint and giddy before it was done. She 
 reeled with the last words — she looked like death, and as 
 permission was given her to stand down she had to grasp the 
 rails to keep from falling. A second later she was in her 
 father's arms — lifeless and cold. For the first time in her 
 life Paulina had fainted entirely away. 
 
 Her maid, Jane Seaver, was called to the stand, and gave 
 her evidence with a clearness and precision that cirried con- 
 viction to every hearer. It vindicated Guy completely. She 
 swore positively to the time, at the hour when the murder 
 had been c^^^niittecl — ^Mr. Earlscourt had beea evcoc iasUot 
 
 wit I 
 
 or 
 Gl 
 
 A 
 
 call! 
 Ste( 
 
 r 
 
"Semper Fldelis." 
 
 287 
 
 With her and her mistress. No cross-examinaHon could shake 
 or aher her. 
 Guy was free ! 
 
 At this moment a man nished into tlie courtroom Piid 
 called out: "1 (Icmand to be sworn. My name is Augustus 
 Stedman." 
 
 At sight of the newcomer a grayibh ])allor had spread over 
 the fate of Lord Montalicn. The game was up! He had 
 thought Stedman safe in Australia for life, and yonder he 
 stood, speaking the words that told his life away. There 
 was a singing in his ears, a nli.^t before his eves, for a mo- 
 ment a sharp, sudden pain in his left side. He had reason 
 to dread those swift keen pangs. His medical men looked 
 grave when he spoke of them, and warned him to avoid 
 agitation of all kinds. He made no attempt whatever to 
 leave the court; a fascination he was powerless to control 
 chained him to the spot where he stood. His life perhaps 
 depended on his escape now, but he stood there listening as 
 greedily as the most unconcerned spectator. 
 
 Clearly A-gustus Stedman told the shameful story in all 
 its details: the mock marriage, which turned out to be a 
 real one, the heartless manner in which the poor girl had 
 been neglected wlien her noble husband had tired of her, 
 which he had done in a vcrv short time, his ambition to marry 
 the rich Miss Lisle, and his reasons for wishing to get rid 
 of the wife who had become so distasteful to him. 
 
 At the close of this recital Guy Earlscourt was dismisse<l 
 and the heavy hand of Inspector Burnham fell with grim 
 satisfaction on the shoulder of Lord Montalicn, who.i;eemcd 
 dazed and looked straight before him with a sightless stare. 
 They led him from the courtroom. He went peacefully. 
 Once he looked back. He saw his brother surrounded by 
 an eager throng shaking hands and congratulating him. Their 
 glance met. He turned away. He had looked his last on 
 the face of the brother he had hated all his life. 
 
 That night, alone in his cell, he thought of Guy free, 
 and himself here. Guy was the husband of Paulina, and he 
 was the murderer of Alice. Guy would inherit the title and 
 estates; his children and Paulina's would grow up amid the 
 
 green beauty of Montalicn; and he 
 
 A vision of a gray dawn rose before him — of a gaping, 
 eager crowd — of a scaffold, ghastly in the chill light — of a 
 condemned man, led forth to die. He fell down on the bed 
 with a cry of anguish and despair, and lay still. 
 
 The next morning when the jailer brought in his break- 
 fast, he was surprised to find his prisoner still asleep. He 
 approached the bed, bent down, listened for his breathing, 
 
 "^ 
 
:i66 
 
 a 
 
 Semper Fidelis." 
 
 placed III. ' . . upon tlu* region r,i \u<, lic.irt. felt the pul-c, 
 and stood tipiij^lit. Lord .Nloutalicii was dead! I'>icndlc«»> 
 and al«)ne in the (hsnial |)ri.son room the dark sf)irit ol Aliri' 
 Warren's murderer liad j^one fortli to answer for \{-> 
 crimes. 
 
 Hcforr the sun set tlial August day. the ceremony per- 
 formed hy the I-ondon registrar was repeated hv the rector 
 of S|)eckliaven in Duke Mason's Httlc parlor. Ten miiuito> 
 after tlie hen diction had heen pronounced there stood Ik- 
 I'ore them a . gai-lookinj; jjfeiitienian who took (iuy aside 
 and whispered in his ear tlie news of his brother's death 
 It jjave him :• patij^, the thouj^ht of how he died; but therv 
 was Jiof a creature on earth who really rej^retted the dead 
 man. So in the hour of her marriajije Paulina was Ladv 
 Montalien. They left l'nj;land at once and went abroad for 
 their honeymoon. . ' * ' - 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ij'sle went to T.vndith Court, where the first 
 happy monfis of their clandestine marriage had been spent. 
 Sir \'aue Charteris died so(»n after, and Maud made her 
 home with them, and found tiic tenderesl of fathers in Rob- 
 ert [.isle. } 
 
 Winter, spring, summer |)assed, and when September lav 
 bright on the green glades and waving trees of Montalien 
 Prior;-. Lord and Lady Montalien came home. Not alto- 
 gether as they went, for a Sw^iss nurse accompanies them, 
 and there is a dark-eyed baby in long robes, whom they call 
 "Robert." and who is the heir of Montalien. 
 
 And miles away, in Allan h'ane's studio, there hangs a 
 picture of a smiling girlish face. Allan is famous and 
 wealthy now. He and Lady Montalien meet often in .so- 
 ciety and are very sincere friends. His best wishes are for 
 her and Guy's happiness, but he never goes to Montalien. 
 He has no thought of marrying again. No woman in this 
 world will ever be to him again quite what "Polly" was in 
 that lovely June of years ago. s. 
 
 THE KNl). 
 
 i\o. 215 of The Select Li»k.\rv. entitled 'The Leighton 
 Homestead/' by Mary J. Holmes, is a story of love and in- 
 trigue, of plotting and scheming, delightfully and cleverly 
 told, and most entertaining to read. 
 
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N R 
 
 A REQUEST 
 
 IBC 
 
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 catalogues. We still have about fifteen hundred dififei- 
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