®t)e Hibrarp 
 
 of tfje 
 
 ®[nibers!itp of iSortJ Carolina 
 
 Collection of Movti) Caroliniana 
 C8I3 
 
This book must not 
 be token from the 
 Library building. 
 
 Form No. 471 
 
FAIRY GOLD 
 
 5y CHRISTIAN REID 
 
 Author of'Vera's Charge," "Philip's Restitution," "A Child of 
 Mary," "His Victory," etc. 
 
 
 THE AVE MARIA PRESS 
 
 NOTRE DAME, INDIANA 
 
COPYWRIGHT, 1897, 
 BY 
 
 D. E. HUDSON. 
 
FAIRY GOLD 
 
 > 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 CLAIRE! do stop that tiresome practicing and 
 come here. Helen and I want you." 
 
 Tlie voice was very clear and vibrating, and 
 had a ring of command in it as it uttei'ed these words; 
 while the summer dusk was dying away, and the 
 summer air came soft and sweet into the school- 
 room of a convent, that, from the eminence on which 
 it stood, overlooked a cit}' at its feet, and the rise 
 and fall of Atlantic tides. It was drawing toward the 
 close of the exercise-hour, but the two girls who stood 
 together in school-girl fashion beside an open window, 
 and the third, who in an adjoining music-room was 
 diligently practicing Cliopin, were not the only ones 
 who had neglected its observance and incurred no 
 rel)uke ; for was not to morrow the end of the scho- 
 lastic 3'ear, and did not relaxation of rules alread}' 
 reign from dormitory to class-room? 
 
 Man}' hearts were beating high at the thought of 
 the freedom which that morrow would bring; man}' 
 
 (O 
 
2 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 dreams were woven of the bright world which lay 
 beyond these quiet shades ; of pleasures which were 
 to replace the monotonous roun<l of occupation in 
 which youth had so far been spent — the round of 
 lessons from teachers whose voices were gentle as 
 their faces were holy and serene ; of quiet meditations 
 in the beautiful chapel, with its sculptured altar and 
 stained-glass windows and never-dying lamp ; of 
 walks in the green old garden, and romps along its 
 far-stretching alleys. They were ready to leave it all 
 behind, these careless bii'ds, eager to try their new- 
 fledcred wiuo-s : and when the heat and burden of the 
 day should come down upon them, how much they 
 would give for one hour of the old quiet peace, the 
 old happy ignorance ! 
 
 And among them all no face was more bright with 
 triumphant hope — or was it triumphant resolve? — 
 than hers whose voice went ringing through the almost 
 deserted school-room, in the half-entreaty, half-com- 
 mand recorded above. 
 
 The sound of the piano ceased on the instant ; a 
 slight rustling followed, as of music being put away; 
 and then a girl came down the middle aisle of desks, 
 toward the window which overlooked the garden and 
 faced the glowing western sky, where the two girls 
 were standing, both of whom turned as she advanced. 
 
 "You must pardon me," she said, in a tone of 
 apology. ''I did not mean to stay so long, but I 
 forget myself when I am at the piano, and I could 
 scarcely bear to think that this was my last hour of 
 practice." 
 
 " I am quite sure that it will not be your last hour 
 of practice," said the girl who had spoken first. 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 6 
 
 "You are too fond of drudijerv for that. But how 
 caa 30U talk of not bearing to think of its being the 
 last here, when Helen and I have been congratulating 
 each other on the fact until we exhausted ail our 
 expressions of pleasure, and had to call on 3'ou to 
 hell) us?" 
 
 " Then you would have done better to let me finish 
 my i^racticing," said the other, with a faint smile; 
 " for I cannot help you with one expression of pleasure : 
 I am too sorry. ' ' 
 
 " Sorry! " — it was the one called Helen who broke 
 in here. " Oh! how can 3'ou say that, when we are 
 going home to be so happy? " 
 
 " You are going home, dear," remarked Claii-e, 
 gently. 
 
 " And are not you ? Is not my home your home,, 
 and will I not be hurt if you do not feel it so? " 
 
 " You are very kind, dear," said Claire ; " but 3'ou 
 ca;nnot give me what God has denied. Perhaps I too 
 might be glad of to-morrow, Helen, if I had your 
 future or Marion's courage ; but, lacking both, I 
 only feel afraid and sad. I feel as if I should like to 
 stay here forever — as if I were being puslied out 
 into a world with which 1 am not able to cope." 
 
 " But a world which shall never harm j'ou so long 
 as my love and Marion's courage can help you," said 
 Helen, as she passed her disengaged arm around tlie 
 slender form. " Y''ou know we three are pledged to 
 stand together as long as we live; are we not, 
 Marion?" 
 
 " I know that Claire is ver^' foolish," answered 
 Marion. " If I had her talent I should be eager to 
 go into the world — eager to cope with and overcome 
 
4 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 it. Everyone says that she is certain to succeed, and 
 of all the gifts in the world fame must he the 
 sweetest," 
 
 "I suppose it is," said Claire; "but I know 
 enough of art — just enough — to be aware that it is 
 a long journey before one can even dream of fame. 
 I love to paint — oli ! yes, better than anything 
 else, — but I know what difficult work lies before me 
 in becoming an artist.". 
 
 " Yet you do not mind work," observed Helen, in 
 a wondering tone. 
 
 "No," answered the other, "not here, where I 
 had help and encouragement and the sense of safe 
 shelter. But out in the world, where I shall have 
 only myself to look to, and no one to care whether I 
 fail or not — well, I confess my courage ebbs as 1 
 think of that." 
 
 " Ilow strange!" said Marion. "If my hands 
 were as free as yours are, 1 should like nothing 
 better than for them to be as empty — if you can call 
 hands empty that have such a power." 
 
 "And are not your hands as free as mine.^ " asked 
 the other. " We are both orphans, and both — " 
 
 " Poor," said Marion, frankly. " Yes, but with a 
 diffirence. Most people, I suppose, would Ihink the 
 difference in my favor ; / think it is in yours. Y'ou 
 have no family obligations to prevent your doing 
 what you will with your life, from following the bt-nt 
 of your genius ; while I — well, it is true I have no 
 genius, but if I had it would be all the same. My 
 uncle would never consent to my doing anything to 
 lower the family di^^nity, and I owe him enough to 
 make me feel bound to respect his wishes." 
 
FAini" GOLD. 5 
 
 " It is well to have s )in • oa> w'lose wishes one is 
 bound to respert," said CI are geutl}', and tiieu a 
 silence fell. 
 
 They were decided contrasts, these three girls, as 
 they stood together by the open window, and looked 
 out on the bright sunset and down into the large 
 garden ; — decided contrasts, yet all possessed in 
 greater or less degree the gift of beauty. 
 
 It was certainly in greater degree with Marion 
 Lynde, whose daily expanding lovehness had been 
 the marvel of all who saw her for two years past; — 
 the marvel even in this quiet convent, where human 
 aspect was perhaps of less account than anywhere else 
 on all God's earth. The little children had looked 
 with admiration on her brilliant face, the older girls 
 had gazed on it with throbs of unconscious envy ; the 
 nuns had glanced pityingly at the girl who bore so 
 proudly that often fatal dower; and many times the 
 Mother Superior had sent up a special prayer for this 
 defiant soldier of life, when she saw her kneeling at 
 Mass or Benediction with a many-tinted glory streaiu- 
 ing over her head. 
 
 As she stood now in her simple school dress, Maiion 
 was a i)icture of strikin^^ beauty. Tall, slight, grace- 
 ful, there wjs i.i (ler iirace something imperial and 
 unlike other women, lier while skin, finely grained 
 and colorless as the petal of a lily, suited the regular, 
 clear-cut features ; while her eyes were large and 
 dark — splendid eyes, which seemed to carry lustre in 
 their sweeping glance, — and her hair was a mass of 
 red gold. Altogether a face to studv with a sense of 
 tiitistie pleasure, — a face to admire as one admires a 
 stiitue or a painting; but not a face that attracted or 
 
6 FAIRY GdLD. 
 
 wakened love, as many less beautiful faces do, or as 
 that of her cousin, Helen Morley, did. 
 
 For everyone loved Helen — a winsome creature, 
 with lips that seemed formed only for smiles, and 
 hands ever ready to caress and aid ; with endearing 
 ways that the hardest heart could not have resisted, 
 and a heaven-born capacity for loving that seemed 
 inexhaustible. It was impossible to look on the bright 
 young face and think that sorrow could ever darken it, 
 or that tears would ever dim the clear violet of those 
 joyous eyes. From the Mother Superior down to the 
 youngest scholar, all loved the girl, and all recognized 
 how entirely she seemed marked out for happy des- 
 tinies. " You must not let the brightness of this 
 world veil Heaven from your sight, my child," the 
 nuns would say, as they laid their hands on the silken- 
 soft head, and longed to hold back from the turmoil 
 of life this white dove, whose wings were already 
 spread for flight from the quiet haven where they had 
 been folded for a time. 
 
 Least beautiful of the three girls was Claire Alford, — 
 a girl whose reserved manner had perhaps kept love 
 as well as familiarity at bay duiing the years of her 
 convent tutelage. Even Marion, with all her haughty 
 waywardness, had more friends than this quiet 
 student. Yet no one could find fault with Claire. 
 She was always considerate and gentle, quick to 
 oblige and slow to take offense. But she lived a life 
 absorbed within itself, and those around her felt 
 this. They felt that her eyes were fixed on some dis- 
 tant goal, to which every thought of her mind and 
 effort of her nature was directed. 
 
 The only child and orphan of a struggling artist — 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 7 
 
 a man of genius, but who died before he conquered 
 the recognition of the world, — Claire knew that her 
 slender fortune would hardly suffice for the expenses 
 of her education, and that afterward she must look 
 for aid to herself alone. Usually life goes hard with 
 a woman under such circumstances as these. But 
 Claire had one power as a weapon with which to fight 
 her way. Her talent for painting had been the aston- 
 ishment of all her teachers, and it was a settled thing 
 that she would make art the object and pursuit of her 
 life. Jf least beautiful of the three girls who stood 
 there together, an observant glance might have lin- 
 gered longest on her. There was something very 
 attractive in the gray eyes that gazed so steadily from 
 under their long lashes, and in the smile that stii'red 
 now and then the usually grave and gentle lips. 
 
 It only remains to be added that both Claire and 
 Helen were Catholics, while Marion had been brought 
 up in Protestaniisra, which resulted, in her case, in 
 absolute religious indifference. 
 
 The silence had lasted for some time, when Helen's 
 voice at last broke it, saying: — 
 
 " You are riglit, Claire. It does make one sad to 
 think that we are standing together for the last time 
 in our dear o'd school-room. We have been so happy 
 here! J wonder if we shall be veyy much more happy 
 out in the world? " 
 
 " I doubt if we shall ever be half as happy again," 
 answered Claire. 
 
 " Oh, you prophet of evil! Wh}^ not? " 
 
 "Why not, Helen!" repeated Claire. "Because 
 I doubt if we shall ever again feel so entirely at peace 
 with ourselves and with others as we have felt here." 
 
8 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 "It is a very nice place," observed Helen; " and 
 I love the Mother Superior and all the Sisters dearly. 
 But, tlien, of course, I want to see mamma and Harry 
 and little Jock. I want t'l ride Brown Bess again, 
 and I do want to go to a party Claire." 
 
 "Well," said Claire, smiling, " I suppose there is 
 no doubt that you will go to a good many parlies, 
 and I hope you will enjoy them." 
 
 " There is no doubt of her enjoyment,'" interpos d 
 Marion, speaking in her usual half satiric tone, •• if 
 Paul Rathborne is to be there." 
 
 " I was not thinking of Paul Rathborne, and 
 neither, I am sure, was Helen," said Claire. 
 
 "That is likel}' ! " cried Marion, laughing. 
 "Don't, Helen! I would not tell a storj^ to oblige 
 Claire, if I were you." 
 
 But Helen had apparently little idea of telling the 
 stor}'. Even in the dusk, the flush that overspread 
 her face was visible, and the lids drooped over the 
 violet eyes. 
 
 " At all events, we will not talk of him," said 
 Claire, decidedly. " We will talk of ourselves and our 
 own futures. We are standing on the thresbold of a 
 new life, and surely we mav spare a little time in 
 witnderiii'^ how it will fnr.' wiMi ii-^ .Mnrion. what 
 do _\ ou say ? "' 
 
 " If one may judge the future by the past, I should 
 say, so far as I am concerned, badl}^ enough," Marion 
 replied. " But whether I alter matters for better or 
 for worse, I don't mean to go on in the snme old way ; 
 I shall change the road, if I don't mend it." 
 
 '• Change it in what manner? " 
 
 "I don't know exactly. Cii'cumst-.inces will have 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 9 
 
 to decide that for me. But I don't mean to go back 
 to my uncle's. lo share the fntnily econoinii s. and hear 
 ilie fannly complaints, and wear Adela's olil dr<s-es ; 
 you ma}' be sure of that, Claire ! " 
 
 " But how can you avoid it," asked Claire. '' when 
 you have just said that you will not disregard your 
 uncle's wishes by attempting to support yourself .'' " 
 
 " I shall not do anything to hurt the Lynde pride," 
 answered the girl, mockingly. " I shall only take my 
 gifts of body and mind into the world, and see what I 
 can make of tliem." 
 
 "Make of them!" repeated Helen. "In what 
 way?" 
 
 " There is only one way that I care about," returned 
 the other, carelessly : " the way of a fortune." 
 
 "Oh! I understand: you mean to marry a lich 
 man." 
 
 " I mean that only as a last resort. The world 
 would tliink worse of me if I robbed a man of his for- 
 tune ; but I should think worse of m3'self, and wrong 
 him more, if I married him to obtain it. No, Helen, 
 I shall not do that — if I can help it." 
 
 " But you would not be wronging him, Marion, if 
 5'ou loved him." 
 
 " And do you think," demanded the young cynic, 
 " that one is likely to love the man it is best for one 
 to marry? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so — I know sn." 
 
 " Ah! well, perhaps it may be so to sucli a child 
 of happy fate as you are, but it is never likely to 
 occur to me." 
 
 " And is a fortune all that you mean to look for ia 
 life?" aske.l Helen. 
 
10 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 " Why should I look for anj'thing more? Does not 
 that comprise evrrything? Ah! you have never 
 known the bitterness of proverty, or you would not 
 doubt that when one has fortune, one has all that is 
 uecc'ssarj' for happiness." 
 
 "But I have known poverty," broke in Claire; 
 " and I know, Marion, that there are many worse 
 things in life than want of money, and many better 
 things than possessing it." 
 
 " That is all you know about the matter," replied 
 Marion, with an air of scorn, " Perhaps I, too, 
 might be able to feel in that way, if I had known onh' 
 the poverty that 3'ou have — a picturesque, Bohemian 
 poverty, with no necessitj^ to pretend 1o be what you 
 were not. But genteel poverty, which must keep up 
 appearances by a hundred makeshifts and embarrass- 
 ments and meannesses — have you ever known that? 
 It has been the experience of my life, — one wliich I 
 shudder to recall, and which I would sooner die than 
 go back to." 
 
 " Poor darling! 3'ou shall not go back to it," cried 
 Helen. 
 
 But Marion threw off her caressing hand. 
 
 " Don't, Helen! " she said, sharply. " I can't bear 
 pity, even from you. But I have talked enough of 
 myself. You both know what I am going to do : to 
 make a fortune b}' some means. Now it is your turn, 
 Claire, to tell your ambition." 
 
 " You know it very well," answered Claire, quietly. 
 "I am going to be an artist, and perhaps, if God 
 helps me, to make a name." 
 
 "Yes, 1 know," said Marion, gloomil}'. "Yours 
 is a noble ambition, and I think 30U will succeed." 
 
FAlllY GOLD. 11 
 
 " I hope so," respondeti Claire, looking out on the 
 •sunset with her earnest e3-es. " At least I know that 
 I have resolution and perseverance, and I used lo hear 
 mv father sa}"- that with those things even mediocre 
 talent could do much." 
 
 " And yours is not mediocre. Yet you talk of be- 
 ing sorry to leave here, with such a prospect before 
 you." 
 
 " Such a battle, too. And peo[»le say tliat the 
 world is very hard and stern to those who light it 
 single-handed." 
 
 " So much the better! " cried Marion, flinging back 
 her head with an air of defiance. " There will be so 
 much the more glory in triumph." 
 
 " You never seem to think of failure," observed 
 Claire, with a smile. " But now Helen must tell us 
 what she desires her future to be." 
 
 "Mine?" said Helen. "Oh! 1 leave all such 
 things as fortune and fame to xow and Marion. I 
 mean oul}' to be happy." 
 
 " To be happy! " repeated Marion " Well, I ad- 
 mire yowY modesty. You have set up for yourself a 
 much more difficult aim than either Claire's or my 
 own. And how do you mean to be happy .'' That is 
 the next question." 
 
 " I don't know," replied Helen, with a laugh. " I 
 just mean to go home to enjoy myself ; that is all. 
 And how happy it makes me to think thatj'ou are both 
 2;oinor with me ! " 
 
 "Dear little Helen!" said Claire, caressingly. 
 " But it will not make you unhappy to hear that I am 
 not going with 3'ou, will it? I have just found out 
 that I can not go." 
 
12 FAIL')' GOLD. 
 
 " Not go! " repeated Helen. The <1eei)est surprise 
 :uil iloU|)|)()iiitiiu'iit were written on lier face. " O, 
 Claire, it is impossible that you c:in mean it — i hat 
 you can be so unkind! Why do you sa}' sucli a 
 thing? " 
 
 "I say it because it is true, dear; though it is a 
 greater disappointment to me than to you. I have 
 just had a letter from my guardian, telling me he has 
 found an opportunity to send me abroad with a \a(.\y, 
 an acquaintance of his own ; and I have no choice but 
 to go." 
 
 "■ I should think you would be delighted to find such 
 an opportunit}'," said Marion. " But surely the lady 
 is not going to Rome at this season? " 
 
 "No: she is going to Germany for the summer, 
 and to Italy in the autumn ; which is a very good 
 thing, for I shall see the galleries of Dresden and 
 Munich before I go to Rome. Of course I am glad — 
 I must be glad — to find the opportunity at once; 
 but I had promised myself the pleasure of a quiet, 
 happy month with Helen and you, and I am sorr}- to 
 lose it." 
 
 "It is too bad," said Helen, with a sound as of 
 tears in her voice. " I had anticipated so much pleas- 
 ure in our all three being together! And now — why 
 could not 3'our guardian have waited to find the lady, 
 or why does she not put off going abroad until the 
 autumn? " 
 
 " Why, in short, is not the whole scheme of things 
 arranged with reference to one insignificant person 
 called Claire Alfoid?" replied Claire, laughing. 
 " No, dear; there is no help for it. 1 must give up 
 the idea of a short rest before the combat." 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 13 
 
 "And now there is no telling when we shall all he 
 together asrain!" said Helen. "I could not have 
 believed that such a disai)pointment was in store for 
 me." 
 
 " I hope 3-ou will never know a worse one," re- 
 marked Claire. " But if we live, we must meet again 
 some day. We are too good friends to suffer such 
 trifles as time and space to separate us always." 
 
 " But you are going so far awa5^ one cannot tell 
 when or where that meeting will be," said Helen, still 
 
 mournfully. 
 
 "Perhaps it may be when Marion has made her 
 foitiiue, aud asks us to visit her castle," answered 
 Claire. •• Marion, have you formed any plans as to 
 where it is to be situated? Marion, don't you hear.? " 
 
 "What is it?" asked Marion, starting. "I beg 
 your pardon, but I was thinking. Did you say, Claire, 
 that this visit, which you could not make, wouhl have 
 been a rest before the combat to you ? I was wonder- 
 iuff if it will be a rest to me or a besinnins " 
 
 She spoke half dreamily, and neither of the othero 
 answered. They only stood with the sunset glow fall- 
 ing on their fair young faces, their wistful gaze resting 
 upon each other, and quite silent, until a bell pealed 
 softly out on the twihght air, aud their last school-day 
 ended forever. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 THERE is nothing specially attractive about Scar- 
 borougli — a town which nestles among green 
 
 bills near the foot of the Blue Ridge, — except 
 its salubrious and delightful climate, which has long 
 drawn summer visitors from the lower malarial country ; 
 but if it had been as beautiful as Naples or as far-famed 
 as Venice, it could not have wakened more loving 
 delight than that which shone in Helen Morley's eyes 
 as she drew near it. For that deeply- rooted attach- 
 ment to familiar scenes — to those aspects of nature 
 on which the eyes first opened, and which to the child 
 are like the face of another mother — was as strong 
 in her as it is in most people of affectionate character. 
 For several miles before the train reached Scar- 
 borough, she was calling Marion's attention to one 
 familiar landmark after another ; and when finally they 
 stopped at the station on the outskirts of the town, 
 her eagerness knew no bounds. 
 
 " Come, Marion; here we are! " she cried, spring- 
 ing up hastily. But at that moment the car was burst 
 open by a tall young man, who entered, followed by 
 two small boys, upon all three of whom, as it seemed 
 to Marion, Helen, with a glad little cry, precipitated 
 herself. There were embraces, kisses, inquiries for 
 
 (14) 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 15 
 
 a moment ; then the young man turned and held out 
 his hand, saying, " This is JMiss Lynde, I am sure? " 
 
 "Yes," said Helen, turning her flushed, smihng 
 face. " And this is my cousin, Frank Mor'ey, 
 Marion. And here is my brother Harry, who has 
 ahiiost grown lo be a man since I went away; and 
 here is httle Jock." 
 
 Marion shook hands with all these new acquaint- 
 ances ; the boys seized bags and baskets, and the 
 vounff man led the way from the car and assisted 
 them to the platform outside, near which a laige open 
 carriage was standing, with a broadly-smihng ebony 
 coachman, whom Helen greeted warmly. Then her 
 cousin told her that she had better drive home at 
 once. " I shall stay and attend to the trunks, and 
 will see you later," he said. 
 
 So Helen, Marion, and the boys were bundled into 
 the carriage, and drove away through the streets of 
 Scarborough, — Helen explaining that her home was at 
 the opposite end of the town from the station. " In- 
 deed we are quite in the countr}'," she said: " and I 
 like it much better than living in town." 
 
 " Who would wish to live in a town hke this! " 
 asked Marion, eying disdainfully the rural-looking 
 streets through which they were passing. " I like the 
 overflowing life, the roar and fret of a great city ; but 
 places of this kind seem to me made only to put 
 people to sleep, mentally as well as physically." 
 
 "Oh, Scarborough is a very nice place when you 
 know it! " said Helen, in arms at once for her birth- 
 place. " And I assure you people are not asleep in 
 it, by any means." 
 
 "These young gentlemen certaini}^ look wide 
 
16 FAIliY GOLD. 
 
 awake," resumed Marion, regarding the two boys, 
 who were in turn regarding her with large and solemn 
 eves. "And so looked your cousin — very wide 
 awake indeed." 
 
 "Oh, Frank is a delightful boy!" exclaimed 
 Helen ; " and I am very fond of him." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," said Marion. "I hope 
 you wdl be fond enough of him to keep him away 
 from me ; for if I abhor anything, it is a boy — 1 
 mean " (with a glance at the two young faces before 
 hir) " a boy who fancies himself a man." 
 
 " Frank is twenty yet.rs old," observed Harry, 
 who, being himself ban ly ten, naturally regarded this 
 as' a venerable age. 
 
 " So I imagined," replied Marion ; " and twenty is 
 not my favorite age — for a man. Jock's age suits 
 me better. Jock, how old are you? " 
 
 Jock replied that he was seven ; but at this point 
 an exclamation from Helen cut the conversation 
 short; for now they were rapidly approaching a house 
 situated in the midst of large grounds on the out- 
 skirts of the town, — a shade-embowered dwelUng, 
 on the broad veranda of which flitting forms were to 
 be seen, as the carriage paused a moment for the 
 gate to be opened. Helen stood up and eagerly 
 waved her handkerchief; then they drove in, swept 
 around a large circle and drew up before an open 
 door, from which jjoured a troop of eager welcomers 
 of all ages and colors. 
 
 It seemed to Marion a babel of sound which 
 < nsuf'd — kisses, welcomes, hand-shakings, ques- 
 tions, — then she was swept along by the tide into the 
 cool, garnished house, and thence on to a bowery 
 
FMllV i.riiLlK 17 
 
 chamber, where she was left for a little while to her- 
 self: since Helen was, after all, the grand object of 
 the ovation, and it was into Helen's I'oom that the 
 loyal crowd gatljered, who had merely given to 
 Marion that cor<]ial w^elcome which no stranger ever 
 fail.'fl to receive on a Southern threshold. 
 
 Only Helen's mother — who, having been twice 
 married, was now Mrs. Dalton — lingered behind 
 with tiie young stranger, and looked earnestly into 
 the fair face, as if seeking a likeness. 
 
 '• You are very little like your mother, my dear," 
 she said a^ last; " 1 hough j-ou have her eyes. Alice 
 was beautiful, but it was a gentle beauty; while 
 you — well, I think you must be altogether a Ljmde." 
 
 "I know that I am very like the Lyndes," Marion 
 answered. '' I have a miniature of my father, which 
 I can see myself that I resemble." 
 
 " He was a very handsome man," said Mrs. Dalton, 
 "and daring — ah! it was no wonder that he was 
 among the first to rush into the war, and among the 
 first to be killed! My child, you do not know h(;w 
 my heart has yearned over you during all these years, 
 how happy I was to hear of your being at tiie convent 
 with Hekn, and now iiow glad I am to see 30U under 
 m}' own roof. 1 want 3'ou to feel that you are like a 
 daughter of the house." 
 
 " You art', ver^' kind," replied Marion, tunclied by 
 the evident sincerity of tlie words. " I am glad, too, 
 to know at Ja^t some of my mother's kindred." 
 
 " I can't help wishing that you looked more like 
 her," said Mrs. Dalton, returning wistfully to that 
 point. " She was veiy lovely — though you — I sup- 
 pose I need not tell you what yon are. My dear " — 
 
 2 
 
18 FAIIiY GOLD. 
 
 and suddenly the elder woman stooped to kiss the 
 3'ounger — " I am soriy for you." 
 
 "I am sorry for you!" The words lingered on 
 Marion's ear after her aunt's kindly presence had left 
 the room and she stood alone, asking herself why she 
 was so often met in this manner. Why was it that, 
 even witli her royal beauty, she had thus far encoun- 
 tered more of pity than of admiration? Wh}' did all 
 eyes that had looked on the sin and sorrow of earth 
 regard her with compassion, and why had she heard 
 so often in her old life that which was her first greet- 
 ing in the new — "I am sorry for you " ? 
 
 "Sorry! — for what?" The girl asked herself 
 this with fiery and impatient disdain. What did 
 they all mean? Why did this keynote of un- 
 known misfortune or suffering meet her at every 
 turn, like a shadow flung forward by the unborn 
 future? Why did this refrain always ring in her ears? 
 She was tired of it — so she said to herself with sud- 
 den passion, — and she would let the future prove 
 whether or not their pity was misplaced. 
 
 She let down her magnificent hair as she thought 
 this, and looked at herself in the mirror out of a 
 burnished cloud. Not, however, as most beautiful 
 women look at the fair image that smiles from those 
 shadowy depths — not with the gratified gaze of self- 
 admiration or the glance of conscious power, but 
 with a criticism severe and stern enough to have ban- 
 ished all loveliness from a less perfect face ; with a 
 cool reckoning and appreciation, in which the inno- 
 cent vanity of girlhood bore no part. And when this 
 scrutiny was ended, 1he smile that came over her face 
 spoke more of resolution than of pleasure. 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 19 
 
 She took up a comb then, and began arrang- 
 ing her hair. The task did not occupy her many 
 minutes ; for her deft fingers were very quick, and 
 no one had ever accused her of caring for the arts 
 of the toilet. On the contrary, she had always 
 manifested a careless disregard of them, which 
 puzzled her associates, and was by not a few set down 
 to affectation. Now, when she liad piled her hair on 
 lop of her Itead like a coronal of red gold, she pro- 
 ceeded to make her simple toilet, with scarcely 
 another glance toward the mirror. It was soon com- 
 pleted, and she had been ready some time when a 
 knock at the door was followed by the appearance of 
 Helen's beaming face. 
 
 "So you are dressed?" she said. "I came to 
 show you the way down. I would have come sooner, 
 but, you know, there was so much to say." 
 
 " And to hear," added Marion. " I can imagine, 
 though I do not know, what such a home-coming is. 
 And what a lovely home you have, Helen ! " 
 
 "You have hardly seen it \et," answered Helen. 
 " Come and let me show you all over it." 
 
 It was certainly a spacious and pleasant house, 
 built with the stately, honest sohdity of the work of 
 former generations, but with many modern additions 
 which served to enhance its picturesqueness and com- 
 fort. Marion praised it with a sincerity that 
 delighted Helen ; and, having made a thorough ex- 
 ploration, they passed out of the v,'ide lower hall into 
 a Vfranda, which, as in most Soutliern houses, was at 
 this hour the place of general rendezvous. Here a 
 pretty dark-eyed girl came forward to m.eet them. 
 
 " I was introduced to you when you arrived. Miss 
 
20 FAIIIY GOLD. 
 
 Lynde," she saiil, '-but there was such a hubbub I 
 fancy you did not notice me, and I am glad to Avel- 
 come 3^ou again. I feel as if Helen's cousin must be 
 my cousin too." 
 
 "Helen's cousin is much obliged," said Marion. 
 " You are Miss Morley, then? " 
 
 "I am the Netta of whom you have doubtless 
 heard. But pray sic down. Are you not tired from 
 your journey? " 
 
 " A little. It was so warm and dusty ! " answered 
 Marion. " But this seems a perfect place of rest," 
 she added, as she sank on a lounge that had been 
 placed just under the odorous shade of the vines 
 which overran the front of the veranda. " I mean to 
 indulge freely in the luxury of Idleness here." 
 
 " I hope you will," said Helen. " But I wish that 
 you felt sufficiently rested to come with me into the 
 garden. I should like you to see how lovely it is." 
 
 " I wish that 1 did, but I don't. Pray go 3-ourself, 
 however. You must not let me begin my visit b}' being 
 a bore to you. Bliss Morlej', pray take her along." 
 
 After some little demur, the two girls complied with 
 her request, and with sincere satisfaction Marion 
 watched them disappear down the (.'arden paths. She 
 was very fond of Helen, she told herself and certainly 
 believed ; but, none the less, a very moderate amount 
 of Helen's society sufficed to content, and any more 
 to weary her. Just now she felt particularly wearied, 
 as if both mind and body had been on a strain ; and, 
 sinking back on the couch, with the vines breathing 
 their rich perfume over her, she remained so still while 
 the shades of twilight began to gather, that any one who 
 discovered her would have had to look very closelj'. 
 
FAIHr GOLD. 21 
 
 This was present!}^ proved ; for the silence, which 
 had lasted some time, was broken by a quick step — 
 a step which i)ussed across the veranda and entered 
 the hall, where a ringing and hilarious voice soon 
 made itself heard. 
 
 "Where is everybody?" it inquired. "Surely I 
 am late enough ! I thought they would all be down 
 by this time." 
 
 " The^-'ve all been down ever so long, Frank," a 
 child's shrill tones replied. " They are out in the 
 garden — Helen and Netta and Cousin Marion." 
 
 "Oh, very good! Come along, Jock, and let us 
 fiud them," said jNIr. Frank Morley. "Has your 
 cousin Paul been here 3'et? " 
 
 "No — not yet." 
 
 " Ah, better still ! We are before him, then. I shall 
 go and welcome Helen over again, and take a kiss 
 befoi-e she can prevent it." 
 
 "Then she'll box yonr ears — I saw her do it 
 once!" cried Jock, in glee. "Oh! yes; I'll come 
 along with you, Frank." 
 
 The tall, lithe figure, followed by the smaller one, 
 crossed the veranda again, and strode toward the 
 garden, leaving Marion smiling to herself in her shady 
 nook. 
 
 Ten minutes later another step — this time a more 
 sedate one — sounded on the gravel. But keener 
 eyts explored the veranda before their owner entered 
 the house. Consequently they discovered the figure 
 under the vines, and Marion was startled by a (juiet 
 voice whiehsaid : — 
 
 ' ' What ! all nlone, Helen ? I had not ho[)ed for such 
 good fortune — so soon. " 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 PROBABLY the speaker had seldom been more 
 surprised than when Marion rose quickly, and, 
 the last glow from the west falling over her, he 
 found himself face to face with a stranger. 
 
 Even to the most self-possessed there is something 
 a little embarrassing when tender tones or caressing 
 words are heard by ears for which they were not 
 intended ; and, although there was nothing specially 
 significant in the letter of this speech, its spirit had 
 been eloquent enough to make Mr. Paul Rathborne 
 start with confusion when he discovered his mistake. 
 
 " I beg pardon," he said, a little hastily — " I did 
 not observe — that is " (with a sudden grasp of self- 
 possession), " I thought I was addressing my cousin. 
 I suppose I have the pleasure of seeing Miss L^mde? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Marion. " And you, I presume, 
 are Mr. Rathborne ? " 
 
 He bowed. " I am glad to perceive that you have 
 heard of me." 
 
 "Oh!" said Marion, "in knowing Helen, one 
 knows all the people that make up her home circle. I 
 assure you I feel intimately acquainted with yourself 
 and all the Morleys, and the children — " 
 
 "And probably the horses and the dogs," he said 
 (22) 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 23 
 
 as she paused. "I am aware of the comprehensive- 
 ness of Helen's affections." 
 
 " Her heart is large enough to hold all that she 
 gives a place in it," remarked Marion. 
 
 "Oh! no doubt," said Mr. Rathborne. "But, 
 perhaps, if one had one's choice, one would be flat- 
 tered by more exclusiveness." 
 
 JMarion glanced at him and thought, " It is evi- 
 dently in your nature to want to monopolize." But 
 she only said: "I do not think you have reason to 
 complain of your place in Helen's regard." 
 
 "I have no thought of complaining." he replied; 
 " I am very grateful for all the regard she is good 
 enough to give me." 
 
 The humility of tlie words could not conceal an 
 arrogance of tone, which did not escape the ear of the 
 listener. At that moment she was as thoroughly con- 
 vinced as ever afterward that this man perfectly 
 understood how paramount was the place he held in 
 Helen's regard. 
 
 " Helen's affection is something for which one may 
 well be grateful," she observed, sincerely enough. 
 "But do you not wish to find her? She is in the 
 garden." 
 
 Mr. Rathborne did not stir. " If she is in the 
 garden," he said, "she will no doubt come in [pres- 
 ently. And I judge from sounds which I hear in that 
 direction that she is not alone. If you do not object, 
 I will remain here and wait for her," 
 
 "Object! Why should loliject?" aMied Marion. 
 She rt'scnted h rself. and was not displeased that Mr. 
 Rathborne drew forward a chair and also sat down. 
 She was aware thuL he was, in a manner, engaged to 
 
24 FAiny GOLD. 
 
 Helen — in other words, that their positive engage- 
 ment had only been deferred on account of Helen's 
 youth ; but the fact did not at all detract from the 
 interest be bad for her — the interest of a man witli 
 ■wider life and, presumabl}', wider thoughts than the 
 scbool-girls who, up to this time, had formed her 
 social atmosphere. It offended her, therefore, that 
 wben be spoke next it was in the tone of one address- 
 ing a scbool-girl. 
 
 " I suppose, Miss Lynde, tbat, like Helen, you were 
 very much attached to the convent? " 
 
 "■It is not at all safe to suppose that I am in any 
 respect like Helen," she replied. " We are very good 
 friends, but exceedingl}^ different in character." 
 
 ' ' And therefore in tastes? " 
 
 " That follows, does it not? Different characters 
 must have different tastes." 
 
 " It certainly seems a natural inference. And so I 
 am to presume that you were not attached to the 
 convent? " 
 
 "That is going rather too far. I liked it better 
 than any other school at which I ever was placed. 
 But I am not fond of restraint and subjection ; there- 
 fore I am glad that my school- days are over." 
 
 Mr. Rathborne smiled slightly. Even in the dusk 
 he could see enough of the presence before him to 
 judge that restraint and subjection would indeed be 
 little likel}'^ to please this imperial-looking creature. 
 
 " I am to congratulate you, then," he said, " on 
 the fact that your school-days are definitely over? " 
 
 " Yes, they are definitely over, and it remains now 
 to be seen what schooling life holds for me." 
 
 " Certainly a singular girl this! " thought the man, 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 25. 
 
 wbo was well aware that most j'oung ladies bad litile 
 thought of what seh(jolin'^ life might hold for them. 
 " If I may be permitted to prophesy,'' he said aloud, 
 " I think that life has iu store for you onl}'^ pleasant 
 experiences." 
 
 "That is very kind of you," answered Maritm, 
 with a mocking tone in her voice, which was very 
 familiar to her associates ; " but I don't know that I 
 have any claim to special exemption from the usual 
 lot of mankind ; and certainly pleasant experiences 
 are not the usual lot, unless everj'one is very much 
 mistaken." 
 
 " People are too much given to sitting down and 
 moaning over the unpleasantness of life, when they 
 might make it otherwise by taking malters into their 
 own hands," said Mr. Rathborue. " But that requires 
 a strong will." 
 
 " And something beside will, does it not.^ " 
 
 "Oh! of course the abilit}^ to seize opportunity, 
 and make one's self master of it." 
 
 " That is what I should like," said Marion, speaking 
 as if to herself: "to seize opportunity. But the 
 opportunity must come in order to be seized." 
 
 " There is little doubt but that it will come to 
 you," remarked her companion, more and more 
 impressed. 
 
 How far the conversation might have progressed in 
 this personal vein, into which it had so unexpectedl}'^ 
 fallen, it is difficult to say ; for a spark of congeiiial 
 sympathy had been already struck between these two 
 people, who a few minutes before had been al)Solute 
 strangers to each other. But at this point Mrs. Dalton 
 stepped out of, the hall and came toward them. 
 
26 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 " I thought I heard your voice, Paul," she said, as 
 Rathborne rose to shake hands with her; "and I 
 wondered to whom you were talking, since I knew the 
 girls were in the garden. But this is Marion, is it 
 not?" 
 
 " It is Marion," replied that yonng lady. " I did 
 not go into the garden — I felt too tired, — and Mr. 
 Rathborne found me here a few minutes ago." 
 
 " It is somewhat late for an introduction, then," 
 said Mrs. Dalton. '" since you have already made 
 acquaintance. ■ 
 
 "Not a very difficult task," observed Rathborne. 
 " I have heard a good deal of Miss Lynde, and she 
 was good enough to say that my name was not alto- 
 gether unknown to her." 
 
 " Helen talks so much of her friends that they could 
 hardly avoid knowing one another," resumed Mrs. 
 Dalton. " But pray go and tell her, Paul, that it is 
 time to come in to tea." 
 
 " With pleasure," said Mr. Rathborne, departing 
 with an alacrity which seemed to imply that only 
 politeness had prevented his going before. 
 
 At least so Mrs. Dalton interpreted the quickness 
 of his step, as she looked after him for an instant, and 
 then turned to Marion. "I suppose, my dear," she 
 said, " that you have heard Helen speak of Paul very 
 often?" 
 
 " Very often indeed," answered Marion. 
 
 "And you are probably aware that if I had not 
 refused to allow her to bind herself while she was so 
 young, they would be engaged? " 
 
 Marion signified that she had also heard this — 
 exhaustively. 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 27 
 
 "The responsibilities of a parent are very great," 
 said Mrs. Dalton, with a sigh. " I certainly have 
 every reason to trust Paul, who has been as h*.lpful as 
 a son to ine in all business matters since my hus- 
 band's death — he is my nephew by marriage, j'ou 
 know — yet I hesitate when I think of trusting Helen's 
 happiness to him. She is so very affectionate that I 
 do not think she could be happy with any one who 
 did not feel as warmly as herself. Now, Paul is ver3' 
 reserved in character and cold in manner. I fear that 
 he would chill and wound her — after a while." 
 
 " But is it not a rule that people like best those who 
 are most opposite to them in character.^" asked 
 Mar-ion, whose interest in Helen's love-affair began to 
 quicken a little since she had met its hero. 
 
 " I believe it is a general rule," replied Mrs. Dal- 
 ton, dubiously ; " but I distrust its particular applica- 
 tion in this case. And, then, they are not of the same 
 religion." 
 
 " Oh! " exclaimed Marion, carelessly, " that surely 
 does not matter — with liberal people." 
 
 "It matters with Catholics," said Mrs. Dalton. 
 " Although not a Catholic yourself, you ought to know 
 that." 
 
 " I know that people who have always been Cath- 
 olics feel so. But you, who wei'e once a Protestant — 
 I should think that you would be more broad." 
 
 " Converts are the last people to be broad in that 
 respect," said Mrs. Dalton. " They have known too 
 much of the bitterness of differing feeling on that sub- 
 ject. But you do not understand, so we will not dis- 
 cuss it. I forgot for a moment that 3'ou are separated 
 from us in faith." 
 
28 FAlllY GOLD. 
 
 " I am separated from 3^011 because I do not hold 
 your faith," said Marion, frankly ; "but I am not 
 separated because I hold any other. All religions are 
 alike to me, except that 1 respect the Catholic most. 
 But I could never belong to it." 
 
 " Never is a long day," observed Mrs. Dalton. 
 " You do not know what light the future may hold for 
 you. However, we will talk of this another time ; for 
 here come the garden party." 
 
 They came through the twilight as she spoke, the 
 light dresses of the girls sLiowing with pretty effect 
 against the daik masses of shrubbery, and their gay 
 young voices ringing out, with accompaniment of 
 laughter, through the slill air. 
 
 " Marion ! — where is Marion? " cried Helen, as she 
 reached the veranda. " Oh ! there 3'ou are still, under 
 the vines! Here is a greeting from the garden i hat 
 you would not go to see." 
 
 Jt was a cluster of odorous roses — splendid jacque- 
 minots — which fell into Marion's Iqp, and which she 
 took up and pinned against her wiiite dress, 'i heir 
 glowing color lent a fresh touch of brilliancy (o her 
 appearance when Paul Rathborne found himself 
 opposite to her at the well-lighted tea-table. The 
 twilight had revealed to him that she was handsome, 
 but he had not been prepared for such beauty as now 
 met and fascinated his gaze. He regarded her with 
 a wonder which was as evident as his admiration, and 
 net less flattering to her vanity. For Helen's con- 
 fidences had enabled her to form a very cori*ect idea 
 of this cold, self-contained man; and she felt that to 
 move him so much was no small earnest of her power 
 to move others. 
 
FAinY GOLD. y.' 
 
 Meanwhile she glanced at him now and then "ith 
 critic:d observation, seeing a keen ft.ce, with deep-set 
 eyes under a brow more higli than broad; a tlin- 
 lipped mouth, which did not smile readily : and a gen- 
 eral air of reserve and power. It was a face not 
 without attraction to the girl, whose own spirit vras 
 sufficiently ambitious and arrogant to recognize and 
 respond to the signs of such a spirit in another. " lie 
 is a man who mfeans to make his way in the world, 
 and who will use poor little Helen as a steppi' g- 
 slone," she thought. " A cold, supercilious, selfish 
 man — the kind of man wtio despises women, I fancy. 
 Let us see if he will despise me." 
 
 There was not much reason to suspect Mr. Rath- 
 borne of such presumption. Almost his first remark 
 to Helen, when they were together after tea, was, 
 " What a remarkable person your cousin seems to 
 be! " 
 
 '• Marion? " said Helen. " Yes, she is so remark- 
 able that Claire and I have often said that she is made 
 for some great destiny. She looks like an empress, 
 does she not? " 
 
 Rathborne laughed. " She has a very imperial air, 
 certainly," he said; " and she is strikingly beautiful. 
 She mio-ht have the world at her feet if sh'^ had a 
 fortune. But I supi)ose she has very little? " 
 
 '• None at all, I think," answered Helen, simply. 
 " And it has embi'tered her. She values money too 
 
 highly." 
 
 " It is difficult to do that," said Rathborne, dryly; 
 " and Miss Lynde knows what is fitted for her when 
 she desires weaUh. I never saw a woman who seemed 
 more evidently born for it." 
 
30 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 '• I wish I could give her my fortune," said Helen, 
 sincerely. "She hates poverty so much, while I 
 would not at all mind being poor." 
 
 An echo of the wish shot through Ratliborne's mind, 
 but he only said, with one of his faint, flitting smiles : 
 " My dear Helen, 3'ou are not exactly a judge of tljc 
 poverty j^ou have never tried. And, while it is very 
 good of you to wish to give your cousin your fortune, 
 there can be no doubt that with such a face she will 
 not go through life without finding one." 
 
 Helen looked across the room at the beautiful face 
 of which he spoke. In her heart no pang of envy 
 stirred, only lionest admiration as she said: " I knew 
 you would admire her! " 
 
 " Admire her — yes," Paul answered ; " one could 
 hardly fail to do that. But I do not think I shall hke 
 her. I like amiable, gentle women, and I am ver}- 
 certain that not even you can say that Miss Lj'nde is 
 amiable and gentle." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 YOU have not told me yet, Marion, what you 
 think of Paul," said Helen the next day. 
 
 The two girls were together in a handsome, 
 airy parlor, through which the stream of family life had 
 been flowing all morning, but from which it had now 
 ebbed, leaving them alone. Helen, who had been flit- 
 ting like a bird from one occupation, or attempt at 
 occupation, to anotlier, now threw herself into a chair 
 by one of the low open windows, and looked at Marion, 
 who was lying luxuriously on a couch near by, and 
 for an hour past had not lifted her eyes from her 
 book. 
 
 They were lifted now, however, and regarded the 
 speaker quietly. " What do I think of Mr. Rath- 
 borne.'*" she asked. "My dear Helen, what can I 
 possibly think of him on such short acquaintance, 
 except that he is tall and good-looking, and appears to 
 have a very good opinion of himself? " 
 
 "O Marion! " 
 
 " For all that I know, it may be an opinion based on 
 excellent grounds, but it is undoubtedly the first thing 
 about him that attracts one's attention." 
 
 " It is based on excellent grounds," said Helen, with 
 some spirit. "■Everyone who knows Paul admires, 
 and looks up to him." 
 
■32 FAIliV GOLD. 
 
 " Not quite everyone," olisirveil nn unexpected 
 voice, and ihrougli ihe window by winch she sat Mr. 
 Frank Morley stepped into the room. " I am sorry to 
 come upon tiie scene with a contradiction," he said, 
 as he took his cousin's hand ; " but really, you know, 
 Helen, that is too sweeping an assertion. / don't look 
 uj) to Paul Rathborue." 
 
 "80 much the worse for you, then,"' said Helen. 
 " A boy like 3 ou could not do better." 
 
 " I think that a boy, even though he were like me, 
 might do much better. He might look up to someone 
 who was not so selfish and conceited." 
 
 A rose flame came into Helen's cheeks. " You are 
 very rude as well as ill-natured," she answered in a 
 low tone. " You have no right to say such things 
 to me." 
 
 ' ■ I have never been told that there was any reason 
 why I should not sa}^ them to you," replied the 3'oung 
 man, significantly ; " but I had no intention of making 
 myself disagreeable. After all, the truth is not always 
 to be told." 
 
 " It is not the truth," exclaimed Helen, with a flash 
 of fire in her glance. " Paul is neither selfish nor con- 
 ceited. But you never liked him, Frank — you know 
 you never did." 
 
 '• I never hesitated to confess it," saidFrank; "but 
 I regret having annoyed you, Helen. I did not think 
 you wou d take my opinion of Mr. Rathborne s^o much 
 to heart." 
 
 '•It is not; your opinion," responded Helen. "It 
 is — it is the injustice! " And then, as if unwilling 
 to trust herself further, she sprang up and left the 
 ■room. 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 33 
 
 There was an awkward pause for a moment after her 
 departure. Mr. Frank Morley began to whistle, but 
 checked himself, with an apologetic glance at Marion, 
 who, leaning back on the cushions of her couch, was 
 faintl}' smiling. 
 
 " I have, as usual, put my foot into it," said the 
 young man. "But I could not imagine that Helen 
 would be so fiery. She used to laugh when I abused 
 Paul." 
 
 "Did she?" asked Marion. "But, then, you 
 know, there comes a time when one ceases to laugh ; 
 and if one likes a friend, one does not wish to hear 
 him abused. That time seems to have arrived with 
 her." 
 
 "Yes," said Morley, rather ruefully. "And the 
 worst of it is that it looks as if she liked the fellow 
 better than I imagined. I am awfully sorry for that." 
 
 "You evidently do not like him." 
 
 "I! — no indeed. As Helen remarked, I never 
 liked him, but I like him less and less as time goes 
 on." 
 
 '-' What is the matter with him? " 
 
 "Everything is the matter with him. He is as cold 
 as a stone ; he cares for nobody in the world but Paul 
 Rathborne, and for nothing that does not advance that 
 important person's interest. He is supercilious until 
 one longs to knock him down ; and so ambitious that 
 he would walk over the body of his dearest friend — 
 granting that he had such a thing — to advance him- 
 self in life one inch." 
 
 "Altogether a very charming character!" re- 
 marked Marion. "It is certain that you are not the 
 dearest friend over whose body he would walk." 
 
 3 
 
34 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 Young Morley laughed. " No," he said, frankly. 
 " I would walk over his with a good deal of pleasure ; 
 but he will never walk over mine, if I can help it. 
 Though he ma}-, for all that," he added, after an in- 
 stant ; " for he is so sharp that one can never tell what 
 he is up to, until it is too late to frustrate him." 
 
 " This is very interesting," said Marion. "It is 
 like reading a novel to hear a character analyzed in so 
 masterly a manner." 
 
 Morley colored. He was too shrewd not to know 
 that she was laughing at him ; but while the fact was 
 sufficiently evident, it was not exactly evident how 
 best to show his appreciation of it. After a moment 
 he spoke in a tone which had a little offense in it: — 
 
 "I don't suppose the subject interests j^ou, so I 
 ought to beg pardon for dwelling on it. But I only 
 meant to explain why Helen was vexed." 
 
 "And now you are vexed," observed Marion. 
 "What have I done? I assure j'ou I was in earnest 
 in saying I was interested in your analysis of Mr. 
 Rathborne's character." 
 
 " It sounded more as if you were satirical," said 
 Morley. " And I was not trying to analj'ze his char- 
 acter: I was only answering your questions about 
 it." 
 
 " Quite true, but those questions led to your ana- 
 l^'zing it — and so successfully, too, that I am going 
 to ask another. Tell me if vou think he is much 
 attached to Helen? " 
 
 A sudden cloud came over the 3'oung man's face, 
 and his eyes seemed to darken. "I do not think he 
 is attached to her at nil," he replied, bluntly. " Or, if 
 that is saying too much (for everyone must be at- 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 35 
 
 tachcd to Ile'en), I do not l)elieve l^e would wi-li to 
 marry her but for her fortune." 
 
 "Well," said ]Maiion, philosopliicalh', " I sui)pnse 
 it is tlie ordinary fate of rich women to be married 
 for their money. And, after all, they do not seem 
 to mind it: they appear happy enough." 
 
 "Helen would never be happy," said Frank 
 Morley, impetuously. 
 
 " Do not be sure of that," responded the 3'oiing 
 cynic on the couch. "There is a French proverb, 
 you know, which says: '■ II y a toujoiirs Vun quibaisse 
 et Vun qui tend lajoue.' Helen would play the active 
 part in that to perfection." 
 
 Tiie young man looked at her with something of 
 indignation. "You may consider yourself a friend 
 of Helen's," he remarked, " but you certainly do not 
 understand her." 
 
 "No?" said Marion, smiling. "Then perhaps, 
 you will enlighten me, as you have about Mr. Rath- 
 borne. I am probably deficient in penetration." 
 
 Morley made a gallant effort not to be betrayed 
 into boyish petulance, and succeeded sufficiently to 
 say, with a dignity which amused his tormentor: — 
 
 "I am sure that penetration is the last thing you 
 are deficient in, Miss Lynde. But you do not credit 
 othors with enough of the quality. I, at least, know 
 when I am laughed at. Now, if you will excuse me, 
 I will go and make my peace with Helen." 
 
 He walked out of the room, holding his slim, young 
 fienre very erect; and Marion looked after him with 
 a glance of mingled amusement and approval. 
 
 "Very well done, Mr. Morlp}^ " she said to her- 
 self. "You are an uncommonly nice boy, with un- 
 
36 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 commonl}' clear reasons for 3'our opinions. Ten j'ears 
 hence you may be a very agreeable man. As for Mr. 
 Rathborue, your account of him agrees entirely with 
 my own impressions. I realh' do possess a little pen- 
 etration, afler all." 
 
 Then she took up her novel again, and settled back 
 among the sofa-cushions with an air of comfort. At 
 that moment her only desire was tliat slie might not 
 be disturbed for a reasonable length of time. The 
 people in the book interested her much more than the 
 people who surrounded her in life. At this period of 
 her existence she was wrapped in a rutliless egotism, 
 which made all human beings shadows to her, unless 
 they touched her interest. It was not yet apparent 
 whether any of those who were now about her would 
 touch her interest; and until that fact was demon- 
 strated, she troubled herself very little about them. 
 
 A quarter of an hour, perhaps, had passed without 
 any one appearing to disturb her quiet, when, through 
 the same window by which young Morle}' had entered, 
 another presence stepped into the room. It was 
 Rathhorne, who looked around, met Marion's eyes, 
 and came toward her with a pleased expression. 
 
 " It seems to me my good fortune to find you always 
 alone, Miss Lynde," he observed. 
 
 '• And it seems to be the custom here that visitors 
 shall appear in the most unexpected and informal 
 manner," said Marion. " Do they always come in 
 unannounced, by way of the window? " 
 
 '•Oh, no I Here, as elsewhere, most visitors enter 
 decorously by way of the door. But I have long been 
 :is familiarly intimate in this house as if it were m}' 
 home, and I expected to find the family assembled." 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 37 
 
 "The family has been assembled, but the different 
 members have been called away by one thing or 
 another, until only I remain." 
 
 " You appear to be fond of solitude." 
 
 "Is not that a wide conclusion to draw from the 
 fact that you have found me twice alone? " 
 
 "Discerning people can draw wide conclusions 
 from slight indications. On each occasion a person 
 sociably inclined would not have been left alone." 
 
 " Generally speaking, I am not very sociably in- 
 clined, I suppose ; but that does not mean that I 
 object to society — when it pleases me." 
 
 "I judge that you are not very easily pleased," 
 answered Rathborne, regarding the face which he 
 found even more beautiful than his recollection had 
 painted it. 
 
 iShe looked at him with a smile so brilliant that it 
 almost startled him. '• Are you trying to give me 
 another proof of your discernment?" she asked. 
 " If so, you will be gratified to hear that you are 
 right. I am not ea'^ily pleased — as a rule. I sup- 
 pose peoi)le are much happier who are not so ' diffi- 
 cult,' as my French teacher used to call me. There 
 is Helen, for instance; she likes everything and every- 
 body, and she is certainly happier than I am." 
 
 "But, then, unfortunately it is not very flattering 
 to the vanity when one pleases a person who is so 
 easily pleased." 
 
 Marion lifted her eyebrows with a mocking expres- 
 sion. " But why should one's vanity be flattered? " 
 she asked. "It is not good for one that it should 
 be." 
 
 " Not good perhaps, but very pleasant," replied 
 
o8 FAIliT GOLD. 
 
 Mr. Ratbborne ; " and I am, like yourself, somewhat 
 ' difficult,' and hard lo please." 
 
 " Ah! then you can sympathize with me. It is not 
 an agreeable disposition to possess." 
 
 " I can sympathize with you on a good many 
 points — or r.t least so I have the presumption to 
 fancy," he said. " There is an instinct that tells one 
 these things. Even in our brief conversation yester- 
 da}' evening I felt as if a sympathetic undei'standiug 
 was established between us. It seemed to me that 
 we were likel}' to look at many things in the same 
 light." 
 
 It is hardly necessarj- to observe that, considering 
 what she had recently heard of the speaker's charac- 
 ter, and hence of Lis probable way of looking at 
 things, Marion should not have been \evy much flat- 
 tered by this. But, as a matter of fact, she was flat- 
 tered. She had as strong a belief in her own powers, 
 as strong a determination to make events and people 
 serve her ends, as Mr. Rathborne himself possessed. 
 But her powers were untried, her ability to impress 
 people untested ; and this first proof that she was 
 remarkable — that even this cold, selfish man recog- 
 nized in her something altogether uncommon — 
 something allied to his own ambitious spirit, — was like 
 wine to her self-esteem. Slie thought that here was 
 material on which she might try whatever power she 
 had, without fear of doing mischief , — material certain 
 to look after itself and its own interest in any 
 event, and witli which no unpleasant results could be 
 feared. 
 
 To do her justice, Marion wanted only to make a 
 mental impression: to extort admiration for her 
 
FAIUY COLD. 39 
 
 unusual gifts of niiiid and cliaracter from this man, 
 who, she knew instinctively, was not easil3' moved to 
 admivaiiou or interest. If she forced it from him, 
 then she might lie sure that it would be easy to win it 
 from others. These thoughts were not absolutely 
 formulated in her mind at this moment, but the^'^ were 
 impressed on her consciousness sufficient!}' to make 
 her reply : — 
 
 " You flatter me by saying so ; for you are a man 
 "who knows the world, and I was yesterday a school- 
 girl. It would be sti'ange, then, if we did see things 
 in the same light." 
 
 "■ It is difficult to realize that 3'ou were yesterda}^ — 
 or ever — a school-girl," said Rathborne, leaning 
 back and looking at her intently from under his dark 
 brows. 
 
 " That does not sound very flattering," she replied, 
 with a laugh ; and 3'et in her heart she knew that it 
 was just the kind of flattery she desired. 
 
 " I am not trying to flatter you," he replied. " I 
 am telling you exactly how j'ou impress me. And 
 I do not see how, in the name of all that is wonderful, 
 3-ou ever became what 3'ou are in that convent from 
 which you come." 
 
 A swift shade passed over Marion's face. "You 
 must not blame or credit the convent with what I 
 am," she said. " If I had gone there earlier, I might 
 be a very different person. But my character and 
 disposition were formed when I went there, two years 
 ago; and the influences of the place could not change 
 me, though \.\\Qy often made me feel as if change 
 would be desirable." 
 
 " They made \'ou feel a mistake, then," remarked 
 
40 FAfliV GOLD. 
 
 her companion, with em[)liasis. " Change in 3'ou 
 would not be desiraljle. You are — " 
 
 But Marion was not destined to hear just then what 
 she w^as. Steps and voices came across the liall; 
 Helen's laugh sounded, and the next moment Helen 
 herself appeared in the doorway-, followed by Frank 
 Morley, who had apparently succeeded in making his 
 peac€. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WHEN Sunday came, Helen said to her cousin, 
 rather wistfully: "Will you go to church 
 "with us to-da}', Marion? " 
 
 "Not to-day, I believe, if you will excuse me," 
 answered Marion. "If I go anywhere — which is 
 doubtful — I suppose it ought to be to the church I 
 was brought up in." 
 
 "I thought you always said at the convent how 
 much you preferred Catholic services," said Helen, 
 in a disappointed tone. 
 
 " Well, at the convent, you see, one had not much 
 choice," replied the other, laughing; "and, then, 
 the services were cliarming there — so poetical and 
 beauiiful. That chapel was a picture in itself . But, 
 from the outward appearance of your church here. 
 I should not judge that it possessed much inward 
 beauty." 
 
 "No," said Helen, reluctantly, " it has not much 
 beaut}^ ; but, then, the Mass is ever^^where the same, 
 you know." 
 
 " For those who believe in it, very likelv,'" was 
 the careless rejoinder. " But I am an outsider. I 
 believe only in what I see ; and ^^ hen I see beautiful 
 ceremonies, I enjov them for Iheir beantv." 
 
 ■ (41) 
 
42 FAIL'Y GOLD. 
 
 "It is just as well, in that case, that 3-011 should 
 not go with us, my dear," said Mrs. Dalton, from 
 the head of the table — for this conversation took 
 place at breakfast. "Ours is a very plain little 
 chapel, the congregation being small and poor. If 
 you are in search of beautiful ceremonies, the Episco- 
 pal churcli will be more likely to gratify you. They 
 have a new Ritualistic clergyman there, who has 
 introduced many new customs, I hear." 
 
 "I see no particular reason why 1 should go any- 
 where," observed Marion, truthfullj^ " It is a vei-y 
 pleasant day for staying at home." 
 
 But she was not destined to stay at home on this 
 particular Sunday, which was the beginning of a 
 change in her life. After breakfast, while they were 
 enjoying the freshness of the summer morning on the 
 veranda, and before any chime of bells yet filled the 
 air, Miss Morley made her appearance, fully dressed 
 for church parade ; and, after a general greeting, said 
 to Marion : — 
 
 " I have come to inquire if you would like to go to 
 church with me this morning, Miss Lyncle. I have 
 heard Helen say that you ai'e not a Roman Catholic." 
 
 "I am hot anything at all," answered Marion; 
 " and I confess that I do not, as a rule, see the need 
 of church-going ; but, since it is such a pleasant day, 
 and you are so kind as to come, Miss Morley, — may 
 I ask what cluirch you attend? " 
 
 " Oh, Netta is an Episcopalian! " interposed Helen. 
 "She will take you to a handsome church, filled with 
 well-dressed people, where you will have pretty cere- 
 monies and nice music to amuse you." 
 
 "Satire is not in your style, Helen," said Marion, 
 
FAIJ^r GOLD. -^'3 
 
 putting out ber baud to giv^e a, soft pincb to tbe round 
 arm near ber. '• But, i-ince you give sucb an littrac- 
 tivo dfscriptiou, Ibclitve 1 will go Avitb IVIiss Morley." 
 
 " Tben we bave not mucb time to spare," said that 
 young lad}', witb a glance at ber dress, as a concert 
 of bells suddenly burst out. 
 
 " Ob, I will be read^'in afew minutes! " exclaimtil 
 Marion, smiling. 
 
 Her simple toilet was soon made, yet i:s veiy 
 simplicity' enbanced tbe striking cbaracttr of ber 
 beaut}'; and wben sbe followed Miss Morley U[) 
 ibe softly-carpeted aisle of tbe Episcopal cburcb, 
 every e^'e turned on ber, and everyone wondered 
 wbo sbe could be. To berself, tbe atmospbere 
 wbicb surrounded ber was very agreeable, speak- 
 ing as it did of wealtb and refined tastes. Beau- 
 tiful arcbitectural forms, polisbed woods, sttiined 
 glass, a pretty procession ; sweet, clear voices singing 
 to tbe rlcb roll of a fine organ; and a congregation 
 wbicb. gave tbe impression of belonging altogetber to 
 tbe favored classes of society, — tbese tbings sbe 
 liked, independently of any religious association or 
 meaning. 
 
 Indeed, as a religious ceremony, tbe service seemed 
 to Marion very mucb of a failure, so recently bad she 
 witnessed tbe divine Reality of worsbip. Sbe missed 
 tbe tbrill of awe wbicb bad come even to ber when the 
 Sacred Host was lifted up to heaven in tbe Mass ; and 
 ber keen, unprejudiced mind realized bow entirel}'^ 
 what sbe now saw was only tbe mutilated remnant of 
 an older and grander ritual. "It is a pity that tbe 
 Catholic religion is so exacting, and that so many 
 common people belong to it," sbe thought ; " for it is 
 
44 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 the only one with any reality about it, or any claim to 
 one's respect." 
 
 Nobody would have suspected tluse reflections, 
 however, from her outward deportment. She went 
 through the service decorously, and listened witk 
 exemplary attention to the sermon, which was by no 
 means contemptible as a literarj^ effort. Her beautiful 
 face — conspicuously placed in one of the front 
 pews — somewhat distracted the attention of ttie young 
 clergyman, and he found himself now and again look- 
 ing from his MS. to ineet the large, dark eyes fixed so 
 steadily on him. But Marion herself was distracted by 
 no one, although she was aware of the appeaiance and 
 manner of everybody in her immediate neighborhood. 
 
 Among the rest, she observed a lady who sat near, 
 and more than pnee glanced inquiringly toward her; 
 a lady of specially distinguished and fashionable 
 appearance. " She does not belong to Scarborough," 
 thought Marion, noticing (without appearing to do so) 
 some of the details of her costume. And her conclu- 
 sion she soon found was correct. When the services 
 were over, and the congregation, passing out of 
 church, interchanged salutations as they went. Miss 
 Morley acknowledged a greeting from this lady ; and 
 Marion, as they walked on, said: " Who is that hand- 
 some and elegant woman?" 
 
 "Mrs. Singleton," was the reply. "She is very 
 handsome and very elegant, is she not? But she does 
 not live in Scarborough ; she is here only for the 
 summer." 
 
 '' I felt sure of that," thought Marion — though she 
 had too much tact to say so. " Who is she ? — where 
 does she come from ? " she asked. 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 45 
 
 " She is one of the Singletons," answered Netta — 
 " at least ber husband is, — and you know who they 
 are. They appear to have ample means, and live in 
 a great many places. She has just returned from 
 Eui-upe." 
 
 "And why has she come to Scarborough?" in- 
 quired Marion, in a tone not altogether flattering to 
 that place. 
 
 " Well, cliiefly, I believe, because the climate here 
 agrees wonderfully with an old gentleman who is her 
 husband's uncle, to whom they seem to devote them- 
 selves." 
 
 " Is he wealthy?" asked Marion, with unconscious 
 cynicism. 
 
 "Oh, very!" replied Netta, with simplicity ; "im- 
 mensely rich, I believe, and has no children; so he 
 lives with the Singletons, or they live with him." 
 
 " The last most likely," said Marion, whose knowl- 
 edge of life was largely drawn from its seam}' side. 
 
 The conversation ended here, and she thought no 
 more of it. But on the evening of the next day Miss 
 Morley came into the drawing room where the family 
 group were assembled after tea, and, turning to Marion, 
 said : — 
 
 " Do you remember our speaking of Mrs. Singleton 
 as we came from church j'esterday, Miss Lynde } 
 She seems to have been as much impressed by you as 
 you were by her. I met her on the street this morn- 
 ing, and she slopped me to ask who you were. I 
 suppose I must nut venture to repeat all that she said 
 of your appearance, but I may tell you that slie has 
 some connections named Lynde, anil that she is very 
 curious lo know if you bel ug o them." 
 
46 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 " I am sorry that I can not satisf}^ her," said 
 Marion, who showed no signs of being as flattered as 
 she really was. "Family genealogies have never 
 interested me. If my uncle were here now, he could 
 tell her all that she wished to know." 
 
 "So that elegant Mrs. Singleton is in Scarborough 
 again this summer! " cried Helen, witli interest. 
 " Is the same old gentleman .with her, and do they 
 still keep up an establishment with so much stjde ? " 
 
 "Oh, 5' es ! " her cousin answered. "They have 
 taken the Norton House for the summer, and have 
 brought a beautiful carriage and horses, and servants, 
 with tliem. Not many people liav" seen llie old 
 gentleman j^et. I hear that he is fi'ei)lcr than he was 
 last year. 
 
 " Then no doubt Mrs. Singleton stiU laments touch- 
 ingly how sad it is for old people — for their own 
 sakes entirely! — when they live too long," said Paul 
 Rathborne, who was present as usual. 
 
 "At least she does not devote much of her time 
 and attention to him," responded Mrs. Dalton, 
 " unless report greatly belies her." 
 
 "Why should she?" said Rathborne. "He has 
 an expensive, hi ghh' -trained nurse for his special ser- 
 vice, besides a staff of servants. What could she do 
 for him, except worry him? Oh, no: it is not on 
 account of any demand upon her time or attention 
 that she thinks he lives too long, but because he keeps 
 his fortune in his own hands, and will until death 
 relaxes his hold of it." 
 
 " How awful," exclaimed Helen, with a shudder, 
 " to want anj'body to die! I cannot believe that Mrs. 
 Singleton does. She seems so kind and pleasant." 
 
FAIHY GOLD. 47 
 
 " And you think everyone must be kind and pleas- 
 ant who seems so?" said Rathborne, with a covert 
 sneer. " My dear Helen, it will not do to judge the 
 world by yourself." 
 
 "Why not?" asked Helen, innocently. "Why 
 should I not believe that others are honest and sin- 
 cere as well as myself? " 
 
 " Well, really there does not seem any i-eason on 
 the surface, except that experience proves it other- 
 wise," he answered, with a laugh. 
 
 " I hope it may be long before experience proves it 
 to me," said Helen. " I can not bear to think badly 
 of people. It seems to me that it would break my 
 heart to be forced to think badly of any one for whom 
 I cared." 
 
 If one heart present felt a twinge of compunction at 
 those words, there was no sign of it ; but Mrs. Dalton 
 looked at her daughter with a sudden glance of some- 
 thing like apprehension. 
 
 "You should not talk in such away, Helen," she 
 said. " A bi'oken heart is not a thing of which to 
 speak lightly." 
 
 " I did not intend to speak lightly," answered 
 Helen. " I meant what 1 said very seriously. I do 
 not think I could bear it." 
 
 " That is foolish," continued her mother. " We 
 must bear whatever God sends." 
 
 " I do not think Helen will ever have to bear a 
 broken heart, or anything like it," observed Marion. 
 ' ' I am very certain that she is made for happy 
 fortune." 
 
 " No one in the world, who lives for any length of 
 time, can know unbrokenly happy fortune," said Mrs. 
 
48 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 Dalton, gravely. " But T do not lliink it well to dis- 
 cuss such personal subjects." 
 
 " Then we will discuss the rich old man who has a 
 highly-trained nurse and a staff of seivants," said 
 Marion, laughingly. " Tell me" — turning to Rath- 
 borne — " what is his name? " 
 
 " Singleton," replied that gentleman. " Have you 
 never heard of him ? He is a very rich man ; and Tom 
 Singleton — the husband of the lady you have seen — 
 hopes to inherit his wealth." 
 
 " He is his nearest relative? " 
 
 " Oh, I presume there are other nieces and nephews, 
 but he is a favorite of the old man." 
 
 " Have I not heard something of a disowned sou? " 
 asked Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 "A disowned son!" repeated Marion. "I did 
 not know that people out of novels — and even in 
 novels it has gone out of fashion — ever disowned 
 their sons now." 
 
 " As I have heard the story," said Rathborne, " it 
 is more a case of the son disowning the father. He 
 refused to comply with his father's wishes in any re- 
 spect, and finally broke away and left home, going off 
 to South America, I believe. He has not been heard 
 of for a considerable number of years, and Tom 
 Singleton says there is every reason to believe him 
 dead. Of course the wish is father to the thought 
 with ^m, but others have told me the same thing." 
 
 " Perhaps his father drove him away by harshness, 
 and remorse is what is the matter with him," said 
 Netta Morley, solemnly. 
 
 Rathborne laughed. " From my knowledge of old 
 Mr. Singleton," he replied, "I should not judge that 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 49 
 
 remorse preyed upon him to any great extent. The 
 son, I have been told, was a wild, rebellious youth, 
 whom it was impossible to control — one of those 
 unfortunate human beings who seem born to go wrong, 
 and whom no influence can restrain." 
 
 " Wliere wiis the poor boj-'s mother? " asked Mrs. 
 Dal ton. 
 
 " She died when he was very young. But, with all 
 due deference to ihe popular idea of a mother's influ- 
 ence, I think we see many cases in which it fails 
 altogether." 
 
 " Yes." said Mrs. Dalton. " But even if her influ- 
 ence fails, her patience is more long-suffering than 
 that of anv one el«e, and her love is more enduring. 
 Perhaps this bo}^ might not have been lost if his mother 
 had lived." 
 
 " If we begin with ' perhaps ' we may imagine any- 
 thing we please," remarked Rathborne, in a tone which 
 Marion had learneil to understand as expressing con- 
 tempt for the Qpinion advanced. 
 
 " Without indulging in any imagination at all, so 
 much as is known of the Singletons is very interesting 
 indeed," she said, in her clear, fluent voice. " If I see 
 au}^ of them, I shall look at them with much more 
 attention from having heard this romantic story of a 
 lost son and a great fortune." 
 
 " I think you are very likely to see Mrs. Singleton," 
 observed Netta. " She spoke as if she desired to 
 make your acquaintance." 
 
 "That is a great compliment — from her," said 
 Helen. '• What an impression you must have made, 
 Marion!" 
 
 4 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 EVENTS soon proved that Helen was right in say- 
 ing that Marion must have made an impression 
 upon Mrs. Singleton. A few daj's later that 
 lady's card was brought to Mrs. Dalton, who regarded 
 it with mild surprise, saying, " Why, I have not 
 called on her since her arrival this summer I " 
 
 "But you called on her last summer," said Helen; 
 " and I suppose she has some reason for coming with- 
 out waiting for you to make another formal visit. 
 Pray find out what it is." 
 
 It was not at all difficult to discover Mrs. Single- 
 ton's reason for the visit. She declared it frankly 
 and at once. " I hear that you have your charming 
 daughter at home, Mrs. Dalton," she said; "and, 
 knowing her accomplishments, I want to secure her 
 aid for some musical evenings I am anxious to in- 
 augurate. Mr. Singleton — m}' husband's uncle — 
 finds almost his only pleasure in music ; so I desire 
 very much that these evenings shall be a success. 
 Do you think Miss Morley will assist me? " 
 
 " I have no doubt she will be verj' glad to do so," 
 answered Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it. And I am told that a 
 very striking-looking young lady, whom I saw in 
 (50) 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 61 
 
 church with Miss Netta Morley last Sunday, is your 
 niece. Has she, also, taste and talent for music? " 
 
 " Oh! yes ; she has a finer voice than Helen," said 
 Mrs. Dalton, " and sings much better." 
 
 " How very charming for me ! " cried Mrs. Single- 
 ton. " May I have the pleasure of seeing the young 
 ladies? I should like to have their definite promise 
 to help me." 
 
 The young ladies were summoned, and very readily 
 gave the promise asked of them. They would be 
 delighted, they said, to assist to the full extent of 
 their musical abilities. "And when," Helen asked, 
 " will the evenings begin? " 
 
 "Oh! at once," Mrs. Singleton replied. "On 
 every Wednesday I hope to gather all the musical 
 talent of Scarborough into my drawing-room. I shall 
 send out my cards immediately to that effect. You 
 don't know, Miss Lynde," — turning to Marion — 
 "how pleased I am to find unexpectedly such an 
 addition as 1 am sure you will prove." 
 
 Marion smiled. "You are very kind," she said; 
 " but I fear you are taking too much for granted. I 
 am not a good musician. I have never had industry 
 enough. Helen plays much better than 1 do." 
 
 " Oh, but, Marion, your voice is so fine! " cried 
 Helen. " And everyone likes singing best." 
 
 " / do, I confess," said Mrs. Singleton. " And so, 
 I think, does my uncle. I have no doubt that you 
 sing well, Miss Lynde." 
 
 "That is kind of you again," responded Marion; 
 " but I must warn you that Helen is not altogether a 
 trustworthy witness. She always thinks well of what 
 her friends do, and poorly of what she does herself." 
 
52 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 " I am willing to wait and let Mrs. Singleton decide 
 whether oc not I think too well of what you do," 
 observed Helen, with a gay little Dod. 
 
 "Mrs. Singleton has no doubt what her decision 
 will be," said that lady. "Meanwhile, Miss Lynde, 
 I wonder if we are not related in someway? I am 
 very certain that the Singletons have connections of 
 your name, and I fancy it must be your family." 
 
 " It is likely," answered Marion ; " but matters of 
 pedigree and relationship have never interested me 
 sufficiently for me to know much about them. I re- 
 gret that fact now," she continued, with unusual 
 graciousuess ; for she felt that she would not be sorry 
 to be able to claim relationship with peo[)le of such 
 social position as these were. 
 
 " Oh! " said Mrs. Singleton, " ray uncle will know 
 all about it, I am sure. Like most people of the old 
 school, he thinks a great deal of such things. And I 
 hope I may prove right in my conjecture," she added, 
 as she rose to take leave. 
 
 ^'■WJiat an impression you must have made upon 
 her, Marion!" cried Helen, as soon as they were 
 alone. "Do you know that she is usually the most 
 supercilious woman, and so haughty that the idea of 
 her claiming relationship with any ordinary person 
 seems incredible! " 
 
 " Do you consider me an ordinary person? " asked 
 Marion, laughing, as she walked towanl a mirror. 
 " I am exceedingly obliged to you." 
 
 " You know that I consider 3'ou a most extraordinary 
 person," answered Helen, with emphasis ; " but Mrs, 
 Singleton does not know yet what you are in yourself, 
 and — and you are not rich or — " 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 53 
 
 " Distinguished in any way," said Marion, as slie 
 paused. " There is no doubt of that. As far as the 
 outward accidents of Hfe go, I am a very insignificant 
 person. But I shall not be so always, Helen. I am 
 sure of that ; and people who know the world seem to 
 have an instinct of it also." 
 
 Helen looked at the fair face which, with such an 
 air of conscious power, regarded itself in the mirror. 
 To her this ambition belonged to the order of inexpli- 
 cable things ; yet she had a belief that it was natural 
 enough in Marion, and that it was fully justified by- 
 gifts which she acknowledged without defining. 
 
 " No one could know you and not be sure of it," 
 she said, in answer to tlie last speech. "Of course 
 you will fill some great place in the world — we settled 
 that long ago. But I do think it strange that Mrs. 
 Singleton should recognize how remarkable j^ou are — 
 so soon." 
 
 " Perhaps it is an imlication that other people will 
 recognize it too," replied Marion, with a smile ; while 
 she said to herself that one other person had recog- 
 nized it already. 
 
 And, indeed, the recognition of that person had by 
 this time become sufficiently evitlent to everyone. In 
 the innocence of her heart, Helen rejoiced that her 
 hero and oracle agreed with her in admiring the cousia 
 whom she admired so much. " I knew how it would 
 be!" she said to him, triumphantly. " You miyht 
 be critical about other people, but I knew you must 
 acknowledge that Marion is beyond criiicism." 
 
 " That, however, is just what I don't acknowledge," 
 Rathborne answered, laughingly. " Miss Lyu'leisby 
 no means beyond criticism; she is only a brantiful 
 
54 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 and clever 3'oung lady, who lias clearly determined 
 to do the best for herself without much regard for 
 others." 
 
 " Marion has never been taught or accustomed to 
 think of others," said gentle Helen. "But I do not 
 think she would harm any one for her own advantage." 
 
 "Oh! no; she would only quietly walk over the 
 person who was unlucky enough to get in her way." 
 remarkefl Rathborne. " And it is not 1 who would 
 blame her for that." 
 
 Helen looked at him reproachfully. " Now you 
 are doing j^ourself injustice," she said. "1 under- 
 stand that you do not mean anvthing of the kind, 
 but such remarks make others think badly of you." 
 
 ''No doubt," he replied, carelessly; "but, my 
 dear Helen, there is nothing in the world of less im- 
 portance to me than what others — the class of others 
 you mean — think of me." 
 
 " But it is of great importance to me," said Helen. 
 *'I cannot bear that you should be misjudged by 
 any one." 
 
 He laughed — people were right who said of Rath- 
 borne that he had not a pleasant laugh — as he 
 replied, "Who can say when one is misjudged? 
 Don't trouble yourself about that. As long as jou 
 are satisfied with me, I can snap my fingers at the rest 
 of the world. ' ' 
 
 "You know how well I am satisfied," said Helen. 
 
 "Yes, I know," he answered, with a short thrill of 
 compunction. " I am not all you think me, Helen. 
 The ' others,' whose opinion makes j'ou indignant, are 
 nearer light than you are, if the truth were known, 
 I suspect." 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 55 
 
 "You shall not say such things!" cried Helen. 
 "There is nothing 1 could want changed in you, 
 except" — her face fell a little — "except your re- 
 ligion. If you were only a Catholic I should be 
 perfectly happy. " 
 
 Eathborne smiled a little, as one would at the folly 
 of a child. "la Catholic!" he said. " My imagi- 
 nation is not strong enough to fancy that. No, my 
 dear little Helen; you must be content with me as 
 I am." 
 
 " Have you read the book I gave you — which you 
 promised to read?" asked Helen, wistfully. 
 
 " I glanced into it — because I promised you," he 
 answered ; " but I found little of interest, and nothing 
 to change my convictions. Do not indulge the hope 
 that they ever will be changed. Let us understand 
 each other on that point from the first. You are at 
 liberty to believe and practice what you like, and I 
 claim the same liberty for myself. Is not that 
 just?" 
 
 "I — suppose so," answered Helen, whose forte 
 was not controversy, and whose eyes were full of 
 tears. " But surely you wish to believe and practice 
 the truth?" 
 
 Rathborne shrugged his shoulders. " What is 
 truth? " he said. "There is ancient and high author- 
 ity for that question, and I don't know that it has 
 ever been answered satisfactorily. I shall not en- 
 deavor to begin to answer it. And I shall not take 
 an answer from the lips of a priest. Now let us 
 change the subject." 
 
 The subject was changed, but poor Helen's heart 
 was heavier than before it was begun. Whenever she 
 
56 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 did not talk to Rathborne on tlie subject of religion, 
 she indulged a hope of his conversion, founded on her 
 own ardent desire ; but whenever she timidly opened 
 the subject, she felt the hopelessness of moving this 
 nature so deeply rooted in self-opinion, spiritual in- 
 difference, and worldly interests. At such times her 
 poor little heart had its first taste of bitterness of 
 life, — that bitterness which is so largely made up of 
 the jarring of different natm-es and of irreconcilable 
 desires. 
 
 Meanwhile some irreconcilable desires had begun to 
 disturb the even current of Rathborne' s carefully- 
 planned life. For years he had seen very clearly 
 what he meant to do — first to marry Helen, in order 
 to secure the financial independence which her fortune 
 would give ; and then to climb, by certain well-marked 
 steps, the ladder of professional and political eminence. 
 He had never hesitated or wavered for an instant in 
 this plan, neither had any obstacle ai'isen in his way. 
 Helen had yielded to his influence, her mother's oppo- 
 sition was easily overcome, his professional success 
 was all that he could desire, and already he was 
 known as a man certain to gain the coveted prizes of 
 public life. 
 
 But now into this well-ordered and orderly existence 
 a distraction came. A beautiful, imperious, ambitious 
 woman suddenly appeared in his path, and the strong- 
 est temptation of his life assailed him — the temptation 
 to give up Helen and her fortune for Marion and 
 Marion's striking gifts. " What might not a man 
 accomplish with such a brilliant and ambitious spirit 
 to aid his own ambition! " he said to himself, and so 
 felt the temptation grow daily stronger. Yet he was 
 
FAIET aOLDi 57" 
 
 well aware that in giving up Helen, he wr.uld give up • 
 more than her affection (which he did not count at 
 all), and her fortune (which he counted very heavily) : 
 he would give up also a large and influential family - 
 connection, and the respect of every person of his 
 acquaintance whose respect was woi'th most to him. 
 He felt, however, that he might make up his mind to • 
 the last, if it were all ; for he was too cynical and had 
 too thorough a knowledge of the world not to know 
 that people do not long remember anything to the dis- 
 advantage of a successful man. But to resign Helen's - 
 fortune, after the careful work of years to secure it, 
 was something more difficult to him ; and he had by 
 no means made up his mind to do so when the above • 
 conversation took place. 
 
 It was the day of Mrs. Singleton's musicale; and 
 presently Rathborne, who found conversation tiresome ■ 
 to maintain, said as he rose to go : " Shall I accompany 
 you this evening? Of course I have had a card like • 
 everyone else." 
 
 "Oh! yes; come by all means," replied Helen. 
 " Mamma is going with us, and Netta and Frank are 
 to call by ; but it is always pleasant to have you." 
 
 "It is not pleasant to me, however, to form one of 
 a caravan," he said, with some impatience. " If I 
 am to accompany you, can you not dispense with Miss 
 Morley and her brother.^ " 
 
 "I hardly like to tell them not to come; and why 
 should you object to them? It is pleasant for us all . 
 to go together." 
 
 "Do you think so?" said Rathborne, with the 
 sneer which came so readily to his lip. Some words , 
 of Marion's recurred to his mind. " Helen is so gre- 
 
58 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 garious and so easily pleased," that young lady had 
 said, " that I think she would like to live always with 
 a mob of people." But foi' the memory of this speech 
 he might not have felt so irritated with a harmless and 
 amiable love of companionship ; but the contempt 
 which dictated the words found a ready echo in his 
 own mind. 
 
 "If your cousins are going to accompany you, 
 there is no need for me," he observed ; " so I will con- 
 tent myself with meeting you at Mrs. Singleton's. 
 Good-morning! " 
 
 " Oh, I am sorry! " said Helen, with quick regret. 
 " Netta and Frank would think it very strange, else I 
 would send and ask them not to come — " 
 
 "Not on my account, I beg," responded Rath- 
 borne. " I am very well satisfied with matters as 
 they are. It gives me the opportunity of choosing 
 my own time to appear." 
 
 "Don't be too late," said Helen. "You know 
 that Marion and I are both going to sing ; and Marion, 
 I am sure, will do her best." 
 
 " And you also, I hope." 
 
 She shook her head. " I am not like Marion. A 
 public performance unnerves me, but it always puts 
 her at her best. You will hear to-night how much 
 better she will sing for a number of people than she 
 has ever sung for a small circle." 
 
 "I shall certainly hear," said Rathborne. "Tell 
 Miss Lynde that I am preparing mj'self to be elec- 
 trified." 
 
 Perhaps he was aware in uttering these words that 
 Miss Lynde had appeared in the open door behind 
 him. At least there was no surprise on his face, but 
 
FAJBY GOLD. 59 
 
 a great deal of satisfaction, wlieu she came forward, 
 saying: — 
 
 "And why, pva-y, Mr. Rathborne, should you be 
 preparing yourself to be electrified? " 
 
 " Because Helen has just been telling me how much 
 you are inspired by an audience," he answered; 
 "and you are to have all Scarborough for your 
 audience." 
 
 She made a gesture of indifference. " Give me 
 credit," she said, "for caring a little more for the 
 quality than the mere quantity of appreciation. ' All 
 Scarborough ' does not mean a great deal to me, I 
 assure you." 
 
 " Such as it is, though, it will be at your feet," he 
 said. " Do not scorn it." 
 
 " I shall certainly wait until it is at my feet to 
 begin to do so," she answered, with a laugh. 
 
 "It is not good policy to scorn even that which 
 is at your feet," he said. " You may need it some 
 day." 
 
 "Be sure that I have no inclination to scorn any 
 kindness that comes in my way," she observed, 
 quickly. "You do me injustice if you believe me 
 capable of that." 
 
 " Then you will not scorn your audience to-night," 
 he answered; "for I am sure you will meet nothing 
 but kindness from it." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 NEVER was a prophecy better fulfilled than that 
 of Rathborne ; for no one of the large com- 
 pany assembled in Mrs. Singleton's spacious 
 drawing-room but felt prepared to admire and ap- 
 prove the beautiful young stranger, who was led to 
 the piano by her host when the musical programme 
 was about half over. Everybody had an instinct that 
 the star of the evening had now appeared — that one 
 who looked so proud and confident was not likely to 
 entertain them with a mediocre performance. And, 
 indeed, Marion, who had professed to scorn " all 
 Scai'borough," was sufllciently inspired by her audi- 
 ence to feel capable of doing her best. As the first 
 notes of the accompaniment were struck, she threw 
 back her head like one who answers to a challenge ; 
 and when she opened, her lips such a tide of melod}' 
 rose, such crystal-clear notes, such a flood of pure, 
 sweet sound, that even the lowest undertone of con- 
 versation stopped, and people held their breath to 
 listen. 
 
 Rathborne, who l)ad been late in arriving, and who 
 stood just outside one of the open windows, conven- 
 ientl}' sheltered from observation, smiled to himself as 
 he "watched the scene within. It w^as one which gave 
 him as much pleasure as his nature was capable of 
 (GO) 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 61 
 
 feeling. Tliat beautiful, statel}- figure beside the 
 piano, with its regal bearing and crown of red-gold 
 hair, deserved to be the center of all attention ; and 
 suited his own taste so exactly that he did not even 
 perceive Helen's sweet, smiling face near by. It did 
 not surjDrise him that Marion sang as he had never 
 heard her sing before. He had read her character 
 accurately enough, by the light of his own, to feel 
 sure that she would never fail when occasion called 
 for display. 
 
 His glance swept around the apartment, taking in 
 the expressions of the various faces, and finally fasten- 
 ing on one that was partly sheltered behind a curtain at 
 the end of the room. This curtain fell between the 
 drawing-room and a smaller apartment opening from 
 it. Now and then during the course of the evening a 
 few of the oldest and most distinguished of Mrs. 
 . Singleton's guests were admitted to the smaller apart- 
 ment, where it was understood that " old Mr. Single- 
 ton" was established to listen to the music at his ease. 
 It must have been very much at his ease that he 
 listened ; for he had given no sign of his presence or 
 appreciation until now, when — as if Marion's clear, 
 ringing notes had been a spell — Rathborne observed 
 at the opening of the curtain a thin face, with a high, 
 aquiline nose and white moustache. 
 
 Mrs. Singleton also observed it ; and as soon as the 
 song was ended, leaving others to crowd around the 
 singer and express their admiration, she walked to the 
 curtained arch and exchanged a few words with the 
 person sheltered behind it. Then, turning, she 
 crossed the room and deftly made her way to Marion's 
 side. 
 
62 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 "My dear Miss Lynde," she exclaimed, "what a 
 pleasure you have given us ! What a delight to hear 
 siicli a voice as yours! My uncle is charmed, and he 
 begs that you will sing again. Of course we all beg 
 that you will, but I give his request first, because it is 
 a very great compliment — from him." 
 
 It was certainly a compliment which he had paid no 
 one else; and Marion smiled with a sense of triumph. 
 She preserved due modesty of manner and appearance, 
 however, as she said: " I am exceedingly glad that I 
 have been able to give pleasure to Mr. .Singleton ; per- 
 haps tliere is some special song that he would like to 
 hear? " 
 
 "Oh! I am sure he will like to hear anything 
 that 3^ou sing," replied Mrs. Singleton, who did not 
 wish to delay the amusement of the evening long 
 enough to make inquiry. 
 
 So Marion sang again, with increased self-confidence , 
 and success; and the thin, keen face appeared ajiain 
 at the opening of the curtains, as if looking were no 
 less a pleasure than listening. 
 
 But, this song over, Mrs. Singleton was too wise a 
 hostess to encourage any request for a third. "We 
 must not ask too much of Miss Lj^nde's kindness," 
 she said. ' • Later in the evening, perhaps she will 
 sing for us again ; and we must be reasonable. Miss 
 Royston is going to play for us now." 
 
 Miss Royston, a tall, angular young lady, whose 
 elbows seemed unduly developed, took her seat on the 
 piano-stool, struck a few crashing cords, and began a 
 sonata. Being fresh from a conservatory of music, 
 and having a severely classical taste, she was undt-r- 
 stood to be a very fine musician — a fact taken on 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 63 
 
 trust by most of those who composed her present 
 audience ; but very soon a conversational murmur 
 b'gau to be heard ; those who were near windows 
 slipped out on the veranda "to enjoj' thi; cool air 
 while they listened," and there was no longer any 
 glimpse of the aquiline nose and white moustache at 
 the opening of the 20ortie res. 
 
 Marion, who had not been conscious of this brief, 
 partial appearance of the invalid recluse, for whose 
 amusement the entertainment had been arranged, 
 whispered to Helen, by whom she sat down : "I won- 
 der how Mr. Singleton likes this? " 
 
 " Not as well as your singing, I am sure," answered 
 Helen, in the same tone; " for all the time you were 
 singing he was looking at you from behind those 
 curtains 3-onder. " 
 
 "Was he indeed?" said Marion. She looked at 
 the now closed, unresponsive curtains with a quick 
 glance of Interest. " What does he look like? I wish 
 I had seen him." 
 
 " When you sing again, glance over there and you 
 will certainly be gratified." said Helen. " But here 
 comes Paul at last. He has missid your singinsf ; is 
 not that too bad ? ' ' 
 
 " I doubt very much if he considers it so," replied 
 Marion. " He has heard me several times and never 
 expressed any particular i)leasure, that I remember " 
 
 "That is Paul's way," said Helen, eagerly. "It 
 is hard to tell what he feels l«y what he expresses. He 
 admires your voice very much. I am sure of that." 
 
 " What is it you are so sure of, Helen?" asked 
 Ratliborne, who hid drawn near enough to hear the 
 last words through the crash of the piano. 
 
64 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 "That 3'ou are very sorry not to have heard 
 Marion's singing," answered Helen, looking up into 
 his face with a smile. 
 
 " I should certainly have been very sorrj' if I had 
 not heard it," he said; " but, as it happens, I had 
 that pleasure. And it was just as I expected," he 
 added, turning to Marion. " You sang as I never 
 heard 3-ou sing before. An audience inspires you — 
 an occasion calls forth all yonv power." 
 
 She laughed softly. " Perhaps it was not the audi- 
 ence or the occasion so much as the consciousness of 
 Mr. Singleton's presence, and a desire to evoke some 
 sign of interest from a critic who buries himself in 
 silence behind drawn curtains." 
 
 " Well, if so, 3'ou evoked it. I congratulate you 
 upon that." 
 
 "Helen was just telling me that he vouchsafed a 
 glimpse of himself during my song. I wish I had 
 seen him. I have a curiosit}^ to know what he is like." 
 
 "Like a very ordinary old man," observed Rath- 
 borne, carelessly. " But here comes Mrs. Singleton — 
 to tell us, perhaps, that we should not be talking while 
 the music is going on." 
 
 So far from that, Mrs. Singleton began at once to 
 talk herself, in a discreetly lowered tone. " Miss 
 Lynde," she said, " I hope j'ou have no objection to 
 making the acquaintance of my uncle .? He has asked 
 ine to bring you in to see him. He is an old man, 
 3'ou know, and an invalid, so you will excuse liis not 
 coming to see yon." 
 
 " I shall be delighted to go to him," answered Ma- 
 j.*ion, with ready courtesy and grace. 
 
 So the entire company were surprised and interested 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 65 
 
 to see their hostess leading the young stranger across 
 the room to the jealously-guarded inner apartment 
 where Mr. Singleton was secluded. All eyes followed 
 them curiously, and lingered oii the curtains, wliich 
 Mrs. Singleton held back for a moment while Marion 
 passed within, and then let fall. 
 
 Marion's own curiosity and gratification were 
 equally balanced. It was like a public triumph to be 
 led in this manner behind these curtains, which had 
 opened for no other of the performers of the evening. 
 Evidently this rich and presumably fastidious old man 
 was to be included in the number of those who rec- 
 ognized her to be something more than ordinar}'. 
 The instant that the portieres were drawn back, she 
 looked eagerly into the apartment thus revealed. 
 
 It was smaller than the drawing-room behind her, 
 and was luxuriously furnished. The light which filled 
 it was softly toned and shaded, but quite brilliant 
 enough to show all the variety of silken-covered chairs 
 and couches, the richly-blended tints of Eastern rugs, 
 the carved tables and stands covered with books and 
 papers. Sunk in the depths of one of the easiest of 
 these easy-chairs was a small, sligbt man; his wasted 
 face, with its high, distinct features, snowy hair, and 
 moustacbe, thrown into relief against the back of the 
 chair on which he leaned. His hands, which rested 
 on its arms, were like pieces of delicate ivory carving, 
 and his whole appearance spoke as distinctly of refine- 
 ment as of ill health. Seated opposite him was an 
 old gentleman, whose robust aspect was in strong 
 contrast with his own, and who was talking in a tone 
 which showed that he took no heed of the music in the 
 next room. 
 
66 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 He paused and rose at sight of the two ladies ; but 
 Mr. Siugletou did not stir, though Marion felt his 
 bright, keen eyes fastened on her at once. She 
 followed her hostess, who went forward to his 
 chair. 
 
 "Here is Miss L3'nde, who has come to see you, 
 uncle," said that lady. 
 
 " It is very kind of Miss Lynde," replied Mr. Sin- 
 gleton, with the air of the old school — that air which 
 a j-ouugcr generation has lost and forgotten. He 
 held out his hand, and, when Marion laid her own in 
 it, looked at her with an admiraiion to which she had 
 always been accustomed, and an evident pleasure la 
 the contemplation of so much beauty. "Will you sit 
 down?" he said, after a moment, indicating a low 
 chair b}' his side. " I want 3'ou to tell me where you 
 learned to sing so well." 
 
 " Where do the birds learn?" asked INIarion, smil- 
 inar. " I have sung- like the birds as long as I can 
 remember; although, of course, I have liad some 
 teaching. Not a great deal, however." 
 
 "It is a pity that you should not have more," he 
 said. " Your voice, if fully trained, would be magnifi- 
 cent. But, as it is, you sing remarkably well ; you 
 have no vices of style, and you have given me a great 
 deal of pleasure." 
 
 " I am very glad to liave given you pleasure," 
 answered Marion, with an air of gracious sincerity. 
 " Mrs. Singleton has told me that you are very fond 
 of music." 
 
 He made a slight grimace. " I am very fond of 
 good music," he said; " but I do not hear a great 
 deal of it from amateurs. When Anna told me of the 
 
FAIllY GOLD. 67 
 
 entertainment she had arranged, I had little idea of 
 hearing such a voice as j^oiirs." 
 
 Marion laughed. " While I was singing," she said, 
 " I had something- of the feeling "which I imagine the 
 
 o o o 
 
 singers must have who are obliged now and then to go 
 through an opera in an empty theater, for the sole 
 beueCit of the King of Bavaria, who is invisible in 
 his box." 
 
 " But you had plentv of visible listeners besides the 
 invisible one," said Mr. Singleton. 
 
 " I thougrht nothing of them," she answered. "I 
 was singing to you altogether, and now I feel as if I 
 had been summoned to the royal box to be compli- 
 minted." 
 
 There was a playfulness in the words which; 
 deprived them of any appearance of flatter}', yet it was 
 evident that Mr. Singleton was not ill-pleased at being 
 compared to royalty — even such eccentric royalty as 
 that of the then living King of Bavaria. 
 
 "To carry out the comparison," he said, smiling^ 
 " I ought to have a diamond bracelet to clasp on 
 your arm. Such are the substantial compliments of 
 royalty. But, instead, I am going to ask a favor 
 of you — a very great favor. Will you come some 
 time and sing to me alone .? I promise you that I will 
 not be invisible on that occasion." 
 
 " I shall be very happy to do so," she answered, 
 promptly. '"It will be a real pleasure to myself. 
 Tell me when I shall come." 
 
 " That must be settled hereafter. My health, and 
 consequently my state of feeling, is very uncertain. 
 Sometimes even music jars on me. Anna shall see 
 you and arrange it." 
 
68 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 Mrs. Singleton, hearing ber name, turned from a 
 conversation which she had been maintaining witli the 
 gentleman who was the other occu[)ant of the room. 
 
 " What is it that I am to arrange? " she asked. 
 " That Miss Lynde will come sometime and sing to us 
 alone? Oh, that will be charming! But now I must 
 go back to my duties, for I think I hear the sonata end- 
 ing. Will 30U cotne with me?" she said to Marion. 
 
 " If my audience is ended," replied Marion, with a 
 pretty smile, to Mr. Singleton. 
 
 " Your audience is not ended, if you do not mind 
 remaining with an old man for a little while," he 
 answered. ''Anna can return or send for you when 
 she wants 3'^ou to entertain her guests again. Mean- 
 while I want you to entertain me." 
 
 " Before I go, then, I will introduce General Butler, 
 and charge him to bring you back presently," said 
 Mrs. Singleton, after which she disappeared. 
 
 General Butler, no less pleased than his friend with 
 the charm of a beautiful face, sat down again, and 
 said to Mai'ion : " Your name is very familiar to me, 
 Miss Lynde. I wonder if you are not a daughter of 
 Herbert Lynde, who was killed at Seven Pines .^ " 
 
 " Yes," answered Marion, " I am liis daughter, and 
 always glad to meet his old friends. You knew him, 
 then.?" 
 
 " Oh! very well. He was in my brigade, and one 
 of the bravest men I ever saw. I thought there was 
 something familiar to me in your face as well as in your 
 name. You are very like him." 
 
 " Herbert Lynde! " repeated Mr. Singleton. " If 
 that was your father's name, my niece was right in 
 thinking that there might be some relationship between 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 69 
 
 us. The Singletons and those Lyndes Lave inter- 
 married more than once. I hope that 3'ou do not 
 object to acknowledging a distant link of cousinship 
 with us? " 
 
 "So far from objecting, I am delighted to hear of 
 it," answered Marion. " Who would not be delighted 
 to find such cousins } " 
 
 There was something a little sad as well as ironic in 
 the smile with which Mr. Singleton heard these words, 
 as he extended his hand and laid it on hers. 
 
 "That sounds very cordial and sincere," he said. 
 " I hope you may never find reason to qualify j'our 
 delight. I confess I am glad to find that we are not 
 altogether strangers. It gives me a faint, shadowy 
 claim on your kind offices. I am not a man whom 
 many things please. But you have pleased me, and I 
 shall like to see yon again." 
 
 " I shall like to come," answered Marion, " for my 
 own pleasure as well as for yours. I am not easily 
 pleased either," she added, with a smile; "so you 
 must draw the inference." 
 
 " It is one I should like to be able to draw also," 
 observed General Butler. " This is really too narrow. 
 I cannot claim relationship, Miss L)mde; but remem- 
 ber I am an old friend of your family." 
 
 " Of mine, too, then," said Marion, holding out her 
 hand to him. As he bent over it with a flattered air. 
 she had a triumphant sense that it was a conclusive 
 test of her power to be able to charm and influence 
 men of the world and of mature experience like these. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WELL, Marion," said Helen, "now tliat ,you 
 have seen Mr. Singleton, what do you think 
 of him?" 
 
 The}^ were walking home through the soft, moonlit 
 summer night when this question was a^ked ; and 
 Marion answered, lightly: "I find him charming. 
 He is refined, fastidious, has seen a great deal of the 
 world, and is altogetlier a man after my own taste." 
 
 "Then," said Frank Morley, who was walking by 
 her side, "a man after your own taste must be a 
 heartless valetudinarian ; for that is what Mr. Single- 
 ton has the credit of being." 
 
 "As it chances." said INIarion, " neither his heart- 
 lessness nor his valetudinarianism concerns me in the 
 least — granting that they exist. But I confess to a 
 doubt on that point. Are you very intimately ac- 
 quainted with him, Mr. Morley?" 
 
 Had the moonlight been brighter, it might have been 
 perceived that young Morley flushed at the tone of the 
 question. " No," he answered ; " I have no acquaint- 
 ance witli him at all. But that is the opinion of every 
 one." 
 
 " The opinion of ' ever3^one ' has very little weight 
 with me," said Marion. " I prefer my own." 
 (70) 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 71 
 
 "You are quite right to distrust au uncharitable 
 opinion, my dear INIarion," interposed Mrs. Dalton's 
 quiet voice. " The fact of its being general is no 
 reason for crediting it. People are alvrays quicker 
 to believe evil than good, I am sorry to sa}-. " 
 
 "I suppose that is meant for me," said Frank 
 Moi-ley. "But really I am not inclined, on general 
 principles, to believe evil sooner than good. I do 
 think, however, that some weight is to be given to a 
 consensus of public opinion." 
 
 "What a large word!" cried Helen, laughing, 
 while Rathborne observed, with his familiar sneer: — 
 
 " A word which represents a large fact also, but a 
 fact that must be based on knowledge in order to have 
 any value. Now, the public opinion of Scarborough 
 has no knowledge at all of Mr. Singleton. Therefore 
 its decision about him has no value." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said Marion ; " for I do not 
 believe that he is either heartless or a valetudinarian." 
 
 "I suppose he made himself agreeable to you," 
 said young Morley. 
 
 "Very agreeable," she answered, coolly. " He in- 
 formed me that we are related, and he asked me to 
 come and sing for him alone." 
 
 " I congratulate you on a triumph, then," said 
 Rathborne; "for he is a most critical person, who 
 likes few things and tolerates few people." 
 
 " So I judged," she answered; " and I felt flattered 
 accordingl3\" 
 
 "How frightened I should have been of him!" 
 exclaimed Helen. " I am very glad that my singing 
 was not worthy of his notice! " 
 
 There was a general laugh at this, as they paused at 
 
72 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 Mrs. D.ilton's gate, where good-nights were ex- 
 changed. " I will see you to the house," said Rath- 
 borne, when his aunt declared that in tlie soft, bright 
 moonlight there was no need for any one to accom- 
 pany them farther; he opened the gate and went in, 
 while the Morleys walked off. 
 
 " Frank," said Miss Morley, " what is the reason 
 that you so often speak to Miss Lynde in a manner 
 that sounds disagreeable and sarcastic .? I don't think 
 it is well-bred, and I never knew you guilty of speak- 
 ing so to any one before." 
 
 " I never had such cause before," answered Frank. 
 "It is the tone Miss Lynde habitually employs to me. 
 You will say, perhaps, that is no excuse, but at least 
 you will admit that it is a provocation." 
 
 " A provocation you ought to resist," said the young 
 lady. ''I am really ashamed of you? What is the 
 reason that you positively seem to dislike each other? " 
 
 " Miss Lynde appears to think that I am a person 
 who needs to be kept in his place by severe snubbing," 
 replied the young man ; " and I think that she is the 
 most vain and conceited girl I ever encountered. I 
 don't trust her an inch ; and if there is not something 
 very like a flirtation going on between Rathborne and 
 herself, I'm mistaken." 
 
 "How can you say such a thing! Why, Paul 
 Rathborne is as good as engaged to Helen ; and, of 
 course, her cousin knows it." 
 
 "That's neither here nor there. Whatever she 
 knows or doesn't know, you have only to see them 
 together to observe how well they understand each 
 other. As for Rathborne, no treachery would sur- 
 prise me in him." 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 73 
 
 "Frank, I am really shocked at you! " cried his 
 sister. " You have let prejudice run away with your 
 judgment. You dislike Paul Rathborne until you are 
 ready to suspect him of anything. Of course he 
 admires Miss Lynde — everyone does except your- 
 self, — but that is no reason for believing that be 
 would be treacherous to Helen. And Miss Lynde' s 
 manner is the same to him as to everyone, so far as 
 I have observed." 
 
 " As far as you have observed may not be very 
 far," said Frank, with brotherly candor. " Wait and 
 see — that is all." 
 
 "I think you ought to wait and see before you 
 make such charges," returned Miss Morley. " You 
 always disHked Paul Rathborne, and now you dislike 
 Miss Lynde, so you suspect them both of very 
 unworthy conduct. It shows how we ought to guard 
 against disliking people, since to do so leads at last 
 to unjust judgments." 
 
 " Very fine moralizing," remarked the young man ; 
 "but not at all applicable in this case, since I don't 
 suspect them because I dislike them, but I dislike 
 them because I suspect them. There's all the differ- 
 ence in the world in that." 
 
 " It amounts to the same thing with you, I fancy," 
 answered his skeptical sister. " But I hope that at 
 least you will keep your suspicions to yourself. If 
 you breathed them to Helen — " 
 
 "Do 3'ou think I would!" he said, indignantly. 
 "What good could it do? Helen will believe noth- 
 ing against any one she loves. And she does love 
 Rathborne — confound him ! " 
 
 "Frank, you are really growing so uncharitable that 
 
74 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 it distresses me to hear you talk," said his sister, 
 solemnly. 
 
 Frank only responded by a laugh compounded of 
 scorn and vexed amusement ; but in his heart he knew 
 that it was true — that he was growing uncharitable, 
 and that lie disliked Ratliborne so much that he was 
 ready to believe aii}' ill of him. It was this dislike 
 which had sharpened his eyes to perceive what that 
 astute gentleman thought he was concealing from every 
 one — the fact of the strong attraction which Marion 
 had for him ; and whoever else that fact might sur- 
 prise, it did not surprise young Morley in the least. 
 He had never believed in the disinterestedness of 
 Rathborne's affection for Helen, and it had enraged 
 him to perceive the trust with which his cousin gave 
 her heart to a man unworthy of it. These sentiments 
 had prepared him to observe any failure in the con- 
 duct of that man, and there had been a gratified sense 
 of the justification of his own judgment when he per- 
 ceived what was so far hidden from everyone else 
 except Rathborne hnnself and — Mariou. 
 
 For Marion was fully alive to the admiration with 
 which Rathborne regarded her ; but it is onl}^ justice 
 to say thiit no thought of treachery to Helen was ever 
 in her mind. Many and great as her faults might be, 
 they were not (f a mean order. By towering ambi- 
 tion and arrogant pride, she might fall into grievous 
 error, bu^. hardly into baseness — at least not by pre- 
 meditation. But it is hard to say at exactly what 
 milestone we will stop on the road of seeking the gi'at- 
 ification and interest of self. It pleased her to see 
 that Rathborne regarded hfr in a veiy different man- 
 ner from that in which he regarded any other woman 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 75 
 
 with whom she saw him associating ; the unconscious 
 homage of his air when he approached lior, of his tone 
 when he addressed her, the choice of his subjects when 
 he talked to her alone, were all like incense to her 
 vanity ; and it was this incense which she liked, r:ither 
 than the ixiau. Concerning the latter, she had not 
 changed her first opinion, which did not differ very 
 widely from that of Mr. Frank Morley. 
 
 The day after Mrs. Singleton's evening, Helen said 
 to her cousin: " I wish so much, Marion, that you 
 would sometimes sing in our choir! Miss Grady, our 
 organist, said to me last night thtit she would be so 
 glad if you would, and I promised to nsk 3'ou." 
 
 '* Wh^', certainly," replied Maiion, with ready 
 assent; " I shall be very glad to do so whenever you 
 like. Catholic music is so beautiful that it is a pleas- 
 ure to sing it; but I don'tknow much of it." 
 
 "You know that lovely '■Ave Miria ' } ou used to 
 sins: at the convent." 
 
 •' Gounod's.' Oh,y<-s! But when can I sing that? " 
 
 "At the Offertory in the Mass. I know Miss 
 Grady will be delighted, for she has no really good 
 voice. Fancy, mine is her best! " 
 
 "How moilest you are!" said ]\Iarion, smiling. 
 "Very well, then, I will sing the ' Ave Maria ' next 
 Sunday witli a great deal of pleasure, if your organist 
 likes, and your priest does not ol^ject to a Prote-^itant 
 voice." 
 
 "He is not likely to do that; but I thought you 
 always declared that 3'ou are not a Protestant." 
 
 "I suppose one must bo classt d as a Protestant, 
 according to the strict sense of tlie term, when one is 
 not a Catholic — and that I am not." 
 
76 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 *' But you may be some day." 
 
 " Nothing is more unlikel3\ Your religion is too 
 exacting: it puts one's whole life in bondage. Now, 
 I want to be free." 
 
 "Not free to do wrong, Marion! And the only 
 bondage which the Catholic Church lays upon people 
 is to forbid their doing what is wrong." 
 
 " I must be free to judge for myself what is 
 wrong," returned Marion, with a haughty gesture of 
 her head. " But we had better not talk of this, Helen. 
 We do not think alike, and I do not wish to say 
 anything disagreeable to you." 
 
 " Nor I to you," said Helen; " and indeed I have 
 no talent for argument. One needs Claire for that. 
 Dear Claire ! how I wish she were here ! " 
 
 " So do I," said Marion ; " but not for purposes of 
 argument, I confess." 
 
 Glad to do something to please her aunt and cousin, 
 Marion went willingly the next Sunday to the Catholic 
 church; and, having already seen the organist — a 
 pleasant young music teacher — accompanied Helen 
 into the choir-loft. Here, sitting quietly in a corner 
 during the first part of the Mass, she had time 
 to contrast the scene before her with that which she 
 had witnessed during the other Sundays of her stay 
 in Scarborough. The first thing which struck her was 
 the poverty of the small building, as compai-ed with 
 the luxury and beauty of the Episcopal place of wor- 
 ship. Here were no finely-carved and polished woods; 
 but plain, plastered walls, relieved from bareness only 
 by the pictures which told in simple black and white 
 the woful story of the Cross. The sound of moving 
 feet and scraping benches on the uncovered floor 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 77 
 
 jarred ou her nerves after tlie subdued quiet, which 
 was the result of carpeted aisles and pews ; while the 
 appearance of the congregation spoke plainly of 
 humble, hard-working lives. No suggestion of social 
 distinction and elegance was here. But in the sanct- 
 uary there was something of beauty to pletise even 
 her tnesthctic eje. 
 
 The small nltar was beautifully dressed with freshly- 
 cut flowers, draped with spotless linen and fine lace, 
 and briUiant with light of wax tapers. Evidently 
 Helen's careful hand and convent-bred taste had been 
 there, even as Helen's pure, sweet, young voice was 
 even now sinking the angelic words of the " Gloria.'' 
 The priest, who was a pale and rather insignificant- 
 looking man, certainly lacked the refined and scholarly 
 air of the handsome young clergyman with whom 
 Marion instinctively compared him ; but there was an 
 assured dignity in his air and gestures, as he stood 
 at the altar, which she was too keen an observer not 
 to perceive, and remember that the other had lacked. 
 
 In the midst of these mingled thoughts and impres- 
 sions — thoughts and impressions wherein devotion had 
 no place — she was suddenly summoned to sing. vShe 
 took her place with the self-possession which never 
 failed her, and began that beautiful strain to which 
 Gounod has set the sacred words of the ^'Ave Maria." 
 Tht re were not many musically trained ears or criti- 
 cally trained tastes among the congregation below, but 
 even they turned instinctively to see what voice was 
 rising with such divine melody toward heaven. Over 
 and over aof.^in Marion had sung these words without 
 thinking of their meaning, but she had never before 
 sung them in the Mass i and now something in the 
 
78 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 hush of the stillness around her, in the reverence of 
 the silent people, in the solemn, stately movements of 
 the priest and the uplifting of the chalice, seemed to 
 fill her witli a consciousness that she, too, was uttering 
 a prayer — a prayer of such ancient and holy origin 
 that careless hps should fear to speak it. 
 
 ''Sancta Maria, Mater Dei! " — Never before had the 
 wonder, the majesty, the awf ulness of the Name struck 
 her as it struck her now, when she was, as it were, the 
 mouthpiece for all the believing hearts that so called 
 the Blessed Maid of Israel. ' ' Ora pro nobis pecmtori- 
 bus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrce." Her voice sank 
 over the last words with a strange sense of their mean- 
 ino-. The hour of our death ! It would come to her, 
 too, that hour — a sudden, intense realization of the 
 fact seemed to run through her veins like ice,— and 
 when it came, would it not be well to have appealed in 
 earnest to Her who stood by the Cross, and was and 
 is eternally the Mother of God? 
 
 Such a thought, such a question was new to this 
 proud and worldly spirit. Why it came to her at this 
 moment is one of the miracles of God's grace. It was 
 not destined to make any lasting impression ; but for 
 the time it was strong enough to cause her, when the 
 hymn was ended, to go and kneel down in the place 
 she had left ; while from her heart rose the appeal 
 which only her lips had uttered a moment before, 
 ♦' Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for me now and at 
 the hour of my death." 
 
 It gratified Helen to observe that Marion knelt 
 •with appjvrent devoutness during the solemn portion 
 of the Mass ; but when they came out of church, and 
 she turned with a smile to congratulate her on her 
 
FAIin' GOLD. '9^' 
 
 singing, she was struck by the paleness and gravity 
 of the beautiful face. " What is the matter?" she 
 asked, quickly. " Has anything displeased you? " 
 
 "Displeased me!" said Marion, with a start of 
 surprise. " No ; why should you think so? " 
 
 " You look so grave." 
 
 "Do 1? Perhaps I am displeased with myself, 
 then. I (lid not know before that I was impressiona- 
 ble, and I find that I am. That vexes me. I detest 
 impressionable people ; I detest above all to feel that 
 I myself am at the mercy of outward influences." 
 
 Helen looked all the wonder that she felt. " I 
 don't understand what you mean." she said. " How 
 have you fuund out that you are impressionable — I 
 mean particularly so? " 
 
 Marion smiled slightly. " I am afraid you would 
 not understand if I told you," she replied. "Or you 
 would misunderstand, which is worse. But don't ask 
 me to go to your church again, Helen. Something 
 there — something about the services — affects me in 
 a way I don't like. Nothing I should dislike so much 
 as to become a mere emotional, susceptible creature ; 
 and I feel there as if I might." 
 
 " But, Marion," exclaimed Helen, half-shocked, 
 half-eager, " surely our feelings are given, like every- 
 thing else, to lead us to God! And, O Marion! how 
 can you turn away from what may be the grace of 
 God? For remember, God Himself was (^n the altar 
 to-day! " 
 
 She uttered the last sentence in tones of reverent 
 awe ; but Marion frowned impatiently. 
 
 " It was because I knew you would not understand 
 that I did not want to speak," she said. " What I 
 
80 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 am talking of is a mere matter of susceptibility to 
 outward influences. It is disagreeable to me, and I 
 do not wish to subject myself to it — that is all. I 
 am never troubled in that way at the Episcopal ser- 
 vices," she added, more lightly. " I shall go there 
 in future." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IT was uot very long before Marion's promise to 
 Mr. Siugletou was recalled to her mind — if, 
 indeed, that could be said to be recalled which 
 had never been foigotten. For she bad uot exagger- 
 ated in sa^'ing that this old man, with his air of the 
 world, with his keen, critical glance, and the mingled 
 imperativeness and courtliness of his manner, was 
 after her own taste. His evident admiration and 
 appreciation of herself no doubt led greatly to this 
 result ; for had she l)een treated as he was in the 
 habit of treating people whom he did not like, there 
 could hardly have been much liking on her side. But 
 since his approval of her was very manifest, her 
 approval of him was not less so; and was, moreover, 
 sharpened by the restless ambition which made her 
 look eagerl}' for any opening b}^ which she might gain 
 her desired ends. 
 
 She was glad, therefore, to receive one morning a 
 note from Mrs. Simpleton, be2;2:ing to know if that 
 day would suit her for the fulfillment of her promise 
 to sing for Mr. Singleton alone. " I should have 
 asked yon to name the da}'," the note went on, " but 
 for the fact that there are only certain days on which 
 m}' uncle feels equal to the exertion of seeing any 
 
 6 (81) 
 
82 FA my GOLD. 
 
 one ; and, of course, he wishes to see as well as to 
 hear you. If you have no other engagement for this 
 afternoon, will you, then, gratify him by coming at 
 five o'clock? And I hope to keep you to spend the 
 evening with me." 
 
 Had any engagement interfered with the proposed 
 appointment, there is no doubt that Marion would 
 have broken it like a thread ; but she was, happil}^, 
 free from such a necessity, and had only to ttll Mrs. 
 Singleton that she would accept her invitation for the 
 afternoon with pleasure. So, at the time appointed, 
 her aunt's carriage dropped her at the door of the 
 house which the Singletons had taken for the season. 
 It was by far the handsomest house in Scarborough — 
 wide, spacious, stately, with nobly proportioned rooms, 
 and balls that spoke eloquently of the wealth that had 
 planned them. It was a wealth that had vanished now, 
 as the house had passed out of the possession of those 
 who built it ; but the fine old place served admirably 
 as a settins for the Singleton establishment, which was 
 formed oa a very lavish scale. 
 
 When Marion was shown into the drawing-room, she 
 found Mr. Singleton there, estabUshed in a deep easy- 
 chair near the piano, with an open newspaper before 
 him. He laid it on his knee when she entered, and 
 held out his hand. 
 
 " You will excuse my keeping my seat," he said, as 
 she came toward him. " I rise with great difficulty, 
 owing to obstinate sciatica, and never without assist- 
 ance. But you must believe that I appreciate your 
 kindness incoming." 
 
 " I am very glad to come," she said, with cordial 
 sincerity. ' ' I told you that it would be a pleasure to 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 83 
 
 me, I like to sing, especially to one who knows what 
 good singing is ; and whose praise, therefore, has 
 value." 
 
 He smiled, evidently well pleased. " And how do 
 you know," he said, " that my praise has that value? " 
 
 " One can tell such things very quickly," she replied, 
 " I think I should have known that you possessed 
 musical culture even if I had not heard so." 
 
 " I have a good deal of musical knowledge, at least," 
 he said. " In my youth 1 lived much abroad, and I 
 have heard all the great singers of the world. It has 
 been a passion with me, and I have missed nothing 
 else so much during these later years of invalidism. 
 You can judge, therefore, whether or not it is a pleas- 
 ure to hear such a voice as 3'ours." 
 
 "I know that my voice is good," said Marion; 
 " but I also know how much it lacks cultivation. I 
 fear that must jar on you, since you have heard so 
 many great singers." 
 
 " No, it does not jar on me, because you have no 
 bad tricks. You sing simply and naturally, with 
 wonderful sweetness and power. Sing now, and 
 afterward I will take the liberty of asking you some 
 questions about yourself." 
 
 Marion went to the piano, and, animated by the 
 last words, sang as well as she could possibly have 
 sung for a much larger audience. In the lofty, wide 
 room she let out the full power of her splendid voice 
 with an ease, a total absence of effort, which delighted 
 her listener. Lying back in his deep chair while song 
 followed song, and marking how clear and true every 
 note rang, his interest in the singer grew ; and he 
 begran to rouse a little from the state of indifferent 
 
84 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 egoism which was normal with him, to consider what 
 would be the future of this girl, whom nature had so 
 richly endowed. Perhaps curiosity had a part in the 
 interest ; at least when Marion had sung for some 
 time, he said suddenly : — 
 
 " That is enough for the present. I must not be 
 unreasonable, and I must not let you srain your 
 voice. Will you come now and talk to me for a while?" 
 
 " WiUingly," she answered, rising from the instru- 
 ment with a smile. " But you must remember that it 
 does not follow that because I can entertain you by 
 singing I can also entertain you by talking." 
 
 " I think it will follow," he said. " You talk, if 
 not as well as you sing — for that would be very ex- 
 traordinary — at least well enough to make me desire 
 to listen to you. And in order to make you appre- 
 ciate that, I must tell you that the talking of most 
 people bores me intolerably," 
 
 " Are there any signs by which one can tell when 
 one begins to bore you? " asked Marion, sitting down 
 on alow chair in front of him. " Because I should 
 like to cease as soon as that point is reached." 
 
 He smiled, all the lines of his face relaxing as he 
 looked at her. In fact, he found the charm of her 
 beauty almost as great as that of her voice. Had it 
 been an unintellectual beauty, he would have cared 
 nothino- for it: but the flash of that indescribable 
 quality which the French call espnY, the quickness and 
 readiness of her speech, the grace of her inanner, — 
 all pleased and interested the man, who was not easily 
 pleased or interested. 
 
 " I do not believe there is any danger of your ever 
 reaching that point," he said. " And I think you are 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 85 
 
 sure of it yourself. You have no fear of boring any 
 one; for you know the thing is impossible." 
 
 " You are very kind," she answered. " But I have 
 never observed that the people who bore one are at 
 all afraid of doing it. So, lack of fear would not 
 prove exemption from the possibility. But I flatter 
 myself that I have penetration enough to detect the 
 first sign, and I am certain that I would not need to 
 detect the second." 
 
 " Any one who saw you would be certain of that," 
 he said, regarding her intentl}''. "As it chances, 
 however, it ma}^ he I who will prove the bore ; for I 
 am going to claim one of the privileges of an old man,, 
 and ask you some questions about yourself ; or, tO' 
 spare me the tronl)le of asking the question, I should 
 like for you to tell me something about your life, if 
 you have no objection." 
 
 "Not the slightest," replied Maj-ion; "indeed 
 your interest flatters me. But I am sorry to say that 
 there is very little to tell. You see, my life is only 
 beginning." 
 
 " True. You have just left school, I believe? " 
 
 " Only a few weeks ago. I came then with my cousin 
 from the convent, where I had spent two years." 
 
 " You are not a Roman Catholic, I hope? " 
 
 "Oh! no, certainly not." It occurred to her, as 
 she spoke, that if he should ask what she was, she 
 would not be prepared with so ready an answer. But 
 his interest was apparently satisfied with ascertaining 
 what she was not, and he went on to another ques- 
 tion : — 
 
 " Where is your home? " 
 
 " Ah! that is difficult to answer," she said. " Be- 
 
86 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 fore going to the convent, I lived with my uncle, but 
 I could hardly call that home ; and, since I have no 
 desire to return to his house, I must reply with strict 
 correctness that I have no home." 
 
 " That is a sad statement for one so j^oung. Is not 
 your uncle your guardian ? " 
 
 " I suppose that he is ; but, 3'ou see, I have no fort- 
 une to look after — somehow it has all vanished 
 away, — and, personally, I am not very much in need 
 of a guardian." 
 
 " Permit me to differ with you there," said Mr. 
 Singleton, gravely. " Personally, I think that you are 
 very much in need of a guardian. And by that I do 
 not mean any reflection on your power of conducting 
 yourself — which I have no doubt is \evy sufficient, — 
 but I mean that no young and beautiful woman of 
 good social rank should be without the protection of 
 such guardianship." 
 
 " I presume certainly that ray uncle considers 
 himself my guardian, and it is likely tiiat he has legal 
 power to interfere with my actions," said Marion. 
 " But I think he does not feel interest enough to inter- 
 fere — unless he thought me likely to bring discredit 
 on the family. And I believe he knows me well enough 
 not to fear that." 
 
 Mr, Singleton smiled at the unconscious pride of her 
 tone, and the gesture with which she lifted her head. 
 " One need not know 3'ou very well in order to be sure 
 of that," he said. " But, since these are your cir- 
 cumstances, allow me, as your kinsman, to ask another 
 question. What are your plans for the future.? " 
 
 She opened her hands with a gesture signifyino- 
 emptiness, and slightly shrugged her shoulders. 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 87 
 
 " Frankly, I have none," she answered. " I am wait- 
 ino- on fate. Don't think that I mind it," she added, 
 quickly, catching an expression on his face. "It is 
 interesting — it is hke waiting for a play to begin. If 
 I had my choice, I should prefer the uncertainties of 
 my life to a life already mapped and arranged like that 
 of m}^ cousin, Helen Morley. Why shouM uncer- 
 tainty of the future daunt one who has a consciousness 
 of some powers, and has no fear at all? I am only 
 anxious for the pla}' to begin, that is all." 
 
 " Pour child ! " said. her listener. The words were 
 utteri d involuntarily, and startled him a little ; for he 
 was not easily moved to sympathy or compassion. 
 But the very dauntlessness of this courage, the very 
 rashness of this self-confidence, were sad to the man 
 who knew so well the pitfalls of life, the dangers 
 which no powers could avert, no bravery overcome. 
 If Marion had subtly calculated how best to rouse his 
 interest, and touch whatever heart remained to him in 
 the midst of the gradual withering up of the springs 
 of feeling, she could not have succeeded better, nor 
 probably half so well. Any appeal to his sympathy, 
 any tearful eyes or supplicating tones, he would have 
 resisted ; but this proud daring of fate, this quick 
 rejection of pity, moved him more than, beforehand, 
 he would have imagined possible. When conscious of 
 the words which had escaped him, he went on: — 
 
 " Pardon me, but I have known so long the life you 
 are just beginning — indeed I am about to leave the 
 stage as you make your debut., — that I fear the 
 play may not prove all that you fanc3\ It is apt to 
 take sudden turns which no skill can foresee, and 
 which force one, whether one will or not, into very 
 
88 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 unpleasant situations. Bat I have no inclination to 
 act the part of a prophet of ill, so I hope all this may- 
 be reversed for you ; certainly so much courage and 
 so much beauty ought to propitiate Fate. And, mean- 
 while, if there is anything I can do to serve you, 
 remember that I am your kinsman, and let me know." 
 
 "Thank you," said Marion, graciously. "But 
 while waiting for the play to begin, I have nothing to 
 desire. My friends are very kind. And now I fear 
 that 1 may have reached that point of which we spoke 
 earlier — the point of possible boredom. At least I 
 know that I have talked too much of myself." 
 
 " Not at all," he replied, quickly. " You have only 
 answered my questions ; and I have been, I fear, too 
 inquisitive. But ray interest in you must plead my 
 excuse. I suppose I have been more ready to gratify 
 it because it is not easily roused — at least not to the 
 degree in which you have roused it." 
 
 " That is very pleasant for me to hear," said Ma- 
 rion, truthfully. " I like to rouse interest — everyone 
 does, I imagine ; and yet I should not care for it if it 
 were easily roused." 
 
 "No, I imagine not," said he, with a look that 
 seemed to read her through and through. " You will 
 care only for difficult things, and you are made to 
 gain them." 
 
 Before Marion could express her approval of this 
 prophecy, the sound of approaching footsteps was 
 heard, and Mrs. Singleton entered the room, in the 
 freshest and prettiest of evening toilets. She held 
 out both hands to Marion, with an air of effusion. 
 
 " I was roused out of my siesta by the most de- 
 lightful sounds! " she cried. " At first I thought it 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 89 
 
 must be au ansrel sin^ino;, imt aneels are not in the 
 habit of visiting me ; so then I remembered your 
 appointment, and tliat I had intended to be present to 
 share the pleasure with uncle. Unfortunately I slept 
 too long for that, but you will sing some for me now — 
 or perhaps we had better defer it until later, when Tom 
 can have the pleasure too. You remember that you 
 are going to spend the evening with us." 
 
 Marion remembered, and was very willing to do so ; 
 for these were people whora she liked to cultivate. 
 They were not only people of high social considera- 
 tion, who might be useful to her, but their knowledge 
 of the world, their familiarity with society abroad as 
 well as at home, and their easy habits of wealth and 
 luxury,pleased her taste and gratified her own instinc- 
 tive yearning for these things. The quiet, old-fash- 
 ioned comfort of her aunt's establishment lost all its 
 charm when contrasted with the fashion and lavish 
 expenditure which were here. She was the only guest 
 at the beautifully served dinner to which they sat 
 down in the summer gloaming ; but she could truly 
 assure Mrs. Singleton that she was glad it was so. 
 " Who could be found in Scarborough as entertaining 
 as yourselves.'' " she asked. 
 
 "How very nice of you to say so! " replied that 
 lady, patting her hand. "Then we are very well 
 satisfied ; for I am sure nobody could be found in 
 Scarborough as entertaining as j^ou are. In fact, you 
 , do not belong to the Scarborough order of life at all ; 
 you are totally out of place here." 
 
 Marion laughed. " I am afraid I feel so occasion- 
 ally," she said; "but I have au idea that it is my 
 fault: that I expect too much of Scarborough." 
 
90 FAIIiY GOLD. 
 
 "You belong to another life altogether," repeated 
 Mrs. Singleton, positively. " I felt sure of it the 
 first time I saw you. A quiet, sociable, country- town 
 existence may suit other people — 3'our pretty cousin, 
 for example, — but it does not suit you." 
 
 '' That is very true," said Marion. " As a matter 
 of taste, it certainly does not suit me ; but I learned 
 early that one cannot always expect to have one's 
 tastes gratified." 
 
 " You are very philosophical. Now, for me, I 
 always expect to have m}' tastes gratified, and they 
 generally are. Demand a great deal and you will get 
 at least some of it ; that is my philosoph}-." 
 
 " And, unlike man}- philosophers, you alwaj^s prac- 
 tice what 3'ou preach. That I can testify," said Mr. 
 Singleton (the husband). '• Don't let her demoralize 
 3'ou, Miss Lynde. If you have any moderation of 
 desire, by all means keep and culture it." 
 
 '' Unfortunately, my desires are boundless," replied 
 Mariou, smiling. "It is only my expectations which 
 are moderate." 
 
 " "Well, that is remarkable enough," said the gen- 
 tleman ; "if onl}' you can manage to keep them so — 
 but you will not." 
 
 " Why not? " 
 
 He cast a glance into an opposite, mirror. " About 
 the best reason I offer is to be found there," he an- 
 swered. " No woman is going to expect less than 
 Nature gave her a right to demand." 
 
 And so on all sides fresh fuel was offered to 
 the vanity which already turned high and strong in 
 dangerous flame. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SEVERAL weeks passed, during which the ac- 
 quaintance of Marion with the Singletons pro- 
 gressed rapidly to intimacy — such intimacy, that 
 Helen protested more than once that her cousin spent 
 more time with Mrs. Singleton than with herself. She 
 was certainly very often the companion of that lady — 
 seen by her side in the pretty phaeton which she 
 drove, met at all her entertainments, called upon for 
 all occasions when she needed assistance, social or 
 otherwise. The vaguely understood link of relation- 
 ship between them served as an excuse for this, had 
 any excuse been required beside the caprice of the 
 elder and the inclination of the younger lady. " I 
 have discovered a cousin in Miss Lynde," Mrs. 
 Singleton would say to her Scarborough acquaintances. 
 " Do you not think that I am very fortunate? " And 
 there were few who did not reply honestly that they 
 considered her very fortunate indeed. 
 
 But the person who regarded this association most 
 approvingly was old Mr. Singleton, since it secured 
 him a great deal of Marion's society, for which he 
 evinced a partiality. It was, in fact, to this partiality 
 that Marion owed Mrs. Singleton's attentions. " Your 
 uncle has taken a most extraordinary fancy to that 
 girl, Tom." she said to her husband at a very early 
 
 (91) 
 
92 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 stage of the acquaintance; "so I think that I had 
 better cultivate her. It will lie better for me to use 
 her as a means to contril)ute to his amusement than 
 to let her develop into a power against us. There is 
 no counting oa the whims of an old man, vou know." 
 
 " Especially of this old man," assented Mr. Single- 
 ton. " He is capable of anything. Therefore I don't 
 think I would have the girl about too much." 
 
 '•It is better for me to have her about than for him 
 to take her up. If he considers her my protegee, he 
 will not be so likelj' to make her his own. I have 
 given the matter some thought, and that is the way I 
 look at it." 
 
 " You may be right," said easy-going Mr. Single- 
 ton. " I have great confidence in j-our way of look- 
 insf at things, and of managing them too. But I 
 confess that I have no confidence in this handsome 
 and clever young lady. I don't think she wouhl hesi- 
 tate to play one an}- trick." 
 
 "Confidence in her!" said Mrs. Singleton, with 
 scorn. "Of course I have not a particle. But she 
 will have no opportunit}' to play me a trick. Be sure 
 of that." 
 
 Meanwhile Helen said to Marion, rather doubtfully : 
 "Marion, do you really like Mrs. Singleton very 
 much? She is very pleasant and very elegant, but 
 somehow — I hope I am not uncharitable — I never 
 feel as if one could thoroughly trust her." 
 
 " My dear," replied Marion, with her mocking 
 smile, " do you know, or fancy that 3'ou know, many 
 people whom you can ' thoroughly trust ' ? If so, you 
 are more fortunate than I am ; for I have known only 
 one or two in m}' life." 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 93 
 
 " O Marion! no more than that? How can jou be 
 so unjust to 3'our friends ? " 
 
 " I Lave no friends, in the true sense of the term, 
 except you and Claire. I trust you." 
 
 " I hope so, and I j^ou — most thoroughly." 
 
 Marion regarded her with something like wonder. 
 "Now, wh}^" she said, dispassionately, '• should 3'ou 
 trust me? I am sure I have never shown a character 
 to inspire that sentiment." 
 
 " You delight in showing your worst side," answered 
 Helen; "but it does not deceive me. I know that 
 the worst is not as bad as you would have it believed 
 to be, and that the best exists all the time." 
 
 " It certainly exists for you, and always will," said 
 Marion, quickly. "There is nothing I could not 
 sooner do than betray your trust." 
 
 " How can you even hint such a thing! " exclaimed 
 Helen, indignantly. " Do you think I could ever 
 fear it?" 
 
 " No," replied Marion ; " I am sure that you would 
 never fear it from any one whom you love. But 3"ou 
 may have to suffer it some day, nevertheless " 
 
 The speaker's tone had more significance than she 
 intended, and Helen looked at her "with a glance of 
 sudden apprehension. "What do 3'ou mean?" she 
 asked. " Why should I fear it? " 
 
 " Why should any of us fear that we will have to 
 share in the common lot — the common knowledge of 
 evil as well as of good.?" said Marion, evasively. 
 " We must all expect it; at least that is one of the 
 pleasant things we are told." 
 
 "Oh! j'es, I suppose we must expect it," said 
 Helen. " But expecting a thing in a general way, 
 
94 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 and doubting an}' — any one in particular, is a very 
 different matter." 
 
 The conversation ended here; but the mere fact that 
 she had been so quick to take alarm might have told 
 Helen that, unconsciously to herself, suspicion had 
 taken some root in her mind. The readiness with 
 which she put herself into an attitude of defense 
 showed that she feared attack. And, indeed, she had 
 already suffered more than one attack on the subject 
 of Rathborne — if that could be called attack which 
 was only the expression of a gentle doubt, first from 
 her mother, and then from the priest, who, distrusting 
 all such marriages in general, had special reasons for 
 distrusting this one in particular. Like most priests, 
 he had many sources of information ; many streams 
 flowed, as it were, into the silent reservoir of his mind ; 
 and in this way things concerning Eathborne had 
 come to bis knowledge, which rendered him deeply 
 averse to seeing Helen link her pure young life with 
 that of a man so unscrupulous and selfish. Loath to 
 <iive pain if unable to achieve any practical good 
 therebj^, he had spoken very guardedly to her when 
 she sought his counsel; but, perhaps because he 
 spoke with so much caution, bis words sank deei^y 
 into her mind, and left a sense of weight behind. 
 lUu, it was one of her characteristics that, after once 
 reposing confidence in a person, she could not lightl}' 
 recall it; and she clung to Rathborne more closely 
 f r ihe opposition which she attributed to mistaken 
 judgment. 
 
 Nevertheless, Helen was alread}' learning something 
 of what Marion called the common lo:, — she was ac- 
 quiring some knowledge of the difficulty of reconciling 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 95 
 
 conflicting desii'es, and of the impossibilit}' of finding 
 things made smooth and easy. Now and then there 
 was a wistful look in her eyes, which touched her 
 mother deepl}', and made her ready to consent to 
 anything which would restore sunshine to one wha 
 seemed so wholly made to enjoy it. 
 
 But Mrs. Dalton was not blind to one fact, which 
 may or may not have been clear to Helen, — the sig- 
 nificant fact that Rathborne had not, since the return 
 home of her daughter, pressed his suit with his fornier 
 ardor. He had not begged that the conditional and 
 merely tolerated engagement should be converted 
 into an open and positive one ; he seemed quite satis- 
 fied with matters as they stood, and took Helen's sen- 
 timents entirely too much for granted, so Helen's 
 mother thought. What to do, however, she did not 
 clearly perceive, and Father Barrett strongly advised 
 a policy of inaction. "Let matters take their own 
 course," he said. " I am of opinion that Helen may 
 be spared what you fear most for her ; but this cannot 
 be brought about by any effort of yours, which would 
 tend, on the contrary, to rouse opposition. If the 
 child must suffer, in any event do not let her have the 
 additional pain of thinking that she owes any of the 
 suffering to you." 
 
 To this counsel Mrs. Dalton orave heed — or thousfht 
 she did. But many things betrayed to Helen that her 
 mother's disapproval of Rathborne's suit had not 
 lessened with time. Anxious to avoid any possible 
 conflict, the girl shrank from broaching the subject ; 
 but it was a growing pain to her affectionate nature 
 that there should be a subject — and that the nearest 
 her heart and life — in which she was not sure of 
 
"9J FAIIiT GOLD. 
 
 her mother's sympathy — where het' deepest feelings 
 might yet be arrayed against each other, and a diffi- 
 cult choice be made necessary. 
 
 To Marion, meantime, Rathborne had become some- 
 what troublesome. As we learn in many an old legend 
 that it is easier to raise a fiend than to put him down, 
 so she found it easier to make the impression which 
 she had desired than to regulate the effect of that im- 
 pression. She had made it with the utmost ease, — an 
 ease very flattering to her vanity ; but, innocent as she 
 had been of any intention save that of gratifying 
 vanity, retribution followed hard upon her steps. 
 Apart from the fact that she was incapable of delib- 
 erately betraying Helen's confidence, she trusted 
 Rathborne no further than most other people did. 
 Moreover, her arrogance of spirit was as gi'eat as her 
 ambition, and she considered herself fitted for a posi- 
 tion much higher than he could possibly offer her — had 
 she believed him ready to offer anything But, so far 
 from believing this, she gave him no credit for any 
 sincerity of intention toward her, knowing well that 
 self-interest was the sole rule of his life. " He dares 
 to think that he can arause himself with me and then 
 marry Helen!" she thought. "There may be two 
 who can pla^'' at that game Let us see! " 
 
 The thought that it was a very dangerous game 
 did not occur to her ; or, if it occurred, did not deter 
 her. At this time of her life she had only a sense of 
 worldly honor to deter her from anything which she 
 desired to do ; and she desired most sincerely to 
 punish the man whom she believed to be Irue neither 
 to Helen nor herself. Therefore, although his atten- 
 tions began to annoy her, she did not discourage 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 97 
 
 them, notwithstanding that she noted scornfully how 
 he avoided, as far as possible, devoting himself to her 
 when he was likely to be observed. But his precau- 
 tions had not saved him, as we are aware, from the 
 keen observation of Frank Morely ; and Mrs. Dalton 
 herself, with eyes sharpened by a mother's anxiety, 
 began to perceive that Marion possessed a great 
 attraction for him. 
 
 Matters were in this by no means satisfactoiy state 
 when Mrs. Singleton, growing weary of other forms of 
 amusement, decided to patronize Nature. There was 
 a great deal of beautiful scenery in Ihe vicinity of 
 Scarborough, which she declared had been too long 
 neglected. " A picnic is horrid!" she said. "The 
 very word is full of vulgar associations, and the thing 
 itself is tiresome bej'ond expression. One would 
 grow weary of the most delightful people in the world 
 if doomed to spend a whole day in the woods with 
 them. But a few hours in the pleasantest part of the 
 day — that is another matter. A gypsy tea is just the 
 thing! We will go out in the afternoon to Elk Ridge, 
 have tea, look at the sunset, and return by moonlight ; 
 is not that a good idea.? " 
 
 " Excellent," said the persons whom she addressed — 
 a party of five or six who had been dining with her. 
 "It will make a very pleasant excursion, onl}^ we 
 must be sure of the moon." 
 
 "Oh! we have onl}^ to consult the almanac for 
 that," said the lively hostess. " I think there is a 
 new moon due about this time." 
 
 Marion laughed, and, touching the arm of old Mr. 
 Singleton, by whom she sat, pointed out of a western 
 window to the evening sky, where hung the beautiful 
 
VS FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 crescent of tlie moon, framed between tbe arching 
 boughs of tall trees. 
 
 " Hum — .yes,'' observed that gentleman. "Anna's 
 attention to Nature is altogether controlled by the 
 question of whether or not it can be made to 
 contribute to her amusement. Now that the moon 
 has arrived, it will not be long before the gypsy tea 
 takes place." 
 
 And, indeed, in a few days all arrangements for this 
 festivity were completed, the parly made up, and 
 the progi'amme settled. Mrs. Singleton wished that 
 Marion should accompany her ; but Helen protested 
 so much against this that the arrangement was 
 changed ; and it was finally settled that Marion and 
 herself, with Rathborne and Morley, would makeup 
 a. parti carre in a light open carriage. 
 
 There is nothing more attractive to youth, nothing 
 more suited to its natural lightness of heart and spirit, 
 than such pleasures as these — golden afternoons in 
 summer woods and under summer skies ; sunsets 
 when all nature is flooded with beauty, like a crystal 
 cup filled to the brim ; and nights of spiritual, entranc- 
 ing loveliness. Even with older persons, the sense of 
 care seems lifted from the mind for a little time 
 among such scenes ; while to the young and happy, 
 care is a thing impossible to realize when earth itself 
 in transformed into Arcadia. 
 
 So Helen felt as she started on this excursion. In 
 some subtle fashion, the doubts which had weighed 
 upon her for a considerable time past were lifted. 
 She did not say to herself that she had been foolish, 
 for she was little given to self-analysis ; but invol- 
 untarily she felt it, involuntarily she threw off the 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 99 
 
 shadow which had fallen over her, and grasped the 
 pleasure offered, as a child puts out its hand to grasp 
 sunbeams. When they drove SLVfay, her heart was as 
 light as a feather, her face as bright as the day, and 
 she turned back to wave her hand in gay farewell to 
 her mother. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 ELK RIDGE, the place selected by Mrs. Single- 
 ton for her g3'psy tea, was a very picturesque 
 
 and beautiful locality, distant seven miles from 
 Scarborough. The drive there, through the soft, 
 golden beauty of the August afternoon, was delight- 
 ful ; and the beauties of the height when reached wtll 
 repaid any exertion that might have been necessary 
 to gain it. Since none was necessary, however, it 
 proved a great surprise to those who had not been 
 there before to find themselves on a noble eminence, 
 crowned by splendid masses of rock, and commanding 
 a most extensive view of the smiling country around 
 and the blue mountains in the distance. It was an 
 ideal spot for al fresco amusements, and the party 
 assembled were in the mood to enjoy it. 
 
 Very soon a kettle was hung from crossed sticks 
 over a blazing fire ; and while the water was boiling, 
 and the arrangements for tea in progress, all those 
 who were not actively engaged in these arrangements 
 scattered over the summit, admiring the view, and 
 now and then climbing some of the more accessible 
 of the great granite boulders. Among the last were 
 Helen and Frank Morley, both in high spirits, and 
 laughing like a pair of merry children. Marion 
 shrugged her shoulders over their exploits. 
 
 (100) 
 
FAJBY GOLD. 101 
 
 "I have never been young enough for that," she 
 said to Rathborne. " I could never, at any stage of 
 existence, see the ' fun ' of risldng one's neck." 
 
 "It is childish! " he responded, with ill-concealed 
 contempt. He had endeavored to dissuade Helen, 
 but for once she had been deaf to his remonstrances. 
 Her spirits were so high this afternoon that an outlet 
 for them was indispensable ; and she was still so much 
 of a child that this special outlet of physical exertion 
 and daring was very agreeable to her. 
 
 " I suppose it is a good thing to be childish now 
 and then," said Marion. " I don't think J ever was ; 
 and, no doubt, it is so much the worse for me." 
 
 " On the contrary, I think, so much the better," 
 replied Rathborne. "Where there is childishness 
 there must be folly, and I cannot imagine you guilty 
 of that." 
 
 "Can you not?" She paused an instant and 
 seemed to reflect. " But there are things worse than 
 folly," she said, with one of her sudden imjDulses of 
 candor; " and I might be guilty of some of them." 
 
 "Oh! you might — yes." He laughed. "So 
 might I. Perhaps for that reason I have more sym- 
 pathy with them than with folly.'* 
 
 Marion gave liim a glance which he did not under- 
 stand nor yet altogether fancy. "Yes," she said, 
 " I am ver}^ sure you have more sympathy with what 
 is bad than with what is foolish." 
 
 Before he could reply to such an equivocal speech, 
 Mrs. Singleton sent a messenger for Miss Lynde to 
 come and help her pour out tea ; and the young lady 
 rose and walked away. 
 
 It was very gay arid bright and pleasant, that 
 
102 FAinr GOLD. 
 
 ojpsy tt;a among the rocks, with depths of verdure 
 overhead and fai'-stretching beauty of outspread 
 country below. The amber sunshine streamed over 
 the scene ; pretty pale-blue smoke, from the fire over 
 which the kettle hung, mounted in the air; there was 
 a musical chatter of tongues and sound of laughter. 
 At such times and in such scenes it is difficult for the 
 most thoughtful to realize the great sadness of the 
 world, the care that encompasses life, and the pain 
 that overshadows it. But these light hearts were 
 never at any time troubled with the realization of such 
 things. The}^ w^ere all young and, for the most part, 
 prosperous ; life went easily with them, and nothing 
 seemed more remote than trouble or unhappiness. 
 The hours sped lightly by, as such houis do, and 
 presently it was time to think of returning. The sun 
 sank into his golden bed, the moon would soon rise 
 majestically in the east, and the drive back to 
 Scarborough would be as delightful as the drive 
 out had been. 
 
 But just before the move for departure was made 
 Rathborne came to Marion and said : " You have not 
 yet seen the finest view — that from the other side of 
 the Ridge. Would you not like to walkover there and 
 look at it? " 
 
 " I think not," replied Marion, who did not care for 
 a tete-a-tete with him. " I am not very fond of views." 
 
 " O but, Marion, this view is really fine! " cried 
 Helen, eagerly. "Pray go; you will be repaid for 
 the exertion " 
 
 Not caring to make her refusal more marked, Marion 
 rose with an inward, sense of vexation. " Very well, 
 then," she said to Rathborne ; " since Helen is sure I 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 103 
 
 will be repaid for the exertion, I will go ; but, since I 
 am not sure, I hope the exertion required is not very 
 much." 
 
 " It is only that of walking about a hundred yards," 
 he answered. And as they turned and followed a well- 
 defined path, which led among the rocks and trees, he 
 added, "I do not mean, however, to insist upon an}' 
 exertion which would be disagreeable to you." 
 
 Marion might truthfully have answered that it was 
 not the exertion which was disagreeable to her ; but 
 she had no desire to make an enemy of this man, and 
 instinct told her that whoever wounded his vanity was 
 thenceforth to him an enemj'. So she replied lightly 
 that she was very indolent, especially where the 
 beauties of nature were concerned ; but that she had 
 no doubt the view would repay her after she reached it. 
 
 "I think it will," said Rathborne ; "otherwise I 
 should not have proposed your coming." 
 
 And indeed even Marion, who was right in saying 
 that the beauties of nature did not greatly appeal to 
 her, was moved by the loveliness and extent of the 
 view suddenly spread before her, when they came to 
 the verge of the Ridge, on the other side, where the 
 hill broke off in a sheer precipice. The great rock- 
 face of this precipice shelved downward to a soft, 
 pastoral valley, beyond which were belts of encircling 
 woodlands, green hills rising into bolder heights as 
 they receded, and a distant range of azure mountains 
 fair as hills of paradise. 
 
 "Oh! this is glorious!" cried Marion, involun- 
 taril}', as the broad scene, with the long, golden lights 
 and beautiful shadows of late evening falling across it, 
 was suddenly revealed by an abrupt turn in the path. 
 
104 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 She walked to the edge of the precipice and stood 
 there, with hands lightly clasped, looking into the far, 
 magical distance. At this moment, as in other mo- 
 ments like it, something stirred in her nature deeper 
 and nobler than its ordinary impulses. She had a 
 consciousness of possibilities which at other times 
 Were remote from her realization, — possibilities of 
 loftier action and feeling, of a higher standard, of a 
 loftier aim than her life had known. It was a state of 
 feelingf not unlike that which came to her in the Catho- 
 lie church, and she shrank from it. By this grand 
 arch of bending, lucid sky, by those distant heaven]}^ 
 heights with their mystical suggestions, thoughts were 
 roused in her which seemed in little accord with the 
 other thoughts of her life. She forgot for a moment 
 the man who stood beside her, and started when he 
 spoke. 
 
 " It repays you — I see that," he said. " And so 
 I am repaid for bringing you." 
 
 "Yes, it is very beautiful," she answered, slowlj'; 
 " but I am not sure that I am obliged to you for 
 bringing me here. It produces in me feelings that I 
 do not like." 
 
 "What kind of feelings?" inquired Rathborne, 
 curiously. 
 
 She swept him with a quick glance from under her 
 half-drooped eyelids, and he had again the impression 
 that it conveyed something of contempt.' 
 
 "If I could define them," she said, "I doubt if 
 you would be able to understand them. I am certain 
 that you have never felt anything of the kind." 
 
 " TVh}' should you be certain of that? " he asked, a 
 little irritated as well by her tone as by her glance. 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 105 
 
 "You do not surely think that you have gauged all 
 my possibilities of feeling." 
 
 " I have made no attempt to do so," she said, in- 
 differently. "'Why should I? But one receives some 
 impressions instinctively." 
 
 " And you think, perhaps, that I have no feeling," 
 he replied quickly; "that I am cold and hard and 
 selfish, and altogether a calculating machine. But you 
 are mistaken. I was all that once — I frankly confess 
 it, — but since I have known you, I have changed. I 
 have learned what it is to feel in the deepest manner." 
 
 There was a short silence. Marion's heart gave a 
 great bound and then seemed to stand still. A fear 
 which she had striven to put away was now a horrible 
 certainty. She had played with fire, and the moment 
 of scorching was come — come to desecrate a place 
 which she had felt to be a sanctuary filled with the 
 consciousness of God. Her first impulse was to turn 
 and go away without a word ; her next, to utter words 
 as scornful as her mood. 
 
 "If I am mistaken, so are you, Mr. Rathborne," 
 she said, — " exceedingly mistaken in imagining that 
 I have given any thought to your feelings, or that I 
 am in the faintest degree interested in them." 
 
 Her tone stung him like the stroke of a whip, and 
 roused a passion on which she had not calculated. 
 He took a few hasty steps toward her; and she found 
 herself prisoned between the precipice on one side, 
 and this man, who stood and looked at her with eyes 
 that gleamed under his frowning brow. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me," he said, peremptorily, 
 " that- you have no interest in feelings which you have 
 deliberately excited and encouraged? Do you. mean 
 
lOG FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 to say that you have meant noihing when by every art 
 in your power you have led me on to love you? " 
 
 Surely retribution was very heavy upon Marion at 
 that moment. The injustice of the charge — for of 
 any such intention her conscience acquitted her — 
 only added to her sense of angry humiliation, and to 
 the consciousness, which she could not ignore, that 
 she had, in some degree at least, brought this upon 
 herself. Her indignation was so deep, her auger so 
 great, that for once her readiness of speech failed, and 
 she could only reply : 
 
 '■'■ How dare you address me in this manner? " 
 
 He laughed — a short, bitter laugh, not pleasant to 
 hear. " You are a good actor, Miss Lynde," he said, 
 " I never doubted your capacity in that line; but 1 
 see that it is even greater than I imagined. How dare 
 I address you with the truth! Why should I not? 
 You have made me believe that you desired nothing 
 more than to hear it. Your manner to me, since the 
 first evening we met, has admitted of but one inter- 
 pretation — that you wished to excite the feeling I 
 have not hesitated to show you. And so long as I 
 merely sJiowed it, you were pleased ; but now that 
 I utter it, you profess an indignation which it is 
 impossible you can feel." 
 
 " You are speaking falsely! " cried Marion, whose 
 anger was now so excessive that no words seemed 
 strong enough to express it. "I have never for one 
 instant wished to encourage the feeling of which you 
 speak. I knew you were engaged to Helen, and I 
 thought you something, at least, of a gentleman. I 
 now see that you have no claim whatever to that title. 
 Let me pass! " 
 
FAinr GOLD. 107 
 
 "No," he said — and now he extended his hand 
 and caught her wrist iu a vise-like grasp. " I have 
 no doubt, from the proficiency 5'ou exhibit, that you 
 have played this game before with success ; but you 
 shall not have the pleasure of pla3dng it successfully 
 with me. In one way or another, 1 will make it a 
 costlj'' game to you, unless you tell me that all this 
 affected indignation means nothing, and that if I end 
 my entanglement with Helen, you will marry me." 
 
 "Let me go!" said Marion, pale and breathless 
 with passion. "If you were free as air — if you 
 hnd never been engaged to Helen — I would not think 
 of marrying you ! Is that enough? " 
 
 "Quite enough," he answered — but still he did 
 not release her wrist. " Xow listen to me. I am not 
 a. man with whom any woman — not even one so clever 
 as 3'ou are — can amuse herself witli impunity. I do 
 not mean to be melodramatic ; I shall not curse you 
 for your deception, for the heartlessness with which 
 you have sacrificed me to your vault}' ; but I warnj'ou 
 that 3'ou have made an enemy who will leave nothing 
 undone to pay his debt. I read 3'ou very thoroughly, 
 beautiful and unscrupulous schemer that you are ; and 
 I promise 3'ou that in the hour when 3'ou think 3'our 
 schemes are nearest success, you will find them de- 
 feated by me. To that I pledge m3'self." 
 
 There is sometliing terrible in feeling ontj's self the 
 object of hatred, even if that hatred be both unde- 
 served and impotent ; and, brave as Marion was, 
 proud and defiant as she was, she felt herself shiver 
 under these words, and miderthe gaze which seconded 
 them. What, indeed, if she had made a mistake on 
 the very threshold of the life in which she had ex- 
 
108 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 pected to manage so well. What if, instead of mak- 
 ing a satisfactory test of her power, she had roused an 
 enmity which even her experience knew to be more 
 powerful and more tireless than love? She did not 
 quail under the fiery gaze bent on her, but her heart 
 sank with a sense of apprehension, of which she was 
 strong enough to give no outward sign. 
 
 " It is a very worthy object to which you pledge 
 yourself," she observed, with scorn, "But I am not 
 afraid of a man who is cowardly enough to threaten a 
 woman with his enmity because she rejects and 
 despises what he calls his love." 
 
 Her voice had always a peculiar quality of clearness 
 in speaking, but when she was at all excited it was like 
 silver in its resonance. Therefore the words distinctly 
 reached the ears of one who was coming toward them, 
 and the next instant Helen's pale face and startled 
 eyes rose before her. 
 
 She uttered a sharp exclamation, which stopped the 
 words that were rising to Rathborne's lips ; and, 
 wrenching her arm from his grasp, she sprang forward 
 to her cousin's side. "Helen! " she cried, uncon- 
 scious almost of what she said, " what are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 It is not always the people who seem most weak 
 whom emergency proves to be so. At this moment 
 Helen exhibited a self-control which would have sur- 
 prised even those who knew her best. She was pale 
 as marble, and her violet eyes had still their startled, 
 piteous look ; but she answered, quietly: — 
 
 " I came to look for you. It was foolish — I will 
 go back now. Don't trouble to come with me." 
 
 But as she turned, Marion seized her arm. 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 109 
 
 *' Helen!" she exclaimed, "don't misjudge me! 
 Don't think that this is my f.ault! " 
 
 " No," replied Helen, with the same strange quiet- 
 ness ; " I heard what you said. I don't blame — any 
 one. I suppose it was natural." 
 
 Then it was Rathborne's turn. " Helen," he said, 
 coming up to her, and speaking with an attempt at 
 the old tone of authority ; "you must listen to me." 
 
 But she turned away from him with something: like 
 a shudder. " No," she said, " do not ask me — not 
 now. I may be weak, but not so weak as not to 
 understand — this. Don't come with me. Frank will 
 look after me and take me home. That is all I- 
 want." 
 
 She moved away through the beautiful greenery, a 
 slender, lovely figure, with drooping head ; and the 
 two whom she left behind watched her with one sensa- 
 tion at least in common — that of a keen sense of 
 guilt, which for the moment no other feeling was 
 strong enough to stifle. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 WHEN Marion returued to the party, who 
 were preparing for their homeward drive, 
 Frank Morley came up to her with a very 
 grave face. 
 
 "Helen tells me that she is feeling so bad, Miss 
 Lynde," he said, coldly, " that she wishes me to take 
 her home. 1 have, therefore, arranged for our return 
 in the buggy in which Netta came out, nnd she and 
 her escort will take our places in the carriage with 
 you." 
 
 '•Make whatever arrangement you please," an- 
 swered Marion, as coldl}' as himself; " but pray leave 
 me out of it. There is a vacant seat in Mrs. iSingle- 
 ton's carriage, which I shall take for the return." 
 
 " Very well — the matter, is settled, then," he said. 
 " I will take Helen away at once." And he walked 
 off with a scant courtesy, which his youth and indig- 
 nation excused. 
 
 But it was a new sensation to Marion to be treated 
 with discourtesy by any one ; and she had to pull 
 herself together with an effort before she was able to 
 approach Mrs. Singleton in her usual manner, and 
 announce that she was willing to take the seat she had 
 before declined. 
 
 '■ 1 don't like to repeat anything, not even a drive, 
 (110) 
 
FAJL'Y GOLDx 111 
 
 in exactl}' the same manner," she said by way of 
 explanation ; " so if you will allow me, I will join you 
 for the homeward drive." 
 
 " I shall be delighted to have you," answered Mrs. 
 Singleton. " I thought you would do better to come 
 with me. Tom will be delighted, too. You shall sit 
 with him, and drive if he will let you." 
 
 Good-natured Mr. Singleton was much pleased to 
 share his box seat with such a companion, and even to 
 make over the reins to her whenever the road was 
 good enough to allow of it with safety ; while to 
 Marion there was distraction from her own thoughts — 
 from the recollection of unpleasant complications, and 
 the sense of angry humiliation — in guiding the spirited 
 horses, that tried all the strength of her arms and 
 wrists, and required an undivided attention. 
 
 However, the drive was soon over, and then she had 
 before her the disagreeable necessity of facing her 
 aunt and Helen. Brave as she was, she was assailed 
 by a cowardly impulse to avoid meeting them. What 
 if she went home with Mrs. Singleton, and for the 
 evening: at least did not meet them? But what would 
 be gained by that, except delay? She knew that 
 unless she wished to leave it in Rathborne's power to 
 make what statement he chose, she must go to them 
 with her own statement ; and, this being so, delay 
 would serve no end except to give the impression of 
 heartless indifference. No, there was nothing for it 
 but to meet at once what had to be met sooner or 
 later ; so when the Singleton carriage drew up at her 
 aunt's gate, she exchanged a gay farewell with her 
 companions, and with a heavy heart and reluctant step 
 took her way to the house. 
 
112 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 How different from its usual aspect that house 
 looked, as she drew near it! Usually at this hour 
 hrioht lights shone from the windows ; there would be 
 snatches of music, sounds of voices and laughter ; if 
 the moon were shining as to-night, a gay party would 
 he assembled on the veranda. Now it was still and 
 quiet ; the lights in the drawing-room were turned low ; 
 the broad, open hall looked deserted. Only one figure 
 emerged from the shadow of the vines on the veranda 
 into the full moonlight as she upproached. It was a 
 small figure — tha:. of Harry Dalton. 
 
 •' Why, Harry! " exclaimed Marion, with an effort 
 to speak as usual, "are you all alone? Where is 
 Helen?" 
 
 " Helen has gone upstairs; she has a headache," 
 answered Harry. " But mamma is in the sitting- 
 room, and wants to see you." 
 
 "' Very well," said Marion. She began to unbutton 
 her gloves, as some outward relief to her inward 
 agitation, and without pausing, walked into tlie house. 
 Since the interview must take place, tlie sooner it was 
 over the better — so she said to herself as she entered 
 the room where her aunt awaited her. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton was sitting by a table on which stood 
 a shaded lamp, and, with a book open before her, 
 seemed to be reading; but her effort to fix her mind 
 on the page had not met with much success. She had, 
 in reality, been waiting for the sound of her niece's 
 step; and when she heard her coming, slie was con- 
 scious of as much shrinking from the interview as 
 Marion felt. " I must be reasonable," she said to 
 herself; :ind then, pushing back her volume, she 
 looked up as the girl entered. 
 
FAIBV GOLD. 113 
 
 It was characteristic of Marion that she spoke first. 
 " I am sorry to hear that Heleu is not well, aunt," 
 she said. " Has she been at home long? " 
 
 "About half an hour," answered Mi's. Dalton. 
 " She has gone to her room ; she asked that she might 
 be left alone. That is so unlike Helen, that I am 
 sure something very serious has occurred. And I 
 judge from a few words which Frank said, that you 
 know what it is, Marion." 
 
 " What did Mr. Frank Morle}^ say? '' inquired 
 Marion, sitting down. The introduction of his name 
 roused in her an immediate sense of defiance. After 
 all, what right had they to suppose that what had 
 happened was any fault of hers ? 
 
 " He said that Helen had overheard something 
 which passed between Paul Rathborne and yourself," 
 answered Mrs. Dalton ; " and that afterward she had 
 asked him to bring her home alone. He told me this 
 in repl}' to my questions. Helen said nothing ; but I 
 feel that I ought to know how matters stand, so I ask 
 you what did she overhear? " 
 
 " She overheard me tell Mr. Rathborne that I re- 
 jected and desi>ised the love that he ventured to offer 
 me," replied Marion, speaking in her clearest and 
 most distinct tone. 
 
 A quick contraction of the brow showed how much 
 the answer pained, if it did not surprise, Mrs. Dal- 
 ton. "My poor child! " she said, as if to herself. 
 Then she looked at Marion with something like a flash 
 in her usually gentle eyes. " And do you hold your- 
 self guiltless in this matter? " she asked. "If Paul 
 Rathborne is a traitor to Helen — as he surely is, — 
 have not you encouraged his admiration? Does not 
 
 8 
 
114 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 your conscience tell you that you Lave sacrificed her 
 happiness for the gratification of your vanity? " 
 
 "No," replied Mai'ion ; "my conscience tells me 
 nothing of the kind. How could I prevent Mr. Rath- 
 borne's folly? But, of course, I expected to be 
 blamed for it," she added, bitterly. " That is the 
 justice of the world." 
 
 " God foi'give me if I am unjust ! " said Mrs. Dalton. 
 "I did not mean to be. But, Marion, this is not 
 altogether a surprise to me. I have seen his admi- 
 ration for you, and I have seen — I could not help 
 seeing — that 3'ou did not discourage it." 
 
 " Why should I have discouraged it?" asked Ma- 
 rion. " I saw no harm in it. I could not imagine that 
 because he found some things to like — to admire, if you 
 will — in me, he would become a traitor to Helen. It 
 is a-^king too much to demand that one tarn one's 
 back on a man because he is a shade more than civil." 
 
 Mrs. Dalton shook her head. " Those are merely 
 words," she said. " They do not deceive yourself any 
 more than they deceive me. You know that you have 
 used this man's admiration as fuel for 3'our vanit}-, 
 and that so cautious and so selfish a man would never 
 have acted as he has done if he had not felt himself 
 encouraged. Do not misunderstand me," she added, 
 more hastily. " For Helen's sake I am not sorry 
 that this has happened. It is better for her, even at the 
 cost of great present suffering, that her eyes should 
 be opened to his true character. But you, Marion — 
 how can you forgive yourself for the part you have 
 played ? And what is to become of you if you do not 
 check the vanity which has led you to betray the trust 
 and wring the heart of your best friend.? " 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 115 
 
 The quiet, penetrating words — gentle altliough so 
 grave — seemed to Marion at that moment like a 
 sentence from which thei'e was no appeal. Her 
 conscience echoed it, her eyes fell, for an instant it 
 looked as if she had nothing to reply. But she rallied 
 quickly. 
 
 " I am sorry if you think I have wilfully done an}-- 
 thing to pain Helen," she said, coldly. " It does not 
 strike me that I could have averted this, unless I had 
 been gifted with a foreknowledge which I do not 
 possess. I could never have imagined that Mr. Rath- 
 borne would be so false with regard to Helen, and so 
 presumptuous with regard to me." 
 
 The haughtiness of the last words was not lost on the 
 ear of the listener, who looked at the beautiful, scorn- 
 ful face with a mingling of pity and. indignation 
 
 " You expected," she said, " to encourage a man's 
 admiration up to a certain point, and yet to restrain 
 his presumption .? A little more knowledge of human 
 nature would have told you that was impossible ; a 
 little more feeling would have kept j'ou from desiring, 
 it." She paused a moment, then went on, with the 
 same restrained gravitj'^ : "I am sorrj' if I seem to you 
 harsh, but nothing in this affair is worse to me than 
 the revelation it makes of your character. I am 
 grieved by Helen's suffering, and shocked by Paul 
 Rathborne's treachery; but for the first I have the 
 comfort that it may in the end spare her worse suffer- 
 ing, and for the second I feel that it is not a surprise — 
 that I never wholly trusted his sincerity. But you, 
 Marion — what can I think of you, who, without any 
 stronger feeling than vanity to lead you on, have trifled 
 with your own sense of honor, as well as with the deep- 
 
IJG FAILT Gold. 
 
 est feel.ngs of others? 'What will your future be if 
 you do not change — if you do not try to think less of 
 unworthy objects and more of wort hy ones — less of 
 gaining admiration and more of keeping your con- 
 science clear and your heart clean? " 
 
 "What will my future be!" repeated Marion. 
 She rose as she spoke, and answered, proudly: " That 
 concerns myself alone. I have no fear of it ; I feel 
 that I can make it what I will, and I shall certainly 
 not will to make it anything unworthy\ But it 
 need not trouble you in the least. I am sorry that 
 my coming here should have brought any trouble on 
 Helen. The only amend I can make is to go awa}^ at 
 once, and that I will do." 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Dalton, quickly; "that cannot 
 mend matters now, and would only throw a very 
 serious reflection upon you when it is known that 
 Helen's engagement is at an end. I cannot consent 
 to it." 
 
 " But Helen's engagement might not be at an end 
 if I went away," responded Marion. 
 
 "You do not know Helen yet," said Mrs. Dalton, 
 quietly. " I have not spoken to her on Ihe subject, 
 but I am certain what her decision will be." 
 
 Marion herself was by no means certain that Mrs. 
 Dalton's judgment was correct. She thought Helen 
 weak and yielding to the last degree, and believed 
 that very little entreaty would be requisite on Ealh- 
 borne's part to induce her to forgive him. "It will 
 be only necessary for him to throw all the blame on 
 me, ' she thought, with a bitter smile, as she went to 
 her chamber. Nevertheless, it was not a xevy tranquil 
 night that she passed. "Whatever change the future 
 
FAinr GOLD. 117 
 
 might bring, she knew that Helen was suffering now — 
 suffering the keen pangs wliicLi a loving, trusting 
 heart feels when its love and trust have been betraj^ecl. 
 "It is hard on her, she is so good, so kind, so inca- 
 pable herself of bel raying any one ! " thought the girl, 
 whose conscience was still in a very dormant state, 
 but whose sense of pity was touched. " How sorry 
 Cla're would be if she knew!" And then came the 
 reflection, "What would Claire think of me?" fol- 
 lowed by the quick replj', " She would be as unjust as 
 the rest, and call it my fault, no doubt." 
 
 The thought of Claire's judgment, however, was 
 another sting added to those which already disturbed 
 her; and it was not strange that she tossed on her 
 pillow during the better part of the night, only falling 
 asleep toward morning. As is usually the case after 
 a wakeful night, her sleep was heavy, so that the first 
 sound that roused her was the breakfast bell. She 
 opened her e^'es with a start, and to her surprise saw 
 Helen standing beside her. 
 
 The memory of all that had happened flasiied like 
 lightning into her mind ; and, unable to reconci.e that 
 memory with this appearance, slie could only gasp, 
 " Helen ! — what are you doing here? " 
 
 " 1 knocked at the door, but 3 ou did not answer, so 
 I came in," Helen responded, simply. "It is late, 
 else I should not have disturbed you. But I wanted 
 to speak to 3'ou before }ou went down." 
 
 " Yes," said Marion. She sat up in bed, with white 
 draperies all about her, and looked at her cousin. 
 She expected a demand for explanation, perhaps re- 
 proaches, but she did not expect what came. 
 
 "I only want to tell }ou," said Helen, with the 
 
118 FAinr GOLD. 
 
 same quiet simplicity, " that I have no reason to 
 blame you for — what occurred yesterday. It was 
 not your fault : you could not have helped it. I 
 don't know that any one is to blame ver}' much," 
 she added, with a sigh; " but I felt that I ought to 
 tell you that I do not blame you at all." 
 
 "Helen! " cried Marion. All her proud self-con- 
 trol suddenly gave way, and she burst into tears. 
 The generosity which underlay the erring surface of 
 her nature was touched to the quick, and her con- 
 science spoke as it had never spoken before. 
 " Helen, you are too good," she said. " You judge 
 me too kindly. I do not feel myself that I am not to 
 blame. On the contrary, I have no doubt my aunt 
 is perfectly right, and that I am very much to blame. 
 I let my vanity and my love of admiration carry me 
 too far, but never with the intention of injuring 3'ou 
 or betraying your trust — never! " 
 
 "I am sure of that," said Helen, gently. She 
 laid her hand on the bent head of the other. It 
 startled her to see Marion display such feeling and 
 such humility as this. " Mamma was thinking of 
 me," she went on ; " else she would not have blamed 
 3'ou ; for how could you help being more attractive 
 than I am? If I was unreasonable enough to think 
 for a little time last night that you were to blame, I 
 know better now. God has given me strength to 
 look at things more calmly. I can even see that he 
 may not be greatly in fault. No doubt he thought 
 he loved me — until he saw you. ' ' 
 
 "Helen, he is not worthy of you!" cried Marion, 
 passionately. " He loves no one but himself." 
 
 Helen shook her head. "Surely he loves you," 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 119 
 
 she said; " else why should he tell 30U so? But we 
 need not discuss this. Will you come down when 
 you are ready ? ' ' 
 
 "Oh! yes," said Marion, with an effort ; " I will 
 be down very soon." 
 
 She rose as Helen left the room, and dressed veiy 
 hastily, a prey the while to many conflicting emotions. 
 Relief was mingled with self-reproach, and admiration 
 of Helen's generosity with scorn of her weakness. 
 "For, of course, her excuses for him mean that she 
 will forgive him! " she thought. " I have heard that 
 women — most women ^ — -are fools in just that way, 
 and Helen is exactly the kind of woman to be guilt}'^ 
 of that fo'ly. The miserable dastard!" — she re- 
 membered his threat to herself — "I wish 1 could 
 punish him as he deserves for his treachery and pre- 
 sumption ! " 
 
 It did not occur to her to ask whether or not she 
 deserved any punishment for the share she confessed 
 to having borne in the treachery. Had the idea been 
 suggested to her, she would have said that her share 
 was infinitesimal compared with his, and that she had 
 already been punished by the insolence she had drawn 
 upon herself. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 BUT Helen's quietness did not deceive her 
 mother, whose heart aclied as she saw in the 
 
 pale young face all the woful change wrought 
 by one night of suffering, one sharp touch of anguish. 
 Yet, if she had only known it, the girl brought back 
 into the house a very different face from that which 
 she had taken out in the early morning, wlien, driven 
 by an intolerable sense of pain, she had gone in 
 search of strength to bear it. There was but one 
 l^lace where such strength was to be found, and 
 thither her feet had carried her direct. She was the 
 first person to enter the little church when it was 
 opened to the freshness of the summer morning ; and 
 long after the Holy Sacrifice was over she had still 
 knelt, absorbed and motionless, before the altar. 
 Everyone went away: she was left alone with the 
 Presence in the tabernacle ; and in the stillness, the 
 absolute quiet, a Voice seemed speaking to her aching 
 heart, and bringing comfort to her troubled soul. 
 When at length, warned of the passage of time by the 
 striking of a distant clock, she lifted her face from 
 her elapsed hands, even amid the stains of tears there 
 were signs of peace. The sting of bitterness had 
 bfen taken out of her grief ; and, that being so, it 
 
 (120) 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 121 
 
 had become enduiable. She might and wouki suffer 
 still; but when she Ltid once brought bersolf to resign 
 this suffeiing into the hands of God, and with the 
 docility of a child accept what it pleased Him to 
 permit, the worst was over. 
 
 The first result of the struggle she h:id made and 
 the victory she had gained was apparent when, on her 
 return home, she went to Marion's room. The gen- 
 erous heart could not rest without clearing itself at 
 once of the least shadow of injustice, — and she had 
 implied, if she had not expressed, a blame of Marion 
 which she was noble enough to feel might be unjust. 
 Hence that visit which so deeply touched the girl, 
 whose own conscience failed to echo Helen's acquittal. 
 
 Breakfast passed very quietly. Mrs. Dalton saw 
 that her daughter was making an heroic effort to ap- 
 pear as usual, and she seconded it as far as lay in 
 her power, talking more than was her custom in order 
 to allow Helen to be silent, and to prevent the bo3's 
 from asking questions about events of the i)receding 
 afternoon. To make no change in her manner to 
 Marion was more difficult ; but, with the example that 
 Helen set, she was able to accomplish ftven this ; and 
 finally the usual separation for the morning took place 
 with great sense of relief to all concerned. Marion 
 put on her hat and went out, ostensibly to keep an 
 appointment with Mrs. Singleton, but really to be 
 safely out of the way in case Eathborne should make 
 his appearance. 
 
 Helen herself had some fear of this appearance, and 
 she took refuge in her own chamber, dreading the 
 necessary explanation to her mother, not so much on 
 her own account as on account of the judgment upon 
 
122 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 Eathborne which she knew would follow. Tenderness 
 does not die in an hour or a day ; and although her 
 resolve to put him out of her life was firm, she was not 
 yet able to put him out of her heart, nor to think 
 without shrinking of the severe condemnation which 
 her mother would mete out to him. There was no 
 need for haste in speaking ; she might rest a little, and 
 gather strength for the trial, knowing that Mrs. 
 Dalton would make no effort to force her confidence. 
 , So she was resting on the bed, where she had not 
 slept at all the night before, when the door softly 
 opened and Mrs. Dalton entered the room. 
 
 '' Helen," she said, gently, " I am sorry to disturb 
 you, but Paul Rathborne is downstairs and asks to 
 see you. What shall I tell iiim? " 
 
 " Tell him that I cannot see him," answered Helen. 
 "It is impossible! You must speak forme — you 
 must make him understand that he is entirely free 
 from any engagement to me, and I do not blame him 
 for what he could not help. I suppose you have 
 guessed that something is the matter," she added, 
 wistfully. " It is only that I have found out he cares 
 for Marion — not for me." 
 
 Mrs. Dalton put her arm around her with a touch 
 full of sympathy, without speaking for a moment. 
 Then she said : " My child, I always knew he was not 
 worthy of you." 
 
 " But this does not prove him unworthy of me," 
 replied Helen, in a tone sharp with pain. " It only 
 proves that he was mistaken when he thought of 
 me." 
 
 " Men of honor do not make such mistakes," said 
 Mrs. Dalton. 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 123 
 
 " How could he help falling in love with Marion?" 
 continued Helen, " She is so much more beautiful, 
 so much more attractive than I am ! And that be has 
 done so, settles the doubt of his disinterestedness 
 which you always entertained. Do liim so much 
 justice, mamma. You feared that he professed to 
 care for me because I have a little money. But Marion 
 has none." 
 
 " We need not discuss that, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Dalton, who was touched but not convinced by this 
 generous plea. "It is enough if, satisfied that his 
 affections have wandered, you are determined to dis- 
 miss him." 
 
 "Yes," said Helen, " I am determined on that. 
 But I cannot see him. You must go to him, and tell 
 him from me that I do not blame him, but that all is 
 at an end between us." 
 
 With this message Mrs. Dalton went downstairs. 
 Her own mood with Rathborne was far from being as 
 charitable as her daughter's; and her face, usually set 
 in very gentle lines, hardened to sternness as she de- 
 scended. She was not inclined to deal leniently with 
 one who had so shamefull}' betrayed the trust placed 
 in him, and had overshadowed so darkly the sunshine 
 of Helen's life. Like some other parents, she had up to 
 this time imagined that the stern conditions of human 
 existence were to be relaxed for Helen, and that one 
 so formed for happiness was to be granted that happi- 
 ness in a measure which is allowed to few. A sense 
 of keen injury was, therefore, added to her indig- 
 nation at a treachery for which she could find no 
 palliation. 
 
 Rathborne, who was anxiously expecting yet dread- 
 
l-2i FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 iiiL^ to see Helen, drew his breath with a sharp sense 
 of vexation when his aunt entered. 'J his was worse 
 than he had feared. Calculating upon Helen's gentle- 
 ness, he had not thought that she would refuse to see 
 him; and if she saw him, he believed that his influ- 
 ence would be strong enough to induce her to overlook 
 anything. But when Mrs. Dalton entered, he knew 
 that the consequences of his treachery were to be fully 
 paid. A cold greeting was exchanged between them, 
 and then a short silence followed, as each hesitated to 
 speak. It was Mrs. Dalton who broke it, as soon as 
 she felt able to control her voice. 
 
 "I have told Helen that you are here," she said, 
 "but she declines to see you. It is not necessary, 1 
 presume, to explain why she declines. Of that you 
 are fully aware. It is not necessary, either, that I 
 should add anything to her own words, which are, 
 Iniefly, that you will consider everything at an end 
 between you. She added also that she does not blame 
 you for anything that has occurred — but I hardly 
 think that your own conscience will echo that " 
 
 " No," said Rathborne, who had paled perceptibly, 
 " my own conscience does not echo it. On the con- 
 trar}', I feel that I am deeply to blame ; yet I hoped 
 that Helen might believe me when I say that I am not 
 so much to blame as appears on the surface. A man 
 may be tempted beyond his strength, and some women 
 are experts in such temptations." 
 
 Mrs. Dalton looked at him with scorn in her eyes. 
 "If 3'ou think," she said, " that you will serve jour 
 cause with Helen by such cowardly insinuations as 
 that, you are mistaken. And, as far as I am con- 
 cerned, you have only taken a step lower in my 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 125 
 
 esteem. But that is a point which does not matter. 
 Wherever the blame rests, the fact remains that if 
 Helen did not take the decision of the matter into her 
 hands, /should do so. You have proved yourself a 
 man whom it is impossible I can ever consent to trust 
 •with my daughter's life and happiness." 
 
 Eathborne rose to his feet. The decisive words 
 seemed to leave him no alternative. He felt that he 
 had committed a blunder which was altoafetber irre- 
 trievable ; and combined with the keen mortification of 
 failure was a hatred, which gathered bitterness with 
 every moment, against the woman he believed to have 
 led him on and deceived him. 
 
 " In that ease," he said, " there is nothing for me 
 to do but to go. I had hoped that Helen might un- 
 derstand — that she would not let a moment of folly 
 outweigh the devotion of years ; but if she judges me 
 as hardly as you seem to imply, I see that my hope 
 is vain. Tell her from me that if she knew the whole 
 truth sbe would regard the matter in a different light. 
 But if she does not wish to know the truth — if she 
 prefers to judge me unheard, — I can only submit." 
 
 "It is best she should not see you," said Mrs. 
 Dalton, who was glad that Helen herself had decided 
 this point. " Even if you persuaded her to trust you 
 again, I could not give my consent to the renewal 
 of an engagement which has been ended in this 
 manner." 
 
 " You have alwa3-s distrusted me," said R .thborne, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " No," she replied, gravely; " so far from ihat, I 
 trusted you as my own son, though I did not think 
 you were the persou to make Helen happy. I had 
 
1-2G FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 always a fear that you did not care for her enough, 
 and now I am forced to believe that you did not care 
 for her at all. If you had done so, this could never 
 have happened, just as it could never have happened 
 if you had possessed the right principle and the sense 
 of honor which I should certainly wish my daughter's 
 husband to possess." 
 
 Rathborne could hardly believe the evidence of his 
 ears as he listened to these severe, incisive words. He 
 had always regarded Mrs. Dalton as a person who was 
 mild to weakness, and whom, whenever it suited him, 
 he could influence in whatever manner desired. He 
 therefore scarcely recognized this woman, with her 
 sentence of condemnation based on premises which he 
 could not deny, though he made a faint attempt to 
 do so. 
 
 "You do not understand," he said, " how a brief 
 infatuation — a delirium of fancy — can attack a man 
 let his sense of honor be what it may. As for my 
 attachment to Helen, that is something which has 
 lasted too long to be doubted now." 
 
 " Will you inform me, then, how you proposed to 
 reconcile it with your declaration to Marion? " 
 
 "That was drawn from me — forced from me! " 
 he exclaimed. "It was a madness of the moment, 
 into wliich I was led by her art." 
 
 Mrs. Dalton rose now, a bright spot of color on each 
 check. " That is enough ! " she said. " I can listen 
 to nothing more. No man of honor would, for his 
 own sake, utter such words as those — even if they 
 wire true, and I am sure they are not. Great as my 
 niece's faults may be, she is incapable of such conduct 
 as you charge her with. Go, Paul Rathborne ! By 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 127 
 
 such excuses you only prove more and more how 
 unworthy you are of Helen's affection or Helen's 
 trust." 
 
 " Very well," he answered, his face white and bitter 
 with anger. " As you and she have decided, so be it. 
 But take care that the day does not come when you 
 will deeply regret this decision." 
 
 Then he turned, and, without giving her time to 
 reply had she been so inclined, left the room. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton looked after him with a heavy sigh. 
 Regret her decision she knew that she would not ; but 
 it would be vain to saj'^ that she did not regret the 
 necessity for it, that she did not think with a keen 
 pang of Helen's suffering, and that she did not feel, 
 with much bitterness, that Marion had not been guilt- 
 less in the matter. Yet even in the midst of her 
 indignation she had pity for the girl, whose vanit}'' 
 and ambition were likely to wreck her life, as they 
 had already gone far to alienate her best friends. 
 
 Meanwhile Marion could not disguise the fact that 
 she was not in her usual spirits — for the thought of 
 Helen weighed heavily upon her, — and Mrs. Single- 
 ton, observing this, drew at once her own conclu- 
 sions. 
 
 " I am afraid the gypsy tea was not altogether a 
 success, so far as you were concerned or your cousin 
 either," she said. " I heard that she went home with 
 Frank Morley instead of with her Jlance. I will not 
 ask any indiscreet questions, but I suspect that your 
 attractions have drawn Mr. Rathborne from his 
 allegiance. It is what I have anticipated for some 
 time. " 
 
 Marion frowned a little, annoyed by this freedom, 
 
128 - FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 which, however, she felt that she had drawn upon her- 
 self, and had no right to resent. But she evaded the 
 implied question. 
 
 " Helen was not feeling well, and so she made her 
 cousin take her home before we were ready to start," 
 she said. "I am not particularly partial to Miss 
 Morley's society, or Mr. Rathborne's either, and 
 thought I would accept the seat you offered me. That 
 was the whole matter." 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it," said Mrs. Singleton, 
 not deceived in the least. "I was afraid there had 
 been a lover's quarrel, and that perhaps you were the 
 innocent cause of it. That is always such an awkward 
 position. I have occupied it myself once or twice, so 
 I speak from knowledge." 
 
 "I am sure that if you occupied it, it must have 
 been innocently," said Marion, with malice. " But 
 we need not discuss what is not, I trust, likely to 
 occur, so far as I am concerned. How is Mr. Single- 
 ton this morning? " 
 
 "Not well at all. This is one of his bad days. 
 And it is one of mine, too," she added, with a slight 
 grimace; "for I have just heard that Brian Earle is 
 coming." 
 
 " And who is Brian Earle? " 
 
 " Surely you have heard ray uncle talk of him? At 
 least, it is most astonishing if you have not ; for he 
 likes him better than any one else in the world, I 
 think ; although they don't agree very well. I have 
 no fancy for Brian myself : I find him entirely too 
 much of a prig ; but I will say that he might twist the 
 old man around his finger if he would only yield a 
 little more to his wishes and opinions. It is a lucky 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 129 
 
 thing for us that he will not, but it does not make his 
 folly less. Fancy ! Mr. Singleton asked him to live 
 with him, look after his business, and generally devote 
 himself to him during his life, with the promise of 
 making him his sole heir, and he refused! Can you 
 believe that?" 
 
 "I must believe it if you are sure of it," refDlied 
 Marion, smiling at the energy of the other. " But 
 why did he refuse? " 
 
 Mrs. Singleton shrugged her shoulders. " Because 
 he was not willing to give up control of his own life, 
 and spend the best years of his youth in idleness, wait- 
 ing for an old man to die. That is what he said. As 
 if he would not gain by that waiting more than his 
 wretched art would bring him if he toiled at it all 
 his life!" 
 
 ' ' His art — what is he ? " 
 
 "Oh! a painter — or an attempt at one. Are such 
 people always visionary and impracticable? I judge 
 so from what I have read of them, and from my 
 knowledge of him. It is true that his folly serves our 
 interest very well ; for if he had agreed to what his 
 uncle piioposed, we should have no chance of inherit- 
 ing anything ; but, nevertheless, one has a contempt 
 for a man with so little sense." 
 
 " I think you should have the highest regard for 
 him in this instance, since he is serving your interest 
 so well. But why is he coming? " 
 
 " To see his uncle before going abroad again. Mr. 
 Singleton has a strong attachment for him, notwith- 
 standing the way he has acted ; and I should not be 
 surprised if he made him his heir, after all. So you 
 see there is no reason why I should be overjoyed at 
 
 9 
 
130 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 his visit, especially since he is not at all an agreeable 
 person, as }ou will see." 
 
 " I may not see," said Marion ; " for I do not think 
 I shall be in Scarborough much longer." 
 
 "You are going away?" said Mrs. Singleton, with 
 a quick flash of comprehension in her eyes. 
 
 "In a few days probably," was the reply. "I 
 promised to spend only a month with Helen, and I 
 have been here now six weeks." 
 
 " But I thought you were good for the season," 
 said Mrs. Singleton ; while her inward comment was : 
 " So matters are just as I thought! " 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 RETICENCE was not Mrs. Singleton's distin- 
 guishing ctiaracteristic. It was not very long, 
 therefore, before she mentioned her suspicions 
 about Marion both to her husband and her uncle. 
 The first laughed, and remarked that it was only what 
 he had expected ; the latter looked grave, and said : 
 "In that case it will not be pleasant for her to remain 
 in her aunt's house." 
 
 " So far from it," was the careless reply, " that she 
 is speaking of leaving Scarborough." 
 
 Mr. Singleton glanced up sharply. " That would 
 be very undesirable," he said. " Her singing is a 
 great pleasure to me ; for the matter of that, so is her 
 society. Ask her to come and stay with you." 
 
 Mrs. Singleton lifted her eyebrows. This was far 
 from what she anticipated or desired. There had 
 been a little malicious pleasure in her announcement, 
 but she would certainly have refrained from making it 
 had she feared such a result as this. She was so 
 vexed that for a moment she could scai-cely speak. 
 Then she said: " You are veiy idnd ; but, although I 
 like Miss Lynde, I do not care enough for her society 
 to ask her to stay with me." 
 
 " I never imagined for an instant that you cared for 
 her society," replied Mr Singleton, coolly. " I was 
 
 (131) 
 
132 FAinr GOLD. 
 
 not Ibinkiug of your gratification, bnt of my own, in 
 desiring you to nsk her tiere. Of course, it is neces- 
 sary that she shouM be nominal]}' j-our guest ; although, 
 as we are aware, really mine." 
 
 " I think, then, that it would be best she should be 
 nominally as well as really yours," said Mrs. Single- 
 ton, too much provoked to considfer for the moment 
 what was her l^est polic3\ 
 
 Mr. Singleton looked at her with an ominous flash 
 in his glance. " Very well," he answered, deliber- 
 ately. "That is just as you please. We can easily 
 change existing arrangements. I will speak to Tom 
 about it." 
 
 But this intimation at once brought Mrs. Singleton 
 to unconditional surrender. 
 
 "There is no need for that," she said, hastily. 
 " Of course I will do whatever you desire. I only 
 thought it might be best that the matter should be 
 clearly understood. I have no fancy for Miss Lynde, 
 nor any desire for her companionship. To speak the 
 truth, I do not trust her at all." 
 
 Mr. Singleton shrugged his shoulders — a gesture 
 to which he gave an expression that many of his 
 friends found very irritating. It said plainly at pres- 
 ent that nothing mattered less in his opinion than 
 whether Mrs. Singleton trusted Miss Lynde or not. 
 
 " Let us keep to the point," he said, quietly. 
 " What your sentiments with regard to the young lady 
 may be I do not inquire. I only desire you to ask her 
 to come here. If you object to do this — and far be it 
 from me to place any constraint upon you, — I must 
 simply make an arrangement by which it can be done. 
 That is all." 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 133 
 
 "Why should I object?" asked Mrs. Singleton. 
 "If she comes as your guest, it is certainly not my 
 affair." 
 
 "I have requested, however, that you ask her to 
 come as your guest. Do not misunderstand that 
 point. And do not give the invitation so that it may 
 be declined. I should consider that tantamount to not 
 sivino; it at all. See that she comes. You can arrange 
 it if 5'ou like." 
 
 "With this intimation the conversation ended, and 
 Mrs. Singleton had no comfort but to tell her husband 
 of the disagreeable necessity laid upon her. " I am 
 to ask Marion Lynde to come here as my guest, and 
 I am to see that she comes ! Could anything be more 
 vexatious? " she demanded. " I am so provoked that 
 I feel inclined to leave your uncle to manage his own 
 affairs, and to get somebody else to invite guests for 
 his amusement." 
 
 " Nothing would be easier thau for him to do so," 
 said Mr. Singleton. " We are not at all necessary to 
 him, you know. And why on earth should you object 
 to asking Miss Lynde, if he desires it? It seems to 
 me that you might desire it yourself." 
 
 "Oh! it seems so to you, does it?" asked the 
 lady, sarcastically. " Because she has a pretty face, 
 I presume. It does not occur to you that a girl who 
 lias drawn her cousin's fiance into a love affair with 
 her — for I am certain that is what has occurred — 
 w^ould betray us just as quickly, and use her influ- 
 ence with this infatuated old man to any end that 
 suited her." 
 
 Mr. Singleton looked a little grave at this view of 
 the case. " Well," he said, " that may be so, but 
 
134 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 how are we to help it? Certain!}' not by showing 
 that we are afraid of her." 
 
 "I might liave helped it by letting her go away 
 without telling him anything about it," said the lady. 
 "And I wish I had! " 
 
 " Useless! " said her philosophical husband. " He 
 would have found it out for himself. Don't worry 
 over the matter. Ask her here with a good grace, 
 since 3'ou have no altei'native, and trust that he will 
 tire of her as he has tired of everybody else." 
 
 That this was good advice — in fact, the only advice 
 to be followed — Mrs. Singleton was well aware. And 
 she proceeded to do what was required of her, with as 
 good a grace as she could command. The invitation 
 surprised Marion, but it was not unwelcome, as cutting 
 the knot of her difficulties. For, anxious as she now 
 was to leave her aunt's house, and to spare herself the 
 silent, unconscious reproach of Helen's pale face, she 
 was deeply avei'se to returning to her uncle's home. 
 She had registered a passionate resolve never to 
 return there if she could avoid it ; but she had begun 
 to fear that she would be unable to avoid doing so, 
 when Mrs. Singleton's invitation offered her, at least, 
 a temporary mode of escape. She received it gra- 
 ciously, saying that she -would be happy to accept it 
 whenever her aunt and cousin would consent to let 
 her go. 
 
 " Oh! I am sure they will be averse to giving you 
 up," said Mrs. Singleton, with the finest sarcastic in- 
 tention. " But if you are intending to leave them in 
 any event, they can not object to your coming to me 
 for a time." 
 
 "They will certainly not object to that," reified 
 
FAIliY GOLD. 
 
 135 
 
 Marion. "The question is only tvhen I can avail 
 myself of your Ivind invitation." 
 
 This proved to be quite soon ; for when Mrs. Daltou 
 heard of the invitation, she advised Marion to set an 
 early day for accepting it. "I think it necessary," 
 she said, " to take Helen away for change of air and 
 scene. I should have asked you to accompany us ; 
 but, under the circumstances, the arrangement pro- 
 posed by Mrs. Singleton is best. I am sure you will 
 understand this." 
 
 "I understand it perfectly," said Marion; "and 
 am very sorry that you should have been embarrassed 
 b}' any thought of me." 
 
 So it was settled. Helen was quite passive, ready 
 to do whatever was desired of her ; but the spring of 
 happiness seemed broken within her — that natural, 
 spontaneous happiness which had appeared as much a 
 part of her as its perfume is part of a flower. It was 
 "hard for Mrs. Dalton to forgive those who, between 
 them, had wrought this change ; although she knew 
 that it was well for her daughter to be saved, at any 
 cost, from a marriage with Rathborne. 
 
 But Rathborne himself was naturally not of this 
 opinion ; and, being a person of strong tenacity of pur- 
 pose, he was determined not to give up his cause as 
 lost until he had tested his influence over Helen. The 
 opi)ortunity to do this was for some time lacking. He 
 knew that it would be useless to g^o ag-ain to Mrs. 
 Dalton's house and ask for an interview, even if his 
 pride had not rendered such a step impossible. He 
 waited for some chance of meeting Helen alone : but 
 she shrank from going out, so he had found no oppor- 
 tunity, when he heard of her intended departure. 
 
136 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 This brought him to see the necessity of vigorous 
 measures, and consequently he appeared the next 
 morning at the Catholic church, having learned at what 
 hour Mass was said. 
 
 Entering late — for he did not wish to be observed 
 more thao was unavoidable, — he found the Mass in 
 progress, and about half a dozen persons representing 
 the congregation. His glance swept rapidly over 
 these, and at once identified Helen, observing with a 
 sense of relief thas she was alone. Satisfied on this 
 point, he dropped into a seat near the door to wait 
 until the service ended, looking on meanwhile with a 
 careless attention which had not the least element of 
 comprehension. To him it was an absurd and unin- 
 telligible rite, which he did not even make the faintest 
 effort to understand. 
 
 When it ended, he thought that his waiting would 
 also end ; but to his irritated surprise he found that 
 Helen's devotions were by no means over. The other 
 members of the congregation left the church, each be- 
 stowing a curious glance on him in passing ; but Helen 
 knelt on, until he began to suspect that she must be 
 aware of his presence and was endeavoring to avoid 
 him. The thought inspired him with fresh energy and 
 obstinacy. "She shall not escape me. I will stay 
 here until noon, if necessary," he said to himself ; wliile 
 Helen, entirely unconscious of who was behind, was 
 sending up her simple petitions for submission and 
 patience and strength. They did not really last very 
 long ; and when she rose, Rathborne rose also and 
 stepped into the vestibule to await her. 
 
 His patience had no further trial of delay there. 
 Within less than a minute the door leading into the 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 137 
 
 church opened and Helen's face appeared. At the 
 first instant of appearing, it had all the serenity that 
 comes from prayer ; but when she saw him standing 
 before her, this expression changed quickly to one of 
 distress. With something like a gasp she said; 
 " Paul! " pausing with the door in her hand. 
 
 Rathborne stepped forward, with his own hand- 
 extended. " Forgive me for startling you," he said ; 
 " but this was my only chance to see you, and I felt 
 that I must do so." 
 
 *'Why?" asked Helen. She closed the door, but 
 did not give her hand. "There is no reason, that I 
 am aware of, why you should wish to see me," she 
 added, in a voice which trembled a little. " Every- 
 thing has been said that need be said between us." 
 
 " On 3'our side, perhaps so," he answered; " but 
 not on mine. I have said nothing. You have given 
 me no opportunity to say anything. You have con- 
 demned me unheard." 
 
 "Condemned 3'ou! No," she replied. "I have 
 never had an}^ intention or desire to condemn you. 
 On the contrary, I said from the first that I did not 
 blame you for what was probably beyond your power 
 to control. But I desired that all might be ended 
 between us ; and, that being so, tliere is nothing 
 more to say on a subject that is — that must be — ■ 
 painful to 30U as well as to nie." 
 
 " It will not be painful if I can induce 30U to listen 
 to me and to believe me," he said. " That is what I 
 have come this morning to beg of you — the oi)por- 
 tunity to set mj-self right. Appoint a time when I can 
 come and find you alone, or meet me where you will. 
 Only give me the opportunity to justify myself to you.'" 
 
138 FAIHY GOLD. 
 
 He spoke with an earnest pleading which was by no 
 means simulated, for he never lost the consciousness 
 of how much for him depended upon this ; and that 
 the pleading had an effect upon Helen was evident in 
 her growing pallor, in the look of pain that darkened 
 her eyes. But she answered, with a firmness on 
 which he had not reckoned: — 
 
 "You should not ask of me something which could 
 not serve any good end. No explanation can alter 
 facts, and I would rather not discuss them. What 
 happened was very natural. No one knows that 
 better than I. But nothing can efface it now." 
 
 " Not if 3-ou heard that I was led into folly by every 
 possible art?" he demanded, carried beyond self- 
 control b}^ the unforeseen difficulty of bending one who 
 had ahvaj's before seemed so pliant to his influence. 
 *' Not if I proved to you that your cousin — " 
 
 Helen lifted her hand with a gesture which had in it 
 something of a command. "Not another word like 
 that," she said. " I will not listen to it. ]fwhatyoa 
 imply were true, how would it help matters? A man 
 who is weak enough to be led away by the art of 
 another is as little to be trusted as the man who delib- 
 erately breaks his faith. He may not be as blam- 
 able — I do not say that, — but one could never repose 
 confidence in him again. That is over." 
 
 "Helen!" said Eathborne. He was amazed, 
 almost confounded, by a dignity of manner and tone 
 which he had not only never seen in Helen before, but 
 of whicli he would not have believed her capable. 
 He did not reckon on the judgment and strength which 
 earnest prayer had brought, nor did it occur to him 
 that the worst place he could have chosen for the 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 139 
 
 exertion of his influence was the threshold of the 
 church, where day after day she had come to beg for 
 the direction that in such a crisis would surely not 
 be denied her. " I hardly know you," he went on, in 
 the lone of one deeply wounded. " How changed 
 you are! — how cold! What has become of the 
 sweet and gentle Helen I have known and loved? " 
 
 She looked at him with the first reproach that had 
 been in either tone or glance. ' ' The Helen you knew — 
 who trusted j^ou so absolutely and loved you so well — 
 is dead," she answered. "There is no need that we 
 should speak of her." She paused for an instant, and 
 then, with her voice breaking a little, went on: "I 
 am going away — I may not see you again in a long 
 time. Meanwhile I will try, with the help of God, to 
 forget the past, and I beg you to do the same ; for it 
 can never be renewed. And if 3'ou wish to spare me 
 pain, you will never speak of it again." 
 
 Had Rathborne uttered what was in his mind, he 
 would have replied that whether he gave her pain or 
 not was a matter of the utmost indifference to him, 
 if only he might gain his desired end. A sense of 
 powerless exasperation possessed him, the greater for 
 his disappointment. He had been so certain of bend- 
 ing Helen to his will whenever he met her alone ; yet 
 now Helen stood before him like a rock, with immov- 
 able resolution on her gentle face. He lost control 
 of himself, and, stepping forward, seized her by the 
 hand. 
 
 " You are not speaking 5'^our own mind in this," he 
 said. " You are influenced by others, and I will not 
 submit to it. The dictation of your mother or your 
 priest shall not come between us." 
 
HO FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 " Nothing has come between us except your own 
 conduct and my own sense of right," answered Helen. 
 She grew paler still, but did not falter. " It is best 
 that we should part at once ; for you have made me 
 feel more strongly that it is best we should part 
 altogetlier. Let me go. You forget where we are." 
 
 " You will not listen to me? — you will not give me 
 an opportunity to explain.? " 
 
 "There is nothing to explain," she said, faintly; 
 for the strain of the interview was telling upon her. 
 " Nothinof can alter the fact of what I heard. I could 
 never trust j^ou or believe in your affection after tbat. 
 Once for all, everything is at an end between us. Now 
 let me go " 
 
 He released her with a violence which sent her back 
 a step. " Go, then! " he said. " I always knew that 
 you were weak, but I never knew before how weak. 
 You are a puppet in the hands of others, and both you 
 and they shall regret this." 
 
 He left the vestibule ; while she, after waiting for a 
 moment to recover herself, turned and re-entered the 
 church. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 AND so, Brian, I find you as obstinate as ever! " 
 said Mr. Singleton, in a complaining tone. 
 The person whom he addressed smiled a 
 little. He did not look very obstinate, this pleasant- 
 faced 3^oung man, with clear gray eyes, that regarded 
 the elder man kindly and humorously. They were 
 sitting in the latter' s private room, which opened into 
 the drawing-room — ■ Mr. Singleton leaning back in his 
 deep, luxurious chair ; Brian Earle seated opposite 
 him, but nearer the open window, through which his 
 glance wandered now and then, attracted by the soft 
 summer scene outside, flooded with the sunshine of 
 late afternoon. 
 
 " I am sorry if it seems to you only a question of 
 obstinacy," he said, in a voice as pleasant as his face; 
 " for that is the last thing I should wish to be guilty 
 of. Mere obstinacy — that is, attachment to one's 
 will simply because it is one's will — always seemed 
 to me a very puerile thing. My impulse is to do what 
 another wishes ratlier than what I wish myself — all 
 things being equal." 
 
 "Indeed! " said Mr. Singleton, with the sarcastic 
 inflection of voice which was very common with him. 
 " Then I am to suppose that, where I am concerned, 
 
 (141) 
 
142 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 your impulse is exactly contrary to wliat it is in tlie 
 case of dthers ; for certainly you have never consented 
 to do anything that I wish." 
 
 '"My dear uncle, is that quite just, because I can 
 not do one thing that you wish? " 
 
 "That one thing includes evervthino:. You know 
 it as well as I do. In refusing tbat, yuu refuse all that 
 1 can or ever shall ask of you." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it," said the other. '' But do 
 you not think that it is a great thing to ask of a man 
 to resign his own phin and mode of life, to do violence 
 to his inclination, aifd to give up not only his ambition 
 but his independence as well? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Mr. Singleton, "it is a great 
 (U al ; but 1 offer a great deal also. You should not 
 forget that." 
 
 " 1 do not forget it. You offer an immense price, 
 but it is the price of my freedom and my self- 
 respect " 
 
 " In that case we will say no more about it," re- 
 turned Mr. Singleton, hotly. " If you consider that 
 you would lose 3 our freedom and your self-respect by 
 complying with my wishes — wishes which, I am sure, 
 are very moderate in tlieir demands, — I shall cer- 
 t'linly not urge you to do so. We will consider the 
 subject finally closed." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Earle. "It is a very 
 painful suliject to me, because I legret deeply that I 
 am unable to comply with your wishes " 
 
 Mr. Singleton made a wave of his hand which 
 seemed peremptorily' to dismiss this regret. "Noth- 
 ing would be easier than for you to gratify me in the 
 matter if you cared to do so. Since you do not desire 
 
FAIBY aOLD. 143: 
 
 to do so, I shall cease to urge it. I" have some self- 
 respect, too " 
 
 To this statement Earle wisely made no reply, and 
 he was also successful in yepressing a smile ; though 
 he knew well from past experience that his uncle's 
 resolution would not hold for a week, and that the 
 whole ground would have to be exhaustively gone 
 over again — probabl}' again and again. 
 
 "You seem very pleasantly settled here," he ob- 
 served after a moment, by way of opening a new 
 subject. "This is a charming old place." 
 
 " Yes. I should buy it if I expected to live long 
 enough to make it worth while," replied Mr. Single- 
 ton. " The climate here suits me exceedingly well." 
 
 "And the people are agreeable, I suppose? " ob- 
 served Earle, absently, his eye fastened on the lovely 
 alterations of light and shade — of the nearer green ■ 
 melting into distant blue — which made up the scene 
 without. 
 
 " I know little or nothing of the people of the 
 town," said Mr. Singleton; " but I meet a sufficient 
 number of my old friends — brought here, like myself, 
 by the climate — to give me as much society as I want. 
 Tom and his wife have, of course, a large circle of 
 acquaintances ; so you need entertain no fear of dull- 
 ness in the short time you are good enough to give 
 me." 
 
 " Do you fancy that I am afraid of dullness? " asked 
 Earle, with a laugh. " On the contrary, no man was 
 ever less inclined for society than I am. But I like 
 the look of the country about here, and I think I shall 
 do sketching." 
 
 " If you find sketching to do, there may be perhaps . 
 
144 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 some hope of detaining you for a little while," said 
 Mr. Singleton. 
 
 " The length of my stay will not be in the least 
 dependent on any possible or probable sketching," 
 returned Earle, good-humoredly. He understood the 
 disappointment which prompted Mr. Singleton to make 
 these sarcastic speeches ; and they did not irritate him 
 in the least, but only inspired Lira with fresh regret 
 that he could not do what was desired of him. For 
 he spoke truly in saying that, all things being equal, 
 he much preferred to do what another wished rather 
 than what he wished himself. This was part of a dispo- 
 sition which was amiable and obliging almost to a fault. 
 But with the amiability went great strength of reso- 
 lutioj, when he was once fairly roused ; and this reso- 
 lution had been roused on a matter that he felt was a 
 question of the independence of his life. To do what 
 his uncle asked would be to resign that independence 
 for an indefinite length of time — to give up the career 
 on which from earliest boyhood he had set his heart — 
 to sell Ills liberty for a mess of worldly pottage — that 
 had no attraction for him. 
 
 A man who cares little for money bej'ond the amount 
 necessary for moderate competence, and who has no 
 desire for wealth, is a character so rare in this age and 
 country that people are somewhat justified in the 
 incredulit}' with which they usually regardhim. But 
 now and then such characters exist, and Brian Earle 
 was one of them. Possessing simple, almost austere 
 tastes, having from his earliest boyhood a passion for 
 art, money had never appeared to him the supreme 
 good which it is considered to be by so many others ; 
 nor, in anj' real sense of the word, a good at all. This 
 
FAlIiY GOLD. 145 
 
 was partly owing to the fact that he had inherited 
 fortune siifficieut for all reasonable needs, and had no 
 one dependini^ upon him. A man who has given 
 hostages to fortune cannot be us indifferent to fortune 
 as one who has given none. P]ven if lie lacks a mer- 
 cenary' spirit, he must desire for those whose happiness 
 rests in his care the freedom from sordid anxieties 
 which a moneiary competency in sufficient degree 
 alone can give. 
 
 But Brian Earle, having no nearer relative than a 
 mariied sister, had nothing to teach him to value 
 weallh in this manner; and, since it could purchase 
 nothing for which he cared, he felt no temptation to 
 accept ]Mr. Singleton's proposition that he should 
 devote his life exclusively to him, on consideration of 
 inheriting his whole estate. There were few people 
 who would have hesitated over such an offer, and who 
 would not have been inclined to hold the man insane 
 who did hesitate. But Brian Earle did more than 
 hesitate : he absolutely refused it. 
 
 It said much for the influence of his personal char- 
 acter that, even after this refusal, Mr. Singleton still 
 evinced the partiality for his society which he had 
 always exhibited, still claimed as much of that society 
 as he possibly could, and generally consulted him 
 when he had a decision of importance to make. " Ten 
 to one, Earle will finally get the fortune as well as his 
 own way," those who knew most of the matter often 
 remarked. But one person, at least, had no expecta- 
 tion of this, and that was Earle himself. 
 
 His affection for his uncle and gratitude for much 
 kindness, however, made him show a deference and 
 regard for the latter which had no basis in interested 
 
 10 
 
146 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 hopes, and which INIr. Singleton was not dull enough 
 to mistake. Indeed there could be no doubt that his 
 own regard for Earle was largely based upon the fact 
 that the young man desired nothing from him, and 
 was altogether ind> pcndeut of him, even while this 
 indepeudence vexed and irked him. Perceiving at 
 the present time that the conversation had reached a 
 point where it would be well that it should cease, 
 Brian rose to his feet. 
 
 " I think I will stroll about a little, and look into 
 those possibilities of sketching," he said. "I have 
 scarcely glanced at the place as yet." 
 
 '"Probably souie one is going to drive," observed 
 Mr. Suigktou. " There are plenty of horses, and 
 Tom and his wife keep them well employed. Of 
 course they are at your service also." 
 
 " I am accustomed to a humbler mode of locomo- 
 tion, and really prefer it," Brian answered. " One 
 sees more on foot " 
 
 " I wish jMju had more expensive tastes," said his 
 uncle. " One could get a hold on you then." 
 
 He seemed to be speaking a thought aloud ; but, as 
 Earle had no desire to be provoking, he did not utter 
 in reply the quick assent, " Yes, by no surer means 
 than expensive tastes can a man sell himself into 
 bondage." 
 
 He went out, whistling softly, seized his hat in the 
 hall, and was crossing toward the entrance, wiiea 
 down the broad, curving staircase came Mrs. Single- 
 ton iu out-door costume. Probably the encounter 
 was no more to her taste than to his, but she success- 
 fully simulated pleasure, which was more than he was 
 able to do. 
 
FAJBY GOLD. 147 
 
 ( 1 
 
 You are just going out, Brian?" she said. 
 " That is fortunate, for I wanted to ask you to go 
 to drive with us ; but I knew you were with ynur 
 uncle, and he is so fond of your society that I did 
 not like to disturb j'ou. But now you will come, of 
 course. Oi\\y Miss Lynde and myself are going. I 
 believe you have not yet met Miss Lynde — ah, here 
 she is ! " 
 
 For, as they came out on the portico together, they 
 found Marion already there. Words of polite refusal 
 were on Earle's lips — for had he not just remarked 
 that he did not care to drive? — but when his glance 
 fell on the beautiful girl, to whom Mrs. Singleton at 
 once presented hiui, those words found no expression. 
 It was natural enough that, with the delight of the 
 artist in beauty, he should have felt that the presence 
 of such a face put tlie question of driving in a new 
 aspect Altogether. It would be a pleasure to study 
 that face, and a pleasure to discover if the mind and 
 the spirit beliind were worthy of such a shrine. 
 
 So, after handing the ladies into the open carriage 
 that awaited them, he followed, and took his seat 
 opposite the face that attracted him, as it had 
 attracted the admiration of everyone who ever looked 
 at it. Marion herself was so accustomed to this 
 admiration that the perception of it in Earle's eyes 
 neither surprised nor elated her. She took it as a 
 matter of course, — a matter which might or might not 
 prove of importance, — and meanwhile regarded rather 
 cuiiously on her part the man who carelessly put a 
 fortune aside in order to follow his own will and his 
 own chosen path of life. On this remai-kable conduct 
 she had already speculated more than once. Did it 
 
148 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 moan that he was afool — as Mrs. Singleton plainly 
 thought, — or did it mean that he had a belief in him- 
 self and in his own powers, which made him stronger 
 than other men, and therefore able to dispense with 
 the aid which they so highly desired? 
 
 She had not sat opposite him for many minutes 
 before she was able to answer the first question. 
 Decidedly he was not a fool — not even in that modi- 
 fled sense in which people of artistic, imaginative 
 temperaments are sometimes held to be fools by the 
 strictly practical. But with regard to the other ques- 
 tion, decision was not so easy. Nothing in his appear- 
 ance, manner or speech indicated any extraordinary 
 belief in himself ; but Marion had sufficient keenness 
 of perception to recognize that, under his unassuming 
 quietness, power of some sort existed. It might be 
 the power to accomplish great things, or it might only 
 be the power to content himself with moderate ones ; 
 but it was certainly not an altogether ordinary nature 
 that looked out of the clear gray eyes, and spoke in 
 the pleasant voice. 
 
 " "Where shall we go? " said Mrs. Singleton to Ma- 
 rion, when they had rolled through Scarborough and 
 were out in the country. " We must show Brian all 
 the points of picturesque interest in the vicinity. Do 
 you think we have time to drive to Elk Ridge? " 
 
 "Oh, no!" answered Marion, quickly ; " it is too 
 late to go there. And I am sure there are other 
 places nearer at hand which are quite as pretty." 
 
 "Do you think so?" said Mrs. Singleton, skepti- 
 cally. "Pray tell us about them ; for I know of no 
 place half so charming in its surroundings and view 
 as Elk Ridge." 
 
FAIIiY GOLD. 149 
 
 Marion colored a little. She really did not know of 
 any other place equal to Elk Ridge in picturesque 
 attractions ; but her dislike to the idea of revisiting it 
 was so strong that she had spoken instinctiveh', with- 
 out thought. She was always quick witted enough to 
 see her waj' out of a difficulty, however, and after an 
 Instant's hesitation she answered : — 
 
 " I did not say that 1 positively knew of such a 
 place, only that I was sure it must exist, and probably 
 near at hand. Why not? The country seems to be 
 very much the same in its features all about hei'e." 
 
 Mrs. Singleton shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " No one can be sure of what may or may not 
 exist," she said ; " but when it is a question of looking 
 for it, I prefer what has been already discovered. We 
 will not go to Elk Ridge, however, if you object. I 
 am afraid our gypsy tea must have left disagreeable 
 associations behind it." 
 
 Earle could not but observe that Marion's color 
 deepened still more, and that a slight tightening of the 
 lines about her mouth showed that her annoyance was 
 greater than the nature of the subject seemed to war- 
 rant. " Evidently some very disagreeable association 
 in the matter!" he thought; and, before she could 
 repl}' to the last remark, he said : — 
 
 ' ' Pray do not show me the best thing in the neigh- 
 borhood at once. That should be led up to by suc- 
 cessive degrees. These lovely pastoral meadows and 
 those distant hills strike a note that suits me exactly 
 to-day. I do not care for anything more boldly 
 picturesque." 
 
 " In that case, take the river road, Anderson," 
 said Mrs. Singleton, addressing the coachman, and 
 
150 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 settling herself comfortably under the shade of her 
 lace-covered parasol. 
 
 So, for several miles they bowled gently along the 
 level road which followed the margin of a beautiful 
 stream, its soft valley spreading in Arcadian loveli- 
 ness around them ; gentle green hills bounding it ; 
 and far away, bathed in luminous mist, a vision of 
 distant, purple mountains. 
 
 Earle felt himself lapsed into a state of pleasant 
 content. The luxurious motion of tbe carriage, the 
 charming scenes passing before his eyes, the beautiful 
 face opposite him, and the sound of musical voices — 
 one, at least, of which did not talk nonsense — all 
 combined to satisfy the artist which was so strong 
 within him, and to make him feel that the virtue 
 which had brought him to Scai'borougli was rewarded. 
 
 As they re-entered the town, in the light of a 
 radiant sunset, an incident occurred which revealed a 
 fact that astonished both Mrs. Singleton and Marion. 
 As they drove rapidly down a street, before them on 
 rising ground stood the Catholic church, with its 
 golden cross in bold relief outlined against the rose- 
 red beauty of the evening sky. ■ 
 
 " What a pretty effect! " cried Marion. 
 
 Earle turned in his seat to follow the direction of 
 her glance, and, seeing the cross, looked surprised. 
 " What is that? " he said. " It looks like a CathoUc 
 church." 
 
 " It is a Catholic church," answered Marion. 
 
 He said nothing more, but as the carriage swept 
 around a corner and carried them in front of it, he 
 looked toward the church and lifted his hat. 
 
 This act of reverence would probably have had no 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 151 
 
 meaning to Mrs. Singleton, but Marion liad lived too 
 long with Catholics not to understand it. "Oh! " 
 she exclaimed, involuntarily, with an accent of sur- 
 prise; adding, when Earle looked at her, " is it pos- 
 sible you are a Catholic! " 
 
 He smiled. "Does that astonish you.?" he asked. 
 " There are a good maiiy of them in the world." 
 
 "A Catholic!" repeated Mrs. Singleton, incred- 
 ulously. " What nonsense! — Of course he is not — 
 at least not a iJomaw Catholic! " 
 
 "Pardon me," he answered, still smiling, "but 
 that is exactly what I am — a Roman Catholic. For 
 that is the only kind of Catholic which it is worth any 
 one's while to be." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 OH, you must be mistaken, Anna!" said Tom 
 Singleton, with his easy good-nature. 
 " Brian could not have told you in earnest 
 that he is a CathoHc. The thing is absurd." 
 
 " Ask him for yourself, then," answered Mrs. Sin- 
 gleton. " You will soon discover whether or not he is 
 in earnest." 
 
 " I can not say that I feel interested in his religious 
 opinions, so why should I ask him? " 
 
 " In order to find whether or not I am mistaken, 
 and in order to put your uncle on his guard ; for I 
 am sure that he would not be pleased by such a dis- 
 covery. ' ' 
 
 "Then let him make it for himself," said Singleton. 
 " It is no affair of mine. I should feel hke a sneak 
 if I meddled with such a matter ; and, what is more, 
 the old fellow would very quickly let me know that he 
 thought me one. Besides, it makes no difference. 
 Earle is out of the running. His own obstinacy 
 settles that." 
 
 "Not so much as you think, perhaps," said the 
 lady. " Why is he here if the matter is settled ? Be- 
 lieve it or not, his chance of inheriting the fortune is 
 better than yours to-day." 
 (152) 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 153 
 
 "Well, if so, let the best man win," returned 
 Singleton, philosophically. " 1 shall certainly not 
 descend to any trickery to get the better of him. Of 
 course I am anxious for the fortune, but to show my 
 anxiety would be a very poor way to secure it. I 
 firmly believe that what makes my uncle lean so to 
 Brian is that he does not appear to care for anything 
 that he can do for him." 
 
 "And in my opinion that indifference is all appear- 
 ance," observed Mrs. Singleton, sharph-. "If he 
 cares nothing for what yoiw uncle can do, wiiy is he 
 in attendance on him? But, however that ma}' be, I 
 shall see that his extraordinary change of religion 
 becomes known." 
 
 "If you go to my uncle with such information, 
 you will only harm yourself," said Singleton, warn- 
 
 " I sh.ll not think of going to him," she answered. 
 " I know very well that his sentuuents toward me are 
 not sufficiently cordial to make that safe. I shall 
 manage that Brian will give the information himself." 
 
 "If 3'ou take my advice, you will let the matter 
 alone," said her husband. 
 
 But he knew very well that she would not take his 
 advice, and he said to himself that it was well for her 
 to do as she liked. She would not be satisfied without 
 doing so ; and, after all, if Brian had been so foolish 
 as to become a Roman Catholic, there was no objection 
 to his uncle's knowing it. Earle himself certainly did 
 not desire secrecy, or else he would not have men- 
 tioned the fact so openly and carelessly. 
 
 And, indeed, nothing was further from Earle's mind 
 than any desire for secrecy. Therefore, he fell with. 
 
154 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 the readiest ease into the trap which Mrs. Singleton 
 soon laid for him. It was one evening, when the 
 household party was assembled in the drawing room 
 after dinner, that she led the conversation to foreign 
 politics, and the position of the Papacy in European 
 affairs. Mr. Singleton, who took much more interest 
 than the average American usually does in these af- 
 fairs, was speedily led to express himself strongly 
 against the Papal claim to temporal sovereignty. 
 
 Earle looked up. " I think," he observed, in his 
 pleasant but resolute voice, " that you have, perhaps, 
 never considered that question in its true beaiings." 
 
 "J have never considered it in its true bearings! " 
 said Mr. Singleton, astonished bej'ond measure by 
 this bold challenge ; for he regarded himself, and was 
 regarded by his friends, as an authority on the subject 
 of European pohtics. '• In that case will you be kind 
 enough to inform me what are its true bearings.? " 
 
 The request was sarcastic, but Earle answered it 
 with the utmost seriousness. "Certainly," he said, 
 " to the best of my ability." And, before Mr. Sin- 
 gleton could disclaim any desire to be taken in earnest 
 he proceeded to slate with great clearness the his- 
 torical proofs and arguments in favor of the Pope's 
 sovereignty. 
 
 His little audience listened with a surprise which 
 yielded, in spite of themselves, to interest. The ideas 
 and facts presented were all new to them, and to one, 
 at least, seemed unanswerable. 
 
 It has been ahead}' said that Marion had a mind free 
 from prejudice; she had also a mind quick and keen 
 in its power of apprehension. She cauglit the drift 
 and force of Earle' s statements before any one else 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 155 
 
 did, and said to herself, "That must be true!" 
 Yet, even while she listened with attention, it was 
 characteristic of her that she also observed with 
 amusement tlie scene which the group before her pre- 
 sented. Mr. Singleton, leaning back in his chair, was 
 frowning with impatience, and the air ot one who 
 through courtesy only lends an unwilling ear. Tom 
 Singleton was watching his cousin with an expression 
 compounded of surprise, curiosity, and an involun- 
 tary admiration; while Mrs. Singleton looked down 
 demurely at a fan which she opened and shut, her 
 lips wearing a smile of mingled amusement and grati- 
 fication. 
 
 In the midst of tliis group Earle, with an air of the 
 most quiet composure, was laying down h s prnposi- 
 tions one after another, unobservant of and indiffer- 
 ent to the expressions on the different faces around 
 him. "He is very brave," thought Marion; "but 
 surely he is also very foolish. Why should he unnec- 
 essai-ily contradict and vex the old man, who can do 
 so much for him?" A sense of irritation mingled 
 with the admiration which she could not withhold 
 from him. ' ' It would have been easy to say nothing, ' ' 
 she thought again; " and yet how well he speaks! " 
 
 He did indeed speak well — so well that the atten- 
 tion o-f Mr. Singleton was gradually drawn from tiie 
 matter to the manner of his speech. He turned and 
 looked keenly at the young man from under his bent 
 brows. 
 
 " You speak," he said, " like an advocate of the 
 cause. How is that?" 
 
 " I hope that I should be an advocate of any cause 
 which I believed to be just," answered Brian, quietly ; 
 
156 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 "but I am in a special manner the advocate of this, 
 because I am a Catholic." 
 
 "A Cathohc!" Mr. Singleton looked as if he 
 could hardly believe the evidence of his ears. " It is 
 not possible that 3'ou mean a Romanist?" 
 
 Earle bent his head, smiling a little. " I mean just 
 that," he said; "or at least what yore mean by that. 
 The term is neither very correct nor very courteous, 
 but it expresses the fact clearly enough." 
 
 This coolness had the usual effect of provoking Mr. 
 Singleton, yet of making him feel the uselessness of 
 expressing vexation. It was evident that his disgust 
 was as great as his surprise, but he waited a moment 
 before giving expression to either. Then he said, 
 curtly : — 
 
 "It is no affair of mine what 3'ou clioose to call 
 yourself, but I should have more respect for your 
 sense if you told me you were a Buddhist " 
 
 "Very likely," returned Earle, with composure; 
 " for in that case I sliould be following the last whim 
 of fas-hionable intellectual folly. But, you see, I 
 thought it more sensible to go back to the old faith of 
 our fathers. ' ' 
 
 "You might have gone back to paganism, then," 
 sneered the other. " That was the faith of our fathers 
 also." 
 
 "Very true," assented the young man; " and in 
 that also I should have been following a large train. 
 But I was not in search of a faith simply because it 
 had been that of my fathers. I was in search of a 
 faith which bore the marks of truth, and I found it 
 to be that which some of my fathers unfortunately 
 discarded." 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 157 
 
 " And you have absolutely joined the Church of 
 Rome?" demanded Mr. Singleton, with ominous 
 calmness. 
 
 "Yes," Earle replied, as calmly; "some months 
 ago." 
 
 The elder man took up a newspaper. " In that 
 case," he observed, in a tone of icy coldness, " I have 
 nothing more to say. The step is one with which I 
 have no sympathy and very litllo tolerance ; but, for- 
 tunately, it does not concern me :it all." 
 
 Mrs. Singleton shot a glance at her husband, which 
 Marion saw was one of triumph. She knew instantly 
 that the conversation which led to Eaile's avowal had 
 not been a matter of accident. " What a pretty 
 trick! " she said, mentally, and, with a sudden im- 
 pulse to show her sympathy with courage, she 
 addressed the 3'oung man : — 
 
 "You have at least the pleasure of knowing, Mr. 
 Earle, that j'ou belong to the same faith as most of 
 the best and many of the greatest people of the 
 world." 
 
 Earle looked at her with surprise. Such a speech, 
 under the circumstances, was the last he could have 
 expected from her ; for, notwithstanding the glamour 
 of her beauty, he had read her accurately enough to 
 perceive her worldliness, and her de:-ire for all that 
 the world could give. He knew that she was a favor- 
 ite of his uncle's, and could not have imagined that 
 she would brave the displeasure of the latter in a 
 manner so unnecessary. Perhajjs Mr. Singleton was 
 also surprised — at least he glanced up at her quickly, 
 while Earle answered: — 
 
 " It is a deeper satisfaction siill to believe that it is 
 
158 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 a faith which has made the best of those people what 
 they are, and which can derive no lustre from the 
 greatest." 
 
 " I have alwaj-s observed that Roman Catholics are 
 very enthusiastic about their religion," said Mrs. 
 Singleton ; " but I did not know before, Marion, that 
 you inclined that way." 
 
 "What way?" asked Marion, coolly. "To en- 
 thusiasm or to Catholicity? As a matter of fact, I do 
 not incline to either. But I have seen a great deal of 
 Catholics, and admire many things about them. In- 
 deed, all of my best friends belong to that religion." 
 
 " Then we may expect you to follow in Brian's 
 footsteps before long," said the lady, with malicious 
 sweetness. 
 
 ' ' There is nothing that I am aware of more improb- 
 able," replied Marion. 
 
 She rose then, conscious that the conversation, if 
 carried farther, might develop more unpleasantness, 
 and moved toward the piano. Earle followed her, in 
 order to lift the lid of the instrument, and as he did 
 so said, smilino;lv : — 
 
 " I think you are quite right to endeavor to restore 
 harmony by sweet sounds. Is it not extraordinary 
 that there should be no such potent cause of discord 
 iu the world as a question of religion?" 
 
 "I sup|)ose it is because people feel more strongly 
 on that subject than on any other," she answered, 
 looking up at him, and wondering a little that a man 
 so young, with all the world before him, and all its 
 ambitions to tempt him, should think of religion at all. 
 
 The next day she found an opportunity to say this 
 frankl}-. During the morning she strolled into the 
 
FAIRY GOLD. ' 159 
 
 garden with a book, and there encountered Earle, 
 leaning on a stone-wall that skirted the lower boun- 
 daries of the grounds, sketching a pretty meadow and 
 group of trees beyond. She came upon him unob- 
 served — for he was standing with his back to the path 
 along which she advanced, — -and the sound of iier 
 clear, musical voice was the first intimation he had of 
 her presence. 
 
 " How rapidly you sketch, Mr. Earle, and how 
 well! " she said. 
 
 He started and turne'l, to find her standing: so 
 near tliat she overlooked his work. She smiled as his 
 astonished eyes met her own. " Do I disturb yoxi? " 
 she asked. " If so I will go away." 
 
 "You have certainly not disturbed me up to the 
 present moment," he answered. " Have you been 
 here long? " 
 
 " Only a few minutes. You were so absorbed that 
 you did not observe me, and I was so interested in 
 watching you that I did not care to speak. But if I 
 disturb 3'ou — " 
 
 " Why should j^ou disturb me if you care to stay? 
 You will not obstruct my view of the meadow or trees. 
 It is a pretty little scene, is it not? " 
 
 "Very," she answered, moving to the wall, at which 
 she paused, a few feet distant from him, and laid her 
 book down on the ledge which it conveniently presented. 
 Then she stood silent for a minute, lookinsr at the 
 shadow-dappled landscape, and conscious of a sense of 
 pique, provoked by the cool indifference of his reply. 
 She knew that to man}' men her presence ivovld 
 obstruct their view of the fairest scene nature might 
 present, and she could perceive no reason why this 
 
160 • FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 man should be different from them, — why her beauty, 
 which his artist-glance had evidently appreciated, 
 seemed to have so little effect upon him. Her vanity 
 had become more insistent in its demands, from the 
 homage which had been offered her ; and the with- 
 holding this homage had already become a thing insuf- 
 ferable. But she was far too proud to show this, as 
 many weaker women do ; and, after a short interval, 
 she said, lightly enough: — 
 
 " What a very great pleasure it must be when one is 
 able to set down beauty as you are doing — to pre- 
 serve and make it one's own! I have a friend who 
 loves art devotedly — in fact, she is a true artist, — 
 and I have always the same feeling when I watch her 
 at work.'l 
 
 " The poweris certainly a great delight," saidEarle, 
 going on with his rapid strokes ; " but you must not 
 imagine that it is all delight. There is a great deal of 
 drudgery in this as in all other arts ; and, worse still, 
 there are times of infinite disgust as well as profound 
 discouragement. ' ' 
 
 "So Claire used to say — at least, she spoke of 
 discouragement, but I never heard her speak of 
 disgust." 
 
 " Claire ! " Earle looked at her now with his quick, 
 bright glance. " I wonder if I do not know of whom 
 you speak. There can hardly be more than one Claire 
 who is a true artist." 
 
 " There may be a hundred, for aught I know," 
 replied Marion, carelessly ; " but I mean Claire Alford. 
 Her father was a distinguished artist, I believe. You 
 may have heard of him." 
 
 " Everyone has heard of him, I imagine," returned 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 161 
 
 Earle, a little drj^ly ; "but I knew him well in my 
 boyliood, and he did more than any one else to fan 
 whatever artistic flame 1 possess. I was, there fore, 
 very glad when I chanced to meet his daughter about a 
 monlh ago." 
 
 "You met Claire? That can hardly be! She is 
 abroad." 
 
 " I met her a few days before she sailed. The lady 
 with whom she has gone, and with whom she was then 
 staying, is the widow of an artist whom I knew, and 
 is hei self a great friend of mine." 
 
 " And so you have met Claire! I really don't know 
 why it should surprise me, yet it does. What did you 
 think of her? I ask the question without hesitation, 
 because I know it is impossible for any one to think ill 
 of her, and the well is only in proportion as 3 ou know 
 or divine her." 
 
 " I am sure of that," said Earle, with a kindly smile 
 for the speaker. " She charmed me at first sight : she 
 is so simple, so candid, so unconscious of herself, so 
 evidently intent upon high aims." 
 
 " Yes, she is all of that," replied Marion. Involun- 
 tarily her voice fell as she thought of how little any 
 word of this commendation could be a|»plied to herself. 
 " Did you find out that you had something in common 
 beside your love of art?" she asked, after an instant. 
 " Claire is a fervent Catholic." 
 
 " Is she?" he said, with interest. " No, I did not 
 discover it. Nothing brouglit up the subject of relig- 
 iim. But I am not surprisid. There is an air about 
 her that made me call her in my own mind a vestal of 
 art. I can easily realize that she is something more 
 and better than that." 
 
 11 
 
162 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 " It is a pretty name, and suits her well — a vestal 
 of art," said Marion. She was silent then for a min- 
 ute or two, and stood looking with level gaze from 
 under the broad brim of her sun-hat at the pastoral 
 meadow-scene, unconscious for once what a picture 
 she herself made, as she leaned on the stone-wall, with 
 a spreading mulberry-tree throwing its chequered 
 shade down upon her graceful figure. Artist instinct 
 drewEarle's eyes upon her, and he was saying to him- 
 self, " How much I should like to sketch her! Shall I 
 ask her permission to do so?" when she suddenly 
 turned her face toward him and spoke. 
 
 "Do you know, Mr. Earle," she said, "that you 
 astonished me very much last night.? For the matter 
 of that" —with a slight laugh,— " I suppose you 
 astonished everyone. But I am bold enough to ex 
 press my astonishment, because I should really like lo 
 know what you meant." 
 
 "I shall be very happy to tell you," Earle answered, 
 " if you will give me an idea what you mean." 
 
 " I mean this. Why did you vex Mr. Singleton by 
 unnecessary contradiction, and an unnecessary avowal 
 of what you knew would annoy if it did not seriously 
 alienate him .? " 
 
 The young man regarded her with surprise. " Sim- 
 ply because I had no alternative," he replied. "Noth- 
 ing was further from my desire than to vex him. But 
 why, in the name of- all that is reasonable, should 
 people be vexed by hearing the truth .? Is not that what 
 we all wish, ostensibly at least — to learn and to believe 
 the truth about a thing, not mere fancies or ideas.? " 
 
 ^'Ye— s," said Marion, hesitatingly. "I suppose 
 no one would acknowledge that he did not wish to 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 163 
 
 know the truth ; but you are aware that nothiug is 
 more offensive than the truth to people who have 
 strong convictions against it." 
 
 " So much the worse for such people, then." 
 
 " And so much the worse sometimes for those 
 who persist in enforcing enlightenment upon them." 
 
 " I really do not think that is my character," he 
 said. " I have never, to my knowledge, attempted to 
 force enlightenment upon any one. But sometimes — 
 as was the case last night — one must speak (even 
 when speaking will serve no end of conviction), or be 
 guilty of cowardice and tacit deception." 
 
 Marion shook her head, in protest, apparently, 
 against these views ; but pi'obably she felt the useless- 
 ness of combating them. At least when she spoke 
 jigain it was to say, abruptl}' : — 
 
 '• But how on earth do you chance to take that par- 
 ticular view of truth.'' " 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 EARLE smiled. ' ' The answer to that is contained 
 in what I remarked a moment ago," he said. 
 "I wanted truth itself, not my own or anybody's 
 else views or fancies concerning it." 
 
 Marion looked at him with a gravity on her face 
 which gave it a new character altogether. " And do 
 you really think that you found this absolute truth in 
 the Catholic faith.? " she asked. 
 
 "I do not think so — I know it," he answered. 
 " It is there or nowhere. I satisfied myself of that." 
 
 " But how did you come to care enough about it to 
 think of satisfying yourself? " she persisted. " That 
 is what puzzles me most. The Catholic faith may be 
 true — I can readily believe it is, — but how did you, 
 a young man with the world all before you, ever come 
 to care whether it were true or not }" 
 
 He regarded her silently for a moment before reply- 
 inff. It seemed as if he found it difficult to answer 
 such words as these. At length he said: " Is there 
 any special reason why a young man, even if it were 
 true that he had all the world before him — and it is 
 true in a very limited sense of me, — should not think 
 occasionally of the most important subject in the 
 world, and should not desire to think rightly? " 
 (164) 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 165 
 
 " Of course there is no reason why he should not," 
 she replied. " Only it seems unnatural. One fancies 
 him tliinking of other things. In his place, /should 
 think of olher tbings." 
 
 " May I ask what they would be? " 
 
 " I am sure you can hardly need to ask. Even if 
 you have no ambition yourself, you must realize its 
 existence ; you must know how it makes men desire 
 fame and power and wealth for the sake of the great 
 advantages they bnng. In your place, I should think 
 of making a name, of conquering fortune, of enjoying 
 all that the world offers." 
 
 " Well," he said, after a short pause — during 
 which he had gone on with the rapid, practiced 
 strokes of his pencil, — " all that is natural enough, 
 and there is no harm in it unless one wished to enjoy 
 some of the unlawful things which the world offers. 
 But why should one not do all this — make a name 
 and conquer fortune — and still give some thought to 
 the great question of one's final end and destiny? " 
 
 She made a slight gesture of impatience. " You 
 know very well," she said, " that, as a matter of fact, 
 an ambitious man has no time for considering such 
 questions." 
 
 ' ' That depends entirely upon the man. You should 
 not make your assertions so sweeping. In these days, 
 at least, no man of thought — no man who is at all 
 interested in intellectual questions — can ignore the 
 subject of religion. Let me illustrate my meaning. 
 Would you have been surprised to learn that 1 were 
 an Agnostic or a Positivist? " 
 
 " No," she replied, somewhat reluctantly, " That 
 would have been different.' 
 
ir.6 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 " Only different because they are fashionable creeds 
 of the hour, and it is considered a proof of intellectual 
 strength to stultify reason, and, in the face of the 
 accumulated proofs of ages, to declare that man can 
 know nothing of his origin or his end. But when, on 
 the contrary, one accepts a logical and luminous S3's- 
 tem of thought, a revelation which offers an explana- 
 tion of the mystery of being entirely consistent with 
 reason, you think that very remarkable ! Forgive me, 
 Miss Ljmde, if I say that I find your opinion quite as 
 remarkable as you can find my faith." 
 
 She blushed, but answered haughtily: " That may 
 be. It was no doubt presumptuous of me to express 
 any opinion on the subject. I really don't know why 
 I did it, except that I was so much surprised, in the 
 first place by the fact that you had thought of the 
 matter, and in the second place by the avowal which 
 vexed your uncle." 
 
 " I am sorry to have vexed him," said Earle, 
 quietly; "but he is too much of a philosopher to 
 allow it to trouble him long — indeed I have no idea 
 that it has troubled him at all." 
 
 She did not answer, but the expression in her eyes 
 was one of so much wonder that lie smiled. " What 
 is it now? " he asked. " What are you still surprised 
 at?" 
 
 " I hardly like to tell you," she replied. " I feel 
 as if I had already said too much — " 
 
 "By no means. I like frankness, of all things; 
 especially if I may be allowed to imitate it." 
 
 She smiled in spite of herself. " That," she said, 
 '* is certainly as little as one could allow. Well, then, 
 1 confess that I do not understand why you should 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 167 
 
 refuse to accept the fortune which Mr. Singleton 
 evidently wishes si> much to give j'ou. Have you 
 conscientious scruples against holding wealth?" 
 
 " Not the faintest. I would accept a million, if it 
 came to me unfettered by conditions which would 
 make even a million too dearly bought." 
 "Such as—?" 
 
 " What my uncle asks — that I give up everything 
 which interests me in life, and devote m} self to him as 
 long as he lives." 
 
 " But he cannot live long. And then — ' 
 " Then I should be a rich man. But, as it chances, 
 I do not care about being a rich man. Money can 
 not buy anything wliich 1 desire. It cannot give me 
 the proficiency in art which must be won by long and 
 hard study." 
 
 " It would make that study unnecessary." 
 " Unnecessary ! " He glanced at her with something 
 of her own wonder, dashed by faint scorn. " Do you 
 think that I consider making money the end of my 
 art? So far from that, I would starve in a garret 
 sooner than lower my standard for such an object. 
 And, insensibly perhaps, I should lower it if I had a 
 great deal of money. No man can answer for himself. 
 Therefore, I have no desire to be tempted. And I re- 
 peat that money can buy nothing which I value most.' 
 " Do you not value power? It can buy that." 
 " In a very poor form. I am not sure that I should 
 care for it in its best form, but certainly not in that 
 which money buys." 
 
 " Money is the lever which moves the world," she 
 said ; " and it is only because you have never known 
 the real want of it that you hold it so lightly." 
 
1(;H FAluy GOLD. 
 
 '• I have sometimes thought that myself," he re- 
 plied. "It is true that only a starving man properly 
 appreciates bread. I have never starved, and it may 
 be tliat I am not properly grateful for mine; but, 
 at least, I try neither to undervalue nor overvalue 
 it." 
 
 "Some day," she said, "you may find an object 
 which money would have helped you to gain, and 
 then you will regret the folly — forgive me if I speak 
 plainly — which threw away such a great power." 
 
 " I should have to change very much," he replied, 
 " before I could care for any object which money 
 would help me to gain." 
 
 "There is nothing more likely than that you will 
 change on that point. If there is anything that life 
 teaches, it is that there is scarcely a single object 
 which money will not help us to gain." 
 
 He looked at her with a curious surprise, which he 
 did not attempt to conceal. " Forgive me," he said, 
 "if I speak too plainly; but there is a remarkable 
 want of harmony between your appearance and your 
 utterances. If one listened with closed eyes, one 
 might fancy that a man of fifty spoke in behalf of the 
 god to whom he had devoted his life. But when one 
 looks at you — " 
 
 "You are surprised that such sentiments should 
 come from one who ought to be ignorant of every 
 reality of hfe," she observed, coolly, as he paused. 
 "But I learned something about those reaUties at a 
 very early age. I know how the want of mouey has 
 embittered my life; I know how it lavs on me now 
 fetters under which I chafe ; and therefore, by right 
 of th^ experience which you lack, I tell you that you 
 
FAIBV GOLD. 169 
 
 will live to regret the loss of the fortune you are 
 throwing away," 
 
 " No man can speak with absolute certainty of the 
 future ; but, if 1 know myself at all, I do not think I 
 shall ever regret it." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders slightly. " In that 
 case you will be an extraordinary man," she said. 
 " But I feel as if I should beg your pardon for having 
 fallen into such a personal vein of discussion." 
 
 " I do not think that the responsibility rests with 
 you," he answered. "But if you consider that you 
 owe me an apology, I can point out an immediate way 
 to make amends. Ever since you have been standing 
 there, I have been longing to make a sketch of you. 
 Will you allow me to do so? " 
 
 ''Certainly," she said, smiling; for the request 
 flattered her vanity. 
 
 So, while she stood in the sunshine and shadow, 
 a charming picture of youth and grace, he sketched 
 her, feeling with every stroke the true artist apprecia- 
 tion of her beauty ; and more and more surprised at 
 her intelligence as they talked of art and literature, 
 of people and events, while time flew by unheeded. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Singleton was certainly wroth with 
 his favorite. The latter' s change of I'ehgion — or, to 
 be more correct, his choice of religion — was the last 
 of many offenses ; and the old man said to himself 
 that, so far as he was concerned, it should indeed be 
 the last. " The boy is a fool, besides being obstinate 
 and ungrateful ! " he thought, with what he felt to be 
 righteous indignation, and which (knowing his own 
 weakness in regard to Earie) he strove to encourage 
 and fan into enduring anger. " But I am glad I have 
 
170 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 discovered this in time — very glad ! Though he has 
 refused so positively to do anything that I wish, there 
 is no telling what weakness I might have been guilty 
 of when it came to the point of making my will. But 
 now I am safe. My money shall never go into the 
 hands of the Jesuits — that I am resolved upon. 
 And, of course, they would soon obtain it from Brian, 
 who has no appreciation whatever of its value. Yes, 
 my mind is settled at last on that score. He shall 
 never inherit anything from me ; but where on earth 
 am I to find a satisfactory legatee to take his place? " 
 
 The consideration of this question, and the difficulty 
 of answering it, produced in old Mr.. Singleton a state 
 of temper which made life a burden, for the time 
 being, to all his personal attendants. While Earle was 
 philosophically setting forth his views to Marion at 
 the bottom of the garden, the valet and the nurse 
 were having a very hard time in getting the fractious 
 invalid ready for the day; and when he was finally es- 
 tablished in his sitting-room, he probably remembered 
 tlie soothing power of music, and asked for Miss Lynde. 
 
 Diligent search having revealed the fact that Miss 
 Lynde was not in the house, Mr. Singleton wanted to 
 know if any one could tell liim where she had gone. 
 Mrs. Singleton, being interrogated, professed utter 
 ignorance ; but one of the maids volunteered the in- 
 formation that from an upper window she had seen 
 Miss Lynde in the garden with Mr. Earle. That had 
 l)cen an hour before. "Go to the same window and see 
 if she is there yet," ordered Mr. Singleton when this 
 was communicated to him. Observation duly made, 
 and a report brought to him tliat she was still there, 
 " Shall I send for her, sir? " inquired his servant. 
 
FAIRY GOLD. l7l 
 
 " No," snapped the irate old gentleman. " Wbat 
 do you mean by such a question? "Why should I wish 
 to disturb Miss Lynde? I simply desired to satisfy 
 myself where she was. When she comes in, let her 
 know that I would like to see her." 
 
 Left alone then, he opened his newspapers witli a 
 softening of the lines about his mouth. After all, a 
 way might be found of managing Brian. The influence 
 of a beautiful woman might accomplish what his own 
 influence had failed to do. Marion would make a 
 capital wife for the young man. " Just the wife he 
 needs," thought Mr. Singleton. " A woman of am- 
 bition, of cleverness, and of worldly knowledge quite 
 remarkable in one so young. No danger of he)' under- 
 valuing money, and the Jesuit would be very sharp 
 who could get it from her. Why did I not think of 
 this before? Of course he will fall in love with her — 
 what man could avoid doing so? — and, in that event, 
 everytbin-T can be arranged. She will bring him to my 
 terms soon enough." 
 
 These reflections had so soothing an effect upon his 
 temper that when Marion came in, and was told by 
 Mrs. Singleton that he (with a significant gesture 
 toward the apartment of the person indicated) was in 
 the mood of a tiger, and demanding her presence, she 
 was most agreeably surprised at being received with 
 extreme kindness. 
 
 "lam told you have been asking for me. I am 
 sorry to have been out of the way," she said. 
 
 " I wanted to ask you to sing for me," he replied. 
 " My nerves are in an irritated state this morning, and 
 I felt as if your voice might soothe them. But I am 
 not unreasonable enough to expect you to be always 
 
172 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 on hand to gratify my fancies. It was well that you 
 were out enjoviug this beautiful morning." 
 
 " I was only in the garden. You might have sent 
 for me. I should have been delighud to come and 
 sing for you. Shall I do so now? " 
 
 " After a little. Sit down and let me talk to you 
 for a few minutes. I suppose you can imagine wliat 
 it is that gave me a particularly had night, and has 
 set my nerves on edge this morning? " 
 
 " I am afraid that it is worry," said Marion, sitting 
 down near him. " You did not like what Mr. Eaile 
 said last night." 
 
 " I certainly did not like it. The announcement he 
 made was a great surprise to me and a great shock. 
 Under any circumstances, I should be sorry for an \ 
 one in whom I felt an interest to take such a step ; 
 but you are probably aware that I have felt a peculiar 
 interest in Brian." 
 
 " I have heard that your intentions toward him 
 have been most kind." 
 
 "I have desired that he shall take with me the 
 place of a son. I have asked him to accept the duties 
 of such a position — duties that would not he very 
 heavy, — and I have promised that, in return, he shall 
 inhei'it everything that is mine. Do you think that 
 an unreasonable proposal? " 
 
 " Very far from it," answered Marion. " I think 
 it most reasonable and most kind. I can not under- 
 stand how he can hesitate over it." 
 
 " He does not hesitate," said Mr. Singleton, bit- 
 terly: " he refuses it. After that I ought to be will- 
 ing to let him go ; but the truth of the matter is, I 
 have no one to take his place. He is not only my 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 173 
 
 nearest relative, but there is something about him 
 that attaches one to him despite one's self. My 
 dear" — he looked wistfully, yet keenly, into the 
 be-autiful face, — " it has occurred to me that perhaps 
 you might have some influence over him." 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Marion. For a moment her sur- 
 prise was so great that she could say nothing more. 
 Then, with the realization of liis meaning, a wave of 
 color came into her face. " 1 have no reason to sup- 
 pose that I have the least influence with Mr. Earle," 
 she said. " If I had, I would gladly use it for the 
 ends about which you are so anxious." 
 
 " I am sure of that," observed Mr. Singleton, sig- 
 nificantly. " Well, all I can say is that nothing would 
 please me more than for you to acquire such influence. 
 If you should acquire it, and if you should consent to 
 use it always, I would be a very delighted old man. 
 You understand me, I see, so I need say no more. 
 Now go and sing for me." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MR. SINGLETON was wise enough to remain 
 satisfied with having expressed his wishes to 
 Marion. He said nothing to Earle, having a 
 general conviction that " in vain is the snare spread in 
 sight of any bird," and a knowledge of this particular 
 bird which warned him to be cautious. But the idea 
 which had occurred to him seemed so likely to produce 
 the desired result, that he was greatly encouraged by 
 it, and his manner to his nephew was so different from 
 what Mrs. Singleton had anticipated, that she said to 
 herself with mucli chagrin that Tom was right after 
 all, and she had gained nothing by the disclosure she 
 had brought about. 
 
 Earle himself was pleased that his uncle showed no 
 coldness of feeling toward liim. He had fully ex- 
 pected this ; and, while the anticipation had not 
 troubled him in any serious manner, he was relieved 
 to find that he was to be spared that sense of aliena- 
 tion which is always a trial to a person of sensitive 
 feelings. 
 
 What he would have thought had his uncle at this 
 time frankly avowed to him the plan he had conceived, 
 it is not difficult to imagine. What he would have 
 done is no less easy to conjecture. But, left in igno- 
 rance, and exposed to an association which would have 
 (174) 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 175 
 
 had attractions for any one, be unconsciou-^ly drifted 
 toward a posili ii destined to lead to serious results. 
 For while Marion repelled she also attracted him, 
 through the interest he felt in a character so strongly 
 marked for good or for evil, and by the very frankness 
 with which she displayed traits and expressed senti- 
 ments with which he had little sympatliy. "It is a 
 fine character warped and distorted," he said to 
 himself. " Good influences might do much with it. 
 What a pity if she drifts deeper into the worldliness 
 that now attracts her so greatly ! For there is nothing 
 frivolous about her, and she will find in the end that 
 none but frivolous people can be contented with the 
 things for which she longs." 
 
 Now, there are a few people who, brought into con- 
 tact with a character of which they think in this man- 
 ner, do not feel inclined to exert the influence that 
 they believe would be beneficial. And how much 
 more when the person on whom it is to be exerted 
 is a young, a beautiful and a clever woman ! 
 Whether he approved of her or not, Earle could not 
 fail to find Marion a stimulating and agreeable com- 
 panion. The absence of effort to attract ■ — for she 
 was far too proud to make this — lulled to rest any 
 fear of the result of such an association to himself ; 
 and their morning conversation in the garden was the 
 beginning of an intercourse which grew daily more 
 pleasant on both sides. 
 
 Mr. Singleton had been the first to see the probable 
 end, but it was not long before others foresaw it also. 
 " I told you that girl would betray us," said Mrs. 
 Singleton to her husband. " She means to marry 
 Brian Earle and take our place. That is clear." 
 
176 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 " But there may be two words to that," said the 
 gentleman addressed. "Brian may not intend to 
 many her. He was talking of his plans to me while 
 we were smoking last night, and there was not a word 
 of marrying in them." 
 
 '• That much for his plans! " said Mrs. Singleton, 
 with a slight, contemptuous gesture. " They will 
 soon be whatever Marion Lynde chooses. When a 
 woman like lier makes up her mind to marry a man, 
 she will succeed. You may be sure of that." 
 
 '• Rather a bad lookout for men, in such a case," 
 returned Mr. Singleton. " Only if the power is 
 limited to women like Miss Lynde, one might bear it 
 With philosophy." 
 
 His wife gave him a look compounded of scorn and 
 irritation. " There is not much doubt what you would 
 do in Brian Earle's place. That girl seems to turn the 
 head of every man she comes in contact with. I am 
 sure I wish I had never heard of her! " 
 
 " 1 fancy Rathborne wishes the same thing," 
 observed Mr. Singleton. "I never s^w a man so 
 changed ns he is of late ; I met him yesterday, and 
 I was struck by his moody looks." 
 
 Mrs. Singleton shrugged her shoulders. " I have 
 no compassion to spare for him. A man who has been 
 such a fool as he has, deserves to suffer. But we 
 have (lone nothing to deserve to be supplanted in this 
 way." 
 
 "Well," said the more reasonable husband, " it is 
 hardly just to talk of being 'supplanted.' The old 
 fellow has always been very frank with me, an<l in- 
 sisted there should be no room for misconception. 
 We have an agreeable home without any expense to 
 

 FAIBY GOLD. 177 
 
 oiarsclves, hut he has always told me th:it he did not 
 bind himself to leave me anything at all." 
 
 " Of couise he would not bhid himsi If ; but if Brian 
 refu'^es to be Lis heir — and that is what his conduct 
 heretofore amounts to, — whose chance should be 
 better than yours? " 
 
 " Really it is hard to say. Who can acconiit for 
 the w'bims of rich old men? He may cut us all off, 
 and leave his fortune to Miss Lynde." 
 
 "If I thought so," said Mrs. Singleton, fiercely^ 
 " I would murder her — " 
 
 " Come, Anna, that is beyond a joke ! " 
 
 " Or myself, for having brought her to his notice." 
 
 " Defer both murders until you find out whether 
 there is any need for them," said her provoking hus- 
 band. And then he beat a hasty retreat. 
 
 But even he, now that his eyes Avere opened, began 
 to perceive the extreme probability of all that his 
 wife suggested. There was no doubt of the fact that 
 Marion and Earle were constantly together, that they 
 seemed to find much gratification in each other's 
 society, and that Mr. Singleton (this was patent lo the 
 must careless observation) looked on approvingly at 
 their growing intimacy. "The old fellow wants to 
 see the thing brought about," said Tom Singleton to 
 himtelf. " lie thinks it would tie Brinn down, and 
 that a wife with such ideas would soon cure him of his 
 contempt fur riches. Well, he's right enough; and 
 since it is most likely to come about, Anna and I may 
 make up our minds that our day is nearly over. We 
 shall soon have to step down to make room for Mrs. 
 Brian Earle." 
 
 The young lady designated in advance by this title 
 
 12 
 
178 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 "was herself entirely of his opinion. At this time a 
 rosy vista opened before her. She felt that all which 
 she most desired was within her grasp. And yet not 
 exactly in the manner she had anticipated. For, 
 much as she had always longed for the power which 
 wealth gives, it had not been her dream to obtain 
 wealth by marriage. That seemed to her a means too 
 commonplace, and also too degrading. It was to be 
 won through her own effort, her own cleverness, in 
 some manner as vaguely outlined as a fairy-tale. But 
 she was too shrewd not to perceive, after a very brief 
 acquaintance with life, that for a young girl, without 
 some special and brilliant talent, to hope to make a 
 fortune was as reasonable as if she had thought of 
 building a tower with her own hands. She realized, 
 then, that it was a wonderful prospect which opened 
 before her, as if by the stroke of an enchantress' wand, 
 in the fancy of Mr. Singleton for herself, and in the 
 fact that Eai'le excited her regard in a degree she had 
 hardly imagined possible. Once, with mocking cyni- 
 cism, she had asked of Helen, " Do you think such 
 good fortune ever befalls one, as that the man one 
 could love is also the man it is expedient for one to 
 marry? " And now that good fortune, so utterly dis- 
 believed in, had befallen herself ! 
 
 For the very things in which Earle was least like 
 herself attracted her most. He was an embodiment of 
 ideas which, abstractly, were too exalted for her to 
 reach. His faith, his unworldliness, his devotion to 
 noble ends, — all touched the higher side of her own 
 nature, like strains of heroic poetry. Under his im- 
 mediate influence, she began to change in a manner as 
 strange as it was significant. Keen eyes noted this, and 
 
FAIBT GOLD. 179 
 
 Mrs. Singleton said to herself that the girl was capable 
 of playing any part, even of pretending to be quixotic 
 and unworldl}'. But in this she did her injustice. 
 With all its great faults, Marion's character possessed 
 the saving salt of sincerity, and she was absolutely 
 incapable of playing a part for any purpose whatever. 
 The change in her just now was real; there only re- 
 mained a question whether or not it were deep, — 
 whether human love alone were great enough to work 
 the miracle of regenerating a nature into which world- 
 liness had struck such strong roots. 
 
 The test was not long delayed. As the time for 
 Earle's visit drew to a close, he began to realize how 
 decidedly he had suffered himself to be drawn toward 
 this girl, whom his judgment at first so greatly disap- 
 proved, and whom it could not even yet altogether 
 approve ; although he was not blind to the change in 
 her wrouglitby his influence, — a change which uncon- 
 sciousl}^ flattered him, as any proof of power flatters 
 this poor human nature of ours. He found, somewhat 
 to his dismay, that he was more attached to l:er than 
 lie had been aware of, but he had no intention of de- 
 claring liis feeling. Judgment was still too much -.a-- 
 ra\ ed :igaiust it. And this being so, he resisted the 
 temptation to prolong his visit, and adhen d to the 
 original date set for his departure. Now, since this 
 departure was not only to be from Scarliorough, but 
 from America, Mr. Singleton was very anxious that it 
 should be pievented, and he watched with gi'owing 
 anxiety thu iuiimacy with Marion, from which he hoped 
 so much. 
 
 " My dear," he said to her one day when they w-ere 
 alone together, and she had been singing for him, " I 
 
180 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 wish you would exert your influence with Brian to 
 kee[) iiim from going abroad. It would be much better 
 that he should remain here." 
 
 "There can be no doubt of that," she replied. 
 " But you mistake in thinking that I have any influence 
 with him. If I had, I would use it as you desire." 
 
 " I am afraid," he observed, " that you underrate 
 your influence. I think you have more than j'ou 
 suppose." 
 
 "No," she said, " I have always been accustomed 
 to influencing those around me, and therefore I know 
 very well when 1 fail to do so. I fail with Mr. Earle. 
 He has no respect for my opinion, as indeed"— with 
 unwonted humility — " why should he have? " 
 
 The man of the world uttered a contemptuous 
 laugh. " Do you really, with all your cleverness, 
 know so little of men as to fancy that respect for :> 
 woman's opinion is a necessary part of her influence? " 
 he asked. 
 
 "With most men I suppose it is not," she an- 
 swered; "but with Mr. Earle it is. I am sure of 
 that, and also sure that I should not care to influence 
 a man who had no respect for my opinion." 
 
 '• That opinion is not worthy of your good sense," 
 said Mr. Singleton. " It does not matter at all how 
 one influences people, so that one actually does manage 
 to influence them. The important point is to succeed." 
 
 " Have you found it an easy tliing to succeed with 
 Mr. Earle?" asked Marion, a little maliciously. 
 
 "Very far from it," replied Mr. Singleton. 
 " There is only one way to influence him, and that is 
 through his affections. For one to whom he is 
 attached, he will do much." 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 181 
 
 The last words were so significant that Marion 
 colortd and said no more. But slie determined, that 
 she would test whether or not they were true, since she 
 had by this time little doubt of Earle's sentiments 
 toward her. 
 
 She had not long to wait for an opportunity. The 
 next morning Earle asked if she would not go with 
 him to complete a sketch that he was making of a bit 
 of woodland scenery near the house. " A morning's 
 work will finish it," he said. " And since I shall not 
 have many more mornings, if you care to come, I shall 
 be very glad." 
 
 "• You know I always like to come," she answered. 
 " It is interesting to me to watch your work. I feel as 
 if I were witnessing the process of creation." 
 
 "You are witnesshig a process of creation," he 
 said. " Art is a ray of the divine genius which created 
 nature, and, in its degree, it is creative also. That is 
 the secret of its great fascination." 
 
 " It certainly seems to possess a great fascination 
 for you," she said, as he slung his color-box over his 
 shoulder and they set forth. 
 
 ''Do you wonder at it?" he asked, with a quick 
 glance. 
 
 "No; I do not wonder at the fascination," she 
 replied. " I only wonder that you think it right to 
 sacrifice everything else to it." 
 
 " What do 1 sacrifice to it? " he asked. " A little 
 money for which I have no use. Is not that all? " 
 
 She shook her head. " By no means all. You 
 sacrifice the dearest wish of your uncle, who is de- 
 voted to you — the power of giving him great pleas- 
 ure, and the power also of doing much good with 
 
182 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 the money you despise. Have you ever thought of 
 that?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "I have thought of it all. 
 I have seriously asked myself if there is any duty 
 demanding that I should comply with his wishes, and 
 I have decided that there is none. He is certainly 
 attached to me, but I think that his attachment rests 
 very much on the fact that he can not control me as 
 he is accustomed to control most people. There is no 
 real congeniality of sentiment between us. He is a 
 man of the world ; I am a man to whom the world 
 counts very little. I can not feign interest in the 
 things which interest him, and he scorns all that most 
 deeply interests me. Under these circumstances, 
 what pleasure to either of us would be gained by 
 closer association? And you know it is out of my 
 power to do him any real service." 
 
 "I am not sure of that," said Marion. " I think 
 you scarcely appreciate either his strong attachment 
 to you or his strong desire that you should remain 
 with him." 
 
 "Has he been asking you to be his advocate?" 
 said Earle, with a smile. " It sounds very much as 
 if he had " 
 
 " He has been talking to me of the matter," she 
 answered. " You know it is very near his heart, and 
 he speaks to me more freely than to you ; for, nat- 
 urally, he is wounded by your refusal, and is too 
 proud to acknowledge to you how much he cares." 
 
 " And he thinks, no doubt, that what you say will 
 have a weight which his words lack." 
 
 " There is no reason why he should think so," said 
 Marlon, rather proudly. 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 183 
 
 They had by this time reached the place of their 
 destination ; and, as he put down the portable easel 
 which he carried, she turned away, saying to herself 
 that it was indeed true — there was no reason why 
 any one should think that her words had the least 
 weight with this immovable man. Some hot tears of 
 mortification gathered in her eyes. Slie had hoped 
 for a different result, and the disappointment, from 
 the proof of her own lack of power, was greater than 
 she had anticipated. She bent down to gather some 
 ferns on the bank of a little stream which flowed 
 through the glen, and when she rose Earle was stand- 
 ing beside her. 
 
 " I fear that perhaps you misunderstood my last 
 words," he said, with grave gentleness. " I did not 
 mean to imply that my uncle was mistaken in thinking 
 that what you say would have great weight with me. 
 He is too shrewd not to be sure of that. I only gave 
 him credit for choosing his advocate well. For you 
 must know that what you wish has great influence 
 with me." 
 
 "Why should I know it?" said Marion, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 "Because," he answered, " you must know that I 
 love you." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AVERY gratified man was Mr. Singleton wlien 
 he heard how matters stood between Marion 
 and his nephew. Indeed, with regard to the 
 latter, his feeling was chiefly one of exultation. ' ' Now 
 I have you! " he said to himself; and it was witii 
 difficulty that he refrained from uttering this senti- 
 ment when Earle announced the fact of his engagement. 
 What he did say was : — 
 
 " I am delighted, my dear boy — delighted! You 
 could not have pleased me better. Miss Lynde is a 
 girl to do credit to any man's taste, and to any posi- 
 tion to which she may be raised. Her family is unex- 
 ce|)tionable ; and as for fortune — well, j^ou have no 
 need to think of that." 
 
 Brian smiled. " I have not thought of it," he said ; 
 " but I fear she may think a little of the fact that I 
 have not much to offer her. To become the wife of a 
 struggling artist is not a very brilliant prospect for one 
 of her ambition." 
 
 Mr. Singleton frowned. So, after all, the thing had 
 not settled itself, but was to be fought over again ! 
 " You must surely be jesting when you speak of such 
 a prospect for her," he observed. "You must feel 
 that marriage brings responsibility with it ; and that, 
 (184) 
 
PAlIiY GOLD. l8o 
 
 since the future of this charming girl is bound up with 
 your own, you can no longer afford to indulge in 
 capiices." 
 
 "I do not think that 1 have ever indulged in 
 caprices," replied Earle. " In settling my plan of life, 
 I have followed what I believe to be right, as well as 
 what I believed to be best. And I have no inteniiun 
 of changing it now. IMarion understands that in 
 accepting me, she also accepts my life. 1 am sure of 
 that." 
 
 " /am by no means sure of it," thought Mr. Single- 
 ton ; but he was wise enough to say no more, and bide 
 his time to speak to Marion. 
 
 " My dear," he said to her, as soon as they were 
 alone together, "you know that the arrangi'ment 
 between Brian and yourself meets with my warmest 
 approval. But it will be of very little good to me per- 
 sonally, unless you mean to use your influence — for 
 you can no longer say that you possess none — to 
 induce him to yield to my wishes. Unless he does so, 
 he can expect nothing from me in the future. And 
 that I should regret for your sake now as well as 
 his." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Marion, who understood 
 all that was irapHed in this. " Be certain that if he 
 does not yield to your wishes, it will not be my fault. 
 I shall use all the influence I possess to induce him to 
 do so." 
 
 '• In that case I have no fear," said the old man, 
 galhintly. "Who could resist you?" 
 
 A little while before Marion would have echoed this 
 "wilh a profound conviction of her own irresistible 
 power ; but now, though she did not dissent from it, 
 
186 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 she had a lurkino: fear that Brian Earle might not 
 prove so elastic in her hands as his uncle hoped. As 
 yet, by tacit consent, the subject of their future life 
 had been avoided ; but she knew that the time would 
 come when it must be discussed, and she said to her- 
 self with passionate resolution that he should not throw 
 away the fortune which was offered him, if it were in 
 her power to prevent it. 
 
 Had this resolution needed a spur, Mrs. Singleton's 
 congratulations would have given it. "I hope that 
 you will be very happy," she said ; " and I think it is 
 very good for me to hope it, for you step into my 
 place. Brian will not go abroad now." 
 
 " We have not settled that as yet," replied Marion, 
 who detected a questioning tone in the last assertion. 
 
 " I think that, in 3'our place, I should settle it as 
 soon as possible," said Mrs. Singleton. "It will be 
 pleasanter for all parties. Although, of course, 
 Brian's decision is a foregone conclusion." 
 
 "You not only hope, you believe the contrary," 
 thought Marion; " but I will show you that you are 
 mistaken." 
 
 Meanwhile Earle, unconscious of the struggle before 
 him, was thinking how much he had misjudged Ma- 
 rion in believing her so worldly, since, knowing his 
 definite decision with regard to his life, she was 
 yet willing to share that life. The declaration 
 which he had made was entirely unpremeditated ; but, 
 once made, he did not regret it. How indeed 
 was it possible to regret that which brought immedi- 
 ately so much happiness to himself and to Marion ? 
 And it was too much to expect, perhaps, that he should 
 ask whether or not this happiness rested on a very 
 
FAIBT GOLD. 187 
 
 substantial basis — whether there were not elements in 
 it certain to produce discord as time went on. All 
 that was hard, haughty and worldlj'iu Marion seemed, 
 for the time being, to have disappeared. Helen her- 
 self could hardl}' have seemed more gentle and tender 
 to the man she loved. 
 
 On the Sunday following their betrothal, he asked 
 her if she would go with him to church, and she 
 readil}' assented. "I always liked Catholicity," she 
 said, as they took their way tliitber; " and I always 
 felt that if there was truth in any religion, it was in 
 that. All the others are but poor shams and imita- 
 tions of it, and I have had an instinctive scorn of them 
 ever since I knew anything of the old faith. I am 
 glad, therefore, that you are a Catholic." 
 
 '•Since I am not an Agnostic," he said, laughing. 
 " You would have had a higher opinion of my intel- 
 lectual strength if I had avowed myself that, you 
 know." 
 
 She laughed too. "That was before I understood 
 you," slie said; "and before I understood the 
 grounds you had for j'our faith. But now I know 
 that 5-0U could be only what you are." 
 
 " And when," he asked, in a tone suddenly grown 
 grave and earnest, " will you also be that? " 
 
 "How can I tell?" she replied. "Should not 
 faith be something more than a mere matter of intel- 
 lectual conviction ? " 
 
 " Faith is a gift of God," he said. " If you are 
 willing to receive it, it will not be denied to you." 
 
 " I am willing now," she observed. " Always, 
 heretofore, I have shrunk from it. I have felt the 
 fascination of Catholicity, but I have dreaded what it 
 
188 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 would (leraand from me. But now I dread no lono-er, 
 I am willing to be what you are." 
 
 He smiled slightly, and, as they had reached the 
 c''irrch by this time, extended his hand to lead her 
 over the threshold. Then withdrawing it, " There! " 
 he said; "I have done my part — I have brought 
 30U within the door. God must do the rest." 
 
 It seemed to Marion, as she knelt by him during 
 Miiss, as if God were doing this. Her heart opcu' d 
 to the influences around her as it had never opened 
 before. The Holy Sacrifice had a meaning for her 
 which it had never, up to this time, possessed ; she 
 forgot the plainness and bareness of the chnpi-I, the 
 unfashionable appearance of the people, in her con- 
 sciousness of the Divine Reality before her on the 
 altar. And when the priest, addressing the pioplo at 
 the end of Mass, spoke in plain and forcible langu-ige 
 of the truths of faith, her mind replied b}' an assenting 
 Credo. 
 
 But as he turned to preach, Father Byrne received 
 a shock of unpleasant surprise in perceiving INIarions 
 face by Brian Earle's side. He had not seen or heard 
 of her since the occurrences which had ended Helen's 
 engagement. He had not been aware tliat she still 
 remained in Scarborough after her aunt's de[)arture ; 
 hut he had met Earle, and liked the young man so 
 much that this unexpected appearance bf-itle him of 
 the iiirl who had destroyed her cousin's happiness, 
 seemed to him a conjunction that boded no good. The 
 sight distracted him so much that he hesitated over 
 the oi)ening words of his sermon. Tlie liesitation was 
 only momentary: he took a firm grasp of his subject, 
 and began ; but whenever his glance fell on those two 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 189 
 
 faces in one of the front pews, he said to himself, 
 "Poor 3'Oiing man! " and asked himself if, knowing 
 what he did, he should offer a warning to the object 
 of his commiseration. 
 
 After Mass, giving the question some thought, he 
 decided that if the opportunity for it arose, he would 
 speak to Earle on the subject ; but that he would take 
 no ste[)s to make an opportunity, since it might have 
 lieen an accidental association, meaning little or noth- 
 ing. And so the matter might have passed without 
 result, had not Earle presented himself that 
 afternoon at the pastoral residence. He had two 
 motives for the visit — one was to see Father Byrne, 
 with whom he had been most pleasantly impressed; 
 the other, lo ask for some book of instruction to put 
 into Marion's hands. The good Father was a little 
 disturbed by the appearance of his visitor : it seemed 
 he was to be forced to deliver his warning — for he had 
 no intention of receding from his agreement with his 
 conscience. Therefore, after they had talked for some 
 time on various subjects, and a slight pause occurred, 
 he was on tiie point of beginning, when Earle antici- 
 pated him by speaking: — 
 
 " I must not weary you by a long visit, Father," he 
 said, " knowing that Sunday is a day which makes 
 many demands u{)ou you. I have come not only for 
 the pleasure of si eing you this afternoon, but to ask 
 your advice on a matter of importance. I want a book 
 which sets forth Catholic doctrine in a clear and 
 attractive manner, for one disposed toward the Church. 
 What work will best answer my purpose? " 
 
 Father Byrne named a work familiar to most Cath- 
 olics, and of wide circulation ; but Knrle shook his 
 
190 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 head. " That will not do at all. I want something of 
 an intellectual character, and with the charm of liter- 
 ary excellence. Else it would have no effect on the 
 person for whom I intend it." 
 
 •' Perhaps if you told me something about the per- 
 son," suggested the priest, " I could judge better 
 what would be suitable." 
 
 " I want the book," Earle answered, " for a young 
 Indy of much more tliau ordinary intelligence, who has 
 no Protestant prejudices to overcome, and who, 1 
 think, only needs to be instructed to induce her to 
 embrace the Catholic faith." 
 
 Father Byrne's face changed at the words " a young 
 lady." " Surely," he said, after an instant's hesita- 
 tion, " you do not mean the young lady who was with 
 you in church this morning? " 
 
 "Yes," replied Earle, surprised by the tone even 
 more than by the question. "I mean Miss Lynde. 
 Do you know her? " 
 
 " I know her slightly, but 1 know of her very well," 
 answered the priest, gravely. " And I regret to say 
 that I cannot imagine a more unpromising subject for 
 conversion. My dear Mr. Earle, I think that you will 
 waste your efforts in that direction. I hope I am not 
 uncharitable, but I have little confidence in the sin- 
 cerity of Miss Lynde's desire to know the truth." 
 
 "Why have you no confidence?" asked Earle, 
 shortly, almost sternly. 
 
 The other looked distressed. It was a more un- 
 pleasant task than he had anticipated which he had set 
 himself, but he felt bound in conscience to go through 
 with it. 
 
 "Because," he replied, "I know that the young 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 191 
 
 lady has had ample opportunity to learn all nbout the 
 Faith if she had desired to do so. She had been at 
 school in a convt-nt for some time, and she came here 
 with her cousin, Miss Morle}'', who is a devoted Cath- 
 olic." He paused a moment, then with an effort went 
 on : " But it is not for this reason alone that I distrust 
 her sincerity. I chance to know that she acted badly 
 toward her cousin, that she was the cause of her en- 
 gagement being brol<en, and she behaved with great 
 duplicity in the whole matter." 
 
 "This is a very serious charge," said Earle. He 
 held himself well under control, but the piiest per- 
 ceived that he was much moved. " Do you speak 
 with positive knowledge of what you assert? " 
 
 " As positive as possible, with regard to the facts," 
 Father Byrne answered. " Miss Morley broke her 
 enffaojement because she heard the man to whom she 
 was eno:ao^ed making love to her cousin. She o:cner- 
 ously refrained from blaming the latter, but Mrs. 
 Morley told me that Miss Lynde had undoubtedly 
 made deliberate efforts to attract her daughter's lover. 
 You will understand that I tell you this in confidence, 
 and nothing but my sincere interest in 3^ou would in- 
 duce me to tell it at all. You might readily hear it 
 from others, however. It is, I believe, a notorious 
 fact in Scarborough." 
 
 Earle was silent for a minute, looking down as if in 
 thought, with his dark brows knitted, and his pleasant 
 countenance overcast. The last words made him 
 recall various hints and allusions of Mrs. Singleton's. 
 They had produced little impression upon him at the 
 time — not enough to cause him to inquii'e what they 
 meant. — but now they came back with a force de- 
 
ly2 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 rived from what he had just heard. With sudden 
 clearness he recalled that Marion seemed to shrink 
 fr m any mention of her cousin, and that he had seen 
 her change color once or twice when some man was 
 alluded to by Mrs. Singleton in very significant tones. 
 Even if it had been possible to doubt the priest, who 
 spoke with such evident reluctance, these things re- 
 called by memory gave added weight to all that he 
 said. Presently the young man looked up, and spoke 
 with an effort : — 
 
 " I have no doubt you have meant kindl^', Father, 
 in speaking of this matter ; but, if you please, we will 
 not discuss it further. To return to the book — I see 
 that I had better decide for myself what will be suit- 
 able. Something of Newman's might answer, only lie 
 deals chiefly with Anglican difficulties; or perhaps 
 Lacordaire's great Conferences on the Church might 
 be best." 
 
 "That is rather a — formidable work," said the 
 Father, hesitatingly, 
 
 "Yes," answered Earle ; "but so splendid in its 
 logic, so luminous in its fetyle, that whoever reads it 
 understandingly will need no other. But I must not 
 detain you longer." 
 
 He rose as he spoke, shook hands with the priest — 
 who was uncertain whether or not to regret what he 
 had done,— and took his departure. 
 
 Once outside he said to himself that the thing to 
 do 1 ow was to go directly to Marion, and learn from 
 her the true meaning of the story which had so deeply 
 disturbed him. He felt loyally certain that, an he 
 heard it, it could not be true, — that she could never 
 willfully liave drawn her cousin's lover from bis alio- 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 1^3 
 
 giance. At least he repeated this to bimsi If more tlian 
 once. But in his heart was a lurking doubt which he 
 would not acknowledge, — a lurking recollection of 
 the distrust he had felt toward her at first, and which 
 lately had faded from his mind. Well, it would de- 
 pend upon what she told him now whether this distrust 
 were to be revived or finally banished. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when he entered the 
 grounds of the house in which Mr. Singleton dwelt; 
 and the long, golden sunshine streamed so invitingly 
 across emerald turf and bright flower-beds toward the 
 green depths of shrubbery in the old garden, that he 
 turned ins steps in that direction, thinking it bareh^ 
 p(jssible he might find Marion tiiere, since she was 
 partial to a seat under an arbor covered with climbing 
 roses. 
 
 Some instinct must have guided his steps ; for Marion 
 ivas there, seated in the green shade, and so absorbed 
 in reading that she did not perceive his approach. He 
 paused for a minute to admire the beautiful picture 
 which she made — a picture to delight an artist's 
 eve, — askino; himself the while if what looked so 
 fair could possibly be capal)le of deceiving. It was 
 a question that must be answered in one way or 
 another, and, tightening his lips a little, he came 
 forward. 
 
 She looked up with a slight start as he drew near, 
 and the light of pleasure that came into her eyes 
 was verj' eloquent. " So you have found me! " she 
 said. " I thought that 3'OU might. I looked for you 
 when I came out, but did not see you anywhere " 
 
 " I had gone into Scarborough," he answered. " I 
 went to see " — he stopped before saying " Father 
 
 13 
 
194 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 Byrne," with a sudden tbouglit that it might not be 
 well for her to connect the priest with the information 
 of which he must presently speak — " to see a friend," 
 he continued. " I wanted to borrow a book. What 
 have you there ? ' ' 
 
 She held it out, smiling. " Helen gave it to me 
 long ago," she said, " but I never looked at it until 
 to-day." 
 
 Eavle found that it was a translation of the admira- 
 ble French " Catechism of Perseverance," which is one 
 of the best compendiums of Catholic doctrine. " After 
 all," he said, "I do not know that I can do better 
 than this, although I was thinking of a book of another 
 kind for you, — a book that would rouse your interest 
 as well as instruct you." 
 
 " I think I should prefer your choice," she said. 
 " Helen had the best intentions, but she forgot that 
 what suited her would not be likely to suit me." 
 
 This repetition of Helen's name brought his atten- 
 tion back from the book to the subject it had replaced 
 in his mind. "Helen! " he repeated. " You mean 
 your cousin. Miss Morlej'.? " 
 
 " Yes. You have heard me speak of her. She is 
 a Catholic. It was with her that I came to Scar- 
 borough." 
 
 " And why has she gone awa}^ and left you } " 
 
 Something in the tone rather than in the words 
 caused Marion to color with a quick sense of apprehen- 
 sion. " My aunt took her away for change of air and 
 scene. They are wealthy, and can go where the}^ like. 
 I could not go with them, and so Mrs. Singleton kindly 
 asked me to stay with her. That is very simple, is it 
 not?" 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 I'Jo 
 
 "Very." lie answered. He looked down, and 
 turned absently the leaves of the Catechism. " But, 
 since you were 3'our cousin's guest, it seems to me it 
 would have been simpler if she had asked you to go 
 with her." 
 
 " There were reasons why she did not," said IMarion. 
 She hesitated a moment, and then an impulse of can- 
 dor came to her, — a quick instinct that Earle must 
 hear from herself ihe story which he had [lerhaps 
 already heard from others. " I will tell you what 
 they were," she continued. " It is a matter w'hich it 
 is disagreeable to me to recall, but I should like to 
 tell 3'ou about it." 
 
 Then she told hira. There is everything, as we 
 know, in the point of view from which a picture is re- 
 garded, or a story is told ; so it was not surprising 
 that, as he listened, Earle felt a sense of infinite relief. 
 If this were all, she was not indeed altogether free 
 from blame — for she acknowledged that she had taken 
 pleasure in the perception of Rathborne's admira- 
 tion, — but certainly she did not deserve that charge 
 of duplicity which the priest had made. It was an 
 unfortunate affair ; but, feeling the power which she 
 esercised over himself, how could he wonder that 
 another man had felt and yielded to it? 
 
 80, for the time at least, all his doubt was dissi- 
 pated, and Marion, satisfied with this result, deferred 
 the decisive struggle yet to come. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BUT it was not to be long deferred — that decisive 
 struggle which Marion clearly foresaw, and 
 from which she shrank, notwithstanding Mr. 
 Singleton's confident assurance of her victory. It was 
 a day or two later that Earle said to her: — 
 
 " Since I am going away soon, Marion, it will be 
 well that we shall settle all details of our future. Can 
 yoLi not make an effort and go with me? What need 
 is there, in our case, for long waiting, or for submit- 
 ting to a separation which would be very painful? " 
 
 The confident assurance of his tone — as if dealing 
 with a point settled beyond all need of argument — 
 made Marion's heart sink a little, but she nerved her- 
 self to the necessary degree of resolution, and answered, 
 quietl}' : — 
 
 " There will be no need for long waiting or for sep- 
 aration either, if you will only consent to do what your 
 uncle asks — to remain with him, and fulfil the duty 
 which most plainly lies before you." She paused a 
 moment, then added, in a softer tone, '"You have 
 refused to yield to his request, will 3'ou not yield to 
 mine? " 
 
 Earle looked at her with eyes full of pained sur- 
 prise. '■'■ Et tu Brute!" he said, with a faint smile. 
 (196) 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 197 
 
 " I thought you, at least, understood how firmly my 
 mind is made up on that subject — how impossible it 
 is for me to resign all my cherished plans of life for 
 the sake of inheriting ni}' uncle's fortune." 
 
 " But what is to prevent your painting as many pict- 
 ures as 3-ou like and still gratifying him ? " she asked. 
 
 "Because no man can serve two masters, in tem- 
 poral anj' more than in spiritual things. If I am to 
 serve Art, I must do so with all my strength, not in a 
 half-hearted dilettante manner — but I am weary of 
 stiying these things. I hoped that b3^ this time every- 
 one understood them." 
 
 "I understand them perfectl}^," replied Marion; 
 "but I do not think you are right. I think that, be- 
 cause you have never known the need or want of 
 monej', you are throwing awa}- a fortune for a mere 
 caprice, and you are condemning others as well as 
 yourself to lifelong poverty." 
 
 " Not to povert}^," he observed ; " though certainly 
 to narrower means than those my uncle possesses. It 
 is for 3'ou to say whether or not 3'ou care to accept the 
 life which I offer. I can not change it — I do not be- 
 lieve that even for 3'ou it would be best that I should." 
 
 "You are very kind to settle what would be best 
 for me so entirely in accordance with j'our own tastes 
 and will," she said, with her old tone of mockery. 
 " May I ask why you are led to such a belief?" 
 
 "It is easil}^ told," he answered, "and I will be 
 perfectly frank in the telling. We all have some one 
 point where temi)tation assails us with more force than 
 at an}' other. With you, Marion, that point is an unrlue 
 value of wealth and of all the things of the world that 
 wealth commands, — things, for the most part, of great 
 
198 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 clanger to one who does value them unduly. The 
 possession of wealth, therefore, would be dangerous to 
 you — more dangerous from the very strength of the 
 passion with which you desire it. Forgive me if this 
 sounds odiously like preaching, but it is true. I can 
 not, tben, change the whole intention and meaning of 
 my life — give up my study of art and sink into a 
 mere idle amateur — when by so doing I should gain 
 nothing of value to myself, while working harm rather 
 than good to you. Tell me that you believe I follow 
 my conscience in this, and that you will be content 
 with what I offer you ? " 
 
 He held out his hand with a pleading gesture, but 
 Marion would not see it. What he had said ano-ered 
 her more deeply than if he had let his refusal remain 
 based solely on his own wishes. That he should rec- 
 ognize hers, yet coolly put them aside, reading her 
 the while a moral lecture on their dangerous nature, 
 filled her with a sense of passionate resentment. 
 
 "I might be content with what you offer," she 
 said, "if it were not that 3'ou could so easily offer 
 more — you could so easily gratify me, whom you 
 profess to love, as well as the old man who loves you 
 so well. But you will not yield in the least degree to 
 either of us. You follow your own wishes, and de- 
 clare mine to be mercenary and dangerous. The dif- 
 ference between us is that I have known something of 
 the poverty you regard so lightly; and, while I might 
 risk enduring it with a man who had no alternative of 
 escape from it, I do not think mj' prospect of happi- 
 ness would be great with a man who condemned me 
 to it for the gratification of his own selfishness." 
 
 "Is that how the matter appears to you ? " asked 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 199 
 
 Earle. He paused for a minute and seemed to con- 
 sider. " You maybe right." he said, presently; "I 
 may be acting selfishly — what man can be absolutely 
 certain of his own motives? - but, to the best of my 
 judgment, I am doing what I believe to be right. I 
 can not yield to my uncle in this matter — not even 
 though he has secured j^ou as his advocate. I am 
 sure that if I did yield, it would be worse for all of 
 us. No, Marion ; forgive me if I seem hard, but you 
 must take me as I am, or not at all. You must con- 
 sent to share my life as I have ordered it, or it is best 
 that you should not share it at all." 
 
 Slie bent her head with the air of one who accepts 
 a final decision. " It is very good of j-ou to put it so 
 plainh'," she said. " I'our candor makes my decision 
 very easy. The matter to me stands simply thus: 
 you decline absolutely to make the least concession to 
 my wishes, you sacrifice my happiness relentlessly to 
 your own caprice, and yet you expect me to believe 
 in the sincerity of 3^our regard. I do not believe in 
 it. I believe, indeed, that you have some kind of 
 a fancy for me ; but you think that, because I bring 
 j'ou nothing beside myself, j^ou can make your own 
 terms and order my life as it pleases you — " 
 
 "Marion!" cried Earle, shocked and startled. 
 But she went steadily on: — 
 
 " That, however, is a mistake. If I bring nothing, 
 I have in myself the power to win all things. I might 
 give up all things for a man who truly loved me, and 
 who was poor by no fault of his own. But for a man 
 who loves me so little that he would condemn me use- 
 lessly to a sordid, narrow life — for that man I have 
 onl}' one word : go ! " 
 
200 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 She rose with a gesture, as if putting him from her ; 
 but Earle caught her extended hand. 
 
 "Marion! " he said, earnestly, " stop and think! 
 You accuse me of selfishness, but is there no selfishness 
 in 3-our own conduct? In asking you to share my 
 life as it is settled, I do not ask you to share poverty: 
 I onW do not promise you wealth. Do you care noth- 
 ing for me without that wealth? Consider that I can 
 only think you weigh me in the scale with my uncle's 
 fortune and without that fortune hold me of no 
 account." 
 
 "You must think what you please," returned 
 Marion. " I have told j'ou how the matter appears 
 to me. If you care for me, you will accept your 
 uncle's generous offer. That is my last word." 
 
 " Then we can only part," said Earle, dropping her 
 hand. "It is evident that the love of money is more 
 deeply rooted in jou than love of me. God forgive 
 3'ou, Marion, and God bring you to some sense of the 
 relative value of things ! I have the presum})tion to 
 think that what I give j'ou is worth a little more than 
 the fortune which j'ou rate so highly. Some day you 
 may learn how little money can really buy of what is 
 best worth having in human life. In that day you may 
 remember this choice." 
 
 " I shall never regret it," she answered, proudly. 
 
 " I hope from mj^ heart that you may not, but I 
 shall long regret it. For I believe that you have a 
 noble nature, to wliich you are doing violence. And I 
 hoped that in the life to which I would have taken you, 
 that nobler nature would have conquered the one 
 which finds so much attraction in mercenar}^ things." 
 
 The nobler nature of which he spoke struggled a 
 
FAinr GOLD. 201 
 
 little to assert itself, but was overborne by the lower 
 and stronger nature — by anger, disappointment, and 
 wounded pride. What! she, who had expected to 
 sway and dominate all with whom she came in con- 
 tact, to yield to this man — to give up the strongest 
 wish, the most earnest resolve of her life? From her 
 early youth embittered by adversity and galled by 
 poverty, she had said to herself, " Some day I will 
 be rich ! " And now the opportunity to possess riches, 
 and with riches the power for which she longed, 
 was placed within her reach, and yet was held back 
 by the selfish obstinacy of a man, who made his 
 refusal worse by condemning her wishes. At this 
 moment she felt that anything was more possible than 
 to yield to liira. 
 
 "You are wasting words," she observed, coldly. 
 " My attraction for mercenary things concerns you no 
 longer. Our folly is at an end. It tvas foll}^ I see, for 
 you have no trust in me, nor any inclination to please 
 me ; and where these things do not exist, love does 
 not exist either." 
 
 She gave him no opportunity to reply had he intended 
 to do so, for she left the room abruptly with the last 
 words. 
 
 And there was no deliberation about her next step. 
 She went at once to Mr. Singleton. " I have come to 
 tell you that your confidence in my power over your 
 nephew is misplaced," she said. "I have failed 
 entirely to influence him. He is going away." 
 
 The old man, who was leaning back in his deep 
 velvet chair, his face against its soft richness, looking 
 more than ever like a piece of fine ivoi-y carving, did 
 not ai>iDear vei'y much surprised by this intelligence. 
 
202 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 He remained for a minute without speaking, regarding 
 intentl}' the girl before him. Her beauty was truly 
 imperial ; for excitement gave it a brilliance — a light 
 to her eyes, a color to her cheeks — which was almost 
 dazzling. 
 
 " What a splendid creature! " he said to himself; 
 then he remarked aloud, very quietly : — 
 
 " And 3'ou are going with him? " 
 
 "No," she answered. "Since he has no regard 
 for my wishes in a matter so important to me as well 
 as to himself, I have declined to have an3thing further 
 to do with him." 
 
 " Good! " said Mr. Singleton. His tone expressed 
 not only approval, but intense satisfaction. "lam 
 glad that some way to punish him has been found. 
 But what is he made of that he can look at yo\x and 
 refuse to do what you ask! Has he gone mad with 
 obstinac}', or is he a man of ice.?" 
 
 "I do not know," she replied. " He cares only 
 for himself and the gratification of his own whims, I 
 suppose. He does not deserve that either you or I 
 should think of him any more. And I," she added, 
 more steruh% " am determined that I will not think of 
 him again. He has gone out of m3' life forever. 
 There only remains for me now to go out of this 
 house, with the most grateful memor}-, dear Mr. 
 Singleton, of your kindness." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Singleton. He extended his hand 
 and laid it on her arm, as if he would detain her by 
 force. " It is not for you to go, but for him. And 
 he shall go at once." 
 
 "Not on my account," she said, haughtilj'. "^e 
 has a right here, I lave none." 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 203 
 
 "You have the right that I ask you to stay," 
 observed Mr. Singleton. " He has no other than my 
 invitation, and that will be withdrawn as soon as I see 
 Mm. Like yourself, I am done with him now forever. 
 I have borne much from him and hoped much from 
 him ; but I see that the first was useless, and the last 
 witliout any rational ground. This offense — his 
 conduct to you — I will never forgive. But I hoi)e, 
 my dear, that you will suffer me to make what atone- 
 ment for it I can. I consider you as much my adopted 
 dauofhter as if this marriage on which I set my lieart 
 •had taken place." 
 
 "You are very good," replied Marion. A vision 
 passed before her as she spoke of all that this might 
 mean; but she felt strangely dead toward it, as if 
 already the fortune she coveted had been robbed of 
 half its lustre. 
 
 " Stay with me, then," said Mr. Singlet "U. " I can 
 not part with you, if Brian can. 1 want your society 
 while I live, and I will provide for you liberally 
 ■when I die. Will you stay?— is that agreed upon? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered. " If you care for me I will 
 stay. Nobody else does care." 
 
 'J hen suddenly her proud composure gave way. 
 She burst into tears, and made her escape from the 
 room. 
 
 Perhaps those tears hardened Mr. Singleton's 
 resolve, or perliaps it needed no hardening. After a 
 few minutes he rang his bell, and sent the servant who 
 answered it to summon Brian Earle to him. 
 
 The latter was on the point of leaving the house 
 when lie received the message, but he immediately 
 ■obeyed it, saying to himself as he laid down his hat, 
 
20 1 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 '' As well now as later." For he knew perfectly what 
 was before him ; and Mr. Singleton's icy manner was 
 no surprise to him when he entered the room where 
 Marion had brought her story so short a time before. 
 
 " I am informed by Miss Lynde," said Mr. Single- 
 ton, severely, " that your engagement to her is at an 
 end, for the reason that you refuse to yield your 
 wishes to hers as well as to mine, and she very wisely 
 declines to countenance your folly and selfishness by 
 sacrificing her life to it. Is this true? " 
 
 "Perfectly true," replied the young man, calmly. 
 " Miss Lj'Ude thinks me not worth accepting without 
 your fortune. 1 regret to say that this, to my mind, 
 betrays a nature so mercenary that I am not soriy a 
 conclusive test should have arisen, and ended an 
 arrangement which certainly would not be for the 
 happiness of either of us." 
 
 " That is how it appears to you, is it.'' " said Mr. 
 Singleton. ' ' Well, let me tell you that, to me, 3'our con- 
 dnct is so utterlj' without reason or excuse, so shame- 
 ful in its selfish disregard of everyone's wishes but 
 your own, that I finally cast off all regard for you. Go 
 3'our way, study the art to which you have sacrificed 
 not only me but the woman to whom you pledged your 
 faith ; but remember that j'ou have lost your last 
 chcince with me. Not a sixpence of mj^ money will 
 ever go to you." 
 
 " I have never wanted it," said Brian, proudty. 
 
 " No, " answered his uncle. " But in the days to 
 come, when your need for money increases, and you 
 find that fame and fortune are not so easily won as you 
 imagine now, yoa tvill .want it; you will curse your 
 folly then when it is too late ; and you will think, per- 
 
FAir.Y GOLD. 205 
 
 haps, of the old man who offered j'oii so much for so 
 little, and to whom 3-ou refused that little." 
 
 Angry as the speaker was, something in the tone of 
 his last words almost shook Brian's resolution. For a 
 moment he asked himself if, after all, he might not be 
 the victim of a self-willed delusion ; if his uncle might 
 not be right, and if it might not be his duty to yield. 
 But this was only for a moment. He had the faculty 
 of seeing clearly and deciding firmly once for all. He 
 had long before this weighed every aspect of a ques- 
 tion which so importantly concerned his life, and his 
 final decision was based on many strong grounds. 
 Those grounds he saw no reason to reconsider now. 
 
 " I am very sorry," he said, gravely, " for all that 
 has happened, — most sorry for any disappointment or 
 pain I have caused you or another. But there are 
 many reasons why I cannot comply with your wishes ; 
 and, since further discussion of the subject is useless, 
 I will beg your permission to leave you." 
 
 " Leave me and leave my house! " said Mr. Single- 
 ton, emphatically. "It is my duty to guard Miss 
 L3-nde from any possible annoyance, and to meet you 
 could onlj' be an annoyance to her now. You will, 
 therefore, be good enough to go at once." 
 
 " I will do so," replied Brian, rising. " God bless 
 you, sir, and believe that I am very grateful for all 
 your kindness to me. I wish that I could have repaid 
 you better." 
 
 Then, before his uncle could answer, he went away. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 BRIAN EARLE had not been gone more than 
 two or three weeks when the report suddenly 
 
 spread through Scarborough that Mr. Single- 
 ton was very ill. And for once report was true. One 
 among: the many chi'onic maladies from which he suf- 
 fered took a turn for the worse, and the doctors shook 
 their heads, saying the case was very critical. 
 
 Indeed it was more than critical. Those about the 
 sick man knew that his recover}^ — even his partial 
 recovery — was impossible. Close to hira now was the 
 dread Presence which care and skill had kept at bay 
 so long, and no one was more thoroughly aware of the 
 fact than himself. He met it with a grim philosophy, 
 which is the onlj'- possible substitute for Christian 
 resignation. Of religious belief he had very little, 
 never having troubled himself to formulate the vague 
 ideas which he had received from a much attenuated 
 Protestantism. But, such as they were, they did not 
 inspire him with terror. God would, no doubt, be 
 merciful to a man who was conscious of never having 
 done anything dishonorable in his life. This con- 
 sciousness helped to support his philosophy, but it is 
 not likely that he gave it much thought. A subject 
 which has not occupied a place of importance in a 
 
 (206) 
 
FAIBY aOLD. 207 
 
 man's consideration during life will hardly do so even > 
 in the face of death. 
 
 Mr. Singleton was more interested in arranging his 
 worldl3^ affairs than in preparing for the great change 
 from time to eternity. His lawyer was summoned, 
 and a final and complete revision made of the impor- 
 tant document which would fulfill or blast the hopes 
 of many people. Concerning this document Mrs. 
 Singleton was wild with curiosity ; but she could learn 
 nothing, and her husband declined even to speculate 
 concerning their chances. " We shall know t-oon 
 enough — perhaps too soon," he said, with his usual 
 philosophy, a little tinged by despondency. 
 
 Another person who felt some curiosity, mingled 
 with an indifference which surpiised herself, was 
 Marion Lynde. Who would take in the will that place 
 which Brian Earle had forfeited? And what would 
 the latter think now of the fact that he had thrown 
 away a fortune rather than give a promise, the fulfill- 
 ment of which, as it now chanced, would never have 
 been exacted? " He would have had the money and 
 his freedom besides," she thought. " Does he recog- 
 nize his folly now? Will he recognize it when he 
 hears the news that soon must be told him? " 
 
 Of her own interest in this crisis, Marion did not 
 take a great deal of thought. She had no doubt that 
 some legacy for herself would find a place in Mr. Sin- 
 gleton's will, and no doubt also that in the time to 
 come she would be grateful for it. But she regarded 
 the probability just now with a dull indifference, which 
 was the reaction from a great disappointment. She 
 had not only lost the only man who had ever touched 
 her heart, but also the fortune that might have been 
 
208 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 hers in the entirety. And, after that great loss, could 
 she rejoice over the prospect of obtaining a small 
 share of this fortune? 
 
 No: to rejoice was impossible; but she felt that 
 whatever the old man's generosity gave would be 
 welcome, since it would mean emancipation from 
 absolute dependence on relations for whom she had 
 no cordiality of feeling. No doubt the time would 
 come when she would be very glad of this, but just 
 now it was difficult — in fact, impossible — to be glad 
 of an3thing. 
 
 In this way tlie days, weighted with much pain for 
 one and much uncertainty of hope and fear for others, 
 dragged their slow hours away and the end came at 
 last. Marion was still in the house — Mrs. Singleton, 
 who felt that her presence could no longer do any 
 harm, had begged her not to leave, — and she felt a 
 thrill of awe and regret when Ihe words came from 
 the sick chamber, " He is d3ing." 
 
 So the old man who had showed nothing but kind- 
 ness to her was passing away — and how? Without a 
 single heart near him that throbbed with affection, 
 without a Sacrament or a word of prayer ! Marion 
 had associated too much with Catholics not to feel the 
 horror of this, but she also knew too much of Protes- 
 tants to expect anything different. Yet she could not 
 help saying to Mrs. Singleton, "Has no clergyman 
 been sent for ? ' ' 
 
 That lady looked surprised. '• No," she answered. 
 "Why should one be sent for? No one would take 
 the liberty of doing such a thing while Mr. Singleton 
 was conscious, and after unconsciousness had set in 
 where would be the good? Mr. Eustace would come 
 
FAIHY GOLD. 209 
 
 aud read piayers, no doubt, if we asked liiiu to do so; 
 but what would be gained hy it? " 
 
 " Nothiug, I suppose," said Marion. Slie had heard 
 those prayers — wliich are all that Protestantism 
 offers, — and shuddered at the recolledion. Yet for 
 the dying man to go forth into eternity without a word 
 of appeal in his behalf, seemed to her so terrible that 
 she stole away to her own room, opened a prayer-book 
 which had been given her at the convent, aud, kneeling 
 down, said for the first time in her life the prayers for 
 the dying which she found therein. 
 
 And while she was saying them — those tender and 
 infinitely touching uetitions, which call upon the Most 
 High in solemn supplication for the soul in its 
 agony, — the soul for which she prayed passed away, 
 and was done with the things of earth forever, 
 
 A day or two followed, of that strange, hushed 
 quietness, yet of much coming and going, — of the 
 sense of a suspension of ordinary life, which prevails 
 in a house where Death has for the time taken pos- 
 session. The living are generally impatient of this 
 time, and shorten it as far as possible, especially 
 where no deep sense of real grief is felt. But Mr. 
 Singleton, in death as in life, was too important a 
 person for every due propriety not to be observed. 
 There were arrangements to be made, friends to be 
 summoned, and details of funeral and burial to be 
 settled. These things required time ; and when it 
 was finally settled that the funeral would take place 
 in Scarborough, but the body would be carried for 
 burial to the home of the dead man, tliere was a 
 sense of relief in the minds of all concerned. 
 
 Marion accompanied Mrs. Singleton to the funeral 
 
 u 
 
210 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 in the E[)iscoi)al cliurch, which had so tnucli i)Iease'l 
 her taste on her first arrival iu Scarborough. It was 
 as preity as ever ; but how little correct architecture, 
 stained glass or rich organ tones could give lile to the 
 mockery of death which is called a burial-service, and 
 which contains no reference to the individual dead 
 person whose body lies — one wonders why — before a 
 so-called "altar," where no sacrifice is offered, from 
 which no blessing is given ! Even the glorious prom- 
 ises of St. Paul, which the preacher reads with studied 
 effect, fall upon the ear hke something infinitely 
 distant ; the heart instinctively longs for one word of 
 personal application, one cry for mercy and pardon on 
 behalf of the poor soul that, in mute helplessness, can 
 no longer cry for itself. But one listens in vain. 
 There is not even an allusion to that soul. The gen- 
 eral hope of immortality — which can be apt)lied in 
 any way that suits the listener — having been set 
 forth, a hymn is sung, and, save for a few formal 
 prayers at the grave, all is over. 
 
 Perhaps it was because she had so little religious 
 sentiment to supply for herself what was lacking that, 
 as Marion listened, she felt her heart grow sick with 
 pity and disgust. " What is the possil)le good of 
 this!" she exclaimed mentally, with indignation. 
 "If no prayer is to be said for the soul, no blessing 
 given to the body, why is it brought here? What 
 meaning is there in such emptor formalism? It is a 
 mockery, nothing less ; and if one cannot iiave what 
 the Catliolics give, I, like the materialists, who are 
 the only logical Protestants, would have nothing." 
 
 Afier the service, which impressed at least one 
 observer in this manner, the body was at once taken 
 
FAIBY GOLD. •>-\l 
 
 away. Mr. Singleton, of course, accom[>anifd it, 1)ut 
 his wife remained behind; an'l it was understood that 
 immediately on his return the will would be read. 
 
 Eagerness on this score no doubt kept Mr. Single- 
 ton from the delay with regard to his return in which 
 he might else have indulged, being a man who had a 
 constitutional objection to haste. But for once he 
 accomplished a very quick journey. On the third 
 day after the funeral he returned, and the will was 
 opened by the lawyer who had drawn it up according 
 to the dead man's last instructions. 
 
 There was a strain of intense curiosity and anxiety 
 regarding this will in the minds of all concerned. It 
 was by this time generally known that, toward the 
 last, Brian Earle had fallen hopt4essly out of his uncle's 
 favor ; but no one felt able to conjecture with any 
 certainty who would take his place in the will, although 
 every one cherished a secret hope that it might he 
 himself. There were several of these would-be heirs — 
 cousins more or less removed — of the dead man ; but 
 Tom Singleton was, in the absence of Earle, the 
 nearest relative, being the son of a half-brother, 
 while Earle was the son of Mr. Singleton's only sister. 
 The former, with all his easy-going quietness, felt 
 that it would be an outrage if he were not the heir ; 
 although, knowing his uncle better than any one else, 
 he knew also that he should not be surprised by 
 whatever grim caprice tiie will revealed. 
 
 And such a caprice it did reveal, to the amazement 
 and rage of everyone concerned. Mr. Singleton 
 remembered with a legacy everyone whom it was 
 proper that he should remember — the largest of these 
 legacies being fifty thousand dollars to Tom Single- 
 
212 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 ton, — and then he bequeathed tlie rema nder of his 
 fortune to his ^ adopted daughter," Marion Lynde. 
 
 The disappointed heirs lookeil at one another with 
 expressions that baffle description. What! half a 
 million to a girl who had no claim upon it whatever, 
 whose relationship to the old man was of the most 
 vague and distant description ! They could hardly 
 believe that he had really been guilty of anything so 
 infamous. They would have felt it less an injury if 
 he had endowed a college or a hospital. 
 
 But one reflection seemed to occur to all ; for, after 
 the expressive pause which said more than any words, 
 almost every voice spoke simultaneously, "The will 
 won't stand! His mind was weak when he made it. 
 It's evidently a case of undue influence." 
 
 The lawyer shook his head. " No, gentlemen," he 
 said; " don't make a mistake. This will can not be 
 broken. My client took care of that, and 1 took care 
 also. As for his mind being weak, Mr. Singleton 
 here knows that up to the day of his death his mind 
 was as clear and vigorous as it ever had been." 
 
 Tom Singleton, thus directly appealed to, bent his 
 head. He had not been one of the speakers, and, but 
 for the fact that he had grown very pale, showed little 
 sign of emotion. 
 
 "And, foreseeing of course that this disposition of 
 his fortune would cause disappointment," the lawyer 
 went on, " Mr. Singleton was careful to explain to me 
 why he selected Miss Lynde for his heir. It seems 
 that she was for a time engaged to Mr. Brian Earle, 
 whose name occupied in a preceding will exactly the 
 place which hers does here. The engagement was 
 broken in a manner which caused Mr. Singleton to 
 
FAIRY GOLD. '2 V3 
 
 blame his nephew exceedingly, and the 3()ung lady not 
 at all. So, as lie told me, he determined that she 
 should lose nothing. The fortune which would have 
 been hers had she married Earle — should be hers in any 
 event. This was what he intended; and your disap- 
 pointment, gentlemen, may be less if you will remem- 
 ber that Mr. Brian Eaile is the onl}' person whom this 
 bequest to Miss Lj'nde deprives of anytliing. ' ' 
 
 But, naturally, this was not much comfort to the 
 disappointed heirs. Each one felt that he should by 
 right have taken Brian Earle's place, and that a 
 broken engagement hardly gave Marion Lynde a 
 claim to the fortune which had been bequeathed to 
 her. There were many more angry murmurs, and 
 numerous threats of contesting the will ; but the smile 
 with whicli the law3'er heard these was not very 
 encouraging, nor j'et his calm assurance that they 
 could find no better means of throwing away the 
 money which had been left to them. 
 
 Unall}^ the}' all dispersed, and Tom Singleton slowly 
 took his way to the house, where his wife and the fort- 
 unate heiress were awaiting him. Never had he been 
 called upon before to perform a duty from which he 
 shrank so greatly. He dreaded the violence of his 
 wife's disappointment, and he felt a repugnance to the 
 task (jf informing Miss Lynde of her inheritance. The 
 lawyer had asked him to do so, and as one of the 
 executors of the will he could not refuse ; but it was a 
 ta^k which did not please him. If this girl, this 
 stranger, had not come into their lives, would not he 
 be in Earle's vacated plaee? He could not but feel 
 that it was most probable. 
 
 It would require a volume to do justice to the feel- 
 
214 FAIPiY GOLD. 
 
 ings wliicb Mrs. SiDgleton expressed when she heard 
 the ttrrible news. She had not only lost the fort- 
 une — that might have been borne, — butit had gone 
 to Marion Lynde, the girl whom she had discovered 
 and brought to the notice of the infatuate d old man 
 who was dead ! This was the insupportable sting, and 
 its effect was all that her husband had feared. Hu 
 had prepared himself for the storm, however ; and he 
 bore its outburst with what philosophy he could until 
 Mrs. Singleton declared her intention of going to 
 upbraid Marion with her great iniquity. Here lie 
 firmly interposed. 
 
 " You will do nothing of the kind," he said. " Miss 
 Lynde is not to blame at all, and you will only make 
 yourself ridiculous by charging her with offenses 
 of which she is not guilty. If she has schemed for 
 this, she concealed the scheming so successfully that 
 it is too late now to attempt to prove it. There is 
 nothing to be done but to make the best of a bad 
 matter, and bear ourselves with dignity. I beg that 
 you will not see her until you feel able to do this. As 
 for me, I must see her at once." 
 
 And, in spite of his wife's protest, he did so. When 
 a servant came to Marion with the announcement that 
 Mr. Singleton desired to see her in the drawing-room, 
 she went down without any thrill of excitement what- 
 ever. It was as she had imagined, then: the old man 
 had left her a legacy. This was what she said to 
 herself. And vaguely, half-formed in her mind, were 
 the words, " Perhaps ten thousand dollars." She had 
 never dreamed of more than this, and would not have 
 thought of so much had not Mr. Singleton been of a 
 piincely habit of giving. 
 
« 
 
 FAIBY GOLD. 215 
 
 Was it wonderful, then, that the sliock of hearing 
 what she had inherited stunned her for a time ? She 
 could only gaze at the speaker witli eyes dilated by an 
 amazement that proved her innocence of anj^ schemes 
 for or expectations of this end. "Mr. Singleton," 
 she gasped, " it is impossible! There must be some 
 (Treat mistake." 
 
 Mr. Singleton faintly smiled. "There is no room 
 for mistake, Miss Lynde," he said. "My uncle has 
 left his fortune to you." 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 IT was at first almost impossible for Marion to 
 realize that the desire of her life was gratified in 
 a manner so strange and so unexpected. She 
 seemed to be existing in a dream, which would pres- 
 ently dissolve away after the manner of all dreams, 
 and leave her in lier old state of poverty and longing. 
 That Brian Earle had lost his fortune, and that the old 
 man now dead had not cared sufficiently for any of 
 his other heirs to leave it to them, — that this fortune 
 was hers — hers absokitely and alone, — was something 
 that struck her as too wonderful, and, in a certain 
 sense, too awful, to be true. There flashed across 
 her mind a recollection of " being crushed beneath the 
 weight of a granted prayer." Was she to be crushed 
 beneath the weight of this prayer of. hers so singularly 
 granted? 
 
 Certainly she felt herself in an isolation which was 
 chilling to the heart. The man she loved was gone — 
 had parted from her in contempt; and she felt sharply 
 how much that contempt would be increased when he 
 heai'd that she possessed his inheritance. As for 
 friends, where would she turn to find them? For her 
 uncle and his family she had never cared ; Helen was 
 estranged — if not in heart, at least in fact ; for inter- 
 
 \2in) 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 217 
 
 course between tliem could not now be j.leasant to 
 either; and it seemed a desecration of tlie name of 
 friend to apply tlie term to Mrs. Singleton. Yet it was 
 to Mrs. Singleton, after all, that she had to turn for 
 social support and countenance at this crisis of her 
 fortunes. And it was the good sense and philosophy 
 of Mr. Singleton which induced his wife to see that 
 she would gain nothing by following her declared in- 
 tention of having nothing more to do with the heirc ss. 
 
 " People will only think that you are disappointed 
 and envious," he said; "and since the world never, 
 under any circumstances, turns its back on a rising 
 sun, you will merely put yourself in a foolish and 
 awkward position. The thing to do is, as I have said 
 before, to make the best of a bad matter. And for us 
 it might be a great deal worse. Of course we have 
 missed the fortune, but I don't reall}' think we ever 
 iiad a chance of it ; and we are not paupers, you 
 know. Now, it will be a graceful thing for you to 
 take up this girl. She will appreciate it, I think, and 
 it will prevent any undesirable gossip about her or 
 about us." 
 
 " All that may be very true, Tom," Mrs. Singleton 
 replied. " But I do not see how I can force m) self to 
 have anything more to do with her. I so despise her 
 duplicity ! ' 
 
 " Duplicity is a thing to be despised," observed 
 Mr. Singleton, quietly; '"but I am not sure that 
 Miss Lynde has been guilty of it. Let us give her 
 the benefit of a doubt. If, as you believe, she 
 schemed for this result, she most certainly did not 
 expect it. I never saw any one show greater surprise 
 than she did when she heard the news." 
 
218 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 " She is a consummate actress. She might have 
 affected that." 
 
 " Not even the most consummate actress could have 
 affected what she exhibited. Her surprise amounted 
 lo incredulity. But, whether you believe this or not, 
 believe that it will be best for you not to throw her off. 
 There is nothing to be gained by that, and these may 
 be a good deal to lose." 
 
 This view of the matter, together with her husband's 
 unusual seriousness, impressed Mrs. Singleton so 
 much that she finally consented to form an alliance, 
 for purposes of mutual convenience, with Marion. 
 The latter received her overtures with a certain sense 
 of gratitude. She knew that they were interested, 
 but she also knew that without Mrs. Singleton she 
 would be placed in a very difficult position — would, 
 in fact, appear in the eyes of the world as an adven- 
 turess who had secured a fortune at the expense of the 
 rightful heirs. The countenance of those heirs was, 
 therefore, very essential to her. 
 
 But this hollow compact for mutual convenience — 
 how different was it from associations in which affec- 
 tion or sympathy forms the tie! Marion had fancied 
 herself made in a mould strong enough to disregard 
 such feelings, but she now found her mistake. Her 
 heart ached for the affections she had lost — for 
 Brian's strong love, and Helen's gentle tenderness. 
 She had sacrifice I both, and by sacrificing them won 
 tl)e fortune for which slie had longed ; but already she 
 began to realize that she had lost in the exchange more 
 than she had gained. Already the shining gold which 
 had dazzled her was transforming itself into the dry 
 and withert-d leaves (jf the fairy legend. 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 219 
 
 Her plans were formed to leave Scarborough. The 
 associations of the place were hateful to her, and it 
 was decided that she should go with Mrs. Singleton 
 to the home of the latter, and then form arrangements 
 for her mode of life. But, since she was still a minor, 
 these plans were subjected to her uncle's modifica- 
 tions, and his consent was necessary for them. This 
 caused a delay which detained her in Scarborough for 
 'some time, and brought to her knowledge a fact which 
 was destined to influence her future. 
 
 This was the fact that Rathborne in his threat of 
 enmity had uttered no idle words. A few days after 
 tlie contents of the will had become known, while 
 public interest respecting it was at its height, he met 
 Tom Singleton and said a few significant words: — 
 
 " So Miss Lynde has won the fortune from you all! 
 That is rather hard, isn't it? " 
 
 Mr. Singleton shrugged his shoulders. " Everyone 
 knew that my uncle was a man of caprices. His will 
 was certain to be a surprise, in one way or another; 
 and for myself, I have no right to complain. He re- 
 membered me handsomely." 
 
 " And is there no intention of contesting the will on 
 the part of the heirs ? " 
 
 " I hardly think so. Brian Earle and myself are 
 the people most nearly concerned, and we do not think 
 of it." 
 
 " You are sure about Earle? " 
 
 "Perfectly sure," said Mr. Singleton. "Why 
 should a man g) into a lawsuit to gain what he might 
 have had for a word .'' " 
 
 "There might be several reasons," returned Rath- 
 borne. " I can imagine one of great strength. But 
 
2-0 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 if 3'ou do not. think of contesting the -nill, another heir 
 may come forward to do it." 
 
 "No otlier heir would have a chance. If the will 
 were set aside, Earle and myself would inherit." 
 
 '•Not. if the man's sou should chance to be 
 livin;^." 
 
 Singleton opened his eyes. " But the sou is dead," 
 he replied. 
 
 "Is he.^" said Rathborne, dr3'ly. "Who knows 
 it? — who can prove it? But, of course, I spoke only 
 of a probability." 
 
 fie moved awa^' then, while his companion looked 
 after him with rather a blank and puzzled expression. 
 "Now, "what ou earth can be known about it?" he 
 thought. "And what does he mean? Of cou'se 
 thei'e never has been any proof of George's death, 
 that I know of; and if he should be living — Miss 
 Lynde might look out for storms then. But nothing 
 could lie moi-e improbable. My uncle evidently did 
 not think it a matter to be even considered. He must 
 hav»>, had some certainty about it." 
 
 Nevertheless, he mentioned to his wife what Rath- 
 borne had said, and she with malicious intent repeated 
 it to Marion. "It is the first suggestion that has 
 been made about George," she observed. " But if 
 he shoul I chance to be living, I am afraid you would 
 lose evervthing." 
 
 " How could tiiat be," said the young girl, "when 
 he is not mentioned in the will? " 
 
 " Because, of course, he would contest it on the 
 ground tliat his father believed him dead when he 
 made it, and also that a man has no right to disinherit 
 his son in favor of a stranger. I hope it may never 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 221 
 
 come to such a contest, for many disagreeable things 
 would be said about you." 
 
 " It would certainly never come to it, as far as I am 
 concerned," replied Marion, hauglitily. " For if Mr. 
 George Singleton appeared, I should yield his inherit- 
 ance to him Avitliout any contest at all." 
 
 " Would you indeed?" asked Mrs. Singleton. She 
 looked at her for a moment with her head on one side, 
 as if contemplating the possibility of wiiat it might 
 mean for herself. "I don't think there is the least 
 danger that he will appear," she said presently ; " and 
 I had really rather you had it than he. I always 
 detested George." 
 
 "Thanks for the implied compliment," said Marion, 
 smiling faintly. 
 
 She said no more on the subject, but, naturally 
 enough, she thought much. It was a new and start- 
 ling suggestion, and seemed to derive added force 
 from the fact that Rathborne had made it. For she 
 had never lost the sense of his hostile influence — of 
 the realization that she had made an enemy of one who 
 had the strength as well as the will to be dangerous. 
 And now she felt sure that if George Singleton were 
 on the earth this man would find him. " That is what 
 he intends lo do," she said to herself; " and this is 
 his way of Ittting me know it — of making me under- 
 stand that I hold mv fortune on an uncertain tenure. 
 Well, let him do his worst. If I lose the fortune, 
 nothing will be left me at all; and that, no doubt, is 
 what I deserve." 
 
 This was a new conclusion for Marion, and showed 
 how far she had already traveled on the road of self- 
 knowledge. Even now she began to ask herself what 
 
 ■"o 
 
222 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 there -n-as which the money she had so eagerly desired 
 could purchase for her of enduring interest? Now 
 that everything was within her reach, she felt that she 
 hardly cared to stretch out her hands to grasp any 
 object of which she had dreamed. Admiration, 
 pleasure, power, — all seemed to her lilve the 103-3 
 which a sick child regards with eyes of indifference. 
 Was it the wakening of her heart or the rousing: of her 
 soul ^hich made them seem of so small account? She 
 did not ask herself ; she only felt that Brian Eai'le's 
 influence had for a time lifted her into a region where 
 sliehad breathed a higher air, and gained a knowledge 
 of ideals which made her own now seem false, petty 
 and unsatisf3'ing. 
 
 Would these ideals have attracted Marion had they 
 been presented by another person? That is difficult 
 to sa}'. Her nature had in it much essential noble- 
 ness — Earle had been right in thinking it more 
 warped than really wrong, — and it might have re- 
 sponded in some degree to any influence of the kind. 
 But surely it is not without grave reason that we are 
 bidden to keep the heart with all diligence, since " oat 
 of it are the issues of life." It had been necessary 
 that Marion's heart should be roused out of its cold 
 indifference to all affection, before she could grasp 
 the meaning of the higher things of life — those things 
 which have their root and their end in eternity. 
 
 It was one evening about this time that she chanced 
 to be driving late through the streets of Scarborough, 
 and saw the Catholic church open and several per- 
 sons entering. A sudden impulse made her bid the 
 coachman stop. She was alone, having just left Mrs. 
 Singleton at the house of a friend ; and she felt that 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 22iJ 
 
 before leaving Scarborough final]}' — as ib was lier 
 intention to do in a few daj-s — she would like to enter 
 once more the sanctuary where she had felt herself 
 drawn very near to God. Since then the world had 
 ruslied in and overwhelmed her, and she had no 
 longer any intention of embracing the true faith. 
 But an attraction which could not be resisted drew 
 her just now within the threshold of the door to which 
 Earle had last led her. 
 
 She descended from her carriage, to the astonish- 
 ment of a few loiterers around the church gate, and 
 in the rich twilight walked up the path which led to 
 the door. Music came from within, and as she pushed 
 it open a vision of celestial yet familiar brightness 
 burst on her. The altar was a mass of lights and 
 flowers, and in the midst rose the ostensorium on its 
 golden throne. The priest, with his attendants, knelt 
 motionless before it, while from the organ-loft came 
 the strains of the " O Salutaris Hostia." Marion had 
 been at the convent too long not to know all that it 
 meant. She knelt at once, as a Catholic might have 
 done ; and indeed in her mind at that moment there 
 was no sense of doubt. From the uplifted Presence on 
 the altar faith seemed suddenly infused into her soul. 
 Not oul}'^ did all thought of questioning leave her, but 
 all memory of ever having questioned. She knelt like 
 a child, simply, humbly, involuntarily; and, with the 
 same confidence as those around her, breathed a peti- 
 tion for the things of which she had begun to feel 
 herself in need — for light on a path which was by no 
 means clear, and for some better guide tliun her own 
 errino; will. 
 
 After Benediction she was one of the first to leave 
 
224 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 the church, with a sense of peace which astonished 
 her. " Why do I feel different^ now from what I did 
 when I entered?" she said to herself as she drove 
 home in the soft dusk. "What power has touched 
 me, and given me the first repose of spirit that I have 
 known in a long time? It is surely strange, and im- 
 possible not to believe." 
 
 But Ihere it ended. Not yet had come the time 
 when she would feel the necessitj^ of taking some 
 practical step toward making this all-powerful help 
 her own ; not yet had the proud spirit bent itself to 
 acknowledging its own inability to order its life. The 
 very reason which not long before had drawn her 
 toward the Church — the fact that Earle belonged to 
 it — now repelled as strongly as it had attracted. 
 The hour had not yet struck when such earthly con- 
 siderations would fall away before the urgent demand 
 of tlie soul, the need of the weak and the human for 
 the strong and the eternal. 
 
 "The cedars must fall roimd us ere we see the light behind;" 
 
 and not all of Marion's cedars had fallen yet. 
 
 The next day a surprise, which was yet not alto- 
 gether a surprise, awaited her. She was quietly sitting 
 in the room which had been Mr. Singleton's — that 
 pmall, pi-etty apartment behind the large drawing- 
 room, which still seemed full of the suarsiestion of his 
 presence, — when she heard a visitor ushered into the 
 adjoining room, and a minute later a servant appeared 
 bringing her a card. She took it and read the name 
 of Paul Rathborne. 
 
 It was a shock rather than an astonishment. She 
 said to herself that she had looked for this : she had 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 225 
 
 known that he would come as the bearer of ill news, 
 if ill news were to be brought to her. For a moment 
 she remained silent looking at the bit of pasteboard 
 which said so much. Should she refuse to see him, 
 should she deny him the pleasure of triumphing over 
 lier, and force him to send through another channel 
 whatever news he brought? She was strongly tempted 
 to this, but pride in the first place — t!ie pride of not 
 wisliiiig to let him imagine that he had any power to 
 move her — rejected the idea ; and in the second place 
 she felt that she must know at once whatever he had 
 to tell. If she refused to see him, he would be capa- 
 ble of making her suffer suspense for an indefinite 
 length of time. Steadying her voice to quiet indiffer- 
 ence, therefore, she said to the servant: " Show Mr. 
 Rathborne in here." 
 
 A minute later the curtains between the two 
 rooms were drawn back, and Rathborne entered. She 
 rose and bowed slightly, looking more princess-like 
 than ever in her beauty and stateliness, and in 
 the midst of the luxury which surrounded her. 
 No detail of her appearance or her manner was 
 lost upon the man who had come with his heart 
 full of bitterness toward her. And if an additional 
 touch to this bitterness had been needed, her haugiit- 
 iness, and her air of calmly possessing a place 
 where she belonged, would have given it. The recol- 
 lection of some words of his was fresh in the minds of 
 both as they looked at each other. " I promise you 
 that ill the hour when jour schemes are nearest suc- 
 cess, you will find them defeated by me." These had 
 been his last words to her. Was he come now to tell 
 her that they were fulfilled.? This was the thouglitin 
 
 15 
 
226 FAIIiY GOLD. 
 
 her mind, but there was no sign of it in 1 er manner 
 or her glance. She stood, composedly waiting for 
 him to explain the object of his visit ; and it was be 
 who had to speak first. 
 
 " I have ventured to ask tlie honor of this interview, 
 Miss Lj'nde," he said — and, under its outward re- 
 spect, she keenly felt tlie mockery of his tone, — " in 
 order to make a communication of importance to j^ou. 
 It is true, I might have made it to your lawyer, but I 
 thought it best that I should be myself the bearer of 
 such news to you." 
 
 " I fully appreciate your motives," she replied, in 
 her clear, flute-like tones. " Pray spare yourself and 
 me any apologies, and let me know what possible news 
 of im[)ortauce can have fallen to 3'ou to bring me." 
 
 As she understood the underl^'ing mockery in his 
 voice, so he heard and felt the scorn of hers. Her 
 clear, brilliant glance said to him : "I know that you 
 have come here because you hope to humble me, but 
 I shall only show 3'ou how despicable I consider you." 
 It stung him as she had always had tlie faculty of 
 stinsing; him. and roused his determiiiatiou tomakehis 
 tidings as bitter to her as possible. 
 
 " The news which I bring you," he said, " is most 
 important to your interest, since it is the intelligence 
 that I am directed to bring suit at once to set aside 
 Mr. Singleton's will made in 3-our favor, in order that 
 the estate may devolve to the natural heir." 
 
 " Indeed! " she said, quietl}', with admirable self- 
 control. " And may I beg to know who is the natural 
 heir who proposes to enter into this contest? " 
 
 " An heir against whose claim 3^ou will find it 
 impossible to fight," he answered, with a ring of 
 
FAIBT GOLD. 227 
 
 triumph in his voice ; — " one who has been supposed 
 to be dead, but who has been roused, by the news that 
 his inheritance has been alienated from him, to prove 
 that he is hving. In other words, my client is Mr. 
 Singleton's only sou, George Singleton." 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 IT does not alwaj^s follow that a thing is not a shock 
 because one has in a manner expected it. Ma- 
 rion suffered a severe shock when she found her 
 ^orst anticipations reahzed ; for, although she had in 
 a degree anticipated it, knowing that Rathborne was 
 not likely to have spoken without some ground when 
 he alluded to such a possibilit}^, there had still been 
 the contrary assurance that Mr. Singleton had evi- 
 dently believed in his son's death, since there was not 
 even an allusion to him in the will. The intelligence 
 just conveyed was, therefore, a hard blow mercilessly 
 struck ; but she preserved her self-possession, notwith- 
 standing, in a remarkable manner, 
 
 "This is a very extraordmary piece of news," she 
 said. " I have been under the impression that Mr. 
 George Singleton was dead." 
 
 Rathborne smiled. " Most people have been under 
 that impression, especially those who had very good 
 reason for desiring that it should be so," he answered. 
 "But, so far from being dead, he has been living in 
 South America, and prospering fairly." 
 
 " Living in South America, and yet he has already 
 heard of his father's death and the disposition of his 
 father's property! — how has that happened?" 
 (228) 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 229 
 
 Despite himself, Paul Rathborne colored slightly, but 
 his glance met hers fullv as he answered, " It has not 
 happened by chance. Some time ago a friend of mine 
 who had been in South America mentioned meeting 
 a man there who, from his description, I felt sure must 
 be Mr. Sino-leton's missino; son. The matter was then 
 no interest or concern of mine ; for it was to be sup- 
 posed that the father and son knew their own affairs 
 best. So I paid no attention to it. But a short time 
 aso it began to occur to me that it was rather hard 
 that, while the son was still living, strangers should be 
 fighting for his inheritance. Therefore I wrote to my 
 friend (who had returned to South America) to let 
 Sino-leton know the state of affairs here. The latter 
 immediately wrote to me, saying that he would return 
 to his father as soon as possible, and meanwhile asking 
 me to inform Mr. Singleton of his (the son's) existence 
 and well-being. This letter reached me just at the 
 time of Mr. Singleton's death. I immediately com- 
 municated this fact to Mr. George Singleton, as also 
 the facts with regard to the estate ; and I have just 
 heard from him, authorizing me to contest the will at 
 once." 
 
 There was a brief pause, during which Marion asked 
 herself what was her best course of action ; and out of 
 the confusion into which her mind was thrown, she 
 could grasp only one clear idea — that she must be 
 careful how she committed herself to this man, who 
 had come with the desire to injure and triumph over 
 her. Consequently, when she spoke it was to say, 
 quite calmly : — 
 
 " I think that you have made a mistake in coming 
 to me with this story instead of going to my lawyer. 
 
230 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 1 understand very well uhi/ 3'ou have come ; but now 
 that you have accomplished tiie end 3'ou had in view, 
 I beg to refer you to him. For, of course, in a matter 
 so important as this I shall not think of acting without 
 advice." 
 
 "I am acquainted with your prudence," he said, 
 with the mockery of his tone somewhat more pro- 
 nounced ; "and am not, therefore, surprised to find 
 you so cautious. But I think it only light to warn 
 you that your caution will avail very little. No will 
 which ignores a son in favor of an absolute stranger 
 can possibly stand." 
 
 "That is a point which I do not care to discuss 
 with 3'OU," she replied. " But you will allow me to 
 inquire if Mr. Singleton is in this country or on his 
 way here.'' " 
 
 " Not yet. He will come if it is necessary; but I 
 am at present authorized to act for him." 
 
 " You seem to have inspired him with a remarkable 
 degree of confideuce, considering that you are an entire 
 stranger to him." 
 
 It was merely a chance shot, but something in the 
 expression of Rathborne's face gave her an idea like a 
 flash of lightning. 
 
 " It is to be supposed," she went on before he could 
 speak, " that you are convinced of the identity of this 
 stranger with Mr. Singleton's son? " 
 
 *' Do you imagine that if I were not — " 
 
 "I imagine nothing," she interoosed; " and as a 
 lawyer you can not need a reminder from me that it 
 will be iiecessaiy for this person whom you represent, 
 full}' to prove his identity with the son whom Mr. 
 Singleton believed to be dead." 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 231 
 
 It was perfectly true, and Ratbborne knew it ; but 
 he was none the less astonished that she i-hould have 
 so clearly jind immediately perceived it. 
 
 " I always knew that she was shrewd as the devil," 
 he said to himself, while he observed aloud : — 
 
 " Do not flatter yourself with any hope that it is an 
 impostor who is about to claim the fortune you have 
 inherited. Nothino- can be more certain than that it 
 is ]Mr. Singleton himself. To attempt to deny his 
 identity will only be to make yourself ridiculous, and 
 to damage j^our cause more than the plain facts have 
 damaged it already. Your lawyer, I am sure, will 
 advise j'ou better." 
 
 " Let me again refer you to that lawyer, if this is 
 all you have to say to me," she answered, rising from 
 her seat. 
 
 He rose also ; and as they stood for a moment face 
 to face, it proved impossible for him to restrain some 
 words which rose to his lips, brought there in double 
 bitterness by the sight of her proud, calm countenance. 
 
 " I shall go to your lawyer," he said, " and I shall 
 not rest until m}^ client has all his rights — the rights 
 of which he would not have heard for many a day but 
 for me. When he is in full possession of them, I will 
 ask you to be good enough to remember a pledge that 
 I gave you once, and which I shall then have fully 
 redeemed. 1 always endeavor to pay my debts ; and, 
 as you are well aware, 1 owe you a very heavy debt 
 at present. I hope to repay it very soon — with 
 interest." 
 
 " I am well aware that j^ou are a malicious and a 
 dishonorable man," she replied, calmly. "■ Because 
 your treachery with regard to Helen recoiled on your- 
 
232 FAIIiY GOLD. 
 
 self, you have determined to injure me. Do your 
 worst. Nothing that you could do would make you 
 more despicable in my eyes than you are at present. 
 This is all that need be said between us. Will you go 
 now, or shall I be forced to leave you? " 
 
 " I shall go at once," he answered ; " but you will 
 permit me to offer you a little parting advice. Enjoy 
 as much as possible the fortune which j^ou hold now, 
 for your possession of it will be very short." 
 
 With this last sting he went out from her presence ; 
 and she, sinking into Mr. Singleton's deep chair, 
 clasped her hands over her painfully-beating heart, 
 and looked with troubled eyes over the soft landscape 
 before her, of which she hardly perceived a feature. 
 
 And so she was, after all, to lose the foi'tune for 
 which she had sacrificed everything else ! It had by 
 no means brought her the satisfaction or happiness 
 she had imagined, but it was all that remained to 
 her — the one good which she still grasped out of the 
 wreck she had already made of her life, and her life's 
 best hopes. To lose it now, to sink back again into 
 poverty and dependence after one brief taste of power 
 and independence, that would be a bitter retribution 
 for the choice she had made when she sent Brian Earle 
 away, — a bitter retribution for the selfish vanity which 
 had made Rathboi'ne her enemy. She shuddered a 
 little at the recollection of that enmity. Bravely as she 
 had borne herself before him, it was a dismaying thought 
 that such a power and such a will to injure menaced 
 her. She thought of her proud self-confidence when 
 from the quiet convent she had stepped into the 
 world: her belief in her own ability to mould life, 
 events, and people to her wishes. And now with what 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 233 
 
 absolute failure she was threatened ! — with what 
 complete aud hopeless loss of all that she desired ! 
 
 The next day her lawyer came with a grave face, 
 and greeted her with an air which was not lost upon 
 her. "He thinks that it is all over with me! " she 
 said to herself ; but, though her heart sank a little 
 lower at this proof of the weakness of her cause, she 
 smiled on him brightly and bravely enough. 
 
 " I suppose," she began, " that you have seen Mr. 
 Rathborne, who was so kind as to pay me a visit yes- 
 terday in order to give me some interesting intelli- 
 gence? " 
 
 "Yes, I have seen Mr. Rathborne," he answered; 
 " and the news he brought me was very unexpected 
 and very serious." 
 
 " What do you think of it? " she asked. 
 
 The lawyer looked at her with surprise. The cool- 
 ness of her tone and the composure of her manner 
 seemed to indicate that she by no means appreciated 
 the gravity of the danger which threatened her. 
 
 " I think," he replied, " that such a contest will be 
 ruinou:s to you. No court will be likelj' to sustain a 
 will which entirely disinherits a man's own son. Can- 
 didly, my advice to you is to compromise at once." 
 
 Marion did not say, " Advice should be asked before 
 it is offered," but her curling lip said so for her, and 
 so did the manner in which she ignored his suggestion. 
 
 "Before taking up a contest over the will," she 
 said, " would it not be well to be quite sure that the 
 person who proposes to contest it is indeed Mr. 
 Singleton's son ? " 
 
 Again the lawyer stared at her. Was it possible 
 that he had not thought of this? 
 
■234 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 "Of course," he replied, " that is most essential; 
 but it is very easily done. Mr. George Singleton has 
 but to show himself. There are numbers of people 
 who will recognize him." 
 
 " Why does he not show himself, then? Why is he 
 content with merelj^ writing to Mr. Ruthborne instead 
 of coming to look after his inheritance himself? " 
 
 "Because it is all that is essential at present — to 
 give us warning and take the necessary- legal steps. 
 He will, of course, appear later." 
 
 " Let us demand that he appear at once," she said, 
 with a decision of tone and manner which more than 
 astonished the lawyer. "I, for one, distrust Mr. 
 Rathborne utterly, and refuse most positively to 
 transact any business with him. If you can get the 
 address of this reputed Mr. Singleton, I beg that 3'ou 
 will write to him, and say that we decline to recognize 
 his claim in any manner whatever until he shows him- 
 self and establishes his identity. Then there will be 
 time enough to talk of contest or compromise. Am 
 I not right in this? " 
 
 " Perfectly right," responded the stupefied man of 
 business. Never (as he afterward affirmed) had he 
 been so surprised as by these energetic instructions. 
 He had come himself prepared to instruct ; to find 
 perhaps unreasoning opposition, or hysterical com- 
 plaining, which it would be necessary to quiet and 
 bring to some practical view of the case. But to be 
 met instead with this cool self-possession, these clear 
 ideas and precise directions, was little less than a 
 shock to him. His own ideas seemeil to desert him 
 as he sat and stared at the beautiful, resolved face 
 which confronted, him. 
 
FATRT GOLD. 235 
 
 " Certainly 3'ou are right," be said again, after a 
 moment. " Ttie identity of the claimant is the first 
 thinw to be established ; but — I confess that I am a 
 little surprised by your thinking of this point. Why 
 should it occur to you to doubt whether the person 
 claiming to be Mr. George Singleton is really him- 
 self?" 
 
 " Because," she answered, " in the first place I am 
 sure (and j'ou, no doubt, are sure also) that his 
 father believed him dead, else certainly he would not 
 have omitted his name entirel}^ from his will. And he 
 must have had some reason for this belief. Again, as 
 I have already told you, I distrust Mr. Rathborne 
 •entirely. He would be perfectly capable of bringing 
 forth a false claimant." 
 
 " My dear young lady, that is a very serious, a very 
 shocking charge. Mr. Rathborne is a — well, a sharp 
 practitioner, perhaps ; but I have no reason to suspect 
 that he would be guilty of a criminal act. Indeed I 
 have every reason to believe that he would not." 
 
 " Your knowledge of Mr. Rathborne differs from 
 mine, then," said Marion, coldl3^ " I am certain that 
 he would be guilty of aii}^ act which would serve his 
 purposes. And he has a motive for this which renders 
 distrust necessary. Therefore, I insist upon the 
 appearance of Mr. Singleton and the establisliment of 
 his identity before I will take any step whatever 
 toward noticing his claim." 
 
 " It is only a measure of precaution," said the 
 lawyer, " and very well thought of. You have an un- 
 commonly clear head for business for a young lady. I 
 will, then, write at once to George Singleton ; but I do 
 not advise you to build any hope on the probability of 
 
236 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 bis proving a false claimant. This conduct is alto- 
 gether characteristic of him ; and I, for one, had alwa3-s 
 a suspicion that he was not dead.' 
 
 "His father, however, must have had reason for 
 believing him so." 
 
 "Perhaps — and perhaps not. Mr. Singleton was 
 a man of the strongest passions, and his son had out- 
 raged him in everj^ particular. When, after a long 
 course of disregarding and defying his father's wishes, 
 the young man left home with the avowed intention of 
 never returning, I know that Mr, Singleton declared 
 that he should be as one dead to him. He only kept 
 his word when he made his will." 
 
 " But do you not think that in such a case as that 
 he would have mentioned him, if onh' to declare that 
 he disinherited him for good cause ? ' ' 
 
 "It was not necessary, and he might not have 
 desired to do so. He was a singular man and a very 
 reticent one. Even I, who knew him so long and so 
 well, have no idea whether he had any knowledge of 
 his son's fate or not. And this fact makes me believe 
 that it is more than likely that George Singleton is 
 alive and ready to claim his inheritance." 
 
 "Let him come and do it, then," said Marion. 
 "That is all." 
 
 And in this decision she was sustained by those who 
 as well as herself were interested in upholding the will. 
 Mr. Tom Singleton shook his head, and agreed with 
 the lawyer that such a course of conduct was very 
 characteiistic of George Singleton; but he also de- 
 clared that it would be folly to run any risk of playing 
 into the hands of a false claimant. " And when a 
 man has disappeared for ten or fifteen years from the 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 237 
 
 sight and knowledge of everyone who knew him, 
 there is reason to fear that, with a fortune at stake, 
 he might be personated by some one else," he said. 
 " Such things have happened time and again. You 
 are quite right to insist that he shall show himself. 
 If he is George Singleton I shall know him in 
 half a minute, and then we can decide what to do." 
 
 " It will prove to be George Singleton, I am sure," 
 said his wife. "He was always a malicious wretch, 
 don't you know? And this is just like him. But the 
 puzzle to me is, how did he find out how things were 
 in so short a time? " 
 
 " He had a self-constituted informant here," said 
 Marion. " Mr. Rathborne took pains to discover his 
 whereabouts, and to let him know the news of his 
 father's death and the contents of his father's will, 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 "Mr. Rathborne — oh, I understand ! " said the lady. 
 " Dear me, how many malicious people there are in 
 the world ! And this is how he revenges himself for 
 3'^our little flirtation with him, and for the loss of your 
 cousin's fortune! Well, m}" dear, I must sa}^ that 
 you are likely to pay heavil}^ for what could not have 
 been a very great amusement." 
 
 Hot tears of mortification suddenly gathered in 
 Marion's eyes. Surely this was humiliation, to see her 
 conduct as it looked in the ej-es of this shallow woman, 
 and to be pitied (conscious that in the pity there was 
 a strain of exultation) for the downfall that awaited 
 her from Rathborne' s revenge. If Helen knew, she 
 might hold herself well avenged ; but, then, in Helen's 
 gentle soul there was no room for any revengeful 
 sentiment. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 IT was soon apparent that no one except Marion her- 
 self had any doubt but that George Singleton was 
 alive, and that it was himself and no impostor, 
 who was claiming his inheritance. " The whole thinsr 
 is so exactly like hiui ! " said Mrs. Singleton. " If it 
 were not malicious, it would not be characteristic of 
 George. He wants to give as much trouble and dis- 
 appoint as many people as possible." 
 
 "lie must possess an amiable and attractive char- 
 acter," said Marion, faintly smiling. But as she smiled 
 she said to herself that it was very evident the arrange- 
 ment she had entered into with jMrs. Singleton could not 
 stand . If the latter believed that it was only a question 
 of time till Mr. Singleton's son should appear, what 
 furtluT need was there for her to conciliate and endure 
 the girl who would soon have no ])ower to return her 
 good offices? Instinctively Marion knew that she was 
 asking herself this question, and that it was best it 
 should be answered at once. 
 
 " I have been thinking," she observed, aloud, 
 " that since there seems so much doubt about the 
 result of this matter, it will not be well for me to make 
 any change in my life at present. Oar arrangements 
 had better be deferred indefinitely ; and meanwhile 1 
 will stay here until Mr. Singleton arrives." 
 (238) 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 239 
 
 Although Mrs. Singleton possessed considerable 
 power of self-control, she could not prevent her face 
 from showing the relief she felt at these words. 
 
 " I suppose it will really be best," she said. " It 
 would be very awkward for us, as well as for you, 
 if we took up your cause, and, as it were, identified^ 
 ourselves with it, and then. — " 
 
 " And then I relapsed back into my original insig- 
 nificance," said Marion. "Yes, I perceive. And, 
 believe me, I have no desire to sail for a time under 
 false colors, or receive any attention which would be 
 paid only to Mr. Singleton's heiress. Moreover, if 
 the business ends as you evidently expect, I should 
 have no power to return the obligation under which 
 you would have placed me. We will, therefore, say no 
 more about our plans, and I will quietly remain here." 
 
 "But you can not remain alone, and I must get. 
 back home — " 
 
 " Do not let me detain, you a day," said Marion, 
 haughtily. " I am not rich in friends, but I can find 
 some one to stay with me, so long as I need a com- 
 panion ; and it is only a question of money." 
 
 " Oh! j'es, mere com'panions can be found in suffi- 
 cient number — people who will be delighted to come. 
 But 3'ou ought to have some social protection, some 
 proper chaperon — " 
 
 " If all were settled as we thought, that would be 
 necessary," Marion interposed; "but since I may, 
 very likely, soon be deprived of the consequence that 
 Mr. Singleton's money gives me, and since social pro- 
 tection and proper chaperonage are altogether super- 
 fluous for a girl without fortune, I need not trouble 
 myself about them in this short interval of wailing." 
 
240 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 Mrs. Singleton said no more, but she confided to 
 her husband her opinion that Marion had given up 
 all hope of being able to retain the fortune. "And it 
 has made her dreadfully bitter," she added. " You 
 know she always had a very cynical way of talking 
 for such a young girl, but now that is more pronounced 
 than ever. Disappointment is going very hard with 
 her. I am almost sorry for her, although, of course, 
 she has no right to the money at all." 
 
 " She has the right that its owner chose to give it to 
 her," said philosophical Mr. Singleton. 
 
 But, although Marion put a bold front on the 
 matter to Mrs. Suigleton, her heart really sank at the 
 desolateness of her position. So long as the fortune 
 was still hers, she could buy a companion, as she could 
 buy anything else ; but she saw in the eyes of every- 
 one around her the settled conviction that the fortune 
 would be no longer hers. And then ? 
 
 Meantime, however, it was necessary to make some 
 arrangement, since Mrs. Singleton was eager to be 
 gone ; and, turning over in her mind the list of her few 
 acquaintances in Scarborough — for friends she had 
 none, — Marion was asking herself rather blankly to 
 which one she could appeal for advice and assistance 
 in her dilemma, when a servant entered with the 
 announcement that a lady desired to see her. 
 
 " A lady ! " she repeated. " Who is she? Did she 
 give no name or card? " 
 
 The servant replied that the lady had given neither, 
 but that, in his opinion, she was a genuine visitor — 
 not an agent for patent snap or anything else of the 
 kind. 
 
 "I suppose I had better see her," said Marion, 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 241 
 
 reluctantly; "but she can not be a person of any 
 importance, or she would have sent her name." 
 
 She went down stairs, slowly, indifferently, with a 
 sense of mental lassitude altogether new to her, 
 entered the drawing-room, and found herself face to 
 face with Helen. She uttered a cry as the sweet, 
 affectionate face she knew so well turned toward 
 her, and the next moment they were in each other's 
 arms, 
 
 " O Mai'ion! I am so glad that you are glad to 
 see me!" were Helen's first words. *■' I was afraid 
 that you might not be." 
 
 "Afraid that I might not be glad to see you! " said 
 Marion. " How cuuld that be? — what reason could 
 I have? But, O Helen, dear Helen! how good it is 
 of you to be glad to see me!" 
 
 " I know no reason why I should not be," replied 
 Helen. "But I feared that there might be some 
 disagreeable recollection — something to make you 
 shrink from seeing me ; so I thought I would spare 
 you the shrinking — I would let you have the shock 
 at once. But it is no shock, after all. The moment 
 I saw your eyes, I knew you were glad." 
 
 " Oh! my dear, how kind you are! " cried Marion. 
 " Glad ! What should I be made of if I were not glad 
 to see you — the most generous heart in all the world ! 
 But when did j'^ou come back to Scarborough? " 
 
 "Last night; and I would not write or let yoia 
 know, because I wanted to see you myself, without 
 any warning. And so, Marion, your great desire is 
 accomplished — you have become rich since I went 
 away! " 
 
 " And am on the point of becoming poor again," 
 
 16 
 
242 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 said Marion, with a smile. "Have you not lieard 
 that?" 
 
 '"No: I have heard Dothing — but how can tlial 
 be? — how can 30U become poor again, unless you 
 lose Mr. Singleton's fortune?" 
 
 "That is just what is going to occur — at least 
 everyone thinks so. IL is said that Mr. Singleton's son 
 is alive, and that if he chooses to contest the will, it 
 can not stand." 
 
 " O Marion ! how sorry I am ! " — the eloquent eyes 
 said so indeed. — "To think that 3'ou should have 
 obtained what you wanted so much, only to lose it at 
 once ! That is worse than if you had never possessed 
 it." 
 
 "And do you see no retribution in it, Helen?" 
 asked Marion, ver}^ gravely. " Did not you, too, 
 want something very much — the happiness that had 
 been promised you all your life, — and did yon not lose 
 it through my fault? Believe me, I have thought of 
 this; and, thinking of it, I can make no complaint." 
 
 " I am sorry," said Helen, while a shade fell over 
 her face, " that you should speak again of that. I do 
 not look at it quite as you do. Happiness ought not 
 to be our end in life. — I am not very wise, but I know 
 that, because I have faith to tell me so. No doubt I 
 thought of it too much ; but even when I felt most 
 about losing it, I was sure that God must know best, 
 and 1 did not really desire anything which was not 
 according to His will. How could one be so foolish 
 as to do that? For it certainly would not be hap- 
 piness if it did not have God's blessing on it." 
 
 " O Helen! Helen! " exclaimed Marion. It was a 
 cry of mingled wonder and self-scorn. Somehow the 
 
FAIBV GOLD. 243 
 
 simple words touched lier more than the most eloquent 
 api)eal of any preacher could have done. For it was 
 Helen who spoke, — Helen, who had just learned her 
 wisdom in the hard school of practical experience, 
 and who spoke thus to the person against whom her 
 heart might have been most bitter. " My dear," she 
 went on after a minute, "you are so good that you 
 make me a^hamed. I have learned lately — yes, even 
 I — what you lost, and how much you must have 
 suffered in the loss. It was through my own fault and 
 by my own choice that I lost my happiness ; but you 
 were blameless as an angel, and yet you talk like an 
 angel about it — " 
 
 '•No, no," said Helen, quickly; "only like the 
 most ordinary Catholic. And that not without a 
 struggle, Marion. Don't fancy me better than I 
 am." 
 
 " I don't fancy : I know you to be like something 
 angelic compared to me," returned Marion, with a 
 sigh. " Do you think that I ever asked myself any- 
 thing about the will of God? I never even thought of 
 Him in connection with my desires." 
 
 " O Marion! " 
 
 " It is true. Don't expect me to say anything else ; 
 for, with all my faults, I was never a hypocrite, you 
 know. I thought nothing of Him, I asked nothing of 
 Him, and now I have nothing to fall back upon. My 
 happiness, like yours, is gone — with the difference 
 that 7 was not worthy of it, whereas you were saved 
 from a man who was not worthy of you. And now 
 the money for which I was ready to do anything and 
 sacrifice anything is in jeopardy, and no doubt will 
 soon be gone." 
 
24 1 FMUY GOLD. 
 
 " Ha^ it brought you salisf action since you have 
 had it, IMarion?" 
 
 " Do not ask me! " she said, sharply. " What is 
 there in the world that does bring satisfaction? But 
 when I give it up, I shall have nothing, absolutely 
 nothing, left." 
 
 "You will have God's providence," answered 
 Helen, gently. " Trust a Httle to that; and tell me 
 something — all if you will — about j^ourself , — about 
 what has happened since we parted, and what your 
 plans for the future are." 
 
 In past time, though Marion had always loved Helen, 
 she had rather despised her as a counselor ; but now 
 she felt it a relief beyond the power of words to ex- 
 press, to open her heart, to tell her difficulties, even to 
 ask advice from one of whose affection and interest 
 she was so secure. For had she not lately learned how 
 weary life can be when it holds not a single friend, not 
 one heart on which it is possible to rely for disinter- 
 ested aid or counsel? She told the story of her brief 
 eno-ascement to Brian Earle, and did not resent the 
 condemnation which she read in Helen's eyes. Then a 
 harder task was before her — to speak of Rathborne's 
 part in tlie appearance of George Singleton. She 
 touched on this as lightl}^ as possible, but Helen 
 quickly seized the fact. 
 
 " And so it was Paul who found him! " she said. 
 " lam sorry for that, — sorry, I mean, that he should 
 have taken such a part in what did not concern him, 
 from the motive which I fear actuated him." 
 
 " He took pains to leave me in no doubt what- 
 ever about his motive," observed Marion. " I have 
 seen him only once, and then I bade him do his worst — 
 
FA I in' GOLD. 245 
 
 produce bis client witbout loss of time. When be is 
 produced, if he is properly identified, mv drtam of 
 riches will be over; for I 'shall give up the estate 
 without a contest. But I will not give it up until I 
 am certain that I shall not be resigning it to a false 
 claimant." 
 
 " You do not think that Paul Ratliborne would be 
 guilty of fraud?" said Helen quickly, in a pained 
 tone ; for the loyal heart was slow to resign any one 
 for whom it had ever cherished an affection or a 
 trust. 
 
 " You forget," said Marion, waiving the question 
 whether or not she believed Ralhborne capable of 
 fraud, "that this man is in South America, and no 
 one here has seen him. Mr. Rathborne has only 
 communicated with him by letters. Now, what 
 would, be easier than for some unscrupulous man to 
 write in George Singleton's name, if the latter were 
 dead? Such things are of common occurrence. But 
 it would be ditScuIt to personate him so as to deceive 
 the many people who have known him ; and that is 
 why 1 will take no step, nor even consider the matter, 
 until he has been produced.^' 
 
 " I suppose that is best," answered Helen. " And 
 meanwhile what are you going to do? " 
 
 " 1 am going to stay here, with what patience I may. 
 How I am to live alone, I do not exactly see — for 
 Mrs. Singleton is going away ; but now that I have 
 you again, I have taken heart. Y'ou will recommend 
 some one to stay with me." 
 
 " I will do better than that: I will take you home 
 with me." 
 
 " Oh, no! " said Marion, shrinking a little; '' that 
 
246 FAIIiY GOLD. 
 
 can not be. It is like you, dear Helen, to propose it ; 
 but I do not tliiuk my aunt would like — stop ! 1 know 
 she would be kind, aud try not to show what she felt; 
 but I should be aware of it — aware that she has no 
 respect for me iu her heart, and 1 should be more ill 
 at ease there than here. This is my home for the 
 present ; it may not be so long, and I may never have 
 another. So let me keep it while I may. Find me 
 some good, quiet womau — you know everyone iu 
 Scarborough — to stay with me ; and come j^ourself 
 whenever you can, and I shall be content." 
 
 " There will be no difficulty in finding such a per- 
 son as 3'ou want," said Helen. '' But I think my 
 plan is best." 
 
 Marion shook her head. "No," she insisted. "I 
 abused j'our hospitality once. I can never forget 
 that ; and I do not think that, kind and good as slie 
 is, my aunt will ever forget it ; so do not let us talk 
 of mj' going to you. Some day, perhaps, if I have no 
 other refuge in the world, I may come and ask 30U for 
 a shelter, but not now." 
 
 She was immovable in this, even when Mrs. Dalton 
 seconded Helen's invitation ; and so they did wliat 
 she asked — found a pleasant, quiet, elderly lady to 
 stay with her ; and let her have her own way. 
 
 It was a strange time, the period of waiting which 
 followed — a kind of interlude, a breathing space, as 
 it were, between the rush of events which had reached 
 this conclusion, and other events which were to follow 
 and change life yet again, in what degree no one 
 could say. It seemed to Marion that she could 
 hardly be said to live during these weeks. She 
 merely existed — in a state partly of expectation, 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 247 
 
 partly of that lassitude which follows a high degree 
 of mental as well as physical tension. She liad passed 
 rapidly through man}- experiences, many intense 
 emotions ; and now, menaced by others of which she 
 could not see the end, she suddenly sank down to rest, 
 like a soldier on the field of battle. 
 
 She had but two sources of pleasure during this 
 time: one was Helen's companionship, which she had 
 never before valued or appreciated; the other, the 
 services of tlie Catholic church. The plain little 
 chapel, whicli had at first repelled her, began to seem 
 to her like a true home of the soul ; religious influ- 
 ences sank more and more deeply into her heart; and 
 dimly, as new ideas shape and j^resent themselves, 
 there bejjau to dawn on her the meanino; of Helen's 
 simple words. "It certainly would not be happiness 
 if it did not have God"s blessing on it," Helen l;ad 
 said. Was it because no blessing of God had been 
 on her happiness that, in every form, it had so 
 quickly eluded her grasp? She asked herself this 
 question, and when a soul has once asked it the 
 answer is not long in coming. But w'hether or not it 
 will be heeded when it comes, is too often a matter 
 of doubt. Impressions pass quickly, the swaj' of the 
 world is hard to break, and who can tell how far the 
 poor soul vaay be swept into storm and darkness before 
 it is brought safe into port at last? 
 
CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 THE period of waiting ended veiy abruptly one 
 daj'. It was by this time soft, Indian-summer 
 weather ; and Marion was seated in the garden 
 ■with Helen one afternoon, mellow sunshine and brill- 
 iant masses of flowers all around them, when a 
 servant appeared with the intelligence that Mr. Single- 
 ton was in the house and wished to see her. 
 
 "Mr. Singleton! " she repeated, a little startled. 
 "What Mr. Singleton?" 
 
 "Mr. Tom, ma'am," repeated the servant, who had 
 been accustomed to distinguish him in this manner 
 during the life of the elder Mr. Singleton. 
 
 " Oh! " she said. And then she turned to Helen 
 with a faint smile. " I don't know whether I am 
 relieved or disappointed," she observed. " I thought 
 it was the other." 
 
 " But the other would hardly be likely to come 
 without warning — and alone," returned Helen. 
 
 " That is very true. But I wonder what this Mr. 
 Singleton can want — if he has any news? " 
 
 "You can only find out by going to see," said 
 Helen. 
 
 "Yes," assented Marion. She rose as she spoke, 
 and made a few steps toward the house, then paused 
 (248) 
 
I 
 
 FAIBY GOLD. 249 
 
 and looked back like one who is taking a farewell. 
 " The crisis must be at hand," she said. " I feci as 
 if I were on the verge of a great cliansfe. When I see 
 you flgain, Helen, I may be dispossessed of all my 
 riches." 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense! " said Helen, in a matter- 
 of-facfc way. ',' How can you be dispossessed in so 
 short a time? " 
 
 The other laughed. " ' If 'twere done when 'tis 
 done, then 'twere well it were done quickly,' " she 
 said, and so went on towa'd the bouse. 
 
 Mr, Singleton, who was awaiting her in the drawing- 
 room, came forward and shook hands very cordially. 
 They had always been good friends, and he had a very 
 kind feeling toward the beautiful and comparatively 
 friendless girl. This kindness had now an emphasis, 
 which she perceived, together with something of com- 
 passion. She looked at hiin and smiled. 
 
 " Has the true heir appeared.? " she asked ; " and 
 have you come to warn me to prepare for abdication ? " 
 
 " How shrewd you are! " he said. But, in truth, 
 he was much relieved that she was shrewd enough to 
 divine the object of his visit, — a visit which it had 
 required a considerable effort on liis part to under- 
 take. "The true heir — if you consider him so — 
 has appeared ; but there is no question of abdication 
 for you. He will be very glad if you consent to com- 
 promise, and so save him a contest over the will." 
 
 She sat down in a chair conveniently near, looking a 
 little pale. Notwithstanding her question, she had 
 not really anticipated such positive assurance at once ; 
 and recognizing this, Mr, Singleton regretted having 
 been so abrupt. 
 
250 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 " I thought you expected it," he said ; " but I see 
 that you were not quite prepared. I am sorry — " 
 
 She put up her hand with a gesture which stopped 
 his words. " There is nothing for which to be sorry," 
 she said, " Of course I expected it, but perhaps not 
 so immediately or so positively. But I don't mean to 
 be foolish : I intend to be quite cool and business-like. 
 Mr. George Singleton has arrived, then. Have you 
 recognized him.''" 
 
 " Ptrfecily. He has changed very little, considering 
 all things, and there ctiu be no question of his identity." 
 
 " Are the other members of the family, and friends 
 of the family, as positive as yourself? " 
 
 "Yes: no one has a doubt but that it is George. 
 In fact, no one could have a doubt who had ever 
 known him. He was twenty years old wlien he went 
 away, and of a very marked personal api)earance. 
 The change of sixteen years is by no means so great 
 as might be imagined. Appearance, manner, habits — 
 all prove that he is George himself. Indeed I must be 
 quite frank and tell you tliat there is not even a peg 
 on which to hang a doubt of his identity." 
 
 She looked at him for a moment in silence, her 
 brow drawn together by the earnestness with which 
 she seemed trying to read his face. At length she 
 said, slowly: '' I must trust your opinion ; I have no 
 one else to trust. And I do not think you would 
 deceive me." 
 
 "I certainly would not," he answered, gravely. 
 ' ' Why should I ? Putting honor aside, I have nothing 
 to gain by espousing George Singleton's cause. As a 
 matter of fact, I do nut espouse it at all. I merely 
 come to you as a friend, and ttll you that he is cer- 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 251 
 
 tainly the man he claims to be. And, under these 
 cimimstances, I think j'our best plan will be lo com- 
 promise with him as speedily as possible." 
 
 "Of that there is no question in my mind," she 
 said, with her old air of pride. " If I could, I would 
 not retain the fortune of a man whose son is living. 
 Tell Mr. George Singleton that I will turn over his 
 father's estate to him as soon as may be." 
 
 " But that," said Mr. Singleton, with euerg}', " can 
 not be allowed. As one of the executors of ihe will, I 
 should protest against it. Whether my uncle believed 
 in the death of his son or not, we can not know, 
 neither can we know how he would have acted if he 
 had certainly been aware of his existence. All that 
 we have to deal with is the simple fact that he left his 
 fortune to j'ou without even mentioning his son's 
 name ; and this being so, it is not demanded of you — 
 it is neither just nor right — that you should turn it all 
 over to hira." 
 
 " But he is the natural and rightful heir to it, and 
 no one shall ever say of me that I grasped or held 
 what rightfully belonged to another." 
 
 " My dear 3'onng lad^', you said a moment ago that 
 you inlended to be quite cool and business-like in dis- 
 cussing this matter. Allow me, then, to put it before 
 you in its business-like aspect. You are at the pres- 
 ent time the lawful possessor of my uncle's fortune 
 by his direct bequest, and unless the courts set aside 
 his will you must remain so. Tlie issue of an attempt 
 to set aside the will is, of course, uncertain ; and the 
 contest would be long, troublesome and costl}' to all 
 concerned. Recognizing these facts, George Single- 
 ton says that he is willing to agree on a liberal basis 
 
2;") 2 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 of comprom'se. And, since ra}^ uncle certainly wished 
 you to have all his fortune why should you refuse to 
 retain a part of it? " 
 
 '•i have already told you, because in justice it 
 belongs to his son ; and why should I keep a part any 
 more than the whole of what is not justly mini' ? " 
 
 Mr Singleton had an air of saying to himself, 
 " Heaven grant me patience! " but, possessing a good 
 deal of that quality, he said aloud : " How in the name 
 of common-seiire can that be held to belong to George 
 Singlelon which has been given to you? Honestly, 
 if you divide with him it is as much as you can be 
 expected to do." 
 
 " It is something I should despise myself for doing," 
 she said, with a sudden flush of color in htr face. 
 "You are very kind, Mr. Singleton, and I really 
 believe that you are considering my iniertst in this 
 matter. But you forget the position I occupy — that 
 of an interloper \,ho has come into take a fortune away 
 from iis natural heirs, and who, no doubt, is he'd to 
 have schemed to that end. You know better than 
 that, I am sui'e ; but the world does not know better, 
 and Mr. George Singleton does not know better. 
 Now, I shall be glad to prove that, although I value 
 wealth and desire wealth — why should I deny it? — I 
 would not acquii'c it at the cost of my self-respect. 
 Since you say Mr. Singleton's son is certainly living, 
 I do not feel that I have any right to keep his fortune 
 any longer than I can put it out of my hands. Pray 
 be good enough to tell him so." 
 
 " ^\y dear Miss Lynde, I can not agree to tell him 
 anything of the kinl. Y'Hi must positively take time 
 for consideration and advice." 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 253 
 
 She shook her head. '• I do not need time, and I 
 shall certainly not seek advice. I have already made 
 up m}' mind what to do. Can you imagine that I have 
 not considered this in the weeks that I have been 
 waiting? If j'ou decline to give my message to Mr. 
 Singleton, I shall have to communicate with him 
 directly myself." 
 
 " It would be best that you should communicate 
 with him directly, if you could by that means be 
 brought to look at the matter in a reasonable light, 
 and see that there is no possible cause why it should 
 not be arranged on the basis of a liberal compromise. 
 Half a million is surely enough to divide." 
 
 She put out her hands, as if to push the proposal 
 from her. '• I will not hear of it," she said. " I will 
 not seem to grasp mone}^ whicli is not mine. Do not 
 argue the point further, Mr. Singleton. I appreciate 
 your kindness, but I can not yield." 
 
 "Well," he said reluctantly, ''I am sorry for it. 
 Believe me you are making a great mistake, and one 
 which, in the nature of things, you must regret as 
 time go< s on. We are not young and impuUive for- 
 ever, and some da}^ ynu will say, ' I had a right to 
 my share of that fortune, and I was wrong to give it 
 up.' " 
 
 " It maj'^ be," she answered ; " but I can not keep 
 it now — I can not! Wliere is I^Ir. Geor'je Single- 
 ton? — where can I address him, if you will not take 
 ray message to him? It is impossible for me to 
 address hira through his lawyer." 
 
 " He will have no use for a lawyer if you pers'vere 
 in 3'our intention," said INIr. Singleton, shrugging his 
 shoulders. " As for his addre-s, he is here in Scar- 
 
254 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 borough, and quite ready to wait upon you at j'our 
 convenience, if you will receive him." 
 
 She started. This was coming a little closer than 
 she anticipated. And yet, she asked herself, why 
 not? " 'Twere well it were done quickly," and it 
 seemed likely now to be done quickly enough. After 
 a moment she said, steadily: "There is no reason 
 why I should not receive him whenever he likes to 
 come, since you assure me that he is really the man 
 he claims to be." 
 
 " Of that there can be no doubt." 
 
 " Then let him come — the sooner the better. But 
 do not let him bring Mr. Rathborne with him. That 
 person I cannot receive." 
 
 " I will come with him myself," said Mr. Singleton. 
 " I should not have thought of doing otherwise." 
 
 She held out her hand to him with a grateful ges- 
 ture. " You are very good to me — very kind," she 
 said. " I shall never forget it." 
 
 " I wish you would let me be of some use to you, 
 by taking my advice," he answered. 
 
 But when he went away it was with the reflection 
 that women are surel}'^ obstinate creatures ; and, how- 
 ever charming they may be, they are, as a rule, quite 
 devoid of reason. Marion had proved immovable in 
 her resolution, as also in her determination not to take 
 advice on it. Once fully assured that the man pur- 
 porting to be Mr. Singleton's son was really so, her 
 mind was made up what to do. She went back into 
 the garden like one moving in a dream, and told 
 Helen the news. 
 
 "The fairy tale is over," she said; "my fairy 
 fortune is about to slip away from me. Am I sorry ? 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 255 
 
 I tliink I am more apathetic just now than either glad 
 or sorry. It has not brought me one day of happi- 
 ness, Lut I know the worhl will enough to bu aware 
 that it is better to be rich and unhappy than poor and 
 unhappy. Poverty aggravates every other evil ; and 
 yet I am not grieved to have the opportunity to prove 
 that I am not so mercenary as — some people doubt- 
 less believe me. Brian Earle will not think that 1 
 have schemed for his inheritance when he learns that 
 I have voluntarily given it up to his cousin." 
 
 Helen looked up with a keenness of perception 
 "which was rather unusual in her soft eyes. " I 
 think." she said, "that that is the consideration 
 which moves you chieflv. But is it altogether a right 
 consideration? ■ Mr. Earle does not injure you by 
 believing what is untrue of you, but you will injure 
 yourself b}^ giving up everything, and sui ely 3 ou are 
 not bound to do so. If Mr. Singleton had not desired 
 } ou to have part at least of his fortune, he would nev<. r 
 have lift you all of it." 
 
 " One would think 3 ou had heard the arguments of 
 the gentleman who has just gone awa}'," said Marion,^ 
 smiling. " Dear Helen, don't make me go over 
 it all again. I fear that it is more pride than con- 
 science which makes me feel that 1 must resign the 
 fortune. But I can never recover my own self- 
 respect until I have done so. And my own self-respect 
 is not anotljer name for the respect of Brian P2arle. 
 If I were conscious of being right I might not care 
 that he thought ill of me; but my own judgment 
 echoes his. I have been willing to barter ever}thin^ 
 of value in life for moue}', and now it is right enough 
 that the money should bo taken from me. I feel as. 
 
256 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 if by giving it up altogetlier I might recover, not what 
 I have lost— I do not dream of that,— but the right 
 to hope for some form of happiness again." 
 
 Helen gravely shook her head. " You talk like a 
 pagan," she said. " All this sounds like propitiating 
 gods, and sacrificing to fate, and things of that kind. 
 The fact is. you are trusting entirely to your own judg- 
 ment in the matter, and that is strange ; for there 
 seems to me a point of conscience involved. Either 
 you have a right to a part of this fortune, or you have 
 not. If you have, why should you give it away to a 
 man who does not ask it and does not need it? While 
 if you have not a right, there would be no more to be 
 said about it; you would have the consciousness of 
 some firm ground under your feet, and no reason 
 hereafter for regret." 
 
 " Helen, you astonish me ! " said Marion, who cer- 
 tainly looked astonished at this unexpected view of the 
 case. " How on earth did you contrive to get at the 
 kernel of the thing in that manner? " 
 
 " Why, there is nothing surprising in that," 
 remarked Helen. " It is the way any Catholic would 
 look at it. Things like that never trouble us. There 
 is always a plain right or a i)lain wrong." 
 
 " And where do you find the law or rule by means 
 of which to tell what is right and what is wrong ? " 
 
 "There is no difficulty in that." was the reply. 
 *' We have certain very clear rules given us, and if 
 there is any difficulty in their application we know 
 where to go to have the difficulty solved." 
 
 "• To a priest, I suppose? " 
 
 "Yes, to a priest. You can not think that strange 
 if you remember that the priest is trained in the most 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 257 
 
 special and careful manner, as well as enlightened 
 by God, in order to enable him to deal with such 
 difficulties." 
 
 There was silence for a minute or two, while Marion, 
 leaning back in her chair, looked up at the deep-blue 
 sk}', and some golden boughs that crossed it. Pres- 
 ently she said, iu a meditative tone : — 
 
 '' There do not seem to be any difficulties to speak 
 of in this case, but I should not mind putting it before 
 some one altogether outside of it, and without an}' in- 
 terest in it. Still, I could not go to a priest, because 
 I am no Catholic." 
 
 " You are more of a Catholic than anything else," 
 said Helen. "You know that. And I think if you 
 went to Father Byrne, and put the abstract question 
 to him, he would tell you what is right." 
 
 " You forget that I have no right to go to him. It 
 would be presumption on m}' part. Why should I, 
 who do not belong to his people, trouble him with my 
 personal affairs? " 
 
 Helen smiled. "You don't know Father Bj'rne," 
 she answered. " He is always glad lo serve an}'^ one. 
 I know that, even as a friend, he would gladly advise 
 you. I will ask him, if 3'ou consent." 
 
 "Ask him what? " 
 
 "To see you and tell you what he thinks." 
 
 " Helen, yoa should not tempt me to make myself 
 a nuisance. Besides, Father Byrne does not like me, 
 and that renders me more reluctant to trouble him." 
 
 " What has put such an absurd idea into j'our head? 
 Whv sliould he not like you? " 
 
 " Why ? Ah ! who can answer such questions ? But 
 really in this case there is an eas}'^ answer. He thinks 
 
 17 
 
258 FAIl^Y GOLD. 
 
 m<i an objectionable sort of girl ; I used to see it in 
 his face when we met at your mother's house. He 
 would look at me sometimes with a mild but quite de- 
 cided disapproval when I had been saying something 
 particularly frivolous or satirical ; and 1 did not blame 
 him in the least. How could he approve of me ? You 
 are the type of girl that he approves, and he is quite 
 
 right." 
 
 " Marion, I wish you would not say such things." 
 
 " But they are true things. And, then, of course 
 he knows the story of how your engagement ended, 
 and very likely thinks me worse than I am in regard 
 to that. Then I am worldly to the tips of my fingers ; 
 I have inherited a fortune to which I have no right, 
 and — well, there is no good in going on. These are 
 quite sufficient reasons why Father Byrne does not 
 like me, and why I should not trouble him." 
 
 "All this is absolute nonsense; and I will prove 
 that it is, if you do not positively object. I will go 
 to him and ask him to see you, and you will find how 
 quickly he will say yes." 
 
 Marion laughed a little — a laugh without any mer- 
 riment, only a kind of sad self-scorn. "Upon my 
 word," she said, " I am in so weak a frame of mind 
 that a straw might influence me ; and this being so, it 
 is a comfort to trust to you, who will never lead any 
 one wrong. Go to Father Byrne, if you will; but 
 don't be surprised if he decUnes to have anything to 
 do with me." 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 IT was without the least fear of Father Byrne's 
 declining to have anything to do with Marion that 
 Helen went to him — and it was something of a 
 shock to her to find that Marion had been right in lier 
 opinion, and that he very much disapproved of and 
 distrusted that fascinating young lady. He looked 
 troubled at her request, and put out his lip in a way 
 he had when anything perplexed him. 
 
 " My dear child," he said, hesitatingly, " I really 
 don't see what I can do for your' cousin. She is not 
 a Catholic, she does not come to me for religious 
 advice ; and if she wants a worldly opinion, there are 
 many people who could give it much better and with 
 much more propriety than I." 
 
 " She does not think so, Father, and neither do I. 
 It is not merely a worldly opinion, tbough it regards 
 worldly matters ; but a point where conscience comes 
 in, and she wants to know what is right." 
 
 " But why come to me? " he asked. " Has she not 
 her own spiritual guides? " 
 
 "Marion!" said Helen. She laughed a little. 
 "I cannot fancy Marion regarding any Protestant as 
 a spiritual guide ; and since, as you say, she is not a 
 Catholic, she has none at all. But I believe that her 
 
 (259) 
 
260 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 becoming a Catholic is only a question of time, and 
 therefore she will have confidence in your opinion." 
 
 Father Byrne put out his lip still farther and shook 
 his head. "I do not know very mtich of the young 
 lady," he replied; "but from what I do know I 
 should say that her ever becoming a Catholic is more 
 than doubtful." 
 
 "I am afraid that you are prejudiced agaiust her, 
 Father," said Helen. 
 
 "I think not," he answered, gravely. "Why 
 should I be prejudiced against any one.? But I 
 should profit very little by my experience of the world 
 if I did not learn to judge character from some mani- 
 festations. I do not wish to sa}' anything severe of 
 your cousin, my child, but she has not impressed me 
 favorably. ' ' 
 
 "Poor Marion! " said Helen. " She is and always 
 has been her own worst enemy. . Nobody knows 
 her as well as I do. Father — that is, nobody except 
 Claire ; — and know how much good there really is 
 in her. All that is worse is on the surface ; and she 
 shows it so recklessly that people think there is noth- 
 ing else. But I see a great change in her of late, and 
 I think it would be well to encourage her in an3'thing 
 that draws her nearer to religious influences. There- 
 fore, if it is not asking too much of you to see her 
 and give her a little advice on this matter, which is so 
 important to her, I should be very glad." 
 
 "Should you?" asked the good priest, smiling. 
 "Well, to make you glad in such an unselfish way I 
 would do a good deal. There is really no reason 
 why I should not give Miss Lynde the counsel she 
 asks, though it is rather curious that she should seek 
 
FAIRY aOLB. 261 
 
 it from me. You can bring her to me whenever it is 
 convenient for you; and, if she does not object, I 
 should wish you to be present at the interview." 
 
 " She will not object," answered Helen ; " and it is 
 very good of you to consent. I can bring her imme- 
 diately, for I left her in the church while I came to 
 you. There is need for haste, because to-morrow 
 probably she will have to decide finally what she is 
 to do." 
 
 "Bring her, then, at once," said Father Byrne, 
 with an air of resignation. He felt, though he did 
 not say, that his own people troubled him quite suffi- 
 ciently with their personal affairs, without an outsider 
 finding it expedient to throw upon him the very per- 
 plexing burden of decision in an affair which involved 
 the interests of others. And Marion Lynde was the 
 last person with whose affairs he would have wished 
 to be concerned in the least degree. If any one 
 beside Helen had come to him in her behalf, he would 
 certainly have refused to do so ; but it was impossible 
 for him to refuse Helen. It was not only that he was 
 attached to her, as, in one degree or another, every 
 one who knew her was ; but he was specially touched 
 by her interest in and kindness to one who had cer- 
 tainly been the cause of much pain to her, if not of 
 serious injuiy. "If she had not the most generous 
 heart in the world, she would not vex herself about 
 Miss Lynde's affairs," he said to himself ; " but since 
 she does, I should not mind helping l^er a little." 
 
 So it came to pass that Helen brought Marion from 
 the church to the pastoral residence adjoining, where 
 they found Father Byrne awaiting them in the plainly- 
 furnished sitting-room, which had yet a picturesque. 
 
262 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 monastic suggestion from the religious objects that 
 were its only adornments, and its latticed windows 
 opening on depths of verdure. The priest received 
 them kindly; and then, with some inward nervous- 
 ness, though outward composure, Marion opened iier 
 subject. 
 
 " I feel that I have no right at all t:) come to you, 
 Father, and trouble you with my private matters ; but 
 perhaps your kindness will lead you to excuse me on 
 the ground that there is no one else to whom I can go. 
 I have not many friends, and among them there is not 
 one person whose judgment in this case would not 
 have an interested bias. Besides, I should like to 
 know what is the moral view of it — the really right 
 thing to do, — and you, if you will, can tell me that." 
 
 " I can give you the view wliich wouLl be presented 
 to a Catholic," said Father Byrne ; " but you will not 
 recognize anything binding in that." 
 
 " I shall be bound by whatever you tell me is 
 right," she answered, simply. " I do not seek your 
 advice without meaning to be guided by it, else there 
 w^ould be no excuse for coming to you. I beg you to 
 speak as frankly as if you were addressing a Cath- 
 olic." 
 
 "Tell me, then," he said, " exactly the point on 
 which you are in doubt." 
 
 She told him briefly, but with great clearness ; and 
 he listened attentively to all that she had to say before 
 uttering a word. Then when she paused he replied, 
 with the air of one who is accustomed to give prompt 
 decisions : — 
 
 '•From what you tell me I think there can be no 
 question but that you are clearly entitled to retain a 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 263 
 
 part of tlie fortune. Since it was the desire of the 
 testator that, under the circumstances of the supposed 
 death of his son, you should have all of it, we must 
 believe that even had he known his son to be living he 
 would not have failed to leave you a legacy, it wou'd 
 be entirely just and right, therefore, that you should 
 retain a part, while it is also light that you sh juld 
 resiffu the balk of the estate to its natural heir." 
 
 Helen directed a triumphant glance toward Marion, 
 which said, "You see how entirely Father Byrne 
 is of my opinion! " but Marion did not perceive it. 
 She was looking down with rather a disappointed air. 
 
 " I should prefer to give it all up," she said — " to 
 keep nothing." 
 
 Father Byrne spread out his hands with a gesture 
 very familiar to those who knew him well. "• There is 
 nothing to prevent that," he observed. "It would 
 not be wrong ; but, if you will permit me to say so, it 
 would be fcjolish. Why should you wish to defeat 
 entirely the kind intentions of the dead man in your 
 behalf?" 
 
 "I can hardly explain," she answered, "without 
 going into personal details, which would not interest 
 you. About the manner in which I rectived this 
 money, my conscience is clear enough ; for I did 
 nothing to induce Mr. Singleton to make such a will, 
 and no one was more surprised by it than 1. But — 
 before that — " she hesitated, paused, then with an 
 effort went on: "Everything might have been differ- 
 ent if I had acted differently at an earlier period. I 
 made a very deliberate and mercenary choice then. 
 It led to this disposition of Mr. Singleton's fortune ; 
 and now I feel that there is retribution, punishment, 
 
264 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 whatever you like to call it, in the circumstances that 
 are taking it away from me. That raake3 me reluctant 
 to keep any of it. I should feel as if I were still being 
 paid for — what I lost. I express mysslf obscurel}', 
 but I hope that you understand me." 
 
 "Yes," he replied, " I think that I do. You feel 
 as if this fortune had been bought at a certain price, 
 and therefore it has lost value in j^our ej^es. That is 
 purely a matter of feeling, with which the abstract 
 question involved has nothing to do — unless there is 
 some point on which your conscience accuses you of 
 wrono;-doinor. ' ' 
 
 She shook her head. " There is none directly 
 touching the mone3\ But, indirectly, the money was 
 the root of everything — of a choice which has brought 
 me no happiness." 
 
 " And 3'ou think, perhaps, that by resigning it j'ou 
 may recover what you have lost? " 
 
 She colored vividly. "No," she said quickly, 
 almost indignantly. " I have no thought of the 
 kind. That choice is made irrevocably. I can 
 recover nothing but my own self-respect." 
 
 Father Byrne looked a little puzzled. " I fail to 
 see," he said, " how your self-respect has been lost by 
 having a fortune left you which you declare you did 
 nothing to secure. But that is a question for j'ourself 
 alone, since it is evidently a matter of feeling. The 
 moral point I have answered to the best of m}' abilit^^" 
 
 "You think that 1 ought to retain part of this 
 fortune?" 
 
 "I cannot go so far as to say that you ought. 
 There is no moral obligation binding you to do so, as 
 far as I am aware of the circmmstances. I can only 
 
FAIIiY GOLD. 265 
 
 say that it is clearlj' right for ^-ou to do so — if you 
 think fit." 
 
 Evidently after this there was no more to lie said ; 
 and Marion rose to take leave, sa3ing a few words of 
 sincere thanks for the kindness with which he had 
 received her. " It has been very good of you to advise 
 me," she said, gratefully. " I shall never forget it." 
 
 " I only hope that the advice may be of some use 
 to you," answered Father "Byrne. "But it will be 
 better if you ask God to guide and direct you." 
 
 "Well, are j'ou satisfied?" asked Helen, when 
 they found themselves outside. " Have you decided 
 what to do.?" 
 
 " Not yet," said Marion. " I have only been told 
 what I may do, and I must take a little time to decide 
 whether or not I will do it." 
 
 ' ' Then you have really gained nothing b)' going to 
 Father Byrne," Helen continued, in a disappointed 
 tone. 
 
 " Oh, 3^es! I have gained a great deal," the other 
 said quickly. " I seem to feel mj'self standing on firm 
 ground — to know just what I ought to do and what I 
 ought not, what is permitted and what is not. The 
 question still remains, however, whether or not to do 
 what is permitted." 
 
 " I can't see that you have gained much," replied 
 Helen, with a sigh. 
 
 But Marion felt that she had gained much when she 
 faced the question alone, as all important questions 
 must at last be faced. She had been assured that 
 there was no reason why she should not retain a part 
 of the monc}' which had come into her possession ; 
 and she said to herself that even Brian Earle — indeed 
 
26G FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 Brian Earle of all men — would recognize the authority 
 of the voice which had so assured her. She need not 
 hold herself grasping and mercenary if she did this — 
 if she kept a little of the fortune that its possessor 
 had given to her in its entirety. So much, therefore, 
 was clear. But there could be no doubt that she 
 would prefer to give it all up — to close forever the 
 passage in her life which had been so bitter, and in the 
 end so humiliating ; to disprove by a magnificent act 
 of generosity all the charges of scheming which she 
 felt sure had been made against her, and to know that 
 Brian Earle would learn that none of his uncle's money 
 remained in her hands. 
 
 But if she gratified herself in this manner what was 
 before her? Not only the old dependence, but a 
 dependence which would be doubly embittered by the 
 resentment with which her relatives were sure to reo^ard 
 the step which she thought of taking. " ]My uncle 
 will never forgive me," she thought. " He will say 
 that I had no right to throw away the means to help 
 m^-self, and fall back on his already overburdened 
 hands. That is true. It will be bitter as death to do 
 so. And 3'et how can I keep this money? Oh, if I 
 only ha^l been spared the necessity of such a choice ! 
 If it was wrong to desire wealth so much, surely I am 
 punished for it, since what it has brought on me is 
 worse than the poverty from which I have escaped. 
 That, at least, was simple ; I had only to endure it. 
 But this is fraught with serious consequences, that go 
 beyond myself and touch other people. What shall I 
 do — ah ! what shall I do ? " 
 
 She was walking up and down her chamber, all alone 
 in the silence of the night. Suddenly, as she wrung 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 267 
 
 her hands with the silent force of her inward appeal, 
 Father Bj-rne's last woi'ds recurred to her memory: 
 " It will be better if you ask God to guide aud direct 
 you." She stopped short. Was there any hope 
 that God would really do this if she ventured to ask 
 Him ? It proved how much of an unconscious pagan 
 she was that such a question should have occurred to 
 her. But the imperative need at this moment for some 
 guidance, stronger even than that to which she liad 
 already appealed, seemed to answer the question. She 
 sank on her knees and lifted her heart to Him who 
 hears all petitions, begging, simply, earnestly, like a 
 child, to be directed into the course right and best to 
 pursue. 
 
 The next morning Marion's companion — a quiet, 
 elderly widow — noticed that she was more than 
 usually restless ; that she settled to no occupation, 
 but wandered from the house to the garden and back 
 again ; from room to room and window to window, as 
 if in expectation of some event. Mrs. "Winter was 
 not a person easily " fidgeted : " she bore this for some 
 time without remark, but at length she was driven to 
 say, "• You are looking for some one this morning?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Marion, promptly. " I am looking 
 for two people, and I have very important business to 
 settle when they come. That makes me a little rest- 
 less. I wish it were over." Then she laughed a 
 little. " It is not every day, however, that one has a 
 chance to see a dead man," she said. '' That should 
 prove interesting." 
 
 Mrs. Winter looked startled. " A dead man! " she 
 repeated. ' ' How — what do 3'ou mean ? ' ' 
 
 I mean," replied Marion, calmly, "that it is a 
 
 i( 
 
'jG5 faiby gold. 
 
 case of the dead alive. You have not heard, then? 
 If you went out into Scarborough, I fancy you would 
 hear very quickl3\ Mr. Singleton's son, who was 
 supposed to be dead, has proved to be very much 
 alive, and I am expecting a visit from him to-day," 
 
 " My dear Miss Lynde! " — the good woman fairly 
 gasped — "what a piece of news! And how quietly 
 you take it! Mr. Singleton's son alive! Good 
 Heavens! lu that case, who will have the prop- 
 erty?" 
 
 " That is what we are going to settle," said Marion. 
 " It strikes me that a son should inherit his father's 
 estate ; do you not think so? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Mrs. Winter, more than 
 ever confounded by this cool inquiry. " Usually — 
 oh! yes, I suppose so," she added after a minute. 
 " But in this case — the young man was so wild that 
 his father cast him off, did he not? " 
 
 " I never heard the story clearly from any one who 
 had authority to tell it," answered Marion. "I do 
 not kufjw what occurred between father and son, but 
 I am quite sure that Mr. Singleton beheved his son to 
 be dead when he made the will in which he left me his 
 fortune." 
 
 " Then, my dear, if I may ask, what do you mean 
 to do?" 
 
 "What is right and honest," said Marion, with 
 a faint smile. "Wish me courage, for there is the 
 door-bell! " 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE first thing of which Marion was conscious 
 when she entered the drawing-room was that 
 a pair of bold, bright and keen dark e\'es 
 "were instantly fastened on her. The owner of these 
 eyes was a tall and ver}^ striking-looking man, w^hose 
 origiaall}'- brunette skin was so deeply bronzed by 
 exposure to a tropical sun that he scarcely had the 
 appearance of a white man at all ; but whose clear-cut 
 features at once recalled those of old Mr. Singleton, 
 whose whole aspect was so unusual and so remarkably 
 handsome that it would have been impossible for him 
 either to personate or be mistaken for any one else. 
 Marion recognized this even while Mr. Tom Singleton 
 was in the act of stepping forward to take her hand, 
 and said to herself that no one who had ever seen this 
 man once could doubt whether or not he was the per- 
 son he assumed to be. 
 
 " IIow do you do this morning. Miss Lvnde? " said 
 Mr. Singleton, wlio tried to conceal a certain awkward- 
 ness under more than his usual geniality of manner. 
 "I hope we have not disturbed you too early, but I 
 had your permission to present m}' cousin, Mr. George 
 Singleton. 
 
 "Not my permission onh', but my request," 
 
 (2G9) 
 
270 FAIEY OOLD. 
 
 ol)served Marion, looking at 1he tall, handsome 
 stranger, who bowed. "lam very glad to see Mr. 
 George Singleton — at last." 
 
 "You are very good to say so," replied that gen- 
 tleman, easily. " I assure you that, so far from 
 expecting you to be glad to see me, I feel as apolo- 
 getic as possible about my existence. Pray believe. 
 Miss Lynde, that I mean to give you as little trouble 
 as possible. I have no doubt we can soon arrive at 
 an amicable arrangement." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," said Marion, calmly. 
 " But you will allow me to say how sorry I am ihat 
 any arrangement should be necessary, — that your 
 father was not aware of your existence when he made 
 his will." 
 
 Mr. George Singleton shrugged his shoulders. '■ I 
 am by no means certain that my father believed me to 
 be dead," he answered. " At least he had no special 
 reason for such a belief. He had indeed not heard 
 from or of me in a long time, because that was thor- 
 oughly settled when we parted. I threw off his con- 
 trol, and he washed his hands of me. But I hardly 
 thought he would ignore me completely in his will. 
 No doubt he had a right to do so, for I had ignored 
 every duty of a son ; but he should have remembered 
 that he also had something to answer for in our 
 estrangement. However, that is neither liere nor 
 thei'e. What I mean to say is that the consciousm ss 
 of my sliortcomings will make me easy to deal with ; 
 for I feel that m}' father was in great measure justified 
 when he selected another heir." 
 
 This cool, careless frankness was so ufiexpected 
 that for a moment Marion could only look at the 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 271 
 
 speaker with a sense of surprise. He was so totally 
 unlike what she had imagined ! His bold, bright glance 
 met hei's, and, as if divining her thoughts, he smiled. 
 
 "Don't expect me to be like other people. Miss 
 Lynde," he continued. " Tom here will tell you that 
 I never was. Even as a boy I was alwaj s a law unto 
 myself — a wild creature whom nothing could tame or 
 restrain. Perhaps it is because I am still something 
 of a wild man that I see no reason why we should not 
 discuss and settle this business between us in a friendly 
 manner. I have only the most friendly sentiments for 
 you, being aware that my coming to life is rather hard 
 lines for you." 
 
 Marion could not but respond to his smile and what . 
 seemed to be the genuine though somewhat blunt 
 friendliness of his manner. Yet when she spoke her 
 tone was slightly haughty. 
 
 " Pray do not thiiik of me," she said. " The fact . 
 that your father left his fortune to me was the great- 
 est surprise of my life, — a surprise from which I have 
 hardly yet recovered. Naturally, therefore, it will be 
 no great hardship to give it up." 
 
 " But I don't ask you to give it up," replied the 
 tall, dark man, hastil}'. " There is enough to divide, 
 and I assure you I am not a grasping fellow. Ask 
 Tom if I am." 
 
 Mr. Tom Singleton smiled. "If so," he observed, 
 " you must have changed very much." 
 
 "I haven't changed a particle. 1 did not give a 
 thought to my father's fortune when I left him: I 
 was thinking only of freedom, of escape from irksome 
 control. And I hardl}'^ gave it a thought during the 
 years that I have been. out yonder, thoroughly satis- • 
 
272 FAIIiY GOLD. 
 
 fiecl with my own mode of life. I should not be here 
 now but for the fact that a lawyeV — what is his 
 name? — took the trouble to write and inform me 
 that my father was dead and I disinherited. Nat- 
 urally one does not like to be ignored in that way ; 
 so I replied, directing him to contest the will. But 
 since I have come, heard the circumstancrs of the 
 case, and — and seen you, Miss Lynde, T perceive no 
 reason for any such contest. We'll settle ihe matter 
 more simply, if ^ ou say so." 
 
 "Seen you J.Iiss Lynde!" It sounded simple 
 enough, but the eyes of this wild man, as he called 
 himself, emphasized the statement so that Marion 
 could not doubt that her beaut3' might again secure 
 for her an easy victory — if she cared frr it. But she 
 did not suffer this consciousness to appear in her 
 manner or her voice as she re|)lied : — 
 
 " \Ve can settle it very sim[)lv, Illiink. Shall we now 
 put aside the pi'eliminaries and proceed 1o bu-iness? " 
 
 " Immediately^, if you desire," answered Mr. Sin- 
 gleton. He bent forward sHgiitly, pulling his long, 
 dark moustache with a muscular, sunburned hand, 
 while his brilliant gaze never wavered from Marion's 
 face. His cousin also looked at her, apj)rehensively 
 as it seemed, and gave a nervous cough. She met 
 li's e3'e3 for an instant and smiled gravely, then turned 
 her glance back to the other man. 
 
 " I am very sure, Mr. Singleton," she said, " that 
 your father must have left his fortune to me under a 
 wrong impression of your death. If this were not so 
 he certainly h ft it under a false impression of my 
 character. To retain nionev of which the rightful 
 heir is living, is something of which I could never be 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 2/3 
 
 guilt}' if evei\v court of law in the laud declared that 
 the will should stand. Your father's fortune, then, is 
 3'ours, and I will immediately take steps to resign all 
 claim of mine upon it." 
 
 "But I have not asked you to resign more than 
 a portion of it," answered Singleton, impetuously. 
 "It is right enough that 3'ou should have half, since 
 my father gave you the whole." 
 
 "You are very generous," she said, with a proud 
 gentleness of tone: " l)ut it is quite impossible for 
 me to keep the half of your fortune. Your father 
 would never have left it to me but for circumstances 
 which need not be entered into — he wished to punish 
 some one else. But he could never have wished to 
 disinherit his son. I am certain of that. He liked 
 me, however — I think I may say as much as that ; 
 he was very kind to me, and I believe that even if he 
 had known of your existence he might have remem- 
 bered me with a legacy ; do you not think ^o"^ " She 
 turned, as she uttered the last words, to Mr. Tom 
 Singleton. 
 
 " I am sure of it," replied that gentleman. 
 
 " Believing this, I am willing to take what he would 
 have been likely to give. It is rather difficult, of 
 course, to conjecture what the exact amount would 
 have been, but it seems to me that he would probably 
 have left me about ten thousand dollars." 
 
 Both men uttered a sharp exclamation. " Absurd ! 
 You must certainly take more than that," said George 
 Singleton. 
 
 " Eemember that you are giving up half a million," 
 remarked his cousin. 
 
 But Marion shook her head. " It is with extreme 
 
 18 
 
274 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 reluctance," she said, " that I have decided to take 
 anvthinff. Mr. Sinaleton is aware that my intention 
 yesterday was to keep nothing, bnt 1 have been ad- 
 vised to the contrary by one whose opinion I respect ; 
 and so I have determined to take what I think your 
 father, under ordinary circumstances, might have 
 given one with no claim upon him, but in whom he had 
 taken an interest." 
 
 " But why should you fix upon such a paltry sum ? " 
 demanded George Singleton. " There was nothing 
 niggardly about my father. He was cold and hard as 
 an icicle, but he alwaj's gave like a prince." 
 
 " That would have been a very generous bequest to 
 one who had touched his life as slight!}' as I had," 
 remarked Marion, " and who had no claim upon him 
 whatever — ' ' 
 
 " He calls you his adopted daughter in his will." 
 
 " He was very good to me," she replied, simply, 
 while tears came to her eyes. '• But I think he only 
 said that to make such a disposition of his fortune 
 seem more reasonable. Your cousin here has perhaps 
 told you, or at least he can tell you, all the circum- 
 stances — how 3'our father was disappointed in some 
 one else on whom he had set his heart." 
 
 " Brian Earle," said George Singleton, carelessly. 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 " Well, he thought that I had been disappointed 
 too ; and so — partly from a generous impulse to atone 
 for the disappointment, and partly from a desire to 
 punish one who had greatly angered him — he made 
 me his heir. But it was all an accident, a caprice, if 
 I may say so ; and if he had lived longer he would 
 have undone it, no doubt." 
 
FAIBY GOLD. ■ 275 
 
 (C 
 
 You did not know my father if you think so," 
 said the son, quietl}'. " lie had caprices perhaps, but 
 they hardened into resolutions that never changed. 
 Who should know that better than I? No, no. Miss 
 Lyndo, this will never do! I can not take a fortune 
 from your hands without litigation or any difficulty 
 whatever, and leave you only a pallry ten thousand 
 dollars. It is simply impossible." 
 
 "It is altogether impossible that I can retain any 
 more," answered Marion. " As I have already said, 
 I would prefer to retain none at all ; and if I consent 
 to keep anything, it can only be such a moderate 
 legacy as might have been left me." 
 
 "As would never have been left 3'ou! My father 
 was not a man to do things in that manner. What 
 was your legacy, Tom ? ' ' 
 
 "P'ifty thousand dollars," replied Mr. Tom Singleton. 
 
 " Something like that I might agree to. Miss Lynde, 
 if you will insist on the legacy view of the matter ; but 
 I should much ju'efer to simply divide the fortune." 
 
 " You are certainly your father's son in generosity, 
 Mr. Singleton," said Marion. " But believe me you 
 are wasting words. My resolution is finally taken. I 
 shall make over your fortune to you, retaining only 
 ten thousand dollars for mj'self . That is settled." 
 
 It was natural, however, that neither of the two 
 men would accept this settlement of the case. Both 
 declared it was manifestly unjust, and each exhausted 
 his powers of argument and pei'suasion in trying to 
 move Marion. It was a singular battle ; a singular 
 turn in an altogether singular affair ; — and when at last 
 they were forced to go without having altered her 
 resolution, they looked at each other with a sense of 
 
276 FAIliY GOLD. 
 
 baffled defeat, which presently made George Singleton 
 burst into a laugh. 
 
 "By Jove! " he said, " this is a reversal of the 
 usual order of things. To think of a disinherited man, 
 instead of having to fight for his rights, being forced to 
 beg and pray that his supplanter will keep a fair share 
 of the inheritance ! What makes the girl so obstinate? 
 Has she money besides? " 
 
 " I don't believe that slie has a sixpence," replied 
 his cousin. 
 
 " Then what on earth, in the name of all that is 
 wonderful, is the meaning of it? She does not look 
 like a fool." 
 
 Mr. Singleton laughed. " Miss Lynde," he said, 
 •' is about as far from being a fool as it is possible to 
 imagine. We all thought her at first ver}' shrewd and 
 scheming, and there is no doubt but that she might have 
 wound your father round her finger without any trouble 
 at all. She is just the kind of a person he liked best : 
 beautiful, clever — 7ie never fancied fools, you know, — 
 and she charmed him, without any apparent effort, from 
 the first. But if she schemed for any share of his 
 fortune it was in a very subtle way — " 
 
 "In the light of her conduct now, I don't see how 
 it is possible to believe that she ever schemed at all," 
 interposed the other. 
 
 " 1 d07iH believe it," said Tom Singleton ; " although 
 the fact remains that, in choosing between Brian and 
 his uncle, she stood by the latter." 
 
 "There might have been other than mercenary 
 considerations for that. I can't imagine that this 
 splendid creature ever cared about marrying Brian." 
 
 Mr. Singleton did not commit himself to an opinion 
 
FAIET GOLD. 277 
 
 ou that point. He said, diplomatically: " It is hard 
 to tell what a womau does care to do iu such a case, 
 and Miss Lynde by no means wears her heart on her 
 s'eeve. Well, the long and short of the matter was 
 that Brian obstinately went away, and that your father 
 made this girl his heir — for the very reasons she has 
 given, I have no doubt. She was most genuinely aston- 
 ished when I told her the news, and my belief that 
 she had ever schemed for such a result was shaken 
 then. But from something she said to me yesterday 
 I think she is afraid that such a belief lingers in peo- 
 ple's minds, and she is determined to disprove it as 
 completel}^ as possible. Hence her quixotic conduct. 
 I can explain it in no other way." 
 
 " She is a queer girl," observed George Singlef^on, 
 meditatively ; " and so handsome that I don't wonder 
 she knocked .over my father — who was always a wor- 
 shiper of beauty, — and even that solemn prig, Mr. 
 Brian Earle, without loss of time." 
 
 " She knocked over another man herein Scarbor- 
 ough, who has a hand in her affairs at present," said 
 Mr. Singleton, signiQcantly. " Did it ever occur to 3'ou 
 to wonder why that fellow Rathborne should have 
 interested himself to look you up and notify you of 
 your lost inheritance? " 
 
 " Why should I wonder over an3^thing so simiile? 
 Self-interest prompted him, of course. If there had 
 been a contest over the will, he might have pocketed 
 a considerable slice of the fortune." 
 
 " Well, I suppose that influenced him ; but his chief 
 reason was a desire to do Miss Lynde an ill turn, and 
 so revenge himself for her having trifled with his 
 feelings." 
 
278 FAIBY GOLD 
 
 " You are sure of this? " asked George Singleton, 
 with a quick look out of his dark, flashing eyes. 
 
 "Perfectly sure. Everyone in Scarliorough knows 
 the circumstances. He considered himself very badly 
 used, I believe — chiefly because he was engaged to 
 Miss Lynde's cousin ; and the latter, who is some- 
 thing of an heiress, broke the engagement. He fell 
 between two stools, and has never forgiven her who 
 was the cause of the fall." 
 
 "The wretched cad!" said George Singleton, 
 emphatically. "As if anything that a woman could 
 do to a man would justify him iu such cowardly 
 retaliation! I am glad you told me this. I will end 
 my association with him as soon as may be, and let 
 him know at the same time my opinion of him — and 
 of Miss Lynde." 
 
 "Do be cautious, George. I shall be. sorry I told 
 you the storj' if you go out of your way to insult the 
 man in consequence. No doubt he ivas badly used." 
 
 The other laughed scornfully. " As if that would 
 excuse him! But I don't believe a word of it. That 
 ffirl is too proud ever to have taken the trouble to use 
 him badly. But a man might lose his head just by 
 looking at her. What a beauty she is ! " 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 AND now the question is — what am I to do?" 
 It was Marion who asked herself tliis, after 
 the departure of the law3'er, who, with some 
 remonstrance, had taken her instructions for drawing 
 up the necessary papers to transfer to George Singleton 
 his father's fortune. It was not with regard to the act 
 itself that the lawyer remonstrated — that he thought 
 just and wise enough, — but with regard to the sum 
 which the heiress of the whole announced her intention 
 of retaining. 
 
 "You might just as well keep fifty or a hundred 
 thousand dollars," he declared. " Mr. Singleton is 
 willing to relinquish even so much as half of the fort- 
 une ; and it is absolute folly — if you will excuse me — 
 for you to throw away a comfortable independence, 
 and retain only a sum which is paltry in comparison 
 to the amount of the fortune, and to your needs of 
 life." 
 
 "You must allow me to be the best judge of that," 
 Blarion replied, firmly. 
 
 And, as she held inflexibly to her resolution, the lawyer 
 finally went awaj^ with the same baffled feeling that the 
 Singleton cousins had experienced. " What fools 
 women are when it comes to the practical concerns of 
 life! " he said, from the depths of his masculine scorn. 
 
 (279) 
 
280 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 " They are always in one extreme or the other. Here 
 is this girl, who, from what I hear, must have been 
 -willing to do anything to secure the fortune, now 
 throws it away for a whim without reason ! " 
 
 Meanwhile Marion, left face to face, as it were, with 
 her accomplished resolve, said to herself, " What am 
 I to do now? " 
 
 It was certainly a necessary question. To remain 
 where she was, living with the state of Mr. Singleton's 
 heiress, was impossible ; to go to her uncle, who would 
 be incensed against her on account of the step she had 
 taken, was equally impossible ; to stay with Helen, 
 however much Helen in her kindness might desire it, 
 was out of the question. Where, then, could she 
 20? — where should she turn to find a friend? 
 
 Marion was pacing up and down the long drawing- 
 room as she revolved these thoughts in her mind, when 
 her attention was attracted by her own reflection in a 
 mirror which hung at the end of the apartment. She 
 paused and stood looking at it, while a faint, bitter 
 smile gathered on her lip. Her beauty was as striking, 
 as indisputable as ever ; but what had it gained for 
 her — this talisman by which she had confidently 
 hoped to win from the world all that she desired? 
 " I have been a fool! " she said, with sudden humilit3^ 
 " And now — what remains to me now? " 
 
 It almost seemed as if it was in answer to the ques- 
 tion that a servant at this moment entered, bringing 
 the morning mail. Marion turned over carelessl^'^ two 
 or three papers and letters, and then suddenly felt a 
 thrill of pleasure when she saw a foreign stamp and 
 Claire's famihar handwriting. She threw herself into 
 a chair and opened the letter. 
 
FAIBT GOLD. 281 
 
 *It was dated from Rome. " I am at last in the city 
 of my dreams and of my heart," wrote Claire; 
 "pleasantly settled in an apartment with my kind 
 friend Mrs. Kerr, who knows Rome so well that she 
 proves invaluable as a cicerone. Alread}' I, too, feel 
 familiar with this wonderful, this Eternal City; and its 
 spell grows upon me daj' by day. Now that you have 
 gained your fairy fortune, dear Marion, whj"- should 
 3'ou not come and join me here .'' I have thought of it 
 so mucli of late that it seems to me like an inspiration, 
 and I can perceive no possible reason why you should 
 not come. Pray do. It would make me so happy to 
 see 3"ou, and I am sure you would enjoj?^ man}^ things 
 which form part of our life here. Having lived abroad 
 many years with her husband (who was an artist), 
 Mrs. Kerr has a large cosmopolitan acquaintance, and 
 her salon is constantly filled with pleasant and inter- 
 esting people. Come,— Max'ion, come! I find every 
 reason why you should, and none why you should not. 
 Have I not heard you say a thousand times that 3'ou 
 wanted to see this world, and do not I want to see you 
 and hear all about the magical change that so short a 
 time has made in j'our fortunes? Write, then, and 
 tell me that 3'ou will come. Helen has had you for 
 months, and it is m3' turn now." 
 
 " Ah, how little she knows! " Marion thought with 
 a pang as she read the last words. The letter dropped 
 from her hand into her lap ; she felt as if she hardly 
 cared to read further. Would Claire desire to see her 
 if she knew the story of all that had happened since 
 they parted? There was no one else in the world from 
 whose judgment Marion shrank so much, and 3'et this 
 summons seemed to her more of a command than an 
 
282 FAUiY GOLD. 
 
 invitation. It came as an answer to her doubts and 
 indecision. " "What shall I do? — where shall I go? " 
 she bad asked herself. "Come to me," Claire answered 
 from across the sea ; and it seemed to her that she had 
 no alternative hut to obe}^ — to go, even though it were 
 to meet Claire's condemnation. 
 
 That condemnation would be gentle, she knew, 
 though perhaps unsparing. Helen's affection had 
 indeed returned to her in a degree she cr)uld never have 
 expected ; but it is impossible that the stronger nature 
 can de[)end upon t!ie weaker, and she knew it was for 
 Claire's unswerving standaids and Cl.-dre's clear judg- 
 ments her heart most strongly yearned. 
 
 So the way opened before her, and when she saw 
 Helen next she announced her intention of going 
 abroad to join Claire. " It seems the best— in fact, 
 it is the only thing I cnn do,'" she said. " And Claire 
 is good enough to want me. She fancies nie still in 
 possession of what she calls nn^ fairy fortune — not 
 knowing how fairy-like indeed it has proved, — and 
 writes as if expense would lie no consideration with me. 
 But a mode of life which is not too ex[)ensive fur her 
 surely will not be too expensive for me with my ten 
 thousand dollars. So I shall go. " 
 
 " I snppose it is best," said Helen, wistfully ; " and 
 if it were not for mamma I would go with you." 
 
 The tone was a revelation to Marion of all that the 
 tender, submissive heart was suffering still. " Why 
 should your mother object?" she jisked, quickly. 
 "Come, Helen — come with me; and when we find 
 Claire, let us try to forget everything, but the pleasure 
 of being together again." 
 
 "I should like it," replied Helen, " but it is not 
 
FAinY GOLD. 283 
 
 possible. I know how long mamma has looked for- 
 ward to the pleasure of having me with her, and I can 
 not go away now for my own selfish satisfaction, leav- 
 ing her alone. Besides, I doubt if running away from 
 painful tilings does much good. It is better to face 
 them and grow resigned to them, with the btlp of 
 God." 
 
 " I am sure that God must help you," cried Marion, 
 " else you could never learn so many wise and hard 
 things." 
 
 Helen looked at her with a little surprise in her clear 
 blue eyes. "Of course lie helps me," she answered. 
 " When does He not help those who ask Him? " 
 
 "• O Helen! if I only had your faith! " exclaimed 
 Marion, with positive pain in her voice. " How easy 
 it would make things ! " 
 
 "Yes," replied Helen, with her sweet smile, "it 
 does make things easy." 
 
 But before Marion could complete her preparations 
 for departure, she was obliged to see Mr. George Sin- 
 gleton again and yet again. He came in the first place 
 to remonstrate forcibly against her intentions with 
 regard to the fortune, and found her society sufficiently 
 attractive to induce him to pay inordinately long visits 
 after he had discovered that his remonstrances were 
 vain, " He is certainly very unconventional," Marion 
 observed after one of these visits. " He does not 
 strike one so much as violating social usage, as being 
 ignorant of and holding it in contempt. In essential 
 things he is a gentleman ; but that his father — one of 
 the most refined and fastidious of men — should have 
 had a son who is half a savage, strikes me as very 
 strange." 
 
284 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 Young Singleton did not hesitate to speak of him- 
 self as altogether a savage, and to declare that the 
 strain of wild lawlessness in his nature had brought 
 about the estrangement between his father and him- 
 self. " Of course I am sorry for it all now," he said 
 frankl}^ to IMarion ; " but I don't see how it could have 
 been avoided, we were so radically different in dispo- 
 sition and tastes. M3' father was a man to whom the 
 conventionalties of life were of first importance, who 
 held social laws and usages as more binding than 
 the Decalogue ; while I — well, a gypsy has as much 
 regard for either as I had. I irritated and outraged 
 liirii even when I had least intention of doing so ; and 
 he, in turn, roused all the spirit of opposition in me. 
 I do not defend my conduct, but I think I mny hon- 
 estly say that he had something for which to blame 
 himself. We were miserable together, and it ended 
 as you know. He said when we parted that he had no 
 longer a son, and I took him at his word — perhaps 
 too hterally. And that being so, Miss Lynde — his 
 renunciation of me having been complete, and my 
 acceptance of it complete also, — I really do not think 
 that 1 have a right to come and take all his fortune " 
 
 " I am sorry if 30U have scruples on the subject, 
 Mr. Singleton," Marion answered, quietly. " They 
 ought to have occurred to you before you moved in the 
 matter ; now they are too late. I can not possibly 
 accept the odium of holding a man's fortune when his 
 own son is alive and has claimed it. ' 
 
 " But you know that I have always said I should be 
 satisfied with part — " 
 
 Marion lifted her hand with a silencing gesture. 
 " I know," she said, " that the affair is finally settled. 
 
FAIHY GOLD. 285 
 
 and not to be discussed any more. I am satisfied, and 
 that ought to satisfy you. Now let us talk of some- 
 thing else. Are you aware that I am going abroad.? " 
 
 "No," he replied, quickly, with a startled look. 
 " Where are j^ou going? " 
 
 " To Rome. I have a friend who is at present living 
 there, and I am going to join her." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 The point blank question was so much in character 
 with the speaker that Marion smiled. 
 
 " Why? " she repeated. " Well, I have nothing to 
 keep me in this country, I am fond of my friend, and 
 I wish to see the world — are not those reasons 
 enough ? ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps so," he answered. He was silent for a 
 moment, staring at her with his large, dark, brilliant 
 eyes in a manner which tried even her self-possession. 
 Then lie asked, abruptly: " Wheu are j-ou going?" 
 
 "As soon as I can arrange my affairs. That sounds 
 like a jest, but it is not : I really have some affairs to 
 arrange. They will not occupy me very long, how- 
 ever. I shall probably leave in a week or ten days." 
 
 "Oh — I thought you might be going to-morrow!" 
 said Mr. Singleton, with an air of relief. 
 
 After that he was a daily visitor, — such an open, 
 persistent, long-staying visitor, that all Scarborough 
 was soon on tii>toe of expectation. What did it 
 mean? What would be the end of this sensational 
 affair? Would the legitimate heir of the fortune 
 marry the girl who bad given it up without a contest? 
 People began to say that Miss Lynde had been shrewd, 
 and had known very well all the time what she was 
 about. 
 
^■-(> FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 Miss Lyncle, on her part, felt as if she would never 
 reach the end of the difficulties which seemed to evolve 
 out of one another, according to a process of evolution 
 with which we are all familiar. Had her passionate 
 desire for wealth created a sort of moral Frankenstein, 
 which would continue to pursue her? When, after a 
 struggle known only to herself, she had decided to 
 resign the fortune, she had thought that she cast away 
 all perplexities arising out of it ; but now it appeared 
 that she had resigned only the money, and that the diffi- 
 culties and perplexities remained. For, as clearly as 
 any one else, she perceived — what indeed George 
 Singleton made no effort to conceal — the object of his 
 constant and assiduous attentions. The fortune she 
 had given up was to be offered her again: she would 
 again be forced to make a difficult choice. 
 
 For all that has been written of Marion Lynde has 
 been written to little purpose if any one imagines that 
 wealth had lost its glamour in her eyes, or that her old 
 ambitions were dead within her. They had been for 
 a time subdued, — for a time she had realized that one 
 might be crushed by the weight of a granted prayer ; 
 but the old desires and the old attraction still remained 
 strong enough to prove a potent force in the hour of 
 temptation. 
 
 And she began to feel that it might be a temptation 
 to regain in the most entire manner the fortune she 
 had resigned ; to cast one glance of triumphant scora 
 at Eatbborne, who had fancied himself scheming for 
 her downfall; to receive Mrs. Singleton's cousinly 
 congratulations ; and, above all, to prove to Briaa 
 Earle how easily she could console herself for his 
 desertion — how readily another man offered the 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 287 
 
 horaaf^e he had wilbdrawn. Yes, all these things 
 were temptations; for tlie sway of the world, of 
 naturtil inclinations and passions, was still strong in 
 this soul, which had leaned toward higher thirgs 
 without embracing them. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 MARION did not in the least relax her prepa- 
 rations for departure, and she gave no sign 
 to Mr. Singleton of perceiving the end which 
 he had in view. Thej^ progressed very far toward 
 intimacy in the course of their long interviews ; but 
 it was an intimacy which Marion regulated, and to 
 which she gave its tone, preserving without difficulty 
 command of the situation. Yet even while she com- 
 manded it, an instinct told her that the hour would 
 come very soon when this man would assert himself ; 
 when her time of control would be over, and the feel- 
 ing that betrayed itself in his eyes and voice would 
 find expression in a manner beyond her power to regu- 
 late. Nevertheless, she was hardly prepared for the 
 declaration when it came one da}', abruptly and with- 
 out anticipation on her part. 
 
 "I think, Miss Lynde," said Singleton, " that it is 
 time you and I understood each other — or, at least, 
 that I understood yon; for I am pretty sure that you 
 understand me thoroughly. You know perfectly well 
 that I am in love with 3'ou. Do you intend to marry 
 me?" 
 
 "Mr. Singleton! " exclaimed Marion, startled and 
 considerabh' discomposed. "Do I intend — " she 
 (288) 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 289 
 
 repeated. " How could I possibl}^ have any intention 
 in — in such a matter? That is a very extraordinary 
 way of speaking." 
 
 " Is it? " said Singleton. " But you do not expect 
 an ordinary way of spealcing from me ; for do you not 
 make me understand every day how much of a savage 
 I am? What can I do except ask your intentions? 
 For you cannot say that you do not know I am in your 
 hands to be dealt with as you like." 
 
 " I know nothing of the kind," she answered, 
 hastily. " Why should I know it? I have been glad 
 that we should be friends, but beyond that — " 
 
 "Do not talk nonsense! " he interr'upted, somewhat 
 roughly. " You are too clever a woman not to have 
 been aware from the first that there was no friendsliii) 
 about it. As soon as I saw you, I made up my mind 
 that 1 would marry you if you would agree to it. And 
 why should you not agree ? It will settle all difficulties 
 about the fortune, and I am not really a bad fellow at 
 heart. I assure you of that " 
 
 " I think I know very well what kind of fellow you 
 are," said Marion, smiling in spite of herself. " Cer- 
 tainly not' one who is formed on a very conventional 
 model. I like you very much — I am sure you know 
 that, — but I have no intention of marrying you." 
 
 It cost her something of an effort to say this — to 
 put away, finally as it were, the glittering prize that 
 life had cast in her way. But, thus brought face to 
 face with the necessity for decision, she found that no 
 other answer was possible to her. Yet the form of 
 words that she chose did not convey her meaning in an 
 unalterable sense to the man Avatching her with such 
 keen, brilliant e3-es. 
 
 19 
 
290 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 "You have no intention of marrying me!" he 
 repeated. " Does that mean that you will not form 
 any such intention — that you will not take the subject 
 into consideration? " 
 
 "There is no reason why I should," she replied. 
 " It is best that you should think no more of it." 
 
 " I can not agree to that," he said. " On the con- 
 trary, it seems to me best, from every point of view, 
 that I should continue to think of it, and endeavor lo 
 1 ring it to pass. I warn you that I am not a man who 
 is easily daunted. Unless you intend to marry some 
 one else, I sliall continue my efforts to induce you to 
 marry me." 
 
 " Not if I tell } ou there is no use in such efforts? " 
 said JNIarion. 
 
 " You can not possibly tell whether thfre would be 
 u^e in them or not," he persisted, "unless you are 
 decided with regard to some other man. If so, I hope 
 you will tell me." 
 
 '•'Iliert! is no other man in question," she said, 
 cold y. ' 1 may surely be supposed to know my own 
 mind without 'leing bound to any one." 
 
 " And I laiow mine," he replied, " so positively 
 that, until you are bo..nd to some one else, I shall not 
 rehnqiiish the hope of inducing you to marry me. I 
 give >ou fair w^arning of that." 
 
 " Really, JNlr. Singleton," said Marion, who hardly 
 knew whe her to be vexed or amused, " you are a very 
 siagulai' person. Are \o\x. not aware that a man must 
 al'ide b}'^ tlie woman's decision in such a matter as 
 this?" 
 
 "I am not so uncivilized as you imagine," he 
 answered. " Of course I know it. But everywhere 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 201 
 
 and always he has the right of endeavoring to change 
 that decision if he can. And I have a double n ason 
 for desiring to change yours. I not only "want lo 
 marry you, but I also want you to have your share of 
 my fortune " 
 
 " I have no sliare in it," she said, haughtily — for 
 surely such a pei'sistent suitor as this promised to be 
 very troublesome ; — " you know that well, and you 
 know also that I have forbidden you to speak of it 
 to me." 
 
 " Henceforth I will endeavor to obey 3'ou," he 
 answered, with the coui'tesy which now and then con- 
 trasted oddly with the usual abruptness of his manner. 
 " But 3 ou can not forbid me to think of it — nor of 
 you." 
 
 " I hope," she said, " that when I go away you will 
 very soon cease to think of me." 
 
 He smiled. "Do you think," he asked, " that I 
 shall not follow you? The way to Europe is as open 
 lo me as to you." 
 
 '• But if 1 forbid it?" she cried, with asuddeu sense 
 of dismay. 
 
 "You have no right to forbid it," he answered, 
 quietly. " I have no intention of accompanying you, 
 and 1 have surely been guilty of nothing which could 
 lead 5^ou to dis wn my acquaintance should we me* t 
 in Rome or elsewhere." 
 
 Mai ion fancied that after his declaration, and the 
 refusal with which it had been met, George Singleton 
 would leave Scarborough, since he had certainly no 
 business to detain him there. But that gentleman 
 proved himself to be of another opinion. He not 
 only remained in Scarborough, but he c(mtinued his 
 
292 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 visits with the same regularity which had characterized 
 them before. Partl}^ vexed, partly amused, Marion, 
 nevertheless, took precautions to guard against any 
 embarrassing renewal of his suit. She ceased to re- 
 ceive him alone, and whenever it was possible she 
 turned him over to Helen for entertainment. To this 
 he apparently did not object in the least. He had 
 hardlj^ met Miss Morley before, and her soft gentle- 
 ness charmed him. It was the tyY)e of womanhood 
 best suited to his own passionate, impulsive nature ; 
 and he yielded to its influence with an abandon that 
 surprised himself. 
 
 '• You have no idea what an effect j^ou have upon 
 me," he said to her on one occasion. " When I come 
 into your presence I am like a cat that is smoothed the 
 right way — you put me into harmony and accord with 
 all the world." 
 
 It was impossible not to laugh at the frankness of 
 this assertion, as well as the homeliness of the com- 
 parison. " I am very glad lo hear that my presence 
 has a good effect upon j'ou," said Helen; " although 
 I do not know why it should be so." 
 
 " I suppose some people would call it magnetism," 
 he answered ; " but I think it is simply owing to the 
 fact that your nature is so placid and gentle that you 
 exercise a calming influence upon the passions of 
 others." 
 
 " My nature is not so placid and gentle as j'ou 
 imagine, perhaps," she said, with something of a 
 shadow stealing over her face. "I have passions too." 
 
 "Have you?" he asked, rather incredulous^. 
 " Well, if so they must be of a very mild order, or 
 else 3'ou understand managing them in a wonderful 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 293 
 
 manner. I wish you would teach me how to manage 
 mine." 
 
 She looked at him with her blue eyes, and shook her 
 head. " I am afraid you would not care to learn the 
 only thing that I could teach," she said. 
 
 " "Why not? I think that I should like to learn 
 anj'thing that you would teach." 
 
 "Perhaps, then, if our acquaintance lasts long 
 enough, I may take you at your word some day," she 
 replied, smiling. 
 
 In saying this she thought herself very safe ; for 
 she had little idea that their association would outlast 
 the day on which Marion left Scarborough. She knew 
 that the latter had been offered the opportunity of 
 regaining her lost fortune in the most legitimate and 
 satisfactory way, and had little doubt but that the 
 matter would end by her accepting George Singleton. 
 
 " For Marion was never meant to be poor," she 
 said to herself ; ' ' and he really seems to have a great 
 deal of good in him — much more than one could have 
 fancied. And be takes her treatment of him very 
 nicely. It is kind of him to seem to like my society, 
 instead of finding me a dreadful bore." 
 
 She said as much as this to Marion, who laughed. 
 " There is very good reason for his not finding you a 
 bore," Marion replied. "He enjoys your society 
 much more than mine — it suits him better. I can 
 see that very plainly. In fact, the thing is, that he 
 and I are too much alike to assimilate well. We are 
 both too fiery, too impulsive in our natures and strong 
 in our passions. You are the counteracting influence 
 that we need. Instinct tells him so, as experience 
 tells me." 
 
294 * FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 " Marion, what utter nonsense! " 
 
 " So far from that, the vei}' best sense, my dear. 
 There is only one person who has a more beneficial 
 influence upon me than you have. That is Claire, and 
 I am ojoinsr to her. If Mr. Singleton is wise he will 
 stay with you." 
 
 " If I thought you were in earnest in saying sucli a 
 thing as tliat, you would really provoke me," said 
 Helen, gravely. 
 
 " Then 30U may be sure that I am not in earnest," 
 cried Mai'iou ; " for I would do anything sooner than 
 provoke y^ou. Ko man in the world is worth a sngle 
 vexed thought between 3'ou and me." 
 
 It was a few days after this that, everything being 
 at last settled, she finally left the place where she had 
 gained and lost a fortune, — where she had sounded 
 some depths of experience and learned some lessons 
 of wisdom that could not soon be forgotten. 
 
 '•Marion," said Helen the evening before her 
 departure, " I am going to have a Mass said for my 
 intention to-morrovv morning — and, of course, that 
 means you. Will you not come to the church.? " 
 
 " With pleasure," answered the other, quickly. 
 " Indeed I am not so absolutt ly a heatlien but that I 
 meant to go, in any event. I am setting out anew in 
 life, as it were ; and I should like to ask God to bless 
 this second beginning, as I certainly did not ask Him 
 to bless the first." 
 
 " Then you will be at the church at eight o'clock? " 
 said Helen. "And afterward breakfast with me, so 
 that you will not net d to return here before meeting 
 3'our train. I should like the last bread that you 
 break in Scarborough to be broken with me." 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 295 
 
 " It shall be exactly as 30U wish," observed Marion, 
 touched by the request, whicli rniant more, she knew, 
 than appeared on the surface. For it was not only 
 that Helen wished to renew the link of hospitality — 
 not only that she desired, as she said, that the last 
 bread broken by Marion in Scaiborough should be 
 broken with her in token of their renewed amit}', — 
 but she wished to show to all the world that had so 
 curiously watched the course of events in which the 
 beautiful stranger was concerned, that their friendly 
 and cousinly relations were unchanged. All this 
 Marion understood without wotds. 
 
 Ei$>;ht o'clock the next morning found her in the 
 church. As she acknowledged, she had asked no 
 blessing of God on her former beginning of life — that 
 life which had come to such utter failure in every re- 
 spect ; and in the realization of this failure much of 
 her proud self-confidence had forsaken her. She had 
 asked only that opportunity should be given, and she 
 had felt within herself the power to win all that she 
 desired. Opportunity had been given, and she had 
 endid by losing everything, saving only the remnant 
 of her self-respect and Helen's generous affection. 
 These thoughts came to her with force as she knelt in 
 the liltle chapel, knowing that she was going forth to 
 a new life with diminished prospects < f worldly suc- 
 cess, but with a deeper knowledge of herself, of the 
 res[)onsibililies of existence, and of the claims of 
 others, than she had possessed before. 
 
 Then she remembered how she had knelt in this 
 same place with Brian Earle, and felt herself drawn 
 near to the household of faith. It had been an 
 attraction which had led to nothing, because it had 
 
296 FAIUY GOLD. 
 
 been founded on human rather than on divine love. 
 Now that the human love was lost, had the divine no 
 meaning left? The deep need of her soul answered 
 this ; and when she bent her head as the priest at the 
 altar offered the Holy Sacrifice, it was with a more 
 real act of faith and worship than she had made on 
 that daj' when it seemed as if but a step divided her 
 from the Church of God. 
 
 Mass over, she went to say a few words of farewell 
 to Father Byrne, and then accompanied Helen home. 
 It had been a long time since she entered her 
 aunt's house ; and the recollections of her first coming 
 into it, and of the welcome which had then met her, 
 seemed to rush upon her as she crossed the threshold. 
 " If it were only to do over again ! " she thought, with 
 a pang. When they sat down to breakfast she glanced 
 at the place which she had so often seen Rathborne 
 occupy, and thought that but for her Helen might 
 never have been undeceived, might never have suffered 
 with regard to him. " At least not in the way she has 
 suffered," she said to herself. " In some way, how- 
 ever, she must have suffered sooner or later. There- 
 fore perhaps it is best as it is — for her. But that 
 does not exciise me. If only I might be permitted to 
 make some atonement I " 
 
 But atonement is difficult to make in this world, 
 either for our mistakes or our wrong-doing. The logic 
 of life is stern indeed. From certain acts flow certain 
 consequences as inevitably as conclusions proceed from 
 premises or night follows day. It is vain to cry out 
 that we had no such end in ^-iew. The end comes 
 despite our protests, and we are helpless in the face 
 of that which springs from our own deed. 
 
FAinr GOLD. 297 
 
 These reflections had in great measure become 
 familiar lO Marion, especially with regard to the pain 
 she had brought upon Helen. She had been forced 
 to realize clearly that what it would have been easily 
 possible for her to avoid, it was absolutely impos- 
 sible for her to repair. To Helen's own goodness, 
 generosity and gentleness she owed the relief that had 
 come to her on the subject. Nevertheless, she longed 
 greatly for some means of repairing the injury she 
 had done, the suffering she had caused, and — was it 
 nn inspiration which suddenly seemed to suggest to 
 h r such a means? 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. , 
 
 BREAKFAST over, tliey went into the familiar 
 sitting-room — for there was st.ll an hour or 
 two before Marion's train was due, — and it 
 was there that Helen said, with a smile : " Mr. Single- 
 ton is coming to see you off: I met him yesterday 
 evening after I left you, and he announced liis inten- 
 tion of doing so ; so I asked him to come here and 
 accompany us to the train. Of course there is no Jieid 
 of him: tlie boys will do all that is necessary; but I 
 thought it would look better. People have tallied so 
 much about you both, that I would like them to have 
 a public proof that you are really on very good 
 terms." 
 
 " You think of everything, Helen," said Marion. 
 " What a wise little head you have ! " 
 
 " Do you think it is the head? " asked Helen. " I 
 think it is the heart. One feels things rather than 
 thinks them — at least 1 do." 
 
 "I know you do," said her cousin. " It is your 
 heart in the first place ; but you must not underrate 
 your head, which certainly has something to do with 
 it." 
 
 Helen shook the appendage in question. " Not 
 much," she answered. " I have never fancied that 
 my strong ])oint was in my head." 
 (298) 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 299 
 
 " Head or heart, 3^011 :ire seldom wrong," said 
 Marion, "when it comes to a practical decision. 
 Whereas I — you know I have been very vain of my 
 cleverness, and yet I am alwa3's wi'ong — no, don't 
 contradict me ; I mean exactly what I saj^, and I have 
 tLe best possible reason for meaning it. But, Helen, 
 let me ask one favor of you. When Mr. Singleton 
 ( omes, leave me alone with him for a few minutes. 
 ]SJow mind, oyily for a few minutes. I have something 
 t ' say to him, but it wi.l take only a little time to 
 say it." 
 
 "That will be easily arranged," said Helen, who 
 would not suffer herself even to look a question. 
 
 So when Mr. Singleton presently arrived, she 
 spirited herself and her mother out of the room in the 
 most unobtrus ve manner possible, leaving the young 
 man alone with Marion. 
 
 '1 he latter did not waste one of the minutes for which 
 she had asked. She plunged without preface into 
 the subject on which she desired to speak. "Mr. 
 Singleton," she began, abruptly, "I am going to say 
 something very unconventional ; but you who are so 
 unconventional yourself will pardon me, I am sure. 
 Briefly, I am going to recall to your mind someihing 
 that you said when — when we had our last private 
 c nversation. You then declared youv inteniion of 
 following me abroad, is it not so?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Singleton, with comi)osure ; "I 
 did, and I meant what I said. You will soon see :ne 
 o\er ihere." 
 
 "I think not — I hope not." she said, quickly; 
 " for I am sure that you have too much self -respect to 
 persecute a woman with attentions which can lead to 
 
SOO FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 noth'ng. And I tell you in the most positive manner 
 that they can only bring you disappointment." 
 
 " You can not be sure of that," he observed, with a 
 touch of his former obstinancy. " Women have some- 
 times changed their minds." 
 
 She shook her head. " Not -women who feel as I 
 do. Listen, and I will tell you the whole truth about 
 myself, since there is no other wa}^ of convincing j'ou. • 
 I will not deny that what you offer is in some degree 
 a temptation to me — I am worldly enough and 
 unworthy enough for that ; and it has been a tempta- 
 tion, too, to suffer you to follow me, and keep, as it 
 were, the chance open, in case I should find that it was 
 the best life offered me. But I know this would be 
 wrong ; for I cannot deceive myself into fancying that 
 there is any doubt whatever about my feelings. If my 
 heart were empty, you might in time fill it. But it is 
 not — I will be perfectly frank with you at any cost to 
 myself, — another man has long since filled it." 
 
 There was a pause after these words — words which 
 it cost Marion very much to utter. To acknowledge 
 even to herself the fact which they expressed was hard 
 enough ; but to acknowledge it to another, to this man 
 who sat regarding her steadily with his dark, brilliant 
 eyes, was harder still. But in courage, at least, she 
 was not deficient, and her own eves met his without 
 drooping. 
 
 ' • You see now why I can not let you follow a false 
 hope ill following me," she continued, when after a 
 moment he had still not spoken. " I maj' be merce- 
 nary in some degree, but I am not mercenary enough 
 to marrvyou for the sake of your fortune, when I love 
 another man. I have tried to crush this love, and it 
 
FAinY GOLD. 301 
 
 humiliates me to acknowledge it ; but I have incurred 
 the humiliation in order to be perfectl}?^ frank with 
 you, and to keep you from making a great mistake." 
 
 The last words seemed to touch him suddenly. His 
 whole face — a face which showed every passing 
 emotion — changed and softened. " Believe me," he 
 said, " I appreciate your frankness, and I see no 
 humiliation in your confession. It is good of you, 
 however, to suffer the pain of making it in order to 
 save me from what you think would be a mistake." 
 
 " I know that it would be a mistake — a mistake in 
 every "way," she said, earnestly. " And I have made 
 so many mistakes already that I cannot add another 
 to the list. Believe me, if you succeeded in persuad- 
 ing me to marry you, it would be a mistake which we 
 would both regret to the end of our lives. For we do 
 not suit each other at all. When you marry you ought 
 to select a woman different altogether from what I 
 am : a woman gentler, yet with more moral strength." 
 
 " That may be," he answered, in a meditative tone ; 
 " but, then, no other woman can be the one to whom 
 my father has left his fortune, who has generously given 
 it back to me, and with whom I should like to share it." 
 
 "That is a feeling which I can understand, and 
 which does you credit," she said. " But do j-ou not 
 see that I could hardly accept j^our suit on such a 
 ground as that } It woultl have been better to have 
 kept your fortune than to do that. No, Mr. Singleton : 
 I beg you to think no more of this ; I beg you not to 
 follow me with any such thought in your mind. Prom- 
 ise me that you will not." 
 
 She leaned toward him in her earnestness, and held 
 out her hand with a gesture of entreaty. George Sin- 
 
302 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 gleton had something chivah-ous in his nature, under 
 all his brusque exterior ; and taking the Httle hand he 
 raised it to his lips. 
 
 "The confidence that you have placed in me," he 
 said, " makes it impossible that I can do anything to 
 annoy you. Your request is a command. I shall not 
 follow you." 
 
 Her eyes thanked him. " Now I can go in peace, 
 because I shall not have to think that I am misleading 
 any one. However hard or lonely my path in life may 
 be, I want henceforth to keep my conscience clear. 
 I have tasted the bitterness of self-reproach, and I 
 know what it is. Yes, you will stay. You have duties 
 here now, and — and I hope it will not be long before 
 you will find happiness." 
 
 He had no opportunity to reply, if he had been 
 inclined to do so. Helen, remembering Marion's urgent 
 request that the minutes allowed for her " few words " 
 might be short, was heard approaching. Her clear, 
 sweet voice gave some orders in the hall, and then she 
 
 & 
 
 entered the room. 
 
 "I grieve to say, Marion, that it is almost time for 
 you to go," she announced. "Ah, how sad part- 
 ing is! " 
 
 Half an hour later, when Marion was borne away 
 from Scarborough, her last backward glance showed 
 her Helen and Singleton standing side by side on the 
 station platform, wa\'ing her an adieu; and if she 
 smiled at the sight, it cannot be denied that she also 
 sio-hed. With her own hand she had closed the door 
 of a possibly brilliant destiny ; and, naturally enough, 
 it bad never looked so bright as when she said to 
 herself, "That is over finally and forever." 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 IT was with little pause for sight-seeing on the way 
 that Marion made her journey to Rome. A few 
 clays in Paris constituted her ouly delay ; then, 
 flying swiftly down through Italy — reserving until 
 later the pleasure of seeing the beautiful historic cities 
 wiiich slie passed — she did not stop again until she 
 found herself within the walls of Rome. 
 
 And not even the fact of entering by means of a 
 prosaic railway could lessen the thrill with which she 
 realized that she was indeed within the city of the 
 Cffisars and the Popes — the city that since the 
 besinnins: of historic time has been the chief center of 
 the earth, the mistress of the world, and the seat of 
 the apostolic throne. It was strange to feel herj-elf 
 in this place of memories, yet to step into a modern 
 railway station, resounding with noise and bustle ; 
 but even Rome was forgotten when she found herself 
 in Claire's arms, and Claire's sweet voice bade her 
 welcome. 
 
 What followed seemed like a dream — the swift 
 drive through populous streets, with glimpses of 
 stately buildings and narrow, picturesque waj^s ; the 
 passing under a great, sounding arch into a court, 
 where the soft splash of a fountain was heard as . 
 
 (303) 
 
304 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 soon as the carriage stopped ; the ascent of an appar- 
 ently interminable flight of stone steps, and pausing 
 at length on a landing, where an open door gave 
 access to an ante-chamber, and thence through parting 
 curtains to a long salon, where a pretty, elderly lady 
 rose to give Marion greeting. This was Claire's kind 
 friend and chaperon, Mrs. Kerr, wlio said to herself, 
 as she took the young stranger's hand, " What a 
 beautiful creature! " 
 
 Marion, on her part, was charmed, not only with 
 Mrs. Kerr, but with all her surroundings. The for- 
 eign aspect of everj'thing enchanted ht-r; the Italian 
 servants, the Italian di-«hes of the collation spread for 
 her, the soft sound of the language, - all entered into 
 and made part of her pleasure. "O Claire!" she 
 saiil, when present'y she was taken to the pretty 
 chamber prepared for her. "I think I am going to 
 be so happy with you — if only you are not disgusted 
 with me, when >ou hear the story I have to tell you! " 
 
 Claire laughed, as she bent and kissed her. " I 
 have not the least fear that I shall be disgusted with 
 you," she said. "You might do wrong things, 
 Marion — things one would blame or censure, — but I 
 am sure that you will never do a mean thing, and it is 
 mean tlangs which disgust one." 
 
 "Ah! " said Marion, Vvlth a sigh, " do not be too 
 sure. I am not going to possess your good opinion 
 on false pretenses, so you shall hear to-morrow all 
 that has happened since we parted. Prepare your 
 charity, for I shall need it." 
 
 And, indeeil, on the next day Claire heard with the 
 utmost fullness tdl that had occurred since the two 
 parted at their convent school. As far as the 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 305 
 
 Eatbborne incident was concerneil, Marion did not 
 spare herself; and, altliough Claire looked grave over 
 her self-accusation, she was unable to express any 
 regret that, even at the cost of Helen's suffering, the 
 engagement of the latter to Rathborne should have 
 been ended. " I saw the man onl}' once," she said, 
 " but that was enouo-h to make me distrust him thor- 
 oughl}-. He has a bad face — a face which shows a 
 narrow and cruel nature. I always trembled at the 
 thouoht of Helen's uniting her life to his. There 
 seemed no possible prospect of happiness for her in 
 such a choice. So I am glad that at almost any cost 
 the engaoement — entanglement, or whatever it was — 
 has been ended. And I can not see that your share 
 in it was so very heinous." 
 
 " That is because I have not made it clear to you, 
 then," answered Marion. "• I, too, always distrusted 
 the man, but I liked his admiration, his homage ; it 
 was my first taste of the power for which, you know, 
 I always longed. Indeed, Claire, there are no 
 excuses to be made for me ; and if the matter ended 
 well for Helen — as I reall}^ believe it did, — I am 
 still to blame for all her suffering ; and. you do not 
 think that evil is less evil because good comes of it? " 
 
 " I certainly do not think that," said Claire. " But 
 you had no evil intention, I am sure: you never meant 
 to hurt Helen." 
 
 "No, I did not mean to do so, but I was careless 
 whether she suffered or not. I thought only of my- 
 self — my own vanity, mj^ own amusement. Nothing 
 can change that, and so I have always felt that it 
 was right I should suffer just as I made her suffer. 
 Retribution came very quickl}^ Claire." 
 
 20 
 
306 FAIBV GOLD. 
 
 " Did it? " asked Claire. Her soft, gray eyes were 
 full of unspoken sympathy. " Well, suffering is a 
 great thing, dear; it enables us to expiate so much! 
 Tell me about j-oiirs — if you like." 
 
 " I feel as if I had come here just to tell you," said 
 Marion. And then followed the story of her engage- 
 ment to Brian Earle, her anger because he would not 
 comply v\ith his uncle's wishes, their parting, her 
 unexpected inheritance of IMr. Singleton's fortune, 
 Rathborne's revenge in finding the lost heir, her 
 surrender of the fortune to him, and her rejection of 
 his suit. 
 
 "So here I am," she observed in conclusion, with 
 a faint smile, "• like one who has passed through ter- 
 rible storms : who has been shipwrecked and has 
 barely escaped with life — that is, with a fragment of 
 self-respect. I am so glad I had strength to give up 
 that fortune, Claire ! You know how I always desired 
 wealth." 
 
 "I know so well," said Claire, "that I am prnud 
 of you — proud that you had the courage to do what 
 must have cost j'ou so much. But I always told 3'ou 
 that I knew you better than you knew yourself ; and I 
 was sure that you would never do anything unworthy, 
 not even to gain ilie end you had so much at heart. 
 But, INIarion " — her face grew grave, — "I have 
 something to tell you that I fear may prove unpleasant 
 to you. Brian E:irle is here." 
 
 "Brian Earle lieri*! " repeated Marion. She be- 
 came very pale, and for a moment was silent. Then 
 she said, proudly, " I hope no one will imagine that I 
 suspected this. It, ught he was in Germany. But it 
 will not be necessary for me to meet him." 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 307 
 
 "That must be for you to decide," said Claire, in 
 a somewhat troubled tone. "He comes to see us 
 occasionally — he is an old friend of Mrs. Kerr's — 
 but, if you desire it, I will ask her to let him know 
 that it will he best for him to discontinue his visits." 
 
 " No," said Marion, with quick, instuictive recoil; 
 " for that would be to acknowledge that I shrink from 
 seeing him. If I do shrink, he shall not be made 
 aware of it. Perhaps, when he knows that I am here, 
 he will desire to keep away. If not, I am — I will 
 be strong enough to meet him with indifference." 
 
 Claire looked at her steadily, wistfully ; it seemed 
 as if she were trying to know all that might be known. 
 " If you do not feel indifference," she said, gently, 
 after a moment, " is it well to simulate it? " 
 
 "How can you ask such a question?" demanded 
 Marion, with a touch of her old haughtiness. " It is 
 not only well — it is essential to ray self-respect. 
 But I do not acknowledge that it wall be simulation. 
 Why should I be other than indifferent to Brian Earle.^ 
 As I confessed to you a few minutes ago, I suffered 
 when we parted, but that is over now." 
 
 " You care for him no longer, then? " 
 
 "Is it possible I could care for a man who has 
 treated me as he has done? For I still believe that 
 it was his duty to have remained with his uncle, 
 and if — if he had cared for me at all he would have 
 done so." 
 
 "But perhaps," said Claire, "he perceived that 
 passionate desire of yours for wealth, and thought that 
 it would not be well for you to have it gratified. I 
 can imagine that." 
 
 " You imagine, then, exactly what he was go d 
 
308 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 enough to say," replied Marion, dryly. " But I sup- 
 pose you know enough of me to be also able to imagine 
 that I was not very grateful for such a form of regard. 
 He talked like a moralist, but he certainly did not feel 
 like a lover, and so I let him go. I am not sorry for 
 that." 
 
 " Then," said Claire, after a short pause of reflec- 
 tion, " I cannot see any reason why you should avoid 
 meeting him. There may be a little awkwardness at 
 first ; but, if you have really no feeling for him, that 
 will pass away." 
 
 " I should prefer to avoid such a meeting, if pos- 
 sible," answered Marion ; " but if not possible, I will 
 endure. Only, if you can, give me warning when it is 
 likely to occur." 
 
 "That, unfortunatel}^ is what I can hardly do," 
 said Claire, in a tone of regret. " Our friends have 
 established a habit of dropping in, without formality, 
 almost any evening ; and so we never know who is 
 coming, or when." 
 
 "In that case there is, of course, nothing to be 
 done. I can onl}' promise that, whenever the occasion 
 occurs, I will try to be equal to it." 
 
 " I have no doubt of that," answered Claire. 
 
 But she looked concerned as she went awa3^ and it 
 was evident to Mrs. Kerr that she was more than 
 usually thoughtful that evening. As she had said, 
 their friends in Rome found it pleasant to drop 
 informally into their pretty salon. Artists predomi- 
 nated among these friends ; so it was not strange that 
 she watched the door, thinking that Brian Earle might 
 come, and conscious of a wish that he would; for 
 Blarion, pleading fatigue, declined to appear on this 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 309 
 
 first evening after her arrival ; and Claire said to 
 hersel? that if Earle did come, it would give her an 
 opportunity to tell him what meeting lay before him, 
 and he could then avoid it if he chose to do so. 
 When, as the evening passed on, it became at length 
 clear that he was not coming — and there was no rea- 
 son beside her own desire for expecting him, — Claire 
 thought, with a sigh, that events must talce their 
 course, since it was plainly out of her power to direct 
 them. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 AND events did take their course, when, a few 
 evenings later, Marion suddenly saw Earle 
 
 entering the salon, where three or four visitors 
 were already assembled. She herself was at the farther 
 end of the room, and somewhat concealed by a large 
 Oriental screen, near which she was seated. She was 
 very glad of this friendly shelter when she felt her 
 heart leap in a manner which fairly terrified her, as, 
 glancing up, she saw Earle's face in the doorway. Her 
 own emotion surprised her far more than his appear- 
 ance ; she shrank farther back into the shadow to con- 
 ceal what she feared might be perceptible to others, 
 and yet she could not refrain from following him with 
 her eyes. 
 
 What she saw was this — that, even while greeting 
 Mrs. Kerr, his glance wandered to Claire ; that his first 
 eager step was taken in her direction ; and that his 
 face, when he took her hand, was so eloquent of 
 pleasure and tender admiration that it made Marion 
 recall some words he had spoken when they first knew 
 each other in Scarborough. "She charmed me," he 
 had said then of Claire ; " she is so simple, so candid, 
 so intent upon high aims." Every word came back 
 with sudden distinctness, with sudden, piercing mean- 
 ing and weight, in the light of the look on Earle's face. 
 
 (310) 
 
FAIItY GOLD. 311 
 
 " He is in love with Claire! " said Marion to her- 
 self. '• Nothing could be more natural, notliin<ji; more 
 suitable. There is uo struwale here between his heart 
 and his judgment, as was the case with me. She 
 seems to be made for him in every respect. W!iy did 
 I not think of it sooner, and why did not Claire tell 
 me that he had transferred his affection to her.? Did 
 she want me to see for myself, or did she think that I 
 should not see? But there is no reason why I should 
 care — none whatever." 
 
 Even while she repeated this assurance to herself, 
 however, the sinking of her heart, the tremliling of her 
 hands, belied it, and frightened her by the evidence 
 of a feeling she had not suspected. Surely, among 
 the mysteries of our being, there is none greater than 
 the existence and growth of feelings which we not only 
 do not encourage, but of which we are often in ab o- 
 lute ignorance until some flush of illumination comes 
 to reveal to us their strength. 
 
 Such a flash came now to Marion. She had assured 
 herself that she had put Brian P^arle out of her heart, 
 and instead she suddenly found that, during the in- 
 terval in which she had condemned it to darkness and 
 silence, her feeling for him had increased rather than 
 lessened. And she was now face to face with the 
 proof that he had forgotten her — that he had found 
 in Claire the true ideal of his fancy ! She felt that it 
 was natural, she acknowledged that it was just, but 
 the shock was overpowering. 
 
 Fortunately, she happened at that moment to be 
 alone — a gentleman who had been taltciug to her 
 having crossed the room to ask Mrs. Kerr a question. 
 Seeing him about to retrace his steps, a sudden 
 
312 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 instinct of flight — of fliii;lit at any cost of personal 
 dignity — seized Marion. She felt that in another 
 instant Claire would point her out to Earle, that he 
 would be forced to come and address her. Could she 
 bear that.'' — was she able to meet him as indifferently 
 as she desired to do ? Her beating pulses told her no ; 
 aud, without giving herself time to think, she rose, 
 lifted a portiere near her, and passed swiftly atd. 
 silently from the room. 
 
 Claire, meanwhile, glanced up at Earle ; aud she, 
 too, met that look of tender admiration which Marion 
 perceived. It was not the first time she had met it, 
 but it was the first time that a consciousness of its 
 possible meaning flashed upon her. She did not color 
 at the thought, but grew instead suddenly pale, and. 
 glanced toward, the corner of the room where Mariou 
 at that instant had made her escape ; but Claire did 
 not perceive this, and, with the sense of her presence, 
 said to Earle : — 
 
 "You have probably not heard that my friend Marion 
 Lynde is here? " 
 
 He started. "Miss Lynde here — in Rome! " he 
 asked. "No, I had not heard it. Whj' has she come?" 
 
 " To see and to be with me," answered Claire, 
 calmly. " You know, pei'haps, that we are great 
 friends." 
 
 " I have heard Miss Lynde speak of 3'ou," he said, 
 regaining self-possession; ''and if the friendship 
 struck me as rather a strange one, knowing little of 
 you as I did then, j^ou may be sure that it strikes me 
 now as more than strange. I have never met two 
 people in my life who seemed to me to have less in 
 common." 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 313 
 
 "Pardon me!" returned Claire. "You think so 
 because you do not know either of us very well. We 
 have really a great deal in common, and I doubt if 
 any one in the world knows Marion as well as I do. ' ' 
 
 He looked at her with a sudden keen glance from 
 under brows somewhat bent. "Are you not aware 
 that I had at one time reason to fancy that I knew 
 Miss Lynde quite well? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Claire, with frankness; "I know. 
 She has told me of that. But in such a relation as 
 the one which existed between jou for a time, people 
 sometimes learn very little of each other. And I 
 think that perhaps j^ou did not learu very much of 
 her." 
 
 " I learned quite enough," he replied, — " all that 
 was necessary to convince me that I had made a great 
 mistake. And there can be no doubt that Miss 
 Lynde reached the same conclusion. That, I be- 
 lieve, is all that there is to say of the matter." He 
 paused a moment, then added, "If she is here, I 
 hope it will not be unpleasant to her to meet me ; 
 since I should be sorry to be banished from this 
 salon, which Mrs. Kerr and yourself make so at- 
 tractive." 
 
 " There is no reason for banishment, unless you 
 desire it," said Claire. " Marion does not object to 
 meeting j^ou. But I think that there are one or two 
 things that j'ou ought to know before 3'ou meet her. 
 Are you aware, in the first place, that she has given 
 up your uncle's fortune? " 
 
 "No," he answered, very much startled. ""Why 
 has she done so? " 
 
 Because Mr. Singleton's son appeared, and she 
 
 ( I. 
 
314 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 thought that he should in justice possess his father's 
 fortune. Do you not think she was right? " 
 
 " Right? — I suppose so. But this is very astonish- 
 ing news. You are positively certain that George 
 Singleton, my uncle's son, is alive? " 
 
 "I am certain that Marion has told me so, and I do 
 not suppose she is mistaken, since she has resigned a 
 fortune to him. People are usually sure before they 
 take such a step as that." 
 
 " Yes," he assented, " but it seems almost incred- 
 ible. For years George Singleton has been thought 
 to be dead, ond I was under the impression that my 
 uncle had positive reason for believing him so. This 
 being the case, there was no reason why he should not 
 leave his fortune as he liked, and I was glad when I 
 heard that he had left it to Miss Lynde ; for the pos- 
 session of wealth seemed to be the first desire of her 
 heart." 
 
 " Poor Marioa!" said Claire, gently. "You might 
 be more tolerant of that desire if you knew all that 
 she has suffered — suffered in a way peculiarly hard 
 to her — from poverty. And she has surely proved in 
 the most conclusive manner that, however much she 
 desired wealth, she was not prepared to keep it at any 
 cost to her conscience or her self-respect." 
 
 " Did she, then, resign all the fortune? " 
 
 "Very nearly all. She said that she reluctantly 
 retained only a few thousand dollars." 
 
 "But is it possible that George Singleton did not 
 insist upon providing for her fitly ? Whatever his other 
 faults, he was not mercenary — formerly." 
 
 "Mr. Singleton must have tried every possible 
 argument to induce her to keep half the fortune, but 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 315 
 
 she refused to do so. I think she felt keenly some 
 reflections that had been thrown on her by Mr. Sin- 
 gleton's relatives, and wished to disprove them." 
 
 Earle was silent for a minute. He seemed trying 
 to adjust his mind to these new views of Marion's 
 character. " And you tell me that she is here — with 
 you ? ' ' 
 
 " I was about to say that she is in the room," Claire 
 answered; "but I do not see her just now. She was 
 here a few minutes ago." 
 
 ' ' Probably my appearance sent her away. Perhaps 
 she would rather not meet me." 
 
 " She assured me that she did not object to meeting 
 you ; and, unless you give up our acquaintance, I do 
 not see how such a meeting can be avoided ; for she 
 has come to stay in Rome some time." 
 
 " Well," said Earle, with an air of determination, 
 " I certainly have no intention of giving up your 
 acquaintance. Be sure of that. And it would go 
 hard with me to cease visiting here in the pleasant, 
 familiar fashion Mrs. Kerr and yourself have allowed 
 me to fall into. So if Miss Lynde does not object to 
 meeting me, there assuredly is not the least reason 
 why I should object to meeting her." 
 
 Claire would have liked to ask, in her sincere, 
 straightforward fashion, if all his feeling for Marion 
 was at an end ; and she might have done so but for the 
 recollection of the look which had startled her. She 
 did not acknowledge to herself in so many words what 
 that look might mean ; but it made her instinctively 
 avoid any dangerous question, and she was not sorry 
 when at this point their tete-a-tete was interrupted. 
 
 But Marion did not reappear ; and when Claire at 
 
316 faii:y gold. 
 
 length went to seek her, she found that she had retired. 
 Her room was in partial darkness, so that her face 
 could not be seen, but her voice sounded altogether as 
 usual when she accounted for her disappearance. 
 
 '■ I found that I was more tired than I had imagined, 
 by our da}^ of sight-seeing," she said. " I grew so 
 stupid that flight was the onl}^ resource. Pra}' make 
 my excuses to Mr. Gardner. I vanished while he 
 went across the room, and I suppose he was astonished 
 to find an empty chair when he retui'ued." 
 
 "Do you know that Mr. Earle entered just at tlie 
 time you left?" asked Claire, who had her suspicions 
 about this sudden flight. 
 
 "Did he? " said Marion, in a tone of indifference. 
 " Fortunately, it is not necessary to make my excuses 
 to him. There is no more reason why he should wish 
 to see me than why I should wish to see him. Another 
 time will answer as well to exchange some common- 
 places of greeting. Good-night, dear! Don't let me 
 detain you longer from your friends." 
 
 " I am so sorry you are tired ! Hereafter we must 
 be more moderate in sight-seeing," observed Chiiie. 
 
 As she went out of the room she said to herself that 
 she must wait before she could decide anything with 
 regard to the feelings of these two people. Was their 
 ahenation real and complete? One seemed as cold 
 and indifferent as the other. But did this coldness only 
 mask the old affection, or was it genuine? Claire had 
 some instincts which seldom misled her, and one of 
 these instincts made her fear that the indifference was 
 more genuine with Earle than with Marion. " That 
 would be terrible," she said to herself: "if he has 
 forgotten and she has not. If it were only possible 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 317 
 
 that they would tell the simple truth ! But that, I 
 suppose, cannot be expected. If I knew it, I would 
 know how to act ; but as it is I can only wait and 
 observe. I believe, however, that Marion left the 
 room because he appeared ; and if his presence has 
 such an effect on her, she certainly' cares for Lira yet." 
 
 Marion was already writhing under the thought 
 that this very conclusion would be drawn — perhaps 
 by Earle himself, — and determining that she would 
 never again be betrayed into such weakness. " It 
 was the shock of surprise," she said in self- extenua- 
 tion. ' • 1 was not expecting anj-thing of that kind, 
 and it naturallj' startled me. I know it now, and it 
 will have no such effect a second time. I suppose I 
 might have looked for it if I had not been so self- 
 absorbed. Certainly it is not only natural, but very 
 suitable. They seem made for each other; and I — I 
 do hope thej' maj' be happy. But I must go away as 
 soon as I can. That is necessary." 
 
 It was several days after this that the meeting 
 between herself and Earle took place. She had been 
 with Claire for some hours in the galleries of the 
 Vatican, and finally before leaving they entered the 
 beautiful Raphael Loggia — that lovely spot filled 
 with light and color, where the most exquisite crea- 
 tions of the king of painters glow with immortal sun- 
 shine from the walls. As tliey ent«.'red and [)aced 
 slowl}'' down its length, a figure was advancing from 
 the other end of the luminous vi>>ta toward them. 
 Marion recognized this figure before Claire did, and 
 so had a moment in which to take firm hold of her 
 self-possession before the latter, turning to her quickly, 
 said, " Yonder comes Mr. Earle." 
 
318 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 " So I perceive," replied Marion, quietly. " He 
 has not changed sufficiently to make an introduction 
 necessary." 
 
 The next moment they had met, were shaking hands, 
 and exchanging greetings. Of the two Marion pre- 
 served her composure best. Earle was surprised by 
 his own emotion when he saw again the face that once 
 had power to move him so deeply. He had said to 
 himself that its power was over, that he was cured in 
 the fullest sense of that which he looked back upon as 
 brief infatuation ; but now that he found himself again 
 in Marion's presence, a thrill of the old emotion 
 seemed to stir, and for a moment rendered him hardly 
 able to speak. 
 
 Conventionalities are powerful things, however, and 
 the emotion must be very strong that is not success- 
 fully held in check by them. Claire went on speaking 
 in her gentle voice, giving the others time to recover 
 any self-possession which they might have lost. 
 
 " We just came for a turn in this beautiful place 
 before going home," she said to Earle. " They are 
 my delight, these loggia of the Vatican. All the sun- 
 shine and charm of Italy seem to meet in the divine 
 loveliness of the frescos within, and the beauty of the 
 clasbic gardens without. A Papal audience is never 
 so picturesque, lam sure, as when it is held in one of 
 these noble galleries." 
 
 Earle assented rather absently; then saying, "If 
 yon are about to go home, I will see yon to your car- 
 riage," turned and joined them. It was a singular 
 sensation to find himself walking again by Marion's 
 side ; and the recollection of their last parting 
 returned so vividl}" to his mind that when he spoke he 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 319 
 
 could only say, " My poor uncle's life was much, 
 shorter than I imagined it would be, Miss Lynde." 
 
 "Yes," replied Marion, quietly. " His deatli was 
 a gnat surprise to everyone. I am sure you did not 
 think when you parted from him that his life would 
 be numbered only by weelvs." 
 
 " I certainly did not think so," he answered, with 
 emphasis. Then he paused and hesitated. Conversa- 
 tion seemed hedged with more difficulties than he had 
 anticipated. His parting with his uncle had been so 
 cioselv connected with his parting from Marion, that 
 he found it a subject impossible to pursue. He 
 dropped it abruptly, therefore, and remarked: "I 
 was greatly surprised to learn from Miss Alford 
 that my cousin George Singleton is alive, and has 
 returned from the wild regions in which he buried 
 himself." 
 
 This was a better opening. Marion replied that 
 Mr. Singleton's appearance had astonished ever3"one 
 concerned, but that his identity was fully established. 
 "Indeed," she added, "I do not think there was 
 a doubt in the mind of any one after he made his 
 personal appearance." 
 
 "And you gave up your fortune to him?" said 
 Earle, wiih a sudden keen glance at her. 
 
 She colored. " I did not feel that it was ony fort- 
 une," she answered, " but rather his. Surely his 
 father must have believed him dead, else he would 
 never have made such a disposition of his property." 
 
 "That was my impression — that be believed him 
 dead. But it is difficult to speak with certainty about 
 a man so peculiar and so reticent as my uncle. You 
 will, perhaps, pardon me for saying that, since he had 
 
320 FAIET GOLD. 
 
 left you his fortune, I do not think you were bound to 
 resign it all." 
 
 " I suppose," said Marion, somewhat coldly, " that 
 I was not bound to resign any of it : I had, no doubt, a 
 legal right to keep whatever the law did not take from 
 me. But I am not so mercenar}'^ as you believe. I 
 could not keep what I did not believe to be rightfully 
 mine." 
 
 Despite pride, her voice trembled a little over the 
 last words ; and Earle was immediately filled with self- 
 reproach to think that he had wounded her. 
 
 " So far from believing 3'ou mercenary," he said 
 gravely, " I think that you have acted with extraor- 
 dinary generosity, — a generosity carried, indeed, 
 bej'ond prudence. Forgive me for alluding to the 
 subject. I only regret that my uncle's intentions 
 toward you have been so entirely frustrated." 
 
 " I have the recollection of his great kindness," she 
 said, hurriedly. " I know that he desired to help me, 
 therefore I felt it right to keep something. I did not 
 leave m3'self penniless." 
 
 " You would have been wrong if j'ou had done so," 
 remarked Earle ; " but it would have been better still 
 if you had kept a fair amount of the fortune." 
 
 "Oh, no!" she replied; "for I had no claim to 
 any of it — no claim, I mean, of relationship. I was 
 a stranger to your uncle, and I onl}' kept such an 
 amount as it seemed to me a kind-hearted man might 
 give to a strausrer who had wakened his interest. 
 Mr. George Singleton was verj^ Idud, too. He wished 
 me to keep more, but I would not." 
 
 " I understand how j-ou felt," said Earle ; " and I 
 iear I should have acted in the same manner myself. 
 
FAIMY GOLD. 321 
 
 so I really cannot blame you. I only think it a 
 pity." 
 
 The gentleness and respect of his tone touched and 
 pleased her. She felt that it implied moi'e approval 
 and sjmpalhy than he liked to express. Unconsciously 
 her eyes thanked him ; and when they parted a little 
 later in one of the courts of the Vatican, each felt that 
 the awkwardness of meeting was over, and that there 
 was no reason why they should shrink from meeting 
 again. 
 
 '' I have wronged her," said Earle to himself as he 
 strolled away. " She is not the absolutely merce- 
 nary and heartless creature I had come to believe her. 
 I might have known that I was wrong, or Miss Alford 
 would not make a friend of her. Whoever sJie likes 
 must be worthy of being liked." 
 
 21 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 IT was soon apparent to Marion that Claire's talent 
 was as fully recognized by the artists who 
 made her circle now, as it had been by the nuns 
 in the quiet convent she had left. They praised her 
 work, they asked her judgment upon their own, and 
 they prophesied a great future for her — a future of 
 the highest distinction and the most solid rewards. 
 
 " I knew how it would be, Claire," Marion said one 
 day, as she sat in the studio of the young artist watch- 
 ing her at woi'k. " I always knew that you would 
 succeed, whoever else failed. Do you remember our 
 last conversation together — you and Helen and I — 
 the evening before we left school, when we told one 
 another what we desired most in life? /said money; 
 well, I have had it, and was forced to choose between 
 giving it up or giving up my self-respect. I have 
 found out already that there are worse things than to 
 be poor. Helen said happiness — poor, dear Helen ! 
 and the happiness of which she was thinking slipped 
 out of her fingers like a vapor. But you, Claire, — 
 you chose something worthy: you chose success in 
 art, and God has given it to you." 
 
 "Yes," observed Claire, meditatively, " I have had 
 some success; I feel within myself the power to do 
 (322) 
 
FAIEY GOLD. C::3 
 
 good work, and my power is recogniz^'d b}'^ those whose 
 praise is of value. I feel that my future is assured — 
 that I can make money enough fur all my needs, and 
 also the fame which it is natural for every artist to 
 desire. But, Marion, do you know that with this 
 realization has come a great sense of its unsatisfac- 
 toriness.? There are days in which I lay down my 
 brushes and say to myself ' Cai bono? ' as wearil}' as 
 the most world- weary man." 
 
 " Claire, it is impossible ! " 
 
 Claire smiled a little sadly as she went on mixing 
 her colors. "It is very possible and very true," she 
 said. " Anil I suppose the moral of it is that there is 
 no real satisfaction in the possession of any earthly 
 idt al We desire it, we work for it, and when we get 
 itwe (ind that it has no power to make us happy. We; 
 three, each of us in different ways, found that out,, 
 Marion." 
 
 " But there was no similarity in the ways," replied' 
 Marion. "■ INIine was an unworthy ideal, and Helen's 
 a foolish one ; but 3'()urs was all that it ought to be, 
 au'l it seems to me that you should be perfectly happy 
 in the attainment of it." 
 
 " And so I am happy," said Claire. " Do not mis- 
 taki' me. I am happy, and very grateful to God ; but 
 1 cannot pretend to a satisfaction in the attainment of 
 m}' wishes which I do not find. There is something 
 lacking. Though I love art, it does not fill the needs 
 of mv nature. 1 want something more — something 
 which I do not possess — as an object, an incen- 
 tive—" 
 
 She broke off abruptly, and Clarion was silent for a 
 moment from sheer astonishment. That Claire should 
 
324 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 feel in this way — Claire so calm, so self-contained, so 
 devoted to her art, so ambitious of success in it — 
 amazed her bej'oud the power of expression, until 
 suddenly a light dawned upon her and she seemed to 
 see what it meant. It meant — ii must mean — that 
 Claire in her loneliness felt the need of love, and the 
 ties that love creates. Friends were all very well, but 
 friends could not satisf}^ the heart in the fullest sense ; 
 neither could the pleasure of painting pictures, nor the 
 praise of critics, however warm. Yes, Claire desired 
 love — that was plain; and love was at hand for her 
 to take — love that Marion had thrown away. 
 
 "It is just and right," said the latter to herself. 
 " I have nothing to complain of — nothing ! And she 
 must not think that I will regret it. I must find a 
 way to make her understand this." After a minute 
 she spoke aloud : " Certainly you have surprised me, 
 Claire; for I did think tliat ^/o't were happy. But I 
 suppose the moral is, as you say, that the attainment 
 of no object which we set before ourselves is able to 
 render us thoroughly satisfied. But 3'our pictures are 
 so beautiful that it must be a pleasure to paint them." 
 
 "Genius is too great a word to apply to me," 
 remarked Claire, quietly. " But it is a pleasure to 
 paint; I should be ungrateful bej'ond measure if I 
 denied tliat. I have much happiness in it, and I am 
 more than content with the success God has granted 
 me. I only meant to say that it has not the power to 
 satisfy me completel}-. But that, I suppose, nothing 
 of a purely earthly nature can have," 
 
 "Do you think not?" asked Marion, rather wist- 
 fully. This is " a hard saying " for youth to believe, 
 even after experience has somewhat taught its truth. 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 325 
 
 Indeed the belief that there ma}' be lasting good in 
 some earthly ideal, eagerly sought, eagerly desired, 
 does not end with youth. Men and women pursue 
 such delusions to the very end of life, and lie down at 
 last in the arms of death without having ever known 
 any lasting happiness, or lifted their eyes to the one 
 Ideal which can alone satisfy the yearning of their 
 poor human hearts. 
 
 This glimpse of Claire's inmost feeling was not 
 forgotten b}'^ Marion. It seemed to her that it made 
 matters plain, and she had now no doubt how the 
 affair would end as regarded Earle. She said again to 
 herself, " I must go away ; " but she knew that to go 
 immediately would be to betray herself, and this she 
 passionately desired not to do. Therefore she did 
 what was the next best thing — she avoided Earle as 
 much as possible, so markedly indeed that it would 
 have been impossible for him to force himself upon 
 her even if he had desired to do so. She persevered 
 in this line of conduct so resolutely that Claire began 
 to think that some conclusions she had drawn at first 
 were a mistake, and that the alienation between these 
 two was indeed final. 
 
 But Marion's success cost her dearly. It was a 
 severe discipline through which she was passing — a 
 discipline which tried every power of her nature, in 
 which there was a constant struggle to subdue every- 
 tbino" that was most dominant within her. / Passion 
 that h-id oTfown stronger with lime, selfishness that de- 
 manded what it desired, vanity that smarted under 
 forgei fulness, and pride that longed to assert itself in 
 power, — all of these struggled against the resolution 
 wliich kept them down. < But the resolution did not 
 
326 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 fail. " After having thrown away my own happiness 
 by my own fault, I will die before I sacrifice Claire's," 
 she determined. But it was a hard battle to fight 
 alone ; and, had she relied solely upon her own strength, 
 might never have been fought at all, or at least would 
 have ended very soon. But Rome is still Rome, in that 
 it offers on every side such spiritual aids and comforts 
 as no other spot of earth affords. 
 
 If Marion had begun to find mysterious peace in 
 the bare little chapel of Scarborough, was she less 
 likely to find it liere in these ancient sanctuaries of 
 faith, these great basilicas that in their grandeur 
 dwarf all other temples of earth, — that in their beauty 
 are like glimpses of the heavenly coui'ts, and in their 
 solemn holiness lay on the spirit a s[)ell that language 
 can but faintly express? It was not long before this 
 spell came upon her like a fascination. When the 
 heavy curtains swung behind her, and she passed 
 from the sunlight of the streets into the cool dimness 
 of some vast church ; when through lines of glistening 
 marble columns — columns quarried for pagan tem- 
 ples by the captives of ancient Rome — she passed to 
 chapels rich with every charm of art and gift of 
 •wealth, — to sculptured altars where for long ages the 
 Divine Victim had been offered, and the unceasing 
 incense of prayer ascended, — she felt as if she asked 
 only to remain and steep her weary heart and soul in 
 the ineffable repose which she found there. 
 
 She expressed something of this one day to Claire, 
 when they p;issed out of Santa Maria Maggioi'e into 
 the light of common day ; and Claire looked at her, 
 with a smile in her deep grey eyes. 
 
 '• Yes," she said, in her usual quiet tone, " I know 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 327 
 
 that feeling very well. But it is not possible to have 
 only the comfort of religion: Tve must taste also the 
 struggle and the sacrifice it demands. We must leave 
 the peace of the sanctuary to fight our appointed 
 battle in the world, or else we must make one great 
 sacrifice and leave the world to find our home and work 
 in the sanctuary. I do not think that will ever be 
 your vocation, Marion, so you must be content with 
 carrying some of the peace of the sanctuary back 
 with you into the world. Only, my dear" — her 
 voice sank a little, — "I think if you would take one 
 decisive step, you would find that peace more real and 
 enduring." 
 
 "I know what you mean," answered Marion, 
 thoughtfully, "I cannot tell why I have delayed so 
 long. I certainly believe whatever the Catholic 
 Church teaches, because I am sure that if she has not 
 the truth in her possession, it is not on eai'th. I am 
 willing to do whatever she commands, but I am not 
 devotional, Claire. I cannot pretend to be." 
 
 "There is no need to pretend," returned Claire, 
 gently; "nor yet to torment yourself about your 
 deficiency iu that respect. Yours is not a devotional 
 nature, Marion ; but all the more will your service be 
 of value, because you will offer it not to please your- 
 self, but to obey and honor God. Do not fear on that 
 account, but come let me take yon to my good friend, 
 Monsignor R ." 
 
 "Take me where you will," said Marion. "If I 
 can only retain and make m}^ own the peace that I 
 sometimes feel in your churches, I will do anything 
 that can be required of me." 
 
 "I do not think you will find that anvthing hard 
 
328 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 will be required of you," observed Claire, with a smile 
 that was almost angelic in ils sweetness and delight. 
 
 And truly Marion found, as myriads have found 
 before her, that no path was ever made easier, more 
 like the guidins: of a mother's hand, than that which 
 led her into the Church of God. So gentle were the 
 sacramental steps, and each so full of strange, m3-s- 
 terious sweetness, that this period ever after seemed 
 like a sanctuary in her life — a spot set apart and 
 sacred, as hallowed with the presence of the Lord. 
 She had willingly followed the suggestion of the good 
 priest, and gone into a convent for a few days before 
 her reception into the Church. This reception took 
 place in the lovely convent chapel, whei'e, surrounded 
 by the nuns, with onl}' Claire and Mrs. Kerr present 
 from the outer world, it seemed to Marion as if time 
 had indeed rolled back, and she was again at the 
 besfinninof of life. But what a different beginnius:! 
 Looking at the selfish and worldly spirit with which 
 she had faced the world before, she could only thank 
 God with wondering gratitude fof the lesson He had 
 taught so soon, and the rescue He had inspired. 
 
 When she found herself again in Claire's salon, with 
 a strange sense of having been far away for a great 
 length of time, one of the first people to congratulate 
 her on the step she had taken was Brian Earle. He 
 was astonished when Claire told him where Marion 
 had sone, and he was more astonished now at the look 
 on her face as she turned it to him. Although he 
 could not define it, there was a withdrawal, an aloof- 
 ness in that face which he had never seen there before. 
 Nor was this an imagination on his part. Marion felt, 
 with a sense of infinite relief, that she had been with- 
 
FAIIiY GOLD. 329 
 
 drawn from the influence he unconsciously exerted 
 upon her ; that it was no longer painful to her to see 
 him ; that the higher feeling in which she had been 
 absorbed had taken the sting out of the purely natural 
 sentiment that hud been a trouble to her. She felt a 
 resignation to things as they were, for which she had 
 vainly struggled before ; and, even while she was with- 
 drawn from Eurle, felt a quietness so great that it 
 amounted to pleasure in speaking to him. 
 
 "Yes," she said, in answer to his congratulation, 
 "I have certainly proved that all roads lead to 
 Rome. No road could have seemed less likely to lead 
 to Rome than the one I set out on ; but here I am — 
 safe in the spiritual city. It is a wonder to me even 
 yet." 
 
 " It is not so great a wonder to me," he replied. 
 " I thought even in Scarborough that you were very 
 near it." 
 
 She colored. The allusion to Scarborough made 
 her realize how and why she had been near it then, 
 but she recovered herself quickly. " In a certain 
 sense I was always near it," she said, quietly. " I 
 never for a moment believed that any religion was true 
 except the Catholic. But no one knows better than I 
 do now what a wide difference there is between be- 
 lieving intellectually and acting practicall3^ The grace 
 of God is absolutely necessary for the latter, and 
 why He should have given that grace to me I do not 
 know." 
 
 "It is diflScuIt to tell why He should have given it 
 to any of us," observed p]arle, touched and surprised 
 more and more. Was this indeed the girl who had 
 once seemed to him so worldly and so mercenary.'* 
 
330 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 He could hardly credit the transformation that had 
 taken place in her. 
 
 ' ' I have never seen any one so changed as Miss 
 Lynde," he said later to Claire. " One can believe 
 any change possible after seeing her." 
 
 Claire smiled. " You will perhaps believe now 
 tliat you only knew her superficially before," she 
 -replied. "There is certainly a change — a great 
 change — in her. But the possibility of the change 
 -was always there." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 SOON after this Claire said to herself that if these 
 two people were ever to be brought together 
 again it could only be by her exertions. Left 
 to themselves, it became more and more evident that 
 such an event would never occur. And Claire had 
 fully arrived at the conclusion that it would be the 
 best thing which could occur ; for she had no doubt 
 of the genuineness of Marion's regard for Earle ; and, 
 while slie recognized the attraction which she herself 
 possessed for the latter, she believed that, underlying 
 this, his love for Marion existed still. 
 
 " But, whether it does or not, his fancy for me can 
 come to nothing," she thought; "• and the sooner he 
 knows it, the better. I should be glad if he could 
 know it at once. If such a thing must be stopped, 
 there should be no delay in the matter." 
 
 It "was certainly no fault of Claire's that there was 
 any delay. Earle's manner to herself rendered her so 
 nervous, especially when IMarion was present to wit- 
 ness it, that she could hardly control her inclination 
 to take matters in her own hand, and utter some 
 "words which it would be contrary to all precedent for 
 a "woman to utter until she has been asked for 
 them. But her eagerness to make herself under- 
 
 (3;}i) 
 
332 ^ FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 stood at last gave her the opportunity she so much 
 desired. 
 
 One evening Eai'le inquired about a picture on 
 which she was engaged, and of which he had seen the 
 beginning in an open-air Carapagna sl\:etch. She 
 replied that she was not succeeding with it as she had 
 hoped to do ; and when he asked if lie might not be 
 permitted to see it, she readily assented. 
 
 "For, you know, one is not always the best judge 
 of one's own work," he remarked. "You maybe 
 discouraged without reason. I will give you a candid 
 opinion as to the measure of your success." 
 
 " If you will promise an altogether candid opinion, 
 you may come," she answered ; ' ' for you were present 
 when I made the sketch, and so you can tell better 
 than any one else if I have succeeded in any measure 
 at all." 
 
 "To-morrow, then," he said, — "may I come to- 
 morrow, and at what hour? " 
 
 Claire hesitated for a moment, and then named an 
 hour late in the afternoon. " I shall not be at leisure 
 before then," she said. 
 
 She did not add wiiat was in her thoughts — that 
 at this hour she might see hira alone, since Mrs. Kerr 
 and Marion generally went out at that time to drive. 
 It was, she knew, contrary to foreign custom for her 
 to receive him in such a manner; but, strong in the 
 integrity of her own purpose, she felt that foreign 
 customs concerned her ver}^ litile. 
 
 The next day, therefore, when Eai'le arrived, he was 
 informed that the ladies were out, except Miss Alford, 
 who was in her studio, and would receive him there. 
 A little surprised but very much pleased by this, he 
 
FAIIiY GOLD. 333 
 
 followed the servant to the room which Claire used as 
 a studio when she was not studying in the galleries or 
 in the studio of the artist who was her master. 
 
 It was a small apartment, altogether devoted to 
 work, and without any of the decorations which make 
 many studios show-rooms for bric-a-brac rather than 
 places for labor. Here the easel was the chief article 
 of furniture, and there was little else beside tables for 
 paints and a few chairs. All was scrupulously clean, 
 fresh and airy, however; and, with Claire's graceful 
 figure in the midst, it seemed to Earle, as he entered, 
 a very shrine of art — art in the noble simplicity which 
 suits it best. 
 
 Claire, with her palette on her hand, was standing 
 before the easel. She greeted him with a smile, and 
 bade him come where he could command a sood view 
 of the painting. " Now be quite candid," she said; 
 " for you know I do not care for compliments." 
 
 "And I hope you know that I never pay them — 
 to you," he answered, as he obeyed her and stepped 
 in front of the canvas. 
 
 It was a charming picture, a typical Campagna 
 scene — a ruined mediaeval fortress, in the lower story 
 of wliich peasants had made their home, and round the 
 door of which children were playing ; a group of cattle 
 drinking at a flag-grown pool ; and, stretching far and 
 wide, the solemn beauty of the great plain. The 
 details were treated with great artistic skill, and the 
 sentiment of the picture expressed admirably the 
 wild, poetic desolation of this earth, '■'■ fatigu^e de 
 gloire, qui semble didaigner de produire " 
 
 "You have succeeded wonderfully," said Earle, 
 after a pause of some length. " How can you doubt 
 
334 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 it? Honestly, I did not expect to see anything half 
 so beautiful. How admirably you have expressed the 
 spirit of the Campagna! " 
 
 " Do you really think so?" asked Claire, coloring 
 with pleasure. "Or, rather, I know that you would 
 not say so if you did not think so, and therefore 1 am 
 delighted to hear it. I wanted so much to express 
 that spirit. It is what chiefly impresses me whenever 
 I see the Campagna, and it is so impossible to put it 
 in words." 
 
 " You have put it here," said Earle, with a gesture 
 toward the canvas. " Never again doubt your ability 
 to express anything that you like. You will be a 
 great painter some day, Miss Alford ; are you aware 
 of that.?" 
 
 She shook her head, and the flush of pleasure faded 
 from her face as she turned her grave, gentle eyes to 
 him. " No," she answered, quietly, " I do not think 
 I shall ever be a great painter ; and I will tell you 
 why : it is because I do not think that art is my 
 vocation — at least, not my Ji '•si vocation." 
 
 " Not your first vocation to be an artist? " he said, 
 in a tone of the greatest astonishment. " How can 
 you think such a thing with the proof of your power 
 before your eyes.'* Wliy, to doubt that you are an 
 artist in every fibre of your being is equivalent to 
 doubting that you exist." 
 
 " Not quite," she answered, smiling. "Butindeed 
 I do not doubt that I am an artist, and I used to 
 believe that if I really could become one, and be suc- 
 cessful in the exercise of art, I should be perfectly 
 happy. Now I have already succeeded beyond my 
 hopes. I cannot doubt but that those who tell me, 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 335 • 
 
 as you have just done, that I may be a painter in the 
 truest sense if I continue to work, are right. And 
 yet I repeat with the utmos.t seriousness that I do not 
 think it is iri}'' vocation to remain in the world and 
 devote myself to art." 
 
 Earle looked startled as a sudden glimpse of her 
 meaning came to his mind. '' What, then," he said,, 
 " do you believe to be your vocation? " 
 
 Claire looked away from him. She did not wish to 
 see how hard the blow she must deliver would strike. 
 
 "I believe," she said, quietly, "that it is my 
 vocation to enter the religious life. God has given 
 me what I desired most in the world, but it does not . 
 satisfy me. My heart was left behind in the cloister, 
 and day by day the desire grows upon me more 
 strongly to retnrn there." 
 
 "But you will not! " said Earle, almost violently. 
 "It is impossible^ — it would be a sacrifice such as- 
 God never demands! Why should He have given 
 you such great talent if He wished j'ou to bury it in 
 a cloister.? " 
 
 "Perhaps that I might have something to offer to 
 Him," answered Claire. " Otherwise I should have 
 nothing, you know. But there can be no question of ' 
 sacrifice when one is following the strongest inclina- 
 tion of one's heart." 
 
 " Y,ou do not know your own heart yet," said 
 Earle. "You are following its first inclination with- 
 out testing it. How could the peace and charm of 
 the cloister fail to attract you — you who seem made 
 for it? But—" 
 
 Claire's lifted hand stayed his words. " See," 
 she said, "how you bear testimony to what I have > 
 
336 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 declared. If I ' seem made ' for the cloister, what 
 can that mean save that my place is there?" 
 
 "Then is there no place for pure and good and 
 lovely people in the world? " asked Earle, conscious 
 that his tongue had indeed betrayed him. 
 
 "Oh, yes!" she answered; "there are not only 
 places, but there are also many duties for such people ; 
 and numbers of them are to be met on all sides. But 
 there are also some souls whom God calls to serve 
 Him in the silence and retirement of the cloister, who 
 pine like homesick exiles in the world. Believe me I 
 am one of those souls. I shrank from leaving the con- 
 vent where I had been educated, to go out into the 
 world; but I knew what everyone would say: that I 
 was following a fancy — an untried fancy — if I 
 stayed. So I went; and, as if to test me, everything 
 that I desired has been given me, and given without 
 the delays and disappointments that others have had 
 to endure. The world has shown me only its fairest 
 side, yet the call to something better and higher has 
 daily grown stronger within me, until I have no longer 
 any doubt but that it is God's will that I shall go." 
 
 Earle threw himself into a chair, and sat for a 
 minute silent, like one stunned. He felt as if he had 
 heard a death-warrant read ■ — as if he was not only to 
 be robbed individualh', but the world was to be robbed 
 of this lovely creature with her brilliant gift. 
 
 " What am I to sa}' to you.? " he cried at length, 
 in a half-stifled voice. " This seems to me too horri- 
 ble for belief. It is like suicide — the suicide of the 
 faculties, the genius that God has given you, — of all 
 the capabilities of 3'our nature to enjoy, — of all the 
 beauty, the happiness of life — " 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 337 
 
 He paused, for Claire was regarding him with a look 
 of amazement and rei)roach. *' You call yourself a 
 Catholic," she said, " and yet you can S[)eak in this 
 way of a religious vocation ! " 
 
 " I do not speak of religious vocations in general," 
 he answered. " I only speak of yours. There are 
 plenty of people wiio have nothing special to do in the 
 world. Let them go to the cloister. But for you — 
 you with 3'our wonderful talent, your bright future — 
 it is too terrible an idea to be entertained." 
 
 " Do you know," she said gravely, " that 3'ou not 
 only shock, you disappoint me greatly } How can you 
 be a Catholic and entertain such sentiments? — how 
 can you tiiink that only the useless, the worn-out, the 
 disappointed people of this world are for God? I 
 have been told tLiat Protestants think such things as 
 that, but they are surely strange for a Catholic to 
 believe." 
 
 " I do not believe them," he said ; " I am sure you 
 know that. But when one is awfully shocked, one 
 does not measure one's words. You do not realize 
 how close this comes to me — how terrible the disap- 
 pointment — " 
 
 She cut him short ruthlessly. " I realize," she said, 
 with a sweet smile, " that you are very kind to have 
 such a good opinion of me — to believe that the world 
 will really sustain any loss when such an insignificant 
 person as I leave it for the cloister." 
 
 " Insignificant! " he repeated, with something like 
 a groan. " How little you know of yourself to think 
 that! But tell me, is your mind unalterably made up 
 to this step? — could nothing induce you to change 
 it?" 
 
338 FAIHY GOLD. 
 
 Her eyes met his, steady and calm as stars. 
 " Nothing," she answered, firmly but gently. " When 
 God says, ' Come,' one must arise and go. There is 
 no alternative. As a preparation, He fills one with 
 such a distaste for the world, such a sense of the 
 brevity and unsatisfactoiiness of all earthly things, 
 that they no longer have any power to attract. " 
 
 "Not even human love?" he asked, almost in a 
 whisper. 
 
 She shook her head. "Not when weighed against 
 divine love," she answered. 
 
 Jn that answer everything was said, and a silence 
 fell, in which Claire seemed to hear the beating of her 
 heart. Would he be satisfied with this and go away 
 without forcing her to be more explicit, or would he 
 persist in laying on her one of the most painful neces- 
 sities which can be laid upon a woman.? As she 
 waited with anxiety for the solution of this question, 
 Earle was having something of a struggle with himself. 
 The impulse was strong with him to declare unre- 
 servedly what he felt and what lie had ventured to 
 hope ; but an instinct told him not only that it would 
 be useless, but that he would inflict needless pain upon 
 Claire, and mar their friendship by a memory of words 
 that could serve no possible purpose. He knew that 
 she understood him ; he recognized the motive which 
 had made her speak to him of a purpose that he felt 
 sure had been spoken of to no other among her asso- 
 ciates and friends ; and he was strong enough to say 
 to himself that he would keep silence — that she should 
 know no more than she had already guessed of the 
 pain which it cost him to hear her resolution. 
 
 When he presently looked at her, it was with a face 
 
FAIEY GOLD. 339 
 
 pale with feeling, but calm with the power of self-con- 
 trol. " Such a choice," he said, " it is not for me or 
 for any other man to combat. I only venture to beg 
 you not to act hastily. It would be terrible to take 
 such a step and regret it." 
 
 Claire smiled almost as a cloistered nun might smile 
 at such words. "Do you think that one ever tnkes 
 such a step hastily? No: there is a long probation 
 before me ; and if I have spoken to j-ou somewliat 
 prematurel^y, it was only because I thought I should 
 like you to know - " 
 
 " I undet stand," he said, as she hesitated. " It is 
 well tliat I should know. Do not think that I am so 
 dull as to mistake you in the least. I am honored by 
 your confidence, and I shall remember it and you as 
 long as I live. Now " — he rose — "I must bid you 
 good-bj'e. I think of leaving Eome for a time. I have 
 a friend in Naples who is urging me to join him in a 
 journey to the East. Can I do anything for j^ou in 
 the Holy Land?" 
 
 "You can pray for me," said Claire ; " and believe 
 that wherever I may be I shall always pray for }ou." 
 
 " What better covenant could be made? " he asked, 
 with a faint smile. And then, in order to preserve his 
 composure, he took her hand, kissed it, and went 
 hastily away. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 AND so for Earle those Roman days ended, with 
 the brief dream which he had indulged of find- 
 
 ino; ill Claire's heart a response for the feeling 
 that had arisen in his own. Yet no disappointment can 
 be very keen when hope has not been very great, and 
 Earle was well aware that he had never possessed any 
 ground for hope. Kind and gentle tis Claire had been, 
 he was always conscious of something about her which 
 seemed to set her at a remote distance, — an indefin- 
 able manner which had made him once call her "a 
 vestal of art." He understood this now, but he had 
 felt it before he understood it, and so the lilow was 
 not as heavy as it might have been if this underl3dng 
 instinct had not existed. A vestal ! — the expression 
 had been well chosen ; for there was indeed a vestal- 
 like quality about her, — a vestal-like charm, which 
 seemed to inspire thoughts of cloisteral tranquillity, 
 and keep the fires of human passion at bay. This 
 exquisite quality had been her chief attraction to 
 Earle: its , very unlikeness to the nature which had 
 fascinated him, and from which he had recoiled, 
 uiakino; its charm the greater : but even while it 
 attracted, he had felt that it removed her from him 
 and made hope wear the guise of presumption. 
 
 (340) 
 
FAW. Y GOLD. 341 
 
 NoTV nil hope was final I3' at an end ; and, since it is 
 in limnan nature to resign itself to the inevitable, the 
 wound might be said to carry its own cure. Earle 
 was aware of this, and he left Rome in no melo- 
 dramatic spirit whatever; but feeling it best to go, 
 in order to recover that calm and health}^ control of 
 himself and his own feelings which had been lacking 
 with him since he first met Marion in Scarborough. 
 As we know that nature abhors a vacuum, it is prob- 
 able that his attachment to Claire arose parti}' from 
 the disappointment of that prior attachment — from 
 the need of the heart to put another object in the place 
 of that which had been dethroned ; but, leaving all 
 aualjsis of the kind for the future, he quietly accepted 
 the pain of the present and went away. 
 
 Marion had not the least doubt of the reason of 
 his goinii, although no word fell from Claire on the 
 subject. She said to herself that she was sorry — that 
 she had hoped to know that Claire and himself were 
 happy together, since they suited each other so well ; 
 but, although she was sincere in thinking this, there 
 could be no doubt that, despite herself, she felt his 
 departure to be a relief — that it relaxed a strain iu 
 which she held herself, — and that if a blank followed, 
 a sense of peace, of release from painful conflict, also 
 came. " I suffer through my own fault," she re- 
 flected; "therefore it is 'quite riglit that I sliould 
 suffer." And such acceptance robbed the suffering 
 of half its sting. 
 
 Two or three tranquil months followed — months 
 during which the influences that surrounded her sank 
 deep into Marion, and seemed to be moulding over 
 again the passionate, impulsive nature. Claire was 
 
342 FAIRY GOLD. 
 
 one of the foremost of these influences, as Marion her- 
 self was well aware ; and more than once she thought 
 that she would be content if she might spend her life 
 neai* the friend who had always seemed to her the 
 voice of her better self. She had begun to study 
 art — having a very fair talent, — and one day as she 
 sat working at a study she said to Claire, who was 
 painting busily on the other side of the room: — 
 
 " If I can ever grow to be anything of an artist, 
 what a pleasure it will be for us to live and work 
 together ! I cannot think of anything I should prefer 
 to that." 
 
 Claire smiled a little. "Nevertheless," she said, 
 *' tbere may be something that you will prefer as time 
 goes on, although our association is very pleasant — 
 as pleasant to me as to you." 
 
 " Is there anything that you would prefer?" asked 
 Marion ; for something in the tone of the other struck 
 her with surprise. 
 
 Claire did not answer for a moment. Then she said, 
 quietly: " Yes. I must be frank with you. Thcn-e is 
 something I should prefer even to your companion- 
 ship, even to art. I should prefer to go back to the 
 convent that I have never ceased to regret." 
 
 Marion's brush dropped from her hand. She was 
 astonished beyond measure, for it was the first intima- 
 tion she had received of such a feeling on Claire's 
 part. "Go back to the convent," she cried, " and 
 give up you art! — Claire, are you mad? " 
 
 " Very sane, my dear," answered Claire, smiling. 
 *' I have disliked to tell you about it, because I knew 
 you would be sorry. I am sorry, too, that it should 
 be necessary for us to part ; but I grow daily more 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 343 
 
 certain that my vocation lies not in the world but in 
 the cloister." 
 
 "I am more than sorry — I am shocked! " said 
 Marion. "With your talent! — why, all the artists 
 whom we know say that your future is certain to be 
 a biilliaut one. And to bury that in a cloister! — 
 Claire, it should not be allowed! " 
 
 Claire remembered what other voice had said this, 
 almost in the same words ; but she was no more 
 moved by it now than she had been then. 
 
 "Who should prevent it?" she asked. " If you, 
 for instance, had the power, would you venture to 
 prevent it — to say that any soul should serve the 
 world instead of ser\'ing God? " 
 
 ' ' That is not a fair way to put it. Cannot people 
 serve God in the world as well as in the cloister? " 
 
 " Surely yes, if it is their vocation to do so. But 
 if one has a vocation for the reliaiious life — if that 
 imperative call is heard, which cannot be realized 
 except by those who hear it, bidding one arise and go 
 forth, — then one cannot serve God as well in the 
 world as in the cloister." 
 
 " But, Claire, may you not imagine this call.? I 
 cannot believe that God would have given yon such 
 a talent if He had not meant you to make the most 
 of it. Think how much good you might do if you 
 remained in the world — how much money you might 
 make, as well as how much fame you might win ! " 
 
 "My dear," said Claire, with gentle solemnity, 
 "how much will either money or fame weigh in the 
 scales of eternity ? I want to work for eternity rather 
 than for time ; and I am, happily, free to do so — 
 to go back to the cloister, where I left my heart. 
 
344 FAIBT GOLD. 
 
 Do not make it painful for me. Try to reconcile 
 yourself to it, and to believe that God makes no 
 mistakes." 
 
 "I cannot be reconciled," said Marion. "It is 
 not only that I cannot bear to give you up — that I 
 cannot bear for you to resign the success cf which 
 I have been proud in anticipation, — but I am selfish, 
 too. I think of my own life. You are my one 
 anchor in the world, and I have been happy in the 
 thought of our living together, of our — " 
 
 Her voice broke down in tears. It was indeed a 
 blow which fell more heavily than Claire had reckoned 
 on. Feeling assured herself what would be the end 
 for Marion, she overlooked the fact that Marion her- 
 self had no such assurance. In her disappointment 
 and her friendlessuess she had come to Claire as to a 
 secure refuge, and lo ! that refuge was now about to 
 fail her. Emotion overpowered her — the strong emo- 
 tion of a nature which rarely yields to it, — and for 
 some minutes she was hardly conscious that Claire's 
 tender arms were around her, and Claire's tender 
 voice was bidding her take comfort and courage. 
 
 " I am not going to leave you immediately, nor 
 even soon," that voice said; " and I should certainly 
 not leave you, under any circumstances, until I 
 saw you well placed and happy. Dear Marion, do 
 not distress yourself. Let us leave things in God's 
 hands. He will show us what is best." 
 
 "I am a wretch to distress you," said Marion, 
 struggling with her tears. " But you must not be- 
 lieve me more selfish than I am. Do you think I 
 should only miss you as a convenience of my life? 
 No, it is you, Claire — your influence, yourself — that 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 345 
 
 I shall miss beyond all measure. No one in the 
 world can take your place with me — no one! " 
 
 " But there may be a place as good for some one 
 else to take," said Claire. "Do not fear: the path 
 will open before you. If we trust God He will cer- 
 tainly Show us what to do. Trust Him, Marion, and 
 ti'y to be reconciled, will you not? " 
 
 " I will try," Marion answered; " but I fear that 
 I never can be. You see now, Claire, how strong a 
 hold the world has on me. If I were good, if I were 
 spiritual-minded, I should be glad for you to do 
 this thing ; but as it is, my whole feeling is one of 
 vehement opposition." 
 
 "That will not last," said Claire. " I have seen 
 it often, even in people whom j-ou would have called 
 very spiritual-minded ; but it ended in the belief that 
 whatever God wills is best. You will feel that, too, 
 before long." 
 
 Marion shook her head sadly, but she would not 
 pain Claire by further words. Slie felt that her 
 resolution was immovable, however long it might be 
 before it was executed. " So there is nothing for me 
 but to try to resign myself," she thought. "I wish 
 it were my vocation that I might go with her; for 
 everything that I care for seems to slip from my 
 grasp." 
 
 Apart from resigning herself in feeling, there was 
 also a practical side of the question which she was 
 well aware must be considered. Where was she to 
 go, with whom was she to live when Claire had left 
 her, and. like a weary dove, flown back to cloister 
 shades? She considered this question anxiously; and 
 she had not arrived at any definite conclusion, when 
 
346 FAIEY GOLD. 
 
 one day a letter came which made her utter a cry of 
 surprise and pleasure. 
 
 "This is from Helen," she said, meeting Claire's 
 glance; "and what 1 hoped and expected has come 
 to pass — she has promised to marry Mr. Singleton." 
 
 "Helen!" exclaimed Claire, in a tone of inure- 
 duJity. " Why, I thought he wanted to marry you." 
 
 Marion laughed. "That was a mistake on his 
 part," she said, "which fortunately did not impose 
 upon me. Perhaps he was a little in love — the cir- 
 cumstances favored such a delusion, — but I am sure 
 his ruling motive for asking me to marry him was to 
 give me that share of the fortune which he could not 
 induce me to take in any other way. I really did not 
 suit him at all. I saw before I left that Helen did 
 suit him, and I hoped for just what has come to pass. 
 
 Claire, you don't know how happy it makes me! 
 For I feel now as if I had in a measure atoned to 
 Helen for the pain I caused her about that wretched 
 Rathborne." 
 
 "How?" asked Claire, smiling. "By making 
 over Mr. Singleton and his fortune to her? But I am 
 afraid you can scarcely credit yourself with having 
 done that." 
 
 "Only indirectly, but it is certain that if I had 
 accepted him he could not be engaged to her now. 
 
 1 am so glad — so very glad! He is really a good 
 fellow, and Helen will be able to do a great deal with 
 him." 
 
 "Is he a Catholic?" 
 
 " She says that he has just been received into the 
 Church. But here is the letter. Read it for your- 
 self. I think she is very happy. ' ' 
 
FAIBT GOLD. 347 
 
 Claire rpad the letter with interest, and when she 
 had finished, returned it, saying, "Yes, I think she 
 is certainly very happy. Dear Helen ! how we always 
 said that she was made for happiness ! And now God 
 seems to have given it to her in the form of great 
 worldly prosperity — the very prosperity that you lost. 
 Are not His ways strange to us? " 
 
 " This is nob at all strange to me," replied Marion. 
 " What I lost would have ruined me ; what Helen has 
 gained will have no effect upon her, except to make 
 her more kind and more charitable. She is one of 
 the people whom prosperity cannot harm. Therefore 
 it is given her in full measure. But it certainly would 
 have been singular if I could have foreseen that after 
 I had gained my fortune it would pass into Helen's 
 bands, and that by a simple process of retribution. 
 For if matters had remained as they were between 
 Rathborne and herself, there could have been no 
 question of this. And they would have so remained 
 but for me." 
 
 " You should be very grateful," said Claire, " that 
 you have been allowed to atone so fully for a fault 
 that you might have had to regret always. Now it 
 can be forgotten. Helen says she will be married in 
 April, does she not? " 
 
 Marion turned to the letter, " Yes, in April — just 
 after Easter. Claire, let us beg her to come abroad 
 for her wedding journey, and join us.-*" 
 
 " With all my heart," said Claire. " They can 
 come here for a little time, and then we can go with 
 them to Switzerland, or the Italian lakes, or wherever 
 they wish to go for the summer. It will be pleasant 
 for us to be together once more — for the last time." 
 
348 FAinr GOLD. 
 
 " Ckiire, you break my heart Tvhen you talk so! " 
 "Oh! uo," said Claire, gently, " 1 am very sure 
 that I do not break your heart ; and if I sadden you 
 a little, that is necessar}' ; but it will not last long. 
 There is no need to think of it now, however ; ouly 
 think that j^ou and Helen and I will pass a few bappy 
 days together — for I suppose Mr. Singleton will not 
 be much of a drawback — before we start on another 
 and a different beginning of life from that on which 
 we entered when we left our dear convent." 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 A YEAR from the summer day when three girls 
 had stood together on the eve of parting in iheir 
 convent school-room, the same three were seated 
 together on the shores of the Lago di Como. The 
 garden of the hotel in which they were staying ex- 
 tended to the verge of the lake, and they iiad found a 
 lovely leafy nook, surrounded by oleander and m^-rtle, 
 with an unobstructed view over the blue sparkling 
 water and the beautiful shores, framed by moun- 
 tains. 
 
 '■ A jT-ear ago to-day! " said Marion, meditatively, 
 after a pause of some length. " Do j^ou remember how 
 we wondered when and where we should be together 
 again? And here we are, with an experience behind 
 us which is full of dramatic changes and full of 
 instructions — at least for me." 
 
 " Certainly for me also," observed Helen. " Look- 
 ing back on what I passed through, I realize clearly 
 how foolish we are to regret the loss of things that 
 seem to us desirable, but which God knows to be just 
 the reverse. How miserable I was for a time ! Yet 
 tliat very misery was paving the way for my present 
 happiness." 
 
 " Ver^' directlj'," said Marion : •' vet it is something 
 
 (349) 
 
350 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 I do not like to think of ; for it misht all have ended 
 so differently but for the mercy of God — and j'ours 
 too, Helen. You deserve happiness, because you 
 were so gentle and generous under unhappiness. As 
 for me, I deserve nothing good, yet I have gained 
 a great deal — the gift of faith, relief from self- 
 reproach, and the great pleasure of being here with 
 you and Claire." 
 
 Claire looked at the speaker with a smile. " The 
 pleasure of being together is one that we all share," 
 she said ; " and also, I tliiuk, the sense of great grati- 
 tude to God. How much have I, for instance, to be 
 grateful for — I who a year ago went forth in^o the 
 world with so much reluctance — that the way has 
 been made so clear to my feet; that I have now such 
 a sense of peace, such a conviction of being in the 
 right path! " 
 
 The others did not answer. It was hard for them — 
 partic'.ilarly hard for Marion — to give full sympathy 
 on this point ; for the pain of impending separation 
 was hanging over them, and not even their recoo-nition 
 of the peace of which Claire spoke could make them 
 altogether willing to see her pass out of tln'ir lives 
 forever. There is the irrrevocableness and tlierefore 
 the pain of death in such partings, intensified by the 
 fact that just in proportion as a character is fitted for 
 the religious life does it possess the virtues to endear 
 it most to those associated with it in the world. In 
 such cases renunciation is not altogetlier on one 
 side; and although Marion had struggled for the 
 strength to make this renunciation, she could not 
 ytt control herself sufficiently to speak of it Her own 
 future looked very blank to her, although it had been. 
 
FAIIiY GOLD. 351 
 
 decided that she should remain with Helen, at least 
 for a time, when Claire left them. 
 
 "I will stay with you until after your return to 
 America," she had said to Helen when her jjlaus were 
 discussed ; " but then I must liud something to do — 
 some occupation with which to fill my life." 
 
 Helt n shook her head. "I am sure that George 
 will never consent to that," she answered. 
 
 "And what has George to do with it?" asked 
 Marion, amused by the calm, positive tone of Helen's 
 speech. " I am really not aware that he has any con- 
 trol over me." 
 
 "Control — no," answered Helen; "but he feels 
 that he owes you so much — the recovery of his 
 father's fortune without any expense or di\ision — 
 that he is anxious to find something he can do for you, 
 and he has said again and again how much he wished 
 that you would allow him to make you independent." 
 
 " He could not make me independent of the need 
 to fill my life with some work worth the doing," said 
 Marion. " I do not yet perceive what it is to be, but 
 no doubt I shall find out." 
 
 " Of course you will find out," said Claire, with 
 her gentle, unquestioning faith. " God never fails to 
 suow the way to one who is willing to see it." 
 
 The way, however, had not yet been made clear to 
 Marion as the three sat together on this anniversary 
 of thf'ir first parting. She felt the difference between 
 herself and her companions very keenly. To them 
 life showed itself as a clear path, which they had only 
 to follow to be certain that they were in the way of 
 duty. All doubts and perplexities were at an end for 
 Ihem, whereas for her they seemed only beginning. 
 
352 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 What, indeed, was she to do with her life ? She could 
 as yet see no answer to that question, and could only 
 trust that in God's time the way would be made clear 
 to her. 
 
 The silence after Claire's last speech lasted some 
 time ; for there seemed little to be said, though much 
 to be felt, on the events of the past year. At length 
 Helen observed, looking around toward the hotel, 
 "How long George is in coming! He promised to 
 follow us almost immediately, and I think we must 
 have been here almost an hour." 
 
 "Oh! no," said Claire, smiling, "not so long as 
 that. But certainly he has not fulfilled his promise 
 of coming soon." 
 
 "And it is a pity," continued Helen; " for just 
 now is the most delightful time to be on the water. I 
 believe I will go and look for him. Will any one else 
 come? " 
 
 Claire, who was always in readiness to do anything 
 asked of her, assented and rose. But Marion kept her 
 seat. " I think this is almost as pleasant as being on 
 the water," she said. "But when you have found 
 George, and he has found a boat, and all is in readi- 
 ness, you may summon me. Meanwhile I am very 
 comfortable where I am." 
 
 " We will summon you, then, when we are ready," 
 said Helen. And the two walked away toward the 
 hotel. 
 
 Marion, who had still, as of old, a great liking for 
 solitude, settled herself, after the others left, in a cor- 
 ner of the bench on which they had been seated, and 
 looked at the lovely scene before her eyes which saw 
 its beauty as in a dream. She was living over her life 
 
FAIBY GOLD. 353 
 
 of the past year while she gazed at the distant, ghtter- 
 ing Alpine summits; and althougli she had spoken 
 truly in saying that she was deeply conscious of grati- 
 tude for many dangers escaped, and chiefly for the 
 wonderful gift of faith, there nevertheless remained a 
 sharp recollection of failure and pain dominating all 
 her thoughts of the past. 
 
 Her face was very grave, therefore, and her brows 
 knitted with an expression of thought or suffering, 
 when a man presently came around a bend of the path, 
 and paused an instant, unobserved, to regard her. He 
 saw, or fancied that he saw, many changes in that face 
 since it had fascinated him first ; but they were not 
 changes which detracted from its charm. The beauty 
 was as striking as ever, but the expression had altered 
 much. There was no longer a curve of disdain on the 
 perfect lips, nor a light of mockery in the brilliant 
 eyes. The countenance had softened even while it 
 had grown more serious, and its intellectual character 
 was more manifest than ever. These things struck 
 Brian Earle during the minute in which he paused. 
 Then, fearing to be observed, he came forward. 
 
 His step on the path roused Marion's attention, 
 and, turning her eyes quickly from the distant scene, 
 she was amazed to see before her the man who was 
 just then most clearly in her thoughts. 
 
 Startled almost beyond the power of self-control, 
 she said nothing. It was he who advanced and spoke. 
 "Forgive me if I intrude. Miss Lynde — but I was 
 told that I should find you here ; and — and I hoped 
 that you would not object to seeing me." 
 
 Marion, who had now recovered herself, held out 
 her hand to meet his, saying, quietly, " Why should I 
 
 23 
 
354 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 object? But it is a great surprise. I had no idea that 
 you were in this part of the world at all." 
 
 " Mv arrival here is very recent," he said, sitting 
 down beside her; " and you may fancy my surprise 
 when, an hour after my arrival, I met George Single- 
 ton, and heard the extraordinary news of his marriage 
 to your cousin." 
 
 " That must have astonished you very much. We 
 first heard of it after you left Rome." 
 
 "It astonished me the more," he said with some 
 hesitation, " because I bad fancied it liJiely that in the 
 end you would marry him." 
 
 " I ! " she said, coloring quickly and vividly. Then 
 after a moment she added, with a tinge of bitterness 
 in her tone, " Such an idea was natural, perhaps, 
 considering your opinion of me. But it was a great 
 mistake." 
 
 " So I have learned," he answered. " But when 
 you speak of my opinion of you, may I ask what you 
 conceive it to be?" 
 
 " Is it necessary that we should discuss it?" she 
 asked with a touch of her old haughtiness. " It is 
 not of importance — to me." 
 
 " I am sure of that," he said, with something of 
 humility. " But, believe me, your opinion of it 
 is of importance to me. Therefore I should very 
 much like to know what you beheve that I think of 
 you." 
 
 Her straight brows grew closer together. She spoke 
 with the air of one who wishes to end a disagreeable 
 subject. "This seems to me very unnecessary, Mr. 
 Earle ; but, since you insist, I suppose that you think 
 me altogether mercenary and ready, if the opportunity 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 3Jo 
 
 had been giveu me, to marry 3-OQr cousin for his 
 fortune." 
 
 " Thank you," he answered when she ceased speak- 
 ing. " I am much obliged by your frankness. I 
 feared that you did me just such injustice ; and yet, 
 Miss Lynde, how can you? In the first place, do you 
 suppose that I am unaware that j'ou gave his father's 
 fortune intact to my cousin ? And in the second place, 
 have I not heard that you refused it when he offered 
 it to you again, with himself? If I had ever fancied 
 you mercenary, cotdd I continue so to mistake you 
 after hearing these things ? But indeed I never did 
 think you mercenary, not even in the days when we 
 differed most on the question which finally diviiled us. 
 I did not think then tliat you desired wealth for itself, 
 or that you would have done anything unworthy to 
 gain it; but I thought you exaggerated its value for 
 the sake of the things it could purchase, and I believed 
 then (what I know now) that you did injustice to tlie 
 nobleness of your own nature in setting before your- 
 self worldly prosperity as your i'leal of happiness." 
 
 She shook her head a little sa(ll3\ " The less said 
 of the nobleness of my nature the better," she an- 
 swered ; " but 1 soon found that the ideal was a very 
 poor one, and one which could not satisfy me. I am 
 glad your cousin came to claim that fortune, winch 
 might else have weighed me down with its responsi- 
 bility to the end." 
 
 " And do you forgive me," he said, leaning toward 
 her and lowering his voice, " for having refused that 
 fortune ? ' ' 
 
 " Does it matter," she answered, soraewiiat ner- 
 vousl}', " whether 1 forgive you or not? It would have 
 
356 FAIBY GOLD. 
 
 ended in the same way. You, too, would have had to 
 give it up when your cousin appeared.'' 
 
 "But, putting that aside, can you not ??o^t' realize 
 a httle better my motives, and forgive whatevv^r seemed 
 harsh or dictatorial in my conduct? " 
 
 Marion had grown very pale. " I have no right to 
 judge your conduct," she said. 
 
 "You had a right then, and you exercised it 
 severely. Perhaps I was too presumptuous, too 
 decided in my opinion and refusal. I have thought 
 so since, and I should like to hear you say that you 
 forgive it." 
 
 "I cannot imagine," she said, with a marked lack 
 of her usual self-possession, " why you should attach 
 any importance to my forgiveness — granting that I 
 have anything to forgive." 
 
 " Can you not? Then I will tell you why I attach 
 importance to it. Because during these months of 
 absence I have learned that my attachment to you is 
 as great as it ever was — as great, do I sny? Nay, it 
 is much greater, since I know j^ou belter now, and 
 the nobleness in which I formerly believed has been 
 proved. I can hardly venture to hope for so mucli 
 happiness, but if it is possible that you can think of 
 me again, that you can forgive and trust me, I sliould 
 try, by God's help, to deserve your trust better." 
 
 "Do not speak in that manner," said IMariou, with 
 trembling lips, "It is I who should a-k forgiveness, 
 if there is to be any question of it at all. But 1 1 bought 
 3'ou had forgotten me — it was surely natural enough, — 
 and that when you went away it was because — on 
 account of — Claire." 
 
 "You were right," he answered, quietly. " I meant 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 357 
 
 to tell you that. In the reaction of my disappoint- 
 ment about you, I thought of your friend ; because I 
 admired her so much, I fancied I was in love with her. 
 But when she put an end to such fancu-s by tellinj; 
 me gently and kindlv of her intention to enter the 
 religious life, I learned my mistake. The thought of 
 her passed away like a dream — like a shadow that has 
 crossed a mirror, — and I found that you, Marion, had 
 been in my heart all the time. I tested mysilf by 
 absence, and I returned with the intention of seeking: 
 you wherever you .were to be found, and asking you if 
 there is no hope for me — no hope of winning your 
 heart and your trust again." 
 
 There was a moment's pause, and then she held out 
 her hand to him. 
 
 " You have never lost either," she said. 
 
 (The End.) 
 
.^T