TAMF. URR4HY, LOS ANGILES

 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER 
 
 BY 
 
 FLORENCE WARDER 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 M. A. DONOHUE & Co.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 RISHTON" HALL FAEM was let at last. Lord Stannington 
 had had it on his hands a long time, and had offered it at a 
 lower and ever lower rent. It was an open secret that John 
 Oldshaw, who had a long lease of Lower Rishton Farm at the 
 other end of the village, had expected the Rishton Hall lease 
 to drop into his hands at last for a very trifling rent indeed. 
 He was a careful man; the property under his hands throve; 
 and he was fond of saying that his lordship would make a 
 better bargain by letting him have the land at 10 an acre 
 than by letting another man have it at 15. However, Lord 
 Stannington had apparently thought otherwise; at any rate, 
 when a stranger appeared upon the scene and offered him a 
 fair rent for the land without any haggling, they came to 
 terms without delay, and John Oldshaw found that his hoped- 
 for bargain had escaped him. 
 
 This West Riding farmer was not a nice person to deal with 
 when he was disappointed. He drove over to Sheffield to the 
 agent's office, and stamped into that gentleman's presence, 
 his square, heavy face purple with ill-suppressed rage. 
 
 " Na then, Maister Garrett, be pleased to tell mah if yen- 
 der's true as Ah hear, that Rishton Hall Farm's let to a 
 stranger?" he bellowed, thumping the table with his broad 
 fist, and glaring at the agent with the unreasoning fierceness 
 of an angry bull. 
 
 Mr. Garrett was a slight, fair man of uncertain age, whose 
 light eyes were accustomed, by long practice, to read men 
 pretty accurately. 
 
 " Quite true, Mr. Oldshaw," he answered, civilly, with im- 
 perturbable coolness. "It was let a fortnight ago; and the 
 new tenant comes in let me see " referring to his papers 
 " on the 16th; this day week, in fact." 
 
 " And dost tha' knaw, Maister Garrett, that Ab/re had ma 
 mahnd set on Rishton Hall Farm for this twelvemonth and 
 mair?" 
 
 24 
 _ii_
 
 6 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " How could we know it, Mr. Oldshaw, since the farm's 
 been in the market more than twice that time, and we have 
 never had any intimation from you of a wish for it?" 
 
 " We Yarkshiremen doan't do things in a hurry. But 
 every mon in t' village knawed Ah'd set ma heeart on t' 
 farm, and noo Ah'm to be t' laughing-stock o' a,' t' feeals i' 
 t* coontry, and Rishton Farm let ower ma yead to a stranger 
 as nawbody's ever heeard on!" 
 
 And the farmer gave an apoplectic snort of malignant 
 anger. 
 
 Oh, but that is not the case, Mr. Oldshaw," said the 
 agent as quietly as ever; " Mr. Denison, the gentleman who 
 has taken the farm, is a friend of friends of his lordship, and 
 in every way a tenant of the most desirable kind." 
 
 John Oldshaw calmed down suddenly, and into his small, 
 blood-shot blue eyes there came a satisfied twinkle. 
 
 " A gentleman, ye say. A gentleman's got the farm!" in 
 a tone of the deepest contempt. " Thank ye, Maister Gar- 
 rett, Ah'm quite satisfied. It's not for me to grumble at his 
 lordship, then. Ah can pity him. The* never was t' gentle- 
 man barn could do any good at farming, and if a gentleman 
 barn's got Eishton Hall Farm, all t' ill I wish his lordship is 
 may t' gentleman barn stick to's bargain." 
 
 And with these words, uttered in a tone of fierce triumph, 
 the farmer, who had not removed his hat on entering the 
 office, turned and stalked out with every appearance of enjoy- 
 ing, as he had intimated, a complete revenge. 
 
 The village of Rishton boasted two inns, both of the most 
 unpretending kind. The larger and more important of these 
 was the Chequers, a stone building of the simplest kind of 
 architecture, to which were attached numerous small out- 
 buildings, forming three sides of a quadrangle for Mr. Tew's 
 gig and Mrs. Tew's hens. The Chequers stood just outside 
 the gate of Rishton Hall Farm, and its windows commanded 
 the approach from Matherham, the nearest market-town, 
 which was three miles away. On the 16th of January, the 
 day of the expected arrival of the new tenant of Rishton Hall, 
 John Oldshaw took up his stand at one of the inn windows, 
 watching with malevolent eyes for the approach of his rival. 
 It was a bitterly cold day, gray overhead and black under 
 foot; and the frost, which had held for three days, was grow- 
 ing harder as the afternoon wore on. John Oldshaw, with a 
 sense of keen disappointment, had at last to acquiesce in the 
 general belief that the new tenant would not come to-day. 
 
 " If he's coom as far as Matherham he'll stop there t' night,
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 7 
 
 Maister Oldshaw," said Tew, the landlord, a small man, ruled 
 by his wife. " T' ground's too slaippery for e'er a horse to 
 stand on, lettin' alone t' road's all hill and dale 'tween this 
 and Matherham. Besides, t' awd house is as bare as a barn; 
 he'd never coom till he'd sent some stuff to put in it, and 'a 
 coople o' servants to set it to rights a bit. " 
 
 Well, it ain't ma way o' doin' things, to neame wan day 
 for coomin' and then to coom another," said Oldshaw, con- 
 temptuously. " But then, Ah'm naw gentleman, and my 
 Lord Stannington '11 mighty soon wish as he could say same o' 
 t' new tenant, Maister Tew." 
 
 Mr. Tew could not afford to have an independent opinion in 
 the presence of the great man of the village, with that misera- 
 ble Cock and Bottle not five hundred yards away, gaping for 
 first place as the hostelry of the elite. 
 
 " It's ta mooch to expect to get another tenant like you, 
 Maister Oldshaw," he said, discreetly. 
 
 It was by this time nearly four o'clock, and the gray day 
 was already beginning to darken toward a black evening when 
 Mat Oldshaw, the farmer's oldest son, who had been sent by 
 his father to the top of the hill on the lookout, re-entered the 
 inn at a pace somewhat faster than his usual shambling gait 
 He was a tall, round-shouldered lad of about twenty, with fair 
 hair and a weather-tanned face, whose heavy dullness was for 
 the moment lightened by a passing gleam of great excitement. 
 
 :< Weel, Mat, hast seean a ghoost?" asked his father. 
 
 " Naw, feyther; but there's a cab coomin' down t' hill " 
 
 " So Maister Gentleman's coom, has he?" shouted the 
 farmer, triumphantly; and he had seized his stout ash stick, 
 and was making with ponderous strides for the door, as if witn 
 the intention of inflicting bodily chastisement on the insolent 
 new-comer, when his son interposed, blushing a deep brick-red 
 to the roots of his hair. 
 
 ' " Eh, but feyther/' he stammered, turning to the door 
 handle uneasily, and dividing his glances between the floor, 
 the window, and his father's boorish face, " it's na t j gentle- 
 man; it's nobbut twea lasses.'* 
 
 After which admission, he fell to blushing more violently 
 than before. 
 
 " Twea lasses?" echoed Oldshaw, incredulously. 
 
 " Hey, feyther. An' wan o' them's got a feace lik' a rose. ' ; 
 
 " Feace lik' a rose?" thundered the farmer. " Doan't thee 
 daze tha dull wits lookin' at wenches' faces, for Ah tell tha 
 Ah'll have na son o' mine hangin' aboot t' Hall noo. "
 
 8 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " She bain't no lass for t' likes o' mea, feyther; yon lass is 
 a leady," said the lad, simply. 
 
 If the stranger's fair face had not, as his father suggested, 
 dazed his dull wits already, the young man would surely have 
 had the tact to restrain these rash words, which fanned the 
 flame of his father's coarse malevolence. 
 
 "Aleady! A f oine leady! ta foine for any son o' mine? 
 Ah tell thee, feeal, t' day'll coom when tha foine leady'll wish 
 she wur good enoo for t' loikes o' thee; and good enoo she 
 shall never be tha heears?" 
 
 Though the young man's head was bent in a listening atti- 
 tude, and he assented in the meekest of gruff voices, the father 
 guessed that this deep attention was not all for his discourse, 
 when the sound of hoofs and wheels on the hard ground out- 
 side attracted him to the outer door, which he reached in time 
 to see a luggage-laden cab slowly descend the hill and pass the 
 inn door, giving time for a look at the two young faces inside. 
 Mistress and maid evidently; both bright, eager, and rather 
 anxious. The former met full the surly stare of the farmer, 
 and she drew back her head as if a blast of chilling wind had 
 met her on her approach to her new home. The little maid, 
 who had rosy cheeks and what one may call retrousee features, 
 was less sensitive, and she looked out to resent this cold un- 
 welcome with a contemptuous toss of the head. 
 
 " They're reg'lar savages in these parts, Miss Olivia," she 
 said, in a slightly raised tone. " 1 only hope we may be un- 
 eaten by the time the master comes!" 
 
 The cab had passed the front of the inn, and was rounding 
 the sharp turn which led up a slight ascent through the open 
 farm-yard gate, when suddenly, without any warning except 
 a few rough jolts over the uneven ground, it turned over on 
 its side, to the accompaniment of shrill screams from one 
 female throat, and a less loud but more plaintive cry from the 
 other. Mat Oldshaw, who was standing on the inn doorstep 
 behind his father, made a spring forward to help them. But 
 the elder man, with a movement quicker than one would have 
 expected from his clumsy form and ponderous gait, grasped 
 his arm with a violence which made the lad reel, and giving 
 him a push back against the wall of the house, said, in a low, 
 thick voice: 
 
 " Doan't thoo meddle with what doan't concern thee. 
 Wheer there's so mooch cry, there ain't mooch hurt, tak' ma 
 word for 't. " 
 
 " Feyther!" said Mat, indignantly, entreatingly. Then he 
 was dumb, for even through his not overbright brains came a
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEB. 9 
 
 suspicion that this accident was perhaps not wholly unexpected 
 by one of its witnesses. 
 
 As this brief scene passed between father and son, a man in 
 a short frieze coat, knickerbockers, gaiters, and deer-stalker 
 cap, who had quickened his pace down the hill into a run on 
 seeing the accident, looked full into the faces of both men 
 with a keen, shrewd expression as he dashed by. 
 
 " It's Parson Brander, o' St. Cuthbert's, feyther. He heeard 
 thee," said the young man in a husky, awed whisper. 
 
 " An* wha not? Ah'd loike to see sik as him say a word to 
 me!" said the farmer, in a loud voice of boastful contempt. 
 
 And the attitudes respectively of father and son, the one of 
 contemptuous disgust, the other of awe-struck respect, repre- 
 sented the two views most commonly taken in the country-side 
 of the Reverend Vernon Brander, Vicar of Saint Cuthbert's. 
 
 Before the last disdainful word was out of John Oldshaw's 
 mouth, the new-comer had opened the cab-door, and extricated 
 the two girls from their unpleasant position. The maid was 
 uppermost, but she was a little creature, and had probably in- 
 flicted far less inconvenience on her more massively built mis- 
 tress than that young lady would have inflicted on her had 
 their positions been reversed. Her rosy cheeks had lost their 
 color, and from her forehead, which had been cut by the broken 
 glass of the carriage window, blood was trickling down. 
 
 In answer to the gentleman's inquiries as to whether she was 
 hurt, she said in a trembling voice that she didn't know yet, 
 and begged him to get her mistress out. This he at once pro- 
 ceeded to do, and was rewarded by the thanks of a young lady 
 whom he at once decided to be one of the handsomest girls 
 that this or any other country ever produced. 
 
 Olivia Denison was indeed an unchallenged beauty, and had 
 occupied that proud position almost ever since, twenty years 
 ago, she had been pronounced to be " a lovely baby." She 
 was tall of that cruel height which forces short admirers, on 
 pain of looking ridiculous, to keep their distance; of figure 
 rather massive than slender, with a fair skin, a fresh color, 
 dark hair, blue eyes, and a winning expression of energy and 
 honesty which gave to the whole face its greatest charm. For 
 the moment, however, the rose color had left her cheeks, too, 
 and her lips were drawn tightly together. 
 
 " You are hurt, I am afraid," said the stranger, with con- 
 cern. 
 
 " I've only pinched my finger," she answered, trying to 
 laugh. 
 
 But the effort of speaking brought the tears to her eyes,
 
 10 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 much to her indignation. For she was brave, and she liked to 
 have the credit of it. 
 
 " Let me see," said he, with kindly authority. 
 
 She presented her right hand, from which he drew the glove 
 ve^rj gently, disclosing bruised and slightly discolored finger- 
 tips. 
 
 " They do hurt a little, but it's nothing very dreadful. I 
 don't know how I did it," she said. 
 
 " Lucky it's no worse," said the stranger, kindly. " Now 
 for the lad." 
 
 The young driver was looking ruefully at the overturned 
 vehicle. He proved to have escaped with no worse damage 
 than a battered hat. Lucy, the maid, who had ascertained 
 tljat her head was still on her shoulders, had bound up her cut 
 forehead with her handkerchief, and was scolding the driver 
 for his carelessness as she pointed to the scattered luggage. 
 The traces having broken as the cab fell, the horse had sus- 
 tained very little hurt, so that, on the whole, the accident had 
 been without tragic consequences. The rescuer took hold of 
 the girl, and shook her by the arm. 
 
 " Now, don't you think, considering all things, you might 
 find some better use for your tongue than scolding? You 
 might have been upset a mile away on the road, instead of 
 which you are turned out comfortably at your own door. For, 
 I suppose, you are coming to the Hall?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Lucy, abashed, but still rather mu- 
 tinous, not having the least idea that she was speaking to a 
 clergyman. 
 
 " So that the real sufferer by this spill is neither you nor 
 your mistress, but the poor lad who has driven you safely 
 more than three miles over a very dangerously slippery road, 
 and who will perhaps get discharged by his master for having 
 injured the cab. Your mistress does not scold you for half an 
 hour if you break a plate. " 
 
 " Yes, she does, sir," fired up Lucy, so unexpectedly that 
 Mr. Brander involuntarily glanced with surprise at the young 
 lady. " Oh, not Miss Olivia," added the little maid almost 
 indignantly; " it's Mrs. Denison, I mean." 
 
 " Well, then, if you find the habit so unamiable in Mrs. 
 Denison, as I see you do, you should take the greatest care 
 not to fall into it yourself," said the vicar, suppressing a smile. 
 
 Then he turned again to the lady. 
 
 " Is everything ready for your coming?" he asked, doubt- 
 fully.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEE. H 
 
 For he had passed the house that morning, and found it de- 
 serted, mildewed, and shuttered up as usual. 
 
 " No, nothing/' said the girl. "We've come on in ad- 
 vance to prepare things for papa and mamma and the rest/' 
 she added, rather tremulously. 
 
 The frightful immensity of the undertaking perhaps struck 
 her now for the first time, as she stood, still shaking from the 
 shock of the accident, staring at the smokeless chimneys and 
 shuttered windows of the new home. Mr. Brander looked 
 from one girl to the other, very sorry for both, wondering what 
 kind of idiots the parents could be to send two inexperienced 
 young lasses to grapple with all the difficulties of installation. 
 
 " And the furniture? I suppose that has come?" he sug- 
 gested, dubiously. 
 
 " Oh, I hope so," said the girl, anxiously. 
 
 " I'll ask at the inn here. If it has come they will have 
 seen it pass. And Mrs. Tew will give you both a cup of tea. 
 You don't mind going into an inn, do you? It's a very re- 
 spectable place." 
 
 "Oh, no; of course we don't," said Miss Denison. "In- 
 deed, it is very, very kind of you to take so much trouble for 
 us." 
 
 " Trouble! Nonsense. It's a splendid excitement. As 
 far as I am concerned, I should like a pair of travelers over- 
 turned here once a week.*' 
 
 He beckoned to Lucy, and led them the few steps back to 
 the inn door. John Oldshaw was still standing in a defiant 
 attitude on the doorstep, whence he had watched the proceed- 
 ings with malicious interest. His son was still peeping out, 
 sheepish and ashamed, from behind him. 
 
 " Here, Mat, will you run round to Mrs. Wall's tell her 
 that Miss Denison has come, and ask for the key of the Hall?" 
 said he. " And then you might lend me a hand to take some 
 of the lady's trunks into the house. " 
 
 Mat's face brightened and flushed. 
 
 " All right, sir," he said, and tried to push past his father. 
 But the elder man blocked the door-way with his arms, and 
 stood like a rock. 
 
 " Nay," he said, obstinately; " Mat doesna' stir at tha' bid- 
 ding. Help the wenches thasel'; thoo's used to 't." 
 
 Olivia drew back; she was shocked, frightened, by the 
 dogged ferocity of the farmer's face and by the sudden ex- 
 pression of some strong feelings whether anger or anguish 
 she could not quite tell which for a moment convulsed the 
 features of her unknown companion. As for Oldshaw's coarse
 
 12 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEE. 
 
 words the strong Yorkshire dialect rendered them unintelligi- 
 ble to her. They, however, roused the spirit of the phlegmatic 
 Mat. 
 
 " For shame, feyther!" cried he, in a voice which was a 
 new terror for the young lady whose champion he thus de- 
 clared himself to be. " Maister Brander, Ah'll go loike a 
 reace-horse. " 
 
 And ducking his long body under his father's left arm with 
 an unceremonious roughness which shook that mighty man 
 from his dignity, he touched his cap to Olivia with oafish re- 
 spect, and ran off down the lane past the Hall barns with the 
 best speed of his long legs. 
 
 " We won't go in there, thank you very much," said Olivia, 
 when Mr. Brander had come back to the spot to which she had 
 retreated. " I could not pass that man; I would rather not 
 go near him. " 
 
 " Will you wait here while I find out about the furniture, 
 then?" 
 
 " Please promise not to quarrel with that horrid man about 
 his rudeness to us. I can see he is one of those people who 
 can't help being rude and horrid, just as some other people 
 can't help being unselfish and kind," said the girl, shyly, but 
 with much warmth. " Will you please promise?" 
 
 " Yes," said he, simply, looking into her face with a grave, 
 straightforward expression of interest and, as it seemed to her, 
 of gratitude which surprised and touched her. 
 
 Then he turned without another word, almost as if afraid to 
 say another word, and going back rapidly to the inn, passed 
 the farmer, who sullenly made way for him, and disappeared 
 into the house. When he came back, his face was full of deep 
 concern of a different kind. 
 
 " I bring bad news," he said to the girls, who, mistress and 
 maid, were shrinking together in their desolation. "I am 
 afraid your furniture has not come, and they say they haven't 
 a room to spare in the inn for to-night. But if Mrs. Tew 
 could see you and speak to you herself " 
 
 " 1 wouldn't stay in the house," burst out Olivia, indignant- 
 ly. " If we can only get into the Hall, Lucy and I can man- 
 age very well indeed." 
 
 " But the place is sure to be hideously damp, and there are 
 no carpets; in fact, there's nothing," said Mr. Brander, in 
 dismay. 
 
 "The resources of the feminine mind are infinite, " said 
 Olivia, who was again blinking behind her veil. " Here comes 
 the old woman who has the keys, I suppose. I shall get her
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 13 
 
 to take us in for a little while at least, she'll have a cottage 
 and a fire somewhere or other. And perhaps while we are 
 waiting there the furniture will come. " 
 
 Mr. Brander looked at her with renewed compassion. Ho 
 thought this last a forlorn hope. 
 
 " Don't be disappointed if it doesn't come yet," he said, eu- 
 couragingly. " Old Sarah Wall will do her best for you, I'm 
 sure, and all the better if she doesn't see me talking to you. 
 For you won't hear any good of me from her. " 
 
 And before Olivia could detain him to pour out again the 
 thanks for his kindness with which her heart was overflowing, 
 he had raised his hat with a sudden cold withdrawal into him- 
 self, and turning with the rapidity of the most accomplished 
 athlete, disappeared along the road which led through Lower 
 Eishton, leaving her overwhelmed with surprise at the abrupt 
 change in his manner and with desolation at this unexpected- 
 ly sudden loss of their only friend. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OLD Sarah Wall, the key-bearer, who now came ambling up 
 at a very slow pace, holding her hand to her side, and mut- 
 tering feebly as she moved, was a poor exchange, Olivia 
 thought, for the masculine friend who had ended his kindly 
 services so abruptly. He had not even waited, as he had inti- 
 mated an intention of doing, to see the luggage safely moved 
 into the house. Mrs. Wall looked very cross and not too 
 clean. Scarcely deigning to glance at the strangers, she mut- 
 tered: " This way!" and then fell to groaning as she led the 
 way through the farm-yard up to the house. 
 
 Olivia paused to look despairingly at her scattered trunks, 
 and to give a kindly word of comfort to the unlucky cab driver, 
 who was still occupied in estimating the damage done to his 
 vehicle, and his chances of getting it back to Matherham that 
 night. As she did so she heard a footstep on the hard ground 
 beside her, and found the shame-faced and blushing Mat at 
 her side. 
 
 " Ah'll get t' luggage in seefe, never fear," said he, in a 
 voice so gruff with excessive bashfulness that poor Olivia 
 thought him surly, and shrunk back with a cold refusal of his 
 services rising to her lips. 
 
 Mat thought she identified him with his father, and so has- 
 tened to offer a neat apology for that gentleman's conduct. 
 
 " Feyther's a pig," said he. " Boot he wunna harm ye!
 
 14 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEE. 
 
 an* Ab/11 do what Ah can to mak' oop for him being so 
 rough. " 
 
 And he shouldered one trunk and caught up another, and 
 strode along toward the house, whistling to himself with the 
 defiant carelessness of one who feels he has done a bold stroke. 
 The lady and her attendant followed, somewhat soothed by 
 this little show of friendliness. 
 
 Even in the midst of her feelings of desolation and disap- 
 pointment, in spite of the keen cold and of the forlorn, blind 
 look which shuttered and shut-up windows, broken chimney- 
 pots, and untrimmed ivy gave to the house, Olivia could not 
 look quite without admiration and a youthful sense of delight 
 in the picturesque at the old HalL The body of the house 
 was a long, plain, two-storied building, with a flagged roof and 
 a curious wide, flat portico, supported by two spindle-shank 
 wooden windows, beneath which three stone steps, deeply hol- 
 lowed out and worn by generations of feet, led to the front 
 door. At the west end a gable wing, flag-roofed like the rest, 
 ran back from the body of the house; and at right angles to 
 this there jutted out westward a second small wing of the same 
 shape. In these, the oldest portions of the house, traces of 
 former architectural beauty remained in stately Tudor chim- 
 neys and two mullioned windows, round which the ivy clustered 
 in huge bushes, long left neglected and untrimmed. At this 
 end of the building a little garden ran underneath the walls, 
 protected from the incursions of intrusive cows by a wall which 
 began toward the back of the house by being very high and 
 ending toward the front by being very low. From the wall to 
 the house the garden had been shut in by palings and a little 
 gate; but these were now much broken and decayed, and 
 afforded small protection to the yews and holly bushes, the 
 little leafless barberry-tree and the shabby straggling ever- 
 greens, which grew thickly against the weather-stained walls 
 of the old house, choking the broken panes of the lower win- 
 dows as the ivy did those of the upper ones. It was this 
 western end that was visible from the road, the view of the 
 front being obscured by a long stone-built barn, very old, and 
 erected on foundations older still, about which hung traditions 
 of monkish days. 
 
 If she had seen it at any other time, Olivia would have been 
 crazy with delight at the thought of living in such a place; 
 and even now, cheerless as the immediate prospect was, it gave 
 her a gleam of comfort to reflect that, if she did have to pass 
 the night without any bed among the rats, the ancestors of
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 15 
 
 those rats had scampered over the place in the time of Queen 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 With some difficulty, Mrs. Wall turned the key in the rusty 
 lock and admitted them. It seemed that she had a grievance 
 in the fact that she had not known on what day they were to 
 arrive. As a matter of fact, she was one of those persons who 
 are never prepared for anything, but Olivia had had no means 
 of learning her peculiarities, and so she met the old woman's 
 complaints in an humble and apologetic spirit which increased 
 Mrs. Wall's arrogance. 
 
 The entrance hall was low-roofed and square; the walls were 
 covered with a cheap and commonplace paper, the wainscot- 
 ing and the balusters of the broad staircase were of painted 
 wood. This was the portion of the house which had suffered 
 most during its decadence. Olivia, examining everything with 
 an eye keen to discover the good points to be made the most 
 of it in her new home, found that where the paint had worn 
 off the staircase and wainscot dark oak was revealed under- 
 neath, and she rashly uttered an exclamation of horror at the 
 vandalism of the farm's late occupants. 
 
 " The idea of spoiling beautiful dark oak with this horrid 
 paint! Why, the people who did it ought to be sent to penal 
 servitude!" 
 
 Mrs. Wall was scanadalized. 
 
 " T' fowk 'as lived here last liked t' place clean," she said, 
 severely. " It'll nivver look t' same again as it did, vvi' a 
 clean white antimacassar stitched on to ivery cheer, an' wax 
 flowers under glass sheades in a* t' parlor windows. An' V 
 parlor a' ways as neat as a new pin, so ye wur afreaid a'most 
 to coom into 't. Ah, ye meen talk o yer gentlefowk, but 
 they'll nivver mak' it look 't same again. " 
 
 Olivia had opened the door to the right, and throwing wide 
 the shutters of one of the three large windows, revealed a long, 
 low-ceilinged room, used as the living-room by the late farm- 
 er's family, and having at the further end a wide, high, old- 
 fashioned fire-place, the moldings of which had been carefully 
 covered with whitewash, now smoke-begrimed and worn into 
 dark streaks. The shutters and the wainscoting, which in 
 this room was breast-high upon the walls, had been treated in 
 the same way. Olivia uttered a groan, and turned to the 
 door, afraid of uttering more offensive remarks. Then they 
 went upstairs, and opened the doors of a lot of little meanly 
 papered bedrooms which formed the upper story of this part 
 of the house. Having allowed the new-comers to examine
 
 16 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 these, while she remained sniffing in the passage, Mrs. Wall 
 shuftied hastily back to the staircase. 
 
 " Stop!" cried Olivia, as the old woman placed one down- 
 trodden shoe on the second step; " we haven't seen the other 
 part of the bouse at all. Where does this lead to?" 
 
 And she peerec into a crooked passage which led into the 
 first of the two old ^r wings. 
 
 Mrs. Wall paused with evident reluctance. 
 
 " There's nowt yonder but t' worst o' t' bedrooms; ye've 
 seen t' best," she grumbled. 
 
 But Olivia was already exploring, followed by Lucy; and the 
 old woman, with much reluctance, brought up the rear. The 
 passage was quite dark, and very cold. The tallow dip which 
 Mrs. Wall carried gave only just enough light to enable the 
 explorers to find the handles of the doors on the left. One of 
 these Olivia opened, not without difficulty; for the floor was 
 strewn with lumber of all sorts, which the last occupier of the 
 farm had not thought worth carrying away. The walls of 
 this room, which was very small, were paneled right up to the 
 low ceiling; and the paneling had been whitewashed. A 
 second chamber in this passage was in a similar condition, ex- 
 cept that the paneling had been torn down from two of the 
 four walls, and its place supplied by a layer of plaster. Hold- 
 ing up her skirts very carefully, Olivia stepped across the dusty 
 piles of broken boxes, damaged fire-irons, and odds and ends 
 of torn carpet with which the floor of this room also was 
 covered, and looked through the dusty panes of the little win- 
 dow. 
 
 "Now you've seen a'," said Mrs. Wall, rather querulously. 
 " An' t' lad down-stairs '11 be wanting to know wheer to put 
 t' things." 
 
 She was retreating with her candle, when Olivia stopped her 
 again. 
 
 " No," she said, eagerly, " we've not seen all. There's a 
 wing of the house we have not been into at all; and I can see 
 through the little window, on this side of it, some curtains and 
 a flower-vase with something still in it. It doesn't look empty 
 and deserted like the rest. I must get in there before I go 
 down. " 
 
 But Mrs. Wall's old face had wrinkled up with superstitious 
 terror, and it was only by force of muscle that the young girl 
 succeeded in cutting off her retreat. 
 
 " Na," she said, her voice sinking to a croaking whisper. 
 " I canna tak' ye in theer. An' an* t' doors are locked, ye 
 see," she added, eagerly, as Olivia, still grasping her con-
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 17 
 
 d actress's arm, in vain tried the door at the end of the pas- 
 sage, and one on the left-hand side, at right angles with it. 
 
 " Well, but why are they locked?" asked the young girl, 
 impatiently, her rich-toned youthful voice ringing sonorously 
 through the long-disused passage. " The whole place is ours 
 now, and I have a right to see into every corner of it. " 
 
 " Oh, Miss Olivia, perhaps we'd better go back down- 
 stairs for to-day/' suggested the little maid Lucy, rather 
 timorously behind her. 
 
 Mrs. Wall's nervous tremors were beginning to infect the 
 poor girl, who was, moreover, very cold, and was longing for 
 some tea. But her young mistress had at least her fair share 
 of an immovable British obstinacy. Finding that both doors 
 were firmly locked and that there was no key to either forth- 
 coming, she flung the whole weight of her massive and mus- 
 cular young body against the door on the left, until the old 
 wood cracked and the rusty nails rattled in the disused hinges. 
 
 " Mercy on us!" exclaimed Sarah Wall, petrified by the 
 audacity of the young amazon. >e Shoo '11 have t' owd place 
 aboot our ears!" 
 
 " Take the candle, Lucy," said Olivia, imperiously, per- 
 ceiving that the dip was flaring and wobbling in an ominous 
 manner in the old woman's trembling fingers. 
 
 Lucy obeyed, frightened but curious. Her mistress made 
 two more vigorous onslaughts upon the door; the first pro- 
 duced a great creaking and straining; at the second the door 
 gave way on its upper hinge, so that the girl's strong hands 
 were able to force the lock with ease. She turned to the 
 guide in some triumph. 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Wall, we'll unearth your ghost, if there is 
 one. At any rate, we'll get to the bottom of your mystery in 
 five minutes." 
 
 But she did not. Pressing on to the end of a very narrow, 
 imlighted passage in which she now found herself, Olivia came 
 to a second door; this opened easily and admitted her into a 
 large chamber, the aspect of which, dimly seen by the fading 
 light which came through a small square window on her left, 
 filled her brave young spirit with a sudden sense of dreariness 
 and desolation. 
 
 For it was not empty and lumber-strewn, like the rest of 
 the rooms she had entered. The dark forms of cumbrous, 
 old-fashioned furniture were discernible in the dusk; the heavy 
 hangings of a huge four-post mahogany bedstead shook, as a 
 rat, disturbed by the unwonted intrusion, slid down the cur- 
 tain and scurried across the floor. As she stepped slowly for-
 
 18 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 ward on the carpet, which was damp to the tread, peered to 
 the right and left in the gloom, Olivia could see strange relics 
 of the room's last occupant; the withered remains of what had 
 been a bunch of flowers on a table in front of the little win- 
 dow; an assortment of Christmas cards and valentines, all of 
 design now out of date, and all thickly covered with brown 
 dust, fastened with pins on to the wall on each side of the high 
 mantel-piece; even a book, a railway novel, with its yellow 
 boards gnawed by the rats, which she picked up rather timor- 
 ously from the floor, where, by this time, it seemed to have 
 acquired a consecrated right to lie. 
 
 Still advancing very slowly, Olivia reached the opposite side 
 of the room, where her quick eyes had perceived the barred 
 shutters of a second and much larger window. With some 
 difficulty she removed the bar, which had grown stiff and 
 rusty, and, drawing back the heavy shutters, revealed the long, 
 stone-mullioned window, with diamond panes, which had been 
 such a picturesque feature of the house from the outside. 
 The thick, untrained ivy obscured one end of it, but enough 
 light glimmered through the dirt-incrubted panes for Olivia to 
 be now quite sure of two things of which she felt nearly sure 
 before namely, that this was the best bedroom in the house, 
 and that, for some mysterious reason, this chamber, instead 
 of being dismantled like the rest, had been allowed to remain 
 for a period of years almost as its last occupant had left it. 
 Almost, but not quite; for the bedding had been removed, the 
 covers to the dressing-table and the gigantic chest of drawers, 
 and the white curtains which had once hung before the shut- 
 tered window. 
 
 On the other hand, a host of knickknacks remained to 
 testify to the sex, the approximate age, and the measure of 
 refinement of the late owner. More railway novels, all well 
 worn; flower- vases of an inexpensive kind; two hand-mirrors, 
 one broken; a dream-book; a bow of bright ribbon; a hand- 
 some cut-glass scent-bottle; these things, among others, were 
 as suggestive as a photograph; while the fact that this room 
 alone had been studiously left in its original state, and even 
 furnished in accordance with it, threw a new and more favora- 
 ble light on the taste of that mysteriously interesting somebody 
 whose individuality made itself felt across a lapse of years to 
 the wondering new-comer. 
 
 Olivia Denison was not by any means a fanciful girl. She 
 had been brought up by a step-mother a mode of education 
 little likely to produce an unwholesome forcing of the senti- 
 mental tendencies. She was, besides, too athletic and rigor-
 
 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWEB. 19 
 
 ously healthy to be prone to superstitious or morbid imagin- 
 ings. But as she stood straining her eyes in the fading daylight 
 to take in every detail of the mysterious room, the paneling, 
 which in this apartment alone was left its own dark color, 
 seemed to take strange moving patterns as she looked; the 
 musty, close air seemed to choke her; and faint creakings and 
 meanings, either in the ancient wood- work or the loose-hang- 
 ing ivy outside, grew in her listening ears to a murmur as of 
 a voice trying to speak, and miserably failing to make itself 
 understood. She was roused by a shrill cry, and found Lucy, 
 whose fear for her mistress had overcome her fear of this deso- 
 late room, shaking her by the arm and pulling her toward the 
 door. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Olivia, do come out do come out! You're go- 
 ing to faint; I'm sure you are. It's all this horrid room 
 this horrid house. Oh, do come and write, and tell master 
 it's not a fit place for Christians to come to, and he'd never 
 prosper if he was to come here, and nor wouldn't none of us, 
 I'm positive. Do come, Miss Olivia, there's a dear. It's fit 
 to choke one in here, what with the rats and the damp, that 
 it is. And if we was to stay here long enough we'd see ghosts, 
 I know." 
 
 Olivia laughed. No phantom had terrors for her, however 
 strong an impression half-guessed realities might make upon 
 her youthful imagination. 
 
 " Don't be afraid, Lucy," she said, encouragingly. " We'll 
 soon frighten the ghosts away by letting a little fresh air into 
 these musty rooms. Here, help me." 
 
 Half reassured by her resonant voice, the maid accompanied 
 her to the larger window, still clinging to her arm, but more 
 for companionship than with the idea of affording support to 
 her mistress, who had recovered her self-command. Together 
 they succeeded in throwing open both windows to their full 
 extent, not, however, accomplishing this without a shriek from 
 Lucy, as a great bird flew out of the hanging ivy and almost 
 flapped against their faces in his confusion at this unusual dis- 
 turbance. They both felt a sense of relief as the keen but 
 fresh outside air blew into the long-closed room, dispersing the 
 moldy, musty smell of damp hangings and decaying wood. 
 Even the old woman, who had stood all this time in the door- 
 way, apparently engaged in muttering incantations over her 
 tallow-dip, but really transfixed by this audacity of young 
 blood, drew a long breath as the rush of fresh air reached her, 
 and gathered courage to ask " what they were after doin* 
 now?"
 
 20 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " We're ' after* ransacking every corner of this old ghost 
 run, turning it upside down and inside out, and chasing away 
 the last shadow of a bogey/' answered Olivia, cheerily. 
 " Here's another room to look into." 
 
 Crossing the room with a light step, she opened the door of 
 the second of the closed-up apartments. This chamber also 
 had escaped the dismantling of the rest of the house, but it 
 contained very little that would have been worth taking away. 
 It was lighted by three small windows, all much broken, and 
 ail hung with limp rags which had once been muslin curtains, 
 gayly tied up with blue ribbons, which were now almost color- 
 less with dust and damp. The floor was covered with matting, 
 which smelled like damp straw, and had evidently afforded 
 many a meal to the rats now scurrying behind the wood-work, 
 which in this room was much decayed and in far from good 
 repair. A plain deal table, from which the cover had been re- 
 moved; two limp wicker-chairs with ragged cushions; an 
 empty bird-cage; a fanciful wicker kennel for a lap-dog; these 
 were nearly all that were left of the furniture. Olivia in- 
 spected everything with eager but silent interest, and then 
 turned suddenly to Sarah Wall, who had again followed them 
 as far as the door, preferring even the eerie passage of the bed- 
 room to solitude outside. 
 
 " Who lived in these rooms last?" she asked. 
 
 But the candle nearly fell from Mrs. Wall's hand, as, for all 
 answer, she withdrew into the desolation of the deserted bed- 
 room rather than face the eager questioner again. 
 
 Olivia was not to be put off so easily. She followed pre- 
 cipitately, and, changing the form of her attack, said : 
 
 " How long is it since these rooms were shut up, Mrs. 
 Wall?" 
 
 The guide's eyes shifted about, refusing to meet those of 
 the young girl. 
 
 " Twea year; same as rest o' t" house," she answered, in a 
 grumbling tone. 
 
 " Only two years! It wasn't shut up long before the family 
 went away, then?" said Olivia, incredulously. 
 
 " Not as Ah knaws on," answered Sarah Wall. 
 
 Miss Denison hated an untruth with the impetuous loathing 
 of an honest nature. She would have liked to shake this 
 wretched old woman, who would not be candid on a subject 
 which could not be of the slightest importance to her. Per- 
 haps her companion got an inkling of this inclination, for she 
 turned and beat a hasty retreat along the narrow passage which 
 led from the bedroom to the body of the house. Olivia did
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEB. 21 
 
 not at once follow her. With a curious reluctance, whether 
 reverence for a dead past whose relics she was disturbing, or 
 fear of some shock which its revelations might bring her, she 
 scarcely knew, the girl picked up one of the dust-begrimed 
 novels, and looked at the title-page. But there was nothing 
 written on it. She opened three or four more of the novels 
 with the same result. By this time it was growing so dark 
 that she had to hasten her movements for fear that when at 
 last a clew was found she might be unable to distinguish the 
 letters. Having in vain examined every book upon the table, 
 she continued to explore until she found, on a small hanging 
 book-shelf in an obscure corner of the room, a little pile of 
 devotional works Bible, hymn-book, Bogatsky's "Golden 
 Treasury," a tiny " Daily Portion," and a prayer-book. This 
 last was on the top of all. As Olivia opened it, there fell to 
 the floor tiny dried scraps of flowers and fern. Turning to 
 the fly-leaf, and carrying the book in haste to the window, she 
 found these words, written in a round, school-boy hand: 
 
 " Ellen Mitchell, from her affectionate brother Ned." And 
 a date of eighteen years back. 
 
 Olivia replaced the prayer-book on the shelf, and left the old 
 room without further delay, followed by Lucy, who had re- 
 mained close at hand, but discreetly silent, during these in- 
 vestigations. 
 
 When they reached the outer end of the passage, Olivia 
 glanced with some curiosity at the old door she had so roughly 
 broken down, and as she did so, some letters written in pencil 
 high on the upper panel caught her eye. With difficulty she 
 made out a date in July ten years before. 
 
 " I wonder," she thought, " whether that is the date on 
 which the rooms were locked up. If so, it was eight years be- 
 fore the last people left the house, I know. And their name 
 was Mitchell. Who can I ask to tell me the story?" 
 
 And having forgotten cold, fatigue, and hunger in the in- 
 terest of her discoveries, Olivia Denison made her way slowly 
 down to the ground-floor again, where she caught Mrs. Wall 
 in the act of slipping out of the front door. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE estimable Sarah Wall was, as she herself would have 
 said, " not in the best of tempers," at being intercepted in 
 her proposed flight. 
 
 " Ah thowt ye'd got all ye wanted/* she grumbled, as 
 Olivia Denison followed her out on to the doorstep and asked
 
 22 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 her where she was going. " Ah wur goin' whoam to get a 
 coop o' tea, for Ah'm fair clemmed. " 
 
 You thought we'd got all we wanted!" said Olivia, iron- 
 ically. " Why, we've got nothing at all not even a chair to 
 sit on. I think, if you have tea going at your cottage, you 
 might ask us to come and have some." 
 
 " Hey, that ye might, Sally/' said a gruff voice, which 
 Olivia had now learned to recognize as that of a friend. 
 
 Turning, she saw Mat Oldshaw, his blushes, if he were still 
 blushing, invisible in the darkness, standing at the foot of the 
 steps, mounting guard over the luggage, which he had piled 
 together. 
 
 " Oh," cried the girl, with a sudden change to melting 
 gratitude, " you haven't been waiting out here in the cold all 
 this time for us, have you?" 
 
 " Weel, miss," said Mat, laughing uneasily, and shifting 
 from one heavy foot to the other, ' ' t' door was shut, an' Ah 
 couldn't get in. " 
 
 And, to put an end to conversation, which was an art 
 in which he felt he did not shine, the young fellow seized the 
 two smallest trunks and carried them straight into the big 
 farm living-room, whistling a lively tune as he did so. Olivia 
 stood back quite silently while he fetched in the rest of the 
 luggage in the same way, and then stood looking at it dubi- 
 ously by the light of Mrs. Wall's caudle. 
 
 " It bean't naw good onfastenin' t' cords," he said at last, 
 " for they won't stay in here. An' Ah dunno reightly what 
 to be doin' for ye if yer goods bean't coom." 
 
 He went back again to the front door and looked out. Not 
 that he could see anything of the road, for the huge barn op- 
 posite completely blocked the view from this point. But he 
 was a good deal affected by the predicament in which this 
 beautiful lady and her attendant found themselves, and he was 
 shy of meeting the lady's eyes, being without means of com- 
 forting her. Suddenly a figure darted out from the gloom 
 under the barn walls, a strong hand was laid upon the lad's 
 arm, and, willy-nilly, he was dragged down the steps and 
 heartily cuffed before he had recovered from his first surprise. 
 
 " Eh, feyther, what art doin' now?" he asked, as soon as 
 he had recovered breath, having speedily recognized the touch 
 of his parent's loving hand. 
 
 " Eh, thou feaul, thoo teastrill; Ah've got tha! Ah know'd 
 wheer thoo'd got to. This cooms o' followin' fowk wha can't 
 keep off t' lasses. Coom whoam; coom tha whoam, and if 
 iwer Ah catch tha again a-slitherin' about yon house, Ahll
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 23 
 
 turn ye oot o* ma house, and oot o' ma farm, as if ye wur 
 nobbut a plow-boy, thet Ah will!" 
 
 Mat wriggled and writhed till he got loose from his father's 
 grasp, and slinking back a step or two, he called out, not 
 loudly or defiantly, but with the same rough kindliness which 
 he had shown from the first toward the friendly girls: 
 
 "Now mind, Sally, thou maun mash t' best coop o' tea 
 thoo can for t' leddies." 
 
 John Oldshaw turned round at these words, and addressed 
 the old woman in a thick and angry voice. 
 
 " Sarah Wall, get back to tha whoam an* tha own business. 
 An* if thoo canna keep tha owd fingers oot o' other fowks' 
 affairs, tha needna coom oop oor way o' Soondays for t j 
 broaken meat. So now thoo knaws." 
 
 And, with a jerk of the head to his son to intimate that 
 Mat could go on in front and he would follow, the farmer 
 stamped slowly and heavily away down the yard. 
 
 His coarse unkindness affected the three women differently. 
 Little Lucy began to whimper and to sob out indignant male- 
 dictions upon " the ol-ol-old brute;" Mrs. Wall, after drop- 
 ping half a dozen frightened courtesies, manifested a great 
 eagerness to go; Olivia drew herself up and became very stern 
 and grave. 
 
 " You need not mind what that man says, Mrs. Wall," she 
 said, in a firm, quiet voice. " You may be very sure that any 
 kindness you do us will be amply repaid. And as for the 
 broken meat he talks about, if you will really lose that by let- 
 ting us rest a little while in your cottage and giving us a cup 
 of tea, I can promise you a good dinner every Sunday while 
 my father lives here. " 
 
 But Mrs. Wall was too far timorous and cautious a person 
 to risk the substantial reality of broken meat on Sundays from 
 the great man of the village for the flimsy vision of a good 
 dinner from a total stranger. She thrust her flickering tal- 
 low-candle into Lucy's hands, and began to tie her wispy bon- 
 net-strings with a resolute air. 
 
 " I'll leave t' candle," she said, as if making a great and 
 generous concession; " an* that's a' I can do for ye. For I've 
 nowt in my place I could set afore a leddy; an' as for tea, the 
 bit fire I left will be out by this time." 
 
 " But I can light your fire again for you, and boil your 
 kettle in two twos," burst in Lucy. " And we've brought 
 some tea with us." 
 
 Her young mistress put a light hand on her arm. 
 
 "Never mind, Lucy," she said, quietly. "If Mrs. Wall
 
 24 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 doesn't care for us to go to her cottage we will not trouble 
 her." 
 
 As she spoke her eyes brightened, for at the end of the long 
 barn she descried in the dusk the figure of the gentleman who 
 had come to their aid that afternoon and then left them with 
 such unaccountable suddenness. Lucy saw him too, and be- 
 ing more demonstrative than her mistress, she gave vent to 
 her delight in words. 
 
 " No, Mrs. Wall, ma'am; you needn't go for to put your- 
 self out, for there's better folks than you coming along, that 
 are a deal more obliging than ever you'd be, and that have 
 some Christian kindness in them, which is more than can be 
 said for you. Ugh, you grumpy old woman, you!" 
 
 " Hush, Lucy," said her mistress, in gentle rebuke; " the 
 gentleman will hear you. And I don't suppose he is coming 
 here at all," she added, reluctantly, as the figure they had 
 both so quickly recognized disappeared again in the gloom. 
 
 "What gentleman? What gentleman?" asked the old 
 woman, shrilly. 
 
 " How should we know, when we're strangers here?" re- 
 torted Lucy, who, now that her tongue was once loosened, was 
 delighted to have what she afterward called " a go-in " at 
 their disobliging guide. " But he was a real gentleman; not 
 like your pig-faced friend in the corduroy trousers that you're 
 so mighty civil to; and he wears knickerbockers and gaiters 
 and a cap over his eyes, if that is anything you can tell him 
 by." 
 
 Apparently it was, for Sarah gave a step back in horror, 
 and ejaculated, " Mercy on us!" two or three times, as if too 
 much shocked for further speech. 
 
 " What's the matter?" asked Olivia, rather sharply, re- 
 membering the stranger's warning that she would hear no good 
 of him from Sarah Wall, and curious to learn the reason. 
 " If you know who the gentleman is, tell me his name. And 
 what do you know against him?" she added, indiscreetly. 
 
 Mrs. Wall, though not brilliantly intelligent, had the splen- 
 did gift of reticence where she thought that things might " go 
 round. " She only shook her head, therefore, and muttered 
 something about getting herself into trouble and desiring to 
 be allowed to go home. 
 
 " Well, just tell me first who he is, then, and you shall go 
 at once," said Olivia, persuasively. 
 
 The old woman, writhing nervously under the clasp of Miss 
 Denison's hand, evidently cast about in her mind for a means 
 of getting free while committing herself as little as possible.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 25 
 
 The reluctant words which at last came out were not very well 
 chosen, however. 
 
 " I'll tell ye this, then/' she croaked, in a broken whisper, 
 peering round with her sunken eyes as if to be sure the trea- 
 sonable communication she was making was not overheard by 
 the person concerned. " Yon gentleman, as ye call him, is 
 not fit company for young ladies. And others have found it 
 oot to their cost so fowk say," she added, hastily. Then, as 
 Olivia released her arm and she tottered away over the hard 
 ground, she looked back to add, in a querulous and anxious 
 tone, " But don't ye tak' it frae me, mind. I nobbut told ye 
 what I've heeard say." 
 
 Olivia turned back toward the open door of the dreary 
 house, feeling beyond measure miserable and disconsolate. 
 The dimly seen figure of her friend of the afternoon had dis- 
 appeared; the disobliging old woman who was at least a fellow- 
 creature, was rapidly hobbling out of sight; while the words 
 which had just, with so much difficulty, been forced out of 
 her, seemed in the hag's mouth to have acquired the chilling 
 significance of a curse. Lucy felt this too, for coming closer 
 to her mistress, she half whispered: 
 
 " Oh, Miss Olivia, if there was really such things as witches, 
 I should believe that old crone was one. " 
 
 " Nonsense! Come inside, and let us see what's to be 
 done." 
 
 " Oh, we're not going in again all by ourselves! Oh, 
 miss, just think of that upstairs room!" wailed the poor girl. 
 
 " Now, look here, Lucy, you mustn't be ridiculous. We're 
 in a dreadful plight, and we've got to make the best of it. If 
 you give way to silly fancies instead of doing your best to help 
 me, I shall have to take you to that inn at the corner and 
 leave you there while I come back and shift for myself as best 
 lean." 
 
 Lucy, who loved her young mistress, grew sober and good 
 immediately. 
 
 " You know I'll do what I can, Miss Olivia," she said, sup- 
 pressing a sob of alarm as a dull sound, apparently from the 
 barn opposite, reached their ears. 
 
 Olivia listened. The sound was repeated. 
 
 " It sounds like some person chopping wood," she said, 
 after a moment's pause. I dare say, now the place is unin- 
 habited, the villagers take what liberties they like with it, and 
 use the barns and sheds to store their own wood and hay and 
 things in. Now, come in and let us undo some of the trunks 
 before the candle goes out.
 
 26 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 With most reluctant feet, but without another word of re- 
 monstrance, Lucy followed her young mistress. Olivia, with 
 resolute steps aud a mouth set with an expression which said 
 to the phantoms of the old house, '" Come on if you dare!'* 
 re-entered the hall, and kneeling down before a trunk which 
 had been placed there, attacked the cord round it with inex- 
 pert but strong fingers. They had got it open, and were con- 
 gratulating themselves that in this, the first trunk unpacked, 
 were caudles, tea, and a little spirit-lamp, when, suddenly, 
 there fell upon their ears a noise which even to the brave- 
 spirited Olivia was, in a lonely, empty house, undeniably alarm- 
 ing. It came from the long living-room where most of their 
 luggage lay, and was as of some heavy body falling with a 
 crash on to the floor. 
 
 Olivia sprung to her feet. 
 
 " I opened one of the windows/' she said, " and forgot to 
 shut it. Some one has got in! No, don't scream!" 
 
 tShe clapped her hand on Lucy's mouth and reduced the 
 threatened shriek to a moan; then, the noise having by this 
 time ceased, she turned, heedless of the maid's whispered sup- 
 plications, to the door of the long room. The lock was stiff 
 with rust and the handle difficult to turn; so that, perhaps 
 not much against her will, she left the intruder, if intruder it 
 was, time to escape. But there was no fresh sound, and the 
 young girl's brave heart fluttered a little with the fear that 
 perhaps, on opening the door, she would come face to face 
 with a defiant marauder. At last the door opened. It was 
 dark by this time; through the opened shutters of the four 
 windows came only just enough light to show that the trunks, 
 piled up on the bare floor, had at least not been removed. 
 The air blew in, very keen and cold, through the one open 
 window, which was at the other end of the room, nearest to 
 the fire-place. 
 
 " Is anybody there?" asked Olivia, scarcely without a 
 tremor. 
 
 Her voice echoed without reply in the desolate apartment. 
 
 She held up the candle and advanced slowly, examining 
 every gloomy corner. No one was there; no trace of any one 
 having been there until, as she reached the other end, her 
 glance fell on some dark object lying close under the open 
 window. At this sight Lucy could not suppress the long- 
 stifled scream, and it was not until her mistress pouncing 
 down upon the mysterious thing, revealed the fact that it was 
 only a couple of logs and a bundle of sticks, neatly tied to-
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 27 
 
 getherwith a piece of string, that she found enough relief from 
 terror to burst into tears. 
 
 "Who's the benevolent burglar, I wonder/' cried Olivia, 
 her spirits rising instantly at the discovery of the little anony- 
 mous act of kindness. 
 
 She ran to the window and looked out. There was no one 
 to be seen; but on the window-ledge lay a box of cigar-lights. 
 
 " The mysterious stranger again!" she said to herself. 
 Then turning to the maid, said: " Now, Lucy, make a fire as 
 fast as you can. There are some newspapers with the rugs. 
 Here are sticks and logs and matches. We shall feel different 
 creatures when we are once warm. " 
 
 She shut down the window and boiled some water with her 
 little spirit-lamp; while Lucy, with cunning hands, made in 
 the huge rusty grate a fire which was soon roaring up the 
 chimney, and pouring its bright warm light on floor and wall 
 and ceiling. The spirits both of mistress and maid began to 
 rise a little as they drew up one of the smaller trunks to the 
 fire, and made a frugal meal of biscuits and milkless tea. 
 
 " It is a horrid place, though, Miss Olivia," said Lucy, who 
 had been chilled to the heart by Sarah Wall's utterances, and 
 did not feel wholly sure that she herself had not been be- 
 witched by that uncanny person. 
 
 " Oh, 1 suppose it might have been worse. They might 
 have thrown bricks at us," said her mistress; " and remem- 
 ber that two people have already been very kind to us." 
 
 " Perhaps the young farmer-man only took to us just out 
 of aggravation because his father didn't," suggested Lucy, 
 who was a well-brought-up girl, and affected to take cynical 
 views of young men. " And as for the gentleman, why, the 
 old woman as good as said decent folk had better have noth- 
 ing to do with him." 
 
 " But you surely wouldn't take that miserable old woman's 
 word for it?" 
 
 " No, but I'd take his own face, miss. I watched him 
 when the old farmer was going on so; and, my gracious! I 
 never see such a black look on any one's face before. He 
 seemed to grow all dark and purple-looking, and his eyes were 
 quite red-like. It was just like as if he'd have knocked the 
 other man down, miss, that it was. " 
 
 " Well, I don't think I should have thought any the worse 
 of him if he had." 
 
 " Oh, miss, it's an evil face. And I'm never deceived about 
 faces. I said, first time I saw her, that nursery-maid Mrs.
 
 28 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEE. 
 
 Denison sent away without a character was no good. And 
 then that under-gardener " 
 
 " You mustn't let your prejudices run away with you. 
 Judge people by their actions; not their looks. Now, I saw 
 something quite different in that gentleman's face, and we 
 can't both be right. It seemed to me that he looked like a 
 man who had had a very hard life and a great deal of trouble^ 
 as if he had done nothing but struggle, struggle with I don't 
 know exactly with what; poverty, perhaps, or perhaps with a 
 violent temper, or " 
 
 She stopped, and stared into the fire, having ceased to re- 
 member that she was carrying on a conversation. Her wan- 
 dering thoughts, however, soon took a practical turn again. 
 " The cabman!" she cried, starting up tragically; " I never 
 paid him. " 
 
 She was instinctively turning toward the door, haunted by 
 an alarming sum in addition of innumerable hours at sixpence 
 every quarter of an hour, when Lucy's voice, in tones of great 
 shrewdness, stopped her. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Olivia," she said, shaking her head knowingly; 
 "he's gone away long ago. If this was a place where cabmen 
 would wait for their fares for two hours without so much as 
 knocking at the door, we might think ourselves in heaven, 
 which the other people show us we're not. " 
 
 " Well, but who paid his fare, then?" 
 
 Lucy began to look not only mysterious, but rather alarmed. 
 " Oh, Miss Olivia, perhaps it's a plot to get us in to his power!" 
 
 They had both come to the same conclusion as to the person 
 who paid the fare, but at this point their reflections branched 
 off into widely different channels. 
 
 " You're a little goose, Lucy, and you've been filling your 
 head with penny novels, I can see," said she. 
 
 But the obligation to a stranger, which she could scarcely 
 doubt she was under, troubled her. 
 
 "It is very, very awkward to be thrown out like this in a 
 strange place with nobody to go to for help or advice," she be- 
 gan; when suddenly a light came into her face, and she sprung 
 up and ran to fetch her traveling-bag. " I'd forgotten all 
 about it!" she cried, as she drew out a closed letter directed in 
 an old-fashioned, pointed, feminine hand to " Mrs. Brander, 
 the Vicarage, Eishton." " The wife of one of the curates at 
 Streatham knows the wife of the vicar here, and gave me a 
 letter of introduction to her. 1 will go and call upon her at 
 once. If she is the least nice she willlielp us, and tell us how 
 to treat with these savages. "
 
 ST. CIJTHBERT'S TOWEK. 29 
 
 Olivia was fastening her mantle, which she had not taken 
 off, and putting on her gloves. Lucy's round face had grown 
 very long. 
 
 " And must I stay here, miss, all by myself?" she asked, 
 dolefully. 
 
 Olivia looked at her dubiously. 
 
 ** I would rather you stayed here, certainly, because, you 
 see, the furniture might come while we were away/' she said 
 at last. " On the other hand, if you are going to frighten 
 yourself into a fit at the scraping of every mouse " 
 
 Lucy drew herself up. She was not really a coward, and 
 this speech put her upon her mettle. 
 
 " I'll stay, Miss Olivia," she said, resolutely; adding, in a 
 milder voice, " You won't be very long, will you?" 
 
 " Indeed I won't,'' answered her mistress, promptly. " I 
 don't suppose it takes more than five minutes to go from one 
 end of the village to the other. We saw the church from the 
 cab windows; it's on the top of the hill. I shall make for 
 that; the vicarage is sure not to be far off." 
 
 Without more delay Olivia left the house, taking the way to 
 the right by which they had approached the house, in the hope 
 of meeting some one belonging to the inn who would direct 
 her. She was fortunate enough to come upon a diminutive 
 villager, who, after lengthy interrogation and apparent igno- 
 rance as to where " the vicarage " was, acknowledged to know- 
 ing " where the parson lived." 
 
 " Will you take me to the house if I give you twopence?" 
 
 " Hey," replied the small boy, promptly. 
 
 He did not start, however, until he had taken an exhaustive 
 survey of her, either for identification in case she should try to 
 elude him at the other end of the journey, or to satisfy him- 
 self whether she was a person likely to possess twopence. 
 
 " Theer's two ways," he said, at last. " Short way over t' 
 brook, an' oop t' steps and through t' church-yard; long way 
 by t' road an' oop t' hill." 
 
 " Go the short way, then." 
 
 " Mr. Midgley, t' carpenter, fell an' broak his leg goin' oop 
 theer this afternoon. An' t' church-yard geate's cloased by 
 now. " 
 
 " Well, then, we'll go the other way, of course." 
 
 The boy trudged along up the road, which was a continua- 
 tion of that by which they had come to the farm, and made no 
 attempt at conversation except in answer to Olivia's questions. 
 She made out, after much persevering pumping, that the 
 vicar, Mr. Brander, was much liked, and that his wife was
 
 30 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 only a little less popular. After this there was a pause, which 
 was broken by the boy, as they passed between a plain stone 
 building, standing back from the road on the right, and a 
 group of hay and straw stacks, sheds, and farm buildings on 
 the left. 
 
 " That's Mester Oldshaw's farm/* said the boy. 
 
 " Ugh!" ejaculated Olivia below her breath, hurrying on 
 with angrily averted eyes. 
 
 The whole place, seen by the weak light of the rising moon, 
 seemed to her to display the repulsive hideousness of its mas- 
 ter. 
 
 After this the road wound to the left up the hill, and they 
 passed a few scattered cottages, one of which was the primitive 
 village post-office. 
 
 " That be t' parson's house/' said the boy, as they came hi 
 sight of an irregularly built stone house standing high, on the 
 left-hand side of the road, in a well-wooded garden. 
 
 They had to go round this garden, and turn sharply to the 
 left into a private road at the top of the hill. This brought 
 them face to face with the gates of the little church-yard, 
 while on the left was the front door of the vicarage, a pretty 
 building in the Tudor style, which, seen even in the faint 
 moonlight, had a pleasant, welcoming air of comfort, peace, 
 and plenty. Olivia gave the boy his twopence, and rang the 
 bell with a hopeful heart. Everything seemed to promise well 
 for the success of her errand. A neat maid soon came to the 
 door, but to Olivia's inquiry whether Mrs. Brander were at 
 home came the dispiriting answer that she was away. Miss 
 Denison reflected a moment. 
 
 " Is Mr. Brander at home?*' she then asked. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, Mr. Vernon Brander is in. Will you see 
 him?" 
 
 "Yes, if lean." 
 
 She followed the servant across the wide, well-formed hall, 
 to a door at which the maid knocked. 
 
 *' Come in," said a voice, which seemed familiar to Olivia. 
 
 " A lady wishes to see you, sir/' said the servant. 
 
 " Show hr in at once," said the man's voice. 
 
 Olivia drew back instead of advancing, as the servant made 
 way for her to enter. 
 
 It is Mr. Brander, the clergyman, I wish to see," said 
 Olivia, hurriedly, in a low voice. 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am, it's all right. Mr. Brander is a clergy- 
 man," answered the maid, reassuringly. 
 
 Before another word could pass, Mr. Brander himself, hear-
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 31 
 
 mg a discussion, came to the door. Olivia looked at him in 
 some confusion. It was her unknown friend of the afternoon ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OLIVIA'S momentary embarrassment was at once removed 
 by the kindness of Mr. Brander 's greeting. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Brander is a clergyman. I hope you have no 
 prejudice against the cloth," he said, holding out his hand 
 with a welcoming smile. " It's not a proper clerical gar- 
 ment, I confess," he went on, as Olivia's glance fell instinct- 
 ively upon the old shooting-coat he now wore; " but I flatter 
 myself the collar saves it. " 
 
 And he pointed to his orthodox round collar. 
 
 " I am not sure of that," said the young girl, smiling in an- 
 swer. " For instance, if I had known this afternoon that you 
 were a clergyman, I should have felt much more at ease about 
 accepting your very kind services." 
 
 " Should you? Well, then, you are at ease about it now. 
 Come in, and tell me if there is anything more I can do for 
 you. " 
 
 Olivia followed him into the most charmingly luxurious 
 study she had ever seen. Everything in it was comfortable 
 and handsom*, in the best modern taste. The doors, mantel- 
 piece, and paneling were of carved light oak, the furniture of 
 the same, upholstered in dark-green morocco. There were 
 portieres and curtains of dark tapestry, harmonizing with 
 the carpet. The books, which filled four large, handsome book- 
 cases, looked to the connoisseur too dainty to be touched by 
 common fingers. Evidences of a woman's presiding eye and 
 hand were there too, Olivia fancied, in a certain graceful drap- 
 ing of the curtains, which seemed to her to betray neither the 
 upholsterer nor the house-maid; in a tall bouquet of dried bul- 
 rushes and corn which stood in one corner; and in a small con- 
 servatory, full of dark palms and ferns, into which one of the 
 windows opened. Everything was well chosen, everything 
 harmonized with everything else, except the shabbily dressed 
 figure in the center, with his lean, dark, worn face, and hun- 
 gry black eyes, and the tattered volume he held in his hand. 
 Mr. Brander read the thought that flashed through his guest's 
 mind, and asked: 
 
 " Now, what is your first impression of this room?" 
 
 " It is very, very pretty," said Olivia. 
 
 " Well, and what else?"
 
 32 ST. CUTHBEU'I 'iO\', i,ix. 
 
 " Some one else had more to do with the arrangement of it 
 than you. " 
 
 Olivia had never before felt so perfectly at ease with a 
 stranger so able to speak her passing thoughts out frankly 
 and freely. 
 
 " Eight, quite right. And now let me hear what sort of a 
 guess you can make as to the person who had the arrangement 
 of if 
 
 "It was a lady. Perhaps a lady who has had some art- 
 school training; but one who can think for herself a little too. 
 Not an every-day sort of lady, and yet not eccentric. One 
 whom you would like to know, but whom you might be a little 
 afraid of. " 
 
 By the interest and pleasure with which Mr. Brander fol- 
 lowed her as she proceeded slowly and cautiously with her con- 
 jectures, Olivia felt sure that she was describing his wife, and 
 also that she was getting near the truth. But then a look of 
 pain came into his dark face, which set her wondering whether 
 they had had a severe quarrel, whether there was some serious 
 estrangement between them, or whether the trouble from 
 which he was evidently suffering was caused merely by the ab- 
 sence of the woman of his heart. This singular clergyman, 
 with his unconventional dress and manners, his worn face, and 
 his great kindness, was so different from any of the stiff curates 
 and unctuous vicars she had ever met, that he and his sur- 
 roundings awoke in her the liveliest interest, even apart from 
 the mysterious warning of Sarah Wall, and the surly insolence 
 shown toward him by Farmer Oldshaw. After a short pause, 
 he said: 
 
 " Eight in every particular. Now we will see if you can 
 find the lady." 
 
 On the mantel-piece was a collection of photographs, most 
 of them of more or less beautiful women, all handsomely 
 framed. Mr. Brander invited Olivia to come up and inspect 
 them. With another slight feeling of surprise, which she 
 would have found it hard to account for, she stepped on to 
 the soft fur hearth-rug and made a careful review of the whole 
 gallery. But here she was quite at a loss. 
 
 " I must lose my character for divination/' she said at last, 
 shaking her head as she stepped back. " I don't see any face 
 that 1 could point out with any certainty." 
 
 "Try." 
 
 She chose one. Mr. Brander shook his head. 
 
 " Wrong," he said. " You have disappointed me. What
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEB. 33 
 
 made you choose that one? Give me the nearest approach 
 you can to a reason. " 
 
 " It looks a good, kind, sensible face." 
 
 " It belongs to a good, kind, sensible woman a Miss Will- 
 iams a striking contrast to the rest of her family, " he added 
 as a comment to himself. " But she is not the lady who 
 chose the fittings of this room. What do you say to this one?" 
 
 It was Olivia's turn to be disappointed, and her face showed 
 her surprise. The photograph was that of a woman who was 
 very handsome, and there your reflections concerning her por- 
 trait ended. Mr. Brander laughed. 
 
 " Say what you think of it quite frankly. I sha'n't be 
 offended/ ' he said. 
 
 " It is a beautiful face/' she answered. 
 
 " Well, what else?" 
 
 " Nothing else/' said Olivia, in desperation. " Mrs. Bran- 
 der may have every great quality that ever adorned a woman; 
 but her face, like nearly all very beautiful ones, I think, ia 
 just beautiful and nothing else. " 
 
 " Don't you see any feeling, imagination, passion?" 
 
 " No no, indeed, I can't." 
 
 " Well, that's all right, because she hasn't any." 
 
 Olivia listened rather awkwardly, for Mr. Brander had un- 
 consciously let a little feeling, a little bitterness sound in the 
 tones of his own voice. 
 
 " Do you see great common sense, shrewdness, and a splen- 
 did faculty for perceiving where the greatest advantage lies to 
 her and hers?" 
 
 His tone was still a little bitter, but it was good-humored 
 and playful also. 
 
 " Oh, no!" said Olivia. 
 
 " Well, then, you should see those qualities, for they are all 
 there." 
 
 " And may I know who this is?" asked Miss Denison, to 
 turn the conversation from a point on which she had no more 
 to say. 
 
 She was looking at the companion frame to that which con- 
 tained the lady's portrait. It held the picture of a strikingly 
 handsome man. not far off middle age, plump, good-humored, 
 and prosperous-looking, dressed in correct clerical costume, 
 with a beautiful child seated on his knee. 
 
 "That is my brother." 
 
 " Your brother!" 
 
 All the rules of courtesy could not avail to hide her surprise 
 
 then. A greater contrast could not be imagined than that be- 
 2
 
 34 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 
 
 tween this worn, haggard, ascetic-looking, shabby man, with 
 his unconyentional dress and manner, and the neat, smiling, 
 comfortable-looking gentleman, who seemed to beam from his 
 morocco frame on a world where tithe wars were not. Then 
 a light flashed upon Olivia, and she gave Mr. Brander a smile 
 of triumphant shrewdness. 
 
 " Now 1 understand it all," she said, eagerly. " This 
 room is your brother's, and this lady is not your wife, but his. " 
 
 Mr. Brander laughed rather sadly. 
 
 ' ' You think they all * match ' with him better than they 
 would with me. " 
 
 Olivia grew very red, and in some confusion tried to explain 
 away this too obvious conclusion. But Mr. Brander stopped 
 her. 
 
 "You are quite, quite right," he said, kindly. "You 
 would be blind if you couldn't see it. My sister-in-law saw it, 
 twelve years ago, when she was wise enough to reject me and 
 to take my brother. There, now you see why Mrs. Meredith 
 Brander is destitute of feeling, imagination, and passion, and 
 resplendent only in the less lovable qualities," he went on, 
 mocking at himself good-humoredly. " If she had only 
 chosen me, I should have a very different tale to tell, you may 
 be sure.'' 
 
 Olivia was silent. The strange contrast between the two 
 brothers filled her with pity for the one who had been kind to 
 her, and with a sort of unreasonable antagonism toward the 
 unknown one to whom fortune had been so much more gener- 
 ous. 
 
 " It seems very hard on you," she said, glancing at him 
 rather shyly. 
 
 But even as she spoke a violent change came over his face 
 which chilled and repelled her, and brought back to her mind 
 with sudden and startling vividness the vague warning of the 
 old woman. A flush of fierce and vindictive anger, a short, 
 sharp struggle with himself, and then Mr. Brander was sub- 
 dued and kind and courteous as ever. But this peep at the 
 nature underneath had made an impression upon Olivia which 
 she could not readily forget; it destroyed the ease she had felt 
 with him, and woke a distrust which his instant return to his 
 old kindly manner failed to remove. 
 
 " It is very good of you to think so," he said, with a courte- 
 ous smile. " At one time I admit it seemed hard to me too. 
 But I've been forced to confess long ago that I could not have 
 occupied the position he fills either with credit to myself or 
 satisfaction to anybody else. "While as for poor Erelyn, if she
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 35 
 
 had had the misfortune to take me with my bad temper and 
 my inevitable hatred of order, instead of being still handsome, 
 amiable, and young, she would be a haggard old woman." 
 
 Remembering, as she did, the bitterness which he had pre- 
 viously shown in speaking of his sister-in-law, and the fierce 
 animosity which had blazed out of his black eyes a moment 
 ago in recalling the contrast between his brother and himself, 
 Olivia could not help feeling that there was a little hypocrisy 
 in this ultra-modest speech, and she made some civil answer in 
 a tone which showed constraint in comparison with her pre- 
 vious warm-hearted and simple frankness. Mr. Brander looked 
 scrutinizingly at her face, and reading the change in its ex- 
 pression, hastened to open another and less dangerous subject. 
 
 " And here I have been gossiping about my own idle affairs 
 all this time, without once asking you what you came to see 
 me about, and what I can do for you. " 
 
 " I brought a letter of introduction to Mrs. Brander," said 
 Olivia, producing it. " The wife of one of the curates at 
 Streatham, where I live, or at least where 1 have been living," 
 she added, correcting herself, " knew Mrs. Brander some years 
 ago. And she thought, as I was coming here all by myself, 
 it would be pleasanter for me to know some one." 
 
 "My sister-in-law would have helped you in a hundred 
 ways," said Mr. Brander, regretfully. " She is a very ener- 
 getic woman, and loves to have some active work to do for 
 anybody, if there is a little occasion to show fight over it. 
 And there is in your case; for that unmannerly old ruffian, 
 John Oldshaw, who made himself so offensive just now at the 
 inn, wanted to have the farm your father has taken, and will 
 annoy you all in every way he can for spite, if I'm not mis- 
 taken." 
 
 " If he does, I shall get papa to complain to Lord Stanning- 
 ton," said Miss Denison, with a resolute expression about her 
 mouth. 
 
 " Well, we must hope there won't be any need to do so. 
 Perhaps your father is a better farmer than John Oldshaw, and 
 will be able to make him sing small." 
 
 " Oh, I'm afraid not," said she, shakingher head dolefully; 
 " papa has never been a farmer before. He's been a banker, 
 but he never did much banking, I think; and the other part- 
 ners bought him out of the bank a little while ago, and he did 
 nothing at all for a little while. But we are not rich enough 
 to live like that, so he thought he should like to try farming, 
 especially as my step-mother had been ordered to live in the 
 country,"
 
 36 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 Mr. Brander looked grave. He could not help thinking 
 that things looked very black for his pretty visitor. A weak 
 and idle father, an invalid step-mother, such were the fancy 
 portraits he instantly drew of the pair, setting up as amateurs 
 in a business which even experience, industry, and capacity 
 can scarcely nowadays make remunerative! What would be- 
 come of the bright girl in these circumstances? 
 
 " How came they to send you down here all by yourself?" 
 he asked, after a pause. 
 
 " My step-mother you know I told you I had a step-moth- 
 er/' she interpolated, with mischievous meaning " has deli- 
 cate health; that is to say, her health is too delicate for her 
 ever to do anything she doesn't wish to do, and she did not 
 wish to come down to an empty house, to have all the worry 
 and trouble of filling it. So 1 offered to do it. Home has 
 been rather tiresome lately, and I thought it would be fun, and 
 besides that 1 really wanted to be useful, and to make things 
 as comfortable as I could for poor papa. But I did think she 
 would see that the furniture was sent in time. " 
 
 " Yes, that's an awkward business, certainly. We must 
 consider what is best to be done. And while I'm thinking it 
 over, you'll have a glass of wine and a biscuit, won't you?" 
 said he, as he touched the bell. 
 
 Olivia did not refuse. She thought her best chance of a 
 happy issue out of her difficulties lay in trusting to the clergy- 
 man, whose persistent kindness was fast effacing the unpleas- 
 ant impression of a few minutes before. She even asked him 
 ingenuously whether he thought she ought to stay any longer 
 away from the bare house where she had left poor little Lucy 
 alone with the mice. Mr. Brander quieted her conscience as, 
 in obedience to his order, the maid-servant brought in wine 
 and cake, with which he proceeded to serve the hungry girl. 
 
 " I shall let you go in two minutes now," he said. " And 
 we won't let Lucy starve either." 
 
 The servant was still waiting. 
 
 ;' What is it, Hester?" 
 
 " Young Mr. Williams has called, sir. He wishes to speak 
 to you for a minute. I believe he has a message. " 
 
 Mr. Brander's face clouded. 
 
 " Where is he? Ill go out and speak to him," he said, 
 shortly. 
 
 But the words were scarcely out of his mouth when a voice, 
 speaking in coarse and familiar tones, was heard outside the 
 door, heralding the approach of the new-comer. 
 
 " It's all right; it's only me. Suppose I can come in, eh?'
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 37 
 
 And, without waiting for permission, a young man elbowed 
 his way past the servant, and entered the room. 
 
 The word which applied best to Mr. Frederick Williams, 
 including his face, voice, dress, and manner, was " cub." He 
 was short and sandy; he had an expression of mingled dullness 
 and cunning, in which dullness predominated; his dress, his 
 vocabulary, and a certain roll in his walk smacked of the 
 stable; and the only conspicuous quality he showed to balance 
 these disadvantages was a certain coarse good humor which 
 never failed him. He was even destitute of that very com- 
 mon grace in young men of his type an insurmountable shy- 
 ness in the presence of women of refinement. On catching 
 sight of Olivia, seated by the fire, eating cake with unmis- 
 takable enjoyment, his eyes opened wide with astonishment 
 and boorish admiration, which gave place the next moment to 
 an expression of intense shyness as, with a loud cough, he 
 affected to retreat to the door. 
 
 " Oh, I beg pardon, Mr. Brander; ] didn't mean to inter- 
 rupt such a pleasant tete-a-tete, I'm sure/' 
 
 But he had no intention of going, and Mr. Brander asked 
 him rather curtly what he came for. 
 
 " Oh, my business is of no consequence; it will do any 
 time/ 7 answered Mr. Williams, still with his light eyes fixed 
 upon Olivia. 
 
 " Very likely. But what is it?" asked Mr. Brander, still 
 more shortly. 
 
 " Oh, my father wants to see you about something. It's 
 about the church, I believe; your church, Saint Cuthbert's. 
 He wants to do something for it, I fancy; says the condition 
 .jt's in is a disgrace to the neighborhood/' 
 
 Again Olivia saw on Mr. Brander's face a glimpse of fierce 
 anger, with which, however, she this time heartily sympathized. 
 Feeling very uncomfortable, she rose and held out her hand 
 to the clergyman. His face cleared as he took it. 
 
 " Now, don't worry yourself too much about the wretched 
 furniture," he said, with his old kindliness. "As you go 
 down the hill, mind you stop where the roads cross. There's 
 a wishing-cap hangs on the hedge just there. If you see it, 
 put it on; if you don't, make the motion of putting it on, and 
 at the same time say these words just under your breath, ' I 
 wish that within an hour I may be installed very comforta- 
 bly!" 
 
 " Thank you," said Olivia, laughing and returning the press- 
 ure of his hand warmly; " if the wishing-cap could oring
 
 38 ST. CCTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 that to pass, I should begin to look with respect on a broom* 
 stick." 
 
 Mr. Williams's face had assumed during these two last 
 speeches an expression of mingled bewilderment and contempt. 
 As the lady moved toward the door, he followed without hav- 
 ing once taken his eyes off her. 
 
 " Will you be able to find your way?" asked Mr. Brander, 
 as he opened the study door. 
 
 " I'll go with you; I'll escort you. Which way are you go- 
 ing?" asked Mr. Williams, eagerly. "To the Hall, eh? I 
 
 go past it; don't I, Brander?" 
 " I believe 
 
 so/' said the clergyman, shortly. 
 
 " So, you see, you're not putting me to any inconvenience 
 at all," went on the young man. 
 
 4 ' Oh, I didn't think of that," said Miss Denison, with a 
 little laugh and a pretty turn of the head. " In my part of 
 the world it is never an inconvenience to see a lady home. " 
 
 In the meantime they had all crossed the hall and arrived at 
 the front door, where Mr. Brander, with a reluctant frown at 
 his male visitor, again shook hands warmly with Olivia, and 
 told her not to lose heart. He watched the ill-assorted pair 
 as they went down the lane until they turned into the high- 
 road. Until they reached this point they proceeded in silence, 
 but as soon as they began to descend the hill, the young man 
 found voice after his snub. 
 
 " You're deuced sharp on a fellow," he said, then, in a con- 
 ciliatory tone. " It wasn't my fault that 1 turned up when 
 the parson was making sheeps' eyes at you." 
 
 " If 1 am to put up with your society until I reach the Hall 
 gates, I really must ask you to abstain from making offensive 
 remarks," said Olivia, icily. 
 
 " Offensive! Oh, all right. But I warn you that parson 
 chap is a deal more likely to be offensive than I am. By Jove!" 
 he continued, after a freezing pause; " if you weren't such a 
 pretty girl, I'm hanged if I'd go a step further with you, 
 after your rudeness. " 
 
 " In your own choice language, ' I'm hanged if you shall,' ' 
 answered Miss Denison, with spirit. 
 
 Before the astonished young man could recover his speech, 
 the girl had flown down the hill like an arrow with the wind. 
 He had admired her before; for this display of spirit he felt 
 that he adored her. At this point the road made a circuitous 
 bend which could be cut off by one familiar with the place by 
 crossing the fields. Fred Williams was through a gap in the 
 hedge in a moment, and on regaining the road he was a few
 
 ST. CUTHBEBT'S TOWER. 39 
 
 yards ahead of the still flying lady. Darting out upon her as 
 she passed, he seized her by the arm; and as the attack was 
 unexpected, she staggered for a second. 
 
 " You're a splendid runner, but you can't beat me/' said 
 the young gentleman, with what was meant to be an alluring 
 mixture of admiration and manly condescension. 
 
 But it had quite a wrong effect upon the lady. Pausing one 
 moment to recover her breath and her balance, she extricated 
 herself from his insolent clutch with a sudden athletic move- 
 ment which flung him reeling into the hedge, where he lodged 
 amid a great crackling of branches. 
 
 " I shall not require your escort further, thank you," said 
 Miss Denison then imperturbably to the spluttering swain. 
 
 And she walked on again with a perfect and defiant security. 
 She had not misjudged her effect, for Mr. Williams did not 
 attempt to molest her again. Just as she reached the farm 
 gates, however, he hurried after her, and without coming to 
 close quarters, said, maliciously: 
 
 ' ' Very well, madame. Don't be afraid that I shall inter- 
 fere with you again. But before you take up with Parson 
 Brander, I'd just ask him, if I were you, what has become of 
 Nellie Mitchell." 
 
 But Miss Denison walked through the gates without a word. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 To be able to inflict a severe physical defeat upon an ob- 
 trusive admirer may be a highly convenient accomplishment, 
 but the necessity for its exercise can not but be a humiliating 
 experience. Olivia Denison felt the hot tears rise to her eyes 
 as she walked up through the farm-yard to the Hall. If only 
 one of her own stalwart brothers, Edward or Ernest, were here 
 to give this insolent cad the thrashing he deserved! But Ed- 
 ward was in India with his regiment, and Ernest was tied to a 
 desk in a solicitor's office in London. She must depend upon 
 her own arm and own head for her protection now; fortu- 
 nately, neither was of the weakest, as she herself felt with some 
 satisfaction. In fact, she scarcely knew yet what measure of 
 strength, both mental and physical, was hers; for she had led 
 hitherto an easy, sheltered life, idle in the sense that all her 
 energy had been spent in amusing herself, happy but for cer- 
 tain uncongenial elements at home. 
 
 Now there was to be a difference. Without being expected 
 to know how it came to pass, Olivia knew that papa had grown
 
 40 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 poorer, that he had become frightfully irritable about bills of 
 late, and that various violent and spasmodic efforts at retrench- 
 ment, and papa's reiterated declarations that he must " do 
 something," had culminated in the sale of the beautiful house 
 at Streatham, and in the taking of Rishton Hall Farm. 
 There was something not quite painful in the feeling that she 
 would have to "do something " too, and in the knowledge 
 that she might now be able to turn her quickness of eye and 
 hand to useful account in the service of the father whom she 
 adored. What would his sensitive nature do among these 
 Oldshaws, and these Williamses, and these Walls, with the 
 most unpleasant and disturbing rumors afloat about the very 
 clergyman in charge? This was the reflection which troubled 
 Olivia's mind as she approached the Hall for the second time, 
 and going up the worn steps, let herself in without any need 
 to knock at the door. 
 
 " Lucy!" she called, as she opened the door of the big room 
 on the right. 
 
 There was no answer. The room was deserted, and the fire 
 had burned low. Olivia shivered as she went in. The run 
 down the hill had put her in a glow; the entrance into this 
 moldy old chamber chilled her. She put more wood on the 
 fire, and sat down to await the return of Lucy, who, she did 
 not doubt, had found the loneliness of the place too much for 
 her nerves, and had gone out to look for her mistress. In a 
 few minutes Olivia began to long even for the patter of a 
 mouse's feet, for the song of a cricket, for any sign of life in 
 the desolate old house, if it were only the sight of the loathely 
 black beetle. The spirit of the unknown Nellie Mitchell 
 seemed to hunt her. That girl, who had lived in the house, 
 gone about her daily work in this room, whose mementoes still 
 remained undisturbed and undecayed in these deserted old 
 walls, who was she? What had become of her? " Ask Mr. 
 Brander;" so the odious Fred Williams had said with intensely 
 malicious significance. Should she dare to do this, and per- 
 haps satisfy once for all those doubts of her new friend which 
 not only the conflicting opinions of the villagers, but certain 
 morose and repellent changes of expression on his own face, 
 had instilled into her? She could not decide. Between her 
 doubts, her loneliness, and her sense of the difficulties of her 
 desolate situation, the poor girl was growing so unhappy that 
 when at last she heard the sound of footsteps upon the ground 
 outside, she sprung up with a cry, and ran to the door, ready 
 to force whoever it might be to share her vigil. 
 
 On the doorstep she found Sarah Wall, whom conscience or
 
 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWER. 41 
 
 a glimmering notion that it might be as well to be " in wi* t 5 
 new fowk," had brought back to make inquiries. 
 
 " Hasna' yer goods coom?" she asked, rather apologetically. 
 
 *' No; they won't come to-night now," answered Miss Deni- 
 son, with a sigh. 
 
 " There's summat a cart or a wagon or summat at t' gate 
 now." 
 
 The hope was too much. Olivia gave a little cry. But 
 when, a little later, there absolutely did drive up through the 
 farm-yard, and draw up at the door, a small open cart closely 
 packed with bedroom furniture, she could scarcely keep from 
 bursting into tears. For the first few minutes she was too 
 overjoyed to perceive anything very singular in this arrival. 
 In the front of the cart, beside the driver, sat two neat and 
 buxom country girls, who sprung down to the ground with 
 much suppressed excitement and half -hysterical laughter, and 
 without any explanation of their presence, proceeded, with the 
 help of the driver, to unpack the cart, and to carry the con- 
 tents in-doors and upstairs. Olivia stood back bewildered. 
 One had a lantern and the other a broom; neither would ad- 
 vance a step toward the old house or up the wide staircase 
 without the comfort and support of the other's near presence. 
 But up they did go at last, stifling little screams at every other 
 step, and returning the jibes of the driver with prompt re- 
 torts. This young man looked like a stable-boy, or perhaps 
 a groom in undress. As he came down-stairs again, after hav- 
 ing taken up a folding bedstead, Olivia asked him where he 
 came from. 
 
 " From t' vicarage, miss," he answered, with a stableman's 
 salute. " Mr. Vernon sent us down and told us to put t' 
 things in and coom back as quick as we could. T' lasses was 
 to clean oot a room oopstairs for ye." 
 
 Sarah Wall was emitting a series of witch-like grunts in the 
 background. 
 
 " Mr. Vernon!" cried Olivia; " Mr. Vernon Brander! Oh, 
 how very kind of him! How very kind!" 
 
 " He'll be down hisself just now, miss, I think," continued 
 the lad; " he said he'd coona wi* t' second lot." 
 
 Here Mrs. Wall broke in with a preliminary croaking cough : 
 
 ** Nea, nea! He wunna coom a-nigh this house. He 
 coomed here too often in t' owd time. Nea, nea! He wunna 
 coom inside noo. " 
 
 " Howd tha tunge, Sal," said the lad, quickly. " Thoo'd 
 get thaself int' trouble wi' t' vicar if he heerd tha prattlin' so 
 o"sbrither."
 
 42 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWEK. 
 
 Whereupon the old woman fell to incoherent mumbling, and 
 the lad having discharged his load, saluted the young lady 
 again, and drove away. With a pleasant sens* upon her that 
 help, ready and efficient, was indeed come at last, Olivia went 
 in-doors again, and, directed by the sounds of active sweeping, 
 and at least as active chattering, found her way to the best 
 bedroom in this part of the house, which the exertions of the 
 two maids were quickly rendering habitable. They had 
 brought with them even a large scuttlef ul of coals and a sup- 
 ply of candles. In half an hour the room was swept, a fire 
 lighted, carpet laid down, and two little beds and a suite of 
 bedroom furniture disposed to the best advantage. 
 
 " Mr. Vernon said we was only to fit up one bedroom, 
 ma'am, as you'd be sure to want your maid to sleep in the 
 same room with you in this big empty house, miss," said the 
 elder and more responsible of the servants. 
 
 " Yes, that is quite true," answered Miss Denison, promptly. 
 
 " And as soon as we had done this room we was to sweep 
 out the big one down-stairs." 
 
 "Oh," said Miss Denison, "you need not do that. One 
 room is plenty for us to go on with, and I don't wish you to 
 have the trouble of doing any more." 
 
 " Oh, it's no trouble, ma'am. And those were Mr. Ver- 
 non's orders. And when the master and missus is away, we 
 have orders to do just as Mr. Vernon says, exactly as if he was 
 master. You see, master thinks such a deal of Mr. Vernon. " 
 
 Here was another instance of the strange enthusiasm for Mr. 
 Vernon Brander which he seemed to excite equally with the 
 most violent antagonism. 
 
 " I wouldn't ha' come here by myself, though; not if Mr. 
 Vernon had ordered me ever so; no, and not if master and 
 Mrs. Brander had ordered me too, that I wouldn't!" broke 
 in the younger maiden with decision. 
 
 Miss Denison caught sight of a severe frown and a bit of ex- 
 pressive pantomime signifying that she was to hold her tongue, 
 from her older and more discreet companion. 
 
 " How is that?" asked the young lady. " Do you think 
 this house is haunted?" 
 
 " Of course not, ma'am," broke in the elder. " Susan, 
 you ought to be ashamed of yourself, telling such silly stuff. 
 Of course, ma'am, when a house lies empty some time there's 
 all sorts of tales gets about, and I dare say if you hadn't come 
 and taken it, in another year there 'd ha' been a whole lot of 
 ghost stories and such-like about it. " 
 
 Miss Denison saw that there was nothing to be learned here,
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 43 
 
 so she asked no more questions, but waited eagerly for the 
 arrival of Mr. Brander. At last, from the position she had 
 taken up on the steps outside the front door, she heard the 
 clergyman's voice and the sound of wheels and hoofs at the 
 same time; a few seconds later the cart, again piled with furni- 
 ture, stopped at the door, and Mr. Braader, springing down 
 from his place beside the driver, held out a helping hand to 
 the third person in the cart, who proved to be no other than 
 Lucy. Instead of jumping out with her usual activity, how- 
 ever, the little maid hung back in the most nervous manner, 
 and finally had almost to be lifted out of the vehicle, uttering 
 words of protest in a hoarse whisper. 
 
 "Lucy! Why, what's the matter with you?" asked her 
 young mistress, kindly, perceiving by the light of the lantern 
 the clergyman carried that the bright red color had left the 
 girl's round cheeks, and that her eyes were distended with 
 some absorbing horror. 
 
 " Nothing, Miss Olivia nothing," stammered she, faintly. 
 " 1 1 went out to look for you. I thought you might have 
 lost your way and and " 
 
 " As Eben and I were driving down the hill we met her, 
 and, finding that she was looking for you, Miss Denison, I 
 made her get up and come on with the luggage. " 
 
 He did not look at Lucy, neither did she look at him, and 
 in the course of the work of unloading and furnishing in which 
 they now both proceeded to take an active part, Olivia could 
 not help noticing the ashy paleness that came over the maid's 
 face, and the way in which she shrunk into herself if accident 
 brought her in close contact with the gentleman. The in- 
 stallation now went on merrily. To Olivia's great relief Mr. 
 Brander, contrary to Sarah Wall's prediction, showed not the 
 least reluctance to enter the old house, but went backward 
 and forward between the cart and the big room until there 
 was nothing left to bring in. 
 
 " We haven't brought nearly enough furniture to fill this 
 big room, you know," he explained, as he trundled in a roll 
 of carpet. " The cart would only hold just sufficient to make 
 you a little oasis at the fire-place end; but it's better than the 
 bare boards, and to-morrow we'll hope you'll have your own 
 things about you." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Brander, I can't thank you," said Olivia, over- 
 whelmed. " You have built a palace for us in the desert; but 
 what will the vicar say? lie will come back and find that you 
 have ransacked his beautiful house on behalf of two utter
 
 44 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 strangers! I shall never dare to look Mrs. Brander in the face 
 after taking part in such a sacrilege." 
 
 " My brother would say nothing if I were to turn all the 
 drawing-room furniture out into the church-yard, " answered 
 he, promptly. " You mustn't judge his temper by my black 
 looks. He and I are as different as heaven and earth. All 
 the ladies fall in love with him." 
 
 " Then 1 shall not," said Miss Denison, decidedly. " I like 
 my loves all to myself. " 
 
 Mr. Brander considered her attentively, with a quizzical 
 look. 
 
 " 1 should think you would," he said, smiling. " I am 
 afraid you will be badly off down here if indeed you could be 
 badly off for admirers anywhere. The nearest approach to an 
 eligible swain in these parts is the gentleman who escorted you 
 home." 
 
 Olivia, who was nailing up a curtain while Mr. Brander kept 
 steady the erection of a box and a chair on which she stood, 
 put down her hammer to indulge in a hearty burst of laughter. 
 
 " Oh, I'm afraid it's all over with the pretty little romance 
 you have been building up for me," she said, looking down 
 with her bright eyes still twinkling with amusement. " I 
 pushed him into a hedge." 
 
 " At the first blush, that does not look promising, certain- 
 ly/' said Mr. Brander with perfect gravity, " considering the 
 rank of the parties. For if he had been the clod-hopper nat- 
 ure intended him for, and you the dairy-maid he would have 
 liked you to be, such a demonstration as that would have been 
 the certain prelude to a wedding. " 
 
 " It wasn't a very lady-like thing to do, I'm afraid," said 
 Olivia, blushing a very becoming crimson. ''But really he 
 was not the sort of person to be dealt with by means of modest 
 little screams and flutterings. And well, the truth is, I really 
 was so furiously angry that I would have thrown him over the 
 hedge if I'd been strong enough." 
 
 " I wish you belonged to my parish," said Mr. Brander, re- 
 flectively. "It is a great pity such nerve and muscle should 
 be thrown away. Now, there's an old villain who always nods 
 through the first part of my sermon, and snores as soon as I 
 grow a little eloquent and and I daren't throw him into a 
 hedge myself; my motives might be questioned. But if I 
 could only get a fair and amiable parishioner to do it for me, 
 no one could say a word." 
 
 " You want to make me ashamed of myself," said Olivia, 
 giving a vicious blow to the nail she was driving in. " But
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 45 
 
 you sha'n't succeed. My father and my two brothers think 
 that everything I do is right." 
 
 " Ah! Then it's high time somebody turned up to prove 
 to you that everything you do is wrong. " 
 
 Thank you. My step-mother does that." 
 
 " Then what do papa and the brothers say to her?" 
 
 " If the world's turning around depended on dear old papa's 
 saying a harsh word to anybody, the world would stand still. 
 As for my brothers, especially Ted, when he is at home break- 
 fast is a skirmish with my step-mother, luncheon is a brisk en- 
 gagement, and dinner a hard-fought battle. They are alwaya 
 ordering each other out of the room, and it's quite a rare thing 
 for them both to sit out a meal at the same table." 
 
 " The fault is not quite all on one side, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh, no, of course not. When poor Ted is away life is not 
 very comfortable, but at least it is not volcanic." 
 
 " Curious that the common or garden step-mother, wher- 
 ever found, should always present the same characteristics. 
 She has children of her own, I suppose?" 
 
 " Yes, two." 
 
 " You don't love them I perceive by your tone." 
 
 " Wait till you see them, and then say whether anybody 
 could." 
 
 " I think my professional ministrations are wanted here. 
 Where is your Christian charity?" 
 
 Olivia turned round to look down upon him with the most 
 earnest gravity. 
 
 " I shall take the liberty of asking you the same question 
 when Regie gets caressed for his vivacity in cutting a slit in 
 your umbrella, and when you see Beatrice consoled with an 
 orange for some impertinence for which she ought to have her 
 ears boxed." 
 
 " And it's all the fault of the step-mother?" 
 
 "Yes, all." 
 
 " Poor lady; I am beginning to feel the deepest interest in 
 her. No doubt she was a perfectly amiable and harmless per- 
 son before this unhappy metamorphosis." 
 
 " Yes; she was our governess a most excellent woman and 
 very strict with us." 
 
 " I must see what can be done for her. I have a sermon 
 that will just suit her, I think; one that hasn't done duty for 
 a long time. " 
 
 "It will be of no use. When she was our governess she 
 never missed church; now she's our step-mother she never 
 goes."
 
 46 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWE*. 
 
 The curtains were by this time hung; the two maids from 
 the vicarage, after helping Lucy to give the last touches to the 
 arrangement of the furniture, had run upstairs to see that all 
 was in order in the bedroom, and perhaps also to have a little 
 gossip with this new friend. Mr. Brander looked about eager- 
 ly in search of more work. 
 
 " There's nothing more to do, I am afraid," he said, rather 
 wistfully. 
 
 Olivia smiled. "Afraid!" she echoed. "Why I sljpuld 
 think you would be very glad to shake off the dust and the 
 damp of this old place, and to get back to that beautiful, cozy 
 room where 1 found you this evening." 
 
 As she spoke, an uncomfortable remembrance of the mys- 
 tery which hung about the house and its rumored connection 
 with him came into her mind. Mr. Brander looked straight 
 into her face, and said : 
 
 " Under some circumstances I might be. For I knew this 
 place very well before it was left to dust and damp. But now 
 I am glad to think that it is going to have life and youth and 
 brightness in it again very glad; and 1 don't want to hurry 
 away at all." 
 
 He spoke so gravely, and expressed his reluctance to go so 
 naively, that Olivia was silent, not quite knowing in what 
 tone to answer him. Then it suddenly struck him that he 
 might have offended her, and without looking into her face 
 again, he hastened to say: 
 
 ' You must excuse my boorishness if I don't express myself 
 in the orthodox way. I live like a hermit, and have done for 
 the last " he paused, and then added slowly, as if counting 
 up the time " ten years. I have forgotten how to make 
 pretty phrases. What I meant was this: I haven't had half 
 an hour's pleasant talk with a lady, as I have with you this 
 evening, for all that time ten years! And it will be very 
 likely ten years before I have another. And so I have en- 
 joyed myself, and I am sorry it's over, though I dare say you 
 are rather tired of the rustic parson and his solecisms." 
 
 An awkward constraint had fallen upon him; he had grown 
 shy and unhappy. Olivia felt sorry for him, and she answered 
 in tones of sweet feminine gentleness which seemed to pour 
 balm upon some hidden wound. 
 
 " I believe part of what you say. For if you had been used 
 to ladies' society you must have known that talking to you has 
 given me at least as much pleasure as talking to me can have 
 given you. And if you are not going to have another talk
 
 ST. CUTHBEBT'S TOWER. 47 
 
 with me for another ten years, as you threaten, it will be your 
 fault, and not mine. " 
 
 There was a pretty gracioasness in her manner, the result 
 of the homage her beauy had always obtained for her. Mr. 
 Brander gave her a shy glance of adoring gratitude which mo- 
 mentarily lighted up his dark face. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, in a low voice. " 1 shall remem- 
 ber your pretty words and your kind looks, believe me; bat 
 when we next meet, it will not be the same, and it will be no 
 fault of yours." 
 
 Olivia was on the point of breaking out into a passionate 
 assurance that no hearsay talk altered her opinion of her 
 friends; but a certain gloom which settled on his face and gave 
 him almost a forbidding aspect checked her, and she remem- 
 bered, while a deep blush crept into her handsome cheeks, that 
 it is unconventionally premature to call the acquaintance of 
 half a day a friend. So she remained modestly silent while he 
 held out his hand and told her, recovering his usual manner, 
 that he should write a full description of her to his sister-in- 
 law, and that Miss Denison might expect to be chartered as a 
 district visitor before she had time or inclination to say " Jack 
 Kobinson." 
 
 Mr. Brander then called the two maids and started them on 
 their walk home; brought in a luncheon basket which he had 
 left in the hall, and handed it to Lucy, telling her to open it 
 when her mistress felt inclined for supper; and, before Olivia 
 could thank him for this fresh proof of his kindness, he was 
 already out of the house. 
 
 The door had scarcely closed upon him when Lucy, with an 
 exclamation of horror and disgust, flung down the luncheon 
 basket, and, running to the nearest window, threw it wide 
 open. 
 
 " What are you doing, Lucy?" asked her mistress, in as- 
 tonishment, crossing quickly to the girl to see whether she 
 was ill. 
 
 " Airing the place, miss, after that bad, wicked man," an- 
 swered the little maid, vehemently. 
 
 " You ungrateful girl, after all Mr. Brander has done for 
 us. How can you say such things?" 
 
 " I say what I know, miss, and what is known all over the 
 place, miss, to every one but you," answered Lucy, her face 
 crimson with excitement. " He's a murderer, miss; he mur- 
 dered the poor girl who used to live in those rooms upstairs. " 
 
 Olivia was standing at the window, with her hand on the 
 latch to close it. Just as Lucy hissed out those words in
 
 48 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 voice shrill and broken with horror, Mr. Brander passed. The 
 light from the room fell full upon his face. He had heard the 
 girl's words. A look, not of indignation, but of shame, of 
 agony, convulsed his pale features, but he did not turn his 
 head. Olivia shivered. She wanted to call out to him, to ask 
 him to deny this infamous slander; but her mouth was dry 
 and the words would not come. For he must have heard, she 
 knew, and yet there was no denial in his face. 
 
 With a trembling hand she closed the window. 
 ' There, it's quite upset you; I knew it would, Miss Olivia," 
 said Lucy, rather triumphantly. " Aren't you shocked?" 
 
 But the tears were gathering in Olivia's eyes. 
 
 " I'm shocked, yes, of course," said she, sadly. " And 
 I'm dreadfully dreadfully sorry." 
 
 Lucy was scandalized. This was not the way in which she 
 had been taught to look upon a criminal. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN spite of all her philosophy, of all her fortitude, Olivia 
 Denison could not deny, even to herself, that the one terrible 
 word " murderer " applied to the man who had proved him- 
 self such a kind friend, gave a shock such as no newly formed 
 friendship could stand unshaken. If he had only denied the 
 charge by so much as a look! But, on the contrary, his 
 downcast head and hurrying step when Lucy's indiscreet re- 
 mark fell on his ears seemed like a tacit admission of the jus- 
 tice of it. The little maid's characteristic comments on the 
 matter jarred upon her greatly. 
 
 " You might have knocked me down with a feather, Miss 
 Olivia, when they first told me it was him as made away with 
 the young woman whose rooms we were rummaging in to-day ! 
 * Lor',' I says, * never! A nice-spoken gentleman like that!' 
 Indeed, Miss " 
 
 "Who was it told you, Lucy?" interrupted her mistress, 
 quietly. 
 
 " It was when I was going up the road, ma'am, looking for 
 you. For 1 got that frightened at last, sitting here all myself, 
 and nobody to speak to, and such cracklings and noises as you 
 never heard along the walls! So I went out a little way, 
 thinking perhaps you had missed the road and lost yourself. 
 And 1 came across two women and a man standing at the gate 
 of a farm-yard. And I spoke to them, and they guessed 
 where 1 came from; for it seems it was the farm belonging to 
 that rude man, though I didn't know it at the time. Am?
 
 ST. WCHBERT'S TOWEK. 49 
 
 they asked me in, saying as they wouldn't keep me not a min- 
 ute, Vnd I was so glad not to be alone that I went just inside 
 th</ kitchen-door with them just for a minute. But then 
 they told me such things that 1 felt I couldn't come back to 
 this house all by myself after hearing of them. They said 
 how that clergyman, for all his nice-seeming ways, used to be 
 a wild sort of young man, and how he once courted her that's 
 now the vicar's lady, but she wouldn't have nothing to say to 
 him. And so when she married his brother he got wilder and 
 wilder, and he took to courting the farmer's daughter that 
 lived here on the sly, like, and not fair and open. She was a 
 masterful sort of girl, and her brother and his wife, that she 
 lived with, let her have her own way too much, and have ideas 
 above her station. And people think she believed he'd marry 
 her, for her own people and every one was beginning to talk; 
 and then one night it was the 7th of July, miss, ten years 
 and a half ago she went out to meet him, down by his own. 
 church, as people knew she'd done before, and she never came 
 back. And nobody's never seen nothing of her from that day 
 to this; only there were screams heard that night down by 
 Saint Cuthbert's that's his church, ma'am." 
 
 Lucy ended in a mysterious whisper, and both she and her 
 mistress remained silent for a little while. Then Miss Deni- 
 son spoke in a warm and decided tone: 
 
 " There must have been investigations made. If there had 
 been anything like just ground for supposing that Mr. Brander 
 had made away with the girl, he would at least have been 
 hunted out of the parish, even if there had not been proof 
 enough to have him arrested. " 
 
 " He was arrested, Miss Olivia. But his mother was Lord 
 Stannington's sister, so he had friends at court; and as for his 
 brother, he moved heaven and earth to have him got off. And 
 so those as knew most didn't dare to come forward, and noth- 
 ing wasn't found; and as everybody knew the poor girl hadn't 
 had the best of characters, and had always been a bit gay, 
 like, they said there wasn't evidence enough, and Mr. Brander 
 was never brought up. " 
 
 "But he remained in his parish! That would have been 
 too much of a scandal if the suspicion had been strong. I 
 think you have only been listening to a lot of tattle, Lucy;" 
 said Miss Denison, trying to disguise the deep interest she could 
 not help feeling in this gossip. 
 
 " Well, Miss Olivia, I only tell you what was told me," said 
 the girl, rather offended at the slur cast upon her information. 
 
 And she crossed over to the fire-place and began to break
 
 50 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 the lumjjs of coal into a blaze, to intimate that, in deference 
 to her mistress's wish, she had done wth idle gossip. But, as 
 she slyly guessed, the subject was far too interesting to be 
 shelved like that. 
 
 Miss Denison took it up again abruptly, no longer attempt- 
 ing to hide the warmth of her feeling in the matter. 
 
 " How was it he stayed, then?" she asked. 
 
 " It was his brother's doing, that, ma'am, I believe," said 
 Lucy, delighted to have her tongue loosed again. "He 
 backed him up, and advised him to face it out, so everybody 
 says. And his being so strong for his brother, and him 
 thought so highly of himself, made people afraid to interfere, 
 like. And so Mr. Vernon stayed. He had only a poor 
 parish, full of colliers and such-like; and the poor folks liked 
 him, because, for all his wild ways, he was good-humored and 
 pleasant. So nobody objected much, and he quieted down all 
 of a sudden, and grew quite changed, and worked very hard, 
 so that now they think the world of him in his own parish, 
 and wouldn't change even to have Mr. Meredith himself for 
 their clergyman. Only the story sticks to him, especially 
 close round here where the girl lived; and, no matter what he 
 does, some of them can't forget he's a murderer. " 
 
 Olivia shuddered. It was quite true; such an incident in a 
 man's life was not one that you could forget. She let the 
 subject drop without further comment, but it haunted her for 
 the rest of the evening as she sat brooding over the fire. Lucy, 
 who was of an industrious frame of mind, got out her darning 
 and mended away busily. But she had a healthy appetite, and 
 she had had nothing more satisfying than biscuits and a sand- 
 wich throughout the day. Gradually her longing glances fell 
 more and more frequently on the despised supper basket which 
 Mr. Brander had given her. At last she could hold out no 
 longer. 
 
 Are you hungry, Miss Olivia?" she asked, with plaintive 
 meaning. 
 
 " Not very," answered Miss Denison, waking with a start 
 out of a troubled reverie. " But I dare say you are, Lucy. I 
 forgot that I had wine and cake at Mr. Brander's." 
 
 Lucy made two hesitating steps in the direction of the bas- 
 ket, and stopped. 
 
 " Do you think we'd better not touch it, Miss Olivia?" 
 she asked, doubtfully. 
 
 Miss Dennison got up, with a grave and troubled face. 
 
 " Don't you think it's a little too late to try to avoid an 
 obligation, Lucy, when every one of the comforte round us*
 
 ST. CTJTHBEBT'S TOWEK. 51 
 
 fire, chairs, table, the very beds we are going to sleep on, we 
 owe to Mr. Brander?" 
 
 Lucy snatched at this view of the matter readily, and trotted 
 off with eager steps to inspect the contents of the basket. 
 These proved most satisfactory. 
 
 " Bread, Miss Olivia; butter, cake, oh! And a cold fowl! 
 And a silver tea-pot!" she announced gleefully as she made 
 one discovery after another, and skipped with her prizes to the 
 table. 
 
 Olivia, healthy girl as she was, could not eat much that 
 evening. Her responsibilities in the new home were beginning 
 to look very heavy; and the strange story she had just learned 
 oppressed her. Lucy, on the other hand, found that a good 
 supper led her to take a more cheerful view of current affairs. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Olivia!" she exclaimed, when the ineal was 
 ended and they were preparing to retire for the night, " how 
 much nicer this is, with ghosts and murderers and all, than 
 it'll be when Mrs. Denison comes and the children! Like this, 
 with just you, it's jolly, and I could work for you all day. 
 And 1 suppose when you've committed a murder it makes you 
 feel that you must be nicer, like, to make up for it, for cer- 
 tainly Mr. Brander is a nice-spoken gentleman and a kind one, 
 and no two ways about it. " 
 
 " Now, Lucy," said her mistress, gravely, " you must put 
 that story right out of your head, as I am going to do. We'll 
 hope there's no truth in it at all; but even if every word were 
 true, we have no right to bring it up against a man whose life 
 sets an example to the whole parish, and who has shown us 
 kindness that we ought never to forget. 1 hope you will have 
 the good sense and good feeling not to tattle about it to cook 
 and to Esther when they come." 
 
 " No, ma'am," said Lucy, demurely. 
 
 Miss Dennison felt, however, that she was trying to put on 
 human nature burdens too great for it to bear, and she wasted 
 no more words in pressing the point. Tired as she was when 
 she lay down that night on the little bed so strangely provided, 
 for some hours she could not sleep; excited fancies concerning 
 the girl who had disappeared and the man to whom her disap- 
 pearance was attributed filled her head with a waking night- 
 marc. Gratitude remained uppermost, however. 
 
 " He shall see that whatever 1 have heard makes not the 
 least difference," was her last clear thought before sleeping. 
 
 But Olivia's kind intentions were more difficult to carry out 
 than she imagined. Next day she saw nothing of Mr. Brander, 
 although she received another proof of his thoughtf ulness. A
 
 52 ST. CTJTHBEBT'S TOWER. 
 
 vanful of the much-expected furniture arrived in the course of 
 the morning; and scarcely was it emptied before the two maids 
 from the vicarage appeared again upon the scene; "by Mr. 
 Vernon's order, to give what assistance they could toward 
 getting the house ready for occupation. Then began for Olivia 
 three of the happiest days she had ever passed. There was 
 work real, useful, genuine work for head and hand and mus- 
 cular arm in the arrangement of every room to the best ad- 
 vantage. The maids from the vicarage and her own trusty 
 Lucy seconded her with a right good-will, being all ready to 
 worship this handsome, bright-voiced, sparkling-eyed girl, to 
 whom the lifting of the heaviest weights seemed to be child's 
 play, and who worked harder than any of them. On the sec- 
 ond day the very last consignment of the household goods duly 
 arrived, and Olivia was able to send back the vicarage furniture 
 with a grateful little note of thanks. In the evening, when 
 she was resting in an arm-chair, tired out with her labors, and 
 enjoying a glow of satisfaction in their success, there was a rap 
 of knuckles on the knockerless outer door, and Olivia started 
 up, with her heart beating violently. The persistent self- 
 effacement on the part of Mr. Brander made the girl nervously 
 anxious to show him that her gratitude was proof against any 
 evil rumors; and the hope that it was he brought a deep flush 
 to her face as Lucy, now installed in her own kitchen, and 
 busy still with polishing of pots and pans, went to open the 
 door. But she only brought in a note, which Olivia took with 
 some disappointment. It was an answer from Mr. Brander to 
 her own, but was so very formal that Olivia felt her cheeks 
 tingle with shame at the impulsive warmth of her letter. 
 The clergyman's note was at follows: 
 
 " DEAR MADAME " (And she had put " Dear Mr. Bran- 
 der/' Olivia could have torn her pretty hair) " I beg to as- 
 sure you there is nothing in what I have done to put you under 
 any sense of obligation. In doing what little I could to make 
 you as comfortable as the unfortunate circumstances of your 
 arrival would permit, 1 only acted in my capacity of repre- 
 sentative to my brother, who is hospitality itself to all stran- 
 gers. 
 
 ' ' I am, dear madame, yours faithfully, 
 
 BRANDER." 
 
 Olivia read the note twice, while Lucy stood still at the door. 
 " The young farmer's son brought it, ma'am, and he's wait- 
 ing," said she 
 
 Olivia went to the door, and held out her hand to Mat Old-
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 53 
 
 shaw, who took it very sheepishly in his own great paw, and, 
 having given it a convulsive squeeze, dropped it hastily, as if 
 overwhelmed with horror at his presumption in touching it 
 at all. 
 
 " Come in/' said she, smiling, and leading the way into the 
 big farm living-room; she had decided that this was to be the 
 dining-room of the establishment, and had furnished it accord- 
 ingly- 
 
 Mat followed her shyly, and remained near the door until, 
 by easy stages, she had coaxed him into a chair at the further 
 end. He was beautifully washed and combed, and clad in his 
 best clothes, and beautifully awkward and bashful withal. 
 
 " It's very kind of you to bring me this," she said; " and 
 I'm very glad to have an opportunity of thanking you for the 
 help you gave us the other day. You ran away so fast that I 
 had no chance of speaking to you. " 
 
 " 'Twere nowt that," said Mat, in a voice husky from bash- 
 fulness. " Ah'd ha 7 coom and given ye better help than that 
 yesterday when Ah saw t' goods coom, but Ah didn't like. " 
 
 " Would you? Well, we should have found plenty for you 
 to do. But your father wouldn't have liked it, of course. " 
 
 " Feyther! Ah bean't afreeaid o' feyther!" cried Mat, in a 
 burst of energetic defiance. " Neea, it wasna' for him that 
 Ah didn't coom. But Ah thowt may be ye'd ha* been so angry 
 with him for 's rudeness that ye wouldn't care to ha' seen me 
 ageean." 
 
 " Oh, 1 knew you had nothing to do with that." 
 
 " That's true enoof; and Ah coom to-neeght to say " and 
 Mat looked down on the floor and grew scarlet to the tips of 
 his ears " that ye mustn't be surprised if things doan't work 
 straight here at first. Feyther's a nasty coostomer when he's 
 crossed, and there's no denying he's wild at a stranger takkin* 
 this pleeace. An' if he can do ye and yer feyther an ill turn 
 he's not t' man to stick at it. An* if yer feyther don't knaw 
 mooch aboot farmin', ye may tell him not to tak' any advice 
 from moine. But if ye should be in a difficulty aboot matters 
 o' t' farm, ye can just send for me on t' quiet, and Ah'll help 
 ye all Ah can. Ah bean't ower bright may be, as ye can see 
 for yerself, miss, but Ah understand t' farm, and what Ah can 
 do for ye Ah will. " 
 
 Mat had strung himself up to this speech by a great effort, 
 and he reeled it off without any sort of pause, as if it had been 
 an article of faith that he had got by rote. Then he got up 
 and gave a hopeless look toward the door, as if that was his 
 goal, and he was utterly without an idea how to reach it.
 
 54 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWER. 
 
 Olivia rose too, and turned toward the fire. Her impulsive 
 nature was so deeply moved by this rough but genuine friend- 
 liness that she had no words ready to express her feelings. 
 
 There was a pause, during which she heard the shuffling of 
 Mat's feet upon floor as he prepared himself, with many 
 throes, for another rhetorical effort. As she at last turned 
 toward him and again held out her hand, he found his cour- 
 age, and began: 
 
 " An' wan moor thing Ah'd loike to say, miss: doan't you 
 be afreeaid o' Parson Brander, for all they may say. Of 
 coorse, ye've heard t' story; t' ill about a mon always cooms 
 oot first. May be t' story's true; Ah knaw nowt about that. 
 But Ah do knaw that there's ne'er a heart loike his in t' coon- 
 try-side. An' he's done all t' harm he'll ever do to anybody. 
 An' an' he give me this note for ye, miss, and Ah've given 
 it, and noo Ah'm going. Good-night, miss." 
 
 With which abrupt farewell he made a countryman's obei- 
 sance to her, and sheered off with great promptitude. 
 
 " Good-night. 1 sha'n't forget what you've said," Olivia 
 called after him, smiling. 
 
 She sat down again to muse by the fire, holding the open 
 letter still in her hand; and after a few minutes, being utterly 
 tired out with the day's work, she fell asleep. When she 
 woke up she could not resist an exclamation of horror, for she 
 saw confronting her, in the dim fire-light, an ugly, grinning 
 face, the owner of which broke into a peal of hoarse laughter 
 in enjoyment of the shock his presence caused her. Starting 
 to her feet, Olivia woke up to the full consciousness that the 
 ill-favored intruder was no other than her persecutor of two 
 nights before. While she was gathering up her forces for a 
 withering speech, Mr. Williams gave her a smile and a nod of 
 friendly greeting. 
 
 " You didn't expect to see me, did you?" he began, in a 
 perfectly amicable tone. 
 
 " I certainly did not. Nor can I say that I wished for that 
 honor," answered Olivia, with what ought to have been 
 withering sarcasm. 
 
 But Mr. Williams grinned on, entirely unmoved. 
 
 " No; you thought you'd shut me up choked me off for 
 good, didn't you? Why, I've got brambles and splinters in 
 every finger still. But I liked you for it. Oh, I do like a girl 
 of spirit! Why, there isn't a girl about the place I haven't 
 tried to annoy, and not one of them has had the pluck to 
 round on me as you did. But, then, look at your muscle, yon 
 know," he added, admiringly.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 55 
 
 " I'm exceedingly grateful for your admiration, and I will 
 try to deserve it,'' answered Olivia, briefly. 
 
 She walked rapidly to the door, which she threw wide open 
 with a gesture of invitation to him to go out. Mr. Williams 
 instantly got behind ail arm-chair. 
 
 " No, no, 1 know you can throw me out if you want to, but 
 just let me stay and explain. Look at what a shrimp I am 
 compared with you. You can't mind me," pleaded he. 
 
 The sight of the little sandy man clinging to the back of the 
 arm-chair, and " dodging " any movement of hers which he 
 imagined to be threatening, caused Olivia's just indignation to 
 merge into a strong inclination to laugh. She remained stand- 
 ing by the door, drawn up to her full height, and said, very 
 dryly: 
 
 " I suppose it is of no use to talk to you about the feelings 
 of a gentleman. But perhaps you can understand this: 1 con- 
 sider you an odious person, and I wish you to go." 
 
 " That's just the impression I wish to stay and remove/' 
 said Mr. Williams, blandly. 
 
 " You won't remove it by staying," said Miss Denison. 
 
 " As for the feelings of a gentleman," pursued he, ignoring 
 her interpolation, " of course you are quite right. I haven't 
 
 fot them; I don't know what they're like, and I don't want to. 
 'm a hopeless little cad, if you like, though nobody but you 
 and the parson would dare to call me so, because I'm coming 
 in to a hundred and eighty thousand pounds. Doesn't it make 
 your mouth water one hundred and eighty thousand pounds? 
 It does make a difference, don't it, say what you like, in the 
 way you look at a fellow?" 
 
 " It does," said Miss Denison. ** It makes one shudder to 
 think of so much money being in the hands of a person who is 
 not competent to make a right use of half a crown." 
 
 " Why, 1 never thought of it in that light/' said the gentle- 
 man, leaning over the back of the arm-chair, and caressing 
 his chin musingly. " But, look here, I may marry, and she will 
 think she knows how to make a right use of it, I'll warrant. " 
 
 This speech he accompanied by a look which was meant to 
 be full of arch meaning. Miss Denison took no notice either 
 of speech or look. 
 
 Now, are you going of your own accord?" she asked, 
 firmly, and rather menacingly. 
 
 " I don't know how you ever expect to get married if you 
 cut a fellow so short when he's getting near the brink of a 
 proposal. " 
 
 Now, are you going?"
 
 56 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said he, hastily, as she made one step toward 
 him; " I'm going. Though 1 don't see why I should be the 
 only man turned out, when I'll bet I'm the only one with 
 matrimonial intentions." 
 
 " You don't consider that you are the only one with the 
 audacity to spy upon me and to enter this house like a burglar. " 
 
 " Now how did you guess that? Why, you must have been 
 only shamming sleep then, when I hung on to the window-sill 
 outside, and saw you looking so invitingly like Cinderella that 
 I was obliged to come in to get a nearer view. " 
 
 Miss Denison was breathless with indignation. He con- 
 tinued: 
 
 " As for spying, I'm not the only one. I've caught the 
 parson prowling about here these two evenings. And, look 
 here, of course I saw from the first you liked him better than 
 me, and now you have heard the story about him, no doubt 
 you think him more interesting than ever. But I don't intend 
 to be snubbed for a murderer. And so I tell you this, Miss 
 Denison: if you are any more civil to him than you are to me, 
 I'll just spread abroad something I know and that nobody else 
 knows, and that is: how he disposed of the body of the first 
 poor girl who was unlucky enough to have anything to do 
 with him. And perhaps that will stop you from being the 
 second." 
 
 With these words Mr. Williams came out from his place of 
 refuge behind the arm-chair, and keeping at a respectful dis- 
 tance from the fair but stalwart arm which he had already 
 learned to fear, sidled out of the room with a swaggering bow. 
 He looked back, however, when he was safely outside the door. 
 
 " Don't lose heart," he said. " 1 shall make you another 
 offer some day; perhaps half a dozen. They'll come to be 
 your one amusement in this hole. " 
 
 With this delightful promise, Mr. Frederick Williams opened 
 the front door and let himself out, leaving his involuntary 
 hostess unable to distinguish which feeling was strongest in her 
 breast amusement or disgust at an impudence which she 
 might well consider unparalleled. 
 
 And that vague, insolent threat of his, what did it mean? 
 Could he really know anything about the mystery concerning 
 the girl Ellen Mitchell? 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 THERE was no denying that the arrival of these two spirited 
 young women had caused a great flutter among the bachelors
 
 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWER. 57 
 
 of Rishton and its neighborhood. For it in to be noted that 
 if, on the one hand, the remarkable beauty of the mistress at- 
 tracted the attentions of the elite of the male population, the 
 rosy cheeks and saucy independence of the maid began very 
 soon to make havoc in humbler masculine hearts, so that by 
 the time Sunday came round, and with it the great weekly 
 gathering time, the whole village was in a mild ferment of ex- 
 citement over the prospect of a close inspection of the strangers 
 and in their best clothes. 
 
 The little church stood on the very summit of the hill on 
 the slope of which one side of the village lay. Its foundations 
 and part of its walls were very ancient; but after having been 
 allowed to fall into neglect and decay, it had been carefully 
 restored, under its present vicar, into a faultlessly trim and 
 yet picturesque little building, the fanciful gray-stone tower of 
 which could be seen from the Matherham high-road, rising 
 like a coronet above the trees which grew thickly on the crest 
 of the hill. The church-yard was kept like a garden. One of 
 its gates led to the vicarage, one end of which overlooked it; a 
 second led through fields by a long and circuitous route down 
 to the village; the third and principal entrance opened on to a 
 little green, well shaded by trees, on which, close under the 
 church-yard wall, the old village stocks, green with damp and 
 a trifle infirm from age and neglect, stolidly survived its time 
 of active service. A long two-storied cottage, green with un- 
 trimmed ivy and yew-trees, which were suffered to overshadow 
 the small willows, stood at right angles with the vicarage, fac- 
 ing the green. Leaning over the wall of the front garden was 
 a weather-beaten board, bearing the information that the cot- 
 tage was "To let." 
 
 When Olivia, attended by the faithful Lucy, arrived at the 
 church on Sunday morning, she was at once accosted by the 
 clerk, a small and sanctimonious-looking old man, who smelled 
 of spirits, and inducted into a seat, close under the pulpit, 
 which was, he informed her in a low whisper, " the 'All pew." 
 It was too far forward for Olivia to be able to see many of her 
 fellow- worshipers, but one party, occupying the opposite pew 
 to her, could not fail to catch her eye. It consisted of two 
 very showily dressed young women, who entered with much 
 rustling and whispering, and were a long time settling them- 
 selves; of a much younger brother and sister, whom they 
 hustled into a very small corner of the pew; and of Mat Old- 
 shaw, who occupied the outside seat, and who appeared to be 
 bashfully conscious the whole time of Miss Denison's presence, 
 though he never once dared to look in her direction.
 
 58 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 
 
 Olivia was one of the first of the congregation to arrive, and 
 in the interval before the service commenced, she could not 
 help regarding with some interest such of her new neighbors 
 as came within her range of vision. The Oldshaw family, 
 with the exception of Mat, she knew she should not like, but 
 in a large pew in front of them sat a lady whose appearance 
 attracted her greatly. She was not very young or very pretty; 
 she was dressed with great simplicity in a dark costume and a 
 long sealskin jacket; and the word by which a stranger would 
 have described her was "lady-like." It was impossible to 
 help contrasting her with the two fidgety women behind; and 
 Olivia was growing more and more sure that she should like 
 to know her when, to her surprise, she suddenly heard a loud, 
 hoarse whisper, " Here, gee up, Soosan," and looking round, 
 she saw the quiet-looking lady move up the pew at the be- 
 hest of the odious Frederick Williams. 
 
 As Olivia turned her head, she met this young man's admir- 
 ing eyes turned upon her with their usual vacant stare. He 
 was attired this morning like the " swell " of the comic scenes 
 of a pantomime, the salient points of his costume being an 
 overcoat lined with otter, a pink-striped shirt, light gaiters, 
 and brick-colored gloves. Olivia fancied also that he had had 
 his hair curled. He bestowed upon Miss Denison a nod, a 
 smile, and a wink, and appeared quite unabashed by the fact 
 that she vouchsafed him no sign of recognition in return. He 
 ensconced himself in the outer corner of the pew, and watched 
 her persistently until a heavy and measured tread up the aisle, 
 followed by short, pattering steps, announced two new-comers, 
 and he had to make way for an elderly couple whom Olivia 
 rightly guessed to be his parents. 
 
 Not that they bore any but the faintest family likeness to 
 Olivia's dashing admirer. The gentleman was an erect and 
 handsome man of sixty or more, pompous and digified; his 
 wife was short, stout, good-humored-looking, and well-dressed. 
 Just as she noticed these facts the church bells ceased ringing, 
 and a small choir of surpliced boys came out of the vestry, fol- 
 lowed by Mr. Vernon Brander. 
 
 " Isn't he a dear?" Miss Denison heard one of the fidgety 
 ladies whisper to the other, enthusiastically. 
 
 Mr. Brander conducted the service with no assistance but 
 that of the choir and the clerk, who was evidently a privileged 
 person; for he put everybody out who was within a dozen feet 
 of his nasal voice. Olivia was impressed by the sermon, but 
 she was hardly sure whether the impression was altogether 
 favorable. For the preacher did not speak " as one having
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 59 
 
 authority/' but rather as the servant than the teacher of his 
 hearers; as one who was bound to keep them in mind of truths 
 which they knew already, rather than as one who held up their 
 duty before them with all the weight of a respected and hon- 
 ored pastor. 
 
 When the service was over, Olivia lingered a little in the 
 church-yard, looking at the grave-stones, not unwilling to give 
 the much-discussed Mr. Brander an opportunity of proving that 
 no rumors could affect her behavior to one who had been kind 
 to her; but he would not avail himself of it. On coming out 
 of the church, which he did with extraordinary little delay, 
 Mr. Brander seemed purposely to avoid glancing toward the 
 spot where she was standing, but at once, with quick steps, 
 made for the gate at which the lady, whose appearance had at- 
 tracted Olivia, was waiting. Her party, including the ill- 
 mannered Frederick, had gone, as they had come, without her. 
 
 Olivia, who, like all young girls, could see a great deal 
 without looking, knew that the clergyman and the lady were 
 talking about her, and she would not pass out at the gate while 
 they stood there. So she continued her inspection of the tomb- 
 stones, with a heart beating rather faster than usual, for the 
 very few minutes that the tete-a-tete lasted. Now, surely, she 
 might have a chance of speaking to him; in common civility 
 he would come, if only, as his note expressed it, " as his 
 brother's representative, " to ask how she was getting on with 
 her furnishing, and whether her friends were coming soon to 
 relieve her of her responsibilities. He passed quite near to her 
 on his way to the vicarage gate. She raised her head with a 
 smile and a heightened color, ready to give him her prettiest 
 greeting; but he looked away with a persistency which she 
 could no longer doubt was intentional, and it was with a blush 
 of the deepest mortification that Olivia, whose burning eyes 
 no longer saw inscriptions, or tombstones, or anything but a 
 particularly tactless and unobservant clergyman, whose con- 
 duct in not allowing her to lessen her obligation to him by an 
 expression of her gratitude was, Olivia felt, highly reprehensi- 
 ble. She was so hurt, so indignant, that when the pleasant- 
 looking lady, who stood by the gate and watched her ap- 
 proach, made a movement forward as if to address the young 
 stranger, Olivia turned her head stiffly away. She would give 
 no opening to the friend of the man who had so deeply offend- 
 ed her. 
 
 But anger in Olivia's breast was a feeling which could not 
 last. Before she was half-way down the hill she was sorry for 
 her hasty action and ashamed of her disappointment. With
 
 60 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 the exaggerated feeling of an impulsive young girl, she blamed 
 herself as ungracious and ungrateful, and decided that the 
 avoidance of a man as kindly and chivalrous as Mr. Brander 
 had proved himself to be could only proceed from the most 
 honorable motives. 
 
 The observant Lucy, perhaps, detected a lightening of the 
 cloud on her young mistress's face, for, at this point of the 
 latter's reflections, she broke the silence she had discreetly kept 
 since leaving the church-yard. 
 
 " It's a lot to do to take the service here in the morning, 
 and at Saint Cuthbert's in the afternoon, and a young men's 
 class four miles away at night, isn't it, ma'am?" she asked, 
 glibly. 
 
 Lucy had already collected as much local information as if 
 she had been settled in Kishton three months, and could have 
 enlightened Miss Denison on a good many points of local gos- 
 sip if she had been encouraged to do so. 
 ' Why, who does all that, Lucy?" 
 
 " Mr. Brander, ma'am. He holds a meeting of colliers be- 
 longing to some pit at night, and he says * he goes to them 
 because they wouldn't all come to him.' ' 
 
 Olivia looked at her in astonishment. Here was the little 
 maid quoting with perfect confidence the clergyman's own 
 words. 
 
 " But how did you pick up all this information?" 
 
 " Oh, one hears things, ma'am," said Lucy, who was an in- 
 veterate gossip, but who did not care to own that the butcher, 
 grocer, old woman at the village shop, nay, even the small boy 
 who brought the afternoon ha'porth of milk from Mrs. 
 Briggs's, who kept a cow at the other end of the village, all 
 were laid under contribution to keep her well informed. 
 " And they do say, Miss Olivia, that the difference between 
 Saint Cuthbert's Church and this is something which must be 
 seen to be believed," she added. 
 
 Miss Denison said nothing to this. She herself was longing 
 to see St. Cuthbert's, and would have found out the place and 
 gone to service there that very afternoon if a feeling of shyness 
 had not restrained her. Church once a day had always been 
 enough for her at Streatham; therefore it could only be curi- 
 osity which was urging her to break through her custom now, 
 she said to herself. So she stayed at home that afternoon and 
 wrote reluctantly enough to her father to tell him that every- 
 thing was ready for the arrival of the rest of the family. If 
 only Mrs. Denison would take it into her head that the air of 
 Yorkshire was too keen for her sensitive frame, and would
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 61 
 
 allow papa to come without her, what a happy lif they two 
 might lead together, thought Olivia. She loved her easy-going 
 father passionately, and as passionately resented the subjection 
 in which he was kept by his second wife; but her Utopian 
 dream was not to be fulfilled. On the Wednesday following 
 she received a long letter from her step-mother, announcing 
 that they would all arrive next day, and giving rambling but 
 minute directions as to the preparation for their coming. 
 
 Olivia put down the letter with a sigh, called Lucy, and in 
 a doleful voice informed her that the reign of peace and free- 
 dom was nearly over. The little maid's face fell. 
 
 " Lor% Miss Olivia, how she will fuss and worrit, to make 
 up for not having been able to get at us for a week!" was her 
 first comment. 
 
 " Well, we must try to give her no cause," said Olivia, try- 
 ing to keep grave. 
 
 " She'd find cause to grumble, miss, if she was in heaven, 
 and we was all angels a-flyin' about of her errands. I'll war- 
 rant before she's been in the house ten minutes she'll take a 
 fancy to the scullery for her bedroom, and say that we ought 
 to have made this room the coal-cellar," said Lucy, with ill- 
 humor that was not all affected. 
 
 There was enough truth in the girl's comic sketch for Olivia 
 to give a sigh at the prospect, though she stifled it instantly, 
 and started briskly on a tour of the house to see whether she 
 had left any loop-hole for complaints on the part of her step- 
 mother. She could find none. She had prepared the largest 
 and best room for her father and Mrs. Denison; the next best 
 for the two children; the third in order of merit she had fitted 
 up as a spare room, leaving only two little rooms scarcely 
 larger than cupboards, the one for herself, and the other for 
 her brother Ernest, on his rare visits. The two rooms in the 
 wing she left unappropriated and untouched, not from any 
 superstitious scruples, for she would have liked the larger one 
 for herself; but she knew if she were to take possession of it, 
 her step-mother would certainly never cease '* nagging " at 
 her for helping herself to so spacious a room. 
 
 Thursday morning came, and Olivia rose with a doleful sense 
 that the fun and the freedom of the week were nearly over. 
 Her energies had found delightful vent in the unaccustomed 
 work and responsibility; she began to feel that even if she had 
 been still in the old home at Streatham, a contented return to 
 lawn tennis and crewel-work would have been impossible. 
 Would Mrs. Denison, who was lazy as well as fretful, and who 
 would now have to do without a housekeeper, be inclined to
 
 62 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 trust her with the reins of management? As Olivia had always 
 until now been known to have the utmost horror of any house- 
 hold duties, she was not without a hope that, if she kept secret 
 the change in her own feelings, Mrs. Denison might herself 
 make some such proposal, being amiably anxious to make those 
 around her feel as acutely as she did herself the alteration in 
 the family fortunes. 
 
 They were to arrive about six o'clock. Olivia, who was only 
 anxious to see her father, would not go to meet them. She 
 would get old papa all to himself in the evening, and have a 
 long talk, and tell him all her adventures. He was not him- 
 self while within range of the querulous voice and cold eyes of 
 his second wife. Olivia thought she would have a very early 
 dinner and a long walk to brace herself for her fall from 
 autocracy. So at two o'clock she was on the Sheffield Road, 
 walking fast against a keen wind, under a leaden sky that 
 promised snow within a few hours. She did not care for that. 
 Protected by a hooded water-proof and a thick pair of boots, 
 the healthy girl was quite ready to do battle with rain, snow, 
 or wind; and the object of her walk was quite interesting 
 enough for her to think little of the cold. 
 
 Olivia was going to St. Cuthbert's. She knew where the 
 church was. She had seen its dilapidated, patched-up tower, 
 a very marvel of make-shift architecture, far away on the plain 
 below her as she walked to Matherham by the longest and 
 prettiest road. After walking for about a mile and a half 
 along this road, which was on high ground and afforded a 
 wide view of hill and plain, she had only to turn to the left 
 and descend the hill by a steep and narrow lane, and walk on 
 until she came to it. A feeling of shyness brought the bright 
 blood to the girl's cheeks as she turned into the lane. She 
 hoped she should not meet Mr. Brander. The whisper of one of 
 the Misses Oldshaw in church on Sunday had made known 
 that it was the fashion among a section of the village ladies to 
 worship him; and Miss Denison, having always held " curate 
 adorers " in stern and lofty contempt, was most anxious not 
 to be confounded with that class. It was just the time, how- 
 ever, when she thought an active clergyman would be going 
 his rounds in the parish. 
 
 She had indeed met no one the whole way except a lame 
 tramp, who was approaching her along the Sheffield Road as 
 she turned into the lane. The whole country-side seemed to 
 be asleep except for the occasional distant shriek of a railway 
 engine as it disappeared between the hills a mile away. 
 
 At last Olivia drew near to the church and the vicarage,
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 6i 
 
 standing together, with no other buildings near, on a slightly 
 rising ground in the center of the plain. The vicarage came 
 first. It was a large, plain, hideous house, like a great stone 
 box, sheltered by no ivy and no trees, with an uncared-for 
 square of garden in front of it, and a plain stone wall all 
 round. Only three of the windows in the front part of the 
 house were curtained; the rest were blank and bare, as if the 
 place had been uninhabited. Close to the garden wall came 
 the church-yard, a mildewed wilderness in which broken and 
 displaced head-stones had been suffered to take what positions 
 they pleased, and lay flat, or stood sideways, or leaned against 
 each other without hinderance. The church itself was the 
 most extraordinary pile Olivia had ever seen. It was built of 
 stone, and very, very old and ruinous. But no care, no taste, 
 no skill had been for years employed in its restoration. As 
 harm came to it from wear or weather, it had simply been re- 
 paired in the cheapest and speediest way with whatever sub- 
 stance came first to hand. Thus, the glass of one window, 
 having been irretrievably damaged, had been replaced by 
 bricks, which filled up the blank spaces between the scarcely 
 injured tracery. In the early years of the century, a storm 
 had brought down the central tower, which, in its fall, had 
 crushed through the roof of the south aisle, breaking through 
 the outer wall and making one third of the whole church an 
 almost shapeless ruin. As that storm had left it, so through 
 sixty years it had remained, with only this difference, that the 
 shattered tower had been brought up to the height of a few 
 feet above the roof with irregular layers of wood and brick and 
 stone, and surmounted by a pointed roof of slate; while the 
 spaces between the arches on the southern side of the nave 
 had been bricked up to form an outer wall to the church, leav- 
 ing the ruined aisle outside exposed to every chance of wind 
 and weather. At the south-east corner, a portion of the roof, 
 no longer either very solid or very safe, still kept its place. 
 At the south-west angle a rough hole in the ground and a 
 dozen rude and broken steps had formerly led into the small 
 crypt with a vaulted roof, which extended about half-way 
 under the southern aisle; but the opening having, not without 
 reason, been declared dangerous, had been filled up, ten years 
 ago, with bricks and stones and earth, over which the grass 
 and weeds had now grown. 
 
 The gate of the church-yard was locked; but Olivia was not 
 going to be deterred by such an obstacle from the closer in- 
 spection her curiosity craved. Choosing a place where the 
 high stone wall had irregularities on its rough surface large
 
 64 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 enough to afford a footing, she climbed to the top and let her- 
 self down with a jump among the grave-stones on the other 
 side. The three doors of the church were also locked; this 
 she had expected. She made the tour of the building very 
 slowly, trying to decipher the dates on the weather-beaten 
 head-stones. Before she had gone half-way round, the snow, 
 which had been threatening all day, began to fall in large 
 flakes, so that, by the time she again reached the ruined aisle, 
 Olivia was glad to take shelter under the remaining bit of the 
 old roof. This formed a very complete place of refuge; for a 
 sort of inner buttress had been formed with some of the loose 
 stones, which supported the remaining portions of wall and 
 roof, and made the inclosed corner safe from wind or rain. 
 She was debating whether it would not be wiser to make the 
 best of her way home at once, in spite of the snow, before the 
 short day began to draw in, when she heard the key turn in 
 the lock of the gate, and, peeping between the stones, saw the 
 Reverend Vernon Brander enter, and, leaving the gate open be- 
 hind him, disappear round the west end of the church. From 
 his grave, stern, absorbed expression, Olivia guessed that he was 
 unaware of the presence of another human being. In a few 
 minutes she heard the rattle of the key in the lock of the 
 north-west door of the church, and then Mr. Brander's tread 
 on the stone floor inside. 
 
 Olivia did not wish to see him. She decided to wait a few 
 minutes, in case he should only have gone in to fetch something; 
 she could hear him walking about, opening the ventilators of 
 some of the windows, and closing those of others; then for a 
 few minutes she heard no further sound. She would escape 
 now, while he was engaged inside. Just as she was drawing 
 the hood over her hat, preparing for a smart walk back 
 through the snow, she caught sight of another figure at the 
 gate, whom she recognized as the lame tramp she had seen 
 near the entrance of the lane. He was a man whose age it 
 was impossible to determine, with coarse features, and an ex- 
 pression not devoid of intelligence. He had a wooden leg, and 
 walked moreover with the aid of a stick. 
 
 Olivia was so much struck by the expression of vivid interest 
 and curiosity with which he scanned every object round him, 
 from the shambling tower above to the grave-stones at his feet, 
 that, instead of coming out from her shelter, she remained 
 watching him, convinced that the place had some special in- 
 terest for him. That interest her mind connected, with a 
 lightning flash of vivid perception, with the story of Nellie 
 Mitchell's disappearance. The man came toward the ruined
 
 ST. CDTHBERT'S TOWER. 65 
 
 aisle, treading more slowly and cautiously with every step, and 
 gradually turning his attention entirely to the ground on which 
 he trod. He did not come so far as the roofed corner, but 
 suddenly turned his steps back in the direction of the blocked- 
 up entrance to the crypt. Against the roughly piled stones he 
 struck his stick sharply, with an abrupt exclamation in a loud 
 and grating voice. 
 
 Just at the moment he uttered this, Mr. Brander appeared 
 round the western corner. His pale face turned to a livid 
 color and his lips twitched convulsively at sight of the man, 
 whom he appeared instantly to recognize. The tramp, on his 
 side, took matters much more lightly. Saluting the clergy- 
 men with a touch of his cap, he said, in a voice which became 
 hoarse in his endeavor to make it mysterious: 
 
 " Eh, Maister Brander, but it's a long time since we've 
 met. Eleven year come next seventh of July. " 
 
 Olivia held her breath; the seventh of July was the date of 
 Nellie Mitchell's disappearance. She would have given the 
 world to run away, to escape hearing what she knew must be 
 a confession; but there was no way out except by passing the 
 two men. Brave as she was, Olivia dared not face them. She 
 shrunk back in her corner and vainly tried not to hear. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THERE was a long pause after the tramp had addressed Mr. 
 Brander. In spite of herself, Olivia found herself at last hold- 
 ing her breath with impatience to hear the clergyman's an- 
 swer. She would not look at him, although through the gaps 
 hi the rough stone- work she might easily have done so; but 
 her hands, with which she had at first tried to stop her ears, 
 fell down at her sides. When at last he spoke, Mr. Brander's 
 'oice was low and husky, affected by some strong feeling. 
 
 " Yes, Abel, it's a long time a very long time." 
 
 The blood rushed to Olivia's face, and her cold hands stole 
 together; there was something in the vicar's voice which told 
 so clearly of years of keen suffering that a great throb of pity 
 wrung the girl's heart; and she hoped, as eagerly as if the 
 matter had affected her personally, that this tramp would keep 
 his secret. 
 
 " Ay," said Abel, in whose tones, to do him justice, there 
 was no malignity. " Ah've kept ma word, parson. Ah 
 promised ye that neeght as Ah'd go on straight wi'out resting 
 hereabouts. An' on Ah went, and Ah nivver said nowt, and 
 
 3
 
 66 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 Ah've nivver been nigh t' pleace from that day to this. 
 that's straight dealing parson, ar'n't it?" 
 
 " Yes, Abel; I always knew you for a straight man." 
 
 Mr. Brander spoke gravely and appreciatively, but there was 
 no undue humility in his tone, as of a man demanding mercy. 
 Abel resumed: 
 
 " Ay, parson, so 1 be. Ah'm not mooch of a Christian, as 
 tha knaws, an' if so be a mon treats ma ill, Ah loike to be 
 even wi' him. But if so be a mon treats ma fair, Ah treat 
 him fair beck. An' tha's treated ma more nor fair, parson, 
 mony's the time. An' so, when tha says, ' Shut tha mooth 
 an' mak' nae guesses,' Ah shuts ma mooth, an' Ah doan't 
 guess nowt. " 
 
 " What brings you here now, then?" asked Mr. Brander 
 abruptly, with perceptible anxiety in his tone. 
 
 " Weel, parson, tha knaws Ah wur born and bred here- 
 aboots. An' though Ah been fond o' trampin' it i' ma time, 
 Ah'm not so spry-like as Ah wur, an' Ah'd like to settle in t' 
 pleace where Ah wur bred." 
 
 " You've saved some money, then?" asked Mr. Brander as 
 sharply as before. 
 
 " Not so mooch, not so mooch, mester, but Ah doan't count 
 to end ma days in an eight-roomed villa, like t' gentlef owk. ' ' 
 
 There was a pause, and then the vicar spoke in a constrained 
 tone, in which the effort to repress some strong feeling was 
 more manifest than ever. 
 
 " And if 1 ask you not to settle here, Abel, but to pitch 
 your tent for the remainder of your days somewhere else, what 
 would you do? Come, I don't want to throw in your face 
 what I've done for you, but what would you do?" 
 
 Olivia heard the man clearing his throat undecidedly, and 
 kicking with his wooden leg against the grave-stones. 
 
 "You doan't trust ma, parson, an' it's a bit hard, after 
 howdin' ma tongue nigh eleven year. Eh, but if Ah'd wanted 
 to ha spoke, wadn't Ah ha' spoke afore now?" 
 
 " If you had wanted to speak about the business, I should 
 never have wasted my breath asking you not to," said Mr. 
 Brander, with decision. " I trust you, Abel, as much as one 
 man may trust another. But judging you as I should judge 
 myself, I say it would be impossible for you to live in this 
 neighborhood, where that night's occurrences are still con- 
 tinually being raked up and discussed, without its leaking out 
 that you were here on that night, and that you met me. That, 
 as you know, I wish to keep secret. "
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 67 
 
 " But, parson " began the man slowly, in a troubled tone. 
 
 Mr. Brander interrupted him. 
 
 " Now we've nothing further to discuss, Abel. I want the 
 whole story forgotten." 
 
 " But it's not a whole story, Mester Brander, an' that's why 
 it nivver will be forgotten. It's a mystery to all but to 
 ivyerybody; an' until t' fowk knaw what become o j Nellie 
 Mitchell, a mystery it'll be, an' they'll talk aboot it. Why, 
 parson, dost knaw t' tales as goes round?" 
 
 ' ' What do tales matter as long as they are only idle ones?" 
 said Mr. Brander, hastily. " Now, Abel Squires, which is it 
 to be? Is the parson to have his way, or has he been wasting 
 his breath?" 
 
 " He maun ha' his way, Ah reckon; but Ah tell thee, par- 
 son, it's all no use. It'll be none o' ma doin', but murder 
 will oot, tha knaws." 
 
 He dropped his voice to a low, portentous whisper for the 
 last words. 
 
 "Murder!" echoed Mr. Brander, also in a low voice. 
 " What are you talking about? Didn't I tell you it was not 
 murder?" 
 
 " Ay, that tha did," said Abel, rather dryly. 
 
 " And did you see anything?" 
 
 " Weel, not that neeght, but next day " 
 
 *' Ah!" ejaculated Mr. Brander, sharply. " Then you 
 didn't keep your word; you didn't go straight on!" 
 
 The man's answer came deliberately. 
 
 " Ah went straight on that neeght, mester, as Ah towd tha 
 Ah would. But Ah coom back next mornin'. It wur only 
 human natur'; an' Ah took a look round. Ay! parson, Ah 
 hid summat as would ha towd a tale. " 
 
 11 What was that?" asked Mr. Brander, slowly, and, as it 
 seemed, with difficulty. 
 
 " There wur marks on those steps down to t' crypt as is now 
 blocked oop. An' down at t' bottom. An' Ah tramped 'em 
 oot. An' there wur marks in other pleace as Ah made away. 
 An' it wur all for ye, parson, for Ah thowt of what ye' done 
 for ma when Ah wur ill and nobody to care for ma, an' Ah 
 did what Ah could." 
 
 " You're a good fellow, Abel," said Mr. Brander, huskily, 
 after a few moments' pause. " And you've been a good 
 friend to me." 
 
 " Ah, Mester Brander, but Ah'd ha' liked to ha' served ye 
 a better way," said the man, who seemed affected in his turn.
 
 68 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 The vicar silenced him with a peremptory " 'Sh-'sh." Then 
 he said: 
 
 " You won't be able to get far to-night on foot. It will be 
 snowing heavily in an hour from now. You must get home 
 by train to-night." 
 
 Olivia guessed that he must have put money into the man's 
 hand, for Abel Squires answered, reluctantly: 
 
 " Ah doan't tak* it for howding ma tongue, parson. But if 
 ye want ma to go further, it's but fair ye should pay for it. 
 Here's good -day to you, sir, and may you nivver " 
 
 The voices were growing fainter. Olivia peeped between 
 the stones for the first time, and saw that the oddly assorted 
 couple were making their way among the ruined grave-stones 
 to the gate, where the vicar shook hands with the tramp, who 
 went back up the lane toward the Sheffield Eoad as fast as his 
 wooden leg would let him. Mr. Brander stood at the gate 
 until long after Abel had disappeared from sight at a bend of 
 the lane. His back was toward Olivia, and all that she could 
 see was that he remained extraordinarily still. The snow, 
 which from a few feathery flakes had gradually thickened into 
 a blinding storm, grew at last so dense that no mental abstrac- 
 tion could shut it out. The vicar suddenly threw back his 
 head, and apparently taking in the fact that he was getting 
 wet through, gave himself a violent shake to get rid of the 
 white covering which already enveloped him, turned, and 
 walked rapidly back to the church. 
 
 As soon as Olivia heard the rattle of the lock, she sprung 
 out of her shelter, struggling with her umbrella as she went, 
 hurried over the uneven ground within the ruined aisle, where 
 a few minutes before Mr. Brander and the tramp had been 
 standing, and steering rapidly and neatly between the broken 
 and scattered tombstones, reached the gate in a very few sec- 
 onds. As she flitted quickly through, however, a gust of wind 
 blew the skirt of her water-proof against the bars of the gate, 
 which swung to behind with a loud creaking noise. She ran 
 on, and in a minute was out of sight to any one at the church 
 door, hidden by the church-yard wall. But Mr. Brander, 
 hearing the noise, and being naturally rather startled by the 
 idea that some one had been about during his very private con- 
 versation with Squires, was too quick for her. He was out of 
 the church and on the track of the intruder before she had got 
 many steps up the lane. She was just past the bend when he 
 suddenly came up with her. One umbrellaed and water-proofed 
 woman in a snow-storm is so like another that he had not the 
 slightest idea who his quarry was until he had passed her and
 
 ST. CUTHBEBT'S TOWER. 69 
 
 turned to look back. As he did so he caught sight of her 
 face, and instantly stopped. 
 
 Olivia stopped too, and holding back her umbrella, met his 
 glance with a frank, straight gaze. He raised his hat, seemed 
 about to speak to her, but hesitated. She smiled and held out 
 her hand. He saw at once that this was not the ordinary 
 greeting of an acquaintance she was tendering him. The 
 muscles about her mouth were quivering, and her eyes, as they 
 met his for a moment before dropping modestly, were luminous 
 with generous feeling, maidenly shame struggling with woman- 
 ly sympathy. Mr. Brander took her hand with some con- 
 straint. As he touched it, however, something in the firm 
 clasp of the girl's fingers gave him confidence. 
 
 " Miss Denison," he said, gravely, while his keen black 
 eyes seemed to read the thoughts in her brain before they were 
 uttered, "you have been in the church-yard. Where were 
 you?" 
 
 The blood, which was already crimson in Olivia's cheeks, 
 mounted to her forehead, until her whole face was aglow. 
 Her eyes fell, and it was in a low, almost faltering voice that 
 she answered: 
 
 " I was in the ruined part of the church where the roof is 
 left." 
 
 Mr. Brander was startled by this confession. He did not at 
 once speak, being evidently occupied in trying to recall the 
 very words of the conversation she must have overheard. But 
 he soon gave up that attempt, and asked impatiently: 
 ' Then you heard what?" 
 
 Olivia's breath came almost in sobs, as she answered at once, 
 with bent head, and almost in a whisper: 
 
 " I heard nearly all you said you and the man. I am very, 
 very sorry and ashamed, and I ask your pardon. But I did 
 not dare to come out while you were there. I hoped to get 
 away without your seeing me." 
 
 " But what did I say? What [did he say? What did you 
 understand by it all?" asked he, so eagerly that he almost 
 seemed to be bullying her. 
 
 " Oh, 1 don't know. Pray don't ask me. I don't want to 
 remember. I would rather forget it all. I never meant that 
 a word about it should pass my lips, and it will not after this," 
 said she, hurriedly, without looking up. 
 
 Mr. Brander said nothing fc this at first, and Olivia, raising 
 her head to steal a look at his face, judged by his expression 
 that he was in the throes of some terrible mental struggle, the 
 outcome of which would be some passionate outburst. But
 
 70 ST. CTJTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 he recovered command of himself, and when he at last spoke 
 to her, it was in a very quiet voice. 
 
 " I am keeping you standing in the snow, Miss Denison; I 
 must not do that. But we must come to a word of under- 
 standing now; it will put us on a right footing for the future." 
 
 " You need not say another word to me, Mr. Brander," in- 
 terrupted Olivia, vehemently. " The understanding between 
 us is clear enough; you are a most warm-hearted gentleman, 
 and have shown me more delicate kindness than I ever re- 
 ceived in my life; I am, and shall be as long as you let me, 
 your grateful friend. What understanding do you want more 
 than that?" 
 
 Her clear young voice rang out with enthusiastic warmth, 
 which threw the clergyman off his balance. He began to 
 tremble like a leaf, and again his thin, mobile face showed 
 signs of the emotion within him. But he still kept it under 
 restraint, and spoke in a perfectly steady voice. 
 
 " Thank you; I expected generosity from you. But do 
 you quite understand the position I am in, I wonder? Did 
 you understand that man that tramp is keeping a secret 
 for me?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Olivia, steadily. 
 
 ** And you are aware of its nature?" 
 
 The girl drew a deep breath, but she answered bravely, 
 though in a low voice: 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And after that, and after hearing everything that you 
 have heard, that you must have heard, about this miserable 
 story, you still are ready to call yourself my friend?" 
 
 He kept his voice at the same quiet pitch, but on the last 
 two words it broke a little. There was a pause of only a few 
 seconds. 
 
 Then Olivia answered in a veritable whisper, but with the 
 same sweet and dignified seriousness: 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Brander." 
 
 She might reasonably have expected some acknowledgment 
 of the gracious, womanly daring of this speech; but instead of 
 giving any sign of gratitude, Mr. Brander, to her astonish- 
 ment, turned upon her quite sharply. 
 
 " Well, that's quixotic, illogical, pretty perhaps from a 
 boarding-school young lady's point of view, but not worthy of 
 a woman of sense/' 
 
 Olivia was surprised, but she was true woman enough to 
 have her answer.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 71 
 
 " I think 1 can justify it," she said, holding her head back 
 rather obstinately. 
 
 " Very well. Justify yourself for being ready to make 
 friends with a man believed to have committed a very atrocious 
 and cowardly murder." 
 
 Olivia looked at him full and earnestly. 
 
 " I don't believe " she began, doubtfully. 
 
 " You don't believe what?" 
 
 " That you ever did it." 
 
 " Because 1 have the assurance to take the bull by the 
 horns, waylay you, and insist upon coming to an explana- 
 tion?" 
 
 " No o, not because of that." 
 
 " Why, then?" 
 
 Olivia continued to gaze at him as solemnly as if she had 
 been a judge passing sentence. 
 
 " It is very difficult to say quite why," she began, deliber- 
 ately. " They say women hardly ever can say why they be- 
 lieve a thing." 
 
 " Is that all your answer?" 
 
 " No," she replied rather sharply, beginning to be a little 
 annoyed at the irony in his tone. " They have never proved 
 it, for one thing, although they tried. And how can a man 
 have changed so in ten years?" 
 
 " The first is a reason; the other is not. But you have just 
 seen with your own eyes the only witness to my actions on 
 that night, and heard with your own ears that he has not been 
 in the neighborhood since. 
 
 Olivia assented. 
 
 " Then you say: ' How can a man have changed so much in 
 ten years?' But I tell you I have changed so much in that 
 time that, except for externals, I might pass for a different 
 man. Now what becomes of your reasons for thinking me 
 innocent?" 
 
 " 1 will believe you did it if you tell me so, of course," said 
 Olivia, quietly. 
 
 " And what then?" 
 
 " What then? 1 shall be sorry again, and puzzled." 
 
 " And you will withdraw all those pretty professions of 
 friendship?" 
 
 Olivia debated with herself for a few moments only. Then 
 she answered, vehemently, in a strong voice: 
 
 " No. You were my friend a very good friend too be- 
 fore I heard anything against you. You were good to us, as 
 I hear you are good to everybody. When you met that man
 
 72 ST. CFTHBEET'S TOWER. 
 
 in the church-yard just now, you spoke like a brave man, and 
 not like a coward. I hear from every one about the noble, 
 self-denying life you lead. If you didn't do it you are almost 
 a martyr; if if you did, you are expiating what you did in a 
 manner which justifies our respect. Now if you call these 
 women's reasons, I don't care; they are good enough for me, 
 Mr. Brander." 
 
 " And for me, too, Miss Denison. I " 
 
 He tried to keep his voice under proper command. But 
 educated to self-control by long years as he was, he gave way 
 under the unexpected rush of warm and generous feeling. A 
 choking in his throat checked his utterance; his keen eyes 
 grew moist and dun. He saw, as in a mist, a hand held out 
 to him, and seizing it, he wrung it in a pressure which made 
 Olivia wince. 
 
 " Look here/' he said at last, in a voice still husky, while 
 he continued to hold her fingers in a strong nervous clasp: " I 
 have nothing to say to you; no confession, no explanation, 
 nothing. But you are a grand girl a grand girl." 
 
 He released her hand suddenly, as if with an effort, and then 
 at once struggled into his usual manner. 
 
 " You're half frozen with standing in the cold (a very just 
 penalty for eavesdropping, by the way), and you'll be half 
 buried before you get back. I must see you home." 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed, I'm not going to drag you all that way on 
 a day like this." 
 
 " But I choose to be dragged. You rash young woman, 
 accustomed to the peaceful security of Streatham; you must 
 lea^n that it is not safe for a young lady to tramp about this 
 part of the world alone so late in the day. " 
 
 "But it's not late." 
 
 " It will be dark before you get home. Go on up the hill, 
 and I will fetch my mackintosh and overtake you." 
 
 He went into his bare-looking house while Olivia tramped on 
 obediently. She had not noticed, until then, how thickly the 
 snow-flakes were falling, nor how the gloom of the leaden sky 
 was deepening. Now, too, she became aware, for the first 
 time that her jaws were stiff, and her hands and feet bitterly 
 cold; for the interview with Mr. Brander had been too excit- 
 ing to allow her to notice these things. He overtook her in a 
 very few minutes, and walked by her side, conversing on differ- 
 ent topics, until that scene by the church-yard scarcely seemed 
 a reality. They passed only one person, a rough-looking 
 collier of unsteady gait, whom Mr. Brander made use of to 
 point a moral.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 73 
 
 " Now, is that the sort of person you would care to meet if 
 you were alone?" he asked. 
 
 " I shouldn't have been afraid of him/* answered Olivia. 
 
 " No; if he had been sober he would have been vastly afraid 
 of you, and of most girls, I should say. So he is when he's 
 drunk. But your courage doesn't want stimulating; it wants 
 repressing. For I tell you, my collier boys are good lads in the 
 main, but there are black sheep among them as among other 
 folk, and you mustn't risk falling in with one toward nightfall 
 on a lonely road. Do you hear?" 
 
 He spoke with playful peremptoriness, but Olivia understood 
 that he was giving a serious warning, which she promised to 
 heed. He went on talking about the colliers, who formed the 
 bulk of the inhabitants of his scattered parish, with affection- 
 ate interest which awakened a sympathetic curiosity in her, 
 until they reached the inn at the entrance of Rishton village. 
 Mr. Brander had grown so warm over what Olivia afterward 
 discovered to be his favorite subject that, quite unconsciously, 
 his steps, and consequently hers, had grown slower and slower, 
 while his voice grew more and more eager until a passer-by 
 would have taken them for a pair of lovers reluctant to sepa- 
 rate. They had come to a complete stand-still in the farm- 
 yard by the corner of the house, when they heard the opening 
 of the front door, a man's footstep, and then a woman's strong 
 shrill voice: 
 
 " It's no use looking for her, Charles. She won't be hi yet. 
 Olivia never did care a straw for your comfort or for mine. " 
 
 Olivia turned to Mr. Brander, and held out her hand with a 
 doleful shake of the head. 
 
 "There," she said, ** isn't that more eloquent than the 
 longest description? There'll be an end to everything now 
 she's come!" 
 
 Fortunately it had grown by this time so dark that under 
 her umbrella the hot blushes which mounted to Olivia's cheeks 
 as soon as this speech had escaped her lips could not be seen. 
 Giving Mr. Brander her hand very hastily, and not leaving 
 him time for something he half hesitated, but wanted to say, 
 she turned, and with a hasty " Good-bye; thank you very 
 much for coming," ran round toward the front of the house. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHEN Olivia had come as near as she could to the porch 
 without being seen from thence, she stopped, in the hope that 
 Mrs. Denison, who was still grumbling at her step-daughter's
 
 74 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 non-appearance, would go in-doors, and give her a chance of 
 enveloping her father in a warm hug, and of snatching a stolen 
 interview with him unknown to the ruling powers. 
 
 In a few moments, to the girl's great delight, Mrs. Denison 
 said, impatiently: " Well, I can't stand here in the snow, just 
 because your daughter chooses to insult me by absenting her- 
 self when 1 am expected." 
 
 " My dear, my dear/' expostulated papa's mild tones, 
 " Olivia is the best creature in the world. She wouldn't think 
 of insulting you or anybody. But how could she guess that 
 we should come by an earlier train than the one we said?" 
 
 " Well, I'm not going to catch cold even for the best creat- 
 ure in the world, and I should advise you not to either. Are 
 you coming in?" 
 
 " Not directly, I think, my dear. I want a little air after 
 that stuffy railway carriage. And really, you know, those 
 children do quarrel so " 
 
 " If you want to go hunting for Olivia, say so; but don't 
 put it down to the poor children," said Mrs. Denison. 
 
 And she went in-doors, shutting the door with a nearer ap- 
 proach to a " slam " than etiquette prescribes for a lady. 
 
 No sooner was she safely inside than Olivia crept along un- 
 der the lea of the house wall, and springing up the worn steps 
 at a bound, flung down her umbrella, and threw her arms 
 round her father's neck like a hungry young bear. 
 
 " Good gracious, my dear, you're quite wet, and as cold as 
 ice. You must come inside and warm yourself." 
 
 " Oh, no, dear old papa poor old papa; it's warmer here 
 outside. With Beatrix and Regie lighting, and mamma at 
 freezing point, the place must be " 
 
 11 Now you've been listening; that isn't right!" 
 
 " Yes, I have all the afternoon taking in all the private 
 conversations 1 could get near enough to overhear. 1 find it 
 grows upon one. But I can always tell what temper Mrs. 
 Denison is in without any listening." 
 
 " Now, Olivia, 1 won't hear that. Your step-mother is the 
 best of women " 
 
 " Yes, papa, I know," said Olivia, nodding gravely. 
 
 Indeed she had heard that sentiment many scores of times, 
 and she supposed that by constant repetition her good-nat- 
 ured father hoped to persuade himself that it was true. 
 
 " And Regie and Beatrix are the best of children, aren't 
 they, old papa?" she asked, gravely. 
 
 He was quite distressed at not being able to reply truthfully 
 hi the affirmative.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 75 
 
 " Well/' he said, " I'm sure they would be. Only some- 
 how, 1 don't know how it is, they seem to get a little too much 
 indulged, I think." 
 
 " Perhaps they do. I think they want a little more of your 
 iron rule, papa, " said Olivia, who was hanging on to his arm, 
 lovingly patting his cheek and turning up his coat-collar and 
 lavishing upon him all the caressing little attentions he loved 
 from his adored daughter's hands. 
 
 He began to laugh; her liveliness and demonstrative affec- 
 tion were dispelling the gloomy forebodings which had hung 
 upon him All day on the entrance to this new and untried life. 
 
 " You don't treat me with proper respect, Olivia. If you 
 are going to be impudent, I shall take you in-doors and get 
 Mrs. Denison to talk to you. " 
 
 " What mortal man may dare, you dare; but you don't dare 
 that," said his daughter, saucily. " Don't you want to know 
 how I've got on here all by myself?" 
 
 " Yes, but I'm afraid you'll catch cold." 
 
 " No, I sha'n't. The excitement of this stolen meeting 
 with the king of my heart will keep me warm. Besides, we'll 
 go in directly. Only when we do, you know what it will be. 
 Nag, nag oh, no, I forgot; that word is tabooed. I should 
 say orate, orate, until all the ills that flesh is heir to have been 
 exhausted. " 
 
 " What were you doing out on a day like this? You hadn't 
 gone to meet us, had you?" 
 
 " No-o, I hadn't. I'd been to look at a church." 
 
 " That means that you've fallen in love with a parson." 
 
 " Papa, papa, how can you say such things of me, too?" 
 
 " Why, my dear child, I only spoke in fun. You don't 
 really suppose 1 thought so meanly of you as that?" 
 
 Olivia laughed with some constraint. If her father, who 
 already had a prejudice against the clergy, should hear the 
 rumors about poor Mr. Brander, nothing short of entreaties 
 which she would be ashamed to use would induce him to allow 
 her to exchange another word with the Vicar of St. Cuth- 
 bert's. And, in a neighborhood where the social attractions 
 were so few as at Rishton, the loss of an acquaintance capable 
 of intelligent conversation was a serious one. She grew silent, 
 and beginning to feel conscious of the cold, shivered. Her fa- 
 ther instantly opened the door and led her into the house. He 
 could hear his wife's powerful voice as she chatted with one of 
 the servants in the dining-room. Mrs. Denison was one of 
 those women who confide much in their servants, without ex- 
 tracting any confidence worth having in return. She dropped
 
 76 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 
 
 into a stony silence as her husband and his daughter entered; 
 for there was a feud, generally covert but none the less real, 
 between the two ladies. 
 
 Mrs. Denison was a woman of about thirty-five, of the mid- 
 dle height, somewhat thickset, with a cold face, which was 
 not ill-looking, though she had never been strictly handsome. 
 She drew herself up, with a displeased expression, in the arm- 
 chair she occupied by the fire; and Olivia knew that her efforts 
 to make the house comfortable had not met with the approval 
 of its mistress. The girl walked the whole length of the long 
 room with a rather rebellious feeling in her heart, which she 
 tried to subdue, and held out her hand with the best grace 
 she could. 
 
 " How do you do, mamma? I hope you had a pleasant 
 journey," she said, cordially. 
 
 Mrs. Denison gave her finger-tips, and looked at her with 
 cold eyes. 
 
 " Quite as well as I could expect, thank you, knowing what 
 I had to look forward to." 
 
 " I hope you don't dislike the new home already." 
 
 " Oh, when it begins to look at all like ' home/ I dare say 
 it will be bearable enough; but there is at least a fortnight's 
 hard work for me before that can happen." 
 
 Olivia's face changed, and she began to look proud and 
 mutinous. Mr. Denison rushed into the breach. 
 
 " Come, come, Susan, I don't think you are quite fair to 
 poor Olivia. Remember, it's hard work for a girl, arranging 
 a big house like this. I think she has done very well, indeed. " 
 
 ' ' You must allow me, Edward, to know what I am talking 
 about," said his wife; while Regie and Beatrix, who had been 
 quarreling silently but viciously in a corner, scenting some- 
 thing in a possible discussion among their elders, came to an 
 abrupt truce and listened eagerly. " 1 think I ought to un- 
 derstand the arrangement of a house by this time." 
 
 " It is a pity, Mrs. Denison, that you could not have spared 
 Lucy and me a week of discomfort and hard work by coming 
 here first yourself," said Olivia, whose quick temper was sel- 
 dom proof against her step-mother's attacks. "I never 
 doubted that we should fail to please you, but you might give 
 us the credit of having tried. " 
 
 " Why, what's the matter, Susan? What have you to find 
 fault with?" asked Mr. Denison. His easy-going nature made 
 him averse from interfering in any discussion; but he had 
 suffered so much self-reproach for allowing his daughter to 
 come to Rishton by herself that he felt impelled to dare a word
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 77 
 
 in her behalf. " Hasn't she made the place very comforta- 
 ble?" 
 
 " She has at least taken care that she herself shall be very 
 comfortable/* said Mrs. Denison, in her most disagreeable 
 tone. 
 
 " Will you please tell me how I have done that?" asked 
 Olivia, in a very low voice. 
 
 She was afraid lest her self-control should leave her, and the 
 discussion assume the vulgar aspect of a quarrel between two 
 angry women. For, blame herself for it as she might, she was 
 angry as well as hurt. 
 
 " By consulting nobody's convenience but your own in your 
 choice of a room for yourself," said Mrs. Denison, sharply. 
 
 " My bedroom!" cried the girl, with unfeigned surprise. 
 " Why, what other could I have chosen? It is the smallest in 
 this side of the house, except papa's dressing-room." 
 
 "It is the only one that I could possibly make into a bou- 
 doir for myself. I don't know whether you expect me to give 
 up all the little comforts and refinements of a lady." 
 
 This speech grated on the ears of both Olivia and her father. 
 Mr. Denison, after ten years of his second marriage, was by no 
 means so absorbed by marital devotion as to ignore the descent 
 he had made in taking for his second wife a woman scarcely 
 refined enough to have been maid to his first. Being a man of 
 affectionate temperament, fond of home, and sensitively grate- 
 ful for kindnss real or supposed, it was natural that in his keen 
 sorrow at his first wife's death, he should fall a prey to the 
 first woman, near at hand, who should find it worth her while 
 to capture him. This, in the natural course of things, proved 
 to be his daughter's governess. 
 
 The clever, superficially educated daughter of a small pro- 
 vincial shop-keeper, the second Mrs. Denison, on her elevation 
 to a rank above her birth, was determined to avail herself to 
 the full of every privilege to which her new station entitled 
 her. One of these privileges she conceived to be the possession 
 of a " boudoir," though what the precise significance of it was 
 to her it was not easy to see, as she entered it very rarely, 
 while the whole house was not large enough for her to " stalk " 
 in. But in overlooking this necessity of her station, Mrs. Deni- 
 son chose to consider that Olivia had wished to put upon her a 
 slight of the kind she could least brook, and no pains the girl 
 had taken in other directions could induce her to overlook the 
 indignity. 
 
 Again Mr. Denison, with unusual rashness, stepped in. 
 
 "My dear Susan," he expostulated. " Olivia must have a
 
 78 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 room to sleep in. And there must be a spare room kept for 
 Ernest. Where else could she stow herself?" 
 
 " There are two good rooms in the wing " began Mrs. 
 Denison. 
 
 " But, my dear, they are damp and full of moldy old 
 things that " 
 
 He was interrupted in his turn by his daughter. 
 
 " I haven't the least objection to sleeping in the wing, papa. 
 I left those rooms untouched for Mrs. Denison to decide what 
 she would have done with them. I will take the large room 
 with pleasure, moldy old things and all." 
 
 In truth, Olivia was pleased with this arrangement, and she 
 took possession of the room which had once been Ellen Mit- 
 chelFs with an alacrity which she did her best to hide from her 
 step-mother. Nobody had told Mrs. Denison the story about 
 those two rooms; but their decayed and desolate appearance 
 had inspired her with a strong prejudice against them, so that 
 Olivia was allowed to keep not only the bedroom, but the outer 
 room as well, for her own use. Mr. Denison was strongly op- 
 posed to the idea of his beautiful daughter sleeping away from 
 the rest of the household in what he called " a wretched old 
 rat run. " But as the two feminine wills were both against 
 his, he could do nothing but stipulate emphatically that fires 
 were to be kept up in both rooms throughout the winter. His 
 wife demurred at the expense, but on this point he was firm, 
 and had his own way. 
 
 In the jarring family life which the Denison household led 
 under the presidency of the second wife, Olivia found a great 
 relief in being able to shut herself up in her wing, away from 
 all discordant elements, even though the atmosphere of these 
 two rooms remained to the end heavy with the tragedy of their 
 last occupant. That tragedy the young girl grew more and 
 more anxious fully to know about; so she turned over the 
 leaves of the old books, and read again the inscription in faded 
 ink in the old prayer-book: " Ellen Mitchell, from her affec- 
 tionate brother Ned." What had become of "Ned?" Did 
 the " affectionate brother " know that his sister had been 
 spirited away, leaving no trace? These were conjectures which 
 often passed through Olivia's mind as she sat down for a lazy 
 half hour by her fire at bed-time. 
 
 This half hour was now the only idle time in Olivia's day. 
 Like many other idle English girls, she had only wanted some- 
 thing to do to develop the most dashing energy; and as Mrs. 
 Denison was too much enervated by long years of laziness to 
 care for the trouble of housekeeping, Olivia flung herself with
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 79 
 
 ardor into these new duties, and found in them that necessary 
 outlet for her energies which she had previously sought in 
 lawn tennis. 
 
 The whole family had been settled at Rishton Hall a week, 
 and Mrs. Denison had begun bitterly to complain that nobody 
 had called upon her, when one afternoon, while Olivia was 
 busy in the dining-room with the children's clothes, and her 
 step-mother was shut up in her boudoir with a novel, a car- 
 riage drove up to the door, and a footman, descending from 
 the box, gave such a thundering knock as made the old door 
 creak on its hinges. Olivia could just see from where she sat 
 that the carriage was very large, that the footman was very 
 tall, and that the horses were showy animals, their heads held 
 well back with the bearing rein. That was enough for her. 
 She loved horses, and the bearing rein was an abomination in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Those parvenus," she said to herself, haughtily. 
 
 And when Lucy came to announce that Mrs. and Miss and 
 Mr. Frederick Williams were in the drawing-room, she said, 
 briefly: "Tell Mrs. Denison, Lucy," without looking up, or 
 pausing in her work. 
 
 She knew this was wrong. She knew that she ought to go 
 and entertain the visitors during the ten minutes which Mrs. 
 Denison would certainly devote to self -adornment before going 
 down to the drawing-room. But, as that she felt, in her 
 new burst of house-managing fervor, the giving and receiving 
 of visits to be a frivolity, Olivia was resolved not to cultivate 
 any intimacy with the family of the odious Frederick. So she 
 worked on, feeling guilty but defiant, until she heard Mrs. 
 Denison's heavy and pompous tread upon the stairs. A few 
 minutes later, the drawing-room door opened again, and Olivia 
 heard the whole party come out to be shown over the house. 
 
 "You shall see what I have made of the upstairs rooms 
 first/' said Mrs. Denison 's voice, *' and make the acquaintance 
 of my cherubs." 
 
 And to Olivia's delight, they streamed upstairs toward the 
 room where the cherubs could be distinctly heard screaming 
 with all their might. She gave a sigh of relief at this respite, 
 and was turning over a small stocking on her hand to see what 
 mending it needed, when there came a little, timid, hesitating 
 knock at the door. 
 
 '* Come in," said she, feeling instantly sure the knock was 
 that of a complete stranger. 
 
 The door was opened by the pleasant-looking lady whom 
 Olivia had noticed in church. She had a diffident blush om
 
 80 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 her face, and a deprecating smile, which made her look pleas- 
 anter than ever. Olivia rose, and the lady hurried forward. 
 
 " No, don't get up. Don't make me feel I've disturbed 
 you," she entreated. " I know I've taken a dreadful liberty, 
 but I caught sight of you in here as we came in, and I'm so 
 devouringly anxious to know you that when Mrs. Denison 
 offered to take us all upstairs, I slipped behind to try to get a 
 peep at you." 
 
 Olivia was disarmed. Miss Williams took a chair beside her, 
 and looked with interest at the work in her hand. 
 
 " 1 could show you such a much better way of mending that 
 heel if you'd let me," she said, almost with eagerness. 
 
 " Oh, if you're what they call ' clever with your needle,' I 
 mustn't work before you," said the girl, smiling. " I'm only 
 a beginner at anything useful, and I bungle frightfully over 
 everything at present." 
 
 " But you want to learn?" asked the lady, quite earnestly. 
 
 " Indeed I do. We haven't enough servants now to do 
 everything; and unless I learn to give real help in the house 
 not mere amateurish dabbling, you know half the things that 
 ought to be done will be left undone." 
 
 Miss Williams 's gloves were off, and she was already busy 
 with the small stocking. Olivia was astonished to notice that 
 the quick, clever fingers bore distant traces, both in shape and 
 texture, of former hard work. The elder lady glanced up, 
 caught the girl's eyes, and blushed. 
 
 Yes," she said, smiling, and as if telling a secret, " you 
 would be astonished if I were to tell you of all the work these 
 hands have done in their time. Now that my father has got 
 on, and married a lady, all that has to be forgotten. But, oh! 
 if the servants knew, when I tell them the hall has not been 
 properly scrubbed, how I long to be down on my knees doing 
 it myself. " 
 
 She was in earnest, but there was such a twinkle of fun in 
 her eyes that Olivia, who liked her more and more every min- 
 ute, joined her in a burst of laughter. Then Olivia remem- 
 bered that there was a bond of union between them, and she 
 said, in a confidential tone: 
 
 ' You have a step-mother, too, then?" 
 
 " Yes, and no. Mrs. Williams is my father's second wife, 
 and I am the child of his first. My own mother was " she 
 looked round her with mock mystery " a factory lass. And 
 and so was I till I was fourteen. Then my father made a 
 discovery, and began to grow rich and ambitious. And my 
 mother died perhaps luckily for her, poor thing and he
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 81 
 
 buried her and the old life together. But he could not bury 
 me, you know; and if the lady he then married had not had 
 the sweetest disposition in the world, it might have fared ill 
 with me. But she is a kind creature, and she made my 
 civilization as little irksome to me as possible. And that is 
 why step-mother doesn't seem the right name for her; and 
 there is all my autobiography. " 
 
 All the time her busy fingers were making the needle fly 
 through the stocking with a deftness absolutely bewildering to 
 Olivia. 
 
 " You are luckier than I have been," said the young girl, 
 in a low voice. 
 
 Miss Williams looked up again, her eyes beaming with sym- 
 pathetic intelligence. 
 
 " Yes, I could see that. My father married up for the 
 second time, while yours " 
 
 " Married down. Yes, down in every way; that's the worst 
 of it; temper, manners, everything. If she had been differ- 
 ent, I should not have minded growing poorer in the least, 
 but it is tiresome to be thrown so much on her society." 
 
 " Yes, there are absolutely no suitable friends about here 
 for you. " 
 
 " Well," said Olivia, laughing, blushing, and hesitating. 
 " 1 thought so till ten minutes ago." 
 
 Miss Williams in her turn flushed with pleasure. But then 
 she shook her head. 
 
 " You might put up with me, perhaps, though 1 am much 
 too old for you. But my half-brother! You have met him, 
 and snubbed him, I think, because he is always raving about 
 your beauty and spirit. But if so, you certainly do not want 
 to meet him again." 
 
 " Indeed I don't," answered the girl, laughing. 
 
 " We might perhaps find a common meeting ground at the 
 vicarage after next week, when the vicar comes back. But 1 
 don't know how you will like Mrs. Brander," she added, very 
 dubiously. 
 
 " Isn't she nice?" asked Olivia, with great interest. 
 
 " Oh, yes, she's very nice, and very handsome, and and 
 straightforward, and and looked up to. She quite leads the 
 fashions here, you know, and starts everything. She is not at 
 all like the ordinary humdrum vicar's wife. But " 
 
 " Well?" 
 
 " I don't want to talk scandal, but you must hear all the 
 standing gossip, and you may as well hear it ". 7 ithout venom. 
 People talk about her and her husband's brother "
 
 82 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWEB. 
 
 " Mr. Vernon Brander?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He told me himself he had been in love with her before 
 she married," said Olivia, warmly. { 
 
 Miss Williams gave a quick glance at her face, making the 
 girl blush. 
 
 " Yes, but, well, people have seen her going in and out of 
 his house since, and late, very late in the evening. I should 
 not have told you these things, only they must make a differ- 
 ence in the way one looks upon people." 
 
 " From your manner toward Mr. Vernon Brander, I 
 shouldn't have thought they made any difference," said Olivia, 
 who was much excited. 
 
 " Ah, that is the privilege of being an old maid," answered 
 Miss Williams, very quietly. " I can do without fear what a 
 young girl can not do make friends with a black sheep." 
 
 Olivia started. " Do you think he is guilty, then?" she 
 asked in a startled whisper. 
 
 Miss Williams, who had risen, looked very grave. 
 
 "Of the other charge? I don't know. I would give my 
 right hand to know that it was not so. For I am so much in- 
 terested in him I may even say, so fond of him. I know, 
 from what he has told me, that his inner life is one long 
 storm, one long struggle. But, why doesn't he clear himself 
 if he can? To an old friend like me three words would be 
 enough. " 
 
 " Then you believe" 
 
 " Why does he accept the position? Why does he come to 
 me, and ask me to do what I can to help you in your loneli- 
 ness?" 
 
 Olivia looked up. 
 
 " That is what he did last Sunday," continued Miss Will- 
 iams. " And he alluded to ' his unfortunate position ' as put- 
 ting a barrier between you and any wish he might have to as- 
 sist you. Why should he speak like that if he knew himself 
 to be innocent of either charge?" 
 
 Olivia was silent. She did not care to let the other lady see 
 how deeply this matter affected her. She was, indeed, sur- 
 prised at the keenness of her own feeling. It was a great re- 
 lief to her that at that moment voices were heard at the top 
 of the staircase, and Miss Williams jumped up, saying that she 
 would have to excuse herself for playing truant. Olivia shook 
 hands with her almost mechanically, and promised to go to 
 see her without knowing what she said. As soon as she was 
 left alone, the young girl abandoned her work, and sat staring
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEE. 83 
 
 before her in most unusual idleness. One sentence was ring- 
 ing in her ears: 
 
 " Why didn't he clear himself if he could?" 
 
 And to this question it was impossible to suggest an answer. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ANY one who could have seen into the workings of Olivia 
 Denison's heart and mind when she was left to herself would 
 probably have pronounced her to be 4< in love " with the 
 Keverend Vernon Brander. This was not quite true. She 
 did indeed feel a very strong interest in the hermit vicar and 
 his mysterious history; and such interest in a young girl's 
 mind can not exist quite apart from sentiment. But, then, 
 the sentiments awakened by the overheard interview in the 
 church-yard and by Miss Williams's suggestions were so large- 
 ly mingled with doubt, disgust, and horror, that on the whole 
 she felt she would infinitely prefer, in spite of his kindness, 
 never to meet him again. She felt very thankful, however, 
 as the days went by, that no story and no rumors about the 
 Vicar of St. Cuthbe-rt's reached Mrs. Denison's ears. That 
 lady was too much wrapped up in herself to trouble herself 
 much about her neighbors; and beyond expressing great in- 
 dignation that he had not called upon her, she expressed no 
 great interest in the vicar's deputy. 
 
 Olivia was taking to the country life with much zest. Be- 
 sides her household duties, she found time to occupy herself 
 greatly with the live-stock on the farm, and to take the poultry 
 under her especial care. Mat Oldshaw used to slip round, on 
 one pretense or another, in the early morning when she was 
 busy with her poultry, and, leaning over the fence, used to 
 give her advice about the management of them, trying to 
 check her extravagance. 
 
 " Ye doan't need to give 'em all that coorn, Miss Denison, 
 now they aren't laying," he said to her one day reproachfully 
 as she distributed grain with a wildly lavish hand. " What 
 profit will ye be likely to get if ye feed 'em oop like that? 
 Every egg ye'll get this year 'ull cost ye twopence, and ye'll 
 lose on every chicken ye sell. " 
 
 " Well, I can't starve them just because they're not bring- 
 ing in a profit just now," said the girl. " If they've any 
 sense of gratitude, they'll grow beautifully plump and fat, 
 and sell at fancy prices." 
 
 " That there's regular lady's farming," said Mat, shaking 
 his head dubiously. " And it's of a piece wi' t' way t' mas-
 
 8i ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 ter's goin' to work himself. It's very pretty, but it ain't like 
 practical work, and it doan't pay. " 
 
 Olivia's bright face clouded. 
 
 " But papa's got a farm bailiff," said she. 
 
 " Oh, ay, and gotten a rat to eat oop his coorn," assented 
 Mat, darkly. 
 
 "Do you mean to insinuate/' began Olivia, with a tragic 
 face, " that Tom Herrick " 
 
 " All Ah mean, miss, is that Ah'd like to see ye mak' a 
 profit on your hens; for that's what Ah call success, and 
 Ah'd loike ye to be successful, that Ah should. " 
 
 " Thank you, Mat; it's very kind of you. And you're quite 
 right; of course it's only by making every department pay 
 that one can make the farm pay." 
 
 " Ay," said Mat. " And if ye'll but follow out what I say, 
 ye'll be able to keep twice them lot o' hens on what ye're giv- 
 in' 'em. Ye've got ground for fifty more, and if Ah was you, 
 Ah'd go over to Long Sedge Bend and buy some of old Widder 
 Lund's; she's got 'em to sell. And doan't ye go giving her 
 no fancy price, but beat her down; that's business, and she's 
 none so poor but she can afford to let ye have 'em cheap. 
 They bean't so much to look at, her hens; but they're good 
 'uns to lay, and worth a field full o' them fancy soarts." 
 
 Olivia began to play thoughtfully with the grain left in her 
 basket. She was very anxious for the honor of her poultry- 
 yard, and she began already to be fired with the ambition to 
 make it a successful commercial enterprise. She had a little 
 pocket money put by; she could lay that out as she pleased, 
 without consulting anybody. 
 
 " How far off is this Long Sedge Bend?" 
 
 " A matter o' twea mile and a half. It's down by Sedge 
 Bend coal-pit. " 
 
 " And where's that?" 
 
 " Ye go along t' Sheffield Road till ye coom to t' mill. Turn 
 to yer left, as if ye were goin' to Sheffield, till ye coom to t' 
 Blue Bear. Bear to yer left across t' fields, and that's Sedge 
 Bend." 
 
 " Isn't there a shorter way across the fields? That must be 
 such a long way round." 
 
 " Ay, but ye maunna go t' short way. They're a rough 
 lot down at Long Sedge, and ye maun keep to t' road." 
 
 " Well, I shall go this very day and interview Mrs. Lund. 
 I'm afraid, though, I shall be short of accommodation if I buy 
 many more chickens. "
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 85 
 
 " Nea, Ah'll rig ye oop some nests and a perch in t' auld 
 tool-house yonder. Ah can do 't in an hour. " 
 
 " It's awfully good of you, but you needn't hurry with it, 
 for I sha'n't start till after luncheon." 
 
 " But start as early as ye can. It doan't do to be late, by 
 one's self, in those parts." 
 
 " Well, I'll be sure to start in good time, and I'll take a big 
 basket, to bring some of the chickens back in." 
 
 " Best let mea fetch 'em for ye to-morrow; Ah can't get 
 away to-day. It's not for t' loikes o' you to carry baskets o' 
 live-stock along t' roads." 
 
 " But I can't wait I can't wait; I must see them to-day," 
 said this headstrong young madame, who liked to carry out 
 her plans with the impetuosity of a whirlwind. " And as for 
 the basket, why, there isn't another farmer's daughter in 
 Yorkshire with stronger arms than mine." 
 
 Mat looked at her mistrustfully, but he said nothing more 
 on the subject. 
 
 " Ah'll tak' t' measure of t' tool-house if Ah may coom in/' 
 was all he said. 
 
 Olivia was running to open the gate for him ; but, with a 
 nod of thanks, he vaulted over the high fence, and set about 
 his work without another word. The country lad had been 
 fairly bewitched by the beauty and brightness of this young 
 lady, who seemed to him a creature of a different mold from 
 any of the womenkind he had hitherto met even from hand- 
 some Mrs. Meredith Brander. Nothing gave him so much de- 
 light as to be able to render her a small service; and even while 
 he was taking the measurements of the tool-house, he was pon- 
 dering a way to spare her what he considered the dangers of 
 the walk she proposed to take that afternoon. The girl her- 
 self, knowing nothing of this plan, and thinking lightly enough 
 of the enterprise, watched his proceedings with great interest, 
 and finally overwhelmed him with thanks which sent him 
 home happy. 
 
 Olivia started on her walk that afternoon without a word to 
 anybody concerning the object of her expedition. She had a 
 purse with some of her savings in her pocket, and a large 
 poultry basket on her arm. " I shall leave this basket some- 
 where when I come in sight of the cottage, and p*etend I've 
 only come to look at the chickens," she said to herself, re- 
 solved to be very astute. But the widow Lund was more 
 astute still, and managed to drive a very good bargain with 
 her fair young customer. Indeed, Olivia showed such a help- 
 less inability to distinguish between a young chicken and the
 
 86 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 hoariest-headed rooster of the lot, that it would have needed 
 superhuman virtue not to take advantage of her. It was with 
 a glow of unspeakable delight and pride that, having paid for 
 a dozen hens, she said she would take half of them home with 
 her, and, running out of the cottage, picked up the basket 
 which she had hidden behind the hedge, and brought it to 
 pack her live-stock in. 
 
 Poor Olivia! An unknown visitor was such a rare sight at 
 Long Sedge that the advent of "a grand lady wi' a big 
 basket " had been reported all over the village as she drew 
 near the outskirts; and the widow Lund herself, with two 
 cronies, having watched her approach, basket and all, from 
 the door of Mrs. Per kin's wash-house, was able to appreciate 
 at its full value the poor little ruse. 
 
 When her load was ready, Olivia quickly discovered that a 
 basket containing six live chickens is neither a light nor a con- 
 venient burden, and perceived that to carry them back by the 
 way she had come would be a more arduous and fatiguing task 
 than she had imagined. When, therefore, she found there was 
 a path across the fields which would lead up to the high-road, 
 and shorten the way by at least half a mile, the temptation 
 was too strong for her, and, disregarding Mat's warnings, as 
 that young man had expected her to do, she ventured fearless- 
 ly on the short cut. Half a dozen unkempt children laughed 
 and yelled at her as she passed; a few rough-looking women 
 whispered to each other at the doors of their dirty cottages; 
 while a man, who was leaning against a wall smoking a short 
 black pipe, slunk out of her way, as if conscious that she be- 
 longed to a higher type of civilization. Mat was right, Long 
 Sedge Bend was a rough place. The inhabitants looked wild 
 and out of touch with the rest of humanity; the long rows of 
 small brick cottages, many of which were windowless and 
 deserted, looked squalid and miserable, while over everything 
 was that black and grimy look which the neighborhood of a 
 coal-pit produces. 
 
 It was Saturday afternoon, and the pits were idle. A great 
 black wheel, towering over a mound on the right, showed 
 where lay the entrance to the nearest shaft. Round the door 
 of a beer-house, smaller and much more disreputable-looking 
 than the Collier's Arms, was a group of men and boys, spend- 
 ing their half-holiday in dull and noisy fashion. They were a 
 rough-looking lot, and Olivia passed them quickly. Her way 
 along a cinder path over the fields, and for some time she got 
 on very well, meeting no one, and enjoying the frosty after- 
 neon. Just as she ran through a turn -stile and followed the
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 87 
 
 sudden turn of the path to the left, however, a man started 
 up from the ground, called out: " Halloo, missis!" and at- 
 tempted to seize one of her feet. She was startled into utter- 
 ing a low exclamation, and, rightly judging that the man was 
 drunk, she ran on as fast as she could, hoping to get beyond 
 his pursuit before he could get upon his legs. But a drunken 
 man may be able to run when he can not walk; and Olivia's 
 assailant, who was a stalwart young collier with a blear-eyed 
 and most unprepossessing face, gave chase in good earnest, 
 and came up with her just as she came to a barrier between 
 two fields in the shape of a very high and very primitive stile. 
 Seeing she had no time to get over it in safety, the girl put 
 down her basket close by the hedge, turned suddenly, and 
 faced her pursuer. 
 
 For the first time in her life she felt thoroughly frightened, 
 for the young man looked brutal and reckless; but she had 
 plenty of courage, and the terror she felt showed neither in 
 her face, her attitude, nor in her resonant voice. 
 
 " What do you want?" 
 
 He reeled, not having expected her sudden movement. 
 
 " Ah want look at tha pretty face, meh dear," said he, only 
 just distinctly enough for her to understand him. 
 
 And he gave her a tipsy leer of admiration. 
 
 " And now will you be kind enough to pass on?" said she, 
 in a firm tone. "Or to let me pass on without further hin- 
 derance?" 
 
 " Ah'm not a-hinderin' of tha," said the young man, who 
 was trying to stand steadily in proximity much too close to be 
 pleasant. " Tha can goa wheer tha lakkest." 
 
 Olivia looked at him doubtfully, but as he made for the mo- 
 ment no attempt to molest her, she began to feel reassured. 
 
 " Go back, then," said she, " and let me go on." 
 
 " Nea," said he, shaking his head with an ugly grin; 
 " Ah'm goin* to help tha over t' stile. Ah'll carry tha 
 whisket for tha if thr'rt civil/* 
 
 " Thank you," said Olivia, taking the fellow's offers as if 
 they were courtesies, " but I want no help, either for myself 
 or my basket. If you wish to do me a service, you will go 
 back and let me go on. " 
 
 " Ah maun see tha over t' stile first," said he. " Coom, 
 missis, don't be shy." 
 
 He swooped down upon her basket, which she snatched up 
 so quickly that he lost his balance and fell against the wooden 
 fence. With a rapid step she got round him, basket and all, 
 and was in the act of mounting the first step of the stile when
 
 88 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 the young ruffian, perceiving her purpose and enraged at a 
 blow he had received in stumbling, lurched round with unex- 
 pected agility, and laid a rough hand on her arm. She tried 
 to wrench herself free, but the muscular strength she was so 
 proud of was as a child's feebleness against the brute force of 
 this man. It had never before happened to her to feel power- 
 less like this. With teeth clinched hard, and eyes watching 
 intently for a moment's advantage, she wrestled in utter silence 
 with the man, who tried to force her to mount the stile. 
 
 " Tha'd better not give ma so mooch trouble, ma bonny 
 madame," said he, roughly. " Tha'll only have to pay for t' 
 other side. An' Ah'll tak' a buss now to goa on wi'." 
 
 He put his arm round her waist and tried to kiss her; Olivia 
 fought fiercely, still without uttering a word. In the midst 
 of her desperate struggles her assailant saw the girl's face 
 change light up with hope, with expectancy. Then, with all 
 the force of her lungs, she suddenly shouted: " Help!" For 
 a moment the collier was surprised into desisting from his at- 
 tack, but before she could take advantage of this he recovered 
 himself, and putting one rough and dirty hand over her 
 mouth, growled out, sullenly: 
 
 " Nea, theer bean't no help for tha till Ah done with tha." 
 
 Closing his strong fingers on her face, he pulled her head 
 around with brutal violence, and had his own repulsive face 
 close to hers, when he suddenly felt one strong hand laid on 
 his shoulder and another under his chin, and his head being 
 forced back with a jerk, he found that he was in the vigorous 
 clutches of the Vicar of St. Cuthbert's Church. 
 
 " Dang tha! It's t' feightin' parson!" cried the rough, in 
 a surly tone. 
 
 " Yes, and I'm going to exercise my fists on your ugly face 
 as soon as ever you're sober, you hulking vagabond!'' said 
 Mr. Brander, with a conspicuous lack of pastoral meekness. 
 
 The man had fallen back, and, half drunk as he was, looked 
 ashamed of himself. 
 
 " Tha maun look out for thaself if tha tries that on," he 
 said, sullenly. Then with more assurance he went on: 
 " Dunna think Ah care for tha bein' t' parson. It ain't 
 mooch of a parson tha 'It be when all's known. Ay/' he con- 
 tinued, seeing that these vague words were not without effect, 
 *' theer's a mon aboot as wants tha, an' as woan't rest till e's 
 gotten tha, and may be before tha taks oop wi' another lass 
 e'll mak' tha give an account o' t' one tha spirited away. 
 Now coom on if tha loikes." 
 
 And he put himself in a fighting position.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 89 
 
 Mr. Brander pushed him on one side so that he staggered, 
 and picking up Olivia's basket, signed to her to get over the 
 stile, while he turned to give a few short and sharp words of 
 farewell to the discomfited collier. A few seconds later Olivia, 
 who had walked quickly on in shame, relief, and confusion, 
 heard the vicar's voice close behind her. 
 
 " And now, Miss Denison, I've a sermon ready for you." 
 
 Coming up with her, he saw that the girl, who made no an- 
 swer, had tears in her eyes. 
 
 " No, Fm not going to have any mercy on you because you 
 choose to cry," said he, pitilessly. " It's no fairer of a girl to 
 use her tears against a man than it is of a man to use his fists 
 against a woman. If you don't instantly leave off, I shall feel 
 at liberty to hit you. You know you deserve it. " 
 
 " How?" asked she, tremulously. 
 
 " How! Why, by disregarding the emphatic warnings, not 
 of one friend, but of two, and by dragging out a poor parson 
 on Saturday, his sermon day, to protect you from the conse- 
 quences of your folly!" 
 
 " Dragging you out!" 
 
 " Yes. This morning comes Mat Oldshaw post-haste to me 
 just before luncheon to say that you were going off on a wild- 
 goose no, on a tame-hen chase to Long Sedge Bend, and 
 that he was certain you would come back over the very fields 
 which he had just assured you were unsafe for a lady." 
 
 " But, Mr. Brander," put in Olivia, in real distress, " I've 
 always been used to take care of myself; I have never been 
 annoyed before. It's an infamous thing that a girl shouldn't 
 be able to do what her powers enable her to do just as well as 
 a man!" 
 
 " Infamous, perhaps, but indisputable. It is of no use to 
 kick against custom." 
 
 " But what is going to be the use of me, if I, a great strong 
 creature who can do lots of work, and shall soon understand 
 farming better than papa, can't cross the road without a foot- 
 man at my heels to keep off tipsy coal-miners? Oh, dear, I 
 wish I weren't a wretched girl!" 
 
 " You couldn't be anything else, with that illogical mind, 
 and that extravagant way of looking at things." 
 
 " Illogical!" cried she, now really offended. " Why, papa 
 says I have the most reasonable head he ever knew!" 
 
 " For a woman." 
 
 Olivia was at first too much offended to answer. 
 
 " I'm papa's right hand," she said, at last, coldly. " I'm 
 just like a son to him."
 
 90 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " I think not, Miss Denison," said the vicar, shaking his 
 head. 
 
 " My father would tell you so himself, Mr. Brander." 
 
 " And 1 should not believe him, Miss Denison." 
 
 Olivia began to see that the vicar was enjoying her indigna- 
 tion, so she bit her lips and remained silent. 
 
 " Just think now, what happens when you find him a little 
 depressed and irritable. Does he dismiss you with a snub as 
 he would one of your brothers? Does he not rather submit to 
 a little gentle coaxing, allow himself to be ' brought round ' 
 and receive a kiss as a reward?" 
 
 " Yes, that is true, certainly," said she, smiling. "But 
 that has nothing to do with the real value of the help I give 
 him." 
 
 " Oh, but it has. It has, on the contrary, everything to do 
 with it. Instead of complaining that you are a ' wretched 
 girl/ you must learn to understand that. What the intrinsic 
 value of your services may be, I don't know; but if you had 
 the abilities of a Senior Wrangler, they would count for noth- 
 ing compared with your sympathy and love for him, and your 
 pretty feminine way of showing it. And so, you see, as your 
 tender womanhood is of more consequence to us 1 mean to 
 him than all the fine masculine qualities of your intellect, 
 you must consent to accept the protection we decree that your 
 womanhood needs." 
 
 " Papa doesn't decree it. He says girls ought to learn to 
 take care of themselves. " 
 
 " Will he say so after to-day's adventure, do you think?" 
 
 " I sha'n't tell him anything about it. " 
 
 " Then I shall, unless you give me your word, like a sensi- 
 ble girl, never to cross these fields alone again." 
 
 " Need you ask that, Mr. Brander?" said the girl, redden- 
 ing. 
 
 ' Well, forgive me. I don't know you well enough to be 
 sure how deep the headstrong vein runs." 
 
 " I am miserably sorry and ashamed to have brought you so 
 far this afternoon." 
 
 " Are you? Oh, I have done more irksome things than 
 that in my time, I assure you," said he, dryly. " Besides, I've 
 only come from Saint Cuthbert's. I'm back again in my own 
 parsonage to-day, you know, for my brother and sister-in-law 
 are expected this afternoon. " 
 
 "Are they?" said she. "I am so anxious to see them, 
 especially Mrs. Brander." 
 
 " Make haste on to the high-road, then, and we may meet
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 91 
 
 them. The pony-cart has gone to meet them, and they gen- 
 erally come this way round from Matherham. " 
 
 They were within a short distance of the road when Mr. 
 Brander descried a little way off his sister-in-law's light wood- 
 cart and plump cob pony. Quickening their pace, Olivia excited 
 and curious, her companion decidedly nervous, they climbed 
 the last steps of the hill, and reached the high-road a few mo- 
 ments before the cart came up. They stopped to recover their 
 breath, exchanging a merry word or two as they waited. As 
 they drove up, Olivia, who had splendid eyesight, could see 
 what a handsome pair the Vicar of Eishton and his wife were. 
 He was fair, serene, portly, good-humored; she, dark, erect, and 
 blooming. They were conversing amicably as they came 
 along, and did not notice the two people waiting by the road- 
 side until they were close upon them and Vernon Brander ac- 
 costed them. Olivia wondered at the nervous tremor in his 
 voice as he did so. 
 
 But she was still more surprised at the effect of the meeting 
 upon the lady and gentleman in the cart. The serenity of the 
 portly vicar clouded at sight of his brother; an indescribable 
 change came over his face, a look which was not exactly dis- 
 approval, or doubt, or suspicion, or mistrust, though it par- 
 took of all those qualities, as she glanced from Mr. Vernon 
 Brander to the beautiful girl at his side. The expression of 
 the lady spoke more plainly still. Her eyes moved quickly 
 from the man to the woman and back again, while her lips 
 tightened and her forehead puckered with evident consterna- 
 tion. Both lady and gentleman, whatever the cause of their 
 annoyance might be, were self-possessed enough to give Miss 
 Denison a kind and courteous greeting, when Mr. Vernon 
 Brander, with evident nervousness, introduced her. Learning 
 that Olivia had been buying poultry, Mrs. Brander inspected 
 the purchase with great interest, but pronounced two of the 
 birds to be very old roosters indeed. She then told her brother- 
 in-law that they were going straight home to an early dinner, 
 and told him to make haste to the vicarage, as they should ex- 
 pect him to join them. 
 
 Then they drove off, leaving Olivia with the uncomfortable 
 impression that they disapproved of her acquaintance with Mr. 
 Vernon Brander in the strongest possible manner. 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 NOT for some minutes after the little carriage containing 
 the Eeverend Meredith Brander and his wife had driven on did
 
 92 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 either of the young people they had left break silence. Olivia 
 watched the disappearing vehicle with much interest; and Ver- 
 non Brander, though with less openness, watched Olivia. 
 
 At last she turned sharply, and met his eyes fixed upon her 
 with a half-fierce, half-mournful intentness, which struck her 
 with painful surprise. He at once turned away his head, and 
 asked abruptly: 
 
 " Well, what do you think of them? Mind, it is of no use 
 for you to say ' haven't had time to judge/ or anything of that 
 sort, for I have already caught the reflection of very decided 
 opinions in your face. " 
 
 " I don't deny that I have formed decided opinions, though 
 I don't pledge myself they are correct." 
 
 " Well?" 
 
 " I think I shall like your brother, but 1 know 1 sha'n't like 
 his wife." 
 
 " Very straightforwardly put. An instinct merely, or some- 
 thing more?" 
 
 " Something more, I think. You know, 1 have seen their 
 portraits; well, I have thought about them a great deal, and 
 now I have compared my impressions of the photographs with 
 my impressions of the originals, and the result is a decided 
 opinion. " 
 
 " You know I told you that you would like my brother 
 that all ladies do," said Vernon, with a perceptible shade of 
 jealousy. 
 
 " Well, you were right; I admit it. He seems the incarna- 
 tion of good humor to shed a sort of sunshine of cheeriness 
 around him." 
 
 " Yes, yes, he does/' admitted Vernon, rather bitterly, 
 Olivia thought. 
 
 She continued: " It was plain that, for some reason or other, 
 neither he nor Mrs. Brander was glad to see me. It almost 
 seemed as if they took an instinctive dislike to me. But even 
 that could not sour your brother; it scarcely made him less 
 genial. On the other hand, it made all the difference in the 
 world to Mi-s. Brander 's manner. She looked at me just as if 
 I were an enemy, who had done her, or was going to do her, 
 some severe injury." 
 
 Glancing at her companion, Olivia saw that something she 
 had said affected him very strongly. She was silent, therefore, 
 afraid that she had already said too much. 
 
 " It may be," said Mr. Brander, after a pause, " that she 
 feels a kind of most innocent jealousy of you. She has, all 
 through her married life, been used to look upon me as one of
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 93 
 
 those unattached tame cats who are only too glad to catch mice 
 for any responsible matron who is kind to them. My sister- 
 in-law annexed me in that capacity long ago; sends me to 
 market, sets me to mind the children, to nail up the fallen 
 picture, or even to lecture the gardener. I don't suppose she 
 has seen me speak to another lady a young lady for ten 
 years. " 
 
 " I should have thought, by her look, she would be equal to 
 lecturing the gardener herself/' said Olivia, dryly. 
 
 Mr. Brander laughed. " Well, she is not quite resourceless 
 when it comes to an affair of the tongue," he admitted. " But 
 you must not think she is a shrew, for all that. Then, she 
 has been our beauty, too, and has been used to set the fashions 
 for the ladies. While now " He stopped and smiled as he 
 looked at the blooming, prettily dressed girl beside him. 
 
 Olivia, however, found this no smiling matter, but replied, 
 with deep scorn: 
 
 " Surely, Mrs. Brander can't be so small-minded as that. 
 I can assure her I have no wish to intrench upon her privi- 
 leges; and, with only eighteen pounds a year for dress and 
 pocket-money, I am not likely to set fashions that there will 
 be a rush to follow." 
 
 " You might set a fashion in faces," suggested he. 
 
 " Oh," said she, laughing, " if Mrs. Brander envies me the 
 admiration of Mr. Frederick Williams or, indeed, of any of 
 the jeunesse doree of this neighborhood I can assure her that 
 she will only have to wait a very little while before my unquali- 
 fied disdain will bring them all again to her matronly feet." 
 
 " Myself among the number." 
 
 *' Oh, Mr. Brander, I didn't count you." 
 
 " But in mercy you must. I am rather gray behind the 
 ears, and rather lean about the jaws; but let me still think 
 myself as eligible a bachelor as the place boasts. ' ' 
 
 He spoke playfully, but something, either in his tone or in 
 the knowledge she had of his life, touched her, and made her 
 voice very kind, as she answered: 
 
 " I did not mean that I thought you too old. I meant that 
 I could not think of classing you with a creature like Frederick 
 Williams." 
 
 " He would take that as a compliment." 
 
 *' I don't think he would if he saw me look at him and then 
 at you while I said so." 
 
 Mr. Brander pulled up his clerical collar, and affected to 
 give his hat a jaunty cock.
 
 94 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 "It's so long since I've been 'buttered up/ and it's so 
 nice/' said he. 
 
 " Why, you have a great following among the ladies of the 
 village. " 
 
 "I am afraid I look upon them though without so much 
 reason much as you do upon their counterparts of the op- 
 posite sex." 
 
 " And Mrs. Brander, doesn't she, in return for your serv- 
 ices at marketing and nailing pictures, * butter you up ' too?" 
 
 The gayety, which had sat so pleasantly on the usually grave 
 man, suddenly evaporated. He answered, very quietly: 
 
 " She aalls me a good fellow, and yes, I think she means 
 it." 
 
 They had slackened their steps a little as they drew near the 
 bottom of the hill where the Chequers hid the entrance to 
 Rishton Hall Farm. They had stopped together at the bot- 
 tom to exchange these last few sentences before saying fare- 
 well. As his last words were succeeded by a moment's pause, 
 Mr. Brander glanced up the hill he had to climb to the 
 vicarage, and became aware of his brother's portly figure de- 
 scending the slope with measured steps toward them. His 
 cheeks grew pale; the last gleam of vivacity died out of his 
 face. 
 
 The change caused Olivia to look in the same direction, and 
 to note that there was something judicial in the handsome 
 vicar's gait something mildly apprehensive in the expression 
 of his face. She felt an impulse of indignation against both 
 husband and wife for their inexplicably rigorous attitude 
 toward Vernon Brander and herself. At sight of his brother, 
 Vernon, who seemed at once to grow cold and formal, raised 
 his hat, and would have left her with a few words of farewell. 
 But she held out her hand, and. as he took it with a flushing 
 face, she retained his with a warm clasp, while she said: 
 
 '* I am going to get papa to waylay you, Mr. Brander, as 
 you come back from the vicarage. You have never been inside 
 the house since the day you played fairy godmother to me and 
 poor Lucy. I want you to see the old house now we have 
 made it again a home." 
 
 " I shall be delighted, Miss Denison," faltered poor Ver- 
 non, with one ear for her kindly words and the other for his 
 brother's deliberately approaching footsteps. " You are very 
 kind to me," he added, in a hasty under-tone. Then in his 
 usual voice, " Good-night," said he, as she released his hand, 
 and, with a bow to the vicar, turned to the farm-yard gate. 
 
 With a few steps on either side dignified in the one, hur-
 
 ST. CUTHBEBT'S TOWER. 95 
 
 ried and nervous in the other the brothers met. The elder 
 passed his arm affectionately within that of the younger, and 
 turned to walk up the hill with him. 
 
 " Evelyn began to be afraid you had forgotten us and our 
 dinner in pleasanter society than ours/' said Meredith, in his 
 genial voice. 
 
 If Vernon, as his nervous manner suggested, was, afraid of 
 his brother, the fault lay in his own conscience, and not in any 
 coldness or harshness on the part of the Vicar of Eishton. 
 
 " No," said Vernon, hastily; " I had not forgotten. Of 
 course not. Miss Denison was annoyed by a rough as she was 
 crossing the fields; I came up just in time by the merest ac- 
 cident and I could do no less than see her home. " 
 
 " Of course not. Not a very great penance either. What 
 an extremely pleasant-looking girl!" 
 
 It was characteristic of the vicar's warm, expansive nature 
 that he found enjoyment in all goodly things; and he never 
 attempted to hide the pleasure the sight of a beautiful woman 
 gave him, although, as in the present instance, he remembered 
 his cloth in the expression of it. 
 
 " She is very handsome," said Vernon, whose candor went 
 a step further than his brother's. 
 
 " And amiable?" 
 
 " By that one means sympathetic to one's self, 1 suppose. 
 Yes, I find her amiable," said the younger man, with a sort of 
 dogged defiance in his tone. 
 
 Then you are pretty intimate already?" 
 
 The vicar spoke without the least harshness, but the answer 
 came hi an almost sullen tone, as if Vernon's own conscience 
 were reproaching him. 
 
 " Not very. This is the fourth time I have met her. " 
 
 " But, dear me, with these sweet-faced girls, one gets over 
 the ground so fast!" suggested the elder more genially than 
 ever. 
 
 " That depends. There's not much about me to fascinate 
 a beautiful woman. " 
 
 " Oh, 1 didn't mean that I certainly did not mean that. 
 But we had looked upon you you had taught us to look upon 
 you as a confirmed bachelor; almost a misogynist. " 
 
 " No, not that," interrupted the younger, abruptly. " I 
 have always admired women; in my way, at least, as much as 
 you have in yours unluckily for me," he added, in a bitter, 
 mocking tone. 
 
 " And now your admiration is to take shape in a definite 
 preference for one?" said the vicar, rather diffidently.
 
 96 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 Vernon was restless and uneasy; he snapped twigs off the 
 hedge as he walked along, and seemed unable to look his 
 brother in the face. 
 
 " What does my preference matter?" he asked, at last, 
 almost fiercely. " What did it matter before, except to bring 
 upon me the shame and shadow of my whole life?" 
 
 His brother looked shocked and alarmed at this outburst. 
 He put his arm, which Vernon had thrown off, again most 
 persuasively through that of the younger man. 
 
 " Come, come," he said, very earnestly, very affectionately; 
 " you must not talk like that. You lead a life voluntarily, 
 mind, else there would be no grandeur, no dignity in it so 
 full of austerity and self-sacrifice that you are winning your- 
 self almost the reputation of a saint. You have shown an ex- 
 ample of courage and endurance such as few men would have 
 the steadfastness to follow not I, for one, 1 admit. You are 
 loved by your parishioners. And it is scarcely too much to 
 say that by your own family Evelyn, myself, and the little 
 ones you are adored/' 
 
 The Vicar of Kishton watched his brother's face closely as 
 he pronounced these words in full tones of deep feeling. They 
 took effect at once. The thin, sensitive face relaxed, and a 
 faint smile hovered on Vernon's lips as he answered : 
 
 " You are all very good to me, and I love you for it; but 
 you don't need to be told that now. As for all that about my 
 being a saint and a martyr, it is nonsense, and only a kind 
 way of putting the fact that ten years ago" 
 
 " Now why trouble yourself about what happened ten years 
 ago?" interrupted the vicar in grave but most gentle tones. 
 " The evil wrought then has been bitterly repented of, and 
 atoned for in a manner so noble that I can scarcely speak of it 
 without tears." 
 
 "Noble? Nonsense! There was nothing in what I have 
 done but the outcome of a most commonplace human feeling. 
 1 don't wish to deceive you about that, or get more credit than 
 is due to me." 
 
 " Well, I will say no more on the point. It is not for me 
 to contradict you. For, whatever may have been our relative 
 positions ten years ago, your life since then has made you a 
 better man than I, and I bow to you as to my superior. " 
 
 It was very gracefully said, with a warmth and sincerity of 
 tone which made it no empty compliment from the handsome, 
 much-revered vicar to the hermit-parson of ruinous St. Cuth- 
 bert's. The latter received it with a restive, deprecatory, im- 
 patient wave of the hand; but yet a keen observer, who had
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. <f? 
 
 looked from the one face to the other at that moment, would 
 almost have been inclined to say that the elder, whether or not 
 he quite meant what he said, had spoken the truth, and that 
 the worn features and keen gray eyes of the younger man re- 
 vealed higher capacities for good than the bland, benevolent, 
 and good-humored countenance of his brother. Ten years 
 ago, before the tragic event which had been the turning point 
 of Vernon's life, the reverse of this would have been true. 
 Passionate, reckless, and hot-tempered, he would have looked, 
 beside his open-faced brother, like the evil angel beside the 
 good. But a decade of unruffled prosperity on the one hand, 
 and the same period of austere self-sacrifice on the other, had 
 told their tale; and the man over whom there hung the shadow 
 of a fearful crime now threatened, by long humility and devo- 
 tion, to oust from the first place in the esteem of the rough 
 mining population the irreproachable and kindly Vicar of 
 Rishton himself. 
 
 Meredith had spoken the last words in a decisive tone, as if 
 he considered the discussion at an end. But from the expres- 
 sion of his brother's face, it was clear that he had yet some- 
 thing to say something of more import than anything that 
 had yet passed between them. 
 
 " You have tried me long enough to trust my discretion a 
 little, Meredith; but I don't know how you will take what J 
 am going to tell you." He hurried on in an agitated voice, 
 without looking his brother in the face. " I have never been 
 a misogynist; perhaps I shall not always be a bachelor. Mind, 
 I only say perhaps." 
 
 There was a long pause. They tramped up the hill side by 
 side without exchanging so much as a look, until the pretty 
 gables of the vicarage were in sight, peeping out behind the 
 massive evergreens and the yet bare lilac branches of the 
 vicar's garden. Then Meredith spoke, in the most subdued 
 and gentlest of voices: 
 
 " You are the best, indeed, the only possible judge of your 
 own conduct, Vernon; but I fear that, to a nature like yours, 
 the thought of having caused suffering to a woman you love 
 will some day be very bitter." 
 
 His voice seemed to fade away on the last words, as it did at 
 the pathetic points of his sermons. His eloquence again took 
 effect on the sensitive Vernon. 
 
 " My wife if, indeed, I ever have a wife should never know 
 the truth," said he, in a low and husky voice. 
 
 " Oh, but she will!" said Meredith, with energy. " Do not 
 deceive yourself on that point; you can not deceive me. No 
 
 4
 
 98 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEE. 
 
 one can prevent your marrying; I, for one, shall never utter 
 another word against such a step; but, if you do take it, your 
 ten years' silence, as far as the feelings of others are con- 
 cerned, will have been in vain." 
 
 There was another pause a short one, this time. Then 
 Vernon spoke, in a harsh and broken voice: 
 
 " Be satisfied. No woman shall ever suffer through me 
 again. I will bear it to the end alone. " 
 
 " Spoken bravely spoken like yourself," began the Vicar 
 of Eishton, in his usual firm and cheerful tones. He was 
 about to say more, when his speech was checked by the sight 
 of a man's face peering over the wall of a small, neglected 
 garden, which adjoined the vicar's own premises on a lower 
 level of the hill. 
 
 The face was that of a stranger, but of a stranger who ap- 
 parently took a deep interest in his surroundings. Meredith 
 Brander examined his features with frank and rather puzzled 
 interest, while Vernon scanned the face with an intentness 
 which almost savored of dread. The stranger, on his side, 
 gave them a nod of free-and-easy greeting, which they returned 
 by a more conventional salute, as they proceeded up the hill. 
 
 " Who is that man?" asked Meredith, as if trying to recall 
 some memory connected with the features he had just seen. 
 
 " I don't know," answered the brother, in a troubled voice. 
 His brother looked inquiringly. 
 
 " Have you seen him before? I can't quite make up my 
 mind whether he is a stranger to me or not." 
 
 " He is a stranger," said Vernon; " probably the man who 
 has taken the cottage. I heard this morning that it was let 
 at last." 
 
 " You don't know his name, then?" 
 
 " Mat Oldshaw, who told me, did not mention his name." 
 
 No more was said on the subject of the stranger by either of 
 the brothers, both of whom remained apparently in deep 
 thought for the few remaining steps of their walk. 
 
 The gravity of both faces lightened when, on reaching the 
 vicarage, the sounds of childish voices broke upon their ears. 
 Mrs. Meredith Brander prided herself on nothing so much as 
 on being a " sensible woman;" and, as there is no sign of want 
 of sense in a woman so marked as the spoiling of children, the 
 event went a little way in the opposite direction, and kept her 
 little daughter of ten and small son of six in somewhat rigor- 
 pus subjection. Not only did she honor the old-fashioned say- 
 ing that " children should be seen and not heard," but she 
 even went so far as to think that the less seen of them the bet-
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 91 
 
 ter. Her husband, who was an affectionate and even demon- 
 strative father, would have had them much more about the 
 house; but he yielded in all domestic matters implicitly to his 
 wife's ruling, and, as she had decreed that the proper place 
 for children was the nursery, in the nursery they for the most 
 part remained. Therefore, the children had come back in a 
 cab with the luggage, instead of with papa and mamma, in 
 the pony-carriage, and they were on their way up the stairs 
 toward their own domain when their father and uncle came in 
 and caught them. 
 
 Vernon Brander's haggard face lighted up with an expres- 
 sion of deep tenderness as the little girl turned on hearing the 
 gentlemen's footsteps, and, with a shrill cry of childish delight, 
 ran down a few steps, and flung her little arms tempestuously 
 round his neck. 
 
 " Uncle Vernie! Uncle Vernie!" she cooed breathlessly into 
 his ear. " Oh, I have such a lot to tell you, and I've such a 
 heap of shells for you, and some sea- weed for you to dry; and, 
 oh! I have so wanted to see you, and have you with us there 
 by the sea. It would have been lovely if only you'd been 
 there!" 
 
 " Come, come, you carneying, blarneying, little sixpenn'orth 
 of halfpence," said Uncle Vernon, seating himself on the stairs 
 and putting his arm affectionately around her little waist, 
 " don't pretend it wasn't lovely without me, or that you're 
 glad the holiday's over so that you can see your old uncle 
 again. " 
 
 " But 1 am, though, whether you believe it or not," said 
 the child, gravely, looking into the wrinkles of the clergy- 
 man's face with affectionate solicitude. " The sea was beauti- 
 ful, and it was nice to have no lessons, and to see the pretty 
 people, and to have new walks instead of the old ones we're so 
 tired of. But there was no one to tell what one thought, no 
 one to look at me like you look, Uncle Vernie no one to hug 
 like this." 
 
 And, suiting the action to the word, she crushed up his head 
 and face in a stifling embrace. 
 
 At that moment the drawing-room door opened, and Mrs. 
 Brander, handsome, erect, and neat as a statue, came upon 
 the scene. 
 
 " Kate, you are forgetting yourself, my dear," she said, in 
 a tone of gentle but decided reproof. " Your uncle does not 
 mind a kiss, but a bear's hug is neither lady-like nor wel- 
 come. " 
 
 The child withdrew her arms at once, and relapsed into the
 
 100 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWER. 
 
 unnatural demeanor of a sensitive child snubbed. Vernon 
 grew red, and passed his hand over the little girl's fair head 
 with more than paternal tenderness. 
 
 " Don't be hard upon the child, Evelyn," he said in a low 
 voice. " You who have children of your own don't know 
 what pleasure that * bear's hug ' can give to a childless man." 
 
 Meredith Brander, who had been playing with his little boy, 
 looked uneasily toward his brother at this speech. 
 
 " What a fuss you make about that child!" said Mrs. Bran- 
 der, lightly, as if anxious to turn the conversation. 
 
 And, coming to the staircase, she picked up the little girl's 
 hat, which had fallen off in the course of her excited greetings, 
 and telling her to run upstairs and get her face washed, Mrs. 
 Brander invited her brother-in-law, with a welcoming gesture, 
 to come with her into the drawing-room. 
 
 Vernon followed her with scarcely disguised reluctance, 
 which the lady did not fail to perceive. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, Vernon?" she asked, as she 
 seated herself by an open work-basket, and immediately began 
 operations upon an embroidered pinafore. " There is a change 
 in you since we went away; you have either grown less sociable, 
 or else you have found some society more congenial than ours. 
 Sit down; that pacing to and fro fidgets me." 
 
 Vernon stopped in front of her, but did not seat himself. 
 
 " Do you know," he began, abruptly, " that 1 have gone 
 through a lengthy catechism of this sort at the hands of your 
 husband? I have given the fullest answers to all his questions, 
 and he can pass on to you any information you may require." 
 
 In spite of the peremptoriness of his words, his tone was 
 almost pleading; and in his face, as he looked down upon her, 
 there was an expression of chivalrous kindliness which took all 
 harshness out of his speech. 
 
 Mrs. Brander, glancing up at him, drew a breath of relief. 
 
 " I was almost beginning to fear, Vernon, that you had 
 formed, or were on the point of forming, new ties which would 
 make you forget the old ones." 
 
 Mrs. Brander 's voice was not capable of expressing much 
 deep emotion; but she lowered it, as she said these words, to 
 the softest pitch it could reach. 
 
 " Forget!" he echoed. " That is a process my mind is in- 
 capable of. I think you know that, Evelyn." 
 
 She gave him a straightforwardly affectionate look out of 
 her handsome eyes. 
 
 "Perhaps I do, Vernon," she said, gently. "Perhaps I
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 101 
 
 think your mind incapable of any process by which you could 
 bring suffering upon another person." 
 
 Vernon looked down into her beautiful face critically. 
 There was genuine anxiety in her expression, but it did not 
 touch him as much as a similar expression on those comely 
 features had been wont to do. For the last few weeks he had 
 been haunted by another woman's face, on which betrayed 
 most ingenuously every thought of the owner's mind, every 
 impulse of a warm young heart. Mrs. Brander was intelligent 
 enough to have an idea of the truth; and when she saw that 
 her soft speech left him comparatively cold, she did not waste 
 another on him, but rose from her seat with a sigh, and bent 
 over her table in such a way that he could not see her face. 
 The sensitive Vernon instantly began to imagine tears in her 
 eyes, drawn forth by his own hardness. He was seeking words 
 to comfort her when the door opened, and Meredith came in. 
 His genial presence seemed on the instant to relieve the em- 
 barrassment of the other two. 
 
 " It seems to me, my dear," he began to his wife, " that 
 Kitty is not looking any the better for her stay at Bourne- 
 mouth. I went upstairs with the children just now, and I was 
 quite struck with the paleness of the child's cheeks." 
 
 As the vicar uttered these words, a change came rapidly over 
 his brother's face. He glanced from father to mother with an 
 expression of the deepest anxiety, which Mrs. Brander, while 
 answering her husband in calm and measured tones, did not 
 fail to note. 
 
 " I think you worry yourself unnecessarily about the child. 
 She's tired now after her journey; she will probably look all 
 right again to-morrow." 
 
 The vicar allowed himself to be pacified by his wife's assur- 
 ances, and, leading his brother away to the fire-place, they oc- 
 cupied themselves, until the announcement of dinner, in dis- 
 cussing the trifling events which had happened in the parish 
 during the vicar's absence. Mrs. Brander listened with an 
 especially attentive ear while her brother-in-law gave a some- 
 what detailed account of the arrival of the new occupants of 
 Rishton Hall Farm, including, as it necessarily did, the story 
 of his own assistance at their installation. 
 
 Mrs. Brander did not attempt to deceive herself as to the 
 strong measure of interest which the beautiful young farmer's 
 daughter had excited in Vernon. Neither did she disguise 
 from herself the anxiety and annoyance which this discovery 
 caused her. Instead, however, of indulging in any feelings of 
 feminine jealousy, she set herself to try to devise a way of
 
 102 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 ousting this rival. A ray of light broke suddenly over Her 
 handsome face. 
 
 " When I spoke of my own suffering, he was certainly not 
 so much touched as he used to be," she reflected. " On the 
 other hand, anything connected with Kitty seems to move him 
 more than ever. I must play Kitty against this Miss Deni- 
 son." 
 
 And, without any of the pangs of a jealous woman, Mrs. 
 Brander, with a glance at her innocent brother-in-law, made a 
 calm resolution as to the part she should play in what she per- 
 ceived to be an incipient love affair. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 BRANDER left his brother's house that evening in 
 a frenzy of doubt and uncertainty, such as his passionate, self- 
 torturing nature was liable to. He had so long been bound in 
 a dutiful and chivalrous vassalage to his sister-in-law, seeing 
 her faults without being repelled by them, and in all things 
 doing her reverent homage as to his early ideal, that it came 
 upon him with a shock to discover suddenly, as he had done 
 this evening, that she had fallen from that high place in her 
 imagination. He tried in vain to hide from himself the fact 
 that this change in his feelings was due to the appearance on 
 the scene of a rival who was carrying away all before her. 
 Mrs. Brander had, on previous occasions, scoffed at his adora- 
 tion of children; she had often shown clearly how little she 
 cared for his feelings; but never before to-night had she seemed 
 to him cold, and hard, and selfish; never before had it oc- 
 curred to him to think how lacking she was in feminine soft- 
 ness and charm. 
 
 Following on this discovery came the inevitable conscious- 
 ness who it was that had brought about this knowledge. If he 
 had not looked lately into a softer pair of eyes, if he had not 
 felt the touch of a warmer hand, if, in short, he had never met 
 Olivia Denison, he would have gone on comfortably in his 
 platonic worship of the only woman of his acquaintance who 
 had any of those elements of beauty and grace which were 
 necessary to his somewhat fastidious standard. But the ad- 
 vent of the beautiful, warm-hearted, impulsive young girl had 
 changed all that; and Vernon, as he remembered the promises 
 he had made to his brother and his brother's wife, and recog- 
 nized clearly enough that by the circumstances of his life he 
 was bound to remain in bachelor loneliness, felt that the bur- 
 den of a by-gone sin was heavier upon him than he could bear.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 103 
 
 He was going gloomily down the hill, and had nearly reached 
 the foot of it, when a rather rough voice, with an inflection 
 which was un-English and strange, addressed him quite eloe 
 to his ear. 
 
 " Could you oblige me with a light?" 
 
 Vernon, who had his pipe between his lips, stopped, and 
 offered the stranger his match-box. The night was dark, but 
 he was able to recognize in this abrupt-mannered person the 
 man he and Meredith had seen that evening leaning on the 
 garden wall of the cottage adjoining the vicarage. There 
 had been something suspicious about the stranger's manner 
 then; there was something more now. He took the prof- 
 fered match-box, struck a light, and, instead of applying it to 
 the cigar he had ready in his mouth, held it close enough to 
 Vernon's face to get a good view of every feature. 
 
 The clergyman, returning his gaze, grew deadly pale. He 
 did not flinch, however, but settling his face with the hard de- 
 termination of a man accustomed to bear pain, submitted to 
 the scrutiny in dogged silence. 
 
 " Thank you," said the stranger, slowly, as he threw away 
 the match, which had burned down, and struck another, with 
 which he proceeded to light his cigar. ' ' You are the first 
 person about here who has shown what in other parts we 
 should call common civility. A rough lot, these Yorkshire 
 men!" 
 
 " And they don't always improve much in manners by 
 going abroad/' said Vernon, quietly. 
 
 The other remained silent for a moment, peering at him m 
 the darkness. Then he spoke again, more courteously than 
 before. 
 
 " You take me for a Yorkshireman, then?" 
 
 " Yes; I can hear the Yorkshire burr through some accent 
 you have picked up since." 
 
 " Well, you're a smart chap for a parson," said the other, 
 approvingly. " You'll excuse my frankness; but I'm a plain 
 man, and I dare say my manners are none the more polished 
 for fifteen years spent among cattle-drovers. They're not the 
 sort of company to make one fit for Buckingham Palace. " 
 
 " I suppose not," said Vernon. " And you have said good- 
 bye to them, and come back to settle down in your native 
 county?" 
 
 " For a little while a year, or may be two," answered the 
 stranger with great deliberateness. " I haven't come over 
 here to sit still and twiddle my thumbs for the rest of my life."
 
 101 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWER. 
 
 " Why, there's plenty of work to be done here in the old 
 country." 
 
 " Yes, it's work brings me over here, and hard work too, by 
 what I hear," said the other, looking penetratingly at the 
 clergyman through shrewd, half -shut eyes. 
 
 He gave the impression of being able to see in the dark as 
 well as any owl, and Vernon felt that he himself was still being 
 subjected to the same keen inspection which had been begun 
 by the light of the match. He, on his side, could see enough 
 of the stranger's appearance to feel curiously interested in 
 him. This abrupt and somewhat uncouth person was a man 
 whose age was difficult to guess. That he was still in the 
 vigor and prime of life was evident, but it was not so certain 
 whether the rugged furrows in his face, and a certain deliber- 
 ateness of speech and action, were signs of approaching middle 
 age, or the result of heavy responsibilities and hard work 
 begun early in life. The lower part of his face was covered 
 and much concealed by a short beard of a fashion long grown 
 obsolete in England; he was dressed with that sort of solid re- 
 spectability which disregards expense and also the fashion of 
 the moment, while a huge gold watch-chain, to which was at- 
 tached a bunch of heavy and handsome seals, gave the final 
 touch to a get-up which was nothing if not confidence-inspiring. 
 The man looked both shrewd and honest, particularly the 
 former; Vernon felt every moment more and more eagerly in- 
 terested as to the reason of his presence in the village. 
 
 " You know that we parsons are privileged impertinente?" 
 began Vernon, after a short pause. 
 
 ' Yes," answered the stranger, promptly. 
 
 " Perhaps you know too that I have been until to-day 
 ' deputy shepherd ' here at Rishton?" 
 
 " I know that too," admitted the other. 
 
 " Then perhaps you will let me ask if you are the new ten- 
 ant of Church Cottage?" 
 
 " Well, there's nothing gained or lost by admitting that I 
 am; and further, I don't mind telling you that I'd as soon the 
 cottage were a little further off from the church. One can't 
 expect to live in the odor of sanctity for nothing, and with a 
 parson living next door, and religious consolation therefore 
 always turned on, I shall feel, so to speak, always under the 
 tap." 
 
 " You needn't be afraid of that with my brother," said Ver- 
 non, smiling. " I suppose there never was a man with less 
 professional cant about him. He'll talk to a neighbor about 
 his fruit-trees, his pigs, his poultry, and everything that is his,
 
 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWER. 105 
 
 but never a word of religion, unless the subject is introduced 
 by somebody else. " 
 
 " I see; won't give professional advice for nothing? Well, 
 I respect him for it; there's no good in making your wares too 
 cheap. Guess your brother and me'll get along. " 
 
 What could the work be which brought this keen-eyed, 
 prosperous-looking colonist for a colonist it was not difficult 
 to guess that he must be to a sleepy little hole like Rishton, 
 where the commerce was restricted to the weekly buying and 
 selling of Matherham market, and to the still humbler traffic 
 in the small wares, of half a dozen puny village shops? Ver- 
 non was shy of asking him point-blank the nature of his work; 
 indeed, something in the stranger's manner intimated pretty 
 plainly that he would not have given the required information. 
 And no hints sufficed to draw him out. The Vicar of St. 
 Cuthbert's made one such attempt, which failed most signally. 
 
 " You will find also," said he, " that my brother is a prac- 
 tical man, and any help that he can give you in the work you 
 speak of he will offer most willingly, I know. " 
 
 But to this speech the first reply of the colonist was a sar- 
 donic laugh. 
 
 " I dare say he will," said he, dryly, when his hard merri- 
 ment had suddenly ceased. " For the matter of that, a man 
 with a serious object before him, who has his head screwed on 
 the right way, can get help of some sort from everybody he 
 comes nigh to. And so, Mr. Brander, I make no doubt that 
 I shall get assistance in my work, not only from your brother, 
 but from yourself. " 
 
 And with these words, uttered in a tone of some significance, 
 he turned on his heel with an abrupt nod, and made his way 
 with characteristically heavy and deliberate steps toward the 
 gate of the cottage. 
 
 Vernon Brander watched the solidly built figure disappear- 
 ing in the dusk, and then proceeded on his way down the hill 
 in some agitation of spirit. The shadow of the old crime was 
 creeping up again; the tragedy which ten years had not lived 
 down was reappearing with a new and ghastly vividness in the 
 presence of that matter-of-fact stranger. Who he might be 
 Vernon could scarcely guess; what the nature of his work was 
 in a quiet village flashed upon him with an intuition which 
 left no room for doubt. The feelings produced by this thought 
 were not all gloomy; a certain hungry look, which betokened 
 perhaps that even open shame would be welcome after ten 
 years of silent ignominy, burned in the clergyman's dark eyes 
 as he lifted his head and gazed into the blue-black night sky
 
 106 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 above him with, a piercing intentness which seemed to be try- 
 ing to fathom the mysteries of the future. 
 
 On reaching the bottom of the hill, he was startled out of 
 his reverie by a bright girl's voice and a gentle touch on his 
 arm. He stopped short and lowered his head dreamily, almost 
 inclined to think, in the high state of excitement to which he 
 had been worked, that the sweet voice, the kindly touch, were 
 a prophecy of happiness rather than the commonplace incident 
 of an every-day greeting. The next moment, however, he 
 came fully to himself, and found that he was in the presence, 
 not only of Olivia Denison, but of her father. 
 
 " Mr. Brander, come down from the clouds if you please, 
 and leave your next Sunday's sermon to take care of itself for 
 a little while. I want to introduce you to my father." 
 
 Mr. Denison, a tall, strikingly handsome man of about fifty 
 years of age, with a gentle, kindly face entirely destitute of 
 any trace of his daughter's energy and impulsive frankness, 
 held out his hand with a very willing smile. 
 
 " I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bran- 
 der, and to be able to thank you for your great kindness to my 
 little daughter here." 
 
 He patted Olivia's shoulder affectionately, but it seemed to 
 the clergyman, as he looked from the one face to the other, 
 that the action was scarcely typical of the mutual relations be- 
 tween gentle, vacillating father and quick-witted, active 
 daughter. 
 
 " Miss Denison is so much more valiant and self -helpful 
 than most young ladies that she spurs one up to do more for 
 her than one would for others," said Vernon. 
 
 " Yet this afternoon you would not allow that I could help 
 papa," put in Olivia, reproachfully. 
 
 " Didn't I rather suggest that the help you really gave was 
 of a different kind from what you imagined?" 
 
 " She gives me help of all kinds," said her father, affection- 
 ately. " She's my clerk and my comforter; and 1 think if the 
 farm-hands struck work, she'd take to the plow as naturally as 
 she's taken to the poultry." 
 
 " Well, I'd certainly try my hand at it," said the girl, 
 laughing. " I suppose the chief qualifications are a steady 
 hand and a correct eye, and both those I've acquired at bill- 
 iards." 
 
 ' ' My dear Olivia, you mustn't own to playing billiards be- 
 fore a clergyman!" 
 
 " And why not, Mr. Denison?" asked Vernon. " I love a 
 good game of billiards myself; and the strongest reasons that
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 107 
 
 keep me out of old Williams's billiard-room up at the Manor 
 Hall are old Williams's inability to play a decent game and 
 his son's inability to make a decent remark. " 
 
 Olivia gave an exclamation of disgust at this passing allusion 
 to her importunate admirer; Mr. Denison seemed relieved by 
 the clergyman's admission. 
 
 " I've not come much in contact with gentlemen of your 
 calling," said he; " and I have rather a feeling that I muet 
 be on my best behavior before them." 
 
 " A very proper feeling, and one that 1 wish you could com- 
 municate to some of the gentlemen engaged in mining occupa- 
 tions among my parishioners. It's a much healthier symptom 
 than throwing bricks. " 
 
 " Do they throw bricks at you?" asked Olivia, indignantly. 
 
 " Not so many as they used to," said Vernon, with a twinkle 
 in his eye, which was, however, not discernible in the increas- 
 ing darkness. " I found a way to cure them of that." 
 
 r ' What was that?" 
 
 " 1 threw them back." 
 
 Mr. Denison did not attempt to disguise the fact that his re- 
 spect for and appreciation of the Church were rising rapidly. 
 It was with a cordiality very different from the formal grati- 
 tude he had shown at the outset that he presently begged the 
 clergyman to do himself and his wife the pleasure of lunching 
 with them on the following or an early day. 
 
 " I am very anxious to introduce you to my wife," said he. 
 " She used to try hard to get me to receive what I irreverently 
 called her ' pet parsons;' but I had heard them preach, and 
 that was enough for me. Now you see I can bring forward a 
 candidate of my own. " 
 
 " That's unfortunate, because I can't come to-morrow; and 
 next day is Sunday. And perhaps, if you hear me preach, 
 you may want to retract your invitation." 
 
 " Well, we must chance that," said Mr. Denison, smiling. 
 " But I can trust a par no, I mean a clergyman, who knows 
 something about the tables of slate as well as the tables of 
 stone. Remember, we are only poor farmer folk now; the 
 glory of Streatham has departed. But we shall make you 
 heartily welcome; and you must forgive the absence of cham- 
 pagne. Now, what day will you come?" 
 
 " May 1 say this day week?" said Vernon, after considering 
 a moment. For the next few days I have work to do a long 
 way off which will make any sort of meal an impossibility. I 
 shall live upon bread and coal-dust; and you must not be sur- 
 prised if I turn up with a complexion of Othello, and with a
 
 108 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 little of his savagery, after a week's intercourse with the 
 blackest and roughest race in Yorkshire/' 
 
 The following Friday was, therefore, fixed upon as the day 
 on which the Eeverend Vernon Brander was to mal^e formal 
 acquaintance with Eishton Hall Farm and its new masters. 
 And, with a mutual liking which opened a pleasant prospect 
 of future acquaintance, the two gentlemen bade each other 
 good-night, and separated. 
 
 But if they had only known it, there was a very strong wom- 
 an's will working against any such happy consummation. 
 Mrs. Meredith Brander, for reasons of her own, had conceived 
 the intention of doing what she could to form an impassable 
 bridge between her brother-in-law and the household at Rish- 
 ton Hall Farm. She shrewdly guessed that her best chance 
 lay through the step-mother; but for a day or two she took no 
 active steps, contenting herself with gleaning all the informa- 
 tion she could concerning the character and habits of each 
 member of the Denison family. Mr. Denison, she decided, 
 was not of much account; Mrs. Denison, a vain, half -educated 
 woman, exalted above her natural station, ought, with judi- 
 cious treatment, to be easy to deal with. It was with the hand- 
 some, high-spirited Olivia herself that the difficulty lay, and 
 Mrs. Brander felt that she must proceed with caution. 
 
 In the meantime, the new inmate of the cottage was excit- 
 ing much general interest and some suspicion. He lived en- 
 tirely by himself, but for such companionship as was afforded 
 him by Mrs. Wall, during the two or three hours a day when 
 she jogged slowly through his apartments with a broom and a 
 pail, and generally " did for " him. He drove such a hard 
 bargain with this lady, and lived so simply, that the belief 
 soon spread among the villagers that he was very poor, that 
 his big watch-chain was brass, and that his solid manner and 
 imperative speech were mere empty " swagger." 
 
 The Reverend Meredith Brander was shrewd enough to think 
 differently. There was a weight and solidity about the speech 
 and manner of the new-comer which it is not given to the 
 mere waifs and strays of the earth to acquire. When he passed 
 an opinion, which was seldom, for he was apparently of re- 
 ticent disposition, it was with the evident belief, not only that 
 it was worth listening to, but that it would be listened to. 
 The vicar tried hard, in every decent and graceful way, to win 
 from him some information as to who he was and what he did 
 there ; but his geniality and his personal charm had no per- 
 ceptible effect on the stranger, who kept even his name a secret, 
 and steadily declined Mr. Brander's invitations to him to dine
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 109 
 
 at the vicarage, or to play a game of chess with hiin in the 
 evenings. 
 
 ''I'm sure you must find it dull alone in the cottage at 
 night," the vicar would say to him cheerily; " for one can see 
 with half an eye that you've been used to an active life, with 
 lots of movement and all sorts of society. Why don't you let 
 yourself be persuaded into sitting by a warm hearth instead of 
 a cold one, with a woman and children about you? All globe- 
 trotters love the atmosphere of women and children. " 
 
 " I can bear with 'em, but I'm not excited about either 
 species," the stranger answered one day to his neighbor's per- 
 suasions. " I've had a wife and children myself; but I'm 
 bound to say I get on quite as comfortably without them." 
 
 If this unorthodox speech was meant to shock the vicar, it 
 failed of its effect; for Meredith Brander had no puritanical 
 horror of human frailties and eccentricities, but a cheery belief 
 that they gave a healthy outlet to the dangerous humors of the 
 world. 
 
 He discussed the new-comer with his wife, who, however, 
 took scarcely enough interest in the subject to set her feminine 
 wits to work toward solving the mystery which hung about 
 him. 
 
 " I don't know why you make so much fuss about him," 
 she said rather contemptuously one day, when her husband 
 had been recounting his fruitless efforts to induce the stranger 
 to dine with them. " And I am sure I am thankful that he 
 had the sense not to come. To judge by his manners he has 
 been a navvy, who went gold-digging and picked up a nugget; 
 and to judge by his coming here and the way he lives, the 
 nugget was somebody else's, and he has to live perdu until the 
 little affair has blown over." 
 
 The vicar made no reply to this; but there was evidently 
 nothing convincing to him in his wife's contempt for the 
 stranger. When he spoke again, it was upon a fresh subject. 
 
 ' ' Vernon's getting very thick with the new people at the 
 Hall Farm. I met him to-day arm in arm with papa, and I 
 hear that he's going to dine with them next Friday. Now, 
 papa is a very amiable man, though he may not be overeu- 
 dowed with brains; but I suppose it is not far-fetched to im- 
 agine that there may be another attraction." 
 
 Mr. Brander spoke in his usual light and genial tones, with- 
 out even the touch of seriousness he had shown when treating 
 of this same subject with his brother. But the effect of his 
 on his wife was instant and strong. The lines of her
 
 110 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 handsome mouth grew straight and hard, her low, handsome 
 forehead puckered with an anxious frown as she said, sharply: 
 
 " He must be stopped." 
 
 The vicar, raising his eyebrows blandly, stroked his chin, 
 and looked out of the window. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I admit that it would be very much for the 
 best if he could be stopped; but the question is, how is it to 
 be done? All we can do is to persuade, exhort, advise. And 
 haven't we done it perhaps even overdone it? If Vernon takes 
 it seriously into his head that he will marry, why, marry he will; 
 and I don't see how all the king's horses, and all the king's 
 men, can prevent him. " 
 
 " Perhaps not," said his wife, icily. " But 1 can." 
 
 Her mouth, which was Mrs. Brander's most eloquent feat- 
 ure, closed with almost a snap, and strongly suggested the idea 
 that her interest in her brother-in-law's matrimonial inclina- 
 tions was not purely benevolent. 
 
 *' Well, my dear, there is no denying that it would be for 
 the best if you could prevent this rather foolish flirtation with 
 a particularly headstrong girl from coming to anything. One 
 can scarcely think that this type of girl, for all her beauty and 
 high spirit 1 think we must allow her, would make him happy 
 as a wife. " 
 
 " I hadn't thought of the matter from that point of view," 
 said his wife, dryly. 
 
 The vicar glanced rather uneasily at his wife, whose habit 
 of looking at things from a purely matter-of-fact and prac- 
 tical point of view sometimes jarred upon his more easy-going 
 nature. 
 
 He rose from his seat, and prepared to leave the room. 
 
 *' But you should, my dear; you should," he said, in a 
 gently reproachful tone, as he came to the back of her chair 
 and, gently stroking her dark hair with his plump white hand, 
 printed an affectionate kiss on the smooth white forehead, from 
 which the frown had scarcely yet departed. 
 
 As soon as her husband had left the room, Mrs. Brander 
 gave herself up to resolute consideration of a difficult and deli- 
 cate plan of action. After some time she came to a decision, 
 and her face cleared. 
 
 " To-day is Wednesday/' she said to herself, glancing at an 
 almanac on her writing-table. " This dinner, or luncheon, 
 or whatever it is, is not till Friday. Then 1 have to-morrow 
 to work in. " 
 
 And she rose with a sigh of relief, and went about her house- 
 hold duties with a lighter heart, feeling that she had provided
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. Ill 
 
 for the fulfillment of a very disagreeable task in a rather able 
 manner. 
 
 On the following afternoon Mrs. Brander, after a short drive 
 in the neighborhood, drove her little ponies up to the door of 
 Rishton Hall Farm to make her first call upon Mrs. Denison. 
 The latter lady had already expressed some indignation that 
 the vicar's wife had not called upon her before, and had even 
 announced her intention of being " not at home " to Mrs. 
 Brander, to show her sense of the folly of such airs in a wom- 
 an who ought, by virtue of her husband's office, to be the 
 humblest in the parish. However, what happened when the 
 smart-looking little pony-carriage drew up at the door was this: 
 the farmer's wife, after peeping through the dining-room cur- 
 tains, in a flutter of excitement, rushed across the hall to the 
 drawing-room, with a hoarse whisper of directions to the ap- 
 proaching house-maid, and greeted the visitor, on her entrance, 
 with a mixture of dignity and effusiveness, which the vicar's 
 wife met with her usual straightforward, matter-of-fact sim- 
 plicity of manner. Mrs. Brander had brought her ten-year-old 
 daughter with her, less for companionship than for the reason, 
 which she would at once frankly have owned, that the child's 
 fragile fairness formed an admirable compliment to her own 
 brunette beauty. The child also served to make the introduc- 
 tion of the two ladies less formal, as her presence resulted in 
 Mrs. Denison sending for her own two spoiled children, whom 
 Mrs. Brander greeted courteously, but without effusiveness. 
 Indeed, she afterward described them as the two most intolera- 
 ble little offenses against humanity she had ever met, and she 
 was much too frank to do more than veil this feeling even in 
 the presence of their mother, whose caresses of the little Kate 
 and compliments on her beauty evidently excited in the more 
 sensible of the two mothers no approval whatever. 
 
 The vicar's wife had something in her mind that she con- 
 sidered of far more importance than any matter connected with 
 mere children. Before very long she brought the conversa- 
 tion round to Olivia Denison, of whom she took care to speak 
 with such exceedingly moderate approbation as she thought 
 likely to suit a step-mother's taste. Mrs. Denison was de- 
 lighted to meet some one who did not go into the usual rapt- 
 ures about the young girl's beauty and amiability. 
 
 " Olivia is not a bad sort of girl," she admitted, in a patron- 
 izing tone. " But she has been terribly spoiled by her father. 
 Her temper is almost unbearable, and I regret to say that she 
 does not scruple to indulge it on my poor children. ' ' 
 
 " 1 should think you would be glad to get her married and
 
 112 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEE. 
 
 settled, both for her sake and your own, then/' said Mrs. 
 Brander. " She is a showy sort of girl, who ought to marry 
 even here." 
 
 Mrs. Denison looked for a moment rather embarrassed. 
 
 " Well, certainly," she admitted, grudgingly. " A gentle- 
 man has already made his appearance who seems to be at- 
 tracted by her at least, so her father thinks. 1 myself shall 
 not see him till to-morrow, when he comes to luncheon here.*' 
 
 " Indeed!" cried Mrs. Brander, raising her eyebrows with 
 great apparent interest. " 1 wonder if it is any one I know?'" 
 Mrs. Denison gave a little cough of uncertainty. 
 
 *' Well/' she said, at last, with some hesitation, " 1 hope 
 I'm not letting out a secret, but it is your own brother-in-law, 
 Mr. Vernon Brander." 
 
 Mrs. Brander almost started from her chair in well simu- 
 lated horror and surprise. 
 
 " Vernon!" she exclaimed, in a low voice. " Impossible!" 
 Mrs. Denison turned pale. 
 
 " Why not?" she faltered. " Surely there is nothing 
 against the vicar's brother?" 
 
 Mrs. Brander hesitated, in much apparent confusion and 
 distress. 
 
 " 1 would not for the world have been the first to break it 
 to you, and even now I scarcely like to tell you. In fact, I 
 will not unless you will promise that it shall make no differ- 
 ence in your treatment of the unhappy young fellow," she 
 said at last. 
 
 Mrs. Denison, shaking with curiosity and alarm, gave the 
 required promise in an unconvincing tone. 
 
 " Years ago," began the vicar's wife in a tone lowered tc 
 escape the children's ears, " Vernon unhappily became in- 
 volved in an intrigue with the sister of the man who occupied 
 this house, and at last, after a quarrel, she mysteriously dis- 
 appeared, and has not since been heard of." 
 
 Murdered!" shrieked Mrs. Denison, startling the children, 
 who all turned round, and caused her to put sudden constraint 
 upon herself. 
 
 "Hush!" said Mrs. Brander, rather alarmed by the strength 
 of her effect. "We don't like to think that; we mustn't 
 think that. But there is just enough unpleasantness about 
 the affair. You understand," she murmured, confidentially. 
 
 " I should think so!" cried Mrs. Denison, heartily. " I'll 
 take care that he shall never " 
 
 The vicar's wife interrupted her, laying a persuasive, but 
 not feeble, hand on the arm of the excited lady.
 
 ST. CCTHBERT'S TOWEK. 113 
 
 " You will take care never to hint a word of this to him, or 
 to any one," she said, in a low, but exceedingly authoritative 
 tone. " You remember your promise. Without any measure 
 so strong as that, we women always know how to give an ac- 
 quaintance who is in any way undesirable not too much cold 
 shoulder, but just cold shoulder enough." 
 
 She rose to go, feeling that she had done enough to accom- 
 plish her purpose. 
 
 " I think that ought to do it/' she said to herself, with sub- 
 dued and still somewhat anxious satisfaction, as she whipped 
 up her ponies, and drove away from the farm. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE second Mrs. Denison was, unfortunately for her hus- 
 band's household, one of those ladies who unite in themselves 
 most of woman's typical frailties. One of the most marked 
 of these was a great jealousy of any member of her own sex 
 who was younger, better-looking, or in any way considered 
 more generally attractive than herself. This jealousy rose to 
 such a pitch in the case of her handsome step-daughter that 
 she was more pleased at the discovery of the ineligibility of 
 Olivia's new admirer than disappointed at the failure of a 
 prospect of getting rid of her. 
 
 In spite of her promises to Mrs. Brander, Mrs. Denison of 
 course told her husband that night, with some triumph, what 
 a desperate character he proposed to introduce into the bosom 
 of his household on the following day. But her sensational 
 tirade produced little effect. Mr. Denison had indeed heard 
 the old story since he gave the Vicar of St. Cuthbert's his in- 
 vitation ; and, to tell the truth, it had rather tended to increase 
 than diminish the liking he had taken to the parson. An in- 
 judicious liking for the girls was a humanizing foible which he 
 could understand and excuse. As for the disappearance, it 
 was an old story, and might contain an old slander. At any 
 rate, even a murderer was better than a milksop. So he made 
 light of his wife's deep-voiced harangue, and pronounced his 
 opinion that Mrs. Meredith Brander might find something bet- 
 ter to do than to spread these foolish stories concerning her 
 brother-in-law. 
 
 " Then you mean to take no steps, in the face of what I 
 have told you, to prevent your own hearth from being polluted 
 by the presence of a murderous libertine?" inquired Mrs. 
 Denison, who had the liking of a narrow and half-educated
 
 114 ST. CTJTHBERT'S TOWEK. 
 
 mind, in moments of excitement, for language equal to the 
 occasion. 
 
 " Well, I'm not going, after inviting a man to luncheon, to 
 rush out and tell him we have heard a cock-and-bull story 
 about his doings a quarter of a century ago, and so we can't 
 let him come in. " 
 
 ' ' And so Beatrice and Reginald are to get their ideas of the 
 church from this man? I might have known what sort of a 
 clergyman you would pick up, who would never receive Mr. 
 Lovekin or Mr. Butterworthf I am told this Mr. Vernon 
 Brander doesn't even dress like a clergyman. " 
 
 " He wears a round collar," said Mr. Denison; " perhaps 
 that will save the morals of Beatrice and Regniald. Anyhow, 
 he doesn't talk up in his head like old Buttermilk, and he 
 doesn't look so like a trussed chicken as that lean-necked 
 Lovekin used to do. " 
 
 " At least there was no scandal about either of those gentle- 
 men/' said his wife, with dignity. " A girl could trust her- 
 self with either of them. " 
 
 " She'd have an odd taste if she couldn't." 
 
 " Perhaps you have no objection to this man as a suitor for 
 your daughter?" 
 
 " He hasn't proposed yet." 
 
 44 Or to the chance of her being found dead in a mysterious 
 manner." 
 
 " Perhaps he doesn't make away with more than seventy- 
 five per cent, of the girls he comes across. Olivia might take 
 her chance," said Mr. Denison, who was getting sleepy, and 
 had had enough of the conversation. 
 
 This flippancy silenced her for a time; but it had for its 
 permanent effect on Mrs. Denison the strengthening of her 
 resolution to show this black sheep of the church what a high- 
 principled British matron thought of him. 
 
 When, next day, the Reverend Vernon Brander arrived at 
 the farm for luncheon, his evil star brought him before Olivia 
 had returned from her morning walk. He was shown into 
 the drawing-room, where, by Olivia's orders, in honor of his 
 coming, a fire blazed in the usually cheerless grate; for Mrs. 
 Denison, although an indolent and extravagant housekeeper, 
 practiced from habit a dozen uncomfortable and futile little 
 economies, which she had learned in her childhood's days in 
 her father's small shop. On learning of the guest's arrival 
 she made no haste to receive him; and Vernon was left for 
 some time to an uninterrupted study of the room. 
 
 He decided at once, his thoughts while hi this house all tak-
 
 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TO WEE. 115 
 
 ing the same direction, that Olivia seldom or never sat in the 
 room, that she did not like it, but that, nevertheless, she had 
 had something to do with the arrangement of it, and that much 
 of the decorative work, both of needle and paint-brush, with 
 which it was adorned, was done by her active fingers. The 
 position of each article of furniture was too coldly correct to 
 please her, Vernon, used to the society of a woman of taste, 
 felt sure. There was no pretty disorder of open book or music, 
 untidy work-basket, with its picturesque overflow of feminine 
 trifles; no disarranged cushion; no displaced chair. The 
 piano was shut looked even as if it might be locked; the 
 furniture, of the pretty, modern, spindle-shanked, uncomforta- 
 ble type, was evidently scarcely ever used. Vernon had time 
 to wander about at his leisure until he found something which 
 roused in him more than a passing interest. This was a large 
 photographed head of Olivia, which stood by itself in a dark 
 corner on a side-table in a handsome oak frame. It had evi- 
 dently been taken quite recently, and was an excellent like- 
 ness. Vernon could not resist the temptation to take it up 
 and carry it to a window to examine it, as he could not do in 
 the obscurity to which it had been condemned. Then, as he 
 was still left undisturbed, he put the portrait on a center- table 
 in the full light, and opening an album which lay not far off, 
 began hunting for more photographs of the same girl. He 
 found a page containing four, taken at different stages of 
 childhood and gawky young girlhood. Going down on his 
 knees beside the large portrait, he held open the album im- 
 mediately underneath it, and began tracing out the develop- 
 ment of the woman from the child with the deepest interest. 
 
 Absorbed, as his habit was, in the occupation of the mo- 
 ment, he did not hear, or did not heed, the approach of foot- 
 steps across the hall. The door had not been properly closed, 
 and, before he could change his position, it had been thrust 
 open with peremptory touch, and he was in the presence of his 
 hostess. 
 
 Glancing from him to the portrait on the table, and thence 
 to the book in his hand, Mrs. Denison saw or guessed how he 
 was employed, and feminine jealousy and dislike increased the 
 horror and indignation she was nursing against this homicidal 
 clergyman whom her husband had chosen to exalt at the ex- 
 pense of her own chosen divines. She stood with a stony and 
 most unwelcoming face while Vernon, rising hastily with a 
 bright laugh, shut the album, and came forward to meet her. 
 
 But she put forward no cordial hand, and vouchsafed him 
 only the coldest little nod of the head. Vernon mistook the
 
 116 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 reason of this reception, confounding the step-mother with the 
 mother, and supposing that his hostess was in arms at the lib- 
 erty he had taken in thus openly worshiping at the young girl's 
 shrine. 
 
 " I must apologize for my attitude of apparent devotion," 
 he said; " but I was so much interested in tracing the develop- 
 ment of the child as shown here," and he held out the album, 
 "into the woman as represented here/' and he touched the 
 portrait on the table, ' ' that I did not notice how unnecessarily 
 devout my position had become." 
 
 " Very unnecessarily," assented Mrs. Denison, in a hard and 
 frigid tone. 
 
 Poor Vernon looked much disconcerted by this rebuff. 
 
 " I hope you will believe," he began, almost stammering in 
 his confusion, " that I had no intention of taking a liberty in 
 admiring your daughter's portrait so openly " 
 
 " My step-daughter's!" interrupted Mrs. Denison, with a 
 snap. 
 
 " Oh, ah, yes I mean your step-daughter's," floundered 
 Vernon, more perplexed than ever. If she did not care about 
 the girl, why this anger? ' You must all be so much accus- 
 tomed to the admiration Miss Denison excites that even an 
 eccentric tribute may, I hope, be excused. " 
 
 With masculine want of tact he was getting deeper and 
 deeper into the mire. Mrs. Denison's cold, pale, plump face 
 grew every moment more forbidding. 
 
 " The place is not so overrun with admirers of Olivia Deni- 
 son as you seem to imagine," said she, acidly. "There is 
 nothing the matter with the girl's face; on the other hand, we 
 are not accustomed to consider it anything to rave about. We 
 Londoners like beauty of a more delicate type. " 
 
 "If by delicate you mean puny and pale," said Vernon, 
 with rash honesty, " you certainly won't get us up here to 
 agree with you. But if you mean refined, I can't imagine a 
 face more ideally satisfying in that respect than Miss Deni- 
 son's." 
 
 This was the last straw. The one consolation Mrs. Denison 
 always had ready for herself on the irritating subject of Olivia's 
 beauty was that her own flaccid paleness made the girl's bright 
 coloring look " vulgar." She had made her entrance in an 
 aggressive mood; every word the unfortunate man bad uttered 
 had increased her prejudice against him, and had seemed 
 specially designed for her annoyance. Inflamed by sullen 
 anger, and rushing to the favorite conclusion of the ill-bred 
 that she had been " insulted," Mrs. Denison let loose upon
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 117 
 
 her guest the vials of her wrath. She had just enough sense 
 of decency not to get loud in her anger; but her thm, com- 
 pressed lips and coldly venomous gray eyes struck a sort of 
 terror into the unsuspecting clergyman, before her slow words 
 came like the crash of a thunder-bolt upon his ears. Mrs. 
 Denison prefaced her speech by a hard, short laugh that 
 scarcely moved the muscles of her flabby face. 
 
 " I suppose your taste still runs in the same direction that 
 it did ten years ago then, and that you admire red-cheeked 
 farmers' daughters as much as ever?" 
 
 " I don't understand you, madame," said Vernon, growing 
 paler than ever, if that were possible, but losing his nervous- 
 ness in the face of this preposterous attack. 
 
 His recovered self-possession irritated Mrs. Denison, who had 
 expected him to cower under her onslaught. Although she 
 was already growing alarmed at what she had done, she was 
 too sullenly obstinate to draw back, and she strengthened her- 
 self, even while her breath came faster and a slight flush came 
 over her face, with the conviction that she was unmasking vil- 
 lainy, and putting to rout a man who was a disgrace to his 
 sacred calling. 
 
 "Indeed, I should have thought that in this house, of all 
 others, your memory would have been better. " 
 
 As Mrs. Denison had remained standing, Vernon had per- 
 force done the same. He now took a step to the left, so that 
 the light might fall on his face as well as on hers as he an- 
 swered her. 
 
 " If you have any accusation to make against me, will you 
 be kind enough to make it in so many words, and not in 
 roundabout hints?" 
 
 He had managed to make the woman feel the full awkward- 
 ness of the position into which she had brought herself. She 
 hesitated and stammered, even though her gray eyes did not 
 flinch from their vindictive stare. 
 
 " I I had heard everybody has stories which a clergy- 
 man, too! 1 should never have thought " 
 
 " No. People never do think, when they bring a vague 
 charge, that they ought to be ready to substantiate it. Will 
 you tell me what you heard?" 
 
 " I am not to be brought to book in this way," said Mrs. 
 Denison, recovering herself, and speaking in a louder voice. 
 " You can not be ignorant of the stories about you, and you 
 can not be surprised that I don't think you a fit person to to 
 be a friend to to young girls. " 
 
 There was a pause, which Mrs. Denison found very awk-
 
 118 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 ward. She stood with one hand upon a small octagonal table, 
 feeling very anxious that this most obnoxious visitor would 
 either go or give her an opportunity of going. Vernon, on 
 his side, stood perfectly still before her, staring at the floor, 
 not with the shame-faced look of remorse and guilt, but with 
 an expression of painful and earnest thought. At last he raised 
 his head, and his black eyes, full of passion and fire, met her 
 own cold gray ones steadily. 
 
 " You have heard that I caused the disappearance of a girl 
 ten years ago?" said he, not abruptly, but with grave deliber- 
 ateness. 
 
 *' Er yes something yes of the sort/' answered Mrs. 
 Denison, taken aback. 
 
 " And on sufficiently good authority to warrant your con- 
 sidering it true?" 
 
 " On the very best authority. I never act on any other," 
 said the lady, hastily. 
 
 Vernon looked perplexed, and his tone grew a little more 
 diffident as he continued: 
 
 " Then why not have spared me the humiliation of this re- 
 ception? Just two lines sent by the stable boy would have 
 been enough, and you may be sure I should never have troubled 
 you with what, I hope, has been a painful interview to you. " 
 
 Vernon said " hope," and even put a slight emphasis on the 
 word, as he had a suspicion that his hostess was ill-natured 
 enough to have found some enjoyment in his discomfiture. 
 With a ceremonious and dignified bow he was passing her on 
 his way to the door, when a genial voice startled them both, 
 and Mr. Denison entered. 
 
 Not being a man of specially quick perceptions, the new- 
 comer did not at once see that anything was wrong. He 
 seized Vernon by both hands, welcomed him in warm words, 
 and with apologies for having been absent on his arrival. 
 
 " And where's my Olivia?" he went on, turning to his wife, 
 now observing for the first time the unpromising frown on 
 that lady's face, and believing that his daughter's neglect was 
 the cause. " She should have been here to help you entertain 
 Mr. Brander." 
 
 Mrs. Denison began to say something inarticulately, but 
 Vernon, in a clear and deliberate voice, took the words out of 
 her mouth. 
 
 " You do Mrs. Denison injustice. Judging from the man- 
 ner in which she has entertained me, I should think she is not 
 only able, but that she prefers, to do without any assistance. " 
 
 Mrs. Denison looked both confused and alarmed, as she
 
 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWER. 119 
 
 stammered something about Mr. Brander's having misunder- 
 stood her. For her husband, like many other easy-going 
 men, was subject to occasional fits of passionate violence, 
 which, for a woman of Mrs. Denrson's cold and somewhat 
 stodgy temperament, had peculiar terrors. 
 
 " Misunderstood!" cried he, in an ominous tone of surprise 
 and perplexity. " Misunderstood what?" 
 
 " I think the misunderstanding was on the lady's side," 
 said Vernon, very calmly, moving a step nearer the door. 
 " For if Mrs. Denison really thought that I could comfortably 
 partake of her hospitality after being accused by her of un- 
 specified crimes, she made a mistake which I must now beg to 
 leave her leisure to recognize." 
 
 Without giving Mr. Denison, who had grown during this 
 speech absolutely livid with anger, time to answer him, Ver- 
 non Brander hurried out of the room and out of the house. 
 
 But Mr. Denison's outbursts of passion, if violent, were 
 short-lived. After having inveighed for a few minutes furious- 
 ly against woman's talkativeness and woman's indiscretion, he 
 allowed himself to be talked round by his wife, into believing 
 that what little she had said to the Reverend Vernon touching 
 his former delinquencies, he had brought upon himself by a 
 very impertinent expression of his admiration for Olivia. 
 Being at heart a man of peace, and unable to retain displeas- 
 ure with any one for long, Mr. Denison had subsided into an 
 uneasy and conscience-pricked silence on the subject, when 
 Olivia's footsteps, bounding through the hall with the agility 
 of youth and high spirits, startled both husband and wife. 
 
 The girl sprung into the room like a flash of sunshine, but 
 being far more acute than her father, the first glance from his 
 face to that of his wife showed her that something was wrong. 
 
 " Where's Mr. Brander?" she asked, abruptly, already with 
 a dash of suspicion in her tone. "Lucy told me he'd been 
 here nearly half an hour. " 
 
 Mr. Deuison walked away to the nearest window without 
 speaking; Mrs. Denison leaned back in the easy-chair which 
 she was occupying with an assumption of easy dignity meant 
 to conceal the uneasiness which she felt. For to displease 
 Olivia seriously, much as the elder woman might affect to 
 ignore the girl's feelings, was a very different thing from dis- 
 pleasing her good-tempered father. 
 
 " Mr. Brander has been and has gone," said Mrs. Denison, 
 with an air of offended dignity. " He has proved himself un- 
 worthy the honor of being admitted as a friend into my fam- 
 ily, and I never wish to hear his name mentioned again."
 
 120 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " You don't think I'm to be satisfied like that," said Olivia, 
 rery quietly. Then she stood, with hands clasped and pas- 
 sionate, earnest eyes, gazing at her step-mother's doughy face 
 with a steadfastness which caused that lady to " fidget " un- 
 easily, and thus to destroy the effect of her efforts at dignified 
 composure. 
 
 "You're forgetting yourself strangely, Olivia, to speak to 
 me in that manner. I am mistress here, and I am not going 
 to be dictated to by a chit of a girl.'' 
 
 " You have said something, done something, to send him 
 away ; I am sure of it, " said the girl with breathless earnest- 
 ness, not heeding her step-mother's fretful protest. " I will 
 know what it is; 1 have a right to know. Papa," she went 
 on, turning toward her father entreatingly, and speaking in a 
 voice that grew softer the moment she addressed him, " you 
 know Mr. Brander has been kind to me, most unselfishly, dis- 
 interestedly kind and just when I wanted help and kindness. 
 You would not let him be rudely treated, would you? You 
 would never allow your guest to be insulted, I am sure. Tell 
 me what has happened; I must know. Do tell me; do satisfy 
 me. I am not curious; I am miserable until I know/' 
 
 She had crossed the room to him, put affectionate hands on 
 his shoulders, and was looking into his face with tender plead- 
 ing, far more irresistible even than his wife's peremptory rea- 
 soning had been. He could not look her in the face, but 
 frowned, and made feeble and futile attempts to get rid of the 
 clinging fingers. Mrs. Denison's hard voice then struck upon 
 their ears. 
 
 " Really, Edward, you're not going to allow yourself to be 
 talked over in that way, I hope. Surely you and I are the 
 best judges as to who are and who are not fit acquaintances 
 for our children. And when the wife of the vicar of the par- 
 ish herself warns me that such and such a man is a criminal of 
 a sort not fit to be admitted into a decent house, I don't think 
 any one can dispute that we have authority for what we do. " 
 
 " The wife of the vicar! Mrs. Brander!" exclaimed Olivia 
 in bewilderment. " She told you that about her brother-in- 
 law?" 
 
 Mrs. Denison did not answer. She was ready to bite her 
 tongue out for her indiscretion in mentioning her informant's 
 name. For she knew Olivia's impulsive nature, and was very 
 much afraid that the girl would get her into trouble with the 
 vicar's wife, with whom she was anxious to stand well. For 
 Mrs. Brander's well-bred simplicity of manner, and a certain 
 air of being queen of the district which years of homage had
 
 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWER. 121 
 
 given her, had made a strong impression on the ex-governess. 
 Olivia read the truth in her step-mother's confusion, and a 
 new spring of anger bubbled up in her heart. 
 
 "The wicked, treacherous woman!" she panted, scarcely 
 aloud, but with great vehemence. " He shall know who are 
 the friends who spread these stories about him. " 
 
 She was turning impulsively toward the door, drawing on as 
 she did so, one of the gloves she had taken off, when Mrs. 
 Denison, with unaccustomed agility, sprung up from her chair 
 and laid a heavy hand on the girl's arm. 
 
 " Where are you going?" she asked, peremptorily, with 
 much anxiety. 
 
 Olivia looked down at her face with a resolute expression, 
 which made her step-mother's hands tingle to box her ears. 
 
 " I am going to find Mr. Vernon Brander, to tell him of the 
 slanders that are being spread about him and who spreads 
 them, and 1 am going to apologize most humbly for the treat- 
 ment he has received in this house this morning." 
 
 If Olivia had trusted herself for another minute in Mrs. 
 Denison's clutches, the last ray of that good lady's self-restraint 
 would have been torn away, and she would have recalled her 
 old methods of school-room rule by bringing her plump hand 
 in sharp contact with the girl's cheeks. But Olivia was too 
 quick for her. With an agile twist of her imprisoned arm she 
 freed herself, and shaking her head at her father, who was 
 crossing the room to follow her, she left the room even more 
 rapidly than Vernon Brander had done. 
 
 Olivia flew along the road toward St. Cuthbert's as if pur- 
 sued. The thought that the man who had done so much both 
 to help and protect her should have been exposed to the vulgar 
 insults of the tyrant of her father's household threw her into a 
 frenzy of anger and humiliation for which she found no balm. 
 With her indignation against Mrs. Meredith Brander, on the 
 other hand, there mingled an unacknowledged consolation. 
 She did not like that lady; she was also unconsciously jealous 
 of her strong hold upon her brother-in-law. Therefore the 
 discovery of Mrs. Brander's perfidy, which could not fail to 
 weaken that hold, had an element which was not unwelcome. 
 But to do the girl justice, this selfish feeling was in very small 
 proportion to the passionate wish to make some amends to him 
 for the indignity he had just suffered. 
 
 It has been a dull morning and now the rain was beginning 
 to fall and to envelope the hills far away on the left with a 
 haze which by its density threatened something worse than a 
 light shower. In her impulsive eagerness to start on her
 
 122 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 errand of consolation, she had not thought of the mundane pre- 
 caution of taking an umbrella, and although she was now not 
 too much absorbed to regret the omission, she was far too im- 
 patient to go back. As the rain fell faster she began to run, 
 and when she came in sight of the ruinous church, standing 
 still far away in the valley below her, partly hidden by the 
 gaunt and cheerless vicarage, she had to pause for breath, 
 although by that time her clothes were wet through. Through 
 the veil of rain she caught sight of a man who was making his 
 way toward St. Cuthbert's by a shorter path, over the meadows 
 and through the straggling trees which at this point skirted 
 the hill on the south side of the valley. It must be Vernon 
 Brander, she felt sure, returning passionately augry or deeply 
 humiliated, from his unlucky visit to the farm. 
 
 Olivia wanted to overtake him before he could reach hia 
 house; so with her usual impetuous rashness, she broke through 
 the hedge on her left, ran, tumbled, and slipped down the 
 hill, which was slippery with wet grass, scrambled through the 
 damp, dead underwood which grew between the trees at the 
 bottom, and, running for the rest of the way, got into the lane 
 leading to the church, and, turning the last sharp corner in a 
 brilliant spurt, ran into the man she was pursuing as he leaned 
 against the churchward gate. 
 
 And it was not Vernoii Brander after all! 
 
 The man had turned, hearing the rapid footsteps behind 
 him, and the change in the girl's face, as she learned her mis- 
 take, was far too pronounced for him not to see easily that she 
 was disappointed. 
 
 " I'm the wrong man, missee, I'm afraid," said he, good- 
 humoredly, and in a manner perfectly free from offense. 
 
 Olivia knew that this was the new tenant of Rishton Church 
 Cottage; she had seen him on the previous Sunday, not indeed 
 inside the church, of which he had confessed to the vicar, a 
 frank abhorrence, but leaning over the low wall of his garden 
 to watch the worshipers, as they left the building, with half- 
 shut, critical eyes. 
 
 " No," said she, apologetically; " I thought it was the 
 vicar." 
 
 A curious look, partly of interest and partly, as it seemed to 
 her, of pity came over his face. 
 
 "The vicar of this rat run?" he asked, with a nod of his 
 head in the direction of the church. 
 
 " The Vicar of Saint Cuthbert's," answered the girl with 
 some dignity. 
 
 Her ideas on the subject of conversation with strangers were
 
 ST. CUTHBERT/S TOWER. 123 
 
 strictly conventional, but besides the universal interest and 
 curiosity which the mystery surrounding the new-comer excit- 
 ed, she felt a sudden conviction that the attraction which 
 brought him to this remote neighborhood was not unconnected 
 with Vernon Brander. 
 
 The stranger gave a sort of grunt, and nodded significantly. 
 
 " I thought so," said he. 
 
 Olivia turned away, with a deep flush in her cheeks, much 
 vexed with herself for having given the man an opening for a 
 remark which seemed highly impertinent. She was making 
 boldly for the vicarage when she heard the stranger's voice 
 again. He had followed and was walking beside her. 
 
 " Look here, Miss Denison," he began, in a serious and re- 
 spectful tone, " although I am a stranger to you, you are not 
 one to me, for I've studied you since I've been in this neighbor- 
 hood, as I've studied all the rest of my neighbors. And if 1 
 thought of them all as I do of you, it would be better for some 
 of them." 
 
 Olivia turned suddenly toward him, and stopped, impress- 
 ed by his tone, and filled with dread of what was coming. 
 
 " Don't be frightened," he continued, in a voice which, for 
 the rough man, was almost gentle. " You're a fine, high- 
 spirited, generous girl, and I want to be able to say to you 
 that I will never harm you nor yours." 
 
 " You want to be able to say it!" she exclaimed in bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 " Yes. As long as you remain Miss Denison I can say it; 
 but if you were to shut your ears to everybody's warnings and 
 marry the Vicar of St. Molder-in-the-Hole here, I couldn't. " 
 
 " Why, who are you?" cried the girl, in a tremulous voice. 
 
 " Ned Mitchell, brother to Nellie Mitchell, who was done 
 away with here ten years ago. And I'm here to make the 
 man who murdered her swing for it!" 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 OLIVIA DENISON was by no means a nervous or weak-mind- 
 ed girl. On learning that the man who stood before her was 
 the brother of Nellie Mitchell, she did not scream or stagger 
 back, or give any outward sign of the shock she felt, except to 
 bite her lips, which had begun to tremble and twitch, as she 
 bowed her head in acknowledgment of the information. But, 
 none the less, she was instantly possessed by a much greater 
 terror than if this unexpected avenger had been a fierce-look- 
 ing personage with flashing eyes and a melodramatic roll in
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 his voice. She felt that there would be no softening this hard- 
 headed colonist, who took the punishment of his sister's be- 
 trayer as " all in the day's work/' and announced his intention 
 of getting him hanged with the same dispassionate decision 
 with which he would have resolved on the sale of a flock of 
 sheep. And at the same time she felt for the first time fully 
 conscious that even the absolute knowledge of Vernon Bran- 
 der's guilt would not suffice to stifle her interest in him. 
 
 Quietly as she took his sensational announcement, Ned 
 Mitchell was shrewd enough to know that the young lady was 
 greatly shocked by it, and her bearing filled him with genuine 
 admiration. But his first attempt to soften the blow was 
 scarcely well worded. 
 
 " Come, Miss Denison, there are as good fish in the sea as 
 ever came out of it, and a young lady of your spirit is too good 
 to waste half a sigh on any man, let alone a parson. There's 
 nobody fit to mate with you in this played-out old country; 
 what you want is a lad who can sit a buck- jumper, or ride five 
 hundred miles without a wink of sleep except what he gets in 
 the saddle. That's your sort." 
 
 "Is it?" said Olivia, tranquilly. " Perhaps so. But I 
 assure you, Mr. Mitchell, I can exist a few more years without 
 a mate at all, and that it is no frantic desire to get married 
 which makes me anxious to see one of my friends cleared of a 
 charge of which I believe him to be innocent. " 
 
 " Well said. That's what a friend should believe. But if 
 your friend has quite a free conscience about St. Cuthbert's 
 church-yard and anything that may ever have taken place in 
 it, can you suggest a reason for the gate's being always 
 locked?" 
 
 " I suppose it is to prevent the sheep getting in," said 
 Olivia, regretting the feeble suggestion the next moment. 
 
 " Certainly the sheep can't pick a lock, but, then, neither 
 could they lift an ordinary latch. " 
 
 " Do you suppose that no church-yard is ever kept locked 
 unless a murder has ever been committed in it?" 
 
 ' ' No. But I think it strange that since I have been here, 
 prowling about, let us say, not only has the gate been mended 
 where it had grown weak in one of the hinges, but two breaches 
 in the wall, by which one could have got into the church-yard 
 without the help of the gate, have been repaired." 
 
 Olivia glanced toward the place where she had got in over 
 the broken wall on a former occasion. The gap had been 
 stopped up, and some of the earth underneath on the outside 
 had beec carted away to make a forced entrance more difficult.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 135 
 
 " Well," said she, her cheeks flushing, " and is there any- 
 thing singular in the fact of a vicar's having his church-yard 
 wall repaired?" 
 
 " When the church-yard is so orderly and so beautifully 
 kept as this one?" added Mr. Mitchell, with a derisive laugh. 
 " Yes, I think there is something singular in it. And what 
 makes it to my mind more singular still is that when I con- 
 gratulated the Eeverend Vernon Brander on these repairs he 
 denied all knowledge of them. " 
 
 " Then he certainly knew nothing about them, "said Olivia, 
 promptly. 
 
 Mr. Mitchell, for the first time, gave her a glance such as he 
 was accustomed to bestow on the ordinary run of women a 
 glance full of resigned and lenient contempt. 
 
 " Well, you are thorough-going, at least," he said at last, 
 patronizingly. " But it is a curiously lucky thing for the vicar, 
 whose house is the only place that commands a view of the 
 church-yard, mind you, that I can be seen wandering about the 
 place one day, and find I can't get in the next." 
 
 " Very likely his housekeeper saw you, as you say, prowling 
 about, and, considering your manner suspicious, had the re- 
 pairs made without thinking it worth while to consult her 
 master." 
 
 " Not likely," said Mr. Mitchell, with a shake of the head. 
 " However, 111 not keep you here in the rain trying to per- 
 suade an old hand like me that black's white. Do you know 
 that your clothes are wet through?" 
 
 This was quite true. Recalled to consciousness of physical 
 discomfort, Olivia shivered. 
 
 " Yes, I must make haste home," she said. Then, with a 
 hopeless glance at his face as if she despaired of her words hav- 
 ing any effect, she added, " You are too suspicious. You are 
 so shrewd that you think you can't make a mistake. But for 
 all your cleverness, my belief in the friend I know and trust is 
 just as likely to be right as your belief to the contrary." 
 
 " Well, well, I hope it may be. Don't think I have any ill- 
 feeling toward this Vernon Brander as a man; it is the be- 
 trayer of my sister that I'm after, and if Vernon Brander isn't 
 the guilty party, why, he'll have nothing to fear from me. 
 Good-afternoon, Miss Denison. " 
 
 Mr. Mitchell raised his hat, with a shrewd and not unkindly 
 smile into the girl's beautiful, agitated face, turned on his 
 heel, and began to make his way, with his usual stolid and 
 leisurely manner, up the hill toward the high-road. 
 
 Left to herself, Olivia, who was by this time too thoroughly
 
 126 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 drenched to trouble herself about a few minutes more or lew 
 in the rain, debated what she should do. The heat of the im- 
 pulse which made her dash out-of-doors on learning the insult 
 to Vernon had now departed, and some of Mr. Mitchell's 
 words had hurt her maidenly modesty to the extent of making 
 her shy of visiting the clergyman at his house. On the other 
 hand, she had now, in the menaces of the colonist, another 
 reason for putting him on his guard. When Mr. Mitchell had 
 disappeared from her sight at the first bend in the lane, she 
 began to follow in the same direction slowly, her mind not yet 
 made up. An unexpected incident decided her. 
 
 Glancing furtively at the cheerless windows of the gaunt 
 stone house, Olivia saw, at one of them, the figure of an old 
 woman in a black dress and widow's cap, who watched the girl 
 with evident interest, and at last opened the front door and 
 began making signs to her. Olivia stopped. The signs were 
 plainly an invitation to come in. She advanced as far as the 
 gate, and then the old woman addressed her. 
 
 " Won't you step inside a minute out of the rain? Come 
 in, come in; there's nobody about but me." 
 
 This decided Olivia, who recognized the speaker as Vernon's 
 housekeeper, whom she had seen at Rishton Church on Sun- 
 days. So she walked up the stone-paved path, and thanking 
 the old woman for the proffered shelter, followed her into a 
 hall, the desolate and bare appearance of which corresponded 
 perfectly with that of the exterior of the house. 
 
 '* I think you'd better come into my room, miss, though it's 
 really only the back kitchen," said the housekeeper. " But 
 Mr. Brander, being out to-day, lunching up at the Hall Farm, 
 as you know, miss, there's no fire in his room." 
 
 Olivia assenting gratefully, the old woman led her past the 
 open door of a comfortless and dingy room on the left, which 
 might have been either dining-room or study, past a second 
 door on the same side, which was closed, to a small apartment 
 at the back, where a bright fire, a cat on the hearth-rug, a 
 bird in its cage, and a cushioned rocking-chair, gave a look of 
 comfort which was a welcome relief to the cheerless aspect of 
 the rest of the house. An open door led into the kitchen, 
 and gave a pleasant glimpse of fire-light shining on well-pol- 
 ished pots and pans. 
 
 The housekeeper broke into ejaculations of alarm as she 
 touched the girl's wet garments. 
 
 "Bless me! you're soaked to the skin!" she cried, begin- 
 ning instantly to divest Olivia of her outer garments with a 
 vigorous hand. " Come upstairs with me. Yes, you must;
 
 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWER. 127 
 
 it would be manslaughter on my part to let you stay five min- 
 utes in those clothes. I believe you've caught a fever already/' 
 
 Fatigue, excitement, cold, and wet had done their work on 
 Olivia, who began to look and to feel ill. She resisted for a 
 few moments the housekeeper's well-meant endeavors to drag 
 her to the door, but yielded at last, and suffered herself to be 
 taken upstairs, and arrayed from head to foot in garments be- 
 longing to her hostess which, if neither well-fitting nor fash- 
 ionable, were at least dry. Mrs. Warmington, for that, she 
 informed Olivia, was her name, assured the girl that she would 
 have plenty of time to have her outer garments dried, and to 
 get away home before Mr. Brander returned, as it was his day 
 for visiting an outlying part of his straggling parish. 
 
 "And," she said, "he will no doubt go straight on from 
 the Hall Farm after luncheon, and won't be back here until 
 tea-time. " 
 
 ' ' Without having had anything to eat," thought poor Olivia. 
 She let herself be led down-stairs again, noting, as she did so, 
 that no visible corner of the house, except such parts of it as 
 came within the housekeeper's special province, was one whit 
 more comfortable or home-like than the bare hall. A pang 
 of acute pity for the lonely man pierced her heart as she de- 
 cided that, whatever sin he might earlier in life have been 
 guilty of, no expiation could be more complete than his dreary 
 life in this desolate house, with only an old woman for com- 
 panion. And Mrs. WarmiEgton did not strike her as the most 
 devoted servant or the most sympathetic personality in the 
 world. She had " seen better days," evidently; but although 
 she did not flaunt the fact unduly, it perhaps gave her a little 
 additional aggressiveness of manner, so that, in spite of her 
 kindness, Olivia felt that one must be hard up for companion- 
 ship to seek Mrs. Warmington's society. The girl was indeed 
 struck by the difference between the warm kindliness the old 
 woman showed to herself and the rather off-hand manner in 
 which she alluded to her employer. She began to puzzle her 
 head as to the reason of this, and grew very anxious to find 
 out in what esteem the clergyman was held by his solitary de- 
 pendent. After a little conversation by the fireside, during 
 which the warmth came gradually back to her shivering limbs, 
 she put out a feeler in this direction. 
 
 " It's a very lonely life that you and Mr. Brander lead up 
 here," she said, looking into the fire, and hoping that she did 
 not betray in which of the two lives she took the greater in- 
 terest. 
 
 " You may well say lonely. It's a godsend to see a human
 
 128 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 creature about. I could have blessed the rain to-day for bring- 
 ing you here. " 
 
 11 1 suppose it's even worse for you than for Mr. Brander, 
 because he has his parish duties?" 
 
 " Well, I'm of a more contented turn of mind than he," 
 said Mrs. Warmington, with the same coolness that she had 
 previously shown on the subject of her master. " But, then, 
 to be sure, perhaps I've a better conscience." 
 
 There was silence for some minutes. Mrs. Warmington 
 gave the impression of being ready to be questioned, but Olivia 
 was shy of taking advantage of the fact. The housekeeper 
 glanced at her from time to time, as if hoping for some com- 
 ment on her words. At last, as none came, she looked her 
 visitor full in the face, and said: 
 
 " I see you know the story. Every one does, more or less; 
 though there are not many who know the rights of it as well 
 as I do." 
 
 Olivia's heart seemed to stand still. 
 
 " But you don't think him guilty?" burst from her lips, in 
 a tone which expressed more anxiety than she guessed. You 
 know him, perhaps, better than anybody; you know that he 
 isn't capable of anything so cruel, so base. " 
 
 Mrs. Warmington pursed up her withered lips in a judicial 
 manner, poked the fire, and put on a fresh supply of coal, all 
 with an air of being the chosen keeper of some great mystery. 
 Olivia watched her, but without asking any more questions; 
 she felt heartsick, miserable. Other people might guess; this 
 old woman probably knew. At last the housekeeper solemnly 
 broke silence. 
 
 " It's hardly a tale for a young lady's ears; perhaps it 
 almost seems like a breach of confidence on my part to touch 
 upon my employer's secrets at all. But he has never made a 
 confidante of me, and if there's any one in the world who 
 might use the knowledge I possess to Mr. Brander's disadvan- 
 tage, I know it is not you. " 
 
 The young girl felt a shame-faced flush rising in her cheeks. 
 This woman spoke in a significant tone, implying that the 
 depth of the interest Olivia took in her master was not un- 
 known to her. The girl turned her head a little away, and 
 stared at the fire with statuesque stillness while her companion 
 continued: 
 
 " To begin with, I may tell you that the Branders are dis- 
 tant relations of mine. It does not make me love them the 
 more, but it will prove to you that I have no interest in mak- 
 ing them out to be worse than they are. "
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 129 
 
 Olivia assented with a slight bend of the head. 
 
 " I don't deny that I have noticed the interest you take in 
 my master, and as you are an inexperienced young girl, with 
 some warm-hearted, and perhaps rather quixotic, notions, I 
 think it right to put you in possession of the facts of this busi- 
 ness, as I know them. " 
 
 Olivia glanced at the woman and saw that, in spite of the 
 dry hardness of her manner, there was a kindly look in her 
 eyes. Indeed, Mrs. Warmington, whose heart was a little 
 parched toward the world in general, had taken a fancy to the 
 bright-cheeked, handsome girl. 
 
 " I suppose you know," she went on, "that the Branders 
 pride themselves upon being what is called a * good ' family. 
 You will also know that in all ' good ' families there is gener- 
 ally more than one ' bad lot. ' Although I am a connection 
 of theirs, I must confess that there has been quite an excep- 
 tional number among the Branders. And, awkwardly enough, 
 it happens that the family interest lies chiefly in the Church. 
 The Branders have been clergymen for generations, generally 
 with little credit to themselves. Here and there has been an 
 exception, but never more than one in a generation; the ex- 
 ception in our time is Meredith. His two brothers, Vernon 
 and one who is now in China, showed from the very first how 
 unfit they were for their calling. 1 don't blame them much; 
 I don't praise Meredith much; their temperaments are differ- 
 ent, and it can scarcely be called their fault that only one of 
 the three is a round peg in a round hole. Well, you know 
 that both my master and his brother, Meredith, fixed their 
 choice on the same lady, and that Meredith married her. 
 After that, Vernon, who was no particular credit to his cloth 
 before, grew wilder than ever. It was not long before his 
 constant visits to the Hall Farm became the talk of the vil- 
 lage; for Nellie Mitchell hadn't the best name in the world. 
 Before long it was rumored about that the girl had been seen, 
 late in the evening, in the neighborhood of St. Cuthbert's." 
 
 " Did you live here then?" abruptly asked Olivia, who had 
 been sitting in an attitude of straining attention, with close- 
 shut lips and heaving breast. 
 
 " I had been here six weeks when when the end came. 
 Tongues had been going faster than ever for the last week or 
 two, and, of course, some of the talk had reached my ears. I 
 knew, from little things I had seen a portrait, a glove, slight 
 changes in his manner when speaking of her that my master 
 had not yet got over his fancy for Mrs. Brander, married 
 though she was. Then I heard whispers of Nellie Mitchell's 
 
 5
 
 130 ST. CUTHBEBT'S TOWER. 
 
 jealousy; how she flaunted past the vicar's wife in the church- 
 yard on Sunday with a swing in her walk and a toss of her 
 head which were almost insults; of letters which were left in a 
 wood close by, some of which fell into strange hands. I was 
 shocked by these reports, but I looked upon them as partly 
 gossip, and considered that, in any case, they were no business 
 of mine. One evening in August 1 was standing at the win- 
 dow of the front room watching the sunset, when 1 saw Nellie 
 Mitchell coming down the lane past the house. Something in 
 the girl's appearance and manner struck me as it had never 
 done before. It was not the first time that 1 had seen her 
 come this way; but on all previous occasions it had been after 
 dark that I had seen a figure which 1 believed to be hers slink- 
 ing past hurriedly, as if anxious to escape notice. Now the 
 girl walked boldly one would have said defiantly with a 
 lushed face and an expression of reckless resolution. She 
 carried in her hand a small white packet, and, as she came 
 opposite the house, she stopped, and, turning so as to face the 
 gate, deliberately untied the string or ribbon which held her 
 little parcel together, and counted the letters of which it con- 
 sisted. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. I could see her 
 red lips move as she counted them out to herself, and then 
 slowly tied them up again with one angry and determined look 
 up at the windows of this house from her bold black eyes. 
 She did not see me; but it was evident that if a hundred peo- 
 ple had been staring at her out of these empty, shutterless 
 windows, it would have been all the same to her. I was 
 shocked, horror-stricken. For the first time the full meaning 
 of all the ugly rumors I had heard became plain to me; my 
 master had been this woman's lover. " 
 
 Olivia shivered at the woman's words, which seemed doubly 
 shocking from the matter-of-fact, somewhat hard tone in 
 which they were spoken. 
 
 " As the evening went on, I grew more and more restless 
 and uneasy. Certain noises I had heard from time to time in 
 the night, which I had put down to the rats, came back to my 
 mind. It now seemed to me that they might have been due 
 to another cause. They had come from one of the front un- 
 used rooms. If thoughts of evil now came into my mind, 
 how could I be blamed? My master was away, doing his 
 rounds in the parish; he had told me he should not be back 
 till late. All the rest of the evening 1 watched from the win- 
 dow, but I did not see the girl return. The thought came 
 into my mind to go out and try and find out where she had 
 gone; whether she was really, as the villagers' hints suggested,
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 131 
 
 waiting for some one in the church-yard. But I was afraid; I 
 had no mind to interfere in other people's affairs; it has always 
 been my custom not to do so. For a young girl like you I am 
 ready to break my rule, but not for such as Nellie Mitchell. " 
 And Mrs. Warmington's lips closed pharisaically. 
 
 " Nine o'clock came, ten o'clock, half past ten; it was quite 
 dark. Then, as 1 was walking up and down, with an attack 
 of what I call the ' fidgets/ there came through the open win- 
 dows a scream so shrill, so horrible, that I staggered into the 
 nearest chair as if a blow from a strong man's arm had sent 
 me there. * Nellie Mitchell! Nellie Mitchell!' I felt myself 
 saying, hoarsely. Then I think I fainted, for what I remem- 
 ber next was to find myself hanging over the chair with my 
 head on Mr. Vernon's writing-table. I got up, at first scarce- 
 ly knowing what it was that had startled me. I was in utter 
 darkness; in my first spasm of horror I had thrown down the 
 lamp. As I groped about to find a match, my fingers trem- 
 bling so much that they were clumsy and almost powerless, I 
 heard a footstep outside the door. It was my master, Vernon 
 Brander! 
 
 " I stopped in my search, and drew back instinctively, as I 
 heard him fumbling at the handle of the room door. It 
 seemed such a long time before he came hi that the whole of 
 this ugly story the villagers' gossip, the sight I had seen, and 
 the sound I had heard that evening all seemed to pass quite 
 slowly through my mind as I stood there waiting for him to 
 come in. At last the door opened slowly, and my master 
 stood in the room with me. I heard his breath coming in 
 guttural gasps; I heard the table creak and the objects on it 
 rattle as he came forward and leaned upon it. 1 almost 
 shrieked, middle-aged, matter-of-fact woman that I was, when 
 he suddenly whispered, in a hoarse voice: 
 
 " ' Who's that?' 
 
 "I summoned self-command enough to answer, pretty 
 steadily: 
 
 "'It's I, sir.' 
 
 " He got up from the table, and turned toward the door; 
 but an impulse seized me to learn what I could then. I re- 
 membered with a sort of inspiration, where the matches were, 
 found them, and struck a light. I was just in time to see my 
 master's hands as he opened the door; they were stained with 
 blood! 
 
 "'What have you done? You have killed her!' I hissed 
 out close to him.
 
 132 ST. CUTHBERT S TOWER. 
 
 " ' Before Heaven I have not!' he answered, huskily; but 
 his teeth were chattering, and his eyes were glassy and fixed. 
 
 " Then, covering his face with his hands with a groan, he 
 turned and staggered out of the room. As he did so he dropped 
 something, which I picked up and examined without scruple. 
 I admit that this was high-handed, but when you are almost a 
 witness to a foul action, you make new laws for yourself on 
 the spur of the moment. By this time I had quite recovered 
 myself. 1 lighted a candle, and read every word of the letters 
 which Nellie Mitchell had flourished before my face that even- 
 ing. There were no names used. The gentleman had insisted 
 upon caution, as the girl over and over again complained. 
 For these letters were hers, and as each successive one was full 
 of more and more bitter reproaches against her lover, I guessed 
 that it was the return of her letters which had at last goaded 
 the girl to desperation. Her jealousy of Mrs. Brander was ex- 
 pressed on every page, and the last contained a threat of ex- 
 posure. It was evident that, whatever the girl's character 
 might have been, she was bitterly in earnest over this passion. 
 In spite of myself, the burning words, guilty though they were, 
 filled me with a kind of pity, increased by the awful suspicion 
 which now possessed me. I felt the hot tears fall upon the 
 papers in my hands, and I was so absorbed in my reading that 
 1 did not hear my master come into the room again ; for the 
 door had been left open. When at last I heard his tread close 
 behind me I started, but did not attempt to hide how I was 
 engaged. He did not seem startled to see the letters in my 
 hand, but, taking them from me, he read them right through, 
 one by one, and then placed them in his desk. His face was 
 as white as that of a dead man, and the hands he had just 
 washed were livid round the nails. He looked the wreck of 
 the man who had gone out to his work that afternoon in the 
 August sunshine. When he had shut his desk, he turned very 
 calmly to me and said: 
 
 " ' You will leave me to-morrow, of course; but you had 
 better not go very far, as there will be an inquiry an inquest; 
 all sorts of things and your evidence will be important 
 against me. ' 
 
 ' Those last two words decided me. My life was my own. 
 This man was my own kin. I answered, as calmly as he had 
 spoken to me: 
 
 ' You are my master, sir, and of my own blood. I shall 
 stay with you as long as you please to keep me. If your con- 
 science is bad, I shall be an everlasting prick to it; if it is
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEB. 133 
 
 clear, as I pray Heaven, you will have at least one friend when 
 you most want one. ' } 
 
 Olivia started up all on fire. 
 
 " That was good of you! that was noble of you!" she cried, 
 in a trembling voice. 
 
 " Not at all. It is just the sort of thing a woman likes to 
 do. A little cheap quixotism that is all; and I secured my- 
 self a home for life, you see. I was no young girl that I should 
 be afraid of him." 
 
 It was impossible to tell whether it was the cynicism or the 
 kindliness which predominated in Mrs. Warmington's motives, 
 or whether they were there in equal proportions. As Olivia 
 stared wonderingly into the withered and somewhat inexpress- 
 ive face, the housekeeper rose somewhat abruptly from her 
 seat. 
 
 " That is Mr. Brander's step!" she exclaimed, as she turned 
 to the door. " If you stay here, you will be able to slip out 
 presently without his seeing you. " 
 
 With these words, leaving Olivia no time to protest, or even 
 answer her, the housekeeper left the room, closing the door 
 behind her. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 OLIVIA'S first thought, as the door closed on Mrs. Warm- 
 ington, was to follow her out and make a dash for freedom. 
 But as she started up with this impulse, a sliding movement 
 on the part of the garments she wore reminded her that she 
 was not in walking trim; and a glance at the gilt-framed but 
 mildewy glass which adorned the housekeeper's mantel-piece 
 showed her such a comical figure that the instincts of maiden- 
 ly coquetry would never have allowed her to risk a meeting 
 with vernon Brander in that odd disguise. 
 
 Mrs. Warmington's figure was of the straight-up-and-down 
 sort long in the body and short in the limbs. Being a lady 
 of frugal bent and careful habits, she wore her dresses for so 
 long a time that they acquired enough of the shape and char- 
 acter of the owner to impart the same characteristics to any 
 subsequent wearer. Therefore, Olivia's glance in the mirror 
 showed her a woman in dark-brown stuff of slipshod fit, with 
 a substantial square waist, and baggy sleeves too short in the 
 wrist. After one despairing look out of the window at the 
 rain, which went on falling in torrents, she sat down again 
 disconsolately to listen and wait for her hostess's return. 
 
 Mrs. Warmington had not met her master on her way up-
 
 134 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 stairs, for Olivia had heard him go into the front room before 
 the housekeeper left her; that she might be equally lucky on 
 her way down was the girl's inward prayer. For there were 
 ominous sounds in the house suggesting that Mr. Brander was 
 not minded to sit down quietly to the writing of a sermon or 
 the reading of a good book, as one had a clear right to expect 
 of a clergyman. Poor Olivia, sitting upright as a ramrod, 
 with a scared expression of face, heard him come out of the 
 dining-room into the hall. By the noise he made at the hat 
 and coat stand, she guessed that he was changing his wet coat 
 for a dry one. That business over, he ought plainly to have 
 returned to his room; so it seemed to Olivia. But instead of 
 that, he remained f umbling at the stand until the listening 
 girl remembered, with a spasm of terror, that she had left 
 there to dry, by the housekeeper's directions, her little hand- 
 bag. Perhaps Mr. Brander would pass it over, taking it for 
 granted that the flimsy little feminine thing belonged to Mrs. 
 Warmmgton. No woman would have thought so; but, of 
 course, men are not observant. Her worst fear was that he 
 would remain there, not making enough noise to put the 
 housekeeper on her guard, until that lady should come sailing 
 down the stairs laden with a hat and cloak which evidently did 
 not belong to her. The girl scarcely dared to draw breath in 
 her intense anxiety. To be caught sneaking into a gentle- 
 man's house in his absence, warming yourself at his fire, and 
 even as she discovered to her dismay on examining her feet 
 making free with his slippers, is an awkward situation at any 
 time. But when you have just been told the secret of his life, 
 and when your whole soul is warring about him, mercy strug- 
 gling with horror, and conviction with doubt, the dilemma be- 
 comes well-nigh tragic. 
 
 Presently Olivia heard him drop some object, and the little 
 crash it made caused her to shiver and almost to cry out. 
 Then he began to cross the uncarpeted hall with very slow 
 steps. Olivia attained her ears and held her breath. He was 
 coming toward the room she was in. Had he guessed the 
 presence of an intruder, or was he only coming with the 
 prosaic intention of ordering something to eat? The girl re- 
 membered with remorse how he had been cheated out of his 
 luncheon- But what should she do? Already she heard him 
 calling, in a low and, as she fancied, tired voice, " Mrs. 
 Warmmgton!" There was no time to escape by way of the 
 kitchen no corner of the room where she could hide herself. 
 As she stood up to give one last hopeless look round, she again 
 caught sight of her disguised figure in the glass. Seized by a
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 135 
 
 happy thought, she snatched up from the top of one of the 
 side cupboards, that filled the space between the fire-place and 
 the walls, a small woolen shawl of rusty black, which Mrs. 
 Warmington used to wrap round her head when she indulged 
 in an afternoon doze. Olivia now blessed her fervently for 
 this information. She had just time to wrap it round her 
 head, to throw herself back in the rocking-chair with her head 
 turned away from the door, to cross her legs as Mrs. Warm- 
 ington did, to fold her arms, and hide her hands in the folds 
 of the baggy sleeves, when the door opened softly, and Mr. 
 Brander put his head inside. 
 
 " Mrs. Warmington!" he called, very gently. 
 
 No answer, of course. 
 
 " Are you asleep?" more gently still. 
 
 His housekeeper's afternoon doze was a very common occur- 
 rence apparently, for he uttered a little petulant sound, and 
 disappeared into the kitchen. In the dusk of a wet afternoon 
 the girl's ruse had succeeded perfectly. But the obscurity 
 which had favored her was not equally kind to him, for Olivia 
 heard much chinking of china and clattering of plate before 
 he re-entered the room. Instead of going through to his own 
 domain, however, he stood still between the fire-place and the 
 door, and Olivia, not^ daring to look, guessed that he was eat- 
 ing. Trembling as ' she was with the fear of discovery, it 
 seemed to her a long time before she heard him take up the 
 poker and proceed very noiselessly to break the red-hot coals. 
 She seized the opportunity to turn her head a little, and to 
 steal a frightened glance at him through her eyelashes. He 
 had on the shabbiest of threadbare and ragged house-coats, and 
 was hungrily eating bread and cheese and a piece of dry and 
 crumbling cake. When he had built up the fire to please him, 
 he dragged an old church hassock from under the table, and 
 seating himself on it, drew as near to the grate as possible, and 
 went on with his improvised meal. 
 
 He was so close to Olivia that she could detect the coally 
 smell which constant contact with his mining parishioners had 
 imparted to his old clothes; so close that she felt that he was 
 cold as well as hungry; so close that his hair brushed Mrs. 
 Warmington's brown stuff gown as he bent forward, with his 
 elbows on his knees, and looked into the fire. 
 
 And as they sat thus, in the darkening twilight, side by 
 side, he unconscious of her presence, she grew less afraid that 
 he should discover it, altogether less anxious for the safety of 
 her disguise. Her thoughts turned instead to consideration of 
 his loneliness. What a cheerless existence was implied in this
 
 136 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 creeping up to the side of a rather cold and cross-grained old 
 woman for warmth and companionship! The close contact 
 seemed to help Olivia to feel her way into the mind of the soli- 
 tary man. She pictured him innocent, laboring under a charge 
 which for some unaccountable reason he was unable to refute; 
 she pictured him guilty, torn with remorse, and working out 
 a weary expiation. In the latter case, she began to feel, even 
 more strongly than before her interview with Mrs. Warming- 
 ton, that the horror of the deed was swallowed up in compas- 
 sion for the doer. When he had finished his very frugal din- 
 ner, he sat so still that she was able to open her eyes and so 
 gain all the information concerning the state of his mind which 
 a careful study of the back of his head could impart. He was 
 dejected, weary, unhappy; probably smarting still, so she told 
 herself, from the pain her step-mother's treatment had caused 
 him. Presently he rested his head on his left hand, and so 
 came nearer still to her. She could fel that she was trem- 
 bling from the force of an aching pity, and that her hands 
 seemed to tingle with the wish to lie with consoling touch on 
 his bent head. She had forgotten Mrs. Warmington and the 
 dry clothes forgotten to wonder how she was going to get out 
 of the house and home again without discovering herself to 
 Mr. Brander. She soon discovered, however, that her feelings 
 were more acute than those of the object of her pity; for his 
 head tilted slowly further and further in her direction until at 
 last it rested on her knee. Mr. Brander, who, after a fierce 
 battle with certain very unclerical feelings, had tried to subdue 
 the mind to the flesh by a long stretch over the hills, had suc- 
 ceeded in tiring himself out 
 
 He was fast asleep. 
 
 And if he had but known it, he might have had sweeter 
 dreams than he was used to. For the resting-place he had 
 found was the creature who cared most about him of any in 
 the world. 
 
 Olivia had an inkling of this, and it made the touch of her 
 hand almost motherly as she bent down and held it very, very 
 gently just near enough to feel his hair against her fingers. 
 Only thirty-four or thereabout, and his hair so gray! She 
 could dare now, as he slept, to bend right down, and to see by 
 the fire light how thickly the white threads grew among the 
 dark behind his ears and near the temples. So curly his hair 
 was, she noticed; quite soft, too, and silky, like a child's; quite 
 out of keeping with the worn, lined face, that looked so sad 
 and so old as the dancing flames threw deep shadows upon it. 
 And her fingers moved involuntarily through the wavy mass,
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 13? 
 
 as she thought, as women will, that there had been a time, 
 long ago, when he lay, a helpless child, depending on the 
 kindness of a woman. And she tried to fancy what that poor 
 mother would have felt if she had known what evil rumors 
 would some day darken the name of her curly-haired boy. 
 Olivia was by nature more impulsive and passionate than sen- 
 timental; therefore these unaccustomed feelings and fancies 
 instead of finding vent hi a gentle sigh, made her breast heave 
 and her eyes fill, until a broken whisper slipped through her 
 trembling lips: 
 
 " Poor mother poor son!" 
 
 She was ashamed of her foolishness the next moment, and 
 raised her head quickly with a start and a hot, tingling blush, 
 anxious to jump up and run away, though still not daring to 
 move. She took out her pocket-handkerchief very carefully, 
 dabbed it against her wet eyes with much fierceness, and then 
 gave another glance, not at all sentimental this time, at the 
 face against her knee. Horror and confusion! Was he asleep 
 at all? The expression of his face had quite changed, and 
 there was a wretched tear her tear! on his forehead. What 
 should she do? Remove that tear, certainly. For she felt that 
 it would leave a huge stain, unmistakable as ink. Very nerv- 
 ously she attempted to dry it with her handkerchief; but the 
 moment the cambric touched his face, Mr. Brander raised his 
 head and prevented her. 
 
 " Don't!" he said, huskily. " Why should you? What is 
 there to be ashamed of in your kindness to me? Do I get too 
 much from anybody?" 
 
 Olivia did not answer. She felt as if a new acquaintance 
 had suddenly been sprung upon her. This mood was so differ- 
 ent from any she had seen Mr. Brander hi before. The half- 
 cynical self-reliance, the bright, somewhat bitter humor had 
 disappeared, and given place to a humility so touching, so gen- 
 tle, that she felt constrained to remain where she was rather 
 than risk hurting his feelings by rising abruptly. But she 
 could not answer his questions, and so she sat silently, with 
 her head bent down and turned a little away, while he resumed 
 the position he had first taken, with his arms on his knees, 
 looking into the fire. After a few moments, during which the 
 girl had time to wonder that she felt, under these rather awk- 
 ward circumstances, so much at her ease, she broke the silence, 
 in a low, hesitating voice. 
 
 " Mr. Brander," she began, " I should like to say something 
 to you about about this morning about Mrs. Denison."
 
 138 ST. CUTHBEET'S To\\i.n. 
 
 Her painfully apologetic tone made him turn his head at 
 once, with a smile. 
 
 " You may say something to me in fact anything upon 
 any other subject than those two." he answered, in his usual 
 kindly tone. " Say something to me about this afternoon and 
 about yourself. Let this morning and Mrs. Denison be 
 buried. Mind, I say, this is no unchristian spirit/' 
 
 " You are very good/' said Olivia, glancing at him timidly 
 and gratefully. 
 
 " Do you mean that?" he asked, inquisitively. " You have 
 heard a good deal to the contrary, you know." 
 
 " Well, but is all that true?" she burst out, boldly. " Now, 
 you have brought that question upon yourself before, and now 
 you deliberately bring it upon yourself again. Why don't you 
 satisfy me by a straightforward answer? 1 do deserve it; for 
 I always take your part, to other people and to myself too." 
 
 " Do you?" he asked, so eagerly, with such a flash of pleas- 
 ure over his face that Olivia felt abashed again. Then he 
 paused, and the light had gone quite out of his face before he 
 went on: " You won't be satisfied then with the consciousness 
 that you are a poor beggar's solitary champion?" 
 
 " I won't be satisfied with that if I can get you to tell me 
 any more," she answered, simply. " I don't pretend that I'm 
 not anxious to know more; but it is not out of curiosity to learn 
 other people's affairs, but because there really must be some- 
 thing peculiarly interesting about a secret which causes your 
 own relations to speak ill of you." 
 
 Olivia had suddenly made up her mind for a bold stroke. It 
 can not be denied that there was a litMe malice in her heart; 
 but it was a small matter compared with her real anxiety to 
 put him on his guard against one whom she considered a 
 treacherous friend. 
 
 "My relations!" he echoed, with a look of such bewilder- 
 ment and incredulity that she began to think he would not be- 
 lieve her. 
 
 " Isn't a sister-in-law a kind of relation?" asked Olivia, 
 rather unsteadily, after a pause. 
 
 Mr. Brander's expression changed to one of pain and fear; 
 so that Olivia watched him in terror, not daring to go on. 
 He looked at her without answering, and then, as she remained 
 silent and fearful, he got up and walked to the other side of 
 the little room, where, as her face was turned toward the fire- 
 place, she could not see him; but she knew without the aid of 
 her eyes, that he was much agitated; and when he came back 
 and, standing by her chair, put his hand gently on her shoul-
 
 ST. eUTHBEKT'S TOWEE. 139 
 
 der and spoke to her with calmness which might have passed 
 for unconcern, she was not deceived by it. 
 
 " And what ill does my sister-in-law say of me?" he asked. 
 
 " She told my step-mother an old story, and said you were 
 not a proper acquaintance for young girls." 
 
 " Oh, she said that, did she?" returned Mr. Brander, in a 
 measured voice. Then he said, abruptly, after a silence, 
 " You are sure of this?" 
 
 " Quite sure." 
 
 Then it appeared to the girl that he stood beside her without 
 a word for a very long time, for the fire seemed to die down, 
 and the murky light outside to fade perceptibly, before he even 
 changed his attitude. At last she found courage to look up 
 timidly into his face, and saw that his eyes were staring toward 
 the window with the blind look of a seer whose vision is only 
 keen for the fancies and phantoms in his own mind. And 
 Mr. Brander's fancies must have been of the gloomiest kind, 
 for his face startled the girl into uttering a little exclamation, 
 which roused him from his abstraction, and woke him to the 
 fact that his hand had been laying all this time on the young 
 girl's shoulder. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he muttered, as he withdrew it as 
 hastily as if it had been red-hot iron. 
 
 The blood rushed to Olivia's face. The touch of Mr. Bran- 
 der's hand had not offended her; the knowledge that it had 
 been unconscious did. And a most acute pang shot through 
 her heart, as she realized that it was because his mind was full 
 of another woman's treatment that he was oblivious of her. 
 She was jealous. In such an impulsive, energetic girl as she 
 was, vivid feeling found vent in hasty action. Rising from 
 her chair, and quite forgetting that her odd costume made 
 dignity impossible, she said, very coldly, that she must go 
 home now; her father would be anxious about her, and the 
 rain was less violent. Even as she spoke the wind dashed a 
 clattering shower against the window in disproof of her words. 
 She did not notice it herself; neither, apparently, did her host. 
 For he opened the door for her at once without any semblance 
 of a wish to detain her, and without seeming to remark her 
 singular apparel. 
 
 Olivia darted out of the room and up the stairs in a tempest 
 of excited feelings which found vent in an outburst of indigna- 
 tion against Mrs. Warmington for leaving her so long alone 
 with Mr. Brander. The housekeeper met hsr at the top of 
 the stairs, looking herself pale and frightened. 
 
 " Why didn't you come down?" asked Olivia, impatiently.
 
 140 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 The old woman glanced nervously down into the hall, and 
 answered in a soothing tone of apology: 
 
 " I did not dare, Miss Denison. I did not want my em- 
 ployer to find me talking to you. He would have guessed 
 what we were talking about. We get so sharp, we people 
 who live much alone, and he would never have forgiven me. 
 Ever since I heard him go into the room where you were 1 
 have been walking up and down the landing in a fever. You 
 did not tell him what we had been talking about, did you?" 
 
 " No," answered Olivia. " He didn't ask me. " 
 
 " Thank goodness!" said the housekeeper, with such a 
 depth of relief that the girl's curiosity was roused. 
 
 " Why should you mind so much?" she asked. " He seems 
 quite used to having his affairs discussed, and takes it for 
 granted that people should think the worst of him. " 
 
 This thought moved her as she spoke, and caused her voice 
 to tremble sympathetically. The housekeeper examined her 
 face narrowly as she answered, with great discretion : 
 
 " He wouldn't have minded about any one else, Miss Deni- 
 son: but it's different with you." 
 
 " Different with me!" echoed the girl, very softly. 
 
 Without more words, Mrs. Warmington, after once more 
 listening and glancing down into the hall to assure herself that 
 they were not likely to be disturbed, crossed the landing on 
 tiptoe, and beckoned Olivia to follow her. Then throwing 
 open the door of one of the front bedrooms without noise, she 
 said: 
 
 " That is Mr. Brander's room. Do you see by his bedside a 
 set of hanging shelves on the wall?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And a box in the middle of the bottom shelf?" 
 
 As she spoke, the housekeeper was crossing the room. Tak- 
 ing down the box, she returned to the door with it, and, rais- 
 ing the lid, showed Olivia the tray of an old-fashioned work- 
 box with well-worn fittings. 
 
 " It was his mother's, I believe," she whispered. Then, as 
 the girl drew back, shocked at having been inveigled into pry- 
 ing among Mr. Brander's treasures, she went on: " Have you 
 ever seen this?" And lifting out the tray of the work-box, 
 she thrust under Olivia's reluctant but astonished eyes an 
 India-rubber galoche, which Miss Denison instantly recognized 
 as one she had lost on her way back from the vicarage on the 
 evening of her arrival at Rishton. 
 
 With a little cry of astonishment and annoyance, Olivia put 
 out a hasty hand to recover her lost property. But Mrs.
 
 ST. CCTH BERT'S TOWER. 141 
 
 Warmington prevented her, shutting the box hastily, and re- 
 storing it to its place. 
 
 " I can't take, or allow you to take, anything out of my 
 employer's boxes in his absence," she said, dryly. 
 
 " But it's mine; it's of no use to him, and I want it!" 
 
 " You will have to do without it, unless you care to go and 
 fetch it yourself. But I think, on second thoughts, you will 
 be satisfied that enough honor has been paid to your old shoe.'* 
 
 Olivia blushed, and moved her shoulders with vexation. 
 
 " It was such a huge thing!" she exclaimed, impatiently. 
 " They were always sizes and sizes too big for me." 
 
 Mrs. Warmington's thin lips relaxed into a smile. 
 
 "Oh!" she said; " perhaps you only wish to put a smaller 
 one in its place. " 
 
 Olivia felt that she had, as her brothers would have termed 
 it, " given herself away," and she was glad to let the subject 
 drop. Following her conductress into her bedroom, she put 
 on her own, now dry, clothes, in silence and much meekness, 
 thanked her in a subdued voice for her hospitality, and begged, 
 as a final grace, the loan of an umbrella. 
 
 " It won't be necessary. Mr. Brander will see you home." 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed," broke out Olivia, hastily. " I want to 
 slip out of the house quietly without his seeing me again." 
 
 " Do you really want that?" asked the old woman, with a 
 searching look which set the younger blushing. " Because, 
 if so, 1 can take you down this way by the back staircase. It 
 is never used, but " 
 
 " Then, perhaps, the stairs will creak," interrupted Olivia, 
 and without more delay she made, softly indeed but deliberate- 
 ly, for the front staircase. 
 
 " I can't thank you enough for your kindness," she whis- 
 pered, when they both stood in the hall. 
 
 Mrs. Warmington shook her head with a dryly amused 
 smile. 
 
 " I had a motive," she said. " I am too fond of my own 
 comfort to put myself out of the way without one." 
 
 " A motive!" echoed Olivia. 
 
 ' ' Yes. I wanted to know you better, and I wanted you to 
 know Mr. Brander better. Now nobody can deceive you 
 about him, and nobody can deceive me about you. " 
 
 :( Why, who would try?" asked Olivia. 
 
 " Nobody, perhaps. Good-bye." 
 
 With one glance toward the open door of the front room, 
 from which they both heard the sounds of a man's tread, the
 
 142 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 housekeeper shook her guest's hand, and, abruptly leaving 
 her, disappeared into her own domain at the back of the house. 
 
 Olivia, who was highly offended at this discovery that she 
 had been " managed " and made the victim of a little trick, 
 walked to the front door with her head held high, and a firm 
 intention of not even glancing in the direction of the study. 
 But a sound inside the room, as she passed the door, broke her 
 resolution, and she gave a swift glance that way. The look 
 revealed Mr. Brand er standing beside the black, empty fire- 
 place. That was all. He saw her, and saw the proud turn of 
 her head as she instantly averted her eyes. Then he heard 
 the latch of the front door as her hands fumbled with it; he 
 heard the door open, and shut again immediately, very softly. 
 The next moment there was a hesitating step back across the 
 hall, and the young girFs face was looking into the dingy 
 room. 
 
 " Please will you open the door for me, Mr. Brander? I I 
 don't quite understand the lock." 
 
 He came at once, and did the little service without a word. 
 She looked out; it was still raining persistently, the heavy 
 downpour having been succeeded by a fine drizzle. 
 
 " It hasn't left off yet," she said, timidly. 
 
 " No." 
 
 They both stood still, looking out into the gathering dark- 
 ness. 
 
 " Shall I lend you an umbrella?" 
 
 " Oh, if you would, I should be so glad. 1 will be sure to 
 bring send it back. " 
 
 He brought an umbrella from the stand, and opened it 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " If I lend you this one it is the best, the lightest; the one 
 I use when there's a bishop about I shall want it again early 
 to-morrow morning " 
 ' I'll be sure to" 
 
 ' Very early," he continued, without heeding her. 
 * Then let me have the old one." 
 
 ' It's full of holes. Besides, one of the ribs is broken." 
 ' Oh, never mind. I can quite well get back without one 
 at all." 
 
 " It might be managed," suggested Vernon, guiltily, when 
 he had produced and examined carefully the second-best um- 
 brella, which proved to be only a little better than its reputa- 
 tion. " If I were to walk part of the way back with you, it 
 might clear up, and you might be able to get home without 
 one; and I could bring it back, you see."
 
 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWER. 143 
 
 " But I don't like to trouble. Fm always imposing," mur- 
 mured Olivia. 
 
 However, the half permission had been enough for Mr. 
 Brander, who was by this time slipping into his rough overcoat 
 with the alacrity of the British workman at the sound of the 
 first stroke of six. 
 
 Worse conditions for a pleasant walk through the fields and 
 lanes can scarcely be imagined than a March evening after a 
 pouring wet day, a fine rain falling, the ground ankle-deep in 
 mud, and the darkness already so thick that an occasional slip 
 into puddle was unavoidable. They had to walk in most un- 
 even, jolting fashion to find a path at all through the steepest 
 part of the lane. Sometimes Olivia had to take Mr. Brander's 
 arm to keep her footing at all, and once he had to help her to 
 jump over a miniature torrent. They scarcely talked at all, 
 but a warm sense of human sympathy and mutual help grew 
 so strong between them that when they came to a particularly 
 ugly quagmire their eyes would meet with a smile and a nod, 
 and they would go on again very happily. At last, when they 
 got to the top of the hill, and both instinctively stopped for 
 breath at the same moment, Olivia looked up and said, shyly 
 and simply: 
 
 " Did you know it was I all the time?" 
 
 " I knew it was you when 1 felt something on my face. I 
 was asleep, and it woke me. " 
 
 " I'm so sorry," murmured she. 
 
 " Don't apologize. You may cry over me just as much as 
 you like." 
 
 She laughed a little, and then they went on again, but with- 
 out exchanging any more looks, until they came suddenly, 
 without having realized that they were so near, to the bottom 
 of the vicarage hill. He glanced up it, and Olivia caught the 
 expression of his eyes. 
 
 " You are not going there to the vicarage?" she burst out, 
 impulsively. 
 
 " Yes, I am," he answered, with a dogged look of anger 
 and scorn on his face. 
 
 The girl, drawing a long, sobbing breath, retreated a step 
 without speaking. 
 
 Vernou stopped and looked into her face almost with the 
 boldness of a lover. 
 
 " Why not?" he asked, in a voice little above a whisper. 
 
 " Why not, indeed, Mr. Brander!" she said, coldly, but 
 without succeeding in hiding a break in her voice; " if the 
 friends you can't trust are of more value than those you can. "
 
 144 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " It is uot a question of that, Miss Denison." 
 
 " Isn't it?" she broke in, quickly. " I think it is. You 
 go in all cold indignation, and come out all hot remorse 
 and repentance. And you will never see that lessons in patient 
 self-sacrifice are all the good you will ever get out of the vicar- 
 age!" 
 
 Vernon started violently, and fell to shivering. 
 
 Shocked at the strong effect of her bold words, Olivia re- 
 mained silently and humbly waiting for the reproaches she ex- 
 pected. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 OLIVIA DENISON'S outburst against the vicarage folk and 
 their treatment of Vernon Brander seemed to overwhelm the 
 latter with consternation. He stood before the impulsive girl 
 as if benumbed by her vehemence; and it was not until her 
 restless movements and bending head showed that she felt un- 
 comfortable and ashamed of herself that he tried to speak and 
 to reassure her. For it was evident that she thought her 
 boldness had deeply offended him. 
 
 " You do them injustice, Miss Denison. Though 1 know 
 it's only through your kind feeling for me. There is nothing 
 my brother would not do for me; he always takes my part 
 most valiantly. " 
 
 " Ah, your brother, perhaps. But Mrs. Brander! She 
 doesn't. And a woman can do you more harm by raising her 
 eyebrows at the mention of your name than a man could by 
 preaching a course of sermons against you." 
 
 " But why should she? Miss Denison, I can't believe it." 
 
 " Do you believe what I tell you, that Mrs. Brander warned 
 my step-mother against admitting you into her house?" 
 
 '* I must believe it, since you say it is true. But I am sure 
 there must be some explanation " 
 
 " Of course there will be an explanation; and one that will 
 satisfy you perfectly, I have no doubt," interrupted Olivia, 
 impatiently. " Mrs. Brander will be able to explain every- 
 thing, and make you see how entirely right and natural it is 
 that you should have no friends but those at the vicarage." 
 
 She saw by the change in his face that she had succeeded in 
 sowing the seed of what she considered a wholesome suspicion 
 in his mind; and rather afraid of trusting herself to further 
 speak on a matter which lay nearer her heart than she cared 
 to show, she held out her hand abruptly, saying with a break 
 in her voice:
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEB. 145 
 
 " Good-night, Mr. Brander." 
 
 She knew he was grateful for her interest in him; she knew 
 he had that day been happy in her society. But she was quite 
 unprepared for the flash of passionate feeling which suddenly 
 shone out of his dark, thin face at the touch of her hand. It 
 was like the wild gratitude of a starving man for food, which 
 he seizes ravenously, and for which he can utter no articulate 
 thanks. Olivia was almost frightened by it, and her hand 
 trembled as he clutched it in his. 
 
 " Good -night," he said; " good -night. I had forgotten 
 what such a thing was as a friend until until you came. 
 They are very good my sister-in-law, and even my old house- 
 keeper. But they are cold; at least, they are not like you. 
 There is something in the very touch of your hand, in the 
 kindness of your eyes, that warms one and makes one feel 
 human again. God bless you, Miss Denison !" 
 
 He had hurried out his words so fast, in such a low, hoarse 
 voice, that Olivia scarcely heard more than half. But what 
 she did hear touched, melted her, made her heart open with a 
 yearning tenderness she had never felt before, even for her be- 
 loved father in his troubles. She let Mr. Brander hold her 
 hands in the grip of a moment's passionate happiness, and 
 only sighed out a faint protest against his fervent words. It 
 was he who first woke from the entrancing pleasure of that 
 moment's mutual sympathy. Letting the girl's hand drop, 
 he stepped back as abruptly as if they had been interrupted, 
 leaving her confused and ashamed at her involuntary show of 
 feeling. 
 
 Through long years of self-control on his side, through pride 
 on hers, they both recovered their outward composure so 
 quickly that a very keen observer, who happened to pass a 
 moment later, could detect no sign of unusual emotion in 
 either of them. This passer-by was Ned Mitchell, who touched 
 his hat to Miss Denison with a significant air of being deter- 
 mined to remark nothing, and nodded to the clergyman with 
 a side glance of no great favor. As she caught sight of him, 
 Olivia drew a deep breath and shivered, as if some forgotten 
 horror had become suddenly vivid. Instead of allowing Mr. 
 Brander to take a formal farewell of her, as he was about to 
 do, she detained him by a gesture until the colonist was out of 
 hearing, and then made an impulsive step nearer to him, with 
 a face full of deep anxiety and excitement. 
 
 " I had forgotten quite forgotten," she panted out. " That 
 man do you know who he is?" 
 
 "No."
 
 146 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWER. 
 
 " Do you know why he is here?" 
 
 " No-o. But 1 have sometimes made ugly guesses." 
 
 " They were right; they were true. He is the brother of 
 Nellie Mitchell." 
 
 She communicated this intelligence in the lowest of whispers, 
 and he received it without a perceptible movement. She did 
 not know what to do next whether she should attempt to 
 comfort and reassure him, or whether she should quietly slip 
 away while he was apparently absorbed in his own thoughts 
 and unconscious of her presence. She decided on a middle 
 course. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Brander," she said, in a gentle and timid 
 voice. He started, and as he turned toward her, she noted 
 narrowly the expression of his face. Whether the waning day- 
 light had now grown too faint for her to see properly, she 
 could not be sureiimt it seemed to her that there was more re- 
 lief than alarm uTiiis eyes, which were glowing with keen ex- 
 citement. 
 
 " When did you find this out?" he asked, very quietly. 
 
 " This afternoon, on my way to Saint Cuthbert s," she an- 
 swered, promptly. 
 
 " On your way to Saint Cuthbert's," he echoed, very softly. 
 Olivia blushed and bit her lip, but she answered, readily 
 enough, holding up her head with some dignity : 
 
 *' You have been insulted by my people. I came to apolo- 
 gize for them. That was only natural, as you were my friend. " 
 
 Mr. Brander smiled. He seemed already to have quite re- 
 covered from any shock her alarming information might have 
 been supposed to cause him. 
 
 " That was generous of you and like you," he said. " But 
 it was very unwise. Do you want to set all the old women's 
 tongues wagging?" 
 
 " I don't care," murmured Olivia, defiantly, though she 
 cast down her eyes; " besides, I didn't stop to think." 
 
 "But you ought to stop to think. You haven't always 
 some one at your elbow to do it for you, as I verily believe a 
 woman ought to have. " 
 
 He had fallen into the tone of playful reproach which was 
 natural to him when he was moved to tenderness. 
 
 " But I was in the right," said Olivia. 
 
 " I don't know about that. However, we will leave that 
 unsettled. How came this man to speak to you?" 
 
 " He saw that I wanted to get into the church-yard, and so 
 did he." 
 
 " And he told you he was Nellie Mitchell's brother?"
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 147 
 
 " Yes/' answered Olivia, who felt the hot blood burning in 
 her face as he mentioned the dead girl's name. 
 
 Both were silent for some moments, during which Mr. Bran- 
 der regarded the girl intently, trying to fathom the thoughts 
 in her mind. 
 
 " And you thought it would interest me to know this?" he 
 asked, very gently. 
 
 " I I was afraid so," she burst out, and impulsively hid 
 her face for a moment in her hands. 
 
 She heard his breath come fast; she seemed to feel that his 
 hands were near her, hovering over her, almost touching her; 
 and she remained motionless. But when she looked up he was 
 some paces away, busily employed digging holes in the ground 
 with the point of his umbrella. As she looked up, their eyes 
 met. 
 
 " Yes. You were right. It does interest me/' he said, 
 gravely. Olivia's face fell. At sight of this change in her 
 expression, Mr. Brander's composure suddenly gave way again, 
 broke up altogether. He showed himself suddenly in an en- 
 tirely new light, swayed by excitement so tempestuous that 
 the girl realized for the first time the depths of passion which 
 still remained in this man under the burned-out *ust. In a 
 moment she recognized the fact that he was capable of im- 
 pulses and of acts which she could neither measure nor under- 
 stand. For good or for evil, his was a nature deeper and 
 stronger than hers. This knowledge, so suddenly borne in 
 upon her, gave her a new interest in, and respect for, him, 
 even while it made her reluctantly admit that the possibility 
 of his having committed a great crime was far clearer to her 
 than before. All this flashed into her mind in a second of 
 time, as his agitated face turned toward her just before the 
 feelings which surged within him broke on his lips in hoarse, 
 incoherent speech. 
 
 " I must tell you oh, God! Why should I not tell you? 
 Who in the whole world deserves to hear the truth as you do? 
 Listen." 
 
 No need to tell the girl that. Her heart was in her eyes. 
 She held her very breath in the intensity of a rush of feelings, 
 which made her wet and cold from head to foot as she stood, 
 unable to utter a word, waiting for the fatal explanation. He 
 had come a step nearer to her, the first words of his confession 
 were on his lips, when a bright, high, woman's voice broke 
 upon their ears. The sound acted on Vernon Brander like a 
 stroke of paralysis. His right hand, raised in eager gesture, 
 fell to his side; into his excited face came suddenly the vacant
 
 148 ST. CTJTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 stare of idiocy. As for Olivia, the tension on her weaker 
 feminine nerves had been too great. 
 
 She drew a long sigh, and burst into tears. Then, before 
 he could recover himself sufficiently to offer one word of com- 
 fort or apology, she muttered a hasty " good-night," and hur- 
 ried through the farm-yard gate toward her home. 
 
 Vernon could only watch her retreating figure a little way, 
 as an angle of the big barn that stood opposite the farm-house 
 soon hid her from sight. Then he went on with slow, dogged 
 footsteps to meet his sister-in-law; for it was her voice which 
 had disturbed his tete-a-tete with Miss Denison. The sus- 
 picions of the latter had already borne some fruit in his mind; 
 for he asked himself whether Mrs. Brander had not come out 
 on purpose to interrupt them. What other motive could bring 
 that comfort-loving lady out into the damp and cold of a wet 
 March evening? He dismissed the idea from his mind almost 
 as soon as it entered; nevertheless, it was a just one. 
 
 Mrs. Brander had called on Mrs. Denison that afternoon, 
 and had learned, through the indiscretion of the latter's hus- 
 band, enough of the morning's proceedings to fill her with 
 anxiety and annoyance. The vicar managed to restrain her 
 first impulse, which was to go straight to St. Cuthbert's and 
 see Vernon. 
 
 " You will be putting yourself in the wrong if you do that, 
 my dear," said Meredith, quietly. "If he thinks he has any 
 cause of complaint against you, he is not the man to nurse it 
 up silently. He is sure to come straight here on the first op- 
 portunity to * have it out ' with you. And then I have no 
 doubt of your powers of making the rough places smooth 
 again. " 
 
 Evelyn Brander submitted to her husband's judgment, with 
 a doubt which he made light of. A few months ago she could 
 have made her brother-in-law take her own view of any mat- 
 ter; now there was an unpleasant possibility that he might take 
 somebody else's. 
 
 As the afternoon wore on, therefore, and Vernon did not 
 appear, she went the length of watching for him at one of the 
 drawing-room windows which commanded the best view of the 
 road; and when the tenant of the adjoining cottage returned 
 home, she threw up the sash and asked him if, in the course 
 of his rambles round the parish which he was known to be in 
 the habit of taking, he had that day met the Vicar of St. Cuth- 
 bert's. The colonist, being an observant man, noted the lady's 
 anxiety, and the unusual courtesy toward himself to which it 
 gave rise.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEB. 149 
 
 " Your brother-in-law, madame," said he, bluntly, " is 
 standing at the bottom of the hill. He has been standing 
 there some time, I believe." Then the idea of a little experi- 
 ment crossing his mind, Ned Mitchell made a pause to give the 
 more effect to his next words. "He is with Miss Denison, of 
 the farm down yonder." 
 
 Mrs. Brander's handsome eyes flashed; with what feeling, 
 whether jealousy, or anger, or disquietude, he could not be 
 sure. She bestowed upon him a little polite smile of thanks 
 for his information, and said it was an unpleasant evening. 
 But it was evident that her interest in him was gone; and as 
 he had nothing more at present to obtain from or to impart 
 to her, the colonist gave the off-hand touch to his hat which 
 was the most respectful form of salutation he ever bestowed, 
 and retreated into his cottage. Mrs. Brander shut down the win- 
 dow with one vigorous pull, and in two minutes was sallying 
 down the hill through the mud and the drizzle, her handsome 
 dinner-dress held at a height more convenient than graceful, 
 her kid shoes incased in stout galoches, an old mackintosh of 
 her husband's buttoned round her with the sleeves left swing- 
 ing and a huge carriage umbrella held over her head. She 
 was a practical woman, and if one liked to wear handsome 
 clothes, there was no reason why one should spoil them for the 
 sake of a more picturesque appearance for ten minutes on a 
 wet evening. As she passed the end of her neighbor's garden, 
 that gentleman, who was on the watch underneath his porch, 
 addressed to her an admiring word. 
 
 " Well done, ma'am!" cried he. " As long as you parsons' 
 ladies do your husbands' district visiting in such weather as 
 this, you'll stave off disestablishment, I reckon. " 
 
 " Oh, yes," she called out, in answer, being in one of those 
 anxious moods in which the proudest woman is afraid of giving 
 offense to a fellow-mortal; " you don't know yet what weak 
 woman is capable of." 
 
 These were the words she was uttering when the faint sound 
 of her voice startled Vernon and Olivia as they stood together 
 at the foot of the hill. 
 
 When Miss Denison left him, Vernon had only a few steps 
 to take before he met his sister-in-law, who greeted him with 
 the kindly affectionate manner of a relation with whom one is 
 on perfectly good terms. She gave her umbrella to him to 
 hold, and passed the disengaged hand lightly through his arm. 
 Instead of proceeding up the hill with her, however, he stood 
 still, remaining as stiff as a wooden soldier.
 
 150 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " Aren't you coming up to the house?" she asked, with in- 
 nocent peremptoriness, shaking his arm persuasively. 
 
 " No, thank you," said he, coolly, but with a coolness utter- 
 ly different from hers, as it arose from the chilling of a warm 
 nature, not from the innate frigidity of a cold one. 
 
 "Oh, but you must! I was peeping out of the drawing- 
 room window when the bear next door came back to his den 
 and told me you were out here, talking to Miss Denison. So 
 I rushed out hoping to catch you both, and drag you in to 
 dinner; the pretty farmer's daughter to amuse Meredith, and 
 you to entertain me." 
 
 With the audacious coquetry of a cold woman, she pressed 
 his arm with her hand, and bending forward looked into his 
 face with her great gazelle-like eyes, which, by a turn of her 
 head, she could make divinely alluring while ordering the de- 
 tails of a custard pudding. But Vernon was not to be allured. 
 He withdrew his arm boldly under the pretense that it re- 
 quired two hands to hold the heavy umbrella at the proper 
 angle. 
 
 " Miss Denison has gone home/' said he. " And I'm go- 
 ing home; thank you." 
 
 " What, without an umbrella? Come as far as the house, 
 and I'll give you one. It's sure to rain before you can get 
 back. " 
 
 " Miss Denison has got mine. I can go to the farm to 
 fetch it." 
 
 " Well, perhaps you won't mind seeing me as far as the door 
 first. I can't hold that great thing and keep my dress up too. 
 I won't insist on your coming in; that will do some other time. 
 I had something to say to ask you about my Katie; but never 
 mind now. I see you are thinking of something else. " 
 
 " Katie!" exclaimed Vernon. " What about Katie?" 
 
 " Oh, she doesn't seem very well to-day, and I thought per- 
 haps " 
 
 ' You thought what? Is there anything I can do?" 
 ''' There might have been. But I can't ask favors of you in 
 such a mood as you are in to-night. We are losing you day 
 by day. You will soon have no place in your heart even for 
 Katie." 
 
 " I think you misjudge me, Evelyn. A child may forget 
 her friends when they are absent. But at least she does not 
 speak ill of them." 
 
 Mrs. Brander stopped short in the mud, and looked at him 
 with proud indignation.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 151 
 
 " Of course I see you are insinuating that I have done so. 
 Your new friends have been turning you against the old!" 
 
 " No. It seems, though I can scarcely believe it, that my 
 old friends have been turning my new ones against me. Now, 
 Evelyn, you are honest, aren't you? Did you, or did you 
 not, warn Mrs. Denison against me, as not being a proper 
 friend for a young girl?" 
 
 Now, Veruon Brander only did his sister-in-law justice when 
 he called her honest. Her blunt frankness, which made little 
 account of other people's feelings, had often been counted 
 against her as a fault. Moreover, it was one result of her hus- 
 band's profession that, though not by nature overscruplous, 
 lying should now seem a great sin to her. But the issues at 
 stake seemed to her so great that it cost her only a moment's 
 hesitation to reply: 
 
 " I did not. I told her 1 understood you did not think of 
 marrying. Was I wrong?" 
 
 " No," answered Vernon, in a very low voice. 
 
 Evelyn's great eyes were meeting his with the simple, direct 
 stare habitual to her, which seemed to preclude the idea that 
 she could lie. A weaker, a more sensitive, or a more modest 
 nature would have shrunk from the gaze of his burning, plead- 
 ing eyes. But her character was not built on complex lines; 
 she felt that she was doing the best possible thing under the 
 circumstances for herself and for everybody else, and so, her 
 conscience being, as usual, free, there was no need for any airs 
 of disquietude or remorse. And so the guileless man was 
 caught at the first throw of the line, and was carried off to the 
 house safe and subdued, while she informed him that Katie 
 was not well, and that if he and his old housekeeper were will- 
 ing to take charge of the little girl at St. Cuthbert's for a 
 fortnight, she thought the change would do her good. 
 
 The vicar's wife had not overrated the effect of this pro- 
 posal. To have his darling niece in his own care for two whole 
 weeks was a bribe which would have tempted him to condone 
 any wrong. By the light which came into his face as he 
 quietly said he should be glad to have the child, Mrs. Brander 
 knew that her trump card had been very well played, and that 
 she had an influence ready to her hand which might be reck- 
 oned upon to counteract the dangerous one of Olivia Denison 's 
 youth and beauty. 
 
 The tenant of the cottage watched the pair curiously as they 
 passed his garden on the way up to the vicarage. Nothing in 
 the demeanor of either escaped his penetrating eyes. Absorbed 
 as he was in one object, every smallest incident which occurred
 
 152 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 in his neighborhood was regarded by him as having a possible 
 bearing upon it. 
 
 " I wonder/' he said to himself, as they turned the corner 
 into the private road at the top of the hill, " what is the rea- 
 son of the interest that parson's wife takes in her husband's 
 brother? Pretty strong it must be to bring my lady out into 
 the puddles in those finicking togs of hers! Love, passion, 
 anything of that sort? She ain't built that way; and if she 
 had liked him best, she would either have married him or she'd 
 have given 'em something to talk about by this time. I should 
 like to think there was a woman in the secret my secret; it 
 would make my work seventy-five per cent, easier. " 
 
 In the meantime, Mrs. Brander and Vernon had reached 
 the house, and had been met at the door by the vicar, who 
 seemed placidly amused by the triumph and satisfaction he saw 
 on his wife's face, and by the subdued and even hang-dog ex- 
 pression on that of his brother. 
 
 Dinner was waiting; and the vicar, who was as much dis- 
 turbed by such an occurrence as he ever was about anything, 
 hastened to lead the way to the dining-room, gently murmuring 
 disapproval of his wife's conduct in leaving the house at such 
 a critical moment. The meal passed uncomfortably; for the 
 unexplained uneasiness under which Vernon was evidently 
 laboring could not fail to effect, in some degree, even his rather 
 stolid brother. When they all adjourned to the drawing- 
 room, the constraint of his manner became so apparent that 
 Meredith, used to an atmosphere of calm respect for himself 
 and content with things in general, laid his hand on his broth- 
 er's shoulder and asked him, with benevolent peremptoriness, 
 if there was anything the matter. 
 
 Vernon who was standing by a table, turning over the 
 leaves of a magazine with unmistakable lack of interest, started 
 violently, and caused his sister-in-law to look up from the 
 needle-work with which her handsome, industrious fingers were 
 nearly always employed. Her quick eyes discovered, at a, 
 glance, that there was some more serious reason for his mel- 
 ancholy than she had supposed. She rose, and with a thrill of 
 vague anxiety laid aside her work and crossed the room toward 
 the two brothers. Vernon's eyes met hers, and the expression 
 she saw in them caused her to stop abruptly. 
 
 " Well, what is it? Do speak out, Vernon. We are not 
 fools. We are ready to hear anything," she said, in impatient, 
 almost querulous tones. 
 
 Her brother-in-law cleared his throat, looking from the one 
 to the other with a strange yearning in his eyes.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 153 
 
 " I will speak; I will tell you," he said, huskily. " 1 have 
 learned to-day something which may cause you some alarm 
 for me," he added, hastily, as husband and wife looked anx- 
 iously each at the other. " 1 don't know whether you have 
 ever troubled yourselves about the man who has come to live 
 next door, or made any inquiries about him. " 
 
 " Well, who is he? What is his name?" asked Evelyn, 
 while her husband remained silently watching his brother. 
 
 " He is Ned Mitchell, the brother of" 
 
 He stopped. There was dead silence in the room. Not one 
 of the three seemed to dare to meet the eyes of the other. 
 Evelyn was the first to speak. Her voice was low and husky, 
 quite unlike her usual bright, imperious tones. 
 
 " You are sure?" she said. 
 
 "Quite sure." 
 
 Another silence. 
 
 Then the vicar spoke. His voice was not affected by the 
 alarming announcement, except that it was, perhaps, unusu- 
 ally gentle and kind. He laid a sympathetic hand on the 
 shoulder of his brother, who still remained, with head bowed 
 down, unable to meet their eyes. 
 
 " And, of course, you think he is here about that unfortu- 
 nate business of ten years ago?" 
 
 Evelyn shuddered, and glanced first at her husband and then 
 at the broken-down man on the other side of her. Her lips 
 moved, imploring Meredith to be kind, to be careful. Vernon 
 raised his head, looking still at the carpet. 
 
 " I suppose so," he answered, in a husky voice. " Not that 
 we need trouble ourselves. What can he really do? Nothing. 
 I I am as safe as ever." 
 
 The vicar withdrew his hand. Calm as he had remained, 
 he seemed to breathe more freely at this assurance. 
 
 " I hope so, indeed," he said, solemnly; " for all our sakes." 
 
 Vernon rose, and his eyes met those of his brother for the 
 first time. He tried to speak, but only a dry, choking sound 
 came from his parched mouth. He seized the hand his brother 
 held out to him, and wrung it till the clasp of his thin, nerv- 
 ous fingers left livid marks on the soft pink flesh. 
 
 " God bless you," murmured the vicar, in his warmest tones 
 of encouragement and sympathy. 
 
 Again Vernon tried to speak; again he failed. With a 
 hasty side glance at his sister-in-law, full of a plaintive, dumb 
 sort of gratitude and entreaty, he crossed the room rapidly, 
 with almost a staggering gait, opened the door with clammy 
 fingers, and hurried out.
 
 154 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 Husband and wife, thus left face to face, said not a word, 
 but each gave a strange look of searching inquiry into the face 
 of the other. 
 
 " Poor fellow!" said the vicar, gently. 
 
 Mrs. Brander did not answer. With a woman's keener sym- 
 pathy, she was listening to her brother-in-law's footsteps in 
 the hall outside. All there was of warmth in her somewhat 
 cool nature was brought to the surface to-night. As she heard 
 the hall-door open, she uttered a little cry, and, leaving the 
 room quickly, came up with Vernon before he had got out of 
 the house, and put a warm, loving hand upon his arm. 
 
 " Oh, Vernon, Vernon! 1 wanted to say God bless you, 
 too!" she whispered, with tenderness most unwonted in the 
 self-contained woman. 
 
 Vernon looked in her face with astonishment. There were 
 tears in her great brown eyes; tears which, if he had seen them 
 a few months ago, would have set his blood and his brain on 
 fire. Now the sight of them filled him with astonishment and 
 gratitude, but left him calm. 
 
 " You are too kind, dear/' he said, pressing her hand affec- 
 tionately in his. " You must not trouble your head so much 
 about me. Indeed there is no need. Good-night, good- 
 night!" 
 
 He stooped and kissed her hand very gently, very reverent- 
 ly, and left her, hurrying down the lane without a look behind. 
 
 Evelyn Brander stared out into the darkness for some min- 
 utes after he had disappeared from her sight. For the first 
 time, perhaps, in all her life she felt a vague sense that there 
 might be something in existence more serious, more interest- 
 ing than what we should eat, and what we should drink, and 
 wherewithal we should be clothed. 
 
 " If I had only known," she murmured to herself; " if I 
 had only been able to know!" 
 
 Then she looked curiously at the hand Vernon had kissed, 
 seeming surprised to find no change in its appearance. The 
 next moment, raising her head to its usual proud angle, with 
 a little laugh at her own folly, she shut herself into the house. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 WHEN once the secret concerning the identity of the stranger 
 at the cottage had been let out, it spread mysteriously through- 
 out the length of the straggling village with astonishing 
 rapidity. Ned Mitchell had come back; and, remembering 
 the character for pig headed obstinacy he had borne at home
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 155 
 
 when he was a boy, it was safe to prophesy that there would 
 shortly be a " shindy " somewhere. Two or three old people 
 now declared that they had recognized him from the first, 
 though they had been too discreet to make known the fact; 
 and toward the close of the day following that on which he had 
 revealed his name to Miss Denison, it became plain to him, 
 from the whispers of young girls and the courtesies of old wom- 
 en, that he was the hero of the hour. 
 
 In the evening he had the honor of a call from the chief of 
 tht village busybodies, a superannuated postman, who clung 
 to his old trade of news-carrier to the community. As Ned 
 Mitchell lived by himself, and locked up his house when he 
 was out, the visitor had to sit on a broken horse-trough which 
 stood on the green under the trees opposite to the cottage until 
 the colonist returned from one of his long daily rambles. 
 
 " Good-evening, squire/ 7 said the old postman, rising with 
 fussy respect, and hobbling quickly to the gate lest his unwill- 
 ing host should shut him out before he could reach it. 
 
 Mitchell glanced toward him, and jerked at him an indiffer- 
 ent nod. The old man was not to be rebuffed. He had that 
 quality of dogged and patient energy which we can most of us 
 show in other people's business. 
 
 " Pardon, squire," he said, with a beggar's humility. 
 " Don't be affronted with me for wishing to be one o' t' 
 first to pay my respects to ye." 
 
 "Bespects!" echoed Mitchell, shortly, thrusting his hands 
 into his pockets with an instinctive perception that these con- 
 tained his most respect-worthy attribute. 
 
 " Ay, squire. I'm proud to be one o' t' first to welcome ye 
 back to yer owd home. " 
 
 " Old home! What, do you call this wretched little heap 
 of moldy bricks and worm-eaten boards a home for me?" 
 asked the colonist, contemptuously. 
 
 " Noa, squire; leastways it didn't ought to be. But as them 
 as have no right to 't have got t' Hall Farm instead o' them 
 that was born and bred there, it's summat to welcome ye back 
 to t' village that's proud to have you belonging to it." 
 
 " Proud! Why proud?" asked Mitchell, bluntly. " If the 
 village has got to be proud of me, I ought to be ashamed of it, 
 I should think. And who can have a greater right to the farm 
 than the man who's paying the rent of it?" 
 
 The old postman was not abashed. Each snub administered 
 to him did but increase, in his eyes, the importance of the ad- 
 ministrator. He felt, too, that the opportunity he gave the
 
 156 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEB. 
 
 colonist of sharpening his wit upon him was inclining that 
 gentleman to look upon him with favor. 
 
 " Very true, squire. You that travel get a different way o' 
 looking at things from what us stay-at-home folk do. All t' 
 same, squire, I hope as I may be allowed to give you a bit of a 
 hiiit that may, or may not " and the old man nodded with 
 mystery and importance " be of use to you on your business 
 here. " 
 
 " My business here! And what's that?" asked Mitchell, 
 abruptly. 
 
 ' ' Well, they do say as how it were on account of summat 
 as happened ten years ago that were never cleared up. " 
 
 "<5h?" 
 
 " And if so be as that's true, which 1 don't say neither do 
 I say otherwise, as it aren't true, why then, what I say is," 
 went on the old man, whose style grew more involved the 
 nearer he came to the point, " that Martha Lowndes, as were 
 her foster-sister, and them two always as thick as thieves, 
 which that is a party as knows more'n she tells." 
 
 Ned Mitchell, who had been taking nuts from his pocket, 
 opening them with a peiiknife, and devouring them ravenous- 
 ly, shut up his knife and laid his hand on his garden gate with- 
 out the smallest sign of interest in the information he had re- 
 ceived. 
 
 " Is that all?" he asked, feeling his pockets to make sure 
 that not one nut still lurked in the corners. 
 
 "Well " began the gossip, rather disconcerted, but ready 
 to make the best of a bad business. 
 
 ** Ah, it is all, I see," interrupted Mitchell. 
 
 And with a nod of stolid indifference, he turned and strolled 
 up the cottage path. 
 
 But Ned Mitchell, though he had no notion of being grate- 
 ful for the old man's information, was not long in making use 
 of it. No sooner had the April evening closed in than he, 
 having already found out Martha Lowndes's dwelling, knocked 
 at the door of a small, tumble-down cottage, where he was 
 admitted at once by a woman who looked about fifty, and 
 whose face was care-worn and deeply furrowed. 
 
 " Martha Lowndes?" said Ned. 
 ' Yes," answered the woman, looking at him curiously. 
 
 " I thought you were younger." 
 
 "I'm thirty-five," said the woman, shortly. "You're 
 Ned Mitchell, I suppose. I'd forgotten you; but they told 
 me you were about; sc I suppose it's you." 
 
 " Right you are."
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEE. 157 
 
 " Come in, then/' 
 
 He at once accepted the not very gracious invitation, and sat 
 down on one of the wooden chairs, which she dusted for him. 
 
 " And so you're come at last. You didn't hurry yourself." 
 
 " No, I didn't hurry myself, but I meant to come. " 
 
 " Well, I thought it was odd if you didn't, and her your 
 favorite, as she always was." 
 
 " Yes, that's true. But that was in the old days, when I 
 was sentimental. If it had happened when I first went away, 
 with nothing but the shirt on my back and my mother's Bible, 
 I should have worked my passage home by the next boat, and 
 run amuck among these fine gentlemen till I got the right one 
 by the throat. But when it did happen, I'd got sheep farms 
 of my own, and a wife and family, and was making my pile. 
 So I let justice wait till my liver wanted a change. But it'll 
 be justice none the less for that." 
 
 The woman stood with her arms akimbo, regarding him 
 solemnly. Indeed, all capacity for gayety or even cheerful- 
 ness seemed to be dead in her. 
 
 " Well," she said, presently, " and what do you want with 
 me?" 
 
 " You can tell me something, or else I've been made a fool 
 of." 
 
 " Yes, that's right enough. I can tell you something. It's 
 been on my mind this ten year, and it's what has made an old 
 woman of me before my time. You remember me, ' flirting 
 Mattie ' they called me then, and I don't say but what I was 
 as good as my name. There were a pair of us, they said; and 
 we were together a good deal. * Birds of a feather,' you know. 
 But Nell was always closer than me; if I fancied anybody, all 
 the world might know it. But she she'd carry on with half 
 a dozen, and you might never know which was the one she'd 
 a liking for, or if it was in her to care for anybody. It wasn 't 
 for a long time I myself guessed there was something up not 
 till she grew mopish and fidgety like, and set me wondering. 
 For awhile she'd own to nothing, and it wasn't till one day I 
 took her unawares like that I found out how serious it was 
 with her." 
 
 " Serious?" 
 
 " Yes. As serious as it could be. I taxed her with it quite 
 sudden one day as she was sitting there on that same chair like 
 as it might be you. And she turned quite white and confessed, 
 and said as how it wasn't that as troubled her most, but that 
 he'd got tired of her, and wanted to get shut of her, and was 
 crazy at the thought of the exposure and disgrace. ' Why,
 
 158 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 it's you that's got the worst of that to bear; not him!' cried 
 I. And all on a sudden she gets quite quiet, and as it might 
 be bites her lips together, so as no words she didn't want to 
 use mightn't force themselves through. ' Why don't you 
 speak to your brother?' said I; ' he'd get the fellow to do 
 the right thing by you. ' But she only shook her head, and 
 got up, and began to walk about, and just said in a low voice 
 that I didn't understand. And I began to guess it was a gen- 
 tleman. " 
 
 ' You taxed her with that?" 
 
 " Yes. She took it all in the same sullen way, and would 
 name no names. But she said he loved another woman, and 
 she'd have forgiven him anything but that." 
 
 " But you should have got her to say who he was, woman!" 
 
 " Do you think, if wild horses could have dragged it from 
 her, I shouldn't have known? I tell you I never knew before 
 what was in the girl; how obstinate she could be, nor what 
 strong feelings she had. It was something quite different 
 to what I'd ever felt, and I wasn't the same with her as 
 I'd been before. When she passed through this door that 
 evening, it seemed as if a fierce, revengeful woman had gone 
 out where just a giddy girl like myself had come in." 
 
 Ned Mitchell was not moved by this recital to any show of 
 deep emotion, but the woman could see that he was touched, 
 and she went on in a voice less studiously cold: 
 
 " 1 didn't see her again for some days not for near a fort- 
 night, I think. But when I did, it didn't need her words to 
 point out the change in her. I didn't dare ask her many ques- 
 tipns that time, but I'd got some inkling by then as to who 
 those might be that was bringing her to this pass. I thought 
 I'd try to get at the truth in a roundabout way if I could; so 
 I began, ' I didn't see you at church on Sunday evening, Nell. ' 
 Her face grew sullen at once. You see, sir, I'd heard of a cer- 
 tain clergyman that was often at the Hall Farm of an even- 
 ing." 
 
 ' You mean Vernon Brander, I suppose?" 
 
 " Yes. And how Nell had been seen late o' nights down by 
 St Cuthbert's." 
 
 " Well, now, I think his coming openly to the farm is more 
 in his favor than not." 
 
 " Unless it was a blind." 
 
 " Well?" 
 
 " Well, I dursn't say more then, but presently, as she sat at 
 tea with me, 1 caught her eating some green gages that was on 
 the table in an oddly ravenous way, stones and all. ' What
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 159 
 
 ever are you doing, Nell?' says I. * You'll be ill for sure if 
 you swallow those stones like that. ' And she looks at me with 
 an odd smile. * I'm practicing/ says she. ' I may have to 
 swallow worse than that some day. ' I stared at her, thinking 
 perhaps her trouble had touched her head, poor thing! And 
 then I got quite cold, fancying perhaps she had it in her mind 
 to make away with herself. And I says, ' Nell, if ever you 
 feel tempted to do a mischief to yourself, think of them that 
 cares for you truly of poor Ned, away across the seas!' yes, 
 1 said that, Ned ' and of me, that's always cared for you like 
 as if you'd been one of my own!' Then up she started from 
 her chair, and began to roam. about the room again, restless 
 like, just as she'd done the last time. ' Don't be afraid, lass,' 
 says she to me, in a voice she meant to be rough. * I'm not 
 going to do anything foolish not more foolish than I've done 
 already, that is. While there's life there's hope, they say, 
 though perhaps there's not much of either left for me!' 
 ' What do you mean, Nell?' says I, frightened. She didn't 
 answer me for a minute; then suddenly she turned, with her 
 great black eyes flashing, and said, * If I'm found dead, Mat- 
 tie, you'll know I didn't put an end to myself. And I tell you 
 I'll let others know it too, if my body lies buried fifty years 
 first. ' Oh, Ned, I shall never forget her face. It was white 
 like death, and the lips all drawn back from her teeth. 'Twas 
 as if all life and the wish to live were burning out of her. 
 * Why, Nell, this man, whoever he is, he surely never threat- 
 ened to kill you!' ' Not in words, no,' says she, with her eyes 
 fixed in front of her. * But there was murder in his eyes the 
 last time I saw him. If he's past caring for me, he may kill 
 me; I don't care. But he sha'n't live happy with the love of 
 that other woman; 1 swear it. I've been true to him. I've 
 done for him what there's hardly a girl in England would have 
 done; I've held my tongue when just to speak would have 
 ruined him. But I'll not die, and be put out of the way, and 
 him go unpunished!' I was that frightened, Ned, I could 
 scarcely speak. I told her not to have such dreadful thoughts, 
 and I reminded her again of you, and how fond you were of 
 her. * Yes,' says she, with a queer smile that made me feel 
 cold, ' Ned would see me righted if any one tried to wrong 
 me. And whether I'm alive or dead he will. ' ' 
 
 Ned Mitchell did not move. His face was set like a rock, 
 and, beyond the fact that he was deeply attentive to every de- 
 tail, it was impossible to guess what effect the story had upon 
 him. He nodded to the woman to go on. 
 
 " ' Alive or dead, Nell!' says I, when I could speak for
 
 160 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 trembling. ' What makes you harp so on death, if you mean 
 rightly by yourself and them that love you? As for the rascal 
 that's brought you to this, if you won't make a clean breast of 
 it to your brother Sam, you'd best keep out of the creature's 
 way, seeing you think so ill of him as to believe him ready to 
 do you a mischief. It's no good of courting harm. You've 
 no need to give way. If Sam was to turn against you when 
 it all comes out, you could go away to Ned ; he'd receive you 
 fast enough, whatever you'd done, I'll warrant. Keep a heart 
 in you, my girl. ' But she took no notice, and went on eating 
 the green gages, stones and all, in just the same way, till 1 
 tried to take the dish away. Then she threw back her head 
 with a hard laugh, and, says she, ' Look here, Mattie, you 
 may as well leave those things here. I'm not cracked; I've a 
 reason for what I'm doing. I shall go and meet him again; I 
 tell you I'm that mad about him I can't keep away when he 
 tells me to come. But if he tries any tricks with me, I've 
 made up my mind that I'll find a chance to swallow something 
 of his, if it's but a shirt stud or a button, so as my body, when 
 it's found, shall bear witness against him just as well as my 
 tongue could if 1 was alive. Now you remember that, Mattie", 
 if things come to the worst. ' And with that she was off and 
 out of the house. But I ran after her, and caught up with 
 her, and, * Nell,' says I, ' when are you going to see this 
 man?' For 1 had it in my mind to stop her. And she gave 
 me a queer look out of the corners of her eyes. ' I'm going to 
 meet him to-morrow night/ says she. And she snatched away 
 her arm and ran off. That was the last 1 saw of her, alive or 
 dead." 
 
 There was a short pause. 
 
 " Then you might have saved her," said Ned Mitchell, at 
 last, in a rasping voice. 
 
 " Don't say that, Ned," pleaded the woman, in low tones. 
 " Many and many's the time I've said that to myself, and re- 
 proached myself. But, remember, she said, ' To - morrow 
 night' ' 
 
 " Well, you might have known it was only a blind, with her 
 heart set on the fellow like that. 1 should have known. 
 However, it's no use wasting words over it now. You thought 
 you would see about it next day, and when next day came it 
 was all over with the girl." 
 
 ' You've no right to be so hard, Ned; you that were con- 
 tent to let the man who murdered your sister lie peacefully in 
 his bed these ten years!" 
 
 " That's different If I'd come over next day I couldn't
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER, 161 
 
 nave brought her back to life again," said he, in a dogged 
 tone. But the man's conscience was uneasy, and this made 
 him the more harsh toward Martha. " Why didn't you tell 
 this yarn you've been pitching me to somebody that would 
 have seen into things?" 
 
 " I did tell it to Sam. But you know Sam, how timid he 
 was, and slow at things. And his wife never could abide Nell, 
 and nothing would ever persuade her the girl hadn't gone off 
 with somebody; and, indeed, many people believe that now, 
 and say Nell Mitchell was always a light sort, and it was just 
 what they'd expected, for her to make a bolt of it with some- 
 body. But I know better. " 
 
 " How about the parsons? How did they take it?" 
 " Well, I can tell you the rights of a little story that's not 
 generally known. Next morning, before anybody knew Nell 
 had disappeared, Parson Vernon was at Matherharu Railway 
 Station in time for the first train to London. His brother 
 Meredith, who'd been called out of his bed in the small hours 
 to see a dying man, came up with him while he was standing 
 on the platform. My cousin Dick you remember Dick, the 
 miller's son saw the meeting; and he says he never saw such 
 a contrast between brothers as those two made; the one com- 
 ing up all fresh and smiling, and surprised; the other pale and 
 ghastly, with blood-shot eyes, and a wild, hunted look in his 
 face already. * Why, Vernie/ says the vicar, ' what are you 
 doing here at this time in the morning?' Dick says the other 
 looked as scared as if the hangman's rope was about his neck. 
 He stammered and said something about a morning paper; for 
 Dick had edged near enough to hear. But then the railway 
 ticket fell from his fingers on to the ground, and Mr. Meredith 
 picked it up sharp as a needle. Dick saw by the color it was 
 a third-class ticket to London. Then the brothers looked at 
 each other, and Mr. Vernon saw it wouldn't do. The other 
 took his arm and led him from the station, and I suppose Ver- 
 non made a clean breast of it, and told him how bad it would 
 look for him to run away. And sure enough, when the in- 
 quiry was made, the best point in Vernon's favor was that he 
 had done nothing to escape it. Dick kept his own counsel, ex- 
 cept to me that he could trust; and the few people that was 
 about just then had no wish to come forward. For though 
 Mr. Vernon was looked upon as a bit wild for a parson, he was 
 popular too in a way, and then if not for him they'd have held 
 their tongues for the vicar's sake. So there was just a fuss 
 and a scandal and an inquiry, and Mr. Vernon was had up on 
 suspicion, because some one had heard cries of ' Murder!'
 
 162 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 near Saint Cuthbert's that night. And then it all died away, 
 and everything was the same as before except Mr. Vernon and 
 me; the shock made me what you see; and as for Mr. Vernon, 
 he's been a changed man, and he's that loved now that if you 
 was to have him up again, on something stronger than suspi- 
 cion, it's my belief the miners would lynch you." 
 
 " I shall take my chance of that/' said Ned Mitchell, stolid- 
 ly, as he rose to go. " So this precious vicar that everybody 
 thinks so much of does all he can to shield his brother?" 
 
 " You can hardly blame him for that. You'd do the same 
 yourself. " 
 
 " Blessed if I should! Let those suffer that do wrong, say 
 I. My sister did wrong; but she had her punishment, else I'd 
 not have lifted a finger for her. As for these sermon vampers, 
 it would be small harm if they both swung together, I expect. 
 I've not much respect for parsons out of their proper place- 
 the pulpit. " 
 
 But Martha looked scandalized at this speech, and seemed to 
 regret her frankness. 
 
 " You'll not go insulting the vicar, I hope, Ned," she said, 
 uneasily. " ' By their works ye shall know them,' the Script- 
 ure says; and if so, you've got nothing against the vicar but a 
 weakness for his own flesh and blood. " 
 
 " Well, what are his * works '? What does he do? Does he 
 live in a poor house, to have more to spare for folks poorer 
 than himself? Does he deny himself a wife and children, 
 that he may be a better father to his flock? Or, if he despises 
 temporal things for his parishioners, if not for himself, does 
 he trudge it on foot, all weathers, to give spiritual consola- 
 tion to people too ill to come for it?" 
 
 "No-o; that's Mr. Vernon that does all that. But Mr. 
 Meredith is just what a vicar ought to be." 
 
 " A pretty figure for a pulpit? I see. Oh, Fll let him 
 alone. Nothing I shall say shall take a single one of the well- 
 to-do creases out of his fat face. I've other fish to fry than to 
 go hurting the feelings of your pretty vicar: never fear. Good- 
 evening. " 
 
 He did not wait for his curt salutation to be returned; but 
 slightly touching the hat it had not occurred to him take off, 
 he opened the door, and walked out path his usual ponderous, 
 deliberate step. But after going a few paces he stopped 
 short, and returning to the cottage, thrust ope the door and 
 addressed Martha again : 
 
 ' You say some one heard the cry of ' Murder!' on the 
 night my sister disappeared. Who was it?"
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 163 
 
 ' A lass that was coming back from Sheffield with her 
 young man Jane Askew. They're married now, and she's 
 Mrs. Tims. They both heard it. " 
 
 " And they saw nothing, and looked for nothing?" 
 
 " They couldn't agree as to where the sound came from; 
 and perhaps neither of them's overbrave, and near a church- 
 yard at night too. But going along they met somebody that 
 knew more than them, they think; for he was limping along 
 at a great rate with a scared look on his face, and he came 
 straight from the church-yard. " 
 
 " Hey, and who was that?" asked Mitchell, with strong in- 
 terest. 
 
 " A tramp called Abel Squires." 
 
 " Perhaps he was mixed up in it?" 
 
 " Oh, no, I hardly think that. She was a strapping lass, 
 and he's a poor crippled fellow with only one leg. Besides, 
 what should he do it for?" 
 
 " Anyhow, where is he to be found?" 
 
 " Ah, that's just what nobody knows. He used to be seen 
 about here often enough, but since that night he's only been 
 caught sight of once or twice, and then always in company 
 with the same person." 
 
 " And that person is ?" 
 
 te Mr. Vernon Brander!" 
 
 4< Thanks. That'll do for me, I think. " 
 
 And with that he left her as abruptly as before, and this 
 time walked straight back to his own dwelling without a pause 
 or so much as a glance to right or left of him. 
 
 For some days after that, the stolid figure of the colonist 
 was missed from the village. People began to think that he 
 had decided that the object of his stay was hopeless, and that 
 he had slunk away quietly to avoid the humiliation of owning 
 that his dogged obstinacy had been beaten. The old woman 
 who swept his rooms and washed up his tea things, though 
 much questioned, could tell nothing. He had paid her up to 
 the day of his departure, and had simply told her that he was 
 going away. But whether for a day, a week, or forever he 
 did not say. No board, however, was put up before the cot- 
 tage to announce that it was to let; so that speculation was in 
 favor of his return. Martha Lowndes was the only person 
 who rightly guessed on what errand he had gone. She alone 
 would have felt no surprise if she could have followed the track 
 of Ned Mitchell as he wandered about the country spending a 
 day here, three days there, always stolidly unsociable, and yet 
 always contriving to get more information out of his neighbors
 
 164 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 than the chattiest and cheeriest of travelers could have done. 
 He was tracking a man down with the feeblest of clews a 
 wooden leg and a Yorkshire accent. But he was gifted with a 
 dogged energy and patience which nothing could daunt, and 
 so in the end he found his man. The place was a common 
 lodging-house; the time was three weeks after he started on 
 his search; the man was Abel Squires. 
 
 Ned Mitchell, when he found himself face to face with the 
 crippled tramp, thought that his work was practically done 
 a witness found ready to his hand. But he was mistaken. 
 Luckily for his object, he broached the matter with the caution 
 of a skillful diplomatist, so that Abel had no idea of the inter- 
 est he took in it. But the Yorkshire man in tatters was as 
 keen and canny on his side as the Yorkshire man in broadcloth 
 was on his; he was impervious to attack, either direct or in- 
 direct, and at the mere suggestion of bribery he grew closer 
 than ever. Mitchell, however, did not give up the game, and 
 at last he hit upon the means of opening the tramp's mouth. 
 Poor Abel had a partiality for strong liquor, and the tempta- 
 tion to indulge in it was more than he could resist. The wily 
 Ned was cautious, and contrived to treat his ragged compan- 
 ion, not wisely but too well, without exciting his suspicion. 
 But even under the soft influence of rum and water, the 
 tramp was more difficult to manage than his tempter would 
 have supposed possible. It was not until after a long con- 
 vivial evening that, Abel's rough head having fallen at last on 
 to the table in a drunken sleep, Ned Mitchell was able to stand 
 over him and say to himself, with a gleam of savage and 
 doubtful satisfaction breaking through the heavy stolidity of 
 his expression: 
 
 " You miserable, tattered old beggar! Have I got all out 
 of you that you have to tell, I wonder? Anyhow, I think I 
 know enough to hang the right rascal by. But I shall have to 
 work, work, work." 
 
 On the following day, just three weeks after he left Rishton, 
 Ned Mitchell was again seen leaning over his little cottage 
 gate, smoking a bad cigar, and staring placidly at the broken 
 stocks in the village green. The first persons to note his re- 
 turn were the vicar and his brother Vernon, who strolled 
 through the church-yard together while he was standing at his 
 gate. The younger man changed color at the sight of the 
 colonist; the elder wished him a cheery " Good -day. " 
 
 " Ha, Mr. Mitchell, you can't keep up your incognito any 
 longer. We thought you had gone back to Australia without 
 bidding us good-bye. '''
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 165 
 
 " Never fear, Parson Brander," returned Mitchell, dryly, 
 looking straight into the clergyman's kindly eyes; " there's an- 
 other man has got to say good-bye to you all before I go back." 
 He glanced from one brother to the other as he uttered these 
 words. Vernon kept his eyes on the ground, but he looked 
 yivid. The vicar smiled, and gently shook his head. 
 
 " You'll have to tell me this riddle by and by," said he, in 
 his genial tones. 
 
 " Whenever you please, vicar," said Ned. 
 
 And as the two clergymen passed on, Ned Mitchell, without 
 deigning so much as to glance at the younger, raised his hat 
 to the Reverend Meredith Brander, a most unheard-of mark of 
 respect for him to bestow on any dignitary of the Church. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI11. 
 
 BEFORE the first day of his return to Rishton was over, Ned 
 Mitchell had to submit to the threatened interrogatory of the 
 vicar. 
 
 Ned had strolled into the church-yard, and was examining 
 with a rather cynical expression a beautiful marble monument, 
 one of the chief ornaments of the inclosure, on which were set 
 forth, at great length, in gilt letters, the many virtues of his 
 late brother, " Samuel Robert Mitchell, of Rishton Hall Farm, 
 who departed this life February the eighteenth, eighteen hun- 
 dred and , aged thirty-nine. He was a kind husband, a 
 
 devoted father, a loyal citizen, a faithful member of the 
 Church," etc., etc. 
 
 And below was a similar epitaph for " Lydia Elizabeth, 
 relict of Samuel Robert Mitchell." 
 
 At the foot of this was a text, cut in larger letters than the 
 rest: " In death they were not divided." 
 
 " They were in life, though," murmured Ned, shaking his 
 head slowly. " Never a meal passed but they were at it, ham- 
 mer and tongs, about something or other. Marble had need 
 to be tough or it would split up into shivers under the weight 
 of lies we put on it." 
 
 At that moment he became aware that the vicar, who had 
 come over the grass from his house, was standing behind him 
 looking much amused. 
 
 " Thinking aloud!" said Mr. Brander. " A bad habit, Mr. 
 Mitchell. Imagine what it might lead to if one had any crime 
 on one's conscience." 
 
 " But parsons are supposed never to commit crimes, are 
 they?"
 
 166 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEB. 
 
 "' Or never to have any consciences?" 
 
 " No, I won't say that The only criminal of your cloth 
 that has happened to come in my way has felt many a prick 
 of conscience, Fm ready to wager." 
 
 The vicar looked at him inquiringly, and did not attempt to 
 hide that he felt some anxiety as to the other's meaning. 
 
 " Whoever he may be, I hope so, for the credit of my 
 order/' said he, gravely. 
 
 " Yes, vicar, and for the credit of your family," retorted 
 Ned, dryly. 
 
 Mr. Brander did not look surprised, but only deeply 
 grieved. He laid his handsome white hand on the colonist's 
 shoulder, and addressed him in tones of almost fatherly ex- 
 postulation and entreaty. 
 
 "Look here," he said; "I don't want to preach; there's 
 nothing I dislike more than preaching out of the pulpit. But 
 I must say a few words to you now I have the chance; and you 
 may be angry with me if you like." 
 
 " All right, vicar, fire away I mean go on," he corrected, 
 respectfully. " Let me tell you, it's not many men of your 
 profession I would listen to (except in church), where you all 
 nave a prescriptive right to do your worst on us. But I've 
 learned something about you quite recently which makes me 
 think you're different from the rest. So, sir, when you please, 
 I'm all attention." 
 
 " Well, then," began the vicar in his most persuasive tones, 
 " don't you think it's very uncharitable of you to come over 
 here with the fixed intention of ruining a man? And all for 
 what? What good can it do your unfortunate sister now to 
 have the past raked up, and her sins as well as those of others 
 dragged again into the light? Now, do you even think, going 
 to work in the spirit you do, that you are sure to light upon 
 the right person to punish? Isn't it possible that, acting with 
 such a vindictive feeling as animates you, you may make an 
 innocent man suffer, for lack of finding the guilty one?" 
 
 " No; to be plain with you, vicar, I don't think anything 
 of the kind. As for the feeling which animates me, I think I 
 ought to understand that better than anybody; and I'll let you 
 know what it is. I'm not a generous man, parson; years ago 
 I might have been, perhaps, at least as far as my favorite sis- 
 ter was concerned. But I've roughed it a good bit in the 
 world since then, and all the pretty bloom has been rubbed 
 off my character, d'ye see? But I'm a just man; and 1 don't 
 gee why, if a man and a woman sin, the woman should get all 
 the kicks and the man all the halfpence. That's a vulgar way
 
 ST. CUTHBEBT'S TOWER. 167 
 
 of putting it, but you'll know what 1 mean. My poor sister 
 goes wrong. I don't say she was worth much sympathy; and 
 my private feeling has nothing to do with it; but she had her 
 punishment. She was ruined, and then brutally murdered. 
 Yes, don't tell me any humbugging stories about her going 
 away of her own accord; I know better. Whatever happened, 
 poor Nell was not the girl to slink off like that, and never be 
 heard of again. She'd have come over to me, if she'd had to 
 work her own passage in men's clothes, as they say the lasses 
 do sometimes. Well, that's the woman's end; now for the 
 man. He gets the woman's love, for what it's worth. I don't 
 put much value on such things myself; but anyhow, he gets 
 it. Then when he's tired of it and of her, and the girl grows 
 importunate and her love inconvenient, he quietly puts her out 
 of the way, and no questions asked " 
 
 " Oh, but there were questions asked, and very inconvenient 
 ones too," interrupted the vicar, gently. 
 
 Then he bit his lips as if he had not meant to say so much. 
 
 " Aha, vicar, it looks very much as if you had a notion who 
 it is I'm driving at!" 
 
 " I don't pretend to deny that you mean my unlucky 
 brother," said the vicar, gravely. " To admit that is really 
 to admit nothing, as everybody knows he was suspected, just 
 as they know too that I myself never believed he did it." 
 
 " You judge him by yourself, I expect. You, being of 
 calm and well-regulated temperament, can't understand how 
 a member of your family can be so different from yourself." 
 
 " There you are mistaken, Mitchell, as others have been 
 mistaken before you. People think 1 am calm because I am 
 fat. As a matter of fact, I have been so worried over these 
 suspicions of my brother that my wife has caught me pacing up 
 and down the room in my sleep, too much disturbed on his ac- 
 count to be able to rest." 
 
 " It does you great credit to be so fond of him; I don't 
 blame you in the least for it. You do your duty as a brother, 
 and I'll do mine." 
 
 " And I believe you'll soon come to the conclusion that it is 
 your duty as a brother to let the unhappy girl and her history 
 be forgotten as soon as possible. " 
 
 " My duty as a brother is to leave your brother alone, in 
 fact!"' 
 
 " Haven't I told you I believe him to be as innocent of this 
 business as 1 am myself? But these suspicions, which he can't 
 ignore for you take no pains to hide them are demoralizing
 
 168 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 in the extreme. They make him silent, sullen, mistrustful; 
 in fact, they breed in him all the appearances of guilt." 
 
 "Ay, that they do." 
 
 " Supposing that he had committed the crime, don't you 
 believe in atonement? After ten years of self-denial and hard 
 work and sacrifice, might not a man reasonably suppose that 
 his sin was, humanly speaking, washed out, and that he might 
 indulge the hope of some human happiness with a woman who 
 loved him?" 
 
 Ned Mitchell turned at this from contemplation of the high- 
 ly ornamental, castellated tower of the little church, to curious 
 consideration of his companion's face. 
 
 " Oh," he said, very dryly, " I didn't know you were en- 
 couraging him to marry." 
 
 A deep flush overspread the vicar's face at this speech. 
 Even his striking amiability was not quite proof against the 
 quiet sneer. No annoyance, however, appeared in his tone as 
 he said: 
 
 if Certainly I should not think of encouraging him to marry 
 while these cruel rumors continue to be spread about him. It 
 would only be misery for both of them. But if once the evil 
 reports were silenced and forgotten, 1 should urge him to find 
 happiness in what I have myself found to be the surest and 
 best place to look for it domestic pleasures." 
 
 Ned appeared to consider this proposition thoughtfully for 
 some moments. Then he said: 
 
 " It's curious that you should be the first of your family that 
 I have ever heard to be of your way of thinking, parson, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 Again Mr. Brander reddened. It was an annoying thing 
 for a popular spiritual autocrat to be questioned in this in- 
 quisitorial way by a man in no way qualified to be a judge of 
 him or his family. But his patience was equal even to this 
 trial. He said, very mildly: 
 
 ' Yes, I am afraid that is, I believe that is so." 
 
 " Well, then, I think it's too much to expect to find another 
 in the same generation." 
 
 There was a pause; the vicar looking mildly grieved, Ned 
 munching a bit of stick with much relish, while he regarded 
 his companion out of the corners of his eyes. 
 
 Evening was closing in rapidly. A thin mist was gathering 
 under the trees on the top of the hill, enshrouding the tomb- 
 stones and softening the outlines of the little white stone church 
 and of the pretty ivy-grown vicarage. Not a sound was to be 
 heard in the near neighborhood; and the noises of the village
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 169 
 
 children's voices, lowing of cattle, and the carter's cry to 
 his horses came up faint and subdued from below. 
 
 Suddenly this peaceful stillness was broken by a long and 
 dismal howl, which startled the vicar and caused Ned Mitchell 
 to turn his head attentively in the direction of his cottage. A 
 minute later it was repeated, and before a word had been ex- 
 changed between the two men on the subject of this strange 
 interruption, a yelping and barking began, and mingled with 
 the howls, which still continued, until the air seemed to vibrate 
 with the discordant sounds. 
 
 " You've brought back a dog with you, I perceive," said 
 the vicar. 
 
 " H'm, yes. I've brought two. Fond of dogs, vicar ?" 
 
 '' Very. Are you going to offer me one of yours?" 
 
 " 1 don't think so. They're not exactly the sort Mrs. B. 
 would fancy poking about her pretty garden. They've got 
 queer ways, have my dogs. " 
 
 " You've had them some time?" 
 
 " Ten hours. But they were being prepared for me before- 
 hand. In fact, they have been some time in training. " 
 
 " Sporting dogs, eh?" 
 
 " Yes, and trained for a particular sort of game. " 
 
 Ned Mitchell was rubbing his chin slowly and listening to 
 the harsh duet with much satisfaction. There was a quiet 
 significance in his words and manner which kept alive the 
 curiosity of the vicar. 
 
 " 1 should like to see these dogs, Mr. Mitchell," said he. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Ned, with great heartiness; " choose your 
 own time." 
 
 " Suppose, then, we say now?" 
 
 "No wit is, then." 
 
 Ned removed his arm from the tombstone against which he 
 had been leaning, and led the way out of the church-yard 
 with alacrity. 
 
 " This place gives me the horrors toward night-time," he 
 explained, as, with unwonted civility, he opened the gate fo> 
 the vicar to pass out first. 
 
 : ' Why, surely a man of your sound practical sense doesn't 
 believe in the ghosts and goblins that keep the ignorant out of 
 church-yards at night?" 
 
 " No; but such things can be done in lonely church-yards, 
 under cover of the popular horror. You agree with me there, 
 vicar, don't you?" 
 
 This pig-headed colonist would harp always upon the same 
 string. As plainly as if he had mentioned the name, his tone
 
 170 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 intimated St. Cuthbert's Church-yard and the murder of a girJ 
 there by Vernon Brander. But the vicar was learning how to 
 " take " him, and he assented at once. They crossed the 
 little village green, under trees whose bare branches began 
 now to show small tufts of delicate young leaves. There was 
 a strip of garden in front of the cottage; it had little space for 
 flowers, but was well filled with shrubs and evergreens, which 
 grew close up to the lower windows and almost shut out all 
 light from the tiny sitting-room on the left-hand side of the 
 door. Ned Mitchell, leaving the path, forced his way through 
 the evergreens, and, holding the branches apart with his hands, 
 beckoned his companion to the window, before which the vicar 
 perceived a couple of strong iron bars had been put up. 
 
 "Why/' said he, as he picked his way daintily over the 
 moist mold, "is it a menagerie of wild beasts you have in 
 there?" 
 
 " Something very like it," answered Ned, as a couple of 
 brute faces with hanging jaws and blood-shot eyes dashed up 
 against the window, licking the dusty frames with long red 
 tongues, and jostling each other with hungry eagerness. 
 " Whoa!" cried Ned, as he pushed up the window, and 
 stretching a fearless hand through the bars, stroked and 
 patted their sleek heads with an assured strength and coolness 
 which told them he was their master. " 1 must have the 
 glass taken out of these panes what there's left of it or my 
 pets will be hurting themselves." 
 
 " Your pets!" said the vicar, as he peered into the room, 
 felt their hot breath on his face, and listened to their hungry 
 growling. " Well, Mitchell, you have an odd taste in your 
 choice of domestic favorites. If my inclination lay in the 
 direction of a couple of fierce hounds like that, I think I 
 should consider that old kennel in the back garden a near 
 enough abode for them." 
 
 " What, for friends I count upon to do me a great service?" 
 exclaimed Ned, grimly. " Oh, no! my hounds are already 
 more to me than his pig is to an Irishman. No place that's 
 not good enough for me is good enough for them. Besides, 
 if they were put into the kennel they would be almost close 
 under some of your windows, and would disturb you and your 
 good lady at night. They make more than a lap-dog's yapping 
 when they are uncomfortable, I can tell you," he added, 
 turning with admiration to his hounds, who were snapping 
 savagely at each other, and sniffing the air with dilated nos- 
 trils. 
 
 " They seem to be hungry," said the vicar, who, if he did
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 171 
 
 not share their master's admiration, was much interested in 
 the brutes. 
 
 " Well, which of us wouldn't be, if he'd had nothing to eat 
 all day? It's a part of their education that," he went on, as 
 he drew back from the window and took up an iron spade 
 which stood inside the little porch. " Now I'm going to show 
 you how accomplished they are, if you care to see. If I bury 
 an old bone with next to no flesh on it in any part of this gar- 
 den, they'll hunt it up. That is, they will if they answer to 
 the warranty 1 had with them. That's the accomplishment 1 
 bought them for." 
 
 " Dear me, very curious," murmured the vicar, with great 
 interest. " And this is your first trial of them?" 
 
 " Yes. I only brought them back with me in the small 
 hours this morning, and they've been without food ever since." 
 
 4 ' And are you sure of getting them out of that room with- 
 out their making a meal of you?" 
 
 " I must chance that. I didn't buy them for lap-dogs, and 1 
 think I can manage them. Anyhow, I intend to try. I sup- 
 pose, vicar, you've no mind to help me/' he added, rather 
 maliciously, as he turned to go into the cottage. " It isn't 
 work for gentlemen of your cloth, I know. I don't suppose 
 anything fiercer than a toy terrier is allowed by the Thirty- 
 nine Articles." 
 
 " There's no mention of blood-hounds in them, certainly; 
 but I'm willing to help you all the same, if I can," said the 
 vicar, mildly, preparing to follow his host into the cottage. 
 
 Ned Mitchell looked surprised. Then he glanced rather 
 contemptuously from the plump hands and neat white cuffs to 
 the handsome, placid pink face, and said, dryly: 
 
 " I'm afraid they'll make rather a mess of your linen, par- 
 son, if they don't of you. " 
 
 " 1 must chance that, as you say yourself," said the vicar, 
 calmly. 
 
 Ned nodded, and saying he would be back in a moment, he 
 disappeared through the porch with a grim chuckle. When 
 he returned, a few minutes later, holding in his rough fingers 
 a handful of moldy bones, the vicar was leaning against the 
 porch, thoughtfully turning up his cuffs and his coat-sleeves 
 with the most scrupulous neatness. 
 
 " Not a very tempting feast that, one would have thought." 
 
 '' Well, if they want anything more tempting than that to 
 make them hunt with a will, I've been deceived in them, that's 
 all, and back they go to the man 1 bought them from. " 
 
 As he spoke he took up the spade, and began to search for
 
 172 ST. CUTHBERT/S TOWEK. 
 
 a suitable place in which to bury the fleshless bones. He de- 
 cided on a spot in the back garden, under the prickly leaves 
 ctf an auricula. There, right under the branches, he dug a 
 deep hole, not without much damage to his hands and his 
 clothes. Into this hole he threw the bones, covering them 
 carefully with the displaced earth. The vicar laughed as Ned 
 flattened down the mold and stamped upon it. 
 
 " You are expecting too much of those unlucky brutes," 
 said he. "I quite believe that they might grub up a nice fresh 
 leg of mutton, or the body of a newly killed rabbit. But old 
 bones like that, and under two feet of earth! No, my dear 
 Mitchell, it's not in reason. " 
 
 " All right/' said Ned, putting his hands in his pockets. 
 " If you think my little experiment is not worth watching, I 
 won't trouble you with my company or my dogs." 
 
 " Oh, but of course I must see the end of this. And if your 
 hounds do answer your expectations after all, I quite agree 
 with you that the best room in the house is not too good for 
 such clever beasts." 
 
 They went round to the front of the cottage again, and 
 through the porch into the narrow passage. Ned brought a 
 lighted candle from the kitchen, and proceeded to search 
 among a bunch of large keys which hung from a nail in the 
 wall. Meanwhile the dogs, disappointed at the disappearance 
 of their master, from whom they had expected food, howled 
 and yelped with redoubled vehemence, and flung themselves 
 against the door of the room in which they were confined until 
 it shook and creaked on its old hinges. Ned glanced at the 
 vicar with a sardonic smile. 
 
 " Have you still a mind to go in there, parson?" he asked, 
 rather maliciously. " You clergymen are holy men, as we all 
 know, but things have changed since Daniel's time, and I 
 doubt, no offense to you, whether he'd have got off so well if 
 he'd been pitched into a lion's cage at the Zoo as he did among 
 those old Persians!" 
 
 The vicar looked nervous, certainly. But he still stuck to 
 his resolution of going into the room. Ned shrugged his 
 shoulders, and whistled softly, staring into his companion's 
 face as he fumbled with the keys, and seeming rather to enjoy 
 the notion of the change which would come over that pink, 
 plump, mildly jolly countenance when the fangs of one of the 
 hounds should meet in the clerical anatomy. He felt quite 
 sure that it was the vicar's entire ignorance of hungry blood- 
 hounds and their little ways which gave him such an appear- 
 ance of placid pluck.
 
 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWER. 173 
 
 " Are you ready?" he asked, as he put the key in the door. 
 '' We shall have to dash in pretty quick to prevent the brutes 
 from coming out." 
 
 The vicar nodded, and came close up beside him. Ned gave 
 him a last and, as it were, a farewell look, and opened the 
 door. The honds, with hungry growls and jaws dripping 
 with foam, rushed at the opening. Ned Mitchell was too quick 
 for them; he was in the room, with the door closed behind 
 him, before either of the brutes could get so much as his nose 
 outside. Quick as he was, however, the portly vicar was be- 
 fore him, and was well in the middle of the small room by the 
 time the door closed. 
 
 Then Ned Mitchell found, cool as he was, that in fancying 
 himself able to master these two fierce brutes, he had reckoned 
 without his host. In a moment he discovered that it was only 
 when satisfied with food and carefully muzzled, as they had 
 been for their journey in the small hours that morning, that 
 he could attempt to cope with them successfully. Both to- 
 gether they now flew at him, springing, the one at his throat, 
 the other at his right hand. The attack was so sudden, so 
 fierce, that he staggered back against the door, in danger of 
 being overpowered, and struck out with unsure aim, failing to 
 beat them off. He had been forced to drop his candle when 
 the hounds set upon him, and it was almost in darkness that 
 the struggle went on, the man cursing and the animals growl- 
 ing, while they bit at and worried him with the savagery of 
 ravenous hunger. 
 
 The vicar was standing motionless in the middle of the 
 room. Ned saw his portly figure in outline between him and 
 the faint light, and in the midst of his own occupation won- 
 dered, not having any great respect for the physical powers of 
 the Church, that Mr. Brander did not edge further away from 
 the scene of combat, or show some other sign of nervousness. 
 
 " Shall I help you?" asked the vicar, tranquilly, when the 
 struggle between man and hounds had gone on for several ex- 
 citing moments. 
 
 Ned was too busy trying to keep off the dogs to express the 
 astonishment he felt at these words and the tone in which they 
 were spoken. 
 
 " Yes, for Heaven's sake, yes, if you can!" he panted out. 
 
 He had scarcely uttered these words in answer, when the 
 vicar came to his aid with a promptitude and dash which a 
 professional tamer of beasts could scarcely have exceeded. 
 Seizing by the throat first one of the hounds and then the 
 other, he choked them off his half-bewildered companion, and
 
 174 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 held them, yelping and gurgling, while Ned, savagely angry 
 at "the parson's" superiority more than grateful for his 
 timely help, picked up and relighted the candle with affected 
 unconcern. 
 
 " Well done, vicar!" said he, in a tone which betrayed that 
 he was not particularly well pleased. ' ' If you can manage to 
 hold the brutes while I find the key, we'll soon be shut o/ 
 them." 
 
 " Don't hurry on my account," said Mr. Brander, quite 
 pleasantly. 
 
 His bland tone made Ned's blood boil. The colonist re- 
 solved, since he seemed to like his occupation, not to curtail his 
 pleasure. He took twice the necessary time to find the key 
 and place it in the lock. Then, before turning it, he inclined 
 his head over his shoulder, and asked, maliciously: 
 
 " Getting tired?" 
 
 " Not a bit!" said the vicar, mildly. 
 
 " Hang you!" muttered Ned below his breath. 
 
 The next moment he heard a rush and a growl, and felt the 
 teeth of one of the hounds meet in his right leg. 
 
 " Halloo!" cried Mr. Brander; " can't you manage him?" 
 
 Ned did not answer. Between pain and rage, indeed, he 
 would scarcely have been articulate if he had done so. He 
 gave the dog a vicious kick, which sent him howling away, 
 and, turning the key in the lock, beckoned to the vicar to fol- 
 low him out. Before doing so, however, Mr. Brander had to 
 dispose of the animal he was still holding. His arms, strong 
 as they were, had begun to ache with the strain, for the dog 
 had writhed and struggled the whole time. Then Ned, hold- 
 ing the candle high, and examining the vicar's face with ex- 
 ceeding interest and equal malevolence, saw upon it an ex- 
 pression very different from its habitual placid mildness. The 
 blue eyes were flashing; the handsome mouth was drawn in a 
 tight, straight line; the clear-cut features seemed to have in a 
 moment lost their plumpness, and to have become hard and 
 cruel; while the soft, white hands looked strong and sinewy as 
 they clasped the dog's throat. Ned watched him curiously. 
 The vicar looked into the animal's blood-shot eyes with the 
 expression not merely of a master, but of a tyrant. Lifting 
 him with both hands high into the air, he gave the dog such a 
 shaking as set him gurgling and howling and twisting his body 
 with pain, and flung him to the far end of the room to join 
 his companion. Then he crossed the room without any haste, 
 and went out at the door, which Ned shut and locked. 
 
 " And now," said the vicar, " how about the experiment?"
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 175 
 
 Mitchell, who was engaged in an examination of his injured 
 leg, looked up quickly. 
 
 " Well/' he muttered, in unwilling admiration, " you are a 
 cool hand, I must say." 
 
 " Cool/' exclaimed the vicar as pleasantly as ever; " one 
 needs to be cool with acquaintances who invite one into a sit- 
 ting-room furnished with a couple of blood-hounds and noth- 
 ing else. Ugh!" he cried, as he suddenly noticed the condition 
 of his hands, which were smeared with blood and foam, " what 
 a mess those brutes have made me in!" 
 
 Ned laughed shortly, and continued to stare at him with the 
 deepest interest. 
 
 It looks very unsuitable now, that same mess, when you 
 are all the parson again," he said, dryly. " But, curse me 
 with book and with bell if I didn't think a minute ago that you 
 looked as if you could stand the sight of blood as well as any 
 soldier." 
 
 " And why not?" asked Mr. Brander, who had by this time 
 wiped his hands, pulled down his cuffs, and almost recovered 
 his usual exquisite appearance. " People seem to forget that 
 we parsons were not born in the surplice, and that we have all 
 been through the same training as other men from whom a 
 little readiness with wrists and fists is expected as a matter of 
 course." 
 
 *' That's true, parson. But we'd always looked upon you 
 as one of the meek 'uns. Now if it had been your brother " 
 
 " Ah, poor Vernon! I think all the spirit has been badgered 
 out of him." 
 
 " Well, but, parson," said Ned, still gazing at him with the 
 same steady and curious stare, "I think you have spirit 
 enough for two." 
 
 Mr. Brander turned and met his look straight, eye to eye. 
 
 " Yes," he said, quietly and firmly; " and when it comes to 
 n attack upon my brother, you'll find that spirit a more seri- 
 ous thing to deal with than you expect. " 
 
 They had come through the porch out into the garden again, 
 and were standing very near together, with the setting sun 
 throwing a weak and watery light upon their f acea A passer- 
 by, noticing their attitudes, looks, and tones, would have 
 guessed that a challenge had been thrown down and taken up. 
 
 The two men bade each other good-night in a manner which 
 showed on each side both caution and mutual respect. And 
 having retired each to his house, they instinctively tried to get 
 a sight each of the other. The clergyman went to his study, 
 and seated himself with a book at the window; Ned Mitchell
 
 176 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 took the air at his back door. The vicar remained calm and 
 smiling, and looked amused, when he caught Ned's anxious 
 look. The colonist took things less easily. 
 
 " That parson '11 be a very difficult beggar to tackle/' he 
 said to himself almost despondingly. " I could manage Ver- 
 non by himself, but with this old ' Soap-your-sides ' behind 
 him it'll be a long job a very long job." 
 
 But he comforted himself before going to bed by a look at 
 his blood-hounds! 
 
 CFIAPTEB XIX. 
 
 THE Reverend Meredith Brander had not been Vicar of 
 Rishton and compulsory student of the wiles of frail humanity 
 for fourteen years for nothing. When from his study window 
 he saw Ned Mitchell after many yawns, several sleepy 
 stretchings out of his arms, and an occasional nod of the head 
 retire from his back door and shut himself in, it seemed to 
 the vicar by no means certain that his neighbor had gone to 
 bed. So he withdrew a little way into the shelter of his win- 
 dow curtains, and remained on the watch, beguiling the time 
 by composing a very pretty opening for next Sunday morning's 
 sermon, wherein the rising moon, as it showed more and more 
 of his laurels, was used to typify the grace of repentance illumi- 
 nating the dark places of the heart. 
 
 And the result justified Mr. Brander's doubts. Ned Mit- 
 chell did, it is true, go to bed, but he speedily got up again, 
 impelled to this freak partly by the pain in his injured leg and 
 partly by his unsatisfied curiosity concerning the accomplish- 
 ments of his dogs. The vicar smiled as, after an hour and a 
 half's watching, he saw Ned's candle glimmering weakly 
 through the blinds; first, on the upper floor of the cottage, 
 and then on the lower. Presently Ned himself reappeared at 
 the back door, which he set wide open, before proceeding to 
 draw on his hands a pair of stout leather gloves. Then he re- 
 treated into the cottage again, and gave the vicar time to open 
 his window a little way very softly. As he did so, sounds of 
 yelping and scuffling reached his ears from the cottage, and a 
 few moments later the hounds rushed out into the garden. 
 
 The month was May, and in this cold north country the 
 trees both in the vicar's garden and in that of his neighbor 
 were as yet only thinly covered with leaves; so that there was 
 little to hide the movements of the animals, which, after a 
 preliminary scamper round the house and an attempt to get 
 through the bars of the gate, began to sneak about close to
 
 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWER. 177 
 
 the walls and under the shrubs, sniffing, prowling, scratching, 
 like uncanny creatures half seen in the moonlight, making the 
 branches of the evergreens sway and rustle, and uttering from 
 time to time a yelping, whining sound, as they grubbed and 
 searched restlessly for food. The vicar pulled aside his curtain 
 and watched with great interest. The hounds were getting 
 whether by accident or led by scent he could not yet tell 
 nearer and nearer to the shrub under which Ned Mitchell had 
 buried the untempting bones. Ned himself, from the upper 
 floor of the cottage, was intently watching them. Hither and 
 Either the brutes roamed, in apparently random search for 
 something to appease their hunger. With nose pointed always 
 to the earth they crept slowly along, or bounded a few paces, 
 sometimes raising the night echoes by a deep howl, more often 
 uttering the low, wolfish sounds of half-starved savage creat- 
 ures. But aimless as their wanderings seemed to be, often as 
 they deviated from a straight course to it, they did both come, 
 siovdy but surely, nearer to the auricula. The vicar rose from 
 his chair; Ned Mitchell hung his whole body out of his little 
 window. As the animals drew closer to the place where the 
 bones were hidden, they seemed to the careful eyes of the 
 watcher to grow more excited, to yelp and whine more savage- 
 ly, to sniff the cold earth with keener nostrils. At last the 
 muzzle of one of the hounds touched the prickly leaves of one 
 of the lowest branches of the auricula. He drew back with a 
 snort of pain. A minute later, however, drawn by his irre- 
 sistible instinct, he returned, and, making a furious attempt to 
 pass under the low branches, retreated again, whining and 
 savage from the effect of the pricks he had received. The 
 third time both dogs 'drew near together, and this time re- 
 gardless of the scratches inflicted by the thorny boughs on their 
 backs they pushed their way under the auricula, and began 
 to grub and to scratch up the earth with might and main. 
 
 In an incredibly short space of time, considering the depth 
 of earth with which Ned had covered them, the blood-hounds 
 had dug up the buried bones and were crunching them raven- 
 ously with their powerful jaws. Ned, uttering a short laugh 
 of triumph, raised his head and caught sight of the vicar, who 
 now, regardless of concealment, was pressing close to the win- 
 dow-panes of his study a face which looked of a greenish pallor 
 in the moonlight. Ned watched him with an intent, glaring 
 gaze for a few seconds; then, shutting his little window 
 rapidly and noiselessly, he slipped out of the cottage by the 
 front door, and making his way round to the back stealthily 
 under cover of the evergreens, crept along in the shadow un-
 
 178 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 der the dividing wall until he stood, unseen by the vicar, almost 
 under the latter's window. After the lapse of a few moments 
 his curiosity was rewarded. 
 
 "Poor Vernon! My poor brother!" murmured the vicar 
 with a heavy sigh. 
 
 Then Ned, hugging himself and indulging in a knowing 
 smile of satisfaction, heard the study window close. 
 
 He crept back into his little house by the way he had come, 
 narrowly escaping the attentions of his hounds, which, having 
 quickly finished the scanty meal the dry bones afforded them, 
 seemed inclined to try, as more nourishing, the person of 
 their master. He went in-doors, armed himself with a plate of 
 raw meat in one hand and a short whip in the other, and call- 
 ing them into the house, succeeded in shutting them up once 
 more in the room they had previously occupied. 
 
 " Good dogs! good dogs!" he said, approvingly, as he stood 
 at the crack of the door and watched them snarling over their 
 food. " That's nothing to the meal you shall have when 
 you've hunted out the next lot of old bones I shall set you 
 grubbing for. " 
 
 . And with another grim chuckle as he closed the back door 
 and gave a glance at the now deserted study window of the 
 vicarage, Ned Mitchell retired for the night with a light heart 
 and a good conscience. 
 
 Next morning Ned was early on the watch, in spite of the 
 fact that the wound in his leg gave him a good deal of pain. 
 He saw the vicar go out a couple of hours earlier than usual; 
 and instead of walking, as was his custom in the morning, was 
 on his cob. Ned nodded to him as he went by, and timed his 
 absence by a ponderous gold watch which was with him night 
 and day. 
 
 " An hoar and twenty minutes," he said to himself, as Mr. 
 Brander returning at an ambling, clerical pace, and, meeting 
 the nurse with his little son descending the hill for their morn- 
 ing walk, gave the boy a ride in front of him as far as the 
 stables. " Yes, parson; just long enough to ride to Saint 
 Cuthbert's, catch your brother before he started on his parish 
 work, have a quarter of an hour's chat about the weather, 
 let us say and be back in time for your own morning walk." 
 
 Perhaps Ned Mitchell's shrewd face betrayed his suspicions; 
 perhaps the wily vicar's knowledge of men was greater than 
 any that books on divinity could impart; for, seeing the 
 colonist leaning as usual over his garden gate, his shrewd eyes 
 lazily blinking in the spring sunshine, Mr. Brander nodded, 
 wished him good-morning, and added cheerfully:
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 179 
 
 " On the watch, eh?" 
 
 " Perhaps, vicar," answered Ned, touching his hat, with a 
 knowing twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " How are the pets this morning, after their night's work?" 
 
 " Night's work?" echoed Ned, who had entertained the 
 mean suspicion that the vicar would not own to his nocturnal 
 observations. 
 
 " Yes, I did a little bit of spying too last night," answered 
 Mr. Brander, who seemed to take a frank and boyish delight in 
 an open and declared warfare with his neighbor. " How's 
 the leg this morning?" 
 
 Ned, who chose to think that the vicar might have prevent- 
 ed the injury to his limb if it had so pleased him, answered 
 with a tone which was in marked contrast to the good humor 
 of the other. 
 
 "It'll do," he said, shortly. " How's your brother this 
 morning?" 
 
 Again Mr. Brander seemed to take a buoyant pleasure in his 
 antagonist's cuteness. 
 
 " My brother is very well," he said, smiling. " And I'm 
 sure, whatever you may think, that he would be quite pleased 
 to hear of your kind inquiries." 
 
 " Well, we shall see about that," said Ned. " Now, come, 
 parson," he went on, persuasively, " you might just as well 
 confess what I know that you rode over to Saint Cuthbert's 
 this morning to put him on his guard against my tricks." 
 
 " And may not one with good reason put an innocent man 
 on his guard against an avowed enemy?" 
 
 " I am not your brother's enemy, Mr. Brander. I am the 
 enemy of the man who murdered my sister. It is you who are 
 saying that they are one and the same. " 
 
 "No, no, no!" broke out the vicar, with vehemence un- 
 usual to him. " The fact is, you have come here with what 
 you consider a strong case against the poor fellow, and every- 
 thing you hear goes to pad up that case. If I believed in my 
 brother's guilt, do you suppose I should leave my little daugh- 
 ter in his care, as I have done for the last week, and intend to 
 do for another fortnight?" 
 
 " Why not, parson?" said Ned, very quietly. " Neither 
 you nor 1 are simple enough to think the worse of a man be- 
 cause he happens to have made a little slip by the way. The 
 man who murdered my sister didn't say to himself, * I will 
 change my whole course of life and become a murderer,' as if 
 it were a profession. No, he is going about the world at this 
 moment just like you or me, doing his daily duty as well as he
 
 180 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 can, and perhaps feeling sorry enough for that little slip to 
 better his life in atonement for it." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed he is," broke in the vicar, earnestly. " If 
 you could see how my brother works: how he tries by every 
 means " 
 
 " Hadn't we better leave your brother's name out of the dis- 
 cussion?" asked Ned, with a touch of dry insolence. " You 
 are not anxious to fix the noose round his neck yourself, I 
 suppose." 
 
 The poor vicar looked beyond measure crest-fallen and dis- 
 concerted. After all his assertions of his brother's innocence, 
 to have betrayed himself like that! He stammered and tried 
 to explain away his unfortunate admission; but not succeeding 
 very well, he made haste to cut short the conversation and re- 
 treat into the house with his little son. 
 
 Ned Mitchell was not left long without an object to interest 
 him. He remained sunning himself at his garden gate for 
 some minutes after Mr. Brander's disappearance, and then 
 retired into his cottage, from one of the tree-shaded windows 
 of which he soon saw a person approaching, at sight of whom 
 his rugged features seemed to tighten, the only sign they ever 
 gave of unusual excitement. It was Vernon Brander. From 
 the curious glances which the clergyman cast in the direction 
 of the room in which the blood-hounds, now asleep after a good 
 meal, were still confined, it was clear he had been fully in- 
 formed concerning them. He stopped before the garden 
 fence, peering among the evergreens with evident interest. 
 But as Ned appeared at the door, with the intention of a little 
 talk with him, he hurried on toward the vicarage without 
 another glance at the cottage. Ned looked after him with a 
 curling lip. 
 
 " 1 suppose some people would admire that fellow, with his 
 lanky face and his good deeds. But I never did have any 
 fancy for your martyrs, especially when their private life won't 
 bear looking into. " 
 
 And after watching the clergyman until he had turned into 
 the private road, Ned directed his attention to two visitors, 
 who, attracted by certain rumors about the occupant of the 
 cottage, and the menagerie he had set up there, had joined 
 their forces on the way to pay Mr. Mitchell a morning call 
 
 These visitors were Mr. Denison and Fred Williams. Fred 
 had by no means got the better of his violent admiration for 
 Olivia Denison. But having found her persistently " out " 
 when he called at the farm, and persistently curt when he met
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 181 
 
 her out-of-doors, he had consoled himself for her frigidity by 
 taking a trip to New York, whence he had now not long re- 
 turned. To signalize his recent achievements in the way of 
 travel, he wore a wide-brimmed hat and a seasick complexion, 
 and carried a revolver in a leather belt. This was his first 
 meeting with any of the Hall Farm people since his return, so 
 that, on coming face to face with Mr. Denison, who was pass- 
 ing through the farm-yard gate, he overwhelmed him by an 
 outburst of effusive cordiality which astonished that gentleman 
 beyond measure, but raised his spirits, and soothed him with 
 the feeling that here was a friend. 
 
 Mr. Denison was one of those simple-natured men who are 
 only too ready to find a friend in any one who addresses to 
 them a kindly word. Things had been going badly with him. 
 Having started farming with all the skin-deep energy of the 
 enthusiastic amateur, he had long ere this discovered Ihe per- 
 versity of the whole animal and vegetable kingdoms: the deter- 
 mination with which sheep die of the rot, pigs take the 
 measles, beans and pease refuse to come up at the proper time 
 and crops fail on the slightest provocation, or on none. A sus- 
 picion had begun to take root even in his ingenious mind that 
 there was more in farming than one would have thought while 
 going over a farm ; and a stronger suspicion still that, if things 
 did not soon "take a turn," his new profession, instead of 
 making his fortune, would land him in the Bankruptcy Court. 
 He could not fail, moreover, to be alive to the sturdy animosity 
 of his rival, John Oldshaw, and to the ever-increasing pleasure 
 which that amiable person showed on meeting him, as his own 
 prospects of finally getting the Hall Farm at an easy rent 
 seemed to grow better. Olivia, who understood her father's 
 temperament too well to communicate to him the smallest fact 
 which was likely to trouble him, had never uttered the name 
 of Fred Williams in his presence, except to say with much 
 haughtiness that he was a quite insufferable person. But Mr. 
 Denison, who never disliked anybody, would have been quite 
 ready to set her aversion down to groundless prejudice when 
 Fred listened sympathetically to a rambling account of the last 
 outbreak of the feud with Oldshaw. 
 
 " The fellow's such a cad, too," complained Mr. Denison, 
 mildly. " Not that 1 should think the worse of him for not 
 being a gentleman," he added. " His son is a nice lad, a very 
 nice lad, and we get on together admirably. If he were only 
 in one's own class there might be a Montague and Capulet end 
 to the business, I fancy; for if he were a little better educated 
 I should almost fancy he was in love with my daughter Olivia.
 
 182 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWEE. 
 
 You may have seen Olivia?" he contiued, naively, with a touch 
 of paternal pride. 
 
 Yes, Mr. Fred Williams might have seen Olivia, but was 
 wise enough not to own to more than this at present. 
 
 " Well, the use that young fellow has been to me me, a 
 man old enough to be his father is something remarkable. 
 In fact, I don't mind telling you " (Mr. Denison didn't mind 
 telling anybody) " that if it hadn't been for his hints, T should 
 never have been able to carry on the farm at all. Why, if I 
 give him on the strict Q. T. you know, for it mustn't come 
 to his father's ears a commission to buy me a few sheep, or a 
 well-brbd shorthorn, and his father sends him to market for 
 the same purpose, he'll contrive to get me the best, Mr. Will- 
 iams me the best I assure you." 
 
 " Indeed!" murmured Fred, with a deferential courtesy en- 
 tirely new to him. 
 
 " Yes, I assure you it is so. Now I am not one of those old 
 fools who fancy that a young man will do such a thing out of 
 friendship for a man of his father's generation. I see there is 
 something behind it," continued Mr. Denison, astutely. " And 
 1 confess," he went on, growing more confidential as his small 
 friend, while listening more sympathetically than ever, linked 
 his arm within that of the farmer, " that I almost wish my 
 daughter hadn't been 'brought up a lady,' as the saying is, 
 when I see what a very good thing young Oldshaw and I could 
 have made of it together he with his knowledge of practical 
 farming, and I with my with my knowledge, my er my 
 knowledge of the world, in fact/' 
 
 " A very good idea, sir a very good idea," assented Fred, 
 enthusiastically. " At the same time you might find a son- 
 in-law who could help you without looking so far beneath you. 
 1 say so far," he went on, " because there is a something about 
 you that er makes you sort of different from other people, 
 you know; a dignity or high breeding or something; and per- 
 haps your daughter may have a touch of it. I say perhaps, 
 you know, because I scarcely know Miss Denison." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Denison, swallowing the bait with all 
 simplicity, " I suppose there is, as you say, a certain cachet 
 about a man who has lived so much in town or near town as I 
 have. And whatever is best about me my Olivia has certainly 
 inherited. But whoever my child marries, it must be for her 
 own good; not for mine." 
 
 Simple, selfish Mr. Denison thought there was something 
 rather praiseworthy in this declaration. Fred listened shrewdly. 
 
 " It must be much worse to be badly off, or or not to be
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 183 
 
 exactly flourishing, when one has a family to care for and pro- 
 vide for, " he suggested. 
 
 Mr. Denison seized his hand. 
 
 " My dear lad, that's just it," said he, almost earnestly and 
 in all sincerity. "A man on a farm by himself must be in 
 heaven. On the same farm, with a family, he may be in in 
 quite another place." 
 
 ' e I see, I see, " murmured Fred, pressing his arm against 
 that of the older man. " Money market tight, and all that." 
 
 "Tight, I believe you!" assented Mr. Denison, bubbling 
 over with his confidences, as weak men do when they have had 
 to exercise an unwonted self -repression. " You would scarce- 
 ly believe what the tightness amounts to sometimes. A young 
 man in your position couldn't realize it. " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I could though. Nothing of that sort that you 
 have ever borne is as bad as what my guv'nor's gone through 
 lots of times. It was before he was blessed with me, and of 
 course he don't talk about it; but you may take my word it's 
 true. " 
 
 " Dear me!" said Mr. Denison, as if this was almost incon- 
 ceivable. Though in truth the airs of patronage the elder Mr. 
 Williams liked to assume had often caused him to gibe gently 
 in the bosom of his family at the waste of pounds by men who 
 were better used to pence. 
 
 " But it seems worse for you, you know don't seem natural 
 somehow. Seems as if it were the right and proper thing for 
 you to have lots of money. Makes me uncomfortable to hear 
 you haven't, and and all that sort of thing, you know. " 
 
 He gabbled out this broken speech with an air of modest 
 confusion which touched Mr. Denison, whose finances were at 
 a distressingly low ebb. He pressed the young fellow's arm 
 in silence rather awkwardly, but with much feeling. Fred 
 went on quickly: 
 
 " Now don't be offended; you mustn't be offended. I'm 
 not of enough account in the world for a man like you to be 
 offended with me. But if you wouldn't mind you needn't 
 think anything of it if you should be tight, I mean straight, 
 anything like hard-up, in fact, I should really feel it quite an 
 honor if you would " 
 
 Poor Mr. Denison was quite broken by this offer, which 
 came upon him unexpectedly. He protested, stammered, 
 grew red in the face, and dim in the eyes. He was a gentle- 
 man, sensitive, and not without pride. But he was weak- 
 natured harassed by difficulties he saw no way out of. Al- 
 though he repeatedly refused Fred's repeated offers and with
 
 184 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 perfect sincerity, he did so in a tone which encouraged the 
 young man to think that his yielding was only a question of 
 time and of an adroitly chosen moment. 
 
 " At any rate, you're not offended with me for making the 
 suggestion?" Fred asked at last. 
 
 He was glad to see that Mr. Denison looked rather disap- 
 pointed to think that he was taken at his word. 
 
 " Offended! No, indeed, my dear boy. One can't afford 
 to be offended at a friendly offer nowadays. " 
 
 " I dare say, you know, I haven't put it as nicely as I might, 
 and that's why you go on refusing. Of course my manners 
 are not up to yours. You're refined ; I'm not. But I mean 
 what I say, and that's something; if you can't be refined and 
 all that, any way it's something to be sincere." 
 
 " It's everything, in my opinion. 1 shall not forget your 
 disinterested kindness, Williams. But what put it into your 
 head I can't think." 
 
 " Came like a flash, you know," answered the young fellow, 
 promptly. " Gentleman handsome, dignified gentleman, 
 credit to the parish looks humped. What's the cause? Sure 
 to be the old thing money. Besides, we've a mutual inter- 
 est, you and I; you're fond of dogs. I suppose you've come 
 up to see those hounds they say Mitchell's got?" he suggested. 
 
 For, on reaching the garden paling at Church Cottage, they 
 had both stopped, as if their journey were at an end. 
 
 " Well, yes no; I had come to see Mitchell, certainly; and 
 I had heard about these hounds he's brought back with him. 
 But that wasn't altogether my reason for coming." 
 
 He would have babbled out his reason with his usual in- 
 genuousness if Ned had not interrupted the conversation by 
 calling "Good-morning!" approaching them in a leisurely 
 manner at the same time. 
 
 '* I know what you've come for," he said, with a nod to the 
 younger man. " They're in there. Don't be too familiar, 
 unless you want to leave a pound of flesh with them." 
 
 And he jerked his head back in the direction of the room 
 where the blood-hounds were kept. Fred Williams did not wait 
 for further conversation, but raising his hat with great cere- 
 mony to Mr. Denison, and shaking his hand warmly, he went 
 through the gate and up to the cottage window. Ned threw 
 at him with some disdain what may be described as half a 
 glance. 
 
 " Unlicked cub, that!" he said, not much caring whether 
 the subject of his remark heard it or not.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEB. 185 
 
 The guileless and grateful Mr. Denison demurred at this, 
 and Ned did not think the point worth discussing. 
 
 " I suppose you didn't come up to talk about dogs?" he 
 asked, dryly. 
 
 " Why, no. As a matter of fact," said Mr. Denison, with 
 the hesitation of a person unused to come straight to the point, 
 " I have heard odd reports about; I I ' 
 
 " Have come to the wrong shop, Mr. Denison, if you expect 
 to hear any village gossip from me." 
 
 " Quite so, quite so. But everybody knows now why you're 
 here," said Mr. Denison. " And as the man they say you're 
 after is an admirer of my daughter's " 
 
 " ' They say ' a lot of things, Mr. Denison, which I advise 
 you not to listen to." 
 
 " But I've been quite discourteous to this gentleman on the 
 strength of your suspicions!" 
 
 " Well, I should find some stronger ground to go upon be- 
 fore I was discourteous again." 
 
 " Then you don't believe these dreadful stories?" 
 
 " I know nothing of any dreadful stories." 
 
 " Mr. Mitchell, I beg you to be plain with me. Am I right 
 in refusing to have anything to say to a certain clerical 
 neighbor of ours?" 
 
 " Mr. Denison, if my advice is worth anything, have noth- 
 ing to do with any clerical neighbors." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Mitchell, that is enough for me. I see 
 you wish to steer clear of libel. But I understand your warn- 
 ing, and I thank you. Vernon Brander shall not enter my 
 house again. " 
 
 He wished the colonist good-morning, and went back to his 
 farm with a more satisfied conscience. His wife, then, had not 
 been so far wrong in her estimate of the Vicar of St. Cuth- 
 bert's, though her treatment might have been open to criti- 
 cism. But Ned Mitchell looked after him with the tight-lipped 
 smile of contempt with which he was always so ready. 
 
 " Does he really think a few mumbling words from him will 
 turn that strong-willed lass, 1 wonder?" thought he. 
 
 And dismissing the subject with a short laugh of derision, 
 his thoughts turned to his hounds, and to a plan which he was 
 nourishing very near his heart. 
 
 That very day he resolved to put it into practice. In the 
 early part of the afternoon, therefore, he strolled down to St. 
 Cuthbert's, found the church-yard gate securely fastened, and, 
 making a circuit of the walls, discovered a point where it was 
 of no very formidable height.
 
 186 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEB. 
 
 " 1 think my beauties could do that!" chuckled he to him- 
 self. And returning straight to his cottage, he remained 
 within doors until the sun began to go down. 
 
 Then, going, as he now did without fear, into the room 
 where the hounds, again ravenous with hunger, were yelping 
 and savagely howling, he cowed them with a small whip, which 
 he did not scruple to use cruelly, and securing the animals in 
 a leash, left his little dwelling with them. The hounds were 
 fierce, strong, and difficult to manage. Ned. who still limped 
 in pain from the effects of the bite one of them had given him 
 the night before, cursed them below his breath one moment 
 and burst out into enthusiastic praises of them the next. He 
 made his way with them direct to St. Cuthbert's, going over 
 the fields. It was growing dusk; the walk was a lonely one; 
 he did not see a single human being as he made his way slowly 
 along, surprised at the ever-increasing pain his wounded limb 
 caused him. 
 
 At last he came in sight of the ruined tower, the patched-up 
 walls of which bulged out dangerously, threatening constantly 
 to fall, a mass of ill-assorted fragments of brick and stone, 
 wood and tiles, into the disused grave-yard beneath. 
 
 " Steady, my beauties, steady!" said he to the yelping 
 hounds. " Your work is going to begin, my dears! Steady 
 now, steady!" 
 
 And he made his way, with the hounds still straining at the 
 leash, to the spot he had picked out that afternoon. 
 
 " There are some old bones for you in there, or I'm much 
 mistaken, that will be worth a king's ransom to me, and a 
 good home for the rest of your days to you, my beauties. " 
 
 The hounds growled and sniffed, and leaped up about him, 
 as if madly eager to begin their grim hunt. Close up to the 
 wall of the old grave-yard he came, and peered over at the 
 irregular mounds, overgrown with rank grass and weeds. 
 There was little daylight left, but his keen eyes could still see 
 dimly into each dark corner, filled with old stones and decay- 
 ing vegetation. His hands were trembling, stolid as he was, 
 with his eagerness to let the hounds go. His eyes were hun- 
 grily roaming over the neglected inclosure where he believed 
 the clew to his secret to lie, when suddenly a sound came to 
 his ears which paralyzed his arms and seemed to stop his fast- 
 drawn breath. It was the voice of a little child. 
 
 Looking again more intently than before into the chaos of 
 broken and misplaced tomb-stones, he saw, peering out from 
 behind a tuft of shaggy brier and weed, the face of a little 
 child. It was tiny Kate Brander. Ned looked at the fierce
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 187 
 
 brutes and shivered. Another moment and they would have 
 been loose in the grave-yard, ravenous and blood hungry. 
 Then the expression of his face changed. 
 
 " Yes, he has got the best of this move; curse him! But 
 the game's not played out yet." 
 
 And, with a lowering face, and slow, heavy gait, he turned, 
 with his yelping brood, toward the road home. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE stolid calmness of Ned Mitchell's every-day demeanor, 
 which was but a mask for strong passions and still stronger 
 resolutions, broke down entirely under his disappointment. 
 If the moldy old grave-yard of St. Cuthbert's had been a para- 
 dise of sweet sights and sounds and scents, he could not have 
 been more maddened by the impossibility of entering it. Even 
 the innocent child herself, whose presence among the ruined 
 graves had prevented him from letting his hounds loose, shared 
 his anger. 
 
 " They can't keep the brat there always, that's one thing," 
 he said to himself, as he limped along. 
 
 He found the return journey over the fields more tedious 
 than he a strong, healthy man, used to bear great fatigues 
 without any ill effect could have thought possible. The 
 hounds were growing every moment more troublesome, strain- 
 ing harder at the leash, snapping and yelping the while. The 
 wound in his injured leg was beginning to smart and burn, 
 the muscles were swelling most painfully, and long before he 
 reached Rishton Hill every step was causing him acute agony. 
 The last field he had to cross brought him out into the road 
 almost opposite the" farm-yard gate of Rishton Hall. Leaning 
 against the gate and stroking the shaggy head of a poor old 
 mongrel which had attached itself to the farm since she had 
 been there, was Olivia Denison. She looked very sad, and 
 stared out at the fields and the gray hills beyond with a face 
 out of which all the bright girlish vivacity seemed for the mo- 
 ment to have gone. She started and blushed on seeing Ned 
 Mitchell, who had succeeded in reducing his unruly pets to 
 something like submission, but whose temper had been by no 
 means improved in the task. 
 
 " Oh!" she cried, running through the gate and coming 
 fearlessly within the range of the leash, "are these the dogs 
 I've heard about?" 
 
 " How should 1 know what you've heard?" snapped Ned.
 
 188 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWER. 
 
 " But 1 know what you'll feel in a minute if you come within 
 reach of the brutes' jaws." 
 
 For answer to this speech, Olivia stooped and laid her hand 
 with a firm touch on the head of the animal nearest to her. 
 Whether he had been cowed by Ned's course of treatment, or 
 whether there was something peculiarly sympathetic to the 
 animals in her boJd manner of approaching them, the dog only 
 gave an ungracious growl, but made no attempt to resent her 
 advances more actively. 
 
 " And are these blood-hounds?" she asked, almost with 
 bated breath. 
 
 " Yes, that's what they are," answered Ned, as if he had 
 been challenged. 
 
 Olivia's breath came more quickly as, still looking down at 
 the brutes, and even playing with the ears of one of them, she 
 listened and evidently read the meaning of his tone. 
 
 " What have you got them for?" she asked, raising her 
 head suddenly, and looking at him askance. 
 
 " I've got them to play sexton for me in Saint Cuthbert's 
 Church-yard; to dig up some bones there that were buried with 
 less ceremony than they ought to have had." 
 
 " There are a good many bones in that old church-yard. 
 How do you know your hounds will dig up the right ones?" 
 
 " It's sixty years since any body was buried there until ten 
 
 And if you should happen to come upon these bones, and 
 even be sure they are the right ones, how will you be sure who 
 put them there?" 
 
 " I don't say I shall. But at any rate it will be a step in 
 the right direction. And I shall have my eye on any likely 
 folk who may be about, and see how they take the discovery." 
 
 " It seems to me you're no better than a detective," burst 
 out Olivia, hotly. 
 
 " Well, 1 hope I'm no worse," said Ned, laconically. 
 
 Olivia turned her head away, looking hurt and anxious. 
 
 Ned, who liked and admired the girl, felt a little sorry. He 
 moved off with his dogs, and began to whistle; but the pain 
 of starting again made him break short off and draw his 
 breath sharply through his teeth. This attracted Olivia's at- 
 tention; she watched him as he labored up the hill, and before 
 he had gone very far she ran after him. 
 
 " What's the matter with you, Mr. Mitchell?" she asked. 
 " You walk lame to-night. Have you hurt yourself?" 
 
 " No. And what's that to you if I have?" he answered, 
 curtly.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 189 
 
 " Nothing, if you don't think sympathy worth having/' 
 
 Ned stopped. The strong-limbed, plucky women he had 
 got used to in Australia, and from whom he had chosen his 
 own wife, were rather lacking in graceful feminine ways; so 
 this pretty speech and gentle tone, coming from a girl whose 
 spirit he admired, touched and softened him. 
 
 " What are you up to now?" he asked, gruffly enough, but 
 not without betraying signs of a gentler feeling than he would 
 have owned to. " 1 know better than to think you'd trouble 
 your head about an old bear like me if you didn't want to get 
 something out of me. " 
 
 " Well, I want to get the pain out of you and perhaps a 
 little of the surliness, too," she added, archly. 
 
 " The first would take a doctor, and the second would take 
 a magician. ' ' 
 
 " Are you going to have a doctor?" 
 
 '* No. I can't go after one myself, and my establishment 
 doesn't include anybody I could send. " 
 
 " I'll send for one. I'll get one of the farm boys to go; or, 
 if there isn't one about, Mat Oldshaw will go, I know." 
 
 Ned looked at her cynically. 
 
 " Poor Mat," said he. And to think I was fool enough 
 myself once to run errands for a girl who thought herself as 
 far above me as heaven from earth, when all the time she 
 was dying of love for another chap too. Just the same just 
 the same." 
 
 Olivia blushed and looked annoyed, but she answered, 
 quietly: 
 
 " Mat would do a kind deed for any one, Mr. Mitchell. 
 And I should be sorry for him to think that it is a sign of 
 great wisdom to be discourteous to a woman." 
 
 " Very good," said Ned, grimly. " Sorry I haven't time 
 to let you exercise your wit on me a little longer. Good- 
 night." 
 
 He hobbled up the hill with great and evident difficulty, his 
 dogs slinking behind him. He was absolutely faint with pain 
 by the time he reached home. 
 
 It was quite dark in the cottage when he arrived, and he 
 made his way at once to a shelf in a passage where a box of 
 matches and a candle were kept. But he felt from end to end 
 of the shelf without being able to find either. The dogs, hav- 
 ing become excited since their entrance, sniffed about the floor, 
 yelped and pulled afresh at the leash, impeding his move- 
 ments. He had shut the front door on entering, relying on
 
 190 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWER. 
 
 his candle and match-box; so that he could not even see the 
 forms of the struggling animals to avoid them. Two or three 
 times he stumbled and set them growling as he groped his way 
 toward the room where he kept them shut up. A dizziness 
 was creeping over him, which seemed from time to time almost 
 to overcome him, while occasionally for a moment it seemed to 
 leave his head again perfectly clear. He remembered, or 
 thought he remembered, that he had left the door of the room 
 wide open for ventilation; but now he went the whole length 
 of the wall, feeling with his disengaged hand, without finding 
 any opening. 
 
 The hounds meanwhile were growing more excited more 
 troublesome than ever; so that, in his dizzy and wearied con- 
 dition he could not move or even think with his usual pre- 
 cision. Their behavior, however, at last roused a suspicion in 
 his mind. 
 
 " Somebody 's been in here," he muttered to himself. 
 " And the dogs know it by the scent." 
 
 He had grown bewildered in the darkness, and no longer 
 knew in what part of the passage he was standing, as the dogs, 
 still straining to get free, pulled him from side to side. Sud- 
 denly he heard the faint creaking of a door. The dizziness 
 was coming upon him again, and he turned, in a half-blind, 
 stupefied way; saw, or thought he saw, a faint light come as 
 if through an open door, and the next moment found himself 
 lying on the floor, while the sound of the hasty shutting of an- 
 other door behind him fell upon his dull ears. After this he 
 became unconscious. When Ned came to himself, it was a 
 long time before he could remember, even in the vaguest 
 manner, the experiences he had just gone through. He fancied 
 himself in one of the dungeons he had read about in his boy- 
 hood, which bold, bad barons built under their castles for un- 
 lucky prisoners who fell into their hands. In strange contrast 
 to the prosaic reflections which occupied his mind in every-day 
 waking hours, the most fantastic fancies now passed through 
 his brain; that he was a prisoner, flung down here by an 
 enemy; that fetters of red-hot iron had been fastened to one 
 of his legs. He thought he heard the sounds of every-day life, 
 muffled by the thick stone ceiling between, in the castle above 
 him; the noises of animals; sounds of a man's voice; then of 
 a woman's. He recognized the tones of the latter, he felt 
 sure, though he could not remember the possessor's name. 
 Then suddenly a light was struck in his dungeon and a hand 
 touched him, and it flashed upon him that he had come back, 
 that he was in his own cottage lying on the stone floor of the
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 191 
 
 passage, with a gray-bearded man kneeling beside him, and a 
 woman's skirt brushing against his feet. 
 
 " He must have fallen very heavily, " whispered the woman. 
 
 And Ned's senses came fully back to him. 
 
 " Of course," he murmured to himself, "it's Miss Deni- 
 son. " 
 
 " He can't have fallen as heavily as that unassisted," said 
 the gray-bearded man, whom Ned now knew to be the doctor. 
 
 " Do you mean that he was thrown down?" asked Olivia, 
 in a whisper of tragic earnestness. 
 
 " Yes. Look at the blood on the stones." 
 
 " Oh!" The girl's teeth chattered with horror. 
 
 There was a pause, while the doctor lifted him gently. 
 
 " That's the leg he limps with," said the girl. 
 
 The doctor touched the wounded limb gently, but the action 
 made Ned moan. 
 
 " What shall I do with the dogs?" asked Olivia, presently, 
 in the same low voice. " I think they are kept in one of 
 these rooms. My father said so. " 
 
 " Turn the brutes loose in the garden." 
 
 But Ned, though the movement caused him acute pain in 
 his injured leg, struggled up on one arm and shook his head 
 feebly. 
 
 " No, no," he said, in a weak, husky voice; " I'm going to 
 be ill, I know. Take me upstairs to my room, and put the 
 dogs into the room on the opposite side of the landing." 
 
 " Oh, come, we can't have that. It wouldn't be a proper 
 arrangement at all most unhealthy," objected the doctor. 
 
 Ned glared at him, and instantly began to try, in a dogged 
 manner, to get up. 
 
 " If you won't do it, or let it be done, why, hang you! I'll 
 do it myself," he panted out. 
 
 " I'll do it, Mr. Mitchell," said the girl's clear voice. 
 
 Ned heard her go upstairs, soothing and encouraging the 
 hounds, which scrambled and shuffled up after her. 
 
 " That's a good plucky 'un," he then remarked to the doc- 
 tor. 
 
 And satisfied now that his savage pets were safely disposed 
 of, he fell back on the doctor's arm. For there was a curious 
 buzzing noise in his ears, and his head felt alternately very 
 heavy and very light. He wanted to keep his senses clear un- 
 til the young girl should come down again, but it was only by 
 a strong and exhausting effort that he succeeded. As soon as 
 she reached the bottom stair, Olivia heard him addressing her 
 in a f aint voice.
 
 192 ST. CUTHBEBT'S TOWEB. 
 
 " Thanks thanks for what you've done. I'm not ungrate- 
 ful. Now get me some one to look after me who's got a 
 little nerve. For I don't care how they treat me but they 
 must take care of my dogs. For somebody wants to get at 
 any dogs, I know. And they must be prevented prevented. 
 You'll see to this. Promise me. " 
 
 " Yes, I will, I promise/' said Olivia, in a firm voice, afraid 
 that she was speaking to a dying man. 
 
 She had scarcely uttered the words when he again became 
 insensible. 
 
 Olivia was in sore distress as to the manner of fulfilling her 
 promise. On the one hand, she had to keep her word by find- 
 ing a nurse for him who would not be afraid of the hounds; 
 on the other, she was particularly anxious that, if he should 
 grow delirious, his ravings should not be heard by any one who 
 would chatter about them. 
 
 " We must get him to bed," said the doctor, as she stood 
 debating this difficulty. " The young man who came for me 
 is he about?" 
 
 " Mat Oldshaw? Oh, yes, I expect so. He stayed in the 
 garden when we came in. He wouldn't go away without ask- 
 ing if there was anything more he could do. " 
 
 " Ask him to come in, if he is there, please." 
 
 Olivia went out into the garden. As she passed under the 
 porch, she saw a man slink limping away from the side of 
 Mat, who was standing near the gate, and pass behind a bushy 
 screen of evergreens. She sprung forward to the gate, but the 
 man had gone out of sight. 
 
 " Mat," she asked, in a frightened voice, " who was that?" 
 
 " Nobbut a tramp," he answered. " Nobody to freight 
 yer. It's ten year an' more since he wur in these parts." 
 
 " Oh, no, it isn't," said Olivia, decidedly. " He was here 
 four months ago. His name is Abel Squires, isn't it?" 
 
 " Ay, that be his name, sure enough," answered Mat, with 
 surprise. " Wheer did you happen upon him?" 
 
 " Never mind. I want to know what he's doing about 
 here." 
 
 " He wants to get a sight o* Mester Mitchell, he says." 
 
 " But what did he sneak away like that for, when he saw 
 me come out, instead of waiting to ask if he could see him?" 
 
 " He doan't want to be seen aboot here, he says. " 
 
 "Mat," cried the girl, earnestly, after a few moments' 
 thought, ' ' Mr. Mitchell has been knocked down and hurt. 
 The doctor wants you to help carry him upstairs. I wonder 
 if it was this tramp who did it?"
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 193 
 
 " Noa, miss, but Ah knaw who did," said a rough voice so 
 close to her that it startled her. 
 
 She turned and saw the one-legged man whose conversation 
 with Vernon Brander she had overheard in the church-yard. 
 The ground was so soft with recent rains that his wooden leg 
 had made no noise as he approached. Olivia drew her breath 
 sharply through her teeth and felt cold with terror as she 
 looked at his weather-worn, strangely inexpressive face. Here, 
 she thought, was the man whose silence about that miserable 
 night's work of ten years ago Vernon had had so much diffi- 
 culty in procuring. And he had come with the express pur- 
 pose of seeing Ned Mitchell, whom she looked upon as ver- 
 non's avowed enemy. 
 
 " You know who knocked Mr. Mitchell down?" she said, 
 faintly. 
 
 " Ay/' said Abel Squires, with a nod. 
 
 She had a fancy that this man was trying to implicate Ver- 
 non, and she scarcely dared to frame her next question. 
 
 " You mean that you saw him do it?" she asked, after a 
 short pause. 
 
 " Ah werr standin' in 's bit o' garden at back theer," said 
 he, jerking his head in the direction of the cottage. " An' 
 Ah see a mon go in, and after a bit Ah see him coorn aht. 
 An* if Mester Mitchell wur knocked deaun," he went on, 
 doggedly, " Ah say Ah knaw t' mon as did it. An* it bean't 
 no good to ask me who t' was, for Ah mean to keeap me awn 
 counsel; Ah'm used to } i." 
 
 Olivia did not know what to make of the man. Though his 
 voice was rough, his manner of speech was mild, and betrayed 
 no hostile feeling toward anybody. 
 
 " Are you a friend of Mr. Mitchell's?" she asked, ten- 
 tatively. 
 
 " Ay," nodded Abel, good-humoredly. " He's never done 
 naw harm to me." 
 
 Seized with a bold idea, Olivia scanned the man narrowly 
 from head to foot. 
 
 "Will you tell me what business brought you to see Mr. 
 Mitchell?" she asked, frankly. 
 
 Abel Squires examined the girl's face closely in his turn. 
 
 " What do you knaw abaht it?" he asked, shortly. 
 
 " I know that he is trying to find out a secret; a secret 
 which 1 think you know." 
 
 "Maybe Ah do, may be Ah don't; anyhow, Ah doan ! t 
 prate abaht it!" 
 
 " Then what do you want to see Mr. Mitchell for?"
 
 194 ST. CTJTHBEKT'S TOWER 
 
 " Ah think he got summat aht o' me last toime Ah see him; 
 Ah want to knaw how mooch." 
 
 The girl's face cleared. 
 
 " Could you nurse a sick man?" she asked. " Mr. Mitchell 
 is ill, delirious, and I don't want to trust him to any prattling 
 old woman." 
 
 " Ay/' said Abel, promptly; " Ah can do 't." 
 
 " Come in with me, and let us see what the doctor says," 
 said Olivia, leading the way into the cottage with eager foot- 
 steps. 
 
 She was surprised at her own daring in taking this step; but 
 she argued with herself that if the tramp, possessing Vernon's 
 secret, as she knew he did, should wish to turn informer, there 
 was no possibility of preventing him, while he would be within 
 reach of Vernon's influence as long as he was attending on the 
 sicll man. If, on the other hand, he was loyally anxious to 
 keep it, there could be no better person to watch over the man 
 from whom she wished to keep the truth. 
 
 The doctor asked Abel a few questions, and agreed that he 
 might be tried as sick-nurse. Tramp though he was, Squires 
 was a man of some intelligence, and had picked up many a 
 scrap of practical knowledge in the wanderings in which his 
 life had been almost wholly spent. Before the doctor and 
 Olivia had left the house, they felt that the patient was in no 
 unskillful hands, while the hounds were under control of a 
 man entirely without fear. 
 
 As she left the cottage, after listening fearfully for some 
 minutes to the incoherent mutterings of its unlucky tenant, 
 Olivia met Mat, who was dutifully waiting in the garden to 
 learn whether she had any more work for him. She stopped 
 short on seeing him, and said, " Oh!" in some confusion. 
 
 " What is it?" asked Mat, whose loyal admiration for her 
 made him quick of apprehension. " You want summat more 
 done. Whatever it mebbe, Ah'm ready to do 't. " 
 
 " You are good, Mat," she said, gratefully, with a bright 
 blush. " Nobody is ever as ready to help me as you, or so 
 quick to know when one wants help." 
 
 " Ah knaw more'n that/' said Mat, encouraged by her 
 praise. " Ah knaw, Ah guess, what you want done." 
 
 The color in Olivia's cheeks grew deeper than ever. She 
 said nothing, however; so Mat, after a short pause, went on: 
 
 " You want somebody to knaw what happened." 
 
 Olivia laughed bashfully. " You're an accomplished 
 thought-reader, Mat. "Who is the person?" 
 
 " Parson Vernon."
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 195 
 
 " Well, don't you think he ought to know, as as he's a 
 friend of Mr. Mitchell's?" 
 
 " Ay," said Mat. " Ah'll go straight off to him neow." 
 
 " Thank you, Mat. And be sure you don't forget to tell 
 him that Abel Squires is going to nurse him. " 
 
 " Ah'll mahnd that. Good-night, Miss Olivia. " 
 
 " Good-night, Mat. I don't know what I should have done 
 without you this evening. " 
 
 Mat blushed. " You knaw, miss," he said, in a bashful, 
 strangled voice, " you're as welcome as t' flowers in Meay to 
 aught as Ah can do neow and any toime." 
 
 And he pulled off his cap awkwardly without looking at her, 
 and ran off down the hill before he had even stopped to re- 
 place it; while Miss Denison, much more leisurely, started on 
 her way home to the farm. 
 
 Long before Ned Mitchell's illness was over, poor Olivia 
 had grave reason to repent her choice of an attendant. Old 
 Sarah Wall, who had been in the habit of coming in for a 
 couple of hours daily to do the cleaning, was now installed 
 permanently on the ground-floor, which she had all to herself. 
 The front door was kept on the chain, and to all inquiries it 
 was Mrs. Wall's duty to answer that Mr. Mitchell was getting 
 on very well, but was not allowed to see any one. If any 
 further questions were put to her, or a wish expressed to see 
 his attendant, she put on a convenient deafness, and presently 
 shut the door. No one was admitted but the doctor, even 
 when Ned was well enough to sit up at the front window, with 
 one or other of his fierce hounds at the side of his chair, and 
 his odd-looking attendant in the background. The evident 
 good understanding which existed between master and man 
 filled Olivia with foreboding, and caused still deeper anxiety to 
 Vernon Brander, who, having called at the cottage day after 
 day, and failed to extract any information from Sarah Wall, 
 deliberately walked round to the back garden and climbed into 
 one of the windows of the upper floor by means of the water- 
 butt. Here he came face to face with Abel Squires, who, 
 hearing the noise, came out of his master's room to find out 
 the cause. He tried to retreat on seeing Vernon, but the 
 latter seized his arm and detained him. 
 
 " Look here," said he, in a low voice, but very sternly; 
 " you've broken faith, I see." 
 
 Abel's wooden face never changed. 
 
 '* Well," said he, doggedly, " Ah doan't say Ah haven't. 
 Boot it was forced aht o' me when Ah wur droonk. That's 
 all Ah have to say. "
 
 196 ST. CUTHr.KRTS TOWER. 
 
 And to demonstrate this he folded his arms tightly, and met 
 the clergyman's eyes stubbornly and without flinching. 
 
 " So that man knows everything?" asked Vernon, in a low 
 voice, glancing at the door of Ned Mitchell's room. 
 
 " Pretty nigh all as Ah knaw. " 
 
 Vernon's face was livid. He leaned against the window-sill 
 and looked out fixedly into the vicarage garden. 
 
 " He can't do anything/' he muttered. 
 
 " He means to try," said Abel. " Hast tha seen t' dogs?" 
 
 " No, but I've heard about them; and they won't help him 
 much," answered Vernon, quietly. 
 
 " Tarn't easy to trick 'un," said Abel, warningly. " He's 
 none so oversharp, but he's sure." 
 
 Vernon said nothing to this; after a short pause, he bade 
 Abel good-day very shortly, and went down-stairs. Old Sarah 
 Wall was standing at the door, in colloquy with some one out- 
 side. She cried out when she felt a man's hand on her shoul- 
 der; and Vernon, hastily telling her to be quiet, drew back the 
 chain and let himself out. He started in his turn on finding 
 himself face to face with Olivia Denison. Being overwhelmed 
 with anxiety on his account, it was only a natural result of her 
 girlish modesty that she should appear freezingly cold and 
 distant in her manner toward him, even though her curt greet- 
 ing caused him evident pain. After the exchange of a very 
 few indifferent words, Vernon raised his cap stiffly and left 
 her; while she, angry with him, still more angry with herself, 
 walked slowly down the hill, more anxious, more miserable on 
 his account than ever. 
 
 It was on the ninth day after the beginning of his illness that 
 Ned Mitchell, whose impatience to be well materially retarded 
 his recovery, could at last bear confinement no longer, and 
 seized the opportunity of a short absence of Abel's in the vil- 
 lage to make his way once more down to St. Cuthbert's 
 Church-yard. He wanted to take his hounds with him, but 
 decided that it would be rash to do so until he was more sure 
 of hie own powers of reaching his destination. For he found, 
 much to his own disgust, that he felt weak and giddy. How- 
 ever, he set out on his walk as quickly as he could, taking his 
 way over the fields to escape observation. Evening was closing 
 in an evening in late June, warm and balmy. He chose to set 
 down to the summer heat the dizziness which he felt creep- 
 ing over him long before the ruined tower of St. Cuthbert's 
 came in sight. 
 
 When he reached the lane which divided the last field from 
 the church-yard, his head swam and he staggered across the
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 197 
 
 road and caught the gate for support After a minute's rest, 
 he raised his head and looked over into the inclosure. Was he 
 delirious again? Had the wild fancies of his illness come back 
 to torment him? He saw before him, instead of broken, moss- 
 grown head-stones, rank weeds, and misshapen mounds of earth 
 and rubbish, a church-yard as neat and trim as that of Rish- 
 ton itself, with tombstones set straight hi the ground, well- 
 graveled paths, and borders of flowers. The church-yard wall 
 was garnished along the top with broken glass, and two notice 
 boards, respectively at the right and left hand of the gate, 
 bore these words: "Visitors are requested not to pluck the 
 flowers/' and " Dogs not admitted." 
 
 This last inscription reassured Ned as to the state of his own 
 brain. He laughed savagely to himself, and after a few min- 
 utes' rest, which he spent in grim contemplation of the altered 
 church-yard, he turned to go home. 
 
 "Whether he had " got his second wind/' or whether the 
 rage he felt stimulated his powers, Ned returned home much 
 faster than he came. Just outside the cottage gate he met 
 Sarah Wall, wringing her hands and muttering to herself in 
 deepest distress. 
 
 " What's the matter with the woman?" asked Ned, in his 
 surliest tones. 
 
 " Oh, sir! the dogs, the dogs! It warn't my fault; it warn't 
 indeed! How they got out I know no more than the babe urn- 
 born!" 
 
 " Got out!" shouted Ned, with fury. " What the d . 
 You wretched old woman. Are they lost? Have they got 
 away?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, don't ee speak like that; don't ee look so: it 
 warn't my fault. Abel should have been there to look after 
 'em." 
 
 Ned kept down his rage until he got emt of her what ke 
 wanted to know. 
 
 " What happened, then? Tell me at once, quietly. Where 
 are the dogs? 
 
 " Oh, sir, they're in there," said the old woman, pointing 
 with a trembling finger to the cottage. " And now if you was 
 to flay me alive could I tell you how " 
 
 But Ned did not stay to listen. He was up the garden-path 
 and through the porch before she could utter half a dozen 
 words. An oath and a howl of rage burst from his lips at the 
 sight which met his eyes. Stretched on the floor of the stone 
 passage lay the dead bodies of the two blood-hounds, foam ajjd 
 blood still on their jaws, their attitude showing that they Bad
 
 198 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 expired in great agony. Ned hung over them for a moment, 
 touched them; they were scarcely cold. Then he stood bolt 
 upright with a livid face. 
 
 "They have been poisoned!" he whispered, in a harsh, 
 gurgling voice. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 NED MITCHELL was not the sort of man to waste much time 
 in the indulgence of an outbreak of passion. After a few 
 minutes' contemplation of the dead bodies of his hounds, he 
 pulled himself together and prepared for action. There had 
 flashed into his mind the recollection of the evening on which 
 his illness began. He had forgotten until that moment all 
 the details of his arrival home, his groping about for a light, 
 the sounds he had heard as of a person moving in one of the 
 rooms, and the glimpse he had caught of an opening door as 
 he fell senseless to the floor. It now occurred to him for the 
 first time, as he went over the small incidents of that night 
 one by one, that the fall from the effects of which he was 
 suffering was caused by a heavy blow from some one who had 
 forced an entrance into the little cottage during his absence. 
 
 " A murderous blow!" he muttered to himself as alone in 
 the dusk, with his dead hounds encumbering the ground at his 
 feet he staggered along by the walls, reproducing the sensa- 
 tions he had felt just before his fall. " It must have been in 
 here that he was hidden/' he went on to himself, as he found 
 himself at the door of the room where he had first kept his 
 hounds. " For it was on my right hand as 1 came in that I 
 heard the noise; I am sure of it." Speaking thus slowly to 
 himself, he at last turned the handle and went into the unused 
 room. It was musty and close, and he had to open the win- 
 dows before he could breathe easily. He had a match-box in 
 his pocket; striking a light, he examined every corner of the 
 empty room with the utmost care, and discovered at last, close 
 to the wall in a nook where the light from the windows scarce- 
 ly penetrated, two dried-up, evil-smelling scraps of meat. 
 "Ah!" said he to himself . " Poisoned, of course! And as 
 the first attempt wouldn't do, he had to try again." 
 
 He removed the meat carefully from the room, and hid it 
 away for further examination. Poor, trembling Mrs. Wall 
 having by this time returned to her place in the kitchen, he 
 went in and asked her, in a dry voice, if she had heard any- 
 body about the place in his absence. 
 
 " No, sir," quavered she. " Indeed I didn't."
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 199 
 
 " You were out, of course?" 
 
 " No, sir; at least, I'd only gone just half-way down t' hill 
 as far as t' post-office, to get in a pound of sugar, because 
 you're out of it, sir; and I give you my word, sir, I'd never 
 ha' gone if I hadn't ha' thought as Abel was upstairs, and " 
 
 " And you came back just a minute or two before I did?" 
 ' Yes, sir; not so very long." 
 
 "Not long at all, or you'd have had the whole village up 
 here, poking and prying into every corner, I know," said Ned, 
 grimly. " And when you opened the door you saw the dogs 
 lying as they are lying now? 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " And you've heard nobody about?" 
 
 " No, sir; at least, no, not to-day." 
 
 " Not to-day! Then you have heard somebody in the place 
 since I've been ill?" 
 
 " Oh, no, sir, not nobody to matter nobody at all. Only 
 one day as I wur talking to Miss Denison from t' Hall, as wur 
 at t' door asking about you, I wur pushed aside quite sudden 
 like; and when I looked it wur Parson Brander. " 
 
 She lowered her voice to a whisper as she uttered the name. 
 For in spite of her cautious way of putting it, Sarah Wall felt 
 a decided suspicion that the Vicar of St. Cuthbert's, against 
 whom her prejudice was strong, was at the root of this busi- 
 ness. 
 
 " 1 don't know where he come from, sir," she croaked on, 
 rather mysteriously. " But it wasn't through t' door, for it 
 wur on t' chain." 
 
 Ned, having got out of her all she had to tell, turned with an 
 abrupt nod, left the kitchen, and again went out into the gar- 
 den. Abel Squires, who was hobbling up the hill on his 
 crutch, redoubled his pace when he saw his master at the gate. 
 
 " So ye're aht, Ah see," he called out, as soon as he was 
 near enough. " Ah guessed how 'twould be as soon as ma 
 back wur turned." 
 
 As he drew nearer he saw by his master's face, not only that 
 he was greatly fatigued, but that something serious had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 In a few short sentences Ned told him the events which had 
 occurred in his absence: his visit to St. Cuthbert's, the finding 
 of the dogs' bodies, and the discovery oE meat which he be- 
 lieved to be poisoned. 
 
 " Wall tells me," said he, " that Vernon Brander got into 
 the place one day while I was laid up. " 
 
 Abel nodded.
 
 200 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWER. 
 
 *' Reight enough: so he did. Got in at t' ooper floor by t' 
 water boott." 
 
 " What reason did he give?" 
 
 " "Wanted to kna\v heow mooch you knew. So Ah told him. 
 He's been going abaht loike a church-yard ghost ever since. 
 Ah met 'un just neow on 's way oop to t' vicarage." 
 
 " To the vicarage?" 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 " Well, I'm going up there now." 
 
 And he turned and began to walk up the hill. Abel hopped 
 after him, assuming his most persuasive mien. 
 
 " Doan't 'e, Mester Mitchell doan't 'e," he entreated. 
 ' c It's naught but cruelty to him as hasn't done it; an' as for 
 him as has, you've got plenty in store for him wi'out w orriting 
 of him now. " 
 
 Ned paid not the slightest heed to these remonstrances, but 
 went on his way, still closely attended by Abel, the length of 
 the vicarage garden wall. 
 
 Abel redoubled his pleadings as they caught sight of the two 
 brothers and Mrs. Brander walking in the garden. 
 
 " Look 'e here, Mester Mitchell," said he, in a rough voice 
 that, plead as he would, could get no softer, " Ah've kept 
 away from Eishton ten year fur to please Parson Vernon, 
 'cause Ah'm t' only chap as see what happened that neight, 
 an' he wouldn't trust me to hawd ma toongue. What Ah 
 could do fur ten year, couldn't you do fur a neight?" 
 
 Still Ned walked stolidly on, vouchsafing no answer, until 
 the party in the garden caught sight of them, and the Vicar 
 of Kishton came down to the side gate to meet them. As he 
 drew near, Abel, after one futile attempt to drag Ned bodily 
 ajvay, tried to escape himself. But Mr. Brander was too quick 
 and too strong for him. 
 
 " Why, who have we here?" he said, curiously, seizing 
 Squires by the arm, and looking into his wooden face. " Isn't 
 it Abel Squires, the man who picked up my father's signet 
 ring on the Sheffield Road?" 
 
 *' Ay, sir," said Abel, very bashfully, while he persistently 
 avoided meeting the vicar's eye. 
 
 "I thought so," said the vicar, good - humoredly. And 
 without noticing the lowering expression of Ned's face, he 
 turned and shook his hand. " Glad to see you about again, 
 Mr. Mitchell. I must tell you a story about our friend here," 
 he continued, putting a kind hand on the tramp's shoulder. 
 ' Years ago, when I was scarcely more than a boy, my father 
 lost a signet ring one night as he was returning home from a
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEB. 201 
 
 sick-bed. It was an old-fashioned thing; much too large for 
 his finger. He never expected to see it again; but a fortnight 
 afterward who should turn up but Abel Squires, inquiring of 
 his servants if anybody in the house had lost a ring. He had 
 picked it up, and having no means of advertising his find, had 
 perseveringly called at house after house on the outskirts ol 
 Sheffield where he found it, until he at last got directed to my 
 father as the owner. He was so much struck by the circum- 
 stance that he declared it should be treasured up forever by 
 the head of the family as a reminder that the world had con- 
 tained at least one ideally honest man.'* 
 
 " You're t' head of t' family, yet you don't wear it though, 
 parson," said Abel, glancing at his hands. 
 
 He had listened in much confusion to the account, chang- 
 ing from his wooden leg to his sound one and back again, and 
 looking as if the vicar's speech contained some revelation par- 
 ticularly painful for him to hear. 
 
 The vicar, who had been touched by his excessive modesty, 
 was surprised at this retort. 
 
 "No, I don't wear it now," he said, laughing genially. 
 " I did though, until I had the misfortune to lose it myself, 
 some years ago. It was too large for me, as it had been for 
 my father, and I never knew how it had gone. And you were 
 not about to find it for me/' 
 
 " Kay, sir," was all Abel said, with one shy glance at the 
 by-standers. 
 
 They had formed a strange group while the vicar's recital 
 lasted. Each one seemed to know that something serious was 
 impending, and to listen, in silence not all attentive, to the 
 vicar's innocently told reminiscences. He was the only person 
 at ease in the little circle. Ned was standing solid and square, 
 listening to Mr. Brander's little story with a contemptuous 
 face; Vernon Brander, who seemed of late to be growing daily 
 more lean, more haggard, kept his eyes fixed upon Ned witn 
 an expression of undisguised apprehension; while Mrs. Bran- 
 der, whose great black eyes were flashing with excitement to 
 which she allowed no other vent, looked steadily from one to 
 the other of the rest of the group, as she stood a little away 
 from them all, motionless and silent, like a beautiful statue. 
 
 When the vicar's prattle had come to an end, there was a 
 pause. He seemed himself to become at last aware that th 
 minds about him were occupied with some more serious mat- 
 ter, and he turned to Ned with a look of inquiry: 
 
 " Is anything the matter, Mr. Mitchell?" he asked. " You 
 look less happy than a man should do who has just been re-
 
 202 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 leased from the confinement of a sick-bed. Can I adrise you 
 or counsel you in any way? Would you like to come into my 
 study?" 
 
 Ned raised his head and looked at him like a bull in the 
 arena. 
 
 " No/' he said, savagely, " the garden will do for what I 
 have to say. It's only this: My blood -hounds have been poi- 
 soned " a little shiver of intense excitement seemed to run 
 through the group " and by the same hand that killed my 
 sister. Now I give the man who did both those acts till this 
 time to-morrow to confess publicly that he's been a great 
 hypocrite for ten years, with good words on his lips and bad 
 thoughts in his heart. But if in those four-and-twenty hours 
 he don't confess, then he shall be buried at the country's ex- 
 pense before the year's out." 
 
 There was dead silence after this speech, which Ned deliv- 
 ered, not in his usual coarse, loud tones, but in husky, spas- 
 modic jerks, and with the manner of a man bitterly in earnest. 
 The vicar listened with great attention; Abel Squires seemed 
 to wish, but not to dare, to move away; Vernon shook from 
 head to foot with high nervous excitement; while Mrs. Bran- 
 der moved to the side of her brother-in-law, and stole her hand 
 within his arm. 
 
 Not a look, not a movement was lost on Ned, whose features 
 suddenly broke up into a grim and horrible smile as he noted 
 the action of the lady. It was a smile of cunning, of mock- 
 ery. But Mr. Brander had treated him with dislike and con- 
 tempt. 
 
 " You think," said the Vicar of Eishton at last, " that the 
 man who poisoned your dogs was the same who made away 
 with your sister?" 
 
 " I don't think; I know." 
 
 " I don't want to be hard on you, Mitchell. But it seems 
 to me that you feel the latter loss the more acutely of the 
 two." 
 
 " It showed," returned Ned, doggedly, " that the fellow is 
 no better-minded now than he was then." 
 
 " You might say so if they were human beings whose lives 
 he had taken," said the vicar, continuing his gentle remon- 
 strance. " As they were only dogs, 1 am inclined to take a 
 more lenient view; while admitting that this unknown per- 
 son" 
 
 " No, not unknown," interpolated Ned. 
 
 The vicar went on without noticing the interruption. 
 
 " had no right either to trespass on your premises or de-
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEB. 203 
 
 stroy your dogs, allowance must be made for the state of mind 
 of a desperate man, who believes, rightly or wrongly, that 
 these animals will be used to discover his guilt. " 
 
 " Well, vicar," said Ned, who had been staring straight into 
 the clergyman's face with a cynical smile, " I've said my say; 
 that's what I came here for. Now it's done, I'll wish you, 
 and your good lady, and Mr. Vernon there, a very good-night." 
 
 The vicar held out his hand. 
 
 " Good-night. You will not be offended with me for saying 
 that I hope Heaven will soften your heart," he said in a low 
 voice, in the gentle, almost apologetic tones which he always 
 used when touching upon religious matters. 
 
 " No, I'm not offended," said Ned, in a hard, mocking 
 voice. 
 
 " And will you come to our hay-making to-morrow?" Mr. 
 Brander continued in a lighter tone. " It will be a very sim- 
 ple sort of festivity, but it may serve as a change from your 
 hermit-like solitude and your gloomy reflections." 
 
 Ned began to shake his head rather contemptuously, mut- 
 tering something rather surlily about being " too old to pick 
 buttercups. " 
 
 " Mr. Williams, of the Towers, will be here," went on the 
 vicar, as pleasantly as ever. ** He is exceedingly anxious to 
 make your acquaintance. " 
 
 The expression of Ned's face changed. 
 
 " Is that the Mr. Williams who has been bothering so about 
 repairing the old church down there Saint Cuthbert's?" he 
 asked, with affected carelessness. 
 
 And the vicar's expression changed also. 
 
 " I believe he did talk about it at one time; but as my 
 brother objected to it, he had to give up the idea," he said, in 
 a low voice, glancing at Vernon, who was talking to Mrs. 
 Brander. 
 
 " Ah!" said Ned, with a look down at his boots and a nod. 
 " Yes, I'll come, vicar, and thank you kindly for your invita- 
 tion," he said, more graciously. " I can't make hay, but I'll 
 be most happy to stand about and look pretty," he added, 
 with a short laugh. 
 
 Raising his hat ceremoniously to Mrs. Brander, whom he 
 admired, and whose indifferently concealed dislike therefore 
 irritated him, Ned Mitchell turned on his heel without so 
 much as a glance at Vernon, and made his way down the hill 
 to his cottage, leaning on the arm of Abel Squires, who had 
 bade " t' gentle fowk " an humble and bashful farewell, and
 
 204 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TO WEE. 
 
 hastened to the support of his patient, upon whom the fatigue 
 and excitement of the evening had begun to tell heavily. 
 
 Solemnly and almost in silence, Meredith Brauder and his 
 wife then parted from Vernon, who took his lonely way over 
 the fields in a state of suppressed excitement so acute that on 
 reaching St. Cuthbert's Vicarage he was highly feverish, with 
 a burning head, hot, dry hands, and a mouth that seemed 
 parched and withered. He lay awake for the greater part 
 of the night. Next morning, his old housekeeper, not hearing 
 him rise as usual, went up to his room, and found him in a 
 restless, uneasy sleep. Seeing that something was wrong with 
 him, and deciding that it was the result of overwork, Mrs. 
 Warmington applied a characteristically rough-and-ready 
 remedy. She ransacked his wardrobe, selecting everything 
 that was fit to wear, and quitted the room as softly as she had 
 entered it, leaving pinned to his pillow the following note: 
 
 "I see you have had no sleep and are unwell. So 1 have 
 taken away your clothes and locked the door. If you are ready 
 to promise to stay in bed all the morning, and not to go out 
 to-day, knock three times, and I will bring up your breakfast/' 
 
 When he woke up, Vernon gave the three knocks, after a 
 very little hesitation. He felt so ill that he was glad of an ex- 
 cuse to spend an idle day glad too that in this way he could 
 escape the ordeal of the hay-making at his brother's, and a 
 meeting with Olivia Denison. For, haunted as he was by the 
 remembrance of her gentle touch, of her softly uttered words 
 of sympathy as he sat beside her by Mrs. Warmington's fire- 
 side, he felt that another cold look, another frigid bow, like 
 those she had given him on their last meeting, would be a 
 torture more than he could bear. 
 
 Vernon Brander was far too ignorant of the peculiarities of 
 the feminine character to know the significance of that cold- 
 ness; he thought that it meant in her what it meant in him, 
 a firm determination that all sentiment between them should 
 be forever at an end. While, as every one knows, if that had 
 been the cause she would have been gentle, tender, anxious to 
 soften the cruel blow she was preparing for him, anxious also 
 that there should, after the parting, be a little sentiment left. 
 As it was, poor Olivia, on her side, was suffering a good many 
 torments. While never allowing herself to believe the worst 
 she heard against Vernon Brander, her common sense was con- 
 tinually warring with her feelings, and calling her all sorts of 
 unflattering names for her prejudice in his favor. She hated 
 and despised him, she loved and respected him, all in a
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 205 
 
 breath. She resolved never to see him again, she determined 
 to encourage him in spite of all opposition, in the course of the 
 same day. But the value of the former resolution may be 
 gauged by the fact that she made it very strongly on the morn- 
 ing of the hay-making, and was bitterly disappointed when, on 
 arriving with her father and step-mother at the big field by 
 the church-yard, where the tent had been put up, she learned 
 from little Kate that he had sent word to say he could not 
 come. 
 
 But Olivia was not to go without admirers. Approaching 
 the tent as she came out of it was Fred Williams, dressed in a 
 light gray suit of a check so large that there was only room for 
 one square and a half across his narrow little chest, a very 
 pale-brown hat, and a salmon-colored tie. He greeted Mr. 
 Denison effusively, and asked Olivia if he might get her a cup 
 of tea. 
 
 " No, thank you," said she, coldly. 
 
 But her father, surprised and displeased at her tone, inter- 
 fered. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I am sure you would like a cup of tea/' 
 said he. " Take her to the tent, Fred, and look after her." 
 
 Then, as the young man, who looked delighted at her dis- 
 comfiture, turned to shake hands with her step-mother, Mr. 
 Denison whispered to his daughter, in as peremptory a tone as 
 he ever used to her: 
 
 " You mustn't put on these airs, Olivia. Young Williams 
 is a very good fellow, and has obliged me considerably more 
 than once. I insist on your being civil to him." 
 
 Olivia turned white, and bit her lips. A suspicion of the 
 truth, that her father was under monetary obligations to this 
 wretched little stripling, flashed into her mind. She waited 
 very quietly, but with a certain erect carriage of the head 
 which promised ill for the treatment Fred would receive at her 
 hands. He, however, was not the man to be scrupulous about 
 the way in which he attained his ends. He trotted beside her 
 to the tent in a state of great elation. 
 
 "Awfully slow these bun scuffles, ain't they?" he said in 
 his most insinuating tones. " I shouldn't have come at all if 
 it hadn't been for the chance of meeting some one 1 wanted 
 to see." 
 
 This was accompanied by a most significant look; but un- 
 fortunately Olivia, who was considerably taller than he, was 
 looking over his head at some fresh arrivals. 
 
 " Indeed," she said, absently. 
 
 Fred reddened; that is to say, a faint tint, like the color in
 
 206 ST. CUTHBEET'S TO WEE. 
 
 his tie, appeared for a moment in his cheeks, and then left 
 them as yellow as before. He tried again. She should look 
 at him; it didn't matter how, but she should look. 
 
 " Those country girls look at me as if they'd never seen 
 anything like this get-up before. It's the proper thing down 
 in the south, isn't it?" 
 
 " I should think so on Margate ' excursionists,' " answered 
 Olivia, briefly. 
 
 Fred was quite unmoved. 
 
 " Now what would your father say if he heard you?" he 
 asked, good-humoredly. " You know he told you to be civil. 
 Ho, yes, I've sharp ears enough always catch up anything I 
 want to hear." 
 
 Olivia said nothing to this, and presently he went on, in a 
 persuasive tone: 
 
 " You know it's worse that wasting your time to be rude to 
 me, because I'm not a bad chap to people I like, and to peo- 
 ple I don't like I can do awfully nasty turns." 
 
 " Oh, 1 don't doubt your power of making yourself unpleas- 
 ant," said Olivia, quietly. 
 
 Still Fred Williams only chuckled. They had by this time 
 reached the teat, and he gave her a chair with a flourish of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " There, now you must look up to me to fire off your spite- 
 ful little shots, instead of down at me as if 1 were a worm or a 
 beetle. It's not many men of my size, mind you, that would 
 walk with a girl as tall as you it puts a fellow at a disadvan- 
 tage. And as your six-footers are not too plentiful in these 
 parts, it would be wiser of you to make your peace with the 
 little ones." 
 
 " I assure you," said Olivia, looking up at him gravely, 
 " that I could get on very well without either six-footers or 
 four-feet-sixers." 
 
 " That's a nasty cut. There's not many fellows would 
 stand that," said the irrepressible one. "But there, I tell 
 you there's nothing 1 wouldn't put up with from you. I sup- 
 pose you won't insult my guv'nor if I introduce him to you," 
 he continued, glancing toward a corner of the tent where the 
 elder Mr. Williams was engaged in animated talk with Ned 
 Mitchell. 
 
 "Certainly not:" answered Olivia, "I am told by every 
 one that you could scarcely be told for father and son. ' ' 
 
 This was true. Mr. Williams, though he was not free from 
 the faults of the parvenu, was ostentatious in his charities and 
 respectful toward wealth, had a handsome person and a digni-
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 20? 
 
 fied carriage, and was in every way his son's superior. He 
 had been most anxious to make Ned Mitchell's acquaintance, 
 feeling that in this man, who had begun with little and by his 
 own exertions had made it much, he should meet with a con- 
 genial nature. And so it proved. Ned having the same feel- 
 ing toward him, they had become, at their first interview, if 
 not friends, at least mutually well-disposed acquaintances. 
 
 When Fred interrupted their tete-a-tete, they were deep in a 
 onversation they found so interesting that Mr. Williams, in 
 reply to his son's request that he would come and be intro- 
 duced to a lady, waved him away, saying, " Presently, my boy, 
 presently." 
 
 He came back, laughing at his father's earnestness. 
 
 " He and that colonist fellow are so thick already that 
 there's no separatin' 'em, " he said to Olivia. ' ' They're at it, 
 hammer and tongs, about the old tower down at Saint Cuth- 
 bert's, and as the vicar has just come and shoved his little oar 
 in, I expect they'll be at it till breakfast-time." 
 
 " The tower of Saint Cuthbert's!" exclaimed Olivia, rising 
 hastily from her chair. " What are they saying about that?" 
 
 Fred, who noticed everything, saw how keen was the interest 
 she showed. 
 
 " Yes. You know my guv'nor was hot on building a new 
 tower to the place, and paying for the repair of it. He likes 
 things brand-new, does the guv'nor, and he likes tablets and 
 paragraphs with ' Ee-erected by the generosity of F. S. Will- 
 iams, Esquire, of the Towers,' on 'em. And he was put off 
 it, I don't exactly know how. So Mitchell's working him up 
 to it again." 
 
 " Since your father won't come to me, you shall take me to 
 him," said Olivia, brightly, though her lips were quivering. 
 
 Fred, still watching her carefully, noticed this also. As 
 they crossed the floor of the tent, he could see that she was 
 straining her ears to catch what she could of the talk of the 
 three men. For Mr. Meredith Brander had now joined the 
 other two, and was taking the chief share of the subject under 
 discussion. This was no longer St. Cuthbert's tower, but the 
 recent loss which the colonist had sustained by the poisoning 
 of his hounds. 
 
 " My own impression," the vicar was saying, in tones of 
 conviction, " is that you must have caused their death your- 
 self during your sleep. " 
 
 "How do you make that out, vicar?" asked Ned, very 
 quietly.
 
 208 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 Since that outburst of fury the evening before he had been 
 very subdued almost amiable. 
 
 " Why, I can not conceive any motive strong enough to in- 
 duce anybody else to make away with them. If they were 
 really dangerous to some one's secret, poisoning them was too 
 suspicious an act. Besides, my brother I mean the church- 
 yard of Saint Cuthbert's has just been laid out as a garden, and 
 the wall has been fringed with broken glass to keep out all 
 unauthorized intruders. Now why should a man kill your 
 dogs?" 
 
 " I have my own ideas as to the reason/' said Ned. Then, 
 after a short pause, he added: " You see, the poisoning of the 
 hounds led to a delay. Now, a hunted criminal lives by 
 delays." 
 
 " Hunted criminal!" Poor Olivia echoed these terrible 
 words below her breath. The very sound of them blanched 
 her cheeks and seemed to check the beating of her heart. 
 
 It was again Ned who spoke: 
 
 ' Tell me, vicar, what you mean by suggesting that 1 poi- 
 soned my hounds in my sleep?" 
 
 " Don't you know," said Mr. Brander, " how an active man 
 forced into inaction will brood over an idea until it is never 
 out of his brain? I imagine that you, moved as you certainly 
 were by fears for the safety of your dogs while you were ill, 
 got these fears so strongly in your mind that at last you got 
 up one night, and with your own hands did what it was always 
 in your mind that some one else would do laid about the 
 poison which the dogs took as soon as they by some means got 
 loose." 
 
 " Dear me! Very ingenious theory very ingenious!" said 
 Mr. Williams. 
 
 " I don't suppose," went on the vicar, modestly, " that the 
 idea would have come into my head if it had not been that in 
 my own family there have been marvelous instances of som- 
 nambulism. An ancestor of mine, a very energetic man who 
 loved the sound of his own voice, had been ordered a rest from 
 preaching by his doctor. Well, I assure you that after obey- 
 ing this injunction three months, he got up one night, got the 
 church keys, let himself in, and was discovered there by his 
 wife in the pulpit, preaching a sermon in his dressing-gown 
 and slippers! And there have been numberless other instances 
 in our family some within this century." 
 
 " Dear me, that is singular indeed," said Mr. Williams. 
 
 " A very high-spirited family yours, vicar," said Ned, who 
 had not moved a muscle during this recital, " and the spirit is
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 209 
 
 sure to peep out sooner or later. You, I think, though you'll 
 excuse my saying so, are about the only one of the bunch that 
 hasn't let it peep out rather discreditably. " 
 
 " Perhaps my sins are all to come/' said the vicar with a 
 jolly laugh. 
 
 And, catching sight of the two young people who were wait- 
 ing fora hearing, Mr. Brander himself introduced Olivia Deui- 
 son to old Mr. Williams, and left the group to join his other 
 guests. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE haymaking in the glebe field of Rishton Vicarage was 
 an annual affair, an institution of Meredith Brander's own, 
 dating from the young days of his reign. It had been at its 
 origin a thoroughly Radical institution, a freak of the then 
 very youthful vicar, who had not yet quite dropped all the wild 
 ideas for the reconstruction of society of his university days. 
 Rich and poor, gentle and simple, an invitation had been ex- 
 tended to all; the glebe field was to be the scene of such an 
 harmonious commingling of class and class as had not been 
 dreamed of since the dim days of Feudalism. For a year or 
 two both the villagers and the richer class were represented; 
 the former sparsely, it is true. But there was no commin- 
 gling. Then the villagers, not quite understanding the vicar's 
 idea, began to have a suspicion that, besides being somewhat 
 bored and bewildered by the entertainment and the necessity 
 for putting on " company manners," they were being laughed 
 at; and thenceforth they stayed away altogether. So that the 
 annual haymaking had now become what Mr. Brander called 
 " a mere commonplace omnium gatherum," where the lowest 
 class represented was that of well-to-do farmers, whose wives 
 and daughters having replaced the straightforward rusticity of 
 half a century ago for a veneer of fashion and refinement, 
 were tiresome guests, captious, self-assertive, and intolerable. 
 
 Among the most prominent members of this last class were 
 the two daughters of John Oldshaw. Despising their shy, 
 good-hearted brother Mat as much as they did their coarse- 
 mannered father, they prattled of Gilbert and Sullivan's last 
 opera, of the newest shape of sunshade, of the most recently 
 published novel, uneasily anxious to show that they were 
 abreast of the times. They hated Olivia Denison for her easy 
 superiority; and while indignant with their brother for admir- 
 ing her, they were still more indignant at the knowledge that
 
 210 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 he was too much her inferior for her to treat him with any- 
 thing but kindness. 
 
 Olivia, who was always scrupulously courteous to these 
 young ladies, shook hands with them as she left the tent with 
 her persistent admirer, Fred Williams, who, with little at- 
 tempt at concealment, tried to draw her away from the farmer's 
 daughters. 
 
 " How charming Mrs. Brander is looking to-day!" said 
 the elder, in the loud, unpleasant voice which shivered in a 
 moment all her pretensions to refinement. " She reminds 
 me more of Lady Grisdale every time I see her." 
 
 Lady Grisdale was a fashionable beauty, whose photograph, 
 together with those of the Guernsey Eose and Mrs. Carnaby 
 East, adorned Miss Oldshaw's drawing-room mantel-piece in 
 a plush frame. 
 
 " Yes," assented Olivia, she is like the portraits of Lady 
 Grisdale. How is your brother? Isn't he coming here to- 
 day?" 
 
 The Misses Oldshaw disliked any allusion to their brother, 
 who, they considered, did them little credit. And to hear 
 him mentioned by Olivia Denison was especially galling. It 
 seemed to them to signify, what indeed was the truth, that she 
 ranked Mat, with his rough speech and shy, awkward ways, 
 above themselves, with all their pretensions. Miss Oldshaw 
 therefore answered with a shrill tartness which surprised Olivia, 
 who had certainly no wish to offend her: 
 
 " Oh, he's not coming here. His tastes don't lie in the 
 direction of either nice people or nice amusements." 
 
 " Indeed! I should have thought they would when he's so 
 nice himself. " 
 
 " Oh, of course niceness is a matter of taste," said Miss 
 Oldshaw, with an affected laugh. " Perhaps you would con- 
 sider the person he has gone to see nice." 
 
 ''' Very likely," said Olivia, coolly. 
 
 " Dear me," interrupted the second sister, with a percepti- 
 ble sneer, " you forget that Mr. Vernon Brander may be a 
 friend of Miss Denison's. " 
 
 "If it is Mr. Vernon Brander whom Mat has gone to see, I 
 don't think he has chosen his pleasure badly. At least he is 
 in pleasanter society than we all have the fortune to meet 
 here." 
 
 And Olivia, who had remained very quiet during this dis- 
 agreeable colloquy, turned away, while her companion burst 
 into a loud fit of laughter, and glancing over his shoulder at
 
 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWEB. 211 
 
 the sisters, remarked in a voice which they were intended to 
 hear: 
 
 " Why does Mrs. Brander invite those people? Everybody 
 knows they were both sweet on Parson Longface until they 
 found it was no go." 
 
 Olivia made no answer to this graceful remark. She was 
 standing close to the hedge which bounded the field on the 
 side nearest to the village. The trees grew thickly outside, 
 and even at five o'clock the sun was strong enough to make 
 the shelter of the overhanging branches welcome. The de- 
 voted Fred had put into her hands a very fanciful little hay- 
 rake; but instead of amusing herself by turning over the sweet- 
 scented hay which strewed the field all round her, she only 
 drew the rake listlessly along the ground with an air of being 
 a thousand miles away. 
 
 "I'm afraid I bore you," said Fred, at last, in an offended 
 tone, finding that all his conversational efforts failed to wake 
 the least sparkle of interest in her eyes; " I should have 
 thought this sort of thing would have been just what you 
 would like; wants such a lot of energy, and all that sort of 
 thing, you know." 
 
 "Yes," answered Olivia, dreamingly; " it wants too much 
 energy to be wasted on play, when one has serious things to 
 think about." 
 
 " Serious things!" echoed Fred, pricking up his ears, and 
 rushing at this opening. " Yes, rye got a lot of serious 
 things to think about too one thing jolly serious. 1 say/' he 
 went on, getting rather nervous, " I'm glad you take things 
 seriously; 1 like a girl who can be serious." 
 
 "Do you?" asked she, rather absently. "I should have 
 thought you liked a girl who could be lively." 
 
 " Well, yes; I like 'em both. I mean, I like one who can 
 be both or, or " 
 
 " Both who can be one, perhaps," suggested Olivia, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 She had had to stave off proposals before from men whom 
 she was anxious to save from unnecessary pain. But with 
 this grotesque little caricature of an admirer, she felt no sen- 
 timent deeper than a hope that he would not be silly. In- 
 significant as he seemed to her, however, she made a great 
 mistake in despising him, and in forgetting that a small, mean 
 nature is very much more dangerous than a nobler one. So 
 that while she was innocently trying to avoid the annoyance 
 of his love-making with light words and laughter, he was 
 growing every moment more doggedly bent on doing her the
 
 212 ST. CUTHBEKT S TOWER. 
 
 honor of making known his admiration. Although the possi- 
 bility of a refusal had not occurred to him, he felt nervous, as 
 he would have felt with no other woman. 
 
 " I say, now, be serious a moment, can't you? Or I shall 
 think I paid you too great a compliment just now." 
 
 " As I am not used to compliments, perhaps it got into my 
 head." 
 
 " Oh, of course 1 know you have had plenty of fools dan- 
 gling about you and saying a lot of things they don't mean " 
 
 " So that one more or less hardly counts," suggested Olivia, 
 laughing. 
 
 He would not be angry even then. He thought if he affected 
 to drop the subject he should soon bring her to reason; so he 
 said: " Oh, well, of course, if that's your way of looking at it, 
 there's no more to be said." 
 
 But she took him at his word, and, with just a nod of as- 
 sent to his last remark, ran to the hedge with a cry: " There's 
 Mat!" as she caught sight of Farmer Oldshaw's son standing 
 under the trees. 
 
 Fred Williams looked after her with an ugly expression on 
 his little yellow face. 
 
 " Fancy my not being common enough for her, by Jove!" 
 was his modest reflection as he saw her shake hands heartily 
 with the young man. 
 
 Olivia with a woman's quick perception, had known at once 
 that Mat had something of importance to tell her. 
 
 " What is it, Mat?" she asked, anxiously, as they shook 
 hands. 
 
 " Mester Vernon; he's very bad wi* t' fever," said he, in a 
 low voice. " Ah allers weaite at corner o' t' long meadow o' 
 Thursdays, an' walk wi' him as far as Lower Copse, where he 
 goes to 's meeting. An' to-deay he didn't coom, so Ah knew 
 summat wur wrong, an' Ah went to 's home, an' Ah saw him. 
 An' Ah thowt Ah'd let ye knaw, Miss Olivia, so Ah coom here 
 to tell ye. " 
 
 Olivia had very little shyness with Mat; he knew her secret, 
 and he too loved Vernon Brander most loyally. She thanked 
 him in very few words, but with a look of gratitude in her 
 eyes which stirred in the young man feelings of pain and pleas- 
 ure she never guessed at. 
 
 " I shall manage to get away in a few minutes," she said. 
 
 ' ' If you're goin' to see Mester Vernon, you'll let me see ye 
 seafe across t* fields?" 
 
 ' Yes; 1 shall be very glad if you will." 
 
 With the rapidity of a butterfly, in order to avoid the un-
 
 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWEK. 213 
 
 lucky Fred Williams, Olivia sped across the scattered hay to 
 the tent where she had left Ned Mitchell and Mr. Williams 
 the elder. They were conversing as earnestly as ever, and 
 certain words which fell upon the girl's ears as she stood wait- 
 ing for a chance of catching Ned's attention showed her that 
 they were still on the old subject. 
 
 " You will scarcely believe me, Mr. Mitchell, when I assure 
 you that nothing but the dissuasions of Mr. Meredith Brander 
 and his brother have prevented my doing it long before. 
 However, I have made up my mind not to put up with this 
 sort of thing any longer. I have no doubt their motives were 
 good perfectly good. But they are certainly mistaken in 
 letting a private fad for antiquities interfere with the comfort 
 of the parishioners. " 
 
 " And they won't find on every bush a parishioner rich 
 enough and generous enough to rebuild a church at his own 
 expense," added Ned. 
 
 " Oh, well, perhaps not," allowed Mr. Williams, modestly. 
 " Anyhow, I'll get Lord Stannington's permission at once, 
 and the new Saint Cuthbert's tower shall be an object of ad- 
 miration in the neighborhood before the winter comes." 
 
 Ned Mitchell was satisfied; he had sowed the seed well. 
 Having now leisure to look round him, he perceived that 
 Olivia, standing by herself, with her eyes fixed earnestly upon 
 him, was waiting for speech with. him. With her feminine 
 grace, her high spirit and her devotion, she was a girl after 
 his own heart; what little of amiability there was in his char- 
 acter always appeared in his face and manner when he ad- 
 dressed her. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Mitchell," she said, in a low, pleading voice, as 
 he nodded to Mr. Williams and walked out of the tent with 
 her, " I want to ask you not to be hard." 
 
 "Too late too late by fifteen years, Miss Denison," said 
 he, not harshly, however. " But what particular proof of 
 hardness have I given you just now?" 
 
 " You know," said she, tremulously; " the new tower 
 Saint Cuthbert's tower " 
 
 Ned Mitchell stopped short, and made her turn face to face 
 with him. 
 
 " It seems to me, young lady," said he, " that you haven't 
 much faith in your lover." 
 
 " Mr. Vernon Brander is not my lover," said she, blushing. 
 
 " Not to the extent of having asked you to name the happy 
 day, perhaps. But whether you confess it or not, I know that
 
 214 ST. CFTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 if Vernon Brander were free to marry, he might have you for 
 the asking." 
 
 " Well, yes, he might," said poor Olivia, raising her head 
 proudly one moment, and the next letting it fall in confusion 
 and shame. " And I confess 1 don't feel sure whether he has 
 done this dreadful thing or not; and and that it wouldn't 
 make any difference if he had. And it's because I don't feel 
 sure that I'm come to beg you not to have Saint Cuthbert's 
 tower touched. And I've just heard that he's ill, and I'm 
 very miserable about it. There, there now I think I've hu- 
 miliated myself enough to you." 
 
 They were in the open field, with young men and maidens 
 on either side making more or less shallow pretenses at hay- 
 making. Olivia could not indulge the inclination that 
 prompted her to burst into a rage of passionate tears. But 
 she was almost blinded by the effort to keep them back; and 
 Ned Mitchell had to guide her steps between the hay-cocks, 
 which he did gently enough. 
 
 " Look here," he said, in a tone which could only express 
 feeling by jerks; " I don't want to hurt you. There's nobody 
 I wouldn't sooner hurt, I think. You're a brave girl. I like 
 you. I approve of you. Hold your tongue, and I'll promise 
 you something. " 
 
 The last admonition was unnecessary; she was quiet enough. 
 
 " I give you my word. Now, mind, you're not to shout 
 out!" She shook her head. " I give you my word no harm 
 shall come to somebody." 
 
 " Mr. Vernon Brander?" she asked, in a whisper. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Mitchell, you are good, then, after all!" she 
 said, with naive earnestness and gratitude. 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that. But I do keep my word. He's 
 ill, you say?" 
 
 " Mat Oldshaw has just told me that he is in a fever." 
 
 " And you are going to see him? What would your father 
 say?" 
 
 " I can't help it. I must; I must. He has no friends to 
 visit him." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he has. Mark my words: as soon as she hears of 
 it, his sister-in-law will fly to his side." 
 
 Olivia seemed to shrink into herself with a shiver at these 
 words. Her warm-hearted outburst of grateful confidence was 
 over. 
 
 " What do you mean to imply?" she asked, coldly. 
 
 " Nothing; nothing but just what I say. Yon may tell
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEB. 215 
 
 Vernon that I am coming this evening to look after him. 
 Here you are. You can slip through this gate and be off un- 
 der the trees and down through the village. And I'll make 
 up a story for your step-mother. " 
 
 He opened the gate for her, and let her through. Olivia 
 scarcely dared to believe that he would keep his promise of 
 doing no harm to Vernon; still, his kindness to herself was 
 encouraging, and, in spite of doubts and fears, pangs of jeal- 
 ousy of Mrs. Meredith, self-reproach for acting against her fa- 
 ther's wishes, Olivia felt lighter-hearted since Ned Mitchell's 
 promise, and congratulated herself, as she approached St. 
 Cuthbert's Vicarage and bade good-bye to faithful Mat, that 
 she was the bearer of good news. 
 
 Her heart beat fast as she went up the stone path-way of 
 the barren inclosure before the house. In answer to her 
 knock, Mrs. Warmington opened the door, and uttered a short 
 exclamation, whether of surprise, joy, or astonishment, the 
 visitor could not tell. 
 
 " So that's the answer to the conundrum!" was her rather 
 bewildering greeting. 
 
 " Is Mr. Vernon Brander at home?" asked Olivia, with 
 some dignity. 
 
 But Mrs. Warmington would have none of it. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you know he is," she answered, impatiently. 
 " And what's more, you know he's ill. And he knows you 
 are coming, and of course that's the reason why he wouldn't 
 go back to bed, when he knows as well as I do that bed's the 
 place where he ought to be." 
 
 " If he does expect me, it's only guess-work," said Olivia, 
 more softly. " For I've sent him no message, and he has sent 
 me none. " 
 
 " Oh, the air carries messages between some people," said 
 Mrs. Warmington, impatiently. 
 
 " Who is that?' asked Vernon Brander 's voice from the 
 front room. 
 
 "It is I, Mr. Brander," answered Olivia, in a very meek, 
 small voice. 
 
 She opened the door and entered shyly, with a prim little 
 speech upon her lips, something about " so many inquiries 
 having been made for him that she had offered to come and 
 learn how he was. " But she only got out a few words and 
 stopped. He was still standing by the door, and she had not 
 yet looked at him. When she modestly raised her eyes, she 
 read in his face such feelings as put her pretty platitudes to 
 flight.
 
 21t> ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " Oh!" she said, softly, and clasped her hands, while her 
 lips quivered and her eyes filled. But she instantly recovered 
 herself and became very stately and stiff. 
 
 " Come and sit down," said he; and, closing the door, he 
 took her hands in both his, and led her to a battered arm- 
 chair, which stood beside the worn old sofa from which he had 
 just risen. 
 
 Olivia allowed herself to be led to the chair, on which she 
 sat down with some constraint. Mr. Brander took an ordinary 
 cane-seated chair at the other side of the table. There was a 
 silence of some moments. Then the girl spoke. 
 
 " I am glad you were not at the haymaking this afternoon, 
 Mr. Brander. The sun was so hot, even up to the time I left, 
 that it was quite as much as we could do to breathe without 
 the fatigue of making hay. " 
 
 She did not look at him while she spoke; but as he only 
 said " Yes " in a very faint voice, she slowly turned her head 
 and saw that he was swaying on the table, ashy white and 
 breathing heavily. All her shyness and constraint broke down 
 iu a second. She started up, and running lightly round the 
 table, put a strong supporting arm around him. 
 
 " Come to the sofa," she said, gently. " You are not well 
 enough to sit up. " 
 
 For answer he laid his head against her shoulder, and looked 
 
 rapturously into her beautiful face. 
 " I don't feel il 
 
 ill/' was all he dared to say. 
 
 Olivia blushed, but did not withdraw her arm. 
 
 " That is all nonsense/' she said, imperiously. "You are 
 ill, and I believe you want a doctor, and I mean to fetch one. 
 I'm turning nurse to the parish/' she went on, merrily; " you 
 know it was 1 who got the doctor for Mr. Mitchell." 
 
 Vernon's face clouded. 
 
 " Yes; 1 know," said he. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Brander/' continued Olivia, beginning to stam- 
 mer and hesitate. " I 1 have something to tell you about 
 Mr. Mitchell; something he said to me, this afternoon." 
 
 " Well, what was it?" 
 
 " They were talking he and old Mr. Williams this after- 
 noon, about the restoration of of " 
 
 " Of Saint Cuthbert's tower?" 
 
 " Yes. Mr. Mitchell was persuading him to build a new 
 tower " 
 
 "Persuading him! Clever old fox! There's a proverb 
 about cheating the devil, but I think it would be stronger to 
 talk of cheating Ned Mitchell."
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 21? 
 
 Olivia was surprised by the coolness with which he said this. 
 However, she hastened to add: 
 
 " But I don't think it will be rebuilt after all." 
 
 It seemed to her that something very like a shade of disap- 
 pointment crossed his face at these words. 
 
 " How is that?" was all he said. 
 
 " I spoke to Mr. Mitchell afterward, and he promised me 
 never to do anything to harm you," said Olivia, in a gentle, 
 earnest voice, quite ignoring, in the excitement of this an- 
 nouncement, how much of her own feelings she was betraying. 
 
 " Then you think," said he, very quietly, " that the build- 
 ing of a new tower at Saint Cuthbert's would do me harm?" 
 
 "I I thought," said Olivia, much confused, "from what 
 I had heard, that you did not wish it to be rebuilt. " 
 
 " And 1 suppose you must have some idea why?" 
 
 " "No," answered Olivia, quickly. 
 
 " Quite sure?" 
 
 " Of course I have heard what people say.*' 
 
 " If 1 were a wholly innocent man, how could any dis- 
 coveries which might be made hurt me?" 
 
 " I don't know; I should have thought perhaps they 
 might." 
 
 " I can see that your mind is not free from doubts?" 
 
 No answer. He was leaning against her, and speaking with 
 difficulty. 
 
 " And yet you love me all the same?" 
 
 The question burst from his lips in a low, husky, passionate 
 whisper, while his eyes sought hers, and his hand trembled at 
 the contact with her fingers. For answer she flung her right 
 arm round his neck, and pressed her lips tenderly, fervently 
 on his pale forehead. He shivered in her arms as if seized by 
 a strong convulsion of feeling; then, by a feverish effort tear- 
 ing himself from her embrace, he leaned against the mantel- 
 piece and buried his face in his hands, murmuring, in a hoarse 
 and broken voice: 
 
 " God bless you! And God forgive me!" 
 
 Olivia's whole heart went out to him in the deep distress 
 from which he was evidently suffering. She rose, and coming 
 to within a few paces of where he stood, said, most winningly: 
 
 " Come and lie down on the sofa. I will read to you, sing 
 to you, do anything you would like done; but you must not 
 stand; you are not well enough." 
 
 He held out his hand to her with a smile that made his hag- 
 gard face for a moment handsome.
 
 218 ST. CDTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " I will do whatever you wish/' he said, " if you will in re- 
 turn do something 1 am going to command. " 
 
 " What is that?" she asked, with a smile., 
 
 " Go back home at once. You are here against your fa- 
 ther's wishes, and I am bound in honor to forbid your pres- 
 ence here. " 
 
 He had already withdrawn his hand from hers; he dared 
 not trust it to remain there. There was a yearning in his eyes 
 which stirred all the pity, and all the tenderness, in her nat- 
 ure for this outcast from love and home and happiness. She 
 tried to take his pathetic command with a laugh, as he had 
 tried to give it. But she failed, as he had done. And so they 
 stood, with only a yard of faded and worn old carpet between 
 them, reading in each other's eyes the longing, she to comfort 
 and he to caress, while the sunset faded slowly outside, and the 
 old clock ticked on the mantel-piece, and faint sounds of the 
 clattering of cups and spoons came from the kitchen. 
 
 " There is some one at the gate," said he at last. And he 
 crossed to the window and looked out: " Ned Mitchell." 
 
 Olivia started. She was glad Ned had come while she was 
 there, being anxious to note how he met Vernon. 
 
 " Come straight in," called out Vernon from the window. 
 
 And Ned came in, with his ponderous walk and keen glance. 
 He nodded to Olivia, and walking straight up to Vernon, ex- 
 amined him attentively. 
 
 " So you're on the sick list, I hear," he said, not unkindly. 
 " By the look of you I should say you'll be on the burial list 
 soon if you don't take care of yourself. " 
 
 Olivia uttered a low cry of horror. 
 
 ' You want a wife to look after you. Some men can get on 
 best without a woman; I'm one; that's why I'm married. 
 Some can't get on without one; you're one of that sort; that's 
 why you're a bachelor. One of the dodges of Providence to 
 keep us from growing too fond of this precious world, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " Well, as I choose to mortify the flesh by remaining a 
 bachelor, it's unkind of you to throw my misfortune in my 
 face, isn't it?" said Vernon, not succeeding very well in the 
 effort to speak in his usual manner. 
 
 " Sit down, man," said Ned, peremptorily. " You ought 
 to be in bed. On the other hand, if you knock off your work, 
 who's to do it for you?" 
 
 "Nobody; there is nobody; therefore I must not knock off," 
 said Vernon, feverishly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you must. Health's everything," said Ned, with
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 219 
 
 his small, sharp eyes fixed on the floor. " Now I've a pro- 
 posal to make to you. There's not much of a parson's work a 
 rough man like me can do, but there's some, taking messages 
 and seeing people and things like that. Now it's precious dull 
 up at my hole of a cottage. So I'm coming to stay a day or 
 two with you, and your old woman can put me up in the little 
 room that's next to your bedroom. It's all settled, you un- 
 derstand," he added, lifting his hand and raising his voice 
 peremptorily at the same time. 
 
 " It's awfully good of you," said Vernon, though his tone 
 betrayed more curiosity than gratitude. " But, at any rate, 
 if you choose to stay here, you shall have the best bedroom we 
 can offer you. The little box next to mine is filled with noth- 
 ing but lumber." 
 
 "That's the room 1 mean to have, though," said Ned, 
 stubbornly. " I'm of a romantic and melancholy disposition, 
 and I like the view. It looks out into the church-yard." 
 
 The curiosity died out suddenly from Vernon's face. 
 
 " And if I am compelled to assure you that it is impossible 
 that room should be used?" 
 
 " Then I shall have to come and encamp in the neighbor- 
 hood, that's all." 
 
 The men looked straight at each other, and Vernon shrugged 
 his shoulders. 
 
 " You can come if you like," said he, indifferently. 
 
 Olivia, who had listened with much interest to this discus- 
 sion, now came forward to bid Vernon good-bye. Ned, with 
 ostentatious discreetness, tramped heavily to the window, and 
 looked out. But he might have spared himself the trouble; 
 for before he got there the ceremony of farewell was over. 
 Olivia had put her hand in Vernon's, and they had given a 
 brief look each into the face of the other. Ned, as he stared 
 into the bare inclosure outside, suddenly felt a light touch on 
 his arm. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Mitchell," said Olivia. " Don't forget 
 your promise." 
 
 " I never forget anything," said Ned, dryly. 
 
 The next minute she was hurrying up the lane, with the eyes 
 of both men fixed on her retreating figure. 
 
 " That's a good sort," said Ned, approvingly. 
 
 To this Vernon Brander assented very shortly. 
 
 Olivia had forbidden Mat to wait for her, but she was not 
 to go home unescorted. At the top of the hill, where the 
 lane joined the high-road, she found the irrepressible Fred 
 Williams sitting on the bank, making passes at a white butter-
 
 220 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEB. 
 
 fly with his walking-stick. Olivia uttered an "Oh!" full of 
 impatience and disgust. Fred got up, grinning at her in ob- 
 tuse admiration. 
 
 " I knew where you'd gone," he said, nodding with a know- 
 ing air. " So I came to see you home." 
 
 He was still rather nervous, which was perhaps the reason 
 why he failed to perceive the full extent of her annoyance at 
 this second meeting. He had, besides, primed himself for a 
 speech, and that speech he meant to make. 
 
 " We were interrupted just now in the hayfield," he began 
 " just when 1 was on the point of " 
 
 " Oh, never mind now/' broke in Olivia, impatiently, " I 
 have something to think about." 
 
 " Well what I am going to say to you don't require think- 
 ing about; 1 want you to marry me. Yes or No." 
 
 " No!" said Olivia, promptly. 
 
 " Of course I knew you'd say that first go off. But let me 
 reason with you a little. You must get married some time. 
 You like another fellow better than me " 
 
 " I do a great many other fellows!" 
 
 " Well, but one in particular. Now you can't have him, 
 and you can have me. And if you do have me, you can do a 
 good turn to the other fellow. " 
 
 " What do you mean?" asked the girl, turning white at the 
 young man's tone. 
 
 " If you'll promise to marry me seriously, mind I'll per- 
 suade my father not to build the new tower to Saint Cuthbert's. 
 Nobody but me can stop him. That chap Mitchell is egging 
 him on to it with all his might." 
 
 " He's changed his mind," said Olivia, quietly. 
 
 " Oh, has he? Since when, I should like to know? He met 
 me sitting here five minutes ago, on his way down to Saint Cuth- 
 bert's, where you're just come from " (with another knowing 
 nod), " and he gave me this note for my father. I opened it. 
 Won't you read it? All right; but you shall hear what it 
 says." 
 
 Fred was holding a part of the old envelope, which had been 
 scribbled on in pencil and folded. He read it aloud: 
 
 " ' DEAB MR. WILLIAMS, Hurry on the rebuilding of Saint 
 Cuthbert's tower as fast as you can. I hear there is a pro- 
 posal afloat to be beforehand with you, and to deprive you of 
 all the credit of the thing by getting it up by subscription. 
 "Yours, E.MITCHELL."
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 221 
 
 Poor Olivia was aghast at poor Ned's breach of faith, but 
 she affected unconcern. 
 
 " I don't see how the rebuilding of Saint Cuthbert's tower 
 can affect either me or Mr. Veraon Brander. " 
 
 " Nor do I. But I can see it does. Anyhow, I'll give you 
 till to-morrow morning to consider the thing, and I'll meet 
 you in the poultry run when you feed the chickens if I can 
 get up early enough. And as I see you want to think over it 
 by yourself, I'll take myself off for the present. Good-even- 
 ing, Miss Denison." 
 
 He sauntered away in the opposite direction to Bishton, his 
 mischievous good humor perfectly undisturbed; while Olivia, 
 more concerned for Mr. Vernon Brander than ever, hurried 
 home, and sneaked up to her room to consider the new posi- 
 tion of affairs, and to write a pleading note to Ned Mitchell. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 OLIVIA DENISON'S thoughts on the morning after the hay- 
 making were entirely occupied with Vernon Brander, his ill- 
 ness, the possibility of his innocence, and the chances of his 
 escape if guilty; so that when, on entering the poultry-yard 
 with her basket on her arm, she found Fred Williams amus- 
 ing himself by setting two cocks to fight each other, she uttered 
 a cry of unmistakable annoyance and astonishment. 
 
 " You look as if you hadn't expected to see me, and as if, 
 by Jove, you hadn't wanted to!" said he, frankly. As she 
 made no answer, but only raised her eyebrows, he went on: 
 " Don't you remember I said 1 should be here this morning?" 
 
 *' 1 had forgotten it, or only remembered it as a kind of 
 nightmare. " 
 
 " Do you mean me to take your rudeness seriously?" asked 
 Fred, after a pause, in which he had at last struggled with the 
 amazing fact that he had met a girl to whom his admiration, 
 and all the glorious possibilities it conveyed, meant absolutely 
 nothing. 
 
 " As seriously as I have always taken yours." 
 
 Fred was silent again for some moments, during which 
 Olivia went on throwing handf uls of grain to the chickens, 
 and calling softly, " Coop-coop-coop-coop I" in a most per- 
 suasive and unconcerned manner. 
 
 " And you really mean that this is your last answer? I can 
 tell you, it's your last chance with me!" 
 
 Olivia turned, making the most of her majestic height, and 
 looked down on him with the loftiest disdain.
 
 222 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " 1 assure you that if it were my * last chance/ as you call 
 it, not only with you, but with anybody, I should say just the 
 same. " 
 
 Fred Williams leaned against the wall of the yard, turned 
 out the heterogeneous contents of one of his pockets, and 
 began turning them over with shaking fingers to hide his 
 mortification. 
 
 Still Olivia went on with her occupation, without paying the 
 slightest attention to him. Suddenly the rejected suitor 
 shoveled all the things he had taken out back into his pockets, 
 and with a monkey-like spring placed himself right in front 
 of her. 
 
 " 1 wish there was somebody about to tell you what a jolly 
 fool you're making of yourself," he said, looking up at her 
 rather viciously. 
 
 " You may go and fetch somebody to do so if you like/* 
 said she, serenely. 
 
 " And leave you in peace for a little while, I suppose you 
 mean?" 
 
 " Perhaps some such thought may have crossed my mind." 
 
 Mr. Fred Williams had not a high opinion of himself, but 
 experience had taught him that his ' ' expectations ' ' gave him 
 an adventitious value; to find neither his modesty nor his 
 money of any avail was a discovery which destroyed for once 
 his habitual good humor, and showed a side of his character 
 which he should by all means have kept concealed from a lady 
 he wished to charm. 
 
 " Very well," he snarled, while an ugly blush spread over 
 his face, and his fingers twitched with anger; " very well. 
 You may think it very smart to snub me, and high-spirited, 
 and all that. I've stood a good deal of it a good deal more 
 than I'd have stood from anybody else because you're hand- 
 some. I know I'm not handsome, or refined either; but I 
 don't pretend to be. But I'm a lot handsomer than the 
 hatchet-faced parson, anyhow. And as for refinement, you 
 can get a lot more for twenty-five thousand a year than for a 
 couple of hundred, which is quite a decent screw for one of 
 your preaching fellows. But now I've done with you, I tell 
 you, I've done with you. " 
 
 " Isn't that rather a singular expression, considering that 
 I've never given you the slightest encouragement?" asked 
 Olivia, coldly. 
 
 "Encouragement! I don't expect encouragement; but I 
 expect a girl like you to know a good thing when she sees it." 
 
 " I am afraid we differ as to what constitutes a good thing. "
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEB. 223 
 
 " Very likely; but we sha'n't ' differ as to what constitutes ' 
 a bad thing for Vernon Brander; and if you don't see all those 
 twopenny geraniums pulled up out of Saint Cuthbert's Church- 
 yard, and every stone grubbed up, and every brick of that old 
 tower pulled down before another week's up, my name's not 
 Fred Williams. There, Miss Denison; now, what do you say 
 to that?" 
 
 " I say that you have fully justified your low opinion of 
 yourself. " 
 
 "And I'll justify my low opinion of Vernon Brander. If 
 he's got any secrets buried in those old stones, we'll have them 
 dragged out, and make you jolly well ashamed of your friend. " 
 
 " Oh, no, you won't do that," said Olivia, who had turned 
 pale to the lips and grown very majestic and stern; " though 
 you have succeeded in making me ashamed of having called 
 you even an acquaintance. " 
 
 " Perhaps you have a weakness for " 
 
 Before he could finish his sentence, he found himself seized 
 by the shoulders, and saw towering over him a beautiful coun- 
 tenance, so aglow with passionate indignation that it looked 
 like the face of a fury. 
 
 " If you dare to say that word I'll shake you like a rat!" 
 hissed out Olivia, giving him an earnest of her promise with 
 great good will. 
 
 " Stop! stop! unless you want to kill somebody to be 
 more like your precious friend," panted Fred, who was 
 not a coward. 
 
 Olivia let him go with a movement which sent him spinning 
 among the chickens. 
 
 " Well, that's cool," panted he, as he picked up his hat and 
 looked at it ruefully. You talk about refinement one min- 
 ute and the next you treat me in this unlady-like way!" 
 
 " Oh, I apologize for my vulgar manners," laughed Olivia, 
 who was already rather ashamed of her outbreak. "I'm only 
 a farmer's daughter, you know. " 
 
 " Yes, and you couldn't give yourself more airs if you were 
 a duchess. Your father isn't so proud by a long way, I can 
 tell you," he added with meaning. 
 
 Olivia became in an instant very quiet. 
 
 " What do you mean?" she asked, sternly. 
 
 " Oh, nothing but that he's been in the habit of borrowing 
 money from me for some time; only trifling sums, but still 
 they seemed to come in handy, judgtng by the way he thanked 
 me."
 
 224 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 He was disappointed to see that Olivia took this information 
 without any of the tragic airs he had expected. 
 
 " I dare say they did/' said she. " We are not too well off, 
 as everybody knows. " 
 
 The simplicity with which she uttered these words made the 
 young man feel at last rather ashamed of himself. 
 
 " Of course, I know he'll pay me back," he said, hastily. 
 
 Olivia opened great, proud eyes, full of astonishment anrl 
 disdain, and said, superbly: " Of course he will." 
 
 " And you don't feel annoyed at the obligation, eh?" asked 
 Fred, rather bewildered. 
 
 " I don't see any obligation," said she, quietly. 
 
 " Oh, don't you? Well, most people would consider it one." 
 
 " How much does he owe you?" 
 
 " Oh, only a matter of forty or fifty pounds." 
 
 He thought the amount would astonish and distress her; 
 but as, apparently, it failed to do either, he hastened to add: 
 
 " Of course, that's a mere nothing; but he let me know, a 
 day or two ago, that he should want a much larger loan, and 
 of course I informed him he could have it for the asking." 
 
 She did wince at that; but the manner in which she resent- 
 ed his impertinence was scarcely to his taste. 
 
 " And you think the obligation is on our side?" she said, 
 sweetly, but with a tremor of subdued anger in her voice. 
 " \Vhat have you done except to lend my father a few pounds, 
 which you would never have missed, even if you had thrown 
 them into a well instead of lent them to an honorable man! 
 While he, by accepting the loan, has given you a chance of 
 putting on patronizing airs toward a man in every respect your 
 superior." 
 
 " All right all right! Go on! Vernon Brander shall pay 
 for this!" snarled Fred, at last rendered thoroughly savage by 
 her contempt. 
 
 " Vernou Brander will never be the worse for having you 
 for an enemy. I should be sorry for him if you were his 
 friend," she said, defiantly. 
 
 " Oh, all right, I'm glad to hear it," said Fred, glad at last 
 
 to beat a retreat, and delivering his parting words at the gate 
 
 of the ponltry-yard, with one foot in the new-laid egg-basket 
 
 ' Then if anything unpleasant happens to your father or your 
 
 parson through me, you'll be able to make light of it!" 
 
 Olivia felt rather frightened when she saw how discolored 
 and distorted with rage his little weasel face had become. 
 But she bore a brave front, and only said, for all reply to his 
 threats:
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 225 
 
 1 ' Won't you find it more convenient to stand on the ground, 
 Mr. Williams? To walk about among eggs without accident 
 requires a great deal of skill and experience. " 
 
 But when, with an impatient exclamation, he left the poul- 
 try-yard, Olivia's heart gave way, and she began to reproach 
 herself bitterly for not having kept a bridle upon her tongue. 
 On the other hand, she was glad that her words had provoked 
 the mean little fellow to confess his loans to her father; for 
 she thought she had influence enough with the latter to pre- 
 vent any more such transactions, and as for the money already 
 owing, means must somehow be found to repay it. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon before she was able to start 
 on the way to St. Cuthbert's. She felt, as usual, some self- 
 reproach at the thought that she was acting contrary to her 
 father's wishes; but, as usual, she was too self-willed to give 
 up her own in deference to his. The sun was still glowing on 
 the fields, and pouring its hot rays on the roads, which were 
 parched and cracked for want of rain. The cart-tracks made 
 faint lines in a thick layer of white dust, which the lightest 
 breeze from the hills blew up in clouds, coating the leaves on 
 the hedges and swirling into heaps by the well-worn foot-path. 
 The wood that bordered the road for some distance between 
 Rishton and Matherham was as silent as if the birds had all left 
 it; oak and beech and dusty pine looked dry and brown in the 
 glare. It was a long, hot, weary walk; but at last she came 
 near the lonely vicarage, and slipping down the final few yards 
 of the steep lane, in a cloud of dust which was raised by her 
 own feet at each step, Olivia heard the faint sound of voices 
 coming from the house, and stopped short, fancying she could 
 detect Vernon's voice, and wondering who was with him. 
 But the sounds ceased, and she went slowly on, thinking she 
 had perhaps been mistaken. She entered the garden gate, and 
 walked up the stone path-way, still without hearing anything 
 more, until, suddenly, just as she was within a few paces of 
 the door, she heard a woman's voice, low, but clear and 
 strong, utter these words: 
 
 " Remember, you swore it. Ten years ago you swore it to 
 me, and it is still as binding on you as it was then." 
 
 : ' Why should I forget it?" 
 
 Olivia knew that it was Mrs. Brander's voice that answered, 
 in a tone full of contempt and dislike: 
 
 : ' Why, this Denison girl, this " 
 
 Neither she nor Vernon had paid any heed to the footsteps 
 on the stone flags.
 
 226 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 Now Olivia hastened to ring the bell sharply, and there was 
 silence immediately. 
 
 "How is Mr. Brander to-day?" asked she of Mrs. Warm- 
 ington when the housekeeper opened the door. 
 
 " He's not much better, and not likely to be while that un- 
 civilized creature from the Antipodes continues to make his 
 abode here, and worry my master morning, noon, and night," 
 said the housekeeper, tartly. 
 
 "Mr. Mitchell? Where is he now?" asked Olivia, eagerly. 
 
 " He's out in the church-yard there, poking about among 
 the grave-stones. I've been watching him from the window of 
 the little room he sleeps in. I don't know how he got hold of 
 the key. I have a duplicate, for cleaning the church. 1 don't 
 know myself where my master keeps his. " 
 
 " 1 think I'll go and speak to Mr. Mitchell, and come back 
 when Mr. Brander is disengaged. " 
 
 " Disengaged! He's disengaged now, as far as I know " 
 
 " I think I heard Mrs. Brander 's voice as I came up the 
 path." 
 
 The housekeeper's lips tightened, and she drew herself up 
 in evident disapproval. 
 
 " Indeed! I was not aware she was here." 
 
 " Well, I'll be back in about a quarter of an hour, as I 
 should like to see Mr. Brander," said Olivia, hastily. 
 
 Mrs. Warmington raised her eyebrows. She was longing to 
 tell Miss Denison that she thought, under the circumstances, 
 it would be more modest to stay away; but she did not dare. 
 So Olivia tripped down the stone path, and was in the church- 
 yard before the housekeeper had had time to make up her 
 mind how much of her suspicions it would be proper to com- 
 municate to a ycung girl. 
 
 It was some minutes before Olivia succeeded in finding Ned 
 Mitchell. The sun was setting by this time, and there were 
 dark shadows among the ruined portions of the church. It 
 seemed to her as she walked between the newly laid out flower- 
 beds with their bright array of geranium, calceolaria and ver- 
 bena, that this innovation was out of place, and only showed 
 up, in a more striking manner, the havoc time and tempest 
 had made among the old stones, just as the mowing of the 
 grass upon them had accentuated the irregular mounds and 
 hillocks which filled the ruined south aisle. Olivia stepped in 
 and out and over the mounds, calling softly, " Mr. Mitchell!" 
 At last, in the corner where the old crypt was, she heard a 
 sound coming, as it were, from the ground under her feet. 
 She stopped and listened, holding her breath. The sounds
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 227 
 
 continued, a soft, muffled ** thud, thud/' as of some heavy 
 instrument brought again and again down on the earth. She 
 advanced, step by step, always listening, fancying that she felt 
 the ground tremble under her feet at the force of the blows. 
 At last she came close to the place where the rugged steps 
 leading down into the crypt had been blocked up years before. 
 With her senses keenly at the alert, Olivia noticed that some 
 of the stones and earth which blocked the entrance had been 
 recently moved; and prying more closely, she found, behind a 
 bramble and a tuft of rank grass, a small hole, low down in the 
 ground, which looked scarcely large enough for the passage of 
 a man's body. However, this seemed to be the only outlet 
 from the vault, so Olivia sat down on a broken grave-stone 
 and waited. 
 
 It seemed to Olivia, to be growing quite cold and dark before 
 a scraping and rumbling noise, as of falling stones and earth, 
 drew her attention to the concealed hole in the ground. She 
 got up, and the noise almost ceased. 
 
 " It is I, Mr. Mitchell/' she said, without being able to see 
 him; " I've been waiting for you." 
 
 For answer, Mr. Mitchell's unmistakable gruff voice mur- 
 mured a string of sullen imprecations, of which, luckily, noth- 
 ing was distinctly audible. However, he put his head out of 
 the hole, and then proceeded to extricate the whole of his per- 
 son with such exceeding neatness and cleverness that the hole 
 was scarcely enlarged and the bramble and grass remained in- 
 tact. He presented a strange appearance, however, for he 
 was in his shirt sleeves; a colored silk handkerchief was bound 
 round his head down to his eyes; in his right hand he held a 
 common kitchen poker, while he was so covered with mold 
 and dust from head to foot that but for his peculiarly heavy 
 movements and rough voice he would have been unrecog- 
 nizable. 
 
 "Well, what are you doing here?" he asked, very ill- 
 humoredly, as he shook himself free from some of the dust he 
 had collected in his subterranean exploration. " I thought I 
 heard somebody messing about up here. How did you get in?" 
 
 " In the same way that you did, except that I asked for a 
 key instead of taking one without asking." 
 
 She was alarmed to see, when he had wiped some of the dirt 
 off his face with his handkerchief, that he looked savagely self- 
 satisfied and quite beyond all reasoning. This was proved 
 clearly by his next words. He nodded his head quietly while 
 she spoke, and then said: 
 
 " All right. That's so. Now, you had better run home,
 
 228 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 and be careful not to say anything about what you've just 
 seen. For I tell you, little girl, if you do anything to inter- 
 fere with me and my actions just now, it'll be the worst day's 
 work for your little parson up yonder that ever was done. So 
 now you know. " 
 
 Olivia shivered, but she did not answer or contradict him. 
 She only said, in a subdued and tremulous voice, " Good- 
 evening, Mr. Mitchell," and walked away toward the gate, 
 stumbling over the chips of stone that lay hidden in the grass, 
 which had been allowed to remain long and rank in this the 
 south side of the grave-yard. She unlocked the gate, passed 
 out, and was relocking it when she heard rapid footsteps be- 
 hind her. 
 
 " Give me that key!" said Mrs. Brander's voice, so hoarse, 
 so agitated that Olivia looked round before she could be sure 
 that it was really the vicar's calm, cold wife. 
 
 Her large eyes had deep black semicircles under them; her 
 usually firm lips were trembling; her whole appearance 
 showed a disorder, a lack of that dainty preciseness in little 
 things which was so strongly characteristic of her. 
 
 " This key!" said Olivia, doubtfully. " Do you know who 
 is in there?" 
 
 Mrs. Brander examined the girl from head to foot with pas- 
 sionate mistrust, while at the same time she struggled to regain 
 a calmer manner. 
 
 " Who is it?" she asked, with an attempt at an indifferent 
 tone. 
 
 "Mr. Mitchell." 
 
 The vicar's wife drew back from the gate. 
 
 " You mean this? You are not playing me a trick?" 
 
 "A trick? No. Why should I?" 
 
 There was a pause, during which Mrs. Brander stood look- 
 ing at her fixedly. As she did not speak, Olivia presently 
 asked : 
 
 " Do you still wish to go in?" 
 
 Mrs. Brander hesitated, and then drew back with a shudder. 
 
 " No," she murmured, scarcely above her breath, " I 1 
 won't go in. " 
 
 As, however, she did not attempt to go away, Olivia bade 
 her " good-night " without getting any answer, and went up 
 the lane toward the house. She did not wish to call at the 
 vicarage now; she wanted first to have time to think over what 
 she had seen and heard in the church-yard, as well as her in- 
 terview with Mrs. Brander. A new idea, which promised to 
 throw light on the whole mystery, had come into her mind.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 229 
 
 But there was the key to be returned to Mrs. Warmington. 
 After a moment's thought, she decided that she would leave 
 it at the back door, and thus escape the risk of a meeting with 
 Vernon. 
 
 But when she had reached the gate of the yard behind the 
 house, she heard Vernon's voice calling her. 
 
 " Miss Denison, Miss Denison, wait one moment!" 
 
 He had caught sight of her from a side window, and in an- 
 other minute he had come down to her. 
 
 " Why did you come round this way?" he asked, taking 
 her hand in one of his, which was hot, and dry, and feverish. 
 
 " I I have the key of the church-yard to return to Mrs. 
 Warmington. " 
 
 " And you wanted to escape the chance of seeing me. But 
 1 was watching for you, you know," said he, looking at her 
 tenderly. Then he suddenly changed his manner. " I thought 
 you would come and see me to-day/ ' he said. " It would be 
 like your usual kindness when any one is ill. " 
 
 "1 did call and inquire," said Olivia, demurely. "But 
 Mrs. Brander was with you. " 
 
 Vernon looked at her earnestly. 
 
 "Ah!" he exclaimed; " then I know when you came. 1 
 heard your footsteps." Then he looked at her curiously, and 
 asked: " Didn't you hear voices? Didn't you hear us talking?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Olivia, simply. "And 1 heard some- 
 thing of what you were saying. " 
 
 "You will tell me what you heard?" 
 
 1- via answered, looking down: 
 
 " I heard her remind you to keep an oath that you had 
 made to her, and I heard her mention me!" 
 
 " And didn't you want to know what she meant?" 
 
 " 1 suppose 1 did." 
 
 " And will you be content not to know?" 
 
 " Perhaps I shall. For 1 think I have guessed something 
 of the truth already. " 
 
 Vernon's eyes glowed with passionate yearning as they met 
 hers. 
 
 " Impossible!" said he, below his breath. " And yet you 
 women have such quick perception. If it is true that you 
 know," he went on, in a firmer and sterner voice, " I shall 
 never dare to speak to you again. " 
 
 Olivia was trembling with excitement. It was not true that 
 she was mistress of the secret, but there was a dim intuition in 
 her mind which bewildered, sometimes almost maddened, her. 
 She did not attempt to answer Vernon Brander; but drawing
 
 230 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 sharply away from him the hand he still held, she abruptly 
 wished him ie good-night/' and putting the church key on 
 the wall beside him, ran away up the lane as fast as her active 
 feet could carry her. 
 
 When Olivia reached home she was greeted by severe silence 
 on the part of her step-mother; while her father, who was 
 usually so careful to try to make amends for any unkindness 
 of his wife's by little unobtrusive attentions, carefully avoided 
 her. The girl learned the reason of this treatment by remarks 
 which Mrs. Denison, apropos of nothing, addressed from time 
 to time to the children, warning them not to spoil their clothes, 
 as they were the last they would have; telling them not to 
 disturb their father, as he was writing to a gentleman to whom 
 he owed money, asking for time in which to repay it; and 
 finally admonishing them to be courteous to Olivia, as she 
 could have the place sold up in a moment by insulting her 
 father's creditiors; from which Olivia gathered that Fred Will- 
 iams had already vented his spite on her father, and thereby 
 prepared a most uncomfortable domestic life for her for some 
 time to come. 
 
 She affected to take no notice of this treatment, however, 
 and did not even go in search of her father, thinking it would 
 be better to let the first effects both of Fred's and of his wife's 
 ill temper pass off before she spoke to him on the subject of 
 the former's addresses. 
 
 Telling Lucy to bring her supper up to her rooms, Olivia 
 left the inharmonious family circle without bidding good- 
 night to any one, and shut herself up in the east wing, where 
 she could always draw the bolt of the outer door and be free 
 from molestation. This she did, and being in a restless and 
 excited state of mind, passed the next two hours in wandering 
 from one room to the other, considering the mystery of Nellie 
 Mitchell's disappearance by the light of all the facts which, 
 one by one, had come to her knowledge. She had become so 
 accustomed to these rooms that it was only now and then that 
 she remembered their connection with the murdered girl. 
 To-night, however, the recollection startled her at every turn 
 she took in her walks up and down. She seemed again to see 
 the bedroom as it had looked on her first entrance, nearly six 
 months ago, the rat scurrying down the curtains, the carpet 
 lying in damp strings upon the floor, the moldy books, and 
 the dust lying thickly on chairs and mantel-piece. Every- 
 thing had been changed since then; fresh hangings put to the 
 bed; bright cretonne coverings to the old furniture; a new 
 carpet, soft and warm, had replaced the damp rags. But on
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 231 
 
 this particular evening her imagination seemed stronger than 
 reality. As she walked from the one room to the other, she 
 pictured to herself always that the chamber she was now in at 
 was in the state in which she had first seen it. 
 
 These fancies grew so strong that they drove more serious 
 thoughts out of her head; just when she wanted to be able to 
 analyze the ideas which the day's occurrences had suggested, 
 she had lost all power of thinking connectedly; nothing but 
 bewildering recollections of the words she had heard and the 
 scenes she had witnessed could be got to occupy her excited 
 mind. 
 
 She ran at last to one of her bedroom windows, threw it 
 open, and looked out. It was dark now, for it was past nine 
 o'clock, and the evening had turned wet. A light, drizzling 
 summer rain was falling, and the sky was heavy with clouds. 
 The outlook was so dreary that after a few minutes she shut 
 the window, shivering, lighted the candles, and tried to read. 
 But she was in such a nervous state that she uttered a little 
 scream when Lucy, bringing her supper, knocked at the outer 
 door. Very much disgusted with herself for this display of 
 feminine weakness, she would not even allow Lucy, who loved 
 to linger about when she had any little service to perform for 
 " Miss Olivia," to stay for a few minutes' chat. When the 
 supper had been laid on the table in the outer room, and the 
 bright little maid had run down-stairs, Olivia did not, as usual, 
 lock the outer door after her. She felt so unaccountably lone- 
 ly and restless that she went into the little passage outside her 
 two rooms and set the outer door open, so as to feel that her 
 connection with the rest of the human life in the house was 
 not altogether severed. She even walked to the end of the 
 corridor and glanced out through the large square window at 
 the end, listening all the while for some sounds of household 
 life down-stairs. But in this east wing very little could be 
 heard, and this evening everything seemed to Olivia to be un- 
 usually quiet. 
 
 The corridor window looked out over fields, showing the 
 farm garden, with its fruit trees and vegetable beds on the 
 right, and barns and various other out-buildings on the left. 
 Right underneath was a neglected patch of land a corner of 
 the garden not considered worth cultivation. Lying among 
 the rank grass were an old ladder and a pile of boards, which 
 had been there when the Denisons took the farm and had re- 
 mained undisturbed ever since. It suddenly occurred to Olivia, 
 for the first time, how alarmingly easy it would be for an evilly 
 disposed person to place the ladder against the wall, and to
 
 282 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 effect an entrance through the window, the fastening of which 
 she noticed was broken, and had evidently been so a long time. 
 Not that such a thing was likely to happen, burglaries being 
 unheard-of things in this neighborhood. Still, the idea get 
 such firm hold of her excited fancy that, two hours later, 
 when all the household had retired to rest, she came out of her 
 apartments in her dressing-gown, to give a final glance out- 
 side, and to make sure that her absurd fears were as ground- 
 less as she told herself they were. 
 
 Opening the window and putting her head out into the driz- 
 zling rain, Olivia saw, in the gloom of the misty night, a dark 
 object creeping stealthily along outside the garden wall. Just 
 as it reached that part of the wall which was immediately op- 
 posite the window, a watery gleam of moonlight showed 
 through the clouds, and enabled her to see that the object was 
 a man. The next moment she saw him climb over into the 
 garden beneath. Still keeping close to the wall, he crept 
 rapidly along until he was close under the window. Holding 
 her breath, Olivia watched him as he stooped and lifted the 
 ladder from the ground. Her blood suddenly seemed to rush 
 to her brain, and then to trickle slowly back through her veins 
 as cold as ice. 
 
 For she recognized him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 LIKE all persons of strong nature, Olivia Denison grew 
 bolder as danger came nearer. When she recognized the man 
 in the garden, underneath the corridor window, it did not 
 occur to her to call for help; but all her energies were in- 
 stantly concentrated on learning the meaning of this intrusion. 
 She was sure that she had not been seen. As noiselessly as 
 she could she shut the window, and retreated into the private 
 passage which led to her own apartments. There she waited, 
 peeping cautiously out under cover of the black shadows of the 
 corridor, into which the faint moonlight could not penetrate. 
 
 She heard the grinding sound made by the ladder as it was 
 set against the wall, and presently she saw a man's head ap- 
 pear just above the ledge outside. He raised his hand, gave 
 three taps on the glass, and disappeared. A minute later he 
 mounted a step higher than before, and tapped again. Then, 
 with scarcely an instant's more delay, he pushed up the win- 
 dow slowly and noiselessly, and as soon as it was wide enough, 
 put one leg over the sill and stood in the corridor. 
 
 Olivia, brave as she was by nature, was transfixed with
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 233 
 
 alarm. What did he want with her? What shocking confes- 
 sion, what horrible entreaties, had he come to make to her like 
 this, in the middle of the night? If she could have shrieked 
 aloud, if she could have run out and alarmed the household, 
 she would have done so now. But horror had paralyzed her. 
 The voice she tried to use gave only a hoarse, almost inaudible 
 rattle. Her limbs were rigid; her breath came and went in 
 gasps, like that of a person dying of asthma. She could only 
 stand and stare at the advancing figure, hoping desperately 
 that the first words he uttered would break this spell and re- 
 store her to herself. Why did he choose the night-time to come 
 and make her the victim of his guilty confidences? Were they 
 too ghastly to make by day? That this man was the murderer 
 of Nellie Mitchell she could not now doubt; the demeanor of 
 his every -day life was utterly changed; there was guilt ex- 
 pressed in every furtive movement. All her respect and lik- 
 ing were transformed into loathing and fear; she almost 
 crouched against the wall as he approached. 
 
 He reached the entrance to the corridor and paused. If she 
 could only keep still enough for him to pass her! Then she 
 could escape into the main building of the house, and have 
 time to think what she should do. But he stopped short, and 
 stretched out his hand to knock at the door. In the darkness 
 he could not see that it was open. But how, Olivia suddenly 
 asked herself, did he know there was a door there at all? Al- 
 though he moved slowly, too, it was with the manner of a man 
 who knew his way about the place. Part of the truth flashed 
 suddenly into her mind; he had been there before. By this 
 time he had discovered that the door was open. Passing into 
 the corridor, he shut the door, turned the key, and put it in 
 his pocket. As he did so he touched Olivia, but did not ap- 
 pear to know it. Now thoroughly alarmed, she flew along 
 the passage into her bedroom, and was in time to lock the 
 door before she heard his footsteps in the outer apartment. 
 There was no lock to the door between the two rooms. No 
 one was likely to hear her if she shrieked at one of the win- 
 dows. Before many minutes were over she felt that she should 
 have to face him. 
 
 She flew across the bedroom floor to blow out the candle, 
 thinking that in the darkness she would have a better chance 
 of escape. As she did so she stumbled against a chair, which 
 fell down with a loud noise. A moment later there was a knock 
 at the inner door. The girl's heart stood still. She remained 
 motionless, and gave no answer. The knock was repeated. 
 Still she was silent. A third time came the knock, and then
 
 234 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 a low, hoarse whisper, of one word only, startled her, and 
 came as a revelation: 
 
 " Nellie!" 
 
 This was the manner in which, years ago, he had visited the 
 girl whose love had ended by wearying him so fatally. By 
 what means he had forgotten the intervening years she did 
 not know, but Olivia recognized at once that it was not she of 
 whom he was in search. The knowledge restored in a moment 
 all her courage. If, as she supposed, fear of discovery had 
 turned his brain, his was a madness with which she felt she 
 could cope. After only one moment's hesitation, she snatched 
 up one of the candles, and unlocking the door she had secured, 
 passed through the passage into the ad j OLD ing room. 
 
 " Mr. Brander!" said she, in a voice which scarcely trem- 
 bled. 
 
 She had to repeat her words three or four times before he 
 moved from the other door. At last he turned very slowly, 
 and Olivia, raising the candle high, looked curiously, and not 
 wholly without fear, into his face. 
 
 His eyes were closed; his breathing was heavy. He was 
 asleep! 
 
 There flashed through her mind the remembrance of what 
 the Vicar of Rishton had said about somnambulism, and the 
 strange instance of it which had occurred in his family. It 
 was clear to her that the excitement occasioned by Ned Mit- 
 chell's obstinate determination had preyed upon the mind of 
 the murderer, and led him at last to perform in sleep an action 
 which had been an habitual one with him eleven years before. 
 
 In spite of the horror of this weird discovery, Olivia's fears 
 disappeared at once. She thought she might, without waking 
 him, persuade him to go back as he had come. If he did 
 wake, she knew he would not hurt her. She began in a low, 
 intentionally monotonous voice. 
 
 ' ' I think you had better go back to-night It is getting 
 very late; it is almost daylight." 
 
 As before, she had to repeat her words before he grasped 
 the sense of them. 
 
 Then he repeated in a whisper, and as if there were some- 
 thing soothing in the sound of her voice: 
 
 "Go back. Yes, go back." 
 
 " I'll give you a light Come along," she went on, coax- 
 ingly. 
 
 And without a moment's delay she led the way out into the 
 passage. Much to her relief, he followed, at the same slow, 
 heavy pace.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 235 
 
 " Now/* she said, when they had reached the outer door, 
 '* give me the key, please." 
 
 He felt in his pocket obediently, and produced the key, 
 which she, overjoyed, almost snatched from his hand. The 
 noise she made in her excitement, as she opened the door, 
 seemed to disturb him, for he began to move restlessly, like a 
 person on the point of waking. Once in the corridor, how- 
 ever, Olivia was bold; she passed her hands several times slow- 
 ly down his arms, murmuring in a low, soothing tone injunc- 
 tions to him to get home quickly. This treatment succeeded 
 perfectly. His manner lost its momentary restlessness, and it 
 was in the same stolid way as he came that he got out on the 
 ladder, descended, replaced the ladder in the long grass, and 
 climbed over the wall. 
 
 Olivia watched his retreating figure as long as it was in sight, 
 and then, feeling sick and cold, slunk back into her rooms, 
 not forgetting to lock the outer door of the passage safely be- 
 hind her. Like most women, however brave, when they have 
 been through an exciting crisis, she felt exhausted, limp, 
 almost hysterical. She staggered as she entered the bedroom, 
 and it was with a reeling brain that she walked up and down, 
 up and down, unable to sleep, unable even to rest. She knew 
 the mystery now, and she felt that the knowledge was almost 
 more than she could bear. 
 
 Next morning her appearance, when she came down late to 
 breakfast, was so much affected by the awful night she had 
 passed that even the children wondered what was the matter 
 with her. Mr. Denison, believing it to be the result of his 
 avoidance of her the evening before, was cut to the heart with 
 remorse, while his wife, alarmed at the change in the girl, 
 altered her tone, and did her best to be kind to her. Olivia 
 could not eat. Her cheeks were almost livid; her great eyes 
 seemed to fill her face; the hand she held out to be shaken was 
 cold, clammy, and trembling. Her amiable little half-sister, 
 Beatrix, saw an opening for a disagreeable remark, and made 
 use of it. 
 
 " Mr. Williams wouldn't say you were pretty if he could 
 see you now," said she. " Would he, mamma?" 
 
 Like most children, she was quick enough to detect how in- 
 harmonious were the relations between her mother and her 
 step-sister. She was surprised to find, however, that for once 
 she received no sympathy from the quarter whence she ex- 
 pected it. 
 
 " Be quiet, Beatrix, and don't be rude," said Mrs. Denison, 
 sharply, with a glance at Olivia, on whom she thought that the
 
 236 ST. CUTHBEBT'S TOVSHEB. 
 
 reference to the supposed cause of her distress would have some 
 sudden and violent effect. 
 
 " Can't you keep those children in better order, Marian?" 
 asked Mr. Denison, peevishly. " Their rudeness is getting 
 quite intolerable. ' ' 
 
 However, Olivia scarcely heard this little discussion, and 
 was in no way moved by it. But when the talk turned to the 
 proposed restoration of St. Cuthbert's and from that to the 
 persons interested in it, she grew suddenly very still, and sat 
 looking down at her plate, listening to each word with fear of 
 what the next would be. 
 
 " I wonder how the vicar likes to see his wife about so con- 
 stantly with another man, even if he is his own brother," said 
 Mrs. Denison, who, in spite of her experience as a governess, 
 was one of those people who think it doesn't matter what sub- 
 jects you discuss before children, because " they don't under- 
 stand." " I'm sure the last week or so I've scarcely seen one 
 without the other." 
 
 " Well, now, do you know, I thought it was awfully good- 
 natured of her. You know the stories that have been Hying 
 about lately. I'm sure 1 don't pretend to say whether there's 
 any truth in them or not; still they have been flying about. " 
 
 " And not without some ground, you may depend," said 
 Mrs. Denison, tartly. 
 
 While avoiding the subject which she supposed to be the 
 cause of Olivia's present distress, her step-mother could not 
 resist the opportunity of giving that headstrong young lady a 
 few gentle thrusts on the subject of her " fancy for mur- 
 derers. " Mr. Denison glanced from his wife to his daughter, 
 who, by putting strong constraint on herself, appeared not to 
 notice what was being said. 
 
 " Well, and as she must know the rights of the story, it 
 seems to me all the kinder in Mrs. Brander to take any notice 
 0f him now, when he's under a cloud, as it were." 
 
 Mrs. Denison uttered a little sound significant of doubt and 
 scorn. 
 
 " It is to be hoped that everybody else will put as kind an 
 interpretation upon her conduct," she said, dryly. " Only 
 last Tuesday 1 met them as I walked back from the Towers. 
 They were sitting in that little cart sort of thing Mrs. Brander 
 drives not at all the right kind of turnout for a clergyman's 
 wife, in my opinion and talking together so well, so confi- 
 dentially that they took no notice of me whatever." 
 
 " Didn't see you, of course," said Mr. Denison, shortly. 
 
 "It may have been that, certainly," assented his wife, in-
 
 ST. CTTHUKRT'S TOWER. 237 
 
 credulously. "Or it may be that they are not too much lost 
 to shame to avoid the eye of a lady whom they respect when 
 they feel they are not behaving quite correctly." 
 
 "Kubbish!" said Mr. Denison, shortly. 
 
 It was so seldom that the so-called head of the house vent- 
 ured so near to an expression of adverse opinion that there was 
 a short silence, which his wife broke in a dangerously dignified 
 manner. 
 
 " Perhaps/' she began, with strong emphasis, " when the 
 whole truth comes to light concerning his relations with other 
 ladies, my opinion ou the matter will not be considered ' rub- 
 bish ''after all. " 
 
 Reginald, with the delightful relish of an innocent child for 
 conversation not intended for his ears, had left off making 
 patterns on the table-cloth with the mustard-spoon, in order 
 to listen and watch with his mouth open. He now broke in 
 with a happy sense that he was making mischief. 
 
 " Oh, look, mamma, what a funny color Olivia's face has 
 gone!" cried he, pointing to her with the mustard-spoon. 
 
 The girl got up and left the room. Her father, who could 
 not bear to see any one unhappy, was miserable at the thought 
 that he himself was partly the cause of his darling daughter's 
 grief. 
 
 " Olivia, my dear child, come down come here," he called 
 after her from the hall as she fled upstairs. 
 
 She never could resist any appeal from him, so she crept 
 down again, unwillingly enough. 
 
 " Oh, that woman, that woman! Papa, I must go away, 1 
 can't live with her," she whispered, as she laid her head on 
 his shoulder and received his caress and incoherent attempts 
 at comfort. 
 
 " Well, dear, what can I do?" he whispered, apologetically, 
 back. " You see, you were such a little thing when your 
 mother died, and 1 hate a household without a woman in it, so 
 that even " 
 
 " Even an objectionable woman is better than none," sug- 
 gested Olivia, mischievously. 
 
 " Oh, no, my dear, I didn't say that," whispered he, hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 " No, papa, you don't dare," said Olivia, with a touch of 
 her old archness. " I really think that when a man with chil- 
 dren marries a second time, he ought to drown the first lot in 
 mercy to them. " 
 
 Poor Mr. Denison looked down at her ruefully.
 
 238 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEE. 
 
 " My dear, I hope you didn't mean that," was all he vent- 
 ured to say. 
 
 "Yes, I did." 
 
 Here Mr. Denison perceived an opening for a suggestion 
 which his wife, of late, had been constantly urging him to 
 make. Not being quite sure how his daughter would take it, 
 he hurried it out in a shamefaced manner without looking at 
 her. 
 
 " Since you don't get on very well together, I wonder you 
 don't take the chance of getting a nice home of your own; 
 you know you could if you liked." 
 
 " What, by wearing little Freddie Williams forever on my 
 watch-chain?" cried Olivia, turning off the suggestion as a 
 joke to avoid paining her father by expressing the disgust she 
 felt. 
 
 "Well, my child, you know I shouldn't press upon you 
 anything that wouldn't make you happy; but if you wait for 
 a husband worthy of you, you'll die an old maid." 
 
 " And if you'll go on living till you're about a hundred and 
 five to keep me company, papa, I'll be the oldest old maid in 
 England with pleasure," said she, affectionately, as she kissed 
 his cheek and ran away upstairs. 
 
 She had some work to do this morning, work for which she 
 must drive all thought of last night's adventure out of her 
 head. As soon as she reached hur own room she unlocked the 
 drawer in which she kept her trinkets, and spreading them out 
 before her on the dressing-table, she mentally passed them in 
 review to decide which were the most likely to be saleable. 
 Not a bad collection for a young girl, they formed, though 
 Olivia, ignorant as she was about the value of jewelery, 
 thought how poor they looked from the point of view at which 
 she was now considering them. A pair of turquois and pearl 
 ear-rings and brooch to match, a heavy gold bracelet, a, set of 
 garnets and pearls of quaint, old-fashioned design, a handsome 
 silver chatelain watch, a quantity of silver bangles, a few very 
 modest-looking rings, a diamond arrow brooch, and a massive 
 gold necklet. Everything but the arrow, which had been a 
 present from her father on her eighteenth birthday, looked, in 
 a strictly commercial light, clumsy or out of date. The arrow 
 must be sacrificed, she told herself with a sigh; so must the 
 gold necklet and bracelet, which she rightly judged to be next 
 in value. If she could only sell these things, and get ten or 
 twelve pounds for them, she could pay off a fair installment of 
 her father's debt to Fred Williams immediately, and she must 
 trust to luck and her own determination for the rest. So she
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 239 
 
 made a parcel of the trinkets she had chosen, and, at the last 
 moment, packed also the turquois and pearl set; then, dress- 
 ing hastily, she slipped out of the house, and started at" a rapid 
 pace on her way to Matherham. 
 
 Before she reached the high-road, however, she was met by 
 Fred Williams, who was sauntering about, pipe in mouth, at 
 the point where the roads met, on the chance of meeting her. 
 He surveyed her with a sidelong look of unwilling admiration. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Denison," he said, curtly, pulling off 
 his cap in a sort of grudging manner. " I suppose you have 
 nothing fresh to say to me this morning?" 
 
 " Not at present, though I may have by and by/' said she, 
 lightly. 
 
 " Oh, well, er do you know whether your father is likely 
 to be about this morning? 1 want to see him on business.'* 
 
 Olivia looked at him with great contempt from under her 
 sweeping black eyelashes. 
 
 " He is about, of course; but I don't think you need trouble 
 yourself to see him, for I have a message to you from him. 
 It is this: the first installment of the money he owes you will 
 be paid to-day, and the remainder very shortly. And he is 
 very sorry to have put you to any inconvenience by accepting 
 the loan." 
 
 With which speech, and a low bow, Olivia left Mr. Williams 
 to the enjoyment of his own society. 
 
 Then on she sped toward Matherham, not by way of the 
 wood and St. Cuthbert's, but by the shorter road that went 
 past the Towers. A great bare building it was, standing 
 ostentatiously on very high ground, with a spire here, a min- 
 aret there, and various irregular erections springing up from 
 the roof to make good its name. Olivia laughed to herself, 
 and wished the lady who might ultimately obtain the hand of 
 her mean-spirited admirer joy of her bargain. She was not 
 unhappy; the fearful nature of her discovery of the night be- 
 fore had shaken her out of the depression from which she had 
 lately been suffering. She was excited, full of indignation and 
 of energy; her head full of wild surmises, of fears connected 
 with the approaching crisis. As if trying to keep pace with 
 her fantastic thoughts, her feet seemed to fly along the ground. 
 The few persons she passed stared at or courtesied to her with- 
 out any acknowledgment; she saw no one but the people in her 
 thoughts. 
 
 Suddenly she was roused out of her wild reverie by hearing 
 her own name called in sharp tones. She looked down from 
 the high path-way alongside the hedge into the road, which at
 
 240 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 this point was some five feet below. There she saw the vicar- 
 age pony- carriage, containing Mrs. Brander, who was driving, 
 with Vernon sitting by her side. It was the lady who had 
 called to Olivia. Having pulled up the ponies to the side of 
 the road, she now beckoned to the girl in an impatient, im- 
 perious manner to come down. 
 
 "Good-morning," said Olivia, coldly, without attempting 
 to leave the path-way. Her cheeks had grown in an instant 
 deadly white on seeing who was the lady's companion; but she 
 did not glance at him. 
 
 " 1 can't stop this morning, Mrs. Brander; I'm in a great 
 hurry," she said, in an unsteady voice, while her heart beat 
 violently, and she felt that if the interview lasted a minute 
 longer she should not be able to stand without support. 
 
 ' ' But I have something important to say to you very im- 
 portant. I really must beg you to give me a moment; and, if 
 you like, I will drive you into Matherham myself. " 
 
 " No, thank you," said Olivia, hastily. 
 
 " One minute, then, I beg, Miss Denison." 
 
 The imperious lady's voice had suddenly broken and become 
 imploring. Olivia, with downcast eyes and feet that tottered 
 under her, found a convenient place for a descent into the 
 road, and the next minute stood by the pony-carriage, on the 
 side where Mrs. Brander was sitting. She neither looked up 
 nor spoke, but left the opening of the conversation to the 
 vicar's wife, whose hands, as she held the reins, shook with a 
 nervousness altogether unusual with her. With strange diffi- 
 dence, too, Mrs. Brander hesitated before she spoke. 
 
 " You are walking into Matherham?" she asked, at last. 
 'Yes, Mrs. Brander." * 
 
 " You are sure you won't let me drive you in?" 
 
 " Quite sure, thank you." 
 
 " Vernon, you know, would get down; he'd rather walk, 
 I'm certain." 
 
 Olivia's face became suddenly crimson. 
 
 " I couldn't think of turning Mr. Brander out," she said, 
 coldly. 
 
 " 1 should be delighted," murmured Vernon, in a low tone. 
 
 In spite of all her efforts to retain her self-command, Olivia 
 shivered at the sound of his voice. She felt, although she 
 never once looked at the face of either, that both the man and 
 the woman were watching her intently. They had some sus- 
 picion of the knowledge she had so strangely obtained, she 
 was sure. There was a pause, and then Mrs. Brander spoke 
 again.
 
 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWEE. 241 
 
 " You don't look so well as usual this morning, Miss Deni- 
 son," she said, not quite able to keep curiosity and anxiety out 
 of her tone. " You are quite pale. We miss your lovely 
 roses." 
 
 " I have had a bad night/' said Olivia, shortly, and with a 
 sudden determination that it would be better to let them know 
 all she had discovered 
 
 The effort Mrs. Brander made to retain her usual calmness 
 and coldness was piteous to see. Her beautiful features quiv- 
 ered; her great black eyes were dilated with apprehension. 
 
 " A bad night?" she repeated, inquiringly. 
 
 " Yes. 1 was frightened. A man got into my sitting- 
 room. ' ' 
 
 Neither of her hearers made any but the faintest attempt to 
 affect astonishment. 
 
 " It must have alarmed you horribly," said Mrs. Brander 
 with blanched lips. " Did you call any one?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Over the face of the vicar's wife came an expression of great 
 relief. 
 
 " Have you told any one?" 
 
 " This is the first time I have mentioned it." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " Have you any idea who the man was?" 
 
 " I recognized him at once, before he got in at the window. 
 He spoke to me, but he did not know who I was. He was 
 asleep." 
 
 " He spoke to you?" 
 
 " Yes. He addressed me as ' Nellie. ' } 
 
 Olivia had dropped her eyes, but she heard Mrs. Brander's 
 breath coming quickly, as if she were choking. The girl put 
 her hand out impulsively on the arm of the elder lady, and 
 whispered, without looking up: 
 
 " You made me tell you. And, after all, what does it mat- 
 ter? I think you know." 
 
 She felt her hand seized with a convulsive pressure. 
 
 " You will say nothing?" Then Mrs. Brander snatched her 
 hand away. " No, no; it is asking too much, of course. And 
 perhaps, after all, it would be of no use. " 
 
 " At any rate, Mrs. Brander, nobody but you will ever hear 
 the story from me. " 
 
 She ignored Vernon, as she had ignored him throughout the 
 whole of the interview. Mrs. Brander drew a labored sigh. 
 
 "1 trust you," she said, in a hoarse voice. *'A woman 
 can keep a secret as well as a man, I know. "
 
 242 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " Oh, yes/* said Olivia, simply. " Now you will let me go, 
 will you not?" 
 
 She was frank, honest; but she was not cordial; scarcely 
 even kind. When Mrs. Brander pressed her hand again, how- 
 ever, she returned the pressure with a firm clasp. Then, still 
 without a glance at Vernon, she bowed and wished the vicar's 
 wife " good-morning," and, turning, resumed her walk toward 
 Matherham. She had not gone many yards before she quick- 
 ened her pace still more, hearing footsteps she recognized be- 
 hind and then beside her. 
 
 It was Vernon Brander. 
 
 For some time he walked on in silence by her side, not dar- 
 ing to address her. At last he said humbly, imploringly: 
 
 " Won't you speak to me?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 ' ' Have you forgotten all you once said to me about friend- 
 ship?" 
 
 " No," she answered in a frightened, constrained voice, still 
 without looking at him. 
 
 " Remember, what you saw last night was no worse than 
 what you already believed. " 
 
 " Yes it was!" panted Olivia. " It was worse, much worse 
 to see to hear. It was something I shall never forget. But 
 don't let us speak of it." 
 
 " But is it to make this difference, that you will never speak 
 to me again?" 
 
 " It is to make no difference; you heard me say so. You 
 wish it; she wishes it. I have promised." 
 
 ** I take you at your word. If you had discovered nothing 
 you would have let me go into Matherham with you, and you 
 would have told me the object of your going. jWUl you now?" 
 
 " Yes, if you like, Mr. Brander." In spite of herself, her 
 tone was more formal than usual " I am going to get some 
 money to repay a loan from that wretched little Fred Will- 
 iams. " 
 
 " To your father, of course. And I suppose," he added, 
 glancing at the little parcel she carried in her hand, " you are 
 going to sell some trinkets of your own to do so." 
 
 "To help to do so," answered Olivia, with a blush and a 
 look of surprise at his perspicacity. " The whole sum is much 
 more than anything of mine could fetch." 
 
 " Will you tell me how much?" 
 
 " Thirty pounds!" 
 
 " And will you, as a pledge of what you said that you will
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 243 
 
 forget everything do for me what I know you would not do 
 for any other man?" 
 
 11 What is that?" 
 
 " Let me lend you the money. I spend nothing. I have a 
 considerable sum saved, and it will do me a pleasure such a 
 pleasure!" he added, earnestly, below his breath. " It would 
 be a mark of confidence which would prove to me, whatever I 
 may have done wrong and my conscience is not too clear, I 
 know, as you know prove to me that you have a little com- 
 passion, a little kindness, for me still." 
 
 Without answering in words, Olivia, who was trembling vio- 
 lently, took his hand, pressed it quickly for one moment in 
 hers, and let it drop hastily, as if she had been too bold. 
 
 Then, without the exchange of a single word more, they 
 walked through the narrow, hilly streets of Matherham, which 
 they had now reached, until they came to the bank where 
 Vernon kept an account. Olivia walked on while he went into 
 the building; in a very few minutes he overtook her and put 
 an envelope into her hand. She did not thank him; he did 
 not give her time. 
 
 "1 am very grateful," he said, simply; "I 1 can't say 
 any mere now. Good-bye. " 
 
 Olivia looked up and spoke with a sob in her voice. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said. 
 
 Then they looked into each other's eyes with the long, sad 
 look of a farewell, and she was not surprised at his next words. 
 
 " T. dare say," he said, in a hoarse voice, " that I shall be 
 going away from here before long; I dare say 1 shall have to 
 when the tower is built," he added in a whisper, looking 
 down. " No, don't sa$ anything I couldn't bear it." 
 
 But Olivia, though she tried, could utter no word. She 
 wrung his hand and looked straight into his face with an ex- 
 pression of passionate sympathy and despair. Then, without 
 another word, they parted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 OLIVIA hurried back toward the farm with the little packet 
 in her hand which was to release her father from his hateful 
 indebtedness to Fred Williams. It was true it rendered her 
 herself indebted to somebody else; but, with a woman's per- 
 versity, she preferred the greater evil to the less. It was 
 rather an awkward matter, however, to acquaint her father 
 with what she had done, especially as she found him in the 
 lowest depths of despondency.
 
 244 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 " Don't speak to me, my dear; don't speak to me/* was his 
 greeting to his daughter when she pounced upon him, with a 
 light-hearted laugh, from behind the hedge of one of his own 
 cornfields. 
 
 He was contemplating the ripening crop with a most rueful 
 face. 
 
 " Why not, papa? Perhaps I may have some good news for 
 you." 
 
 " Good news! Oh, no," he answered, dolefully, shaking 
 his head. " It must be for somebody else if you have any 
 good news. So go away, or I may be cross; and I don't want 
 to speak crossly to you, my darling." 
 
 There was not much fear of such a thing, evidently; for 
 when she persisted in coming to him, and giving him a hearty 
 kiss, the wrinkles in his forehead began immediately to clear 
 away. 
 
 " It's all your fault, you minx," said he, looking affection- 
 ately at the girl's bonny face. " You've turned the heads of 
 all che lads about here, and then it's your poor old father that 
 they ' wreak their vengeance on,' as the melodramas say." 
 
 " Why, papa," said the girl, blushing, " who's been teasing 
 you now? Produce him, and let me wither him up with a 
 glance." 
 
 " Well, the first thing I heard this morning is that the old 
 brute, John Oldshaw, has been making all sorts of mischief 
 about me to Lord Stannington's agent says I'm ruining the 
 land, and all that; and it's all because he's angry at poor 
 Mat's humble admiration for you, I know. He says I'm not 
 fit to be a farmer. Now what do you think of that?" 
 
 The enormity of this allegation made Mr. Denison quite 
 unable to proceed. But Olivia shook her head and laughed. 
 
 " I think, papa, that if all Mr. Oldshaw's statements were 
 as veracious as that, he would be a much honester man than 
 he is." 
 
 " Why, what do you mean, child?" 
 
 " That, if the whole world had been thoroughly scoured to 
 find the one man most unsuitable for the occupation of farm- 
 ing, they could not have done better than light on you." 
 
 " Olivia, I'm surprised at you!" said her father, assuming 
 a tone of great dignity mingled with indignation. 
 
 " Ah, you may well be surprised to find a girl with as much 
 common sense as a man," retorted she, merrily. For since 
 her return from Matherham her spirits had risen in an extraor- 
 dinary manner. " Now, papa, look at John Oldshaw. He's 
 a perfect type of a successful farmer. And he's mean, and
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 245 
 
 he's vulgar, and he's industrious, and lie's economical; while 
 you, pardon me, are none of those things. I don't say that 
 all good farmers are like John Oldshaw, but I'm certain none 
 of them are a bit like you. And if he can persuade you that 
 you'll never do anything at farming but lose your money, and 
 catch cold looking at oats that won't ripen and turnips that 
 won't come up, he'll do you a very great service." 
 
 " But, my dear," remonstrated her father, not quite certain 
 whether to be amused or offended by her wicked plain speak- 
 ing, " you don't understand these things. Women never do, 
 of course. It's not their province, and we don't expect it of 
 them." The poor old fellow's tone grew more confident when 
 he got into these mild platitudes. " John Oldshaw has always 
 shown himself jealous of me: firstly, because I'm a gentle- 
 man; and, secondly, because I conduct my farming on differ- 
 ent principle? from his." 
 
 " Yes, papa," said Olivia, demurely, " on very different 
 principles. He gets large crops and you get small ones. And 
 John Oldshaw wants to turn you out and apply his principles 
 to your land. And I wish you would let him." 
 
 Mr. Denison sighed. He could not quite hide from himself 
 that there were grains of truth and good sense in his daughter's 
 suggestions. But the secret admission made him impatient 
 and irritable. 
 
 " Of course," he said, turning upon her, " I'm not likely 
 to get on here or anywhere while my people insult the friends 
 who would help me to tide over the bad time." 
 
 " Do you mean that I've insulted Fred Williams, papa?" 
 asked Olivia, who was too straightforward to allow the talk to 
 be carried on by innuendoes. 
 
 " Well, and what if I do?" asked Mr. Denison, taken 
 aback. For he was one of those persons who would walk 
 round about a fact forever without facing it. 
 
 " Has the little reptile been worrying you about the money 
 he lent you?" 
 
 "Reptile!" echoed Mr. Denison, trying to evade the ques- 
 tion. *' That is a strong word for a young lady to use, my 
 dear. Not but what I have been disappointed in that young 
 fellow. He seemed such a generous, open-hearted lad that 1 
 own he induced me to break my rule and allow him to accom- 
 modate me in a little difficulty I was in " 
 
 " And are you out of the difficulty, papa?" 
 
 " Well, my dear, I am, in a sense, out of that one. But 
 difficulties have such a way of clinging together; where they've 
 been once they come again."
 
 246 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWER. 
 
 " And this wretched creature has been worrying you, then?" 
 
 " Well, he spoke to me about you in such a way that I was 
 mad with myself for having allowed him to oblige me. ' ' 
 
 " I think 1 can free you from that obligation, papa/' said 
 she, gently. " Only you mustn't ask where the money came 
 from." 
 
 " What?" cried he, in astonishment. " My dear child, you 
 are dreaming. I owe him thirty pounds." 
 
 "Look here." 
 
 She opened her little packet, and unfolded before him six 
 five-pound notes. 
 
 " But, Olivia, I can't take these from you without knowing 
 how you got them," said her father, trying to assume a rather 
 severe paternal air. 
 
 " It's very simple: I went to Matherham, followed a rich- 
 looking old gentleman into a quiet street, knocked him down, 
 and robbed him," she answered, laughing. " But you needn't 
 have any qualms of conscience about the proceeds of the deed, 
 for I'm going to hand them over to Fred Williams myself, 
 with a message from you which 1 shall make up." 
 
 " But, Olivia, I really can not permit " 
 
 " It's too late now; the power of permission is denied you. 
 But, remember, when you next meet that miserable tittle 
 goose, you can hold up your head and snap your fingers at 
 him, for there will be no obligation between you any longer." 
 
 She nodded good-bye to him very brightly, checked his ex- 
 postulations with a kiss, and ran off over the fields in the direc- 
 tion of the Towers. 
 
 For Olivia was feverishly anxious to pay off the debt, and 
 she had little doubt that she would find Fred lounging on his 
 father's lawn, softening what brains he had by the help of 
 some fluid or other, and a strong cigar. She met him, how- 
 ever, before she reached the gate of the Towers. He had just 
 come from Matherham in a hansom, and was quarreling with 
 the cabman about his fare; but when he caught sight of Olivia 
 he changed his tone, and threw the man a handful of silver 
 with an ostentatious air. Then he came up to her with a 
 manner full of exaggerated respect, and an expression of face 
 in which the girl instantly detected a good deal of malice. 
 
 " Delighted to see you, Miss Denison; it isn't often you do 
 us the honor of a visit up here. You wish to see my sister, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " No, 1 came to see you, and I won't detain you long. I 
 am commissioned by my father to bring you the money you so
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 247 
 
 kindly lent him, and to say how deeply obliged he is for the 
 graceful generosity you have shown him in this matter." 
 
 Fred Williams was annoyed, but he did not seem surprised. 
 
 " Oh, all right," he said, gruffly. 4< You needn't sneer. 
 Your guv'nor was precious glad to take it at the time: that's 
 all I know. And you haven't got me on toast as you think, 
 for I saw you pass here this morning, and I followed you into 
 Matherham, and I know what you did there," he added, tri- 
 umphantly. 
 
 " Nothing that I am ashamed of/' said the girl, quietly. 
 
 " Oh, no, you've too much cheek to be ashamed of any- 
 thing. You've paid me back to-day, and I'll pay you back 
 to-morrow. For to-morrow the workmen begin to dig in St. 
 Cuthbert's Church-yard, and if they should come across any- 
 thing that'll upset your friend's apple-cart, remember you had 
 the chance to stop it. And perhaps you won't feel so proud 
 then of having got clear of debt to me by running into debt 
 with a murderer. Yes, a murderer, Miss High-and-Mighty," 
 he continued, with a little dance of delight on the garden 
 path. " And if you don't feel jolly well ashamed of yourself 
 and your friend by about this time next week, why, I'm a pol- 
 ished gentleman, that I am!" 
 
 " You couldn't say anything stronger than that, Mr. Will- 
 iams," said Olivia, ingenuously. " I suppose 1 shall have the 
 pleasure of meeting you to-morrow at St. Cuthbert's. Good- 
 morning." 
 
 And, quite unaffected by his threats, she bowed to him with 
 great, ceremony, and tripped away down the road as if greatly 
 pleased with her interview. 
 
 But Olivia was not at ease; she only appeared so because she 
 was excited to the pitch of recklessness. As the day drew on, 
 and the time for the commencement of the excavations at St. 
 Cuthbert's grew nearer, she became restless, depressed, and so 
 irritable that she had to pass the time either out-of-doors or in 
 her own rooms, to avoid the domestic friction which she felt 
 she could not bear to-day. Next morning she awoke with 
 a deadening sense of being on the brink of some great danger. 
 At the breakfast-table, at which she duly appeared to avoid 
 giving unnecessary alarm to her father, her looks again pro- 
 voked much comment, which she bore as patiently as she 
 could, being particularly anxious not to encourage a discussion 
 which might lead to interference with a project she had in 
 view. She was so impatient to leave the house that every 
 trifling delay seemed to her to be part of a conspiracy to keep 
 her in-doors. When her usual household duties were disposed
 
 248 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 of, when Mrs. Denisou's request that she would make up a 
 parcel for the dyer's had been complied with, she crept upstairs 
 with a heart full of anxiety, dressed, slipped out of the house, 
 and sped away in the direction of St. Cuthbert's. 
 
 For all her haste, she could not reach the church-yard much 
 before twelve o'clock, when the working-men, their morning's 
 labor almost over, were slackening their efforts in anticipation 
 of the dinner hour. Already their invasion had entirely 
 changed the aspect of the church-yard. Piles of scaffolding 
 poles, ladders, and boards lay just inside the walls. Planks 
 placed across the broken grave-stones formed bridges for the 
 passage of wheel-barrows to and from the scene of operations. 
 This, Olivia saw, was the ground at the foot of the tower, ex- 
 tending to the crypt, the entrance to which had been freed 
 from the stones and bricks which had blocked it up for so 
 long. The men seem to be at work in all directions: some 
 were erecting a scaffolding against the old tower, the upper part 
 of which was to be taken down; some carting away stones and 
 rubbish from the east end; some removing that corner of the 
 roof of the south aisle which, in a crumbling and dangerous 
 condition, still remained. But it was upon the corner where 
 the old crypt was that Olivia's attention at once fixed. For 
 here, listening perfunctorily with one ear to old Mr. Williams, 
 who had a self-made man's veneration for his own utterances, 
 and keeping a sharp lookout upon two workmen whose labors 
 within the crypt he was superintending, was Ned Mitchell. 
 
 Nothing had happened so far, Olivia easily guessed; no dis- 
 coveries had been made; no alarm had been given. But to 
 her fancy there hung over the whole place the hush of expect- 
 ancy: the workmen scarcely spoke to each other, the on-lcokers 
 seemed to hold their breath. Another feature of the scein.- 
 was that these on-lookers each seemed to have come by stealth, 
 and to wish to remain unnoticed by the rest. Olivia herself. 
 for instance, remained outside the church-yard wall, seeing 
 only so much of the operations as could be observed from the 
 highest part of the rough and broken ground. Then, lurking 
 behind the hedge on the opposite side of the lane, was the lame 
 tramp, Abel Squires, who from this post could see very little 
 more than the scaffolding poles, but who had remained there, 
 nevertheless, since the moment, early that morning, when the 
 workmen from Sheffield first made their appearance. Vernon 
 was inside the church, keeping out of the way of every one but 
 the foreman, to whom he was giving certain structural ex- 
 planations, while Mrs. Brander watched the proceedings from 
 her pony-carriage in the lane, and Fred Williams from the
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 249 
 
 church roof. A small crowd of the country people, chiefly 
 children and old pit-women, filled up the spaces, and made 
 the isolation of the others less noticeable. Roaming about the 
 church-yard, in a somewhat impatient manner, was also a gen- 
 tleman whom Olivia did not immediately recognize as the doc- 
 tor who had attended Ned Mitchell in his illness. 
 
 It was a sultry day, sunless and heavy. The smoke of the 
 Sheffield chimneys hung over the hills in a thick black cloud, 
 and appeared, Olivia thought, to be coming nearer and nearer. 
 The air seemed to choke instead of invigorate; the leaves of 
 the trees hung parched and still. The girFs excitement had 
 all evaporated ; she waited there without hope, without fear, 
 in a dull state of expectancy, her clearest thought being a 
 faint wish that she might be able to get quietly home again 
 without having to speak to any one. Still she stood there 
 and watched the workmen slowly putting on their coats, the 
 doctor as he flitted about the church-yard, without quite know- 
 ing whether she were asleep or awake, whether the figures, 
 moving silently about, were flesh - and - blood creatures, or 
 images seen in a dream. 
 
 Suddenly a breath of air seemed to pass over every one, and 
 the stirring of a more active life was felt. It was a voice at 
 the gate of the church-yard which broke the hushed silence 
 and made every eye look up, while the women and children 
 courtesied and the workmen touched their caps. The Vicar 
 of Kishton, cheerful and smiling and bland, had worked the 
 change by his appearance alone. A certain listlessness, which 
 had begun to creep over watchers and workers at the end of 
 an eventless morning under a sullen sky, disappeared. There 
 arose a hum of talk; the workmen who had left off work hur- 
 ried to their dinner-cans; the few who were still digging felt a 
 spurt of fresh energy. It was felt that the portly presence of 
 the much-respected vicar gave eclat to the proceedings and 
 new interest to a monotonous occupation. Only Ned Mitchell 
 remained entirely unmoved. He gave the clergyman a glance 
 and a nod, and then turned again to the two men at work in 
 the crypt 
 
 " Get on, you lazy devils!" he said, kicking a stone impa- 
 tiently. ' ' You might be millionaires, both of you, not to 
 think it worth while to work harder for the chance of a ten- 
 pound note." 
 
 " Why, we've turned the whole place out, master, and 
 blessed if there's a blooming thing to be found there except 
 earth and stones/' said one, in a rather grumbling tone. 
 
 " Hey, what?'' asked Mr. Williams, in a surprised tone,
 
 250 ST. CUTHBEBT'S TOWER. 
 
 " "What's that they're looking for, eh, Mitchell? Something 
 lost? Something buried, eh?" 
 
 " Both lost and buried/' said Ned, briefly. " "What do you 
 think, parson?" 
 
 And he turned quickly to the Reverend Meredith Brander, 
 who had by this time, after a triumphal progress between two 
 lines of admiring villagers, reached the group. 
 
 " Well, the church-yard is the place for the lost and buried, 
 certainly," replied the vicar, whose bright complexion and 
 serene smile were a charming thing to see after the anxious 
 and gloomy faces the rest of the assembly had been wearing. 
 1 ' But, as we know, a time will come when we shall recover 
 our lost ones," he added, with a gentle solemnity. 
 
 " Some of us will recover 'em sooner than we bargain for, 
 perhaps," said Ned, dryly. 
 
 The vicar did not answer; indeed he looked as if he did not 
 understand. He nodded pleasantly, and looked round, smil- 
 ing on such members of his family and of his congregation as 
 were in sight. For a curious thing had happened since his 
 coming; all those before-mentioned spectators, who had been 
 watching as it were by stealth, now with one accord drew near 
 to the entrance of the crypt, and cast at the vicar sidelong 
 glances of deep interest. Thus Olivia, Mrs. Brander, Vernon, 
 the doctor, and Abel Squires found themselves, as if by pre- 
 concerted arrangement, within a few feet of each other, and 
 yet seemed to be unaware of this fact. The vicar also seemed 
 not to notice this, but Ned Mitchell took in the curious situa- 
 tion with a keen glance, and read the varied expressions of 
 curiosity, anxiety, and despondency in the several faces with 
 cynical swiftness. 
 
 The men in the crypt did not leave off work with the rest; 
 on the contrary, urged on by Ned Mitchell, whose tongue grew 
 sharper with every order he gave, they used pick-ax and spade 
 with renewed energy. 
 
 " I don't quite understand the necessity for all this delving 
 in the crypt," said old Mr. Williams, at last, rather pomp- 
 ously. 
 
 He was a man by habit too much occupied with himself to 
 have troubled his head about the stories and scandals of the 
 neighborhood, and no suggestion of any mystery connected 
 with St. Cuthbert's had ever reached his ears. 
 
 ' You'll see presently, perhaps," answered Ned, who be- 
 trayed his ever-increasing excitement only by the growing curt- 
 ness of his tone. 
 
 For he perceived, peering down into the gloom where the
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 251 
 
 men were working, that the digging and delving had suddenly 
 ceased, and that, in the remotest corner of the little crypt, 
 both were kneeling down examining the lower part of the wall. 
 Then one of the men struck a match, and a moment later his 
 fellow- workman came to the opening. 
 
 " We've found something, sir!" said he, in a low voice. 
 
 " Eh? What?" asked old Mr. Williams, who began to 
 have an idea that he was being made a fool of. 
 
 There was a sort of a rustle and flutter among the by-stand- 
 ers; for though all had not heard the workman's words all 
 knew that something had happened. Ned Mitchell, who was 
 now so much excited that he dared not trust himself to speak, 
 beckoned to the doctor. The latter, who was on the alert, 
 came up immediately. He was an active, brisk little man, 
 sparing of words. 
 
 " I think we shall want you now, doctor, please/' said Ned, 
 in a voice which was getting hoarse and rasping. " What is it 
 you have found, mate?" he went on, turning to the workman. 
 
 "It's a body, we think," your honor "the body of a 
 woman!" 
 
 The vicar, on entering the church-yard, had locked the gate, 
 to keep out the swarm of unruly boys who always ooze out of 
 the pores of the earth when anything of an unusual nature is 
 going on ; so that few people but those interested in this dis- 
 covery were present to hear the announcement of it. These 
 all pressed forward until they stood a silent, excited group 
 close to the crypt entrance. Mrs. Brander, although she re- 
 mained perfectly quiet, laid her hand, either from sympathy 
 or for support, on the arm of her brother-in-law. Vernon 
 himself looked, if possible, more pale and haggard than ever, 
 but his face wore its habitual expression when in repose, a look 
 of grave and somewhat cynical good humor. The only notice- 
 able thing about his demeanor was his careful avoidance of 
 Olivia Denison; he would not even meet her eyes. The girl 
 herself was white to the lips and cold from head to foot. Fred 
 Williams, in a cheerful voice, offered her the support of his 
 arm. 
 
 '* These are nasty scenes for a lady to be present at/' said 
 he, with a little conpunction in his voice. " Won't you let me 
 take you away?" 
 
 She shook her head, and signed for him to leave her, which 
 he did reluctantly and with some shame. In the meantime 
 the gentlemen had descended into the crypt, with the exception 
 of Vernon, who was detained by Mrs. Brander. By the light
 
 252 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 of a lantern and a torch a ghastly sight was soon disclosed to 
 view. 
 
 In the lower part of the wall of the crypt, in the corner 
 nearest the entrance, to which no daylight could ever pierce its 
 way, was unearthed, between the basis of two of the pillars sup- 
 porting the roof, the almost fieshless skeleton of a woman, the 
 damp rags of whose dress, still recognizable, hung around the 
 bones in shrunken folds. The flaring and flickering of the 
 lights on what had once been a beautiful face, on the remains 
 of the finery which every other girl in the village had once 
 envied, made an ever-changing, hideous picture, upon which 
 the men all gazed with feelings of pity, horror, and disgust. 
 
 A savage exclamation burst from Ned's lips. Old Mr. Will- 
 iams was struck dumb with horror; for to him the discovery 
 was quite unforeseen. The doctor bent over the skeleton, and 
 taking a lantern into his own hand, looked carefully at the 
 horrible thing, touched it, removed part of the ragged cloth- 
 ing, and muttered something the rest could not hear. The 
 Vicar of Eishton, accustomed to death in many forms, main- 
 tained a demeanor of reverend gravity tempered by amaze- 
 ment. As the doctor stopped, however, he interposed with 
 some haste, and, coming close beside him, tried gently but 
 firmly to thrust him aside. 
 
 " There must be an inquiry into this, I suppose," he said; 
 " though, for the sake of the unhappy man who committed 
 this deed, and whom we know to have repented long ago, 1 
 trust it may be made as quietly as possible. In the meantime 
 the remains must be laid decently in some suitable place. I 
 would suggest the church itself. " 
 
 The doctor interrupted him brusquely. He, with the rest, 
 had been listening in dead silence to the clergyman's words. 
 
 " Where you like, vicar: but I must make an examination 
 first. If I'm not mistaken, I've seen something just now 
 which will be a positive means of identifying the murderer." 
 Still the vicar insisted gently but with becoming determination : 
 
 " 1 really thing, in a matter touching the sanctity of the 
 dead, that I, as vicar, ought to have a voice. " 
 
 " But you're not the vicar of this church," said the doctor, 
 standing his ground. " The Vicar of St. Cuthbert's is your 
 brother Vernon, and if, as you seem to say, he has had any- 
 thing to do with this business " 
 
 There was a stir among the hearers, and old Mr. Williams 
 burst out, "What! What! Vernon Brander! Bless me! 
 You don't mean to say 
 
 The vicar was protesting; Ned Mitchell was swearing and
 
 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWER. 253 
 
 muttering; Fred Williams, who had crept in during the last 
 few minutes, was whistling softly to himself to keep off the 
 horrors. 
 
 Suddenly the doctor, who had again stooped over the skele- 
 ton, silenced them all in imperious tones. 
 
 "Stand back, gentlemen! In two moments I can satisfy 
 your curiosity as to who murdered this woman. " 
 
 The vicar only attempted to resist this command; but the 
 doctor, with a skillful and most unceremonious thrust, forced 
 him back into the rest of the group; and the next moment the 
 reverend arms were pinioned by Ned Mitchell's strong hands. 
 
 " Keep back, can't you?" hissed Ned, roughly, into his ear; 
 ''Murder will out, you know! And people might say such 
 ugly things if they thought you wanted to hide the truth." 
 
 After this there was a sickening, death-like pause, while the 
 doctor's hands moved rapidly about the horrible heap of human 
 bones and tattered finery. Then he sprung up, and made 
 quickly for the light. The rest followed, huddled together, 
 panting, bewildered, like a flock of frightened sheep. For the 
 doctor's face, old practitioner though he was, was livid and 
 tremulous with a great horror. Standing in the open daylight 
 they found him, looking at something he held half concealed 
 in his hand. Mrs. Brander, Vernon, and Olivia Denison stood 
 a little way off, watching him, but not daring to come near. 
 He closed his hand as the men gathered round him. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he began, gravely, in a very low voice, 
 " there are circumstances in this case so revolting that I think 
 no good can come of making them public. But you shall 
 judge. I have found, inside the remains of that poor girl, a 
 ring which, there can be no doubt, was the property of the 
 murderer. In spite of the decayed state of the body, I can 
 undertake to say that this ring was swallowed by the girl just 
 before her death. Here," and he held up his closed his hand, 
 " is the ring. Shall I show it you?" 
 
 "No!" said the Vicar of Eishton, sharply. They all turned 
 to look at him. 
 
 " Why not?" asked the doctor, quietly. 
 
 Meredith Brander had recovered the composure which in- 
 deed he could scarce be said for a moment to have lost. 
 
 '' What good would it do?" he asked, gazing blandly in the 
 doctor's face. 
 
 Dr. Harper returned his look of astonishment which became 
 almost admiration. 
 
 " Well, "he answered, " it would show up the most remark-
 
 254 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 ably perfect specimen of a consummate humbug that I have 
 ever had the honor of meeting." 
 
 A curious thing had happened before this short colloquy 
 was ended. The rest of the group had gradually dispersed and 
 left the two men alone together. As he uttered the last words, 
 the doctor also turned abruptly away, so that the vicar was left 
 by himself. He did not seem disconcerted, but walked, with 
 a half smile on his face, in the direction of the church-yard 
 gate. His wife, whose handsome face was as pale as that of a 
 corpse, and whose limbs tottered under her, moved, with falter- 
 ing steps, in the same direction. At the gate stood Abel 
 Squires, wi*o stood back to allow the vicar to pass out first. 
 But Meredith Brander would not allow this. He turned to 
 him with a kindly nod. 
 
 " Well, Abel/' said he, " I'm afraid this is a sad business 
 for somebody. 
 
 " I'm afeard so too, sir/' replied Abel, with an immovable 
 face. 
 
 " We must hush it up. I'm sure you would not like any 
 harm to come to my brother." 
 
 " No fear o' that, sir," said Abel. " I could prevent that." 
 
 " Why, how so?" 
 
 " Ah wur wi' him all that evenin'. An' if he hadn't kept 
 my tongue quiet all these years since then, truth would ha' 
 been aht long ago." 
 
 The vicar went through the gate without another word. 
 But before he had taken many steps in the lane outside, he felt 
 an arm thrust through his. It was his brother Vernon, who 
 pressed his arm warmly two or three times before he spoke. 
 
 " Cheer up, old chap!" he whispered, huskily. " For Eve- 
 lyn's sake and the children's we can get it kept it quiet still. " 
 
 Then, for the first time, Meredith threatened to break 
 down. He wrung his brother's hand with a force which made 
 Vernon turn white, and when he answered, it was with sobs in 
 his voice. 
 
 "I'm a scoundrel, Vernie," he almost gasped. "But if 
 you save me again, on my soul I'll be better to them than 
 many an honest man." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 NED MITCHELL, although he had let Meredith Brander off 
 easily at the moment of the discovery of the body, had no in- 
 tention of letting his sister's murderer escape the just punish- 
 ment of his crime. The discovery of the vicar's ring inside
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 355 
 
 the poor girl's remains had not been altogether unexpected by 
 Ned and the doctor, whom he had taken into his confidence. 
 He had had the wit to connect the vicar's loss of his ring, 
 which the girl must have stolen and secreted unnoticed by him 
 in the course of their last fatal interview, with the strange 
 threat Nellie Mitchell had uttered to Martha Lowndes. He 
 had confided his suspicions to the doctor, who had thus been 
 on the alert to prevent Meredith from touching the remains of 
 the murdered girl before he himself had examined them. 
 
 After a few words of explanation to old Mr. Williams, and 
 a little substantial advice to the two workmen who had dug 
 out the skeleton, Ned marched off with Abel Squires in the 
 direction of Rishton Vicarage. On the way they passed Vernon 
 Brander, who wished to stop Ned. But the latter hurried on, 
 and to all the entreaties he tried to utter turned a deaf ear. 
 
 " If you've been fool enough to hold your tongue for ten 
 years, and bear the blame of somebody else's crime, that's 
 nothing to do with me. You may talk till you're tired, but 
 my sister's murderer shall get what he deserves. " 
 
 And he walked on stubbornly with the tramp. 
 
 When they reached the vicarage, and asked to see the vicar, 
 they were shown into the drawing-room, and left waiting there 
 for some minutes. When the door opened, it was Mrs. Bran- 
 der, instead of her husband, who came in. 
 
 " What, has he run away already?" asked Ned, in a hard, 
 jeering tone. 
 
 "No; my husband does not yet know you are here," she 
 answered, in a very sad voice. " I knew you would come, and 
 so I told the servant to announce your arrival to me." 
 
 " What's the good of that?" asked Ned, roughly. " You've 
 done no harm, and we've nothing to do with you, except that 
 we're going to set you free from a rascal." 
 
 Abel Squires had withdrawn to the furthest window, and 
 tried to hide himself behind the curtain. Rough fellow as he 
 was, to hear a man speak in a bullying tone to that beautiful, 
 dignified lady was too much for him. 
 
 Mrs. Brander had never in her life before looked so hand- 
 some as she looked now, standing erect before this coarse man, 
 with a flush of deep humiliation in her cheeks and passionate 
 entreaty softening her proud eyes. 
 
 "But, my children, my poor children: they have done less 
 harm in the world than your sister did, and if you hurt my 
 husband you sacrifice them. Think of that. You have chil- 
 dren of your own. You don't dote passionately on them any 
 more than I do on mine; therefore you can enter into my feel-
 
 256 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 ings. Is it fair, is it just, that they should suffer? I don't 
 appeal for myself, for you don't like me. But just think of 
 this: for ten years I have been a dutiful wife to this man, who 
 was unfaithful to me even in my fresh youth, when I was 
 beautiful, so they said, and loving, and devoted. Listen. 1 
 knew of the murder on the night he committed it; for he came 
 straight back with stained hands and a face I never shall for- 
 get. Do you not think that was something to forgive? But I 
 did it, and I implore you to do it too. 1 am not asking you 
 an impossible thing, for I have done it myself. And think 
 under what circumstances!" 
 
 But Ned remained as hard as nails. 
 
 " I suppose no offense to you, madame your motives 
 were not entirely unselfish; and even if they were, that's no 
 business of mine. If you chose to put up with him, that was 
 your lookout. J came back here to punish my sister's murderer, 
 and I'm not going to be made a fool of by a woman when 
 the game's in my own hands. " 
 
 Ned spoke the more harshly, that he was really rather 
 touched by her beauty and her high spirit. There was some- 
 thing in her frank, straightforward manner of pleading more 
 to his taste than any amount of tearful, hysterical incoherence 
 would have been. But Mrs. Brander had a most unexpected 
 ally near at hand. Thumpety-thump came Abel Squires, with 
 his wooden leg, out of his hiding-place. He did not look at 
 the lady, but going straight up to Ned, jerked his thumb over 
 his shoulder in the direction of where she was standing. 
 
 " Hold hard, Mester Mitchell," said he, without moving a 
 muscle of hisdried-up face. " Ah didn't bargain fur this when 
 Ah coom here to-day. A woman's a woman. An' t' woman 
 ye're so soft abaht's dead, but t' woman ye're so hard on 's 
 alive. Steady theer, Mester Mitchell, or Ah'll hev to swear 
 Ah killed t' lass mysen. " 
 
 The poor woman broke down at these words from the rough 
 tramp; she turned away abruptly to hide the tears which 
 sprung to her eyes. Ned, who was hard, brusque, and deter- 
 mined, but not inhuman, moved uneasily about the room. 
 
 " Women have no business to interfere in these matters/' 
 said he, angrily. 
 
 Mrs. Brander saw that there was hope. She moved nearer 
 to him, clasping her hands, not in supplication, but because 
 they would twitch and tremble, and so betray the anguish she 
 was suffering. She tried to speak, but couldn't. But with 
 one piteous look out of her proud eyes, she turned away again. 
 
 " Well," said Ned, in very ill-tempered tones, " we're wast-
 
 ST. CUTHBEET'S TOWER. 257 
 
 ing onr time here, Abel, and Mrs. Brander's. So, please, ma- 
 dame, let us see your husband, and have done with him." 
 
 But Mrs. Brander hastened to intercept him on his way to 
 the door. 
 
 " You will not be too hard," she pleaded, in a breaking 
 voice. " You are not vindictive, I am sure." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, madame, that's just what I am," 
 snarled Ned. " And if Fm fool enough not to insist on the 
 hanging he deserves, I'm not going to let him off scot-free, I 
 can tell you." 
 
 " Of course not, of course not," said she, in a tone of great 
 relief. " He has done wrong great wrong; and he must 
 suffer for it we must suffer for it. Only don't expose him. 
 Anything but that." 
 
 " Yes, anything but what he deserves, of course. Let us 
 pass, madaine, please. He is in the library, I suppose?" 
 
 " 1 suppose so," she faltered. 
 
 Ned turned round abruptly. 
 
 " You suppose so! Well, if he's given us the slip, and left 
 you to bear the brunt of it all, it'll be the worse for him." 
 
 Mrs. Brander drew herself up in the old, proud way, and 
 spoke with her accustomed cold haughtiness in addressing a 
 person she disliked. 
 
 " You need not be afraid, Mr. Mitchell. 1 can stand by a 
 criminal husband; 1 would not by a cowardly one." 
 
 " Do you call it courageous, then, to kill a woman, and let 
 another man bear the blame for ten years?" asked Ned. 
 
 Mrs. Brander did not answer. She led the way across the 
 hall to the study, and knocked. 
 
 " Come in," called out the vicar, in his usual voice. 
 
 She opened the door, and signed to the two men to follow 
 her in. Abel would have slunk away, but Ned Mitchell kept 
 a tight hold on his arm. Both, however, kept in the back- 
 ground, near the door, while the lady went up to her husband, 
 and laid her hand upon his shoulder. He leaned back in his 
 comfortable chair, pen still in hand. He had been busy writ- 
 ing, and the table was covered with large sheets of MS. He 
 faced the two intruders with an air of mild annoyance, which 
 would have made an on-looker think that he was the injured per- 
 son. Ned, with astonishment which he would not admit by word 
 or look, examined the bland, fair face, with its healthy com- 
 plexion, frank blue eyes, broad white forehead, and saw on it 
 no trace of shame, guilt, or even of anxiety. It was his wife's 
 face which bore all these signs, as she stood, upright and 
 daring, by her husband's side, handsome, majestic, and brave.
 
 258 ST. CUTHBERT'S TO WEE. 
 
 Ned Mitchell felt that to deal with Meredith as he deserved, 
 while she remained there, was impossible. He had turned, as 
 if anxious to put off the interview. The vicar changed his 
 position, wheeling his chair round, so that he could face the 
 two men. 
 
 " Well," he said, " you wish to speak to me, do you not?" 
 His tone was mildly peremptory. 
 
 " Yes, we do. But what we have to say we wish to say to 
 you alone. " 
 
 " Go, my dear," said Meredith, turning kindly to his wife. 
 
 She hesitated, and he pushed her gently away from him. 
 Then she stooped, kissed his forehead, and with an imploring 
 yet still dignified look into Ned's reluctant eyes as she passed 
 him, she slowly left the room. 
 
 " Now," said Mitchell, in a louder, more assured tone, as if 
 much relieved, " we've got an account to settle with you." 
 
 " Well, sit down, and let us have it out. " 
 
 Meredith was not in the least discomposed. He took up 
 the pen he had been using, wiped it carefully, and then cross- 
 ing his legs and clasping his hands over them, assumed the 
 attitude in which he was accustomed to give private advice or 
 consolation to members of his flock. 
 
 "I'm afraid we are interrupting you," said Ned, ironically, 
 as he prepared to sit down, which Abel shyly refused to do. 
 
 " Not at all. I was writing my sermon for next Sunday, 
 but as I suppose it lies with you whether 1 shall be allowed to 
 preach it, I can't complain of your visit as an interruption." 
 
 " You take this business pretty coolly," said Ned, losing 
 patience. 
 
 Meredith looked at him with a sudden flash of fire in his 
 blue eyes, a spark of the same fierce spirit which he had re- 
 vealed to Ned on the night when he conquered and controlled 
 the blood-hounds at the cottage. 
 
 " Do you suppose that I have kept my head for ten years to 
 lose it now?" 
 
 Ned was taken aback. There was a pause before he said, in 
 almost a respectful voice: 
 
 " You admit everything, then?" 
 
 " I admit every thidng you know, of course. This man 
 here could prove whatever I might deny. Besides, everybody 
 knows that ring is mine; I did not know until to-day how I 
 lost it, as you may guess; else I should have been prepared 
 with some story." 
 
 Ned Mitchell, who had brought the ring with him and had
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWEK. 259 
 
 fust produced it, thinking to confound the vicar, slipped it 
 back into his pocket with uncertain fingers. 
 
 " And you are prepared for the consequences?" 
 
 " As much prepared as a man ever is for a very unpleasant 
 contingency." 
 
 "Even if the contingency is what the law prescribes for 
 discovered murderers?" 
 
 " You mean hanging?" 
 
 Ned Mitchell nodded, and the vicar paused. 
 
 " 1 won't say that I am prepared for that; I can't say that 
 I ever contemplated such a possibility seriously. It would be 
 a terrible precedent to hang a vicar. I should probably get 
 off as of ' unsound mind,' and be confined * during her ma- 
 jesty's pleasure. ' ' 
 
 " And if they shouldn't be so lenient?" 
 
 " Then I should go through with it as well as a man may." 
 
 " And if I let you off the full penalty," said Ned, wonder- 
 ing if it were possible to disturb this stolid serenity, " what 
 would you feel toward me?" 
 
 " Nothing," answered the vicar, promptly. " You would 
 do it, not for my sake, but out of admiration for my wife, pity 
 for my children, and because my arrest would involve my 
 brother's, as an accessory after the fact. He saw me immedi- 
 ately after the the deed the crime, in fact; and he con- 
 curred, if he did not assist, in the concealment of the body, as 
 Abel here probably knows." 
 
 " Ay," said Abel Squires, who was standing awkwardly as 
 near the door as possible. " Mester Vernon and me had 
 walked nigh all t' way from Sheffield together, and we heerd 
 cries o' ' Murder!' An' Mester Vernon he left me, an' he 
 jumped o'er t' wall into t' church-yard, an' when he coom 
 back he looked skeered loike, and his reight hond wur stained 
 red, as if he'd held another hond that wur redder still. An' 
 somehow Ah guessed whose hond it wur as he'd been holdin'." 
 
 Abel, after delivering this speech in a mumbling, shame- 
 faced manner, ended abruptly, and looked at the door, as if he 
 felt that his unpleasant mission were over. The vicar listened 
 with interest, and nodded assent to the latter portion of the 
 tramp's words. Ned Mitchell continued to gaze at Meredith 
 like a bear balked of his prey. 
 
 " I don't believe you've even felt much remorse all these 
 years," he said, savagely. 
 
 The vicar faced him frankly. 
 
 " To tell the truth, I haven't," he said. " That's not in 
 my temperament. I suppose this sounds especially remarka-
 
 260 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 ble because I am a clergyman. But my profession was forced 
 upon me; I had to put an unnatural curb upon myself, and 
 succeeded in attaining a pitch of outward decorum such as 
 none of my family had ever reached before. But the strain 
 was too great, for I am not by temperament virtuous; none 
 of my family are. Vernon has an accident, and not his nat- 
 ure, to thank for his superiority. That is all I have to say. " 
 
 The vicar leaned back in his chair, as if weary of the dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 " Then you don't seem to have any conscience," said Ned, 
 regarding him in bewilderment. 
 
 " Not much, 1 suppose," answered the vicar; " though in- 
 deed lately I have had troubled nights and shown the family 
 tendency toward somnambulism, so my wife tells me. And 
 in rather an unfortunate way," he added, with a half smile. 
 
 As the vicar finished speaking, Ned came forward with his 
 ponderous tread, laid his hand heavily on the writing-table, 
 and looked down at the clergyman's bland face with the air of 
 a strong man who has definitely made up his mind. 
 
 " Now, then, parson, I'll tell you what you'll have to do. 
 You take that pen that you've just been writing your precious 
 sermon with, and you write a detailed confession of your in- 
 trigue with my sister, your visits to her at night, your corre- 
 spondence with her, the way in which you murdered her, and 
 the way in which you disposed of her body. Then sign your 
 name and put the date in full, and me and Abel here will 
 oblige you by putting our signatures as witnesses." 
 
 " And if I do this, what follows?" asked the vicar, taking 
 up the pen and examining the nib. 
 
 " Then you get my permission to leave this country for any 
 other you choose with your wife and children. And as long 
 as you keep away, this paper will never go out of my posses- 
 sion. " 
 
 "And if I don't do this?" 
 
 " What's the good of going into that?" 
 
 The eyes of the two men met, and they understood each 
 other. Without wasting more words, Meredith turned to the 
 table, invited Ned with a gesture to sit down, and proceeded 
 to draw up the prescribed confession. This he did fully and 
 frankly, adding at the end certain graceful expressions of con- 
 trition which Ned, reading the document over carefully, took 
 for what they were worth. The main body of the composition 
 satisfied him, however; and after appending his own signature 
 to the confession as a witness, and insisting on Abel's adding 
 his, he sealed up the paper with great solemnity. Then, in-
 
 ST. CTJTHBERT'S TO WEE. 261 
 
 > 
 
 timating to Meredith Brander that the sooner he carried Out 
 the remaining part of the compact and left the country the 
 better it would be for him, he left the room with the curtest 
 of farewells, and hastened out of the house to avoid what he 
 called " another scene with the woman.'* 
 
 Once outside he looked back at the vicarage with great in- 
 terest. 
 
 " If one had to be a rascal/' said he, with some irrepressi- 
 ble admiration, " that's the sort of rascal one would choose to 
 be." 
 
 Then Abel Squires left him and hobbled off, and Ned was 
 left to his pipe and his reflections, both of which he chose to 
 enjoy, not at his garden gate, as usual, but at the bottom of 
 the hill, outside Eishton Hall farm-yard. 
 
 Before he had been there more than a few minutes, the 
 event he was prepared for took place. Olivia Denison, pale, 
 excited, tearful, yet radiant, came to the gate, looking out 
 anxiously. Seeing Ned, she ran out to him with a cry. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Mitchell," she said, almost in a whisper, "I 
 must ask you to forgive me. 1 had such unjust thoughts of 
 you. I thought, until the night before last, that you meant 
 to ruin Vernon, in spite of your promise. ' ' 
 
 " Um," said Ned; " you hadn't much faith in your lover, 
 now, had you, to think him capable of " 
 
 " Hush! never mind that. You see, I must have felt at 
 the bottom of my heart that he was really good. For I loved 
 him all the time just the same." 
 
 " That doesn't follow at all. Women always go by con- 
 traries. The more of a villain a man is, the more a woman 
 likes him. Look at the vicar here, and the way his wife sticks 
 to him. And look at me, as honest a fellow as ever lived, and 
 what do you think my wife cares for me or my affections? 
 Not a single straw, 1 tell you." 
 
 " Well," said Olivia, smiling, " considering the small 
 amount of affection you seem to waste on her, I think it's 
 just as well for her happiness that she is not dying for love of 
 you." 
 
 "Ah, you're full of these new-fangled notions about the 
 equality of the sexes. Now, I say, men and women are differ- 
 ent. The man does all the hard work, and even if he goes A 
 little bit off the straight sometimes, it's no more than he has 
 a right to, provided he fills the mouths at home. The wom- 
 an has nothing to do but look after the home and children, 
 and mend their clothes and her husband's. And if she can't 
 find time besides to be devoted to her husband, and to think
 
 262 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 him the finest fellow on earth in return for what he does for 
 her, why, she ain't worth her salt; that's all. Now that's my 
 marriage code, Miss Denison, though 1 can see by your face it 
 isn't yours." 
 
 " I really haven't considered the subject much," replied 
 Olivia, demurely, but with a bright blush. 
 
 " You might do worse, though, than consider it, now that 
 things have shaped themselves a bit," said Ned, in a dry tone. 
 "Our dear friend the vicar here is going to leave this country, 
 in consideration of a certain little matter being hushed up " 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad!" interrupted Olivia, with a deep-drawn 
 breath of relief; " that is good of you, Mr. Mitchell. For it 
 would have been dreadful dreadful!" 
 
 Ned was looking away over the cornfields, where his sharp 
 eyes detected a figure he recognized wandering about in an 
 aimless manner. 
 
 " I think you'd better take a walk out into the meadows 
 there," he said, after a minute's pause, turning again to the 
 young lady, with a kindly look on his hard face. " It will do 
 you good after all the excitement and botherment of this 
 morning. " 
 
 Olivia blushed again. 
 
 " Thank you," she said, with a proud turn of her head. 
 ** I don't care to go out again this afternoon. The air is much 
 too oppressive." 
 
 "Oh, all right," said Ned, with a dry nod; "then I 
 mustn't keep you out here talking in the ' oppressive ' air, I 
 suppose. Good-day, Miss Denison. " 
 
 Good-bye," she said, gently, holding out her hand, which 
 he shook with a firm pressure. 
 
 Then he walked up the bill, talking to himself. 
 
 " These old-country lasses are fine creatures," he medi- 
 tated. " There's Mrs. B., whom I didn't care for, and Miss 
 D., whom I did, and I'm blessed if they haven't both got too 
 good a spirit to be married at all. Yet one wouldn't care to 
 see them old maids either nor yet men nor yet angels. 
 These high-spirited ladies, who can think and act for them- 
 selves, don't seem to fit in somehow. One would feel they 
 were kind of too good for one. Give me a nice, comfortable 
 lass, whom you needn't study any more than a potato. You 
 know what to be at with one of them. By the bye, now 1 
 suppose I must take ship and see how my own potato is get- 
 ting on." 
 
 Nevertheless, from the top of the hill he looked down rather 
 sentimentally in the direction of the old farm. As he did so.
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 263 
 
 he caught sight of a girl's tall figure in the meadows. He 
 laughed maliciously. 
 
 She's gone to meet him. I thought she would. I'd have 
 let off half a dozen scoundrels to give that lass her heart's de- 
 sire; that I would!" 
 
 And he watched her till a rising in the meadow ground and 
 a thick flowering hedge hid her from sight. 
 
 After a few minutes' arguing with herself, Olivia, who 
 guessed the reason of Ned Mitchell's suggestion of a walk in 
 the fields, decided that she ought without delay to let Vernon 
 Brander know the result of the interview between his brother 
 and the colonist. So she darted through the gate and across 
 the road with the agility of a deer, in spite of the oppressive 
 air. So excited was she, so full of joy at the turn affairs had 
 taken, that she almost ran along the foot-path, beside the sweet- 
 scented hedges with an occasional little leap or bound of most 
 undignified happiness. Thus it happened that when she came 
 unexpectedly face to face with Vernon Brander on rounding a 
 thicket of bushes and small trees, she was springing into the 
 air with her face radiant with delight, and a soft song some- 
 thing about " birds " and " love upon her lips. Vernon, 
 on his side, looked, if anything, even more haggard and woe- 
 begone than usual. Both stopped short, and Olivia, who had 
 become on the instant very subdued, drew a deep breath of 
 confusion. 
 
 " Mr. Brander," she began, in a cool, almost cold voice, "I 
 I er, I have just met Ned Mitchell, and I think you ought 
 to know what he says." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, yes; tell me!" 
 
 "He is going to hush it all up, on condition that your 
 brother leaves the country altogether. " 
 
 Vernon drew a deep breath of relief, and almost reeled 
 against the fence which protected the thicket on one side. 
 
 " Thank God!" he whispered. 
 
 And he put one hand to his face as if to shut out the fear- 
 ful picture his imagination and his fears had been conjuring 
 up. Olivia waited impatiently as long as she could. At last, 
 when she could bear this neglect no longer, she said, rather 
 tartly: 
 
 " Mrs. Brander will have to go too. " 
 
 " Of course, of course; she will go with her husband." 
 
 Vernon was still in a dazed state, not yet understanding 
 what a great change in his prospects of happiness the aay's 
 events had made. 
 
 " I think it was very silly of you to keep silence all these
 
 264 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER. 
 
 years just to please her. It was she who made you, I suppose 
 came to you and wheedled you. Men are so easily coaxed/' 
 continued Olivia, disdainfully, with her head in the air. 
 
 She had never been curt and dictatorial like this with him 
 before. Poor Vernon, quite unskilled in the wiles of her sex, 
 was abashed and bewildered. 
 
 " Yes," he admitted, humbly. " She came to me and 
 begged me not to say anything if people suspected me. And, 
 you see, I had been so fond of her, and she was in delicate 
 health, and I had no wife or children to be hurt by what peo- 
 ple might think of me. And so I promised." 
 
 " And she made you promise not to marry, didn't she?" 
 
 ' ' Well, yes. Poor thing, she had to do the best she could 
 for her husband and children; and, of course, she thought if 
 1 married I should let out the secret to my wife, and my wife 
 would insist on having things explained." 
 
 " I should think so," said Olivia. 
 
 " And now," said Vernon, who was getting more and more 
 downcast under the influence of this surprising change in her, 
 " I'm too old and too sour to marry, and I think I shall go 
 away with them, and have my little Kitty to console me. " 
 
 " Yes," said Olivia, quietly, her voice losing suddenly all 
 its buoyancy as well as all its momentary sharpness; " I think 
 that will be a very good plan. You will let us know when 
 you intend to start, won't you, for my father and mother owe 
 you an apology first? Now, I must be getting back. Good- 
 evening." 
 
 Dull Vernon began at last to have a glimmer of insight into 
 the girl's secret feelings. He shook hands with her, let her 
 walk as far as the very end of the field, noticing with admira- 
 tion which had suddenly, after the strain of the morning, 
 again grown passionate, her springing walk and graceful, 
 erect carriage. Then he ran after her on the wings of the 
 wind, and placed himself, panting, with his back to the gate 
 she was approaching. 
 
 " I'm sorry to trouble you," he said, as he looked with 
 sparkling eyes into her face. " But you seem to forget I've 
 lent you thirty pounds. I shall want it back to pay my pas- 
 
 Olivia caught her breath, and her face, which was wet with 
 tears, grew happy again. 
 
 " I'd forgotten all about it," said she, in a tremulous voice, 
 half saucily, half demurely. ' ' But anyhow, you can't have it. " 
 
 " And why not, Miss Denison?" asked Vernon, coming a 
 step nearer.
 
 ST. CUTHBEKT'S TOWER. 265 
 
 " Because I I don't want you to go away/' answered she. 
 
 And she fell into his arms without further invitation, and 
 gave him a tender woman's kiss, an earnest of the love and 
 sympathy he had hungered for these ten years! 
 
 The true story of the murder at St. Cuthbert's never be- 
 came commonly known. At the inquest which was opened on 
 the remains found in the crypt, nobody who had anything to 
 tell told anything worth hearing. But, then, nobody was very 
 anxious to discover the truth, for rumors too dreadful for in- 
 vestigation began to fly about; and nobody was astonished 
 when, the health of his children requiring a change to a warmer 
 climate, the Reverend Meredith Brander got, by the interest 
 of his uncle, Lord Stannington, an appointment at Malta, for 
 which place he started, with his wife and family, without de- 
 lay. 
 
 The vacant living of Rishton was given by Lord Stanning- 
 ton to his other nephew, Vernon; and Olivia, though lamenta- 
 bly unlike the popular ideal of a clergyman's wife, became as 
 much idolized by the poor of the parish as her husband was 
 already. 
 
 John Oldshaw got Rishton Hall Farm; for Mr. Denison's 
 friends persuaded him to give up farming while he had still 
 something left to lose. But the farmer did not long survive 
 his coveted happiness. Dying in a fit of apoplexy, he left his 
 broad acres in the care of his son Mat, who, instead of setting 
 up as a country gentleman, as his sisters declared he would do 
 if he had any spirit, married little Lucy, made her a good hus- 
 band, and remained forever, in common with his wife, the 
 idolatrous slave of her late mistress. 
 
 " Theer bean't more'n one woman in t' world," he would 
 say, " too good for Parson Brander. Boot theer be one, and 
 thot's his wife." 
 
 But though "Parson Brander" himself agreed with this, 
 he was mistaken; for, like every other good woman, she was 
 the better, and the little world around her was the better for 
 the fact that she was the noble and true mate of a noble and 
 true man. 
 
 THE END.
 
 VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERY. 
 
 AFTER the very minute and elaborate paper by Arago, to say 
 nothing of the summary in Silliman's Journal, with the de- 
 tailed statement just published by Lieutenant Maury, it will 
 not be supposed, of course, that in offering a few hurried 
 remarks in reference to Von Kempelen's discovery, I have any 
 design to look at the subject in a scientific point of view. My 
 object is simply, in the first place, to say a few words of Von 
 Kempelen himself (with whom, some years ago, I had the 
 honor of a slight personal acquaintance), since everything 
 which concerns him must necessarily, at this moment, be of 
 interest ; and, in the second place, to look in a general way, 
 and speculatively, at the results of the discovery, 
 
 It may be as well, however, to premise the cursory observa- 
 tions which I have to offer, by denying, very decidedly, what 
 seems to be a general impression (gleaned, as usual in a case 
 of this kind, from the newspapers), viz. : that this discovery, 
 astounding as it unquestionably is, is unanticipated. 
 
 By reference to the "Diary of Sir Humphry Davy " (Cottle 
 & Munroe, London, pp. 150) it will be seen at pp. 53 and 82, 
 that this illustrious chemist had not only conceived the idea 
 now in question, but had actually made no inconsiderable prog- 
 ress, experimentally, in the very identical analysis now so 
 triumphantly brought to an issue by Von Kempelen, who, 
 although he makes not the slightest allusion to it, is, without 
 doubt (I say it unhesitatingly, and can prove it, if required), 
 indebted to the " Diary" for at least the first hint of his own 
 undertaking. Although a little technical, I cannot refrain from 
 appending two passages from the " Diary," with one of Sir 
 Humphry's equations. [As we have not the algebraic signs 
 necessary, and as the " Diary " is to be found at the Athenaeum 
 Library, we omit here a small portion of Mr. Poe's manu- 
 eript. Er 1
 
 VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERY. 101 
 
 The paragraph from the Courier and Enquirer, which is now 
 going the rounds of the press, and which purports to claim 
 the invention for a Mr. Kissam, of Brunswick, Me., appears 
 to me, I confess, a little apocryphal, for several reasons ; 
 although there is nothing either impossible or very improb- 
 able in the statement made. I need not go into details. My 
 opinion of the paragraph is founded principally upon its man- 
 ner. It does not look true. Persons who are narrating facts 
 are seldom so particular as Mr. Kissam seems to be, about 
 day and date and precise location. Besides, if Mr. Kissam 
 actually did come upon the discovery he says he did, at the 
 period designated nearly eight years ago how happens it 
 that he took no steps, on the instant, to reap the immense 
 benefits which the merest bumpkin must have known would 
 have resulted to him individually, if not to the world at large, 
 from the discovery ? It seems to me quite incredible that any 
 man, of common understanding, could have discovered what 
 Mr. Kissam says he did, and yet have subsequently acted so 
 like a baby so like an owl as Mr. Kissam admits that he 
 did. By the way, who is Mr. Kissam ? and is not the whole 
 paragraph in the Courier and Enquirer a fabrication got up 
 to "make a talk"? It must be confessed that it has an 
 amazingly moon-hoax-y air. Very little dependence is to be 
 placed upon it, in my humble opinion ; and if I were not well 
 aware, from experience, how veiy easily men of science are 
 mystified on points out of their usual range of inquiry, I 
 should be profoundly astonished at finding so eminent a chem- 
 ist as Professor Draper discussing Mr. Kissam's (or is it Mr. 
 Quizzein's?) pretensions to this discovery, in so serious a tone. 
 
 But to return to the " Diary " of Sir Humphry Davy. This 
 pamphlet was not designed for the public eye, even upon the 
 decease of the writer, as any person at all conversant with 
 authorship may satisfy himself at once by the slightest inspec- 
 tion of the style. At page 13, for example, near the middle, 
 we read, in reference to his researches about the protoxide of 
 azote : " In less than half a minute the respiration being con' 
 tinued, diminished gradually and were succeeded by analo- 
 gous to gentle pressure on all the muscles." That the respira- 
 tion was not " diminished," is not only clear by the subsequent 
 context, but by the use of the plural, " were." The sentence, 
 no doubt, was thus intended: "In less than half a minute, 
 the respiration [being continued, these feelings] diminished 
 gradually, and were succeeded by [a sensation] analogous to
 
 102 VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERT. 
 
 gentle pressure on all the muscles." A hundred similar in* 
 stances go to show that the MS. so inconsiderately published, 
 was merely a rough note-book, meant only for the writer's own 
 eye ; but an inspection of the pamphlet will convince almost 
 any thinking person of the truth of my suggestion. The fact 
 is, Sir Humphry Davy was about the last man in the world 
 to commit himself on scientific topics. Not only had he a 
 more than ordinary dislike to quackery, but he was morbidly 
 afraid of appearing empirical ; so that, however fully he might 
 have been convinced that he was on the right track in the 
 matter now in question, he would never have spoken out, un- 
 til he had everything ready for the most practical demonstra- 
 tion. I verily believe that his last moments would have been 
 rendered wretched, could he have suspected that his wishes 
 in regard to burning this " Diary " (full of crude speculations) 
 would hatfb been unattended to ; as, it seems, they were. I 
 say " his wishes," for that he meant to include this note-book 
 among the miscellaneous papers directed "to be burnt," I 
 think there can be no manner of doubt. Whether it escaped 
 the flames by good fortune or by bad, yet remains to be seen. 
 That the passages quoted above, with the other similar ones 
 referred to, gave Von Kempelen the hint, I do not in the 
 slightest degree question ; but I repeat, it yet remains to be 
 seen whether this momentous discovery itself (momentous un- 
 der any circumstances), will be of service or disservice to 
 mankind at large. That Von Kempelen and his immediate 
 friends will reap a rich harvest, it would be folly to doubt for 
 a moment. They will scarcely be so weak as not to "realize" 
 in time, by large purchases of houses and land, with other 
 property of intrinsic value. 
 
 In the brief account of Von Kempelen which appeared in 
 the Home Journal, and has since been extensively copied, 
 several misapprehensions of the German original seem to have 
 been made by the translator, who professes to have taken the 
 passage from a late number of the Presburg Schnellpost. 
 "Viele " has evidently been misconceived (as it often is), and 
 what the translator renders by " sorrows," is probably " lie- 
 den," which, in its true version, "sufferings," would give a 
 totally different complexion to the whole account ; but, of 
 course, much of this is merely guess, on my part. 
 
 Von Kempelen, however, is by no means " a misanthrope," 
 in appearance, at least, whatever he may be in fact. My ac- 
 quaintance with him was casual altogether ; and I am scarce!/
 
 VON KEMPELEN AND HI8 DISCOVERY. 103 
 
 warranted in saying that I know him at all ; but to have seen 
 and conversed with a man of so prodigious a notoriety as he 
 has attained, or will attain in a few days, is not a small mat- 
 ter, as times go. 
 
 The Literary World speaks of him, confidently, as a native 
 of Presburg (misled, perhaps, by the account in the Home 
 Journal), but I am pleased in being able to state positively, 
 since I have it from his own lips, that he was born in Utica, 
 in the State of New York, although both his parents, I be- 
 lieve, are of Presburg descent. The family is connected, in 
 some way, with Miielze, of Automaton-chess-player memory. 
 [If we are not mistaken, the name of the inventor of the chess- 
 player was either Kempelen, Von Kempelen, or something 
 like it. ED.] In person he is short and stout, with large, 
 fat, blue eyes, sandy hair and whiskers, a wide but pleasing 
 mouth, fine teeth, and I think a Roman nose. There is some 
 defect in one of his feet. His address is frank, and his whole 
 manner noticeable for bonhommie. Altogether, he looks, 
 speaks, and acts as little like " a misanthrope " as any man I 
 ever saw. We were fellow-sojourners for a week, about six 
 years ago, at Earl's Hotel, in Providence, Rhode Island ; and I 
 presume that I conversed with him, at various times, for some 
 three or four hours altogether. His principal topics were 
 those of the day ; and nothing that fell from him led me to 
 suspect his scientific attainments. He left the hotel before 
 me, intending to go to New York, and thence to Bremen ; it 
 was in the latter city that this great discovery was first made 
 public ; or, rather, it was there that he was first suspected of 
 having made it. This is about all that I personally know of 
 the now immortal Von Kempelen ; but I have thought that 
 even these few details would have interest for the public. 
 
 There can be little question that most of the marvellous ru- 
 mors afloat about this affair, are pure inventions, entitled to 
 about as much credit as the story of Aladdin's lamp ; and yet, 
 in a case of this kind, as in the case of the discoveries in Cal- 
 ifornia, it is clear that the truth may be stranger than fiction. 
 The following anecdote, at least, is so well authenticated, 
 that we may receive it implicitly. 
 
 Von Kempelen had never been even tolerably well off dur- 
 ing his residence at Bremen ; and often, it was well known, 
 he had been put to extreme shifts, in order to raise trifling 
 sums. When the great excitement occurred about the forgery 
 on the house of Gutsmuth & Co., suspicion was directed tow
 
 104 VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERY. 
 
 ard Von Kempelen, on account of his having purchased a 
 considerable property in Gasperitch Lane, and his refusing, 
 when questioned, to explain how he became possessed of the 
 purchase-money. He was at length arrested, but nothing de- 
 cisive appearing against him, was in the end set at liberty. 
 The police, however, kept a strict watch upon his movements, 
 and thus discovered that he left home frequently, taking al- 
 ways the same road, and invariably giving his watchers the 
 Hp in the neighborhood of that labyrinth of narrow and 
 crooked passages known by the flash-name of the " Don* 
 dergat" Finally, by dint of great perseverance, they traced 
 him to a garret in an old house of seven stories, in an allej 
 called Flatplatz ; and, coming upon him suddenly, found him, 
 as they imagined, in the midst of his counterfeiting opera- 
 tions. His agitation is represented as so excessive that the 
 officers had not the slightest doubt of his guilt. After hand- 
 cuffing him, they searched his room, or rather rooms ; for it 
 appears he occupied all the mansarde. 
 
 Opening into the garret where they caught him, was a 
 closet, ten feet by eight, fitted up with some chemical appa- 
 ratus, of which the object has not yet been ascertained. In 
 one corner of the closet was a very small furnace, with a glow- 
 ing fire in it, and on the fire a kind of duplicate crucible two 
 crucibles connected by a tube. One of these crucibles was 
 nearly full of lead in a state of fusion, but not reaching up to 
 the aperture of the tube, which was close to the brim. The 
 other crucible had some liquid in it, which, as the officers en- 
 tered, seemed to be furiously dissipating in vapor. They re- 
 late that, on finding himself taken, Von Kempelen seized the 
 crucibles with both hands (which were encased in gloves that 
 afterward turned out to be asbestic), and threw the contents 
 on the tiled floor. It was now that they handcuffed him ; 
 and, before proceeding to ransack the premises, they searched 
 his person, but nothing unusual was found about him, except- 
 ing a paper parcel, in his coat pocket, containing what was 
 afterward ascertained to be a mixture of antimony and some 
 unknown substance, in nearly, but not quite, equal proportions. 
 All attempts at analyzing the unknown substance have, so far, 
 failed, but that it will ultimately be analyzed, is not to be 
 doubted. 
 
 Passing out of the closet with their prisoner, the officers 
 went through a sort of ante-chamber, in which nothing 
 material was found, to the chemist's sleeping-room. The$,
 
 VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERT. 105 
 
 here rummaged some drawers and boxes, but discovered only 
 a few papers, of no importance, and some good coin, silver 
 and gold. At length, looking under the bed, they saw a 
 large, common hair trunk, without hinges, hasp, or lock, and 
 with the top lying carelessly across the bottom portion. Up- 
 on attempting to draw this trunk out from under the bed, 
 they found that, with their united strength (there were three 
 of them, all powerful men), they " could not stir it one inch." 
 Much astonished at this, one of them crawled under the bed, 
 and looking into the trunk, said : 
 
 "No wonder we couldn't move it why, it's full to the 
 brim of old bits of brass ! " 
 
 Putting his feet, now, against the wall, so as to get a good 
 purchase, and pushing with all his force, while his companions 
 pulled with all theirs, the trunk, with much difficulty, was 
 slid out from under the bed, and its contents examined. 
 The supposed brass with which it was filled was all in small, 
 smooth pieces, varying from the size of a pea to that of a 
 dollar ; but the pieces were irregular in shape, although all 
 more or less flat looking, upon the whole, " very much as 
 lead looks when thrown upon the ground in a molten state, 
 and there suffered to grow cool." Now, not one of these 
 officers for a moment suspected this metal to be anything but 
 brass. The idea of its being gold never entered their brains, 
 of course; how could such a wild fancy have entered it? 
 And their astonishment may be well conceived, when next 
 day it became known, all over Bremen, that the " lot of brass " 
 which they had carted so contemptuously to the police office, 
 without putting themselves to the trouble of pocketing the 
 smallest scrap, was not only gold real gold but gold far 
 nner than any employed in coinage gold, in fact, absolutely 
 pure, virgin, without the slightest appreciable alloy ! 
 
 I need not go over the details of Von Kempelen's confession 
 (as far as it went) and release, for these are familiar to the 
 public. That he has actually realized, in spirit and in effect, 
 if not to the letter, the old chimera of the philosopher's stone, 
 no sane person is at liberty to doubt. The opinions of Arago 
 are, of course, entitled to the greatest consideration ; but he 
 is by no means infallible ; and what he says of bismuth, in his 
 report to the academy, must be taken cum grano Kalis. The 
 simple truth is, that up to this period, all analysis has failed ; 
 and until Von Kempelen chooses to let us have the key to hi* 
 own published enigma, it is more than probable that the
 
 106 VON KEMPBLEN AND HI8 DISCOVERY. 
 
 matte? will remain, for years, in statu quo. All that yet can 
 fairly be said to be known, is, that "pure gold can be made at 
 will, and very readily, from lead, in connection with certain 
 other substances, in kind and in proportions, unknoivn" 
 
 Speculation, of course, is busy as to the immediate and 
 ultimate results of this discovery a discovery which few 
 thinking persons will hesitate in referring to an increased 
 interest in the matter of gold generally, by the late develop- 
 ments in California ; and this reflection brings us inevitable 
 to another the exceeding inopportuneness of Von Kempelen's 
 analysis. If many were prevented from adventuring to Cali- 
 fornia, by the mere apprehension that gold would so materi 
 ally diminish in value, on account of its plentifulness in the 
 mines there, as to render the speculation of going so far in 
 search of it a doubtful one what impression will be wrought 
 now, upon the minds of those about to emigrate, and espe- 
 cially upon the minds of those actually in the mineral region, 
 by the announcement of this astounding discovery of Von 
 Kempelen? a discovery which declares, in so many words, 
 that beyond its intrinsic worth for manufacturing purposes 
 (whatever that worth may be), gold now is, or at least soon 
 will be (for it cannot be supposed that Von Kempelen can 
 long retain his secret) of no greater value than lead, and of 
 far inferior value to silver. It is, indeed, exceedingly difficult 
 to speculate prospectively upon the consequences of the dis- 
 covery ; but one thing may be positively maintained that 
 the announcement of the discovery six months ago would 
 have had material influence in regard to the settlement of 
 California. 
 
 In Europe, as yet, the most noticeable results have been a 
 rise of two hundred per cent, in the price of lead, and nearly 
 twenty-five per cent, in that of silver.
 
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