THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE 
 EARLY 
 FICTION 
 OF 
 
 RICHARD 
 JEFFERIES
 
 Arthur Young, 
 
 Diocesan Printing Works, 
 
 Wells, Somt.
 
 Richard Jf.fferies (aitat 22). 
 
 Copyright.
 
 THE 
 
 EARLY FICTION 
 
 OF 
 
 RICHARD dlFFIRIZS 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 GRACE TOPLIS 
 
 WITH A RARE PORTRAIT 
 
 London 
 
 Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co Ltd 
 
 Wells, Somerset : Arthur Young 
 
 MDCCCXCVI
 
 COPYRIGHT. 
 [A/l rights reservea.l
 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 AND Al^OLOGY. 
 
 " Qui s'excuse, s'accuse.'^ And yet it is obviously 
 necessary for the Editor of any early work of Richard 
 Jefferies to account for the re-appearance of these almost 
 forgotten writings, to give a reason for their re-publica- 
 tion, and to anticipate the inevitable criticism which will 
 be evoked thereby. 
 
 It has fallen to the lot of few men to occupy such a 
 unique position as Jefferies fills in our literature. Sir 
 Walter Besant rates the number of his admirers at forty 
 thousand, and though this is probably an outside estimate, 
 there is no question as to the sincerity and devotion of 
 his following. He is not only read. Such a " Study " 
 as Mr. H. S. Salt's, such a "Eulogy" from the most 
 generous of living authors, must convince the most 
 sceptical Philistine that there is something more in 
 Jefferies than his purblind eyes can detect. " He who 
 met the great God Pan face to face, fell down dead. 
 Still, even in these days, he who communes with the 
 Sylvan Spirit presently dies to the ways of men, while 
 his senses are opened to see the hidden things of hedge 
 and meadow ; while his soul is uplifted by the beauty 
 and the variety and the order of the world ; by the 
 wondrous Hves of the creatures, so full of peril, and so 
 full of joy. Then, if he be permitted to reveal these 
 things, what can we who receive this revelation give 
 in exchange ? What words of praise and gratitude can 
 we find in return for this unfolding of the Book of 
 Fleeting Life ? "* And though there are those who say 
 
 * "The Eulogy of Richard Jefferies."
 
 Vlll, IN'TBODUCTION. 
 
 that his cult is on the wane, Mr. Saintsbury, in the most 
 recent vohime of criticism which has been issued, pays 
 ungrudging homage to Jefferies, even where the critic 
 is most in evidence. " His talent, though rare and 
 exquisite, was neither rich nor versatile. It consisted in 
 a power of observing nature more than Wordsworthian 
 in delicacy, and almost Wordsworthian in the presence 
 of a sentimental philosophic background of thought. 
 Unluckily for Jefferies, his philosophic background was 
 not like Wordsworth's, clear and cheerful, but wholly 
 vague and partly gloomy. Writing too, in prose, not 
 verse, and after Mr. Ruskin, he attempted an exceed- 
 ingly florid style, which at its happiest was happy 
 enough, but which was not always at that point, and 
 which, when it was not, was apt to become trivial or 
 tawdry, or both. It is therefore certain that his impor- 
 tance for posterity will dwindle, if it has not already 
 dwindled, to that given by a bundle of descriptive select- 
 ions. But these will occupy a foremost place on their 
 particular shelf, the shelf at the head of which stands 
 Gilbert White, and Gray."* With the same discrimina- 
 tion Besant says " Of such men literature can show but 
 two or three — Gilbert White, Thoreau, and Jefferies — 
 but the greatest of them all is Jefferies." 
 
 It will therefore readily be understood that an invita- 
 tion to edit some hitherto unpublished works of a 
 favourite writer was a temptation to which one could 
 only fall an easy and immediate victim, as visions of 
 perhaps another hitherto -undiscovered " Pageant of 
 Summer," floated before the sanguine mind. Alas for 
 such hopes ! when the manuscripts revealed themselves 
 as the crudest and earliest work of one who had not 
 then " found himself," and fondly fancied that it was 
 through his fiction that Fame would come to him — 
 before he had tried his hand at the gorgeous word- 
 painting which has placed him with the Masters. 
 Fiction too of 'the crudest and earliest, it must be 
 
 * " A History of Nineteenth Centuiy Literature.
 
 INTRODUCTION. «. 
 
 repeated. Has anyone ever been able to write with free 
 and genuine appreciation of even the later novels ? Do 
 we not accept them simply because they are Jefferies', 
 and not for their intrinsic worth ? What then can be 
 said for the boyish work which shows in every line the 
 'prentice hand, and the hand of an unpromisinf^ 'prentice 
 too, with no natural aptitude for the novelist's craft ? 
 They are the youthful romances which appeared in the 
 North Wilts Herald^ and of which the generous "Eulogy" 
 could find nothing good to say. 
 
 Shades of Chatterton and Shelley ! At eighteen, 
 Jefferies was capable of nothing higher than " Masked," 
 a melo dramatic burlesque, which would be ludicrous 
 if the reader could but forget the pathetic side of it — 
 the foregone result of total failure in an art to which 
 his deepest longings were consecrated. The sixth 
 chapter of the " Eulogy " deals so exhaustively 
 with his " Fiction, early and late," that nothing is 
 left to tell the reader now. Mr. Salt's criticisms 
 are colder and less human throughout ; whether 
 he discusses the man, the poet-naturalist, the thinker, 
 or the writer, one is reminded of the scientific 
 process of analysis. Still his *' Richard Jefferies " is a 
 " Study" one cannot afford to miss : and of his fiction 
 we have the following opinion : "The critics were 
 undoubtedly justified in refusing to take him seriously in 
 
 the capacity of novehst It is true that he at first 
 
 possessed a certain youthful fluency in the weaving of 
 romantic narratives, and that, as he informed a publisher, 
 to write a tale was as easy to him as to write a letter. 
 
 But then, as it happened, his early tales were of 
 
 a third-rate quality ; so that it is a positive relief to his 
 readers to find that in his later volumes this fatal fluency 
 had altogether disappeared, and that he was competed 
 to have recourse to another faculty which is v/holiy 
 unrelated to novel-writing. In brief, he was an essayist 
 and not a novelist at all, nor under any circumstances 
 could he have become a nove'''-^t. Evca w^rn_ hf' ""i^ 
 well equipped with material, he was .^uite unable to
 
 X. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 give any vivid dramatic life to his stories." And when, 
 further, we read, " it is certainly to be hoped that the 
 growing interest in Jefferies' personality will not lead, as 
 in Shelley's case, to a resuscitation of all the poor stuff 
 which he perpetrated in the innocence of his boyhood," 
 it required — at least — some courage to continue a task 
 so certain to call forth depreciatory remarks. 
 
 Why then do these early efforts make their appear- 
 ance in this permanent book form ? 
 
 For two reasons ; the least worthy of which is, 
 that a book-lover yearns to make his collection complete, 
 and the JuveniHa of other great writers are " taken as 
 read," and placed with their fellows, lest one link be 
 missing. But the reason for the student is that they 
 illustrate, — as can be done by no comment from outsiders 
 — the mental growth of the man, and his gradual and 
 unusually slow development as a writer. This is why 
 they possess interest in the eyes of a Jefferiesian 
 student, and why they are offered to the reading public 
 as intellectual curios. 
 
 It has been said that Ruskin was largely responsible 
 both for the beauties and the defects of Jefferies' later 
 style ; and in some ways the disciple surpassed the 
 master, e.g. in his word-pictures of English scenery. 
 But not even the most virulent of critics could bring a 
 charge of plagiarism or imitation against this early 
 fiction. The pathos of if all is so evident to a sympa- 
 thetic reader. All through those early struggling days, 
 the youth was conscious of a duty laid upon him, of 
 something which he had to give to the world — and all 
 through those early days he was honestly trying to find 
 out what it was that he had to say to men and women 
 weary with the town life and conventionalities and 
 pressure of the nineteenth century. And years went by 
 before the message became clear enough to be delivered. 
 It was worth waiting for, we say now ; but think of the 
 meaning of those inarticulate years, during which his 
 most strenuous efforts only resulted in such tales as 
 these.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XI. 
 
 The great lack in Jefferies' mental equipment was 
 Wordsworth's want too,— a total inability to see the 
 humorous side of life, or even to catch an occasional 
 ghmpse of it. " The saving sense of humour " would 
 have saved him much ; and Jefferies is a notable 
 example of a man of unique power of literary creation 
 in whom the vein of humour was absolutely non-existent. 
 
 Passing now to the stories themselves for such com- 
 ments as they suggest, may we consider the description 
 in " A Strange Story " of " the beams of the morning sun 
 glancing from the steel heads of their lances, as they 
 glance now from yon trembling dew-drop, one of 
 
 nature's jewels," as a whisper of what he would 
 
 say about the dew-drop afterwards ? Again there is 
 a faint indication of a later passage in " The Story of 
 my Heart," on which Mr. Salt comments at some length, 
 (" Study " page 25), in Gerald Fitzhugh's speculations 
 regarding " the power of the body to become, as it were, 
 mingled with this nameless medium of which it origin- 
 ally was and to which it shall again return when its 
 prison bonds of clay are loosed." 
 
 " Involuntarily I drew a long breath, then I breathed slowly. 
 My thought, or inner consciousness, went up through the illumined sky, 
 and I was lost in a moment of exaltation. This lasted only a very 
 short time, perhaps only a part of a second, and while it lasted there 
 was no formulated wish. I was absorbed ; I drank the beauty of the 
 morning ; I was exalted." 
 
 On this passage Mr. Salt quotes Dr. Samuel A. Jones 
 of Michigan University. 
 
 "Jefferies must have acquired this trick of self-projection 
 unconsciously ; he certainly was equally unaware of what he was learning 
 and of the psychical consequences of such learning. There is no 
 evidence extant that he understood the physiological relationship 
 between his drawing a long breath— deep inspiration— and the breath- 
 ing slowly, and the succeeding exaltation ; but that process so 
 changes the central circulation that his brief absorption, ' only a part of 
 a second,' is readily accounted for by the physiologist. _ In saying that 
 Jefferies was not aware of what he was learning, it is implied that he 
 had not read any East Indian Uterature, and there learned to practise 
 the yoga. Of course the method employed by the Indian adept is 
 much more complex than that followed by Jefferies, but at least one
 
 Xli. INTRODUCTIOM. 
 
 essential element for both is the peculiar respiration. As Jefferies 
 began this occult practice while in his very teens, it is safe to conclude 
 that it was an involuntary and unconscious discovery of his own." 
 
 About this time too, the following verses appeared 
 in the North Wilis Herald over the signature of 
 " Geoffrey,"— " The Battle of 1866," showing an embry- 
 onic interest in politics, which never came to maturity. 
 
 TO A FASHIONABLE BONNET. 
 
 As nothing strange is stirring, 
 
 I cannot write a sonnet, 
 So just aline I'll pen upon 
 
 The fashionable bonnet. 
 
 Ah ! thing of straw and ribbons gay ! 
 
 Like tile aside or chimney tun, 
 Thou keep' St not rain nor wind away, 
 
 Nor e'en the midday sun. 
 
 Thou keepest parasols in use, 
 
 A thintj that on my vision jars. 
 Thus hiding half the light from sight, 
 
 For women's eyes are stars. 
 
 Tho' poised upon a pretty head, 
 
 And tho' to deck thee, ladies strive. 
 
 They might as well employ their arts 
 On garlanding a beehive. 
 
 Oh ! give the girls a handy hat, 
 That they may look around them, 
 
 Unchecked by parasol, or by 
 The sun that lately browned them. 
 
 Ah, girls are girls and will be girls. 
 
 In spite of matrons gray, 
 Then why restrain their flowing curls. 
 
 When all for freedom pray ? 
 
 THE BATTLE OF 1866. 
 
 Reform ! reform ! there came a trump on beery breezes bome, 
 
 Bold Gladstone cried, " Come list M.P.'s 'tis Russell blows his horn." 
 
 (That horn, 'tis true, is but a shell which Russell drags about ; 
 
 For like the snail within his shell he can't get on without,) 
 
 And Russell rose with his brown hill, his breast with ardour burned, 
 
 lie hemmed, he heck'd 'twould di) no harm, for lo ! its edge was turned ; 
 
 And through the shadows of the night loud o'er the loud debate 
 
 There came a voice which sneering said, " Brown bills are out of date !"
 
 INTRODUCTION Xiii. 
 
 Gigantic figures rise around, and the gas-lit atmosphere 
 
 Is broken into circles wide by a voice both loud and clear, 
 
 And Russell shrinks within himself, for lo ! the hum — 'tis He ! 
 
 The man of epigram is here — to Lowe bend low the knee ; 
 
 Then loud waxed clamour, waned the night, Earl Derby brewed the storm 
 
 Sent 14-pounders, 20-pounders whistling 'gainst reform, 
 
 Now Rents and Rates, the last reserves, rush headlong to the fight. 
 
 Ah ! now where is that man of mould, Earl Russell's ancient Bright ? 
 
 The ministerial flails at work, but Taylor's quite as busy ; 
 
 Division nears, and Russell brave can't help it, must be (D) izzy. 
 
 Ah ! 'tis a hard and thankless fate to leave a proud position, 
 
 For his magic mace Majority wields for the Opposition, 
 
 And gladsome are the cheers that rise — Reform's put on the shelf, 
 
 The snake, though famed for cunningness, has swallowed down himself. 
 
 " Traits of the Olden Time " is simply the article of 
 a young journalist ; but shows the sympathy with his 
 locale^ which was so highly developed in Jefferies' 
 later work. 
 
 " Henrique Beaumont " contains many passages 
 which show the vaguest of vague acquaintance with the 
 customs, habits, individuality, and nomenclature of the 
 " Hindoo " race as sketched in " Ayeen " ; and the 
 reader cannot help being as much impressed as the 
 hero no doubt was, when he was addressed as " Henry 
 or rather Henrique Beaumont." But even here we find 
 occasional descriptions, such as " Nature was decking 
 herself for her bridal with the sun which men call 
 summer-tide." 
 
 Jefferies' heroes are conscientiously melodramatic ; 
 they kneel at the feet of the maidens to whom their 
 affections are devoted, in the absolutely correct style for 
 such declarations ; and they fold their arms on every 
 possible occasion, carrying out this rigid adherence to 
 the proprieties, even, in Rowland Austin's case, after 
 committing a murder. One can but regret the absence 
 of footlights, and the audience beyond, to applaud such 
 strict attention to what is expected of such heroes. 
 They "thee and thou" each other with sublime dis- 
 regard of the common " you " to which they con- 
 descended but a few lines back ; and they are fittingly
 
 XIV. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 rewarded with such names as Roderick, Chauteaubriand, 
 and Henrique. The description of their personal 
 appearance is alway carefully recorded ; " white were 
 his teeth, black his clothes " ; clear grey, or deep blue 
 eyes deserve special mention ; but while a somewhat 
 original description is given of classic features in one 
 case, it is painful to iind a villain meriting such an 
 epithet as *' oily." 
 
 " Who will Win " takes one's breath away as the 
 exploits of the dauntless hero are followed step by step. 
 He shares with another the Author's favourite descrip- 
 tion of "lips full yet not sensual," — one wonders if 
 another and real face were in his thoughts as he penned 
 it. And when we read of Reginald's fatigue in walking 
 " as he could not swing his arms," the recollection arises 
 of those long walks over the Wiltshire Downs in which 
 this habit was consciously or unconsciously indulged, 
 and again we are brought face to face with the writer's 
 personality. To follow the hero through " American * ' 
 regions — what other word can include all he traverses ? 
 — is to follow him into a literally New World, an 
 America not known to its own inhabitants, nor to the 
 ordinary reader and student of geography. But what 
 does that matter when he shoots out a shark's tooth with 
 a deer rifle ? Can romance go further ? Be silent, 
 Criticism, and ponder humbly on the marvellous ! The 
 monsters in the waters — presumably fish — have slimy 
 fangs ; matters nautical and military are treated from an 
 original point of view which reminds us of Gilbert's 
 " Model Major-General." But the "gem of the piece " 
 lies in the enumeration of the reasons for Reginald's 
 resolution not to follow the fair damsel to whom he had, 
 in one passing glance, lost his heart. " His first impulse 
 was to follow the carriage. That he subdued for various 
 reasons. Firstly, that it went too fast. Secondly, on 
 account of the heat." The rest of the reasons will be 
 found towards the end of the first chapter ; these are 
 enough to show that Reginald was a careful man as well 
 as a dauntless hero.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XV. 
 
 " Nonsense ! thou art exquisite ! " Was Jeiferies 
 an unconscious humourist after all ? 
 
 " Masked " is more tragic, as becomes its title. It 
 is perhaps necessary to say that the account of the 
 inquest is not to be Hghtly perused ; it was a serious 
 and solemn occasion, and must be respectfully treated ; 
 at any rate the details as regards the effect of arsenic 
 poisoning are fairly accurate, and that is more than can 
 be said for the "facts'' of some of our great modern 
 novelists, whose heroes and heroines are poisoned as 
 fancy paints, with effects unknown to the medical 
 practitioner. 
 
 There is throughout, unhappily, abundance of 
 indication of Jefferies' want of acquaintance with the 
 social life which he attempts to describe. This is painfully 
 noticeable in all these early stories, and tells a tale to 
 which no one can listen unsympathically. There is a 
 favourite description — at which even a cynic could 
 hardly smile — of a beehive chair, which is always found 
 in a stately hall or a lordly mansion. Is not this enough 
 to show the boy's love and veneration for what he did 
 know about and could understand ? After all, his very 
 nai'v^te has a charm for us. 
 
 It is in this spirit that his boyish work has been 
 edited ; may it be in this spirit, too, that readers will 
 accept the republication of his boyish work, with the 
 loving toleration born of admiration for the master- 
 pieces of his maturity. 
 
 GRACE TOPLIS.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Portrait, from a Photograph in the 
 
 possession of Mrs. Hall, Swindon - Frontispiece. 
 
 Introduction and Apology - - - vii. 
 
 Traits of the Olden Time, (i866) - - i 
 
 A Strange Story, (1866) - - - 17 
 
 Henrique Beaumont, (1866) - - - 35 
 
 Who will Win, (1866) - - - 89 
 
 Masked, (1866) ----- 177
 
 I. 
 
 TRAITS OF THE OLDEN TIME.
 
 Traits of the Olden Time. 
 
 •' And man to man, as leaves to leaves, succeed." 
 
 — Iliad. 
 
 ANNERS and men flourish and fall 
 as the leaves, each succeeding 
 generation bringing with it fresh 
 men, and fresh manners, as each 
 Spring fresh leaves, preserving a 
 general likeness to the preceding, but widely 
 differing in individual characteristics. If it be 
 true that increased facilities of communication, 
 increased facilities of acquiring knowledge, or 
 what passes under its name, be accompanied with 
 a gradual yet sure decay of the human form, — as 
 the age of man is said to have decreased from a 
 thousand to three score years and ten, — then is 
 mankind — while striving still further to extend its 
 knowledge, to improve its appliances for decreasing 
 labour, — in reality slowly committing suicide, and 
 that progress of which so much has been said is 
 but its Funeral March.
 
 4 Traits of the Olden Time. 
 
 Certainly it would seem that in these days 
 fashions spring up, reit^n, and disappear, with a 
 celerity unknown in ages past, so that it may be 
 reasonably inferred, that ere long, unless speedily 
 recorded, many interesting traits of our ancestors 
 will be lost, buried beneath accumulated heaps of 
 short lived fashions. Though each page of history 
 reads like a monumental inscription, there is a 
 melancholy pleasure in perusing these records of 
 the past, — that past, which, without history, would 
 be but a blank. One part of history is in a great 
 measure founded upon tradition : it is that relating 
 to the daily life of men not distinguished as having 
 performed any great feat. 
 
 From these traditions the following facts 
 which may prove interesting to the moderns, have 
 been gathered. In the olden time before the 
 "style and calendar" was altered, (since which, 
 according to the generation fast appearing, there 
 have never been, nor will be, good days in old 
 England again,) when the Bustard roamed over the 
 Marlborough Downs, and Salisbury Plain, on which 
 yet stands an inn known by the name of the bird, 
 where it is said the last was seen ; when instead of 
 the demon-like shriek and thundering roar of the 
 steam-engine, the cheery horn of the mail coach 
 re-echoed from the hi;>h-banked, violet-flowered 
 lanes. Though these times have been frequently
 
 Traits of the Olden Time. 5 
 
 styled " good," there were many practices scarcely 
 likely to sustain the title in modern estimation. 
 If the spirit of money-getting has seized upon the 
 nation, to the destruction of all that is manly, if 
 there are never more to be good days in England, 
 the degeneracy of the moderns is, in many respects 
 a degeneracy that cannot be deplored. Such high 
 souled abhorrence of crime as resulted in the 
 hanging of a man, for sheep stealing or fire raising, 
 seems to us a very arbitrary and artificial inter- 
 pretation of the words " a life for a life." To 
 value a man's life at the cost of a sheep — or of a 
 rick of hay, would seem scarcely credible, even 
 from a purely utilitarian view of the matter, and 
 yet this was actually the fact in a professedly 
 christian country. Nor has the law been so long 
 abolished as might be supposed. That popular 
 opinion was strong against these executions may 
 be gathered from the old saying, " that the high 
 winds in March were an exhibition of Heaven's 
 anger at this wanton waste of human life" — the 
 trials being held, and criminals usually hung in 
 that month. These executions were generally 
 carried out near the spot where the crime was 
 committed, hence there was scarce a cross road 
 without a gibbet as a ghastly sign-post, scarce a 
 parish within whose bounds one such awful ex- 
 hibition had not taken place. Some of these
 
 6 Traits of the Oldex Time. 
 
 gibbets, in a dilapidated state, yet remain about 
 the country ; one is still kept in good condition 
 in consequence of some peculiar clause in a 
 bequest. 
 
 At this date, bull-baiting flourished and the 
 stocks were in frequent use. Almost every market 
 town that boasted a square could show in its 
 centre the stone to which the bull was fastened — 
 several of these have been removed in the 
 memory of man, while here and there the remains 
 of the village stocks may be seen. They were 
 usually placed in the most conspicuous spot in 
 the village, often under a tree, and occasionally 
 close to the church, probably with the double 
 intention in the latter case of exposing the 
 incarcerated criminal as an edifying spectacle to 
 the church goers, while the sound of the bells 
 might admonish him to repent. A very perfect 
 specimen of a pair in the latter position, may still 
 be seen in the parish of Chiseldon, Wilts,* within 
 two hours walk of the Swindon station, upon the 
 Great Western Railway. Ihrough all these out- 
 rages, (as they would now seem,) upon justice, 
 comes to the surface thdt great principle of English 
 law, that great cause of English liberty — open 
 trial, public punishment, or public execution. 
 
 * There is now a Station at Chiseldon on the Mid. and S.W. 
 Junction Railway.
 
 Traits of the Olden Time. 7 
 
 That veneration which is inherent in man for the 
 customs in which he has grown into maturity, and 
 his forefathers before him, is very apparent in 
 the lower agricultural labourer of Wiltshire and 
 the West. 
 
 Many years, even generations, had doubtless 
 passed away, ere the people became thoroughly 
 imbued with that mode of thought now gradually 
 disappearing, and it will take many years even 
 yet to entirely remove that affectionate esteem with 
 which the old customs are still regarded, even by 
 those who are perhaps well aware of their error. 
 So it was with the '* old style and calendar." In 
 the old time when almanacks were scarce and 
 dear, — that selling at three and sixpence which can 
 now be had for sixpence, — it was a common 
 practice of the wise man of the village, — who had 
 perhaps assisted the clerk of the church, and been 
 a journey with the coach, or had otherwise mixed 
 with the outside world, and learnt moie than his 
 fellows, — to construct an almanack of his own 
 device. 
 
 There was an old man, whose son is still 
 living,* — himself a venerable grey-headed person 
 of seventy, — whose method in the matter predict- 
 ing the weather in his self-made almanack, was to 
 observe the first twelve days of the new 3'ear — a 
 
 * 1866.
 
 8 Traits of the Olden Time. 
 
 day for a month — as indications of the weather 
 that would prevail during the ensuing year With 
 the alteration of the calendar came a difficulty, 
 but if I remember aright, the old fellow continued 
 to calculate as usual. 
 
 It is curious even now to observe the reliance 
 placed upon the predictions of " jMoore " by the 
 agricultural labourer, to whom the weather is an 
 all important matter. He who has "Moore's 
 Almanack," and can read it, is the oracle of the 
 village, and this to men whose long acquaintance 
 with the fluctuations of weather, the unreliableness 
 even of the plainest signs, would, one would think, 
 entirely unfit them for such blind faith. Circles will 
 gather around the almanack oracle even at the 
 present day, in the village inn, as, while the liquor 
 goes round, the fire blazes up, and the wind howls 
 without, he slowly spells out the predictions of the 
 weather prophet, or plunging into deeper mysteries 
 hints an explanation of th£ hieroglyphic, with 
 which the proprietor's of "Moore's Almanack" 
 yearly present to their readers. Any casual 
 accordance of the weather with that predicted is 
 treasured up in the memories of his listeners ; these 
 they produce as unanswerable arguments of his 
 infallibility, forgetting the numerous instances of 
 failure. This is a remnant of that superstition 
 which saw wars predicted by the Northern Lights ;
 
 Traits of the Olden Time. 9 
 
 the death of high personages, or pestilence, by 
 comets. 
 
 Here and there yet survives a grey-headed 
 old fellow, who can recount his adventures 
 when the militia was called out, — not the present 
 bands, but those that preceded them ; how so and 
 so was in the awkward squad, and how it was 
 necessary to tie hay-bands about his right and 
 straw around his left leg, that the ignorant recruit 
 might know one from the other, so that the word 
 of command ran instead of " right about, left about 
 face," " hay about, and straw about." In those 
 days, when paper was expensive and scarce, it was 
 no uncommon thing to see dealers and farmers of 
 considerable means, after a day's marketing, chalk 
 up upon the knees or thighs of their unmention- 
 ables, the separate value of each article they had 
 sold, then strike a line and add up the total, as if 
 on a slate. ]\Iany of these would have been at a 
 loss with a pen, some even unable to write their 
 names, but their interest had compelled them to 
 gain some slight knowledge of figures. 
 
 The simplicity of the poorer classes of 
 agriculturalists at that time is well illustrated by an 
 authenticated anecdote. When the price of bread 
 was high, and a partial famine the result, two old 
 men — the oracles of their village — they having 
 made several long journeys, and even penetrated
 
 10 Traits of the Olden Time. 
 
 to London — were actually deputed by the starving 
 rustics to proceed to Parliament, and lay their 
 grievances before that assembly, a subscription 
 was made to pay their expenses, they went, doubt- 
 less chuckling over the gullibility of their fellows, 
 and returned alter some lime — the money all 
 gone — of course, unsuccessful, being unable, they 
 said to obtain an audience of the King. 
 
 It was formerly a common custom for the 
 members of the farmer's family, himself included, 
 to dine at the same time, at the same table, and 
 upon the same viands as his labourers, who were 
 only partially paid in money, the greater portion 
 of their wages being in kind. Nor is this practice 
 yet entirely extinct, among the smaller class of 
 farmers. At that time when, owing to the bad 
 roads, communications between outlying farms 
 and towns was difficult, and in winter almost 
 impossible, such farms were to some extent 
 colonies in themselves. At the approach of 
 winter a cow was killed and salted down, good 
 store of October was brewed, and huge stacks of 
 firing piled up within easy reach of the door, nor 
 did the careful housewife forget her bundle of 
 herbs — "yarbs" as she called them. The necessary 
 consequences of this familiarity between master 
 and man, this banishment from the polite pleasures 
 of the town, and the cnimi resulting from long
 
 Traits of the Olden Time. ii 
 
 evenings with little or nothing to amuse, were 
 bacchanalian orgies, and drunken bouts ; it was a 
 frequent thing, and considered a good joke, to fill 
 the kettle from which according to appearance the 
 spirits served out to the guests were to be slackened 
 with water, with spirits itself — say gin — thus were 
 those who otherwise would have stopped short of 
 intoxication, entrapped, and either wallowed 
 beneath the table, or were hoisted upon horse-back, 
 and in an incapable, foolhardy state, rode a few 
 hundred yards towards home at a headlong pace, 
 then fell, and if fortunate to escape death from a 
 kick, seldom got off without severe injuries. This 
 was one feature of the famous hospitality of our 
 immediate forefathers. The habit which still 
 lingers of pressing a guest to eat and drink even 
 when assured by him that he had already done so, 
 probably arose from the same cause. Persons 
 whose lives were continually spent in manual labour 
 with purely animal pleasures, naturally imagined — 
 taking no time to think — that others must be in a 
 like condition, and under the impression them- 
 selves, that feasting, since it was an escape from 
 all labour, save that of a pleasing kind, must be 
 at all times welcome, could scarcely comprehend 
 the indifference manifested by strangers to their 
 well meant but mistaken off"ers. 
 
 In few places can the ancient Anglo-Saxon
 
 12 Traits of the Olden Time. 
 
 accent be so well preserved as in Wiltshire. The 
 conversation of the lower class of agriculturists, 
 sounds like a dialogue of the Heptarchy. Words 
 that may be found in old Saxon works, elsewhere 
 obsolete, are here still in popular use, and to the 
 antiquarian ear create a not unpleasant delusion. 
 " A lissome lass," is a frequent phrase for a lithe- 
 some, lively, supple girl — a phrase that may 
 be found, if I remember rightly, in many an 
 ancient ballad. The Anglo-Saxon affix an or 2in, 
 is very perceivable, as also the prefix a, for he, 
 as afore instead of before. These few examples 
 might be multiplied into pages with a little trouble. 
 One, very often heard, is the use of the word 
 *' main," to express power, force, or strength, 
 probably from the Anglo-Saxon maegn — strength, 
 power, force ; as a " main gurt un," a very 
 powerful or great one, or powerful great one ; 
 " a main sharp vrost," a very powerful sharp 
 frost ; " a main blow," a strong blow or 
 wind. These traits are fast disappearing 
 before the all-powerful influences of steam and the 
 printing press. The difHculty of teaching persons 
 to read and speak correctly, accustomed thus to 
 make use of what is now a dialect, but was the 
 great source of the English language, is Vi-ry 
 great, and is augmented if they possess the slight- 
 est knowledge of letters, — letters in a literal
 
 Traits of the Olden Time. 13 
 
 sense — so different from the real value, is that they 
 set upon them. I was once told by an educated 
 farmer, that, wanting a stamping iron made with 
 his initials J. J. upon it, he went to the village 
 blacksmith, and explained his desire. The old 
 blacksmith seemed perfectly to understand him, 
 but determined to make sure ere he left the shop, 
 he marked the letters J.J. with a piece of chalk 
 on the wall. "Aw," cried the old fellow, " I zee now, 
 now I knaws. Thee said a jay (g), but thee means 
 a jod (j)." It has often been remarked that all 
 nations when in an uncultivated, semi-civilized 
 state, hand down their knowledge or their senti- 
 ments by songs or ballads to their descendants. 
 This is true even of England. Many of these old 
 songs often of a highly comic, though rather coarse 
 character, yet remain, and for a quart of ale or a 
 pipe of tobacco, may be unearthed from the 
 budgets of the grey-haired agricultural labourer. 
 The milker sings at the pail even when his breath 
 is frozen upon his chin, and the roaring chorus of 
 " The Leathern Bottel," may still be heard from 
 a village tavern here and there, while the song 
 itself is yet fresh in the memories of men v/hose 
 singing days have long gone by. Paradoxical as 
 it may appear, the agricultural labourer though 
 living in the present, and rarely careful to provide 
 for the future, yet lives in the past. All his tradi-
 
 14 Traits of the Olden Time. 
 
 tions, histories, songs and customs, have been 
 handed down to him from time immemorial, his 
 talk is of his forefathers, and he is himself becom- 
 ing antiquated and out of date. In those 
 primitive days, men of considerable substance — 
 farmers — went to market in their smock frocks ; and 
 perhaps the only persons in the parish that wore 
 black coats, were the squire and the parson. 
 
 It was then a common custom for pedestrian 
 travellers, on account of the wretched state of the 
 roads — which required sounding ere being ventured 
 upon — to carry an iron-shod staff of great length, 
 and I remember being shewn the worm-eaten and 
 rusty remains of one of these pilgrim staves, as 
 they might be called, religiously preserved by its 
 possessor as a relic of his grandfather who had 
 used it nearly a hundred years before. In the 
 best of weather, the roads, in the estimation of the 
 present generation, as they then existed, would 
 have been accounted as miserable, but in wet 
 weather, in winter, and especially in snow, were 
 frequently impassable. Gentlemen are still living 
 who can remember driving over the downs on the 
 top of the snow, and getting upset upon some- 
 thing which turned out on closer inspection to be 
 the roof of the mail coach — literally buried — 
 having been by mistake driven into a kind of 
 narrowing lane of snow, and jammed so tightly
 
 Traits of the Old£N Time. 15 
 
 that horseflesh could not stir it backwards or 
 forwards. It was deserted, and what became of 
 the poor passengers no one knoweth. 
 
 "The good old times." Medical science at 
 least, as practised in the rural districts, by the 
 wise man or woman of the village, was in a strange 
 state. As was said once of the remedies pre- 
 scribed by the ancient physicians, their efficacy 
 seemed measured by their nastiness. One remedy 
 if only for its strangeness, must not be passed 
 by. It was a custom for the old folk to go abroad 
 early in the morning and catch all the lockworms 
 possible ; these they placed in moss, that they 
 might wriggle about and clean themselves, and 
 finally confined in a closed jar, buried deep in a 
 heap of manure. It is said that the heat melted 
 the worms into a sort of soil, very useful to rub 
 upon a sprained foot.
 
 II. 
 
 A STRANGE STORY.
 
 A 5trange Story, 
 
 HY is it, as I gaze upon these verdant 
 slopes, that the past rushes back 
 upon my mind, and I see, rising 
 above the crest of yonder camp- 
 crowned hill, the forms of the ancient 
 Northmen warriors, the beams of the morning sun 
 glancing from the steel heads of their lances, as 
 they glance now from yon trembling dew-drop — 
 one of nature's jewels — pendent from the earth- 
 born grass-blade ? Why is it that I hear in the 
 whistling of the morning air through the bennets, 
 the rustlinsf of the raven standard unfolded to the 
 breeze, and as it sighs through yon woods, the 
 shout which greets the advancing Saxons ? 
 
 " Why is it that the scene which surrounds us, 
 the rudely-sculptured form of the White Horse 
 above our heads, higher still the fosse and ramparts 
 of the ancient camp, beneath us the time-worn 
 barrow of Pendragon, on whose grass-denuded 
 summit we rest, should have the power to render 
 as naught the wide abyss of a thousand years, to
 
 20 A Strange Story. 
 
 bridge over the chasm, to call up before the mental 
 eye deeds half hidden in the mist of years, while yet 
 the ear is conscious of the cooing of doves sheltered 
 from the heat among the sprays of the green woods, 
 the eye is conscious of the shadow of a passing 
 rook, and that the hare crouching in the fern but 
 a few yards distant, watches our movements with 
 fear and trembling ? " 
 
 Such was the question propounded to me by 
 my friend, Gerald Fitzhugh, as we sat, one beautiful 
 autumn morning, on the edge of the Dragon's 
 Mount, beneath the White Horse Down ; and I 
 confessed my inability to answer it except by the 
 oft-repeated phrases — " a peculiar action of the 
 mind," — "a weird imagination." 
 
 " A peculiar action of the mind ! " he replied, 
 while a slight sneer curled his finely-cut lip, and 
 his dark full eye shot forth a lightning glance. 
 *' Roderick, I see, like the majority of mankind, 
 you are content to ignore that which you cannot 
 understand, instead of seeking to unravel the 
 mystery. You are acquainted with the written 
 history of the human race, and you must be aware 
 that in every age, in every clime, under every 
 condition of life, mankind has tacitly believed in 
 the existence, outside as it were of the material 
 world, of an invisible power, an omnipresent, 
 ethereal substance — how shall I give that a name
 
 A Strange Story. 21 
 
 that is nameless ? Was not this great truth 
 shadowed forth by the jinn, the genii of eastern 
 romance, the spirits of the western world, whom 
 by the performance of mysterious rites it lay in the 
 magician's, the wise man's power to evoke ? 
 
 " The traditionary history of every nation invari- 
 ably preserves the history of some prophet, some 
 messenger of good or evil — most frequently the 
 latter — who delivered his prophecies while rapt 
 from himself, while under inspiration, casting, as it 
 were, a glance into futurity, seeing what was pro- 
 ceeding, or should proceed, in the council-chambers, 
 or on the battlefields of another race, and calculat- 
 ing with super-eminent intellect the changes, the 
 revolutions, which would ensue in his own country. 
 " Who has not heard of the throes of the 
 Delphian priestess, when mounted on the sacred 
 tripod, and of the charmed numbers which flowed 
 from her tongue ? Who has not read with wonder 
 of the marvellous deeds wrought by the Hindoo 
 necromancers, of the "second sight" of the High- 
 land Seers, of the divination of the east, the "black 
 art " of the west, and what was and is thus faintly 
 outlined by the power of the mind to separate 
 itself from the power of the body, to become, as it 
 were, mingled with this nameless medium, of which 
 it originally was, and to which it shall again return, 
 when its prison bonds of clay are loosed ?
 
 22 A Strange Story. 
 
 "Roderick, there are two classes of fools in the 
 world — those who believe without a reason, and 
 those who disbelieve without a reason ; do you 
 belong to either of these ? " 
 
 "No," I replied, "I neither believe nor dis- 
 believe." 
 
 " Then," he said, " your mind is like one of 
 the hanging stones attributed to the Druids, which 
 are situated on the hills of Cornwall, are equi- 
 poised, and will sway at a touch. Listen to me, I 
 will give it a final stroke, which shall either lodge 
 it firmly for aye, or send it — fallen for ever, crash- 
 ing down the precipice which yawns at the foot of 
 reason's mountain. I will address no argument 
 to you, for the subject is inexhaustible ; I will relate 
 what perhaps you will consider of more weight, 
 my own conversion. 
 
 "It was in the Autumn of 1849, that I received 
 an invitation from an old friend, who lived in the 
 country, pressing me to exchange the pestilential 
 air of the cholera-stricken Metropolis, for the pure 
 breeze which blows across the Western Downs. I 
 immediately accepted it and shortly afterwards 
 arrived at my friend's mansion, strangely enough 
 on a day appointed for humiliation on account of 
 the dreadful scourge which was decimating the 
 population. 
 
 " My friend, whose nature presented the supposed
 
 A Strange Story. 23 
 
 anomaly of a kind warm heart, combined with a 
 bitter sarcastic infidelity to the church's dogmas, 
 had gone out for a stroll, and his wife was at 
 church. The head servant, however, immediately 
 recognized me, and I was shown into a small apart- 
 ment, used as an ordinary sitting-room by the 
 family. I laid myself down, to wait for my friend's 
 return, upon a couch by the open window, which 
 by a verandah and steps, communicated with the 
 lawn beneath. 
 
 "A luxurious scent from the flowers in the 
 garden floated in at the window, at times almost 
 suffocating me, while ever and anon a powerful 
 but sickly odour from the laurels and other exotic 
 evergreens beneath, literally oppressed me with 
 perfume, and, combined with the noontide heat, 
 brought on a faintness, which rapidly disposed me 
 to slumber. At length as it were, completely over- 
 come, I sank into semi-consciousness. I could not 
 have moved, hand nor foot, yet I was perfectly 
 aware that my eyes were open, and that I still 
 retained the sense of hearing. I could see, through 
 the interstices of the roses which twined around 
 the verandah, the blue hills in the far distance ; the 
 motionless branches of the trees, which seemed 
 borne down by the oppressive weight of heat ; the 
 starling pluming himself in the shadow of a cedar 
 on the lawn.
 
 34 A Strange Story, 
 
 *' I could hear, as at a great distance, the tick 
 of the golden clock upon the marble mantle-piece, 
 the noise the canary made in the cage above my 
 head, as he leaped from wire to wire ; and, strangely 
 enough, I could see his dark eye, I could see the 
 hands of the clock pointing to half-past one, I 
 could see the curiously carved antique buffet in the 
 room behind me, covered with articles of vertu, — 
 the large mirrors opposite it reflecting the painted 
 rose upon the corniced ceiling. Stranger still to 
 my mental gaze — for it could not have been to my 
 mortal eye, the village church, deep in a valley, 
 was visible, and I could see the sky through the 
 bell-holes, in the square, battlemented tower. 
 
 ** How long I remained in this state, grasping, 
 as it were, the whole landscape in my mind, I 
 cannot tell ; but suddenly it seemed as though a 
 black object passed before my eyes — all became 
 confusion and darkness, I lost my consciousness, 
 and fell into a deep sleep, from which I was 
 awakened by a piercing scream. I started up and 
 found myself confronting, in the open window, 
 a woman whose dark eyes were fixed upon mine in 
 undisguised terror, while her countenance, which I 
 immediately recognized as that of my friend's wife, 
 was pale as marble, and her form shook like an 
 aspen leaf. Ere a word could be said on either side, 
 my friend,— familiarly addressed as the Squire of
 
 A Strange Story. 25 
 
 Ashurst — sprang up the steps behind his wife, and 
 in his surprise at seeing me, did not notice her 
 pallor, but came forward and shook me by the 
 hand. He then turned, but she was gone, at which 
 he seemed somewhat hurt. 
 
 " Conversation flagged at dinner, despite the 
 Squire's sometimes sarcastic, sometimes humourous 
 sallies. His wife seemed absorbed in reflections of 
 no pleasing character, while I scarcely heard what 
 was said, so much had I been discomposed by the 
 occurrences of the morning. 
 
 " We sat long over our wine, but it was in 
 silence, — painful silence to me, and I felt relieved 
 when a footman announced that a gentlemen 
 desired a few minutes' private conversation with 
 my friend. 
 
 " Scarcely had he left the apartment than his 
 wife entered, and, walking straight up to me, laid 
 her hand upon my shoulder. " Were you at 
 Church this morning ? " she asked, gazing earnest- 
 ly at me, as though to preclude the possibility of 
 my telling a falsehood. The question surprised me, 
 but I answered at once in the negative, at which 
 she turned pale and sank upon a chair. Still more 
 surprised, I plied her with questions, and at length 
 succeeded in learning the truth. It appeared that 
 she had waited, after service was concluded, in the 
 village church, until the congregation and the
 
 «6 A Strange Story. 
 
 Llinister had departed, for the purpose of having a 
 few moments' conversation with the sexton, whose 
 necessities she had relieved. He let her out by a 
 small door in the chancel opposite a wicket gate in 
 the churchyard wall, which by a private footpath 
 led to Ashurst. As she turned round from wishing 
 him good morning, she abruptly came face to face 
 with two persons walking swiftly towards the 
 church, and who must have entered the churchyard 
 by the wicket gate, although she had neither heard 
 nor seen it opened. They seemed to brush past 
 her, looking straight before them, and although 
 she saw their countenances but for a moment, it 
 was long enough to recognize one of them as mine ! 
 Startled and surprised that I had not spoken, she 
 turned again and distinctly saw one of the figures 
 enter the church by the chancel door, which seemed 
 to be opened by someone within, saying to the 
 resemblance of myself, which appeared to vanish 
 round the corner of the church : — " Seven years." 
 Amazed and half-alarmed she hurried to the main 
 door of the church, and there met the sexton who 
 had just locked it, and in answer to her eager 
 enquiries said that no one could have entered the 
 church since she left, as he had securely bolted the 
 chancel door behind her. He offered to reopen the 
 door and make a search, but her courage here 
 failed her ; she refused and hastened home, first
 
 A Strange Story. 37 
 
 however, by some singular chance, observing that 
 the hand of the church clock in the tower pointed 
 to half-past one. 
 
 " Judge of her surprise and amazement upon 
 finding me, as she came up the verandah steps, 
 soundly asleep before her ! Herself a Scotchwoman, 
 she was naturally superstitious, and a firm believer 
 in the appearance of the wraiths of persons doomed 
 to death. I could see that she already looked 
 upon me with an expression of pity, mingled with 
 sorrow. Scarcely knowing what to think, [for her 
 position, her character, and the simplicity with 
 which she told her tale, placed her above suspicion 
 of falsehood,] yet mentally putting it down to some 
 delusion, I was still sceptic enough to cross- 
 examine her, and the answers she gave convinced 
 me that what she had seen could not have been 
 the result of trickery, or fancied resemblance. It 
 appeared that she had followed my vanishing 
 figure round the corner of the church, and thus to 
 the main door, but had seen no more of it, although 
 the churchyard was level and the line of sight 
 clear in every direction ; while the wall was far too 
 high to allow of a human being leaping over it. 
 
 " It could not have doubled back without her 
 perceiving it, as the church at that end approached 
 so near the wall that there was only room for one 
 to pass at a time, nor had she heard, as she passed
 
 28 A Strange Story. 
 
 this place, any footsteps or noise such as might 
 have been made by a person within the building. 
 The sexton had seen nothing, although the figure — 
 if human, — must have passed him to leave the place, 
 and, as the private path she had pursued to Ashurst 
 at her utmost speed, was scarcely a third as long 
 as that by which the figure must have left the 
 churchyard, — it followed that I could not have 
 reached the mansion — supposing, as we did for a 
 moment, that I had visited the church in a state of 
 somnolency — until long after her arrival. She 
 could not remember whether the figures had 
 actually brushed against her — as they seemed to do, 
 nor whether they made a noise, or moved their 
 limbs in walking, contrary to the ordinary customs 
 of spirits, who are generally described as *' gliding 
 along." She frankly avowed that the whole occur- 
 rence had occupied too short a period of time to 
 allow of her noticing such a peculiarity, and that 
 if she had done so, her subsequent alarm had en- 
 tirely obliterated all remembrance of it, which 
 admission disposed me the more readily to believe 
 her, as it proved that something out of the usual 
 course of things had happened to disturb her 
 equanimity. 
 
 "As a last resource, I questioned her as to 
 whether she remembered the features of the other 
 figure, and to my surprise she gave me a descrip-
 
 A Strange Story. 29 
 
 tion sufficiently minute to enable me to identify it 
 with a savant, at that moment, in all probability, 
 some seventy miles distant, with whom, but a 
 short time previously, I had held a long discussion, 
 and who, although noted for his scientific ability, 
 could never gain converts to his theories on account 
 of an unfortunate habit he had contracted of con- 
 cocting and publishing the most improbable and 
 unheard of fables. All these circumstances made a 
 strong impression on my mind at that time, 
 especially as, in accordance with a wish he had 
 expressed, I kept them secret, and was thus 
 perhaps led to brood upon them. Even at this 
 distance of time I have a distinct remembrance of 
 the shuddering sensation which ran through me as 
 I entered my lonely chamber that night, half 
 expecting, half dreading the appearance of some- 
 thing supernatural, and yet at the same time 
 smiling at my own fear. The next morning the 
 terrible intelligence reached us that the cholera had 
 broken out in the adjacent village, and with such 
 violence did it rage, that in five hours out of a 
 population of three hundred, twenty lay at death's 
 door. The Squire immediately determined upon 
 breaking up his establishment in order to repair 
 to the seaside ; I accompanied him to the railway 
 station ; and as I shook hands with his wife, I could 
 not but observe that the melancholy smile upon
 
 30 A Strange Story. 
 
 her countenance announced her firm belief that we 
 should not meet again. She was right — she died 
 scarcely three months afterwards, of an unknown 
 disease. The train which was to convey me back 
 to London at length started, and as I looked from 
 the windows of my carriage in mute farewell, I 
 saw pass across the platform — evidently but that 
 moment arrived, the form of the savant. 
 
 " Three years afterwards I revisited Ashurst, 
 and found it strangely altered. The village street 
 was deserted, the roofs of the cottages had fallen 
 in, the doors creaked dismally as they swung to 
 and fro in every blast. Not a human being could 
 I find ; the place of man was taken by the rooks, 
 who fearlessly perched upon the rotten palings, 
 and " cawed " me a melancholy welcome. The 
 Squire's mansion was utterly deserted, the doors 
 locked, the shutters up, the weeds growing thick 
 in the once cultivated and carefully trimmed flower 
 beds ; the starlings, who built in the roof, alone 
 remained. I turned away with a strange sense of 
 loneliness, and as a last resource bent my steps 
 towards the church. Alas ! the graveyard was 
 populous enough, and the stones told a fearful 
 tale. Up through the interstices of the pavement 
 had sprung the green grass, while the gravel 
 strewn paths were hidden with rank vegetation. 
 Innumerable pigeons wheeled in crowds around
 
 A Strange Story. 31 
 
 the grey, weather-beaten tower, or sat in rows 
 upon the projections ; to a Hindoo mind they 
 would have seemed the souls of the dead below. 
 Slowly I wandered round that melancholy place, 
 the wind moaning through the sombre foliage of 
 the yew trees, in solemn requiem, as it rose and 
 fell ; the sun was hidden behind a cloud ; all seemed 
 to bear witness to the awful power of death. 
 
 " At length I approached the church portal ; a 
 bunch of keys hung from the door which was ajar ; 
 I pushed it open and entered. Glancing up the 
 aisle with its rows of empty pews on either hand, 
 I beheld, beneath the pulpit, leaning upon a staff, 
 an old man, who was apparently engaged in 
 reflection as his eyes were on the ground. He 
 looked up as my footsteps echoed through the vast, 
 deserted building, and in his cadaverous counten- 
 ance, his cold misty blue eyes, bowed back, and 
 tottering limbs, around which hung in folds 
 garments far too large for his shrunken form, I 
 recognized the Sexton. From him, only too ready 
 to communicate his knowledge, I learnt the fear- 
 ful story of the pestilence which had swept the 
 inhabitants of a whole village from off the face of 
 the earth, into the insatiable jaws of the grave. 
 The Squire had escaped, but he rarely visited the 
 place; and amongst the flourishing country around, 
 the parish lay like a wilderness — the Valley of the
 
 32 A Strange Story. 
 
 Shadow of Death. Little by little I drew it all 
 from the old man, listening with patience to his 
 childish wanderings, and at length I learned a 
 truth that did indeed surprise me. It seemed that 
 the savant I had seen at the railway station, had 
 heard of the cholera breaking out in the village — 
 he had a theory of his own, and he came here to 
 test it, regardless of danger. He died the last of 
 the doomed, and the sexton led me to the vault 
 where he was interred. It lay just within the 
 chancel door, and in the clear marble slab above 
 his head, by order of the Squire, had been cut the 
 frightfully mocking inscription :— " He who de- 
 populated this parish, lies beneath." The date upon 
 the stone was August i6th, 1850, exactly one year 
 from the day the Squire's wife had seen his figure 
 enter the chancel door," 
 
 " A curious coincidence," I remarked, as my 
 friend ceased narrating. His lips again curled as 
 he added " To-morrow will see the seven years 
 fulfilled— will there be another curious coincidence ?" 
 
 " I should like to visit that place," I said, still 
 incredulous. "And you shall," he replied, and 
 seizing me by the arm, he dragged me, at some 
 peril to both of us, down the steep side of the 
 Dragon's Mount, in the direction of Ufiington. 
 Late that evening, the agency of the iron horse, 
 set us down far in the interior of Wiltshire, and it
 
 A Strange Story. 33 
 
 was with strange and mingled feelings that I was 
 introduced to the Squire of my friend's narrative, 
 who had once more taken up his residence in 
 Ashurst. Nothing remarkable passed that evening 
 but I shall never forget the sneer which curled the 
 Squire's lips as he replied, in answer to an observa- 
 tion I made on the great width of the village street^ 
 " Yes, it is twice as broad as long, and has three 
 mud huts on one side, and as many oak trees on 
 the other, with the nest of a croaking raven in one, 
 which the inhabitants are afraid to listen to, and 
 afraid to kill. This we owe to science.'' My friend 
 Fitz-hugh early complained of fatigue, in conse- 
 quence of which we retired to rest, nor did we 
 reassemble until a late hour the next morning. 
 
 Fitz-hugh and I sat alone the greater part of 
 the morning in the room where he had had his 
 peculiar sleep, the Squire being busy in his study. 
 My friend seemed pre-occupied and spoke but at 
 intervals, and when he did, it was in a melancholy 
 tone ; he had evidently some presentiment hanging 
 like a weight upon his usually buoyant spirits. 
 A little after one, the Squire entered and engaged 
 in conversation with me. I shall never forget the 
 start from which I awoke from the spell which his 
 wild, sarcastic talk was throwing around me, when, 
 precisely as the clock pointed to half-past one, 
 
 Fitz-hugh sprang up, flung the window open, and 
 
 c
 
 34 A Strange Story. 
 
 stepped out upon the verandah — regardless of a 
 cry from the Squire — exclaiming as he did so, 
 "Seven years are fulfilled." It was the last 
 sentence he uttered. There was a crash, a low 
 rumbling sound, the verandah — one of its supports 
 having been removed in order to be repaired — gave 
 way, and he was precipitated from a height of 
 twenty feet upon a stone flag. 
 
 We buried him in the village church beside 
 the savant^ and even in that hour of tribulation and 
 sorrow, the Squire could not refrain from exclaim- 
 ing, pointing as he did so to the inscription on the 
 tomb of the martyr of science, " That, at least, is 
 no lying epitaph." 
 
 In conclusion, one question ; Reader, what is 
 a coincidence ?
 
 III. 
 
 HENRIQUE BEAUMONT.
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 N the West of England stands a 
 mansion, so closely embosomed on 
 three sides by wooded downs, that 
 often the dead branches of the trees, 
 carried on the breath of the tempest, 
 crash against the walls ; while upon the western 
 side, after melting into a lawn, the ground again 
 rises, and is crested with a fir plantation. At 
 the extremity of the lawn there is an arbor, whose 
 thickly-matted covering of ivy, served, some years 
 ago, to shelter from the night air two persons 
 seated on a rustic bench within, while affording 
 them an unchecked view of the sinking sun. The 
 elder of the twain, a man of some fifty years, 
 leant his gray head upon his hand, gazing with 
 some degree of sadness in his deep brown eyes at 
 the sunset. The younger, a youth of twenty, a 
 model of strength and manly beauty, contemplated 
 with absent glance the tesselated mosaic at his
 
 38 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 feet, which had once formed the floor of a Roman 
 villa. It was a spring evening. Nature was deck- 
 ing herself for her bridal with the sun, which men 
 call Summer-tide, humming as she did so the 
 glorious old melody which goat-footed Pan pipes 
 for evermore. The sweet voices of the wood 
 chorused the magic strain ; even the drooping blue- 
 bells rang a fairy chime as they swayed in the even- 
 ing air, and were answered by the low notes of the 
 nightingale in the hazel grove above. All was 
 harmony — all beauty. The old man observed it, 
 but the young one did not. He was occupied, not 
 with nature, but with her masterpiece, wherein, as 
 in a concave mirror, she beholds the essence of 
 her beauties and her mysteries concentrated : he 
 was thinking of a woman. " Nephew," said the 
 old man at length, " 1 cannot help thinking ot 
 this visitor at the squire's, who, you say, has so 
 rapidly won his way into my old friend's favour. 
 His name Austin — Austin — sounds familiar. Tell 
 me more of him." 
 
 ** I know but little " replied the youth. " He 
 and his mother, Mrs. Martha Austin, as you are 
 aware, came from the metropolis for the ostensible 
 purpose of improving her health — they engaged a 
 house of the squire ; I know no more, except that, 
 strangely enough, they are said to be some rela- 
 tion to Bob Austin, the obstinate old miller."
 
 Henrique Beaumont, 39 
 
 •' Martha Austin ! " exclaimed the old man, 
 strangely agitated. " A relation of the miller's ? 
 
 Her son— , the son of , what was I about 
 
 to say ? He ," 
 
 " What — what ? Uncle, my future happiness is 
 concerned in your answer, for you know that he — 
 he — dares to approach Ellen, and the squire looks 
 at me coldly." 
 
 " Henry, or rather Henrique Beaumont," at 
 length replied the old man in a suppressed voice, 
 " it is time that you learnt your true history, and then 
 no longer will you wonder that the name of Austin 
 agitates me. Listen ! My sister, poor Antoinette, 
 married your father, who was an officer in the 
 Indian army twenty years ago. He bore the name 
 of Beaumont, and traced his unsullied descent 
 from the fiery companions of William the 
 Conqueror; he could have boasted of more, for he 
 inherited their virtues without their vices. Soon 
 after the nuptials, the war with Tippoo broke out, 
 his regiment was ordered to India, and Antoinette 
 accompanied him thilher. He served with honour 
 at the taking of Seringapatam, but he, whom the 
 deadly bullets had spared, was struck down by 
 wasting fever. Borne down with grief, your 
 mother resolved upon returning to England, and 
 although fearing that her own health would not 
 outlast the voyage, she embarked on board a sail-
 
 40 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 ing vessel, carrying with her, yourself, a Hindoo 
 female servant, and several trunks containing her 
 whole fortune, which had been converted into 
 jewels by Beaumont just before his death. His 
 reason for this was, that as valuable jewels, owing 
 to the disturbed state of the country, were sold at 
 nominal prices, he might thus upon returning to 
 Great Britain, realize a large profit. Knowing 
 nothing of business, (how should she ?) she entrusted 
 these trunks to the captain and his wife, nor took 
 any safe-guard, save sending me a letter contain- 
 ing an inventory in her own hand-writing, but 
 which was of no avail as there was no witness's 
 signature to attest its truth. Basely they repaid 
 her trust. When the vessel arrived I hastened to 
 the port, but my poor sister had succumbed off the 
 coast of Africa, her body was committed to the 
 waves, her son remained in charge of the Hindoo, 
 and her fortune was gone, none knew whither, 
 though all might guess. We had no legal remedy 
 as there was no direct proof of their guilt." 
 
 "The Captain's name ? " said Henrique rising. 
 
 "Austin," replied the old man, not noticing the 
 wild expression in his nephew's dark eyes. 
 " Austin,— Martha Austin was the name of his 
 wife, this Rowland is no doubt their son, — the son 
 of thieves, — aspiring to the hand of Ellen Mere- 
 mont, my old friend's daughter ! " He glanced
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 41 
 
 up, but Henrique was gone. His bosom filled 
 with contending emotions — rage at the duplicity 
 of his rival for the hand of squire Meremont's 
 daughter, anticipated triumph, and grief for the 
 fate of his mother, now first revealed to him. 
 Henrique had cleared the lawn at a few strides, 
 and turning sharply to the right, followed a steep- 
 sided valley, his head o'er-canopied with the 
 meeting branches of a lime-tree avenue. 
 
 For a quarter of an hour he pursued the path 
 until the opening of the vista of the trees permitted 
 the view of a rambling mansion, built at several 
 periods of English architecture — each portion in- 
 congruous with its neighbour, yet forming a whole 
 with which no fault could be found. On its many- 
 gabled roof sat rows of pigeons, cooing vespers, 
 their gentle notes almost lost in the cawing of the 
 rooks, whose nests were built in a superb row of 
 elms upon the left side of the valley. On the right, 
 the valley approached near to the mansion, its 
 slope wooded to the very brink of an extensive 
 lake just beyond the building, which seemed to 
 shut out all egress from the vale upon that side ; 
 while, upon the other, a half ruined mill, whose 
 wheel, exposed to every vicissitude ot wind and 
 weather, was turned by a spring raising higher up, 
 and which, having performed its work, fed the 
 pond, totally obscured — so narrow was the valley, —
 
 4« Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 all view of a swelling English landscape below. 
 Henrique walked to the porch of the mansion, and 
 entering the open door without hesitation, crossed the 
 hall, and passed into a wide and spacious chamber, 
 whose single window afforded a beautiful view of 
 the still surface of the lake without, only broken 
 into ripples near the shore, under the willows, by 
 a moorhen. Apple trees growing upon the valley's 
 side mirrored themselves in the water, their 
 pink blossoms forming a strange contrast with the 
 green aquatic plants, and the dark shadow of the 
 wooded shore. The solitary inmate of the apart- 
 ment was an old man in a bee-hive chair drawn 
 near the window, upon whom Henrique glanced 
 without being perceived, so intently was he gazing 
 without. His head was covered with a velvet skull 
 cap, and he still wore the silver buckles of his 
 youth upon his shoes. His arms were folded 
 against his breast, his eyes were fixed in one 
 direction. It was Squire JSIeremont. For forty 
 years, evening after evening, had he sat in that 
 position, gazing with growing hatred upon the 
 revolving water-wheel, and ruined mill, which 
 blocked up the view and formed a sore blot upon 
 his estate. Full forty years had he tried every art 
 to wrest that wretched tenement from its still more 
 wretched but obstinate possessor, and every even- 
 ing there he sat, to get what glimpses he could of
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 43 
 
 the landscape beneath, or to return glance for 
 glance with the miller, whose grimy face and red 
 beard might even now be seen peering through the 
 single Cyclops-eye-like window of the mill. He 
 whom Henrique sought was not there, and as 
 softly as he entered he left. As he crossed the 
 hall, voices at a short distance made him suddenly 
 pause. He started, recognizing the tones, and 
 pushing open the door of an apartment, stood 
 upon the threshold. A young man knelt at the 
 feet of a maiden whom he endeavoured to prevent 
 rising from an ottoman, by detaining her hand in 
 his. "Rowland Austin," muttered Henrique, 
 setting his teeth. 
 
 " Unhand me. Sir, said the maiden, while a 
 rosy flush mantled her fair forehead, a glance of 
 rising indignation shot from her deep blue eyes, 
 and her lip quivered. ** Hear me, Ellen Mere- 
 mont," replied Austin entreatingly. Henrique's 
 nails dug deep into his palms, he held his breath 
 lest he should lose the answer, on which his peace 
 of mind depended. 
 
 " Unhand me," reiterated Ellen. 
 
 ** Ay, unhand her," shouted Henrique, 
 stepping forward. Ellen fell back upon the 
 couch where she sat, but Rowland sprang to 
 his feet. For a moment the rivals confronted each 
 other in silence, each with glances of equal scorn,
 
 44 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 while a strange, gladiator-like impulse rose in the 
 heart of each to spring upon and annihilate the 
 other. 
 
 '* Your conduct is far from gentlemanly," said 
 Rowland at length recovering his self-control. 
 
 *' Be gone," shouted Henrique. 
 
 " I have yet to learn that Mr. Beaumont 
 commands in this house," replied Rowland. 
 Henrique raised his arm, but ere he could strike, 
 a step crossed the hall, and the Squire entered. 
 His mouth was working and for a moment he did 
 not speak. 
 
 " Father," said Ellen, imploringly, in her low 
 sweet voice. 
 
 "Henrique Beaumont, thyself begone, and never 
 enter my house again," answered the old man in 
 tones of trembling rage. 
 
 Henrique was thunderstruck. He glanced 
 from the inexorable countenance of the old man, 
 to Ellen, now pale and alarmed, but whose look 
 meeting his could not be mistaken — it was one of 
 deep sympathy. Turning on his heel without daring 
 to look at his successful rival, who followed his 
 retreating form with a sneer of triumph, lest his 
 passion should again get the better of him, 
 Henrique left the house. 
 
 Wandering to and fro, he knew not where, 
 upon the downs, his heated forehead cooled by
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 45 
 
 the evening air, and all unconscious of the 
 beauties of the night, Henrique sought in violent 
 motion to absorb his violent passion ; and at 
 length somewhat successful, he re-entered the 
 mansion of his uncle, Mr. Bertoun. He was 
 greeted in silence by a glance of sorrow which 
 intimated that all was known. A gentleman 
 came forward in another moment, and heartily 
 shook his hand. It was Mr. Lookahed, a visitor 
 at Meremont Hall. 
 
 *' Harry," said this individual, as he sank 
 into an easy chair, and extended his legs 
 to a preposterous distance. " You have con- 
 ducted this business extraordinarily badly. When 
 will young men learn that the advantages of 
 diplomacy are not confined to courts ? In the 
 politics of every day life they are equally useful. 
 Why did you not come to me ? Your old 
 friend, too, whom you know nothing delights more 
 than this sort of thing — 'tis all I can do now, 
 alas ! to be the adviser of the rising generation. 
 I think I ought to know something of mankind, a 
 man who has been round Cape Horn, ransacked 
 the Pyramids, and dissected a mummy, ought to 
 understand a little, I should imagine, of the work- 
 ings of the human breast. Here is a tangled skein 
 you have made of it. Bertoun has detailed me 
 your history — he should have known better than
 
 46 Henrique Beaumont* 
 
 to have done that to you when I was not by. I 
 could have made your fortune out of it. You first 
 hint — then you surmise — the Squire begins to 
 grow suspicious, in comes his old friend Bertoun 
 with a circumstantial account — Rowland is in 
 dirty water, and you can send him spinning like a 
 thrashed hound. Instead ot this, you fly out into 
 a passion — forsooth, as though history had not 
 informed you of the effects which it invariably 
 produces — when will the world learn that ? Your 
 idea no doubt was to have pistolled the scoundrel, 
 and you go to work in style. The Squire sees you 
 raise your arm — and, worse still, actually command 
 in his house ; the jealous old gentleman hates that 
 worse than poachers ; he knows nothing of the 
 antecedents of the episode, he interrupts, he orders 
 you out of the house. Why on earth did you not 
 come to me ?" 
 
 Henrique glanced at the lengthy form of Mr. 
 Lookahed, but said nothing. Mr. Lookahed 
 sneered, elevated his aquiline nose in the air, and 
 shut one of his clear grey eyes. "I see," he said, 
 *' I understand. You young fellows have a great 
 contempt for us. Bertoun, recount to me again 
 little Harry's history." 
 
 Mr. Bertram gave him a resume frequently 
 interrupted by cross-questioning.
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 47 
 
 " What became of the Hindoo servant ? " 
 Lookahed asked at length. 
 
 • "She remained with Mr. Austin," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " Ah, I see an opening. This Hindoo 
 was on board when the robbery was committed, 
 for I have no doubt there was a robbery, she 
 remained with the perpetrators — ergo, she shared 
 in it. We must get hold of this woman, and there 
 is no time to lose. This unfortunate affair of 
 Henrique's has determined the Squire upon pursu- 
 ing a scheme he has been revolving for some time. 
 He will marry Ellen to Austin. Austin is some 
 relation of the old miller, whom Meremont hates 
 as a child does a wash stand ; there's the fulcrum 
 on which Rowland places his lever. The miller 
 dead, Rowland puts in a claim and hands it over 
 to the Squire. Ellen will be sacrificed, dear little 
 thing, she has no idea of disobedience, — fault of 
 education — civilization — oh ! happy state of savag- 
 ery — innocence — filial affection — Iphigenia — Jeph- 
 thah's daughter — ditto, and so on." 
 
 Henrique could not repress a sigh. Mr. Look- 
 ahed suddenly ceased in his rambling talk, sprang 
 up and shook him by the hand. 
 
 "Henry" he said, "I sympathise with you, 
 I will aid you — I will bring intelligence from the 
 enemy's camp, I will twist myself like a snake
 
 48 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 into Austin's secret, and I will save my old friend 
 Meremont from this rascally alliance into which 
 his blind hatred of the miller is leading him. And 
 Ellen — ah ! dream of her, Henrique ! " He was 
 gone.
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 49 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 'N the afternoon ol the following day, Mr. Look- 
 ahed and Mr, Rowland Austin might have 
 been descried reclining upon the green sward 
 opposite the ruined mill. Into that old 
 fashioned country place the custom of dining at 
 six, and supping at midnight had not yet crept, 
 but following the manners of his ancestors, Squire 
 Meremont dined at noon, nor varied except upon 
 Sundays. Time is the most irresistible of all 
 innovators, but fashion would seem even more 
 powerful, for it would encroach upon time itself. 
 Laziness is usually the characteristic of man after 
 dinner, and no other explanation is necessary to 
 account for the position of the pair. Mr. Lookahed 
 leaned his back against an apple-tree whose white 
 sweet-scented blossoms fell in clouds like snow 
 upon the green grass, whenever a zephyr strayed 
 through the branches. His wide-brimmed hat 
 was sloped over his forehead, assisting the shadow 
 of the tree to keep off the fierce beams of the mid- 
 day sun. His legs were extended to their full length . 
 his arms crossed over his bosom, and an indescrib- 
 able air of epicurean enjoyment, self-satisfaction 
 and contempt of others generally, hovered over his 
 
 D
 
 50 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 figure. Austin, also beneath the shade of the tree, 
 was lying at lull length on the sward, lazily smok- 
 ing a cigar. His dark eyes were half closed in 
 sensuous enjoyment of the cool shade and fragrant 
 weed. His countenance was almost classical in 
 profile. His cheek-bones were high, his lips full, 
 his teeth strong as a bull-dog's. 
 
 ** Weather reminds me of India," remarked 
 Mr. Lookahed at length, glancing at his com- 
 panion. A yawn was the only reply. 
 
 " Ah !— beautiful," ejaculated Mr. Philip 
 Lookahed, as a puff of smoke blew in his 
 face. Austin looked up, and rolled over on one 
 side, so as to get a better view of his companion's 
 countenance. "You don't smoke?" he asked. 
 
 " Very seldom, but I have recollections, sympa- 
 thies aroused, when I scent the weed." Another 
 yawn from Mr. Austin, accompanied by a look 
 which seemed to say, " go and anecdote to your 
 heart's content — I am happy." 
 
 "Yes," continued Mr. Lookahed, "A whiff 
 of smoke saved my life once in India. I was 
 crossing the Carnatic in company with some native 
 merchants — seventeen hours without water — heat ! 
 can't describe it, — sky red-hot, sand ditto. At 
 length I gave way and fell to the ground exhausted. 
 They robbed me of everything and left me 
 there to be baked to death ; all but one old Hindoo,
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 51 
 
 who watched the scoundrels out of sight, and then 
 forced the stem of his pipe between my lips. The 
 first draw burnt my throat, the second half-suffo- 
 cated me, the third I was well. Strange property 
 that of Indian tobacco. Ah ! Hindoos are queer 
 people, but faithful and attached — if their interest 
 is concerned ; especially the females. Did you 
 ever make the acquaintance of one ? " 
 
 Rowland Austin suddenly sprang to his 
 feet. Mr. Lookahed glanced coolly up into his 
 face. 
 
 "Ants?" said he, interrogatively. "Bores," 
 muttered Austin, turning sharply away for the 
 mansion, wherein his form, watched by Mr. Look- 
 ahed, soon disappeared, "Ah!" thought the 
 latter gentleman, " Hindoos are ticklish subjects 
 with you." He turned his gaze and looked down 
 upon the undulating landscape which, from where 
 he sat, spread out to the horizon, though hidden 
 from the mansion by the dilapidated water-sodden 
 mill, and continued looking upon it until the 
 clatter of horses' hoofs attracted his attention. Up 
 the side of the valley from Meremont Hall rode 
 three persons on horseback ; one on an iron-grey, 
 one on a black pony, one on a chestnut hunter. 
 He recognised them in an instant. " The Squire 
 — Ellen — Rowland," he muttered, "Going to Swin- 
 burne. — Mrs. Martha — invitation. I should have
 
 S3 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 kept by him and seen myself. However, being 
 too late, let me consider." 
 
 He shut his clear grey eyes and became 
 absorbed in reflection. Meanwhile Ellen Mere- 
 mont, with her father upon one side and Rowland 
 Austin on the other, cantered gently over the 
 downs, looking, as she always did, beautiful. 
 Her delicate taper fingers seemed scarcely to 
 grasp the reins, yet the obedient, though high- 
 spirited pony was perfectly under command. Her 
 deep blue eye roamed freely over the landscape, 
 nor paid she any attention to the high-flown 
 compliments of Rowland, which, although fail- 
 ing to reach the mark for which they were 
 originally intended, yet did service to his cause 
 by filling the old Squire's heart with secret pride. 
 The distance to Swinburne was scarcely two miles, 
 and in a quarter of an hour they reached the 
 quaint old country town. Past the square-belfried 
 church, past the market-place in the middle of 
 which still remained the stone to which, in olden 
 time, the bull was tied in the cruel sport of bull- 
 baiting ; past the ale-house from whence issued 
 the roaring chorus of the "Leathern Bottel," 
 accompanied by a reek of smoke and drink, (for be 
 it known that the cottage is equally the abode of 
 ennui as the palace, driving the inhabitants to 
 their only refuge — the fiery draught) ; joast, but a
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 53 
 
 few yards further, the stocks placed beneath a 
 spreading elm, whose proximity seemed to have 
 no warning effect upon the frequenters of the inn, 
 and, indeed, often supplied them with amusement 
 — that of taunting an incarcerated scoundrel ; out 
 upon the dusty road ; stopping at length before a 
 small but snug building half hidden with hedges 
 of flowering May. " May Lodge," said Rowland, as 
 a man swung open the carriage-gate, touching 
 his hat respectfully. Mrs. Martha Austin met 
 them in the doorway, and welcomed them with, 
 at least, apparent heartiness. She was a thin, 
 emaciated woman, with a face as though cut out 
 of paper, — so white was it, and so sharp were the 
 outlines. The curve of beauty with her was an 
 angle. A perpetual smile hovered about her thin 
 lips, but it was skin deep, Her eyes were grey 
 and cold. On the whole Martha was not prepos- 
 sessing. Yet she had an air of complacence to 
 his superior wisdom which pleased the Squire ; 
 nor could her dissent have been observed but by 
 a keen spectator, by whom it might have been 
 noticed that sometimes the thin lips pursed up 
 tightly as though to repress the sharp thoughts 
 within. Tea was already waiting. Everything 
 had evidently been prepared for the visitors, or 
 rather Martha was a woman always prepared. 
 She well-knew the importance of gaining the
 
 54 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 goodwill of the pinched, bald-headed figure that 
 sat before her. He was her landlord, his daughter 
 might be her daughter-in-law. 
 
 Rowland, seated next Ellen, was doing his 
 best, but his compliments, as usual, were oily, and, 
 like oil upon spring water, refused to mingle with 
 the pure being near him. Tea concluded, Rowland 
 proposed a stroll in the garden, hoping thereby 
 to secure to himself a moment with Ellen among 
 the hedges of flowering hawthorn. His was an irre- 
 pressible spirit, nor did he seem to remember his 
 rebuff. He would press again, Wonderful things 
 follow steady assurance ! But, much to Ellen's 
 relief, the old Squire, perhaps tired with his ride, 
 did not endorse the sentiment, and, wanting his 
 sanction, it dropped. 
 
 Soon after came the hour for returning, 
 Rowland announced his intention of accompanying 
 them part of the way, and went out to order the 
 horses. He quickly appeared with them before 
 the door, fastened his own and the Squire's to a 
 ring, and approached with Ellen's pony. His 
 little project of rendering assistance to her in 
 mounting was, however, defeated by Ellen, who 
 sprang lightly into her saddle. Austin offered no 
 help to the Squire as a bungling flatterer would 
 have done — he knevi^ it would be considered an 
 insult by the irascible old gentleman, who still
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 55 
 
 remembered — and worse, recounted — his success 
 in the hunting-field. 
 
 The sun was sinking as they left Swinburne 
 behind them ; sinking in all his glory, unclouded, 
 yet surrounded with a luminous haze. His level 
 beams bathed the hills and the young foliaged trees 
 in a flood of golden light, and rested upon Ellen's 
 classic features with a glory hard to define. Over 
 the downs they cantered side by side, but in silence, 
 for the hour was evening,and even turbulent human 
 nature feels the approach of night. At length the 
 last hill was surmounted, nothing but a wild waste 
 of furze had to be traversed, and the rook-trees of 
 Meremont were just visible on the horizon. Here 
 Rowland said farewell, turned his horse's head, and 
 quickly disappeared behind the summit of the 
 down. Ellen drew a sigh of relief and her 
 thoughts involuntarily returned to Henrique. 
 She could not but institute a comparison between 
 them. Rowland was smooth, oily, offensive with 
 officiousness ; Henrique handsome, passionately 
 attached — ah ! her own heart told her that. She 
 glanced at the sunset and thought of the beautiful 
 poetic idea of the Greeks — which had been trans- 
 lated for her by him — of the sun conveyed in a 
 golden cup beneath the earth. For together they 
 had studied. There were no sweet memories of a 
 pensive twilight hour in the library connected
 
 56 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 with Rowland, nor of an earnest countenance up- 
 lifted towards hers, which a half smile half sigh 
 covered with gladness; but of an angry scene— the 
 scene in the room by the hall, the banishment of 
 the beloved. — Ah, betrothed, whose scale fell ? 
 
 Absorbed in reverie she rode on, her hand 
 relaxing its grasp on the bridle rein, thus allow- 
 ing the pony to have his own pace — a walk. 
 The Squire's horse also had his own way, 
 but at least kept the road, or rather the rut- 
 mark custom denominated one, whilst Ellen's 
 would have wandered into the furze had not the 
 sharp prickles compelled it to keep the edge. 
 It was thus that the pony paced slowly through 
 a strange collection of stones by the roadside, a 
 circle of uprights, with a huge monolith, like an 
 altar stone, in the midst. It was as wild and 
 weird as the night itself, and as inscrutable, 
 Druidical or not, from time immemorial had those 
 stones been there, and although grey and vener- 
 able with age, were shunned as though the abode 
 of evil spirits. 
 
 As the pony passed the large altar stone, 
 suddenly he started and backed. Up sprang 
 a man, as it seemed, from the very earth, with a 
 frightful yell, and seizing Ellen's bridle-rein, dealt 
 with a stick a heavy blow upon the Squire's iron- 
 grey. Off flew the spirited animal, bearing the
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 57 
 
 Squire away, powerless to help his daughter, who 
 was left to struggle with the ruffian. Short was 
 that struggle. A scream, a cry for help, and the 
 pony dashed riderless across the wild furze plain. 
 She felt herself laid, half-unconscious, upon the 
 dew-damp sward ; dimly she caught a pair of 
 green cat-like eyes whose evil glance seemed to 
 freeze her very blood, a beard swept across her 
 countenance, and she felt his hot breath tainting 
 her cheek. Terrible forebodings rushed through 
 her mind, but she was powerless, powerless even 
 to struggle. She was fainting. Suddenly there 
 came a clang as of horses' hoofs, a loud shout 
 followed by a pistol shot rang in her ears, a mist 
 swam before her eyes, and she knew no more.
 
 58 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 'R. Bertoun and Henrique Beaumont sat at 
 breakfast. The apartment was not large, 
 but comfortable. It seemed as though 
 it had been breakfasted in from time 
 immemorial, and had thus a kind of family 
 air about it. The view from the single window — 
 obscured by the honey-suckle — was not exten- 
 sive. It merely embraced the wooded slope 
 of the hill, through the branches of the beech 
 trees, by whose summit the rays of the morn- 
 ing sun found their way to sport upon the 
 china of the breakfast-table. Mr. Bertoun, seated 
 in an easy chair, was eating toast. Henrique, 
 his arm upon the table, and his hand half hidden 
 in the thick masses of his luxuriant hair, in 
 defiance of etiquette, was slowly stirring his coffee. 
 Neither spoke. Both seemed absorbed in contem- 
 plation, the one of his toast, the other of his coffee. 
 This is not unusual at a breakfast-table, ere the 
 spirits have been re-invigorated with earthly food. 
 At length there came an interruption, Mr. 
 Scroop was announced. Mr. Scroop was a small 
 farmer, whom, (not unwilling, as his services were 
 frequently advantageous to himself in a pecuniary
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 59 
 
 point of view,) the surrounding agriculturists had 
 from year to year contrived to delegate to the 
 office of constable. Mr. Bertoun was a magistrate 
 — the inference is obvious. Mr. Scroop came on 
 public business, and Mr. Scroop was admitted. 
 He was a short thick man, who, it was evident, 
 notwithstanding his long acquaintance with his 
 superiors, had in vain attempted to gain something 
 ot their easy manners. His civilities degenerated 
 into servilities. He bowed until the hat in his 
 hand rubbed the carpet. He attempted to speak 
 in aristocratic phrase; he jumbled words together 
 in the most extraordinary manner. He was the 
 man who, endeavouring to convey an idea of 
 incalculable number, said that he had a " multi- 
 plicity of cucumbers." Mr. Scroop explained his 
 business very concisely by handing Mr. Bertoun a 
 warrant for signature. It was for the apprehension 
 of Robert, commonly known as Bob, Austin, the 
 miller, for having feloniously attacked Mr. Mere- 
 
 mont and Miss Meremont on the night of , 
 
 with intent to do grievous bodily harm. Mr. 
 Bertoun read it aloud in utter amazement. 
 Henrique started from his reverie at the name of 
 Ellen, and abruptly asked Scroop his business. 
 "As the warrant specifieth, your honor. His 
 honor is therein set forth, as most feloniously 
 attacked by the miller. Miss Ellen was pulled
 
 6o Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 from her horse," Henrique started up, 
 
 " But afore evil could consequent, Mr. Rowland 
 Austin, a gentleman of great courageous deport- 
 ment rode up and discharged a certain firearm, to 
 wit, a pistol, at the defendant, who made himself 
 scarce, as the squire fallaciously saith." 
 
 Mr. Bertoun and Henrique looked at each other. 
 Mr. Scroop saw he had attracted attention and con- 
 tinued : " But in my poor opinion the case is 
 nonprocedent. I was in company, thereof, of the 
 miller Austin on or about the hour when this most 
 horrid commotion was enacted two miles off.'' 
 
 **Then you think it was not Austin ? But — 
 is Ellen, — I mean. Miss .Meremont, ill ?" enquired 
 Mr. Bertoun and Henrique simultaneously. 
 
 " No — yes " answered Scroop, endeavouring 
 to reply to both at once, "I am of opinion that 
 
 the law is much better does not 
 
 get up this morning 1 mean that the statute 
 
 was much alarmed does not exemplify 
 
 a faintness 1 mean that Miss Mere- 
 mont cannot take doctors in alibi I " 
 
 " Speak, " exclaimed Henrique frowning, 
 
 " Miss Meremont was in a sin cup, but she is 
 much better this morning, sir. Will your honor 
 sign the warrant ?" 
 
 Henrique got up and went out. He had been 
 much disturbed by the intelligence thus suddenly
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 6i 
 
 communicated to him. One moment he pictured 
 to himself Ellen's alarm, then his breast heaved 
 with suppressed joy at her escape; the next, with 
 the keen jealousy of rivalship, he almost cursed 
 Rowland for earninof her gratitude ; yet another 
 moment, and his chivalrous nature accused itself 
 of entertaining an ungenerous sentiment. He 
 saw Mr. Bertoun depart for the examination, 
 which was to take place that morning at Meremont 
 Hall, with a wild inclination to accompany him, 
 and, breaking the squire's injunction, enter once 
 more the building which sheltered Ellen. But he 
 repressed it, reflecting that it might give her pain 
 and could do his cause no good. Anxiously he 
 waited for intelligence from the Hall ; and many 
 times he repeated to himself the re-assuring words 
 of Lookahed. He longed to see his friend to 
 converse with him of her. At length his impa- 
 tience grew almost unbounded ; and walking down 
 the lime-tree avenue, he placed himself in sight 
 of the Hall, leaning against and grasping the trunk 
 of a tree, as though afraid that his inclination to 
 pass the forbidden line would overcome him. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the building before him, a 
 curious scene was being enacted. In a cold state- 
 apartment, retained for ceremony, sat Mr. Bertoun 
 before a mahogany table, covered with calf-bound 
 books, and numerous papers. On his right sat
 
 62 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 Mr. Dash, the magistrate's clerk, quill in hand. 
 A brisk young man was Mr, Dash, who looked 
 forward to rising in his profession almost at coach 
 speed. He spoke sharply and decisively, regarding 
 this as a sign of superior wisdom. He elevated 
 his nose, when a witness became verbose ; and 
 asked him what he came there for, if he said too 
 little. Mr. Dash was young, but his brow was 
 already like the parchment covering of a drum ; 
 some said his head was as empty. 
 
 On Mr. Bertoun's left, sat the squire in his 
 favourite beehive chair. Ellen was not present. 
 Mr. Bertoun enquired if she was going to give 
 evidence. "No," replied the squire curtly. "She 
 is a woman, and only thinks ; she knows nothing, 
 and won't swear. Awful thing to commit a man 
 when he might be innocent ? As if there were a 
 doubt ! Bring forward the prisoner," he added. 
 He was himself a magistrate, and would have sent 
 Bob the miller to gaol without an examination ; 
 but for the prosecutor to be judge was out of order. 
 
 In charge of Scroop, Austin was brought for- 
 ward until within a decent distance of the table. 
 He seemed little affected by his situation. He did 
 not gaze in wonder and awe at the mahogany 
 table, neither did ho look from side to side as 
 though searching for an avenue of escape. His 
 small twinkling eyes were fixed upon Mr. Bertoun,
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 63 
 
 and he occasionally stroked his long red beard. A 
 strong odour of tobacco, rum and beer, pervaded 
 the apartment as he advanced. 
 
 The Squire was first sworn, and gave his evi- 
 dence distinctly, to the effect that the prisoner, of 
 whose identity he felt sure, had attacked him in 
 the manner already described, he having been 
 prevented from rendering assistance to his daughter 
 by his horse running away. 
 
 Rowland Austin then kissed the book. He 
 said, "I left Squire Meremont and Miss Meremont 
 at the top of the hill in sight of the Druid's Stones. 
 I had scarcely turned my horse's head ere I heard 
 a loud scream. I rode back and saw a man pull 
 Miss Meremont from her horse. She struggled 
 violently, but I could see that he was gaining the 
 mastery. 1 struck the spurs into my horse's flanks, 
 and shouted in my excitement. The rascal heard 
 me, sprang up, and ran towards a large fir planta- 
 tion at a short distance. I forced my horse into 
 the furze, but finding that he would be hidden 
 among the trees before I could overtake him, I drew 
 a pistol, and fired, without effect. He disappeared 
 in the plantation and knowing that it was useless 
 to follow him, I rode to assist Miss Meremont." 
 
 " Could you identify the prisoner as that 
 man ?" asked Mr. Bertoun.
 
 64 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 Rowland shook his head. " I was not near 
 enough," he said. 
 
 ** Prisoner, do you wish to ask the witness any 
 questions ?" said the clerk. 
 
 "Eez" replied the miller, tugging at his 
 beard. "Now, Mister Austin, I was a-cronyfying 
 with thick 'ere honerable gintleman (pointing to 
 Scroop) thick night, an you knaws it." 
 
 "That is a statement," said Mr. Meremont. 
 " Ask a question." 
 
 "Aw! Eez, Squire," replied the miller. "I 
 wur a-thinking at thuck time wot a sweet puddin' 
 them young moorhens 'ud make, in thy pond." 
 
 "Ask a question," reiterated the clerk. 
 
 "Aw, eez," said the miller, "Now Mister, wasn't 
 I sat down in my old grand-dad's chair a-smoking 
 baccy with this 'ere blessed, dratted, ould fool of a 
 constable ? And didn't I say to 'un, he med sarch 
 and sarch until a-was ableged to wur specks, afore 
 a-would cotchi a-poaching ? And didn't I " 
 
 " That is enough," said Mr. Bertoun. " Scroop 
 what have you to say r" 
 
 "Scroop," said the Squire, "knows nothing 
 about it." 
 
 Scroop looked from one to the other in con- 
 fusion. He saw that the vSquire wanted a convic- 
 tion, and he knew that the evidence he ought, as an 
 honest man, to give, would exculpate the prisoner.
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 65 
 
 He hesitated. It was no light matter to offend a 
 magistrate in those days, — it has its disadvantages 
 even now. 
 
 "Naw then, Scroop," cried the prisoner, "out 
 wi't. Thee knaws werry wuU wur I wur thuck 
 night." 
 
 Scroop kissed the book in desperation. His 
 evidence, divested of its singular combination of 
 words, was to the effect, that, on the night in ques- 
 tion, he had paid a domiciliary visit to the prisoner, 
 in order to caution him against trespassing upon 
 a certain field, wherein the miller maintained 
 there was a right of road denied by the owner, and 
 that he had remained smoking in the mill until 
 the Squire's horse — he having at length dis- 
 mounted — dashed startled down the hill-side. The 
 Squire's brow darkened gradually, as Scroop pro- 
 ceeded, his lips were compressed and his eyes 
 began to glare, until the constable broke out into 
 a cold perspiration. 
 
 When he had finished, the Squire leant forward 
 and whispered in Mr. Bertoun's ear, "Convict 
 him." Mr. Bertoun shook his head. Under the 
 circumstances he felt that he should be outstepping 
 his power to do so. He dismissed the case, and 
 the miller went off whistling, in utter disregard of 
 the silent rage depicted upon the Squire's coun- 
 tenance. As the door shut behind him, Mr. 
 
 E
 
 66 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 Bertoun rose and offered his hand to the Squire 
 in order to wish him farewell. The Squire re- 
 mained seated, nor took it, while Mr. Rowland 
 Austin bowed. The clerk fumbled about his 
 papers, nor sprang up as usual to open the door. 
 Mr. Bertoun felt that he had mortally offended his 
 old friend, but he also felt that he had acted 
 rightly. He had intended to speak to the Squire 
 concerning Henrique, — to have used his influence, 
 and urged the claims of a friendship of thirty years' 
 standing. H e knew that Henrique, not unnaturally, 
 expected this of him, but in the present aspect of 
 affairs, it was impossible; his walk home, then, was 
 not lightened by any cheering thoughts. 
 
 There was one aware of this ; it was Rowland 
 Austin. That oily gentleman had had reason to 
 fear the interference of Mr. Bertoun, and although 
 that was now out of the question, yet so uneasy 
 did he feel upon the point, that he watched the 
 uncle of his rival for some distance up the avenue. 
 He then returned, sauntering slowly, and swishing 
 viciously at the nettles and long bennets with his 
 walking-stick. There was a long day of ennui 
 before him. Dinner-time, it was true, approached ; 
 never did a devotee listen with more rapture to the 
 matin-bell than Rowland to the dinner-bell. But 
 that could not last for ever, and moreover, the 
 Squire always told his stories over his wine.
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 67 
 
 while Ellen remained upstairs. Altogether the 
 prospect was not pleasant. However, the day 
 passed at length, and evening saw him, lying at 
 full length, under the apple-trees on the valley 
 slope, beside the dilapidated mill, with wistful eyes 
 cast upon the pigeons upon the gabled-roof of the 
 Hall, wishing for a double-barrelled gun to scatter 
 death among the cooing throng, so temptingly 
 perched in a row. 
 
 Slowly evening fell. Once and once only, did 
 Rowland start from his recumbent position — it was 
 when a window of the mansion's upper storey was 
 for a moment thrown open, and Ellen looked forth 
 upon the sunset. His sudden spring betrayed his 
 presence — Ellen retired, and where her counten- 
 ance had been, the rays of the sun, reflected from 
 the ancient glass, seemed to glare, like an angry 
 Cyclops' eye, upon him. 
 
 One by one the stars came out, while a hazy 
 light, like a distant fire, shining through the elm 
 trees on the summit of the valley, gave evidence of 
 the rising of the moon. Rowland, careless of the 
 falling dew, remained half hidden in the tall un- 
 raown grass of the orchard. His countenance, 
 resting on his hand, became ghastly white in the 
 cold rays of the moon, losing its oily look, and 
 retaining only the hard angular outlines. Motion- 
 less as the tree trunk beside him he lay, his eyes
 
 68 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 gazing into the depths of the lake beneath, over 
 whose surface a thin mist hung — cloudlike, ghostly, 
 as though it were the dome of a water-kelpie's 
 palace. Like the wing of the arch-fiend, a dark 
 cloud overspread the greater half of the sky, while 
 a low muttering sound, that came down the valley 
 at intervals, showed that however calm the atmos- 
 phere was here, but a few miles distant a storm 
 was sweeping the earth. 
 
 Rowland recked little of the moonlight, the 
 silent stars overhead, the mist, or the distant 
 storm. He was scheming — scheming for a reward, 
 almost great enough to excuse the means made 
 use of to obtain it. His eyes had left the lake, and 
 were fixed upon the mill, whose wheel night nor 
 day, ceased not its never-varying round. Suddenly 
 the extremity of the cloud obscured the moon, and 
 he sprang to his feet. "With one glance around, 
 which seemed to assure him that he was unobserved, 
 he descended the side of the valley, sprang over 
 the brawling stream which ran from the lake, and 
 was in a few moments standing in the dark shadow 
 of the water-wheel. 
 
 Here he paused. In a moment another figure 
 came forward, and a heavy hand was placed on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 '* Nevvy," growled the low tones of the miller's 
 voice, "Thee bist a deep 'un, thee bist."
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 69 
 
 "And so's the mill pond," muttered Rowland, 
 a sentence which the rising night air carried away. 
 ♦' But," he continued, *' I am in no mood for 
 trifling, you must leave — you must die." 
 
 "Die?" reiterated the miller in amazement, 
 
 " Yes, and a coffin filled with stones be buried 
 for you." 
 
 ""I twig," replied the miller, " but it won't do, 
 my joug. I ain't a-gwain to desart the spot wur 
 I wur barn just bekase ould pheasant (the Squire) 
 ain't to be cotched without it — that's flat." 
 
 "Fool," said Rowland bending his brows. 
 " Wilt ruin all V 
 
 " Eez," growled the miller. "Drat my nut if 
 I'll go till I dies." 
 
 "Then die," exclaimed Rowland, striking the 
 old man a terrible blow. 
 
 The miller staggered, flung up his arms, and 
 disappeared beneath the water-wheel. There was 
 a dull thud, a moan, a crunch as of bones ground 
 together; and still on went the wheel in its un- 
 conscious round. 
 
 Rowland folded his arms and walked, with a 
 composure marvellously great, from the spot, but a 
 flash of lightning, which lit up the heavens, as he 
 entered the porch of the Hall, showed that his 
 countenance was as pale as death.
 
 7o Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 USTIN has made immense capital out ot 
 that adventure at the Druids' Stones," 
 said Mr. Lookahed one morning, exactly 
 a week after the events detailed in the last chapter, 
 to Henrique, as they sat together in the arbor on 
 Mr. Bertoun's lawn. "The Squire is gained — no 
 doubt even Ellen must feel grateful ; again, the 
 mysterious disappearance of the miller is a circum- 
 stance acting in his favor. Shall I tell you ? The 
 marriage is determined upon — it takes place — 
 unless — unless we can frustrate it — the day after 
 to- morrow." 
 
 "The day after to-morrow? then all is lost," 
 murmured Henrique, in bitterness of spirit, 
 bowing his head and hiding his face in his hands. 
 Lookahed spoke cheeringly. " It is not yet 
 time to say ' all ist verloren.' There are two days 
 before us. The game is desperate, but I do not 
 
 despair. Listen if you can." 
 
 " Go on," said Henrique. 
 
 "This woman," continued Lookahed, "this 
 Hindoo has never been out of my thoughts — so 
 confident am I, that if we can succeed in getting
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 71 
 
 hold of her the way will be clear before us. I have 
 searched and enquired diligently — so diligently 
 that I fear Rowland suspects my intentions. He 
 has become uncommunicative of late. This is 
 ^whatlhave learnt: A woman, dark complexioned, 
 black eyes, about 36, only a week ago was resident 
 at May Lodge, apparently on equal terms with 
 Mrs. Austin. So I am informed. Yet Ellen 
 declares that she saw no such person when she 
 last visited there, nor can I discover her present 
 whereabouts. All combine in stating one thing — 
 that the disappearance of the Miller Austin would 
 seem to be in some way connected with that of 
 this woman, for she has not been seen since. It 
 is my firm belief that she is confined in the house." 
 
 " At May Lodge ?" ejaculated Henrique, 
 rising. "Then our course is clear. Let us get a 
 search warrant. My uncle •" 
 
 " Is a magistrate, but his powers are limited. 
 Of what can you accuse Martha Austin ? No, 
 Henrique, we must proceed in a more underhand 
 way. The exigencies of the case are urgent, or 
 else I would not propose it, Martha, Rowland, 
 and his valet, are to-night at the Squire's. Meet 
 me at eleven o'clock at the Druids' Stones — 
 together we will search the house." 
 
 *'Iwill," replied Henrique. " Anything, any- 
 thing, for for " He broke down,
 
 72 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 Lookahed saw his agitation, pressed his hand and 
 left, first whispering "Secrecy — at eleven— the 
 Druids' Stones." 
 
 " I will be there," muttered Henrique, clench- 
 ing his hand; as he reseated himself upon the 
 rustic bridge, to watch unconsciously the rolling 
 of the clouds above the fir plantation which crested 
 the hill before him, while the shades of night 
 gathered around, and a moaning wind — fit 
 accompaniment to his secret thoughts, — swept 
 through the trees above. Darkness came on 
 apace, for the stars were hidden, and the new 
 moon was not visible above the horizon. Hurrying 
 masses of cloud obscured the sky — drifting ever 
 forward, like ships, seeking shelter, but borne 
 before the hurricane. Certain that the night 
 would hide his motions, Henrique now left the 
 arbor, and proceeded upon his dreary walk. He 
 gained the summit of the hill, pausing a moment 
 to look back upon the lights of Meremont Hall ; 
 then, with a sigh, directed his steps across the furze 
 plain. He arrived before the monolith — the centre 
 altar stone of the circle, as the distant toll of 
 Swinburne's church bell, borne upon the night 
 air, announced that it wanted but an hour to mid- 
 night. 
 
 He was not long alone. A rustling sound 
 among the furze, and a figure loomed up— tall,
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 73 
 
 almost supernaturally tall, in the darkness. A 
 few words of recognition, and the friends proceeded 
 upon their journey. It was a silent one. Henrique 
 was impatient — anxious to run the risk, to win or 
 lose at once ; Mr. Lookahed was too much accus- 
 tomed to the sort of thing to be excited, otherwise 
 than just to that extent which quickens the 
 faculties without impairing the powers of judg- 
 ment. He walked rapidly, taking strides of 
 enormous length, nor could Henrique, himself a 
 good pedestrian, keep pace without exertion. 
 Thus the lights of Swinburne were soon visible. 
 
 They did not enter the town, but made a semi- 
 circle to the left, and regained the road within a 
 short distance of May Lodge. Here the pace 
 slackened, Mr. Lookahed recognizing the need of 
 caution, and of making as little noise as possible. 
 A few steps brought them to the carriage gate, 
 which a short examination showed was padlocked. 
 There was no alternative but to climb over. Mr, 
 Lookahed went foremost, but he had scarcely 
 touched the ground ere Henrique was at his side. 
 Lookahed seized him by the arm with a grasp like 
 a vice, and whispered " Hark." He glanced 
 around and listened. Was it the sighing of the 
 wind through the hawthorn bushes ? was it fancy? 
 or was that low moaning sound the cry of a 
 human creature at its last gasp } It lasted but a
 
 74 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 second, yet sent a chill he would have found it 
 difhcult to account for, through his heart. 
 
 His friend Lookahed gently pulled him for- 
 ward. They crossed the gravel path, their feet 
 grating on the pebbles, and gained the first steps 
 before the front door. All was still here — all was 
 silent, save the rustling of the trees shaken by the 
 wind. There was no sound within the house, not 
 a footstep, not even a window rattled in its frame. 
 They mounted the steps one by one. Henrique 
 seized the door handle, and was about to turn it, 
 but it gave way before him and he felt the door 
 swing open as though drawn back by someone 
 within. Lookahed was aware of this too. He 
 whispered in Henrique's ear, ** There is someone 
 in the garden." At that moment, once again came 
 that low moan, seemingly to confirm his words. 
 Curiosity seized them both, and neglecting the 
 opportunity thus accorded them of entering the 
 house without violence, they descended the steps, 
 and arm in arm moved slowly forward led by the 
 sound. It was more distinct as they advanced, 
 coming at intervals, as of a human creature gasp- 
 ing for breath. A strange form of excitement 
 seized Henrique. He would have darted forward, 
 but Mr. Lookahed restrained him. They seemed 
 now to stand above the sound. It was strange. 
 Above them rose the wall of the garden, sur-
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 75 
 
 mounted by immense hawthorn bushes — an im- 
 penetrable screen, a wall of vegetation, shutting out 
 all light, seemingly, indeed, all communication 
 with the world. Suddenly a ray of light illumined 
 the wall, and fell upon the form of a woman 
 crouched close beneath the wall beside a wicket 
 gate. It came from a dark lantern Lookahed had 
 that moment unclosed, and revealed what they 
 sought almost beneath their feet. Scantily clad, 
 thin almost to emaciation, with wild black eyes 
 gazing upon them with a tigerish glare, she lay or 
 crouched. Her lips moved, and sounds unin- 
 telligible to Henrique issued. ** She babbles," he 
 said. 
 
 *' It is she " replied Lookahed in a tone of 
 triumph. " She speaks Hindustani." 
 
 He stooped and whispered a few words, whose 
 effects upon the woman were wonderful. She rose 
 but staggered, and would have fallen had not 
 Henrique put out his arm and saved her. 
 
 " Stay here," said Lookahed hurriedly. " I 
 will return in a moment." 
 
 He closed the lantern, stepped into the dark- 
 ness and was gone, leaving Henrique in a rather 
 uncomfortable position, having to support the 
 whole weight of the Hindoo, who had relapsed 
 into a state of unconsciousness. This, however, 
 was but a trifling inconvenience compared with
 
 76 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 the advantage he hoped to gain. Still the moment 
 proved a long one, and he grew in the end anxious 
 as a distant sound of carriage wheels came upon 
 the blast. Was it the Austins returning ? His 
 heart beat quickly and he listened attentively. 
 Nearer and nearer came the roll of the wheels — 
 they stopped before the gate. What should he do 
 in case of discovery r His fist was clenched, but 
 there was no time for thought. The vehicle had 
 stopped, but the gate was not opened, though it 
 shook as if someone had climbed over. There was 
 a step, a figure loomed up in the darkness, he 
 raised his arm. 
 
 " Henrique." It was the voice of Lookahed. 
 He had run into the town and hired, not without 
 difficulty, and exciting endless conjectures in the 
 mind of the landlord of the only inn, a curious sort 
 of vehicle, half trap, half cart. 
 
 It was a work of time and trouble in the dark- 
 ness to lift the Hindoo, in her helpless state, first 
 over the gate, and then into a seat in the vehicle, 
 where she was supported by Henrique ; but it was 
 at length accomplished, and, driven by Lookahed, 
 their horse, stronger than its looks warranted, 
 carried them swiftly from the scene of their mid- 
 night exploit. Avoiding the town, Lookahed 
 swept around the base of the hills, making a 
 circuit of two miles, but arriving at Mr. Bertoun's
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 77 
 
 in half-an-hour, despite the disadvantages of dark- 
 ness and bad roads. 
 
 The astonishment of the worthy magistrate 
 was extreme, when, having remained waiting for 
 Henrique alone, he answered a sharp knock at the 
 door, and confronted Mr. Lookahed carrying in his 
 arms a female, who at first appeared dead. Every- 
 thing, however, was quickly explained ; the Hindoo 
 laid upon a sofa, and Mrs, Gurn, a faithful servant 
 of the house, called up to attend her. Mrs. Guru's 
 amazement — she being a tidy old lady of fifty- 
 seven, whose ideas ran pretty much in the same 
 groove all the time — was indeed great, at being 
 called upon at that hour of the night to take 
 charge of a fainting female, and moreover to pre- 
 serve strict secrecy. Beyond muttering that it 
 was "main curis," the good old lady made no 
 objection, however, and in half an hour brought 
 down a bulletin from the upper regions that, under 
 the influence ot a cordial, the "strange woman" 
 was sleeping soundly. 
 
 This was satisfactory, and Mr. Lookahed at 
 once declared his intention of going, in which he 
 persevered, despite the pressing invitation of Mr. 
 Bertoun to spend the night beneath his roof. 
 
 " No," said Lookahed, " I shall serve Harry 
 better by driving back to Swinburne, stating that 
 1 have lost my way, sleeping there, and returning
 
 78 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 to Meremont Hall at break of day. I shall thus 
 obviate all suspicion, Adieu." 
 
 And so they parted, Lookahed to his lonely 
 drive, Henrique to his pillow, not to sleep, but, in 
 waking dreams, to torture his brain with endless 
 conjectures as to the nature of the revelations it 
 might be expected the subtle questions of his 
 friend would wring from the Hindoo, until a vision 
 of Ellen crossed him and he slept. 
 
 The following day was a weary one. He did 
 not intrude himself upon the Hindoo, although 
 impatient enough to learn what she might have to 
 reveal, because he doubted his own powers of 
 cross-examination, and, moreover, Mrs, Gurn's 
 reports were far from favourable. The Hindoo 
 was terribly exhausted. She seemed as though 
 she had been fed upon drugged food, or had taken 
 opium, passing the greater part of the day in a 
 dreamy helpless state. 
 
 At length, about two in the afternoon, to the 
 great relief of Henrique, Mr. Lookahed arrived. 
 His face wore an anxious, yet self-confident ex- 
 pression, and he was far from communicative. 
 There was no time to be lost, he said, in answer to 
 Henrique's question. "Rowland suspects some- 
 thing; I must see the Hindoo at once; perhaps it 
 would be better for me to see her alone." None 
 could offer any objection, and accordingly Mr.
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 79 
 
 Lookahed was shown to her apartment, where he 
 remained two hours. When he left, Henrique, 
 with a countenance of anxiety, met him upon the 
 landing. He asked nothing, but his eyes were 
 sufficiently expressive of his curiosity. Mr. Look- 
 ahed smiled, but said nothing, except a general 
 command to keep the Hindoo quiet. " Leave all 
 to me," he said as he shook hands with Henrique. 
 "Remain here, and see that none know of the 
 Hindoo's presence." 
 
 He went, and Henrique was left to his reflec- 
 tions, which were by no means satisfactory, nor 
 could Mr. Bertoun succeed in re-assuring him. 
 The stake was too great — his happiness, his whole 
 life hung upon the chance, no wonder that he 
 watched the changes of the game with trepidation. 
 No sleep visited him that night except a feverish 
 unconsciousness as the day dawned, from which 
 he was awakened by the merry chimes that came 
 from the tower of the church at Meremont. They 
 spoke of happiness, but it was mockery to him. 
 He could rest no longer, but got up and went out 
 upon the lawn. The cool morning air refreshed 
 him, and the red rays of the sun just risen above 
 the horizon poured upon him. Joyously the lark 
 carolled above him — symbol of hope. His heart 
 beat, his breast rose, for the moment he felt 
 resigned to his destiny ; but as he looked, the
 
 8o Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 bird's pinions failed, and it dropped like a stone 
 to the earth. He returned within and waited 
 patiently. His patience was rewarded. 
 
 At ten a four-wheeled carriage drew up before 
 the house, and Mr. Lookahed stepped out. A few 
 words of congratulation and he proceeded to busi- 
 ness. " Is the Hindoo up," he asked ? Mrs. 
 Gurn brought word that she was. Five minutes 
 afterwards she appeared, and, seen, now that a day 
 of rest had renovated her strength, she was far 
 from ill-looking. She stopped as she saw Henri- 
 que and his uncle, while a visible tremor shook 
 her frame. "Be firm, Ayeen, be firm." said Look- 
 ahed, drawing her arm in his, and leading her to 
 the carriage. Wondering at these proceedings, 
 Mr. Bertoun and Henrique at their friend's request 
 also stepped within. Mr. Lookahed followed, and 
 the vehicle, driven by a man whose face was con- 
 cealed beneath an enormous hat sloped over his 
 forehead, went rattling down the avenue. Henri- 
 que's heart beat as they approached Meremont 
 Hall ; he looked at his friend, but his friend looked 
 out of the window. Mr. Bertoun sat silent in 
 amazement, but resolved to see the end of the 
 affair. 
 
 They soon mixed in a stream of carriages 
 bound for the same destination — the guests bidden 
 to the marriage. The coachmen, making use of
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 8i 
 
 the freedom accorded them on such festive 
 occasions, shouted to each other, but the man 
 who drove them was silent, nor did he wear a 
 tavor. A few minutes, and passing many, they drew 
 up at the Hall ; a crowd of gentlemen surrounded 
 and filled the porch, — engaged in giving directions 
 to their servants, or in exchanging salutations, 
 they did not particularly notice the strange group 
 that passed through into the Hall. Almost trem- 
 blingly, Henrique followed close upon Lookahed, 
 who conducted Ayeen ; on her right walked Mr. 
 Bertoun ; the man whose face was hidden kept 
 in the rear. A footman, who was arranging flowers 
 in a vase in the hall, glanced up as they entered. 
 " Show us into the oak chamber," said Mr. Look- 
 ahed in a voice of command, " and ask the Squire 
 and Mr. Austin to come thither." 
 
 Accustomed to obey his] master's guests, the 
 man made no demur, but having shown them into 
 the chamber which was the same that had been 
 used a short time previously in the examination of 
 the miller, departed to find the Squire. Meantime 
 the party gathered around the mahogany table. 
 None sat down. The countenances of Mr. Bertoun 
 and Henrique wore uncertain expressions, those of 
 Lookahed and Ayeen were decided. The man who 
 had followed them had passed to the window, and 
 was partly hidden in the folds of the curtains. 
 
 F
 
 93 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 The suspense was short; in three minutes the door 
 was flung open, and the Squire, followed by Row- 
 land, entered. There was a frown upon the 
 Squire's brow. 
 
 " What means this, Lookahed ?" he said, walk- 
 to the table. 
 
 *<That to-day's ceremony must be postponed," 
 replied Philip. 
 
 At that moment, a lady in white muslin swept 
 past the open door. She was pale as marble, but 
 wondrously beautiful. Henrique recognised Ellen, 
 and, unable to restrain himself, sprang forward. 
 The Squire was before him. He shut the door^ 
 and turned the key, and with a bitter smile 
 returned to the table. "Now." 
 
 '* I accuse Rowland Austin of the murder of 
 his uncle," said Ayeen unveiling, and darting a 
 flash like lightning from her dark eyes upon 
 Austin. He staggered as if struck with a shot, 
 stepped forward and endeavoured to speak, but 
 although his lips moved no sound issued. 
 
 " What r " thundered the Squire. " Speak 
 Rowland !" 
 
 " It is a lie," muttered Austin, grasping at the 
 table for support 
 
 " It is truth," answered a voice from the 
 opposite end of the apartment, and flinging his hat 
 upon the floor, the man who had secreted himself
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 83- 
 
 in the window-curtains came forward. It was 
 Austin's valet, Saunderson. "It is truth," he 
 repeated. " I saw it done. I saw the blow struck, 
 and the miller disappear. I know where his body 
 is — it is beneath the water-wheel.'* 
 
 Rowland shook with agitation. The Squire 
 glanced at him, bent his brows, and began to 
 cross-examine the valet with a facility gained in 
 his long magisterial experience. 
 " Where were you ?" 
 
 " At the corner of the mill — hidden behind 
 the fir-trees." 
 
 *' How came you there ?" 
 " To watch him — my master." 
 " Why ?" 
 
 The valet hesitated. 
 
 *'I will explain," said Ayeen. "This man— 
 this spy — has been my slave for months ; I set him 
 to watch. But I must make a retrospection. 
 When Mrs. Martha Austin struck away the pillow 
 from beneath the head of my first mistress, Antoi- 
 nette Beaumont, and she. having burst a blood- 
 vessel in a fit of coughing, died, suffocated in her 
 own blood, I had been lying half asleep in my cot 
 near, but my terror overcame my prudence, and I 
 sprang up. Terrified with Martha's threats, (I was 
 but a child), pleased with the prospect she des- 
 cribed of walking about dressed in the jewels
 
 84 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 which prompted that cold-blooded crime, I con- 
 sented to hold my peace. My punishment has 
 been great. Dependent upon Martha for support, 
 ignorant of the laws of this country, and until 
 lately even of its language, what could I do but 
 suffer the pangs of remorse in silence ? 
 
 "At length Martha removed into the country. 
 I soon found with what purpose — that her son 
 might gain the hand of an heiress. Yes, Squire 
 Meremont, that was his aim — the heiress, not the 
 heart. His scheme was easy. It was but to work 
 himself into the father's good graces — to obtain 
 possession of that piece of land which he knew 
 was coveted by the heiress's father, and all would 
 be well. He would have succeeded, had not acci- 
 dent put me in possession of the fact that the 
 heiress he wooed, was the love, perhaps I might 
 say, the betrothed, of the son of my poor mistress — 
 him whom I had nursed. I determined to cross 
 Austin, and thus, in some way, atone for the great 
 wrong I had done my mistress's child, I set my 
 slave, the valet, to watch, to bring me reports of 
 all that went forward, 
 
 "With tears interrupted by laughter, he de- 
 scribed to me the manner in which the farce at the 
 Druids' Stones was enacted. How, with the aid 
 of a false red beard, a smock-frock, and assisted 
 by the darkness, he had counterfeited the miller.
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 85 
 
 He had dragged Ellen from her horse, in order to 
 allow ^Rowland an opportunity of winning her 
 gratitude by rescuing her from a supposed danger, 
 while 'at the same time he fastened a sufficient 
 amount of suspicion upon his uncle to have war- 
 ranted his transportation, had not the constable's 
 unlooked-for presence at the mill frustrated the 
 scheme by enabling the miller to prove an alibi. 
 How he had seen Rowland, mad with rage at his 
 uncle's obstinate refusal to leave the mill, strike 
 him beneath the wheel. This is what I have 
 learned. 
 
 " It was now that something unusual in my 
 conduct aroused the suspicions of Martha. She 
 drugged my food and while in a state of un- 
 consciousness confined me in a chamber, from 
 which she no doubt had determined I should not 
 emerge until the marriage was consummated. In 
 very desperation one evening I sprang from the 
 window; fortunately my fall was broken by 
 coming into contact with a tree, but the shock was 
 so great that, combined with the effects of the 
 drug I had scarcely recovered from, I could get 
 no farther than the wicket-gate where these 
 gentlemen found me." 
 
 She paused and glanced around. The Squire 
 was trembling with emotion, his fingers clutching 
 nervously the key of the room. Mr. Bertoun's
 
 86 Henrique Beaumont. 
 
 countenance was hidden in his hand. Henrique 
 was deadly pale, and leaned upon the shoulder of 
 his friend Philip, whose features wore an air of 
 triumph, of exultation in his superior wisdom. 
 Simultaneously all looked for Rowland. He had 
 stolen to the door, but it was locked ; the window 
 was small; there was but one chance. As they 
 glanced round, he sprang upon the Squire, attempt- 
 ing to wrest the key from him. The struggle vvas 
 short. Taken by surprise, ere any of those present 
 could aid him, the Squire was felled by a terrible 
 blow, and Rowland, agile as a cat, slipping past 
 Lookahed, whom he hindered by overturning the 
 table in his way, gained the door, turned the key, 
 and emerging into the hall, confronted his mother. 
 She did not see him, but the dark orbs of Ayeen 
 met her gaze. It was enough. She comprehended 
 that all was known, and uttering a piercing cry 
 fell upon the floor, while a stream of her life's 
 blood issuing from her mouth dyed the carpet 
 with a sanguinary stain. All shrank back but 
 one. The ruthless ruffian Rowland strode over 
 the prostrate form of his expiring parent, gained 
 the porch, and snatching the bridle-rein of a led 
 horse from a groom, sprang to the saddle. Cur- 
 vetting and plunging to the imminent danger of 
 the crowd of fair equestrians just arrived, Row- 
 land's horse forced his way through, and urged Uy
 
 Henrique Beaumont. 87 
 
 the pricking spur, sped like an arrow up the 
 avenue. There was none to pursue, nor was he 
 ever seen more. 
 
 Three months had passed away, and time had 
 partly obliterated the memory of the terrible 
 events which had followed so quickly upon one 
 another at the Hall. Once again Meremont church 
 tower sent forth a merry peal, this time not waking 
 Henrique to bitterness of spirit, but to pleasant 
 anticipations. It was his marriage-day. All had 
 been forgotten and forgiven ; with the turning of 
 the last sod above the grave of Martha Austin, all 
 evil memories had been buried. She had made 
 some restoration ere her death by willing the old 
 mill, hers by the death of Austin, to Henrique. 
 
 This day there were two bridegrooms. Mr. 
 Lookahed had decided upon entering the holy 
 estate of matrimony. With his usual eccentricity 
 he had chosen Ayeen, and the same day that saw 
 Henrique and his beloved Ellen joined in the 
 mystical union, saw their friend Lookahed forego 
 the dearly beloved title of bachelor As that 
 which has been passed through the fire is purified, 
 so let it be hoped that these pairs having under- 
 gone affliction, lived afterwards in joy and endur- 
 ing prosperity.
 
 IV. 
 
 WHO WILL WIN ? 
 OR, AMERICAN ADVENTURE
 
 Who will Win? 
 
 OR, AMERICAN ADVENTURE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 T the bottom of a dell in the interior 
 of Wiltshire, there stands a gray, 
 weather-beaten mansion, for centuries 
 the home of the Bourtons. A fine old 
 place it is, with a many-gabled roof, 
 the slates on which are much the same colour 
 as the rest of the house, dyed as it were with 
 the storms of ages. Surrounded with forest land, 
 only connected with the world by green drives, 
 with a trout-stream brawling along almost within 
 cast of the drawing-room windows, a pleasanter 
 spot it would be difficult to imagine. And so it 
 would seem had thought the members of the 
 Bourton family, as one after the other had in- 
 herited the estate, each and all to spend their 
 days like the fine old English gentlemen of the 
 olden time, sporting and performing conscientiously
 
 g2 Who Will Win ? 
 
 their duties as belonging to the country aristo- 
 cracy. Strange and wild as were the fireside stories 
 of the neighbourhood, of the deeds of the Bourtons 
 in times long past, yet they invariably appeared in 
 the black-letter ballads preserved by the vicar of 
 the parish, as succouring the oppressed, ever on the 
 right side, ever gallant and true to the ladies. 
 There was one, which, simple as it was, and still 
 more simply told, had often drawn tears of 
 sympathy from the good vicar's audience, when it 
 pleased him to recite from his musty folios. How 
 a " Bourton bold," but young, was left, under the 
 guardianship of a neighbouring baron, who had 
 an only daughter, " comely fair," whom the said 
 Bourton refused to marry at any price, as, one day, 
 
 When Bourton bided on the bent. 
 He found ye damsel faire, 
 Under a tree by ye stream so free 
 Clad only in her haire. 
 
 The said hair in " tresses trailed " "adown to her 
 lily-white knee," and so struck the fancy of the 
 young Bourton that, heedless of the wrath of his 
 guardian, he carried the owner off, with her full 
 consent, and married her. A short time after- 
 wards, the guardian's steward died, and revealed in 
 the agony of death, that he had changed his 
 master's daughter, when but a "wee babie," for his 
 own, and that the young lady of the long tresses
 
 OR, American Adventure. 93 
 
 is the real heiress ; when, without taking the 
 trouble to explain how the said young lady came 
 by a stream in such extremely simple garments, 
 the ballad finishes up with a new and yet old 
 version of the Amen, 
 
 And so may it always be. 
 
 Old Saxon coins, with the figure of a horse and 
 a woman with long hair, or rather what it pleased 
 the peasants to call a woman, had often been dug 
 up in the neighbourhood ; and were currently 
 supposed to have been struck in commemoration 
 of the " Bourton bold" galloping off with "ye 
 damsel faire !" It was in the daily sight and 
 hearing of such scenes and legends as these, that 
 Reginald Bourton reached manhood. Left, like 
 the " Bourton bold " aforesaid, early in life to the 
 sole guardianship of an old uncle, he had not had 
 the unpleasant prospect of a forced and loathed 
 alliance always before him, but had been brought 
 up with every liberty of action. 
 
 Old Jerome Bourton, his uncle, had been a fine 
 specimen of the rover in his youth ; had traversed 
 the American continent, rifie in hand, and yet 
 retained enough of the vital heat to return home 
 and live to the ripe age of 83 — long enough with 
 his tales of daring to implant a wild wish to visit 
 the new world in his nephew's breast. The old 
 man's death was characteristic. A stag had
 
 94 Who Will Win ? 
 
 escaped from Savernake forest, and for the first 
 time in his life Reginald sent a bullet through the 
 " dun deer's hide." The old instincts were re- 
 awakened in Jerome's breast. He held a triumphal 
 feast, in the high-vaulted apartments of Bourton 
 Hall, and loud and long were the festive cheers 
 which rose from a score of the surrounding yeomen. 
 Down went the red, red wine; high rose the glee — 
 it was the last effort, for the next morning Jerome 
 was found dead in his bed. Reginald was greatly- 
 shocked. The old place seemed very lonely now — 
 there was nothing to restrain him, nothing to keep 
 him at home ; the bee-hive chair was empty, and 
 there was no one to welcome him to the fireside. 
 The old yearning for adventure became strong — 
 too strong to be resisted — and one fine eve, beneath 
 an oak from whence a view could be obtained of 
 the wide domains that called him lord, Reginald 
 determined upon a voyage to the western hemi- 
 sphere; to follow the sinking sun, whose glory was 
 reflected from the ancient windows of Bourton 
 Hall. 
 
 Reginald presented a strange example of 
 inconsistency. His was a singular nature. Reck- 
 less — utterly reckless of consequences — yet shrewd, 
 he possessed in a moment of danger, a coolness 
 certainly remarkable; and a power of restraining 
 himself, when he considered it necessary, no less
 
 OR, American Adventure. 95 
 
 so. He was tall, with curling masses of brown 
 hair, clear blue eyes, heavy eyebrows, a forehead 
 more broad than high, a straight nose, and lips 
 full, yet not sensual. He was powerfully built, 
 with shoulders worthy of a Hercules, yet none of 
 that heaviness which so often accompanies strength 
 deformed his figure. He looked made for adventure 
 and felt himself so. The time was favourable. It 
 was at the height of the fleeting power gained by 
 the Confederate States of America, that Reginald 
 determined upon his voyage. 
 
 The hero of the Alal>a?naha.d']ust performed those 
 daring deeds which gained for him the sympathy 
 of all Europe. Lee was at the zenith of his career 
 of conquest ; a more exciting moment could scarcely 
 have been found. Reginald instantly made a 
 resolution of trying his luck on board a blockade 
 runner. He had very little trouble in discovering 
 a vessel suited to his requirements. The intentions 
 of captains bent upon running the blockade were 
 by no means kept a secret, and a few minutes' 
 search in the docks at Bristol resulted in success. 
 A long, low, steamer with a paddle-wheel, sharp, 
 and evidently capable of great speed, was pointed 
 out to him; nor did he make any scruple about 
 walking on board. He did not remain long un- 
 noticed ; indeed his feet were scarcely on deck ere 
 a squa^t-looking old sailor made his appearance.
 
 96 Who Will Wm ? 
 
 Reginald, without giving him time to speak, in- 
 quired for the captain. A tall individual, with a 
 suspiciously Yankee look about him, leaning 
 against the after-bulwarks, was pointed out to 
 him. His request to be accepted as a passenger 
 was received with a long stare. 
 
 "Wal!" at length ejaculated Jabez Junior 
 Johnson, captain and owner of the Sally Andrews, 
 
 " Wal !" repeated Reginald, imitating as well 
 as possible the nasal twang. *' Where is your 
 objection ? I will pay the way," and he exhibited 
 a roll of notes. 
 
 It was sufficient ; Jabez was convinced, and 
 allotted Reginald a cabin, at the same time light- 
 ing a cigar, an operation that seemed attended 
 with danger to himself, so dried up, lucifer-match- 
 like, and liable to ignition, did he appear. Regi- 
 nald, accordingly, took up his quarters on board. 
 He had nothing to encumber him in the way of 
 luggage, beyond a portmanteau, and a belt round 
 his waist, stuffed with the circulating medium. He 
 was allowed two days to assimilate himself to the 
 small size of his cabin, on the third day the Sally 
 Andrews steamed out of dock. A crowd had 
 collected to witness her departure, and Reginald 
 felt himself a person of consequence as, in defiance 
 of all rules, he stood upon the bridge, to all appear- 
 ance the commander. The rocks of Clifton were
 
 OR, American Adventure. 97 
 
 covered with spectators, but they were too high 
 for Reginald to be able to determine, to his own 
 satisfaction, as to whether the ladies were looking 
 at him or at the vessel. 
 
 Once out to sea, and affairs took a different 
 tinge ; he was obliged to come down, being as yet 
 unaccustomed to the sway of the vessel. Nothing im- 
 portant occurred on the voyage. Reginald was 
 terribly disappointed. He did not even get sea-sick, 
 and so had nothing to talk about in that line. Until 
 they began to get into warmer waters — the vessel 
 
 was bound to S , he found the time pass 
 
 heavily. Here a little recreation afforded itself. 
 A shark came alongside, and followed them for 
 days. Reginald borrowed the captain's deer-rifle, 
 and amused himself with firing at the huge 
 monster. Either the motion of the waves discon- 
 certed his aim, or the fish found a bullet a matter 
 too small for serious consideration, as it took no 
 notice of him, to his intense annoyance. At length 
 a " nigger " sailor who had been watching the fun, 
 observed that " massa" had hit him at last. 
 
 *' Where ?" eagerly inquired the sportsman. 
 
 "In de jaw, guv'nor, I seed a tooth sink." 
 
 Reginald was disgusted and hung up his rifle. 
 He found a new means of employing his time, as 
 they approached the Southern coast. Regardless 
 of danger, he climbed up the main mast— the vessel 
 
 G
 
 98 Who Will Win ? 
 
 was a steamer without square sails — and sat him- 
 self, glass in hand, astride of the spanker, to sweep 
 the horizon in anxious expectation of discovering 
 a Federal war-boat. In vain. At last, however, 
 he observed the smoke of a steamer, at a great 
 distance, in one long wavy line against the sky. 
 He pointed it out to those on deck and was re- 
 warded with numberless grins. 
 
 " Yer have seed the sea-serpent, massa," 
 remarked the abominable old nigger. Neverthe- 
 less the fires were looked to, certain murderous 
 looking revolvers were distributed, and a watch 
 set. The effect of which arrangement was that in 
 three days' time the Sally Andrews finished her 
 
 voyage by arriving in safety at S . Reginald 
 
 was the first to land. The day was blazing hot, 
 the heat seeming to be reflected from the houses 
 and the pavement ; the streets were comparatively 
 deserted except by the mosquitoes ; on the whole 
 his first impressions of the South were unfavourable. 
 After wandering to and fro for some time, he was 
 about to accost a sentinel, clad in the grey Con- 
 federate uniform, who stood motionless before the 
 gate of a large mansion somewhat detached from 
 the rest of the row, when an open carriage dashed 
 out. The sentinel performed the military salute. 
 Reginald also did homage. He had seen some- 
 thing that involuntarily compelled it — namely a
 
 OR, American Adventure. 99 
 
 lady of unparalleled beauty. She was simply 
 dressed, yet leaning back in her seat with the air 
 of a queen, nor could she have reached her nine- 
 teenth year. Her eyes were deep blue, arched 
 with eyebrows of jet, such as no pen can describe ; 
 her lips presented that Cupid's bow which invites 
 a kiss, her hair had the glossy blackness of a 
 raven's wing. Others have some particular beauty 
 — there is scarcely a woman who has not some 
 redeeming feature ; some a lip, another an eye, a 
 third teeth of surpassing brilliancy ; this one com- 
 bined all these attractions. 
 
 Reginald felt his breast give a violent 
 throb. Much has been written about love at first 
 sight. Some deny that it is the best description 
 of the passion ; others maintain that it is. There is 
 no doubt, however, of its existence, for, from that 
 moment, Reginald was devoted to the fair stranger. 
 His first impulse was to run after the carriage. 
 That he subdued for various reasons. Firstly, that 
 it went too fast. Secondly, on account of the heat. 
 Thirdly, that it might return to whence it started. 
 Fourthly, because he wished to know the name of 
 the inmate, which was not pasted up on the door. 
 He turned to the soldier. 
 
 ** Who is the lady ? What's her name ?" 
 
 " Wal," replied the sentinel, bringing the
 
 100 • Who Will Win ? 
 
 butt-end of his musket, with a thud, on the pave- 
 ment. 
 
 "The lady in the carriage," added Reginald. 
 
 " Miss Isabel Montgomery." The Confederate 
 nodded, and, shouldering his rifle, moved on. 
 Reginald, however, stuck to his side. 
 " Where are you going ?" he asked. 
 " Wal ! Now I guess you're a green-horn." 
 "I guess I ain't. Come, tell me. Jove ! it's 
 warm," suddenly added Reginald, a thought strik- 
 ing him. He drew a pocket pistol, containing a 
 good half-pint of brandy, from his pocket, and 
 offered it to the Confederate. 
 
 "That's foreign," said the soldier as he gave 
 back the flask. 
 
 Reginald shook it, but there was no sound. 
 It was empty. Forthwith he looked upon the man 
 beside him as a human sponge. At any rate drink 
 made him expand. He became communicative, 
 and answered Reginald's queries without fail. 
 
 He was going to the railway station. Did he 
 know Miss Montgomery ? She was his colonel's 
 daughter. Did he know where she was going? 
 He was going after her as a sort of escort. And 
 where was he going r To Kernsville. And where 
 
 was Kernsville ? Sixty miles south of S . 
 
 Did Colonel Montgomery live there r He did, he
 
 OR, American Adventure. ioi 
 
 owned 800 slaves there, and commanded a force 
 of militia and sharpshooters. 
 
 By this time, they had arrived at the station' 
 But the bell had rung, the doors were shut, the 
 officials would not allow of further progress. Regi- 
 nald got desperate. 
 
 " I'm the bearer of important despatches — on 
 President Davis's business," he exclaimed, ex- 
 hibiting a large pocket-book. 
 
 " Public business," shouted the official outside 
 to the official inside, who drew back the bolt, and 
 opened the door a couple of inches. Reginald and 
 the Confederate made a simultaneous dash, bearing 
 down all opposition. The train was already in 
 motion, but they sprang in after the guard, whose 
 connivance was purchased by Reginald. 
 
 He then again addressed himself to the sharp- 
 shooter, as he turned out to be. The result of their 
 conversation was that Reginald secretly determined 
 upon joining Montgomery's brigade, not on 
 account of the Confederate service, but because he 
 found it afforded a daily chance of seeing the 
 colonel's daughter. That night saw him enlisted. 
 There were no preliminary forms to go through. 
 The Confederacy was not so flush of men as to 
 reject volunteers on a slight question of nationality, 
 and he laid himself to sleep that night on a cot in 
 the Kernsville barracks, which were airy buildings.
 
 102 Who Will Win ? 
 
 He now found that he had left his portmanteau on 
 board. However, that was a small matter, as his 
 money was in a belt round his waist, and he con- 
 soled himself by gazing at a star which was 
 rendered visible by the absence of a shingle where 
 a shingle should have been. He felt supremely 
 happy for three reasons. He was in America. 
 He was on a career of adventure. Lastly he was 
 in love. 
 
 wi:m 
 
 ^^^
 
 OR, American Adventure. 103 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 'HE Kernsville barracks were situated on the 
 outskirts of the town. They had been origin- 
 ally occupied by the slaves of Col. Mont- 
 gomery and the garden which surrounded his 
 mansion came up to their back; but upon the ap- 
 proach of war the slaves were turned out and the 
 sharpshooters in. Reginald discovered when he 
 commenced an examination of his quarters the next 
 morning, that the architect who designed them had 
 not been happy in his conceptions. In the centre 
 there was an arch through which a carriage road 
 led to the Colonel's mansion, this arch, by some 
 oversight, had been made so low, that a person 
 endeavouring to ride beneath, must inevitably be 
 swept from his steed. He soon found that his 
 duties were far from onerous. They mainly con- 
 sisted in getting acquainted with his mess, who 
 were 14 in number, under the command of Sergeant 
 Gumley. This was an easy matter. It was only 
 necessary to hand about his brandy flask. It was 
 now that he had an opportunity of more closely 
 examining his companion of the preceding evening. 
 His name, he quickly found, was Chateaubriand.
 
 *04' Who Will Win? 
 
 He was very tall, beating Reginald by a head. 
 His nose was sharp and had a horny look about it. 
 His eyes were grey. His hair was dark. When 
 he looked at one, probably from the constant 
 practice of squinting along his rifle, he shut one 
 eye and elevated his chin. Coming up to Reginald 
 to shake hands, he suddenly seized his watch- 
 chain. 
 
 " Wal," remonstrated Reginald, 
 
 " Neow I guess — where did yer get this here 
 from ?" enquired Chateaubriand, pointing to a coin 
 attached to the chain. 
 
 It was one of those ancient Saxon pieces, 
 which, as the legend went, exhibited a Bourton 
 galloping off with his lady fair, albeit it must have 
 been struck some centuries before the event it was 
 said to commemorate took place. Reginald ex- 
 plained. Chateaubriand's curiosity was evidently 
 aroused, he became partially excited, and his tone 
 was no longer nasal nor deformed with conven- 
 tionalities. He discoursed learnedly upon it, and 
 seemed loth to leave his hold. Reginald took it 
 off and handed it to him. Chateaubriand was 
 convulsed with gratitude. From that moment he 
 stuck close to his friend. About noon Sergeant 
 Gumley made his appearance, via the arch, carry- 
 ing a book which he appeared to be perusing. He
 
 OR, American Adventure. 105 
 
 gave an order to clean the arms and passed on to 
 his apartments, still reading as he went. 
 
 "What has he there?" said Reginald. 
 
 "He's studying strategy," replied Chateau- 
 briand. " Got a head for that, if you'll believe him. 
 He eats his dinner by strategy — for he's of opinion 
 it would be unwise to allow the communication to 
 be cut off. He'd take a wasps' nest by strategy." 
 
 As they scoured on, under a sort of verandah 
 near the arch, a negro of more than ordinarily ugly 
 appearance passed. His eyebrows formed his 
 forehead, which was balanced by a mass of wool 
 behind. He grinned as he went, a horrible grin. 
 Reginald soon learnt his history. He was an 
 engine-driver of considerable reputation in the 
 way of killing his passengers. He had run over 
 every mortal animal except a fox. His services 
 were only retained because the officials were afraid 
 to dismiss him lest worse mischief might follow. 
 
 By this time Reginald had completed the 
 scouring of his rifle, and he put it to his shoulder 
 to become acquainted with its peculiarities. The 
 action led to a conversation upon shooting. 
 Chateaubriand desired to become acquainted with 
 his friend's skill. A pigeon perched upon the top 
 of a tree at some distance afforded a good oppor- 
 tunity. He loaded his own and Reginald's rifle. 
 Those who were standing by immediately de
 
 io6 Who Will Win ? 
 
 camped. They knew full well it was useless to 
 argue with Chateaubriand, and they also knew 
 that shooting was strictly prohibited. With this 
 regulation Reginald was unacquainted, nor did he 
 scruple to take aim at the bird. He fired, it dropped, 
 and he turned to look at his companion. His rifle 
 was also smoking. A word could not pass before 
 Sergeant Gumley came running to the spot with 
 official indignation red in his face. For once he 
 neglected strategy, and went right to the spot at 
 issue. 
 
 "Who fired?" 
 
 Chateaubriand pointed to a row of rifles, 
 amongst which were his own and Reginald's. 
 
 ** But there was but one shot," said the 
 Sergeant. 
 
 Chateaubriand repeated his action, 
 
 Sergeant Gumley made an examination. There 
 were two rifles fouled. The difficulty was to fix 
 upon the offender. It never entered his strategetical 
 noddle that two might have been fired at once. 
 Whilst he considered, came a clatter of horse's 
 hoofs up the road which ran in front of the barracks. 
 A fair equestrian came in sight. Reginald recog- 
 nized the form. So did Gumley, who ran to open 
 the gate of the arch. By this time the horse was 
 near; and to his intense alarm Reginald dis- 
 covered it was galloping madly ; Isabel had lost
 
 OR, American Adventure. 107 
 
 control of it. On came the runaway animal. 
 Gumley sprang back out of the way, for it was 
 evidently making for the arch which was the 
 nearest road to the stables. Reginald mentally 
 reproached himself for firing, which he felt was 
 the cause of the animal's fright. Clattering over 
 the stones it dashed into the barrack yard, with 
 nostrils open, white flecks of foam on each flank, 
 and eyes that seemed to glare. Right for the arch 
 galloped the brute. Isabel saw her danger and 
 crouched. Her face blanched, but she still retained 
 her grasp of the reins, as her raven hair mingled 
 with the horse's mane. It was of no avail ; the arch 
 was too low. Reginald saw she must be swept 
 from the saddle, and dashed torward. He was 
 none too soon. As she neared it, Isabel involuntarily 
 started from her crouching position, and her breast 
 came in contact with the roof of the arch. Fortu- 
 nately it was covered inches deep with moss and 
 twining plants — this deadened the blow ; but, she, 
 nevertheless, fell unconscious into Reginald's 
 arms, nearly bearing him also to the ground. 
 Reginald felt a thrill shoot through him as he 
 clasped that lovely form, and gazed in undisguised 
 admiration at the drooping eyelashes, which were 
 closed upon the azure stars beneath. The moment 
 was but a moment, but how delicious. The next, 
 Isabel partly came to herself, with a long drawn
 
 io8 Who Will Win ? 
 
 sigh. Still she was too weak to walk to the 
 mansion without support, and accordingly accepted 
 her preserver's arm. As they passed through the 
 garden of Montgomery for a short distance, an 
 avenue of white roses over-arched them. Acting 
 on the impulse of the , moment, Reginald snatched 
 an opening bud and placed it in her bosom. Either 
 Isabel was too weak to observe the action, or it 
 was not altogether unacceptable, for she did not 
 remove it. With the selfishness of a lover, Reginald 
 mentally wished the garden three times as long. 
 As it was, five minutes saw them at the piazza of 
 the mansion, within which Isabel quickly dis- 
 appeared without a word, but casting back a 
 glance which for a moment rooted Reginald to the 
 spot, and stilled the beating of his heart. Was it 
 true ? Was it only a fancy ? Was it mere grati- 
 tude, or did she — could she think anything of him r 
 The question was a delicate one, nay, a 
 delicious one. With a tumult of emotions in his 
 breast, Reginald discussed it as he returned to the 
 barracks. He could not settle it before his arrival 
 at the door. He found that he had not been 
 followed. Gumley, Chateaubriand, several others, 
 and amongst them. Colonel Montgomery, were 
 standing in a circle around a man on horseback, 
 who had evidently but that moment dashed up. 
 As Reginald came through the arch he heard the
 
 OR, American Adventure. 109 
 
 clear ringing tones of Colonel Montgomery's voice 
 order Sergeant Gumley to take his command, and 
 destroy the bridge over the Kerne, at Coin's Creek, 
 The Colonel then passed him almost running. He 
 was evidently anxious about his daughter, but 
 with stern self-denial, had attended to duty first. 
 Reginald was quickly one of the circle. The first 
 thing that he observed was a streak of blood along 
 the horse's flank. Chateaubriand soon explained 
 the matter. Sherman had taken Augusta and 
 was threatening Kernsville, which was an impor- 
 tant post, as it contained the terminus of a railway 
 communicating with S . A cavalry engage- 
 ment had taken place some 15 miles west of the 
 town, between one of Montgomery's outlying parties 
 and a foraging squadron of Federals, in which the 
 latter by the aid of overwhelming numbers, had 
 proved successful. The trooper before them 
 brought in the news of this reverse. 
 
 The commission entrusted to Gumley was to 
 destroy a wooden bridge some 4 or 5 miles up the 
 river Kerne, on which Kernsville was situated. 
 Montgomery would have sent cavalry had he had 
 them, but he had not. Gumley was delighted 
 with the undertaking; it was strategy, the object 
 being to delay the advance of the Federal cavalry, 
 compelling it to go farther up the river. In ten 
 minutes after the bugle sounded all were ready,
 
 no Who Will Win ? 
 
 and carrying materials for setting the bridge 
 (which was of wood) on fire, or, if necessary, for 
 blowing it up, they set forth, Reginald, as might 
 be expected, contriving to march beside his friend. 
 This was about two in the afternoon. By three 
 they were beneath a hill round which the river 
 made a bend. On the other side was the bridge 
 it was their mission to destroy. Here for the first 
 time they beheld a human being. It was a negro 
 who suddenly came out upon the road. His heart 
 was evidently merry within him — he alone rejoiced 
 at the advance of the Federals, and loud he trilled 
 his ditty as he heard the soldiers. 
 
 " Cassar, Pompey, Jake and I, 
 Make de scow to berry near fly ; 
 Den we hab a jolly spree, 
 On de ribber Oconee." 
 
 *' His voice is about as beautiful as his monkey 
 jaw," said Chateaubriand. 
 
 Unheeding this unheard criticism, the negro 
 continued to pour forth : 
 
 " Pompey broke de lid of de locker 
 Caesar smashed de bottle -stopper. 
 Jake he catch hold ob de bottle, 
 Pour de liquor down him trottle ; 
 Den we hab a jolly spree, 
 On de ribber Oconee." 
 
 " Halt !" shouted Gumley. The negro halted. 
 " Whar for, Massa Mon'gomery ? Whar for ?
 
 OR, American Adventure hi 
 
 Dey is coming," replied the negro, with a chuckle, 
 looking over his shoulder. 
 
 " Yer lying varment — hev yer seed 'um ?" 
 
 •*Yah, massa." 
 
 " Humbug," muttered Chateaubriand. 
 
 Gumley continued his examination. 
 
 "Whar? On de bridge; dey will be ober de 
 hill dis minute." 
 
 " Ker-chunk ! How many ?" 
 
 *' Dis chile calc'lates forty." 
 
 Gumley bent his brows and cocked his revolver. 
 
 " Ef yer lies I'll kill yer. Whar be the rest 
 gone ?" 
 
 "Up de ribber — de wooden bridge wouldn't 
 take de big guns." 
 
 Gumley whistled with delight. '*Whar yer 
 come from ?" 
 
 "Dis chile sneak along by de ribber-side 
 down dar." 
 
 "We can get in the rear and blow up the 
 bridge behind them," said Gumley. 
 
 " Humbug," muttered Chateaubriand. " Don't 
 believe a word of him." 
 
 "Lead on lubber," shouted Gumley bent on 
 strategy, " March." 
 
 And they marched, led by the negro, down a 
 path, in single file to the riverside. On one hand 
 was the river, on the other, clumps of bushes,
 
 Its Who Will Win ? 
 
 which certainly hid them from an enemy on the 
 top of the hill ; but nevertheless, looked remarkably 
 suggestive of an ambush. 
 
 " Don't like it,'' muttered Chateaubriand. 
 
 Gumley also became uneasy and handled his 
 revolver, making the negro go first. They now 
 caught a glimpse of the bridge, but it was quickly 
 hidden again by the bushes. Suddenly there was 
 a gleam of light — like 'the reflections of the sun- 
 beams from bayonets. Gumley instantly fired, but 
 the report of the pistol was drowned in a rattling 
 discharge of firearms on every side. A sudden 
 gust of wind blew the smoke away, and Reginald 
 saw that three-fourths of the party were lying on 
 the ground dead or mortally wounded, Gumley 
 had not fallen, but was staggering about as if 
 intoxicated. Instantly they were surrounded and 
 disarmed. It was a motley crew that had com- 
 posed the ambush. Armed to the teeth — some 
 with as many as three revolvers, it was evident, 
 from the lax condition of their discipline, and the 
 want of uniform, that they had fallen into the 
 hands of one of these foraging bands of banditti 
 who fought for their own hand, and whose deeds 
 made a black blot upon the otherwise white 
 escutcheon of the Federal army. Their chief was 
 a thin, gentlemanly man, addressed as Don 
 Gorge, whose sharp black eyes seemed to see
 
 OR, American Adventure, 113 
 
 everything in a moment. Strange to say an 
 Amazonian-looking woman — she could scarcely 
 be called a lady, though possessed of considerable 
 beauty, walked by his side armed like the rest. 
 Poor Gumley chanced to stagger in her way as 
 she came forward. With a flash of lightning-like 
 brilliancy from her dark eyes, she coolly stabbed 
 him with a bowie-knife — a deed that drew an 
 admiring shout from the lawless band. Reginald's 
 blood seemed to freeze in his veins as he witnessed 
 this act of ferocity. Chateaubriand, who stood 
 beside him, sneered, Don Gorge came forward, 
 and in the politest tone imaginable, requested 
 those four individuals who had been happy enough 
 to fall into his clutches, to join the Federal army. 
 The two soldiers, who beside Reginald and his 
 friend, formed the captives, terrified, consented. 
 Rifles were immediately placed in their hands. 
 
 " 'Tis but a test of your loyalty," smiled Don 
 Gorge, "just blow these two fellows' brains out." 
 He pointed to Chateaubriand and Reginald. 
 
 With trembling hands the renegades raised 
 their rifles awaiting the word of command. It 
 was a terrible moment. Chateaubriand seemed im- 
 movable, looking hard at his executioner. Reginald 
 glanced up as the word "fire" issued from Don 
 Gorge's lips, and caught the soldier's eye as he 
 aimed along the barrel. It was enough. The 
 
 H
 
 114 Who Will Win ? 
 
 renegade — doubly false, dropped the weapon, and 
 fled, but was bayoneted in the rear. Chateaubriand 
 fell before the other. So rapid and intense had 
 been his emotions that for a moment Reginald 
 felt stupefied, nor did he awake until he was urged 
 forward. He was then to be spared ; the revulsion of 
 feeling was almost too much. His knees seemed 
 to bend beneath his weight, the death-shot of poor 
 Chateaubriand still rang in his ear, and they were 
 compelled to drag him along. At the bridge were 
 some twenty men, armed like the rest, mounted 
 upon mules or strong ponies, each holding another 
 animal by the bridle. Upon these the party that 
 had formed the ambush mounted. Reginald was 
 accommodated with one, and the whole party set 
 forth at a sharp canter across the river, leaving 
 Kernsville behind them.
 
 OR, American Adventure. 115 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FTER a short but sharp trot of half-an-hour, 
 the track the party was pursuing brought 
 them upon the embankment of the railway 
 
 connecting Kernsville and S , at a 
 
 point where it crossed the river Kern by a bridge 
 undefended with parapets. Here the party halted, 
 and dismounted. Nearly half crossed the river 
 and hid themselves in the bushes, and behind the 
 trees, which grew upon the banks. Some even 
 climbed into the branches, and all looked to their 
 rifles. The remainder of the troop lay down at 
 full length upon the embankment, but just below 
 its summit, out of sight, with their weapons lying 
 upon the grass, the muzzles in a black row, point- 
 ing at the metals. When these dispositions had 
 been completed, Reginald, who had meantime 
 been left under the charge of the negro, who had 
 betrayed them, was desired by Don Gorge to dis- 
 mount. He obeyed, and was immediately seized 
 by three men, who hurried him up the embank- 
 ment, and upon the bridge. Ere he could under- 
 stand what they were about, he was thrown 
 roughly upon the ground, his arms tied behind
 
 ii6 Who Will Win ? 
 
 him, and his ancles together. By a rope his feet 
 were then securely bound to the rail which ran 
 nearest the edge of the arch, while another was 
 passed around his waist, and fastened to the 
 opposite metal behind him. A dawning of the 
 fate intended for him now seemed flashing on his 
 mind. He was bound to the metals — for what 
 purpose ? 
 
 As he asked himself that terrible question, 
 Don Gorge and his companions suddenly sprang 
 up the side of the embankment, and laid them- 
 selves, like the rest, upon the grass. At the same 
 moment Reginald felt the earth beneath him 
 vibrate ; he knew what it was. It was an ap- 
 proaching train. His blood turned cold within 
 him, and he might have shouted for help, but his 
 tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. 
 His sense of hearing became exceedingly acute, 
 and he listened with awful attention to the 
 increasing roar of the advancing locomotive. His 
 whole being seemed for the time absorbed in rapt 
 attention. Meanwhile the metals to which his feet 
 were fastened, and the earth upon which he lay, 
 began to vibrate in a manner terribly suggestive 
 of the weight which rolled towards him. A sudden 
 increase in the nature of the sound caused him to 
 glance in the direction of Kernsville. Aiound a 
 gentle curve the cars were winding at a speed
 
 OR, American'^Adventure. 117 
 
 which to him appeared supernatural, the smoke 
 from the funnel streaming on the wind, like the 
 hair of an arch-fiend. 
 
 On — thundering on — came the locomotive, 
 dragging its tons behind it, and Reginald's very 
 body seemed to shrink together as if he already 
 felt the grinding crush of the forewheel. In that 
 very agony of suspense it would have been a relief 
 to have shouted aloud, but he could not — he was 
 not even able to clasp his hands together, for they 
 were bound behind his back. He struggled 
 violently, and found that the rope around his waist 
 had in cruel mercy been left sufficiently loose to 
 enable him to sit up. Immediately the engine 
 driver perceived him, and the danger whistle rang 
 out clear and shrill, re-echoing from the banks of 
 the river. To Reginald it seemed as though the 
 iron monster shouted with delight at the victim 
 prostrate before it — he even fancied he could hear 
 its hoarse breathings, as it pressed forward with 
 increased speed. Again he struggled for freedom — 
 again ineffectually, and once m.ore sounded the 
 danger whistle. This time, however, it appeared 
 that the driver had perceived his position, as the 
 steam was shut off, and the screaming breaks 
 applied. It was too late. The impetus given by 
 the locomotive drove the cars forward, and seemed 
 to laugh at the puny efforts of man to stop that
 
 ii8 Who Will Win ? 
 
 which he had put in motion. The momentary- 
 hope which had been raised in Reginald's breast 
 departed — his breath came at long intervals — his 
 face turned pale, for he saw that apparently 
 nothing could save him. The iron monster — the 
 modern Juggernaut — remorselessly rolled along ; 
 the earth shook as if groaning beneath its weight ; 
 the breaks, like the damned, screamed aloud, and 
 like a moving mountain of metal, the enormous 
 machine bore down upon him. It was within ten 
 yards. Already he could feel its hot breath — could 
 see the anxious expression upon the countenance 
 of the driver ; aye, the buffers seemed about to hug 
 him in a mortal embrace. One more brave 
 struggle ! a desperate one. He rolled over and 
 brought the whole strength of his muscles to bear 
 upon the rope around his waist — straining forward. 
 It stretched, but no — yes, it gave way, and he 
 stumbled to his feet, as a shout of rage rose from 
 the embankments, and he caught a momentary 
 glimpse of the negro running, regardless of the 
 danger, upon the rails towards him. The next 
 instant he lost his balance and fell over the edge 
 of the bridge, hanging from it by his feet which 
 were clear of the metals, but bound to them. He 
 had scarcely comprehended his situation — twenty- 
 feet above a rapid river — ere the wheel of the loco- 
 motive severed the rope and he fell head over
 
 OR, American Adventure. 119 
 
 heels, reaching the surface of the water as three or 
 four sharp rifle cracks reverberated from the river 
 banks. Deep down he plunged, as it seemed into 
 Cimmerian darkness, taking in a mouthful of 
 water which nearly choked him. 
 
 It was a relief to rise again to the surface, to 
 breathe once more the air of heaven, but it seemed 
 only likely to prove a prolongation of agony. He 
 was an excellent swimmer, but what could he do 
 with his hands bound together behind his back, 
 and his feet kept close to each other by the coil of 
 rope around them, which he in vain endeavoured 
 to kick off ? He had drifted beneath the shadow 
 of the railway arch, and could hear the tramp of 
 feet above with an occasional scream and hoarse 
 cries of command. He now saw with what purpose 
 he had been bound to the rails, that the train 
 might be stopped and plundered. There was, 
 however, no time to think of the misery that might 
 await others. His own end appeared approaching, 
 and it seemed that he had only escaped certain 
 death beneath the wheels of the locomotive to 
 undergo a protracted struggle for existence. He 
 struck out vigorously with his feet and strove to 
 keep his head above water : for a few moments he 
 would be successful, but he merely succeeded in 
 spinning round in the water, without nearing the 
 banks, and his muscles cramped in their action,
 
 120 Who Will Win ? 
 
 rapidly lost their power. The arch above seemed 
 to come down and bear upon his head, monsters of 
 the river, appearing to grasp his feet in their slimy 
 fangs, dragging him downwards, his legs became 
 as lead. 
 
 As the drift of the current bore him from 
 beneath the arch, once more he struggled and 
 struck out — he saw men and would have shouted, 
 but he knew them as enemies ; moreover, his 
 mouth was beneath the water — to open it was 
 death. His lungs seemed ready to burst. The 
 bright sunshine dancing on the bubbles he made, 
 mocked him in its glee — his fate that moment was 
 wavering — his destiny had reached a culminating 
 point, above was existence, below annihilation. 
 His head began seemingly to turn, and objects 
 around became dim, it must have been his last 
 moment, had he not then in a wistful glance cast 
 towards the shore, perceived the troop — his captors 
 — riding off, and amongst them, evidently detained 
 by force, Isabel Montgomery. It nerved him to 
 fresh exertions — he seemed suddenly endowed 
 with a new strength, which lasted but for a 
 moment, still long enough to place him on the 
 bank, where he fell exhausted among reeds and 
 rushes. Long he lay there ; still and motionless, 
 aye, powerless as a sleeping child ; while the 
 sinking sun dried his soaked garments.
 
 OR, American Adventure. i»i 
 
 But his constitution was strong and unscathed ' 
 by dissipation — the life blood came again, and the 
 flush of health appeared in his cheek. He opened 
 his eyes still unconscious of his position, and 
 seeing the river flowing peacefully before him, 
 hearing the wind sighing through the reeds, 
 thought for the moment that he was lying, as had 
 been his went, beside the trout stream at home. 
 The strains of a mocking-bird upon an adjacent 
 willow recalled him to himself — he sat up, and 
 instantly the whole occurrence flashed upon him. 
 Chateaubriand gone, and Isabel — she too had gone. 
 His hands clenched, a frown overspread his brow; 
 he sprang up, and rushed up the river side. 
 Arrived upon the embankment of the railway, a 
 horrible sight presented itself to his view. Fifteen 
 men, clad in Confederate uniform, lay in various 
 positions, dead before him. He gazed upon them 
 and the truth flashed upon him. He had under- 
 stood it was Montgomery's intention the moment 
 he had certain notice of the enemy's advance to 
 despatch a train, carrying government stores to 
 
 S ; with this it was evident he had sent 
 
 Isabel, but the cunning cruelty of Don Gorge had 
 rendered futile the precaution. 
 
 Where he had been bound to the metals, lay, 
 cut in two, the body of the traitor negro — it was 
 evident that seeing Reginald about to escape, he
 
 120 Who Will Win ? 
 
 had rushed forward, and had been struck down 
 by the locomotive. Reginald turned away in 
 bitterness of spirit, and in his heart swore 
 vengeance. There was nothing he could do but 
 return to Kernsville. To follow the trail of Don 
 Gorge alone, unarmed and his hands tied behind 
 him, would have been madness. He kicked the 
 rope from his feet, and set forward upon his 
 journey. 
 
 It was a long and tedious one. Seven miles 
 of even railway track had to be traversed, and as 
 he could not swing his arms, the walk was doubly 
 tiresome. Thoughts of vengeance sustained him — 
 his mind was full of the fate that might befall 
 Isabel, and the weariness of his body was com- 
 paratively unfelt. At length as darkness began 
 to fall over the land, he turned a long curve, and 
 could just catch a glimpse, through the gathering 
 gloom, of the buildings of Kernsville. At the 
 same time the rattle of musketry at no great 
 distance, followed by the boom of artillery, and 
 a light that shot up into the sky to fall again, after 
 describing an arch, informed him that Montgomery 
 was holding his own, as well as he might. He 
 quickened his pace — he almost ran, despite his 
 fatigue, as the flashes from the guns became 
 visible, and the sharp individual cracks of skir- 
 mishes, distinctly audible. It was evident that
 
 OR, American Adventure. 123 
 
 Montgomery was retreating, as the battle had 
 rolled within half a mile of the town. Reginald 
 now reached the station, and found it occupied by 
 a crowd of soldiers, who were taking possession of 
 a train of cars — the first detachment of the retreat. 
 Montgomery himself was standing at the door of 
 the telegraph ofiice — watch in hand — Reginald 
 heard as he approached, unnoticed in the con- 
 fusion, the words " all right " pronounced within ; 
 Montgomery waved his hand and the cars slowly 
 rolled away from the platform, their places being 
 occupied by others. 
 
 It was at this moment, as Reginald was about 
 to speak to his colonel, that a tall man suddenly 
 came round the corner of the office and stood 
 before him. Dead or alive, it was Chateaubriand's 
 countenance that he saw, Reginald started, as 
 well he might, but the soldier placed a hand on 
 his shoulder; that certainly was substantial enough 
 for flesh and blood. 
 
 "Chateaubriand." 
 
 " Reginald." 
 
 " How did you escape ?" 
 
 " The coon had loaded his gun with powder — 
 the wad struck my forehead — stunned me, and I 
 was left for dead. How did you ?" 
 
 '• How can I tell you with my hands tied 
 behind me?"
 
 124 Who Will Win ? 
 
 " Humph — didn't know you were French 
 before," muttered the soldier, as he untied the 
 bands. 
 
 At that moment an officer rushed up and 
 spoke a few hurried words to Montgomery who 
 hastened off the platform. 
 
 "Come," said Chateaubriand, " if you wish to 
 see a charge." 
 
 They followed, emerging from the glaring 
 light in the station to the dim gloom of the street 
 without. Fifty yards ahead a line of men crossed 
 the streets, from side to side, and a metallic clang 
 told that the ramrods were at work. 
 
 *' Front rank, kneel," cried Montgomery, as 
 they advanced. 
 
 Down on one knee went the men as the clatter 
 of horses' hoofs came upon the breeze. In the dim 
 uncertain light Reginald could just perceive a 
 compact mass of men and horses advancing at full 
 speed up the narrow street towards them — could 
 momentarily see the flash of an uplifted sabre. 
 Hoarse shouts re-echoed from side to side as they 
 came ; and the clanging of steel grew loud, while 
 sparks were dashed from the pavement by the iron 
 hoofs of the chargers. 
 
 "Steadily, my men," exclaimed Montgomery. 
 
 OvWhead whistled a round shot as he spoke ;
 
 OR, American Adventure. 125 
 
 which struck a building a hundred yards behind, 
 and went ricochetting far into the rear, 
 
 "Too high." remarked Chateaubriand, striking 
 a match. Its feeble light was dimmed by the fire 
 from two hundred rifles which followed. Shouts 
 and cries mingling with the groans of wounded 
 men, and the neighing of horses rose from the 
 struggling mass of humanity, but the noise lasted 
 a moment only, the next the remnants of the cavalry 
 brigade were to be seen retreating in disorder. 
 
 " We have ten minutes," said Montgomery to 
 an officer. 
 
 The bugle sounded, and in good order the 
 men marched upon the platform. As they got 
 into the cars, Reginald, thinking it no time for 
 etiquette, seized the colonel's arm and drew him 
 aside. 
 
 "Miss Isabel " 
 
 "Isabel, what of her?" 
 
 Reginald explained in as few words as 
 possible, what had happened. 
 
 The colonel staggered, and asked in a loud 
 voice if he had heard the name of the commander 
 of the ambush ? 
 
 " Don Gorge," replied Reginald. 
 
 Montgomery struck his forehead with his 
 hand, and muttered "Then all is lost." 
 
 At that moment an officer remarked that
 
 126 Who Will Win? 
 
 eveything was ready, and the necessity there was 
 that no delay should take place was forcibly shown 
 by a cannon-ball that whistled over the platform. 
 The colonel stepped into a car, and Reginald 
 was about to follow him when the officer forestalled 
 him, and seeing that it was fully occupied, he ran 
 forward, anxiously glancing in, as he went at 
 each window. In vain — each car was crammed — 
 there was nothing left for it then but to climb upon 
 the engine, which he contrived to do just as it was 
 set in motion. Seating himself in abstraction of 
 mind in the tender — abstraction, for he neither 
 heard the volleys that were fired at the train by 
 the rear-guard of the victorious Federals, nor the 
 balls that whistled around, — Reginald leant his 
 head upon his hand, and mentally repeated the 
 words of Montgomery — " Then all is lost. " Why 
 should it be ? Who was this Don Gorge that his 
 name should produce such a stunning effect upon 
 a man of undoubted bravery ? Those were the 
 questions that occurred to him, nor was it possible 
 to answer them. There was another, what was to 
 be done ? How rescue her ? Even that it was 
 impossible to answer. The colonel would, doubt- 
 less, be able to suggest some mode of proceeding ; 
 whatever it was, Reginald was determined that 
 nothing should prevent him from assisting in the 
 rescue of his beloved. For rescued she must be.
 
 OR, American Adventure. 127 
 
 was his inward resolve. The idea of total separa- 
 tion was one he was unable to entertain. There 
 was, however, nothing to be done until the cars 
 
 arrived at T , a station about thirty miles 
 
 distant, where a large force was encamped, with 
 which, doubtless, Montgomery intended to amal- 
 gamate his troops. It was now that Reginald 
 became conscious that for some time past it was 
 with very great muscular exertion he kept his seat 
 — so irresistible was the impulse to swing, as it 
 were, forward, or from side to side. A sensation 
 of great heat, too — a heat exceeding any that he 
 had hitherto felt, seemed as it were, to surround 
 him. He fancied, also, that above the roar of the 
 train he could hear voices, in loud acrimonious 
 dispute. He glanced up, and immediately became 
 conscious all was not right. The boiler plates 
 were red hot, and diffused a sort of fiery glow, by 
 the light of which he saw that the driver and the 
 stoker were engaged in argument, an argument 
 that seemed greatly to excite them. The stoker 
 a white man, whose pale face was remarkable, 
 had his hand upon the valve, but the driver, 
 strange to say a black, by holding his arm pre- 
 vented it being shut. Reginald stumbled to his 
 feet, and grasping the tender rails to steady him- 
 self determined to understand the matter. 
 
 •* I tell you we shall run into them— it is
 
 138 Who Will Win ? 
 
 madness — it is murder !" exclaimed the white, 
 struggling to shut the valve. 
 
 The black grinned horribly, and Reginald 
 immediately recognized him. It was that negro 
 driver who had been pointed out to him that 
 morning as having run over everything but a fox. 
 He saw further that there was a strong likeness 
 between him and the rascal who had betrayed 
 him, and remembering a chance word of Chateau- 
 briand it suddenly struck him that this must be 
 the father, and the other the son. From such 
 company little good was to be apprehended. 
 Indeed it required but a glance to show Reginald 
 the terrible meanings attached to those words of 
 the white. Before them — scarcely a mile, — could be 
 
 seen the signal lights of T , and the red 
 
 lights attached to the guard's van of the train 
 which had immediately preceded theirs were 
 distinctly visible. The horrible purpose of this 
 second traitor became immediately apparent — it 
 was to run into it, and thus in all probability cause 
 the destruction of some four hundred human beings. 
 Reginald shuddered and for a moment stood still 
 undecided. The driver once more attempted to 
 shut the valve. His repeated endeavours at length 
 aroused the rage of the black, and raising his fist 
 he dealt the white a blow which sent him 
 shrieking in agony out into the darkness. Regi-
 
 OR, American Adventure. 129 
 
 nald's coolness, strange to say, instantly returned 
 as he witnessed this awful deed. He drew his 
 bowie. His purpose was formed. The question 
 was, "the life of hundreds and my own, or this 
 monster's r" It required no deliberation, nor was 
 there time for it. He struck at the inhuman 
 wretch — unfortunately a jolt of the locomotive 
 falsified his aim, and the sharp steel merely grazed 
 the black's countenance. Ere he could recover 
 himself for another blow, the negro seized him by 
 the shoulder, and with a strength which he in vain 
 struggled against, bore him down upon one knee. 
 It was a terrible position. Grasping the engine 
 rails firmly with one hand, with the other the black 
 held him leaning backwards over the edge of the 
 tender. Within a foot of his face grinned the 
 horrible distorted features of the negro — behind 
 him was death, as also in front. The negro had 
 but to slip his hold, and . But he was cun- 
 ning in his cruelty ; had he left hold all would have 
 been over at once ; by retaining it, Reginald had 
 the protracted agony of seeing his approach to 
 inevitable destruction. On, on, bounding from 
 side to side — like some human mammoth striking 
 against the trees in its passage through a primeval 
 forest, roared the locomotive, driven by the pent 
 up steam. 
 
 Around and over the redhot boiler hovered a 
 
 I
 
 130 Who Will Win. ? 
 
 thin glowing mist — beyond this all was darkness, 
 except the signal lights they rapidly neared, and 
 the danger signals on the guard's van of the 
 stationary cars, which appeared like the two 
 blood-shot eyes of some devouring fiend to Regi- 
 nald's strained imagination. Running parallel, 
 and as it seemed racing with the locomotive, could 
 be seen a gleaming light reflected from the polished 
 rails. On, on, ever faster — ever nearing destruc- 
 tion. Each muscle in Reginald's body became 
 rigid in its struggles, but he was powerless— the 
 negro actually laughed in his maniacal fury at his 
 ineffectual attempts to get free. On, on— it seemed 
 an eternity of suspense, it could scarcely have 
 been thirty seconds, when by a jolt of the loco- 
 motive, the furnace door was thrown open, and 
 the red-hot iron came in contact with the negro's 
 legs. He started back with a shout of agony, 
 dragging Reginald from his perilous position by 
 mere contraction of the muscles. Reginald did 
 not lose his opportunity, and the bowie knife 
 struck full deep into the negro's chest. He 
 staggered and fell upon the coal in the tender. 
 Reginald turned, shut the valve, screwed tight 
 down the screaming breaks, and applied himself 
 to raking out the fire. He then grasped the engine 
 rails and awaited the result, if not with confidence 
 at least with comparative calmness. It came in a
 
 OR, American Adventure. 131 
 
 few seconds and although the shock was not 
 sufficiently violent to throw him off his feet, it was 
 enough to give an idea of what otherwise would 
 have happened. 
 
 Colonel Montgomery was the first person he 
 met upon the platform. He had seen Reginald 
 descend from the engine, and seized his arm. 
 Reginald explained as well as possible in the noise 
 of the station what had happened. Montgomery 
 immediately ordered Sergeant Gumley to take a 
 file, and search along the line for the white driver's 
 body. He then had the body of the negro con- 
 veyed into a private apartment, and laid upon a 
 sofa. The scoundrel was still alive and glanced 
 upon Montgomery with hatred — intense, beyond 
 description — visible in his eyes. He appeared to 
 take no notice of Reginald who stood near, it was 
 upon the Colonel that the wrath of the dying man 
 seemed to wish to exhaust itself. The stare was 
 so marked and the meaning upon that hideous 
 fiendlike countenance so plain, that it could not 
 escape the colonel's observation. 
 
 " Why look at me thus V said Montgomery. 
 " I have not injured you." 
 
 "You have. You ruined my life, and hunted 
 me as if I was a cat-o'-mountain." 
 
 *' What," exclaimed Montgomery bending his
 
 132 Who Will Win ? 
 
 brows. *' I I certainly seem to remember 
 
 your features, but nothing more." 
 
 " I am Asaraca of the swamp,'' said the dying 
 negro. 
 
 "A runaway, it I remember rightly." 
 
 " 'Twas a crime to run when I was sentenced 
 to be burnt to death," sneered Asaraca. 
 
 *' Condemned to death ? I have some recol- 
 lection— ^the slave rising. But you mistake, it was 
 not I." 
 
 *' Don Gorge said so." 
 
 "Don Gorge !" exclaimed Montgomery. 
 
 "Here are the letters you wrote to my wife," 
 said Asaraca, taking a yellow bundle from his 
 pocket. 
 
 Montgomery seized them eagerly, and glanced 
 at the handwriting. "As I expected," said he, 
 " this is not mine." 
 
 " It is," almost screamed the black. 
 
 Montgomery wrote a few words in his pocket 
 book, and held them in the light that the negro 
 might see the difference. 
 
 " I have been deceived," shouted Asaraca, 
 "As he has served me, so will I him. Listen 
 Colonel, your daughter is in Don Gorge's hands. 
 
 He is is " his voice began to fail, and 
 
 the death rattle sounded in his throat, " He is
 
 OR, American Adventure. 133 
 
 at Calcot Bay a schooner is waiting — ship for 
 
 Rio del Colorado there — I I " 
 
 His head fell back, a quiver passed through 
 his limbs, the jaw fell, and meaning departed from 
 his glance. He was dead. 
 
 " What is to be done r" said Montgomery, 
 gloomily, seating himself, and glancing at Regi- 
 nald and Chateaubriand, who had alone witnessed 
 the death-scene. 
 
 "Follow his trail," said Reginald. 
 
 "Let me track him," said Chateaubriand; "I 
 have travelled the woods from infancy, you are 
 unacquainted with them." 
 
 " I will accompany you," said Reginald and 
 the Colonel simultaneously. 
 
 " No," said Chateaubriand, " you. Colonel, 
 cannot desert your command, but let Reginald 
 get on board ship and coast down to the bay. I 
 will keep them in sight ; he can cut off their 
 retreat." 
 
 "Good," exclaimed the Colonel. "Give me 
 your hands, gentlemen. Money shall not be want- 
 ing. A thousand dollars for Don Gorge, alive or 
 dead ; ten thousand for Isabel." 
 
 " The dollars I care not for," said Reginald. 
 
 " But I do," exclaimed Chateaubriand. " I 
 shall be able to publish my discoveries." 
 
 " Your discoveries ?" said Reginald.
 
 134 Who Will Win ? 
 
 ** On the stone arrow heads of the Thangpali, 
 a tribe that existed at least nineteen centuries ago 
 —a most important subject." 
 
 Reginald stared. 
 
 '• Chateaubriand is an antiquary," explained 
 the Colonel. 
 
 ** I am a philosopher," said Chateaubriand, 
 with emphasis.
 
 OR, American Adventure 135 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I Y the first train the next morning Reginald set 
 
 out for S . He had explained his real 
 
 position in life to the Colonel, and had re- 
 ceived full powers to go to any expense. He 
 had a considerable sum of his own around his waist, 
 which had fortunately escaped the observation of 
 the ambush. This he determined to devote to the 
 cause. The arrangements he concluded with 
 Chateaubriand were very simple. Chateaubriand 
 was to follow the trail of Don Gorge ; and if he 
 did not, as the negro had said, go on ship-board 
 at Calcot Bay, was to rendezvous there and com- 
 municate with Reginald. A look at the map 
 showed that the Bay was in the Federal lines, but 
 was uninhabited. The greater danger, then, to be 
 
 incurred was in running the blockade of S ; 
 
 and Reginald as he travelled, felt apprehensive 
 that he should fail in engaging a vessel. His 
 good fortune, however, as he dined in a coffee- 
 house at S , placed him ms-ci'vis with no 
 
 other than Jabez Junior Johnson. With him he 
 quickly opened a negotiation. Johnson was no 
 fool, and it required the display of some thousand
 
 136 Who Will Win ? 
 
 dollars to make him a party. At length for fifteen 
 hundred a bargain was struck, the terms of which 
 were that Jabez was to provide a vessel, and a few 
 desperate men — for what purpose was merely 
 hinted at. The vessel was at hand — the Sally 
 Andrews had just finished unlading ; the diiSiculty 
 lay in obtaining the men ; but Johnson persevered, 
 and by nightfall seven were engaged — just 
 sufficient to work the steamer. About eleven 
 o'clock Reginald went on board and took up his 
 former quarters — half-an-hour later and they stood 
 out to sea, the route proposed being a curve. 
 Calcot Bay was some thirty miles south, and by 
 the ordinary course it might have been reached by 
 morning, but it was necessary in order to avoid 
 observation by the blockade boats to make a long 
 detour, running, in fact, some fifteen or twenty 
 miles out to sea— i.e., out of sight of land, and 
 then, putting her about, to run down the usual 
 route. 
 
 It was three o'clock in the afternoon when 
 Reginald, who stood forward, was informed by 
 Jabez that according to the chart the head land 
 seen rising high above the surface of the sea con- 
 cealed the entrance to the Bay, which was of small 
 size and unfrequented by mariners for that reason, 
 and on account of its shallowness. The Sally 
 Afidreivs steamed along in — Reginald, glass in
 
 OR, American Adventure. 137 
 
 hand, seeking in vain for a sign of a vessel, or for 
 a signal from Chateaubriand. Johnson ran as 
 near the shore as he dared, and lay to, head out 
 to sea, and keeping the paddles revolving just fast 
 enough to prevent lee-way, without advancing. 
 
 They had remained thus a full half-hour, 
 anxiously gazing upon the surf-washed beach 
 some half-mile distant, when the sound of a rifle 
 reached Reginald, and directing his glass to the 
 spot above which rose a small cloud of smoke, he 
 clearly enough discerned his friend. A boat was 
 lowered, a sail hoisted, and in ten minutes the 
 keel grated upon the pebbles. Chateaubriand 
 sprang in, exclaiming, as he did so, " They are 
 gone." The boat was shoved off, and as they 
 rowed back to the vessel, Reginald learnt that Don 
 Gorge had embarked, carrying Isabel, the Amaz- 
 onian woman who accompanied him, and two 
 men with him, on board a low rakish schooner, 
 pierced for four guns, nearly two hours previously. 
 
 *' The schooner had hardly disappeared when 
 the smoke of your vessel became visible upon the 
 horizon," said Chateaubriand. 
 
 In answer to Reginald's eager inquiries, he 
 explained that, making use of his Indian ex- 
 perience, he had tried to elude the Federal out- 
 posts — had slipped through their lines, and had 
 followed so close upon the trail that he had been
 
 138 Who Will Win ? 
 
 concealed behind a rock when Isabel was lifted 
 into the boat, which afterwards conveyed her to the 
 schooner. Reginald ground his teeth, as may be 
 imagined. 
 
 Upon reaching the Sally Atidrezvs, Johnson 
 was enjoined to get up high pressure, which he 
 did, and evening saw the headland of Calcot Bay 
 sink apparently beneath the surface of the sea. 
 It was in vain that Reginald sought rest that 
 night. He lay in his cot listening unceasingly to 
 the rush of the water against the sides of the vessel 
 as she made rapidly through it, the occasional step 
 of the watch overhead, and the jar and quiver that 
 is caused in steamers by the working of the 
 machinery. His thoughts were busily employed. 
 He could not forget the fact that Isabel was in the 
 hands of one who had proved himself a monster, 
 a man without scruple, who could mingle cunning 
 with cruelty. His impatience to know the worst 
 became insupportable, and he sat up in bed. The 
 yellow sickly light of a swinging oil-lamp 
 illuminated the cabin, which was small, and 
 seemed to him oppressively hot. He sprang out 
 of his berth, and flinging a few things on, went on 
 deck. The heavens were splendid. Stars of a 
 brilliancy surpassing any that he had ever seen 
 bespangled the sky; they did not as in colder 
 climates, give the idea of frigid light, of immeasur-
 
 OR, American Adventure. 139 
 
 able distance, but seemed near enough to heighten 
 the temperature. The sea itself — one mass, one 
 wide seething plain of phosphorescence, was scarcely 
 less beautiful, and but little less grand. Millions 
 of sparks danced upon the waves as if endued with 
 life — yet not sparks, but glowing gems, ever 
 changing, restless as the Northern Lights. Regi- 
 nald leaned against the bulwarks and gazed in 
 wonder, yet with a bitter sense of loneliness, eating 
 away, as it were, at his heart. Had she been 
 there to look upon the night with him, how differ- 
 ent would have been his sensations. Could he 
 even have known she was in safety, with what 
 rapture might he not have looked upon the host of 
 heaven, — that heaven which overspreads all, and 
 was as a canopy above her head as well as his. 
 But no ! He knew not but at that moment she 
 might be crying out for help, which there was no 
 one to render. Like the sea his blood seemed to 
 boil within him. He could not remain still, but 
 strode to and fro upon the deck, always keeping 
 wide of the man at the wheel, and the watch, for 
 his agony was too great to bear the prying eye of 
 a witness, even in the darkness — if that could be 
 called darkness when, although the greater 
 heavenly bodies could not be seen, it seemed as 
 though the heaven above and the sea beneath gave 
 forth light. Through that livelong night Reginald
 
 140 Who Will Win ? 
 
 paced to and fro, his arms crossed, his brows bent, 
 his gaze neither cast upon the dimming lustre of 
 the stars, nor the paling glow of the phosphoric 
 sea, but bent upon the deck. The cool, damp 
 breeze of early morning, at length soothed his 
 heated forehead, and he retired below. 
 
 For days and days on went the steamer, 
 obliged, on account of the Federal war-boats, to 
 give a wide berth of some seventy miles to the 
 shore, and consequently having nearly twice as 
 much distance to travel as the schooner they 
 pursued. On and on— wearisome yet exciting, 
 seemingly a slow, but in reality a rapid progress. 
 At length, one afternoon, the watch reported a 
 sail on the larboard bow making in for the land ; 
 the island of San Luis was just perceptible on the 
 port bow ; and Chateaubriand having examined it 
 through the glass declared it was the vessel to which 
 he had seen Don Gorge take his prize. There 
 was now a slight difficulty. Jabez Junior Johnson 
 had lent his vessel, and got together his men, on 
 the understanding that there was some desperate 
 undertaking to be performed, but what that was 
 Reginald had not thought fit to communicate. 
 The question was now, should they acquaint him 
 with the real object of their chase, or not ? 
 
 Chateaubriand decided not. He was of 
 opinion that it was better to give Johnson to
 
 OR, American Adventure. 141 
 
 understand that on board the schooner was a 
 political refugee, whom it was important to cap- 
 ture or destroy at all risks. This plan met Regi- 
 nald's approval, nor did Johnson make any 
 objection to the project. He merely lit a cigar, 
 and shouted to the man at the wheel to ease her 
 off a point. 
 
 It was evident that they were nearing the 
 schooner. The wind was low and came in gusts — 
 the worst possible weather for such vessels, as to 
 keep up only a small spread of canvas is to miss 
 an opportunity when the wind does come, and a 
 large one renders them liable to a capsize which 
 is especially to be dreaded in those southern shark- 
 haunted waters. The steamer was slipping 
 through the water at ten knots an hour — it was 
 clear the schooner did not make four, but as the 
 land was only ten miles distant there was still a 
 chance that she might reach it before them, and 
 disappoint their hopes by landing her passengers. 
 An hour passed and the positions of the vei'.sels 
 had considerably changed. They could scarcely be 
 three miles distant — the shore towards which the 
 schooner was evidently making might be four from 
 her. Those on board the schooner did not seem 
 to consider themselves pursued, — the deck was 
 apparently deserted, and the gun-ports were 
 closed. This was apparent to Reginald, as, with
 
 142 Who Will Win ? 
 
 a heart beating high with suspense, he stood for- 
 ward glass in hand. Johnson was near — hands in 
 pocket — ; Chateaubriand close by. 
 
 Another hour passed, they were within half- 
 a-mile of the schooner, which was still running 
 straight at the shore. The land was low and ap- 
 parently uninhabited — it boded shallow water, as 
 did breakers on the starboard bow. Johnson had 
 the line out but found the depth considerable — he 
 then merely commanded the steersman to follow 
 the exact track of the schooner. It was at this 
 moment that the vessel they pursued ran up the 
 stars and stripes, while her deck suddenly became 
 alive with men, and they saw the gunjjorts opened. 
 Johnson turned to speak to the man at the wheel. 
 
 "Ker-chunk!" he ejaculated. 
 
 Reginald glanced round and in no small 
 amazement beheld a frigate displaying the colors 
 of the United States standing in towards them. 
 It was evident that they had been caught in a 
 trap. As he turned to call Chateaubriand's atten- 
 tion to the fact, a violent shock ran through the 
 steamer, — she seemed suddenly stayed in her 
 motion, and they were thrown upon the deck. A 
 grating sound followed, while the paddle-wheels 
 threw up mud and sand. It was evident that they 
 had struck a bank, but before the shout of Johnson 
 to "back her " could be obeyed they were over it
 
 OR, American Adventure. 143 
 
 and once more in a good depth. As they regained 
 their feet they found the schooner, now scarcely 
 four hundred yards distant, had furled her canvas, 
 and dropped anchor, while the wind swinging her 
 round presented her broad side, and showed the 
 muzzles of two guns. 
 
 It was obvious that there was a stir on board. 
 A boat was seen being lowered, and Reginald 
 beheld with a feeling akin to despair, a lady 
 handed over the side into it. So earnestly did he 
 gaze that he did not notice the altered motion of 
 the steamer. It was slower, and at length sud- 
 denly stopped. The vessels were now within easy 
 rifle shot. Reginald became conscious that some- 
 thing had occurred ; he turned and encountered 
 Chateaubriand who thrust a revolver into his hand. 
 
 Ere he could speak, Jabez Junior Johnson 
 tapped him on the shoulder, " Neow, my precious, 
 foller me unless yer wants a turn in Davy Jones's 
 locker." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Wal, my boy, I guess as the Sally Andrews 
 has a hole knocked in her bottom, and is sinking 
 pretty considerbly fast — just so, and look ye 
 here" — he pointed to the stern, and Reginald 
 immediately perceived that the life-boat had been 
 lowered — " just hand o'er the shiners, or go to the 
 sharks."
 
 144 Who Will Win ? 
 
 Reginald turned to consult Chateaubriand, 
 but was only in time to see his figure vanish down 
 the after hatchway. He hesitated. 
 
 Johnson put his hand on his shoulder, "Life is 
 sweeter than gold," he said. " Fork out and jump 
 in, or I shove this 'ere knife into yer, and make 
 tracks for yonder frigate — see." 
 
 " Exactly,' ' replied Reginald, fumbling in 
 his pocket — endeavouring in fact, to cock his 
 revolver, unnoticed. 
 
 Johnson stamped his feet in impatience. His 
 lips moved, but the sound was drowned in the 
 boom of a brace of cannon and the whistling of 
 round-shots over their heads. Reginald glanced 
 up, and saw the Confederate flag flying from the 
 mainmast. 
 
 *' That skunk Chatelbrain — curse him !" cried 
 Johnson. 
 
 "Ping" came a rifle bullet from the schooner 
 burying itself in the capstan. 
 
 " Capt'n — Capt'n !" was the cry from the 
 boat's crew under the counter, who evidently did 
 not enjoy their position between two fires, for the 
 frigate had lain to, and was clearing for an action 
 at long bows — she could not come in on account 
 of the sandbar. 
 
 " Now then youngster," shouted Johnson, 
 brandishing a bowie. At the same moment a
 
 OR, American Adventure. 145 
 
 sudden movement of the steamer, caused by a 
 revolution of the paddles, threw both off their 
 legs. 
 
 Johnson fell undermost, and the bowie cut his 
 hand. Ere he could recover himself, Reginald 
 seized his long and light though sinewy frame in 
 his arms, and coolly heaved hira overboard, where 
 a second revolution of the paddles floated him 
 under 'the counter. He scrambled to the boat, 
 which was instantly shoved off, and a shot from 
 the frigate which ploughed up the water close by, 
 probably decided them not to attempt a return. 
 
 *' Down on your face," cried Chateaubriand, 
 who at that moment made his appearance on deck, 
 and set the example by falling at full length. 
 
 A crackling musketry fire and the whistling 
 of rifle bullets over their heads explained the 
 reason for his timely warning. 
 
 *' We shall run down the schooner," said 
 Chateaubriand ; *' I have set the engines going, 
 and if they weigh anchor, this breeze will drive 
 them on shore. The* frigate can give no assistance 
 as there is a squall coming down from the east- 
 ward, and she must give the land a wide berth." 
 
 " See you anything of Isa of Miss Mont- 
 gomery ?" 
 
 " When I ran up the flag I caught a glimpse 
 
 K
 
 146 Who Will Win? 
 
 of the party riding off into the interior — no doubt 
 she is one ol them." 
 
 Another loud discharge of firearms, and 
 a crashing sound told that the shot had struck 
 the steamer, but the engines were as yet 
 uninjured, and she still forged ahead though 
 not with her old speed, as the leak had gained 
 on her, and had sunk her deep in the water. 
 The next few moments were exciting, a continual 
 discharge of gun and musketry was kept up from 
 the schooner, and the deck of the steamer was 
 literally torn up into splinters by the bullets. A 
 round shot carried away the funnel, and 
 another the foremast. Still on — on she 
 forged, bearing steadily down upon the 
 schooner. Suddenly the firing ceased ; Chateau- 
 briand glanced up, and from an exclamation he 
 made use of, Reginald did likewise. Certain that 
 their vessel must go down if struck, the crew of 
 the schooner had abandoned their guns, and were 
 lowering a boat — strangely enough on that side of 
 their ship which opposed the onward course of the 
 steamer, thus exposing (themselves to inevitable 
 destruction should they not succeed in getting 
 away fast enough. That they might have done 
 had not the captain and two or three others 
 endeavoured to save some effects. The steamer's
 
 OR, American Advemturb. 247 
 
 bow was scarcely twenty yards from the schooner's 
 broadside, yet the boat was not shoved off. 
 
 "The fools," ejaculated Chateaubriand. 
 
 Scarcely were the words out of his mouth 
 before there was a terrible crash — a grinding sound 
 and a shout of human agony. The steamer had 
 run into the boat, cutting her completely in two, 
 throwing twenty men into the water, most ol them 
 encumbered with arms, and knocking a large hole 
 in the schooner's side. 
 
 "Follow me," shouted Chateaubriand, rushing 
 forward. 
 
 Reginald did so ; and sprang on board the 
 schooner — none too soon, as the next moment 
 down the steamer went, leaving a black and wildly 
 whirling vortex in which the schooner's crew were 
 sucked and swallowed up, as it were by the insati- 
 able sea. Reginald clasped his hands in horror. 
 Chateaubriand with difficulty aroused him from 
 his abstraction by pointing out that the schooner 
 was herself rapidly settling down, and that the 
 shore lay some quarter of a mile distant, while a 
 squall was bearing down towards them. 
 
 " Do as I do," he said. He sprang down the 
 companion ladder, and hastily selected a rifle from 
 the rack in the captain's cabin. Reginald did the 
 same, and they both returned on deck, also carry- 
 ing with them a small chest of ammunition which
 
 148 Who Will Win ? 
 
 had lain open upon the table — evidently having 
 been lately used. Chateaubriand closed it — it shut 
 with a spring lock ; bound it and the rifles to a 
 spare spar that was rolling loose about the deck, 
 and, by the help of Reginald, heaved it overboard. 
 He then divested himself of shoes, and sprang 
 into the sea, Reginald following him in everything. 
 The spar and its load had already drifted towards 
 the shore, but a few strokes placed them alongside. 
 It was now that Chateaubriand cast an anxious 
 glance behind him. 
 
 " Swim fast — fast !" he said. " She sinks*" 
 Reginald struck out with all his might. He 
 heard an indescribable sound, and the next 
 moment fell himself, as it were, drawn under by a 
 resistless yet undefined power. It lasted but a 
 second — his head came to the surface, and glanc- 
 ing around, he found that both the steamer and 
 the schooner had entirely disappeared, Chateau- 
 briand was swimming at a little distance. The 
 water now became dark and inky — it was evident 
 that the squall approached, and they made every 
 effort to reach the shore ere it should burst upon 
 them. The tips of the waves as they rolled past — 
 now rising and now sinking, were crested with 
 foam ; Reginald felt the breeze upon his cheek, 
 and redoubled his efforts. More and more troubled 
 became the water — higher they rose upon every
 
 OR, American Adventure. 149 
 
 wave, to sink the lower in the watery vale that 
 followed it ; now the shore was distinct and plain, 
 apparently but a few yards distant, now it had 
 entirely disappeared. The clouds overhead had 
 become leaden in hue ; and the colour of the sea 
 was a reflection of them. It was a great relief 
 when a long rolling breaker carried them almost 
 exhausted upon the beach, and threw the spar 
 with ils — to them — valuable load upon the shingle 
 close by. They dragged it out of the reach of the 
 waves, and then looked around them for a shelter 
 from the tempest. 
 
 -^'ykifi
 
 150 ^Vho Will Win ? 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 [O find shelter on that low open coast was no 
 easy matter; and Reginald and Chateau- 
 ^ briand were glad to ensconce themselves 
 within the hollow trunk of a large fallen 
 tree, that lay extended upon the ground some 
 hundred yards inland. Here they passed, how- 
 ever, by no means an unpleasant night — at least 
 Chateaubriand declared he enjoyed it, but Regi- 
 nald found pleasure only in the absence of mos- 
 quitoes, whom the rain dispersed. Sunrise found 
 them awake and hungry, having eaten nothing 
 since the preceding day. A walk along the beach 
 was proposed by Chateaubriand, with the double 
 purpose of securing their rifles and seeing whether 
 or no a fortunate wave had washed any of the 
 ship's provisions on shore. In both they were 
 successful. Several casks of junk had been rolled 
 up, and left high and dry upon the shingle by the 
 tide, while Reginald luckily enough, discovered a 
 case of preserved meat, and a barrel of biscuits. 
 Here was the substantial portion of their breakfast, 
 a clear stream which ran into the sea furnished
 
 OR, American Adventure. 151 
 
 drink, and refreshed and strengthened forthwith, 
 out they stepped, following the trail of Don Gorge, 
 which, notwithstanding the rain, was still apparent 
 even to Reginald. 
 
 He could not, however, succeed in discovering 
 from the hoof marks how large was the party of 
 Don Gorge. Chateaubriand declared there were 
 five, and, only too glad to find the number so 
 small, Reginald did not attempt to deliver an 
 opinion. On they marched through the tall grass 
 of the prairie which seemed to extend to an un- 
 limited distance, and at times rose high above 
 their heads. It had been trodden down into a 
 path by the passage of those whom they pursued, like 
 a field of corn ridden through by a horseman, and 
 the track was in consequence easy to trace. They 
 quickly lost sight of the sea on account of the 
 height of the grass and the level character of the 
 country ; long indeed before the solemn sound of 
 the ceaseless waves upon the beach, became 
 inaudible. When this died away in the distance, 
 the sighing of the wind over the tall grass seemed 
 to supply its place, as the grass itself the sea — 
 so boundless did it appear, the one a sea of water, 
 the other a sea of vegetation. On, on, Reginald 
 had no idea previously of the sense of loneliness — 
 although he was not alone — that came over him 
 as he walked forward, ever forward, through and
 
 iSt Who Will Win ? 
 
 over that southern prairie. Not a bird sang, or 
 flew across the cloudless sky, not an animal rustled 
 through the grass, there was not a sound save that 
 of the wind and the occasional crackling of a dried- 
 up withered plant beneath their feet — a noise that 
 almost startled them, so out of place did it seem. 
 It was a similar sensation to that which overcomes 
 one in a cathedral, or a vast primeval forest — an 
 indescribable feeling of immensity and a sensation 
 of incapability of corresponding expansion; an 
 idea, an impression of littleness. The silence of 
 Chateaubriand, perhaps assisted in producing this 
 impression. For him to be silent was something 
 far fiom common — he had generally an odd obser- 
 vation to make, or a yarn to relate. 
 
 Noon found them many miles inland, and it 
 was but a little past that hour when Chateaubriand 
 suddenly stopped, stooped, picked up something, 
 and handed it to Reginald, remarking at the same 
 time, *' Here are traces of a fire, — they encamped 
 here last night." 
 
 It was a bracelet that Reginald held in his 
 hand. The fastening was rather remarkable, con- 
 sisting of an eagle with ruby eyes, tearing a 
 serpent. He immediately recognized it — it was 
 one that he had seen upon Isabel's arm, and with 
 the extravagance of passion, contrived, unseen by 
 Chateaubriand, to impress a kiss upon the relic.
 
 OR, American Adventure. 153 
 
 It was evident that she had lost it, and promising 
 himself the pleasure of restoring it, Reginald 
 placed it in his vest. He could not, however, even 
 with his buoyancy of spirits, help his imagination 
 presenting to his mental gaze, ideas, which were 
 anything but agreeable. He could not resist 
 asking himself the question, " Was this bracelet 
 accidently lost or was it torn off in a struggle ?" 
 His mind hovered between hope and fear that live- 
 long day, and he was still unsettled, still, however, 
 as it were, hoping against hope. When the sun 
 sank it became rapidly dark, and Chateaubriand 
 declared it was necessary to take some rest. They 
 made a meal upon the contents of the case, when 
 after a short conversation Chateaubriand finding 
 Reginald taciturn, laid his rifle by his side and 
 shut his eyes. Reginald also was compelled by 
 wearied nature before long to close his eyes in 
 sleep, but it was a haunted one. He fancied that 
 he saw far away and yet near — a paradoxical 
 position, common enough in dreams — Isabel 
 standing in the darkness by a blazing fire — the 
 light from which threw an unnatural glow upon 
 her countenance. Her hands were clasped, her 
 hair streamed over her shoulders, her look was 
 one of alarm, and she often gazed behind her into 
 the darkness to turn with a shudder towards the 
 fire. As he gazed Reginald imagined he perceived
 
 X54 Who Will Win ? 
 
 rise up uncouth and horrid figures near her, one 
 of which looked over her shoulder, in the flicker- 
 ing firelight displaying the hated features of Don 
 Gorge. Isabel suddenly turned, seemed to see 
 him, and uttered a piercing scream which 
 awakened the dreamer. The calm stars seemed 
 to look down in the quiet scorn of immutability 
 upon him, as restless and disturbed Reginald 
 arose and looked around him. As his gaze was 
 turned westward, and his heart gave a long 
 throbbing as his thoughts centred themselves upon 
 her who was a captive, a red glare — lasting but a 
 moment — caught his eye. He gazed again 
 imagining himself mistaken — it had disappeared; 
 again, and once more up shot a light, blazed for 
 a moment and apparently expired. 
 
 Reginald's heart beat fast. " The camp-fire," 
 he muttered. " I am near and yet so far." He 
 awoke Chateaubriand, who looked long and 
 anxiously — in silence — at the rising and falling 
 flame, then turned his gaze upwards and contem- 
 plated the stars. " It can be done," he said, half 
 aloud. " The cross is but a little open.'* 
 
 " What can be done ?" asked Reginald. " Can 
 we come upon them ?" 
 
 '* We can," replied Chateaubriand. 
 
 Not another word was spoken, but feeling that 
 their rifles were ready lor any emergency, they
 
 OR, American Adventure. 155 
 
 moved forward. On — on through that silent 
 prairie, as it were doubly silent in the night ; now 
 catching a glimpse of the watchfire, losing it 
 again, and walking forward without a guide. At 
 length with a suddenness almost startling, they 
 emerged from the tall grass of the prairie upon 
 what seemed a plain, denuded of verdure — a sandy 
 desert. Scarcely two hundred yards distant from 
 the edge, could be seen the embers of the fire with a 
 little light-blue flame hovering over them. Strange 
 and weird enough was that solitary spot of fire on 
 the edge of the desert. There seemed none to 
 tend it — not a figure could be seen, all was dark- 
 ness around. 
 
 Chateaubriand touched his friend's shoulder. 
 "Remain here," he said, and making a step 
 forward was lost in the darkness. 
 
 Reginald crossed his arms and waited 
 patiently, feeling full confidence in Chateau- 
 briand's rangership. Alone, however, the time 
 seemed long, and he welcomed the sound which 
 announced the approach of his friend. He 
 put out his hand — it encountered something hairy 
 and rough, and it was with difiiculty he repressed 
 a start. 
 
 " It is I," said a well-known voice. 
 
 "Yes, but " began Reginald. 
 
 "I have a brace of mules with me."
 
 156 Who Will Win ? 
 
 "What, where did you find them ?" 
 
 *• I crawled close to the camp fire and saw 
 that, although no one was on his legs, a watch 
 was kept. An idea struck me, I crawled on again 
 in the darkness until I came upon these two — the 
 other three were too near the fire to be secured 
 with safety." 
 
 "What then is our plan of action ?" 
 
 " To sleep until dawn, and act according to 
 circumstances. It would not surprise me if Don 
 Gorge and Isabel, and that beautiful tigress, ride 
 on leaving the two men behind. If so — we make 
 a detour, and get to the top of the cliffs, for we are 
 now at the entrance to a ravine, and as the valley 
 rises gradually to the surface we shall encounter 
 them." 
 
 " I trust implicitly to you," said Reginald. 
 •• Else I would propose a dash at once," 
 
 ** Don Gorge would escape in the darkness, 
 not improbably stabbing her." 
 
 "Did'st see see ?" 
 
 *'No, but there is a small tent, and as three 
 men lay around the fire, doubtless it is occupied 
 by the females." 
 
 Reginald gave a sigh of relief, and, following 
 the example of Chateaubriand, sat him down to 
 rest, and watch for the dawn. The paling stars 
 soon gave evidence that the reign of night was
 
 OR, American Adventure. 157 
 
 drawing to a close, and it was with no small 
 pleasure that they observed streaks of light be- 
 ginning to shoot up in the eastern sky. In another 
 hour the light of morning was sufficiently diffused to 
 allow them — seated as they were just within the 
 edge of the prairie and hidden by its tall grass, to 
 see, although but indistinctly, the small tent 
 which sheltered all that Reginald held most dear, 
 and by it the dark figures of men, one of whom 
 was leaning upon his elbow. Suddenly he sprang 
 to his feet. Chateaubriand smiled. It was evi- 
 dent that the watcher had at last discovered that 
 two of the mules were missing. He awoke his 
 companions and they sat up just as the sun rising 
 above the horizon sent his level beams to glint 
 upon the barrels of their rifles, and to light up the 
 ravine and cliffs which arose towering as a back- 
 ground. Over their summits the mists rolled 
 away, chased by the sunbeams. 
 
 It was now evident that a close conference 
 was being held between Don Gorge and his men, 
 the result of which was that the three remaining 
 mules were prepared, the ashes of the fire blown 
 up, and a man was seen roasting among them 
 something for breakfast. Profiting by example 
 Chateaubriand and Reginald paid another visit to 
 the preserved meat case, which with a sip from a 
 pocket pistol, completed their meal. By this time
 
 158 Who Will Win ? 
 
 the inmates of the tent had made their appearance, 
 the mules were immediately brought forward, and 
 they mounted. "Isabel— Isabel," muttered Regi- 
 nald, as they rode off accompanied by Don Gorge, 
 leaving, as Chateaubriand had conjectured, the 
 two men, whose mules they had captured, to make 
 their way on as best they might. 
 
 "Now," said Chateaubriand, taking the bridle 
 of his mule. " Let us go forward." 
 
 He led the animal along the edge of the 
 prairie carefully, keeping hidden by the tall grass 
 for at least an hour, until they came upon a forest 
 of gnarled and ancient oaks which covered the 
 space between the prairie and the cliffs. Con- 
 cealed by the trees they mounted and rode rapidly 
 on, finding the ground gradually rising as they 
 left the prairie behind them. Up, up ever steeper 
 grew the side of the ravine, ever thinner grew the 
 trees. At length they emerged upon the top of 
 the cliffs and looked down into the steep sided 
 valley. Almost perpendicularly for a clear three 
 hundred feet, fell the rocks — naked, except where 
 — here and there — a prickly cactus grew in the 
 crevices. They had timed themselves with wonder- 
 ful success. Three galloping figures almost exactly 
 beneath, but slightly ahead, were immediately 
 recognised by them as Don Gorge, Isabel, and the 
 Amazon.
 
 OR, American Adventure. 159 
 
 " On " cried Chateaubriand, following on the 
 top of the cliffs — Reginald also went forward upon 
 the edge, so near that had he not been absorbed 
 in watching those below, he must have turned 
 giddy, "On," again cried Chateaubriand. **As 
 I expected, they make for the Acquilantua — the 
 House of the Ancient Kings, once there and we 
 have no chance. Come !" 
 
 Reginald needed no second invitation, and 
 without stopping to enquire whither they were 
 going, pressed ahead, on, on, over sticks and 
 stones, seeming to totter upon the very edge of 
 the precipice. Ever narrower grew the path, ever 
 more precipitous the ravine side, ever nearer to 
 the edge came the belt of forest, and ever more 
 dangerous grew the danger. Don Gorge had seen 
 them, and evidently guessed their purpose — as he 
 pushed forward at a terrible pace, and was 
 gradually drawing ahead. Reginald kicked his 
 mule frantically, and on tore the animal heedless 
 of precipice or narrowing path, which last soon 
 compelled Chateaubriand to fall in the rear. It 
 was well for him that he did so. Scarcely had he 
 fallen behind when Reginald's mule tripped upon 
 a loose stone, lost its balance, ran for a moment 
 as it were leaning over the ravine, and then 
 toppled bodily over, carrying its rider with it. 
 Turning somersaults with maddening velocity,
 
 i6o Who Will Win ? 
 
 Reginald realized that sensation which he had 
 sometimes experienced in dreams — of falling, 
 falling for ever, and yet with an ever increasing 
 dread of reaching the bottom. He fortunately 
 disentangled himself from the mule, which fell 
 faster than himself, bounding from rock to rock as 
 it went. Reginald felt himself, — for he was not 
 long enough in one position to clearly see — ap- 
 proaching a projection on which his momentum 
 threatened to dash him in pieces. Involuntarily 
 he stretched forth his hand — ^joy of joys, it encoun- 
 tered something firm. It was a cactus, and 
 arrested his fall for the moment, but his momentum 
 was too great — it snapped in two, and he descended 
 again, this time, however, falling perpendicularly, 
 without turning. He approached the projection, 
 could see it as it were rising up rapidly towards 
 him, already he felt in imagination the rending jar 
 and shake of falling from a height upon hard rock 
 when once again his outstretched hand encountered 
 the branch of a tree. It bent, but bore his weight, 
 and there he might have swung securely had not 
 his grasping it driven a cactus thorn which had 
 stuck in his skin right into his hand. Firm 
 enough as his will was to hold the bough, so great 
 was the pain that he felt his muscles gradually 
 relaxing — his hand slipped down the branch 
 slowly, but still it slipped. It was now that the
 
 OR, American Adventure. i6| 
 
 mule reaching the ground, doubtless with a heavy 
 thud, called Don Gorge's attention to the position 
 of the pursuers. 
 
 Reginald, whose countenance was turned that 
 way, saw him ride his mule under the cliff, evi- 
 dently with the intention of placing himself out 
 of the reach of Chateaubriand's rifle, while motion- 
 ing the Amazon to gallop on with the captive. 
 He then dismounted, and placed his rifle at his 
 shoulder. Reginald distinctly saw the muzzle of 
 the weapon pointed towards him ; he listened 
 intently for the "crack" that would be, in all 
 probability, his death note. It came not. Don 
 Gorge was either making certain, or resolved to 
 torture his victim to the utmost. Reginald felt 
 himself turning giddy, his head began to swim, 
 and his hand, now covered with blood, slipped 
 fast down the branch. His eyes became partially 
 fixed, staring down at the kneeling figure of Don 
 Gorge, and the gaping muzzle of the rifle. Up 
 suddenly rose a white puff of smoke — ping ! and 
 the bullet having cut the branch to which Reginald 
 hung, half in two just above his hand, went 
 whistling along the edge of the cliff. The bough 
 cracked, broke, and hung only by a piece of the 
 tough bark which was undivided. Reginald felt 
 himself spin round, felt himself going, when 
 suddenly a strong arm seemed to wind round his 
 
 L
 
 i62 Who Will Win ? 
 
 waist and bear him up with ease. His eyes which 
 had been partially closed, recovered their power 
 of sight, as a terrible hiss sounded in his ears. 
 He looked — he was hanging over the precipice, 
 suspended in the folds of an immense boa-con- 
 strictor, the lower portion of whose body was 
 coiled around the trunk of the tree. The situation 
 was horrible and almost bereft him of his senses. 
 Fortunately, however, he retained his conscious- 
 ness, and with a convulsive struggle, drew his 
 bowie knife. But in vain did he attempt to raise 
 his arm that he might plunge it into the reptile's 
 body — its coils had surrounded him and he could 
 not move. Backwards and forwards he swung in 
 that terrible embrace ; to and fro darted the head 
 of the serpent — its tongue protruding — its jaws 
 open to the utmost extent — tighter and tighter 
 grew its grasp. A sickening smell seemed to 
 overpower him as the open jaws came nearer and 
 nearer, until drawing back a short distance it 
 seemed to dart upon him. A thought fortunately 
 struck him — he held the bowie-knife by its centre 
 in his fingers, and the jaws of the snake shut upon 
 the steel — its lower jaw driving the point into the 
 brain. Convulsively rolled the coils to and fro, 
 now tight, now loose; Reginald almost feared 
 lest the relaxing muscles would allow him to drop 
 through, and then there was nothing to save him.
 
 OR, American Adventure. 163 
 
 He looked up in hope that Chateaubriand — buj 
 what could he do ? 
 
 Yes, he could do something. High over head 
 the intrepid ranger, with his rifle slung to his back, 
 was descending the almost perpendicular face of 
 the cliff by the help of a creeping plant. Down 
 he came " hand over hand," as • the sailors say, 
 nearer and nearer, running a risk that turned 
 Reginald's heart's blood cold. It seemed an hour, 
 it could not have been ten minutes — ere Chateau- 
 briand firmly planted his foot upon a ledge of rock 
 on an even level with Reginald, and hurled his 
 lasso over his friend's shoulder. Reginald felt the 
 welcome rope tighten around him, and he and the 
 serpent — half dead, were drawn upon the ledge ; 
 when the one was quickly despatched by a blow 
 from Chateaubriand's rifle butt, and the other's 
 hand grasped in welcome. Ere Reginald could 
 recover himself sufficiently to express his thanks, 
 however, or rather as he began to speak, a wild 
 unearthly yell reverberated down the ravine. 
 
 "The Apache war-whoop," exclaimed Cha- 
 teaubriand. 
 
 Don Gorge also evidently recognized the sound 
 and arose from his kneeling posture — in which h«^ 
 had remained during Reginald's struggle witn tne 
 serpent — apparently in amazement, sprang upon 
 his mule and dashed up the valley following his
 
 164 Who Will Win ? 
 
 captive. Chateaubriand looked around him as 
 once again came that indescribable yell re-echoing 
 from side to side. 
 
 " It is a fiend," said Reginald. 
 
 "His earthly representatives," replied Cha- 
 teaubriand. " Follow me." 
 
 He grasped the creeping shrub, but it had been 
 loosened by his deecent, and gave way, nearly in 
 its fall carrying him with it over the naked ledge 
 of rock. Their retreat was cut off, and they were 
 exposed without the slightest concealment upon 
 the face of the precipice. 
 
 " I shall make the attempt," said Chateau- 
 briand, about to dash at the rock. 
 
 Reginald sized him by the shoulder, said 
 nothing, but pointed to the face of the cliff which 
 the plant had hidden. There was an opening. 
 Chateaubriand unslung his rifle and probed it, but 
 could not reach the extremity. Down they went 
 upon their knees and crawled into the cave, as 
 once more came that awful yell upon the breeze. 
 
 " We are safe," said Chateaubriand, " But 
 Isabel ?"
 
 OR, American Adventure 165 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FTER crawling forward in darkness for some 
 short time with the yells of the Apaches 
 sounding in their ears, Reginald and 
 Chateaubriand suddenly found the aperture 
 widen sufficiently to allow of their standing up, and 
 seeing" that they were in a chamber of considerable 
 size. In the centre stood a large pyramidal stone 
 with a bronze article on it much like a lamp ; 
 against the wall of the chamber or cave opposite 
 the entrance was suspended another article of 
 metal, looking like a concave burning mirror. 
 
 " A secret cave-chamber of the fire-worship- 
 pers !" exclaimed Chateaubriand. " It would not 
 surprise me if it is connected with the House of 
 the Ancient Kings by a secret passage." 
 
 " The House of the Ancient Kings," repeated 
 Reginald interrogatively. " Even so. A house it 
 is, cut out of the solid rock, inhabited say the 
 Indians by a demon, in reality by an old pirate, 
 or rather retired slaver — a man who had devoted 
 his youth to importing blacks, and finally finding 
 his trade forbidden, shut himself up there and bade 
 defiance to the world, Indians and all,"
 
 i66 Who Will Win ? 
 
 " And Isabel ?" 
 
 " Will make him a wife, will she nill she if 
 we do not hasten. I know old Racken the Rover 
 well." So saying Chateaubriand stamped with 
 his feet around the cave, Reginald watching him 
 in wonder. At length there came a metallic 
 clang — his feet had struck something, and, bend- 
 ing down, with considerable exertion he pulled up 
 a bronze door. At the same moment the sun 
 having reached the meridian poured its noon-tide 
 beams through the opening of the cave, illumin- 
 ating the chamber, and revealing a dark passage 
 beneath the trap, 
 
 Chateaubriand unslung his rifle and plumbed 
 the depth — it was but a few feet, whereupon he 
 boldly sprang down, and followed by Reginald, 
 disappeared as it were |.in the bowels of the earth. 
 They groped their way onwards without difficulty, 
 the passage being wide enough to admit two at a 
 time, and strangely enough the air seemed per- 
 fectly pure. 
 
 " There must be another opening," said Cha- 
 teaubriand. 
 
 He had scarcely spoken ere the passage 
 became as it were split in two, one leading to the 
 left, the other straightforward. After a moment's 
 hesitation they chose the latter. On — on in com- 
 plete darkness they walked full a quarter of an
 
 OR, American Adventure. 167 
 
 hour without seeing a yard in front, and sounding 
 as it were before making each step with the butts 
 of their rifles. Suddenly a human voice struck 
 upon their ears. 
 
 Both paused, so unearthly, so unexpected was 
 it in that black, pitchy obscurity wherein so to 
 say it seemed an impossibility to articulate ; it 
 was muffled or deadened by distance. Chateau- 
 briand thrust forward his hand. It encountered 
 something solid — they had evidently reached the 
 end of the passage. Again came the voice — low, 
 almost inaudible, and to Reginald unintelligible, 
 as the words were Mexican. 
 
 ** I have her at last," translated Chateau- 
 briand, " and having her have him. Ah ! Mont- 
 gomery — revenge is sweet. Through you I have 
 been lame these twenty years — now art thou child- 
 less, soon shalt thou be landless, for the Con- 
 federacy totters and all must be confiscated — sold 
 for an old song to loyal Don Gorge. He ! he ! My 
 son-in-law, that is to be. Well has he earned it 
 by bringing Isabel." The voice ceased, there was 
 the sound of steps and all was quiet. 
 
 " It must have been the Rover himself," said 
 Chateaubriand. 
 
 Reginald ground his teeth. 
 
 " There must be an opening somewhere," said
 
 1 68 Who Will Win. ? 
 
 Chateaubriand. " Stay ; I will prime my pistol 
 and flash it ; look well about you." 
 
 He did so, and they discerned that the passage 
 was closed by a stone door, apparently revolving 
 upon bronze hinges, and without fastening. 
 Simultaneously they pressed against it ; but no, it 
 was not to be forced without difficulty. Again 
 and again until the perspiration streamed down 
 they pushed against the stone with so little effect 
 that they were almost constrained to believe it 
 was part of the rock itself. Once more they strove 
 with partial success, as a ray of light shot through 
 a crevice, Into this crevice, at the risk of break- 
 ing it, Chateaubriand thrust his rifle, and using it 
 as a lever, in five minutes they stood within the 
 apartment. It was hung round with skins of 
 animals, which concealed the stone walls ; high 
 and vaulted, and lighted from above by a small 
 opening in the roof. Over the doorway was a 
 stag's skull. They got their weapons ready, and 
 stepped out into a passage beyond. At that 
 moment came the rattle of firearms, and a loud 
 yell. 
 
 " Fortunate, fortunate," exclaimed Chateau- 
 briand. "The Apaches are attacking the Rover's 
 stronghold, and we shall be able to ransack it 
 unobserved. Go you that way — I this." 
 
 They parted, each going opposite ways.
 
 OR, American Adventure. 169 
 
 Reginald passed several doors ; they were open, 
 and he did not trouble himself to enter the apart- 
 ments. At length, however, at the turn of the 
 passage was one closed. He hesitated a moment. 
 The sound of men's voices could be heard at a 
 short distance, and the noise of ramrods in the 
 barrels of guns. It was evident he was close upon 
 the defenders of the place. Cautiously he glanced 
 around the corner, and perceived the back of a 
 man, who was evidently taking aim through an 
 aperture in the walls. Reginald saw that the 
 moment was favourable and dashed forward. The 
 door was not only closed but fastened with chain 
 and padlock. This increased his curiosity ; he 
 fancied he heard a sigh within, and he became 
 desperate. He past 3d the barrel of his rifle 
 through the loop of the chain, and with a con- 
 vulsive effort twisted it round, snapping it in two. 
 The door fell open, disclosing, joy of joys, the 
 object of his search — Isabel — standing at a short 
 distance. 
 
 She did not recognise him in her fright, but 
 screamed and started back. Reginald dropped 
 his rifle, and fell upon his knees, outstretching his 
 hands. Isabel observed this and it appeased her 
 alarm ; she looked again, uttered a cry, evidently 
 of pleasure, and fell half-fainting into his arms. 
 Reginald sprang to his feet, and carrying his fair
 
 170 Who Will Win ? 
 
 burden, bounded down the passage hoping to 
 escape observation. But in vain, Isabel's scream 
 had attracted attention. He had scarcely gone a 
 yard ere he heard an oath in a well known and 
 hated voice. He felt himself pursued by Don 
 Gorge, and redoubled his speed. He gained the 
 apartment they had first entered, hoping to find 
 Chateaubriand there; but he was not, nor was 
 there time to close the door before Don Gorge, 
 sword in hand, was upon the threshold. Reginald 
 carefully deposited Isabel upon a couch of skins, 
 the only furniture in the apartment, and turned 
 to encounter his pursuer. He was entirely 
 unarmed he had dropped his rifle to carry Isabel, 
 and wore no bowie. Don Gorge hesitated as it 
 were for a moment, gloating upon anticipated 
 triumph ; that moment proved a turning point of 
 his existence, and altered the aspect of affairs. 
 
 Reginald caught a glimpse of a magnificent 
 Mexican sabre hanging by a nail to the wall. He 
 tore it down, and warded off Don Gorge's first 
 thrust with it still in the scabbard. Springing 
 back to escape the second gave him time to draw 
 the blade, and ere Don Gorge could recover him- 
 self he received a slight wound in the shoulder. 
 This rendered him frantic. He lost all control of 
 himself, and, with eyes glaring like those of a 
 tiger engaged in mortal combat, thrust and struck
 
 OR, American Adventure. 171 
 
 with a vehemence which defeated his own purpose. 
 For he became blinded with rage, over-reached 
 himself, and struck the point of his sword into the 
 stag's skull, that was above the door. Ere he 
 could tug it out his life's blood poured upon the 
 floor, Reginald's sabre having passed through his 
 heart. 
 
 At that moment Chateaubriand having been 
 attracted by the clash of steel entered the apart- 
 ment. A grim smile passed over his countenance 
 as he observed Don Gorge weltering upon the 
 floor. He said nothing, but carefully fastened the 
 door, then turned and pointed to the secret 
 passage. Reginald immediately understood him, 
 seized Isabel in his arms, and entered it, closely 
 followed by his friend. As he passed the branch 
 passage Chateaubriand laid his hand on his 
 shoulder, passed by and led the way down it. 
 Each step seemed to bring them nearer the light 
 without, the air became purer ; and the gloom less 
 dense. At length they arrived at the opening, 
 but it was blocked up by a stone, and it was in 
 vain they attempted to force it. Suddenly an idea 
 struck Chateaubriand. 
 
 "Push it sideways," he said. They did so, 
 and it was moved with ease. The flood of light 
 that burst in upon them revealed the reason of 
 this.
 
 172 Who Will Win ? 
 
 A shrub no doubt originally planted to 
 conceal the entrance had grown into a tree, but 
 could be slipped past with difficulty. For a 
 moment they stood as if dazzled by the sunlight, 
 uncertain whither to turn their steps. 
 
 "Here are traces of a path," at length 
 observed Chateaubriand, going forward. 
 
 They followed him, Reginald still half carry- 
 ing, half supporting Isabel — a labour of love. Half 
 an hour's walk through a forest of oaks and a 
 solemn sound reached them carried upon the 
 breeze — it was like the moaning of pines bending 
 before a storm. 
 
 "The sea!" exclaimed Chateaubriand, and 
 in five minutes they stood upon the beach. There 
 were men moving upon it, a boat drawn up, and a 
 ship lying to at a little distance. Friends or 
 enemies ? That was the question. It was, how- 
 ever, no use to endeavour to conceal themselves, 
 they were evidently observed, as the men came 
 running forward, and in a few minutes surrounded 
 them. It was the Confederate uniform they wore. 
 
 " Sergeant Mayson," half shouted Chateau- 
 briand, in excess of amazement, recognising a 
 sergeant who had served with him under the 
 colonel. "Is it you ?" 
 
 " Ay — and is it you r" repeated the honest
 
 OR, American Adventure. 173 
 
 sergeant. *' Miss Montgomery, !too— -my eye— ? 
 and here comes the colonel." 
 
 Up certainly enough ran the colonel ; he could 
 not speak, but taking Isabel from Reginald 
 clasped her in his arms. At that moment an 
 arrow whistled through the air uncomfortably 
 close. 
 
 " We have been tracked by Apaches," cried 
 Chateaubriand. " To the boat." 
 
 Thither they went pursued by another and 
 another winged messenger of death, but the 
 distance was too great, and no harm was done. 
 It was evident that the Indians were in too weak 
 numbers to dare to leave the shelter of the woods. 
 Not a word was spoken until the ship's deck was 
 gained, and Isabel handed down below. The 
 colonel then shook the two friends heartily by the 
 hand, tears welling up in his eyes. 
 
 " Friends," he said, " you have restored to an 
 old man his only joy — I cannot reward you suffi- 
 ciently. My fortune is, however, yours — you will 
 spare enough for her." 
 
 "We will touch nothing," said Reginald. 
 
 "Except enough to publish my discoveries," 
 added Chateaubriand. 
 
 "The Confederacy has fallen," continued 
 Montgomery. "I have saved the larger portion 
 of my fortune, however ; it is on board. When I
 
 174 Who Will Win ? 
 
 found I could no longer help my country, I thought 
 it time to search for my child. I bought this 
 vessel, and followed by a few of my command, 
 coasted down. Fortunate meeting; but whither 
 shall we go ?" 
 
 "To England," cried Reginald, cheerily. 
 " Bourton Hall will shelter the whole ship's crew, 
 if necessary, how much more then Isabel. Come 
 aloft there." 
 
 What resistance could be made to this invita- 
 tion ? The sails were set, and with a flowing sheet 
 they soon lost sight of the low, flat Mexican shore. 
 At night, however, the watch on deck called 
 attention to a glow upon the horizon. 
 
 "It is the Indians," said Chateaubriand. 
 "Without doubt tracking our trial backwards, 
 they have discovered the secret passage — the 
 House of the Ancient Kings was originally entirely 
 of stone, but Racken the Rover built a wooden 
 edifice upon it; depend upon it, it is now in 
 flames." 
 
 "And who is Racken the Rover?" asked 
 Reginald. 
 
 " Let us go below," said the colonel, "and I 
 will explain matters." 
 
 They did so, and seated themselves at a table 
 in the colonel's cabin. Montgomery spread some 
 papers before them. "You remember Asaraca ?"
 
 OR, American Adventure. 175 
 
 he asked. " Well, here are the letters, I have 
 examined them, and at last understand the 
 mystery. This Asaraca of the swamp, as he was 
 called, was a runaway negro ; from these letters 
 addressed to his wife, and written, gentlemen, in 
 the handwriting of Don Gorge, it would appear 
 that that double-dyed scoundrel had himself ruined 
 the negro's home, and then swore to Asaraca, a 
 man of no learning, that it was I." 
 
 " But how did Don Gorge become acquainted 
 with the runaway ?" 
 
 ** I will reveal my private history. Under- 
 stand that twenty years ago I was a suitor for the 
 hand of the fair girl who afterwards became my 
 wife, and who now lies covered with the green turf. 
 Don Gorge also aspired to her hand — he was 
 rejected, hence his rage, hatred, and a hellish plot 
 of a slave rising, with Asaraca to head the insur- 
 rection. It was, however, discovered, and a price 
 set upon both their heads. They left the country. 
 Time had altered Asaraca until I no longer 
 recognised him. Their fresh plot is now apparent 
 — the traitorship of Asaraca and his son stimulated 
 by Don Gorge is evident, and when I tell you that 
 this Racken the Rover was also one of my rivals 
 whom I lamed in a duel, you will understand all." 
 
 "Excepting," remarked Chateaubriand, "how 
 you came to land at a point so opportune."
 
 176 Who Will Win ? 
 
 " We heard the sound of firing," replied the 
 
 Colonel. 
 
 "Ah, the Apaches — whom heaven con- 
 founded," said Chateaubriand. "Gentlemen I 
 shall retire, and think over my discoveries—shall 
 they be published in quarto or octavo ?" 
 
 ******* 
 
 Bourton Hall was merry enough that ensuing 
 Christmas. Col. Montgomery had accepted Regi- 
 nald's invitation, he had done more, he had 
 listened to a whisper concerning Isabel. Upon 
 that whisper Reginald had acted— he found Isabel 
 with a faded rose in her hand ; it was the one he 
 had given her, he wished for nothing more fortu- 
 nate. What could she do but admit he had her 
 heart? Hence the festivity. Huge logs blazed 
 upon the hearth, holly and evergreens adorned the 
 walls, cheerily rose the song, and deep were the 
 healths quaffed to the bride. 
 
 Enough. All were happy, and even Chateau- 
 briand contrived to forget for the time, the stone 
 arrow heads of the Thangpati, with which he had 
 so puzzled the brains of the learned. The question 
 was. were they real or accidental ? The night of 
 nineteen centuries is not so easily seen through, 
 and the question remains just where it was.
 
 V. 
 MASKED.
 
 Masked- 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HE mass of the people is always more 
 or less conservative. This is evident 
 from the slow rate at which changes, 
 whether political or social, are effected. 
 It sometimes requires years to raise a 
 reputation, but once gained it is a difficult 
 thing for another, however brilliant his genius 
 may be, to supplant it. The introduction of a new 
 viand is ahvays looked upon with suspicion lest 
 the community be poisoned, and as to the debut of 
 a new doctor, it is tantamount to a revolution, 
 and a revolution in England is not so easily 
 effected. It was from this characteristic of the Briton 
 that the town of Larston was suddenly subjected 
 to a fever of expectation, almost of dread, when it 
 became aware that a new doctor had set up 
 practice therein ; and that the manager of the 
 Larston Theatre had announced the debut of a new 
 actress. The new doctor found himself looked 
 upon as a species of wild beast, or rather a licensed 
 poisoner — he was avoided in the streets as though
 
 x8o Masked. 
 
 his very glance could kill. If he went to the 
 market dinner nobody would take wine with him, 
 and even the waiters manifested an apparent re- 
 luctance to touch his money. He seemed amused 
 rather than disconcerted by this brusque behaviour, 
 knowing full w^ell that time would familiarise the 
 inhabitants of Larston with his personal appear- 
 ance, and that his intentions would then be con- 
 sidered no worse than those of others. The fact 
 was that Larston, like other places — the metropolis 
 itself not excepted, — had, by a long course of 
 habit, got to believe in one or two men, and in 
 them only. Nobody could write a better leading 
 article than the editor of the Larston Courier y no- 
 body could sell a better cheese than the grocer in 
 High Street, nobody could manage a Theatre 
 better than Mr. Barton, nobody could act like 
 Mdlle. Tostino, nobody could be a better physician 
 than Dr. Kinkelman. The latter gentleman had 
 in truth the confidence of the whole place. He 
 had been their only medical man for some twenty 
 years, that is with a brass plate on his door, though 
 there were three or four gentlemen entitled assis- 
 tants who did at least four-fifths of the work. If 
 anybody died in their hands it was their fault ; if 
 anybody was likely to recover after a lingering 
 illness. Dr. Kinkelman always paid the last visit, 
 and thus got the credit of the cure. " Mr. So and
 
 Masked. i8i 
 
 So," the patient would say, " did me no good, but 
 directly Dr. Kinkelman came, I felt better." 
 
 A great deal has been written, and a great deal 
 more might be written, concerning the effect of faith 
 in working miracles — Dr. Kinkelman knew very 
 well its value, and spared no pains to keep up the 
 dignity of the profession. His iron-grey hair was 
 brushed back from his forehead ; his light grey 
 eyes looked forth upon the world from beneath 
 frosted eyebrows ; his mouth was ever closed — he 
 never smoked, and made a good thing of granting 
 permission to others to do so ; he was never seen 
 to laugh ; scrupulous neatness was the order of 
 his dress ; white were his teeth, black his clothes. 
 It was no wonder, then, that after twenty years' 
 acquaintance with this gentleman the inhabitants 
 of Larston asked each other, with significant 
 glances every morning, as to whether or no the 
 new doctor had got a patient. When it was 
 known that he had, in an old lady suffering from 
 a chronic internal complaint, which Dr. Kinkelman 
 could not relieve, the upshot of the affair was 
 watched for with as much anxiety, by the elder 
 portion of the inhabitants, as the approaching 
 debut of the new actress by the youthful half. 
 
 The eventful evening, to the manager of the 
 Larston Theatre particularly, and to the inhabit- 
 ants of that town generally, at length arrived.
 
 x82 Masked. 
 
 The house was filled to overflowing ; the pit was 
 crowded with a dense mass of human beings ; the 
 grand tier — there was a grand tier — contained the 
 beauty of Larston, as the boxes did the elite. But 
 the strains discoursed by the musicians did not 
 attract so much attention as the occupants of two 
 boxes to the right of the stage : the one occupied 
 by an old lady, attended by a young and handsome 
 man, and the other displaying in solitary dignity 
 the person of Dr. Kinkelman. For the first time 
 the doctors were seen in a position which allowed 
 the contrast between them to become apparent. — 
 Kinkelman stern, grave, dignified. Dr. Rinald 
 graceful, easy, and "interesting," as the ladies 
 would put it. Indeed the latter most important 
 portion of the community — the ladies to wit, began 
 from that moment to feel an interest in the young 
 doctor, secret of course, and confined to certain 
 whisperings and semi-sighs raised by his pre- 
 possessing appearance. His blue eyes were 
 suddenly found to be bluer than those of any other 
 male inhabitant of Larston, his form more manly, 
 his brown hair more curly, his mouth more 
 humorous, his personnel more graceful, and his 
 general appearance, over which there hovered, 
 according to these fair inquisitors, a soft, reflective 
 melancholy, more worthy of study. It could be 
 no such terrible thing after all to have one's pulse
 
 Masked. 183 
 
 felt by his white hand. After all the arm of youth 
 would be quite as effective, perhaps more so, as a 
 supporter in a fainting fit, than that of age. Even 
 the elder portion of the community acknowledged 
 that he certainly had an agreeable appearance, 
 and his evident anxiety for the old lady's comfort 
 was looked upon in a favourable light. As to the 
 said old lady, by the young inquisitors betore-men- 
 tioned, she was, of course, declared " positively 
 frightful," and how she could come there to see a 
 new actress, with one foot in the grave and the 
 other a wooden one, was more than they could 
 imagine ! In short, during the interval which 
 elapsed before the curtain rose, in that period in 
 fact, when the audience is supposed to be listening 
 to the orchestra, Dr. Rinald's reputation went up 
 50 per cent, to the great annoyance of Dr. Kinkel- 
 man, who became graver and sterner than ever, 
 when he observed the numerous double-barrelled 
 glasses directed by the feminine portion of the 
 audience at the box next his. 
 
 At length up went the curtain, disclosing the 
 first scene of the piece in which Mdlle. Tostino 
 took the part of the mild-hearted daughter of a 
 pirate, and the new actress Mdlle. Nelinda, that of 
 the persecuted heroine. The manager had been 
 very fortunate in his selection of artistes during the 
 season, and, with the assistance of Mdlle. Tostino,
 
 184 Masked. 
 
 had been enabled to run a piece with full houses 
 for twenty consecutive nights, attracting, indeed, 
 several gentlemen, connected with the profession, 
 from London — a great honour not easily achieved 
 by a manager. Mdlle. Tostino's beauty had be- 
 come the standing criterion of female loveliness in 
 Larston; and there was no doubt that her dark 
 eyes, and commanding figure, contributed quite as 
 much to keep the piece in favor as the intrinsic 
 merits of her simple acting which, although good, 
 was nothing extraordinary. It was thus with no 
 small palpitation of the heart, that the manager 
 had announced, with the first night of the new 
 piece, the debut of a new, and as yet, totally un- 
 known actress. 
 
 The appearance of Mdlle. Tostino was hailed 
 with a burst of enthusiasm, and her every motion 
 watched with an interest certainly flattering. Even 
 the stern Dr. Kinkelman leaned forward in his box 
 to catch the words which fell from her lips, and 
 applauded with some zest the conclusion of the 
 first act. His enthusiasm, however, was suddenly 
 checked by the observation he made, that the 
 actress, ere the curtain descended, cast a glance at 
 the occupant of the box near him, the meaning of 
 which could not be mistaken. It was a joyful 
 recognition, and a wistful seeking for approbation, 
 which came not from the young doctor. Yet what
 
 Masked. 185 
 
 was this to Dr. Kinkelman ? Why should he lean 
 back in his seat and partially draw the red curtain 
 of his box as if to hide his countenance ? Why 
 should the lines upon that countenance bear evi- 
 dence of some passion working within him ? 
 What did it matter to him, with his iron grey hair, 
 upon whom an actress cast her favors ? There 
 was, however, but little occasion to conceal him- 
 self, as the next moment the whole attention of 
 the audience was concentrated upon the stage, 
 awaiting the entrance of the new actress. The 
 curtain rose at length, and she advanced. There 
 was an impressive silence as she came forward, 
 her head drooping as though she was afraid to 
 display her beauty in the full glare of the gaslight 
 to a thousand eyes — drooping as a snowdrop 
 might in the fierce rays of the spring sun, but at 
 the first sound spoken by that delicious little mouth, 
 at the first silvery tones of that enchanting voice, 
 at the first timid hesitating glance cast from those 
 swimming deep blue eyes, upon the audience 
 when she turned towards them, and the contrast 
 of the raven black hair, with the pure white 
 temples, and the delicate tint raised by maiden 
 modesty, became apparent, there was a long low 
 murmur of amazement, of admiration, almost of 
 worship from the gazing multitude, yet Kinkelman 
 did not draw open his curtain. He had cast one
 
 1 86 Masked. 
 
 furtive glance upon the stage and no more, what 
 did it matter to him ? Nevertheless, on went the 
 play, ever more beautiful became Mdlle. Nelinda 
 as her shyness somewhat wore off, ever more 
 audible became the murmur of the audience, until 
 at length a shout seemed to split the vaulted roof. 
 Instantly it was hushed, producing a marvellous 
 effect, as she was seen to glance at the box next 
 Kinkelman's, to turn pale, then blush and shrink 
 like Diana surprised bathing, to shudder, to hesi- 
 tate in her speech, to suddenly pause and leave 
 the stage with downcast eyelids and faltering steps. 
 Up rose a loud murmur of admiration at this, as 
 it was at first supposed, consummate piece of 
 acting, but when the manager came forward and 
 expressed his regret that on account of Mdlle. 
 Nelinda having been seized with faintness she 
 could not again appear, the great multitude was 
 hushed in disappointment and sympathy. 
 
 From that moment the attention visibly 
 slackened, and she who had been hitherto the Star 
 of Larston — Mdlle. Tostino — had the mortification 
 to see some leaving even in the midst of her per- 
 formance. Kinkelman was again leaning forward 
 in his box, and in that position remained gazing 
 upon the stage until the curtain finally fell. He 
 was almost the last to leave the Theatre, and even 
 then he lingered partially hidden behind one of
 
 Masked. 187 
 
 the pillars of the portal. Why was this ? Was it 
 because the new doctor, after seeing his patient to 
 her carriage, had remained reading in apparent 
 absorption the play bills upon the walls, although 
 to a close observer it would have been evident 
 from his frequent glances around that it was a 
 disguise of his real purpose ? Whether so or not, 
 there the doctor remained until the audience had 
 left and the actors came forth, generally in pairs, 
 and talking in no suppressed voices about the 
 success of the dehitante. At length came Mdlle. 
 Tostino, accompanied by the manager, who left 
 her at the door and retired within, whilst she, after 
 hesitating a moment, went up to the young doctor 
 and touched his shoulder. He started, but held 
 out his hand. A few words of greeting, and they 
 passed on together. 
 
 Dr. Kinkelman glared from his concealment, 
 ground his teeth, and followed at a short distance* 
 The young doctor went but a few steps, said good- 
 night, and returned, passing Kinkelman without 
 appearing to note him. Kinkelman immediately 
 increased his pace until he at length walked beside 
 the actress. 
 
 *' A fine evening,"' he observed. 
 
 "Ah, Dr. Kinkelman," cried the actress with 
 considerable vivacity. " I have quite recovered 
 from my headaches — thanks to your prescriptions."
 
 i88 Masked. 
 
 They walked in silence. 
 
 " Dr. Rinald is highly favoured by the Star of 
 Larston," at length remarked Kinkelman, in a 
 bitter tone, which he strove to make composed, 
 but which quivered perceptibly. 
 
 " He is an old friend of mine," replied the 
 actress, quickly ; " At least he saved my life once 
 when I was foolish enough to venture upon the 
 thin ice of the Serpentine," she added, with some 
 emotion. 
 
 There was a long silence. Suddenly Kinkel- 
 man said " good night," in a low, scarcely audible 
 voice, and crossed the street, the actress waving 
 her hand playfully to him, as he disappeared in 
 the darkness, muttering to himself, "Hell and 
 furies !" 
 
 What did it matter to him ?
 
 Masked. 189 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "T would not have required a very close observer 
 to have discovered on the following evening 
 that something was astir in Larston. Either 
 something had happened, or there was a 
 rumour that something • had. Groups of people 
 might be seen gathered beneath the lamp-posts, 
 the glare from the gas above disclosing their eager 
 countenances. Hurrying individuals suddenly 
 slackened their pace, hesitated, and finally mingled 
 in these groups to pass on again in a few minutes 
 with a " well I never," "did you ever hear r" 
 
 In every town there is a greater or less number 
 of houses whereat true and authentic accounts may 
 be obtained of all that is going forward. The 
 principal place of this sort, that is, the house fre- 
 quented by the higher class of inhabitants, is 
 almost sure to be that which boasts as its sign the 
 arms of the largest landowner or parliamentary 
 representative of the borough. So it was in Lars- 
 ton. The Crumley Arms Hotel was the hotel of 
 the town. It was situated at the top of the High 
 Street, and had been in former times a posting 
 House, at which some twenty coaches made a
 
 iqo Masked. 
 
 daily call ; but " alas !" as the landlord, Mr. 
 Bustern, would observe, "them days was gone." 
 Nevertheless, the old inn was still a place of con- 
 siderable importance, especially as a house of call 
 for the higher class, who would come there, pass 
 a social evening, read the papers, and learn the 
 news, without that obloquy which generally 
 attaches itself to the frequenters of public-houses. 
 Perhaps one cause of the popularity of the place 
 was the fact that next door resided the barber, 
 which was convenient for visitors, and as the pro- 
 prietors of both establishments were upon the best 
 of terms, each drove a thriving trade through the 
 recommendation of the other. The Crumley Arms 
 Hotel was then the place to learn news. There 
 in the saloon, as the proprietor, magniloquently 
 termed a long, low, comfortable apartment, might 
 be seen on any evening, two at least of the seven 
 influential landowners of the neighbourhood. 
 
 There might generally be seen the thriving 
 grocer, and the dapper draper, the corn-factor, 
 sometimes, though rarely, a lawyer, and always 
 the tallow chandler, who as a man that did a 
 greasy trade, and moreover a new comer, was 
 looked upon as a parvenu, and treated as such. 
 Even the Reverend Rector did not disdain upon 
 occasion to take a social noggin with his most 
 influential parishioners therein, and was liked the
 
 Masked. 191 
 
 better for doing so. On the evening to which 
 allusion has been more particularly made, there 
 was a goodly company gathered together in the 
 before-mentioned saloon. There sat three of the 
 influential landlords, — men of mould, strong of 
 arm, and heavy of look. There sat the grocer, the 
 corn-factor, the draper, and the tallow chandler. 
 There also, keeping watch and ward near the door- 
 way, sat Mr. Bustern, landlord and proud pro- 
 prietor of the Crumley Arms. Thither, too, late 
 in the evening, came Dr. Kinkelman, whose ap- 
 pearance elicited various grunts of recognition 
 from the influential landowners, hearty greetings 
 from the grocer and draper, and a bow from the 
 tallow chandler, none of which the doctor acknow- 
 ledged further than by a nod, but seating himself, 
 took up a paper. There was a momentary silence* 
 
 " Doctor — ahem ! doctor," at length began 
 Mr. Bustern, falteringly, — his cheeks almost burst- 
 ing in his endeavours to keep himself from letting 
 it all out at once, and so spoiling the effect. 
 
 " Well, sir," condescendingly observed the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Have you heard the news ?" 
 
 '' No, sir." 
 
 " Well sir, what do you think sir ? Only 
 imagine — is'nt it shocking? Mrs. Springeld, the
 
 iQs Masked. 
 
 new doctor's patient, sir — it's not surprising upon 
 the whole, but she's dead." 
 
 " Indeed," said Dr. Kinkelman, dropping his 
 newspaper, as if struck. "Indeed," he repeated 
 in the gravest tone, "under my course of treat- 
 ment she might have survived for years." 
 
 "Just what I said, doctor," cried a voice from 
 the doorway. 
 
 " Come in, Mr. Springeld," said the landlord. 
 
 " No, no," replied Mr. Springeld, hesitating 
 
 upon the threshold. " It won't do my poor 
 
 dear sister-in-law." 
 
 "Be' ant no harm, man, come in," cried the 
 three influential landlords simultaneously. 
 
 What could Mr. Spingeld do but yield ? He 
 sat down, and being pressed to state the circum- 
 stances of his sister-in-law's death, nothing loth, 
 plunged into a disquisition upon her virtues which 
 might have lasted until midnight, had not one of 
 the influential landowners grunted out that " they 
 wanted to a'hear 'n how a'hopped the twig, not 
 how a'lived." 
 
 *' She went oif very sudden at last," said Mr. 
 Springeld, coming to the point. "Nurse Wood- 
 ford tells me that towards morning — poor dear 
 thing — she was took with a spasm in the side, and 
 then vomited violently, and before the new doctor 
 could come, she was gone."
 
 Masked. 193 
 
 <( 
 
 Vomited violently," remarked Dr. Kinkel- 
 man. " This is certainly very remarkable. 
 Vomiting should of all things have been avoided." 
 
 "Some new fangled dodge, I'll warn," said 
 the tallow chandler, endeavouring to push himself 
 into notice. 
 
 "Aye, I'll warn it," repeated the influential 
 landlord, 
 
 " Has a post mortem examination been made ?" 
 inquired Dr. Kinkelman. 
 
 "No," replied Mr. Springeld. "Dr. Rinald 
 said it was unnecessary." 
 
 " Very singular,'' replied Dr. Kinkelman. 
 
 " Ay, he wants the sexton to hide his 
 blunders," said one of the influential landowners 
 grinning at his own joke. 
 
 "There ought to be an inquest," said the 
 landlord of the Crumley Arms, chiming in with 
 the humour of his guests. 
 
 " True," said Dr. Kinkelman. 
 
 " So there shall be," added Mr. Springeld, in 
 an imperative tone. 
 
 And an inquest there was. On such an ex- 
 traordinary occasion there was no difiiculty in 
 obtaining a jury, and the very persons who had 
 listened to, or assisted in the foregoing dialogue, 
 assembled together to see justice done to the 
 deceased. After viewing the corpse in the usual 
 
 N
 
 194 Masked. 
 
 meeting, the jury reassembled, and the first wit- 
 ness, Dr. Kinkelman, was called. He deposed 
 that he had commenced attending upon the 
 deceased nearly a twelve month previously, and 
 had continued to prescribe for her until within the 
 last fortnight. He described his method of treat- 
 ment, which was listened to with profound atten- 
 tion by the jurors — none of them comprehending 
 it. Dr. Rinald then stood forward, and stated that 
 the course he had pursued was exactly like the one 
 laid open by his fellow-practitioner. He was of 
 opinion that the cause of death was the bursting 
 of a small internal vessel, the consequence of 
 violent vomiting supervening upon the introduction 
 of some fruit which had disagreed with deceased. It 
 was here observed that Dr. Kinkelman gravely 
 shook his head. The deceased's constant atten- 
 dant, Nurse Woodford, was then called, and having 
 described her death, replied, in answer to questions 
 put by the jurors, that deceased "had taken nothing 
 particular before going to bed, nothing likely to 
 disagree with her." 
 
 The jury having been left to their deliberations 
 for a few moments, the doors were thrown open 
 and the coroner announced his intention of an 
 adjournment in order to enable Dr. Kinkelman to 
 make a post mortem examination. Meanwhile the 
 witnesses would be bound over to appear upon
 
 Masked. 195 
 
 their own recognisances. It was done, and the 
 following day the jury reassembled to hear the 
 result of Dr. Kinkelman's examination. When 
 called upon by the coroner that gentleman ad- 
 vanced, and stated that it was his painful duty to 
 announce his discovery in the stomach of deceased 
 of a quantity of arsenic. At that terrible word 
 there was a perceptible start, and all eyes were 
 cast upon the new doctor. He seemed unmoved, 
 remaining in his former position, and gazing 
 steadily at Dr. Kinkelman. 
 
 " Could that arsenic have come there in a 
 legitimate manner ?" enquired the coroner. 
 " Could it in this case have been used as a 
 medicine ?" 
 
 " Not in any ordinary preparation," replied 
 Dr. Kinkelman. " Moreover the quantity is so 
 large that I am constrained to believe that it could 
 never have been administered as a medicine — 
 unless by culpable negligence." 
 
 There was an impressive silence for a few 
 minutes. Dr. Rinald still sat apparently unmoved 
 at the terrible imputation cast upon him. 
 
 " Dr. Rinald," at length asked the coroner ; 
 ** Did you administer arsenic either as a medicine 
 or otherwise to the deceased ?" 
 
 " I did not," replied the young doctor firmly. 
 
 " How, then, do you account for its presence ?"
 
 196 Masked. 
 
 " I cannot do so in any other way than by 
 supposing she must have been the victim of foul 
 play, or else have called in the assistance of 
 another medical man unknown to myself." 
 
 " Foul play," repeated several of the jurors 
 ominously. 
 
 " Nurse Woodford," said the coroner ; " What 
 did deceased take before going to bed, — did she 
 take any medicine that Dr. Rinald had left ?" 
 
 " She did," replied the nurse. 
 
 Once more the jurors were left to themselves, 
 but the public were readmitted in a few minutes. 
 
 The foreman in a very low voice delivered the 
 verdict, which was one of '* manslaughter " against 
 Dr. Rinald. All eyes were instantly cast upon the 
 young doctor who slightly started and turned pale. 
 
 When the coroner had finished he replied in 
 a distinct voice, "I am innocent." 
 
 " Of course you will admit Dr. Rinald to 
 bail r" said Dr. Kinkelman. 
 
 " I — I fear not," replied the coroner. 
 
 " Certainly not," added the jurors. 
 
 " You hear," said the coroner. 
 
 ** I will myself be bail," said Kinkelman. 
 
 Dr. Rinald glanced at him, and his lip curled, 
 but he said nothing. 
 
 <• It cannot be," replied the coroner decidedly. 
 " However unpleasant it may be to me, or to you
 
 Masked. 197 
 
 Dr. Kinkelman, as a member of the profession, my 
 duty is to fully commit Dr. Rinald to take his trial 
 at the ensuing Larston Assizes." 
 
 And such was the verdict. For some days 
 nothing was talked of in Larston but the inquest, 
 and the news of the incarceration of the young 
 doctor spread like wild fire. The editor of the 
 Larston Courier made a capital thing out of it. 
 The indignation excited, was positively awful. 
 "After the encouragement we had given him," 
 said the good people of Larston. " The wretch," 
 cried the ladies. " Never trust a young doctor," 
 added the elders. 
 
 It is said that misfortunes never come singly — 
 the proverb might be extended to events. It was 
 thus but a few days after the inquest that there 
 came a flying rumour through Larston of something 
 still more extraordinary having occurred. The 
 question was, what was the matter with the new 
 actress whose debut promised so much ? Night 
 after night the manager had announced that she 
 would appear upon the following evening, only to 
 disappoint his audience by the declaration that 
 Mdlle. Nelinda, to his great regret, could not come 
 forward on account of her indisposition, which 
 threatened to become serious. The whole play- 
 going population was in distress. So young and 
 beautiful a creature could not but elicit sympathy
 
 198 Masked. 
 
 wherever she went, and Dr. Kinkelman, who 
 attended her, found himself at times almost sur- 
 rounded with a crowd anxious to learn her con- 
 dition. 
 
 Dr. Kinkelman shook his head with increasing 
 gravity each day, until the inhabitants of Larston 
 began to fear that there was no hope of their stage 
 being again graced with her presence. At length 
 one evening, as the doctor passed the Crumley 
 Arms, he was accosted by the landlord thereof 
 with the usual inquiry, how was Mdlle. Nelinda ? 
 "Was it true what had been whispered about her ? 
 
 " Very ill," said the doctor. " Very ill, both 
 in body and mind — in the latter especially. It has 
 been my painful duty this day to sign a certificate 
 of her insanity, and she is now on her way to a 
 private lunatic asylum!" 
 
 The news fell like a thunderbolt upon the 
 town. Sympathy was aroused, her friendless state 
 got wind ; Dr. Kinkelman offered to receive sub- 
 scriptions, and headed the list with a ^10 note. 
 The younger population almost shed tears, while 
 the elders held up the circumstance as a sufficiently 
 awful warning of the effects produced by the 
 theatre. 
 
 Dr. Kinkelman when questioned concerning 
 
 her insanity, was very reserved, and the Larstonites 
 honoured him for it.
 
 Masked. 199 
 
 **It was a painful subject," he would say. 
 " I am not justified in revealing more than 
 that, in the presence of her nurse, Mrs. 
 Woodford, I put questions to her upon the 
 simplest things, and was answered in a manner 
 leaving no doubt, in my own mind, of the 
 derangement of hers. Let us hope for her 
 recovery." And, said the good people of Larston, 
 both in the matter of offering bail for Dr. Rinald, 
 and in heading the subscription list for Mdlle. 
 Nelinda, Dr. Kinkelman had behaved very 
 generously.
 
 200 Masked. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ^HREE weeks had passed, Mdlle, Tostino was 
 again in her glory. She played to full 
 houses, to crowded houses, to overflowing 
 houses. Night after night she was called 
 before the footlights, until at length, one evening 
 after she had been more than ordinarily successful, 
 the inhabitants of Larston thought that in her they 
 beheld the very concentration of female beauty, 
 and in the loud roar of universal admiration which 
 rose to the roof, was drowned all remembrance 
 that had hitherto remained of the unfortunate 
 debutante who was confined in a lunatic asylum. 
 There was a crowd around the portals of the 
 theatre long after the conclusion of the performance 
 — a crowd awaiting the departure of the successful 
 actress ; many of them men of fortune, who would 
 have considered themselves honoured in attracting 
 her glance. There, too, stood Dr. Kinkelman, and 
 it was leaning upon his arm that the beautiful 
 actress disappeared in the darkness. 
 
 This was nothing unusual ; he had played 
 cavalier in this manner for several nights, and the 
 thing was perfectly understood in Larston. "So
 
 Masked. 201 
 
 kind and considerate of Dr. Kinkelman," said the 
 elderly ladies, " to protect the dear creature from 
 insult and annoyance — nobody could suspect him 
 at his age, good man, and it saved the town a deal 
 of scandal." 
 
 Exactly so, but there were some youthful 
 voices in the crowd who did not seem so well 
 satisfied. Meanwhile, the actress and Dr. Kinkel- 
 man walked off in silence. It was scarcely a 
 hundred yards to her abode — she produced a latch 
 key and went in, asking him, as had been her 
 wont, to enter. To her deep surprise — he had 
 never done so before — he accepted the invitation 
 and followed her. The apartment in which he 
 found himself was small, but exquisitely decorated, 
 everything betraying female taste — he scarcely 
 however, observed this, nor had he time, as the 
 actress having disrobed in an inner room, re- 
 entered, and sat down upon an ottoman. What was 
 her amazement, almost alarm, (for at first she 
 thought him ill), when Kinkelman rose, staggered 
 forward, and with a groan of suppressed passion 
 fell at her feet, his hands clasped upon her knees. 
 
 " Marie — Marie !" he cried in a hoarse voice. 
 ♦*I love thee — I love thee— forgive me. Marry 
 me." 
 
 " Marry you !" exclaimed the actress, starting 
 up and taking a step backwards with a loathing
 
 202 Masked. 
 
 displayed upon her countenance, which would have 
 daunted a less resolute wooer. 
 
 " Even so," continued Dr. Kinkelman, " If a 
 heart beating for you alone is worthy of accept- 
 ance." 
 
 " It cannot be," said the actress in a low voice. 
 
 ** You love another," said the doctor with 
 vehemence. " You love Rinald." 
 
 "And what is that to you?" answered the 
 actress, with equal haste, her passion rising, and 
 here yes flashing with indignation, *' I tell you I do 
 love him, there ! Go !" 
 
 " You are wondrously beautiful," muttered the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Go !" repeated the actress. 
 
 ** Wilt thou reject me, and with me a fortune 
 greater than thou can'st perceive — aye, and thine 
 inheritance ?" 
 
 "A fortune — mine inheritance," repeated 
 Tostino. 
 
 ** Even so. Hearken," continued the doctor. 
 " Know that a dying patient, torn with remorse, 
 revealed to me thy real inheritance. Thy name is 
 not Tostino — that, thou knowest, it is but a stage 
 name ; nor is it Woodford as the nurse would have 
 thee believe— it is Chesterman. Thou art the 
 heiress of a vast fortune, and thou can'st not gain 
 it without me, for thou dost not know where to
 
 Masked. 203 
 
 look for it, and I still hold the deposition of my 
 dying patient, which I can at will destroy. Nurse 
 Woodford is not thy mother as she has taught 
 thee— fearful and timid woman— she is but thy 
 nurse ; and most foolishly permitted thee to go 
 upon the stage. For thy parents went abroad and 
 left thee to her charge ; but they are dead, and she 
 knows it not." 
 
 '• How dost thou know this ?" asked the actress 
 speaking low. 
 
 ** How do I know thee— by this," replied the 
 doctor, lightly touching her bare shoulder, which 
 displayed a small scarcely perceptible mark. 
 
 Tostino shrank back at his touch, and laughed 
 scornfully. 
 
 " Fool," said she. " Thou can'st not deceive 
 me — that Nurse Woodford did, years ago, with a 
 red hot needle." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! Then thou must know all," hoarsely 
 replied the doctor. " Know then that in one of 
 her bridesmaids, whom she thought a friend, Mrs. 
 Chesterman had an enemy, by whose assistance 
 thy mother — Mrs. Woodford — changed thee at 
 birth for the heiress of the Chesterman estates. 
 Thou wast brought up in luxury by thy real 
 mother — not in thy supposed ancestral halls, for 
 thy supposed father, angry that he had no male 
 issue, would not look upon thee, but upon a pro-
 
 204 Masked. 
 
 vision made for thy support ; while the real heiress, 
 who now passed as the daughter of Nurse Wood- 
 ford, was taken care of by that false friend till 
 lately, when she, discovering that the lady with 
 whom she had lived was not her parent as she had 
 supposed, suddenly left, and for the time dis- 
 appeared. Know that she who bid fair to rival 
 thee upon the stage — Mdlle. Nelinda — was no 
 other than the real heiress of the Chesterman 
 estates, to which thou can'st lay claim supported 
 by the oath of Nurse Woodford, and this mark 
 upon thy shoulder, which she, happily, thought to 
 burn in imitation of one upon that of the true 
 heiress. Thy rival pines in a lunatic asylum. Whom 
 hast thou to thank for this ?" continued the doctor, 
 with increasing vehemence. "Who but she — she 
 is not insane. The questions disconcerted her, as 
 I knew they would, being about her parentage, of 
 which she knew nothing, Nurse Woodford bore 
 testimony — ha ! ha ! —and I signed the certificate 
 that thou mightest reign supreme upon the stage 
 
 and might " he stretched out his arms. 
 
 The actress remained staring at him. Her 
 countenance was very pale, her bosom seemed to 
 have ceased to rise and fall — so imperceptible was 
 her breathing. She stood like a statue as this tale 
 of villainy was laid before her. It was a terrible 
 temptation. Wealth and honour at the expense of
 
 Masked. 205 
 
 a rival who might have thrown her into the shade. 
 Well Dr. Kinkelman had calculated upon the 
 power that thought would exercise over his victim. 
 She shuddered visibly. He outstretched his arms 
 and grasped her hand. His touch removed the 
 spell his last words had cast upon her. Once 
 again she started back as at the sight of a reptile. 
 
 " Double - dyed scoundrel," she cried. 
 " Tempter — I scorn thee I" 
 
 "Thou art wondrously beautiful," repeated 
 the doctor, gazing in undisguised admiration upon 
 her. 
 
 " Away," cried the actress. " Away — thine 
 eyes glitter like a rattlesnake's — I will have naught 
 with thee, thou viper. Away !" 
 
 "Listen again," said Kinkelman. "Would'st 
 thou save the man thou lovest from the jail and 
 the disgrace of penal servitude, perhaps from the 
 gallows ?" 
 
 The actress shook from head to foot with sup- 
 pressed emotion. 
 
 " Aye," continued Kinkelman, " Dr. Rinald, 
 whom thou lovest — start not, thou hast confessed 
 it, — must be convicted unless thou yieldest." 
 
 " Go," hoarsely replied the actress. 
 
 " He is not guilty," said Kinkelman slowly. 
 
 " I knew it — I felt it," muttered the actress. 
 
 " I will trust thee with a terrible secret — but
 
 2o6 Masked. 
 
 thou can'st not injure me," continued Dr. Kinkel- 
 man. ** I examined the body of his patient — there 
 was no poison in the intestines. I placed it there 
 swore it, and sent him to the gaol. There he shall 
 remain until his transportation, if thou wilt not 
 yield." 
 
 ** Heaven have mercy upon me," exclaimed 
 Tostino. 
 
 "Yet more," almost shouted Dr. Kinkelman. 
 " Know that — I cannot be mistaken — for years I 
 have studied the human countenance,— that thy 
 rival Mdlle. Nelinda — thy rival to the estates, thy 
 superior in birth, loves, and is loved by Dr. 
 Rinald. Know that she was betrothed to him 
 when she discovered her birth was — as she was 
 told, low, and she left that lady whom she had, up 
 till then, considered as her mother, finally being 
 compelled by want to go upon the stage. Now ?" 
 
 His eyes glittered in triumph. He took her 
 hand, it trembled. She was pale as marble, her 
 eyes swam — she shook with the conflict of passions 
 — of love, hatred, rage, ambition and duty. She 
 did not withdraw her hand, perhaps physically 
 incapable of doing so, and Dr. Kinkelman pressed 
 it to his lips. 
 
 ** Leave me," she muttered, " leave me." 
 
 " It works," muttered the doctor, and left the 
 apartment with an elastic stride.
 
 Masked. 207 
 
 No sooner had the street door clanged behind 
 him than the actress rose to her full height. 
 
 *' I cannot do it," she cried aloud in her agony. 
 *♦ Oh, Rinald, Rinald — thou shalt be happy even 
 at the expense of my own happiness. This fiendish 
 scheme shall be frustrated." 
 
 She took her hat and cloak, and stole out by 
 a back entrance. The street was deserted, and a 
 cold wind blew in her face, as she stealthily, yet 
 swiftly, hastened forward. She paused before a 
 large, stone built, substantial mansion, and pulled 
 the bell. After some time a man answered, asking 
 her business gruffly* 
 
 " Is lawyer Penfeather within ?" she asked. 
 
 " He is just going to bed," was the reply. 
 " He cannot be disturbed." 
 
 The actress, keeping her countenance con- 
 cealed, slipt half-a-sovereign into his hand ; he 
 grunted to himself, but went back. In ten minutes 
 he re-appeared, beckoning. 
 
 " Heaven sustain me," she murmured, and 
 went in. 
 
 Three days after was the day fixed for the trial 
 of Dr. Rinald. The excitement aroused was some' 
 thing enormous. The court was crowded to excess, 
 not only by the usual frequenters, but by the 
 principal inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who 
 left the desk, the counter, or the field, to hear
 
 2o8 Masked. 
 
 sentence pronounced upon the young" doctor. For 
 that the verdict would go against him no one felt 
 a doubt. The evidence produced for the prosecu- 
 tion was exactly the same as that given before the 
 coroner's court, and its effect upon both juries was 
 much the same. Everyone looked at his neigh- 
 bour when the eloquent counsel, instructed by 
 lawyer Penfeather for the prisoner, rose to address 
 the court, for each was anxious to hear what 
 defence could possibly be made. 
 
 What was their astonishment, when the 
 learned lawyer in a brief but clear manner laid 
 bare before the whole court that tissue of villainy, 
 which Dr. Kinkelman had communicated to Mdlle. 
 Tostino, in hopes thereby to secure her hand ? 
 What was the amazement of the court when that 
 celebrated actress herself, came forward, and sup- 
 ported the counsel's statements in the most 
 unqualified manner? Every eye was cast upon 
 Dr. Kinkelman. He glanced around, as if seeking 
 for an avenue of escape, but the dense mass of 
 people filling up every way of exit would have 
 effectually frustrated an attempt, without the 
 assistance of the seven policemen who had noise- 
 lessly gathered in his rear. 
 
 As to Nurse Woodford, terrified beyond 
 description, she confessed in court, unasked, to the 
 truth of the statements advanced. Dr. Kinkelman
 
 Masked. 209 
 
 was seized and searched, and upon him was found 
 the written deposition of his dying patient, whose 
 confession had placed him in a position to plan 
 and almost succeed in executing, a fitting sequel 
 to the original villainous plot. 
 
 The case was shortly afterwards adjourned, 
 that Dr. Kinkelman might be examined before a 
 committing magistrate, and the statements of the 
 actress, and other witnesses substantiated. Dr. 
 Rinald was meantime allowed his liberty, upon 
 his own recognizance. A thorough and searching 
 investigation was at once made ; and the truth of 
 the facts deposed to ascertained beyond doubt. 
 The body of Mrs. Springeld was exhumed, and 
 once again examined by several medical men from 
 a distance, who succeeded in discovering poison, 
 but upon mature consideration came to the con- 
 clusion that it had been placed there after death. 
 The lunatic asylum was also visited by the same 
 gentlemen, under the authority of the Lunacy 
 Commissioners, Mdlle. Nelinda examined, given 
 her liberty, and declared perfectly sane ; though 
 suffering from something which hung upon her 
 mind. 
 
 Finally at the next assize Dr. Rinald was 
 formally acquitted, the judge declaring his 
 innocence, amid the applause of the court.
 
 2IO Masked. 
 
 Dr. Kinkelman received a sentence of trans- 
 portation for perjury and conspiracy. 
 
 Nurse Woodford— the mother of Mdlle. Tos- 
 tino, who had behaved so nobly, received 
 principally upon her daughter's account, a miti- 
 gated sentence of a few months' imprisonment; 
 while two of the assistants of Dr. Kinkelman 
 received a severe reprimand for swearing to his 
 deposition without actual knowledge of the facts. 
 
 As the crowning event of the whole, Mdlle. 
 Nelinda, now known by her real name of Chester- 
 man, was installed in her ancestral halls, and half 
 Larston invited to her wedding with Dr. Rinald. 
 
 What became of Mdlle. Tostino no one ever 
 knew, but she never again appeared on the stage, 
 leaving Larston immediately after the conclusion 
 of the trial — it was supposed having retired upon 
 her savings. It was long ere her memory died 
 away in the minds of the inhabitants of Larston, 
 and it was never forgotten by that couple whom her 
 noble conduct had rendered happy for life. Even 
 the most bigoted anti-theatrical Larstonite was 
 forced to admit that contact with the " boards " 
 had not depreciated her nature. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by Arthur Young, Wells, Soincrsct.
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION 
 DURING 1897. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF MALMESBURY ABBEY, 
 
 by Richard Jeft'eries, Edited with Historical 
 Notes, by Gkace Toplis. lUustrated by 
 Notes on the present state of the Abbey 
 Church, and reproductions from Original 
 Drawings by Alfred Alex. Clarke, (Author 
 of a Monograph on Wells Cathedral.) 
 
 SiMPKiN, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent, & Co., Ltd.
 
 LIST or NEW WORKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 ARTHUR YOUNG, WELLS, SOMERSET. 
 
 SiMPKiN, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent, & Co., Ltd. 
 
 ALFRED ALEX. CLARKE. 
 
 MONOGRAPH ON THE CATHEDRAL CHURCH 
 OF WELLS, Illustrated with several reproduc- 
 tions from Original Drawings by the Author, 
 Ordinary Edition, post 8vo., is. 6d. net. 
 
 Large Paper Edition, limited to 200 copies, 
 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 Edited by REV. SYDENHAM H. A. HERVEY. 
 
 DIARY OF JOHN HERVEY, FIRST EARL OF 
 BRISTOL, with Extracts from his Book of 
 Expenses, 1688 — 174-2. WUA Illitsiiaiions, 
 
 I vol., I OS. 6d. 
 
 LETTER-BOOKS OF JOHN HERVEY, FIRST 
 EARL OF BRISTOL, 1 651— 1750. With 
 Illustrations^ 3 vols., jos. 6d. each. 
 (Not sold separately.) 
 
 ICKWORTH PARISH REGISTERS, 1566— 1890, 
 I vol 5s. 
 
 The Five Volumes, uniform in green cloth, small 4to., 
 
 £>^ 7s- 
 
 Also WEDMORE PARISH REGISTERS, 
 BAPTISMS, 1561— 1812, 10s. 6d. 
 
 BURIALS, 1561—1860, los. 6d. 
 MARRIAGES, 1561— 1839, 5s. 
 The Three Volumes, uniform in red cloth, small 4to., 
 
 £^ 6s.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-Series 4939
 
 PR 
 
 ^822 
 Al 
 1896a