EGERTON CASH!
 
 CONSEQUENCES 
 
 BY 
 
 EGERTON CASTLE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE PRIDE OF JENNICO," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS 
 
 238 WILLIAM STREET
 
 Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1900 
 
 By STREET & SMITH 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
 
 CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 PART I. 
 GEORGE KERR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HOW GEORGE KERR . REPENTED AT LEISURE. 
 
 Popular proverbs those short statements of long experience 
 must, from their very essence, be various And even contra- 
 dictory on almost every question. 
 
 Concerning marriage especially that most solemn, uncer- 
 tain, and fatal of human engagements do they wax numer- 
 ous and conflicting, even as are the consequences of a bid at 
 the eternal lottery. 
 
 "Happy the wooing that's not a long a-doing," is an accept- 
 able maxim, and a wise, in the estimation at least of young 
 and ardent love. It fits admirably with other well-known 
 emotional prognostications anent the risky undertaking: 
 "Happy is the bride the sun shines on," and such-like. Alas 
 that its natural cross, "Marry in haste and repent at leisure," 
 should ever prove equally opposite ! 
 
 People who plunge headlong into very early matrimony 
 have, as a rule, ample opportunity to test the pithiness of both 
 proverbs. 
 
 Rapturous always their first impressions; but, in a little 
 while, the inevitable sobering process once fairly started 
 with the whole of a life stretching drearily before them a 
 lengthy series of wasted capabilities grim their reflections on 
 the endless consequences of one imprudent step ! 
 
 The various aspects of leisurely repentance formed in the 
 year 1857 a main theme in the mental existence of Mr. George 
 Kerr, who was then aged twenty-three.
 
 6 How George Kerr Repented at Leisure. 
 
 Arrived at the green door of his little house in Mayf air, he 
 paused a moment in disheartened and bitter cogitation. No 
 doubt she was lying in wait for him up-stairs, preparing a 
 scene in punishment for their last quarrel. . . . No peace 
 for him, night or day ! Was it astonishing that he was sick 
 sick to death of all this? 
 
 He turned the key in the door, and let himself in with a 
 muttered curse on his unhappy home. Contrary to orders, 
 when all had retired except himself, the lights were still blaz- 
 ing in the hall ; on the other hand, the lamp had burned itself 
 out in his smoking-room, and filled it with nauseating dark- 
 ness. His savage pull at the bell brought the sleepy footman 
 tumbling up-stairs before his eyes were well opened. 
 
 "Why are you not in bed why is there a light in the hall ?" 
 
 "Mrs. Kerr has not yet come in," said the man in injured 
 tones. 
 
 "Not come in ... ?" 
 
 There was a lengthy silence. 
 
 ''You can go to bed," said George at last, with forced calm- 
 ness. "Frst take that lamp away, and light the candles. I 
 shall wait up for your mistress." 
 
 There had been nothing very particular about the day just 
 elapsed. It had only differed in details from that of almost 
 every day since chill disillusion had first entered into George 
 Kerr's mad paradise so few weeks after the irrevocable deed 
 had been sealed but it was destined to have far-reaching con- 
 sequences. 
 
 From the very morning, as the youthful husband sat to a 
 cold, ill-served, solitary breakfast the mistress of the house 
 as usual sleeping late in the day after the worldly exertions 
 of the night the sense of his injuries had been strong upon 
 him. 
 
 Only a year ago, at that very hour, he was standing beside 
 his bride in the solemn Cathedral of Seville, and in galling 
 contrast to the high hopes, the proud rapture, which then had 
 filled him, the dead failure of the present rose, specter-like, to 
 mock him, and would not be laid again. He recalled how he 
 had looked down with palpitating heart on the blushing, smil- 
 ing face, lace-veiled, by his side; how the touch of the slim 
 fingers, as he held them within his, thrilled him through and 
 through ; with what a tender earnestness, what faith and love 
 God knows! he had vowed to cherish her till death; re- 
 called the tumult of joy with which he had led her down the 
 aisle, his wife ! . . . 
 
 It would be curious to look back on, in truth, if it were not 
 almost maddening. 
 
 The quarrel had started, trivially enough, by his re-
 
 How George Kerr Repented at Leisure. 7 
 
 fusal to escort her to the ball that evening. In no humor to 
 put himself out for her this day, he had vowed himself deter- 
 mined to have a quiet evening for once at any price. She 
 pouted, protested, wept and stormed in vain, finally brushed 
 away her tears, and, with sudden calm defiance, announced 
 her determination to go alone. 
 
 "If you do," had retorted the husband, fairly roused, "I shall 
 never forgive you." And thereupon he had flung himself out 
 of the house, to seek in his club the peace and independence 
 refused him in his home. 
 
 He had not dreamed she would have dared to disobey him 
 openly ; indeed, such an act of emancipation would have been 
 considered so marked in those days of sterner social propriety 
 that he had not for an instant contemplated seriously the pos- 
 sibility of her carrying out her threat ; and his anger was deep 
 indeed when he discovered the fact. 
 
 Gone to that infernal ball ! Gone, in the very teeth of his 
 command ! 
 
 "Before heaven, she actually browbeats me!" he cried, as, 
 once more alone, he paced the little room from end to end, 
 gradually collecting his thoughts after the first blank confu- 
 sion of his rage. 
 
 The silver clock on the mantelpiece struck twice in its 
 chirpy way. She was enjoying herself, without doubt, not 
 thinking of returning home for another hour or so, bathing 
 her soul in the adulation that was as the very breath of life to 
 her. Oh ! he could see her, prodigal of smiles and those soft 
 long looks which he had thought were for him alone, yielding 
 herself, with all the voluptuous grace that had once enthralled 
 him, to the delight of the dance. And her husband dangling 
 fool ! where was he ? 
 
 He could hear the half -mocking inquiry some confidential 
 swain would breathe into the dainty shell of her little ear, and 
 Carmen's careless answer: "She did not know; at his club, 
 she supposed." 
 
 And the "husband at home," viciously chewing the stump 
 of an extinct cigar, seething, not in thoughts of jealousy for 
 passion had burned itself out long ago, and love had been 
 stifled by ever-recurring disappointment but in maddening 
 anger at the despicable situation he had created for himself, 
 swore a great oath that he would afford food for such laughter 
 no longer. 
 
 Yet what to do? Ay, there was the rub! 
 
 He could not beat her, he could not break her and she de- 
 fied him. 
 
 The sense of his own impotence met him on every side. 
 
 "Yes, look at yourself!" he snarled, as he caught sight of
 
 8 How He Married in Haste. 
 
 liis morose face in the glass, and paused in his caged tramp to 
 glare at it. "Look ! think of your driveling folly, and despise 
 yourself for one moment of weakness ! You will now have to 
 put up with the consequences, George Kerr, 'till death do 
 jou part!' . . . You are the guardian of a beautiful, 
 brainless fool, whom you cannot control, with whom you have 
 nothing in common but the chain which binds you together, 
 lie almost laughed aloud as he recalled the mad impatience, 
 the tenacity, the determination with which he carried his 
 point in the face of so many difficuties unto this end ! 
 
 And the thought of the dear old regiment he had sacrificed 
 with so light a heart came over him with almost a passion of 
 regret. It was the most glorious, surely, that ever glittered 
 under the sun. Even now it was starting for another spell 
 of doughty work in India, while he here he was, white- 
 faced, useless, with not even a show of happiness to set off 
 against his waste of youth. 
 
 The weary minutes, feverishly ticked off by the little clock, 
 had measured two leaden hours before the young man, storm- 
 spent and heart-sick, could settle on a feasible plan of action. 
 But at length, as the rays of dawning day were creeping 
 through the curtain folds a glimmer of light broke over the 
 chaos of his mind. She had promised to obey and honor him, 
 as he to cherish her, but she was, even now, sinning against 
 that vow. And if she refused to keep her part of the contract, 
 why need he hold himself to his ? Let her obey, as a wife is 
 bound to obey her husband, or he would put her from him, and 
 be surely justified before God and man in so doing. 
 
 George, under the relief of his new-found determination, 
 flung himself on a deep arm-chair and gradually fell into a 
 sort of drowsy, semi-conscious condition, from which a loud 
 rattle of wheels and a sharp peal of the bell aroused him to a 
 vivid sense of the moment's importance. 
 
 Drawing his weary limbs together, he rose with a stern com- 
 posure to open the door to his wife. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HOW HE MARRIED IN HASTE. 
 
 It is an idle exercise of the mind, and yet one which has its 
 fascination in moments of dreamy meditation, that searching 
 back into the far past of our own or our neighbor's life for 
 the distant cause, the seemingly unimportant event, which
 
 How He Married in Haste. 9 
 
 may have been the starting-point in the present concatenation 
 of things. 
 
 And yet, after all, what is often most striking in such re- 
 flections is the sometimes inconceivable smallness, even ab- 
 surdity, of the incident which leads to such far-reaching re- 
 sults. A thought, a look, a word, is sufficient to start a new 
 train of circumstances. Our existence has been rolling in its 
 ordinary groove, we have been treading the road of everyday 
 life, apparently without a prospect of ever diverging from it, 
 when there comes a something so trivial as well-nigh to 
 escape notice a pebble which did but turn the wheel of for- 
 tune ever so little from its course, and, behold, what a change ! 
 What strange lands lie befo~ : us! may be, what racking ex- 
 periences in the narrow circle of our joy and pain ! 
 
 That the present curious relations of the last two represent- 
 atives of that ancient race, the Kerrs of Gilham, would never 
 have come about save for certain side-events, seemingly irrele- 
 vant, in the life of their grandsire, is a fact which would 
 doubtless much vex his sturdy old ghost were it brought home 
 to him. And yet, again, these events would never have oc- 
 curred had not the course of Lord Wellington's operations in 
 the Peninsula obliged him to attack Marmont's strong position 
 of Los Arapiles on the 22d of July, 1812, on which day was 
 achieved the bloody victory now heralded "Salamanca" on the 
 colors and standards of thirty-five of our regiments. During 
 the course of that fierce struggle it fell to the lot o Lieuten- 
 ant Kerr, whose captain had already been s"hot, to dislodge 
 with a company of Highlanders a party of troublesome Im- 
 perial Voltigeurs from a certain crenelated village called 
 Santa Maria de la Pena. At a critical moment he was, 
 through the fortune of war, opportunely re-enforced by a pa rty 
 of the 3d "Ligeros," gallantly led by a Spanish officer, one 
 Don Atanasio de Ayala, anxious in his burning national pride 
 to imitate, if possible to rival, the exploits of the Northerners. 
 
 It was a hard-fought day. By the time the Imperials had 
 sullenly but unequivocally yielded the ground, both the Span- 
 ish and the English officer were severely wounded. Discov- 
 ered side by side, scarcely breathing, but still alive, they were 
 carted off to experience together the horrors of a Peninsular 
 ambulance. Both were young men, almost boys. They had 
 seen each other at work, and in the close intimacy in which 
 they were thus thrown cemented such a friendship as is made 
 only amid hardships doughtily shared and dangers met in 
 common. 
 
 Now, but for that breathless meeting on the torrid crags of 
 Arapil el Grande, certain human existences would undoubted- 
 ly, in distant days to come, when Peninsular events had long
 
 io How He Married in Haste. 
 
 passed into the domain of general history, have moved in 
 widely different channelsone of them, indeed, never have 
 issued out of the store of infinite life. 
 
 In the natural course of things the friends parted, to look 
 upon each other's face no more. Peace returned; each in 
 his turn retired to his own home, matured, then married and 
 settled down ; the Spaniard spinning out his life in the true, 
 lazy Andalusian way; the Englishman, when the time came, 
 assuming the reins of government on the ancestral estate of 
 Gilham, where, toward the end of the year 1850, an awkward 
 fall between a double rail terminated his well-filled life at 
 the beginning of its twelfth luster. 
 
 During the course of his allotted span this William Kerr of 
 Gilham had reproduced his existence in three different direc- 
 tions. A first marriage with the daughter of an ancient house 
 had given an heir to the proud name and wide lands of Gil- 
 ham; of a second, contracted in the autumn of his life, were 
 born tisvo other children, who, by the way, through the irregu- 
 lar workings of hereditary chance, proved to be, both in look 
 and temper, far more true Kerrs than the first-born. For the 
 latter, although very consciously proud, as in duty bound, of 
 the headship of his house when it devolved upon him, recalled 
 in no particular, except perhaps an unimpeachable sense of 
 duty, the traditional characteristics the warm-hearted im- 
 pulsiveness and easy-going spirit of his father's race. 
 
 On his accession the new squire naturally became guardian 
 to the offspring of what, in his heart, he had always held as 
 his sire's senile folly. Of these, the boy, George, was at that 
 time half-way through his teens, and Susie on the threshold 
 of womanhood just an age when the unwelcome charge was 
 likely to give their guardian most trouble. 
 
 He was, however, soon relieved of half his burden, for the 
 year of mourning was scarcely out before Susie left the Court 
 to bestow herself, and her little independent fortune, on a cer- 
 tain handsome, intellectual, penniless curate, Hillyard by 
 name, and joyfully set up house in a humble Kentish parson- 
 age on three hundred a year and her darling brother George's 
 blessing a commodity which this young gentleman very gra- 
 ciously bestowed on the couple, though personally he could not 
 be said to think much of curates. 
 
 But George it was who all his life had been a thorn 
 in the present squire's side, and he was not so easily got rid 
 of a perpetual disturbing element in the matter of Gilham's 
 otherwise satisfactory existence, even from distant Eton. 
 Things, bad enough in his unruly boyhood, were at their worst 
 between them when Alma Mater opened her arms to the 
 scapegrace. All the Kerrs who were not soldiers had been
 
 How He Married in Haste II 
 
 Trinity men; and George, repairing thither as a matter of 
 course, his career under the shadow of those time-honored 
 walls became, in the estimation of a person of his step-broth- 
 er's temperament, nothing short of scandalous. In truth, it 
 was a succession of ridiculous scrapes and escapades which 
 gave the pompous guardian the most exquisite irritation. 
 
 On his side, Master George, who considered himself unwar- 
 rantably hectored and curbed, and kept on an ungentlemanly 
 short allowance, gradually fought shy of returning to his old 
 home, despite his pretty sister-in-law's conciliating and wel- 
 coming presence. And so, there having grown no feeling ex- 
 cept mutual dislike between the strait-laced methodical squire 
 and his headstrong, "good-for-nothing" half-brother who, in- 
 deed, according to the former's innermost ideas, had no busi- 
 ness to exist at all it was but natural that when the young 
 man came of age, and into the unfettered possession of his 
 own money, he should shake off his elder's control with the 
 smallest delay possible. 
 
 This was the time when England, after forty years of peace, 
 and at the lowest military disorganization, having settled in 
 grim earnest to her contest with her ever-rampant Eastern 
 rival, was sending the cream of her manhood to the Crimea. 
 
 The first use George made of his delightful new liberty was 
 to drop academic pretensions, and to buy a commission in the 
 Highland regiment that had known his father so well. And, 
 curiously enough, this first independent act was the only one 
 he ever took which met with the unmitigated approval of the 
 head of his house, who, however strongly he might have ob- 
 jected to the profession in peace-time, as a snare and a pitfall 
 for idle youth, now sincerely wished him a martinet of a 
 colonel, and even considered without too much discomposure 
 the possible prospect of a soldier's grave in the neighborhood 
 of Sebastopol. 
 
 Hard and grim, however, as that experience proved, it was 
 far from effecting the desired amendment. 
 
 On leaving Krim Tartary, the proud regiment, prouder 
 than ever, though much thinned and battered, after its two 
 years of relentless campaigning, was quartered at Gibraltar, 
 and proceeded to enjoy a period of well-earned rest. George, 
 who had escaped scot-free from the hazard of lead and steel, 
 was changed in no way from the scatter-brain, dare-devil un- 
 dergraduate, save perhaps by an increase of adventurous 
 spirit, coupled with the fool-hardiness of one who had seen 
 Death at close quarters, only to laugh in his face. 
 
 Andalusia in the spring of the year is, one may take it, a 
 plnce where a young man of naturally warm, reckless fancy 
 ,and athletic temperament easily loses his Northern delibera-
 
 12 How He Married in Haste. 
 
 tion, to say the least of it. Now, the subaltern, delighted to 
 have an opportunity of gratifying his love of adventure, re- 
 solved to spend his first leave in wandering about Southern 
 Spain, then supposed to be the home of all that was romantic, 
 beautiful and dangerous. And refusing all offers of compan- 
 ionship, he flung himself headlong into the arms of that 
 fascinating land determined to enjoy to the uttermost all 
 that it was capable of yielding to fall promptly, as do all who 
 are blessed or cursed with poetic fancy, under its most in- 
 describable charm. 
 
 What is it gives Spain so extraordinary a spell ? it would be 
 hard to say precisely; but the sunny existence, the graceful 
 dress, dignified old-world courtesy, old-world habits ; the mag- 
 nificent, sonorous tongue so sweet in love, so grave and rich 
 in earnest discourse; the passionate yet langorous national 
 music so stirring to young blood; all these things are com- 
 ponents of the charm to which George abandoned himself with 
 all the thoroughness and irreflectiveness that characterized 
 him. 
 
 He had reached Seville Seville, the jewel of the world as 
 the Spaniards hold it toward the spring of the year, the pas- 
 sionate, ripe spring of Spain which, like to the maidens of 
 that sun-loved land, flowers from pale immaturity into warm 
 development of beauty with magic quickness; and there, 
 under the vault of burning blue, amid the contrasting light 
 and shade, in the rambling streets of the old Moorish town, 
 there came to George Kerr one of those episodes which are 
 so slight, so trivial, as to pass, in many instances, all unnoted, 
 but which nevertheless, as has been said, bring in their train 
 consequences strange, unforeseen, and destined, perchance, to 
 change a man's whole destiny. 
 
 In the serene enjoyment of that soundness of body and 
 freshness of mind which belong by right to the blessed age of 
 two-and-twenty, the young warrior, immersed in complacent 
 appreciation of his well-merited spell of freedom and laziness, 
 was sauntering down a narrow, silent, deserted street, toward 
 those middle hours of the day when the Spaniard seeks his 
 siesta, and when, according to his sententious saying, "only 
 dogs or Englishmen walk abroad." 
 
 One of the quaint wrought-iron gateways which mark the 
 entrance to some private house, through the fantastically in- 
 terlacing bars of which the passer-by can usually descry the 
 fresh foliage of palm, pomegranate and orange trees filling 
 the umbrageous inner courtyard, arrested his attention. He 
 stopped and gazed through the scroll work at the mysterious 
 nook, while a desire, curious in its suddenness, to see some-
 
 How He Married in Haste. 13 
 
 thing of the inner life, something more than the threshold of 
 such a dwelling, took possession of him. 
 
 "Now, here is a place," thought he, "with a charming ca- 
 pacity for romance. Delicious experiences might await a 
 man in just such a house as this if he only had the key of 
 the gate." 
 
 He lit his cigarette and pondered. And as he abstractedly 
 listened to the monotonous ripple of a fountain, hidden be- 
 hind the tantalizing screen of verdure, the capricious wish 
 grew and grew in intensity, until it became almost a resolve. 
 
 All at once, with fantastic opportuneness, a delightful idea 
 flashed across his mind. His father, from oft-quoted accounts, 
 had had a certain Spanish comrade in the old fighting days. 
 This gallant foreign officer, Don Something or other de 
 Ayala, whose miniature portrait, in sky blue and silver, hung 
 even now in the smoking-room at Gilham, hailed, if memory 
 was not at fault, from Seville. 
 
 What if he hunted the old gentleman up ? presuming him, 
 of course, to be still in the land of the living and why not? 
 At all hazards, it was worth the trying. 
 
 And so well did his energy, and a fair amount of luck, serve 
 his new purpose, that before sundown, not only had he found 
 out that his father's old friend was alive, actually in Seville, 
 and ascertained his address, but had likewise gathered sundry 
 particulars concerning his family, which consisted, it seemed, 
 but of his wife and daughter hermosisima, report said of the 
 latter, a detail which kept up the interest to its original ex- 
 alted height. 
 
 The following forenoon, of course, saw George at the gate 
 of the house indicated, which he was pleased to find wrought 
 in still more delicious vagaries, and affording glimpses of a 
 patio even greener, shadier and more tempting than that 
 which had originally inspired him with such curiosity. He 
 sent up his card by the old dark-visaged servant, on which 
 to introduce himself, he had previously written, under the title 
 of his regiment, the words, "Arapil el Grande" the name of 
 that place where the Spaniard had proved so true an ally to 
 his sire, amid the blood and smoke and fury of attack. 
 
 In eager expectation, he paced up and down among the 
 orange trees, starred with white blossoms, which filled the 
 warm air almost to excess with odorous sweetness. A foun- 
 tain rose and fell in slender columns in each corner. The 
 courtyard was surrounded on three sides by the house, a per- 
 fect remnant of the domestic architecture peculiar to Anda- 
 lusia in the sixteenth century architecture in which Moorish 
 fancy and luxury of detail blended with Christian simplicity. 
 
 It was to the Englishman's imaginative mind a if he had
 
 14 How He Married in Haste. 
 
 stepped straight into the world of days gone by. And, be- 
 hold! the heavy, nail-studded ogee door moved slowly on its 
 scrolled hinges, and, standing framed by the darkness beyond, 
 there appeared a peak-bearded, white-haired old cavalier, but 
 surely just this instant stepped down from some canvas of 
 Velasquez to welcome the stranger from the dull days of the 
 nineteenth century into the glamourous past. 
 
 So strong for the minute was the illusion with which 
 George was pleased to divert himself, that it was almost with 
 amazement that he met the old man's earnest greeting, as the 
 latter, scrutinizing his visitor with kindly eyes, came forward, 
 holding out his hand, and saying with deep, grave voice in 
 sonorous Spanish : 
 
 "Son of my old friend, you are welcome ! Welcome to this, 
 your house, my son !" 
 
 He was a very real personage, after all, despite his weirdly 
 antique air; and the hand that George now grasped in true 
 sturdy British fashion was unmistakably flesh and blood, 
 however agedly etherealized. 
 
 Again the worn, kind eyes sought the young man's face, 
 their scrutiny softening into benevolent pleasure as they 
 rested on its handsome youthfulness. 
 
 "Perhaps you do not speak the Spanish tongue?" said Don 
 Atanasio in quaint English, with a little evident and guile- 
 less pride in his own proficiency. 
 
 "I have been learning at Gibraltar," quoth George. And 
 thus the ice being broken, the conversation progressed fluently 
 enough. 
 
 Bending his fine old head, for he was taller than the High- 
 lander by an inch or so, the Spaniard listened to the visitor's 
 frank explanation of his appearance in courteous and pleased 
 attention. 
 
 "So my old comrade God have his soul ! did not forget to 
 speak to his children of the Spanish friend. It is well ! it is 
 well ! and a kind thought of his father's son to come and see 
 the old man. Methinks it is as if it were the gallant William 
 again in the flesh before me. Ah, sir! we were strong, fiery 
 young men together, and the thought of those early days has 
 not gone from me. You are welcome indeed! Welcome for 
 the sake of the blood that flows in your veins, for the mem- 
 ory of him that is no more, and for your own sake too, most 
 heartily." 
 
 Taking the blushing Englishman's arm, who, though 
 touched by his host's genuine emotion, was thoroughly at a 
 loss how to respond to these flowers of speech, he led him with 
 dignified steps into the house. 
 
 They passed first through a dark hall, bare, vaulted, echoing
 
 How He Married in Haste. 15 
 
 to the sound of their feet, then up a flight of stone stairs into 
 a large flagged room. 
 
 The proportions of this place were so majestic, it rose into 
 such loftiness, spread into such spacious wideness, that, in 
 wondering admiration, the young man halted and stared. 
 Stately, somber visages looked down at him from their tar- 
 nished frames; tapestry rich-hued, yet faded, hung between 
 them, out of which as he gazed there started into life the 
 quaintest depths of fairy forests, the weirdest forms; stern 
 suits of armor stood in stiff array along the wall, seeming to 
 retain in their dead emptiness something of the ferocious dig- 
 nity of the spirits that once animated them, and to glare upon 
 the world with angry menace in their vacant visors. In the 
 middle of the floor a brasero of glowing red copper gave the 
 last touch of outlandish and mediaeval strangeness to the 
 scene. 
 
 A light tap on his arm recalled him to himself. Before 
 him, as if she had sprung out of the earth, smiling, handsome, 
 wrinkled, stood a dame with white hair, lace-veiled, of im- 
 posing proportions, clad in the picturesque national costume; 
 a not incongruous pendant to the solemn leanness of the 
 cavalier. 
 
 "Beloved of my soul, I present to thee the son of my 
 brother in arms," said Don Atanasio in Spanish, as George 
 made a low bow ; "the son of that much-beloved and regretted 
 friend Don William Kerr, of whom I have so often spoken 
 to thee. A lieutenant of Scots, even as was his father. He 
 speaks Spanish." 
 
 Blissfully ignorant of the chivalrous customs of the coun- 
 try, George proceeded to press not knowing he should have 
 kissed the very small, very fat hand which, with a guttural 
 flow of hospitable observations, was warmly extended to him. 
 
 But the whole scene assumed a new complexion when, with 
 a patter of light, quick feet, a fourth person made her en- 
 trance into the room, and he was further introduced to 
 "Carmen, my unique daughter." 
 
 Just at the age when in a sunny clime a woman attains the 
 perfection of a bloom as rich and warm as the opening pome- 
 granate flower; attired, like her mother, as were all Spanish 
 ladies in those days, in the national dress even in that land 
 of exquisite maidens Carmen was a jewel. 
 
 At sight of the visitor she stopped short in an attitude of 
 half-arch half-bashful astonishment, and George realized on 
 the spot that he had never known before what loveliness a 
 woman could embody. The first look he cast upon her, taking 
 in the luster of dark eyes, the curve of red lips, the exquisitely 
 rounded, satin-clad figure, to end respectfully on a pair of tiny
 
 16 How He Married in Haste. 
 
 slippers which jufet allowed a ray of tender blue stocking to 
 peer through the cloud of black lace, was simply a revelation. 
 It seemed to lift him into an existence hitherto unthought of. 
 
 As for the cause of his sudden exaltation, she apparently 
 experienced some occult psychical reaction of the same kind. 
 Such ecstasies are sympathetic. As her eyes met his they 
 became troubled, a crimson flush flew to each olive cheek, and 
 the modest answer to his stammered compliment died away 
 half finished in an inarticulate murmur. 
 
 Meanwhile, all unconscious of the strange operations at 
 work in those two young heads and hearts so near to him, 
 Don Atanasio, with that hospitality which is part of the very 
 spirit of his race, was explaining to his guest that there could 
 be no question of his living at Seville anywhere but under his 
 roof; in declaring that his house in town, his villa near 
 Honda, his horses, his servants, all his possessions, were at 
 his disposal whenever and as long as the son of his old friend 
 chose to make use of them. 
 
 And in this manner George Kerr, barely twenty-four hours 
 after acting on a fantastic desire, the idlest freak of curiosity, 
 found himself installed as the honored guest of Don Atanasio 
 de Ayala y Quevedo, and already the abject slave of his 
 daughter's bright eyes. 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances this arrangement, which did 
 away with all true liberty of action, would very soon have 
 palled upon him; but as it was, betwitched, spellbound, he 
 passed day after day in a feverish dream of excitement and 
 rapture. 
 
 He made rapid progress in the language, as well as in the 
 favor of his simple-minded entertainers. Don Atanasio was 
 charmed to have found a new listener for his interminable 
 stories of the War of Independence, so modest and well-be- 
 haved a youth, who seemed content to sit for hours under his 
 discourses, with eyes cast down, attending with such deep 
 interest to his lessons in tactics and his account of the ex- 
 ploits of "El Lord" and his Spanish allies. 
 
 As for the beautiful creature, sole survivor of the many 
 children who had once gathered round the old couple's knees, 
 she spoke little to the stranger; but for all that, the most 
 eloquent and passionate conversation passed daily between the 
 two under the very nose of the watchful parents. Eye spoke 
 to eye in question and avowal. The flush on her lovely oval 
 cheek, the pouting of her fair red mouth, answered many a 
 time and most satisfactorily the silent disclosure of passion 
 which the pressure of his hand, the voiceless motion of his 
 lips, conveyed to the object of his worship. 
 
 Long before an opportunity occurred for the open declara-
 
 How He Married in Haste. 17 
 
 tion of his feelings, George possessed the rapturous conviction 
 of being beloved in return, and this state of abeyance, its 
 delicate, exquisite joys had for him a charm and piquancy 
 he was half loath to break through. 
 
 One day, having for a few moments eluded the surrounding 
 vigilance, they found themselves face to face alone, and 
 straightway the burning secret which they had shared 
 in silence found words at last. In the somber old room, 
 under the scowling eyes of a score of past-century warriors, 
 just by the half-shuttered window, where a peep of green 
 spoke of the budding orange-trees, Carmen and George talked 
 of eternal love, and, kissing her lips, he vowed himself fit to 
 die with happiness at her feet. 
 
 "I hear, Don Jorge, that you have seen my daughter alone 
 to-day," said Don Atanasio very gravely that same evening. 
 "Allow me to reproach you. Among us such conduct is 
 thought incorrect. Were you more conversant with things 
 of Spain, I would even call it a breach of honor." 
 
 This was a tempting opportunity for George to carry out to 
 its obvious end the folly which filled his brain, and to avow 
 the passion which the enthralling episode of that day had 
 exalted to fever-heat. 
 
 "Sir," he replied warmly, "I beseech you to remember that 
 the rules of honorable behavior differ in various countries. 
 An English gentleman who loves a woman and would make 
 her his wife sees no breach of honor in asking her himself. 
 If, however, I have transgressed, I can but beg your forgive- 
 ness." 
 
 The old man's severe mood slightly softened as the youth, 
 whose cavalier-like accomplishments he had already had oc- 
 casion to appreciate, went on without flinching from his gaze : 
 
 "I bear, as you know, an ancient name, have an indepen- 
 dent fortune, and serve in an honorable profession. I ask 
 your daughter, whom I love and who loves me, for my wife." 
 
 This little speech, which George flattered himself was quite 
 in Spanish style, was listened to in silence by the old Don, 
 who considered it just pardonable in a foreigner. 
 
 "She should not have owned that she loved you," he re- 
 marked at length; "but what is done is done. We will 
 advise." 
 
 Advise he did in consequence with his loving consort, the 
 white-haired chaplain, and a few trusted friends advised in 
 much anxiety of mind, earnestness, and deliberation; and 
 finally, in opposition to all the counsel he sought for, carried 
 the day as his kindly old heart had prompted him from the 
 first. His solemn approval was given to the engagement, and
 
 1 8 How He Married in Haste. 
 
 the young man, half bewildered with his own happiness, left 
 the house till the time came for him to fetch his bride. 
 
 George's midsummer madness was having serious conse- 
 quences. He started back on his journey to Gibraltar to beg 
 for prolongation of leave in order to go to England and make 
 arrangements for his new departure. 
 
 When he returned to the mess-room and announced his 
 intention to be married, the joking which was started on the 
 subject of the disastrous result of the sub's first leave became 
 so ceaseless and unlicensed as to prove quite intolerable to the 
 victim's passionate spirit. And when the Colonel, as might 
 be expected, first pooh-poohed his request for further leave, 
 and finally flatly refused to grant it, George, not sorry to 
 escape the galling gibes of his comrades, and momentarily 
 out of conceit with his regimental life and its irksome re- 
 straint, while more bent than ever from the very opposition 
 he encountered on carrying through his determination, an- 
 nounced his intention of selling out. 
 
 On a certain memorable evening toward the end of May 
 in the same year, a number of the Times was placed in the 
 hands of Mr. Kerr of Gilham, destined through one minute 
 portion of its contents to shake that worthy gentleman's soul 
 with a very paroxysm of virtuous indignation. 
 
 He had just returned from a ride round his farms and had 
 taken up the paper determined beforehand to disagree with 
 most of its opinions. But he was ill prepared for such a call 
 upon his wrath as the crisp columns contained for him that 
 day. 
 
 "Gwendolin," said the squire in awful tones, as he stepped 
 on to the lawn in search of his long-suffering wife, "I must 
 beg you to favor me with your attention for a moment. List- 
 en to this 'On the twenty-fifth of May, in the Cathedral of 
 Seville, George Kerr, youngest son of the late William Kerr 
 of Gilham, Esquire, late of the th Highlanders, to Dona 
 Carmen Maria Concepcion, only daughter of Don Atanasio 
 Ayala y Quevedo !' eh, what next ?" 
 
 "George married!" ejaculated Lady Gwendolin in amaze- 
 ment. Then, seizing only the bare facts, she exclaimed with 
 lively feminine interest: "Married to a Spanish girl; I am 
 sure she is lovely! Oh, Willie, how unkind of him never to 
 write! How I wish I could see them!" 
 
 "Gwendolin!" returned the squire, stiff with horror, "you 
 do not know what you are saying? Do you not see that 
 George" and he shook the sheet with suppressed rage "that 
 this depraved man has married a Papist a Spanish Papist? 
 Heaven only knows what the end of it will be; perhaps he 
 has turned Papist himself. Carmen Maria Concepcion!
 
 How He Married in Haste. 19 
 
 Who in his senses would ever have thought of associating 
 these idolatrous names with the name of Kerr ? By a Romish 
 priest, in the Cathedral of Seville, you understand Seville, 
 the headquarters of the Inquisition." 
 
 Even good-tempered, pleasant Lady Gwendolin was not 
 above the current prejudice against other people's religion. 
 She looked shocked and unhappy as the truth forced itself 
 upon her, and lifted her voice in no remonstrance when her 
 husband, dashing the paper away from him with an indecor- 
 ous display of excitement very foreign to him, uttered his 
 command that henceforth the name of George Kerr was not 
 to be uttered in his presence, and that so long as he was 
 master of Gilham the shadow of the shameless culprit was 
 never to darken his doors again. 
 
 The two sturdy little boys who were being brought up so 
 well under their father's methodical rule, who were such 
 model little boys before his face and such incarnate pickles 
 behind his back, now looked after his pompous retreating 
 figure and at their mother's saddened face with round, solemn 
 blue eyes, whispering to each other that Uncle George had 
 done something very naughty, and wondering what it could 
 be. 
 
 A few weeks before Susan Hillyard, in her little gabled 
 parsonage, had received a letter from her brother, setting 
 forth, in a few kind, careless words, the announcement of 
 his approaching happiness. 
 
 "I know that my good little Susie," said the writer, "will 
 love my beautiful Carmen as a sister, and rejoice that her 
 George is the happiest man in the whole world." 
 
 Susie had wept tears of mingled dismay and tenderness, 
 and dispatched a long, loving answer, containing the assur- 
 ance of her undying affection, and her readiness to welcome 
 with all cordiality her lovely new sister. Though somewhat 
 inclined to fear he was risking his eternal salvation by such 
 a step, she was immensely consoled by her husband's philoso- 
 phical reception of the news; for the Rev. Robert Hillyard, 
 notwithstanding his official position, was too liberal and open- 
 minded to blindly condemn any creature for his creed.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF A WEDDING DAY. 
 
 Carmen halted a moment on the threshold as her husband 
 opened the door and silently received her; she was clad in 
 crimson and enveloped in clouds of black lace, glorious, even 
 against the flood of searching, morning light, in radiant 
 youthful beauty. She looked at him ; then, without a word, 
 brushed by. Her step was alert and springy; there was not 
 a shade of fatigue over the warm complexion, under the 
 superb eyes, in the carriage of the lithe, rounded figure. 
 
 "That woman, myiwife, is peerless there can be no doubt 
 of that," thought George, following her movements with a 
 dark, abstracted look. 
 
 There was naught but aesthetic, lifeless criticism in his ad- 
 miration, mingled with wonder at the uselessness of such 
 mere bodily perfection. And, in truth, was not that very 
 beauty of hers she being his wife, and such as she but 
 part of his curse? Did not the exquisite, feather-brained 
 creature who thus returned defiantly in broad daylight from 
 her night's amusement bear his name and hold his honor in 
 her hands? 
 
 His black face grew more lowering yet; with a magnificent 
 show of indifference she was passing up-stairs, when he called 
 to her to stop, and in so harsh a voice that it imposed imme- 
 diate, if perchance involuntary, obedience. She paused, one 
 little foot on the first step, her head thrown back, interrogat- 
 ing him with languid eye and raised eyebrow. 
 
 "Come into my study," he said; "I have much to say to 
 you." 
 
 She hesitated, but, as he opened the door and imperatively 
 motioned her into the room, look and gesture were too stern 
 to be resisted, and, with an ill grace, a loud sigh of resigna- 
 tion, she obeyed. She confronted him sullenly. 
 
 "Well, my lovely Carmen," he said after a pause, "I can 
 see by the brightness of your eyes that you have enjoyed your 
 evening on this first anniversary of our happy union. All 
 the more, no doubt, for the absence of your husband. But," 
 he continued, with a sudden hard change of tone, as she 
 ostentatiously yawned behind her fan, "I have to warn you 
 that, while you live under my roof, it is my intention to 
 prevent such escapades as to-night's ever happening again." 
 
 She turned upon him quickly and merely asked, with a
 
 First Anniversary of a Wedding Day. ai 
 
 little toss of her head, a little .tapping of the crimson slipper 
 on the ground : 
 
 "Is that all you have to say?" 
 
 "No," answered the man. "I have much to speak to you 
 about, and I am determined you shall hear it now. Sit 
 down." 
 
 "I am going to bed. I am tired," she cried petulantly, but 
 still avoiding his eye. She gathered her skirts together, and, 
 as he would have barred her way, with a mixture of childish 
 passion and fear, she pushed him vigorously aside with one 
 round bare arm, and like a whirlwind dashed out of the room, 
 slamming the door behind her. 
 
 He made a step forward. Then he flung himself into a 
 chair, and for a long while remained motionless, absorbed 
 in thought. 
 
 At length he rose and made his way slowly up the stairs; 
 knocked at his wife's door and listened. There was no 
 sound within; he tried the handle, but the door was locked. 
 
 "Carmen, you had better open ; do not push this too far !" 
 Her dress rustled as she moved about ; he could hear her dis- 
 place a chair, and hum a note or two of a waltz tune to her- 
 self. 
 
 His passion rose. He kicked the door beneath the key- 
 hole with such force that, with shattered lock, it burst back 
 quivering on its hinges. 
 
 With a scream, suddenly frozen into silence on her open 
 mouth, she rose and stared at him, and a creeping pallor 
 sucked the blood from her cheeks. 
 
 George closed the door as well as he could, and came up to 
 her ; he, too, was white to the lips. 
 
 "You are curiously mistaken," he said, with forced calm- 
 ness, "to think you can keep me out of any room in my 
 house. I am master here ; you have forgotten it too long." 
 
 If he had not been so blinded with passion, and so hard in 
 his new-found strength of purpose, he must have been struck 
 by the utter childishness of the dilated eyes fixed on him. 
 
 "Listen to me," he continued, laying a cold hand on her 
 wrist. "I have had patience; I have borne with you for a 
 whole year. It has been as a lifetime of misery to me. I have 
 had enough of it. I have taken my resolve I will endure 
 this sort of existence not an hour longer. Either you shall 
 submit, absolutely, unquestioningly, uncomplainingly, to my 
 will for the future; live where I please, as I please do your 
 duty as a wife, in humility and obedience ; or, before God ! I 
 will send you back to your father !" 
 
 She wrenched her hand angrily away from him, then sud- 
 denly burst into tears. His manner frightened her. She had
 
 22 First Anniversary of a Wedding Day. 
 
 followed his words, comprehending their drift no more in- 
 telligently than to realize that he was very angry, as usual, 
 because she had gone to the ball without him. But the last 
 phrase struck home. She stepped back as if she had re- 
 ceived a buffet. 
 
 He let her weep, without speaking. She was one of those 
 rare women to whom tears are no disfigurement. The crys- 
 tal drops welled up in her lustrous eyes, overflowed on her 
 peach-like cheeks, without a trace of that red distortion which 
 marks the grief of ordinary mortals. 
 
 His silence emboldened her. From tears she came to sob- 
 bing reproaches; from reproach to vituperation. Her quick 
 blood rose as her first fear subsided, the color mantled again 
 in her cheek, fire dried the moisture of her eye. She flung 
 her arms about in passionate gesticulation ; the extravagantly 
 decorated draperies fell away from her bare shoulders, from 
 the ripe perfection of her throat. 
 
 "Because," she cried, "because, forsooth, I am young and 
 beautiful, and choose to dance and laugh and enj6y life; be- 
 cause I do not choose to be buried in your dull, your stupid 
 country, I am to be cast off in disgrace ! And you dare tell 
 this to me, George to me who have given up all, all for you 
 my land, my people, my parents? Oh, my God, is it pos- 
 sible? Have you no shame, no heart?" 
 
 She paused, panting, and plunged a long look into his fixed, 
 expressionless eyes. Never had she looked more beautiful 
 than in her present self-abandonment. 
 
 Now, Carmen, dense though she might be in most matters 
 requiring nice discrimination, or even the use of common 
 sense, had a keen enough perception of anything that touched 
 her personal vanity. She suddenly read that in the young 
 man's eyes which was, as she thought, a revelation of her vic- 
 tory. And on the spot all her misgivings vanished as if by 
 magic. A self-satisfied smile hovered for an instant over the 
 red lips ; then, with the insolence of her newly-found security, 
 she resumed her seat before the glass. 
 
 "God knows I have had cause enough to regret the day 
 when you came to me with your false promises and lured 
 me from my beautiful home. How have you kept them? 
 You have neglected me, abused me, but I refuse the position 
 you so kindly offer me of a separated woman. I will not have 
 this undeserved shame cast on me; I will not lose my proper 
 place in society what you cannot do, shall not do, is cast 
 me away before the world like a mistress you are tired of." 
 
 She looked over her shoulder and shot a conquering glance 
 at him. She saw that he was shaking with a nervous tremor, 
 that his eyes were averted as if in fear. She read defeat, she
 
 First Anniversary of a Wedding Day. 23 
 
 thought, in every sign, and her foolish heart bounded for 
 pride. 
 
 She compared the rapture with which her slightest favors 
 had been received by humble adorers but a few hours ago 
 with the scowling, downcast countenance of him who, in his 
 own right, now stood in her sanctum. And he, above all men, 
 blessed in the possession of such a pearl he it was who this 
 night had in his anger threatened to cast it from him. 
 
 She set her little teeth at her own glowing image; dearly, 
 dearly should he smart for this, for she could punish him, and 
 would, till he groveled at her feet. Not till she had half 
 maddened him by her disdain and the glacial barrier that 
 would be raised against him would she permit herself to re- 
 lax in her severity. 
 
 She loosened her long tresses, and, passing her jeweled fin- 
 gers through the heavy black masses, turned them like a 
 mantilla round her bare shoulders; then, suddenly pretend- 
 ing to recollect herself in the midst of another proud look 
 in the glass, she rose, and, with an insufferably dramatic air, 
 "Have the goodness to leave my room !" she said, loftily, ex- 
 tending her arm and pointing to the door. "You wished for 
 separation : you shall have this much of it. Go !" 
 
 The compression of George's hands on the chair grew so 
 violent that the muscles of his arms started into view be- 
 neath the sleeves. He looked at his wife with a bloodshot, 
 threatening stare. 
 
 "Ah, you wish to rid yourself of me ! You shall have your 
 wish. It is not you who cast me away; it is I who renounce 
 you !" And, with the gesture of a stage queen, she drew her 
 wedding-ring from her finger. 
 
 "For the outside world I shall still wear a ring, but not the 
 one over which you made at the altar your perjured oath of 
 eternal love. Take it I have done with it and you I" 
 
 She flung it at him and then confronted him, maddening 
 enough in her insolent beauty to drive a calmer man to 
 frenzy. 
 
 And the frenzy came, and bringing with it visions of the 
 insane joy of destruction ; the overmastering impulse to seize 
 in his arms the woman who thus taunted him, and crush the 
 very life out of her beautiful, proud body, to force forth her 
 last agonized breath in one long delirious embrace not of 
 love, for love is tenderness, but of triumph and rage. 
 
 He felt himself grow pale as the tiny amulet struck him on 
 the mouth. Nothing was heard in the room but the constant 
 matutinal chirrup of the birds outside the light window and 
 the rattling of the discarded ring. Then, suddenly, with an 
 inarticulate imprecation, he esprang forward.
 
 24 The Demon Whispers. 
 
 She gave a stifled shriek of terror and pain as she found 
 herself helplessly bound in his arms, her supple frame vainly 
 writhing in his mad grasp, while a harsh, unknown voice 
 panted in her ear: 
 
 "Our last day ! so be it, Carmen ! I will see you tamed or 
 kill you!" 
 
 At first she fought like a tigress; but what could her 
 woman's strength, even in terror, do against his fury ? In his 
 cruel grip she soon ceased to struggle. Resistless at length, 
 she lay across his arm, crushed, well-nigh annihilated. 
 
 With her submission, his triumph gave way. Blank and 
 dazed, he released her, and she fell prostrate before him. He 
 stood, glaring at the lovely form at his feet, seemingly lifeless, 
 save for an occasional convulsive sigh. 
 
 After a while that, too, ceased, and for one agonized ghastly 
 moment he thought her life was gone. But presently, when, 
 covering her face with the mantle of her hair, she took to 
 crying, gently and piteously, like a child, his senses came 
 back; the horror of the disgrace he had brought upon his man- 
 hood overpowered him, and he fled from the room. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE DEMON WHISPERS. 
 
 The one sense which now encompassed George's whole being 
 was of shame. Out into the deserted street he dashed, driven 
 by a mad desire to fly from his own disgrace. Bareheaded, 
 frenzied, rushing purposeless this way and that, he might 
 have been stopped for a madman indeed, had not the early 
 hour presented but a lifeless town to his first precipitate 
 flight. But presently, as the furious intensity of emotion 
 subsided to a duller misery, he slackened his pace, and monot- 
 onously followed any street that led ahead, dimly finding 
 some relief in the persistent motion. 
 
 Eastward his course lay- far to the east. If his disheveled 
 attire and the desperate look on his face had excited ere now 
 suspicious curiosity on the part of the rare policeman, milk- 
 man and early stall-keeper of deserted Mayfair, they natur- 
 ally attracted more rudely obtrusive attention among the 
 busy toilers of Tower Hill and Hackney. 
 
 George began to realize that his evening dress, under the 
 bright sun of six in the morning, in the Whitechapel Road, 
 was a warrantable cause for the loudly expressed derision 
 which followed him on every side ; and he bethought himself
 
 The Demon Whispers. 25 
 
 V 
 
 to purchase an overcoat and a hat, fit for daylight wear, at the 
 first Jew clothier's he could find. Freed from further popular 
 persecution, he fell back more doggedly than ever on his mel- 
 ancholy tramp, whither he knew not. On and on till the eun 
 was already on its downward course, and the turmoil of the 
 great town had reached its climax. Then he found that his 
 aimless wayfaring had brought him back to the land of clubs. 
 
 In an utterly prostrate condition he had just sufficient 
 strength and wits left to crawl into his club and order some 
 food. But when it came, the very sight of it sickened him, 
 and the servants looked askance as he drearily ordered brandy 
 and ice, and drank immoderate quantities of the insidious 
 mixture. 
 
 Staggering to the smoking-room, he fell into the lap of the 
 first armchair, and sank back overpowered, his giddy brain 
 slowly revolving under the pulse of the only two thoughts left 
 in it that he was a miserable, degraded, futureless man, and 
 that sleep was the only blessed thing in life until suddenly 
 all sensation ceased and he was plunged in profound torpor. 
 
 The Middle Ages accepted as an adequate explanation of 
 many obscure mental phenomena the theory of unseen evil 
 spirits haunting the path of each human life, ever on the 
 alert to pounce upon their victim at the first sign of weakness, 
 and, when once it was fairly in their eager clutches, devoting 
 their demoniacal ingenuity to its utter perdition, until a 
 hitherto happy or blameless being was plunged in black de- 
 spair or reckless vice. 
 
 To such a familiar demon had George fallen a victim. 
 
 The voices of members broke his sleep, and instantly the 
 worry was upon him stronger than ever, clutching into his 
 heart, filling him with still more despairing inability to settle 
 a definite line of conduct. 
 
 He tried to sleep again ; a painful activity seized upon his 
 brain. He took up a paper and tried to read; his mind was 
 paralyzed. 
 
 Presently, as if from an immense distance, his attention 
 was drawn to a paragraph he had been mechanically scanning 
 for some time. It concerned the suicide of an officer, and 
 gradually George's wandering faculties became fixed upon its 
 meaning. A young captain of Hussars, popular, well-to-do, 
 a favorite with men and comrades, believed by all to be in 
 the best of health, the best of circumstances, who seemed, 
 and with reason, up to the day of his unaccountable action, 
 perfectly satisfied with his lot, had been discovered shot 
 through the head, under circumstances conclusively proving 
 that he had fallen by his own hand. 
 
 "Was he married?" wondered George, and rad the para-
 
 36 The Last Pipe of Tobacco. 
 
 graph again. There was no mention of a wife, and he put 
 down the paper with a sort of vague surprise. "What a fool 
 he was to kill himself !" 
 
 He took up a fashionable journal, and sighed impatiently 
 as he skimmed over strings of titles and lists of entertain- 
 ments; then the sensational heading, "Suicide of an Officer," 
 leaped out of the page to his brooding eye once more. He 
 perused the second account with greater interest and deliber- 
 ation. It was more detailed, and dwelt with gusto on the 
 horror of the spectacle, the grief of relatives and friends, the 
 strangeness of the deed. 
 
 "He may have been married in secret a low marriage, per- 
 haps !" thought George, working round again to his fixed idea. 
 
 Well, if he were to leave this world, he must do it in an 
 orderly gentlemanly fashion; the affairs of his household 
 must be arranged ; his accounts paid ; his last directions writ- 
 ten down to the minutest item. It was an interesting, even 
 amusing, exercise for the irritated mind to think out the 
 proper manner of accomplishing this, and to picture the un- 
 impeachable, systematic state in which George Kerr's affairs 
 would be found after that gentleman's sudden demise. 
 
 Ballasted with a definite object for action he quitted the 
 club in a mood very different from that of an hour ago ; curi- 
 ously placid, gently sad, rather superior and benevolent 
 toward mankind, as befits one who now has it in his indis- 
 putable power to place himself beyond the reach of all earthly 
 disappointments. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE LAST PIPE OF TOBACCO. 
 
 With great deliberation he had himself shaved. Then he 
 hailed a cabriolet and drove off to his solicitor, from whom, 
 after a somewhat lengthy interview, he extracted a promise 
 to have forwarded to his house early next morning some 
 fifteen hundred pounds, drawn upon capital, and an exact 
 statement of his financial affairs. The man of law was filled 
 with the gloomy conviction that so large a sum could be 
 required in such a hurry for no other purpose than the de- 
 fraying of some gambling debts. 
 
 "I hope you mean to turn over a new leaf, Mr. George," he 
 said, somewhat severely, as his client rose to go. "Yours is 
 a tidy little property, but it will not stand many years of 
 this work." 
 
 The young man turned round from th threshold with a
 
 The Last Pipe of Tobacco. 27 
 
 pale and meaning smile. Oh, yes, he was going to turn over 
 a new leaf that very day ! And still grimly smiling at the 
 thought, he jumped again into his cabriolet and gave the 
 driver the address of his own house. 
 
 His wife's little victoria was waiting at the door, and the 
 footman stood on the steps with a rug over his arm, gaping 
 at his master as the latter drew up. 
 
 A chill struck over George as once more he entered his 
 home, and was greeted by the ring of his wife's voice on the 
 stairs, raised in angry rebuke to her maid. Those angry, 
 overbearing tones which Carmen's voice the music of which 
 had once been so sweet to him could assume at times, had 
 been one of his first disenchantments. 
 
 In the midst of his self-centered cogitations he stood 
 amazed, aghast! Was it really possible? he asked himself 
 in utter bewilderment. Going out ! She was actually going 
 out, intent as ever on finery, admiration, amusement, a few 
 hours after what had happened, while he 
 
 The thought of what he was about to do rose before him, 
 vivid, specterlike. And he halted on the threshold of his 
 room, paralyzed in awful realization. 
 
 Another woman, with higher ideals, more refined organiza- 
 tion, would have been filled with contempt for the man who 
 could use such violence to a woman, were she not depressed 
 with shame and remorse for having brought so low the one 
 whose name she bore. But it was not so with George's wife. 
 When she had regained some calm, the thought of her hus- 
 band's passionate outbreak, ending in her own complete de- 
 feat and subjugation, was recalled as a stirring, novel experi- 
 ence fearful, in a way, to look back upon, but not without 
 some wild savor. 
 
 In her self-conceit, she never doubted but that, for all his 
 threats, he loved her still; never doubted but that, although 
 she had angered him out of bounds, the moving spirit of that 
 Hiiger had been his mad passion for her. She would win him 
 back, now, by every fascination and art she could devise. Oh, 
 the triumph of bringing once more to her feet the man who 
 had meant to kill her in his rage ! And again the joy to own 
 herself vanquished, and him the master, after all ! 
 
 But as the hours wore on there was no sign of his re- 
 turn, and Carmen found herself standing by the window 
 watching every passing conveyance, starting at every bell 
 with her heart in her mouth, now angry, now frightened, now 
 on the point of tears. There arrived opportunely a new gown 
 from the dressmaker. She must try it on, and then she 
 would drive. She would be back in time to see George before 
 dinner. In a renewed access of good spirits she was pro-
 
 28 The Last Pipe of Tobacco. 
 
 Deeding down the stairs to her carriage even as her husband 
 entered the house. ' 
 
 His hand was on the door of the study when he heard the 
 rustle of her dress approaching. The sound conjured up a 
 swift bright vision of the past. 
 
 Down came Carmen, triumphant in the newest Paris 
 fashion. Perceiving her husband, she stopped short and gave 
 a faint cry. Then, with an effort, she descended slowly to 
 the foot of the stairs and paused again. She was pale, and, 
 as he saw, was trembling. Then, with a very forced smile: 
 
 "Well, George ?" she said, almost meekly. 
 
 Her whole behavior and appearance were as a terrible reve- 
 lation to his guilty conscience. She was afraid of him, poor 
 silly butterfly thing, fluttering along in the enjoyment of her 
 beauty and bright attire, to see her shrink from him like 
 that, and then pitiably try to conciliate him while she trem- 
 bled at the bare feeling of his proximity! It brought home 
 to him more than ever what he had done laid his strong 
 hand in violence on a woman. With a sort of inward groan, 
 too bitter to find voice, he turned and rushed into his study, 
 leaving Carmen blankly staring at the closed door. 
 
 "He is still angry," she thought. 
 
 Then she boldly opened the door of his study and -popped 
 her head in. His back was turned to her ; he was staring out 
 of the window. Something in the commonplace attitude gave 
 her courage. 
 
 "George!" 
 
 He turned round sharply and faced her pale, silent, for- 
 bidding looking at her with distant gaze. She stammered, 
 retreated, and finally, in desperation, assuming an airy tone, 
 which sounded hideously incongruous to his ears : 
 
 "Remember, we have people to dinner to-night, and after- 
 ward the opera. I'm going out now ; good-by." 
 
 He heard her hasty steps across the hall, the banging of the 
 house-door, and presently the sound of carriage-wheels roll- 
 ing away. Then he laughed aloud in bitter mockery of him- 
 self and her. Poor Carmen! unlucky woman! 
 
 "A pistol and one moment of firmness," he muttered. "Yes ; 
 that is the only way out of it." 
 
 He took down from a trophy a pair of richly-worked Span- 
 ish pistols, that of the old Don's wedding gifts which had best 
 pleased him, and tried the works one after another. But as 
 he considered their graceful shape and exquisite ornamenta- 
 tion before loading, a sneer came upon his lips. 
 
 "Bah ! they are too beautiful to be good for anything." 
 
 He replaced the weapons and unlocked a case of dueling
 
 The Last Pipe of Tobacco. 29 
 
 pistols, hair-triggered, of the latest pattern; selected one, 
 loaded it carefully, and laid it on his writing table. 
 
 In this grim company he spent the next two hours, putting 
 order among his papers. Since, shortly after his marriage, 
 Carmen's incompetence had forced him to take upon himself 
 the management of the household, all bills and accounts, 
 whether for himself or his wife, were left in his room. 
 Everything was at hand, therefore, and, after some determined 
 work, in unimpeacheable order. 
 
 Then, after a long muse, he took out a copy of his will 
 and satisfied himself that matters lay even as he still wished. 
 The tenor of that document was of the simplest. All his 
 assets went to his wife, subject to some trifling legacies and 
 a bequest of a few thousands to his sister. 
 
 With the money that he expected the next morning, to be 
 employed according to his written instructions, he considered 
 that all debts could be settled, and the establishment broken 
 up without any of the lamentable confusion which generally 
 follows such a catastrophe as was going to happen in his 
 household. 
 
 And as to Carmen, did he not know her well enough to 
 foresee how she would take it all ? After the first shock, the 
 first scenes of hysterics and lamentations, she would not be 
 long before discovering some solace in her lot. She would 
 be free, the sole mistress of a pretty fortune, probably return 
 to Spain, marry again, and spend very happily the remainder 
 of this brief human existence. 
 
 "And so my last instant has come," he thought, dreamily 
 taking up the pistol, and slowly pushing the hair-trigger 
 back. 
 
 The sharp click struck disagreeably upon his jaded nerves, 
 and with a sort of revulsion he paused, but only for a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 His heart ceased beating, and he closed his eyes and gently 
 pulled the trigger. 
 
 In the silence of his awful expectation there fell the sound 
 of another sharp click that was all. 
 
 George opened his eyes, dropped his hand and looked round, 
 faint and dazed. 
 
 So here he was, alive. 
 
 Heaving a deep sigh, and intensely irritated at the thought 
 of having experienced all this emotion uselessly, he rose, and 
 walked over to the window to examine his weapon. The 
 hammer had fallen to half-cock. 
 
 Very much oppressed, and again with a sickening sensa- 
 tion of faintness, he dashed up the casement and leaned out 
 for a breath of air. His groom was passing down the path
 
 3O The Last Pipe of Tobacco. 
 
 toward the stables, puffing vigorously at a strong clay pipe. 
 A whiff of blue smoke floated across George's nostrils. 
 
 The smell of the tobacco brought a dimly soothing sensation 
 to his overstrained nerves. The grateful herb was an old 
 and trusty friend to him, and now the scent evoked a sudden 
 craving. He, too, would smoke a last pipe before leaving 
 this world. 
 
 A short clay was selected from the rack. This he filled 
 slowly and with an earnest countenance lighted it and sank 
 back in his favorite arm-chair, inhaling the sedative fragrance 
 and stretching his weary limbs. 
 
 He unconsciously enjoyed the luxury of complete relaxation 
 of mind. He had ceased to suffer, almost ceased to think; 
 his eyes listlessly followed the curls of blue vapor in their 
 fantastic rising through the air, while he mechanically puffed 
 what, to one in his condition, was the most beneficent of es- 
 sences. And thus by degrees he fell into that restful state 
 of day-dreaming when ideas meet each other and float vaguely 
 through the mind. 
 
 "If death be rest like this, then death is sweet indeed 
 And so George Kerr is dead, poor fellow! Life is a dream, 
 changing, inconsistent, incomplete of which the whole 
 meaning vanishes on waking. If the dream is pleasant, then 
 sleep on as long as possible; if it is painful, shake yourself, 
 make one effort and wake." 
 
 And he turned his eyes lazily toward the pistol, and sagely 
 thought, "No hair-trigger this time !" 
 
 But he was so tired that he had not the heart to move, and 
 so remained passive, while again his thoughts wandered away 
 in the blue. 
 
 "And yet there are good things on earth, otherwise no 
 man could bear to live; there are dreams within dreams; how 
 few indeed the seeds that fall on congenial ground; how 
 rarely those souls meet who might live harmoniously to- 
 gether! Make one mistake, take one wrong turning, and a 
 whole life is spoiled. What use in experience, save to show 
 you, too late, what might have been avoided and the tram- 
 mels that never can be shaken off." 
 
 He puffed again ; the pipe was out. Regretfully he looked 
 at it, wondering whether he might indulge himself in an- 
 other; but the tobacco was beyond reach on the mantel-shelf; 
 the pistol was still farther away. He fell again to musing, 
 contemplating and weighing in his hand the tobacco-dyed 
 clay. 
 
 "I should have liked to go to India with the brave fellows 
 when they deal with those murderous devils." 
 
 Here he made an effort and got up ; not to fetch th pistol,
 
 The Last Pipe of Tobacco. 31 
 
 however, but almost mechanically to fill his pipe again. 
 "Pity I did not think of it a little sooner; perhaps I might 
 have worked it, and been even now with the old corps; they 
 would have welcomed me back, no doubt." The new train 
 of thought, leading, as it did, away from present unpleasant 
 combinations, was a welcome one ; it was, therefore, with pro- 
 portionate irritation that he found himself recalled to the 
 actual ugly state of things by a discreet tap at the door, ac- 
 companied by a confidential cough, unmistakably proceeding 
 from the footman. 
 
 "Come in!" he cried savagely. "What the devil do you 
 want now?" 
 
 A fumbling at the handle reminded him that he had locked 
 himself in, and he strode across the room to remove the 
 obstacle. 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir," stammered the man, who entered with 
 visible embarrassment, which the sight of the open pistol- 
 case and its scattered contents considerably increased. "Mrs. 
 Kerr has come in, sir, and she sent me to remind you that 
 there is company to dinner to-night; and will you please to 
 give me the key of the cellar for to get out the champagne 
 and burgundy ?" 
 
 The message was a second and equally feeble attempt on 
 the part of Carmen to provoke an interview, if possible a 
 reconciliation ; but to George, full of his preconceived ideas, 
 it was but another gross impertinence. 
 
 His first movement was one of anger, but the next moment 
 a very different mood was upon him. 
 
 He burst out laughing. What a farce it all was ! He had 
 been going to shoot himself while she was thinking of the 
 champagne ! 
 
 He turned to his desk for the keys, while his shoulders still 
 shook with vainly-suppressed laughter. 
 
 "Here you are," he cried good-naturedly, tossing the bunch 
 toward the man ; "and tell Mrs. Kerr I beg to be excused from 
 dinner." 
 
 That laugh did George good, and the soothing, grateful 
 fumes of his old friend had begun. What! was his melan- 
 choly madness really dissipating? He yawned and stretched 
 himself, and looked around the room. 
 
 He discovered that there must have been a thunderstorm 
 somewhere; for the brooding heat of the day was replaced by 
 invigorating freshness, the trees in the little garden dripped 
 with glistening rain drops, and there rose up a delicious scent 
 of damp verdure mingled with the vague fragrance of early 
 summer flowers. 
 
 For a few seconds the would-be suicide remained lost in
 
 32 The Last Pipe of Tobacco. 
 
 mute enjoyment of the sunset hour, seconds during which the 
 mere fact of existence was sufficient for content. Then his 
 mind awoke to reflection. 
 
 Here a clatter of plates and glasses, as the footman passed 
 the door to lay the table in the adjoining room, recalled his 
 consideration to more sublunary matters that he was hun- 
 gry prosaically, ravenously, absurdly hungry. 
 
 Calling out to the servant, he ordered some meat and bread 
 to be immediately brought up to his study, together with a 
 bottle of "that burgundy." 
 
 The man, delighted to see his master reverting to more 
 human instincts, and nattered by the unwonted familiarity, 
 hastened to lay the cloth on a card-table, which he covered 
 with a substantial spread. 
 
 George sat down with a serious but much less meditative 
 countenance, and opened immediate relations with the an- 
 cient bottle. 
 
 He was half-way through his repast when the sound of 
 people moving into the dining-room brought him back to the 
 sense of his incongruous position. 
 
 On the other side of that wall his wife was entertaining 
 guests whose names he did not even know, while he, the 
 master of the house unnoticed, unmissed partook of his 
 improvised meal in the solitude of the back chamber. 
 
 "Well," he communed with himself, "I have not shot my- 
 self, after all, and it is perhaps a good thing; I am not going 
 to, either, that seems pretty certain." This, filling his third 
 glass. "Now what am I going to do? The state of affairs 
 that has so nearly made a corpse of me cannot be risked 
 again. No ; from this moment the sort of life I have led here 
 is over. I drink to a better one, whatever it is to be." 
 
 He rose from the table and again sought his arm-chair; 
 not to muse this time, but to reflect with all the earnestness 
 and intelligence of his eager mind on the possibility of start- 
 ing on a fresh journey in life, free and unhampered by a sin- 
 gle tie of the c^d existence alone in the world again. 
 
 George Kerr was dead. The chance thought was taking 
 root, and rapidly growing into shape. Why not let it b so ? 
 It was no fault of his if George Kerr's death was not an ac- 
 complished fact; but for the most unforeseen of hazards, 
 George would now be of this life no more. 
 
 Life in the future must be out of England; nay, across 
 the ocean. The old world was no place for his new career; 
 he must have fresh fields, fresh motives, a new birth, as it 
 were. Above all, he must be unknown. 
 
 "No one will miss me much. As to poor Susie, she is so 
 wrapped up in her parson and her chicks that, however she
 
 The Last Pipe of Tobacco. 33 
 
 may fret at first, the hundred a year she will gain by my 
 death will be more useful to her than her good-for-nothing 
 brother." 
 
 He must choose some perfectly definite mode of death, and 
 so act as to appear to the most critical to have perished 
 thereby. Death by drowning, then, alone, could answer his 
 purpose and excite no suspicion. An accident, a boat on the 
 river better still, at sea ; body lost, but boat recovered. 
 
 It was best, too, that for the world at large his demise 
 should have the appearance of being accidental. 
 
 He would be poor, of course ; but, with the money to arrive 
 next morning from the solicitors, rich enough for his energy. 
 What a happy thing had been that quixotic notion of his to 
 leave his widow so large a sum in hand ! 
 
 Satisfied with the arrangement of matters so far, he emp- 
 tied his bottle with much relish, and went out to develop, 
 under the silent trees of Berkeley Square, in so far as was 
 now possible, the most minute details of his scheme. Later 
 in the evening he returned with every particular clearly set- 
 tled in his head. 
 
 Tired out by all the harassing emotions and fatigue of the 
 last twenty-four hours, he flung himself on a camp-bed in 
 his dressing-room, and slept heavily and dreamlessly till 
 morning. 
 
 It was nearly midnight when Carmen returned from the 
 theatre. The maid, who waited in her room, longing for the 
 hour of her release to bed, heard footsteps coming up the 
 stairs so heavy, wearied, lagging, she could scarcely believe 
 that they were those of her mistress, who was wont to trip in 
 so lightly. 
 
 Still more surprised was she to mark the depression of 
 manner, the strange gentleness, unprecedented in the usually 
 irascible Spaniard. In all the time she had been in Mrs. 
 Kerr's service she had never known that mood. 
 
 When the duties for the night were accomplished, and she 
 was about to retire, Carmen called her back. 
 
 "Mr. Kerr," she said, with a slight hesitation, "is he out ?" 
 
 "Oh no, madam !" retorted the maid cheerfully. "Mr. Kerr 
 has gone to bed in his dressing-room, and has not stirred 
 since eleven." 
 
 Carmen tossed her head and flushed. 
 
 "There, that will do," she said sharply. "Leave me." 
 
 Alone, she stamped her foot with the petulance of a 
 thwarted child; then she knocked a chair down, coughed, 
 rustled her dress all in vain. 
 
 She bent her pretty ear to listen at the door; nothing but 
 the sound of the regular breathing: within broke the stillness.
 
 34 The Seafoam Birth of David Fargus. 
 
 The daylong effort of acting indifference had tired her. 
 She had no wish to thwart him more; she would be humble. 
 She only wanted to be forgiven, but a strange diffidence kept 
 her from him. He had dined by himself in his room, he 
 had retired without seeing her, and was now sleeping sleep- 
 ing while she cried. 
 
 Now and then she would hold her breath and again listen. 
 Surely George would hear her, would feel she was miserable, 
 ay, that she was repentant, and he would hasten to her, over- 
 come with remorse; with the old tenderness, the old caresses, 
 she now yearned for so passionately. 
 
 At last, in an agony of sobs, burying her face in the pillow 
 to shut out the darkness of her solitude, she cried herself to 
 sleep. 
 
 On what trivial events does the course of a whole life de- 
 pend. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SEAFOAM BIRTH OF DAVID FARGUS. 
 
 Early in the afternoon of the next day George entered the 
 Old Quebec Hotel, Portsmouth. That old-fashioned and dingy 
 hostelry was associated in his mind with the brightest epoch 
 of his life. Here, new to the delights of his new-found in- 
 dependence, to the soul-stirring prospect of active service, 
 he had spent the night previous to his embarkation for the 
 Crimea in the company of a brace of ensigns recently joined 
 like himself. 
 
 But it was from no sentimental attachment to the past 
 that, at so critical a moment, he chose to return to that we 1 !- 
 remembered haunt, but because its position at the entrance of 
 the harbor was best suited to his plans. 
 
 After depositing his luggage and ordering a good dinner to 
 be ready in an hour's time, he sauntered along the quay of 
 the Camber toward the Logs to look for and engage a likely 
 craft for his strange purpose. 
 
 An ancient mariner instantly woke up to the prospect of 
 business. 
 
 "Nice evening for a sail, sir. Tidy little boat there of 
 mine; take you round the harbor in no time." 
 
 "Which is your boat?" asked George, pausing; then, 
 thoughtfully surveying the one indicated, which in truth 
 seemed as good as any he would be likely to find: "Do you 
 think it could take me across to the island to-night and bring 
 me back to-morrow morning?"
 
 The Seafoam Birth of David Fargus. 35 
 
 "Couldn't find a better sailing boat in the harbor. I'll 
 bring her round in a jiffy." 
 
 "Stop a minute, my man !" cried George ; "I can't start for 
 a couple of hours at least; but if you will take her round to 
 the harbor about six o'clock you may come and fetch me at 
 the Quebec." 
 
 "Right, sir, shall I bring my son to look after the boat ?" 
 
 "I want no one. I shall sail her myself." 
 
 "Well, you see, sir " 
 
 "Well, my good man, I fear your boat will not suit me if 
 you object to trusting it to me. I want particularly to be 
 alone; and if I can manage a boat myself, I can pay for it, 
 too!" 
 
 "All right, sir, all right! No offense; I only want to 
 oblige; some gents like to have a man to mind the. boat. I 
 shall have her round at six. Good-day, sir." 
 
 George returned to his hotel and ate his dinner with the 
 consciousness of one who knows that his physical energies will 
 soon be severely taxed; drank his pint of port, then repaired 
 to his own room and seated himself on the sill of the bow- 
 window to ruminate. 
 
 And so this was the last day indeed, the last few hours 
 that remained to him to spend under the old personality. 
 That night George Kerr would sink to the bottom of the sea 
 and disappear forever from the list of English subjects, while 
 in the room of that unlucky being would rise one David 
 Fargus. David Fargus, for the nonce passenger to the New 
 World ; where to in particular the future to decide. 
 
 That morning, in London, he had risen early and ordered 
 the astonished James to pack up, noiselessly so as not to wake 
 Mrs. Kerr, the few necessaries sufficient for a couple of days' 
 outing. Before leaving the house he had withdrawn a hun- 
 dred pounds from the money that Perkins, faithful to his 
 promise, had already sent by a confidential messenger, and 
 placed that sum in an envelope, together with his written 
 directions that all his personal debts, as per list inclosed, 
 should be paid therewith. To this he had further attached his 
 solicitor's statement, addressed the whole to his wife, and left 
 it in the drawer of his writing-table. 
 
 The remainder of the notes, with all the loose cash he had 
 in the house, he had taken with him. Having thus finally 
 settled everything to his satisfaction, he had driven to the 
 station, stopping, however on his way, at a suitable shop to 
 purchase a certain bag of water-tight material, which was to 
 play an important part in his scheme of supposed accidental 
 death. 
 
 This bag he now took out of his portmanteau and care-
 
 36 The Seafoam Birth of David Fargus. 
 
 fully packed with a complete suit of clothes and change of 
 linen, towels, etc., not forgetting a flask of old brandy. All 
 these articles together barely half filled it, but he nevertheless 
 tied the mouth with minute precautions. 
 
 "There ! it is water-tight, I hope. Rather heavy, but it will 
 float easily enough ; it might even play the part of a life-buoy 
 on emergency," thought he, as he mentally compared its 
 weight with its bulk. Then, spreading out a quantity of 
 banknotes, gold, and silver, on the table, he proceeded to 
 count : 
 
 "One thousand three hundred and ninety pounds notes; 
 seven pound ten gold ; eleven and seven pence small cash the 
 capital of David Fargus, Esquire ; about equal to one year of 
 George Kerr's income. Not much, perhaps; but more than 
 enough for that valiant soldier of fortune!" 
 
 The notes were carefully wrapped in oiled silk, and, to- 
 gether with the cash and his watch, placed in a money-belt 
 which he wore next to the skin. 
 
 These preparations finished, he took out some note-paper 
 with his crest and address, sat down to the writing table, and, 
 after a few minutes' reflection, indited his last letter to his 
 wife: 
 
 "THE QUEBEC HOTEL, PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 "CARMEN: After what happened two nights ago," so ran 
 the document, "you will hardly be astonished at, nor, I sup- 
 pose, regret, the step which I have taken. Life with you has 
 become impossible. Your behavior is such as no man could 
 ever forgive. But I am too sick at heart even to wish to 
 punish you, and since, as you said yourself on that eventful 
 night when J was able fully to understand your true character, 
 you would lose your position in the eyes of the world that 
 was all you thought of if I sent you away from me, I have 
 taken all my measures to prevent reproach falling on you. 
 
 "Every one will believe in the 'accident' you will hear of. 
 
 "I leave you to seek your happiness in the path you have 
 chosen; you are now mistress of your own life, but you may 
 thank your fate that we have no children, or I could not thus 
 give you your liberty and the untrammeled possession of my 
 fortune. Fare you well, Carmen ; I make you no reproaches ; 
 at the moment of parting forever they would be idle. I hope 
 sincerely that you may still find happiness on earth, though 
 you could not find it with me. GEORGE KERR." 
 
 "P. S. I left my last directions with a sum of money in the 
 drawer of my writing table." 
 
 The old resentment had burned within him hotly as he 
 wrote, and as he read the letter over it did not strike him as
 
 The Seafoam Birth of David Fargus. 37 
 
 too harsh. Directing it to Charles street, he sealed it care- 
 fully with his signet-ring and went out to post it himself. 
 
 As he returned he found his boatman waiting for him, this 
 time in a very conciliating mood. 
 
 The sack, carefully concealed in the folds of a great-coat so 
 as to look like a bundle of rugs, George carried himself to the 
 boat, then shoved off, set his sail, and, under the breath of a 
 fresh northeast breeze, nimbly slid away on his curious expe- 
 dition, while the boat proprietor gazed after him with a 
 critical air and condescending approval of the manner in 
 which the Londoner steered and tacked, until the boat 
 rounded Block House Point and disappeared. 
 
 The solitary sail at the sunset hour on that superb road- 
 stead, so typical of England's greatness, was impressive and 
 melancholy. And George felt the sadness of it all steal round 
 his young heart. 
 
 "What! qualms already, David Fargus? This will hardly 
 do when the hour for action is so near, and we have to kill the 
 body of George Kerr and to effect the transmigration of his 
 soul into your personality." 
 
 His scheme was tolerably complete already, and during the 
 long hours he had to cruise about Spithead, waiting for dark- 
 ness to set in, there was ample opportunity to settle all details 
 and adapt them to the topographical requirements of the case. 
 
 "Yes," thought George, as he turned the boat toward the 
 glowing west," that patch, for instance, where the gorse creeps 
 down almost to the water's edge, would not be bad. Nearly 
 equidistant between the two coast-guards' huts, too. Ah, yes; 
 hereabout must be the watery grave of George Kerr. 
 
 Yet another hour to wait and the tide would turn outward 
 so said the calendar while the moon would not rise before 
 ten. At the turn of the tide, therefore, should the plunge 
 be taken. 
 
 The tide which he waited for would take the boat, when 
 left to herself, sufficiently far out to sea to afford no indica- 
 tion of the place of the supposed accident. 
 
 At length the nine strokes of the hour floated away on the 
 wings of the night air from some old church-steeple, and 
 George nerved himself for his critical task. 
 
 His boots and clothes, strapped into a tight parcel and 
 weighted, were dropped overboard. When he had ascertained 
 that they had duly sunk, he threw the buoyant bag on the 
 water, felt if his money-belt was secure, placed his foot on the 
 gunwale, and noiselessly capsized his craft. 
 
 The icy mantle had hardly closed round his shoulders when 
 he began to wish he had sailed in closer to the shore before 
 making the plunge,
 
 38 The Seafoam Birth of David Fargus. 
 
 He breasted the dark waves with methodical vigor, all his 
 energy, mental and physical, fixed upon the task. Yet the 
 twenty minutes he had allowed himself as its outside duration 
 elapsed, and he did not seem to have advanced much closer 
 to the somber line that represented the coast. 
 
 In the old times George had excelled in swimming, as in 
 most forms of athleticism, but the lazy life led since his mar- 
 riage, and especially the worry and fatigue of the last days, 
 had lowered his powers more than he could suspect. After 
 another immense effort to increase his pace, he felt, with 
 horror, that his strength was giving way. At length, but 
 some twenty yards from the shore, he ceased to make any 
 headway, at all, and floated helplessly at the mercy of the 
 current. 
 
 The time he had alloted for the ordeal had already merged 
 into twice its length, the periods of deadly oblivion were grow- 
 ing more frequent, more prolonged ; had it not been for this 
 buoyant bag, to which, all unconsciously, he clung with unre- 
 laxing grasp, it is more than probable that David Fargus' 
 career would have proved a short one indeed. But all at once 
 a sharp pain in the knees recalled his wandering senses. The 
 conflicting tides, which at that part run parallel to the shore, 
 had brought him far away from his intended landing-point; 
 but friendly they had been, and had thrown him on the strand 
 at last. 
 
 The joy of feeling the solid earth again, and the violent 
 pain in his limbs, restored his waning energy; he gathered 
 together all his strength for one last exertion and struggled up 
 on the beach. 
 
 Shivering, almost palsied; for, colder even than the water, 
 every pulse of the breeze cut into his benumbed nakedness 
 like a knife ; he staggered along the shingle in search of some 
 sheltering nook, fearful of awakening the attention of chance 
 watchers coastguards or sentries for, towering on his right, 
 rose, black against the starry sky, the walls of old Fort Monck- 
 ton. 
 
 As he expected, he came upon a suitable nook at the head of 
 the Kaponier, offering all imaginable advantages under the 
 circumstances; a screen from the blast, and especially from 
 the inquisitiveness of any flying sentry who might take it into 
 his head to cast a glance over the parapet ; and, what was not 
 to be despised by a man numbed almost to rigidity, steps to sit 
 upon. 
 
 Painfully opening the faithful bag with stiffened fingers, 
 he first brought out the flask and took a long draught of its 
 contents, which coursed through his system like fire, and 
 gave a welcome fillip to the exhausted heart; then, wonder-
 
 The Rev. Hillyard Garners Documents. 39 
 
 fully invigorated, found his towels and fell to rubbing him- 
 self with increasing energy, and so gradually brought some 
 warmer movement into his circulation. 
 
 "And now the transmigration is effected!" His spirits 
 mounted to a sense of triumph in the glow of reaction and 
 felt as though it were indeed a new life pulsing through his 
 veins. "Here is David Fargus, risen, like a son of Neptune, 
 from the foam of the sea, drying his dripping hair in the 
 darkest corner of an antiquated piece of fortification a 
 quaint birthplace, truly!" 
 
 By this time he was dressed in the rough blue suit he had 
 provided for himself, with light shoes on his feet and a yacht- 
 ing cap on his head. He folded his life-saving bag, pocketed 
 his flask, and clambered gayly again on to the glacis. 
 
 Making straight for the lights of the little village of Alver- 
 stoke, through the gorse, he soon came upon a hedged lane, 
 which, upon inquiry of a passer-by, he learned led to the high- 
 road. This he tramped vigorously along, avoiding the town 
 for fear of some remote possibility of recognition. 
 
 Three days later the brave steamship Columbia was cleaving 
 through the waters of Southampton Harbor, outward bound. 
 
 Smoking his pipe on the fore-deck and perusing with much 
 interest the graphic account given by some local paper of the 
 melancholy death by drowning of one Mr. G. Kerr, of Lon- 
 don, sat Mr. David Fargus, second-class passenger to Vera 
 Cruz. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE REV. ROBERT HILLYARD GARNERS DOCUMENTS. 
 
 The Rev. Robert Hillyard sat in his study apparently read- 
 ing, in reality brooding over the difficulties of adapting a 
 small income to the requirements of a large family, when 
 Susie came into the room, her pretty worn face full of trouble, 
 the last baby on her arm, and an open letter in her hand. 
 
 "Please read it, Robert," she said in a trembling voice. "I 
 am afraid something is wrong." 
 
 Then she put the baby on the floor to creep, cast herself 
 down on a chair, stretched out her arms over her husband's 
 desk, and broke into tears and sobs. 
 
 Her George! her darling George! 
 
 The curate kindly laid his thin hand on her sunny hair, and 
 kept it there while he read the letter, characteristically, with- 
 out stopping to ask her for an explanation. 
 
 It was written in a wild, irregular hand, and worded so con-
 
 4o The Rev. Hillyard Garners Documents. 
 
 fusedly that he had to peruse it twice over before he could 
 gather any definite meaning therefrom. 
 
 "I write to you," it began abruptly, "because I do not- know 
 who else to turn to, or what to do. Your brother George has 
 left me, and he says he means to kill himself. I am the most 
 miserable and guilty of women. Come at once and I will show 
 you the dreadful letter. You will perhaps know what to do. 
 If George is dead, you will say it is my fault. I know I have 
 done wrong, but God is my witness how I now repent. 
 "Your distracted and unhappy sister, 
 
 "CARMEN." 
 
 The curate put the letter carefully in his pocket, and turned 
 to his wife with a few words of comfort. 
 
 Pitying her suspense, he formed the prompt decision of tak- 
 ing the next train to town and ascertaining himself the state 
 of affairs. This, and the hope that matters were really not 
 so bad as they might seem, did a little to stop the flow of 
 Susie's tears. 
 
 Then she had to pack a bag for the curate and get him 
 something to eat before he started, and collect all their avail- 
 able funds to give him very little it was ; such a journey was 
 to them a terrible outlay. As soon as this was accomplished, 
 and she stood by her husband's chair, watching him hastily 
 swallow his poor meal, she had recovered her usual calm 
 exterior. 
 
 "Robert," she said hesitatingly, "what does she mean by 
 guilty?" 
 
 "We cannot tell, my dear," said the curate gently; then he 
 kissed her and walked off to the station. 
 
 When some three hours later he stopped before the little 
 green door of 3A Charles street, and glanced at the bright 
 boxes of geranium in the windows, the red blinds, the fresh 
 paint on the walls, he could not help contrasting in his own 
 mind the gay outward appearance of the house with the 
 tragedy he expected to hear of within its walls. 
 
 His first act was to walk to the window and pull up the 
 blinds, regardless of the figure reclining on the sofa, which at 
 his entrance had immediately raised a handkerchief to its 
 eyes and given vent to a faint sob. He was determined to 
 fulfill the unpleasant task he had taken upon himself to the 
 best of his power. 
 
 He took a chair and sat down beside her. The vision of 
 almost startling beauty she presented to his gaze, heightened 
 rather than obscured by the sweeping folds of black lace with 
 which she was enveloped, failed to strike him otherwise than 
 again unfavorably. Nevertheless, his tone was kind as he ad-
 
 The Rev. Hillyard Garners Documents. 41 
 
 dressed her, although the sense of the terrible importance of 
 the hour filled it with a solemnity which alarmed her. 
 
 "Mrs. Kerr," he said, "I have come to see how I can help 
 you ; but, if you wish me to be able to be of any real use, you 
 must tell me everything without reserve. Have you heard 
 nothing of George since the letter you wrote about, and which 
 contained such a terrible threat?" 
 
 Carmen shook her head without speaking. 
 
 "Then I must see this letter first of all ; where is it ?" 
 
 She pointed to an envelope on her dressing-table. 
 
 Mr. Hillyard took it and went to the window, where he 
 perused its contents with a face which grew sterner every 
 moment, while Carmen watched him apprehensively and felt 
 her fears increasing to positive terror. 
 
 After a pause Mr. Hillyard turned slowly round and looked 
 at her with a searching condemning gaze. 
 
 "There can be no doubt, Mrs. Kerr, that your husband 
 accuses you of conduct which has driven him to contemplate 
 suicide. Let us hope, in God's mercy, that he has stopped on 
 the brink of such a crime, though he seems to be terribly in 
 earnest. When did you receive this letter?" 
 
 "The day before yesterday." 
 
 "And you have done nothing sent no one after him? 
 This letter is dated Portsmouth ; why did you not go there 
 yourself ? a timely effort on your part might have averted the 
 calamity; he even gave you his address; how do you know 
 that he may not have been almost hoping for some explanation 
 an act of repentance from you? At least you might have 
 written instantly to his elder brother or to us." 
 
 "I don't know; I did not know what to do. I thought 
 George would be sure to come back; that he wanted to 
 frighten me. But I have heard nothing since; oh! what shall 
 I do?" 
 
 The curate leaned against the chimney-piece, wondering 
 indeed what could be done now. He contrasted in his mind 
 the unfortunate young husband, flying, as he thought, a dis- 
 honored home, with the resolve of not surviving his shame, 
 and the guilty wife, lounging on her cushions by the fire in 
 comparative apathy. 
 
 It was, therefore, in a hard tone that, after a lengthy pause, 
 he requested her to narrate exactly the events which had led to 
 this climax, and with a great deal of impatient incredulity 
 that he listened to Carmen's limited view of the whole affair. 
 That any young man should threaten to destroy himself 
 merely because he did not like living in London was too pre- 
 posterous an idea to be entertained for a minute; such, how- 
 ever, was the gist of her narrative, for the simple reason that
 
 42 The Rev. Hillyard Gamers Documents. 
 
 she herself was incapable of seeing any deeper motive in their 
 periodical altercations. And as she recapitulated them her 
 natural combativeness gradually assumed the mastery. The 
 very querulousness of her tone more than ever convinced him 
 that this woman must indeed be guilty of some unavowed 
 misbehavior. 
 
 With great indignation he at length got up, and, holding out 
 the letter and angrily tapping it with his finger : 
 
 "In my opinion, Mrs. Kerr," he cried, "your conduct is 
 inexpressibly shocking. With this letter before you the last, 
 probably, that the man to whom you have joined your life 
 before God will ever have written, and in which, indeed, his 
 principal thought seems to be that of sparing you merited 
 sorrow and shame you can still give way to these recrimina- 
 tions, hedge yourself in this useless reserve. All that you told 
 me is perfectly inadequate to explain the despair of my poor 
 Susie's brother, once the gayest, the most open-hearted fellow 
 that ever lived ! At your own call I have come to help you, 
 and to help him, if it be God's will ; but this I insist on it is 
 indispensable to success you must tell me the offense your 
 husband distinctly accuses you of. My character as a gentle- 
 men and a clergyman ought to satisfy you that any confidence 
 will be sacred, and that I shall comply with George's generous 
 wish that you should be spared all exposure." 
 
 At these words, at what she thought was wilful and insult- 
 ing misapprehension, the anger which had been gathering in 
 Carmen's heart during the last minutes burst forth. 
 
 She glared at him fiercely, and, getting up in her turn, 
 "Mr. Hillyard," she cried, "I did beg for help from a friend, 
 but you would come here as a priest. You are no priest in 
 my eyes. I have nothing to tell you. Under the hypocritical 
 pretense of helping me in my dreadful trouble, you would 
 merely try to worm out secrets that have no existence. Why 
 did not Susie come? She would not be so cruel; she would 
 have advised me and consoled me. But since you will do 
 nothing but insult me, you may leave me !" 
 
 She sank back on her sofa, sulking, while the curate, be- 
 wildered, stood wondering whether he was indeed making a 
 grievous mistake, or if the woman before him was really the 
 commonplace sinner he had imagined. 
 
 Be it as it might, he resolved to waste no further time in 
 fruitless endeavors to obtain reason and assistance from her, 
 but to devote all his energies to the task of finding out for 
 himself what could be done in this desperate case. 
 
 A knock at the door stopped him as he was about to take his 
 leave. The maid entered with a letter, which Carmen seized,
 
 The Rev. Hillyard Garners Documents. 43 
 
 opened and read with dilated eyes. All color fled from her 
 cheeks ; she fell on her knees with a wild scream. 
 
 "It is true !" she sobbed. "He is dead ! And he said it was 
 I who forced him to do it. ... What does it mean ? Oh, 
 my beautiful George ! can you prefer death to me ?" 
 
 With worst forebodings, Mr. Hillyard picked up and read 
 the letter, which ran thus: 
 
 "THE QUEBEC HOTEL, PORTSMOUTH. 
 
 "Sm OR MADAM: A gentleman, who gave his name as G. 
 Kerr, and whose portmanteau bore the address we now send 
 this letter to, came to this hotel on Wednesday afternoon last. 
 After dinner he went out alone, in a sailing boat, announcing 
 his intention to sail over to Ryde and return the next morn- 
 ing. The next day, however, the boat in which he had gone 
 out was discovered some distance out at sea capsized. It is 
 greatly feared indeed, it is only too probable that the un- 
 fortunate young gentleman has met with a fatal accident, as 
 nothing has been heard of him since. 
 
 "His luggage is still in our possession, and we should be 
 much obliged by receiving instructions as to what we are to 
 do with it. The proprietor of the boat also has a claim for 
 damage and salvage money. 
 
 "We are, Sir or Madam, 
 
 "Your obedient servants, 
 
 "LAMBKIN BROTHERS. 
 
 "To the Occupier of No. 3a Charles street, 
 "Berkeley Square, London." 
 
 This communication removed any hope or doubt; an acci- 
 dent which has been announced by the victim in one letter, 
 and related by witnesses in another, is but too palpably an 
 accomplished suicide. The curate looked at Carmen ; she was 
 rocking herself backward and forward in an agony of tears. 
 To him this passionate sorrow, following on her anger and 
 previous apathy, was almost incomprehensible; yet he was 
 touched with pity. 
 
 "Mrs. Kerr," he said more gently, as he placed George's 
 letter and that of the landlord in his pocket-book, "I shall 
 immediately go down to Portsmouth myself and see what can 
 be done. I regret that any reproof of mine should have added 
 to your misery at such a moment. The best, the only thing I 
 think of to help you now, is to take on myself the responsi- 
 bility of investigating matters and carrying out George's last 
 wishes. Therefore, as he mentioned in his letter to you a 
 packet containing directions and money to be found in his 
 study, I ask your permission to take it. I shall render you 
 later an account of the trust."
 
 44 The Rev. Hillyard Garners Documents. 
 
 But seeing that he spoke to deaf ears, that the poor creaturo 
 was incapable of comprehending, even of listening to him, 
 Mr. Hillyard, thinking it cruel to abandon her in such a con- 
 dition to the mercy of servants, resolved to pen a hurried let- 
 ter to Susie before leaving the house. 
 
 "DARLING WIFE (he wrote) : I fear the bad news is but too 
 true; I am just off to Portsmouth, where the dreadful affair 
 has taken place. Useless to bid you hope. Your sister seems 
 in a terrible plight. I cannot make her out ; but the one thing 
 is certain, that she wants help and consolation. Might you 
 not come up and see her through it ? I leave all this to you." 
 
 He rang the bell, and gave the letter to be posted at once. 
 Then, opening George's desk, he took possession of the papers 
 indicated and hurried away to the station. 
 
 It was very late that night when he arrived at Portsmouth ; 
 he was received with much satisfaction at the Quebec, where, 
 no better tidings awaited him. "The gentleman was surely 
 drowned, though his body might never be found in such a 
 tideway." 
 
 The next day he had an interview with the boatman, and 
 was still further confirmed in the theory of premeditation by 
 the old man's account of the manner in which George had in- 
 sisted on starting alone on his ill-fated expedition. As a wit- 
 ness at the subsequent official inquiry, Mr. Hillyard easily 
 reconciled it with his conscience to keep in the background 
 all he knew of the real nature of the accident, and the verdict 
 found was, in consequence, of "Death by misadventure." 
 
 Having satisfied all claims at Portsmouth, Mr. Hillyard 
 returned to London and went to the solicitor, with whom he 
 had a consultation. 
 
 He found Susie at Charles street, unremitting in her atten- 
 tions to her sister-in-law, whose violent grief was no doubt 
 sincere, and whose miserable condition removed all harsh feel- 
 ings from Mrs. Hillyard's heart. 
 
 George's will was read, all debts were paid, and the an- 
 nouncement of his death by accident inserted in the Times. 
 
 The next thing to be setted was Carmen's future. One of 
 Mr. Hillyard's first acts on arriving at Portsmouth had been 
 to write to Mr. William Kerr, informing him of all he knew, 
 and asking for his advice. He was too well acquainted with 
 the family pride of the Kerrs not to feel sure that the squire 
 would be more anxious even than himself to keep secret the 
 true cause of his brother's death. But although he did not 
 anticipate much help from that quarter, he was nevertheless 
 surprised at the utter want of feeling displayed in the answer 
 which was delivered to him next evening at Charles street :
 
 Unlooked-for Legacy of George Kerr. 45 
 
 "My DEAR ROBERT : I have just received your letter of the 
 17th inst., informing me of my step-brother's miserable end. 
 Inexpressibly shocking as such news must be to me, I can 
 hardly say that I am surprised. Neither am I willing to 
 undertake any responsibility whatsoever in the matter. 
 
 "When my step-brother contracted his undesirable alliance 
 I forbid all intercourse between him and us. I owe it to my- 
 self to persist in this course. As to his widow, I have never 
 recognized her, and I do not wish even to inquire into the 
 details of her conduct. I regret for your own sake that you 
 should have allowed your good-nature to draw you into this 
 disgraceful business. "Yous sincerely, 
 
 "WILLIAM KERR (of Gilham)." 
 
 All Mr. Hillyard's manly and benevolent feelings were 
 roused by this narrow-minded brutality, and he immediately 
 offered the shelter of his own house to Carmen, who, how- 
 ever, declined to avail herself of it, announcing her intention 
 to return to her father as soon as she possibly could, and press- 
 ing the moment of departure with feverish haste. 
 
 In a couple of days more the Hillyards returned to their 
 quiet home. After dinner, as they sat together in their little 
 dining-room, Susie observed to her husband, with a certain 
 diffidence, "Do you know, dear, I don't think that poor woman 
 is so much to blame as you seem to. She is but a child in 
 mind. I believe her worst sin has been her utter inability to 
 enter into an Englishman's life, especially poor George's." 
 
 Eobert Hillyard answered nothing; he looked very grave, 
 and put down untasted the glass he was raising to his lips. 
 For nothing in the world would he have dispelled Susie's 
 charitable innocence. As she looked at him wistfully, wait- 
 ing for his verdict, he merely kissed her tenderly, and said, 
 "I wish there were more women like you, darling." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 UNLOOKED-FOR LEGACY OF GEORGE KERR. 
 
 May again ; a bright fresh morning, with dappled blue sky 
 just such a day as that which had seen the transmigration 
 of George Kerr's soul into the person of David Fargus, three 
 years ago. 
 
 Gazing from the other side of the pavement at a certain 
 deserted-looking little house, in Charles street, Mayfair, by 
 number 3\, apparently absorbed in the contemplation of an
 
 46 Unlooked-for Legacy of George Kerr. 
 
 agent's advertisement, which adorned the ground-floor win- 
 dows, stood a man whose still young face, hardened and 
 weather-beaten, gave token of other than home experiences. 
 
 At length, rousing himself from deep abstraction, with the 
 air of one who takes a sudden resolve, he crossed the street 
 and rang the bell. A melancholy looking woman of the genus 
 caretaker opened the door, after a somewhat lengthy delay, 
 and requested him to state his business. 
 
 "I see this house is to be let furnished, I should like to go 
 over it." The refined voice was in curious contrast with the 
 unfashionable attire ; the woman hesitated, and measured him 
 slowly with her eye. Had he an agent's card ? 
 
 No ; the stranger had been merely struck with the house as 
 he passed by. It did not matter. 
 
 "Well, I suppose it won't make much odds for once. 'Ouse 
 is a nice 'ouse; I'll bring you through it." 
 
 She led the way, and he followed across a small tiled hall 
 into a room on the right. 
 
 "This is the smoking-room," she said, and fell into an atti- 
 tude of patient waiting. 
 
 The visitor gazed about him with a sort of dreamy wonder. 
 With the dust and grime of town upon everything, changed 
 though they were for the worse, every item of the surround- 
 ings was painfully familiar. He laid his hand on the oaken 
 writing-table with a lingering touch. The caretaker looked 
 at him with unintelligent wonder, and he awoke from his 
 dream of bygone days. 
 
 "Who does this house belong to now ?" 
 
 "It belongs now to Sir Reginald Vere, sir; he bought it, 
 furniture and all, from the former howner," she answered 
 glibly enough. "That is to say on that gentleman's death ; it 
 was a regular tragedy, I've heard tell for he committed 
 suicide! Oh, it wasn't here, sir! But the 'ouse is a nice 
 'ouse, and I can't say as I have found it haunted." 
 
 She stopped and dragged a dirty forefinger through the dust 
 of the table beside her. 
 
 "Sir Reginald Vere, he didn't seem to care for it, somehow," 
 she continued, after a slight pause, encouraged by her visitor's 
 silent look of inquiry, "and the tradespeople say as how Mrs. 
 Kerr, that's the widow of the gentleman as made away with 
 himself, couldn't get out of it soon enough though that's not 
 surprising, considering she had his death on her conscience. 
 She went to Spain, she did. I've heard them say she was a 
 queer one. Anyhow, she took on awful cried herself ill, she 
 did. They say she used to scream o' nights that his ghost 
 had come back. But I can only say 7 haven't seen him, and. 
 I've slept here alone these twelve months now."
 
 Unlooked-for Legacy of George Kerr. 47 
 
 But here the stranger interrupted the slow, monotonous 
 trickle of words. 
 
 "I do not think I need trouble you to go up-stairs ; I have 
 seen enough, thank you." 
 
 The woman watched him as he strode away with dull satis- 
 faction. 
 
 "I would never say anything against the place, though I 
 think the 'ouse is a nice 'ouse, and ten shillings a week is ten 
 shillings a week. But who would have thought a big strong 
 man like that would be frightened away by the fear of 
 ghosts I" 
 
 So Carmen had grieved; the theory of his death had been 
 sown broadcast, and she had borne the odium of it and the 
 sorrow. 
 
 Were it even only for ever so short a time, were she per- 
 haps now happy, consoled, as glad of George Kerr's death as 
 was David Fargus, he could never atone for the wrong he had 
 done her. 
 
 Conscience smote him keenly; failure seemed to breathe 
 upon his brilliant scheme. Ah, how harsh had been that last 
 letter of his! He had not thought of her enough. What a 
 memory for the solitary woman in the watches of the night, 
 when she had screamed at her own sick fancy ! He could not 
 regret his liberty, but it would forever be embittered by the 
 thought of this. 
 
 And, as he wound toward his hotel, the whole future and 
 past seemed now to assume a different aspect, and new plans 
 began to agitate his mind. 
 
 Everything had prospered with David Fargus up to this. 
 The three years spent in Mexico, Central America, and the 
 Southern States had been full of daring enterprises, as con- 
 genial to his high energy as they had proved profitable to his 
 material welfare. He had not known during their lapse one 
 single moment of regret or an instant of the old distaste of 
 life. 
 
 But on his arrival at Liverpool, something in the very air 
 of the country in cloudy sky and narrow horizons, as the 
 express flew Londonward with him through the green bosom 
 of the land had dashed the exuberance of his spirits. The 
 sight of the little house, and a sullen depth of anger against 
 his wife, a feeling he had believed dead with the old self, had 
 stirred within him strangely. On hearing of her grief for 
 him the revulsion of feeling had been all the stronger for the 
 hardness of these thoughts. 
 
 It seemed to him, with that hot impulsiveness of his of 
 which David Fargus had to the full as large a share as George 
 Kerr as if he could never again taste peace till he had seen.
 
 48 Unlooked-for Legacy of George Kerr. 
 
 with his own eyes what had become of the woman he had 
 abandoned in gayety of heart and misjudged in all sincerity. 
 She had gone to Seville. Well, Seville was as easy a place for 
 David Fargus to reach as London had been; and with his 
 usual decisiveness the original plan of an English tour was 
 abandoned in favor of instant departure for Spain. 
 
 A fortnight later the diligence from Cadiz deposited, for the 
 third time in his life, George Kerr, or, rather, his alias, with- 
 in the gates of the eighth marvel of the world. 
 
 Thirty years ago it was still considered advisable for trav- 
 elers, whose knowledge of "things of Spain" was sufficient to 
 bear out the disguise, to conform to the dress of the country; 
 David Fargus's life in Spanish America had sufficiently fa- 
 miliarized him with that swaggering indolence, that careless, 
 amiable self-confidence, supposed to be specially characteris- 
 tic of the majo. 
 
 Therefore it was a very creditable Andaluz that emerged 
 from the Cadiz diligence, clad in brown velvet, silver-but- 
 toned jacket and embroidered leathejLgaiters, with silken sash 
 binding his lithe waist, clean-shaven, but for a small bunch 
 of scientifically darkened whiskers on each cheek-bone, and 
 the indispensable black cape, brilliantly lined inside, care- 
 lessly thrown over his shoulder, many a well-favored cigar- 
 maid good judge in such matters cast, as she hurried by 
 from the tobacco factory, a provoking look at him from the 
 bold languor of her eyes. 
 
 His first care was to reconnoiter the familiar neighborhood 
 of Don Atanasio's house. In those days private houses of the 
 middle class were generally ready to supplement their in- 
 come by the reception of "guests;" and the same evening he 
 had found and engaged a ground-floor room, the window of 
 which commanded a view of that very gateway which was 
 such a historic landmark in his life. A pure Havana to the 
 host, a pretty compliment to the wife and daughter, and he 
 was at home in his new quarters. His Spanish was sufficiently 
 fluent to support the volunteered information that he was an 
 American from the Southern States, who had lived much in 
 Spanish lands. 
 
 Spaniards are, as a rule, reticent on the subject of their 
 private affairs. It concerned nobody that the guest should 
 spend his mornings with unvarying regularity in watching 
 some opposite house from his grated window; that of an 
 afternoon he should take post on the shadow side of the street, 
 "embossed" in his cape, puffing at the eternal cigarette, wait- 
 ing patiently for a glimpse of a well-known figure. There is 
 always a sufficiency of neat ankles and roguish eyes in Seville 
 to justify such an occupation.
 
 Unlooked-for Legacy of George Kerr. 49 
 
 Yet the days dawned and closed without bringing any re- 
 sult. True, Don Atanasio and his wife passed daily under 
 his eyes, walking devoutly to mass of a morning, or setting 
 forth on the sunset drive but they were always alone ; and it 
 smote the watcher with an odd feeling of guiltiness to mark 
 how aged they had become. Few people came to the old 
 house, and after a few days he knew them all by sight. But 
 of the beautiful form he had loved and hated, he saw not. 
 
 At the end of a week he began to despair of success and 
 was meditating some method of carrying on his search in a 
 less guarded manner, when the problem was solved in a way 
 he had never contemplated. 
 
 It was early in the day ; bringing in one hand the matutinal 
 cup of chocolate, surmounted with a roll of whitest bread, and 
 in the other a basket of dazzling linen for your true Span- 
 iard prides himself especially on matters of cuff and shirt- 
 front his host had just entered the room. Depositing the 
 basket on the bed and the breakfast on the sill of the win- 
 dow, he paused for a few minutes' social chat with his guest, 
 who, at the moment, stood leisurely lathering his chin with 
 his fingers preparatory to a clean shave. 
 
 "It will be a hot day, senor, for the bull-fight. Chiclana 
 will do it from the chair to-day." 
 
 "Indeed," said the presumed American. 
 
 The host refolded a Government cigarette. 
 
 "Yes, senor. I have never been in your country, and I 
 should say you would hardly ever have seen the like of him. 
 We, in Seville, never have since Montes, and never shall 
 again." This was conclusive. 
 
 But somehow or other his listener did not seem so interested 
 as he should have been in this momentous topic; he was all 
 absorbed in looking at a woman who now emerged from the 
 gated portal of the house opposite, leading with tenderest care 
 a tottering little child. Half-way across the street she looked 
 up and he recognized Dona Concepcion's face, transfigured by 
 an anxious, tender smile. 
 
 Following his visitor's intent gaze, the landlord came close 
 behind him to look out over his shoulder with good-humored 
 2uriosity, puffing at the same time a rich fragrance of garlic 
 upon him. 
 
 "Aha !" he cried ; "so the little one is better to-day, and going 
 out for a walk. Jesu! Maria! how doting the grandmother 
 is!" 
 
 The grandmother! Carmen was an only child. She had 
 married again, then! Well, he was glad her grief had not 
 proved so overpowering, after all. 
 
 "It is a pretty child," he said, after a pause, resuming his
 
 50 Unlooked-for Legacy of George Kerr. 
 
 shaving operation with elaborate indifference. "Whose is it? 
 You say the old lady is the grandmother." 
 
 "Yes, senor, and the little chap is the light of her old age. 
 He lives with the old couple in that great house yonder. Ah, 
 it is a sad story !" 
 
 David Fargus passed the razor over his soapy cheek, while 
 his ear was bent to listen in keen suspense. Leaning against 
 the wall and unrolling another cigarette to make it afresh, the 
 Spaniard proceeded: 
 
 "Well, senor, Don Atanasio de Ayala's daughter, who lived 
 in that house, as pretty a girl she was as any in Seville and 
 you must know Seville has the prettiest in the world mar- 
 ried, some years ago, an Englishman. Many wondered at 
 Don Atanasio for permitting it. In this case, at all events, it 
 did not prosper. A year later the poor young lady returned 
 here, a widow. The townsfolk talked much about it here in 
 Seville; she was well known for her beauty. Some said the 
 Engishman was killed; some that there was an accident. 
 Anyhow, he had gone where heretics go, and she, in widow's 
 black, with a face white as a sheet, the image of dolor, and 
 yet still so lovely that people stopped in the streets to see her 
 pass. But it is said she could not get her spirits up again. 
 You should have heard her sing; many a time we listened 
 from here; it would have made a paving-stone glad. She 
 was always ailing and fretting, and not even the thought of 
 the little one to come could draw a smile from her, and so she 
 had no strength left. A month before the Easter following 
 she died of that pretty little boy you saw there. It was 
 thought the old ones would have died, too never was seen 
 such grief; but they had to live for the pobrecito. No won- 
 der the grandmother dotes upon him. I am glad he is better. 
 I must not chatter so while you shave." 
 
 The American had dropped his razor, and was gazing, open- 
 mouthed, at space a deep red streak lengthening down his 
 chin. 
 
 He started to a remembrance of his position, and seizing 
 a towel, buried his face in it under pretense of stanching the 
 blood, but in reality to hide the pallor he felt upon him. And 
 then some one within impatiently summoned his host away, 
 to his great relief. 
 
 He fell into a chair in an agony of thought. Carmen 
 dead ! the child-wife he remembered to the last as the very 
 incarnation of youthful strength. She had returned to her 
 old home, mourning for the man who had so selfishly deserted 
 her; returned, believing herself a widow, to die herself to 
 die in giving life to his son ! 
 
 He hid his face. The clever scheme, what was it but cow-
 
 Unlooked-for Legacy of George Kerr. 51 
 
 ardly, despicable, hideously selfish? And then the child! 
 O God, what a miserable chaos it all was ! That last terrible 
 scene between himself and the willful creature he had meant 
 to subjugate came back to mind now with glaring vividness ! 
 
 And he who had abandoned his wife must now abandon 
 their child ay, must. So skillfully had he encompassed the 
 death of his old self that any other course would be impossible. 
 For the boy's own interest it was best so, perhaps. The 
 child's fortune was well assured it would accumulate during 
 his minority. He would be brought up a Spaniard that was 
 possibly again an advantage for him; it is easy to enjoy life 
 in that sunny land, away from the constant battling for dis- 
 tinction, which is the bane of an Englishman's existence. He 
 must remain forever dead to his child as he was to the whole 
 world. 
 
 After a long battle with himself, he rose and rapidly fin- 
 ished dressing. As soon as he had seen the entry of his 
 son's birth in the town registers, satisfied himself of the truth 
 of the piteous story, that chapter of his life would indeed be 
 closed forever. And afterward, his one desire was to fly as 
 soon as possible from the place. 
 
 At the Casa di Ayuntamiento he found that the simplest 
 plan was to ask for anxattested copy of the birth of the child, 
 giving himself out as a distant relation of the family anxious 
 to verify the fact. With the help of a graciously-offered 
 gratuity and a well-turned apology he obtained, without too 
 much delay, the desired document, which bore witness to the 
 entrance into this world on March 22, 1858, of one Luis Jorge 
 Kerr y Ayala, son of D. Jorge Kerr, of London, England, de- 
 ceased, and of Dona Carmen Maria Concepcion de Ayala y 
 Quevedo, of Seville, his wife. 
 
 The many friends David Fargus had made during his three 
 years' life in the New World remarked a change in him when 
 he again returned among them. It was in no very marked 
 way, perhaps, that he was altered; the pleasant manner, the 
 indomitable energy were still the same; but an infectious 
 careless light-heartedness, a certain boyish spring that had 
 made him such a favorite with them, seemed to have gone 
 from him, to give way to a premature sedateness of manner. 
 There was no moroseness about him, he was still a genial com- 
 panion; but his laugh was more tardy, and the ring of his 
 song and jest was heard no more round the camp-fire.
 
 PART II. 
 DAVID FARGUS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HILL. 
 
 Twenty-five years had elapsed since the imperfect play of a 
 hair-trigger, while it marked the decaying hour of the frivo- 
 lous, brilliant existence of Carmen Kerr, became the starting 
 event of a new and vigorous career for one David Fargus. 
 His had been on the whole a fine life since then a life of 
 active independence which had stamped its character of de- 
 cision and self-reliance upon him. 
 
 In his hale middle age, while his body was scarcely past 
 its prime, his mind had but reached its full power. His was a 
 mind destined of its innate excellence to profit peculiarly by 
 the improving influence of years and experience all quali- 
 ties which render a man easy and pleasant of access and in- 
 creasingly fascinating in intercourse. 
 
 His personality, too, had, under his new name, become 
 famous in his adopted country. 
 
 On his first return to the New World, at the time when the 
 Seceder's resistance to the ideas of the North was waxing ever 
 fiercer, he was just in the mood to throw himself heart and 
 soul into any great national movement, in the hope of losing 
 the haunting entity of his former self. 
 
 The interest, moreover, of that many-sided question was 
 deep enough in itself to engross a young man of romantic and 
 chivalric tendency, and he naturally ended by attaching him- 
 self unreservedly to the Seceders' cause. 
 
 It could not be long before his special value as a leader of 
 men made itself felt among the Confederates, and it was at 
 the head of a corps of those unparalleled Southern Horsemen 
 that he finally acquired the renown which students of military 
 history have learned to associate with the name of Colonel 
 Fargus, Stuart's lieutenant and alter ego. 
 
 A shoulder lacerated by a splinter of shell during the mas-
 
 On the Other Side of the Hill. 53 
 
 terly retreat of the last day of Gettysburg, and the great scar 
 on the right cheek the work of a half-warded Federal 
 bayonet in that fatal encounter were the sole mementos of 
 his own personal dangers. 
 
 But at this period of his vigorous maturity David Fargus, 
 seemingly the most successful of men, with nearly every desire 
 of his hot youth realized, and, according to the common idea, 
 without a care in the world, came suddenly, as it were, to a 
 standstill in his prosperous career, and confessed to himself 
 that it was not enough. 
 
 In the journey of life the beginning of the third score in a 
 man's years is to him as the crest of the mountain's range to 
 the explorer. The ascent may have been arduous, but the 
 traveler was fresh and eager ; the day increased in brightness 
 as he went on, the horizon expanded ahead was the goal. 
 Once reached, however, there comes a change; the wayfarer 
 has lost his keenness ; there are, it may be, scenes more beau- 
 tiful than he has yet beheld, but at every step the prospect 
 grows restricted, the world is darkening, the lonely wanderer 
 feels his energy slowly but surely give way to a yearning for 
 home and rest. 
 
 Years and their memories had gathered on his head not so 
 many, nor yet so heavily, as to bring any foretaste of old age 
 with them, but enough to make him think more of the past 
 and look less to the future. The change which always comes 
 over a man's views and desires when it strikes home to him 
 that he is done with the ascending portion of his life, had be- 
 gun to show itself to him in an indefinite but haunting regret 
 for the land of his youth. 
 
 On an expedition connected, it is true, with some impor- 
 tant speculation, but undertaken principally with a view to 
 seeking in physical fatigue and mental labor the recovery 
 of his wonted placidity he was suddenly laid low somewhere 
 out of the civilized beats by a severe fever. His vigorous 
 frame repelled the onslaught with little loss of power, but 
 five nights of bodily anguish left their mark upon him. 
 
 The first time he found himself again in "a city," where he 
 could confront a looking-glass, he was startled to notice sun- 
 dry flashes of silver about his temples and mustache. This 
 was the first obtrusive sign of the advancing age he had been 
 given to speculating about of late the reality, beginning of 
 the end. 
 
 Before so very long, then, he must resign himself to being 
 "an old man." 
 
 Abstractedly gazing at the keen-featured image before him, 
 he fell into a painful meditation. At the worst of his recent 
 fever a rough comrade, who had tended him in that shanty
 
 54 On the Other Side of the Hill. 
 
 where he lay, with f aithf ul devotion, had one sultry, tempest- 
 threatened night entertained grave doubts of his patient's 
 recovery. It was in the darkest watch of those hours as the 
 fever-stricken man lay trembling between consciousness and 
 delirium his pulse at its highest, burning with dry, scorch- 
 ing heat; had it not been for the rain at dawn who knows ? 
 he might now be lying under the red clay In that dreary 
 waste, with a ruggedly-hewed stone, or, perhaps, not even 
 that, to mark the grave of David Fargus. Staring at the 
 twitching fingers, the ceaselessly tossing head, his sick-nurse 
 had removed his pipe and delivered himself of the following 
 remark : 
 
 "I reckon. Colonel, if you wish to add a codicil or two to 
 your last will and testament, you had better jot them down 
 at once. Pity your folks ain't here !" 
 
 The brutal phrase had remained in his mind, and now it 
 came back with a revealing eense of his own absolute lone- 
 liness. 
 
 Friends he had in plenty; but a relative, his own flesh and 
 blood David Fargus, the lonely bachelor, owned none such 
 on earth. Ah ! but George Kerr ? He had had kindred. ^The 
 sturdy young generation, springing from the old tree, would 
 have been something to be proud of now. George Kerr had 
 had a brave little sister; they had loved each other with the 
 tenderness born of childish associations, of the best and 
 purest part of life. Poor Susie! 
 
 And then there rose a vision of another child-face, a baby- 
 face with great dark eyes and an aureole of yellow hair, and 
 though resolutely forced in the background of his mind, never 
 forgotten, and he had never so much as touched him! 
 
 At the end of so many years it was strange how the thought 
 of the child disturbed him. He must now be a grown man, if 
 he still lived. After all, what did it matter were he alive or 
 dead? It was but another fortunate creature spared the evil 
 of existence. What reason had he to expect the boy to have 
 escaped the taint of the life he had himself condemned 
 him to? 
 
 The boy came from a good stock on both sides who could 
 tell ? He might have developed into the sort of man fathers 
 are proud to own. 
 
 But man, who can rule an empire, has little power to con- 
 trol the small realm of his own brain ; he may lead an army of 
 thousands, but he is impotent to quell absolutely a single per- 
 sistent idea. 
 
 By degrees, the determination taking root, he discovered 
 himself, almost with surprise, making actual preparations for 
 departure, and devising various schemes for tracing his rela-
 
 The First Link A Golden One. 55 
 
 tives, and perchance, playing the part of beneficent genie in 
 their lives. 
 
 This resolve once come to, a definite object again before 
 him, his trouble of mind disappeared. 
 
 And thus, on a certain June morning in 1881, he found 
 himself once more on the way to the old country, and in that 
 state of freedom from ties and trammels which had remained 
 for David Fargus one of the necessities of existence. 
 
 Now, as he stood on the quarter-deck of the Cunarder 
 bound for home, and watched the shores of his adopted coun- 
 try slowly recede and fade into the horizon, the anithetical 
 nature of his present errand, compared with his first crossing 
 of the ocean, gave a kind of solemnity to the occasion. How 
 different the spirit in which he was now setting out in mature 
 age on a venture as uncertain, as myseriously attractive, as 
 that which had started his second self ! 
 
 But as the days rolled by and the proud ship plowed her 
 way through the salt furrows every minute, every throb 
 bringing him nearer to his desire though his interest in the 
 enterprise became more absorbing, the first sanguine glow of 
 expectation gradually faded. 
 
 Men who have seen and done much in life remain seldom 
 long sanguine, and David Fargus, while determining his 
 course of action, kept rigidly before his mind the possibility 
 of the unknown son being after all, dead, or, if alive, un- 
 worthy. 
 
 But he had not been in London more than a few days a 
 delay inevitable for the arrangement of his monetary affairs, 
 and actively spent in settling the same when one of those 
 strokes of luck which are, after all, more frequent in life than 
 pessimists would have us believe, saved him a long and useless 
 journey. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FIRST LINK A GOLDEN ONE. 
 
 It was on the very evening before his intended departure. 
 
 Waiting in the drawing-room of the Naval and Military 
 most comfortable of London clubs for the appearance of the 
 friend whose guest at dinner he was to be; Fargus was ab- 
 sently perusing some Service weekly paper, when, under the 
 rubric "Furloughs to England," he came across a name which 
 instantly arrested his wandering attention. 
 
 Fargus found his gaze riveted on the small-type paragraph : 
 "L. G. Kerr, th Dragoon Guards." And when his host
 
 56 The First Link A Golden One. 
 
 entered and introduced the fellow-guests collected to do honor 
 to the American celebrity, Fargus had to make an effort to 
 shake off a spell of deep abstraction. 
 
 So the young generation kept up the old traditions of 
 devoting their life's energy to the country's service. This 
 unknown Dragoon Guard, L. G. Kerr, seemed to loom in the 
 background of every subject of conversation, and engrossed 
 much of the attention which should have been bestowed on the 
 exceptional cookery and select vintages provided for the guest 
 of the evening by a true connoisseur. 
 
 Was he nephew or cousin, or a more distant scion of the 
 dear old family? G. stood for George, of course. It was a 
 favorite name among the Kerrs. But L. ? What did L. 
 stand for? Where could he have seen those two letters in 
 conjunction that they should seem so strangely familiar? 
 L. G. Lionel George, Lawrence, or Lewis? Lewis . . . 
 Luis! 
 
 "Colonel Fargus, you are eating nothing. Waiter, give 
 Colonel Fargus some more wine." 
 
 With a hand that shook in very unwonted fashion, David 
 Fargus straightway drained the refilled beaker. Lewis 
 George! why, those were the names that had formed the 
 refrain to his thoughts for the last month! Lewis George, 
 or, rather, as the Spanish had it, Luis Jorge, the name of that 
 white-faced babe, Carmen's child. 
 
 "Yes, as you say, Major Fraser, nowhere in the world does 
 one drink a better glass of champagne than in England the 
 mother country as we call her and I have traveled a good 
 deal . . ." And so the dinner wore its dreary length till 
 its close. 
 
 Colonel Fargus' host was reaping the usual bitter reward 
 of inviting a lion to partake of his hospitality, with the hid- 
 den purpose of making it roar for the entertainment of his 
 friends. The best effort of the chef, the Perier-Jouet '74, the 
 most delicate turning of the conversation to well-remembered 
 subjects, were all in vain. The Colonel was abstracted, spoke 
 with an effort, and in that most convivial of hours, after a 
 good dinner, left the '47 port untasted merely to toy with the 
 olives on his plate. 
 
 Nor in the smoking-room did matters improve." Puffing 
 mechanically at the superb Laranaga, chosen for his especial 
 delectation with such minute care, Colonel Fargus sat cross- 
 legged in his deep arm-chair, and let his eyes roam dreamily 
 round the room. All at once he rose, and, addressing his host 
 with the well-remembered and peculiarly charming smile that 
 would have been sufficient to remove impressions even more 
 unsatisfactory, "Excuse me," he said; "I see an Army List
 
 The First Link A Golden One. 57 
 
 yonder. I have a reason for wishing to consult one the fate 
 of an old friend I am anxious about. May I look at it for a 
 moment ?" 
 
 The disappointed entertainer gave the required permission 
 with all the good grace he could muster, and watched his 
 guest's proceedings with a certain curiosity. 
 
 Fargus withdrew to some little distance from the group, and 
 holding the book under the light of the lamp on the chimney- 
 piece with one hand, rapidly turned over the pages with the 
 other. Presently he started violently, and then became ab- 
 sorbed in the contemplation of one page for such a lengthy 
 period that Major Fraser lost patience, turned his back upon 
 him and gave him up as hopeless, to devote himself to his 
 other guests. 
 
 But the celebrated Southern was, for the moment, Colonel 
 David Fargus, the American, no more. He was George Kerr, 
 English, of England's best blood, and he had a son who was a 
 soldier of the old country. "Lewis George Ayala Kerr. 
 Born March, 1858." Ay, that was the date, not the shadow of 
 a doubt there he was, even if the Spanish name beside the 
 English ones had not been proof sufficient. "Gazetted from 
 the R. M. C. in July, 1878, to the th Dragoon Guards." 
 In three years the young man had seen service enough to 
 warrant the pride that swelled the father's heart as, when 
 sufficiently recovered from the first bewilderment of his dis- 
 covery, he noticed the crossed swords before the names and 
 turned to the War Service references. "Attached to Sir H. 
 Gough's Cavalry Brigade in Afghanistan; present at the 
 march from Kabul to Kandahar." And again: "Attached to 
 the th Regiment in the Transvaal." Truly a goodly record 
 for so short a time! 
 
 Fargus closed the book, and with a curious smile on his 
 face, a bright, far-off look in his eyes, returned to the smok- 
 ing circle and joined in the conversation. And now he talked 
 enough to satisfy all the expectations of host and guests. 
 
 But over and above the exchange of words, the interlacing 
 of ideas and sound wisdom, born of his own warlike ex- 
 perience, with which he delivered himself anent the misman- 
 aged, disastrous, and bloody business of the Boer campaign, 
 were surging private brain-pictures of the little dark-eyed 
 boy he had seen but once ; the child who was now an English 
 soldier and a dashing one, since he had been twice allowed to 
 see service away from his regiment an English horse soldier 
 in that glorious old corps that for two centuries upheld the 
 prestige of English valor in Spain, in Flanders, in France, the 
 Crimea, India. With the remembrance of its noble motto 
 there came before his mind the gallant sight of heavy horse
 
 58 The First Link A Golden One. 
 
 as they had dashed past the Highland Brigade to scatter the 
 distant swarming mass of Russians on the morning of Bala- 
 klava. With what envy, what enthusiasm he, the beardless 
 ensign, had watched them as they rushed to the front ! And 
 his deserted boy was one of those! It was a novel and deli- 
 cate emotion to think, all of a sudden, with a sense of pride, 
 of the son he had abandond. 
 
 In accordance with his new schemes, the very next day 
 found the American alighting among the yellow sands, the 
 heather, the fragrant pines of Sandhurst, and wending his 
 way through that picturesque corner of Hampshire, which 
 meets Surrey and Berkshire. 
 
 Skirting the placid lake, hemmed in by greenwood and 
 timber, on one side of which the mature students of the Staff 
 College master the more recondite mysteries of warfare, while, 
 on the other, downy-lipped cadets wrestle with its rudiments, 
 he walked up the broad gravel road leading to the Grecian 
 portico of the Military College, and quietly enjoyed his 
 thoughts and his cigar. 
 
 And he paused for a few moments, drawing pleasure from 
 the fancied vision of his son among those eager polo-players 
 that were just now careering in wild confusion on the football 
 plot. The father's curiosity was not devoid of anxiety as he 
 made his way over to a much be-medaled staff-sergeant, who 
 was standing under the portico, and realized with a strange 
 mixture of feelings that, for the very first time, he was about 
 to speak to some one who must have known his son. 
 
 Accosting the veteran, he went straight to the point, with a 
 simplicity that robbed the errand of half its strangeness. 
 
 A young gentleman, by name Lewis G. Kerr, whom he had 
 reason to be interested in, had been through the College three 
 years back. He was most desirous for some information con- 
 cerning him. 
 
 The sergeant-major glanced sharply at the speaker; then, 
 after a second's hesitation, touched his cap and professed 
 himself both able and willing to assist him. 
 
 "There was a Mr. Kerr here, sir, some years ago. I remem- 
 ber him well. He was gazetted to the th Dragoon Guards, 
 I believe. Out in India now. He was a fine young gentle- 
 man, liked by most. If you will come with me, I can find out 
 a bit more about him for you, from the back registers." 
 
 And acquiescing, Fargus was piloted through long, echoing 
 passages to the adjutant's office, where the register in question 
 was soon produced. 
 
 "Here you are, sir, Kerr, L. G., Gentleman Cadet, Uni- 
 versity Candidate, B. A., Edin. Born in Seville, Spain, 12 
 March, 1858 he had a bit of a foreign way with him, too,
 
 The First Link A Golden One. 59 
 
 now I think of it, though he did not like to have it said of 
 him son of George Kerr, Esq., late th Highlanders, de- 
 ceased. Educated Edinburgh University; Trinity College, 
 Cambridge. London address : Staples Inn, U olborn. Ga- 
 zetted and so on. Is that the young gentleman you wanted 
 to hear about?" 
 
 Fargus nodded silently, drew out his note-book, and care- 
 fully jotted down the memoranda. "A scholar, too! How 
 well the lad has got on !" 
 
 "You say you remember him well, sergeant-major?" he 
 went on aloud, in his quiet voice, as, the business completed, 
 they turned away and strolled again toward the parade- 
 ground. 
 
 "Yes, sir, very well. A smart young gentleman ; good drill ; 
 good at gymnastics and games. I remember him throwing 
 the hammer, Highland fashion not running, as they do here 
 no one could come near him at that. I am a Scotchman 
 myself, sir, and I have never seen it better done so was the 
 instructor, too, for the matter of that, but Mr. Kerr beat 
 him." 
 
 The visitor had lit another cigar, and now stood on the 
 steps of the portico, slowly puffing blue smoke and abstracted- 
 ly gazing into space. The old sergeant, who, finding that the 
 more good he narrated of the quondam cadet the more the 
 stranger's face brightened, now warmed perceptibly to the 
 work of airing his reminiscences, and, after a pause for ap- 
 proval, took a fresh start. 
 
 "Good at book work, too, I believe; but that had not much 
 to say to things in that year, for they bundled out all the 
 young gentlemen at the end of their first term; we thought 
 we were going to fight the Russians once more, as you 
 know, sir." 
 
 Fargus looked down at his informant's breast, and noticed 
 on the broad expanse of the staff tunic the green-edged pink 
 ribbon and the curly Crimean clasps honorable badges he 
 had himself been entitled to of old. 
 
 "It was cold work in those trenches there, was it not?" he 
 said, indicating the decoration with a significant gesture; 
 "I that is, I have some old friends who went through it all. 
 What regiment were you in ?" 
 
 "It is curious, sir, but I was in the th, the very regiment 
 this Mr. Kerr's father belonged to. I think that was what 
 made the young gentleman take to me first. On parade it 
 is not a question of choice. Many and many is the talk we 
 have had about the old times. Not that I could tell him 
 much about his father, for I was not in his company, and 
 I scarcely recollect him, save that he was a finely set-up
 
 60 The First Link A Golden One. 
 
 young officer and wild like. But Mr. Kerr that was here, 
 he would come and get me to talk of Mm and of our doings ; 
 he seemed never to tire of hearing me speak about his father, 
 little as it was I could say, though he never even saw him 
 himself, as he told me. Yes, sir, he was a nice young gentle- 
 man, and steady as young gentlemen go." 
 
 Here was a link in the lengthening chain a golden one. 
 The boy had not been brought up in ignorance of or indiffer- 
 ence to the father who died to him before he saw the light. 
 Discoveries such as these, made with facility now that he 
 had the proper clew, seemed to bridge over the dark abyss 
 of time. 
 
 "Well, I am really much obliged to you." 
 
 "Don't mention it, sir. Thank you, sir" dexterously slip- 
 ping into his pocket the sovereign which the visitor pressed 
 into his white-gloved palm. You are a relative of the young 
 gentleman, I suppose, if I may make so bold ?" 
 
 "No," answered Fargus dreamily, after a pause; "his 
 father I knew his father well in my young days. I am only 
 a friend a well-wisher to the son." 
 
 The veteran eyed him investigatingly. 
 
 "Perhaps you would like to see his likeness. Each batch of 
 young gentlemen have themselves taken regularly in York 
 Town. They are so pleased when they first get into their 
 uniforms, you know. It is just over the road, sir. I can 
 show you the way." 
 
 It was evidently a happy thought, for the stranger accepted 
 the proposal with alacrity. 
 
 Sergeant-Major Short would have been more than human 
 if his curiosity had not been thoroughly aroused. Having 
 conducted his interlocutor to the photographer's door, he re- 
 tired into the shade of a neighboring public-house to watch 
 his further proceedings. 
 
 After a while the stranger emerged from the studio, and 
 walked very slowly along the road leading to the station. He 
 held a small card in his hand which he seemed to contemplate 
 from every point of view with absorbing interest. 
 
 With such notes as Fargus now carried his further course 
 was one of very plain sailing. The same afternoon he pushed 
 as far as Cambridge, and the next morning, beneath the July 
 sunshine, saw him strolling down the majestic, but at this 
 vacation time deserted, King's Parade toward the well-re- 
 membered Gothic archway of that noble college which had 
 known so many generations of Kerrs. 
 
 The head porter was soon forthcoming, and at his courteous 
 request condescended to show the stranger over the venerable
 
 The First Link A Golden One. 6l 
 
 institution, little wotting how familiar every stone rose before 
 his gaze. 
 
 Cambridge was a more likely place for Lewis Kerr to re- 
 visit on his return home than Sandhurst, and David Fargus 
 deemed it prudent to adopt more devious methods of inquiry 
 than in his previous voyage of investigation. He therefore 
 suffered himself to be conducted tourist fashion through 
 dining-hall, library and chapel; he admired, criticised, and 
 wondered, and finally succeeded in producing in his decorous 
 guide the desired loquacity. It was easy to get him on the 
 subject of generations of students, and a not unnatural tran- 
 sition to mention, as an instance, a certain family the Kerrs 
 of Gilham whom the tourist had known in days gone by. 
 
 Yes, there had been some at Trinity to his own knowledge. 
 But there were none now. No ; there had not been any since 
 a Mr. L. G. Kerr; and that was four or five years ago. He 
 (with some disgust) had left before his degree had gone, it 
 seemed, into the army. He could not say if he was of the 
 family the gentleman had known they came from Yorkshire. 
 This Mr. Kerr used to go there, now he remembered, by the 
 way, with his cousin, Mr. Hillyard, a lecturer at one of the 
 colleges, very highly thought of in the University. Perhaps 
 the inquirer knew him? No; well, he was away now, any- 
 how; Gilham, he believed, the name of the place was. 
 
 David Fargus seized with avidity upon this first piece of 
 news. So, despite the squire's enmity, the posthumous son 
 had after all been made welcome, and acknowledged in the 
 old home. The great man waived the trivial personality of 
 the youthful undergraduate B. A. though he was of some 
 Scotch University or other, he had left before his degree an 
 act of obvious folly, for he might have made a career at the 
 University. 
 
 It was with a feeling almost of tenderness that he stepped 
 into the small green-paneled room, with mullioned ogee win- 
 dows looking over the old court the rooms where his boy 
 had passed so important a part of his life, and which, by a 
 pleasing coincidence, were situate on the same stairs as those 
 where George Kerr had spent his short and profitless spell of 
 University life. Then the caressing thought came that per- 
 haps there was more than mere coincidence, that the boy had 
 probably found out where his unknown father lived, and had 
 taken a sentimental interest in establishing himself near the 
 place. 
 
 After a short conversation on general topics, undertaken 
 with a view to draw the other's attention from the subject of 
 his inquiries, Fargus thanked him and took his leave. 
 
 But he failed not to stop at the first bookseller's and pur-
 
 62 More Links in the Golden Chain. 
 
 chase the reference books of the required date. Here he 
 found information which amply compensated him for his lack 
 of success with the lofty head-porter. 
 
 That evening Fargus ate his solitary dinner to the accom- 
 paniment of many pleasant thoughts. 
 
 Before leaving the table he drew the photograph from his 
 pocketbook, and gazed at it long and with keen scrutiny ; then 
 he filled his glass to the brim and drank, with a mental toast, 
 to the original. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MORE LINKS IN THE GOLDEN CHAIN. 
 
 "Pending the boy's arrival in England," had thought Far- 
 gus, while maturing his plans at Cambridge, "I may as well 
 carry on my investigations at Gilham." 
 
 To do so without betraying himself or his purpose only re- 
 quired a little management. The most direct way was, if 
 possible, to settle within convenient distance of the Court for 
 a few months; this accomplished, he would be, in some re- 
 spects, even more fortunately situated than the best supported 
 detective, having the advantage of really belonging to the 
 society he intended to mix with. 
 
 Glancing through a list of suitable residences in that part 
 of the Riding which is associated with Gilham, the familiar 
 name of Widley Grange arrested his attention. Widley 
 Grange the "Lone Grange," as it was popularly called the 
 very place! 
 
 This was the very place for him, and he soon closed an en- 
 gagement with the agents. 
 
 The house was, in its old-fashioned way, in solid repair, 
 and furnished comfortably enough. The local agent had, at 
 his request, engaged two reliable female servants, sufficiently 
 past their prime for a bachelor establishment; and he had 
 secured for himself in London a competent factotum, des- 
 tined to act as coachman and valet, and with recommenda- 
 tions high enough to warrant the corresponding altitude of 
 salary. To this discreet and capable person he intrusted the 
 installment of his luggage, the choice of the few rooms to be 
 inhabited out of the numerous and rambling suites, and the 
 general preparation of house and stables. He himself re- 
 mained a few days longer in town to settle private points of 
 business among these one which had cost him many hours 
 of anxious deliberation. 
 
 He was too much alive to the risk of missing his son, de-
 
 More Links in the Golden Chain. 63 
 
 spite the elaborate and plausible scheme by means of which 
 he meant to come across him naturally, to leave such a con- 
 tingency unprovided against, and there seemed to be but 
 one safe way out of the difficulty. Finally, though not at 
 first without repugnance, he entered into negotiations with 
 one of the more respectable private inquiry offices, where he 
 obtained the services of a trustworthy agent, who was to 
 watch for the arrival in England of a certain subaltern of 
 dragoons, and to furnish a daily report of his subsequent 
 movements. 
 
 Satisfied on this important point, Fargus took the road 
 again to enter upon the possession of his little estate and 
 commence the operations which were to bring him once more 
 into contact with his next of kin. 
 
 He was much attracted by the aspect of the ancient dwell- 
 ing-place and the wild beauty of its surroundings when he 
 now beheld them after so many years. And the familiar 
 coat of arms, weather-beaten and defaced by time, on the 
 crumbling key-stone over the hall door, made him feel, for 
 the first time after his long wanderings, as if he had come 
 home at last. 
 
 His newly discovered attendant received him with the re- 
 spectful confidential greeting of an old retainer. 
 
 "I hope you will approve of my arrangements, sir. You 
 see, the bedroom for yourself next to the visitor's room, as 
 you ordered; the dining-room and the study according to 
 your directions. The kitchens and the female servants' rooms 
 are quite at the other end of the house. I myself occupy a 
 room over the stables." 
 
 Fargus looked round the large beam-ceiled, wainscoted hall 
 allotted to him as study with decided approval. With a smile 
 of commendation he noted the odds and ends of the best fur- 
 niture sagaciously collected from different parts of the house, 
 and the trophies of heterogeneous weapons he had accumulat- 
 ed during many wanderings arranged on one side of the 
 mantelpiece, not without a show of experience, to balance the 
 rack containing guns, rifles and rods, on the other. Opening 
 out of this "study" were the two curious, irregularly shaped 
 bedrooms, with climbing roses peeping in at the windows, and 
 full of the sweetness of the old-fashioned flowers in the 
 neglected garden beyond. 
 
 On the threshold of that destined for "the guest" Fargus 
 again paused. If things prospered him, here he might one 
 day hope to harbor his son. 
 
 "Yes, Turner, everything is as I wish ; you could not have 
 done better." 
 
 The new habitat was, moreover, thoroughly congenial to
 
 64 More Links in the Golden Chain. 
 
 his tastes; it was singularly in harmony with his present pur- 
 suit; he could remain as long as necessary, look about him 
 without exciting comments, and on occasion dispense hos- 
 pitality. 
 
 Two days after his arrival, on returning from a ride to 
 the local town, he found that his first visitor had called: 
 Major-General Woldham, Woldham Hall, as testified the 
 card. 
 
 Well, it was even better, perhaps to make his first appear- 
 ance in county society elsewhere than at the Court itself; 
 and there could be no more favorable opening than this. 
 After a due lapse of time, he rode forth to return the call. 
 
 There are no spots in the kingdom where the special beauty 
 of prosperous English scenery combines more harmoniously 
 with undisturbed associations of the past than in Gilham 
 and its neighborhood. Woldham Hall itself, albeit a building 
 of no pretentious dimensions, is oae of the most perfect 
 specimens of fifteenth-century half-timber so-called black 
 and white houses now extant. With its gables and bay 
 windows, latticed casements, its oaken panels and ceilings, 
 stairs and galleries, and the wondrous fancy of the black 
 timbering on its white plaster-work, this ideal mansion rests 
 with quiet but conscious pride between a tenderly nursed 
 terrace lawn on one side the velvet-nap bowling-green of 
 former days, bounded now by a flower-grown baluster where, 
 in less secure times, the moat ran its sluggish course and on 
 the other a luxuriant demesne of orchards, rose and kitchen 
 gardens, hothouses and shrubberies, which encompasses and 
 screens with pleasant motley growth such marring adjuncts 
 as offices and stable yards. 
 
 David Fargus, turning from the white dust and glare of 
 the highroad into the cool green shadiness of the grounds, 
 promptly fell a victim to the temptation, and started across 
 the short tuft at a hard canter. But arrived at the clump of 
 fir-trees which he had thought must mark the part of the 
 avenue he aimed at, he found he had lost his bearing, and 
 was about to retrace his way, when a deep-mouthed, inter- 
 rogatory, menacious bark made him rein in his horse and look 
 in the direction whence the challenge seemed to proceed. 
 
 Here a graceful picture met his eyes; a tall girl, whose 
 bright brown head was bared to the summer breeze, whose 
 shapely figure, clad in white, detached itself vividly from the 
 somber background, stood leaning against the trunk of a giant 
 fir. Her clear large eyes looked with quiet inquiry at the 
 intruder; one slender, buff-gauntleted hand was twined re- 
 strainingly round the neck of a large retriever, who,
 
 More Links in the Golden Chain. 65 
 
 coated, quivering with defiance, stood ready to spring for- 
 ward in his mistress' defense. 
 
 For a moment, bathed in the full splendor of the sun, Far- 
 gus, curbing his impatient mount with firm hand, paused to 
 enjoy this unexpected vision. Then, uncovering himself, and 
 bowing, with the ceremonious courtesy habitual to him, he 
 advanced a little closer on his dancing bay, and addressed 
 her: 
 
 "I fear I am a tresspasser," he said, looking down, at her 
 with the grave eyes that lent a touch of melancholy to his 
 smile; "I must beg your forgiveness for this intrusion; the 
 thick turf was so tempting, and I was rash enough to try a 
 short-cut to the house. General Woldham kindly called on 
 me, at Widley Grange," he added, as a sort of self-introduc- 
 tion. "I hope I may find him at home ?" 
 
 The girl, returning his gaze with an easy directness charm- 
 ing in its modest absence of self-consciousness, answered, 
 smiling back: 
 
 "I am Maude Woldham my father is out driving; but he 
 cannot be long now." Her voice was singularly harmonious, 
 and it fell pleasantly on the exile's ear. Then she added, 
 releasing the retriever, who, satisfied that his interference 
 was no longer needed, bounded up to make friendly acquaint- 
 ance with the horse : 
 
 "But will you not come up to the house? Mr. Fargus, is 
 it not?" 
 
 Bowing acquiescence, he accepted the offer. 
 
 "I must show you the way," said she, laying one hand on 
 the satin-smooth neck of the horse. "No; pray do not dis- 
 mount. I like walking fast, and I am sure your horse hates 
 being led I know mine does." 
 
 The frankness of her manner, the maidenly freedom of her 
 wide-set gray eyes, the delightful ease of movement with 
 which she stepped over the uneven ground and bravely kept 
 up with the steed's impatient gait all this compelled Far- 
 gus' interest and admiration. 
 
 His fair conductress brought him round by the stables, 
 modern in their irreproachable neatness, while delightful in 
 their carefully restored antiquity ; here, at her call, clear and 
 true as a silver bell, appeared a white-haired groom to take 
 the visitor's horse; then they proceeded together into the 
 great, cool hall in summer-time the usual sitting-room 
 the wide doors of which were open all day to the flower- 
 scented air and to all comers. 
 
 A smiling butler, ancient like the groom, promptly appeared 
 with a silver tray laden with tea and other good things; Far- 
 gus sat down and looked around with increasing content
 
 66 More Links in the Golden Chain. 
 
 everything was homelike, hospitable, simple with the sim- 
 plicity which only the most perfect refinement can produce. 
 The old hall, all oak from floor to ceiling; the bowls of roses 
 on the carved tables, darkened and polished by age alone; the 
 girl in her young, warm-blooded beauty, and the old house, 
 fitting in with the time-honored surroundings while gracefully 
 contrasting with them it all formed an attractive picture of 
 English home-life at its best. 
 
 On her side, Maude Woldham, as she poured the yellow 
 cream into his cup and cut the home-made cake, observed 
 her new acquaintance with a little wonder and a good deal 
 of approval. 
 
 "Yours is a wonderful mansion!" said Fargus, taking his 
 cup from her slender hand, sunburnt over its whiteness with 
 delicate amber. "Apart from its actual beauty, there is that 
 ideal charm of old associations and memories which fail us 
 so completely in our surroundings. We Americans who are 
 unpractical enough to hanker after such things have to seek 
 them in the mother-country and lovely she is to us." 
 
 "I am glad you like our country," answered the girl, with 
 kindling cheek and eye; "and still more that you like my 
 home. I love it every stick and stone of the old place is 
 dear to me. You cannot think what a relief it was to come 
 back to it after three months in London." Then, glancing 
 at him curiously and a little shyly, "I did not know, how- 
 ever, that Americans were ever unpractical," she added with 
 a mischievous smile. 
 
 "I can hardly lay claim to being the typical Jonathan," re- 
 torted Fargus, smiling too; "and America is a large place, 
 you know. I come from the South, where practicality is 
 scarcely the predominant national virtue." 
 
 "How do you like the Grange ?" 
 
 "Better and better every day. I congratulate myself on 
 having been fortunate enough to secure it." 
 
 "And have you made out your relatives ?" 
 
 "I have made them out right enough," said Fargus slowly. 
 "I could claim kinship, I believe, with no less a person than 
 the squire. By the way, I like the homely fashion in which 
 every one hereabouts talks of Mr. Kerr as 'the squire,' just as 
 your father, I hear, is 'the general.' But I am certainly not 
 going to do so. I prefer standing alone too well." 
 
 "So you are kin to the squire," Maude said musingly. 
 "Well, I think you are quite right in not caring to claim the 
 connection. Have you seen your landlord yet? horrid old 
 man!" 
 
 "Then I may infer the Kfrr family does not find favor in 
 your eyes?"
 
 More Links in the Golden Chain. 67 
 
 "The Kerr family? I did not say the family. Oh, Lady 
 Gwendolin was charming, and Susie dear Susie Hillyard, I 
 loved her. 
 
 "She was the squire's half-sister," continued Maude. "Mr. 
 Hillyard was the Rector of Gilham for five years; that was 
 how I knew them. Susie was like a mother to me. Her 
 death was the first sorrow I ever knew." 
 
 "So she is dead ?" said Fargus, after a long pause. 
 
 "She died last year, only six months after her husband. 
 Her daughters live in the village; they are dear good girls," 
 with an expressive movement of shapely shoulders. "Yet so 
 unlike their mother. Then there is Charlie, the brother a 
 great man, they say, at the University. And there is another 
 Kerr I like. Dear old Lewis!" She indicated with a smil- 
 ing gesture a framed photograph, half hidden behind the roses 
 on the table. 
 
 "May I see?" asked the visitor quietly. 
 
 "Mr. Fargus, how foolish you must think me! As if all 
 this could possibly interest you." 
 
 "I assure you," said the other, still extending his hand, "it 
 interests me exceedingly to hear about these people. Now 
 this other Kerr, whose portrait thank you." 
 
 He took the portrait to the light. The same face as in the 
 Sandhurst one, which even now, in a hidden recess of his 
 pocketbook, lay on his breast; but older, manlier, more vig- 
 orous. 
 
 "You seem quite absorbed in your soldier cousin," said the 
 girl. 
 
 Fargus put down the portrait. 
 
 "Your English uniforms, with their perpetual changes, are 
 a puzzle to me," he said with an effort. "I dare say I, too, 
 should have liked that extremely distant relative of mine. 
 Now, where does he come in?" 
 
 "Oh, he has a strange history. His father, poor Susie's 
 brother, was, it seems, a very wild young man. He married 
 a lovely Spanish woman, and a year had not gone by when 
 he was drowned. She died, in Spain, when Lewis was a 
 baby, and Lewis was brought up by his grandfather, and only 
 came to England on his death. Susie loved him so, and it 
 was when he was staying with her that I saw him first. Mr. 
 Hillyard brought him over to the Court, and you cannot 
 conceive his uncle's rudeness to him at his own table, too. 
 We were there papa and I and it made us so angry that we 
 had the boy to Woldham on the spot. Dad and I always 
 think alike. 
 
 "That finished the squire with me forever, you know. So 
 I do not think Lewis had much loss there. He went to papa
 
 68 More Links in the Golden Chain. 
 
 for advice in everything, and now my dear old dad, having 
 done such a lot for him, is as proud as Punch of his protege, 
 follows all the Gazettes, and thinks him on the highroad to 
 glory. It seems he has done wonderfully well for the short 
 time he has been in the service." 
 
 The father listened in silence. Susie dead! He had 
 feared to meet his sister partly for the perspicacity of her 
 loving eyes ; partly, on the other hand, from a repugnance to 
 be greeted as a stranger by her who had been the one pure 
 affection of his youth. 
 
 And now she was beyond his discovery 1 ... Well, the 
 slender pink-cheeked little sister of his young days would still 
 live for him. But he would yet devise some good for her 
 children. She had not deserted his as he the father had 
 done; ay, and like the highly virtuous Squire of Gilham, 
 who had seen fit to visit the father's sins upon the innocent 
 son! Fargus' cheek glowed at the indignity he would have 
 smiled at had it been offered to himself. 
 
 All that was bitter. Yet sweetness was there, too, coming 
 from this fair-faced, starry-eyed girl, who spoke so bravely 
 of his boy, and touched his portrait with such tender fingers. 
 
 Fargus aroused himself from his fit of abstraction in time 
 to see Maude turn joyfully to a white-haired, erect old man, 
 who had appeared at the open door, and proudly lead him 
 forward to introduce him as her father. 
 
 "Glad to see you, sir; glad to see you!" said the general, 
 who had little bright-blue eyes under immense bushes of 
 white eyebrows, and an air of extreme military severity which 
 ill concealed a kindness almost amounting, as all said who 
 were fortunate enough to know him well, to weak-mindedness. 
 "This puss would not let you go, she tells me: I am glad of 
 it." 
 
 "I did not need much pressing," said Fargus, returning the 
 cordial handshake. 
 
 The old man subjected him to a scrutinizing, twinkling 
 survey, and marched him off to the smoking-room in a most 
 friendly manner. His comfortable opinion was enhanced on 
 the production of a deep-colored pipe from the stranger's case, 
 and when, after half an hour's genial conversation, Fargus 
 rose to take his leave, the general seized the pretext of a 
 passing shower to press him to remain and dine there in so 
 homely and hospitable a manner that refusal would have 
 seemed ungracious. 
 
 It was a pleasant meal. 
 
 Fargus heard nothing more that evening on what lay near- 
 est to his heart. On the contrary, the turn of conversation 
 obliged him to talk much himself and often about himself.
 
 More Links in the Golden Chain. 69 
 
 The general's innocent curiosity about the New World and 
 his own experiences were such that he could not, without 
 affectation, have avoided doing so. 
 
 Presently the general made a discovery which brought his 
 delight to a culminating point. 
 
 The conversation turned upon military questions the old 
 soldier, as Maude said, was never thoroughly happy unless he 
 talked shop. After delivering himself of divers very sage 
 remarks on the War of Secession, in which he displayed the 
 most guileless state of fog on the complicated history of that 
 movement, and after being tactfully set right by Fargus, he 
 suddenly exclaimed, good-humoredly : 
 
 "You must have been something more than a looker-on, I'll 
 warrant." 
 
 "I raised and commanded a regiment of horse under Lee," 
 answered Fargus in his quiet manner. 
 
 Maude looked up quickly at the long scar which started 
 from the iron-gray wave of hair at the temple and disappeared 
 in the close-trimmed peaked beard ; her father was silent for 
 a moment. But as the visitor attempted, unobtrusively, to 
 launch another topic, the general exploded. 
 
 "Why, damme!" he exclaimed, in his excitement, "you do 
 not mean to say you are the Colonel Fargus? How stupid 
 of me! I should have recognized the name at once. But 
 why have you dropped your rank ? Why hide a glorious title, 
 sir?" 
 
 "Oh," rejoined Fargus, "remember we were rebels. More- 
 over, among the Yankees, colonels, even generals, are rather 
 common." 
 
 But the general was started. He would have no evasions ; 
 the Potomac, Gettysburg, all the terrible and gallant episodes 
 of that obstinate struggle, had to be descanted on, until Maude 
 saw, perhaps with some relief, the quartet of small Wold- 
 hams trooping in for dessert. 
 
 This created a diversion. It was pretty to see them run to 
 Maude, to see her bright girl-face soften with a maternal 
 tenderness, to watch the liberality, tempered by prudence, 
 with which she distributed good things among the little folks. 
 The children, chubby-faced, clean-skinned, satisfactory speci- 
 mens of the young generation, hung round the elder sister, 
 and peered at the stranger's commanding face with round 
 blue eyes. But his smile and gentle voice soon won them 
 from their fears, and before long the two youngest hopes 
 found themselves seated, one on each knee, absorbed in the 
 contemplation of his repeating watch. 
 
 Presently Maude rose, observing that Billy Winky was 
 coming, and marshaled the little battalion bedward.
 
 ;o The Dance of Death. 
 
 There was the presiding genie of that house that had, it 
 seemed, always held out its hospitality to the fatherless boy, 
 where he had found friendship and support, where Susie was 
 talked of in loving words. 
 
 She heard the champing of Colonel Fargus' horse and the 
 beat of a restless hoof on the gravel beneath the window ; then 
 her father's cheery "Good-night," then the retreating sound 
 of the horse's feet along the winding road until it faded into 
 the night's stillness. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 Before a week had elapsed the tenant of the <4 Lone Grange" 
 had glided into close and friendly relations with his neigh- 
 bors of the half -timber house. The general had stopped once 
 or twice, on his way to or from the county town, to smoke half 
 a pipe and have another interesting chat with his new ac- 
 quaintance, each time conveying him back in triumph to 
 lunch or dinner at the Hall, where Maude always gave him 
 the welcome. The Hall party, children and all, had come to 
 tea at the Grange, where Maude had taken possession of the 
 tea-table, under the spreading chestnut, and ministered to 
 her host's comfort, while he looked on in aesthetic enjoyment 
 of the situation. 
 
 Round the central figure of the group, that image of radiant 
 girlhood and womanly sweetness, he had already begun, half 
 unconsciously, to weave a series of rosy schemes, in which a 
 certain unknown son of his played a prominent part. For 
 Maude spoke of Lewis frequently, and always with affection- 
 ate interest. It was Lewis who had given her the black re- 
 triever, her faithful guardian; it was Lewis who had set up 
 the basket swing for the children they were then toddling 
 babies ; Lewis who had first ridden her bay pony, etc., etc. 
 
 Fargus, with much private satisfaction, had drawn his own 
 surmises. Indeed, he ended by settling quite comfortably in 
 his own mind that the young mistress of Woldham was an 
 attraction which must inevitably draw the boy there as soon 
 as might be on his arrival. 
 
 It was therefore a grievous blow to all his plans when, after 
 some three weeks of this pleasant intercourse, Maude's im- 
 mediate departure for a month's stay at Hombnrg with an 
 invalid aunt was announced. The girl herself evinced a,
 
 Vexation which corroborated his own private ideas. There 
 was a cloud on her face, usually so bright. 
 
 "Oh, how I do wish I could stop here! But Aunt Annie 
 is so delicate, and as I half promised her in London, and now 
 she counts upon me, I cannot leave her in the lurch. As for 
 dad, though he has the boys, he is always miserable when I 
 am away. Happily, he has got you ; you will go and see him 
 now and again, will you not ?" 
 
 She gently drew her fingers from the friendly grasp which 
 had grown warm and close round them. Looking up to him 
 with swimming eyes, she met his kindly, searching glance. 
 But he could not put his sympathy in words. It would be 
 sad indeed, when the young soldier came home in the first 
 flush of his joy, to find his mistress, the light of the old 
 place, gone! 
 
 The next morning came a letter to the Grange. 
 
 Not an interesting missive to look at; a long envelope, in- 
 dited in a clerk-like hand, dated from the "Private Inquiry 
 Office," set forth that the troop-ship on board which, as had 
 been ascertained, Lieutenant L. G. Kerr was a passenger, had 
 been spoken off Gibraltar on the previous Saturday, and was 
 expected to-morrow at Portsmouth, whither an agent was 
 about to proceed, to report daily the movements of the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 Fargus turned from the window with a sigh and a smile. 
 Was he building on sand, after all? He knew that his son 
 was a scholar, a keen soldier also a favorite in a certain 
 guileless, warm-hearted family; but that was all. There 
 might yet be bitter disappointment for these hopes which had 
 waxed so strong of late. Well, well, these first movements of 
 the boy which, poor fellow! he little suspected were to be 
 noted and reported on would no doubt reveal the young 
 man's real character. 
 
 This plan of spying on his son had been prompted by a 
 desire so free from all vulgar curiosity, so pure and unselfish 
 in its ends, that it had now lost all its odious significance to 
 the father. He waited for the morrow's letter with deep 
 anxiety. 
 
 As he stood thus absorbed in thought, again feeding upon 
 the future, despite all wiser determinations, the door was 
 opened by Turner's noiseless hand, and the latter announced, 
 with his usual soft impressiveness, "Mr. Hillyard." 
 
 Fargus laid down his pipe. With some emotion rose be- 
 fore him the image of the toddling infant boy at Susie's 
 knee. And he turned round with a cordial smile to greet his 
 sister's only son. But the first glance was a disappointment.
 
 72 The Dance of Death. 
 
 There was naught in the visitor's features or countenance 
 which recalled the dear memory. 
 
 The keen face, with its pallid beauty; the gray eyes, ob- 
 servant and secretive; the powerful forehead and the firm 
 mouth, the cool, self-possessed bearing of the stranger for 
 whom he had that instant felt a movement of spontaneous 
 affection, although eliciting his admiration at once, made a 
 chilling impression. There was naught of Susie there. It 
 was only a presentment of the father, a man whom Fargus 
 knew to have been both good and true, but for whom George 
 Kerr had never had other sympathy than that produced by 
 tne knowledge of his little sister's happiness. 
 
 "While I am happy, Colonel Fargus," the visitor said, as 
 they shook hands, speaking in a clear, precise, rather high- 
 toned voice, "to profit by this opportunity on my own account, 
 I must first of all inform you that I come here as the repre- 
 sentative of my uncle, Mr. Kerr, with whom I am stopping a 
 few days. He has asked me to call upon you, and to express 
 his regret that his present weak state of health should debar 
 him from coming himself." 
 
 "I am very glad to see you," returned David Fargus, mo- 
 tioning his guest to an armchair, and pushing the box of 
 cigars toward him. "As for Mr. Kerr, I shall myself visit 
 him at the Court." 
 
 "That is just what I was going to ask you to do, colonel," 
 said Charles Hillyard. "The squire wants to know if you 
 will waive ceremony and come to lunch to-morrow. In the 
 country, you know, people do not stand hard and fast on 
 etiquette, so you will excuse formalities. I believe, however, 
 that is not what you suffer from most on the other side of 
 the ocean." 
 
 "Pray tell your uncle I shall have great pleasure in com- 
 ing," answered Fargus, with that grave simplicity that al- 
 ways proved a barrier against undue familiarity. 
 
 Here the conversation languished again. Charles Hillyard 
 looked curiously round the room, then, in a puzzled way, at 
 the stranger, who sat in a dignified silence waiting for him 
 to speak. He made a fresh start. 
 
 "We have heard a great deal about you from General Wold- 
 ham," he said, with well-assumed cordiality, which had not, 
 however, the genuine ring to his listener's ear. "He rode over 
 to see the squire yesterday, and spoke mainly about you and 
 your prowess. You have quite won his heart, colonel." 
 
 Under the grave gaze fixed on him Charles Hillyard faltered 
 a little, and the cheeriness of the last remark was slightly 
 overdone in consequence. 
 
 "Pardon me," interrupted Fargus, smiling, "did not the
 
 The Dance of Death. 73 
 
 general also tell you that when I had done with my military 
 life I bade good-by likewise to military rank? I do not call 
 myself colonel." 
 
 The gentle rebuke brought a quick flush of surprise and a 
 light glow of annoyance to the visitor's face. 
 
 "Pray forgive me," he said, with instinctive good breeding, 
 "though my mistake was a natural one. To those who have 
 read something of your national conflict, it is hard to dis- 
 sociate the name of Fargus from the prefix under which it 
 has become so well known." 
 
 The elder man acknowledged, in his own mind, the clever- 
 ness with which his nephew had disengaged himself; he ap- 
 preciated, too, the tact the young man now showed in not 
 resting on the complimentary amendment, but changing the 
 subject naturally by a question about the Lone Grange. 
 
 "We lived here after my father's death until my poor 
 mother followed him, in fact." The sadness that deepened in 
 Fargus' eyes was absent from Charles' unsoftened face. "I 
 know every nook and corner of the old place," he went on. 
 "Do you not find it rather large and rambling ?" 
 
 "I have made a nest for myself in these four ground-floor 
 rooms; the rest is condemned, save, of course, servants' of- 
 fices, which are sufficiently remote to be ignored altogether. 
 I am perfectly content." 
 
 "It is a curious choice," commented Charles. 
 
 Charles looked at his cigar meditatively for a while, then, 
 after another rather hard stare at his host, rose to take his 
 leave. 
 
 "Well, then, to-morrow at one o'clock," said Charles, with 
 his spasmodic friendliness. 
 
 The other accompanied him to the door, where he remained 
 a few seconds after his guest's departure, lost in thought. 
 
 As the young man's slight, well-balanced figure rounded 
 the grass-plot and passed by the overgrown garden, a shrill, 
 childish voice cleaved the air. 
 
 "Well, Charlie, have you measured him ? How long is he ?" 
 
 "Playing truant again, I see !" he said sharply, then shook 
 his finger and passed on. 
 
 "Who is it, Turner?" asked Fargus, in some surprise, turn- 
 ing to the servant, who was hovering near the door after 
 letting the visitor out. 
 
 "The young masters from Woldham Hall, if you please, 
 sir," replied that discreet person. "They said they preferred 
 to wait till Mr. Hillyard had gone, and they would stroll in 
 the garden. The cook, sir, wanted to interfere, as they was 
 eating the peaches, but I said that I thought you would be 
 displeased if they were disturbed."
 
 74 The Dance of Death. 
 
 "Quite right, Turner. Tell the cook all the peaches are 
 to be reserved for the young gentlemen. And ask them to 
 come in." 
 
 But at that moment there put in an appearance on the 
 greensward two sturdy little figures, which made up for 
 shortness of limb and chubbiness of cheek by a prodigous 
 amount of mouse-colored cord gaiters, an easy carriage of 
 the hands in trouser pockets, and an independent manner 
 of walking. 
 
 "Good-afternoon, sir," said the elder of these persons, who 
 had three more buttons to his gaiters than the younger and 
 weaker copy of himself, lifting his cap. 
 
 "How do you do, my man?" said Fargus, in far too com- 
 plete sympathy with the spirit of his small visitor to think 
 of kissing the fruit-stained face. 
 
 "We just rode over to see you," continued the sportsman, 
 "'cause it's so dull at home without Muddie. Yes, thanks, 
 I'd like tea, and so would Tom. We've had fruit in the 
 garden. Cook came out with a rolling-pin, but Turner said 
 we might go on. We like Turner. We didn't come in at 
 once, you know, 'cause of Charlie. We thought we'd wait, 
 'cause we don't like Charlie." 
 
 The pair sat down side by side on the sofa, with the gait- 
 ered legs a long way off the ground, and smiled confidently 
 at their host, who looked back at them with pleasure and ten- 
 derness. 
 
 Lewis, too, had no doubt been just as sturdy, brave-hearted 
 a little lad. What pleasures, of the purest in existence, had 
 not his father deliberately denied himself, when he had left 
 to others the task of leading the little spirit from childhood 
 to boyhood. 
 
 "Did Charlie measure you?" burst forth the elder boy 
 again. "I shouldn't have let him measure me; I'd have hit 
 him in the eye, I would. Did you hit him in the eye?" 
 
 "Not exactly," said the man gravely; "but I did not let 
 him measure me." 
 
 The boy swung his legs ecstatically. 
 
 "He came last night to dinner, you know. Father talked 
 of you; father likes you, so do we; we think you are the 
 nicest man we ever saw. Charlie said he thought you would 
 turn out a fr , a fr , it wasn't a frog, but it was something 
 like it. And he said he'd soon take your measure. Father 
 said you were a great man, and father got quite red and 
 rapped the table, and we laughed, and Muddie told us to keep 
 quiet. Muddie and Charlie walked up and down on the ter- 
 race afterward, and when Muddie came to put us to bed her 
 face was quite red, too. And she wouldn't talk a bit. And
 
 The Dance of Death. 75 
 
 when she kissed us, I said, 'I hate Charlie, Muddie; I love 
 Mr. Fargus.' And now I'll have tea, and so will Tom." 
 
 "And so my clever nephew thinks I am a fraud !" said Far- 
 gus to himself, as the little pair, escorted by the respectfully 
 protective Turner, at length departed full of cake and bliss, 
 and proud joint-possessors of an Indian arrow. 
 
 Next morning the bay horse carried his master across the 
 purple heather, on to the well-known Gilham road, through 
 the great gates, under the limes and chestnuts ; finally before 
 that picturesque massive pile that had seen the dawn of 
 George Kerr's strange life. 
 
 "All comes in time to him who can wait," thought Fargus, 
 as he dismounted before the porch he had not seen for some 
 thirty years. "Ah! good-morning." This aloud to his 
 nephew, who appeared on the steps and gracefully came for- 
 ward to receive him. 
 
 He ushered the visitor into the dining-hall with an apology. 
 "If you do not mind waiting a second or two this is the 
 most ancient part of the Court, contains the best pictures, 
 and is generally supposed to be the show-room I will go and 
 announce your arrival." 
 
 And thus did David Fargus find himself once more under 
 the converging gaze of his ancestors. 
 
 "Back at last, after thirty years!" he muttered in answer 
 to their mute greeting. "And only home, after all, under a 
 false character. What do you think of him?" And slowly 
 he went round the room, stopping to interpellate each vigor- 
 ous old Kerr face with half-smliing, half -sad recognition. 
 
 The stern blue eyes of William Kerr looked down re- 
 proachfully at his son. "How could you give up our name, 
 deny our country and our forefathers !" And yet the kindly 
 moutk whispered to the mind's ear another greeting: "It is 
 well you have come back at last do not go again." 
 
 It was a noble portrait. 
 
 Full of unwonted emotion under the memories of that 
 long-forgotten affection of his childhood, Fargus turned to 
 seek, in the feminine gallery, for the delicate outline of the 
 young mother who had died in giving him birth. 
 
 But although female ascendants figured in goodly array 
 and almost unbroken sequence, from the languorous-eyed, 
 curly locked, very bare-bosomed beauties of Restoration days, 
 to the smiling, good-natured image of her who had been his 
 step-brother's faithful wife, the sweet young face which in 
 former days had hung in the place of honor over the high 
 mantel-board had disappeared. 
 
 "William all over !" said he to himself, with a sudden up- 
 rising of the fiery spirit he had believed dead this many a
 
 76 The Dance of Death. 
 
 year. "And it tallies well with his treatment of my boy. 
 But may be he has not done with that branch of his family 
 yet." 
 
 The opening door and the slow advance of a gaunt and 
 tottering figure broke in upon this train of thought, and 
 David Fargus, turning, saw the present head of his race. He 
 had been prepared for a change, but this wreck of a strong 
 man he had not looked for. The squire was, after all, but 
 sixteen years or so older than he; but while he felt, in mind 
 and body, all the vigor of maturity, his brother was indeed 
 an old man his face bore that drawn, distressed look which 
 so painfully betrays the loss of vital power. 
 
 JELe received Fargus with a feeble reflex of the pomposity 
 which had once been so irritating to the latter. For one in- 
 stant, as they took their seats at the table, Fargus felt his 
 self-possession fail him beneath a curiously intent look which 
 appeared suddenly, like the up-leaping of a dying flame, in 
 the squire's eyes. But the danger was over almost as soon 
 as perceived. 
 
 "I thought I had seen you somewhere before this," the 
 old man muttered, "but it was a mistake." 
 
 Then he drew himself together and addressed his visitor on 
 the broad subject of America, after the interested manner of 
 an English county gentleman who has a proper appreciation 
 of the superiority of his own status. 
 
 "My ison, sir, has just been there," he explained with com- 
 placent civility. "He is a great traveler, and is making the 
 Grand Tour in our days a Grand Tour must needs be round 
 the world." 
 
 "Lucky fellow!" put in Charles in his dry way. 
 
 "He has been two years away. He is my only son now, 
 and we English landowners think our heirs should remain 
 as much as possible on the estate, that they may learn the 
 duties of their position in life." 
 
 Fargus admired, as the meal proceeded, the tact and pa- 
 tience with which Charles humored his uncle. For his part, 
 he strove to maintain the conversation at a tolerable degree 
 of interest. But the elaborately served and lengthy repast 
 was so like those which used, in days gone by, to try his 
 boyish patience so terribly, that it produced an almost dream- 
 like effect upon him. 
 
 Fargus found it hard to combat the melancholy that was 
 taking possession of his soul, though the fare was of the best, 
 though Charles spoke brilliantly and interestingly as though 
 with the desire of effacing the disagreeable impression of the 
 previous day though the squire himself, when they ad- 
 journed to the terrace for coffee and cigars, had wonderfully
 
 The Dance of Death. 77 
 
 unbent to his guest and seemed a little brightened and in- 
 vigorated. 
 
 Suddenly a tall figure appeared on the sward and hurried 
 toward them. At sight of him Fargus started to his feet 
 with a presentment of evil. It was only the rector, but his 
 was a palid, disturbed face, and he held an orange-colored 
 envelope in his hand. The squire, undisturbed by such fore- 
 bodings, called out, for him, quite cheerily: 
 
 "Halloa, Mr. Mivart ! You are just in time for a cup of 
 coffee." 
 
 The unwilling messenger of evil gave a piteous look at 
 Charles. 
 
 "What is it?" whispered the latter hastily. 
 
 "Bad news." 
 
 The old man caught the words. He rose at once, straight- 
 ening his feeble form to rigid attention. 
 
 "My son?" he cried in a loud voice. 
 
 After a terrible attempt to break gradually the whole mis- 
 fortune to the unhappy father, the truth had to be told. 
 His son, the last remaining child, was dead. 
 
 For a moment the squire stood with outstretched arms; 
 then his face grew purple, his eyes started from their orbits; 
 before they could receive him in their arms, so swiftly came 
 the stroke, he had fallen forward on the walk. 
 
 As they raised him, and beheld the distorted countenance 
 streaming with blood, the swollen discolored neck and up- 
 turned eyes, Fargus alone retained enough self-command to 
 give him immediate help. 
 
 "I have seen this before cerebral hemorrhage," he said, 
 quickly loosening the old man's collar and raising his head. 
 "I should bleed him if I dared. Charlie, send some one for 
 the doctor. You and I must at once bring him into the 
 house." 
 
 Charlie appreciated the calmness and authority of the 
 stranger at this crisis, and begged him to remain till the 
 doctor should have made his appearance. The clergyman 
 soon made an excuse to withdraw. Thus Fargus and his 
 nephew found themselves silently watching in the darkened 
 room by the stricken father's bedside, listening to the sten- 
 torous breathing which alone betokened life, and busily re- 
 newing the ice bandages they had laid on his forehead. 
 
 When the doctor arrived, the visitor from the Lone Grange, 
 in his turn, was glad to leave. The doctor's look as he had 
 bent over his patient had been ominous, and confirmed his 
 own opinion of the case; within a very short time the last 
 but one, ostensibly, of the direct line in that ancient house 
 would have joined the majority.
 
 78 The Dance of Death. 
 
 At the moment when all life-energy would have finally 
 radiated away from that prostrate body, the rightful owner- 
 ship of those noble lands, the headship of "name, arms and 
 estates," would devolve, de jure, on the stranger of the Lone 
 Grange, but de facto, unless the latter chose to prove his 
 identity, on a certain young soldier who, surely, was far 
 from dreaming of such an accession of fortune. 
 
 The letter which awaited him on his hall table in the 
 envelope of the "Argus Office" was, at such a juncture, in- 
 vested with a new solemnity of interest. It ran, however, 
 thus: 
 
 "DEAR SIR: In accordance with your request, one of our 
 agents yesterday attended at Portsmouth on the arrival of 
 the Crocodile troop-ship, and thus reports on the movements 
 of the officer whom you wish us to watch. 
 
 "The gentleman in question did not seem to have any duty 
 to see to. Soon after disembarking, about 11 A. M., having 
 arranged about his personal luggage, went to the Naval Club 
 in company with a friend. About an hour later he came out 
 alone, took a long walk by himself along Southsea Beach, 
 returning in time to catch the afternoon train to London. 
 
 "From Waterloo Station he drove straight to Staples Inn, 
 Chancery Lane (where he has rooms inscribed with his 
 name). He came out, three hours later, in evening dress, 
 drove to the Army and Navy Club, Pall Mall, and, after an 
 interval, apparently for dinner, walked over to the St. James' 
 Theatre, where he engaged a stall. He had no intercourse 
 with any one, and after the performance walked leisurely 
 back to his rooms in Staples Inn. 
 
 "We will continue to acquaint you daily with the results 
 of our observations. We are, etc., etc." 
 
 With a sigh of relief Fargus laid down the letter. Simple 
 enough, these "movements," yet pleasing in their very sim- 
 plicity, and, coupled with what he already knew concerning 
 the young man's energy and courage, completing the favor- 
 able portrait he had so laboriously collated. He would be 
 worthy of the new and weighty position he would so soon be 
 called upon to fill. 
 
 The next morning early he rode over to the Court. Charles 
 Hillyard was standing in the porch. 
 
 The squire was dead, and Fargus, tactfully shortening the 
 interview, rode away in a very reflective mood. 
 
 Once more in his own room, he sat down to write a short 
 note to the "Argus Office." 
 
 "DEAB Sm: Be pleased to look at the obituary notices in
 
 
 
 79 
 
 the morning papers during the next few days, and, as soon 
 as you notice announcement of the death of Mr. William 
 Kerr, of Gilham, Yorkshire, to forward at once a copy of the 
 paper, with the entry very conspicuously marked, to Mr. L. 
 G. Kerr, at his chambers in Staples Inn. 
 
 "You will understand that this must be done in a strictly 
 anonymous manner." 
 
 "This, I fancy, will bring the boy down for the funeral, 
 at least," he said to himself, as he closed the letter. 
 
 But, three days later, when that ceremonial took place, and 
 Fargus attended at the Court, among the numerous guests 
 assembled to render the last honors to the host, there was no 
 one to be seen who could in any way be taken for the person 
 he so longed to meet. 
 
 After that solemn rite, with its painful, unnecessary, at- 
 tendant pomp and show, much disappointed and perplexed, 
 the father walked back with General Woldham until they 
 reached the point where their homeward roads diverged. 
 
 "By the way, general," he asked, as if casually, "who comes 
 in for the place now ?" 
 
 The general puffed. 
 
 "Why, I suppose it will be Lewis Kerr, now in the th 
 D. G. Curiously enough, I was just this instant talking 
 about him to Charles Hillyard, who says he ran up against 
 him in town yesterday. I knew he must be coming back, 
 though I did not expect him so soon. But he apparently de- 
 clined to come down for the funeral." 
 
 "That is curious," said Fargus. 
 
 ''Very. It is the last thing I should have expected of him. 
 It is not like Lewis. An event like this should bury all 
 feuds. Decency, sir, should have brought him down." 
 
 Fargus returned to his house in a discontented mood. 
 The evening post brought a partial explanation of the 
 puzzle, and decided his own course of action. The agent's 
 daily letter ended by the statement that, on the evening of 
 the previous day, Mr. Kerr had driven, with luggage, to Char- 
 ing Cross Station, booked for Homburg, Germany, and 
 started for the Continent by the mail. The agent had parted 
 company with him at Dover, "not having received instruc- 
 tions to follow the gentleman out of England."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 STRANGE ABODE OF A SCHOLAR AND DRAGOON. 
 
 Although Society has been crowded out of the man- 
 sions of its past glories by the swarming influx of the toilers 
 who supply its ever-increasing demands, we can yet count one 
 class of men who, of necessity, live much of their life in the 
 original dwelling-place of their order the students and 
 adepts of the law, who still people those ancient colleges, the 
 Inns of Court and their dependencies. 
 
 There stood in days gone by a goodly number of such 
 hostels or inns, forming the individual colleges of what our 
 old annalists termed the "Third Universitie of England," 
 but few have retained to the present time their collegiate 
 character. 
 
 Yet among those institutions which have passed from their 
 high estates as houses of learning and dignity to the deg- 
 radation of depending for existence on lay patronage, there 
 still remains one whilom Inn of Chancery, very much as it 
 was beheld of Shakespeare and inhabited of Johnson. Its 
 aspect on the Holborn front presents its seven gables, its 
 bulging corbeled stories of stout beam and hard petrel, un- 
 touched by the ravages of time, practically unchanged since 
 the last Tudor; and clinging to its flanks, as moss to a 
 mighty tree, may be seen just such a parasitic growth of 
 booth and open shoplet as it, no doubt, always shielded from 
 the days of its first erection. There are the winding, crazy 
 stairs that creaked beneath the great lexicographer's ponder- 
 ous tread, the paneled rooms filled with the memories of 
 four centuries, the quiet courtyards, oak-ceiled hall, capacious 
 ghostly kitchens and cellars; altered now in their resigned 
 decay from the time when Stow wrote of the "Fayrest Hall in 
 this great law University," when ruffling mootmen and utter 
 barristers filled chambers and gardens with as much rollick- 
 ing life as does the modern under-graduate his more prosper- 
 ous college on the banks of Cam or Isis ! 
 
 This is old Staple Inn, a too rare relic of "Old London" 
 architecture, built on the original site of that Hall of the 
 Wool Staple Merchants where Chaucer dealt with Custom re- 
 ceipts, the obsolete cognizance of which a staple of wood 
 is even now borne on its escutcheon. 
 
 Staple Inn has become rather shabby in itself and in its 
 inhabitants. Fallen from the honorable intention of its 
 founders, it has had to seek support from such as choose to
 
 Strange Abode of a Scholar and Dragoon. 81 
 
 give it, and few men who can afford the comforts of modern 
 chambers seem to care for the thought of settling in that 
 aged haunt, and any one capable of appreciating the charm 
 of seclusion in the very heart cf London the charm of liv- 
 ing amid scenes sacred to the doings and thinkings of so 
 many bygone generations could with but little expenditure 
 of trouble and money make for himself such a nest in the 
 old rookery as he would be loath to exchange for all the nine- 
 teenth century Queen Anne glories of sky-threatening man- 
 sions in more favored quarters. 
 
 This is precisely what had been done with a set of attic- 
 rooms overlooking Holborn on the one side, and the sleepy 
 courtyard on the other. They had been cleaned and painted 
 for the first time, perhaps, in this century; their dingy, 
 shivering casements replaced by new frames and light-stained 
 diamond panes; the dilapidated outer-door had made way for 
 a solid "oak" of college-pattern, over the lintel of which the 
 name of the enterprising tenant was plain to see, in white 
 letters on a black ground. The old chambers had first as- 
 sumed this unprecedentedly rejuvenated aspect on becoming 
 the town residence of Mr. Lewis G. Kerr, B. A., Edin., during 
 his under-graduate days at Cambridge. And so dear to the 
 heart of their occupier did they finally grow, that when, in 
 the course of events, he exchanged the gown for the sword, 
 and went over the seas on his country's service, he could not 
 make up his mind to part with his quaint pisd-a-terre, but 
 kept it on as the shrine of his household gods, with the com- 
 fortable feeling that here he would, at least, always have a 
 home to return to. 
 
 And now, on a hot July day, the young dragoon, back 
 again at last, bronzed out of all recognition by the Indian 
 sun, thinned, hardened, something battered by long months 
 of Central Asian campaigning and a spell of South African 
 experience, withal more vigorous than ever, stood in the mid- 
 dle of his attic abode, between portmanteaus and bullock- 
 trunks gazing with dreamy pleasure on the dusty surround- 
 ings which brought him back in imagination to so many 
 chapters of his life now closed forever. 
 
 Here, after his regiment, was his home; in a corner, the 
 half-suit of armor worn by some Castilian ancestor, about 
 which there still hung the quaint old-world atmosphere of 
 the proud though tumble-down home of his boyish days; on 
 three of the four walls the black-oak bookcases, crammed 
 with the most motley collection of volumes, some in the 
 gorgeous armorial bindings of college prizes. 
 
 Mr. Kerr traversed his domain with a restless step, now 
 lightly fingering some dust-covered chattel associated with
 
 82 Strange Abode of a Scholar and Dragoon. 
 
 a thousand unimportant memories, now pausing by the door 
 to open the solemn "Grandfather's clock" and restore its sus- 
 pended animation, and through a glamourous illumination of 
 shafts of dancing motes there came back upon him, one after 
 another, each different phase of his past life, inextricably as- 
 sociated with the memorials surrounding him. 
 
 There, before him, hung the water-color sketch of his 
 father, in Highland uniform, and the miniature frame con- 
 taining his Crimean medal and clasps; the exquisite head, 
 also in water-colors, of the young mother who had died in 
 giving him life ; they had hung in his nursery in far Seville, 
 where he had been taught to kiss them night and morning 
 and babble a prayer for the dead Padrecito and Madrecita; 
 round them were woven almost his first memories. 
 
 And in a corner of the bookcase, affectionately preserved 
 in all their shabbiness in a row to themselves, there were 
 the queer old school-books in which he had first begun to 
 learn under the good old English monk, chosen for the high 
 post of tutor to the orphan boy as much by reason of his 
 nationality as of his attainments. 
 
 What delightful hours those were in the shady court! 
 
 How he had longed for the unknown, far-off England ! Don 
 Atanasio had promised to bring him here himself when he 
 was old enough for an English school. The dear old grand- 
 father ! It was for his conscientious self-abnegation in bring- 
 ing up this, the last scion of his own race, as belonging by 
 greater right to the dead father's country, that surely he, 
 Lewis Kerr, owed his memory the keenest gratitude. And 
 yet when the time came for him to go, and that by himself, 
 all in his new mourning for but a fortnight before they had 
 laid the great hidalgo in his grave how bitter had been the 
 parting ! How terrible it was to feel so alone on the thresh- 
 old of a new life, with no one but a new guardian, Reverend 
 Mr. Hillyard, unknown but as the writer of two stiff, cold 
 letters, between him and absolute isolation ! 
 
 He saw himself again on the deck of the mighty steamer 
 as she throbbed away in the blue and yellow dawn from the 
 coast of Spain; a small, shivering boy, for all his thirteen, 
 years, trying hard to combat the tears that would rise to his 
 eyes, to struggle against the heavy pain at his heart, which, 
 nevertheless, beat high with the thought of seeing England, 
 his country, at last. And then the arrival. How well he re- 
 membered it all the cold welcome, the sickening disappoint- 
 ment, until "Aunt Susie" first dawned upon his life, and her 
 warm arms opened to the desolate little foreigner, never to 
 close to him again until they grew cold in death. 
 
 He had been determined to assert his claim as an English-
 
 Strange Abode of a Scholar and Dragoon. 83 
 
 man, in spite of his disadvantages; and he had succeeded. 
 Even before the happy spell of student life at Edinburgh, he 
 had forced himself to the front, made himself respected in 
 class-room and playground. But, oh ! that glorious feeling of 
 freedom when at sixteen he found himself practically his own 
 master in the severe old Northern city, where the rough but 
 genuine cordiality of his older fellow-students made him, for 
 the first time since his arrival from the distant land of his 
 birth, feel at home. That was a happy era, for it was during 
 his first session there that Robert Hillyard was presented with 
 the rectorship of Gilham, and that thus was brought about 
 the meeting with Maude. 
 
 Eight years ago ! It was quite a journey down the stream 
 of life to look back upon, and strange to think that the love 
 of a little lass of fifteen should have outlived all the experi- 
 ences, the long absences, the many changes. 
 
 She had come upon him at a very bitter moment, but the 
 warm partisanship of the gray-blue eyes, blazing from under 
 a cloud of tumbled brown hair, the thrill of the girl's voice, 
 as he had first heard it, calling to him in pretty, eager con- 
 ciliation, had more than made up for the offense. 
 
 He turned half round in his chair to look for the shield 
 of arms, displayed over the chimney-piece, between the es- 
 cutcheon of Alma Mater and that of his particular college. 
 There the "sable bend, engrailed, on the field," of Kerr of 
 Gilham, quartered the foreign and more canting arms of 
 Ayala, a "caravel on a stormy sea, in the heavens a solitary 
 star." 
 
 And now the contemplation brought him back to that 
 memorable forenoon, the only occasion on which he had set 
 foot in Gilham Court, when Aunt Susie and the rector had 
 marched him forth to introduce him to the head of his 
 family. As they paced through the prosperous country 
 scenery, he had been amazed to hear that so many of the 
 broad acres of rich pasture land, stretches of plowed fields, of 
 green woods and fern-grown covers, belonged to Mr. Kerr, of 
 Gilham, that relation of his who had never bestowed so much 
 as one sign of interest on him. And then a winding in the 
 high-hedged road brought them in front of a towering gate- 
 way, a curious emotion crept round his heart as he recognized 
 in the escutcheon over the keeper's lodge those very arms of 
 Kerr by which he had been taught in the distant land of his 
 birth to set such store. There was the home of his English 
 forefathers ; his heart had swelled with so many feelings that 
 he could not trust himself to speak. In silence he had 
 threaded his way up to the noble, time-mellowed manorhouse 
 that had been his father's home. Would he ever forget his
 
 84 Strange Abode of a Scholar and Dragoon. 
 
 reception ? How the squire had all but disowned him, almost 
 shown him the door I 
 
 As, crimson with indignation, he had risen to take his 
 leave, and shake off his feet the dust of that inhospitable 
 house, there sprang up in the far end of the great room a 
 little figure with gold-brown hair. Too confused then to no- 
 tice all that passed, he had retained but disjointed memories 
 of the sweetest face ever seen; of the pressure of a little 
 bare, brown hand; of a tall, white-haired man who likewise 
 loomed upon him in some unexpected way, and to whom 
 Aunt Susie, pale and with a troubled countenance, intro- 
 duced "my brother's son ;" of pleasant words and warm prof- 
 fers of hospitality. This was the beginning of the intimacy 
 at Woldham Hall, when life had assumed such a new mean- 
 ing under the light of Maude's eyes. 
 
 The dreamer laid down his burned-out pipe and glanced 
 once more at the coat -of -arms. His star ! before him always, 
 in fair weather or foul, in the days when he had fancied 
 by academic distinctions to win his fastidious little lady's 
 favor, before he had discovered her paramount weakness for 
 "buff and burnished steel," and battlefield honors. His eyes 
 wandered to the Trinity escutcheon with its golden book, 
 closed, on the chief of gules. Those were good days, too. 
 He did not regret his present choice, for all it had cost him 
 the loss of that high degree he had once aimed at, but he 
 would always be glad of his years in the great quadrangle. 
 
 "I wonder who would have enjoyed this superb Villar had 
 chance decreed that my bones now should be blanching on 
 Afghan gravel, as those of so many better fellows. Ah, I 
 suppose you would, old chap." 
 
 This mental apostrophe was addressed to one of the por- 
 traits he had just installed on the writing-table; that of his 
 cousin, quondam coach, and bosom friend. 
 
 Charles Hillyard, Fellow of his College, lecturer in Moral 
 Sciences, a writer, already of some note, was one of those 
 men who never can pass unnoticed anywhere. The head 
 Lewis was gazing at through the smoke of his cigar was such 
 as a Vandyck would love to paint; with aquiline features, 
 high forehead, and deep-set gray eyes; a thin but powerful 
 face, surmounted by a wavy growth of light hair, and ac- 
 centuated by a light mustache, curling upward in a way that 
 gave a curious permanent look of sarcasm to the grave, com- 
 pressed lips. It was a face that might have seemed equally 
 typical of cavalier, artist, or thinker. 
 
 "Not one of the least pleasant events of my return will be 
 the first evening we spend again together, dear old chap, and 
 have another of those long jaws which used to follow our
 
 Midnight Confidences. d$ 
 
 coaching in the tutor and pupil days. And, by Jove! I 
 must write to you this very evening. I dare say you will not 
 be sorry, either, to see my bullet head again." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MIDNIGHT CONFIDENCES. 
 
 Late in the evening of the next day Lewis was leisurely 
 wending his way back from his club, his thoughts for the 
 moment much and pleasantly occupied with anticipations of 
 proximate meetings with his old chum and his friends in 
 the North. 
 
 As he came through a certain dark short cut for foot- 
 passengers from Lincoln's Inn Fields which opens into Hoi- 
 born just by the glaring portal of that choice place of enter- 
 tainment yclept "The Royal," there appeared, across the 
 torrent of light which makes its entrance so obtrusively 
 resplendent, a certain tall, familiar figure, a well-known, 
 keen, pallid face. 
 
 "The very man himself, by Heaven !" 
 
 He was rushing forward, hand outstretched in all glee, 
 when a second look brought him to an abrupt standstill. 
 Charles was not alone; he was doing escort duty to a tall 
 young woman, whose face was concealed behind a thick veil, 
 and who held him with close familiarity by the arm. She 
 was quietly and neatly dressed, but .as ladies do not generally 
 perambulate such quarters in company with bachelor friends 
 at eleven of the night, Lewis discreetly drew back into the 
 doorway of a small tobacco shop behind him, not to put his 
 grave and reverend tutor of yore out of countenance. 
 
 The couple took a step or two into the comparative dark- 
 ness of the alley, where the young woman lifted her veil 
 and raised her cheek for what was evidently a farewell kiss. 
 When they again emerged into the light, her companion 
 hailed a hansom, in which he proceeded to install her, closed 
 the doors without getting in, and called out to the driver 
 some address which had no meaning in Lewis' ear. But as 
 the hansom swung round, and its occupant, bending forward, 
 sent another kiss from the tips of her fingers to the stationary \ 
 figure of his friend, the young man caught a fair view of 
 her unveiled face for the first time. He started violently. 
 It was not imagination features, smile, look, the wave of the 
 hand itself, the little toss of her head, ay, the very voice, now 
 crying out, "Good-night, good-by" it was Maude! And yet
 
 86 Midnight Confidences. 
 
 not Maude another glance at the handsome creature, whom, 
 during a short pause, occasioned by the block of vehicles, he 
 had time to examine more critically under the crude electric 
 light, was sufficient to prove the foily of his first impulse, al- 
 though the marvelous resemblance increased rather than 
 diminished on scrutiny. 
 
 As he gazed after the retreating hansom conflicting 
 thoughts rushed wildly through his brain. What was the 
 meaning of this ? Maude, the refined maiden, isolated in her 
 romantic home, and this very independent young woman, so 
 indescribably not a lady, who composedly drove away alone 
 in a hansom at midnight ? 
 
 "If it were not for the likeness, of course, I should not 
 bother my head about it," he thought, looking toward his 
 cousin, who still stood in the same place. "I don't want to 
 pry into his private life; I dare say he is no better or no 
 worse than other men. If it were not that he knew Maude so 
 well, I should be tempted to think it was a mere coincidence; 
 there must be something beneath it," and through the con- 
 fusion of his ideas there suddenly broke the memory of a 
 certain night, years ago now, when his friend had spoken 
 strange words to him, conveying nothing to his loyal mind; 
 unheeded, then, but which now, in the light of this meeting, 
 returned upon him pregnant with baleful meaning. 
 
 Could it be that Charles, too, had fallen in love with 
 Maude? could it be that, loving her hopelessly, he consoled 
 himself thus his friend, whom he had set on so high a 
 pedestal ! 
 
 "I will not judge till I hear his story," and, resolutely 
 emerging from his concealment, he sprang up to the object 
 of his thoughts. 
 
 "Why, Charlie! what can a man of your serious turn be 
 doing at such a time in the neighborhood of these haunts? 
 Anyhow, I am glad to meet you, old man!" 
 
 "Hallo, Lewis!" exclaimed Mr. Hillyard, drawing back a 
 pace, with a perceptible start. But the discomposure was too 
 transient to attract his companion's notice; in another in- 
 stant their hands were warmly clasped, and, surveying his 
 quondam pupil from head to foot: 
 
 "So you are still in the land of the living!" cried the 
 "coach." "The last I heard you were skirmishing with Af- 
 ghans." 
 
 "I am, as you see, glad to be of this world still, especially 
 at a meeting like this. You did not get my letter, then ? ' I 
 sent it to Cambridge. How is the world behaving to you ?" 
 
 "Much as before; you need not have expressed so much 
 suprise at meeting me here. I came up for some tiresome
 
 Midnight Confidences. 87 
 
 business connected with the 'Philosophical,' and afterward 
 felt the want of something nice and idiotic to vary the enter- 
 tainment and sweep the cobwebs from my brain." 
 
 Lewis evinced no sort of consciousness under his friend's 
 scrutiny, and the latter proceeded more easily : 
 
 "And so here you are again. I think I can guess what has 
 brought you back." 
 
 "What do you mean ? What should have brought me back 
 but my first long leave?" 
 
 "Indeed! nothing else?" then, after a moment's reflection, 
 in a careless tone, "In that case I think I may have news 
 for you. It is not really pressing, I assure you. Where are 
 you staying? I am meditating supper before catching my 
 train at Euston will you come with me?" 
 
 "I am at my old rooms at Staple's, of course. They are 
 close by; why shouldn't you come to me? And, I say, now 
 I have found you, I am not inclined to let you go in such a 
 hurry; if you don't disdain an improvised couch, I ca<n 
 accommodate you with lodgings as well as board." 
 
 "That sounds plausible," said Charles ; "done." 
 
 At a pleasant pace, in keeping with the warmth of the July 
 night, they soon exchanged the bustle and glare of Holborn 
 for the quiet courts of the old Inn. 
 
 Ascending the rickety corkscrew stairs they entered the 
 attic room. 
 
 After feeling for matches arid lighting his lamp, the host 
 relieved his guest of hat and stick, and, perceiving sundry 
 letters and papers strewing the floor beneath his open letter- 
 box, picked them up and turned them over in some surprise. 
 
 "Hullo ! who the dickens has sent me a Morning Post, 
 I'm sure I never ordered one ; some way of advertising, I sup- 
 pose. What are these? Circulars, circulars, price-lists 
 rubbish !" 
 
 And, tossing the collection on to. a side table, he turned 
 gayly to his friend : 
 
 "Now, Sir Cavalier, make yourself at home while I get 
 supper ready." 
 
 "So you have kept up this den of yours. What on earth 
 could induce any one in your circumstances to fix upon a 
 ramshackle Inn like this, when there are chambers to be had 
 in St. James' and other civilized parts, I cannot conceive." 
 
 "Without noticing your disparagement of my residence," 
 said Lewis good-humoredly, "I may point out that under 
 present circumstances it would be absurd for me to keep up 
 an expensive establishment I should only live in for very few 
 days at a time. Furthermore, were I ten times a millionaire, I 
 would not give up this haunt of mine for anything, 'leather and
 
 88 Midnight Confidences. 
 
 iron dragoon' though I be. And lastly," he went on, as he 
 selected some special wine-glasses from a cupboard, "the 
 ownership of these rooms at the time when I threw in my 
 lot with 'Tommy Atkins' bridged over the difficulty of storing 
 away all my books, old oak, old arms all the 'kickshaws' you 
 used to scoff at, in fact, you Philistine !" 
 
 "I should have thought club chambers for yourself when 
 you came up, more rational, but you were always a little 
 cracked, you know; and I see that you have not changed." 
 
 "I'm glad I have not," returned Lewis simply. 
 
 "It's very pretty," continued the other, looking about him 
 critically, "but it must be extremely uncomfortable." 
 
 "Geometry doesn't infest my life," said Lewis, dragging 
 forward to the table a three-legged stool for himself, and a 
 four-legged one for his guest ; "and as for solidity, the Chest- 
 nut battery itself galloping past in Holborn would not so 
 much as shake my old panels. . . . But come, you don't 
 seem to be in a sympathetic mood ; sit down. But never fear, 
 I will pour no inferior stuff in your cup to-night. Now, let 
 us see. Turn about and look into my cellar. Choose your 
 tap; I have still some of those choice friends you made ac- 
 quaintance with up at Trinity like us both, a few years 
 older; and the better for it, I hope, old man." 
 
 Carefully fitting a ponderous black key into the lock of the 
 seventeenth-century coffer under his window, he lifted the 
 lid, and, with a twinkle in his merry brown eyes, beckoned to 
 his friend. 
 
 "Here you see, on the right, some of the richest juice the 
 sun distils from Burgundian hillsides. Now choose your 
 particular Vanity,' " Lewis concluded with a laugh, suddenly 
 changing his style. 
 
 "Pour me out some of your 'aurum potabile,' since caviare 
 is to be the first thing," said Charles, with his slightly con- 
 temptuous smile, sitting down, notwithstanding, readily 
 enough, and helping himself to the toothsome conserve. 
 
 Charles, on his side, took up his glass and closed his eyes 
 with mock solemnity as he swallowed the contents. 
 
 "Ah! what a fine thing it must be to be able to gratify 
 one's epicurean tastes! I never was over-wealthy, as you 
 know, but since my poor governor's death, which you heard 
 of when you were out in India, I have had to rely entirely 
 on my own exertions." 
 
 Lewis was the last person who could resist him under such 
 circumstances; with a warm revulsion of feeling he rejoiced 
 to find himself falling once more under the old spell. 
 
 When at length they had done full justice to the im- 
 provised meal, the dragoon sprang to his feet, and, for the
 
 Midnight Confidences. 89 
 
 sake of greater stretching room, pushed the little dining- 
 'table away into the pantry, ensconced his friend in the arm- 
 chair, chose his best cigar for him, and filled a favorite pipe 
 for himself with a lightening heart. 
 
 "Now, Charlie," he remarked cheerily, dropping on the 
 stool in front of him, and stretching his hands on his knees, 
 "this is indeed like old times, isn't it? What a piece of luck 
 to meet you to-night! Do you remember how you used to 
 lecture me, extra horas, on the necessity of seeing the world 
 and giving up my silly habit of day-dreaming?" 
 
 "I do; and now that you have knocked about a little more, 
 you have no doubt learned to look at life from a more practi- 
 cal point of view." 
 
 "Perhaps I have, in certain things. But let us hear more 
 about yourself." 
 
 "About myself I have little to say; my life is quite as 
 monotonous as it was." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Lewis, hesitating for a moment to go on 
 with what he had on the tip of his tongue, for fear, by enter- 
 ing on delicate ground, of bringing about an unpleasant ten- 
 sion. But until he had cleared up what was on his mind, he 
 felt he could not remain at ease with his friend, and he was 
 longing to have things straight between them again ; to sweep 
 away the barriers that seemed to have risen in his absence to 
 mar their sympathy. "Do you remember," he began slowly, 
 as if choosing his words, "a certain sultry evening, a little 
 before the final, up t Trinity? I had that day announced 
 my intention to enf er the service, and came to your room just 
 as one of your new pups was about to leave you Wagner- 
 like in Dr. Faustus' den, full of awe for your severe wis- 
 dom. I, however, who knew your private self intimately, 
 found you in an unwontedly soft and melancholy mood. Do 
 you remember that evening?" 
 
 Charles turned his head rather suddenly, and looked keen- 
 ly at the speaker. 
 
 "Yes I think I do; well?" 
 
 "We drifted into poetry, music, romance, not to say senti- 
 ment. I believe you actually quoted Heine." 
 
 "Quite a graphic picture! Well?" 
 
 "You who never spoke of your own inner thoughts, so that 
 I believed you really were blessed with an adamantine in- 
 difference to sentiment, for once you unbosomed yourself 
 and told me that you were in love." 
 
 An indefinable smile curled Charlie's thin lips; he turned 
 half round on his chair and looked straight at his friend. 
 
 "Your story interests me much. Proceed," he said mock- 
 ingly.
 
 90 Midnight Confidences. 
 
 There was a moment's pause. Lewis, doggedly bent upon 
 satisfying himself, resumed with an effort: 
 
 "Well, we found out that the music told us the same 
 thing; I wondered who was the lady of your hopeless dreams 
 for you spoke of them as hopeless don't blush; who could 
 resist you?" 
 
 "I think I see now what you are aiming at ; but still, go on." 
 
 "You spoke again out of your dark corner where your piano 
 was stowed away your words were so unlike what I was accus- 
 tomed to hear from you. 'I sometimes wish,' you said, 'I had 
 never had music instilled in my soul. When I hear melodies 
 like this, with all their yearnings, it sets me mad for the unat- 
 tainable; in fact, old fellow, it plays the devil with my com- 
 mon-sense.' Unfortunately, just as I was worked up to an 
 intense state of sympathy for you, in came your gyp with 
 your lamps, and the whole scene underwent a complete trans- 
 formation. 'Pray don't imagine, my boy,' you then said, 'that 
 I am a soft idealist, a gentle lunatic like you. I have been 
 hard hit, I grant you that; but as the soothing dock grows 
 near the stinging nettle, I trust I have found my antidote to 
 hand.' And you suggested the case of a man who should 
 come across a woman the very image, the 'double,' of her 
 who had ensnared him. 'Now, your idealist,' said you, 'would 
 go moping about forever for the want of his particular bunch 
 of grapes, but your sensible man takes the one that is with- 
 in his reach, and is thankful.' I never dreamed you were 
 really speaking of your own experience never dreamed that 
 so extraordinary a coincidence had come your way, nor that 
 you and I, sympathetic though we were, had the misfortune to 
 fall in love with the same girl until to-night!" 
 
 Charlie remained silent for a moment, knocking the long 
 ash off his cigar with his little finger. 
 
 "Ah ! so you did see her, then. Well, I confess that you are 
 about the last person I could have wished to meet me with 
 that girl. London is large enough to justify me in hoping 
 that none of my acquaintances, let alone my intimates, would 
 run across me under the circumstances. However, a total 
 absence of coincidences in this haphazard world would, after 
 all, be stranger than the least likely of accidents." 
 
 It was indeed typical of the man how soon the erstwhile 
 coach managed to resume the tone of ascendancy. 
 
 "The little I told you," he went on, "the shadowy suggestion 
 I then threw out, encompassed the broad facts. It was sim- 
 ply an astonishingly complete instance of personal likeness; 
 but you were able to-night to judge for yourself of what my 
 feelings must have been, my mind being filled with one par-
 
 Midnight Confidences. 91 
 
 ticular image, when I first came across the girl you saw me 
 with an hour ago." 
 
 Charles mused a while, to resume reflection : 
 
 "When I saw Maude Woldham, after a long interval, she 
 had grown from a little girl into the handsome woman who 
 has turned many heads since she bewitched you. I must say 
 that, for the first time, I understood the general infatuation, 
 and felt alarmed to find myself falling in the same way. I 
 realized one day that as long as I remained within the reach 
 of her influence I should do no good. I went away; but 
 somehow or other I could not shake off the impression after 
 all, even in the midst of the hardest work. And, with that 
 decision, which you are, I believe, pleased to admire in me, I 
 resolved never to return to Gilham more. That summer, 
 therefore, I spent my vacation on a boating trip from Oxford 
 to Maidenhead. Well, here is the story : One hot afternoon I 
 was silently sailing past those meadows below Cookham. On 
 the bank, within four yards of me, I suddenly saw her, as I 
 thought there she was, fast asleep among the buttercups, in 
 the shelter of the hedge. At the moment I thought it was an 
 hallucination. I let my craft run aground, and the grating of 
 the keel awoke the vision, who started up and looked at me, 
 blushing like a poppy. Then my sail entangled itself in some 
 overhanging bough of the hedge, and the stream turned my 
 boat round, so that I had to land. She was lovely you have 
 seen her, and know the original and I must suppose my mid- 
 summer madness was contagious. The accident sufficed for an 
 introduction, and that meeting by the water's edge was the 
 turning point of two lives." 
 
 "By all that is absurd, you have not gone and married her ?" 
 cried Lewis. 
 
 "No ; but it is nearly as bad," returned Charles, with a kind 
 of sneer ; "instead of letting that curious experience remain an 
 idyl, I allowed it to form the first canto of a long history, yet 
 to be concluded. Yes, the day is evidently past when I could 
 lecture you on the subject of foolishness. I willfully entangle 
 myself in the new meshes. The long and the short of it all is 
 that I never could make up my mind to give up that easy 
 prize. Haunted as I was by what I thought an impossible 
 phantasy, I hankered for its commonplace, but palpable, image 
 whose love had not cost me even an effort to win." 
 
 "A pretty kettle of fish!" ejaculated Lewis. "And who is 
 she?" 
 
 "The daughter of a comfortable hotel-keeper somewhere up 
 the river, and who, by the way, is apparently not at all recon- 
 ciled to the present state of affairs. Pretty for a college 
 Don!"
 
 92 Midnight Confidences. 
 
 "And how on earth can you ever get rid of this poor girl 
 now?" 
 
 "I hold it a wise axiom that says, 'As you make your bed, so 
 you lie.' As it is, well, it is not so bad. She is the handsomest 
 creature I know, one excepted, and devoted to me. When I 
 come down every week, tired out, I find a cheerful companion, 
 with no too exalted ideas to fret herself or me. There are un- 
 deniable advantages in such a state of things. She is perfectly 
 satisfied with matters as they are. Since I have chosen the 
 path, I make the most of my journey." 
 
 Lewis did not answer. He was certainly no precision in 
 matters of morality, but there was unmistakable disenchant- 
 ment in finding the friend he had been in the habit of looking 
 iip to as the archtype of intellectual refinement so cynical in 
 acknowledging a commonplace intrigue. 
 
 For a long time the pair remained in reflective silence. 
 
 Had Asmodeus, the Bottle Imp, been liberated in London 
 by some modern Don Cleofas, and alighted with him during 
 his discreet explorations on the roof of old Staples Inn. 
 that night, he might have thought it curious to bid his 
 companion look into the attic room, while, for his benefit, he 
 read the inner thoughts of the two men who alone were still 
 awake at that late hour. 
 
 "That slim, graceful figure you see there, lying his lazy 
 length in the armchair, the pale, romantic beauty of whose 
 face would seem lit as by an intense inner life, is at this mo- 
 ment brooding over some secret temptation. I can not tell 
 you, Don Cleofas, what his plans are, for they are only half 
 formed, and I can read but what is ; but his thoughts are full 
 of doubt and desire. 
 
 "As for the other, with the close-cropped brown head and 
 the unromantic breadth of shoulder, who is squatting on his 
 three-legged stool, with a short pipe hanging under his thick, 
 bristly mustache, and with his round eyes staring abstractedly 
 at his lamp, he is back again to memories, and far away from- 
 here. A winter scene in a Yorkshire glen, under a dark gray 
 sky; a small lake, imprisoned below smooth, black ice, sur- 
 rounded by silent pines, asleep and solemn under masses of 
 hoar-frost. A slender girl, freshly blossomed into maidenhood, 
 whose black velvet skirts, heavily furred, are swaying rhyth- 
 mically to and fro, revealing the daintiest foot as she skates 
 in long, entrancing sweeps beside him, her little hands im- 
 prisoned in his, while some rebellious locks of brown hair, 
 escaping from her fur cap, flutter ever and anon across his 
 face. Now she stops, panting and tired, and the breath from 
 her parted lips condenses in iridescent beads on her long eye-
 
 Midnight Confidences. 93 
 
 lashes. How he loves her loves her very shadow ! Can she 
 hear the sweet accompaniment playing in his heart to his occa- 
 sional impersonal remarks? 'How grand that slaty sky! and 
 that mysterious, silent wood, under the dazzling hoar ! Do you 
 not like to hear those crows calling to each other the news 
 from distant parts?' Witch as she is, fairy-like, surely she 
 hears his meaning rightly. 'How beautiful is the place where 
 you are, for I love you! Were you away, how desolate, de- 
 spairing this snow-laden sky, what a dirge of misery those 
 calls !' Would you hear more, Don Cleof as, of the youth's 
 love-sick fancies, or shall we flit further ?" 
 
 "Why don't you tell me something about Maude herself?" 
 suddenly asked Lewis, starting from his abstraction. 
 
 "About Maude Woldham ? What can I tell you about her ? 
 That she is still Maude Woldham, you know yourself, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 "Yes, I know that. But where is she? What has she been 
 about all these years? Or are you ashamed to talk of her?" 
 cried his companion, rather petulantly. 
 
 "Not at all, my dear fellow. She is now, I think, at Hom- 
 burg, combining fashionable amusement with a cure for her 
 aunt's nerves. As to her doings in general, what can I tell 
 you but that she has gone through the usual mill of girls 
 after they are brought to town to be presented ? Half a dozen 
 proposals, it appears. The legend is, that she does not want 
 to marry, on account of her old father. My opinion, how- 
 ever, is that the right man has not yet come forward." 
 
 Charles noted with a smile the effect of his last remark. 
 
 "I am sorry to see that you have not been cured. Is it pos- 
 sible you are still reckoning on a similar state of mind in 
 her?" 
 
 "What do you mean ?" 
 
 "I believe it is openly admitted that the girl was fond of 
 you, as the saying goes. But even if she were still the 
 same " 
 
 "Oh, I know your cynical talk about the folly of marriage." 
 
 "Well, perhaps I ought not to preach wisdom now, after the 
 confession which accident has forced from me. To cure this 
 monomania of sentiment, since more radical remedies are not 
 available, I should prescribe a little everyday, dragoon-like dis- 
 sipation. I think it would prove invaluable in your case." 
 
 "Oh, master !" interrupted Lewis, with a forced laugh ; "you 
 are skilled in disputation on moral sciences, but I fear your 
 utilitarianism obscures your appreciation of morals in life !" 
 
 "I am talking sense. But there is something better still, 
 when a man is as moonstruck as you seem to be; namely, to 
 seek a cure in alternatives, counter-irritants."
 
 Midnight Confidences. 
 
 "'In the company of some confiding inn-keeper's daughter, I 
 presume ?" put in Lewis, now thoroughly vexed. 
 
 "I own you have an argumentative weapon against me." 
 Then, abruptly changing the subject : "Now/' he said, "about 
 the news I had for you. It is really a fact that your return 
 is a simple coincidence, or have you heard about the Gilham 
 affairs ?" 
 
 "No ; what about Gilham ?" asked Lewis, his mind still run- 
 ning on ruffled thoughts. 
 
 "Why, this simply," said Charlie. "In March last Guy, the 
 youngest, you know, who was wounded in South Africa, died 
 on his way home. You know that, of course ? Well, about a 
 week ago the news arrived that Bob, the eldest, who was yacht- 
 ing with a friend in the Pacific somewhere, had a sunstroke, 
 and died in two days. But when I asked what had brought you 
 back, I thought you might have heard of it yourself. Now, do 
 you begin to understand ?" 
 
 "Great God !" cried Lewis, who, with undefined insight into 
 vast possibilities, sprang from his seat in great agitation. 
 
 "That is not all. By the by, where is that Post?" Charles 
 stepped across the room and took up the paper, which 
 he unfolded. "Hallo !" he cried, in astonishment ; "why, here 
 is the very thing itself marked out for you, and in red ink. 
 Who could have sent it '?" 
 
 Lewis eagerly seized the newspaper, and, with knitted brow, 
 sought for the marked paragraph : 
 
 "On the 16th inst., at Gilham Court, Yorks, suddenly, Wil- 
 liam Kerr, Esq., D. L., J. P., aged sixty-three." 
 
 "On the 1st of June, on board the yacht Daphne, Robert 
 William Kerr, eldest and only surviving son of the above, 
 from the effects of sunstroke, aged thirty-two." 
 
 Lewis looked up with wondering eyes. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Hillyard, in answer to the look; "the old 
 man himself had a fit on hearing the news, and is now lying 
 dead in his bed at Gilham. Now, you know the tenure of the 
 estate, no doubt. This is the news I had to give you." 
 
 Lewis stood staring at his friend. The latter examined him 
 anew with a strange smile. 
 
 "This is a kind of clearance which it would hardly do to con- 
 template, as a rule," he went on, dryly; "and yet how easily it 
 could have extended even further had your sturdy figure, for 
 instance, intercepted a Boerish bullet." 
 
 Lewis did not grasp the meaning in the midst of his giddi- 
 ness ; he was only beginning to realize all the news meant for 
 him: "Lewis Kerr of Gilham," a fortune, one of the finest 
 estates in the Riding; and then the old refrain came once
 
 Midnight Confidences. 95 
 
 more to the fore. Why, Maude could be mistress of Gilham ! 
 What a prospect open to a simple subaltern! 
 
 While the young man thus lost himself, Charles, taking 
 the paper, examined it wistfully, wondering whether there 
 was more to be seen in that unsolicited information. 
 
 "Have you any idea " he began, looking up from the 
 
 print. But Lewis suddenly grasped his hand. 
 
 "And you, too," he cried, in an altered voice "you, the 
 only one of the family who has been good to me wherever 
 my home is, yours must be, too, whenever you like to make 
 it so. Ah, no! poor old chap, you can't!" He already saw 
 Maude by his side, mistress of his house. "But, never mind, 
 you shall have a share in this stroke of luck, all the same." 
 
 "Stroke of luck!" laughed Charles, as he threw the paper 
 aside. "Is that all you have to say to this decimation of 
 your kindred ?" 
 
 "Oh, why pretend? They all hated me. The only inter- 
 course I ever had with any of them, but your own family, 
 was of the angry kind." 
 
 Charles remained a moment lost in thought. 
 
 "I suppose you are not thinking of going North with me 
 for it was Gilham, not Cambridge, I was bound for and in- 
 tended to do so when I met you." 
 
 "What do you think?" pondered Lewis; "I ought to go, 
 ought IT not ? Heaven knows I would willingly pay the poor 
 old man the last respects. I can bear him no grudge now 
 for all his discourtesy (to call it by no harder name) to me." 
 
 "Well, I don't know. Do you not think it might look 
 rather curious under the circumstances; as if you lost no 
 time to assert your position ? However, in this matter you 
 must use your own judgment." 
 
 "Oh ! if you think that, of course, I should not dream of it. 
 I rather want to be free just now, too." 
 
 "Of course, I must go. My sisters and I are his nearest 
 relatives after you; moreover, the old man has been rather 
 good to me. And it is time I took some rest, and I shall ask 
 you for that promised couch. You must be anxious, at least, 
 to ruminate over your new prospects." 
 
 In _ his present state, Lewis was glad enough to exert him- 
 self in mechanical labor, and, entering the adjoining room, 
 he became very busy in converting that cunning article of 
 furniture known as a settee bedstead into a bed for his 
 friend. 
 
 "There, I hope," he remarked, as he finally turned down 
 the cool sheets with the neatness he put into everything, 
 "you will find the needful rest. As for myself, I prefer this." 
 And he proceeded to unroll a wide canvas hammock, which
 
 96 Midnight Confidences. 
 
 he hooked diagonally across a corner of his small third apart- 
 ment, and arranged in it one of the pillows of the eettee and 
 covered it with a rug. 
 
 "Now we are taut for the night !" 
 
 "So you sleep in a hammock in the heart of London! you 
 lunatic you," laughed Charles. 
 
 "Judge not without experience," returned the host. "A 
 good hammock is a very nest for unfeathered bipeds." 
 
 "Well, why don't you get into it?" said the other, as his 
 friend prepared to leave the room. 
 
 "Oh, I could not sleep! I must go out and walk a while 
 and have a good think. Have you all you want? Yes? 
 Well, I shall not wake you when I come in." 
 
 For a long while, however, Charles heard his steps through 
 the open window on the flagstones, diminishing in the dis- 
 tance and returning regularly. Dawn had made way for 
 sunlight, and the busy hum of the thoroughfare was rising 
 up to the dormer windows before the noctambulist returned 
 to his suspended couch. 
 
 He stopped a moment to gaze at his friend, who, though 
 still awake, was feigning sleep. Then he proceeded to en- 
 sconse himself in his paragon hammock, to which he im- 
 parted for some time a soothing oscillatory motion. To 
 neither of them did restful sleep pay a visit, for all their eyes 
 were closed. But the thoughts and schemes that were re- 
 volving on the pillow of the couch would no doubt have 
 jarred considerably with the equally fleeting but more har- 
 monious plans and hopes which succeeded each other as dis- 
 solving views in the hammock. Both hailed the time for 
 rising, with pleasure. 
 
 After attending to his friend's comforts and seeing him 
 off, Lewis returned to his room with a sense of relief at being 
 alone, and fell into a deep reverie. 
 
 The meeting with his old chum, so long looked forward 
 to, had proved in some occult manner thoroughly disappoint- 
 ing. Had it not been that the new "squire's" head was so 
 filled with the strangeness of his unexpected position, he 
 would have been much troubled. As it was, however, he 
 could think of nothing but Maude. 
 
 In two days, perhaps, he would again hold that little hand 
 in his, look into the depths of those wondrous blue-gray eyes ; 
 at length pour into her woman's ear the endless tale of that 
 love she, as a little maid, had tacitly accepted. 
 
 Visions of youthful love only the few who have not early 
 squandered the freshness of life can realize their glory! 
 
 The fever of departure seized him. He again packed some 
 of the luggage he had so carefully unpacked the day before,
 
 " Qui Part Trop Tot Rivient Trop Tard." 97 
 
 sat down to write sundry directions to the family solicitor 
 and give his address as Homburg, Poste Kestante; dragged 
 his portmanteau down-stairs himself, and, after hasty in- 
 junctions to the astonished porter, jumped, into the first han- 
 som that passed before the gates. Not an hour later he was 
 steaming away from the turmoil of London, in search of the 
 lady of his thoughts. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "QUI PART TROP TOT REVIENT TROP TARD." 
 
 On his arrival at Homburg, thirty hours later, Lewis, after 
 a hasty toilet, sallied forth into the sunshine of the little 
 town. He did not wish to seek Maude at once; he felt too 
 much like a man in a dream, too confused after these long 
 hours of ceaseless thinking, to venture entering at once into 
 her presence. 
 
 Dreamily, he turned his steps toward the Kursaal Gar- 
 dens, whither all Homburg goes to listen to music. The 
 sky was tremulous with the light of the August sun; but 
 there was a sort of sparkle in the air which redeemed it from 
 oppressive heat. The band was playing a swinging waltz tune 
 as he came up under the shade of the linden trees, and took 
 a seat in the most secluded corner within view of the prom- 
 enade and its moving stream of young faces, fluttering mus- 
 lins and gay colors. In some strange way, the merriment had 
 an instaneously depressing effect upon him. His heart sank 
 like lead as he gazed from face to face. Oh, for the wide 
 horizon, the green, still fields of Woldham ! 
 
 And then the troubled heart gave a great leap. Not ten 
 paces away, her delicate head dominating the crowd of 
 smaller womankind, was she Maude, his love! 
 
 She was advancing with that free, well-poised gait he re- 
 membered so well. Under the shade of a wide straw hat the 
 pure oval of her face shone out a little palely, yet "divinely 
 fair." She came past, and the rays of her blue eyes illumined 
 the shady corner as she glanced in his direction. She did 
 not recognize him. How could she? he asked himself, to 
 stifle the unreasonable pang that sprang into life under the 
 gentle indifference of her look. 
 
 He would have known her anywhere; and yet how different! 
 The full-grown woman, in the warm richness of her young 
 and powerful life, in delicate loveliness of feature, was not 
 the thin and girlish being of his memories. And yet the
 
 98 " Qui Part Trop Tot Rivient Trop Tard." 
 
 face bore the old look. Thank heaven ! She was his Maude 
 still. 
 
 A little disdainful, she moved through the throng, suiting 
 her pace to the slow gait of the feeble woman who leaned on 
 her strong young arm. A heaven-blue Uhlan and a pink- 
 cheeked boy, English, every inch of him, were pressing after 
 her. The attention she vouchsafed them was so detached 
 and coldly courteous in its impartiality that even the watch- 
 ful lover could behold their proximity without heartburning. 
 
 And, with white drapery fluttering in the breeze that fanned 
 his face, she, all unconscious, stepped by. A great rush of 
 tenderness swelled his heart. Was such happiness to be for 
 him? 
 
 Four, years ago, when they had parted, under the enow- 
 bound sky, and she had slipped her little fingers, warm from 
 her muff, into his cold grasp, how frank and firm had been 
 their pressure, how they had quivered under his passionate 
 kisses! She had loved him then! But now? What right 
 had he to expect this child's love to have lasted ? 
 
 Madly as her exquisite womanhood set his heart a-beating, 
 he could wish to have her less beautiful; to him she must 
 ever have remained the only woman in the world. 
 
 Again she passed ; again the glamorous blue ray swept him 
 with unseeing sweetness. Poor fool! with his heart in his 
 throat, shaking now as if with palsy ! 
 
 The very ease with which the longed-for opportunity came 
 robbed him of all courage. For a few hours, at least, he 
 would hug his dream of bliss. 
 
 Before the burnished twist of hair, that flashed gold in the 
 sunlight, had been lost in the crowd, the music ceased. 
 Lewis rose from his seat to follow Maude to her residence, a 
 purpose he successfully accomplished without attracting at- 
 tention. He fell to reconnoitering the neighborhood, with a 
 view to engaging quarters in the immediate vicinity. He 
 had not far to seek; a minor hotel directly faced the more 
 pretentious building that sheltered his love, and therein he 
 straightway secured a front room. 
 
 The rest of the day and the long hours of the night he 
 passed in a kind of waking dream. 
 
 For night had descended, with a purple moonless sky; 
 odors of earth and leaf rose from the cooling soil. One by 
 one the noises ceased, the townlet was lulled to a restful 
 silence, broken toward midnight by a sudden brief exodus of 
 merry, bed-going groups, passing from the Kursaal under his 
 windows. 
 
 Half unconsciously Lewis noticed the solitary figure, of a
 
 " Qui Part Trop Tot Rivient Trop Tard." 99 
 
 traveler, who followed by a porter in charge of a much- 
 belabeled portmanteau, crossed over to the hotel opposite. 
 
 The stranger stood a moment on the steps before entering, 
 and, taking off his hat, turned as if to welcome the breeze 
 that stole fresh from the plains. It was a keen, grave face 
 in profile, sharply defined against the dark shadow of the 
 wall. 
 
 It was well that Lewis could catch no glimpse of the light 
 form that next slipped in so quickly, it had been sweet to 
 think of his darling safe in her virgin sanctuary. Yet it was 
 Maude who stood in the tiled hall of the hotel, watching with 
 wide-opened eyes, brilliant with surprised recognition, the 
 vigorous figure of the gray-clad traveler as he slowly followed 
 his portmanteau up the stairs. 
 
 And late into the night, by her open window she, too, sat 
 dreaming, so near and yet so far from the poor passion- 
 tossed watcher who could not sleep for very love of her. 
 
 At length, as the dawn of day crept over the heavens, Lewis 
 flung himself on his bed. But there could be no sleep for so 
 busy a brain; burning with fire of hope, chilled with present- 
 iment of evil. 
 
 Toward seven, when Homburg was already astir and abroad, 
 he was glad to rise once more; and though depressed, he 
 could not fail to be cheered by the beauty of the day that was 
 to make or mar him. With courage renewed, he bathed, 
 dressed, and drank his steaming coffee with a grateful sense 
 of invigoration. As he stopped on the doorstep, Maude her- 
 self, the very embodiment of summer sweetness and morning 
 freshness, came quickly out of the opposite house and turned 
 up the street. And then he thought that fortune meant to 
 favor him indeed. 
 
 Avoiding the fashionable throng the girl struck into a 
 solitary side-alley that led to the pine-woods, and Lewis, with 
 a leaping pulse, doubled his pace, and in a few strides had 
 overtaken her. 
 
 She did not know him; not even when he addressed her in 
 the old familiar way, and held out his eager hand. Her 
 first look of surprise changed to a wondering perplexity at 
 the sound of his voice, as if it struck some chord in memory, 
 but which aroused faint associations. He had to name him- 
 self. He had not forgotten her, changed as she was. And 
 then, at the easy warmth of her greeting, the growing pos- 
 sibility of that contingency he dared not contemplate came 
 upon him with misgiving. 
 
 "Lewis!" dropping her sunshade to stretch out both hands 
 to him; "actually, really you! Where do you spring from? 
 and what are you doing here? You have not come for the
 
 loo " Qui Part Trop Tot Rivient Trop Tard." 
 
 waters, surely?" This with a merry laugh. "Well, I am 
 heartily glad to see you. But how you have changed! I 
 never should have known you again." 
 
 Each sentence was emphasized by a shake of the hand; 
 not a change of color on the smooth cheeks nor the flutter of 
 an eyelid over the frank scrutiny of her gaze. No old com- 
 rade could have been more cheerful in his greeting. 
 
 Her careless, friendly self-abandonment, at a time when it 
 required all his power of control, under the touch of her 
 hands, filled him suddenly with a sort of anger. 
 
 "I am home on leave," he said at last, white to his tremb- 
 ling lips; "when I came to London, three days ago, I heard 
 you were here, and so I followed." 
 
 The girl gave him a quick, puzzled look; then the bright 
 smile wavered and faded ; she slowly drew her hands from his 
 grasp. 
 
 "Maude," he cried passionately ; "it is no use beating about 
 the bush. I must speak to you to-day." 
 
 "Dear Lewis," she answered in soothing tones, "of course I 
 will listen to you. What has happened ?" 
 
 It cut him to the heart to see the uncomprehending kind- 
 ness of her lovely face ; he could not speak, the words refused 
 to come. He could only look at her with his poor, hungry, 
 clenching hands and trembling as he stood before her. 
 
 For a minute she waited ; then, light seemed to break upon 
 her, and she flushed crimson. 
 
 "I think," she said very gently, rather as if in pain, "that 
 it may be best, Lewis, for both of us, that I should not listen 
 to what you have to say." 
 
 He knew thus, before she had spoken, what his fate was; 
 but he must speak the pent-up love. 
 
 "Maude, I have loved you since I first saw you. Surely 
 you knew it. You must have felt it. My only thought 
 since then has been of you. I dreamed of winning fame that 
 I might win you; I turned soldier that I might fight myself 
 to the front, achieve something for you. . . . Do you 
 remember when I last saw you ? Did you not know that I was 
 tearing myself away from the land where you lived, only to 
 make myself worthy of you ? I thought God help me ! 
 that if I were to do some brilliant deed for you, there might 
 be hope for me. I tried hard, but the fame I longed for falls 
 to the lot of those who command. I came home as obscure 
 as when I left but loving you, Maude, more madly than 
 ever ! When we parted at the gate four years ago, I told you 
 of my love, you answered nothing; but your sweet eyesl I 
 saw a light in them that has been my beacon, my guiding 
 star, ever since. I came home to seek from the woman the
 
 " Qui Part Trop Tot Rivient Trop Tard." 101 
 
 mute hope the child had not refused me, and then, with 
 fresh courage, to take up the battle of life again, to force 
 fate to make me worthy of you. If you were willing to 
 wait, I knew I must succeed in the end. On my return I 
 learned an overwhelming piece of news : I was rich, Maude 
 I was somebody at last; Gilham and all that great estate was 
 mine! My only joy in it was that it might be yours; I am 
 rich enough for my own wants. God forgive me! I was 
 mad with joy when I thought of you. I started that very 
 day to seek you, to lay it all at your feet ; what did I care for 
 it except for you? Maude, I must hear the words from 
 your lips; tell me yourself that I must kill that hope, grown 
 to become the very life of my life." 
 
 There were tears in her eyes. "Dear Lewis! it can never 
 be." 
 
 "At least you loved me then. Tell me, you loved me 
 then." 
 
 She hung her head, faltering: "What could such a child 
 know of love?" 
 
 For a second it seemed as if the earth gave way beneath 
 him. 
 
 A look, five minutes together on that sunny morning under 
 the trembling shadow of a white-faced aspen and it was 
 done. 
 
 "I am so grieved," came the soft, grave voice, once the 
 dearest sound on earth, now the most acutely painful. He 
 glanced down at her flushed face, at the tender mouth, drawn 
 down at the corners with the pitiful, helpless expression of a 
 scolded child, at the eyes brimming with grief, and thought 
 the cup of bitterness was full indeed, and that her compassion 
 he could not bear. 
 
 "Good-by, it is good-by, Maude. Do not fear that I shall 
 ever bring such trouble into your life again." 
 
 Mechanically he raised his hat, and, refusing to see her 
 timidly proffered hand, hurried away along the green avenue 
 that led to the pine-trees. Before his inward vision stretched 
 the prospect of an aimless life. How was he ever to have 
 courage to go on with it?
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "A TAVERN ACQUAINTANCE/' 
 
 Late in the evening of the same day, David Fargus and 
 Lewis Kerr well-intentioned hunter and unconscious quarry 
 distant from each other by some twenty paces only, were 
 strolling along the ill-condition pavement of a narrow wind- 
 ing street in the old university town of Heidelberg. 
 
 By dint of relentless inquiries, Fargus had discovered his 
 son's hurried flight from Homburg, and puzzled to account 
 for it, and upset in his calculations, started in pursuit. On 
 arrival at Heidelberg, after engaging a room at a hotel, he 
 straightway sallied forth again on his carefully arranged 
 plan of reconnoitering. It was his intention to make the 
 round of all places of entertainment, inquiring for a sup- 
 posititious English friend a device which he calculated 
 would secure him an inspection of the visitors' book. 
 
 At the very first halt, fortune had favored the amateur 
 detective. A talkative waiter suddenly pointed put through 
 the glass door a stalwart, tweed-clad figure rapidly passing 
 toward the street. 
 
 "This is the only gentleman who has come here to-day. 
 English, too, I will show you the book; you can see for your- 
 self the last entry Mr. Kerr, from Homburg." 
 
 And thus it happened that a few moments later, David 
 Fargus found himself dogging ,the erratic wanderings of 
 Lewis Kerr through devious by-lanes and up the High street. 
 
 It was a long and monotonous way, scantily lighted. 
 
 By-and-by Lewis, who up to that had walked aimlessly, 
 dived down a side-alley, Fargus, guided by a glimpse of the 
 broad back under the shine of a rare lamp, sometimes only 
 by the ring of the clean thread, roamed in pursuit, in and out 
 lanes through the labyrinth of the older quarter. 
 
 Then the footfalls abruptly ceased; there was the sound 
 of a swinging door. Hounding the corner, Fargus found 
 himself in an empty street, before an old-fashioned house. 
 
 This house was studiously "Gothic," ancient. Wrought- 
 iron work, grotesquely carved wood, gave it fantastic attrac- 
 tions ; a hinged signboard, proclaimed, by the light of a small 
 green lamp, in bristling, curveting black letters, that within 
 were "Old German" wine-rooms. 
 
 The laying out of a wine-room is the object of much at- 
 tention. The "Alt Deutsche Wein Stube," to be found in 
 almost every German town, is usually a place of moderate
 
 "A Tavern Acquaintance.** 
 
 dimensions for the consumers of the noble wine do not 
 come in throngs like the daily beer-swillers. 
 
 Fargus had come to a standstill, and now remained lost. 
 At last he made up his mind and plunged within the lighted 
 recesses. 
 
 In a far corner of a deserted room sat the object of his 
 pursuit. From the threshold Fargus looked keenly at him. 
 
 Square-headed, square-shouldered, bearing the stamp of his 
 nationality as unmistakably as the stamp of his profession, 
 the young man sat, gazing in gloomy abstraction at the am- 
 ber-filled goblet. He raised his head at the sound of the 
 opening door, and Fargus recognized, beyond hesitation the 
 original of the much-studied portrait. 
 
 With an inward start, the father met the gaze of two 
 somber yet brilliant eyes. How often had not the George 
 Kerr of old, during those last unhappy days of his existence, a 
 quarter century back, beheld just such another haggard young 
 face, whenever he had chanced to meet his own reflected image. 
 
 Maintaining his outward placidity Fargus silently sat at 
 the nearest table; watched, under cover of his shading hand, 
 each action of that scowling man who was his son. 
 
 Lewis tossed his glass, filled it again, and again emptied the 
 brimmer. Then he relapsed into his former heavy reflection. 
 
 Fargus felt a sharp pang of disappointment; the shaking 
 hand, the flushed face, and brooding eye were signs that he 
 had learned to read but too well. 
 
 Under the sting of that first impression he now thought of 
 abandoning this time the creature who had been his sole 
 thought for so many days, lest the knowing of him should 
 prove a bitterness. But there came to him a curious, un- 
 wonted emotion which warned him that Nature was deter- 
 mined to assert her rights, however late then the remem- 
 brance of all the information, collected with so much diffi- 
 culty, concerning his son's past, information which tallied 
 so ill with the dawning suspicion. 
 
 A few minutes of silent watching, and it did not require 
 his knowledge of physiognomy to discover here was no ordi- 
 nary case; some unusual agitation was at work behind the 
 young soldier's determined potations. 
 
 Lewis refilled and emptied his glass, and called out, in 
 German : 
 
 "Herr Wirth, another bottle of the same !" 
 
 There was fever in the yoxmg man's excited manner, and 
 Fargus began to feel a new solicitude. 
 
 "He is battling with some terrible thought. What can it 
 be? If I could help him ... if I only knew!" 
 
 The host bustled in upon his reflections, and, after placing
 
 104 U A Tavern Acquaintance." 
 
 the required flask and a dish of meat-^-evidently some pre- 
 vious order before Lewis, turned, smiling and apologetic, to 
 the late-comer and requested to know his pleasure. 
 
 Fargus seized upon this opportunity with beating heart. 
 
 "Forgive my troubling you," he said; "I fancy I am not 
 mistaken in taking you for an Englishman, and, as I hear 
 you speak the jargon, may I beg you to interpret me to this 
 fellow?" 
 
 Lewis looked up at the speaker, who, with his peaked beard 
 and the great scar across his face, did not at first sight look 
 like a countryman. But, falling under the spell of kind eyes 
 and a sympathetic smile, he suddenly recovered understanding 
 and courtesy, and rose to his feet likewise. 
 
 "Do you want supper, or merely wine?" he inquired. 
 "There is not much choice of the former in a place like this, 
 but the wine is good. Perhaps you will do me the favor to 
 taste this; you might like to have the same Herr Wirth, 
 another glass." 
 
 The pleasant, refined voice fell gratefuly on the father's 
 ear. 
 
 Accepting the offer, Fargus came and sat down at the same 
 table; the glasses were filled. 
 
 There was a desultory interchange of remarks on the qual- 
 ity of the beverage. Then a not unnatural silence fell be- 
 tween them. 
 
 Awakening to the fact that the ice so happily broken was 
 fast setting again, Fargus took a plunge. 
 
 Leaning forward and fixing the moody face across the table 
 with a look of unconscious but compelling earnestness: "I 
 hope you will forgive my intrusion," said he, "on your 
 privacy; but when I first saw you it struck me that I knew 
 your face, and now, on closer examination, I feel almost sure 
 I do. May I ask if I have the pleasure of speaking to Mr. 
 Lewis Kerr?" 
 
 Called from his far abstraction, Lewis seemed irritated, but 
 again became subject to some subtle, pleasing influence. At 
 the last words he turned round and surveyed his interlocutor 
 with curiosity. 
 
 "That is my name," he answered wonderingly. "But I 
 cannot remember ever having seen you before." 
 
 "You are right," said Fargus, with a smile; "but I was 
 looking at a portrait of you, and that quite lately." 
 
 "My portrait ? And where ?" 
 
 "At Woldham Hall." 
 
 The wound was yet too fresh to bear even so slight a touch. 
 It was a minute or two before he became aware that the 
 stranger was still speaking.
 
 "A Tavern Acquaintance." 105 
 
 "And so, as a two months' tenant of the Lone Grange, I 
 consider myself quite an old inhabitant. I knew your late 
 uncle slightly, and am a warm admirer of that fine old house, 
 the present master of which, I believe, I am now addressing." 
 
 Lewis winced. Once more Fargus racked his brain for a 
 solution, trying to ward off a dread of some hidden disgrace. 
 
 "He cannot bear the thought of his home or his old 
 friends! And yet how well they all spoke of the lad! the 
 General seemed to love him like a son." 
 
 "And so you know the Woldhams!" said Lewis abruptly. 
 "How curious ! Woldham Hall was as nearly a home as any 
 place has ever been to me; it is four years since I was there. 
 The general was very good to me. I suppose he is growing an 
 old man now?" 
 
 "It is a green old age; he looks good for many years to 
 come. His daughter is beautiful ; I hear she is at Homburg." 
 
 As he spoke these words the meaning of it all flashed upon 
 the father's mind. The surmises he had made regarding a 
 romantic attachment between the fair mistress of Woldham 
 and his son had been correct only as regarded the latter, and 
 the young dragoon had dashed in pursuit of his old sweetheart 
 only to be refused. 
 
 Thereupon ensued silence, this time a fairly protracted one. 
 
 The lad was hard hit, thought Fargus. No wonder the 
 thought of his splendid inheritance now brought nothing but 
 bitterness. "But luckily," urged the wisdom of yearsrand ex- 
 perience, "it will not last." 
 
 Soon Fargus found himself wondering, and with hot indig- 
 nation, what in the world that girl could mean by rejecting 
 his son manly, good-looking fellow as he was and next 
 there came a creeping satisfaction in the connected thought 
 that the all-absorbing interest of happy love was not to come 
 between the son and his unknown father at any rate, for a 
 little while yet. 
 
 Throwing all his will into the intensity of his desire, the 
 father made another determined effort. 
 
 "Our meeting to-night," he remarked, "in this quaint 
 tavern ancient, at least, in intention in the heart of a 
 seventeenth century town, and my recognition of you over a 
 glass of wine, might form a good opening chapter in a novel 
 of the old-fashioned school, might it not, Mr. Kerr? . . . 
 Of what thrilling events and adventures would not this occur- 
 rence be the starting point! In real life, who knows if we 
 shall ever look upon each other's face again ?" 
 
 Lewis turned his eyes toward his companion with a grate- 
 ful sense of restfulness upon the calm, kindly face before him; 
 but he did not speak.
 
 io6 " A Tavern Acquaintance.* 5 
 
 "Yet I am wrong," began his companion once more, with 
 quick perception of the young man's unconscious sympathy. 
 "We are destined to be neighbors for a goodly time to come, 
 and, I hope, destined to be friends. May I introduce myself to 
 my actual landlord over there in Yorkshire? for, strangely 
 enough, it is now your old manor-house of which I am the 
 tenant. David Fargus, citizen of Washington, in the United 
 State, at your service. Shall we not shake hands?" 
 
 Lewis extended his hand to find it quickly inclosed in a 
 warm, firm clasp and gently retained. 
 
 "Here is the birth of a new day," said Fargus, glancing 
 with a smile at the high clock, which now pointed to the 
 twelfth hour. He retained his son's hand till the last vibra- 
 tion of the twelve strokes had died away, and then, with a 
 half -laugh, released it. 
 
 The young man brushed his forehead with the gesture of 
 one awakening from a dream. 
 
 "A most extraordinary thing !" he murmured, staring at his 
 acquaintance with undisguised wonder. "While my hand 
 lay in yours I seemed to forget how dead tired I am and all 
 about this splitting head of mine, just as though you actually 
 mesmerized me. I had a puzzling sensation, too, as if it were 
 quite natural to have you there as if your touch and presence 
 were both familiar and pleasant. I am afraid I cannot boast 
 of being altogether in my sound sense to-night." 
 
 Stopping short to look more closely at the clean-cut profile 
 he cried suddenly : 
 
 "I have seen you before; yet I cannot think where. I know 
 now. It was last night ; you landed at the hotel at Homburg 
 you stood on the steps, thinking ; I saw you from my win- 
 dow in a little inn opposite only last night; it seems years 
 ago." 
 
 He felt overcome with great weariness. For three nights 
 no sleep had descended on his eyes ; now nervous strength was 
 failing. Fargus' strong, vigorous presence seemed to uphold 
 and master his mind. 
 
 "I am tired out, tired of life. I desire nothing but forget- 
 fulness. I tried to find it in wine; it was worse than all. 
 There is but one way to find it, that is in death." 
 
 Strange, thought the father, kind were the workings of fate 
 which had brought him to his son's side at such a moment. 
 Laying his hand on the other's wrist, he spoke gently but with 
 an earnestness born of his own keen sense of the danger of his, 
 utter mental breakdown. 
 
 "Kouse yourself ; I do not know what is on your mind, but 
 you have let yourself run down too low. Think. Tnere is 
 always plenty left to do in a young life, and ultimately to
 
 "A Tavern Acquaintance." 107 
 
 enjoy. Only cowards shrink from the battle's outset. With 
 a fair name, a good conscience, there is something worth liv- 
 ing for in every life you are exhausted. Eat." 
 
 The anxiety of the elder man's eye relaxed when he saw 
 Lewis draw his plate before him and obey. Tracing the po- 
 tency of his influence, as much to the young man's condition 
 as to his own singleness of thought, Fargus watched its 
 working with satisfaction. 
 
 When the last morsel was finished, the father, quietly prof- 
 fering a cigar carefully selected from his case, the young 
 man in the same obedient manner kindled the Havana at the 
 match that was struck for him. 
 
 The American followed suit, and there ensued a few mo- 
 ments of silence, in which both lay back in their chairs, 
 slowly inhaling and exhaling the fragrant smoke; Fargus 
 keenly watchful, under his half-closed lids, Lewis absorbed 
 in his new-found, dreamy placidity. 
 
 This pleasant state of things was soon disturbed. Bois- 
 terous laughter and a rattling of canes in the quiet street 
 heralded the appearance of three hilarious youths, students, 
 as their colors proclaimed, which gentry burst into the room 
 and began clattering with sticks on the nearest table. 
 
 The hellish clangor broke the spell which seemed to bind 
 Lewis's thoughts. 
 
 "I do believe that you did take me away from myself. I 
 seem to have been in a dream during which I see I have 
 contrived to make a very substantial supper. Was it not 
 you who ordered me to eat?" 
 
 "I suggested it; you required it. How do you feel now?" 
 
 "Better, thank you. Actually as if I could sleep to-night." 
 
 Here the laughter and witticisms round the table where 
 the cavaliers had settled became so uproarious, that unable 
 to hear himself speak, Fargus broke off in his talk and half- 
 turned on his chair to look severely at the delinquents. 
 
 "Where do these creatures, in caps so much too small for 
 their fat heads, come from?" he asked in a low voice, bend- 
 ing closer to his companion; "the University is not sitting 
 now." 
 
 "Students on a tour," said Lewis in the same tone. 
 
 "How absurd they look with their seamed faces and that 
 painful rotundity of figure!" He was about contemptuously 
 to turn his back upon the group, when he became aware that 
 its largest and most obtrusive member was now engaged in 
 staring at him with as much insolence as two excessively 
 heated eyes could convey, and paused to return the look with 
 placid disfavor. 
 
 "My dear sir," said Lewis, "allow me to entreat you to be-
 
 Io8 "A Tavern Acquaintance." 
 
 stow your attention elsewhere for the moment. Corps stu- 
 dents often make it a point of honor to be actively imperti- 
 nent to those outside their order, on the slenderest pretext." 
 
 As he spoke, silence fell on the couleur-party, all three of 
 which looked solemnly toward Fargus; then the first berib- 
 boned individual rose, with unsteady dignity, and came for- 
 ward. He stopped within a pace of the Englishman's table, 
 closed his high heels with a bellicose tap. "Sir," he said in 
 German, "why did you fix me ? I cannot allow you to do so 1" 
 
 The admirable correction of this challenge was lost upon 
 Fargus, who had to address himself to Lewis for interpreta- 
 tion. 
 
 "What does this gentleman say?" 
 
 "Oh," cried Lewis hurriedly, anxious to gloss things over, 
 "he wants to know what you are looking at him for. It is 
 part of their system to resent being 'fixed,' as they call it. 
 Mein Herr," he continued, making a slight bow to the corps- 
 man, "this gentleman is a stranger, and speaks no German. 
 He did not intend to fix you, but regarded your party with a 
 traveler's curiosity." And, bowing again, he sat down, in 
 hopes of having concluded the episode. 
 
 "Very well, sir; tell him, then, not to look at us again." 
 
 "That I shall not do!" retorted Lewis, stung to anger. 
 "What the devil do you mean by offering such impertinence 
 to strangers guests in your land?" 
 
 The Bursch wheeled round, and petrified himself into an 
 attitude of the most rigid dignity. 
 
 "Silly youth, I must trouble you for your card." 
 
 Lewis pulled out his pocket-book and tossed a card on the 
 table; the German became preposterously courteous. He 
 took the card with much apparent satisfaction, touched his 
 cap, first to one, then to the other, and swaggered back to 
 his companions, who had looked on in solemn approval. 
 
 Though unable to understand a word, Fargus could not 
 misinterpret the student's tones, nor the anger with which 
 Lewis had flung his card down. 
 
 "What is the meaning of all this? You are not going to 
 take a challenge from that sodden fool?" 
 
 "If he is not too drunk to forget all about it, it is prob- 
 able he will send some one in the morning to request the 
 honor of a fight with me." 
 
 There was a long silence. Lewis yawned and leaned again 
 on the table. "If I could only sleep to-night, the chance of 
 meeting the great Amadis would tempt me to get up again." 
 
 The students retired almost immediately. 
 
 Fargus resolved to see his boy back to his room, and en-
 
 The " Comment " of Honor. 109 
 
 deavor, without seeming indiscreet, to induce him to lie*down 
 to rest. 
 
 When once more left to themselves, he laid his hand on 
 the young man's shoulder. 
 
 "Come, it is time for you to have some sleep. Where are 
 you stopping?" 
 
 "Where am I stopping? Where? I forget; I will sleep 
 here." 
 
 And stretching his arm forward, laid his head on the table. 
 
 Fargus quickly made up his mind. He called the landlord, 
 and naming his hotel, made it understood he required a guide 
 thither. 
 
 Lewis got up when Fargus took him under the arm. The 
 hotel soon appeared in sight, when the American dismissed 
 his guide and hurried his stumbling charge into its shelter. 
 
 CHAPTF^l IX. 
 THE "COMMENT" OF HONOR. 
 
 Disdaining the grin of the night-porter, Fargus conveyed 
 the young man to his own quarters. 
 
 He locked the door, perceiving an adjoining bed-room was 
 vacant, and resolved to usurp it for himself, abandoning his 
 own bed to his son. 
 
 As for Lewis, with a few words of thanks, he flung himself 
 on the couch. 
 
 The elder man stood gazing at him, immersed in thought. 
 
 In the relaxation of sleep the young frame looked broad 
 and powerful. With head thrown back the muscular 
 column of his throat showed, deeply sunburned. His arms 
 were folded above his head; this Fargus noted, for it had 
 been a habit of his own youthful days. 
 
 He caught himself sighing, and at length roused himself 
 from his contemplation, to bend over the reclining form and 
 loosen the collar and tie, unlace and pull off the boots. Then 
 he carefully covered the sleeper, drew the blind and curtains, 
 and after one last look at his son, retired to the next room 
 and closed the door. 
 
 The sun had crossed the meridian before Lewis awoke. 
 
 He lay still, enjoying the sensation of lazy well-being in 
 every limb. Then a curious sensation of unfamiliarity with 
 his circumstances began to wax disturbingly; and presently 
 there was the shock of the discovery that he had gone to bed 
 in his clothes.
 
 no The "Comment" of Honor. 
 
 He sat up, bewildered, struggling to piece together the con- 
 fused scraps of last night's proceedings. It was in vain he 
 strove ; he could not recollect how he had gone to bed. 
 
 "Confound it!" cried Lewis aloud, tossed petulantly back 
 his covering, and curved his long legs over the side of the bed, 
 in which position a knock at the door arrested him. 
 
 "Come in," cried he. It was the stranger of last night who 
 stood on the threshold of the adjoining room, and smiled upon 
 him with that odd gaze which had bewitched him in the 
 tavern. 
 
 "Well, and how do you feel after sleeping the round of the 
 clock?" just as if it were all the most natural thing in, the 
 world. 
 
 Lewis stared hard, and then rubbed his eyes. 
 
 "What are you doing in my room ?" was a counter-question 
 that not unnaturally rose to his lips. But almost at the same 
 time his irritated glance fell, and, when he spoke, the words 
 came forth wonderfully modified, almost apologetic. "May I 
 ask why you are here, what you are doing in my room ? I beg 
 your pardon," blundered he, abashed all at once, and with a 
 confused, humiliated consciousness of the contrast between 
 his own unkempt condition and the perfect appointments of 
 his visitor. "I have the vaguest recollection of what took 
 place last night I do remember meeting you. I hope I had 
 not too much wine on board ?" 
 
 "It was not so much a case of too much wine, as of too 
 little food, I should say, and over-fatigue," answered Fargus 
 kindly. "Perhaps, also, too much worry in your head." 
 
 At this allusion the black cloud settled back on Lewis' face. 
 
 The father, turning to draw the curtains and admit the 
 warm sunlight of a perfect day, went on easily: 
 
 "Pardon me for coming in upon you in this manner; I 
 heard you move first, and call, I thought. I should not have 
 disturbed that good long sleep of yours. But I must tell you 
 that this is not really your room, nor even your hotel. You 
 were too sleepy last night to remember where you lodged, and 
 so I took it upon myself to bring you back with me." 
 
 The young man flushed scarlet. 
 
 "Was I so bad as all that ?" he asked quickly, and looked so 
 aghast that the elder man's heart went out to him. 
 
 "No, my dear fellow," he answered, gently. "Some people 
 might have put it down to wine ; but I knew better." 
 
 Lewis fixed his eyes on the speaker, who returned his gaze 
 with one of benevolent amusement, through which the young 
 man felt an earnest scrutiny which puzzled and embarrassed 
 him. 
 
 "It was really good of you," he said at length "devilish
 
 good of you!" with a sudden appreciation of his obligation. 
 "I have been trying, ever since I awoke this morning, to re- 
 member how I got home. I had no idea I was trespassing 
 upon your kindness. I don't know why you took the trouble." 
 "More surprised would you be if you did!" thought the 
 father, while aloud he genially remarked: 
 
 "Any one would have rendered you the same service. I was 
 very glad to be of use to you. And now may I beg you to 
 make use of my traps, exactly as you please. You will find 
 no razors, but I daresay they can provide you with some sort 
 of implement in the hotel; and as to other things, the con- 
 tents of ray portmanteau are at your service. Seeing you 
 have unwittingly partaken of my hospitality, will you give 
 me the pleasure of extending it at least until after the 
 luncheon I have just ordered?" 
 
 Lewis hesitated, then eagerly accepted anything to hush, 
 for the moment, the clamor of his pain. 
 
 "You will find me on the terrace," added Fargus. 
 
 Half an hour later they were once more seated opposite 
 each other on the creeper-hung terrace, some savory dishes 
 and a long bottle of Rhenish between them. 
 
 Lewis would have been other than human not to feel cheered 
 by the influence of these material things, no less than by his 
 entertainer's extraordinary gift of pleasant conversation. 
 
 The crusty bottle was near emptied.. Lewis suddenly re- 
 alized that he and this man of many travels and experiences, 
 soldier at least in knowledge, and sportsman unmistakable, 
 were old friends already, and that he did not even know his 
 name. 
 
 His growing attraction toward this strange being, and his 
 simultaneously growing curiosity, prompted him now to 
 frankly admit his ignorance and beg enlightenment. 
 
 "I should so much like to^ know your name," he said 
 naively. 
 
 "Fargus David Fargus," answered the latter, smiling. 
 
 "A proud name for an American to bear," cried the young 
 soldier, who was an eager student of military 'history. "Are 
 you any relation of the famous Colonel Fargus?" 
 
 There was a moment's pause. Lewis looked up, to see the 
 stranger's face flush darkly under its bronze, the immense scar 
 on his forehead standing out lividly against the tide of 
 generous blood. 
 
 "Why, good Heavens!" exclaimed the young man, with 
 lightning intuition, "I believe you are the very man him- 
 self!" 
 
 For the first time in his life Fargus felt an exquisite 
 pleasure in his fame. Hitherto he had accepted its ad-
 
 The " Comment f) of Honor. 
 
 vantages as his due. Now he was tasting all the satisfac- 
 tion it is capable of giving. When he spoke his smile was 
 very sweet. 
 
 "So you have found the old soldier out. I had hardly 
 thought a young blood like you would even know of such 
 ancient history. Yes, it was a curious time, one that brought 
 to the fore any man with capacity for the art of war. You 
 have seen service, too, if I am not mistaken ?" 
 
 "I was in Afghanistan, and also through that unsavory 
 Boer business; the latter not one we English like to talk much 
 about," answered Lewis briefly, taken aback to find the tables 
 turned upon him. "And is this your first visit to Europe, 
 sir?" with a pretty, unconscious lapse into the subaltern 
 fashion of address to soldiers of standing. 
 
 "No," answered Fargus, "I am an old traveler in the Old 
 World as well as the New. My impression of Heidelberg, 
 for instance, will, no doubt, be limited; nevertheless a pict- 
 uresque, withal a pleasant one. A remembrance of a tavern 
 scene, very full of light and shade; of a young Englishman, 
 immersed in thought, seeking rest and oblivion in the com- 
 panionship of some excellent Steinberger; three highly ob- 
 jectionable roysterers have you forgotten them? on whom 
 the noble wine seemed to have had a very different influence, 
 produce a bit of local color in the shape of a challenge, of 
 which I fear I am the unwitting cause. So much for the 
 picturesque. Next the remembrance of an excellent lunch 
 under the veranda of a hotel, the name of which I shall prob- 
 ably forget, in the congenial company of my new acquaint- 
 ance. A pleasant picture to remember, and especially to sit in ! 
 Will you take another cup? Here is one of last night's 
 cigars." 
 
 Lewis, every moment sinking more under the charm of his 
 host's geniality, gazed with admiration. 
 
 He was growing talkative himself when their tete-a-tete 
 was abruptly disturbed. 
 
 A waiter came up with a rather dirty card, and asked 
 whether this was the gentleman's name? "For," said he, 
 "two Herren Studenten were without and anxious to see the 
 gentleman." 
 
 Lewis recognized his own card. Throwing it back on the 
 salver, "Yes, that is my name. Show the gentlemen to a 
 private room, and say I shall attend to them. How silly of 
 me to give them my card!" 
 
 "So they have really come with the challenge," said Fargus. 
 "You are not going to take it up ?" 
 
 "If I had not given them my card, T certainly should not 
 trouble myself much about the fellows."
 
 The "Comment" of Honor. 113 
 
 ^ "It is absurd. And it further appears to me that I am the 
 right person to speak to these youths." 
 
 "Oh, I have not the slightest doubt that you could be ac- 
 commodated with a duel also! Such creatures are simply 
 insatiable of honorable quarrels. And, by the way, I should 
 not wonder if it was the appearance of that ecar on your 
 face, sir, which made them think of you as a person addicted 
 to that sort of amusement. But, even were you to dream 
 of favoring them in that preposterous manner, you must not 
 think that it would release me from my liability; the chal- 
 lenge was addressed to me personally." 
 
 There was a fairly long pause. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Fargus, suddenly bending forward to 
 smile into the thoughtful eyes. 
 
 Lewis laughed, but with a slight embarrassment. I am 
 almost prompted to ask you for another favor." 
 
 "If it is feasible, it is done," was the simple answer. 
 
 "It is a favor which, among Englishmen, one would hesi- 
 tate to ask of one's best and oldest friend. It would take me 
 out of a fix if you had no objection to be my second." 
 
 "Why, of course; and I shall have the pleasure of seeing 
 you chastise the fellow, I hope." 
 
 They both laughed, Lewis with a rising spirit and a certain 
 pleasurable excitement. 
 
 "That is wonderfully good of you. These students would 
 be proud if they knew who it was that condescends so far to 
 patronize their tinsel chivalry. I shall not betray your in- 
 cognito, of course, but mean nevertheless to be worthy of my 
 second. And now," said the young man gayly, "I must go 
 and interview the gentlemen. Would you care to be present ?" 
 
 Fargus emptied his glass and followed in silence. 
 
 When they entered the private room the two Germans rose 
 solemnly, and the ceremonial began. 
 
 After the exchange of bows, precise on the German side, 
 sketchy on the English, Fargus sat down and surveyed the 
 scene with critical eyes. Lewis, with his hands behind his 
 back, leaned against the high china-stove and waited. 
 
 One of the visitors, who would have been handsome under 
 rational conditions of life, whose features were almost ob- 
 literated by the white puffiness and the interlacing scars 
 which proclaimed to the world his untiring devotion to beer 
 and honor laws, advanced, halted, closed his heels, braced his 
 knees, made another bow, and observed : 
 
 "Herr Kerr, of the English army? Lieutenant, I pre- 
 sume?" 
 
 Lewis nodded assent. 
 
 "Herr Lieutenant, I have the honor to introduce myself:
 
 H4 The "Comment" of Honor, 
 
 Karl von Ploss." He placed a card on the table, whereupon 
 ensued a third exchange of bows. "I have also the honor to 
 present my companion, Herr Ulrich Meyerhoffer, candidat 
 philosoph." 
 
 The philosophical candidate, a square, squat individual, 
 came forward and likewise saluted. 
 
 Then proceedings came to a standstill; the two academic 
 persons looked in the direction of the sofa, and Lewis recol- 
 lected himself. 
 
 "Mr. ah Ferguson?" with an inquiring glance which 
 Fargus returned acceptingly. "Allow me to introduce Herr 
 von Plb'ss and Herr Meyerhoffer. Meine Herren, I present 
 Mr. Ferguson, my friend. Now we ought to know each 
 other," he went on in English, with an irrepressible boyish 
 wink. 
 
 "Herr Lieutenant," said the first student, with increased 
 severity, "we are sent by Herr Graf von Lb'wenstein to ask 
 whether you will revoke the expressions you made use of when 
 addressing him last night." 
 
 "Indeed!" returned Lewis, affecting surprise. "Is that 
 all ? You may tell Graf von Lb'wenstein that I will do noth- 
 ing of the kind." 
 
 The German bowed again. 
 
 "When and how will it then please you to meet the Count? 
 We are only passing through the town." 
 
 "As I, too, am only a visitor here, I should say the sooner 
 the better. Shall it be to-morrow morning. But since I am 
 willing so far to honor Count von Lowenstein as to meet him 
 on account of his own unwarrantable behavior last night, I 
 shall insist on two or three conditions. As the challenged 
 party and as a stranger on your land, I have the right to 
 stipulate my own convenience." 
 
 The student, rather taken aback, acquiesced. 
 
 "Being a soldier and not a corps-student, I take no pride 
 in scars cheaply earned on the Mensur," with an unequivocal 
 glance at his interlocutor's scarred and furrowed countenace. 
 "I, therefore, decline to fight with scratching rapiers and in 
 mattresses." 
 
 Herr von Ploss flushed violently to the roots of his pale, 
 plastered hair. "What do you say to sabers, then ?" trying to 
 hide his anger under a sneer. "Officers, even English, can 
 have no objection to using their swords." 
 
 "Sabers, by all means," retorted Lewis, with great delibera- 
 tion; "I have not the slightest objection to meeting your 
 principal with them without active seconds, of course. I 
 have one more condition to make: your side must undertake 
 the management of every detail concerning the encounter.
 
 The " Comment" of Honor. 115 
 
 You are experts in such matters, while my only friend here is, 
 like me, a stranger." 
 
 The ambassadors retired to a corner for a rapid consulta- 
 tion, exercised in their minds to find a mannerless outlander 
 ready in matters of honorable difference. "Nil admirari" 
 is one of the canons of gentlemanly behavior in their order, 
 and they allowed no word or look to betray their feelings. 
 
 Lewis exchanged a friendly look with Fargus, who ap- 
 preciated the authoritative manner in which his son had as- 
 sumed the conduct of affairs. 
 
 "You seem to be as much at home in German disputations 
 as these fellows," he remarked; "how do you know the lan- 
 guage so well?" 
 
 "I spent two Semesters here during my undergraduate 
 days, and have kept it up with a view to the Staff College." 
 
 "Herr Lieutenant, we have agreed, unless you should have 
 objection, that the duel shall take place in a certain inclosed 
 field behind the Philosopher's Walk. You know the Philo- 
 sophen Weg?" 
 
 "I do," said Lewis shortly. 
 
 "We will bring the necessary attendants and the doctor. 
 I am Graf von Lowenstein's second. Herr Meyerhoffer is 
 umpire. Yonder gentleman is to be your second. Is this 
 understood ?" 
 
 "Quite," replied the Englishman, and the deputation with- 
 drew. 
 
 "Is not this idiotic?" laughed Lewis. "Can you conceive 
 how level-headed people like the Germans cannot only toler- 
 ate, but be proud of, the peculiar ethics of the corps-student ? 
 For if one broaches the subject of the 'Duell' with them, 
 they have scores of reasons in its favor." 
 
 "It seems to me," returned Fargus, "that the chief result 
 of that tender solicitude for their honor is to turn your corps- 
 student into a highly objectionable rowdy." 
 
 "Oh, I must admit you have seen a bad specimen. Most 
 corps-students are gentlemen." 
 
 "You have had no practical experience? Are you any- 
 thing of a swordsman?" asked Fargus. 
 
 "I am reckoned rather good at that," replied the young 
 man. "Our last colonel ranked sword exercise next only to 
 riding in importance. I have had some practice also in Ger- 
 man play. I think it would not be amiss were I to put my 
 hand in again. Have you a mind to walk with me as far as 
 the fencing-room?" 
 
 There was no trace of last night's depression left on Lewis. 
 Fargus felt almost disposed to rejoice at a cause which had pro- 
 duced such results.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "ALT HEIDELBERG, DU FEINE, DU STADT AN EHRE REICH." 
 
 "You are a good swordsman. I am glad of that," repeated 
 Fargus, musingly. "How do you come to be a fencer ? Most 
 of your countrymen now look upon scientific fencing as aii 
 un-English pursuit." 
 
 "That is a John Bullish idea which is fast disappearing 
 from the army. In olden days we had the best broadswords- 
 men in Europe. With me sword-play of every description 
 has always been a special taste; I began to cultivate the 
 science at the early age of twelve. I was brought up by my 
 Spanish grandparents, partly at Seville, where I was born, 
 partly in an old, very dilapidated family place they had, near 
 Ronda a sort of half castle, half farm, where we used to 
 pass the summer. There was a large loft in one of the towers, 
 where old rusty odds and ends of arms and armor and torn 
 books were stuffed away a favorite haunt of mine, whither 
 one day my grandfather traced me unawares, to find me prac- 
 ticing by myself. It seems he watched me with delight, as I 
 pinked and hacked the back of a fine old Cordova leather 
 arm-chair in the true orthodox style. The old man was so 
 pleased with what he considered an innate taste for gentle- 
 manly accomplishments that he engaged a man from Seville 
 to give me lessons. Dear old unsophisticated grandfather!" 
 Lewis continued. "He little thought what a deal of trouble 
 it would give me, in after days, to unlearn all the antiquated 
 passes and tricks. It was the same with my riding. It was 
 old General Woldham who initiated me to the easy comfort 
 to man and beast of a hunting-seat. Good old soul ! he was 
 much kinder to me than my ovm kin !" 
 
 "I liked what I saw of him," said Fargus. He had been 
 greedily taking in every word which unveiled his son's past, 
 and his pleasure in him grew as he listened ; but it was almost 
 with a sense of jealousy that he heard of all those who had 
 taken the father's place, and among whom was divided that 
 gratitude which might have been centered on him. 
 
 "Please forgive my garrulity," cried Lewis, with a quick 
 blush. "You should not have let me go on prosing about 
 myself. Here is the University Fencing School. I hope this 
 does not bore you." 
 
 "I have neither found you garrulous nor tiresome," re- 
 sponded Fargus warmly; "and I am prepared to derive much
 
 "Alt Heidelberg." 117 
 
 interest in watching you wield the saber. Do you lead the 
 way." 
 
 Being vacation-time, the Fechtboden seemed deserted. 
 There was none of that busy uproar of clinking, rasping 
 blades in opposition, of thuds loudly sounding on padded 
 arms, of monotonous commands, varied at intervals by high- 
 pitched words of encouragement or objurgation; which in 
 term-time proclaims academical activity. 
 
 Lewis rang, and sent his card to summon the master. 
 
 This jovial personage, to while away the hours, had evidently 
 been solacing himself, in the company of congenial spirits, 
 with a deep after-dinner draught of Bavarian, made his ap- 
 pearance in his shirt-sleeves. 
 
 The man of the sword at once recognized an old pupil, of 
 many years back, and was much delighted, from a professional 
 and artistic point of view, when he learned the immediate 
 cause of the call. 
 
 He introduced the visitors into a large room, the vaulted 
 ceiling of which was supported by pillars. 
 
 "Well, Herr Kerr," cried the master, after suiting his vis- 
 itor with saber, arm-guard and helmet, "I hope you have not 
 quite forgotten our old lessons in echt Deutsch fighting. 
 Now, take your measure; on guard good; straighten your 
 arm and brace your knee more good ; and now beware of the 
 Manchette. 
 
 "Remember, Herr Kerr, that, among us, the dictates of 
 manly honor prohibit any retreating; the left foot remains 
 firm, as by the measure. Cut, parry, or countertime if you 
 like, redouble, always give and take; but never stop, hesitate, 
 fall back, or retire the body, after your foreign custom. That 
 is not correct here. Now straight the arm, brace the knee, 
 hard with the thumb. And, Herr Kerr, remember the Man- 
 chette." 
 
 A flicking cut over the young man's guard, which sounded 
 grimly on the gauntlet, emphasized the caution. 
 
 Fargus watched with satisfaction. Lewis' play was sharp, 
 decisive, and neat severe, as one conversant with the schools 
 would have called it and he was in fair condition; the mas- 
 ter, on the other hand, although naturally superior in point 
 of hits, breathed stertorously after ten minutes' play, and per- 
 spired to confusion. 
 
 "You must also beware of lunging too wide, worthy sir," he 
 remarked, coming with evident relief to a standstill, and mop- 
 ping his good-humored face ; "you might find it dangerous on 
 the grass. When is it to be; with whom? You know," he 
 added, "with one of the profession such things are honorably 
 safe."
 
 xx8 " Alt Heidelberg.'* 
 
 At the mention of the name, however, the jovial lanista was 
 unable to suppress a whistling ejaculation, and a transient 
 look of concern shadowed his rubicund visage. 
 
 "Graf von Lowenstein, of Munich! Donnerwetter, Herr 
 Kerr, for your first du^l you have found a right doughty oppon- 
 ent! Well, you must not tire your arm. This will suffice 
 for to-day. You will do; you have improved since you used 
 to come here. Now, my last counsel: keep your hand warm 
 before coming on the ground ; a thick glove, for instance, will 
 keep your wrist subtle such details have decided the fate of 
 many an encounter." 
 
 "What do you think of the Krummer Sabel, as a sport?" 
 inquired Lewis of the Colonel. 
 
 "I know so little about it. We in America trust more to 
 lead than to steel. All this appeared very scientific; but it 
 seems to me that a young man should make more use of his 
 legs." 
 
 "That is the very essence of the edit Deutsch play every 
 cut is to be stopped with the blade. Here they look upon all 
 dodging and springing as derogatory to a gentleman." 
 
 "A likely explanation," said Fargus, smiling; "though it 
 seems rather absurd that people who are not walking beer- 
 barrels should be expected to forego their natural advantages. 
 At this well-regulated game there is little danger of severe 
 cuts." 
 
 "Oh, the German saber can wound with quite sufficient 
 severity, as we shall perhaps see to-morrow. And this re- 
 minds me that the authorities, although they wink at the 
 Mensur in a way almost equivalent to licensing, punish all 
 other forms of duelling with fortress imprisonment, when they 
 can lay their hands on the actors." 
 
 Fargus strove to conceal his concern. The expression of 
 the master's face, his ejaculation on hearing the name of the 
 adversary, haunted him. 
 
 "They would not imprison a stranger, challenged by a 
 native !" 
 
 "I rather fancy they would, and be only too delighted to get 
 the chance. This reminds me, that since you are so good as 
 to stand by me, it would be better to make your preparations 
 for leaving early to-morrow. These people recognize no dis- 
 tinction between seconds and principals. I should have told 
 you of this sooner. Did you contemplate stopping long ?" 
 
 "No ; I am as free as possible, and have not the least anxiety 
 as regards the fortress business for myself, that is ; but what 
 if you should be wounded?" 
 
 "There is little about my pocketing something in the scrim- 
 mage. If there is a redeeming point in this whole foolery it
 
 "Alt Heidelberg." 119 
 
 is the unflinching pluck of the corpsmen. They will do their 
 best to keep everything secret, for their own sakes ; and I have 
 no fear but that I can either be hidden up somewhere, or able 
 to make 'tracks.' I shall get ready to be off early to-morrow; 
 my business and I have to return to England." 
 
 "Listen, my young friend," said Fargus, after a moment's 
 silence. "I am sorry, now, to have countenanced the affair; 
 if you will allow me, I shall not leave you till you are through 
 it. Meanwhile, you had better make my hotel your head- 
 quarters." 
 
 "I shall be very glad," said Lewis, "and am much obliged 
 for your kindness. Now, what shall we do walk about?" 
 
 "Anywhere you like," answered the American. "I shall 
 enjoy the stroll in your company. I should congratulate my- 
 self on our chance meeting, did I not feel I have been the 
 cause of bringing this unpleasant affair upon you !" 
 
 Lewis walked on in silence ; then, with some hesitation : 
 
 "I am nothing if not indebted to you, Colonel. Should 
 matters prove serious though it would be affectation to inti- 
 mate that there is any great danger of that I should still have 
 reason to be glad of your appearance. I believe you have 
 saved me from what would have been far worse. Owing to 
 the utter destruction of hopes I had cherished for years, I felt 
 last night as if the springs of my life were broken. The 
 thought of self-destruction was gaining the mastery over me. 
 Your company did me good. Though, naturally, at the time 
 I should have preferred being alone, it was a very black spell 
 that you broke." 
 
 Fargus' mind wandered back to the old days,, when he, too, 
 had known the grim fascination. 
 
 "I would not presume to moralize," he said ; "but I am glad 
 the spell is broken. Never allow yoursslf to become familiar 
 with the demon of self-destruction." 
 
 "Never fear. Indeed, I feel now quite ashamed of my 
 mawkishness. I have no mind to desert my post in this 
 world," he suggested, changing the subject ; "shall we turn in 
 this direction?" And he led his companion along a narrow 
 lane which wound its abrupt, pebble-paved way up the flank 
 of the Castle hill. "This town is full of reminiscences for 
 me." 
 
 Fargus assented willingly. Little conversation was at- 
 tempted until they reached the terrace gardens of a well- 
 known tavern. 
 
 There for a time, standing by the parapet, he seemed lost 
 in the contemplation of the smiling panorama shimmering in 
 the hot, sunny air beneath him. The gray-brown roofs of 
 Heidelberg spread in length between the hillside and the
 
 120 "Alt Heidelberg." 
 
 strand where the Neckar lazily rolled its yellow course, with 
 now and then a mild foaming over shallows or weirs. Be- 
 yond, the mellowing vineyards to the south merged into the 
 pine-clad slopes. 
 
 "It is strange," he said, sitting down on the corner of a 
 table under a tree, and still looking wistfully out across the 
 land, "to see so little change in the old scenes, when we have 
 changed so much." 
 
 "Dear me !" said Fargus, sitting down in his turn, as, with 
 a flourish, the waitress placed on the table before them two 
 tall glasses of amber beer brimming over, "have you changed 
 so much since your student days ? How long ago may it be ?" 
 
 "It is seven years since I sat in this very place, not a very 
 long time, but the cycle required, as the physiologist tells us, 
 to renovate every atom of man's physical being. And it seems 
 to be much the same with the mind," he added. 
 
 "You talk like an old man," put in Fargus, willing to humor 
 his companion in a vein most likely to lead to personal mat- 
 ters. 
 
 "I do not know. It seems to me that the final change, 
 which really constitutes old age, is one of indifference, that 
 with it comes a greater state of serenity a soothing sense 
 that the battle of life, whether lost or won, is over that the 
 days of eagerness are too remote even to be regretted." 
 
 He drank half the contents of his frothy beaker, and con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "This is good. I saw you smile indulgently when I spoke 
 of disappointment. Have you not found most of the rungs 
 in the ladder of life more or less a disappointment ? Is it not 
 a fact that whenever you are brought back to the feelings of 
 old times, you awaken to the discrepancy between anticipa- 
 tion and reality ? We look to the moment when we shall have 
 achieved cherished objects of ambition meanwhile, the very 
 contemplation of a desired future robs what might be an ad- 
 mirable present of its real savor. When the achievement has 
 taken place, why is it that we then look back with unavowed 
 melancholy to the period of our illusions? For, when it has 
 been secured, the slowly achieved position has lost its satisfac- 
 tion, our pleasure has been blunted by the gradual process." 
 
 Lewis halted, lost in reverie, and Fargus watched him. 
 
 "This is a curiously contemplative frame of mind for a sun- 
 burned dragoon, just home from the wars ! It would seem as 
 though this German drink had infected you with the dreami- 
 ness peculiar to the lank-haired German student." 
 
 Lewis came back from his distant thoughts and smiled. 
 
 "You are right, Colonel; I was again living in the days 
 when discussion took more willingly a contemplative turn
 
 "Alt Heidelberg." I2i 
 
 than it would in the ante-room of a cavalry mess; but this re- 
 turn to bygone haunts has brought back the past days. Did 
 you chance to meet Charles Hillyard at Woldham?" 
 
 "A handsome, pale university lecturer?" asked Fargus. 
 
 "The same. Did you see much of him there ?" 
 
 "Not very much ; the little I did I found interesting." 
 
 "There was one of my disappointments," Lewis went on. "I 
 wonder if it is he who has changed, or I ? In the old days he 
 was one of my stars. There is very little I would not have done 
 for him. We had a room in common under that mossy roof 
 yonder. He was a good German scholar and I was a poor one. 
 We were inseparable. This tree was our rallying point for 
 the morning draught. Before going, would you like to see a 
 students' Kneipe? Ours, the Carolina, used to be here." 
 
 They emptied their glasses and moved toward the house. 
 
 A few words to the landlord, who soon recognized one of 
 his former patrons, induced him to open the sacred precincts 
 of the Carolina, which, it being vacation-time, now rested in 
 darkness. 
 
 A long, rather narrow room, warmly lighted by stained 
 glass windows, the rich colored, but highly incorrect, heraldic 
 panes of which brightened the severely solid furniture. A 
 ponderous oak table, much rubbed and dented by endless 
 courses of disciplined compotation, crossed at the honor end 
 by another, smaller and slightly raised; two formal rows of 
 hard carved wood chairs, and a dignified presidential throne. 
 On the table, between a couple of drinking-horns, elaborately 
 archaic and unwieldy, a heavy wooden tobacco casket. A 
 large special panel fixed to the wall was devoted to the heavy 
 china pipes of the members, almost every one of which was 
 inscribed to its owner by a brother Carolinian; over this 
 hung a trophy of flags, devices, and club colors, emphasized by 
 a pair of crossed rapiers. Numerous photographs of indi- 
 viduals or groups dotted the walls. To one of these Lewis 
 straightway drew near. 
 
 "There we are still!" he called out, pointing to a group 
 which showed the Carolinians in a forest excursion, seated or 
 standing in various picturesque attitudes round a very prom- 
 inent beer-barrel, each man holding his covered glass or his 
 long pipe in one hand and with the other clasping, in pointedly 
 devoted manner, some special comrade by the shoulder or the 
 arm. 
 
 "What a ridiculous pair we did look!" laughed Lewis; 
 "though no worse than the others, of course. And yet we did 
 meet here, almost every day : and Hillyard Tipp was actu- 
 ally the soul of our parties, though he worked eight hours a 
 day and accumulated knowledge without ever talking about it.
 
 122 "Passes, Finctures and Countertime." 
 
 I used often to think of the contrast between the student of 
 Heidelberg and the University lecturer, when, on our return 
 to college, I watched him from the body of the hall, dining 
 at the high table-j-grave, reverend, as befits a Don, and no 
 doubt talking unimpeachable sense. Now there no longer 
 seems to be euch enviable superiority on his side. I regret 
 our old relations/ 5 
 
 Talking in this strain, they sallied forth again, toward the 
 pine woods. Fargus, who felt his curiosity increase, led him 
 gradually on. And a delight it was to the father to hear the 
 story of his son's assimilation to England and things of Eng- 
 land, at a time when a boy's character and tastes are already 
 formed ; to hear how he struggles and the unhappy sensitive- 
 ness of the first years gradually gave place to the pleasures of 
 independence and of well-earned success. And it stirred him 
 strangely to learn how strong the love of his father's country 
 had grown in the boy's heart. 
 
 They spent the remainder of the afternoon in an invigorat- 
 ing walk through the peaceful, romantic scenery of the 
 Neckarthal. Occasionally, Fargus found himself led out of 
 his depth on literary excursions. But he enjoyed the converse 
 perhaps the more for the contrast between what he had the 
 right to have expected in his son and what he actually found. 
 
 And by the time the sky had grown purple and golden over 
 the pine-bristling hills and they were tramping homeward, 
 the mutual sympathy had ripened on each side into genuine 
 appreciation. 
 
 And thus, at the end of the first day spent together, Far- 
 gus, filled with warm and proud satisfaction, hardly knew 
 what he liked best in his newly-found son, the manly, soldier- 
 like bearing, or the scholarly refinement. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "PASSES, FINCTURES, AND COUNTERTIME." 
 
 Lewis slept soundly, with rambling dreams of old times. 
 
 Fargus spent the night in wakeful cogitations, and at dawn 
 arose and made ready for the eventful morning. When the 
 first stir of life in the house became evident, he summoned 
 a servant and ordered a substantial breakfast; then he aroused 
 his neighbor. 
 
 "Everything is in full swing," he said briskly, as Lewis put 
 in his head at the door; "we have a couple of hours before 
 us; make haste, that we may start early and have time for a,
 
 " Passes, Finctures and Countertime." 123 
 
 walk before your fencing bout ; it will invigorate you and put 
 your circulation in order." 
 
 The untidy brown head disappeared; in due course Lewis 
 emerged from his chamber as neat and trim and generally pol- 
 ished as beseems an English officer of dragoons. 
 
 After a leisurely meal, and armed with a couple of cigars 
 from Fargus' case, they sallied forth into the freshness of the 
 morning. The father's sole thought being now to keep Lewis 
 in his present collected and cheerful mood, he allowed no 
 trace of his own misgivings to appear in look or word. 
 
 "What a delicious day !" said he, as they swung along. "In 
 face of scenery like this, under such a sky, does not the errand 
 on which we are bound seem incongruous ?" 
 
 "Yes; the surroundings are more suggestive of an aubade 
 than a trial by battle," said Lewis. 
 
 "Well," he resumed, "I should have scoffed at the idea of 
 such an enterprise a few days ago; but now, somehow, I rather 
 enjoy the excitement." 
 
 They crossed the Neckar bridge and ascended the right bank 
 of the river, discussing as they went the question of single 
 combat; first, the institution as it now exists, then from a 
 historical and ethical point of view. 
 
 "It seems to me almost inconceivable," he remarked at 
 length, "that, with such a very well-digested system of opin- 
 ions, you should now find yourself on the way to put your 
 honor to the test of fencing skill." 
 
 "Oh, Colonel," put in Lewis, "do not believe that I con- 
 sider my 'honor' engaged in the least. It is a mere matter of 
 convenience. I do not hold with the gentlemen who, by the 
 way, I now hear are coming up behind us a man's honor to 
 be such a delicate, fragile entity that death or murder is 
 preferable to the risk of its being doubted by the first bully. 
 Far less do I believe that there is only one kind of honor, 
 namely, a constant readiness to stake one's body, in good 
 medieval fashion, in support of a position assumed rightly or 
 wrongly. For the most curious thing about the 'point of honor' 
 among upholders of the duel is that it applies to physical cour- 
 age only, never to the moral. As for these persons whom we 
 are to meet this morning, they have even more curious tenets 
 on this subject than other Continentals; unlike us who hold a 
 gentleman to possess courage as a simple matter of course until 
 he give proof to the contrary, they refuse to believe in the 
 fortitude of any one who has not earned his credentials in 
 that ridiculous institution of theirs the Mensur. I, however, 
 did a" foolish thing, in a moment of mental obfuscation, in 
 giving my regimental card. But do not believe that I should
 
 124 " Passes, Finctures and Countertime." 
 
 have considered my honor attainted had I chosen to decline 
 the encounter." 
 
 As they turned to ascend the Hirschgasse the lane cele- 
 brated for leading to the time-honored tavern where are held, 
 at regular intervals during the session-time, so many glorious 
 and gory arbitraments they were overtaken by a carriage; 
 therein the three corpsmen, lolling back at ease, together with 
 a bearded and spectacled personage, presumably the doctor. 
 Next to the driver sat a "factotum," no doubt well practiced 
 in such expeditions. 
 
 The four occupants, as they rattled past, gravely raised 
 their hats without turning their heads. 
 
 "I am convinced these men think it very 'bad form' of us 
 not to have driven here in state, as they do. True, it looks as 
 if we felt sure that we shall not require a conveyance back." 
 Lewis spoke gayly. "Still," he continued, "it might perhaps 
 have been wiser to have one. Now, should I be disabled, I 
 shall have to be deposited in that tavern yonder, where you 
 may this moment see pompous Herr Meyerhoffer entering 
 with the servant in quest of the weapons, I suppose." 
 
 "Please God, we shall be under no necessity of that kind." 
 
 But Lewis laughed at his companion's serious look. His 
 spirits rose perceptibly as the moment approached; indeed, 
 by the time they reached the place of combat, nothing but the 
 necessity of keeping up British decorum and a cool, gentle- 
 manly carriage could subdue a rising sense of jauntiness. 
 
 The whole "duel company" now moved together along a by- 
 path which, winding for a short while through the birchwood, 
 led to a well-secluded glade. There the Englishman and his 
 second retired apart for a last few words, while the natives 
 proceeded to make their final arrangements. The factotum 
 flew hither and thither, carrying water and a basin to the 
 doctor, who was spreading his instruments and bandages in 
 engaging array on the stump of a tree; opening the case of 
 swords; removing with febrile activity stones and fallen 
 branches from the spot chosen by the umpire. 
 
 Seeing his opponent stripping himself to the waist, Lewis 
 very cooly began to do likewise. 
 
 "Business-like, is it not?" he remarked, with an amused 
 smile, to Fargus, as the latter silently helped him. 
 
 "A business I wish were well over," thought the father, yet 
 trying to respond with confident ease, as he glanced at the 
 well-knit, close-muscled frame revealed, and inwardly cursing 
 the pragmatic fooling which was bringing it into jeopardy. 
 
 At this point the umpire came up to them, and, touching his 
 cap coldly, remarked: 
 
 "We are ready."
 
 "Passes, Finctures and Countertime." 125 
 
 The count had already assumed the two protective bandages 
 which German custom prescribes, even for the more severe 
 saber duels, one to the elbow and the other to the arm-pit. 
 The factotum had taken his post as look-out man on a slight 
 knoll whence a view could be had of all approaches. Seeing 
 that he alone was waited for, and not wishing to appear a 
 laggard at the fray, Lewis was about to advance somewhat 
 hurriedly, when the student stopped him. "I perceive you 
 are without the requisite bindings," he said, a trifle impera- 
 tively; "we cannot allow you to proceed thus. As the gentle- 
 man with you is a stranger, I will have the honor, if you will 
 so have it, to arrange them myself." 
 
 The Englishman surrendered his arm with courteous thanks, 
 and the neglect was quickly repaired. 
 
 Fargus had to own that he was by far from being as cool as 
 his boy, and was chafing under the obligation to remain 
 passive. Why had he not taken up this quarrel himself ? He 
 might have settled that self-sufficient swashbuckler with an 
 ounce of lead, and thought less about the matter than of see- 
 ing his brawny boy lose a drop of blood. Ah, well! the die 
 was cast. God help the good champion ! 
 
 The fever of fight had come upon Lewis as he took up and 
 balanced the wide-hilted saber presented to him. The cool 
 breeze fanning his bare arm and breast, and the "responsive" 
 weight of the well-mounted saber, sharp as a carving-knife, 
 heightened that muscular sense. There was naught in him 
 to recall the dreamy philosopher's mood. But, for all this 
 nervous tension, he appeared, as Fargus noticed with much 
 approval, the very picture of self-possession as he stood to 
 meet his foe. 
 
 It was, of course, his first encounter of the kind; whereas 
 the pale, fat Graf a notorious duelist had gone through the 
 experience many a time and at many a weapon. 
 
 They advanced toward each other on the selected spot, 
 the German with studied coolness, even indolence the Eng- 
 lishman with quiet deliberation, strangely at variance with his 
 gleaming eyes. The seconds placed themselves on either side. 
 There was a short pause, during which nothing was heard 
 but the rustling of the trees and the chirp of birds. The 
 umpire rapidly ascertained that every detail was correct, then 
 clear rose his voice : 
 
 "Engage; are you ready? go!" 
 
 The last word was no sooner out than the corpsman, waking 
 up as if by magic from his deceptive impassiveness, with the 
 speed of lightning darted two of those flicks from the wrist 
 which are so characteristic of German sword-play at his op- 
 ponent's forearm.
 
 126 u Passes, Finctures and Countertime." 
 
 Had not the latter at that moment instinctively dropped 
 into his more familiar hanging guard when the brunt of the 
 cut was taken up by the convexity of the hilt he would un- 
 doubtedly have been disabled from the very outset. As mat- 
 ters turned out the extreme end of the curved blade reached 
 his arm, and inflicted thereon a small cross-shaped wound. 
 Beware of the manchette! the old master had warned him 
 truly. 
 
 "Halt!" shrieked the umpire; and the combatants dropped 
 their hands, while the doctor examined the cut, in spite of 
 Lewis' impatient protestations, only, however, to pronounce 
 it of no consequence, and give permission for the resuming of 
 the engagement. 
 
 The student's white face had remained as expressionless as 
 a mask, but Lewis' anger was roused by this humiliating hit 
 at the very first pass. With burning eyes and compressed lips 
 he now, once more, and this time deliberately, assumed his 
 English guard, and, at the word of command, led off himself 
 with such vigor as to frustrate, by forcing his opponent to 
 use strong parries, all further attempt to score points by in- 
 sidious flipping. 
 
 And now it became a fight, indeed ! The German, firm as a 
 rock, stopped and returned Lewis' fast-lashing cuts with the 
 most admirable coolness and precision. Some twenty throws 
 had thus been exchanged when the umpire's shrill command 
 again resounded : 
 
 "Halt!" 
 
 On Lewis' bare chest, extending from the left shoulder to 
 the right breast, appeared a thin red line; this rapidly 
 widened, and numberless slender rivulets of blood presently 
 began to descend in interlacing stripes. 
 
 Fargus came forward, deadly pale; Lewis glanced down 
 at the wound with a careless smile, intent only on trying to 
 hide his mortification. 
 
 "Merely a scratch, Colonel nothing of any consequence!" 
 
 And the surgeon's verdict, after inspection, being that the 
 wound was not disabling, the pair started off once more. 
 
 This time both seemed to have lost their coolness. The 
 bout was short. After a moment of dead silence, during which 
 each fixed the other with a glaring eye, and gripped his sword 
 with twitching hand, Lewis suddenly launched forward a 
 swinging, English cut at his opponent's body, and the latter, 
 taken aback by his full lunge, rarely risked in German play, 
 forgot all his caution, and attempted a counterline. The 
 result of these unpreconcerted methods of fence was disastrous. 
 
 Fargus saw Lewis' blade bury itself deeply in his an- 
 tagonist's bare flank ; but the cry of triumph which well-nigh
 
 "Passes, Finctures and Countertime." 127 
 
 escaped his lips turned to an exclamation of dismay. His 
 son's face was laid open from the temple to the chin. The 
 unfortunate German dropped his sword, staggered, clutched 
 the air, and finally collapsed in a heap on the ground, rolling 
 partly over, and then lying motionless, and to all appearance 
 dead, save for a slight twitching of mouth and eyelid. Star- 
 ing in horror at the ghastly eight of his handiwork, Lewis 
 stood as if spell-bound all unconscious of being himself far 
 more horrible to behold with his cloven cheek gaping hideous- 
 ly, his right arm and hand, his body down to the waist, by this 
 time scarlet with streaming blood. Then he reeled suddenly, 
 and, in his turn, would have fallen, but for Fargus, who, rush- 
 ing forward, seized him firmly under the arm and conducted 
 him to the doctor's tree-stump, on which, disposing with one 
 sweep of the hand of its array of instruments, he gently 
 pressed him down. 
 
 "Thank God! this is over," said the elder man with a dry 
 throat ; beads of cold sweat shone on his forehead. "How you 
 are bleeding, poor boy," attempting with a handkerchief to 
 hold together the lips of the face-wound. Lewis looked up, 
 dimly struck by the affectionate, almost paternal, tone of his 
 new friend's voice, but for the moment unable to speak. "Let 
 me see," continued Fargus ; "the arm is nothing, the chest not 
 much yet how terrible it might have been ! The face-cut is 
 bad, though. Will these fellows never attend to you?" he 
 went on, angrily looking round; "what are they all crowding 
 over that brute for ?" 
 
 "I am afraid he is worse than I am," said Lewis, faintly and 
 indistinctly, for, the wound rapidly stiffening, he could not 
 move his lips without painful efforts. 
 
 "Do not attempt to talk. Hold this tight; I will go and 
 see." 
 
 At that moment, however, the doctor came toward them. 
 
 "A bad business," he said, significantly shrugging his 
 shoulders. 
 
 "What ! dead ?" cried the amateur, aghast at his success. 
 
 "Not yet, but We have not heard the last of this affair. 
 
 And now, what about you?" he added, lifting the handker- 
 chief. "Hum ! a fine high-quart six needles or more." And 
 without further parley he proceeded first briskly to sew up 
 the open cheek, then to wash and bind the other slashes. 
 
 As he was putting the finishing touches to his artistic 
 arrangements of lint and sparadrap, the servant on the look- 
 out was heard to give a low cry of warning, and presently a 
 man rushed through the creaking underwood into the glade. 
 What he had to communicate was evidently of importance, for 
 they at once called the servant back, and the four men held ftn
 
 128 Wanderings. 
 
 animated consultation, at the end of which he who had acted 
 as umpire walked up to Fargus. 
 
 "Sir," he said, coldly saluting, "it will not be safe for you 
 to return to your hotel. A messenger has just been sent by a 
 friend in the town to warn us that the police have found out 
 something about this duel, and are on the watch for our re- 
 turn." 
 
 This speech delivered, the Germans took no more notice of 
 the adverse party than if they had not been, but, gathering 
 round the doctor, fell to discussing the possibility of removing 
 their unconscious principal to some place of safety. 
 
 Lewis translated the allocution, and held a council of war. 
 
 "We cannot go back if he dies . . . fortress for us; 
 five years perhaps for both of us." 
 
 "What is to be done?" asked Fargus. "Can those fellows 
 advise us?" 
 
 "They are even in worse plight, and not well disposed 
 toward us. Only plan I can think of : find our way to some 
 railway-station as soon as possible. Must walk, too," he 
 added, having paused to reflect a while. 
 
 "But, my dear boy, how far can you walk in this state? 
 Can you walk at all ?" 
 
 "Must. I know the country. To-day to Schoenau, behind 
 that hill. Let me take your arm weak on my legs better 
 presently." 
 
 And without casting a glance behind, the father supporting 
 his son in tenderest solicitude, they walked slowly away from 
 that nefarious "field of honor" even as the students' party, 
 carrying the inert form of their companion, were silently 
 leaving it in the opposite direction. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WANDERINGS. 
 
 For three long hours the two men tramped onward, in wind- 
 ing lanes, through mysteriously somber pine-woods, now on 
 the highroad between the vineyards of the warm hillsides. 
 But their circumstances were little conducive to the enjoy- 
 ment of scenery. 
 
 Manfully did Lewis settle down to his task of covering the 
 twelve miles or more to Weinheim, though every step throbbed 
 responsive through each of the six needles which held his face 
 together, and every beat of the slow pulse to that low, gnaw- 
 ing ache in the heart which loss of blood engenders.
 
 Wanderings. 129 
 
 Full of solicitude, ever rising and ever repressed in fear of 
 self-betrayal, the father strove to while away the heavy time 
 and to lighten the way by the help of his strong arm. 
 
 As the sun ascended and the air waxed sultry the calls for 
 Fargus' brandy-flask and the halts grew more frequent; and 
 Fargus felt his boy's arm lean heavier on his. 
 
 At last, after one of these halts he made a dead stop with 
 trembling knees. 
 
 "You will think me a coward; I can't go another step; I 
 must lie down." 
 
 "A coward! How can you talk so, my dear fellow! If I 
 told you what I really think of you, it might make you vain. 
 No, no; you cannot lie down here in this blazing sun; hold up 
 a bit ; hang on me till we get into the shade yonder." 
 
 But Lewis was past holding up. He reeled and staggered, 
 and Fargus had almost to carry him under the spreading 
 chestnut-tree he aimed at, which shaded a little oasis of cool, 
 green turf, where the clear waters of a tiny streamlet sounded 
 their welcome notes. 
 
 With a groan of relief the wounded man let himself down 
 at full length in the shadow, while his companion moistened 
 the bandages, noting with deep anxiety how fast they seemed 
 to dry up again under the heat of the wounds. 
 
 "How sickening to have to give up! Ashamed of myself!" 
 
 "Now, do not fret," answered the elder man, pouring from 
 his hat, which he used as a pitcher, a slender, grateful stream 
 of watei 4 over the burning head. "You have nothing to be 
 ashamed of. It is the earache that knocks you down, isn't it? 
 Take a little more of this brandy-and-water," he continued, 
 after holding his son's hand- for a moment in his, and sliding 
 his fingers down to find the faint, unequal pulse. "It will be 
 easy to get something to give you relief as soon as we can get 
 to a civilized place. Meanwhile, you must be quiet, and, 
 above all, no more nonsense and fretting." 
 
 Lewis looked up with a sort of grateful smile. 
 
 Fargus went on. "You must stop here quite quietly and 
 rest, while I make off to the nearest village and get a convey- 
 ance of some kind or other." 
 
 A short half -hour of hard walking brought him to a village, 
 which, as usual in Germany, boasted a rather promising-look- 
 ing inn. There, in default of any knowledge of the vernacu- 
 lar, his absolute determination to make himself understood, 
 backed up by the judicious display of a gold coin, stood him in 
 good stead. 
 
 Fargus stood over the good-natured innkeeper, hurrying 
 him on, by gesture and personal help, till they drove away 
 at the fullest speed the state of horse and vehicle would allow.
 
 130 Wanderings. 
 
 With a leaping heart he hailed the chestnut-tree again, and 
 found Lewis an object of solicitude to a trio of swarthy peas- 
 ants, who were surveying him with great sympathy, and who, 
 with many gutteral expressions of good will, volunteered to 
 assist him into the carriage. To Fargus' intense relief, the 
 patient seemed somewhat the better for his enforced repose; 
 and when he had installed him as comfortably as possible on 
 the cushions of the ramshackle chariot, and pulled up a tat- 
 tered hood to screen him, he gave the order for Weinheim. 
 
 Though but a few miles distant, it seemed an endless way. 
 
 It was two o'clock when the alighted at the best hostelry in 
 Weinheim. Fargus engaged a private room for the invalid, 
 whose condition he explained to the English-speaking waiter 
 by a cooly mendacious account of a fall in a rocky part of the 
 woods while on a walking expedition. Having seen his charge 
 first dispose of a cup of broth and a glass of the best wine, 
 the American started forth to prepare the way for their next 
 stage. 
 
 Lewis had sketched the general idea of the retreat. Fargus 
 now busied himself in carrying out the special details. 
 
 In an hour he returned, provided with all the necessary in- 
 formation, and accompanied by a porter laden with various 
 indispensable purchases ; a traveling-bag, changes of linen, a 
 soft felt hat for the bandaged head, a straw one for himself 
 selected for disguise several articles of pharmacy, lint, 
 bandages and so forth. Then he locked himself in with Lewis 
 and proceeded to minister to the comforts of that jaded youth. 
 
 But it was with dimly grateful sense of relief, when 
 cleansed of dried blood and dust, and luxuriating in fresh 
 linen, that he found himself again reclining on the bed, with 
 cool bandages on the fevered wounds. The latter concluded 
 his preparations with all the expedition, noiselessness and 
 method of a professional, packing all the necessaries for the 
 forthcoming journey. 
 
 When the time drew nigh for their departure, he came up 
 to the bedside and gently roused his companion. 
 
 "My boy, all our arrangements are made. We start this 
 evening ostensibly for Darmstadt, but really for Brussels. I 
 think it safer to cover the whole journey at once, since out of 
 the country we must. The more I contemplate the possibility 
 of a prolonged visit to a fortress at the Prussian Government's 
 expense, the less I like it." 
 
 "By all means let us go," said Lewis, striving to conceal by 
 how much suffering the effort was accompanied. 
 
 "We shall have to start pretty soon. Can you stand a four- 
 teen hours' journey?" 
 
 "Under your care I would go further," was the quiet reply.
 
 Wanderings. 131 
 
 "Remember, we are traveling under the style of Messrs. 
 Thomson. You are my son, Robert Thomson." 
 
 As Fargus spoke he threw a curious, wistful glance at 
 Lewis, but as it was, the young man's energies were too much 
 centered on the endeavor to carry his injured frame with 
 some kind of dignity out of the dangers to permit any waste 
 of strength in watching the outside world. With a mute sign 
 of acquiescence he received the suggestion and slowly dragged 
 himself out of the room, leaning heavily on Fargus' arm. 
 
 After a short while the sickness, caused by the change from 
 the reclining to the sitting position, passed away, the transfer 
 from carriage to train at Weinheim, as well as that from one 
 train to another at Darmstadt, was successfully accomplished, 
 as much owing to the patient's dogged pluck as to his com- 
 panion's long-sighted care. 
 
 As police directions, started by the Heidelberg authorities, 
 were already being issued for their aprehension, Mr. Thomson 
 and his invalid son, in a specially reserved compartment, were 
 speeding toward Brussels, via Cologne. But the father only 
 drew breath in security when, on the following morning, they 
 crossed the frontier. 
 
 "Thank God !" he murmured, as the train at last moved off 
 from the station and sped on Belgic territory, and he bent 
 gently forward to look at the apparently somnolent form 
 stretched at full length on the seat opposite. 
 
 As he now glanced at the half -averted face a sudden pallor 
 overspread his own. Even as he looked, a heavy shuddering 
 passed over the whole body. The father felt his heart turn 
 cold. He knew the terrible menace of such signs even before 
 he raised the dry, twitching hand to feel the wiry beat of the 
 pulse : fever had set in. He had counted on his boy's unusual 
 vigor and health, without taking into account how highly 
 strung his nerves had been by mental trouble but a short time 
 before. 
 
 But David Fargus was not the man to waste his energy on 
 vain regrets. After altering the patient's position, pulling 
 down the blinds, opening the window to insure air, he once 
 more took a seat opposite his son, and, with melancholy look 
 fixed on the altered face, fell to considering how best to meet 
 the unexpected emergency. 
 
 He could, of course, stop at the nearest town instead of 
 Brussels, but, while only saving a couple of hours, he would 
 not then be sure of obtaining such good medical attendance. 
 And Lewis' life might now depend on medical skill. Fargus 
 determined to push on to Brussels if possible. At Brussels 
 matters would be far from being all plain sailing. Burdened 
 with a possibly delirious man he could not leave for a minute,
 
 132 Wanderings. 
 
 he would have to find immediate quarters, and to have to 
 peregrinate the town from one to another might be death to 
 his boy. 
 
 There was the alternative of a hospital. In England he 
 would not hesitate a moment to take the sick man direct to 
 such an institution, where he would be sure of receiving the 
 best care. Could he be as sure in a Belgian hospital ? 
 
 Fargus resolved not to let him out of his own keeping. 
 What gold could purchase for him, gold should be forthcom- 
 ing for. Luckily he had provided himself with plenty of 
 money, and he could do no more than hope in the all-powerful 
 persuasiveness of a well-filled purse. 
 
 But in an unexpected way the difficulty was lightened. At 
 Liege, just as the train was moving away, a burly Belgian 
 burst open the door and tumbled headlong into the carriage, 
 and they were off at full speed before he could perceive that 
 he had intruded upon a reserved compartment and an invalid. 
 When he did so, he confounded himself in apologies. The man 
 had a pleasant, open countenance, and positively radiated 
 affluence, good-nature and self-satisfaction. He looked at 
 Lewis, prostrate and speechless, with sympathy, clacking his 
 tongue after the fashion of his countrymen. 
 
 Fargus hailed the amiable giant as a possible angel of suc- 
 cor. In a few words he explained the state of affairs, and 
 begged him to suggest some hotel where they could be re- 
 ceived, and the most skillful doctor known in Brussels. 
 
 The Fleming's eyes grew rounder as he listened, and his 
 interest in the traveling Englishman rose to a pitch of excite- 
 ment. Surveying the unconscious hero with increasing ad- 
 miration, he chuckled or groaned alternately, as delight over 
 the downfall of the Teuton, or commiseration over the sad 
 plight of his antagonist, possessed his soul. 
 
 When Fargus proffered his request, he cried cheerily: 
 
 "As to that I should be delighted if you will allow me to 
 offer you the hospitality of my bachelor quarters. Here is 
 my card, sir" fumbling vigorously in a waistcoat pocket, 
 which his rotundity of form rendered rather difficult of ac- 
 cess "M. Frederic Bocage, bon bourgeois et Bruxellois, at 
 your service. Your son shall receive every care. I shall 
 have the house kept as quiet as possible ; but you understand, 
 sir, now and again a bachelor establishment may be rather 
 noisy." 
 
 "I am sincerely grateful for your kindness," said Fargus, 
 "but if you knew of some quiet quarters, where we could have 
 good attendance and be sure of being undisturbed, it would 
 be better in every way we should remain independent. It is 
 only as a last resource," he added, smiling, "that I should
 
 Wanderings. 133 
 
 dream of taking advantage of your most hospitable offer, and 
 bringing the trouble of such a serious illness into your house. 
 I cannot be mistaken ; my son is in a very dangerous state." 
 
 M. Bocage, awed by the dignity of manner which Fargus 
 maintained, did not press the invitation further. He knew 
 of rooms overlooking the Gardens, close to his own house, 
 where he had no doubt they would be received, and which were 
 comfortable, large and airy. 
 
 "If you will allow me, I will conduct you thither and go 
 for the doctor my friend Bertrand, a man of the greatest 
 ability ; for I agree with you your son looks very ill." 
 
 The Belgian was as good as his word, and of invaluable 
 help at the trying juncture of their arrival. Lewis was in a 
 state of stupor, and it was with difficulty that he was got safely 
 to the house whither M. Bocage brought them, and where 
 the sight of his visage and the genial authority of his cheery 
 voice smoothed over the landlady's dubiousness. Leaving the 
 father to see to the patient, he bustled off in quest of the 
 physician. 
 
 Having undressed his son, and seen him stretched between 
 fresh white sheets, with iced compresses on his forehead, Far- 
 gus sat down by the bedside to wait for the doctor, whose 
 arrival was promised before evening. 
 
 Twilight was spreading apace, and through the half -open 
 window came a glimpse of promised sky, in marked contrast 
 with the darkness and repose of the silent room. 
 
 It was exactly a week since he had left the Lone Grange 
 in pursuit of his unknown boy; only four days since he had 
 first spoken to him ; now there was not a thought, not a pros- 
 pect in his life, which was not absolutely encompassed by him. 
 Had he known him and loved him all his twenty-five years 
 of existence, helped him, trained him to be what he was 
 he did not think he would feel differently now, that his 
 anxiety could be more poignant, or his tenderness more ex- 
 quisitely keen. 
 
 Fargus gently lifted the hand that lay in his own what 
 a strong brown hand it was ! how doughtily it had wielded the 
 sword so chivalrously taken up in defense of a stranger! 
 Lewis' hand was a little large, and there, straight across each 
 strong palm, amid the inexplicable and generally absolutely 
 personal designs, ran the unusual, unbroken, transverse line, 
 held with pride by the Kerr family to be a special character- 
 istic of their race. 
 
 There came a pleasure to Fargus each time he succeeded 
 in tracing some likeness to himself or his family in the stran- 
 ger son. Beside the odd way in which the latter seemed to have 
 reproduced in his own so many of the phases of his father*!
 
 134 Wanderings. 
 
 life, there were a number of unmistakable and interesting 
 signs of hereditary connection about him ; something in the 
 carriage of the head and the general bearing recalling to the 
 self-made American the personality of his own English father ; 
 such family traits Fargus had looked for and welcomed. 
 
 The smile which this last discovery had evoked ended in a 
 sigh. To have ignored him till his brave manhood, to have 
 found him such as he was for there was not one point so 
 far Fargus would have wished different in his son and to 
 lose him, perhaps, after all! 
 
 Suddenly the sick man began muttering to himself. Then 
 he sat up, and Fargus could see him staring fixedly before 
 him. Presently he spoke again: 
 
 "Hear how the seconds fly! I shall soon be there; she is 
 waiting for me." He stretched out his hand, laid it on the 
 watch which ticked on the table beside him. "It beats with 
 mine! I know her heart beats with mine. Maude, I have 
 returned! Where is she?" The words became indistinct 
 again and died away in confusion on his pillows. 
 
 Fargus, with a heavy heart, lit a candle, placed the watch 
 where it could no longer disturb the patient, and once more 
 applied the iced bandages. A knock at the front door and 
 the approach of a firm, quiet tread on the stairs announced 
 that welcome arrival. 
 
 Hurrying out to meet him, Fargus arrested the new-comer 
 on the landing to explain the patient's state and the history 
 of its causes with all possible brevity, after which he intro- 
 duced him into the sick-room, and with a sad nod indicated 
 the bed where the wounded man at that moment again started 
 to a sitting posture, and, bending forward, held out his 
 clenched right hand, with thumb extended, as though grasp- 
 ing a sword. 
 
 "There there! No? I'll get at you, though." A terrific 
 spring would have thrown him upon the floor but for the 
 father's detaining grasp. 
 
 The doctor, a f resh-complexioned man of middle-age, with 
 a thoughtful bald head and practiced keenness of eye, looked 
 quickly from the fevered countenance on the bed to the pale 
 one bending so anxiously forward. 
 
 "Your son, sir?" he asked, as he drew out his watch; then, 
 without giving time for a reply: "Needless to inquire; the 
 resemblance speaks for itself. 
 
 *'Yes; traumatic meningitis I fear," he said corroborative- 
 ly; then, as if in answer to a sort of gray, stricken look 
 upon the other's face: "Not necessarily fatal. Your son 
 seems to have a strong constitution indeed, by your ac- 
 count, must be made of solid material to have done what
 
 Wanderings. 135 
 
 he has done under the circumstances. Of course, that forced 
 march in the heat, not to speak of the careless, insufficiently 
 antiseptic treatment of the wounds, is sufficient to account 
 for the present state of things. Much will depend on con- 
 stant watchfulness. You must have a professional nurse." 
 
 "No, doctor; I mean to nurse my boy myself." 
 
 "Trained nurses are best in cases like these. Your son is 
 delirious; he may be violent; he is a powerful man." 
 
 "I have experience of such cases. I shall manage him." 
 
 "But you will have to watch him day and night; it is too 
 much for one person." 
 
 "I shall not leave him day or night. I have no objection to 
 a trained helper," added Fargus, "and shall be grateful if 
 you can send one over." 
 
 On the doctor's grave face there crept a look of sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 "You must have your way, I see," he said with a tran- 
 sient smile, as he sat down to write his prescription; "and, 
 on the whole, it may be your son's best chance. No one 
 ought to be able to nurse him better than his father." 
 
 After giving directions for the treatment, promising to 
 send a hospital attendant and to call early in the morning, 
 the physician took his leave. 
 
 As soon as he had dispatched a servant for the medicines, 
 Fargus came back to the bedside. 
 
 The bright eyes opened and looked at him with intentness. 
 
 "I must get up," said Lewis; "it will not do to be late at the 
 rendezvous." 
 
 With gentle force the nurse pressed him down again. 
 
 "Lie still, my boy lie still. Rest in me." 
 
 The touch of the father's hands, the soft earnestness of his 
 voice, seemed to soothe Lewis for a moment. 
 
 A sudden hope sprang into life within Fargus' breast. He 
 was not blind to the danger of his boy's state, and knew that 
 few recovered from this terrible disease. But his boy should 
 not die. Fargus remembered the influence he had so 
 strangely exercised over him at their first meeting ; it actually 
 seemed as if this power would stand him in good stead now. 
 
 And day and night for a whole week the father wrestled 
 for his son's life, catching the merest snatches of sleep on 
 his chair (always holding one hot hand in his). It was evi- 
 dent that the same besetting theme haunted the poor un- 
 hinged brain throughout. Its ravings took the same course 
 day after day eager, restless pursuit; a transient ecstasy of 
 joy. But never, even in his most violent frenzy, did Far- 
 gus' voice, look and touch fail in the end to soothe his son. 
 The doctor called him a born nurse.
 
 136 Wanderings. 
 
 One morning, while Lewis slept, the fever fell. Fargus, 
 sitting at the head of the bed, must have dropped into a 
 doze. He was startled into wakefulness by the feeling of 
 the patient's hand in his. It was no longer burning with 
 the dry heat, but blessedly cool and moist. 
 
 Softly he rose to his feet and bent over the sick man. 
 Lewis was sleeping quietly, with light regular breathing, and 
 the beard was dewed with perspiration. 
 
 Fargus had kept up while matters were at the worst with- 
 out unbending; the relief shook him with emotion. He 
 noislessly walked to the window and glanced forth, crying 
 voicelessly from the depths of his swelling heart, "Thank 
 God!" 
 
 When he came back to the bedside, Lewis, awakened by 
 the slight noise, opened his eyes and raised them to his face. 
 
 "Colonel Fargus," he said, in a very weak, weary voice. 
 
 "Yes, my dear boy." 
 
 "Have I been ill?" 
 
 "Very ill, for more than a week." 
 
 Lewis closed his eyes again, while his companion measured 
 out some medicine. Then with slow deliberation: 
 
 "You have been here all the while ?" 
 
 "Yes, of course. Drink this." 
 
 Lewis obeyed, with a faint smile. 
 
 "And you have been nursing me?" he resumed, after swal- 
 lowing the mixture. 
 
 "Why, certainly, Robert Thompson; don't you remember 
 I am your father?" 
 
 The patient paused to gather his wandering reminiscences. 
 
 "I remember, we were going to Brussels; are we there 
 now?" 
 
 "Yes ; I can have no more talking, or you will be ill again." 
 
 The young man was mute for a few minutes, then the 
 unconsciously plaintive voice was lifted in gentle persistence : 
 
 "You have been very good to me." 
 
 "Fathers sometimes are to their sons." 
 
 "Am I to call you father, then ?" with another feeble smile. 
 
 "Every one believes us to be father and son; you had bet- 
 ter do so. And now I exercise my parental authority in 
 ordering you to silence again, and if possible to sleep." 
 
 For a few days everything went smoothly. Lewis, at first 
 so weak, seemed to gain strength steadily. He slept much 
 and ate well, and appeared to enjoy in placidity the happiness 
 of returning health. 
 
 But after that there came a halt. With increasing strength 
 came increased mental activity, and with the latter depres- 
 sion, loss of appetite every night rising temperature.
 
 Wanderings. 137 
 
 The doctor owned himself puzzled. Lewis had been fever- 
 ish, moody, irritable, and evidently in pain, and had at 
 length fallen asleep with his throbbing head between his 
 father's hands. 
 
 "I cannot make it out," said the physician. "He was on 
 as fair a way to recovery as ever I saw. The inflammation 
 is over, the wounds healing fast; and now these fever symp- 
 toms, this renewal of suffering above all, his depression. 
 . . . If we do not take care we shall have a relapse, and 
 then Have you any reason to think there may be some- 
 thing weighing on his mind?" 
 
 "He had a great disappointment just before this illness." 
 
 The doctor pondered. He had grown to take a deep extra- 
 professional interest in the case, and had an admiration for 
 the devoted father; he did not mean to let their patient slip 
 through his fingers. 
 
 "Can you do nothing to remove this mental worry ?" 
 
 Fargus shook his head. 
 
 "We must change the treatment, rouse him, distract his 
 mind and make it work in different channels. We shall have 
 him up to-morrow, I think. A little fresh air will do him 
 good. Mr. Thomson, you must do your utmost to keep your 
 son from brooding. Such cases sometimes turn into melan- 
 cholia." 
 
 During that night Fargus watched his son unknown to 
 the latter. As he heard him moan and toss in his sleep, or 
 saw him, from his place of observation, staring with wide- 
 eyed misery into space, he swore to himself that, if human 
 agency could encompass it, the woman whose name had been 
 with such unconscious and pathetic frequency upon his lips 
 should learn to love him as he deserved. 
 
 What could be her reason for refusing him? she who had 
 known him for years. And how he loved her ! In those de- 
 lirious utterances of his, what a wealth of tenderness was 
 there betrayed! what a devotion! 
 
 Where could she have found a match for him? 
 
 The more he thought the more convinced the father be- 
 came there must be some misunderstanding at the bottom 
 that Maude, who had loved his boy in years gone by, who 
 had seemed so heart-whole, save for her undisguised prefer- 
 ence for her old comrade, could not be in earnest in thus 
 blighting his life. Some mischief-maker might have come 
 between them, and Fargus' brow darkened serene-faced 
 Charlie, who wanted her for himself, perchance ? There was 
 a task for the father ; it was well he had returned in time to 
 unravel the plot.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 "A BOLT FROM THE BLUE." 
 
 Toward the sunset hour of the next day Lewis sat on the 
 balcony, propped with pillows, enjoying the evening breeze. 
 The patient had been declared convalescent ; the change from 
 bed to armchair seemed to have been successful. There was 
 no return of fever. Fargus' determination to keep him from 
 brooding had been so delicately manoeuvred, it was impossible 
 for a sweet-tempered nature, like Lewis', not to be benefi- 
 cently influenced by it. 
 
 M. Bocage, who had kept the sick-room supplied with fruit 
 and every kind of delicacy, had begged for an interview to 
 say good-by before leaving on a journey. The Belgian's 
 jolly presence, hearty laugh, cheerful conversation, never de- 
 void of mother-wit, had antused Lewis and shaken him out 
 of himself. 
 
 The day had passed well; matters looked promising again 
 to Fargus. 
 
 "It is cheerful to see your head out of its swaddling bands." 
 
 "By the way," interrupted Lewis, "did I rave at all ?" 
 
 "Of course you raved," replied Fargus. "A good deal 
 about fighting, as far as I could make out." 
 
 Lewis heaved a sigh of relief. 
 
 "I suppose I shall be plagued with questions about this face 
 of mine." 
 
 "You are not, I hope, thinking of returning to England 
 too soon. It will take you some time to recover completely; 
 remember, it has been a touch-and-go business with you." 
 
 "I should like to get back in a week. There are things I 
 must see to: that succession so unexpectedly devolving on 
 me. And this reminds me, by the way, that my solicitors 
 were to keep me acquainted with the progress of affairs. I 
 wonder if they have written to Homburg." 
 
 The latter, resolved to keep the conversation off the un- 
 fortunate topic, answered without the slightest curiosity: 
 
 "Shall I write and have them forwarded?" 
 
 "That would be good of you. I must keep myself ac- 
 quainted with the development of my fortunes, and whether 
 my presence is required over the water." 
 
 "I hope it is not," said Fargus, forseeing that an early 
 return might put a stop to the intimacy which had grown so 
 precious. "You know," he went on, "I do not want to let 
 you out of my supervision until you are really restored."
 
 "A Bolt From the Blue." 139 
 
 "Unless it be quite necessary, I have no -wish to move. I 
 have no superfluity of energy, and I shall inflict my company 
 upon you as long as you will tolerate it. The debt I owe 
 you is great already, yet I mean to eke it out still further." 
 
 Part of the pleasant hour was allowed to glide by in 
 silence, as they watched the gorgeous copper sunset. By- 
 and-by Lewis, who was languidly stretching himself in his 
 armchair, went on again, as if in continuance of a private 
 strain of thought: 
 
 "Convalescent after a dangerous, exhausting illness must 
 be a delicious period when there is no canker of the mind 
 to poison every thought of the future." 
 
 "That," said Fargus, in a quiet authoritative manner 
 "that is a thing, if you like, that I will not tolerate. Brood- 
 ing is an indulgence it is your duty to deny yourself. You 
 have been disappointed in one direction, in a matter near 
 your heart, as you said, and as, indeed, your every look and 
 word betrays. Do not think I have no sympathy there; I 
 have had myself at least one such experience in days of 
 old, and I don't mind telling you that I allowed myself to 
 sink deeper than you under the discouragement. But man's 
 fate is to struggle all his life for happiness. And, my dear 
 boy, forgive me for telling you that it is unmanly to give 
 up the struggle because a particular happiness appears un- 
 attainable. To a fellow like you, is there nothing in the 
 world but a woman's love?" 
 
 Lewis looked up hastily, but Fargus went on steadily, never 
 removing his firm, kindly gaze from his son's face : 
 
 "I know it is a woman who has caused this sorrow. I may 
 say I guess who she is is there nothing else in life to look 
 to? Duty, for instance, which men like you can so well 
 fulfill ; study, which one of your attainments should prosecute 
 to ever greater extent; fame to be achieved while you have 
 still the spring of youth within you. Such things, I know, 
 will not replace the love that is lost; but, still, they are 
 worth living for. She who is truly loved can never be re- 
 placed, for she has been invested in our eyes with every- 
 thing we look for in woman. But it behooves a man to re- 
 main worthy of the one he has chosen, although he may have 
 given up all hope of winning her. I would not even urge 
 you to try and forget. You have much that you cannot lose 
 a good name, a past honorable achievement, as I heard 
 before I met you, and in attainments, as I found out for 
 myself. Is it worthy to give yourself up to profitless pin- 
 ing?" 
 
 Lewis had listened with a dreamy look. 
 
 "You are right," he answered simply, glancing up with t
 
 140 " A Bolt From the Blue." 
 
 grateful smile. "I have been hard hit; all I can undertake 
 is to try. It is good of you to speak to me like this. For- 
 give me for asking, but what is it makes you take such in- 
 terest in me? Why are you so kind? Our acquaintance is 
 of short standing ; outside events have made it intimate, thus 
 far all the services have been on your side." 
 
 A shade came over Fargus' face. But he answered with 
 resolute cheerfulness: 
 
 "I might reply that, having found in foreign parts a pleas- 
 ant companion, I naturally learned to take an interest in 
 him. But when I find in that companion a friend of friends, 
 and one of the few relatives I know of mine in England 
 for my family, Mr. Kerr, is a distant offshoot of yours one 
 whom I expect to see much of later as a country neighbor, 
 my interest in him becomes even less wonderful. Now let 
 us, if you will, come to an agreement, and then drop the 
 subject : for the time which we are destined to spend together, 
 never ask me why I wish to be kind." 
 
 Lewis extended his hand silently, and the other clasped it 
 with warm pressure. 
 
 The invalid took his lecture to heart, and made persistent 
 efforts to respond to his companion's bracing cheerfulness. 
 The latter kept the tenor of the conversation on vigorous 
 subjects army matters, travels, adventures and sport, the 
 qualifications, duties and responsibilities of a landed pro- 
 prietor, and all other topics he could think of with so much 
 tact and variety, that Lewis never suspected he was being 
 kept in intellectual leading-strings. 
 
 On the morning of the third day after that evening con- 
 clave Lewis was in his room dressing. He was sitting in his 
 shirt-sleeves, taking a rest and looking more placid than he 
 had ever done since their acquaintance, when Fargus brought 
 in a letter. 
 
 "Just the one I expected," said Lewis, glancing at it. "I 
 dare say you will have to help me to make out its meaning. 
 Legal English will be more than I can master at present." 
 
 He leisurely opened the .envelope, while Fargus remarked, 
 after scanning the heavens, that it would be a perfect day 
 for their first drive; that the carriage would come round in 
 an hour. 
 
 Receiving no response, he turned round to find his son, 
 with ashen lips, staring, as if in petrified amazement, at the 
 open letter. Then blood suffused the young man's pale face; 
 he started to his feet with a strangled exclamation of anger, 
 only to grow white again and stagger back with a sudden 
 failing of strength. 
 
 "What is the matter?" cried Fargus, rushing toward him
 
 " A Bolt From the Blue." 141 
 
 and seizing his hand, which was cold and clammy. "Here, 
 take some brandy," hastily pouring a little in a glass and 
 forcing it to his lips. 
 
 Lewis drank the dram and seemed to recover himself. Put- 
 ting Fargus away from him with a mechanical sweep of his 
 arm, he began to peruse it again with the most earnest at- 
 tention. 
 
 After a little while Lewis looked up with dazed eyes and 
 seemed to catch sight of Fargus for the first time. 
 
 "I can't make it out, all the letters jump about so. Will 
 you please read it to me slowly." 
 
 With a vague presentiment of evil Fargus picked up the 
 letter. 
 
 " 'From Perkins and Stubbs, Lincoln's Inn Fields. Be 
 Gilham Estate. Private and confidential.' 
 
 " 'DEAR SIR : We think it would be strongly advisable for 
 you to return to England as soon as you conveniently can. 
 Circumstances have come to our knowledge with reference 
 to the above which we feel certain will cause you as much 
 surprise as they have to us, and which we think will require 
 your immediate attention. 
 
 " 'Mr. Charles Hillyard called on us this morning to ob- 
 tain our advice on the question of heir-at-law to the late 
 William Kerr of Gilham. It would seem that he is in posses- 
 sion of documents which he strongly believes must establish 
 his claim to the succession, by entail, over your head, on the 
 plea . . .'" 
 
 The steady voice faltered as the meaning of the words was 
 borne in upon the reader; he broke off with a deep exclama- 
 tion. 
 
 There was a silence. Lewis muttered without looking up : 
 "Go on, I am beginning to understand. I must hear it all." 
 Fargus clenched his fist. It was a rare experience for him 
 to be strongly moved by anger. But an almost murderous 
 fury against the man who dared to cast such an insult at his 
 boy shook him to the very depths of his being. "Oh, to have 
 him by the throat, kin though he be, within the grasp of 
 these strong hands !" 
 
 "Please go on," said Lewis again. 
 
 It required all the elder man's force of will not to betray 
 himself now. With a wonderful mastery over his voice he 
 began once more, glad that his boy, absorbed in his own tur- 
 moil of thoughts, could not notice the change which he felt 
 on his own face. 
 
 (t *, , , of illegitimacy on your side. We had to inform
 
 142 "A Bolt From the Blue." 
 
 Mr. Hillyard that as we had hitherto always acted in your 
 interest, and especially as you had requested us on the death 
 of your uncle, previous to your departure abroad, to watch 
 over your affairs, we could not undertake to act for him in 
 the matter. We informed him we should communicate with 
 you. We gather that Mr. Hillyard is anxious to come to 
 an amicable settlement by private agreement. More infor- 
 mation we cannot give you, as Mr. Hillyard was naturally 
 very reticent. 
 
 " 'Hoping to hear from you at your earliest convenience, 
 
 <te We are,' etc." 
 
 He read on to the end without faltering. Here was a 
 Nemesis indeed! The sin of his selfish youth had found 
 him out at last. 
 
 Who would believe him if, as a last resource, to prevent a 
 flagrant injustice, he were obliged to come forward and tell 
 the true history of David Fargus and George Kerr? What 
 a train of miserable, humiliating, ridiculous litigation, if 
 nothing worse, such a course would entail, and with what 
 slender chance of victory! And if it failed, how ignomin- 
 ious, how dishonoring! nothing short of criminal conspiracy 
 in the eyes of judges and laymen, between two men hitherto 
 held as models of honor! 
 
 "Thank you," said Lewis in a loud voice, after a while, 
 lifting his head again and looking at his companion. 
 
 It was a haggard, drawn face, with the stamp upon it of 
 his recent fight against death; but the father's heart swelled 
 as he marked the look of proud composure it now bore. 
 
 "Thank you; I wish you would be so good as to leave me 
 to myself a little. I must think." 
 
 Fargus, with a sad look, was about to comply in silence, 
 when Lewis, struck by the alteration of his features, caught 
 at his hand. 
 
 "Why, you seem quite upset yourself ! Yon are very good 
 to me." 
 
 Fargus wrung his hand. 
 
 "You mean to fight it out, my boy ?" 
 
 "To the last penny of my fortune," answered Lewis. 
 
 When Fargus returned he was calmer and more hopeful. 
 
 Scanning the past in minutest detail, he could not recol- 
 lect anything, save the unfortunate fact of his reputed sui- 
 cide to support the extraordinary charge. On the other 
 hand, the position his son had always had In the Hillyard 
 family, his nearest relatives, would be strong presumptive 
 evidence in his favor; that none of them had doubted his 
 right to the name until it became profitable to the neort-of-
 
 u A Bolt From the Blue." 143 
 
 kin so to do one who had always up to this cheerfully 
 claimed cousinship with him might go some way toward 
 shaking the latter's credit, whatever "proofs" he might have 
 collated in his greed. 
 
 It was halm to Fargus to see his boy determined to take up 
 the fight for his own and his father's honor. 
 
 When he came back to Lewis' room, and found the young 
 man bent more doggedly than ever on resistance, more sul- 
 lenly fierce against the treachery that cast the slur upon him, 
 there was also a new satisfaction. The shock seemed to have 
 had, on the whole, a bracing effect upon the sick man, by in- 
 stilling a healthy combative tone into the brain. There was 
 some color on Lewis' face; he walked his room with head 
 more erect and a firmer tread. 
 
 "I have no proofs to stake against Charlie's documents, 
 whatever they may be curse him!" he cried, stopping in 
 front of Fargus, and striking the letter as he spoke. "What 
 proofs can a man have whose father died before he was born, 
 whose mother died in giving him birth ? I am George Kerr^s 
 son, and my mother was as pure as yours." 
 
 "I know it," said Fargus, looking deep into his eyes. 
 
 Lewis was too much comforted to notice the strangeness 
 of the words. 
 
 "Ah, Colonel Fargus ! what should I do without you ? Yet 
 I have no right to weary you." 
 
 "Lewis," said Fargus, "you are my fictitious son, remem- 
 ber, so forgive this familiarity, and I do not conceal from 
 you that you have grown dear to me since we two have been 
 thrown together. I am a lonely man there is no being in 
 this whole world that David Fargus can claim kindred with 
 and you, not so desolate, stand likewise somewhat strangely 
 dependent upon yourself. Let me see you through this new 
 trouble. I have a cool head and a free one, while you must 
 not overtax yours, as yet, and a man will require all his 
 wits to unravel Master Hillyard's tangle." 
 
 Lewis' hesitating expression vanished under the deep sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 "You heap benefits upon me. I can not refuse the offer 
 of your help and friendship at such a moment. You are 
 right, Colonel Fargus: I am alone in the world utterly 
 alone. I thought I had lost so much, I had at least a trusty 
 friend left. What a fool thing he has turned out to be !" 
 
 "Perhaps." suggested Fargus, "we are making mountains 
 out of mole-hills." 
 
 "I have no doubt it is trumpery," said Lewis abstractedly; 
 "but clever trumpery, coming from that quarter; and trum- 
 pery carefully elaborated in the dark may be difficult to dis-
 
 144 " A Bolt From the Blue." 
 
 prove. I believe I had lost everything when when we first 
 met. Now I find I had still to lose the only real friend I 
 ever made. In your case, the kindness has been all on your 
 side. Charlie and I were chums for years. Curse that suc- 
 cession, it has lost me my old comrade, and may now lose me 
 my name the name I have been so proud of. 
 
 "Now I understand the change I found in Charles when 
 I met him, though he tried to blind me to it. Let him look 
 out; I have a greater stake than he: he fights for money, I 
 for my name." 
 
 There was a long silence in the room. 
 
 After a painful spell of cogitation, Lewis spoke again: 
 
 "Yes, I will fight it out, were it only for my dead mother's 
 sake. I must return to London as soon as possible." 
 
 "I cannot think of letting you travel for several days. 
 Correspond with your lawyer from here. Write to-day, stat- 
 ing your determination, announcing your return for next 
 week. Shall I pen it, and you will sign ?" 
 
 "Yes," returned Lewis, after consideration; "I shall re- 
 quire strength and all the wits I possess to fight a man like 
 Charlie amicable settlement, forsooth! It makes me sick 
 at heart to think of the fellow I had placed on such a pedes- 
 tal plotting against me above-board, since he, who was the 
 first to announce to me the turn affairs had taken at Gilham, 
 never gave me the slightest hint of his intention to try and 
 ruin me worse than ruin me! I don't feel very strongly 
 about the estate, but I will not have my mother's good fame 
 sullied. And, above all, I will not have my father's name 
 taken away from me. I never knew him; but my grand- 
 father, and, later on, my father's sister, taught me to be proud 
 of him; and pride in my name has become a sort of religion 
 with me. I will tell you some day all I know about them 
 meanwhile, you must help me to get strong again. I am not 
 yet fit to undertake business." 
 
 "No," said Fargus, with renewed concern; "to-day is de- 
 voted to fresh air, and I hear the carriage at the door. We 
 shall be back in time to write to London." 
 
 During this constant companionship Fargus had ample 
 opportunity to learn more about his son's affairs, and, inci- 
 dentally, something about those of his other relations. 
 
 The father, as soon almost as he had read the letter of ill 
 news, had come to the conclusion that here was the clew 
 here the reason of Maude's incomprehensible repudiation of 
 her old love. Charles Hillyard had remained at Gilham; he 
 was to have dined at Woldham the very night of the funeral ; 
 as the elder man remembered now he must have been quick 
 indeed to work his evil purpose for the news to have reached
 
 Dea Ex Machina. 145 
 
 Maude so soon. Yet it was like the general's impetuosity, 
 more especially if artfully worked upon, to lose not a second 
 to write in warning to his darling. 
 
 Meanwhile Lewis, on his side, had drifted toward deeper 
 suspicion of him. Was it not possible, even probable, that 
 Charlie since he was capable of double-dealing at all might 
 have played him false in other quarters? The strange dis- 
 covery on the night of their meeting had forced a portentous 
 confession out of him. Since he could lie at all, he might 
 have lied about Maude ay, and to her! 
 
 The more Lewis thought of her sudden coldness that cold- 
 ness tempered with compassion which had struck him as so 
 hopeless the more he came to fancy he saw through it the 
 handiwork of his false friend. 
 
 And thus, contrary to Fargus' first misgivings, the shock 
 of this bad news did not retard the progress of recovery. 
 Day by day the doctor was able to report progress, and at the 
 end of the week felt justified in sanctioning the return home. 
 
 "I can only offer you a little room in an old, rather dilapi- 
 dated Inn," said Lewis, while his face brightened at the 
 prospect with a look of pleasure; "but I undertake to sup- 
 ply you with good books, good wine, and good cigars, and 
 you will see London from a less conventional point of view 
 than from a West-End hotel. I can make a show of re- 
 turning your hospitality." 
 
 "It will be a fit sequel to my journey in search of novel 
 impressions," replied Fargus, hugging with delight the pros- 
 pect of a prolonged course of intimacy. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 DEA EX MACHINA. 
 
 London again, on a tawny September afternoon. Beauti- 
 ful, at least to the two travelers whom a hansom has just 
 disgorged in front of the massive gateway of Staple Inn: to 
 Fargus, filled with the memories and emotions which a return 
 to England each time awakened; to Lewis, who had a cat- 
 like attachment to his old haunts 
 
 The friends felt nothing but a healthy hunger as a result 
 of the short day's travel, and had agreed to proceed at once 
 in quest of food, after depositing their luggage at the inn. 
 But on their way out Lewis paused a moment to give direc- 
 tions to the jovial, red-faced, red-waistcoated porter anent 
 the preparation of his rooms.
 
 146 Dea Ex Machina. 
 
 The young man, having concluded his instructions, was 
 about to hail his companion, when the porter stopped him, 
 and, looking full of importance and mystery, observed in a 
 confidential whisper: 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir, I don't know if you'd like the other gen- 
 tleman to hear, but there has been a lady here twice already 
 to inquire after you." 
 
 "A lady ? What sort of a lady ?" 
 
 "Young lady, sir, smartly dressed that is all I know, sir," 
 said the porter, with just the suspicion of a twinkle in his 
 eye. "She wanted to see you most particularly." 
 
 "Why who on earth Did she leave no name?" 
 
 "No, sir; said you would not know it if she were to, and 
 wanted to know when you'd be back." 
 
 "This is mysterious. You are sure she meant me?" 
 
 "Oh, no doubt about that, sir; she said Mr. L. G. Kerr." 
 
 "And you are sure it was a lady? What was she like?" 
 
 "Tall, well dressed ; seemed a handsome kind of lady can't 
 tell you more nor that, sir. She called again yesterday in 
 a hansom. I told her you would be back to-day, and she 
 looked pleased and asked at what time you might likely to be 
 in." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "That I couldn't tell; she said she would try and find you 
 at home." 
 
 A man who consorts with a high ideal has rarely grounds 
 to dread the specters of past pleasures. Lewis Kerr did not 
 need to waste time in analyzing his recollections. 
 
 "Well, then, if this person calls again when I am in I 
 will see her ; if I am out, ask her to fix an hour." And turn- 
 ing to Fargus he took his arm, and they crossed over to the 
 Bull Inn in quest of their meal. 
 
 "And who is she ?" asked the latter carelessly. 
 
 "I really could not tell you," answered Lewis. "Some 
 young lady anxious to meet me. I cannot think who it can 
 be." 
 
 Fargus shot a swift, anxious look at him, but felt rebuked 
 as he met his son's clear, straightforward eyes. 
 
 After an old-fashioned English repast they returned across 
 the road and mounted the twisted flight that led to Lewis' 
 pignon sur rue. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Thomson, father mine," cried the latter as he 
 ushered Fargus into his rooms, "this is my English home 
 a poor thing, sir, but mine own indeed, the only home I 
 have ever known in my paternal country. Come what may,
 
 Dea Ex Machina. 147 
 
 of this at least I am master, and, humble as it is, I trust you 
 will look upon it as yours also." 
 
 Fargus crossed the threshold of his son's little home in a 
 silence that he could not break. Then, standing in the mid- 
 dle of the room, he slowly scanned the surroundings with a 
 tenderly appreciative eye. The curious retreat might have 
 been that of bookworm, student, or philosopher, to judge 
 from the mass of volumes that lined the walls from floor to 
 pent-up ceiling; or of artist, to go by the quaint, motley 
 furniture, the odd relics of antiquity, the pictures, the 
 "curios"; but for the extraordinary order and neatness more 
 characteristic of the soldier, with which every corner of space 
 was utilized without crowding the modest limits. A home, 
 thought the father, exactly fitted to its owner. 
 
 His pleased and wandering gaze suddenly became fixed as 
 he caught sight of the pictures over the mantel-shelf. He 
 walked across the room to look more closely. His own por- 
 trait and Carmen's. What a beautiful creature she had 
 been ! Since he had known his son, David Fargus had never 
 had another harsh thought for his dead wife. And under- 
 neath those two well-remembered portraits, the sword, the 
 Highland dirk and medals, and other chattels which had be- 
 longed to George Kerr. 
 
 David Fargus felt his eyes moisten as they fell upon these 
 relics of his own past, so piously collected and enshrined in 
 his boy's lonely home. 
 
 The young man came up and followed the direction of his 
 eyes. 
 
 "That is my father's portrait," he explained gravely, "taken 
 when he was about my own age. Was he not a fine fellow? 
 And that is my poor young mother. Damn that cur who is 
 trying to cast infamy upon her memory! Now tell me can- 
 didly, Colonel Fargus, do you see the likeness between my 
 father and me ?" 
 
 He placed his back to the chimney-piece and stood under 
 the picture, looking eagerly at his companion. Fargus re- 
 mained a moment lost in thought, comparing, with heaven 
 knows what sadness and pride, the young, expectant face of 
 the living with the painted image of the supposed dead. But 
 the father was pleased to see one, and there was no mistak- 
 ing the conviction of his assurance. 
 
 "You are like him very like, dear boy." 
 
 "Not such a good-looking fellow, of course," said Lewis, 
 with a blush of pleasure. "Still I always thought there was 
 a look of myself there. I am .glad you see it too. Now sit 
 down in my own armchair. It is time for your smoke. 
 Which will you have, pipe or cigar ?"
 
 148 Dea Ex Machina. 
 
 "A pipe. It is more homely, and I already feel so much at 
 home," replied Fargus, who sat down, with a contented sigh. 
 
 "Would you like this one?" he asked, producing a very 
 black clay pipe mounted in silver and amber; "it is one of 
 my few heirlooms; no one but myself has ever used it since 
 I had it. I treasure it as the apple of my eye. I will trust 
 it to your hand." 
 
 He placed the object in Fargus' outstretched palm the 
 identical grimy pipe, the trusty friend, under whose soothing 
 influence that first self of his had awakened from the mad- 
 ness that led to death, so many years ago now, before its 
 present owner had seen the light of day! Fargus looked 
 down at it with dilating eye. 
 
 "It was my father's," said Lewis, here interrupting the 
 flood of reminiscence, with a smile at his companion's mute 
 solemnity of contemplation ; "that is why it is so precious to 
 me. It came to me with all the other things when I set up 
 my college rooms. Mrs. Hillyard, his sister, you know, who 
 had preserved them for me, used to say it was his favorite 
 pipe." 
 
 Fitting the amber mouthpiece to his lips with an odd famil- 
 iarity, Fargus lit that memorable relic and sank back in his 
 chair, while Lewis rummaged about the room. 
 
 At last, when everything was again in the absolute order, 
 of the picturesque as well as handy kind, he sat down op- 
 posite his guest, and filled a pipe for himself. 
 
 "I am tired," said he, enjoyably drawing his first puff. 
 "I am not quite so robust yet as I might be. I am glad to 
 think I shall have you at my elbow in all these affairs." 
 
 "So am I. I am as much interested in them as you are." 
 
 "It is very odd," said Lewis; "I am so accustomed to look 
 to you for help it all seems perfectly natural. But, still, it 
 is most extraordinarily self-denying of you, when I come to 
 think of it. 
 
 "This suspense is wearing, though I try not to brood over it 
 too much. Let us hope I shall learn something definite at 
 Perkins' to-morrow. Hallo ! who goes there ?" 
 
 A smart rattle, as of some one tapping with a stick or um- 
 brella. Lewis, full of curious anticipation, went to open the 
 door, but the next moment, with a stifled exclamation, stepped 
 back into the room. 
 
 A young woman, dressed with quiet simplicity in soft pale 
 gray, with a large black Rubens hat, wreathed with many 
 falling feathers, on her shapely head, a gray parasol in one 
 hand and a somewhat bulky reticule in the other, stood on 
 the threshold against the light of the stair window* 
 
 On hearing Lewis' ejaculation, Fargus rose and hastily ad-
 
 Dea Hx Machina. 149 
 
 vanced, only to halt in his turn with every sign of the most 
 unmitigated astonishment. 
 
 "Miss Woldham !" he cried. 
 
 The visitor, who had seemed inclined to beat a retreat, on 
 sight of the elder man, recovered her self-possession as he 
 spoke. With great deliberation she walked into the room, 
 looking from one to the other with a slowly dawning smile of 
 peculiar significance. Lewis was the first to find out his 
 mistake he had been tricked again by that resemblance! 
 and frowning upon Maude's double, stood waiting with im- 
 patience for her next move, while Fargus, all at sea and 
 shaken out of his usual self-possession, surveyed the new- 
 comer with eyes in which wonder was now melting into joy- 
 ful anticipation. 
 
 "Look again, old gentleman," their visitor said, "are you 
 sure I am the real Miss Woldham?" 
 
 At this Fargus entered upon a new amazement, to give 
 place to an expression of the most complete mystification. 
 Maude Woldham never spoke with that twang, that vulgarity 
 of diction, however strangely similar the tones of the voice 
 might be; nor had Maude Woldham's eyes as he examined 
 closer that unflinching stare; nor were the beautiful lines 
 of her face so boldly marked. But if not Maude Woldham 
 who, in the name of heavens ? 
 
 "This is Mr. Kerr's rooms L. G. Kerr ain't it? because 
 that's the person I've come to see." 
 
 She turned to Lewis as she spoke. 
 
 "And you're the man, I take it ?" she pursued. 
 
 Lewis glared at her without answering was it a planned 
 insult of Charlie's? 
 
 Fargus came to the rescue with a sudden intuition of 
 some of his son's feelings. "These are Mr. Lewis Kerr's 
 rooms, madam, and, as you have guessed, this gentleman is 
 Mr. Kerr himself," pressing his hand in friendly warning on 
 the young man's shoulder. "He has been very ill is not 
 yet strong. Will you not take a seat ?" 
 
 "Thanks, I will," responded the lady, taking possession of 
 the armchair, and tossing reticule and parasol on the couch. 
 Once more addressing Lewis, while she proceeded leisurely to 
 divest large but well-shaped hands of their long gloves : "Oh, 
 my!" she remarked, "these are funny stairs of yours," be- 
 stowing pleased and smiling looks upon her astonished hosts. 
 
 Lewis and Fargus exchanged a glance of amazement; the 
 latter was beginning to enjoy the humorous side, and a rather 
 dry smile wandered about his mouth. 
 
 "And so you are Mr. Kerr. I am glad I have found you. 
 You've just come back from Inja, haven't you?"
 
 150 Dea Ex Machina. 
 
 "Now that you are quite at home," with scathing polite- 
 ness, "I presume I may ask what I owe the honor of your 
 visit to? You appear to know a good deal about me; but I 
 have yet to learn whom I have the privilege to address." 
 
 ''You've never seen me before, then ? Are you sure you've 
 never known any one something like me? Think well; that 
 one over there seemed to think I was quite a friend of his at 
 first." 
 
 The two men again exchanged a glance. But one thing 
 was clear to both ; the girl knew perfectly to whom it was she 
 bore so marvelous a likeness. 
 
 "You do look cross!" still tauntingly fixing Lewis; "per- 
 haps it was a little cool my bouncing in that way. But 
 there's one thing I wanted to find out for sure. And didn't 
 I do it, too? I'd rather not have found it out so true. And 
 shall I tell you how? I saw it written on your face, Mr. 
 Kerr, even before the old gentleman was kind enough to say 
 it for me." 
 
 There was a pause. Lewis threw himself on his stool and 
 folded his arms with the air of one who resigns himself to a 
 trying infliction. 
 
 "I shan't try your patience," she said gravely. "I have 
 come here on a serious matter to you and to me ;" this with 
 a sudden hard compression of her full red lips. "To begin 
 with, my name's Hilda Hillyard Mrs. Hillyard." 
 
 Neither Lewis nor Fargus was able to restrain a movement 
 of surprise. 
 
 The girl looked from one to the other with a titter defiance. 
 
 "What makes you both gape at me like that? If there 
 is any reason why I should not be Charles Hillyard's wife 
 kindly mention it." 
 
 She waited for a reply; receiving none, broke into scoifing 
 laugh. 
 
 "Maybe you've heard of him paying his court elsewhere?" 
 her lips trembling as she spoke. The friends became lost 
 in amazement ; their visitor, who had leaned forward to watch 
 their faces, fell back with a sigh of relief. She resumed, 
 after a pause: 
 
 "You've heard nothing ? I am glad of it. You're surprised 
 he should marry me because I'm not a lady. You're right, 
 I'm not; now I don't mind telling you I'm not his wedded 
 wife, though it's well-nigh four years that I've been as good 
 as one to him." 
 
 The silence that ensued seemed to gall the reckless speaker. 
 
 "Perhaps you're that particular, you'd rather not have any- 
 thing to do with me? I am afraid you'll be sold in the end." 
 
 The brazen look was as a cold douche to Lewis. He turned
 
 Dea Ex Machina. 151 
 
 away his head with vexation. Fargns, more tolerant, more 
 far-seeing, cast a grave, not unkind, glance upon the girl, 
 under which her eyes fell ; the bold, handsome features worked 
 with sudden emotion. 
 
 "I'm not ashamed of what I have done. There's many a 
 fine lady, who flatmts about the court, and shakes hands with 
 the Queen, has not as clear a sheet to show as me; many a 
 wedded wife hasn't been as true to her husband as I have to 
 Charlie. I don't care whether he marries m or not, but he 
 don't leave me." 
 
 Her face set into a look of determination. She looked 
 straight before her, dropping each word slowly with em- 
 phatic meaning. 
 
 "We are quite in the dark," put in Fargris gently. "Why 
 should Mr. Hillyard leave you ? And forgive me if I appear 
 rude ; but what has this to do with us ?" 
 
 Fargus' manner seemed to please. She smiled upon him 
 broadly, and, with a childish change of mood, replied almost 
 gayly: 
 
 "Why, it has a good deal to do with that young man. I've 
 come to tell him about it; but he's cross. Come now, that's 
 better you look a deal nicer when you're good-tempered. 
 And you'll live to thank me on your bended knees before I've 
 done. But" looking wise "as it is something private and 
 confidential, I'd better know who the old gentleman is. Will 
 you introduce him ?" 
 
 In answer to an acquiescent glance Lewis complied with the 
 request. 
 
 "I'm not much the wiser," remarked the visitor candidly. 
 "Look here, Mr. Kerr, you'll be just as much in a hat as me, 
 if your friend was to split upon us. So perhaps you'd bet- 
 ter send him away." 
 
 This was qualified with an amiable smile at Fargus. 
 
 The latter looked amused, but Lewis responded impatiently : 
 
 "Mr. Fargus is quite to be trusted; he is my adviser upon 
 most important legal business at present. Anything you 
 have to say to me must be said before him." 
 
 "It would serve you right if I were to leave you in the 
 lurch. But I won't first, because I believe you're a good 
 sort; second, because I like the looks of him even better 
 than you; thirdly, because it would not suit my book. 
 You've important legal matters? Then, I dare say all my 
 news won't be as much news to you as I thought." 
 
 Lewis bent forward. She surveyed him a moment with a 
 malicious smile, and looked round the room. 
 
 "Why, I declare, if that isn't a tea-tray, with everything 
 as handy as can be. Now, look here, you can smoke your
 
 152 Dea Ex Machina. 
 
 pipes, if you'll let me have a cup of tea. I'm just dropping 
 for it." 
 
 "It is not made yet," groaned Lewis. "I can get you some 
 before long. In the mean time, perhaps, you will be kind 
 enough to state your business." 
 
 "Now, don't you bother," said the damsel, rising. "You 
 sit down there; you don't look over-well. I'll cook the tea." 
 And with much neatness she proceeded to arrange the cups 
 and light the spirit-lamp, perfectly at home. "This is like 
 the place Charlie has at his college," she remarked. 
 
 "You have been to Cambridge, have you ?" said Lewis, be- 
 coming rather tickled. 
 
 "Yes, once. He don't like my being seen there. They 
 won't have ladies about the colleges so he said." 
 
 As she stood up, leaning on the back of the chair, her hands 
 behind her, the careless attitude displayed the magnificent 
 lines of her figure in all their warm, firm perfection. Far- 
 gus stood watching the scene in silence. 
 
 The girl glanced over her shoulder and met Lewis' burning 
 glance. 
 
 "You look as if you could eat me!" she cried. "Well, is 
 that Miss Woldham better than me ?" And with a bold move- 
 ment she drew herself up and turned slowly round. After a 
 second devoted to the enjoyment of the impression, she sat 
 down by the table, and pursued with great composure: "I 
 don't think she is. She may be a lady; a lady is only a 
 woman ; I know what sort of a woman I am, and I'm as good 
 as her." 
 
 Then, with her broad smile, that displayed teeth of the 
 most perfect regularity and whiteness, she again looked from 
 one man to the other in that self-satisfied and good-tempered 
 way, poured out two cups of tea, and handed them graciously. 
 
 "I wonder, now, if you think me cheeky to call on you in 
 this way," she remarked, sipping her own portion. 
 
 "We are delighted with the visit," said Lewis gravely; "but 
 I own I shall feel a desire to hear more of its purpose." 
 
 "Well, one of my purposes was to see the effect of my ap- 
 pearance upon you it beats all I expected. You must be 
 as bad as Charlie himself about that girl. That was one of 
 the reasons why writing would not do. Now, to come to the 
 other : I think you expect to come into a certain property ?" 
 
 "Perfectly. I have come into one." 
 
 "Well, Charlie thinks he has found means of coming in for 
 it." 
 
 "But if you can tell me how he hopes to keep me out, that 
 would, I confess, be news, as you have it." 
 
 "It would be silly to ask," replied the girl, after the
 
 Dea Ex Machina. 153 
 
 ner of a humorous proposition, "if you are really anxious to 
 get that fine property, I take it." 
 
 "I mean to get it," Lewis replied, "for more reasons than 
 one." 
 
 "We are of a. mind on one point, because I mean not to let 
 him get it, if I can prevent it." 
 
 "But," interposed Fargus, "what are your reasons? I pre- 
 sume he believes he has a good chance of success." 
 
 "My reasons," cried the girl, "is that I have found out his 
 little game I'm not going to be given the slip in this man- 
 ner. I've been as good and faithful to him as any wife. 
 I've always put him first and foremost. I've given in to all 
 his fancies, and what do you think those fancies were? 
 why, to make me look as much as possible like that girl of 
 his. What do you think his little plan now is? Why, to 
 pension me off who" would have given him money if I had 
 had it, earned it for him, if he would have let me pension 
 me off, that he might go and play the squire on his land and 
 marry her; that's all. Now, so long as he has only his col- 
 lege-money to live on, she won't look at him; nor would he 
 marry her on small means. And ladies, you know, ain't as 
 easily satisfied as one like me; now you know my reason 
 for wanting to keep him out of the property. I don't want 
 none of these changes." 
 
 Lewis had grown crimson. "That girl of his" in connec- 
 tion with Charles, made him shudder. He rose and paced the 
 room uneasily, for the first time dreading Charlie as a rival 
 with burning jealousy. 
 
 "I won't let him go," she pursued doggedly. "Just fancy, 
 making a dummy of me. But, won't there be a jolly row 
 when he finds the papers gone!" 
 
 "What papers ?" cried Lewis, coming to a standstill. 
 
 "Why, them papers I have brought to you. Just hand 
 me my bag there, please." She tugged out of the reticule an 
 immense envelope, bulky with inclosures, and tied together 
 with string, and placed it on the table. "Now listen to me," 
 she went on laying her open palm over the bundle. "It's a 
 good turn I've come to do you, and before I let you have 
 them which I think you ought to be pleased to have you 
 must swear never to let on how you came by them." 
 
 "I don't know that I can in honor take advantage of this. 
 How did you come by these documents." 
 
 The girl arched her straight eyebrows and looked at him, 
 but aloud she ejaculated triumphantly: 
 
 "What! Not if they are actually addressed to you?" hold- 
 ing up the bundle so that Lewis could read on the envelope
 
 154 Sudden Development of Brain. 
 
 his own name in the clear well-remembered handwriting of 
 his old guardian. 
 
 CHAPTEK XV. 
 
 SUDDEN DEVELOPMENT OF BRAIN IN A DUMMY. 
 
 "My God I Uncle Robert's writing 1" exclaimed Lewis in 
 fear and anticipation, and stretched forth his hand to seize 
 the parcel. The visitor enjoyed the situation too keenly to 
 relinquish it so promptly. She whipped the papers behind 
 her back. 
 
 "No, you don't, my lad ; till I've had my say. Besides, you 
 want to know how I've come by them, first. If I can't show 
 you I've come by them honestly, perhaps you'd rather not 
 have them, though, if nicely cooked and dished up, I'll be 
 bound they can be made to prove that you've no more right 
 to the estate nor to the name of Kerr, for all that than 
 that gentleman yonder." 
 
 Quivering with impatience, Lewis turned to Fargus, and 
 the latter came forward and addressed the girl with gentle 
 authority. 
 
 "You are keeping my poor friend in cruel suspense. I 
 am certain that nothing you can have got hold of would 
 ever prove what you suggest, but you understand that those 
 letters must be of great importance to Mr. Kerr, as they are 
 addressed to him. Will you not give them without delay?" 
 
 "I won't tease him any more," answered she, "and he don't 
 seem strong enough to bear it. I'd like you to hear what I 
 have to say, first. I'd like to tell you how I came by them. 
 I don't care that you should think too bad of me. If I don't 
 have my say before you get hold of this, you'll be far too 
 busy grubbing at what's inside to listen to me. Now, don't 
 go on so, Mr. Kerr ; it's as well, as I'm sure your friend will 
 agree with me, that you should learn what that cousin of 
 yours has been up to. May be, too, I'd like you to hear how 
 clever I've been, and how I've circumvented him. But first 
 of all, you won't split on me ?" 
 
 "One instant," said Fargus; "will you allow me to speak 
 apart with my friend for half a minute ?" 
 
 Receiving a careless nod of acquiescence in answer, Far- 
 gus drew his son into the inner room. 
 
 "You have confidence in me; leave me the management of 
 this. You do not realize what an extraordinary piece of 
 luck this is ; ft positive godsend ! Let the girl have her own
 
 Sudden Development of Brain. 155 
 
 way. The more she says, the more shall we learn of what 
 might have remained sealed to us. She will prove an all- 
 valuable ally." 
 
 "I hardly know if I am justified." 
 
 "Can you not trust your honor in my hands, Lewis ?" 
 
 The young man winced under the glance of reproach. All 
 he knew of his kind friend's honored past, rose up before 
 him. 
 
 "Forgive me, I put everything without reserve in your 
 hands." 
 
 "I accept the charge," answered Fargus. 
 
 They re-entered the room where Miss Hilda sat awaiting 
 them. 
 
 "We give you our word of honor, as gentlemen," said the 
 American, "that no one shall ever hear from us that you 
 have been mixed up in this business. Does that satisfy you ?" 
 
 "It'll have to do. I'll trust you, though I've small reason 
 to believe in a gentleman's honor. Well, my name's Hilda 
 Wren. For four years I've lived as Charles Hillyard's wife. 
 The first time I saw him, up the river, I thought he was so 
 handsome he looked like a prince. I said to myself, 'That's 
 the man for me.' I loved him then, and I've never changed. 
 I love him still, for all his black falseness to me. He said 
 he could not marry me, because the old fools at the Univer- 
 sity had made a law against Dons marrying. I know it's no 
 longer so; I found that out too. He took a house for me in 
 Vincent Square. Do you know the place? Anyhow, I've 
 made him a nice cosy home there all these years, though it 
 was dull to be so much alone. I'd have been glad to help 
 him more; I could have earned money easy; there is not a 
 swagger shop in London that wouldn't pay high to have me 
 about. He wouldn't hear of it. I was to live like a lady 
 slow work enough I found it; but I saw him every week. 
 We'd go out a drive together, go to the theatre, or a day in 
 the country; and I was happy, and never a suspicion came till 
 a fortnight ago. 
 
 "It was a small thing put me on the scent. I set to work 
 then and made it out ; my eyes are well opened now." 
 
 Despite the men's eagerness for their visitor to have said 
 her say, with the unread bundle of papers and its contents 
 hanging, a sword of Damocles over their heads, they could 
 not help feeling sympathy with her. 
 
 "In August, Charlie had told me he was off a-yachting with 
 a friend; I hadn't seen him for nearly a month. It wasn't 
 true he was at Gilham ; I found it out afterward. A lonely 
 month for me; no letters, not a bit of change. We used to 
 go away somewhere at that time, the happiest bit of the
 
 156 Sudden Development of Brain. 
 
 whole year to me. I thought he was having a holiday after 
 his hard work. As I'm telling you, it passed the middle of 
 the month, and Charlie turned up unexpected. Wasn't I 
 glad I When I think of it I could beat my head against the 
 wall! He looked ill, I thought, and worried like. It was 
 hot. I didn't mind his being grumpy, with the joy of having 
 him there. After tea, he went sound asleep on the sofa; I 
 didn't mind, either. I thought, 'He's real tired !' and went to 
 put a pillow under his head. I saw his pocket-book sticking 
 put of his pocket. A thought came over me I'd like to see 
 if he'd got my photo safe where we'd put it together in a kind 
 of secret place. He never felt me touch it, and I pulled it 
 out." 
 
 She caught her breath with a sort of gasping laugh. 
 
 "There it was, sure enough! I was pleased, and then I 
 had another happy thought. I'd had my photo taken while 
 he was away; an uncommon good one. I said to myself it 
 would be fun to put in one of the new ones instead of the 
 old thing. I pulled out the old photo from under the slab. 
 Guess what I found ! Another photo underneath. I thought 
 it was one of myself, I never saw anything so like; but I 
 couldn't be such a fool for long. Well, I thought that he 
 kept it there just because it was so like me. Silly thing to 
 think. But I couldn't make it out ; I thought he was still as 
 fond of me as I of him. I pulled it out; on the back of it 
 was written: 'To darling Susie from Maud Woldham, Sep- 
 tember 14, 1876,' the photographer some man in York. That 
 minute he stirred in his sleep, just as I was going to have a 
 look at the papers. I stuff everything back and lay the case 
 on the ground beside him, to look just as if it had fallen out 
 of his pocket. I went back to the window to think. I 
 didn't want him to know I suspected. If he thought I was 
 watching him, he'd be close as wax, he's so clever, I'd never 
 have a chance against him. I soon settled in my mind I'd 
 not let on, and there were three or four queer things about 
 it. First of all, the photo was given to his mother I knew 
 her name was Susie ; then, it was taken in York, and Gilham, 
 where his mother lived, is near there; so I said to myself, 
 'It's clear the girl comes from that part, too'; the date was 
 before he even met me; the girl's hair was done just the 
 same way he made me do mine when he knew me first. That 
 last set me thinking. After a bit he wakes up ; when he finds 
 the book on the floor he gives a sharp glance at me; I was 
 stalling at him quite cheerful; he puts it in his pocket with- 
 out a word. 'My girl,' says he, 'go and put on your bonnet 
 and we'll have some dinner. I've been debating whether I'd 
 start on a journey to-night; the business is important and
 
 Sudden Development of Brain. 157 
 
 I've made up my mind it's better to go to-night.' 'Where are 
 you going?' 'I'm going to Southampton,' he said, scowling 
 at me, 'from there to the South of Spain.' " 
 
 "To Spain!" interrupted both men with a cry of amaze- 
 ment ; Lewis looked across to Fargus with a bitter smile, and 
 said: 
 
 "He is determined to leave no stone unturned." 
 
 Miss Wren caught up the remark and pointed it with char- 
 acteristic directness: 
 
 "No, that he won't!" she cried. "Your mother was 
 Spanish, wasn't she ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Lewis, reddening again with indignation. 
 
 "He's gone to rake up something about her. Don't take 
 on like that. Who cares about what he may try to do so 
 long as he don't succeed? It's uncommon lucky for you I 
 had my finger in his pie. You're beginning to find it more 
 interesting than you thought. I begged hard to take me 
 along with him to Spain, partly to see the face he'd make. I 
 didn't believe a word about his going. I thought he was off 
 again to Gilham. He said he couldn't. I asked him what he 
 was going for. He said : 'Business, money matters. A rela- 
 ton of mine's dead. If I find out what I want, I ought to 
 have his money.' I noticed he was in mourning. I began to 
 think he might be telling the truth. 'Go and get your bonnet 
 on we have just three hours left together,' pulling out his 
 watch. All my doubts of him came back. So when I came 
 down-stairs to go out I listened outside the door, and peeped 
 through the key-hole, before going in, and I could just see 
 him as busy as possible stuffing letters and papers into his 
 dispatch-box. When I turned the handle and came in he 
 gave a start, shut up everything and quickly locked the box. 
 'Hilda,' he said, 'you see this box. It contains papers re- 
 garding that inheritance ; they are very important ; you must 
 leave it at my solicitor's to-morrow. I am going to write a 
 letter for you to take to him. I meant to leave it myself, but 
 it was after hours; if I wait I'll miss my boat.' 'I'll do it,' 
 says I. Then he wrote the letter for me. Then we went out 
 for dinner. He was very nice. During dinner he pulled 
 out his pocket-book to get a banknote, and laid it on the table. 
 I took it up careless-like to look at it, to find out if he'd got 
 my picture still, and pulled it about as if to set it straight. 
 The other photo was gone. I knew then there was something 
 behind it." 
 
 The narrator paused. Fargus, looking kindly at her, 
 thought her face seemed pale. 
 
 "You are tired," said he ; "you had better rest a little." 
 
 "I've not told you the half yet. I'm not tired; you don't
 
 158 Sudden Development of Brain. 
 
 fancy these have been pleasant things for me? Not that a 
 woman who has loved and trusted a man with her whole 
 heart for years can find out he is a villain and feel none the 
 worse for it! I love him; if I didn't I wouldn't be here. 
 He'll always be the one man for me, and I mean to keep him. 
 But it's been cruel hard. You haven't heard the worst, nor 
 how I found him out. That girl's photograph, and the hurry 
 he had been in to shove in the papers and the photo didn't 
 let me sleep that night, after he was gone it was to South- 
 ampton, after all. I went to the station and saw his ticket. 
 The next day I couldn't eat, read, walk, work, or think of any- 
 thing but that box. I sat down and stared at it from morning 
 till night wondering what was along with that photo. I could 
 stand it no longer. I fetched all my keys and tried them. 
 Trust Charlie for a good lock on his secrets ! Not one would 
 fit. I thought I must find out, come what might. So I go 
 down to the landlady, a shrewd body, and I say, over a cup of 
 tea, in a careless way: 'There's a dressing-case of mine got 
 locked with a snap and the key inside, and I've tried every 
 key in the place. It's a Chubb lock. I'll have to break it 
 open.' 'Don't you do that; take it over to the shop, they'll 
 open it for you. We did that and got a new key and no 
 trouble.' 'Give me the address and I'll go.' I took it coolly, 
 never pretended it was anything of importance. As soon as I 
 could I made off up-stairs, and off in a hansom with the box. 
 To cut it short, I was that grand and airy at Chubb's the 
 smart young man never dreamed of suspecting my story, but 
 opened the box and measured the lock for a new key. I had 
 to order a new one for appearances' sake. The lock does shut 
 of itself. Back I got into my hansom. I couldn't keep my 
 fingers out of the box, but rummaged in it all the way home. 
 One thing I made out the girl's photo was not in it ; he had 
 taken it with him ; a bad sign. 
 
 "Soon as I got in I turned all the papers on my dressing- 
 table and sat down. There was a big envelope tied up with 
 your name on the top, Mr. Kerr, and lots of letters about 
 business that looked dull enough; that was all. Nothing 
 about the girl. I began to think I was sold; I turned over 
 every nook. Then I took up this here envelope : 'Lewis Kerr, 
 Esq.' 'Now, where the dickens have I heard that name?' 
 Then I remembered you were that cousin he used to be such 
 chums with. I used to wish you to Jericho, when you kept 
 him away from me. That was in the first year I knew him. 
 I could see nothing in these stupid lawyer's letters, so the 
 papers he spoke of as so important must be in that packet, 
 yet it was addressed to another man. I got curious and un- 
 tied the string. There were a lot of letters and things inside ;
 
 Sudden Development of Brain. 159 
 
 you'll see it for yourself. I couldn't understand what there 
 was so precious about them. One never knows what a man 
 like Charlie can make of things. It didn't seem a bit inter- 
 esting to me. What could it matter to Charlie about your 
 father and your mother? The letter to you at the top said 
 itself the papers were of no importance. So it was all queer he 
 should be that anxious. I thought I'd read the business let- 
 ters. I read them. They did tell me lots. The first thing 
 was Charlie might come into a grand fortune. So it was 
 true what he said. 'Now he can marry me.' Simple of me. 
 Then I wondered why he hadn't wanted me to know. 'Hilda,' 
 said I, 'read on before you make a fool of yourself.' The 
 next thing became clear to me was it was your fortune he 
 was after. That's how he comes to have the letters addressed 
 to you. And yet I felt as if things weren't quite on the 
 square. 'If he can play hanky-panky with his chum, it may 
 be a bad look for me.' After that I opened the last lawyer's 
 letter; I've got it in my pocket. I'll read it to you now, if 
 you will give us some light." 
 
 Lewis rose to obey, and Miss Wren, who had been impa- 
 tiently tapping her foot during this delay, spread out a crum- 
 pled letter under the light, and once more raised her voice 
 with sarcastic emphasis: 
 
 "'DEAR SIR: We think that it would be better if you 
 would let us have the safe custody of the documents, as on 
 them depends everything. It is advisable you should investi- 
 gate yourself the registers of birth and baptism in Seville. 
 Although we may look upon the proofs already in your hands 
 as practically sufficient if utilized to their full powers, the 
 matter would, of course, be settled beyond the possibility of 
 dispute, should the date of the claimant's birth be found not 
 to tally with the requirements of his case. 
 
 " 'With reference to the young woman in question, we cer- 
 tainly opine that, considering the very handsome compensa- 
 tion you would, in case of success, be willing to offer her, you 
 need anticipate little trouble. Meanwhile, we agree with you 
 that the sooner an understanding is come to the better, and 
 we shall be happy to undertake the necessary negotiations 
 should you feel sufficiently confident of success to venture on 
 the expense.' 
 
 "That is all; though my head went round as I read it, I 
 said to myself : 'That's about that girl.' You may well look 
 at each other ; to think of me, such an innocent ! 'That's all 
 right,' I says ; 'it's that girl.' I put up the papers and closed 
 the box and went about the room singing, all the time I kept 
 saying: 'It's that other girl he wants to get rid of.' All at
 
 160 Sudden Development of Brain. 
 
 once I knew I was lying to myself. 'I must find out for cer- 
 tain, or I shall die.' I made up my mind to open the letter 
 he had given me to take with the box to the solicitor's. So I 
 light my spirit-lamp and boil my kettle and hold the letter 
 over the steam and open it as easy as anything, and after I'd 
 opened it I stood staring at it, and, Lord bless me ! 
 
 "I know that letter by heart. It's short. It went on this 
 way: 
 
 " 'DEAR SIR : I was not able to leave the documents with 
 you, of which you have the copy, this afternoon. I steam to- 
 morrow morning for Gibraltar, my dispatch-box, containing, 
 among other things, the papers in question, will be left at 
 your office. In default of a better messenger in my hurry, it 
 will be brought to you by the young woman I spoke to you 
 about. It may be as well that you should see her. In great 
 haste, yours;' and so on. 
 
 "When I read that I seemed to go mad like. I rolled on 
 the ground; I could have killed myself, only that it would 
 have made things too easy for him. Then I read everything 
 over again. I thought of everything. That Woldham girl 
 was a grand young lady, for wasn't she his mother's friend? 
 When he found he couldn't have her, he finds me, and I'm so 
 like her, he takes me instead. That's why he made me do 
 my hair so, and dress so particular now like this, now like 
 that; he never went yachting at all. All those letters were 
 addressed to Gilham, and there he was, seeing her again, and 
 making up to her. When he finds he can do a friend out of a 
 fortune, and step into riches and grandeur, he'll cast off the 
 wretched dummy, and get the real one! That's where he's 
 wrong. I've sworn I'll keep him, and I will !" 
 
 Panting, she walked the room in a fierce manner, clenching 
 her hands as she went, while the friends heard the sound of a 
 suppressed sob. When she returned, and stood again within 
 the circle of the light, she was dry-eyed, and the magnificence 
 of her beauty struck them with fresh force. 
 
 "Did you ever see that Woldham girl in a dress like this ?" 
 she asked sharply, "or a hat like this?" sizing the black- 
 plumed headgear that lay on the sofa, and planting it roughly 
 on her head. "Answer, can't you ?" 
 
 "I have only seen Miss Woldhan} for three years or more, 
 and that only for a short while," answered Lewis. 
 
 But Fargus was more willing to humor the girl, the reason 
 for which was so pathetic. He shifted the candles to exam- 
 ine her by a better light, and exclaimed in tones of surprised 
 conviction : 
 
 "I do remember, now that you ask, I have teen Miw Wold-
 
 Sudden Development of Brain. 161 
 
 ham dressed just like you at Woldham. I used to think it 
 looked as if it had come out of an old picture." 
 
 "I knew it," cried Hilda Wren, stamping her foot. "All 
 along he's made me dress like her. I'm a dummy, I tell you 
 a blessed dummy ! But I'll make him smart for this," resum- 
 ing her pacing about the room. "He always pretended to care 
 so much about fashion. I was to wear this, that ; one wants 
 to look nice, and I never thought of anything except: 'Isn't 
 Charlie proud of me !' Oh, what a blasted idiot I have been ! 
 I'd have torn the cursed things to bits and dashed it on the 
 floor. I'd have torn the rags off my back, rather than have 
 done it, if I'd known." 
 
 She paused, and suddenly her tragic airs fell from her. 
 
 "It was a good idea to put on those clothes he made me get 
 last, and let you see me in them. Mr. Kerr seems bad ; head 
 aching, eh ? I shan't be long finishing. I made up my mind 
 to play a big game to prevent Charlie dropping me. 'I may 
 whistle for him, if he gets the fortune, so I'm determined he 
 shan't; nothing worse can happen to me; if he can't have 
 her, he'll come back to me, sooner or later! There was a 
 chance that way, and none the other. I thought it well over, 
 and how I'd bring you the papers. My first idea was to burn 
 them, when I'd reflected the papers were yours by rights, then 
 I wanted to find out quite clear about that Woldham girl. 
 So I had to go to the lawyers first, with the empty box. 
 That old duffer, that was so free with his good advice about 
 getting rid of troublesome young women may be I'll worm 
 something out of him, too. After a week, I'd everything 
 clear in my head, and I began to think it time to settle my 
 fine young man's business, when I got a letter to spur me up. 
 It was as cold as you please, saying he hoped I'd done his 
 commission ; that he couldn't tell when he would be back not 
 for ever so long. That letter told me something else. He 
 wasn't pleased with the way things were going over there. I 
 knew by the crossing of his t's that he was fit to be tied when 
 he wrote; I guessed that he was safe to be coming home al- 
 most immediately; and wanted to blind me, he did not mean 
 to come here ; it was plain that he was beginning the cooling- 
 off business. My blood was up, and without any more ado I 
 clinched the matter. I took out the packet of papers that 
 meant a fortune to Charlie, a slap in the face for you, and 
 the sack for me, and put them carefully in my hand-bag, 
 locked the box, and buried the key in the garden. Then I 
 fastened up the letter I was to bring to the lawyer; you'd 
 never have known it had been touched. Well, I got there in 
 time. 
 
 " 'Mr. Hodgson in, young man ?' says I. Til Bee, madam,'
 
 162 Sudden Development of Brain. 
 
 says he; 'what business, may I ask?' 'Say it's Mrs. Hill- 
 yard, please,' says I, 'and give him this,' and handed him the 
 letter. Presently he comes back and says Mr. Hodgson would 
 see me. And up-stairs I went, him carrying the box for me. 
 There was a little old gent sitting at a desk; he was as like 
 a weasel as ever I see. 'Sit down, madam,' says he. 'Is that 
 the box? Put it down, William, and leave us. So you've 
 brought this from Mr. Hillyard. I see this letter's dated a 
 week back.' 'Couldn't come sooner,' said I, smiling at him. 
 He frowned, but didn't seem to have a word to say. 'He gave 
 it to me,' I said (talking of the box, you know), 'the day he 
 went off. I didn't know it was so pressing till I got a letter 
 from him this morning, saying he hoped I'd done his com- 
 mission. He wrote from a place called Sevilla.' I thought, 
 'If I want him to speak up, I'll have to improve a bit.' So on 
 I went again: 'I'm to call on you for something concern- 
 ing myself besides I'm sure I don't know why.' At that he 
 was really taken in, as he was humming and hawking. That 
 seemed to touch him up. 'Have you that letter here?' he 
 asks, as dry as can be. 'No, I haven't,' says I; 'if I had, you 
 shouldn't see it. I don't mind telling you that Charlie 
 seemed uncommon jolly over his business there and he says 
 great things is coming.' I knew I'd have to tell a lie or two." 
 
 The girl's mimicry was marvelous. 
 
 "You'd have laughed a bit if you'd been there, especially 
 if you'd known what I was up to. Then I went on : 'I haven't 
 come here to be snapped at with cross-questions, and it's 
 a pity for me to waste this lovely afternoon in this stuffy 
 little hole of yours. I've done the job as Charlie told me. If 
 you've nothing to say, it don't matter. I suppose I shall hear 
 all about it when he comes back.' I jumped up and made be- 
 lieve to go. 'Wait a bit, madam,' says he, waving his hand. 
 'I have something to say, rather of a delicate nature, so I 
 must beg you to listen to me quietly. When I have done, you 
 will see it is all to your advantage, on the whole.' 'Now for 
 Charlie's handsome compensation,' thinks I. 'The case is 
 this,' says the old man. 'Mr. Hillyard has explained to me the 
 nature of his relations with you. You know they are such 
 as cannot last forever.' 'No, I don't,' said I. 'You should 
 know it, madam. Mr.' Hillyard's connection with you is not 
 what his family or friends would approve of.' 'You mean,' 
 said I, 'that I'm only kept. I'll have you know,' I said, 'that 
 Mr. Hillyard would have married me years ago, only he'd lose 
 what he calls his fellowship if he did, and that's worth a pot 
 of money to him.' 'My dear young lady,' he says, 'it would be 
 false kindness to allow you to mistake your position, but it's 
 th, n :< r. yo?.r since that regulation's been done away with.'
 
 Sudden Development of Brain. 163 
 
 I couldn't speak, for that came hard on me, I own. 'Without 
 any further beating about the bush, Miss Wren, I must inform 
 you Mr. Hillyard's life is about to change. He has come, or 
 is about to come, into some landed property. He will have to 
 reside in the country and undertake the duties of his new 
 position.' I knew right well what he meant. 'Well, I don't 
 quite see what that's to do with me; I don't mind I was 
 brought up in the country myself.' "This is wasting my val- 
 uable time, Miss Wren,' said he. 'Mr. Hillyard has been 
 some time in coming to his resolution, but has made up his 
 mind, and he has charged me to let you know it, that there 
 might not be too much sentiment.' I kept up my part well. 
 'So he has made up his mind to drop me, has he? Suppose, 
 now, I mean to stick to him.' 
 
 "The old man told me I'd be a fool for my pains, for I'd 
 lose the compensation Charlie was ready to give me, and he 
 jawed a lot about the impossibility of my being able to bring- 
 in a breach of promise (as if I would try such a thing!) after 
 living with him four years. Well, after a good deal of talk, 
 he tells me the compensation Charlie '11 give me is three 
 hundred a year, as long as I never come near him, or write, 
 and I left him, saying I'd think over it all. He stood look- 
 ing after me, grinning and rubbing his hands, and thinking 
 himself so jolly clever. And me going off with the papers 
 in the bag on my arm ! 
 
 "Don't you think I am a fool not to take that compensa- 
 tion? Do you know, that lawyer fellow said I could make a 
 real good marriage with such a fortune?" 
 
 She sprang from her chair and flung the papers across the 
 table to Fargus, who caught them between his hands. 
 
 "Now you can have them ; I've done with the things. And 
 I'll make off with myself; it's getting late." 
 
 Brave as she was, her voice broke a little. 
 
 "Don't look at me like that!" turning on Fargus; "don't 
 pity me I can't bear it." But before he could answer she 
 had recovered herself. "Not a looking-glass in the place," 
 she observed, planting her hat on her head ; "just like a man's 
 room? Good-by, Mr. Kerr; I'm real sorry to see you look so 
 ill. And good-by, Mr. What's-your-name. I believe you 
 have the brains of both of you under your hair, for I am 
 blessed if that young friend of yours seems to know if he's 
 standing on his head or his heels. Perhaps you won't mind 
 dropping me a line some time to say how the whole affair 
 goes off, and what Charlie's up to. He'll be fit to murder 
 me." 
 
 "I shall certainly write if you wish," answered Fargus, 
 shaking her warmly by the hand; "but where to?"
 
 164 " Litera Scripta Manet." 
 
 "Send your letter to the Keppel Head, Vauxhall Bridge 
 Road, care of Miss Polly Evans. I've your word you'll never 
 let on to Charlie? Sooner or later he must find out it was 
 I who took these things ; but I'd as lief he never knew of this 
 visit of mine to you." 
 
 "He never shall know from us. You have laid my friend 
 under great obligations, Miss Wren. If ever I can be of use 
 to you in any way, do not hesitate to write. I will in my 
 turn give you my address in the country. Mr. Kerr," he 
 added with a smile, after penciling his direction, "is rather 
 too young to be able to befriend you. But an old man like 
 me has his privileges." 
 
 She took the card and gave the speaker a grateful glance. 
 
 "You're real kind," she said. "I trust you a long way, for 
 all I've only known you a couple of hours. You have a true 
 friend there, Mr. Kerr; you're in luck. Good-by. I'll get 
 a cab for myself." 
 
 The door closed after her. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 "LITERA SCRIPTA MANET." 
 
 The father and son stood facing each other, too full of 
 thoughts for speech. Fargus broke the silence. 
 
 "A strange turn in our affairs," he said, "but one which 
 will wonderfully simplify matters." 
 
 Lewis sat down with an unconscious gesture of bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "The whole business is sickening. I seem no better than 
 Charlie. We should have told her that we declined to have 
 anything to say to such underhand ways." 
 
 Fargus held the papers in his hand, with a troubled eye. 
 Was that sensitive honor of his boy to be now another ob- 
 stacle to overcome? Difficulties lay on every side. 
 
 "Lewis, this is overstrained. Are not these papers ad- 
 dressed to you? Are they not yours by right?" 
 
 "Give them to me, then. I may as well know the worst at 
 once. I make a poor return to you for all you have done 
 to me." 
 
 "You are weak and ill," said the father, "and sorely tried, 
 or I confess your want of confidence would be wounding. 
 Come, my boy; leave the perusal of these documents to me." 
 
 Lewis rested his throbbing forehead on his hand;
 
 "Litera Scripta Manet." 165 
 
 "Let me see my uncle's letter, at any rate," he said dog- 
 gedly. 
 
 "You could not read it. I can see by your manner that 
 you are almost blind again with headache." 
 
 In compliance with a nod of assent from his companion, 
 Fargus pulled the letter out of its envelope. "What if the 
 elder Hillyard were to bring the same indictment as the 
 younger?" It was impossible further to combat Lewis' 
 feverish determination, and he began to read aloud in a voice 
 that grew firmer as he proceeded. The letter was dated a 
 couple of years back, and ran thus: 
 
 " 'My DEAR LEWIS : It is nearly two years since you passed 
 out of my tutelage; but, knowing that it was your wish, and 
 especially that of my wife, I have continued to look after 
 your interests in general. The hour is now drawing very 
 nigh, however, when I shall have to resign all earthly charges. 
 My doctor here, as well as the specialist I have consulted in 
 London, both admit that my time is likely to be limited, and 
 when this is received by you the great change will have taken 
 place for me. 
 
 " 'Business matters, however, are not what I have now to 
 write about; you will find, I trust, that all your worldly af- 
 fairs are well cared for and managed by Perkins. 
 
 " 'After accepting the medical men's verdict, I set to work 
 and put all my papers into final order, and in so doing I 
 came across a bundle of papers, some of which concern you 
 directly. These are the letters and other documents which 
 came twenty-four years ago, before you were born. I con- 
 sidered it my duty to gather and to retain (for my own 
 safeguard and justification), when, on your father's death, at 
 my wife's request, I undertook to assist his helpless widow in 
 her trouble, and began those relations by correspondence with 
 your grandfather, Don Atanasio de Ayala, which ultimately 
 led to my undertaking the duties of guardian to you. 
 
 " 'I have thought of destroying these papers. But I was 
 restrained by scruples of conscience. Rightfully they are 
 yours, and now my purpose in writing is to advise you 
 strongly to burn this bundle unread. No good can come of 
 raking up old family misunderstandings, the last effect of 
 which has been visible in Mr. Kerr's persistently hostile at- 
 titude toward you. You will do wisely in leaving the past 
 undisturbed. 
 
 " 'I cannot even send you this, as I hear with satisfaction 
 that you have been allowed to volunteer for active service in 
 Afghanistan. You will receive the packet, therefore, when 
 you return to England, as I sincerely hope, safe and sound.
 
 166 " Litera Scripta Manet." 
 
 Let me say, ever since your grandfather on his death asked 
 me to take an interest in you, I have watched your career 
 with no feelings but those of satisfaction ; I feel sure the rest 
 of your journey through this life will be marked by the 
 same sense of duty and moral refinement I have observed in 
 you. In this hope I must say, what is beyond doubt, a last 
 adieu to you. Yours affectionately, 
 
 "'ROBERT HILLY ABD/ 
 
 "My dear boy," said Fargus, looking his son full in the 
 eyes, and throwing into his gaze and voice all the intensity 
 of his desire, "you hear what this message from the grave tells 
 you. Will you burn at once, or trust me to examine, these 
 relics so unfortunately preserved. And if, on examination, I 
 agree with your guardian, will you let me fulfill his wishes ? 
 Let us settle this business now and forever." 
 
 Lewis returned Fargus' gaze with a sort of fascination, 
 and then slowly extended his hand as if in token of acquies- 
 cence. Without delay he withdrew into the other room, 
 and, lighting a candle, perused the papers hurriedly. Every 
 word of that farewell letter to Carmen was branded in his 
 mind, but now, the plausible constructions which might have 
 been put upon every bitter sentence seemed to flash out por- 
 tentously. 
 
 He turned to the brief lines in which William Kerr re- 
 pudiated his brother's widow, and his face burned with indig- 
 nation at the brutality of their barely-veiled insinuations. 
 What sudden working of fate, having brought back from the 
 grave, by an extraordinary malice, this damning circum- 
 stantial evidence, now placed it within the grasp of the man 
 who had been the unwitting originator of all the mischief ? 
 
 These papers formed a chain of evidence almost complete 
 against Lewis, and, aghast at finding that his own rash acts 
 had, in the old days, forged the first and strongest links, 
 David Fargus was seized with a perfect frenzy of impatience 
 to destroy them while he had the power. 
 
 Beginning with his own and Carmen's letters, he held the 
 yellow leaves to the flame and watched their glowing an- 
 nihilation. The last blackened scraps of the squire's letter 
 were vanishing under a licking tongue of fire, when Lewis 
 entered the room. 
 
 "Colonel Fargus," he cried sharply, "what are you doing?" 
 
 Holding a crumpled bunch of paper over the candle Fargus 
 restrained Lewis' hasty approach with an iron grip; then, 
 the destroying element having invaded the last corner of the 
 last writhing sheet, he turned to him with undisguised ela- 
 tion, and answered:
 
 Scylla. 167 
 
 "Carrying out your guardian's direction. Listen, Lewis 
 Kerr of Gilham; your case is as clear as the flame which has 
 now consumed all this folly. Don't look at me with that 
 stupefaction. These papers should have been burned long 
 ago. I have done what it would have been your duty to the 
 memory of your father and mother to do yourself." 
 
 "Oh, why did you not let me see them?" 
 
 "There was nothing but the history of a quarrel and of 
 the circumstances which attended the death by drowning of 
 George Kerr, your father. The reason I have burned them 
 is because, morbid as you are, after your illness, you would 
 have pored over those old letters till you made yourself ill 
 again. I have burned them to keep them from you, as well 
 as to insure their not falling into Charlie's hands again. Do 
 you doubt me now ? Do you doubt your mother, after all ?" 
 
 Lewis' brow cleared. How could he have doubted, even 
 for a moment? 
 
 He said so aloud with a shaking voice. 
 
 "Not mad, but upset by all this." 
 
 "Thank God, all's well that ends well, and your future is 
 bright once more. Now," with a cheery change of manner, 
 "it is past nine o'clock. It has been a long, eventful day. 
 Let us go out and dine, after that to bed. Your head will 
 rest the better for some supper and a good glass of wine." 
 
 CHAPTEK XVII. 
 
 SCYLLA. 
 
 In that queer old attic, which to Fargus had already grown 
 one of the pleasantest spots on earth, the two men sat the 
 next morning over a late breakfast. 
 
 Outside the world was gloomy. The rain was dropping 
 from the gabled roof and beating the casement. 
 
 Inside the quaint bachelor home looked the very shrine 
 of comfort, and such had been Fargus' first thought as he 
 emerged from his bed-room and found Lewis leaning against 
 the chimney-piece quietly scanning the morning paper as 
 he waited for his guest. Lewis Kerr, rich enough to gratify 
 all his peculiar tastes, was pleased to surround himself with 
 household items attractive to the eye. Tea was fragrantly 
 brewing in a silver pot, which Fargus suddenly recognized as 
 one of George Kerr's wedding presents; a rye loaf stood 
 crustily inviting on an ancient and precious oaken platter; 
 bacon and eggs reposed crisp on a Dutch plate. Lewis had
 
 168 Scylla. 
 
 slept soundly, and had awakened strong and refreshed to find 
 life decidedly brighter and more interesting, in spite of 
 damp and gloomy weather. 
 
 Fargus, on his side, perceiving the beneficial change in his 
 son's mind, was not slow to respond to it. The morning meal 
 was thus a cheerful one. 
 
 "I feel a different being this morning," observed Lewis, as 
 he sat down to the breakfast table. "Upon my word, Colonel, 
 though I was very angry, I quite see now how wise you were 
 to keep those papers from me just then. You will have to 
 tell me what was in them." 
 
 "Of course I shall," said Fargus, quietly sipping his tea. 
 "It is necessary you should know all the facts of the case, for 
 your adversary is pretty sure to introduce them to you under 
 some vivid artificial light whenever he tries conclusions with 
 you about this intended amicable arrangement." 
 
 None could have guessed from the speaker's manner how 
 sorely his spirit quailed from the prospect. It was inevitable 
 that on him should devolve the duty of preparing Lewis 
 against the forthcoming revelations of Charles Hillyard. 
 The night had been spent thinking over the simplest way of 
 dealing with the case to tell his son the story of George 
 Kerr's suicide as set forth by these letters. But best that he 
 should learn it from the lips of him who could argue with 
 absolute conviction the falseness of Charles Hillyard's in- 
 terpretation. The burden of the father's secret anxiety could 
 not but be lessened to find Lewis in such healthy frame of 
 mind that morning. 
 
 "I see no reason to repent my decision of last night. What 
 was it Talleyrand said about letters ? 'Give me three lines of 
 a man's handwriting, and I'll hang him.' This shows what 
 his masterly cunning thought of the capabilties of 'black and 
 white' for being twisted to any purpose. Your cousin's 
 scheme for utilizing these letters was too clever to justify me, 
 as your adviser, in leaving them in existence an hour longer. 
 I might have had a fit in the night, gone mad, or broken 
 my neck; and, however sensibly you may be disposed to look 
 on things this morning, I had good reasons to mistrust your 
 quixotic turn of mind, not to foresee the possibility of your 
 being tempted by specious arguments to give them up again. 
 A soldier is notoriously a bad business man." 
 
 Lewis smiled at this lecture. 
 
 "I grant you," answered Levris, meditatively, "you would 
 prove a far better match than I for Charlie. Indeed, the 
 gusts of anger I cannot restrain every time I think of him 
 paralyze my common sense. I ought to thank Heaven it has
 
 Scylla. 169 
 
 been settled as it is; I can hardly imagine how I should have 
 come out of it." 
 
 "I am deeply curious," said Fargus, "to see how Mr. Hill- 
 yard's game will go on now that the trumps are all in our 
 hands. That young man is clever. He would play, I am 
 sure, an admirable hand at 'poker.' I met him, as I told 
 you, several times at Gilham, and noticed his striking face, 
 though I cannot say I felt much attracted by his cold, calcu- 
 lating character, which for all his polish of manner, I could 
 not help finding out somehow. As for you, all this business 
 has been a rude awakening to the fact that a few friendships 
 can stand the test of clashing interests. And yet yours was 
 a friendship of more than usual closeness, was it not?" 
 
 "I can answer for my side, at least," said Lewis. "I looked 
 upon him as the Breton knight of the legend might have 
 looked on his frere d'armes, as the gold digger, your Bret 
 Harte tells us of, looks on his partner ; and besides this, to his 
 influence I attributed whatever success I had at college. He 
 was, in fact, my high ideal of the Englishman, in those days 
 when all my eagerness was to make myself worthy of my 
 country, I would have done anything for him. And now here 
 I am, face to face with the fact that Charlie, for self-interest, 
 steps from his high pedestal to the low level of pettifogging 
 schemer." 
 
 "And this youthful fascination of yours," asked Fargus, 
 leaning back in his chair, "this romantic affection, was it re- 
 ciprocated ?" 
 
 "We were great friends, though his liking for me was, of 
 course, of a different kind ; such as befited a coach toward his 
 pupil, a thoroughbred Englishman toward a semi-foreigner, a 
 man of standing toward one decidedly his junior. I really 
 believe he would have gone out of his way to do me a good 
 turn. And I have come to the conclusion," continued Lewis, 
 "that money considerations alone could not have induced him 
 to act so dishonorably. There must have been a stronger 
 lever at work. Yesterday's revelations confirmed much that 
 before I had only suspected. Colonel Fargus, it is useless 
 for me to try to conceal what you know already, though I 
 have never told it to you in so many words. I had reasons 
 to think Maude Woldham might love me as I loved her. It 
 has been the aim of my life to try and win her. When I 
 heard of my accession to the Gilham fortune I started off 
 after her to Homburg, at once, full of not unjustifiable hopes. 
 I asked her to be my wife and was refused. I believe that, 
 had it not been for that slander on the question of my birth- 
 right, Maude might have remained true to her tacit pledge 
 to me. How could she think of mating herself to a poor devil
 
 170 Scylla. 
 
 whose very name is supposed to be his own only on suffer- 
 ance? There was pity in her eyes when she recognized me; 
 but that pity only accentuates the insult and the grief." 
 
 "All this may be true," said Fargus, quietly. "But instead 
 of fixing the past, fix the future. The elaborately-con- 
 structed plot which was to deprive you of the woman you 
 want, the name that belongs to you, and the fortune that 
 awaits you, falls to pieces now that its main prop has been 
 removed. What follows ? You become one of the great land- 
 owners, the head of one of the oldest families in that part of 
 England which Miss Woldham brightens with her presence. 
 And with reference to what has taken place between you and 
 her, don't you think it better that she should have refused you 
 through some hidden reason which she could not tell you to 
 your face perhaps, acting under some order written to her 
 by her father than that her motive should have been mere 
 indifference? Her sense of generosity (1 know the girl's 
 charming nature, for all that our acquaintance is but of a 
 few weeks' standing) when she learns the truth, will warm her 
 heart toward you more than the knowledge of your prosper- 
 ity. As for the father, from the drift of the conversation we 
 have had together, I know his dream would be to see his 
 girl happily married, if marriage did not take her away from 
 him." 
 
 "My dear Colonel," cried Lewis, "what good your talk does 
 me ! I declare you are a very alchemist of the mind." 
 
 "By the way," said Fargus, smiling, "I came last night to 
 the conclusion that it really seems a pity to waste these au- 
 tumn days in London. Our reason for remaining on here 
 has been happily removed, the best thing we can do is to 
 take a train for Yorkshire to-morrow or the next day. More- 
 over, it is time you should make act of presence on your 
 estate. If you do not care for the lonely splendor of the 
 Court, my shooting-box will give you the warmest of wel- 
 comes. I propose, then, to start myself to-morrow, and that 
 you should follow in a day or two. You must consult Per- 
 kins, and best by yourself, though all you need say is that 
 you believe your cousin's claim will come to nothing, and 
 that, since no active steps have been taken by the other side 
 as yet, you, at any rate, will quietly continue to act as if you 
 had never heard of it." 
 
 Lewis looked as if the proposal were tempting enough. 
 
 He said, after reflecting a while: "And if you will be so 
 good as to have me, I should rather go to you. I shall see 
 more of you ; and, besides, I hardly like to go to Gilham until 
 it is evident that Charlie has abandoned the field." 
 
 "There need be no fear about that," answered Fargus, when
 
 Scylla. 171 
 
 the sound of a letter falling through the slit of the letter- 
 box attracted his attention. 
 
 "By Jove!" said Lewis, looking at the clock, "we are late 
 this morning. Probably Perkins' missive to fix an hour for 
 our interview." 
 
 Lewis proceeded in quest of the letter. When he returned 
 he was holding the still unopened envelope in his hand. 
 
 "From Charles Hilly ard," he said, briefly. 
 
 He tore the cover open and studied the communication for 
 a few seconds, then tossed it with a dry laugh across the 
 table to his companion, who sat watching him with some 
 uneasiness. The letter contained a few careless lines in the 
 small cramped handwriting peculiar to many scholars, and 
 merely begged the recipient to fix the earliest date possible 
 for an interview on matters of the utmost importance. 
 
 "Cool, is it not?" mused Lewis. "Not a hint of what he 
 is up to, though Perkins told him he would write to me about 
 the business." 
 
 "There is no need for you to see him, surely," urged Far- 
 gus. "This letter was written last night ; he evidently knows 
 nothing of the loss he has sustained. When he finds out that 
 he has lost the trick, his rage will be fearful for a little while; 
 and you, my boy, have got a hot temper of your own, too, 
 and are not especially disposed to be deferential with him just 
 now. I confess I am of opinion that it would be better to 
 wait a while, and exchange your ideas by letter for the pres- 
 ent." 
 
 "No, no," cried Lewis. "You have been right and wise in 
 all your r advice, but I cannot agree with you there. Why, 
 Charles would think I am shirking the ordeal. Since I must 
 see him, the sooner this hateful business is over the better. 
 Besides," with a half -malicious smile, "I should rather like to 
 see him before he makes the discovery of the empty dispatch- 
 box. I am curious to hear his version of the case. I should 
 not be sorry to give him a bit of my mind, either." 
 
 Fargus looked at his son, and there was a somewhat per- 
 turbed speculation in his eye. 
 
 "Excuse me," Lewis proceeded with great briskness, "there 
 is the morning paper I shall send a telegram to Charles to 
 say I shall be ready any time after three to-day." 
 
 And, without waiting for an answer, ran out of the room. 
 The well-assumed placidity of expression departed from Far- 
 gus' face. Charles Hillyard, whether cynically self-confi- 
 dent or maddened by disappointment, might say things to 
 Lewis which might be as hard to disprove as they would be 
 cruel to hear. And it rested with the father to try and ex- 
 plain nwny to his boy in some plausible manner all the mis-
 
 172 Scylla. 
 
 leading evidences with which that friend of his was waiting 
 to buffet him doubly hard in the face of Lewis' susceptibil- 
 ity on matters that had been a source of pride to him, and 
 one the success of which was problematic. Yet it had to be 
 undertaken, and Fargus accepted it as a first expiation of 
 his past selfishness. 
 
 When Lewis returned from his errand and the two sat 
 down opposite each other by the blazing hearth, the elder, 
 feeling the uselessness of delay, plunged into the heart of the 
 business with all the facility he could summon. 
 
 "Now about my report," said he, "concerning the relics 
 which I cremated yesternight. I must ask you whether you 
 ever heard any theory advanced on the subject of your 
 father's death, other than what you have told me?" 
 
 Lewis frowned; then he answered slowly: 
 
 "Never. I must own since all this ado on the subject has 
 been raised, I have been going over what I know of the past 
 in my own mind; and I have more than once thought that 
 the other side may possibly wish to make out that he com- 
 mitted suicide. It seems absurd, but the idea has haunted 
 me of late." 
 
 "As it happens," replied Fargus, "my dear fellow, you have 
 made a shrewd guess ; that is one of the chief points on which 
 your cousin bases his plan of campaign. And in fact it ap- 
 pears it was generally rumored at the time that your father 
 did commit suicide. It was not set afloat by your relations, 
 for Mr. Kerr, who had quarreled with your father on his mar- 
 riage, was never heard to speak of him. Your uncle Hill- 
 yard, on the other hand, was far too discreet and conscien- 
 tious to ventilate such a theory. George Kerr who set out 
 one evening to take a solitary sail round Portsmouth Har- 
 bor never came home again." 
 
 Lewis was the first again to break the silence. 
 
 "I never knew, I never dreamed of such a thing till the 
 other day. Were the gossips busy about my mother, too ?" 
 
 "No," cried the f ather emphatically "No, Lewis ; that was 
 left to your cousin, when he found it suited his interest. And 
 now this brings me to the papers. You heard from your 
 uncle's words, the first and most important, you know, is 
 the last letter of your father; that letter points to a very 
 angry quarrel between him and your mother. Do you know 
 anything about their short married life ?" 
 
 "The only person who could have given me any informa- 
 tion was Aunt Susie Hillyard," Lewis answered. "And she 
 was always so frightfully cut up when she talked about her 
 brother that I never liked to broach the subject ; but I do re- 
 member her saying that my mother was a spoiled beauty,
 
 Scylla. 173 
 
 my father a wild, irrepressible boy, and she feared they often 
 fell out ; but she was sure they loved each other, all the same. 
 But please go on, sir; what about these letters?" 
 
 "It is not likely," Fargus went on "it is not likely, I say, 
 that she could have made him happy in the long run. It is 
 probable that they fought desperately, and that is just what 
 the letter in question seemed to point to. At any rate, when 
 your father wrote from Portsmouth, there is no doubt he was 
 in hot anger. He bade his wife farewell forever, telling her 
 he was glad they had no children. It would seem it was sui- 
 cide he meditated, for he added 'Every one will believe in 
 the accident you will hear of.' Now, Lewis, be calm. If it 
 be true that your father meant to do away with himself, if 
 the only deduction one could draw from his letter in con- 
 junction, with subsequent events is that he did do so, that is 
 the worst that can be said. It may be a source of grief to 
 you, but, reflect, the man who contemplates suicide does so, 
 in nine cases out of ten, in a state of mind akin to insanity. 
 A young man of no occupation I believe you said your 
 father gave up the army to marry may well fall into that 
 state which culminates in the madness of self-destruction; 
 you know how near you were yourself to it, and from how 
 inadequate a motive. I am beginning to think, after all, I 
 need not have mistrusted your common sense." 
 
 Lewis gave a faint smile; and Fargus, taking up the cold 
 pipe, puffed at it with a great appearance of content. 
 
 "The first most obvious thing to be noted is that your 
 father makes absolutely no accusation which could, except 
 by the most gratuitous implication, be looked upon as affect- 
 ing your mother's honor; moreover, if his angry departure 
 from his home, and his threats of self-destruction had been 
 brought about by the discovery of some shameful misconduct 
 on her part, that would have involved the existence of a third 
 person, to whom there was not even an allusion in the letter. 
 I think this is a circumstance which would have gone some 
 way toward demolishing Mr. Hillyard's theory. In the second 
 place, concerning your father's belief in his own childless- 
 ness which, no doubt, would have been used as one of the 
 claimant's strongest arguments, it can prove absolutely 
 nothing one way or another; your mother herself could 
 hardly at that time have known of her condition. You think 
 things are beginning to shape themselves, do you? You be- 
 gin to understand how it is that these letters, conveying to 
 any right-minded person none of the evil meaning your 
 cousin would fain find in them, could make a pretty caae 
 against you."
 
 174 Scylla. 
 
 "You put things very clearly, Colonel. What of the other 
 letters?" 
 
 "Oh, the others," returned Fargus, "the others are of small 
 importance compared with that letter of your father's which 
 was evidently the pivot on which turned the whole scheme; 
 they are only important as connected with and corroborative 
 of it. Your mother, on receipt of the same, wrote in great 
 distress to your father's sister, imploring her to come and 
 advise her. This, in itself, is not the act of a woman who 
 has sinned against her husband and been found out. Never- 
 theless, this incoherent scrawl, in which the writer childishly 
 announces she has had a 'dreadful letter,' that her husband 
 means to kill himself, that she does not know what to do 
 in which she blames herself, yet calls him very cruel in the 
 same breath, might easily have been utilized to its fullest 
 extent by the counsel for the claimant, as implying a full 
 confession of guilt." 
 
 "And is that really all?" asked Lewis at last, with a sigh 
 of relaxation. "Is it really on no better grounds than those 
 that Charles is trying to impeach my position ?" 
 
 "That is all," answered the father; "insufficient grounds, 
 indeed, to convince a man of honor, but quite sufficient for 
 a petifogging lawyer and an unprincipled claimant. The 
 rest of the papers consisted of a letter from the squire of 
 Gilham. He stated that he saw no reason for departing from 
 his determination taken on the occasion of your father's 
 marriage. It was a churlish letter, and revealed all the bit- 
 terness of an old grudge. There were the Portsmouth letters 
 and the newspaper paragraphs relative to your father's mode 
 of death, which, if suicide, was so cleverly contrived to seem 
 accident. They were of no value to Charlie, save in connec- 
 tion with the rest." 
 
 The young man remained plunged in reflection. He knew 
 the worst, that was a relief; and the worst, after all, resolved 
 itself into two facts; that his parents had quarreled, and that 
 his father had committed suicide painful facts for their 
 son to have to learn, but by no means such as could, with- 
 out willful distortion, be made to impugn his mother's honor 
 and his right to his name. 
 
 "Thank you," he said at length; "you have been as frank 
 as you have been kind. I do not deny that, however great a 
 blow the story of my father's death must be to me, I am re- 
 lieved to find these proofs of Charlie's contained nothing 
 worse. Indeed," he added, smiling, "I have had so many blows 
 lately that I think I am rather hardened to them now. We 
 had better go out and get our lunch over, or we shall not be 
 back for the claimant. I say we, though I really do not
 
 Scylla. 175 
 
 know, Colonel Fargus, if this time the interview had not bet- 
 ter be a tete-a-tete between the princpals." 
 
 "What, discard your legal adviser already ?" 
 
 "I should like to have you. I was only thinking of expe- 
 diency." 
 
 "Do you think your cousin would absolutely object ?" asked 
 Fargus. "I do not mind that in the least. If Mr. Hillyard 
 is ashamed to say before a third person what must be blazoned 
 before the world if he gain his object, down goes that in my 
 black book as another mark against him. Lewis, I cannot 
 abandon you at this moment. You will scarcely be able to 
 meet that cold-blooded relative on an equal footing, though 
 you have the whip hand of him. Impulsive natures are at a 
 disadvantage on such occasions. Therefore, unless you say 
 in so many words that you have a personal objection to it, I 
 shall see you through the business to the end." 
 
 "Very well, then that is settled," said Lewis, simply. 
 
 As the father and son were entering the coffee-room of the 
 Bell, in quest of the midday meal, Charles Hillyard, sitting 
 in that sanctum of legal learning, was concluding, for the 
 benefit of its owner, the account of his recent journey. 
 
 "No doubt," remarked the solicitor after some reflection, 
 apparently devoted to the unsatisfactoriness of the narra- 
 tive, "we cannot blind ourselves to the fact that we have 
 as yet failed to get hold of the proof positive we wanted, 
 however morally convincing the evidence you possess is. All 
 things considered, if you feel yourself equal to carrying it 
 through with the necessary ease, that personal interview you 
 spoke of undertaking to-day might lead to a private agree- 
 ment which would simplify matters. You can represent to 
 the young man how immensely to his advantage it will be 
 to avoid the scandal of a public trial. 
 
 "We received your dispatch-box. Do you contemplate tak- 
 ing these important documents with you this afternoon ?" 
 
 "Of course not," answered Charles. "I have with me the 
 copies I made myself and which I showed you, which will be 
 quite sufficient for the occasion. But I suppose Mr. Kerr 
 will want to satisfy himself as to their genuineness, and that 
 he must do here." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say so," said the lawyer. "I con- 
 fess that I was surprised to find that you could confide a 
 matter of such importance to a person like Miss Wren. She 
 placidly admitted that it was only when you wrote again 
 from abroad that she was reminded of her promise." 
 
 Here the old gentleman suddenly came to a standstill, and 
 gave a puzzled, not to say anxious, look at his client's dark- 
 ening face.
 
 176 Scylla. 
 
 "This is very odd !" proceeded the legal luminary. "I never 
 thought of it till this moment. Miss Wren certainly gave me 
 to understand that in that very letter you expressed yourself 
 extremely satisfied with the progress of your business in 
 Spain." 
 
 Charles started from his abstraction and shot an angry 
 glance at the speaker. 
 
 "That is impossible! I never mentioned about it." 
 
 "I cannot have been mistaken," murmured the other. "Am 
 I not correct, also, in believing that you desired me to take 
 the opportunity afforded to broach the subject it was ar- 
 ranged I should settle with her ?" 
 
 "Certainly not," replied Charles, with increasing surprise. 
 
 "My dear sir," said the lawyer, "allow me to remark that 
 it is you who have been premature in your manner of deal- 
 ing with this person. Whether she had some inkling of your 
 proposed generosity to her and wished to secure it, she told 
 me that in your letter from Spain you had most expressly re- 
 quested her to come to me." 
 
 "I told her to go to you with the box, of course," said 
 Charles, "nothing more. So you told her all about it. Well, 
 you had no end of a scene." 
 
 "She took the news with perfect composure, and seemed, 
 indeed, very much gratified and impressed by the figure of 
 your intended annuity. Of course, she knows that nothing 
 is yet settled, but she left with the promise to think over the 
 matter on her side." 
 
 Charles Hillyard's face, instead of clearing during this 
 soothing speech, grew blacker and blpcker as it proceeded. 
 "So she agreed ?" he asked abruptly at its conclusion. 
 
 "Practically, my dear sir." 
 
 "Without a protest? Without wanting to see me?" 
 
 "With the most absolute coolness." 
 
 For a minute or two the young man remained absorbed in 
 thought. Then he seemed to come to some settled conclu- 
 sion, and suddenly his scowling brow lightened. 
 
 "Well, perhaps it is as well so; I am surprised. But the 
 deed being done beyond undoing, I hope I may find it for 
 the best, after all. It had to be done some time. I confess," 
 he went on, with a short laugh, "I expected more trouble 
 than that; but, as you remarked with true wisdom, there are 
 few wounds to people's feelings which money cannot heal. 
 And now," he added, taking up his hat, "I see your clock 
 points to the quarter ; I must be off I am due at Staple Inn 
 at three." 
 
 "Then you do not wish me to accompany you?" asked the 
 lawyw.
 
 Charles Hillyard Expounds His Cose. 177 
 
 "I think not; I know my soi-disant cousin by heart, and 
 I shall be able to lay the siege against his weak side all the 
 better for being alone. I hope to let you know to-morrow 
 that he has proved amenable to reason." 
 
 Thus spoke Mr. Hillyard with careless confidence. 
 
 But when he had reached the top landing of the set of 
 stairs leading to Lewis' high-perched chambers for a mo- 
 ment he found himself wishing that he had indeed deputed 
 the disinterested man of law to manage this cold business 
 now with friend, even as with mistress. But with Charles 
 Hillyard hesitation was a weakness of invariably short dura- 
 tion. 
 
 He knocked, and following the invitation to come in, 
 opened the door and was confronted by Colonel Fergus, who 
 greeted the visitor with a cold, dry smile. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CHARLES HILLYARD EXPOUNDS HIS CASE. 
 
 The meeting was so absolutely unexpected, withal so par- 
 ticularly undesirable, Mr. Hillyard halted in blank amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "Colonel Fargus !" he ejaculated in, tones too spontaneous 
 to express aught but the most unmitigated surpise and an- 
 noyance. 
 
 Fargus met the suspicious glance which accompanied his 
 handsome nephew's exclamation with one In which a cer- 
 tain enjoyment of the situation was blended with very dis- 
 tinct disfavor. 
 
 "How do you do ?" he said quietly, crossing his arms as he 
 spoke, as if to obviate the necessity of offering his hand. 
 
 The occasions were few, indeed, on which Charles Hillyard 
 had ever been discomposed by such keen yet seemingly fool- 
 ish vexation. The unreasoned antipathy he felt for the trans- 
 atlantic lion whom his simple Woldham friends had pro- 
 moted on so short an acquaintance to so high a place in their 
 esteem was unaccountable, even to his most secret self, but 
 none the less real. 
 
 As promptly discarding all outward semblance of perturba- 
 tion, he was inwardly resolving to get rid of the unwelcome 
 third as speedily as possible. 
 
 Lewis had not spoken. Leaning against the high mantel- 
 piece, he stood motionless, sternly facing the visitor, with- 
 out attempting the smallest advance.
 
 178 Charles Hilly ard Expounds His Case. 
 
 Charles, though he had, of course, realized that, warned 
 of the object of his interview, Lewis would meet him in no 
 conciliatory mood, was not prepared for such determined 
 enmity as was here displayed. Without other reason than 
 his prejudice, he connected this unexpected dignity of anger 
 with the presence of Fargus. 
 
 Nodding to Lewis, he addressed him with a coolness born as 
 much of his habitual and almost unconscious contempt for 
 him as of the combative feelings caused by Fargus' prox- 
 imity. 
 
 "I understood from your telegram that you meant me to 
 come here to-day, Lewis; and I thought I would find you 
 alone. I fear I have disturbed you tete-a-tete with Colonel 
 Fargus," turning to the latter with that affection of pleas- 
 antness which is popularly described as "from the teeth out." 
 
 "Not at all," quietly answered the person referred to. 
 
 "I must say it is most curious," proceeded Charles, bestow- 
 ing a keen look on the mysterious American, "to meet you 
 here, Colonel, with Mr. Kerr." 
 
 "Keally?" queried Fargus, with gentle malice. 
 
 Then there followed a silence in the attic room, which, as 
 neither Fargus nor Lewis was willing to break it, fell awk- 
 wardly upon their visitor. 
 
 After standing for a minute or two gazing from the 
 former's placid countenance to the tetter's irate face, he 
 again lifted his voice with a show of insolence that betrayed 
 his irritation. 
 
 "Well, since you are BO pressing, I will take a chair. 
 Thanks." And sitting down straddle legs on one of the old 
 oak seats, he folded his arms across the top of its straight 
 back, and, looking up scrutinizingly at his cousin, proceeded 
 pleasantly: "What have you been about? Where did you 
 get that slash ?" 
 
 "A duel in Germany." 
 
 Nothing repressed by the tone of the reply, Charles gave a 
 short, contemptuous laugh, and went on in the same banter- 
 ing manner: "It is in your Southern blood, and you cannot 
 help it, I suppose but I didn't think no, I did not think 
 you were quite the donkey to go on the Mensur. But there 
 is one thing I am even more curious to learn, and that is 
 how the dickens you come to be acquainted with our colonel. 
 Have you been to Gilham since your return ?" 
 
 "No," answered Lewis, again with the curtness that would 
 not waste a word. "I met Colonel Fargus In Germany." 
 
 "In Germany in Germany! . . . Oh, I see, at Hom- 
 burg, of course." There was a cold smile on Charles' lips, a 
 slight arching of the calm brows, as he spoke, sufficient to
 
 Charles Hillyard Expounds His Case. 179 
 
 point his meaning ; and Lewis, more galled by this than by an 
 open taunt, flushed crimson, but could not at the moment 
 trust himself to speak, for the fierceness of his resentment. 
 
 Once more there came an irksome silence, and Charles, for 
 all his well-tempered armor of self-control and self-esteem, 
 found it difficult to oppose an impassible front to the undis- 
 guised hostility of the two men. 
 
 "At any rate," he began once more, this time with some 
 sharpness, "it cannot matter to me much, either how you have 
 contrived to bring back such a 'Schmiss' from your wild 
 expedition to Homburg. But as I am here on business of im- 
 portance to myself, as well as to you, Lewis, it is, I think, 
 better that we should soon settle down to the discussion of it." 
 
 Neither Lewis nor Fargus offering any deprecation of this 
 statement, Mr. Hillyard pursued, after a marked pause: 
 "However, I do not offer to withdraw, considering that I am 
 here by appointment, and that I have already lost twenty 
 minutes in waiting for your leisure." 
 
 "I beg to state," said Lewis, "that it is I who am waiting." 
 
 Charles' nostrils dilated, and the crimson mounted to his 
 face. 
 
 "You force me, then, into the position of begging you to 
 dismiss your guest. Pray forgive me, Colonel Fargus, for a 
 seeming discourtesy." 
 
 Despite his hard judgment on his nephew, Fargus could not 
 but admire, if only from an aesthetic point of view, the de- 
 termined self-control of the young man's manner in the face 
 of such odds. "What a pity," thought he to himself, as, 
 merely bowing in reply, he now, at a sign from his son, ad- 
 vanced to the table and took a seat thereat. 
 
 "Whatever you may have to say to me, Charles," said 
 Lewis, without stirring from the position he had taken from, 
 the first, "say it now, before Colonel Fargus, who has my 
 full confidence in this matter, and upon whose advice I am 
 determined to act in all that regards it." 
 
 Charles' brow darkened. His weak-minded cousin acting 
 under the advice of this impenetrable, unaccountable Ameri- 
 can ! What might that portend ? no good, certainly ; no help 
 to the easy settlement of this disagreeable business. 
 
 "This is folly, Lewis," he cried, in a hard tone. "I must 
 decline to discuss intimate matters before an absolute 
 stranger." 
 
 "Colonel Fargus acts as my legal adviser for the pres- 
 ent," reiterated Lewis. There was an ominous gleam in his 
 eye. 
 
 "Your legal adviser!" repeated the college Don, with an- 
 other of his quick, contemptuous laughs. "It is as like you to
 
 i8o Charles Hillyard Expounds His Case. 
 
 make an American colonel your adviser in a matter of this 
 kind, as it is, when returning unscathed from serious war- 
 fare, to seek the adornment of a Schlaeger cut." 
 
 "You lose," thought Fargus, as he quietly watched the 
 scene and forebore to take notice in any way of the dis- 
 paraging allusion to himself, "all your advantage, my friend, 
 as soon as you release your grasp on your temper." 
 
 "I do not suppose," resumed Lewis doggedly, "that your 
 purpose here to-day is to discuss my mental weaknesses. I 
 tell you Colonel Fargus remains by my wish ; I give you the 
 opportunity you desired to speak with me upon matters you 
 state to be of importance." 
 
 "You are a fool, Lewis !" pronounced Mr. Hillyard slowly. 
 "You are aware, I know, of the present state of affairs, yet 
 would make a man who can only be the most casual acquaint- 
 ance of yours privy to what I must say to you to-day." 
 
 "I am aware of the true state of affairs." 
 
 Lewis spoke quietly enough, though his mouth quivered 
 with anger. 
 
 "You will repent your unwarrantable offensiveness to me, 
 and this absurdity in dragging a third person into our busi- 
 ness. I warn you fairly what I must speak upon to-day will 
 be no pleasant hearing for you. However, a willful man, I 
 suppose, must have his way." 
 
 Still Lewis remained silent. 
 
 After a few minutes' impatient waiting, Charles carelessly 
 turned his back on Fargus, and observed in his old patroniz- 
 ing manner: "Seeing your present mood, it would be idle, 
 I presume, to try and convince you that in this errand of 
 mine I am really actuated to a great extent by friendly feel- 
 ings." 
 
 "It would," interrupted Lewis, with a sweep of the hand. 
 
 "Quite so. Yet it remains a fact that in seeking a private 
 interview I have been prompted mainly by the desire to spare 
 you as much as possible, under the circumstances." 
 
 Again Lewis vouchsafed no reply; but a tightening of the 
 lip and a red flash of the eye betrayed how intensely his 
 cousin's words and manner tried his small remnant of pa- 
 tience. 
 
 Charles paused as if to select his words, while his eyes mus- 
 ingly wandered over the quartered coat-of-arms wherein 
 Lewis' family pretensions were blazoned above the portraits 
 of his father and mother. At length, with a certain effort, he 
 began to expound his case with that thoughtful choice of lan- 
 guage so familiar, and once so pleasing to Lewis. 
 
 "It may be as well that I should first briefly recapitulate 
 the main points in the family history of Kerr of Gilham
 
 Charles Hillyard Expounds His Case. 181 
 
 which have led to the present deadlock. Mr. William George 
 Kerr, my grandfather, whose death occurred in '46, had is- 
 sue: by his first wife, William, the late head of the family; 
 by his second, George, who died in '57, and Susan, my 
 mother, who died two years ago. Mr. William Kerr, who 
 died last July, had then no issue living. The estate is entail 
 on the heirs male. The question now is, who is the heir-at- 
 law? I think this is the case in a nutshell." 
 
 Lewis nodded impatiently, and Charles proceeded: "This 
 question of heirship unfortunately raises a point, which, but 
 for the unforeseen contingency of the untimely death, with- 
 out issue themselves, of the late squire's two sons, no one 
 would have had any interest in investigating. And it is the 
 strange irony of fate that the task of lifting the veil which, 
 covers the parentage of my old friend and pupil should de- 
 volve upon me." 
 
 Tumultuously Lewis' heart began to beat; the sickening 
 slander was coming home at last. 
 
 "I need hardly say, Lewis," proceeded the speaker, with an 
 unconscious deepening of his voice, "that it is serious grief 
 to me to have to say all this to you. The name which you 
 bear is yours only by prescription, so to speak, and it is my 
 painful task " 
 
 "Oh, for God's sake," interrupted Lewis, stamping his foot 
 furiously, "a truce to your hypocritical sympathy ! Since you 
 could turn traitor to friendship, have the courage of your 
 opinion say your say, at least." 
 
 "This anger is futile," answered Charles, "and unjust, too. 
 I may appear selfish in insisting, as I mean to do, on my 
 legal and moral right. Granted. It is, I repeat, almost en- 
 tirely for your sake I wish the case to be kept from a court 
 of law, where I should have to assert my claim without 
 mincing matters, and where the fact would be made brutally 
 public that you cannot prove yourself to be the son of the 
 late George Kerr and that I can prove the contrary." 
 
 "Charles Hillyard, you are a liar as well as a hypocrite and 
 traitor !" 
 
 Fargus' strong arm was in an instant interposed between 
 Lewis' furious gesture of menace and the motionless figure 
 of the visitor. 
 
 "My dear boy," he said, with kind severity, "you are now 
 putting yourself in the wrong. Better let me conduct this 
 business for you." 
 
 Charles had not stirred a muscle under his cousin's threat- 
 ened onslaught, but his face had hardened into colder con- 
 tempt ; when Lewis, yielding to the firmness of Fargus' hand,
 
 Charles Hillyard Expounds His Case. 
 
 resumed his place, he addressed himself to the latter, and 
 said, with a sarcastic smile: 
 
 "I see now that my old pupil has done wisely, after all, in 
 taking you as adviser in this affair. You Americans are 
 proverbially cool-headed, Colonel Fargus. I now agree with 
 you in thinking that it may be as well if our friend will leave 
 you to act for him in an affair he is so evidently unfit to man- 
 age himself." 
 
 "You hear, Lewis," said Fargus, resuming his seat in the 
 arm-chair, and half turning to his son. "Will you retire 
 pro tempore figuratively into the background, and trust me to 
 discuss Mr. Hillyard's business with him ?" 
 
 "Pray do," said Lewis; "you know I have given you a 
 moral power of attorney." 
 
 "Then, sir, I am at your service," turning again toward 
 Charles, who promptly resumed the thread of his exposition. 
 
 "I said that I had the proofs in my possession that my 
 friend here, Lewis, was not the son of George Kerr, and, in 
 consequence, not the heir-at-law. Here they are." And he 
 placed a bundle of papers on the table by his side. 
 
 "In 1856," proceeded Charles, "George Kerr married, at 
 Seville, Dona Carmen de Ayala. They lived together, I 
 gather from the dates, one year and a day, so unhappily that 
 at last, after making a shocking discovery concerning his 
 wife's conduct, George Kerr left her and committed suicide." 
 
 Lewis' face became ashen. It was hard, even after all 
 Fargus' careful preparation, to have to hear attacked the 
 honor of the woman who had borne him and not smite the 
 slanderer to earth. He clenched his fist and turned his eyes 
 slowly toward Fargus, but meeting the same grave and con- 
 fident smile as heretofore, took courage from it for further 
 self-control and patience. 
 
 "Yes?" said Fargus, as he bent toward Charles Hillyard. 
 The latter had paused. Surprised at the silence, he turned 
 sharply, to catch the mute intercourse between the two men. 
 
 "Yes and then ?" asked Colonel Fargus. 
 
 "Then, Mrs. George Kerr returned immediately to her 
 country, and in the natural course of time her child was 
 born. That child was christened Luis Jorge Kerr. The 
 squire, at Gilham, refused steadily to recognize him. My 
 father, moved by feelings of benevolence, and prevailed upon 
 by my mother, who loved to imagine that something was left 
 in this world of her dead brother, accepted the office of guar- 
 dian to the young outlander, while I became, out of personal 
 liking, as they say, his guide, philosopher, and friend." 
 
 Here Charles stopped again, as if waiting for objections. 
 
 "That is not all, surely," said Fargus.
 
 Charles Hilly ard Expounds His Case. 183 
 
 "Of course that is not all. It is, so to speak, the broad 
 sketch." 
 
 "Thus far," said Fargus, composedly, "the story is one of 
 a man who, five-and-twenty years ago, is alleged to have com- 
 mitted suicide because he was not happy with the foreign 
 woman he had married, and of his posthumous son, who had 
 one bad uncle and one good one, after the fashion of fairy 
 tales. You will be able to prove, I suppose, that George 
 Kerr had positive cause to suspect his wife; secondly, that 
 his death really was the result of suicide, not accident, as 
 reported by the papers at the time; thirdly, that his suicide, 
 if suicide there was, was brought about by horror at his 
 wife's behavior; lastly, that the posthumous child could not 
 by any possibility be his son. Unless you can prove all that, 
 your story would hardly be adequate to support your im- 
 portant claim. You have, of course, more facts in reserve ?" 
 
 "It is quite a pity you were not a lawyer, Colonel Far- 
 gus," said Charles, with mocking admiration. "I have facts 
 in reserve. I can prove, to the hilt, almost every one of the 
 points you have raised. Of the excessively unhappy life led 
 by George Kerr and his wife, and of the last scene between 
 them, evidently brought about by the discovery which led to 
 his flying a dishonored house, I have sufficient testimony, 
 having found some of the servants who were at that time in 
 George Kerr's employment. But in this case personal evi- 
 dence is not even required, as there is extant a letter from 
 George Kerr himself which shows explicitly that his life with 
 his wife was miserable, and further points to one particular, 
 unpardonable offense, which has driven him in disgust to 
 make away with himself. In further proof of the question of 
 suicide is the summary of the inquiry into the alleged acci- 
 dent, if it be read in the light afforded by the dead man's 
 letter. And, finally, there is Mrs. Kerr's own letter to my 
 mother, in which, at the same time, she admits her guilt and 
 announces it as the cause of her husband's death. There is 
 no actual proof that Lewis cannot be the child of that union 
 for he was born in March, 1858, while his putative father 
 died in the month of July preceding but, unfortunately for 
 him, two passages in the existing documents fill up the 
 lacunes. In one of them George Kerr writes : 'Thank God, 
 we have no children.' In the other Mrs. Kerr, struck with 
 remorse, admits: 'I know I have been guilty towards him.' 
 Lastly, I can prove from various letters written by the late 
 Mr. Kerr to my father, that the belief in the illegitimacy of 
 this boy born in foreign parts was shared by all his English 
 relations, except, as I have said, my mother." 
 
 "Before I ask you, Mr. Hillyard," said Fargus, "how these
 
 184 Charles Hilly ard Expounds His Case. 
 
 documents the most important of which undoubtedly should, 
 by rights, have been surrendered long ago to my friend 
 have come into your hands, I should like to know how you 
 propose to prove their authenticity ?" 
 
 "Upon my word, Colonel," exclaimed Charles, with a 
 laugh, "one might almost imagine that you had prepared the 
 defense at leisure, so methodically do you survey my means 
 of attack." 
 
 Fargus answered with a grave inclination of the head. 
 
 "You have not answered my question," said he. 
 
 "Your objection was so very obvious. Their authenticity 
 can, of course, be established beyond doubt. My uncle's 
 handwriting and my father's are easily verifiable. There 
 was at first a certain difficulty in connection with that of the 
 late George Kerr; but it was found that his last will was 
 holograph, that it was proved, and ' is, of course, accessible 
 to experts. As to Mrs. Kerr's letters, I will now inform you 
 that I have just returned from Spain, whither I went to 
 verify certain data among others, the handwriting of Lewis' 
 mother. I obtained leave to take away sundry old letters, 
 photographs of which I can let you see whenever you wish." 
 
 "What would those courteous Spanish people say to that 
 sample of an English gentleman's conduct," put in Lewis, 
 scornfully, "could they but have known your purpose?" 
 
 "Their thoughts on the subject would cause me little con- 
 cern. Does not your church teach that?" 
 
 "Your knowledge of the rules of my religion is as insuffi- 
 cient, Charles, as your conception of the rules of honor," said 
 Lewis, in icy tones. "You have obtained some of my mother's 
 letters by means of lies worthy of a private detective, not of 
 a gentleman; just as you have retained, for your own pur- 
 pose, papers which belonged to me which, plainly worded, 
 is theft." 
 
 "Lewis," said Fargus, "let me again entreat you not to 
 speak another word. This is a consultation. We shall waste 
 much of our purpose if you condescend to angry recrimina- 
 tion, however true what you say may be, and however justified 
 you may be in saying it." 
 
 Charles felt the backhander more keenly under the dis- 
 passionate form in which it was administered that the angry 
 insult of his poor cousin ; but, without changing his manner, 
 he said very quietly: 
 
 "After this little expression of opinion on my character, I 
 should be quite justified in abandoning my present friendly 
 intentions, and in letting matters go through the regular 
 channels, with all its consequent publicity. But, having
 
 Charles Hillyard Expounds His Case. 185 
 
 gone so far through an exceedingly unpleasant ordeal, I 
 consider it worth my while to see it to the end." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say so," said Fargus; "but as the 
 unparliamentary expressions were on our side, would it not 
 be advisable for you to explain how you have come into the 
 possession of things which we might claim as our own?" 
 
 "I have no objections," said Charles, carelessly. "My uncle, 
 William Kerr, gave the papers to me, or, rather, directed me 
 where and how to get them, before he died. He recovered 
 consciousness toward the middle of the night," he added to 
 Fargus, as if anticipating an objection, "for half an hour or 
 so. He was terribly babbling, but he was able to make his 
 meaning clear through sheer determination. I confess I had 
 been thinking somewhat of the succession myself, but there 
 was no mistaking the emphasis with which he said, 'No 
 bastard here.' " 
 
 "And how could the squire come into the possession of 
 these unlawful goods?" asked Fargus. 
 
 "The squire was my father's executor, and must have found 
 this bundle among my father's papers. They were addressed 
 to Lewis, with a letter in my father's hand, but unsealed. 
 He always had a deep resentment against Lewis, and it was 
 a sore point with him that my father and mother should 
 receive him as they did." 
 
 "May I ask," said Lewis, in a low voice, "if you consider 
 you have also a right to your father's letter to me whether 
 you read it, and mean to keep it to use against me ?" 
 
 "I most certainly read the letter, and I should use it were 
 it likely to prove of any use to me. I do not in the least at- 
 tempt to deny it, but I am quite certain, on the other hand, 
 that, could he have foreseen the death of both the direct 
 heirs, he would have felt bound to make use of them him- 
 self and assure the succession to the legitimate heir." 
 
 "Surmises as to the probable conduct of Lewis' late guar- 
 dian are useless as evidence," interposed Fargus, anxious to 
 forestall his son's reply; "and it remains a fact, Mr. Hill- 
 yard, that you have unlawfully appropriated letters for the 
 purpose of damaging their rightful owner and advancing 
 your private interests. You are wise, certainly, as far as 
 your own interests are concerned, in desiring to avoid pub- 
 licity." 
 
 "My dear sir," returned Charles in a bland voice, "I am 
 not in the least afraid of the world's verdict any more than 
 of the jury's. But I believe," he added, wtih a cynical smile, 
 "the world would not be hard on the successful claimant." 
 
 "At any rate," said Fargus, feeling an .uprising of anger 
 hard to conceal, "I am one with you in desiring to avoid the '
 
 1 86 Charles Hilly ard Expounds His Case. 
 
 open scandal. I presume that you have now adverted to 
 every proof you possess of the irrefragable character of your 
 claim." 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "And you hold there copies of all important documents ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Charles after a pause, devoted to the endeavor 
 to understand the drift of this question. 
 
 "Very good. What have you got to propose to him ?" 
 
 "First," said Charles, "that he should read the attested 
 copies, which I shall have prepared and sent to-morrow. 
 Then, if he should wish to see the originals, that he should 
 call at my solicitor's and satisfy himself, and if he comes to 
 the conclusion that his chances of establishing his legitimacy 
 are too slender to justify his risking an action in defense, 
 that he should come to an agreement, resigning his claim. 
 I may point out how excessively damaging such a public trial 
 would be to him in his regiment if he fails." 
 
 "Thank you for your forethought," said Lewis, endeavor- 
 ing to conceal, under an ironical smile, how sore a point 
 this reference to his beloved regiment touched upon. "Let 
 me repeat your own words, and that with a clearer conscience. 
 I am not afraid of publicity." 
 
 Fargus, with a warning glance at the young man, again 
 interposed his quiet voice: 
 
 "You have no objection, I presume, to allow me to ex- 
 amine these wonderful documents ?" he asked of Charles, who 
 in reply handed him the parcel. 
 
 Fargus withdrew near the window and silently proceeded 
 to read them. Lewis watched him at first in some surprise, 
 but remembering the promise made to Miss Wren, and 
 thought he understood the menceuvre, though it somewhat 
 grated upon his particular ethics. 
 
 At length the reader looked up. His task was completed. 
 The papers contained an accurate copy of those which he had 
 destroyed the night before; there was nothing new in them 
 save some marginal hieroglyphics in shorthand, evidently 
 added by Charles as memoranda for his own use. 
 
 "Did I understand you to say you had no other copy?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes," answered Mr. Hillyard ; "this is the only one for the 
 present. You would, I suppose, like to keep it, but I should 
 prefer you to have one that is properly certified." 
 
 "One moment," said Fargus, reflectively, and he walked 
 across the room to Lewis, who made way for him on the 
 hearth. 
 
 "Lewis, you have deputed me to act for you," he said, 
 gravely, to his son.
 
 Charles Hillyard Expounds His Case. 187 
 
 Then, as both men stood watching him with some surprise, 
 he deliberately turned round, threw the parcel at the back 
 of the grate, and planted himself before the fire, in an atti- 
 tude which seemed quietly to defy interference, while the 
 leaping flames toyed with and licked their new prey, and, 
 soaring, flashed with it into nothingness. 
 
 Lewis who had made a quick gesture as if to prevent the 
 deed, at a look from Fargus restrained himself, and took a 
 hasty turn round the room in a high state of perturbation. 
 Charles remained motionless, but the first unmitigated as- 
 tonishment upon his face merged into open and somewhat 
 irritated contempt. 
 
 "This behavior, Colonel Fargus, I might have expected 
 from, one of Lewis' stamp, but hardly from you. Did I not 
 distinctly state that these papers were only copies? If, in- 
 deed, I had been foolish enough to bring the originals, such 
 a stratagem would have been treacherous, but at least com- 
 prehensible." 
 
 "Mr. Hillyard," answered Fargus in his tranquil way, 
 though there was just the suggestion of an irrepressible 
 twinkle in his eye. "I never pretended to be other than 
 mortal man, and mortal man, you know, is liable to error. 
 I regret to have fallen in your estimation. May it console 
 you, for having had to behold such an. instance of human 
 weakness, to reflect that, at any rate, it has been futile as far 
 as you are concerned." 
 
 Charles now got up. There was an ugly look on his face. 
 
 "I do not understand you, Colonel Fargus," he said inso- 
 lently. "Good-by, Lewis. Take my advice: to-morrow you 
 shall have these papers; read them yourself and judge for 
 yourself, and do not hand over your will and conscience into 
 the keeping of this" here the speaker measured Fargus with 
 a cold, challenging glance, and paused "this disinterested, 
 brand-new friend of yours." 
 
 "Good-by, Mr. Hillyard," said Fargus. "We shall meet 
 again, I daresay, when I hope I may not have the misfor- 
 tune to find so much disfavor in your eyes. I go back to 
 my Lone Grange to-morrow. Perhaps we may meet down 
 there."
 
 CHAPTEK XIX. 
 
 CHARYBDIS. 
 
 The sun had just cleared the golden belt of mist on the 
 horizon; emerald- tinted gleamed the crest of the wooded 
 slopes of Gilham, while the hollow folds of the land still lay 
 in glaucous shadow. 
 
 Alone in the midst of his lonely demesne stood Fargus, 
 and watched with delight the secrets of morning unfolding, 
 and blushing, and ripening. Unable in his solitude to use 
 that precious power by which man can relieve the over- 
 pressure of his mind, and communicate of his joy or sorrow 
 to fellow-man, he had risen with the birds to seek the ever- 
 ready companionship of nature and the freedom of air and 
 space. 
 
 He had taken his gun, almost mechanically, from the rack 
 as he passed out, and swung a cartridge-belt over his shoulder. 
 But the innocent blood of the wild things of moor and brush- 
 wood was not to lie on his soul that morn. 
 
 Crushing the heather beneath his feet, dashing the dew 
 sparkles from gorse and juniper bush, the man tramped on- 
 ward, following his thought, till his aimless march brought 
 him to the crest of an almost imperceptible rising sweep of 
 ground, whence the eye dominated a wide stretch of country. 
 To the south, beneath him, on ever-deepening levels, belted in 
 by stripes of solemn firs, by rolling masses of yellowing tim- 
 ber, by horizon waves of faint blue mountains, lay the rich 
 meadows of Gilham, the prosperous village dominated by the 
 single tower of the Court, proudly upreared above the trees. 
 
 Fargus let his eyes roam from that distant joyful glint to 
 the cold thin line of the empty flagstaff over the Court tower, 
 and his heart grew warm with a presentiment of coming good. 
 
 Anxious to be ready with some news against his guest's 
 arrival, anent that dear wish of his soul, the father, on the 
 first afternoon after his home-coming, had hied him to Wold- 
 ham, intent on reconnoitering how the land lay there. Maude 
 was away a cause of great regret on a visit somewhere in 
 the neighborhood, and not expected back for a few days ; but 
 the General was at home and unaffectedly delighted to see 
 his friend, and in the untidy smoking-room, amid, the pipes 
 and guns and sport trophies, they had had a lengthy talk. From 
 almost the first words spoken it had been evident to Fargus 
 that, as far at least as the old man was concerned, he had 
 misjudged Charles, and that no misrepresentation had been
 
 Charybdis. 189 
 
 made here to blight Lewis' position. General Woldham was 
 quite eager to speak of the "young squire," delighted and 
 amazed to hear that Fargus had already made acquaintance 
 with him, and excited beyond measure by a graphic account 
 of the duel and its results. His pipe went out, his blue eyes, 
 bright and keen as steel, sparkled and danced under the 
 bushy white brows, while the most complete assortment of 
 snorts and sniffs were produced to punctuate the visitor's 
 deliberate narrative of the encounter, the flight across the 
 hills, and the fever episode in Brussels. The old soldier, of 
 course, was bound to some highly proper indignation on the 
 subject of dueling itself, and vowed he would give Mr. Kerr 
 a piece of his mind about his folly, and pished and pshawed 
 at the description of the subaltern's scarred face; but he 
 asked for a second description of the fight, insisted on an 
 illustration of the bouts, to Fargus' great amusement, with 
 the help of a crop and a walking-stick, and there was an ir- 
 repressible chuckle somewhere subterraneously and a certain 
 unctuous gloating over the detail of blows exchanged, and 
 the foreigner's final undoing, which would not have deceived 
 a child as to the nature of his real feelings. 
 
 And after that the General had gone on to talk about 
 Lewis and the old days, and his affection for him ; and roused 
 into greater unreserve by Fargus' tactful guidance, there had 
 escaped from his lips a phrase which caused the other father 
 a warm pleasure. "Upon his word," he had said, "he did not 
 know, after all, any one he would desire more as mate for his 
 Maude." 
 
 "I used to think they fancied each other. Certainly 
 Maude does not care for any one else at any rate, she has 
 refused offer after offer, and good fellows, too. I don't say 
 that I was very sorry, for I can't spare my girl easily, you 
 know, Fargus. But, by Jove! when I heard our fine young 
 gentleman had flown abroad instead of coming here, as he 
 should have done, I made sure I knew what he had gone for. 
 But it seem's I'm all at sea. My girl came back with never 
 a word about him, and now you tell me he was quietly re- 
 visiting the scenes of his student days at Heidelberg. Can't 
 make out what you were all posting-off to Germany for, when 
 Lewis ought to have been at Gilham." 
 
 "I daresay Mr. Kerr will explain," had answered Fargus, 
 careful to conceal the satisfaction which the beginning of 
 the General's speech had caused him, and keeping his own 
 counsel in face of the very natural exasperation which 
 marked the end. "Young men are erratic at times : I do not 
 pretend to understand them. All I can tell you about Lewis
 
 190 CharytxHs. 
 
 Kerr is that I found him a plucky fellow and an excellent 
 companion." 
 
 After which the conversation had diverged into other chan- 
 nels, for Fargus was too well bred and too wise to push the 
 General further than he seemed inclined to' go upon the 
 delicate topic, however tempting the opportunity might seem. 
 But enough had been said to confirm his secret hopes. 
 Whether Charles had prejudiced Maude against her girlhood's 
 choice, it was just possible he might have written at any 
 rate, whatever may have been the influence at work which 
 caused her to refuse him, that must Lewis find out for him- 
 self. It was not for Fargus to interfere here; the coast was 
 clear of material obstacles, the weapon wielded by the false 
 friend had broken in his hand, and here was the General as 
 ready to welcome his old favorite as son-in-law as he had been 
 ready to act a father's part to him in his somewhat deserted 
 boyhood. This would be precious news to welcome the lover 
 on the morrow. Her father had as good as said that if 
 Maude's heart was not Lewis', that it belonged to none. Who 
 could know the bent of that maiden mind better than he, 
 between whom and his beautiful daughter there existed the 
 closest confidence and most exquisite tenderness? Lewis 
 with these odds in his favor had but to fight on for his hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Fargus was a man of wide experience; his checkered life 
 had carried him through many strange adventures, the like 
 of which befall few people. He had a partly inborn, partly 
 acquired, facility for discovering men's inward through their 
 outward self, and reading with clear eye the weakness or the 
 vice that lay behind fair presentiments; he had a straight, 
 decisive judgment of conduct and events, but there was a 
 very important element he had never cared to study, and 
 which had remained in consequence as a sealed book to him. 
 Of womanhood the womankind, that is, reared in loving 
 homes and shielded from the outer guile and the vulgar 
 curses of life of the maidens that dream away their ex- 
 istence in innocency such as is scarce comprehensible to those 
 that have had to face the world as it is from childhood up- 
 ward. 
 
 And now, as he stood upon the moor and sent his glance 
 toward that special gable in the old black and white house 
 which marked, as he knew, the bower of its fair mistress, he 
 hugged himself to think that she was destined to be the 
 blessing of his son's young manhood. 
 
 The day was broad when the faint clang of a church bell 
 in the distance recalled him to the flight of time. He glanced
 
 Charybdis. 191 
 
 at his watch it marked the half -hour after nine; he remem- 
 bered that he was hungry and had not yet broken his fast. 
 
 "Yes, Dinah," he said, looking kindly at the retriever, who, 
 perceiving him to be awakened from his prolonged immo- 
 bility, "come on, old lady; you shall have a good breakfast 
 to make up for the loss of your sport." 
 
 With agitated tail and nose to earth Dinah bounded off in 
 the direction indicated, and her master swung after her down 
 the slope at a right sturdy pace. As he anticipated, there 
 was a letter addressed in Lewis' somewhat precise and for- 
 eign-looking caligraphy. Such a thick letter! What could 
 the boy have to say to swell his envelope to these dimen- 
 sions ? 
 
 Fargus weighed the missive in his hand and hesitated to 
 open it an unusual shadow of evil came athwart his own 
 heart. In another minute, however, he laughed at himself : 
 
 "Positively I am as bad as a lover about his mistress over 
 this big boy of mine. How now, David Fargus ! presentiment 
 because there is a cloud over the sun, and because a letter 
 from Staple Inn seems too fat ! You are getting old." 
 
 He broke open the envelope with a steady hand, and drew 
 forth three closely-written sheets. The clouds drifted and 
 drifted, darker and closer. Rain fell. Sunshine flashed out 
 again, and the blue sky broke once more over a sparkling, 
 dripping earth. Once Turner, the discreet, passed his head 
 in at the door and noislessly withdrew it. Still Fargus sat 
 absorbed over that lengthy letter, moving only to turn the 
 sheets this way and that as he read and pondered, and read 
 again : 
 
 "My DEAR COLONEL FARGUS" (Lewis had written) : "I fear 
 that when this comes under your eyes your first impulse will 
 be to mentally declare that you wash your hands of one so 
 ungrateful and foolish. But as you have proved of more help 
 to me in my serious trouble been more friendly, more die- 
 interestedly kind in every possible way than I can express, 
 I am emboldened to open out my whole mind to you once 
 more and expose my present difficulty. 
 
 "It was a great blow to me to learn that what I had endeav- 
 ored to drive from my mind as an exaggeration, .self-tor- 
 menting fancy the suspicion of my father having com- 
 mitted suicide was actually an indisputable fact. Yet 
 when you placed my case and Charles Hillyard's before one, 
 I own you spoke so clearly, so plausibly, that your words 
 seemed to carry conviction with them ; and subsequently, dur- 
 ing that first visit of Charles', my anger against him seemed 
 to prevent me from reasoning. When I was no longer under
 
 192 Charybdis. 
 
 the spell of your cheering, vigorous, sympathetic presence, I 
 had time to reflect; and last night Charles Hillyard came 
 again. He was in bitter anger, and said bitter things; he 
 had discovered the loss of the papers, of course, and also 
 knew how it happened. His very first words were so insult- 
 ing to me, so outrageous about you, that, in the indignation 
 they roused, I told him I would neither listen nor speak to 
 him. He was obliged to leave me without obtaining any 
 satisfaction as to what had become of the documents though 
 it is quite evident he believes you have them. But what he 
 said I had to hear, and it has sunk deep into my heart. 
 
 " 'You have read these papers, Lewis,' he said ; 'you have 
 seen with your own eyes how this George Kerr you claim as a 
 father wrote to your mother! No man can forgive her be- 
 havior, he says. He is too sick at heart even to try and pun- 
 ish her, but after his awful discovery he cannot live with 
 her. But he will not ruin her in the eyes of the world. 
 These are his words, Lewis: "I will give you your liberty 
 and my money, but I will die!" Read that letter, Lewis 
 read it, if you have it, for, I suspect, your wonderful new 
 friend has got hold of the papers, as he seems to have got 
 hold of your conscience for God knows what private aim of 
 his own but if you have them in your possession, study them 
 alone, honestly, away from his perverting influence, then dare 
 to say you believe your mother innocent, yourself true-born ! 
 dare to come and offer yourself as the last link of the chain 
 of true Kerrs !' I can laugh at it now, though it angered me 
 so much at the time that, but for that insolence, I think I 
 could have cried out to him that he was right, that I should 
 fight him no more. For when he spoke of that letter he had 
 the accent of truth in his voice. And oh! Colonel Fargus, I 
 could not turn upon him and say: 'You have twisted the 
 words to your own evil meaning thus, and not so, did my 
 father write.' I could not even say to him: 'I will read, 
 and prove you liar from your own mouth!' Why did you 
 burn those letters? What I* 68 before me but either to take 
 upon me honors and riches I can never establish, to my own 
 mind, a moral right to ; or blast myself bastard, for the sake 
 of a quiet conscience? Better, indeed, would have been the 
 lawsuit, the open scandal, than this. At least, if by law I 
 had been proclaimed legitimate, I could in peace of mind 
 have accepted the position, and for the sake of my name and 
 all it means to me I should have risked the alternative. I 
 believe, with you, that these letters prove nothing to absolute 
 certainty; on the other hand, I see, with Hillyard, that they 
 lay my parentage open to strong suspicion. You, in your 
 kindness and anxiety to befriend one to whom you had takeu
 
 Charybdis. 193 
 
 a liking, thought better, in the absence of any distinct proof, 
 to spare me the knowledge of this suspicion. There are men, 
 no doubt, who would laugh to think that on a mere suspicion 
 I should meditate giving up name and fortune. I repeat, if 
 I could fight it out with Hillyard in fair and open fight, I 
 should do so, and accept the verdict of the court, whichever 
 way it went, as final. But a series of extraordinary events 
 have rendered this impossible. I have been legally estab- 
 lished heir to Gilham by the revengeful cleverness of a jealous 
 woman, and by your well-meaning but mistaken destruction 
 of evidence against me. Can I take advantage of this? I 
 know what you would say to me. All night, I tell you, I battled 
 with myself, but my conscience, my honor, are too strong for 
 me, and I have made up my mind, unless I can prove myself, 
 to myself, a Kerr, I must abandon everything to Charles. I 
 was so worn out and sick at heart this morning that I was 
 sorely tempted to write to him and have done with it all and 
 go back to India at once. I will do nothing without hearing 
 from you ; I hold to showing you what I fear this letter may 
 lead you to doubt that indeed my confidence in you is not 
 shaken. I promise to take no steps without hearing from 
 you, to wait patiently for your answer to this. Think for me, 
 judge for me, and help me to safeguard my honor as you 
 would have helped your own son; had you had one. No sac- 
 rifice can be considered when such a point is at stake; but 
 your decision will relieve me from this constant mental con- 
 flict. I shall write to the General when everything is set- 
 tled and I am outward-bound once more; meanwhile, you will 
 keep my counsel. 
 
 "Yours ever sincerely and gratefully, 
 
 "LEWIS KERR." 
 
 "P. S. Do you remember my asking you whether there was 
 resemblance between George Kerr's portrait and myself? I 
 used to think so. This morning I held it beside my face be- 
 fore the glass and studied both images. I could see no like- 
 ness. Everything seems to have gone from me even the 
 memories that have grown into my life." 
 
 A deep sigh escaped from Fergus' lips when he at length 
 looked up from the letter, and, refolding the closely-covered 
 sheets with almost tender care, placed them in his breast- 
 pocket. He then rose and stood looking out across the wide 
 prospect, checkered now with strong lights and shadows from 
 a cloud-riven yet sun-bright sky. 
 
 So it has come to it at last. The veil must be lifted, the 
 secret unfolded. David Fargus, the loved and admired com- 
 panion, the trusty friend, must reveal himself in his tru
 
 194 Chary bdis. 
 
 colors. And George Kerr, whose memory, in spite of one 
 supposed unhappy deed, was kept in honor by his own, must 
 reappear in all his deceitfulness before the eyes of the one 
 being he loved with a love that seemed revengful for his 
 long immunity from human ties, so keen was it, so all-absorb- 
 ing, so potent now for pain or joy. 
 
 How different from under the glamour of his adventurous, 
 careless youth did the past appear now in the garish light of 
 the pitiless present ! Heedless disregard of another's possible 
 sorrow; gross egotism, which had led him to act a ghastly 
 lie, to desert his child, to disown his name. And from it, 
 behold what a train of consequences, circling wider and wider 
 till the lives of many innocent beings are drawn into the 
 spreading wrong! The death of her whom he had vowed to 
 guard and cherish so long as life remained; the grief and 
 lonely old age of her parents, who had confided her to his 
 guidance and keeping; the shadow across his sister's life; the 
 melancholy struggle of his son's childhood and youth, and 
 this insult to name and honor in his manhood; the dead 
 squire's breach of trust and dying act of enmity; the temp- 
 tation to Charles Hillyard and his fall from moral altitude 
 to qualified dishonesty and vulgar greed; and the last wide 
 ripple bringing such poignant misery to Lewis, cutting him 
 apart from the true, sweet girl who had loved him no doubt 
 loved him still to poor, passionless Hilda, ruined and like to 
 be abandoned to heaven knows what unimaginable depths. 
 
 But the circle could and should be broken here, and the 
 happiness of two lives, at least, be saved from out of the 
 wreck. Thank God for that; thank God that by his own 
 humiliation and suffering the father had it still in his power 
 to save them to the son. 
 
 This was to be the expiation. What would that boy of 
 his, who had learned to trust him, who revered him for past 
 achievements and loved him for present good what would 
 that white-souled man, who held honor so high that he pre- 
 ferred expatiation and disgrace and the relinquishing of the 
 woman he loved to the shadow of a stain upon it and this 
 with such a simple heroism as to be fain to ask pardon for 
 the trouble caused what would he think of his father when 
 the shameful truth had to be told? A father whom this son, 
 having fought his way to honorable manliness not by his 
 help, but, indeed, in spite of him owed nothing to, but 
 much misery in the past and in the present. A father whom 
 the son is never to acknowledge before the world, and whom 
 he cannot even acknowledge to himself without regret. 
 Oh, it would be hard to have to do this to lose the esteem, 
 the affection so happily won, so highly prized; to feel that all
 
 The Lone Grange Has Visitors. 195 
 
 he could hope for now in their stead was anger, contempt, 
 or, perchance for his boy was generous pity and forgive- 
 ness ; and these were cold feelings for love to think on. 
 
 Yet, after all, as he stood there, and measured past and 
 future with even mind, and calmly faced the coining bitter- 
 ness and humiliation, a great thankfulness, a triumphant 
 pride, rose paramount like a flood in his heart; that his son 
 was what he was, and that he his father was at hand to 
 help him in his need, and could help him at last by the sac- 
 rifice of self. 
 
 CHAPTEK XX. 
 
 THE LONE GRANGE HAS VISITORS. 
 
 Holding a cup of cold tea in his hand, Fargus paced his 
 room with heavy, regular tread, so lost to outer things that 
 the sharp sound of the hall-door bell, the approach of steps 
 along the flagged passage, struck indeed upon his ear, but 
 brought no meaning to his mind; neither did he notice his 
 servant's entrance upon his privacy, nor the subdued murmur 
 of his voice. Indeed, he only became aware of that worthy's 
 respectful presence when, turning in his measured tramp, he 
 came upon him suddenly and then with a vague memory of 
 words still ringing in the air. 
 
 "What was that you said, Turner?" 
 
 "There is a young lady without, sir, who gives her name as 
 Miss Wren, and would like to speak with you, she says, sir." 
 
 Fargus' face marked strong displeasure. Could ever in- 
 trusion be more inopportune. But in another minute his 
 innate sense of justice triumphed over the natural irritation. 
 She had been told to come if she needed help. Moreover, she 
 might be the bearer of news useful, if not important. 
 
 "Ask the lady to step in here," he said, thoughtfully scan- 
 ning the servant's face and wondering with some annoyance 
 what scandal and gossip this strange appearance of Maude's 
 double would create in his bachelor household. Turner with- 
 drew to fulfill the order, and presently, the door noiselessly 
 closing behind her, the visitor and her host stood face to 
 face alone. 
 
 To the latter's satisfaction, she was closely veiled with 
 white gossamer. 
 
 "An unexpected pleasure, Miss Wren!" said Fargus pleas- 
 antly, stretching out his hand as he spoke. "What has 
 brought you hare ? No bad news, I hope."
 
 196 The Lone Grange Has Visitors. 
 
 Without seeming to notice the proffered greeting, the girl 
 threw up her veil with a passionate gesture of weariness. 
 
 "Let me sit down," she said in a sort of cry, and she flung 
 herself into the arm-chair he was about to move toward her 
 and turned her face, haggard for all its rounded beauty and 
 paled from its warm richness of bloom, to look at him with 
 fevered eyes. 
 
 "You want to know what has brought me here, and if it is 
 bad news. It is bad news. Oh, never fear nothing about 
 that precious friend of yours. There is nothing new about 
 him, it's about myself. I've been a fool, that's what it 
 conies to. And now I have come on a fool's errand." 
 
 "What is it ?" said Fargus, sitting down opposite to her, and 
 bending forward to fix upon her a gaze full of kindliness. He 
 felt both pity and liking for this curious undisciplined crea- 
 ture, child in artless impulse and woman in passionate de- 
 termination. 
 
 "It's just this," she cried. "Oh, I know you'll think I am 
 mad ! I want you to give me back those papers, since it was 
 you who took them from me. You won't, I know, but a 
 drowning man '11 catch at a straw, they say. I had no right 
 to have brought them to you, and they can't mean as much 
 to you as they do to me." 
 
 Through their covering gloves the shapely hands, inter- 
 laced upon her lap, showed convulsive clutchings, and she 
 returned his glance from hollow eyes, that looked as if they 
 had not closed in slumber through long, weary nights. 
 
 "My dear child," he answered very gently, "have you come 
 all this way to ask me to do an impossible thing? Those 
 papers I saw burned myself the very night after you brought 
 them. But even were it not so, they belonged to Mr. Kerr 
 by right, and I could never have returned them to you for 
 Mr. Hillyard's peculiar designs." 
 
 She listened in silence, compressing her lips till all the 
 carmine flew from them. 
 
 "Of course," she said at length, nodding her head in dreary 
 acceptance of his reasoning. "Didn't I say I was a fool ? He 
 has left me." 
 
 She turned her head sharply from him, for a second her 
 whole frame quivering in a brave struggle against herself, 
 but the next she had thrown herself on the arm of the chair 
 and had broken into a storm of long-drawn sobs. 
 
 She was not one "of the crying sort," she had said, and in 
 truth her weeping was far removed from the facile, elegant 
 tear-shedding of which her sex possesses the monopoly. 
 
 Very much disturbed, and quite nonplussed as to what 
 could be done for her, Farjjus took what was perhaps the
 
 The Lone Grange Has Visitors. 197 
 
 wisest course, and left her alone. She raised herself pres- 
 ently and quitted her chair, to walk over to the window. 
 There she stood with her face to the breeze, and battled with 
 her pain in silence. Then, as the feminine instinct began 
 to reassert itself, she fell to fingering her hair and smoothing 
 her gown, and to lay the pretty cloak neatly across a chair. 
 She next looked at Fargus, who had noticed these signs with 
 much relief, and a faint, melancholy, shy smile stole over 
 her lips. 
 
 "Can I get you anything? Let me give you a glass of 
 wine." 
 
 She looked up again, and, at the sympathetic tone of his 
 voice, the tears glistened again under her heavy lids. 
 
 "I'd rather have some milk, thank you. I've had precious 
 little breakfast, and I've walked a terrible way. I thought 
 I'd get some more in the village, but there's no village, it 
 seems." 
 
 He got a glass and filled it from his breakfast table. She 
 sat down to it, and seizing the brown loaf in her strong 
 hands to break off a crusty portion, fell to with right good 
 will. 
 
 "That's done me good, I think," she said. "What a fool 
 you must think me. But I've had a cruel time lately, and I 
 don't feel like my regular self at all. So you've burned them 
 papers. Perhaps it's as well. I came to make you give them 
 back. But since you say they're burned there's an end of 
 it. I thought to have brought him back with them, though 
 he pretends what I've done won't prevent anything. I have 
 been mad like ever since I saw him, and his words and his 
 laugh when he left me have been in my ears night and day." 
 
 "You have seen him again was he terribly angry ?" asked 
 Fargus. 
 
 "Angry ! Oh, that he was, but you would not have thought 
 it to see him. He was as cool and quiet as ever, smiling 
 most of the time. It was the next day after I'd been to you 
 that he came. Well, I was sitting by the window looking 
 out, when I saw a hansom come whisking round the square. 
 'Lord!' says I, 'whatever shall I do if that's Charlie?' Sure 
 enough, as it came along, there he sat, as pale as death. He 
 looked up at me as he jumped out in a black sort of way. 
 So then he comes in, without a word, and walks up to me, 
 and putting his hand under my chin, looks hard into my eyes. 
 'It is you,' he says, and he begins to walk the room, looking 
 nasty and damning under his mustache. I answered him 
 back, as bold as you please. 'Yes, I know what you mean ; I 
 might pretend innocent, but I won't. You thought that you 
 could make use of me and amuse yourself with me and drop
 
 198 The Lone Grange Has Visitors. 
 
 me, just as the fancy took you; but I'm not so dense that I 
 can't see clear through your little business, Master Charlie,' 
 says I. 'Can you, indeed?' says he with a sort of a snarl, 
 stopping before me. 'Well, since you've been so very clever 
 about my affairs, tell me how you've done it, and why.' 
 'Nothing incomprehensible at all about it,' says I. 'I don't 
 want you to grow so rich that I'm no longer good enough 
 for you. I found out your game, and you gave me the chance 
 to prevent it, and I took it.' He seemed staggered at that, 
 and he looked at me with a funny look from head to foot. 
 And as he looked the anger seemed to go out of his eyes, and 
 there came into them a cold, nasty, hard kind of stare. Then 
 he began to whistle to himself, soft and low, and I had to 
 sit down, for my legs were shaking under me. I knew it was 
 all up somehow, but the look of him made me feel like death." 
 
 "And then?" said Fargus, as she paused, closing her eyes 
 and apparently absorbed in the unpleasant memory. "Did he 
 succeed in making you confess all that happened ?" 
 
 "I told him of myself. I told him all I'd done. I wanted 
 him to know the sort of woman he'd made a fool of, thinking 
 he could pension her off in the end. But he lay on the sofa, 
 quite calm and collected. He would smile, now and again, 
 to himself. But when I came to mentioning you he pricked 
 up his ears and listened eagerly enough. 'I know the man,' 
 he says ; 'I know him well ; so he took the papers, did he ? So 
 that's the game, is it?' says he, and gets up and begins to 
 tramp about again. Then he goes back to his sofa and asks 
 me many questions about you every word you said, and how 
 you looked, and where you put the papers when I gave them 
 to you, and he seemed quite pleased like after a bit. But I 
 thought I'd die if he left me like that. I flung my arms 
 round him and begged and prayed him to forgive me, and 
 only not to leave me. He stood quite still never raised a 
 finger to push me off Charlie is always the gentleman ; but 
 my arms fell off of themselves I might as well have been 
 hugging a block of ice. 'What's the matter with you?' he 
 asks. 'Haven't you got it all your own way ?' 'Oh, Charlie,' 
 says I. 'Have you no pity for me, that loved you all these 
 years will you go to that other girl, after all?' 'Why, how 
 can I ?' says he, laughing ; 'don't I say you've been too clever 
 for me? Haven't you given away the papers, and ain't I 
 helpless without them ?' And then he walks out of the room, 
 still laughing to himself, runs down-stairs, and I hear the 
 front door bang. I knew he never meant to come back. 
 And I began to think, 'He's that clever, may be he'll get 
 round the old gentleman'; and then I thought, 'If I get the 
 papers first, I'll win him back.'
 
 The Lone Grange Has Visitors. 199 
 
 "So I looked out your station, arrived last night, and here 
 I am. I've been beforehand with Charlie, anyhow, haven't 
 1?" 
 
 "He has certainly not come to me," said Fargus. "But I 
 have no doubt he will come to make the same request and to 
 receive the same answer." 
 
 "I couldn't rest, you see," she said wearily. "May be, 
 thought I, he's making love to that girl on the sly; may be 
 I've not kept him out of his big fortune, and if he makes 
 love to her how could she help herself? she'll marry him 
 without. I was determined," and, as she spoke, her face 
 took that look of strange decision that Fargus knew already, 
 "I was determined that if I found out there was talk of mar- 
 riage I would go to the girl myself; for all his sharpness, he 
 never seemed to think of how I've got him in my power there. 
 But I've seen her," she added, more pensively, "and I own 
 I'd rather not to have to do it." 
 
 "You've already seen Miss Woldham!" ejaculated Fargus. 
 
 "Oh, not to speak to, only as she went by; course I knew 
 her, since I know myself. I'd have a funny story to tell her, 
 and it would come hard on her, if she loved Charlie. But 
 he's mine, and she shan't have him." 
 
 "Do not excite yourself," said Fargus. "There is no ques- 
 tion of marriage between Miss Woldham and any one at 
 present. If there were, the man would not be Mr. Hillyard." 
 
 "Think not ? You don't know Charlie, I suspect ; once he's 
 set on a thing, he's a devil to get it. If you could have 
 seen how he got round me when father wanted me to come 
 back poor father! Tell you what, old gentleman, you said 
 you'd do me a good turn if you could, and now I'll claim it. 
 You're settled down here for a bit, aren't you ? Well, if you 
 find out that this man, who belongs to me, is making up to 
 the other girl, you'll just let me know, and I'll just hop 
 down and spoil the little game! Will you do that for me?" 
 
 She rose and stood impatiently over him. Fargus delayed 
 his reply. 
 
 " 'Tisn't so much to ask, I'm sure," she urged at length in 
 injured tones, plumping sulkily back into her chair. 
 
 "Come, come," answered Fargus, smiling, "I have really no 
 business to promise such a thing. Nevertheless, I think I may 
 promise that if such an unlikely event should come to pass 
 I will immediately inform you of it, on the condition that 
 you promise to come to me first." 
 
 "So that you may be sure to have your finger in the pie ! 
 Well, that's pretty good for one that doesn't like to in- 
 terfere!" cried Hilda. "My! but you're a queer gentleman!"
 
 2OO The Lone Grange Has Visitors. 
 
 "I confess you seem to have me there," returned Fargus. 
 "Anyhow, I hold to my point ; it is for you to decide now." 
 
 The girl's spirits Lad risen visibly. 
 
 "Oh! I don't mind a bit," she responded. "I've not the 
 slightest objection to come to see you first if I do not have to 
 come here again. She lives close to you, doesn't she, and you 
 know her well?" 
 
 "She lives a couple of miles away, and I know her very 
 well." 
 
 "Seems nice, sweet-tempered, I must say," Miss Wren pro- 
 ceeded. "I put up, you know, at that little pot-house near 
 the station Gilham Arms, they call it. Oh, never fear, I 
 was all veiled up, for I didn't want to have people taking me 
 for the other girl. So I've been precious careful that none 
 but an idiot of a servant should see me without my veil on. 
 I did want to have a peep at the Woldham girl, and, as good 
 luck would have it, as I sat by the window just after tea 
 last evening, there comes a big dog-cart rumbling down the 
 street, a fine old gentleman, very stiff, with white hair, driv- 
 ing of it, and all the people touching their hats to him. He 
 gets out at the station wonderful quick for such an old fel- 
 low, when down the steps I sees her come running to meet 
 him. No mistake about her, either. Black hat, gray gown 
 and all. I knew her in a moment. Kind of thing that 
 makes you feel queerish, you know, to see your portrait run- 
 ning about. Well, she hugged the old gentleman he's her 
 father, I take it and he hugged her back; seems as if they 
 were desperate fond of each other. Then they both toddled 
 up into the dog-cart, and he gives her the reins and off they 
 whisk. A fine-looking couple, though of course it wouldn't 
 become me to go into fits over her good looks, would it ? Isn't 
 it strange, now, to think of her, not a bit different from me, 
 except that she was born a lady-baby, going off so happy like 
 to her grand home, and with Charlie ready to kiss the dust 
 off her shoes; and me, thrown aside, looked down upon, 
 having to scheme and fight for my rights, and not a roof to 
 shelter me if I can't keep Charlie ? That father of hers seems 
 regular set on her; so was my father on me, once, and as 
 proud of me, though you wouldn't think it if you knew him 
 now. My father is short and fat, though," she added medi- 
 tatively, "and had a jolly red face it was my mother had 
 the looks." 
 
 Fargus could not help smiling at the naivete of the last 
 phase, but during the preceding narrative he had glanced at 
 the clock more than once with some consternation. It was 
 close on noon, and he had much before him. That letter to 
 prepare him for the strange news had to be written and sent
 
 The Lone Grange Has Visitors. 201 
 
 as soon as possible. But his garrulous visitor, lolling com- 
 fortably back in her chair, did not seem to have the faintest 
 idea of moving. 
 
 "My dear young lady," he said at length, "it is getting late ; 
 I must point out that, glad as I am to have seen you, and 
 much as I appreciate the value of the news you have brought 
 me, it would be exceedingly awkward for both of us to be 
 discovered tete-a-tete in this manner, and I cannot guarantee 
 myself from chance visitors." 
 
 Hilda's lip curled with a smile of much amusement. 
 
 "Lor', an old fellow like you!" she ejaculated with a giggle. 
 
 "Supposing Mr. Hillyard should come." 
 
 The girl sprang up to her feet in blank dismay. 
 
 "Mercy on us!" she shrieked, "it's as much as my whole 
 life is worth to meet him here ! He'd never forgive me if he 
 thought I was playing him false again. Tell you what, you'll 
 have to hide me till it's dark." 
 
 "My dear Miss Wren, that's impossible." 
 
 There was a tinge of exasperation in Fargus' voice. 
 
 "You must, for I won't go. I'll stop in the pantry, in the 
 box-room, anywhere you like." She stamped her foot. 
 "Heaven knows he may be on the road already! I mean 
 what I say; I won't go till I know it's safe. You'll have 
 to keep me, I say. It isn't much to ask you, but it is life 
 or death to me." 
 
 Fargus ran his hand through his hair with a despairing 
 gesture. He knew enough of Miss Wren already to realize 
 that he might as well hope to influence a stone by argument 
 or threats, as to turn her from her purpose. He was himself 
 anxious that Charles Hillyard should not discover this visit, 
 and from Lewis' letter his appearance that day was not an 
 unlikely contingency. 
 
 After a minute devoted to reflection, he took up a railway 
 time- table, which he studied critically, and then: 
 
 "Listen," he said, looking up. "I am willing you should re- 
 main here till nightfall, since there seems, indeed, nothing else 
 to be done. There is a room yonder, prepared for an expected 
 guest; you can take possession of it, and I promise you will 
 be undisturbed there. When it is dark my servant will drive 
 you into Norton in time for the eight o'clock train up. At 
 any rate, this is the best I can do for you." 
 
 Hilda was beaming once more. 
 
 "That'll dp, capital!" she cried. "I always thought you 
 were a rattling good sort," and, gathering up her scattered 
 belongings, she followed her host into the pretty wainscoted 
 chamber leading out of the study, already decked and pre- 
 pared for Lewis' advent.
 
 2O2 The Lone Grange Has Visitors. 
 
 Having seen her installed in a deep arm-chair, out of range 
 of the window, where tall hollyhocks nodded in between screens 
 of reddening creepers, Fargus provided her with a book or 
 two and some papers, and left her to her own devices, prom- 
 ising, furthermore, to supply her with food when the time 
 came. 
 
 Once more back in his sitting-room, he sat down to indite a 
 telegram to Lewis, which, copied at last, ran thus: 
 
 "Keceived your letter and fully understand your point of 
 view ; nevertheless, be of good heart. I have unexpected news 
 for you which will completely satisfy your scruples. Letter 
 follows to-night. FARGUS." 
 
 This done, he rang the bell and, musing, waited for the 
 servant's appearance. 
 
 "Turner, I want you to have your dinner early and to go 
 to Norton as soon as possible afterward to send this telegram. 
 Be careful that it is absolutely correct." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You will be back in time to catch the eight-five train for 
 town to-night. I shall want you to drive in the lady who 
 came this morning. You can lay out cold lunch for me be- 
 fore you go." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 The invaluable factotum, whatever may have been his pri- 
 vate reflections, withdrew without moving a muscle of his 
 face. But Fargus knew he could trust him, and was, more- 
 over, conscious of having created a reciprocal feeling in the 
 man's mind. 
 
 When the door had closed behind the dignified figure, Far- 
 gus once more fell to measuring the room with slow tread, 
 after his fashion when especially absorbed in thought. 
 
 After a while he drew forth Lewis' letter, which he care- 
 fully re-read and finally destroyed with minute care. Then 
 he sat down to his writing table, opened his desk for some 
 fooolscap paper and began to write. 
 
 Though the shaft of light which struck, slanting and gold- 
 en, through the low window, had already traveled along a 
 considerable arc on the brick floor before he laid down his pen, 
 sighing and stretching himself after the long constraint, his 
 task was little more than half completed. He carefully 
 locked the sheets he had just written in his traveling-desk, 
 and hurried to the dining-room to repair his neglect of hos- 
 pitable duties. Presently, with a well-stocked tray, he stood 
 outside Hilda's door and knocked several times in vain. 
 
 At length she bade him come in, and, as he entered, raised
 
 The Lone Grange Has Visitors. 203 
 
 a flushed and smiling face from the soft-cushioned back of 
 the arm-chair. 
 
 "I do believe I've been asleep," she said, nibbing her eyes 
 like a child; "I was that tired I never slept a wink last 
 night." 
 
 "It will do you good," responded Fargus kindly, and placed 
 the tray upon the table. "I had f orgottten all about you, and 
 I was quite afraid you would think I meant to starve you." 
 
 "Well, I couldn't think so now, anyhow," said the girl. 
 "My ! what a lot of nice things you've brought me ! Ah 1 I do 
 love the country taste of things. Thank you for your trouble. 
 I'm happier than I've been this long time: I feel I could 
 enjoy my food now as I haven't enjoyed a bit since Charlie 
 left. I think he can't but come back to me in the end, 
 especially when he finds he can't have the other." 
 
 "Indeed, I trust you will have your wish," replied Fargus, 
 unwilling to damp her renewed cheerfulness, and marveling 
 at her wonderful buoyancy of temperament. "And now I 
 shall not disturb you again till evening; you would like some 
 tea before you go, no doubt." 
 
 She nodded brightly and gratefully over her glass, and he 
 withdrew to snatch a hasty meal before returning to finish the 
 interrupted task. This at last accomplished, he critically 
 perused the lengthy document, folded it and inserted it in a 
 stout legal envelope, which he next proceeded to direct, and 
 finally to seal with a signet ring. 
 
 Then, lying back in his chair, and gazing at the envelope 
 before him, he heaved a deep sigh. . 
 
 "Done, once for all, thank God," he murmured low to him- 
 self. "Now is the mischief at last repaired the treacherous 
 black and white so carelessly cast about in the old days, to be 
 afterward so cleverly collected, is now replaced by other 'writ- 
 ten words that remain,' and that will prove to my boy what 
 he feared never could now be proved. And now Lewis' name, 
 honor, fortune, even his happiness in love, please God, is se- 
 cure. Better perhaps it were if Fargus died, for then this ac- 
 cession would not include an undesirable parent. But, oh, my 
 son! my dear boy! how I long to see with living eyes the 
 shadow of pain at length cleared from your brave young face. 
 I could hardly have had the courage to tell you my shabby 
 story with my own lips, I fear. This you will read alone" 
 and Fargus wistfully fingered the envelope "and thus shall 
 I be spared your first and natural anger. And afterward, per- 
 haps, if the ardent desire of your heart and mine is accom- 
 plished; when Maude is your wife, and you nave a child of 
 your own to love; then, perhaps, you will come to think less 
 harshly of the father who sinned against you so terribly and
 
 304 The "Slip," or "Hangman's" Knot. 
 
 he may see his dream come to pass, of spending some of his 
 old age as your friend under the shelter of your blessed home 
 at last." 
 
 Fargus fell to considering the terms of the letter to be dis- 
 patched to Lewis that night, and the subsequent course of 
 events. He would summon Lewis to him at once ; then, after 
 breaking the seal of silence that had held his past for five-and- 
 twenty years, after removing his son's doubts as to his parent- 
 age, he would advise him to take immediate possession of his 
 estate. Of course, he would obtain from the young man, be- 
 fore the veil was lifted, a promise upon his -honor to respect 
 the secret. He would counsel him also to wait a while before 
 again putting his fate to the crucial test with Maude; for 
 Hilda's words that morning remained dimly haunting him: 
 "You little know Charlie, once he is set on a thing." What if 
 this were the true explanation of the mystery he had sought 
 to solve by the theory of secret and premature slander ? The 
 more he thought of it, the more plausible it seemed, and he 
 marveled that such simple explanation should not have sug- 
 gested itself sooner to him. Charlie Hillyard, clever beyond 
 the ordinary run of men, with his fine air of natural distinc- 
 tion, his delicately satirical manner, his high-bred refinement, 
 a man of learning was he not just the being to compel almost 
 any girl to answering passion? Could Lewis but be per- 
 suaded to wait, time would soon prove to Maude that Charles 
 Hillyard was not coming forward to take her as his wife : of 
 that he could trust a betrayed and revengeful woman to take 
 good care. And then would not Maude's heart again turn to 
 the faithful lover she must naturally meet so often and learn 
 to appreciate and then there would be happiness, life-long 
 happiness, for both ! 
 
 At that moment a shadow fell across the bright window; 
 Fargus looked up, and saw, with a start, Charles Hillyard, 
 who stood looking in upon him with hard, inimical eyes. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXL 
 THE "SLIP," OR "HANGMAN'S" KNOT. 
 
 For a moment Fargus remained gazing at the startling ap- 
 parition; but when it opened its lips to speak in mocking 
 tones, he smiled at his own amazement. 
 
 "Good-afternoon, Colonel Fargus; you seem immersed in 
 very deep thought. Excuse this irregular way of presenting 
 myself."
 
 The " Slip," or " Hangman's " Knot. 205 
 
 "Oh, so you have come!" responded Fargus, quietly. "I 
 was expecting a visit from you. Pray, come in." 
 
 "Thanks. I will come in this way," and the speaker, with- 
 out waiting for reply, swung one long leg after the other 
 across the window-sill, where he remained sitting for a mo- 
 ment, while Fargus, motionless in his chair, awaited his pleas- 
 ure. "You have fixed upon a lonely spot here, Colonel," pur- 
 sued the young man at length, as if this were the outcome of 
 his reflections. "How easy it is to walk in upon you! Are 
 you not afraid of tramps or burglars ?" 
 
 Fargus smiled, and drew out of the drawer of his writing- 
 table a long American navy revolver of plain and peculiarly 
 business-like appearance, which he laid down beside him and 
 patted with a significant gesture. 
 
 "With this in my hand," said he, "I hold the lives, or any 
 particular limb I may select for destruction, of six men at my 
 pleasure." 
 
 Charles Hillyard shot a look of keen scrutiny at the calm, 
 bearded face still turned smilingly toward him, then dropped 
 his eyes with a sudden frown. 
 
 "Will you not take a chair ?" The conventional handshake 
 had not been proffered on either side. "And do you not think 
 you will find your hat rather warm in the room ?" 
 
 Charles rose from the sill to fling himsef into an arm-chair 
 opposite the American. Silence followed, during which Far- 
 gus noticed his nephew's keen, observant glance become riveted 
 on the long envelope which lay, its bold, clear direction upper- 
 most, on the blotter before him. Without ostentation he took 
 it up in his hand for a moment, then, quietly drawing the desk 
 nearer, placed the letter in one of the inner compartments, 
 and finally locked the receptacle with a key attached to his 
 watch-chain. This accomplished, he turned toward his guest, 
 to find him still intent, but smiling curiously. 
 
 "It is lucky I found you in," began Mr. Hillyard, "for I 
 have come all the way from London to see you." 
 
 "Have you, indeed?" answered Fargus, with a gentle tone 
 of irony. "I am sure I ought to feel greatly favored." 
 
 Mr Hillyard laughed shortly. 
 
 "As to that, I come to you because it suits my interest. I 
 hope we may be undisturbed." 
 
 "I expect no visitors. General Woldham is the only one of 
 my neighbors who knows of my return; and he has gone to 
 York till to-morrow. We are sure to be left quite by our- 
 selves." 
 
 "Glad to hear it," said Charles, who, however, relapsed once 
 more into abstraction. Then all at once he sat up and clasp- 
 ing his hands round his knee, looked straight and hard at
 
 206 The " Slip," or " Hangman's Knot. 
 
 Fargus. "Do you know, Colonel Fargus," he propounded, 
 with marked deliberation, "that this notion of yours of com- 
 ing to settle down in a solitary house four times too large for 
 you, ostensibly for the sake of those wide acres of shooting 
 you never shot over " 
 
 "I beg your pardon," interrupted the host, who seemed to 
 listen with amusement, "as a strict matter of fact, I have shot 
 over some of them, and that only yesterday." 
 
 "Pshaw !" cried his nephew, waiving the interruption aside, 
 "which you do not shoot over, I say ; which you even leave at 
 the very time when the only game the place can boast of is 
 coming into season. No doubt you went to pursue your real 
 game on the Continent" with a scornful laugh "but for 
 people who are not in your confidence, this sudden disappear- 
 ance of yours, to return in the equivocal position of tutelary 
 famulus to the claimant of a neighboring estate, is open to 
 some adverse comment." 
 
 "My dear Mr. Hillyard," said Fargus with great calm, "I 
 am not so conceited as to think that any of my movements are 
 likely to excite interest among people they cannot possibly 
 concern; if they were to do so I would not care, nor, with 
 greater reason, should you. I suppose, when you talk of what 
 people think, you allude to your own feelings in the matter." 
 
 "You evade the question, and evasion is tantamount to ad- 
 mission. You admit, I say," said Charles, "that your erratic 
 behavior, your very presence here, is suspicious ?" 
 
 "I admire the rapidity of your deductive reasoning, but I do 
 not indorse your conclusion. I admit nothing ; I evade noth- 
 ing. There is nothing in my coming here or going some- 
 where else, my shooting or not shooting, my making friends 
 with a singularly pleasant and clever young man, and, in con- 
 sequence, wishing to stand by him at a moment when he has 
 need of a friend nothing, I say that cannot be explained in 
 the most obvious and simple manner in two words individual 
 taste." 
 
 The veins on Charles Hillyard's broad forehead swelled with 
 a sudden flushing of his cold face. 
 
 "I certainly have not come to have a skirmish of empty 
 words with you. Colonel Fargus, the last time we met you 
 showed yourself my enemy." 
 
 "No, no, my dear sir," interposed Fargus; "enemy is the 
 wrong word ; indeed, I wish you well. Say adversary." 
 
 "Adversary be it ; what does it matter ? I have come to play 
 an open game with you, sir " 
 
 "That you will always find to your advantage," interrupted 
 Fargus. "Had you not played in the dark so much heretofore 
 you might not have lost the trick."
 
 The "Slip," or "Hangman's" Knot. 307 
 
 
 
 "Pray let me speak," cried Charles, angrily. "I am here, 
 Colonel Fargus, in consequence of that covert hint of yours, 
 to come to some agreement advantageous to us both." 
 
 "A covert hint of mine ? Please explain." 
 
 "What an actor you are !" exclaimed the young man, with 
 undisguised insolence. "You are right to be cautious on prin- 
 ciple, but surely this is a rather unnecessary assumption of in- 
 nocence. It forces me to be all the plainer with you. You, 
 Colonel Fargus, have come down here on the chance of mak- 
 ing a good thing out of a contested inheritance, aiding and 
 abetting the unrightful claimant. Oh, I have followed you 
 step by step since you swooped down into this part of the 
 world ; I have pieced the whole plot together. When you first 
 arrived on the scene, it is true, you puzzled me considerably. 
 Your appearance at the Lone Grange was very nicely timed, it 
 must be owned. How you managed to collate so much before- 
 hand of Lewis' history I cannot pretend to discover but it 
 little matters. Whether you are the real Fargus or not is like- 
 wise immaterial. It quite suffices that you did find out all 
 you required concerning the supposed next heir during the 
 time you spent here before the squire's death. After that 
 event, which coincides neatly with Lewis' return from India, 
 you start off to Homburg. Without loss of time you got 
 round him completely, and one way or another have persuaded 
 him to think and act exactly as it suits your purpose. By the 
 same extraordinary luck which throughout has attended your 
 clever schemes, the master key to the situation has actually 
 been placed in your hands by one careless act of mine. Mark 
 you, Colonel Fargus, I do not accuse Lewis of conspiring with 
 you to this fraud. You are willing to wait; you keep these 
 proofs of my rights and his inability from him; you bide your 
 time, and back this pitiful dupe of yours with any amount of 
 fair words now. But when once he has entered into posses- 
 sion, when he has married perhaps, on the strength of it, and 
 spent money as fast as most young men do on such occasions, 
 then will be your opportunity. Then, indeed, will your hold on 
 the situation prove, if cleverly utilized, a very mine of wealth 
 to you; then, you think, will Lewis be willing to barter con- 
 science for the sake of position, and wife, and chidren per- 
 haps ; and then will those papers be as valuable an investment 
 as can be imagined. Poor simpleton Lewis, he little knows 
 what a fate it is I would try to save him from !" 
 
 "Upon my word," said Fargus, who had listened courteous 
 and unruffled as ever, "you have made a very ingenious story 
 of it all, and I am glad to hear you are at least willing to 
 credit your cousin with common honesty at present, though
 
 2oS The " Slip," or " Hangman's M Knot. 
 
 you seem inclined to refuse it to him in the future you have 
 sketched out for him. But you have more to say, no doubt ?" 
 
 "Ah," muttered Charles, "I thought we should come to busi- 
 ness ! Yes, I have still to touch upon the point which alone 
 interests you. Well, sir, in plain words, what are your hopes 
 worth? What are you willing to sell your chance of future 
 hush-money for ?" 
 
 "Really," said Fargus, an undefinable smile on his face, "I 
 hardly know which to admire most in you your delightful 
 frankness in communicating your thoughts or your skillful 
 reticence in concealing them. You were flattering enough to 
 say, when last we met, that I should have made a good ad- 
 vocate; let me return the compliment now, and regret, from 
 the aesthetic point of view, that your talents should have been 
 lost to diplomacy." 
 
 For a moment, blackly and in silence, he scanned his com- 
 panion's face, then said : 
 
 "You think, Colonel Fargus, that this woman's treachery 
 has left me powerless. You are wrong; I am determined to 
 get my own. Although these documents would facilitate mat- 
 ters for me, they are not indispensable. Now listen again; 
 give them up to me. I know you have got them I even saw 
 you put them in your desk just now, or I am much mistaken. 
 Give them up to me, and I am willing in exchange to bind 
 myself to pay you right well for them when I come into the 
 estate. I will bind myself thereto by deed beforehand, if you 
 like. The property will bear a strain, and I am prepared to 
 make a sacrifice; anything in reason you ask shall be forth- 
 coming." 
 
 "Is it not curious," said Fargus, "that if these papers are 
 not necessary to your designs, you should be willing to go to 
 such lengths to get them back ?" 
 
 Charles now fairly gnashed his teeth. 
 
 "Yes or no ?" he exclaimed, fiercely, coming up close to Far- 
 gus, and standing over him menacingly. 
 
 "No," cried the latter in a loud voice, rising in his turn and 
 confronting his nephew with commanding eyes . "Mr. Hill- 
 yard, clever as you are, you have mistaken your man this 
 time!" 
 
 There was a dead silence. Charles tried to fight his adver- 
 sary's glance with defiant eyes, only to turn away at last and 
 fall to perambulating the room, unable to remain still any 
 longer under the pulse of his angry blood. 
 
 Fargus strolled to the window, and for a while looked out 
 with rapidly recovering placidity, then came back to his writ- 
 ing-table, and, sitting on the edge of it in a careless attitude, 
 fell to filling a pipe ; and to give him the necessary opportuni-
 
 The " Slip," or " Hangman's " Knot. 209 
 
 ty to cool down, bestowing no more attention for the present 
 on his nephew, who continued his walk to and fro behind him. 
 
 Presently the fitful footsteps on the brick floor ceased, and, 
 with a sudden sense of caution, though he had no explicable 
 reason for alarm, the American dropped his hand on the re- 
 volver, which still reposed on the table by his side. But his 
 caution was too late; there was not the danger. Suddenly, 
 with a rude slash, a bight of cord fell about his shoulders, and, 
 with lightning speed, two feverish hands bore it down and 
 tightened it mercilessly over his elbows. 
 
 "My last resort, Colonel," said a panting whisper in his ear, 
 while Charles' white face bent over him, and the same ruth- 
 lessly determined hands wound the fall of the rope round his 
 throat, and, directed by well thought-out premeditation, se- 
 cured the end to the prisoner's wrists, which were now fiercely 
 pulled together, careless of possible dislocation. 
 
 "Sorry for you," said Charles, rapidly securing the last 
 knot. "But you must be still, or you will strangle yourself." 
 
 The whole onslaught was carried on with such nervous, 
 savage vigor, and had taken him so completely unawares, 
 that, despite superior physical strength, Fargus found him- 
 self overpowered, helplessly bound, and at his nephew's 
 mercy, without having been able to make even a show of 
 resistance. 
 
 "You cowardly dog !" he cried, indignantly. Struggling to 
 his feet, he threw all of his power into one effort to release 
 himself, the only result of which, however, was to produce an 
 ominous foretaste of the strangulation he had just been 
 warned against, and a conviction that the cord, far from yield- 
 ing, would cut him to the bone. 
 
 "I don't know," said Charles, who had confidently watched 
 the experiment, and now came round in front of his prisoner 
 and examined him with a pale smile that had something al- 
 most fiendish in its calm satisfaction. "I don't know whether 
 you are acquainted with the peculiarity of the slip, or hang- 
 man's knot; such a knot now secures your elbows, and you 
 have an opportunity to recognize its absolute steadfastness." 
 
 Fargus sat down again without answering, and waited for 
 his assailant's next move. Mr. Hillyard drew from his pocket 
 a silk handkerchief, which he proceeded to fold with slow de- 
 liberation. 
 
 "I wish," he remarked, "to use as little violence as possible ; 
 but lest you should take it into your head to call for assist- 
 ance, I shall have to gag you, and when I have got out the 
 papers I want " 
 
 "Pray don't do that," interrupted Fargus, who now once 
 more compelled Charles' secret admiration by his control
 
 210 The "Slip," or "Hangman's" Knot. 
 
 over emotion. "Since that wound to my face, I find it some- 
 what difficult to breathe freely through the nostrils alone. I 
 acknowledge myself vanquished. If I were to call, there is no 
 one about who could help me ; but I will give you my word not 
 to do so. You are master of the situation." 
 
 Charles hesitated, but ultimately replaced the handkerchief 
 in his pocket. 
 
 "It is true," said he, coolly; "your servant has gone to 
 Norton. I saw him on the road. You might scream forever 
 before any one could hear you from the kitchen. You see, 
 Colonel, I did not expect to find you so difficult to convince. 
 But I knew you had those papers that they must be in the 
 house, and that if I had to search it through and through I 
 should find them in the end. 
 
 "I have," said Fargus, "given you my word. Now let me 
 tell you that the documents you look for are not here, nor, in- 
 deed, any longer in existence." 
 
 Charles gazed at the elder man as if uncertain whether such 
 a plea could be made in sober earnest. 
 
 "The key of your desk is, I believe, on your watch-chain. 
 Allow me to detach it." 
 
 The blood mounted to Fargus' face as the young man's fair 
 head bent over his breast and the unscrupulous fingers neatly 
 detached the small ring of keys. Yet anger was quickly 
 merged in the consternation of realizing that disloyal eyes 
 were going, from the very outset, to pry into that secret he 
 was so earnest to keep from all except his son. 
 
 "You are disgracing your name," he said, as his nephew now 
 quietly turned to the writing-table and inserted the key into 
 the lock of the desk ; "and what is, no doubt, more to you, you 
 are playing the fool. You will find there none but private 
 papers, which you have no right to lay a finger on." 
 
 Charles looked round, while he raised the lid of the desk 
 with one hand. 
 
 "You seem strangely anxious to keep me from this desk, if it 
 contains nothing of importance to me." 
 
 He stooped over the open box, searched for and drew out the 
 long envelope. "Aha ! what of this ? This bold address," tak- 
 ing a step toward the bound man, and looking down on him 
 with mocking eyes, "I had seen already, as the letter lay on 
 your table, and it struck me that you must be a very method- 
 ical person to load your piece so long before you mean to fire 
 it off. It was written too minutely for me to make out at 
 such a distance, but what does it say ? 'In the matter of the 
 Estate of Gilham.' You appear somewhat upset. It would 
 have been better, would it not now, to have closed with my 
 offer at once? You did not know your man. Now I will tell
 
 The "Slip," or "Hangman's" Knot. 211 
 
 you, just to show who is the fool this time, that I was ready 
 to give you well-nigh a third of my coming fortune it is now 
 once more practically mine, you see," shaking the packet be- 
 fore the prisoner's eyes, "for my chances were uncommonly 
 poor without this." 
 
 Fargus remained silent. Mr. Hillyard, with a smile of in- 
 solent triumph, placed the papers in his breast-pocket, closed 
 the desk, and laid the key on the lid. 
 
 "Now, Colonel Fargus," he said, "I believe we are quits. I 
 regret to have to tear myself away, but I think I had better 
 cut across the moor, whence I can take train for London. I 
 hope your servant may return to release you. As for me, no 
 one has seen me here or hereabouts but you. Good-after- 
 noon !" 
 
 "One moment!" cried Fargus. "A few minutes more or 
 less can make little difference to you," pursued the latter in 
 the same manner. "You have rendered me perfectly helpless, 
 and you know my servant could not possibly be back from the 
 town yet. Do you not think it might be advisable to examine 
 that packet before you carry it away with you ?" 
 
 A darkening shadow came over the visitor's triumphant 
 face. Sitting down on the sill, he pulled out the parcel in 
 question. As he did so the seal for the first time attracted 
 his attention. He looked at it closely. 
 
 "The Kerrs' talbots! How on earth Oh, that nin- 
 compoop Lewis again, of course!" and tore open the envelope 
 with impatient hand. 
 
 For the moment he seemed actually stunned. 
 
 "You see," put in Fargus, "that what I said was true ; these 
 matters do not concern you. You would do better to believe 
 me when I tell you that I have too sincere a regard for Lewis, 
 too deep a conviction of his rights, not to have destroyed all 
 the circumstantial evidence you had collected, at once, when 
 I had the chance." 
 
 Charles turned a murderous look upon the speaker, but re- 
 sumed his examination without replying. 
 
 "And now," continued Fargus, "perhaps you will be good 
 enough to restore these private writings of mine into the en- 
 velope and replace them in the desk. 
 
 "No, by !" answered the nephew, hoarsely. "I don't 
 
 forget how obviously anxious you were to keep me from it. 
 As, by your own handwriting, it concerns Gilham, it must 
 concern me." 
 
 "Do so, then, but never presume again to call yourself gen- 
 tleman," exclaimed Fargus. "The perusal of other people's 
 letters is evidently a favorite practice of yours. God indeed
 
 212 The Circle Narrows. 
 
 was merciful in that he spared your mother the knowledge of 
 you as you are !" 
 
 Coming over to the table, he once more spread the written 
 sheets out before him, and began to glance through them with 
 cynical deliberation. 
 
 Matters were past remedy, and Fargus waited for what 
 should follow. 
 
 There was not long to wait. Charles Hillyard had barely 
 turned over the first sheet when he gave vent to a prolonged 
 whistle. 
 
 "Indeed ! So that is your game, Colonel Fargus. No won- 
 der my modest offer did not tempt you, when you aim at 
 nothing less than the whole pile. So it is to be a venerable 
 dodge of personation after all. And who is to oust you if your 
 son the heir but for you chooses to acknowledge his parent 
 resuscitated from over the seas, to share in his good luck ? It 
 is a clever scheme, Colonel, upon my word !" 
 
 During the course of this insulting summing-up of his be- 
 havior Fargus had grown quite calm again. 
 
 "I neither expect you to believe, nor care whether you do or 
 not, that I am George Kerr. If, however, you read further 
 in the papers that you have now violated, you will see that 
 my sole object in disclosing the secret of my past to my son 
 is to remove any lurking doubt he may have as to his birth- 
 right, and if I choose to give him what belongs to me, there 
 is no law of God or man to forbid me. 
 
 "If you choose to go on with it now, you will see that I de- 
 cline to touch a penny of my son's money, and charge Lewis 
 most solemnly to keep the secret from every one." 
 
 "You are really exceedingly entertaining!" broke in 
 Charles. "I daresay you think, too, that you will be able to 
 carry through this gigantic fraud of yours without further 
 opposition. I fancy I may have some disagreeable little sur- 
 prise in store for you there. Let me see ; I am quite anxious 
 to find out first how you work your case out." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE CIRCLE NARROWS. 
 
 Once more there was silence, while Charles now method- 
 ically perused the close writing. Fargus rose from his chair, 
 wearied by his strained position and galled by his bonds, and 
 began to walk to and fro with heavy tread. 
 
 At length Charles slowly freed him, not to speak, but to 
 favor him with another prolonged scrutiny. He had absently
 
 The Circle Narrows. a 13 
 
 taken up the pistol that lay at his elbow on the table, and, as 
 though unconscious of the act, was weighing and balancing it 
 in his hand. The young man's handsome face bore again a 
 different expression, and in it Fargus thought he discovered 
 now a sullen, despairing consciousness of defeat. 
 
 But in reality the disappointed man was still too firmly per- 
 suaded that the hateful interloper was an adventurer of the 
 worst description to assign any but the lowest motives to his 
 conduct. 
 
 He was roused from his darkling speculations by his com- 
 panion, who, installing himself as comfortably as his fetters 
 would allow on a corner of the broad table, thus addressed 
 him: 
 
 "You are beaten, my dear nephew. And now let me speak 
 to the practical man, and suggest that it might be more ad- 
 vantageous to have me as a friend than as an enemy." 
 
 Here Charles' gathering rage broke loose, all the more 
 virulent for being an unfamiliar emotion with him. 
 
 "Stop a moment, Colonel Fargus!" he exclaimed, with a 
 furious gesture of the hand that toyed with the pistol; "all 
 this paternal drivel may have hoodwinked that simpleton 
 Lewis, but I am not allured so smoothly. I can tell you in 
 
 two words what you are, and what, by ! I mean to 
 
 bring home to you ; a swindler, a clever swindler, sir. Deter- 
 mined to sneak yourself into the property you somehow or 
 other got wind of, and too clever I misjudged you there to 
 openly blazon your insolent and ridiculous impersonation of 
 the late George Kerr to the world at large, you thought you 
 would at least supply the required paternity to the unrightful 
 heir. Once established as his father, you would never think 
 of dispossessing him of course not; there would remain a 
 charming mystery between you two, a romantic situation ad- 
 mirably suited to that dolt's sentimental mania; one which, 
 properly farmed, would prove, however, a very pretty invest- 
 ment. But, mark me, Mr. Fargus, or Colonel Fargus, or who- 
 ever the devil you are, I will have none of it I" 
 
 "You impudent jackanapes!" interrupted Fargus, "you for- 
 get yourself!" A sharp wrench at his shoulder checked the 
 indignant movement with which he would have beaten aside 
 the menacing barrel, and reminded him forcibly of his helpless 
 position. 
 
 "It is you who forget yourself, Colonel Fargus! For the 
 moment, at least, I am master of the situation. Insolent, am 
 I ? What if I were to chastise you for your insolence, your 
 cursed assumption of authority ?" He stopped a moment and 
 bent his head nearer, to peer into Fargus' face with eyes half 
 closed, lowered brow and curling lip. <{ You forget we are
 
 a 14 The Circle Narrows. 
 
 here alone. What if I could not resist the temptation, which 
 has just seized me, to make sure ? Here is your pistol in my 
 hand; there are your letters telling a circumstantial tale, and 
 looking as though written for a testament. Its wild improba- 
 bility would be more readily believed from the dead than 
 from the living, Colonel Fargus, so it is likely I should have 
 to make some judicious cuttings there, you know. . . . 
 What, I say, if when your servant returns he should find you 
 stretched there with a bullet in your head and your hand still 
 clutching the weapon that sped it? You are a man of mys- 
 terious habits, whom no one here knows anything about; 
 what more plausible than a suicide, eh, Colonel ?" 
 
 Fargus, in his helplessness, felt his blood run cold. A vis- 
 ion of descending death smote his strong heart with terror. 
 
 "What if the suicide were to be consummated now?" 
 Charles went on, once more taking aim with the revolver. 
 
 Fargus sprang up with a cry that rang loudly through the 
 room. 
 
 "Madman ! do you really mean murder ?" 
 
 The burst of mocking laughter which escaped Charles' lips 
 suddenly died upon them. A door swung violently open. A 
 look of fearful astonishment, then of returning rage, passed 
 over his pale face, as petrified into his menacing attitude, he 
 stared at the apparition. 
 
 "Maude . . . ? Hilda, you again !" An uncontrollable 
 spasm passed through his frame. He raised his hand and 
 shook it angrily at the intruder. There was a flash, a loud 
 explosion, a scream; Fargus felt the well-remembered puff of 
 a bullet by his cheek, and turned round. With an exclama- 
 tion of dismay he saw Hilda Wren, her arm still extended 
 with a gesture at once forbidding and entreating, in the act 
 of falling forward. The bullet had dashed through her open, 
 deprecating palm, unflinchingly sped through the shoulder, to 
 end its straight course in the oaken doorcase behind her. 
 
 Fargus could not stop her fall; he looked back fiercely at 
 Charles, who stood as if petrified, still holding the smoking 
 pistol in his outstretched hand. 
 
 "Merciful God ! you have done murder, after all !" 
 
 But the young man seemed too completely dazed to under- 
 stand the meaning of the words; he turned his head away. 
 Fargus thought that he was meditating escape. 
 
 "Coward!" he thundered, "would you dare to run away?" 
 
 This time the accusation stung Charles. Answering only 
 with a dark look of anger, he threw the pistol from him and 
 crossed hastily over to where Hilda lay, her dark head pil- 
 lowed on the uninjured arm, the other still rigidly out- 
 stretched. He dropped on one knee and stooped to raise her,
 
 The Circle Narrows. 215 
 
 but the sight of her impassive face, ashen white against the 
 deep blood stains that spread with such suggestive rapidity 
 under the thin fabric of the summer dress, seemed to strike 
 him with a terrible apprehension. 
 
 "Good Lord, she looks like death !" 
 
 "It will be death if this bleeding be not stopped," exclaimed 
 Fargus. "Take that clasp knife on the table and cut me out 
 of these ingenious bonds of yours, unless you mean to murder 
 the poor girl in deliberate earnest! Pull yourself together, 
 man ! Ah, at last ! Now, in that room to the right you will 
 find water, towels, sponges bring me a sheet off the bed, too ; 
 I must have something to make bandages of. Hurry, man, 
 hurry!" 
 
 Fargus, the moment he found himself unpinioned, had lift- 
 ed the heavy, inert form onto the broad settee, slipped a big 
 book from the table under the helpless head, and now, with- 
 out a moment's hesitation, set to work with skillful touch to 
 cut the sopping clothes from the bleeding arm and shoulder. 
 As the white, firm-skinned flesh was laid bare before him, it 
 was with a sense of relief he noticed that the direction the 
 bullet had taken was one which rendered the hurt, if the 
 hemorrhage was only got under, not otherwise serious. 
 
 An extemporized tampon to the shoulder and a tourniquet 
 to the armpit, hastily fabricated from strips of torn sheets and 
 a stout silver pencil-case, sufficed for the moment to meet the 
 principal danger the welling bursts of bright red blood which 
 drained away, with each slow heart-beat, a portion of that un- 
 conscious life. 
 
 The two worked earnestly together, but, save for the few 
 laconic directions of Fargus, in complete silence. 
 
 At the American's suggestion they carried the still inani- 
 mate woman into the adjoining room, and laid her on the bed, 
 where, after some minutes, they succeeded in bringing back 
 consciousness. 
 
 Fargus, who, on the first flush of returning life, had laid a 
 gentle hand on her arm, lest some sudden movement should 
 undo all his handiwork, now bent over her and spoke with 
 soothing distinctness into her ear : 
 
 "Don't be afraid; it was an accident, but there is no 
 danger." 
 
 But, without heeding him, her circled, purple-lidded eyes 
 sought her lover's face with a gaze of wistful deprecation : 
 
 "Oh, my God !" murmured the quivering lips. "Charlie, I 
 prevented you doing it. It was murder ! Oh, Charlie !" 
 
 The young man's look in answer was inscrutable. He 
 walked away, out of sight of the languid, blood-stained figure, 
 and stood by the open window.
 
 216 The Circle Narrows. 
 
 The momentary bright flush upon Hilda's face faded again 
 into pallor ; with a shiver and a sigh she closed her eyes. 
 
 "Mr. Hillyard," said Fargus in his low, even voice, "shut 
 the window, please; Miss Wren is cold. Thank you. You 
 know your way about the house, I believe? Will you be so 
 kind as to go to the kitchen and tell the housekeeper to come 
 here?" 
 
 Returning the suspicious glance his nephew cast upon him, 
 before leaving the room, Fargus, when he had traced the re- 
 treating steps to a sufficient distance, turned once more to 
 his patient. 
 
 "Try not to give way to agitation" said he. "You are now 
 in no danger if you do nothing to bring on the bleeding again. 
 You saved my life to-day, for though that foolish fellow did 
 not mean murder, as you thought, that playing at it was a 
 dangerous thing, and, had it not been for your opportune ap- 
 pearance, my child, your lover would now be in an awkward 
 fix, I fancy. Hillyard will come to see things in their true 
 light by-and-by. You may live to look upon this day's work 
 as the best thing that could have happened both for you and 
 for him. You guess my meaning, I see; and you may be 
 sure I believe what I say. Short as has been our acquaint- 
 ance, I think we can trust each other. Here, drink a little 
 more of this brandy. Are you in great pain ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Hilda faintly. "My hand is so cold, and 
 my shoulder burns like a coal." 
 
 "But you can bear it. You must pay the price of success, 
 you know." 
 
 She smiled gratefully back at his kindly face; but he per- 
 emptorily interrupted the eager assurance that rose to her 
 lips. 
 
 "Here is Mrs. Sutton, my housekeeper ; she will sit with you 
 till the doctor makes his appearance, and Charles shall go for 
 him at once. I am convinced there is good to come out of 
 this business." 
 
 After a few brief orders to the old housekeeper, who cour- 
 tesied a trembling and bewildered acquiescence under the 
 stern eye that admitted of neither question nor outcry, Fargus 
 turned to leave the room in time to arrest Charlie on the 
 threshold. 
 
 "You must not go in again; you will only disturb her. 
 Come with me ; there is something which it is necessary should 
 be arranged between us now." 
 
 Charlie silently acquiesced, and the two men passed to- 
 gether into the sitting-room. 
 
 Pointing to the scattered fragments of his whilom bonds, he 
 remarked dryly to his companion :
 
 The Circle Narrows. 3x7 
 
 "Your scientific slip-knot might well have meant an equally 
 artistic and secure noose for your own neck, Mr. Hillyard. 
 You would have found the theory of suicide somewhat difficult 
 to maintain, I fear, had that poor girl's interruption been but 
 one minute later indeed, if that bullet had sped but one inch 
 more to the right, you would have had quite as difficult a task 
 to prove manslaughter only under such suspicious circum- 
 stances." 
 
 "Pray," asked Charles with a sneer, "is this the theme you 
 would confer with me upon?" 
 
 Fargus turned to answer hotly enough, but as his eyes fell 
 upon the young man a change came over his face. 
 
 "You are right," said he at length. "This is a time for 
 deeds, not words ; it is important that Miss Wren should have 
 proper surgical treatment as soon as possible you will have 
 to go for the doctor at once." 
 
 Charles started with an expression of angry unwillingness. 
 Fargus continued unperturbed : 
 
 "It is, I see, an unwelcome task. My presence here is abso- 
 lutely indispensable, for were the bandages to get displaced, 
 the girl would simply bleed to death in a few minutes. You 
 cannot, therefore, in common humanity, refuse a service 
 whicn you alone can undertake. Come to the stables with me, 
 while I saddle a horse for you; we can there talk over that 
 matter which must be settled before you start." 
 
 Charles bowed his head after another rapid self-consulta- 
 tion. 
 
 "Do you know of a reliable surgeon?" asked the latter, 
 with his hand on the latch of the stable door. 
 
 "Only the doctor who usually attends at the court," an- 
 swered his nephew. "I shall have to hunt up some other fel- 
 low. Dr. Smith is such an old gossip, and " He stopped 
 abruptly under the indignation which blazed upon him from 
 the other man's eyes. 
 
 "You forget," he said, calmly enough, "that the case is one 
 which admits of no delay. Miss Wren is in great suffering; 
 her state is serious enough to demand the best care obtainable. 
 You will, therefore, go to Dr. Smith. What explanation do 
 you intend to give the doctor about this accident ?" 
 
 "I ?" cried Charles quickly. "What do you mean ? I shall 
 give none." 
 
 "Then, have you thought of what my explanation must be ?" 
 
 The young man quailed under the steady gaze that never 
 quitted his face. "What do you intend to say, may I ask?" 
 he inquired. 
 
 "The truth." 
 
 Charles answered by a slight increase of pallor. Fargus left
 
 2i8 The Circle Narrows. 
 
 the harness-room for the loose-box, where, amid the amber 
 straw, a slender-limbed, sleek-coated mare turned to look at 
 him with velvet eyes, pricking her dainty ears, and sniffing the 
 air with scarlet nostrils. 
 
 "Come," he resumed in less severe tones, "I am anxious to 
 save you as much as possible from the consequences of your 
 reckless proceedings to-day. Some scandal must inevitably 
 arise; I shall not be the one to spread it it lies with you to 
 reduce it to a minimum." 
 
 "Explain yourself," said Charles, shortly. 
 
 "If it be published to the world at large," Fargus went on 
 quietly, as he fitted the snaffle, "that Mr. Hillyard, the rising 
 economist, the university don, the bearer of a hitherto so 
 honorable name, feloniously broke into one Mr. Fargus' house, 
 in order to steal some papers which he believed to be in Mr. 
 Fargus' custody papers which the said Mr. Hillyard himself 
 has no right to claim, but with the aid of which he hoped to 
 dispossess his cousin, his friend, of an inheritance if it were 
 published to the world that, to this end, he first assaulted 
 treacherously, then bound, and threatened to murder Mr. Far- 
 gus in cold blood a consummation only prevented by the 
 timely interference of a young lady, Mr. Hillyard's mistress, 
 who, in despair at his desertion of her, had come to the Lone 
 Grange to seek news of him, and who, interrupting him at 
 this interesting juncture, was herself grievously wounded by 
 him all this, methinks, would not redound much to Mr. Hill- 
 yard's reputation. Hush! Allow me to finish, pray! That 
 is what I should have to say, did you oblige me to it. I should 
 owe it to my own honor to clear my house from the smirch 
 of the scandal you have cast upon it ; and Miss Wren, who, no 
 doubt, overheard all that passed between us, would have to 
 bear witness to my veracity. But another course is open to 
 you. Let the world hear only that Mr. Hillyard, while pay- 
 ing a visit to this Mr. Fargus, with his wife, had the mis- 
 fortune to shoot the latter through the incautious handling 
 of a revolver. Amazement at your secret and unequal mar- 
 riage, gossip about it, there may be, but your good name will 
 be safe, and any one who has the good fortune to make 
 acquaintance with your wife will readily understand the 
 weakness." 
 
 "Still trying on the game of benevolent relation, Colonel, I 
 see. What a simple way of getting rid of the awkward conse- 
 quences attending the strange discovery of a fine young 
 woman, to all appearance comfortably established at the Lone 
 Grange on the most intimate terms with that grave and re- 
 served person, Colonel Fargus ! I grant you have concocted
 
 The Circle Narrows. 219 
 
 a pretty likely plot ; but, after all, I am not quite so absolutely 
 in your power as you are pleased to suppose." 
 
 Fargus, one hand on the mare's bridle, had listened with 
 immovable intentness to this speech; and Charles, gaining 
 fresh confidence in himself from his silence, proceeded : 
 
 ''What if the world at large should be told how a certain 
 Miss Wren a young lady whose antecedents will not bear 
 close investigation when discovered by Mr. Hillyard in- 
 stalled at the Lone Grange, with the most admirable self- 
 sacrifice rushed in between her quondam lover and her elderly 
 entertainer, to preserve the latter from the possibly unpleasant 
 results of the former's not unnatural jealousy, and is ^here- 
 upon most accidentally hurt in the scuffle; how Colonel Far- 
 gus, in this dilemna, endeavors by threats to palm off the 
 aforesaid compromising young woman as the wife of a man 
 who had once been an admirer of hers, and who, in an attempt 
 to unravel a swindle, has still more foolishly given that ad- 
 venturer a hold upon him? Would that redound much to 
 Colonel Fargus' credit ?" 
 
 The elder man flung the bridle away from him with so 
 sharp a gesture that, with a snort, the startled animal plunged 
 backward. Then slowly he advanced toward Charles, his 
 figure seeming to dilate, as he came ; his eyes, stern and pierc- 
 ing, fixed upon his nephew as if they would search down into 
 the depths of his soul for his most secret thought; his face 
 crimson with a generous flow of anger. He laid one hand 
 upon the young man's shoulder. The latter almost staggered 
 under it, as if he felt it crush him toward the earth. 
 
 "Look at me," he said, "and dare to repeat that infamy 
 infamy to her whose only fault has been love for you ! to me 
 for your own consciousness of its falseness !" 
 
 Then, as Charles could find no word to answer, Fargus went 
 on in a voice that, despite himself, thrilled his hearer: 
 
 "Not by one word will I answer what you know to be a lie. 
 Charles Hillyard, go your way ; I have done with you. You 
 can do me no harm nor all the evil tongues of the world. 
 Here, sir; the horse is ready; and remember if the warning 
 carry any weight to such as you that a life endangered by 
 you hangs on your promptitude." 
 
 Still speechless, Charles, mechanically obedient to the 
 strong will, mounted as he was told and gathered the reins 
 into his hand. 
 
 Then Fargus, leading the mare through the gate, turned her 
 head in the direction of the town, and released her with a 
 stern "Go!" 
 
 Instinctively Charles pressed his heels to the sides of his
 
 22O To a Wedding Ring. 
 
 mount; lifting her graceful head to the breeze, she broke into 
 a frolicsome canter. 
 
 Bareheaded stood David Fargus looking after them. 
 
 Slowly he retraced his steps, pausing a moment to gaze at 
 the desolate old house. Of all the scenes ever acted under its 
 low roof, none stranger, surely, than what had taken place this 
 day! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIH. 
 
 . . . TO A WEDDING RING. 
 
 Over the purple moor, blind to the beauty of sky and earth, 
 Charles, shut up for the moment within the small world of his 
 own mind, was conscious of but one clear conception; the 
 necessity of speedily fulfilling his obnoxious errand. 
 
 Never pausing, never even questioning with himself, it was 
 only when he drew rein before the doctor's pretentious gran- 
 ite-built house and dismounted to ring the bell that he felt, 
 with some surprise, the exhaustion of the unwonted exercise 
 and noticed the steaming distress of his horse. He passed his 
 hand over his wet brow, as if awakening from a dream. 
 
 Approaching footsteps resounding along the flagged hall in- 
 side warned him that he must come to some settlement in the 
 present curious dilemma. Hurriedly determining to commit 
 himself to nothing, he was somewhat relieved to hear that 
 Dr. Smith was out, but was expected home every minute. 
 
 The proposal to wait hastily declined, Charles wrote a brief 
 message that a visitor of Colonel Fargus', at the Lone 
 Grange, had been accidentally shot by a revolver, and that 
 Colonel Fargus begged Dr. Smith to attend to the case as soon 
 as possible. 
 
 "It is urgent," added he to the servant, "do not forget." 
 And satisfied that he had conscientiously fulfilled his under- 
 taken duty, he turned the little mare's head homeward. 
 
 He went but slowly, avoiding the high-road, to minimize the 
 risk of an encounter with the doctor before he had resolved 
 how to act. 
 
 He had reached the outskirts of the town, the sun had just 
 dipped below the horizon; Charles shivered; he was cold and 
 weary, angry and sore perplexed. The scale seemed irre- 
 vocably turned against him. The long-craved-for dream of 
 love ; the riches which to him meant so much, the deprivation 
 of which had galled him in secret all his life ; position, power, 
 more open fields for his great talents, for his widespreading 
 ambition all this had been almost within his grasp, and inch
 
 To a Wedding Ring. 221 
 
 by inch it was slipping from him by the unexpected inter- 
 ference of a stranger, without whose help his only opponent 
 would been as wax in his hands. 
 
 Involuntarily he reined in his horse and struck his forehead 
 in passionate irritation at his own impotence and aridity of 
 device. 
 
 As he paused in the solitary lane and glanced hopelessly 
 over the darkening vista there came upon his inattentive ear 
 the brisk trot of a horse over the side turf of the road, al- 
 ready at close quarters, and, looking round, he saw with a 
 contraction of the heart that Maude Woldham was beside 
 him. 
 
 The recognition was mutual. Miss Woldham reined in her 
 bright bay cob with a cry of frank amazement. 
 
 "Charlie! how extraordinary you should be here! I have 
 just this instant come from your sisters, and they said you 
 were installed at Cambridge until Christmas. Why, you are 
 riding Mr. Fargus' mare. Are you stoppng with him, then? 
 How unkind the girls will think it of you not to have gone to 
 see them!" 
 
 There was a heightened glow upon her cheeks, a sparkling 
 joyousness in her eyes. 
 
 Without a word he extended his hand, but before it could 
 close round the slim fingers, she had drawn them back from 
 his touch with a slight scream. 
 
 "Oh! what is it? Your cuff is steeped in blood! Are you 
 hurt?" 
 
 Charles flushed a sullen crimson. 
 
 "I have had to go to Colonel Fargus, on business," he 
 answered haltingly. "There was an accident ... to one 
 of his dogs; caught its leg in a trap, or something. I never 
 noticed the disgusting mess the brute had made of me till this 
 minute." Tighter and tighter the meshes of the net seemed 
 to be closing round him. 
 
 The girl glanced at him wonderingly; something in his 
 tone struck her as strange, while his evident want of feeling 
 for the dumb sufferer impressed her animal-loving mind dis- 
 agreeably. 
 
 "Mr. Fargus has only one dog. Poor Dinah ! I am so sorry 
 she is hurt," she cried, reproachfully. 
 
 There was a pause; Miss Woldham observed briskly that 
 night was coming on. 
 
 "Papa would be really angry if he knew I was on the road 
 so late, but luckily he has gone to York for the night." 
 
 "Our ways lie together, I think," said Charles, rousing 
 himself. "I trust you have no objection to my company?" 
 
 "I shall be very glad," answered Maude, lightly; "and as
 
 222 To a Wedding Ring. 
 
 it happens I could not have gone over the moor by myself at 
 this hour, your escort will be doubly acceptable. I am sorry 
 we cannot indulge in a good canter, but I think it would be 
 rather hard on poor Lady Jane; you must have been taking 
 her at an awful pace." The scrutinizing gaze that swept his 
 reeking steed here ended on the rider's face. "And you, too, 
 look dreadfully tired; are you ill? Is anything the matter 
 with you, Charlie ?" 
 
 They had reached the turning-point of the road, from which 
 the path across the heath branched off. To the right rose 
 Gilham, with its sky-defying pride of turret, pinnacle and 
 vane. And between him and that vision came the swaying 
 litheness of his companion's form, her sweet, inquiring glance, 
 the tantalizing beauty of her face. . . . Maude and Gil- 
 ham the exquisite woman, the goodly inheritance! By 
 heaven, he would not give them up without another effort 1 
 
 Drawing his horse closer to hers, as they turned away from 
 the road on to the springy turf, he bent forward and fixed his 
 eyes upon her with passionate intensity : 
 
 "Maude," he said, in a low voice, "I am in great trouble of 
 mind." In the waning light he saw the spreading iris of her 
 blue eyes look fear"essly and pityingly back upon him. 
 "Listen to me, Maude/' he went on, in quick, whispered tones 
 that quivered to the wild beating of his heart; "you alone can 
 help me but you must have patience and let me tell you all 
 first, before I can show you how. A month ago, as I watched 
 beside my uncle's death-bed, he most urgently implored me 
 to take into my possession and make proper use of some 
 papers addressed to Lewis, which I was to find in his desk. 
 Now, it seems that just before he died, my father, who was, as 
 you know, Lewis' guardian, had gathered certain documents 
 together for Lewis, who was then in India ; but his death com- 
 ing comparatively suddenly in the end, they were discovered 
 by the squire, his executor, unsealed." 
 
 A look of astonishment came over Maude's face, but she 
 said nothing, and Charles went on with fresh impetus: 
 
 "Forgive this long preamble. My uncle then gave these 
 papers to me, and made me understand that the use he wished 
 me to make of them was to keep an interloper from inheriting 
 Gilham. I carried out his instructions, examined the parcel 
 and found proofs that Lewis has no right to the name he 
 bears; in fact, that Gilham is mine, if I only assert my 
 claim." 
 
 Maude, her brow slightly contracted with the effort of com- 
 prehension, here broke out with an abrupt exclamation of 
 incredulity. 
 
 "Lewis! How can it be possible? I don't understand."
 
 To a Wedding Ring. 223 
 
 "Have you never heard of the suicide of my uncle, George 
 Kerr, the man supposed to be Lewis' father ? Never heard of 
 that strange scandal that the family tried so hard, and in vain, 
 to hush up ? Maude, did it never strike you as strange tjhat the 
 squire all but publicly disowned his supposed nephew ? Lewis is 
 the son of George Kerr's wife, but not of George K.err ; it was 
 the knowledge of his dishonor that drove my mother's brother 
 to his death. I had the proofs of it in my hand, I tell you, 
 Maude, only a week ago. Lewis would have instantly with- 
 drawn his claim, could I once have convinced him that there 
 was even room for the shadow of a doubt. The papers were 
 treacherously stolen from me before I could show them to him 
 myself. He has fallen into the hands of a sort of adventurer, 
 and now acts altogether imder his advice, and looks upon me 
 as the basest of individuals for even attempting to establish 
 my rights." 
 
 "I would like to understand a little better," interrupted 
 Maude. A curious stillness seemed to have come over her, 
 and she had bent her head as if in profound thought. "This 
 this discovery of yours was known to Mr. Hillyard and to 
 Susie, and yet both treated Lewis as if he were one of the 
 family. Susie often told me that she loved him like a son, 
 and loved him chiefly because of his resemblance to his 
 father." 
 
 "Oh! my poor mother could never believe ill of any one; 
 not even of the woman who drove her brother to suicide and 
 my father, he was slow to pronounce judgment, unless judg- 
 ment was imperatively required. To me, however, the proofs, 
 that were so providentially placed in my hands, are as con- 
 vincing as they are to the lawyer to whom they were shown." 
 
 Charles, emboldened by her pensive attitude and silence, 
 began again in louder and more assured tones than he had 
 yet been master of: 
 
 "You can see why the loss of these documents should be 
 such a misfortune for me? Have you not seen how I love 
 you? how I have loved you for years? I valued this unex- 
 pected inheritance only because it would set me free to tell 
 you of my love. Whatever you may have heard of me during 
 that long time whatever doubts you may have about me do 
 not doubt the singleness of my passion. Maude, I have some- 
 times thought that, in secret, your heart was not averse to 
 me. My beautiful Maude, tell me that you will not refuse 
 me, if, as master of Gilham, I come to lay all its wealth and 
 pride at your feet. Give me your promise, and I will have 
 strength to fight the fight to the end, and gain it, too. Just 
 now you appeared upon me as a messenger of comfort. I
 
 224 To a Wedding Ring. 
 
 must win, even against greater odds. May I accept the good 
 omen?" 
 
 Charlie's voice had risen once more, clear and sonorous in 
 the silence of the desolate heath. Yet she said not a word. 
 
 That silence which had at first encouraged him now struck 
 the woer with misgivings. 
 
 "Do you think that I am pressing my love on the strength 
 of a hopeless cause ? Believe me, it is not so. Lewis himself 
 is, unconsciously, my strongest ally; for if he can but once 
 be brought to see the truth of my statement be made to 
 understand the whole case as it really is he will be the first 
 to withdraw from the contest in my favor. But to do so, it 
 is necessary to unmask the unblushing swindler who has got 
 the lad in his clutches, and to unravel a pretty well-concocted 
 conspiracy. But with you as an ally, with the sympathy of 
 your father, whose opinion has such weight with every one, I 
 cannot doubt of ultimate success. Maude, darling love, will 
 you help me and give me courage ?" 
 
 "Mr. Hillyard," cried the girl at last, in accents of such 
 concentrated indignation that her voice was almost unrecog- 
 nizable, "that is enough." Then, slowly, so that each word 
 fell by itself, as it were, with the deliberation of a blow, 
 "And this is Susie's son! this cowardly, treacherous thief! 
 Oh, let me speak!" passionately overbearing his inarticulate 
 cry of protestation. "I have listened to your insults patiently 
 enough, heaven knows ! I must answer now, or I shall choke. 
 You ask me, sir me ! to help you in your infamous plot ! 
 to be your ally in striving to ruin the life of your young 
 cousin to blast his good name! you hold out your chance 
 of success in such a scheme as an inducement for me to 
 marry you. Truly, I believe you deem me a fit mate for 
 such as you, to dare to come to me with your vile proposal !" 
 
 "Before Heaven, Maude, I have not deserved this at your 
 hands! In all openness and honesty, all confidence in you, 
 deepest love yes, Maude, love I told you how I was placed ; 
 I offered you all a man can offer." 
 
 "All openness and honesty!" echoed Maude, in scathing 
 bitterness. "Yes. I will grant you were open enough, in all 
 conscience, but honesty save the mark ! Honesty in one 
 who, of his own mouth, confesses to having read and appro- 
 priated papers addressed to another ! Then you find in these 
 papers proofs, forsooth! proofs that are convincing to your 
 greedy, envious eyes, which some lawyer tells you would make 
 what you call a 'good case,' and show that your cousin is no 
 Kerr rob him of his land, his name that he holds so dear. 
 Of the blast, the stigma, on him, your own kin ; you rake up 
 some miserable old story. I know it all j Susie often told me
 
 To a Wedding Ring. 225 
 
 about her brother's death and you come to me to get my 
 father to lend weight of his countenance to such a conspiracy 
 my father, the soul of honor and chivalry, who loves Lewis 
 
 almost like a son I ought to be flattered, truly, by your 
 
 confidence, your love. I don't care what sort of evidence you 
 have. Lewis is a Kerr, every inch of him; every one has 
 always said so. One has only to compare him with some of 
 the family portraits to be convinced of it. If all you say 
 were true you whom Lewis loved you his friend of years 
 if you had one generous impulse in your soul, you would 
 have thrust these proofs into the fire, and buried their secrets 
 in your heart." 
 
 "I see," said Charlie, bitterly, "I see I have made a great 
 mistake. The boy and girl attachment is reviving." 
 
 "You are wrong as well as insolent, Mr. Hillyard," said 
 Maude, her hot blood tingling in every vein at the insinua- 
 tion. "Lewis is not my lover. But, of course, faithfulness 
 to a friend is a matter I could not expect you to understand." 
 She paused, and her thoughts wandered back to a scene under 
 a silver-leaf aspen which trembled under the morning sun 
 and there rose in her generous heart a tide of affectionate 
 pity for the brave, loyal fellow who had looked at her with 
 such true, sad eyes as she had given the death-blow to his 
 hopes that sunny morning. "But I will tell you this," she 
 added, with renewed indignation, "that were you as rich and 
 great as you would make yourself were you the head of Gil- 
 ham and master of all the country besides, and were Lewis 
 as poor as you wish him to be, as nameless, as humiliated, I 
 would marry him, cheerfully and gladly, rather than become 
 your wife! I liked you for the sake of my dear Susie; I 
 used to enjoy hearing Lewis sing the litany of your praise; 
 but now," gathering up her reins and turning back, as her 
 horse made a spring forward, to cast a Parthian shaft at the 
 scowling, gloom-enveloped figure behind her "now that I 
 know you, as no one evidently has known you yet, I have no 
 words to tell you how I hate and despise you!" 
 
 Her whip whistled into the dark air with a sound that 
 struck him as though she had aimed the cut at his face, there 
 was a dull thud of hoofs striking on the turf, then the re- 
 treating, precipitate cadence of a wild gallop. 
 
 He shook his reins and started off on his way. His mind 
 was made up; the habit of stern practicality was too deeply 
 ingrained to permit him to contemplate, after the first heat 
 of passion had dissipated. The battle wus lost and won; he 
 was beaten; the feverish dream was over. He would throw 
 up the sponge let Lewis step in, while Charles Hillyard 
 retired gracefully from the scene. His position in his own
 
 226 To a Wedding Ring. 
 
 world could be no worse than before; he would have the 
 enviable position of lecturer and coach to youthful under- 
 graduates, and of husband to Hilda. . . . 
 
 Down deep in his heart somewhere had blossomed shyly, and 
 all unknown, a curious attachment to the handsome, faithful 
 girl, and now, no longer overshadowed by more ambitious 
 passions, he found that it had struck deeper root than he 
 could have believed. 
 
 She had played him a scurvy trick, it was true, but it was in 
 fear of losing him him, whom Maude had just now covered 
 with contempt. What if she, too, were to fail him ? He had 
 never doubted. But she was badly wounded, and by his 
 hand. What if she should die ? What would become of him 
 now without Hilda? 
 
 By a happy coincidence, as Charles staggered into the 
 lighted sitting-room at the Grange, to read reassurance of his 
 deadly fear in Fargus' placid look, the bustling little doctor 
 entered by the opposite door. 
 
 Fargus rose and greeted him in a few words, then markedly 
 gave place to his nephew. 
 
 There was a moment's pause; resting his hands on the 
 table, as if to support himself, but speaking with all his old 
 deliberateness, "Doctor," said the young man, "the person 
 who has been so unfortunately wounded is my wife. I need 
 not say how anxious I feel to hear your opinion of her case." 
 
 As soon as he had spoken he shot at Fargus a look full of 
 such implacable defiance that it told of an undying enmity 
 more explicitly than whole volumes of words. But even his 
 keen eyes, sharpened as they were by hatred, could read 
 neither triumph nor pleasure on the elder man's calm face. 
 
 "Mrs. Hillyard is in this room," Fargus was saying; "will 
 you be so good as to go in to her ?" 
 
 Hilda's wounds had been examined and dressed again. 
 The doctor, after many compliments to Charles on his wife's 
 great fortitude and her splendid physique, to Fargus on his 
 success and promptitude in arresting the blood-flow, had 
 assured them that she was in no danger, and taken his leave. 
 
 In the dimly-lit room Charles was sitting alone by her bed- 
 side. The patient's eyes were closed; she seemed satisfied 
 with Charles' presence and the mute assurance she had read 
 in his face that his anger against her was over. Prepared by 
 Fargus' few words of comfort, she was happy enough in the 
 present, and, in her woman's shrewdness, had accepted the 
 title bestowed on her by the doctor in the most natural 
 manner. 
 
 Charles looked at her for a while in silence. Presently he
 
 Man Proposes. 227 
 
 stooped and kissed her left hand then the large, taper third 
 finger, on which sat that plain gold ring with its tacit lie. 
 
 Startled by the action she turned her pallid face languidly 
 toward him, and saw that in her lover's eyes which she had 
 never seen before something like real tenderness. 
 
 And in answer to the mute, astonished inquiry: 
 
 "My girl," he said, still trying to speak in the careless, 
 patronizing manner he generally assumed toward her, "I 
 wonder whether you would like me to put that ring on your 
 finger before the altar, the registrar, and all the rest of it ?" 
 
 After the doings of the day, Hilda's nerves were scarcely as 
 strong as was their wont. The tears again welled to the 
 heavy lids as she pulled his hand feely up to her hot lips. 
 
 "Oh, Charlie ! Charlie ! are you really going to raise me to 
 you at last ? How can I thank you ? how can I tell you how 
 I love you ? Oh, Charlie ! and after what I did !" 
 
 "There, don't cry, child. There, my girl, we shall let by- 
 gones be bygones, and start afresh." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MAN PROPOSES. 
 
 Along a northward-bound line, weighted with living 
 freight, a noble engine dashed its panting way. In the win- 
 dow-corner of his well-cushioned carriage sat Lewis Kerr, 
 watching, as they flew past him, the tinted hedgerows, the 
 beautiful homesteads, the wide stretches of pasture, the busy 
 towns. 
 
 Once he drew from his pocketbook the charm that had 
 removed the evil spell a letter, the cover of which was ad- 
 dressed in goodly round style to Lewis Kerr of Gilham, Es- 
 quire, and the contents of which he had already so studied 
 as to know them almost by heart. 
 
 The letter was dated some five days back at midnight, and 
 thus had Fargus written to his son at the close of that event- 
 ful day which had seen the final crumbling of Charles Hill- 
 yard's scheme and the rise of Hilda Wren's new hopes : 
 
 "Mr DEAR LEWIS : Your letter would have been a very griev- 
 ous trouble to me, were I not happily able (owing to a con- 
 catenation of circumstances which will seem to you the most 
 extraordinary, the most unforseeable) to give you that very 
 proof without which you now propose to abandon fortune 
 and happiness. I can prove to you, and beyond all doubt,
 
 228 Man Proposes. 
 
 that you are George Kerr's son, and that as such you have the 
 most indisputable right to his name and the property that 
 would have been his. 
 
 "Something very inopportune has occurred which must 
 retard your arrival. Miss Wren, poor girl! in great and 
 natural anxiety concerning her lover, landed here to-day, to 
 seek some information concerning his movements. She was 
 still here when, as fate would have it, Mr. Hillyard him- 
 self made his appearance on what errand I imagine you can 
 guess; then he had the misfortune to wound her seriously 
 while incautiously playing with one of my revolvers. It was 
 purely accidental, and he has shown more feeling for her than 
 I could have believed possible. Meanwhile, however, she will 
 not be fit to move for a day or two, and as he is constantly 
 with her you will understand why I think it better to post- 
 pone your visit. These are strange things to happen in my 
 quiet house, are they not? One thing is certain, namely, 
 that your cousin has finally abandoned all idea of contest- 
 ing your rights any further, though I should be conveying a 
 false impression were I to allow you to believe that he is any- 
 thing but furious at the turn affairs have taken. Now, my 
 dear boy, it is very late and I am very tired after an exciting 
 day. Keep a good heart till we meet. I shall telegraph as 
 soon as the coast is clear, and then you will come at once, 
 will you not? I have satisfactory news for you on other 
 scores besides that one vital question. 
 
 "General Woldham and I have had long gossips about you. 
 He really loves you like a son. Charles Hillyard seems to 
 have kept his evil counsel to himself very closely, after all. 
 So much the better for all parties ; more I cannot say now, 
 "Ever yours, 
 
 "DAVID FARGUS." 
 
 When Lewis reached the end, he replaced the letter in the 
 case and musingly drew out the telegram that had reached 
 him the previous night up in his attic rooms. It contained 
 but the most laconic message: "From David Fargus, Widley 
 Grange, to Lewis Kerr, Staple Inn, London. Come." Noth- 
 ing more, but the four letters of that little word seemed to 
 flash out of the pink paper. It seemed to mean so much. 
 Ah! the world was a glad and good place; it was well to be 
 alive and young. 
 
 Lewis greeted them all as old friends. He was not recog- 
 nized at first; it was so many years since he had been there; 
 but the porter, having put his single eye to good purpose, 
 soon discovered the identity of the only passenger the train 
 had left to them from the label on his portmanteau. An ex-
 
 Man Proposes. 229 
 
 cited whisper went round the little station: "'Tis young 
 squire himself!" 
 
 "We did not think you'd take us unawares like that, sir," 
 said the station-master, coining up and touching his cap with 
 a new deference. "Folks have been talking of getting up a 
 welcome for you. But we're right glad to see you here at 
 last, sir, all the same." 
 
 Lewis laughed as he responded suitably. But, in his heart, 
 the little tribute to his position, and especially the unques- 
 tioning way it seemed to have been accepted, was pleasant 
 to him. 
 
 It was now only three of the afternoon, on a mellow, sunny, 
 brisk-breathing day, and the thought of a walk along the 
 country roads was inviting after an eight hours' railway 
 journey, and so Mr. Kerr of Gilham, announcing his deter- 
 mination to make use of his legs, engaged the flyman with 
 his ramshackle vehicle to convey his luggage to the Lone 
 Grange, and set off at a swinging pace. 
 
 And now a turn of the road brought him upon one of the 
 avenues leading to Gilham itself, and in the undulations of 
 the park he saw the herded deer; saw the noble, ancient 
 house between the trees. He stood and gazed, and his heart 
 swelled with a feeling he had never before experienced the 
 pride of possession. "Mine mine mine!" he could say of 
 each rich acre that he had been traversing, each living thing 
 that met his glance, each stone of the home his forefathers' 
 hands had raised. 
 
 A quaint idea crossed his brain. "I feel," he thought, 
 "like the Marquis of Carabas the ogre is dead, and his lands 
 are mine. And presently I shall lead the princess home; and 
 the good friend through whom all these good things have 
 come to pass" here he laughed in the lightness of his heart 
 at the comparison of grave Fargus to Puss in the fairy tale 
 "the dear friend shall come and share them, and be honored 
 by us and our children." 
 
 Presently, as he walked on, the sound of voices struck upon 
 his ear, then the impetuous barking of several dogs, and 
 upon this a dachshund and two brown spaniels tore out 
 of the underwoods toward him with a great appearance of 
 ferocious resentment, which, however, soon subsided into ab- 
 ject amiability of recognition when they came close enough. 
 Next, well-known tones were heard, freely damning the noisy 
 rovers with the same well-known emphasis, and the spare 
 figure of the general himself emerged upon the path a little 
 higher up. He stood with a sedate black retriever beside 
 him. The keeper, a picturesque figure in far better clothe*
 
 230 Man Proposes. 
 
 than the master, remaining respectfully distant among the 
 brush-wood. 
 
 Lewis sprang forward, and the next minute the old man 
 had seized him by both hands with a cry of delighted recog- 
 nition. 
 
 "Lewis, my boy, glad to see you again ! Hang you, where 
 have you been all this while ?" 
 
 There was a hurried interchange of greeting and explana- 
 tion, and presently, the first emotion having subsided, the 
 general linked his arm affectionately through that of the 
 young man, dismissed the attendant keeper with a pleasant 
 nod over his shoulder, and carried his visitor onward along 
 the path. 
 
 "Gad! I knew you at once, in spite of that scar on your 
 face. And, by the way, tell us about it. How was it we 
 never heard you were wounded ?" 
 
 Then, wheeling his companion round again, and halting, 
 the old man looked into his embarrassed countenance with a 
 suppressed enjoyment of his own great joke. In another in- 
 stant he had exploded, and was slapping Lewis on the shoul- 
 der. 
 
 "Why, I know all about it. Confound you, sir ! so you've 
 killed your man already, and pocketed this pretty little token 
 to improve your beauty, have you? And what do you think 
 the ladies will say to that face of yours, sir?" this with an 
 elaborate wink. "I believe some will like you all the better 
 for it. When did you come? You are stopping at Fargus', 
 are you not? Capital fellow that! And you were on your 
 way to pay us a dutiful visit, I assume?" 
 
 "Why, no, General. I have only just arrived from town, 
 and was finding my way to the Grange by the short cut. I 
 thought you would condone the trespass." 
 
 "Why, I suppose I shall have to condone it," quoth the 
 veteran. "You are a great man in these parts, and you will 
 soon grow accustomed to lording it about here." This idea 
 tickled the general afresh. "So you have only just arrived. 
 There will be news here for you. Fine goings on there have 
 been at the Lone Grange with that scamp of a cousin of 
 yours. You must have heard something of It, I expect." 
 
 "I heard of the accident, sir, if that is what you mean," 
 answered Lewis, whose heart began to beat faster. 
 
 "Aha! the accident? You do know then. Well, what do 
 you think of your precious cousin, my boy? You used to 
 look upon him as a sort of little God Almighty. What do 
 you think of him now, eh? Scamp! With his air of wise 
 superiority, taking us all in; coming among us to lay down 
 the law, knowing better than anybody. Gad! A humbug,
 
 Man Proposes. 231 
 
 that is what he is married in secret to some poor disrepu- 
 table creature and leaving her to starve starve, people tell 
 me while he comes here among us with his wisdom. It 
 makes me sick!" 
 
 There was no mistaking the genuineness of the amaze- 
 ment depicted on Lewis' countenance as he stopped during 
 this tirade, and ejaculated under his voice : 
 
 "Charles married ! are you sure, General ? Married ?" 
 
 "Yes, my boy, married. No mistake about it, Lewis. Old 
 Smith told me in detail. Old story, you know low mar- 
 riage; gets tired of her; wants to drop her. The poor woman 
 is miserable; comes after him here; finds out he's at the 
 Grange, and follows him there. Frightful scene between 
 them; and the upshot of it all is she is shot. An 'accident,' 
 they give out ; but, Lord ! I dare say he was in such a rage at 
 being found out he did not know what he was doing. It is 
 hard to get at the truth. Anyhow, he went to fetch Smith 
 for her himself, and seemed quite in a way about her, Smith 
 says. If it had not been for Fargus, as Smith told me, she 
 would have bled to death in ten minutes. That is a pretty 
 thing to happen in a fellow's house, is it not? Lucky for 
 Hillyard he had to do with such a man as Fargus! The 
 colonel would not tell even me anything about the occur- 
 rence. 'Whole affair accidental,' says he, when I rode over 
 to see him and asked him for the rights of the story. But I 
 honor him for it, Lewis. What was it you heard, may I 
 ask, since you knew there had been an accident?" 
 
 Lewis roused himself to answer with great caution : 
 
 "I know no more than you do, sir. My only informant 
 was Colonel Fargus, who wrote to beg me to put off my visit 
 on account of an accident which had occurred to a visitor 
 of his." 
 
 "Well, Smith told me a good deal," said General Woldham. 
 There is no mistake about the marriage, for Hillyard himself 
 informed me he was married. Ay, for I met him and asked 
 him. And there is no mistake about her status either, for, 
 according to Smith, she spoke broad Cockney, and scattered 
 her h's and all that kind of thing. Fine, handsome woman, 
 Smith says; and then what do you think he added 'most 
 extraordinary resemblance to Miss Woldham,' he said. But 
 he stuck to his point, damned little pill-box !" 
 
 Lewis made no answer, and for a while they meditatively 
 progressed together. 
 
 "Here I must leave you for the present, I fear, sir," said 
 he; but the general's thin old hand held him tightly by the 
 arm.
 
 232 Man Proposes. 
 
 "No, no, my boy! Come and pay your respects to Maude 
 first, and take a cup of tea. She will be delighted to see you." 
 
 Lewis threw an anxious glance at the kind, wrinkled face, 
 with its meaning smile. 
 
 "I wish I could think it would be a pleasant surprise for 
 her," he said at last, almost bitterly. 
 
 "Hullo, hullo!" cried the general. "Why, you used not 
 to think so humbly of yourself, or be so shy of your old " 
 
 On the point of saying "sweetheart," the old man checked 
 himself to substitute "playfellow." 
 
 With head half turned away, Lewis fell to decapitating 
 undergrowth twigs with flips from his stick. The general 
 went on in puzzled and slightly exasperated tones: 
 
 "Of course, you know your own business best; but I must 
 say, Lewis, if it comes to a question of being pleased to see 
 you, you have not seemed over-anxious to give us a chance. 
 Why, I made up my mind you would run down here first of 
 all. But instead of coming to us, or coming to show your- 
 self on your property, you fly off to Germany, and never 
 even seem to think of taking train to pay a visit to Maude, 
 who is within a few hours of you. And then you tell me you 
 think she may not want to see you. It is all a blanked rid- 
 dle to me." 
 
 Lewis wheeled round and confronted the speaker. 
 
 "Didn't Maude tell you then?" he asked, in a low voice. 
 "I did go to Homburg. I did see her, sir. And I made a fool 
 of myself." 
 
 The General's eyes grew round and his face grew red. 
 
 "You saw Maude! You went after her to Homburg I 
 was right, then. And she sent you about your business? 
 Why the dickens did she do that?" 
 
 "I cannot say, sir," said Lewis, with extreme simplicity. 
 "It has come pretty hard on me, I assure you." 
 
 The old man marked how Lewis' lip trembled as he spoke. 
 
 "Oh, tut, tut, tut! She did not mean it. Why, I pro- 
 posed to her mother four times before she would have me, 
 and, what is more, I would have gone on till I had got her. 
 And Maude is just such another as she was. They never 
 know their own minds. They like you, but they don't like 
 the thought of harness. They are coy. Why, the sly puss, 
 she never told her old dad a word about it, though she did 
 hang her head a bit, now I come to think of it. I fancied 
 she was not quite herself. I thought it was because you had 
 not come near us. I gave her a hint or two, the other day, 
 that we might be expecting a new neighbor to visit us about 
 a fellow who had been in the wars, and was going to settle
 
 Man Proposes. 233 
 
 hereabouts, and she has brightened up uncommonly ever 
 since." 
 
 Lewis grew crimson and white again in rapid succession. 
 
 "My God !" he murmured, "if I could only believe it !" 
 
 The general watched him from the corner of his eye, and 
 fell to chuckling, in a delighted state of excitement. 
 
 "Believe it? Come and see for yourself, my boy. Come 
 and see for yourself !" 
 
 The father's confidence was infectious. A fire of joy 
 coursed through his frame. With transfigured countenance 
 he turned toward his companion, and seized his hand. 
 
 "Then I have your permission, eir ; you yourself encourage 
 my hope." 
 
 "I don't say I think any man alive equal to my girl; but 
 there is no one I would trust her to sooner than you, Lewis. 
 You will settle down on your place, as you ought to. I am 
 afraid," said the general, smiling, "I should not be quite so 
 ready to hand her over to you if I thought you meant to 
 carry her off. I care little for the mere fact of your being 
 so rich. I want a good fellow, of good blood, that will make 
 my girl a good husband. I am none the less pleased she 
 should make the match of the county eh, my boy?" 
 
 A nickering shadow had descended upon the ecstasy of 
 Lewis' face as he listened. 
 
 "Before we go any further," he said, quickly, "there is 
 something I must tell you which I had well-nigh forgotten. 
 Something which may be the explanation of Maude's rejec- 
 tion of me at Homburg." 
 
 "Well, out with it," said the old man, looking keenly at 
 Lewis. 
 
 "The fact is, my cousin Hillyard has been getting up a 
 scheme against me a scheme to dispossess me of my uncle's 
 property, on the score of alleged illegitimacy on my side." 
 
 Lewis spoke with determined clearness; the trouble had 
 gone too deep not to leave him very sore still. 
 
 "The devil he did !" cried General Woldham. "Wanted to 
 make out you were not a Kerr, did he? Scamp! Why, my 
 lad, I'd know you for one of the family in a thousand. You 
 are as like the squire your grandfather, that is as two peas. 
 And I knew him well. You not a Kerr!" snorted the gen- 
 eral, working himself up. "No, your worthy cousin did not 
 tell me that L he knew better than to tell me that. What 
 did he go on to support such a suggestion ?" 
 
 "Thank God," said Lewis very low, "the dastardly scheme 
 has collapsed from the very outset. And yet it was well 
 worked out some old letters of my father's and my Spanish 
 mother's, coupled with the sad story of my father's death,
 
 234 God Disposes. 
 
 the fact of my having been born abroad, and the squire's 
 refusal to have anything to do with me, were pieced together 
 into such a damning array of circumstantial evidence against 
 me that, at one time, only a few days ago, I was almost 
 ready to believe myself an interloper, and to go back to 
 India, never to show my face again in the old country. 
 Thank God, it was not true, and the scheme has fallen 
 through! Colonel Fargus oh, sir, if it had not been for 
 him I hardly know what I should have done these times! 
 has written to me to say that he has secured the actual 
 proof of the slander; that he has seen Charles, who is com- 
 pletely convinced himself, and who has abandoned his claim. 
 I do not know what the proofs are yet. The colonel has done 
 everything for me. I believe it was the late squire, on his 
 death-bed, who set all this mischief working." 
 
 "Just like the cantakerous old numskull," muttered the 
 general. "He hated your father quarreled with him, turned 
 him out of the house. I well remember hearing about it all 
 from my poor old aunt, who had this place at the time. 
 And he hated you simply because you are his son. But 
 that your own cousin, a man who was your friend, should 
 lend himself to such a thing! And so you thought Maude 
 had heard something, did you ? No, my lad ; you may think 
 yourself very much in love, but you don't know my girl 
 if you fancy she would lend an ear to such a thing as that. 
 Bless me! I don't pretend to know why she would not say 
 'yes' then, but I lay my oath that was not the reason. And 
 now come and find out for yourself, as I said before." 
 
 Lewis' pulses beat thickly at the prospect which seemed 
 to grow nearer and more assured every instant. 
 
 "Perhaps I had better see those proofs Colonel Fargus has 
 for me first, sir," he said, as quietly as he could. 
 
 "Damn the boy!" cried the general. "I was not such a 
 hang-off, punctilious sort of lover as all that. Your nose 
 alone, sir, is proof sufficient for me. Come along; give me 
 your arm again. Maudy will be on the look-out for her 
 dad. Begad ! she little guesses the visitor I am bringing by 
 the ear to see her !" 
 
 CHAPTEK XXV. 
 
 GOD DISPOSES. 
 
 "So Fargus has helped you along, has he? Thorough good 
 fellow that never was a man I liked more; couldn't have 
 a better friend, Lewis ! But why did you never come to me, 
 my boy? I would have settled that Hillyard chap in ten
 
 God Disposes. 235 
 
 minutes. 'Confound your letters and your trumpery evi- 
 dence, sir!' I would have said to him. 'You tell me Lewis 
 is from the wrong side, do you ? Very well ; stand him before 
 his grandfather's picture, the Peninsular man; then come 
 and repeat that to me, sir.' I should have liked to see him 
 then, my boy. Whole thing would have burst like an air- 
 bubble. 
 
 "So Mr. Hillyard wanted to oust you, did he, and set 
 up that low wife of his as mistress of Gilham, I suppose? 
 Upon my word, he has turned out well ! I met him the day 
 before yesterday, just as I was coming away from Fargus. 
 Very down he looked, too, and not over-pleased to see me. 
 'Funny stories these are about you, Charlie,' said I. 'We 
 hear you have married a wife.' He made no answer, but 
 gave a queer kind of smile. But I was not to be put off 
 in that way. So I asked him point-blank if it was true it 
 was his wife that was hurt. 'Was that what you heard?' 
 he answered me; 'that is true, anyhow.' So then I whipped 
 up my horse and rode off, giving him the 'Good-afternoon' 
 pretty shortly. He called after me, 'Gpod-by, general; it 
 will be a long time before you see me in this part of the 
 world again.' And yesterday, I hear, he and his wife went 
 off together to London. As for the Hall, he certainly shall 
 never cross my doors again. But you are not listening to 
 me, man. Oh, bless you, you need not apologize! I have 
 been young myself once; and in love, too, more than once. 
 I know all about it. And here we are. We shall find her 
 ladyship in the library, I dare say." 
 
 As they approached the open door of the old house, Lewis 
 found it indeed increasingly difficult to follow any thought 
 but the central one of Maude. It was too late now to pause 
 and examine the wisdom of this hurried visit, nor could he 
 collect his tumultuous senses to settle with himself what he 
 would say to her. He was carried away, unable to resist 
 the current of his companion's slapdash geniality; the past 
 was all a mistake; he was going to see her again Maude, 
 his own Maude, at last ! 
 
 He was stumbling across the threshold, when the general 
 checked him sharply by the arm. 
 
 "One moment, Lewis," he whispered. "Don't you mention 
 that fellow Charlie's name to Maudy. You are hardly likely 
 to. She was terribly fond of his mother, and I think she 
 liked him, too, in a way. And when she heard of the scamp 
 having made a match like that, it quite upset her. She 
 would not believe it at first; and then I never saw a girl 
 look so angry. She turned quite white, and could hardly
 
 336 God Disposes. 
 
 speak for a bit. I suppose Smith could not keep quiet about 
 his story of the woman's likeness." 
 
 "Of course I know," he answered mechanically, while his 
 eyes wandered around the great, dark hall with eager yet 
 almost fearful seeking. 
 
 "She must be out," said the good man, with a cheerful 
 philosophy. "Come and have a pipe in the smoking-room. 
 She is sure to come in to give me my tea in a little while." 
 
 As he spoke he marshaled his visitor through the stately 
 library, where the tea paraphernalia were already arrayed, 
 to his particular and beloved sanctum at the end of it. Here 
 he provided himself with a pipe, and scoffed good-humoredly 
 at the absent fashion in which Lewis took the implement 
 proffered him, only to lay it down unfilled on the table. In 
 unconscious, silent reverie, the young man was gazing around 
 the comfortable, untidy room that was so full of memories 
 for him, when Maude used to come and listen to their talk, 
 between the smile of her father and the silent adoration of 
 his guest. 
 
 "Well, you are a sociable fellow!" he was beginning in a 
 bantering tone, turning once more to Lewis, when a change 
 on the latter's absent face, as he intently gazed out of the 
 window, hushed the speaker to silence. Maude was passing 
 slowly across the terrace toward the house, her special canine 
 attendant following her with solemn step. She glided noise- 
 lessly on the soft turf past the window, with beautiful bent 
 head, unconscious of observation, and apparently mindful 
 only of the world of her own thoughts. 
 
 While she approached and until she disappeared, there 
 was silence in the room. The old man looked alternately 
 at the graceful figure that seemed as if floating by in the 
 sunlight a vision of youthful perfection to the watchful, 
 almost ecstatic face of his companion, who had risen to his 
 feet and stood gazing at it, with all his soul in his eyes, 
 as if completely forgetful of his surroundings. 
 
 When she had passed out of sight the two men looked at 
 each other. 
 
 "Oh, sir," said Lewis, almost in a whisper, "if these should 
 be false hopes after all!" 
 
 "Not a bit of it!" ejaculated the other. "Lewis, I know 
 what I am talking about ; I am not a child or a fool. Hush !" 
 putting his finger to his lips as a light footfall sounded from 
 without. "Tell you what, by boy," struck by a brilliant idea, 
 and burning to assist in the bringing together of the young 
 couple he held in such affection, a delicate task he consid- 
 ered especially suited to his great diplomatic capacity; "tell 
 you what, man, I'll go and prepare the way for you a bit,
 
 God Disposes. 337 
 
 eh ?" chuckling and winking in irrepressible glee. <f You stop 
 here, you know, eh?" , 
 
 The further door of the library creaked on its hinges, and 
 the slow rustle of Maude's gown came in upon them through 
 the parted curtains; then the sound of her voice calling: 
 
 "Dad tea!" 
 
 "Coming," grunted the general, pushing the bewildered 
 Lewis aside, after further bestowing upon him sundry 
 highly-expressive winks and admonition, and trotting briskly 
 off in a convulsion of subdued chuckles. 
 
 "Well, dad, have you been in long?" came the dear, tender 
 voice; then the general's reply, in laboriously natural tones; 
 then the rattle of teacups, and a silence. 
 
 Like one in a dream who can comprehend, enjoy and suf- 
 fer, but is powerless either to suggest or control, Lewis stood 
 motionless, where he had been placed, all his faculties 
 wrapped in what was now almost an agony of listening. 
 With all the glowing reality of second-sight the scene on 
 the other side of the wall rose before his mind. 
 
 "Why, papa, what on earth is the matter?" 
 
 A ripple of laughter tripped up and shook the witching 
 voice as it again broke the silence. Lewis remembered how 
 she used to look when she laughed. 
 
 "What makes you think there is anything the matter with 
 me, eh, you puss ?" 
 
 Interval of snorts and renewal of laughter. 
 
 "Dad, there is no use in trying to deceive me. You have 
 been up to something, I know. There is the stamp of guilt 
 on your face. Confess, dad, confess ! You will be happier, 
 and be able to enjoy your tea when it is off your mind." 
 
 "Pooh, pooh! nonsense, child!" with a suspicion of tart- 
 ness. "Don't know what you mean," with some solemnity. 
 
 "Yes, dad." 
 
 A sudden cessation of laughter. 
 
 "I met a friend of ours to-day, my pet an old friend, I 
 think I may call him, though he is a new neighbor." 
 
 "Yes, dad." 
 
 A change, a slightly tremulous tone in the voice, now 
 suddenly become grave. 
 
 "We had a long walk, child. I met Mm in the pine-woods, 
 the short cut to the Grange, you know. Tell you the truth, 
 I have been expecting him this last week, but all this row 
 Charlie Hillyard's business, and all the rest kept him 
 away." 
 
 "Yes, dad; I, too, wondered why he did not come." 
 
 The last words were spoken with a slight hesitation, and 
 in a perceptibly lower key.
 
 338 God Disposes. 
 
 "Oh, you were expecting him, were you, eh ? The old man 
 is to be kept in the dark, eh ? Never to know what is going 
 on under his nose, eh? There, there, never look so scared, 
 my pet ; I am only joking. Fact Jis, this new neighbor of 
 ours has 'been confiding in your old dad. Queer, outlandish 
 sort of thing to do; but the fellow, as you know, is full of 
 old-fashioned notions of honor and loyalty and the like. 
 Can't say I think the worse of him for that. I must let him 
 speak for himself, must not I? The young birds must fly 
 out of the nest some day, and in this case it will not be 
 very far." 
 
 The old voice quavered a little. There was a smothered 
 exclamation. Lewis knew the warm young arms were round 
 the father's neck, and that the beautiful head was lying on 
 his shoulder. And the young man's heart beat so quickly, 
 so loudly, that he feared, clenching his hands, it might drown 
 the soft tones he was straining every nerve to catch. 
 
 "Well, well," said the general, "as I told him, I do not 
 so much disapprove. There you come back from your for- 
 eign trip as demure and close as a nun, and know your 
 poor old father is racking his brains over the fellow's ex- 
 traordinary prcoeedings. Oh, oh! that is a tell-tale blush! 
 Yes, I have heard all about it; he went after you, but there 
 was some little mistake, eh? He is a good fellow, Maude. 
 He has promised to remain down here, and not carry you 
 away from me. And as for that ugly scar though we can- 
 not say he got it in regular warfare; though I cannot pre- 
 tend it is becoming I am sure you would not have him 
 without it for the world now, eh ? . . . What ! won't you 
 speak, my child? Ah, well, if your mother had been alive 
 you would have told her all, I'll be bound." 
 
 "Oh, darling!" said Maude, in low, caressing tones, "do 
 not say that I will tell you all. Indeed, I am not ashamed 
 of my love for him, now that I know he loves me, too ; I am 
 proud of it more proud, more blessed than ever woman 
 was ! Darling, forgive me ; I could not tell you before. You 
 see, I did not know; I only thought feared hoped. He 
 never spoke a word of love to me I thought he always 
 treated me like a child but from the first moment I saw 
 him I knew I should never care for another man. Don't 
 look so surprised, dad. From the first you said he _was a 
 man after your own heart. But I never dared to think he 
 loved me, though at times there was a look in his eyes, when 
 he turned them on me, that would set me fancying and 
 wondering. And then, about Homburg. Yes, I will tell you 
 the truth ; a thought did flash through my mind when I saw 
 him there 'Has he come for me?' But then then then J
 
 God Disposes. 239 
 
 only saw him once, for a second, the night he came; the day 
 after he was gone. Dear dad, do you wonder I did not 
 speak of it? But now I think I know what it meant. 
 There was a mistake, as you said. He must have seen me 
 next morning with some one else early in the morning, 
 among the trees. It was Lewis; he had followed me from 
 the hotel. Poor Lewis! it seems he had come all the way 
 after me, too. I could not tell you that, either; it was not 
 my secret, you see. But now that he has spoken to you, that 
 you have assured him there was nothing in that silly boy 
 and girl affair " 
 
 "Why what the dickens!" interrupted the general. "He 
 him! Who's he? Told you what? What boy and girl 
 affair? What are you talking about?" 
 
 "Father, how strange you are! Did you not tell Colonel 
 Fargus?" 
 
 "Fargus !" with a shout of astonishment and despair ; 
 "what the devil should I tell Fargus anything about it for ?" 
 
 A moment's dead silence. Then could that unknown, 
 hard, fierce voice be Maude's? 
 
 "Who, then, have you been talking about all this time?" 
 
 "Why, who should I have been talking about? Lewis, of 
 course. What! you don't mean to say you thought it was 
 Fargus? Oh, damn it all!" in a sudden frightened whisper. 
 
 Then Maude, speaking again in the same strange accents : 
 
 "So Lewis is not content with what I told him. I told 
 him plainly enough I never could love him now." 
 
 "Hush! hush!" in the father's tremulous undertone. "It 
 is my mistake. Maude, come to me don't look like that, 
 child. Oh, Lord! what have I done? There, my darling! 
 there, my darling! It will come all right. Eh! what, child 
 are you angry with me ? What is it ? Oh, Lord !" 
 
 "Don't try your hand at match-making any more, dad," 
 with a quivering attempt at lightness. Then there was a 
 sharp sound, as if she smote her hands together, and a sud- 
 den, low cry, as if of pain. "Oh, father ! father ! father !" 
 
 "Maude my poor girl!" 
 
 A low sob, strangled, and the old man's voice raised in 
 incoherent, soothing terms, and muffled as if his head were 
 enveloped in something soft and close. 
 
 "My dream is gone. I don't want to leave you ever." 
 
 When the general limp, tottering, the very shadow of 
 the cheerful, vigorous, self-sufficient general of an hour be- 
 fore crept at length around the smoking-room curtain once 
 more, it was to find that Lewis was gone.
 
 CHAPTEK XXVI. 
 
 DEADLOCK. 
 
 The window of the guest-chamber at Widley Grange was 
 open to the fragrant breeze of the moor, and through it the 
 wild hollyhocks peeped in upon a picture of more than usual 
 order and comfort. 
 
 Lewis's room! The master of the house had been, un- 
 wontedly particular as to the perfection therein of the small- 
 est detail, and now it was ready and awaiting the long- 
 expected visitor. 
 
 And, as he looked, a dreamy smile crept under Fergus's 
 mustache. Before a certain dear, tired brown head pressed 
 yonder pillow to-night the father would have confessed and 
 been judged. Despite the coming ordeal, despite the un- 
 sparing clearness of vision with which he looked forward to 
 its possible results, there had come to him, once familiarized 
 with the idea of self-disclosure, a secret foolish and un- 
 acknowledged sweetness in the thought that the barrier he 
 had himself erected would at last be broken between him 
 and his son. And besides, there was the keen satisfaction 
 arising from the certitude of being able thereby to assure this 
 son a fair future and mental peace, of being able to expiate 
 to the full, and repair the old wrong, no matter at what 
 cost to himself. 
 
 And thus it came to pass, David Fargus, confident in his 
 power of benefiting him, awaited his visitor with almost 
 joyful anticipation. 
 
 He glanced at the clock, which marked close upon four, 
 and thought with impatience of the three long hours that 
 had yet to elapse before he could clasp the brave young 
 hand; then, pausing in his pensive walk, he suddenly stood 
 gazing at his own reflection in the looking-glass, struck by 
 a curious thought. 
 
 No doubt that face of his, however battered, burned and 
 worn, was like his son's, but the most salient features the 
 mouth and chin were hidden by the close, thick beard. 
 Why not remove this mask, originally adopted to disguise 
 the very identity he was now anxious to vindicate? Once 
 more shaven, but for his heavy mustache, the resemblance 
 between them would be something striking, or else he was 
 much mistaken. Moreover, David Fargus' connection with 
 the youthful portrait, now in the Staple Inn chambers, would
 
 Deadlock. 441 
 
 then perchance be apparent that portrait which Lewis did 
 resemble. 
 
 Delighted with the idea, Fargus returned to his own room, 
 rang for his man, ordered some shaving water, and forthwith 
 began clipping the silken, brown, silver-streaked hair from, 
 cheek and chin as close as scissors could reach. 
 
 But as Turner was hastening to him with the steaming 
 jug, the unwonted sound of wheels broke upon the outer 
 silence. 
 
 Lewis already? Impossible! He drew near the window 
 and looked out over the hedge to see and recognize the well- 
 known portmanteau and traveling-bag on the box of the 
 station fly, and the next minute to discover further, not 
 without an inexplicable misgiving, that the ramshackle 
 vehicle was empty. 
 
 While he stood staring somewhat blankly at the again 
 departing carriage, Turner, who had gone out to attend the 
 bell, re-entered the room. 
 
 "Mr. Kerr's luggage just arrived from the station, sir. Mr. 
 Kerr sent word that he was walking up." 
 
 Fargus drew a smiling breath of relief. The probable de- 
 lay was not unwelcome, after all. , But the business must 
 be hurried with; it could not be very long now before the 
 visitor made his appearance. 
 
 "Turner," he said, stopping the servant as he noiselessly 
 retired, "judging from your appearance, you must have good 
 razors." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Please lend me one and, by the way, I have not shaved 
 myself for more than twenty years. Among your numerous 
 qualifications would you reckon a competence to shave me?" 
 
 "Certainly, sir." 
 
 Ten minutes later Fargus emerged from the careful hands 
 of his attendant a curiously altered being. Though the 
 peaked beard had been a not unpleasing adjunct to his 
 grave, rather melancholy countenance, its removal disclosed 
 to advantage the handsome lines of mouth and chin, and 
 reduced his age to all appearance some ten years. He paused 
 to contemplate himself with a satisfied smile ; the likeness to 
 Lewis was wonderful. 
 
 The task completed, Fargus strolled into his wild garden 
 to look forth, across the privet bushes, toward the Woldham 
 pine-woods. 
 
 Five o'clock by his infallible watch. What was the boy 
 about? Then a sudden light gleamed through the growing 
 anxiety. Of course, of course, he had gone to Woldham! 
 Having placed himself so near the magic circle by taking
 
 242 Deadlock. 
 
 the short cut through the woods, the lover had been unable 
 to resist the attraction. 
 
 As the afternoon dragged on, however, and still there came 
 no sign of his son, he began to grow warm with a new hope. 
 
 The wind ran with little shivers through the hollyhocks. 
 There were great cloud banks to the west. "We shall have 
 rain to-morrow/' thought Fargus. "I am glad it is fair at 
 least to-day, for my boy's home-coming." 
 
 And then, as he reached the end of the narrow path once 
 more, it was to see a dark figure rapidly emerging from the 
 borderland of pines into the slanting sunlight of the heath. 
 Could it be Lewis? This man's shoulders were rounded, he 
 stumbled occasionally, and dragged his feet, although he 
 came so quickly, in a way as unlike as possible from the 
 young soldier's upright carriage and clear, swinging gait. 
 Perhaps there had been an accident. For a moment the 
 watcher's heart grew cold, and the bright view became black 
 to his eyes; but the next minute all was clear again; it was 
 Lewis, and he was only within a few yards of him now. 
 
 In the revulsion of his hurrying joy, Fargus waved his 
 hand and ran back to the little gate to welcome him. Lewis 
 was rounding the hedge, swaying and tripping over the rough 
 ground, as Fargus emerged from the garden gate and met 
 him face to face. But all the father's warm delight was 
 swept away by a chilling doubt, and the words of welcome 
 died unspoken on his lips when he encountered the haggard, 
 unrecognizing stare of two blood-shot eyes, which were fixed 
 on him till their owner moved quickly out of his path and 
 started again on his headlong way. Fargus hied after his 
 son. 
 
 "Lewis, what is it! For God's sake, what has happened? 
 Is it possible you don't know me? Pshaw! I had forgotten 
 about that beard of mine!" 
 
 At the sound of the voice, the bent, hurrying figure started, 
 halted and wheeled slowly around upon the pursuer. 
 
 The young man's face was hard-set ; there was inexpressible 
 bitterness, unmistakable enmity, in his eyes as he measured 
 Fargus from head to foot, and smiled in a way which made 
 the latter^ blood run cold. 
 
 "Is this indeed you, Colonel Fargus? You must forgive 
 me for my stupidity in not recognizing you under your 
 altered aspect!" 
 
 The voice was as much changed as the rest of the man. 
 For a while the father could only stare ; then, when he tried 
 to speak, he found that, under the angry antagonism, which 
 it was so hard to meet from those eyes, ideas and words 
 seemed to fail him alike. He could only stammer again:
 
 Deadlock. 243 
 
 "Lewis, what has happened? Has Charles Hillyard 
 dared " 
 
 "I have heard something that was news to me," answered 
 Lewis, incisively. "I have been at Woldham; I should not 
 have been surprised to find you thus beautified and young 
 after what I heard there, should I? It is a great improve- 
 ment, Colonel Fargus ; I congratulate you in every way." 
 
 "Lewis, are you mad?" with an outburst of indignant af- 
 fection. "My boy, things have gone wrong with you again; 
 but what can have come between you and me? Tell me 
 what has happened at Woldham. I thought you must have 
 gone there, and my instinct about it was right. Oh, why 
 did you not come straight to me first?" 
 
 "You would have prepared me, I suppose?" 
 
 "Prepared you for what? Is it Hillyard again has he 
 come between you and your happiness here, too?" 
 
 He was interrupted by a fierce grasp on his arm as Lewis 
 stepped closely up to him and looked into his face. 
 
 "Is it possible, Colonel Fargus, that you are speaking in 
 good faith? Is it possible that you do not know that you 
 have been true, after all? Bah!" flinging himself away 
 with violence; "what a fool you must think me, to imagine 
 I can be taken in by this! No, by God! you shall not feel 
 my pulse! I am sick of this pretense!" 
 
 "Come into the house," said Fargus, gravely. "There is 
 a terrible misunderstanding here, or else you are, indeed, 
 delirious. Lewis, you owe me an explanation ; you must tell 
 me what is the meaning of this." 
 
 Again giving him a mistrustful yet wavering look, the 
 young man sullenly complied. When they came into the old, 
 pleasant room Fargus had left so full of hope, the latter 
 said, in accents almost of entreaty: 
 
 "Now, Lewis, speak." 
 
 "Colonel Fargus, I I may be wronging you; pray God 
 I am. And yet why should I wish it, after all? It means 
 happiness to her; why should I grudge her her happiness?" 
 
 "My dear, dear boy ! Do try and tell me what it is." 
 
 "Are you sure you are alone that no one is within hear- 
 ing?" 
 
 More and more convinced that Lewis' senses were wander- 
 ing, the father, in great distress, rose to humor him, opened 
 the heavy doors of the adjacent rooms, to close them again 
 and assure him of the impossibility of being overheard. 
 When he came back, however, and sat down opposite his son, 
 the look that the latter fixed upon him was once more keen 
 and reasoning as his own. 
 
 "Do you really wish to hear my news, Colonel Fargus?
 
 244 Deadlock. 
 
 Do you really need to be told that Maude Woldham never 
 loved Charles Hillyard; that, although she may once have 
 loved Lewis Kerr, the man who has won her heart who holds 
 it now is no other than Colonel Fargus himself?" 
 
 For a second the father again thought the speaker mad; 
 but the next moment, with dire, irresistible conviction, the 
 truth of these evil tidings was borne in upon him. Maude 
 loved him him, Fargus ! It was he who had killed his son's 
 happiness. How terrible it was! A spasm passed over his 
 face, and beads of cold sweat broke upon his forehead; his 
 parched tongue cleaved to his palate. 
 
 The cruel scrutiny of Lewis' eyes relaxed. He flung him- 
 self on a chair, and buried his face in his hands. 
 
 "Forgive me, Fargus," he cried. "I see I have been 
 wrong. Everything is wrong, is it not ? I ask your pardon ; 
 I must have been mad indeed to doubt you." 
 
 "My God!" The words burst from Fargus' lips at length, 
 with a sort of groan. "It is incredible, impossible I an old 
 man like me! Lewis, it cannot be true!'" 
 
 Lewis looked up again read consternation written on 
 every drawn feature; met distressful eyes that eagerly sought 
 his face, only to be averted again as if in shame; and, seeing 
 thus broken down, thus struck with innocent anguish of 
 guilt, the man he had learned to honor as single in strength 
 and dignity among men, was smitten with remorse in his 
 turn. 
 
 He rose and went over to his host. Their eyes met in a 
 long, deep look. 
 
 "Do you account yourself an old man?" said Lewis, sadly. 
 "What do years signify if years bring no waste ? What have 
 they brought to you but greater wealth of mental and bodily 
 strength? A man is aged as he feels do you feel old? I 
 take it, there is not a man of thirty within this wide horizon 
 you could not dispose of out of hand; and in point of in- 
 fluence What is there strange in her, too, having felt 
 
 what I, careless fellow that I am, who have knocked about 
 the world so much already, succumbed to at our very first 
 meeting? You went often to Woldham; she saw you often. 
 No, there is nothing incredible, nothing impossible, in the 
 matter. It was natural she should love you, when she 
 thought that you loved her; it was natural she should love 
 you, even without thought of return. But it is the end of 
 my hopes yes, the end!" raising his voice to drown the 
 attempted protest. "I heard it from her own lips, I tell you ; 
 she did not know I was near. The poor old general had 
 set me there to listen, while he prepared the way for me, 
 as he said. But she thought he was speaking of you. I
 
 Deadlock. 245 
 
 cannot tell you how it came; but I know the truth at last 
 the truth! She will never care for man again. Her whole 
 heart is yours she is all yours ! Oh, if you could have been 
 there in my stead! She loves you as wholly as I love her. 
 Can I say more?" 
 
 Stricken by the magnitude of the unforeseen disaster, Far- 
 gus sat in hopeless silence. As a flash of lightning darts its 
 far-reaching glare across mighty space, to die next instant 
 in utter blackness, so a brief apprehension of the endless 
 import of this revelation, in all its manifold phases, had 
 broken upon the darkness of his thoughts, only to leave 
 them again in fathomless misery. 
 
 "You never suspected this," pursued Lewis, halting in 
 front of him once more, and now speaking in milder accents. 
 "Your surprise is as genuine as your distress. But can you 
 wonder at my suspicions? Was it conceivable that woman 
 could be so deceived ? And then to find you so altered, look- 
 ing so changed, so handsome, so young again! Oh, why 
 have you cut off your beard, Colonel Fargus?" 
 
 A smdle of exceeding pain quivered on the elder man's 
 mouth. 
 
 "That I shall tell you by-and-by. It had nothing to do 
 with Maude Woldham." 
 
 This simple statement laid at last the ever-recurring doubt. 
 
 "I might have known," said Lewis, "that you could play 
 no one false, let alone me you. who, when I was despondent, 
 urged me not to yield ; who have secured me my rights my 
 rights ! What do I care for them ? What is their value now ? 
 Charlie might as well have had them all. What a mockery 
 it all is! And yet I am blackly ungrateful to you! Could 
 you but know what this is to me !" 
 
 "Who could have foreseen," interrupted Fargus, hoarsely 
 "I, who have had no thought of woman's love for more than 
 half a lifetime that this should come upon me?" 
 
 "I could, I suppose, had I been here to see," cried Lewis. 
 "Colonel Fargus, what comes to you as a trouble would have 
 meant to me happiness beyond dreams. And out of this 
 miserable waste and discord nothing is to come but more 
 waste and discord; misery for me, sorrow for her poor 
 Maude ! She cast me off with contempt. She called my love 
 persecution. Can a man ever forget that ? It has seared me to 
 the soul ! I, whose whole being was encompassed by but one 
 thought, that Heaven forgive me! I would gladly damn 
 my eternal soul for her love!" 
 
 Lewis stood still, and again lifted his hands to his head 
 with a gesture of passionate bewilderment. 
 
 "Colonel Fargus, you do not speak; but you must forgive
 
 246 
 
 Deadlock. 
 
 me. Colonel Fargus, I do believe you when you say you 
 knew nothing of this. I believe you are all I thought you 
 were; but, now that you do know, is it possible that you can 
 throw away the prize within your grasp? Think of it, 
 colonel she loves you. You cannot be in earnest when you 
 say you do not mean to take advantage of this." 
 
 Fargus rose from his chair with a stiff, slow movement. 
 In a moment he had decided upon his course of action. 
 He would speak now, tell his heavy and precious secret, 
 though the moment was inauspicious indeed. 
 
 "You do not answer," said Lewis, impatiently. 
 
 "I do not answer, my boy, because to me the question is 
 painful in its absurdity. Not more surely than if I were 
 stretched on my deathbed are such things over for me. And 
 now would to God it could prove anything but further 
 grief to you! I will tell you how it is that the news you 
 have brought to me to-day is indeed a calamity to me. 
 These proofs, Lewis, that I wrote to you about 
 
 Lewis, who had looked up, impressed by the strange solem- 
 nity of his companion's manner, here again broke forth 
 impetuously : 
 
 "The proofs ! the proofs ! In God's name, Colonel Fargus, 
 do not talk about that now! What can it be to me with- 
 out her?" 
 
 "But you must listen to me, Lewis. It is absolutely neces- 
 sary if not for your own sake, for mine." 
 
 "For yours what do you mean?" 
 
 "This question concerns me as nearly as you; my fate 
 is bound up with yours; in your misfortune vanish all my 
 hopes. It is the death-blow to my happiness. I speak in 
 riddles, I know; but all will soon be clear to you. You 
 have wondered often at the strange interest I seemed to take 
 in you. You wondered, yet you were grateful to me for 
 what you called my kindness, and you were as willing as I, 
 in the openness of your heart, to take advantage of those 
 incidents which ripened into affectionate intimacy the ac- 
 quaintance begun in a seemingly casual meeting." 
 
 "Seemingly?" echoed Lewis, with a frown. 
 
 "Yes, seemingly. When the stranger, David Fargus, 
 crossed your path for the first time, one night, in an out-of- 
 the-way, empty tavern-room, it was of set and deliberate pur- 
 pose. He had gone over there to seek you." 
 
 The frown deepened on Lewis' face. He bent his head 
 to listen with a quickening breath. 
 
 "Fortune favored the scheme. Acquaintance soon ripened 
 into intimacy, intimacy to affection. You could not suspect 
 that this American's very presence in Europe was connected
 
 Deadlock. 247 
 
 with you. Far less could you imagine, when we listened 
 together to the history recounted, with such unwarrantable 
 conclusions from insufficient facts, by Charles Hillyard the 
 story of your father you never knew that I, your informal 
 adviser, not only knew already every detail thereof, but 
 much more besides than any one else in the room." 
 
 Lewis had started violently at the mention of his father, 
 but he said nothing, and continued to look keenly into the 
 speaker's eyes. 
 
 "What this knowledge is," pursued Fargus, "I will now 
 tell you in a few words. It never could occur to you, since 
 it never occurred to George Kerr's contemporaries, that no 
 man should really be accounted dead on the ground of mere 
 disappearance. For God's sake, Lewis, be calm! Your 
 father was not drowned, as you and every one else were led 
 to believe. And with this indubitable fact are connected the 
 coming over of David Fargus and his present relations 
 with you." 
 
 "My father alive! You have seen him?" cried Lewis, 
 jumping up and staring wildly at the speaker. "He is alive 
 now ?" 
 
 A look from Fargus was sufficient assent. 
 
 "You come from him! Where is he, Colonel Fargus?" 
 Then the ringing excitement of the voice suddenly dropped. 
 "Why this mystery? Why have I been so long disowned? 
 It is incredible! I have cherished and hugged the pride of 
 my dead father all my life. What can I now feel if it be 
 true that he is living, and that for five-and-twenty years he 
 has ignored me, cast me away? What am I to think of this 
 sudden interest taken in me by the man who now claims 
 to be my father ?" 
 
 Fargus had grown whiter than ever under this cruel 
 arraignment, but he made no attempt to check it, and Lewis, 
 carried away by the current of his bitterness, went on : 
 
 "Pah! what a day's work this has been! Am I also to 
 find that even that supposed friendship was also but an 
 element in this disinterested scheme? That the man to 
 whom I confided not only my private affairs, but my most 
 cherished hopes, was after all but an emissary cleverly pre- 
 paring the way to place me in the position it was requisite 
 I should occupy? But I interrupted your exposition of the 
 case, Colonel Fargus. Let me hear the message." 
 
 "Lewis," he answered, deliberately there was an immense 
 sadness beneath his calm "Lewis, your impatient, hasty con- 
 clusions at the very outset of a difficult explanation are un- 
 just to your father; unjust to me, with whom none of your
 
 248 Father and Son. 
 
 previous relations have given you a right to assume a 
 sneering tone." 
 
 Lewis waved his hand impatiently. "Go on, in Heaven's 
 name! This is a cruel blow to me." 
 
 After a short pause of painful consideration, Fargus went 
 over to his desk and brought out the manuscript. 
 
 "In this," he said, "you will find all. I wrote it for you, 
 as soon as I received your last letter wrote it with the sole 
 intention of giving you back your peace of mind. One 
 moment more," he added, as Lewis hastily extended his 
 hand. "Every word you will read here is true in fact and 
 in spirit. As a legal document in your favor as a document, 
 I say, to prove your position as the legitimate son of George 
 Kerr, and in his absence as the heir-in-law I know its value 
 is nil. Happily, no such thing is required now. What 
 was, however, required, what was due to you, was a state- 
 ment of such evidences as would disburden your mind of that 
 gnawing doubt, that uneasiness, which has of late helped 
 to poison it." 
 
 Lewis spread the papers on the table without a word, and 
 almost threw himself upon them in a vain endeavor to 
 decipher them in the darkness, while, with a heavy sigh, 
 Fargus rose and left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 Oppressed by the accumulated disappointments, Fargus in- 
 stinctively sought the cool twilight spaces out of doors. 
 
 He was standing beneath the room he had just left; the 
 servant had even then brought in the lamp, and Lewis, 
 once more alone, was at last about to read for himself the 
 story of his father's life. 
 
 Fargus stopped and watched the silent scene within. The 
 light fell full upon the young man's troubled forehead; not- 
 withstanding the distance, every shade upon it was visible 
 to the watcher, as, seated facing him, his elbows upon the 
 table, Lewis closely scanned the written sheets. From his 
 post in the outer darkness Fargus could follow his progress 
 almost line by line; in his mind was looking over the broad, 
 bent shoulder, seeing the words as they passed beneath the 
 downcast eyes ; he could have told well-nigh the very thoughts, 
 the impatience, suspicion, anxiety, that were struggling be- 
 hind the drawn brows over these first pages of careful prep-
 
 Father and Son. 249 
 
 aration, and necessarily somewhat lengthy preamble. Pres- 
 ently the reader made a startled movement, bent over the 
 writing with staring intentness for a moment, then looked 
 up and dropped his hands, and, as under the light his face 
 was blasted with a white, stony astonishment, Fargus knew 
 that the name adopted by the George Kerr of old, on the day 
 of his civil death, had now, for the first time, appeared on 
 the pages of his biography. 
 
 After a long interval Lewis brushed his forehead with the 
 familiar gesture, and once again resumed his task. And the 
 father knew that under the son's gaze was now spread forth 
 the strange history of George Kerr's transmigration of soul, 
 of his varied life under the new personality, his sudden return 
 to things of old, and the novel relations which had existed be- 
 tween him and his new-found kinsfolk until the present hour ; 
 and he earnestly watched for any indication of the mood in 
 which these revelations were received. 
 
 During the perusal of this last part Lewis paused several 
 times. When he came to the end he slowly gathered the 
 papers together, replaced them in their envelope. Then, with 
 his profile blackly defined against the inner light, he became 
 wrapped in stillness, as though plunged in profoundest con- 
 verse with himself. Fargus re-entered the room. 
 
 His son turned upon him a hard, scrutinizing glance; his 
 face was as a sealed book to the father's eager eyes. The 
 latter's heart sank. 
 
 "Great God! he does not believe me! Oh, Lewis, my own 
 boy!" The last words forced themselves audibly from hia 
 lips. 
 
 The young man seemed moved by this cry of anguish, so 
 unlike the usual deliberate speech of the man. Rising to his 
 feet, he advanced and faltered out: 
 
 "What can I say? Colonel Fargus, I am utterly be- 
 wildered." 
 
 "Colonel Fargus!" repeated the other. "It is so, then. 
 I am only David Fargus! Of course, how could Fargus 
 claim George Kerr's son? And yet," with savage earnest- 
 ness, "you are my boy, and I do claim you and all I have 
 tried to do for you shall not have been done in vain! You 
 must believe that I am your father, that I am the George 
 Kerr whom, the world has forgotten and will never know 
 again !" 
 
 Without taking his eye off Lewis' now wondering counte- 
 nance, he seized the lamp with one hand and with the other 
 grasped the young man's arm. 
 
 "Come and see for yourself!" he cried, and drew him into 
 the adjacent bedroom, halting with him in front of the
 
 250 Father and Son. 
 
 mirror. There, clasping him round the neck, he drew the 
 youthful face near his own and, stooping forward, held the 
 steady light aloft. / 
 
 Their eyes met in the glass. Brown eyes in both faces 
 (set wide apart and well covered under an energetic brow), 
 with the same double furrow between, fostered by habitually 
 reflective mood, less deep-set, perhaps, in the younger face, 
 but not brighter. Now, with pupils widened in the insuf- 
 ficient light, and under the strain of growing emotion, they 
 were strangely alike, for all the five-and-twenty years of life 
 which separated them. 
 
 As the first recognition of this unthought-pf resemblance 
 flashed upon Lewis, he made a movement as if to disengage 
 himself and turn around upon his companion. But he 
 checked himself and peered into the glass, to become finally 
 quite absorbed in contemplation. 
 
 Never before had Lewis subjected human physiognomy to 
 such unsparing scrutiny. Feature by feature, line by line, he 
 compared the two faces reflected before him with intent, 
 eager, yet deliberate criticism. In some details they were 
 unlike. His own straight nose, somewhat short and wide, 
 in no way recalled that of Fargus high-bridged, aquiline of 
 bend and narrow of nostril. The ears, too, were dissimilar, 
 in his case smaller and less masculine, inherited, in fact, 
 from the^delicate beauty of his Spanish mother. But in all 
 the other features which gave character to a, face the repro- 
 duction was unmistakable, and shone forth assertingly, since 
 Fargus's masking beard had been discarded. 
 
 The strong, square chin with the cleft dent a well-known 
 Kerr characteristic; the straight mouth, larger and less thin- 
 lipped in Lewis, but unmistakably cut on the same lines, set 
 with the same firm yet kindly decisiveness; the square brow, 
 solid and smooth, with low-growing hair of the same brown, 
 now touched with gray upon the elder man all tallied un- 
 mistakably, unusually, even down to the curious coincidence 
 of the deep scar, still red and angry upon the son's pale 
 face, while showing markedly upon the father's cheek, white 
 even as the recent invalid's where the razor had passed that 
 day. 
 
 And presently, as Lewis gazed, a sudden discomposure 
 spread over his countenance. 
 
 Fargus put down the lamp on the table, and with a twist 
 of his fingers turned up the ends of his mustache after the 
 Velasquez-like manner which Lewis cultivated. This last 
 touch was almost magical, qualifying as it did the habitual 
 gravity of his mien. 
 
 "Now, my son," said he, speaking to him for the first time
 
 Father and Son. 251 
 
 in the Spanish tongue, "thou no doubt seest my reason for 
 attempting to regenerate myself a little. Dost thou want 
 further proof, Lewis, my son? Give me thy hand." 
 
 There was music for Lewis' ears in that language, the 
 sound of which was associated with the only "home" he had 
 ever known. He was, however, too bewildered by the torrent 
 of new conceptions that during the last hour had swept 
 through his mind to feel fresh surprise. 
 
 Noting the increased intentness in his son's looks, Fargus 
 again approached the light, took the young man's hand, and 
 turned it palm upward. 
 
 "Lewis, all I want is to show thee another sign of thy 
 heredity. See that straight line, cutting thy hand from side 
 to side with such curiously marked definition." 
 
 Without answering, Lewis looked obediently down upon a 
 palm of a description to have indeed puzzled a chiromancist. 
 
 "No doubt you never even noticed this peculiarity; and 
 yet it is quite singular, quite unlike the irregular and broken 
 lines, with ends overlapping, which you would find, more 
 or less diversified, but always essentially the same, on other 
 people's hands. Now, there is the mark on your hand. I 
 looked for it and found it when you lay ill and unconscious 
 in Brussels ; and here it is on mine !" 
 
 Fargus turned his own hand supine, and placed it beside 
 his son's; they were identical in their unusual characteristic. 
 After a moment's pause he closed it again, and silently 
 pointed to the signet-ring, on which Lewis at one glance 
 recognized the ancient crest, and a moment later the same 
 heraldic device upon the inner case of the watch, which was 
 next proffered for his inspection. 
 
 "But why have recourse to such by-evidence ? Lewis, bring 
 before your mind the portrait of your father, taken when 
 he was no older than you are now. Through the mask of 
 these many years can you not see the same man again 
 before you?" 
 
 In that almost spiritualized state, born of great mental 
 excitement, which in singleness of thought is akin to dream- 
 ing, Lewis found his gaze riveted on the bright eyes which 
 looked with masterful glow so straight into his. A vision of 
 the portrait arose before him and overlapped the living image, 
 to fade away again and leave him gazing at the reality, un- 
 certain for a moment which was which. Those were in truth 
 the same eyes that had watched him in pained faithfulness 
 in his cradle at Seville, in his lonely Edinburgh lodgings, in 
 his College rooms, in Staple Inn ! 
 
 They stood face to face one moment, with eyes searching
 
 252 Father and Son. 
 
 each other's thoughts; then their hands joined by one warm 
 impulse, and the younger, in a low, humble voice murmured : 
 
 "I do believe forgive me." 
 
 At this, Fargus, the stern and self-possessed, broke down; 
 tears started to his eyes. 
 
 "Forgive you, my son!" he cried, in halting accents; "is it 
 not I who should ask to be forgiven for the past, and still 
 more for the harm I have unwittingly caused you now? I, 
 who never deserted a son like you, my big, brave, clever boy !" 
 
 He paused, and for a while silently contemplated the young 
 man from head to foot, with pride burning through his wet 
 lashes. 
 
 "And yet it has been my fate to bring nothing to you, 
 after all, but misery. My first step across your path all but 
 cost you your life . . . my very efforts to help you on 
 toward happiness have destroyed your hopes." 
 
 Letting the young man's hand fall, Fargus stopped, his 
 face stamped with such depth of sadness that Lewis' heart 
 was filled with compassion. 
 
 Filial respect is innate in all refined natures, but filial love 
 can only spring from prolonged association. It was this sense 
 of respect, however, which stirred Lewis' brave, warm heart 
 into protest at last. 
 
 "For God's sake, sir, do not so misunderstand me! Do 
 not believe that I would now take upon myself to pass judg- 
 ment on on my father's actions. I am we are both victims 
 of circumstances. The past is beyond recall." 
 
 "One thing, at least, sir, you have done for me to-day, for 
 which I owe you gratitude you have roused me from my 
 foolish weakness ; the time has come to be a man once more, 
 and resume self-control. Before I again leave England you 
 must be restored to your rightful position as the master of 
 Gilham " 
 
 "Lewis!" cried Fargus. "Is it possible you can so mis- 
 conceive the position ? Never, never speak so again. I know 
 you did not mean this affront. George Kerr is dead dead 
 to all but you. The money is yours, the place is yours; do 
 with them what you will, but for God's sake never insult 
 me again by offering them to me!" 
 
 Dinner was over at last; host and guest sat on either side 
 of the hearth with unen joyed pipe in hand, absently watching 
 the metamorphosis from yellow flame to red and gray ash 
 of the piled-up wood fire. The meal had been an unpleasant 
 ordeal. 
 
 Before the end of dinner many had been the spells of
 
 Father and Son. 253 
 
 meditative silence between father and son as they sat oppo- 
 site each other, and when they at last adjourned to the study 
 both by tacit consent yielded to the impression of the hour, 
 and fell into silence, to follow undisturbedly the drift of 
 their own thoughts. 
 
 And then to Fargus slowly but fatally there once more 
 unrolled itself to view a picture of the consequences he had 
 brought upon himself and others by his own acts. Lewis 
 was indeed now master of his inheritance, but at what cost 
 only through the incongruous interference of an angry 
 woman ! From the father nothing had come but failure, 
 irremediable miscarriage of purpose ; worse than all, his was 
 the black shadow now cast upon his son's life upon two 
 young lives; for bitter, no doubt, were the thoughts evolved 
 at that very moment within the lovely head yonder among 
 the pines on the hill. What would he not give to be able 
 to recall, if it could be done without jeopardy to Lewis' pros- 
 pects, their former easy relations of friend to friend, instead 
 of this ghastly constraint, this terrible playing at father 
 and son? 
 
 Such were the thoughts which for Fargus, on that long- 
 looked-for evening, filled the silence of the chamber at the 
 Lone Grange. 
 
 In equally absorbed mood sat Lewis, absently smoking, now 
 gazing with unsettled speculation at the figure opposite him, 
 at once so familiar and so strange in its new character, now 
 dreamily peering into the dance of flame on the hearth. He 
 had said he would be a man again, would cut off the past with 
 its clinging and disabling sorrow, its sapping longings and un- 
 manly weakess of despair, and begin a new life ; ay, but how ? 
 His heart grew faint at the thought of existence at Gilham 
 Court in deadly monotony and tantalizing proximity to his 
 lost ideal. 
 
 Could he leave that pale, sad man who was his father ? could 
 he refuse the duty he had cast upon him, and abandon the 
 headship of his house? And with a weary sigh he would see 
 all his plans crumble again into blank uncertainty, and chide 
 himself in vain for the mental palsy which seemed to make 
 him so absolutely indifferent to the great fact that he had 
 found a father. 
 
 The clock-hand went its dreary round twice over the hours, 
 the fire fell and sank low, the pipes had long been cold, when 
 the eyes of both men met again at last. In one look each saw 
 how devious paths of thought had brought them to the same 
 point a dull and blank wall of utter hopelessness. There 
 was no need for words. 
 
 Farjfus rose with a sigh of weariness.
 
 254 leather and Son. 
 
 "When I think, my dear boy, that you, on whom I have 
 brought all this you spoke about my forgiveness He 
 paused in eloquent speechlessness ; then, as one who gives up 
 the search after an impossible solution, continued : "To-mor- 
 row, perhaps, we may come to a decision as to what is best to 
 do; now my head is spent. Good-night. Do not brood too 
 much ; to-morrow we shall talk. God bless you, Lewis I" 
 
 He lit a candle for his guest, then one for himself. The 
 light flickered upon his face, and Lewis, with a sudden sharp 
 pang, saw how lined and worn and drawn it was. Only a few 
 hours ago the young man had bitterly reproached him for his 
 youthful appearance ; now, as he stood, and in silence pressed 
 his hand, his father looked indeed an old man. 
 
 With the relief-bringing hour of dawn, sleep came upon 
 Lewis' tired brain. He had passed most of the night in 
 ceaseless walking up and down the room, fighting with the 
 problem he was unable to conquer, and at last, worn out with 
 fatigue, both mental and physical, he had flung himself, with- 
 out undressing, on his bed. And now sleep had come to him ; 
 but it was the unrestful, dream-tossed sleep of a mind swing- 
 ing on the hinge of indecision, from recurring worry of boot- 
 less search to recurring failure. 
 
 It was dark around him, and yet there was light somewhere. 
 Chilled to the marrow, still under the spell of his nightmare, 
 he sprang from the bed and pushed open the door, dimly won- 
 dering to find it ajar, for he remembered to have closed it 
 over night. In the inner room a candle was fitfully burning 
 itself out in its socket. Seized with a childish terror, he 
 rushed to Fargus' room and knocked loudly. There was no 
 answer. He took up the flickering light and went in. The 
 room was cold and empty. The bed was undisturbed. Hardly 
 knowing what he was doing, with dread apprehensions upon 
 him, he came back again, and began to search the house. 
 With the draught in the cold passage the dying flame went 
 out, but the cold light of breaking day was already spreading 
 through the curtainless windows, and showed him each room 
 as he entered it as forlorn and abandoned as the last. Up and 
 down numberless stairs and passages, into chamber after 
 chamber, he hurried in frenzied seeking, ever and anon calling 
 Fargus' name in fearsome voice, to receive no answer save the 
 dismal, ghostly echo of the empty house, to find everywhere the 
 same silence and void all empty and solitary as in his dream. 
 
 With that last vision of his father's face, grown so old and 
 sorrow-stricken in his eyes, he returned at length to the study, 
 too much troubled even to feel shame of the terror which en- 
 compassed him. There, in the shuttered darkness, he had to 
 procure another candle, and, as the light shot up, his eyes fell
 
 Father and Son. 255 
 
 upon the white glimmer of an envelope prominent upon the 
 green cloth of the center table. He lifted it with a shaking 
 hand, to find his name upon it his name in his father's writ- 
 ing and tore it open. 
 
 "DEAR SON (it read) : "I must go. The whole of the 
 night I have spent in trying to think what is best to do. 
 There is only one way; I must leave you. Better, perhaps, 
 for you had I never sought you at all; and if now by going 1 
 from you in this hurried manner, and seeming to desert you 
 again, I cause you fresh trouble, you will forgive me, thinking 
 how terrible it is for me. I must leave you, dear son. This 
 is to be my punishment for a selfish past, and as such I accept 
 it, and hope that it may remove one cause of distress in your 
 life. Do not henceforth think of the father, but only of the 
 friend who would have made the sacrifice of leaving you 
 sooner had he suspected that he could ever stand between you 
 and your happiness. 
 
 "And now the time has come. I will not wait to meet you 
 again; you have had too many painful scenes through me 
 already. I give myself until the candle burns out to be under 
 the same roof with you, then I will look once more upon your 
 face that face which has grown so dear to me as you sleep 
 there next to me, and then take up my lonely life again. 
 Good-by, dear Lewis. Burn this letter. I know you will 
 respect my secret. Do not seek to find me. Do what your 
 heart and judgment prompt you. I have confidence in both. 
 I have confidence also in your future. God bless you !" 
 
 Lewis read these lines, incoherently, hurriedly dropped from 
 a trembling pen. In the silence and cold of his solitude the 
 misery of his dream returned upon him with an iron grip as 
 he realized their import. His father, like his love, had left 
 him had faded out of his life forever. 
 
 Suddenly a flash of energy roused him. The words of the 
 letter seemed to print themselves in fire upon his brain. 
 "I give myself till the candle burns out." The candle had 
 only just burned out. It was but a few moments ago since his 
 father, that melancholy, aged figure, had towered over him, 
 light in hand, and entered into his dreams only a few mo- 
 ments ago that a door had really been opened, that the gate 
 had closed, echoing in his half -conscious brain. Fargus was 
 gone, indeed, but he could not be far. off. 
 
 And at once, under the thought, the paralyzing horror of 
 his nightmare gave way to a warm glow of reaction. With 
 the fever of sudden resolution, he dashed into the hall and 
 out of the house. 
 
 It was the opening of a sullen day. Drizzling rain slanted 
 from heaven to earth, with fine, almost invisible, persistence.
 
 256 Father and Son. 
 
 He had reached that gently rising eminence which dominated 
 so much of the country round; there, panting for breath, he 
 paused and scanned the horizon with anxious, peering eye. 
 Nothing but gray, gray sky and earth on every side not a 
 living being in sight. 
 
 And yet, "He cannot have gone far. The candle has only 
 just burned out." In a sort of despairing anger at thus realiz- 
 ing in waking life the dread desertion of his dream, Lewis 
 called out the words aloud, "He must be stopped he must be 
 stopped I" 
 
 Again he turned and slowly cast a straining glance around ; 
 at that moment a ray of yellow light darted between great 
 banks of clouds in the east, and swept more warmly over part 
 of the dull field of view; and then, across the gilded path of 
 that blessed ray, was seen a dark point, slowly moving. 
 
 With a stifled cry of triumph, Lewis sprang in pursuit, 
 with elbows pressed to his sides, bounding like a hound over 
 the plain, conscious of but one thing, that he must cover the 
 space between them before the figure disappeared. 
 
 It was not so far half a mile at most, for Fargus had had 
 but little start. And yet, in rage at his impotency, upborne 
 by the intensity of his desire, he pressed on, on still, until it 
 seemed as if he had been running for hours already. 
 
 He had gained on the figure markedly, yet now it seemed, as 
 it swam and faded before his startling gaze, to be steadily in- 
 creasing the distance between them once more. His feet were 
 weighted down with iron weights, the cold and the numbness 
 were reaching his knees ; in another moment he knew that he 
 would fall, and that his father would silently, fatally continue 
 on his way and disappear forever. He stopped, and the whole 
 of his life energy was thrown into a wild, appealing, angry 
 cry: 
 
 "Halt! for Heaven's sake, halt!" 
 
 The call was, for all the effort it represented, but a feeble 
 one, but it reached the lonely traveler in the silence of the 
 moorland. He, too, came abruptly to a standstill, as if it had 
 struck him like a shot, and then turned round, looking vaguely 
 about him. Lewis waved his arm and beheld, as it were 
 through a circling mist, how the figure began to retrace its 
 steps and come toward hirn, first slowly, presently at a run. 
 
 For a moment he lost consciousness, all was dark before 
 him ; but the next minute his hands were grasped with a warm, 
 living, strong pressure that seemed to send thrills of new life 
 to his heart, to fill it with strange, unwonted comfort. 
 
 He looked up at the anxious, white face bending over him 
 the face of his father ! 
 
 Tears welled into his eyes and flowed down his cheeks. He
 
 Father and Son. 357 
 
 did not know it. He only felt intense and keen relief and 
 inexpressible comfort. Then he found himself speaking in 
 hurried, passionate accents : 
 
 "You were going ; I, too, must go ; I cannot live here. We 
 will go together. There can be no home for us here now ; but 
 the world lies wide before us. Will you not take me with 
 you and remain my guide, friend, companion ? Afterward we 
 will return here afterward, when we can come back to- 
 gether." 
 
 And then, receiving no reply, looking up in fear to meet no 
 compliance in the loving eyes, which were so sad as they 
 looked back at him, as sad as in his dream, there broke forth a 
 cry from his very heart : 
 
 "Father, you will not leave me? Father!" 
 
 The gathering sunlight had grown upon the dull day and 
 driven the mists aside, and turned the drenching wet of leaf 
 and grass-blade to a tangle of diamond and gold. Shoulder 
 to shoulder, under the promise of a glorious noon, went father 
 and son together across the moorland, on their way out into 
 the world. 
 
 THE END.
 
 CG 
 
 c / sf e-ero
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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