GWEN WYNN: of ie "I THOUGHT AS MUCH ! -No ACCIDENT !--.\O SUICIDK ! .M U RI >KKK1> !" [p. 324 Front. Given Wynn. GWEN WYNN BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, LIMITED NEW YORK : E. P. DUTTON & CO. 1905 re 357 CONTENTS. CHAPTER PiGK PEOLOGIT3 1 I. THE HEROINE > r, , 4 II. THE HERO ... r, ... 12 III. A CHARON CORRUPTED 20 IV. ON THE RIVER 25 Y. DANGERS AHEAD .... ; . 36 VI. A DUCKING DESERVED 45 VII. AN INVETERATE NOVEL READER ... 53 VIII. A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER 59 IK. JEALOUS ALREADY 66 X. THE CUCKOO'S GLEN 74 XI. A WEED BY THE WYESIDE .... 79 XII. A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING ... 86 XIII. AMONG THE ARROWS 95 XIV. BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH .... 102 XV. A SPIRITUAL ADVISER 110 VI CONTENTS. OHAPTBB XVI. CORACLE DICK 120 XVII. THE "CORPSE CANDLE" . . .128 XVIII. A CAT IN THE CUPBOARD .... 137 XIX. A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. ... 144 XX. UNDER THE ELM 153 XXI. A TARDY MESSENGER 161 XXII. A FATAL STEP 167 XXIIL A SUSPICIOUS WAIP 172 XXIV. "THE FLOWER OF LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING" . 178 XXV. A FRENCH FEMME DE CHAMBRE . . 184 XXVI. THE POACHER AT HOME .... 190 XXVII. A MYSTERIOUS CONTRACT . . . .196 XXVIII. THE GAME OP PIQUE 202 XXIX. JEALOUS AS A TIGER 207 XXX. STUNNED AND SILENT . . . .213 XXXI. A STARTLING CRY 218 XXXII. MAKING BEADY POR THE EOAD . . . 224 XXXIII. A SLUMBERING HOUSEHOLD . . .230 XXXIV. "WHERE'S GWEN?" . . . . .236 XXXV. AGAIN THE ENGAGEMENT EING . . . 241 XXXVI. A MYSTERIOUS EMBARKATION . . . 247 XXXVII. AN ANXIOUS WIPE 253 XXXVIII. IMPATIENT POR THE POST . . .259 XXXIX. JOURNEY INTERRUPTED . . . .265 XL. HUE AND CRY 270 XLI. BOTTLOGNE-SUR-MER . . . . .277 CONTENTS. Vii CHAPTBB XLII. WHAT DOES HE WANT? , . . .283 XLIII. A GAGE D' AMOUR ...... 289 XLIY. SUICIDE, OR MURDER ..... 296 XLV. A PLENTIFUL CORRESPONDENCE . . .301 XLYI. FOUND DROWNED ...... 310 XLYIT. A MAN WHO THINKS IT MURDER . . . 315 XL VIII. ONCE MORE UPON THE RIVER . . 32C XLIX. THE CRUSHED JUNIPER . . .326 L. REASONING BY ANALYSIS .... 331 LI. A SUSPICIOUS CRAFT ..... 338 LII. MATERNAL SOLICITUDE ..... 343 LIII. A SACRILEGIOUS HAND ..... 348 LIV. A LATE TEA ....... 353 LY. THE NEW MISTRESS OP THE MANSION . . 362 LYI. THE GAMBLERS AT LLANGORREN . . . 367 LYII. AN UNWILLING NOVICE ..... 374 LYIII. A CHEERFUL KITCHEN ..... 380 LIX. QUEER BRIC-A-BRAC ..... 386 LX. A BRACE OF BODY-SNATCHERS . . . 392 LXI. IN WANT OF HELP ...... 397 LXT1. STILL ALIVE ....... 403 LXIII. A STRANGE FATHER CONFESSOR . . . 409 LXIY. A QUEER CATECHIST ..... 416 LXY. ALMOST A "VERT" ..... 422 LXYI. THE LAST OF LEWIN MURDOCK . . . 430 LXVII. A CHAPTER DIPLOMATIC. 436 Vlll CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGl LXYIII. A QUICK CONVERSION 446 LXIX A SUDDEN EELAPSE 451 LXX. A JUSTIFIABLE ABDUCTION .... 457 LXXI. STARTING ON A CONTINENTAL TOUR . . 463 LXXII. CORACLE DICK ON HIS DEATH-BED * . 470 LXXIIL THE CALM AFTER THE STORM . , ,476 GWEN WYNN: at tiit Wgt. PROLOGUE. HATL to thee, Wye famed river of Siluria ! Well deserving fame, worthy of warmest salutation ! From thy fountain-head on Plinlimmon's far slope, where thou leapest forth, gay as a girl on her skip-rope, through the rugged rocks of Brecon and Kadnor, that like rude men would detain thee, snatching but a kiss for their pains on, as woman grown, with statelier step, amid the wooded hills of Herefordshire, which treat thee with more courtly consideration still on, and once more rudely assailed by the bold ramparts of Mon mouth through all thou makest way in despite all, preserving thy purity ! If defiled before espousing the ocean, the fault is not thine, but Sabrina's sister born of thy birth, she too cradled on Plinlimmon's breast, but since childhood's days separated from thee, and straying through other shrines perchance leading a less reputable life. No blame to thee, beautiful Vaga from source to Severn pure as the spring that begets thee fair to the eye, and full of interest to reflect on. Scarce a reach of i 2 GWEN WYNN* thy channel, or curve of thy course, but is redolent of romance, and rich in the lore of history. On thy shores, through the long centuries, has been enacted many a scene of gayest pleasure and sternest strife ; many an exciting episode, in which love and hate, avarice and ambition in short, every human passion has had play. Overjoyed were the Roman Legionaries to behold their silver eagles reflected from thy pellucid wave ; though they did not succeed in planting them on thy western shore till after many a tough struggle with the gallant, but ill-starred, Caractacus. Long, too, had the Saxons to battle before they could make good their footing on the Silurian side as witness the Dyke of Offa. Later, the Normans obtained it only through treachery, by the murder of the princely Llewellyn ; and, later still, did the bold Glendower make thy banks the scene of patriotic strife; while, last of all, sawest thou conflict in still nobler cause as of more glorious remembrance when the earnest soldiers of the Parliament encountered the so- called Cavaliers, and purged thy shores of the ribald rout, making them pure as thy waters. But, sweet Wye ! not all the scenes thou hast wit- nessed have been of war. Love, too, has stamped thee with many a tender souvenir, many a tale of warm, wild passion. Was it not upon thy banks that the handsome " Harry of Monmouth," hero of Agin- court, first saw the light ; there living, till manhood- grown, when he appeared "armed cap-a-pie, with beaver on " ? And did not thy limpid waters bathe the feet of Fair Rosamond, in childhood' s days, when she herself was pure ? In thee, also, was mirrored the comely form of Owen Tudor, which caught the eye of a queen the stately Catherine giving to England a race of kings ; and by thy side the beau- teous Saxon, u33dgitha, bestowed her heart and hand on a Cymric prince. PROLOGUE. Nor are such episodes all of the remote past, but passing now ; now, as ever, pathetic as ever impas- sioned. For still upon thy banks, Vaga, are men brave, and women fair,, as when Adelgisa excited the jealousy of the Druid priestess, or the maid of Clifford Castle captured a king's heart, to become the victim of a queen's vengeance. Not any fairer than the heroine of my tale j and she was born there, thore brought up, and there Ah ! that is the story to bo told. CHAPTER I. TEIE HEROINE. A TOURIST descending the Wye by boat from the town of Hereford to the ruined Abbey of Tintern, may ob- serve on its banks a small pagoda-like structure; its roof, with a portion of the supporting columns, o'er- topping a spray of evergreens. It is simply a summer- house, of the kiosk or pavilion pattern, standing in the ornamental grounds of a gentleman's residence. Though placed conspicuously on an elevated point, the boat traveller obtains view of it only from a reach of the river above. When opposite he loses sight of it ; a spinny of tall poplars drawing curtain-like between him and the higher bank. These stand on an oblong island, which extends several hundred yards down the stream, formed by an old channel, now forsaken. With all its wanderings the Wye is not suddenly capricious ; still, in the lapse of long ages it has here and there changed its course, forming aits, or eyots, of which this is one. The tourist will not likely take the abandoned channel. He is bound and booked for Tintern possibly Chepstow and will not be delayed by lesser " lions/' Besides, his hired boatmen would not devi- ate from their terms of charter, without adding an extra to their fare. Were he free, and disposed for exploration, entering this unused water-way he would find it tortuous, with scarce any current, save in times of flood j on one side THE HEROINE. 5 the eyot, a low marshy flat, thickly overgrown with trees ; on the other a continuous cliff, rising forty feet sheer, its facade grim and grey, with flakes of reddish hue, where the frost has detached pieces from the rock the old red sandstone of Herefordshire. Near its entrance he would catch a glimpse of the kiosk on its crest; and, proceeding onward, will observe the tops of laurels and other exotic evergreens, mingling their glabrous foliage with that of the indigenous holly, ivy, and ferns ; these last trailing over the cliff's brow, and wreathing it with fillets of verdure, as if to conceal its frowning corrugations. About midway down the old river's bed he will arrive opposite a little embayment in the high bank, partly natural, but in part quarried out of the cliff as evinced by a flight of steps, leading up at back, chiselled out of the rock in situ. The cove thus contrived is just large enough to give room to a row-boat, and if not out upon the river, one will be in it, riding upon its painter ; this attached to a ring in the red sandstone. It is a light, two-oared affair a pleasure-boat, ornamentally painted, with cushioned thwarts, and tiller ropes of coloured cord athwart its stern, which the tourist will have turned towards him, in gold lettering, "THE GWENDOLINE." Charmed by this idyllic picture, he may forsake his own craft, and ascend to the top of the stair. If so, he will have before his eyes a lawn of park-like ex- panse, mottled with clumps of coppice, here and there a grand old tree oak, elm, or chestnut standing solitary ; at the upper end a shrubbery of glistening evergreens, with gravelled walks, fronting a handsome house ; or, in the parlance of the estate agent, a noble mansion. That is Llangorren Court, and there dwells the owner of the pleasure-boat, as also prospective owner of the house, with some two thousand acres of land lying adjacent. GWEN WYNN. The boat bears her baptismal name, the surname being Wynn, while people, in a familiar way, speak of her as " Gwen Wynn " ; this on account of her being a lady of proclivities and habits that make her somewhat of a celebrity in the neighbourhood. She not only goes boating, but hunts, drives a pair of spirited horses, presides over the church choir, plays its organ, looks after the poor of the parish nearly all of it her own, or soon to be and has a bright smile, with a pleasant word, for everybody. If she be outside, upon the lawn, the tourist, sup- posing him a gentleman, will withdraw ; for across the grounds of Llangorren Court there is no "right of way/' and the presence of a stranger upon them would be deemed an intrusion. Nevertheless, he would go back down the boat-stair reluctantly, and with a sigh of regret, that good manners do not permit his making the acquaintance of Gwen Wynn without further loss of time, or any ceremony of introduction. But my readers are not thus debarred ; and to them 1 introduce her, as she saunters over this same lawn, on a lovely April morn. She is not alone ; another lady, by name Eleanor Lees, being with her. They are nearly of the same age both turned twenty but in all other respects unlike, even to contrast, though there is kinship be- tween them. Gwendoline Wynn is tali of form, fully developed ; face of radiant brightness, with blue-grey eyes, and hair of that chrome yellow almost peculiar to the Cymri said to have made such havoc with the hearts of the Roman soldiers, causing these to deplore the day when recalled home to protect their seven- hilled city from Goths and Visigoths. In personal appearance Eleanor Lees is the reverse of all this ; being of dark complexion, brown-haired, black-eyed, with a figure slender and petite. Witha she is pretty; but it is only prettiness a word in- THE HEROINE. 7 applicable to her kinswoman, who is pronouncedly beautiful. Equally unlike are they in mental characteristics ; the first-named being free of speech, courageous, just a trifle fast, and possibly a little imperious. The other of a reserved, timid disposition, and habitually of sub- dued mien, as befits her station ; for in this there is also disparity between them again a contrast. Both are orphans; but it is an orphanage under widely different circumstances and conditions : the one heiress to an estate worth some ten thousand pounds per annum, the other inheriting nought save an old family name indeed, left without other means of livelihood than what she may derive from a superior education she has received. Notwithstanding their inequality of fortune, and the very distant relationship for they are not even near as cousins the rich girl behaves towards the poor one as though they were sisters. No one seeing them stroll arm-in-arm through the shubbery, and hearing them hold converse in familiar, affectionate tones, would suspect the little dark damsel to be the paid " companion " of the lady by her side. Yet in such capacity is she residing at Llangorren Court. It is just after the hour of breakfast, and they have come forth in morning robes of light muslin dresses suitable to the day and the season. Two handsome ponies are upon the lawn, its herbage dividing their attention with the horns of a pet stag, which now and then threaten to assail them. All three, soon as perceiving the ladies, trot to- wards them ; the ponies stretching out their necks to be patted, the cloven-hoofed creature equally courting caresses. They look especially to Miss Wynn, who is more their mistress. On this particular morning she does not seem in the humour for dallying with them ; nor has she 8 GWEN WYNN. brought out their usual allowance of lump sugar; but, after a touch with her delicate fingers, and a kindly exclamation, passes on, leaving them behind, to all appearance disappointed. "Where are you going, Gwen?" asks the com- panion, seeing her step out straight, and apparently with thoughts preoccupied. Their arms are now dis- united, the little incident with the animals having separated them. " To the summer-house/' is the response. " I wish to have a look at the river. It should show fine this bright morning." And so it does ; as both perceive after entering the pavilion, which commands a view of the valley, with a reach of the river above the latter, under the sun, glistening like freshly polished silver. Gwen views it through a glasd a binocular she has brought out with her ; this of itself proclaiming some purpose aforethought, but not confided to the com- panion. It is only after she has been long holding it steadily to her eye, that the latter fancies there must be some object within its field of view more interest- ing than the Wye's water, or the greenery on its banks. " What is it ? " she naively asks. " You see some- thing ? " " Only a boat/' answers Gwen, bringing down the glass with a guilty look, as if conscious of being caught, " Some tourist, I suppose, making down to Tintern Abbey like as not a London cockney." The young lady is telling a " white lie." She knows the occupant of that boat is nothing of the kind. From London he may be she cannot tell but certainly no sprig of cockneydom unlike it as Hyperion to the Satyr ; at least so she thinks. But she does not give her thought to the companion; instead, concealing it, she adds, THE HEROINE. 9 " How fond those town people are of touring it upon our Wye ! " "Can you wonder at that?" asks Ellen. "Its scenery is so grand I should say, incom parable 5 nothing equal to it in England." " I don't wonder/' says Miss Wynn, replying to the question. "I'm only a little bit vexed seeing them there. It's like the desecration of some sacred stream, leaving scraps of newspapers in which they wrap their sandwiches, with other picnicing debris on its banks ! To say nought of one's having to encounter the rude fellows that in these degenerate days go a- rowing shopboys from the towns, farm labourers, colliers, hauliers, all sorts. I've half a mind to set fire to the Gwendoline, burn her up, and never again lay hand on an oar." Ellen. Lees laughs incredulously as she makes re- joinder. "It would be a pity," she says, in serio-comic tone, "Besides, the poor people are entitled to a little recreation. They don't have too much of it." * f Ah, true," rejoins Gwen, who, despite her grandee- ism, is neither Tory nor aristocrat. "Well, I've not yet decided on that little bit of incendiarism, and shan't burn the Gwendoline at all events not till we've had another row out of her." Not for a hundred pounds would she set fire to that boat, and never in her life was she less thinking of such a thing. For just then she has other views regarding the pretty pleasure craft, and intends taking seat on its thwarts within less than twenty minutes' time. " By the way," she says, as if the thought had suddenly occurred to her, " we may as well have that row now whether it's to be the last or not." Cunning creature I She has had it in her mind all the morning; first from her bed-chamber window, then from that of the break fast- room, looking up the 10 GWEN WYNN. river's reach, with the binocular at her eye too, to note if a certain boat, with a salmon-rod bending over it, passes down. For one of its occupants is an angler. " The day's superb," she goes on ; " sun's not too hot gentle breeze just the weather for a row. And the river looks so inviting seems calling us to come ! What say you, Nell ? " " Oh ! Fve no objections." " Let us in, then, and make ready. Be quick about it ! Remember it's April, and there may be showers. We mustn't miss a moment of that sweet sunshine." At this the two forsake the summer-house ; and, lightly recrossing the lawn, disappear within the dwelling. ****** While the angler's boat is still opposite the grounds, going on, eyes are observing it from an upper window of the house ; again those of Miss Wynn herself, inside her dressing-room, getting ready for the river. She had only short glimpses of it, over the tops of the trees on the eyot, and now and then through breaks in their thinner spray. Enough, however, to assure her that it contains two men, neither of them cockneys. One at the oars she takes to be a pro- fessional waterman. But he seated in the stern is altogether unknown to her, save by sight that ob- tained when twice meeting him out on the river. She knows not whence he comes, or where he is residing ; but supposes him a stranger to the neighbourhood, stopping at some hotel. If at the house of any of the neighbouring gentry, she would certainly have heard of it. She is not even acquainted with his name, though longing to learn it. But she is shy to inquire, lest that might betray her interest in him. For such she feels, has felt, ever since setting eyes on his strangely handsome face. As the boat again disappears behind the thick f oliago THE HEROINE. 11 she sets, in haste, to affect the proposed change of dress, saying, in soliloquy for she is now alone, " I wonder who, and what he can be ? A gentle- man, of course. But, then, there are gentlemen and gentlemen \ single ones and " She has the word " married " on her tongue, but re- frains speaking it. Instead, she gives utterance to a sigh, followed by the reflection " Ah, me ! That would be a pity a dis " Again she checks herself, the thought being enough unpleasant without the words. Standing before the mirror, and sticking long pins into her hair, to keep its rebellious plaits in their place, she continues soliloquising " If one only had a word with that young waterman who rows him ! And were it not that my own boat- man is such a chatterer, I'd. put him up to getting that word. But no ! It would never do. He'd tell aunt about it ; and then Madame la Chatelaine would be talking all sorts of serious things to me the which I mightn't relish. Well, in six months more the old lady's trusteeship of this young lady is to terminate at least legally. Then I'll be my own mistress ; and then 'twill be time enough to consider whether I ought to have a master. Ha, ha, ha ! " So laughing, as she surveys her superb figure in a cheval glass, she completes the adjustment of her dress by setting a hat upon her head, and tightening the elastic, to secure against its being blown off while in the boat. In fine, with a parting glance at the mirror, which shows a satisfied expression upon her features, she trips lightly out of the room, and on down the stairway. CHAPTER II. THE HEEO. THAN Vivian Ryecroft handsomer man never carried sling-jacket over his shoulder, or sabretasche on his hip. For he is in the Hussars a captain. He is not on duty now, nor anywhere near the scene of it. His regiment is at Aldershot, himself rustica- ting in Herefordshire- whither he has come to spend a few weeks' leave of absence. Nor is he, at the time of our meeting him, in the saddle, which he sits so gracefully ; but in a row-boat on the river Wye the same just sighted by Gwen Wynn through the double lens of her lorgnette. No more is he wearing the braided uniform and " busby " ; but, instead, attired in a suit of light Cheviots, pisca- tor-cut, with a helmet-shaped cap of quilted cotton on his head, its rounded rim of spotless white in striking, but becoming, contrast with his bronzed complexion and dark military moustache. For Captain Ryecroft is no mere stripling nor beard- less youth, but a man turned thirty, browned by ex- posure to Indian suns, experienced in Indian campaigns, from those of Scinde and the Punjaub to that most memorable of all the Mutiny. Still is he personally as attractive as he ever was to women, possibly more ; among these causing a flutter, with rapprochement towards him almost instinctive, when and wherever they may meet him. In the pre- sent many a bright English lady sighs for him, as in THE HERO. 13 the past many a dark damsel of Hindostan ; and without his heaving sigh, or even giving them a thought in return. Not that he is of cold nature, or in any sense austere ; instead, warm-hearted, of cheer- ful disposition, and rather partial to female society. But he is not, and never has been, either man-flirt or frivolous trifler ; else he would not be fly-fishing on the Wye for that is what he is doing there instead of in London, taking part in the festivities of the " season," by day dawdling in Rotten Row, by night exhibiting himself in opera-box or ball-room. In short, Vivian Ryecroft is one of those rare individuals, to a high degree endowed, physically as mentally, without being aware of it, or appearing so ; while to all others it is very perceptible. He has been about a fortnight in the neighbourhood, stopping at the chief hotel of a riverine town much affected by fly-fishermen and tourists. Still he has made no acquaintance with the resident gentry. He might, if wishing it ; which he does not, his purpose upon the Wye not being to seek society, but salmon, or rather the sport of taking it. An ardent disciple of ohe ancient Izaak, he cares for nought else at least, in the district where he is for the present sojourning. Such is his mental condition up to a certain morn- ing; when a change comes over it, sudden as the spring of a salmon at the gaudiest or most tempting of his flies this brought about by a face, of which he has caught sight by merest accident, and while follow- ing his favourite occupation. Thus it has chanced : Below the town where he is staying, some four or five miles by the course of the stream, he has dis- covered one of those places called " catches," where the king of river fish delights to leap at flies, whether natural or artificial a sport it has oft reason to rue. Several times so at the end of Captain Ryecroft' s line and rod; he having there twice hooked a twenty- 14 OWEN WYNN. pounder, and once a still larger specimen, which turned the scale at thirty. In consequence that portion of the stream has become his choicest angling ground, and at least three days in the week he repairs to it. The row is not much going down, but a good deal re- turning ; five miles up stream, most of it strong adverse current. That, however, is less his affair than his oarsman's a young waterman by name Wingate, whose boat and services the Hussar officer has char- tered by the week indeed, engaged them for so long as he may remain upon the Wye. On the morning in question, dropping down the river to his accustomed whipping-place, but at a some- what later hour than usual, he meets another boat coming up a pleasure craft, as shown by its style of outside ornament and inside furniture. Of neither does the salmon fisher take much note ; his eyes all occupied with those upon the thwarts. There are three of them, two being ladies seated in the stern sheets, the third an oarsman on a thwart well forward, to make better balance. And to the latter the Hussar officer gives but a glance just to observe that he is a serving-man, wearing some of its insignia in the shape of a cock- aded hat, and striped sable- waistcoat. And not much more than a glance at one of the former ; but a gaze, concentrated and long as good manners will permit, at the other, who is steering ; when she passes beyond sight, her face remaining in his memory, vivid as if still before his eyes. All this at a first encounter ; repeated in a second, which occurs on the day succeeding, under similar circumstances, and almost in the self-same spot ; then the face, if possible, seeming fairer, and the impres- sion made by it on Vivian Ryecroft's mind sinking deeper indeed, promising to be permanent. It is a radiant face, set in a luxuriance of bright amber hair for it is that of Gwendoline Wynn. THE flERO. 15 On the second occasion he has a better view of her, the boats passing nearer to one another; still, not so near as he could wish, good manners again interfering. For all, he feels well satisfied especially with the thought, that his own gaze earnestly given, though under such restraint, has been with earnestness re- turned. Would that his secret admiration of its owner were in like manner reciprocated ! Such is his reflective wish as the boats widen the distance between ; one labouring slowly up, the other gliding swiftly down. His boatman cannot tell who the lady is, nor where she lives. On the second day he is not asked the question having been put to him on that preceding. All the added knowledge now obtained is the name of the craft that carries her ; which, after passing, the waterman, with face turned towards its stern, makes out to be the Gwendoline just as on his own boat the Hary, though not in such grand golden letters. It may assist Captain Eyecroft in his inquiries, already contemplated, and he makes note of it. Another night passes ; another sun shines over the Wye ; and he again drops down stream to his usual place of sport this day only to draw blank, neither catching salmon, nor seeing hair of amber hue j his reflecting on which is, perchance, a cause of the fish not taking to his flies, cast carelessly. He is not discouraged ; but goes again on the day succeeding that same when his boat is viewed through the binocular. He has already formed a half suspicion that the home of the interesting water nymph is not far from that pagoda-like structure he has frequently noticed on the right bank of the river. For, just below the outlying eyot is where he has met the pleasure-boat, and the old oarsman looked anything but equal to a long pull up stream. Still, between that and the town are several other gentlemen's resi- 16 GWEN WYNN. dences on the river side, with some standing inland. It may be any of them. But it is not, as Captain Ryecroft now feels sure, at sight of some floating drapery in the pavilion, with two female heads showing over its baluster rail ; one of them with tresses glistening in the sunlight, bright as sunbeams themselves. He views it through a telescope for he, too, has come out provided for distant observation this con- firming his conjectures just in the way he would wish. Now there will be no difficulty in learning who the lady is for of one only does he care to make inquiry. He would order Wingate to hold way, but does not relish the idea of letting the waterman into his secret ; and so, remaining silent, he is soon carried beyond sight of the summer-house, and along the outer edge of the islet, with its curtain of tall trees coming invi- diously between. Continuing on to his angling ground, he gives way to reflections at first of a pleasant nature. Satisfac- tory to think that she, the subject of them, at least lives in a handsome house ; for a glimpse got of its upper storey tells it to be this. That she is in social rank a lady, he has hitherto had no doubt. The pretty pleasure craft and its appendages, with the venerable domestic acting as oarsman, are all proofs of some- thing more than mere respectability rather evidences of style. Marring these agreeable considerations is the thought he may not to-day meet the pleasure-boat. It is the hour that, from past experience, he might expect it to be out for he has so timed his own pis- catorial excursion. But, seeing the ladies in the sum- mer-house, he doubts getting nearer sight of them at least for another twenty-four hours. In all likeli- hood they have been already on the river, and returned home again. Why did he not start earlier ? THE HERO. 17 While tlms fretting himself, he catches sight of another be/at of a sort very different from the Gwen- doline a heavy barge-like affair, with four men in it ; hulking fellows, to whom rowing is evidently a new experience. Notwithstanding this, they do not seem at all frightened at finding themselves upon the water. Instead, they are behaving in a way that shows them either very courageous, or very regardless of a danger which, possibly, they are not aware of. At short- intervals one or other is seen starting to his feet, and rushing fore or aft as if on an empty coal-waggon, instead of in a boat and in such fashion, that were the craft at all crank it would certainly be upset ! On drawing nearer them Captain Kyecroft and his oarsman get the explanation of their seemingly eccen- tric behaviour its cause made clear by a black bottle, which one of them is holding in his hand, each of the others brandishing tumbler, or teacup. They are drinking; and that they have been so occupied for some time is evident by their loud shouts and grotes- que gesturing. " They look an ugly lot ! " observes the young waterman, viewing them over his shoulder ; for, seated at the oars, his back is towards them. " Coal fellows, from the Forest o' Dean, I take it." Ryecroft, with a cigar between his teeth, dreamily thinking of a boat with people in it so dissimilar, simply signifies assent with a nod. But soon he is roused from his reverie, at hearing an exclamation louder than common, followed by words whose import concerns himself and his companion. These are : "Dang it, lads! le's goo in for a bit o j a lark! Yonner be a boat coomin* down wi' two chaps in 't : some o' them spickspan city gents ! S'pose we gie 'cm a capsize ? " " Le's do it ! Le's duck 'em ! " shouted the others 18 OWEN WYNN. assentingly; he with the bottle dropping it into the boat's bottom, and laying hold of an oar instead. All act likewise, for it is a four- oared craft that carries them ; and in a few seconds' time they are rowing it straight for that of the angler's. With astonishment, and fast gathering indignation, the Hussar officer sees the heavy barge coming bow on for his light fishing skiff, and is thoroughly sensible of the danger ; the waterman becoming aware of it at the same instant of time. " They mean mischief," mutters Wingate ; " what'd we best do, Captain ? If you like I can keep clear, and shoot the Mary past 'em easy enough." " Do so," returns the salmon fisher, with the cigar still between his teeth but now held bitterly tight, almost to biting off the stump. " You can keep on ! " he adds, speaking calmly, and with an effort to keep down his temper; "that will be the best way, as things stand now. They look like they'd come up from below ; and, if they show any ill manners at meeting, we can call them to account on return. Don't concern yourself about your course. I'll see to the steering. There ! hard on the starboard oar ! " This last, as the two boats have arrived within less than three lengths of one another. At the same time Kyecroft, drawing tight the port tiller-cord, changes course suddenly, leaving just sufficient sea-way for his oarsman to shave past, and avoid the threatened collision. Which is done the instant after to the discomfiture of the would-be capsizers. As the skiff glides lightly beyond their reach, dancing over the river swell, as if in triumph and to mock them, they drop their oars, and send after it a chorus of yells, mingled with blasphemous imprecations. In a lull between, the Hussar officer at length takes the cigar from his lips, and calls back to them THE HERO. ]y " You ruffians 1 You shall rue it ! Shout on till you're hoarse. There's a reckoning for you, perhaps sooner than you expect." " Yes, ye d d scoun'rels ! " adds the young water- man, himself so enraged as almost to foam at the mouth. " Ye'll have to pay dear for sich a dastartly attemp' to waylay Jack Wingate's boat. That will ye." " Ball ! " jeeringly retorts oue of the roughs. " To blazes wi' you, an' yer boat ! " " Ay, to the blazes wi' ye I " echo the others in drunken chorus ; and, while their voices are still rever- berating along the adjacent cliffs, the fishing skiff drifts round a bend of the river, bearing its owner and his fare out of their sight, as beyond earshot of their profane speech CHAPTER III. A CHARON CORRUPTED. THE lawn of Llangorren Court, for a time abandoned to the dumb quadrupeds, that had returned to their tranquil pasturing, is again enlivened by the presence of the two young ladies ; but so transformed, that they are scarce recognisable as the same late seen upon it. Of course, it is their dresses that have caused the change ; Miss Wynn now wearing a pea jacket of navy blue, with anchor buttons, and a straw hat set coquet- tishly on her head, its ribbons of azure hue trailing over, and prettily contrasting with the plaits of her chrome-yellow hair, gathered in a grand coil behind. But for the flowing skirt below, she might be mistaken for a young mid, whose cheeks as yet show only the down one who would " find sweethearts in every port." Miss Lees is less nautically attired; having but slipped over her morning dress a paletot of the or- dinary kind, and on her head a plumed hat of the Neopolitan pattern. For all, a costume becoming; especially the brigand-like head-gear which sets off her finely- chiselled features and skin, dark as any daughter of the South. They are about starting towards the boat-dock, when a difficulty presents itself not to Gwen, but the companion. " We have forgotten Joseph ! " she exclaims. Joseph is an ancient retainer of the Wynn family, A CHARON CORRUPTED. 21 who, in its domestic affairs, plays parts of many kinds among them the metier of boatman. It is his duty to look after the Gwendoline, see that she is snug in her dock, with oars and steering apparatus in order ; go out with her when his young mistress takes a row on the river, or ferry any one of the family who has occasion to cross it the last a need by no means rare, since for miles above and below there is nothing in the shape of bridge. "No, we haven't," rejoins Joseph's mistress, answer- ing the exclamation of the companion. " I remem- bered him well enough too well/' "Why too well?" asks the other, looking a littlo puzzled. " Because we don't want him." " But surely, Gwen, you wouldn't think of our going alone." " Surely I would, and do. Why not ? " " We've never done so before." " Is that any reason we shouldn't now ? " "But Miss Linton will be displeased, if not very angry. Besides, as you know, there may be danger on the river." For a short while Gwen is silent, as if pondering on what the other has said. Not on the suggested danger. She is far from being daunted by that. But Miss Linton is her aunt as already hinted, her legal guar- dian till of age head of the house, and still holding authority, though exercising it in the mildest manner. And just on this account it would not be right to out- rage it, nor is Miss Wynn the one to do so. Instead, she prefers a little subterfuge, which is in her mind as she makes rejoinder " I suppose we must take him along ; though it's very vexatious, and for various reasons." " What are they ? May I know them ? " "You're welcome. For one, I can pull a boat just 22 QWEN WYNN. as well as lie, if not better. And for another, we cnu't have a word of conversation without his hearing it which isn't at all nice, besides being inconvenient. As Fve reason to know, the old curmudgeon is an incor- rigible gossip, and tattles all over the parish ; I only wish we'd someone else. What a pity I haven't a brother to go with us ! But not to-day " The reserving clause, despite its earnestness, is not spoken aloud. In the aquatic excursion intended, she wants no companion of the male kind above all. no brother. Nor will she take Joseph, though she signi- fies her consent to it, by desiring the companion to summon him. As the latter starts off for the stable-yard, where the ferryman is usually to be found, Gwen says, in soliloquy " I'll take old Joe as far as the boat stairs, but not a yard beyond. I know what will stay him there steady as a pointer with a partridge six feet from its nose. By the way, have I got my purse with me ? " She plunges her hand into one of her pea-jacket pockets ; and, there feeling the thing sought for, is satisfied. By this Miss Lees has got back, bringing with her the versatile Joseph a tough old servitor of the re- spectable family type, who has seen some sixty summers, more or less. After a short colloquy, with some questions as to the condition of the pleasure-boat, its oars, and steer- ing gear, the three proceed in the direction of the dock. Arrived at the bottom of the boat stairs, Joseph's mistress, turning to him, says " Joe, old boy, Miss Lees and I are going for a row ; but, as the day's fine, and the water smooth as glass, there's no need for our having you along with us. So you can stay here till we return." The venerable retainer is taken aback by the pro- A CHARON CORRUPTED. 23 posal. He has never listened to the like before ; for never before has the pleasure-boat gone to river with- out his being aboard. True, it is no business of his ; still, as an ancient upholder of the family, with its honour and safety, he cannot assent to this strange innovation without entering protest. He does so, asking : " But, Miss Gwen, what will your aunt say to it ? She mayent like you young ladies to go rowin' by yourselves ? Besides, miss, ye know there be some not werry nice people as moat meet ye on the river. 'Deed some v' the roughiest and worst o' blaggarts." " Nonsense, Joseph ! The Wye isn't the Niger, where we might expect the fate of Mungo Park. Why, man, we'll be as safe on it as upon our own car- riage drive, or the little fish-pond. As for aunt, she won't say anything, because she won't know. Shan't, can't, unless you peach on us. The which, my amiable Joseph, you'll not do I'm sure you will not." " How'm I to help it, Miss Gwen ? When you've goed off, some o' the house sarvints '11 see me here, an', hows'ever I keep my tongue in check " " Check it now ! " abruptly breaks in the heiress, "and stop palavering, Joe. The house servants won't see you not one of them. When we're off on the river, you'll be lying at anchor in those laurel bushes above. And to keep you to your anchorage, here's some shining metal." Saying which, she slips several shillings into hia hand, adding, as she notes the effect " Do you think it sufficiently heavy ? If not but never mind now. In our absence you can amuse your- self weighing and counting the coins. I fancy they'll do." She is sure of it, knowing the man's weakness to be money, as it now proves. Her argument is too powerful for his resistance, and 24 QWEN WYNN. he does not resist. Despite his solicitude for the wel- fare of the Wynn family, with his habitual regard of duty, the ancient servitor, refraining from further pro- test, proceeds to undo the knot of the Gwendoline's painter. Stepping into the boat, the other Gwendoline takes the oars, Miss Lees seating herself to steer. " All right ! Now, Joe, give us a push off." Joseph, having let all loose, does as directed, which sends the light craft clear out of its dock. Then, standing on the bottom step, with an adroit twirl of the thumb, he spreads the silver pieces over his palm so that he may see how many and, after counting and contemplating with pleased expression, slips them into his pocket, muttering to himself " I dar say it'll be all right. Miss G wen's a oner to take care o' herself; an' the old lady neen't a know anythin' about it." To make his last words good, he mounts briskly back up the boat stairs, and ensconces himself in the heart of a thick-leaved laurestinus to the great dis- comfort of a pair of missel-thrushes, which have there made nest, and commenced incubation. CHAPTER IV. ON THE RIVER. THE fair rower, vigorously bending to the oars, soon brings through the bye- way, and out into the main channel of the river. Once in mid-stream she suspends her stroke, per- mitting the boat to drift down with the current; which, for a mile below Llangorren, flows gently through meadow land but a few feet above its own level, and flush with it in times of flood. On this particular day there is none such no rain having fallen for a week and the Wye's water is pure and clear. Smooth, too, as the surface of a mirror; only where, now and then, a light zephyr, playing upon it, stirs up the tiniest of ripples ; a swallow dips its scimitar wings; or a salmon in bolder dash causes a purl, with circliug eddies, whose wavelets extend wider and wider as they subside. So, with the trace of their boat's keel ; the furrow made by it instantly closing up, and the current resuming its tranquillity; while their reflected forms 'too bright to be spoken of as shadows now fall on one side, now on the other, as the capricious curving of the river makes necessary a change of course. Never went boat down the Wye carrying freight more fair. Both girls are beautiful, though of oppo- site types, and in a different degree ; while with one Gwendoline Wynn no water Nymph, or Naiad, could compare ; her warm beauty in its real embodiment far 26 GWEN WYNN. excelling any conception of fancy, or flight of the most romantic imagination. She is not thinking of herself now; nor, indeed, does she much at any time least of all in this wise. She is anything but vain ; instead, like Vivian Rye- croft, rather underrates herself. And possibly more than ever this morning ; for it is with him her thoughts are occupied surmising whether his may be with her, but not in the most sanguine hope. Such a man must have looked on many a form fair as hers, won smiles of many a woman beautiful as she. How can she ex- pect him to have resisted, or that his heart is still whole ? While thus conjecturing, she sits half turned on the thwart, with oars out of water, her eyes directed down the river, as though in search of something there. And they are ; that something a white helmet hat. She sees it not ; and as the last thought has caused her some pain, she lets down the oars with a plunge, and recommences pulling; now, and as in spite, at each dip of the blades breaking her own bright image ! During all this while Ellen Lees is otherwise occu- pied ; her attention partly taken up with the steering, but as much given to the shores on each side to the green pasture-land, of which, at intervals, she has a view, with the white-faced " Herefords " straying over it, or standing grouped in the shade of some spreading trees, forming pastoral pictures worthy the pencil of a Morland or Cuyp. In clumps, or apart, tower up old poplars, through whose leaves, yet but half unfolded, can be seen the rounded burrs of the mistletoe, look- ing like nests of rooks. Here and there one overhangs the river's bank, shadowing still deep pools, where the ravenous pike lies in ambush for " salmon pink " and such small fry ; while on a bare branch above may be observed another of their persecutors, the kingfisher, its brilliant azure plumage in strong contrast with ON THE RIVER. 27 everything on the earth around, and like a bit of sky fallen from above. At intervals it is seen darting from side to side, or in longer flight following the bend of the stream, and causing scamper among the minnows itself startled and scared by the intrusion of the boat upon its normally peaceful domain. Miss Lees, who is somewhat of a naturalist, and has been out with the District Field Club on more than one " ladies' day," makes note of all these things. As the Gwendoline glides on, she observes beds of the water ranunculus, whose snow-white corollas, bending to the current, are oft rudely dragged beneath ; while on the banks above, their cousins of golden sheen, mingling with the petals of yellow and purple loose- strife for both grow here with anemones, and pale, lemon-coloured daffodils are but kissed, and gently fanned, by the balmy breath of spring. Easily guiding the craft down the slow-flowing stream, she has a fine opportunity of observing Nature in its unrestrained action, and takes advantage of it. She looks with delighted eye at the freshly- opened flowers, and listens with charmed ear to the warbling of the birds a chorus, on the Wye, sweet and varied as anywhere on earth. From many a deep-lying dell in the adjacent hills she can hear the song of the thrush, as if endeavouring to outdo, and cause one to forget, the matchless strain of its nocturnal rival, the nightingale ; or making music for its own mate, now on the nest, and occupied with the cares of incubation. She hears, too, the bold whistling carol of the black- bird, the trill of the lark soaring aloft, the soft sonorous note of the cuckoo, blending with the harsh scream of the jay, and the laughing cackle of the green wood- pecker the last loud beyond all proportion to the size of the bird, and bearing close resemblance to the cry of an eagle. Strange coincidence besides, in the wood- pecker being commonly called " eekol " a name, on 28 GWEN WYNN. the Wye, pronounced with striking similarity to that of the royal bird ! Pondering upon this very theme, Ellen has taken no note of how her companion is employing herself. Nor is Miss Wynn thinking of either flowers, or birds. Only when a large one of the latter, a kite, shooting out from the summit of a wooded hill, stays awhile soaring overhead, does she give thought to what so interests the other. " A pretty sight ! " observes Ellen, as they sit look- ing up at the sharp, slender wings, and long bifurcated tail, cut clear as a cameo again at the cloudless sky. " Isn't it a beautiful creature ? " "Beautiful, but bad/' rejoins Gwen, ''like many other animated things too like, and too many of them. I suppose it's on the look-out for some innocent victim, and will soon be swooping down at it. Ah, me ! it's a wicked world, Nell, with all its sweetness ! One creature preying upon another, the strong seek- ing to devour the weak these ever needing protection! Is it any wonder we poor women, weakest of all, should wish to " She stays her interrogatory, and sits in silence, abstractedly toying with the handles of the oars, which she is balancing above water. " Wish to do what ? " asked the other. " Get married ! " answers the heiress of Llangorren, elevating her arms, and letting the blades fall with a plash, as if to drown a speech so bold ; withal, watch- ing its effect upon her companion, as se repeats the question in a changed form. "Is it strange, Ellen ? " " I suppose not," Ellen timidly replies ; blushingly too, for she knows how nearly the subject concerns herself, and half believes the interrogatory aimed at her. "Not at all strange," she adds, more affirm- atively. " Indeed very natural, I should say that is, for women who are poor and weak, and really need a ON THE BIVEE. 29 protector. But you, Gwen, who are neither one nor the other, but instead rich and strong, have no such need/' " I'm not so sure of that. With all my riches and strength for I am a strong creature ; as you see, can row this boat almost as ably as a man " she gives a vigorous pull or two, as proof, then continuing, " Yes, and I think I've got great courage too. Yet, would you believe it, Nelly, notwithstanding all, I sometimes have a strange fear upon me ? " " Fear of what ? " " I can't tell. That's the strangest part of it ; for 1 know of no actual danger. Some sort of vague ap- prehension that now and then oppresses me lies on ray heart, making it heavy as lead sad and dark as the shadow of that wicked bird upon the water. Ugh ! " she exclaims, taking her eyes off it, as if the sight, suggestive of evil, had brought on one of the fear spells she is speaking of. "If it were a magpie," observes Ellen laughingly, " you might view it with suspicion. Most people do even some who deny being superstitious. But a kite I never heard of that being ominous of evil. No more its shadow ; which as you see it there is but a small speck compared with the wide bright surface around. If your future sorrows be only in like pro- portion to your joys, they won't signify much. See ! Both the bird and its shadow are passing away aa will your troubles, if you ever have any." " Passing perhaps, soon to return. Ha ! look there. As I've said ! " This, as the kite swoops down upon a wood- quest, and strikes at it with outstretched talons. Missing it, nevertheless ; for the strong- winged pigeon, fore- warned by the other's shadow, has made a quick double in its flight, and so shunned the deadly clutch. Still, it is not yet safe; its tree covert is far off on the 30 GWEN WYNN. wooded slope, and the tyrant continues the chase. But the hawk has its enemy too, in a gamekeeper with his gun. Suddenly it is seen to suspend the stroke of its wings, and go whirling downward ; while a shot rings out on the air, and the cushat, unharmed, flies on for the hill. " Good ! " exclaims Gwen, resting the oars across her knees, and clapping her hands in an ecstasy of delight. " The innocent has escaped ! " "And for that you ought to be assured, as well as gratified," puts in the companion, " taking it as a symbol of yourself, and those imaginary dangers you've been dreaming about/' " True/' assents Miss Wynn musingly ; " but, as you see, the bird found a protector just by chance, and in the nick of time." " So will you ; without any chance, and at such time as may please you." " Oh ! " exclaims Gwen, as if endowed with fresh courage. " I don't want one not I ! I'm strong to stand alone." Another tug at the oars to show it. " No," she continues, speaking between the plunges, "I want no protector at least not yet ; nor for a long while," " But there's one wants you," says the companion, accompanying her words with an interrogative glance. " And soon soon as he can have you." " Indeed ! I suppose you mean Master George Shenstone. Have I hit the nail upon the head ? " "You have." " Well ; what of him ? " "Only that everybody observes his attentions to you." " Everybody is a very busy body. Being so obser- vant, I wonder if this everybody has also observed how I receive them ? " " Indeed, yes." ON THE RIVER. 31 " How then ? " " With favour. 'Tis said you think highly of him." " And so I do. There are worse men in the world than George Shenstone possibly few better. And many a good woman would, and might, be glad to become his wife. For all, I know one of a very in- different sort who wouldn't that's Gwen Wynn." " But he's very good-looking ! " Ellen urges ; " the handsomest gentleman in the neighbourhood. Every- body says so." " There your everybody would be wrong again if they thought as they say. But they don't. I know one who thinks somebody else much handsomer than he." " Who ? " asks Miss Lees, looking puzzled ; for she has never heard of Gwendoline having a pre- ference, save that spoken of. "The Kev. William Musgrave," replies Gwen, in turn bending inquisitive eyes on her companion, to whose cheeks the answer has brought a flush of colour, with a spasm of pain at the heart. Is it possible her rich relative the heiress of Llangorren Court can have set her eyes upon the poor curate of Llangorren Church, where her own thoughts have been secretly straying ? With an effort to conceal them now, as the pain caused her, she rejoins interrogatively, but in faltering tone, "You think Mr. Musgrave handsomer than Mr. Shenstone ? " " Indeed I don't ! Who says I do ? " " Oh I thought," stammers out the other, relieved too pleased just then to stand up for the superiority of the curate's personal appearance ({ I thought you meant it that way." " But I didn't. All I said was, that somebody thinks eo ; and that isn't I. Shall I tell you who it is ? " 32 GWEN WYNN. Ellen's heart is again quiet; she does not need to be told, already divining who it is herself. ' ' You may as well let me/' pursues Gwen, in a bantering way. "Do you suppose, Miss Lees, I haven't penetrated your secret long ago ? Why, I knew it last Christmas, when you were assisting his demure reverence to decorate the church ! Who could fail to observe that pretty hand play, when you two were twining the ivy around the altar-rail ? And the holly, you were both so careless in handling, I wonder it didn't prick your fingers to the bone ! Why, Nell, 'twas as plain to me, as if I'd been at it myself. Besides, I've seen the same thing scores of times, so has everybody in the parish. Ha ! you see, I'm not the only one with whose name this every- body has been busy ; the difference being, that about me they've been mistaken, while concerning yourself they haven't ; instead, speaking pretty near the truth. Come, now, confess ! Am I not right ? Don't have any fear; you can trust me." She does confess ; though not in words. Her silence is equally eloquent ; drooping eyelids, and blushing cheeks, making that eloquence emphatic, She loves Mr. Musgrave. " Enough ! " says Gwendoline, taking it in this sense ; " and, since you have been candid with me, I'll repay you in the same coin. But, mind you, it mustn't go further." " Oh ! certainly not," assents the other, in her re- stored confidence about the curate willing to promise anything in the world. " As I've said," proceeds Miss Wynn, " there are worse men in the world than George Shenstone, and but few better. Certainly none behind hounds, and I'm told he's the crack shot of the county, and the best billiard player of his club all accomplish- ments that have weight with us women some of us. ON THE RIVER. 33 More still; he's deemed good-looking, and is, as you say, known to be of good family and fortune. For all, he lacks one thing that's wanted by " She stays her speech till dipping the oars their splash, simultaneous with, and half-drowning, the words, " Gwen Wynn." " What is it ? " asks Ellen, referring to the deficiency thus hinted at. "On my word, I can't tell for the life of me I cannot. It's something undefinable; which one feels without seeing or being able to explain just as ether, or electricity. Possibly it is the last. At all events, it's the thing that makes us women fall in love; as no doubt you've found when your fingers were were well, so near being pricked by that holly. Ha, ha, ha!" With a merry peal she once more sets to rowing; and for a time no speech passes between them, the only sounds heard being the songs of the birds, in sweet symphony with the rush of the water along the boat's sides, and the rumbling of the oars in their rowlocks. But for a brief interval is their silence between them, Miss Wynn again breaking it by a startled exclamation : "See!" "Where? where?' " Up yonder ! We've been talking of kites and magpies. Behold, two birds of worse augury than either!" They are passing the mouth of a little influent stream, up which at some distance are seen two men, one of them seated in a small boat, the other standing on the bank talking down to him. He in the boat is a stout, thick-set fellow in velveteens and coarse fur cap, the one above a spare thin man, habited in a suit of black of clerical, or rather sacerdotal, cut. Though D 84 GWEN WYNN. both are partially screened by the foliage, the little stream running between wooded banks, Miss Wynn has recognised them. So, too, does the companion ; who rejoins, as if speaking to herself te One's the French priest who has a chapel up the river, on the opposite side ; the other's that fellow who's said to be such an incorrigible poacher." " Priest and poacher it is ! An oddly-assorted pair ; though in a sense not so ill-matched either. I wonder what they're about up there, with their heads so close together. They appeared as if not wishing we should see them. Didn't it strike you so, Nelly ?" The men are now out of sight, the boat having passed the rivulet's mouth. " Indeed, yes," answered Miss Lees ; " the priest, at all events. He drew back among the bushes on seeing us." f ' I'm sure his reverence is welcome. I've no desire ever to set eyes on him quite the contrary." " I often meet him on the roads." " I too and off them. He seems to be about every- where skulking and prying into people's affairs. I noticed him the last day of our hunting, among the rabble -on foot, of course. He was close to my horse, and kept watching me out of his owlish eyes all the time ; so impertinently I could have laid the whip over his shoulders. There's something repulsive about the man ; I can't bear the sight of him." "He's said to be a great friend and very intimate associate of your worthy cousin, Mr. ." "Don't name him, Nell ! I'd rather not think, much less talk of him. Almost the last words my father ever spoke never to let Lewin Murdock cross the threshold of Llangorren. No doubt, he had his reasons. My word ! this day with all its sunny brightness seems to abound in dark omens. Birds of prey, priests, and poachers I It's enough to bring on ON THE RIVER. 85 one of my fear fits. I now rather regret leaving Joseph behind. Well, we must make haste and get home again/' " Shall I turn the boat back ? " asks the steerer. tf No ; not just yet. I don't wish to repass those two uncanny creatures. Better leave them awhile, so that on returning we mayn't see them, to disturb the priest's equanimity more like his conscience." The reason is not exactly as assigned; but Miss Lees, accepting it without suspicion, holds the tiller cords so as to keep the course on down stream. CHAPTER V. DANGERS AHEAD. FOE another half-mile, or so, the Gwendoline is pro- pelled onward, though not running trimly; the fault being in her at the oars. With thoughts still pre- occupied, she now and then forgets her stroke, or gives it unequally so that the boat zig-zags from side to side, and, but for a more careful hand at the tiller, would bring up against the bank. Observing her abstraction, as also her frequent turning to look down the river but without suspicion of what is causing it Miss Lees at length inquires, " What's the matter with you, Gwen ?" " Oh, nothing," she evasively answers, bringing back her eyes to the boat, and once more giving at- tention to the oars. " But why are you looking so often below ? I've noticed you do so at least a score of times." If the questioner could but divine the thoughts at that moment in the other's mind, she would have no need thus to interrogate, but would know that below there is another boat, with a man in it who possesses that unseen something, like ether or electricity, and to catch sight of whom Miss Wynn has been so oft straining her eyes. She has not given all her con- fidence to the companion. Not receiving immediate answer, Ellen again asked " Is there any danger you fear ? " "None that I know of at least, for a long way down. Then there are some rough places." 88 r DANGERS AHEAD. 57 " But you are pulling so unsteadily ! It takes all my strength to keep in the middle of the river." " Then you pull, and let me do the steering/' re- turns Miss Wynn, pretending to be in a pout ; as she speaks starting up from the thwart, and leaving the oars in their thole pins. Of course, the other does not object; and soon they have changed places. But Gwen in the stern behaves no better than when seated amidships. The boat still keeps going astray, the fault now in the steerer. Soon something more than a crooked course calls the attention of both, for a time engrossing it. They have rounded an abrupt bend, and got into a reach where the river runs with troubled surface and great velocity so swift there is no need to use oars down stream, while upward 'twill take stronger arms than theirs. Caught in its current, and rapidly, yet smoothly, borne on, for a while they do not think of this. Only a short while j then the thought comes to them in the shape of a dilemma Miss Lees being the first to perceive it. " Gracious goodness ! " she exclaims, " what are we to do? We can never row back up this rough water it runs so strong here ! " " That's true," says Gwen, preserving her com* posure. " I don't think we could." " But what's to be the upshot ? Joseph will be waiting for us, and auntie sure to know all, if we shouldn't get back in time." "That's true also," again observes Miss Wynn assentingly, and with an admirable sang froid, which causes surprise to the companion. Then succeeds a short interval of silence, broken by an exclamatory phrase of three short words from the lips of Miss Wynn. They are" I have it ! " 38 OWEN WYNN. " What have you ? " joyfully asks Ellen. " The way to get back without much trouble, and without disturbing the arrangements we've made with old Joe the least bit." "Explain yourself I" "We'll keep on down the river to Rock Weir. There we can leave the boat, and walk across the neck to Llangorren. It isn't over a mile, though it's five times that by the course of the stream. At the Weir we can engage some water fellow to take back the Gwendoline to her moorings. Meanwhile, we'll make all haste, slip infco the grounds unobserved, get to the boat-dock in good time, and give Joseph the cue to hold his tongue about what's happened. An- other half-crown will tie it firm and fast, I know." " I suppose there's no help for it," says the com- panion, assenting, " and we must do as you say." " Of course we must. As you see, without thinking of it, we've drifted into a very cascade, and are now a long way down it. Only a regular waterman could pull up again. Ah! 'twould take the toughest of them, I should say. So nolens volens we'll have to go on to Rock Weir, which can't be more than a mile now. You may feather your oars, and float a bit. But, by the way, I must look more carefully to the steering. Now, that I remember, there are some awkward bars and eddies about here, and we can't be far from them. I think they're just below the next bend/' So saying, she sets herself square in the stern sheets, and closes her fingers firmly upon the tiller cords. They glide on, but now in silence; the little flurry, with the prospect of peril ahead, making speech inopportune. Soon they are round the bend spoken of, discovering to their view a fresh reach of the river ; when again DANGERS AHEAD. 39 the steerer becomes neglectful of her duty, the ex- pression upon her features, late a little troubled, suddenly changing to cheerfulness almost joy. Nor is it that the dangerous places have been passed; they are still ahead, and at some distance below. But there is something else ahead to account for the quick transformation a row-boat drawn up by the river's edge, with men upon the bank beside. Over Gwen Wynnes countenance comes another change, sudden as before, and as before, its expression reversed. She has mistaken the boat ; it is not that of the handsome fisherman ! Instead, a four-oared craft, manned by four men, for there is this number on the bank. The angler's skiff had in it only two himself and his oarsman. But she has no need to count heads, nor scrutinise faces. Those now before her eyes are all strange, and far from well favoured ; not any of them in the least like the one which has so prepossessed her. And while making this observation another is forced upon her that their natural plainness is not improved by what they have been doing, and are still drinking. Just as the young ladies made this observation, the four men, hearing oars, face towards them. For a moment there is silence, while they in the Gwendoline are being scanned by the quartette on the shore. Through maudlin eyes, possibly, the fellows mistake them for ordinary country lasses, with whom they may take liberties. Whether or not one cries out " Petticoats, by gee ingo ! " " Ay ! " exclaims another, " a pair o' them. An J sweet wenches they be, too. Look at she wi' the gooldy hair bright as the sun itself. Lord, meeats ! if we had she down in the pit, that head o' her ud gi'e as much light as a dozen Davy's lamps. An't she a bewty ? I'm boun' to have a smack fra them red lips o' hers." 40 QWEN WYNN. " No," protests the first speaker, " she be myen. First spoke soonest sarved. That's Forest law." " Never mind, Rob/' rejoins the other, surrendering his claim, " she may be the grandest to look at, but not the goodiest to go. I'll lay odds the black 'un beats her at kissin.' Le's get grup o' 'em an' see ! Coom on, meeats ! " Down go the drinking vessels, all four making for their boat, into which they scramble, each laying hold of an oar. Up to this time the ladies have not felt actual alarm. The strange men being evidently intoxicated, they might expect were, indeed, half-prepared for coarse speech ; perhaps indelicate, but nothing beyond. Within a mile of their own home, and still within the boundary of the Llangorren land, how could they think of danger such as is threatening ? For that there is danger they are now sensible becoming convinced of it as they draw nearer to the four fellows, and get a better view of them. Impossible to mistake the men roughs from the Forest of Dean, or some other mining district, their but half-washed faces showing it; characters not very gentle at any time, but very rude, even dangerous, when drunk. This known from many a tale told, many a Petty and Quarter Sessions report read in the county newspapers. But it is visible in their countenances, too intelligible in their speech part of which the ladies have over- heard as in the action they are taking. They in the pleasure-boat no longer fear, or think of bars and eddies below. No whirlpool, not Mael- strom itself, could fright them as those four men. For it is fear of a something more to be dreaded than drowning. Withal, Gwendoline Wynn is not so much dismayed as to lose presence of mind. Nor is she at all excited, but cool as when caught in the rapid current. Her DANGERS AHEAD. 41 feats in the hunting field, and dashing drives down the steep " pitches " of the Herefordshire roads, have given her strength of nerve to face any danger; and, as her timid companion trembles with affright, mutter- ing her fears, she but says " Keep quiet, Nell ! Don't let them see you're scared. It's not the way to treat such as they, and will only encourage them to come at us." This counsel, before the men have moved, fails in effect ; for as they are seen rushing down the bank and into their boat, Ellen Lees utters a terrified shriek, scarcely leaving her breath to add the words " Dear Gwen ! what shall we do ? " " Change places," is the reply, calmly but hurriedly made. " Give me the oars ! Quick ! " While speaking she has started up from the stern, and is making for 'midships. The other, compre- hending, has risen at the same instant, leaving the oars to trail. By this the roughs has shoved off from the bank, and are making for mid-stream, their purpose evident to intercept the Gwendoline. But the other Gwen- doline has now got settled to the oars ; and pulling with all her might, has still a chance to shoot past them. In a few seconds the boats are but a couple of lengths apart, the heavy craft coming bow-on for the lighter; while the faces of those in her, slewed over their shoulders, show terribly forbidding. A glance tells Gwen Wynn 'twould be idle making appeal to them ; nor does she. Still she is not silent. Unable to restrain her indignation, she calls out fl Keep back, fellows ! If you run against us 'twill go ill for you. Don't suppose you'll escape punish- ment." " Bah ! " responds one, " we an't a-frightened at yer threats not we. That an't the way wi' us Forest 42 GWEN WYNN. chaps. Besides, we don't mean ye any much harm. Only gi'e us a kiss all round, an' then maybe, we'll let ye go." " Yes ; kisses all round ! " cries another. " That's the toll ye're got to pay at our pike; an' a bit o' squeeze by way o' boot." The coarse jest elicits a peal of laughter from the other three. Fortunately for those who are its butt, since it takes the attention of the rowers from their oars, and before they can recover a stroke or two lost, the pleasure-boat glides past them, and goes dancing on, as did the fishing skiff. With a yell of disappointment they bring their boat's head round, and row after; now straining at their oars with all strength. Luckily, they lack skill ; which, fortunately for herself, the rower of the pleasure-boat possesses. It stands her in stead now, and, for a time, the Gwendoline leads without losing ground. But the struggle is unequal, four to one strong men against a weak woman ! Verily is she called on to make good her words, when saying she could row almost as ably as a man. And so does she for a time. Withal it may not avail her. The task is too much for her woman's strength, fast becoming exhausted. While her strokes grow feebler, those of the pursuers seem to get stronger. For they are in earnest now ; and, despite the bad management of their boat, it is rapidly gaining on the other. " Pull, meeats ! " cries one, the roughest bf the gang, and apparently the ringleader, " pull like hie hie ! " his drunken tongue refuses the blasphemous word. "If ye lay me Alongside that girl wi' the gooc goeeldy hair, I'll stan' someat stiff at the ' Kite's Nest' whens we get hie 'ome." " All right, Bob 1 " is the rejoinder, " we'll do that. Ne'er a fear." DANGERS AHEAD. 43 The prospect of " someat stiff " at the Forest hostelry inspires them to increase their exertion, and their speed proportionately augmented, no longer leaves a doubt of their being able to come up with the pursued boat. Confident, of it they commence jeering the ladies (l wenches " they call them in speech profane, as repulsive. For these, things look black. They are but a couple of boats' length ahead, and near below is a sharp turn in the river's channel; rounding which they will lose ground, and can scarcely fail to be overtaken. What then ? As Gwen Wynn asks herself the question, the anger late flashing in her eyes gives place to a look of keen anxiety. Her glances are sent to right, to left, and again over her shoulder, as they have been all day doing, but now with very different design. Then she was searching for a man, with no further thought than to feast her eyes on him ; now she is looking for the same, in hopes he may save her from insult it may be worse. There is no man in sight no human being on either side of the river ! On the right a grim cliff rising sheer, with some goats clinging to its ledges. On the left a grassy slope with browsing sheep, their lambs astretch at their feet; but no shepherd, no one to whom she can call " Help ! " Distractedly she continues to tug at the oars ; des- pairingly as the boats draw near the bend. Before rounding it she will be in the hands of those horrid men embraced by their brawny, bear-like arms ! The thought restrengthens her own, giving them the energy of desperation. So inspired, she makes a final effort to elude the ruffian pursuers, and succeeds in turning the point. Soon as round it, her face brightens up, joy dances in her eyes, as with panting breath she exclaims, 44 GWEN WYNN. We're saved, Nelly! We're saved! Thank Heaven for it ! " Nelly does thank Heaven, rejoiced to hear they are saved ; but without in the least comprehending how I CHAPTER VI. A DUCKING DESERVED. CAPTAIN RYECROFT has been but a few minutes at his favourite fishing-place just long enough to see his tackle in working condition, and cast his line across the water ; as he does the last, saying "I shouldn't wonder, Wingate, if we don't see a salmon to-day. I fear that sky's too bright for his dainty kingship to mistake feathers for flies." " Ne'er a doubt the fish'll be a bit shy," returns the boatman ; " but," he adds, assigning their shyness to a different cause, "'tain't so much the colour o' the sky; more like it's that lot of Foresters has frightened them, with their hulk o' a boat makin' as much noise as a Bristol steamer. Wonder what brings such rub- bish on the river anyhow. They han't no business on't ; an' in my opinion theer ought to be a law 'gainst it same's for trespassin' after game." "That would be rather hard lines, Jack. These mining gentry need out-door recreation as much as any other sort of people. Rather more I should say, considering that they're compelled to pass the greater part of their time underground. When they emerge from the bowels of the earth to disport themselves on its surface, it's but natural they should like a little aquatics ; which you, by choice, an amphibious crea- ture, cannot consistently blame them for. Those we've just met are doubtless out for a holiday, which accounts for their having taken too much drink in 46 GWEN WYNN. some sense an excuse for their conduct. I don't think it at all strange seeing them on the water." " Their faces han't seed much o' it anyhow/' observes the waterman, seeming little satisfied with the Captain's reasoning. " And as for their being out on holiday, if I an't mistook, it be holiday as lasts all the year round. Two o' 'em may be miners them as got the grimiest faces. As for t'other two, I don't think eyther ever touch' t pick or shovel in their lives. I've seed both hangin' about Lydbrook, which be a queery place. Besides, one I've seed 'long wi' a man whose company is enough to gi'e a saint a bad charac- ter that's Coracle Dick. Take my word for 't, Cap- tain, there ain't a honest miner 'mong that lot eyther in the way of iron or coal. If there wor I'd be the last man to go again them havin' their holiday ; 'cept- ing I don't think they ought to take it on the river. Ye see what comes o' sich as they humbuggin' about in a boat?" At the last clause of this speech its Conservatism due to a certain professional jealousy the Hussar officer cannot resist smiling. He had half forgotten the rudeness of the revellers attributing it to intoxi- cation and more than half repented of his threat to bring them to a reckoning, which might not be called for, but might, and in all likelihood would, be incon- venient. Now, reflecting on Wingate's words, the frown which had passed from off his face again returns to it. He says nothing, however, but sits rod in hand, less thinking of the salmon than how he can chastise the "d d scoun'rels," as his companion has pro- nounced them, should he, as he anticipates, again come in collision with them. " Lissen ! " exclaims the waterman ; ' ' that's them shoutin' ! Comin' this way, I take it. What should we do to 'em, Captain ? " The salmon-fisher is half determined to reel in his A DUCKING DESERVED. 47 line, lay aside the rod, and take out a revolving pistol he chances to have in his pocket not with any inten- tion to fire it at the fellows, but only frighten them. " Yes/' goes on Wingate, " they be droppin' down again sure ; I dar' say they've found the tide a bit too strong for 'em up above. An' I don't wonder ; sich louty chaps as they thinkin' they cud guide a boat 'bout the Wye I Jist like mountin' hogs a-horse- back ! " At this fresh sally of professional spleen the soldier again smiles, but says nothing, uncertain what action he should take, or how soon he may be called on to commence it. Almost instantly after he is called on to take action, though not against the four riotous Foresters, but a silly salmon, which has conceived a fancy for his fly. A purl on the water, with a pluck quick succeeding, tells of one on the hook, while the whizz of the wheel and rapid rolling out of catgut proclaims it a fine one. For some minutes neither he nor his oarsman has eye or ear for aught save securing the fish, and both bend all their energies to " fighting " it. The line runs out, to be spun up and run off again ; his river majesty, maddened at feeling himself so oddly and painfully restrained in his desperate efforts to escape, now rushing in one direction, now another, all the while the angler skilfully playing him, the equally skilled oarsman keeping the boat in concerted accordance. Absorbed by their distinct lines of endeavour they do not hear high words, mingled with exclamations, coming from above; or hearing, do not heed, sup- posing them to proceed from the four men they had met, in all likelihood now more inebriated than ever. Not till they have well-nigh finished their " fight," and the salmon, all but subdued, is being drawn to- wards the boat Wingate, gaff in hand, bending over ready to strike it not till then do they note other 48 GWEN WYNN. sounds, which even at that critical moment make them careless about the fish, in its last feeble throes, when its capture is good as sure, causing Rye croft to stop winding his wheel, and stand listening. Only for an instant. Again the voices of men, but now also heard the cry of a woman, as if she sending it forth were in danger or distress ! They have no need for conjecture, nor are they long left to it. Almost simultaneously they see a boat sweeping round the bend, with another close in its wake, evidently in chase, as told by the attitudes and gestures of those occupying both in the one pursued two young ladies, in that pursuing four rough men readily recognisable. At a glance the Hussar officer takes in the situation the waterman as well. The sight saves a salmon's life, and possibly two innocent women from outrage. Down goes Ryecroft's rod, the boatman simultaneously dropping his gaff; as he does so hearing thundered in his ears " To your oars, Jack ! Make straight for them ! Row with all your might ! " Jack Wingate needs neither command to act nor word to stimulate him. As a man he remembers the late indignity to himself; as a gallant fellow he now sees others submitted to the like. No matter about their being ladies; enough that they are women suffer- ing insult ; and more than enough at seeing who are the insulters. In ten seconds' time he is on his thwart, oars in hand, the officer at the tiller ; and in five more, the Mary, brought stem up stream, is surging against the current, going swiftly as if with it. She is set for the big boat pursuing not now to shun a collision, but seek it. As yet some two hundred yards are between the chased craft and that hastening to its rescue. Rye- croft, measuring the distance with his eyes, is in A DUCKING DESERVED. 49 thought tracing out a course of actioiL. His first instinct was to draw a pistol, and stop the pursuit with a shot. But no ; it would not be English. Nor does he need resort to such deadly weapon. True there will be four against two ; but what of it ? " " I think we can manage them, Jack/' he mutters through his teeth, "I'm good for two of them the biggest and best." " An' I t'other two sich clumsy chaps as them ! Ye can trust me takin' care o' 'em, Captin." " I know it. Keep to your oars till I give the word to drop them." " They don't 'pear to a sighted us yet. Too drunk I take it. Like as not when they see what's comin' they'll sheer off." " They shan't have the chance. I intend steering bow dead on to them. Don't fear the result. If the Mary gets damaged I'll stand the expense of repairs." " Ne'er a mind 'bout that, Captain. I'd gi'e the price o' a new boat to see the lot chestised specially that big black fellow as did most o' the talkin'." " You shall see it, and soon ! " He lets go the ropes, to disembarrass himself of his angling accoutrements ; which he hurriedly does, fling- ing them at his feet. When he again takes hold of the steering tackle the Mary is within six lengths of the advancing boats, both now nearly together, the bow of the pursuer overlapping the stern of the pur- sued. Only two of the men are at the oars ; two standing up, one amidships, the other at the head. Both are endeavouring to lay hold of the pleasure- boat, and bring it alongside. So occupied they see not the fishing skiff, while the two rowing, with backs turned, are equally unconscious of its approach. They only wonder at the " wenches," as they continue to call them, taking it so coolly, for these do not seem so much frightened as before. E 50 GWEN WTNN. " Coom, sweet lass ! " cries he in the bow the black fellow it is addressing Miss Wynn. " Tain't no use you tryin' to get away. I must ha' my kiss. So drop yer oars, and ge'et to me ! " " Insolent fellow ! " she exclaims, her eyes ablaze with anger. " Keep your hands off my boat ! I com- mand you ! " " But I ain't to be commanded, ye minx. Not till Fve had a smack o' them lips ; an' by G I s'll have it." Saying which he reaches out to the full stretch of his long, ape-like arms, and with one hand succeeds in grasping the boat's gunwale, while with the other he gets hold of the lady's dress, and commences dragging her towards him. Gwen Wynn neither screams, nor calls " Help ! " She knows it is near. " Hands off ! " cries a voice in a volume of thunder, simultaneous with a dull thud against the side of the larger boat, followed by a continued crashing as her gunwale goes in. The roughs, facing round, for the first time see the fishing skiff, and know why it is there. But they are too far gone in drink to heed or submit at least their leader seems determined to resist. Turning savagely on Ryecroft, he stammers out " Hie ic who the blazes be you, Mr. White Cap ? An' what d'ye want wi' me ? " " You'll see." At the words he bounds from his own boat into the other; and, before the fellow can raise an arm, those of Ryecroft are around him in tight hug. In another minute the hulking scoundrel is hoisted from his feet, as though but a feather's weight, and flung overboard. Wingate has meanwhile also boarded, grappled on to the other on foot, and is threatening to serve him the same. I.N ANOTHER MINI ITK THE IlUi.KlNG SCOUNDREL IS KLUNC A DUCKING DESERVED. 51 A plunge, with a wild cry the man going down like a stone ; another, as he comes up among his own bubbles; and a third, yet wilder, as he feels himself sinking for the second time ! The two at the oars, scared into a sort of sobriety, one of them cries out " Lor' o' mercy ! Rob'll be drownded ! He can't sweem a stroke." " He's a-drownin' now ! " adds the other. It is true. For Rob has again come to the surface, and shouts with feebler voice, while his arms tossed frantically about tell of his being in the last throes of suffocation ! Ryecroft looks regretful rather alarmed. In chas- tising the fellow he had gone too far. He must save him ! Quick as the thought off goes his coat, with his boots kicked into the bottom of the boat ; then him- self over its side ! A splendid swimmer, with a few bold sweeps he is by the side of the drowning man. Not a moment too soon just as the latter is going down for the third, likely the last time. With the hand of the officer grasping his collar, he is kept above water. But not yet saved. Both are now imperilled the rescuer and he he would rescue. For, far from the boats, they have drifted into a dangerous eddy, and are being whirled rapidly round ! A cry from Gwen Wynn a cry of real alarm, now the first she has uttered ! But before she can re- peat it, her fears are allayed set to rest again at sight of still another rescuer. The young waterman has leaped back to his own boat, and is pulling straight for the strugglers. A few strokes, and he is beside them ; then, dropping his oars, he soon has both safe in the skiff. The half-drowned, but wholly frightened Bob is 52 GWEN WYNN. carried back to his comrades' boat, and dumped in among them ; Wingate handling him as though he were but a wet coal sack, or piece of old tarpaulin. Then giving the " Forest chaps " a bit of his mind he bids them "be off." And off go they, without saying word; as they drop down stream their downcast looks showing them subdued, if not quite sobered, and rather feeling grate- ful than aggrieved. ****** The other two boats soon proceed upward, the pleasure craft leading. But not now rowed by its owner; for Captain Ryecroft has hold of the oars. In the haste, or the pleasurable moments succeeding, he has forgotten all about the salmon left struggling on his line, or caring not to return for it, most likely will lose rod, line, and all. What matter ? If he has lost a fine fish, ho may have won the finest woman on the Wye ! And she has lost nothing risks nothing now not even the chiding of her aunt ! For now the pleasure- boat will be back in its dock in time to keep undis- turbed the understanding with Joseph. CHAPTER VII. AN INVETERATE NOVEL READER. WHILE these exciting incidents are passing upon the river, Llangorren Court is wrapped in that stately re- pose becoming an aristocratic residence especially where an elderly spinster is head of the house, and there are no noisy children to go romping about. It is thus with Llangorren, whose ostensible mistress is Miss Linton, the aunt and legal guardian already alluded to. But, though presiding over the establish- ment, it is rather in the way of ornamental figure- head; since she takes little to do with its domestic affairs, leaving them to a skilled housekeeper who carries the keys. Kitchen matters are not much to Miss Linton's taste, being a dame of the antique brocaded type, with plea- sant memories of the past, that go back to. Bath and Cheltenham ; where, in their days of glory, as hers of youth, she was a belle, and did her share of dancing, with a due proportion of flirting, at the Regency balls. No longer able to indulge in such delightful recrea- tions, the memory of them has yet charms for her, and she keeps it alive and warm by daily perusal of the Morning Post with a fuller hebdomadal feast from the Court Journal, and other distributors of fashionable intelligence. In addition she reads no end of novels, her favourites being those which tell of Cupid in his most romantic escapades and experiences, though not always the chastest. Of the prurient trash there is a 53 54 OWEN WTNN. plenteous supply, furnished by scribblers of both sexes, who ought to know better, and doubtless do; but knowing also how difficult it is to make their lucubra- tions interesting within the legitimate lines of literary art, and how easy out of them, thus transgress the moralities. Miss Linton need have no fear that the impure stream will cease to flow, any more than the limpid waters of the Wye. Nor has she ; but reads on, devouring volume after volume, in triunes as they issue from the press, and are sent her from the Circulating Library. At nearly all hours of the day, and some of the night, does she so occupy herself. Even on this same bright April morn, when all nature rejoices, and every living thing seems to delight in being out of doors when the flowers expand their petals to catch the kisses of the warm Spring sun Dorothea Linton is seated in a shady corner of the drawing-room, up to her ears in a three-volume novel, still odorous of printer's ink and binder's paste ; absorbed in a love dialogue between a certain Lord Lutestring and a rustic damsel daughter of one of his tenant farmers whose life he is doing his best to blight, and with much likelihood of succeeding. If he fail, it will not be for want of will on his part, nor desire of the author to save the imperilled one. He will make the tempted iniquitous as the tempter, should this seem to add interest to the tale, or promote the sale of the book. Just as his lordship has gained a point and the girl is about to give way, Miss Linton herself receives a shock, caused by a rat-tat at the drawing-room door, light, such as well-trained servants are accustomed to give before entering a room occupied by master or mistress. To her command " Come in ! " a footman presents himself, silver waiter in hand, on which is a card. AN INVETERATE NOVEL READER. 65 She is more than annoyed, almost angry, as taking the card, she reads " REVEREND WILLIAM MUSGRAVE." Only to think of being thus interrupted on the eve of such an interesting climax, which seemed about to seal the fate of the farmer's daughter. It is fortunate for his Keverence, that before enter- ing within the room another visitor is announced, and ushered in along with him. Indeed the second caller is shown in first ; for, although George Shenstone rung the front door bell after Mr. Musgrave had stepped in- side the hall, there is no domestic of Llangorren but knows the difference between a rich baronet's son and a poor parish curate, as which should have precedence. To this nice, if not very delicate appreciation, the Reverend William is now indebted more than he is aware. It has saved him from an outburst of Miss Linton's rather tart temper, which, under the circum- stances, otherwise he would have caught. For it so chances that the son of Sir George Shenstone is a great favourite with the old lady of Llangorren ; wel- come at all times,even amid the romantic gallantries of Lord Lutestring. Not that the young country gentle- man has anything in common with the titled Lothario, who is habitually a dweller in cities. Instead, the former is a frank, manly fellow, devoted to field sports and rural pastimes, a little brusque in manner, but for all well-bred, and, what is even better, well-behaved. There is nothing odd in his calling at that early hour. Sir George is an old friend of the Wynn family was an intimate associate of G wen's deceased father and both he and his son have been accustomed to look in at Llangorren Court san ceremonie. No more is Mr. Musgrave's matutinal visit out of order. Though but the curate, he is in full charge of parish duties, the rector being not only aged but an 56 OWEN WYNN. absentee so long away from the neighbourhood as to have become almost a myth to it. For this reason his vicarial representative can plead scores of excuses for presenting himself at " The Court." There is the school, the church choir, and clothing club, to say nought of neighbouring news, which on most morn- ings make him a welcome visitor to Miss Linton; and no doubt would on this, but for the glamour thrown around her by the fascinations of the dear delightful Lutestring. It even takes all her partiality for Mr. Shenstone to remove its spell, and get him vouchsafed friendly reception. " Miss Linton/' he says, speaking first, " I've just dropped in to ask if the young ladies would go for a ride. The day's so fine, I thought they might like to." " Ah, indeed," returns the spinster, holding out her fingers to be touched, but, under the plea of being a little invalided, excusing herself from rising. " Yes ; AO doubt they would like it very much." Mr. Shenstone is satisfied with the reply ; but less the curate, who neither rides nor has a horse. And less Shenstone himself indeed both as the lady pro- ceeds. They have been listening, with ears all alert, for the sound of soft footsteps and rustling dresses. In- stead, they hear words, not only disappointing, but perplexing. " Nay, I am sure," continues Miss Linton, with pro- voking coolness, { ' they would have been glad to go riding with you ; delighted " " But why can't they ? " asked Shenstone impa- tiently, interrupting. " Because the thing's impossible ; they've already gone rowing." ff Indeed ! " cry both gentlemen in a breath, seem- ing alike vexed by the intelligence, Shenstone mechani- cally interrogating : " On the river ? " AN INVETERATE NOVEL READER. 57 " Certainly ? " answers the lady, looking surprised. " Why, George ; where else could they go rowing ? You don't suppose they've brought the boat up to the fishpond !" " Oh, no," he stammers out. " I beg pardon. How very stupid of me to ask such a question. I was only wondering why Miss Gwen that is, I am a little astonished but perhaps you'll think it impertinent of me to ask another question ? " " Why should I ? What is it ? " " Only whether whether she Miss Gwen, I mean said anything about riding to-day ? " " Not a word at least not to me." " How long since they went off may I know, Miss Linton ? " ft Oh, hours ago ! Very early, indeed just after taking breakfast. I wasn't down myself as I've told you, not feeling very well this morning. But Gwen's maid informs me they left the house then, and I pre- sume they went direct to the river." " Do you think they'll be out long ? " earnestly in- terrogates Shenstone. " I should hope not," returns the ancient toast of Cheltenham, with aggravating indifference, for Lute- string is not quite out of her thoughts. " There's no knowing, however. Miss Wynn is accustomed to come and go, without much consulting me." This with some acerbity possibly from the thought that the days of her legal guardianship are drawing to a close, which will make her a less important per- sonage at Llangorren. " Surely they won't be out all day," timidly sug- gests the curate; to which she makes no rejoinder, till Mr. Shenstone puts it in the shape of an inquiry. " Is it likely they will, Miss Linton ? " "I should say not. More like they'll be hungry, and that will bring them home. What's the hour 58 GWEN WYNN. now ? Fve been reading a very interesting book, and quite forgot myself. Is it possible ? " she ex- claims, looking at the ormolu dial on the mantelshelf. "Ten minutes to one! How time does fly, to be sure ! I couldn't have believed it near so late almost luncheon time ! Of course you'll stay, gentle- men ? As for the girls, if they are not back in time they'll have to go without. Punctuality is the rule of this house always will be with me. I shan't wait one minute for them." " But, Miss Linton, they may have returned from the river, and are now somewhere about the grounds. Shall I run down to the boat-dock and see ? " It is Mr. Shenstone who thus interrogates. " If you like by all means. I shall be too thank- ful. Shame of Gwen to give us so much trouble. She knows our luncheon hour, and should have been back by this. Thanks, much, Mr. Shenstone." As he is bounding off, she calls after " Don't you be staying too, else you shan't have a pick. Mr. Musgrave and I won't wait for any of you. Shall we, Mr. Musgrave ? " Shenstone has not tarried to hear either question or answer. A luncheon for Apicius were, at that moment, nothing to him ; and little more to the curate, who, though staying, would gladly go along. Not from any rivalry with, or jealousy of, the baro- net's son : they revolve in different orbits, with no danger of collision. Simply that he dislikes leaving Miss Linton alone indeed, dare not. She may be expecting the usual budget of neighbourhood intelli- gence he daily brings her. He is mistaken. On this particular day it is not de- sired. Out of courtesy to Mr. Shenstone, rather than herself, she had laid aside the novel; and it now requires all she can command to keep her eyes off it. She is burning to know what befel the farmer's daughter ! CHAPTER VIII. A SUSPICIOUS STEANGEK. WHILE Mr. Musgrave is boring the elderly spinster about new scarlet cloaks for the girls of the church choir, and other parish matters, George Shenstone is standing on the topmost step of the boat stair, in a mood of mind even less enviable than hers. For he has looked down into the dock, and there sees no Gwendoline neither boat nor lady nor is there sign of either upon the water, far as he can com- mand a view of it. No sounds, such as he would wish, and might expect to hear no dipping of oars, nor, what would be still more agreeable to his ear, the soft voices of women. Instead only the note of a cuckoo, in monotonous repetition, the bird balancing itself on a branch near by ; and, farther off, the hiccol, laughing, as if in mockery and at him ! Mocking his impatience ; ay, something more, almost his misery ! That it is so his soliloquy tells : " Odd her being out on the river ! She promised me to go riding to-day. Very odd indeed I Gwen isn't the same she was acting strange altogether for the last three or four days. Wonder what it means ? By Jove, I can't comprehend it ! " His noncomprehension does not hinder a dark shadow from stealing over his brow, and there stay- ing. It is not unobserved. Through the leaves of the evergreen Joseph notes the pained expression, and 59 60 GWEN WYNN. interprets it in his own shrewd way not far from the right one. The old servant soliloquizing in less conjectural strain, says, or rather thinks " Master George be mad sweet on Miss Gwen. The country folk are all talkin' o't ; thinking she's same on him, as if they knew anything about it. I knows better. An' he ain't no ways confident, else there wouldn't be that queery look on's face. It's the token o' jealousy for sure. I don't believe he have suspicion o' any rival particklar. Ah ! it don't need that wi' sich a grand beauty as she be. He as love her might be jealous o' the sun kissing her cheeks, or the wind tossin' her hair ! " Joseph is a Welshman of Bardic ancestry, and thinks poetry. He continues " I know what's took her on the river, if he don't. Yes yes, my young lady. Ye thought yerself won- derful clever, leavin' old Joe behind, tellin' him to hide hisself, and bribin' him to stay hid ! And d'y 'spose I didn't obsarve them glances exchanged twixt you and the salmon fisher sly, but, for all that, hot as streaks o' fire ? And d'ye think I didn't see Mr. Whitecap going down, afore ye thought o' a row yer- self ? Oh, no ; I noticed nothin' o' all that, not I ! 'Twarn't meant for me not for Joe ha, ha ! " With a suppressed giggle at the popular catch coming in so apropos, he once more fixes his eyes on the face of the impatient watcher, proceeding with his soliloquy, though in changed strain : t( Poor young gentleman ! I do pity he to be sure. He are a good sort, an' everybody likes him. So do she, but not the way he want her to. Well; things o' that kind allers do go contrary wise never seem to run smooth like. I'd help him myself if 'twar in my power, but it ain't. In such cases help can only come frae the place where they say matches be made that's A SUSPICIOUS STEANGER. 61 Heaven. Ha ! he's lookin' a bit brighter ! What's cheerin' him? The boat coming back? I can't see it from here, nor I don't hear any rattle o' oars ! " The change he notes in George Shenstone's manner is not caused by the returning pleasure craft. Simply a reflection, which crossing his mind, for the moment tranquillizes him. " What a stupid I am ! " he mutters self-accusingly. " Now I remember, there was nothing said about the hour we were to go riding, and I suppose she under- stood in the afternoon. It was so the last time we went out together. By Jove! yes. It's all right, I take it ; she'll be back in good time yet." Thus reassured he remains listening. Still more satisfied, when a dull thumping sound, in regular repetition, tells him of oars working in their rowlocks. Were he learned in boating tactics he would know there are two pairs of them, and think this strange too ; since the Gwendoline carries only one. But he is not so skilled instead, rather averse to aquatics his chosen home the hunting-field, his favourite seat in a saddle, not on a boat's thwart. It is only when the plashing of the oars in the tranquil water of the bye- way is borne clear along the cliff, that he perceives there are two pairs at work, while at the same time he observes two boats approaching the little dock, where but one belongs ! Alone at that leading boat does he look : with eyes in which, as he continues to gaze, surprise becomes wonderment, dashed with something like displeasure. The boat he has recognised at the first glance the Gwendoline as also the two ladies in the stern. But there is also a man on the mid thwart, plying the oars. " Who the deuce is he ? " Thus to himself George Shenstone puts it. Not old Joe, not the least like him. Nor is it the family O2 GWEN WYNN. Charon who sits solitary on the thwarts of that fol- lowing. Instead, Joseph is now by Mr. Shenstone's side, passing him in haste making to go down the boat stair ! " What's the meaning of all this, Joe ? " asks the young man, in stark astonishment. " Meanin' o' what, sir ? " returns the old boatman, with an air of assumed innocence. "Be there any- thin' amiss ? " " Oh, nothing," stammers Shenstone. " Only I supposed you were out with the young ladies. How is it you haven't gone ? " "Well, sir, Miss Gwen didn't wish it. The day bein' fine, an' nothing o' flood in the river, she sayed she'd do the rowin' herself." ' ' She hasn't been doing it for all that," mutters Shenstone to himself, as Joseph glides past and on down the stair; then repeating, t( Who the deuce is he ? " the interrogation as before referring to him who rows the pleasure boat. By this it has been brought, bow in, to the dock, its stern touching the bottom of the stair ; and, as the ladies step out of it, George Shenstone overhears a dialogue, which, instead of quieting his perturbed spirit, but excites him still more almost to madness. It is Miss Wynn who has commenced it, saying, " You'll come up to the house, and let me introduce you to my aunt ? " This to the gentleman who has been pulling her boat, and has just abandoned the oars soon as seeing its painter in the hands of the servant. " Oh, thank you ! " he returns. " I would, with pleasure ; but, as you see, I'm not quite presentable just now anything but fit for a drawing-room. So I beg you'll excuse me to-day." His saturated shirt-front, with other garments drip- ping, tells why the apology ; but does not explain A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER. 63 either that or aught else to him on the top of the stair, who, hearkening further, hears other speeches, which, while perplexing him, do nought to allay the wild tempest now surging through his soul. Unseen himself for he has stepped behind the tree lately screening Joseph he sees Gwen Wynn holding out her hand to be pressed in parting salute hears her address the stranger in words of gratitude, warm as though she were under some great obligation to him ! Then the latter leaps out of the pleasure boat into the other brought alongside, and is rowed away by his waterman : while the ladies ascend the stair Gwen lingeringly, at almost every step, turning her face to- wards the fishing skiff, till this, pulled around the upper end of the eyot, can no more be seen. All this George Shen stone observes, drawing de- ductions which send the blood in chill creep through his veins. Though still puzzled by the wet garments, the presence of the gentleman wearing them seems to solve that other enigma, unexplained as painful the strangeness he has of late observed in the ways of Miss Wynn. Nor is he far out in his fancy, bitter though it be. Not until the two ladies have reached the stair head do they become aware of his being there ; and not then, till Gwen has made some observations to the companion, which, as those addressed to the stranger, unfortunately for himself, George Shenstone over- hears. " We'll be in time for luncheon yefc, and aunt needn't know anything of what's delayed us at least, not just now. True, if the like had happened to herself say some thirty or forty years ago she'd want all the world to hear of it, particularly that part of the world yclept Cheltenham. The dear old lady ! Ha, ha I " After a laugh, continuing : " But, speaking seriously, Nell, I don't wish any one to be the wiser 64 GWEN WYNN. about our bit of an escapade least of all, a certain young gentleman, whose Christian name begins with a G., and surname with an S." " Those initials answer for mine/' says George Shenstone, coming forward and confronting her, i: If your observation was meant for me, Miss Wynn, I can only express regret for my bad luck in being within ear-shot of it." At his appearance, so unexpected and abrupt, Gwen Wynn had given a start, feeling guilty, and looking it. Soon, however, reflecting whence he has come, :nd hearing what said, she feels less self-condemned than indignant, as evinced by her rejoinder. " Ah I you've been overhearing us, Mr. Shenstone ! Bad luck, you call it. Bad or good, I don't think you are justified in attributing it to chance. When a gentleman deliberately stations himself behind a shady bush, like that laurestinus for instance, and there stands listening intentionally " Suddenly she interrupts herself, and stands silent too this on observing the effect of her words, and that they have struck terribly home. With bowed head the baronet's son is stooping towards her, the cloud on his brow telling of sadness not anger. See- ing it, the old tenderness returns to her, with its fami- liarity, and she exclaims : " Come, George ! There must be no quarrel between you and me. What you've just seen and heard, will be all explained by something you have yet to hear. Miss Lees and I have had a little bit of an adventure ; and if you'll promise it shan't go further, we'll make you acquainted with it." Addressed in this style, he readily gives the promise gladly, too. The confidence so offered seems favour- able to himself. But, looking for explanation on the instant, he is disappointed. Asking for it, it is denied him, with reason assigned thus : A SUSPICIOUS STEANGER. 65 " You forget we've been full four hours on the river, and are as hungry as a pair of kingfishers hawks, I suppose, you'd say, being a game preserver. Never mind about the simile. Let us in to luncheon, if not too late/' She steps hurriedly off towards the house, the com- panion following, Shenstone behind both. However hungry they, never man went to a meal with less appetite than he. All Gwen's cajoling has not tranquillized his spirit, nor driven out of his thoughts that man with the bronzed complexion, d;trk moustache, and white helmet hat. CHAPTER IX. JEALOUS ALREADY. CAPTAIN RYECROFT has lost more than rod and line ; his heart is as good as gone too given to Gwen- doline Wynn. He now knows the name of the yellow- haired Naiad for this, with other particulars, she im- parted to him on return up stream. Neither has her confidence thus extended, nor the conversation leading to it, belied the favourable im- pression made upon him by her appearance. Instead, so strengthened it, that for tho first time in his life he contemplates becoming a benedict. He feels that his fate is sealed or no longer in his hands, but hers. As Wingate pulls him on homeward, he draws out his cigar case, sets fire to a fresh weed, and, while the blue smoke wreaths up round the rim of his topee, reflects on the incidents of the day, reviewing them in the order of their occurrence. Circumstances apparently accidental have been strangely in his favour. Helped as by Heaven's own hand, working with the rudest instruments. Through the veriest scum of humanity he has made acquain- tance with one of its fairest forms. More than mere acquaintance, ho hopes ; for surely those warm words, and glances far from cold, could not be the sole off- spring of gratitude ! If so a little service on the Wye goes a long way. Thus reflects he in modest apprecia- tion of himself, deeming that he has done but little. How different the value put upon it by Gwen Wynn ! 66 JEALOUS ALREADY 67 Still he knows not this, or at least cannot be snre of it. If he were, his thoughts would be all rose-coloured, which they are not. Some are dark as the shadows of the April showers now and then drifting across the sun's disc. One that has just settled on his brow is no reflection from the firmament above no vague imagining but a thing of shape and form the form of a man, seen at the top of the boat-stair, as the ladies were ascending, and not so far off as to have hindered him from observ- ing the man's face, and noting that he was young and rather handsome. Already the eyes of love have caught the keenness of jealousy. A gentleman evi- dently on terms of intimacy with Miss Wynn. Strange, though, that the look with which he regarded her on saluting seemed to speak of something amiss ! What could it mean ? Captain Ryecroft has asked this question as his boat was rounding the end of the eyot, with another in the self-same formulary of interrogation, of which but the moment before he was himself the subject : " Who the deuce can he be ? " Out upon the river, and drawing hard at his Eegalia, he goes on : " Wonderfully familiar the fellow seemed ! Can't be a brother ! I understood her to say she had none. Does he live at Llangorren ? No. She said there was no one there in the shape of masculine relative only an old aunt, and that little dark damsel, who is cousin or something of the kind. But who in the deuce is the gentleman ? Might he be a cousin ? " So propounding questions without being able to answer them, he at length addresses himself to the waterman saying : " Jack, did you observe a gentleman at the head of the stair ? " " Only the head and shoulders o* one, captain." 68 GWEN WYNN. (t Head nnd shoulders? that's enough. Do you chance to know him ? " "I ain't thorough sure; but I think he be a Mr. Shenstone." " Who is Mr. Shenstone ? " " The son o' Sir George." " Sir George ! What do you know of Urn ? " "Not much to speak of only that he be a big gentleman, whose land lies along the river, two or three miles below/' The information is but slight, and slighter the grati- fication it gives. Captain Kyecroft has heard of the rich baronet whose estate adjoins that of Llangorren, and whose title, with the property attached, will descend to an only son. It is the torso of this son he has seen above the red sandstone rock. In truth, a formidable rival ! So he reflects, smoking away like mad. After a time, he again observes, - " You've said you don't know the ladies we've helped out of their little trouble ? " " Parsonally, I don't, captain. But, now as I see where they live, I know who they be. I've heerd talk 'bout the biggest o' them a good deal." The biggest of them ! As if she were a salmon ! In the boatman's eyes, bulk is evidently her chief re- commendation ! Ryecroft smiles, further interrogating : " What have you heard of her ? " "That she be a tidy young lady. Wonderful fond o' field sport, such as hunting and that like. Fr' all, I may say that up to this day, I never set eyes on her afore." The Hussar officer has been long enough in Hereford- shire to have learnt the local signification of " tidy " synonymous with " well-behaved." That Miss Wynn is fond of field sports flood pastimes included he has gathered from herself while rowing her up the river. JEALOUS ALREADY. 69 One thing strikes him as strange that the water- man should not be acquainted with every one dwelling on the river's bank, at least for a dozen miles up and down. He seeks an explanation. " How is it, Jack, that you, living but a short league above, don't know all about these people ? " He is unaware that Wingate though born on the Wye's banks, as he has told him, is comparatively a stranger to its middle waters his birthplace being far up in the shire of Brecon. Still that is not the solution of the enigma, which the young waterman gives in his own way, " Lord love ye, sir ! That shows how little you understand this river. Why, captain, it crooks an' crooks, and goes wobblin' about in such a way, that folks as lives less'n a mile apart knows no more o' one the other than if they wor ten. It comes o' the bridges bein' so few and far between. There's the ferry boats, true ; but people don't take to 'em more'n they can help 'specially women seein' there be some danger at all times, and a good deal o't when the river's aflood. That's frequent, summer well as winter." The explanation is reasonable ; and, satisfied with it, Kyecroft remains for a time wrapt in a dreamy reverie, from which he is aroused as his eyes rest upon a house a quaint antiquated structure, half timber, half stone, standing not on the river's edge, but at some distance from it up a dingle. The sight is not new to him ; he has before noticed the house struck with its appearance, so different from the ordinary dwellings. " Whose is it, Jack ? " he asks. " Belongs to a man, name o' Murdock." " Odd looking domicile ! " "Ta'nt a bit more that way than lie be if half what they say 'bout him be true." " Ah ! Mr. Murdock's a character, then ? " " Ay ; an' a queery one." 70 QWEN WYNN. et In what respect ? what way ? " " More'n one a goodish many." Specify, Jack." "Well; for one thing, he a'nt sober to say half o' nis time." " Addicted to dipsomania." " 'Dieted to getting dead drun&. I've seen him so, scores o' 'casions." " That's not wise of Mr. Murdock." " No, captain ; 'ta'nt neyther wise nor well. All the worse, considerin' the place where mostly he go to do his drinkin'." "Where may that be ?" " The Welsh Harpup at Rogue's Ferry." " Rogue's Ferry ? Strange appellation ! What sort of place is it ? Not very nice, I should say if the name be at all appropriate." " It's parfitly 'propriate, though I b'lieve it wa'nt that way bestowed. It got so called after a man the name o' Rugg, who once keeped the Welsh Harp and the ferry too. It's about two mile above, a little ways back. Besides the tavern, there be a cluster o' houses, a bit scattered about, wi' a chapel an' a grocery shop one as deals truckways, an' a'nt partickler as to what they take in change stolen goods welcome as any ay, welcomer, if they be o' worth. They got plenty o' them, too. The place be a regular nest o' poachers, an' worse than that a good many as have sarved their spell in the Penitentiary." "Why, Wingate, you astonish me ! I was under the impression your Wyeside was a sort of Arcadia, where one only met with innocence and primitive simplicity." " You won't meet much o' either at Rogue's Ferry. If there be an uninnocent set on earth it's they as live there. Them Forest chaps we came 'cross a'nt no ways their match in wickedness. Just possible drink JEALOUS ALREADY. ?i made them behave as they did some o' 'em. But drink or no drink it be all the same wi' the Ferry people maybe worse when they're sober. Any ways they're a rough lot." " With a place of worship in their midst ! That ought to do something towards refining them." " Ought j and would, I daresay, if 'twar the right sort which it a'nt. Instead, o' a kind as only the more corrupts 'em being Roman." " Oh ! A Roman Catholic chapel. But how does it corrupt them ? " "By makin' 'em believe they can get cleared of their sins, hows'ever black they be. Men as think that way a'nt like to stick at any sort of crime 'specially if it brings 'em the money to buy what they calls absolution." " Well, Jack, it's very evident you're no friend, or follower, of the Pope." "Neyther o' Pope nor priest. Ah 1 captain; if you seed him o' the Rogue's Ferry Chapel, you wouldn't wonder at my havin' a dislike for the whole kit o' them." " What is there 'specially repulsive about him ? " " Don't know as there be anythin' very special, in partickler. Them priests all look 'bout the same such o' 'em as I've ever set eyes on. And that's like stoats and weasels, shootin' out o' one hole into an- other. As for him we're speakin' about, he's here, there, an* everywhere ; sneakin' along the roads an' paths, hidin' behind bushes like a cat after birds, an' poppin' out where nobody expects him. If ever there war a spy meaner than another it's the priest of Rogue's Ferry." "No," he adds, correcting himself. "There be one other in these parts worse that he if that's pos- sible. A different sort o' man, true ; and yet they be a good deal thegither." 72 Q WEN WYNN. " Who is this other ? " "Dick Dempsey better known by the name of Coracle Dick." " Ah, Coracle Dick ! He appears to occupy a con- spicuous place in your thoughts, Jack ; and rather a low one in your estimation. Why, may I ask ? What sort of fellow is he ? " " The biggest blaggard as lives on the Wye, from where it springs out o' Plinlimmon to its emptying into the Bristol Channel. Talk o' poachers an' night netters. He goes out by night to catch somethin' beside salmon. 'Taint all fish as comes into his net, I know." The young waterman speaks in such hostile tone both about priest and poacher, that Eyecroft suspects a motive beyond the ordinary prejudice against men who wear the sacerdotal garb, or go trespassing after game. Not caring to inquire into it now, he returns to the original topic, saying, " We've strayed from our subject, Jack which was the hard-drinking owner of yonder house." " Not so far, captain ; seein' as he be the most in- timate friend the priest have in these parts ; though if what's said be true, not nigh so much as his Missus." " Murdock is married, then ? " "I won't say that leastwise I shouldn't like to swear it. All I know is, a woman lives wi' him, s'posed to be his wife. Odd thing she." " Why odd ? " "'Cause she beant like any other o' womankind 'bout here." " Explain yourself, Jack. In what does Mrs. Mur- dock differ from the rest of your Herefordshire fair ? " "One way, captain, in her not bein' fair at all. 'Stead, she be dark complected; most as much as one o' them women I've seed 'bout Cheltenham, nursin' JEALOUS ALREADY. 73 the children o' old officers as brought 'em from India ayers they call 'em. She a'nt one o' 'em, but French, I've heerd say ; which in part, I suppose explains the thickness 'tween her an' the priest he bein' the same." " Oh ! His reverence is a Frenchman, is he ? " " All o' that, captain. If he wor English, he woudn't coudn't be the contemptible sneakin' hound he is, As for Mrs. Murdock, I can't say I've seed her more'n twice in my life. She keeps close to the house ; goes nowhere ! an' it's said nobody visits her nor him : leastwise none o' the old gentry. For all Mr. Mur- dock belongs to the best of them." " He's a gentleman, is he ? " " Ought to be if he took after his father." " Why so?" " Because he wor a squire regular of the old sort. He's not been so long dead. I can remember him my- self, though I hadn't been here such a many years the old lady too this Murdock's mother. Ah ! now I think on't, she wor t'other squire's sister father to the tallest o' them two young ladies the one with the reddish hair." "What! MissWynn?" "Yes, captain; her they calls Gwen." Kyecroft questions no farther. He has learnt enough to give him food for reflection not only during the rest of that day, but for a week, a month it may be throughout the remainder of his life. CHAPTER X. THE CUCKOO'S GLEN. ABOUT a mile above Llangorren Court, but on the opposite side of the Wye, stands the house which had attracted the attention of Captain Ryecroft ; known to the neighbourhood as " Glyngog " Cymric synonym for " Cuckoo's Glen." Not immediately on the water's edge, but several hundred yards back, near the head of a lateral ravine which debouches on the valley of the river, to the latter contributing a rivulet. Glyngog House is one of those habitations, common in the county of Hereford as other western shires puzzling the stranger to tell whether they be gentle- man's residence, or but the dwelling of a farmer. This from an array of walls, enclosing yard, garden, even the orchard a plenitude due to the red sand- stone being near, and easily shaped for building pur- poses. About Glyngog House, however, there is something besides the circumvallation to give it an air of gran- deur beyond that of the ordinary farm homestead; certain touches of architectural style which speak of the Elizabethan period in short that termed Tudor. For its own walls are not altogether stone ; instead, a framework of oaken uprights, struts, and braces, black with age, the panelled masonry between plastered and white-washed, giving to the structure a quaint, almost fantastic, appearance, heightened by an irregu- lar roof of steep pitch, with projecting dormers, gables acute angled, overhanging windows, and carving at THE CUCKOO'S GLEN. 75 the coigns. Of such ancient domiciles there are yet many to be met with on the Wye their antiquity vouched for by the materials used in their construction, when bricks were a costly commodity, and wood to be had almost for the asking. About this one, the enclosing stone walls have been a later erection, as also the pillared gate entrance to its ornamental grounds, through which runs a carriage drive to the sweep in front. Many a glittering equip- age may have gone round on that sweep ; for Glyngog was once a manor-house. Now it is but the remains of one, so much out of repair as to show smashed panes in several of its windows, while the enceinte walls are only upright where sustained by the upholding ivy ; the shrubbery run wild ; the walks and carriage drive weed-covered ; on the latter neither recent track of wheel, nor hoof-mark of horse. For all, the house is not uninhabited. Three or four of the windows appear sound, with blinds inside them ; while at most hours smoke may be seen ascend- ing from at least two of the chimneys. Few approach near enough the place to note its peculiarities. The traveller gets but a distant glimpse of its chimney-pots ; for the country road, avoiding the dip of the ravine, is carried round its head, and far from the house. It can only be approached by a long, narrow lane, leading nowhere else, so steep as to deter any explorer save a pedestrian ; while he, too, would have to contend with an obstruction of over- growing thorns and trailing brambles. Notwithstanding these disadvantages, Glyngog has something to recommend it a prospect not surpassed in the western shires of England. He who selected its site must have been a man of tastes rather aesthetic than utilitarian. For the land attached and belonging some fifty or sixty acr 3S is barely arable ; lying against the abruptly sloping sides of the ravine. 76 GWEN WYNN. But the view is superb. Below, the Wye, winding through a partially wood-covered plain, like some grand constrictor snake ; its sinuosities only here and there visible through the trees, resembling a chain of detached lakes till sweeping past the Cuckoo's Glen, it runs on in straight reach towards Llangorren. Eye of man never looked upon lovelier landscape ; mind of man could not contemplate one more sugges- tive of all that is, or ought to be, interesting in life. Peaceful smokes ascending out of far-off chimneys; farm-houses, with their surrounding walls, standing amid the greenery of old homestead trees now in full leaf, for it is the month of June here and there the sharp spire of a church, or the showy facade of a gentleman's mansion in the distant background, the dark blue mountains of Monmouthshire ; among them conspicuous the Blorenge, Skerrid, and Sugar Loaf. The man who could look on such a picture, without drawing from it inspirations of pleasure, must be out of sorts with the world, if not weary of it. And yet just such a man is now viewing it from Glyngog House, or rather the bit of shrubbery ground in front. He is seated on a rustic bench partly shat- tered, barely enough of it whole to give room beside him for a small japanned tray on which are tumbler, bottle and jug the two last respectively containing brandy and water ; while in the first is an admixture of both. He is smoking a meerschaum pipe, which at short intervals he removes from his ''mouth to give place to the drinking glass. The personal appearance of this man is in curious correspondence with the bench on which he sits, the walls around, and the house behind. Like all these, he looks dilapidated. Not only is his apparel out of repair, but his constitution too, as shown by hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, with crows feet ramifying around them. This due not, as with the surrounding THE CUCKOO'S GLEN. 77 objects, to age ; for he is still under forty. Nor yet any of the natural infirmities to which flesh is heir ; but evidently to drink. Some reddish spots upon his nose and flecks on the forehead, with the glass held in shaking hand, proclaims this the cause. And it is. Lewin Murdock such is the man's name has led a dissipated life. Not much of it in England ; still less in Herefordshire ; and only its earlier years in the house he now inhabits his paternal home. Since boyhood he has been abroad, staying none can say where, and straying no one knows whither often seen, however, at Baden, Homburg, and other " hells/' punting high or low, as the luck has gone for or against him. At a later period in Paris, during the Imperial regime worst hell of all. It has stripped him of everything ; driven him out and home, to seek asylum at Glyngog, once a handsome property, now but a pied a terre, on which he may only set his foot with a mortgage around his neck. For even the little land left to it is let out to a farmer, and the rent goes not to him. He is, in fact, only a tenant on his patri- monial estate ; holding but the house at that, with the ornamental grounds and an acre or two of orchard, of which he takes no care. The farmer's sheep may scale the crumbling walls, and browse the weedy en- closure at will : give Lewin Murdock his meerschaum pipe, with enough brandy and water, and he but laughs. Not that he is of a jovial disposition, not at all given to mirth ; only that it takes something more than the pasturage of an old orchard to excite his thoughts, or turn them to cupidity. For all, land does this the very thing. No limited tract ; but one of many acres in extent even miles the land of Llangorren. It is now before his face, and under his eyes, as a map unfolded. On the opposite side of the river it forms the foreground of the landscape j in its midst 78 OWEN WYNN. the many-windowed mansion, backed by stately trees, with well-kept grounds, and green pastures ; at a little distance the " Grange," or home-farm, and farther off others that look of the same belonging as they are. A smiling picture it is; spread before the eyes of Lewin Murdock, whenever he sits in his front window, or steps outside the door. And the brighter the sun shines on it, the darker the shadow on his brow. Not much of an enigma either. That land of Llan- gorren belonged to his grandfather, but now is, or soon will be, the property of his cousin Gwendoline Wynn. Were she not, it would be his. Between him and it runs the Wye, a broad, deep river. But what its width or depth, compared with that other some- thing between? A barrier stronger and more im- passable than the stream, yet seemiog slight as a thread. For it is but the thread of a life. Should it snap, or get accidentally severed, Lewin Murdock would only have to cross the river, proclaim himself master of Llangorren, and take possession He would scarce be human not to think of all this. And being human he does has thought of it oft, and many a time. With feelings too, beyond the mere prompting of cupidity. These due to a legend handed down to him, telling of an unfair disposal of the Llan- gorren property ; but a pittance given to his mother, who married Murdock of Glyngog ; while the bulk went to her brother, the father of Gwen Wynn. All matters of testament, since the estate is unentailed ; the only grace of the grandfather towards the Murdock branch being a clause entitling them to possession, in the event of the collateral heirs dying out. And of these but one is living the heroine of our tale. " Only she but she ! " mutters Lewin Murdock, in a tone of such bitterness, that, as if to drown it, he plucks the pipe out of his mouth, and gulps down the last drop in the glass. CHAPTER XI. A WEED BY THE WYESIDB. " ONLY she but she ! " he repeats, grasping the bottle by the neck, and pouring more brandy into the tumbler. Though speaking sotto voce, and not supposing him- self overheard, he is, nevertheless by a woman, who, coming forth from the house, has stepped silently behind him, there pausing. Odd-looking apparition she, seen upon the Wye- side j altogether unlike a native of it, but altogether like one born upon the banks of the Seine, and brought up to tread the Boulevards of Paris like the latter from the crown of her head to the soles of her high-heeled boots, on whose toes she stands poised and balancing. In front of that ancient English manor 7 house, she seems grotesquely out of place as much as a costermonger, driving his moke- drawn cart among the Pyramids, or smoking a " Pick- wick " by the side of the Sphinx. For all there is nothing mysterious, or even strange in her presence there. She is Lewin Murdock's wife. If he has left his fortune in foreign lands, with the better part of his life and health, he has thence brought her, his better-half. Physically a fine-looking woman, despite some ravages due to time, and possibly more to crime. Tall and dark as the daughters of the Latinic race, with features beautiful in the past even still attrac- 80 GWEN WYNN. tive to those not repelled by the beguiling glances of sin. Such were hers, first given to him in a cafe chantant of the Tuileries oft afterwards repeated in jardin, boiSj and bals of the demi-monde, till at length she gave him her hand in the Eglise La Madeleine. Busied with his brandy, and again gazing at Llan- gorren, he has not yet seen her ; nor is he aware of her proximity till hearing an exclamation : "Eh, bien ? " He starts at the interrogatory, turning round. " You think too loud, Monsieur that is if you wish to keep your thoughts to yourself. And you might seeing that it's a love secret ! May I ask who is this she you're soliloquising about ? Some of your old English bonnes amies, I suppose ? " This, with an air of affected jealousy she is far from feeling. In the heart of the ex-cocotte there is no place for such a sentiment. " Got nothing to do with bonnes amies, young or old/' he gruffly replies. "Just now I've got some- thing else to think of than sweethearts. Enough occupation for my thoughts in the how I'm to support a wife yourself, madame." "It wasn't me you meant. No, indeed. Some other, in whom you appear to feel a very profound interest." " There you're right, it was one other, in whom I feel all that." " Herd, Monsieur ! Mafoif your candour deserves all thanks. Perhaps you'll extend it, and favour me with the lady's name ? A lady, I presume. The grand Seigneur Lewin Murdock would not be giving his thoughts to less." Ignorance pretended. She knows, or surmises, to whom he has been giving them ; for she has been watching him from a window, and observed the direc- A WEED BY THE WYESIDE. 81 tion of his glances. And she has more than a sus- picion as to the nature of his reflections ; since she is well aware as he of that something besides a river separating them from Llangorren. " Her name ? " she again asks, in tone of more demand, her eyes bent searchingly on his. Avoiding her glance, he still pulls away at his pipe, without making answer. " It is a love secret, then ? I thought so. It's cruel of you, Lewin ! This is the return for giving you all I had to give ! " She may well speak hesitatingly, and hint at a limited sacrifice. Only her hand ; and it more than tenderly pressed by scores ay hundreds of others, before being bestowed upon him. No false pretence, however, on her part. He knew all that, or should have known it. How could he help ? Olympe, the belle of the Jardin Mabille, was no obscurity in the demi-monde of Paris even in its days of glory under Napoleon le Petite. Her reproach is also a pretence, though possibly with some sting felt. She is drawing on to that term of life termed passe, and begins to feel conscious of it. He may be the same. Not that for his opinion she cares a straw save in a certain sense, and for reasons altogether independent of slighted affection the very purpose she is now working upon, and for which she needs to hold over him the power she has hitherto had. And well knows she how to retain it, rekindling love's fire when it seems in danger of dying out, either through appeal to his pity, or exciting his jealousy, which she can adroitly do, by her artful French ways and dark flashing eyes. As he looks in them now, the old flame flickers up, and he feels almost as much her slave as when he first became her husband. For all he does not show it. This day he is out of o 82 GWEN WYNN. sorts with himself, and her, and all the world besides; so instead of reciprocating her sham tenderness as if knowing it such he takes another swallow of brandy, and smokes on in silence. Now really incensed, or seeming so, she exclaims :~ " Per 'fide ! " adding with a disdainful toss of the head, such as only the dames of the demi-monde know how to give, " Keep your secret ! What care I ? " Then changing tone, " Mon Dieu I France dear France ! Why did I ever leave you ? " " Because your dear France became too dear to live in." " Clever double entendre I No doubt you think it witty ! Dear, or not, better a garret there a room in its humblest entresol than this. I'd rather serve in a cigar shop keep a gargot in the Faubourg Mont- martre than lead such a triste life as we're now doing. Living in this wretched kennel of a house, that threatens to tumble on our heads ! " " How would you like to live in that over yonder?" He nods towards Llangorren Court. " You are merry, Monsieur. But your jests are out of place in presence of the misery around us." ' ' You may some day," he goes on, without heeding her observation. "Yes; when the sky falls we may catch larks. You seem to forget that Mademoiselle Wynn is younger than either of us, and by the natural laws of life will outlive both. Must, unless she break her neck in the hunting-field, get drowned out of a boat, or meet some other mischance." She pronounces the last three words slowly and with marked emphasis, pausing after she has spoken them, and looking fixedly in his face, as if to note their effect. Taking the meerschaum from his mouth, he returns her look almost shuddering as his eyes meet hers, A WEED BY THE WYESIDE. OO and lie reads in them a glance such as might have been given by Messalina, or the murderess of Duncan. Hardened as his conscience has become through a long career of sin, it is yet tender in comparison with hers. And he knows it, knowing her history, or enough of it her nature as well to make him think her capable of anything, even the crime her speech seems to point to neither more nor less than He dares not think, let alone pronounce, the word. He is not yet up to that ; though day by day, as his desperate fortunes press upon him, his thoughts are being familiarised with something akin to it a dread, dark design, still vague, but needing not much to assume shape, and tempt to execution. And that the tempter is by his side he is more than half conscious. It is not the first time for him to listen to fell speech from those fair lips. To-day he would rather shun allusion to a subject so grave, yet so delicate. He has spent part of the preceding night at the Welsh Harp the tavern spoken of by Wingate and his nerves are unstrung, yet not recovered from the revelry. Instead of asking her what she means by "some other mischance/' he but remarks, with an air of careless indifference, " True, Olympe ; unless something of that sort were to happen, there seems no help for us but to resign ourselves to patience, and live on expectations." " Starve on them, you mean/' This in a tone, and with a shrug, which seem to convey reproach for its weakness. " Well, clierie" he rejoins, " we can at least feast our eyes on the source whence our fine fortunes are to come. And a pretty sight it is, isn't it ? Un coup d'oeil charmant ! " He again turns his eyes upon Llangorren, as also she, and for some time both are silent. Attractive at any time, the Court is unusually so on 84 GWBN WYNN. this same summer's day. For the sun, lighting up the verdant lawn, also shines upon a large white tent there erected a marquee from whose ribbed roof projects a signal staff, with flag floating at its peak. They have had no direct information of what all this is for since to Lewin Murdock and his wife the society of Here- fordshire is tabooed. But they can guess from the symbols that it is to be a garden party, or something of the sort, there often given. While they are still gazing its special kind is declared, by figures appearing upon the lawn and taking stand in groups before the tent. There are ladies gaily attired in the distance looking like bright butterflies some dressed a la Diane, with bows in hand, and quivers slung by their sides, the feathered shafts showing over their shoulders ; a pro- portion late number of gentlemen attendant j while liveried servants stride to and fro erecting the ringed targets. Murdock himself cares little for such things. He has had his surfeit of fashionable life ; not only sipped its sweets, but drank its dregs of bitterness. He re- gards Llangorren with something in his mind more substantial than its sports and pastimes. With different thoughts looks the Parisian upon them in her heart a chagrin only known to those whose zest for the world's pleasure is of keenest edge, yet checked and baffled from indulgence ambitions uncontrollable, but never to be attained. As Satan gazed back when hurled out of the Garden of Eden, so she at that scene upon the lawn of Llangorren. No jardin of Paris not the Bois itself ever seemed to her so attractive as those grounds, with that aristo- cratic gathering a heaven none of her kind can enter, and but few of her country. After long regarding it with envy in her eyes, and spleen in her soul tantalized, almost to torture she faces towards her husband, saying A WEED BY THE WYESIDE. "And you've told ine, between all that and us, there's but one life " " Two 1 " interrupts a voice not his. Both turning, startled, behold Father Rogier ! CHAPTER XII. A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. FATHER ROGIEE is a French priest of a type too well known over all the world the Jesuitical. Spare of form, thin-lipped, nose with the cuticle drawn across it tight as drum parchment, skin dark and cadaverous, he looks Loyola from head to heel. He himself looks no one straight in the face. Con- fronted, his eyes fall to his feet, or turn to either side, not in timid abashment, but as those of one who feels himself a felon. And but for his habiliments he might well pass for such ; though even the sacerdotal garb, and assumed air of sanctity, do not hinder the suspicion of a wolf in sheep's clothing rather suggesting it. And in truth is he one ; a very Pharisee Inquisitor to boot, cruel and keen as ever sate in secret Council over an Auto da Fe. What is such a man doing in Herefordshire ? What, in Protestant England ? Time was, and not so long ago, when these questions would have been asked with curiosity, and some degree of indignation. As for instance, when our popular Queen added to her popularity, by somewhat ostentatiously declaring, that " no foreign priest should take tithe or toll in her dominions/' even forbidding them their distinctive dress. Then they stole timidly, and sneakingly, through the streets, usually seen hunting in couples, and looking as if conscious their pursuit was criminal, or, at the least, illegal. 86 A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 87 All that is over now ; the ban removed, the boast unkept to all appearance forgotten ! Now they stalk boldly abroad, or saunter in squads, exhibiting their shorn crowns and pallid faces, without fear or shame; instead, triumphantly flouting their vestments in public walks or parks, or loitering in the vestibules of convents and monasteries, which begin to show thick over the land threatening us with a curse as that anterior to the time of bluff King Hal. No one now thinks it strange to see shovel-hatted priest, or sandalled monk no matter in what part of England, nor would wonder at one of either being resident upon Wyeside. Father Rogier, one of the former, is there with similar motive, and for the same purpose, his sort are sent every where to enslave the souls of men and get monej out of their purses, in order that other men, princes, and priests like himself, may lead luxurious lives, with- out toil and by trickery. The same old story, since the beginning of the world, or man's presence upon it. The same craft as the rain-maker of South Africa, or the medicine man of the North American Indian; differing only in some points of practice ; the religious juggler of a higher civilization, finding his readiest tools not in roots, snake- skins, and rattles, but the weakness of woman. Through this, as by sap and mine, many a strong citadel has been carried, after bidding defiance to the boldest and most determined assault. Pere Rogier well knows all this ; and by experience, having played the propagandist game with some suc- cess since his settling in Herefordshire. He has not been quite three years resident on Wyeside, and yet has contrived to draw around him a considerable coterie of weak-minded Marthas and Marys, built him a little chapel, with a snug dwelling house, and is in a fair way of further feathering his nest. True, his neophytes are nearly all of the humbler class, and poor. But the 88 GWEN WYNN. Peter's pence count up in a remarkable manner, and are paid with a regularity which only blind devotion, or the zeal of religious partizanship, can exact. Fear of the Devil, and love of him, are like effective in drawing contributions to the box of the Rugg's Ferry chapel, and filling the pockets of its priest. And if he have no grand people among his flock, and few disciples of the class called middle, he can boast of at least two claiming to be genteel the Mur- docks. With the man no false assumption either; neither does he assume, or value it. Different the woman. Born in the Faubourg Montmartre, her father a common ouvrier, her mother a blanchissense herself a beautiful girl Olympe Renault soon found her way into a more fashionable quarter. The same ambition made her Lewin Murdock's wife, and has brought her on to England. For she did not marry him without some knowledge of his reversionary in- terest in the land of which they have just been speak- ing, and at which they are still looking. That was part of the inducement held out for obtaining her hand ; her heart he never had. That the priest knows something of the same, in- deed all, is evident from the word he has respondingly pronounced. With step, silent and cat-like his usual mode of progression he has come upon them un- awares, neither having note of his approach till startled by his voice. On hearing it, and seeing who, Murdock rises to his feet, 'as he does so saluting. Notwith- standing long years of a depraved life, his early train- ing has been that of a gentleman, and its instincts at times return to him. Besides, born and brought up Roman Catholic, he has that respect for his priest habitual to a proverb would have, even if knowing the latter to be the veriest Pharisee that ever wore single-breasted black coat. Salutations exchanged, and a chair brought out for A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 89 the new comer to sit upon, Murdock demands explana- tion of the interrupting monosyllable, asking : " What do you mean, Father Rogier, by ' two ' ? " " What I've said, M'sieu ; that there are two be- tween you and that over yonder, or soon will be in time perhaps ten. A fair pay sage it is ! " he continues, looking across the river j " a very vale of Tempe, or Garden of the Hesperides. Parlleu ! I never be- lieved your England so beautiful. Ah ! what's going on at Llangorren ? " This as his eyes rest upon the tent, the flags, and gaily- dressed figures. (< A fte champetre : Mademoiselle making merry ! In honour of the anticipated change, no doubt." " Still I don't comprehend," says Murdock, looking puzzled. " You speak in riddles, Father Rogier." (( Riddles easily read, M'sieu. Of this particular one you'll find the interpretation there." This, pointing to a plain gold ring on the fourth finger of Mrs. Murdock' s left hand, put upon it by Murdock himself on the day he becameher husband. He now comprehends his quick-witted wife sooner, " Ha ! " she exclaims, as if pricked by a pin, " Mademoiselle to be married ? " The priest gives an assenting nod. " That's news to me," mutters Murdock, in a tone more like he was listening to the announcement of a death. " Moi aussi ! Who, Pere ? Not Monsieur Shenstone, after all ? " ^ The question shows how well she is acquainted with Miss Wynn if not personally, with her surroundings and predilections ! " No," answers the priest. f( Not he." " Who theu ? " asked the two simultaneously. " A man likely to make many heirs to Llangorren widen the breach between you and it ah ! to the impossibility of that ever beiag bridged." 90 OWEN WYNN. ' ' Pere Rogier ! " appeals Murdock, " I pray you speak out ! Who is to do this ? His name ? " " Le Gapitaine Ryecroft." " Captain Ryecroft ! Who what is he ? "An officer of Hussars a fine-looking fellow sort of combination of Mars and Apollo; strong as Hercules ! As I've said, likely to be father to no end of sons and daughters, with Grwen Wynn for their mother. Helas I I can fancy seeing them now at play over yonder, on the lawn ! " " Captain Kyecroft ! " repeats Murdock musingly ; " I never saw never heard of the man ! " " You hear of him now, and possibly see him too. No doubt he's among those gay toxophilites Ha ! no, he's nearer ! What a strange coincidence ! The old saw, ' speak of the fiend/ There's your fiend, Mon- sieur Murdock ! " He points to a boat on the river with two men in it; one of them wearing a white cap. It is dropping down in the direction of Llangorren Court. " Which ? " asks Murdock mechanically. " He with the chapeau llanc. That's whom you have to fear. The other's but the waterman Wingate honest fellow enough, whom no one need fear un- less indeed our worthy friend Coracle Dick, his com- petitor for the smiles of the pretty Mary Morgan. Yes, mes amis ! Under that conspicuous kepi you behold the future lord of Llangorren." " Never ! " exclaims Murdock, angrily gritting his teeth. ' ' Never ! " The French priest and ci-devant French courtezan exchange secret, but significant, glances ; a pleased expression showing on the faces of both. " You speak excitedly, M'sieu," says the priest, " emphatically, too. But how is it to be hindered ? " " I don't know," sourly rejoins Murdock ; " I sup- pose it can't be," he adds, drawing back, as if conscious A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 91 of having committed himself. "Never mind, now; let's drop the disagreeable subject. You'll stay to dinner with us, Father Rogier ? " " If not putting you to inconvenience." " Nay ; it's you who'll be inconvenienced starved, I should rather say. The butchers about here are not of the most amiable type ; and, if I mistake not, our menu for to-day is a very primitive one bacon and potatoes, with some greens from the old garden." " Monsieur Murdock ! It's not the fare, but the fashion, which makes a meal enjoyable. A crust and welcome is to me better cheer than a banquet with a f radging host at the head of the table. Besides, your nglish bacon is a most estimable dish, and with your succulent cabbages delectable. With a bit of Wye salmon to precede, and a pheasant to follow, it were food to satisfy Lucullus himself." " Ah ! true/' assents the broken-down gentleman, " with the salmon and pheasant. But where are they ? My fishmonger, who is conjointly also a game-dealer, is at present as much out with me as is the butcher ; I suppose, from my being too much in with them- in their books. Still, they have not ceased acquaint- ance, so far as calling is concerned. That they do with provoking frequency. Even this morning, before I was out of bed, I had the honour of a visit from both the gentlemen. Unfortunately, they brought neither fish nor meat ; instead, two sheets of that detestable blue paper, with red lines and rows of figures an arithmetic not nice to be bothered with at one's breakfast. So, Pere, I am sorry I can't offer you any salmon; and as for pheasant you may not be aware, that it is out of season." " It's never out of season, any more than barn-door fowl ; especially if a young last year's coq, that hasn't been successful in finding a mate." " But it's close time now/' urges the Englishman, 92 OWEN WYNN. stirred by his old instincts of gentleman sports- man. " Not to those who know how to open it," returns the Frenchman with a significant shrug. "And suppose we do that to-day ? " "I don't understand. Will your Reverence en- lighten me ? " "Well, M'sieu; being Whit-Monday, and coming to pay you a visit, I thought you mightn't be offended by my bringing along with me a little present for Madame here that we're talking of salmon and pheasant." The husband, more than the wife, looks incredulous. Is the priest jesting ? Beneath the froc, fitting tight his thin spare form, there is nothing to indicate the presence of either fish or bird. " Where are they ? " asks Murdock mechanically. " You say you've brought them along ? " " Ah ! that was metaphorical. I meant to say I had sent them. And if I mistake not, they are near now, Yes ; there's my messenger ! " He points to a man making up the glen, threading his way through the tangle of wild bushes that grow along the banks of the rivulet. " Coracle Dick!" exclaims Murdock, recognising the poacher. " The identical individual," answers the priest, adding, " who, though a poacher, and possibly has been something worse, is not such a bad fellow in his way for certain purposes. True, he's neither the most devout nor best behaved of my flock; still a useful individual, especially on Fridays, when one has to confine himself to a fish diet. I find him con- venient in other ways as well; as so might you, Monsieur Murdock some day. Should you ever have need of a strong hard hand, with a heart in correspondence, Richard Dempsey possesses both, and A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 93 would no doubt place them at your service for a con- sideration." While Murdock is cogitating on what the last words are meant to convey, the individual so recommended steps upon the ground. A stout thick-set fellow, with a shock of black curly hair coming low down, almost to his eyes, thus adding to their sinister and lowering look. For all a face not naturally uncomely, but one on which crime has set its stamp, deep and indelible. His garb is such as gamekeepers usually wear, and poachers almost universally affect, a shooting coat of velveteen, corduroy smalls, and sheepskin gaiters buttoned over thick-soled shoes iron-tipped at the toes. In the ample skirt pockets of the coat each big as a game-bag appear two protuberances, that about balance one another the present of which the priest has already delivered the invoice in the one being a salmon " blotcher " weighing some three or four pounds, in the other a young cock pheasant. Having made obeisance to the trio in the grounds of Glyngog, he is about drawing them forth when the priest prevents him, exclaiming : " Arretez ! They're not commodities that keep well in the sun. Should a water-bailiff, or one of the Llangorren gamekeepers chance to set eyes on them, they'd spoil at once. Those lynx-eyed fellows can see a long way, especially on a day bright as this. So, worthy Coracle, before uncarting, you'd better take them back to the kitchen. 1 " Thus instructed the poacher strides off round to the rear of the house ; Mrs. Murdock entering by the front door to give directions about dressing the dinner. Not that she intends to take any hand in cooking it- not she. That would be infra dig. for the ancien belle of Mabille. Poor as is the establishment of Glyngog, it can boast of a plain cook, with a slavey to assist. The other two remain outside, the guest ioining his 94 GWEN WYNN. host in a glass of brandy and water. More than one ; for Father Rogier, though French, can drink like a born Hibernian. Nothing of the Good Templar in him. After they have been for nigh an hour hobnobbing, conversing, Murdock still fighting shy of the subject, which is nevertheless uppermost in the minds of both, the priest once more approaches it, saying : " Parbleu ! They appear to be enjoying themselves over yonder ! " He is looking at the lawn where the bright forms are flitting to and fro. " And most of all, I should say, Monsieur White Cap foretasting the sweets of which he'll ere long enter into full en- joyment ; when he becomes master of Llangorren." " That never ! " exclaims Murdock, this time add- ing an oath. " Never while I live. When Fm dead " " Diner ! " interrupts a female voice from the house that of its mistress seen standing on the doorstep. " Madame summons us," says the priest, " we must in, M'sieu. "While picking the bones of the pheasant, you can complete your unfinished speech. Allans ! " CHAPTER XIIL AMONG THE ARROWS. THE invited to the archery meeting have nearly all arrived, and the shooting has commenced; half a dozen arrows in the air at a time, making for as many targets. Only a limited number of ladies compete for the first score, each having a little coterie of acquaintances at her back. Gwen Wynn herself is in this opening contest. Good with the bow, as at the oar indeed with county celebrity as an archer carrying the champion badge of her club it is almost a foregone conclusion she will come off victorious. Soon, however, those who are backing her begin to anticipate disappointment. She is not shooting with her usual skill, nor yet earnestness. Instead, negli- gently, and, to all appearance, with thoughts abstracted; her eyes every now and then straying over the ground, scanning the various groups, as if in search of a par- ticular individual. The gathering is large nearly a hundred people present and one might come or go without attracting observation. She evidently expects one to come who is not yet there ; and oftener than elsewhere her glances go towards the boat- dock, as if the personage expected should appear in that direction. There is a nervous restlessness in her manner, and after each reconnaissance of this kind, an expression of disappointment on her countenance. 96 QWEN WTNN. It is not unobserved. A gentleman by her side notes it, and with some suspicion of its cause a suspicion that pains him. It is George Shenstone; who is attending on her, handing the arrows in short acting as her aide-de-camp. Neither is he adroit in the exercise of his duty ; instead performs it bung- lingly ; his thoughts preoccupied, and eyes wandering about. His glances, however, are sent in the opposite direction to the gate entrance of the park, visible from the place where the targets are set up. They are both f< prospecting " for the self-same in- dividual, but with very different ideas one eagerly anticipating his arrival, the other as earnestly hoping he may not come. For the expected one is a gentleman no other than Vivian Ryecroft. Shenstone knows the Hussar officer has been invited, and, however hoping or wishing it, has but little faith he will fail. Were it himself, no ordinary obstacle could prevent his being present at that archery meet- ing, any more than would five-barred gate, or bullfinch, hinder him from keeping up with hounds. As time passes without any further arrivals, and the tardy guest has not yet put in appearance, Shen- stone begins to think he will this day have Miss Wynn to himself, or at least without any very formidable competitor. There are others present who seek her smiles some aspiring to her hand but none he fears so much as the one still absent. Just as he is becoming calm and confident, he is saluted by a gentleman of the genus " swell/' who, approaching, drawls out the interrogatory: "Who is that fella, Shenstone ? " "What fellow?" " He with the vewy peculya head gear. Indian affair topee, I bewieve they call it." " Where ? " asks Shenstone, starting and staring to all sides. AMONG THE ARROWS. 97 "Yondaw ! Appwoaching from the diwection of the rivaw. Looks a fwesh awival. I take it he must have come by bawt ! Knaw him ? " George Shenstone, strong man though he be, visibly trembles. Were Gwen Wynn at that moment to face about, and aim one of her arrows at his breast, it would not bring more pallor upon his cheeks, nor pain to his heart. For he wearing the " peculya head gear " is the man he most fears, and whom he had hoped not to see this day. So much is he affected, he does not answer the question put to him ; nor indeed has he opportunity, as just then Miss Wynn, sighting the topee too, sud- denly turning, says to him : " George ! be good enough to take charge of these things." She holds her bow with an arrow she had been affixing to the string. " Tender's a gentleman just arrived ; who you know is a stranger. Aunt will expect me to receive him. I'll be back soon as Fve discharged my duty." Delivering the bow and unspent shaft, she glides off without further speech or ceremony. He stands looking after ; in his eyes anything but a pleased expression. Indeed sullen, almost angry, as watching her every movement he notes the manner of her reception greeting the new comer with a warmth and cordiality he, Shenstone, thinks uncalled for, however much stranger the man may be. Little irksome to her seems the discharge of that so-called duty; but so exasperating to the baronet's son, he feels like crushing the bow stick between his fingers, or snapping it in twain across his knee ! As he stands with eyes glaring upon them, he is again accosted by his inquisitive acquaintance, who asks : " What's the matter, Jawge ? Yaw haven't answered my intewogatowy ! " 98 GWEN WYNN. What was it? I forget." " Aw, indeed ! That's stwange. I merely wished to knaw who Mr. White Cap is ? " " Just what Fd like to know myself. All I can tell you is, that he's an army fellow in the Cavalry I believe by name Ryecroft." " Aw yas ; Cavalwy. That's evident by the bend of his legs. Wyquoft Wyquoft, you say ? " " So he calls himself a captain of Hussars his own story." This in a tone and with a shrug of insinuation. " But yaw don't think he's an adventuwer ? " ", Can't say whether he is, or not/' " Who's his endawser ? How came he intwoduced at Llangowen ? " " That I can't tell you." He could though ; for Miss Wynn, true to her promise, has made him acquainted with the circum- stances of the river adventure, though not those leading to it ; and he, true to his, has kept them a secret. In a sense therefore, he could not tell, and the subterfuge is excusable. " By Jawve ! The Light Bob appears to have made good use of his time however intwoduced. Miss Gwen seems quite familiaw with him ; and yondaw the little Lees shaking hands, as though the two had been acquainted evaw since coming out of their cwadles ! See ! They're d wagging him up to the ancient spinster, who sits enthawned in her chair like a queen of the Tawnament times. Vewy mediaeval the whole affair vewy ! " " Instead, very modern ; in my opinion disgustingly so!" " Why d'yaw say that, Jawge ? " " Why ! Because in either olden or mediaeval times such a thing couldn't have occurred here in Hereford- shire." AMONG THE ARROWS. 99 " What thing, pway ? " "A. man admitted into good society without en- dorsement or introduction. Now-a-days any one may be so ; claim acquaintance with a lady, and force his company upon her, simply from having had the chance to pick up a dropped pocket-handkerchief, or offer his umbrella in a skiff of a shower ! " " But, shawly, that isn't how the gentleman yondaw made acquaintance with the fair Gwendoline ? " "Oh! I don't say that/' rejoins Shenstone, with forced attempt at a smile more natural, as he sees Miss Wynn separate from the group they are gazing at, and come back to reclaim her bow. Better satis- fied, now, he is rather worried by his importunate friend, _and to get rid of him adds : " If you are really desirous to know how Miss Wynn became acquainted with him, you can ask the lady herself." Not for all the world would the swell put that ques- tion to Gwen Wynn. It would not be safe; and thus snubbed he saunters away, before she is up to the spot. Kyecroft, left with Miss Lin ton, remains in con- versation with her. It is not his first interview ; for several times already has he been a visitor at Llan- gorren introduced by the young ladies as the gentle- man who, when the pleasure-boat was caught in a dangerous whirl, out of which old Joseph was unable to extricate it, came to their rescue possibly to the saving of their lives ! Thus, the version of the ad- venture vouchsafed to the aunt sufficient to sanction his being received at the Court. And the ancient toast of Cheltenham has been charmed with him. In the handsome Hussar officer she beholds the typical hero of her romance reading; so much like it, that Lord Lutestring has long ago gone out of her thoughts passed from her memory 100 GWEN WYNN. as though he had been but a musical sound. Of all who bend before her this day, the worship of none is so welcome as that of the martial stranger. Kesuming her bow, Gwen shoots no better than before. Her thoughts, instead of being concentrated on the painted circles, as her eyes, are half the time straying over her shoulders to him behind, still in a Ute-a-tete with the aunt. Her arrows fly wild and wide, scarce one sticking in the straw. In fine, among all the competitors, she counts lowest score the poorest she has herself ever made. But what matters it ? She is only too pleased when her quiver is empty, and she can have excuse to return to Miss Linton, on some question connected with the hospi- talities of the house. Observing all this, and much more besides, George Shenstone feels aggrieved indeed exasperated so terribly, it takes all his best breeding to withhold him from an exhibition of bad behaviour. He might not succeed were he to remain much longer on the ground which he does not. As if misdoubting his power of restraint, and fearing to make a fool of himself, he too frames excuse, and leaves Llangorren long before the sports come to a close. Not rudely, or with any show of spleen. He is a gentleman, even in his anger ; and bidding a polite, and formal, adieu to Miss Lin- ton, with one equally ceremonious, but more distant, to Miss Wynn, he slips round to the stables, orders his horse, leaps into the saddle, and rides off. Many the day he has entered the gates of Llan- gorren with a light and happy heart this day he goes out of them with one heavy and sad. If missed from the archery meeting, it is not by Miss Wynn. Instead, she is glad of his being gone. Notwithstanding the love passion for another now AMONG THE ARROWS. 101 occupying her heart almost filling it there is stil room there for the gentler sentiment of pity. She knows how Shenstone suffers how could she help knowing ? and pities him. Never more than at this same moment, despite that distant, half- disdainful adieu, vouchsafed to her at parting ; by him intended to conceal his thoughts, as his sufferings, while but the better revealing them. How men underrate the perception of women ! In. matters of this kind a very intuition. None keener than that of Gwen Wynn. She knows why he has gone so short away well as if he had told her. And with the compassionate thought still linger- ing, she heaves a sigh ; sad as she sees him ride out through the gate going in reckless gallop but succeeded by one of relief, soon as he is out of sight ! In an instant after, she is gay and gladsome as ever; once more bending the bow, and making the catgut twang. But now shooting straight hitting the target every time, and not unfrequently lodging a shaft in the " gold." For he who now attends on her, not only inspires confidence, but excites her to the display of skill. Captain Ryecroft has taken George Shenstone's place as her aide-de-camp ; and while he hands the arrows, she spending them, others of a different kind pass between them the shafts of Cupid of which there is a full quiver in the eyes of both. CHAPTER XIV. BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. NATURALLY, Captain Ryecroft is the subject of specula- tion among the archers at Llangorren. A man of his mien would be so anywhere if stranger. The old story of the unknown knight suddenly appearing on the tourney's field with closed visor, only recognisable by a love-lock or other favour of the lady whose cause he comes to champion. He, too, wears a distinctive badge in the white cap. For though our tale is of modern time, it antedates than when Brown began to affect the pugaree sham of Manchester Mills as an appendage to his cheap straw hat. That on the head of Captain Ryecroft is the regular forage cap, with quilted cover. Accustomed to it in India whence he has but lately returned he adheres to it in England, without thought of its at- tracting attention, and as little caring whether it does or not. It does, however. Insular, we are supremely con- servative some might call it ff caddish" and view innovations with a jealous eye; as witness the so- called " moustache movement " not many years ago, and the fierce controversy it called forth. For other reasons the officer of Hussars is at this same archery gathering a cynosure of eyes. There is a perfume of romance about him ; in the way he has been introduced to the ladies of Llangorren; a question asked by others besides the importunate friend of George Shenstone. The true account of 103 BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 103 the affair with the drunken foresters has not got abroad these keeping dumb about their own dis- comfiture ; while Jack Wingate, a man of few words, and on this special matter admonished to silence, has been equally close- mouthed ; Joseph also mute for reasons already mentioned. Withal, a vague story has currency in the neigh- bourhood, of a boat, with two young ladies, in danger of being capsized by some versions actually upset and the ladies rescued from drowning by a stranger who chanced to be salmon-fishing near by his name, Ryecroft. And as this tale also circulates among the archers at Llangorren, it is not strange that some in- terest should attach to the supposed hero of it, now present. Still, in an assemblage so large, and composed of such distinguished people many of whom are strangers to one another no particular personage can be for long an object of special concern; and if Captain Ryecroft continue to attract observation, it is neither from curiosity as to how he came there, nor the peculiarity of his head-dress, but the dark handsome features beneath it. On these more than one pair of bright eyes occasionally become fixed, regarding them with admiration. None so warmly as those of Gwen Wynn ; though hers neither openly nor in a marked manner. For she is conscious of being under the surveillance of other eyes, and needs to observe the proprieties. In which she succeeds ; so well, that no one watch- ing her could tell, much less say, there is aught in her behaviour to Captain Ryecroft beyond the hospitality of host which in a sense she is to guest claiming the privileges of a stranger. Even when during an interregnum of the sports the two go off together, and, after strolling for a time through the grounds, are at length seen to step inside the summer-house, it 104 OWEN WYNN. may cause, but does not merit, remark. Others are acting similarly, sauntering in pairs, loitering in shady places, or sitting on rustic benches. Good society allows the freedom, and to its credit. That which is corrupt alone may cavil at it, and shame the day when such confidence be abused and abrogated. Side by side they take stand in the little pavilion, under the shadow of its painted zinc roof. It may not have been all chance their coming thither no more the archery party itself. That Gwendoline Wynn, who suggested giving it, can alone tell. But standing there with their eyes bent on the river, they are for a time silent, so much, that each can hear the beating of the other's heart both brimful of love. At such moment one might suppose there could be no reserve or reticence, but confession, full, candid, and mutual. Instead, at no time is this farther off. If lejoiefaitpeur, far more I* amour. And with all that has passed is there fear between them. On her part springing from a fancy she has been over forward in her gushing gratitude for that service done, given too free expression to it, and needs being more reserved now. On his side speech is stayed by a reflection somewhat akin, with others besides. In his several calls at the Court his reception has been both welcome and warm. Still, not beyond the bounds of well-bred hospitality. But why on each and every occasion has he found a gentleman there the same every time George Shenstone by name ? There be- fore him, and staying after ! And this very day, what meant Mr. Shenstone by that sudden and abrupt de- parture ? Above all, why her distraught look, with the sigh accompanying it, as the baronet's son went galloping out of the gate ? Having seen the one, and heard the other, Captain Ryecroft has misinter- preted both. No wonder his reluctance to speak words of love. BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 105 And so for a time they are silent, the dread of mis- conception, with consequent fear of committal, hold- ing their lips sealed. On a simple utterance now may hinge their life's happiness, or its misery. Nor is it so strange, that in a moment fraught with such mighty consequence, conversation should be not only timid, but commonplace. They who talk of love's eloquence, but think of it in its lighter phases per- haps its lying. When truly, deeply felt, it is dumb, as devout worshipper in the presence of the Divinity worshipped. Here, side by side, are two highly or- ganized beings a man handsome and courageous, a woman beautiful and aught but timid both well up in the accomplishments, and gifted with the graces of life loving each other to their souls' innermost depths, yet embarrassed in manner, and constrained in speech, as though they were a couple of rustics ! More ; for Corydon would fling his arms around his Phyllis, and give her an eloquent smack, which she, with like readi- ness would return. Very different the behaviour of these in the pavilion. They stand for a time silent as statues -though not without a tremulous motion, scarce perceptible as if the amorous electricity around stifled their breathing, for the time hindering speech. And when at length this comes, it is of no more significance than what might be expected between two persons lately introduced, and feeling but the ordinary interest in one another ! It is the lady who speaks first : " I understand you've been but a short while resi- dent in our neighbourhood, Captain Ryecroft ? " " Not quite three months, Miss Wynn. Only a week or two before I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance." " Thank you for calling it a pleasure. Not much in the manner, I should say ; but altogether the con- trary," she laughs, adding 106 OWEN WYNti. " And how do you like our Wye ? " "Who could help liking it ? " " There's been much said of its scenery in books and newspapers. You really admire it ? " "I doj indeed." His preference is pardonable under the circumstances. "I think it the finest in the world." " What ! you such a great traveller ! In the tropics too ; upon rivers that run between groves of evergreen trees, and over sands of gold ! Do you really mean that, Captain Ryecroft ? " " Really truthfully. Why not, Miss Wynn ? " " Because I supposed those grand rivers we read of were all so much superior to our little Herefordshire stream ; in flow of water, scenery, everything " " Nay, not everything ! " he says interruptingly. " In volume of water they may be ; but far from it in other respects. In some it is superior to them all Rhine, Rhone, ah ! Hippocrene itself ! " His tongue is at length getting loosed. " What other respects ? " she asks. " The forms reflected in it," he answers hesitatingly. ' ' Not those of vegetation ! Surely our oaks, elms, and poplars cannot be compared with the tall palms and graceful tree ferns of the tropics ? " " No ; not those." (( Our buildings neither, if photography tells truth, which it should. Those wonderful structures towers, temples, pagodas of which it has given us the fac similes far excel anything we have on the Wye or anything in England. Even our Tintern, which we think so very grand, were but as nothing to them. Isn't that so ? " " True," he says assentingly. " One must admit the superiority of Oriental architecture." " But you've not told me what form our English river reflects, so much to your admiration ! " BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 107 He has a fine opportunity for poetical reply. The image is in his mind her own with the word upon his tongue, " woman's." But he shrinks from giving it utterance. Instead, retreating from the position he had assumed, he rejoins evasively : " The truth is, Miss Wynn, Fve had a surfeit of tropical scenery, and was only too glad once more to feast my eyes on the hill and dale landscapes of dear old England. I know none to compare with these of the Wyeside." "It's very pleasing to hear you say that to me especially. It's but natural I should love our beautiful Wye I, born on its banks, brought up on them, and, I suppose, likely to " " What ? " he asks, observing that she has paused in her speech. " Be buried on them ! " she answers laughingly. She intended to have said " Stay on them the rest of my life." " You'll think that a very grave conclu- sion/' she adds, keeping up the laugh. " One at all events very far off it is to be hoped. An eventuality not to arise, till after you've passed many long and happy days whether on the Wye, or elsewhere." ' ' Ah ! who can tell ? The future is a sealed book to all of us." " Yours need not be at least as regards its happi- ness. I think that is assured." " Why do you say so, Captain Ryecroft ? " " Because it seems to me, as though you had your- self the making of it." He is saying no more than he thinks ; far less. For he believes she could make fate itself control it, as she can his. And as he would now confess to her is almost on the eve of it but hindered by recalling that strange look and sigh sent after Shen stone. His fond fancies, the sweet dreams he has been indulging in 108 GWEN WYNN, ever since making her acquaintance, may have been but illusions. She may be playing with him, as he would with a fish on his hook. As yet, no word of love has passed her lips. Is there thought of it in her heart- for him ? " In what way ? What mean you ? " she asks, her liquid eyes turned upon him with a look of searching interrogation. The question staggers him. He does not answer it as he would, and again replies evasively somewhat confusedly ' ' Oh ! I only meant, Miss Wynn that you so young so well, with all the world before you surely have your happiness in your own hands." If he knew how much it is in his he would speak more courageously, and possibly with greater plain- ness. But he knows not, nor does she tell him. She, too, is cautiously retentive, and refrains taking advan- tage of his words, full of suggestion. It will need another seance possibly more than one before the real confidence can be exchanged between them. Natures like theirs do not rush into confession as the common kind. With them it is as with the wooing of eagles. She simply rejoins : " I wish it were/' adding with a sigh, " Far from it, I fear." He feels as if he had drifted into a dilemma brought about by his own gaucherie from which something seen up the river, on the opposite side, offers an op- portunity to escape a house. It is the quaint old habitation of Tudor times. Pointing to it, he says : " A very odd building, that ! If Fve been rightly informed, Miss Wynn, it belongs to a relative of yours ? " " I have a cousin who lives there." The shadow suddenly darkening her brow, with the BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH. 109 slightly explicit rejoinder, tells him he is again on dangerous ground. He attributes it to the character he has heard of Mr. Murdock. His cousin is evidently disinclined to converse about him. And she is ; the shadow still staying. If she knew what is at that moment passing within Glyngog could but hear the conversation carried on at its dining table it might be darker. It is dark enough in her heart, as on her face possibly from a presenti- ment. Ryecroft more than ever embarrassed, feels it a relief when Ellen Lees, with the Rev. Mr. Musgrave as her cavalier attendant they, too, straying solitarily approach near enough to be hailed, and invited into the pavilion. So the dialogue between the cautious lovers comes to an end to both of them unsatisfactory enough. For this day their love must remain unrevealed; though never man and woman more longed to learn the sweet secret of each other's heart. CHAPTER XV. A SPIRITUAL ADVISER. WHILE the sports are in progress outside Llangorren Court, inside Glyngog House is being eaten that dinner to commence with salmon in season and end with pheas- ant out. It is early; but the Murdocks often glad to eat what Americans call a "square meal," have no set hours for eating, while the priest is not particular. In the faces of the trio seated at the table a physiognomist might find interesting study, and note expressions that would puzzle Lavater himself. Nor could they be interpreted by the conversation which, at first, only refers to topics of a trivial nature. But now and then, a mot of double meaning let down by Rogier, and a glance surreptitiously exchanged between him and his countryman, tell that the thoughts of these two are running upon themes different from those about which are their words. Murdock, by no means of a trusting disposition, but ofttimes furiously jealous, has nevertheless, in this respect, no suspicion of the priest, less from confidence than a sort of contempt for the pallid puny creature, whom he feels he could crush in a moment of mad anger. And broken though he be, the stalwart, and once strong, Englishman could still do that. To ima- gine such a man as Rogier a rival in the affections of his own wife, would be to be little himself. Besides, he holds fast to that proverbial faith in the spiritual A SPIRITUAL ADVISEE. Ill adviser, not always well founded in his case certainly misplaced. Knowing nought of this, however, their exchanged looks, however markedly significant, escape his observation. Even if he did observe, he could not read in them aught relating to love. For, this day there is not ; the thoughts of both are absorbed by a different passion cupidity. They are bent upon a scheme of no common magnitude, but grand and comprehensive neither more nor less than to get possession of an estate worth 10,000 a year that Llangorren. They know its value as well as the steward who gives receipts for its rents. It is no new notion with them ; but one for some time entertained, and steps considered ; still nothing definite either conceived, or determined on. A task, so herculean, as dangerous and difficult, will need care in its conception, and time for its execution. True, it might be accomplished almost instantaneously with six inches of steel, or as many drops of belladonna. Nor would two of the three seated at the table stick at employing such means. Olympe Renault, and Gre- gorie Rogier have entertained thoughts of them if not more. In the third is the obstructor. Lewin Murdock would cheat at dice and cards, do money- lenders without remorse, and tradesmen without mercy, ay, steal, if occasion offered ; but murder that is different being a crime not only unpleasant to con- template, but perilous to commit. He would be willing to rob Gwendoline Wynn of her property glad to do it, if he only knew how but to take away her life, he is not yet up to that. But he is drawing up to it, urged by desperate circumstances, and spurred on by his wife, who loses no opportunity of bewailing their broken fortunes, and reproaching him for them ; at her back the Jesuit secretly instructing, and dictating. Not till this day have they found him in the mood 112 QWEN WYNN. for being made more familiar with their design. Whatever his own disposition, his ear has been hitherto deaf to their hints, timidly, and ambiguously given. But to-day things appear more promising, as evinced by his angry exclamation " Never ! " Hence their delight at hearing it. During the earlier stages of the dinner, as already said, they converse about ordinary subjects, like the lovers in the pavilion silent upon that paramount in their minds. How different the themes as love itself from murder ! And just as the first word was un- spoken in the summer-house at Llangorren, so is the last unheard in the dining-room of Glyngog. While the blotcher is being carved with a spoon there is no fish slice among the chattels of Mr. Mur- dock the priest in good appetite, and high glee pro- nounces it " crimp." He speaks English like a native, and is even up in its provincialisms ; few in Hereford- shire whose dialect is of the purest. The phrase of the fishmonger received smilingly, the salmon is distributed and handed across the table ; the attendance of the slavey, with claws not over clean, and ears that might be unpleasantly sharp, having been dispensed with. There is wine without stint ; for although Murdock's town tradesmen may be hard of heart, in the Welsh Harp there is a tender string he can still play upon ; the Boniface of the Rugg's Ferry hostelry having a beliet in his post obit expectations. Not such an indifferent wine either, but some of the choicest vintage. The guests of the Harp, however rough in external appear- ance and rude in behaviour, have wonderfully refined ideas about drink, and may be often heard calling for "fizz" some of them as well acquainted with the qualities of Moet and Cliquot, as a connoisseur of the most fashionable club. Profiting by their aesthetic tastes, Lewin Murdock A SPIRITUAL ADVISER. 113 is enabled to set wines upon his table of the choicest brands. Light Bordeaux first with the fish, then sherry with the heavier greens and bacon, followed by champagne as they get engaged upon the pheasant. At this point the conversation approaches a topic hitherto held in reserve, Murdock himself starting its " So my Cousin Gwen's going to get married, eh ! Are you sure of that, Father Rogier ? " " I wish I were as sure of going to heaven/' " But what sort of man is he ? you haven't told us." "Yes, I have. You forget my description, Mon- sieur cross between Mars and Phoebus strength herculean ; sure to be father to a progeny numerous as that which spring from the head of Medusa enough of them to make heirs for Llangorren to the end of time keep you out of the property if you lived to be the age of Methuselah. Ah ! a fine looking fellow, I can assure you ; against whom the baronet's son, with his rubicund cheeks and hay- coloured hair, wouldn't stand the slightest chance even were there nothing more to recommend the martial stranger. But there is." " What more ? " "The mode of his introduction to the lady that quite romantic." " How was he introduced ? " " Well, he made her acquaintance on the water. It appears Mademoiselle Wynn and her companion Lees, were out on the river for a row alone. Unusual that ! Thus out, some fellows Forest of Dean dwellers offered them insult ; from which a gentleman angler, who chanced to be whipping the stream close by, saved them he no other than le Oapitaine Ryecroft. With such commencement of acquaintance, a man couldn't be much worth who didn't know how to improve it even to terminating in marriage if he 114 GWEN WYNN. wished. And with such a rich heiress as Mademoi- selle Gwendoline Wynn to say nought of her personal charms there are few men who wouldn't wish it so to end. That he, the Hussar officer captain, colonel, or whatever his rank does, Fve good reason to believe, as also that he will succeed in accomplishing his desires ; no more doubt of it than of my being seated at this table. Yes ; sure as I sit here that man will be the master of Llangorren." "I suppose he will must," rejoins Murdock, drawing out the words as though not greatly con- cerned, one way or the other. Olympe looks dissatisfied, but not Rogier, nor she after a glance from the priest, which seems to say " Wait." He himself intends waiting till the drink has done its work. Taking the hint, she remains silent, her countenance showing calm, as with the content of innocence, while in her heart is the guilt of hell, and the deceit of the devil. She preserves her composure all through, and soon as the last course is ended, with a show of dessert placed upon the table poor and pro forma obedient to a look from Eogier, with a slight nod in the direc- tion of the door, she makes her tonge, and retires. Murdock lights his meerschaum, the priest one of his paper cigarettes of which he carries a case and for some time thoy sit smoking and drinking ; talking, too, but upon matters with no relation to that upper- most in their minds. They seem to fear touching it, as though it were a thing to contaminate. It is only after repeatedly emptying their glasses, their courage comes up to the standard required ; that of the Frenchman first ; who, nevertheless, approaches the delicate subject with cautious circumlocution. and, now returned to the " Harp " their place of put- up are flush of talk over their adventures, quaffing the sham " shammy,'' and smoking " regalias," not anything more genuine. While thus indulging they are startled by the apparition of what seems an angel, but what they know to be a thing of flesh and blood something that pleases them better a beautiful woman. More correctly speaking a girl; since it is Mary Morgan who has stepped inside the room set apart for the distributing of drink. Taking the cigars from between their teeth and leaving the rhubarb juice, just poured into their glasses, to discharge its pent-up gas they stand staring at the girl, with an impertinence rather due to A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. 149 the drink than any innate rudeness. They are harmless fellows in their way ; would be quiet enough behind their own counters, though fast before that of the " Welsh Harp/' and foolish with such a face as that of Mary Morgan beside them. She gives them scant time to gaze on it. Her business is simple, and speedily transacted. " A bottle of your best brandy the French cognac?" As she makes the demand, placing six shillings, the price understood, upon the lead-covered counter. The barmaid, a practised hand, quickly takes the article called for from a shelf behind, and passes it across the counter, and with like alertness counting the shillings laid upon it, and sweeping them into the till. It is all over in a few seconds' time ; and with equal celerity Mary Morgan, slipping the purchased com* modity into her cloak, glides out of the room vision- like as she entered it. " Who is that young lady ? " asks one of the cham- pagne drinkers, interrogating the barmaid. " Young lady ! " tartly returns the latter, with a flourish of her heavily chignoned head, "only a farmer's daughter." " Aw ! " exclaims the second tippler, in drawling imitation of Swelldom, " only the offspring of a chaw- bacon ! she's a monstrously crummy creetya, anyhow." " Devilish nice gal ! " affirms the other, no longer addressing himself to the barmaid, who has scornfully shown them the back of her head, with its tower of twisted jute. " Devilish nice gal, indeed ! Never saw spicier stand before a counter. What a dainty little fish for a farmer's daughter ! Say, Charley ! wouldn't you like to be sellin' her a pair of kids Jouvin's best helpin' her draw them on, eh ? " " By Jove, yes ! That would I." " Perhaps you'd prefer it being boots? What a 150 QWEN WYNN. stepper she is, too ! S'pose we slide after, and see where she hangs out ? " " Capital idea ! Suppose we do ? " " All right, old fellow ! I'm ready with the yard stick roll off!" And without further exchange of their professional phraseology, they rush out, leaving their glasses half- full of the effervescing beverage rapidly on the spoil. They have sallied forth to meet disappointment. The night is black as Erebus, and the girl gone out of sight. Nor can they tell which way she has taken; and to inquire might get them "guyed/' if not worse. Besides, they see no one of whom inquiry could be made. A dark shadow passes them, apparently the figure of a man ; but so dimly descried, and going in such rapid gait, they refrain from hailing him. Not likely they will see more of the " monstrously crummy creetya " that night they may on the morrow somewhere perhaps at the little chapel close by. Registering a mental vow to do their devotions there, and recalling the bottle of fizz left uncorked on the counter, they return to finish it. And they drain it dry, gulping down several goes of B.-and-S., besides, ere ceasing to think of the ' ' devilish nice gal/' on whose dainty little fist they would so like fitting kid gloves. Meanwhile, she, who has so much interested the dry goods gentlemen, is making her way along the road which leads past the Widow Wingate's cottage, going at a rapid pace, but not continuously. At intervals she makes stops, and stands listening her glances sent interrogatively to the front. She acts as one expecting to hear footsteps, or a voice in friendly salutation, and see him saluting for it is a man. Footsteps are there besides her own, but not heard by her, nor in the direction she is hoping to hear them. Instead, they are behind, and light, though made by a A BLACK SHADOW BEHIND. 151 heavy man. For he is treading gingerly as if on eggs evidently desirous not to make known his proximity. Near he is, and were the light only a little clearer she would surely see him. Favoured by its darkness he can follow close, aided also by the shadowing trees, and still further from her attention being all given to the ground in advance, with thoughts pre-occupied. But closely he follows her, but never coming up. When she stops he does the same, moving on again as she moves forward. And so for several pauses, with spells of brisk walking between. Opposite the Wingates' cottage she tarries longer than elsewhere. There was a woman standing in the door, who, however, does not observe her cannot a hedge of holly between. Cautiously parting its spinous leaves and peering through, the young girl takes a survey not of the woman, whom she well knows, but of a window the only one in which there is a light. And less the window than the walls inside. On her way to the Ferry she had stopped to do the same ; then seeing shadows two of them one a woman's, the other of a man. The woman is there in the door Mrs. Wingate herself; the man, her son, must be elsewhere. " Under the elm by this," says Mary Morgan, in soliloquy. " I'll find him there/' she adds, silently gliding past the gate. "Under the elm," mutters the man who follows, adding, "Til kill her there ay, both ! " Two hundred yards further on, and she reaches the place where the footpath debouches upon the road. There is a stile of the usual rough crossbar pattern, proclaiming a right of way. She stops only to see there is no one sitting upon it for there might have been then leapiug lightly over she proceeds along the path. 152 GWEN WTNN. The shadow behind does the same, as though it were a spectre pursuing. And now, in the deeper darkness of the narrow way, arcaded over by a thick canopy of leaves, he goes closer and closer, almost to touching. Were alight at this moment let upon his face, it would reveal features set in an expression worthy of hell itself; and cast farther down, would show a hand closed upon the haft of a long-bladed knife nervously clutching every now and then half drawing it from its sheath, as if to plunge its blade into the back of her who is now scarce six steps ahead ! And with this dread danger threatening so close Mary Morgan proceeds along the forest path, un- suspectingly : joyfully as she thinks of who is before, with no thought of that behind no one to cry out, or even whisper, the word, " Beware ! " CHAPTER XX. UNDER THE ELM. IN more ways than one has Jack Wingate thrown dust in his mother's eyes. His going to the Ferry after a piece of whipcord and a bit of pitch was fib the first ; the second his nob going there at all for he has not. Instead, in the very opposite direction ; soon as reach- ing the road, having turned his face towards Abergann, though his objective point is but the " big elm." Once outside the gate he glides along the holly hedge crouchingly, and with head ducked, so that it may not be seen by the good dame, who has followed him to the door. The darkness favouring him, it is not; and con- gratulating himself at getting off thus deftly, he con- tinues rapidly up the road. Arrived at the stile, he makes stop, saying in soliloquy : " I take it she be sure to come ; but I'd gi'e some- thing to know which o' the two ways. Bein' so darkish, an' that plank a bit dangerous to cross, I ha' heard 'tan't often I cross it just possible she may choose the roundabout o' the road. Still, she sayed the big elm, an' to get there she'll have to take the path comin' or goin' back. If I thought comin' I'd steer straight there an' meet her. But s'posin' she prefers the road, that 'ud make it longer to wait. Wonder which it's to be." With hand rested on the top rail of the stile, he 163 154 OWEN WYNlf. stands considering. Since their stolen interchange of speech at the Harvest Home, Mary has managed to send him word she will make an errand to Rugg's Ferry; hence his uncertainty. Soon again he resumes his conjectured soliloquy : "'Tan't possible she ha' been to the Ferry, an' goed back again ? God help me, 1 hope not ! An' yet there's just a chance. I weesh the Captain hadn't kep' me so long down there. An' the fresh from the rain that delayed us nigh half an hour, I oughtn't to a stayed a minute after gettin' home. But mother cookin' that nice bit o' steak ; if I hadn't ate it she'd a been angry, and for certain suspected somethin'. Then listenin' to all that dismal stuff 'bout the corpse- candle. An' they believe it in the shire o' Pembroke. Rot the thing ! Tho' I an't myself noways super- stishus, it gi'ed me the creeps. Queer, her dreamin' she seed it go out o' Abergann ! I do weesh she hadn't told me that ; an' I mustn't say word o't to Mary. Tho' she ain't o' the fearsome kind, a thing like that's enough to frighten any one. Well, what'd I best do ? If she ha' been to the Ferry an's goed home again, then I've missed her, and no mistake ! Still, she said she'd be at the elim, an's never broke her promise to me when she cud keep it. A man ought to take a woman at her word a true woman an' not be too quick to anticipate. Besides, the surer way's the safer. She appointed the old place, an' there I'll abide her. But what am I thinkin' o' ? She may be there now, a-waitin' for me ! " He doesn't stay by the stile one instant longer, but, vaulting over it, strikes off along the path. Despite the obscurity of the night, the narrowness of the track, and the branches obstructing, he proceeds with celerity. With that part he is familiar knows every inch of it, well as the way from his door to the place where he docks his boat at least so far as the UNDER THE ELM. 155 big elm, under whose spreading branches he and she have oft clandestinely met. It is an ancient patriarch of the forest ; its timber is honeycombed with decay, not having tempted the axe, by whose stroke its fellows have long ago fallen, and it now stands amid their progeny, towering over all. It is a few paces distant from the footpath, screened from it by a thicket of hollies interposed between, and extending around. From its huge hollow trunk a buttress, horizontally projected, affords a convenient seat for two, making it the very beau ideal of a trysticg-tree. Having got up and under it, Jack Wingate is a little disappointed almost vexed at not finding his sweetheart there. He calls her name in the hope she may be among the hollies at first cautiously and in a low voice, then louder. No reply ; she has either not been, or has and is gone. As the latter appears probable enough, he once more blames Captain Ryecroft, the rain, the river flood, the beefsteak above all, that long yarn about the canwyll corph, muttering anathemas against the ghostly super- stition. Still she may come yet. It may be but the darkness that's delaying her. Besides, she is not likely to have the fixing of her time. She said she would " find a way"; and having the will as he believes he flatters himself she will find it, despite all obstructions. With confidence thus restored, he ceases to pace about impatiently, as he has been doing ever since his arrival at the tree ; and, taking a seat on the buttress, sits listening with all ears. His eyes are of little use in the Cimmerian gloom. He can barely make out the forms of the holly bushes, though they are almost wthin reach of his hand. But his ears are reliable, sharpened by love ; and, ere long they convey a sound, to him sweeter than any other ever heard in that wood even the songs of its 156 GWEN WYNN. birds. It is a swishing, as of leaves softly brushed by the skirts of a woman's dress which it is. He needs no telling who comes. A subtle electricity, seeming to precede, warns him of Mary Morgan's presence, as though she were already by his side. All doubts and conjectures at an end, he starts to his feet, and steps out to meet her. Soon as on the path he sees a cloaked figure, drawing nigh with a grace of movement distinguishable even in the dim glimmering light. " That you, Mary ? " A question mechanical; no answer expected or waited for. Before any could be given she is in his arms, her lips hindered from words by a shower of kisses. Thus having saluted, he takes her hand and leads her among the hollies. Not from precaution, or fear of being intruded upon. Few besides the farm people of Abergann use the right-of-way path, and unlikely any of them being on it at that hour. It is only from habit they retire to the more secluded spot under the elm, hallowed to them by many a sweet remembrance. They sit down side by side; and close, for his arm is around her waist. How unlike the lovers in the painted pavilion at Llangorren ! Here there is neither concealment of thought nor restraint of speech no time given to circumlocution none wasted in silence. There is none to spare, as she has told him at the moment of meeting. " It's kind o' you comin', Mary/' he says, as soon as they are seated. " I knew ye would." " Jack ! What a work I had to get out the trick Pve played mother ! You'll laugh when you hear it." " Let's hear it, darling ! " She relates the catastrophe of the cupboard, at which he does laugh beyond measure, and with a sense of UNDER THE ELM. 157 gratification. Six shillings thrown away spilled upon the floor and all for him ! Where is the man who would not feel flattered, gratified, to be the shrine of such sacrifice, and from such a worshipper ? YouVe been to the Ferry, then ? " " You see," she says, holding up the bottle. "I weesh I'd known that. I could a met ye on the road, and we'd had more time to be thegither. It's too bad, you havin' to go straight back." " It is. But there's no help for it. Father Kogier will be there before this, and mother mad impatient." Were it light she would see his brow darken at mention of the priest's name. She does not, nor does he give expression to the thoughts it has called up. In his heart he curses the Jesuit often has with his tongue, but not now. He is too delicate to outrage her religious susceptibilities. Still he cannot be alto- gether silent on a theme so much concerning both. " Mary, dear ! " he rejoins in grave, serious tone, " I don't want to say a word against Father Rogier, seein' how much he be your mother's friend ; or, to speak more truthful, her favourite j for I don't believe he's the friend o' anybody. Sartinly, not mine, nor yours; and I've got it on my mind that man will some day make mischief between us." " How can he, Jack ? " " Ah, how ! A many ways. One, his sayin' ugly things about me to your mother tellin' her tales that ain't true." " Let him as many as he likes ; you don't suppose I'll believe them ?" "No, I don't, darling 'deed I don't." A snatched kiss affirms the sincerity of his words \ hers as well, in her lips not being drawn back, but meeting him half-way. For a short time there is silence. With that sweet exchange thrilling their hearts it is natural. 158 cfWEN WYNN. He is the first to resume speech ; and from a thought the kiss has suggested : "I know there be a good many who'd give their lives to get the like o' that from your lips, Mary. A soft word, or only a smile. I've heerd talk o' several. But one's spoke of, in particular, as bein' special favourite by your mother, and backed up by the French priest." "Who?" She has an idea who indeed knows ; and the question is only asked to give opportunity of denial. " I dislike mentionin' his name. To me it seems like insultin' ye. The very idea o' Dick Dempsey " " You needn't say more," she exclaims, interrupting him. "I know what you mean. But you surely don't suppose I could think of him as a sweetheart ? That ivould insult me." " I hope it would ; pleezed to hear you say't. For all, he thinks o' you, Mary ; not only in the way o' sweetheart, but " He hesitates. " What ? " " I won't say the word. 'Tain't fit to be spoke about him an' you." " If you mean wife as I suppose you do listen ! Rather than have Richard Dempsey for a husband, I'd die go down to the river and drown myself ! That horrid wretch ! I hate him ! " " I'm glad to hear you talk that way right glad." " But why, Jack ? You know it couldn't be other- wise ! You should after all that's passed. Heaven be my witness ! you I love, and you alone. You only shall ever call me wife. If not then nobody ! " " God bless ye ! " he exclaims in answer to her im- passioned speech. " God bless you, darling ! " in the fervour of his gratitude flinging his arms around, drawing her to his bosom, and showering upon her lips an avalanche of kisses, UNDER THE ELM. 159 With thoughts absorbed in the delirium of love, their souls for a time surrendered to it, they hear not a rustliug among the late fallen leaves ; or, if hearing, supposed it to proceed from bird or beast the flight of an owl, with wings touching the twigs ; or a fox quartering the cover in search of prey. Still less do they see a form skulking among the hollies, black and boding as their shadows. Yet such there is ; the figure of a man, but with face more like that of demon for it is he whose name has just been upon their lips. He has overheard all they have said ; every word an added torture, every phrase sending hell to his heart. And now, with jealousy in its last dire throe, every remnant of hope extin- guished cruelly crushed out he stands, after all, unresolved how to act. Trembling, too ; for he is at bottom a coward. He might rush at them and kill both cut them to pieces with the knife he is holding in his hand. But if only one, and that her, what of himself ? He had an instinctive fear of Jack Wingate, who has more than once taught him a subduing lesson. That experience stands the young waterman in stead now, in all likelihood saving his life. For at this moment the moon, rising, flings a faint light through the branches of the trees ; and like some ravenous nocturnal prowler that dreads the light of day, Kichard Dempsey pushes his knife-blade back into its sheath, slips out from among the hollies, and altogether away from the spot. But not to go back to Kugg's Ferry, nor to his own home. Well for Mary Morgan if he had. By the same glimpse of silvery light warned as to the time, she knows she must needs hasten away ; as her lover, that he can no longer detain her. The fare- well kiss, so sweet yet painful, but makes their parting more difficult j and, not till after repeating it over and 160 OWEN WYNN. over, do they tear themselves asunder he standing to look after, she moving off along the woodland path, as nymph or sylphide, with no suspicion that a satyr has preceded her, and is waiting not far off, with foul fell intent no less than the taking of her life. CHAPTER XXI. A TARDY MESSENGER. FATHER ROGIER has arrived at Abergann ; slipped off his goloshes, left them with his hat in the entrance passage ; and stepped inside the parlour. There is a bright coal fire chirping in the grate ; for, although not absolutely cold, the air is damp and raw from the rain which has fallen during the earlier hours of the day. He has not come direct from his house at the Ferry, but up the meadows from below, along paths that are muddy, with wet grass over- hanging. Hence his having on india-rubber overshoes, Spare of flesh, and thin-blooded, he is sensitive to cold. Feeling it now, he draws a chair to the fire, and sits down with his feet rested on the fender. For a time he has it all to himself. The farmer is still outside, looking after his cattle, and setting things up for the night ; while Mrs. Morgan, after receiving him, has made excuse to the kitchen to set the frying-pan on the coals. Already the sausages can be heard frizzling, while their savoury odour is borne everywhere throughout the house. Before sitting down the priest had helped himself to a glass of sherry ; and, after taking a mouthful or two, set it on the mantelshelf, within convenient reach. It would have been brandy were there any on the table; but, for the time satisfied with the wine, le sits 361 162 GWEN WYNN. sipping it, his eyes now and then directed towards the door. This is shut, Mrs. Morgan having closed it after her as she went out. There is a certain restlessness in his glances, as though he were impatient for the door to be re-opened, and someone to enter. And so is he, though Mrs. Morgan herself is not the someone but her daughter. Gregorie Rogier has been a fast fellow in his youth before assuming the cassock a very mauvais sujet. Even now in the maturer age, and despite his vows of celibacy, he has a partiality for the sex, and a keen eye to female beauty. The fresh, youthful charms of the farmer's daughter have many a time made it water, more than the now stale attractions of Olympe, nee Eenault, She is not the only disciple of his flock he delights in drawing to the confessional. But there is a vast difference between the mistress of Glyngog and the maiden of Abergann. Unlike are they as Lucrezia Borgia to that other Lucretia victim of Tarquin fits. And the priest knows he must deal with them in a very different manner. He cannot himself have Mary Morgan for a wife he does not wish to but it may serve his purpose equally well were she to become the wife of Richard Dempsey. Hence his giving support to the pretensions of the poacher not all unselfish. Eagerly watching the door, he at length sees it pushed open ; and by a woman, but not the one he is wishing for. Only Mrs. Morgan re-entering to speak apologies for delay in serving supper. It will be on the table in a trice. Without paying much attention to what she says, or giving thought to her excuses, he asks, in a drawl of assumed indifference, ' ' Where is Ma'mselle Marie ? Not on the sick list. I hope?" A TARDY MESSENGER. 163 " Oh no, your reverence. She was never in better health in her life, Fm happy to say." " Attending to culinary matters, I presume ? Bothering herself on my account, too ! Really, madam e, I wish you wouldn't take so much trouble when I come to pay you these little visits calls of duty. Above all, that ma'mselle should be scorching her fair cheeks before a kitchen fire." " She's not nothing of the kind, Father Rogier." " Dressing, may be ? That isn't needed either to receive poor me." "No; she's not dressing." " Ah ! What then ? Pardon me for appearing in- quisitive. I merely wish to have a word with her before monsieur, your husband, comes in relating to a matter of the Sunday school. She's at home, isn't she ? " ' ' Not just this minute. She soon will be." " What ! Oat at this hour ? " " Yes ; she has gone up to the Ferry on an errand. I wonder you didn't meet her ! Which way did you come, Father Rogier the path or the lane ? " " Neither nor from the Ferry. I've been down the river on visitation duty, and came up through the meadows. It's rather a dark night for your daughter to have gone upon an errand! Not alone, I take it?" ( ' Yes ; she went alone." " But why, madame ? " Mrs. Morgan had not intended to say anything about the nature of the message, but it must come out now. "Well, your reverence," she answers, laughing, " it's rather an amusing matter as you'll say yourself, when I tell it you." "Tell it, pray!" " It's all through a cat our big Tom." 164 OWEN WYNN. t Ah, Tom ! What jeu d> esprit has he been perpet- rating ? " " Not much of a joke, after all ; but more the other way. The mischievous creature got into the pantry, and somehow upset a bottle indeed, broke it to pieces." " Chat maudit ! But what has that to do with your daughter's going to the Ferry ? " "Everything. It was a bottle of best French brandy unfortunately the only one we had in the house. And as they say misfortunes never do come single, it so happened our boy was away after the cows, and nobody else I could spare. So Fve sent Mary to the Welsh Harp for another. I know your reverence prefers brandy to wine." " Madame, your very kind thoughtfulness deserves my warmest thanks. But Fm really sorry at your having taken all this trouble to entertain me. Above all, I regret its having entailed such a disagreeable duty upon your Mademoiselle Marie. Henceforth I shall feel reluctance in setting foot over your thresh- old." " Don't say that, Father Kogier. Please don't. Mary didn't think it disagreeable. I should have been angry with her if she had. On the contrary, it was herself proposed going ; as the boy was out of the way, and our girl in the kitchen, busy about supper. But poor it is I'm sorry to tell you and will need the drop of Cognac to make it at all palatable. 1 ' You underrate your menu, madame, if it be any- thing like what I've been accustomed to at your table. Still, I cannot help feeling regret at ma'mselle's having been sent to the Ferry the roads in such condition. And so dark, too she may have a diffi- culty in finding her way. Which did she go by the path or the lane ? Your own interrogatory to myself almost verbatim c'est drole ! " A TARDY MESSENGER. 165 With but a vague comprehension of the interpolated French and Latin phrases, the farmer's wife makes rejoinder : " Indeed, I can't say which. I never thought of asking her. However, Mary's a sensible lass, and surely wouldn't think of venturing over the foot-plank a night like this. She knows it's loose. Ah ! " she continues, stepping to the window, and looking out, " there be the moon up ! I'm glad of that ; she'll see her way now, and get sooner home." " How long is it since she went off? " Mrs. Morgan glances at the clock over the mantel ; soon t'he sees where the hands are, exclaiming : " Mercy me ! It's half-past nine ! She's been gone a good hour ! " Her surprise is natural. To Eugg's Ferry is but a mile, even by the lane and road. Twenty minutes to go and twenty more to return were enough. How are the other twenty being spent ? Buying a bottle of brandy across the counter, and paying for it, will not explain; that should occupy scarce as many seconds. Besides, the last words of the messenger, at starting off, were a promise of speedy return. She has not kept it ! And what can be keeping her ? Her mother asks this question, but without being able to answer it. She can neither tell nor guess. But the priest, more suspicious, has his conjectures ; one giving him pain greatly exciting him, though he does not show it. Instead, with simulated calm- ness, he says : " Suppose I step out and see whether she be near at hand?" " If your reverence would. But please don't stay for her. Supper's quite ready, and Evan will be in by the time I get it dished. I wonder what's detaining Mary ! " If she only knew what, she would be less solicitous about the supper, and more about the absent one. 166 QWEN WYNN. " No matter/' she continues, cheering up, " the girl will surely be back before we sit down to the table. If not, she must go " The priest had not stayed to hear the clause threat- ening to disentitle the tardy messenger. He is too anxious to learn the cause of delay ; and, in the hope of discovering it, with a view to something besides, he Lastily claps on his hat without waiting to defend his feet with the goloshes then glides out and off across the garden. Mrs. Morgan remains in the doorway looking after him, with an expression on her face not all contented. Perhaps she too has a foreboding of evil; or, it may be, she but thinks of her daughter's future, and that she is herself doing wrong by endeavouring to influence it in favour of a man about whom she has of late heard discreditable rumours, Or, perchance, some suspicion of the priest himself may be stirring within her : for there are scandals abroad concerning him, that have reached even her ears. Whatever the cause, there is shadow on her brow, as she watches him pass out through the gate; scarce dispelled by the bright blaz- ing fire in the kitchen, as she returns thither to direct the serving of the supper. If she but knew the tale he, Father Rogier, is so soon to bring back, she might not have left the door so soon, or upon her own feet ; more likely have drop- ped down on its threshold, to be carried from it faint- ing, if not dead I CHAPTER XXII. A FATAL STEP. HAVING passed out through the gate, Rogier turns along the wall ; and, proceeding at a brisk pace to where it ends in an angle, there comes to a halt. On the same spot where about an hour before stopped Mary Morgan for a different reason. She paused to consider which of the two ways she would take ; he has no intention of taking either, or going a step farther. Whatever he wishes to say to her can be said where he now is, without danger of its being overheard at the house unless spoken in a tone louder than that of ordinary conversation. But it is not on this account he has stopped ; simply that he is not sure which of the two routes she will return by and for him to proceed along either would be to risk the chance of not meeting her at all. But that he has some idea of the way she will come, with suspicion of why and what is delaying her, his mutterings tell : " Morbleu / over an hour since she set out ! A tortoise could have crawled to the Ferry, and crept back within the time ! For a demoiselle with limbs lithe and supple as hers pah ! It can't be the brandy bottle that's the obstruction. Nothing of the kind. Corked, capsuled, wrapped, ready for delivery in all two minutes, or at most, three ! She so ready to run for it, too herself proposed going ! Odd, that, to say the least. O^y understandable on the supposition of 167 168 QWEN WYNN. something prearranged. An assignation with the River Triton for sure ! Yes ; he's the anchor that's been holding her holds her still. Likely, they're somewhat under the shadow of that wood, now standing sitting ach ! I wish I but knew the spot ; I'd bring their billing and cooing to an abrupt termin- ation. It will not do for me to go on guesses j I might miss the straying damsel with whom this night I want a word in particular must have it. Monsieur Coracle may need binding a little faster, before he consents to the service required of him. To ensure an interview with her it is necessary to stay on this spot, however trying to patience. For a second or two he stands motionless, though all the while active in thought, his eyes also restless. These, turning to the wall, show him that it is over- grown with ivy. A massive cluster on its crest projects out, with hanging tendrils, whose tops almost touch the ground. Behind them there is ample room for a man to stand upright, and so be concealed from the eyes of anyone passing, however near. " Grace a Dieu ! " he exclaims, observing this ; " the very place. I must take her by surprise. That's the best way when one wants to learn how the cat jumps. Ha ! celte chat Tom ; how very opportune his mis- chievous doings for Mademoiselle ! Well, I must give Madame la mere counsel better to guard against such accidents hereafter; and how to behave when they occur." He has by this ducked his head, and stepped under the arcading evergreen. The position is all he could desire. It gives him a view of both ways by which on that side the farm- house can be approached. The cart lane is directly before his face, as is also the footpath when he turns towards it. The latter leading, as already said, along a hedge to the orchard's bottom, there crosses the A FATAL STEP. 169 brook by a plank this being about fifty yards distant from where he has stationed himself. And as there is now moonlight he can distinctly see the frail foot- bridge, with a portion of the path beyond, where it runs through straggling trees, before entering the thicker wood. Only at intervals has he sight of it, as the sky is mottled with masses of cloud, that every now and then, drifting over the moon's disc, shut off her light with the suddenness of a lamp extinguished. When she shines he can himself be seen. Standing in crouched attitude "with the ivy tendrils festooned over his pale, bloodless face, he looks like a gigantic spider behind its web, on the wait for prey ready to spring forward and seize it. For nigh ten minutes he thus remains watching, all the while impatiently chafing. He listens too; though with little hope of hearing aught to indicate the approach of her expected. After the pleasant tete-a-tete, he is now sure she must have held with the waterman, she will be coming along silently, her thoughts in sweet, placid contentment; or she may come on with timid, stealthy steps, dreading rebuke by her mother for having overstayed her time. Just as the priest in bitterest chagrin is promising himself that rebuked she shall be, he sees what inter- rupts his resolves, suddenly and altogether withdraw- ing his thoughts from Mary Morgan. It is a form approaching the plank, on the opposite side of the stream ; not hers, nor woman's ; instead the figure O A a man ! Neither erect nor walking in the ordinary way, but with head held down and shoulders projected forward, as if he were seeking concealment under the bushes that beset the path, for all drawing nigh to the brook with the rapidity of one pursued, and who thinks there is safety only on its other side ! " Sainte Vierge ! " exclaims the priest, sotto voce, " What can all that mean ? And who " 170 GWEN WYNN. He stays his self-asked interrogatory, seeing that the skulker has paused too at the farther end of the plank, which he has now reached. Why ? It may be from fear to set foot on it ; for indeed is there danger to one not intimately acquainted with it. The man may be a stranger some fellow on teamo who intends trying the hospitality of the farmhouse more likely its henroosts, judging by his manner of approach. While thus conjecturing, Kogier sees the skulker stoop down, immediately after hearing a sound, different from the sough of the stream ; a harsh grating noise, as of a piece of heavy timber drawn over a rough surface of rock. " Sharp fellow ! " thinks the priest ; " with all his haste, wonderfully cautious ! He's fixing the thing steady before venturing to tread upon it ! Ha ! I'm wrong ; he don't design crossing it after aU ! " This as the crouching figure erects itself and, instead of passing over the plank, turns abruptly away from it. Not to go back along the path, but up the stream on that same side ! And with bent body as before, still seeming desirous to shun observation. Now more than ever mystified, the priest watches him, with eyes keen as those of a cat set for nocturnal prowling. Not long till he learns who the man is. Just then the moon, escaping from a cloud, flashes her full light in his face, revealing features of diabolic expression that of a murderer striding away from the spot where he has been spilling blood ! Eogier recognises Coracle Dick, though still without the slightest idea of what the poacher is doing there. " Que diantre ! " he exclaims, in surprise ; " what can that devil be after ! Coming up to the plank and not crossing ! Ha ! yonder 's a very different sort of pedestrian approaching it ? Ma'mselle Mary at last ! This as by the same intermittent gleam of moonlight TllK DAI'CII'I'KK OK OMEI T. MORI': STKl' A FATAL STEP. 171 he descries a straw hat, with streaming ribbons, over the tops of the bushes beyond the brook. The brighter image drives the darker one from his thoughts ; and, forgetting all about the man, in his resolve to take the woman unawares, he steps out from under the ivy, and makes forward to meet her. He is a Frenchman, and to help her over the foot-plank will give him a fine opportunity for displaying his cheap gallantry. As he hastens down to the stream, the moon remaining unclouded, he sees the young girl close to it on the opposite side. She approaches with proud carriage, and confident step, her cheeks even under the pale light showing red flushed with the kisses so lately received, as it were still clinging to them. Her heart yet thrilling with love, strong under its excite- ment, little suspects she how soon it will cease to beat. Boldly she plants her foot upon the plank, believing, late boasting, a knowledge of its tricks. Alas! there is one with which she is not acquainted could not be a new and treacherous one, taught it within the last two minutes. The daughter of Evan Morgan is doomed ; one more step will be her last in life. She makes it, the priest alone being witness. He sees her arms flung aloft, simultaneously hearing a shriek ; then arms, body, and bridge sink out of sight suddenly, as though the earth had swallowed them ! CHAPTER XXIII. A SUSPICIOUS WAIF. ON returning homeward the young waterman bethinks him of a difficulty a little matter to be settled with his mother. Not having gone to the shop, he has neither whipcord nor pitch to show. If questioned about these commodities, what answer is he to make ? He dislikes telling her another lie. It came easy enough before the interview with his sweetheart, but now it is not so much worth while. On reflection, he thinks it will be better to make a clean breast of it. He has already half confessed, and may as well admit his mother to full confidence about the secret he has been trying to keep from her un- successfully, as he now knows. While still undetermined, a circumstance occurs to hinder him from longer withholding it, whether he would or not. In his abstraction he has forgotten all about the moon, now up, and at intervals shining brightly. During one of these he has arrived at his own gate, as he opens it seeing his mother on the door-step. Her attitude shows she has already seen him, and observed the direction whence he has come. Her words declare the same. " Why, Jack ! " she exclaims, in feigned astonish- ment, "ye bean't a comin' from the Ferry that way ?" The interrogatory, or rather the tone in which it is put, tells him the cat is out of the bag. No use at- tempting to stuff the animal in again ; and seeing it is not, he rajoins, laughingly, 178 A SUSPICIOUS WAIF. 173 " Well, mother, to speak the truth, I ha'nt been to the Ferry at all. An* I must ask you to forgie me for practisin' a trifle o' deception on ye that 'bout the Mary wantin' repairs." " I suspected it, lad ; an' that it wor the tother Mary as wanted something, or you wanted something wi' her. Since you've spoke repentful, an' confessed, I ain't agoin' to worrit ye about it. I'm glad the boat be all right, as I ha' got good news for you." " What ? " he asks, rejoiced at being so easily let off. "Well; you spoke truth when ye sayed there was no knowin' but that somebody might be wantin' to hire ye any minnit. There's been one arready." " Who ? Not the Captain ? " " No, not him. But a grand livery chap ; footman or coachman I ain't sure which only that he came frae a Squire Powell's, 'bout a mile back." " Oh ! I know Squire Powell him o' New Hall, I suppose it be. What did the sarvint say ? " " That if you wasn't engaged, his young master wants ye to take hisself, and some friends that be stay- ing wi' him, for a row down the river." " How far did the man say ? If they be bound to Chepstow, or even but Tintern, I don't think I could go unless they start Monday mornin'. I'm 'gaged to the Captain for Thursday, ye know ; an' if I went the long trip, there'd be all the bother o' gettin' the boat back an' bare time." " Monday ! Why it's the morrow they want ye." " Sunday ! That's queerish, too. Squire Powell's family be a sort o' strict religious, I've heerd." " That's just it. The livery chap sayed it be a church they're goin' to ; some curious kind o' old worshippin' place, that lie in a bend o' the river, where carriages ha' difficulty in gettin' to it." " I think I know the one, an' can take them there 174 GWEN WYNN. well enough. What answer did you gie to the man ? " " That ye could take 'em, an' would. I know'd you hadn't any other bespeak ; and since it wor to a church, wouldn't mind its bein' Sunday." " Sartinly not. Why should I?" asks Jack, who is anything but a Sabbatarian. Where do they weesh the boat to be took ? Or am I to wait for 'em here ? " " Yes ; the man spoke o' them comin* here, an' at a very early hour. Six o'clock. He sayed the clergy- man be a friend o' the family, an' they're to ha' their breakfasts wi' him, afore goin' to church." " All right ! I'll be ready for 'em, come's as early as they may." " In that case, my son, ye' better get to your bed at once. Ye've had a hard day o' it, and need rest. Should ye like take a drop o' somethin' 'fores you lie down?" " Well, mother, I don't mind. Just a glass o' your elderberry." She opens a cupboard, brings forth a black bottle, and fills him a tumbler of the dark red wine home made, and by her own hands. Quaffing it, he observes, " It be the best stuff that I know of to put spirit into a man, an' makes him feel cheery. I've heerd the Captain hisself say it beats their Spanish Port all to pieces." Though somewhat astray in his commercial geo- graphy, the young waterman, as his patron, is right about the quality of the beverage ; for elderberry wine, made in the correct way, is superior to that of Oporto. Curious scientific fact, I believe not generally known, that the soil where grows the Sambucus is that most favourable to the growth of the grape. Without going thus deeply into the philosophy of A SUSPICIOUS WAIF. 175 the subject, or at all troubling himself about it, the boatmau soon gets to the bottom of his glass, and bidding his mother good-night, retires to his sleeping room. Getting into bed, he lies for a while sweetly think- ing of Mary Morgan, and that satisfactory interview under the elm ; then goes to sleep as sweetly to dream of her. ***** There is just a streak of daylight stealing in through the window as he awakes ; enough to warn him that it is time to be up and stirring. Up he instantly is, and arrays himself, not in his everyday boating habili- ments, but a suit worn only on Sundays and holidays. The mother, also astir betimes, has his breakfast on the table soon as he is rigged ; and just as he finishes eating it, the rattle of wheels on the road in front, with voices, tells him his fare has arrived. Hastening out, he sees a grand carriage drawn up at the gate, double horsed, with coachman and foot- man on the box ; inside young Mr. Powell, his pretty sister, and two others a lady and gentleman, also young. Soon they are all seated in the boat, the coachman having been ordered to take the carriage home, and bring it back at a certain hour. The footman goes with them the Mary having seats for six. Kowed down stream, the young people converse among themselves, gaily now and then giving way to laughter, as though it were any other day than Sunday. But their boatman is merry also with memories of the preceding night ; and, though not called upon to take part in their conversation, he likes listening to it. Above all, he is pleased with the ap- pearance of Miss Powell, a very beautiful girl, and takes note of the attention paid her by the gentleman who sits opposite. Jack is rather interested in observing 176 QWEN WYNN. these, as they remind him of his own first approaches to Mary Morgan. His eyes, though, are for a time removed from them, while the boat is passing Abergann. Oat of the farm- house chimneys just visible over the tops of the trees, he sees smoke ascending. It is not yet seven o'clock, but the Morgans are early-risers, and by this mother and daughter will be on their way to Matins, and possibly Confession at the Rugg's Ferry Chapel. He dislikes to reflect on the last, and longs for the day when he has hopes to cure his sweetheart of such a repulsive devotional practice. Pulling on down, he ceases to think of it, and of her for the time, his attention being engrossed by the management of the boat. For just below Abergann the stream runs sharply, and is given to caprices ; but farther on, it once more flows in gentle tide along the meadow-lands of Llangorren. Before turning the bend, where Gwen Wynn and Eleanor Lees were caught in the rapid current, at the estuary of a sluggish inflowing brook, whose waters are now beaten back by the flooded river, he sees what causes him to start, and hang on the stroke of his oar. ft What is it, Wingate ? " asks young Powell, ob- serving his strange behaviour. " Oh ! a waif that plank floating yonder ! I suppose you'd like to pick it up ! But remember ! it's Sunday, and we must con- fine ourselves to works of necessity and mercy." Little think the four who smiled at this remark five with the footman what a weird, painful impres- sion the sight of that drifting thing has made on the sixth who is rowing them. Nor does it leave him all that day ; but clings to him in the church, to which he goes ; at the Rectory, where he is entertained ; and while rowing back up the river hangs heavy on his heart as lead ! A SUSPICIOUS WAIF. 177 Eeturning, he looks out for the piece of timber, but cannot see it ; for it is now after night, the young people having stayed dinner with their friend the clergyman. Kept later than they intended, on arrival at the boat's dock they do not remain there an instant ; but, getting into the carriage, which has been some time awaiting them, are whirled off to New Hall. Impatient are they to be home. Par more for a different reason the waterman, who but stays to tie the boat's painter; and, leaving the oars in her thwarts, hastens into his house. The plank is still uppermost in his thoughts, the presentiment heavy on his heart. Not lighter, as on entering at the door he sees his mother seated with her head bowed down to her knees. He does not wait for her to speak, but asks ex- citedly : " What's the matter, mother ? " The question is mechanical he almost anticipates the answer, or its nature. " Oh, my son, my son ! As I told ye. It was the canwyll corph I " CHAPTER XXIV. "THE FLOWER OP LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING.** THERE is a crowd collected round the farmhouse of Abergann. Not an excited, or noisy one; instead, the people composing it are of staid demeanour, with that formal solemnity observable on the faces of those at a funeral. And a funeral it is, or soon to be. For, inside there is a chamber of death ; a coffin with a corpse that of her, who, had she lived, would have been Jack Wingate's wife. Mary Morgan has indeed fallen victim to the mad spite of a monster. Down went she into that swollen stream, which, ruthless and cruel as he who committed her to it, carried her off on its engulfing tide her form tossed to and fro, now sinking, now coming to the surface, and again going down. No one to save her not an effort at rescue made by the cowardly Frenchman, who, rushing on to the chasm's edge, there stopped, only to gaze affrightedly at the flood surging below, foam crested only to listen to her agonized cry, farther off and more freely put forth, as she was borne onward to her doom. Once again he heard it, in that tone which tells of life's last struggle with death proclaiming death the conqueror. Then all was over. As he stood horror- stricken, half -bewildered, a cloud suddenly curtained the moon, bringing black darkness upon the earth, as if a pall had been thrown over it. Even the white 178 "THE FLOWER OF LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING." 179 froth on the water was for the while invisible. He could see nothing nothing hear, save the hoarse, harsh torrent rolling relentlessly on. Of no avail, when, his hurrying back to the house, and raising the alarm. Too late it was to save Mary Morgan from drowning; and, only by the accident of her body being thrown up against a bank was it that night re- covered. It is the third day after, and the funeral about to take place. Though remote the situation of the farm- stead, and sparsely inhabited the district immediately around, the assemblage is a large one. This partly from the unusual circumstances of the girl's death, but as much from the respect in which Evan Morgan is held by his neighbours far and near. They are there in their best attire, men and women alike, Protestants as Catholics, to show a sympathy, which in truth many of them sincerely feel. Nor is there among the people assembled any con- jecturing about the cause of the fatal occurrence. No hint or suspicion that there has been foul play. How could there ? So clearly an accident, as pro- nounced by the coroner at his inquiry held the day after the drowning brief and purely pro forma. Mrs. Morgan herself told of her daughter sent on that errand from which she never returned; while the priest, eye-witness, stated the reason why. Taken together, this was enough ; though further confirmed by the absent plank, found and brought back on the following day. Even had Win gate t rowed back up the river during daylight, he would not have seen it again. The farm labourers and others accustomed to cross by it gave testimony as to its having been loose. But of all whose evidence was called for, one alone could have put a different construction on the tale. Father Rogier could have done this; but did not, 180 GWEN WYNN. having his reasons for withholding the truth. lie is now in possession of a secret that will make Kichard Dempsey his slave for life his instrument, willing or unwilling, for such purpose as he may need him, no matter what its iniquity. The hour of interment has been fixed for twelve o'clock. It is now a little after eleven, and every- body has arrived at the house. The men outside in groups, some in the little flower-garden in front, others straying into the farmyard to have a look at the fatting pigs, or about the pastures to view the white-faced Herefords and " Ryeland " sheep, of which last Evan Morgan is a noted breeder. Inside the house are the women some relatives of the deceased, with the farmer's friends and more familiar acquaintances. All admitted to the chamber of death to take a last look at the dead. The corpse is in the coffin, but with lid not yet screwed on. There lies the corpse in its white drapery, still un- touched by " decay's effacing finger/' beautiful as living bride, though now a bride for the altar of eternity. The stream passes in and out; but besides those only curious coming and going, there are some who remain in the room. Mrs. Morgan herself sits beside the coffin, at intervals giving way to wildest grief, a cluster of women around vainly essaying to comfort her. There is a young man seated in the corner, who seems to need consoling almost as much as she. Every now and then his breast heaves in audible sobbing, as though the heart within were about to break. None wonder at this ; for it is Jack Wingate, Still, there are those who think it strange his being there above all, as if made welcome. They know not the remarkable change that has taken place in the feelings of Mrs. Morgan. Beside that bed of death, "THE FLOWER OP LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING/' 181 all who were dear to her daughter were dear to her now. And she is aware that the young waterman was so; for he has told her, with tearful eyes and sad, earnest words, whose truthfulness could not be doubted. But where is the other, the false one ? Not there never has been since the fatal occurrence. Came not to the inquest, came not to inquire or condole ; comes not now to show sympathy, or take part in the rites of sepulture. There are some who make remark about his absence, though none lament it not even Mrs. Morgan herself. The thought of the bereaved mother is that he would have ill-befitted being her son. Only a fleeting reflection, her whole soul being engrossed in grief for her lost daughter. The hour for closing the coffin has come. They but await the priest to say some solemn words. He has not yet arrived, though every instant looked for. A personage so important has many duties to perform, and may be detained by them elsewhere. For all, he does not fail. While inside the death chamber they are conjecturing the cause of his delay, a buzz outside, with a shuffling of feet in the passage, tells of way being made for him. Presently he enters the room, and stepping up to the coffin, stands beside it, all eyes turned towards him. His are upon the face of the corpse at first with the usual look of official gravity and feigned grief. But continuing to gaze upon it, a strange expression comes over his features, as though he saw something that surprised or unusually interested him. It affects him even to giving a start ; so light, how- ever, that no one seems to observe it. Whatever the emotion, he conceals it ; and in calm voice pronounces the prayer, with all its formalities and gestures. The lid is laid on, covering ''the form of Mary 182 GWEN WYNN. Morgan for ever veiling her face from the world. Then the pall is thrown over, and all carried outside. There is no hearse, no plumes, nor paid pall-bearers. Affection supplies the place of this heartless luxury of the tomb. On the shoulders of four men the coffin is borne away, the crowd forming into procession as it passes, and following. On to the Kugg's Ferry chapel, into its cemetery, late consecrated. There lowered into a grave already prepared to receive it; and, after the usual ceremonial of the Koman Catholic religion, covered up and turfed over. Then the mourners scatter off for their homes, singly or in groups, leaving the remains of Mary Morgan in their last resting-place, only her near relatives with thought of ever again returning to stand over them. There is one exception ; this is a man not related to her, but who would have been had she lived. Wingate goes away with the intention ere long to return. The chapel burying ground brinks upon the river, and when the shades of night have descended over it, he brings his boat alongside. Then, fixing her to the bank, he steps out, and proceeds in the direction of the new-made grave. All this cautiously, and with cir- cumspection, as if fearing to be seen. The darkness favouring him, he is not. Beaching the sacred spot, he kneels down, and with a knife, taken from his pockets, scoops out a little cavity in the lately laid turf. Into this he inserts a plant, which he has brought along with him one of a common kind, but emblematic of no ordinary feeling. It is that known to country people as " The Flower of Love-lies-bleeding" (Amaranthus caudatus}. Closing the earth around its roots, and restoring the sods, he bends lower, till his lips are in contact with the grass upon the grave. One near enough might hear convulsive sobbing, accompanied by the words : " THE FLOWER OF LOVE-LIES-BLEEDING." 183 " Mary, darling ! you're wi' the angels now ; and I know you'll forgie me if Fve done ought to bring about this dreadful thing. Oh, dear, dear Mary ! I'd be only too glad to be lyin' in the grave along wi' ye. As God's my witness, I would." For a time he is silent, giving way to his grief so wild as to seem unbearable. And just for an instant he himself thinks it so, as he kneels with the knifo still open in his hand, his eyes fixed upon it. A plunge with that shining blade with point to his heart, and all his misery would be over ! " My mother my poor mother no ! " These few words, with the filial thought conveyed, save him from suicide. Soon as repeating them, ho shuts to his knife, rises to his feet, and, returning to the boat again, rows himself home ; but never with so heavy a heart. CHAPTER XXV. A FRENCH FEMME DE CHAMBRE. OF all who assisted afc the ceremony of Mary Morgan's funeral, no one seemed so impatient for its termination as the priest. In his official capacity, he did all he could to hasten it soon as it was over, hurrying away from the grave, out of the burying ground, and into his house near by. Such haste would have appeared strange even indecent but for the belief of his having some sacerdotal duty that called him elsewhere; a belief strengthened by their shortly after seeing him start off in the direction of the ferry-boat. Arriving there, the Charon attendant rows him across the river; and, soon as setting foot on the opposite side, he turns face down stream, taking a path that meanders through fields and meadows. Along this he goes rapidly as his legs can carry him in a walk. Clerical dignity hinders him from proceed- ing at a run, though, judging by the expression of his countenance, he is inclined to it. The route he is on would conduct to Llangorren Court several miles distant and thither is he bound; though the house itself is not his objective point. He does not visit, nor would it serve him to show his face there least of all to Gwen Wynn. She might not be so rude as to use her riding whip on him, as she once felt inclined in the hunting-field; but she would certainly be surprised to see him at her home. 184 A FRENCH FEUME DE CHAMBRE. 185 Yet it is one within her house he wishes to see, and is now on the way for it, pretty sure of being able to accomplish his object. True to her fashionable in- stincts and toilette necessities, Miss Linton keeps a French maid, and it is with this damsel Father Eogier designs having an interview. He is thoroughly en rapport with the femme de chambre, and through her, aided by the Confession, kept advised of everything which transpires at the Court, or all he deems it worth while to be advised about. His confidence that he will not have his long walk for nothing rests on certain matters of pre-arrange- ment. With the foreign domestic he has succeeded in establishing a code of signals, by which he can com- municate, with almost a certainty of being able to see her not inside the house, but at a place near enough to be convenient. Rare the park in Herefordshire through which there is not a right-of-way path, and one runs across that of Llangorren. Not through the ornamental grounds, nor at all close to the mansion as is frequently the case, to the great chagrin of the owner but several hundred yards distant. It passes from the river's bank to the county road, all the way through trees, that screen it from view of the house. There is a point, however, where it approaches the edge of the wood, and there one traversing it might be seen from the upper windows. But only for an instant, unless the party so passing should choose to make stop in the place exposed. It is a thoroughfare not much frequented, though free to Father Kogier as any one else ; and, now has- tening along it, he arrives at that spot where the break in the timber brings the house in view. Here he makes a halt, still keeping under the trees ; to a branch of one of them, on the side towards the Court, attaching a piece of white paper he has taken out of his pocket. This done, with due caution and care, that he be not 186 GWEN WYNN. observed in the act, lie draws back to the path, and sits down upon a stile close by, to await the upshot of his telegraphy. His haste hitherto explained by the fact, only at certain times are his signals likely to be seen, or could they be attended to. One of the surest and safest is during the early afternoon hours, just after luncheon, when the ancient toast of Cheltenham takes her accus- tomed siesta, before dressing herself for the drive, or reception of callers. While the mistress sleeps, the maid is free to dispose of herself as she pleases. It was to hit this interlude of leisure Father Rogier has been hurrying ; and that he has succeeded is soon known to him, by his seeing a form with floating drapery, recognisable as that of fhefemme de cliambre. Gliding through the shrubbery, and evidently with an eye to escape observation, she is only visible at inter- vals ; at length lost to his sight altogether as she enters among the thick standing trees. But he knows she will turn up again. And she does after a short time, coming along the path towards the stile where here he is seated. " Ah ! ma bonne ! " he exclaims, dropping on his feet, and moving forward to meet her. "You've been prompt ! I didn't expect you quite so soon. Madame la Chatelaine oblivious, I apprehend; in the midst of her afternoon nap ? " "Yes, Pere; she was when I stole off. But she has given me directions about dressing her, to go out for a drive earlier than usual. So I must get back immediately/' " Fm not going to detain you very long. I chanced to be passing, and thought I might as well have a word with you seeing it's the hour when you're off duty. By the way, I hear you're about to have grand doings at the Court a ball, and what not ? " " Old, m'ssieu ; oui." A FRENCH FEMME DE CHAMBRE. 187 "When is it to be ?" " On Thursday. Mademoiselle celebrates son jour de naissance the twenty-first, making her of age. It is to be a grand fete as you say. They've been all last week preparing for it." "Among the invited, Le Capitaine Ryecroft, I presume ? " " Oh, yes. I saw madame write the note inviting him indeed, took it myself down to the hall table for the post-boy." " He visits often at the Court of late ? " " Very often once a week, sometimes twice." " And comes down the river by boat, doesn't he ? " " In a boat. Yes comes and goes that way." Her statement is reliable, as Father Rogier has reason to believe having an inkling of suspicion that the damsel has of late been casting sheep's eyes, not at Captain Ryecroft, but his young boatman, and is as much interested in the movements of the Mary as either the boat's owner or charterer. " Always comes by water, and returns by it," ob- serves the priest, as if speaking to himself. " You're quite sure of that, ma fille ? " " Oh, quite, Pere ! " " Mademoiselle appears to be very partial to him. I think you told me she often accompanies him down to the boat stair at his departure ? " " Often I Always." " Always ? " " Toujours I I never knew it otherwise. Either the boat stair or the pavilion." " Ah ! the summer-house ! They hold their tete-a- tete there at times, do they ? " " Yes, they do." " But not when he leaves at a late hour as, for in- stance, when he dines at the Court ; which I know he has done several times ? " 188 GWEN WYNN. " Oh, yes; even then. Only last week he was there for dinner, and Ma'mselle Gwen went with him to his boat, or the pavilion, to bid adieus. No matter what the time to her. Mafoi I I'd risk my word she'll do the same after this grand ball that's to be. And why shouldn't she, Pere Rogier ? Is there any harm in it?" The question is put with a view of justifying her own conduct, that would be somewhat similar were Jack Win gate to encourage it, which, to say truth, he never has. " Oh, no," answers the priest, with an assumed in- difference \ tf no harm whatever, and no business of ours. Mademoiselle Wynn is mistress of her own actions, and will be more after the coming birthday, number vingt-un. But," he adds, dropping the role of the interrogator, now that he has got all the infor- mation wanted, " I fear I'm keeping you too long. As I've said, chancing to come by, I signalled chiefly to tell you that next Sunday we have High Mass in the chapel, with special prayers for a young girl who was drowned last Saturday night, and whom we've just this day interred. I suppose you've heard ? " " No, I haven't. Who, Pere ? " Her question may appear strange, Rugg's Ferry being so near to Llangorren Court, and Abergann still nearer. But for reasons already stated, as others, the ignorance of the Frenchwoman as to what has occurred at the farmhouse is not only intelligible, but natural enough. Equally natural, though in a sense very different, is the look of satisfaction appearing in her eyes, as the priest in answer gives the name of the drowned girl. "Marie, lafille defermier Morgan" The expression that comes over her face is, under the circumstances, terribly repulsive being almost that of joy ! For not only has she seen Mary Morgan A PEENCH FEMME DE CHAMBRE. 189 at the chapel, but something besides heard her name coupled with that of the waterman, Wingate. In the midst of her strong, sinful emotions, of which the priest is; fully cognizant, he finds it a good oppor- tunity for taking leave. Going back to the tree where the bit of signal paper has been left, he plucks it off, and crumbles it into his pocket. Then, returning to the path, shakes hands with her, says " Bon jour I " and departs. She is not a beauty, or he would have made his adieus in a very different way. CHAPTER XXVI. THE POACHER AT HOME t CORACLE DICK lives all alone. If he have relatives, they are not near, nor does any one in the neighbour- hood know aught about them. Only some vague report of a father away off in the colonies, where he went against his will ; while the mother is believed dead. Not less solitary is Coracle's place of abode. Situated in a dingle with sides thickly wooded, it is not visible from anywhere. Nor is it near any regular road ; only approachable by a path, which there ends the dell itself being a cul-de-sac. Its open end is toward the river, running in at a point where the bank is precipitous, so hindering thoroughfare along the stream's edge, unless when its waters are at their lowest. Coracle's house is but a hovel, no better than the cabin of a backwoods squatter. Timber structure, too, in part, with a filling up of rough mason work. Its half-dozen perches of garden ground, once re- claimed from the wood, have grown wild again, no spade having touched them for years. The present occupant of the tenement has no taste for gardening, nor agriculture of any kind ; he is a poacher, pur sang at least, so far as is known. And it seems to pay him better than would the cultivation of cabbages with pheasants at nine shillings the brace, and salmon three shillings the pound. He has the river, if not 190 THE POACHER AT HOME, 191 the mere, for his net, and the land for his game making as free with both as ever did Alan-a-dale. But, whatever the price of fish and game, be it high or low, Coracle is never without good store of cash, spending it freely at the Welsh Harp, as elsewhere ; at times so lavishly, that people of suspicious nature think it cannot all be the product of night netting and snaring. Some of it, say scandalous tongues, is derived from other industries, also practised by night, and less reputable than trespassing after game. But, as already said, these are only rumours, and confined to the few. Indeed, only a very few have intimate acquaintance with the man. He is of a reserved, taciturn habit, somewhat surly : not talkative even in his cups. And though ever ready to stand treat in the Harp tap- room, he rarely practises hospitality in his own house ; only now and then, when some acquaintance of like kidney and calling pays him a visit. Then the solitary domicile has its silence disturbed by the talk of men, thick as thieves often speech which, if heard beyond its walls, 'twould not be well for its owner. More than half time, however, the poacher's dwelling is deserted, and often er at night than by day. Its door, shut and padlocked, tells when the tenant is abroad. Then only a rough lurcher dog a dangerous animal, too is guardian of the place. Not that there are any chattels to tempt the cupidity of the klepto- maniac. The most valuable movable inside was not worth carrying away ; and outside is but the coracle standing in a lean-to shed, propped up by its paddle. It is not always there, and, when absent, it may be concluded that its owner is on some expedition up, down, or across the river. Nor is the dog always at home; his absence proclaiming the poacher engaged in the terrestrial branch of his profession running down hares or rabbits. 192 GWEN WYNN. It is the night of the same day that has seen the remains of Mary Morgan consigned to their resting- place in the bury ing-ground of the Kugg's Ferry chapel. A wild night it has turned out, dark and stormy. The autumnal equinox is on, and its gales have commenced stripping the trees of their foliage. Around the dwelling of Dick Dempsey the fallen leaves lie thick, covering the ground as with cloth of gold ; at intervals torn to shreds, as the wind swirls them up and holds them suspended. Every now and then they are driven against the door, which is shut, but not locked. The hasp is hang- ing loose, the padlock with its bowed bolt open. The coracle is seen standing upright in the shed ; the lurcher not anywhere outside for the animal is within, lying upon the hearth in front of a cheerful fire. And before the same sits its master, regarding a pot which hangs over it on hooks ; at intervals lifting off the lid, and stirring the contents with a long-handled spoon of white metal. What these are might be told by the aroma : a stew, smelling strongly of onions with game savour conjoined. Ground game at that, for Coracle is in the act of " jugging" a hare. Handier to no man than him were the recipe of Mrs. Glass, for he comes up to all its requirements even the primary and essential one knows how to catch his hare as well as cook it. The stew is dons, dished, and set steamin g upon the table, where already has been placed a plate the time- honoured willow pattern with a knife and two-pronged fork. There is, besides, a jug of water, a bottle con- taining brandy, and a tumbler. Drawing his chair up, Coracle commences eating. The hare is a young one a leveret he has just taken from the stubble tender and juicy delicious even without the red-currant jelly he has not got, and for which he does not care. Withal, he appears but little THE POACHER AT HOME. 193 to enjoy the meal, and only eats as a man called upon to satisfy the cravings of hunger. Every now and then, as the fork is being carried to his head, he holds it suspended, with the morsel of flesh on its prongs, while listening to sounds outside ! At such intervals the expression upon his coun- tenance is that of the keenest apprehension ; and as a gust of wind, unusually violent, drives a leafy branch in loud clout against the door, he starts in his chair, fancying it the knock of a policeman with his muffled truncheon ! This night the poacher is suffering from no ordinary fear of being summoned for game trespass. Were that all, he could eat his leveret as composedly as if it had been regularly purchased and paid for. But there is more upon his mind; the dread of a writ being presented to him, with shackles at the same time of being taken handcuffed to the county jail thence before a court of assize and finally to the scaffold ! He has reason to apprehend all this. Notwith- standing his deep cunning, and the dexterity with which he accomplished his great crime, a man must have witnessed it. Above the roar of the torrent, mingling with the cries of the drowning girl as she struggled against it, were shouts in a man's voice, which he fancied to be that of Father Rogier. From what he has since heard, he is now certain of it. The coroner's inquest, at which he was not present, but whose report has reached him, puts that beyond doubt. His only uncertainty is, whether Kogier saw him by the footbridge, and if so to recognise him. True, the priest has nothing said of him at the 'quest j for all he, Coracle, has his suspicions ; now torturing him almost as much as if sure that he was detected tampering with the plank. No wonder he eats his supper with little relish, or that after every few mouthfuls he takes o 19 i GWEN WYNN. a swallow of the brandy, with a view to keeping up his spirits. Withal he has no remorse. When he recalls the hastily exchanged speeches he overheard upon Garran- hill, with that more prolonged dialogue under the trysting-tree, the expression upon his features is not one of repentance, but devilish satisfaction at the fell deed he has done. Not that his vengeance is yet satisfied. It will not be till he have the other life that of Jack Wingate. He has dealt the young water- man a blow which at the same time afflicts himself; only by dealing a deadlier one will his own sufferings be relieved. He has been long plotting his rival's death, but without seeing a safe way to accomplish it. And now the thing seems no nearer than ever this night farther off. In his present frame of mind with the dread of the gallows upon it he would be too glad to cry quits, and let Wingate live ! Starting at every swish of the wind, he proceeds with his supper, hastily devouring it, like a wild beast ; and when at length finished, he sets the dish upon the floor for the dog. Then lighting his pipe, and drawing the bottle nearer to his hand, he sits for a while smoking. Not long before being interrupted by a noise at the door ; this time no stroke of wind-tossed waif, but a touch of knuckles. Though slight and barely audible, the dog knows it to be a knock, as shown by his behaviour. Dropping the half-gnawed bone, and springing to its feet, the animal gives out an angry growling. Its master has himself started from his chair, and stands trembling. There is a slit of a door at back convenient for escape j and for an instant his eye is on it, as though he had half a mind to make exit that way. He would blow out the light were it a candle ; but cannot as it is the fire, whose faggots are still brightly ablaze. THE POACHER AT HOMfi. While thus undecided, he hears the knock repeated this time louder, and with the accompaniment of a voice, saying, " Open your door, Monsieur Dick." Not a policeman, then ; only the priest 1 CHAPTER XXVII. A MYSTEEIOUS CONTRACT. " ONLY tlie priest ! " muttered Coracle to himself, but little better satisfied than if it were the policeman. Giving the lurcher a kick to quiet the animal, he pulls back the bolt, and draws open the door, as he does so asking, " That you, Father Kogier ? " " O'est moi / " answers the priest, stepping in with- out invitation. "Ah ! mon bracconier ! you're having something nice for supper. Judging by the aroma ragout of hare. Hope I haven't disturbed you. Is it hare ? " " It was, your Reverence, a bit of leveret." " Was ! You've finished then. It is all gone ? " (f It is. The dog had the remains of it, as ye Bee." He points to the dish on the floor. " I'm sorry at that having rather a relish for leveret. It can't be helped, however." " I wish I'd known ye were comin'. Dang the dog!" " No, no ! Don't blame the poor dumb brute. No doubt it too has a taste for hare, seeing it's half hound. I suppose leverets are plentiful just now, and easily caught, since they can no longer retreat to the stand- ing corn ? " " Yes, your Reverence. There be a good wheen o' them about." " In that case, if you should stumble upon one, and bring it to my house, I'll have it jugged for myself. By the way, what have you got in that black jack ? " 196 A MYSTERIOUS CONTRACT. 197 "It's brandy." " Well, Monsieur Dick, Fll thank you for a mouth- ful." " Will you take it neat, or mixed wi' a drop o' water ? " " Neat raw. The night's that, and the two raws will neutralize one another. I feel chilled to the bones, and a little fatigued, toiling against the storm." " It be a fearsome night. I wonder at your Rever- jice bein' out exposin' yourself in such weather ! " "All weathers are alike to me when duty 'calls. Just now I'm abroad on a little matter of business that -von't brook delay." tg Business wi' me ? " " With you, mon bracconier ! " "What may it be, your Reverence? " " Sit down, and I shall tell you. It's too important to be discussed standing.' The introductory dialogue does not tranquillize the poacher ; instead, further intensifies his fears. Obedi- ent, he takes his seat one side the table, the priest planting himself on the other, the glass of brandy within reach of his hand. After a sip, he resumes speech with the remark, " If I mistake not, you are a poor man, Monsieur Dempsey ? " "You ain't no ways mistaken 'bout that, Father Rogier." " And you'd like to be a rich one ? " Thus encouraged, the poacher's face lights up a little. Smilingly he makes reply, n I can't say as I'd have any particular objection. 'Stead, I'd like it wonderful well." "You can be, if so inclined." "I'm ever so inclined, as I've sayed. But how, your Reverence ? In this hard work-o'-day world 'tan't so easy to get rich." 198 OWEN WYNN. " For you, easy enough. No labour, and not much more difficulty than transporting your coracle five or six miles across the meadows." " Soraethin' to do wi' the coracle, have it ? " " No ; 'twill need a bigger boat one that will carry three or four people. Do you know where you can borrow such, or hire it ? " "I think I do. Fve a friend, the name o' Rob Trotter, who's got just sich a boat. He'd lend it me, sure." " Charter it, if he doesn't. Never mind about the price. I'll pay." " When might you want it, your Reverence ? " " On Thursday night, at ten, or a little later say half-past." ft And where am I to bring it ? " " To the Ferry ; you'll have it against the bank by the back of the Chapel burying-ground, and keep it there till I come to you. Don't leave it to go up to the ' Harp/ or anywhere else ; and don't let any one see either the boat or yourself, if you can possibly avoid it. As the nights are now dark at that hour, there need be no difficulty in your rowing up the river without being observed. Above all, you're to make no one the wiser of what you're to do, or anything I'm now saying to you. The service I want you for is one of a secret kind, and not to be prattled about." " May I have a hint o' what it is ? " "Not now; you shall know in good time when you meet me with the boat. There will be another along with me may-be two to assist in the affair. What will be required of you is a little dexterity, such as you displayed on Saturday night." No need the emphasis on the last words to impress their meaning upon the murderer. Too well he com- prehends, starting in his chair as if a hornet had stung him. A MYSTERIOUS CONTRACT. 199 " How where ? " he gasps out in the confusion of terror. The double interrogatory is but mechanical, and of no consequence. Hopeless any attempt at conceal- ment or subterfuge ; as he is aware on receiving the answer, cool and provokingly deliberate. "You have asked two questions, Monsieur Dick, that call for separate replies. To the first, t How ? ' I leave you to grope out the answer for yourself, feeling pretty sure you'll find it. With the second I'll be more particular, if you wish me. Place where a cer- tain foot-plank bridges a certain brook, close to the farmhouse of Abergann. It the plank, I mean last Saturday night, a little after nine, took a fancy to go drifting down the Wye. Need I tell you who sent it, Eichard Dempsey ? " The man thus interrogated looks more than con- fused horrified, well-nigh crazed. Excitedly stretch- ing out his hand, he clutches the bottle, half fills the tumbler with brandy, and drinks it down at a gulp. He almost wishes it were poison, and would instantly kill him ! Only after dashing the glass down does he make reply sullenly, and in a hoarse, husky voice, " I don't want to know one way or the other. D n the plank ! What do I care ? " " You shouldn't blaspheme, Monsieur Dick. That's not becoming above all, in the presence of your spiritual adviser. However, you're excited, as I see, which is in some sense an excuse." " I beg your Reverence's pardon. I was a bit ex- cited about something." He has calmed down a little at thought that things may not be so bad for him after all. The priest's last words, with his manner, seem to promise secrecy. Still further quieted as the latter continues : " Never mind about what. We can talk of it after- 200 OWEN WYNN. wards. As I've made you aware more than once, if I rightly remember there's no sin so great but that pardon may reach it if repented and atoned for. On Thursday night you shall have an opportunity to make some atonement. So be there with the boat ! " ' ' I will, your Reverence, sure as my name's Richard Dempsey." Idle of him to be thus earnest in promising. He can be trusted to come as if led in a string. For he knows there is a halter around his neck, with one end of it in the hand of Father Rogier. " Enough ! " returns the priest. " If there be any- thing else I think of communicating to you before Thursday, I'll come again to-morrow night. So be at home. Meanwhile, see to securing the boat. Don't let there be any failure about that, coute que coute. And let me again enjoin silence not a word to any one, even your friend Rob. Verbum sapientibus ! But as you're not much of a scholar, Monsieur Coracle, I suppose my Latin's lost on you. Putting it in your own vernacular, I mean : keep a close mouth, if you don't wish to wear a necktie of material somewhat coarser than either silk or cotton. You comprehend ? " To the priest's satanical humour the poacher answers, with a sickly smile, " I do, Father Rogier perfectly." "That's sufficient. And now, mon bracconier, I must be gone. Before starting out, however, I'll trench a little further on your hospitality. Just another drop, to defend me from these chill equinoctials." Saying which he leans towards the table, pours out a stoop of the brandy best Cognac from the " Harp " it is then quaffing it off, bids " bon soir ! " and takes departure. Having accompanied him to the door, the poacher stands upon its threshold looking after, reflecting upon what has passed, anything but pleasantly. Never took A MYSTERIOUS CONTRACT. 201 he leave of a guest less agreeable. True, things are not quite so bad as he might have expected, and had reason to anticipate. And yet they are bad enough. He is in the toils the tough, strong meshes of the criminal net, which at any moment may be drawn tight and fast around him; and between policeman and priest there is little to choose. For his own purposes the latter may allow him to live ; but it will be as the life of one who has sold his soul to the devil ! " While thus gloomily cogitating, he hears a sound, which but makes still more sombre the hue of his thoughts. A voice comes pealing up the glen a wild, wailing cry, as of some one in the extreme of distress. He can almost fancy it the shriek of a drowning woman. But his ears are too much accustomed to nocturnal sounds, and the voices of the woods, to be deceived. That heard was only a little unusual by reason of the rough night its tone altered by the whistling of the wind. " Bah ! " he exclaims, recognising the call of the screech owl, " it's only one o 3 them cursed brutes, What a fool fear makes a man ! " And with this hackneyed reflection he turns back into the house, rebolts the door, and goes to his bed not to sleep, but lie long awake, kept so by that same fear. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE GAME OF PIQUE. THE sun has gone down upon Gwen Wynn's natal day its twenty-first anniversary and Llangorren Court is in a blaze of light, for a grand entertainment is there being given a ball. The night is a dark one ; but its darkness does not interfere with the festivities ; instead, heightens their splendour, by giving effect to the illuminations. For although autumn, the weather is still warm, and the grounds are illuminated. Parti- coloured lamps are placed at intervals along the walks, and suspended in festoonery from the trees, while the casement windows of the house stand open, people passing in and out of them as if they were doors. The drawing-room is this night devoted to dancing; its carpet taken up, the floor made as slippery as a skating rink with beeswax abominable custom ! Though a large apartment, it does not afford space for half the company to dance in ; and to remedy this, supplementary quadrilles are arranged on the smooth turf outside a string and wind band from the neighbouring town making music loud enough for all. Besides, all do not care for the delightful exercise. A sumptuous spread in the dining-room, with wines at discretion, attracts a proportion of the guests; while there are others who have a fancy to go strolling about the lawn, even beyond the coruscation of the lamps ; THE GAME OP PIQU1B. 203 some who do not think it too dark anywhere, but the darker the better. The elite of at least half the shire is present, and Miss Linton, who is still the hostess, reigns supreme in fine exuberance of spirits. Being the last enter- tainment at Llangorren over which she is officially to preside, one might imagine she would take things in a different way ; but as she is to remain resident at the Court, with privileges but slightly, if at all, curtailed, she has no gloomy forecast of the future. Instead, on this night present she lives as in the past; almost fancies herself back at Cheltenham in its days of splendour, and dancing with the " first gentleman in Europe " redivivus. If her star be going down, it is going in glory, as the song of the swan is sweet- est in its dying hour. Strange that on such a festive occasion, with its circumstances attendant, the old spinster, hitherto mistress of the mansion, should be happier than the younger one, hereafter to be ! But, in truth so is it. Notwithstanding her great beauty and grand wealth the latter no longer in prospective, but in actual pos- session despite the gaiety and grandeur surrounding her, the friendly greetings and warm congratulations received on all sides Gwen Wynn is herself anything but gay. Instead, sad, almost to wretchedness ! And from the most trifling of causes, though not as by her estimated; little suspecting she has but herself to blame. It has arisen out of an episode, in love's history of common and very frequent occurrence the game of pique. She and Captain Ryecroft are play- ing it, with all the power and skill they can command. Not much of the last, for jealousy is but a clumsy fen- cer. Though accounted keen, it is often blind as love itself ; and were not both under its influence, they would not fail to see through the flimsy deceptions they are mutually practising on one another. In love 204 GWEN WYNN. with each other almost to distraction, they are this night behaving as though they were the bitterest enemies, or at all events, as friends sorely estranged. She began it ; blamelessly, even with praiseworthy motive ; which, known to him, no trouble could have come up between them. But when, touched with com- passion for George Shenstone, she consented to dance with him several times consecutively, and in the inter- vals remained conversing too familiarly, as Captain Ryecroft imagined all this with an " engagement ring " on her finger, by himself placed upon it not strange in him, thus fiance feeling a little jealous; no more that he should endeavour to make her the same. Strategy, old as hills, or hearts themselves. In his attempt he is, unfortunately, too successful ; finding the means near by an assistant willing and ready to his hand. This in the person of Miss Powell; she who went to church on the Sunday before in Jack Wingate's boat a young lady so attractive as to make it a nice point whether she or Gwen Wynn be the attraction of the evening. Though only just introduced, the Hussar officer is not unknown to her by name, with some repute of his heroism besides. His appearance speaks for itself, making such impression upon the lady as to set her pencil at work inscribing his name on her card for several dances, round and square, in rapid succession. And so between him and Gwen Wynn the jealous feeling, at first but slightly entertained, is nursed and fanned into a burning flame the green-eyed monster growing bigger as the night gets later. On both sides it reaches its maximum when Miss Wynn, after a waltz, leaning on George Shenstone's arm, walks out into the grounds, and stops to talk with him in a retired, shadowy spot. Not far off is Captain Eyecroft observing them, but too far to hear the words passing between. Were he THE GAME OF PIQUE. 205 near enough for this, it would terminate the strife raging in his breast, as the sham flirtation he is carrying on with Miss Powell put an end to her new-sprung aspirations, if she has any. It does as much for the hopes of George Shenstone long in abeyance, but this night rekindled and revived. Beguiled, first by his partner's amiability in so oft dancing with, then afterwards using him as a foil, he little dreams that he is but being made a cat's- paw. Instead, drawing courage from the deception, emboldened as never before, he does what he never dared before make Gwen Wynn a proposal of mar- riage. He makes it without circumlocution, at a single bound, as he would take a hedge upon his hunter. " Gwen ! you know how I love you would give my life for you ! Will you be " Only now he hesitates, as if his horse baulked. " Be what ? " she asks, with no intention to help him over, but mechanically, her thoughts being elsewhere. " My wife ? " She starts at the words, touched by his manly way, yet pained by their appealing earnestness, and the thought she must give denying response. And how is she to give it, with least pain to him ? Perhaps the bluntest way will be the best. So think- ing, she says, " George, it can never be. Look at that ! " She holds out her left hand, sparkling with jewels. " At what ? " he asks, not comprehending. "That ring." She indicates a cluster of brilliants, on the fourth finger, by itself, adding the word " En- gaged." " God ! " he exclaims, almost in a groan. " Is that so ? " " It is." For a time there is silence ; her answer less madden- ing than making him sad. 206 OWEN WYNN. With a desperate effort to resign himself, he at length replies, " Dear Gwen ! for I must still call you ever hold you so my life hereafter will be as one who walks in darkness, waiting for death ah, longing for it ! " Despair has its poetry, as love ; oft exceeding the last in fervour of expression, and that of George Shen- stone causes surprise to Gwen Wynn, while still farther paining her. So much she knows not how to make rejoinder, and is glad when a fanfare of the band instrument gives note of another quadrille the Lancers about to begin. Still engaged partners for the dance, but not to be for life, they return to the drawing-room, and join in it ; he going through its figures with a sad heart and many a sigh. Nor is she less sorrowful only more excited ; nigh unto madness as she sees Captain Ryecroft vis-a-vis with Miss Powell ; on his face an expression of content, calm, almost cynical ; hers radiant as with triumph ! In this moment of Gwen Wynnes supreme misery acme of jealous spite were George Shenstone to renew his proposal, she might pluck the betrothal ring from her finger, and give answer, " I will ! " It is not to be so, however weighty the consequences. In the horoscope of her life there is yet a heavier. CHAPTER XXIX. JEALOUS AS A TIGER. IT is a little after two A.M., and the ball is breaking up. Not a very late hour, as many of the people live at a distance, and have a long drive homeward, over hilly roads. By the fashion prevailing a galop brings the dancing to a close. The musicians, slipping their instruments into cases and baize bags, retire from the room ; soon after deserted by all, save a spare servant or two, who make the rounds to look to extinguishing the lamps, with a sharp eye for waifs in the shape of dropped ribbons or bijouterie. Gentlemen guests stay longer in the dining-room over claret and champagne " cup," or the more time- honoured B. and S. ; while in the hallway there is a crush, and on the stairs a stream of ladies, descending cloaked and hooded. Soon the crowd waxes thinner, relieved by carriages called up, quickly filling, and whirled off. That of Squire Powell is among them ; and Captain Ryecroft, not without comment from certain officious observers, accompanies the young lady he has been so often dancing with to the door. Having seen her off with the usual ceremonies of leave-taking, he returns into the porch, and there for a while remains. It is a large portico, with Corinthian columns, by one of which he takes stand, in shadow. But there is a deeper shadow on his own brow, and a 207 208 GWEN WYNN. darkness in his heart, such as he has never in his life experienced. He feels how he has committed himself, but not with any remorse or repentance. Instead, the ?'ealous anger is still within his breast, ripe and ruth- ess as ever. Nor is it so unnatural. Here is a woman not Miss Powell, but Gwen Wynn to whom he has given his heart acknowledged the surrender, and in return had acknowledgment of hers not only this, but offered his hand in marriage placed the pledge upon her finger, she assenting and accepting and now, in the face of all, openly, and before his face, engaged in flirtation ! It is not the first occasion for him to have observed familiarities between her and the son of Sir George Shenstone ; trifling, it is true, but which gave him un- easiness. But to-night things have been more serious, and the pain caused him all-imbuing and bitter. He does not reflect how he has been himself behav- ing. For to none more than the jealous lover is the big beam unobservable, while the little mote is sharply descried. He only thinks of her ill-behaviour, ignor- ing his own. If she has been but dissembling, co- quetting with him, even that were reprehensible. Heartless, he deems it sinister something more, an indiscretion. Flirting while engaged what might she do when married ? He does not wrong her by such direct self -interro- gation. The suspicion were unworthy of himself, as of her; and as yet he has not given way to it. Still her conduct seems inexcusable, as inexplicable; and to get explanation of it he now tarries, while others are hastening away. Not resolutely. Besides the half-sad, half -indignant expression upon his countenance, there is also one of indecision. He is debating within himself what course to pursue, and whether he will go off without bidding her good-bye. He is almost mad enough to be ill- JEALOUS AS A TIGER. 209 mannered ; and possibly, were it only a question of politeness, he would not stand upon, or be stayed by, it. But there is more. The very same spiteful rage hinders him from going. He thinks himself ag- grieved, and, therefore, justifiable in demanding to know the reason touse a slang, but familiar phrase " having it out." Just as he has reached this determination, an op- portunity is offered him. Having taken leave of Miss Linton, he has returned to the door, where he stands hat in hand, his overcoat already on. Miss Wynn is now also there, bidding good-night to some guests intimate friends who have remained till the last. As they move off, he approaches her ; she, as if uncon- sciously, and by the merest chance, lingering near the entrance. It is all pretence on her part, that she has not seen him dallying about ; for she has several times, while giving conge to others of the company. Equally feigned her surprise, as she returns his salute, saying, " Why, Captain Ryecroft ! I supposed you were gone long ago ! " "I am sorry, Miss Wynn, you should think me capable of such rudeness." " Captain Ryecroft " and fe Miss Wynn/' instead of " Vivian" and "Gwen"! It is a bad beginning, ominous of a worse ending. The rejoinder, almost a rebuke, places her at a dis- advantage, and she says rather confusedly " Oh ! certainly not, sir. But where there are so many people, of course one does not look for the formalities of leave-taking." " True ; and, availing myself of that, I might have been gone long since, as you supposed, but for " "For what?" " A word I wish to speak with you alone, Can I ?" " Oh, certainly." " Not here ? " he asks suggestingly. 210 OWEN WYNN. She glances around. There are servants hurrying about through the hall, crossing and recrossing, with the musicians coming forth from the dining-room, where they have been making a clearance of the cold fowl, ham, and heel-taps. With quick intelligence comprehending, but without further speech, she walks out into the portico, he pre- ceding. Not to remain there, where eyes would still be on them, and ears within hearing. She has an Indian shawl upon her arm throughout the night carried while promenading and again throwing it over her shoulders, she steps down upon the gravelled sweep, and on into the grounds. Side by side they proceed in the direction of the summer-iiouse, as many times before, though never in the same mood as now ; and never, as now, so con- strained and silent for not a word passes between them till they reach the pavilion. There is light in it. But a few hundred yards from the house, it came^in for part of the illumination, and its lamps are not yet extinguished only burning feebly. She is the first to enter he to resume speech, saying, " There was a day, Miss Wynn, when, standing on this spot, I thought myself the happiest man in Here- fordshire. Now I know it was but a fancy a sorry hallucination." " I do not understand you, Captain Ryecroft ! " " Oh, yes, you do. Pardon my contradicting you ; youVe given me reason." " Indeed ! In what way ? I beg, nay, demand, explanation." " Tou shall have it ; though superfluous, I should think, after what has been passing this night espe- cially." " Oh ! this night especially ! I supposed you so JEALOUS AS A TIGER. 211 much engaged with Miss Powell as not to have noticed anything or anybody else. What was it, pray ?" " You understand, I take it, without need of my entering into particulars/' " Indeed, I don't unless you refer to my dancing with George Sheustone." " More than dancing with him keeping his com- pany all through ! " " Not strange that, seeing I was left so free to keep it ! Besides, as I suppose you know, his father was my father's oldest and most intimate friend." She makes this avowal condescendingly, observing he is really vexed, and thinking the game of contraries has gone far enough. He has given her a sight of his cards, and with the quick, subtle instinct of woman, she sees that among them Miss Powell is no longer chief trump. Were his perception as keen as hers, their jealous conflict would now come to a close, and between them confidence and friendship, stronger than ever, be restored. Unfortunately it is not to be. Still miscomprehend- ing, yet unyielding, he rejoins sneeringly, " And I suppose your father's daughter is deter- mined to continue that intimacy with his father's son, which might not be so very pleasant to him who should be your husband ! Had I thought of that when I placed a ring upon your finger " Before he can finish, she has plucked it off, and, drawing herself up to full height, says in bitter re- tort, " You insult me, sir ! Take it back ! " With the words, the gemmed circlet is flung upon the little rustic table, from which it rolls off. He has not been prepared for such abrupt issue, though his rude speech tempted it. Somewhat sorry, but still too exasperated to confess or show it, he rejoin? defiantly, 212 GWEN WYNN. " If you wish it to end so, let it ! " "Yes; let it!" They part without further speech. He, being nearest the door, goes out first, taking no heed of the diamond cluster which lies sparkling upon the floor. Neither does slie touch, or think of it. Were it the Koh-i-noor, she would not care for it now. A jewel more precious the one love of her life is lost, cruelly crushed and, with heart all but breaking, she sinks down upon the bench, draws the shawl over her face, and weeps till its rich silken tissue is saturated with her tears. The wild spasm passed, she rises to her feet, and stands leaning upon the baluster rail, looking out and listening. Still dark, she sees nothing, but hears the stroke of a boat's oars in measured and regular repeti- tion listens on till the sound becomes indistinct, blending with the sough of the river, the sighing of the breeze, and the natural voices of the night. She may never hear his voice, never look on his face again ! At the thought she exclaims, in anguished accent, " This the ending ! It is too " What she designed saying is not said. Her inter- rupted words are continued into a shriek one wild cry then her lips are sealed, suddenly, as if stricken dumb, or dead ! Not by the visitation of God. Before losing con- sciousness, she felt the embrace of brawny arms knew herself the victim of man's violence. CHAPTER XXX. STUNNED AND SILENT. DOWN in the boat-dock, upon the thwarts of his skiff, sits the young waterman awaiting his fare. He has been up to the house, and there hospitably entertained feasted. But with the sorrow of his recent bereave- ment still fresh, the revelry of the servants' hall had no fascination for him instead, only saddening him the more. Even the blandishments of the French femme de chambre could not detain him ; and fleeing them, he Las returned to his boat long before he expects being called upon to use the oars. Seated, pipe in mouth for Jack too indulges in tobacco he is endeavouring to put in the time as well as he can ; irksomo at best with that bitter grief upon him. And it is present all the while, with scarce a moment of surcease, his thoughts ever dwelling on her who is sleeping her last sleep in the burying-ground at Rugg's Ferry. While thus disconsolately reflecting, a sound falls upon his ears which claims his attention, and for an instant or two occupies it. If anything, it was the dip of an oar ; but so light that only one with ears well trained to distinguish noises of the kind could tell it to be that. He, however, has no doubt of it, muttering to himself,