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 Only One Love 
 
 OR 
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES GARVICE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 Claire," "Elaine," "Her Heart's Desire," "Leola Dale's Fortune," "Her 
 
 Ransom," "Leslie's Loyalty," "Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold," 
 
 "The Marquis," "Only a Girl's Love," "She 
 
 Loved Him," "A Wasted Love," 
 
 Etc. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY 
 
 407-429 DEARBORN STREET
 
 M.A. DONOHUE&cCOMPANY 
 
 PRINTERS AND BINDERS 
 
 4O7.429 DEARBORN STREET 
 
 CH ICAGO
 
 ONLY ONE LOVE 
 
 OR, 
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 One summer's evening a young man was tramping 
 through the Forest of Warden. "Forest of Warden" 
 sounds strange, old-fashioned, almost improbable; but, 
 thank Heaven, there yet remain, in over-crowded England, 
 some spots, few and far between though they may be, still 
 untouched by the greedy fingers of the destroyers, whom 
 men call Progress and Civilization. 
 
 To this grand old forest, for instance, whose dim shades 
 echo the soft pit-pat of the deer and the coo of the wood- 
 pigeon, comes not the tourist, with hideous knapsack and 
 suit of startling check ; no panting locomotive belches out 
 its cloud of coal smoke to dim the brightness of the sky 
 and choke the elms and oaks which reared their stately 
 heads before their fell enemy, the steam engine, was 
 dreamt of. 
 
 So remote and unfrequented is the forest that there is 
 scarcely a road from end to end of its umbrageous length, 
 for the trail made by the rough carts of the woodmen and 
 charcoal burners could scarcely be dignified by the title of 
 thoroughfare, and a few footpaths that wind about the 
 glades are so faint and seldom used as to be scarcely dis- 
 tinguished from the undergrowth of ferny moss around. 
 
 Along one of the footpaths the young man tramped, oc- 
 casionally stopping for a moment to look up at the sky 
 which shone redly through the openings of the trees or 
 to watch some frightened hare scamper across the glade. 
 
 Every now and then a herd of deer would flit through 
 the undergrowth, turning toward him distended eyes of 
 alarm and curiosity, for of the two kinds of men with 
 
 2125S28
 
 4 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 whom they were acquainted charcoal burners and wood- 
 men he was neither; nor did he belong to the tribe of 
 tourists, for he carried no knapsack., and instead of the 
 inevitable check and knickerbockers, was clad in a loose 
 Cheviot suit, which, though well worn, bore about it the 
 unmistakable stamp of Saville Eow. 
 
 That he was young and light-hearted was evident from 
 the fact that he broke out into an occasional snatch of an 
 air from the last new popular opera bouffc, notwithstand- 
 ing that the evening was closing in and he had most com- 
 pletely and emphatically lost his way. 
 
 Now, to lose your way in a forest reads rather romantic 
 and entertaining than otherwise, but like shipwreck, or 
 falling into the hands of Greek banditti, it is a much 
 pleasanter thing on paper than in reality. 
 
 A bed of moss, though very charming in the daytime, 
 is not nearly so comfortable as a spring mattress, and is 
 sure to be damp, and primeval oaks, majestic and beauti- 
 ful as they are, do not keep out the draught. The worst 
 room in the worst inn is preferable to a night's lodging in 
 the grandest of forests. 
 
 But, though he had never been in the Warden Forest 
 before, the young man knew it would be midsummer mad- 
 ness to hope for an inn and was wandering along on the 
 chance of coming across some woodman's hut, or by meet- 
 ing a stray human being of whom he could inquire his 
 way. 
 
 He was tired he had been walking since morning, and 
 he was hungry and athirst, but he tramped on, and smoked 
 and sang as carelessly as if he were strolling down the 
 shady side of Pall Mall. 
 
 Slowly the sun set, and the glades, which had been 
 dusky an hour ago, grew dark. The faint footpath grew 
 still more indistinct, the undergrowth denser and more 
 difficult for persons walking. 
 
 The pedestrian fought on for some time, but at last, as 
 he stumbled over one of the gnarled roots which a grand 
 chestnut had thrust up through the ground, he stopped 
 and, looking round, shook his head. 
 
 "A regular babe in the wood, by Jove!" he exclaimed. 
 "I sfiall tiave to make a night of it, I expect. Wonder
 
 WHO WAS THE HJBJJ^? 
 
 whether tire Fodins will be good enough to cor&r me over 
 in the proper nursery-book style ? Is it any good halloing, 
 I wonder? I tried that an hour ago, much to the disgust 
 of the live animals ; and I don't think I can kick up a row 
 at this time of night. Let's see how the 'bacca goes. Hem ! 
 about three perhaps four pipes. I wish I had something 
 to eat and drink; what a fool I was to leave that piece of 
 steak at breakfast. Steak ! I mustn't think of it that 
 way madnegs lies. Well, this looks about as sheltered a 
 spot as I could find I'll turn in. I wonder if anybody 
 has, ever since the world began, hit upon a short cut? I 
 never have, and hang me if I'll try it again. By George ! 
 the grass is wet already. Such a likely place for snakes 
 find my pocket full when I wake, no doubt." 
 
 Then, with a laugh, he dropped down amongst the long 
 brake ; but the idea of going to bed in a forest, at the early 
 hour of nine, was too much for him, and instead of com- 
 posing himself to rheumatic slumber, he began to sing: 
 
 "Oh, wake and call me early, mother, 
 Call me early, mother, dear/' 
 
 Scarcely had he finished the line when there oame 
 through the darkness, as if in response, a short, sharp 
 bark of a dog. 
 
 The wanderer leapt to his feet as if something had bitten 
 him, and after listening intently for a moment, exclaimed : 
 
 "Another chance, by Jove!" and sent up a shout that, 
 ringing through the stillness, echoed from tree to tree, and 
 at last called forth the answering bark from the distant 
 dog. 
 
 Knocking out his pipe as he ran, he made his way as 
 best he could toward the sound, shouting occasionally and 
 listening warily to the dog's response. 
 
 At last, after many a stumble, he found himself in a 
 narrow glade, at the end of which, faintly denned against 
 the patch of sky, stood the figure of a man. 
 
 "Saved, by George!" exclaimed the youth, with mock 
 melodramatic emphasis. 
 
 "Halloa! Hi! Wait a moment there, will you?" he 
 shouted. 
 
 The figure stopped and tiwaed its head, tfcw>, after
 
 6 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OE, 
 
 what seemed a moment's hesitation, brought back the dog, 
 which was running toward the belated youth, and suddenly 
 disappeared. 
 
 The wanderer pulled up and stared about the glade with 
 an astonishment which immediately gave place to wrath. 
 
 "Confound his impudence !" he exclaimed, fiercely. 
 "I'll swear he saw me ! What on earth did he mean by 
 going off like that? Did the fool think I was a ghost? 
 I'll show him I'm a ghost that carries a big stick if I 
 
 come up with him. Confound him, where " Then, as 
 
 a sudden thought struck him, he set off running down the 
 glade, barking like a dog. 
 
 No live, real dog could withstand such an invitation. 
 The dog ahead set up an angry echo, through which the 
 youth could hear the man's angry attempt to silence the 
 animal, and guided by the two voices, the wanderer struck 
 into a footpath, and running at a good pace, came sud- 
 denly into a small clearing, in which stood a small wooden 
 hut, before the door of which man and dog were standing 
 as if on guard. 
 
 For a moment the two men stood and regarded each 
 other in silence, the youth hot and angry, the man calm 
 and grim. 
 
 Each, in his way, was a fine specimen of his class ; the 
 man, with his weather-beaten face and his thick-set limbs, 
 clad in woodman's garb ; the youth, with his frankly hand- 
 some countenance and patrician air. 
 
 "What the deuce do you mean by leaving a man in the 
 lurch like this ?" demanded the young man, angrily. "Did 
 you take me for a ghost?" 
 
 The woodman, half leaning on his long-handled axe, re- 
 garded him grimly. 
 
 "No. I don't come at every man's beck and call, young 
 sir. What's your will with me ?" 
 
 "Why didn't you stop when I called to you just now?" 
 retorted the youth, ignoring the question. 
 
 "Because it didn't suit me," said the man, not inso- 
 lently, but with simple, straightforward candor. "You 
 are answered, young sir ; now, what do you want ?" 
 
 The young man looked at him curiously, conquering his 
 anger.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 7 
 
 "Well," I've lost my way," he said, after a moment's 
 pause. 
 
 "Where are you going ?" was the quiet response. 
 
 "To Arkdale." 
 
 The woodman raised his eyes, and looked at him for a 
 moment. 
 
 "Arkdale? Yes, you are out of the way. Arkdale lies 
 to the west. Follow me, young sir, and I'll show you 
 the road." 
 
 "Stop a moment," said the other ; "though you declined 
 to wait for me just now, you would not refuse to give me a 
 glass of water, I suppose." 
 
 The man turned, he had already strode forward, and 
 laid his hand on the latch of the cottage door. 
 
 The young man was following as a matter of course; 
 but the woodman, with his hand still on the latch, pointed 
 to a wooden seat under the window. 
 
 "Take your seat there, sir," he said, with grim deter- 
 mination. 
 
 The other stared, and the hot blood rose to his face ; but 
 he threw himself on the bench. 
 
 "Very well," he said ; "I see you still think me a ghost ; 
 you'll be more easy when you see me drink. Look sharp, 
 my good fellow." 
 
 The woodman, not a whit moved by this taunt, entered 
 the cottage, and the young man heard a bolt shot into its 
 place. 
 
 A few moments passed, and then the man came out with 
 a plate and a glass. 
 
 "Thanks," said the young man. "What's this?" 
 
 "Cider cake," was the curt answer. 
 
 "Oh, thanks," repeated the other; "jolly good cider, 
 too. Come, you're not half a bad fellow. Do you know 
 I meant to give you a hiding when I came up to you ?" 
 
 "Very like," said the man, calmly. "Will you have any 
 more ?" 
 
 "Another glass, thanks." 
 
 With his former precaution in the way of bolting an<3 
 barring, the man entered the cottage and reappeared with 
 a refilled glass.
 
 8 ONLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 This the young man drank more Leisurely, staring with 
 unconcealed curiosity at his entertainer. 
 
 It was a kind of stare that would embarrass six men out 
 of ten, and madden the remaining four; but the woodman 
 bore it with the calm impassiveness of a wooden block, 
 and stood motionless as a statue till the youth set down the 
 glass, then he raised his hand and pointed to the west. 
 
 "Yonder lies Arkdale." 
 
 "Oh! How far r 
 
 "Four miles and a half by the near road. Follow me, 
 and I will put you into it." 
 
 "All right, lead on/' said the other; but as he rose he 
 turned, and while refilling his pipe stared at the closely 
 locked cottage. 
 
 "Comfortable kind of crib that, my man." 
 
 The woodman nodded curtly. 
 
 "You are a woodman?" 
 
 Another nod. 
 
 "And poacher too, eh? No offense," he added, coolly. 
 "I only supposed so from the close way in which you keep 
 your place locked up." 
 
 "Suppose what you please," retorted the woodman, if 
 words so calmly spoken could be called a retort. "Yonder 
 lies your road, you'd best be taking to it." 
 
 "No hurry," retorted the young man, thrusting his 
 hands in his pockets and smiling at the ill-concealed im- 
 patience which struggled through the grave calm on tlie 
 weather-beaten face. "Well, I'm coming. You're not half 
 such a bad sort, after all. What have you got inside there 
 that you keep so close, eh? Some of the crown jewels or 
 some of the Queen's venison ? Take my advice, old fellow 
 if you don't want people to be curious, don't show such 
 anxiety to keep 'em out of your crib." 
 
 The man, pacing on ahead, knit his brows as if struck by 
 the idea. 
 
 "Curious folk don't come this way, young sir," he said, 
 reluctantly. 
 
 "So I should think," retorted the other. "Well, I'm 
 not one of the curious, though you think I am. I don't 
 care a button what you've got there. WiU you have a
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 
 
 Tire man shook his head, and they walked on in silencv 
 for some minutes, the footpath winding in and out like a 
 dimly-defined serpent. Presently it widened, and the 
 woodman stopped short and pointed down the leafy lane. 
 
 "Follow this path/' he said, "until you come to a wood 
 pile ; take the path to the left of it, and it will bring you 
 to Arkdale. Good-night, young sir." 
 
 "Here, stop !" said the young man, and he held out his 
 hand with a dollar in it. "Here's a trifle to drink my 
 health with." 
 
 The woodman looked at the coin, then shook his head 
 slowly ; and with another "good-night" turned and tramped 
 off. 
 
 Not at all abashed the young man restored the com to 
 his pocket, laughed, and strode on. 
 
 The woodman walked back a few yards, then stopped, 
 and looked after the stalwart figure until it deepened in 
 the gloom, a thoughtful, puzzled expression upon his face, 
 as if he were trying to call up some recollection. 
 
 With a shake of his head, denoting failure, he made his 
 way to the cottage, unlocked it and entered. 
 
 The door opened into what appeared to be the living 
 room. It was small and plainly furnished, after the man- 
 ner of a woodman's hut, and yet, after a moment's glance, 
 a stranger would have noticed a subtle air of refinement in 
 common with better habitations. 
 
 The table and chairs were of plain deal, the walls were 
 ox* pine, stained and varnished, but there was a good thick 
 carpet on the floor, and on one side of the room hung a 
 bookcase filled with well-bound volumes. 
 
 Beside the table, on which was spread the supper, stood 
 a chair, more luxurious than its fellows, and covered with 
 a pretty chintz. The knife and fork laid opposite this 
 chair was of a better quality than the others on the table ; 
 and beside the knife and fork lay a white napkin and a 
 daintily engraved glass; the other drinking vessels on the 
 table were of common delf. As the woodman entered, a 
 woman, who was kneeling at a fire in an adjoining room, 
 looked round through the doorway. 
 
 "Is't you, Gideon r 
 
 "Yes," he answered. "Where is Una?"
 
 10 ON-LY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 "Una? Isn't she with you? I heard voices. Who 
 was it?" 
 
 "Where is Una ?'' he said, ignoring her question. 
 
 "In the clearing, I suppose,'" said the woman. "She 
 went out a few minutes ago. I thought she went to meet 
 you?" 
 
 The man opened the door and called the dog, who had 
 been wandering round the room in an uneasy fashion. 
 
 "Go, Dick," he said. "Go fetch her P 
 
 Then he came and stood by the fire thoughtfully. 
 
 "No," he said, "it was not Una. I wish she wouldn't 
 leave the cot after dusk. v 
 
 "Why not? What's the fear? What has happened? 
 Who was that I heard with you?" 
 
 "A stranger," he said, "a young gentleman lost his way. 
 How long has she been gone ?" 
 
 "Not ten minutes. A young gentleman. Think of 
 that ! How came he here ?" 
 
 "Lost his way. He followed me through the Chase. He 
 has gone on to Arkdale." 
 
 "Lost his way," repeated he woman. "Poor fellow! 
 Five miles it is to Arkdale ! A gentleman ! A gentleman, 
 did thee say?" 
 
 "Ay," responded the man, frowning. "An outspoken 
 one, too; I heard him at the bottom of the Chase and 
 thought to give him the slip, but he was cunning, he 
 teased the dog and ran us down. I had hard work to get 
 rid of him; he looked sore tired. No matter, he's gone," 
 and he gave a sigh of relief. " 'Tis the first stranger that 
 has come upon us since she came." 
 
 "Lost his way/' murmured the woman, as she lifted a 
 saucepan from the fire, "and a gentleman. It is a rare 
 sight in Warden Forest. Why, Gideon, what has hap- 
 pened to thee?" and saucepan in hand, she stared at her 
 husband's cloudy brow. 
 
 "Tut nothing!" he ^answered, thrusting a projecting 
 log into the fire with his foot. "The young man's face 
 seemed as I thought 'twas but a passing fancy but 
 I thought it was familiar. It was the voice more than the 
 face. And a bold face it was. I wish," he broke off, 
 "that the lass would come in. From to-night I will have
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 11 
 
 no more wanderings after sunset! One stranger follows 
 another, and it is not safe for her to be out so late 
 
 "Hush!" interrupted the woman, holding up a fore- 
 finger. "Here she comes." 
 
 "Not a word !" said Gideon, warningty. 
 
 As he spoke the door opened, the dog bounded in with 
 a short yelp of satisfaction, and close behind him, framed 
 like a picture in the dark doorway, stood a young girl. ' 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 She had evidently run some distance, for she stood pant- 
 ing and breathless, the color coming and going on her face, 
 which shone out of the hood which half covered her head. 
 
 She was dressed in a plain cotton dress which a wood- 
 man's daughter might wear, and which was short enough 
 in the skirt to reveal a shapely foot, and scant enough in 
 the sleeves to show a white, shapely arm. 
 
 But no one would have wasted time upon either arm or 
 foot after a glance at her face. 
 
 To write it down simply and curtly, it was a beautiful 
 face; but such a description is far too meager and insuffi- 
 cient. It requires an artist, a Rembrandt or a Gains- 
 borough, to describe it, no pen-and-ink work can do it. 
 Beautiful faces can be seen by the score by anyone who 
 chooses to walk through Hyde Park in the middle of the 
 season, but such a face as this which was enframed by the 
 doorway of the woodman's hut is not seen in twenty sea- 
 sons. 
 
 It was a face which baffles the powers of description, just 
 as a sunset sky laughs to scorn the brush of the ablest 
 painter. It was neither dark nor fair, neither grave nor 
 sad, though at the moment of its entrance a smile played 
 over it as the moonbeams play over a placid lake. 
 
 To catalogue in dry matter-of-fact fashion, the face 
 possessed dark brown eyes, bright brown hair, and red, 
 ripe lips ; but no catalogue can give the spirit of the face, 
 no description convey an idea of the swift and eloquent 
 play of expression which, like a flash of sunlight, lit up 
 eyes and lips. 
 
 Beautiful ! The word is hackneyed and worn out. Here
 
 1* OXLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 was a face more than beautiful, it was soulful. Like the 
 still pool in the heart of a wood, it mirrored the emotion of 
 the heart as faithfully as a glass would reflect the face. 
 Like a glass joy, sorrow, pleasure, mirth, were reflected 
 in the eloquent eyes and mobile lips. 
 
 Of concealment the face was entirely ignorant; no bird 
 of the forest in which she lived could be more frank, inno- 
 cent of guile, and ignorant of evil. 
 
 With her light summer cloak held round her graceful 
 figure, she stood in the doorway, a picture of grace and 
 youthful beauty. 
 
 For a moment she stood silent, looking from the wood- 
 man to his wife questioningly, then she came into the 
 room and threw the hood back, revealing a shapely head, 
 shining, bronze-like, in the light of the lamp. 
 
 "Did you send Dick for me, father?" she said, and her 
 voice, like her face, betokened a refinement uncommon in 
 a woodman's daughter. "I was not far off, only at the pool 
 to hear the frogs' concert. Dick knows where to find me 
 now, he comes straight to the pond, though he hates frogs' 
 music; don't you, Dick?" 
 
 The dog rubbed his nose against her hand and wagged 
 his tail, and the girl took her seat at the table. 
 
 To match face and voice, her mien and movements 
 were graceful, and she handled the dinner-napkin like 
 ft lady. It was just that, expressed in a word. The girl 
 was not only beautiful but a lady, in appearance, in tone, 
 in bearing and that, notwithstanding she wore a plain 
 cotton gown in a woodman's hut, and called the woodman 
 "father." 
 
 "You did not come by your usual path, father," she said, 
 turning from the deerhound, who sat on his haunches and 
 rested his nose in her lap, quite content if her hand 
 touched his head, say once during the meal. 
 
 "No, Una," he replied, and though he called her by her 
 Christian name, and without any prefix there was a subtle 
 undertone in his voice and in his manner of addressing 
 her, which seemed to infer something like respect. "No, 
 I went astray." 
 
 "And you were late," she said. "Was anything the mat-
 
 WHO WAS TILE HEIR? 13 
 
 ter?" she added, turning her eyes upon him, with, for the 
 first time, an air of interrogation. 
 
 "Matter? No," he said, raising himself and coming to 
 the table. "What should be? Yes, I came home by an- 
 other path, and I don't think you must come to meet me 
 after dark, Una," he added, with affected carelessness. 
 
 "No?" she asked, looking from one to the other with a 
 smile of surprise. "Why not? Do you think I should get 
 lost, or have you seen any wolves in Warden Forest, father ? 
 I know every path from end to end, and wolves have left 
 merry England forever." 
 
 "Not quite," said Gideon, absently. 
 
 "Yes, quite," and she laughed. "What Saxon king was 
 it who offered fivepence for every wolf's head? We were 
 reading about it the other night, don't you remember ?'' 
 
 "Heading ! you are always reading," said the woman, as 
 she put a smoking dish on the table, and speaking for the 
 first time. "It's books, books, from morn to night, and 
 your father encourages you. The books will make thee 
 old before thy time, child, and put no pence in thy 
 father's pocket." 
 
 "Poor father !" she murmured, and leaning forward, put 
 her arms round his neck. "I wish I could find in the poor, 
 abused books the way to make him rich." 
 
 Gideon had put up his rough hand to caress the white one 
 nestling against his face, but he let his hand drop again 
 and looked at her with a slight cloud on his brow. 
 
 "Hich ! who wants to be rich ? The word is on your lips 
 full oft of late, Una. Do you want to be rich ?" 
 
 "Sometimes," she answered. "As much for your sake 
 as mine. I should like to be rich enough for you to rest, 
 and" looking round the plainly furnished but comfort- 
 able room "and a better house and clothes." 
 
 "I am not weary/' he said, his eyes fixed on her with 
 a thoughtful air of concealed scrutiny. "The cot is good 
 enough for me, and the purple and fine linen I want none 
 of. So much for me ; now for yourself, Una ?" 
 
 "For myself?" she said. "Well, sometimes I think, 
 when I have been reading some of the books, that I should 
 like to be rich and see the world." 
 
 "It ttrast be such a wonderful place I N0t so wonder-
 
 24 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OK, 
 
 ful as I think it, perhaps, and that's just because I have 
 never seen anything of it. Is it not strange that for all 
 these years I have never been outside Warden?" 
 
 "Strange?" he echoed, reluctantly. 
 
 Yes; are other girls so shut in and kept from seeing 
 the world that one reads so pleasantly of ?" 
 
 "Not all. It would be well for most of them if they 
 were. It has been well for you. You have not been un- 
 happy, Una?" 
 
 "Unhappy ! No ! How could one be unhappy in War- 
 den? Why, it's a world in itself, and full of friends. 
 Every living thing in it seems a friend, and an old friend, 
 too. How long have we lived in Warden, father?" 
 
 "Eighteen years." 
 
 "And I am twenty-one. Mother told me yesterday. 
 Where did we live before we came to Warden?" 
 
 "Don't worry your father, Una," said Mrs. Eolfe, who 
 had been listening and looking from one to the other with 
 ill-concealed anxiety; "he is too weary to talk." 
 
 "Forgive me, father. It was thoughtless of me. I 
 should have remembered that you have had a hard day, 
 while I have been idling in the wood, and over my 
 books; it was stupid of me to trouble you. Won't you 
 sit down again and and I will promise not to talk." 
 
 "Say no more, Una. It grieves me to think that you 
 might not be content, that you were not happy; if you 
 knew as much of the world that raves and writhes out- 
 side as I do, you would be all too thankful that you are 
 out of the monster's reach, and that all you know of it 
 .is from your books, which Heaven forgive them lie 
 all too often ! See now, here is something I found in 
 Arkdale;" and as he spoke he drew from the capacious 
 pocket of his velveteen jacket a small volume. 
 
 The girl sprang to her feet not clumsily, but with in- 
 finite grace and leaned over his shoulder eagerly. 
 
 "Why, father, it is the poems you promised me, and 
 it was in your pocket all the while I was wearying you 
 with my foolish questions." 
 
 "Tut, tut! Take your book, child, and devour it, as 
 usual." 
 
 Once or twice Gideon looked up, roused from bis rev-
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 15 
 
 crie by the rustling of the trees as the gusts shook them, 
 and suddenly the sky was rent by a flash of lightning and a 
 peal of thunder, followed by the heavy rattle of the rain- 
 storm. 
 
 "Hark at the night, father !" she said, raising her eyes 
 from the book, but only for a moment. 
 
 "Ay, Una," he said, "some of the old elms will fall 
 to-night. Woodman Lightning strikes with a keen ax." 
 
 Suddenly there came another sound which, coming in an 
 interval of comparative quiet, caused Una to look up with 
 surprise. 
 
 "Halloa there! open the door." 
 
 Gideon sprang to his feet, his face pale with anger. 
 
 "Go to your room, Una," he said. 
 
 She rose and moved across the room to obey, but before 
 she had passed up the stairs the woodman had opened 
 the door, and the voice came in from the outside, and 
 she paused almost unconsciously. 
 
 "At last ! What a time you have been ! I've knocked 
 loud enough to wake the dead. For Heaven's sake, open 
 the door and let me in. I'm drenched to the skin." 
 
 "This is not an inn, young sir." 
 
 "No, or it would soon come to ruin with such a landlord. 
 It's something with four walls and a roof, and I must be 
 content with that. You don't mean to say that you won't 
 let me come in?" 
 
 "I do not keep open house for travelers." 
 
 "Oh, come," exclaimed the young man, with a short 
 laugh. "It's your own fault that I am back here; you 
 told me the wrong turning. I'll swear I followed your 
 directions. I must have been walking in a circle; any- 
 how I lost my way, and here I am, and, with all your 
 churlishness, you can't refuse me shelter on such a night 
 as this." 
 
 "The storm has cleared. It is but an hour's walk to 
 Arkdale; I will go with you." 
 
 "That you certainly will not, to-night, nor any other 
 man," was the good-humored retort. "I've had enough of 
 your confounded forest for to-night. Why, man, are you 
 afraid to let me in? It's a nasty thing to have to do,
 
 16 ONLY O.NE LOVE; OK, 
 
 but " and with a sudden thrust of his strong shoulder 
 
 he forced the door open and passed the threshold. 
 
 But the woodman recovered from the surprise in a mo-' 
 ment and, seizing him by the throat, was iorcing him out 
 again, when, with a low cry, Una sprang forward and 
 laid her hand on his arm. 
 
 At her touch Gideon's hands dropped to his side. The 
 stranger sprang upright, but almost staggered out with 
 discomfited astonishment. 
 
 For the first time in her life she stood face to face with 
 a man other than a woodman or a charcoal-burner. And 
 as she looked her heart almost stopped beating, the color 
 died slowly from her face. Was it real, or was it one 
 of the visionary heroes' of her books created into life from 
 her own dreaming brain? 
 
 With parted lips she waited, half longing, half dread- 
 ing, to hear him speak. 
 
 It seemed ages before he found his voice, but at last, 
 with a sudden little shake of the head, as if he were, as 
 he would have expressed it, "pulling himself together," 
 he took off bis wide hat and slowly turned his eyes from 
 the beautiful face of the girl to the stern and now set 
 face of the woodman. 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me that you had a lady ladies 
 with you?" half angrily, half apologetically. Then he 
 turned quickly, impulsively, to Una. "I hope you will 
 forgive me. I had no idea that there was anyone here 
 excepting himself. Of course I would rather have got 
 into the first ditch than have disturbed you. I hope, I 
 do hope you believe that, though I can't hope you'll for- 
 give me. Good-night," and inclining his head he turned 
 to the door. 
 
 Una, who had listened with an intent, rapt look on her 
 face, as one sees a blind man listen to music, drew a 
 little breath of regret as he ceased speaking, and then, Avith 
 a little, quick gesture, laid her hand on her father's arm. 
 
 It was an imploring touch. It said^as plainly as if she 
 had spoken: 
 
 "Do not let him go." 
 
 "Having forced your way into my house yon may re-
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 17 
 
 "Thanks. I should not think of doing so. Good-night." 
 
 "No; you must not go. He does not mean it. You 
 have made him angry. Please do not go !" 
 
 The young man hesitated, and the woodman, with a 
 gesture that was one of resigned despair, shut the door. 
 
 Then he turned and pointed to the next room. 
 
 "There's a fire there," he said. 
 
 "I'd rather be out in the wood by far," he said, "than 
 be here feeling that I have made a nuisance of myself. 
 I'd better go." 
 
 But Gideon Kolfe led the way into the next room, and 
 after another look from Mrs. Bolfe to Una, the young 
 man followed. 
 
 Una stood in the center of the room looking at the door 
 behind which he had disappeared, like one in a dream. 
 Then she turned to Mrs. Rolfe. 
 
 "Shall I go, mother?" 
 
 "Yes. No. Wait till your father comes in." 
 
 After the lapse of ten minutes the woodman and the 
 woodman's guest re-entered. The latter had exchanged 
 his wet clothes for a suit of Gideon's, which, though it 
 was well-worn velveteen, failed to conceal the high-bred 
 air of its present wearer. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Rolfe had been busily spreading the 
 remains of the supper. 
 
 " 'Tis but plain fare, sir," she said ; "but you are heart- 
 ily welcome." 
 
 "Thanks. It looks like a banquet to me," he added, 
 with the short laugh which seemed peculiar to him. "I 
 haven't tasted food, as tramps say, since morning." 
 
 "Dear! dear!" exclaimed the wife. 
 
 Una, calling up a long line of heroes, thought first of 
 Ivanhoe, then and with a feeling of satisfaction of Hot- 
 spur. 
 
 Figure matched face. Though but twenty-two, the 
 frame was that of a trained athlete stalwart, straight- 
 limbed, muscular; and with all combined a grace which 
 comes only with birth and breeding. 
 
 Wet and draggled, he looked every inch a gentleman in 
 Gideon's suit of worn velveteen he looked one still. 
 aod motionless, Una watched him.
 
 18 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I got some lunch at the inn 'Spotted 
 Boar' at Wermesley about one o'clock, I suppose. I have 
 never felt so hungry in my life.'" 
 
 "Wermesley?' 7 said the wife. "Then you came 
 from - " 
 
 "London, originally. I got out at Wermesley, meaning 
 to walk to Arkdale ; but that appears to be easier said than 
 done, eh?" 
 
 Gideon did not answer; he seemed scarcely to hear. 
 
 "I can't think how I missed the way," he went on. "I 
 found the charcoal burner's hut, and hurried off to the 
 left - " 
 
 "To the right, I said," muttered Gideon. 
 
 "Right, did you? Then I misunderstood you. Any- 
 how, I lost the right path, and wandered about until I 
 came back to this cottage." 
 
 "And you were going to stay at Arkdale? 'Tis but a 
 dull place," said Mrs. Rolfe. 
 
 "No; I meant taking the train from there to Hurst 
 Hurst Leigh," repeated the young man. "Do 
 
 you know it ? Ah," he went on, "don't suppose you would ; 
 it's some distance from here. Pretty place. I am going 
 to see a relative. My name is Newcombe Jack New- 
 combe I am generally called and I am going on a visit 
 to Squire Davenant." 
 
 Gideon Rolfe sprang to his feet, suddenly, knocking 
 his chair over, and strode into the lamplight. 
 
 The young man looked up in surprise. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he asked. 
 
 With an effort Gideon Rolfe recovered himself. 
 
 "I I want a light," he said; and leaning over the 
 lamp, he lit his pipe. Then turning toward the window, 
 he said : "Una, it is late ; go to bed now." 
 
 She rose at once and kissed the old couple, then paus- 
 ing a moment, held out her hand to the young man, who 
 had risen, and stood regarding her with an intent, but 
 wholly respectful look. 
 
 But before their hands could join, the woodman 
 stepped in between them, and waving her to the stairs 
 with one hand, forced the youth into his seat with the 
 other.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 19 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A hearty meal after a long fast invariably produces in- 
 tense sleepiness. 
 
 No sooner had the young gentleman who was called, 
 according to his own account, Jack Newcombe, finished 
 his supper than he began to show palpable signs of ex- 
 haustion. 
 
 He felt, indeed, remarkably tired, or be sure he would 
 have demanded the reason of the woodman's refusal to 
 allow his daughter to shake hands. 
 
 For once in a way, Jack who was also called "The 
 Savage" by his intimate friends allowed the oppor- 
 tunity for a quarrel to slide by, and very soon also allowed 
 the pipe to slide from his mouth, and his body from the 
 chair. 
 
 Rousing himself with a muttered apology, he found 
 that the woodman alone remained, and that he was sitting 
 apparently forgetful of his guest's presence. 
 
 "Did you speak?" said Jack, rubbing his eyes, and 
 struggling with a very giant of a yawn. Gideon looked 
 round. 
 
 "You are tired," he said, slowly. 
 
 "Rather," assented the Savage, with half-closed eyes; 
 "it must have been the wind. I can't keep my head up." 
 
 The woodman rose, and taking down from a cupboard a 
 bundle of fox-skins, arranged them on the floor, put a 
 couple of chair-cushions at the head to serve as pillows, 
 and threw a riding-cloak which, by the way, did not 
 correspond with a woodman's usual attire, and pointed to 
 the impromptu bed. 
 
 "Thanks/' said Jack, getting up and taking off his coat 
 and boots. 
 
 "It is a poor bed," remarked the woodman, but the Sav- 
 age interrupted him with a cheerful though sleepy as- 
 surance that it needed no apologies. 
 
 "I could sleep on a rail to-night," he said, "and that 
 looks comfortable enough for a king ! Fine skins ! Good- 
 night !" and he held out his hand. 
 
 Gideon looked at it, but refusing it, nodded gravely. 
 
 "You won't shake hands!" exclaimed the Savage, with
 
 20 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 a little fhish and an aggrieved tone. '"Dome, isn't that 
 carrying the high and imposing rather too far, old fellow? 
 Makes one feel more ashamed than ever, you know. Per- 
 haps I'd better march, after all." 
 
 "No," said Gideon, slowly. "It is not that I owe you 
 any ill-will for your presence here. You are welcome, but 
 I cannot take your hand. Good-night," and he went to 
 the stairs. 
 
 At the door, however, he paused, and looked over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Did you say that Squire Davenant was your uncle, 
 Mr. Newcombe?" 
 
 "Eh uncle? Well, scarcely. It's rather difficult to 
 tell what relationship there is between us. He's a sort 
 of cousin, I believe," answered Jack, carelessly, but yet 
 with a touch of gravity that had something comical about 
 it. "Eum old boy, isn't he ? You know him, don't you ?" 
 
 Gideon shook his head. 
 
 "Oh, I thought you did by the way you looked when I 
 mentioned his name just now. Good thing you don't, for 
 you might have something to say about him that is not 
 pleasant, and though the old man and I are not turtle 
 doves just now, I'm bound to stand up for him for the 
 sake of old times." 
 
 "You have quarreled ?" the old man said ; but the Savage 
 had already curled himself up in the fox-skins, and was in- 
 capable of further conversation. 
 
 Gideon Rolfe crossed the room, and holding the candle 
 above his head, looked down at the sleeper. 
 
 "Yes," he muttered, "it's the same face they are alike ! 
 Faces of angels and the hearts of devils. What fate has 
 sent him here to-night?" 
 
 Though Jack Newcombe was by no means one of those 
 impossible, perfect heroes whom we have sometimes met 
 in history, and was, alas ! as full of imperfections as a 
 sieve is of holes, he was a gentleman, and for a savage, 
 was possessed of a considerable amount of delicacy. 
 
 "Seems to me," he mused, "that the best thing I can do 
 is to take my objectionable self out of the way before 
 any of the good folks put in an appearance. The old 
 fellow will be sure to order me off the premises directly
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIK? 21 
 
 after the breakfast; and I, in common gratitude, ought 
 to save him the trouble." 
 
 To resolve and to act were one and the same thing with 
 Jack Newcombe. Going into the adjoining room, he got 
 out of the woodman's and into his own clothes, and care- 
 fully restored the skins and the cloak to the cupboard. 
 Then he put the remainder of the loaf into his pocket, 
 to serve as breakfast later on, then paused. 
 
 "Can't go without saying good-by, and much obliged/' 
 he muttered. 
 
 A bright idea struck him ; he tore the blank leaf from an 
 old letter which he happened to have with him, and after 
 a few minutes' consideration for epistolary composition 
 was one of the Savage's weakest points scribbled the fol- 
 lowing brief thanks, apology, and farewell: 
 
 "Very much obliged for your kindness, and sorry to 
 have been such a bore; shouldn't have intruded if I'd known 
 ladies were present. Will you oblige me by accepting 
 the inclosed" he hesitated a moment, put back the sov- 
 ereign which he had taken from his pocket, and filled up 
 the line "for your wife." 
 
 Instead of the coin, he wrapped up a ring, which he took 
 from his little finger. 
 
 He smiled, as he wrapped it up, for he remembered that 
 the wife had particularly large hands; and he thought, 
 cunningly, "she will get it." 
 
 Having placed this packet on the top of the cheese, he 
 took a last look round the room, glanced toward the stairs 
 rather wistfully it was neither the woodman nor his 
 wife that he longed to see gently unbarred the door, and 
 started on his road. 
 
 Choosing a sheltered spot, the Savage pulled out his 
 crust, ate it uncomplainingly, and then lay down at full 
 length, with his soft hat over his eyes, and while revolving 
 the strange events of the preceding night, and striving 
 to recall the face of the young girl, fell asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A more beautiful spot for a siesta he could not have 
 chosen. At his feet stretched the lake, gleaming like sil-
 
 22 ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 ver in the sun, and set in a frame of green leaves and for- 
 est flowers; above his head, in his very ears, the thrushes 
 and linnets sang in concert, all the air was full of the 
 perfumes of a summer morning, rendered sweeter by the 
 storm of the preceding night, which had called forth the 
 scent of the ferns and the honeysuckle. 
 
 As he lay, and dreamt with that happy-go-lucky careless- 
 ness of time and the daily round of duties which is one of 
 the privileges of youth, there rose upon the air a song 
 other than that of the birds. 
 
 It was a girl's voice, chanting softly, and evidently with 
 perfect unconsciousness ; faintly at first, it broke upon the 
 air, then more distinctly, and presently, from amongst 
 the bushes that stood breast high round the sleeping Sav- 
 age, issued Una. 
 
 The night had had dreams for her, dreams in which 
 the handsome face, with its bold, daring eyes, and quick, 
 sensitive mouth, had hovered before her closed eyes and 
 haunted her, and now here he lay at her feet. 
 
 How tired he must be to sleep there, and how hungry ! 
 for, though she had not seen the note nor the ring she 
 knew that he had gone without breakfast. 
 
 "Poor fellow !" she murmured "his face is quite pale 
 
 and ah !" she broke off with a sudden gasp, and bent 
 
 forward; a wasp, which had been buzzing around his 
 head for some time, swept his cheek. 
 
 Too fearful of waking him to sweep the insect aside, she 
 knelt and watched with clasped hands and shrinking heart ; 
 so intent in her dread that the wasp should alight on his 
 cheek and sting him as almost to have forgotten her fear 
 that he should awake. 
 
 At last the dreaded climax occurred ; the wasp settled on 
 his lips; with a low, smothered cry, she stretched out her 
 hand, and, with a quick movement, swept the wasp off. 
 But, lightly as her finger had touched his lips, it had been 
 sufficient to wake him, and, with a little start, he opened 
 his eyes, and received into them, and through them to his 
 heart the girl's rapt gaze. 
 
 For a minute neither moved ; he lest he should break the 
 dream; she, because, bird-like, she was fascinated; then,
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR ? 23 
 
 ihe minute passed, she rose, and drew back, and glided 
 into the brake. 
 
 The Savage with a wild throb of the heart, saw that his 
 dream had grown into life, raised himself on his elbow and 
 looked after her, and, as he did so, his eye caught a small 
 basket which she had set down beside him. 
 
 "Stay," he called, and in so gentle a voice that his friends 
 who had christened him the Savage would have instantly 
 changed it to the Dove. 
 
 "Stay! Please stay. Your basket." 
 
 "Why did you run from me?" asked the Savage, in a 
 low voice. "Did you think that I should hurt you?" 
 
 "Hurt me? No, why should you?" and her eyes met 
 his with innocent surprise. 
 
 "Why should I, indeed ! I should have been very sorry 
 if you had gone, because I wanted to thank you for your 
 kindness last night." 
 
 "You have not to thank me," she said, slowly. 
 
 "Yes," he assented, quietly. "But for you " then 
 
 he stopped, remembering that it was scarcely correct to 
 complain of her father's inhospitality ; "I behaved very 
 badly. I always do," he added for the first time in his 
 life with regret. 
 
 "Do you?" she said, doubtfully. "You were wet and 
 tired last night, and and you must not think ill of my 
 father; he " 
 
 "Don't say another word. I was treated better than I 
 deserved." 
 
 "Why did you go without breakfast this morning?" she 
 said, suddenly. 
 
 "I brought it with me," he replied. "You forgot the 
 loaf !" and he smiled. 
 
 "Dry bread !" she said, pityingly. "I am so sorry. If 
 I had but known, I would have brought you some milk." 
 
 "Oh, I have done very well," he said, his curt way 
 softened and toned down. 
 
 "And now you are going to Arkdale?" she said, gently. 
 
 "That is, after I have gone to rest for a little while 
 longer ; I am in no hurry ; won't you sit down, Una ? Keep 
 me company." 
 
 To her there seemed nothing strange in the speech:
 
 24 OXLY OXE LOVE : OR. 
 
 gravely and naturally she sat down at the foot of an 
 oak. 
 
 "You think the forest is lonely?'' she said. 
 
 "I do, most decidedly. Don't you?" 
 
 "No; but that is because I am used to it and have 
 known no other place." 
 
 "Always lived here?" he said, with interest. 
 
 "Ever since I was three years old." 
 
 "Eighteen years! Then you are twenty-one?" mur- 
 mured Jack. 
 
 "Yes ; how old are you ?" she asked, calmlv. 
 
 "Twenty-two." 
 
 "Twenty-two. And you have lived in the world all the 
 time ?" 
 
 "Yes very much so," he replied. 
 
 "And you are going back to it. You will never come 
 into the forest again, while I shall go on living here till 
 I die, and never see the world in which you have lived. 
 Does that sound strange to you?" 
 
 "Do you mean to say that you have never been outside 
 this forest?" he said, raising himself on his elbow to 
 stare at her. 
 
 "Yes. I have never been out of Warden since we came 
 into it." 
 
 "But why not?" he demanded. 
 
 "I do not know," she replied, simply. 
 
 "But there must be some reason for it? Haven't you 
 been to Arkdale or Wermesley ?" 
 
 "No," she said, smiling. "Tell me what they are like. 
 Are they gay and full of people, with theaters and parks, 
 and ladies riding and driving, and crowds in the streets?" 
 
 "Oh, this is too much!" under his breath. "No, no 
 a thousand times no !" he exclaimed ; "they are the two 
 most miserable holes in creation! There are no parks, 
 no theaters in Arkdale or Wermesley. You might see a 
 lady on horseback one lady in a week! They are two 
 county towns, and nothing of that kind ever goes on in 
 them. You mean London, and and places like that 
 when you speak of theaters and that sort of thing !" 
 
 "Yes, London," she says, quietly. "Tell me all about 
 that I have read about it in books."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 25 
 
 "Books!" said the Savage, iu undisguised coiih'inpl; 
 "what's the use of them! You must see lii'e Tor yourself 
 books are no use. They give it to you all wrong; at 
 least, I expect so; don't know much about them myself." 
 
 "Tell me," she repeated, "tell me of the world outside 
 the forest; tell me about yourself." 
 
 "About myself? Oh, that wouldn't interest you." 
 
 "Yes," she said, simply, "I would rather hear about 
 yourself than about anything else." 
 
 "Look here, I don't know what to tell you." 
 
 "Tell me all you can think of," she said, calmly ; "about 
 your father and mother." 
 
 "Haven't got any," he said ; "they're both dead." 
 
 "I am sorry," she said. 
 
 "Yes, they're dead," he said; "they died long ago." 
 
 "And have you any brothers and sisters?" 
 
 "No; I have a cousin, though," and he groaned. 
 
 "I am so glad," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 "Don't be. I'm not. He's a I don't like him; we 
 don't get on together, you know." 
 
 "You quarrel, do you mean?" 
 
 "Like Kilkenny cats," assented the Savage. 
 
 "Then he must be a bad man," she said, simply. 
 
 "No" he said, quietly; "everybody says that I am the 
 bad one. I'm a regular bad lot, you know." 
 
 "I don't think that you are bad," she said. 
 
 "You don't; really not! By George! I like to hear 
 you say that; but," with a slow shake of the head, "I'm 
 afraid it's true. Yes, I am a regular bad lot." 
 
 "Tell me what you have done that is so wrong," she said. 
 
 "Oh I've I've spent all my money." 
 
 "That's not so very wrong; you have hurt only your- 
 self." 
 
 "Jove, that's a new way of looking at it," he muttered. 
 "And" aloud "and I've run into debt, and I've oh, I 
 can't tell you any more ; I don't want you to hate me !" 
 
 "Hate you? I could not do that." 
 
 He sprang to his feet, paced up and down, and then 
 dropped at her side again. 
 
 "Well, that's all about myself," he said; "now tell me 
 about yourself."
 
 26 OXLY OXE LOVE : OR, 
 
 "No" she said; "not yet. Tell me why you are going 
 to Arkdale?" 
 
 "I'm going to Arkdale to take a train to Hurst Leigh 
 to see my uncle, cousin, or whatever he is Squire Dave- 
 nant." 
 
 "Is he an old man ?" 
 
 "Yes, a very old man, and a bad one, too. All our 
 family are a bad lot, excepting my cousin, Stephen New- 
 combe." 
 
 "The one you do not like?" 
 
 "The same. He is quite an angel." 
 
 "An angel ?" 
 
 "One of those men too good to live. He's the only 
 steady one we've got, and we make the most of him. He 
 is Squire Davenant's heir at least he will come into his 
 money. The old man is very rich, you know." 
 
 "I see," she said, musingly; then she looked down at 
 him and added, suddenly: "You were to have been the 
 heir?" 
 
 "Yes, that's right ! How did you guess that ? Yes, I 
 was the old man's favorite, but we quarreled. He wanted 
 it all his own way, and, oh we couldn't get on. Then 
 Cousin Stephen stepped in, and I am out in the cold 
 now." 
 
 "Then why are you going there now?" she asked. 
 
 "Because the squire sent for me," he replied. 
 
 "And you have been all this time going?" 
 
 "You see, I thought I'd walk through the forest," he 
 said, apologetically. 
 
 "You should be there now you should not have waited 
 on the road ! Is your Cousin Stephen is that his name ? 
 ^there?" 
 
 "I don't know," he said, carelessly. 
 
 "Ah, you should be there," she said. "Squire Davenant 
 would be friendly with you again." 
 
 "I'm afraid you haven't hit the right nail on the head 
 there," he said. "I rather think he wants to give me 
 a good rowing about a scrape I've got into." 
 
 "Tell me about that." 
 
 "Oh, it's about money the usual thing. I got into a 
 mess, and had to borrow some money of a Jew, and he
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? a? 
 
 got me to sign a paper, promising to pay after Squire 
 Davenant's death; he called it a post obit I didn't know 
 what it was then, but I do now ; for the squire got to hear 
 of it, but how, hanged if I can make out ; and he wrote to 
 me and to the Jew, saying that he shouldn't leave me a 
 brass farthing. Of course the Jew was wild; but I gave 
 him another sort of bill, and it's all right."' 
 
 "Excepting that you will lose your fortune," said Una, 
 with a little sigh. "What will you do?" 
 
 "That's a conundrum which I've long ago given up. 
 By Jove ! I'll come and be a woodman in the forest !" 
 
 "Will you?" she said. "Do you really mean it? no, 
 you were not in earnest !" 
 
 "I why shouldn't I be in earnest?" he says, almost to 
 himself. "Would you like me to ? I mean shall I come here 
 to what do you call it Warden ?" and he threw himself 
 down again. 
 
 "Yes," she said; "I should like you to. Yes, that 
 would be very nice. We could sit and talk when your 
 work was done, and I could show you all the prettiest 
 spots, and the places where the starlings make their nests, 
 and the fairy rings in the glades, and you could tell me 
 all that you have seen and done. Yes," wistfully, "that 
 would be very nice. It is so lonely sometimes !" 
 
 "Lonely, is it?" he said. "Lonely! By George, I 
 should think it must be! I can't realize it! Books, it 
 reads like a book. If I were to tell some of my friends 
 that there was a young lady shut up in a forest, outside of 
 which she had never been, they wouldn't believe me. By 
 the way where did you go to school ?" 
 
 "School? I never went to school." 
 
 "Then how how did you learn to read? and it's aw- 
 fully rude of me, you know, but you speak so nicely; 
 such grammar, and all that." 
 
 "Do I?" she said, thoughtfully. "I didn't know that 
 I did. My father taught me." 
 
 "It's hard to believe," he said, as if he were giving up 
 a conundrum. "I beg your pardon. I mean that your 
 father would have made a jolly good schoolmaster, and I 
 must be an awful dunce, for I've been to Oxford, and I'll
 
 28 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 wager I don't know half what you do, and as to talking 
 I am not in it." 
 
 "Yes, iny father is very clever," she said; "he is not 
 like the other woodmen and burners." 
 
 "No, if he is, they must be a learned lot," assented 
 Jack; "yes, I think I had better come and live here, and 
 get him to teach me. I'm afraid he wouldn't undertake 
 the job." 
 
 "Father does not like strangers," she said, blushing as 
 she thought of the inhospitable scene of tlie preceding 
 night. "He says that the world is a cruel, wicked place, 
 and that everybody is unhappy there. But I think he 
 must be wrong. You don't look unhappy." 
 
 "I am not unhappy now," said Jack. 
 
 "I am so glad," she said; "why are you not?" 
 
 "Because I am with you." 
 
 "Are you ?" she said, gently. "Then it must be because 
 I am with you that I feel so happy." 
 
 The Savage flushed and he looked down, striving to 
 still the sudden throb of pleasure with which his heart 
 beat. 
 
 "Confound it," he muttered, "I must go! I can't bo 
 such a cad as to stop any longer; she oughtn't to say this 
 sort of thing, and yet I I can't tell her so ! No ! I must 
 go !" and he rose and took out his watch. 
 
 "I am afraid I must be on the tramp." 
 
 "Yes," she assented : "you have stayed too long. I hope 
 you will find that the Squire Davenant has forgiven you. 
 I think he cannot help it. And you will have your for- 
 tune and will go back into the world, and will quite for- 
 get that you lost your way in Warden Forest. But I 
 shall not forget it; I shall often think of it." 
 
 "No," he said, "I shan't forget it. But in case I should, 
 will you give me something no, I won't ask' it." 
 
 "Why not?" she said, wonderingly. "Were you going 
 to say, will I give you something to help you to remember ? 
 
 "Yes, I will. What shall I give you?" and she looked 
 around. 
 
 Jack looked at her. His bad angel whispered in his ear, 
 "Ask her to give you a kiss," but Jack metaphorically 
 kicked him out of hearing.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 29 
 
 "Give me a flower," he said, and his voice was as gen- 
 tle as its deep ringing bass could bt;. 
 
 Una nodded, and plucking a dog rose held it out to him. 
 
 "There," she said; "at least you will remember it as 
 long as the rose lasts. But it soon dies," and she sighed. 
 
 Jack took it and looked at it hard. Then he put it to 
 his lips. 
 
 "There is no smell to a dog rose," said Una. 
 
 "Ah no ! I forgot. Just so. Well, good-by. We 
 may shake hands, Una. That is your name, isn't it? 
 How do you spell it?" 
 
 "U n a," she said, giving him her hand. 
 
 "It's a pretty name/' he said, looking at her. 
 
 "Is it?" she said, dreamily. "Yes, I think it is, now. 
 Say it again." 
 
 "Una, good-by. We shall meet again." 
 
 "Do you think so? Then you will have to come to 
 Warden again." 
 
 "And I will. I will come soon. Oh, yes, we shall 
 meet again. Good-by," and, yielding to the temptation, 
 he bent and touched her hand Heaven knows, rever- 
 ently enough with his lips. 
 
 A warm flush spread over the girl's face and neck, and 
 she quivered from head to foot. It was the first kiss 
 except those of hep father and mother that she had ever 
 received. 
 
 "Good-by," he repeated, and was slowly relinquishing 
 her hand, the hand that clung to his, when a hand of 
 firmer texture was laid on his arm and swung him round. 
 
 It was. Gideon Rolfe, his face white with passion, his 
 eyes ablaze, and a heavy stick upraised. 
 
 The Savage had just time to step back to avoid the blow 
 and plant his feet firmly to receive a renewed attack; 
 but with an effort the old man restrained himself, and 
 struggling for speech, motioned the girl away with one 
 hand and pointed with the other to Jack. 
 
 "You scoundrel !" he gasped, hoarsely. "Go, Una, go. 
 You scoundrel ! I warmed you at my hearth, you viper ! 
 and you turn to sting me. Go, Una go at once. Do you 
 disobey me?" 
 
 White and trenrBKng, the girl shrank farto the shade.
 
 80 ONLY ONE LOVE; OK, 
 
 villain!'* went on the old man, struggling with 
 his passion. 
 
 "Stop 1" exclaimed Jack, the veins in his forehead swell- 
 ing ominously. "You must be mad ! Don't strike me ! 
 you are an old man!" 
 
 "Strike you ! No, no ; blows are of no avail with such 
 as you ! Curs take no heed of blows ! What other way can 
 one punish the scoundrel who repays hospitality by treach- 
 ery? Was it not enough that you forced your way into 
 my house, broke my bread, but you must waylay a credu- 
 lous girl and lead her in the first step to ruin. Oh, spare 
 your breath, viper! I know you and your race too well. 
 Kuin and desolation walk hand in hand with you; but 
 you have reckoned without your host here. My knowl- 
 edge of you arms me with power to protect a weak, in- 
 nocent girl from your wiles. Scoundrel !" 
 
 "You use strong words," he said, and his voice was low 
 and hoarse. "You are an old man and you are her 
 father. You call me a scoundrel; I call you a fool, for 
 if I were half the scoundrel you think me, you'd be to 
 blame for any harm I might have done. I've done none. 
 But that's no thanks to you, who keep such a girl as she 
 is shut up as you do, and leave her to wander about un- 
 protected. You know me, you say, and you know no good 
 of me; that's as it may be, but I say when you call me 
 a scoundrel, you lie !" 
 
 "Yes, I know you. I know the stock from whence you 
 sprung, villains all ! I thought that here, at least, I was 
 safe from your kind; but Fate led you here thank Fate 
 that I let you go unhurt. Take an old man's advice, and, 
 unlike your race, for onae leave the prey which you thought 
 so easy to destroy. Go !" 
 
 "I am going," he said, grimly. "I shall go, because if 
 I stayed all night I should not convince you that I am 
 not the scoundrel you suppose me. But, if you think that 
 I am to be frightened by these sort of threats, you are 
 mistaken. I have said that I will come back, and I will!" 
 and with a curt nod he strode off.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIE? 31 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It was the evening of the day on which Jack Newcombe 
 had parted from Gideon and Una, and the young moon fell 
 peacefully on the irregular pile of the ancient mansion 
 known familiarly for twenty miles of its neighborhood as 
 The Hurst. 
 
 The present owner was one Ralph Davenant, or Semi re 
 Davenant, as Jack Newcombe had called him, and as he 
 was called by the county generally. 
 
 He was an old man of eighty, who had lived one-half 
 his life in the wildest and most dissipated fashion, and the 
 other half in that most unprofitable occupation known as 
 repenting thereof. 
 
 I say "known as," for if old Squire Davenant had 
 really repented, this story would never have been written. 
 
 If half the stories which were told of him were true, 
 Ralph Davenant, the present owner of Hurst, deserves a 
 niche in the temple of fame or infamy which holds the 
 figures of the worst men of his day. He had been a 
 gambler, a spendthrift, a rogue of the worst kind for one 
 half his life ; a miser, a cynic, a misanthrope for the other. 
 
 And he now lay dying in his huge, draughty bed-cham- 
 ber, hung with the portraits of his ancestors all bad and 
 filled with the ghosts of his youth and wasted old age. 
 
 As it was, he lay quite still so still that the physician, 
 brought down from London at a cost of say, ten guineas- 
 an hour, was often uncertain whether he was alive or dead. 
 
 There was a third person in the room a tall, thin young 
 man, who stood motionless beside the bed, watching the 
 old man, with half -closed eyes and tightly compressed lips. 
 This was Stephen Davenant, the old man's nephew, and, as 
 it was generally understood, his heir. Stephen Davenant 
 was called a handsome man, and at first sight he seemed 
 to merit that description. It was not until you had looked 
 at him closely that you began to grow critical and to find 
 fault. He was dark; his hair, which was quite black, was 
 smooth, and clung to his head with a sleek, slimy close- 
 ness that only served to intensify the paleness, not to say 
 pallor, of the face. Pallor was, indeed, the prevailing 
 characteristic, his lips even being of a subdued and half-
 
 32 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 tinted red ; they were not pleasant lips, although fop every 
 forty minutes out of the sixty they wore a smile which 
 just showed a set of large and even teeth, which were, if 
 anything, too faultless and too white. Jack said that 
 when Stephen smiled it was like a private view of a ceme- 
 tery. 
 
 In short, to quote the Savage again, Stephen Darenant 
 was an admirable example, as artists would say, of "a 
 study in black and white." 
 
 As he stood by the bed, motionless, silent, with the 
 fixed regard of his light gray eyes on the sick man, he 
 looked not unlike one of those sleek and emaciated birds 
 which one sees standing on the bank of the Ganges, wait- 
 ing for the floating by of stray dead bodies. 
 
 And yet he was not unhandsome. At times he looked 
 remarkably well; when, for instance, he was delivering 
 a lecture or an address at some institute or May meeting. 
 His voice was low and soft, and not seldom insinuating, 
 and some of his friends had called him, half in jest, half 
 in earnest, "Fascination Davenant." 
 
 It will be gathered from this description that to call all 
 the race of Davenants bad was unfair; every rule has its 
 exception, and Stephen Davenant was the exception to this. 
 He was "a good young man/' 
 
 Fathers held him up as a pattern to their wayward sons, 
 mothers patronized and lauded him, and their daughters 
 regarded him as almost too good to live. 
 
 The minutes, so slow for the watchers, so rapid to the 
 man for whom they were numbered, passed, and the old 
 cracked clock in the half-ruined stables wheezed out the 
 hour, when, as if the sound had roused him, old Ealph 
 moved slightly, and opening his eyes, looked slowly from 
 one upright figure to the other. 
 
 Dark eyes that had not even yet lost all their fire, and 
 still shone out like a bird's from their wrinkled, cavernous 
 hollows. 
 
 Stephen unlocked his wrist, bent down, and murmured, 
 in his soft, silky voice : 
 
 "Uncle, do you know me ?" 
 
 A smile, an unpleasant smile to see on suck a faee, glim- 
 mered on the old man's lips.
 
 WHO WAS TMK MEIR? 
 
 "Here still, Stephen?" he said, slowly and hollowh. 
 "You'd make a good mute." 
 
 A faint, pink tinge crept over Stephen's pale face, I mi. 
 he smiled and shook his head meekly. 
 
 "Who's that?" asked Ralph, half turning his eyes lo the 
 physician. 
 
 "Sir Humphrey, uncle the doctor/' replied Stephen, 
 and the great doctor came a little nearer and i'elt the 
 faint pulse. 
 
 "What's he stopping for?" gasped the old man. "What 
 can he do, and why don't he go ?" 
 
 "We must not leave you, uncle, till you are better/' 
 
 A faint flame shot up in the old man's eyes. 
 
 "Better, that's a lie, you know. You always were 
 Then a paroxysmi of f aintness took him, but he struggled 
 with and overcame it. 
 
 "Is is Jack here ?" he asked. 
 
 "I regret to say," he replied, "that he is not. I cannot 
 understand the delay. I hope, I fervently hope, that he 
 has not willfully " 
 
 "Did you tell him I was dying ?" asked Ealph, watching 
 him keenly. 
 
 "Can you doubt it ?" murmured Stephen, meekly. "I 
 particularly charged the messenger to say that my cousin 
 was not to delay/' 
 
 The old man looked up with a sardonic smile. 
 
 "I'll wait," he muttered, and he closed his eyes reso- 
 lutely. The minutes passed, and presently there was a 
 low knock at the door, and a servant crept up to Stephen. 
 
 "Mr. Newcombe is below, sir." 
 
 Stephen looked warningly at the bed, and stole on tip- 
 toe from the room not that there was any occasion to go 
 on tiptoe, for his ordinary walk was as noiseless as a cat's 
 down the old treadworn stairs, into the neglected hall, 
 and entered the library. 
 
 Bolt upright, and looking very like a Savage indeed, 
 stood Jack Newcombe. 
 
 With noiseless step and mournful smile, Stephen en- 
 tered, closed the door, and held out his hand. 
 
 "My dear Jack, how late you are !" 
 
 With an angry gesture Jack thrust his hands in his
 
 34 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OK, 
 
 pockets, and glared wrathfully at the white, placid face. 
 
 "Late!" he echoed, passionately. '"Why didn't you tell 
 me that he was dying?'' 
 
 "Hush!" murmured Stephen, with a shocked look 
 though if Jack had bellowed in his savagest tone, his voice 
 would not have reached the room upstairs. "Pray, be 
 quiet, my dear Jack. Tell you ! Didn't my man give you 
 my message ? I particularly told him to describe the state 
 of my uncle's health. Slummers is not apt to forget or 
 neglect messages !" 
 
 "Messages!" said Jack, with wrathful incredulity; "he 
 gave me none left none, rather, for I was out. He simply 
 said that the squire wanted to see me." 
 
 "Dear, dear me," murmured Stephen, regretfully. "I 
 cannot understand it. Do you think the person who took 
 the message delivered it properly? Slummers is so very 
 careful and trustworthy." 
 
 "Oh," said Jack, contemptuously. "Do you suppose 
 anyone would have forgotten to tell me if your man had 
 told them that the squire was dying? I don't if you do, 
 and I don't believe you do. You're no fool, Stephen, 
 though you have made one of me," and he moved toward 
 the door. 
 
 "Stay," said Stephen, laying his white hand gently on 
 Jack's arm. "Will you wait a few minutes? Though by 
 some unfortunate accident you were not told how ill my 
 uncle is, I assure you that he is too ill now to be 
 harassed " 
 
 "Oh,. I know what you mean without so many words," 
 interrupted Jack, scornfully. "Make your mind easy. I 
 am not going to split upon 3 r ou. Bah !" he added, as Stephen 
 shook his head with sorrowful repudiation. "Do you sup- 
 pose that I don't know that your man was instructed to 
 keep it from me ? What were you afraid of that I should 
 cut you out at the last mordent? You judge me by your 
 own standard, and you make a vast mistake. It isn't on 
 account of the money you are welcome to that and you 
 deserve it, for you've worked hard enough for it; no. it's 
 not on that account, it's but you wouldn't understand if 
 I told you. I am going up now," and he sprang up the 
 stairs quickly.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEllir 35 
 
 Stephen followed him, and entered the room close be- 
 hind him. The old man looked up, motioned with his 
 hand to Jack, looked at the other two and quietly pointed 
 to the door. 
 
 Stephen's eyes closed and his lips shut as he hesitated for 
 a moment, then he turned and left with the physician. 
 
 "I think," said Sir Humphrey, blandly, and looking at 
 his watch one of a score left him by departed patients., 
 "I think that I will go now, Mr. Davenant; I can do no 
 good and my presence appears only to irritate your uncle." 
 
 The great doctor departed, just thirty guineas richer 
 than when he came, and Stephen went into the library and 
 closed the door, and as he did so it almost seemed as if he 
 had taken off a mask and left it on the mat outside. 
 
 The set, calm expression of the face changed to one of 
 fierce, uncontrollable anxiety and malice. With sullen 
 step he paced up and down the room, gnawing but 
 daintily at his nails, and grinding the white tombstones. 
 
 "Another half hour," he muttered, "and the fool would 
 have been too late? Will he tell the old man? Curse 
 him ; how I hate him ! I was a fool to send for him an 
 idiot 1 What is he saying to him ? What are they doing ? 
 Thank Heaven, that old knave Hudsley isn't there ! They 
 can't do anything can't, can't! No, I am safe." 
 
 Stephen Davenant need not have been so uneasy ; Jack 
 was not plotting against him, nor was the old man making 
 a will in the Savage's favor. 
 
 Jack stood beside the bed, waiting for one of the at- 
 tacks of faintness to pass, looking down regretfully at the 
 haggard, death-marked face, recalling the past kindnesses 
 he had received from the old man, and remorsefully re- 
 membering their many quarrels and eventful separation. 
 
 "Bad lot" as he was, no thought of lucre crossed the 
 Savage's mind; he forgot even Stephen and the cowardly 
 trick he had played him, and remembered only that he 
 was looking his last on the old man, who, after his kind, 
 had been good, and so far as his nature would allow it, 
 generous to him. 
 
 At last old Ralph opened his eyes. 
 
 "Here at last," he said ; and by an effort of the resolute
 
 36 ONLY OXK .LOVE: OK, 
 
 will, he made himself heard distinctly, though every word 
 cost him a breath.- 
 
 "Fmj sorry I'm so late," he said; and his voice was 
 husky. "I didn't know 
 
 The old man looked at him shrewdly. 
 
 "So Stephen didn't send? It was just like him. A 
 good stroke." 
 
 "Yes, he sent," said Jack; "but " 
 
 The old man waved his hand to show that he under- 
 stood. 
 
 "A sharp stroke. A clever fellow, Stephen. You al- 
 ways were a fool." 
 
 "I'm afraid so, sir," he said quietly. 
 
 "But Stephen is a knave, and a fool, too," murmured 
 the old man. "Jack, I wish I wish I could come back to 
 the funeral." 
 
 "To see his face when the will's read," explained old 
 Ralph, with a grim smile. 
 
 Jack colored, and, I am ashamed to say, grinned. 
 
 A sardonic smile flitted over the old man's face. 
 
 "Be sure you are there, Jack; don't let him keep you 
 away." 
 
 "Not that you will be disappointed much," said the 
 old man. 
 
 "Don't think of me, sir," said Jack, with a dim sense 
 of the discordance in such talk from such lips. 
 
 "I have thought of you as far as as I dared. Jack, 
 you are an honest fool. Why why did you give that 
 post oUt?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Jack, quietly. "Don/t worry about 
 that now." 
 
 "Stephen told me," said the old man, grimly. "He has 
 told me every piece of wickedness you have done. He is 
 a kind-hearted man, is Ste phen." 
 
 "We never were friends, sir," he said. "But don't talk 
 now." 
 
 "I must," murmured the old man. "Xow or never, and 
 give me your hand, Jack." 
 
 "I've had yours ever since I came in," said Jack, simply. 
 
 "Oh, I didn't know it. Good-by. boy don't don't end 
 up like ihis. It and and for Heaven's sake don't cry !"
 
 WHO WAS THE HElJi? 
 
 for Jack emitted a suspicious little choking sound, and his 
 eyes were dim. "Good-by; don't be too disappointed. Jus- 
 tice, Jack, justice. Where is Stephen? send him to rue. 
 I" and the old sardonic smjle came back "I like to see 
 him he amuses me !" 
 
 The eyes closed; Jack waited a moment, then pressed 
 the cold hand, and crept from the room. 
 
 Half way down the stairs he leaned his arm on the 
 balustrade and dropped his face on it for a minute or two, 
 then choking back his tears, went into the library where 
 Stephen was sitting reading a volume of sermons and 
 pointed up-stairs. 
 
 "My uncle wants me?" murmured Stephen. "I will go. 
 Might I recommend this book to you, my dear Jack; it 
 contains " 
 
 Jack, I regret to say, chucked the volume into a corner 
 of the room, and Stephen, with a mournfully reproachful 
 sigh, shook his head and left the room. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 "Villains," says an old adage, "are made by accident." 
 Now mark how accident helped to make a villain of the 
 good Stephen Davenant. 
 
 He passed up the stairs and entered the bedroom. As he 
 did so his foot struck against a chair and caused a little 
 noise. The dying man heard it, however, and opening his 
 eyes, said, almost inaudibly : 
 
 "Is that you, Hudsley?" 
 
 Stephen was about to reply, "No, it is I Stephen," but 
 stopped, hesitated, and as if struck by a sudden idea, drew 
 back behind the bed-curtains. 
 
 Whatever that idea was, he was considerably moved by 
 it ; his hands shook, and his lips trembled during the inter- 
 val of silence before the old man repeated the question : 
 
 "Is that you, Hudsley?" 
 
 Then Stephen, wiping his lips, answered in a dry voice 
 utterly unlike his own, but very remarkably resembling 
 that of the old solicitor, Hudsley: 
 
 "Yes, squire, it's Hudsley." 
 
 The dying man's hearing was faint, his senses wander-
 
 38 OX I A" OX.E LOVE; Oil, 
 
 ing and dimmed; lie caught the sense of the words, how- 
 ever, for with an effort he turned his head toward the cur- 
 tains. 
 
 "Where are you?"' he asked, almost inaudibly; "I can't 
 see you ; my sight has gone. You have been a long while 
 coming. Hudsley, you thought you knew everything 
 about the man who lies here; you were wrong. There's a 
 surprise for you as well as the rest. Did you see Jack?" 
 
 Stephen had no need to reply ; the old man rambled on 
 without waiting, excepting to struggle for breath. 
 
 "He is down-stairs. Poor boy ! it's a pity he is such a 
 fool. There was always one like him in the Newcombe 
 family. But the other Stephen the man who has been 
 hanging about me all this time, eager to lick my boots 
 so that he might step into them when I was gone; he is 
 a fool and a knave/' 
 
 Stephen's face went white and his lips twitched. It is 
 probable that he remembered the adage: "Listeners hear 
 no good of themselves." 
 
 "He is the first of his kind we have had in the family. 
 Plenty of fools and scamps, Hudsley, but no hypocrites 
 till this one. Well, he'll get his deserts. I'd give a 
 thousand pounds to come back and hear the will read, and 
 see his face. He makes so sure of it, too, the oily eel !" 
 
 Stephen writhed like an eel, indeed, and his lips 
 blanched. Was the old man delirious, or had he, Stephen, 
 really played the part of sycophant, toady and boot-licker 
 all these years for nothing? 
 
 Great drops of sweat rolled down is face, is tongue 
 clove to the roof of his mouth, and his knees shook so 
 that he had to steady himself by holding the curtain. 
 
 "Yes, disappointed all. You don't understand. You 
 think that you know everything. But no ; I trusted you 
 with a great deal, but not with all. How dark it is ! 
 Hudsley, you are an old man; don't finish up like like 
 this. Only one soul in the wide world is sorry that I'm 
 going; and he's a fool. Poor Jack! I remember " 
 
 Then followed, half inaudibly, a string of names be- 
 longing to the companions of his youth. Most of them 
 were dead and forgotten by him until this hour, when he 
 was about to join their shades.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR ? .",> 
 
 "Ah, the old time! the old time. But but what was 
 it I was saying? I I Hudsley quick! for Heaven's 
 
 sake! I the key the key- 
 Stephen came round, in his eagerness risking recog- 
 nition. 
 
 "The key?" he asked, so hoarsely that his voice might 
 well be taken for an old man's. "What key?" 
 
 "Feel under my pillow !*' gasped Balph Davenant. 
 
 Stephen thrust his trembling hand under the pillow, 
 and, with a leap of the heart, felt a key. 
 
 "The safe !" miurmured a faltering voice. "The bot- 
 tom drawer. Bring them to me! Quick!" 
 
 Stephen glided snake-like across the room to a small 
 safe that stood in a recess, opened the door, and with 
 trembling hands drew out the drawer! His hands shook 
 so, his heart beat to such an extent, that as a movement 
 in the next room struck upon his ears, he could scarcely 
 refrain from shrieking aloud; but it was only the nurse, 
 whom the old man would only allow to enter the room at 
 intervals; and setting his teeth hard, and fighting for 
 calm, Stephen took out two documents. 
 
 One was a parchment of goodly proportions. 
 
 Both were folded and endorsed on the back the parch- 
 ment with the inscription, "Last will and testament of 
 Ealph Davenant, Gent., Jan. 18 ." 
 
 With eyes that almost refused to do their task, Stephen 
 turned the other paper to the light, and read, "Will, July 
 18 ." This inscription was written in an old man's 
 hand the parchment was engrossed as usual. 
 
 Two wills ! The one the parchment, however, was 
 useless; the other the sheet of foolscap was the last. 
 
 "Well," rose the voice from the bed, hollow and broken, 
 "have you got them?" 
 
 Stephen came up and stood behind the curtain, and 
 held the wills up. 
 
 "Yes, yes," he said. "The first is is in whose favor?" 
 
 The old man struggled for breath. White, breathless 
 himself with the agony of anxiety and fear for any mo- 
 ment someone might enter the room Stephen stood star- 
 ing beside him. He dared not undo the tapes and glance 
 at the wills, in case of interruption dared not conceal
 
 40 OXLY OXE LOVE: OR. 
 
 them, for Hudsley might appear on the scene. With the 
 wills clasped in his hand, lie stood and waited. 
 
 The faintness passed old Ralph regained his voice. 
 
 "One is parchment the other is paper. The parch- 
 ment one you drew up: you know its contents I want 
 it destroyed, or, stay, keep it. It will add to the deceit- 
 ful hound's disappointment. The other ah, my God it 
 is too late Hudsley, there is a cruel history in that 
 paper. Xo hand but mine could pen it. But but I 
 have done justice. Too late ! why do you say too late ? 
 Why do you mock a dying man ? Mind, Hudsley, I trust 
 to you. It is a sound will, made in sound body and 
 mind. Dfon't leave that hypocritical hound a chance of 
 setting it aside. I trust to you. Stop, better burn the 
 first will ; burn it here now now," and in his excitement 
 he actually raised his head. Eaised it to let it drop upon 
 the pillow again with exhaustion. 
 
 Stephen stood and glared, torn this way and that by 
 doubt and uncertainty. 
 
 "Justice," he whispered hoarsely. "The first will, my 
 will leaves all to " 
 
 "To that hound Stephen !" gasped the old man. "I did 
 it in a weak moment and repented of it. Leaves all to 
 him; but not now." 
 
 Stephen hesitated no longer. With the quick, gliding 
 movement of a cat he reached the iron safe, replaced the 
 parchment in the drawer and locked the outer door, and 
 thrust the paper will into his pocket. 
 
 Scarcely had he done so, before he had time to get to 
 his place, the door opened and Hudsley, the lawyer, en- 
 tered. 
 
 He was an old man, as thin and bent as a withy branch, 
 with a face seamed and wrinkled, like his familiar parch- 
 ment, with the like spots ; his dark, keen gray eyes, which 
 looked out from under his shaggy eyebrows, like stars in 
 a cloudy sky. 
 
 As he entered, Stephen came forward, his back to the 
 light, his face in the shadow, and held out his hand. 
 
 Hudsley took it, held it for a moment, and dropped it 
 with a little, irritable shudder the slim, white hand was
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIE ? 4 1 
 
 as cold as ice- and, turning to the bod, looked a.u\iuusi\ 
 at the dying man. 
 
 "Great heaven!" he said, "is he dead?' 
 
 A savage hope shot up in Stephen's heart, but he looked 
 and shook his head. 
 
 "No. You have been a long time coming, Mr. Huds- 
 ley." 
 
 "I have, sir, thanks to your man's stupidity," said the 
 lawyer, in an angry whisper. "He came for me in a con- 
 founded dogcart !" 
 
 "The quickest vehicle to get ready," murmured Stephen. 
 "I told him to take the first that came to hand." 
 
 "And the result," said the lawyer impatiently. "The 
 result is that we lost half an hour on the road ! Does 
 your man drink, Mr. Stephen ?" 
 
 "Drink! Slummers drink!" murmured Stephen. "A 
 most stead}', respectable I may say conscientious man." 
 
 "He may be conscientious, but he's a very bad driver. 
 I never saw such a clumsy fellow. He drove into a ditch 
 half a mile after we had started." 
 
 "Dear, dear," murmured Stephen regretfully. "Poor 
 Slummers. It is not his fault. He is a worthy fellow, 
 but too sympathetic, and my uncle's illness quite upset 
 him " 
 
 "Hush!" interrupted Mr. Hudsley, holding up his 
 finger and bending down. 
 
 "Squire, do you know me? I am Hudsley." 
 
 The dying man moved his hand faintly in assent. 
 
 "Yes. Have you done as I told you ?" 
 
 "You have told me nothing yet." 
 
 "The safe! the key! the pillow !'" -said the Squire. 
 
 Hudsley caught his meaning and felt under the pillow, 
 and Stephen, as if to assist, thrust his hand under, and 
 withdrew it with the key in his fingers. 
 
 "Why again?" came the voice, broken and impatient. 
 "You have done it ! you have burnt the first." 
 
 "What is he saying?" he asked. 
 
 "You have burned it ; show me the other the last ; let 
 me touch it." 
 
 Hudsley opened the safe and took the first will from 
 the drawer.
 
 42 0XLY XE LOVE : OR, 
 
 "Two, did IIP say?" lio muttered; "there is only one 
 here the will ;" and he came to the hod with it. 
 
 "There is only one will here, of course, squire," he 
 said, bending down and speaking slowly and distinctly. 
 
 "Yes yon, yon have burned the other. Speak. T 
 cannot see, but I can hear yon." 
 
 "I have burned none," said Hndsley. "Have only just 
 come there is only one will here." 
 
 "Which?" gasped the dying man. 
 
 "The will of January Mr. Stephen " 
 
 Before they conld finish, they saw, with horror, the 
 dying man half raise himself, his face livid, his hands 
 wildly clutching the air, his eyes, by accident, turned 
 toward Stephen. 
 
 "You you thief!" he gasped. "Give it to rale! give 
 give oh, God ! Too late ? too la " 
 
 It was too late. Before the nurse and Jack could rush 
 into the room, horrified by the shriek which rang from 
 Stephen's white lips, old Ralph Davenant had fallen back 
 dead! 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Half an hour afterward Stephen Davenant passed 
 down the stairs on tiptoe, though the tramp of an armed 
 host could not disturb old Ralph Davenant now passed 
 down with his hand pressed against his breast pocket, in 
 which lay the stolen will. Had the sheet of blue foolscap 
 been composed of red-hot iron instead of paper, Stephen 
 could not have felt its presence more distinctly and un- 
 comfortably; it seemed to burn right through his clothes 
 and scorch his heart; he could almost fancy, in his over- 
 strained state, that it could be seen through his coat. 
 
 He paused a moment outside the library door, one white 
 hand fingering his pale lips, the other vainly striving to 
 keep away from his breast pocket, and listened to the 
 tramp, tramp of Jack as he walked up and down the 
 room. Any other face would have been more endurable 
 than Jack's, with its fiercely frank gaze and outspoken 
 contempt.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEllt? 13 
 
 At last he opened the door and entered, his handker- 
 chief in his hand. Jack stopped and looked at him. 
 
 "1 have been waiting for you/' he said. 
 
 "My poor uncle!" 
 
 Jack looked at him with keen scrutiny, mingled with 
 unconcealed scorn. 
 
 "I have been waiting for you, in case you wished to 
 say anything before I went." 
 
 "What?" murmured Stephen, with admirably feigned 
 surprise and regret. "You will not go, my dear Jack ! not 
 to-night." 
 
 "Yes, to-night," said Jack quietly. "I couldn't stop in 
 the house I shall go to the inn." 
 
 "But " 
 
 "No, thanks !" said Jack, cutting him short. 
 
 "Oh, do not thank me," murmured Stephen, meekly. 
 "I may have no right to offer you hospitality, the house 
 may be yours." 
 
 "Well, I think you could give a pretty good guess on 
 that point," said Jack, bluntly ; "but let that pass. I am 
 going to the 'Bush.' If you or Mr. Hudsley want me 
 where is Hudsley?" he broke off to inquire. 
 
 "Mr. Hudsley is up-stairs sealing up the safe and 
 things," said Stephen humbly. "He wished me to assist 
 him, but T had rather that he should do it alone per- 
 haps yon yould go through the house with him?" 
 
 Jack shook his head. 
 
 "As you please," mlurmured Stephen, with a resigned 
 sigh. "Mr. Hudsley is quite sufficient; he knows where 
 everything of importance is kept. You will have some re- 
 freshments after your journey, my dear Jack?" 
 
 "No, thanks," said Jack; "I want nothing I couldn't 
 eat anything. I'll go now." 
 
 "Are you going, Mr. Newcombe ?" said Mr. Hudsley, en- 
 tering and looking from one to the other keenly. 
 
 "I am going to the 'Bush ;' I shall stay there in case I 
 ;im wanted." 
 
 "The funeral had better be fixed for Saturday. Yon 
 and Mr. Stephen will be the chief mourners." Then he 
 turned to Stephen. "I have scaled up most of the things. 
 Is there anything you can suggest ?"
 
 44 ONLY OXK LOVK: <>K. 
 
 ''You know all ihat is required : we leave everything 
 to you, Mr. Ilud.-ley. J think I may speak for my cousin 
 may 1 not. Jack?''' 
 
 Jack did not reply, bur put on his gloves. 
 
 "I will go now/ 7 he said. "Good-night, Mr. Hudsley." 
 
 The old lawyer looked at him keenly as he took kis hand. 
 
 "I shall find you at the 'Bush?' " he said. 
 
 "Yes," replied Jack, and was leaving the room when 
 Stephen rose and followed him. 
 
 "Good-night, my dear Jack,'"' he said. "WiM you not 
 shake hands on on such an occasion ?" 
 
 Jack strode to the door and opened it without reply, 
 then turned and, as if with an effort, took the hand which 
 Stephen had kept extended. 
 
 "Good-night," he said, dropping the cold fingers, and 
 strode out. 
 
 Stephen looked after him a moment with his meek, 
 long-suffering expression of face changed into a ma- 
 lignant smile of triumph, and his hand went up to his 
 breast pocket. 
 
 "Good-night, beggar!" he murmured, and closed i la- 
 door. 
 
 Mr. Hudsley was still standing by the library-table, toy- 
 ing absently with the keys, a thoughtful frown on his 
 brow, which did not grow any lighter as Stephe^ entered, 
 making great play with the pocket-handkerchit 
 
 "I think I also may go now, Mr. Stephen," he said. 
 'Xothing more can be done to-night. I will he here in 
 the morning with my clerk." 
 
 "I suppose nothing more can be done. You have- 
 sealed up all papers and jewels? I am particularly 
 anxious that nothing shall be left informal." 
 
 "I don't think there is anything unsealed that should 
 have been." 
 
 "A very strange scene, the final one, Mr. Stephen." 
 
 "Awful, awful, Mr. Hudsley. My poor uncle seemed 
 quite delirious at the last." 
 
 "Hem!" grunted the old lawyer, pulling his hat to his 
 lips and looking over it at the white, smooth face. "Yon 
 think he was delirious 
 
 "Don't you, Mr. Hudsley? Do you think that he was
 
 WHO WAS THK limit? -10 
 
 conscious of what ho was saying? You huvr hrvn hi< 
 legal adviser and confidant for years; yon would knou 
 whether there was any meaning in his wild and iiK.-oherent 
 statement about the will. As you are no doubt aware, my 
 poor uncle never broached the subject of his intentions 
 to me." 
 
 "I know of only one will that of last year. That will 
 I executed for him; it is the will locked up in the safe 
 up-stairs. I have a copy at the office," he added, dryly. 
 
 "You you don't think there is any other any other 
 later will?" he asked, softly. 
 
 "I didn't think so until an hour ago. I am not sure 
 that I think so now. Do you?" 
 
 "No/' he said, shaking his head. "My uncle was not 
 the man to draw up a will with his own hand, and his 
 confidence, and I may say affection for you, were so great 
 that he would not have gone to any other legal adviser 
 to do it for him. No, I do not think there is any other 
 will ; of course, I do not know the contents of the will in 
 the safe." 
 
 "Of course not," said Mr. Hudsley, in a tone so dry 
 thai it seemed to rasp his throat. 
 
 "And yet I cannot understand mfy poor uncle's out- 
 break, except by attributing it to delirium." 
 
 "Hem?" said Mr. Hudsley. "Well, in case there should 
 have been any meaning and significance in it, my clerk 
 and I will make a careful search to-morrow." 
 
 "Yes," Murmured Stephen, "and I devoutly trust that 
 should a feter will be in existence, you may find it." 
 
 "I hope we may," said Mr. Hudsley. "Good-night !" 
 
 Stephen accompanied him to the door, as he had ac- 
 companied the doctor and Jack, and saw him into the 
 brougham, and then turned back into the house with a 
 look of release, which, however, gradually changed to enc 
 of lurking fear and indefinite dread. 
 
 "Conscience makes cowards of us all." 
 
 It makes a worse coward of Stephen Davenant than he 
 was natrually. As he stood in the deserted hall, and 
 looked round, at its vast dimness, at the carved gallery 
 and staircase, somber and dull for want of varnish, and 
 listened' to the faint, ghostly noises made by the AWC-
 
 <JG OXLY OXE LOVE: OR, 
 
 stricken servants moving to and fro overhead, a chill crept 
 over lii in, and he wished that he had kept one of them, 
 even Jack, to hear him company. 
 
 With fearful gaze he peered into the darkness, scarcely 
 daring to cross the hall and enter the lihrary. For all 
 the stillness, he fancied he could hear that last shriek of 
 the dying man ringing through the house; for all the 
 darkness, the slim, hent figure seemed to he moving to and 
 fro, the dark piercing eyes turned upon him with furious 
 accusation. Even when he had summoned up courage 
 to enter the library, locking the door after him, the eyes 
 seemed to follow him, and with a shudder that shook him 
 from head to foot he poured out a glass of brandy and 
 drank it down. 
 
 The Spirit of Evil certainly invented brandy for cow- 
 ards. 
 
 Stephen set down the empty glass and looked round 
 the room another man. 
 
 He even smiled in a ghostly kind of fashion as he took 
 the will from his pocket and opened it. 
 
 "Poor Jack !" he murmured, with a sardonic display of 
 the white teeth. "This no doubt makes you master of 
 Hurst Leigh ; but Providence has decreed that the spend- 
 thrift shall be disappointed. Yes, I am the humble 
 instrument chosen. I am " 
 
 He stopped suddenly with a start, for he had been read- 
 ing as he soliloquized, and he had come upon words that 
 struck him to the very heart's core. 
 
 Was he dreaming, or had his senses taken leave of him? 
 
 With beating heart and white, parched lips he stared at 
 the paper until the lines of crabbed handwriting danced 
 before his astounded eyes. 
 
 If brevity is the soul of wit, old Ralph Davenant's will 
 was wit itself. It consisted of five paragraphs. 
 
 The first was merely the usual preamble declaring the 
 testator to be of sound mind. 
 
 The second ran thus: 
 
 "To John Newcombe I will and bequeath the sum of 
 fifty thousand pounds, the said sum to be realized by the 
 sale or transfer of bonds and stocks, at the discretion of 
 James Hudsley."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 4 
 
 Enough in this to move Stephen, but it paled into in- 
 significance before what followed: 
 
 "To my nephew, Stephen Davenant, 1 will and bequeall. 
 the set of Black's sermons in twenty-nine volumes, stand- 
 ing on .the second shelf in the library, having remarked 
 the affection which the said Stephen Davenant bore the 
 said volumes, and accepting his repeated assertions that 
 his attendance upon me was wholly disinterested." 
 
 An ugly flash and an evil glitter swept over Stephen's 
 white face and eyes, and his teeth ground together ma- 
 liciously. 
 
 "To each and every one of my servants I bequeath the 
 sum of one hundred pounds, such sum to be forfeited by 
 each and every one who assumes mourning for my death, 
 which each and every one has anxiously looked forward to. 
 
 "And lastly, I will and bequeath the remainder of my 
 property of whatsoever kind, be it money, houses, lands, 
 or property of any description, to my only daughter and 
 child, Eunice Davenant, the same to be held in trust for 
 her sole use and benefit by James Hudsley. 
 
 "And I hereby inform him, and the world at large, that 
 the said Eunice Davenant is the only issue of my marriage 
 with Caroline Hatfield; that the said marriage was cele- 
 brated in secret at the Church of Armfield, in Sussex, in 
 June, 18 . And that the said Eunice Davenant, my 
 daughter, is in the keeping of one Gideon Rolfe, wood- 
 man, of Warden Forest, who has reared her as his own 
 child, and who is unacquainted with the facts of my 
 secret marriage, and I decree and appoint James Hudsley 
 sole guardian, trustee, and ward of the aforesaid Eunice 
 Davenant, and at her hands I crave forgiveness for my 
 neglect of her mother and herself. 
 
 "(Signed) RALPH DAVENANT, 
 
 "Hurst Leigh. 
 "Witness George Goodman, 
 
 "Coachman, Hurst Leigh. 
 "Martha Goodman, 
 
 "Cook, Hurst Leigh." 
 
 White, breathless, Stephen held the paper in his clinched 
 hands and stared at the astounding contents.
 
 48 ONLY ONE LOVE: OK, 
 
 Eunke Davenant the squire's daughter. 
 
 His overstrained brain refused to realize it. 
 
 Old Kalph Davenant married! Married! It was im- 
 possible. 
 
 Oh, yes, that was it. A smile, a ghastly smile shone 
 on his face. It was a joke a vile, malicious joke," worthy 
 of the crabbed, misanthropical old man ! A villainous 
 joke, set down just to bring about litigation, and create 
 trouble and confusion between the two young men, himself 
 and Jack Newcombe. And yet and the smile died away 
 and left his face fearful and haggard and yet that awful 
 fury of the dying man when he knew that the will had 
 been stolen. 
 
 No, it was no jest. The marriage had taken place ; there 
 was a daughter, and she was the heiress of all that im- 
 mense, untold wealth, except the fifty thousand pounds 
 left to Jack Newcombe, while he he, Stephen Davenant, 
 the next of kin, the man who had been working, lying, 
 toadying for the money, was left with a set of musty ser- 
 mons. 
 
 Rage rilled his heart; stifling, choking with fury, the 
 disappointed schemer struck the senseless paper with his" 
 clinched fist, and ground his teeth at it; then, suddenly, 
 as if by a swift inspiration, he remembered that this ac- 
 cursed will, which would reduce . him to beggary, and 
 leave an unknown girl and his hated cousia wealthy, 
 was in his hands; that he and he only knew of its exist- 
 ence. With a sudden revulsion of feeling he sprang to 
 his feet, and held the paper at arm's length and laughed 
 softly at it, as if it were endued with sense, and could 
 appreciate its helplessness. 
 
 Then he drew the candle near, folded the paper into a 
 third of its size, held it to the candle and drew it back 
 again, overcome by that fascination which almost in- 
 variably exercises itself on such occasions tfiat peculiar 
 reluctance to destroy the thing whose existence can destroy 
 the possessor. 
 
 The flame flickered and licked the frail paper: the 
 smoke curled round its edge: and yet and yet lie could 
 not destroy it. 
 
 Instead,, he sat down, and with clinched teeth unfolded
 
 WSQ WAS THE HEIR? 49 
 
 the will and read it^-read it again and again, until every 
 word was burned and seared into his brain. 
 
 "Eunice Davenant! Eunice Davenant ! Curse her!'' 
 he groaned out. 
 
 But even as the words left his lips a sound rose, the un- 
 mistakable tap tap of something some finger striking 
 the window-pane. 
 
 Biting his bloodless lips to prevent himself calling out 
 in his ecstasy of fear, he thrust the will into his pocket, 
 caught up the candle, swept the curtains aside, and started 
 back. 
 
 The ligfet fell full upon the face of a youag girl. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The face at the window was that of a young girl of 
 about two-and-twenty. 
 
 It would be hard to say whether Stepfcea Davenant 
 was pleased or annoyed by this apparition. That he was 
 surprised there could be no doubt, for he almost dropped 
 the candle in his astonishment, and fumbled at the lock 
 of the window for some moments before he could open it. 
 
 "Laura!" he exclaimed, "can it be you? Great Heav- 
 ens ! Impossible !" 
 
 With a little gasp of relief and suppressed excitement, 
 the girl stepped into the room, and leaned upon his arm, 
 panting with a commingling of weariness and fear. 
 
 "My dear Laura," he said, still holding the candle, 
 "how did you come here? Why " 
 
 "Oh, Stephen, is it really you? I was afraid that I 
 had made some mistake that I had come all this way " 
 
 "You do not mean to say you have come aft the way 
 from London alone alone!" 
 
 "Yes, I have come all the way from Loactoa. Do not 
 be angry with me, Stephen. I I could not wait any 
 longer. It seemed so long ! Why did you leave me with- 
 out a word? I did not know whether you were alive or 
 dead. Three weeks think, three weeks! How could 
 you do itP' 
 
 "Hush! hush! Do not speak so loud/' he whispered. 
 "Did attysme see you come in?"
 
 50 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 "No one. I have been waiting in the shrubs for oh, 
 hours ! I saw the visitors go away an old gentleman 
 and a young one and I saw your shadow behind the 
 blind," and she pointed to the window. "I have been 
 outside waiting, and dreading to knock in case you should 
 not be alone." 
 
 "You you saw my shadow?" he said, with an uneasy 
 smile. "Did you see I mean, what was I doing?" 
 
 "I did not see distinctly; I was listening for voices. 
 Oh, Stephen, I am so weary !" 
 
 He drew a chair for her, and, motioning her to sit, 
 mixed a glass of brandy-and-water, and stood over her 
 holding her wrist and looking down at her with an uneasy 
 smile. 
 
 "Now," he said, taking the glass from her, "tell me all 
 about it how you came, and why? Speak in a whisper." 
 
 "You don't need to ask me why, Stephen," she said, 
 leaning forward and laying her hand upon his arm, her 
 dark eyes fixed on his half-hidden ones. "Why did you 
 leave me so long without a word?" 
 
 "I will tell you directly," he answered. "Tell me how 
 you came alone ! Great Heaven !" 
 
 "Alone, yes; why not? I was not afraid. I came by 
 the train." 
 
 "But but " he said, with a little flush and a shift- 
 ing glance, "how did you know where I was?" 
 
 "You would never guess ! You do not deserve that I 
 should tell you. Well, I followed Slummers!" 
 
 "Followed v Slummers !" he echoed, with a forced smile. 
 
 "Yes, I met him in the street; you are going to ask 
 me why I did not ask him where you were," she broke off 
 with a smile and a shake of her head. 
 
 "Because I knew he would not tell me. Stephen, I do 
 not like that man, and he does not like me. Why do you 
 trust him so?" 
 
 "You followed Slummers well?" 
 
 "To the station. I was behind him when he took his 
 ticket, and I took one for the same place. I was quite 
 close behind him, but he did not see me. I got into the 
 train at the last moment, and I followed him from the 
 station here."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 51 
 
 "My dear Laura," he murmured, soothingly; "how 
 rash, how thoughtless !" 
 
 "Was it?" she said. "Perhaps it was. I did not stop 
 to think." 
 
 "But now now what are you to do ?" 
 
 "Don't be angry with me, Stephen, now I am here. 
 You must tell me what I am to do." Then her eyes wan- 
 dered round the house. "What a large house ! Is it your?, 
 Stephen ?" 
 
 "Eh?" he said, starting slightly. "I I don't know I 
 mean it was my uncle's. I was going to write to-night 
 and tell you where I was, and why I did not write be- 
 fore." 
 
 "Why didn't you?" she said, with gentle reproach. 
 
 "Because," he replied, "I could not it was impossible. 
 I could not leave the house, and could not trust the letter 
 to a servant. My uncle has been very ill: he he lies 
 dead up-stairs." 
 
 "Up-stairs ! Oh, Stephen !" 
 
 "You see," he exclaimed reproachfully, "that I have a 
 good excuse, that I have not desert left you without a 
 word for no cause." 
 
 "Forgive me, Stephen, dear!" she murmured, peni- 
 tently. "Do not be angry with me. Say you are glad 
 to see me now I have come." 
 
 "Of course I am glad to see you, but I am not glad you 
 have come, my dear Laura. What am) I to do with you? 
 I am not alone here, you know. The house is full of 
 servants; any moment someone may come in. Think of 
 the awkward position in which your precipitancy has 
 placed me has placed both of us !" 
 
 "I never thought of that I did not know. Why did 
 you not tell me you were with your uncle ? Oh, Stephen, 
 why have you hidden things from me?" 
 
 "Hidden things?" he echoed, with ill-concealed im- 
 patience. "I did not think that it was worth telling. 
 I did not know that I was coming I was fetched sud- 
 denly. Now that I come to think of it, I told Slumoners 
 to call and tell you." 
 
 "And he forgot it on purpose. I hate Slummers !"
 
 52 ONLY ONE LOVE : OK, 
 
 "Poor Slummers !" murmured Stephen. "Xever mine! 
 him, however. We must think now of what is to be done 
 with you. You you cannot stay here.'' 
 
 "Can I not ? Xo, I suppose not. I can go back," she 
 added, with a touch of bitterness. 
 
 "My darling," he said, coaxingly, "I am afraid you 
 must go back. There is an up-train the last in half an 
 hour." 
 
 The girl leaned back and clasped her hands in her lap. 
 
 "I am very sorry," he said, grasping her arm; "but 
 what can I do? You cannot stay here. That's impos- 
 sible. There is only one inn in the place, and your appear- 
 ance there would arouse curiosity, and oh, that, too, is 
 quite impossible ! My poor Laura, why did you eome ?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, slowly, "it was foolish to comie. You 
 are not glad to see me, Stephen." 
 
 He bent over her and kissed her, but she put him from 
 her with a touch of her hand, and rose wearily. 
 
 "I will go," she said. "Yes, I was wrong to come. 
 Tell me the way," and she drew her jacket close. 
 
 "Don't look so grieved, dear," he murmured. "What 
 am I to do? If there was any place but there is not. 
 See, I will come with you to the station. We shall have 
 to walk, I am afraid; I dare not order a carriage. My 
 poor child, if you had only foreseen these difficulties." 
 
 "Do not say any more," she interrupted coldly. "I am 
 quite convinced of my folly and am ready to go." 
 
 "Sit down and wait while I get my hat. We must 
 get away unobserved. Suspicious eyes are watching my 
 every movement to-night. I can't tell you all, but I will 
 soon. Sit down, my darling; I will not be gone a mo- 
 ment. If anyone comes to the door, step through the 
 window and conceal yourself." 
 
 Unlocking the door noiselessly he went out, turning 
 the key after him. 
 
 Barely a minute elapsed before he was in the room 
 again. 
 
 Warm though the night was he put on an overcoat 
 and turned up the collar so that it hid the lower part 
 of his face. 
 
 Locking the door after him, he came up to the table,
 
 WHO WAS THE HBIE? 53 
 
 poured out another glass of brandy-and- water, and got 
 some biscuits. 
 
 "Come," he said, "you must eat some of these. Put 
 some in your pocket. And you must drink this, my poor 
 darling, or you will be exhausted." 
 
 She put back the glass and plate from her with a 
 gesture of denial. 
 
 "I could not eat," she said. "I do not want anything, 
 and I shall not be exhausted. Let us go; this house 
 makes me shudder," and she moved to the window and 
 passed out. 
 
 "Laura, say dear Laura," murmured Stephen, in his 
 most dulcet tones, "why are you angry with me?" 
 
 "I am not angry with you," she said, and the voice, 
 cold and constrained, did not seem the same as that in 
 which she had greeted him a quarter of an hour ago. "I 
 am angry with myself; I am filled with self-scorn." 
 
 "My dear Laura," he began, soothingly, but she inter- 
 rupted him with a gesture. 
 
 "You a<re quite right; I was wrong to eome. You 
 have not said so in so many words, but your face, your 
 eyes, your very smile have told me so plainly." 
 
 "What bare I said?" 
 
 "Nothing," she answered, without hesitation, and with 
 the same air of cold conviction. "If you had said angry 
 words, had been harsh and annoyed openly, and yet been 
 glad to see me, I could have forgiven myself, but you 
 were not glad to see me. If I had been in your place 
 but I am a woman. Don't say any more. Is the station 
 near ?" 
 
 "My dear Laura," murmured Stephen for the third 
 time, and now more softly than ever, "more must be said. 
 I am aaxious, naturally anxious, to learn whether this 
 this suddeaa journey can be concealed." 
 
 It w,as quite true, he was anxious, very aaxions om 
 his own accoiuit.
 
 54 0-XLY ONE LOVE ; OH, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "Come," he said; "it is all right, then. Do not take 
 the matter so seriously, my darling Laura. The worst 
 part of it is that you should have made such a journey 
 alone, and have to go back alone, and at night ! That is 
 what grieves me. If I could but go with you and yet 
 that would scarcely be wise but it is impossible under 
 the circumstances. Come, give me your arm, my dear 
 Laura." 
 
 A little shiver ran through her frame, and she caught 
 her breath with a stifled sob. 
 
 "Come, come, my darling," he murmured; "don't look 
 back, look forward. In an hour or two you will be home." 
 
 "Do you think I am afraid?" she asked, and her voice 
 trembled, but not with fear. "No, I am looking back. 
 Oh, Stephen, do you remember when we met first?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Stephen, soothingly, and with an 
 anxious, sidelong look about to be seen promenading the 
 high road with a young woman on his arm on the night 
 of his uncle's death would be the ruin of his carefully built- 
 up reputation. "Yes, yes," he murmured. "Shall I ever 
 forget? How fortunate you lost your way, Laura, and 
 that you should have come up to m;e to ask it, and that 
 I should have been going in that direction. And yet the 
 thoughtless speak of chance !" 
 
 And he cast up his eyes with unctuous solemnity, 
 though there was no one in the dark road to be impressed 
 by it. 
 
 "Chance," said the girl, sadly "an evil or a good 
 chance for me which? Stephen, I sometimes wish that 
 we had never met that I had not crossed your path, and 
 so have left the old life, with its dull, quiet and sober 
 grayness; but the die was cast that afternoon. I went 
 back to the quiet home, to the old man who had been my 
 father, mother and all to me, and life was changed." 
 
 "Your grandfather has no suspicion ?" 
 
 "No, he trusts me entirely. If he asks a question 
 when I go to meet you, he is satisfied when I tell him 
 that I ami going to a neighbor. Stephen, if I had had a 
 mother, do you think I should have deceived her also?"
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 55 
 
 "Deceived? Deceived is too harsh a word, my dear 
 Laura. We have been obliged, for various reasons, to use 
 some reserve let us say candidly, to conceal our engage- 
 ment. You have not mentioned my name to anyone?" 
 he broke off. 
 
 "To no one," she answered. 
 
 "Such concealment was necessary. My uncle was a 
 man of rough and hasty temper, ill-judging and merci- 
 less." 
 
 "But," she said, with a sudden eagerness, and a slight 
 shudder, "he he is dead now, Stephen. There is no 
 need for further concealment." 
 
 "Softly, softly, dear Laura. We must be patient 
 must keep our little secret a little while longer. I can 
 trust my darling to confide in me yes, yes, I know 
 that " 
 
 "Stephen, to-night for the first time why, I know 
 not I have doubted no, not doubted, for I have fought 
 hard against the suspicion that I was wrong to trust 
 you." 
 
 "My dearest !" he murmured reproachfully. 
 
 "You were wrong to leave me for so long without a word 
 you put my love to too severe a test. I I cannot say 
 whether it has stood it or not. To-night I am full of 
 doubi. Stephen look at me!" 
 
 He turned his face and looked down. He had not far 
 to look, for she was tall, and in the moment of excitement 
 had drawn herself to her full height. The moon, sailing 
 from amongst the clouds, shone on her upturned face; 
 her lips were set, and the dark eyes gleamed from the 
 white face. 
 
 "Look at me, Stephen. If I say if there is the 
 faintest idea of treachery lurking in your mind " 
 
 "My dearest " 
 
 "Cast it out! Here, to-night, I warn you to cast it 
 out! Such love as mine is like a two-edged sword, it 
 cuts both ways, for love or hate ! Stephen, I have loved, 
 I have trusted you for mine, for your own sake, be true 
 to me!" 
 
 He was more impressed than alarmed. This side of 
 her character had been presented to him to-night for the
 
 56 ONLY ONE LOVE : OR, 
 
 first time. Hitherto the beautiful girl had been all smiles 
 and humble devotion. Was she bewitched, or had he been 
 mjstaken in her. Perhaps it was the moon, but suddenly 
 his face looked paler than ever, and the white eyelids 
 drooped until they hid the shifting eyes, as he put his 
 arm/ around her. 
 
 "My dearest ! What can you mean ? Deceive you ! 
 Treachery! Can you deem me me capable of such 
 things. My dearest, you are overtired ! And you 
 jacket has become unbuttoned. Listen, that is the railway 
 bell. Laura, you will not leave me with such words on 
 your lips?" 
 
 "Forgive me, Stephen." 
 
 "I have done so already, dearest, and now we must 
 part ! It is very hard but I cannot even go with you to 
 the platform. Someone might see us. It is for your sake, 
 darling." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know," she said, with a sigh. "Good-bye 
 you will write or come to me when ?" 
 
 "Soon, in a day or two," he said. "Do not be im- 
 patient. There is much to be done; m[y poor uncle 5 s 
 funeral, you know. Good-bye. See ! I will stay here and 
 watch the train off. Good-bye, dear, dear Laura !" 
 
 She put her arm round him and returned his kiss, and 
 glided away, but at the turn of the road leading to the 
 station she turned and, holding up her hand, sent a word 
 back to him. 
 
 It was: 
 
 "Kemember !" 
 
 Stephen waited until the train puffed out of the station, 
 and not until it had flashed some distance did the set 
 ^smile leave his face. 
 
 .' Then, with a rather puzzled and uneasy expression, he 
 turned and walked swiftly back to the house. 
 
 His brain was in a whirl, the sudden appearance of 
 the young girl coming on the top of the other causes 
 of excitement bewildered him, and he felt that he had 
 need of all his accustomed coolness. The sudden peril 
 and danger of this accursed will demanded all his at- 
 tention, and yet the thought of the girl would force itself 
 upon him. He had met her, as she had said, in the
 
 WBO WAS THE HEIR? 57 
 
 streets, and had commenced an acquaintance which hud 
 resulted in an engagement. Alone and unprotected, save 
 for an old grandfather, and innocent of the world, Laura 
 Trehern had been, as it were, fascinated by the smooth, 
 soft-spoken Stephen, from whose ready tongue vows of 
 Jove and devotion rolled as easily as the scales from a 
 serpent in springtime. And he, for his part, was smitten 
 by the dark eyes and quick, impulsive way of the warm- 
 hearted girl. 
 
 But there had come upon him of late a suspicion that 
 in binding himself to marry her he had committed a 
 false step; to-night the suspicion grew into something 
 like certainty. 
 
 To tell the truth, she had almiost frightened him. 
 Hitherto the dark eyes had ever turned on his with 
 softened gaze of love and admiration; to-night, for the 
 first time, the hot, passionate nature had revealed itself. 
 
 The deep-toned "Remember !" which came floating down 
 the lane as she disappeared rang unpleasantly in his ears. 
 Had he been a true-hearted man the girl's spirit would 
 have made her more precious in his eyes; but, coward- 
 like, he felt that hers was a stronger nature than his, 
 and he began to fear. 
 
 "Yes," he muttered, as he unlocked the library window, 
 and sank into a chair. "It was a weak stroke, a weak 
 stroke ! But I can't think of what is to be done now, not 
 now!" 
 
 No, for to-night all his attention must be concentrated 
 on the will. 
 
 Wiping the perspiration from his brow, he lit another 
 candle. This time nothing should prevent him from de- 
 stroying the accursed thing which stood between him and 
 wealth ; he would burn it at once at once. With feverish 
 eagerness he thrust his hand in his coat, then staggered 
 and fell back white as death. 
 
 The pocket was empty. The will was not there. 
 
 "I I am a fool !" he muttered, with a smile. "I put 
 it in the other coat/' and he snatched up the overcoat, 
 but a glance, a touch showed him that it was not there 
 either. 
 
 Wildly, madly he searched each pocket in vain, went on
 
 58 OXLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 his knees and felt, as if he could not trust his sight alone, 
 every inch of the carpet ; turned up the hearth-rug, al- 
 most tore up the carpet itself, shook the curtains, and 
 still hunted and searched long after the conviction had 
 forced itself upon his mind that in no part of the room 
 could the thing he hidden. 
 
 Then he paused, pressing his hand to his brow and 
 biting his livid lips. Let him think think think ! 
 Where could it be? He had not dropped it on the stairs 
 or in any other part of the house, for he remembered, he 
 could swear, that he had felt the thing as he stood in the 
 study buttoning up his overcoat. If not in the house, 
 where then? 
 
 Throwing aside all caution in his excitement, he un- 
 fastened the window, and, candle in hand, examined the 
 grand terrace, traced every step which he had taken 
 across the lawn and all to no purpose. 
 
 "It is lying in the road," he muttered, the sweat drop- 
 ping from his face. "Heaven! lying glaring there, for 
 any country clown to pick up and ruin me. I must I 
 will find it! Brandy I must have some brandy this 
 this is maddening me !" 
 
 And indeed he seemed mad, for though he knew he 
 had not passed it, he went back, still peering on the 
 ground, the candle held above his head. Suddenly he 
 stumbled up against some object, and, looking up, saw 
 the tall figure of a man standing right in his path. With 
 a wolfish cry of mingled fear and rage, he dropped the 
 candle and sprang on to him. 
 
 "You you thief !" he cried, hoarsely ; "give it to me 
 give it me !" 
 
 "The man made an effort to unlock the mad grasp of 
 the hands round his throat, then scientifically and coolly 
 knocked his assailant down, and, holding him down writh- 
 ing, struck a match. 
 
 Gasping and foaming, Stephen looked up and saw that 
 it was Jack Newcombe Jack Newcombe regarding him 
 with cool, contemptuous surprise and suspicion. 
 
 "Well," he said contemptuously, "so ifs you! Are 
 you out of your mind?" and he flung the match away 
 and allowed Stephen to rise.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIll? 5!) 
 
 Trembling and struggling for composure, Stephen 
 brushed the dust from his black coat and stood rubbing 
 his chest, for Jack's blow had been straight from the 
 shoulder. 
 
 "What have you got to say for yourself?" said Jack, 
 sternly. "I asked you if you had gone mad. What are 
 you doing here with a candle, and behaving like a luna- 
 tic?" 
 
 Stephen made a mighty effort for composure, and a 
 ghastly smile struggled to his face. 
 
 "My dear Jack, how you startled me !" he gasped. "I 
 was never so frightened in my my life!" 
 
 "So it appeared," said Jack, with strong disgust in his 
 voice. "Pick up the candle there it is." 
 
 And he pointed with his foot. But Stephen was by no 
 means anxious for a light. 
 
 "Never mind the candle," he said. "You are quite 
 right I must have seemed out of my mind. I I am 
 very much upset, my dear Jack." 
 
 "Are you hurt?" inquired Jack, but with no great 
 show of concern. 
 
 "No, no !" gasped Stephen ; "don't distress yourself, 
 my dear Jack don't, I beg of you. It was my fault, en- 
 tirely. The the fact is that I " 
 
 He paused, for Jack had got the candle, lit it, and held 
 it up so that the light fell upon Stephen's face. 
 
 "Now," he said, his tone plainly intimating that he 
 would prefer to see Stephen's face while he made his 
 explanation. 
 
 "The fact is," Stephen began again, "I have had the 
 misfortune to lose a pocketbook no, not a pocketbook, 
 that is scarcely correct, but a paper which I fancied I 
 had put in my pocketbook, and which must have dropped 
 out. It it was a draft of a little legal document which 
 my lawyer had sent me of no value, utterly valueless oh, 
 quite " 
 
 "So I should judge front the calm way in which you 
 accusefl the first man you met of stealing it," said Jack, 
 with quiet scorn. 
 
 Stephen bit his lip, and a glance of hate and suspicion 
 shot from under his eyelids.
 
 60 ONLY OXK LOVE; OR, 
 
 'Tray forgive me, my dear Jack,'' he said, pressing his 
 hand to his brow, and sighing. "If you had sat up for 
 so many nights, and were so worn and overwrought, you 
 would have some sympathy with my overstrained nerves. 
 I am much shaken to-night, my dear Jack very much 
 shaken." 
 
 And indeed he was, for the Savage's fist was by no 
 means a soft one. 
 
 Jack looked at him in silence for a moment, then held 
 the candle toward him. 
 
 "You had better go to the house and get some of the 
 servants to help you look for the paper," he said. "Good- 
 night." 
 
 "Oh, it is of no consequence," said Stephen, eagerly. 
 "Doa't go stop a moment, my dear Jack. I I will 
 walk with you as far as the inn." 
 
 "No, thanks," said Jack, curtly; then, as a suspicious 
 look gleamed in Stephen's eyes, he added : "Oh, I see ! you 
 are afraid I should pick it up in the road. You had 
 better come." 
 
 Stephen smiled, and laid his hand on Jack's arm. 
 
 "You you are not playing a joke with me, my dear 
 Jack ? You haven't got the -document in your pocket all 
 the time?" 
 
 "If I said that I hadn't you wouldn't- believe me, you 
 know," he replied. "There, take your hand off my coat !" 
 
 "Stop! stop!" exclaimed Stephen, with a ghostly at-, 
 tempt at a laugh. "Don't go, my dear Jack; stop at 
 the house to-night. I should feel very much obliged, in- 
 deed, if you would. I am so upset to-night that I I 
 want company. Let me beg of you to stop." 
 
 And in his dread lest Jack should escape out of sight, 
 he held on to his arm. 
 
 Jack shook him with so emiphatie a movement of dis- 
 gust that Stephen was in imminent danger of making a 
 further acquaintance with the lawn. 
 
 "Go indoors," he said sternly, "and leave me alone. I'd 
 rather not sleep under the same roof with you. As for 
 your lost paper, whatever it may be, you had better look 
 for it m the morning, unless you want to get into further 
 troubte, v and he turned on his heel and disappeared.
 
 WHO WAS THE IEIB? 61 
 
 Stephen waited until he had got at a safe distance, and. 
 blowing out the candle, followed down the road with 
 stealthy footsteps, keeping a close watch on the rapidly- 
 striding figure, and examining the road at the name time. 
 But all to no purpose; Jack reached and entered the inn 
 without stopping, and neither going nor returning could 
 Stephen see anything of the missing will. 
 
 Two hours afterward he crept back and staggered into 
 the library more dead than alive, one question rankling in 
 his disordered brain. 
 
 Had Jack Newcombe found the will, and, if not, where 
 was it? 
 
 After a time the paroxysm 7 , of fear and despair passed, 
 and left him calmer. His acute brain, overwhelmed but 
 not crushed out, began to recover itself, and he turned 
 the situation round and round until he had come to a 
 plan of action. 
 
 It was not a very definite one, it was rather vague, 
 but it was the most reasonable one he could think of. 
 
 There in Warden Forest, living as the daughter of a 
 woodman, who was himself ignorant of her legitimacy, 
 was the girl. I am sorry to say that he cursed her as 
 he thought of her. Where was the will? Whoever had 
 got it would no doubt come to him first to make terms, 
 end, failing to make them!, would go to the real heiress. 
 
 Stephen, quick as lightning, resolved to take her away. 
 
 But where? 
 
 He did not much care for the present, so that it was 
 somewhere under his eyes, or in the charge the custody, 
 really of a trustworthy friend. 
 
 The only really trustworthy friend whom Stephen knew 
 was his mother. 
 
 "Yes, that is it," he muttered. "Mother shall take 
 this girl as as a companion. Poor mother, some great 
 ignorant, clodhopping wench who will frighten her into a 
 nervous fit. Poor mother!" And he smiled with a 
 feeble, malicious pleasure. 
 
 There are some men who take a delight in causing pain 
 even to those who are devoted to them. 
 
 "Dear mo-thea:/' he wrote, "I hare to send you the sad 
 news of ray uoete's death. Need I say that I am utterly
 
 62 OXLY OXE LOVE: OR, 
 
 overwhelmed in grief. I have indeed lo>t a friend !" ("The 
 malicious mean old wolf," he muttered,, m parenthesis.) 
 "How good he was to me! But, mother, even m the 
 midst of our deepest sorrows, we must not forget the 
 calls of charity. I have a little duty to perform, in which 
 I require your aid. I fear it will necessitate your making 
 a journey to Wermesley station on this line. If you will 
 come down by the 10 :20 on Wednesday, I will meet you 
 at Wermesley station. 0o not mention your journey, my 
 dear mother"; we must not be forgetful that we are en- 
 joined to do good by stealth. 
 
 "In great affliction, 
 "Your loving son, 
 
 "STEPHEN DAVE:SANT." 
 
 It was a beautiful letter, and clearly proved that Stephen 
 was not only a bad man, but an extremely clever and dan- 
 gerous one for he could retain command over himself 
 even in such moments as these. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Let us hasten from the gloomy atmosphere of Hnrst 
 Leigh, and, leaving the presence of the thwarted old man 
 lying upstairs, and the no less thwarted young man writh- 
 ing in torturing dread in the darkened library, return to 
 Warden Forest. 
 
 With fleet feet Una fled from the lake, the voices of 
 the woodman and Jack Newcombe ringing in her ears, a 
 thousand tumultuous emotions surging wildly in her heart. 
 
 Until the preceding night Gideon Rolfe had seemed 
 the calmest and most placable of fathers; nothing had 
 occurred to ruffle his almost studied impassability. New 
 and strange experiences seemed to crowd upon her so sud- 
 denly that she scarcely accepted them as real. Had she 
 been dreaming, and would she wake presently to find the 
 handsome young stranger, with his deep musical voice, 
 and his dark, eloquent eyes, the phantom of a vision ? 
 
 As she came in sight of the cottage she turned aside 
 and, pranging into the depths of the wood, sank down 
 upon a bank of moss and strove to recall every word,
 
 WHO WAS THE HE1E? 63 
 
 every look, every slight incident, which had passed since 
 the arrival of the stranger ; and, as she did so, she seemed 
 vaguely conscious that a change, indefinite yet undeniable, 
 had fallen upon her life. The very trees, the atmosphere 
 itself, seemed changed, and in place of that perfect, un- 
 broken calm which had hitherto enwrapped her life, a 
 spirit of unrest, of vague longing, took possession of her. 
 
 A meteor had crossed the calm, serene sky of her ex- 
 istence, vanishing as quickly as it had come, and creating 
 a strange, aching void. 
 
 Still it was not at all painful, this novel feeling of 
 wistfulness and unrest; a faint echo of some mysterious 
 delight rang in the inner chambers of her young soul, the 
 newly awakened heart stirred within her like an impris- 
 oned bird, and turned to the new light which had dawned 
 upon her. That it was the celestial light of love she was 
 completely ignorant. She only knew and felt, with all 
 the power of mind and soul, that a spirit had fallen upon 
 her life, that she had, half-blinded, left the road of gray, 
 unbroken calm, never to return never to return. 
 
 Step by step she recalled all that had passed, and sat 
 revolving the strange scene with ever-increasing wonder.' 
 
 What did it mean? Why should her father be angry 
 with the youth? Why should he accuse and insult him, 
 and drive her away as if fromi the presence of some wild 
 animal who was seeking to devour her ? 
 
 Wild animal! A smile, sad and wistful, flitted over 
 her beautiful face as she called up the handsome face 
 and graceful form of the youth. Was it possible that one 
 so base as her father declared him to be could look as 
 this youth had looked, speak as he had spoken? With a 
 faint, tremulous, yet unconscious blush, she remembered 
 how graceful he looked lying at her feet, his lips half 
 parted in a smile, his brow frank and open as a child's. 
 
 And yet he himself had said, half sadly, that he was 
 wild and wicked. What could it mean? 
 
 Innocent as a nun, ignorant of all that belonged to 
 the real living world, she sat vainly striving to solve this, 
 the first enigma of her inner life. 
 
 tecc, as she sat thinking and pondering, her eyes cast 
 down, her brows knit, her fingers strayed to her right arm
 
 64 ONLY ONE LOVK; OK, 
 
 with a gentle, almost caressing touch. It was the arm 
 upon which Jack's hand had rested; even now she seemed 
 to feel the pressure of the strong fingers just as she heard 
 the rino- of his deep, musical voice, and could feel 
 <raze of his dark, flashing eyes; they had looked fierce and 
 savage when she had first seen them at the open door of 
 the cottage last night, but this morning they had worn 
 a different expression a tender, half -pitying, and wholly 
 gentle expression, which softened them. It was thus she 
 liked to remember them thus she would remember them 
 if she never saw them again. 
 
 And as this thought flashed across her mind a wistful 
 sadness fell upon her, and a vague pain came into her 
 heart. Should she never see him again? Never! She 
 looked round mournfully, and lo ! the whole world seemed 
 changed; the sun was still shining, the trees were still 
 crowned in all their glory of summer leafage, but it all 
 looked gray and dark to her; all the beauty and glory 
 which she had learned to love had gone vanished at the 
 mere thought that she should never see him again. 
 
 Slowly she rose, and with downcast eyes moved toward 
 the cottage. She passed in at the open door and looked 
 round the room that, too, seemed altered, something was 
 missing; half-consciously she wandered round, touching 
 with the same half-caressing gesture the chair on which 
 Jack Newcombe had sat, opened the hook at the page 
 which she was reading while he was eating his supper; 
 a spell seemed to have fallen upon her, and it was with 
 a start like one awakening from a dream that she turned 
 as a shadow fell across the room and Gideon Kolfe en- 
 tered. 
 
 She turned and looked at him questioningly, curiously, 
 but without fear. The cry of alarm when he had broken 
 in upon them by the lake had been on Jack's account, not 
 her own; never since she could remember had Gideon 
 Kolfe spoken harshly to her, looked angrily; without a 
 particle of fear, rather with a vague wonder, she looked 
 and waited for him to speak. 
 
 The old man's face wore a strange expression; all 
 traces of the fierce passion which had convulsed & a short
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 65 
 
 time ago had passed away, and in its place was a stern 
 gravity which was almost sad in its grim intensity. 
 
 Setting his ax aside, he paced the room for a minute 
 in silence, his brows knit, his hands clasped behind his 
 back. 
 
 Una glided to the window and looked out into the 
 wood, her head leaning on her arm. 
 
 "Una/' he said, suddenly, his voice troubled and grave, 
 but not unkind. 
 
 She started, and looked around at him; her spirit had 
 fled back to the lake again, and she had almost forgotten 
 that he was in the room. 
 
 "Una, you must not wander in the forest alone again." 
 
 "No ! Why not ?" 
 
 He hesitated a moment, as if -he did not know how to 
 answer her; then he said, with a frown: 
 
 "Because I do not wish it because the man you saw 
 here last night, the man you were with by the lake, may 
 come again" a faint light of gladness shone in her eyes, 
 and he saw it, and frowned sternly as he went on "and 
 I do not wish you to meet him." 
 
 She was silent for a moment, her eyes downcast, her 
 hands tightly clasped in front of her; then she looked up. 
 
 "Father, tell me why you spoke so angrily to him 
 why do you not want him to come to Warden again ?" 
 
 "I spoke as he deserved," he answered; "and I would 
 rather that Warden should be filled with wild beasts than 
 that he should cross your path again." 
 
 Her face paled slightly, and her eyes opened with 
 wonder and pain. 
 
 "Is he so very bad and wicked?" she asked, almost in- 
 audibly. 
 
 Gideon Eolfe strode to and fro for a moment before 
 he answered. How should he answer her ? how warn and 
 caution her without destroying the innocence which, like 
 the sensitive plant, withers at a touch ? 
 
 "Is it not sufficient that I wish it, Una?" he said. 
 "Why are you not satisfied ? Wicked ! Yes, he's wicked ; 
 all men are wicked, and he's the most wicked and base !" 
 
 "You know him, father?" she asked. "You would not 
 say so if you did not. I am sorry he is so bad."
 
 66 ONLY OXti LOVE; OE, 
 
 "Look at me, Una," he said. 
 
 She turned, her eyes downcast and hidden, her lips 
 trembling for a moment. 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "Una," he said, "what is the meaning of this ? Why are 
 you changed why do you shrink from me?" 
 
 She looked up with a curious mixture of innocent 
 pride and dignity. 
 
 "I don't shrink from you, father," she said in a low 
 voice. 
 
 Gideon's hand dropped from her shoulder, and the 
 frown gave place to a sad expression. "Has the time 
 I looked forward to with fear and dread come at last?" 
 he murmured, inaudibly, and he paced to and fro again, 
 as if endeavoring to arrive at some decision. 
 
 Una watched him with dreamy, questioning eyes, in 
 which shone a tender mournfulness. Why were all men 
 wicked? Why was this one man, with the handsome face 
 and the musical voice, more wicked than the rest? What 
 was it that her father knew that should make him hate the 
 youth so? These were the questions that haunted her as 
 she waited silent and motionless. 
 
 At last, with a wave of the hand, as if he were putting 
 some decision on one side, Gideon Rolfe turned to her 
 and motioned her to the window-seat. "Una," he said, 
 "last night you were wondering why your lot should be 
 different from that of other girls ; you were wondering 
 why I have kept you here in Warden, and out of the 
 world. It is so, is it not?" 
 
 She did not answer in words, but her 'eyes said "yes," 
 plainly. 
 
 Gideon Eolfe sighed, and passed his hand over his 
 brow ; it was a hand hardened by toil, but it was not the 
 hand of a peasant, any more than was his tone or his 
 words those of one. 
 
 Una, I have foreseen this question; I have been ex 
 pecting it, ard I had resolved that when it came I would 
 answer it "But,"and his lips twitched, "I cannot do it 
 I cannot," and his brow contracted as if he were suffering 
 iorae great, mental anguish. "For my sake, do not press 
 me. In time to come, sooner or later, you must kno\f
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR ? (J7 
 
 the secret of your life, you must learn why and wherefore 
 your whole life has been spent in seclusion ; you have 
 guessed that there is some mystery, some story there is. 
 It must remain a mystery still. For your own sake 1 dare 
 not draw aside the veil which conceals; for your own 
 sake my lips are for the present sealed. Child, can you 
 tell me that, secluded and lonely as your life has been, it 
 has been an unhappy one?" 
 
 "Father !" she murmured, and her eyes filled slowly. 
 
 "God forgive me if it has been !" he said, sadly. "I 
 have striven to make it a happy one." 
 
 Silently she rose and laid her hand upon his arm and 
 put up her lips to kiss him, but with a gentle gesture he 
 put her away from him. 
 
 "Una, listen to me. All my life I have had but one 
 aim, one purpose, your happiness and welfare. For your 
 
 sake I left the world and an honored name " he 
 
 stopped suddenly, warned by the gentle wonder of her 
 gaze, and with a faint color in his face hurried on "for 
 your sake, and yours only. Do you think that it is by 
 choice that I have kept you hidden from the world? No, 
 but of necessity. Una, between the world and you yawns 
 a wide gulf. On this side are peace, and innocence, and 
 happiness; on the other," and his voice grew grave and 
 solemn, "lie misery and shame." White and wonder- 
 ing, she gazed at him, and the innocent wonder in the 
 beautiful face recalled him to himself. "Enough ! You 
 can trust me, Una; it is no idle, meaningless warning. 
 Remember what I have said, when your thoughts turn to 
 the world beyond the forest, when you grow weary and 
 impatient with the quiet life which, though it may seem ' 
 sad and weary, is the only one you can ever know without 
 passing that gulf of which I have spoken." 
 
 "And now I want you to give me a promise, Una." 
 
 "A promise, father?" she echoed, in a low voice. 
 
 "Yes ; I want you to promise me that if this this 
 young man should come, as he has threatened to do 
 that if he should come to you, and speak to you, you will 
 not listen, will not speak to him." 
 
 An impatient frown knitted Gideon Rolfe's brow. 
 
 "Is this so much to ask you?" he said, in a low voree.
 
 68 ON'LY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 "Is it so grave a thing to demand of you that you should 
 avoid a man whom you have scon but twice in your life, 
 ono whom you know to bo wickod and worthless ? 
 
 "tJirl," he exclaimed, in low, harsh accents, "has the 
 curse fallen upon you already? Has he bewitched you? 
 Speak? Why do you not speak? Has all the careful 
 guarding of years been set at naught and rendered of no 
 avail by the mere sight of one of his race, by a few 
 idle words spoken by one of his hateful kin?" 
 
 He grasped her shoulder ; instantly, with a revulsion of 
 feeling, he withdrew his hand, and bent his head with a 
 gesture almost of humility. 
 
 "Una, forgive me. You see how this unmans me 
 can you not understand how great must be the danger 
 from which I wish to save you? Promise me what I 
 ask you, for your own sake ay, and for his." 
 
 "For his?" she murmured. 
 
 "Yes, for his. Let him but attempt to cross your path 
 again, and I will not hold my hand. I held it once- 
 would to Heaven I had not ! I say, for his sake, promise 
 that you will hold no speech with him !" 
 
 "Father, what has he done to make you hate him so?", 
 she asked. 
 
 "I cannot, I will not tell you more than this : His race 
 has ruined my life and yours ruined it beyond all repara- 
 tion here and hereafter. No more. I wait foryourpromise." 
 
 "I promise," she said. 
 
 |<Good," he said. "I can trust you, child." 
 
 "Yes, you can trust me," she said, in a low voice ; then 
 with slow, listless steps she crossed the room and stole 
 up-stairs. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The Savage, wholly unconscious of, and totally indif- 
 : to, the fact that his every footstep was watched 
 by Stephen, entered the "Bush" Inn and went straight 
 his room, the little knot of regular customers, who 
 Irmking and smoking in the parlor, either rising 
 stfully as he entered or maintaining an equally re- 
 spectful silence until he was out of hearing 
 
 Mr. Jade's a fino fellow," said the landlord, looking
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 69 
 
 at the fire solemnly. "Did you notice his face as he 
 went through? I'm afraid it's all over with the old 
 squire. Well, well, rest his soul, I say. I'm not one to 
 bear grudges against the dead." 
 
 There was, if not a hearty, a unanimous assent to this 
 dutiful sentiment, and the landlord, encouraged, ventured 
 a little further, looking first over his shoulder to see if the 
 door was shut, and then glancing at a little wrinkled faced 
 man who sat in the corner by the fireplace, and looked, 
 in his rusty hlack suit, like a lawyer's clerk, as indeed he 
 was. 
 
 "All over now, Mr. Skettle," said the landlord, with a 
 little cough. "I wonder ahem who'll be the next 
 squire ?" 
 
 The old clerk peered out from under his hairless brows, 
 and shook his head with a dry smile ; it was a very fair 
 imitation of his master's, Mr. Hudsley's, manner, and never 
 failed to impress the company at the "Bush." 
 
 "Aha!" he breathed. "Hem yes. Time will prove 
 time will prove, Jobson." 
 
 Jobson, the landlord, looked round and winked with im- 
 pressive admiration, as much as to say, "Deep fellow, 
 Skettle ; knows all about it, mind you, but not a word !" 
 
 "Well," said the parish clerk, with a shake of the 
 head, "if wishing would make the mare to go, I know who'd 
 be the Squire o' Hurst," and he pointed with his pipe to 
 the ceiling, above which the Savage was thoughtfully pac- 
 ing to and fro. 
 
 "We've had enough o' Davenants," began the miller; 
 but Jobson s-topped him with a warning gesture. 
 
 "No names, South no names ; this air a public house, 
 and I'm a man as minds my own business." 
 
 "So was the last squire," retorted the miller, who was 
 not to be put down "leastways, he didn't mjeddle or help 
 his neighbors. Not one shilling have I took from the 
 Hurst since I was that high. Is there a man in this room 
 as can say he'll be a penny the worse for Squire Ralph's 
 death ? 
 
 "And from what I see it seems to me that if things go 
 on as they appear to be going, we shan't be much better 
 for the new squire, if the name's to be the same."
 
 70 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 "A nice spoken gentleman, Mr. Stephen," muttered the 
 tailor, from behind the table. 
 
 The miller smiled and shook his head. 
 
 "There's some grain as grinds so soft that you can't keep 
 it on the ground from the wind; but it don't make good 
 bread, neighbor. No ! Now the youngster up above," and 
 he jerked his head toward the ceiling, "he conies of a differ- 
 ent branch same tree, mind yer, but a healthier branch. 
 It will be good news for Hurst Leigh if it's found that 
 Master Jack is to be our head." 
 
 "Nothing soft about Mr. Jack. If all we hear be true, 
 it's a pretty wild branch of the tree he comes from." 
 
 "They say he's wild. No doubt ; he always was. I can 
 remember him a boy home for the holidays. He used to 
 come down to the mill and poach my trout a bit of a 
 boy no higher than that" and he put his hand against 
 the table "as fine a boy as ever I see. One day I caught 
 him, and told him I'd either give him a thrashing or tell 
 his uncle ; for, do yer see, we alms called the old squire his 
 uncle. 
 
 " 'All right,' said he, 'wait till I've landed this fish and 
 we'll settle it between us like gentlemen.' Another time 
 I found him in the orchard. 'Well, Master Jack/ says I, 
 'bean't you got enough apples at the Hurst, but you must 
 come and plague me?' He thought a moment, then he 
 looks up with that audacious flash in his eyes, and says, 
 quiet enough : 'Stolen fruit is the sweetest, South. If you 
 feel put upon, take it out of the Hurst Orchard. I give 
 you leave.' What was to be done with a boy like that? 
 Fear ! He didn't know what fear was. Do any o' you 
 remember that roan mare as the old parson had ? Well, 
 Master Jack hears us talking o' the spiteful beast one day, 
 and nothing 'ud do but he must go off and ask the parson 
 t him ride 'un. Of course the old fellow said no. Two 
 nights after that the young varmint breaks open the sta- 
 bles, takes out the mare, saddles her, and rides her out to 
 the common. I was late at the mill that night, and I 
 *?" h r er f om e clatterin <^wn the yard like a fire-engine, 
 
 ith Master Jack on her back, his eyes flashing and his 
 hair a-flymg, and him a-laughing as if it was the rarest 
 bit o fun in the world. I'd just time to cut across the
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 71 
 
 meadow to the five-barred fence, and here he come past mo, 
 making straight for the fence, waving his hand and shout- 
 ing someut about Dick Turpin. Ah, and he took the fence. 
 too, and when that vicious beast threw him, and we came 
 up to him, lying all o' a heap, with his arm broke, and 
 the blood streaming from his face what's he do but laugh 
 at us, and swear as we'd startled her ! And as for fighting ! 
 There warn't a week but what he'd come to the mill, all cut 
 and mauled, for the missis to wash him and put him to 
 rights. He'd never go home to the Hurst those times. 
 Even then the old squire and him didn't agree. The old 
 man called him a Savage, and I hear as that's what they 
 call him up in London, and yet there warn't a house in 
 Leigh as he warn't welcome in. Many and many a time 
 he's slept up in the mill loft after one of his harum-scarum 
 tricks, and many's the time I've faced the old squire when 
 he's come after him with a horsewhip." 
 
 "They say that he run through all the money, as was his 
 by rights, up in London in fast living," said the parish 
 clerk, gravely. 
 
 "May be," said the miller, curtly. "If fast living means 
 open-handed living, it's like enough; he never could keep 
 a shilling when he was a boy, the first tramp as passed had 
 it, safe as a gun. What's bred in the bone must come out 
 in the flesh. Here's to the new squire if it be Master 
 Jack," and the sturdy old man raised his glass and emptied 
 its contents at one vigorous but steady pull. 
 
 Meanwhile the subject of the discussion paced to and 
 fro, pulling at his brier, and indulging in a study of the 
 brownest description. 
 
 Never perhaps in his life had Jack been so upset, so 
 serious and so sobered. 
 
 In the first place the sudden or rather sudden to Jack 
 death of the old man with whom he had lived and quar- 
 reled as a boy, affected him more deeply than even he was 
 aware. There in the silent room in the inn, he recalled all 
 the old man's good qualities, all the little kindnesses he 
 had done him, Jack, and more than all, the few last sol- 
 emn and quite unexpectedly affectionate words which had 
 dropped from his dying lips. 
 
 Jack, puffing at his pipe and rubbing his short hair with
 
 72 ONLY OXE LOYE; OTT. 
 
 a puzzled frown, went over the scene again and hgain, and 
 with no mercenary thoughts of the old man's declaration 
 that he had remembered Jack in his will, but with reference 
 to the mysterious allusions in the disposal of the large part 
 of the property; then Jack's mind would fly off to the fear- 
 ful scene at the actual death. 
 
 The wild cry, the white and horrified face of Stephen 
 the puzzled and sternly questioning one of the old lawyer. 
 What did it mean ? 
 
 And still more mysterious, what was the meaning of 
 Stephen's conduct on the lawn? What was he hunting 
 for with such intense eagerness as to make him fly at Jack 
 like a madman? 
 
 Jack as no doubt the reader will have surmised was 
 not clever. 
 
 He could not piece this and that together, and from 
 disjointed incidents form an intelligent whole, as a child 
 does with a box of puzzles. 
 
 The whole thing was a mystery to him, and grew mor$ 
 confusing and bewildering the more he thought of it. 
 
 It takes a villain thoroughly to appreciate a villain, a 
 thief to understand and catch a thief; and Jack, being 
 neither one nor the other, utterly failed to understand 
 Stephen. 
 
 That he disliked him, with a feeling more like contempt 
 than hatred, was a matter of course, but if any one had 
 told Jack straight out that Stephen had abstracted the will, 
 Jack would in all probability have refused to credit it. 
 Will stealing and all such meanness was so thoroughly out 
 of his line that he would not have understood how Stephen, 
 , led on step by step, could have possibly been guilty of it. 
 
 Then again, something else came forcing itself on these 
 thoughts concerning the strange events at the Hurst. For 
 the life of him he could not forget the Forest of Warden 
 and all that had happened to him within its leafy shades. 
 
 At one moment it seemed as if years must have elapsed 
 since he lost his way and forced an entrance at the wood- 
 man s hut at another he was half inclined to believe that he 
 had dined rather heavily at the club and dreamed it all. 
 Una he could not realize that they had met, touched 
 hands and exchanged speech.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEI1U 73 
 
 Jack could not get the beautiful face out of hi* menial 
 vision; it mingled with the wan face of the dying man. 
 with Stephen's pale, distorted countenance; it seemed to 
 beam and shine upon him from the dark corners of the 
 room with the same frank, pure, innocent smile with which 
 it had shone down upon him as he lay at her feet in the 
 woods. ' 
 
 And then the girl's surroundings ! The extraordinary 
 father, with his laborer's dress and his refined speech and 
 bearing. What mystery enveloped the little group of per- 
 sons buried in the depths of a wood, living apart from 
 the world ? 
 
 Jack rumpled his hair and drew a long breath eloquent 
 of confusion and bewilderment. 
 
 It was certainly extraordinary ! Three days ago he had 
 left London, prosaic London, and was now plunged to the 
 neck in a sea of romance and secrecy. 
 
 On one thing he was, however, resolved. He would keep 
 his threat or promise. He would go to Warden Forest and 
 see that beautiful face again, though he had to brave the 
 anger of twenty mysterious woodmen. He thought at first 
 that he would start on the morrow, but some feeling 
 perhaps some reverence and respect for the dead man 
 made him change his mind. 
 
 "No" he said to himself, as he knocked the ashes out of 
 his pipe and prepared for bed; "I'll stay here over the 
 funeral, and then " 
 
 But, though he felt tired and worn out, it was hours 
 before he could sleep, and when he did, his spirit fled back 
 to Warden Forest, and the face that had haunted him wak- 
 ing hovered about him in dreams. 
 
 Was it love; love at first sight? Jack would have been 
 first to laugh at the idea; but it is worthy of note that all 
 the loves which had occurred in his wild, reckless life had 
 never, in their warmest epochs, moved him as the remem- 
 brance of Una had done ; not one had had the power to dis- 
 turb his sleep or to bring him dreams. 
 
 Jack kept to his resolution. Five days passed, and he 
 stuck to the "Bush" manfully.. They were, perhaps, the 
 dreariest days he ever spent in his life, and he never 
 thought of them afterward without a shudder.
 
 p4 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OB, 
 
 Every day he was tempted io take flight and go to Lon- 
 don until the day of the funeral ; but his promise to Huds- 
 ley kept him at his post. lie would not even leave the 
 
 "Bush." 
 
 On the first day, a note, written on the deepest of mourn- 
 ing paper, had come from Stephen, begging him to come 
 to the Hurst ; but he had written a firm and what was for 
 him a polite refusal. Of Stephen himself he saw nothing. 
 Mr. Hudsley had also sent, and asked him. to stay at his 
 house ; and this, too, Jack had declined. 
 
 The fact was he wanted to be left alone, to think over the 
 strange adventures in the forest, to dwell with unceasing 
 wistfulness on the beautiful face and sweet, musical voice. 
 
 So *he clung to the inn ; taking a morning dip in the 
 river ; strolling about, with his brier pipe in his mouth and 
 his hands in his pockets, exchanging a word with this man 
 and the other, and bestowing his odd change on any chil- 
 dren he happened to meet. Sometimes he would drop in at 
 one of the cottages, where he was so welcome when a boy, 
 and smoke and chat ; but usually he kept to his room. 
 
 But wherever he went he was the observed of all ob- 
 servers. Every night the little club that met in the "Bush'" 
 parlor talked about him, and wondered why he didn't go to 
 the Hurst, and whether he would be the new squire. 
 
 The day of the funeral arrived at last a cold, wet day, 
 that foreshadowed the approaching autumn ; and Jack put 
 on his black suit made by the village tailor who had de- 
 scribed Stephen as a nice-spoken gentleman and went up 
 to the Hurst. 
 
 It was the first time, he had been near it since the night 
 he had th'e scuffle with Stephen on the lawn ; and, to Jack's 
 eyes, it looked gloomier than ever. 
 
 As he entered the hall, a shrunken figure in shabby black 
 came to meet him ; it was old Skettle, Hudsley's clerk. 
 
 The old man peered at him curiously, and made him a 
 respectful bow in response to Jack's blunt greeting, and 
 opened the library door. 
 
 Mr Hudsley was standing at the table, and looked up 
 h his wrinkled face and keen eyes not a trace of ex- 
 sion beyond keenness in them. Jack shook hands with 
 mm and looked around.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 75 
 
 "Where is Stephen?" he said. 
 
 As he spoke the door opened and Stephen entered. Jack, 
 frank and candid, stared at him with astonishment. 
 
 "Are we ready?" 
 
 And they passed out. 
 
 In silence they stood beside the grave while all that was 
 mortal of Ralph Davenant was consigned to the earth, and 
 in silence they returned to the library. 
 
 With the same stony, impassive countenance, Mr. Huds- 
 ley seated himself at the head of the table; Stephen sank 
 into a chair beside him, and sat with his eyes hidden under 
 the white lids ; Jack stood with folded arms beside the win- 
 dow, glancing at the far-stretching lawns and watching 
 the servants as they filed in, a long line of black. 
 
 When they had all entered Mr. Hudsley draw from his 
 pocket a folded parchment, slowly put on his spectacles, 
 and without looking round, said : 
 
 "I am now about to read the last will and testament of 
 Ralph Davenant." 
 
 There was a pause, a solemn pause, then he looked up 
 and said: 
 
 "This will was drawn up by me on January last year. 
 It is the last will of which I have any cognizance. A 
 careful search has been made, but no other document of 
 the kind has been found. That is so, Mr. Stephen, is it 
 not?" and he turned to Stephen so suddenly that all eyes 
 followed his. 
 
 Stephen paused a moment, then raised his lids, and with 
 a shake of his head and a sigh murmured an assent. 
 
 Mr. Hudsley allowed his keen eyes to rest on him for an 
 instant, then slowly looked in the direction of Jack. 
 
 "A most careful search," he repeated. 
 
 Jack, feeling that the remark was addressed to him, 
 nodded and looked at the lawn again. 
 
 Mr. Hudsley cleared his throat, and opened the crackling 
 parchment. 
 
 There was an intense silence, so intense that Stephen's 
 labored breathing could be heard as plainly as the rain on 
 the windows. 
 
 In the same dry, hard voice Mr. Hudsley began to rend. 
 Clause by clause, wrapped in the beautiful legal jargon in
 
 76 OXLY OXK LOVE; OB, 
 
 which such documents are, for some inscrutable reasons, 
 worded, no one understanding the import, but suddenly fa- 
 miliar words struck upon the ear. They were the servants' 
 legacies, and a mourning ring to Mr. Hudsley; then, in a 
 stillness that was oppressive, there fell the words: 
 
 "To my nephew, Stephen Davenant, I will the whole and 
 sole remainder of all 1 possess, be it in lands or money, 
 houses or securities, all and of every kind of property, de- 
 ducting only the afore-mentioned legacies." 
 
 A thrill ran through the assemblage, every eye turned, 
 as if magnetized, to the white, death-like face of the heir. 
 
 There he sat, the new squire, the owner of Hurst Leigh 
 and the uncounted thousands of old Ralph Davenant, mo- 
 tionless, white, too benumbed to tremble. 
 
 Slowly Mr. Hudsley read over the signatures, and then 
 slowly commenced to fold the parchment. 
 
 Then, from the shadow of the curtains, Jack emerged, 
 pale, too, but with cool, calm dignity. 
 
 Quite quietly, and with perfect self-possession, he came 
 to the table and looked at the dry, wrinkled face. 
 
 "So I understand, Mr. Hudsley, that the squire has left 
 me nothing." 
 
 Mr. Hudsley looked up, no trace of expression on his 
 face. 
 
 "Quite right, Mr. Newcombe," he replied. 
 
 "He has not named me," said Jack. 
 
 "He has not named you in this will." 
 
 Jack bowed, and was turning from the table when 
 Stephen started to his feet. 
 
 For one moment his eyes rested on Jack's face with an 
 awful, piercing look of scrutiny, then his eyes lit up with a 
 malicious gleam of triumph, but it disappeared instantly, 
 and with a gesture of honest generosity and regret, he ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "Not named! My dear Jack! But stay! I see how 
 My uncle felt that he could trust to my feeling in 
 ter He knew that you would not have to look to 
 me m vain. 
 
 ^ a , Ck vl?- r ^ ed a ? d , looked at nim with infinite contempt 
 I unbelief, and then slowly passed out.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 77 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Two days passed since Tina had given her promise that 
 should Jack Newcombe come to seek her she would hold 
 no converse with him. How much that promise had cost 
 her no one could say; she herself did not know. She only 
 knew that whereas her life had always seemed dull and pur- 
 poseless, it had, since Jack Newcombe's visit, grown utterly 
 dreary and joyless. 
 
 Was it love ? She did not ask herself the question. Had 
 she done so, she could not have answered it. 
 
 Any school-girl of fifteen feeling as Una felt would have 
 known that she was in love, but Una's only schooling had 
 consisted of the few stern lessons of Gideon Rolfe. 
 
 "I can never see him, hear him,, speak to him again," 
 was her one sad reflection; "but if I could be somewhere 
 near him, unseen !" 
 
 Then, through her brain, her father's words rang with 
 melancholy persistence. This youth, whose eyes had seemed 
 so frank and brave, whose voice rang with music so new 
 and sweet, was, so her father said, unutterably wicked 
 One to be avoided as a dangerous animal ! It could not bu I 
 be true ; she thought her father was truth itself. 
 
 But if it were so, then how false the world must be, for 
 one to look and speak so gently, and yet be so wicked ! 
 
 All day she wandered in the woods, returning to the 
 cottage pale and listless, to leave her plate untouched or 
 at best trifled with. Gideon Rolfe saw the change which 
 had befallen her, but held his peace, though a bitter rage 
 filled his heart; Martha Rolfe chided her for her listless- 
 ness, and tried to tempt her to eat ; but Una put chiding 
 and coaxing aside with a gentle smile, and escaped to the 
 lake where she could dream alone and undisturbed. 
 
 The two days passed on the third, as she was sitting be- 
 side the spot which had grown sacred in her eyes, with its 
 crushed and broken ferns, she heard steps behind. Think- 
 ing that they were those of her father or one of the char- 
 coal burners, she did not turn her head. The footsteps 
 drew nearer, and a man came out from the thick wood 
 and stood on the margin of the lake, and remained for a 
 moment looking about him.
 
 78 OXLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 Una was so hidden by the iall brake that she remained 
 unseen, and sat bold ing her breath watching him. 
 
 He was tall, tbin, and dressed in black, and when he 
 turned his face toward her, Una saw that lie was not ill- 
 looking. She might have thought him handsome but for 
 that other face which was always in her mental vision. He 
 was very pale, and looked anxious and ill at ease ; and as he 
 stood looking before him his right hand took his left into 
 custody. It was Stephen Davenant. 
 
 For "a few moments he stood with a half-searching, half- 
 absent expression on his pale face, then turned and en- 
 tered the wood again. 
 
 Pale with wonder and curiosity, Una rose and looked 
 after him, and to her infinite surprise saw a carriage slowly 
 approaching. 
 
 A lady was seated in it, a lady with a face as pale as 
 the man's but with a still more anxious and deprecating ex- 
 pression. 
 
 Una, with the quickness of sight acquired by a life spent 
 in communion with nature, could see, even at that distance, 
 that the lady's eyes were like those of the man's, and, fur- 
 thermore, that she was awaiting his approach with a ner- 
 vous timidity that almost amounted to fear. 
 
 With fast beating heart Una watched them wondering 
 what could have brought them to Warden, wondering who 
 and what they were, when suddenly her heart gave a great 
 bound, for the gentleman, turning to the driver, said, in a 
 soft, low voice : 
 
 "We are looking for the cottage of a woodman, named 
 Gideon Eolfe." 
 
 "Never heard of it, sir. Do you know what part of the 
 forest it is in?" 
 
 "No," said Stephen. 
 
 "Then it's like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay," 
 retorted the man. 
 
 "However difficult, it must be found," said Stephen. 
 
 Drive on till you come to some road and follow that. It 
 may lead us to some place where we can ascertain the 
 direction of this man's cottage." 
 
 The man touched his horse with the whip, and still Una 
 stood as if spell-bound, hut, suddenly remembering that
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR ? 70 
 
 they were going in the opposite direction to the cottage, she- 
 was about to step forward, when she heard the bark of the 
 dog, and almost as if he had sprung from the ground, 
 Gideon Eolfe stood beside the carriage. 
 
 "Ah, here is someone," said Stephen. "Can you tell u.s 
 the road to the cottage of Gideon Eolfe, the woodman, my 
 man?" he asked. 
 
 "And what may be your business with him ?" 
 
 "Why do you ask, my good man ?" he replied. 
 
 "Because I am he you seek," said Gideon. 
 
 "You are Gideon Eolfe ? How fortunate." 
 
 "That's as it may prove," said Gideon, coldly. "What 
 is your business ?" 
 
 "It is of a nature which, I think, had better be stated in a 
 more convenient spot. Will you kindly permit me to enter 
 your cottage and rest ?" 
 
 ' Gideon looked searchingly into Stephen's face for a mo- 
 ment that seemed an age to Una, then nodded curtly, and 
 said: "Follow me." 
 
 "Will you not ride?" asked Stephen, suavely. 
 
 But Gideon shook his head, and shouldering his ax, 
 strode in front of the horse, and Stephen motioning to 
 the driver, the carriage followed. 
 
 "A charming spot, Mr. Eolfe charming! "Bather 
 shall I say, retired, if not solitary, however." 
 
 "Say what you please, sir," retorted Gideon, grimly and 
 calmly. "I am waiting to learn the business you have with 
 me." 
 
 "Mother," he said "this lady is my mother, Mr. Eolfe 
 I think, I really think you would find it pleasant and 
 refreshing on the bench which I observed outside the door.'" 
 
 With a little deprecatory air the lady got up and in- 
 stantly left the cottage. 
 
 Then Stephen's manner changed. Leaning forward he 
 fixed his gray eyes on Gideon Eolf e's stern face and said : 
 
 "Mr. Eolfe my name is Davenant " 
 
 Gideon started, and, with a muttered oath, raised the ax. 
 
 Stephen's face turned as white as his spotless collar, but 
 he did not shrink. 
 
 "My name is Davenant," he repeated "Stephen Dave- 
 nant. I am afraid the name has some unpleasant associa- 
 tions attached to it. I beg to remind you, if that should be
 
 80 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 the case, that those associations are not connected with any 
 fault of mine."' 
 
 "Go on. Your name is Stephen Davenant ? 
 
 "Stephen Davenant. I am the nephew of Squire Dave- 
 nant Ralph Davenant. The nephew of Ealph Davenant. 
 I think you can guess my business with you." 
 
 "Do you come from him ?" he asked, hoarsely. 
 
 "In a certain sense, yes," he said. "Xo doubt ycu have 
 heard the sad news. My uncle is dead." 
 
 "Dead !" he repeated fiercely. 
 
 "Dead. My uncle died three days ago." 
 
 "Dead!" repeated Gideon, not in the tone of a man 
 who had lost a friend, but in that of one who had lost an 
 enemy. 
 
 "Yes," said Stephen, wiping his dry eyes with his spot- 
 less handkerchief; "my poor uncle died three days ago. I 
 am afraid I have not broken it as softly as I should have 
 done. You knew him well ?" 
 
 "Yes, I knew him well." 
 
 "Then you know how great a loss the county has suf- 
 fered in " 
 
 "Spare your fine phrases. Come to your business with 
 me. What brings you here ?" 
 
 "I am here in consequence of a communication made to 
 me by my uncle on his death-bed. Are you alone ?" 
 
 Gideon waved his hand with passionate impatience. 
 
 "That communication," Stephen continued, "concerns a 
 certain young lady " 
 
 "Ee told you ?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "My uncle told me that I should find a young lady, in 
 whose future he was greatly interested, in the charge of a 
 certain person named Gideon Eolfe." 
 
 "Well, did he tell you any more than that?" 
 Stephen made a gesture in the negative. 
 "So," said Gideon Rolfe, "he left it to me to tell the 
 story of his crime. You are Ralph Davenanfs nephew. 
 You are the nephew of a villain and a scoundrel !" 
 
 It was true, then, that the man knew nothing of the 
 
 secret marriage of Ralph Davenant and Caroline Hatfield. 
 
 "A scoundrel and a villain!" repeated Gideon, leaning
 
 WHO WAS THE HE1K? 81. 
 
 forward and clutching the table. "You say that he told 
 you the story of his crime, glossed over and falsified. 
 Hear it from me. Your uncle and I were schoolfellows and 
 friends. I was the son of the schoolmaster at Hurst. 
 Your uncle left school to go to college. I remained at 
 Hurst in my father's house. I could have gone to college 
 also, but I would not leave Hurst, for I was in love. I 
 loved Caroline Hatfield. She was the daughter of the 
 gamekeeper on the Hurst estate, and we were to be mar- 
 ried. Two months before the day fixed for our marriage 
 your uncle, my friend r my friend! came home to spend 
 the vacation. We were friends still, and I cursed fool 
 that I was took him to the gamekeeper's lodge to intro- 
 duce him to my sweetheart. Six weeks afterward he and 
 she had fled." 
 
 Stephen watched him closely, his heart beating wildly. 
 
 "They had fled/' continued Gideon, in a broken voice. 
 "My life was ended on the day they brought me the news. 
 I left Hurst Leigh and came here. A year later she came 
 back to me came back to me to die. She died and left 
 
 me . She left me her child. I I loved her still and 
 
 swore to protect that child, and I have done so. There is 
 my story. What have you to say ?" 
 
 "It is terrible, terrible !" he exclaimed. 
 
 "I have kept my vow. Her child has grown up ignorant 
 of the shame which is her heritage. Here, buried in the 
 heart of the forest, away from the world, I have kept and 
 guarded her for her mother's sake. There is the story, told 
 without gloss or falsehood. What have you to say?" 
 
 "You have discharged your self-appointed trust most 
 nobly ! But but that trust has come to an end." 
 
 "Who says so?" 
 
 'I say so. You have done your duty more than your 
 duty I must do mine. My uncle, on his deathbed, be- 
 queathed his daughter to my charge." 
 
 "To yours?" 
 
 "To mine," said Stephen, gravely. 
 
 "Where is your authority?" 
 
 That I do not come without authority is proven by the 
 JIKM-C fact of my presence here and by my knowledge of 
 my uncle's secret. No one but yourself, your wife and 
 I know of the real identity of this girl. It was my uncle's
 
 82 OXLV OXK LOVE; OR, 
 
 wish that, the story of her birth should still remain a 
 sec-rot that it should be buried, as it were, in his grave. 
 Whv should the poor girl ever learn the truth, when such 
 knowledge can only bring her shame and mortification?" 
 
 "Grant that," said Gideon, "where could she better be 
 hidden than here? Her secret, her very existence, have 
 been concealed from the world.'" 
 
 "True, but but the future, my dear sir the future! 
 You are not a young man 
 
 "I am still young enough to protect her." 
 
 "My dear Mr. Rolfe, you may live you look as if you 
 would to be a hundred; you have discharged your self- 
 imposed task most nobly, but you must not forget that it 
 has now devolved upon one who is bound by ties of blood to 
 fulfill it, if not so well, certainly with the best intentions. 
 Mr. Rolfe, I am the young girl's cousin." 
 
 "You speak of ties of blood; say rather, the ties of 
 shame ! Suppose I say suppose that I refuse to deliver 
 her up to your care?" 
 
 "I do not think you will do that. You forget that, after 
 all, we have little choice in the matter." 
 
 Gideon Rolfe eyed him questioningly. 
 
 "The young girl is now of age, and " 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "And supposing that you were to refuse to hand her over 
 to my charge, I should feel compelled to tell the story of her 
 life, and . Pray pray be calm. I beg you to remem- 
 ber that I am not here of my own desire ; that I am merely 
 fulfilling my duty to my uncle, and endeavoring to obey his 
 last wishes. I do not blame you for your reluctance to 
 part with her. It does you credit, my dear Mr. Rolfe 
 infinite credit. But duty duty; we must all do our duty." 
 
 "Has anyone of your name ever yet done his duty ?" re- 
 peated Gideon, sternly. 
 
 "For my part, Mr. Rolfe, I have always striven to do 
 
 mine; yea, even in the face of great temptation and diffi- 
 
 t must do it now. After all, why should you 
 
 t my uncle's wish? Consider, she, who was once a 
 
 nld, is now a woman. Do you think it possible to keep 
 r imprisoned in this wood for the whole of her days.?"
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIE? 83 
 
 Gideon Rolfe turned toward the window. For the first 
 time Stephen had found a weak spot in his armor. IT was 
 true! Already she was beginning to pine and hunger for 
 the world. Could he keep her much longer ? 
 
 "Come," said Stephen, quick to see the impression ho 
 had made. "Do not let us be selfish; let us think of her 
 welfare, as well as our own wishes. Candidly, I must con- 
 fess that I should be perfectly willing to leave her in her 
 present obscurity.'' 
 
 Gideon Eolfe broke in abruptly. 
 
 "Where will you take her ?" he asked, hoarsely. 
 
 "It is my intention," he said, "to place her in my moth- 
 er's charge. She lives in London, alone. There my cousin 
 will find a loving home and a second mother. Believing 
 that you would naturally have some reluctance at parting 
 with her, not knowing with whom and where she was going, 
 I have brought my mother with me." 
 
 Gideon glanced at the quiet, motionless figure seated on 
 the bench outside, and then paced the room again. 
 
 "Does she know?" he asked hoarsely. 
 
 "She knows nothing," said Stephen. "My mother can 
 trust me implicitly. She has long wanted a companion, 
 and I have told her that I know of a young girl in whom 
 I am interested." 
 
 "You intend to keep her secret?" said Gideon. 
 
 "Most sacredly," responded Stephen, with solemn 
 earnestness. 
 
 Gideon went to the door and opened it. 
 
 "Wait," he said, and disappeared. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Stephen rose softly and watched him from behind the 
 window curtains until Gideon had vanished amongst the 
 trees; then Stephen went out and smiled down upon his 
 mother with the air of a man who had just succeeded in ac- 
 complishing some great work for the good of mankind at 
 large. 
 
 "Sorry to keep you waiting, mother/' he said. "I have
 
 84 
 
 OXLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 been making some arrangements with the worthy man, her 
 
 father." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant looked up with the nervous, deprecatory 
 expression which always came upon her face when she was 
 in the presence of her son. 
 
 "It does not matter, Stephen : I am glad to rest. Where 
 has the man gone ? He he doesn't he look rather supe- 
 rior for his station, and why does he look so stern and for- 
 bidding ?" 
 
 "A life spent in solitude, away from the world, has made 
 him reserved and cold," replied Stephen, glibly, "and, of 
 course, he feels the parting from his daughter." 
 
 "Poor man poor girl !" murmured Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 Stephen looked down at her with a contemplative smile, 
 while his ears were strained for the returning footsteps of 
 Gideon Rolfe. 
 
 "Yours is a sweetly sympathetic nature, my dear. I can 
 already foresee that the 'poor girl' will not long need any- 
 one's sympathy. You are already prepared to open your 
 arms and take her to your heart. Is it not so ?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant looked up just as if she wanted to see 
 what he expected of her to say, and seeing that he meant 
 her to say "yes," said it. 
 
 "Yes, I shall be very glad to have a young girl a good 
 young girl as a companion, Stephen. My life has been 
 very lonely since you have been away." 
 
 "And I may be away so much. But, mother, you will 
 not forget what I said during our drive ? There are special 
 reasons why the girl's antecedents should not be spoken of. 
 The friend who interested me in her wishes her to forget, 
 if possible, everything concerning her early life." 
 
 "I understand, Stephen." 
 
 iT^ n( *' k y tne wa y ? ^ n t allow any expression of aston- 
 hment to escape you if, when you see her, you feel aston- 
 ished at her appearance or manner. Remember that she 
 has spent all her life here, buried in the forest, her sole 
 companions a woodsman and his wife." 
 
 Her mother and father?" said Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 said her mother and father, did I not ? Just so her 
 
 >ther and father. Well, we must not expect too much. 
 
 ?r all, it will be far more interesting for you to have
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 85 
 
 a fresh and unsophisticated nature about you, although she 
 may be rather rough and rustic " 
 
 "I shall be quite content if she is a good girl/' 
 
 "Just so. Virtue is a precious gem though incased in u 
 rough casket." 
 
 Gideon Eolfe had returned, but not alone. Emerging 
 from the deep shadow of the trees was what looked to their 
 astonished and unprepared eyes a vision of some wood 
 nymph. 
 
 Gideon Rolfe strode forward, his face set hard and stern- 
 ly cold, and as he reached the cottage he took Una's hand in 
 his, and looking steadily into Stephen's eyes, said : 
 
 "Mr. Davenant, I have informed my daughter of your 
 mother's offer to take her under her charge, but I have 
 asked her to postpone her answer until she saw you." 
 
 Stephen bowed, and laid his white hand on his mother's 
 arm. 
 
 "Miss Rolfe," he said, in a low voice in which paternal 
 kindness and social respect were delicately blended, "this 
 lady is my mother. Like most mothers whose children 
 have flown from the nest, she lives alone and feels her soli- 
 tude. She is desirous of finding some young lady who will 
 consent to share it with her. It is not only a home she 
 offers you, but I think I may add, mother a heart." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Davenant, and as she held out 
 her hand her voice trembled and a tear shone in her eye. 
 
 Una, who had been looking from one to the other, with 
 the breath coming in little pants through her half parted 
 lips, drew near and put her hand in the outstretched one, 
 but the next moment turned and clung to Gideon's arm 
 with a sudden sob. 
 
 "Oh, father, I cannot leave you!" she murmured. 
 
 Gideon bent his head, perhaps to hide his face, which was 
 working with emotion. 
 
 "Hush ! it is for the best. Remember what I have said. 
 You wanted to see the world " . 
 
 "Yes with you 1 ," said Una, audibly. 
 
 "The world and I have parted forever, Una." 
 
 "But shall I never see yon again ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, we shall meet now and again."
 
 Sfi 
 
 OXLY ONE LOVE; OK, 
 
 "I trust Miss Kolfe, that we shall wean your father from 
 his long seclusion. You must be the magnet to draw him 
 from his retreat into the busy haunts of men." 
 
 "You will come and see me?" she murmured. 
 
 "Yes, Una. Go where you will," and he glanced over 
 her head at Stephen, "you may feel that I am watching 
 over you, as I have always watched and guarded you. If 
 any harm comes to you " 
 
 "Harm ?" she breathed, and looked up into his face with 
 questioning gaze. 
 
 "Come, Mr. Rolfe, you musn't alarm your daughter," 
 said Stephen, softly. ""She will think that the world is 
 filled with lions and wolves seeking whom they may devour. 
 I think you may feel safe from any harm under my moth- 
 er's protection, Miss Kolfe." 
 
 "Yes. I have never had a daughter. If you come you 
 shall be one to me." 
 
 "You think me ungrateful?" said Una to her, in her 
 simple, frank way. 
 
 "No, my dear," replied Mrs. Davenant. "I think you 
 only show a naturally affectionate heart. You have never 
 been from home before." 
 
 "Never," said Una. "Never out of the woods." 
 
 "My poor child. No, I do not think you ungrateful. I 
 like to see that you feel leaving home so much. For you 
 will come, will you not? I shall be disappointed and 
 grieved if you do not, now that I have seen you." 
 
 "Now that you have seen me," said Una. 
 
 "Yes, my dear. For I am sure that I shall love you, and 
 I hope that you will grow fond of me." 
 
 "Do you ?" said Una, musingly. "Yes," she said, after 
 a pause, "I shall love you." 
 
 "Will you kiss me, my dear," she said; and Una bent 
 and kissed her. 
 
 "And now that you think that you are sure you will 
 like me you will come," said Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 Una looked before her thoughtfully, almost dreamily, for 
 a moment, then replied : 
 
 "Yes, my father wishes me to go. Why does he wish 
 o go into the world he hates and fears so much? It 
 >nly the other day that he warned me against wishing
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 87 
 
 for it, and told me that I should never he hnppy if I left 
 Warden. Why has he changed so suddenly ?'' 
 
 "I I think it must have heen Stephen who persuaded 
 him. I heard them talking together." 
 
 "Stephen that is your son,"said Una. 
 
 "Yes, he is my son; he is very good and clever so very 
 clever! He has been a most affectionate son to me, and 
 has never caused me a day's uneasiness." 
 
 "All sons are not so ?" she asked. 
 
 "No, indeed," responded Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 "Is he ill ?" asked Una, after a pause. 
 
 "Ill !" 
 
 "Because he is so pale," she said. 
 
 "Yes, Stephen is pale. It is because he thinks and 
 reads so much, and then he is in great trouble now; his 
 uncle died three days ago." 
 
 "Is that why he is dressed in black and you, too ? I 
 am very sorry." 
 
 "Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Davenant, "that was 
 very nice of you to say that. I can see you have a kind 
 heart. Yes, his uncle is just dead, Mr. Ealph Davenant; 
 Squire Davenant. Why did you start?" for Una had 
 started and turned to her with a sudden flash of intense 
 interest in her eyes "did you know him? Ah, no, you 
 could not, if you have not been out of the forest how 
 stfrange it seems ! but you have heard of him, perhaps ?" 
 
 "Yes, I have heard of him." 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and Stephen and Gid- 
 eon Rolf e came out. 
 
 The usual smile sat upon Stephen's face, in strange con- 
 trast to the stern, set look on his companion's. 
 
 Raising his hat to Mrs. Davenant as he approached, Gid- 
 eon put his hand on Una's shoulder. 
 
 "Go indoors, Una, to your mother," he said quietly. 
 
 Una rose, and after a momentary glance at each of their 
 faces, went inside. Stephen opened and held the door for 
 her, then closed it and came back to the others. 
 
 "Mother," he said, "Mr. Rolfe and I have made our ar- 
 rangements, and he agrees with me that it would be wiser, 
 now that the news is broken to Miss Rolfe, for her to ac- 
 company you back to town this afternoon."
 
 88 ONLY OXK LOVE: OR, 
 
 Mrs. Davenant nodded, and glanced timidly at Gideon's 
 
 stern face. . 
 
 "We have won Mrs. Rolfe over to our side, and she is 
 already making the few preparations necessary for Miss 
 Rolfe's journey." 
 
 Gideon Rolfe inclined his head as if to corroborate this, 
 then he said : 
 
 "Will you come inside, madam, and partake of some re- 
 freshment ?" 
 
 "I would rather wait here. Mr. Rolfe, I hope you feel 
 that, in trusting your daughter to my charge, that she will 
 at least have a happy home, if I can make one for her ?" 
 "That I believe, madam." 
 
 "Yes, I have quite convinced Mr. Rolfe that the change 
 will be beneficial to Miss Rolfe, and that she will be taken 
 every care of. I suppose you are quite old friends already, 
 eh, mother?" 
 
 "I think she is a beautiful girl whom one could not help 
 loving," murmured Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 Half an hour passed, and then Una and Martha came 
 out. Una was pale to the lips, the other was red-eyed 
 with weeping, and her tears broke out afresh when Mrs. 
 Davenant shook hands with her and assured her that hei 
 daughter should be happy. 
 
 "Thank you, ma'am," said Martha. "It's what I said 
 would come to pass. Gideon couldn't erpect to keep her 
 shut up here, like a bird in a cage, forever and a day. It 
 was against reason, but it is so sudden," and her sobs broke 
 into her speech and stopped her. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant's eyes were wet, and she glanced at 
 Stephen, half inclined to postpone the journey ; but Gideon 
 Rolfe had called the carriage to the door, and the box was 
 already on the seat. 
 
 With the same set calm which he had maintained 
 throughout, Gideon took Una in his arms, held her for a 
 moment and whispering, "Remember, wherever you are I 
 am watching over you !" put her in the carriage in which 
 Stephen had already placed his mother. 
 He, too, had a word to whisper. It was also a reminder. 
 'Remember, mother, not another word of the past. Her 
 life begins from today."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 89 
 
 Then he looked at his watch, and said aloud : 
 
 "You will just have time to catch the train. Good-lm-." 
 
 With the most dutiful affection., he kissed his mother, 
 then went round, and, bare-headed, offered his hand to 
 Una. 
 
 "Good-bye, Miss Rolfe," he said. "You are now starting 
 on a new life. No one, not even your father, can more 
 devoutly wish you the truest and fullest happiness than I 
 do." 
 
 Una, half -blinded with her tears, put her hand in his; 
 but almost instantly drew it away, with something like a 
 shudder. It was cold as ice. 
 
 The next moment the carriage started, and the two men 
 were left alone. 
 
 For fully a minute they stood looking at it, till it had 
 been swallowed up by the shadows of the trees ; then Gid- 
 eon turned, his face white and working. 
 
 "Stephen Davenant," he said, in slow, measured tones, 
 "one word with you before we part. You have gained your 
 end be what it may; I say for your sake, let it be for 
 good ; for if it be for evil, you have one to deal with who 
 will not hold his hand to punish and avenge. Rather than 
 let her know the heritage of shame which hangs over her, I 
 have let her go. If you value your safety, guard her, for 
 at your hands I require her happiness and well being." 
 
 Stephen's face paled, but the smile struggled to its ac- 
 customed place. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Rolfe," he began, but Gideon stopped him 
 with a gesture. 
 
 "Enough. I set no value on your word. There is no 
 need for further speech between us. Prom this hour our 
 roads lie apart. Take yours, and leave me mine." 
 
 "This is very sad. Well, well ; as you say, I have gained 
 my end, but, as I would rather put it, I have done my duty, 
 and I must bear your ungrounded suspicions patiently. 
 Good-bye, my dear sir good-bye." 
 
 "I have sworn never to touch the hand of a Davenant in 
 friendship," he said, grimly. "There lies your path" 
 and he pointed to the Wermesley road "mine is here, for 
 the present." 
 
 And with a curt nod, he turned toward the cottage.
 
 90 ONLY OXE LOVE; OB, 
 
 With a gentle sigh and shake of the head, Stephen, after 
 lingering for a moment, as if he hoped that Gideon's heart 
 might be softened, turned and entered the wood. 
 
 Once in the shadow and out of .sight, the smile disap- 
 peared, and left his face careworn, restless and anxious. 
 
 "Fate favors me," he muttered. "That hoor knows 
 guesses nothing of the truth. I never thought to get the 
 girl out of his clutches so easily ! Xow she is under my 
 watch and ken I hold her in my hand. But but" he 
 mused, his lips twitching, his eyes moving restlessly to and 
 fro "what shall I do with her ? Beautiful she is lovely ! 
 How long will she escape notice in London? Someone 
 will see her some hot-headed fool and fall in love. She 
 might marry. Ah !" 
 
 And he stooped amongst the brakes and ferns, and looked 
 up, with a sudden, dull-red flush on his pale cheek, a bright 
 glitter in his light eyes, while a thought ran like lightning 
 through his cunning brain. 
 
 "Marry her ! Why why should not I ?" 
 
 An answer came quickly enough in the remembrance of 
 the pale dark face of Laura Treherne, the girl to whom he 
 was pledged. 
 
 But with a gesture of impatience he swept the obtrusive 
 remembrance aside. 
 
 "Why not?" he muttered. "Then, at one stroke, I 
 should secure myself. By Heaven I will ! I will !" 
 
 So elated was he by the thought that he stopped and 
 leaned against a tree and took off his hat, allowing the cool 
 breezes to play upon his white forehead. 
 
 "Beautiful, and the real heiress of Hurst Leigh," he mut- 
 tered. "Why should I not ? By one stroke I should make 
 myself secure, and set that cursed will at defiance, let it 
 be where it may! I will! I will!" he repeated setting 
 bM teeth; then, as he put on his hat, he smiled pitifully 
 and murmured : 
 
 "Poor Laura, poor Laura !"
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 91 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Una saw her last of Warden Forest through a mist of 
 tears; while a tree remained in sight her face was turned 
 toward it, and in silence she bade farewell to the leafy 
 world in which her life had passed with so much unevent- 
 fulness in silence listened to the soughing of the breeze 
 that seemed to voice her a sad good-bye. 
 
 Her companion sat in silence, too, holding the soft, 
 warm hand which clung to hers with an eloquent suppli- 
 cation for protection and sympathy. 
 
 But youth and tears are foes who cannot abide long to- 
 gether, and by the time the little railway village of Werm- 
 esley was reached, Una's eyes were full of interest and curi- 
 osity. 
 
 As the fly rumbled over the unkept streets toward the 
 station, past the few tame shops and the dead-and-alive 
 hotel, her color came and went in rapid fluctuations. 
 
 "Is is this the world ?" she asked, in a low voice. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant looked at her with a smile, the first which 
 Una had seen on the thin, pale face. She had yet to learn 
 that Mrs. Davenant never smiled in her son's presence. 
 
 "The world, my dear?" she replied. "Well, yes; but a 
 very quiet part of it." 
 
 "And yet there are so many people in the streets, and 
 ah !" she drew back with an exclamation as the train 
 shrieked into the station. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant started she was nervous herself, and 
 had not yet realized that she had for companion one who 
 was as ignorant of our modern high-pressure 1 civilization 
 as a North American Indian. 
 
 "That is the train; don't be frightened, my dear," she 
 said. 
 
 "Forgive me. I know it is the train I have read 
 about it. I am not frightened," she added, quietly, and 
 with a touch of gentle dignity that puzzled Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 ,"My dear," she said, "I am not finding fault, or chiding 
 you, it is only natural that you should be surprised, but 
 you will find a great deal more to be surprised at when 
 we get to London." 
 
 Una inclined her head as sne mentally registered a
 
 92 ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 resolution to conceal, at any cost, any surprise or alarm 
 she might feel on the rest of the journey. 
 
 Nevertheless, she kept very close to Mrs. Davenant as 
 they passed to the train, and shrank back into the corner 
 of the carriage driven there by the stupid stare of one or 
 two of the passengers. 
 
 "Now we are all right," said Mrs. Davenant, gently. 
 "We shall not sleep now till we get to town." 
 
 "To London we are going to London ?'' asked Una in a 
 low voice. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Davenant. "That is where I live; I 
 live in a great square at the West-end." 
 
 "I know the points of the compass," said L T na, with a 
 smile; "my father taught me," and she sighed "poor 
 father !" 
 
 "I think your father must be a very clever man, my 
 dear. He appears to have taught you a great deal I 
 mean" she hesitates "you speak so correctly/' 
 
 "Do I ?" said Una. "Yes, my father is very clever. He 
 knows everything." 
 
 "It is very curious," she said. "I mean I hope you 
 won't be offended but men in his position are not gener- 
 ally so well informed." 
 
 "Are they not?" said Una, quietly. "I don't know. 
 Perhaps my father learned all he knows from books." 
 
 "And taught yon in the same way. Tell me what books 
 you have read." 
 
 Una smiled softly, and as she did so, Mrs. Davenant 
 started, and looked around at her with something like 
 fright in her grave, still eyes, 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Una. 
 
 "No nothing," replied the other. "I you reminded 
 me of somebody when you laughed, I can't tell whom. But 
 the^ books, you were going to tell me about the books." 
 
 "I can't remember all," said Una, and then she men- 
 tioned the titles of some of the well-bound volumes which 
 stood on the little bookshelf in the hut. 
 Mrs. Davenant regarded her curiously. 
 
 Those are all books of a world that existed long ago," 
 she said. "You have never pead any novels any novels 
 of present day life,?"
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 
 
 "No, I think not." 
 
 "Then you arc absolutely ignorant oi' life as it is,' ; said 
 Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," assented Una. 
 
 "I can understand now how useful fiction really is," 
 murmured Mrs. Davenant. "It is by it alone that a future 
 age will understand what ours is. You are entering upon 
 some strange experiences, Miss Rolfe." 
 
 Una started; the name was so unfamiliar to her that 
 she hardly recognized it. 
 
 "Please don't call me that," she said, laying her hand on 
 Mrs. Davenant's arm. "My name is Eunice Una. Call 
 me Una." 
 
 "I will," said Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 "You have promised to love me, you know." 
 
 "A promise easy to keep, my dear," she said, and her 
 eyes grew moist. "I little thought when my eon Stephen 
 telegraphed to meet him that he was taking me to a 
 daughter." 
 
 "Your son Stephen he sent for you !" said Una, with 
 frank curiosity. "How did he know of my existence ?" 
 
 "Through some friend," said Mrs. Davenant, with much 
 hesitation and nervous embarrassment. "My son is a very 
 good man, and always interesting himself in some good 
 cause or other something that will benefit his fellow 
 creatures. You you will like my son when you know 
 more of him," she added, and though she spoke with pride 
 there was a touch of something like fear in her voice, 
 which always came when she mentioned his name or spoke 
 of his goodness. 
 
 "Yes," said Una, simply, "I will for your sake." 
 
 "Thank you, my dear," murmured Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 "But how," went on Una, after thinking a moment, 
 "how did his friend know anything about me ? Did my 
 father " 
 
 "I don't know, Una," said Mrs. Davenant, nervously. 
 "Stephen doesn't always tell me everything; you see he 
 has so much to think of, and just now he is in great 
 trouble, you know." 
 
 "Ah! yes," said Una, gently; "and he had not time to
 
 04 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 tell you. But he will. I am sorry he is in such trouble." 
 Then after a pause, she said: "Are you rich? 7 ' 
 
 Mrs. Davenant started. The question, so unusual and 
 so "strange, bewildered her by its suddenness and its frank- 
 ness. 
 
 "Eich, my dear?" she said. "Yes I suppose I am 
 
 rich." 
 
 "And he is rich ?" 
 
 "He will be, perhaps ; we do not know until his uncle's 
 will is read." 
 
 "I know what a will is," said Una, with a smile, 
 is the paper which a man leaves when he dies, saying to 
 whom he wishes his money to go. And Stephen 
 
 "You should say Mr. Stephen, or Mr. Davenant, my 
 dear," she said. "I don't mind your calling him Stephen, 
 
 but but " She looked round in despair. How was 
 
 she to explain to this frank, beautiful girl the laws of 
 etiquette? "But everyone who speaks of those to whom 
 they are not related say Mr., or Mrs., or Miss." 
 
 "I see," said Una. "Then Mr. Davenant expects to 
 get his uncle's money, and then he will be rich. I am very 
 glad. And he does not live in the same house with you ?" 
 "No," replied Mrs. Davenant and surely there was 
 something like a tone of relief in her voice "no; when 
 he is in London he lives in chambers in rooms by himself ; 
 but he has been staying at Hurst Leigh." 
 
 "At Hurst Leigh !" echoed Una, softly, and a faint color 
 stole over her face. How wonderful it was ! That other 
 he whose face was always with her, was going there ! 
 
 "At Hurst Leigh," repeated Mrs. Davenant. "Do you 
 know it?" 
 
 Una shook her head silently. She longed to ask more, 
 to ask if Mrs. Davenant knew the youth who had taken 
 shelter in the cottage, but she simply could not. Love is 
 a wondrous" schoolmaster he had already taught her 
 frank, out-spoken nature the art of concealment. 
 
 "It is a grand place," continued Mrs. Davenant. "A 
 great, huge place," and she shivered faintly, "and and 
 if Squire Davenant has left it to Stephen" he will live 
 there." 
 
 "You don't like it?" said Una, with' acute intuition.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIE 'i 95 
 
 "No," replied Mrs. Davenant, with unusual earne.stnees. 
 "No, oh no ! it frightens me. I was never there but oiroe, 
 and then I was glad very, very glad to get away, grand 
 and beautiful as it was !" 
 
 "But why ?" asked Una, eagerly. 
 
 "Because have you never heard of Ralph Davenant ?" 
 
 Una hesitated a moment. She had heard of him. 
 
 "He was a wonderful man, but terrible to me. His eyes 
 looked through one, and then he had been so wicked." 
 
 She stopped short, and Una sighed. So there was an- 
 other person who was wicked. 
 
 "Why are men so wicked ?" she asked, in a low voice. 
 
 "I I don't know. What a singular question," said 
 Mrs. Davenant. "No one knows. Perhaps it is because 
 they have different natures to ours. But you need not 
 look so grieved, my dear," she added, with a little smile, 
 "you need not know any wicked men." 
 
 "Who can tell? One does not know; wicked men are 
 just like the others, only we like them better." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant stared at her, and utterly overwhelmed by 
 the strange reply, sank into her corner and into silence. 
 
 The panting engine tore along the line, and presently 
 the clear atmosphere was left behind, and the cloud of 
 smoke which hangs over the Great City came down upon 
 them and took them in, and infolded them. 
 
 To Una's amazement the train seemed to glide over the 
 tops of houses, houses so thick that there seemed but two, 
 or three inches between them. With suppressed excite- 
 ment she had resolved to express no surprise or fear 
 she watched through the window. Sometimes she caught 
 sight of streets thronged with people, and with commingled 
 alarm and curiosity, wondered what had happened to draw 
 them all together so. 
 
 She would not ask Mrs. Davenant, for wearied by her 
 double journey, she was leaning back with closed eyes. 
 
 Suddenly the train stopped stopped amidst the noise 
 and confusion of a large terminus Mrs. Davenant woke, 
 a porter came to the door, received instructions as to the 
 luggage and handed them out. 
 
 Notwithstanding her resolution, Una felt herself turn- 
 ing pale.
 
 % ONLY LLNE LOVE; OK, 
 
 From Warden Forest to a London railway station. 
 
 "Keep close to mo. dear," said -Mrs. Davcnant, who 
 seemed only nervous and helpless in her son's presence. 
 "Come, there is a cab." 
 
 In silence Una followed. Men and women, too, 
 turned to look at the tall, graceful figure in its plain white 
 dress, and stared at the lovely face, with its half-fright- 
 ened, half-curious, downcast eyes, and Una felt the eyes 
 fixed on her. 
 
 "Why why do they look at me so?" she asked, when 
 they had entered the cab. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant regarded her with a smile, and evaded 
 the frank, open eyes. Was it possible that the girl was 
 ignorant of her marvelous beauty? 
 
 "People in London always stare, my dear Una," she 
 replied, "and they see that you are strange." 
 
 "It is my dress," said Una, who had been looking out 
 of the window at some of the fashionably-attired ladies. 
 "It is different to theirs. See look at that lady ! Why 
 does she wear so long a dress? she has to hold it up with 
 one hand." 
 
 "It is your dress, no doubt, my dear," she said. "We 
 must alter it when we get home." 
 
 The cab rolled into the street, and Una was rendered 
 speechless. 
 
 But for her resolve she would have shrank back into the 
 farthest corner of the cab. The number of people, the 
 noise, alarmed her, and yet she felt fascinated. 
 
 Were all the people mad that they hurried on so with 
 such grave and pre-occupied faces. She had never 
 her father hurry unless he had cut down a tree that mvl 
 been struck by lightning, and which might injure others 
 in its fall unless cut down with greatest care. 
 
 Presently they passed into one of the leading thorough- 
 fares, already lit up, its shops gleaming brightly with UK 
 light, its ceaseless line of cabs, and omnibuses, and 
 carriages. 
 
 At last, when her eyes were weary with looking, she mur- 
 mured: ^ 'This this is the world then at last." 
 
 ^ es," said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh. "This is the 
 world, Una !"
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 9? 
 
 "And are those palaces !" asked Una, as they passed 
 through the West End streets and squares. 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Davenant; "they are only houses, in 
 which rich people dwell, as you would call it." 
 
 "And the trees ! Are there no trees ?" asked Una, with, 
 for the first time, a sigh. 
 
 "Not here, dear. There are some in the parks ; some even 
 in the middle of the city itself. You will miss your trees, 
 Una." 
 
 "Yes, I shall miss my trees. But this this world seems 
 so large; I thought that " 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Davenant, amused with her bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "I thought that people in the world knew each other; 
 but that is impossible." 
 
 And she sighed, as she thought that, after all, now that 
 she was in the world, she vfas no nearer that one being who, 
 for her, was the principal person in it. 
 
 "Very few people know each other, Una. It's a big 
 world, this London. I wonder whether you will be 
 happy?" 
 
 Una turned to her with a look upon her face that would 
 have melted a sterner heart than Mrs. Davenant's. 
 
 "I shall be happy, if you will love me," she said. 
 
 Something in the frank, simple reply made Mrs. Dave- 
 nant tremble. What had she undertaken in the charge of 
 this simple, pure-natured girl, whose beauty caused people 
 to turn and stare at her, and whose innocence was that of 
 a child? 
 
 Through miles and miles of streets, as it seemed to Una, 
 the cab made its slow, rumbling way; houses, that were 
 palaces in her eyes, flitted past ; and at last they stopped 
 before a palace, as it seemed to Una, in a quiet square. 
 
 The door of the house opened, and a servant came out 
 and opened the cab door. 
 
 In silent wonderment Una entered the hall, lit with its 
 gas-lamps and lined with flowers, and followed Mrs. Dave- 
 nant into what was really the drawing-room of a house in 
 Walmington Square; but which seemed to Una to be the 
 principal apartment in some enchanted castle. 
 
 But true to her resolve, she stood calm and silent, feel-
 
 98 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 ing, rather than seeing, that the eyes of the servant were 
 fixed upon her with curious interest. 
 
 "Come upstairs, Una, dear," said Mrs. Davenant, and 
 Una followed her into another fairy chamber. Flowers, of 
 which Mrs. Davenant, like most nervous persons, was in- 
 ordinately fond, seemed everywhere ; they lined the stair- 
 case and "the landing, and bloomed in every available cor- 
 ner. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant entered her own room, then opened a 
 door into an adjoining one. 
 
 "This is your room, my dear," she said. "If if you 
 like it- 
 
 "Like it !" said Una, with open eyes and beating heart. 
 "Is is this really mine ?" and she looked round the dainty 
 room with incredulous admiration. 
 
 "If if you like it, my dear," said Mrs. Davenant. 
 "How could I do otherwise? It is too beautiful for 
 me 
 
 "I don't think anything could be too beautiful for you, 
 Una," said Mrs. Davenant, with a significance that was 
 entirely lost on Una. "If there is anything you want I 
 can't give you any trees, you know." 
 
 "I shan't want trees while the flowers are here. It is 
 nothing but flowers." 
 
 "I am very fond of them," said Mrs. Davenant, meekly. 
 "You will hear a bell ring in half an hour ; come to me 
 then, I shall wait in the next room for you. I will not lock 
 the door," and she left her. 
 
 Una felt dazed and stunned for a few minutes, then 
 she made what preparations were possible. She chose 
 from her box, which had been conveyed to her room by 
 some invisible agency apparently, a plain muslin dress, and, 
 more by instinct than any prompting of vanity, fastened 
 a rose in her hair. 
 
 She had scarcely completed her simple toilet when the 
 bell rang, and she went into the next room. 
 
 A maid servant Una noticed that it was not the one 
 who had opened the door was in attendance upon Mrs. 
 Davenant, and dropped a courtesy as Mrs. Davenant said, 
 in her nervous, hesitating fashion : 
 "This is Miss Rolfe, Jane "
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR ? 99 
 
 Una smiled, and was about to hold out her hand, hut 
 stopped, seeing no movement of a similar kind on the part 
 of the neatly-dressed girl. 
 
 "Jane is my own maid, Una," said Mrs. Davenant. "She 
 will attend to you when you want her." 
 
 Jane dropped another courtesy, but Una detected a 
 glance of curiosity and scrutiny at the plain white muslin. 
 
 "Come," said Mrs. Davenant, "let us go down. Dinner 
 is ready," and she led the way down-stairs. 
 
 Another fairy apartment broke upon Una's astonished 
 vision as they entered the dining-room. 
 
 Small as the houses are in Walmington Square, Una, 
 accustomed only to the small room in the hut, thought that 
 this dining-room was large enough to be the banquet hall of 
 princes. 
 
 But, whatever surprise Una felt, she, mindful of her re- 
 solve, concealed. 
 
 Not even the maid in waiting could find anything to 
 condemn. When she went down-stairs her verdict was 
 favorable. 
 
 "Whoever she is," she said, "she's a lady. But where on 
 earth she comes from, goodness only knows. A plain mus- 
 lin dress that might have come out of the ark." 
 
 Dinner was over at last. A "last" that seemed to Una 
 an eternity. Mrs. Davenant rose and beckoned her to fol- 
 low, and they went into the drawing-room. 
 
 "Are you very tired, Una?" 
 
 "No," said Una, thinking of her long wanderings in 
 Warden Forest, "not tired at all, but very surprised." 
 
 "Surprised ?" said Mrs. Davenant, questioningly. 
 
 "Yes. Do all the people in London live like this in 
 such beautiful houses, with people to wait upon them, and 
 with so many things to eat, and with such pretty things 
 in the houses ?" 
 
 "Not all," said Mrs. Davenant, watching the tall, grace- 
 ful figure as it moved to and fro "not all. But it would 
 take too long to explain. You think these are pretty 
 things ; what will you say when you see the great sights 
 sights which we Londoners think nothing of ?" 
 
 Una did not answer; she had been looking round the 
 room at the pictures, mostly portraits, on the walls.
 
 100 ONLY 0X1- LOVE; 01?, 
 
 "Arc those picture? of friends of yours?'' slip said. 
 ''Who is that ';" 
 
 "That? Tliat is the portrait of a man I was speaking 
 of in the' train. That is Ralph Squire Davenant when 
 he was a young man." 
 
 It was' a portrait of Ralph Davenant in his best and 
 
 worst days. It had been painted when men wore their 
 
 hair long/ and brushed from their foreheads. One hand, 
 white as the driven snow, was thrust in his breast, the other 
 held a riding-whip. 
 
 Una looked at it long and earnestly, and Mrs. Davenant, 
 impressed by her long silence, rose and stood beside her. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "that is Ralph Davenant. It was paint- 
 ed when he was about your age, my dear. Ah " 
 
 "What is the matter ?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant, pale and excited, took up a hand-mirror 
 from one of the tables and held it in front of Una, 
 
 "Look !" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Well ?" she said. 
 
 "Well?" echoed Mrs. Davenant. "Don't you see? Look 
 again. The very image ! It is himself come to life again ; 
 it is Ralph Davenant turned woman !" she exclaimed. 
 
 And before Una could glance at the glass a second time 
 Mrs. Davenant threw it aside. 
 
 "Ana I so like?" said Una, with a smile. "How mys- 
 terious ! And that is so beautiful a face." 
 
 "Beautiful eyes, and you are " said Mrs. Davenant, 
 
 but stopped in time, warned by Una's frank, questioning 
 gaze. "If yon like to look at portraits," she said, "there is 
 an album there ; look over that." 
 
 Una took up the album and turned over its pages ; sud- 
 denly she stopped, and the color flew to her face. 
 
 With unconcealed eagerness she came toward Mrs. Dave- 
 nant with the open album in her hand. 
 
 <|Look r she said ; "who is that ?" 
 
 "That," said Mrs. Davenant, peering at it, "that is 
 Jack Newcombe." 
 
 /'Jack Newcombe," said Una, breathlessly. "You know 
 him ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh. "Poor Jack! 
 Shut the book, my dear."
 
 WHO WAS Tllti HUlIl? 10 L 
 
 "Why do you say 'Poor Jack?' " said Una, with a hollow 
 look in her beautiful eyes. 
 
 "Because because he is a wicked young man, my dear/' 
 said Mrs. Davenant. "Poor Jack !" 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Amidst a profound silence Jack walked slowly and quiet- 
 ly out of the house. There was no anger in his heart 
 against the old man whose favorite he had once been for 
 the moment there was scarcely any anger against Stephen ; 
 surprise and bewilderment overwhelmed every other feel- 
 ing. 
 
 He had not expected a large sum of money had cer- 
 tainly not expected the Hurst; and but for the words 
 spoken by the dying man, he would not have expected any- 
 thing at all, after having offended him in the matter of 
 the money-lenders and the post-obit. But most assuredly 
 the squire had intimated that there would be something 
 something, however small. 
 
 And now he was told that there was nothing, that his 
 name was not even mentioned. 
 
 Apart from any mercenary consideration, Jack was cut 
 up and disappointed ; if there had been a simple mourning 
 ring, a few of the old guns out of the armory anything 
 as a token of the old man's forgiveness, he would have 
 been satisfied ; but nothing, not one word. 
 
 Then, again, he could not understand it, near his end as 
 he was when he spoke to him. The squire was as sane and 
 clear-headed as he had been at any time of his life, or at 
 least so it seemed to Jack ; and he certainly had given him 
 to understand that he had left him some portion of his 
 immense wealth. 
 
 It was another link in the chain of mysteries which had 
 seemed to coil around Jack since he started from London. 
 
 Slowly and thoughtfully he made his way back to the 
 "Bush," and began to pack up the small portmanteau 
 which had been sent from town. 
 
 Hurst Leigh was no place for him; every minute he
 
 102 ONLY OXJ-: LOV1-:.; OK, 
 
 remained in it seemed intolerable to him. He would go 
 straight back to town by the next train. 
 
 Suddenly a thought struck him, and he paused in his 
 task of packing the portmanteau, an operation which he 
 reduced to its simplest by thrusting in anything that 
 came first and jamming it clown tight with his fist; he 
 stopped and looked up with a red flush on his handsome 
 face. Why shouldn't he go to Warden Forest on his way 
 back? 
 
 In a moment, the idea thrilled him with the delight of 
 anticipation, the next, a shade came over his brow. Why 
 shouldn't he ? Eather, why should he ? What was the use 
 of his going? If he had no business there before, he had 
 less excuse now. He was next door to a beggar and 
 
 Realizing for the first time the blow that had been dealt 
 him by the squire's neglect, he continued at the jamming 
 process, jumped and kicked at the portmanteau till it 
 consented to be locked, and then went down to the bar and 
 called fo his bill. 
 
 There were several people hanging about a funeral 
 Is a good excuse for a holiday in a country village but 
 Jack, in his abstraction, scarcely noticed the little group of 
 men who sat and stood about, and merely nodded in re- 
 sponse to the respectful and kindly greetings. 
 
 "But, Mr. Jack," said Jobson, with a deeply respectful 
 air of surprise, "you don't think of going right away at 
 once, sir?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm off, Jobson," said Jack. "What' s the next 
 train?" 
 
 "To London?" said a dry, thin voice behind him; and 
 Jack turned and saw Mr. Hudsley's clerkold Skettle. 
 "There's no train to London till seven o'clock; there's a 
 train to Arkdale in an hour, but it stops there." 
 
 "All right," he said, "I'll go to Arkdale; and, by the 
 way, Jobson, I don't want to be bothered with the port- 
 manteau ; send it on bv rail to my address Spider Court, 
 the Temple, you know." 
 
 . J ^?IT touched his ca P, and while he was making out 
 the bill Jack lit his pipe and paced up and down, his hands 
 s pockets, the knot of men watching him out of the 
 corners of their eyes with sympathetic curiosity.
 
 .WHO WAS THE HEIR? 103 
 
 Jack paid the bill so moderate a one that he capped 
 it with half a sovereign over; and with a "good-day" all 
 round, started off. He had not got further than the sign- 
 post, when he felt a touch on his arm, and, turning, saw 
 that old Skettle had followed him. 
 
 "Halloa," said Jack, in his blunt way, "what's the mat- 
 ter?" 
 
 The old man looked up at him from under his wrinkled 
 lids, and fumbled at his mouth in a cautious sort of a way. 
 
 "I'm very sorry things have gone on so crooked up at 
 the Hurst, Master Jack," he said, respectfully. 
 
 "But not more sorry than I am, Skettle, thank you." 
 
 "I'm afraid it's rather unexpected, Master Jack," he 
 continued, his small, keen eyes fixed, not on Jack, but on 
 his second waistcoat-button, counting from the top. 
 
 "Well, yes, it is," said Jack, tugging at his mustache. 
 "Very much so. I've got a hit in the bread-basket this 
 time, Skettle, and I'm on my back again." 
 
 Old Skettle looked a keen glance at the handsome face 
 and frank eyes that were looking rather ruefully at the 
 ground. 
 
 "Hitting below the belt is not considered fair, is it, Mas- 
 ter Jack?" he asked. 
 
 "Eh, what ?" said Jack, who had not been paying much 
 attention. "No, according to the rules; but what do you 
 mean by the question ? You are always such a mysterious 
 old idiot, you know. You can't help it, I suppose." 
 
 Old Skettle smiled, if the extraordinary contortion of 
 the wrinkled face could be called by so flattering a desig- 
 nation. 
 
 "I've seen such mysterious things since I first went into 
 Mr. Hudsley's office to sweep the floor " 
 
 "Now, then," said Jack, "none of that game ; going into 
 the old story, which I have heard a hundred times, of how 
 you went as an office boy, and have risen to the proud 
 position of confidential clerk. You're like one of the old 
 fellows in the play, who draws a chair up to the footlights, 
 and says, 'It's seven long years ago ' and the people be- 
 gin to clear out into the refieshment bar, and wait there 
 till he's done. Where were you? Oh, 'mysterious experi- 
 ences.' Well, go on."
 
 104 OXLY OXE LOVE: OE, 
 
 But old Skettle had, apparently, nothing to say ; he had, 
 while Jack had been speaking, changed his mind. 
 
 "I beg pardon for stopping you, Master Jack," he said. 
 "I felt I couldn't let you go out of the old place without 
 expressing my sympathy." 
 
 "Thanks, thanks/' said Jack, holding out his hand. 
 "You're one of the right sort, Skettle, and so's Hudsley. 
 I believe he's sorry, too. Looks a little puzzled, too. Puz- 
 zled isn't the word for what I feel. I've got the sensa- 
 tion one experiences when he's been sitting through one 
 of the old-fashioned melo-dramas. Not even a mourning- 
 ring, or a walking-stick. Poor Squire well, I forgive 
 him. He had a right to do what he liked with his own." 
 
 "Just so, Master Jack, but it's hard for you," said 
 Skettle. "Not a mourning-ring. By the way, sir," and 
 something like a blush crept over his wrinkled face. "If 
 if you should be in want of a little money " 
 
 Jack stared, then laughed grimly. 
 
 "Well, you certainly must be mad, Skettle," he inter- 
 rupted. "Want money! When didn't I want it? But 
 don't you be idiot enough to lend me any. It would be 
 a jolly bad speculation, old fellow. There is not a Jew in 
 London would take my paper. No, Skettle, it would be 
 downright robbery, and I don't think I could rob you, you 
 know." 
 
 "Do you remember the day you swam across the mill- 
 pond, and fished my little boy out, Master Jack ?" 
 
 "You take care I shan't forget it, Skettle," said Jack, 
 with a smile. "It was a noble deed, wasn't it? Every 
 time you mention it, I try to feel like a hero, but it won't 
 come. How is little Ned?" 
 
 "He's well, sir; he's in London now, working his way up. 
 He d have been in the church-yard if it hadn't been for 
 you." 
 
 "Why, Skettle, this is worse than "Twas seven Ion? 
 
 years ago !' " exclaimed Jack. 
 
 "On that day, Master Jack, I swore that if ever a time 
 ime vhen Ida chance of serving you, I'd do it. It did 
 
 not seem very likely then, for we all thought you'd be the 
 
 next squire; but now, Master Jack, I should' be grateful 
 
 if you d borrow ten pounds of me,"
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 105 
 
 "Nonsense," cried Jack. "Don't be an idiot, Skcltle. 
 You a lawyer! why, you're too soft for anything but a 
 washerwoman. There, good-bye; remember me to little 
 Ned when you write, and tell him I hope he'll grow up a 
 little harder than his father. Good-bye," and he shook 
 the thin, skinny claw heartily. 
 
 Old Skettle stood and looked after him, his right hand 
 fumbling in his waistcoat pocket; and when Jack had got 
 quite out of sight he pulled the hand out, and with it a 
 small scrap of paper with a few words written on it, and 
 a seal. It was just such a scrap of paper which might 
 have been torn from a letter, and the seal was the Dave- 
 nant seal, with its griffin and spear plainly stamped. 
 
 Old Skettle looked at it a moment curiously, then shook 
 his head. 
 
 "No, I was right after all in not giving it to him; it 
 may be nothing nothing at all. And yet -it's the 
 squire's handwriting, for it's his seal, and what was it 
 lying outside the terrace for? Where's the other part of 
 it, and what was the other part like? I'll keep it. I 
 don't say that there's any good in it, but I'll keep it. 
 Not a mourning-ring or a walking-stick ! All house, 
 lands, money to Mr. Stephen, with the sneaking face and 
 the silky tongue. Poor Master Jack ! I I wish he'd 
 taken that ten-pound note; it burns a hole in my pocket. 
 Not a mourning-ring," he muttered. "It's not like the 
 squire, for he was fond of Master Jack, and if I'm not 
 half the idiot he called me., the old man hated Mr. Stephen. 
 1 seem to feel that there's something wrong. I'll keep this 
 bit of paper;" and he restored the scrap to its place and 
 returned to the "Bush" with as much expression on his face 
 aa one might expect to see on a blank skin of parchment. 
 
 Jack was more moved than he would have liked to ad- 
 mit by old Skettle' s sympathy and offer of assistance, and 
 in a softened mood, produced by the little incident, sat and 
 smoked his pipe with a lighter spirit. 
 
 After all he was young, and and well, things might 
 turn up; at any rate, if the worst came to the worst, he 
 could earn his living at driving a coach-and-four, or, say, 
 as a navvy. 
 
 "I shouldn't make a bad light porter," he mused, "only
 
 106 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 there arc no light porters nmv. I wonder what will be- 
 come of me. Auvhow, I'd rather live on an Abernethy 
 biscuit a day than take a penny from Stephen or borrow 
 ten pounds from Skettle. Stephen, Squire of Hurst 
 Leigh! He'll make a funny squire. I don't believe he 
 knows a pheasant from a barn-door fowl, or a Berkshire 
 pig from a pump-handle. I should have made a better 
 squire than he. Xever mind; it's no use crying over spilt 
 milk!" 
 
 Jack was certainly not the man to cry over milk spilt 
 or strewn, and long before the train had reached Arkdale 
 he had forgotten his ill-luck and the mystery attending the 
 will, and all his thoughts were fixed on the beautiful girl 
 who dwelt in a woodman's hut in the midst of Warden 
 Forest. 
 
 Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest, and Jack felt 
 that the fruit was forbidden here. What on earth busi- 
 ness had he, a ruined man, to be lounging about Warden, 
 or any other forest, in the hope of getting a sight of, or a 
 few words with, a girl, whom, be she as lovely as a peri, 
 could be nothing to him? What good could he do? On 
 the contrary, perhaps, a great deal of harm; for ten to 
 one the woodman would cut up rough, and there would be 
 a row. 
 
 But he felt, somehow, that he had made a promise, and 
 promises were sacred things to Jack excepting always 
 promises to pay and a row had rather a charm for him. 
 
 Nevertheless, when the train drew up at Arkdale Sta- 
 tion, he had quite resolved to wait until the London train 
 came up, and as such resolutions generally end, it ended 
 in giving up the idea and starting for Warden. 
 
 Jack was not sentimental. Men with good appetites 
 and digestions seldom are; but his heart beat as he entered 
 the charmed center of the great elms and oaks which 
 Ringed the forest, and the whole atmosphere seemed full 
 of a strange fascination. 
 
 "I wonder what she will say, how she will look?" he 
 
 kept asking himself. "I'd walk a thousand miles to hear 
 
 her voice to look into her eyes. Oh, I'm a worse idiot 
 
 than old Skettle! What can her eyes and her voice he to 
 
 By Jove, though, I might turn woodman and
 
 WHO WAS THE HE1K? 107 
 
 and " marry her, he was going to say, but the thought 
 
 seemed so bold, so well, so coarse in connection with such 
 a beautiful person, that Jack actually blushed and frowned 
 at his effrontery. 
 
 He found no difficulty in recognizing the way, and 
 strode along at a good pace, which, however, grew slower 
 as he neared the clearing in which stood Gideon Rolfe's 
 cottage, and just before he emerged from the wood into 
 it he stopped, and felt with a faint wonder that his heart 
 was beating fast. 
 
 It was a new sensation for Master Jack, and it upset 
 him. 
 
 "This won't do," he said ; "I musj; keep cool. A child 
 would get the better of me while I am like this; and I 
 mustn't forget I've got to face that wooden-faced wood- 
 man. Courage, my boy, courage !" 
 
 And with a resolute front he stepped into the clearing. 
 
 Yes, there was the cottage, but why on earth were the 
 shutters up. 
 
 With a strange misgiving he walked up to the door and 
 knocked. 
 
 There was no answer. He knocked again and again 
 still no answer. 
 
 Then he stepped back and looked up at the chimney. 
 There was no smoky trail rising through the trees. He 
 listened there was no sound. His heart sank and sank 
 till he felt as if it had entered his boots. 
 
 'With a kind of desperate hope he knelt on the window- 
 sill and looked through a hole in the shutter into the room. 
 
 It was bare of furniture empty, desolate. 
 
 He got down again and looked about him like one who, 
 having buried a treasure, goes to the spot and finds that 
 it has gone. 
 
 Gone that was the word and no sign ! 
 
 It was incredible. Three days only three days. 
 What had happened? Was was anyone dead? And at 
 this thought his face grew as pale as the tan would allow it. 
 
 No; that was absurd. People she could not have 
 died and been buried in three days ! Then, where was 
 she? Was it possible that the old man had actually left
 
 108 ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 the Avood thrown up his livelihood because of his 
 (Jack's) visit to the cottage? 
 
 A great deal more disturbed and upset than he had been 
 over the squire's will, he paced up and down. He sat 
 down on the seat outside the window the seat where he 
 had drunk his cider and eaten his cake the seat where 
 Mrs. Davenant sat so patiently and he lit his pipe and 
 smoked in utter bewilderment. 
 
 Disappointment is but a lukewarm word by which to 
 describe his feelings. 
 
 He felt that he had looked forward to seeing Una as a 
 sort of set-off against the terrible blow which the squire's 
 will had dealt him, and now she was gone ! 
 
 I am afraid to say how many hours he sat smoking and 
 musing, in the vain hope that she, or Gideon Eolfe, or 
 someone would come to tell him something about it; but 
 at last he realized that she had indeed flown ; that the nest 
 which had contained the beautiful bird was empty and 
 void ; and with a heart that felt like lead, he set out for 
 Wermesley. 
 
 By chance, more than calculation, he caught the lip- 
 train, and was whirled into London. 
 
 Weary, exhausted rather, he signaled a hansom., and 
 was driven to Spider Court. 
 
 Spider Court is not an easy place to find. It is in the 
 heart of the Temple, and consists of about ten houses, 
 every one of which, like a Chinese puzzle, contains a num- 
 ber of houses within itself. 
 
 Barristers generally briefless- inhabit Spider Court; 
 but it is the refuge of the hard-working literary man, and 
 of the members of that strange class which is always wait- 
 ing for "something to turn up." 
 
 Jack ascended the stairs of No. 5, passed various doors 
 bearing the names of the occupants on the other side of 
 them, and opened a door which bore the legend : 
 "Leonard Dagle. 
 "John Xewcombe." 
 painted in small black letters on its cross-panel. 
 
 It was not a large room, and it was plainly furnished : 
 t looked comfortable. Its contents looked rather in- 
 congruous.
 
 .WHO WAS THE HEIR? 101" 
 
 At the end of the room, close by the window, which only 
 allowed about four hours of daylight to enter it, stood a 
 table crowded with papers, presenting that appearance 
 which ladies generally call "a litter." The table and book- 
 shelf, filled with heavy-looking volumes, would give one 
 the impression that the room belonged to a barrister or a 
 literary man, if it were not for a set of boxing-gloves and 
 a pair of fencing foils, which hung over the fireplace, and 
 the prints of ballet-girls and famous actresses which 
 adorned the walls. 
 
 As Jack entered the room, a man, who was sitting at 
 the table, turned his head, and peering through the gloom 
 which a single candle only served to emphasize, exclaimed : 
 
 "Jack, is that you?" 
 
 The speaker was the Leonard Dagle whose name ap- 
 peared conjointly with Jack's on the door of the chambers. 
 
 Seen by the light of the single candle, Leonard Dagle 
 looked handsome ; it was left for the daylight to reveal the 
 traces which life's battle had cut in his regular features. 
 One had only to glance at the face to be reminded of the 
 old saying of the sword wearing the scabbard. It was the 
 face of a man who had fought the hard fight of one hand 
 against the world, and had not yet won the victory. 
 
 Leonard Dagle was Jack's old chum; friends he had in 
 plenty dangerous friends many of them but Leonard 
 was his brother and companion in arms. They had shared 
 the same rooms, the same tankard of bitter, sometimes the 
 same crust, for years. 
 
 There was not a secret between them. Either would 
 have given the other his last penny and felt grateful for 
 the acceptance of it. It was a singular friendship, for 
 no. two men could be more unlike than Leonard Dagle, 
 the hard-working barrister, and Jack Newcombe, the 
 spendthrift, the ne'er-do-well, and the Savage. 
 
 "Is that you, Jack?" exclaimed Leonard, straightening 
 his back. "Home already?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm back." 
 
 "What's the matter tired ?" 
 
 "Tired bored humbled thoroughly used mip ! I've 
 got news for you, Len."
 
 1 110 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 "Bad or good ?" 
 
 "Bad as they can be. First the squire's dead !" 
 
 "Dead ?'' 
 
 "Yes, dead and buried. Poor old fellow!" 
 
 "I am very sorry. Then you then you am I address- 
 ing the Squire of Hurst Leigh?" 
 
 "You are addressing the pauper of Spider Court." 
 
 "Jack, what do you mean ?" 
 
 "I mean that the poor old fellow has died and left me 
 nothing not even a mourning-ring." 
 
 "I'm very sorry. Left you nothing, my dear old man !" 
 
 "Don't pity me. I can't stand that. Say serves you 
 right, say anything. After all, what did I deserve?" 
 
 "But you expected something," said Leonard. 
 
 "Yes, and no. I expected nothing till I got there, and 
 then did. I saw him for a few minutes before he died, and 
 he said certainly said that I well, that there would be 
 something for me." 
 
 "And there is nothing." 
 
 "Not a stiver. Mind I don't complain, Len. I didn't 
 deserve it." 
 
 "Where has it all gone? He was a rich man, was he 
 not ?" asked Leonard. 
 
 "Rich as a Croesus," replied Jack, "and it has all gone to 
 Stephen Davenant." 
 
 "That is the man that goes in for philanthropy and all 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 That's the man," replied Jack. 
 
 "Tell me all about it," said Leonard, after a long pause. 
 
 And, with many pauses, Jack told his story. 
 
 Leonard Dagle listened intently. 
 
 "It's a strange story, Jack," he said. "I I it rather 
 "puzzles me. There could be of course, there could be 
 nothing wrong." 
 
 ^Wrong, how do you mean ?" exclaimed Jack. 
 
 "Well, Stephen Davenant's conduct is rather peculiar 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Oh, he's half out of his mind," said Jack, carelessly. 
 
 > has been playing a close game for the money, and 
 
 hanging about the old man till he has got as hysterical 
 
 as a girl. What do you think could be wrong? Every-
 
 .WHO WAS THE HEIR? Ill 
 
 thing was as correct as it could be family lawyer., who 
 made out the will, and all the rest of it." 
 
 "Then you think the squire was wandering in his mind 
 at last?" 
 
 "That's it," said Jack. "He wanted to provide for mo 
 to leave me something, and he fancied he'd done it. It s 
 often the case, isn't it?" 1 
 
 "I've met with such cases," said Leonard. 
 
 "Just so," said Jack. "Is there anything to drink?" 
 he asked, abruptly, as if he wanted to change the subject. 
 
 "There's some whiskey " 
 
 Jack mixed himself a tumbler and sat on the edge of the 
 table, and Leonard Dagle leaned back and watched him. 
 
 "There's something else, Jack," he said. "Out with it ; 
 what is it?" 
 
 "What a fellow you are, Len. You. are like one of those 
 mesmeric men; there's no keeping anything from you. 
 Well, I've had an adventure." 
 
 "An adventure?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm half under the impression that it's nothing 
 but a dream. Len, I've seen the most beautiful the most 
 Len, do you believe in witches ? Not the old sort, but 
 the young ones sirens, didn't they call them ; who used to 
 haunt the woods and forests and tempt travelers into quag- 
 mires and ditches. The innocent-looking kind of sirens, 
 you know. Well, I've seen one !" 
 
 "Jack, you've been drinking; put that glass down." 
 
 "Have I? Then I haven't. Look here," and he told 
 the story of his wanderings in Warden, and all it had led 
 up to. 
 
 "How's that for an adventure?" he said, when he had 
 finished. 
 
 "It would do for a mediaeval romance. And she has 
 gone, you say?" 
 
 "Clean gone," said Jack, with a sigh and a long pull at 
 the tumbler. "Gone like a a dream, you know. How 
 is that for an adventure? You don't believe iu. them, 
 though." 
 
 Leonard Dagle looked up, and there was a strange, half- 
 shy expression in his face.
 
 112 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 "You are right, Jack. I didn't till the day before yes- 
 terday." 
 
 "The day before yesterday ? What do you mean ?" 
 "Simply that I, too, have had an adventure." 
 "Seems to me that we're like those confounded nuisances 
 who used to meet on a coach and tell stories to amuse 
 themselves. Go on ; it's your turn now." 
 "Mine's soon told. After you started for Hurst Leigh 
 
 I got a letter from a man at Wermesley '* 
 
 "Wermesley !" exclaimed Jack. "Why " 
 
 "Yes, it is on the same line. He wanted me to go down 
 to look over some deeds, and I went. I took a return 
 ticket and got into the last train. When I got into the 
 carriage I went 'first' on the strength of the business 
 I saw a young lady mind, a young lady seated in a 
 corner. It struck me as rather odd that a young girl 
 should be traveling alone at this time of night, and [ 
 shifted about until I could get a good look at her. Jack, 
 you're not the only man that has seen a beautiful girl 
 within the last week." 
 
 "Beautiful, eh?" cried Jack, interested. 
 "Beautiful in my eyes. The sort of face that Cleopatra 
 might have had when she was that girl's age. I never saw 
 such eyes, and I had plenty of opportunity of seeing them, 
 for she seemed quite unconscious of my presence. Jack, 
 I'm a shy man, and I'm often sorry for it, but I was 
 never sorrier than I was then, for I'd have given anything 
 to have been able to speak to her and hear her speak. 
 There she sat, looking like a picture, quite motionless, with 
 her eyes fixed on the flare of the lamp; and there I sat 
 and couldn't pluck up courage to say a word. At last we 
 got to London ; they came for the tickets, and she couldn't 
 find hers. I went down on my hands and knees, and at 
 last I found the ticket under the seat. I looked at it as I 
 gave it to the porter; and where do you think it was 
 from?" 
 
 Jack shook his head. He didn't think it much of an 
 adventure after Una and Warden Forest. 
 
 "You'll never guess. What do you say to Hurst 
 Leigh?"
 
 WHO WAS THE HE1K? 113 
 
 "Hurst Leigh ! Why, who was she ? Somebody I know, 
 perhaps." 
 
 "I found my tongue at last, and said, 'You have had a 
 long journey. Hurst Leigh is a beautiful place/ And 
 what do you think she said?" 
 
 Jack shook his head. 
 
 "She said, 'I don't know. I have never been there be- 
 fore today.' That's all until we got to the terminus, then 
 I asked her if I could get her luggage. 'I haven't any,' she 
 said. 'Could I get her a cab ?' I asked. Yes, I might get 
 her a cab. I went and found a cab and put her in it; 
 and, if I had a shadow of a doubt as to her being a lady, 
 the way in which she thanked me would have dispelled it. 
 I asked her where I should direct the cabman to drive, and 
 she said 24 Cheltenham Terrace. And and then she 
 went." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, I of course you'll call me a fool, Jack, I am 
 quite aware of that I followed in another cab." 
 
 "Good heavens ! You've been drinking !" 
 
 "No. I followed, and when she had gone I knocked at 
 the door of the next house and asked the name of the peo- 
 ple who lived next door. They for a wonder were civil, 
 and told me. She lives with her grandfather, and her 
 name is Laura Treherne." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 "Her name is Laura Treherne," said Leonard. 
 
 "Laura Treherne. Never heard the name before." 
 
 "Nor I, but it belongs to the most beautiful creature I 
 have ever seen." 
 
 "That's because you haven't seen Una Eolfe," put in 
 Jack, coolly. "But I say, Len, what has come to us? 
 We've both caught the universal epidemic at the same time. 
 It's nothing wonderful in me, you know but you you, 
 who wouldn't look at a woman! Have you got it bad, 
 Len?" 
 
 "Very bad, Jack. Yes, the time which Eosseau calls 
 the supremest in one's life, has come to me. As a novice in 
 the art of love-making, I come to you for advice."
 
 114 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 "Why, it's easy enough in your case. You know where 
 to put your hand upon the lady. What are you to do? 
 Why, disguise yourself as a sweep, and go and sweep the 
 chimneys at 24 Cheltenham Square, or pretend you're the 
 tax collector, or 'come to look at the gas meter.' You've 
 got half a dozen plans, hut I what am I to do ? I've seen 
 the most beautiful creature in existence, and if I'm not in 
 love with her " 
 
 "I should say you were," said Leonard, gently. 
 
 "Yes, I am. I knew it when I found that confounded 
 cottage empty. But what am I to do? I haven't the 
 faintest clew to her whereabouts. The old gentleman with 
 the hatchet may have murdered his whole family her in- 
 cluded or emigrated to Australia." 
 
 "It is very strange. Didn't you notice any sign of a 
 move about the place the first night you were there ?" 
 
 "No, none. Everything looked as if it had been going 
 on for a hundred years excepting Una and meant to go 
 on for another hundred. Len, I'm afraid we've been be- 
 witched. Perhaps it's all a dream; I haven't been down 
 to Hurst and you haven't been down to Wermesley. We 
 shall wake up directly oh, no ! The poor squire ! Len, 
 it's all true, and we're a couple of young fools !" 
 
 "Speak for yourself, old fellow. I have been a fool un- 
 til three days ago, now I am as wise as Solomon, for I have 
 learned what love is." 
 
 "So have I I have also learned the vanity of human 
 wishes, and the next thing I shall have to learn will be 
 some way of earning a livelihood. I should prefer an 
 honest one, but poor men can't afford to be particular, 
 and honesty doesn't seem to pay now-a-days. I feel so 
 hard up and reckless that I could become a bank director 
 or a member of Parliament without feeling a pang of 
 conscience." 
 
 Leonard looked up at him, for the vein of bitterness was 
 plainly to be detected running through Jack's banter; and 
 Leonard knew that when Jack was bitter which was but 
 once in a year, say he was reckless. 
 
 "We must talk it over. Sit down get off that table ; 
 i re makmg a perfect hash of my papers and let's talk 
 it over. You won't go out tonight."
 
 .WHO WAS THE HEIE? 115 
 
 "Yes, I shall. I shall go down to the club." 
 
 "No no, keep away from the club tonight, Jack." 
 
 "What are you afraid of? Do you think 1 shall want 
 to gamble ? I've no money to lose." 
 
 "That's the very reason you'll want to play. Do keep at 
 home tonight." 
 
 "I couldn't do it, old man," he said. "I'm on wires 
 I'm all on fire. If I sat here much longer, I should get up 
 suddenly, murder you, and sack the place. The Savage 
 has got his paint on, and is on the trail." 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Jack. You are hot and upset. Keep 
 away from the club tonight. Well, well let the ecarte 
 alone, at any rate." 
 
 "All right, I'll promise you that. I won't touch a card 
 tonight. Ecarte! I couldn't play beggar-my-neighbor 
 tonight ! Len, I wish you were a bigger man ; I'd get up 
 a row, and have a turn-to with you. Sit down here ! I 
 couldn't do it. I want to be doing something something 
 desperate. You can sit here and dream over your com- 
 plaint ; I can't I should go mad ! Don't sit up for me." 
 
 Leonard looked after him as he disappeared into one of 
 the two bedrooms which adjoined the common sitting- 
 room, and, with a shake of his head, muttered, "Poor 
 Jack !" and returned to his work. 
 
 Jack took a cold bath, dressed himself, and merely paus- 
 ing to shout a good-night, as he passed down the stairs, 
 went into the street, and jumped into a hansom, telling 
 the man to drive to the Hawks' Club. 
 
 It was rather early for the "Hawks," and only a few 
 of them had fluttered in. It was about the last club that 
 such a man as Jack should have been a member of. It 
 was fast, it was expensive, it was fashionable, and the 
 chief reason for its existence lay in the fact that play at 
 any time, and to any extent, could be obtained there. 
 
 When Jack entered the cardroom, that apartment was 
 almost empty, but the suspicious-looking tables were sur- 
 rounded by chairs stuck up on two legs, denoting that 
 they were engaged, and those men who were present were 
 all playing. 
 
 Every head was turned as he entered, and a buzz of 
 greeting rose to welcome him.
 
 HG OXLY <X\K LOVE: OR, 
 
 "Halloa; you back, Jack!" said a lull, military-looking 
 man, who was known as the "Indian Xut," because he was 
 one of llio most famous of our Indian colonels. "You're 
 just in time to take a hand at loo/" 
 
 ".No; come and join us," said young Lord Pierrepoint, 
 from another table, at which nap was being played. 
 
 But if you could only wring a promise out of Jack, you 
 could rest perfectly certain that he would keep it ; and he 
 shook his head firmly. 
 
 "Nary a card." 
 
 "What ! Don't you feel well, Jack ?" 
 
 "No, I'm hungry. I'm going to get something to eat." 
 
 "Dear me, I didn't know you did eat, Jack. However, 
 man, come and sit down, and don't fidget about the room 
 like that." 
 
 "Len's right, the club won't do neither. I couldn't .hold 
 a card straight tonight. I'll get some dinner, and go 
 back, and we'll have it all over again." 
 
 It was a wise and virtuous resolution; and, unlike most 
 resolves, Jack meant to keep it. But alas ! before he had 
 got through with his soup, the door opened and two mer_ 
 strolled in. 
 
 They were both young and well-known. The one was 
 Sir Arkroyd Hetley ; the other, the young Lord Dalrymple, 
 whose coronet had scarcely yet warmed his forehead, as 
 the French say. 
 
 Both of them uttered an exclamation at seeing Jack, 
 and made straight for his table. 
 
 "Why, here's the Savage !" exclaimed Dalrymple. "Back 
 to his native forest primeval." 
 
 "Been on the war trail, Jack?" asked Sir Arkroyd. 
 "How are the squaws and wigwams? Seriously, where 
 have you been, old man ?" 
 
 "Yes, I have been on the war trail," he said. 
 
 "And got some scalps, I hope," said Dalrymple. "What 
 are you doingdining? What do you say, Ark, shall we 
 It's so long since I've eaten anything that I 
 should like to watch a man do it before I make an at- 
 tempt." 
 
 The footman put chairs and rearranged the table, and 
 the two men chatted and conned over the carte.
 
 WHO WAS THE ilEili:- 11 ; 
 
 "You don't look quite the thing, Jack. Been going it in 
 the forest, or what 1" 
 
 "Yes, I've been going it in the forest, Dally." 
 
 "Been hunting the buffalo and chumming up with his 
 old friend, Spotted Bull," said Arkroyd. "Bet you any- 
 thing he hasn't been out of London, Daddy." 
 
 "Take him," said Jack. "I've been out of London on a 
 little matter of business." 
 
 "He's been robbing a bank," said Arkroyd, "or breaking 
 ne." 
 
 "Neither. Stop chaffing, you two, and tell a fellow 
 what's going on." 
 
 "Shall we tell him, Dally ? Perhaps he'll try to cut us 
 out. It wouldn't be a bad idea to start a joint stock 
 company, all club together, you know, and work it in that 
 way, the one who wins to share with the other fellows." 
 
 "Wins what ? What on earth are you talking about ? Is 
 it a sweepstake, a handicap, or what " 
 
 "No, my noble Savage. It's the heiress." 
 
 "Oh," said Jack, indifferently, and he sipped his claret 
 critically. 
 
 "What has come to you, Jack? Have you decided to cut 
 the world or have heiresses become unnecessary ? Perhaps 
 someone has left you a fortune, old man ; if so, nobody will 
 be more delighted than I shall be to help you spend it." 
 
 A flush rose to Jack's face, and his eyes flashed. He 
 had been drinking great bumpers of the Hawks' favorite 
 claret a heady wine which Jack should never have 
 touched at any time, especially not tonight. 
 
 "No, no one has left me a fortune; quite the reverse. 
 But you'd better tell me about this heiress, I see, or you'll 
 die of disappointment. Who is she where is she ? what 
 is she ? Here's her good health, whoever she is," and down 
 went another bumper of the Lafitte ; and as it went down, 
 it was to Una he drank, not to the unknown one. 
 
 "Do you remember Earlsley?" said Arkroyd. "Oh, no, 
 of course not, you must have been in your cradle in the 
 wigwam in that time. Well, old Wigsley died and left his 
 money to a fifty-second cousin, who turned out to be a 
 girl. No one knew anything about her; no one knew 
 where to find her; but at last there comes a claimant in
 
 118 ONLY OXE LOVE; OK, 
 
 the shape of a girl from one of the Colonies Canada. 
 That isn't a colony, is it, though ? Australia anywhere 
 nobody knows, you know. She came over with her belong- 
 ings a rum-looking old fellow, with a white head of long 
 hair, like, a a what's got a long head of white hair, 
 Dally?" 
 
 "Try patriarch," murmured the marquis. 
 
 "Well, in addition to the money, and there's about a 
 million, more or less she's got the most beautiful, that 
 isn't the word, most charming, fascinating little face you 
 ever saw. If she looks at you, you feel as if you never 
 could feel an ache or pain again as long as you lived." 
 
 "Ark, you've had too much champagne." 
 
 "No; 'pon my honor. Isn't it right, Dally?" 
 
 "Yes, and if she smiles," said Dalrymple, "you never 
 could feel another moment's unhappiness. The prettiest 
 mouth and when it opens, her teeth " 
 
 "Oh, confound it !" exclaimed Jack, brusquely. "You 
 needn't run over her points as if she were a horse ; I don't 
 want to buy her." 
 
 As a matter of fact, he had only caught the last word or 
 two, for while Arkroyd had been talking he had been 
 thinking of that other beautiful girl not a doll, with 
 teeth and a smile, but an angel, pure and ethereal a 
 dream not a fascinating heiress. 
 
 "Buy her!" exclaimed Arkroyd. "Listen to him! 
 Don't I tell you she's worth a million ?" 
 
 "And I'd make her Countess of Dalrymple tomorrow if 
 she hadn't a penny, and would have me," said Dalrymple. 
 
 "Try her," said Jack, curtly. 
 
 "No use, my dear Savage," he said, tugging at his in- 
 cipient fringe of down ruefully. "She won't have any- 
 thing to say to yours truly, or to any one of us for that 
 matter. She only smiles when we say pretty things, and 
 shows her teeth at us. Besides, the title wouldn't tempt 
 her. She's got one already. Don't I tell you she's one of 
 the Earlsley lot ? No ; we've all had a try, even Arkroyd. He 
 even went so far as to get a fellow to "write a poem about 
 m one of the society journals, and signed it 'A. H. ;' 
 but she told him to his face that she didn't care for poetry. 
 
 t was a pretty piece, too, wasn't it, Ark?"
 
 .WHO WAS THE HEIR? 119 
 
 "First-rate/' said Arkroyd, with as much modesty as if 
 he had written it. "But it was all thrown away on Lady 
 Bell." 
 
 "On whom?" said Jack, waking up again. 
 
 "On Lady Bell Isabel Earlsley is her name. You're 
 wool-gathering tonight, Jack." 
 
 "Oh, Lady Bell, is it?" said Jack, carelessly. "Go 
 ahead. Anything else?" 
 
 "No, that's all, excepting that I'll wager a cool thousand 
 to a china orange that you'll change your tone when you see 
 her, Savage." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Jack, "but your description doesn't 
 move me ; not much, Ark. You're not good at that sort of 
 thing. It isn't in your line. The only things you seem 
 to have remarked are her smile and her teeth." 
 
 "Savage, you are, as usual, blunt, not to say rude. Let 
 us have another bottle of Cliquot." 
 
 Jack shook his head, but another bottle came up, and he 
 sat and took his share in silence, and, indeed, almost un- 
 consciously. For all the attention he paid to the chatter 
 of his two friends they might not have been present. 
 
 His thoughts flew backward to the shady grove of War- 
 den Forest, to the girl who, like a vision of purity and in- 
 nocence and loveliness, had floated like a dream across his 
 life. 
 
 He gave one passing thought to Len, too, and his story. 
 
 It was a strange coincidence that they should both have 
 met their fates at one and the same time, or nearly so. 
 
 He would have thought it stranger still if he could have 
 lifted the veil of the future and seen how closely the web of 
 his life was woven with the woof, not only of Una's, but of 
 Laura Treherne, and also of Lady Bell Earlsley. 
 
 All unconscious he had turned a leaf of his life's book, 
 and had begun a new chapter in which these three women 
 were to take a part. 
 
 But he sat and drank the champagne, knowing nothing 
 of this, and I am sorry to have to say it he was rapidly 
 arriving at that condition in which it is dangerous to be 
 within a mile of that fascinating fluid. When a man 
 passes from a state of half-feverish restlessness and dissat- 
 isfaction to one of comparative comfort, and that by the
 
 120 OXLY OXE LOVE: OB, 
 
 aid of the cheering glass, it is time to put the cheering 
 glass aside and go home. 
 
 Jack did not go home; on the contrary, he went into the 
 billiard-room, and Cliquot followed, as a matter of course. 
 
 For a time Jack had managed to forget everything ex- 
 cepting his promise to Len; he would not enter the card- 
 room, but he stuck to pool and champagne. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 I am not going to apologize for our hero, nor am I going 
 to gloss over his faults with any specious special pleading. 
 Xo man is either wholly good or wholly bad; certainly 
 Jack was not wholly good; he was human, very human, 
 and blessed, or cursed, with a hot, passionate blood, which 
 made him more liable to trip than most men. But, at 
 the same time, this in justice must be said of him, that 
 he very rarely sinned in this way. 
 
 Tonight his blood was at full heat; the love which had 
 sprung up like a tongue of flame in his heart burned and 
 maddened him, and to this newly-born love was added the 
 disappointment and bewilderment of Una's sudden disap- 
 pearance. Add, too, that he had been overstrained and 
 upset, and well, there are the excuses and apologies, after 
 all. 
 
 Somewhere about two o'clock, when the club was full 
 with men who had dropped in from theater and ball- 
 room, and amidst the popping of corks and click of pool 
 balls, a certain feeling came over poor Jack that he had 
 taken quite as much, and more, of the sparkling juice 
 than was good for him ; and with that consciousness came 
 the resolution to go home. 
 
 The game was just over, and without a word he put up 
 his cue, motioned to a footman to bring him his hat. and, 
 scarcely noticed in the crowd and bustle, slowly descended 
 the broad and indeed magnificent staircase for which and 
 its palatial hall the club was famous. 
 
 He descended very slowly, with his hand on the balus- 
 
 ade. and having reached the bottom, he filled a glass with 
 water from the crystal filter that stood on a side table in 
 the porter s box, and sallied out
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 121 
 
 The night air struck upon his hot brow in a cool and 
 welcome fashion, and Jack stood for a moment or two, 
 fighting with the hazy and stupefying effects of the night's 
 work. 
 
 "I won't go home yet," he muttered. "Len will be cut 
 up ; he always is. He's as bad as a father almost as bad 
 as a mother-in-law. Well, I didn't touch the cards, any- 
 how. And if it had not been for those two idiots, Ark and 
 Dally, I shouldn't have got so far into the champagne. 
 How bright the stars shine an unaccountable number of 
 them tonight." Poor Jack ! "Never saw such a quantity ! 
 No, I won't go home yet. I'll walk it off if I have to walk 
 till tomorrow morning. Where am I ? Ah ! where is she ? 
 Thank Heaven, she isn't near me now! I'm glad she's 
 gone ; I'm glad I shall never see her any more. I'm not fit 
 to see her; not worthy to touch her hand. But I did 
 touch it," and, with a kind of wonder at his audacity, he 
 stretched out his hand and stared at it under the gas- 
 lamp. 
 
 Then he walked on perfectly indifferent to the direction, 
 perfectly indifferent to the weariness which was gradually 
 no, rapidly coming on him. 
 
 Just at this time, while he was walking off the drowsy 
 dream that had got possession of him, a stream of car- 
 riages was slowly moving down Park Lane, taking up from 
 one of the best known houses in town Lady Merivale's. 
 
 Lady Merivale was one of the leaders of ton and had 
 been one as long as most middle-aged people could remem- 
 ber. To be seen at Lady Merivale's was to be acknowl- 
 edged as one of that small but powerful portion of human- 
 ity known as "the upper ten." 
 
 It was one of her ladyship's grand balls, and not only 
 were the ball and drawing-rooms full, but the staircase 
 also, and any one wishing to enter or exit had to make his 
 way down a narrow line flanked on either side by the youth 
 and nobility of the best kind of society. 
 
 That it had been a great success no one who knows the 
 world and Lady Merivale needs to be told. It had, per- 
 haps, been one of her greatest, for in additi<jn to two 
 princes of the blood royal, she had secured the great sensa-
 
 122 OXLY OXELOYE; OK, 
 
 tion of the day, the young millionairess, Lady Isabel Earls- 
 ley. 
 
 And this was no slight achievement., for Lady Bell, as 
 she was generally called, was a wilful, uncertain young 
 personage, from whom it was very hard to procure a prom- 
 ise, and who, not seldom, was given to breaking it when 
 made, at least, so far as acceptation of invitations went. 
 
 But she was there tonight; as the next issue of the 
 Morning Post would testify. 
 
 Jack had been really too careless and scornful in his 
 indifference. Lady Bell was not only beautiful,, she was 
 what was more rare than beauty charming. She was 
 rather short than tall ; but not too short. She had a beau- 
 j tiful figure ; not a wasp waist by any means, but a natural 
 figure, full of power and grace. Her skin was, well, colon- 
 ial; delicately tinted and creamy; and her eyes it is dif- 
 ficult to catalogue her eyes, because their lights were al- 
 ways changing but the expression which, generally pre- 
 dominated was one of half-amused, half-mocking light. 
 
 With both expressions she met the open admiration of 
 the gilded youths who thronged round her, amused at 
 their foppery, mocking at their protestations of devotion. 
 Tonight she was dressed neither magnificently nor 
 superbly, but with, what seemed to the women who gazed 
 at her with barely concealed envy, artful simplicity. 
 
 Her dress was of Indian muslin, priceless for all its 
 simplicity; and she wore glittering in her hair, on her 
 arms, and on her cream-white bosom, pearls, that, in quan- 
 tity and quality would have made the fortune of any en- 
 terprising burglar. 
 
 By her side stood for they were moving toward the 
 door, on their way to an exit an elderly woman, with an 
 expressionless face, simply and plainly dressed. She was 
 generally spoken of as the watch dog; but she scarcely 
 deserved that name, for Lady Bell was quite capable of 
 watching over herself; and Mrs. Fellowes, the widow of 
 the Indian colonel, was too mild to represent any sort of 
 dog whatever. 
 
 Surrounded by a crowd of devoted courtiers, the great 
 heiress and her companion moved toward the door where 
 the hostess stood receiving the farewells and thanks of
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 123 
 
 her guests; and when one thinks of the many hundred 
 times Lady Merivale had stood by that door, and under- 
 gone that terrible ordeal, one is filled with amazement and 
 awe at her courage and physical strength. 
 
 For forty years she had been standing at doors, receiving 
 and meeting guests; yet she stood tonight as smiling and 
 courageous as ever. 
 
 At last Lady Bell reached her hostess, and Lady Meri- 
 vale, tired and done up as she was, gave her special recog- 
 nition. 
 
 "Must you go, Lady Bell? Well, good-night. And 
 thank you for making my poor little dance a success. 
 Thank you very much." 
 
 Lady Bell said nothing, but she smiled "in her old col- 
 onial" way, as they called it, and threaded through the 
 lane of human beings on the stairs. 
 
 "Lady Earlsley's carriage !" shouted the footman in the 
 gorgeous Merivale livery, and a little brougham drove up. 
 
 Lady Bell hated show and magnificence. 
 
 Her stables and coach-houses were crowded with horses 
 and carriages, her wardrobes filled to repletion with 
 Worth's costumes and Elise's "confections," as bonnets are 
 called now-a-days, but a plain little brougham was her 
 favorite vehicle, and the simplest of costumes pleased her 
 best. 
 
 All the way down the stairs she had to nod and smile and 
 exchange farewells, and at the bottom, in the hall, on the 
 stone steps themselves, she was surrounded by men eager 
 to secure the privilege of putting her into her little 
 brougham. 
 
 But she avoided them all, and sprang in as if she had 
 not been dancing for four hours, and throwing herself back 
 into the corner, exclaimed : 
 
 "Thank goodness, that is over. Poor old Fellowes ! you 
 are worn out. Confess it." 
 
 "I am rather tired, my dear," said Mrs. Fellowes, who 
 had been sitting against a wall all the evening. 
 
 "Tired ! of course you are ; it's ever so much more tiring 
 looking on than dancing, and joining in the giddy round. 
 I don't feel a bit tired ; I'm a little bored."
 
 124 OXLY OXE LOVE; 01?,, 
 
 "Bored! what a word, my deal Bell," murmured Mrs. 
 Fellowes, sleepily. 
 
 "It's a good word it's an expressive word and it just 
 means really what I feel." 
 
 "And yet you received more attention than any woman 
 any girl an the room, my dear," murmured Mrs. Fel- 
 lowes. 
 
 "My money-bags may have done so," said Lady Bell, 
 scornfully ; "not I. Do you think that if I were as penni- 
 less as one of Lady Southerly's daughters, I should re- 
 ceive as much attention? Fellowes, don't you take to 
 flattering me. I couldn't stand that." 
 
 "I don't want to flatter you, my dear Bell; but when 
 the prince himself dances twice with you " 
 
 "Of course he did. I am a celebrity. I am the richest 
 young woman in the kingdom, and he would have done 
 it if I had been as ugly as sin which isn't ugly, by the 
 way." 
 
 "What strange things you say," murmured Mrs. FeK 
 Icwes, with mild rebuke. "I'm sure no girl received more 
 attention than you have tonight. I sat and watched you, 
 my dear, and a spectator sees more of the game than a 
 player." 
 
 "You are right, it is all a game, a gamble," retorted Lady 
 Bell. "All those nice young men were playing pitch and 
 toss who should make the hardest running with the great 
 heiress. Do you think I am blind? I can see through 
 them all, and I despise them. There isn't a man among 
 them but would pay me the same court if I were as plain 
 as Lucifer " 
 
 "My deal Bell " 
 
 "But it is true," said Lady Bell. "I can read them all. 
 And if they knew how I despised them, even while I smile 
 upon them, they would keep at arm's length for very 
 shame. I wish I hadn't a penny in the world." 
 
 "My dear Bell!" ejaculated Mrs. Fellowes, really and 
 truly shocked at such a fearfully profane wish. 
 
 I do! I do! I should then find out if any one of them 
 
 :red for me for myself. You say I am beautiful, hut 
 i are so partial; do you think I am beautiful enough 
 
 i cause any man to risk his all in life for my sake ?"
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? U>5 
 
 "I don't know. I don't just follow jou/' said poor Mrs. 
 Fellowes. 
 
 "No, you are half asleep," retorted Lady Bell. "There, 
 curl yourself up and snooze. I shan't talk any more." 
 
 Lady Bell leaned forward, and looked up at the stars 
 the same stars that seemed so numerous to poor Jack 
 and pondered over the events of the evening. 
 
 It was true that a prince of the blood had danced there 
 with her; it was true that, all through the evening, she 
 had been surrounded by a court of the best men in London ; 
 it was true that she had sent one half the women home 
 burning with envy and malice and all uncharitableness ; 
 but still she was not happy. 
 
 "No," she murmured, unheard by the sleeping com- 
 panion; "the dream of my life has not yet been fulfilled. 
 I have not yet met the man to whom I could say, 'I am 
 yours, take me !' Perhaps I never shall ; and until I do, I 
 will remain Lady Bell, though they buzz round my money- 
 bags till I am deaf with their hum." 
 
 The brougham was going at a great pace, simply because 
 the coachman very reasonably desired to get home and 
 to bed; and Lady Bell saw the houses flit past as if they 
 had been part of a panorama got up for her special amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 But suddenly the brougham swerved, and, indeed, nearly 
 upset, and the stillness of the night was broken by what 
 seemed remarkably like an oath by the coachman. 
 
 Lady Bell felt that something was wrong; but she 
 neither turned color nor lost her presence of mind. 
 
 Putting her head, with a thousand pounds of jewels on 
 it, through the window, she said, in clear tones : 
 
 "What is the matter, Jackson ?" 
 
 "I whoa ! I don't quite know, my lady ; I think it is 
 a man. Something came right across the road. Yes, it 
 is a man." 
 
 Lady Bell' opened the brougham door, stepped into the 
 road the light from the lamp flashing on ner pearls 
 and went toward the horse. 
 
 "Keep away from her hind legs, for goodness* sake, my 
 lady," ejaculated Jackson. "Keep still, will you!" this 
 was of course addressed to the horse.
 
 126 OXLT OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 "What is it ? what is it ?" asked Lady Bell, peering about. 
 
 "Here, my lady, on the near side on the left. It's 
 down in the road, whatever it is." 
 
 Lady Bell went behind the brougham to the near side 
 she was too well acquainted with horses and their moods 
 to cross in front of the horse's eyes and looked about her. 
 For a moment she could see nothing, but presently, when 
 her eyes had become used to the darkness, she saw a man 
 lying, as it seemed, right under the horse's body. 
 
 Her impulse and she always acted on that impulse 
 was to pull him out. But to pull a man even an inch is a 
 difficult task even for the strongest girl, and after a mo- 
 ment's tug she was about to tell Jackson to alight while 
 she stood at the horse's head, when suddenly the prostrate 
 man staggered to his feet, and leaned against the brougham 
 as if it had been specially built and brought there for that 
 purpose. " f '^"^l r ^ r . ~. 
 
 Lady Bell went up to him and laid her hand uporThis 
 arm. 
 
 "What has happened ?" she said, anxiously. "Were you 
 run over are you hurt ?" 
 
 Jack for it was Jack opened his eyes and stared at 
 her with the gravity of a man suddenly sobered. 
 
 "No," he said, "I am not hurt. Don't blame the man, 
 it was my fault. Not hurt at all. Good-night." 
 
 And he feels for his hat, which at that moment was 
 lying under the carriage a shapeless mass. 
 
 As he spoke Lady Bell saw something drop on to his 
 hand, and looking at it saw that it was a drop of blood. 
 
 With a shudder for she could not bear the sight of 
 blood she said : 
 
 ^Not hurt ! Why, you are bleeding." 
 Am IP'^said Jack, gravely and curtly. "It will do me 
 Don't you be alarmed, miss. I am used to being 
 
 UP A 6 Vv my bones are to hard to break - Good-night." 
 And he made for the pavement pretty steadily. But a 
 
 wft and warm, and strong also, stayed him. 
 W op, said Lady Bell ; "I am sure you are hurt. How 
 id^you come to be run over?" 
 
 "?i 0t in JJ e * a ? of the horse < I suppose," said Jack, 
 quietly. "That is the usual way."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 121' 
 
 "But but," said Lady Bell; and she looked at the 
 handsome face scrutinizingly. 
 
 Then she stopped, for her scrutiny had discovered two 
 facts ; first, that the individual who had been run over was 
 a gentleman ; secondly, that he had been drinking. 
 
 "Wait," she said, still keeping her hand on his arm; 
 "you are not fit to go alone without some assistance, and 
 I am sure you are hurt. Look, you are bleeding." 
 
 "A mere nothing," said Jack; "don't trouble. Allow 
 me to put you in I shall get home all right." 
 
 Lady Bell, still keeping her eyes fixed on his face, shook 
 her head. 
 
 "I couldn't leave you- like this," she said. "Where do 
 you live ?" 
 
 "Where do I live?" repeated Jack. "Spider Court, 
 Temple. It's no distance from here." 
 
 "The Temple!" exclaimed Lady Bell. "It must be 
 miles away." 
 
 "A hansom," smiled Jack. 
 
 "But there are no cabs here, not one. I cannot leave 
 you like this you must get into the brougham." 
 
 "Not for worlds ! I have given you quite enough trou- 
 ble," he said. "I shall find my way home somehow." 
 
 "No," she said ; "I cannot let you go without seeing you 
 safe into a cab. There are none here. You do not know 
 I do not know how much you are hurt. You must 
 let me take you to your home." 
 
 "I assure you I am all right," he said. 
 
 "And I refuse to accept your assurance," said Lady Bell, 
 with a little shudder at the streak of blood which oozed 
 from his forehead. "Come, you will not refuse to obey a 
 lady. I wish you to enter my brougham." 
 
 "No, I can't refuse to obey a lady," he said. 
 
 "Then come with me," said Lady Bell. 
 
 "Where to, my lady?" asked Jackson, who was used to 
 her ladyship's willfulness, and sat, patient as Job, waiting 
 for the issue of this strange adventure. 
 
 "To where did you say?" asked Lady Bell. 
 
 "Spider Court," said Jack ; "but I wish you'd let me go 
 out and walk. It must be right out of your way."
 
 128 ONLY ONE LOVE; OB, 
 
 'Spider Court, Temple/' said Lady Bell, and the 
 brougham rolled on. 
 
 Through it all Mrs. Fellowes had remained in the deep 
 sleep which the gods vouchsafe to good women of her age, 
 and the two Lady Bell and Jack were, to all intents 
 and purposes, alone. 
 
 Lady Bell looked at him as he sat in his corner, the 
 thin, red stream trickling down from his forehead, and 
 shuddered ; not at him, but at the blood. 
 
 "How did you come to be run over?" she asked. "Did 
 you fall?" 
 
 "Must have done," he said, coolly; "anyway I'll swear 
 it wasn't the coachman's fault." 
 
 "I am not going to blame the coachman/' said Lady 
 Bell, with the shadow of a- smile. 
 
 "That's right," said Jack. "It was all my fault. I'd 
 been been to see a favorite aunt." 
 
 "You had been to your club," said Lady Bell. 
 
 "How did you know that ?" he said. 
 
 Lady Bell smiled again, and Jack, his eyes fixed upon 
 her, thought the smile wonderfully fascinating. 
 
 "A little bird told me," she saJd. 
 
 "The little bird was right," saiu Jack, shaking his head, 
 with penitence and remorse written on every feature. "I 
 have been dining at my club. Perhaps the little bird told 
 you everything else ?" 
 
 ''Yes; the little bird also whispered that you had " 
 
 "Drank too much champagne? Confound those fel- 
 lows! Wonderful little bird!" muttered Jack. 
 
 "It is very wicked of you," said Lady Bell, gravely, her 
 eyes fixed on his face, that, notwithstanding its streak of 
 red, looked wonderfully handsome. 
 
 While she looked, she almost convinced herself that she 
 
 had never seen such a handsome face, nor such frank eyes. 
 
 "It was very wicked of you," she repeated, in a voice 
 
 pitched in a low key, no doubt out of consideration for the 
 
 sleeping watch dog. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I am a bad lot ; I am not fit to he here 
 with you. I have been dining at my club ; but how you 
 
 knew it, I can't conceive. And and " 
 
 "Don't tell me any more," said Lady Bell. "I am sorry
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 129 
 
 that you should have been run over, and I hope you axe 
 not hurt. That that is blood running down your face. 
 Why do you not wipe it off? I can't hear it." 
 
 "1 beg your pardon/'' said Jack, and he fumbled for his 
 pocket-handkerchief, which at that moment was lying un- 
 der the seat in the billiard-room. 
 
 "Here, take this/' said Lady Bell, and she put her own 
 delicate lace-edged one in his hand. 
 
 Jack mopped his forehead diligently. 
 
 "Is it all off?" he asked. 
 
 "No, it keeps running," replied Lady Bell, with a little 
 thrill of horror. "I believe you axe much hurt." 
 
 "I'm not ; I give you my word," said Jack. "There- no, 
 I'll keep it until it's washed." And he thrust the delicate 
 cobweb into his pocket. 
 
 Lady Bell leaned back, but her eyes wandered now and 
 then to the handsome face, pale through all its tan. 
 
 Presently, wonderfully soon, as it seemed to her, the 
 brougham came to a stop, and Jackson, bending down to 
 the window, said : 
 
 "Spider Court, my lady." 
 
 "Spider Court," said Jack. "Then I'm home. I'm 
 very much obliged to you, and I wish I didn't feel so much 
 ashamed of myself. Hark ! who's that ?" for someone had 
 come to the carriage door. 
 
 "It is I Leonard. Is that you, Jack ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Jack, and he got out and closed the door. 
 "This lady " 
 
 Lady Bell leaned out and looked at Leonard Dagle's anx- 
 ious face earnestly. 
 
 "Your friend has met with an accident," she said, "and 
 I have brought him home." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," sighed Leonard. 
 
 "I hope he is not much hurt," said Lady Bell. "His 
 forehead is cut. Will you will you be so kind as to let 
 me know if it is anything serious ?" 
 
 "Anything serious! A mere scratch," ejaculated Jack, 
 carelessly. 
 
 But Lady Bell did not look at him. 
 
 "Here is my card," she said, taking a card-case from
 
 .130 ONLY OXE LOVE ; OB, 
 
 the carriage basket. "Will you please let me know? 
 tfood-night." 
 
 And she held out her hand. 
 
 Leonard did not see it, and merely raised his hat. But 
 jack, who was nearest, took the hand and held it for a 
 moment. 
 
 "Good-night, good-night," he said. "I shall never for- 
 give myself for causing you trouble." 
 
 And in his earnestness his hand, quite unconsciousl}', 
 closed tightly on her white, warm palm. 
 
 Lady Bell dropped back into her seat, a warm flush 
 spreading over her face; and Mrs. Fellowes, awakened by 
 the stopping of the brougham, exclaimed, with a yawn : 
 
 "Home at last !" 
 
 "Xo, miles away," said Lady Bell. "Go to sleep again, 
 mv dear." 
 
 Leonard took Jack's arm within his, though there was 
 .no occasion for it, for Jack was sober enough now, and 
 led him upstairs. 
 
 "My dear Jack," he exclaimed, reproachfully, "what 
 have you been doing ?" 
 
 "Falling under a cab," said Jack, gravely. 
 
 "A cab!" retorted Leonard; "a lady's brougham, you 
 mean !" 
 
 And he took the card to the light. 
 
 "Why !" he exclaimed, with an expression of amazement. 
 "Lady Isabel Earlsley ! Good Heaven ! that's the heiress." 
 
 "Eh?" said Jack, indifferently. "What's her name? 
 Bhe's a brick, if ever there was one. Oh, Jupiter. I wish I 
 was in bed!" 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 It was Una's first night in London. Weary as she was 
 she could not find sleep; the dull roar of the' great city- 
 winch those who are used to take no heed of rang in her 
 ears and kept her awake. Her brain was busy, too; and 
 even as she closed her eyes the endless questions, which the 
 
 ange events of the day had given birth to, pursued and 
 
 tormented her. She could scarcely realize that she had 
 
 : Warden Forest, that she was here in London, the
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 131 
 
 place of her most ardent dreams ! And then how singular, 
 how mysterious was that coincidence which had brought it 
 about. 
 
 Until Jack Newcombe, the young stranger, had com; 
 Warden, she had never heard the name of Davenant, and 
 now she was actually living under the roof of Stephen 
 Davenant' s mother. 
 
 With half-closed eyes she recalled all that Jack had said 
 about Stephen Davenant, and it did not require much 
 effort to recall anything Jack had said, for every word was 
 graven on her heart, and it had seemed to her as if he had 
 spoken disparagingly of this Stephen, and had implied 
 that he was not as good as he was supposed to be. 
 
 She herself, as she lay, her beautiful head pillowed on 
 her round white arm, was conscious of a strange feeling 
 which had taken possession of her in Stephen's presence 
 not of dislike, but something of doubt, something also of a 
 vague fear. 
 
 And yet he could not but be good and generous, for 
 was it not to him that she owed all that had happened to 
 her? And did not his mother, the timid, gentle woman 
 who had already won Una's heart, speak of him as great 
 and good ? 
 
 Alas ! and a faint flush stole over her cheek, and a long 
 sigh stole from her lips alas ! it was that other Jack 
 Newcombe who was bad; it was he whom she was to 
 avoid. 
 
 And so, notwithstanding that she was in the very city of 
 her dreams, she fell asleep with a vague sadness in her 
 heart. 
 
 Quiet as Walmington Square is, the noise of the market 
 carts passing to Covent Garden awoke her soon after dawn. 
 
 She looked round with a stare of amazement as her eyes 
 fell upon the dainty room, with its costly furniture and 
 rich hangings, and listened for a moment, as if expecting 
 to hear the rustle of the great oaks which surrounded the 
 cottage at Warden; then she remembered the change that 
 had befallen her, and springing out of bed, ran to the 
 window. 
 
 All the square was asleep ; the blinds were closely drawi)
 
 132 ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 in all the houses, and only the birds on the trees seemed 
 thoroughly awake. 
 
 She could hear the market carts rumbling in the great 
 thoroughfare beyond, and as she had gone asleep with the 
 rattle of wheels in her ears, she asked herself, wonder- 
 ingly : 
 
 "Does London never rest?" 
 
 She remembered that Mrs. Davenant had showed her a 
 bathroom communicating by a door from her own room, 
 and then with her cold water was as necessary as air 
 went and had her bath; then she dressed herself, and, 
 opening her door, went downstairs. 
 
 To her amazement, all the house seemed wrapped in 
 slumber. 
 
 At home, at the cottage at Warden, Gideon and all of 
 them were up with the lark, and life began with the morn- 
 ing sun. 
 
 She stole into the drawing-room, and, unfastening the 
 shutters with some little difficulty, opened the window and 
 leaned out to breathe the fresh air ; but it seemed as if the 
 air was asleep, too, or, in its journey from the country, 
 had lost itself in the maze of houses, and failed to reach 
 Walmington Square. 
 
 Una looked out dreamily, wondering who and what sort 
 of people lived in the huge blocks of dwellings that sur- 
 rounded her, and wondered, faintly, whether she could be 
 looking at the spot where Jack ISTewcombe dwelt. 
 
 She could not guess that Jack had not come back from 
 Hurst. Leigh yet, but was waiting for the squire's funeral. 
 
 Instinctively she turned to the table and took up the al- 
 bum and went back to the window with the book open at 
 the page which contained Jack's portrait. 
 
 How beautiful the face was! And yet, she thought, 
 with a warm glow in her eyes, that she had seen it look 
 still more beautiful, as she had looked down at it the 
 morning he lay sleeping at her feet. 
 
 Presently a servant came into the room, and startled at 
 the sight of the white figure by the window, uttered an 
 exclamation. 
 
 "Good-morning," said Una,
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIK? 133 
 
 Closing the book she came forward and held up her 
 face to be kissed, as she had always done to Mrs. Kolfe. 
 
 The maid a pretty young girl, fresh from Devonshire 
 stared at her and looked half-frightened, while a crim- 
 son flush of embarrassment came into her face. 
 
 "Good-morning, miss," she said, nervously, and hastily 
 turned and fled. 
 
 Una looked after her a moment, and pondered; and she 
 would have made a superb study for a painter at that mo- 
 ment. 
 
 How had she frightened the pretty girl, and why had she 
 declined to kiss her ? 
 
 Una could not understand it. Hitherto she had lived 
 only with equals, and could not be expected to guess that 
 it was a breach of the proprieties to kiss this pretty, daint- 
 ily-dressed little hand-maiden. 
 
 As for Mary, the maid, she flew into the kitchen and 
 sank into a chair, gasped at the cook, speechless for a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 "What do you think, cook ?" she exclaimed, "that young 
 lady Una, as the mistress calls her is up already. I 
 found her in the drawing-room, and and she said 'Good- 
 morning/ and came up to me as if she she wanted me to 
 kiss her." 
 
 "You must be out of your mind, Mary," said the cook, 
 sternly. 
 
 But Mary stuck to her assertion, and at last it was 
 decided that Una was either out of her mind, or that she 
 was no lady. 
 
 "And that I am sure she is," exclaimed Mary, and the 
 other servants assented heartily. "If there ever was a 
 true lady, this one is, whoever or whatever she may be. 
 Perhaps she's just come from boarding-school." 
 
 But the cook scoffed at the idea. 
 
 "Boarding-school !" she exclaimed incredulously. "Do 
 you think they don't know the difference between mistress 
 and servants there? It's the first thing that is taught 
 them." 
 
 Meanwhile, quite unconscious of the discussion which 
 her ingenuous conduct had caused, Una wandered about 
 the room, examining, with unstinted curiosity, the eiquis-
 
 134 ONLY OXE LOVE; OE, 
 
 ite china and valuable paintings, the Collard and Collard 
 grand piano, and the handsomely-bound books. 
 
 An hour or two passed in this way ; then she heard a bell 
 ring and Mary entered, and, eying her shyly, said: 
 
 "Mistress says will you be kind enough to step up to her 
 room, miss." 
 
 Una went upstairs and knocked at Mrs. Davenant's 
 door, and in answer to the "come in," entered, and found 
 Mrs. Davenant in the hands of her maid Janet. 
 
 Una crossed the room with her swift, light step, and 
 kissed the face turned up to her with a timid, questioning 
 smile on it. 
 
 "My child," exclaimed Mrs. Davenant, "have you been 
 up all night? I sent Janet to your room to help you 
 dress." 
 
 Una started, and a smile broke over her face. 
 
 "To help me dress?" she repeated, Janet regarding her 
 with wide open eyes the while. "Why should she do 
 that ? I have always dressed myself ever since I can re- 
 member." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant flushed nervously. 
 
 "I meant to brush your hair and tie your ribbons as 
 she does mine ; but it does not matter if you would rather 
 not have her." 
 
 "I should not like to trouble her," said Una. 
 
 "And how long have you been up, my dear ?" 
 
 "Since five," said Una, quietly. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant stared aghast, and Janet nearly dropped 
 the hair-brush. 
 
 "Since five! My dear child! Ah! I see, you you 
 have been used to rising early. I am afraid you will soon 
 lose that good habit. We Londoners don't rise with the 
 lark." 
 
 'I don't think there are any larks here," remarked Una, 
 gravely ; "and at this time of the year the lark begins to 
 sing at four. I have often watched him rise from his nest 
 in the grass." 
 
 "5J y ,P? child > y will miss the country so much." 
 
 No said Una ; "I am so anxious to see the world, you 
 know." 
 
 "Well, we will begin today."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 135 
 
 "Una, you know I wish you to be quite to bo very 
 happy with me. And and I hope if there is anything 
 that you want you will ask for it without hesitation." 
 
 "Anything I want ?" repeated Una, with a smile. "Is it 
 possible that any one could want anything more than is 
 here? There seems to be everything. I was thinking, as 
 you spoke, of what my father would say if he saw this 
 table, with all the things to eat, and the silver and glass." 
 
 "My dear child, this is nothing. I live very simply. If 
 you saw, as you will see, some of the homes of the wealthy, 
 some of the homes of the aristocracy, you would discover 
 that wftat you deem luxury is merely comfort." 
 
 "I was never uncomfortable at the cottage," said Una, 
 gravely. 
 
 "That is because you were unused to anything better, 
 and and you must not speak of the past life too much, 
 Una. I mean to strangers. Strangers are so curious, and 
 and my son, Stephen, does not wish everyone to know 
 where you come from and how you lived." 
 
 "Does he not ? Well, I will not speak of it ; but I do not 
 understand quite " 
 
 "Neither do I. I am afraid I do not always understand 
 Stephen ; but but I always do as he tells me." 
 
 And she looked up with the anxious, questioning expres- 
 sion which Una noticed was always present when Stephen 
 Davenant was mentioned. Was Mrs. Davenant afraid of 
 her son? 
 
 Una mused for a minute in silence ; then she looked up 
 and said : 
 
 . "I ought to do what Mr. Stephen wishes. Do you know 
 what he wants me to do?" 
 
 "You are to be companion to me, my dear." 
 
 "I am very fond of fairy tales," she said; "but I have 
 never read one more strange and beautiful than this." 
 
 "Let me show you how to put on your gloves, dear," she 
 said. "Yes, you have got a small hand, and a beautifully- 
 shaped one, too. Strange, small hands are a sure sign of 
 high birth." 
 
 "Perhaps I am a princess in disguise. No! I am a 
 woodman's daughter in the disguise of a princess, that 
 is it."
 
 136 ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 Mrs. Davenant looked at her curiously. 
 
 "You are not ashamed of being a woodman's daughter, 
 Una," she said; "but yet perhaps the time will come 
 when you will ' 
 
 Una's opened-eyed surprise stopped her. 
 
 "Ashamed?" she echoed, with mild astonishment. 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I I don't know. Never mind, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Davenant, as the brougham stopped. 
 
 "You are a strange child, and and you say such 
 strange things so naturally that I am puzzled to know how 
 to speak to you." 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 As the days passed on, Mrs. Davenant grew to under- 
 stand more fully the innocent but frank and brave nature 
 of the beautiful girl whom her son Stephen had so strange- 
 ly committed to her charge; grew to understand and to 
 lore her, and, bit by bit, her nervousness and timidity wore 
 off in Una's presence. Insensibly she grew to lean and 
 fely on the girl, who, with all her innocence and ignorance 
 of the world, was so gently calm and self-possessed, and 
 Una, in return, lavished her love Upon the timid, shrink- 
 ing Woman. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant had heard no word from Stephen; she 
 was accustomed to such silence, and almost dreaded to 
 hear, lest it should be a message tearing Una from her 
 side. She did not know that Stephen was master of Hurst 
 Leigh and ill the immense wealth of Ealph Davenant. 
 
 Una did not know that Jack Newcombe was back here in 
 London, almost within half an hour of her. When she 
 thought of her father and mother there in Warden, it was 
 always with the confident trust that they were well, for 
 she felt that if it were otherwise, Gideon would somehow 
 let her know. She was quite ignorant that the cottage 
 was empty and deserted. 
 
 Indeed, there was not much time for thought. Day 
 
 nftor rlay brought its succession of wonderful sights and 
 
 -- as the little green brougham bore them about
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 137 
 
 town, and Mrs. Davenant showed her all the marvels of 
 the great city. 
 
 Una was dazzled, bewildered sometimes; but her in- 
 stinctive good taste helped her to keep back all extrav- 
 agant expressions of surprise on her voyage through Fairy- 
 land. 
 
 One day, however, an exclamation of delight escaped 
 her, as she came in sight of a jeweler's window, opposite 
 which the brougham had stopped. 
 
 To her who had only read of precious stones, and re- 
 garded them as objects almost fabulous, the window looked 
 as if it contained the wealth of the Indies and of Aladdin's 
 palace combined. 
 
 They entered and Mrs. Davenant asked to see some 
 ladies' watches, selected one and a handsome albert, and, 
 with a smile, arranged them at Una's waist, in which, to 
 her equal amazement, she found a pocket already provided. 
 
 Pale with emotion, she could not utter a word, and to 
 hide the tears that sprang into her eyes, turned aside to 
 look at a case containing a magnificent set of brilliants. 
 The jeweler politely unlocked the case, and placed the 
 bracelet in her hand. 
 
 "A really magnificent set. It is sold. They were pur- 
 chased by Lady Isabel Earlsley." 
 
 "Lady Earlsley/' said Mrs. Davenant. "Ah, yes; she 
 is fond of diamonds, is she not ?" 
 
 "Yes, and of other precious stones, too, madam. She 
 has excellent taste and discrimination. Perhaps you have 
 seen her set of sapphires ?" 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Davenant, in her quiet way, "I have 
 met Lady Earlsley, but I have not seen them." 
 
 The jeweler opened an iron safe, and took out a case 
 containing a superb, a unique set of sapphires, and handed 
 them to her. 
 
 "This is it I have it to alter. They are the purest in 
 the world finer even than her ladyship's rubies, which are 
 considered, but wrongly, matchless." 
 
 Una stared open-eyed, and the jeweler, pleased by her 
 enthusiasm and admiration, took the set from its case and 
 laid it in her hands. 
 
 As Una was bending over them fascinated, a handsome
 
 138 ONLY ONE LOVE; OB, 
 
 carriage drew up, and the shop door was opened by a foot- 
 man in rich livery. 
 
 Una looked up, and saw a beautiful girl who, pausing in 
 the doorway, stood regarding her. 
 
 The eyes of the two girls met, Una's with an instant 
 frank admiration in her calm depths a curious, half- 
 amazed, but also admiring stare in the bright, dark eyes 
 of the other. 
 
 The jeweler glanced from the new-comer to the gems 
 in Una's lap, and changed color. Mrs. Davenant started 
 nervously, and turned pale. 
 
 With a quick, bird-like, but thoroughly graceful move- 
 ment, the richly-dressed lady turned, and with a smile of 
 recognition, bowed. 
 
 "Mrs. " she said, and hesitated. 
 
 "Davenant," said Mrs. Davenant. "How do you do, 
 Lady Earlsley?" 
 
 Lady Isabel Earlsley, the great heiress and queen of 
 fashion, held out her hand in her quick, impulsive way, 
 but turned her quick glance on Una, whose eyes had never 
 left the dark, bewitching face. 
 
 "Your daughter, Mrs. Davenant?" 
 
 Poor Mrs. Davenant trembled with nervous agitation. 
 
 "No no a young friend, Miss Kolfe," she answered, 
 tremulously. 
 
 Lady Bell went straight up to Una and held out her 
 hand, her eyes fixed on the now flushed face. 
 
 "How do you do ?" she said, in the almost blunt fashion , 
 which her admirers declared so charming, and which, 
 though envious tongues declared an affectation, was a per- 
 fectly natural consequence of her early life. 
 
 Una put her hand in the delicate white gloved one, and 
 the two women looked at each other for a moment in 
 silence. , 
 
 Was it possible at that moment that some prophetic 
 instinct whispered to the heart of each that the threads of 
 both their lives were doomed to be entangled together? 
 v j 3. suddenly remembered that she had in her 
 
 land the jewels belonging to this young lady, and with a 
 grave smile she put them back in their case. 
 
 You are looking at my sapphires, I see," said Lady
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 13!> 
 
 Bell, in a tone which, set the soul of the alarmed jeweler 
 at rest. "Do you admire them? Are they fine, do you 
 think?" 
 
 Una smiled. 
 
 "I do not know. They are very beautiful. I have never 
 seen anything like them before." 
 
 "Really," said Lady Bell, with a nod; "I don't care for 
 them. They don't suit me; there is not enough color in 
 them." Then, turning to the jeweler, she said, in that 
 quiet tone of command which for the first time fell upon 
 Una's ears : "Give me the rubies, please." 
 
 The man hastened to hand her a case from the safe, 
 and Lady Bell placed the contents in Una's lap. 
 
 "Ah !" she said, with a smile, as Una's eyes opened wide 
 with admiration, at once childish and yet dignified, "you 
 are of my opinion, too. But the sapphires would suit you 
 best. I wish I were your husband." 
 
 Una looked up with a smile of grave astonishment ; and 
 Lady Bell turned with a light laugh to Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 "How puzzled she looks ! I mean," she went on to Una, 
 "that if I were your husband I would give you the sapphire 
 set ; though a lover would be more suitable, would it not ?" 
 
 Then seeing Una's grave, open-eyed wonder, Lady Bell 
 turned to Mrs. Davenant, and in a low tone, said : 
 
 "Who is she, Mrs. Davenant ? has she just come out of a 
 convent? She is simply lovely; her eyes haunt me who 
 is she?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant stammered, and fidgeted speechlessly. 
 
 "Ah!" said Lady Bell, quickly, in the same low tone. 
 "You think I'm rude and ill-bred. They all do when I 
 ask a simple question, or show the slightest interest in 
 anything." She glanced at Una lingeringly : "I mustn't 
 ask, I suppose?" 
 
 "I I she is new to London," said Mrs. Davenant. "It 
 is her first day " 
 
 "Her first day !" echoed Lady Bell, her eyes twinkling. 
 "Do you mean that she was never in London before ? How 
 I envy her; I who am sick and weary of it! Yes, the 
 glamour is on her j I can see it in her eyes on her face. 
 She is like some beautiful wild bird who has settled on an 
 inhabited island for the first time, and is marveling at the
 
 140 ONLY OXE LOVE: OS, 
 
 strange sights and faces look at her!" and she touched 
 Mrs. Davenant's arm. 
 
 Una, quite unconscious of their scrutiny, was sitting 
 looking dreamily into the street with its ceaseless throng 
 of carriages and" people. Lady Bell had hit upon a happy 
 simile; she looked like some beautiful bird, half stupefied 
 by the strange life moving around her. 
 " Mrs. Davenant rose ; but Lady Bell, with a gentle press- 
 ure, forced her back into her seat. 
 
 "Not this minute; leave her for a minute. See what a 
 beautiful picture she makes ! New to London ! Do you 
 know what will happen when London finds that she is in 
 its midst?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant looked up helplessly. She, too, looked 
 like a bird like some frightened pigeon in the clutch of 
 a glittering hawk. 
 
 "You can't guess," went on Lady Bell, with a smile. 
 "Well, it will make a queen of her all London will be at 
 her feet within a month, and I I shall be dethroned." 
 
 The last few words were spoken murmured almost 
 inaudible, and in a tone that was half sad, half mocking. 
 But suddenly her mood changed ; and with a smile that lit 
 up her face, and seemed to dance like a flash of sunlight 
 from eyes to lips and back again, she said : 
 
 "At any rate be mine the credit of discovering her. I am 
 the first at the shrine of the new goddess !" and touching 
 Una's hand with the top of her gloved finger, she said: 
 "Miss Rolfe, Mrs. Davenant has been kind enough to 
 promise to come and see me tomorrow night. Are you 
 fond of dancing?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Una, with a smile. "I do not know 
 how to dance " 
 
 ^Heavens !" murmured Lady Bell. 
 
 forget ' Lad y Bell >" murmured poor Mrs. Davenant. 
 yes ' ? es; T rem ember," said Lady Bell, hastily, 
 you will come and see how you like it, won't you ?" 
 Una looked at Mrs. Davenant inquiringly, and Ladv Bell 
 looked from one to the other impatiently. 
 
 JJQ ; say 1T,' prav< Mrs Davenant," she said, with 
 ' dark > bn 8 nt eyes. "I have set my heart upon it, and a
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? Ill 
 
 disappointment is intolerable. Besides, why should you say 
 'No?' You would like to come?" 
 
 "Yes, I should like to come/' said Una gravely. 
 
 Lady Bell looked at her as if fascinated. 
 
 "From a convent, certainly," she murmured. 
 
 "Then it's settled. Eemember! I shall look for you 
 shall wait for you with impatience. Mrs. Davenant, I 
 count upon you." 
 
 "But but I cannot go out, Lady Earlsley I am in 
 mourning." 
 
 Lady Bell sighed impatiently. 
 
 "I am so sorry ! I have never set my heart upon anything 
 so much in my life," she said. "Something tells me that 
 we shall be great friends ! Are you fond of jewels, lace, 
 books ? what are you specially fond of ?" And she seemed 
 to dazzle Una with her smile. "You shall see them all 
 everything. Yes, let her come, and I will take such care of 
 her as if she were something too precious to be touched ; she 
 shall not leave my side all the evening. Let her come, 
 Mrs. Davenant !" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant paled and flushed in turn. What would 
 Stephen say would he be displeased or gratified? What 
 should she do? She could not resist the half-imploring, 
 half-commanding eyes which Lady Bell flashed upon her, 
 and at last murmured a frightened "Yes." 
 
 With a smile that seemed to set the diamonds scintillat- 
 ing, Lady Bell shook hands with Mrs. Davenant, and tak- 
 ing Una's, held it for a moment in silence, then, with a 
 sudden gravity, she said : 
 
 "Good-bye. I will take care of you. I will be your 
 chaperon. We shall meet again," and was gone. 
 
 So interested and absorbed had she been in Una that she 
 had quite forgotten her purpose in entering the shop, and 
 had gone without another word to the jeweler. 
 
 He showed no surprise, however, but smiled complacently 
 as he put the jewels back into their cases, being quite used 
 to Lady Bell's vagaries, and he bowed Mrs. Davenant and 
 Una out with increased respect and deference. 
 
 Lady Bell, attended by the two footmen, entered her 
 carriage, and Mrs. Fellowes, her friend and companion,
 
 142 OXLY OXE LOVE : OK, 
 
 who had been sleeping peacefully, awoke with a little 
 
 start. 
 
 "Well, my dear, have you got the rubies ?" 
 
 "The rubies?'' said Lady Bell. "No, I quite forgot 
 them/" 
 
 "Forgot them !" said Mrs. Fellowes. 
 
 "Yes. What are stupid rubies compared with an angel?'' 
 
 "My dear Lady Bell F exclaimed Mrs. Fellows, "what 
 are you talking about ?" 
 
 Lady Bell leaned back with her hands folded in her lap, 
 and her eyes musingly staring at nothing. 
 
 "Yes, an angel," she repeated. "I never believed in them 
 until today, but I have seen one this morning in a jew- 
 eler's shop." 
 
 "Lady Bell, how strangely you talk. I am getting 
 alarmed." 
 
 "You always are," said Lady Bell, coolly. "I repeat, 
 I have seen an angel. You are always trying to flatter me 
 by talking of my beauty and such nonsense; but I have 
 seen today a real beauty. Not a mere pretty pet mortal 
 like myself, but one of the celestials ! With eyes like a wild 
 bird's, and a lady, too, I'll be sworn !" 
 
 "My dear Bell, what language!" murmured Mrs. Fel- 
 lowes. 
 
 "A perfect lady; her hands, her voice would vouch for 
 that. Her voice is like a harp. If I had been a man I 
 should have fallen in love with her on the spot." 
 
 _ "Fallen in love," said Mrs. Fellowes. "My dear Bell," 
 with a politely suppressed yawn, "I am half inclined to 
 think you have taken leave of your senses, and you will 
 drive me out of mine. One night it is a young man whom 
 we nearly run over ; a I must say a tipsy young man." 
 
 "No ; he had only taken too much wine." 
 
 "Well, if that isn't being tipsy 
 
 "Don't, don't," said Lady Bell, pl 
 
 _._, ___, pleadingly; "we might 
 have killed him." 
 
 T don't know that he would have been much loss to the 
 world at large," said Mrs. Fellowes. 
 
 "Home !" said Lady Bell to the footman ; and she sank 
 back with a brilliant flush on her face.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR ? 143 
 
 Mrs. Davenant drove home also, and in considerable per- 
 turbation. What had she done ? What would Stephen say? 
 
 Fortunately for that young man's peace of mind, he was 
 resting at ease at Hurst Leigh, little dreaming that Lady 
 Bell, or any one else, would meet Una, and coax her out of 
 his mother's nerveless hands. 
 
 Una, with quick sympathy, saw that her companion was 
 distressed, and with a gentle touch of her hand, said : 
 
 "You do not like me to go to this lady's house. I will 
 not go. No ; I will not go." 
 
 "My dear," she replied, with a sigh, "it isn't in our 
 hands now. You don't know Lady Bell nor do I very 
 well ; but I know enough of her to be convinced that if you 
 do not go tomorrow night, she would come and fetch 
 you, though she left all her guests to do so." 
 
 "Is she then so so accustomed to having her own way ?" 
 
 "Always; she always has her own way. She is rich 
 very, very rich and petted; and she is even more than 
 that ; she she I don't know how to explain myself. Well, 
 my dear, she is a sort of queen of society, and more pow- 
 erful than many real queens." 
 
 "So that when she commands such as I am I must obey," 
 said Una, with her low, musical laugh. 
 
 "Just so," said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh. "But yov 
 will be careful, my dear. I mean, don't don't let her put 
 you forward, remind her of her promise to keep you at her 
 side." 
 
 "I think I would rather not go." 
 
 "Don't be frightened, my dear," said Mrs. Davenant, 
 kindly ; but Una's calm, steady look of response showed her 
 that there was no fear in the young, innocent'heart. 
 
 "No, I am not frightened," she said. "I do not know 
 what I am to fear." 
 
 Having consented to Una's going, Mrs. Davenant lost no 
 time in making the few necessary preparations. She se- 
 lected a plain but rich evening dress, set her own maid to 
 make the required alterations, selected from her own store 
 a sort of old Honiton, and gave orders that some white 
 flowers should be bought at Covent Garden the next 
 morning. 
 
 "White flowers, my dear," she said, nervously. "Because
 
 144 ONLY OXE LOVE ; OE, 
 
 I I am D ot sure that Stephen would not consider that 
 
 your being in the house with me you are not in mourning. 
 But, then, you are no relation, my dear." 
 "I wish I were," said Una, kissing her. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 At nine o'clock the next evening the quiet-looking green 
 brougham came round to the door, and took them rapidly 
 to Park Lane. 
 
 Una had already grown almost weary of staring out of 
 the carriage window, but her wonder and interest revived 
 as she saw in the dusky twilight the green trees and flowers 
 in the most beautiful park in the world, and amazed at the 
 magnificent buildings past which they rolled. 
 
 Presently the brougham drew up at a corner house facing 
 the park; an awning was suspended from the gateway to 
 the pavement, and three footmen in splendid liveries, which 
 she recognized as those she had seen worn by the servants 
 attending Lady Bell's carriage, were standing to receive 
 the guests ; one of them opened the brougham door and es- 
 corted them into the hall, which seemed to Una, with its 
 flowers and mirrors, its rich hangings and statues, a fairy 
 palace, and was about to usher them into the drawing-room, 
 when, upon hearing Mrs. Davenant's name, he bowed, and 
 took them into a small room at the side, which was Lady 
 Bell's boudoir. 
 
 "I will tell her ladyship," he said. 
 Una had scarcely time to take in the exquisite beauty of 
 the room, with its antique furniture and costly knicknacks, 
 when the door opened and Lady Bell entered. She was 
 exquisitely dressed ; diamonds the diamonds Una had seen 
 at the jeweler's glittering in her hair and on her neck 
 and on her arms, and seemed to Una like some vision 
 which at a breath would vanish and leave the room to its 
 subdued twilight again. 
 
 With outstretched hands she came toward them, with 
 her eyes dancing and her cheeks flushed. 
 
 You have kept your word and brought my wild bird ! 
 
 knew you would come," and she took a hand' of each, but 
 
 suddenly reached up and kissed Una. "Yes, I felt that you
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR ? 145 
 
 would come, but it is good of you all the same, and to 
 show you that I am grateful, I will let you go at once, this 
 minute, dear Mrs. Davenant !" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant looked relieved. 
 
 "Thank you ! thank you, Lady Bell !" she said. "You 
 you " 
 
 "Will take care of your bird? Yes, that I will. You 
 may trust her to me; not a feather shall be ruffled." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant murmured something about the time she 
 would come for her, and then with a timid look from one 
 to the other was gone. 
 
 "And now," said Lady Bell, "let me look at you," as if 
 she had not been doing so ever since she entered the room. 
 
 "My dear, my dear, you are " she stopped short. "No, 
 
 I'll not be the first to teach you vanity. But tell me, do 
 you ever look in your glass, Miss Eolfe Miss Eolfe, I don't 
 like that name, I mean between you and me. My name is 
 Bell, and yours is " 
 
 "Mine is Una." 
 
 "Una! That is delightful! And have you your lion? 
 Where is he?" 
 
 Una had never read the story of "Una and the Lion," 
 and looked calmly puzzled. 
 
 "Well, if you have not one already, you soon will have. 
 You don't understand me. I am glad of that. But will 
 you come now ? This is a very, very quiet little party, but 
 you may be amused. And I will keep you by my side all 
 the evening. Come," and she drew Una's arm through her 
 own white one and led her through the corridor into the 
 ball-room. 
 
 It was not a large room. Lady Bell detested huge and 
 crowded assemblies too much to permit them at her own 
 house, but it was, as a ball-room, perfect. There was 
 light, and just enough light, to show the tasteful magnifi- 
 cence of the decorations, and nothing of that fearful glare 
 from innumerable lights, and their reflections in huge mir- 
 rors, which make most ball-rooms so trying and unbearable. 
 The band had just commenced as they entered, and the 
 whole scene, the beautiful room with its soft draperies of 
 Persian damask, the Venetian mirrors, the rich dresses of 
 the ladies, and the soul-moving strains of the best band im
 
 146 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 London, for the moment overawed and startled the girl 
 fresh from the primeval forest. 
 
 For a moment her eyes dilated almost with fear, and she 
 unconsciously drew back, but Lady Bell, with a gentle 
 pressure of the arm, drew her forward, and skillfully avoid- 
 ing the dancers, took her to the further end of the room, 
 where, in a recess lined with ferns and tropical plants, were 
 arranged some seats so placed as to be almost hidden from 
 the room, while they allowed the sitter a full view of it. 
 
 Lady Bell drew a fauteuil still further into the recess, 
 and playfully forced Una into it. 
 
 "There, my wild bird, is your cage. You can see all the 
 world without being seen, and here you and I will take a 
 peep at it. Now, don't you want to know all their names 
 and all about them?" 
 
 Una smiled. She was a little pale and was trembling 
 slightly. 
 
 "No ; I am too surprised and astonished at present. How 
 beautiful it is, and how lovely they are." 
 
 "The women?" said Lady Bell, with a laugh, and a 
 glance at the unconscious face beside her, which she knew 
 outshone all others there. "You think so! Well, there 
 are some pretty women here. There is Lady Clarence 
 the one in light blue and swansdown and Mrs. Cantrip 
 she was the beauty last season. You don't understand ?" 
 
 "Last season !" said Una. "Who is the beauty this ?" 
 
 Lady Bell laughed and flushed a little. 
 
 "Never mind, child," she said. "One who doesn't care a 
 farthing about it, at any rate. But look, do you see that 
 tall lady there, dancing with the short man with whiskers ? 
 She is the Countess of Pierrepoint, and he is the Duke of 
 Garnum " 
 
 "A duke ?" said Una, surprised. 
 
 "You expected to see a man seven feet high in his ducal 
 robes ?" she said. "See those two men who have just come 
 in ? The dark one is Sir Arkroyd Hetley, the other, the boy 
 --the baby they call him is a marquis, the Marquis of 
 Dalrymple. They are always together. They are coming 
 to shake hands with me." 
 
 Una drew further into the shade as the two men, after 
 hunting about the room, came up to the recess, and listened
 
 WHO WAS THE I1E1K? 1 17 
 
 as they paid their compliments and seemed anxious to re- 
 main, but Lady Bell sent them oil' quite plainly and dis- 
 tinctly, and sat looking toward the door, and presently she 
 ceased talking, and her bright, beautiful face grew quiet 
 and almost sad, certainly wistful, and at last she sighed 
 and murmured : 
 
 "No, he will not come." 
 
 "Who will not come ?" said Una. "Are you expecting any 
 one ?" 
 
 "Did I speak ?" she said. "Yes, I am expecting someone, 
 but he will not come. People one expects and wants never 
 do never do. You will find that out in time, wild bird ; 
 you will find ah !" and she started and turned pale, and 
 her hand, which had been laid on Una's arm, closed over it 
 with a sudden grip and flutter. 
 
 Una looked up, and her face went deadly white. 
 
 The room seemed to spin round with her, and the lights 
 to flood her brain and paralyze her, for there, towering 
 above the throng, stood Jack Newcombe. 
 
 Jack Newcombe not in his rough tweed suit, but in 
 evening dress; Jack, not with the frank, tender, pleasant 
 smile which always rested upon his face as it appeared in 
 her dreams, but with a cold, half-irritable, and wholly 
 bored expression. 
 
 Slowly she rose and glided into the shadow of the recess 
 and hid herself, her heart beating wildly, her whole form 
 trembling with a strange ecstasy of mingled fear and de- 
 light. 
 
 At last she saw him again. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Poor Jack! How came he to be in Lady Bell's ball- 
 room? 
 
 The morning after she had nearly driven over him he 
 woke to find Leonard Dagle, his friend and fellow lodger, 
 standing beside his bed and looking down at him with a 
 grave smile on his intellectual face. 
 
 "Hallo !" said Jack, "the house on fire?" 
 
 "Not at present," said Leonard, "though it would soon 
 be if you lived in it alone. Why don't you blow your
 
 148 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 candle out, and not clmck your slippers at it ? How are 
 you this morning?" 
 
 "How am I?" said Jack, staring. "How should I be? 
 Quite well of course," which was quite true, for Jack and 
 the headache had not been introduced to each other. 
 
 "That's all right/' said Leonard, with a smile. "Perhaps 
 you remember last night's tragic occurrence, then?" 
 
 Jack thought for a moment, then shook his head gravely. 
 
 "Len, I'm an idiot. I always was. It's a good job 
 idiocy isn't catching or you'd have caught it of me long 
 ago. I made a confounded idiot of myself last night. It 
 was all Dalrymple and Hetley's fault, and I wish they'd 
 knock champagne off the club wine list. Did I take too 
 much, Len?" 
 
 "What do you think ?" said Leonard, grimly. 
 
 "I'm afraid I did. For the first time in my life, or 
 nearly but I didn't touch a card, Len." 
 
 "I knew you wouldn't do that." 
 
 "No, a promise is a promise with me," said Jack. "And 
 I didn't drink much, Len, 'pon my honor ; but I was upset, 
 and when a man is upset he " 
 
 "He generally tries to get run over," said Leonard, with 
 a smile. 
 
 Jack stared, then he laughed. 
 
 "By George! yes. I remember!" 
 
 "But always does not get the luck to be rescued by a 
 beautiful young lady who is an heiress and who, in- 
 stead of giving him in charge for blocking the queen's high- 
 way, brings him home in her brougham." 
 
 "It was a kind thing to do, certainly," said Jack, with a 
 yawn. 
 
 "Kind is a mild way of putting it," remarked Leonard. 
 
 "It was more than I deserved," said Jack ; "much more, 
 and she's a brick." 
 
 "The man who calls Lady Isabel Earlsley a brick should 
 be a bold man." 
 
 At last Jack looked up, and pressing his chair back, said : 
 And now, old man, let's hold a council of war. Subject 
 
 3 be considered: the future of a young man who has been 
 cut off with a shilling by George! the poor old fallow
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 14!) 
 
 didn't even leave me that who knows no trade, who cannot 
 dig, and to beg is ashamed, and who is penniless." 
 
 "Quite penniless, Jack?" asked Leonard. 
 
 Jack rose, and sauntering to a drawer, pulled forth an 
 old tobacco pouch, and pouring the contents on to the table 
 proceeded to count the small very small heap of coin. 
 
 "Twenty-one pounds six-and-fourpence farthing no; 
 it's a brass button and a brass button." 
 
 "Can't carry on this way long with that small amount 
 of ammunition, Jack." 
 
 "Just so, old Solomon. Well, what's to be done ?" 
 
 "You might enlist." 
 
 "Get shot, and break your heart. No, Fm too fond of 
 you, Len. Go on; anything else?" 
 
 "Upon my word, you can't do anything." 
 
 "Nary thing," admitted Jack, with frank candor. 
 
 "What do men well-born and high-bred men like 
 you " 
 
 "What will you take to drink?" said Jack, bowing low. 
 
 "Who have no money, and no brains " 
 
 Jack bowed again, and pitched the sugar tongs at him. 
 
 "What do they do? They generally marry an heiress, 
 Jack." 
 
 "I shall never marry." 
 
 "I've heard that remark before. The last it was from a 
 man who married a fortnight afterward." 
 
 "I'm not going to marry in a fortnight. Go ahead." 
 
 "I've done," said Leonard with a shrug. 
 
 "Solomon is dried up," said Jack. "You don't keep a 
 large stock of wisdom on hand, old man." 
 
 "I've given you the best I've got, and good advice too, 
 with a foundation to go upon. Your heiress is ready to 
 your hand." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Jack. 
 
 Leonard was about to reply, when the housekeeper en- 
 tered and brought him a card. He looked at it ; it bore Lady 
 Isabel Earlsley's name, and on the back was written : 
 
 "To inquire whether Mr. Newcombe was hurt last 
 night?" 
 
 Leonard pitched it across the table, as an answer to 
 Jack's question.
 
 150 OXLY OXH LOVE; OR, 
 
 Jack road the card and flushed hotly, then threw it 
 down again. 
 
 Leonard took up a piece of paper, and rapidly wrote : 
 
 "Mr. Xcwcoinbe's compliments, and he was not in any 
 way injured by last night's accident, which he deeply re- 
 grets as having caused Lady Earlsley so much trouble," 
 and gave it to the housekeeper. 
 
 "What have you written ?'' asked Jack sulkily. 
 
 "What you are too much of a bear to write," said Leon- 
 ard, with a smile "an answer and an apology. Jack, you 
 are a favorite of fortune. Half the men in London would 
 give the forefinger of their right hand to get such a mes- 
 sage from Lady Bell. I know her " 
 
 "So do I," broke in Jack, roughly ; "I heard all about her 
 at the club last night. Hetley and Dalrymple bored me to 
 death about her. She's a great heiress and a beauty, and 
 all the rest of it. I know, and I don't want to hear any 
 more." 
 
 Jack went up to Len and laid his hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Forgive me, old fellow; but I my heart is full. Onlv 
 one woman in the world has any interest for me. and she 
 has gone up to the sky again, I suppose. What do I care 
 for Lady Bell, or Lady anyone else? I tell you I laid 
 awake half the night thinking of that beautiful face, and 
 dreamed of her eyes the rest of the night ; and I'd give all 
 the world if I had it, to find her. And much good it would 
 do me if I succeeded ? I couldn't ask her to share twenty- 
 one pounds six and a brass button !" 
 
 "Forgive me, Jack," said Leonard, quietly. "I know 
 what you mean. I'm in love myself. But but at any rate 
 you can't treat Lady Bell rudely. You must call and 
 thank her." 
 
 "Confound Tier !" said Jack, and hurried out of the room. 
 
 Leonard looked after him, and then went on with his 
 work. He saw no more of him until late in the evening, 
 when Jack came in and threw himself into a chair looking 
 weary if not exhausted. 
 
 ^'What have you been doing, Jack?" asked Leonard. 
 Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay," replied 
 Jack, grimly. 
 
 Leonard nodded.
 
 .WHO WAS THE HEIR? 1-51 
 
 "I've been walking about ever since I loft you, with 
 scarcely a rest. I've walked through every thorough Lire in 
 London. I've looked into windows .and into shops. 1 've 
 been warned off and told to move on by the police, who 
 thought I was a burglar on the search for a job ; and here 
 I am and there is she as far off as ever. And yet I feel- 
 Heavens knows why that she is here in London. Len, if 
 you smile I shall knock you down." 
 
 "I was never farther from smiling than I am at this 
 moment," said Leonard quietly. 
 
 "Do you know what I would do if if the squire had left 
 me any money?" went on Jack, fiercely; "I would spend 
 every penny of it in searching for her. I'd have a hundred 
 a thousand detectives at work. I'd never give them rest 
 night or day till they found her." 
 
 "And then ?" said Leonard. ' 
 
 Jack groaned and lit his pipe. Leonard looked at him. 
 
 "I thought you had gone to call on Lady Earlsley," he 
 said. 
 
 Jack looked very much as if he really meant to knock 
 him down, and marched off to bed. 
 
 When he came in to breakfast the next morning Leonard 
 noticed that he was dressed in proper walking attire, in- 
 stead of the loose, free and easy, well-worn suit of cheviot, 
 but he said nothing. Jack looked up. 
 
 "You are staring at my get-up, Len. Well, I'll do it; 
 but mind it is only to please you. What should I care 
 what she thinks ? though I ought to do it, I know. I'll call 
 and thank her, and then let there be an end of it. I can't 
 bear any chaff of that sort even from you, old fellow." 
 
 Leonard nodded without a word, for he saw that the once 
 frank face had lost its careless sang froid expression, and 
 looked harassed and even haggard. 
 
 Jack smoked a pipe in silence, watching Leonard's rap- 
 idly moving pen; then, without a word, went out. 
 
 Two hours later he came in, and with an air of relief 
 and even a smile, said: 
 
 "Well, I've done it, and it's over." 
 
 "Well ?" said Leonard, curiously. 
 
 "Well, nothing; she wasn't at home," said Jack, tri- 
 umphantly.
 
 152 OXLY OXE LOVE : Oft, 
 
 "Xot at home. What sort of a place was it?" 
 
 "The best ])lacc in Park Lane," said Jack. "Xo end of 
 flunkeys about, and the rest of it. Look-; as if she rolled 
 in gold, as she must do to have the place at all." 
 
 "And you didn't see her?" asked Leonard. 
 
 Jack cokied and frowned. 
 
 "What a curious beggar you are! Yes, I did see her; 
 her carriage drove up just as I was going away/' 
 
 "And you spoke to her?" 
 
 "Xo, I just raised my hat and walked away/' said 
 Jack, gravely. 
 
 Leonard shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "She will think you a boor." 
 
 "So I am," said Jack. "What does it matter? Tell me 
 something about yourself. I am sick of myself. What 
 have you been doing?" 
 
 Leonard's pale face flushed. 
 
 "I've been to Cheltenham Terrace," he said. 
 
 "Well, did you see her?" 
 
 "Xo," said Leonard, sadly. "I saw that the blinds in 
 the upper windows were down, and I went to the next door, 
 and asked if anyone was ill." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Yes, her grandfather, old Mr. Treheme, was ill, they 
 said, and I came away." 
 
 "Well," said Jack, "at any rate you know where to find 
 her while I " 
 
 "I saw her shadow on the blind," said Leonard, simply. 
 "I could swear to it among a hundred. I watched her 
 beautiful profile for an hour in that railway carriage." 
 
 "Treherne, Laura Treherne," said Jack. "It is a pretty 
 name. What took her to Hurst Leigh that night, I 
 wonder? The night the squire died. Len, it is a romance, 
 but I envy you. If I knew where Una lived I'd hang about 
 the house night and day until I saw her. Len, do you know 
 what it is to be hungry, to be parched and dried up with 
 thirst so that yon would give all you possessed ten years 
 of your life for a draught of water? That is just how I 
 feel when I think of that beautiful face, with its soft 
 brown eyes and innocent smile ! And when do I not think 
 of her?"
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIE? 153 
 
 "And you didn't speak to Lady Bell?" said Leonard. 
 
 Jack made a hasty explanation and made for the door, 
 nearly running against the housekeeper. 
 
 "A letter for you, sir," she said. 
 
 Jack tore it open, read it and threw it to Leonard. 
 
 The envelope was a dainty gray color, and stamped with 
 an elaborate coat of arms, with the initials I. E. in cipher 
 underneath, and inside was a card of invitation to a ball, 
 filled in by a lady's delicate hand, with a line in addition. 
 
 "With Lady Earlsley's compliments and regret that she 
 was from home when Mr. ISTewcombe called." 
 
 "Jack, what condescension. You must go!" 
 
 Jack stammered, and argued, and protested. He was 
 too honest to plead that he was in mourning; but he sim- 
 ply swore that he would not go. 
 
 The day came round and the evening fell, and Jack 
 came into the sitting-room in evening dress, his tall form 
 seeming to fill the room. 
 
 Leonard used to say that it was a treat to see Jack in 
 evening dress ; that he was one of the few men who looked 
 to advantage in it, and he turned from his eternal pen and 
 ink to look at him with an approving smile. 
 
 "Yes," said Jack, fiercely, "I am going ; I am a fool, but 
 how can a man stand against such a perpetual old nuisance 
 as you are ? But mind, I am just going in and out again, 
 and after this there is an end of it. I shall enlist !" and out 
 he went. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 Jack called a hansom of course he could have walked, 
 but he had no idea of economy or the value of money and 
 was driven to Park Lane. 
 
 Half a dozen times on the way he felt inclined to stop 
 the cab, jump out and go to the club anywhere but Lady 
 Bell's ; but nevertheless, he found himself in Park Lane, 
 and ascending the staircase. He saw at once, by a few un- 
 mistakable signs, that the party was a small and select 
 one, and furthermore, judging by the tasteful magnificence 
 of the appointments, that Lady Bell's wealth had not been 
 very much exaggerated.
 
 154 OXLY OXE LOVE : OR, 
 
 He made his way slowly, for a dance was just over, and 
 the stairs were lined, as usual, with people mostly whom 
 he knew, and had to stop to speak to. Amongst them 
 were Sir Arkroyd Hetley, and Dalrymple, of course to- 
 gether. 
 
 "Hullo, here's the Savage !'' cried Hetley. "How do you 
 do, Jack ? You've soon got on the war trail, old fellow," 
 he added in a low voice and with a significant smile. 
 
 Jack growled something and made his way into the 
 room. 
 
 For a moment he could see nothing of Lady Bell, then as 
 she came out of the fernery and advanced toward him her 
 dark eyes flashing, or rather gleaming softly, with a faint, 
 delicious color mantling on her cheeks, he felt almost the 
 same shock of surprise which had fallen on Una. 
 
 He had scarcely noticed her the other night, had scarcely, 
 indeed, seen her, and he now saw, as it were for the 
 first time, her beauty, set off and heightened by the aid of 
 one of Worth's happiest dresses, and Emanuel's diamonds. 
 In spite of himself he was dazzled, and his frank eyes 
 showed that he was. 
 
 And Lady Bell ? Well, though his face had scarcely left 
 her mind's eye since she had seen it, she was not disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 Notwithstanding the rather bored and surly not to say 
 ferocious expression which set upon it she thought 
 him handsomer than even she had remembered him. 
 
 "This is very kind of you, Mr. Newcombe," she said 
 speaking first, for Jack had contented himself with bow- 
 ing over her hand. 
 
 "Kind?" said Jack, in his straightforward way. 
 
 Lady Bell hesitated, and for the first time, perhaps, in 
 her life, smiled shyly. 
 
 "I heard they tell me that it is as difficult to get Mr. 
 Xewcombe to a dance as a prince of the blood royal." 
 
 "It isn't much in my way," said Jack, quietly ; "I am not 
 a dancing man that is, l" don't care for it." 
 
 "Then it was kind," said Lady Bell, recovering her cour- 
 age and smiling at him with that wonderful smile which 
 Hetley and all the rest of them talked so much about.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIK? 155 
 
 Jack looked at her. Yes, certainly she was very beauti- 
 ful, and there was a subtle something in that smile. 
 
 His ill-temper began to disappear. 
 
 "I should say," he said, "that a man ought to feel lucky 
 at the chance of getting here/' 
 
 "They also told me," said Lady Bell, archly, "that you 
 never paid compliments." 
 
 "Someone seems to have been taking a great deal of 
 trouble to make me out a regular boor," said Jack, with 
 his curt laugh. "Did they also tell you that I lived in the 
 woods up a tree, and existed on wild animals ?" 
 
 "Like a savage?" said Lady Bell, wickedly. 
 
 Jack flushed and looked at her; then her smile con- 
 quered and he laughed. 
 
 "Yes, that is what they call me, confound their impu- 
 dence! But I'm a very tame kind of a savage, Lady 
 Earlsley; I shan't scalp you." 
 
 "It wouldn't matter much, would it?" she retorted. 
 "They make such beautiful false hair now." 
 
 Jack looked down on the soft, glossy head, with its thick, 
 light coils, and smiled. 
 
 "Are you going to change your mind and scalp me, after 
 all ?" she said. "You make me tremble when you look like 
 that." 
 
 Jack laughed right out. 
 
 "No," he said; "even a savage is incapable of such 
 ingratitude. I have come to-night, Lady Earlsley, to 
 thank you for your kindness the other night, and to tell 
 you how sorry I am that that you should have had so 
 much trouble !" 
 
 And a blush managed to show itself under the tan. 
 
 Lady Bell looked down. 
 
 "It was no trouble," she said. "I was afraid that you 
 were hurt. It was very clumsy and stupid of my man." 
 
 "It was all my fault," said Jack, penitently. "I " 
 
 "Do not say any more," she said, gently, and she put 
 her finger tips on his arm. 
 
 Jack looked at her, and met her gaze, full of concealed 
 interest, and his own eyes fell before it. 
 
 They had been standing near the fernery, behind which 
 Stood Una; she could hear every word, see every look.
 
 156 ONLY OXK LOVE: OK, 
 
 Pali- and almost breathless she stood, her hands clasped 
 in front of her, her heart heating fast, her eyes fixed on 
 Jack's face. She longed to fly, yet could not move a 
 foot. Something, his very presence, his very voice, held 
 her like a chain. 
 
 She felt that if he were to turn and, seeing her, say, 
 "Follow me !" she must follow him, though it were to 
 the end of the earth. 
 
 A storm of conflicting emotions battled within her for 
 mastery; a wild delight at his presence, an intense long- 
 ing that his eyes might turn and rest on her, and at the 
 same time an awful miserable feeling, which she did not 
 know was jealousy. 
 
 How beautiful they looked, these two, Lady Bell, the 
 heiress, in her rich dress and splendid jewels, and he, 
 with his tanned face and bold, fierce eyes, his stalwart 
 frame towering above all others, and sinking them into 
 insignificance. How well matched they seemed. Why 
 why did Lady Bell smile at him like that ? No wonder 
 his face had grown brighter. Who could resist that 
 bewitching smile? 
 
 The music of a waltz commenced and recalled her to 
 a sense of her position. With a start she drew still fur- 
 ther back, so that she was quite out of sight. 
 
 "There's a dance," said Jack, in his blunt way. "I 
 would ask if you were free to give it to me, but I cannot 
 dance to-night. I am in mourning. Don't let me keep 
 you, though." 
 
 "That is a plain intimation," said Lady Bell; "but I 
 am sorry that you axe in trouble. In sober earnest it was 
 kind of you to come. I hope it was no one near to you/' 
 
 "No," said Jack, and his face clouded at the recollec- 
 tion of Hurst Leigh. "It was a very dear old friend who 
 had been very good to me." 
 
 Lady Bell inclined her head, and her voice grew won* 
 derfully soft. 
 
 I see that I must not keep you. I shall not be of- 
 U leave us at once - If I nad 
 
 - - 
 
 Now here was Jack's opportunity. Why did he not 
 seize it and go?
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 15T 
 
 "Thanks," he said; '"although 1 won't dance I'll stay 
 a little while if you'll permit me." 
 
 Lady Bell bowed. 
 
 "Thank you/' she said, almost humbly, as if he had 
 granted her a great favor, as it seemed to Una. 
 
 At this moment the great or little duke came up 
 with a smile. 
 
 "Am I fortunate enough to find you free for this, Ladv 
 Earlsley?" 
 
 Lady Bell looked at her card, carefully keeping it out of 
 his reach, and shook her head. 
 
 "I'm ' so sorry ! My partner will be here directly, I 
 expect." 
 
 The duke bowed, expressed his regret, and moved off, 
 not without a glance at Jack, who stood calm and pos- 
 sessed; and Una knew, notwithstanding all her ignorance, 
 that Lady Bell was not engaged, but had refused the duke 
 that she might keep Jack by her side ; and with this knowl- 
 edge the demon jealousy sprang into life, and made him- 
 self fully known. 
 
 With an awful aching of the heart she sank into a seat 
 and hid her face in her hands. 
 
 What right had she there she, the ignorant, untaught 
 forest girl, among these grand people? Even supposing 
 that he saw her he would not remember her, and if he 
 did he would not care to waste a glance or a word on her, 
 while such a beautiful creature as Lady Bell was willing 
 to refuse a duke for his sake. 
 
 Suddenly the brilliant scene seemed to grow dark and 
 joyless; the music sounded harsh and out of tune; all the 
 beauty had vanished, and she longed to be sitting in the 
 depths of Warden Forest. 
 
 "Your partner doesn't seem to turn up," said Jack. 
 "He's an ungrateful idiot." 
 
 Lady Bell laughed and sank down in a fauteuil just in 
 front of the recess. 
 
 "I forgive him," she said, and she swept her skirts aside 
 to make room for him. 
 
 Jack sat down, not gratefully, but quite courtly. 
 
 Lady Bell was silent, for a moment, then slie said:
 
 158 ONLY ONE LOVE; Oft, 
 
 "I would have pent a card for your friend, but I could 
 not remember bis name." 
 
 "Ob, Lien," said Jack, shaking bis head. "I'm afraid he 
 would 'not have come. He never goes out at least not to 
 this sort of thing. He's a book worm, and doesn't care 
 for the gaieties. His name is Leonard Dagle." 
 "He is a great friend of yours?" 
 
 "The best that ever man had,'' said Jack, quietly; "more 
 than a brother." 
 
 "You live with him ?" she said, with an interest only too 
 palpable to the listening Una, whom Lady Bell had quite 
 forgotten. 
 
 "Yes, we live together have done so for years always 
 shall, I hope, till- 
 He paused. 
 
 "Till death, were you going to say ?" said Lady Bell. 
 "No, I wasn't," said Jack, simply. "I was going to say 
 till I took his advice and enlisted." 
 
 "Enlisted !" she repeated, turning her beautiful face full 
 upon him. 
 
 Jack colored and frowned. 
 
 "Yes," he said, stoutly; and though he said not a word 
 more, Lady Bell knew that he was poor and in trouble. 
 
 It was just the one thing wanted to finish the romance. 
 He was poor and in trouble, while she was rich beyond 
 the dreams of avarice. Why should she not say as she 
 longed to do : . : 
 
 "You want money. See, here am I who have more than 
 I know what to do with; take some of it and make me 
 happy !" 
 
 Instead, she thought it only, and remained silent. 
 "How hot it is," she said presently. "It is more than 
 tittie to leave London. One longs for the green fields and 
 the sea." 
 
 "^It is late," said Jack. 
 
 "We are staying in town," she said, "because my father 
 is a bookworm and can only live near a library he only 
 exists elsewhere. I cannot find it in my heart to tear him 
 away from the British Museum ; but we make the best of 
 it. We are going to have a water-party to-morrow at Rich- 
 mond."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIE? 159 
 
 "Yes," said Jack. 
 
 She waited for him to ask for an invitation ; then, presa- 
 ing her lip with her fan, said: 
 
 "Will you join us?" 
 
 Jack hesitated a moment. 
 
 "I shall be delighted," he said. 
 
 "You don't look it," she said. "But I forgot savages 
 rarely smile. At any rate, we start to-morrow at twelve 
 o'clock. Sir Arkroyd is going to drive us down in Lord 
 Dalrymple's drag." 
 
 "Perhaps there isn't room," said Jack. 
 
 "Are you trying to find an excuse for not coming?" she 
 said, smiling on him. 
 
 Jack frowned, and then laughed. 
 
 "I'll come," he said. 
 
 Yes, there was a nameless charm ahout her which had 
 made itself felt already. Was it her beauty or her frank- 
 ness the latter so different to the cut-and-dried and 
 measured manner of the ordinary women of society? 
 
 "I'll come," he said. 
 
 Then he looked around. 
 
 "This is a beautiful room. Where did you get all the 
 flowers from? Some of them I never saw before in Lon- 
 don." 
 
 "Do you like them?" she said. "Many of them we 
 brought over with us from 'across the seas,' the others I 
 ransacked London to get at least, poor Mrs. Fellowes 
 did." 
 
 "Why poor?" he said. 
 
 "Because she has the misfortune to be my companion, 
 and I worry her to death." 
 
 "A pleasant death," he muttered. 
 
 "Thanks," she said. "That is the second compliment 
 you have paid me. And yet they say you are not gallant, 
 as the French have it." 
 
 "It's the heat," said Jack, in his grim way. 
 
 "You will find some ices in the ante-room there, behind 
 that lace curtain." 
 
 "Shall I get you one ?" said Jack. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Thanks ! Yes, that is the way," and she rose to point
 
 160 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 to a winding path made through the rows of ferns and 
 tropical plants. 
 
 He had to pass her in going, and in doing so he struck a 
 spray of a palm with his head ; it recoiled, and caught some 
 of its soft, spiky leaves in her hair. 
 
 She uttered a half-laughing cry, and Jack turned. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said. "I am awfully clumsy. 
 Allow me." 
 
 She bent her head toward him, laughing, and Jack dis- 
 entangled the silken threads from the great clinging leaf. 
 In doing so he again proved his clumsiness, for the silken 
 threads got round his fingers. 
 
 He could feel her soft, peach-like face against his wrist, 
 and being human his blood thrilled. 
 
 Lady Bell looked up. Her face was pale, and her eyes 
 drooping and languid. 
 
 "Are you going to scalp me after all ?" she murmured. 
 
 Jack's heart beat strangely. 
 
 "I I am very sorry," he muttered below his breath, and 
 with lowered eyes he went on. 
 
 Lady Bell looked after him and drew a long breath. A 
 sigh that almost echoed hers startled her, and turning she 
 saw Una, sitting where she had left her, with her hands 
 clasped in her lap. 
 
 "My child," said Lady Bell, "I had almost - " 
 
 "Yes, you had quite forgotten me," said Una, with a 
 strange smile. 
 
 Lady Bell flushed and looked at her. Her lovely face 
 was pale and her eyes clouded with a strange look of 
 pain and weariness. 
 
 "Forgive me,, my child," she said. "You are quite 
 pale you are tired. It is too hot. Wait ! there are some 
 ices coming." 
 
 "No, no," said Una, with a sudden shrinking. "Please 
 
 leave me do not bring him here I mean - " she stam- 
 
 ,' "* W(mld rather be alone - Go and dance, Lady 
 
 timid fawn H is '" said Lad J Bell > caressingly. 
 go and sit in the shade there. Don't be fright- 
 1 promised to take care of you "
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 1G1 
 
 "I am not frightened/' said Una, quietly, "but I would 
 rather " 
 
 "I understand," said Lady Bell, quickly; then ehe said, 
 trying to speak carelessly and toying with her fan : "Did 
 you see the gentleman I was speaking to, dear ?" 
 
 "Yes/' said Una, calmly. 
 
 "Don't you think that he is very handsome?" 
 
 Una's heart beat so fast that she could scarcely speak. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, at last. 
 
 "What a cold Diana it is !" said Lady Bell, caressingly. 
 "What an icy 'yes/ My dear, he is the handsomest man in 
 the room." 
 
 "Yes," said Una, sadly. 
 
 Lady Bell looked at her. 
 
 "I see, for all your yesses, that you don't think so," she 
 said, with a laugh. "Do you know they call him the 
 Savage, and that it is quite an achievement on my part to 
 get him here ? I made his acquaintance by accident. Mrs. 
 Fellowes is quite shocked over it.. But I always do as I 
 like. I've got a fancy, Una you'd never guess it." 
 
 "What is it?" said Una, raising her dark eyes gravely 
 to the beautiful, witching face. 
 
 Lady Bell smiled. 
 
 "I have a fancy for taming the Savage," she said, more 
 tc herseli than to Una ; "it will be so amusing." 
 
 Una turned her head aside. 
 
 "For him, do you mean ?" she asked, in a low voice. 
 
 Lady Bell stared at her, and her color came and went 
 amusedly. 
 
 "What a strange child it is ! For him ? No, for me ! 
 And yes, for him too. What right has he to pretend to 
 be invincible? Do you think I shall succeed?" 
 
 Una looked at her with an aching heart. 
 
 <r Yes," she answered ; "I think you will succeed." 
 
 "What a flatterer it is!" said Lady Bell, playfully. 
 "Hush ! here he comes ; half tamed already. Now for the 
 first lesson," and, to Una's surprise she glided from the 
 recess and was instantly lost in the crowd. A moment 
 after Una saw her dancing with the duke. 
 
 She drew back into the shadow and watched Jack. He 
 came along slowly, the ice in his hand, and looked around
 
 162 OXLY OXK LOVE ; OR, 
 
 for Lady Bell, with astonishment and something like anger 
 in his face for a moment. Then he saw her dancing with 
 the duke in the center of the room, looked round for some 
 place to put the ice down, and, seeing none convenient, 
 gently pitched it, plate and all, into a fountain, to the 
 considerable astonishment of the gold fish. 
 
 Then he sat down and thrusting his hands into his pock- 
 ets, seemed lost in thought ; his head thrown back, almost 
 touched Una's arm, and she wondered whether he would 
 be glad or sorry, or simply indifferent, if she rose and 
 stood before him, or called, him by name. 
 
 Yes, there he sat, within reach of her hand. She had 
 often dreamed of him as being near her, but it was no 
 dream now. 
 
 An infinite longing to touch, to speak to him, possessed 
 her, and if he would but turn and look at her as he had 
 looked that morning by the lake ! 
 
 She struggled hard against the temptation, and sat mo- 
 tionless, all her heart going out toward him. 
 
 If she had known that Jack, even at that moment, was 
 thinking of her, and recalling her every look and word. 
 It was one of Strauss' waltzes they were playing, but he 
 heard it not ; in his ears was the rustle of the forest trees 
 and the ripple of the lake ; before him was one of the most 
 beautiful ball-rooms in London, before him moved, in a 
 glittering pageant, the pick of London's beauty and rank, 
 but he saw them not; he was looking in fancy into the 
 lovely face of the innocent forest girl. 
 
 The dance was over, but still Lady Bell did not come; 
 couples, arm-in-arm, promenaded past him, but still Jack 
 sat, and dreaming of the girl who sat longing, longing for 
 a word or look from him, just behind him. Suddenly Una 
 felt something drop into her lap. It was a blossom from 
 one of the tropical plants. 
 
 She took it up and looked at it absently ; then, as if by 
 a sudden inspiration, she raised it to her lips and kissed it, 
 and rising, dropped it on his knee and fled. 
 
 Jack started, and stooping picked up the flower, looked 
 at it for a moment, and then turned and looked up, to see 
 whence it had come.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR ? 163 
 
 As he did so he saw reflected dimly in a mirror framed 
 in palm leaves a girl's face. 
 
 With a bound he darted to his feet, and naturally 
 enough made for the reflection; but ere he could reach the 
 mirror the face had vanished. 
 
 Pale and trembling with eagerness he turned but Una 
 had glided through the ferns and reached the anterroom 
 and came face to face with Lady Bell. 
 
 She was flushed and laughing, her eyes dancing with the 
 excitement of the dance. 
 
 "Well," she said, "where is my ice ?" 
 
 Jack, startled and bewildered, stared at her. 
 
 "I must have been dreaming," he muttered. 
 
 "Dreaming," she said. "What do you mean?" 
 
 He passed his hand over his brow. 
 
 "Your ice !" and he glanced at the fountain. "I I beg 
 your pardon. What did I do with it ? I will get you an- 
 other." 
 
 "Never mind !" said Lady Bell, laughing ; "I do not care 
 for it now ; I am too hot. Have you been asleep ?" 
 
 "Asleep !" he said, striving to recover his coolness ; 
 "nearly. What could I do when you left me ?" 
 
 "The third compliment," she said, with a smile. 
 "Where are you going now ?" for Jack, with his eyes fixed 
 on the end of the fernery, was moving slowly away. 
 
 "I I'm afraid I must go," he said. 
 
 "Good-night!" she said, turning away coldly. 
 
 Jack "pulled himself together," as he would have called 
 it, and sat down beside her. 
 
 "No," he said, "I will stay if I may." 
 
 She turned to Mm with a gentle smile. 
 
 "No; go now, please. I am not ungrateful. It was 
 very kind of you to come. You will not forget tomor- 
 row?" 
 
 "No," said Jack, fingering his crush hat. "I will not 
 forget tomorrow how could I?" 
 
 She held out her hand not a tiny, meaningless one, but 
 a long, shapely eloquent hand and put it into his broad, 
 strong one. 
 
 "Good-night !" she said, and her voice grew wondrously
 
 164 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 low and gentle in its caressing, clinging tones. "Good- 
 night !"' 
 
 Jack felt the slender fingers, warm through the thin 
 glove?, cling round his fingers. 
 
 "Good-night/' she said, hurriedly. "Good-night." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Jack walked leisurely enough through the fernery look- 
 ing this way and that in search of the phantom girl; but 
 once clear of the ball-room, he hurried through the ante- 
 rooms and down the staircase utterly ignoring the adieus 
 which were sent after him by the crowd on the stairs and 
 reached the hall. 
 
 The carriages were already taking up, and without 
 ceremony he pushed through the footmen into the open 
 air. . 
 
 "Has a carriage left just now five minutes ago?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Two or three, sir," said the footmen, and, too busy to 
 answer any further questions, he dashed off. 
 
 Jack waited just outside the stream of light for nearly 
 an hour, his coat collar turned up, his hands thrust in his 
 pockets. But though many a beautiful face passed him 
 and was driven away, Una's lovely face was not amongst 
 them. 
 
 "I must have fallen asleep and been dreaming," he mut- 
 tered. "How could she possibly have been there?" 
 
 Then he called a hansom, and was driven to the club. 
 
 His blood was on fire, his brain was in a whirl; two 
 faces Una's and Lady Bell's seemed to dance before his 
 eyes. Do something he must to get rid of them, or they 
 would drive him mad. 
 
 There was only one thing to do play. Before the morn- 
 ing he had lost every penny of his twenty-one pounds six 
 and fourpence, and a couple of hundred besides. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Chance had favored Una in her escape ; no sooner had 
 she reached the staircase than she heard Mrs. Davenant's 
 carriage announced. To get her shawl and make her way 
 down the staircase was the work of a few moments, and
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 165 
 
 the brougham was rolling away toward Walmington Square 
 before Jack had got down to the hall. 
 
 "Well, my dear," said Mrs. Davenant, "have you enjoyed 
 yourself? You look pale and tired." 
 
 Una shrunk into her corner. 
 
 "I am rather tired," she said, in a low voice, "it was all 
 so new and strange." 
 
 "And was Lady Bell kind?" 
 
 "Very kind," answered Una, with a sigh. "How beauti- 
 ful she is !" 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Davenant, "she is a very fortunate girl. 
 Youth and beauty and wealth, she has much to make her 
 happy. Tell me whom you saw, my dear." 
 
 Una flushed and trembled. She went over the names of 
 some of the great people, but she said nothing of Jack. 
 She could not bring her trembling lips to frame his name. 
 
 "All the best people in town," said Mrs. Davenant, with 
 a smile. "You will be a fashionable young lady before 
 long, Una." 
 
 "Oh, no, no !" breathed Una, with a sudden pallor. 
 "Perhaps I shall never go again." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant looked at her curiously, and relapsed 
 into silence until they reached home. 
 
 Then, as they entered the drawing-room, she said, with a 
 little nervous smile : 
 
 "I have heard from my son Stephen, Una." 
 
 "From your son ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Davenant. "It is good news. He has 
 become very rich. His uncle, Squire Davenant, has left 
 him everything he possessed." 
 
 Una started and turned pale. Then Jack had been left 
 nothing! That was why he had looked so grave and 
 troubled. 
 
 "Everything?" she asked. 
 
 "Everything," said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh: "the 
 Hurst and the estate, and all the money, and he is very 
 rich very rich indeed." 
 
 Una looked before her dreamily. She could not say, "I 
 am very glad." Mrs. Davenant waited a moment. 
 
 "There is a message for you, my dear," she said timidly, 
 fingering the letter.
 
 166 ONLY OXE LOVE ; OB, 
 
 "For me !" said Una, looking up with a start. 
 "Yes ; Stephen is so thoughtful ! He never forgets others 
 even in the midst of his great prosperity. He sends his 
 kind regards, and trusts that you do not miss Warden, and 
 that you will not find our quiet life too dull. He little 
 thinks how we have plunged into gayety already. He 
 would be surprised if he knew it." 
 
 Indeed Stephen would, with a vengeance ! 
 "It is very kind of him," said Una, in a low voice. 
 Mrs. Davenant sighed. 
 
 "He is always kind and thoughtful. He tells me that 
 he will not be able to come home just yet awhile. It seems 
 that there is a great deal to see to. The estate was greatly 
 neglected, and there's some business to be done with the 
 lawyers; that keeps him there. But he says he will come 
 as soon as he can, and, meanwhile, I am to make you as 
 happy as I can. I hope I have done that already, dear," 
 she added, with simple affection. 
 Una rose and kissed her. 
 "Indeed, yes; I am very happy." 
 Then she turned her face away to hide her tears. 
 "Come, you must go to bed," said Mrs. Davenant, "or 
 you will lose all your fresh roses." 
 
 And she put her candle in her hand, and kissed her 
 tenderly. 
 
 It was some time before Una fell asleep. The events 
 of the night flitted like phantom visions across her eyes, 
 and Jack's face rose to haunt her, with its tender, troubled 
 look in the dark eyes. 
 
 The squire had willed all to Stephen then, and Jack 
 was poor and forgotten. 
 
 , The sun was high in the heavens when she awoke, and 
 breakfast was on the table by the time she had got down. 
 Mrs. Davenant looked up with a smile. 
 "I am so glad to have you safe, dear," she said. "Come, 
 you have got all your roses back again ; and, see here, you 
 cannot guess whom this is from ;" and she held up a note. 
 ; is from Lady Bell. It is an awful scolding for your 
 running away last night. She says that you flew away 
 e a bird, and that she had no sooner missed you than 
 she heard that you had gone."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 167 
 
 Una colored. 
 
 "Was it rude of me ?" she said. "I am sorry." 
 
 "Never mind, my dear; she has evidently forgiven you, 
 or she says she will, if you will go with her for a water 
 picnic to-day." 
 
 Una turned pale again. 
 
 "I !" she said, below her breath. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant opened the note. 
 
 "Yes ; she says she will take no denial. They are going 
 to drive down to Eichmond, and she will call for you on 
 the way. Would you like to go, my dear?" 
 
 Una thought a moment. She longed for, yet dreaded, 
 the meeting which she knew must take place between 
 Jack and her if she went. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant took her silence for consent. 
 
 "There is no need of an answer, my dear," she said, with 
 a little laugh ; "Lady Bell will take no heed of a refusal. 
 There's the note." 
 
 And she threw it across the table. 
 
 Una read the kindly-imperative little letter, and sighed 
 as she examined the brilliant crest stamped at the head of 
 the paper. 
 
 "It is very kind," she said. "Yes, I will go, if you are 
 sure you do not mind my leaving you." 
 
 After breakfast, Mrs. Davenant and Jane entered into a 
 consultation as to what Una should wear, Una standing by 
 with a quiet smile. 
 
 At last they decided that a dainty-figured satin should 
 be honored ; and both of them, notwithstanding Una's pro- 
 tests, insisted upon assisting at her toilet. 
 
 They could not have chosen anything more suited to 
 her fresh, virginal beauty than the simple, delicate dress ; 
 and when Jane had brushed the soft, silken hair until it 
 shone and Hashed like strands of golden haze, and coiled it 
 into a knot, Mrs. Davenant could not suppress an excla- 
 mation of satisfaction and admiration. 
 
 As for Una, she had not yet learned to view her changed 
 self without surprise, and stared at the tall, beautiful 
 woman which the glass reflected as though she could not 
 believe that it was herself. 
 
 They were still looking at her, and Jane's restless
 
 168 ONLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 fingers were touching a bow here and a fold there, when 
 they heard the rattle of heavy wheels outside, and Mrs. 
 Davenant hurried her downstairs. 
 
 Lady Bell was already in the drawing-room, and took 
 Una in her arms as if she were a school-girl, instead of a 
 woman taller than herself. 
 
 "My child, I came to scold you I meant to have a fear- 
 ful scene ; but you have taken it all out of me !" And she 
 held Una by her elbows, and looked at her admiringly. 
 "Child, you are a picture ! I've half a mind to drive off 
 without you. What will become of me? Mrs. Davenant, 
 don't you think I am very stupid to commit suicide in this 
 way?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant smiled, and looked at Lady Bell's beauti- 
 ful face, all bright as if with sunlight, and shook her head 
 gently. 
 
 "Bah !" said Lady Bell, pouting. "I am nothing but a 
 foil to her ; but I shall be useful, at least. Come, we must 
 be off. What is that milk?" 
 
 "Yes," said Una, offering her a glass, with a smile. 
 
 "She drinks nothing else," said Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 "That accounts for her complexion," said Lady Bell. 
 "No, it doesn't ! If I drank all the dairies in London dry, 
 I shouldn't get such milk and roses on my cheeks." 
 
 "Don't turn her head," murmured Mrs. Davenant, un- 
 der her breath. 
 
 Lady Bell laughed. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Davenant, it is just what she wants ! 
 There isn't a spark of vanity in her composition ; she isn't 
 quite a woman, for no woman is without vanity. Look at 
 her, as grave and stern as a judge !" and she touched Una's 
 arm with her sunshade. 
 
 Una started she had been wondering whether Jack 
 would be there outside, on the drag, and was listening for 
 his voice amongst those which came floating through the 
 open window. 
 
 Trembling inwardly she followed Lady Bell out. 
 
 The four horses were champing and pawing impa- 
 
 The drag was nearly full, and, for a moment, Una saw 
 a confused group of women in dainty morning
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 1G1) 
 
 dresses, and of men in white flannel and cheviot. A sees 
 ond glance convinced her that Jack was not there. 
 
 As they appeared on the steps the laughter and voices 
 ceased, and a well-bred glance of curiosity was turned upon 
 her. 
 
 Lady Bell was, however, equal to the occasion. 
 
 "Come along, Una," she said, gayly. "Fanny, will you 
 make room beside you for Miss Rolfe?" 
 
 The Countess of Pierrepoint smiled. 
 
 "How do you do, Miss Rolfe !" she said graciously. "I 
 hear you were at Lady Bell's dance last night; why did 
 you let her hide you so completely ?" 
 
 Una was silent. 
 
 Fortunately Dalrymple made so much bustle and fuss in 
 starting, that conversation for a minute or two was im- 
 possible; and before that minute or two had passed, Una 
 had gained her self-possession. 
 
 Seated about, she recognized several of the people Lady 
 Bell had pointed out on the preceding evening: Lady 
 Clarence, Mrs. Cantup, the Marchioness of Fairfield. Be- 
 side Dalrymple, who had. all his work cut out in keeping 
 the four spirited nags in good conduct in the crowded 
 London streets, sat, as a matter of course, Sir Arkroyd 
 Hetley, while one or two other men -one of whom she 
 heard addressed as the viscount was with the ladies. 
 
 Had Una been naturally nervous, her timidity could not 
 long have existed in such an atmosphere. 
 
 Her companions were among the highest in the land; 
 but there was less reserve and ceremony than would have 
 been found in a similar gathering of middle-class peo- 
 ple. The men were laughing and chatting, ever and again 
 turning round to make some light-hearted remark, or pass 
 some joke round. They were all, it was evident, bent on 
 enjoying themselves. 
 
 Very soon Una found herself brought into the conversa- 
 tion, Lady Bell talking to her continually, and pointing 
 out the lions of the road. 
 
 The roses came back into Una's face in full bloom, her 
 heart beat more lightly, and her spirits rose as the four 
 impatient horses dashed along the roads which now ran 
 through the beautiful vicinity of Richmond.
 
 170 ONLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 She had almost almost forgotten that Jack was not 
 there, when happening to glance round suddenly at Lady 
 Bell, she saw her looking dreamily before her, evidently 
 lost in thought, with a wistful drooping of the bright red 
 lips and a disappointed shadow in the dark eyes. 
 
 Then Una knew that it was not only she herself who felt 
 the absence of the missing one. 
 
 However, Lady Bell soon rallied, and when they drove 
 up to the hotel she was as bright as ever. 
 
 The luncheon had been sent up to Thames Button, one 
 of the prettiest parts of the Thames, and it had 
 been arranged that the gentlemen should row up to 
 the island, hence the white flannel and cheviot costumes. 
 They found boats awaiting them at the river side, and, 
 with much laughing and gayety, started. 
 
 It was a beautiful scene, the river gleaming like a flood 
 of silver between its banks of green meadows and stately 
 trees, the three boats with their bright colored occupants. 
 Una, who was of nature's own kin, was filled with delight ; 
 it was better than being at Warden. She leaned back in 
 her comfortable seat in the stern of the foremost boat, rapt 
 in silent enjoyment. 
 
 Lady Bell looked at her rather wistfully. 
 
 "How happy you look, child," she said, in a lower voice 
 than usual. 
 
 "I am quite happy," said Una, simply. 
 
 "You are just the person for a picnic," said Lady Clar- 
 ence. "I feel sure that you would look just as contented 
 and serene if it rained in torrents, while the rest of us 
 would be running about bemoaning our spoiled clothes." 
 
 Una laughed. 
 
 "I am not afraid of rain," she said. 
 
 "That's fortunate, Miss Rolfe," said Dalrymple, who 
 was pulling stroke, and exerting himself nobly, while Het- 
 ley, pulling behind him, allowed him to do all the work. 
 
 That's fortunate, as we shall be sure to have a shower or 
 two always do at a water picnic." 
 
 "Xo prophesying, marquis !" cried Lady Bell. "Th'ere 
 isn t a cloud in the sky ; there isn't a sign of wet." 
 
 "I'm sorry for that," he said, with mock gravity, "for 
 I'm fearfully thirsty."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEUi? 171 
 
 They paid no attention to this broad hint, however, until 
 they were going through Teddirigton Lock, when Lady 
 Bell produced some champagne and soda water, and Het- 
 ley made a cooling cup. 
 
 When it came to Una's turn they all drank out of the 
 same cup, a splendid silver tankard, chased with the Earls- 
 ley arms she glanced at it askance and shook her head. 
 
 "But you must, my dear Una," said Lady Bell. "You 
 will be parched." 
 
 "Let me have some water," said Una, and making a cup 
 of her hand a trick she had learned at a very early age 
 she bent over the' boat and as quietly and naturally drank 
 a draught. 
 
 The countess looked at her earnestly, and Sir Arkroyd 
 muttered to Dalrymple: 
 
 "Where did she come from?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Dalrymple, in the same tore. "I'd 
 stick to water all the day if she'd let me drink it out of the 
 same cup. Isn't she beautiful perfectly lovely!" 
 
 "Hush, she'll hear you," muttered Sir Arkroyd, warn- 
 
 But he need not have feared. 
 
 Una sat like the dream-maiden in the ballad, deaf to all 
 but the plash of the oars and the music of the birds. 
 
 Presently the stately pile of Hampton Court Palace 
 glided, as it were, into their view, and with a long pull 
 Dalrymple sent the boat to the island. 
 
 The two other boats were close behind, and then these 
 grand people who were accustomed to be waited on hand 
 and foo^ got out and dragged hampers under the shadow 
 ef the oaks and willows ; and the countess and Lady Clar- 
 ence laid the cloth, while Lady Bell and the rest knelt 
 beside the hampers and pulled out the things one by one. 
 Then Sir Arkroyd was sent to lay the champagne bottles 
 in the shallow water, and Dalrymple was handed a dish 
 and the ingredients for making the salad. 
 
 In a few minutes luncheon was set out to the accom- 
 paniment of much laughter, and a few accidents. One of 
 the champagne bottles had slid into the deep water, and 
 disappeared to the bottom of the river to astonish the 
 fish. The corkscrew followed it; and dismay fell on all,
 
 172 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OK, 
 
 until the viscount calmly produced another from his 
 pocket. 
 
 "Never go to a picnic without a corkscrew/' he said, 
 sl-aking his head. "Generally have to produce it, too." 
 
 Then there was much dragging about of hampers, 
 and arranging of shawls and hoat cushions to provide seats 
 for the ladies ; but at last all were seated, and Dalrymple, 
 brandishing a knife in dangerous proximity to Lady 
 Pierrepoint's head, cut the first slice of raised pie. 
 
 Then it was discovered how easy it is to make jokes at a 
 picnic. You can't be stately and ceremonious sitting 
 cross-legged on the grass, and balancing your plate on your 
 knees; especially when, in consequence of there not bei..ig 
 quite enough knives, you have to lend the one you are 
 using to your next-door neighbor. 
 
 As usual, too, there were not quite enough plates and 
 those dainty gentlemen, who went into fits if a fly fell into 
 their wineglasses at the club, bent down on their hands 
 and knees and washed plates in the river. 
 
 "And there is no rain," said Lady Bell. 
 
 "Then one of us will have to fall into the river," said 
 the viscount, solemnly. "Must have rain or an accident at 
 a picnic, you know. Will you have some more cream. Lady 
 Earlsley?" 
 
 Lady Bell shook her head, laughingly. 
 
 "No, thanks; I have enjoyed it all immensely. Why 
 cannot we have a picnic every day ?" 
 
 But Una, who sat next her, had noticed that she scarcely 
 touched anything. 
 
 "Let us go into Bushey Park, and turn savages," said 
 Dalrymple. "Halloa ; speaking of savages, what a pity the 
 Savage isn't here. This is just in his line." 
 
 Lady Bell bent down suddenly to take a flower from 
 the cloth. 
 
 "Mr. Newcombe was detained in town," she said, 
 calmly; but Una could detect the faint quiver in her 
 voice. 
 
 "Poor old Jack,", said Dalrymple, after a pause, "seems 
 to be cut up about something lately. Do you remember 
 hc-w q*eer he was that night he came back from the coun= 
 try, Arkroyd?"
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 173 
 
 Lady Bell looked up suddenly. 
 
 "Let us go for a ramble. You may smoke, gentlemen," 
 she added. "Now don't shake your heads as if you never 
 did such a thing. I can see your cigar-case peeping out of 
 your pocket, Lord Dalrymple." 
 
 And linking her arm in Una's, she sauntered away. 
 
 They strolled in silence for some minutes, until Una, 
 happening to look up, saw that Lady Bell's face was quite 
 pale, and that something suspiciously like tears were veil- 
 ing the brightness of the dark eyes. 
 
 "Lady Bell!" she murmured. 
 
 "Hush!" said Lady Bell, gently. "Don't notice me, 
 child ! Oh, how sick I am of it all ! What a long day it 
 seems ! How can they sit there laughing and chattering 
 like a set of monkeys?" 
 
 "What is the matter?" said Una, in her low, musical 
 voice. 
 
 "Nothing/' said Lady Bell, softly ; then she paused and 
 tried to laugh. "Una, my sweet, innocent, I've got a com- 
 plaint which you know nothing of; it is called the heart- 
 ache. There is no cure for it, I am afraid ; at least, not for 
 mine. Tut ! there, there ! your great, grave eyes torture 
 me ; they seem to go to the bottom of my soul. Not a word 
 more. Here they come !" 
 
 And the next instant she turned round, all life and 
 
 Una sauntered on, her heart beating wildly. Was Lady 
 Bell's heartache produced by the absence of Jack New- 
 combe ? Yes, that must be it I 
 
 With a sigh she drew away still further from the rest, 
 and seating herself on the trunk of a tree by the riverside, 
 watched the silver stream as it flowed past and was lost 
 in the setting sun. 
 
 Suddenly she saw in the distance a white speck that 
 looked like a bird, flitting up the middle of the stream. 
 The speck grew larger; and she saw that it was a light 
 boat putting toward the island. 
 
 Gradually it came nearer and nearer, and she saw that it 
 contained one man only, and that he was clad in white 
 flannel. 
 
 It was a light water-boat a mere speck of white it
 
 174 OXLY OXE LOVE: OR, 
 
 looked now on the golden stream and to Una, who had 
 never seen an outrigger before, it seemed an almost im- 
 possible feat to sit in it. 
 
 But the sculler managed it with the greatest ease, and 
 with every stroke sent it flying forward. 
 
 With regular rhythmical action he pulled on, and very 
 soon she could see his great arms bared to the shoulders. 
 
 She watched it absently for some minutes, but presently 
 the rower turned his head, and something in the movement 
 struck her and made her heart bound. 
 
 Agitated and trembling she rose and stood staring down 
 the stream. 
 
 A curve of the island hid the boat suddenly, and she 
 stood watching for it to appear again; but the minutes 
 passed on and it did not come. T!hen suddenly she heard a 
 peal of laughter and the clatter of voices, and she knew 
 that the boat had pulled into the island. 
 
 With, a vague hope and dread commingled she sank to 
 the seat again, and sat striving to still the wild beating 
 of her heart. 
 
 Presently she heard her name called. It was Lady 
 Bell's voice, and how changed; there was no false ring 
 in it now ; clear and joyous it rang out : 
 
 "Una! Una! Where are you ?" 
 
 There was no escape. She knew she must go, but she 
 waited for full three minutes. Then, nerved to an un- 
 natural calm, she rose and moved slowly forward. They 
 were all seated again ; she could see them. 
 
 Dalrymple and Sir Arkroyd were stretched at full 
 length, smoking; the ladies, in their dainty sateens and 
 pompadours, were grouped near them, and a little apart 
 sat Lady Bell, a cup in one hand and a knife in the other, 
 her face turned toward someone eating. Though his back 
 was toward her, Una recognized him. It was Jack New- 
 combe. He had turned down his sleeves and put on his 
 white flannel jacket, and was eating and chatting at one 
 and the same time. 
 
 ^"Yes, better late than never," she heard him say, and 
 with every word of his deep, musical voice her " heart 
 leaped as if in glad response. "I found I could get away.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 175 
 
 and I jumped in the train, to learn at Richmond that you 
 had just started. I got an outrigger, and here I am." 
 
 "Just in time to help wash up/' said Dalrymple. "We've 
 eaten all the strawberries, old man, and there isn't much 
 crearn. It's lucky for you there is any pie." 
 
 "Don't pay any attention to them, Mr. Newcombe," 
 said Lady Bell, and how soft and sweet her voice sounded, 
 with its undertone of tenderness. "I am so sorry you are 
 late. Do not let them hurry you. You must be so tired. 
 Let me give you some ham some tongue, then?" 
 
 And she herself cut a slice and put it on his plate. 
 
 "Don't let me stop the fun," said Jack, in his grave way. 
 "Go on with your games. What was it kiss-in-the- 
 ring?" 
 
 There was a laugh; the lightest joke will serve at a pic- 
 nic. 
 
 "I was haunted by the dread aat I should come just 
 in time to find everything clear , : c up. What a beautiful 
 day ! No, no more, thanks." 
 
 "Let me give you some cham^ii.'Vie," said Lady Bell, and 
 reached forward with the goblet, a her hand. 
 
 Jack took it, and nodded over it in true picnic fashion. 
 
 "Thanks," he said, and raised U to his lips. 
 
 At that moment Lady Boll looked up, and, seeing Una 
 standing still and motionless, beckoned her. 
 
 Mechanically Una went round to her, and so stood in 
 front of Jack. 
 
 His eyes were fixed at the bottom of the cup at the mo- 
 ment, but presently he lifted them, and, with a sharp cry, 
 he let the cup fall to the ground and sprang to his feet. 
 
 And then he stood staring at her downcast face with 
 startled eyes and pale countenance. 
 
 "Hallo ! Take care !" cried Dalrymple. "What are you 
 up to now, Savage ? Anything bitten you ?" 
 
 Lady Bell looked from one to the other, from Una's 
 white, downcast face to Jack's pale, startled one. 
 
 "Una," she breathed, "what is it?" 
 
 But Jack recovered himself. 
 
 "Just like you fellows," he said. "Didn't you know that 
 you had pitched me on an ants' nest ? What did you say,
 
 17<r ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 Lady Bell? I beg your pardon. I don't think there is 
 much spilled, and there is nothing broken." 
 
 And he knelt down and picked up the cup. 
 
 Lady Bell laughed. 
 
 "I couldn't think what was the matter/' she said. "Are 
 you really bitten?" 
 
 "Just like Jack," said Sir Arkroyd, with philosophic 
 calmness. "He is never happy unless he is breaking 
 something. I give you my word that he smashes more 
 glasses at the club than any other man." 
 
 "Always was clumsy," said Jack, with a constrained 
 laugh. 
 
 Lady Bell smiled. 
 
 "You have quite frightened my friend, Miss Rolfe," she 
 said. "Una, this unfortunate gentleman is Mr. New- 
 combe." 
 
 Jack had given her time, and she was able now to look 
 at him calmly. Jack bowed, his eyes glancing at her as if 
 they scarcely dared trust the evidence of their own 
 senses. 
 
 "Pray forgive me," he said. "I am very awkward. But 
 I don't break quite so many things as they say. Is there 
 any more champagne, Lady Earlsley? I don't deserve it, 
 I know " 
 
 Lady Bell took up a bottle. 
 
 "Pour this into the cup, Una," she said, with a smile. 
 
 "It is true he doesn't deserve it, but we will be merciful." 
 
 Una took the bottle and leaned forward, and as she did 
 
 so Jack rose and stood before her, so that he screened her 
 
 trembling hand from the eyes of the rest. 
 
 His own trembled, his own heart beat wildly; all else 
 save the beautiful face so close to his own swam before his 
 eyes. 
 
 Was he dreaming, or was it really she? He could not 
 trust his eyes, he felt that he must touch her. 
 
 Slowly he put out his hand, and gently, tremblingly 
 touched her white, slender wrist. 
 
 Instantly she raised her eyes and looked at him, a long, 
 piteous look, as if he had struck her. 
 
 Yes, it was she. It was Una, his forest-maiden ! 
 
 With a long breath he raised the cup to his lips and
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 177 
 
 drained it, then sank down on the grass and took up his 
 plate, scarcely knowing what he was doing. 
 
 The laughing voices around him seemed blurred and 
 indistinct in his ears, the green trees and silver stream 
 seemed to fade and vanish, and give place to the silent 
 glade in which he had sat with the same beautiful girl 
 bending over him. 
 
 Mechanically he went through the pretense of eating un- 
 til a burst of laughter recalled him to himself. 
 
 "Look here !" shouted Dalrymple in boyish glee. "Here's 
 the Savage, busy eating nothing !" 
 
 Jack laughed, awakened to the sense of the situation. 
 He must nerve himself, if only for her sake. 
 
 "It must be sunstroke," he said lightly, staring at his 
 empty plate. "Will somebody give me a piece of cake ? I 
 have always doted on cake. I like a piece with the candied 
 peel on it, Lady Bell. Thanks. Now I am just going to 
 begin my luncheon/' 
 
 "Those persons who are tired of watching the Savage 
 satisfy his barbaric appetite are requested to withdraw !" 
 drawled Dalrymple, and he leaped to his feet, laughing. 
 
 "Seriously, if anyone would like to go up to the palace, 
 I've an open door. I should like a row." 
 
 There was an instant clamor. Three parts of the party 
 wanted to see the palace, and a couple of boat loads 
 started. 
 
 Lady Clarence, Lady Bell, Una, and Jack remained. 
 
 He still kept up the pretense of eating and drinking; 
 and Lady Bell, kneeling opposite him, seemed never to 
 grow weary in supplying his wants. 
 
 Una, seated at a little distance, noticed with what eager 
 attention she hung upon every word he uttered. And Jack 
 kept on talking as if his life depended on it. But pres- 
 ently his patience came to an end. 
 
 He put down his plate resolutely. 
 
 "No more, thanks, or I shall be too heavy for the out- 
 vigger. Now, then, can't I help pack up ?" 
 
 But Lady Bell wouldn't hear of it. 
 
 "No, you shall light your pipe," she said, "and watch 
 us. Come, Una. I know you are dying to help us."
 
 178 OXLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 Una awoke with a start and knelt down beside the plates 
 and dishes while Lady Bell went for the hamper. 
 
 Jack seized his opportunity. Bending forward, he whis- 
 pered : 
 
 "Una!" 
 
 She half turned her face, pale and dreamy. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Is it really you? How did you come here? r Am I 
 dreaming ?" 
 
 "It is I," she said, in her low, musical voice. 
 
 "But hut," he said, "how did you come here? I did 
 not know you were in London. I have been looking for 
 you." 
 
 Her heart gave a great leap. He had been looking for 
 her. 
 
 "I have been searching for you everywhere, Una. Did 
 vou think I should not come back? I went to War- 
 den " 
 
 "Yes," she said eagerly. 
 
 "And I found the cottage shut up and your people 
 gone." 
 
 "Gone?" 
 
 "Yes, gone, and I did not know what to do. So I came 
 to town, and and I looked for you everywhere. Ah ! you 
 thought that I had forgotten you, as you had forgotten 
 me." 
 
 Her lovely face flushed, and she turned her dove-like 
 eyes upon him, with a reproachful look in their depths. 
 
 "Forgotten him !" 
 
 "I cannot understand it," he went on, drawing still 
 nearer to her, his eyes eagerly scanning her face. 
 
 She smiled faintly. A great joy welled up in her heart, 
 every nerve was tingling with happiness, she scarcely 
 heard him. The words, "I have been searching for you," 
 rang in her ears. 
 
 "I scarcely understand it myself," she said: "it seems 
 like a dream." 
 
 Jack glanced toward the bank. They had finished the 
 packing, and would interrupt them in another minute. 
 Where are you staying ? You are on a visit ?"
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIE? 179 
 
 "I am staying with Mrs. Davenant," said Una, in the 
 same low voice. 
 
 Jack started, and the unlit pipe nearly fell from his 
 hand. 
 
 "With Mrs. Davenant ?" he exclaimed. "With Stephen's 
 mother?" 
 
 Una nodded. 
 
 "Yes; he has been very kind and good to me." 
 
 Jack stared breathless. 
 
 "Stephen good to you!" he said, fiercely. "What do 
 you mean? Am I dreaming?" 
 
 "It was he who came to Warden with Mrs. Davenant," 
 said Una, vaguely, troubled by the stern look of suspicion 
 which had settled like a cloud on Jack's face. 
 
 "I don't understand," he said grimly. "Stephen Ste- 
 phen! How did he know of your existence?" 
 
 "Some friend," said Una ; "I do not quite know. At any 
 rate, it was through him. And I like Mrs. Davenant." 
 
 Jack nodded. 
 
 "Yes, she is a good woman. But Stephen " 
 
 And he passed his hand over his brow. 
 
 Una looked at him timidly. 
 
 "Are you angry?" she asked. 
 
 "Angry ! with you !" he exclaimed, bending nearer, with 
 a look of tender devotion. "How could you think it ? No, 
 I am not angry only puzzled. I cannot make it out. 
 Never mind ! don't look so troubled, my dear Miss Kolfe, 
 I mean. At any rate, I have found you. Oh, Una! 
 Miss Rolfe, I mean if you knew how I have searched for 
 you, and" with a groan "what a fool I have been !" 
 
 "I thought you had forgotten me," said Una, with that 
 sweet humility of love. 
 
 Jack's eyes gleamed. 
 
 "I have not forgotten you for one moment not for one 
 moment! Una, I Oh, confound it! here they are." 
 
 He broke off impatiently, as Lady Bell and the rest 
 came back. 
 
 "What are we going to do now?" she said, with her 
 bright smile. "Some of them have gone to the palace. 
 Shall we wait for them, or go and meet them ! What do 
 you say, Mr. Newcombe?"
 
 180 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 But Jack would not stir. 
 
 "They'll conic back," lie said, absently, his eyes drawn 
 toward the downcast face. 
 
 How lovely it was! If they would only all go away, 
 and leave them alone ! He had so much to say so much 
 to ask. 
 
 But Lady Bell showed no sign of going; instead, she 
 threw herself down on the grass beside them, and com- 
 menced to talk. 
 
 Had he enjoyed the pull up? Why had he not driven 
 down with them? She didn't believe in particular busi- 
 ness; and so on. 
 
 Jack pulled at his pipe, and returned absent, scarcely 
 civil answers. At last Lady Bell noticed his abstraction, 
 and turned her head away in silence. 
 
 Meanwhile Una sat speechless, her face turned toward 
 the river, her whole soul absorbed by his presence. It 
 frightened her, this feeling of absorption. She found her- 
 self waiting and listening for every word that dropped 
 from his lips as if her life depended on it. She trembled 
 lest he should touch her. 
 
 His manner filled her with an ecstasy of pleasure that 
 was almost pain. How handsome he looked, stretched out 
 at full length, his tanned face turned to the sky, his tawny 
 mustache sweeping his clear cut lips ; she felt, rather than 
 knew, that his eyes sought her face, and she dared not 
 turn her eyes toward him, though she longed to do so. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Presently, to the relief of Una, at least, the other boats 
 came back; the third boat was got ready, the hampers put 
 on board, and the ladies seated. 
 
 Jack stood near the stern, and took Una's hand in his 
 to help her to embark. 
 
 "Take care," he said, aloud, then in an undertone, he 
 'I shall see you at Richmond." 
 
 "Are you going to row the outrigger down, Savage?" said 
 Dalrymple, eying the first boat enviously. 
 
 Jack turned to him eagerly. 
 
 "No, Fir take your place in this boat; I can see you are
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 181 
 
 longing for mine. Here, get in"; and before Dalrymple 
 could refuse, Jack had almost lifted him into the outrigger., 
 and leaped into his place in Lady Bell's boat. 
 
 All the darkness vanished from his brow. He was sit- 
 ting opposite Una; so near, that when he leaned forward 
 to make the stroke, his hand almost touched her dress. 
 
 "Are you coming with us?" said Lady Bell; "I am so 
 glad." 
 
 "So am I," said Jack ; but his eyes went to Una's face. 
 
 "Now, then/' said Jack, as he bent forward. 
 
 "Steady, old man," said Sir Arkroyd; "we haven't all 
 got blacksmith's muscles !" 
 
 But Jack was wild, delirious with joy, and he pulled, 
 heart and soul, his great, strong arms bare to the elbows. 
 
 "What a lovely night !" said Lady Bell. "Won't anybody 
 sing?" 
 
 Of course no one replied. 
 
 "Sing something, my dear child," she said to Una. "You 
 have a singing face. You have no idea how beautiful it 
 sounds on the water." 
 
 "Oh, no, no," said Una, shrinking modestly. 
 
 Jack looked up. 
 
 "Sing," he murmured, pleadingly. As if he had uttered 
 a command, she looked at him with meek obedience, and 
 began the song he had heard her singing in the forest. 
 
 Is there anything more exquisite on earth than the voice 
 of a young girl? Una knew nothing of the science of 
 song; she had had no master, no instruction of any sort; 
 but her voice was clear and musical as a young thrush's 
 and she sang straight from her heart. 
 
 No need to tell Jack to pull slower ! He ceased rowing, 
 and rested on his oar, his eyes fixed on her face, his lips 
 half apart. 
 
 The other boats stopped also as the music of the sweet, 
 young voice floated down the stream, and one and all felt 
 the spell. 
 
 Lady Bell sat with lowered lids and pale face, and when 
 the last note died away and she looked up, her eyes were 
 moist. 
 
 "My dear," she said, in a low voice, "where did you learn 
 to sing like that?"
 
 182 ONLY ONE LOVE; OK, 
 
 Una, half frightened at the effect she had produced, 
 flushed and sank back into her seat. 
 
 "I have never learned," she said, quietly. 
 
 There was a murmur, and Lady Clarence turned and 
 looked at her curiously. 
 
 "You have a beautiful voice," she said, "and exquisite 
 taste, or you could not sing as you do. It is a pity you 
 have not been thoroughly trained. You should have a mas- 
 ter." 
 
 "She shall!" said Lady Bell, impulsively. "She shall 
 have the best. It would be criminal to let such, a gift be 
 wasted !" 
 
 Jack looked up with a flush of pleased gratitude, and 
 Lady Bell happened to catch that glance. 
 
 With a slight start she turned pale, and looked from his 
 face all aglow with the fervor of loving admiration lo 
 Una's downcast one, and then, with something like a shud- 
 der, she, too, sank back into the seat. 
 
 "Isn't isn't it cold?" she said, in a strangely changed 
 voice. 
 
 "Is it?" said Jack, musing. "We'll row on," and he 
 bent to the oar again. 
 
 A peculiar silence fell upon them all; it seemed as if 
 they were still listening to the sweet voice. Lady Bell 
 closed her eyes and remained motionless, and Jack pulled 
 as if lie had undertaken to reach Richmond within a given 
 time. 
 
 At Eichmond tea was brought to them on th^ terrace 
 while the horses were put to, and very soon they were 
 dashing toward London. 
 
 Dalrymple declared that his arms were too stiff to allow 
 him to handle the four grays properly, and Jack was unani- 
 mously voted to the box. 
 
 V Je looked rather inclined to refuse, but seeing that Una 
 had been seated close behind him, he climbed up and took 
 the reins without a word. 
 
 For the first mile or two he had quite enough to do to 
 
 eep the nags in hand; but he could feel that Una was 
 
 5 behind him, could feel her breath on his cheek, and 
 
 lear every word of the clear, low-pitched voice, and he was 
 
 deliriously happy.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 183 
 
 Presently, when he had got the horses into steady work- 
 ing, he turned his head and pointing with his whip, as it' 
 he were directing her attention to some object in the land- 
 scape, said in a low voice : 
 
 "Una, can you hear me?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, leaning forward. 
 
 "I have been thinking it all over," he said, "but I can't 
 make head or tail of it. It's all a mystery. However, I 
 know where you are now, and that's something ; and I can 
 come and see you, and that's everything to me. Are you 
 angry with me for speaking so so boldly ?" 
 
 "No," she faltered. 
 
 "And I may come and see you ? I know Mrs. Davenant ; 
 she is a good creature, though she thinks me everything 
 that's bad and she's not far wrong, I'm afraid " 
 
 Una sighed faintly. 
 
 "And perhaps she'll tell me what it means, and why 
 Stephen has sent you to be with her. Why, Una, did your 
 father allow you to come ? He loathed me for being a dis- 
 tant relative of the Davenants." 
 
 "I do not know," said Una, troubled. 
 
 "Never mind," said Jack, hastening to soothe her; "it's 
 sure to be all right, if he did it. I liked your father, not- 
 withstanding he was so rough with me. I liked him because 
 he took such care of you. Steady, silly !" This was to the 
 near leader, and not to Una. "What a lovely night ! Are 
 you enjoying it ? are you happy ?" 
 
 A sigh, faint and tremulous, was full answer. 
 
 "Please Heaven, we'll have many a night like this. 
 Happy ! I could go half mad with delight at having you 
 so near me. Una I may call you Una ?" 
 
 "Yes," she murmured. 
 
 "Can you guess you sweet, innocent flower what 
 makes me so happy?" 
 
 "Tell me !" she answered, in a low voice, and leaning for- 
 ward until her soft, silken hair almost touched his. 
 
 Jack's heart beat fast, and his blood bounded in his 
 veins. 
 
 "It is because I love you. I love you ! Do you under- 
 stand? Ah, my darling! you don't know what love is. 
 But I ought not to call you so not yet. I can't see your
 
 184 OXLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 face; perhaps T shouldn't dare to be so bold if I could. 
 Speak to me, Una ; speak to me. Tell me that you are not 
 angry. Tell me that, while I have never had your sweet 
 face out of my mind since that day we parted in Warden, 
 you have thought once or twice of me. I don't deserve it. 
 I'm a bad lot ; but I love you, Una. Do you love me ?" 
 
 There was no reply; but there was a soft nestle beside 
 him, and then he felt her hand timidly touch his arm. 
 
 He slipped the whip and reins into one hand, and seized 
 the little trembling hand and enclosed it as if he meant 
 thus to swallow it up forever. 
 
 But, alas ! the horses were going down hill, and were 
 fidgeting and pulling; and with impatient exclamation at 
 their stupidity, he was obliged to let the little hand go; 
 but it did not go far ; he could feel it touching, softly and 
 timidly, the edge of his coat-sleeve, and that was enough 
 for him. It was a mercy and a miracle that the drag was 
 not upset, for he scarcely knew where or how he was 
 driving, and it was more by instinct and habit that he 
 brought the team safe and sound, but sweating tremen- 
 dously, before the house in Park Lane. 
 
 "You must all come in," said Lady Bell. 
 
 The gentlemen looked at their white flannels apologet- 
 ically, but Lady Bell laughed. 
 
 "Let us pretend that we are our own masters and mis- 
 tresses for one night," she said, "and not the slaves of 
 Fashion." 
 
 Jack stood out. He felt that, for the present, it be- 
 hooved him to be discreet, and he knew that if he were 
 not, it would be impossible for him to conceal the romantic 
 ove which burned through and through him. Besides, he 
 knew that there would be no opportunity of speaking to 
 Una there; and he felt that it would be agony for him to 
 issume the conventional air of polite indifference to her 
 or that evening, at least. 
 
 So he went But he stood on the pavement to help her 
 
 and as he held her in his arms, he kept her for one 
 
 moment poised between heaven and earth; and as he put 
 
 er down, his h ps touched her arm, and she knew it. 
 
 mrl A SGe * the A rses > Dal " he said ' and he 
 and drove off as if he were possessed.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR ? 185 
 
 "That's what the Savage calls seeing to them !" grumbled 
 Dalrymple. "He'll throw 'em down, or run over some- 
 body, and I shall be fined five pounds for furious driving." 
 
 Jack was conscientious where horses were concerned 
 and he sat on the rack and saw them rubbed down and fed 
 with the patience of a martyr ; then he jumped into a han- 
 som, was driven to Spider Court, and, bursting into the 
 room, fell into a chair and flung his cap at Leonard's' 
 head. 
 
 "Mad at last!" said Leonard. 
 
 "Yes, stark, staring, ramping mad, old fellow. I've 
 found her!" 
 
 "No !" said Leonard, turning round. 
 
 "Yes ! Yes ! And I've spent the day with her. She's 
 here in London, and who do you think she is staying with ? 
 With Mrs. Davenant, Stephen's mother !" 
 
 "Stephen's mother!" said Leonard, with surprise. 
 Nonsense." 
 
 "Fact ! What do you make of it ?" 
 
 Leonard Dagle mused in silence. 
 
 "I can make nothing of it," he said at last. 
 
 "Did she know Mrs. Davenant?" 
 
 "No; that's the mystery. Stephen, it seems, is the 
 cause of her being here. He found out her father how I 
 can't guess he must, of course, have known her before^ 
 there's nothing wonderful in that. But what is wonderful 
 is that Stephen should do anyone a good turn, unless un- 
 less " and his face darkened suddenly and grew fierce 
 "unless he had some end in view." 
 
 "What end could he have in view here?" said Leonard. 
 
 "That's what I can't make out ; can you ?" 
 
 Leonard shook his head. 
 
 "It's a strange story throughout." 
 
 "It is," said Jack, grimly. "But, Stephen Davenant, if 
 you mean any mischief, look out ! I'm on your track, my 
 friend! But, Len, old man, you look rather done up. 
 What's the matter?" 
 
 Leonard passed his hand over his brow. 
 
 "Something strange and mysterious also," he said. "I 
 went to Cheltenham Terrace an hour ago, just on the 
 chance of getting a glimpse of of "
 
 186 OXLY OXE LOVE; OB, 
 
 "Of Laura Treherne. Well, old man ?" 
 
 "And I met with a similar shock to yours in Warden 
 Forest. I found the house shut up, and she gone, van- 
 ished, disappeared !" 
 
 "What !" exclaimed Jack. 
 
 Leonard paced up and down. 
 
 "I went to inquire next door, and I learned that old Mr. 
 Treherne was dead you remember my telling you that the 
 blinds were down that the funeral took place yesterday, 
 and Miss Treherne had gone. They only lodged there, it 
 seems, and of course she could go at any moment. Where 
 she has gone no one seems to know. So there is an end to 
 my little romance ! But no ! it shall not end there." 
 
 "No ; take courage by my luck, old man," said Jack, lay- 
 ing his hand on his shoulder "take courage by me ! Let 
 us talk about it." 
 
 "No, no !" said Leonard, shrinking; "I cannot yet. You 
 don't know how I feel. Tell me what happened today. 
 Was she glad to see you? Did you let her see that you 
 cared for her ? Of course you did." 
 
 "Yes," said Jack, with a proud, happy smile. "Yes, I 
 told her that I loved her, and oh, Len ! Len ! I know that 
 she cares for me !" 
 
 Leonard stared at him gravely, and put down a paper 
 which he had taken up. But Jack saw it and took it off 
 the table. 
 
 "What are you reading there, Len?" 
 
 Leonard took it out of his hand. 
 
 "My poor, light-hearted, unreasoning Jack," he said. 
 "It's Levy Moss' reminder about that bill !" 
 
 Jack's face fell and he dropped into a chair. 
 
 "Quite right, Len," he said, hoarsely. "I am an unrea- 
 soning fool! What have I done? I've behaved like a 
 blackguard ! I've got this angel to admit that she loved me 
 
 -me, a beggar more than a beggar ! But I swear I for- 
 forgot everything when I was near her. Oh, 
 
 eaven, Len, it's hard lines ! What shall I do ! If the 
 
 oor old squire had but left me a few hundreds a year, how 
 happy we could be !" 
 "But he hasn't," said Leonard, gravely and gently. "And
 
 WHO WAS THE HElll? 187 
 
 what are you going to do ? There's the money you lost last 
 night " 
 
 Jack groaned. 
 
 "What an idiot I was. Len, I swear to you that I was 
 nearly driven out of my mind last night. First there was 
 Lady Bell she was more than civil, and bearing in mind 
 all you said and wanted me to do, I made myself agreeable, 
 and and she's very beautiful, Len, and when she looks 
 right into your eyes and smiles, she seems to do what she 
 likes with you. Len, I was nearly gone when that vision 
 as I thought it came into the glass amongst the ferns. I 
 thought it was a vision I know now that she was there 
 and it drove me silly. I bolted out and made for the club, 
 and played to forget it all/' 
 
 "And made bad matters worse," said Leonard. "You're 
 in a hole, Jack, I'm afraid. Moss won't wait; there are 
 other bills, and there's the I. 0. U. of last night, and you've 
 lost the money you had, and you've asked this young girl 
 to love you. You mean to marry her I say, you mean 
 to marry her. On what ? How can you go to her father 
 who already doesn't seem altogether prepossessed in your 
 favor and ask him to give his daughter to a penrifless 
 gentleman? Mind a gentleman! If you were a wood- 
 man like himself, your being hard up wouldn't matter. 
 You could take an ax, or whatever they use, and earn your 
 living. But you can't go and ask him to let her share your 
 over-due bills and I. 0. TJ.'s." 
 
 Jack groaned. 
 
 "What shall I do, Len? My darling, my darling!" 
 
 Leonard sighed. His heart the heart of as true a 
 friend as ever the world held ached for the wild, thought- 
 less youth. 
 
 "Was Lady Bell there ?" he asked, quietly. 
 
 Jack leaped to his feet. 
 
 "Lady Bell ! I see what you mean !" he groaned. "Len, 
 you are in love yourself, and yet you ask me to sell my- 
 self " 
 
 Leonard flushed. 
 
 "Jack, much as I care for you, I swear that I am think- 
 ing as much of her good and happiness as of your own. If 
 you marry her which, after all, you cannot if you could
 
 188 OXLY OXE LOVK : OR. 
 
 you would make her life miserable ; if you marry Lady Bell, 
 you will at least make her happy/'' 
 
 Jack paced up and down for a moment. Then he 
 turned, white and haggard, and held out his hand : 
 
 "You are right. Would to Heaven you were not .' I 
 see it, I cannot help it. I will not make her life miserable. 
 But but I must go and tell her. Heaven help us both !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise. Quite ig- 
 norant and unconscious of all that was going on in Luidon, 
 Stephen remained down at the Hurst. 
 
 What he had written to his mother was quite true; as a 
 matter of fact Stephen was far too clever to write direct 
 falsehoods he was kept at Hurst Leigh very mucL against 
 his will. 
 
 Squire Ralph had left him everything money, house, 
 lands, everything excepting the few legacies to tservants, 
 and Stephen had been hard at work, and was stiF. hard at 
 work ascertaining how much that everything was. 
 
 And, as day followed day, and disclosure succeeded dis- 
 closure, he became fascinated and possessed by the immense 
 wealth which had fallen into his hands, or, 6ty rather, 
 which he had seized upon. 
 
 For many years the old squire had lived upon less than 
 half his income ; the remainder he had invested and specu- 
 lated with, and as often happens to the miser, tae luck of 
 Midas had fallen upon him. 
 
 Everything he touched had turned to gold. The most 
 unlikelv speculations had proved successful; properties 
 which he had bought for a mere song, and which had been 
 regarded by the most wary as dangerous and profitless, had 
 become profitable and valuable. 
 
 Some of these risky speculations he had, not unnaturally, 
 kept concealed from the prudent Hudsley, who only now, 
 by the discovery of scrip and bonds in out-of-the-way desks 
 and bureaus, learned what kind of man his old friend had 
 really been. 
 
 Not a day passed but it brought to light some addition to 
 the old man s gains, and served to swell the immense total.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 189 
 
 Even the lands round Hurst had been manipulated by 
 the old man, so that leases ran out almost at his death, and 
 rents were raised. 
 
 One speculation will serve as an instance; he had pur- 
 chased, some fifteen years before his death, the freehold of 
 an estate bordering upon London ; and in a locality which 
 was then regarded as hopelessly unfashionable. A great 
 capitalist had ruined himself by building large houses on 
 the property, foreseeing that at some time or other the tide 
 of the great city would reach this hitherto high and dry 
 spot. But he had made a miscalculation, and he died be- 
 fore the tide which was, to bring him wealth reached his 
 property; old Ralph had then stepped in and bought it 
 houses, land, everything. In ten years' time the tide of 
 fashion rolled that way, and now what had once been a 
 neglected and forgotten quarter was the center of fashion- 
 able London. 
 
 It reads like a romance, but like many other romances, it 
 was true. 
 
 Old Ralph himself had no idea of his own wealth, and 
 that when he died he should leave behind him one of 
 the most colossal fortunes in England. 
 
 Almost stunned by the immense total so far as it had 
 been arrived at Stephen went about the place silent and 
 overwhelmed. 
 
 But one thought was always ringing like a bell in his 
 brain "And I had nearly lost all this !" 
 
 Sometimes, in the quiet of the library, where he sat 
 surrounded by books and papers, by accountants' statements 
 and estimates, he would grow pale and tremble as he re- 
 flected by what a narrow chance he had secured this Midas- 
 like wealth. 
 
 But had he secured it ? and when the question presented 
 itself, as it did a hundred, aye, a thousand times a day, he 
 would turn ashy pale, and clutch the edge of the table to 
 keep himself from reeling. 
 
 Where was that will the real, true, valid will which 
 left everything away from him to Una? 
 
 Day by day, while going over the accounts, he found 
 himself waiting, watching, expecting someone whom he 
 could not imagine coming in and saying: "This is not
 
 190 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 yours; here is the will. I found it so and so, at such and 
 such a time !" and he felt that if such a moment occurred 
 it would kill him. 
 
 But as the days passed and no one came to contest his 
 claim to the property, he grew more confident and assured, 
 and at last he nearly succeeded in convincing himself that 
 he really had burned the will. 
 
 "After all," he mused, over and over again, "that is the 
 only probable, the only possible explanation. Is it likely 
 that if anyone had the accursed thing they would keep it 
 hidden ? No ! If they were honest, they would have de- 
 clared it at once ; if dishonest, they would have brought it 
 to me and traded upon it. Yes, I was half mad that night. 
 I must have destroyed it at the moment Laura knocked 
 at the window." 
 
 But all the same he determined to make his position se- 
 cure. Immediately he had arranged matters at the Hurst 
 he would go to London and marry Una. 
 
 "She is all safe and sound there," he mused, with a 
 
 satisfied smile. "My mother leads the life of a hermit. 
 
 The girl herself has no friends not one single soul in 
 
 London. I shall be her only friend, and the rest is easy." 
 
 Poor Stephen ! 
 
 Then he would give a passing thought to Laura, and 
 now and then would take from his pocket half a dozen let- 
 ters, which she had written to him since the night of her 
 journey to Hurst. 
 
 To not one of these had he replied, and the last was 
 dated a week back. 
 
 "By this time," he thought, "she has forgotten me, or 
 what is better, has learned that plain Stephen Davenant 
 and Squire Davenant of Hurst Leigh are two very dif- 
 ferent men. Poor Laura ! Well, well, I must do some- 
 thing for her. I'll make her a handsome present. Say a 
 thousand pounds ; perhaps find a husband for her. She's 
 a sensible girl, too sensible to dream that I should think of 
 marrying her now. After all, what harm is done? We 
 were very happy, and amused ourselves with innocent flirta- 
 tion. A mere flirtation, that is all " 
 
 And he tried to forget the pale face and flashing eyes 
 which turned toward him that night at parting with such
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIE? 191 
 
 a strange look of warning. But he did not always suc- 
 ceed in forgetting. Sometimes the remembrance of that 
 face rose like a vision between his eyes and the endless rows 
 of figures, and made him shudder with mingled fear and 
 annoyance. 
 
 "It has been a lesson to me/' he would .say, after awhile. 
 "It is the only weakness I have ever been guilty of, and 
 see how I am punished. I deserve it, and I must bear it." 
 
 It punished him, and it told upon him. The pallor 
 which had come upon his face the day the will was read 
 had settled there. The old look of composed serenity 
 and "oiliness," as Jack called it, had gone, and in the place 
 was a look of strained intentness, as if he were always lis- 
 tening, and watching, and waiting. 
 
 He was a fine actor, and would have made a fortune on 
 the boards, and he managed to suppress this look at times, 
 but the effort of suppression was palpable ; he showed that 
 he was affecting a calmness and serenity which he did not 
 possess. 
 
 By two men, of all others, this change in him was espe- 
 cially noticed by Mr. Hudsley and old Skettle. 
 
 The old lawyer and his clerk was necessarily with him 
 every day; Stephen could not move a step without them. 
 He hated Hudsley, whose keen, steel-like eyes seemed to 
 penetrate to his inmost heart; and he detested Skettle, 
 whose quiet, noiseless way of moving about and watching 
 him from under his wrinkled lids, irritated Stephen to such 
 an extent that sometimes he felt an irresistible desire to 
 fling something at him. 
 
 But both of the men were indispensable to him at pres- 
 ent, and he determined to wait until everything was 
 straight before he cut all connections with them. 
 
 "Once let me get matters settled," he muttered to him- 
 self over and over again, "and those two vultures shall 
 never darken my doors again." 
 
 And yet Hudsley was always scrupulously polite and 
 civil, and Skettle always respectful . 
 
 With his characteristic graveness, Mr. Hudsley went 
 through the work systematically and machine-like. 
 
 But Stephen noticed when lie came to announce some 
 fresh edition to the great Davenant property, he never even
 
 192 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 uttered a formal congratulation, or seemed pleased and 
 gratified. 
 
 One day Stephen, nettled beyond his usual caution, said: 
 "You must be tired of all this, Mr. Hudsley. I notice 
 that it seems to annoy you." 
 
 And the old lawyer had looked up with grim impas- 
 tubJity. 
 
 "You are mistaken, Mr. Stephen. I am never tired, and 
 I am never annoyed/' 
 
 "At least you must be surprised," said Stephen; "you 
 had no idea that my uncle had left so much." 
 
 "No, I am not even surprised," retorted Mr. Hudsley, 
 if his calm reply could be called a retort. "I have lived 
 too long to be surprised by anything." 
 
 And there was something in his keen, icy look which 
 silenced Stephen, and made him bend over his papers 
 suddenly. 
 
 Others noticed the change which had come over the 
 once sleek, smooth-spoken young man. It got to be re- 
 marked that he rarely left the Hurst grounds, and thr. 1 
 what exercise he took was on the terrace in front of the 
 library, or on the lawn below it. It was said that he paced 
 up and down this lawn for hours. 
 
 It was said, too, that he rarely addressed a servant in or 
 out of the house. All the orders came through the valet 
 Shimmers. 
 
 Mention has been made of Slummers. It would have 
 been difficult to describe him. He was called in the village 
 "the Shadow," because he was so thin and noiseless, so 
 silent and death-like. 
 
 In addition to his noiselessness, he had a trick of going 
 about with closed eyes, or with his lids so lowered that it 
 looked as if his eyes were closed. 
 
 Bets had been made upon the supposed color of those 
 
 visional organs, but had never been decided, for never by 
 
 any chance did he look anyone in the face when speaking: 
 
 and when by some accident those sphinx-like lids were 
 
 raised they were dropped again so quickly that oxamina- 
 
 ion of what lay behind them was impossible. 
 
 becretiveness was part and parcel of this man. He never 
 
 d anything openly. When he gave an order it was in a
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 193 
 
 round-about way. The simplest action of his daily life 
 was enveloped in mystery. Even his meals were taken in 
 a room apart; only a few of the servants knew the room 
 he occupied. Then he seemed ubiquitous. He was every- 
 where at once, and turned up when least expected. 
 
 With noisless step he came and went about the house; 
 now in the servants' hall, now in the library closeted with 
 his master, now in the stables looking under his lids at the 
 horses, counting, so said the grooms, everj r oat that went 
 into the mangers. Not a thing was done in the house but 
 he was acquainted with it. 
 
 And he knew everything! Not a secret was kept from 
 him. Had anyone in the village an episode in his life, 
 which he hoped and deemed hidden and forgotten, Shim- 
 mers knew it, and managed by some dropped word or look 
 to let the miserable man know that he knew it. 
 
 Before he had been at Hurst a week he had half the 
 servants and villagers in his power. 
 
 Power! That was the secret mainspring of the man's 
 existence. He loved power. 
 
 Give even the fiend his due. This man had one good 
 quality, he was devoted to his master. Saving this one 
 great event of his life the theft and loss of his will 
 Stephen trusted him in everything. 
 
 And Slummers admired him. In his eyes Stephen was 
 the cleverest man on earth, and being the cleverest man 
 on earth Slummers was content to serve him. Yes, Slum- 
 mers was devoted to his master, but he made up for it in 
 his detestation of the rest of mankind in general, and 
 of one man in particular Jack Newcombe. 
 
 Between Jack honest, frank, and reckless Jack and 
 the serpent-like Slummers there had been a feud which had 
 commenced from the moment of their first introduction. 
 
 On that occasion Slummers had been sent with a mes- 
 sage to Jack's room. Jack happened to be out, and Slum- 
 mers whiled away the tediousness of waiting by opening a 
 drawer in Leonard's table and reading some unimportant 
 letters. Jack, coming in with his usual suddenness, caught 
 him and kicked him. Jack had forgotten it long ago, 
 but Slummers had not, and he waited for the time till he 
 could return that kick in his own fashion.
 
 194 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 The days passed, and Mr. Hudsley's task appeared to be 
 nearing a conclusion. 
 
 One morning lie came up to the Hurst, his hands behind 
 his back, his head bent as usual, and asked for Stephen. 
 
 Stephen was in the library, and Shimmers noiselessly 
 ushered in the lawyer. It happened to be what Stephen 
 would have called one of his bad mornings. He was seated 
 at the table, not at work, but looking at the pile of papers 
 with lack-luster eyes, that saw nothing, and pale, drawn 
 face. 
 
 Hudsley had seen him like this before, but his keen eyes 
 looked like steel blades. 
 
 Stephen started and put his thin, white hand across his 
 brow. 
 
 "Good morning," he said. "Good morning. Any news ? 
 Sit down." 
 
 But Hudsley remained standing. 
 
 "I have no news," he said. "I think I may say that 
 there are no more surprises for us. You know the extent 
 of the fortune which you hold !" 
 
 He did not say "which is yours," or "which your uncle 
 left ^ you." Simply "which you hold." On Stephen's 
 strained mind the phrase jarred. He nodded and kept his 
 eyes downcast. 
 
 "The business that lies within my province," continued 
 Mr. Hudsley, "is completed. What remains is the work 
 of an accountant. My task is done." 
 
 I am sure," said Stephen, smoothly, "that you do not 
 
 need any assurance of my gratitude " 
 
 The old man waved his wrinkled hand. 
 "I have been the legal adviser of the Davenant family for 
 the last forty years," he said, "and I know my duty. I 
 trust I have done it so far as you are concerned," he said, 
 sternly. "And now I have come to you to request you to re- 
 ceive what papers and documents are in my charge my 
 clerk, Skettle, will hand them to you and take your re- 
 ceiptand to inform you that I wish to withdraw from 
 my position as your legal adviser." 
 
 Stephen's pale face winced and shrunk, and he raised his 
 eyes suspiciously.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 105 
 
 "Mr. Hudsley, you surprise me ! May I ask your reasons 
 for this abrupt withdrawal?" 
 
 "My reasons are my own/' said Hudsley, dryly ; "I may 
 say that I am growing old, and that I am disinclined to 
 undertake the charge of so large an estate." 
 
 "Oh !" said Stephen, with a sickly smile. "Such a reason 
 is unanswerable. But I deeply regret it deeply. My 
 uncle always trusted you." 
 
 "He did nothing of the sort," interrupted Mr. Hudsley, 
 sternly. "He trusted no man." 
 
 "At any rate, I have placed implicit and well-merited 
 confidence in you," said Stephen. 
 
 The old man looked at him and Stephen trembled. 
 
 "I I hope I shall find your bill of costs among the pa- 
 pers ?" he said, hoarsely. 
 
 "No/' said Mr. Hudsley. "What service I have rendered 
 you I consider as rendered to the estate. The estate has 
 paid me sufficiently hitherto. I need, I will receive no 
 other payment." 
 
 "But " urged Stephen. 
 
 Mr. Hudsley waved his hand. 
 
 "I am quite resolved, sir. If you should need any in- 
 formation respecting any business that has occurred up to 
 the present, I am at your service ; but for the future I beg 
 to withdraw. Good-morning." 
 
 Stephen rose, and held out his hand. 
 
 "At least, Mr. Hudsley," he said, "we part as friends, 
 notwithstanding this hasty resolution of yours ?" 
 
 "It is not hasty, sir," said Hudsley, and just touching the 
 oold, thin hand, he bowed and left the room. 
 
 Stephen sank into a chair, and wiped the drops of cold 
 sweat that had accumulated on his brow. 
 
 "He suspects me," he muttered. "He suspects ! But he 
 suspects only, and he can do nothing, or he would have 
 done it. Yes ; he is powerless. Let him go ! let him go !" 
 he repeated ; and he paced the room. 
 
 Gradually the relief of Hudsley's withdrawal broke upon 
 him, and his step grew lighter. 
 
 "Yes, let him go ! Now I am free I am my own mas- 
 ter ! master of wealth undreamed of ! And 'I'll use it ! By 
 Heaven, I'll be happy ! Let him go ! I meant to get rid of
 
 196 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OK, 
 
 ne has saved me an unpleasant scene. And now to 
 work, to work !" 
 
 He ran rather than walked across the room, and rang 
 the bell. 
 
 Shimmers opened the door almost instantly and stood 
 motionless and silent. 
 
 "Has has that old idiot gone?" asked Stephen. 
 
 "Yes, sir/' said Slummers. 
 
 Stephen laughed hoarsely. 
 
 "Let the past go with him I" he said. "Slummers, go to 
 my room and bring a roll of papers from my bureau- 
 drawer. You know what they are ! Plans and estimates. 
 Do you know what I am going to do ?" 
 
 Slummers raised his eyes. 
 
 "Of course you do !" said Stephen with the same laugh. 
 "I'm going to make a clean sweep here, Slummers. I'm 
 going to pull half this beastly place to the ground. Altera- 
 tions, Slummers alterations that will make Hurst a place 
 for a man to live in, not a tomb, as it is at present." 
 
 "You are right, sir, it is a tomb/' said Slummers, in his 
 low, hollow voice. 
 
 Stephen shuddered. 
 
 "Yes, yes ; but I mean to alter that. I'll make it fit to 
 live in, fit to bring a young bride to. Fetch the plans, 
 Slummers ; I'll go over them at once, this minute. Yes, I 
 will change the place till the very trees shall not know it. 
 Fetch the plans ! I'll pull the whole of it down, every stick 
 and stone! I hate it hate it! I'll change the name! 
 I can do it. I can do anything now, or what is the use 
 of this money? Fetch the plans! Fetch " He broke 
 off suddenly and staggered. 
 
 Slummers sprang nervously forward and caught him, and 
 putting him into a chair, poured out some neat brandy and 
 gave it to him. 
 
 Stephen tugged at his collar and struggled for a mo- 
 ment, then sank back helplessly. 
 
 Stop !" he said, "stay here. Don't go. I I can hear 
 V01 S~~ an old man ' s voice what is it ?" 
 
 Nothing nothing," said Slummers. "Be calm sir." 
 
 t am calm!" retorted Stephen. "Ifs this 
 if s fc,n of noiseg j
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 19? 
 
 and get the time table. I'll go to London to-morrow, 
 Shimmers. Yes, I'll go to London !" 
 
 And the master of Hurst, the owner of a million and 
 more, sank back in his chair and fingered the time table 
 with trembling fingers. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 "Jack Newcombe !" exclaimed Mrs. Davenant, looking at 
 the card which Mary had brought in. "Jack Newcombe !" 
 she repeated a second time. "My dear, come here !" 
 
 Una was sitting beside the open window, a book in her 
 lap, her eyes fixed on the sun setting just behind the chim- 
 neys. 
 
 "Yes," she said, her face flushed, her eyes glowing as if 
 the sun were reflected in them ; but she did not move. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant hurried across the room with the card in 
 her hand. 
 
 "Una, dear, see here," she said, nervously. "Here is 
 Jack Kewcombe ! You've heard me speak of him." 
 
 Una, feeling guilty and deceitful, hung her head. 
 
 Her heart beat fast. For two days she had waited and 
 watched for him never for a moment had he been absent 
 from her mind. 
 
 And now he was here, in the next room. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "I I remember." 
 
 "Well, my dear, I don't know what to do. I don't know 
 what he wants do you ? but of course you don't I" 
 
 Una flushed crimson to her very neck. 
 
 "I think you had better go, my dear," said Mrs. Dave- 
 nant, fidgeting with the card. 
 
 Una did not move. 
 
 "Why ?" she asked, raising her eyes for the first time. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant moved her head nervously. 
 
 "Because I don't think Stephen I mean Jack New* 
 combe is the sort of man you ought to know." 
 
 "But," said Una, softly and with a steady look in her 
 dark eyes, "I do know him already." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant stared. 
 
 "You know him? Jack Newcombe?" 
 
 Una nodded.
 
 198 OXLY OXE LOVE; OB, 
 
 "Yes," she said in a low voice. "I met him up t-he river. 
 I saw him at Lady Bell's he is a friend of hers 
 
 "But why didn't you tell me ?" said Mrs. Davenant, look- 
 ing distressed and frightened. 
 
 Una felt guilty. 
 
 "I don't know," she said in reply. "I think it was be- 
 cause I knew you would feel angry." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant stared at her. It was like the reply of a 
 child in its simple, naked truth. 
 
 "Well, well," she said, with a troubled voice, "of course 
 you couldn't help it, and I couldn't help it. And" here 
 the door opened quietly, and Jack's head appeared, and 
 Mrs. Davenant started. 
 
 Seeing that they were alone, Jack came in with his usual 
 coolness, though his heart beat; and he crossed the room, 
 and took Mrs. Davenant's hand and kissed her forehead. 
 
 And the poor woman melted in a moment, as she always 
 did when Jack was actually present. As a matter of simple 
 truth, she was really as fond of him as if he had been her 
 own son, and but for Stephen, Jack would have seen her 
 oftener. 
 
 He had lost his mother in early boyhood, and the kind- 
 hearted, affectionate, timid Mrs. Davenant had often dried 
 his boyish tears and held him in her arms. Even now, not- 
 withstanding Jack's wickedness, of which Stephen made the 
 most, her heart went out toward him. 
 
 He had not been near her for some months, nearly a 
 year, all through Stephen, and she had almost given him 
 up; but Jack's kiss revived all the old tenderness. And 
 what woman could resist his handsome face and frank, 
 manly way ? 
 
 "Well, ma'am," he said and "ma'am" sounded in her 
 ears and in Una's almost like "mother" "and how are 
 you?^ And aren't you glad to see me?" 
 
 ^Y es, Jack," said Mrs. Davenant, nervously. 
 
 "Then why do you keep me in the draughty hall for half 
 anjiour? Do you want me to catch cold ?" 
 
 Half an hour ?" murmured Mrs. Davenant. "I'm sure 
 you haven't been there three minutes." 
 
 "Two minutes and a half too long," he said, smiling. 
 He was giving Una time to recover herself.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIK? 199 
 
 "You never come to see me now, Jack," said Mrs. Dave- 
 nant, looking up at him sadly. 
 
 "And now I do, you keep me outside. Besides, you never 
 ask me. Who's that in the back room, ma'am ?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant started ; she had almost forgotten Una. 
 
 "You know her!" she said. 
 
 Jack had got his cue. 
 
 "Oh, it's Miss Eolfe," he said, and then he crossed the 
 room and held out his hand. 
 
 Una rose, and without a word put her hand in his, her 
 eyes downcast, lest the love which beamed in them should 
 escape against her will. 
 
 "Yes," said Jack, "I have had the pleasure of meeting 
 Miss Eolfe once or twice lately." 
 
 Then he turned away from her and began talking to Mrs. 
 Davenant, as if Una were not in the room. 
 
 It was just what Una wanted. She felt that she could 
 not speak, and for the present it was happiness enough to 
 have him in the same room with her, and to hear his voice. 
 
 And Mrs. Davenant, now that the first shock was over, 
 was glad enough to sit down and listen to the frank, 
 musical voice so unlike Stephen's measured, modulated 
 tone. 
 
 Presently she said in a low, nervous tone : 
 
 "Jack, I am so sorry !" 
 
 Jack nodded, and his face dropped. 
 
 "About the poor squire ? Yes ! Never mind. It is all 
 right. No ! It's all wrong for me, but all right for 
 Stephen." 
 
 "But Stephen doesn't doesn't want it all," she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 Jack looked another way ; he had a different opinion. 
 
 "Never mind," he said, "don't let us worry about it 
 you and I. It's all past and gone, and there's no help 
 for it." 
 
 "But- you have worried," sjie said. "You don't look so 
 well as you did, Jack. I hope I do hope," and her voice 
 faltered. 
 
 Jack's face flushed for a moment. 
 
 "You are going to scold me, as usual," he said. "Well,
 
 200 OXLY OXE LOVE : OR, 
 
 go on, it will bo your last opportunity, ma'am. I've re- 
 formed/' 
 
 There was something in his tone, something so earnest 
 and grave, that she looked at him anxiously. 
 
 "Oh, Jack, I wish I wish you would he more steady/' 
 
 "Wait and see,'' he said, gravely, and in a low voice. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant wiped her eyes, and glanced at the clock. 
 It was near the dinner hour. 
 
 "Do you want me to go?" said Jack, in his blunt way, 
 and he took up his hat and gloves. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant hesitated a moment. 
 
 "You wouldn't stop to dinner, if I asked you," she said, 
 with a faint smile. 
 
 Una's heart gave a great leap. 
 
 "Try me," said Jack. "Yes, I'll stay. Now don't look 
 frightened and disappointed, or I'll go." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant rose, with her rare laugh, 
 
 "I must go and tell them," she said, "or you'd be 
 starved," and she left the room. 
 
 Jack went and stood beside the silent, motionless figure 
 and looked down at her with infinite yearning and infinite 
 sorrow. He had come resolved to tell her the truth and to 
 bid her to forget him. 
 
 "Una," he said, in a low voice. 
 
 She raised her eyes, and in an instant his grand resolu- 
 tion, built up with such care for the last two days, crum- 
 bled into dust. With something like a groan he was on 
 hie knee and caught her to his breast. 
 
 For a moment she resigned herself to the exquisite joy 
 of his embrace, and with downcast eyes drooped beneath 
 his passionate kisses, then with an effort she regained pos- 
 session of the soul which had slipped from her into his, as 
 it were, and gently disengaged herself. 
 
 "No, no, you frighten me!" she murmured, as Jack's 
 arm drew her toward him again. 
 
 "My darling ! There !" and he kissed her hands. "How 
 can I do it ? It is too much to ask of mortal man." 
 
 "Do what?" she murmured. 
 
 Jack's face paled. 
 
 "Nothing nothing," he said.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 201 
 
 "And are you really going to stay ?" she murmured, her 
 eyes beaming with pleasure. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I came on purpose. If she had not 
 asked me I meant to ask her." 
 
 "And you love her, don't you? Is she not good and 
 isn't it cruel to deceive her," said Una, and she hung her 
 head. 
 
 "She's the dearest old lady in the world," said Jack, en- 
 thusiastically, who would have loved a gorilla, much less 
 Mrs. Davenant, if it had been kind to Una. "Why, she was 
 a second mother to me until Stephen grew up and she has 
 been kind to you. I can see that for myself. But you must 
 tell me all about it all about everything tonight. Think, 
 my darling ! we shall be together here all the evening ! No 
 noisy crowd to prevent us talking no interference. I 
 shall want to know everything. Hush ! here she comes," 
 and with another swift kiss he rose and went into the next 
 room. Una stole out and upstairs to dress. 
 
 Quite unsuspicious, Mrs. Davenant came back smiling. 
 She had ordered one or two of Jack's favorite dishes, and 
 had come to ask him about the claret. 
 
 "There is some of the Chateau la Rose, Jack. Would 
 you like to have it warmed a little ?" she asked, anxiously. 
 
 "Let them put a bottle in the kitchen somewhere," said 
 Jack. "It will get right there by dinner time. Eight 
 o'clock you dine, I know. I'll just run home and dress, 
 and be back punctually to the minute." 
 
 "It will be the first time in your life then," said Mrs. 
 Davenant. 
 
 For the first time in his life then Jack was punctual. 
 At five minutes to eight a hansom dashed up to the door, 
 and Jack, in evening dress, with his light overcoat, strode 
 up the steps and into the drawing-room. 
 
 It was empty, but a minute afterward he heard the rustle 
 of a woman's dress, and turned as Una entered the room. 
 She wore the dress she had worn at Lady Bell's, and Jack, 
 who had not yet seen her in her "war paint" as he would 
 have described it was startled; and Una, as she saw the 
 look of surprise and rapt admiration, felt, like a true 
 woman, a glow of satisfaction and pleasure. It was not 
 that she was beautiful, but that he should think her so.
 
 202 ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 "My darling," ho inurmurod, holding her at arm's 
 length ; "what magic charm do you possess that enables you 
 to grow more beautiful every time T see you ? Or is it all a 
 mistake, and are you another Una than the Una of Warden 
 Forest ?" 
 
 Una put her hands on his shoulders trustfully, and 
 turned her face up to him. 
 
 "Tell me," she murmured, "which Una do you like 
 best?" 
 
 Jack thought a moment. 
 
 "I love them both so well," he said, "that I can't decide." 
 And he kissed her twice. "One is for the Una of the 
 Forest, and one for the Una of the world/' he said. 
 
 She had only time to slip from his arms when Mrs. 
 Davenant entered. 
 
 "What do you say to punctuality, ma'am ?" he exclaimed, 
 triumphantly, as he gave her his arm and lead her into the 
 dining-room. 
 
 Jack was a favorite, for all his wickedness, wherever he 
 went. It was no sooner known that he was to dine in the 
 house, that the cook awoke to instant energy and en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 "Master Jack's a gentleman worth cooking a dinner for," 
 she declared. "It's a waste of time to worry yourself for 
 women folk; they don't know a good dinner from a bad 
 one; but Master Jack oh, that's a different thing! He 
 knows what clear soup ought to be ; and he shall have it 
 right, too." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant herself was surprised at the elaborate 
 little dinner. 
 
 "I wish you'd dine with us every day, my dear Jack," she 
 said. 
 
 Jack glanced demurely at Una, in time to catch the 
 sparkle in her dark eyes. 
 
 'Tm afraid you'd soon get tired of me," he said. "But, 
 seriously, I should improve the cooking; not this day's, I 
 mean but the usual ones. You've got a treasure of a cook, 
 
 9 9* 
 
 ma am. 
 
 And, of course, this was carried down by Mary to the 
 empress of the kitchen, and her majesty was rewarded for 
 all her trouble.
 
 WHO WAS THE HElIi? i()3 
 
 "What did I tell you?" she demanded. "Master Jack 
 knows." 
 
 Jack's appetite was always good, in love or out of it, and 
 this evening would have been the happiest in his life but 
 for certain twinges of conscience. 
 
 What should he say to Leonard, the faithful friend, when 
 he got home and was asked how he had parted from Una? 
 However, he stifled conscience it is always easy to do that 
 at dinner time. 
 
 "Will you have some more claret?" asked Mrs. Dave- 
 nant, as she and Una prepared to leave him. "You can 
 smoke a cigarette, if you like ; but open the window after- 
 ward." 
 
 "I won't have any more claret, and I won't smoke," said 
 Jack. "I'll just finish this glass and come with you for a 
 cup of tea." 
 
 Five minutes of solitude spent in going over every look 
 and word of the lovely creature he had won, were enough 
 for Jack. 
 
 He found them seated at the window; Una in a low 
 chair, almost at Mrs. Daven ant's feet. They both looked 
 up, as if glad to see him ; and Mrs. Davenant at once rang 
 for tea and coffee. 
 
 Una rose, and officiated with calm self-possession and 
 accustomed ease no one would have guessed that her ac- 
 quaintance with a London drawing-room, and its accom- 
 panying forms and ceremonies, was only that of a few 
 weeks and brought Jack his cup. 
 
 In taking it, he tried to touch her hand, and nearly upset 
 the cup. 
 
 "Take care, my dear Jack," said Mrs. Davenant. "Has 
 he spoiled your dress, my dear ?" 
 
 "No," said Una, her face red as a rose. "It was my 
 fault." 
 
 "Yes ; it was her fault," said Jack, significantly. 
 
 "You always were clumsy, my dear Jack," said Mrs. 
 Davenant. "You are too big." 
 
 "I'll get myself cut down a foot or two," said Jack. 
 
 Happy ! They were as happy as any two women in Lon- 
 don, notwithstanding Jack's wickedness. 
 
 Jack glanced at the piano.
 
 204 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 "I wish you could play/' he said to Una. 
 
 Mrs. Davcnant looked at him. 
 
 "How do you know she cannot ?" she said. 
 
 Jack looked embarrassed. 
 
 "I rather fancy I heard U Miss Eolfe admit as much. 
 But she can sing, I know." 
 
 "And you can play for her/' said Mrs. Davenant. "You 
 used to play very nicely when you were a boy," and she 
 sighed. 
 
 Jack looked dubious for a moment, then, with sudden 
 assurance and confidence, jumped up. 
 
 "Let me try. Will you come, Miss Rolfe?" 
 
 Tina followed him to the piano, and Jack turned out all 
 the music from the canterbury on the floor. 
 
 "Come and see if there is anything you know," he said, 
 and Una knelt down beside him. 
 
 0-f course Jack's hand was on hers in a moment* 
 
 "I nearly let the cat out of the bag just then," he said. 
 "I must be careful." 
 
 "But why?" asked Una. "Why may we not " she 
 
 paused, then, having raised her eyes, she continued "why 
 may she not know?" 
 
 "So she shall," said Jack, "all in good time. I can't con- 
 sent to share my secret all in one evening ! Besides " 
 
 "Cannot you find anything," said Mrs. Davenant, sleep- 
 ily, from the next room. 
 
 Jack stuck up some music on the stand and sat down 
 
 He had played well at one time, in a rough fashion, and 
 had a wonderful ear, and, quite regardless of the music, he 
 launched into a prelude. 
 
 "Sing the song you sang the other evening, my darling," 
 he whispered. "I remember every note of it." 
 
 Una obeyed instantly. Free from any spark of vanity, 
 she knew nothing of the shyness which assails self-conscious 
 people. Jack, with his acute ear, played a running accom- 
 paniment easily enough; it was true he had remembered 
 every note of it. 
 
 "You nightingale," he whispered, looking tip at her, and 
 the fervent admiration of his eyes made her heart throb. 
 
 "Now sing something yourself, Jack," said Mrs. Dave- 
 nant.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 205 
 
 Jack thought a moment, his fingers straying over the 
 keys, then softening his full baritone voice as much as 
 possible, he sang "Yes, dear, I love but thee !" 
 
 It was an old English song, one of the sweetest of the old 
 melodies which even now have power to rouse a I lose audi- 
 ence to enthusiasm. 
 
 Una stood behind him entranced, bewitched; he sang 
 every word to her. 
 
 "Yes, dear, I love but thee 1" 
 
 Oh, Heaven, it was too great a joy ! 
 
 Unconsciously she drew nearer and put her hand upon 
 his shoulder, timidly, caressingly, and as the music ceased, 
 Jack turned and caught it prisoner in his. 
 
 "Yes, dear, I love but thee !" he murmured. 
 
 "And I" she breathed, her eyes melting with passionate 
 tenderness "and I love but thee." 
 
 "My darling/' he whispered, "do you know what you are 
 giving me your precious self and to whom you are 
 giving it?" 
 
 The voice fell ; conscience was awake again. 
 
 "Una," he went on, hurriedly, passionately. "I am not 
 worthy of your love " 
 
 "I love but thee I" she breathed, softly. 
 
 "You do not know, you who are so ignorant of the world, 
 what it means to wed a man like myself, penniless, worth- 
 lessoh, Heaven, forgive me !" 
 
 "I love but thee !" she breathed, for all her answer. 
 
 Jack bent his head over her hand. 
 
 "What can I do?" he murmured, bitterly, "I cannot 
 give her up/' 
 
 Then he looked up. 
 
 "Have you no fear, Una ? Do you trust me so entirely ? 
 Think, can you face poverty and all its trials. Dear, I am 
 very poor, worse than poor," 
 
 She smiled an ineffable smile. 
 
 "And I am rich while I have your love, 1 ' 
 
 Then suddenly her voice changed, and with a look of 
 terror she bent over him, almost clingingly. 
 
 "What is it you are saying ? Jack ! Jack ! you will not 
 leave me ?"
 
 206 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 Jack started to his feet, and regardless of waking Mrs. 
 Pavenant, took her in his arms. 
 
 "Never, by Heaven P lie exclaimed. 
 
 There was one moment of ecstatic joy, then suddenly 
 Tina drew back; and with a gesture of alarm, pointed to 
 the looking-glass. Jack raised his head, and with a sud- 
 den cry drew her nearer to him as if to protect her. 
 
 Reflected in the glass was the thin figure of Stephen 
 Davenant, looking rather like a ghost than a man silent, 
 motionless, with pallid face, and set, rigid eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 White and haggard, Stephen stood in shadow-way, his 
 eyes fixed on Jack and Una with an expression of mingled 
 astonishment and rage beyond all description. 
 
 Jack was too astonished by what seemed as much an ap- 
 parition as a reality, to withdraw his arm from round 
 Una's waist, and it was she who first recovered self-posses- 
 sion enough to cross over to Mrs. Davenant and wake her. 
 
 Her movement seemed to recall Stephen to a sense of the 
 situation, and in a moment he rose and coped with it. 
 
 Another man, a weaker man, coming thus suddenly upon 
 what looked like the wreck of all his deeply-laid plans, 
 upon seeing the girl, whom it was all-important he should 
 secure for himself, in the arms of the man he hated and 
 feared most in the world, would have given vent to his 
 wrath and disappointment. But not so Stephen. By a 
 vast effort, he suppressed the evil glance in his eyes, forced 
 a smile to his compressed lips, and came across the room 
 with outstretched hand and an expression of warmest and 
 most affectionate greeting. 
 
 "My dear Jack !" he exclaimed, in his soft tones, almost 
 rough in their warmth and geniality. "Now, this is a 
 pleasant surprise. How do you do ? how do you do ?" 
 
 But almost before Jack knew it, Stephen had seized him 
 by the hand, and was swinging it convulsively, smiling so 
 that all his teeth glittered and shone in the candle-light. 
 
 Jack was taken by surprise, and returned the greeting 
 cordially; indeed, what else could he do, seeing that he
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 207 
 
 was in Stephen's mother's house, and making love to Ste- 
 phen's protegee? 
 
 "Quite a surprise !" said Stephen, laughing ; and then, 
 still talking to Jack, he crossed over and bent down to kiss 
 his mother. "How do you do, my dear mother? Xow 
 don't be angry at my taking you so "unexpectedly." 
 
 "Angry, my dear Stephen!" faltered Mrs. Davenaut; 
 and indeed, it was not anger so much as fear that shone 
 in the timid eyes. 
 
 Then, having got himself completely under control, 
 Stephen raised his eyes to Una, and held out his hand. 
 
 "And how do you do, Miss Eolfe? I hope your health 
 has not suffered in this close London of ours. May I say 
 that there are no signs of such an ill result in your face ?" 
 
 Una gave him her hand, and smiled at him in her quiet, 
 grave way. 
 
 "I am very well, thank you/' she said. 
 
 "That's right," said Stephen "that's right !" 
 
 And he stood and looked from one to the other, rubbing 
 his white, soft hands, and smiling as if he were over-run- 
 ning with the milk of human kindness. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Davenant had risen, and was fluttering 
 about nervously. 
 
 "Have you dined, Stephen ? We can get some dinner, or 
 or something directly." 
 
 "My dear mother, I dined at my rooms two hours ago ; 
 but if you have a cup of tea, now; but don't trouble it 
 does not matter in the slightest." 
 
 Fresh tea was brought in, and Una, as usual, officiated. 
 Stephen, leaning over a chair-back, talked to Jack and Mrs. 
 Davenant, but his eyes turned continually on the graceful 
 figure and the beautiful profile; and not one of them 
 guessed the rage and fury which boiled and simmered 
 under his, calm and amiable exterior. 
 
 Already, as if some one had told him, he knew that Una 
 had been out into the world. Her dress, her manner told 
 him that ; and while he smiled lovingly at his mother, he 
 was crying out inwardly : 
 
 "Fool ! fool ! to trust Una to her." 
 
 He took his cup of tea, his hand as steady as a rock, and 
 chatted with Jack, full of the pleasantcst interest.
 
 208 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OK, 
 
 Where had he been, and what had he been doing? and 
 was he in those eccentric but charming rooms of his in the 
 Temple still? and how was his friend Leonard Dagle? 
 
 He was full of questions, questions which Jack answered 
 in his curt, brief fashion. And all the while Stephen was 
 weighing the situation, realizing all its danger and peril, 
 and determining on a course of action. 
 
 "Just one more cup, Miss Eolfe, if you please. Tea is 
 my favorite beverage I am quite an old washerwoman !" 
 
 Then he took his cup, and sat down beside her. 
 
 "Yes," he said, not in a particularly low tone, but in his 
 softest manner "yes, I am glad to see that your health has 
 not suffered in London. I trust you have been happy ?" 
 
 Una looked up with a faint flush on her face. 
 
 "I have been I am very, very happy/' she said, and 
 Jack's face flushed too with the delight at the accent on 
 "I am." 
 
 "That is right/' said Stephen, with the air of an old, old 
 friend, "and I hope my mother has found some amusement 
 for you that she has shown you something of the great 
 world." 
 
 "Yes," said Una, and she glanced at Mrs. Davenant, 
 from whose pale face all traces of the calm serenity which 
 had reigned there during the earlier part of the evening 
 had entirely fled "yes, I have been very gay is not that 
 the word ? I have been to a ball, and to a picnic, and have 
 seen all the sights." 
 
 "And where was the ball?' 
 
 "At Lady Earlsle/s/' said Una. 
 
 Stephen opened his eyes and smiled. . 
 
 "My dear Miss Bolfe, you have penetrated the most ex- 
 clusive of social rings ! Lady Berkley's ! Come, that is 
 very satisfactory ; and Jack Jack is my cousin well, very 
 nearly cousin, you know, I hope he has made himself useful 
 and agreeable ?" 
 
 Una glanced shyly and gravely at Jack a glance that 
 told everything, even if Stephen had not seen her in Jack's 
 arms. 
 
 "Yes," she said, in a low voice, "Mr. Newcombe has been 
 very kind." 
 
 Stephen smiled and showed all his teetK.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIK? 20!) 
 
 "I am afraid there will be nothing left for me to do/' 
 he said. 
 
 Then, in a lower voice, he added : 
 
 "You will be glad to hear that I have news of your 
 father." 
 
 Una looked up breathlessly. The question had been hov- 
 ering on her lips. 
 
 Stephen nodded. 
 
 "Yes, he wrote me from a place in Surrey called tut 
 tut ! The name has escaped me ! They are quite well, and 
 send their fondest love." 
 
 Una's eyes filled. 
 
 "Why did they leave the cottage so suddenly ?" she said. 
 
 "Because your father wished for a change. I told you 
 truth, you see, when I said that your departure would be 
 good for him, and wean him from his seclusion." 
 
 ''Why does he not come to see me ?" asked Una. 
 
 "He is coming, my dear Una," said Stephen. "But at 
 present he is very much engaged, and quite satisfied with 
 my favorable report of your health and happiness. But 
 come, I must not make you homesick. Were you not play- 
 ing when I came in ?" 
 
 Una flushed. 
 
 "Jack Mr. Newcombe was playing," she said; "I was 
 singing." 
 
 "Pray don't let me interrupt you," said Stephen, gen- 
 ially, "or I shall feel like an intruder, and walk off again. 
 Jack, go on with your music, my dear fellow." 
 
 But Jack declined promptly, though politely. 
 
 "I'm afraid I must be off," he said, looking at his watch, 
 and then at Una, wistfully. 
 
 "Not yet," said Stephen. "I have a whole budget of 
 news to tell you. I dare say you wonder why I haven't 
 been up before this; but there was so much to do a sur- 
 p rising deal." 
 
 Jack nodded curtly. He certainly didn't want to finish 
 up this particular evening by hearing Stephen's talk of the 
 Hurst. 
 
 " .Vo doubt," he said. "You must come and dine with mo 
 and tell me. Good-night, Mrs. Davenant !" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant gave him her hand.
 
 210 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 "Must you go, Jack?" she said, tremulously. "You 
 you will come again ?" 
 
 "Most certainly I will/ 7 said Jack, significantly. 
 
 Una had risen and gone to the piano to gather up the 
 music which Jack, with his usual untidiness, had scattered 
 about. 
 
 He followed her, and knelt down as if to help her. 
 
 "Good-night, my darling!" he murmured, touching her 
 arm caressingly. "Don't be afraid." 
 
 Una raised her arm and touched it with her lips. 
 
 "Afraid of whom ?" 
 
 "Of nobody !" said Jack, rather ungrammatically. 
 
 "Not of Mr. Davenant, who has been so kind ?" she whis- 
 pered, with a surprised look. 
 
 Jack bit his lip. 
 
 "Xo, no ; certainly not. Oh, yes, he has been kind." 
 
 Then with a long, loving look into her sweet face he 
 crossed the room. 
 
 "Good-night, Stephen." 
 
 "You are really going? Well, then, I'll go with you," 
 said Stephen. "Mother will not mind my running away 
 tonight, I am rather tired." 
 
 And he stooped and kissed her, and went to the door. 
 
 It almost seemed as if he had forgotten Una; Jsut ha 
 turned suddenly and held out his hand, a bland, benevolent 
 smile on his pale face. 
 
 "Good-night, good-night," he murmured, softly, and fol- 
 lowed after Jack, who, the moment he reached the pave- 
 inent, looked out for a hansom; but Stephen linked his arm 
 in Jack's, and said : 
 
 "Are you in a hurry, my dear Jack ? If not, I'll walk a 
 little way with you; or will you come toward my rooni^?" 
 
 Jack consented to the latter course, by turning in the 
 direction of the "Albany" in silence. 
 
 He felt that Stephen was playing a part why or where- 
 fore he could not guess and now that he had recovered 
 from his surprise at Stephen's sudden appearance, his old 
 mistrust and dislike were returning to him. 
 ^ They walked on in silence for some few moments, then 
 Stephen said : 
 
 "I wanted to have a few words with you, my dear
 
 WHO WAS TUP: HEIR? 211 
 
 I should have written, but I Ml that I could make myself 
 understood better by word of mouth." 
 
 Jack nodded. 
 
 "Of course, what I have to say concerns my poor uncle's 
 death and its consequences." 
 
 Jack was silent still. He would not help him in the 
 slightest. 
 
 "I cannot but feel that those consequences, while they 
 have been distinctly beneficial to me, have and to put it 
 plainly, and I wish to speak plainly, my dear Jack have 
 been unfortunate for you." 
 
 "Well," said Jack, grimly. 
 
 "Well," said Stephen, softly, "I had hoped, I still hope, 
 that you will allow me the happiness of setting right, to 
 some extent, the wrong yes, I will say wrong done you 
 by my uncle's will." 
 
 "That's impossible," said Jack, gravely. 
 
 "But, my dear Jack, why not? It is my right. Have 
 you any idea of the fortune " 
 
 "Not the slightest," said Jack, breaking in abruptly, 
 "and it's no business of mine; large or small, I hope you'll 
 enjoy it. It was the squire's to do as he liked with, and I 
 suppose he did as he liked; and there's an end of it." 
 
 Stephen winced and bit his lip. 
 
 "And now," said Jack, quietly, but with his heart beating 
 wildly, "I want a word with you, Stephen." 
 
 "Say on, my dear Jack. If there is anything I can do 
 for you " 
 
 "Yes, there is," said Jack. "I want to know I want 
 you to tell me something respecting Miss Rolfe." 
 
 "Miss Eolfe !" said Stephen, softly. 
 
 "Yes," continued Jack. "You'll want to know, before T 
 go any further, on what grounds I ask for information. 
 I'll tell you. I have asked Miss Eolfe to be my wife." 
 * Stephen feigned a start of astonishment. 
 
 "My dear Jack, isn't that rather sudden rather prema- 
 ture?" 
 
 "It may be sudden, I don't know whether it is prema- 
 ture; that's for Miss Rolfe to decide. And she has de- 
 cided." 
 
 Stephen moistened his lips ; they burned like coals.
 
 212 OXLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 "She ha? n coop tod you ?" 
 
 "She lias." said Jack, who folt reluctant to utter one 
 word more than was necessary. 
 
 Stephen pulled up and held out his hand. 
 
 "My dear Jack, I congratulate you. I congratulate 
 you," he exclaimed, fervently. ''You are indeed a happy 
 man."' 
 
 Jack, confounded, allowed his hand to he wrung by the 
 soft, white palm that burned hot and dry. 
 
 "You are a lucky fellow, my dear Jack. Miss Eolfe is 
 one in a thousand. I question if there is a more beautiful 
 girl in London and her disposition. You are indeed a 
 lucky fellow." 
 
 "Thanks, thanks !" said Jack, still overwhelmed by this 
 flood of good will. "And now, perhaps you will tell me 
 what I had better do in the affair! You see I find her 
 visiting settled, rather, at your mother's house, and 
 neither she nor your mother seem to know why or where- 
 fore " 
 
 Stephen interrupted him with a pressure of the arm. 
 
 "I understand, my dear Jack ; your anxiety for informa- 
 tion is only natural. I am very glad I came up this even- 
 ing very glad! And now, as I feel rather tired, would 
 you mind coming up to my rooms ? and we'll have a han- 
 som, after all. 
 
 Jack hailed a cab, and they were rattled to the Albany. 
 
 Of course they could not talk, and Stephen had therefore 
 ^time to perfect his scheme; for he had already begun to 
 1 plot and plan. 
 
 The door of the chambers was opened by Shimmers, his 
 tall, square figure dressed in black, his discreet, shifty eyes 
 absolutely veiled under his lids. 
 
 "Let us have some Apollinaris and the liquor-case, 
 Slummers," said Stephen, "and that box of ciga which 
 Mr. Newcombe liked. Sit down, my dear Jack." 
 
 And he wheeled forward a chair facing the light, and 
 took one for himself, so that his own face should be shaded. 
 
 Jack looked round the room while Slummers brought 
 the tray. 
 
 The four walls were nearly covered with books, all of 
 them of the dryest and most serious kind. Where any space
 
 WHO WAS THE J LK1K 't -> \ \\ 
 
 was left, it was filled up with portraits of eminent diviix- 
 and philanthropists, and every article in the room wa< 
 neatly and methodically arranged. In fact, it presented 
 as marked a contrast to Jack's rooms as it was possible to 
 conceive. 
 
 Jack had not been inside it for years, but he remem- 
 bered distinctly how he used to loathe the room and its 
 "fixings." 
 
 "Now, my dear Jack, pray help yourself those cigars I 
 know you approve ; I heard you praise them at the Hurst, 
 and I brought a box at once." 
 
 "Thanks," said Jack, and he lit a cigar. 
 
 Stephen mixed the Apollinaris and brandy; and leaned 
 back serene and amiable. 
 
 "And now, my dear Jack, I am ready to answer all ques- 
 tions." 
 
 Jack looked down and frowned thoughtfully. He did 
 not know how to put them. Stephen smiled maliciously 
 behind his hand. 
 
 "You want to know how it comes about that Miss Kolfe 
 is under my mother's charge under my charge, I may 
 
 say 
 
 "Under yours ?" said Jack, grimly. 
 
 Stephen nodded. 
 
 "It is a very simple affair, Jack. There is no mystery. 
 The fact is, I have known Miss Kolfe's father for some 
 years. He is a very good fellow, but very eccentric." 
 
 "I know," said Jack ; "I've seen him." 
 
 Stephen started, and concealed his expression of surprise 
 by reaching for his glass. 
 
 "Ah, then, no doubt, you noticed that his appearance and 
 manner does mot correspond with the station he occupies ?" 
 
 "I did," said Jack. 
 
 "Ye^r yes, just so. Well, my dear Jack, my poor friend 
 Eolfe has been in early life unfortunate money matters, 
 which I never quite understand. Like most men of his 
 kind, he got disgusted with the world and hid himself 
 there is no other word for it. But it is one thing to hide 
 yourself and quite another to bury your children. My 
 friend Eolfe felt this when he awoke to the fact that his 
 daughter had grown from a child to a young woman, and
 
 214 XL Y (.) X K LO V K ; OK, 
 
 like a sensible man he applied to one who was conversant 
 with the world, and one in whom he could have, I trust, 
 full confidence myself." 
 
 Jack sat silently regarding the white, calm face with 
 grim, observant eyes. 
 
 "He did not appeal to an old friendship in vain. I un- 
 dertook the charge of Miss Kolfe on one condition. I may 
 say two one on her side, one on mine. Hers was that she 
 should live with my mother, under her protecting wing, as 
 it were ; mine was that I should be the absolute guardian of 
 the young" girl committed to my charge." 
 
 Jack stared. 
 
 "You are Una's guardian ?" he said, at last, with uncon- 
 cealed surprise, as Gideon Kolfe's curse upon the race of 
 Davenants flashed upon his memory. 
 
 Stephen Davenant smiled. 
 
 "You are surprised, my dear Jack. But think ! It is 
 very natural. Unless I had unquestionable control over the 
 young lady, how could I answer for her safety? How 
 guard her against the attacks of fortune hunters " 
 
 Jack started. 
 
 "Fortune hunters!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to 
 say that Una is an heiress ?" 
 
 Stephen's face had flushed and turned deadly pale. 
 
 He had actually been thinking of Una Davenant while 
 he had been talking of Una Rolfe. 
 
 "Yoa did not hear me out, my dear Jack," he said, softly, 
 recovering his composure instantly. "I was going to say 
 against the attack of fortune hunters who might besiege 
 her under the impression that, as my ward, she would be 
 possessed of wealth, instead of being, as you know, abso- 
 lutely penniless." 
 
 Jack nodded. 
 
 "At any rate," he said, grimly, "I was not so deceived." 
 
 "My dear Jack !" exclaimed Stephen, reproachfully, "do 
 you suppose that I do not know that ! Y^ou, who are the 
 soul of honor and disinterestedness, are not likely to be 
 mistaken for a fortune hunter by anyone, least of all by me, 
 who know and love you so well !" 
 
 Jack winced, as the vision of Lady Bell rose before his 
 eyes.
 
 .WHO WAS THE HEIR ? 2 1 r, 
 
 "Go on," he said, impatiently. 
 
 "Well, my dear Jack," said Stephen with a smile, arid 
 rubbing his hands softly, "is it not rather for you to go on ? 
 I am Una's 'guardian, you are her lover." 
 
 "I see," said Jack, rising and pacing up and down the 
 room. "You want me to ask your consent formally. Well, 
 I do so." 
 
 Stephen laughed as if at an excellent joke. 
 
 "What a grim, thorough-going old bulldog you are, my 
 dear Jack!" he exclaimed affectionately. "You ask my 
 consent, as if you did not know that you have it, and my 
 best, my very heartiest wishes into the bargain. But, Jack, 
 don't you see why I am so pleased why this makes me so 
 happy ? It is because now you will be compelled to do me 
 the favor of taking a share of the poor squire's money !" 
 
 Jack started as if he had been stung. 
 
 "You see, my dear fellow ! you can't marry on nothing 
 now, can you ? Love must have a cottage, and but I beg 
 your pardon, my dear fellow ! I am, perhaps, going too 
 far. Much to my grief and regret you have never confided 
 in me as I should have wished, and perhaps I hope that 
 it may be so you have some means " 
 
 Jack paced up and down, the perspiration standing on 
 his knitted brow. 
 
 In the ecstatic joy which had fallen upon him like a 
 glamour during those few short hours with Una, he had 
 absolutely forgotten that he was penniless, and in debt, and 
 without a prospect in the wide world. 
 
 And now it all rushed back upon him; every softly- 
 spoken word of Stephen's fell upon him like a drop in an 
 icy shower bath, and awoke him from his dream to the 
 stern reality. 
 
 What was he to do? Great Heaven, was he actually 
 driven to accept Stephen's charity ? 
 
 A shudder ran through him, a pang of worse than 
 wounded pride. 
 
 Become a pensioner of Stephen Davenant's ! No, it was 
 simply impossible. White and haggard with the struggle 
 that was. going on within him, he turned upon the smiling 
 face. 
 
 "What you want what you propose, is impossible," he
 
 316 ONLY ONE LOVE: OR, 
 
 said, hoarsely. "I cannot and will noi do it. I would 
 rather beg my bread 
 
 Stephen smiled. It was a delicious moment for him, and 
 he prolonged it. 
 
 "My dear Jack ! what would Mr. Gideon Eolfe say if I 
 gave his daughter to a beggar? I use your own words. It 
 is ridiculous. But come, sit down. Grieved as I am at 
 what I must call your mistaken obstinacy, I can't help 
 being touched by it. You always were willful, my dear 
 Jack, always. Alas ! it was that very willfulness that 
 
 estranged you from my uncle " 
 
 "No more of that," said Jack, sternly. 
 Stephen made a gesture with his hand. 
 "And it would, if another man were in my place, rob you 
 of your sweetheart; but it shall not. I am determined to 
 prove to you, my dear Jack, that my desire to be a friend is 
 sincere and true. Let me think. There may be some 
 loophole in your pride which I can creep in at." 
 
 Jack went back to his seat and lit another cigar, and 
 Stephen appeared lost in thought, but in reality he 
 watched through his fingers, and gloated over the despair 
 and trouble depicted on Jack's miserable countenance. 
 
 "Yes, I have it. Come, Jack, you won't refuse assist- 
 ance when it comes from the hand of her Majesty? You 
 won't object to a government appointment ?" 
 
 "A government appointment ?" said Jack, vaguely. 
 Stephen nodded. 
 
 "Yes," he went on. "By a singular chance I have ac- 
 quired some influence with the present government. One 
 of these men has a seat in Wealdshire, which really hangs 
 on the Hurst influence. The squire never interfered, but 
 I could do so; and you see, my dear Jack a snug little 
 sinecure, say of a thousand a year ! It is not much, it is 
 true; but Una has not been accustomed to wealth so long 
 as to feel a thousand a year to be poverty." 
 
 Jack rose and paced the room. "Was he dreaming, or 
 was this a different Stephen to the one he knew and dis- 
 liked ? He had heard of sudden wealth as suddenly trans- 
 forming the nature of a man. Had Stephen's nature un- 
 dergone this marvelous change? 
 
 He doubted and mistrusted him, but here was the abso-
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 21; 
 
 lute evidence. What could Stephen gain by this gener- 
 osity? Nothing absolutely nothing. II 'was sli;m-v. 
 passing strange; but who was he that he should refuse io 
 believe in the generosity and virtue of another num. 
 especially when that generosity was exerted on his behalf? 
 
 Struggling against his suspicion and prejudice, Jack 
 strode round the table and held out his hand. 
 
 "Stephen, I I have wronged you. You must be a good 
 fellow to behave in this way, and I well, I have been a 
 brute, and don't deserve this on your part." 
 
 Stephen winced under the hard grip of the warm, honest 
 hand. 
 
 "Not a word more, my dear Jack ; not a word more," he 
 exclaimed. "This this is really very affecting. You 
 move me very much." 
 
 And he pressed his spotless handkerchief to his eyes. 
 
 Jack's ardor cooled at once, and the old disgust and sus- 
 picion rose ; but he choked them down again, and sat down. 
 
 "Not a word more," said Stephen, with a gulp, as if he 
 were swallowing a flood of tears. "I have long, long felt 
 your coldness and distrust, my dear Jack, but I vowed to 
 live it down, and prove to you that you have wronged me. 
 Believe me that my good fortune my unexpected fortune 
 was quite imbittered to me by the thought that you 
 would misjudge me." 
 
 Jack pulled at his cigar grimly. Stephen was on the 
 wrong track, and he saw it, and hastened to change it. 
 
 "But now, my dear Jack, we shall understand each 
 other. You will believe me that I have your welfare deeply 
 at heart. Who else have I to think of except my mother, 
 my dear mother? And we may conclude that our little 
 negotiation as suitor and guardian is ended. Eh, Jack? 
 You shall have the appointment and Una lucky fellow 
 that you are and I shall /be rewarded by seeing you 
 happy." 
 
 Jack nodded. The mention of Una had filled him witfi 
 gratitude. He could not forget that he owed her in two 
 ways to Stephen. 
 
 "You are a good fellow, Stephen," he said, "and you 
 deserve your luck. After all, you'll make a better master 
 of Hurst than I should. You'll take care of it."
 
 218 OXLY OXE LOVE : OR, 
 
 Stephen sighod. Tie was facing to gloat again. 
 
 "I don't know. I wish to do my duty. It is an immense 
 sum of money, Jack ; immense.'"' 
 
 Jack nodded again. 
 
 "I'm glad of it," he said, easily. "I don't envy you. I 
 did once, and not very long ago. But I rank Tina ahove 
 the Hurst even, and if I have her, you are welcome to the 
 Hurst." 
 
 Stephen winced, and looked at him from the corners of 
 his eyes. Was there any significance in the speech? But 
 Jack's face was open and frank, as usual. 
 
 "That's a bargain,'' said Stephen, laughing. 
 
 Jack thought a moment. 
 
 "But what about Mr. Rolf e ?" he said, dubiously. 
 
 "Leave him to me," said Stephen, confidently. "I will 
 manage him. And, by the way, I think for the present that 
 we had better keep our little engagement quiet. You un^ 
 derstand? He had better hear it from my lips, and you 
 quite see, Jack?" 
 
 Jack didn't quite see. He would have preferred to go to 
 Gideon Rolfe and have the matter out fight it out if need 
 be but he was, so to speak, in Stephen's hands. 
 
 "Very well," he said. 
 
 "And now have another cigar, my dear 'Jack, you've 
 eaten that one." 
 
 But Jack was anxious to go. He wanted to be alone to 
 think over this strange interview, and realize that Una 
 was his. 
 
 "Well, if you wHl go," said Stephen, reluctantly; "but 
 mind, I shall expect you to make this your second home.** 
 
 Jack glanced round rather dubiously. 
 
 "And of course we shall see you at the Square ?'* 
 
 This invitation Jack accepted heartily, and once morfe 
 he wrung Stephen's hand. 
 
 "Good-night, good-night, my dear Jack," said Stephen, 
 and he took a candle from the table to light him down the 
 stairs, and smiled till every tooth in his head showed like a- 
 grave-stone. 
 
 ^ Then, as Jack's heavy step faded away and was lost, 
 Stephen went back into the room, closed the door, and sink-
 
 WHO WAS THE IlElli ? 2 1 :> 
 
 ing into a chair sat motionless, with folded arms and hag- 
 gard face. 
 
 "Yes, yes," he muttered, "1 have played the best game 
 I have gulled him. Another man would have attempted 
 to thwart him openly, and have raised a storm. My plan is 
 the wiser. But to think that fate should have played me 
 such a trick ! and I thought she was safe and secure !" and 
 he wiped the drops of cold sweat from his knitted brow. 
 "Fool, fool that I was! Better to have left her there in 
 the heart of the Forest ! And yet and yet " he mused, 
 "it is not so bad. The man might have been more powerful 
 and cunning than the idiot whom I have in the hollow of 
 my hand. Curse him ! curse him ! I never look on his 
 face but I tremble. I hate him !" and he stretched out his 
 closed hand as if with a curse. 
 
 As he did so it came into contact with Jack's glass.' 
 
 In a paroxysm of fury he caught up the glass and dashed 
 it into the fire-place. 
 
 It relieved and brought him to his senses. 
 
 With a gesture of self-contempt he rose and rang the 
 bell. 
 
 Shimmers stole in with his noiseless step and stood be- 
 side the table with downcast eyes, which, nevertheless, had 
 taken in the broken tumbler. 
 
 "I've broken a glass, Slummers," said Stephen, with af- 
 fected carelessness. "Never mind, leave it till the morning. 
 Now, then, what have you learned ?" 
 
 Slummers cleared his throat, and barely opening his thin 
 lips, replied: 
 
 "A great deal, considering the time, sir. The young lady 
 at Mrs. Davenant's " 
 
 "I know all about her," said Stephen, breaking in impa- 
 tiently. "What about Mr. Newcombe?" 
 
 Nowise embarrassed, Slummers wiped his dry lips with 
 a handkerchief as spotless as his master's. 
 
 "It is as you expected, sir. Mr. Newcombe is in difficul- 
 ties." 
 
 "Ah!" said Stephen, with evident satisfaction. 
 
 "He has been playing and giving paper. There are some 
 old bills out, too. These are in the hands of Moss the 
 money-lender."
 
 220 OX'.Y O.Xi: LOYK; OK, 
 
 Stephen nodded and rubbed bis bands. 
 "I know .Moss a bard man. Go on." 
 "But they say/" continued Shimmers, raising his eyes for 
 a moment to his master's face, "that Mr. Newcombe is go- 
 ing to set tilings rig] it by marrying an heiress." 
 Stephen smiled and leaned back in his chair. 
 "Oh, they do, do they; and who is this most fortunate 
 young lady ?" 
 
 "Lady Isabel Earlsley." 
 Stephen started forward. 
 "What !" 
 
 "Lady Isabel Earlsley," repeated Shimmers, without the 
 slightest change of voice or countenance. 
 
 "No it's a lie !" said Stephen, with a chuckle. "Where 
 did you hear it ?" 
 
 "At the club. It is the talk of town, sir. Mr. Newcombe 
 has been in close attendance upon her ladyship for some 
 time. They say that her ladyship's brougham nearly ran 
 over him, and that she took him home. It is true; her own 
 coachman told me." 
 
 Stephen leaned back and hid his face with his hand, his 
 busy brain at work on this last turn of the wheel. 
 "Go on," he said. 
 "That is all, sir." 
 
 Stephen was silent for a minute or two, then he turned 
 to the writing table and wrote for some minutes. 
 
 "Go to Moss to-morrow morning," he said, "and tell him 
 not to press Mr. Newcombe, and I don't think he will re- 
 quire more than the hint but you may say I will buy all 
 Mr. Newcombe's bills at a fair price. Mind ! I want every 
 I U and bill that Mr. Newcombe gives. You under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "I understand, Mr. Stephen," said Shimmers, and a 
 faint, malicious smile stole over his face. 
 
 "And if Mr. Moss likes to oblige Mr. Newcombe with a 
 little loan, I will take the bill. You understand ?" 
 Slummers nodded. 
 
 "Here is the letter to Moss for his own satisfaction. He 
 will not mention my name." 
 
 Slummers took the note. Stephen passed his hand over 
 his forehead, and turned his back to the light.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 2*1 
 
 '"Any any other news, Shimmers?" 
 
 Shimmers smiled behind his hand. 
 
 "I have been to Cheltenham Terrace. We were rightly 
 informed., sir. Old Mr. TYeherne is dead, and Miss Tre- 
 herne has disappeared." 
 
 Stephen drew a breath of relief. 
 
 "Indeed," he said. "Very good. Let me see, is there 
 anything else ?" 
 
 Slummers coughed. 
 
 "Nothing, sir, except to remind you that you have to 
 speak at the charitable meeting tomorrow night." 
 
 "Ah, yes, thank you, very good, Slummers. Be good 
 enough to hand me the last charitable reports. Good- 
 night." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Happy ! If ever two young people were happy, Una and 
 Jack were. To Una the days passed like a happy dream 
 time. Her sky was without a cloud ; it almost seemed as if 
 the world had been made for her, so entirely did every- 
 thing lend itself to her enjoyment. 
 
 Every morning, soon after breakfast, Jack's quick, 
 buoyant step was heard ascending the stone steps of the 
 house in Washington Square, and he would come march- 
 ing into the breakfast room with some palpable excuse 
 about his just happening to pass, and Mrs. Davenant would 
 smile her gentle welcome, and Una well, Una's eyes were 
 eloquent, if her tongue was mute, and would speak 
 volumes. 
 
 And Jack would lounge about for an hour, telling them 
 all the news, and perhaps smoking a cigarette, just inside 
 the conservatory; and Una was sure to find an excuse for 
 being near him. 
 
 Indeed, if that young lady could be within touching dis- 
 tance of her god and hero, she seemed passing content. He 
 was the very light of her life, soul of her soul ; every day 
 seemed to increase the passionate devotion of her first, her 
 maiden love, for the wild, young ne'er-do-well. 
 
 And she was repaid. Jack thought that there never had 
 been, sinee Eve began ilie sex, such a marvel of beauty and
 
 222 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 grace and virtue a? Una. UP would sit for half-an-hour 
 smoking and watching IHT in silence. 
 
 "Didn't one of those clever fellow? say of a certain 
 woman that to know her was a liberal education ?"' he said 
 to Mrs. Davenant. "Well, I say. that to be in Una's pres- 
 ence, to watch her moving about in that quiet, graceful 
 way of hers, and then to catch a smile now and again, is 
 like reading a first-class poem ; better, indeed, for me, be- , 
 cause I don't go in for poetry/*' 
 
 Xot that these young lovers spent all their time in si- 
 lently watching each other. Every day Jack arrived with 
 some plan for their amusement and enjoyment. Some- 
 times it would be : 
 
 "Well, what are you going to do today? What do you 
 say to taking the coach to Guildford, getting a snack there, 
 and back in the evening ?" 
 
 Una's face would light up, and Mrs. Davenant would 
 smile agreeably, and in half-an-hour they would be ready, 
 and Jack, as proud of Una's beauty as if it were unique, 
 would escort them to the "White Horse" in Piccadilly, and 
 away they would spin through the lovely Surrey valleys to 
 that quaintest of old towns in the hills. Sometimes Jack 
 himself would take the ribbons, and, with Una by his side, 
 "tool the truck," as he called the handsome coach, back to 
 town. 
 
 Then, again, he never came without a box for one of the 
 theaters or a stall for a concert ; and though not over fond 
 of classical music himself, was quite content to sit and 
 watch the look of rapt delight in Una's face as she listened 
 absorbed in Joachim's wonderful violin. 
 
 But most of all, I think, they enjoyed their days on the 
 river, when Jack, attired in his white flannels, would pull 
 the two ladies up to Walton or Chertsey, and give them 
 tea in one of the quiet, river-side inns. 
 
 Ah ! those evenings, those moonlight nights, when tho 
 boat drifted down stream, and the two young people sat, 
 hand in hand, whispering those endless exchanges of confi- 
 dence which go to make up lovers' conversations. 
 
 It was wonderful that Mrs. Davenant did not catch cold, 
 but Jack took great care of her, and wrapped her up in
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIK? 223 
 
 his thick ulster; and she never seemed to grow tired of 
 witnessing their happiness. 
 
 Sometimes Jack would ask Stephen to join them, but 
 Stephen would always find an excuse. Xow it was because 
 he had an engagement with the lawyers; at another time 
 he had promised to speak at some philanthropic meeting, or 
 had promised to dine at the club. He would, however, 
 occasionally dine at the Square, or drop in and take a 
 cup of tea; and wore always the same friendly smile and 
 genial manner. 
 
 Jack had become quite convinced that he had done 
 Stephen a great deal of injustice, and now thought that 
 Stephen was everything that was kind and thoughtful. 
 
 It \ras only at chance times, when Jack happened to 
 catch the pale face off its guard, that the old doubts rose 
 to perplex and trouble him; but then he always set them 
 to rest by asking himself what Stephen could possibly have 
 to gain by acting as he did. 
 
 Of course, all these outings by land and water cost a 
 great deal of money, but Jack had found Moss, the money- 
 lender, most suddenly and strangely complaisant. 
 . Instead of dunning him for what was owing, Moss ac- 
 tually pressed him to borrow more, and Jack, always too 
 careless in money matters, was quite ready to oblige him. 
 
 "I can pay him out of my salary, when I get the appoint- 
 ment," he said to Leonard, in response to the latter's re- 
 monstrances and warnings. 
 
 "Yes, when you get it," said Leonard. 
 
 "What do you mean ?" said Jack. "Do you mean to hint 
 that Stephen isn't to be relied upon.?" 
 
 "I haven't the honor of knowing much of Mr. Dave- 
 nant," said Leonard, "and so can't say whether he is more 
 reliable than most public men who promise places and ap- 
 pointments; but I do know that men have grown gray- 
 headed while waiting for one of those said places." 
 
 "You don't know Stephen," said Jack, confidently. "He 
 can manage anything he likes to set his mind on. He is 
 ot one of my sort. He can't let the grass grow under his 
 feet. There, stop croaking, and come and dine at the 
 Square."
 
 224 \ L V X I-: LOVE ; OR, 
 
 And Leonard would go. for he and Una had, as Jack 
 said, "cottoned io one another."' 
 
 Una felt all sorts of likings and gratitade for the man 
 who had always been Jack's friend, and none of the jeal- 
 ousy which some girls feel for their lover's bachelor ac- 
 quaintances. 
 
 "I am sure he is good and true, Jack," she^aid. 
 
 "Good ! There isn't a better man in England," Jack 
 affirmed. "And he's as true as steel. Poor old Len !" 
 
 "Why do you pity him?" said Una, who had not alto- 
 gether lost her way of asking direct questions. 
 
 "Well, you see, there's a lot of romance about Len," said 
 Jack ; and he told her about Leonard's meeting with Laura 
 Treherne. 
 
 "And he has never found her ?" said Una. 
 
 "Not from that day to this," answered Jack. 
 
 "And yet he still remembers and loves her," murmured 
 Una. "Yes, I like your friend, Jack, and I do hope he 
 will meet with this young lady and be happy. I should like 
 all the world to be as happy as I am !" 
 
 "Ah, but don't you see all the world aren't angels like 
 you, you know," retorted Master Jack, kissing her. 
 
 Though, in accordance with Stephen's advice, the en- 
 gagement had not been made public, the outside world was 
 beginning to get an inkling of what was going on in Wal- 
 mington Square. 
 
 Jack's friends at the club chaffed him on the unfre- 
 quency of his visits. 
 
 "There's some mischief the Savage is planning/' -aid 
 .Dalrymple. "You scarcely ever see him here now : he 
 doesn't play, and shuns the bottle as if it were poison, and 
 he's altogether changed. I shouldn't be surprised if he 
 were to take to public meetings like that distant cousin of 
 his, Stephen Davenant." 
 
 "It is my opinion," said Sir Arkroyd Hetley, "that lie 
 spends all his time at Walmington Square, for my man 
 sees him going and coming at all hours. The Savage is in 
 love." 
 
 And gradually those rumors spreading, like the ripple of 
 a stone in a pool, reached Park Lane, and got to Lady 
 Bell's ears.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 2- v '0 
 
 She had gone out of town for a week or two, and had, 
 of course, seen nothing of Jack or Una, but on her return 
 she drove to the Square. 
 
 Una and Mrs. Davenant were sitting by the tea table, 
 and wondering whether Jack would come in. 
 
 Lady Bell's entrance made quite a little flutter. 
 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Davenant, and how do you do, 
 Wild Bird ?" and she kissed Una, and holding her at arm's 
 length, scanned her smilingly. "What have you been do- 
 ing to look so fresh and happy?" Here Una's face over- 
 spread with blushes. "What a child it is ! But see, here 
 I am just from the seaside, and as pale, or rather as yellow 
 as a guinea, while you are like a dairy-maid. My dear girl, 
 you positively beam with happiness/' 
 
 Mrs. Davenant and Una exchanged glances glances 
 that were not lost upon Lady Bell's acuteness. 
 
 "Is there a secret?" she said, quickly. "Have you 
 come into a fortune? But, no, that can't be it, for I 
 know that I've never been thoroughly happy since I came 
 into mine." 
 
 "You always look happy, Lady Bell," said Mrs. Dave- 
 nant. 
 
 "My dear, don't judge by appearances," said Lady Bell, 
 in her quick way. "I am not always happy; most of my 
 time I am bored to death; I am always worried and hur- 
 ried. Oh, by-the-way, speaking of worries, can you rec- 
 ommend me a maid ? My own, a girl who came from the 
 colonies with me, and swore, after a fashion, never to leave 
 me, has gone and got married. I should be angry if I 
 didn't pity her." 
 
 "Don't you believe in the happiness of the married 
 state, then?" asked Mrs. Davenant, while Una looked on 
 smilingly. 
 
 "No," said Lady Bell, shortly. "Men are tyrants and 
 deceivers ; there is no believing a word they say. A woman 
 who marries is a slave, and " 
 
 She broke off sharply, for the door opened and Jack en- 
 tered. A warm flush rose to Lady Bell's face, and she 
 was too much occupied in concealing it to observe the simi- 
 lar flush which flooded Una's cheeks. 
 
 Jack was striding in with Una's name on his lips, but
 
 226 ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 ho stopped short at sight of Lady Bell, and the flush" 
 seemed an epidemic, for it glowed under his tan. 
 
 "I thought you were at Brighton, Lady Bell," he said, 
 as he shook hands. 
 
 "So I was three hours ago. I came away suddenly; 
 got tired and bored of it before I had been there three days. 
 If there is one place more unendurable than another it is 
 the fashionable watering-place. I bore it until this morn- 
 ing, and then poor Mrs. Fellowes and I made a bolt of it, 
 or rather I bolted and dragged her with me. I left Lord 
 Dalrymple and Sir Arkroyd in happy unconsciousness of 
 our desertion/' 
 
 "Then, at this moment, they are wandering about the 
 Parade in despair," said Jack, laughing. And, as he 
 laughed, he looked from one girl to the other, making a 
 mental comparison. Yes, Lady Bell was beautiful, with 
 a beauty undeniable and palpable, but how it paled and 
 grew commonplace beside Una's fresh, spiritual loveliness. 
 
 He had held her hand for a moment when he entered, 
 and now, as he carried the tea cup, he got an opportunity 
 of touching her arm, lovingly, caressingly. 
 
 He longed to take her by the hand and say to Lady 
 Bell: 
 
 "This is my future wife, Lady Bell," but he remem- 
 bered Stephen's advice, and was on his guard, so much 
 so that though she watched them closely, Lady Bell saw 
 no sign of the existing state of things. 
 
 It was singular, but since Jack's arrival she did .not 
 seem at all bored or worried, but rattled on in her gayest 
 mood. 
 
 "And what have you been doing since I left town ?" she 
 asked Una. "I hope Mr. Newcombe has made himself use- 
 ful and attentive;" and she looked at Jack, who nodded 
 coolly enough, though Una's face crimsoned. 
 
 "Yes, I've been doing the knight errant, Lady Bell. 
 Mrs. Bavenant and I are old friends relations, indeed'." 
 
 "Ah, yes," said Lady Bell. "I hear your son, Mr. Ste- 
 phen, is in London." 
 
 In a moment Mrs. Bavenant's face lost its brightness. 
 
 "Yes, yes," she said, nervously ; "yes, he is in London." 
 
 "Where is he?" said Lady Bell, looking round as if she
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 22 7 
 
 expected to see him concealed behind one of tlio chairs. 
 "He's always addressing public meetings, isn't he?" 
 
 "Not always, Lady Earlsley," said Stephen, from the 
 open doorway. 
 
 "Good heavens ! Speak of the angels, and you hear the 
 rustle of their wings!" exclaimed Lady Bell, not at all 
 embarrassed. "How did you come in, Mr. Davenant ?" 
 
 "By the door, Lady Earlsley, which was open. Mother, 
 you will lose all your plate some day." 
 
 "And what public meeting have you come from now?" 
 asked Lady Bell, with a smile. 
 
 "I have been walking in the park," said Stephen, "and 
 am at your ladyship's service." 
 
 "I am glad of it," said Lady Bell, quickly, "for I want 
 you all of you to come and dine with me tonight." 
 
 "Tonight !" echoed Jack. 
 
 "Tonight! Why not? You have plenty of time to 
 dress. Come, it will be charity there's an argument for 
 you, Mr. Davenant for Mrs. Fellowes and I are all alone ; 
 papa has gone to some learned society meeting. Come, I'll 
 go home at once and tell them to get your favorite wines 
 ready. What is your favorite, Mr. Newcombe?" 
 
 Jack laughed. 
 
 "I'd come and dine with you, Lady Bell, if you gave us 
 ginger beer," he said. 
 
 Lady Bell laughed, but she looked pleased. 
 
 "Now, that is what I call a really good compliment for 
 a Savage," and she glanced at Jack archly. "We'll say 
 half-past eight tonight to give you time to finish your 
 chat. Au revoir'' and waving her daintily-gloved hand, 
 she flitted from the room. 
 
 "Would he dine with me if I had only ginger beer to 
 offer him?" she asked herself, as she went back in the 
 brougham. "Would he ? He looks so honest and so true ! 
 so incapable of a mean, unworthy action ! I wish I were 
 as poor as poor as Una. How quietly she sits. She has just 
 the air of one of the great ones of the earth the air which 
 I, with all my title and wealth, .shall never have. I won- 
 der who she is, and whether Mr. Stephen thinks her as 
 beautiful as I do! He looked at her as he went in well, 
 just as I would that some one else would look at me. How
 
 228 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 handsome he is, so different to Stephen Davenant. Ah, 
 me ! I know now why Brighton was so hateful ; if Jack 
 Newcomhe had been there I should npt have hungered and 
 pined for London ! What a miserable, infatuated being I 
 am. I am as bad as that foolish maid of mine. Yes, just 
 as bad, for if Jack Newcombe came and asked me, I should 
 run away with him as she did with her young man !" 
 
 Still thinking of him, she reached home and went up to 
 her own room, where Mrs. Fellowes, the long-suffering, 
 hastened to meet her. 
 
 "My dear, I'm so glad you've come. How long you 
 have been." 
 
 "My dear, you say that every time I come in. What is 
 the matter another maid run away ?" 
 
 "No, but a maid has come, at least a young person I 
 was going to say lady who wants the situation." 
 
 "Well, a lady's maid ought to be a lady," said Lady 
 Bell, languidly. "Where is she?" 
 
 "In my room," said Mrs. Fellowes. "She came with a 
 note from Lady Challoner. It seems the poor girl has 
 been in trouble she has lost her father and not caring 
 to go for a governess " 
 
 "For which I don't blame her," said Lady Bell. 
 
 "She is desirous of getting an engagement as a com- 
 panion or lady's maid." 
 
 "A companion's worse off than a governess, isn't she?'* 
 said Lady Bell, naively. 
 
 Mrs. Fellowes smiled. 
 
 "Yes. What is her name ?" asked Lady Bell. 
 
 "Well, there's the point," said Mrs. Fellowes. "Her name 
 is Laura Treherne, but as some of her friends she hasn't 
 many, she says might think that she had done wrong in 
 taking a menial situation she wishes to be known by some 
 other name." 
 
 "I hate mysteries and aliases," said Lady Bell. "I 
 don't think I shall engage her. She'll be too proud to do 
 my hair and copy all my dresses in common material. 
 Well, I'll see her." 
 
 "Fll send her away if you like/' said Mrs. Fellowes: 
 "but*! think you'll like her." 
 
 "Do you ? Then I know exactly what she's like before I
 
 WHO WAS THE HEim- WJ 
 
 see her if she has taken your fancy. Some prim old maid 
 in black cotton and thick shoes." 
 
 Mrs. Fellowes smiled and rang the bell, and back' ;i 
 servant to ask the young person who was waiting to step 
 that way. 
 
 Lady Bell began taking off her gloves yawningly, but 
 stopped suddenly, and looked up with an air of surprise 
 as the door opened and a tall girl, with dark hair and eyes, 
 entered. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Lady Bell overmastered her surprise, and asking the 
 young girl to sit down, looked at her critically as she did 
 so. 
 
 Yes, the girl was a lady, there could be no doubt of that. 
 But it was not only the evidence of refinement in the face 
 and the manner of the girl that struck Lady Bell; there 
 was an expression in the dark eyes and clear-cut lips, 
 slightly compressed, which roused her interest and curi- 
 osity. 
 
 It was a face with a history. 
 
 For the first time she looked at Lady Challoner's note. 
 
 "I see," she said, "that Lady Challoner knows you, Miss 
 Treherne." 
 
 "She knew my grandfather," was the quiet answer. "He 
 is dead." 
 
 "Lately ?" said Lady Bell, glancing at the note. 
 
 Laura Treherne bent her head. 
 
 "Two months ago," she said, sadly. 
 
 "And have you no friends with whom you could go and 
 live?" 
 
 "None who would care to have me, or to whom I should 
 wish to go." 
 
 Lady Bell was silent for a moment the girl interested 
 her more each minute. 
 
 "Are you taking a wise step in seeking for a situation 
 which is considered menial?" she asked. 
 
 Laura Treherne paused for a moment. 
 
 "I do not think it degradation to serve Lady Earlsley," 
 she said.
 
 230 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 Lady Bell smiled, not ill pleased. 
 
 "You mean to say that you would not accept any situa- 
 tion ?" 
 
 Laura Treherne inclined her head. 
 
 "How did you know that I wanted a maid ?" 
 
 "I heard it in the house where I am lodging/' she re- 
 plied. 
 
 "And you knew me ?" 
 
 "Yes ; I had heard of you, my lady." 
 
 "Have you any other testimonials besides this note of 
 Lady Challoner's ?" 
 
 "None, my lady." 
 
 Lady Bell hesitated. 
 
 "It is quite sufficient," she said; "but I am afraid you 
 do not understand the duties of a lady's maid." 
 
 "I think so, my lady. What I do not know now, I can 
 soon learn." 
 
 "That's true. And I see you do not wish your real name 
 to transpire?" 
 
 "I would rather that it did not. I would rather be known 
 by some other name," answered Laura Treherne. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 There was a moment's hesitation, and the dark face 
 paled slightly. 
 
 "I thought Lady Challoner had explained. My 
 friends " 
 
 "You do not care for your friends to know that you are 
 in a situation? You think their pride would be greater 
 than your own?" 
 
 "Exactly, my lady." 
 
 "Well, I'll engage you," she said. "When can you come? 
 I have no maid at present." 
 
 "Now, at once, if your ladyship wishes. I will stay 
 now, and send for my luggage, if you please." 
 
 "Very well," said Lady Bell. "Come to my room in half 
 an hour, and we will arrange matters. You have said 
 nothing about salary." 
 
 "That I leave in your ladyship's hands." 
 
 "Like the ca'bmen," said Lady Bell, laughing. "Well, 
 come to my room in half an hour."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 231 
 
 Laura Treherne bowed and left the room, and Mrs. Fel- 
 lowes lifted up her voice in remonstrance. 
 
 "My dear Bell, that letter may be a forgery." 
 
 "It might be, but it isn't. I can read faces, and I like 
 that young lady's. Yes, she's a lady, poor girl. Well, she 
 might have hit upon a worse mistress; I shan't bang her 
 about the head with a hair brush when I'm in a temper, 
 as Lady Courtney does her maid. There, spare your re- 
 monstrances, my dear. The girl's engaged, and I mean to 
 keep her. And now there are three or four people coming 
 to dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Davenant, Jack I mean Mr. 
 Newcombe and that strange girl, Una. What a lovely 
 creature she is ! Do you know I rather think she will be- 
 come Mrs. Stephen Davenant/' 
 
 "She is a very nice girl," said Mrs. Fellowes. "She 
 ought to make a good match." 
 
 "Ay de me," said Lady Bell, with a sigh. "I'm sick of 
 that word. Men and women don't 'marry' now, they make 
 'good matches/ My dear, I hate your worldly way of 
 looking at matrimony. If I were a poor girl, I'd marry 
 the man of my heart, if he hadn't a penny. Ah, and if he 
 were the baddest of bad lots." 
 
 "Like Jack Newcombe, for instance," said Mrs. Fel- 
 lowes, archly. 
 
 "Yes," said Lady Bell, turning with the door in her 
 hand ; "like Jack Newcombe," and she ran up to her room. 
 
 Punctual to the minute, Laura Treherne knocked at the 
 door of the dressing-room. Lady Bell was seated ^before 
 the glass, surrounded by her walking clothes, which, as 
 was her custom, she had slipped out of or flung carelessly 
 aside. 
 
 Without a word Laura picked them up and put them 
 in the wardrobe, and without a word took up the hair 
 brushes. Lady Bell watched her in the glass, and gave her 
 a hint now and then, and when her hair was dressed 
 glanced round approvingly. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "that is very nice; and you have not 
 hurt me once. The last maid used to pull me terribly. I 
 suppose she was thinking of her young man. By the way, 
 are you engaged?" 
 
 The dark face flushed fat a wment, then grew pale.
 
 232 ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 "No, my lady." 
 
 "I'm glad of it. Take my advice and don't be. That 
 sounds selfish, doesn't it. Now you want to know what I 
 am going to wear. I don't know myself. What would you 
 choose? Go to the wardrobe." 
 
 Laura went to the wardrobe, and came back after a 
 minute or two with a dress of black satin and lace looped 
 up with rosebuds of the darkest red. It was one newly 
 arrived from Worth. 
 
 Lady Bell nodded. 
 
 "Yes, that just suits me. Give me a lady for good taste I 
 And now choose the ornaments. There is the jewel-box." 
 
 Laura chose the set of rubies and diamonds, and Lady 
 Bell smiled again. 
 
 "I shall look rather Spanish. Never mind. Let us try 
 them." 
 
 With deft and gentle hands Laura helped her to dress, 
 and Lady Bell nodded approval. 
 
 "Am I ready?" 
 
 Laura hesitated a moment. 
 
 "Will your ladyship wear the pendant?" 
 
 Lady Bell glanced in the glass. 
 
 "Ah, I see, you think that is rather too much against the 
 rosebuds. You are right. Take it off, please. Thanks. 
 Put the key of the jewel-box in your pocket. Stay ! there 
 is a chain for you to wear it on ;" and she took out a small 
 gold chain. "You can keep that as your own." 
 
 Laura Treherne flushed, and she inclined her head grate- 
 fully. 
 
 Lady Bell was relieved; her last maid used to over- 
 whelm her with thanks. 
 
 "And now I will go down. By the way, will you please 
 tell Simcox that's the butler that the gentlemen will 
 want Lafitte, at least, Mr. Newcombe will. I don't know 
 what Mr. Stephen Davenant drinks. What's the matter?" 
 she broke off to inquire, for she heard Laura stumble and 
 fall against the wardrobe. 
 
 There was a moment's pause; then, calmly enough, 
 Laura said: 
 
 "My foot caught in your ladyship's dress, I think.** 
 
 "Have you hurt yourself?"' asked Lady Bell, kindly.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR ? 233 
 
 "You have gone quite pale! Here, take some of this sal- 
 volatile." 
 
 But Laura declined, respectfully. It was a mere nothing, 
 and she would be more careful of alarming her ladyship 
 for the future. 
 
 Lady Bell looked at her curiously. The quiet, self-con- 
 tained manner, so free from nervousness or embarrass- 
 ment, interested her. 
 
 She stopped her as Laura was leaving the room. 
 
 "We haven't fixed upon a name for you yet," she said. 
 
 "No, my lady; any name will do." 
 
 "It is a pity to change yours it is a pretty one." 
 
 "Will Mary Burns do, my lady? It was my mother's 
 name." 
 
 "Very well," said Lady Bell; "I" will tell Mrs. Fellowes 
 that you will be known by that." 
 
 "That girl has a history, I know," she thought, as she 
 went downstairs. 
 
 Punctual almost to the minute, Mrs. Davenant's 
 brougham arrived. 
 
 The evenings had drawn in, and a lamp was burning 
 in the hall; and a email fire made the dining-room com- 
 fortable. 
 
 Lady Bell welcomed Una most affectionately. 
 
 "Now we will have a really enjoyable evening," she said. 
 "I hate dinner parties, and if I had my way, would never 
 give nor go to another one. If it were only a little colder, 
 we'd sit round the fire and bake chestnuts. Have you ever 
 done that, Wild Bird?" 
 
 "Often," said Una, with a quiet smile, and something 
 like a sigh, as she thought of the long winter evenings in 
 the cot. How long ago they seemed, almost unreal, as if 
 they had never happened. 
 
 "Oh, Una is very accomplished," said Jack; "I believe 
 she could make coffee if she tried." 
 
 Very snug and comfortable the dining-room looked. 
 Lady Bell had dispensed with one of the footmen, and had 
 evidently determined to make the meal as homely and un- 
 ceremonious as possible. 
 
 ver, perhaps, had the butler seen a merrier party. 
 Stephen was genial and humorous ; indeed he seemed
 
 234 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OK, 
 
 to oxort himself in an extraordinary fashion. Lady Boll 
 had given him Una to take in, and he was most attentive 
 and entertaining so much that Jack, who was sitting op- 
 posite, and next to Lady Bell, felt amused and interested 
 at the change which seemed to have come over him. 
 
 Could he have seen the workings of the subtle mind 
 concealed behind the smiling exterior, he would have felt 
 very much less at his ease ; for even now Stephen was plot- 
 ting how best he could mold the material round him to 
 serve his purpose, and while the laugh was lingering on 
 his smooth lips, his heart was burning with hate and jeal- 
 ousy of the rival who sat opposite. 
 
 For it had come to this, that he desired Una, and not 
 only for the wealth of which he had robbed her, but for 
 herself. As deeply as it was possible for one of his nature 
 he loved the innocent, unsuspecting girl who sat beside 
 him. 
 
 Tonight, as he looked at the beautiful face and marked 
 each fleeting expression that flitted like sunshine over it : 
 as he listened to the musical voice, and felt the touch of 
 her dress as it brushed his arm, a passionate longing 
 seized and mastered him, and he felt that he would risk all 
 of which he was wrongfully possessed to win her ah, and 
 if she were, indeed, only the daughter of a common wood- 
 man. 
 
 "Curse him !" he murmured over his wine glass, as his 
 eyes rested on Jack's handsome face. "If he had not 
 crossed my path, she would have been mine ere now; no 
 matter, I will strike him out of it, as if he were a viper in 
 my road/' 
 
 Meanwhile, quite unconscious of Stephen's generous 
 sentiments, Jack went on with his dinner, enjoying it 
 thoroughly, and as happy as it is given to a mortal to be. 
 
 Presently the conversation turned upon their plans for 
 the autumn. 
 
 "What are we all going to do ?" said Lady Bell. "You, I 
 suppose, Mr. Davenant, will go down to your place in 
 Wealdshire what is it called ?" 
 
 "Hurst Leigh," said Stephen, quietly. "Yes, I must go 
 down there, I ought to have been there before now, but I 
 find so many attractions in town," and he smiled at Una.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIK? 235 
 
 "And you, my dear:"' said Lady Bell to Mrs. Davenant.' 
 
 "My mother will go down with me/' said Stephen. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant glanced at him nervously. 
 
 "And that means Miss Wild Bird, too, I suppose?" re- 
 marked Lady Bell. 
 
 "If Miss Una will honor us," said Stephen, with an in- 
 clination of the head to Una. "Yes, we shall make quite 
 a family party. You will join us, of course, Jack ?" 
 
 Jack, who had looked up rather grim at the foregoing, 
 bit his lip. 
 
 "I don't quite know," he said, gravely. 
 
 "Surely you will not let the poachers have all the birds 
 this year, Jack!" said Stephen, brightly. "Besides my 
 mother will be quite lost without you." 
 
 "Do come, Jack," whispered Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 "I'll see," said Jack, grimly, and Una looked down un- 
 easily ; she understood his reluctance to go to the old place. 
 
 "Oh, we will take no refusal," said Stephen, buoyantly. 
 "And what are your plans, Lady Bell ?" 
 
 Lady Bell looked up with rather a start and a flush. 
 
 "I I don't quite know," she said. "I had been think- 
 ing of going to a small place we have at Earl's Court." 
 
 "Earl's Court!" exclaimed Jack. "Why, that is only 
 thirteen miles or so from the Hurst." 
 
 "Is it?" said Lady Bell. "I didn't know. I haven't 
 seen it. I'm ashamed to say that I haven't made a round 
 of inspection of the property yet. My stewards are al- 
 ways bothering me to do so, but I don't seem to have 
 time." 
 
 "A sovereign cannot be expected to visit the whole of 
 her kingdom," said Stephen, with a smile. 
 
 Lady Bell sighed. 
 
 "I often wish the old earl had left me five hundred a 
 year and a cottage somewhere," she said, quietly. "I 
 should have been a happier woman. Oh, here is the claret. 
 Give Mr. Newcombe the Lafitte, Simcox. * Mr. Dave- 
 nant " 
 
 "I always follow Jack's suit," said Stephen, rising to 
 open the door for the ladies. "He is an infallible guide in 
 such matters." 
 
 "Fancy a woman lamenting the extent of her wealth,"
 
 236 OJU'LT OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 he said, with something like a sneer, as he went back to 
 the table. "If any girl ought to be happy that girl ought 
 to be. What a chance for some young fellow ! My dear 
 Jack, if I had been in your place " 
 
 Jack looked up with a tinge of red in his face. 
 
 "What nonsense. Lady Bell knows better than to be 
 caught by such chaff as I am. Besides, I am more than 
 content. I wouldn't exchange Una for a Duchess, with 
 the riches of Peru in her pockets. What about the com- 
 missionership, or whatever it is, Stephen?" 
 
 "All in good time, my dear Jack. Those sort of things 
 aren't done in a moment; the matter is in hand, and we 
 shall get it, be sure. Meanwhile, if you want any 
 money " 
 
 "Thanks, no," said Jack, easily. 
 
 He had only that morning negotiated a bill with Mr. 
 Moss for another hundred pounds. 
 
 Stephen smiled evilly behind his pocket handkerchief. 
 He held that bill in his pocketbook at that moment, in 
 company with all Jack's previous ones. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 The two men sat beside the fire almost in silence. Jack 
 was trying to get over his reluctance to go to the Hurst, 
 and wondering what would become of him if he did not. 
 and Una left him all alone in town; and Stephen was 
 wondering whether it was time to strike the blow he medi- 
 tated. 
 
 Very soon Jack jumped up. 
 
 "If you've had enough wine, let us join the ladies," he 
 said, and went toward the door. 
 
 Stephen followed him, but turned back to. fetch his 
 pocket handkerchief. 
 
 Lying beside it, on the table', was a rose which had fallen 
 from the bosom of Una's dress. He took it up, and looked 
 at it with that look which a man bestows on some trifle 
 which has been worn by the woman he loves, and then, 
 as if by an irresistible impulse, raised it to his lips, kiss- 
 ing it passionately, and put it carefully in his bosom. As 
 he did so, he raised his eves to the glass, which reflected
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 23T 
 
 one side of the room, and saw the slight figure of a woman 
 standing in the open door and watching him. 
 
 The light from the carefully shaded lamp was too dim 
 to allow him to see the face distinctly, hut something in 
 the figure caused him to feel a sudden chill. 
 
 He turned sharply and walked to the door; but the hall 
 was empty and there was no sound of retreating footsteps. 
 
 "Some servant maid waiting to come in to clear the ta- 
 ble/' he muttered. 
 
 But he returned to the dining-room, and drank off a 
 glass of liquor before going to the drawing-room, from 
 which ripples of Jack's frank laughter were floating in the 
 hall. 
 
 Lady Bell was seated at the piano, playing and singing 
 in her light-hearted, careless fashion ; Jack and Una were 
 seated in a dimly-lit corner, talking in an undertone. 
 
 Stephen went up to the piano and stood apparently lis- 
 tening intently, but in reality watching the other two un- 
 der his lowered lids. 
 
 The presence of the rose in his bosom seemed to height- 
 en the passion which burned in his heart ; and the sight of 
 Jack bending over Una, and of her rapt, up-turned face 
 as she looked up, drinking in his lightest word as if it 
 were gospel, maddened him. 
 
 It was with a start that he became conscious that Lady 
 Bell had ceased playing, and that she, like him, was watch- 
 ing the lovers. 
 
 "Miss Una and Mr. Newcombe seem very good friends," 
 she said, with a forced smile. 
 
 "Do they not ?" said Stephen, in his softest voice. "Too 
 good." 
 
 Lady Bell looked up at him quickly. 
 
 "What do you mean ?" 
 
 Stephen looked down at her gravely. 
 
 "Can you keep a secret, Lady Bell?'* he said, hesitat- 
 ingly- 
 
 "Sometimes/' she said. "What is it?" 
 
 Stephen glanced across at Jack and Una. 
 
 "I'm rather anxious about our young friends/' he said, 
 his voice dropped still lower, his head bent forward with
 
 238 ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 such an insidious smile that Lady Bell could not, for the 
 life of her, help thinking of a serpent. 
 
 "Anxious!" she echoed, her heart beating. "As how?" 
 
 "Can you not guess ?' ' he said, raising his eyebrows. 
 
 "You you mean that they may fall in love with each 
 other. Well, they are not badly matched," said Lady Bell, 
 bravely, though her heart was aching. 
 
 "Not badly, in one sense," said Stephen, after a pause; 
 "but as badly as two persons could be in all others. They 
 are a match as regards their means. They are both penni- 
 less." 
 
 Lady Bell looked up with a start. 
 
 "Is is M>. Newcombe so badly off? I thought that 
 is, I fancied he had a wealthy uncle " She paused. 
 
 "You m??.n Mr. Ealph Davenant," said Stephen, calm- 
 ly, and with an air of sadness. "I am sorry to say that 
 he left everything which he possessed to a less worthy 
 person ^o me." 
 
 Lady Bell looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 "To me," he repeated, "and poor Jack was well, dis- 
 inherited, and left penniless. It is of him I think when 
 I say that I am anxious about them ; naturally, I think of 
 him. Miss Eolfe is a friend of my mother's, and has been 
 used to a straitened life; but poor Jack does not know 
 whp-t poverty means, and in his ignorance may drift into 
 an entanglement which may embitter her life. No man in 
 the world is less fitted for love in a cottage, and nothing 
 to pay the rent, than Jack Newcombe. You, who have 
 soen something of him, must have remarked his easy- 
 going, careless nature, his utter ignorance of the value of 
 money, his unsuitableness for a life of poverty and priva- 
 tion." ' 
 
 Lady Bell's heart beat fast. 
 
 "But but " she said, "you have plenty." 
 
 "Of which Jack will not take one penny. You see he is 
 as proud as he is poor." 
 
 "I like him for that," murmured Lady Bell. 
 
 "Yes, so do I ; though it pains and grieves me. If Jack 
 would permit me to help him, Lady Bell, he might marry 
 Una Rolfe tomorrow; but as it is, I fear, I am anxious. 
 Another man would be wiser, but Jack has no idea of pru-
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR > 239 
 
 (fence, and v/ould plunge head first into all the misery of 
 such a union without a thought of the morrow." 
 
 "And you you think he loves her," murmured Lady 
 Bell ; and she waited for an answer as a man on his trial 
 might wait for the verdict of the jury. 
 
 Stephen smiled. He could read Lady Bell's heart as if 
 it were an open book. 
 
 "Loves her ! No, certainly not not yet. He is amused 
 and entertained, but love has not come yet." 
 
 "And she?" asked Lady Bell, anxiously, her eyes fixed 
 on Una's face. 
 
 Stephen smiled again. 
 
 "No, not yet. She is ignorant of the meaning of the 
 word. I have taken some trouble to arrive at the truth, 
 and I am sure of what I say. It is well for her that she is 
 not, for anything like a serious engagement would be sim- 
 ply madness. Poor Jack ! His future lies so plainly be- 
 fore him, and if he would follow it, the rest of his life 
 might be happiness itself." 
 
 "You mean that he should marry for money," said Lady 
 Bell, coldly. 
 
 "No, not for money alone," murmured Stephen. "Jack 
 is too high-minded to be guilty of such meanness; but is 
 it not possible to marry for love and money, too, Lady 
 Bell?" 
 
 Lady Bell turned her head aside ; her heart beating fast. 
 The voice of the tempter sounded like music in her ear. 
 Why should not he marry for love as well as money ? She 
 had both. She loved him passionately, and she would pour 
 her money at his feet to dp as he liked with ; to squander 
 and make ducks and drakes of, if he would but give her a 
 little love in return. 
 
 As she looked across the room at him, that awful, 
 wistful longing which only a woman who loves with all 
 her heart can feel, took possession of her and mastered 
 her. 
 
 "Why do you tell me this ?" she asked, sharply turning 
 her face, pale and working. 
 
 "Because," murmured Stephen, "because I have Jack's 
 interest so much at heart that I am bold enough to ask 
 for aid where I know it can be of avail."
 
 240 ON L Y ON E LOVE ; OE, 
 
 "Do you mean that you ask me ?" she s*\id, tremulousl} 
 "What can I do ?" 
 
 "Much, everything," he whispered, his head hent low, 
 almost to her ear. "Ask yourself, dear Lady Bell, and you 
 will understand me. Let me be plain and straightfor- 
 ward, even at the risk of offending you. There was a time, 
 not many months ago, when I and his best friends thought 
 Jack had made a choice at once happy and wise." 
 
 Lady Bell rose and moved to and fro, and then sank 
 down again trembling with agitation. 
 
 "You mean that that he was falling in love with me ?" 
 
 Stephen inclined his head with lowered eyes. 
 
 "It is true," he said. "You cannot fail to have seen 
 what all observed." And he went on quickly "And but 
 for this fancy this passing fancy all would have been 
 well. Lady Bell, I am speaking more openly than I ever 
 have spoken to woman before. I am risking offending you, 
 but I do so from the affection which I bear my cousin. 
 Lady Bell, I implore you to help me in saving him from a 
 step which will plunge him into life-long misery. He is 
 totally unfitted to battle with the world; married wisely 
 and well, he would be a happy and contented man; mar- 
 ried unwisely and badly, no one can picture the future." 
 
 Lady Bell rose, her face pale, her eyes gleaming under 
 the strain which she was enduring. 
 
 "Don't say any more," she said; "I I cannot bear it. 
 You have guessed my secret; I can feel that. Yes, I would 
 save him if I could, and if you are sure that that there is 
 no engagement " 
 
 "There is none," said Stephen, lying smoothly. "There 
 can be none ; the idea is preposterous." 
 
 Lady Bell moved away as he spoke, and turned over 
 some book on the table to conceal her agitation, and Ste- 
 phen, humming a popular hymn tune, crossed the room 
 and looked down at Jack and Una with a benedictory 
 smile, as if he was blessing them. 
 
 "Are you aware of the time, and that Lady Bell's hall 
 porter is uttering maledictions for our tardiness?" he said, 
 playfully. 
 
 Jack looked at his watch.
 
 WHO WAS Tin-; nuiu? 2 
 
 "By Jove I No idea it was so late. Are you ready, M 
 Davenant ?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant woke from a sleep, and she and Una wu 
 upstairs. 
 
 "I see you have a new maid/' she said, when they came 
 down again. "What a superior-looking young girl." 
 
 "Is she not?" said Lady Bell, absently. "She is more 
 than superior, she is interesting. She has a history." 
 
 Stephen, standing by, folding and unfolding his opera 
 hat, smiled. 
 
 "Very interesting; but take care, Lady Bell; I am al- 
 ways suspicious of interesting people with a history." 
 
 As he spoke, a pale, dark face looked down upon him 
 from the upper landing for a moment, then disappeared. 
 
 "You will come with us, Stephen ?" said Mrs. Davenant, 
 nervously. 
 
 "No, thanks. I should like the walk. Good-night," and 
 he kissed her dutifully, and shook hands with Jack and 
 Lady Bell. 
 
 "Going to walk?" cried Mrs. Davenant. "It is very 
 chilly, and you've only that thin overcoat." 
 
 "I've a scarf somewhere where is it?" said Stephen. 
 
 Una stooped, and picked up a white scarf. 
 
 "Here it is," she said, laughing, and all innocently she 
 threw it round his neck. 
 
 "Will you tie it, please ?" said Stephen, in an ordinary 
 tone, and Una, laughing still, tied it. 
 
 Stephen stood motionless, his eyes cast down; he was 
 afraid to raise them lest the passion blazing in them should 
 be read by all there. 
 
 "Thanks. I cannot catch cold now," he said, as he took 
 her hand and held it for a moment. 
 
 He put them into the brougham, and under the pretext 
 of arranging her shawl, touched her hand once again ; then 
 he stood in the chilly street and watched the brougham till 
 it disappeared in the distance. 
 
 Then he turned and walked homeward. 
 
 "One step in the right direction," he muttered. "Take 
 care, Master Jack; I shall outwit you yet." 
 
 As he ascended the stairs of his chambers, Slununcrs 
 came out to meet him.
 
 243 OXLY OXE LOVE; OE, 
 
 "There is a person waiting for you, Mr. Stephen," he 
 said. 
 
 Stephen stopped, and his hand closed on the balustrade; 
 his thoughts flew to Laura Treherne. 
 
 " A woman, Shimmers ?" 
 
 "No, sir, a man/' said Slummers. 
 
 "Very good," said Stephen, with a breath of relief. 
 "Who is it do you know?" 
 
 Slummers shook his head. 
 
 "A rough sort of man, sir ; says he has come on business. 
 He has been waiting for hours." 
 
 "I am very sorry," said Stephen, aloud and blandly, for 
 the benefit of the visitor. "I am sorry to have kept anyone 
 waiting. But it is rather late " 
 
 He entered the room as he spoke, and started slightly, 
 for standing in the center of the apartment was Gideon 
 Eolfe. 
 
 Notwithstanding the start Stephen came forward with 
 outstretched hand and a ready smile of welcome. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Eolfe, I am indeed sorry that you should 
 have been kept so long. If I had only known that you 
 were coming " 
 
 Gideon Eolfe waived all further compliment aside with 
 a gesture of impatience. 
 
 "I wished to see you," he said. "Time is no object to 
 me." 
 
 Stephen shut the door carefully and stood in a listening 
 attitude. He knew it was of no use to ask his visitor to sit 
 down. 
 
 "You have come to inquire about your daughter ?" 
 
 "No, I ^ have not," said Gideon Eolfe, calmly. "I know 
 that she is well I see her daily. I came to remind you 
 of our contract I came to remind you of your promise 
 that no harm should come near her." 
 
 Stephen smiled and shook his head. 
 
 "And I trust no harm has come near her, my dear Mr. 
 Eolfe." 
 
 "But I say that it has," said Gideon Eolfe, coldly. "I 
 have watched her daily and I know." 
 
 "To what harm do you allude ?" asked Stephen, bravely.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 243 
 
 "Do you deny that the young man Jack Newcombe is 
 near her?" 
 
 "Oh," said Stephen, and he drew a long breath. 
 
 Then he commenced untying the scarf, his acute brain 
 hard at work. 
 
 Here was an instrument ready to his hand, if he chose 
 to use it properly. 
 
 "Oh, I understand. No, I do not deny it; I wish that 
 I could do so, for your sake and for Una's/' he said 
 gravely. 
 
 "Speak plainly," said Gideon Eolfe, hoarsely. 
 
 "I will," said Stephen. "Plainly then, Mr. Newcombe 
 has chosen to fall in love with your daughter ! That ac- 
 counts for his constant attendance upon her." 
 
 Gideon Rolfe's face worked. 
 
 "I will take her back," he said, grimly. 
 
 Stephen smiled. 
 
 "Softly, softly. There are two to that bargain, my dear 
 Mr. Rolfe. For Miss Una to go back to a state of savagery 
 in Warden Forest is impossible. You, who have seen her 
 in her new surroundings, and the change they have 
 wrought in her, must admit that." 
 
 Gideon Rolfe wiped the perspiration from his brow. 
 
 "I know that she is changed," he said. "She is like a 
 great lady now. I see her dressed in rich silks and satins, 
 and coming and going in carriages, with servants to wait 
 upon her, and I know that she is changed, and that she has 
 forgotten the friends of her childhood forgotten those 
 who were father and mother to her " 
 
 "You wrong Miss Una," said Stephen, smoothly. "Not 
 a day passes but she inquires for you and deplores your 
 ' absence " 
 
 "But," went on Gideon, as if he had not been inter- 
 rupted, "I have not forgotten her, nor my promise to her 
 mother. In a weak moment, moved by your threats more 
 than your persuasions, I consented to part with her, but I 
 would rather she were dead than that should happen 
 which you say will happen." 
 
 "Pardon me," said Stephen, blandly, and with an evil 
 smile. "I said that Mr. Newcombe had fallen in love with 
 her; I did not say that he would marry her. / would
 
 244 OXLY OXK LOVE; OE, 
 
 rather she were dead than that should happen," and he 
 turned his face for one moment to the light. 
 
 It was pale even to the lips, the eyes gleaming with res- 
 olute purpose. 
 
 Gideon Eolfe looked at him in silence for a moment. 
 
 "I do not understand," he said, in a. troubled voice. 
 
 "Let me make it clear to you," said Stephen. "Against 
 my will and wish these two have met and become ac- 
 quainted. Against my will and wish that acquaintance 
 has ripened into'' he drew a long breath as if the word 
 hurt him "into love, or what they mistake for love. 
 Thus far it has gone, but it must go no further. I am at 
 one with you there. You and I must prevent it. You 
 cannot do it alone, you know. You have no control over 
 Miss Una; you who are not her father and in no way re- 
 lated to her." 
 
 Gideon Eolfe set his teeth hard. 
 
 "You see," said Stephen, with a haggard smile, "alone 
 you are helpless. Be sure of that. If you move in the 
 matter without me, I will declare the secret of her birth. 
 Stop ! be calm ! But you and I can put an end to this en- 
 gagement." 
 
 "They are engaged ?" muttered Gideon Eolfe. 
 
 Stephen smiled contemptuously. 
 
 "My good friend, this matter has passed beyond your 
 strength. Leave it to me. Yes, they are engaged; the af- 
 fair has gone so far, but it must go no further. While 
 you have been lurking outside area gates and behind car- 
 riages I have been at work, and I will stop it. I am not 
 too proud to accept your aid, however. Wlien the time 
 comes I will ask your aid. Give me an address to which 
 to write to you." 
 
 Gideon Eolfe, with a suspicious air, drew a piece of 
 paper from his pocket and wrote an address. 
 
 "This will find you?" said Stephen. "Good. When the 
 time comes I will send for you; meanwhile" and he 
 smiled "you can go on haunting area gates and watching 
 carriages, but be sure of one thing, that this marriage 
 shall never take place." 
 
 Gideon Bolfe watched the pale face grimly.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIIl? -j 1,:, 
 
 "I must know more," he said. "How will you put an 
 end to this ?" 
 
 Stephen smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. 
 
 "You want to see the modus operandi? How the con- 
 jurer is going to perform the wonderful feat? Well, it 
 is very simple. My friend and somewhat cousin, for all his 
 romance, will not care to marry a girl whose name is 
 stained with shame. If I know my dear Jack, he will not 
 care to make an illegitimate child of Gideon Eolfe, the 
 woodman, Mrs. Newcombe." 
 
 Gideon Eolfe started. 
 
 "You will tell Jiim ?" he said, hoarsely. 
 
 "Yes," said Stephen; "I shall tell him the truth, of 
 course concealing the proper names, and you must be here 
 to confirm my statement. That is all you have to do. 
 Mind ! not a word of my uncle's connection with the mat- 
 ter, or all is lost. You understand ?" 
 
 "Yes, I understand," said Gideon, hoarsely. "I care not 
 by what means so that the marriage is prevented." 
 
 "Nor I" said Stephen, coolly; "and now we are agreed 
 on that point. When I want you I will write to you. Until 
 then will you take any refreshment?" 
 
 Gideon Eolfe waved his hand by way of negative, and 
 Stephen rang the bell. "Show this gentleman out, Sham- 
 mers. Mind the lower stairs, the gas has been put out. 
 Good-night, good-night." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI. 
 
 It was settled that Mrs. Davenant, Una and Stephen 
 should go to the Hurst in a week's time. Jack had defi- 
 nitely declined to go to the Hurst. He felt that he would 
 rather bear the absence of Una for a week or two than go 
 to the old house, haunted as it was, for him, with so many 
 memories ; but lo and behold, a few days after the dinner 
 party, had come a note from Lady Bell's father, asking 
 him to visit Earl's Court. 
 
 Of course, Jack accepted gladly enough, without a 
 thought of Lady Bell, and only remembering that a good 
 nag would take him from Earl's Court to Hurst in an hour 
 and a half, or less.
 
 2-16 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 The week passed rapidly, and with something like rest- 
 lessness Lady Bell organized all kinds of outings and ex- 
 peditions, in all of which Jack's services were found to be 
 indispensable. 
 
 He could not exactly tell how it happened; but he 
 seemed to spend almost as much time with Lady Bell as 
 with Una. Xow it was to go and try a horse which Lady 
 Bell wanted to buy ; then to select some dogs to take down 
 to Earl's Court ; and, again, to buy and send down pony- 
 carriages and dog-carts. 
 
 There was always something to take him to Park Lane, 
 and though Jack felt inclined to kick at these demands 
 upon his time, which would otherwise have been spent near 
 Una, he could not see his way to refuse. Then he was 
 fond of buying horses, and dogs, and carriages, and used to 
 hold a levee at Spider Court of disreputable-looking men 
 in fustian corduroys, much to Leonard Dagle's disgust. 
 
 "It seems to me, Jack," he said, "that you have become 
 Lady Bell's grand vizier. Do you choose her dress for 
 her?" 
 
 "Chaff away, old man," said Jack. "It was only the 
 other day that you were badgering me with being cool to 
 her." 
 
 "Yes, with a purpose," said Leonard ; "but that purpose 
 has disappeared. Have you been to the Square yet this 
 morning ?" 
 
 "No; I'm going now. No, I can't, confound it! I 
 promised to see to the harness for the pair of ponies Lady 
 Bell bought." 
 
 Leonard smiled rather grimly. 
 
 "How Miss Una must love Lady Bell," he said, iron- 
 ically. 
 
 "So she does," said Jack, sharply. "Now don't pretend 
 to be cynical, Len. You know as well as I do that I would 
 spend every hour of my life by Una's side if I could ; but 
 what can I do?" 
 
 "All right !" said Len, and he fell to work again. 
 
 _ Strangely enough now, that Jack was so much occupied 
 with Lady Bell's affairs, Stephen happened to find more 
 leisure to visit his mother, and very often he accompanied 
 her and Una to some concert or picture-gallery to which
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 247 
 
 Jack was prevented from going. Stephen seemed, in addi- 
 tion, quite changed, and had become quite the man of 
 pleasure in contrast to his former habits. 
 
 He rarely appeared at the Square without a nosegay or a 
 new novel; he took the greatest interest in any subject 
 which interested Una, and was as attentive to her as if he 
 had been the most devoted of lovers. Now tkat Jack was 
 so much absent, it was he who sat opposite her in the little 
 brougham, who leaned over her chair at the theater, or rode 
 beside her in the Row. 
 
 At first Una felt rather constrained by his constant at- 
 tendance; she had been so used to have Jack at her side 
 that she felt embarrassed with Stephen; but Stephen, 
 whose tact was second only to his cunning, soon put her at 
 her ease. She found that it was not necessary to talk to 
 him, that she might sit by his side or ride with him for 
 an hour without uttering a word, and was quite free to 
 think of Jack while Stephen chatted on in his smooth, in- 
 sinuating voice. 
 
 And so the very effect Stephen desired to produce came 
 about ; she got accustomed to have him near her, and got to 
 feel' at her ease in his presence. But how long the morn- 
 ings seemed ! and how she longed for Jack and wondered 
 what he was doing! If anyone had openly told her she 
 was jealous of Lady Bell, she would have repudiated the 
 idea with scorn too deep for anything but a smile; and 
 yet and yet that bright, happy look which Lady Bell 
 had so much admired, grew fainter and fainter, and near- 
 ly disappeared, reviving only when Jack hurried in to 
 spend a few hours with her, and then hurried off to keep 
 some engagement with Lady Bell or on Lady Bell's af- 
 fairs. 
 
 But never by word or look did Una show that his ab- 
 sence pained her; instead, she was always the first to re- 
 mind him of his engagements and to bid him depart. 
 
 At last the day arrived for her departure to Hurst. Lady 
 Bell did not go down to Earl's Court till three days later, 
 and Jack, of course, had to remain in town for a day or 
 two after that. 
 
 "It is the first time we have been parted for twenty-four 
 hours since that happy day I learned you loved me, my dar-
 
 248 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 ling!" he whispered, a? he held Una in his arms; "I al- 
 most wish that I had accepted Stephen's invitation. But 
 but I could not sleep under the old roof by Heaven, I 
 could not ! You cannot understand " 
 
 "But I do," murmured Una; "and I am glad you are not 
 coming. If " 
 
 And she paused. 
 
 "Well, darling?" asked Jack, kissing her. 
 
 "If you had said half a word, I would not have gone." 
 
 "Why not?"' said Jack, with a sigh. "Yes, I am glad 
 you are going. You will see the old house in which I was 
 so happy as a boy which I once thought would have been 
 mine.'' 
 
 "Dear Jack!" she murmured; and her hand smoothed 
 the hair from his forehead caressingly and comfortingly. 
 
 "Well, never mind," said Jack; "it is better as it is. 
 Perhaps I should have had the Hurst, and have lost you ; 
 and I would rather lose the whole earth than you, my dar- 
 ling ! Besides, Stephen has turned out a better fellow than 
 I thought him, and deserves all he has got, and will make 
 a better use of it than I should. No, I am content I have 
 got the greatest treasure on earth !" 
 
 And he pressed her closer to him, and kissed her again 
 and again until, from very shame, she slid from his grasp. 
 
 Stephen had engaged a first-class carriage, had even 
 taken the precaution to order foot-warmers, though the 
 weather was not yet winterish, and if he had been the 
 personal attendant on a sovereign, and that sovereign had 
 been Una, he could not have been more anxious for her 
 comfort. He was so thoughtful and considerate that there 
 was nothing left for Jack to do but go down to the station 
 and see them off. 
 
 "Four days only, my darling," he whispered, as the 
 train was starting ; "they will seem years to me." 
 
 And he clung to her hand to the last moment, much to 
 the disgust of the guard and porters, who expected to see 
 him dragged under the train. Then he went back to 
 Spider Court, feeling cold, chilly and miserable, as if the 
 sun had been put out. 
 
 'Len, I wish I had gone!" he exclaimed, as he opened 
 the door.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? -210 
 
 But there was no Len to hear him the room \\a- 
 empty. 
 
 "Great Heaven ! has everyone disappeared ?" lie ex- 
 claimed, irritably, and flung himself out of the house and 
 into a hansom. 
 
 "Where to?" said the cabman, and Jack, half absently, 
 answered : 
 
 "Park Lane." 
 
 The man had often driven him before, and he drove 
 straight to Lady Bell's. 
 
 Jack walked into the drawing-room quite naturally 
 the room was familiar to him and sat down before the 
 fire ; and Lady Bell came in with outstretched hand. 
 
 It was a comfort to have someone left, and Jack greeted 
 her warmly, more warmly than he knew or intended. Lady 
 Bell's face flushed as he held her hand longer than was 
 absolutely necessary. 
 
 "Thank Heaven ! there is someone left," he said, devout- 
 ly. "They have all gone, and Len is out, and 
 
 "I am left," said Lady Bell. "Well, you are just in 
 time for luncheon. I half expected you, and I have told 
 them to make a curry." 
 
 Curry was one of Jack's weaknesses. 
 
 "That is very kind of you," he said, gratefully. He felt, 
 very unreasonably, neglected somehow. "You always seem 
 to know what a fellow likes." 
 
 "That's because I have a good memory," said Lady Bell, 
 smiling down at him. "I shall take care to have plenty of 
 curries at Earl's Court. And, by the way, will you choose 
 a paper for the smoking-room down there? I have told 
 them that they must do it at once." 
 
 Jack rose without a word ; he had been choosing papers 
 and decorations for a week past, and it did not seem 
 strange. Luncheon was announced while they were dis- 
 cussing the paper, and Jack gave her his arm. Mrs. Fel- 
 lowes was the only other person present, and she sat read- 
 ing a novel, deaf and blind to all else. Not but what she 
 might have heard every word, for the young people talked 
 of the most commonplace subjects, and Jack was very ab- 
 sent-minded, thinking of Una, and quite unconscious of
 
 250 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 the light which beamed in Lady Bell's eyes when they 
 rested on him. 
 
 Then they rode in the Row; he could do no less than 
 offer to accompany her, and Mrs. Fellowes wanted to see 
 a piece at one of the theatea?, and Jack went to book 
 seats, and took one for himself, and sat staring at the 
 stage and thinking of Una ; but he sat behind Lady Bell's 
 chair, and spoke to her occasionally, and Lady Bell was 
 content. 
 
 Hetley and Arkroyd were in the stalls, and saw him. 
 
 "Jack's making the running," said Lord Dalrymple, 
 eying the box through his opera glass. "He's the winning 
 horse, and we, the field, are nowhere." 
 
 And not only those two, but many others, remarked on 
 Jack's close attendance on the great heiress, and not a few 
 who would have gone to the box if he had not been there, 
 kept away. 
 
 Meanwhile, Jack, simple, unsuspecting Jack, was be- 
 stowing scarcely a thought on the beautiful woman by his 
 side, and thinking of Una miles away. 
 
 The theater over, and Lady Bell put into the carriage, 
 he looked in at the club, sauntered into the card-room, 
 smoked a cigar in the smoking-room, and then went home 
 to Spider Court. 
 
 Much to his surprise he found Leonard up, not only up, 
 but pacing the room, his face flushed and agitated. 
 
 "Hallo!" exclaimed Jack, "what's the matter? And 
 where on earth have you been?" 
 
 "Jack, I have found her !" 
 
 "Thaf s just what I said some months ago !" 
 
 "Yes, I know. I have been thinking how strangely 
 alike our love affairs have been. It is my turn now. I 
 have found her!" 
 
 "What, this young lady, Laura Treherne?" 
 
 "Yes," said Leonard, with a long breath. 
 
 "Tell me all about it," said Jack. "Hold hard a min- 
 ute, till I get something to drink. Now, fire away." 
 
 "Well," said Leonard, still pacing up and down, and 
 seeming scarcely conscious of Jack's presence, "I was 
 walking in the park. You know the place, that quiet wall? 
 under the beeches. I wa? tbinking of you and your love
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? ','51 
 
 affairs, when I saw, sitting under a tree, a figure that 1 
 knew at once. For a moment I could not move, and 
 scarcely think; then I wondered how I should get to speak- 
 to her; but presently, when I had pulled myself together, 
 I saw that she had dropped her handkerchief, and 1 went 
 and picked it up and took it to her." 
 
 "A fine opening," muttered Jack. 
 
 Leonard Dagle evidently did not hear him. 
 
 "Well, she started when I approached her, and merely 
 thanked me with a bow, but I was determined not to let 
 her go this time, and I said,Tardon me, but we have met be- 
 fore/ 'Where?' said she. 'In a railway carriage/ I said, 
 and she -looked at me, and trembled. 'I remember,' she 
 said, and I swear I saw her shudder. 'Since then,' I said, 
 'I have sought you far and near/ 'Why should you do 
 that ?' she asked." 
 
 "A very natural question," interjected Jack. 
 
 "Then I told her. I told her that from that hour I had 
 been unable to rid my mind of her face, that it had 
 haunted me ; that I had followed her and learned her ad- 
 dress ; and that though I had lost her I had sought her all 
 over London." 
 
 "Was she angry?" asked Jack. 
 
 "At first she was," said Leonard, "very angry, but some- 
 thing in my voice or my face Heaven knows I was earn- 
 est enough ! convinced her that I meant no harm, and she 
 listened." 
 
 "Well," said Jack, interested and excited. 
 
 "Well," said Leonard, "we sat talking for an hour, per- 
 haps more, and she has promised to meet me again; at 
 least she admitted that she walked in the park every after- 
 noon. I tried to get her address, but she told me plainly 
 that she would not give it to me." 
 
 "And is that all you learned?" asked Jack, with some- 
 thing like good-natured contempt. 
 
 "No !" replied Leonard. "I learned that she had been in- 
 jured oh, not in the way you think and that she had 
 some purpose to effect some wrong to right." 
 
 "And of course you offered to help her?" said Jack. 
 
 "I offeree^ to help her; I laid my services, my whole 
 time and t <:ngth, at her disposal ; I went so far as to be-
 
 252 ONLY OXI< LOYK; OR, 
 
 seecb her to tell me what this purpose, this wrong was; 
 but she would not tell me, and so we parted. But we are 
 to meet again. She is much changed; paler and thinner 
 than when I saw her in the railway carriage, but still 
 more beautiful in my eyes than any other woman in the 
 world." 
 
 "It is a strange affair," mused Jack. "Quite a romance 
 in its way. Isn't it funny, Len, that both our love affairs 
 should be romantic, and so much alike !'' 
 
 "Yes," said Leonard, "very. But mine has scarcely be- 
 gun, while yours has ended happily, or will do so, if you 
 do not play the fool \" 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Jack, sharply. 
 
 "Where have you been to-night?" asked Leonard. 
 
 "To the theater with Lady Bell." 
 
 "I expected as much," said Leonard, and he fell to at 
 his writing, and would say no more, though Jack stormed 
 and rave'd. 
 
 Meanwhile the Davenant party had, thanks to Stephen, 
 made a comfortable journey. They found a carriage and 
 pair waiting for them at the station; not the ramshackle 
 vehicle of the old squire's time, but a new carriage from 
 the best man in Long Acre, and they were rolled along the 
 country lanes in a style Ralph Davenant would have mar- 
 veled at. 
 
 Presently they came in sight of the Hurst, and Mrs. 
 Davenant uttered an exclamation. 
 
 "Why, Stephen, it is altered !" she said. 
 
 Stephen smiled proudly. 
 
 Short as the time had been he had effected a radical 
 change in the old house; a hundred workmen had been 
 busy, and the ramshackle old mansion had been trans- 
 formed. Wings had been added, the grounds had been 
 newly laid out ; the road, even, had been altered, and they 
 drove through an avenue of thriving young limes. 
 
 Una, silent and interested, kept her eyes fixed on the 
 house. She had often heard Jack describe it, but this pala- 
 tial residence did not answer to his description. Stephen's 
 money and^energy had entirely transformed the place. 
 
 The carriage pulled up at the entrance, and half a dozen 
 grooms flew to the horses' heads: footmen in handsome
 
 WHO WAS THE II K I K ? 
 
 liveries stood in attendance, and the servants formed a 
 lane for their master to pass through. Una had oft CD read 
 of such a reception, hut here was a reality. 
 
 Stephen helped her to alight, and took her and his 
 mother on his arm, his head erect, a warm flush on his 
 cheek. 
 
 Suddenly the flush disappeared and a frown took its 
 place as he saw amongst the crowd gathered together at 
 the entrance the parchment-like visage of old Skettle. 
 
 But the frown disappeared as he entered the house, and 
 stood silent, listening to the approving comments of Mrs. 
 Davenant. 
 
 "My dear Stephen," she said, "you have certainly altered 
 the place I should not have known it. And is this what 
 was the gloomy old Hall?" 
 
 "Yes," said Stephen, proudly, and he glanced round at 
 the alterations with an air of satisfaction, and looked at 
 Una's face for some sign of approval. 
 
 But Una was looking around anxiously. If it was so 
 much altered, then it wa not the old home that Jack knew 
 and remembered. 
 
 "You will find everything altered and improved, I hope," 
 said Stephen. 
 
 Altered, indeed ! They have even shifted the old stair- 
 case, so that it would have been difficult to have found tho 
 room in which the old squire died, exclaiming : 
 
 "You thief ! you thief ! what have you done with the 
 will?" 
 
 Yes, indeed, there was great alteration. The old squire, 
 if he had come to life again, would not have known Hurst 
 as Stephen had made it. Masons, carpenters, and deco- 
 rators had been at work to some purpose. Everything was 
 changed, and unmistakably for the better. 
 
 Stephen looked around with an air of pride. 
 
 "They have been Very quick," he said. "I placed it in 
 good hands. You will find everything you require up- 
 stairs. You must know," he said, turning to Una, "that I 
 found the place little better than a barn, and have done 
 my best to make it fit to receive you! You are looking 
 at the portraits," he added, seeing Una's gaze wandering 
 along the double line of dead and gone Davenants. Most
 
 264 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OB, 
 
 of them you would not have seen two months ago, they 
 had been, terribly neglected, but I have had them cleaned 
 and renewed. That is the old squire, my poor uncle," and 
 he sighed comfortably. 
 
 Una paused before this, the last portrait of the series, 
 and looked at it long and curiously, and the other two 
 stood and watched her, Stephen with a keen glance of 
 scrutiny and with a nervous tremor about his heart. If 
 she could but know that she was looking at the portrait of 
 her own father! Una turned away at last with a faint 
 sigh. She was thinking that this was the old man who 
 had once loved Jack and left him to poverty. 
 Mrs. Davenant shuddered slightly. 
 "He was a terrible old man, my dear," she murmured, 
 "and always frightened me. I trembled when he looked 
 at me." 
 
 "He does not look so terrible," said Una, sadly. 
 Stephen fidgeted slightly. 
 
 "Come," he said, "you must not catch cold. Your maids 
 are here by this time. Will you go up to your room ? The 
 housekeeper will show them to you, and I hope you will 
 find everything comfortable." 
 
 Very slowly, looking to right and left of her, Una fol- 
 lowed Mrs. Davenant up the broad staircase. 
 
 The place seemed to have a strange fascination for her ; 
 she could almost have persuaded herself that she had been 
 in it before, and it seemed familiar, though so much 
 changed from all likeness to Jack's description of it. 
 
 They found the rooms upstairs beautifully decorated, 
 and furnished in the most approved and luxurious style. 
 Lady Bell's house in Park Lane even was eclipsed. 
 
 "Stephen has made it a palace," said Mrs. Davenant. 
 "How I used to hate it in the old time! it was so dark 
 and grim and gloomy, always felt dull and damp. Ste- 
 phen tells me that he has had it thoroughly drained after 
 the new fashion, and that it is quite dry. Such a palace 
 as this wants a mistress ; I wish he would marry." 
 
 "Why do you not tell him so ?" said Una, with a smile. 
 Mrs. Davenant shook her head nervously. 
 "That would do no good, my dear," she said. "I some- 
 times think he will never marry/'
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? ;>.T.J 
 
 And she glanced at Una with some embarrassment. A 
 dim suspicion had of late crossed her mind that if Una 
 had been free, Stephen might have stood in Jack's place. 
 She could not help noticing Stephen's close attend- 
 ance on Una a mother's eyes are sharp to note such 
 things. 
 
 If the old squire could have seen the dining-room and 
 the elaborate menu that evening, he would have stared 
 and sworn. Stephen had engaged a French cook; the ap- 
 pointments were as perfect as they could be; the servants 
 admirably trained, and as to the wines the Hurst cellar 
 stood second to none in the country. 
 
 It almost seemed as if he were sparing no pains to im- 
 press on Una all that the wife of Stephen Davenant 
 would possess. And Una, more than, half the dinner-time, 
 was thinking of Jack, and fondly picturing the little house 
 they had so often talked of setting up when the commis- 
 sionership came home. Just at the same time, Jack was 
 leaning over Lady Bell's chair in the theater. 
 
 Stephen was in his best mood, and exerted himself to 
 the uttermost. He described the neighborhood, planned 
 excursions and expeditions ; told innumerable anecdotes of 
 the village folk, and played the host to perfection. 
 
 In a thousand ways he showed his anxiety for Una's 
 comfort; and after dinner he had the place lit up, and 
 went over it, asking her opinion on this point and the 
 other, and humbly begging her to suggest alterations. So 
 much so that Una began to grow shy and reserved, and 
 shrank closer to Mrs. Davenant; and Stephen, quick to 
 see when he was going too fast, left them and went to tho 
 library to write letters. 
 
 Now, strange to say, of all the rooms in the house, this 
 one room remained unaltered. He had not allowed it to 
 be touched indeed it was kept closely locked, and the key 
 never left him night and day. Just as it had been on tho 
 night of the squire's death, when Stephen stood with the 
 stolen will in his hand, so it was now. 
 
 He never entered it without a shudder, and alt the time 
 he was in it his eyes unconsciously wandered over tho 
 floor and furniture as if mechanically searching for some- 
 thing.
 
 256 OXLY OXK LOVE; OR, 
 
 It exerted a strange, weird influence over him, and 
 seemed to drn.v iiiiu into it. Tonight he paced up and 
 down, looking at the familiar objects, and making no at- 
 tempt to write his letters. 
 
 His brain was bus}', not with schemes of ambition and 
 avarice, but of love. The blood run. riot in his veins as he 
 thought that Una was under the same roof as himself, and 
 one mighty resolve took possession of him. 
 
 "She shall never leave it but to come back as my wife/' 
 was his resolve. 
 
 Even the lost will did not trouble him tonight. He 
 had Una in his grasp, Una upon whom everything turned. 
 
 It was far into the morning before he went to bed, and 
 at the head of the stairs he turned and looked round with 
 a proud smile. 
 
 "All all mine!" he muttered, "and I will have her, 
 too," and he went to sleep and dreamed, not of Una, but 
 of Laura Treherne. 
 
 All through the watches of the night the pale, dark face 
 haunted him. At times he saw it peering at him through 
 the library window, at others it was pursuing him along an 
 endless road ; but always it wore a threatening aspect and 
 filled him with a vague terror. 
 
 Some men's conscience only awake at night. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXII. 
 
 If Una had been a queen visiting some distant part of 
 her realm, more elaborate preparations for her amusement 
 could not have been made. 
 
 Not a day passed but Stephen had got some proposi- 
 tion for pleasuring, and he never tired of hunting up some 
 place to go. 
 
 One morning they would drive to some romantic and 
 historic spot ; another there would be some flower show or 
 fete, which he insisted upon them seeing; on others, they 
 would play lawn tennis in the now beautiful grounds. The 
 fame of the^new Hurst had spread abroad, and those of the 
 county families who were in residence called at once, and 
 dinner parties were given and accepted. So the week
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 257 
 
 glided by quickly, even to Una, who reckoned time by tin- 
 day on which she would see Jack. 
 
 Every morning there canie a scrawl Jack's handwrit- 
 ing was mysterious and terrible from him; in every let- 
 ter he expressed his longing to see her, and the hateful 
 time he was having in town. But every letter had some 
 mention of Lady Bell; and it was evident that he spent 
 most of his time at Park Lane. 
 
 But Una was not jealous she put away from her reso- 
 lutely any feeling of that kind. 
 
 "I am so glad that Lady Bell is in town, and that Jack 
 has some place to go to," she said to Mrs. Pavenant. 
 
 And Mrs. Davenant smiled ; but sighed at the same time. 
 To her, as to others, it seemed that Jack spent too much 
 time in attendance upon the great heiress. 
 
 Stephen's money flew, it was scattered about in every 
 direction ; but still he was not popular. Hen touched their 
 hats, but they never smiled as they had done at the old 
 squire, and as they had done at Jack. There was some- 
 thing about Stephen that the Hurst folk could not and 
 would not take to ; and even while they were drinking with 
 his money, they talked of Master Jack and shook their 
 heads regretfully. 
 
 And Stephen knew it, and hated them all ; but most of 
 all hated old Skettle. It seemed as if the old man was 
 ubiquitous; he was everywhere. Stephen could not take 
 a walk outside the grounds but he came upon the old man ; 
 and, though Skettle always raised his hat and gave him 
 "Good-day," Stephen felt the small, keen eyes watching 
 him. Of Hudsley he had seen nothing. 
 
 At last the county papers announced the important fact 
 that Lady Earlsley had arrived at Earl's Court, and Una 
 knew that in two days she would see Jack. 
 
 That night Stephen was more attentive than ever. _ They 
 had been dining out at a neighbor's, and were sitting in 
 the drawing-room, talking over the evening. The pros- 
 pect of Jack's coming had brought a glad light to Una's 
 e y es a brighter color to her face. In two days she should 
 gee him! In her happiness she felt amiable and tender 
 to all around her, and, for the first time, she responded to 
 Stephen's unceasing devotion. He had brought in from
 
 258 ONLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 the new library a whole pile of books relating to the coun- 
 ty, and was showing and explaining the illustrations. 
 
 "That is Earl's Court/' he said ; "a beautiful place, isn't 
 it ? But Lady Bell has several grander places than that." 
 
 "She is very rich," said Una. 
 
 "Very," he said, thoughtfully. "It's a pity that she 
 does not marry." 
 
 Una smiled. 
 
 "She says that she will never marry," she said. 
 
 Stephen looked up. 
 
 "And yet a little while ago they were saying that she 
 would be married before the vear was out." 
 
 "Indeed !" said Una. 
 
 "It would be a grand match for any ene," said Ste- 
 phen. "It would have been a great match for him/' 
 
 "For him?" said Una. "Who was it?" 
 
 Stephen started and looked embarrassed, as if he had 
 made a slip of the tongue. 
 
 "Well," he said, with a little, awkward laugh ; "but are 
 you jealous? Perhaps I ought not to tell tales out of 
 school, though the affair is off long ago, and he has made 
 a happier choice." 
 
 Una put the fire screen on one side and looked at him 
 calmly. He was sitting almost at her feet. Mrs. Dave- 
 nant was dozing in her accustomed arm-chair. 
 
 "Of whom do yon speak?" she asked. 
 
 Stephen hesitated, as if reluctant to reply. 
 
 "Well," he said, "it is mere gossip, of course, but gos- 
 sip awarded the great prize of the season to a near and 
 dear friend of yours." 
 
 Una's heart beat fast. She guessed what was coming. 
 'Tell me," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 "Tut !" said Stephen, as if ashamed to retail such idle 
 gossip. 
 
 ''Well, they said that Jack meant to marry the great 
 heiress." 
 
 "It is not true," Una said ; but her color went, and left 
 her quite pale and cold. 
 
 "Of course not," said Stephen, cheerfully; "though T 
 would not say but there wa some excuse for the rumor. 
 Jack was a great deal at Pa: V Lan -ntil ho mot one who
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 259 
 
 shall be nameless." And he looked up at her with a smile. 
 "Why, they went so far as to congratulate him," lie said, 
 laughing as if at an excellent joke. "And indeed 1 think 
 if Jack had said 'Yes/ Lady Bell would not have said 
 'No.' So, you see, that you have made a veritable con- 
 quest !" 
 
 And he laughed again. 
 
 But there was no answering smile on Una's pale face. 
 It was not of Lady Bell she thought, but of herself and 
 Jack. 
 
 It was true she had stepped in between Jack and 
 wealth and prosperity she, the penniless daughter of a 
 woodman, had prevented his marrying the great heiress 
 and becoming the master of Earl's Court and all the 
 Earlsley wealth ! A chill passed over her, and she raised 
 the screen to hide her face from Stephen's eye. 
 
 "Yes, it would have been a great match for Jack," he 
 said, carelessly "it would have set him on his feet, as 
 they say. But he is still more fortunate." And he sighed. 
 
 Una rose. 
 
 "I think I will go up now," she said; and she went and 
 woke Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 Stephen escorted them to the head of the stairs, smiling 
 as if nothing had been said, and then went straight to the 
 old library and rang the bell. 
 
 It was understood that no one was to answer the li- 
 brary bell but Shimmers, and Slummers now appeared. 
 
 Stephen wrote two letters; one ran thus: 
 
 "MY DEAR MR. ROLFE: Be kind enough to be at my 
 chambers tomorrow morning at eight o'clock/' 
 
 The other was still more short ; it was addressed to Mr. 
 Levy Moss: 
 
 "Put on the screw at once." 
 
 Calmly and leisurely he put them in their envelopes, as 
 if the fate and happiness of two souls we/e not hanging 
 upon them, and gave them to Slummers. 
 
 "Take the morning express and deliver these yourself," 
 he said, quietly. "I shall follow you by the midday 
 train. When you have done so, find Mr. Newcombe and 
 keep him in sight. You understand?" 
 
 "Quite, sir/' said Slummers, and disappeared as silently 
 as usual.
 
 260 OXLT OXE LOVE; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 It was Jack's last day in town. Tomorrow he would be 
 at Earl's Court, and in the evening would be riding as 
 fast as a horse could carry him to Una. 
 
 The hours seemed to drift with leaden wings. 
 
 It was no use going to Park Lane, for the blinds were 
 down, and Lady Bell was at Earl's Court. It was no use 
 going to the club, for the whitewashers had taken pos- 
 session of it; never had Jack been so utterly bored and 
 wearied. At last he strolled into the park, and sat on one 
 of the seats and stared at the Row, giving himself up to 
 thoughts of Una, and picturing their meeting on the 
 morrow. 
 
 He lingered in the park till dusk : then he went home to 
 dress. 
 
 "Still writing, old man?" he said, as he entered, and 
 laid his hand on Leonard's shoulder. 
 
 "Halloa! is that you, Jack?" said Leonard, throwing 
 down his pen. "I have been expecting you." 
 
 "Why for?" asked Jack, yawning. Then he looked up 
 curiously. "I wish I'd known it ; I'd have come home. 
 Look here, Len, we'll go and dine somewhere; if there 
 is anything left to eat in this howling desert of a Lon- 
 don. If ever any man was bored to death and sick of it, 
 I am this day. Twenty-four hours more of it, and I 
 should chuck myself into the Serpentine! I never spent 
 such a day " 
 
 He stopped suddenly, for he became conscious that 
 Leonard was standing, looking down at him with a grave 
 and earnest regard. 
 
 "What's the matter, old man?" he asked. 
 
 Leonard hesitated. 
 
 "^Jack," he said, at last, "Moss has been here." 
 
 "Oh, has he?" said Jack, carelessly. v 
 
 "Yes, and there is trouble about. He is pressing for 
 his money." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Jack. 
 
 Leonard nodded. 
 
 "Yea, he means mischief; he made quite a fuss here. 
 Said he had a heavy claim to meet r"
 
 WHO WAS THE H Kilt I- ^lii 
 
 "Oh, I know that old yarn." 
 
 "And that he must and would have money to meet those 
 bills of yours.'' 
 
 Jack looked grave. 
 
 "Did he mean it ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Leonard. "Thanks to you, I know Mr. 
 Levy Moss by this time, and I am sure he was in earnest." 
 
 "Confound him !" muttered Jack. 
 
 "Confounding him won't pay him," said Leonard, sensi- 
 bly. 
 
 Jack rose and paced the room. 
 
 "What am I to do, Len?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Leonard. "If I could help you 
 but all I have wouldn't meet one bill." 
 
 "And I wouldn't take it if it would," said Jack. "But 
 I can't understand it ! Only last week he was bothering 
 me to take a hundred or two,." 
 
 Leonard shook his head. 
 
 "All I can tell you is, that he was simply furious. He 
 said that he must and would have some money, that if you 
 did not pay him he would " 
 
 "Well?" said Jack, grimly. 
 
 "That he would put you through the Court," said Leon- 
 ard. 
 
 Jack turned pale. 
 
 "What am I to do?" he said. "I have been relying on 
 the commissionership that Stephen promised, and Moss 
 seemed quite willing to wait. I can't find any money." 
 
 Leonard shook his head. 
 
 "The man was furious. Worse than I have ever seen 
 him. You will have to find some money somewhere. 
 How much do you owe him?" 
 
 Jack tilted his hat on one side and scratched his head. 
 
 "Hanged if I know. He has let me have a great deal 
 lately. Five hundred, perhaps." 
 
 "Jack, you have been a fool," said Leonard. "I told 
 you that it was no use counting upon the place your 
 cousin Stephen promised you." 
 
 "I don't so much care for myself, but Una, Una," said 
 Jack, with a groan. Then he jumped up. "Let us go and 
 get some dinner, and think it over."
 
 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OK, 
 
 ' They went to a well-known house in Strand, and Jack, 
 careless Jack, ordered a dinner fit for a prince, and en- 
 joyed it as he would have enjoyed it if he had been going 
 to be hanged on the morrow. 
 
 "I don't understand Moss," he said. "He was every- 
 thing that was agreeable and pleasant a few days ago." 
 
 "And today he was like a wolf hunting for a bone," said 
 Leonard. "Hello, who's this?" for a gentleman had en- 
 tered the dining-room and approached their table. 
 
 "Why, it's Stephen!" exclaimed Jack, forgetting Moss 
 in a moment. "Just in time, Stephen, we'll have another 
 bottle of claret up. What on earth brings you to town? 
 And how is how are they all ?" 
 
 Stephen sat down with a grave smile, and just sipped 
 the claret, the best the house had on its list. And he sat 
 and talked till the wine was finished, the greater part of 
 which Jack drank, then he said : 
 
 "Jack, I want you to come to my chambers; I have 
 something to tell you." 
 
 "All right," said Jack. "Leonard can find his way 
 home very well." 
 
 Stephen called a hansom, and they were rattled away to 
 the Albany. 
 
 As- they ascended the stairs, Stephen laid his hand on 
 Jack's arm. 
 
 "Jack, I am sorry to say I have bad news for you. 
 You will be calm." 
 
 "Bad news!" said Jack, and his heart stood still. 
 "What is it? Una 
 
 "Yes," said Stephen; "it is about Una, You will be 
 calm, my dear Jack?" 
 
 Jack leaned against the balustrade and drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 "Is she ill dead?" he gasped. 
 
 "Neither," said Stephen. "Come, be a man." 
 
 "I am ready," said Jack. "If she is neither ill nor dead 
 I can bear anything else." 
 
 Stephen opened the door, and Jack, entering, saw 
 Gideon Rolfe standing on the hearthrug. 
 
 "Mr. Bolfe !" he exclaimed. "How do you do? lam 
 very glad to see you !" and he held out his hand.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 20 
 
 Gideon Rolfe nodded and turned aside. 
 
 "What is it? What is the matter?" asked Jack, turning 
 to Stephen, who had carefully closed the door and stood 
 with knitted brow and sad countenance. 
 
 At Jack's question he glanced at Rolfe, and then, with a 
 sigh, said: 
 
 "Yes, Jack, I will tell you. It will come better from 
 me than Mr. Rolfe. Jack, you were right in suspecting 
 that the business referred to Una. She is quite well 
 and happy. But but I am afraid your engagement must 
 cease." 
 
 At this, Jack's calmness came back to him, and with 
 something like a smile, he said, scornfully: 
 
 "Indeed 1" 
 
 "Yes," said Gideon Rolfe, but Stephen held up his 
 hand and silenced him. 
 
 "Perhaps you will tell me for what reason ?" said Jack, 
 quietly. 
 
 "For a sad, very sad reason," said Stephen, in a subdued 
 and mournful tone. "Jack, my heart bleeds for you " 
 
 "Never mind your heart," said Jack, curtly. "Come 
 to the point, Stephen." 
 
 "I sympathize with you deeply," continued Stephen, not 
 at all affronted. "The fact is, Mr. Rolfe has tonight 
 made a communication respecting our dear young friend, 
 which has completely overwhelmed me 
 
 "Let me see if it will overwhelm me," said Jack. "What 
 is it?" 
 
 "My dear Jack, it is a story involving shame " 
 
 "Shame!" echoed Jack, and his brow darkened. "To 
 whom?" 
 
 "Tb those who can feel shame no longer," said 
 Stephen ; "but alas ! its shadow falls on a young life as in- 
 nocent and pure as the angels." 
 
 "On Una?" demanded Jack, fiercely. 
 
 Stephen bowed his head. 
 
 "Yes, Jack. Una is a nameless child she is illegiti- 
 mate." 
 
 Jack reeled and fell into a chair, and there he sat for 
 a moment. 
 
 "It is a lie !" he said at last.
 
 264 ONLY OXE LOVE: OR, 
 
 "It is true !" aid the deep voice of Gideon Rolfe ; and 
 Jack, fixing his startled eyes on the rough, rugged face, 
 knew that it was the truth. 
 
 With a groan he covered his face with his hands; then 
 he started up and struck the table a blow that made 
 Stephen wince. 
 
 "Well," he exclaimed, with a short laugh "well, what 
 business is it of anyone's but mine and Una's? What do 
 I care whether she is illegitimate or not ? Let her be the 
 daughter of whom she may, married or unmarried, it mat- 
 ters not to me. She is Una, and that is enough !" 
 
 His voice rang out loud and clear as a bell's tone, and 
 he looked from one to the other defiantly. 
 
 "And now that is settled," he said, sternly. "Let us 
 come to particulars, to proof. Mr. Rolfe, though I know 
 you are averse to our marriage, I believe you. I do not 
 think you are capable of inventing a lie a base, fiendish 
 lie to serve your ends. But all the same I ask, and not 
 without reason, some proofs. First, who are Una's par- 
 ents?" 
 
 Gideon Rolfe was about to reply, but a glance from 
 Stephen stopped him. 
 
 "That is the question I have implored Mr. Rolfe to 
 answer," he said. "I have entreated him to give us some 
 information, but he declines. It is a secret which he says 
 shall go down to the grave with him, unless " 
 
 "Unless what?" demanded Jack, hoarsely. 
 
 "Unless you are still determined to hold Una to her 
 engagement. Then " 
 
 He paused, and Jack looked from one to the other. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Then he declares he will go to Una and inform her of 
 the shame that clings to her name." 
 
 Jack uttered a low cry and sank back in his chair. He 
 saw by what heavy chains he was bound. To get posses- 
 sion of Una he must inflict the agony of shame upon her. 
 
 If ever a man loved truly and nobly Jack loved Una, 
 He would have died the death to spare her a moment's 
 pain; and here was this man threatening to darken and 
 curse her whole life if he, Jack, did not relinquish her.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 26:, 
 
 "Are you human ?" he said, turning his eyes upon Gideon 
 Rolfe with a wild, hunted gaze. 
 
 Gideon Rolfe smiled bitterly. 
 
 "I am human enough to prevent this marriage." 
 
 Jack rose and confronted him. 
 
 "I will not give her up," he said hoarsely. "I defy 
 you !" 
 
 "Good !" snid Gideon Rolfe. "Then I go to the girl and 
 acquaint her with the true story of her birth. If I know 
 her and I do she has sufficient pride to prevent her 
 staining so honorable a family as the Davenants by marry- 
 ing into it," and he sneered bitterly. 
 
 Jack's face flushed. 
 
 "You professed to love her," he said. "Are you totally 
 indifferent to her happiness?" 
 
 "No happiness could follow her union to one of your 
 race," said Gideon Rolfe. 
 
 Stephen trembled. He was playing a dangerous and 
 ..desperate game. A word from Rolfe might put Jack in 
 possession of Una's real parentage, and Stephen would 
 be ruined. 
 
 "My dear Jack," he said, sorrowfully, "I have besought 
 Mr. Rolfe, almost on my knees, to hold his hand, but he is 
 like stone immovable." 
 
 There Was a pause. 
 
 Jack stood, his brain in a whirl, his heart beating wildly. 
 His frenzied brain saw the whole thing clearly. On one 
 side stood his passionate love and his life-long happiness, 
 on the other Una's shame and agony. 
 
 "I love her so !" he moaned. 
 
 "You say that you love her," said Gideon Rolfe, sternly. 
 "Prove it by saving her from the knowledge of the shame 
 which clings to her name. If your love is worth anything 
 it will make that sacrifice. Remember, it is on your side 
 only. She is young a mere girl, a few weeks, months at 
 most, and she will have learned to forget you." 
 
 "That's a lie, at least," groaned Jack. "I know her bet- 
 ter than you." 
 
 "No matter," said Gideon Rolfe, coldly. "Time will 
 heal a disappointed love; no time can heal an undying 
 shame."
 
 266 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 Jack rose and paced the room. 
 
 "Leave me alone for a few minutes," he said hoarsely. 
 "I must think this out ; nothing you can say can influence 
 me." 
 
 At a signal from Stephen, Gideon Rolfe remained silent. 
 
 Five minutes passed and then Jack came to the light. 
 
 The handsome face was haggard and white and so 
 changed that ten years might have passed over his head in 
 those few minutes. 
 
 "Mr. Rolfe," he said, and his voice was broken and 
 hollow, "why you bear me such deadly enmity I cannot 
 imagine, and you will not tell me ?" 
 
 Gideon Rolfe made a gesture of assent. 
 
 "It is a mystery to me; I only know its results. Once 
 more I ask you to relent, and spare the unhappiness of 
 both of us." 
 
 "I am resolved," said Gideon. "Either relinquish her 
 or I tell her all. The decision is in your hands. I do not 
 doubt you will seize your happiness, even at the cost of 
 her shame." 
 
 "Then you wrong me," said Jack. "Rather than she 
 should know the shadow which hangs on her life I re- 
 linquish her." 
 
 A light gleamed in Stephen's eyes, and his lips twitched. 
 
 "This I do," continued Jack, in a voice so low and 
 broken that it scarcely reached them, "placing implicit 
 trust in your assertion that she is as you state." 
 
 He drew* a long breath. 
 
 "I dare not risk it; but if in the future I should find 
 that you have played me false if, I say, this should prove 
 a lie, then I tell you beware, for, as there is a Heaven 
 above us, I will take my vengeance." 
 
 "So be it," said Gideon Rolfe, grimly. "Now write," 
 and he pointed to a bureau on which stood pen and paper, 
 as if prepared for use. 
 
 Jack started. 
 
 "You will not take my word?" he said, bitterly. 
 
 Gideon Rolfe hesitated; but, at a glance from Stephen, 
 said: 
 
 "Let the knowledge that the engagement is at an end 
 come from you ; it will be better so."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? iGr 
 
 Jack went to the bureau and sank into a chair. 
 
 Yes, if the blow must be dealt it better be by his hands, 
 as tenderly as possible. 
 
 He sat for some moments with his head in his hands, 
 as utterly oblivious of the presence of the others as if 
 they were absent. 
 
 Before him rose the lovely face with its trustful eyes; 
 in his ears rang the musical voice which he should never 
 hear again. 
 
 What should he write ? Why should he write ? 
 
 Stephen stole behind him. 
 
 "You will be careful to conceal the truth, my dear 
 Jack," he murmured. 
 
 Jack started, and turned upon him with a look that 
 caused Stephen to shrink back behind the table. 
 
 "For what am I giving up what is most precious in 
 life?" he said hoarsely. 
 
 Then in sheer despair he seized the pen, and wrote in a 
 trembling hand : 
 
 MY DEAREST: Since you left me, circumstances have 
 occurred which have changed the current of both our lives. 
 I dare not tell you more, but I pray, I beseech, you not 
 to misjudge me. If you knew the position in which I am 
 placed, you would understand why I am acting thus, and 
 instead of condemning, pity me. Una, from this moment 
 our lives are separate. Heaven send you happiness, and 
 as I know your true, loving heart forgetfulness. I 
 cannot tell you more would to Heaven that I could. 
 From the first I have been unworthy of you; I am more 
 unworthy now than ever. I dare not ask of you to re- 
 member me ; forget me, Una, forget that such a person as 
 I ever crossed your path. Would to Heaven that we had 
 never met ! Don't think hardly of me, my darling, what- 
 ever you may hear. What I am doing is as much for your 
 good as for mine. Good-bye. I shall never cease to re- 
 member and love you, whatever happens. Good-bye ! 
 
 JACK." 
 
 Blotted and smeared, he enclosed it in an envelope, and 
 dropped it before Gideon Kolfe; then he looked round 
 for his hat. 
 
 "A glass of wine, Jack?" murmured Stephen.
 
 268 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 But Jack took no more notice than if he had been deaf, 
 and seizing his hat staggered from the room. 
 - Stephen drew a long breath. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Rolfe/' he said, "we have conquered. As 
 for this note, I will see that it is delivered at a proper 
 opportunity." 
 
 "Good," said Gideon Rolfe; then he paused, and 
 frowned sternly. "I am sorry for the young man." 
 
 Stephen smiled, and waved his hand. 
 
 "A mere fancy," he said, lightly. "My dear Jack is 
 apt to take these matters as very serious, but he generally 
 manages to get over them. And now what will you take 
 to drink, Mr. Rolfe?" 
 
 Gideon Rolfe waved his hand and put on his hat. 
 
 "I leave the letter with you," he said. "Good-night." 
 
 Stephen filled a wine glass with brandy, and drank it 
 off, his hand shaking. Then he eyed Jack's letter curi- 
 ously, and at last held the envelope over the steam of the 
 hot water, and drew it apart. 
 
 "A very sensible letter," he muttered, as he read. 
 "Ambiguous, but all the better for that. Really, anyone 
 reading this, would conclude that Jack had -made up his 
 mind to marry Lady Bell, and was ashamed to say so." 
 
 Then he reclosed the envelope, and went to bed, and 
 slept the sleep of the just. 
 
 Meanwhile Jack strode around the streets of London, 
 his brain in a whirl, half mad with "the desperation of 
 despair," as a poet has it. 
 
 At last he reached home, and found the rooms dark and 
 lonesome, and Leonard in bed. 
 
 He sat down and wrote a short note to Lady Bell, tell- 
 ing her that things had turned up which prevented him 
 coming to Earl's Court giving no reason, but just simply 
 the fact. Then he turned out, and he walked about tiil 
 daylight. 
 
 When he came in Leonard was at breakfast, and stared 
 aghast at Jack's haggard face and changed appearance. 
 
 "My dear old man," he commenced, but Jack cut him 
 short. 
 
 "Len, I'm the most miserable wretch in existence.
 
 .WHO WAS THE HEIR? 2H9 
 
 Don't ask me the why and the wherefore; but all is over 
 between me and Una." 
 
 "Impossible!" said Leonard. 
 
 "Impossible, but true," retorted Jack. "All is over be- 
 tween us, and if you value our friendship you will not 
 mention her name again." 
 
 "But " said Leonard. 
 
 "Enough," said Jack. "I tell you that it is so." 
 
 "Moss has been here agaui," Leonard said. 
 
 "I don't care." 
 
 "But, my dear fellow " 
 
 "I don't care," said Jack, stolidly. "A hundred Mosses 
 wouldn'* matter to me now. Let him do his worst." 
 
 "Yor don't know what his worst is," said Leonard. "He 
 has got you in his power. '* 
 
 "All right," said Jack, coolly. "Let him exercise it to 
 his uttermost." 
 
 Leonard had never seen Jack like this. 
 
 "Listen to me," he said. "If Moss does all he can do, 
 he can expel you from any club in London, catt make 
 you an utter out-cast. Come, Jack, be reasonable." 
 
 "I can't be reasonable !" retorted Jack. "I am utterly 
 ruined and undone. With Una everything that is worth 
 living for has gone. I care nothing for Moss or anything 
 he can do." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXtV. 
 
 "In another hour he will be here," said Una, as she stood 
 at her dressing-room window, and looked out Upon the 
 lawns and park of Hurst, where they stretched down to- 
 ward the road. 
 
 "Another hour I*' and at the thought, a smile yet 
 scarcely a smile, but a suitable light like a sun ray stole 
 over her face. 
 
 The great poet Tennyson has, in one of his greatest 
 poems, portrayed a girl who, all unconscious of the bitter 
 moments awaiting her, decked herself in her brightest 
 ribbons to receive her expected lover. 
 
 Bright ribbons are out of fashion now, but Una had 
 paid some, for her. extraordinary attention to her toilet.
 
 270 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OE, 
 
 Jack was never tired of calling her beautiful; had even 
 gone so far as to speak of her loveliness, and it had raised 
 no vanity in her; but this evening she felt she would like 
 to appear really and truly beautiful in his eyes, so beau- 
 tiful that even Lady Bell's spirited face should be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 She had chosen the dress he liked best ; had selected, with 
 unusual care, a couple of flowers from the costly bouquet, 
 which, morning and evening, was sent to her room from 
 the hot-houses, and had decked herself in the locket and 
 bracelet, and ring which Jack had given her. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant had made her many presents of jewelry, 
 some of it costly, and ev rare; but she would not wear 
 anything but Jack's own gifts tonight. 
 
 "He will come fresh from Lady Bell's diamonds and 
 sapphires, and would think little of mine, beautiful as 
 they are ; but he will like to see his locket and his bracelet, 
 and will know that I love him best." 
 
 Not once, but twice and thrice she had moved from the 
 window to the glass, and looked into it. Not with any 
 expression of pleased vanity, but rather with merciless 
 criticism. For the first time, she would like to be as 
 beautiful as Jack thought her. For the last few days she 
 had been rather silent, and somewhat pale. Stephen's 
 cunning hints respecting Jack and Lady Bell had had 
 their effect ; tmt tonight's expectation, and the nearness of 
 Jack's approach, had brought a faint rose-like tint to 
 her cheeks, and her eyes shone with the subtle light of 
 love and hope. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant looked up at her as she entered the 
 drawing-room and smiled affectionately. 
 
 "How well you look tonight, dear/' she said, as she 
 kissed her and drew her down beside her. "I'm inclined 
 to believe Jack, when he says that you grow more beautiful 
 than ever." 
 
 "Hush," said Una, but with a blush. "Jack says so 
 many foolish things, dear." 
 
 "If he never said anything more foolish than that he 
 would be a wise man," 'said Mrs. Davenant. "How long 
 would he be now, dear ?" 
 
 Una glanced at the clock.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 271 
 
 "Just forty minutes/' she said simply. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant smiled and patted her hand. 
 
 "Counting the very minutes," she murmured, gently. 
 -'What a thing love is ! What would life be without it ?" 
 
 "Death," said Una, with a grave smile. "Worse than 
 death." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant sighed. 
 
 "Jack is a happy man," she said. "I wonder whether 
 Stephen will come down this evening?" 
 
 "Do you not know?" said Una, absently. 
 
 "No," replied Mrs. Davenant. "I thought, perhaps, 
 he might have told you." 
 
 "Me !" said Una, with open eyes. "Oh, no. Why should 
 he?" 
 
 "I didn't know," said Mrs. Davenant, quietly. "He 
 tells you everything, I think." 
 
 Una smiled. 
 
 "He is very good and kind," she said, still a little ab- 
 sently. "Oh, very kind. No one could have taken more 
 trouble to make me hc.ppy." 
 
 "Yes, Stephen likes to see you happy," said Mrs Dave- 
 nant, softly. "Poor Stephen!" and she sighed. 
 
 But Una heard neither the expression of pity nor the 
 sigh. She had risen, and was moving about the room with 
 fliat suppressed impatience which marks the one who wafts 
 an expected joy. 
 
 Presently her quick ears heard the rattle of approaching 
 wheels, and with a throbbing heart she looked at the 
 clock. % It wanted ten minutes to the appointed time for 
 Jack's arrival. With a quick flush of gratitude for his 
 punctuality she moved to the door, and stole swiftly and 
 softly to her own room, to regain composure. She heard 
 the carriage pull up and go away to the stables heard 
 the hurried tread of footsteps in the marble hall and 
 then, with the faint flush grown into a full-blown blush; 
 went downstairs and entered the drawing-room. 
 
 A sudden shock of disappointment chilled her. Stephen 
 was standing before the fire warming his hands, but Jack 
 was not there. 
 
 Stephen, in the glass, saw her enter, saw the sudden
 
 27? ONLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 start and disappearance of the warm flush, and turned to 
 meet her. 
 
 He looked tired, pale and worn, and the smile with which 
 he met her was a singular one, one that would have been 
 almost triumphant but for the expression of anxiety un- 
 derlying it. 
 
 "I- have got back, you see," he said. "And are you quite 
 well?" 
 
 Una murmured an inaudible response, and he went 
 back to the fire and bent over it, warming his 'hands, his 
 face grown, if anything, still paler. 
 
 "How beautiful she looks !" he thought. "How beau- 
 tiful ! Worth risking all for all!" 
 
 "Won't you go up and dress, Stephen?" said Mrs. 
 Davenant. "There is a large fire in your rocon, and in 
 Jack's too; I have Just been into both of them." 
 
 "Yes, yes," he said, not nervously, but with almost an 
 absent air, and he left the room. 
 
 "Stephen looks tired," said Mrs. Davenant. "I'm 
 afraid he has had some business that has worried him. I 
 can always tell by his face." 
 
 "I am very sorry," said Una, gently. "Yes, he did look 
 tired and worried," she added, but with her eyes on the 
 clock. The hands went round to the hour an hour be- 
 yond Jack's time and the butler announced dinner. 
 
 "Oh, we will wait a little while for Mr. Newcombe!" 
 said Mrs. Davenant, but Una, with a little flush, mur- 
 mured : 
 
 "No, do not, please; Mr. Davenant must want his din- 
 ner. Please do not wait ;" and Mrs. Davenant, never able 
 to stand put against anyone's will, rose and put her arm 
 in Una's and they went into the dining-room. Stephen 
 followed and sat down without making any remark on 
 Jack's absence ; even when Mrs. Davenant said tc the but- 
 ler "Let them be sure and keep the soup hot for Mr. 
 Newcombe," Stephen made no observation. 
 
 Dish after dish disappeared, and Una made a faint pre- 
 tence at eating as usual, and joined in the conversation 
 between Stephen and Mrs. Davenant, but her eyes were 
 continually straying toward the clock, her ears straining 
 for the sound of wheels or a galloping horse.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 273 
 
 The dinner was a thing of the past, and the soup had 
 been kept hot in vain; no Jack arrived. Gradually silence 1 
 had fallen on the three, and when Mrs. Davenant rose it 
 was with a sigh of loving sympathy with the troubled heart 
 that ached so near her own. 
 
 "I cannot think what has kept him/' she said, when 
 they were alone together in the drawing-room. "If it 
 were anyone but Jack I should feel nervous but even I 
 cannot feel nervous about him. It is a plain, easy road 
 from Earl's Court, and he rides like a a centaur." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Una, with her eyes fixed on the fire 
 "perhaps Lady Bell pressed him to stay to dinner, and he 
 will be here presently." 
 
 "That must be it," said Mrs. Davenant, hopefully. "He 
 will come in directly, making a most tremendous noise, 
 and raging against whatever has been keeping him. 
 Jack's rages are dreadful while they last they don't last 
 long!" 
 
 Una smiled, and listened. 
 
 Stephen entered so noiselessly that she almost started 
 and stooped over his mother. 
 
 "There are some things in the breakfast room I 
 brought from London, will you go and see to them?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant rose instantly. 
 
 "Una, dear," she said, "see to the tea, I will be back di- 
 rectly." 
 
 Una nodded, and sat down at the gypsy table. Stephen 
 stood beside the fire, one white hand stretched out to the 
 blaze, his face turned toward her. his eyes watching her 
 under their lowered lids. His heart beat nervously, the 
 task before him seemed to overmaster him, and he shrank 
 from it ; with one hand he felt Jack's letter, lying like an 
 asp in his breast coar pcclict. 
 
 "There is a cold wind tonight," he said absently. "Jack- 
 said the wind had gone round this morning." 
 
 "Jack," said Una, raising her eyes, with a sudden 
 flame of color in her face. "Have you seen him? You 
 have been to Earl's Court?" 
 
 Stephen frowned as if angry at making a slip. 
 
 "No n o," he said with gentle hesitation. "No ; I saw 
 him in London. He is not at Earl's Court."
 
 274 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 "Not at Earl's Court !" said Una, with surprise. "How 
 is that ? Oh, he is not ill ?" 
 
 And her breath came sharply. 
 
 Stephen turned to the fire, with knitted brow and com- 
 pressed lip, and fidgeted with the poker. 
 
 "No," he replied, slowly, and as if uncertain what to 
 say "he is not ill." 
 
 "Then why did he not go?" asked Una. 
 
 Stephen remained silent; and still keeping her eyee 
 fixed on his pale face, she rose and glided to his side. 
 
 "You have something to tell me," she said, laying her 
 hand on his arm, and speaking in a low, panting voice. 
 "What is it ? You will tell me, will you not ? Has any- 
 thing happened to Lady Bell? Is she at Earl's Court?" 
 
 "Yes, she is at Earl's Court," he said, almost bitterly, 
 "and she is quite well, I believe." 
 
 "Then," said Una, in a low voice, which she tried vainly 
 to keep steady "then it is something concerning Jack. 
 Oh, why do you keep me in suspense?" 
 
 Her misery maddened him. 
 
 "I will tell you that he is quite well," he said, almost 
 sharply. "I left him in perfect health. I dined with 
 him, and he made an excellent dinner." 
 
 "You are angry with him ! What has he done to make 
 you angry?" she asked. 
 
 He raised her hand, and let it fall with a gesture of 
 noble indignation. 
 
 "What has he done ?" he repeated, as if to himself. "I 
 can find no words to describe it adequately. My poor 
 Una!" 
 
 And he turned to her, and laid his hand caressingly and 
 pityingly on her arm. 
 
 Una, white and cold, was all unconscious of his touch. 
 
 Stephen drew her gently to a low seat, and stood over 
 her, his hand resting with the same caressing pity on her 
 arm. 
 
 "Yes, I must tell you," he said, his voice low and gen- 
 tle. "Would to Heaven I had been spared the task. Dear 
 Una! you will be calm I know your brave spirit and 
 true, courageous heart. You will summon all your 
 strength to bear the blow it is left for me to deal you
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 275 
 
 me who would lay down my life to spare you a moment's 
 pain !" 
 
 She scarcely heeded him. Her eyes, fixed on his face, 
 were dilated with fear and dread, her lips white and apart 
 with suspense. 
 
 "Tell me," she murmured. "It is something to do with 
 Jack?" 
 
 "It is," he said.. "It is." 
 
 "He is dead !" she breathed. 
 
 And her eyes closed, as a shudder ran through her 
 frame. 
 
 "Would to Heaven he had died, ere fhis night's work," 
 said Stephen, in a low, fierce voice. "No; I have told 
 you the truth. I left him well and Heaven forgive him 
 happy." 
 
 Una drew a long breath, and smiled wearily. 
 
 "What can you have to tell me about him that is so 
 dreadful, if he is alive and happy?" 
 
 "He is alive, but he must be dead to you, dear Una," 
 said Stephen. 
 
 "Dead to me!" repeated Una, as if the words had no 
 meaning for her. "Dead to me! I I do not under- 
 stand." 
 
 Then, as he stood silent, with a look of gentle pity and 
 sorrow on his pale face, a sharp expression of apprehen- 
 sion flashed across her face. 
 
 "Say that again," she said. "You you mean to teli me 
 that he has left me?" 
 
 Stephen lowered his head. 
 
 Una was silent, while the clock ticked three, then three 
 words came swiftly and sharply from her white lips : 
 
 "It is false !" 
 
 Stephen started. 
 
 "Would to Heaven it were," he murmured. 
 
 "Gone ! left me without a word," said Una, with a smile 
 of scorn. "Can you ask can you expect me to believe 
 it?" 
 
 "No," said Stephen. "No one would believe such base 
 and hideous treachery without proof." 
 
 "Proof!" she echoed, faintly, and with sudden sinking 
 of the heart. "Proof ! Give it to me !"
 
 276 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OE, 
 
 Stephen drew the letter from his pocket slowly and 
 reluctantly. 
 
 Una saw it and shivered. 
 
 "It is from him; give it to me/' she said. 
 
 And she held out her hand. 
 
 Stephen took it in his, and held it for a moment. 
 
 "Wait for Heaven's sake wait," he murmured, with 
 agitation. "I meant to hreak it to you to explain " 
 
 "Give it to me," was all she said, and she shook his hand 
 off impatiently. 
 
 "T&ke it," said Stephen, with a tremor in his voice, 
 "take it, and would to Heaven he had found some other 
 messenger to bear it." 
 
 Una took the letter and slowly but steadily carried it 
 to another part of the room. 
 
 There she stood and looked at it as if she were waiting 
 to gain strength to open it. 
 
 At last, after what seemed an eternity to Stephen, who 
 was watching her in the glass, she broke open the en- 
 velope and read. 
 
 Not twice, but thrice she read it, as if she meant to 
 engrave every line on her heart, then she thrust the letter 
 in her bosom and came back to the fire. 
 
 Stephen turned, and with a low cry of alarm at sight 
 of her altered face, moved toward her; but she put up her 
 hand to keep him back. 
 
 Altered! Not only in face but in bravery. A minute 
 ago she had been a gentle-hearted, suffering, tortured 
 girl, now she was an injured, deserted woman. 
 
 "Thanks," she said, and the words fell like ice from her 
 lips. "You spoke of an explanation. Will you tell me all 
 you know, Stephen ?" 
 
 "Pray not now," he murmured. "Tomorrow " 
 
 But she stopped him with a smile, awful to see in its 
 utter despair and unnatural calmness. 
 
 "Now, please." 
 
 "It it is too easy of explanation," said Stephen 
 hoarsely. "He was tempted and he has fallen. He has 
 bartered his honor for gold. Ask me no more." 
 
 Una drew a long breath. 
 i "It is needless," she said. "You mean that he has left
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 277 
 
 me, because I am poor, for Lady Earlsley, who can make 
 him rich." 
 
 Stephen turned away and sighed heavily. 
 
 Una looked at him for a moment, then sat down at the 
 tea-table. 
 
 "You will have some tea?" she said calmly. 
 
 Stephen started and looked at her. She had taken up 
 the cream ewer with an unfaltering hand. Great 
 Heaven! could it be possible that she did not feel it 
 that she did not really love Jack after all ! A wild feeling 
 of exultation rose within his heart. 
 
 "Thank Heaven !" he murmured, "you can meet such 
 treachery as it deserves with scorn and contempt." 
 
 She looked up at him with a strange smile on her cold, 
 white face, and held out a tea-cup. But as he came near 
 her, the cup dropped from her hand with a crash, and 
 
 she fell back like one stricken unto death. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 That same evening, Lady Bell stood in the drawing-room 
 of Earl's Court. She was richly dressed, more richly 
 than was usual with her; upon her white neck and arms 
 sparkled the diamond set which she wore only on the most 
 special occasions. The room was full. Four or five of 
 the country families had been dining with her, and the 
 buzz of conversation and sound of music rose and fell to- 
 gether confusedly. 
 
 Surrounded, as usual, by a little circle of courtiers, she 
 reigned, by the right of her beauty, her birth, and her 
 wealth, a queen of society. 
 
 Brilliant and witty she, so to speak, kept her devoted 
 adherents at bay, her beautiful face lit up with the smile 
 which so many found so falsely fascinating, her eyes shin- 
 ing like the gems in her hair. Never had she appeared so 
 beautiful, so irresistible. 
 
 Kegarding her even most critically one would have as- 
 sented to the proposition that certainly if any woman in 
 tire world was happy that night it was Lady Ipabel Earls- 
 
 iy- 
 
 And yet beneath all her brilliance Lady Bell was hiding 
 an aching heart. Half the country was there at her feet, 
 only one of all her invited guests absent, and he a
 
 278 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 poor, tireless, ne'er-do-well. But Lady Bell would will- 
 ingly, -joyfully have exchanged them all for that one man, 
 for that" scapegrace with the bold, handsome face and 
 frank, fearless eyes. 
 
 Since mid-day she had been expecting him. Like Una, 
 her eyes had wandered to the clock, and she had told the 
 minutes over; but he had not come, and now, with that 
 false gayety of despair, she was striving, fighting hard to 
 forget him. 
 
 But her eyes and ears refused to obey her will, and 
 were still watching and waiting, and suddenly her glance, 
 wandering over her fan, saw a figure standing in the door- 
 way. 
 
 It was not a man's, it was that of Laura Treherne's 
 Mary Burns. 
 
 Not one of them around her noticed any difference in 
 her smile or guessed why she dismissed them so easily 
 and naturally. She did not even march straight for the 
 door, but making a circuit, gradually reached the hall. 
 
 Pale and calm and self-possessed as usual, the strange 
 maid was waiting for her. 
 
 "Well !" said Lady Bell, and her voice was scarcely above 
 a whisper. "Has has he come ?" 
 
 "No," said Laura Treherne. "But though your lady- 
 ship told me only to let you know of Mr. Newcombe's ar- 
 rival, I thought it best to bring you this letter." 
 
 Lady Bell almost snatched it from her hand. 
 
 "You did right," she said. 
 
 With trembling hands she broke open the envelope, not 
 noting that it opened easily as if it had been tampered 
 with, and read the note. 
 
 "DEAR LADY BELL I am sorry I cannot come as ar- 
 ranged. I am in great trouble, and cannot leave London. 
 
 "Yours truly, 
 
 "JACK NEWCOMBE/' 
 
 Lady Bell looked at the few lines for full a minute, then 
 she pressed the letter to her lips. As she did so, she saw 
 that the slight figure in its dark dress was still standing 
 in front of her, and she started. 
 
 "Why are you waiting?" she said angrily.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? ,i>;9 
 
 Laura Trcherne turned to go, but Lady F.oll failed to' 
 her. 
 
 "Wait. I beg your pardon. I am going to London 
 tomorrow by the first train. Will you have everything 
 ready ?" 
 
 Laura Treherne bowed. 
 
 "Yes, my lady." 
 
 "And and you need not sit up," said Lady Bell. - 
 
 "Thanks, my lady," was the calm response. And the 
 , dim figure disappeared in the distance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Christmas was near at hand; but notwithstanding that 
 nearly everybody who had a country house, or an invitation 
 to one, was away in the shires, London was by no means 
 empty. There were still "chariots and horsemen" in th<? 
 park; and the clubs were pretty well frequented. Not a 
 few have come to the conclusion that after all London is 
 at its best and cheerfulest in mid-winter; and that plum 
 pudding and roast beef can be enjoyed in a London 
 square as well, if not better, than in the country. 
 
 Among these was Lady Bell. Although she had two 
 or three country houses which she might have filled with 
 guests, she, for sundry reasons, preferred to remain in 
 Park Lane. 
 
 Perhaps, like Leonard Dagle, she thought that there 
 was no place like London. He would have his idea that 
 there was no place in it like Spider Court. Spring, sum- 
 mer, autumn, and winter, with perhaps, just a short in- 
 terregnum of a fortnight in summer, Leonard stuck to 
 Spider Court; and on this winter evening he was sitting 
 in his accustomed place, busily driving the pen. 
 
 There was a certain change about Leonard which was 
 worthy of remark. He looked, not older than we saw him 
 last, but younger. In place of the weary, abstracted air, 
 which had settled upon him during the long months of 
 the search of Laura Terherne, there was an expression of 
 hopefulness and energy which was distinctly palpable. 
 The room too looked changed. It was neater and less 
 muddled; and though, the boxing gloves and portraits of
 
 280 ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 actresses and fair ladies of the ballet still adorned the 
 walls, the floor and chair? were no longer lumhered with 
 Jack's boots and gloves, cigar boxes, and other impedi- 
 menta. 
 
 Perhaps Leonard missed these untidy objects, for he was 
 wont to look up from his work and round the room with 
 a sigh, and not seldom would rise and stalk into the bed- 
 room beyond his own; the bed-room which Jack kept in 
 a similar litter, but which now was neat and tidy and 
 unoccupied. 
 
 At such times Leonard would sigh and murmur to 
 himself, "Pook Jack !" and betaking himself to his writ- 
 ing desk again would pull out a locket and gaze long and 
 earnestly on a face enshrined therein, a face which strik- 
 ingly resembled that of Laura Treherne, and so would 
 gain comfort and fall to work again. 
 
 Tonight, he had wandered into the unoccupied room 
 and had glanced at the portrait two or three times, for he 
 felt lonely and would have given a five-pound note to hear 
 Jack's tread upon the stairs, and his voice shouting for 
 the housekeeper to bring him hot water. 
 
 "Poor Jack!" he murmured, "where is he now?" For 
 some months had elapsed since he had found a few lines 
 of sad farewell from jacic lying on his writing desk, but 
 pregnant with despair and reckless helplessness. And 
 Jack had gone whither not even Mr. Levy Moss, who 
 sought him far and wide, could discover ; and not Mr. Moss 
 alone, but Lady Bell Earlsley; fast as she had traveled 
 from Earl's Court to London, she arrived too late to see 
 Jack, too late to learn from his lips the nature of the 
 trouble which he had spoken of in his short note to her. 
 And from Leonard even, she could not learn much. He 
 could only tell her that Jack and Una's engagement was 
 broken off, and by Jack himself, but for what reason he 
 could not tell or guess. And with that Lady Bell had 
 to be, not content, but patient. 
 
 "You were his dearest friend," she said to Leonard, 
 "can you not guess where he has gone?" 
 
 And Leonard had shaken his head sorrowfully. "I 
 cannot even guess. He was utterly miserable and reck-
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR ? ?*1 
 
 less; he once spoke, half in jest, of enli?ting. Ho wa.< in 
 great trouble." 
 
 "Money trouble ?" Lady Bell had asked. 
 
 "Money trouble," assented Len, and Lady Bell hud 
 sunk into Leonard's chair and wrung her white hands. 
 
 "Money ! money ! how I hate the word ! and here I am 
 with more of the vile stuff than I know what to do with !" 
 
 "That would make no difference to Jack," Leonard 
 said, quietly; and Lady Bell had sighed ^he almost 
 sobbed and gone on her way as near broken-hearted as a 
 woman could be. 
 
 And then she had sought for him as openly as she 
 dared, but with no result, save discovering that there were 
 hundreds of young men who answered to Jack's descrip- 
 tion, and who were all indignant when they applied in re- 
 sponse to the advertisements and found that they were not 
 the men wanted. 
 
 And so the months had rolled on, and the "Savage" was 
 nearly forgotten at the Club, excepting at odd times when 
 Hetley or Dalrvmple remembered how well he used to tool 
 a team to the "Sheaves," or row stroke in a scratch eight. 
 My friend, if you want to find out of how little impor- 
 tance you are in your little world, disappear for a few 
 months, and when you come back you will find that your 
 place has been excellently well filled, excepting in the 
 hearts of the one or two faithful men and women who 
 loved you. 
 
 The world went on very well without Jack, and only 
 two or three hearts ached, really ached, at his absence 
 Len, honest Len, in his den in Spider Court; Lady Bell, 
 in Park Lane ; and that other tender, loving, and tortured 
 heart in the old new house at Hurst. 
 
 Leonard often thought of that tender heart, and sighed 
 over it as he sighed for Jack. It was still a mystery to 
 him, their separation; he knew that Una was still at the 
 Hurst, but that was all. No news of her ever reached him. 
 At times he ran across Stephen in London, and exchanged 
 a word or a bow with him, and had noticed that he was 
 looking better and sleeker, and less pale more flourishing 
 in fact, than he had done for some time. 
 
 He, too had come to Spider Court, and expressed pro-
 
 282 OXLY 0\E LOVE : OE, 
 
 found grief at Jack's disappearance, and had gone away 
 after wringing Leonard's hand sympathetically. 
 
 Leonard sat thinking over this far more than was good 
 to the work he had in hand, when he heard the door open, 
 and half starting, said absently: 
 
 ''Nothing more wanted tonight, Mrs. Brown." 
 
 But a step, certainly not Mrs. Brown's, crossed the 
 room, and a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, and 
 looking up, he saw Jack's face above him. 
 
 "Jack !" he exclaimed, clutching him as if he expected to 
 see him disappear again. "It is you, really you? Great 
 Heaven !*' 
 
 There was reason for the exclamation ; for though it was 
 Jack, he was so altered as to have rendered the description 
 of him in the advertisements quite useless. Thin, pale, 
 careworn, it was no more the old Jack than the living 
 skeleton is Daniel Lambert. 
 
 "Great Heaven ! Is it really you, Jack ?" 
 
 "Yes, it is I ! what is left of me, Len. - You you are 
 looking well, old man. And the old room ; how cheery it 
 seems/' 
 
 And he laughed the shadow of the old laugh even 
 more pitiable than tears. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake be quiet ; don't speak just yet." said 
 Len, with a husky voice. "Sit down. You've frightened 
 me, Jack. Have you been ill ?" 
 
 "Slightly," said Jack, with a smile. 
 
 "And where have you been? Tell me all about it no, 
 don't tell me anything yet." 
 
 And he went to the cupboard, and brought out the 
 whisky, and mixed a stiff glass. 
 
 "Now, then, old man, where's the cigars? here here's 
 a light. Now then no; take off your boots. I'll tell 
 Mrs. Brown to air the bed and get your dressing-gown. 
 And what about supper?" 
 
 And with a suspicious moisture in his eyes, Len turned 
 from the room. 
 
 "Staunch as a woman, tender as a man." It was a 
 wise saying, whoever wrote it. 
 
 Jack sipped his whisky and water, and smoked his cigar.
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 2S3 
 
 and pulled himself together, which was just what Len 
 wanted to get him to do; and then Len came back. 
 
 "Now then, old man, out with it. Where have you 
 been ?" 
 
 "I've been to America," said Jack. "Don't ask me any 
 particulars, Len; I wouldn't tell you much if you did. 
 I've been nearly out of my mind half the time, and down 
 with one of their charming fevers the remainder. You 
 won't get enough information out of me to write even a 
 magazine article, old man." 
 
 And he smiled, with a faint attempt at badinage. 
 "Great Heaven!" exclaimed Len, again; "and and is 
 that all?" 
 
 "That's all it amounts to," said Jack, wearily. "You 
 want to know how I caine back, and why? Well, I can 
 scarcely tell why. I got so sick of trying to get knocked 
 on the head, and failing miserably, that I got disgusted 
 with the country, weary of wandering about, and resolved 
 that it would be better to come and give Levy Moss his 
 revenge. He's still alive, I hope?" 
 "And you got back ?" said Len. 
 
 "I worked my passage over," said Jack, curtly. "I was 
 a bad hand, and caught cold on the top of the last affair, 
 and just managed to pull myself together to reach Lon- 
 don, and here I am. Not very lucid, Len, is it? But 
 there's no more to tell." 
 
 Leonard looked at him with infinite pity, and mixed 
 another glass of whisky. 
 
 "Poor old Jack," he murmured. 
 
 "And now it's your turn," said Jack, lighting another 
 cigar. "Tell me all the news, Len, about yourself first. 
 How are Hetley, and Dalrymple, and the rest of them? 
 But yourself first, Len. You look well better than when 
 I left. Things have gone right with you." 
 
 "Then you have not forgotten ?" said Len, gratefully. 
 "It is not likely," he said, quietly. "I have thought of 
 you many a night as I lay burning with that confounded 
 fever. Are you married ?" and he looked round the room 
 as if he expected to see Mrs. Dagle in some dim corner. 
 Leonard blushed.
 
 284 XL Y X E 1. V E ; OB, 
 
 "Xonsense ! Xo, Jack, I'm not married. But I'm 
 very happy, old man should have been quite happy, but 
 for missing you/' 
 
 Jack nodded. 
 
 "I'm glad of that. Glad it has all worked round, and 
 that you have missed me, too. Where is she Laura Tre- 
 herne? You see I remember her name/' 
 
 Leonard hesitated, and looked troubled. 
 
 "I I'm afraid I mustn't tell you. You see, Jack, 
 there's still some kind of mystery hanging about this love 
 affair of mine. It is Laura's wish that I should keep 
 silent as to her whereabouts. I give you my word I 
 don't understand why. But I don't want to talk of myself 
 and my affairs, Jack. There is something and someone 
 else you want to hear about." 
 
 Jack looked up with a sudden start, and held up his 
 hand. 
 
 "No, not a word I" he said. "Don't tell me a word. I 
 that affair is over dead and bT/ried. Don't speak her 
 name, Len, for Heaven's sake. I,et that rest forever be- 
 tween us." 
 
 Len sighed. 
 
 "Tell me more about yourself. ' said Jack, impatiently, 
 as if anxious to get away from the other subject. "There 
 is some mystery, secret, you say/' 
 
 "Yes," said Leonard, humoring him, "there is a mystery 
 and secret, which, much as I love her, and I hope and be- 
 lieve she loves me, Laura will not trust well, I will not 
 say 'trust* whioh she does not feel authorized to confide 
 to me/' 
 
 "I remember," said Jack, "your telling me that she had 
 some task, or mission, or something to accomplish sounds 
 strange." 
 
 "Yes," said Leonard, with a sigh, "and that mission is 
 il unaccomplished, and blocks the marriage. But I am 
 content to wait and trust, and I am happy." 
 Jack sighed. 
 
 l^r 011 deserv , e to H old fellow !" he said. 
 
 -No, I don't!" exclaimed Leonard, remorsefully, "for 
 Haunting my happiness in your face, Jack. And now,
 
 .WHO WAS THE HEIR? ssr, 
 
 here's the supper/' he added, as a waiter from a neighbor- 
 ing chop-house brought in a tray. 
 
 Jack sat down, and Leonard waited upon him, hanging 
 over him, and watching him as if every mouthful he ate 
 did him, Leonard, good; meanwhile chatting cheerfully. 
 
 "London pretty full, Jack ; lots of people up this year." 
 
 "Yes," said Jack, then he looked up. "I suppose I 
 shan't be able to show up, because of Moss, Len ?" 
 
 "Oh, he won't know you are here! And we'll cut it. 
 We'll go down to the country somewhere, Jack, before 
 anyone sees you. You haven't met anyone, have you?" 
 
 "Met them, no. But I have seen Stephen." 
 
 "Stephen Davenant?" 
 
 "Yes, I saw him, but I don't think he saw me. He is 
 looking well." 
 
 Leonard nodded. 
 
 "He did not see you but it wouldn't have mattered." 
 
 "No," said Jack, with a sigh. "Len, this is the first 
 'square meal,' as they say over the sea, that I've enjoyed 
 since I left. I'm very tired." 
 
 "I can see that," said Leonard. "Go off to bed, old 
 man. We'll have no more questions tonight." 
 
 Jack rose and took his candle. 
 
 "Yes, one more," he said, as he held Leonard's hand, 
 tightly. "Is is she well, Len?" 
 
 Leonard nodded. 
 
 "Yes, I think so " 
 
 "Thaf s all," said Jack, resolutely. "Good-night, Len, 
 good-night," and he turned away quickly. 
 
 Leonard stole into Jack's room several times that night 
 and looked down upon the tired, weary face, still hand- 
 some for all its lines and haggardness, handsomer some 
 might have thought, for suffering sets a seal of dignity 
 upon a man's face if there be sterling stuff in him. 
 Leonard looked down at it pityingly. 
 
 "Poor old man ; he has had a hard time of it if any man 
 has." 
 
 Jack turned up at breakfast time looking much re- 
 freshed. 
 
 "First good nighf s rest I've had since oh, too long
 
 286 OXLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 to remember, Len. Dreamed that all that has happened 
 was only a dream, and that I was waking up and going 
 
 to see " he broke off suddenly and sighed. 
 
 ' Leonard was delighted to see him so much better. 
 
 "We'll leave town directly, Jack," he said. "I've just 
 done my usual batch of work, and am free. We'll spend 
 our Christmas at some old inn " 
 
 Jack looked at him gratefully. 
 
 "You're a staunch old man, Len," he said, quietly. 
 "You'd sacrifice your sweetheart to your friend/' 
 
 Len colored. 
 
 "I'm sure she'd be the first to urge us to go/' he said. 
 "Laura is so unselfish." 
 
 "She shan't be sacrificed for me," said Jack. "Xo, Len, 
 I'll go off by myself, before anyone knows I'm back 
 hallo! what's that?" 
 
 It was a footstep on the stairs, Len motioned for Jack 
 to retreat into the bedroom, and only just in time, for, 
 barely stopping to knock, Mr. Levy Moss opened the door. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 "Good-morning, Mr. Dagle," said Moss, his eyes roam- 
 ing about the room. "Here I am again, you see, Mr. 
 Dagle; and where is Mr. Xewcombe? He's here, I know." 
 
 "If you know so much you've no need to ask," said 
 Leonard. "Who told you he was here ?" 
 
 Levy Moss winked one bleared eye cunningly. 
 
 "I'm smart, Mr. Dagle; I keep my eyes open and my 
 feet a-moving." 
 
 "Just so," said Leonard, "and if you'll be good enough 
 to move them out of my room I shall be obliged. Please 
 observe that these are my rooms, Mr. Moss, and not Mr. 
 Xewcombe's, and that I am not desirous of further visits 
 from you." 
 
 "You're sharp, too, Mr. Dagle," said Moss; "but Mr. 
 Newcombe's here; you don't want two cups and saucers, 
 and two plates, you know, for your breakfast, eh ?" 
 
 "Get out!" said Len, who, when he was roused was, 
 like most quiet men, rather hot-headed. "Get out ! and,
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? XS1 
 
 by the way, if you meet Mr. Xewcombe, I'd advise you to 
 keep clear of him; he's back from America and carries two 
 revolvers and a bowie knife, and I needn't tell you, who 
 know him so well, that he'd as soon put a bullet through 
 your head or stick the knife in between your ribs as look 
 at you far rather, perhaps." 
 
 Moss turned pale. 
 
 "I hope Mr. Jack won't do anything rash." 
 
 "I won't answer for him. They don't think much of 
 killing your sort of people on the other side, Moss. Get 
 out," and Mr. Moss shuffled out; Leonard bolting the door 
 after him. 
 
 Jack came in and sat down quietly and gravely. 
 
 "I've frightened him," said Leonard, smiling. "He'll 
 keep clear of you for a day or two. But how did he know 
 you were back? He couldn't have been keeping watch 
 for all these months." 
 
 "I don't know; someone must have seen me, and told 
 him ; I don't know who, Len. I'm going out." 
 
 "Now, Jack ?" said Leonard, fearfully. 
 
 Jack smiled. 
 
 "No, Len; I won't cut it again without telling you 
 and saying 'good-by.' I'm only going for a walk ; and I'll 
 be back to dinner." 
 
 Leonard looked after him, still rather anxiously; 
 there was a look of determination on the pale, thoughtful 
 face which alarmed him. 
 
 Jack walked to Kegent street please mark that he 
 didn't call a hansom ; though Len had pressed some money 
 upon him and then into Piccadilly, and still with the 
 thoughtful look of determination on his face, into Park 
 Lane, and ascended the steps of Lady Bell's villa. 
 
 A footman, who knew not Jack, opened the door, and 
 Jack, who had not any cards, gave his name, which the 
 footman gave to Lady Bell's maid as "Mr. Bluecut." 
 
 Jack walked into the drawing-room, every article of 
 which was familiar to him; and sat down in the chair 
 which he had so often drawn close to Lady Bell's, only a 
 few months back ; and yet how long, long ago it seemed. 
 
 Presently the door opened, and Lady Bell came in.
 
 288 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 He saw her in the glass before she saw him. 
 
 Tastefully and simply dressed, she looked, if anything, 
 more beautiful than ever, but not so bright and restless; 
 Jack noticed that. There was an undefinable change 
 about her, just as if she had gone through some trouble, 
 or had done battle with some grief. 
 
 Suddenly she looked round and saw him, and stopped; 
 one hand holding a chair, her face going from white to 
 crimson. 
 
 Jack rose. 
 
 "I've startled you; I'm very sorry." 
 
 Lady Bell recovered herself, and went to him with out- 
 stretched hand and a look in her dark eyes that she tried 
 to keep out of them. 
 
 "Jack," she said, almost involuntarily. 
 
 "Yes, it's I; like the bad penny, back again, Lady Bell." 
 
 And he sat down and laughed. 
 
 She sank into a chair beside him, and looked at his 
 careworn face. 
 
 "Where have you been?" she asked, softly. 
 
 "To America," said Jack. 
 
 "You have been ill ?" she said, still more softly. 
 
 Jack nodded. 
 
 "Yes. I'm all right now. And you? You don't look 
 quite the thing?" 
 
 : 'Dp I not ?" she said, with a smile. "I am quite well. 
 And is that all you are going to tell me of your wander- 
 ings ?" 
 
 "No. I'll tell you everything some other time," said 
 Jack, quietly. 
 
 "You are not going away again, then ?" she asked, look- 
 ing at hinvand then away from him. 
 
 Jack flushed. 
 
 "That depends," he said, quietly. 
 Depends on what?" she asked. 
 
 "On you," he said. 
 
 Lady Bell started, and the crimson flush flooded her 
 tace and neck; Her lips trembled, and she looked away. 
 'On me?" she murmured, faintly.
 
 WHO WAS THE HE1B? *8<i 
 
 "On you," said Jack, earnestly. "Lady Bell, 1 liavr 
 come back to ask you to be my wife." 
 
 She was silent; her face turned from him, so that he 
 could not see the tears that welled up in her eyes. 
 
 Jack took her hand. 
 
 "Lady Bell, I know that I am not worthy of you know 
 it quite well. There isn't a man in the world who is ; I, 
 least of all. I know, too, what the world would say if you 
 should answer 'Yes.' It will impute all sorts of base mo- 
 tives to me. But, as Heaven is my witness, it is not for 
 your wealth that I ask you to be my wife. I am poor, and 
 in all sorts of trouble; but if you were poorer than I am 
 I would still ask you." 
 
 "You would?" she murmured. 
 
 "Yes," he said, quietly. "Yes, I can say that, though 
 I tell you in the same breath that I am, at this moment, 
 being hunted for money. And I think you will believe 
 me." 
 
 She made a gesture of assent with her hand. 
 
 "Dear Lady Bell," he continued, "during the last few 
 months I have been looking back to those happy days we 
 spent together ; and when a man's down with the fever he 
 looks back with keen and wise insight into the turn of 
 things, and knows when he was happy in the past, and 
 with whom ; and I swore that, if ever I pulled through and 
 got back, I would ask you if you did not think we might; 
 be as happy in the future as in the past. Dear Bell, I 
 would try and make you happy. Will you be my wife?" 
 
 Trembling in every limb, she sat silent, and with averted 
 face. Then, suddenly and yet slowly, she turned her 
 eyes upon him eyes full of ineffable love and sadness. 
 
 Slowly, softly, she put her other hand in his, and smiled 
 at him. 
 
 "You ask me to be your wife, Jack?" 
 
 "I do," he said. "Your answer, dear Bell ?" 
 
 "Is No," she said. 
 
 Jack started, and his eyes fell before the deep love and 
 tenderness in hers. He would have drawn his hand away, 
 but she still held it gently.
 
 290 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 "Do you ask mo why, Jack? I will tell you. It is 
 because you do not love me." 
 
 He looked up with a start, and turned pale. 
 
 Lady Bell shook her head gently. 
 
 "Do not speak it is useless. Besides, you would not 
 tell me a lie, Jack. Listen; I, too, have been looking 
 back; I, too, have learned a lesson a truth while you 
 have been away. And that truth is, that others may love 
 as truly and deeply as myself; and that others may find 
 it as impossible to forget " 
 
 Jack, pale and agitated, stopped her. 
 
 "The past is buried," he said, hoarsely "let it rest." 
 
 "It is not buried it cannot be. See! it revives 
 springs up, even without the mention of her name. Jack, 
 you do not love me you cannot; for all your love has 
 been given, is still given, to Una." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake!" he implored, rising and pacing 
 the room. 
 
 Lady Bell looked at him. 
 
 "Ah, how you love her still, Jack! See how right I 
 was; and yet you would come to me." 
 
 And the tears fall slowly. 
 
 "Forgive me," said Jack, bending over her humbly, im- 
 ploringly "forgive me ! You you are right. But I 
 swear I thought -it was over for me. You knew me better 
 than I knew myself." 
 
 "Yes, for a good reason, Jack/' she murmured; "for I 
 love you." 
 
 Jack winced. 
 
 "I have been a brute!" he murmured. 
 
 "No, Jack," she said and she put her hand on his arm 
 and looked up at him with a smile "you meant well and 
 honestly. You did not know how it stood with you. I 
 could not have loved you so well if you had been false if 
 you had forgotten her. I have been thinking it out, Jack ; 
 and I know now that to love once as you and I love is 
 to love forever." 
 
 "But it is past," he said, "utterly, irrevocably past. You 
 do not know the barrier that stands immovably between 
 her and me."
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 291 
 
 "Do I not?" she murmured, inaudibly. "Be it what it 
 will, your love and hers stand firm on either side of it. 
 But no more of that, Jack. I am glad you have come to 
 me very, very glad. And though I cannot be your wife, 
 Jack" with what tenderness and sadness those two words 
 were breathed "I can be your friend. I want you to 
 promise me something." 
 
 Jack pressed her hand. He could not trust himself 
 to speak. 
 
 "I want you to promise that you will not go away again, 
 that you will not leave London whatever happens mind, 
 whatever happens without letting me know ! I may ask 
 that much, Jack?" 
 
 "You may ask anything," he said, huskily; "I will do 
 anything you ask of me simply anything." 
 
 "I think you would," she said. "Then I have your 
 promise? And, Jack, this must make no difference be- 
 tween us ; you will come and see me ?" 
 
 "I do not deserve to come within a mile of you." 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "And so punish me for not saying 'yes,' " she said, with 
 a little attempt at archness. "That would be hard for 
 me, Jack. I should lose lover and friend as well." 
 
 "You are the truest-hearted woman in the world," said 
 Jack, deeply moved. 
 
 "Except one," said Lady Bell. "There, go now, Jack, 
 and come to dinner tonight, and bring Leonard Dagle 
 with you another true heart." 
 
 "I will," said Jack, simply. And he held out his hand. 
 
 She held out both of hers, and looked at him with a 
 strange, wistful yearning in her eyes. 
 
 "Jack," she breathed, softly, "will you kiss me for the 
 first and last time?" 
 
 Jack drew her toward him and kissed her. Then, with 
 a little sigh, she left him. How Jack got out he knew 
 not, for his eyes were strangely dim and useless.
 
 292 ONLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 A dim light was burning in the drawing-room of the 
 Hurst. Outside, the storm was raging wild and pitiless, 
 making the warm room seem like a harbor of refuge. Be- 
 side the fire sat Mrs. Davenant, half dozing over a piece 
 of finest needlework for, the village working club. She 
 was alone in the room, and every now and then glanced 
 anxiously toward the door. Presently it opened, and the 
 tall figure of Stephen entered and crossed over to her. 
 
 "Mother," he said, and there was a tremulous ring in 
 his voice and a quiver in his lips that were in marked 
 contrast to his usual smooth calm. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant looked up with a glance of alarm. 
 "Una!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Hush !" he said, laying his hand on her shoulder. 
 "Una," and his voice dwelt on the name. "Una is asleep. 
 She has gone to her own room for a little while. Mother," 
 he said, slowly, "she has consented." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant looked up and trembled : "Oh, Stephen !" 
 
 He nodded, and stood before the fire, looking up with 
 a smile of undisguised triumph and joy. "Yes, she has 
 consented. It was well, hard work; but my love over- 
 mastered her. I told her that you agreed with me that 
 the sooner the marriage took place the better. You do, 
 do you not?" 
 
 "Yes," murmured Mrs. Davenant. 
 
 "She wants change; nothing but entire change of life 
 and thought will do her good. Mother, if she remained 
 here, if something were not done, she would" he paused, 
 and went on hoarsely, "she would die !" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant shuddered and her eyes filled. "My 
 poor, poor Una !" she murmured. 
 
 Stephen moved impatiently. "She will not need your 
 pity, mother. A few weeks hence and you will have no 
 reason to pity her. I'll stake my life that I bring her back- 
 here with the roses in her cheeks, with the smile in her 
 eves, as of old. Mother, you do not know what such 
 love as mine can do!" and his voice trembled with sup- 
 pressed passion.
 
 WHO WAS THE IIEIH? 293 
 
 Mrs. Davenant looked up at him, tearfully. 
 
 "You you are much changed, Stephen," she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "I am," he said, with a curt laugh. "I am changed, am 
 I not? I scarcely know myself. And she has done it. 
 She! My beautiful queen, my lily! Yes, she shall be 
 happy, if man can make her." He was silent a moment, 
 dwelling on his love and future, and looked, as he spoke, 
 much changed. Then he awoke at a question from his 
 mother. 
 
 "When is it to be, Stephen?" 
 
 "Tomorrow," he said, quietly. 
 
 "Tomorrow!" gasped Mrs. Davenant. "Impossible!" 
 
 "Not at all," he said, curtly. "Remember, I told you 
 not to be surprised, that it would come suddenly." 
 
 "But " 
 
 He made a movement of impatience. 
 
 "Do you think I have not made preparations? See," 
 and he took a paper from his pocket, "I have had the 
 license for a week past It is no ordinary marriage. We 
 want no bridesmaid and wedding favors. She would not 
 have them or me, if you insisted upon it. It is prin- 
 cipally on the condition that the ceremony shall be quite 
 private secret almost that she has consented." 
 
 Mrs. Davenant stared at the fire. 
 
 Stephen smiled. 
 
 "You do not understand me, even yet, mother," he said. 
 "Did you ever know anything fail me?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant shuddered, or was it the play of the fire- 
 light? 
 
 "Never," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 Stephen smiled again. 
 
 "I have seen this coming, have seen my way to it for 
 
 months past; I have swept every barrier away " He 
 
 stopped suddenly and bit his lip "and now 'for our plans, 
 mother. Try and collect yourself; this has surprised and 
 upset you," he said, sharply. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant sat up and looked at him attentively. 
 
 "Tomorrow we start, without fuss or bother, for Cluni- 
 ley. I have ordered them to take a pair of horses to the
 
 294 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 half-way house, so that we can change without loss of 
 time. I have also sent a letter to the clergyman telling 
 him to be prepared for us, and keep his own counsel. We 
 shall reach Clumley, traveling easily, by half-past ten. 
 There will be no wedding breakfast thank Heaven ! no 
 fuss or ceremony. We shall go straight from the church 
 to London, and thence to Paris. Excepting ourselves and 
 clergyman no one can know anything of the matter until 
 
 the marriage is over, then " and he drew a long breath 
 
 and smiled. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant, pale and trembling, stared up at him. 
 
 "And and Una ? Does she agree to all this ?" 
 
 "Una agrees to everything," he said, impatiently. "She 
 herself stipulated that it should be done quietly, and" 
 with a smile "if this is not quietly, I do not know what 
 is. And now, my dear mother, go and make what prepara- 
 tions are absolutely necessary, and make them yourself, 
 and unaided. Eemember there must be no approach to 
 any wedding party. We are only going to take an outing 
 for a day or two. You understand?" 
 
 "I understand," she faltered; "and when will you be 
 back, Stephen ?" she asked, pitiably. "I I you won't be 
 away long, Stephen ? I shall miss her so." 
 
 Stephen patted her on the shoulder. 
 
 "Don't be afraid, mother. We shall not be away too 
 long. I am too proud of my beautiful bride to hide her 
 away. I want to see her here, mistress of the Hurst. My 
 wife! my wife! Hush! here she comes. Do not upset 
 her." 
 
 And, with a quick, noiseless step, he went out as Una 
 entered. 
 
 Framed in the doorway, she stood for a moment like a 
 picture. Paler and slighter than in the old days, she had 
 lost none of her beauty. Stephen had cause to be proud 
 of his bride. There would be no lovelier woman in Weald- 
 shire than the future mistress of the Hurst. And yet, if 
 Jack could have seen her that moment, what agony her 
 f ace would have cost him; for his eyes, quickened by his 
 passionate love, would have read and understood that sub- 
 tle change that had fallen on the beautiful face; would
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 205 
 
 have read the settled melancholy which sat enthroned on 
 the dark eyes, and gave them the dreamy, far-away look 
 which never left them for a moment. 
 
 "Communing with the past, she walked; 
 "Alive, yet dead to all the world." 
 
 Slowly she crossed the room, and stood just where Ste- 
 phen had stood, and looked into the fire ; but not as he had 
 looked triumphantly, joyfully; hut with an absent, 
 dreamy air. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant put out her hand, and touched her arm. 
 
 "Una!" 
 
 She turned her head, and looked at her questioningly, 
 with a weary, uninterested gaze. 
 
 "Tina, he Stephen has told me. Oh, my darling, I 
 hope you will be happy !" 
 
 Una smiled a cold, mechanical smile. 
 
 "Happy? Yes, he says I shall be happy. Do you 
 think," and she looked calmly at the anxious, nervous face, 
 "do you think I shall be happy?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant drew her toward her. 
 
 "My dear, you frighten me. You you are so so 
 strange and cold. Cold! Your hands are like ice. Oh, 
 Una, do you know what it means this that you are going 
 to do ? It is not too late. Think, Una. You know how 
 I love you, dear. That I would give all the world to call 
 you what you are, my heart of hearts my own daugh- 
 ter. But, oh, Una ! if you think, if you are not quite sure 
 that you will be happy " 
 
 Una looked straight at the fire. 
 
 "He says so," she said, in the same hard, cold voice; 
 "he is clever and wise. He is your son ; why do you doubt 
 him?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant shivered. 
 
 "I I don't doubt him, dear. Yes, he is my son ; he has 
 been a good son to me. But you are to be his wife ; think." 
 
 "I have thought," said Una, quietly. "It will make him 
 happy he says so; and the rest does not matter to me. 
 Yes, I have thought; I am tired with thinking"; and she 
 put her hand to her brow with a sharp gesture, half wild,
 
 296 ONLY ONE LOVE ; OB, 
 
 half weary. "I will make him happy, and I shall always 
 be with you, whom I love. What does the rest matter?" 
 
 Mrs. Davenant uttered a little moan, 
 
 "And and have you quite forgotten?" 
 
 Una looked at her calmly, but with a faint shadow in 
 her eyes and a touch of pain on her lips. 
 
 "Forgotten! No, I shall not forget until I am dead; 
 perhaps not-then; who knows?" and the dreamy look came 
 back. "But that cannot matter. He, Stephen, is con- 
 tent; I have told him all, and he is content. He is 
 easily satisfied." And for the first time a smile of bitter- 
 ness crossed her lips. "Why should he love me so?" 
 she said, curtly. "Why should he be so anxious to make 
 me his wife? I cannot understand it. Is it because he 
 thinks that I am beautiful? I looked in the glass just 
 now, and it seemed a dead face." 
 
 "Una!" 
 
 She turned and smiled. 
 
 "It is true. But I have made you cry. Don't do that, 
 dear. At least, we shall be together, shall we not ?" 
 
 In answer, the poor woman took her in her arms, and 
 cried over her; but Una shed not a single tear. 
 
 No, Stephen was not likely to fail. There were not 
 likely to be any hitches in anything he undertook. 
 
 Even the weather seemed to conform to his plans and 
 wishes, for the morning broke clear and bright, so that he 
 might say: 
 
 "Happy is the bride whom the sun shines on." 
 
 Without fuss or bustle, the traveling chariot, with its 
 pair of handsome bays, drew up to the door; a couple of- 
 portmanteaus, no larger than was necessary for a day or 
 two's outing, were put in the box; and Slummers, in his 
 tall hat and black overcoat, looking very much like the 
 old-fashioned banker's clerk, stood with the carriage door 
 in his hand. 
 
 Presently Stephen came down the steps, dressed in a 
 traveling suit, and looking as calm as usual, but for the 
 touch of color in his face. He had grown younger in ap- 
 pearance, less prim and formal, and altogether better-look- 
 ing. If he could have lost the trick of looking frou 4er
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 297 
 
 his lowered eyelids, he would have been worth calling 
 handsome. He exchanged a word with Shimmers. 
 
 "All right, sir. The horses are at iSTethertou; every- 
 thing is arranged exactly according to your wishes." 
 
 "And no one suspects anything?" 
 
 "Not a soul," said Shimmers, with a smile. 
 
 This morning's work was the sort of thing Slummers 
 liked. He was enjoying himself, and as happy as his 
 master. 
 
 Stephen went into the house again, and presently Mrs. 
 Davenant and Una appeared. Notwithstanding Stephen's 
 warning, Mrs. Davenant's eyes were red ; but Una showed 
 no traces of emotion ; pale, almost white, she looked calmly 
 around her. 
 
 In the night she had started out of her sleep, calling 
 wildly, piteously, on Jack to come and save her. But 
 there was no- Jack here only Stephen, smiling and watch- 
 ful as he came to meet her and help her into the carriage. 
 For a moment her hand touched his bare wrist, and he 
 felt it cold as ice even through her glove; but he smiled 
 still as if he had no fear. 
 
 "Once mine," he thought, "and all will be well !" 
 
 Quietly, with no fuss or bustle, Slummers closed the 
 door, mounted the box, and the horses started off. 
 
 Stephen looked at his watch, and smiled. 
 
 "Punctual almost to the minute," he said. "Are you 
 warm enough, my darling?" 
 
 And he bent forward, and arranged the costly furs round 
 the slight form. 
 
 "Quite," she said ; but she shrank into her corner with a 
 little shiver. 
 
 Stephen left her to herself, but would not remain silent, 
 chatting with, or. rather to, Mrs. Davenant, in a strain of 
 easy cheerfulness, his eyes wandering to the pale face just 
 showing above the pile of furs. 
 
 Their hoofs ringing on the road, which a few hours of 
 early frost had made hard, the horses, the finest pair in 
 the county, for Stephen was critical in such matters and 
 liked the best, spun the distance, and again, almost punc-
 
 298 ONLY OXE LOVE ; OR, 
 
 tual to the minute, the village of Netherton, to which 
 Stephen had sent the change of horses, was reached. 
 
 Slummers stepped down from the box, and was seen 
 to enter the inn yard. 
 
 "The horses ought to be out and waiting," said Stephen, 
 with a little impatience. 
 
 A moment or two passed, and then Slummers caine to 
 the carriage door. 
 
 Stephen jumped out. 
 
 "What is it? Why do you not put the Horses to?" 
 for the others had been taken out and were standing in the 
 stable. 
 
 Slummers, for the first time in his life, changed color 
 ' and hesitated. 
 
 "There has been some mistake, sir." 
 
 "Mistake !" 
 
 "The horses are not here." 
 
 Stephen glared at him. 
 
 "I can't understand it, sir. I gave your orders most 
 minutely, but George has taken the horses on to Clumley." 
 
 Stephen bit his lip and glanced at the carriage. 
 
 "Put the others back," he said, "and tell Masters to 
 drive for his life." 
 
 Slummers hesitated and went to the coachman, coming 
 back in a moment with an uneasy countenance. 
 
 "I'm I'm afraid they won't reach Clumley in time, 
 sir," he said. "Masters says that it is impossible. Calcu- 
 lating on fresh horses, he has forced them a bit on the road, 
 and they are used up. If you will look at them, sir " 
 
 Stephen uttered an oath, and his face twitched. 
 
 The coachman came up, troubled but respectful. It 
 was no fault of his. 
 
 "I thought I should get the change here, sir. I couldn't 
 do it, unless the horses had a quarter of an hour and a 
 wipe down, and then " 
 
 He paused and shook his head. 
 
 Stephen controlled himself, though his face was white. 
 "A quarter of an hour," he said. "We will wait so 
 long, and not a moment longer. Then drive as if your life 
 depended on it. Do not spare the horses."
 
 WHO WAS THE I1E11J? ayj 
 
 Then he went to the carriage and forced a smile. 
 
 "A little delay," he said, cheerfully. "Would you like 
 to get out for a quarter of an hour, darling?" 
 
 Una shook her head. 
 
 "I do not care"; but Mrs. Davenant looked at her and 
 spoke out. 
 
 "Yes, Stephen," she said. "My dear, you are half 
 frozen." 
 
 Stephen went to the window of the inn and looked into 
 the room, then went back. 
 
 "Come," he said. "There is a pleasant fire. A rest 
 and the warmth will do you good. Come," and, wrapping 
 a huge fur round her, he took her on his arm and entered 
 the inn. 
 
 Mrs. Davenant followed into the room. A fire was 
 burning in the old-fashioned grate. Stephen drew a chair 
 near to the welcome blaze and led Una to it. White and 
 indifferent she sat and looked at the flames. 
 
 "It is only for a few minutes, darling, then we shall be 
 off. Come, drink some of this," and he held a glass of 
 hot spirit and water to her hand. 
 
 Una shook her head. 
 
 "Thanks, I could not," she said, simply. 
 
 Stephen motioned to his mother. 
 
 "See that she takes some," he said, in a low voice. "I 
 will go and look after the horses," and he turned. As he 
 did so the door opened, and a lady entered. 
 
 For a moment, in the dim light of the low room, Stephen 
 did not recognize her, then a chill fell on him as if a cold 
 hand had laid on his heart. He staggered back, and then 
 she raised her veil and looked at him. 
 
 Not a word passed. Face to face, eye to eye, they stood. 
 A moment passed. Una had not looked round, only Mrs. 
 Davenant stood speechless and trembling. Then, as if 
 with an effort, Stephen regained possession of his quaking 
 soul, and stole nearer to her. 
 
 "Laura," he whispered, glancing behind him. "You 
 here ? You want me ? Well, let us come outside." 
 
 A smile, calm and scornful, flashed from her dark face. 
 
 "You cannot pass," she said.
 
 300 ONLY ONE LOVE; OR, 
 
 A wild devil leaped, full grown, into his bosom, and hg 
 raised his hand to strike her, but the next instant he was 
 grasped by the shoulder and flung aside, and Gideon Eolfe 
 stood over him. 
 
 The room whirled round; scarcely conscious that other 
 figures had entered and surrounded him, he staggered to 
 his feet. Then a cry, two w r ords, "Father ! Jack !" smote 
 upon his ear, and with an effort he turned and saw Jack's 
 tall form towering in the low room, with Una clasped 
 tightly, lying prone in his arms. 
 
 It \vas all over.. Just as the criminal in the dock, when 
 he sees the judge placing the black cap on his head, knows 
 that his doom is sealed, Stephen knew that all was lost. 
 But the will was not all subdued yet. 
 
 There was Davenant blood in his veins. White to the 
 very lips, he stood and glared at them, one hand grasping 
 the table, the other thrust in his breast. Then an evil smile 
 curled the cunning mouth. 
 
 "Cleverly planned," he said, speaking as if every word 
 cost him a pang. "You have beaten me, thus far. Gideon 
 Eolfe, I congratulate you upon the success of your ma- 
 neuvers; in another hour your daughter would have been 
 the mistress of Hurst; she will, now, I presume, be the 
 wife of a beggar." 
 
 Gideon Rolfe looked at him with stern, immovable eyes. 
 
 Stephen smiled and took up his hat. 
 
 "You have robbed me of my bride," he said ; "permit me 
 to return to the home which still remains to me/' 
 
 There was an intense silence. Then a slight stir as 
 Jack, carrying Una in his arms, left the room, followed 
 by Mrs. Davenant. With haggard eyes Stephen watched 
 them, then, with a convulsive movement, he took up his 
 hat. 
 
 "You will find me at the Hurst," he said; "I will go 
 there. If there is any law in the land which can punish 
 you, I will have it, though it cost me a fortune. Yes, I 
 will go home." 
 
 Still they were silent. Whether from pity, or awe at 
 the sight of his misery, they were silent. He looked round
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 301 
 
 and, as if he had called, Shimmers glided to hi> .side. 
 They had already reached the door, when a voice said . 
 
 "Ttell him." 
 
 It was Jack who had returned to the room. 
 
 At the sound of the voice, grave and pitying, Stephen 
 swung round as if he had been stung. 
 
 "You are here still," he said, and a glance of malignant 
 hatred distorted his face. "I thought you were in jail by 
 this time. You were waiting to take your wife with you. 
 It would have been wiser to allow her to go to the Hurst/' 
 
 "Tell him," said Jack. 
 
 With a slow, almost reluctant movement, Laura Tre- 
 herne drew a paper" from under her jacket and bcJd it up. 
 
 Stephen looked at it for a moment as if his sight had 
 failed him, then he smiled. 
 
 "The plot thickens," he said. "You have robbed me of 
 my wife ; you have, no doubt, some ready-forged document 
 to rob me of my estate. Am I to give the credit to you 
 ;for this?" Then he broke out wildly, with a mad laugh. 
 "It is a forgery ! a forgery ! I will swear it. There is no 
 'such will. The marriage never took place. You've to 
 prove both yet ! You are not so clever as I thought. You 
 should have stopped short where you were. You have got 
 her, be satisfied ; the rest is mine ! Mine, and you cannot 
 take it from me," and he held his clinched fist toward Jack 
 as he held all Hurst in his grasp. 
 
 "Show him," said Gideon Rolfe. 
 
 Stephen waved his hand contemptuously. 
 
 "A stale trick," he said. "A clumsy forgery. You can- 
 not connect it with my uncle's death. Go to your lawyer 
 Hudsley, if you will; he will be ready enough to help you 
 and he will tell you that proof is impossible." 
 
 As he spoke his voice grew clearer. It was a relief to 
 his overwrought brain to fight them on ground he had 
 often mentally surveyed. With an insolent smile on his 
 face lie leaned both hands on the table and looked at them. 
 
 "Come," he said, "you have not won everything yet. 
 The Hurst is mine ; I laugh your forgery to scorn. I will 
 spend every penny of the estate to contest it. I assert that 
 this paper was forged last night if you like. You can-
 
 302 OXLY OXE LOVE; OR, 
 
 not prove it was in existence an hour sooner; I defy you. 
 You have overreached yourselves. Take care ! This is 
 your hour. Mine will come when I see you in the dock." 
 
 In his excitement he had not noticed the entrance of 
 the bent figure of Skettle, and he turned with a start as 
 the thin, dry voice, close to his elbow, croaked : 
 
 "Quite right, Mr. Stephen. That's their weak point 
 want of connection. If they could carry it back, say to 
 the night of the squire's death, now, it would be different." 
 
 Stephen looked round with a cunning smile of defiance. 
 
 "This old fool will bear me out. Show him your will." 
 
 "A daring forgery this, Mr. Stephen, if it is a forgery. 
 Leaves the Hurst to Miss Una, the squire's legitimate 
 daughter. Fifty thousand to Master Jack; and a set of 
 sermons to you." 
 
 "No doubt," he said, with a hoarse laugh; "it was not 
 worth their while to do things by halves." 
 
 "Been scorched, too," said Skettle. "Bit torn out by the 
 seal. Now, if they could find that bit in the possession of 
 a respectable man, who could prove that he found it on the 
 night, say, of the squire's death, well it would go hard 
 with you, Mr. Stephen." 
 
 "But they cannot." 
 
 "I don't know," said Skettle; and slowly drawing out 
 a leather pocket book of ancient date, he took out a 
 piece of paper and fitted it to the will. 
 
 "It is a conspiracy!" 
 
 "It is the will I saw you looking for the night of the 
 squire's death." 
 
 "Let me go." And leaning heavily on the arm of his 
 fellow-knave, he moved with the gait and bearing of an old 
 man, to the door. 
 
 "Great Heaven, this is awful !" said Jack. 
 
 ******** 
 
 Winter had passed and spring had clothed the earth with 
 her soft, green mantle, and in her glad sunlight that sat 
 like a benediction on the great elms and smooth lawn of 
 Hurst, a party of ladies and gentlemen were standing on 
 the stone steps that led up to the entrance. 
 
 It was, in a word, the wedding day of Squire Jack New- 
 combe and Miss Una Davenant, and these good and tried
 
 WHO WAS THE HEIR? 303 
 
 friends were waiting about the steps to see the bride and 
 bridegroom start for their honeymoon. 
 
 That Len and Laura and Lad-y Bell should be there 
 calls for no surprise, but how comes it that Gideon l{oll' 
 should be a willing witness to the marriage of Una witli 
 one of the hated race of Davenants? Well, when the 
 cause of hatred is removed, all hate vanishes from the heart 
 of an honest man. 
 
 On the day he learned that the old squire had not 
 wronged the girl he had stolen from Gideon, Gideon's 
 hatred had flown, and in its place had sprung up a longing 
 for atonement ; and what better step could he take toward 
 burying the old animosity than in giving his adopted 
 daughter to the man of her choice the man who would 
 make her, as her mother had been before her, the Squire 
 of Hurst's wife? 
 
 And thus it came to pass that he stood silently, but not 
 grimly waiting for his daughter for she was still his 
 daughter to pass out to the new life of happiness. And 
 presently there rose a buzz and a hum of excitement in 
 the house, and the stalwart figure of Jack appeared on the 
 top step. A moment later and the beautiful face of Una 
 was by his side. No longer pale, but bright with blushes, 
 and glowing with health and happiness, she stood, half tim- 
 idly, pressing close to the proud fellow beside her. 
 
 Is it all a dream in her eyes, dimmed as they are by 
 happy tears? Can it be true that Jack is all her own 
 that these good friends and true are really clustering 
 round her, bidding her Godspeed and yet hindering her 
 going as if they were loth to let her go ? Perhaps she docs 
 not realize it all until they part and let her pass to where 
 the old bent figure of Stephen's mother stands waiting 
 to see the last of the girl whom she has loved and still 
 loves as a daughter. 
 
 Then as Una takes the trembling figure in her arms and 
 kisses the pale face, she realizes it all, and through sobs 
 she hears the faltering voice murmuring: 
 
 "God bless you, my darling! God bless and keep you!" 
 
 And as the broken benediction falls from the trembling 
 lips, the crowd stand back, silent and tearful, and Jack ;md 
 his bride are allowed to enter the carriage at last. Then
 
 304 OXLY OXE LOVE. 
 
 breaks forth the cheer from outside the gates, and so, 
 wafted around by blessings and good wishes, they com- 
 mence their real life. A month later they will come back 
 to find those friends who saw them depart, eager to wel- 
 come them back. 
 
 "No coming home to a silent house, my wild bird !" says 
 Jack. "We'll have them all here, everyone of them. I'd 
 have all the world to see my darling, if I could/' 
 
 "My darling! my darling! they might take all the rest 
 if they would leave me you." 
 
 And Stephen ? There is no difficulty in finding Stephen 
 he is too public a man. You can see and hear him any 
 evening during the month of charitable meetings, if you 
 will but go to the proper places. 
 
 There amongst philosophers and social reformers, you 
 will see a tall, thin gentleman, with a white face and spot- 
 less linen, who, when he comes forward to make his speech, 
 is received with deafening cheers, and who never fails to 
 draw tears from the audience by his pathos and tender- 
 souled eloquence; and when the meeting is over, if you 
 wait beside the private entrance to the hall, you will see 
 another tall, thin, black-coated man, who is like a reflection 
 of the great philanthropist for whom he is waiting, and 
 who, when he emerges, will take him by the arm and lead 
 him to his brougham. For, excepting when he is before 
 the public, Stephen is an injured, broken-down man, only 
 at times able to whine out the story of the wrongs wrought 
 him by the hands of those he most trusted. By his own 
 account he has been robbed of his wife, his estate, his all, 
 and left to the charity of a generous public ; and it is only 
 Slummers, besides Stephen himself, who knows that a 
 check arrives punctually each quarter from Jack's lawyer 
 for the support of the man who returns forgiveness and 
 generosity with undying hate and calumny. Yes, Stephen 
 Davenant is regarded as a deeply injured man, and when 
 he appears, with his pale face, and soft, mournful voice, 
 there is always a show of handkerchiefs. 
 
 But Jack and Una are quite content, and whenever his 
 name is mentioned, it is with more pity than anger. 
 There is no room for aught else in their hearts but love. 
 (THE END.]
 
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 HARRY 
 CASTLEMON 
 
 The First Capture 
 
 A Struggle for a Fortune 
 
 Winged Arrow's Medicine 
 
 PRICE 75C POSTPAID 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 
 
 415-429 Dearborn St.
 
 On a Slow Train Through Arkansaw 
 
 By Thomas W. Jackson 
 
 THE FUNNIEST OF 
 ALL BOOKS 
 
 Over 900,000 uoU itac* 
 Jan. 20, (904 
 
 It tells of all the funny 
 things that happened on 
 a slow train. Many 
 funny Railroad Stories, 
 Sayings of the Southern 
 Darkies. Aft the latest 
 and best Minstrel Jokes 
 of the Day. Paper Cov- 
 ers. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 Qfifi Oflfl Cnnlfd of "On a Slow Train Through Arkansaw* 
 
 * were sold in 9 months. It still sells at th* 
 
 rate of nearly 60,000 a month, bat 
 
 THREE YEARS IN ARKANSAW 
 
 JUST OUT Bid 8 fair * outsell that immensely populat 
 JJ^ boo k,"The Most Unique BookEverPubhehed" 
 
 "A complete history of the funny, comical, unreasonable, rich, 
 rare and peculiar things that happened, transpired and turned mp 
 during my three years of life, liberty and pursuit of ha 
 along the rocky path of life down in old Arkaasaw." M. 
 
 Paper Covers, Price, 25 cents. 
 
 THROUGH MISSOURI ON A MULE 
 
 "Worse f*an Arkansaw" ALL HEW. 
 
 By Thomas W. Jadnon, author of "On a Slow Train Throw* 
 Arkansaw." Contain* fanny Railroad Stories, Old Tim* Darky 
 Sayings, Minstrel Jokes, all the late and fanny sayings of the daj. 
 
 Paper Covers, Price, 25 cents. 
 
 For sale by all Book and Newsdealers, or will sead to ay ad* 
 dress in the United States, Canada or Mexico, postage prepaid, 
 on receipt of price, in currency, money order or s Lamps. 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & CO.,
 
 LOVE LETTERS 
 
 With Directions How To Write Them 
 
 By 1NGOLDSBY NORTH. 
 
 This is a branch'cf correspondence which fully 
 demands a volume aiont: to provide for the various 
 phases incident to Love. Courtship and Marriage. 
 Few persons, however otherwise fluent with the pen, 
 are able to express in words the promptings of the 
 first dawn of lore, and even the ice once broken 
 how to follow up a correspondence with the dearest 
 one in the whole world and how to smooth the 
 way with those who need to be consulted in the 
 matter. The numerous letters and answers in this 
 book go far to overcome the difficulties and embarrassment inse- 
 parable from letters on this all-absorbing topic in all stages from 
 beginning to end of a successful courtship, aided in many instances 
 by the author's sensible comments on the iitimiiiann letters, and 
 his valuable bints under adv 
 
 the Art of Secret Writing, the Language of Love portrayed and 
 roles in grammar. 
 
 Paper Covers, 25 Cents, doth. 50 
 
 THE COMPLETE 
 
 LETTER. WRITER. 
 
 Being th<" only Comprehensive and Practical (juiJe and 
 /assistant to Letter Writing Published. 
 
 Edited r , CHARLES WALTER BROWN, A. M. 
 
 There are few books that contain such a fund of 
 Tit'TtirHn i>immalinii <ai Ilin mi ijilaj Hffiiin nf lifi 
 In addition to eveiy f * "M***' "hl^i form of business 
 and social correspondence, there are letters of Con- 
 dolence, Introduction, Congratulation, Felicitation, 
 advice and Favor ; Letters accompanying presents; 
 Notes on Love, Courtship and Marriage : Forms of 
 Wedding Anniversaries. Socials, Parties, Motes, 
 Wills, Deeds, Mortgages; Tables, Abbreviations, 
 fflannnl Terms, Common Errors, Selections for 
 
 Albums; Information concerning Bates on Foreign and 
 
 Postage, together with a dictionary of nearly 10.000 
 _ j and other valuable information which space will not 
 t of mention. The book is printed from new plates, on a su- 
 perior quality of paper and bound in substantial and durable 
 
 Paper Carers. 25c. detfc.SOc. GMfe. 32O Pafes. Price SI UM> 
 
 For sale by all book and newsdealers, or sent to any addren in 
 the U. S., Canada or Mexico, postage prepaid on receipt of price 
 
 :a CH.TTLCV. n-o:.Tj ori-r ...- st-.i^. 
 
 407-4Z9 DEARBORN ST. 
 CHICAGO 
 
 I. A. DONOHUE & GO.
 
 The Voter's 
 
 and Argument. 
 
 SETTLER FOR THE VEST POCKET 
 
 A strictly non-partisan compilation of political facts and 
 vtatistics, designed for ready reference, containing information 
 with which every voter in the United States should be familiar. 
 Ooocise, correct, convenient. A new and valuable work. 
 
 Bound in leather, title on side in gold, 35 cents. 
 Bound in doth, 20 cents. 
 
 Hoyle's Book of Games 
 
 Containing all of the games played with 
 cards, also contain 'ut rules for Backgammon, 
 Chess, Checkers, Billiards, Pool, Bagatelle. 
 Bowls,etc. Numerous diagrams and engrav- 
 ings. The best and most complete edition f 
 Hoylc published. Printed from new plates, 
 substantially bound in cloth, stamped in ink 
 and cold. 
 
 HOYLE'S 
 
 GAMES 
 
 Bound in paper, 25 cents. 
 
 LEAVES FROM 
 
 Conjurer's Scrap 
 
 OR A10DERN MAGICIANS AND THEIR WORKS 
 
 By H. T. Borfingame. 274p*gs. 7f T BH incbas, contain 
 h>* numerous illustrations, This, work presents moder 
 Jba skillful manner and shows how the startling and marvelocs 
 performances of magicians are accomplish*!. It is a very intae* 
 sting and desirable publication. 
 
 f repaid on *Reccipt of Trie* 
 M. A. DONOHUE & CO.. 
 
 4O7-A29 DEARBORN ST., 
 
 CHICAGO.
 
 VA35AR SERES! 
 
 FOR. GIR.LS. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 This is the most attractive and care" 
 fully selected series of stories for girls 
 published. Each book is a masterpiece 
 by a master hand and was selected not 
 merely because of the established rep- 
 utation of its author but because it 
 had earned a place in every home where 
 there are girls. Uniform cloth binding, 
 title in gold, sides and back stamped in 
 inks. 
 
 PKICE PER VOLUME .......... 75c. 
 
 1 Adventures of a Brawnie, 
 
 as Told to My Child, Mulock. 
 
 2 Alice's Adventures in Won- 
 
 derland and through the 
 Looking Glass, Carroll. 
 8 Arabian Nights. 
 
 4 Andersen's Fairy Tales 
 
 Andersen. 
 
 5 Aunt Diana, Rosa N. Carey. 
 
 6 Averil, Rosa N. Carey. 
 
 '* Black Beauty, Anna Sewall. 
 
 8 Book of Golden Deeds, Yonge. 
 
 9 Cuckoo Clock, Moleswortn. 
 
 10 Deb and Duchess, Meade. 
 
 11 Esther, Rosa N. Carey. 
 
 12 Fairy Book, Miss Mulock. 
 
 13 Flat Iron for a Farthing, 
 
 Mrs. Ewing. 
 
 14 Four Little Mischiefs, Rosa 
 
 Mulholland, 
 
 15 Girl in Ten Thousand.Meade. 
 
 16 Girl Neighbors, Sara Tyler. 
 
 17 Girls 'and I, and Girls in 
 
 Black, Mrs. Molesworth. 
 
 18 Grandmother Dear, Mrs. 
 
 Molesworth. 
 
 19 Grimm's Household 
 
 Stories, Grimm. 
 
 20 Grimm's Popular Fairy 
 
 Tales, Grimm. 
 
 21 In the Golden Days, Lyall. 
 
 22 Jackanapes Mrs. Ewing. 
 
 23 Lamplighter, The Cummings. 
 
 24 Little Lame Prince, Mulock. 
 
 25 Little Susy Stories contain- 
 
 ing: Little Susy's Six 
 Birthdays, Little Susy's 
 Six Teachers, Little Susy's 
 
 26 Margery Morton's Girl- 
 
 hood, A. Corkran. 
 
 27 Meg's Friend, A. Corkran. 
 
 28 Merle's Crusade, Carey. 
 
 29 Naughty Miss Bunny, Mnl- 
 
 holland. 
 
 30 Old, Old Fairy Tales. 
 
 31 Our Bessie, Rosa N. Carey. 
 
 32 Palace Beautiful, Meade. 
 
 33 Pilgrim's Progress, 111., 
 
 John Bunyan. 
 
 34 Polly, A New Fashioned 
 
 Girl, Meade. 
 
 35 Queenie's Whim, Carey. 
 
 36 Robin Redbreast, Mrs. 
 
 Molesworth. 
 
 37 Schonberg-Cotta Family, 
 
 Mrs. Charles. 
 
 38 Six to Sixteen, Mrs. Ewing,. 
 89 Six Little Princesses and 
 
 What They Turned Into, 
 Mrs. Prentiss. 
 
 40 Sweet Girl Graduate, A, 
 
 L. T. Meade. 
 
 41 Taming a Tomboy, Emmy 
 
 von Rhoden. 
 
 42 Three Bright Girls, A. E. 
 
 Arm strong. 
 
 43 Two Little Maids, Verdier. 
 
 44 " Us," Mrs. Molesworth. 
 
 45 Very Odd Girl, A A. E. 
 
 Armstrong. 
 
 46 Water Babies, C. Kingsley. 
 
 47 Wide, Wide World, E. 
 
 Wetherell. 
 
 48 Wild Kitty, L. T. Meade. 
 
 49 World of Girls, A, Meade. 
 
 50 Young Mutineer, Meade. 
 
 Little Servants, Prentiss. 
 For sale by all Book and News Dealers, or sent to any address 
 in the United States, Canada, or Mexico, postage prepaid, on. 
 receipt of price, in currency, money order or stamps. 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY 
 407-429 DEARBORN STREET, CHICAGO
 
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