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UNIVERSITY OF
ILLINOIS LIBRARY
AT URBANA-CHAWIPAIGN
BOOKSTACKSSIR NOEL'S HEIR

A NOVEL. /y h 2 v'-;4

[Y OF ILUKOIS.

U V* * >' u- ■1 '	..

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BY MRS. MAY AGNES FLEMING,

Author of " Guy E arise our? s Wife" "A Terrible Secret" "A
Wonderful Woman" Etc.

New York:

THE F. M. LTJPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY,
No. 65 Duane Street.Reprinted from Peterson's Magazine
By Special Arrangement.

COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY
THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY.



SIR NOEL'S HEIR. " '

CHAPTER I,

sir noel's death-bed.

The December night had closed in wet and wild around
Thetford Towers. It stood down in the low ground,
smothered in trees, a tall, gaunt, hoary pile of gray stone,
all peaks, and gables and stacks of chimneys, and rook-in-
fested turrets. A queer, massive, old house, built in the
days of James the First, by Sir Hugo Thetford, the first
baronet of the name, and as staunch and strong now as then.

The December day had been overcast and gloomy, but
the December night was stormy and wild. The wind
worried and wailed through the tossing trees with whistling
moans and shrieks that were desolately human, and made
me think of the sobbing banshee of Irish legends. Far
away the mighty voice of the stormy sea mingled its hoarse-
bass, and the rain lashed the windows in long, slanting
lines. A desolate night and a desolate scene without; more
desolate still within, for on his bed, this tempestuous win-
ter night, the last of the Thetford baronets lay dying.

Through the driving wind and lashing rain a groom gal-
loped along the high road to the village at break-neck speed.
His errand was to Dr. Gale, the village surgeon, which
gentleman he found just preparing to go to bed.

" For God's sake, doctor ! " cried the man, white as a
sheet, " come with me at once ! Sir Noel's killed ! "

(3)

87!1614

SIX NOEL 'S HEIR.

Dr. Gale, albeit phlegmatic, staggered back, and stared
at the speaker aghast.

"What? Sir Noel killed ?"

" We're afraid so, doctor; none of us knows for certain
sure, but he lies there like a dead man. Come quick, for
the love of goodness, if you want to do any service ! "

"I'll be with you in five minutes/' said the doctor, leav-
ing the room to order his horse and don his hat and great
coat.

Dr. Gale was as good as his word. In less than ten min-
utes he and the groom were flying recklessly along to Thet-
ford Tower.

"How did it happen ?" asked the doctor, hardly able
to speak for the furious pace at which they were going. "I
thought he was at Lady Stokestone's balL,,

" He did go," replied the groom ; " leastways he took
my lady there; but he said he had a friend to meet from
London at the Royal George to-night, and he rode back.
We don't, none of us, know how it happened ; for a better
or surer rider than Sir Noel there ain't in Devonshire; but
Diana must have slipped and threw him. She came gal-
loping in by herself about half an hour ago all blown; and
me and three more set off to look for Sir Noel. We found
him about twenty yards from the gates, lying on his face in
the mud, and as stiff and cold as if he was dead."

" And you brought him home and came for me?"

" Directly, sir. Some wanted to send word to my lady ;
but Mrs. Hilliard, she thought how you had best see him
first, sir, so's we'd know what danger he was really in be-
fore alarming her ladyship."

" Quite right, William. Let us trust it may not be seri-
ous. Had Sir Noel been—I mean, I suppose he had been
dining?"

"Well, doctor," said William, " Arneaud, that's hisSIX NOEL 'S HEIR.	5

f

valey de chambre, you know, said he thought he had taken
more wine than was prudent going to Lady Stokestone's
ball, which her ladyship is very particular about such, you
know, sir."

"Ah! that accounts,'V said the doctor, thoughtfully;
"and now William, my man, don't let's talk any more, for
I feel completely blown already."

Ten minutes' sharp riding brought them to the great
entrance gates of Thetford Towers. An old woman came
out of a little lodge, built in the huge masonry, to admit
them, and they dashed up the long winding avenue under
the surging oaks and chestnuts. Five minutes more and
Dr. Gale was running up a polished staircase of black, slip-
pery oak, down an equally wide and black and slippery
passage, and into the chamber where Sir Noel lay.

A grand and stately chamber, lofty, dark and wainscoted,
where the wax candles made luminous clouds in the dark-
ness, and the wood-fire on the marble hearth failed to give
heat. The oak floor was overlaid with Persian rugs; the
windows were draped in green velvet and the chairs were
upholstered in the same. Near the center of the apartment
stood the bed, tall, broad, quaintly carved, curtained in green
velvet, and on it, cold and lifeless, lay the wounded man.
Mrs. Hilliard, the housekeeper, sat beside him, and Ar-
neaud, the Swiss valet, with a frightened face, stood near
the fire.

"Very shocking business this, Mrs. Hilliard," said the
doctor, removing his hat and gloves—"very shocking.
How is he? Any signs of consciousness yet? "

"None whatever, sir," replied the housekeeper, rising.
"I am so thankful you have come. We, none of us, know
what to do for him, and it is dreadful to see him lying
there like that."

She moved away, leaving the doctor to his examination.6

SIX NOEL'S HEIR.

Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty passed ; then Dr. Gale turned
to her with a very pale, grave face.

"It is too late, Mrs. Hilliard. Sir Noel is a dead man !"

" Dead ! M repeated Mrs. Hilliard, trembling and hold-
ing by a chair. " Oh, my lady ! my lady ! "

"lam going to bleed him," said the doctor, " to restore
consciousness. He may last until morning. Send for
Lady Thetford at once."

Arneaud started up. Mrs. Hilliard looked at him, wring-
ing her hands.

" Break it gently, Arneaud. Oh, my lady ! my dear
lady ! So young and so pretty—and only married five
months ! "

The Swiss valet left the room. Dr. Gale got out his
lancet, and desired Mrs. Hilliard to hold the basin. At
first the blood refused to flow—but presently it came in a
little, feeble stream. The closed eyelids fluttered; there
was a restless movement, and Sir Noel Thetford opened his
eyes in this mortal life once more. He looked first at the
doctor, grave and pale, then at the housekeeper, sobbing
on her knees by the bed. He was a young man of seven-
and-twenty, fair and handsome, as it was in the nature of
the Thetfords to be.

"What is it?" he faintly asked. " What is the mat-
ter?"

" You are hurt, Sir Noel," the doctor answered, sadly;
" you have been thrown from your horse. Don't attempt
to move—you are not able."

"I remember—I remember," said the young man, a
gleam of recollection lighting up his ghastly face. " Diana
slipped, and I was thrown. How long ago is that?"

" About an hour."

" And I am hurt ? Badly ? "

He fixed his eyes with a powerful look on the doctor'sSIR NOEL 9S HEIR,

7

face, and that good man shrunk away from the news he
must tell.

" Badly ? " reiterated the young baronet, in a peremptory
tone, that told all of his nature. " Ah ! you won't speak,
I see ! I am, and I feel—I feel. Doctor, am I going to
die?"

He asked the question with a sudden wildness—a sudden
horror of death, half starting up in bed. Still the doctor
did not speak; still Mrs. Hilliard's suppressed sobs echoed
in the stillness of the vast room.

Sir Noel Thetford fell back on his pillow, a shadow as
ghastly and awful as death itself lying on his face. But he
was a brave man and the descendant of a fearless race;
and except for one convulsive throe that shook him from
head to foot, nothing told his horror of his sudden fate.
There was a weird pause. Sir Noel lay staring straight at
the oaken wall, his bloodless face awful in its intensity of
hidden feeling. Rain and wind outside rose higher and
higher, and beat clamorously at the windows; and still
above them, mighty and terrible, rose the far-off voice of
the ceaseless sea.

The doctor was the first to speak, in hushed and awe-
struck tones.

" My dear Sir Noel, the time is short, and I can do little
or nothing. Shall I send for the Rev. Mr. Knight?"

The dying eyes turned upon him with a steady gaze.

" How long have I to live ? I want the truth."

" Sir Noel, it is very hard, yet it must be Heaven's will.
But a few hours, I fear."

'•' So soon ? " said the dying man. " I did not think-

Send for Lady Thetford," he cried, wildly, half raising
himself again—"send for Lady Thetford at once ! "

"We have sent for her," said the doctor; "she will be8

SIR NOEL>S HEIR.

here very soon. But the clergyman, Sir Noel—the clergy-
man. Shall we not send for him ? "

" No ! " said Sir Noel, sharply. " What do I want of a
clergyman ? Leave me, both of you. Stay, you can give
me something, Gale, to keep up my strength to the last ? I
shall need it. Now go. I want to see no one but Lady
Thetford."

" My lady has come ! " cried Mrs. Hilliard, starting to
her feet; and at the same moment the door was opened by
Arneaud, and a lady in a sparkling ball-dress swept in. She
stood for a moment on the threshold, looking from face to
face with a bewildered air.

She was very young—scarcely twenty, and unmistakably
beautiful. Taller than common, willowy and slight, with
great, dark eyes, flowing dark curls, and a colorless olive
skin. The darkly handsome face, with pride in every fea-
ture, was blanched now almost to the hue of the dying
man's; but that glittering, bride-like figure, with its misty
point-lace and blazing diamonds, seemed in strange con-
tradiction to the idea of death.

"My lady ! my lady ! " cried Mrs. Hilliard, with a sup-
pressed sob, moving near her.

The deep, dark eyes turned upon her for an instant, then
wandered back to the bed ; but she never moved.

"Ada," said Sir Noel, faintly, "come here. The rest
of you go. I want no one but my wife."

The graceful figure in its shining robes and jewels, flitted
over and dropped on its knees by his side. The other three
quitted the room and closed the door. Husband and wife
were alone with only death to overhear.

" Ada, my poor girl, only five months a wife—rit is very
hard on you; but it seems I must go. I have a great deal
to say to you, Ada—that I can't die without saying. IS/J? NOEL "S HEIR.

9

have been a villain, Ada—the greatest villain on earth to
you.'5

She had not spoken. She did not speak. She knelt be-
side him, white and still, looking and listening with strange
calm. There was a sort of white horror in her face, but
very little of the despairing grief one would naturally look
for in the dying man's wife.

"I don't ask you to forgive me, Ada—I have wronged
you too deeply for that; but I loved you so dearly—so
dearly! Oh, my God! what a lost and cruel wretch I
have been."

He lay panting and gasping for breath. There was a
draught which Dr. Gale had left standing near, and he
made a motion for it. She held it to his lips, and he drank;
her hand was unsteady and spilled it, but still she never
spoke.

" I cannot speak loudly, Ada," he said, in a husky
whisper, " my strength seems to grow less every moment;
but I want you to promise me before I begin my story that
you will do what J. ask. Promise ! promise ! "

He grasped her wrist and glared at her almost fiercely.

" Promise! " he reiterated. " Promise ! promise !"

"I promise," she said, with white lips.

'1 May Heaven deal with you, Ada Thetford, as you
keep that promise. Listen now."

The wild night wore on. The cries of the wind in the
trees grew louder and wilder and more desolate. The rain
beat and beat against the curtained glass; the candles
grettered and flared; and the wood-fire flickered and died
out.

And still, long after the midnight hour had tolled, Ada,
Lady Thetford, in her lace and silk and jewels, knelt be-
side her young husband, and listened to the dark and
shameful story he had to tell. She never once faltered,10

SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

she never spoke or stirred ; but her face was whiter than
her dress, and her great dark eyes dilated with a horror too
intense for words.

The voice of the dying man sank lower and lower—it
fell to a dull, choking whisper at last.

"You have heard all," he said huskily.

"All?"

The word dropped from her lips like ice—the frozen look
of blank horror never left her face.

" And you will keep your promise ? "

"Yes."

" God bless you ! I can die now ! Oh, Ada ! I cannot
ask you to forgive me; but I love you so much—so much!
Kiss me once, Ada, before I go."

" His voice failed even with the words. Lady Thetford
bent down and kissed him, but her lips were as cold and
white as his own.

They were the last words Sir Noel Thetford ever spoke.
The restless sea was sullenly ebbing, and the soul of the
man was floating away with it. The gray, chill light of a
new day was dawning over the Devonshire fields, rainy and
raw, and with its first pale ray the soul of Noel Thetford,
baronet, left the earth forever.

An hour later, Mrs. Hilliard and Dr. Gale ventured to
enter. They had rapped again and again ; but there had
been no response, and alarmed they had come in. Stark
and rigid already lay what was mortal of the Lord of Thet-
ford Towers; and still on her knees, with that frozen look
on her face, knelt his living wife.

"My lady ! my lady! " cried Mrs. Hilliard, her tears
falling like rain. " Oh ! my dear lady, come away ! "

She looked up ; then again at the marble form on the
bed, and without a word or cry, slipped back in the old
housekeeper's arms in a dead faint.SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

II

CHAPTER EL

capt. everard.

It was a very grand and stately ceremonial, that funeral
procession from Thetford Towers. A week after that
stormy December night they laid Sir Noel Thetford in the
family vault, where generation after generation of his race
slept their last long sleep. The gentry for miles and miles
around were there, and among them came the heir-at-law,
the Rev. Horace Thetford, only an obscure country curate
now, but failing male heirs to Sir Noel, successor to the
Thetford estate and fifteen thousand a year.

In a bedchamber, luxurious as wealth can make a room,
lay Lady Thetford, dangerously ill. It was not a brain
fever exactly, but something very like it into which she had
fallen, coming out of the death-like swoon. It was all
very sad and shocking—the sudden death of the gay and
handsome young baronet, and the serious illness of his
poor wife. The funeral oration of the Rev. Mr. Knight,
rector of St. Gosport, from the text, " In the midst of life
we are in death," was most eloquent and impressive, and
women with tender hearts shed tears, and men listened
with grave, sad faces. It was such a little while—only five
short months—since the wedding-bells had rung, and there
had been bonfires and feasting throughout the village; and
Sir Noel, looking so proud and so happy, had driven up to
the illuminated hall with his handsome bride. Only fivp
months ; and now—and now.

The funeral was over and everybody had gone back
home—everybody but the Rev. Horace Thetford, who lin-12

SIR NOEL'S HEIR.

gered to see the result of my lady's illness, and if she died,
to take possession of his estate. It was unutterably dismal
in the dark, hushed old house, with Sir Noel's ghost seem-
ing to haunt every room—very dismal and ghastly this
waiting to step into dead people's shoes. But then there
was fifteen thousand a year, and the finest place in Devon-
shire ; and the Rev. Horace would have faced a whole regi-
ment of ghosts and lived in a vault for that.

But Lady Thetford did not die. Slowly but surely, the
fever that had worn her to a shadow left her ; and by-and-
bye, when the early primroses peeped through the first
blackened earth, she was able to come down-stairs—to
come down feeble and frail and weak, colorless as death
and as silent and cold.

The Rev. Horace went back to Yorkshire, yet not en-
tirely in despair. Female heirs could not inherit Thetford
—he stood a chance yet; and the widow, not yet twenty,
was left alone in the dreary old mansion. People were very
sorry for her, and came to see her, and begged her to be
resigned to her great loss; and Mr. Knight preached end-
less homilies on patience, and hope, and submission, and
Lady Thetford listened to them just as if they had been
talking Greek. She never spoke of her dead husband—she
shivered at the mention of his name; but that night at his
dying bed had changed her as never woman changed be-
fore. From a bright, ambitious, pleasure-loving girl, she
had grown into a silent, haggard, hopeless woman. All
the sunny spring days she sat by the window of her boudoir,
gazing at the misty, boundless sea, pale and mute—dead in
life.

The friends who came to see her, and Mr. Knight, the
rector, were a little puzzled by this abnormal case, but very
sorry for the pale young widow, and disposed to think bet-
ter of her than ever before. It must surely have been theSIX NOEL "S HEIR.

13

vilest slander that she had not cared for her husband, that
she had married him only for his wealth and title; and
that young soldier—that captain of dragoons—must have
been a myth. She might have been engaged to him, of
course, before Sir Noel came, that seemed to be an undis-
puted fact; and she might have jilted him for a wealthier
lover, that was all a common case. But she must have
loved her husband very dearly, or she never would have
been broken-hearted like this at his loss.

Spring deepened into summer. The June roses in the
flower-gardens of the Thetford were in rosy bloom, and my
lady was ill again—very, very ill. There was an eminent
physician down from London, and there was a frail little
mite of babyhood lying among lace and flannel; and the
eminent physician shook his head, and looked portentously
grave as he glanced from the crib to the bed. Whiter than
the pillows, whiter than snow, Ada, Lady Thetford, lay,
hovering in the Valley of the Shadow of Death ; that other
feeble little life seemed flickering, too—it was so even a toss
up between the great rival powers, Life and Death, that a
straw might have turned the scale either way. So slight
being that baby-hold of gasping breath, that Mr. Knight,
in the absence of any higher authority, and in the uncon-
sciousness of the mother, took it upon himself to baptize
it. So a china bowl was brought, and Mrs. Hilliard held
the bundle of flannel and long white robes, and the child
was named—the name which the mother had said weeks
ago it was to be called, if a boy—Rupert Noel Vandeleur
Thetford; for it was a male heir, and the Rev. Horace's
cake was dough.

Days went by, weeks, months, and to the surprise of the
eminent physician neither mother nor child died. Summer
waned, winter returned; and the anniversary of Sir Noel's
death came round, and my lady was able to walk down-H

SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

stairs, shivering in the warm air under all her wraps. She
had expressed no pleasure or thankfulness in her own safety,
or that of her child. She had asked eagerly if it were a
boy or a girl; and hearing its sex, had turned her face to
the wall, and lay for hours and Hours speechless and mo-
tionless. Yet it was very dear to her, too, by fits and
starts as it were. She would hold it in her arms half a day,
sometimes covering it with kisses, with jealous, passionate
love, crying over it, and half smothering it with caresses;
and then, again, in a fit of sullen apathy, would resign it
to its nurse, and not ask to see it for hours. It was very
strange and inexplicable, her conduct, altogether ; more es-
pecially, as with her return to health came no return of
cheerfulness and hope. The dark gloom that overshadowed
her life seemed to settle into a chronic disease, rooted and
incurable. She never went out; she returned no visits;
she gave no invitations to those who came to repeat theirs.
Gradually people fell off; they grew tired of that sullen
coldness in which Lady Thetford wrapped herself as in a
mantle, until Mr. Knight and Dr. Gale grew to be almost
her only visitors. " Mariana, in the Moated Grange,"
never led a more solitary and dreary existence than the
handsome young widow, who dwelt a recluse at Thetford
Towers ; for she was very handsome still, of a pale moon-
lit sort of beauty, the great, dark eyes, and abundant dark
hair, making her fixed and changeless pallor all the more
remarkable.

Months and seasons went by. Summers followed win-
ters, and Lady Thetford still buried herself alive in the
gray old manor—and the little heir was six years old. A
delicate child still, puny and sickly, and petted and spoiled,
and indulged in every childish whim and caprice. His
mother's image and idol—no look of the fair-haired, san-
guine, blue-eyed Thetford sturdiness in his little, pinched,SIR NOEL'S HEIR.

15

pale face, large, dark eyes, and crisp, black ringlets. The
years had gone by like a slow dream; life was stagnant
enough in St. Gosport, doubly stagnant at Thetford Towers,
whose mistress rarely went abroad beyond her own gates,
save when she took her little son out for an airing in the
pony phaeton.

She had taken him out for one of those airings on a July
afternoon, when he had nearly accomplished his seventh
year. They had driven seaward some miles from the
manor-house, and Lady Thetford and her little boy had got
out, and were strolling leisurely up and down the hot,
white stands, while the groom waited with the pony-phae-
ton just within sight.

The long July afternoon wore on. The sun that had
blazed all day like a wheel of fire, dropped lower and lower
into the crimson west. The wide sea shone red with the
reflections of the lurid glory in the heavens, and the num-
berless waves glittered and flashed as if sown with stars.
A faint, far-off breeze swept over the sea, salt and cold;
and the fishermen's boats danced along with the red sunset
glinting on their sails.

Up and down, slowly and thoughtfully, the lady walked,
her eyes fixed on the wide sea. As the rising breeze met
her, she drew the scarlet shawl she wore over her black
silk dress closer around her, and glanced at her boy. The
little fellow was running over the sands, tossing pebbles
into the surf, and hunting for shells; and her eyes left him
and wandered once more to the lurid splendor of that sun-
set on the sea. It was very quiet here, with no living thing
in sight but themselves ; so the lady's start of astonishment
was natural when, turning an abrupt angle in the path lead-
ing to the shore, she saw a man coming toward her over the
sands. A tall, powerful-looking man of thirty, bronzed
and handsome, and with an unmistakably military air,16

SIX NOEL 'S HEIR.

although in plain black clothes. The lady took a second
look, then stood stock still, and gazed like one in a dream.
The man approached, lifted his hat, and stood silent and
grave before her.

" Captain Everard ! "

" Yes, Lady Thetford—after eight years—Captain Ever-
ard again."

The deep, strong voice suited the bronzed, grave face,
and both had a peculiar power of their own. Lady Thet-
ford, very, very pale, held out one fair jeweled hand.

" Captain Everatd, I am very glad to see you again."

He bent over the little hand a moment, then dropped it,
and stood looking at her silent.

"I thought you were in India," she said, trying to be
at ease. " When did you return? "

" A month ago. My wife is dead. I, too, am widowed,
Lady Thetford."

"I am very sorry to hear it," she said, gravely. "Did
she die in India ? "

" Yes; and I have come home with my little daughter."

" Your daughter ! Then she left a child ? "

" One. It is on her account I have come. The climate
killed her mother. I had mercy on her daughter, and have
brought her home."

"I am sorry for your wife. Why did she remain in
India?"

" Because she preferred death to leaving me. She loved
me, Lady Thetford ! "

His powerful eyes were on her face—that pale, beautiful
face, into which the blood came for an instant at his words.
She looked at him, then away over the darkening sea.

"And you, my lady—you gained the desire to your
heart, wealth, and a title ? Let me hope they have made
you a happy woman."SIR JVOEL 'S HEIR.

" I am not happy ! "

"No? But you have been—you were while Sir Noel
lived? "

"My husband was very good tome, Captain Everard.
His death was the greatest misfortune that could have be-
fallen me."

" But you are young, you are free, you are rich, you are
beautiful. You may wear a coronet next time."

His face and glance were so darkly grave, that the covert
sneer was almost hidden. But she felt it.

, " I shall never marry again, Captain Everard*"

" Never? You surprise me ! Six years—nay, seven, &
widow, and with innumerable attractions. Oh, you cannot
mean it! "

She made a sudden, passionate gesture—looked at him,
then away.

" It is useless—worse than useless, folly, madness, to lift
the veil from the irrevocable past. But don't you think,
don't you, Lady Thetford, that you might have been equally
happy if you had married me?"

She made no reply. She stood gazing seaward, cold and
still,

i 1 I was madly, insanely, absurdly in love with pretty
Ada Vandeleur in those days, and I think I would have
made her a good husband ; better, however—forgive me—
than I ever made my poor dead wife. But you were wise
and ambitious, my pretty Ada, and bartered your black
eyes and raven ringlets to a higher bidder. You jilted me
in cold blood, poor love-sick devil that I was, and reigned
resplendent as my Lady Thetford. Ah ! you knew how to
choose the better part, my pretty Ada ! n

"Captain Everard, I am sorry for the past—I have
atoned, if suffering can atone. Have a little pity, and let
me alone 1"

2 -18

SIR NOEL'S HEIR.

He stood and looked at her silently, gravely. Then said,
in a voice deep and calm:

'(We are both free ! Will you marry me now, Ada ! "

" I cannot!"

" But I love you—I have always loved you. And you—
I used to think you loved me! "

He was strangely calm and passionless, voice and glance
and face. But Lady Thetford had covered her face, and
was sobbing.

"J did—I do—I always have ! But I cannot marry you.
I will love you all my life ; but don't, dorit ask me to be
your wife!"

" As you please ! M he said, in the same passionless voice.
" I think it is best myself; for the George Everard of to-
day is not the George Everard who loved you eight years
ago. We would not be happy—I know that. Ada, is that
your son ? "

"Yes."

" I should like to look at him. Here, my little baronet!
I want to see you."

The boy, who had been looking curiously at the stranger,
ran up at a sign from his mother. The tall captain lifted
him in his arms and gazed in his small, thin face, with
which his bright tartan plaid contrasted harshly.

" He hasn't a look of the Thetfords. . He is your own
son, Ada. My little baronet, what is your name?"

"Sir Rupert Thetford," answered the child, struggling
to get free. " Let me go—I don't know you !"

The captain set him down with a grim smile; and the
boy clung to his mother's skirts, and eyed the tall stranger
askance.

" I want to go home, mamma ! I'm tired and hungry."

14 Presently, dearest. Run to William, he has cake forSIX NOEL VS* HEIR.

i-9

you. Captain Everard, I shall be happy to have you at
dinner."

" Thanks; but I must decline. I go back to London to*
night. I sail for India again in a week."

" So soon ! I thought you meant to remain."

<1 Nothing is further from my intentions. I merely brought
my little girl over to provide her a home ; that is why I
have troubled you. Will you do me this kindness, Lady
Thetford ? "

" Take your little girl ? , Oh, most gladly—most will-
ingly ! "

u Thanks ! Her mother's people are French, and I know
little about them; and, save yourself, I can claim friendship
with few in England. She will be poor; I have settled on
her all I am worth—some three hundred a year; and you,
Lady „ Thetford, you can teach her, when she grows up, to
catch a rich husband."

She took no notice of the taunt ; she looked only too
happy to render him this service.

" I am so pleased ! She will be such a nice companion
for Rupert. How old is she? "

" Nearly four."

" Is she here ? "

" No; she is in London. I will fetch her down in a day
or two."

" What do you call her ? "

" Mabel—after her mother. Then it is settled, Lady
Thetford, I am to fetch her ? "

" I shall be delighted ! But won't you dine with me?"

" No. I must catch the evening train. Farewell, C^ady
Thetford, and many thanks ! In three days I will be here
again."

He lifted his hat and walked away. Lady Thetford
watched him out of sight, and then turned slowly, as she20

SIR NOEL VS* HEIR,

heard her little boy calling her with shrill impatience. The
red sunset had faded out; the sea lay gray and cold under
^he twilight sky, and the evening breeze was chill. Changes
in sky and sea and land told of coming night; and Lady
Thetford, shivering slightly in the rising wind, hurried
away to be driven home.

CHAPTER III.

" little may."

On the evening of the third day after this interview, a
fly from the railway drove up the long, winding avenue
leading to the great front entrance of the Thetford man-
sion. A bronzed military gentleman, a nurse and a little
girl, occupied the fly, and the gentleman's keen, dark eyes
wandered searchingly around. Swelling meadows, velvety
lawns, sloping terraces, waving trees, bright flower-gardens,
quaint old fish-ponds, sparkling fountains, and a wooded
park, with sprightly deer—that was what he saw, all bathed
in the golden halo of the summer sunset. Massive and
grand, the old house reared its gray head, half overgrown
with ivy and climbing roses. Gaudy peacocks strutted on
the terraces; a graceful gazelle flitted out for an instant
amongst the trees to look at them and then fled in afright;
and the barking of half a dozen mastiffs greeted their ap-
proach noisily.

"A fine old place/' thought Captain Everard. "My
pretty Ada might have done worse. A grand old place for
that puny child to inherit. The staunch old warrior-blood
of the Thetfords is sadly adulterated in his pale veins, I
fancy. Well, my little May, and how are you going to like
all this ? "Sffi NOEL'S HEIR.

21

The child, a bright-faced little creature, with great
sparkling eyes and rose-bloom cheeks, was looking in de-
light at a distant terrace.

"See, papa ! See all the pretty peacocks ! Look, El-
len," to the nurse, " three, four, five ! Gh, how pretty ! "

4' Then little May will like to live here, where she can
see the pretty peacocks every day ? "

"And all the pretty flowers, and the water, and the little
boy—where's the little boy, papa? "

" In the house—you'll see him presently; but you must
be very good, little May, and not pull his hair, and scratch
his face, and poke your fingers in his eyes, like you used to
do with Willie Brandon. Little May must learn to be
good."

Little May put one rosy finger in her mouth, and set her
head on one side like a defiant canary. She was one of the
.prettiest little fairies imaginable, with her pale, flaxen curls,
and sparkling light-gray eyes, and apple-blossom complex-
ion ; but she was evidently as much spoiled as little Sir
Rupert Thetford himself.

Lady Thetford sat in the long drawing-room, after her
solitary dinner, and little Sir Rupert played with his rock-
ing-horse and a pile of picture-books in a remote corner.
The young widow lay back in the violet-velvet depths of a
carved and gilded fauteuil, very simply dressed in black
and crimson, but looking very fair and stately withal. She
was watching her boy with a half smile on her face, when
a footman entered with Captain Everard's card. Lady
Thetford looked up eagerly.

" Show Captain Everard up at once."

The footman bowed and disappeared. Five minutes
later, and the tall captain and his little daughter stood be-
fore her.

u At last! " said Lady Thetford, rising and holding out22

SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

her hand to her old lover, with a smile that reminded him
of other days—" at last, when I was growing tired waiting.
And this is your little girl—my little girl from henceforth ?
Come here, my pet, and kiss your new mamma/*

She bent over the little one, kissing the pink cheeks and
rosy lips.

" She is fair and tiny—a very fairy; but she resembles
you, nevertheless, Capt. Everard."

" In temper—yes," said the captain. "You will find her
spoiled, and willful, and cross, and capricious and no end
of trouble. Won't she, May?"

'' She will be the better match for Rupert on that ac-
count," Lady Thetford said, smiling, and unfastening little
Miss Everard's wraps with her own fair fingers. " Come
here, Rupert, and welcome your new sister."

The young baronet approached, and dutifully kissed lit-
tle May, who put up her rose-bud mouth right willingly.
Sir Rupert Thetford wasn't tall, rather undersized, and
delicate for his seven years; but he was head and shoulders
over the flaxen-haired fairy, with the bright gray eyes.

" I want a ride on your rocking-horse," cried little May,
fraternizing with him at once; " and oh! what nice picture
books and what a lot! "

The children ran off together to their distant corner, and
Captain Everard sat down for the first time.

" You have not dined? " said Lady Thetford. " Allow

me to--" her hand was on the bell, but the captain in-

terposed.

" Many thanks—nothing. We dined at the village; and
I leave again by the seven-fifty train. It is past seven now,
so I have but little time to spare. I fear I am putting you
to a great deal of trouble; but May's nurse insists on being
taken back to London to-night."

" It will be of no consequence,9' replied Lady Thetford,S/J? NOEL'S HEIR.

23

" Rupert's nurse will take charge of her. I intend to ad-
vertise for a nursery governess in a few days. Rupert's
health has always been so extremely delicate, that he has
not even began a pretext of learning yet, and it is quite
time. He grows stronger, I fancy; but Dr. Gale tells me
frankly his constitution is dangerously weak."

She sighed as she spoke, and looked over to where he
stood beside little May, who had mounted the rocking-
horse boy-fashion. Sir Rupert was expostulating.

"You oughtn't to sit that way—ask mamma. You
ought to sit side-saddle. Only boys sit like that."

"I don't care! " retorted Miss Everard, rocking more
violently than ever. "I'll sit whatever way I like ! Let
me alone!"

Lady Thetford looked at the captain with a smile.

" Her father's daughter, surely ! bent on having her own
way. What a fairy it is ! and yet such a perfect picture of
health."

"Mabel was never ill an hour in her life, I believe,"
said her father; " she is not at all too good for this world.
I only hope she may not grow up the torment of your life
—she is thoroughly spoiled."

" And I fear if she were not, I should do it. Ah ! I ex-
pect she will be a great comfort to me, and a world of good
to Rupert. He has never had a playmate of his own years,
and children need children as much as they need sun-
shine."	j

They sat for ten minutes conversing gravely, chiefly on
business matters connected with little May's annuity—not
at all as they had conversed three days before by the sea-
side, Then, as half-past seven drew near, the captain
arose.

"I must go; I will hardly be in time as it is. Come
here, little May, and bid papa good-bye."H

Sf£ NOEL 'S HEIR.

" Let papa come to May/' responded his daughter, still
rocking. " I can't get off."

Captain Everard laughed, went over, bent down and
kissed her.

" Good-bye, May; don't forget papa, and learn to be a
good girl. Good-bye, baronet; try and grow strong and
tall. Farewell, Lady Thetford, with my best thanks."

She held his hand, looking up in his sun-burned face
with tears in her dark eyes.

"We may never meet again, Captain Everard," she
said hurriedly. "Tell me before we part that you forgive
me the past."

"Truly, Ada, and for the first time. The service you
have rendered me fully atones. You should have been my
child's mother—be a mother to her now. Good-bye, and
God bless you and your boy! "

He stooped over, touched her cheek with his lips rever-
entially, and then was gone. Gone forever—never to meet
those he left behind this side of eternity.

Little May bore the loss of papa and nurse with philosoph-
ical indifference—her new playmate sufficed for both.
The children took to one another with the readiness of
childhood—Rupert all the more readily that he had never
before had a playmate of his own years. He was naturally
a quiet child, caring more for his picture-books and his
nurse's stories than for tops, or balls, or marbles. But lit-
tle May Everard seemed from the first to inspire him with
some of her own superabundant vitality and life. The
child was never, for a single instarit, quiet; she was the
most restless, the most impetuous, the most vigorous little
creature that can be conceived. Feet and tongue and hands
never were still from morning till night; and the life of Sir
Rupert's nurse, hitherto one of idle ease, became all at once
a misery to her. The little girl was everywhere—every-SIX NOEL >S HEIR.

25

where; especially where she had no business to be; and nurse
never knew an easy moment for trotting after her, and rescuing
her from all sorts of perils. She could climb like a cat, or
a goat, and risked her neck about twenty times per diem ;
she sailed her shoes in the soup when let in as a treat to
dinner, and washed her hands in her milk-and-water. She
became the intimate friend of the pretty peacocks and the
big, good-tempered dogs, with whom, in utter fearlessness,
she rolled about in the grass half the day. She broke young
Rupert's toys, and tore his picture-books and slapped his
face, and pulled his hair, and made herself master of the
situation before she had been twenty-four hours in the
house. She was thoroughly and completely spoiled What
India nurses had left undone, injudicious petting and flat-
tery on the homeward passage had completed—and her
temper was something appalling. Her shrieks of passion at
the slightest contradiction of her imperial will rarig through
the house, and rent the tortured tympanums of all who
heard. The little Xantippe would fling herself flat on the
carpet, and literally scream herself black in the face, until,
in dread of apoplexy and sudden death, her frightened
hearers hastened to yield. Of course, one such victory in-
sured all the rest. As for Sir Rupert, before she had been
a week at Thetford Towers, he dared not call his soul his
own. She had partly scalped him on several occasions, and
left the mark of her cat-like nails in his tender visage ; but
her venomous power of screeching for hours at will had
more to do with the little baronet's dread of her than any-
thing else. He fled ingloriously in every battle—running
in tears to mamma, and leaving the field and the trophies of
victory triumphantly to Miss Everard. With all this,
when not thwarted—when allowed to smash toys, and dirty
her clothes, and smear her infantile face, and tear pictures,
and torment inoffensive lapdogs; when allowed, in short,26

SIR NOEL yS HEIR,

to follow "her own sweet will," little May was as charm-
ing a fairy as ever the sun shone on. Her gleeful laugh
made music in the dreary old rooms, such as had never
been heard there for many a day, and her mischievous antics
were the delight of all who did not suffer thereby. The
servants petted and indulged her, and fed her on unwhole-
some cakes and sweetmeats, and made her worse and worse
every day of her life.

Lady Thetford saw all this with inward apprehension.
If her ward was completely beyond her power of control
at four, what would she be a dozen years hence ?

"Her father was right,'' thought the lady. "Iam
afraid she will give me a great deal of trouble. I never
saw so headstrong, so utterly unmanageable a child."

But Lady Thetford was very fond of the fairy despot
withal. When her son came running to her for succor,
drowned in tears, his mother took him in her arms and
kissed him and soothed him—but she never punished the
offender. As for Sir Rupert, he might fly ignominiously,
but he never fought back. Little May had all the hair-
pulling and face-scratching to herself.

" I must get a governess/' mused Lady Thetford. " I
may find one who can control this little vixen ; and it is
really time Rupert began his studies. I shall speak to Mr.
Knight about it."

Lady Thetford sent that very day to the rectory her lady-
ship's compliments, the servant said, and would Mr. Knight
call at his earliest convenience. Mr. Knight sent in answer
to expect him that same evening; and on his way he fell in
with Dr. Gale, going to the manor-house on a professional
visit.

"Little Sir Rupert keeps weakly," he said; " no con-
stitution to speak of. Not at all like the Thetfords—splen-
did old stock, the Thetfords, but run out—run out. SirS/jR NOEL "S HEIR.

27

Rupert is a Vandeleur, inherits his mother's constitution—
delicate child, very."

" Have you seen Lady Thetford's ward ! " inquired the
clergyman, smiling; no hereditary weakness there, I fancy.
I'll answer for the strength of her lungs, at any rate. The
other day she wanted Lady Thetford's watch for a play-
thing; she couldn't have it, and down she fell fiat on the
floor ifT what her nurse calls ' one of her tantrums.' You
should have heard her, her shrieks were appalling."

"I have," said the doctor, with emphasis; " she has
the temper of the old demon. If I had anything to do
with that child, I should whip her within an inch of her
life—that's all she wants, lots of whipping ! The Lord
only knows the future, but I pity her prospective hus-
band ! "

"The taming of the shrew," laughed Mr. Knight.
" Katherine and Petruchio over again. For my part, I
think Lady Thetford was unwise to undertake such a charge.
With her delicate health it is altogether too much for herc"

The two gentlemen were shown into the library, whilst
the servant went to inform his lady of their arrival. The
library had a French window opening on a sloping lawn,
and here chasing butterflies in high glee, were the two
children—the pale, dark-eyed baronet, and the flaxen-
tressed little East Indian.

■ " Look," said Dr. Gale. "Is Sir Rupert going to be
your Petruchio? Who knows what the future may bring
forth—who knows that we do not behold a future Lady
Thetford?"

" She is very pretty," said the rector thoughtfully, " and
she may change with years. Your prophecy may be ful-
filled."

The present Lady Thetford entered as he spoke. She had28

SIR NOEL yS HEIR.

heard the remarks 6F both, and there was an unusual pallor
and gravity in her face as she advanced to receive them.

Little Sir Rupert was called in, and May followed, with
a butterfly crushed to death in each fat little hand.

She kills them as fast as she catches them/' said Sir
Rupert, ruefully. "It's cruel, isn't it, mamma?"

Little May, quite unabashed, displayed her dead prizes,
and cut short the doctor's conference by impatiently pull-
ing her play-fellow away.

"Come, Rupert, come," she cried. " I want to catch
the black one with the yellow wings. Stick your tongue
out and come."

Sir Rupert displayed his tongue, and submitted his pulse
to the doctor, and let himself be pulled away by May.

" The gray mare in that span is decidedly the better
horse," laughed the doctor. " What a little despot in pin-
afores it is."

When her visitors had left, Lady Thetford walked to the
window and stood watching the two children racing in the
sunshine. It was a pretty sight, but the lady's face was
contracted with pain.

" No, no," she thought. " I hope not—I pray not.
Strange! but I never thought of the possibility before.
She will be poor, and Rupert must marry a rich wife, so
that if-"

She paused, with a sort of shudder, then added: .

"What will he think, my darling boy, of his father and
mother if that day ever comes?99SIX NOEL'S HEIR.

29

CHAPTER IV,

mrs. weymore.

Lady Thetford had settled her business satisfactorily
with the rector of St Gosport.

"Nothing could be more opportune/' he said. (<Iam
going to London next week on business which will detain
me upward of a fortnight. I will immediately advertise
for such a person as you want."

" You must understand," said her ladyship, " I do not
require a young girl. I wish a middle-aged person—-a
widow, for instance, who has had children of her own.
Both Rupert and May are spoiled—May particularly is per-
fectly unmanageable. A young girl as governess for her
would never do.''

Mr. Knight departed with these instructions and the fol-
lowing week started for the great metropolis. An adver-
tisement was at once inserted in the Times newspaper,
stating all Lady Thetford's requirements, and desiring im-
mediate application. Another week later, and Lady Thet-
ford received the following communication:

" Dear Lady Thetford—I have been fairly besieged with appli-*
cations for the past week—all widows, and all professing to be thor-
oughly competent. Clergyman's widows, doctors' widows, officers'
widows—all sorts of widows. I never before thought so many could
apply for one situation. I have chosen one in sheer desperation—the
widow of a country gentleman in distressed circumstances, who, I
think, will suit. She is eminently respectable in appearance, quiet
and lady-like in manner, with five years' experience in the nursery-
governess line, and the highest recommendation from her late em-
ployers. She has lost a child, she tells me, and froin her looks and3°

SIR NOEL'S HEIR.

manner altogether, I should judge she was a person conversant with
misfortune. She will return with me early next week—her name is
Mrs. Weymore."

Lady Thetford read this letter with a little sigh of relief
—some one else would have the temper and outbreaks of
little May to contend with now. She wrote to Captain
Everard that same day, to announce his daughter's well-
being, and inform him that she had found a suitable gov-
erness to take charge of her.

The second day of the ensuing week the rector and the
new governess arrived. A fly from the railway brought her
and her luggage to Thetford Towers late in the afternoon,
and she was taken at once to the room that had been pre-
pared for her, whilst the servant went to inform Lady Thet-
ford of her arrival.

" Fetch her here at once," said her ladyship, who was
alone, as usual, in the long drawing-room with the chil-
dren, " I wish to see her.'1

Ten minutes after the drawing-room door was flung open,
and " Mrs. Weymore, my lady," announced the footman.

Lady Thetford arose to receive her new dependent, who
bowed and stood before her with a somewhat fluttered and
embarrassed air. She was quite young, not older than my
lady herself, and eminently good-looking. The tall, slen-
der figure, clad in widow's weeds, was as symmetrical as
Lady Thetford's own, and the full black dress set off the
pearly fairness of the blonde skin, and the rich abundance
of fair hair. Lady Thetford's brows contracted a little;
her fair, subdued, gentle-looking, girlish young woman,
was hardly the strong-minded, middle-aged matron she had
expected to take the nonsense out of obstreperous May
Everard.

"Mrs. Weymore, I believe," said Lady Thetford, resum-
ing her fauteuil, " pray be seated. I wished to see you atSIR NOEL'S HEIR.	31

once, because I am going out this evening. You have had
five years' experience as a nursery-governess, Mr. Knight
tells me.'1

'* Yes, my lady."

There was a little tremor in Mrs. Weymore's low voice,
and her blue eyes shifted and fell under Lady Thetford's
steady and somewhat haughty gaze.

"Yet you look young—much younger than I imagined,
or wished."

"Iam twenty-seven years old, my lady."

That was my lady's own age precisely, but she looked
half a dozen years the elder of the two.

" Are you a native of London ? "

" No, my lady, of Berkshire."

" And you have been a widow, how long? "

What ailed Mrs. Weymore? She was all white and
trembling—even her hands, folded and pressed together in
her lap, shook in spite of her.

" Eight years and more."

She said it with a sort of sob, hysterically choked.
Lady Thetford looked on surprised, and a trifle displeased.
She was a very proud woman, and certainly wished for no
scene with her hired dependents.

"Eight years is a tolerable time," she said, coolly.
" You have lost children ? "

" One, my lady."

Again that choked, hysterical sob. My lady went on
pitilessly.

" Is it long ago ? "

" When—when I lost its father?"

" Ah ! both together? That was rather hard. Well, I
hope you understand the management of children—spoiled
ones particularly. Here are the two you are to take charge
of. Rupert—May come here."32

SIR NOEL'S HEIR.

The children came over from their corner. Mrs. Wey-
more drew May toward her, but Sir Rupert held aloof.

"This is my ward—this is my son. I presume Mr.
Knight has told you. If you can subdue the temper of
that child, you will prove yourself, indeed, a treasure.
The east parlor has been fitted up for your use; the chil-
dren will take their meals there with you) the room adjoin-
ing is to be the school-room. I have appointed one of the
maids to wait on you. I trust you will find your chamber
comfortable."

" Exceedingly so, my lady."

" And the terms proposed by Mr. Knight suit you ?99

Mrs. Weymore bowed. Lady Thetford rose to close the
interview.

" You must need refreshment and rest after your journey.
I will not detain you longer. To-morrow your duties will
commence."

She rang the bell—directed the servant who came to
show the governess to the east parlor and see to her wants,
and then to send nurse for the children. Fifteen minutes
after she drove away in the pony-phaeton, whilst the new
governess stood by the window of the east parlor and
watched her vanish in the amber haze of the August sun-set.

Lady Thetford's business in St. Gosport detained her a
couple of hours. The big, white, August moon was rising
as she drove slowly homeward, and the nightingales sang
its vesper lay in the scented hedge-rows. As she passed
the rectory she saw Mr. Knight leaning over his own gate
enjoying the placid beauty of the summer evening, and
Lady Thetford reined in her ponies to speak to him.

" So happy to see your ladyship ! Won't you alight and
come in ? Mrs. Knight will be delighted."

"Not this evening, I think. Had you much trouble
about my business ? "SZfi JVOEL 'S HEIR.

33

" I had applicants enough, certainly," laughed the rec-
tor. "I had reason to remember Mr. Weller's immortal
advice, 4 Beware of widders.' How do you like your gov-
erness?1'

" I have hardly had time to form an opinion. She is
younger than I could desire."

" She looks much younger than the age she gives, I
know; but that is a common case. I trust my choice will
prove satisfactory—her references are excellent. Your
ladyship has had an interview with her ? "

" A very brief one. Her manner struck me unpleasantly
—so odd, and shy, and nervous. I hardly know how to
characterize it; but she may be a paragon of governesses,
for all that. Good evening; best regards to Mrs. Knight.
Call soon and see how your protege gets on."

Lady Thetford drove away. As she alighted from the
pony-carriage and ascended the great front steps of the
house, she saw the pale governess still seated at the window
of the east parlor, gazing dejectedly out at the silvery
moonlight.

"A most woeful countenance," thought my lady.
u There is some deeper grief than the loss of a husband
and child eight years ago, the matter with that woman. I
don't like her."

No, Lady Thetford did not like the meek and submissive
looking governess, but the children and the rest of the
household did. Sir Rupert and little May took to her at
once—her gentle voice, her tender smile seemed to win its
way to their capricious favor; and before the end of the
first week she had more influence over them than mother
and nurse together. The subdued and gentle governess
soon had the love of all at Thetford Towers, except its
mistress, from Mrs. Hilliard, the stately housekeeper, down.
She was courteous and considerate, so anxious to avoid giv-

334

SIR NOEL >S HEIR.

ing trouble. Above all, that fixed expression of hopeless
trouble on her sad, pale face, made its way to every heart.
She had full charge of the children now; they took their
meals with her, and she hajl them in her keeping the best
part of the day—an office that was noN sinecure. When
they were with their nurse, or my lady, the governess sat
alone in the east parlor, looking out dreamily at the sum-
mer landscape, with her own brooding thoughts.

One evening when she had been at Thetford Towers over
a fortnight, Mrs. Hilliard, coming in, found her sitting
dreamily by herself neither reading nor working. The
children were in the drawing-room, and her duties were
over for the day.

"I am afraid you don't make yourself at home here,"
said the good-natured housekeeper; "you stay too much
alone, and it isn't good for young people like you."

"I am used to solitude," replied the governess with a
smile, that ended in a sigh, " and I have grown to like it.
Will you take a seat ? "

" No," said Mrs. Hilliard. " I heard you say the other
day you would like to go over the house ; so, as I have a
couple of hours leisure, I will show it to you now."

The governess rose eagerly.

" I have been wanting to see it so much," she said, "but
I feared to give trouble by asking. It is very good of you
to think of me, dear Mrs. Hilliard."

"She isn't much used to people thinking of her," re-
flected the housekeeper, "or she wouldn't be so grateful
for trifles. Let me see," aloud, " you have seen the
drawing-room and library, and that is all, except your own
apartments. Well, come this way, I'll show you the old
south wing."

Through the long corridors, up wide, black, slippery
stair-cases., into vast, unused rooms, where ghostly echoesSIX NOEL 'S HEIR.

35

and darkness had it all to themselves, Mrs. Hilliard led the
governess.

"These apartments have been unused since before the
late Sir Noel's time," said Mrs. Hilliard ; " his father kept
them full in the hunting season, and at Christmas time.
Since Sir Noel's death, my lady has shut herself up and re-
ceived no company, and gone nowhere. She is beginning
to go out more of late than she has done ever since his
death.''

Mrs. Hilliard was not looking at the governess, or she
might have been surprised at the nervous restlessness and
agitation of her manner, as she listened to these very com-
monplace remarks.

" Lady Thetford was very much attached to her husband,
then ? " Mrs. Weymore said, her voice tremulous.

" Ah ! that she was ! She must have been, for his death
nearly killed her. It was sudden enough, and shocking
enough, goodness knows ! I shall never forget that dread-
ful night. This is the old banqueting-hall, Mrs. Weymore,
the largest and dreariest room in the house."

Mrs. Weymore, trembling very much, either with cold or
that unaccountable nervousness of hers, hardly looked round
at the vast wilderness of a room.

"You were with the late Sir Noel, then, when he
died?"

" Yes, until my lady came. Ah! it was a dreadful
thing ! He had taken her to a ball, and riding home his
horse threw him. We sent for the doctor and my lady at
once; and when she came, all white and scared like, he
sent us out of the room. He was as calm and sensible as
you or me, but he seemed to have something on his mind.
My lady was shut up with him for about three hours, and
then we went in—Dr. Gale and me. I shall never forget
that sad sight. Poor Sir Noel was dead, and she was kneel-36

SIR NOEL 9S HEIR.

ing beside him in her ball dress, like somebody turned to
stone. I spoke to her, and she looked up at me, and then
fell back in my arms in a fainting fit. Are you cold, Mrs.
Weymore, that you shake so? "

<< No—yes—it is this desolate room, I think," the gov-
erness answered, hardly able to speak.

" It is desolate. Come, I'll show you the billiard-room,
and then we'll go up-stairs to the room Sir Noel died in.
Everything remains just as it was—no one has ever slept
there since. If you only knew, Mrs. Weymore, what a sad
time it was; but you do know, poor dear ! you have lost a
husband yourself! 99

The governess flung up her hands before her face with a
suppressed cry so full of anguisfi that the housekeeper stared
at her aghast. Almost as quickly she recovered herself
again.

"Don't minci me," she said, in a choking voice, "I
can't help it. You don't know what I suffered—what I still
suffer. Oh, pray, don't mind me! "

"Certainly not, my dear," said Mrs. Hilliard, thinking
inwardly the governess was a very odd person, indeed.

They looked at the billiard-room, where the tables stood,
dusty and disused, and the balls lay idly by.

" I don't know when it will be used again," said Mrs.
Hilliard; i' perhaps not until Sir Rupert grows up. There
was a time," lowering her voice, " that I thought he would
never live to be as old and strong as he is now. He was
the puniest baby, Mrs. Weymore, you ever looked at—no-
body thought he would live. And that would have been a
pity, you know; for then the Thetford estate would have
gone to a distant branch of the family, as it would, too, if
Sir Rupert had been a little girl."

She went on up-stairs to the inhabited part of the build-SIR NOEL \9 HEIR.

37

ing, followed by Mrs. Weymore, who seemed to grow more
and more'agitated with every word the housekeeper said.

"This is Sir Noel's room," said Mrs. Hilliard, in an
awe-struck whisper, as if the dead man still lay there; '' no
one ever enters here but me."

She unlocked it as she spoke, and went in. Mrs. Wey-
more followed, with a face of frightened pallor that struck
even the housekeeper.

" Good gracious me ! Mrs. Weymore, what is the mat-
ter ? You are as pale as a ghost. Are you afraid to enter
a room where a person has died ? "

Mrs. Weymore's reply was almost inaudible; she stood
on the threshold, pallid, trembling, unaccountably moved.
The housekeeper glanced at her suspiciously.

" Very odd," she thought, " very ! The new governess
is either the most nervous person I ever met, or else—no,
she can't have known Sir Noel in his lifetime. Of course
not."

They left the chamber after a cursory glance around—
Mrs. Weymore never advancing beyond the threshold. She
had not spoken, and that white pallor made her face ghastly
still.

" I'll show you the picture-gallery," said Mrs. Hilliard ;
" and then, I believe, you will have seen all that is worth
seeing at Thetford Towers."

She led the way to a long, high-lighted roqpi, wainscoted
and antique, like all the rest, where long rows of dead and
gone Thetfords looked down from the carved walls. There
were knights in armor* countesses in ruffles and powder
and lace, bishops in mitre on head and crozier in hand,
and judges in gown and wig. There were ladies in pointed
stomachers and jeweled fans, with the waists of their dresses
under their arms, but all fair and handsome, and unmistak-
ably alike. Last of all the long array, there was Sir Noel,38

SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

a fair-haired, handsome youth of twenty, with a smile on
his face and a happy radiance in his blue eyes. And by
his side, dark and haughty and beautiful, was my lady in
her bridal-robes.

" There is not a handsomer face amongst them all than
my lady's," said Mrs. Hilliard, with pride. *' You ought
to have seen her when Sir Noel first brought her home; she
was the most beautiful creature I ever looked at. Ah ! it
was such a pity he was killed. I suppose they'll be having
Sir Rupert's taken next and hung beside her. He don't
look much like the Thetfords ; he's his mother over again
—a Vendeleur, dark and still."

If Mrs. Weymore made any reply the housekeeper did
not catch it; she was standing with her face averted, hardly
looking at the portraits, and was the first to leave the pict-
ure-gallery.

There were a few more rooms to be seen—a drawing-
room suite, now closed and disused; an ancient library,
with a wonderful stained window, and a vast echoing recep-
# tion-room. But it was all over at last, and Mrs. Hilliard,
with her keys, trotted cheerfully off; and Mrs. Weymore
was left to solitude and her own thoughts once more.

A strange person, certainly. She locked the door and
fell down on her knees by the bedside, sobbing until her
whole form was convulsed.

" Oh ! why did I come here? Why did I come here? "
came passionately with the wild storm of sobs. " I might
have known how it would be ! Nearly nine years—nine
lone, long years, and not to have forgotten yet! "SIX NOEL "S HEIR.

39

CHAPTER V.

a journey to london.

Very slowly, very monotonously went life at Thetford
Towers. The only noticable change and that my lady
went rather more into society, and a greater number of
visitors came to the manor. There had been a children's
party on the occasion of Sir Rupert's eighth birthday, and
Mrs. Weymore had played for the little people to dance;
and my lady had cast off her chronic gloom, had been
handsome and happy as of old. There had been a dinner-
party later—an imprecedented event now at Thetford
Towers; and the weeds, worn so long, had been discarded,
and in diamonds and black velvet Lady Ada Thetford had
been beautiful, and stately, and gracious, as a young queen.
No one knew the reason of the sudden change, but they ac-
cepted the fact just as they found it, and set it down, per-
haps, to woman's caprice.

So slowly the summer passed : autumn came and went,
and it was December, and the ninth anniversary of Sir
Noel's death.

A gloomy day—wet, and wild, and windy. The wind,
sweeping over the angry sea, surged and roared through
the skeleton trees; the rain lashed the windows in rattling
gusts; and the leaden sky hung low and frowning over the
drenched and dreary earth. A dismal day—very like that
other, nine years ago, that had been Sir Noel's last.

In Lady Thetford's boudoir a bright-red coal fire blazed.
Pale-blue curtains of satin damask shut out the wintry pros-
pect, and the softest and richest of foreign carpets hushed40

SIR NOEL >S HEIR.

every footfall. Before the fire, on a little table, my lady's
breakfast temptingly stood ; the silver, old and quaint; the
rare antique porcelain sparkling in the ruddy firelight. An
easy chair, carved and gilded, and cushioned in azure vel-
vet, stood by the table ; and near my lady's plate lay the
letters and papers the morning's mail had brought.

A toy of a clock on the low marble mantle chimed mus-
ically ten as my lady entered. In her dainty morning
negligee, with her dark hair rippling and falling low on her
neck, she looked very young, and fair, and graceful. Be-
hind her came her maid, a blooming English girl, who took
off the cover and poured out my lady's chocolate.

Lady Thetford sank languidly into the azure velvet
depths of her fautenuiland took up her letters. There were
three—-one a note from her man of business ; one an invi-
tation to a dinner-party ; and the third, a big official-look-
ing document, with a huge seal, and no end of postmarks.
The languid eyes suddenly lighted; the pale cheeks flushed
as she took it eagerly up. It was a letter from India from
Capt. Everard.

Lady Thetford sipped her chocolate, and read her letter
leisurely, with her slippered feet on the shining fender. It
was a long letter, and she read it over slowly twice, three
times, before she laid it down. She finished her breakfast,
motioned her maid to remove the service, and lying back
in her chair, with her deep, dark eyes fixed dreamily on
the fire, she fell into a reverie of other days far gone. The
lover of her girlhood came back to her from over the sea.
He was lying at her feet once more in the long summer
days, under the waving trees of her girlhood's home. Ah,
how happy ! how happy she had been in those by-gone
days, before Sir Noel Thetford had come, with his wealth
and his title, to tempt her from her love and truth.

Eleven struck, twelve from the musical clock on theS/jR NOEL 'S HEIR,

4*

mantle, and still my lady sat living in the past. Outside
the wintry storm raged on; the rain clamored against the
curtained glass, and the wind worried the trees. With a
long sigh my lady awoke from her dream, and mechanic-
ally took up the Times newspaper—the first of the little
heap.

"Vain! vain!" she thought, dreamily; " worse than
vain those dreams now. With my own hand I threw back
the heart that loved me; of my own free will I resigned
the man I loved. And now the old love, that I thought
would die in the splendor of my new life, is stronger than
ever—and it is nine years"too late."

She tried to wrench her thoughts away and fix them on
her newspaper. In vain! her eyes wandered aimlessly
over the closely-printed columns—her mind was in India
with Capt. Everard. All at once she started, uttered a sud-
den, sharp cry, and grasped the paper with dilated eyes and
whitening cheeks. At the top of a column of " personal"
advertisements was one which her strained eyes literally de-
voured.

" If Mr. Vyking, who ten years ago left a male infant in charge of
Mrs. Martha Brand, wishes to keep that child out of the workhouse,
he will call, within the next five days, at No. 17 Wadington Street,
Lambeth."

Again and again, and again Lady Thetford read this ap-
parently uninteresting advertisement. Slowly the paper
dropped into her lap, and she sat staring blankly into the
fire.

" At last! " she thought, " at last it has come. I fancied
all danger was over—the death, perhaps, had forestalled
me; and now, after all these years, I am summoned to
keep my broken promise ! "

The hue of death had settled on her face; she sat cold42

SIX JVOEL >S HEIR.

and rigid, staring with that blank, fixed gaze into the fire.
Ceaselessly beat the rain ; wilder grew the December day;
steadily the moments wore on, and still she sat in that fixed
trance. The armula clock struck two—the sound aroused
her at last.

" I must! " she said, setting her teeth. " I will! My
boy shall not lose his birthright, come what may !"

She rose and rang the bell—very pale, but icily calm.
Her maid answered the summons.

" Eliza," my lady asked, '* at what hour does the after-
noon train leave St. Gosport for London !99

Eliza stared—did not know, but would ascertain. In
five minutes she was back.

" At half-past three, my lady ; and another at seven."

Lady Thetford glanced at the clock—it was a quarter
past two.

"Tell William to have the carriage at the door at a
quarter past three ; and do you pack my dressing case, and
the few things I shall need for two or three days' absence.
I am going to London."

Eliza stood for a moment quite petrified. In all the nine
years of her service under my lady, no such order as this
had ever been received. To go to London at a moment's
notice—my lady, who rarely went beyond her own park
gates ! Turning away, not quite certain that her ears had
not deceived her, my lady's voice arrested her.

"Send Mrs. Weymore to me; and do you lose no time
in packing up."

Eliza departed. Mrs. Weymore appeared. My lady had
some instructions to give concerning the children during
her absence. Then the governess was dismissed, and she
was again alone.

Through the wind and rain of the wintry storm, Lady
Thetford was driven to the station, in time to catch theSIX NOEL'S HEIR.

43

three-fifty train to the metropolis. She went unattended;
with no message to any one, only saying she would be back
in three days at the furthest.

In that dull household, where so few events ever dis-
turbed the stagnant quiet, this sudden journey produced an
indescribable sensation. What could have taken my lady
to London at a moment's notice ? Some urgent reason it
must have been to force her out of the gloomy seclusion in
which she had buried herself since her husband's death.
But, discuss it as they might, they could come no nearer
the heart of the mystery.

CHAPTER VI.

guy.

The rainy December day closed in a rainier night. An-
other day dawned on the world, sunless, and chilly, and
overcast still.

It dawned on London in murky, yellow fog, on sloppy,
muddy streets—in gloom and dreariness, and a raw, east-
erly wind. In the densely populated streets of the district
of Lambeth, where poverty huddled in tall, gaunt build-
ings, the dismal light stole murkily and slowly over the
crowded, filthy streets and swarming purlieus.

In a small upper room of a large dilapidated house, this
bad December morning, a painter stood at his easel. The
room was bare and cold, and comfortless in the extreme;
the painter was middle-aged, small, brown and shriveled,
and very much out at elbows. The dull, gray light fell full
on his work—no inspiration of genius by any means—only
the portrait, coarsely colored, of a fat, well-to-do butcher's
daughter round the corner. The man was Joseph Legard,44

SIX JVOEL 'S HEIR.

scene-painter to one of the minor city theatres, who eked
out his slender income by painting portraits when he could
get them to paint. He was as fond of his art as any of the
great, old masters; but he had only one attribute in com-
mon with those immortals—extreme poverty ; for his salary
was not large, and Mr. Legard found it a tight fit, indeed,
to "make both ends meet."

So he stood over his work this dull morning, however, in
his fireless room, with a cheerful, brown face, whistling a
tune. In the adjoining room he could hear his wife's voice
raised shrilly, and the cries of half a dozen Legards. He
was used to it, and it did not disturb him ; and he painted
and whistled cheerily, touching up the butcher's daughter's
snub nose and fat cheeks and double chin, until light foot-
steps came running up-stairs, and the door was flung wide
by an impetuous hand. A boy of ten, or thereabouts, came
in—a bright-eyed, fair-haired lad, with a handsome, reso-
lute face, and eyes of cloudless, Saxon blue.

" Ah, Guy ! " said the scene-painter, turning round and
nodding good-humoredly. "I've been expecting you!
What do you think of Miss Jenkins ? "

The boy looked at the picture with the glance of an em-
bryo connoisseur.

"It's as like her as two peas, Joe; or would be, if her
hair was a little redder, and her nose a little thicker, and
the freckles were plainer. But it looks like her as it is."

" Well, you see, Guy," said the painter, going on with
Miss Jenkins's left eyebrow, " it don't do to make 'em too
true—people don't like it; they pay their money, and they
expect to take it out in good looks. And now, any news
this morning, Guy? "

The boy leaned against the window and looked out into
the dingy street, his bright, young face growing gloomy and
overcast.SIR NOEL 9S HEIR.

45

"No," he said, moodily; "there is no news, except
that Phil Darking was drunk last night, and savage as a
mad dog this morning—and that's no news, I'm sure ! "

"And nobody's come about the advertisement in the
Times ? "

" No, and never will. It's all humbug what granny says
about my belonging to anybody rich ; if I did, they'd have
seen after me long ago. Phil says my mother was a house-
maid, and my father a valet—-and they were only tob glad
to get me off their hands. Vyking was a valet, granny says
she knows; and it's not likely he'll turn up after all these
years. I don't care, I'd rather go to the work-house; I'd
rather starve in the streets, than live another week with Phil
Darking."

The blue eyes filled with tears, and he dashed them pas-
sionately away. The painter looked up with a distressed
face.

" Has he been beating you again, Guy?99
" It's no matter—he's a brute ! Granny and Ellen are
sorry, and do what they can ; but that's nothing. I wish
I had never been born ! "

"It is hard," said the painter, compassionately, " but
keep up heart, Guy; if the worst comes, why you can stop
here and take pot-luck with the rest—not that that's much
better than starvation. You can take to my business shortly,
now; and you'll make a better scene-painter than ever I
could. You've got it in you."

"Do you really think so, Joe?" cried the boy, with
sparkling eyes. " Do you? I'd rather be an artist than a

king- Halloo ! "

He stopped short in surprise, staring out of the window.
Legard looked. Up the dirty street came a handsome cab,
and stopped at their own door. The driver alighted, made
some inquiry, then opened the cab-door, and a lady stepped46

SIR NOEL fS HEIR,

lightly out on the curb-stone—a lady, tall and statelyB
dressed in black and closely veiled.

4'Now, who can this visitor be for?" said Legard.
" People in this neighborhood ain't in the habit of having
morning calls made on them in cabs. She's coming up-
stairs ! "

He held the door open, listening. The lady ascended
the first flight of stairs, stopped on the landing, and in-
quired of some one for " Mrs. Martha Brand."

" For granny ! " exclaimed the boy. " Joe, I shouldn't
wonder if it was some one about that advertisement, after
all! "

" Neither should I," said Legard. " There ! she's gone
in. You'll be sent for directly, Guy ! "

Yes, the lady had gone in. She had encountered on the
landing a sickly young woman with a baby in her arms,
who had stared at the name she inquired for.

"Mrs. Martha Brand? Why, that's mother! Walk in
this way, if you please, ma'am."

She opened the door, and ushered the veiled lady into a
small, close room, poorly furnished. Over a smouldering
fire, mending stockings, sat an old woman, who, notwith-
standing the extreme shabbiness and poverty of her dress,
lifted a pleasant, intelligent old face.

"A lady to see you, mother," said the young woman,
hushing her fretful baby and looking curiously at the veiled
face.

But the lady made no attempt to raise the envious screen,
not even when Mrs. Martha Brand got up, dropping a re-
spectful little servant's courtesy and placing a chair. It
was a very thick veil—an impenetrable shield—and nothing
could be discovered of the face behind it but that it was
fixedly pale. She sank into the seat, her face turned to the
old woman behind that sable screen.S/jR NOEL 'S HEIR.

47

" You are Mrs. Brand ? 99

The voice was refined and patrician. It would have told
she was a lady, even if the rich garments she wore did not.
"Yes, ma'am—your ladyship; Martha Brand."
" And you inserted that advertisement in the Times re-
garding a child left in your care ten years ago? "

Mother and daughter started, and stared at the speaker.
" It was addressed to Mr. Yyking, who left the child in
your charge, by which I infer you are not aware that he has
left England.'9

"Left England, has he?" said Mrs. Brand. "More
shame for him, then, never to let me know or leave a farth-
ing to support the boy ! "

" I am inclined to believe it was not his fault," said the
clear, patrician voice. " He left England suddenly and
against his will, and, I have reason to think, will never re-
turn. But there are others interested—more interested than
he could possibly be—in the child, who remain, and who
are willing to take him off your hands. But first, why is it
you are so anxious, after keeping him all these years, to get
rid of him ? 99

" Well, you see, your ladyship," replied Martha Brand,
"it is not me, nor likewise Ellen there, who is my daugh-
ter. We'd 'keep the lad and welcome, and share the last
crust we had with him, as we often have—for we're very
poor people; but, you see, Ellen, she's married now, and
her husband never could bear Guy—that's what we call him,
your ladyship—Guy, which it was Mr. Yyking's own orders.
Phil Darking, her husband, never did like him somehow;
and when he gets drunk, saving your ladyship's presence,
he beats him most unmercifully. And now we're going to
America—to New York, where Phil's got a brother and
work is better, and he won't fetch Guy. So, your lady-
ship, I thought I'd try once more before we deserted him,48

S/X NOEL 'S HEIR,

and put that advertisement in the Times, which I'm very
glad I did, if it will fetch the poor lad any friends.''

There was a moment's pause; then the lady asked,
thoughtfully: " And when do you leave for New York ? "
" The day after to-morrow, ma'am—and a long journey
it is for a poor old body like me.''

" Did you live here when Mr. Vyking left the child with
you—in this neighborhood ? "

" Not in this neighborhood, nor in London at all, your
ladyship. It was Lowdean, in Berkshire, and my husband
was alive at the time. I had just lost my baby, and the
landlady of the hotel recommended me. So he brought it,
and paid me thirty sovereigns, and promised me thirty
more every twelvemonth, and told me to call it Guy Vy-
king—and that was the last I ever saw of him."

"And the infant's mother?" said the lady, her voice
changing perceptibly—" do you know anything of her? "

"But very little," said Martha Brand, shaking her
head. " I never set eyes on her, although she was sick at
the inn for upward of three weeks. But Mrs. Vine, the
landlady, she saw her twice; and she told me what a pretty
young creeter she was—and a lady, if there ever was a lady
yet."

" Then the child was born in Berkshire—how was it? "
"Well, your ladyship, it was an accident, seeing as how
the carriage broke down with Mr. Vyking and the lady, a
driving furious to catch the last London train. The lady
was so hurted that she had to be carried to the inn, and
went quite out of her head, raving and dangerous like. Mr.
Vyking had the landlady to wait upon her until he could
telegraph to London for a nurse, which one came down
next day and took charge of her. The baby wasn't two
days old when he brought it to me, and the poor young
mother was dreadful low and out of her head all the time.SIR NOEL HEIR.

49

Mr. Vyking and the nurse were all that saw her, and the
doctor, of course; but she didn't die, as the doctor thought
she would, but got well, and before she came right to her
senses Mr. Vyking paid the doctor and told him he needn't
come back. And then, a little more than a fortnight after,
they took her away, all sly and secret-like, and what they
told her about her poor baby I don't know. I always
thought there was something dreadful wrong about the whole
thing."

"And this Mr. Vyking—was he the child's father—the
woman's'husband ? "

Martha Brand looked sharply at the speaker, as if she sus-
pected she could answer that question best herself.

" Nobody knew, but everybody thought who. I've al-
ways been of opinion myself that Guy's father and mother
were gentlefolks, and I always shall be."

" Does the boy know his own story? "

"Yes, your ladyship—all I've told you."

" Where is he? I should like to see him."

Mrs. Brand's daughter, all this time hushing her baby,
started up.

" I'll fetch him. He's up-stairs in Legard's, I know."

She left the room and ran up-stairs. The painter, Le-
gard, still was touching up Miss Jenkins, and the bright-
haired boy stood watching the progess of that work of art.

"Guy! Guy!" she cried breathlessly, "comedown-
stairs at once. You're wanted."

" Who wants me, Ellen ? "

"A lady, dressed in the most elegant and expensive
mourning—a real lady, Guy; and she has come about that
advertisement, and she wants to see you."

" What is she like, Mrs. Darking ? " inquired the painter
—" young or old ? "

" Young, I should think; but she hides her face behind
4SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

a thick veil, as if she didn't want to be known. Come,
Guy."

She hurried the lad down-stairs and into their little room.
The veiled lady still sat talking to the old woman, her back
to the dim daylight, and that disguising veil still down.
She turned slightly at their entrance, and looked at the boy
through it. Guy stood in the middle of the floor, his fear-
less blue eyes fixed on the hidden face. Could he have seen
it he might have started at the grayish pallor which over-
spread it at sight of him.

" So like ! So like ! " the lady was murmuring between
her set teeth. " It is terrible—it is marvelous ! "

"This is Guy, your ladyship," said Martha Brand.
" I've done what I could for him for the last ten years, and
I'm almost as sorry to part with him as if he were my own.
Is your ladyship going to take him away with you now? "

" No," said her ladyship, sharply ; " I have no such in-
tention. Have you no neighbor or friend who would be
willing to take and bring him up, if well paid for the
trouble? This time the money shall be paid without fail."

"There's Legard's," cried the boy, eagerly. "I'll go
to Legard's, granny. I'd rather be with Joe than anywhere
else."

" It's a neighbor that lives up-stairs," murmured Martha,
in explanation. " He always took to Guy and Guy to him
in a way that's quite wonderful. He's a very decent man,
your ladyship—a painter for a theatre; and Guy takes
kindly to the business, and would like to be one himself.
If you don't want to take away the boy, you couldn't leave
him in better hands."

I am glad to hear it. Can I see the man?"

"I'll fetch him ! " cried Guy, and ran out of the room.
Two minutes later came Mr. Legard, paper cap and shirt-
sleeves, bowing very low to the grand, black-robed lady,SIR NOEL yS HEIR.

51

and only too delighted to strike a bargain. The lady of-
fered liberally; Mr. Legard closed with the offer at once.

''You will clothe him better, and you will educate him
and give him your name. I wish him to drop that of
Vyking. The same amount I give you now will be sent
you this time every year. If you change your residence
in the meantime, or wish to communicate with me on any
occurrence of consequence, you can address Madam Ada,
post office, Plymouth."

She rose as she spoke, stately and tall, and motioned Mr.
Legard to withdraw. The painter gathered up the money
she laid on the table, and bowed himself, with a radiant
face, out of the room.

As for you, turning to old Martha, and taking out of her
purse a roll of crisp, Bank of England notes, " I think this
will pay you for the trouble you have had with the boy dur-
ing the last ten years. No thanks—you have earned the
money."

She moved to the door, made a slight, proud gesture with
her gloved hand in farewell, took a last look at the golden
haired, blue eyed, handsome boy, and was gone. A mo-
ment later and her cab rattled out of the murky street, and
the trio were alone staring at one another, and at the bulky
roll of notes.

"'I should think it was a dream only for this," murmured
old Martha, looking at the roll with glistening eyes. " A
great lady—a great lady, surely ! Guy, I shouldn't wonder
if that was your mother."52

SIR NOEL 'S HEIR,

CHAPTER VII.

colonel jocyln.

Five miles away from Thetford Towers, where the mul-
titudinous waves leaped and glistened all day in the sun-
light, as if a-glitter with diamonds, stood Jocyln Hall. An
imposing structure of red brick, not yet one hundred years
old, with sloping meadows spreading away into the blue
horizon, and densely wooded plantations gliding down to
the wide sea.

Colonel Jocyln, these lord of the boundless meadows and
miles of woodland, where the red deer disported in the
green arcades, was absent in India, and had been for the
past nine years. They were an old family, the Jocylns, as
old as any in Devon, and with a pride that bore no propor-
tion to their purse, until the present Jocyln, had, all at once
become a millionaire. A penniless young lieutenant in a
cavalry regiment, quartered somewhere in Ireland, with a
handsome face and dashing manners, he had captivated, at
first sight, a wild, young Irish heiress of fabulous wealth
and beauty. It was a love-match on her side—nobody
knew exactly what it was on his; but they made a moonlight
flitting of it, for the lady's friends were grievously wroth.
Lieutenant Jocyln liked his profession for its own sake, and
took his Irish bride to India, and there an heiress and only
child was born to him. The climate disagreed with the
young wife—she sickened and died; but the young officer
and his baby girl remained in India. In the fullness of
time he became Colonel Jocyln; and one day electrified
his housekeeper by a letter announcing his intention ofSIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

53

returning to England with his little daughter Aileen for
good.

That same month of December, which took Lady Thet-
ford on that mysterious London journey, brought this letter
from Calcutta0 Five months after, when the May prim-
roses and hyacinths were all abloom in the green seaside
woodlands, Colonel Jocyln and his little daughter came
home.

Early on the day succeeding his arrival, Colonel Jocyln
rode through the bright spring sunshine, along the pleasant
high road between Jocyln Hall and Thetford Towers. He
had met the late Sir Noel and his bride once or twice previ-
ous to his departure for India; but there had been no ac- .
quaintance sufficiently close to warrant this speedy call.

Lady Thetford, sitting alone in her boudoir, looked in
surprise at the card the servant brought.

" Colonel Jocyln," she said, " I did not even know he
had arrived. And to call so soon—ah ! perhaps he fetches
me letters from India "

She rose at the thought, her pale cheeks flushing a little
with expectation. Mail after mail had arrived from that
distant land, bringing her no letter from Captain Everard.

Lady Thetford descended at once. She had few callers;
but she was always exquisitely dressed and ready to receive
at a moment's notice. Colonel Jocyln—tall and sallow and
soldierly—rose at her entrance.

"Lady Thetford? Ah, yes! Most happy to see your
ladyship once more. Permit me to apologize for this very
early call—you will overlook my haste when you hear my
reason.''

Lady Thetford held out her white hand.

" Allow me to welcome you back to England, Colonel
Jocyln. You have come for good this time, I hope. And
little Aileen is well, I trust ? " **54

SIR NOEL'S HEIR.

" Very well, and very glad to be released from ship-
board. I need not ask for young Sir Rupert—I saw him
with his nurse in the park as I rode up. A fine boy, and
like you, my lady."'

" Yes, Rupert is like me. And now—how are our mu-
tual friends in India ? "

The momentous question she had been longing to ask
from the first; but her well-trained voice spoke it as stead-
ily as though it had been a question of the weather.

Colonel Jocyln's face clouded, darkened.

" I bring bad news from India, my lady. Captain Ever-
ard was a friend of yours ?''

" Yes ; he left his little daughter in my charge.*'
" I know. You have not. heard from him lately ? "
"No, and I have been rather anxious. Nothing has be-
fallen the captain, I hope ? "

The well-trained voice shook a little despite its admirable
training, and the slender fingers looped and unlooped nerv-
ously her watch-chain.

" Yes, Lady Thetford; the very worst that could befall
him. George Everard is dead."

There was a blank pause. Colonel Jocyln looked grave
and downcast and sad.

. "He was my friend,M he said, in a low voice, " my in-
timate friend for many years—a fine fellow and brave as a
lion. Many, many nights we have lain with the stars of
India shining on our bivouac whilst he talked to me of you,
of England, of his daughter."

Lady Thetford never spoke, never stirred. She was sit-
ting gazing steadfastly out of the window at t-he sparkling
sunshine, and Colonel Jocyln could not see her face.

" He was as glorious a soldier as ever I knew," the colo-
nel went on; " and he died a soldier's death—shot throughSIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

55

the heart. They buried him out there with military hon-
ors, and some of his men cried on his grave like children.''

There was another blank pause. Still Lady Thetford sat
with that fixed gaze on the brilliant May sunshine, move-
less as stone.

"It is a sad thing for his poor little girl," the Indian
officer said; "she is fortunate in having such a guardian
as you, Lady Thetford."

Lady Thetford awoke from her trance. She had been in
a trance, and the years had slipped backward, and she had
been in her far-off girlhood's home, with George Everard,
her handsome, impetuous lover, by her side. She had
loved him then, even when she said no and married an-
other ; she loved him still, and now he was dead—dead !
But she turned to her visitor with a face that told nothing.

"I am so sorry—so very, very sorry. My poor little
May! Did Captain Everard speak of her, of me, before
he died?"

" He died instantaneously, my lady. There was no
% time."

"Ah, no! poor fellow! It is the fortune of war—but

it is very sad."

That was all; we may feel inexpressibly, but we can only
utter commonplaces. Lady Thetford was very, very pale,
but her pallor told nothing of the dreary pain at her heart.

"Would you like to see little May? I will send for
her."

Little May was sent for and came. A brilliant little fairy
as ever, brightly dressed, with shimmering golden curls and
starry eyes. By her side stood Sir Rupert—the nine-year-
old baronet, growing tall very fast, pale and slender still,
and looking at the colonel with his mother's dark, deep
eyes.56

SIX NOEL'S HEIR.

Colonel Jocyln held out his hand to the flaxen-haired
fairy.

" Come here, little May, and kiss papa's friend. You
remember papa, don't you? "

" Yes," said May, sitting on his knee contentedly. " Oh,
yes ! When is papa coming home ? He said in mamma's
letter he would fetch me lots and lots of dolls and picture-
books. Is he coming home ? "

"Not very soon," the colonel said, inexpressibly
touched ; " but little May will go to papa some day. You
and mamma, I suppose ? " smiling at Lady Thetford.

"Yes," nodded May, "that's mamma, and Rupert's
mamma. Oh ! I am so sorry papa isn't coming home soon !
Do you know "—looking up in his face with big, shining,
solemn eyes—" I've got a pony, and I can ride lovely; and
his name is Snowdrop, because it's all white; and Rupert's
is black, and his name is Sultan ? And I've got a watch;
mamma gave it to me last Christmas; and my doll's name
—the big one, you know, that opens its eyes and says
t mamma' and ' papa'—is Sonora. Have you got any lit-
tle girls at home?"

" One, Miss Chatterbox."

" What's her name! "

" Aileen—Aileen Jocyln.M
"Is she nice? "

" Very nice, I think."

" Will she come to see me? "

"If you wish it and mamma wishes it."

"Oh, yes! you do, don't you, mamma? How big is
your little girl—as big as me ? "

" Bigger, I fancy. She is nine years old."

"Then she's as big as Rupert—he9s nine years old.
May she fetch her doll to see Sonora? "

"Certainly—a regiment of dolls, if shejvishes."SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

17

"Can't'she come to-morrow? " asked Rupert. "To-
morrow's May's birthday; May's seven years old to-mor-
row. Mayn't she come ! "

" That must be as mamma says."

" Oh, fetch her ! " cried Lady Thetford, " it will be so
nice for May and Rupert. Only I hope little May won't
quarrel with her; she does quarrel with her playmates a
good deal, I am sorry to say,"

"I won't if she's nice," said May; "it's all their fault.
Oh, Rupert ! there's Mrs. Weymore on the lawn, and I
want her to come and see the rabbits. There's five little
rabbits this morning, mamma—mayn't I go and show them
to Mrs. Weymore? "

Lady Thetford nodded smiling acquiescence; and away
ran little May and Rupert to show the rabbits to the gov-
erness.

Col. Jocyln lingered for half an hour or upward, con-
versing with his hostess, and rose to take his leave at last,
with the promise of returning on the morrow with his lit-
tle daughter, and dining at the house. As he mounted his
horse and rode homeward, " a haunting shape, an image
gay," followed him through the genial May sunshine-
Lady Ada Thetford, fair, and stately and graceful.

"Nine years a widow," he mused. "They say she
took her husband's death very hard—and no wonder, con-
sidering how he died; but nine years is a tolerable time in
which to forget. She took the news of Everard's death
very quietly. I don't suppose there was ever anything
really in that old story. How handsome she is, and how
graceful! "

He broke off in his musing fit to light a cigar, and see
through the curling smoke dark-eyed Ada, mamma to little
Aileen as well as the other two. He had never thought of58

SIX NOEL 'S HEIR.

wanting a wife before, in all these years of his widowhood;
but the want struck him forcibly now.

" And Aileen wants a mother, and the little baronet a
father/'he thought, complacently; ''my lady can't do
better/'

So next day at the earliest possible hour, came back the
gallant colonel, and with him a brown-haired, brown-eyed,
quiet-looking little girl, as tall, every inch, as Sir Rupert.
A little embryo patrician, with pride in her infantile linea-
ments already, an uplifted poise of the graceful head, a
light, elastic step, and a softly-modulated voice. A little
lady from top to toe, who opened her little brown eyes in
wide wonder at the antics, and gambols, and obstreperous-
ness, generally, of little May.

There were two or three children from the rectory, and
half a dozen from other families in the neighborhood—and
the little birthday feast was under the charge of Mrs. Wey-
more, the governess, pale and pretty, and subdued as of old.
They raced through the leafy arcades of the park, and gam-
boled in the garden, and had tea in a fairy summer house,
to the music of plashing fountains—and little May was
captain of the band. Even shy, still Aileen Joclyn forgot
her youthful dignity, and raced and laughed with the best.

"It was so nice, papa ! " she cried rapturously, riding
home in the misty moonlight. "I never enjoyed myself so
well. I like Rupert so much—better than May, you know;
May's so rude and laughs so loud. I've asked them to come
and see me, papa; and May said she would make her
mamma let them come next week. And then I'm going
back—I shall always like to go there."

Col. Jocyln smiled as he listened to his little daughter's
prattle. Perhaps he agreed with her; perhaps he, too,
liked to go there. The dinner-party, at which he and the
rector of St. Gosport, and the rector's wife were the onlySIR NOEL'S HEIR.

59

guests, had been quite as pleasant as the birthday fete.
Very graceful, very fair and stately, had looked the lady of
the manor, presiding at her own dinner-table. How well
she would look at the head of his.

The Indian officer, after that, became a very frequent
guest at Thetford Towers—the children were such a good
excuse. Aileen was lonely at home, and Rupert and May
were always glad to have her. So papa drove her over
nearly every day, or else came to fetch the other two to
Jocyln Hall. Lady Thetford was ever most gracious, and
the colonel's hopes ran high.

Summer waned. It was October, and Lady Thetford
began talking of leaving St. Gosport for a season; her
health was not good, and change of air was recommended.

" I can leave my children in charge of Mrs. Weymore,"
she said. " I have every confidence in her; and she has
been with me so long. I think I shall depart next week;
Dr. Gale says I have delayed too long."

CoL Jocyln looked up uneasily. They were sitting alone
together, looking at the red October sunset blazing itself
out behind the Devon hills.

" We shall miss you very much/' he said, softly. " I
shall miss you."

Something in his tone struck Lady Thetford. She
turned her dark eyes upon him in surprise and sudden
alarm. The look had to be answered ; rather embarrassed,
and not at all so confident as he thought he would have
been, Col. Jocyln asked Lady Thetford to be his wife.

There was a blank pause. Then,

(<Iam very sorry, Col. Jocyln, I never thought of this."

He looked at her, pale—alarmed.

" Does that mean no, Lady Thetford?"

It means no, Col. Jocyln. I have never thought of you
save as a friend j as a friend I still wish to retain you. I6o

S/jR NOEL\S* HEIR.

will never marry. What I am to-day I will go to my grave.
My boy has my whole heart—there is no room in it for
anyone else. Let us be friends, Col. Jocyln," holding out
her white jeweled hand, " more, no mortal man can ever
be to me."

CHAPTER VIII.

lady thetford's ball.

Years came and years went, and thirteen passed away.
In all these years with their countless changes, Thetford
Towers had been a deserted house. Comparatively speak-
ing, of course; Mrs. Weymore, the governess, Mrs. Hil-
liard, the housekeeper, Mr. Jarvis, the butler, and their
minor satellites, served there still, but its mistress and her
youthful son had been absent. Only little May had re-
mained under Mrs. Weymore's charge until within the last
two years, and then she, too, had gone to Paris to a finish-
ing school*

Lady Thetford came herself to the Towers to fetch her
—the only time in these thirteen years. She had spent
them pleasantly enough, rambling about the Continent, and
in her villa on the Arno, for her health was frail, and grow-
ing daily frailer, and demanded a sunny Southern clime.
The little baronet had gone, to Eton, thence to Oxford,
passing his vacation abroad with his mamma—and St. Gos-
port had seen nothing of them. Lady Thetford had
thought it best, for many reasons, to leave little May
quietly in England during her wanderings. She missed the
child, but she had every confidence in Mrs. Weymore.
The old aversion had entirely worn away, but time had .
taught her she could trust her implicitly; and though MayS/jR JVOEL JS HEIR..

61

might miss "mamma" and Rupert, it was not in that
flighty fairy's nature to take their absence very deeply to
heart.

Jocyln Hall was vacated, too. After that refusal of Lady
Thetford, Col. Jocyln had left England, placed his daugh-
ter in a school abroad, and made a tour of the East.

Lady Thetford he had not met until within the last year;
then Lady Thetford and her son, spending the winter in
Rome, had encountered Col. and Miss Jocyln, and they
had scarcely parted company since. The Thetfords were
to return early in the spring to take up their abode once
more in the old home, and Col. Jocyln announced his in-
tention of following their example.

Lady Thetford wrote to Mrs. Weymore, her vice-roy,
and to her steward, issuing her orders for the expected re-
turn. Thetford Towers was to be completely rejuvenated—
new furnished, painted and decorated, Landscape garden-
ers were set at work in the grounds; all things were to be
ready the following June.

Summer came and brought the absentees—Lady Thetford
and her son, Col. Jocyln and his daughter; and there were
bonfires and illuminations, and feasting of tenantry, and
ringing of bells, and general jubilation, that the heir of
Thetford Towers had come to reign at last.

The week following the arrival, Lady Thetford issued in-
vitations over half the country for a grand ball. Thetford
Towers, after over twenty ye^rs of gloom and solitude, was
coming out again in the old gayety and brilliance that had
been its normal state before the present heir was born.

The night of the ball came, and with nearly every one
who had been honored with an invitation, all curious to
see the future lord of one of the noblest domains in broad
Devonshire.

Sir Rupert Thetford stood by his mother's side, and met62

SIJR NOEL %S HEIR.

her old friends for the first time since his boyhood—a
slender young man, pale and dark, and handsome of face
with dreamy slumbrous eyes of darkness, and quiet man-
ners, not at all like hfs father's fair-haired, bright-eyed,
stalwart Saxon race; the Thetford blood had run out, he
was his own mother's son.

Lady Thetford grown pallid and wan, and wasted in all
these years, and bearing within the seeds of an incurable
disease, looked yet fair and gracious, and stately in her
trailing robes and jewels, to-night, receiving her guests like
a queen. It was the triumph of her life, the desire of her
heart, this seeing her son, her idol, reigning in the home
of his fathers, ruler of the broad domain that had owned
the Thetfords lord for more years back than she could
count.

11 If I could but see her -his wife," Lady Thetford
thought, "I think I should have nothing left on earth to
desire.

She glanced across the wide room, along a vista of lights,
and flitting forms, and rich dresses, and sparkling jewels,
to where a young lady stood, the center of an animated
group—a tall and eminently handsome girl, with a proud
patrician face, and the courtly grace of a young empress—
Aileen Jocyln, heiress of fabulous wealth, possessor of fab-
ulous beauty, and descendant of a race as noble and as an-
cient as his own.

"With her for his wife, come what might in the future,
my Rupert would be safe," the mother thought; '* and who
knows what a day may bring forth ?* Ah ! if I dared only
speak, but I dare not; it would ruin all. I know my son."

Yes, Lady Thetford knew her son, understood his char-
acter thoroughly, and was a great deal too wary a conspira-
tor to let him see her cards. Fate, not she, had thrown
the heiress and the baronet constantly together of late, an<JSIR NOEL 9S HEIR.

63

Aileen's own beauty and grace was surely sufficient for the
rest. It was the one desire of Lady Thetford's heart; but
she never said to her son, who loved her dearly, and would
have done a great deal to add to her happiness. She left
it to fate, and leaving it, was doing the wisest thing she
could possibly do.

It seemed as if her hopes were likely to be realized. Sir
Rupert had an artist's and a Sybarite's love for all things
beautiful, and could appreciate the grand statuesque style
of Miss Jocyln's beauty, even as his mother could not ap-
preciate it. She was like the Pallas Athine, she was his
ideal woman, fair and proud, uplifted and serene, smiling
on all, from the heights of high-and-mightydom, but shin-
ing upon them, a brilliant far-off star, keeping her warmth
and sweetness all for him. He was an indolent, dreamy
Sybarite, this pale young baronet, who liked his rose-leaves
unruffled under him, full of artistic tastes and inspirations,
and a great deal too lazy ever to carry them into effect. He
was an artist, and he had a studio where he begaii fifty gi-
gantic deeds at once in the way of pictures, and seldom
finished one. Nature had intended him for an artist, not
country squire; he cared little for riding, or hunting, or
fishing, or farming, or any of the things wherein country
squires delight; he liked better to lie on the warm grass,
with the summer wind stirring in the trees over his head,
and smoke his Turkish pipe, and dream the lazy hours
away. If he had been born a poor man he might have
been a great painter; as it was, he was only an idle, list-
less, elegant, languid dreamer, and so likely to remain until
the end of the chapter.

Lady Thetford's ball was a very brilliant affair, and a fa-
mous success. Until far into the gray and dismal dawn,
" flute, violin, bassoon/' woke sweet echoes in the once
ghastly rooms, so long where silence had reigned. Half the64

SIX NOEL'S HEIR.

county had been invited, and half the county were there;
and hosts of pretty, rosy girls, in arcophane and roses, and
sparkling jewelry, baited their dainty traps, and " wove
becks and nods, and wreathed smiles/' for the special delec*
tation of the handsome courtly heir of Thetford Towers.

But the heir of Thetford Towers, with gracious greetings
for all, yet walked through the rose strewn pitfalls all se-
cure, whilst the starry face of Aileen Jocyln shone on him
in its pale, high-bred beauty. He had not danced much;
he had an antipathy to dancing as he had to exertion of any
kind, and presently he stood leaning against a slender
white column, watching her in a state of lazy admiration.
He could see quite as clearly as his mother how eminently
proper a marriage with the heiress of Col. Jocyln would
be; he knew by instinct, too, how much she desired it;
and it was easy enough, looking at her in her girlish pride
and beauty, to fancy himself very much in love, and though
anything but a coxcomb, Sir Rupert Thetford was perfectly
aware of his own handsome face and dreamy artist's eyes,
and his fifteen thousand a year, and lengthy pedigree, and
had a hazy idea that the handsome Aileen would not say
no when he spoke.

" And I'll speak to-night, by Jove ! " thought the young
baronet, as near being enthusiastic as was his nature, as he
watched her, the brilliant center of a brilliant group.
How exquisite she is in her statuesque grace, my peer-
less Aileen, the ideal of my dreams. I'll ask her to be
my wife to-night, or that inconceivable idiot, Lord Gilbert
Penryhn, will do it to-morrow."

He sauntered over to the group, not at all insensible to
the quick, bright smile and flitting flush with which Miss
Jocyln welcomed him.

" I believe this waltz is mine, Miss Jocyln. Very sorrySIX NOEL%S HEIR.

65

to break upon your tete-a-tete, Penryhn, but necessity knows
no law."

A moment and they were floating down the whirling tide
of the dance, with the wild, melancholy waltz music swell-
ing and sounding, and Miss Joey In's perfumed hair breath-
ing fragrance around him, and the starry face and dark,
dewy eyes downcast a little, in a happy tremor. The cold,
still look of fixed pride seemed to melt out of her face, and
an exquisite rosy light came and went in its place, and
made her too lovely to tell; and Sir Rupert saw and un-
derstood it all, with a little complacent thrill of satisfac-
tion.

They floated out of the ball-room into a conservatory of
exquisite blossom, where tropic plants of gorgeous hues,
and plashing fountains, under the white light of alabaster
lamps, made a sort of garden of Eden. There were orange
and myrtle trees oppressing the warm air with their sweet-
ness, and through the open French windows came the soft,
misty moonlight and the saline wind. There they stopped,
looking out of the pale glory of the night, and there Sir
Rupert, about to ask the supreme question of his life, and
with his heart beginning to plunge against his side, opened
conversation with the usual brilliancy in such cases.

" You look fatigued, Miss Jocyln. These grand balls are
great bores, after all."

Miss Jocyln laughed frankly. She was of a nature far
more impassioned than his, and she loved him; and she felt
thrilling through every nerve in her body the prescience of
what he was going to say; for all that, being a woman, she
had the best of it now.

" I am not at all fatigued," she said ; " and I like it. I
don't think balls are bores—like this, I mean; but then, to
be sure, my experience is very limited. How lovely the
night is! Look at the moonlight, yonder, on the sea—a

566

SIR NOEL 9S HEfR.

sheet of silvery glory. Does it not recall Sorrento and the
exquisite Sorrentine landscape—that moonlight on the sea ?
Are you not inspired, sir artist? "

She lifted a flitting, radiant glance, a luminous smile,
and the star-like face, drooped again—and the white hands
took to reckless breaking off sweet sprays of myrtle.

" My inspiration is nearer," looking down at the droop-
ing face. "Aileen-" and there he stopped, and the

sentence was never destined to be finished, for a shadow
darkened the moonlight, and a figure flitted in like a spirit
and [stood before them—a fairy figure, in a cloud of rosy
drapery, with shimmering golden curls and dancing eyes of
turquoise blue.

Aileen, Jocyln started back and away from her compan-
ion, with a faint, thrilling cry. Sir Rupert, wondering and
annoyed, stood staring; and still the fairy figure in the
rosy gauze stood, like a nymph in a stage tableau, smiling
up in their faces and never speaking. There was a blank
pause, a moment's; then Miss Jocyln made one step for-
ward, doubt, recognition, delight, all in her face at once.
" It is—it is ! " she cried, " May Everard \ 99
" May Everard!" Sir Rupert echoed—" little May ! 99
' "At your service, monsieur J To think you should have
forgotten me so completely in a decade of years. For
shame, Sir Rupert Thetford!99

And then she was in Aileen Jocyln's arms, and there was
an hiatus filled up with kisses.

"Oh! what a surprise i99 Miss Jocyln cried breath-
lessly. "Have you dropped from the skies? I thought
you were in France/'

May Everard laughed, the calm, bright laugh of thirteen
years ago, as she held up her dimpled cheeks, first one and
then the other, to Sir Rupert.

" Did you ? So I was, but I ran away."SIR NOEL >S HEIR.

6/

" Ran away ! From school ? "

" Something very like it. Oh ! how stupid it was, and
I couldn't endure it any longer; and I am so crammed
with knowledge now that if I held any more I should
burst; and so I told them I had to come home; but I was
sent for, which was true, you know, for I felt an inward
call; and as they were glad to be rid of me, they didn't
make much opposition or ask unnecessary questions. And
so," folding the fairy hands and nodding her little ringleted
head, " here I am."

" But, good heavens ! " cried Sir Rupert, aghast, " you
never mean to say, May, you have come alone ? "

" All alone," said May, with another nod. " I'm used
to it, you know; did it last vacation. Came across and
spent it with Mrs. Weymore. I don't mind it the least;
don't know what sea-sickness is; and oh ! didn't some of
the poor wretches suffer this time! Isn't it fortunate I'm
here for the ball ? And, Rupert, good gracious! how
you've grown ! "

"Thanks. I can't see that you have changed much,
Miss Everard. You are the same curly-headed, saucy fairy
I knew thirteen years ago. What does my lady say to this
escapade?"

" Nothing. Eloquent silence best expresses her feelings;
and then she hadn't time to make a scene. Are you going
to ask me to dance, Rupert? because if you are," said Miss >
Everard, adjusting her bracelet, " you had better do it at
once, as I am going back to the ball-room, and after I once
appear there you will stand no chance amongst the crowd of
competitors. But then, perhaps you belong to Miss
Jocyln?"

"Not at all," Miss Jocyln interposed, hastily, and red-
dening a little; <(Iam engaged, and it is time I was back,
or my unlucky cavalier will be at his wit's end to find me."68 '	SIX NOEL >S HEIR.

She swept away with a quicker movement than her wont,
and Sir Rupert laughingly gave his piquant little partner his
arm. His notions of propriety were a good deal shocked ;
but then it was only May JSverard, and May Everard was
one of those exceptionable people who can do pretty much
as they please, and not surprise any one. They went back
to the ball-room, the fairy in pink on the arm of the young
baronet, chattering like a magpie. Miss Jocyln's partner
found her and led her off; but Miss Jocyln was very silent
and distrait all the rest of the night, and watched furtively,
but incessantly, the fluttering pink fairy. She had reigned
belle hitherto, but sparkling little May, like an embodied
sunbeam, electrified the rooms, and took the crown and the
sceptre by royal right. Sir Rupert had that one dance,
and no more—Miss Everard's own prophecy was true—the
demand for her was such that even the son of the house
stood not the shadow of a chance.

Miss Jocyln held herself aloof from the young baronet
for the remaining hours of the ball. She had known as
well as he the words that were on his lips when May Everard
interposed, and her eyes flashed and her dark cheek flushed
dusky red to see how easily he had been deterred from his
purpose. For him, he sought her once or twice in a desul-
tory sort of way, never noticing that he was purposely
avoided, wandering contentedly back to devote himself to
some one else, and in the pauses to watch May Everard •
floating—a sunbeam in a rosy cloud—here and there and
everywhere.SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

69

CHAPTER IX.

guy legard.

He meant to have spoken that night; he would have
spoken but for May Everard. And yet that is two weeks

ago, and we have been together since, and-"

Aileen Jocyln broke off abruptly, and looked out over
the far-spreading, gray sea.

The morning was dull, the leaden sky threatening rain,
the wind sighing fitfully, and the slow, gray sea creep-
ing up the gray sands. Aileen Jocyln sat as she had sat
since breakfast, aimless and dreary, by her dressing-room
window, gazing blankly over the pale landscape, her hair
falling loose and damp over her shoulders, and a novel
lying listlessly in her lap. The book had no interest; her
thoughts would stray, in spite of her, to Thetford Towers.

"She is very pretty," Miss Jocyln thought, "with that
pink and white wax-doll sort of prettiness some people
admire. I never thought he could, with his artistic nature;
but I suppose I was mistaken. They call her fascinating;
I believe that rather hoidenish manner of hers, and all
those dashing airs, and that 4 loud' style of dress and do-
ings, take some men by storm. I presume I was mistaken
in Sir Rupert; I dare say pretty, penniless May will be
Lady Thetford before long.''

Miss Jocyln's short upper-lip curled rather scornfully, and
she rose up with a little air of petulance and walked across
the room to the opposite window. It commanded a view
of the lawn and a long wooded drive, and, cantering airily
up under the waving trees, she saw the young lady of whom70

SIX NOEL >S HEIR.

she had been thinking. The pretty, fleet-footed pony and
his bright little mistress were by no means rare visitors at
Jocyln Hall, and Miss Jocyln was always elaborately civil to
Miss Everard. Very pretty little May looked—all her tin-
seled curls floating in the breeze,' like a golden banner; the
blue eyes more starily radiant than ever, the dark riding-
habit and jaunty hat and plume the most becoming things
in the world. She saw Miss Jocyln at the window, kissed
her hand and resigned Arab to the groom. A minute more
and she was saluting Aileen with effusion.

" You solemn Aileen ! to sit and mope here in the house,
instead of improving your health and temper by a breezy
canter over the downs. Don't contradict; I know you
were moping. I should be afraid to tell you how many
miles Arab and I have got over this morning. And you
never came to see me yesterday, either. Why was it ? "

"1 didn't feel inclined/' Miss Jocyln answered, truth-
fully.

'' No, you never do feel inclined unless I come and drag
you out by force; you sit in the house and grow yellow and
jaundiced over high-church novels. I declare I never met
so many lazy people in all my life as I have done since
I came home. One don't mind mamma, poor thing !
shutting herself up and the sunshine and fresh air of heaven
out; but, for you and Rupert ! And, speaking of Rupert,"
ran on Miss Everard in a breathless sort of way, " he
wanted to commence his great picture of i Fair Rosamond
and Eleanor' yesterday—and how could he when Eleanor
never came ? Why didn't you—you promised ? "
" I changed my mind, I suppose.1J
'1 And broke your word—more shame for you. then!
Come now."

"No; thanks. It's going to rain."

"Nothing of the sort; and Rupert is so anxious. HeSIR NOEL'S HEIR. *	71

would have come himself, only my lady is ill to-day with
one of her bad headaches, and asked him to read her to
sleep; and, like the good boy that he is in the main, though
shockingly lazy, he obeyed. Do come, Aileen; there's a
dear! Don't be selfish."

Miss Jocyln rose rather abruptly.

"I have no desire to be selfish, Miss Everard. If you
will wait ten minutes whilst I dress, I will accompany you
to Thetford Towers."

She rang the bell and swept from the room, stately and
uplifted. May looked after her, fidgeting a little.

" Dear me ! I suppose she's offended now at that word
6 selfish.' I never did get on very well with Aileen Jocyln,
and I'm afraid I never shall. I shouldn't wonder if she
were jealous."

Miss Everard laughed a little silvery laugh all to herself,
and slapped her kid riding-boot with her pretty toy whip.

"1 hope I didn't iuterrupt a tender declaration that
night in the conservatory, but it looked like it. If I did,
I am sure Rupert has had fifty chances since, and I know
he hasn't availed himself of them, or Aileen would never
wear that dissatisfied face. I know she's in love with him,
though, to be sure, she would see me impaled with the
greatest pleasure if she only thought I suspected it; but I'm
not so certain about him. He's a great deal too indolent
in the first place, to get up a grand passion for anybody,
and I think he's inclined to look graciously on me—poor
little me—in the second. You may spare yourself the
trouble, my dear Sir Rupert; for a gentleman whose chief
aim in existence is to smoke Turkish pipes and lie on the
grass and write and read poetry is not at all the sort of man
I mean to bless for life."

The two girls descended to the court-yard, mounted and
rode off. Both rode well, and both looked their best on?2

SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

horseback, and made a wonderfully pretty picture as they
galloped through St. Gosport in dashing style, bringing the
admiring population in a rush to doors and windows. Per-
haps Sir Rupert Thetford thought so, too, as he stood at
the great front entrance to receive them, with a kindling
light in his artist's eyes.

" May said she would fetch you, and May always keeps
her word," he said, as he walked slowly up the sweeping
staircase; " besides, Aileen, I am to have the first sitting
for the ' Rosamond and Eleanor' to-day, am I not ? May
calls me an idle dreamer, a useless drone in the busy human
hive ; so, to vindicate my character and cleave a niche in
the temple of fame, I am going to immortalize myself over
this painting/'

" You'll never finish it," said May ; " it will be like all
the rest. You'll begin on a gigantic scale and with super-
human efforts, and you'll cool down and get sick of it be-
fore it is half finished, and it will go to swell the pile of
daubed canvas in your studio now. Don't tell me ! I
know you."

" And have the poorest possible opinion of me, Miss
Everard? "

'4 Yes, I have ! I have no patience when I think what
you might do, what you might become, and see what you
are ! If you were not Sir Rupert Thetford, with a princely
income, you might be a great man. As it is-"

" As it is ! " cried the young baronet, trying to laugh
and reddening violently, " I will still be a great man—a
modern Murillo. Are you not a little severe, Miss Ever-
ard ? Aileen, I believe this is your first visit to my stu-
dio?"

" Yes," said Miss Jocyln, coldly and briefly. She did
not like the conversation, and May Everard's familiar home-
truths stung her. To her he was everything mortal manSffi NOEL 'S HEIR,.

73

should be; she was proud, but she was not ambitious;
what right had this penniless little free-speaker to come be-
tween them and talk like this ?

May was flitting about like the fairy she was, her head a
little on one side, like a critical canary, her flowing skirt
held up, inspecting the pictures.

"'Jeannie D'Arc before her Judges/ half finished, as
usual, and never to be completed; and weak—very, if it
ever was completed. ' Battle of Bosworth Field,' in flam-
ing colors, all confusion and smoke and red ochre and rub-
bish ; you did well not to trouble yourself any more with
that. * Swiss Peasant'—ah ! that is pretty. < Storm at
Sea/ just tolerable. < Trial of Marie Antoinette/ My
dear Rupert, why will you persist in these figure paintings
when you know your forte is landscape ? ' An Evening in
the Eternal City.' Now, that is what I call an exquisite
little thing ! Look at the moon, Aileen, rising over those
hill-tops; and see those trees—you can almost feel the wind
that blows ! And that prostrate figure—why, that looks
like yourself, Rupert! "

" It is myself."

" And the other, stooping—who is he? "

"The painter of that picture, Miss Everard; yes, the
only thing in my poor studio you see fit to eulogize is not
mine. It was done by an artist friend—an unknown En-
glishman, who saved my life in Rome three years ago.
Come in, mother mine, and defend your son from the two-
edged sword of May Everard's tongue."

For Lady Thetford, pale and languid, appeared on the
threshold, wrapped in a shawl.

€t It's all for his good, mamma. Come here and look at
this 'Evening in the Eternal City.' Rupert has nothing
like it in all his collection, though these are the beginning74

SIX NOEL 1S HEIR.

of many better things. He saved your life? How was
it?"

" Oh ! a little affair with brigands; nothing very thrill-
ing, but I should have been killed or captured all the same,
if this Legard had not come to the rescue. May is right
about the picture; he painted well, had come to Rome to
perfect himself in his art. Very fine fellow, Legard."

" Legard!"

It was Lady Thetford who had spoken sharply and sud-
denly. She had put up her glass to look at the Italian pic-
ture, but dropped it, and faced abruptly round.

"Yes, Legard. Guy Legard, a young Englishman,
about my own age. By-the-bye, if you saw him, you would
be surprised by his singular resemblance to some of those
dead and gone Thetfords hanging over there in the picture-
gallery—fair hair,, blue eyes, and the same peculiar cast of
features to a shade. I was rather taken aback, I confess,
when I saw it first. My dear mother-"

It was not a cry Lady Thetford had uttered—it was a
kind of wordless sob. He soon caught her in his arms and
held her there, her face the color of death.

" Get a glass of water, May—she is subject to these at-
tacks. Quick!"

Lady Thetford drank the water, and sunk back in the
chair Aileen wheeled up, her face looking awfully corpse-
like in contrast to her dark garments and dead black hair.

"You should not have left your room," said Sir Rupert,
"after your attack this morning. Perhaps you had better
return and lie down. You look perfectly ghastly."

" No," his mother sat up as she spoke and pushed away
the glass, " there is no necessity for lying down. Don't
wear that scared face, May—it was nothing, I assure you.
Go on with what you were saying, Rupert."

" What I was saying ? What was it ? "SIR NOEL 9S HEIR.

75

" About this young artist's resemblance to the Thet-
fords."

"Oh! well, there's no more to say; that is all. He
saved my life and he painted that picture, and we were
Damon and Pythias over again during my stay in Rome. I
always do fraternize with those sort of fellows, you know;
and I left him in Rome, and he promised, if he ever re-
turned to England—which he wasn't so sure of—he would
run down to Devonshire to see me and my painted ances-
tors, whom he resembles so strongly. That is all; and
now, young ladies, if you will take your places we will
commence on the Rosamond and Eleanor. Mother, sit
here by this window if you want to play propriety, and
don't talk."

But Lady Thetford chose to go to her own room, and
her son gave her his arm thither and left her lying back
amongst her cushions in front of the fire. It was always
chilly in those great and somewhat gloomy rooms, and her
ladyship tvas always cold of late. She lay there looking
with gloomy eyes into the ruddy blaze, and holding her
hands over her painfully beating heart.

"It is destiny, I suppose," she thought, bitterly; "let
me banish him to the farthest end of the earth; let me
keep him in poverty and obscurity all his life, and when
the day comes that it is written, Guy Legard will be here.
Sooner or later the vow I have broken to Sir Noel Thetford
must be kept; sooner or later Sir Noel's heir will have his
own."76

SIX NOEL'S HEIR.

CHAPTER X.

asking in marriage.

A fire burned in Lady Thetford's room, and among
piles of silken pillows my lady, languid and pale, lay,
looking into the leaping flame. It was a hot July morning,
the son blazed like a wheel of fire in a sky without a cloud,
but Lady Thetford was always chilly of late. She drew
the crimson shawl she wore closer around her, and glanced
impatiently now and then at the pretty toy clock on the
decorated chimney-piece. The house was very still; its
one disturbing element, Miss Evrared, was absent with
Sir Rupert for a morning canter over the sunny Devon
hills.

"How long they stay, and these solitary rides are so
dangerous ! Oh ! what will become of me if it is too late,
after all! What shall I do if he says no ? "

There was a quick man's step without—a moment and
the door opened, and Sir Rupert, " booted and spurred "
from his ride, was bending over his mother.

" Louise says you sent for me after I left. What is it,
mother—you are not worse ?''

He knelt beside her. Lady Thetford put back the fair
brown hair with tender touch, and gazed in the handsome
face, so like her own, with eyes full of unspeakable love.

"My boy! my boy! " she murmured, "my darling
Rupert! Oh! it is hard, it is bitter to have to leave
you !"

"Mother ! " with a quick look of alarm, "what is it?
Are you worse?"S/7? NOEL "S HEIR.

77

"No worse, Rupert; but no better. My boy, I shall
never be better again in this world."

" Mother-"

"Hush, my Rupert—wait; you know it is true; and
but for leaving you I should be glad to go. My life has not
been so happy since your father died, that I should greatly
cling to it."

" But, mother, this won't do ; these morbid fancies are
worst of all. Keeping up one's spirits is half the battle."

(<I am not morbid; I merely state a fact—a fact which
must preface what is to come. Rupert, I know I am dy-
ing, and before we part I want to see my successor at Thet-
ford Towers."

" My dear mother ! " amazedly.

"Rupert, I want to see Aileen Jocyln your wife. No,
no; don't interrupt me, but believe me, I dislike match-
making quite as cordially as you do; but my days on earth
are numbered, and I must speak before it is too late.
When we were abroad I thought there never would be oc-
casion ; when we returned home I thought so, too. Ru-
pert, I have ceased to think so since May Everhard's re-
turn."

Thie young man's face flushed suddenly and hotly, but
he made no reply.

" Hpw any man in his senses could possibly prefer May
to Aileen, is a mystery I cannot solve; but then these
things puzzle the wisest of us at times. Mind, my boy,
I don't really say you do prefer May—I should be very
unhappy if I thought so. I know—I am certain you love
Aileen best; and I am equally certain she is a thousand
times better suited to you. Then, as a man of honor,
you owe it to her. You have paid Miss Jocyln such atten-
tions as no honorable gentleman should pay any lady, save
the one he means to make his wife.";s

SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

Lady Thetford's son rose abruptly, and stood leaning
against the mantle, looking into the fire.

" Rupert, tell me truly, if May Everard had not come
here, would you not ere this have asked Aileeen to be your
wife?"

" Yes—no—I don't know ! Mother! " the young man
cried, impatiently, " what has May Everard done that you
should treat her like this ? ''

4 * Nothing; and I love her dearly, and you know it. But
she is not suited to you—she is not the woman you should
marry."

Sir Rupert laughed—a hard strident laugh.

" I think Miss Everard is much of your opinion, my lady.
You anight have spared yourself all these fears and perplex-
ities, Tor the simple reason that I should have been refused
had I asked."

"Rupert!"

"Nay, mother mine, no need to wear that frightened
face. I haven't asked Miss Everard in so many words to
marry me, and she hasn't declined with thanks; but she
would if I did. I saw enough to-day of that."

" Then you don't care for Aileen? " with a look of blank
consternation.

" 1 care for her very much, mother; and I haven't owned
to being absolutely in love with our pretty little May. Per-
haps I care for one as mtich as the other; perhaps I know
in my inmost heart she is the one I should marry. That
is, if she will marry me."

"You owe it to her to ask her."

"Do I ? Very likely ; and it would make you happy,
my mother?"

He came and bent over her again, smiling down in her
wan, anxious face.SIR NOEL >S HEIR.

79

" More happy than anything else in this world, Ru-
pert ! "

" Then consider it an accomplished fact. Before the sun
sets to-day Aileen Jocyln shall say yes or no to your son."

He bent and kissed her; then, without waiting for her
to speak, wheeled round and strode out of the apartment.

'* There is nothing like striking whilst the iron is hot,"
said the young man to himself, with a grim sort of smile,
as he ran down-stairs.

Loitering on the lawn, he encountered May Everard,
still in her riding-habit, surrounded by three or four poodle-
dogs.

"On the wing again, Rupert? Is it for marnma? She
is not worse ? "

i < No; I am going to Jocyln Hall. Perhaps I shall fetch
Aileen back.''

May's turquoise blue eyes were lifted with a sudden
luminous, intelligent flash to his face.

" God speed you ! You will certainly fetch Aileen
back ! "

She held out her hand with a smile that told him she
knew all as plainly as he knew it himself.

"You have my best wishes, Rupert, and don't linger; I
want to congratulate Aileen."

Sir Rupert's response to these good wishes was very brief
and curt. Miss Everard watched him mount and ride off,
with a mischievous little smile rippling round her rosy lips.

'< My lady has 'been giving the idol of her existence a
caudle lecture—subject, matrimony," mused Miss Everard,
sauntering lazily along in the midst of her little dogs:
" and really it is high time, if she means to have Aileen
for a daughter-in-law, for the heir of Thetford Towers is
rather doubtful that he is not falling in love with me; and
Aileen is dreadfully jealous and disagreeable; and my8o

SIR NOEL 9S HEIR.

lady is anxious and fidgeted to death about it; and—oh-h-h I
good gracious! "

Miss Everard stopped with a shrill, feminine shriek. She
had loitered down to the gates, where a young man stood
talking to the lodge-keeper, with a big Newfoundland dog
gamboling ponderously about him. The big Newfoundland
made an instant dash into Miss Everard's guard of honor,
with one deep, bass bark, like distant thunder, and which
effectually drowned the yelps of the poodles. May flew to
the rescue, seizing the Newfoundland's collar and pulling
him back with all the might of two little white hands.

" You big, horrid brute! " cried May, with flashing
eyes, " how dare you ! Call off your dog, sir, this instant!
Don't you see how he is frightening mine ! "

She turned imperiously to the Newfoundland's master,
the bright eyes flashing, the pink cheeks aflame—very
pretty, indeed, in her wrath.

i f Down, Hector!" called the young man, authorita-
tively ; and Hector, like the well-trained animal he was,
subsided instantly. "I beg your pardon, young lady!
Hector, you stir at your peril, sir ! I am very sorry he has
alarmed you."

He doffed his cap with careless grace, and made the
angry little lady a courtly bow.

''He didn't alarm me," replied May, testily; "he only
alarmed my dogs. Why, dear me! how very odd ! "

Miss Everard, looking full at the young man, had started
back with this exclamation and stared broadly. A tall,
powerful-looking young fellow, rather dusty and travel-
stained, but eminently gentlemanly, with frank blue eyes
and profuse fair hair, and a handsome, candid face.

"Yes, Miss May/' struck in the lodge-keeper, "it is
odd! I see it, too ! He looks enough like Sir Noel, dead
and gone, to be his own son!''SIR NOEL >S HEIR.

8l

"I beg your pardon/' said May, becoming conscious of
her wide stare, "but is your name Legard, and are you a
friend of Sir Rupert Thetford?"

" Yes, to both questions/' with a smile that May liked.
"You see the resemblance too, then. Sir Rupert used to
speak of it. Is he at home ? "

"Not just now; but he will be very soon, and I know
will be glad to see Mr. Legard. You had better come in
and wait."

" And Hector," said Mr. Legard. " I think I had bet-
ter leave him behind, as I see him eying your guard of
honor with anything but a friendly eye. I believe I have
the pleasure of addressing Miss Everard? Oh ! " laughing
frankly at her surprised face, " Sir Rupert showed me a
photograph of yours as a child. I have a good memory
for faces, and knew you at once."

Miss Everard and Mr. Legard fell easily into conversa-
tion at once, as if they had been old friends. Lady Thet-
ford's ward was one of those people who form their likes
and dislikes at first sight, and Mr. Legard's face would
have been a pretty sure letter of recommendation to him
the wide world over. May liked his looks; and then he
was Sir Rupert's friend, and she was never over particular
about social forms and customs; and so they dawdled
about the grounds and through the leafy arcades, in the
genial sunshine, talking about Sir Rupert and Rome, and
art and artists, and the thousand and one things that turn
up in conversation; and the moments slipped by, half hour
followed half hour, until May jerked out her watch at last,
in a sudden fit of recollection, and found, to her consterna-
tion, it was past two.

" What will mamma say! " cried the young lady, aghast.
" And Rupert; I dare say he's home to luncheon before
682

SIR NOEL \S* HEIR.

this. Let us go back to the house, Mr. Legard. I had no
idea it was half so late."

Mr. Legard laughed frankly.

" The honesty of that speech is the highest flattery my
conversational powers ever received, Miss Everard. I am
very much obliged to you. Ah ! by Jove! Sir Rupert
himself! "

For riding slowly up under the sunlit trees came the
young baronet. As Mr. Legard spoke, his glance fell upon
them, the young lady and gentleman advancing so confi-
dentially, with half a dozen curly poodles frisking about
them. To say Sir Rupert stared would be a mild way of
putting it—his eyes opened in wide wonder.

" Guy Legard ! "

" Thetford ! My dear Sir Rupert!"

The baronet leaped off his horse, his eyes lighting, and
shook hands with the artist, in a burst of heartiness very
rare with him.

" Where in the world did you drop from, and how under
the sun did you come to be like this with May ? "

" I leave the explanation to Mr. Legard," said May,
blushing a little under Sir Rupert's glance, " whilst I go
and see mamma, only premising that luncheon hour is past,
and you had better not linger."

She tripped away, and the two young men followed more
slowly into the house. Sir Rupert led his friend to his
studio, and left him to inspect the pictures.

"Whilst I speak a word to my mother," he said; "it
will detain me hardly an instant."

"All right!" said Mr. Legard, boyishly. "Don't
hurry yourself on my account, you know."

Lady Thetford lay where her son had left her—lay as if she
had hardly stirred since. She looked up and half rose asSIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

83

he came in, her eyes painfully, intensely anxious. But his
face, grave and quiet, told nothing.

" Well/' she panted, her eyes glittering.

"It is well, mother. Aileen Jocyln has promised to be-
come my wife."

" Thank God ! "

Lady Thetford sunk back, her hands clasped tightly over
her heart, its loud beating plainly audible. Her son looked
down at her, his face keeping its steady gravity—none of
the rapture of an accepted lover there.

"You are content, mother ? "	«>

"More than content, Rupert. And you? "

He smiled and, stooping, kissed the warm, pallid face.
" I would do a great deal to make you happy, mother; but
I would not ask a woman I did not love to be my wife. Be
at rest; all is well with me. And now I must leave you, if
you will not go down to luncheon."

"I think not; I am not strong to-day. Is May wait-
ing?"

"More than May. A friend of mine has arrived, and
will stay with us for a few weeks."

Lady Thetford's face had been flushed and eager, but at
the last words it suddenly blanched.

"A friend, Rupert! Who? "

"You have heard me speak of him before," he said,
carelessly; " his name is Guy Legard."

CHAPTER XI.

on the wedding eve.

The family at Thetford Towers were a good deal sur-
prised, a few hours later that day, by the unexpected ap-84

SIR NOEL 9S HEIR.

pearance of Lady Thetford at dinner. Wan as some spirit
of the moonlight, she came softly in, just as they entered the
dining-room, and her son presented his friend, Mr. Le-
gard, at once.

" His resemblance to the family will be the surest passport
to your favor, mother mine," Sir Rupert said, gayly.
"Mrs. Weymore met him just now, and recoiled with a
shriek, as though she had seen a ghost. Extraordinary,
isn't it—this chance resemblance ? "

" Extraordinary,'' Lady Thetford said, " but not at all
unusual. Of course, Mr. Legard is not even remotely con-
nected with the Thetford family ? "

She asked the question without looking at him. She
kept her eyes fixed on her plate, for that frank, fair face be-
fore her was terrible to her, almost as a ghost. It was the
days of.her youth over again, and Sir Noel, her husband,
once more by her side.

" Not that I am aware of," Mr. Legard said, running his
fingers through his abundant brown hair. " But I may be
for all that. I am like the hero of a novel—a mysterious
orphan—only, unfortunately, with no identifying strawberry
mark on my arm. Who my parents were, or what my real
name is, I know no more than I do of the biography of the
man in the moon,"

There was a murmur of astonishment—May and Rupert
vividly interested, Lady Thetford white as a dead woman,
her eyes averted, her hand trembling as if palsied.

" No*," said Mr. Legard, gravely, and a little sadly, " I
stand as totally alone in this world as a human being can
stand—father, mother, brother, sister, I never have known;
a nameless, penniless waif, I was cast upon the world four-
and-twenty years ago. Until the age of twelve I was called
Guy Vyking; then the friends with whom I had lived left
England for America, and a man—a painter, named Lf-SIR NOEL >S HEIR.

85

gard—took me and gave me his name. And there the ro-
mance comes in : a lady, a tall, elegant lady, too closely
veiled for us to see her face, came to the poor home that
was mine, paid those who had kept me from my infancy,
and paid Legard for his future care of me. I have never
seen her since ; and I sometimes think," his voice failing,
"that she may have been my mother."

There was a sudden clash, and a momentary confusion.
My lady, lifting her glass with that shaking hand, had let
it faH, and it was shivered to atoms on the floor.

" And you never saw the lady afterward ? " May asked.

<* Never. Legard received regular remittances, mailed,
oddly enough, from your town here—Plymouth. The lady
told him, if he ever had occasion to address her—which he
never did have, that I know of—to address Madam Ada,
Plymouth ! He brought me up, educated me, taught me
his art and died. I was old enough then to comprehend
my position, and the first use I made of that knowledge
was to return ' Madam Ada 7 her remittances, with a few
sharp lines that effectually put an end to hers."

" Have you never tried to ferret out the mystery of your
birth and this Madam Ada ?'' inquired Sir Rupert.

Mr. Legard shook his head.

" No; why should I ? I dare say I should have no rea-
son to be proud of my parents if I did find them, and
they evidently were not very proud of me. ' Where
ignorance is bliss/ etc. If destiny has decreed it,
I shall know, sooner or later; if destiny has not, then my
puny efforts will be of no avail. But if presentiments
mean anything, I shall one day know; and I have no
doubt, if I searched Devonshire, I should find Madam
Ada."

May Everard started up with a cry, for Lady Thetford
had fallen back in one of those sudden spasms to which86

SIR NOEL*S HEIR,

she had lately become subject. In the universal conster-
nation Guy Legard and his story were forgotten.

"I hope what / said had nothing to do with this," he
cried, aghast; and the one following so suddenly upon the
other made the remark natural enough. But Sir Rupert
turned upon him in haughty surprise.

"What you said! Lady Thetford, unfortunately, has
been subject to these attacks for the past two years, Mr.
Legard. That will do, May; let me assist my mother to
her room."

May drew back. Lady Thetford was able to rise, ghastly
and trembling, and, supported by her son's arm, walked
from the room.

"Lady Thetford's health is very delicate, I fear," Mr.
Legard murmured, sympathetically. " I really thought
for a moment my story-telling had occasioned her sudden
illness."

Miss Everard fixed a pair of big, shining eyes in solemn
scrutiny on his face—that face so like the pictured one of
Sir Noel Thetford.

" A very natural supposition," thought the young lady;
"so did 7."

"You never knew Sir Noel? " Guy Legard said, mus-
ingly ; "but, of course, you did not. Sir Rupert has told
me he died before he was born."

"I never saw him," said May; "but those who have
seen him in this house—our housekeeper, for instance—
stand perfectly petrified at your extraordinary likeness to
him. Mrs. Hilliard says you have given her a < turn ' she
never expects to get over."

Mr. Legard smiled, but was grave again directly.

" It is odd—odd—very odd ! "

"Yes," said May Everard, with a sagacious nod; "aS/JR NOEL 9S HEIR.

87

great deal, too, to be a chance resemblance. Hush ! here
comes Rupert. Well, how have you left mamma? 99

" Better; Louise is with her. And now to finish dinner;
I have an engagement for the evening.79

Sir Rupert was strangely silent and distrait all through
dinner, a darkly thoughtful shadow glooming his ever pale
face. A supposition had flashed across his mind that turned
him hot and cold by turns—a supposition that was almost
a certainty. This striking resemblance of the painter Le-
gard to his dead father was no freak of nature, but a retrib-
utive Providence revealing the truth of his birth. It came
back to his memory with painfully acute clearness that his
mother had sunk down once before in a violent tremor and
faintness at the mere sound of his name. Legard had
spoken of a veiled lady—Madam Ada, Plymouth, her ad-
dress. Could his mother—his—be that mysterious arbiter
of his fate ? The name—the place. Sir Rupert Thetford
wrenched his thoughts, by a violent effort, away, shocked
at himself.

"It cannot be—it cannot! 99 he said to himself pas-
sionately. "I am mad to harbor such thoughts. It is a
desecration of the memory of the dead, a treason to the
living. But I wish Guy Legard had never come here."

There was one other person at Thetford Towers strangely
and strongly affected by Mr. Guy Legard, and that person,
oddly enough, was Mrs. Weymore, the governess. Mrs.
Weymore had never even seen the late Sir Noel that any one
knew of, and yet she had recoiled with a shrill, feminine
cry of utter consternation at sight of the young man.

"I don't see why you should get the fidgets about it,
Mrs. Weymore," Miss Everard remarked, with her great,
bright eyes suspiciously keen; "you never knew Sir
Noel."88

SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

Mrs, Weymore sunk down on a lounge in a violent tremor
and faintness.

"My dear, I beg your pardon. I—it seems strange,
Oh, May ! " with a sudden, sharp cry, losing self-control,
'' who is that young man ? ''

"Why, Mr. Guy Legard, artist,'' answered May, com-
posedly, the bright eyes still on the alert; formerly—in
' boyhood's sunny hours,' you know—Master Guy. Let—
me—see ! Yes, Vyking."

"Vyking ! " with a spasmodic cry; and then Mrs. Wey-
more dropped her white face in her hands, trembling from
head to foot.

"Well, upon my word," Miss Everard said, addressing
empty space, " this does cap the globe ! The Mysteries of
Ujdolpho were plain reading compared to Mr. Guy Vyking
and the effect he produces upon the people. He's a very
handsome young man, and a very agreeable young man;
but I should never have suspected he possessed the power
of throwing all the elderly ladies he meets into gasping fits.
There's Lady Thetford : he was too much for her, and she
had to be helped out of the dining-room; and here's Mrs.
Weymore going into hysterics because he used to be called
Guy Vyking. I thought my lady might be the veiled lady
* of his story; but now I think it must have been you."

Mrs. Weymore looked up, her very lips white.

" The veiled lady ? What lady ? May, tell me all you
know of Mr. Vyking."

"Not Vyking now—Legard," answered May; and there-
upon the young lady detailed the scanty resume the artist
had given them of his history.

" And I'm very sure it isn't chance at all," concluded
May Everard; transfixing the governess with an unwinking
stare; " and Mr. Legard is as much a Thetford as Sir Rupert
himself. I don't pretend to divination, of course, and ISIX NOEL 'S HEIR.

89

don't clearly see how it is; but it is, and you know it,
Mrs. Weymore; and you could enlighten the young man,
and so could my lady, if either of you chose."

Mrs..Weymore turned suddenly and caught May's two
hands in hers.

4 4 May, if you care for me, if you have any pity, don't
speak of this. I do know—but I must have time. My
head is in a whirl. Wait, wait, and don't tell Mr. Legard."

" I won't," said May; " but it js all very strange and
very mysterious, delightfully like a three-volume novel or a
sensation play. I'm getting very much interested in the
hero of the performance, and I'm afraid I shall be deplora-
bly in love with htm shortly if this sort of thing keeps
on."

Mr. Legard himself took the matter much more coolly
than any one else; smoked cigars philosophically, criticised
Sir Rupert's pictures, did a little that way himself, played
billiards with his host and chess with Miss Everard, rode
with that young lady, walked with her, sang duets with her
in a deep melodious bass, made himself fascinating, and
took the world easy.

4'It is no use getting into a gale about these things,"
he said to Miss Everard when she wondered aloud at his
constitutional phlegm ; "the crooked things will straighten
of themselves if we give them time. What is written is
written. 1 know I shall find out all about myself one day
—like little Paul Dombey, * I feel it in my bones. ' "

Mr. Legard was thrown a good deal upon Miss Everard's
resources for amusement; for, of course, Sir Rupert's time
was chiefly spent at Jocyln Hall, and Mr. Legard bore this
with even greater serenity than the other. Miss Everard
was a very charming little girl, with a laugh that was
sweeter than the music of the spheres and hundreds of be-
witching little ways; and Mr. Legard undertook to paintgo

SIR NOEL 9S HEIR.

her portrait, and found it the most absorbing work of
art he had ever undertaken. As for the young baronet
spending his time at Jocyln Hall, they never missed him.
His wooing sped on smoothest wings—Col. Jocyln almost
as much pleased as my lady herself; and the course of true
love in this case ran as smooth as heart could wish.

Miss Jocyln, as a matter of course, was a great deal at
Thetford Towers, and saw with evident gratification the
growing intimacy of Mr. Legard and May. It would be
an eminently suitable match, Miss Jocyln thought, only it
was a pity so much mystery shrouded the gentleman's birth.
Still, he was a gentleman, and, with his talents, no doubt
would become an eminent artist; and it would be highly
satisfactory to see May fix her erratic affections on some-
body, and thus be doubly out of her—Miss Jocyln's—way.

The wedding preparations were going briskly forward.
There was no need of delay; all were anxious for the mar-
riage—Lady Thetford more than anxious, on acccont of her
declining health. The hurry to have the ceremony irre-
vocably over had grown to be something very like a mono-
mania with her.

" I feel that my days are numbered," she said, with im-
patience, to her son, "and I cannot rest in my grave,
Rupert, until I see Aileen your wife."

So Sir Rupert, more than anxious to please his mother,
hastened on the wedding. An eminent physician, sum-
moned down from London, confirmed my lady's own fears.

" Her life hung by a thread," this gentleman said, con-
fidentially to Sir Rupert, " the slightest excitement may
snap it at any moment. Don't contradict her—let every-
thing be as she wishes. Nothing can save her, but perfect
quiet and repose may prolong her existence."

The last week of September the wedding was to take
place; and all was bustle and haste at Jocyln Hall. Mr.SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

Legard was to stay for the wedding, at the express desire
of Lady Thetford herself. She had seen him but very
rarely since that first day, illness had compelled her to keep
her room; but her interest in him was unabated, and she
had sent for him to ber apartment, and invited him to re-
main. And Mr. Legard, a good deal surprised, and a little
flattered, consented at once.

41 Very kind of Lady Thetford, you know, Miss Ever-
ard,'' Mr. Legard said, sauntering into the room where she
sat with her ex-governess—Mr. Legard and Miss Everard
were growing highly confidential of late—" to take such an
interest in an utter stranger as she does in me."

May stole a glance from under her eyelashes at Mrs.
Weymore; that lady sat nervous and scared-looking, and
altogether uncomfortable, as she had a habit of doing in
the young artist's presence.

" Very," Miss Everard said, dryly. " You ought to feel
highly complimented, Mr. Legard, for it's a sort of kind-
ness her ladyship is extremely chary of to utter strangers.
Rather odd, isn't it, Mrs. Weymore? "

Mrs. Weymore's reply was a distressed, beseeching look.
Mr. Legard saw it, and opened very wide his handsome,.
Saxon eyes.

"Eh?" he said, "it doesn't mean anything, does it?
Mrs. Weymore looks mysterious, and I'm so stupid about
these things. Lady Thetford doesn't know anything about
me, does she?"

"Not that I know of," May said, with significant em-
phasis on the personal pronoun.

"Then Mrs. Weymore does! By Jove! I always
thought Mrs. Weymore had an odd way of looking at me !
And now, what is it ? "

He turned his fair, resolute face to that lady with a smile
hard to resist.92

SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

" I don't make much of a howling about my affairs, you
know, Mrs. Weymore," he said; "but for all that, I am
none the less interested in myself and my history. If you
can open the mysteries a little you will be conferring a
favor on me I can never repay. «And I am positive from
your look you can."

Mrs. Weymore turned away, and covered her face with a
sort of sob. The young lady and gentleman exchanged
startled glances.

"You can theft?" Mr. Legard said, gravely, but grow-
ing very pale. "You know who I am?"

To his boundless consternation Mrs. Weymore rose up
and fell at his feet, seizing his hands and covering them
with kisses.

UI do! I do! I know who you are, and so shall you
before this wedding takes place. But before I tell you I
must speak to Lady Thetford."

Mr. Legard raised her up, his face as colorless as her
own.

"To Lady Thetford! What has Lady Thetford to do
with me?"

" Everything ! She knows who you are as well as I do.
I must speak to her first."

" Answer me one thing—is my name Vyking ?"

" No. Pray, pray don't ask me any more questions. As
soon as her ladyship is a little stronger, I will goto her and
obtain her permission to speak. Keep what I have said a
secret from Sir Rupert, and wait until then."

She rose up to go, so haggard and deploring-looking, that
neither strove to detain her. The young man stared blankly
after her as she left the room.

"At last! " he said, drawing a deep breath, "at last I
shall know!"SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

93

There was a pause; then May spoke in a fluttering little
voice.

" How very strange that Mrs. Weymore should know, of
all persons in the world.''

" Who is Mrs. Weymore ? How long has she been here?
Tell me allyou know of her, Miss Everard."

"And that 'all* will be almost nothing. She came
down from London as a nursery-governess to Rupert and
me, a week or two after my arrival here, selected by the
rector of St. Gosport. She was then what you see her now,
a pale, subdued creature in widow's weeds, with the look
of one who had seen trouble. I have known her so long,
and always as such a white, still shadow, I suppose that is
why it seems so odd."

Mrs. Weymore kept altogether out of Mr. Legard's way
for the next week or two. She avoided May also, as much
as possible, and shrunk so palpably from any allusion to the
past scene, that May good naturedly bided her time in si-
lence, though almost as impatient as Mr. Legard himself.
• And whilst they waited the bridal eve came round, and
Lady Thetford was much better, not able to quit her room,
but strong enough to lie on a sofa and talk to her son and
Col. Jocyln, with a flush on her cheek and sparkle in her
eye—all unusual there.

The marriage was to take place in the village church;
and there was to follow a.grand ceremonial of a wedding-
breakfast ; and then the happy pair were to start at once on
their bridal-tour.

"And I hope to see my boy return," Lady Thetford
said, kissing him fondly. " I can hardly ask for more than
that."

Late in the afternoon of that eventful wedding-eve, the
ex-governess sought out Guy Legard, for the first time of
her own accord. She found him in the young baronet's94

SIR NOEL fS HEIR.

studio, with May, putting the finishing touches to that
young lady's portrait. He started'up at sight of his visi-
tor, vividly interested. Mrs. Weymore was paler even than
usual, but with a look of deep, quiet determination on her
face no one had ever seen there before.

" You have come to keep your promise/' the young man
cried—" to tell me who I am?"

" I have come to keep my promise," Mrs. Weymore an-
swered ; " but I must speak to my lady first. I wanted to
tell you that, before you sleep to-night, you shall know."

She left the studio, and the two sat there, breathless, ex-
pectant. Sir Rupert was dining at Jocyln Hall, Lady
Thetford was alone in high spirits, and Mrs. Weymore was
admitted at once.

" I wonder how long you must wait? " said May Everard.

" Heaven knows ! Not long, I hope, or I shall go mad
with impatience."

An hour passed—two—three, and still Mrs. Weymore
was closeted with my lady, and still the pair in the studio
waited.

CHAPTER XII,

mrs. weymore* s story.

Lady Thetford sat up among her pillows and looked at
her hired dependent with wide open eyes of astonishment.
The pale, timid face of Mrs. Weymore wore a look alto-
gether new.

" Listen to your story! My dear Mrs. Weymore, what
possible interest can your story have for me?"

"More than you think, my lady. You are so much
stronger to-day than usual, and Sir Rupert's marriage is so
very near that I must speak now or neve?."S/fi NOEL'S HEIR.

95

" Sir Rupert! " my lady gasped. " What has your story
to do with Sir Rupert ? "

''You will hear," Mrs. Weymore said, very sadly.
*' Heaven knows I should have told you long ago ; but it is
a story few would care to tell. A cruel and shameful story
of wrong and misery; for, my lady, I have been cruelly
wronged by one who was once very near to you."

Lady Thetford turned ashen white.

" Very near to me ! Do you mean-M

fi My lady, listen, and you shall hear. All those years
that I have been with you, I have not been what I seemed.
My name is not Weymore. My name is Thetford—as
yours is."

An awful terror had settled down on my lady's face.
Her lips moved, but she did not speak. Her eyes were
fixed on the sad, set face before her, with a wild, expectant
stare.

" I was a widow when I came to you," Mrs. Weymore
went on to say, '' but long before I had known that worst
widowhood, desertion. I ran away from my happy home,
from the kindest father and mother that ever lived ; I ran
away and was married and deserted before I was eighteen
years old.

" He came to our village, a remote place, my lady, with
a local celebrity for its trout streams, and for nothing else.
He came, the man whom I married, on a visit to the great
house of the place. We had not the remotest connection
with the house, or I might have known his real name.
When I did know him it was as Mr. Noel—he told me him-
self, and I never thought of doubting it. I was as simple
and confiding as it is possible for the simplest village girl to
be, and all the handsome stranger told me was gospel
truth; and my life only began, I thought, from the hour I
saw him first.96

SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

"I met him at the trout streams fishing, and alone. I
had come to while the long, lazy hours under the trees.
He spoke to me—the handsome stranger, whom I had seen
riding through the village beside the squire, like a young
prince; and I was only too pleased and flattered by his
notice. It is many years ago, my lady, and Mr. Noel took
a fancy to my pink-and-white face and fair curls, as fine
gentlemen will. It was only fancy—never, at its best,
love; or he would not have deserted me pitilessly as he did.
I know it now; but then I took the tinsel for pure gold,
and would as soon have doubted the Scripture as his
lightest word.

" My lady, it is a~ very old story, and very often told.
We met by stealth and in secret; and weeks passed and I
never learned he was other than what I knew him. I loved
with my whole foolish, trusting heart, strongly and self-
ishly; and I was really to give up home, and friends and
parents—all the world for him. All the world, but not
my good name, and he knew that; and, my lady, we were
married—really and truly and honestly married, in a little
church in Berkshire, in Windsor; and the marriage is re-
corded in the register of the church, and I have the mar-
riage certificate here in my possession."

Mrs. Weymore touched her bosom as she spoke, and
looked with earnest, truthful eyes at.Lady Thetford. But
Lady Thetford's face was averted and not to be seen.

" His fancy for me was as fleeting as all his fancies; but
it was strong enough and reckless enough whilst it lasted to
make him forget all consequences. For it was surely a
reckless act for a gentleman, such as he was, to marry the
daughter of a village schoolmaster.

" There was but one witness to our marriage—my hus-
band's servant—George Vyking. I never liked the man;
he was crafty, and cunning, and treacherous, and ready forSIR NOEL'S HEIR.

97

any deed of evil; but he was in his master's confidence,
and took a house for us at Windsor and lived with us, and
kept his masters secrets well."

Mrs. Weymore paused, her hands fluttering in painful
unrest. The averted face of Lady Thetford never turned,
but a smothered voice bade her go on.

" A year passed, my lady, and I still lived in the house
at Windsor, but quite alone now. My punishment had be-
gun very early; two or three months sufficed to weary my
husband of his childish village girl, and make him thor-
oughly repent his folly. I saw it from the first—he never
tride to hide it from me; his absence grew longer and
longer, more and more frequent, until at last he ceased
coming altogether. Yyking, the valet, came and went;
and Yyking told me the truth—the hard, cruel, bitter truth,
that I was never to see my husband more.

" ' It was the maddest act of a mad young man's life/
Vyking said to me, coolly, ' and he's repented of it, as I
knew he would repent. You'll never see him again, mis-
tress, and you needn't search for him, either. When you
find last winter's snow, last autum's partridges, then you
may hope to find him.'

" ' But I am his wife,' I said; 6 nothing can undo that
—his lawful, wedded wife.'

" i Yes,' said Vyking, * his wife fast enough; but there's
the law of divorce, and there's no witness but me alive,
and you can do your best; and the best you can do is to
take it easy and submit. He'll provide for you handsomely;
and when he gets the divorce, if you like, I'll marry you
myself.'

■" I had grown to expect some such revelation, I had been
neglected so long. My lady, I don't speak of my feelings,
my anguish and shame, and remorse and despair—I only
tell you here simple facts. But in the days and weeks

798

SIR NOEL'S HEIR.

which followed, I suffered as I never can suffer again in this
world.

" I was held little better than a prisoner in the house at
Windsor after that; and I think Vyking never gave up the
hope that I would one day consent to marry him. More
than once I tried to run away, to get on the track of my
betrayer, but always to be met and foiled. I have gone
down on my knees to-that man Vyking, but I might as well
have knelt to a statue of stone.

"Til tell you what we'll do,'he said, 'we'll go to
London. People are beginning to look and talk about
here; there they know how to mind their own business.'

" I consented readily enough. My one hope now was to
find the man who had wronged me, and in London I
thought I stood a better chance that at Windsor. We
started, Vyking and I; but driving to the station we met
with an accident, our horse ran away and I was thrown
out; after that I hardly remember anything for a long
time.

" Weeks passed before I recovered. Then I was told my
baby had heen born and died. I listened in a sort of dull
apathy; I had suffered so much that the sense of suffering
was dulled and blunted. I knew Vyking well enough not
to trust him or believe him; but I was powerless to act,
and could only turn my face to the wall and pray to die.

"But I grew strong, and Vyking took me to London,
and left me in respectably-furnished lodgings. I might
have escaped easily enough here, but the energy even to
wish for freedom was gone ; I sat all day long in a state of
miserable, listless languor, heart-weary, heart-sick, worn
out.	_

" One day Vyking came to my rooms in a furious state
of passion. He and his master had quarreled. I never
knew about what; and Vyking had been ignominiouslyS/jR NOEL \S* HEIR.

99

dismissed. Xhe valet tore up and down my little parlor in
a towering passion.

"Til make Sir Noel pay for it, or my name's not Vyk-
ing,' he cried. ' He thinks because he's married an heiress
he can defy me now. But there's a law in this land to pun-
ish bigamy; and I'll have him up for bigamy the moment
he's back from his wedding tour.'

'•I turned and looked at him, but very quietly, 'Sir
Noel,' I said. ' Do you mean my husband ? '

" ' I mean Miss Vandeleur's husband now,' said Vyking.
' You'll never see him again, my girl. Yes, he's Sir Noel
Thetford, of Thetford Towers, Devonshire; and you can
go and call on his pretty new wife as soon as she comes
home.'

" I turned away and looked out of the window without
a word. Vyking looked at me curiously.

" ' Oh ! we've got over it, have we; and we're going to
take it easy and not make a scene ? Now that's what I call
sensible. And you'll come forward and swear Sir Noel
guilty of bigamy? "

" 'No,' I said, 1 I never will.'

" ' You won't—and why not? '

" ' Never mind why, I don't think you would under-
stand if I told you~only I won't.'

•'' Couldn't you be coaxed ?'

"'No.'

"'Don't be too sure. Perhaps I could tell you some-
thing that might move you, quiet as you are. What if I told
you your baby did not die that time, but was alive and
well?'

" I knew a scene was worse than useless with this man,
tears and entreaties thrown away. I heard his last words
and started to my feet with outstretched hands.IOO

S//t NOEL 'S HEIR,

" * Vyking, for the dear Lord's sake, have pity on a des-
olate woman, and tell me the truth.'

" ' I am telling you the truth. Your boy is alive and
well, and I've christened him Guy—Guy Vyking. Don't
you be scared—he's all safe; and the day you appear in
court against Sir Noel, that day he shall be restored to you.
Now don't you go and get excited, think it over, and let
me know your decision when I come back.'

" He left the room' before I could answer, and I never
saw Vyking again. The next day, reading the morning
paper, I saw the arrest of a pair of house-breakers, and the
name of the chief was George Vyking, late valet to Sir
Noel Thetford. I tried to get to see him in prison, but
failed. His trial came on, his sentence was transportation
for ten years; and Vyking left England, carrying my se-
cret with him.

*'1 had something left to live for now—the thought of
my child. But where was I to find him, where to look ?
I, who had not a penny in the wide world. If I had had
the means, I would have come to Devonshire to seek out
the man who had so basely wronged me ; but as I was, I
could as soon have gone to the antipodes. Oh! it was a
bitter, bitter time, that long, hard struggle with starva-
tion—a time it chills my blood even now to look back
upon.

" I was still in London, battling with grim poverty, when,
six months later, I read in the Times the awfully sudden
death of Sir Noel Thetford, Baronet.

"My lady, I am not speaking of the effect of that blow
—I dare not to you, as deeply wronged as myself. You
were with him in his dying moments, and surely he told
you the truth then; surely he acknowledged the great
wrong he had done you ? "

Mrs. Weymore paused, and Lady Thetford turned herS/£ NOEL'S HEIR.

tot

face, her ghastly, white face, for the first time, to an-
swer.

"He did—he told me all; I know your story to be
true."

" Thank God ! Oh, thank God ! And he acknowledged
his first marriage ? "

"Yes; the wrong he did you was venial to that which
he did me—I, who never was his wife, never for one poor
moment had a right to his name."

Mrs. Weymore sunk down on her knees by the couch,
and passionately kissed the lady's hand.

"My lady! my lady! And you will forgive me for
coming here? I did not know, when I answered Mr.
Knight's advertisement, where I was coming; and when I
did, I could not resist the temptation of looking on his son.
Oh, my lady ! you will forgive me, and bear witness to the
truth of my story."

"I will; I always meant to before I died. And that
young man—that Guy Legard—you know he is your
son? "

"I knew it from the first. My lady, you will let me tell
him at once, will you not ? And Sir Rupert ? Oh, my
lady ! he ought to know."

Lady Thetford covered her face with a groan.

" I promised his father on his death-bed to tell him long
ago, to seek for his rightful heir—and see how I have kept
my word. But I could not—I could not ! It was not in
human nature—not in such a nature as mine, wronged as I
have been."

" But now—oh, my dear lady ! now you will ? "

"Yes, now, on the verge of the grave, I may surely
speak. I dare not die with my promise unkept. This very
night," Lady Thetford cried, sitting up, flushed and ex-
cited, "my boy shall know all—he shall not marry in102

SIR NOEL >S HEIR.

ignorance of whom he really is. Aileen has the fortune of
a princess; and Aileen will not love him less for the title
he must lose. When he comes home, Mrs. Weymore, send
him to me, and send your son with him, and I will tell
them all."

CHAPTER XIII.

" there is many a slip."

A room that was like a picture—a carpet of rose-buds
gleaming through rich green moss, lounges piled with
downy-silk pillows, a bed curtained in foamy lace, a pretty
room—Aileen Jocyln's chambre-a-coucher, and looking like
a picture herself, in a flowing morning-robe, the rich, dark
hair falling heavy and unbound to her waist, Aileen Jocyln
lay among piles of scarlet cushions, like some young Eastern
Sultana.

Lay and music with, oh ! such an infinitely happy smile
upon her exquisite face; mused, as happy youth, loving
and beloved, upon its bridal-eve doth muse. Nay, on her
bridal-day, for the dainty little French clock on the bracket
was pointing its golden hands to three.

The house was very still; all had retired late, busy with
preparations for the morrow, and Miss Jocyln had but just
dismissed her maid. Every one, probably, but herself, was
asleep ; and she, in her unutterable bliss, was too happy for
slumber. She arose presently, walked to the window and
looked out. The late setting moon still swung in the sky;
the stars still spangled the cloudless blue, and shone serene
on the purple bosom of the far-spreading sea; but in the
east the first pale glimmer of the new day shone—her
happy wedding day. The girl slid down on her knees, her
hands clasped, her radiant face, glorified with love andSIX NOEL >S HEIR,

103

bliss, turned ecstatically, as some faithful follower of the
prophet might, to that rising glory of the east.

"Oh ! " Aileen thought, gazing around over the dark,
deep sea, the star-gemmed sky, and the green radiance and
sweetness of the earth, " what a beautiful, blissful world it
is, and I the happiest creature in it! "

Kneeling there, with her face still turned to that lumin-
ous East, the blissful bride fell asleep; slept, and dreamed
dreams as joyful as her waking thoughts, and no shadow of
that sweeping cloud that was to blacken all her world so soon
fell upon her.

Hours passed, and still Aileen slept. Then came an im-
perative knock at her door—again and again, louder each
time; and then Aileen started up, fully awake. Her room
was flooded with sunshine, and countless birds sang their
glorias in the swaying green gloom of the branches, and
the ceaseless sea was all a-glitter with sparkling sun-light.

"Come in," Miss Jocyln said. It was her maid, she
thought—and she walked over to an arm-chair and com-
posedly sat down.

The door opened, and Col. Jocyln, not Fanchon, ap-
peared, an open note in his hand, his face full of trouble.

"Papa ! " Aileen cried, starting up in alarm.

"Bad news, my daughter—very bad! very sorrowful!
Read that."

The note was very brief, in a spidery, female hand.

" Dear Col. Jocyln :—We are in the greatest trouble. Poor
Lady Thetford died with awful suddenness this morning in one of
those dreadful spasms. We are all nearly distracted. Rupert bears it
better than any of us. Pray come over as soon as you can.

May. Everard."

Aileen Jocyln sunk back in her seat, pale and trembling.

"Dead ! Oh, papa ! papa ! " ■

" It is very sad, my dear, and very shocking and terriblyto4

SI& NOEL >S HEIR.

unfortunate that it should have occurred just at this time.
A postponed wedding is ever ominous of evil."

" Oh ! pray, papa, don't think of that! Don't think of
me! Poor Lady Thetford ! Poor Rupert! You will go
over at once, papa, will you not ? "

" Certainly, my dear. And I will tell the servants, so
that when our guests arrive you may not be disturbed.
Since it was to be," muttered the Indian officer under his
moustache. '' I would give half my fortune that it had
been one day later. A postponed marriage is the most
ominous thing under the sun."

He left the room, and Aileen sat with her hands clasped,
and an unutterable awe overpowering every other feeling.
She forgot her own disappointment in the awful mystery
of sudden death. Her share of the trial was light—a year
of waiting, more or less; what did it matter, since Rupert
loved her unchangeably ? but, poor Lady Aileen, remem-
bering how much the dead woman had loved her, and how
fondly she had welcomed her as a daughter, covered her
face with her hands, and wept as she might have wept for
her own mother.

" I never knew a mother's love or care," Aileen thought;
*' and I was doubly happy in knowing I was to have one

at last. And now—and now-"

It was a drearily long morning to the poor bride elect,
sitting alone in her chamber. She heard the roll of car-
riages up the drive, the pause that ensued, and then their
departure. She wondered how he bore it best of all, May
had said; but, then, he was ever still and strong and self- *
restrained. She knew how dear that poor, ailing mother
had ever been to him, and she knew how bitterly he would
feel her loss.

"They talk of presentiments," mused Miss Jocyln>
walking wearily to and fro; "and see how happy andS/JR NOEL 'S HEIR.

105

hopeful I was this morning, whilst she lay dead and he
mourned. If I only dared go to him—my own Rupert! "

It was late in the afternoon before Col. Jocyln returned.
He strode straight to his daughter's presence, wearing a
pale, fagged face.

" Well, papa ? " she asked, faintly.

"My pale Aileen ! " he said, kissing her fondly; "my
poor, patient girl! I am sorry you must undergo this
trial, and," knitting his brows, "such talk as it will
make."

" Don't think of me, papa—my share is surely the light-
est. But Rupert—9 f wistfully faltering.

" There's something odd about Rupert; he was very fond
of his mother, and he takes this a great deal too quietly.
He looks like a man slowly turning to stone, with a face
white and stern ; and he never asked for you. He sat there
with folded arms and that petrified ikce, gazing on his
dead, until it chilled my blood to look at him. There's,
something odd and unnatural in this frozen calm. And,
oh ! by-the-bye ! I forgot to tell you the strangest thing—
May Everard it was told me; that painter fellow—what's
his name—"

" Legard, papa? "

•< Yes, Legard. He turns out to be the son of Mrs. Wey-
more; they discovered it last night. He was there in the
room, with the most dazed and mystified and altogether
bewildered expression of countenance I ever saw a man
wear, and May and Mrs. Weymore sat crying incessantly.
i couldn't see what dccasion there was for the governess
and the painter there in that room of death, and I said so
to Miss Everard. There's something mysterious in the mat-
ter, for her face flushed and she stammered something
about startling family secrets that had come to light, and
the over-excitement of which had hastened Lady Thet-10 6	SIX NOEL *S HEIR.

ford's end. I don't like the look of things, and I'm alto-
gether in the dark. That painter resembles the Thetford's
a great deal too closely for the mere work of chance; and
yet, if Mrs. Weymore is his mother, I don't see how
there can be anything in that. It's odd—confoundedly
odd ! "

Col. Jocyln rumbled on as he walked the floor, his brows
knitted into a swarthy frown. His daughter sat and eyed
him wistfully.

" Did no one ask for me, papa? Am I not to go
over? "

" Sir Rupert didn't ask for you ! May Everard did, and
I promised to fetch you to-morrow. Aileeri, things at •
Thetford Towers have a suspicious look to-day; I can't
see the light yet, but I suspect something wrong. It may
be the very best thing that could possibly happen, this
postponed marriage. I shall make Sir Rupert clear mat-
ters up completely before my daughter becomes his
wife."

Col. Jocyln, according to promise, took his daughter to
Thetford Towers next morning. With bated breath and
beating heart and noiseless tread, Aileen Jocyln entered
the house of mourning, which yesterday she had thought
to enter a bride. Dark and still, and desolate it lay, the
morning light shut out, unbroken silence everywhere.

" And this is the end of earth, its glory and its bliss,"
Aileen thought as she followed her father slowly up-
stairs, u the solemn wonder of the winding-sheet and the
grave."

There were two watchers in the dark room when they
entered—May Everard, pale and quiet, and the young
artist, Guy Legard. Even in that moment, Col. Jocyln
could not repress a supercilious stare of wonder to behold
the housekeeper's son in the death-chamber of Lady Thet-SIX NOEL'S HEIR.

107

ford. And yet it seemed strangely his place, for it might
have been one of those lusty old Thetfords, framed and
glazed up-stairs, stepped out of the canvas and dressed in
the fashion of the day.

"Very bad tastes all the same," the proud old colonel
thought, with a frown: "very bad taste on the part of
Sir Rupert. I shall speak to him on the subject pres-
ently."

He stood in silence beside his daughter, looking down
at the marble face. May, shivering drearily in a large
shawl, and looking like a wan little spirit, was speaking in
whispers to Aileen.

" We persuaded Rupert—Mr. Legard and I—to go and
lie down ; he has neither eaten nor slept since his mother
died. Oh, Aileen ! I am so sorry for you! "

" Hush ! " raising one tremulous hand and turning away;
"she was as dear to me as my own mother could have
been ! Don't think of me."

" Shall we not see Sir Rupert ?" the colonel asked. " I
should like to, particularly."

" I think not—unless you remain for some hours. He is
completely worn out, poor fellow !19

"How comes that young man here, Miss Everard? "
nodding in the direction of Mr. Legard, who had with-
drawn to a remote corner. " He may be a very especial
friend of _ Sir Rupert's—but don't you think he presumes
on that friendship? "

Miss Everard's eyes flashed angrily.

" No, sir ! I think nothing of the sort! Mr. Legard has
a perfect right to be in this room, or any other room at
Thetford Towers. It is by Rupert's particular request he
remains! "

The colonel frowned again, and turned his back upon
the speaker.108	S/jR NOEL 'S HEIR.

" Aiken," he said, haughtily, "as Sir Rupert is not
visible, nor likely to be for some time, perhaps you had
better not linger. To-morrow, after the funeral, I shall
speak to him very seriously.''

Miss Jocyln arose. She would rather have lingered, but
she saw her father's annoyed face and obeyed him imme-
diately. She bent and kissed the cold, white face, awful
with the dread majesty of death.

" For the last time, my friend, my mother," she mur-
mured, " until we meet in heaven."

She drew her veil over her face to hide her falling tears,
and silently followed the stern and displeased Indian offi-
cer down-stairs and out of the house. She looked back
wistfully once at the gray, old ivy-grown facade; but who
was to tell her of the weary, weary months and years that
would pass before she crossed that stately threshold again ?

It was a very grand and imposing ceremonial, that burial
of Lady Thetford ; and side by side with the heir walked
the unknown painter, Guy Legard. Col. Jocyln was not the
only friend of the family shocked on this occasion. What
could Sir Rupert mean? And what did Mr. Legard
mean by looking ten times more like the old Thetford race
than Sir Noel's own son and heir ?

It was a miserable day, this day of the funeral. There
was a sky of lead hanging low like a pall, and it was almost
dark in the rainy afternoon gloaming when Col. Jocyln
and Sir Rupert Thetford stood alone before the village
church. Lady Thetford slept with the rest of the name in
the stony vaults; the fair-haired artist stood in the porch,
and Sir Rupert, with a face wan and stern, and spectral, in
the dying daylight, stood face to face with the colonel.

"A private interview,'' the colonel was repeating;
"most certainly, Sir Rupert. Will you come with me to
Jocyln Hall? My daughter will wish to see you."SIR NOEL 'S HEIR,,

109

The young man nodded, went back a moment to speak
to Legard, and then followed the colonel into the carriage.
The drive was a very silent one—a vague, chilling presenti-
ment of impending evil on the Indian officer as he uneasily
watched the young man who had so nearly been his son.

Aileen Jocyln, roaming like a restless ghost through the
lonely, lofty rooms, saw them alight, and came out to the
hall to meet her betrothed. She held out both hands shyly,
looking up, half in fear, in the rigid, death-white face of
her lover.

"Aileen!"

He took the hands and held them fast a moment; then
dropped them and turned to the colonel.

"Now, Col. Jocyln."

The colonel led the way into the library. Sir Rupert
paused a moment on the threshold to answer Aileen's plead-
ing glance.

" Only for a few moments, Aileen," he said, his eyes
softening with infinite love; *< in half "an hour my fate shall
be decided. Let that fate be what it may, I shall be true
to you while life lasts."

With these enigmatical words, he followed the colonel
into the library, and the polished oaken door closed between
him and Aileen.

CHAPTER XIV.

parted.

Half an hour had passed.

Up and down the long drawing-room Aileen wandered
aimlessly, oppressed with a dread of she knew not what, a
prescience of evil, vague as it was terrible. The darkno

SIX NOEL 'S HEIR.

gloom of the rainy evening was not darker than that brood-
ing shadow in her deep, dusky eyes.

In the library Col. Jocyln stood facing his son-in-law
elect, staring like a man bereft of his senses. The melan-
choly, half light coming through the oriel window by
which he stood, fell full upon the face of Rupert Thetford,
white and cold, and set as marble.

" My God ! " the Indian officer said, with wild eyes of
terror and affright, " what is this you are telling me?"

"The truth, Col. Jocyln—the simple truth. Would to
Heaven I had known it years ago—this shameful story of
wrong-doing and misery ! "

" I don't comprehend—I can't comprehend this impos-
sible tale, Sir Rupert.''

" That is a misnomer now, Col. Jocyln. I am no longer
Sir Rupert."

"Do you mean to say you credit this wild story of a
former marriage of Sir Noel's ? Do you really believe your
late governess to have been your father's wife? "

" I believe it, colonel. I have facts and statements and
dying words to prove it. On my father's death-bed he
made my mother swear to tell the truth; to repair the
wrong he had done; to seek out his son, concealed by his
valet, Vyking, and restore him to his rights ! My mother
never, kept that promise—the cruel wrong done to herself
was too bitter; and at my birth she resolved never to keep
it. I should not atone for the sin of my father ; his elder
son should never deprive her child of his birthright. My
poor mother! You know the cause of that mysterious
trouble which fell upon her at my father's death, and which
darkened her life to the last. Shame, remorse, anger—
shame for herself—a wife only in name ; remorse for her
broken vow to the dead, and anger against that erring
dead man."SIX NOEL 'S HEIR.

Ill

" But you told me she had hunted him up and provided
for him, said the mystified colonel.

" Yes; she saw an advertisement in a London paper call-
ing upon Vyking to take charge of the boy he had left
twelve years before. Now, Vyking, the valet, had been
transported for house-breaking long before that, and my
mother answered the advertisement. There could be no
doubt the child was the child Vyking had taken charge
of—Sir Noel Thetford's rightful heir. My mother left
him with the painter, Legard, with whom he had grew up,
whose name he took, and he is now at Thetford Towers.0

"I thought the likeness meant something/' muttered the
colonel; his paternity is plainly enough written in his face.
And so," raising his voice, " Mrs. Weymore recognized her
son. Really, your story runs like a melodrama, where the
hero turns out to be a duke and his mother knows the straw-
berry mark on his arm. Well, sir, if Mrs. Weymore is Sir
Noel's rightful widow, and Guy Legard his rightful son and
heir—pray what are you ? "

The colorless face of the young man turned dark-red for
an instant, then whiter than before.

" My mother was as truly and really Sir Noel's wife as
women can be the wife of man in the sight of Heaven.
The crime was his; the shame and suffering hers; the
atonement mine. Sir Noel's elder son shall be Sir Noel's
heir—I will play usurper no longer. To-morrow I leave
St. Gosport; the day after, England—never, perhaps, to
return."

"You are mad," Col. Jocyln said, turning very pale;
" you do not mean it."

"I am not mad, and I do mean it. I may be unfortu-
nate ; but, I pray God, never a villain ! Right is right;
my brother Guy is the rightful heir—not I!99112

SIR NOEL'S HEIR.

" And Aileen ? " Col. Jocyln's face turned dark and rigid
as iron as he spoke his daughter's name.

Rupert "Thetford turned away his changing face, quite
ghastly now.

"It shall be as she says. Aileen is too noble and just
herself not to honor me for doing right.'9

" It shall be as I say," returned Col. Jocyln, with a voice
that rang and an eye that flashed. " My daughter comes
of a proud and stainless race, and never shall she mate with
one less stainless. Hear me out, young man. It won't do
to fire up—plain words are best suited to a plain case. All
that has passed betwixt you and Miss Jocyln must be as if
it had never been. The heir of Thetford Towers, honor-
ably born, I consented she should marry; but, dearly as I
love her, I would see her dead at my feet before she should
mate with one who was nameless and impoverished. You
said just now the atonement was yours—you said right;
go, and never return."

He pointed to the door; the young man, stonily still,
took his hat.

" Will you not permit your daughter, Col. Jocyln, to
speak for herself? " he said, at the door.

"No, sir. I know my daughter—my proud, high-spir-
ited Aileen—and my answer is hers. I wish you good-
night."

He swung round abruptly, turning his tack upon his vis-
itor. Rupert Thetford, without one word, turned and
walked out of the house.

The bewildering rapidity of the shocks he had received
had stunned him—he could not feel the pain now. There
was a dull sense of aching torture over him from head to
foot—but the acute edge was dulled; he walked along
through the black night like a man drugged and stupefied.SIX NOEL9 S HEIR.

113

He was only conscious intensely of one thing—a wish to
get away, never to set foot in St. Gosport again.

Like one walking in his sleep, he reached Thetford Tow-
ers, his old home, every tree and stone of which was dear
to him. He entered at once, passed into the drawing-
room, and found Guy, the artist, sitting before the fire star-
ing blankly into the coals, and May Everard roaming rest-
lessly up and down, the firelight falling dully on her black
robes and pale, tear-stained face. Both started at his en-
trance—all wet, and wild, and haggard ; but neither spoke.
There was that in his face which froze the words on their
lips.

"I am going away to-morrow,'' he said, abruptly, lean-
ing against the mantle, and looking at them with weird,
spectral eyes.

May uttered a faint cry ; Guy faced him almost fiercely.

'' Going away ! What do you mean, Sir Rupert ? We
are going away together, if you like."

"No; I go alone. You remain here; it is your place
now."

" Never ! " cried the young artist—" never ! I will go
out and die like a dog, in a ditch, before I rob you of your
birthright! "

"You reverse matters/' said Rupert Thetford; " it is I
who have robbed you, unwittingly, for too many years. I
promised my mother on her death-bed, as she promised my
father on his, that you should have your right, and I will
keep that promise. Guy, dear old fellow ! don't let us
quarrel, now that we are brothers, after being friends so
long. Take what is your own ; the world is all before me,
and surely I am man enough to win my own way. Not
one other word; you shall not come with me ; you might
as well talk to these stone walls and try to move them as to
me. To-morrow I go, and go alone."

8

-f114

SIR NOEL yS HEIR.

" Alone !" It was May who breathlessly repeated the
word.

" Alone ! All the ties that bound me here are broken ;
I go alone and single-handed to fight the battle of life.
Guy, I have spoken to the rector about you—you will find
him your friend and aider; and May is to make her home
at the rectory. And now," turning suddenly and moving
to the door, " as I start early to-morrow, I believe I'll retire
early. Good-night.''

And then he was gone, and Guy and May were left star-
ing at each other with blank faces.

The storm of wind and rain sobbed itself out before
midnight, and in the bluest of skies, heralded by banners
of rosy clouds, rose up the sun next morning. Before that
rising sun had gilded the tops of the tallest oaks in the park
he, who had so lately called it all his own, had opened the
heavy oaken door and passed from Thetford Towers, as
home, forever. The house was very still—no one had
risen; he had left a note to Guy, with a few brief, warm
words of farewell.

" Better so," he thought—" better so ! He and May
will be happy together, for I know he loves her and she
him. The memory of my leave-taking shall never come to
cloud their united lives."

One last backward glance at the eastern windows turning
to gold; at the sea blushing back the first glance of the
day-king; at the waving trees and swelling meadows, and
then he had passed down the avenue, out through the mas-
sive entrance-gates, and was gone.SIX NOEL 'S HEIR.

CHAPTER XV.

after five years.

Moonlight falling like a silvery veil over Venice—a
crystal clear crescent in a purple sky shimmering on palace
and prison, churches, squares and canals, on the gliding
gondolas and the flitting forms passing like noiseless shad-
ows to and fro.

A young lady leaned from a window of a vast Venetian
hotel, gazing thoughtfully at the silver-lighted landscape,
so strange, so unreal, so dream-like to her unaccustomed
eyes. A young lady, stately and tall, with a pale, proud
face, and a statuesque sort of beauty that was perfect in its
way. She was dressed in trailing robes of crape and bom-
bazine, and the face, turned to the moonlight, was cold and
still as marble.

She turned her eyes from the moonlit canal, down which
dark gondolas floated to the music of the gay gondolier's
song; once, as an English voice in the piazza below sung
a stave of a jingling barcarole—

" Oh ! gay we row where full tides flow!

And bear our bounding pinnace;

And leap along where song meets song,

Across the waves of Venice."

The singer, a tall young man, with a florid face and yel-
low side-whiskers, an unmistakable son of the " right little,
tight little" island, paused in his song, as another man,
stepping through an open window, struck him an airy,
sledge-hammer slap on the back.n6

SIR NOEL 'S HEIR.

" I ought to know that voice," said the last comer.
- "Mortimer, my lad, how goes it?"

" Stafford ! " cried the singer, seizing the outstretched
hand ,in a genuine English grip, " happy to meet you, old
boy, in the land of romance ! La Fabre told me you were
coming, but who would look for you so soon ! I thought
you were doing Sorrento? "

" Got tired of Sorrento," said Stafford, taking his arm
for a walk up and down the piazza; " there's a fever there,
too—quite an epidemic—malignant typhus. Discretion is
the better part of valor where Sorrento fevers are concerned.
I left."

" When did you reach Venice? " asked Mortimer, light-
ing a cigar.

"An hour ago; and now who's here? Jtny one I
know ! "	?

" Lots. The Cholmonadeys, the Lythons, the Howards,
of Leighwood; and, by-the-bye, they have with them the
Marble Bride."

"The which? " asked Mr. Stafford.

"The Marble Bride, the Princess Frostina; otherwise
Miss Aileen Jocyln, of Jocyln Hall Devonshire. You
knew the pld colonel, I think; he died over a year ago,
you remember."

" Ah, yes ! I remember. Is she here with the Howards,
and as handsome as ever* no doubt? "

" Handsome, to my mind, with an uplifted and unap-
proachable sort of beauty. A fellow might as soon love
some bright particular star, etc., as the fabulously wealthy
heiress of all the Jocylns. She has no end of suitors—all
- the best men here bow at the shrine of the ice-cold Aileen,
and all in vain."

" You among the rest, my friend ? " with a light laugh.

"No, by Jove!" cried Mr. Mortimer; "that sort ofSIR NOEL>S HEIR.

n;

thing—the marble style, you know—never was to my taste,
I admire Miss Jocyln immensely—just as I do the moon up
there, with no particular desire ever to be nearer."

" What was that story I heafd once, five years ago, about
a broken engagement ? Wasn't Thetford of that ilk the
hero of the tale ?—the romantic Thetford, who resigned
his title and estate to a mysteriously-found elder brother,
you know. The story ran through the papers and the
clubs at the time like wildfire, and set the whole country
talking, I remember. She was engaged to him, wasn't she,
and broke off? "

*' So goes the story—but who knows ? I recollect that
odd affair perfectly well; it was like the melodramas on
the sunny side of the Thames. I know the ' mysteriously-
found elder brother,' too—very fine fellow, Sir Guy Thet-
ford, and married to the prettiest little wife the sun shines
on. I must say Rupert Thetford behaved wonderfully well
in that unpleasant business ; very few men would do as he
did—they would, at least, have made a fight for the title
and estates. By-the-way, I wonder whatever became of
him?"

" I left him at Sorrento," said Stafford, coolly.
" The deuce you did ! What was he doing there?99
" Raving in the fever; so the people told me with whom
he stopped. I just discovered he was in the place as I was
about to leave it. He had fallen very low, I fancy; his pic-
tures didn't sell, I suppose; he has been in the painting
line since he ceased to be Sir Rupert, and the world has
gone against him. Rather hard on him to lose fortune,
title, home, bride, and all at one fell swoop. Some women
there are who would go with their plighted husbands to
beggary; but I suppose"the lovely Aileen is not one of
them."	>

" And so you left him ill of the fever? Poor fellow! "II8	SIR NOEL'S HEIR.

" Dangerously ill.''

"And the people with whom he is will take very little
care of him; he's as good as dead. Let us go in—I want
to have a look at the latest English papers.''

The two men passed in, out of the moonlight, off the
piazza, all unconscious that they had had a listener. The
pale watcher in the trailing black robes, scarcely heeding
them at first, had grown more and more absorbed in the
careless conversation. She caught her breath in quick,
short gasps, the dark eyes dilated, the slender hands pressed
themselves tight over the throbbing heart. As they went
in off the balcony she slid from her seat and held up her
clasped hands to the luminous night sky.

u Hear me, oh, God! " the white lips cried—" I, who
have aided in wrecking a noble heart—hear me, and help
me to keep my vow ! I offer my whole life in atonement
for the cruel and wicked past. If he dies, I shall go to my

grave his unwedded widow. If he lives-"

Her voice faltered and died out, her face drooped for-
ward on the window-sill, and the flashing moonlight fell
like a benediction on the bowed young head.

CHAPTER XVI.

at sorrento.

The low light in the western sky was dying out; the bay
of Naples lay rosy in the haze of the dying day; and on
this scene an invalid, looking from a window high up on
the sea-washed cliff at Sorrento, gazed languidly.

For he was surely an invalid who sat in that window
chair and gazed at the wondrous Italian sea and that lovely
Italian sky; surely an invalid, with that pallid face, those

rSIR NOEL'S HEIR.

II9

spectral, hollow eyes, those sunken cheeks, those bloodless
lips; surely an invalid, and one but lately risen from the
very gates of death—a pale shadow, worn and weak as a
child.

As he sits there, where he has sat for hours, lonely and
alone, the door opens, and an English face looks in—the
face of an Englishman of the lower classes.

"A visitor for you, sir—just come, and a-foot; a lady,
sir. She will not give her name, but wishes to see you
most particular, if you please."

" A lady! To see me?"

The invalid opens his great, dark eyes in wonder as he
speaks.

"Yes, sir; an English lady, sir, dressed in black, and a
wearing of a thick veil. She asked for Mr. Rupert Thet-
ford as soon as she see me, as plain, as plain, sir-"

The young man in the chair started, half rose, and then
sunk back—a wild, eager light lit in the hollow eyes,

"Let her come in; I will see her ! "

The man disappeared; there was an instant's pause, then
a tall, slender figure, draped and veiled in black, entered
alone.

The visitor stood still. Once more the invalid attempted
to rise, once more his strength failed him. The lady threw
back her veil with a sudden motion.

" My God, Aileen !"

"Rupert!"

She was on her knees before him, lifting her suppliant
hands.

" Forgive me! Forgive me ! I have seemed the most
heartless and cruel of women ! But I, too, have suffered.
I am base and unworthy; but, oh! forgive me, if you
can!"

The old love, stronger than death, shone in her eyes,120

S/A NOEL HEIR.

plead in her passionate, sobbing voice, and went to his
very heart.

" I have been so wretched, so wretched all these miser-
able years! Whilst my father lived I^Vould not disobey
his stern command that I was never to attempt to see or
hear from you, and at his death I could not. You seemed
lost to me and the world. Only by the merest accident I
heard in Venice you were here, and ill—dying. I lost no
time, I came hither at once, hoping against hope to find
you alive. Thank God I did come ! Oh, Rupert ! Rupert!
for the sake of the past forgive me! "

" Forgive you ! " and he tried to raise her. " Aileen—
darling! "

His weak arms encircled her, and the pale lips pressed
passionate kisses on the tear-wet face.

So, whilst the red glory of the sunset lay on the sea, and
till the silver stars spangled the sky, the reunited lovers sat
in the soft haze as Adam and Eve may have in the loveli-
ness of Eden.

"How long since you left England?" Rupert asked at
length.

"Two years ago ; poor papa died in the south of France.
You mustn't blame him too much, Rupert.''

" My dearest, we will talk of blaming no one. And Guy
and May are married ? I knew they would be."

" Did you? I was so surprised when I read it in the
Times ; for you know May and I never corresponded—she
was frantically angry with me. Do they know you are
here?"

" No; I rarely write, and I am constantly moving about;
but I know Guy is very much beloved in St Gosport. We
will go back to England one of these days, my darling, and
give them the greatest surprise they have received since
Sir Guy Thetford learned who he really was."Sffi NOEL >S HEIR.

121

He smiled as he said it—the old bright smile she remem-
bered so well. Tears of joy filled the beautiful, upturned
eyes.

" And you will go back ? Oh, Rupert! it needed but this
to complete my happiness ! "

He drew her closer, and then there was a long, delicious
silence, whilst they watched together the late-rising moon
climbing the misty hills above Castlemare. •

CHAPTER XVII.

at home.

Another sunset, red and gorgeous, over swelling En-
glish meadows, waving trees, and grassy terrace, lighting
up with its crimson radiance the gray forest of Thetford
Towers.

In the pretty, airy summer drawing-room, this red sun-
set streams through open western windows, kindling every-
thing into living light. It falls on the bright-haired,
girlish figure, dressed in floating white, seated in an arm-
chair in the center of the room : too childish looking, you
might fancy, at first sight, to be mamma to that fat baby
she holds in her lap ; but she is not a bit too childish. And
that is papa, tall and handsome and happy, who leans over
the chair and looks as men do look on what is the apple of
their eye and the pride of their heart.

" It is high time baby was christened, Guy," Lady Thet-
ford—for, of course, Lady Thetford it is—was^ saying;
" and, do you know, I'm really at a loss for a name. You
won't let me call him Guy, and I shan't call him Noel—
and so what is it to be ? "

" Rupert, of course," Sir Guy suggests; Ind little Lady
Thetford pouts.122

- S/X NOEL 'S HEIR.

" He doesn't deserve the compliment. Shabby fellow !
To keep wandering about the world as he does, and never
to answer one's letter; and I sent him half a ream last
time, if I sent him a sheet, telling all about baby, and ask-
„ ing him to come and be godfather, and coaxing him with
the eloquence of a female Demos—what-you-may-call-him.
And to think it should be all of no use ! To think of not
receiving a line in return ! It is using me shamefully, and
I don't believe I will call baby Rupert"

" 0£, yes you will, my dear ! Well, Smithers, what is
it?"

" For Mr. Smithers. the butler, stood in the doorway,
with a very pale and startled face.

" It's a gentleman—leastways a lady—leastways a lady
and gentleman. Oh ! here they come theirselves ! "

Mr. Smithers retired precipitately, still pale and startled
of visage, as a gentleman, with a lady on his arm, stood
before Sir Guy and Lady Thetford.

There was a cry, a half shout, from the young baronet,
a wild shriek from the lady. She sprung to her feet, and,
nearly dropped the precious baby.

" Rupert! Aileen ! "

She never got any further—this impetuous little Lady
Thetford ; for she was kissing first one, then the other,
crying and laughing and talking, all in one breath.

" Oh, what a surprise this is ! Oh, Rupert! I'm so glad,
so glad to see you again ! Oh, Aileen ! I never, never
hoped for this! Oh! good gracious, Guy, did you
ever ! "

But Guy was wringing his brother's hand, with bright
tears standing in his eyes, and quite unable to reply.

" And this is the baby, May ? The wonderful baby you
wrote me so much about," Mr. Rupert Thetford said. " ASIR NOEL HEIR.

123

noble little fellow, upon my word—and a Thetford from
top to toe. Am I in season to be godfather ! "

" Just in time; and we are going to call it Rupert; and
I was just scolding dreadfully because you hadn't answered
my letter, never dreaming that you were coming to an-
swer in person ! I would as soon have expected the man
in the moon. And Aileen, too ! And to think you should
be married, after all! Oh, gracious me ! Do sit down and
tell me all about it! "

It was such a delightful evening, so like old times, and
May in the possession of a baby, that Rupert and Aileen
nearly went delirious with delight.

" And you are going to remain in England ? " Sir Guy
eagerly asked, when he had heard a resume of those past
five years. "Going to reside at Jocyln Hall? "

" Yes ; and be neighbors, if you will let us."

" Oh, I am so glad ! "

" I promised Aileen; and now—now I am willing to be
at home in England," and he looked fondly at his wife.

"It is just like a fairy-tale," said May.

" We haven't yet been to Jocyln Hall. We came at once
here, to see this prodigy of babies—my wonderful little
namesake."

Very late that night, when the reunited friends sought
their chambers, May lifted her golden head off the pillow,
and looked at her husband entering the room.

" It's so very odd, Guy," slowly and drowsily, " to think
that, after all, a Rupert Thetford should be Sir Noel's
Heir."

[the end.]

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