LOVELL’S LITERATURE SERIES. Desirable Works of Current and Standard Literaiure in a Convenient and Economical Form. 1 Modern Painters. Vol. i. By John Ruskin 30 2 Modern Painters. Vol. 2 30 3 Modern Painters. Vol. 3 40 4 Modern Painters. Vol. 4 40 5 Modern Painters. Vol. 5 40 6 History of the French Revolution Vol I. By Thomas Carlyle. . . 30 7 History of the French Revolution Vol. 2 30 8 Stones of Venice. Vol. 1. By John Ruskin 40 9 Stones of Venice. Vol. 2 40 10 Stones of Venice. Vol. 3 40 11 Seven Lamps of Architecture. By John Ruskin 40 12 Ethics of the Dust. By Ruskin.. 25 13 Sesame and Lilies. By Ruskin.. 25 14 The Queen of the Air. Ruskin. . 25 15 Crown of Wild Olive. Ruskin.. 20 16 Frederick the Great. Vol. i. By Thomas Carlyle 30 17 Frederick the Great. Vol. 2 30 18 Frederick the Great. Vol. 3 30 19 Frederick the Great. Vol. 4 30 20 Frederick the Great. Vol. 5 30 21 Frederick the Great. Vol. 6 30 22 Frederick the Great. Vol. 7 30 23 Frederick the Great. Vol. 8 30 24 Past and Present. By Carlyle. . . 25 25 Sartor Resartus. By Carlyle. .. . 25 26 Art of Eng-land. By Ruskin 25 27 King- of the Golden River. By John Ruskin 25 28 Deucalion. By John Ruskin.... 40 29 St. Mark’s Rest. By Ruskin 25 30 Lectures on Art. By Ruskin. ... 25 31 The Two Paths. By Ruskin .... 25 32 Val D’Arno ; Pleasures of Eng- land. By John Ruskin 30 33 Arrows, I. By John Ruskin 25 34 Arrow^s, II. By John Ruskin 25 35 Our Fathers Have Told Us ; The Laws of Fesole. By Ruskin. . 30 36 A Joy Forever ; Inaugural Ad- dress. By John Ruskin 20 37 Oliver Cromwell, I. By Carlyle. 30 38 Oliver Cromv/ell, II 30 39 Oliver Cromwell, HI 30 40 Chartism. By Thomas Carlyle.. 20 41 Poems. By John Ruskin 20 42 Poetry of Architecture ; Giotto and His Works. By Ruskin.. 25 43 Fors Clavigera, I. By Ruskin.. 30 44 Fors Clavigera, II 30 45 Fors Clavigera, III .' 30 46 Fors Clavigera, IV 30 47 Lectures on Architecture and Painting. By John Ruskin. . . 30 48 Preraphaelitism : Aratra Pene- lici. By John Ruskin 30 49 Elements of Drawing. Ruskin.. 25 50 Proserpina. By John Ruskin. ... 40 51 Ariadne : Crystal Palace Lecture By John Ruskin 30 52 Mornings in Florence ; Time and Tide. By John Ruskin 25 53 Life of Schiller. By Carlyle 25 54 Life of John Sterling. Carlyle.. 25 55 Latter-day Pamphlets. Carlyle. 30 56 Heroes and Hero Worship. By Thomas Carlyle 25 57 Diamond Necklace and Mirabeau. By Thomas Carlyle 20 58 Early Kings of Norway. Carlyle 20 59 Willis’ Poems. By N. P. Willis . 25 60 Characteristics and other Essays. ^ By Thomas Carlyle 20 61 Life of Heine. By Carlyle 20 62 Count Cagliostro. By Carlyle. . . 20 63 Jean Paul Frederick Richter. By Thomas Carlyle 20 64 Goethe and Miscellaneous Essays. By Thomas Carlyle 20 65 German Literature. By Carlyle. 20 66 Corn Law Rhymes and Other Essays. By Thomas Carlyle. 20 67 Signs of the Time. By Carlyle. . 20 68 Dr. Francia and other Essays. By Thomas Carlyle 20 69 Portraits of John Knox. Carlyle 20 70 Voltaire and Novalis. Carlyle... 29 71 Light of Asia. Edwin Arnold... 25 72 Aurora Leigh. By Browning... 25 73 Sketch Book. By Irving 30 74 Lays of Ancient Rome. By T. B. Macaulay 25 75 Bryant’s Poems. By Bryant 30 76 Selected Poems. By Longfellow 25 77 Selected Poems. By Whittier. .. 25 78 Dante’s Vision of Hell, Purga- tory, and Paradise 25 79 Lucile. By Owen Meredith 25 80 Life of Washington. By Henley 25 81 Crayon Papers. By Irving 20 82 Life of Byron. By John Nichol. 20 83 Emerson’s Essays. Vol. 1 25 84 Life of Gibbon. J. C. Morrison. 20 85 Paradise Lost. By Milton 25 86 Over the Summer Seas. By John Harrison 25 87 Lalla Rookh. By Thos. Moore.. 25 88 Life of Fredrica Bremer 25 89 Byron’s Poems 30 90 Browning’s (Robt.) Poems 25 91 Tennyson’s Poems 40 92 Proctor’s Poems. By A. Proctor 25 93 Scott’s Poems 40 94 Goldsmith’s Plays 20 95 A Tour of the Prairies. Irving.. 25 96 An Outline of Irish History. By J. H. M’Carthy 20 97 Whist or Bumblepuppy 20 98 Tale of a Traveler. By Irving. 25 99 Baillie the Covenanter. Carlyle 20 icK> Emerson’s Essays. Vol. II 25 101 The Bride of Lammermoor. By Walter Scott 2a 102 Hyperion. By Longfellow 25 103 Outre Mer. By Longfellow. .. . 25 ' ■ ’0 .7 ' ; '^ '■■■', 7 ', ' l-Vv-M 82>5 SmBst STRUCK DOWN A NOVEL. BY HAWLEY SMARTo NEW YORK INTERNATIONAL BOOK COMPANY 3, 4, 5 AND 6 MISSION PLACE STRUCK DOWN CHAPTER 1. THE “golden galleon.” Thebe is a part of Plymouth, and a very interesting part too, which, as a rule, escapes the ken of the passing stranger. 1 allude to the old Plymouth harbor, which lies just beyond the Barbican, at the mouth of the river Plym, and which was the old seaport from whence the immortal Plymouth Captains set sail to conquer new worlds and do batile with the enemies of England. Long before ^he famous Sound was the renowned roadstead of the West, when the breakwater was not even dreamed of, from the mouth of the Pl^m did stout Devon men put out to sea on buccaneering expe- ditions, from which they returned covered with glory and with pockets well lined. The world was youn^r then, and the telegraph, the daily paper, and the special correspondent among the blessings to comC These gallant sailors, who went forth to harry their coun- try’s foes upon the high seas, were not very particular with regard to nationaltty. Education was at a low standard, and the knowledge of tongues, lor instance, peculiarly deficient. We w[ere always at war with sons® power, and if a deeply laden galleob fell in these adventurers* way, the crew of which spoke no English, who was to determine whether they were not Spanish, French, Dutch, or what- ever the particula.^ nation happened to be, that we were on pleasant throat-cutting terms with? There was nobody to S(^nd a letter to the papers in those times, reporting such outrages, for reasons above mentioned, and the b'^^ccaneers took precautions to prelvent represen- tation of their irregi^lar practices in a manner which it is test not to dwell upon. We Certainly owe them a good dieal; but 1 am afraid in these days we should dub them pirates without scruple, and that an unappreciative judge and jury, with no sense of romance about them, would consign them to the public executioner. Still, from that snug liule harbor lying below /the citadel did 4 STRUCK DOWKT. Drake and his captains, leaving that historic game ot bowls on the Hoe, sally forth to scatter (he Armada, and shatter (he power of the Spaniard for aye. Strange doings has that same harbor wit- nessed, and it is probable that during the early days of this cent- ury, besides the privateering which was hereditary to the place, and handed down by tradition from the times of Elizabeth or jearlier (they called it buccaneering then), there was a smartish trade done in Nantes cognac, laces, silks, etc., tor the Devon men had much the same taste for smuggling that characterized the whole of the south coast in those days of heavy tarifls, and were bold sailors and keen traders to boot. Down upon Plymouth bar, as the quay running alongside the quaint little* harbor is called, stands one of the queerest nautical taverns ever seem There is no possibility of mistaking it for any. thing else. Even from the outside you can picture the interior— the snugly curtained latticed windows, the low, dark unpolished mahog- any door- way, are all unmistakably indicative of the brass and dark- wood fittings within. You can see instinctively the cozy bar, fra- grant with the perfume of lemons, wine, and old Jamaica; the old china bowls and silver-mounted punch-ladles; the squat-stoppered Dutch-shaped bottles that decK the shelves; the portentous sheaf of long clay pipes, slender- stemmed, deep-bowled fellows, such as are not made in this country, but had evidently found their way across from Amsterdam or the Hague. You knew there was a back parlor sacred to merchant-skippers, where endless pipes were smoked, where mighty jorums of punch were consumed, and marvelous yarns were told with portentous solemnily and received with un- questioning credulity. These men went “down to the sea in ships,'* and were cognizant of the strange things their class at times were witness to. It was no sailors* public-house, nor could any one have deemed iit so for a moment. It was a respectable tavern of the old Kind, the irequenters of which, if they took a deal of liquor — and they did — knew howto carry it discreetly. Many of the habitues of the little pailor had their abode at the Golden Galleon. Tra- dition said that tlie house had been built out of the spoil that ac- crued to some freebooter for his successful share in an attack on one of those famous Spanish argosies. These rough sea-captains found the Galleon a pleasant resting-place during their brief holidays on shore. They met congenial society; they were handy to look after their own immediate business; the tavern had a thoroughly nautical air pervading it— the liitle parlor, for instance, was not um like a ship’s cuddy; and lastly, John BlacK, the landlord, was one STRUCK DOWN. 5 of themselves. John Black had gone to sea as a boy and worked his way up till he commanded first a small craft, and finally a clip- per engaged in the Chinese trade. After some thirty-five years afloat he cast about for some business in which to settle down and invest his savings, and thought himself fortunate when he acquired the good will and a twenty-one years’ leiise of the Colden Galleon, it Wc^s an old-fashioned house do- ing a good business when it came into John Black’s hands; but dur- ing the ten years’ he had conducted it it had thriven wonderfully, and more especially since the appear ance of the Sen ora some half-dozen years after John Black had establi^fhed himself there. Who she was exactly was somewhat of a mystery. She called the bluff old land- lord of the Galleon her father, and he invariably acknowledged her as his daughter; but how came the old sailor sire of this dark- eyed Spanish-looking girl whose gait was haughty as a goddess’s, and whose black orbs positively lightened when crossed? Nobody had ever heard that John Black was married, and it was not till he had been some time installed at the Golden Galleon that the Senora made her appearance, and was briefly introduced to his cronies by John BlacR as “ my gal.” He was a taciturn man, and to inquiry about his wife briefly replied, “ dead,” and volun- teered no further explanation of his matrimonial experiences. Where he was married or to whom was known only to himself; but to judge from the Senora, her mother must have had Spanish or Creole blood in her veins. Girl as she was — child would almost express it better, for Marietta was barely seventeen when she took possession of that cozy little bar — she soon became a presence in the house. She had been very few weeks fhere before these blufi; old sea-dogs were made to comprehend that Miss Black admitted no, jest- ing, that, 3^oung as she was, she stood severely upon her dignity, and though treating her father’s customers with the utmost courtesy^ she did it in right regal fashion. They were astonished at first, and half inclined to resent John Black’s “ gal ” giving herself such airs; but the sweetness of her manner, thesuuniness of lier smile, and the quick memory she showed for all their little weaknesses, speedily subdued any feeling of that kind. Sailors have usually a quick eye tor beauty, and the little parlor unanimously agreed that John Black’s daughter was a “crasher.” They varied a good deal in epithets; some of them characterized her as a “ bouncer,” but they all agreed on one point, coming back to their old nautical parlance, that the “ Princess,” as they at that time dubbed her, was the trimmest craft that had been seen in these waters in their time. But 6 ' STRUCK DOWN. the “ Princess ” rather resented the title conferred upon her by what was technically known as “ the skipper’s room,” and so the little coterie, who already stood in awe of Marietta’s hot passionate temper, were driven to drop the appellation. They were much puzzled what to call their favorite, when the arrival of a Spanish captain solved the di faculty for them. It was not very often that foreigners troubled the snug little tavern, but somehow the Spaniard, who spoke English tolerably well, found his way there. He addressed Marietta as ” the Senora ” from the outset. She re- ceived it with dignihed complacency, and from that moment it came to be her accepted title in the Golden Galleon. ' One could hard- ly call such a dashing black-browed brunette with the stately man- ner of Marietta “Miss Black,” and the new appellation certainly relieved the habitues of the house from what might be emphatically described as an unnamed difficulty. The Senora she became then, and the Senora she was widely known as still, for she had the repu- tation of beins the prettiest girl in Plymouth, and mDre than one idler made his way down to the Golden Galleon, and under pre- tense of assuaging his thirst sought for a glimpse of the presiding goddess. But such danglers soon found that this was no ordinary bar-maid. Marietta was far from lavish of her smiles on such chance customers. To the old frequenters of the house she was all courtesy, but her manner to these new-comers was very difierent, and more than one expert in that description of flirtation had been put to confusion by the contemptuous indiflerence with which his preliminary compliments had been received. Her beauty, the haughtiness with which she carried herself, and the somewhat mysterious hajze concerning her birth made the girl in a way rather celebrated in the city. There was no denying it, she was a striking figure anywhere, and looked considerably above her station. She had naturally good taste, and her father was lavish of money where sne was concerned. But though she had many ad- mirers, no one could as yet be pointed out as having found favor in her sight There were two acknowledged pretenders to her hand; one was a manly young sailor, who, by his own dash and seaman- ship in one or two difficult situations, had had the good fortune to obtain the command of a fine ship, just after his thirtieth year. The other was a much ojder man. Dave Skirley had served under her father, but had not altogether prospered in his piofession. He was seldom intrusted with a sliip, but haa more often to content himself with the position of first mate — a dark, saturnine, some- 'Syhat discontented mgn, as is apt to he the case with those with STRUCK DOWK. 1 whom life has gone askew. But this did not prevent his conceiving a passionate admiration tor Marietta. The JSenora was friendly to him, but he certainly could not say she was anything more; indeed, although his devotion must not only have been patent to the girl herself, but to aU those who frequented the house, Skirley most cer- tainly could not boast of receiving anf encouragement. Still, for the matter of that, neither perhaps could his younger rival, though in the skipper^‘^ room there went round many a knowing wink and prediction that young Jack Furness would bring the haughty beauty to her bearings. Could Jack Furness himself have been cross-ex- amined on this point he would have been tar less confident than the coterie in the skipper’s room. He had been away from Plymouth now tor the best part of a year on a voyage to Australia, and had carried away with him no assurance whatever on the subject He had said as much as he dared before leaving, but Marietta’s manner had made him afraid to risk all by coming to the point, so he had taken with him only a memory — not a promise — and could only trust to resume his wooing when he returned from what he trusted would prove a prosperous trip. It was somewhat singular that such a handsome girl as Marietta had not an acknowledged lorer; but so it was, and she had only herself to thank for it. The idenora was hard to please, and the man to attract her wayward fancy had apparently yet to come. Dave Skirley, when on shore, kept, as far as he dared, a some- what jealous watch over her proceedings. But upon two occasions, when Marietta had her suspicions roused concerning this espionage, she had flamed out with such violence as had made him wondrous shy of repeating the oftense. It was hardly likely that a hot-tem- pered, passionate girl like the Senora would submit to any un- licensed control. The sole being who had the slightest right to take cognizance of her proceedings was her father, and blunt old John Black was about as likely to interfere with his high-spirited daugh- ter as to attempt the draining the Sound. Nobody as yet had volun- teered the assertion that Marietta had a favored lover, and thus ac- counted for her indifference to the two pretenders to her hand. The girl had uncontrolled freedom, and at times delegated her duties to an assistant, but no whisper had ever gone abroad of her being seen in company with one of the opposite sex. 8he was, when encountered out, either by herself or walking with a female companion, and the skipper’s room, in their ” to- bacco parliaments,” steadfastly believed that Jack Furness was the 8 STRUCK DOWK. man, anrl that though the maiden might be coy, her succumbing was a mere matter of time. “ Some on 'em’s like that, you know,*' said one of the oracles of the little parlor; “ they hlls, and they backs, and they falls ofi, and they wants a light hand on the helm, or else you can do nothing with them. John Black’s daughter is just about as handsome and saucy as they make ’em. They’re a bit skeary, that kind, and re- quire delicate handling. It ain’t no use attempting I'o capture them with a rush, bless yer! Jack Furness is a sailor every inch, he knows when the navigation’s difficult. Lord! the windings of some women’s hearts are like the shifting of the sands, in tho ‘ James ’ and ‘ Mary’s,’ where you want to keep the lead going, as you all know, mates, every minute. You can’t hurry through ’ena. As 1 said before, Jack Furness knows what he’s about!” The old story. The lookers-on so often feel that they know more of Dur affairs than we do ourselves, till subsequent events show them how very little they really knew about it. Had there been a woman there to take note of Marietta’s fits, now of moody silence and now of quick irritability, she would have suspected there was something amiss in her young life — would have divined there was something that troubled the current of her existence. But what were a lotn^f sailors likely to know about the stale of a girl’s heart? A woman could have had half a dozen lovers, and twisted the whole skipper’s room round her little finger to boot, without their knowing anything about it. The Senora kept her own counsel, and if she had a serious flirtation in hand, conducted it with discre- tion, and took good care that the hero should never be seen at the Golden Galleon. There is much danger of shipwreck in some of these back waters of life. Men, and women especially, run less danger who keep in the open channel. CHAPTER 11. THE CITADEL TRAGEDY. There was a mighty sound of revelry That summer night in the old citadel of Plymouth. Song and laughter lang out of the open windows of the mess-room, till their faint sounds well n^gh reachea the ears of the loungers on the Hoe. Again and again did the band crash out in resonant tones the See-saw Waltzes^ or the popular refrain of " Wait till the Clouds roll by.” The claret jugs fairly danced round the table. There was a tendency on the part of the STRUCK DOWN. 9 whole party to break into vocal melody on faint pretext. Hevet had the officers of the — th been in wilder spirits. Had they not got their orders tor the East that morning, and were they not say- ing good-bye to their triends previous to closing their mess and sending the plate to their bankers? There is a smack of the Viking blood in us still, 1 suppose, and like our progenitors we have a tendency to a night’s wassail before betaking ohrselves to our ships. Little heeded those gay spirits of the hard tare and still harder fighting that lay before them in Africa. The reflection that when next they met round the dinner- table in such fashion, many a face that now rippled with laughter would be cold and still forever, never crossed their minds. Men don’t think of such things at such times, the pulses beat quick, and the blood courses svN^iftly through the veins, and nobody thinks but of the honor to be won, the rewards to be gathered, conjoined with a feverish thirst to have what is called “ a shy at the enemy.” The fighting instinct is strong in man, and especially in the Anglo- Saxon race, when he deems his brethren are getting somewhat the worst of it. We may quarrel amongst ourselves, but it is something like the quarrel of husband and wife. Let any one interfere and he finds to his cost that their unanimity is wonderful. One man alone of all that joyous party seemed a little distrait— 2 k tall, good-looking young fellow, with chestnut hair, and a bold gray eye. He joined in his comrades’ mirth to some extent, but if was in a somewhat half-hearted fashion, such as one would hardly have expected from his physique and temperament. He gulped his wine down too in absent fashion, as a man does who only half en. joys it. He glanced now and again impatiently at his watch, and when called upon to sing ” John Peel,” for the rendering of v^rhich lyric he was celebrated in the regiment, would have fain backed out of it, but this his comrades would not stand. He was compelled to troll out the grand old hunting-song, and they gave him a chorus which must have startled the very rabbits at Mount Edgecum.be. ” 1 say, Charlie, old man, you ain’t up to concert pitch by a long chalk to-night. Fancy you, the best man we’ve got to hounds in the regiment, not being able to throw your heart into your favorite song! Why, old chap, you’ve ground out * John Peel ’ to-night as if you were a barrel-organ.” “Well,” replied Clayford, “1 suppose we can’t always be in high spirits. You know 1 didn’t want to sing ‘ John Peel,’ and for the best of all possible reasons, 1 didn’t feel up to it. 1 don’t suppose such a wet blanket as I feel to-night ought ever to have 10 STRUCK DOWK. come to mess; but hang it all, Tom, I couldn’t be absent from our last mess party. We all feel hipped at times, and this happens to be one of the days when 1 am off color.'* ^ Tom Leader looked at his friend for a moment, and then said: 1 tell you what it is, old fellow, the fun here is about over for the present. You and 1 will just drop down the hill and look in at the theater for an hour or two. They tell me they’ve got* something rather funny on, and we’ll be back here in time tor a grilled bone apd a last cigar.” “ Done with you, Tom,” rejoined Clayford, as he rose; ”1*11 just walk across to my rooms and scribble a couple of notes that 1 *want to go by the early post, and be back in half an hour at the outside.” And with this the young man, running through a gant- let of chaff about his early desertion, left the room. The band had been dismissed, the singing had for the time died away, and the revelers were consuming their tobacco over coffee, erratic whist, dind perhaps still more erratic conversation, when suddenly one of the whist players paused, with the cards suspended in his hand, and exclaimed, ” Surely that was a shot!” I'he card players stopped and pricked up their ears, but the bab- ble at the other end of the room rather precluded the hearing of anything but a very pronounced sound. “ By Jove!” exclaimed one of them, I think 1 heard a shot then. What’s the use of bothering our heads? it’s either some boys or pack of young roughs larking at the back of the citadel. The young beggars have got into the bottom of tne ditch, most likely. Go on, Torrens, you to play. Put down that card that you’ve been keeping hanging over our heads, like the sword of Damocles; it’s the ace ot trumps for a sovereign.” Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door of the anteroom, and almost without waiting for permission to enter, the sergeant ot the guard made his appearance. “ “Beg pardon, gentlemen; 1 want to see Captain Lockyer, the captain of the day. There has been murder done, gentlemen, and 1 want his instructions about what I’m to do.” In an instant the whist table was broke up. Conversation stopped, cigars \lere put upon one side; the whole room was on its feet at the omihous word “ murder,” and all eagerly crowded forward to hear wh^t Sergeant Blane had to tell. Captaljn Lockyer had promptly responded to his name. One of the whis^ players, a gaunt, grizzled veteran, who was senior major of STRUCK DOWN. 11 tbe re^:iment, stepped forward and said curtly: “ Tell your story to me, Blane; who’s been murdered, and where?” ” Mr. Clayford, sir; he’s lying dead in his own quarters, and the revolver which killed him is lying by liis side.” “ You’ve sent for the doctor, of course?” “ Yes, sir,” replied the sergeant, ” and put a senliy on the door; but still I'm afraid it’s little any doctor can do for Mr. Clayford, I’ve seen many a dead man before, sir, and 1 fear there can be no mistake about his case.” ” Get your cap, Lockyer; you and 1 must walk across and inves- tigate this at once.” “Good God! it’s too horrible,” burst from Tom Leader’s lips; “ why, his song is hardly out of our ears, and to think poor Char- lie Clayford is now lying dead within about two hundred yards of us!” “ His revolver lying by the side of him,” said another. “Jt is curious,” and his voice dropped as he murmured, ” he can’t have been his own murderer, surely.” By this time. Major Griffith and Lockyer had left the room, and the others continued to discuss their comrade’s death with bated breath. All revelry and mirth had died out of tbe party, as well it might. A favorite brother officer snatched from them in such ter- rible and unexpected fashion, was enough to make the most reckless serious. “ Leader, you were perhaps more a pal of his than any of us. Do you think he was in trouble or difficulty of any kind?” “ Certainly not, that I know of,” replied Tom; “ but poor Char- lie was always rather a reserved man, and, as you Know, amused himself a great deal with that boat he keeps down on the Bar. I’ve been out with him two or three times; but sailing about the Sound is slow work to my mind, as i suppose it was to most of the rest of you, for I don’t think that any one but myself has ever had a turn with him.” “ But surely he had somebody else with him to help manage the boat?” remarked another of the group. “Yes, he had the sailor who took charge of it. Poor Charlie, you know, was a very good seaman himself, and the two of them were ample.” At this juncture Major Griffith and Lockyer, accompanied by the regimental surgeon, iieturned. “It is only too true,” said the major, solemnly. “Poor Clay^ ford is lying on the floor of his barrack-room, quite dead. His 12 STRUCK DOW^T. blotling-book is open on the table, and the ink is hardly dry on his pen. Ihe doctor here will tell you ,more about it, however, than 1 can.’' “ Yes,” replied the surgeon, “the poor fellow has two bullet wounds, one of which would probably have caused death. From the other, death must have been instantaneous. How it has all come about is, of course, a complete mystery for the present: and a thing, 1 should think it would be, for the police to unravel. All we have ascertained so far is that the sentry at the back of the oflS- cers’ quarters heard the two shots, and passed the word down to the guard-room. Sergeant Blane instantly sent the corporal and a file of men to patrol that way, and see if there was anything amiss; but they heard or saw nothing. The discovery was made by the poor fellow’s servant, who, having occasion to go into the room, found his master stretched lifeless on the carpet, and at once gave the alarm. There has naturally been no time to make much inquiry; but there is one singular circumstance, namely, that the revolver, of which two chambers have been emptied, and with which the fatal wounds were doubtless inflicted, has been abandoned by the assas- sin. It is an instinct with most murderers to make away if possible with the weapon with which their crime was committed.” An awe-struck silence fell over the whole room, and sad glances were exchanged among the men. The surgeon saw in their faces the thought that possessed them. “No,” he exclaimed, “we have certainly no right to come to that conclusion at present, till, in conjunction with two or three of my colleagues, 1 have made a more thorough examination. It would be premature to offer my opinion as to whether the injuries were self-inflicted. But this, 1 presume, is a fact that can very easily be corroborated. His servant declares that the pistol was not the property of his master; and, indeed, that poor Clayford did not own such a weapon. ” “Well,” rep'ied Leader, “ Jennings has been his servant for the last three years, and is no doubt thoroughly acquainted with all poor Charlie’s belongings; besides, 1 certainly have good reason to think that he did not own a revolver, as 1 know he has ordered one expressly to take out for this campaign.” “ Ah! it’s hardly likely,” said the major, thoughtfully, “ that ^ man who possessed an excellent revolver like the one found woul^ want to get another. However, we’ve done all there is to be donef to-night; we have locked up his quarters, and sent messages down^ both to tlie police and the general to say what has occurred. There STRUCK DOYfK. 13 will have to be an inquest to-morrow^ and perhaps that will throw some liajht on the mystery. And now, lads, I’m off tio bed. 1 don’t suppose any of you tvill have more heart to make a night of it than 1 have. Good-nig:ht!” and with these wmrds the major left the room. The remainder of the group continued to converse for some time longer. Many a reminiscence of their dead comrade’s good qualities was evoked. The man on whose grave his acquaintances are ready to cast stones instead of floral tributes must have made himself strangely unpopular during his career. As a rule, 1 fancy, men are never judged more kindly than in the first days succeeding their decease. Charlie Clayford, in spite of a certain reticence of character, had been an undouhtedly popular man in his regiment, and his sudden and mysterious death awoke much sympathy and sorrow among his brother officers. CHAPTER 111. THE CORONER’S INQUEST. The news of the crime spread mysteriously through Plymouth in the course of the night, and the more enterprising reporters of the local journals were in the citadel shortly after the reveille had rung out. The morning papers contained a few lines giving notice of the shocking murder of an officer in the citadel, and promising fur- ther particulars in a later edition. As the rumor spread, and some meager particulars concerning it leaked out, public excitement began to be aroused. The police naturally kept their opinion to them’ selves, but it was whispered that the midday train had brought an eminemt officer from Scotland Yard, while it was known that the night mail had brought down a couple of reporters from leading tiondon journals. There was something romantic about an officer being murdered in his own barracks, and already speculation was rife in the London clubs about how the dead man came to his end. Bad he been killed by his own men? Was it robbery? That an officer should be murdered is in modern days a case almost with- out parrdlel, and then the club cynics shook their heads, and over their seltzer and cognac in the smoking-room, muttered, “ CTiercliez la femme."' Jealousy has brought about strange things before now The next day came the coroner’s inquest. Jennings, Clay ford’s servant, who was the first witness examined, deposed to going into his master’s room to put it finally to rights previous to going to his own bed, and thereby discovering Lieutenant Clayford stretched 14 STRUCK DOWN. lifeless on the carpet. There was a clisc^harged revolver lyin^: by his side, which he picked up and laid upon the table; was perfectly certain that the pistol was not his master's property. He had never had a pistol of any sort since he had been in his service; liad been with the deceased three years, and packed the whole of his baggage four times in that period; was pertectly certain he did not possess a pistol ; could not say where it was now, but the police took posses- sion ot it, and he supposed had it still. Then came the sentry’s evidence, who was on the ramparts in the rear of the officers’ quarters. He deposed distinctly to having heaid two shots, was quite certain about there being two shots, and that they came in quick succession. He passed the word to the next sentry, with a view to its being passed again till it arrived at the guard-room, and that was all he knew on the subject. Sergeant Blane deposed that he sent a corporal and a file of the guard to see if there was anything wrong, but they saw nothing and discovered no strangers about; and it was not until apprised by Private Jennings of the murder of Mr. Claytord that he proceeded at once to place a sentry over the quarters, to send for the surgeon, and report the circumstance to the captain of the day. Major Griffith and Captain Lockyer simply deposed to having been summoned to the spot, but acknowledged their inability to throw any light on the subject. Then came the medical evidence, and the regimental surgeon and Iwo of his confreres gave evidence concerning the bullet-wounds. That these had been the cause of death there can be no doubt. The interest attaching to their evidence was contained in the question, Could the dead man, by any possibility, have died by his own hand? They differed a little in their Opinion about that, but agreed on one point, that without absolutely declaring it was impossible, they cer- tainly did not think so. In their judgment the shots had been fired by another hand. And now came the sensation of the inquiry. That as many peo- ple as could obtain admittance were present at the back ot the room was to be expected, and in the fr'^nt of their ranks were several ot the dead man’s brother officers. They had a natural claim to hear the proceedings, which .had been thoroughly acknowledged by the coroner. The police now produced the pistol with which the crime had been accomplished. It was a very handsome one and a rather remarkable weapon — a saw-handled Dean and Adams’s five-cham- bered revolver. Of the chambers, as the police pointed out, three were still loaded and two had evidently been recently discharged. STRUCK DOWK. 15 Jennings was recalled, and at once swore unhesitatingly that that was the pistol he had picked up by his master’s body and placed upon the table, adding, in reply to a question by the coroner, that he had never seen it before. “That pistol should hang the no an that used it,” remarked a quiet, plainly dressed man in the body of the room. There was nothing in the least striking about his personal appearance, indeed, he was a man you might pass anywhere without his attracting your attention; but he seemed interested in the proceedings, and werl he might be, for he had been sent down specially from Scotland Yard to watch the inquiry. “ When you’ve a weapon like that to deal with,” muttered In- spector Pollock to himself, “ you have something to go upon. A pistol turned out by well-known makers will naturally have the number on it. It is easy to trace where it went when it left their shop, and with a little trouble it should be tracked to the very hand that used it.” Inspector Pollock’s theory was destined to be demolished almost as quickly as it had been formed. Among the officers watching the proceedings with painful interest was Tom Leader. He started slightly when he saw the pistol, and stepping forward said to the coroner: “ Will you allow me to look at that pistoi for a minute? 1 think 1 can give you some possibly useful information.” His request was immediately complied with, and the revolver put into his hands. He examined it attentively, and then, considerably to the astonish- ment of the court, said: “ This pistol is my property. 1 bought it rather more than a year ago in London from the makers; it has never been out of my possession, and to the best of my belief was hanging in its case from a peg in my barrack -room.” Further questioned by the coroner. Leader said that it was kept unloaded, and, what was more, that he had no cartridges with which to load it in his possession. Inspector Pollock showed great interest in this part of the proceedings. It seemed now that the pistol must have been stolen from Leader’s room, and the questions that arose in the officer’s mind were, who was likely to have had facilities for so doing? and, more important still, when had it been stolen? “ Then you have never missed the pistol, Mr. Leader?” inquired tne coroner. “ No,” replied Tom, “ 1 larely looked at it. My servant will b6 more likely to be able to tell you about it than me, as he had orders 16 STRUCK DOWK. to take it down occasionally to see if it wanted cleaning, and 1 pre- sume did so.*' “ Is he here?" was the next question asked by the coroner. But no. Mr. Leader's servant was not in court, and it was quite evident that the investigation could hardly be deemed complete without his evidence. However, the production of this man was a simple question of time. They had simply to send from the hotel in which the inquest was being held up to the barracks and tell Private Simmons that his presence was required at the Royal. Meantime they might adjourn for an hour. The hour was passed by the court in the consumption of refresh- ments. The officers of the — th were perfectly astounded at the turn things had taken, and Tom Leader dashed up to the citadel at a pace that would have made the Ireenest deer-stalker that ever breasted hill in Highland forest stand still. He ran across the bar- rack square as fast as his legs could carry him, rushed into his room and took down the revolver-case. He recognized at once that it was empty. The opening of it was a mere matter of form. Now, before Leader had left the court-house he had been called aside by his colonel, who was present among the rest. " You are going up," said the chief, no doubt to see if that pis- tol is gone. 1 have just been spoken to by an official from Scotland Yard, wlio has made it a particular request that you will not see your servant before he is brought here; he has also further desired that, if possible, he should have no intimation of what has taken place in court or tor what he is wanted." Tom Leader naturally complied with his chief’s hint, and, it so happened, accident favors Inspector Pollock, and Simmons, when he was brought forward to give evidence, had no idea of what had transpired in the course of the proceedings. Questioned about the pistol, the inspector, watching him keenly, noted that Simmons first looked considerably puzzled. He evidently did not understand what bearing this could possibly ha^e on the fluestion in hand. " Was that his master's pistol?" "Yes, he believed so— it was, at all events, exactly like it." " When did he see it last?" " He could hardly say for certain; but a week or ten days ago he took it out and cleaned it, and supposed it was still hanging up in Mr. Leader's room. Was accustomed to clean it about once a week." " Was it loaded when he last put it away?" STRUCK DOWIT.^ 17 “ Certainly not. Was perfectly positive on that point. It had never been kepi loaded since his master had had it.’’ “ Had his master any cartridges in his quarters?” For an instant the n..an looked puzzled. He hesitated a little, and Inspector Pollock keenly noted the same. ‘M don’t know whether lie did it,” thought the inspector; probably not, but this question certainly bothers him.” ‘’No,” replied Simmons, after a minute’s -thought, “there was not a single cartridge in my master’s rooms, nor has there ever been one.” The jury looked puzzled, the coroner aparently was also taken somewhat aback by the turn things had taken. As for Inspector Pollock, he quietly muttered to himself: “ This promises to be rather an interesting conundrum. 1 have an idea that fellow Sim^ mons is somehow not telling the truth, quite. 1 wonder if he knew that revolver was lost, or more probable still, having forgotten to attend to it for the last month, is rather afraid of confessing his negligence?” “ In short,” resumed the coroner, turning sharply to the wit> ness, “ you had no knowledge of the disappearance of your master’s revolver, are perfectly sure it was unloaded when you last saw it, and are quite certain that there never were any cartridges in your master’s possession?” “ Never during the three years 1 have been his servant,” replied Simmons, and tliis time without a moment’s hesitation. One or two of the witnesses were recalled. Mr, Leader was re- examined for one, also the sentry in rear of the officers’ quarters, and Sergeant Plane; but no fresh tact was elicited. No one could recollect seeing any stranger loitering about the vicinity of the officers’ quarters on that evening at that time: and then the coroner proceeded to sum up. It seemed to him, he said, that there could be little doubt that the deceased came to his end by wounds inflicted from the discharge of Mr. Leader’s pistol. He had not thought it necessary to call upon that gentleman for any account of his whereabouts on that evening — it being well known that the majority of his brother officers could testify to his being present in the mess apartments at the time the crime was committed. Who had taken Mr. Leader’s revolver from his room, and w/ien, they had no evidence before them to determine, but granted — which there seemed little reason to doubt — it had been extracted some days previously, the assassin had doubtless no ditfi' culty in procuring cartridges to fit a revolver by such well-known 18 STRUCK DOWK. makers as Dean & Adams. As for Private Simmons, he could doubt- less account for where he was upon that unfortunate evening. It appeared to him that the revolver had undoubtedly been stolen some da^^s previously and used against Mr. Clayford by some one thor- oughly conversant with his movements, and for some occult reason, which it would be for others to determine. The only other view of the case which could possibly be sustained was that tne unfortunate gentleman had committed suicide. The medical evidenee was directly, though perhaps not conclusively against this— -nor had the slightest motive been adduced for suggesting the rash act. If the jury would consent to be guided by him, they would return a ver- dict of “ Willful Murder ” against some person or persons unknown. After some tew minutes’ consideration the jury came to the same conclusion as the coroner, and registered their decision that Cuarles Clayford, Lieutenant in Her Majesty’s ~th Infantry, came to his death by Willful Murder, the perpetrators of which had yet to be discovered. CHAPTER IV. INSPECTOR POLLOCK. That the day’s proceedings would be discussed over and over again, both in the officers’ quarters and in the barrack-rooms, was only to be expected. Simmons, again cross-examined by his mas- ter, said he could not be quite sure as to when he had last seen the revolver in its case. He had thought about cleaning it again only the day before the murder. Questioned by his colonel, he was quite positive it had not been loaded when he saw it last. The whole thing seemed a mystery. There was no apparent motive for the murder of any description. The dead man’s watch— the rings on his fingers — the loose money in his pockets— even a note-case con- taining four or five bank-notes, which was lying on the mantel-piece, were all there. It seemed clear that robbery had not been the as- sassin’s object. The committee of officers who assisted, with Sim- mons, to examine his property pending such time as some one or other of his relatives should arrive, reported that nothing was missing, and all conjecture as to who had slain poor Clayford, and for what reason, baffled all conjecture. At Leader’s suggestion a general overhauling of their quarters was made by the officers, with a view of seeing if anybody else had been plundered, Tom thinking it was just possible that, if robbery had been the object, the thief might have cleared out light valuables from one or two other rooms STRUCK DOWN. 19 And then been detected just as he was about to pick up what prop- erty he could in his (Clayford's) room ; but no, the sole thing miss- ing was the pistol which had been taken from the one room and found in the other. How loaded and why loaded? this was a problem that seemed inscrutable. An ordinaiy thief could scarcely have calculated on finding the pistol at all. Nor was it likely that it would enter his head to bring cartridges for it in his pocket. True, there were plenty of cases in which the burglar, disturbed in his avocation, had not hesitated to take life to insure his own safety; but then this was invariably a professional burglar, and he brought his own revolver. Now, a barrack, except perhaps the police office, was the last place that a professional burglar would have ever dreamed of exercising his talent on. No, it did not require to be skilled in ihe investiga- tion of crime to come to lhat conclusion; but when they had settled that, whatever the motive for the murder, it was not robbery, the officers of the — Ih had got to the end of their speculation. Fur- ther, they were like men who groped in ulter darkness. But there had been a gentleman up to solicit a private interview with Major Griffith, who was at that time in command of the regi- ment, owing to the temporary absence of the colonel, and whose life was passed in unraveling mysteries of this description. Inspector Pollock had entirely dismissed robbery from his mind at the inquest Having introduced himself to (he major, he had requested leave to first of all lake a thorough examination of the quarters in which the crime had occurred. “ 1 don't want to disturb anything, sir ; and it will take me a very short time to see all 1 want; but the whole plan of the rooms is an assistance to a professional like myself. We see things, for in- stance, which an untrained eye is apt to overlook. 1 presume these quarters only consist of two or three rooms?" “Of two small rooms on the ground-floor communicating with each other, with a servant’s kitchen on the basement. There is one similar set of quarters overhead. The officers' quarters, as you will see, are a low range of little houses all similar to that." “ Adjoining, 1 suppose, like houses in a terrace, but with no com- munication between them?" “ Quite so; to get from one to the other you would have to go either out of the front door, or the back door." “ Ah!" said the inspector, “ there is a bacR door and a front door. 1 have had a rough look at the place before 1 came to speak to you. The front door, 1 notice, looks out on the barrack square. 1 pre- 20 STRUCK DOWK. sume, till quite a late hour, there will be always people moving more or less in the front?” “ Quite possible,” replied the major; ‘‘though after ten o’clock there would not in all probability be many people about.” “ And at the back?” inquired the inspector. “ Hardly so, 1 should think. You see the last post goes at half- past nine; we allow no strangers round the ramparts or in the citadel after that, and though there may be a sprinkling of servants of one sort or another who don’t proceed to their beds until later, there would be very few of them who would come out the hack way.” And in the shadow of the buildings it would be easy for any one to escape the observation of the sentry?” ‘ ‘ 1 should think so, but he would have to pass the citadel gate, and Sergeant Blane, who was in chaige of the guard that night, is one of our smartest non-commissioned officers, and would be very unlikely to let a man through before gun-fire who could not give a satisfactory account of himself.” Inspector Pollock buried his face in his handkerchief to conceal the smile that the idea of an astute criminal not being too much for the sharpest non-commissioned officer in Her Majesty ’s service caused him. ‘‘ And Mr. Leader’s quarters, were they in the same house, sir?” he inquired. ” Ko; they are in the next house,” replied the major. “Thank you, sir. 1 will just have a good look at the rooms then; and there is only one more favor I have to ask.” “ What is that?” asked the major. “ Somebody, of course, will examine the effects of Mr. Clayford. If it is possible 1 should like to assist at the examination. The clew 1 want may very likely exist among his papers, though the gentle- man who looks through them would probably never suspect it.” “ Well, inspector,” rejoined the major, “ I’ll do vhat 1 can for you. Our custom here is, that three of the senior officers make a sort of inventory of the deceased’s effects, and 1 don’t think that 1 have any right to let you be present at that; you see poor Clayford ’s relatives have of course been written to, and it will be for them to look through his papers and that sort of thing. You shall know of their arrival at once, and 1 will put your request before them, hut I think the decision must be left to them. If they choose to show you any letters or papers he has left behind him, well and good; but they aie the people to give such permission, not 1.” “ Quite so, sir,” rejoined Inspector Pollock. “ 1 have a few in- STBUCK DOWN. 21 quiries to make, which will certainly detain me here tor the next two or thiee days. One thing more, sir! Perhaps you would not mention my being here at all, more than is absolutely necessary. Good-morning, sir!” and with that Inspector Pollock left the major’s quarters in that quiet abrupt, noiseless manner which 'was one of his characteristics both on entering and leaving any place. He had a knack of appearing in this noiseless fashion when least expected, and of disappearing again with startling and cat-like abruptness. Mr. Pollock lost no time; he w^as over and examining the scene of the murder in less than ten minutes. Not a door, not a window, not a bolt, not a bar, not a corner, not a detail of the furniture, es- caped his keen scrutiny. By the time he had finished he could have catalogued the whole of the latter as if he had been a broker’s man. He was down in the basement, casting shrewd looks at the boot- trees, and even eying the blacking-bottles "with curiosity. He as- cended to the quarters overhead, and their occupant having already left them in search of breakfast, he had ample time to take stock of them; then he asked, “ was it possible to just have a look at Mr„ Leader’s quarters?” That officer wsls in; hut on learning that a gentleman wished to see him, promptly desired that he should be shown in. Briefly Mr. Pollock explained that he came on behalf of the police— though that he was of the London police he retrained from mentioning. However, that was quite sufficient for Tom, who immediately offered him every facility for investigation. How- ever, the inspector contented himself with a very brief glance round the rooms, and even when shown the case from which the revolver was missing, and which was still hanging in its accustomed place, seemed very little interested. He did not ask to see the basement or the quarters overhead. Mr. Pollock, in short, had ascertained all he wanted to know — namely, that Mr. Leader's quarters were the fac-simile of the dead man’s. As he walked away Mr. Pollock shook his head. “ This is about as blind a case,” he muttered, “ so far, as ever 1 started on. That fellow Simmons has to be reckoned up as a matter of course. Easy enough, 1 take it, to get at the character he bears in the regiment, and whether Mr. Clayford could have ever incurred his animosit;^. Next, if they will only show me any of the dead man’s papers that 1 may ask to see — upon getting a general idea of their contents, it’s on the cards, something might come out of that, 1 should think an officer’s papers of his rank would be very soon run through. A few letters, a few bills, receipted or otherwise, and a few memo- randa, would be all he would be likely to have. There are very few 22 STBUCK DOWK. men but what Jeave letters behind them. Yes; a glimpse at his might throw a light upon his death. I’d give something to know what sort of man this relative of his will be.” For the next two days Inspector Pollock was indefatigable, and the information he contrived to acquire in that forty-eight hours would have dumfounded Major Griffith and his officers, to whom the crime seemed utterly inscrutable, and astonished the Plymouth police not a little. But Mr, Pollock kept his information strictly to himself. He turned up unexpectedly at all sorts of places. He had made his way into the sergeants’ mess, and knew Private Simmons’s character quite as well as his captain did. He had as- certained that he was rather a slovenly soldier on parade, and had two or three times been brought up rather sharply by Mr. Clayford for that ofiense. He had very soon got at the fact of the dead man’s passion for boating, lhat was quite hint enough tor Mr. Pollock; he was down upon the Bar as quick as possible. He had found out the boat, and the sailor in charge of it, in a very short time. Mr. Pollock knew from experience that an alonsr-shore sailor has always a thirst upon him. After a little pleasant conversation, in which he took a lively interest in the tides, currents, and other nautical matters, of which it was quite evident to old Bill Coffin the pleasant-spoken gentleman was profoundly ignorant, Mr. Pollock suggested a little refreshment at the nearest tavern. “ Will a weasel suck a rabbit? As a thing of course he stops, And with most voracious swallow Walks into my mutton chops.” It was very unlikely that Bill Coffin was going to refuse gratu- itous ref reshment from anyone, and he suggested that the rum at the Golden Galleon was soft and . pleasant to take, and that they could get a bite there as well as anywhere. So to that place the pair ad- journed, and when they were comtortably seated, and each fur- nished with a tumbler of something to his own satisfaction, Mr. Pollock said, quietly, ” I suppose you were very much astonished to hear of the murder of Mr. Clayford?” Indeed I was; and main sorry to hear it, too, sir. He was a good gentleman, a good sailor, and a thorough good friend to me. He would often give me an odd pound in the winter, when Ihe boat was laid up, to help me through the hard lime. You see, sir, we sailors find it hard to get along then; there is not much work for us to do.” STRUCK DOWK, 23 “Ah! 1 dare say you’ve had many a glass here with poor Mr. Clayford, after a long day in the Sound.” “ Ko, sir; 1 don’t think Mr. Clayford ever set toot in the house. He was not much given to this sort of thing, and very rarely finished the flask he brought down from the citadel with him,” “ Odd that, too,” replied Mr. Pollock, “ with such a handsome girl as 1 saw sitting in the bar. 1 should have thought no young gentleman given to boating but what would have had a glass here, it it were only tor an excuse to talk to her.” “ "Well, this ain’t a house, you see, sir, at all frequented by the soldier orificers. The Senora, you see, is don’t care about that sort of thing.” “ The— what did yoii call her?” inquired the inspector, sharply. “ Well, 1 call her ‘ Miss;’ but that’s the name the captains have given her. It’s a great house, you see, with the merchant skippers. There’s a room here they call the skipper’s parlor, and keep entirely for them,,” “ Well, 1 must be going,” rejoined Mr* Pollock; and, having paid for the refreshments, he wished his guest good-day, and passed out on to the quay. In spite of all the information he had acquired the inspector could not as yet be said to have made any satisfactory progress. This discovery ot Mr, Clayford’s passion for boating had led him no fur- ther. It did not seem to connect him with anybody, with the excep- tion of Bill Coffin. Mr. Pollock was disappointed. He thought when he came to the Golden Galleon, and caught a glimpse of that handsome girl presiding at the bar, he was about to find that Clay- ford was an liabilue of the house; but apparently he had never set foot in it, and, at all events, was not given to philandering with Miss Black. CHAPTER V. THE mSPECTOR MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE. That the citadel murder should be much discussed in the skip- per’s parlor at the Golden Galleon was only natural. A tragedy of that description is usually the common topic ot conversation in the place where it occurs for some days. One or two of the hahituk of the parlor had occasionally exchanged good-day and an opinion about the weather, with the slain man on the quay, when he came down to his boat, but it was difficult to account for the greedy inter est with which Dave Skirley followed every particular of the crim^ 24 STRUCK BOWK, unless he was one of those natures for whom the liorrible and gro- tesque contains a morbid interest. Dave was always possessed of the latest paper, and the very last bit of gossip connected with the affair, it was noticed that he departed from his usual habits. Whereas, when on shore, it was his custom never to stray very far from the barbican, he was now perpetually penetrating to the upper town, with apparently the sole object of seeking further in- formation on the subject of the citadel murder. His professional brethren even joked him about it, and inquired whether he was re- tained to give assistance to the police in the matter, to v/hich Skir- ley rejoined grimly that such things always interested him; he was curious to know how the chap felt who had fired those two shots, just now; and wound up by muttering, It would be a queer thing if he was to discover the criminal after all.’^ When the news of the murder reached the Benora’s ears she was seated in the bar of the Golden Galleon, and, turning white as a sheet, she buried her face m her hands, and exclaiming, “ It is too horrible!” in another minute dashed out of the bar to her own apart- ment. It was Skiiley who brought her the news, and one or two other loungers at the counter were much astonished to see the stately Senora so moved. It was a day or two after the inquest that the Golden Galleon felt quite a glow of enthusiasm at the return of one of its steady fre- quenters. Jack Furness suddenly arrived, and, shaking hands with the Senora, he asked if he could have a room. Marietta's pale face lit up, and she welcomed ihe new arrival with a faint smile, as she said, “You are unexpected, Captaiu Furness, as we saw by the paper that you had put into Falmouth.” ” So 1 did,” replied Jack; “ but Falmouth don’t suit me, nor any other place, half so well as the Golden Galleon. 'You’ll be stiff more astonished when you hear that I’ve been in Plymouth for the [ast five days.” ” Been in Plymouth five days, Captain Furness, and never came to see us!” Jack Furness was a sanguine man, but his heart misgave him. There are many ways of saying those words, and even the young skipper upon this occasion could not fiatter himself that their true interpretation was, ” without coming to see me.” ' ” 1 couldn’t help it, Marietta; it was only upon the most urgent business, and, indeed, at the express orders of the owners, that 1 left the ship at Falmouth. 1 arrived here last Wednesday afternoon — the very day of that terrible murder in the citadel. Y’es, and some* STKUCK DOWN". 25 •thing 1 heard. Marietta, sent me, as you know, to the citadel that very afternoon. L found letters at my agent’s, and among them one quite recently written, evidently in anticipation of my arrival.’' “ It is no concern of mine, Captain Furness,” rejoined ttie senora, drawing herself up proudly. “ 1 have no wish to inquire as to what took you to the citadel, A walk round the ramparts is always pleasant,” but the hardness of the tones and the quivering of the girl’s lips showed What an effort it cost her to speak in such fashion. ” Say it is not true, Marietta,” he whispered in low, passionate tones. ‘‘ 1 do not understand you,” she replied, coldly; and here the in- flux of two or three ship captains, who gave Furness a boisterous welcome, and insisted upon his having at once a glass with them, cut short the conversation.' This very afternoon Inspector Pollock stumbled across a piece of information which he foresaw at once would be a most important feature in the investigation of ihe murder. He had struck up a great intimac}" with Sergeant Biane — in fact he had already made himself generally a favorite in the sergeants’ mess. They regarded him as connected with the local press. ”1 suppose, sergeant,” said Mr. Pollock, in his usual off-hand manner, ‘ it is impossible to get out of the citadel except either through the gate or the sally-port; and yet, looking over the ram- parts, there are one or two places where 1 fancied an active man might descend into the ditch and even get up the other side ” “You are quite right,” replied the sergeant; “wo know it by experience, because some of our chaps have occasionally broke out in that fashion. One or two of the easiest are under the eye of the sentries, but still lliere are one or two more where it is no doubt quite practicable; but there is one thing rather a stopper —you see the getting in again is a very different matter. Getting down a wall is one thing, getting up one is another.” “Ah, quite so,” said Mr. Pollock. “I forgot that,” and he adroitly turned Ibe conversation. For his object it was not in the least essential that a man should be able to get into the citadel; but it was certainly something, with regard to the murder, to know that an active man could get out after the gate was closed. Although suspecting that Simmons had not told the whole truth about the revolver, the inspector in his own mindac quilted him of any knowledge of the murder. His theory now^ was, that whoever the assassin might be, he came from the outside, and must have made his escape after the manner indicated by. Sergeant 26 STBUCK DOWS. Blane. The plates had been closed at least halt an hour before the, murder, and the sentry at them, as well as Sergeant Blane, was per- fectly certain that nobody had passed out of them. It was not much, but it was something to go upon. To have arrived at the possibility of a person leaving the citadel otherwise than by the gates Mr. Pollock thought was a considerable point. Still, turn it over as he would, think about it as he ihight, there was no putting the bits of the puzzle together in the slightest degree. Where did the cartridges come from? What could have been the motive for the murder? Even tracing what had been the ordinary life of Mr^ Clay ford seemed infinitely more difficult than could have been sup- posed of a young man in his position. The habits of a young officer in a garrison town would, as a rule, be easy to ascertain by an acute inquirer. Who were his intiinates? Who were his friends, etc.? But in this case it would seem that, outside his regiment, the de- ceased gentleman had hardly any acquaintances, that is, as far as Mr. Pollock could as yet discover. In these boating excursions, to which apparently he was so much addicted, he had no companions. According to the testimony of Coffin, the sailor in charge of his boat, they were but rarely accompanied. They sailed about the Bound, sometimes did a bit of fishing, and occasionally had to take to their oars when the wind left them in the lurch ; but there was seldom anybody else in the boat. The more he thought of it the more Mr. Pollock wagged his head over the case; but, at the same time, the more his set resolute mouth and bent brows showed a de- termination to get to the bottom of the mystery. It’s a rum ’un, it is,” said Mr. Pollock to himself, “ if 1 don’t get a something to go upon when they examine this poor fellow’s papers. It’ll come, no doubt. Somebody who is in it will make a blunder somewhere. There never was a murder yet that there wasn’t somebody, though perhaps quite unconsciously, an accessory to the crime. Now, in this case, somebody got those cartridges, and the somebody who sold them could identify the person to whom he did sell them, even it be couldn’t name him; secondly, there is another somebody who could suggest a very plausible reason for a somebody wishing Mr. Clayford out of the way. Total of the sum as it stands at present; Where were the cartridges bought and who bought them? Secondly, who had a special reason for Mr. Clay- ford’s removal from l^lymouth? There is one further complication in the case, now 1 think of it, his removal from Plymouth was al- most a question of days. I'wo or three weeks at the outside will see the regiment embarked. No; it must be more than that if I’m cor. STRUCK DOWlif. %1 tect in all my theory. There must be fierce personal animosity at the bottom of this crime; and there’s doubtless somebody in the place who could suggest the man likely to cherish that feeling against Mr, Clayford; ay, and give the why of it, too. These papers, these papers, 1 wonder whether thej'^’ll let me look at them? A. mere scrap or note would probably put the clew that 1 am search- ing for in my hand.” Mr, Pollock had taken up his quarters at Chubb’s Hotel, an old- fashioned country inn, with a great connection in the commercial* traveler line, and, like any house patronized by those gentlemen, a right comfortable hostelry. It was a place admirably suited to Mr. Pollock’s present business, insomuch as it was a good deal frequeiited by some of the leading business men of Plymouih, who dropped in there for lunch and a bit of chat in the middle of the day. Consequently, all the local gossip was to be heard in the coiiee-room; and the inspector cherished the hope that sooner or later he might in this way get a very usetul hint or two. Some- thing might fall from the lips of the speakers lo which they them- selves attached no significance, but which might turn out pregnant with meaning when followed up in connection with this crime. Mr. Pollock, in his usual affable, genial manner, was already upon easy gossiping texms with many of the frequenters oi the house; but there was one man who completely baffled him. A taciturn, some- what morose man who ate his lunch in silence, and with whom it was impossible to get into conversation, who answered briefly and almost gruffly when addressed. He aroused the inspector’s curiosity, and he made inquiries of the waiter concerning him. “What,” the old gentleman replied, “that tunctionary who always takes the corner table? He’s one of our most regular cus- tomers; he’s been here to lunch almost every day since I’ve known the place, and I’ve been in the house twelve years. He’s a Mr. Crinkle, sir, and he takes that corner table so as people mayn’t come and talk to him. He’s a gieat scholar, sir; if you notice, he always brings a book out of his pocket. There’s nobody in the place can say they know him much more than to nod to.” “ And what’s his business?” inquired Mr. Pollock. “ He keeps a general store in Devonport, sir ; he’s said lo be a very warm man, sir. Keeps two or three assistants, and at the same time attends pretty closely to the business himself.” “ And he sells—” inquired Mr. Pollock, raising his eyebrows. “ Most everything,” replied llie waiter, who had all the garrulity of bis class. “I’ve heard the gentlemen say they don’t believe 28 STRUCK DOWK. there's anything you couldn’t buy at Crinkle’s, from a watch to a harpoon.” ” Close-fisted, eh?” ”1^0 sir; Mr. Crinkle’s a careful man with his money, but he’s not close-fisted, he always does the right thing by me, and is always safe for a handsome Christmas-box as well, sir; he’s what the gentlemen call a miss— miss— miss something or other.” “ Ah, 1 see, a misanthrope.” One must suppose it was from the sheer perversity of human nature, for it certainly was without the slightest reference to the matter he had io hand, but from that hour it became part of the business of the inspector’s life to make Mr. Crinkle talk. He ad- fliessed him in the airiest manner daily at lunch, and no rebuffs seemed to disturb Mr. Pollock’s imperturbable good-humor. But how the inspector succeeded in this apparently idle pursuit we shall see later on. In the meantime, something very much more impor^ tant called his attention. He received a note from Major Griffith, saying that Dr. Clayford, the murdered man’s elder brother, had ar- rived at Plymouth, and would have no objection to Inspector Pol- lock’s being present while he went over the deceased’s papers; fur- ther, that unless he saw reason to the contrary, he would give the inspector a general outline of each of them, and submit to him any- thing that Inspector Pollock thought might tend to throw light on the murder, as he considered it a duty to society that the perpetra- tor of such a crime should be brought to justice if possible. The note wound up by intimating that the inspector had better present himself at Major Griffith’s quarters at ten o’clock the next morning. CHAPTER VI. LOVE LETTERS. Mr. Pollock duly made his appearance according to instructions at the major’s quarters, and was presented to a quiet self-possessed gentleman in deep mourning, whom the major introduced to him as Dr. Clayford. The doctor was a fair man, with keen, honest blue eyes, and the quiet, easy manner that most men who rise in the medical profession usually acquire. “Now, Mr. Pollock,” said the doctor, “with Major Griffith’s permission, 1 will get this painful business over as soon as possible. Captain Lockyer, who was one of the board on my poor brother’s effects, and Jennings, his servant, will be at his quarters to render us any assistance in their power. My time is valuable, and so, no STRUCK DOWK. 29 doubt, with the regiment pieparing for embarkation, is yours, JViajor Griffith, therefore 1 will say good-bye tor tne present. 1 shall see you again, course, before you return to town, which 1 must do as soon as the funeral is over/' Mr. Pollock followed the doctor silently out of the room, and as they walked across to the dead man’s rooms, said: “ You will excuse me, 1 know. Dr. Clayford, but as soon as Jen- nings has shown you all you want, please dismiss him; remember^ 1 ye nothing to say against him, but 1 expect to discovei nothing to help me, unless it is amongst your poor biother'g papers. I neither know what sort of a man your late brother was, nor Jennings is, but every one knows that if the master is a careless man, arid the servant a curious one, the latter may know as much about his mas- ter’s papers as he does himself; and the servant that don’t gossip is a phenomenon.” “1 understand,” replied the doctor, “you don’t w^ant Jennings to be present in the event of our making any discovery amongst poor Charlie’s papers.” ” That’s it, sir. 1 don't want anybody but you and Captaia Lockyer to know that 1 attach importance to any scrap of paper we may happen to find. And if 1 might be allowed to make a sug- gestion, sir, it would be, that we shouldn’t trespass on Captaia Lockyer ’s valuable time.” “ 1 understand,” replied Dr. Clayford, “ and 1 think in a quarter of an hour 1 shall be able to tell Captain Lockyer and Jennings we don’t wish to detain them any longer. They’ve only got to show us the keys and where things are, and the whole business 1 should think is not lixely to take us very long. Poor Charlie was not likely to leave many papers behind him, I should think.” Jennings and Captain Lockyer were both lounging outside the quarters as the doctor arrived. The captain shook hands with him, and at once proceeded to unlock the door of the quarters, outside which a sentry was pacing up and down. A sentry “ over death and the dead.” Jennings speedily indicated which were the keys of the drawers, trunks, etc., and as for Lockyer, although anxious ^o do everything in his power to assist Dr. Clayford, he was only too pleased to be quit of what was to him a very melancholy busi- ness, and as soon as he thoroughly understood that the doctor and his companion really did not require the assistance either of himself or Jennipgs, promptly vanished from the scene, taking that servitor with him. It is not worth while following the pair through their investiga- 30 STEUCK DOWN*. tion of the dead man’s effects. The only remarkable thing about it was the intuitive knowledge that Mr. Pollock seemed to possess ot the keys for everything; but there was no point of interest until they came to the deceased’s dispatch-box, except some bills, invita tions to by- gone dinners, and old play-bills, they had so far discoV * ered nothing But it was not likely, as Mr. Pollock knew, that they would come across anything useful to him in all this preliminary investigation. “ Kow, sir,” he said, as he unlocked the dispatch-box and placed it before the doctor, ” if what 1 want is in the rooms, it’s there.” The contents did not take long to run through. Receipted bills these. A very ill-kept diary,” said the doctor. ” Gained up to what date*/” interposed Mr. Pollock, sharply. ” There does not seem to have been an entry for the last eight months.” “ Might 1 hear the last entry?” inquired Mr. Pollock. “Yes,” replied the doctor dryly. “ Dined at the Royal, went to the theater afterward, back again to the hotel, played pool till past one, lost thirty- two shillings, and then home to bed.” ” Ahl well sir, 1 don’t think it worth while going into that, more especially as it isn’t carried down to within eight months of the present time. AVhat next. Dr. Clayford?” ” Hum! Well, here are a handful of loose letters. 1 will just run through them; they seem principally letters descriptive of good days with the hounds, or good days with the gun or the rod, from a certain Dick Cayley. Smartly written, which would account for their being kept, but I don’t think, Mr. Pollock, they can possibly bear upon the question in hand. Now, here are two packets of let- ters besides. One is a largish packet, and they are bound together by a green silk ribbon; the other is very small, and consists of three or four, at the outside, tied up with a tress ot dark hair. 1 will open the larger packet first. Love letters these, Mr. Pollock, with the lady’s name signed in lull, and her address. I don’t pretend to have gone through them, but the latest is dated very nearly two vears ago. And I think we may put these on one side, at all events for the present. It looks to me like a by-gune flirtation.” ” Yes, sir; those are the sort of letteis I want to come across, but not of that date. What about the other?” Tlie doctor sent the blade of his penknife ruthlessly through the silken braid. “Four letters,” he said. “Now, Mr. Pollock. 1 think these are what you want,” continued the doctor, after run- STRUCK DOWN. 31 ning his eye rapid.y over them. “ These are short, passionate notes, containing neither date nor signature; but it so happens in one case that the envelope has been preserved. That envelope, which doubt- less incloses the last note of the four, bears the Plymouth postmark, with the date on the stamp. It must have been posted the day be- fore my poor bi other met his untimely end. I'ou had better read it.*' “ Thank you, sir/* replied Mr. Pollock, and he silently skimmed through the following few lines; “ Dearest Charlie,— Although we parted with great bitterness last week, and though I can scarcely forgive the wrong you have done me, yet 1 can not let 30 U sail for Africa without saying good- bye. It was cruel to win my heart and then at the last say you feared you could never marry me. 1 could have waited, wept, and prayed for you while you were engaged in that cruel war. But you would not promise to make me your wife, and insulted me, by hinting at the difference in our station. My hot Spanish blood got the better of me, and 1 vowed I would never look upon your face again. But, my darling, if my kiss was not on your lips and anything happened to you in that far-away campaign, 1 should never know a moment’s peace more. Meet me on the ramparts at the back of your quarters at nine or a little before. It is risky, but 1 shall be closely veiled. Ever your own dearest, M.** Mr. Pollock read this letter over twice attentively. “Now, Dr. Clayford,’.* he said at length, “1 am going to ask you to keep the knowledge of these four letters strictly to ourselves. You see, sir, we now really have something to go upon. There can be no doubt that your poor brother was a-carrying on pretty strong with some young woman in this town; and, judging from that let- ter, she was a pretty hot-tempered one, too. Now, the night she appointed to meet him, was the night he came to his death! anrl what’s more, the appointment was made very close to the place whete he was murdered. It does not at all follow that she took his life, although that’s possible; still, my theory at last about this case is, that she directly, or indirectly, was the cause of his death. Now, you see, I start with this scrap of handwriting, and the initial ‘ M/ to guide me, together with the knowledge that the young woman I want to find is somewhere in this town. It may take some little time; but you bet, doctor. I’ll find that young vvoman before many weeks are over. If you wouldn’t mind, sir, 1 should like to have those letters intrusted to my care; though I presume the other thre^ throwr no more light on the writer than the one 1 havd read.*’ 33 STRUCK DOWJS'. “ No/* replied Dr. Clayford; “ none whatever, they are simply short passionate notes, bearing no date, and signed only ‘ M.’ They make no appointment, and practically for your purpose, the last is tar and away the most important, as owing to the preservation of the envelope the date is preserved. We also know that it is a Plymouth letter.'* “ Quite so, sir; quite so; still I should like to have possession of them all the same; they tend to show that poor Mr. Clayford was engaged in a very serious love aftair, with a hot-tempered impas- sioned woman And by the Lord, sir, when that's the case, hg would be a wondrous clever man who would venture to predicf; what would be the end of it. And now, Dr. Clayford, if you’ll just give your London address, 1 think 1 need trouble you no more. Can 1 be of any further use, sii, before I bid you good-bye?” “No, thanks,” said the doctor, also rising, and locking the dis- patch-box; ” 1 think we have finished all there is to do nere. With- out any undue feeling of vengeance, 1 certainly do trust you will discover how my poor brother came to his end, and that the assas- sin will be duly brought to justice. You see, Mr. Pollock, it is a great point for his lamilyo We most assuredly wish that not the slightest suspicion of the stain of suicide should attach to his memory.” “Don’t you believe it, sir; your poor brother never laid hands on himself. And you tjust to me. Inspector Pollock; 1 will produce the murderer before many weeks are over. Good-bye, sir,”— and here the inspector stopped himself with a severe cough — he was about to add, “ wishing you a pleasant journey back to town;” but suddenly remembering the cause of Dr. Clayford’s appearance in Plymouth, and the ceremony he was to attend that afternoon, it flashed across him as being slightly inappropiiate. “ Ahl” said Mr. Pollock; “ it’s a beautiful case, it’s opening out by degrees.” He felt like a man who dimly saw his way to the dis- covery of an intricate chess problem. “ What with the cartridges and the young woman, it will be odd if 1 don’t get to the bottom of the mystery before long. That handwriting and the signature ‘ M.* ought to give me a pretty fair guess as to who is the lady before 1 am many days older; bringing it home to her is another thing — that will probably take a great deal more time, and it’s very iikeiy she was merely the occasion and not the cause of the murder.” Mr. Pollock walked back to his hotel with feelings of considera- ble relief. He had no doubt now but what a woman was at the b^ittom of the mystery. As to who she was, or where she was, he STRUCK BOWK. 33 bfid not the faintest idea; but then the Inspector knew it was per- fecily impossible that a young man in Mr. Clayford’s position could IjLive carried on a strong flirtaiion with a girl in a town liKe Plym- outh, without more than one person having knowledge of tl)e same. Before long he was sure to come across somebody who could tell him all about that; and then the whole story would probably unravel itself rapidly, and he would most likely in his own mind be able to name the murderer, though whether he might be able to prove him as such was ot course a very different thing. Mr. Pollock was, by force of circumstances, so far prevented from falling into that prevalent error, so common among the investigators of crime — to wit, the suspecting a man first, and then seeking to prove that he is the culprit. It is like running a back-trail ; and the clew that might have led to the conviction ot the real offender is lost, while they are following the false scent. CHAPTER Vll. MR. crinkle's marine STORES. When Mr. Pollock regained his hotel, he came to the conclusion that the first thing to do was to lunch. Like Dugald Dalgetly, Mr. Pollock held that the detective on the war-path should never neglect an opportunity of taking in supplies. He could never tell when necessity might require such vigilance on his part as almost to pre- clude the cnance of eating or drinking. The coffee-room at Chubb's was unusually deserted, but Mr. Crinkle was occupying his usual corner. Instead of a book, he was perusing a paper, and, to judge from his countenance, seemed both interested and astonished at what he was reading. “ Fine day, sir," remarked Mr. Pollock, cheerily, as he seated himself at the adjacent table. “Yes, there’s nothing the matter with the day," rejoined Mr. Crinkle, sourly; “I’ve seen better— but, I’m bound to admit, I’ve seen worse." “ Get me a chop, waiter, and look sharp," continued Mr. Pol- lock. “ Anything in to-day’s paper, sir‘r for 1 haven’t had time to look at it myself." “ 1 rarely read a paper," rejoined Mr. Crinkle sharply; “ and I’m not even reading to-day's at present. “ Very good, sir," replied Mr. Pollock, pleasantly, “ then perhaps you will tell me, what news there is in to-morrow’s?" a 34 STRUCK DOWH. A grim smile spread over Mr. Criokle’s countenance, as he said, ‘‘ Hum! You are a joker, are you? Well, it’s something even to have spirits to make a fool of yourself in this world. 1 haven’t. Ko, 1 rarely look at a paper, and 1 have by chance picked up ah old one in this cofiee-room. Papers are rubbish; 1 don’t care who’s in or who’s out — 1 don’t care a rush about home policy or foreign policy. The thing that has interested me in this paper, is the ac- count of a curious murder that seems to have been committed in the citadel. 1 live so much out of the world, and speak to so few peo- ple, that, queer as you may think it, Mr. , what the deuce did you say your name was? 1 suppose you have got a name?” con- tinued Mr. Crinkle irritably. ” Pollock, sir; Pollock,” chimed in the detective suavely. ” Well. Mr. Pollock, you may think it odd if you like, but this is the first I’ve heard of this murder, and a pretty considerable set of fools the officers in charge of the case seem to me to be so far.” ” 1 don’t quite understand you, Mr. Crinkle; it seems to me that they’ve done all that was possible, as far as the thing has gone.” ” How did you know my name was Crinkle, sir?” ” Simply because 1 asked the waiter,” rejoined Mr. Pollock, who was always amazingly candid when he had no interest in being the contrary. ” Might I ask what steps you would have taken as a pre- liminary*/” ” Why; naturally the first thing would be to ascertain where those cartridges were bought. 1 don’t pretend to know anything about the investigation of crime, but it surely must be based upon the science of induction, the basis of all great discoveries. Now, as far as 1 have real of this murder, the one salient fact is, where did the cartridges come from? when you’ve ascertained that, you will pretty well have ascertained where they went to; and 1 should think tlien the conundrum is about half solved.” “You’re a clever man, Mr. Crinkle; a very clever man, sir. Would you have a glass of something at my expense while we just talk this over?” “ Well,” rejoined the other, “ a pint of bitter is my regular thing at luncheon, but I’ll just break through the rules for once, and have sixpenn’orth of brandy cold with you. Now,” -he continued, “1 don’t know exactly what you are, but I take it you’re something connected with the papers, ain’t you?” “ Thai’s it, sir, that’s it. Two brandies cold, William. Now, what would you have done, Mr. Crinkle?” STRUCK DOWN. 35 ** 1 should have been round to every gunsmith in the town to start with/’ ‘‘ That’s just what the police did, sir.” “No doubt,” rejoined Mr. Crinkle, with a sneer; “and didn’t find out what they wanted to know. 1 should have done exactly the same as the police, only 1 shouldn’t have expected to find out what 1 wanted.” “ Then what was the use of doing it?” inquired Mr. Pollock, somewhat flippantly, with intention. “ Because, when you are hunting for game, you should never leave a rood of ground unbeaten. There are dozens of places in Plymouth where a man could buy cartridges besides a regular gun- smitn’s. Why, Mr. Pol-— Pol— something—l forget the rest of it, 1 sell cartridges; 1 sell everything. Fit you out, sir, wdth a kit for the East Indies, or one for the North Pole. Could, 1 dare say, find you a ship at a pinch, and generally have a supply of chain cable on hand.” “You sell cartridges?” suddenly interposed Mr. Pollock, with in- terest. “Still it can hardly be supposed that you remember to whom you sell them.” “No; don’t usually sell them myself, but my young men have pretty tidy memories. We want it a bit in my business. Every- thing that is ofLered to us for sale is not always come by quite on the square. 1 tell you— and everybody else in Plymouth will tell you the same— I’m a general dealer, I’Jl buy anything if the price suits. I’ll sell anything I’ve got if the price suits, but apart from the memories of my young men, there are the books. They don’t lie; mine are not kept for purposes of fraud, and upon the one or two occasions we have made a mistake, have been at the disposal of the police at once. 1 can’t say anything about these cartridges. 1 merely mean that they might have been bought at my place, just as they might have been bought at half-a-dozen like establishments in the place. Those cartridges, Mr, Poldoodle — beg pardon, no, that’s not quite your name, but forget what it is exactly —are at the bottom of this mystery. Now, don’t you make any mistake, they weren’t bought by an officer. Whoever the buyer was, he wasn’t that, and instead of going to a gunmaker, he’d be likely to go to just such a place as mine. There, Mr, , 1 really can’t recollect your name,” continued Crinkle, as he finished his brandy-and- water, “ it’s a long time since 1 have taken so much trouble to knock a little sense into anybody’s head, but you’re a sharpish chap, and, what’s more, you know how to hold your tongue, when somebody who’s really 36 STRUCK DOWK. got intormation to give is talking. Guod day, sir, and if you know any one connected with what are termed ‘ the intelligent guardians of our lives and property,’ you just telJ ’em, if they want to gel to the rights of the citadel murder, they’d better begin with the car- tridges;” and so saying the old gentleman put on his hat, and took his departure, “ He's a rum ’un, he is,” murmured Mr. Pollock, ” but he’s no fool. The chances are, that about those blessed cartridges he’s right, and wherever they were bought it was not in a regular gunsmith’s shop. Still that’s not the turning point of the secret. When I once get at who the woman was— who penned that last letter— then 1’ ve got the key of the mystery. I’d stake my twenty-years’ experience in the detective arm of the force, that that woman was the cause of the whole tragedy. It might have been unknowingly, very likely undesignedly, and there’s just the possibility that her own hand leveled the pistol. Still, whenev^er the riddle is solved, the writer of these lines that 1 carry in my breast-pocket, will be found at the bottom of it.” In the meantime Mr. Pollock came to the conclusion that the first thing to be done was to endeavor to discover where the cartridges had been purchased. With a view to this, he walked across to the head-quarters of the Plymouth police. He was treated there with the greatest deference. In their eyes, he was the great Mr. Pollock, the celebrated London detective, unraveler of a score of criminal mysteries, and they were only too anxious to carry out his wishes in any respect, more especially as the citadel murder was a case that had completely baffled them. They had come to that last hopeless state which characterizes the superficial investigalors of crime gen- erally. It need scarcely be said that Mr. Pollock did not shaie such discoveries as he had made with his Plymouth compatriots. Upon learning what he wanted, the chief quickly procured him a list of several shops, otherwise than professional gunsmiths, in which it was possible cartridges might be sold, and told oft an offi- cer in plain clothes to go round with him. Mr. Pollock carried one of the three cartridges that had remained in the revolver in his pocket, but he said nothing of this to his companion. Two or three of the most likely shops, the Plymouth officer said, they had already tested unsuccessfully, but perhaps it might be as well to try again. The two men spent the whole afternoon in going into all sorts of queer establishments about the bottom end of Union Street and over in Devonport. Difficult to say what these shops did not keep, for the miscellaneous assortment of goods that a general dealer in a seaport STKUCK DOWN, 37 town has upon his premises is something wonderful, more especially when, as in the case of many of these men, they combine the pawn- broking business with their own. In more than one of them did they find cartridges for sale. They were invariably odd lots that had come into the dealers' hands in conjunction with second-hand pistols, now perhaps disposed of; but in no case did they discover cartridges of the pattern they w^ere seeking for. Still it was quite clear that cartridges could be bought in these places, and as the local officer said, “ I'm not sure that my list is complete. W e ran it out in a hurry, and 1 dare say 1 have overlooked two or three of them." ‘‘Possibly," replied Mr. Pollock, who had already noticed the absence of Mr. Crinkle’s name from the little catalogue. “ How- ever, we’ve reckoned up all those on the list to-day, and any more you can think of we’ll visit to-morrow. We must get at where those cartridges came from. It would be a blot upon our reputa* tion not to discover a little matter like that, though whether we shall be much further on our w’ay to laying hands on the murderer wnen we do. I’ll own I’m not quite so certain.’’ “ Why, Mr. Pollock, it’s clear as mud," replied the local officer. “ The man who bought those cartridges loaded and pistol and used it.’’ “ Well, 1 suppose he did; but, mind, we’ve got to prove all that," rejoined the inspector rather absently. “ And now, old fellow. I’ll bid you good-day. I’ve a little bit of business of my own to attend to.’’ and with a jerky little nod to his companion Mr. Pollock turned on his tracks and once more belook himself to Devonport. He asked one or two questions in his progress, but eventually found his way to a large, rather dingy shop, over the front of which it was announced that Nathaniel Crinkle was a general dealer in marine stores, while three golden balls also advertised that he ad- vanced money upon substantial security. Into this establishment Mr. Pollock plunged without hesitation, and at once demanded to see Mr. Crinkle himself. “ What is it?" asked the assistant. “ 1 dare say 1 can manage it. What do you want? Is it anything to sell, or do you wish for an advance?" " 1 want to see Mr. Crinkle," replied Mr. Pollock sharply. “ You are a very nice young man, just about as nice as they make ’em probably, but you won’t do. Just you lake that bit of a note in to your master, and say I’m waiting, and look sharp; my time is valuable." 38 STKUCK DOWN. ‘*One would think you about owned Devonport/* rejoined the assistant sulkily. ** 1 don’t suppose Mr. Crinkle will see you in spite ot all your swag 2 :er.” You’d betler ascertain that fact, my young friend, as quickly as possible. You’ll not only find he will, but yourself out of a situation, if you keep me humbugging about the shop any longer.” Mr. Pollock’s authoritative manner utterly cuiDed the shopman. He slunk oft with the note in search of his principal, and speedily returned in a very crestfallen fashion, “ Mr. Crinkle will be very glad to see you, sir, in his own room;” and without another word the assistant marshaled Mr. Pollock to- ward the proprietor’s sanctum. “ What, it’s you, is it?” said the old gentleman, looking keenly at his visitor from the depths of the easy-chair in which he was en- sconced, “and so you’re Inspector Pollock, are you? We’ve all heard of you, o’ course. 1 thought you were a newspaper reporter when I met you at Chubb’s. However, as Inspector Pollock, 1 presume that Scotland Yard has handed this case over to you, and it’s my duty to render you any assistance in my power. How, Mr. Pollock, what is it?” “ What is it, sir — what should it be? You know as well as 1 do — the cartridges, of course!” “Ha! ha!” said Mr. Crinkle, with a grim chuckle, “you’ve adopted my opinion, have you? Well, Mr. Pollock, as 1 told you, 1 buy and sell pretty nearly everything, and undoubtedly stray lots of cartridges pass through my hands at times. How the first thing is to know what the particular pattern of cartridge is that you’re seeking to identify.” “ There’s the cartridge,” replied Mr. Pollock; “ it’s the cartridge ot a well-known maker, and there can be no difiiculty about identi- fying it.” “ Thank you,” rejoined Mr. Crinkle, “ if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, with a slight reference to the books, and some talk with my assistant, 1 shall be able to tell you whether any such cartridges have passed through our hands, and give you some clew as to where they went to.” The marine-store keeper was absent for a good ten minutes, and on his return said, “ How, Mr. Pollock, 1 can tell you all about such cartridges as we’ve had of that pattern. We purchased a brace ot Dean and .Adams’s revolvers from a captain in the mer- chant service some six months back. He had got into difiaculties of some kind, 1 fancy, poor fellow— however, that has nothing to do STRUCK BOWK. 3d with X With the pistols we also took some four hundred car- tridges, about half of which we still have. 1 find that we have sold four Jots of those cartridges, in parcels of fifty at a lime, to a man who has given no name, as why should he? He paid for the car- tridges over the counter, and took them away; with him.” ‘‘ A soldier?” said Mr. Pollock interrogatively. “That 1 can't say,” rejoined Mr. Crinkle, “ he most decidedly did not wear a uniform; on that point my young men are quite clear; but 1 happen to know that the officers’ servants, mess waiters, etc., are allowed to go about town in plain clothes.” “ You’re a shrewd man, a man of considerable observation,” re- maiked the inspector, “ for I’ll be hung if 1 knew that till three or four days ago. INow I’m going to be frank with you, sir; and what you have told me tells me pretty wxll who bought those cartridges, though why he bought them, or what he did with them, I’ve yet to make out; but, mark me, this is not the man who committed the murder, though it is quite possible this may he the step to the dis- covery of the actual assassin. 1 thank you, sir, and good-morn- ing!” And Mr. Pollock quitted the shop in his usual abrupt stealihy manner. CHAPTER VIll. ARREST OF JOim FURNESS. “Now,” said Mr. Pollock to himself, as he stepped out of Nathaniel Crinkle’s store, “of course Bimmons bought those car- tridges; 1 don’t quite know what Simmons’s little game was, bull certainly don’t think he bought those cartridges for the purpose of shooting Mr. Clayford. To begin upon,” continued the inspector, with a grim chuckle, “ a man can’t have much opinion of himself as a shot if he thinks it necessary to lay in about two hundred cartridges to commit one murder. No; what Simmons wanted those cartridges for, or what he did with them, 1 don’t know; but 1 don’t think it will be very difficult to ascertain. In fact, if I’m down viciously upon Simmons, 1 should think he would probably cave in, and acknowledge the whole truth. Mr. Leader, no doubt, knows nothing about it. AL, well! 1 quite see my way to clear- ing up the story of the cartridges; but these letters, how am 1 to get at the WTiter of them? Of course, there is somebody, no doubt several people, who would lecognize the handwriting at once; hut the trouble is where to find them. However, it’s got to be done. 40 STRUCK BOWK. and so, of course, it will be done. In the meantime, I’ve got through a good a^.ternoon’s work, so 1 think I’ll go back to Chubb’s and have a bit of peck, and clear my head by going to the theater- after ward.” Mr. Pollock carried out his intention, and was in convulsions of laughter at the representation of ” The Illustrious Stranger,” played by the veteran who, from almost time out of mind, had swayed the fortunes of the Plymouth stage. Suddenly one of the attendants of the theater made his way into the dress-circle, where Mr. Pollock was enjoying the fun, and, touching him on the shoulder, said, ” 1 beg your pardon, sir; there’s a gentleman wants to see you on im- portant business.” ” And how the deuce do you know I’m the gentleman he wants to see?” inquired Mr. Pollock, sharply. ” Did he tell you my name?” “No; but he came to the door and pointed you out, and he’s waiting for you in the lobby now.” Nothing ever suiprised Mr. Pollock; but he got as near that sen- sation as possible when, upon going out into the lobby, he was met by one ot the leading officers of the Plymouth police. “ The chief has sent me down to tell you that we have arrested a man we believe to have committed the citadel murder, about an hour ago.” Mr. Pollock indulged in a lo'w whistle. “ I didn’t even know that you had the slightest clew.” “ Well, Mr. Pollock, we always think it best to keep these sort ot things to ourselves. We were anxious to give you every assist- ance, but that didn’t prevent our working out the problem for our- selves. Now, we happen to know of a man who was undoubtedly in the citadel at the time the murder was committed, who certainly never left by the gate, and who declines to explain what took him there, or how he got out of the place. We’ve evidence to prove that he was in the vicinity of the officers’ quarters just about the time the crime was committed.” “ The idiots!” observed Mr. Pollock, mentally. “A premature arrest is an irretrievable blunder in a case of this kind; and what is the man?” he asked. “ He’s a merchant captain, of the name of John Furness. It seems he’s been skulking about Plymouth for the last four or five days, and why he should not have gone to his usual haunt, the Golden Galleon, down at the Bar, is ot itself suspicious.” “The Golden Galleon!” exclaimed Pollock. “I know the STRUCK DOWK. 41 house. By the Lord! I wonder it any of (he people (here are mixed up in this? That was Captain Furness’s usual abode when on shore?” “ Just so,” returned the Plymouth officer. “ Until a day or two ago; he seems to have quite deserted his old haunts. Suspicious circumstance, that.” Mr. Pollock remained wrapped in thought for a minute or two, and then astounded the local officer by saying: “ Thank you; and now 1 think ITl go back and see the conclusion of the performance; it’s a wonderful good farce, this; have you ever seen it?” But the officer was too disgusted at the Londoner’s frivolity to re- ply; he turned upon his heel, and, with a gruff good-night, left Mr. Pollock to undisturbed enjoyment of the drama. “ 1 declare 1 shouldn’t w’onder,” said Mr. Pollock to himself, as he resumed his seat, “ if these people have half blundered on the truth. There’s clearly a woman in the case, and that handsome girl at the Golden Galleon may possibly be the woman. At all events, (o-morrow I’ll look that house up a bit.’" Mr. Pollock was a man of decision, fle was, of course, present at the police office the next morning, to hear Captain John Fur. ness, merchant seaman, arraigned on the charge of being, if not the murderer, at all events an accessory to the citadel tragedy. Mr. Pollock listened to the proceedings in silence, and when the ac- cused was finally committed to prison to stand his trial, the London detective walked out of the court in the most supreme astonishment at country magistrates* justice, ” Well, I’m d— d!” he muttered. ” These provincial beaks, they have pluck. They may make their case out, but at the present mo- ment I'm blessed if there is not a very pretty action for false impris- onment lying against the lot; they’ve no real evidence against this man whatever. He was loafing round the citadel on the night of the murder, and it seemed hadn’t been conforming to his usual hab- its for four or five days afterward. Why, if we hopped up every- body in London who suddenly deviates from his accustomed grooves for a week or so, we should nave the police-cells pretty full, and nothing to substantiate against their tenants.” That ceremony over, Mr. Pollock at ouce made his way down to the Golden Galleon. He found that hostelry in a state of great commotion. The arrest of such a well-known and popular fre*- quenter as Captain Jack Furness on the charge of being implicated in the citadel murder, was a thing that convulsed the whole estabr lishraent. John Black, and the members of the skippcUs parlOT, 42 STRUCK UOWJ^. denounced the whole thing emphatically as a thundering lie, with much thumping of horny-handed, mahogany-colored fists on the well-polished table, and portentous rummers of strong waters, with which to strengthen theif opinions. “What!” they said unanimously, “Jack Furness accused of murder! why it airji’t in him. Kill a man in fair fight he might, but to shoot a man down, without giving him a ‘ show’ for his life— no, no! that’s not Jack Furness,” and so saying, old John Black brought his hand down heavily on that well-polished table, and the other inmates of the parlor strongly indorsed his opinion. “ He ain’t that kind,” said a veteran old sea-dog. “ You’re right, John; he’s one of those who looks his foe straight in the face, and has it out with him fair and square in the open, as a British sailor should. He’s not like one of these furriners, who brood over a grudge for a week, and slip a knife into your liver at the end of it.” “ Don’t believe he ever did it,” jerked out Captain Koreton, sen- tentiously. That was about as long a speech as ever that distin- guished oflBcer made. Like the famous Captain Bunsby, he was both sententious and oracular. Combining a jest on his name with the extreme brevity of his speech, his comrades were wont to declare that he had spent his sea- going days in command of the “ Nore Lightship,” the commandant of which, it is generally supposed, has but slight opportunity of conversation. But if the skipper’s parlor was perturbed, it was nothing to the troubled expression that was growing over Marietta’s face. From the day Dave Skirley had announced to her the murder in the cita- del, the girl had borne the aspect of one with something on her mind; her face grew more haggard, the circles beneath her eyes grew darker; and, though she faced her work resolutely as ever, it w^as apparent that her heart was not in it. 8he greeted her father’s customers with a smile as of old, but it was very different from the bright smile of a week or two back. Now it was a forced, languid greeting, conjoined to what any close observer might have seen was a preoccupied mind. Shortly after witnessing the proceedings of the police court, Mr. Pollock strolled into (he “ Golden Galleon,” and called tor a glass of bitter at the bar. “ Glorious weather, miss,” said the detective, as the Senora hand- ed him his tankard. A remark to which the girl assented with a polite inclination of her head. But nobody who had any knowledge of Mr. Pollock would have dreamed for one moment that, when he meant conversation, he was to be batfied by si ch trifling reticence as STRUCK DOWK. 4b this. Not at all. When Mr. Pollock meant talking, he was rather a difiBcult man to get away from. Snubbing he was perfectly im- pervious to. It was no use rejecting his overtures of conversation, fie would rattle away apparently quite oblivious of the fact that you had no desire to talk to him, and in nineteen cases out of twenty he carried his point, and broke down the reserve with which the stranger had hedged himself, Mr. Pollock had entered the Golden Galleon with two distinct objects in view, fie meant to be upon fiiendly terms if possible with Miss Black, but he most de- cidedly wanted to be free of the skipper's parlor; if anything was to be learned at the Golden Galleon concerning the citadel tragedy, Mr. Pollock had somehow taken it into his head that it was from thence he would get his inspiration. But upon this occasion Mr. Pollock found he had no easy task. His volubility made no impression on the Senora. She listened to him in a half-absent way, and with a wan smile upon her lips; but her replies were of the briefest, and she only spoke when absolutely necessary. When Mr. Pollock, with his easy affability, at last said, “And now if you have a nice room that 1 can sit down in, 1 think I’ll do that again, my dear,” and pushed the tankard across to her, with a view to its being refilled. Marietta simply called to the pot-boy, and with a curt “ Show this gentleman into the Jront room, Tom,” dis- missed the subject. This did not meet the inspector’s views at all. There was not much information to be acquired in the absorption of a pint of beer by himself. “ It’s rather dull work drinking alone, miss; haven’t you a room where a man has a chance of chatting over his glass?” “ There’s nothing to prevent your doing that where I have told Tom to show you, if you can find any one to chat with,” returned the girl coldly. “ It’ll be a chance shot,” thought Mr Pollock; “ but I’ll see, my lady, if 1 can’t wake you up a bit.” “ Terrible tning this murder at the citadel; it’s a comfort to hear that the police have laid their hands upon the man who did it.” "Yes! he had woke her up now, and no mistake. The girl’s eyes blazed, the blood surged in her cheeks, and her voice shook, as she asked impetuously, “ Who is it they accuse of the crime?” “ A man, I’m sorry to say, miss, who it’s likely you know. I’m told Captain Furness made this house his head-quarters when on shore.” They’ve arrested Jack Furness for this crime! Oh! my God' 44 STRUCK DOWN. my God! What shall 1 do?” and bursting into a paroxysm of tears, the girl hurried rapidly from the bar. ” Hum!” said Mr. Poilock to himself, as he followed his ale into the front parlor, “ I’ve a strong impression that young woman will turn out to be * IM,’ and I’ll bet a trifle of odds the clew to the citadel murder is to be found in the Golden Galleon. CHAPTER IX. THE skipper’s PARLOR. When Marietta gained her chamber, she sunk on her knees by the side of her bed, and, burying her face in the counterpane, mur- mured: ” Oh, my God! it is too terrible. 1 would have given my life to save Charlie Clayford; but, in a moment of mad passion, I've been the cause of his death. And, as if this were not past endur- ance as they stood, now comes this fresh complication. Jack Fur- ness accused of the murder! What took him to the citadel that night? 1 didn’t even know he was in England; and now he is de- nounced tor this murder. What madness; what an inextricable tangle 1 seem to be involved in! What am I to do? Who am 1 to trust? From whom shall 1 take counsel? 1 am lost! 1 can not let Jack Furness die a shameful death; and, from all 1 hear, facts point strongly against him. I, who know how straightforward he is that his one mistake in life has been entertaining a passion for a girl incapable of responding to it. Love! Yes, he did love me; better, 1 believe, than the poor fellow who is gone, and for whom 1 would willingly have died. It is sweet to think that he loved me too. Honestly, 1 believe, but who shall say? When a man of his station pays his addresses to a girl of mine, the world is always entitled to doubt the meaning of it; and that is what has happened, and that is what has brought all this unutterable woe. 1 see no way out of it. 1 can not let Jack Furness die. Ah me!” she exclaimed, with a shiver, ” to stand in court with all the eyes of an angry crowd re. garding me would kill me; and yet, if 1 tell the truth, what other fa‘o awaits me? It would be too shameful to let an innocent man suffer for what, in my veiy heart, I believe him innocent of. He was there. What miserable mischance took him there, 1 don’t know; but, like the whole affair, it seems to have been one of a series of fatalities. Oh, Charlie, my darling, if you could but know the unutterable wretchedness you have bequeathed to your poor Marietta. I’m sure the tears would stand in your eyes.” STRUCK BOWK. 45 Mr. Pollock, in the meantime, slowly absorbins^ his ale, came to the conclusion that the Golden Galleon was a house that it behooved him to cultivate. ‘‘ Nice, hot-tempered young woman, he said to himself. “ That dark-eyed girl in the bar could give a very useful hint or two about the cause ot Mr. Ciayford’s death, when properly handled. A bit scarey, no doubt; one of the sort you jump information out of by surprising ^em. Quite a kind who, 1 should think, wouldn’t be above using a revolver herself, if her blood was up. A Spanish- looking woman, whose eyes blaze like fire. Kevei knows exactly where she’s going when her temper’s up. Whether she did it, or whether she didn’t. I’d stake a good bit of money that she knows all about it. Kow here’s this Captain Furness. They’ve got him in custody, and 1 dare say have got a very pietty case against him as far as it goes; but I’ve considerable doubts as to w^hether he’s the man. Still, if he was a lover of this girl’s, came back from sea, and learned that she had been carrying on with Mr. Clayford, it’s quite likely that his temper got the best of him, and, after a few angry words, he simply slew the man who had supplanted him in her affections. By Jove! old Crinkle’s right. The very first link in the chain is to get really hold of the secret of those cartridges: Who was the buyer; and what were they bought for? Simmons, no doubt, was the buyer; but, the why of it, that’s the question/’ The more Mr. Pollock thought over this thing, the more he felt convinced that he must penetrate the sanctuary of the skipper’s par- lor. It was there that he would discover the details of the life of Captain John Furness, would hear ot his characteristics, and what Character he bore, etc. They would know in there whether he was a suitor of Miss Black’s, whether a favored one or no, whether it was an affair that met her father’s approval, and what prospect of success he was considered to have had. And surely somebody in the house must know at all events whetfier any acquaintance had existed between Miss Black and the man who had come to such an un- timely end. As no hints of any description seemed to be responded to, Mr. Pollock, after due consideration, came to the conclusion that there was nothing for it but to take the case into his own hands. Mr. Pollock was thoroughly accustc med to this species of audacity: it was a necessity of his peculiar business. The experienced detect- ive ofncer ignores rebuffs. If it suits his purpose to know you, ho will do il. Mr. Pollock had come to the conclusion that it was es- sential to the inquiry he was engaged on, to know the “ skipper’s parlor, ” And, as no one appeared willing to introduce him, he de* 46 StRTTCK DOWnr. termined to introduce himself. A few insidious inquiries speedi.y acquainted him with the locality, and with no more ado, Mr. Pol- lock walked boldly in and hung up his hat on the nearest peg. There was a solemn stir on the part of the three denizens ot that sanctum. Dave Skirley was smoking and ruminating in one arm- chair; Captain Noreton was absorbing the contents ot a mahogany- colored tumbler, and those of the local paper, in another; the third was laboriously constructing a letter, which apparently necessitated much biting of the top of the pen, and dipping in the inkstand. Three pairs ot eyes glared at Mr. Pollock upon his entrance, with that unmistakable expression of “ What the devil do you want here?** which is familiar to all of us, “ Beg pardon, sir,** said Captain Noreton, after Mr. Pollock had seated himself in an easy-chair and lit his cigar, “ p*r*aps you ain't aware that this is a private room.*’ “ Right you are, old man, and I’m a private gentleman in it. Now what will you have? What’s your particular variety? The wind’s in the south. Everything looks rosy, and ‘ the goose hangs high,* as they say on the other side of the water. That’s rather top quality Virginia you’re smoking, old fellow,” continued Mr. Pollock, turning to Skirley. ” What a day it is! Trade’s pretty brisk, business real good. Hope, gentlemen, you all find it so.” “I said, sir.” said Captain Noreton, “that this is a private i:oom.” “ Of course you did, you dear old man; and didn’t 1 tell you 1 was a private gentleman? Now, what will you take? I’ve just been damping my stomach with a big dose of bitter ale; and now X must have a corrective. Now, sir, as a Christian and a sailor, 1 ask y( u, do you consider the rum here reliable?” Captain Noreton was adamant as possible concerning the integ- rity ot the “skipper’s parlor.” But a genial stranger who suff, gested gratuitous rum, was surely a man to be kindly regarded. He thawed slightly in his manner as he replied: “ That liquor was ob' tamable of exceptional purity at the Golden Galleon; and that though the gentleman had made the mistake of intruding into a private room, still, for once in a way, they weie glad to see him.” “ Once in a way!” chuckled Mr. Pollock, to himself, as he lang tor glasses round. “ Why, you dear old man, il you only knew it» you won’t get shut of me out of this parlor for the next month* Very cuiious this citodel murder,” continued Mr. Pollock affably. “ Bless my soul, a big murder always interests me more than any three-volume novel that ever was written. Now this really is a STRUCK DOWN. 4 ? most interesting case. Who did it? And why did he do it? Pos- sibly, some of you gentlemen knew Mr. Clayford. He was always boating, I’m told, and kept a yacht of some sort down about here.’* ‘‘ It^acht!” rejoined Captain Noreton contemptuously. “ He kept a sort of halt-decked boat, if you called that a yacht! No, we didn't see much of him, he was a bit uppish; he didn’t think the likes of us good enough for him. Except by sight, we none of us knew much about him; but old Bill Coffin always vowed he was a sailor, and old Bill’s a judge of those matters—did you say, sir, would 1 do it again? Thank you, 1 don’t care if 1 do.” Mr. Pollock had not made the slightest overture to the calling for more liquor, but Captain Noreton, like Mr. William CofiSn, Mari- ner, was possessed of that grand natural thirst the which there is no assuaging. “ Have you heard the news, gentlemen?” continued Mr. Pollock; “ are you aware that Captain Furness —a man well known to most of you — has been arrested as the perpetrator of this citadel murder?” ‘‘ What, Jack Furness!” exclaimed Captain Noreton. Dave Skirl ey took his pipe slowly out of his mouth, and then said quietly: ” Jack Furness! why, the man has only just got back to Plymouth. How do the police know that he was even in the cita- del that evening?” ‘‘Oh! pretty much as you know it, 1 suppose,” replied Mr. Pol- lock, as he lit a fresh cheroot. “ 1 don’t know anything about it, but there’s probably a score of people who know that Captain Furr ness was in the citadel that evening. I need scarcely say that your being in a place like that when murder is committed don’t exactly convict you of being the murderer. The police must surely have more than that against JiIeq; at all events, they have gone the length of committing him. "These county magistrates are always prepared to go a cracker in that way; they know very little law, and still less about evidence; and nothing but a shrewd clerk prevents their making periodical fools of themselves.” “Do you suppose, sir, Jack Furness committed this crime?” asked Captain Noreton, solemnly. “ 1 don’t pretend to know anything about^ it,” rejoined Mr. Pol- lock, pulling hard at his cheroot; “ all 1 do know is that there seems to be the very sketchiest evidence against him; so mucn so, that 1 almost wonder at the magistrates granting a committal.” “ It’s a rum ’un, it is,” said Dave Skiriey, as he sent a volume ot smoka up the chimney; “the idea of Jack Furness being arrested 48 STRUCK DOWK. for murder. Odd, loo, he should be iu the citadel that night, tha he should be back and none of us know it.’’ “ Ah you knew him well, gentlemen?” interposed Mr. Pollock. ” Knew him well!” rejoined old Koreton, .almost irritably; “of couTse we knew him well— why, there wasn’t such a popular young ’un about the Golden Galleon as he was. He have anything to do with this murder! Well! if they think that, there^s not such a double distilled set of tools about as the police of this city. Yes, shipmet, it’s a curious murder, no doubt. It’s a curious thing Jack Furness being in the citadel that evening; hut lor’ bless their stu- pidity, to suppose he was mixed up in it is — ” and here Captain Kore- ton was so utterly lost for a comparison that he wound up with the rather weak conclusion ot, “ damme, impossible!” “Well, it does seem odd!” said Mr. Pollock; “1 suppose they have something to go upon, but what cause a man who’s been away on a six or eight months’^Voyage could have for killing another, whom, as far as rumor goes, he never even spoke to, I can’t imag- ine.” “Can’t you?” rejoined Dave Skirley, grimly; “strikes me you ain’t got much imagination ’bout you, my man. Suppose you came home after a long absence, and found a chap had stole what you prized more than anything in the world, don’t jmu think you’d feel a bit wolfish, and anxious to have it out with him?” “ But,’" replied Mr. Pollock, with a blank innocence that did him infinite credit, “ this w^asn’t a case of robbery; there wasn’t a ring, his watch, or even the money lying loose upon the mantebpiece taken from the murdered man’s rooms.” “ Bah!” rejoined the other, contemptuously, “ as if it is not pos- sible to steal from a man what he values higher, ay, far higher than jewels or money. Who knows what the dead man has stolen from Jack Furness? We shall know, perhaps, when he is tried, and, it may be, admit there that if wrong to take the law into his own hands, he had some justification for his deed.” “ There’s a good deal in what you say, sir,” rejoined Mr. Pol- lock, quietly, “ 1 don’t pretend to know anything about it. The police are, of course, in possession of much fuller information than we possess to justify this arrest. It is odd. A curious case; and as you astutely suggest, sir, there is something in the background to account for Captain I'urness’s proceedings. His mere appear- ance even in the citadel that evening is unaccountable.” “ 1 tell you he didn’t do it,” chimed in Captain Noreton, biing- mg his fist heavily down on the table in a manner that made the STRUCK DOWN. 49 Tery spoons and glasses dance: “ we all know Jack Furness, and we know he didil't do Right you are, sir, tor a doubloon,” said Mr. Pollock, cheer- fully, ” the police say he did, and nobody else seems to think so; but you know, gentlemen, the police are bound to say somebody did it After a short time they can’t go on saying they don’t know. You may know, or you may not know, but there’s a good many professions in which it never does to acknowledge your ignorance. Now, shipmets, you’ve been in tight places, no doubt, in the course of your experience, but you know very well it never did to tell the crew that you didn’t know where the devil you were.” “ Been much at sea, sir?” inquired Captain Noreton. “ One can see with half an eye that you’re not in the profession; but, p’raps, you’ve been about a bit.” “You don’t happen to have anything to do with the police, do you?” inquired Mr. Skirley, in a low tone, “ I’ve been at sea above a bit, gentlemen,” replied Mr. Pollock, “and I’ve nothing to do whatever with the Plymouth police.” And as he spoke the inspector rose, and putting on his hat, nodded an affable farewell to the pair. A man may say that he’s been to sea above a bit who has crossed the channel twice, and been about thrice to the Nore. Mr. Pollock also certainly did not belong to the Plymouth police. The answer was Jesuitical, but Mr. Pollock thought it high time to stop further inquiry into his own peculiar pursuits. CHAPTER X. CAPTAIN NORETON ON YARNS. The appearance of Captain John Furness before the magistrates, on a charge of being mixed up in the famous citadel murder, ex- cited no little eurioBity in Plymouth. The dashing, free-handed young sailor was well known in the town; much respected for his seamanlike qualities, which had given him command of a fine ship at a very early age, and also much liked for himself. Men and women, and especially the latter, were wont to wax rather enthusi- astic when speaking of “ Jack Furness.” He had both good looks, and that frank, deferential manner which always enlists the sym- pathies of the softer sex. Jack Furness couldn’t have said a harsh word to a woman to save his life, and the idea that he should be deemed guilty of having anything to do with Ihe death of Mr, 60 STRUCK DOWN. Clayford seemed, to those who knew him, incredible: and there was much growlins: about the stupidity of the local police in conse- quence. Still, there were cooler heads who argued, improbable that it should be so, if you like, but let us hear what they have to say. They have hardly arrested this man without some grounds. “ Arrest him!” growled old Captain Noreton, who had made his way into the body of the court; “ they were bound to take up some- body, just to appear busy dike — might have been you ; might have been me. Lord! what do they know about it? Enough for them, 1 s’pose, the man’s in Plymouth.” Captain Noreton had a very poor opinion of the police. The veteran skipper was wont to be quarrelsome in his cups; and as, though rigidly abstemious when afloat, he was usually in his cups when ashore, it Lad led him in his younger days into considerable dlHerences with the guardians of the public peace. The gentleman who represented the Crown opened his case very briefly. He said it was only his intention at present to offer sufid- cient evidence to justify a remand; that Captain Furness had been in Plymouth for some days, and apparently keeping his presence concealed from all his friends and acquaintances; that his proceed- ings had been quite contrary to his usual habits; and that he should produce evidence to show that the prisoner was not only seen in the citadel, but in the vicinity of the officers’ quarters. That another singular circumstance was that, howem* he left the place, it was not by the gate, but by some means of his own. He should prove that it was possible to descend from the ramparts, and thus get out- side after the gates were closed; but he said, laying marked empha- sis on the remark, ” A man must have some object in thus evading public notice.” Further, that the prisoner, while admitting that he had been in the citadel on the day and at the time mentioned, posi- tively declined to give the slightest explanation of why he was there, or how, or at what time he left. Mr, Faker then proceeded to call the sentry who had been on the ramparts in the rear of Mr, Clay ford’s quarters at the time the mur- der was committed. The man, wffio had heard the two shots, who swore that he had seen the prisoner lounging near his post some half hour before, had noticed him particularly, for ho had been tneie some time. Two (»f the officers’ servants deposed to seeing him in front of the quarters; whilst the non-commissioned officers and sentry on the gate swore positively that they had never seen him pass out. The sentry on duty there perfectly recollected his passing in a few minutes after six; but neither he nor his successors ever STEUCK DOWN. 61 saw him again. Captain Furness, it was also demonstrated, was further a somewhat notable character. He was a tall, good-looking fellow, and, unlike merchant skippers generally, attecled a certain amount of nautical dandyism in his attire. Folks would not have been much surprised, for instance, to hear that he was the owner of a smart yacht. A man this, likely to catch the eye and be easily recalled to the memory; and the witnesses were all very positive with regard to his identity. Against this the gentleman retained in Captain Furness’s interests pointed out that the lamparts of the citadel were a very favorite lounge for the Plymouth public; that a suspicious character seen loitering about the vicinity immediately before the great crime had been committed naturally incurred a taint of suspicion, but with a man whose antecedents were stainless the case was different; that there was not a shred of evidence against his client; and he appealed to the magistrates to discharge him at once. As to the sentry not having seen Captain Furness pass out of the gate — well! sentries were not infallible. They sometimes did not see everything that went on in the neighborhood of their posts, and, finally, that a gentleman in his client’s position might very reasonably feel so indignant at such an unfounded accusation being brought against him as to decline any explanation of his presence or his conduct on the occasion. A more unheard-of infringement of the liberty of the subject had never, perhaps, been committed, and if Captain Furness was guided by him, whoever authorized his arrest would pay pretty dearly tor his whistle. The gentleman conducting the case for the crown had naturally a few words to say in answer to this. While quite admitting that proof was far from conclusive against the accused, he urged there was quite sufficient suspicion attaching to him to warrant a remand. He said that time had not as yet admitted of the full collection of evidence, but that daily more circumstances were being elucidated in the unraveling of this most mysterious murder. That it would be premature on his part, or on the part of the police, to produce their case in full till they had pieced their story more thoroughly together. “ But, gentlemen, this appears to me to be a most flagrant case of taking the life of an uprignt, honorable man. Such a crime can not be slurred or passed over, and if suspicion piles itself up against any one, 1 feel sure that you will feel it your duty to detain him until such suspicion is dissipated. Captain Furness could dis- pel this cloud in one moment, if he chose to account for his presence in the citadel, or how he left it, on that eventful evening. He de- liberately declines to explain all this, and therefore 1 feel justified in 52 STRUCK DOWK. asking for a remand at your hands, till further inquiry is made into this tragedy. No feeling but one of regret can possibly be expressed by me, or by any one who knows Captain Furness, that he should be placed in this painful position; still, there is no denying, it is due partially to hia own obstinacy, and that nothing can now thoroughly exonerate him from participation in the crime but his facing the investigation that 1 request/’ As the shrewd solicitor who had been retained for the crown sat down, every one in court felt that Captain Furness was certain to be remanded on the charge of willfully slaying Mr. Clayford, of the ——til regiment, in the citadel on that bright July evening. It was a certainty; country justice is usually very purblind, but even it un- derstands, when the possible culprit is in the trap, it is safer to keep him in his cage a few days longer, than to prematurely open the door; and, as was expected. Captain Furness was remanded for tUat day week. “ He ain’t done it any more than 1 have!” exclaimed Captain Nm’eton, dogmatically, as he bustled his way out of the court. ” Eight you are,” rejoined Mr. Pollock, cheerily; ” but don’t you get edgy, old man. Bless you, there’s a many things turns up in a week. Why, there’s many a man on the Stock Exchange, who began on a Monday and found either the workhouse or a mansion in Bel grave Square ready for him on the Monday following. Dear me! it’s a queer world: it’s possible to go to church on a Sunday in a respectable way with the wife and kids, and to find yourself in Millbank for having cut their blessed little throals that day week! You can’t tell, sir; human nature is up to such games that you never know where to have it. Bless me! look at ’em all. There’s Doctor Dodd, in years gone by a fashionable clergyman, as I’m told, who couldn't refrain from writing other people’s names. There was Mr. Fauntleroy, the banker, one of the biggest swells of fash- ionable society, he had the same weakness; and they both of ’em, to the astonishment of tile world, died in their shoes in front of Newgate. Games, sir; human nature is always up to games. Wasn’t there a respectable school-master who did away with the woman to whom he had been married thirty years and upward, and packed her up in a box for undefined purjioses of exportation? He was voted mad, that one; but, bless you! I'm not quite certain about it. Men and women, as far as 1 reckon ’em up, have always got a bit of the monkey and a bit of the tiger about ’em, which it only wants circumstances to develop. You come along with me, cap’n, and we’ll just go back to the Golden Galleon, and rinse our STRUCK UOWiT. 53 mouths out. No, no, sir, as 1 said before, human natur* is rather difficult to count upon; but 1 don’t believe that Captain Furness had anything more to do with that murder than you or 1 had.” “ Right you are, mate, and we’ll just stroll down to the Barbi- can, and have a real nor’ -easier on the strength of it. Don’t you be shy, my lad; we don’t welcome everybody in the skipper’s parlor; but when Captain Noreton lakes a chap up— well! it’s his own fault if he can’t get along there.” ” Very good of you, indeed, I’m sure, to say so,” replied Mr. Pollock; “I’m quite a stranger^ with hardly any acquaintance in the place, and the privilege of dropping into your room and enjoy- ing the society of a lot of naval gentlemen, with all your wonderful experiences, is a great treat to a Londoner like myself.” “ Londoner! are you now? Why, bless me, there’s a deal of life to be seen about Gravesend, the docks, and in the Pool. Why a man o’ your advantages ought to have a carpet-hag full of yams!” “ That’s what is so hard about it; my tastes are all nautical, and fate has compelled me to do the commercial- traveler business.” “ \Vhat! you deal in laces and ribbons and such like frippery? poor beggar!” and Captain Noreton looked at his companion with undisguised pity. “ Hum! you don’t look quite that sort of chap, either.” “ Well, no, captain— my soul’s not in it, you see. I’d always a hankering after ths stormy ocean, the Spanish Main, pirates, and all that sort of thing, and it’s a treat to me to associate with gentle- men who’ve seen it all.” Captain Noreton stopped short in the street and looked Mr. Pol- lock all over. “Well!” he said, “I’m dashed; pirates! why I never heard of such gentry being about, except maybe in the Chinese waters, since 1 was first rope’s-ended. You’ve been a reading some of them nautical romances. Why, bless your innocence! the Chan- nel nowadays is as well lit as George Street, and as for the ocean, why it’s as well p’liced as this city.” “ Never mind, captain,” rejoined Mr. Pollock, laughing merrily, “ 1 dare say some of your comrades will be ready to administer to my appetite when they discover its direction; you seafaring gentry being able to spin a yarn; and, bless you! what does it matter if it’s true or not? A good story is a good story, and who cares whether it really happened?” “ I ain’t one of that sort myself,” said Captain Noreton, solemn- ly, “ and 1 don’t hold much with talKing for ihe sake of talking, and when 1 does tell a tale 1 generally state hard facts, either from STRUCK DOWK. 64 my own personal observations or from that of a friend whom 1 can rely on ; but, never mind, 1 like you, and you will suit us. And don't be afraid you will be disappointed/' concluded Captain ■Noreton, as they crossed the threshold of the Golden Galleon. “ There's some on 'em in there," and he jerked his thumb in the direction of the skipper’s parlor, “ who can pay it out tremenjom,*'' CHAPTER XL MR. POLLOCK PAYS HIS BILL, The Senora gazed with no little astonishment as Mr. Pollock fol- lowed his new friend toward the skipper's parlor. She had been, it may be remembered, upstairs when he had first violated that sanc- tum, and she was much surprised to see him appear to be hand and glove with grim old Captain Noreton. What had brought this mys- terious stranger to the Golden Galleon? Nobody accustomed to the ways of sailors would ever suppose him to be one of that call- ing. A genuine salt has ways of his own and a smack of the sea that are unmistakable. The Senora was far too good a judge of the craft to make any mistake of that nature. Mr. Pollock had guessed rightly that this murder was the source of great pain and anguish to her. What he wished to arrive at was, why it was so? Although in the first moment he had thought the arrest of Jack Furness an egregious mistake, he was beginning to change his opin- ion. “1 don’t suppose," he thought, " that they have got the right man; but it somehow strikes me, that it'll bustle up things all round. It’s like throwing a big stone into a pool; it don’t catch fish, but it makes ’em move, and that’s one step toward getting the hook in their month. Your big criminals," continued Mr. Pollock, philosophically, " are something like your big fish, wont to be some- what sullen and secretive in their ways. Yes, the arrest of Captain Furness will stir the pond up; if he’s not the right man, the real criminal will no doubt do something to commit himself. They all do. Dear me, just think of that famous case iii which the criminal, something like two years after the murder, exhumed his victim, packed up her head and part of her remains, and left the parcel in charge of his clerk. 1 suppose it’s Providence," continued Mr. Pollock, meditatively; " but they most of them either confide their «ecr«t to somebody without the slightest faculty for holding their STKUCK DOWK. 55 tongue, or else transmit something damnatory by rail which leads to their conviction/' Mr. Pollock very soon succeeded in making himself free of the Golden Galleon, and what was more, further established his freedom of the skipper's parlor. One of the first things noticeable about Mr. Pollock was his extensive liberality about ordering re fresliments and his peculiar forgetfulness about settling for them afterward. It was not that he seemed to lack money; on the con- trary, wnen appealed to, his pockets &eemed inv^ariably well lined; but his anxiety, as Hans Breitman terms it, “ to put it on the slate,” was curiously persistent. Mr. Pollock had his reasons, he was not the man to do anything without a definite motive. If he joined gayly in the festivities of the skipper’s parlor it was because he wanted to mingle in their talk. It he endeavord to run- up a score at the bar it vas because be was excessively anxious to obtain a glimpse ot the benora’s handwriting. But the Golden Galleon after the first, somewhat to Mr. Pol- lock’s dismay, proved a house of the most confiding disposition; if the skipper’s parlor passed tne new-comer as a fit associate, then in the eyes of John Black he was a man whose word was good for all he ordered. The Golden Galleon had little experience of bad debts. The landlord was a warm man, and if one ot his customers did go to sea leaving a score unsettled, fretted little about it, and upon the few occasions the skipper’s parlor bad to sorrow over the loss of a messmate, John Black never troubled himself about what the ac- count against him might be in the ledger, but was as honesUy sorry as any of the others, and in most cases the debt was liquidated by the dead man’s friends or relatives. However, Mr. Pollock was not the man to be beat long on such a simple question as this, and therefore no sooner had he succeeded in contracting a small debt at the Golden Galleon than he politely inquired for his account. As he anticipated, it was made out for him by the Senora, and it was with the greatest possible interest that he compared the hand- writing with those of the letters, that he always carried in bis breast- pocket, in his room at Chubb's hotel that evening. Yes, it scarcely admitted of a doubt. Any expert in England would say that the writer of the account was the writer of those letters. Quite evident now to Mr. Polluck, that the Senora had been the sweetheart of the murdered man; equally clear to him from what he had picked up in the skipper’s parlor that this was a fact perfectly unknown to the frequenters of the Golden Galleon and the denizens of Ply- 56 STRUCK DOWN’. mouth Bar. Further, the detective had satisfied himself that Cap- tain Furness had been a pretender to the Senora’s hand, and what was more, in the opinion of the famous Tobacco Parliament/’ of which he had lately been made a member, stood about first in her good graces. “ By-standers see most of the game!’^ muttered Mr. Pollock, snappishly. “Bubbish! By-standers very often overlook what’s going on under their very noses. Ther.^’s an odd one here and there who is looking over the cards, and, having the faculty of observa- tion, may perhaps make a good guess at who will score the trick. But, bless me I the by standers who can see into motives and guess reasons are not verv plentiful; wouldn’t be so much call for our services if they were. No! the case is opening out very prettily. Miss Black’s favored lover is found murdered in his room in the citadel. Miss Black’s supposed favored lover returns from a long voyage some four or five days before this mischance, and happens^ to have been present, upon mysterious business, in the citadel at the time of the occurrence— leaves nobody knows how. Might have had a balloon of his own, for all one could say. No, slight as the evidence is against him, it certainly looks fishy lor Captain Fur- ness. And yet— dash it all— 1 don’t believe he’s the man! Still, it is quite possible that a' man coming home as Captain Furness did, would find somebody to tell him on his arrival that his sweetheart was unfaithful, and men of that class are apt to be a bit impulsive. Yes, 1 suppose there’s a bit of truth in the old saying, ‘A sailor is always ready to take a glass, or fight for a lass.’ ” When Mr. Pollock made his appearance at the Golden Galleon the next day he was much too close an observer not to be at once aware that the Senora regarded him both with distrust and curiosity. She had apparently thoroughly made up her mind as to the role she would play. As a mere matter of business the detective alluded to the murder as one of the ordinary topics of conversation, at present interesting the public mind, but the Senora was impenetrable. She listened unmoved to the latest details concerning it, which Mr. Pol- lock related for her edification; to all appearance it was a matter that liad no interest, for her; and as the detective made his way on to the skipper’s parlor, bent her head in courteous adieu. “ Women are rum ’uns,” muttered Mr. Pollock to himself. “ Give ’em a few minutes to pull themselves together ahd the way they will take punishment is surprising. Now there’s that girl must be sick at heart over this murder. There’s no doubt what- ever she knew well the man who is kiHed and the one accused of STRUCK DOWIT* 57 killing him. She must live in a stale of perpetual dread of being put in the witness box and sharply examioed on the subject. And yet to look at her face this morning, she might have no more to do with it than with a revolution in South America.’’ And as the in- spector came to this conclusion he reached the door of the skipper’s parlor. It was early certainly, and the room was not wont to fill up until late in the afternoon, still the inspector was taken a little aback at finding Dave Skirley the sole inmate of the apartment. Mr. Skir- ley looked up aS the inspector entered. “Nothing new about that murder, 1 suppose,” he said; “our police ain’t very spry, or else they’d have got hold of a bit more than they seem to have done. They must know, oi should know, that there were a good many more people in the citadel that night than Jack Furness. It’s odd they should have happened on him. There’s nobody here supposes he had anything to do with it; but as for getting out of that old citadel after the gates were closed, nobody can fancy an active seaman like Jack would have much difficulty about that.” “ Done it yourself, no doubt,” replied Mr. Pollock, dryly. “ Done it, bless you, yes; and lots more of us. You’re a stranger in these parts, or else you’d know the ramparts is a great place for gallivanting. Well! you know, when the young ’uns are keeping company, they rather forget how the clock’s going round. A^nd it just as often happens as not that a girl would rather make her way out by herself than with a fellow she’s spoons on. I’m not talking of anything wrong, mind; but women get skeary, and desperate afraid of being compromised. Ah! well, governor, you’re a Lon- doner, and know more about these things than 1 do; but the time of day has a deal to say to it. A girl gets squeamish about her char- acter after sundown; her people are likely to look askance at her if she comes home a little late, and she gets a bit shy of being seen in company with a man.” “ "What the deuce are you driving ai?” interposed Mr. Pollock. “ I’m not driving at anything,” rejoined Mr. Skirley; “ 1 merely mean that, though the police have been uncommon keen about ascer- taining that Jack Furness did not go out of the gate after gun-fire> they don’t seem to have troubled their l^ads about who the people were who did go out just before.” “ I’ll tell you what, mv lad, you’re a man after my own heart; you’re a real sensible fello\^,” replied Mr. Pollock. “ Right you are— on such a lounge as those ramparts, people would be apt tc 58 STRUCK DOWK. linger late on a summer’s evening. There’s no younsc woman you could put a name to, likely to be in the citadel that night, 1 sup- pose?’’ “That’s neither here nor there; what 1 knows, 1 knows—and keeps to myself,” rejoined Mr. Skirley sententiously. “But you seem mightily interested in this murder.” “ 1 always am in any great crime of this description. It’s a mono- mania with me. My dear friend, if you were accused of anything of the sort, you can’t conceive the interest with which 1 should fol- low the case. 1 should know you were not guilty; but the problem would have an absorbing interest for me.” “ Weil, guv’nor,” rejoined the other, as he glanced somewhat un- easily at his companion, “ you would be hardly called a pleasant pal under those circumstances; but no doubt the public take a great in- terest in that sort of thing,” “ They do, and 1 am one of the public. Now, it would be a very curious tiling, Captain Skirley, if a young woman turned out to be at the bottom of this case, wouldn’t it? And, Lord bless you, a man of the world like you, knows what they are.” Now, Mr. Pollock’s speech, albeit made a little at haphazard, flattered Dave Skirley. Re certainly had once or twice been in- trusted with the command of a small ship, but his position in the mercantile navy was more strictly to be characterized as that of first mate, and it was as such he was usually looked upon in the skip- per’s parlor. It was sweet incense to him to be addressed as Cap- tain Skirley, as that title was rarely vouchsafed to him by the habi- tues of the room. Then again, there never was a man yet who was not flattered by being complimented on his superior knowledge of the other sex. They all think they understand them, and it is only the few wily and experienced veterans who frankly acknowledge that woman and her ways are past their comprehension. “It ain’t for me to speak,” rejoined Dave Skirley, at length, “ but 1 should not be surprised if you weren’t far out of it. The police haven’t got to the kernel of the case yet; and 1 expect they 11 potter round a good deal more before they do. But I’ll tell you wl.at it is,” said Mr. Skirley, “you’ll find there’s a pair of silk stockings at the bottom of this, before you’ve done.” “What a judge you are!” replied Mr. Pollock, with a wink; “ you do understand ’em, you do. That’s it, sir; that’s it. Captain Skirley; she was in the citadel, and waltzing around that evening; and, of course, she «€t the two by the ears, and then, woman-like, she waltzed out. Now, 1 wonder if these fellows here will ever b't sI'ruck: dowk. 69 upon that? You’ll see, they’ll ^o on bothering about Captain Fur- ness, sticking to it that he’s the man, but utterly forgetting the main point, that they’ve got to prove he’s the man. These provincial peelers, you see, always ovplook these little niceties.” ” 1 say, tell you what it is, my friend, I don’t quite understand a man who talks of niceties about a murder.” “ Ko, no. Captain Skirley, very, very few people do. The mur- derer probably never; but the man merely curious in crime, like myself, has his artistic views just as the man who haunts the first views of the picture-galleries--a morbid taste, 1 regret to own; but we can’t control our fancies in this manner. Some people like com- edy, some people revel in tragedy. There are those who can’t resist the attractions of Madame Tussaud’s and the Chamber of Horrors, and there have been those who couldn’t resist the attraction of a * hanging match.’ Odd, captain, but a fact all the same. A mys- terious murder is always a riddle to me, the solving of which 1 am much interested in; and I’ll tell you what, captain, right you are, there’s a petticoat will prove to be the cause of this;” with which Mr. Pollock rose somewhat abruptly, and with a curt ” good-day,” left the parlor. CHAPTER Xll. TOM LEADER HAS VISITORS. Lieutenant Leader was somewhat astonished one morning in the middle of his toilet by the appearance of Simmons. In answer to his master’s rather snappish interrogatory, ” What the deuce is the matter now?” he replied; “ There’s two gentlemen wanting to see you, sir. They say they must do it.” “Did you tell them 1 was in my tub?” replied Mr. Leader, sharply. “ Yes, sir. 1 always tell ’em that at this hour in the morning.” “ Them ” meant collectively any intruders on Mr. Leader’s pri- vacy, as Simmons was aware that his master hated being bothered while dressing. Indeed, Mr. Leader’s meritorious struggles to be in time for parade admitted of no interruptions. “ What do they look like?” he inquired at last “ Duns?” “ No, sir. One’s a fellow who has been loafing about the ser- geants’ mess ever since poor Mr. Clayford came by his death. As 60 STKUCK DOWN. for the other, 1 can only say he’s more wrapped up than any gen- tleman 1 ever saw in this weather.” “ Well, show them in,” said Tom. And in another minute Sim- mons ushered into his master's little sitting-room Mr. Pollock and a companion, whose lace was carefully enveloped in a silk muffler. “Oh! it’s you?” said Tom, as he welcomed the detective. “ Sit down, both of you. That’ll do, Simmons; you can wait outside, i’ll halloa when I want you.” “ Now, gentleihen, I’m rather in a hurry—” “1 won’t detain you five minutes,” interrupted Mr. Pollock. “ I’ve just about a couple of questions to put to your servant, and all 1 want to ask first is, can he bs depended upon to hold his ‘tongue, more especially it he*s a little bit frightened?” “ Well, as far as my knowledge goes he’s not a talkative man. But what the deuce do you want to ask him?” “Just this, Mr. Leader. First, what he got cartridges for to fit your pistol; and, secondly, where he kept them.” “ But he never got any,” ejaculated Tom, in astonishment. ” Now, don’t you fidget yourself about that, sir, because 1 know he did, and where he bought them, and all about it. I’m going to prove it to 3^011 in about three minutes. Bear in mind 1 don’t think he is the criminal, but he’s keeping bacK a rather important circum- stance from us. Now, there are two ways to get at the unwilling witness of this kind; one is insidious cross-examination, the other is simply to ‘ pounce.’ Now, sir, if you will call Simmons in, I’m just going to pounce.” “ Simmons!” roared Mr. Leader, in a state of much curiosity as to what was to follow. Another instant and that servitor entered the apartment. “ Now, my man,” said the detective, sharply, taking the whole afiair at once into his hands, “I’m Inspector Pollock, of Scotland Yard. What did you want with all these pistol cartridges?” and as he concluded, he produced one from his waistcoat pocket. “ Now, don’t troul le yourself to deny it,” interposed the inspector, sharpl 3 % as Simmons was evidently about to enter a protestation “ This cartridge came out of one of the undischarged chambers of your master’s pistol. There sits Mr. Crinkle, who keeps the big shop in Dfcvonport where you bought them, and two of whose young men will be able to identify you and swear to selling them to you at difierent times. Now, don’t you fluster yourself, my man; keep cool. 1 don’t suppose for a moment that you shot Mr. Clay- ford; but it you are an innocent man, the more candid you are about STRUCK DOWK. 61 those cartridges the better; If otherwise, you can’t keep your mouth too closely shut. Take time before you answer.” The sharp, quick, incisive words of the detective seemed to fascL nate his hearers. As for Mr. Crinkle, to find his pleasant, pushing, rather talkative companion of Chubb’s Hotel suddenly transformed into the determined, inflexible man of action, left him quite bewil- dered. Till Mr. Pollock had announced himself he had no concep- tion of his real character. The inspector had suggested that they should simply go up to the citadel and see if they could identify the man wno bought those cartridges. Mr. Crinkle was tickled at the idea of doing a little bit of amateur detective, and had no idea that one of the cracks of Scotland Yard was his companion. There was a dead silence in the room for a minute or two, during which Simmons’s perturbation was perfectly evident to the lookers- on. “Well, Mr. Leader, 1 meant no harm. God knows 1 bore Mr. Clayford no ill will; but I’d better make a clean breast of it now as I ought to have done at first. You see, sir, 1 had to keep that pistol clean, and when 1 took it down it came across me one day to see wtiether it really did shoot well, and, shortly after that, 1 got a batch of cartridges to fit it, and then 1 had a bit of private practice at the back of the ditch. Well, sir, 1 got rather fond of it, and the consequence was that whenever 1 cleaned her 1 had fifteen or twenty shots out of her. 1 usually kept such cartridges as were over down in tiie kitchen.” “ That’ll do, my man,” said Mr. Pollock. “ I^ow, Mr. Leader, if you will allow me to put one more question, this man may go, and 1 don’t think 1 shall want him again, except in the witness- box.” “ Certainly; fire away,” rejoined Tom, who had listened to this simple explanation of what had seemed such an inscrutable mystery with the greatest interest. “You are quite certain,” said Mr, Pollock, “ that the pistol was unloaded when you last hung it up?” ♦ “ Quite,” replied Simmons; “ 1 always cleaned it after using it. To have left it loaded would have been, perhaps, to let my master discover what 1 was doing.” “And of course,” suddenly interposed Mr. Pollock, sharply> “ there was nothing to prevent any one getting at these cartridges if they wanted to do so?* They weren’t locked up. 1 mean?” “No, sir. They were in a drawer of the old dresser in the kitch en. There are some there now. 1 can’t rightly say how many 6 % STRUCK DOWN, without looking, nor could I say for certain whether any have been taken from the drawer or not. ’’ “ Thank you, my man,’’ said Mr. Pollock, affably. “'It’s a thou- sand pities you couldn’t have conie out with all this at the inquest. “Sou see we know now how that pistol could be loaded. Anybody surreptitiously wandering about the premises would be likely to find both pistol and ammunition. That point is solved. That’ll do, thank you, Simmons. Now, Mr. Leader,” he continued, as the servant left the room, “ 1 don’t want this little discovery mentioned. Not, mind you, that 1 want to keep a gentleman like yourself in the darl^. Besides, bless me, what would be the use of my trying to mystify a couple of inlelligent gentlemen like you and Mr. Crinkle? It’s all clear enough now. All we’ve got to find out is, who used that pistol?” “ Just so,” said Mr. Leader, who really did labor under the delu- sion that they were close on the track of the murderer. Mr. Crinkle, with a mind trained to acute inquiry, knew better. They had made a slight step on the road to discovery by ascertain- ing how the cartridges had been obtained with which the pistol was loaded, but they had got no further. As they left Mr. Leader’s quarters, Mr. Crinkle ventured to make a remark to that effect. Mr. Pollock smiled compassionately upon his companion, as he rejoined : “ Now, Mr. Crinkle, you’re a man with a head and not a cocoa- nut. You don’t suppose 1 haven’t more cards in my hand than 1 put down on the table to-day? But, dear me, it would never do to let a young gentleman like Mr. Leader into it. Why, he’ll tell the story of those cartridges at lunch, dinner, and two or three supper parties before he goes to bed to-night. Very few of ’em at his age could help it. Well, it can’t do much harm, and what’s more to the point, 1 couldn’t prevent it. 1 was bound to know the history of those cartridges before we went any further. Now, Mr. Crinkle, you’re a close man. You can keep your tongue between your teeih, you can. The story of those cartridges and two or three other things, 1 don’t mind confessing to you, make things look uncommon awk- ward for the prisoner. But it’s a lovely case, sir, a lovely case, and it’s quite possible we haven’t started the right hare as yet.” Still, after parting with his friend Mr. Crinkle, Mr. Pollock, as he turned things over in his mind, could come to no other conclu- sion but the evidence commenced to accumulate against Jack Fur- ness. He knew what the public did not know—that there was STRUCK d3 rivalry between the two men for the girRs love, and what that lias led to is an old world story. And now that it was explained that the pistol could be almost said to have been found loaded to his hand, one might get an inkling of the truth. Mr. Pollock’s rough theory of the tragedy at present was that Furness, mad for an explanation with his rival, got into Mr. Leader’s quarters by mistake; that, chafing with impatience at Mr. Clay ford’s non-appearance, he fidgeted about the room till he found the pistol; then, getting still more irritable, he wandered down-stairs to the kitchen, in search probably of somebody who could tell him where he could see Mr. Clayford, and there found the cartridges ; that then waxing hotter and hotter in his wrath, he loaded the pistol, and having by some accident at length discovered he was in the wrong rooms, made his way to Clayford’s quarters, and there, furious at his supposed wrongs, intensified by the hour he had had to brood over them, he used the pistol with the fatal result recorded, and then escaped over the back of the rampart. “ Yes,” muttered Mr. Pollock, ^ 1 can’t anyhow see more than two in it. There is, of course, just a suspicion that the girl might have done it herself, but it is hardly likely; they do kill their sweet- hearts at times, but this last letter of hers doesn’t point to that. She don’t even hint at going near his rooms. She merely invites him to meet her on the ramparts; which, as everybody tells me, is about as open a promenade as the Hoe. Still there is just the chance, and, though 1 can’t see a panicle of evidence against her at present, one can never tell the unforeseen that may turn up in a business of this sort.” As Mr. Pollock rightly surmised, Mr. Leader had told the story of those cartridges, under the seal of strictest confidence, to half a dozen people before luncheon. Of course it became common prop- erty through the barracks in a few hours, and then there was more than one of the men who could testify to Simmons’s weakness for pistol practice. When a fact like this became so well known in the citadel, it was not likely to be very long finding its way down the Citadel Hill, and the consequence was that all the western local papers had startling headings in their next issue, such as ” The Citadel Mystery,” Discovery of the Cartridges,” “Clew to the Murderer,” etc. The “ Plymouth and Exeter Gazette ” arrived as usual at the Golden Galleon, where, as may be easily supposed, it was diligently perused in the skipper’s parlor. There was, per- haps, no section of the inhabitants of Plymouth more deeply inter- ested in this inquiry than the t^e^tienters of that hostelry. Was not 64 STEUCK DOWK. Jack Furness one of themselves? Was it not preposterous to sup» pose that any one of them could commit a cowardly murder? Kill a man in fair light!— well, perhaps that did occur sometimes in Ihe way ot their profession, but a cold-blooded murder— There was ne’er a man in the skipper’s parlor who would be guilty of such cur’s work as that. Very positive on this point was Captain Nore- ton, not given to say much, but very emphatic, in what he did say, and garnishing it with strong language, not necessary to reproduce, and the brotherhood generally quite supported this opinion. Btili there were one or two exceptions, and notably the head of these was Dave Skirl ey, who argued: “You can’t tell what provocation was offered a man. It’s all very well,” he would say, “ what do you know about its being a cold-blooded murder? It’s quite possible that the man’s blood was at boiling-point when he did it. There ain’t nothing to show to ihe contrary. If Jack Furness did do it, it isn’t likely, as you all say, that he did it without strong provocation. But how do you know he didn’t get it? that’s what 1 want to know.” ” Cleverly put. Captain Skirley, cleverly put,” chimed in Mr. Pollock, who assisted with the greatest interest at most of these dis^ cussions; ” we never can tell, we never can tell; there might have been a young woman mixed up in it, for all we know. Gracious me! a bit of muslin has set the world in flames, much more a mere human being, over and over again, since the days ot that old Greek chap who wrote such a big book about it, and 1 dare say before, only there was nobody to put it down.” But tnere was one person at the Golden Galleon who, although outwardly professing the greatest indifference concerning the citadel mystery, showed in her face the absorbing interest she took in it all. Those veteran mariners shook their heads, and, honest old sea-dogs, tried to cheer her up by telling her that nobody believed Jack Fur- ness was guilty. But the dark circles under the girl’s eyes, their scared, frightened expression, and the wan, listless smile, all pointed to the nervous tension she was enduring. ” Difficult to follow are young women,” growled Captain Nore- ton; ” never guessed she was so sweet, poor thing, on Jack Furness myself.” Mr. Pollock not only noticed the change in the Senora’s manner and appearance, but pretty well everthing else that passed under the roof of the Golden Galleon. That tavern, indeed, had never en- tertained a guest before witii such powers of observation. STRUCK DOWN. 65 CHAPTER Xlll. THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS. The Dext link in the chain of the citadel mystery was again dis- covered by the Plymouth police. They had not only got hold of what they firmly believed to be the real criminal, but they had also discovered two very damaging letters against him. After the arrest of Captain Furnt.ss, the police made inquisition, not into his new apartment at the Golden Galleon, but into his late quarters. There they found a big sea-chest that had been left behind, together with one or two smaller packages. As for the sea-chest, its contents were pretty much what might be expected, with one exception. In it was a small writing-desk, and amongst the few letters which it contained were the two above alluded to, of which Mr. Pollock at once recognized the importance. One had been addressed to the ship’s agents, and evidently forwarded to Falmouth, doubtless with other papers, on Captain Furness unexpectedly putting in at that port; the other bore nothing but the Plymouth postmark, and was directed to the address in Devonport at which the prisoner had re- sided previous to his appearance at the Golden Galleon. The first of them ran : “ There is a merry welcome prepared for you when you touch shoie. The girl whom yuu think cares about you, has done her best to console herself while you were afloat. Make up your mind iQ find yourself cut adrift when you arrive at Plymouth. It’s the way of ’em all. Take advice and be a man; whistle her down the wind, unless, indeed, you’re the sort the writer is, who stands pirat- ical cutting out from no man. If 1 found a soldier oflQcer had laid himself alongside a girl of my choosing, 1 think I’d choke the life out of him. Yours truly, A well-wisher.” The second letter, which bore only the Plymouth postmark, and was evidently in the same handwriting as the first, was as follows: ” Well, you’ve ascertained for yourself by this time that what 1 told you is true. You know that the girl whom you were trying hard to win has picked up another sweetheart. If you want to con- vince yourself of tl.e fact, you’d best be on the citadel ramparts between eight and nine to-night at the back of the officers’ quarters. If you don’t find her there, perhaps you’d better ask for Mr. Clay- cord’s rooms. No doubt you will convince yourself that she can manage to get on without you. Yours truly, ” A SINCERE well-wisher.” i 8 66 STRUCK DOWN. AVhen Mr. Pollock read these two letters, piecing in as they so accurately did with those other three letters, which he always car- ried in his pocket, he simply said to himself: “ I’ll put the mur- derer of Mr. Clayford in the dock, I’d stake my head. Whether a jury choose to convict him, or a judge to hang him, is not my bus- iness. 1 can’t put my finger on him this minute, bat 1 should be utterly unworthy ot my reputation if, with all the information now so rapidly falling into my possession, 1 couldn’t pick him out for certain in the next three weeks. Two points are pretty clear to me from these letters. The writer was undoubtedly, from their style and the language they are couched in, a sea-faring man; and another thing, the Senora was on the citadel ramparts that luckless evening. "Whether she met Furness, whether she met Clayford, or whether these two men met, is what I’ve got to discover. She left, i^o doubt, before the gates were closed. Another point, too: this ‘ well- wisher ’ must probably have borne considerable enmity to one or the other, or he never would have penned those notes. It is not quite the way a friend of either party would conduct himself under the circumstances. No, there’s malice at the bottom of it, and 1 don’t suppose their writer is much concerned at the tragedy he has ingen- iously brought about. One thing is quite clear, he .meant to bring these two men face to face, and when two young men are nuts on the same young woman theie’s safe to be bad blood between them. Still, it wants a lot more piecing out. How did Furness get into Leader’s room? what on earth set him hunting for cartridges? and did the Senora meet both, or either of them? Well, the first thing, no doubt, is, 1 must examine the sentries who were on the citadel gate, or rather get Major GrifiSth to do so. 1 don’t quite want to proclaim my individuality as yet, as 1 am afraid it would close the mouths of all the skipper’s parlor in my presence; and 1 take con- siderable interest in both what Captain Noreton and Captain Skir- ley may say on this subject.” Major Griffith, on being appealed to, promptly responded. “ There can scarcely be,” he said, “ more than two men to exam- ine, probably only one. The guard reports will show us in a min- ute which of the two soldiers we want to see. I’ll have them up to my quarters quietly, and question them before you. Any inter- rogatory you think proper to suggest you may put to them, or if you prefer to cross-examine them yourself, pray do so.” “ No, sir,” replied Mr. Pollock, ” 1 prefer you doing it. 1 wish to excite as little attention as possible.” But the inspector was considerably disappointed in the result of STRUCK DOWN, 67 this investigation. There was no trouble about ascertaining tie two men —the one who had actually been on sentry when the gate was closed, and his comrade, who had preceded him in that duty — but from neither of them could any information be extracted likely to throw any light upon the mystery of Mr. Clayford’s death. Yes, they had both seen several women of all sorts pass in and out dur- ing their term of sentry. Many they knew as wives of their com- rades; but there were many others; some ladies, some not, appar- ently, of whom they knew nothing, whom they had never seen be- fore, and could not be at all certain of recognizing again. “ Did he see any young woman pass out just before the gates were closed?” the sentinel then posted on the gate was asked. “ Certainly, he did; tour or five young women passed out about that time. They were well dressed and that was all he knew about it.” “ Did any young woman pass out by herself on that occasion?” “ Yes, two; he couldn’t say that there hadn’t been three; couldn’t quite recollect about that circumstance; had been on guard there many times, and a lady going in or out was too every-d^ an affair to attract much attention. People from the town constantly came for a walk round the ramparts.” ” Well,” said Major Griflath when the two soldiers had been dis- missed, “lam afraid, Mr. Pollock, you have made very little out of this inquiry?” “ No, sir!” rejoined the detective frankly. “ No; 1 haven’t got hold of a man yet who can give me the information 1 require, bu^ he’s in the barracks, sir; and 1 shall light on him, never fear, before the week's out.” “ No, no,” muttered Mr. Pollock to himself as he walked away from the major’s quarters, ‘ ‘ the Senora is not the sort of young woman men forget having seen. A girl with a walk like hers would make even a sentry look round, and that she was in the citadel that evening I’d bet my life!” During the next few days Mr. Pollock hung a good deal about the non-commissioned ofiicers’ mess in the citadel. He got excess- ively friendly with Sergeant- Blane, and was rather fond of talking over the circumstances of the murder with him, so far as they had transpired. He told him confidentially that the police supposed there was a female at the bottom of it. “ But they say they can’t make anything out of your men upon the gate. They seemed to notice so little who goes in or goes out until such time as the gate is closed.” 68 STRUCK DOWK. “ Well/' replied the sergeant, “ you can hardly expect it. There's people passing irom gun-fire to tattoo, and unless something special attracts his attention, the sentry on the gate is hardly likely to notice them. The police would have done better to have sought information from the sentries round the ramparts. Y ou see there’s not so much to distract their attention, and they’re more likely to remark anybody lounging in the vicinity of their posts. People pass the gate quickly, but about the ramparts they loiter, gossip, sit down, admire the view, etc.” Mr. Pollock was not mulish in his disposition; and quick to take a hint, Sergeant Blane’s suggestion was quite enou h for him. A very few minutes’ reflection, and he exclaimed to himself, ” What a dunderheaded fool I've been! The sentry at the back of the officers’ quarters is, of course^ the man 1 want.” The inspector determined to say nothing about that just now. He knew it would be easy to ascertain who the men were who had oc- cupied that post. His friend Sergeant Blane could settle that for him in a few minutes. The next thing to be done was to keep care- ful watch upon the Golden Galleon, to mix freely in the skipper’s parlor, and await what might turn up. How there happened at*this time a rather singular circumsjance; it seems absurd to say that the committal of one crime could possi- bly have anything to do with the detection of another to which it bore no relation 'whatever; that the very actors in the one drama had never even seen the actors in the other; but life generally is com- posed of as EG any wheels as a watch. J ust now took place a great forgery case, and the skippers, who, after the shipping intelligence, usually devoted themselves to the perusal of the annals of crime in the daily papers, got considerably interested in this. Like all great forgery cases, there was of course much controversy about calligraphy, whether the testators will had really been signed by himself, or whether the man who strove to upset it had written that and one or two other documents for him. This subject seemed to interest Mr. Pollock very much. He pro- fessed considerable disbelief in handwriting being imitated so closely that those thoroughly conversant with it would not at once detect the deception. He was always jocularly challenging the captains to try and imitate his, or let him imitate theirs. But these veteran sea-dogs were not so cunning with their pens as to deem this at all an interesting amusement. Writing was to them a somewhat labor ious exercise, and though now and again Mr, Pollock had induced one or other of them to write their names and allow him to do his STRUCK DOWN. 69 clumsy best to imitate them, the amusement was voted stale and un- profitable. DaverSkirley, tor instance, quite declined to exhibit his penmanship. He said that “he was no scholar, and that writing was a deal of trouble at all times, and was quite bad enough when you were obliged to do it; for his part, when he was taking his spell ashore, he did not want to be bothered with pens and paper.’’ Mr. Pollock only laughed good-humoredly. Still he was always persistently gettins hold of a sheet of paper and writing down the names of everyone in the room. He would suy, iokingly, “ Now, Captain Skirley, 1 never saw your signature in my life. But that’s the sort of way a man like you would sign his name. Now there you are. Captain Noreton, that’s pretty close to yours anyhow;’’ and old Noreton would rejoin. With a grim laugh, “ 1 don’t think that at the foot of a note would ever draw old Kit Noreton’s pay from his employers. Tell you what it is, my man, you’ll never make your living at this trade.’' “ No,” rejoined Mr. Pollock, “ 1 always take an interest in these sort of things, but penal servitude seems to be what most of ’em make out of it, sooner or later. As for their living, why it isn’t fifty years ago since many of them came to their death by it. Still, gentlemen, I’ve heard up in London there are men who will dash you olf a signature after three-days’ practice that would deceive the very owner of that signature himself. 1 am told that these men positively make a precarious living out of it. They are not numer- ous; they live in out-of-the-way places and are difficult to obtain access to. It is their one accomplishment, and they don’t make enough at the game to keep themselves in aflluence. According to my information they simply take a certain sum down to forge for other people, and as a rule, don’t even know what the signature they imitate is wanted for.” “ I suppose they would find themselves among the breakers if they were spotted,” said Captain Noreton. “ Yes,” replied Mr. Pollock. “ I don’t rightly know what comes of it exactly, but you can’t carry on games with another man’s sig- nature without paying for it.” Still for all his chafl and ingenious utilizing of this most conven ient forgery case, Mr. Pollock totally failed to interest the skipper’s parlor in attempting to reproduce each other’s handwriting. But tne inspector was indefatigable. It thtre was nothing to be made out of the Golden Galleon, still there might be something to be wrung out of the barracks. He did not apply to Major Griffith upon this occasion; he quietly went to his friend Sergeant Blane 70 STETOK DOWN. and asked him to let him have a talk ^ith the soldier who was on sentry at the back of the officers’ quarters at the time the two fatal shots were fired. “ Not much difficulty about that/’ rejoined the sergeant. “ You take a strange interest in this murder; and lor the matter of that, there isn’t a man in the citadel that doesn’t want to see the assassin brought to justice. It’s youi duty, 1 suppose, to collect all the in- formation you can, and you shall certainly see the man you want to, though 1 don’t suppose you’ll make much out of him. He has al- ready stated that he heard the two shots, and saw no suspicious per- son about the quarters.” “ Now, sergeant, 1 tell you what it is. You’re a good sort, and it’s time you and 1 understood each other. Now look here. I am Inspector Pollard, of Scotland Yard, sent down to investigate this very murder. You’re a quiet, sensible man, who don’t gabble. What are we going to do? I’ll just tell you. We’re going to turn this sentry inside out; it’s my impression he is keeping back some- thing 1 want to know, simply from ignorance, and has no idea that the information is of any value. Now, sergeant, we’ll just manage our little cross-examination between us. When 1 ask a question you can keep on pegging away till you see clearly I’ve got at what wanted. ’1 ain’t very much and won’t take us a quarter of an hour. If Mrs, Blane wouldn’t mind, and you will allow me to send for a cool tankard, we had better see this chap at your quarters.” Private 8gmpson, having been sent for, was duly questioned. As Sergeant Blane had predicted, he could say nothing farther in con- nection with the murder than he had already told; but now that gallant non-commissioned officer was left in hopeless bewilderment at the new line of questioning taken up by the inspector. Had Pri- vate Sampson seen a dark, well-dressed, good-looking young woman loitering in the vicinity of his post any lime between seven and the hour the gates were closed? Yes, decidedly he had; he recollected her perfectly, and should know her again if he saw her. She was walking up and down for a good quarter of an hour be- tween his post and the next angle of the ramparts. At the end of that time she was met by a young man in sailor costume. They were pretty far from his post when they joined each other, and he couldn’t say what occurred between them at all. “ Did they leave the citadel together?” asked Mr. Pollock. “ Nol” replied Sampson, firmly, “ of that 1 am quite confident. The lady passed me by herself on her way to the gate a few min* Hies before the last post sounded.” STETOK DOWI^. n “ And her sailor friend?” inquired Mr. Pollock, interrogatively. “ 1 don’t know, sir; 1 don’t know what became of him. 1 never saw him except in the distance, and couldn’t swear to him if you showed him to me to-morrow.” “ That’s all 1 want to Rnow, sergeant; we needn’t detain Samp- son any longer,” said Mr. Pollock in an undertone, and thereupon the little conclave broke up. CHAPTER XIV. SUBSCEIPTION FOE THE DEFENSE. Captain Fueness, when next brought before the magistrates, once more admits his presence in the citadel, but declines to give any reason for his being there. In short, wnether by the advice of counsel or at his own discretion, the sailor quietly but firmly re- fuses to answer all questions relating to that fatal evening. ** You. are charged, remember,” said the chairman of the magis- trate’s bench, “ with a terrible crime, of which we can scarcely believe you to be guilty. Surely a little explanation on your part. Captain Furness, would enable us at all events to remand you on bail. As it is, 1 must warn you that fresh evidence is about to be produced against you, which, without some such explanation, will, 1 tear, leave us no alternative but to once more consign you to custody.” No, he will not speak. Jack Furness thanked the magistrates, but simply replied that he had nothing to say. Sergeant Blood, of the Plymouth police force, to whom Mr. Pol- lock, not at all wishing to as yet take a prominent part in the pro- ceedings, had delegated the charge of the case, now produced the two anonymous letters which we have already seen. “ These, gentlemen, we consider point clearly to a strong rivalry between the prisoner and the deceased for the affections of some young woman, whose name we have not so far been able to ascer- tain.” ” 1 don’t think much of anonymous letters,” rejoined Mr. Eldon^ one of the magistrates. “It is the sort of testimony on which I wouldn’t commit a dog.” “We believe, sir,” replied Sergeant Blood, “ that we shall before long not only produce the writer of those letters, but the young woman to whom they refer.” 72 STRUCK DOWK “In consequence, gentlemen,*' interposed the counsel for the prosecution, “ we ask for a further remand." “ 1 presume," rejoined the solicitor for the defense, “ that as there is nothing more against my client beyond two anonymous let* ters, and the fact that, like several hundred other people, he hap- pened to be in the citadel on the night of the murder, you will now release him on bail." “Bail, as you know, is raiely allowed in the case of such crimes as you client is charged with. It is, I may say, entirely at his own discretion," said Mr. Eldon, sternly. “If Captain Furness will give an explanation of why he was in the citadel on that evening he would at once dissipate the most suspicious circumstance in hip case, and 1 have no doubt we should feel able to release him on bail. If he is an innocent man, why should he hesitate to at once clear his character? If a guilty one, he can not be too reticent." “ Of course," rejoined the prisoner's solicitor, “ the decision rests with you, gentlemen, but 1 must venture to again point out that evidence against my client there is simply none, and to commit him to prison on a charge of this nature is to inflict a stain upon his name that will adhere to him for life." “We will take that responsibility upon ourselves," rejoined Mr. Eldon, “ and though to some extent admitting the justice of what you say, simply reply that his release on bail lies in Captain Fur- ness's own hands; as he declines to speak, we have no choice but to recommit him till this day week." “ Well," said Mr. Pollock, as he walked away with his now great chum, Captain Noreton, “ these country magistrates are stunners. You would have had to produce a little more evidence before a metropolitan beak to induce him to still keep a man like Captain Furness in custody. However, the police, no doubt, have got some- thing behind, and no doubt have given the Bench a pretty strong bint of it, although they have not thought fit to show their hand as yet. But they must next week; to go on remanding such a man as Captain Furness on such evidence as that is preposterous. " “ No," replied Captain Noreton, “ they did not seem to think them anonymous letters counted for much. Of course they don't. Nobody but a cowardly lubber writes things of that sort he's afraid to put his name to. It’s odd," he continued, “ about the girl. Why, we all thought thaf Jack Furness was sweet upon the Sen- ora, and as for Mr. Clayford, why, 1 doubt if he ever saw her." “Ah I there it is," said Mr. Pollock, “you're a straight-going man, Captain Noreton. You thoroughly believe in Jack Furness; STRUCK DOWK. 73 you've an uiter contempt for a man who don't sign his name to his letter. And yet there it is; these anonymous letters are already afiecting your mind; it’s always the way, sir. Throw the dirt in that form, and some of it'll stick. Mr. Eldon, the Chairman of the Bench, bravely denounced Inem to-day, but by next week he’ll have come to think there's something in them after all." " By — ," but let the tremendous observation of Captain Noie- ton remain unrecorded, " you're right, sir. 1 was on the point of becoming a white-livered skunk myself. Split my stay-sail, but every man in the parlor shall write his name to-night. They can't make any mistake about the handwriting, and it ain't the least likely that any one of our lor would play it as low on Jack Furness as that. But you say you were allowed a sight of those letters?" " Well, by chance 1 was. 1 know one of the officers of the police force here, and he got me a glimpse of them." " Then of course you would recognize the handwriting if you saw it?" “ 1 don’t quite know about that. 1 should know if it was any- thing like, but it takes a skilled hand, Captain Koreton, to identify handwriting." “ By heavens, then, I'll try it!" said the captain, suddenly stop- ping in his walk. " You’re about to sheer off now to your own crib, 1 reckon, but you come down to the Golden Galleon to-night, and you’ll see old Kit Noreton will have the names of every one in the house on paper. I 'm not going to have this sort of clou# hangin'g over the place; besides, we ought to do more for a shipmate in trouble than sit grizzling and saying how sorry we are, like a pack of old women. What he wants is help. Well, 1 guess the best help we can give him now is to find him plenty of money for lawyers and such-like. When you get into awkward navigation amongst the shoals and quicksands, to engage a first-class pilot is the best thing you can do, to my thinking. That's always a matter of money, and these lawyers, they tell me, like a Channel pilot, don't take charge of the ship except for a stiffish figure. D — me, I start a subscrip- tion list for Jack Furness’s defense in the * parlor' to-night, and mind you’re there to put your fist to it." There was a very full meeting in the parlor that evening. The proceedings of the police-court were in every man’s mouth, and in no place in all the city were they more earnestly discussed than in that " tobacco parliament" of the Golden Galleon. " It was a stain upon the profession," observed one orator. " What! accuse pool Jack Furness, who frequented this parlor reg'lar, of the murder? 74 STRLoK DOWK. 1 s’pose they’ll accuse one or other of us of having vTitten those ^nonymous letters next. That ’ud he a pretty slur, shipmates, to be cast on a steady set of seafaring men such as frequent this house.” In the meantime, Captain htoreton was observed to be laboriously engaged with a pen, ink, and paper, at the side-table. At last he seemed satisfied w ith the result of his labors, and turning round to the speakers he suddenly broke into the conversation. “ There you are,” he said, “ all cacklingvaway like so many rooks in the springtime. Think Jack Furness did it!” he continued, bring- ing his brawny hand heavily down on the table. “ Why, we know he didn’t. But he’s got amongst the quicksands, and we’ve got to see him through it. Now what Jack Furness wants is a pilot. Well! we all know there’s pilots for different waters, and the man who takes you up the Hooghly would be mighty little use to take aboard at Dungeness. What Jack Furness wants is a legal pilot; and what I’ve got to propose, shipmates, is that we just plank down the money amongst us to find him one. Now I’ve drawn out a bit of paper here, and headed the list myself, p’raps some one will read it out,” and apparently exhausted by his own eloquence, Captain Noreton resumed his seat amidst a murmur of applause. The paper was speedily taken up by one of the skippers nearest Captain Noreton, who read as follows: “ This subscription list is for the purpose of defending Captain John Furness from the shameful charge brought against him, and all his friends are requested to sign their names to it, and give as much as they can spare.” Underneath which appeared ‘‘Kit Noreton, £5.” “ And very handsome, too,” said the reader; ” 1 can’t go quite as much as that. 1 never had a long command where 1 couldn’t spend money, like Captain Noreton.” And this allusion to the joke of his supposed command of the “Nore” lightship was received with a loud guffaw by his companions. ” Still, here goes my con- tribution, such as it is, anyway. And now,” continued the speaker, “ having written my own name. I’ll just send it round.” It was about this period that Mr. Pollock made his appearance. He saluted the company generally, and Captain Noreton in particu- lar, and at once asked what might be the subject in hand. “ 1 am doing what 1 told you 1 would, my lad,” rejoined Captain Noreton gruffly. ” 1 am getting up that bit of a subscription which 1 spoke to you about, and they’re not backward,” and here the cap- tain jerked his hand compx^^^^^ively round the parlor, ” in coming STRUCK DOWN. 75 forward. I hope as you’re, so to speak, one of us, you’ll put your name to it for a trifle too.” ” 1 shall be only to happy too contribute my mite,” rejoined Mr. Pollock, “ if I can do so without offense, captain. 1 think I’H fig- ure at the bottom, though, please; you see I’m only a kind of hon- orary member, and very gcod it was of you all to make me so.” “Very good, my lad,” replied the captain, approvingly. There was a commendable modesty about his ‘protege's remark which met his approbation. The paper passed rapidly from hand to hand, till ‘dt last it came to Dave Skirley. Mr. Pollock looked somewhat curiously as the pa- per came to this man, chiefly on account of the two or three singu- lar remarks he had previously made concerning the murder, and also because he thought he saw some disposition on Skirley ’s part to shirk signing it; but in that he was mistaken, for though pretty well the last to attach his signature, Skiiley did so unhesitatingly. Finally, Captain Noreton handed the subscription list over to Mr. Pollock, and the inspector had the opportunity of running his eye leisurely down it, and here the detective was slightly disappointed. There was not a signature amongst the lot that was at all suggestive that the owner was the writer of the anonymous letters. No; whoever Jack Furness’s informant had been, it seemed im- possible that he could have been an habitue of the skipper’s parlor. To begin upon, they were all skeptical that the murdered man even knew the Senora. ” They all seem,” thought Mr. Pollock, “to be quite unaware that she ever walked upon the ramparts: the only one 1 suspect to have any inkling of it is Skirley, from what he said one night about ‘ a man may rob another of what he values more than property.’ 1 thought it was possible that he had knowled 2 :e of the rivalry between Mr. Clayford and the prisoner, but it seems not. At all events, his handwriting goes far to prove that he was not the writer of those anonymouus letters.” The pros and cons of the murder were discussed with considera- ble animation. One thing seemed clear to the assembly, namely, that Jack Furness had nothing whatever to do with the death of Mr. Clayford, and now that they had put down the necessary funds for the defense, that would be proved very shortly. “You are very silent to-night, mate,” remarked Captain Nor? ton, at length. “Yes,” replied Mr. Pollock; “1 was listening to the conversa- tion. As 1 told you, a great crime always has a strange fascination STRUCK DOWK* W for me. By the way, captain, Was Skirley a great friend of the prii- oner’s?” ** No/' replied Captain Noreton; ‘‘ not particular. What made you ask that question?" “ Oh, I don’t know— something he said the other night," and the inspector glanced round the room to see if Skirley was within ear- shot, and then discovered that he was no longer in the room. “ No, my lad^" continued Captain Noreton, “ Jack Furness and Dave Skirley were certainly not to be called chums— fairly friendly, nothing more." CHAPTER XV. MR. POLLOCK WINS HIS BET. The Golden Galleon was a quaintly built old-fashioned house, Vou entered by a low door to what might more properly be called a well-matted passage than a hall. On the left was the bar. with the bar-parlor behind it. On the right was a room dedicated to the use of customers of a rather lower class than the frequenters of the skipper’s pailor, but, as old John Black said, “ he meant to have no lifi-rah about his place," and this room, as a rule, was clear about ten o’clock. Though they at times sat up a little later in the skipper’s parlor, still, it was an early house, and its inmates gener- ally in bed by eleven, or thereabouts. Passing the bar-parlor, you found the staircase on your left, the door to the kitchen, etc., in front of you, while the passage turned at right angles opposite the stair- case to the right. Now you had a small room which usually went by the name of “ the office," it being tacitly regarded as the busi- ness room of the house. Beyond that you had the much larger room known as the " skipper's parlor," while on your right you had sim- p\y the back wall of the- front general room, which was the biggest in the house. Upstairs were merely the bedrooms of the inmates and guests. As for sitting-rooms, the Golden Galleon didn’t indulge in such things, and beyond the small room over the bar, which the Senora claimed as her own, there were none. Mr. Pollock having got as much out of the conversation as seemed likely, and he was tain to confess that it did not amount to much, observed that it was getting late, and that he must be off to bed, and accordingly left the room. As he passed the door of the gen- eral sitting-room, which he knew by that time in the evening— for it was nearer eleven than ten— was usually empty, he was struck by STRUCK DOWK. 77 the sound of voices in high dispute. It might not be a gentlemanly thing to listen to a private conversation, but gentlemen in Mr. Pol- lock's business can not afford to be ultra-particular. He stopped and listened. There were two voices, one fierce and passionate, evi- dently hurling gibe and reproach at her companion; the other a man's, deep, stern and dogged. The inspector recognized them both — the clear, scornful invective of the Senora, and the sullen gruff tones of Dave Skirley. “ Coward!" cried Marietta. “ If you had a spark of manhood in you, you would scorn to take advantage of your miserable dis- covery." “ 1 have missed enough chances in my time. Will you promise to do what 1 want? Remember, there's nobody but me can save you. And that's my price for doing so." " And do you think 1 should ever do anything but hate you if l did what you want me to?" cried the girl passionately. “ 1 will chance all that. Marietta; it’s the one thing 1 long for in this world. I'd sacrifice anything in life to obtain it. Chance has put this power into my hands, and by heavens I’ll use itl" " But the chances are, there are others besides you saw me in the citadel that night." " What matter if they did? Nobody but me knows why you were there. Nobody holds your secret but myself." There was a pause for some seconds, then the Senora exclaimed contemptuously. " 1 did not know that such as you were allowed to crawl upon the face of the earth! Once more” — she continued vehemently — "never! Do your worst." " YouTl think better of it before the time comes." " Again, 1 tell you — never!" cried Marietta, and nothing but Mr, Pollock’s quick ear enabled him to disappear through the entrance before the parlor door was flung open and the Senora swept out. " Well," said Mr. Pollock, as he walked home to Chubb's, " I'm blessed if I don't think she's in it. She don't think much of that fellow Skirley, and 1 expect she's reckoned him up about right, if she don’t change her mind, we’re pretty certain to know all about it; but then that last is a little weakness women are given to." And shaking his head solemnly, Mr. Pollock entered his hoteL The inspector was up early the next morning, and as he sluiced his face with cold water his brain was busy over the last informa- tion he had acquired. " It’s a curious case," he muttered. " A passionate girl like that is quite capable of shooting her lover in her wrath if she thought he 78 STKUCK DOWN. was going to throw her over. Now, it's clear she came to meet Mr. Claytord, and, instead ot that, she found her old sweetheart, Jack / Furness, at the trj^sling-place. He, thanks to his anonymous corJ respondence, seems to have been thoroughly v^ell posted as to what/ had been going on in his absence; and a quarrel ensued betwee|l them, no doubt. Now, there’s no knowing when she left the cita- del, or how. She might have walked toward the gate, and then crossing the square have taken a turn upon the ramparts the oti:^r side. She may have discovered or known there was a large party going on at mess that night, and it might be late before her lover could get away. Now, Sergeant Blane told me it wasn’t very diffi- cult for an active man to get out of the citadel at one particular angle if he could only escape the vigilance of the sentry. ’J’he diffi- culty lay in getting back again. It is quite on the cards that feat is possible for an active young woman. Now, nobody seems to know how the prisoner Furness got out of the citadel either. No- body can recollect his passing out; and the sentry who saw the pair meet says that Furness walked away in the opposite direction from the Senora. “ Next, there is Mr. Dave Skirley. 1 can’t make out that he was even in the citadel that evening; but he somehow has a perfect knowledge of all that took place there; and it’s my firm belief could give evidence which would clear or convict either Furness or the Senora. From what she said last night it strikes me that he’s in love with her too. Now, it he had turned out to be the writer of those anonymous letters 1 should have understood it all. By mak- ing Furness and Mr. Clayford meet, he w as sure to get rid of one of his rivals, and very likely embroil the Senora with the other. It isn’t likely that he contemplated that murder would come of it; but then the letters are not the least like his handwriting. No, I’ll first up and see Sergeant Blane and go over this contraband outlet of the citadel with him.” Mr. Pollock was a man of decision, and as soon as he had fin- ished his breakfast made his way up to the citadel and sought out his friend the sergeant. That worthy, on hea ring his errand, will- ingly volunteered to show him the spot, and they crossed toward the south-west angle of the fortress for that purpose. ” Here it is; you see the natural scarp is not so great here as it is on the side overlooking the town. The ditch is a trifle shallower, and the counterscarp not quite so steep as in other places. The revet- ment is rather broken, and the bank has somewhat given way. Now, it’s not very difficult to get down into the ditch, nor would STRUCK DOWN. 79 an active man have much trouble in getting up that broken part op- posite/* “ And there*s no other way out oi the ditch except that?’* Well, yes, there is. There’s the sallypoit; but that’s only open from gun-fire to retreat. And none but oflacers and soldiers on duty aie allowed to use it.” “Ah!” said Mr. Pollock. “Then nobody could have left the citadel that way?” “ Certainly not; there’s always a sentry on it, and it would be closed altogether till gun-fire the next morning.” “ Now, look here, sergeant,” said Mi. Pollock; “ I’m pretty good for an old ’un, and tfiough 1 don’t look like an athlete, I’m pretty wiry, and 1 don’t minding holding you half-a*crown I go down into that ditch and up the other side.” “ Nonsense!” replied the sergeant, laughing. “ 1 don’t mean to say you could not do it; but you may easy sprain an ankle or break a leg over it, and what’s the good of running that risk?” “ Never mind,” rejoined Mr. Pollock; “ it’s a bet. I’ve a fancy to try. Look here,” he continued, with a light laugh, “ if 1 come to any grief you'll send a stretcher and a couple of men for me, won’t you? or came and pass me through the postern gate if 1 can’t get up the other side?” Another moment, and Mr. Pollock had jumped lightly on the top of the parapet and commenced his descent into the ditch. The first part of his task the inspector found easy enough, but the latter part presented more difficulty {Still, at the expiration of three or four minutes he stood triumphant in the ditch of the cita- del. He paused for a little to recover himself, and then, crossing over, commenced the ascent the other side, where the revetment was somewhat broken. It was a toughish bit of work, and more than once Mr. Pollock tvas within an ace of losing his foothold and tumbling ignominiously back into the ditch; but he was clean grit» and knew well that any loss of presence of mind would mean an ugly fall. He stuck gamely to his task, and eventually succeeded in gaining the top of the glacis. Then he turned round, took off his hat with mock courtesy to his friend the sergeant, shouted out, “’What about that half-crown?” and proceeded to leisurely walk down the slope. “ Ah!” muttered Mr. Pollock, as he wended his way toward the police-office to ascertain what further information .might have been received there. “ Very evident that if he only succeeded in evad. ing the sentry, an active young man would have very little difficulty 80 STRUCK DOW]^-. in getting out of the fortress that way. But a young woman! No I 1 don’t think so. AlJ 1 can say is that, barring she came out of an acrobat troupe, 1 think R’s beyond her.” Mr. Pollock found the Plymouth police at a deadlock. They could make nothing but of the anonymous letters, nor could they even venture a guess as to who the girl apparently mixed up in the case was. On that point the detective knew he could enlighteiV them if -he chose. But the anonymous letters? Yes; it was very important to discover the writer of these. | The chief of the Plymouth police was not a little disturbed, bei cause information had arrived by that morning’s post that the — tli regiment was to embark for active service next week. “ You see what it is, Mr. Pollock; here is the most critical period of the case, and it looks as if we were to lose the best part of our witnesses. 1 don’t know what to do. I’ve been up to see Major Griflath this morning, and he’s told me that it is perfectly true, that unless there are orders to the contrary, Mr. Leader and all the other witnesses will have to embark as a matter of course; but that the colonel will be down to-night from town, and will have been cer- tain to have seen the authorities before he left, and may very likely bring orders in his pocKet that the witnesses in the murder case arc to be left behind. What do you think, Mr. Pollock?” “ Think!” replied the detective, quietly, ” that Government will be putting a premium on retail murder in their anxiety to push the wholesale article if they don’t do so! 1 shall telegraph to Scotland Yard at once, to say one of the prettiest cases I ever had, and which is piecing itself together beautifully, will go all to bits if those wit- nesses are spnt out of England for a few weeks. Our chief will no doubt communicate with the Home Office, and i think you’ll find they will be detained.” ” You’ve discovered something more then, Mr. Pollock?” “ A good deal more,” replied Mr. Pollock, dryly. ” The depth and breadth of the ditch of the citadel.” “What on earth has that got to do with it?” inquired the chief of the Plymouth police, petulantly. “ A good deal, as you will shortly see,” rejoined Mr. Pollock, as he left the office. STRUCK UOWJS'. 81 CHAPTER XVI. “don’t forget I WAS FIRST.” Major Griffith was right in his conjecture. When Colonel Holmewood arrived to resume the command of his regiment, he brought the order for the detention of Lieutenant Leader, Sergeant lilane, Private Simmons, etc,, in short, all the witnesses connected with the murder, in his pocket. Major Griflath had, of course, kept him well informed of all the particulars of the case, as also had the papers. The colonel expressed the most unfeigned sorrow at a loss of one of his most promising young officers, and deeply regretted that the business upon which he was engaged had prevented his getting back to attend the funeral. “ Have the police made anything of it as yet, Griffith? 1 most sincerely trust they will catch the scoundrel. Thank Heaven I it doesn’t appear to have been one of our own men. 1 own at first that 1 was terribly afraid it was.” “ No, the local police don’t seem to be able to make much of it, but there’s a fellow here from Scotland Yard, who keeps himself very much in the background, and he tells me that he thinks he shall put his finger on the murderer before long. Further than that he declines to speak ; he is an uncommon reticent man, and has even begged me to keep his presence here a secret; 1 naturally mention it to you. He is a good deal about the barracks, but 1 fancy there are not half a dozen men in the citadel who know what his voca- tion is. The only other information he has ever condescended to give me was about those letters. * Dangerous things, sir,’ he said, ‘ anonymous letters. They generally come home to roost. Their WTiter makes no greater mistake than thinking he will be anony- mous long if their recipient sets to work to discover him.’ ” When Mr. Pollock went in to lunch at Chubb’s the next day he seated himself at the next table to Mr. Crinkle, as he now often did. “ Smart this, very,” chuckled this gentleman, putting his hand on the local paper, for since the murder Mr. Crinkle had taken to read the papers. “ Your idea, of course.” “ Let me see how they’ve done it.” replied Mr. Pollock, stretch- ing out his hand for the paper. “ Very fairly, indeed,” he contik ued. “ 1 think that will produce the information 1 require before two or three days are over our heads.” And the inspector glanced 82 STRUCK DOWK. with a satisfied smile at a fac simile ot the anonymous letters, with an intimation that £25 reward would be given to anybody who could identify the handwiitina:. “ There,” he said, “ that's in all the local journals, and if there isn't somebody comes forward to identify that scribble it can’t have been written in Plymouth, that’s all.” ** It’s a clever stroke,” remarked Mr. .CrinKle, “ and nobody ever wrote a decent hand but several people could speak to it. 1 don’t want to be inquisitive, but 1 can keep my mouth shut, and 1 shall be just curious to know if you’re called on to pay that £25. 1 don’t want to ask more.” ” Mr. Crinkle, sir, you’re a man to be trusted, no one more so; but 1 can’t break through my rule in conducting a case of this sort, which is to tell nobody a bit more than I’m obliged to. Don’t you see, sir, if it leaks out that we’ve got at the writer of those letters, if the fellow happens to be mixed up in the murder, he’ll bolt be- fore we can lay our hands upon him, and Plymouth’s a terrible easy port to get away from ! Even that advertisement may scare him, and the only reason 1 dared put it in was because 1 don’t think he’s the actual criminal, and that, for reasons of his own, he intended to produce mischief, but not murder.” Mr. Pollock was very soon proved right in his conjecture. Before forty-eight hours were over an old man presented himself at the police oflSce, clothed in a rusty suit of black, wearing a tall hat, and a pair of tortoise shell spectacles on his withered old nose. “ Now, then, what do you want?” inquired the police-officer, who was lounging at the door of the station. “ What do 1 want?” replied the old gentleman, testily; “ why, I’ve just come to have a word with the head of the establishment.” ” V'erygood; what’s your business?” “Not to answer idle questions put by people 1 don’t want to talk to.” The officer bit his lip; he would have liked uncommonly to take the testy old gentleman into custody, but he had no pretext for doing so; and while such an investigation as they were pursuing was going on he knew that his chief would see any one on the chance that they had something to tell bearing on the murder. “ Well, you can’t be called a polite old party to talk to; 1 only hope the chief may find you more agreeable than 1 have.” “ 1 didn’t come out to make myself agreeable; 1 never do. I’ve come to see your guv 'nor on a little matter of business, and the sooner you show me up, the less of my lime you’ll be wasting.” STRUCK BOWK. 83 ** One moment, old gentleman/” and the officer disappeared into a small room on the right. “ Here, one of you,” he exclaimed, as he entered it, to the two or three constables who. were seated there, ” run across to Chubb’s Hotel and tell Mr. Pollock he’s wanted as quickly as possible. And now, sir,” he said, as he issued on the gate- way again, ” if you will follow >me, 1 will show you into the chief’s office.” The old gentleman was accordingly ushered into the office of the chief of the Plymouth police, who was seated at a large table in one coiner of the room, while a couple of constables \^ere busy writing at a long desk on the other side. Several maps decorated the walls, and notices about all manner of things, which, with some half dozen Windsor chairs, completed the furniture of the apart- ment. “ What is it?” inquired the chief, briefly. ” 1 have come about this here,” replied the old gentleman, as he drew a newspaper from his pocket. ” Oh! you think you can identify that handwriting,” said the chief. ” Maybe 1 can, and maybe 1 can’t. You’re coming to that all too quick, mister.” ” What’s your name, and what’s your calling?” inquired the chief, curtly. ” My name’s Flitch; and 1 keep a small stationer’s shop in the Barbican.” ” Very good, Mr. Flitch; now what have you come here for?” ” Well, look here, sir; is this all fair and square? Does this ad- vertisement mean what it says? That you will give tweniy-five pounds to any one who can tell whose handwriting that is?” At this juncture Mr. Pollock entered the room, and dropped noise- lessly into a chair behind Flitch. ” Would 1 be likely to get any one in1:o a scrape by telling who it is?” continued the old gentleman. ” All I that 1 can’t say,” replied the inspector. “Twenty-five pound is a deal of money,” rejoined Mr. Flitch, but 1 don’t like to get the young rascal into trouble.” “ About that i can’t advise you. 1 can only tell you, that provid- ing he was not an accessory to the crime, you will do him no harm.’* “ And allow me to point out,” suddenly remarked Mr. Pollock, blandly, “that you’ve acknowledged you’ve recognized the hand- widting, under which circumstances we shall at once subpoena you and put you in the witness-box when the trial comes on. You will 84 STRUCK DOWK. then have to answer the questions put to you, or probably be coni' mitted for contempt of court.*' Mr. Pollock had pounced, but this time unsuccessfully. “Ah!** replied Mr. Flitch, “1 am an old man, my sight's not very good, and it's very likely I’m mistaken." The inspector bit bis lip. pe was much vexed to have so com- muted himself before his provincial brethren. " As you like, Mr. Flitch; as you said just now, twenty five pound is a deal of money, and you may be quite sure that you're not the only person in Plymouth can swear to that handwriting." That’s true," said the old man with a start, “ and 1 might as well have the money as another. 1 want it bad enough, goodness knows. Well, gentlercen, 1 believe my boy wrote those letters." “ What, your son?" explained Mrc Pollock, not quite prepared for such exceeding cynicism. " No, no," rejoined Mr. Flitch, '* he's my lad — he's my 'prentice. He sometimes keeps the books, and 1 know his writing well. And that is about as like his fist as you can go to it." •* Just show him the original letters," said Mr. PollocR, and these being carefully examined by Mr. Flitch, lie expressed no doubt about their being in his boy’s handwriting. " Now, Mr. Flitch, 1 think we’ve done with you for the present, we know where to find you, and will send for you when we want you." The old gentleman took up.his hat, and as he reached the door a thought struck him, he came half way back into the room, and said, with some little anxiety in his voice, " 1 say, mister, you won’t forget that 1 was the first, will you, now?" " Certainly not; you can go," replied the chief of the Plymouth police, and satisfied with this assurance, Mr. Flitch took his depart- ure. If there was one knot of men who felt fiercely vindictive against the assassin, and thirsted to see him brought to justice, it was Tom Leader and the witnesses left behind under his charge. Leader had lost a very dear friend^ while the men weie inspired by that fine old spirit of clanship characteristic of the British soldier, who, grumble though he may sometimes at his officers, fiercely resents any attack upon them. Then, again, they were all disappointed at not saillug for the war with their more fortunate comrades. It meant hard knocks and scant rations, they knew well, but every soldier Imows how mean one feels, kicking one’s heels about a garrison town, when the news comes home that their comrades are in the thick of STKUCK DOWN*. 85 the fight. The gallant — th had embarked. Mr. Leader had sadly shaken hands with his brother officers, and in spite of their assur- ances of “ Poor old fellow, you’ll be after us by the next mail,” had refused to be comforted.. He had come ashore in the tender, and was wending his way slowly up Union street on his road to the citadel, when he was overtaken by Mr. Pollock. Sorry for you, Mr. Leader,” said the inspector, as he touched his hat. “ 1 know a gentleman like you don’t like his regiment to sail for service without him, but the detection of crime is a para- mount duty to all of us, ” “ Well, 1 don’t know about that, Mr. Pollock, ’’^replied Tom “ It’s your profession.” ‘‘And you.” said Mr. Pollock, somewhat impressively, ‘‘have got the murderer of your friend to bring to justice.” “It’s what I am staying for,” rejoined Leader, savagely. “ Do you suppose that you’ll succeed in discovering him?” “ I think, Mr. Leader, that 1 am getting very hear it. A few days more, and I think 1 shall be ble to form a pretty good guess at the criminal. I’ll own just now that 1 am puzzled between two. ©ood- morning, sir! — Upon my word,” he muttered to himself, “ I’m half inclined to think the girl did it. She would probably know where Olayford’s quarters were situated. Now, it’s not likely that Furness would know that, still, of course, he might inquire; and how either of them got out of the citadel, there’s no evidence to show. As for Furaess, he would have no difficulty in making his way out in the same manner as 1 did the other morning; and as for the Senora, if she went out unnoticed before the gate closed, she was, of coarse, not in the citadel at the time of the murder. Ah! the letters will throw a bit of light upon it, I’ll bet.” But there was a surprise in store for Mr. Pollock, of which he lit- tle dreamed. He strolled down to the Golden Gallepn in the course of the afternoon. And upon entering the skipper’s parlor found it tenanted solely by Captain Noreton. “Well, my lad,” said that worthy, “have you heard the news? Smother me! if ever 1 heard such a go in my life. Why, I’ve used this house since she was a child, and except to go back to school, who ever heard of the Senora leaving it? Since she’s done with schooling, why, she’s never gone away, except for a day’s out- ing; and here, her father tells me she’s gone to London. What’s to become of us all without her? John Black is a very good man, but it takes a woman’s hand at the helm to manage a craft like this. 86 STEUCK DOWK. If the Senora is away long, mark me! things will go to sixes and sevens, and it will be all up with the Golden Galleon.’’ “ Where has the Senora gone to in London?” asked the inspector quickly, as soon as Captain Noreton came to the end of his wander- ing speech. ” I don’t know,” replied the captain. ” Her father don’t know; she said she didn’t know herself, but she’d wiite as soon as she was settled.” ” "W hat’s she gone for?” inquired Mr. Pollock. “ She told her father she was tired of Plymouth, and wanted a change, and he must contrive to do without her for a little.” ” If she didn’t do it, she’s evidently mixed up in it somehow, and wants to keep out of the way till the trial is over,” muttered Mr. Pollock; ” she knows nothing of London, and is far too striking a girl to escape notice; but it may be a troublesome business for all that. Any way, 1 must wire her description, etc., to Scotland Yard at once;” and with this reflection, Mr. Pollock bustled out of the house. CHAPTER XVII. COMMITTED FOR TRIAL. Mr. Pollock lost but little time in following Mr. Flitch to his shop in the Barbican; in fact, he would probably have reached it as soon as the old gentleman himself, but for one thing. He remained behind to exchange a few words with the chief of the Plymouth police; and when became out, Mr. Flitch had disappeared. Con- sequently, on arriving at the Barbican, Mr. Pollock had to make in- quiries as to where the old gentleman’s shop was situated. Now, it was by no means a large and well-known stationer’s; and, there- fore, he had to ask his way more than once before he arrived at the humble little shop over which Mi. Flitch presided. It could hardly be called a stationer’s. Its principal business was evidently the sale of papers of all descriptions. You would certainly have found none of the society journals on his counter. There was a fairish stock of the daily papers, and all the local. The remainder of his wares seemed to consist of a small lot of second-hand novels, and a few quires of note-paper, with envelopes to match. Mr. Pollock walked briskly into the shop, and seeing the old gen- tleman behind the counter, said, ” Now, Mr. Flitch, we’ll proceed to business at once, if you please. Where’s this boy of yours?” “Well, he’s out just now,” replied the shopkeeper. “That’s STRUCK DOWK. 8 ? the worst of boys, you can’t trust ’em; now, Bob isn’t a very bad hoy, but the moment 1 am out he just gets the girl at the chandler’s shop opposite to keep an eye on my premises, and hooks it. Young varmint I what do you think he had the cheek to tell me last time^ that she could manage it perfectly well? she’d only got to ask a penny for anything that was asked for. And,” said the old gentleman with a sigh, *‘he’s about right; that’s the price of most of my goods. You see, sir, there ain’t much profit to be got out of penn’orths.” ” Well, there’s profit lor you to be got out of this business,” said Mr. Pollock. “ While we’re wailing for him, just let me see some of his handwriting.” Mr. Flitch speedily produced his books. The inspector, taking the anonymous letters from his breast-pocket, carefully compared them with the writing therein. “ Yes, Mr. Flitch,” he observed, at length, ” 1 should say there is no doubt that your boy wrote these letters. The curious question is, why he wrote ’em. With your permission I’ll sit down and wait till he comes in.” He hadn’t long to wait A few minutes more, and a red-haired, freckled-faced, blue-eyed boy came whistling into the shop. He stared with no little astonishment at the stranger, and cast a half- apprehensive glance at his master, who called him a ” varmint,” and shook his fist at him. ” Now, Bob, my friend, I’ve got a question or two to put to you. I’m a detective-oflacer, come down from London to investigate this murder that has taken place in the citadel. You’ve read all about the murder, of course you have, and you’ve heard all about these anonymous letters. Now, why did you write ’em? Stop, don’t admit you did write them unless you like, though 1 know perfectly well you did.” Bob’s face was a study. He had turned almost green from fright. There was no whistle on his lips now. The idea of falling into the hands of the police had undefined terrors for him. ” Please, sir,” he blubbered out at last, with no thought of de- nial, ” 1 didn’t know there was any harm.” ” But what made you do it?” asked Mr. Pollock. ” Please, sir, he asked me to do it, and he gave me two bob to write down what he told me.” ** Her* said Mr. Pollock; ‘'who was he?” 1 don’t know, sir, indeed 1 don’t,” said Bob, still sniveling 88 STRUCK BOWK. “ He’s a sailor chap, who’s been in here now and a^ya^n tor papers. You’ve seen him, Mr. Flitch, p’raps you can tell who he is?’" “D’ye mean that dark swarthy fellow who’s been so keen about the murder? 1 don’t mind his buying any papers before that hap pened.” “ That’s him, Mr. Flitch,” interposed the boy, 'eagerly; “ I wrote 'em for him, and 1 give you my word, sir,” continued Bob, turning to the inspector, “ that’s all 1 know about it.” “ And you?” said Mr. Pollock, turning to the stationer. “ 1 only knows him by sight,” replied Mr. Flitch. “ I’ve no ides what his name is — we don’t have a many sailors amongst our cus- tomers as a rule, and such as we have, buys their papers and takes them away with ’em.” “ But you’d know him again if you saw him, 1 suppose?” said the inspector, sharply, to Bob. “ Yes, sir; I’m quite sure 1 should. It isn’t often anybody gives me two bob, and 1 ain’t likely to forget it.” “ Very well, my lad,” replied Mr. Pollock, “ I shall want you before long; but you’ve no cause to be frightened. No harm will come to 3 ^ 011 . You’ll only have to answer some half dozen questions, that’s all. Good-bye, Mr. Flitch, and don’t you be afraid neither. Your little affair will be all right,” and with that the inspector left the shop. “ Yes,” he mused, as he walked up the hill toward his hotel; “ written by a sailor, as 1 thought, that is, dictated, which comes to the same thing. A cunning beggar, too, and wasn’t going to let his own handwriting betray him. Well! 1 think I know now who dictated those letters. After that little scene 1 overheard be- tween him and the Senora^ 1 fancy Mr. Dave Skirley is the author of them. Yes, 1 suppose he is desperately in love with the girl, and thought if he had brought his two rivals face to lace, with the knowledge that they were rivals, something would come of it. Something did, though I’m bound to admit that 1 don’t think Skirley ever contemplated anything of that kind. Still, he’s got a hold over Marietta somehow, and I fancy knows pretty well what passed in the citadel that night. The girl’s sudden departure for London, too! She is evidently in dread of exposure of some sort. A woman who commits a great crime is generally more difficult to convict than a man. She never seems to lose her presence of mind. She will lie with an ease and simplicity that no man can hope to emulate. Her powers of dissimulation are often extraordinary. No; it’s wonderful the resources a woman at bay will display. STKUCK DOWN. 89 Well, to-morrow Furness is brought up again before the masistrates, and though I hate having to show my hand until my case is com- plete, yet 1 shall have to show pretty well all I’m sure of, or else they’ll say there’s hardly a case against him.” The court was crowded next morning when Captain John Fur- ness was again brought before it. Mr. Bradshaw, the counsel for the crown, said that he had come before the bench that morning to ask for a committal. That the prisoner was in the citadel at the time of the murder he had himself admitted, though for what pur- pose he had declined to say. He could now enlighten the Dench upon that point. He went there for the purpose of meeting a young lady of perfectly unblemished reputation, and for whose hand he had been long a suitor. He went there in consequence of the anonymous letters which he (the counsel) had produced in court last week. The writer of those anonymous letters had been discovered and will be brought before you. Whether Captain Furness was a favored suitor, or whether the young lady merely liked him in a friendly way, it is not for me to determine; but certain it is that, while Captain Furness was away upon his last voyage, she entered upon a strong fiirtation with Lieutenant Clayford. “ 1 am in a posi- tion to prove, gentlemen, that, expecting to meet Mr. Clayford at the ramparts that evening, she went there; but instead of encount- ering the deceased she met the piisoner. Angry words apparently passed bet.weeu them, and they parted; she walking t o war il the gate of the citadel, and the prisoner continued his walk round the ram- parts. How it is a curious point that the police have, so far, utterly failed to ascertain how Captain Furness, or the lady in question, left the citadel. They were seen there together only just before the gates were closed, and after that time there could be little doubt that the soldiers on the guard would have been able to speak to them. People left in the citadel after that time passed through the wicket, the small door in the gate. Which is kept locked, and which either the corporal or the sergeant of the guard has to come and un- lock to let people out. How 1 must ask you, in the interests of justice, to let me withhold the name of this lady for the present. We have letters of hers to Lieutenant Clayford. We have plenty of people to identify the handwriting, and there can, unfortunately for herself, be no doubt of her identity — ” A spasm passed over the prisoner’s face at this announcement, and his lips quivered, bin he mastered himself by a violent effort, and in another moment had regained the easy composure which he had maintained ali along. 90 STRUCK DOWN. ‘'Unfortunate!” exclaimed Mr. Eldon. “In what sense do you use that word, Mr. V" “ 1 merely mean that it must be excessively unpleasant for any lady to be mixed up in a case of this description, to have to go through the ordeal of the witness-box, and so on.” “Ah! true, quite so,” remarked Mr. Eldon. Once more the prisoner’s mouth twitched, and it was evident that for the first time since the proceedings commenced he was strongly moved. “ We are able to show conclusively that, although Mr. Leadei was quite unaware of it, there were cartridges in his servant’s kitchen which fitted the pistol. Rivals for the favor of the young lady before mentioned, there would naturally be bitter blood between the two men, further fomented by some malicious person or persons by means of these anonymous letters— 1 say persons, advisedly, be- cause there were evidently two people concerned in their composi- tion, one of whom 1 am about to produce in court. Our theory is this — that the prisoner, after parting with the lady in question, in his passion determined to confront Mr. Clayford. He doubtless made some inquiries as to where that gentleman’s quarters were; in fact, we are able to produce a man who will testify to his having done so, some little time before the murder was committed. Whether this man was imperfectly acquainted with the officers’ quarters, or whether the prisoner misunderstood him, we can’i say, but our theory is that he got into Mr, Leader’s quarters by mistake, that he there discovered the cartridges and the pistol, that his wrath intensified by nursing. When a man broods over his wrongs, gen- tlemen, that is very commonly the case. Now how did he get into Mr. Leader’s quarters? 1 am instructed that the door of an officer’s quarters is usually kept locked,and though to force such locks as they are would be easy, it most certainly was not done in this case; but nothing would be easier than to gain. access to the kitchen by the door, if it was left open, or failing that, by the window, which would be probably left unfastened. It is customary tor the servants to hang the pass-key of their master’s chambers on a nail over the mantel-piece. This would naturally attract his attention, and as the cartridges were kept in an unlocked drawer, and at that time very possibly an open drawer, they would also attract his notice. Going upstairs he would let himself into Mr. Leader’s rooms, and a few scattered letters such as are commonly lying about any man’s table, would show him at once that he was not in the quarters of the man he sought. Our theory then is, gentlemen, that seeing the pistol he STKUCK DOWN, 91 took it from its (3ase, and for the first time murderous thoughts entered into his head. He went down-stairs, loaded it, and com- menced a fresh, search for Lieutenant Clayford’s rooms. Kow 1 am told by those who have inquired into the thing, that the latch-locks of the doors of that range of buildings are all very much of the same pattern, and that the same key will open two doors out of three. At all events, which is quite sufficient for our purpose, 1 can prove to you that the latch-key of Leader’s rooms would open those of Mr. Clayford. Our theory then, is, that taking Mr Leader’s latch-key and Mr. Leader’s pistol, the prisoner somehow made his way to the deceased odlcer’s quarters, that, there he was discovered by Mro Clayford, high words probably passed between them, and the result was the terrible result we are acquainted with.’* “ Call Robert Jubber.” Bob upon being placed in the witness-box exhibited every sign of uneasiness. Asked whether he wrote those letters? admitted at once that he did, with the rider that he meant no harm. What made him write them? Explained he had been paid to write them by a man he didn’t know, who told him what to put down. {Should know the man again anywhere, but did not know his name; he was a very dark-faced sailor, and that was all he knew about him. Had he seen him before? Yes, several times. But not since? 'ho, not since. The letters were written at different times. Mr. Crinkle testified to the cartridges having been bought at Ids shop. Simmons acknowledged to their purchase, explained what they had been purchased for, and further, that he kept them in the kitchen. That his master had no knowledge that the pistol had ever been fired. That he had been afraid to confess this before, for fear of getting himself into trouble. “ This is all the evidence we consider it expedient to produce at present,” said Mr. Bradshaw. “ The further evidence which we expect to be able to produce is as yet not quite completed. 1 venture to press for a committal on the capital charge of murder. At the trial we have little doubt of bringing both the young lady and the man who dictated those anonymous letters before the court, but to perfect these links in the chain of evidence requires some little time,” and tlien the counsel for the crown resumed his seat. Mr. Faker on behalf of the prisoner rather derided the evidence. He said there were no grounds whatever for the committal of his client on this charge. That the theory for the prosecution was ex- cessively ingenious, but that it was mere theory, utterly unsupported by evidence, and he felt quite certain that the bench would release 9 92 STRUCK DOWk. man of his client’s undoubtealy respectable position on bail, even if they didn’t pooh-pooh (he chargee altogetiier. But the bencn thought otherwise, and after a short consultation amongst themselves, finally committed John Furness to take his trial for “ willful murder.” 1 CHAPTER XVlll. THE FLIGHT OF THE SENORA. “When Jack Furness found himself in the cell to which he had been committed he paced the room anxiously. His face was begin- ning to bear the aspect of a man who is being hunted down. ** Yes,” he said to himself, ” the toils grow closer and closer. 1 am meshed past all hope of escape. Every day they seem to discover more evidence against me and Marietta! 1 have striven hard to save her name, to prevent her being mixed up in this terrible business, but all to no purpose. They have got some of her letters to the dead man in their possession, and naturally had very little trouble in discovering the writer. They know she was in the citadel that evening. They don’t know all yet. 1 wonder whether they ever will? Well, if they put Marietta in the witness-box and compel her to tell her story, it is possible that may unchain my lips, that in open court 1 may be able to tell the story of that horrible night. 1 care very little how it goes with me. Marietta is lost to me, we could never come together again now— that murdered man would always stand between us. 1 wish to heavens 1 could send a note to Marietta. And yet, perhaps, better not. 1 know her passionate nature so well, and of what madness she could be capable in her anger. Ho; for the present, 1 will keep my mouth still closed and see what comes of it. 1 have battled hard for my life many a time ere this; but ah! my God! it wasn’t like this— 1 fought with man or the elements with unstained name; but to stand a felon in the dock; to think of the crowded court and hundreds of eyes all glaring at the wild beast who murderously slew his fellow! Ah! the nights are terribly long, 1 wonder whether so wrecked a life as mine has ever been? Gone! name, character, sweetheart, everything, in one wild evening,” and with that the prisoner threw himself on his bed and moodily buried his face in his hands. M r. Pollock, in spite of the way in which his case was progressing, was getting very uncomfortable on one point. He felt pretty cer- tain that ISkirley was the dictator of those anonymous letters. STRUCK DOWK. 93 He could lay his hand upon him whenever he liked, and though Mr. Dave Skirley was quite unaware of the attention extended to him, he was under the strict surveillance of the Plymouth police, who held a warrant for his apprehension, all duly signed and sealed. But what disturbed Mr. PoUock was that he could hear nothing con- cerning Marietta from London. It was in vain that he had wired to Scotland Yard. The answer was that they had not succeeded yet in tracing the young lady. Now, this was a tremendous flaw in Mr. Pollock’s case. He was by no means clear that hers was not the hand that had fired the pistol. Not only from what he had seen, but also from what he had heard, he was quite aware of the hot, wild Spanish blood that coursed through her veins. He recollected the advice of his friend Captain Noreton, who had said to him; “Look here, my man; you're iiew to the house, and I’ll just give you one hint about the shoals and quicksands,” and then lowering his voice to a mysteri- ous whisper the captain added: “If so be you find the Senora in her tantrums, crowd on all sail till you pass the bar, and when you reach the parlor lay by and stick to your moorings.” It was awkward. He didq’t want to leave Plymouth at the present moment; but it could not be helped. It would never do to let the Senora slip through his fingers. He must go up to London and look after her himself. It was all very well to send up a description; but there were scores of handsome Spanish-looking women about town. Now, he knew her thoroughly by sight, while as for his London confreres they were necessarily working very much in the dark.' He ascertained that no news had been heard of Marietta since her departure, a fact about which there was no secret at the Golden Galleon, for old John Black was greatly put out at not hav- ing had a line from his daughter. “ I oughtn’t to have let her go,” he said to his cronies. “ ‘VV'hat’s a girl like that to know about the snares and wickedness of London? 1 ought to have run up with her and seen the wench comfortably settled, though what she want- ed to go for beats me. She never wished to see London before, and what’s put it into her head now 1 can’t think.” Convinced that her father knew no more about Marietta’s where abouts than any one else, Mr. Pollock wasted no further time, but simply took the first train to town. Arrived there, he waited quietly till the bustle of unloading the train was over and the passengers had taken their departure, then he quickly gathered round him two or three of the porters, told them accurately the train by which the Senora had arrived two days befoie, gave a vivid description of her 94 STRUCK DOWN. jersDn, and said there was a matter of £5 to any man who could recollect the number of the cab intD which he had placed her. The porters listened attentively, and then one of them said: “Ah! we had a gentleman here making inquiries about that young lady be- fore; and we’ve talked it well over among ourselves, and we’ve come to the conclusion that Logan was the man who put that there lady into the cab, but he don’t know the number, and he can’t rec ollect where he told the man to drive to. You see, sir, we give the cabmen so many addresses in the course of the day that they all get jumbled up like.” “ And 1 suppose the gentleman who came here before about it described her luggage to you?” “ Oh, yes!” replied the porter, glibly. “ A large black leather box studded with brass nails, a black leather bonnet-box, and black leather traveling-bag. ” “ Thank you,” said Mr. Pollock, “lam very much afraid that £6 will be lost to Logan all through his want of memory. How- ever, there it is; tor anybody, remember, who can bring me the number of the cab or the address to which that cab was driven, providing, of course, it turns out to be the party I’m in search of.” Mr. Pollock now drove as quickly as he could from Paddington to Scotland Yard. Here, as he expected, there was no news of the missing Senor a. They had take all the ordinary steps, but so far without success. ' “ There seem to me,” said one of Mr. Pollock’s comrades when he saw him, “ to be only two ways of getting hold of this girl. Did you see the porter who took her things?” “ No; they told me he knew nothing, so 1 didn’t think it worth while.” “ 'Well, he’s about as melon* headed as they make ’em, and there’s nothing to be got out of him. You’ll either have to get it out of the cabman or else to advertise in the ’ Times ’ tor a missing young lady, with a reward to any one who will restore her to her friends. By the way, how are you oli for funds? We thought that £25 for identifying the handwriting rather stiff.” “Ah!” replied Mr. Pollock, “ I’ve got lots of money at my dis- posal. The regiment subscribed a very handsome sum to be spent in the investigation of the murder; and Mr. Clayford’s brother not only wrote me a check for £50 for the same purpose, but told me i could have more if 1 wanted it.” “ It was judicious the Government has offered a reward, and his friends very properly voted their money for secret service. There STRUCK DOWK. 95 are a good many criminals slip through our hands because the funds at our disposal prove insufficient. Only let the bait be tempting enough, and it's astonishing how it sharpens men's faculties.” “Quite right!” said Mr. Pollock, “and fortunately in this case I am in a position to bid high.” ” I suppose this girl is very essential to your case?” observed his companion. ” She just. is,” said Mr. Pollock. “ She is a most important wit- ness, and hang me if 1 Know what to think about it. Aftei this sud- den bolt of hers 1 wouldn’t quite swear that she isn’t the principalo 1 certainly did think I’d got the right man; but the behavior of this girl puzzles me. At all events, find her 1 must.” ISo information being appaiently to be extracted from the railway porters, Mr. Pollock was reduced, as his comiade had said, to re. searches among the cabmen and advertising. Now, aflvertising had this objection, that the Senora might see the advertisement quite as soon as her landlady and immediately change her abode. “ No,” thought Mr. Pollock, “ 1 will begin with the cabmen.” Now, the cabmen have their haunts as well as other people. There are certain public-houses that they frequent, and in which great deference is paid to this class of customers. They generally have a room set apart for them, which is looked upon as almost a sort of club-room. In fact, if you be no cabman, you have no right in this room. It is as strictly preserved for their class as the ” skipper’s parlor ” at the Golden Galleon was for master mariners. With all these places Pollock was perfectly familiar. He had Deen into them disguised ; he had been into them in his own character as Inspector Pollock of the police, and in his own character he was always especially welcome. Mr. Pollock could adapt Himself to any com- pany. He was full of good stories, which he told well; he could sing a good song if occasion require^; and when he made these visits it was, as in the present instance, to get information which put money in the pock it of the man able to supply it, and compro- mised nobody. Mr. Pollock accordingly made his round of these houses as quickly as he could. A.t each place he told his errand frankly, and finally affixed a paper over the mantel-piece, on which was written out a description of the Senora, her baggage, the date of her arrival at Paddington, and the time of the train by which she came, with an intimation that there was £S for any cabman sup- plying the lady’s address. The inspector had not to wait long; halt a score of cabme?^ hungry for that £5, were speedily in communication with bm 96 STKUCK DOWN. Some ot these applicants tvere evidently clinging to the most shad^ owy hope that their fares might turn out to be the right person. Mr. Pollock journeyed vainly to various parts of the metropolis; was flouted by dark, angry women, and interviewed stout Jewesses corresponding by no means to the description. In their anxiety to grasp such a windfall there was hardly a cabman whe had driven a dark lady from Paddington that day wlio did not think it worth having a try for, and three drtys' bard work found Mr. Pollock tar from being on the track ot the Senora as ever, This won’t do,” said the inspector one morning; “ don’t look as it 1 was going to get it out of the cabmen; either he was rather a beery driver, who took no notice of anything, or, on the other hand, he was a quiet, steady, hard-working married man, who never goes near these night cribs. 1 don’t like to advertise. Stop! 1 have it. It’s an ofl-chance, certainly: but it’s rather queer tor a man of my experience not to have thought ot it before, 1 never saw this man Logan, the porter at the Paddington station who they believe pu^^ the Senora and her luggage into a cab. It’s true my colleagues in the Yard could make nothing out of him; but then ] know so much more about the esse than they do. By Jove! I’ll go down to the Great Western Station and see that fellow at once.” Another five minutes saw Mr. Pollock bowling away to Padding- ton best pace, and no sooner had he arrived there than he at once asked to see the superintendent ot the statiem, told him who he was and his present errand. “Certainly; Logan shall be sent for at once.” And of course the superintendent only tiusted Mr. Pollock would get the information he required from him. A tew minutes, and Jerry Logan appeared. A quiet, steady man, who had grown gray in the service ot the company. “ Now, Logan, 1 just want to ask you a few questions, and 1 am auie you can answer them, it you’ll only just take the trouble to rec- ollect.” “ Just what the gentleman said the other day, your honor; and didn’t we both hammer at it for a quarter of an hour, and make nothing of it?” “ I hey tell me you perfectly recollect getting the luggage of a dark, handsome young lady, who arrived here by the through train from Plymouth on Wednesday evening.” “ Recollect her, is it? 1 may be gettin’ on in years, but I’m not that ould I don’t know a raal clipper when 1 see one, We Haven’t had as good-looking a oae as that through the station thi? season.” STEUCK DOWN. O’? Mr. Pollock was not a little posed. His confreres had pronounced this man an addle-headed old Irishman. Mr. Pollock had already arrived at the conclusion that though somewhat voluble and difficult to hold to the point, the man was as shrewd as any of his country- men, “ Well, you put this lady’s luggage into a cab. Did you see the number of it?'’ That's just what the gintleman who was here before asked me. Well, now, 1 put it to your honor, was it likely, while a man could look at the lady, he’d bother himself looking after the cab?” ” Well, but 1 suppose she told you where the man was to drive her to?” “ Not she. She only told me to tell him to drive on toward Hyde Park.” ” And that’s all you can tell me?” observed Mr. Pollock, with in- finite disappointment, ” 1 suppose you know, Logan, that there’s a five-pound note for any one who can help me to this lady’s ad- dress? However, it doesn’t seem as if you would earn it.” “Heaven knows, your honoi, I’d earn it quick enough if 1 could, it would be new boots for the childthren at home, and a score more little things that the missus do be always tazing me about, and that we can’t find the money for.” Suddenly a thought struck Pollock. “ What did this lady give you?” he said. “ Well, she gave me a shilling; and I’d have taken particular note of her had it been only for that; it’s tizzies and fourpenny bits we get mostly from ladies traveling alone.” “No,” mused Mr. Pollock ; “ he has apparently not been paid to keep the Senora’s secret, and 1 am afraid there is nothing to be got out of him.” A.nd the inspector was bout to take his departure, when Logan suddenly said to him. in a half-deprecating manner: “1 wonder whether this would be anny good to your honor?” And ! as he spoke he handed the inspector an envelope bearing the ad- dress MBS. FAIRLEIGH, 73 Oxford and Cambridge Terrace. “Did you see the lady drop this?” inquired Mr. Pollock, sharply. “ No, sir, 1 found it on the ground just alter her cab haddlhriven off, and thrust it into my throusers pocket. Shure 1 can’t tell you why. 1 had clane forgot all about it till this morning.” “ Well, I’ll take this, Logan,” said the inspector, after a mo- nrjent’s consideration* “ and if anything comes of it, you shall have 4 98 STKUCK DOWK. the reward all rignt/' And so saying, Mr. Pollock walked sharply off in search of a cab. “IPs all in my way, and worth trying, anyhow, he said to himself, as he stepped into it. “ If she did dr>p it it is probably the address ot the house at which she v/as going to stayc’’ A very lew minutes, and Pollock arrived at the house he sought. A very few questions convinced him that he had found the lost sheep, and, what is more, that she was at home. “ Now, just show me up at once, my dear,'’ said the inspector, slipping half a crown into the girl’s hand who had answered the door. “ What name am 1 to say, sir said the servant. “ Mr. Pollock,” rejoined the detective, and immediately followed the girl so closely that it was quite evident he meant to be in the room as soon as his name. “ Mr. Pollock!” exclaimed the Senora, and her cheeks flushed, and a rather dangerous sparkle came into her eyes. “ I am at a loss to understand the meaning of this intrusion” “My dear young lady,” rejoined the inspector, “1 have come to persuade you to return with me to Plymouth by the next train. Your father is very unhappy at your absence.” “ By what right do you dare to interfere with my movements?” interposed Marietta, holly. “Well, Miss Black, it’s an unpleasant duty, but 1 suppose there’s no use fencing about the bush. 1 am Inspector Pollock, of the de- tective police, and I must take you back to Plymouth for complicity in the citadel murder.” CHAPTER XIX THE TRIAL. The court-house at Exeter was crowded when Mr. Justice Shin- gles took his seat on the bench to preside over the trial of the Crown v, John Furness for willful murder. All the habitues of the “ skipper’s parlor,” headed by Captain Noreton, had come up from Plymouth to see, in the vrords ot that veteran, “ that their old com- rade had fair play,” though what that distinguished mariner meant by these indefinite words it would be diflacult to say. There were rumors of all sorts concerning the trial. It was known at the Gold- en Galleon that the Senora had returned as suddenly as she had left. But she had appeared no more in the bar, and kept strictly to her own rooms. They had also ascertained, much to their indigna- STRUCK BOWK. 99 tion, that the house was under the close surveillance of the police — that night and day watch and ward was kept over the Golden Gal- leon. Mr. Pollock, on his return journey with the Senora, had kindly but firmly told her that he had a warrant for her arrest in his packet, that he had no intention of using it unless compelled, but unless she remained quiet at the Golden Galleon till the trial, he should be com- pelled to do so. Any attempt to escape from Plymouth would lead to her beins: immediately taken into custody. The girl had shed scalding tears of agony wh^n it was broken to her that she would have to give evidence on the trial, and she was now staying in Exe- ter comfortably lodged in the castle with her father, and though not nominally, yet virtually, in charge of the police. Dave Skirley had for some time past been aware that his foot- steps were persistently dogged. He was not a nervous man, but the idea that you are being tracked, go where you may, gradually begins to wear the mind of any man who may be exposed to it* He may be innocent of all offending against his fellow-creatures, but, like the rabbit, when he becomes aware that the relentless wea- sel is on his trail, he becomes apprehensive of he knows not what. Skirley was in this position; be could not always make out his follower — was usually somewhat uncertain about him. Sometimes he took the form of one man, sometimes of anothei ; but even when he could not see him, he nevertheless felt quite certain that there were a keen pair of eyes watching his every movement, and Dave Skirley got excessively uncomfortable under the ordeal. Although he mixed his rum-and- water stiller and stifier, still that didn't seem to meet, the case. Finally, Mr. Pollock, whose incognito was by this time pretty well a thing of the past, served him with a subpoena to attend the trial at Exeter. Mr. Skirley, turning the whole thing over in his mind, came to the conclusion that th#^y had discovered he was the author of the anonymous letters. Well, there was no great harm in that, he had only done his best to serve a comrade; it might not, perhaps, be just the best way to do it, but it was the way that seemed best to him at the time. So Mr. Skirley came meekly to Exeter with his brethren, still conscious that the police were watching him with un- tiring eyes. The grand jury have returned a true bill; and on a gray Novem- ber morning John Furness, standing in the felon’s dock, pleads “ Not Guilty ” to the charge of the willful murder of Charles Cecil Clayford, in the citadel of Plymouth, ©n the evening of July 2 ^, 100 STRUCK DOW5T. 18 — . The counsel tor the crowm rises, and in his opening speech traverses all the old ground with which we are already acquainted. Once more he points out the rivalry between the two men; that the lady, the object of their mutual aduiiration, met her old lover when expecting to meet h(?r new adorer; \hat high words passed between them, and that, to use a homely phrase, she apparently flouted the prisoner. “ Gentlemen, if woman can confer great happiness upon us,’’ continued the learned counsel, “ there is no doubt but that she has also been the cause of incalculable woe to our sex besides. Thou- sands of men died and a bitter war was prosecuted because, when Mme. la Pompadour sent a gracious message to Frederick the Great, he cynically replied that ‘ he did not know her.’ And the bitterest quarreU among men have been fought in their rivalry fora woman’s smile. We shall show you by unimpeachable circumstantial evi- dence that the prisoner, after parting with the lady before men- tioned, made his way toward the officers’ quarters. We shall pro- duce to you a witness from whom he inquired his way to Mr, Clayford’s rooms. From this man’s directions he no doubt dis- covered them, and having obtained entrance — and how he did that we shall also explain to you — he then awaited the arrival of his un- fortunate victim. What passed between them is known to no one but the prisoner; whether it was a violent quarrel, or whether de- liberate, cold-blooded murder, we can not say; but 1 deeply regret that the facts 1 shall lay before you seem to point to the latter. We have, gentlemen, a consideiable mass of evidence to produce not forthcoming at the preliminarj* examination. We shall bring before you the author of the anonymous letters, and you will hear from his own lips what induced him to write- them; we shall fur- ther place in the witness box, painful though it must be for her, the young lady, the unfortunate cause of this melancholy disaster. And shall further, 1 think, be able to demonstiate to your satisfac- tion the way in which the prisoner most probably left the citadel.” The prisoner had listened quite quietly, and with his usual com- posure, to the opening speech of the counsel for the crown, until he came to pledging himself to place the Senora in the witnees-box. Then he was evidently perturbed. He trembled slightly, and there was a nervous twitching in his mouth, which the practiced legal gladiator employed against him noted instantly. “ The case will hinge on the evidence of that girl,” he whispered to the solicitor behind him, “ and 1 fancy the witness Skirley will contribute important evidence when properly turned out,” STRUCK DOWK. 101 “ Gentlemen,” continued the counsel for the crown, “ 1 must now inform you that it is quite easy for an active man, at one point of the ramparts, to not only descend into the ditch, but to ascend the other side, and so find himself without the citadel. Sergeant Blane will tell you that soldiers have not only been known to break out of bar- racks that way, but have also been discovered in the very act of re- turning. Further, 1 shall put a police-oflacer in the box, who, in order to test the feasibility of that mode of egress, essayed it him- self with complete success. I won’t detain you longer, but will now proceed to call my witnesses in categorical order. ” I’he first man to enter the witness-box was Private Jennings, the dead man’s servant. He briefly described how, having occasion to go into his master’s rooms at a late hour, to finish some packing for him, he found Mr. Clayford lying dead upon the floor, the revolver, from V^hich two barrels had been discharged, on the floor near him. The medical evidence came next, which went to show that it was almost impossible the wounds could have been self-inflicted ; most especially, that which was, in all probability, the second shot. Mr. Leader then testified to the ownership of the pistol, and how the weapon was usually kept hanging up in its case in his roona. He was a very intimate friend of the deceased’s; and though he cer- tainly had been somewhat absent that night at dinner, he had no reason to suppose that he was in difllculties ^of any nature, or that there was any cause for his being depressed in spirits; in fad, he knew no cause that could have led him to the terrible step of sui- cide. The next witness was Simmons, who confessed to the pur- chase of the cartridges; how that he was in the habit of practicing with the pistol in the ditch of the citadel, and how he undoubtedly had still about a score of cartridges in the drawer of the kitchen on the night of the murder. ‘Was quite certain that the revolver was not loaded. It would be very easy to get into the kitchen. There was only one key to the back-door, which, as he and another servant had to use in common, was usually hung on a nail outside the door. This admission of house- closing excited no little merriment in court. The idea of locking the door, and hanging the key alongside of it, being a singular way of protecting property. What did he usually do with his master’s pass-key? It hung on a nail over the kitchen fire-place. “ In short, gentlemen, you see Mr. Leader’s kitchen and rooms were simply open to anybody who took the trouble to use the keys.” Then came the evidence of the sentry who had heard the two shots fired, and Sergeant Blane ; of the sentries on the gate, both 102 STKUCK DOWN. before and after the last post. The sentry at the back of the officers’ quarters testified to seeing the prisoner in earnest conversa- tion with a young lady. As far as he could judge, high words passed between them, and they separated abruptly. Sergeant Blane, in the course of his evidence, bore witness to the ease with which an active man could escape from the citadel, adding that they had had several instances amongst the soldiers in his own regiment. To recapitulate all this evidence at full length would only weary the reader, as it has all been before him at the preliminary examina- tion. The same may be said of Marietta Black’s letters, which showed conclusively that the deceased was her lover, and the last of which was the only one which bore prominently on the case — namely, the letter in which she asked him to meet her on the ram- parts the very evening he came by his death. That the prisoner was much moved by the reading of these let- ters, was manifest to every one in court. His hands gripped the front of tlie dock hard; the veins stood out on his forehead; and the compressed lips were a sure sign of the tumult within. “ 1 propose,” said the counsel, “ to take all the letters now. The writer of those I have just read 1 shall bring before you a little later. 1 will now read the anonymous letters, and then produce their writer, and also the author of them; for, gentlemen, there were two persons concerned in these letters.” The anonymous correspondence having been read, Bob lubber was placed in the witness-box, and briefly told the story, with which we are already acquainted. He adhered positively to his original statement, that though he didn’t know his name, he should know the man who paid him to write them, it he saw him. As he con- cluded. the counsel called upon him to look round to his left, and see it he recognized any one amongst the men standing near him. Bob did as he was bidden, and without the slightest hesitation picked out Dave Skirley. Somewhat sullenly, Mr. Skirley succeeded Bob in the witntiss- box, and admitted the authorship of the anonymous letters. Closely examined, he said that the deceased was a sweetheart of Marietta Black’s; that he had discovered it while Furness was on his last voyage, and had hastened to acquaint the prisoner with that discov- ery on his return. ” How did he come that knowledge?”. ‘ Because 1 had a strong interest in watcliing Marietta Black’s movements.” STRUCK DOWK. 103 ‘'Indeed! Allow me to ask of what nature that interest con- sisted?” “ Consisted!” exclaimed ISkirley, with a sudden hurst ot passion, that electrified the court. ”1 lored her too — as passionately, as madly as either of them. 1 was content to take my chance against Furness; but when an interloper like the dead man appeared upon the scene, it was time to be up and doing. What business had he to come amongst us for his sweetheart? We are not of his class, and his soft-spoken tongue was more, likely to please a girl’s fancy tiian the wooing of a rough sailor. Furness stood before me in Marietta’s good graces. Had 1 stood before him, 1 would never have written those letters. 1 would have taken the quarrel into my 07»^n hands.” ” 1 don’t think 1 need ask you any further questions,” said the crown counsel. And, indeed, Skirley was already regretting his burst of passion, and likely to prove a sullen intractable witness henceforth. And now came the great sensation ot the day, the call of ” Mari- etta Black.” The Senora, leaning on her father’s arm, came for- ward, and, closely veiled, took her place in the witness-box. The veil, of course, she had speedily to raise, for the purpose of taking the oath; and a slight buzz of admiration ran round the court at the sight of her handsome face and graceful figure. After the first few preliminary questions, the counsel produced her letters, and asked her whether she admitted being the writer of them. Marietta bowed her head in assent. ” In accordance with your last letter, 1 presume. Miss Black, you went into the citadel to meet Mr. Clayford?” “Yes,” replied the witness in a low tone. “ Did you see him at all, that evening?” “Ho!” “ However, it you didn’t meet Mr. Clayford, you met the prisoner upon the ramparts?” “Yes.” Now please to tell us what passed between you.” The witness hesitated for a few moments, and then replied: “ Some bitter words. Captain Furness was angry about my acquaintance with Mr. Clayford. 1 told him that what 1 did, or whom I chose to know, was no aflair of his; that I was neitner goin^c to be dictat- ed to, nor spied upon, by any man on earth— in short, we quarreled and separated.” Miss Black,” said the counsel, ** 1 don’t want to pain you un- 104 STRUCK DOWlsT. iDecessarily, but remember you are upon your oath, and 1 must ask you another question before 1 release you. W hat were the exact words the prisoner made use of in reply to that speech of yours?” Again the witness hesitated for some little time. A stifled sob escaped lier, and at last she replied, “ He told me, that whether he had a right or not, he was not going to see my name disgraced, and that as reasoning with me was useless, he would see what he could do with Mr. Clayford.” Great sensation in court. ” And your answer was — V” ” None,” replied the Senora. “1 was wild that he should pre- sume to doubt me; that he should dare to doubt one,” and here the Senora threw back her veil, turned her tear-stained face to the court, and exclaimed, “ to doubt one, who was my affianced husband!” Again there was great sensation in the court, and the agitation of the prisoner was once more manifest ” And with that you separated?” ” Yes, I drew my veil close down, and hurried out of the citadel as quickly as 1 could.” ” What made you leave so quickly?” ” It was getting close upon the time that the gates would close; and 1 felt sure that there was no chance of meeting Mr. Clayford that evening.” “You had, of course, met him many times before in the same place?” “ Yes; or somewhere on the ramparts.” “ You’re aware. Miss Black, that Mr. Skirley is also a pretender to ymur hand?” “ 1 have been, of late,” replied the Senora. “ What, since Mr. Clayford’s death?” The Senora bowed her head in assent, while a visible shudder seemed to pass through her whole frame. “You had no idea that he entertained these feelings for you be- fore?” “ Certainly not!” rejoined the girl; “or,” she added contempt- uously, “ 1 would have given him to understand how useless such a feeling was on his part.” “ I have no more questions to ask you, Miss Black,” said the counsel for the crown, as he resumed his seat. But if he had not, Mr. Blood had; and the Senora found herself exposed to a maddening cross-examination, conducted in much STEUCK DOWN. 10 ? brusquer fashion than that by the counsel for the crown. Still il: Mr. Blood made the witness uncomfortable, and made the hot- tempered Senora more than once Dreak out in passionate protestation against the questions she was asked, her evidence remained entirely unshaken. Ihe next witness was a man in the employment of the canteen- keeper of the citadel. ' His testimonj", though brief, was somewhat- important. He spoke positively to having seen the prisoner loung- ing in the vicinity of the officers’ quarters after the gates were closed. He was perfectly certain of the identity of the prisoner, as he spoke to him and conversed with him. It was a bright moon- light night, and he could see him well. The prisoner told him he had come up to see Mr. Clayford, and asked him which were that gentleman’s quarters. He pointed out what he believed to be such, but was fain to confess that he did not know precisely the rooms of the several officers. Did not think there was anything particularly strange about a sailor wanting to see Mr. Clay ford at that hour. Mr. Clajdord, he knew^ was given to the water, and sailors might want to see him about fishing or sundry other things at any time in the evening. Had never seen the prisoner before. Mr. Pollock now stepped into the witness-box. But bis evidence was very short, and of much less importance than his actions had been. He spoke to being present when the letters which Miss Black had acknowledged to be hers were discovered by Mr. Clayford’s brother in the dispatch-box. Farther, he corroborated Sergeant Blane's evidence as to the feasibility of an active man making his way out of the citadel over the rampart and across the ditch; add- ing, that he had himself performed that feat, in the presence of Sergeant Blane. The inspecjtor said nothing about the conversation he had overheard between Skirley and Marietta, rightly judging that what they themselves had said in the witness-box required no further confirmation on his part. The counsel for the crown now rose and cleverly reviewed the whole of the evidence against the prisoner. He claimed to have proved everything that he had staled in his opening speech. “ It is a case, gentlemen,” he said, in conclusion, “which rests entirely upon circumstantia\ evidence; but you must bear in mind that mur- der is seldom brought home to the criminal in any other light. Where there are witnesses to man taking fhe life of his fellow it generally resolves itself into a case of manslaughter. My case is finished; and after you have heard the defense, and his lordship’s comments on Che case, it will rest with you to determine whether 106 STRUCK DOWK. this murder has been rightfully or wrongfully attributed to the prisoner.’’ As it was getting late in the afternoon, Mr. Justice Shingles sug- gested that it might be probably more convenient for all parties if the court was adjourned until to-morrow. 1 was about,” said Mr. Floysate, the leader of the Western Circuit, who had been retained by the “ skipper’s parlor ” for their comrade’s defense, “to beg your lordship to do so. 1 have just received some information which promises to be of the greatest im- portance to my client, but have as yet had no opportunity of sifting it. By to-morrow morning 1 shall be quite ready to commence the defense.” “ Very well, then,” replied the judge, “ let it be so. The court is now adjourned till ten to-morrow morning.” CHAPTER XX. THE VERDICT. When the court met the next morning, the counsel for the de- fense was in his place, and rose immediately. “ Gentlemen,” he said, “ you heard the intricate web woven around my client by my learned brother yesterday. It was very curious that such an array of facts should have grouped themselves together to imperil an innocent man. My client has hitherto kept his lips sealed, and actually risked his own life for the sake of shielding the lady to whom he was attached; sooner than she should be mixed up with such a terrible crime as this— sooner than she should be exposed to the odium of figuring in the witness-box and be cross-examined with regard to her love affairs, he has, with a reckless chivalry, of which perhaps only a sailor could be capable, risked— it is not too much to say— his life. Gentlemen, all his efforts have proved vain. The lady he sougnt to save has been dragged into the witness-box, and, 1 regret to say, that you your selves witnessed yesterday what tortures the questions, which my duty compelled me to ask, put her to. There was no further object in silence, and for the first time last night we learned the whole story of that evening, as far as Captain Furness was concerned in it. Bebasnevei disputed that he was in the citadel that night He further quite corroborates Miss Black’s evidence that he did meet her on the ramparts, that high words passed between them, and that as thej separated he said that he would settle with Mr. Clay- STKUCK 1)0 \VK. 107 ford. After parting with Miss Black he walked round the ramparts to the opposite side of the citadel, thoroughly intending to return and see Mr. Claytord, and warn him that Miss Black had friends who would take ample revenge for any wrong done to her, and that unless his intentions regarding her were strictly honorable the sooner he ceased his attentions the better. Proceeding round to the front or the officers' quarters he inquired ot the witness who was yester- day before you where the deceased officer lived. The witness pointed out what he believed to be Mr. Qlayford’s quarters. He went boldly iiito the passage and knocked at the door, but not re- ceiving any answer, he came to the conclusion that Mr. Clayford bad not returned from mess, and then resolved to obtain entrance to his rooms, and there wait for him, even if it were some two or three hours before he returned. The range of low houses which constitute the officers’ quarters in the citadel are lettered both at the front and back doors, instead of beine: numbered, as an ordinary terrace would be. My client now went round to the back to see if he could obtain entrance to the house that way. He found the door of the basement locked, but upon trying the kitchen window he discovered that it was unfastened. To throw it open and so get into the basement was the easiest thing possible. He then ascended the stairs, hut only to find Mr. Clayford ’s door locked, as he had done before. He was about to give his design up for that night, when the door of the bedroom caught his eye, he tried that, and, rather to his astonishment, found it unfastened. He opened it, and then passed on to the sitting-room, for the two rooms communi- cated. There, to his horror, he found Lieutenant Clayford lying dead upon the floor, and a discharged pistol some three or four paces away from him. “Now, gentlenren,” continued Mr. Fioygate, impressively, “1 put it to any ot you; you have entered a room in which you have no business or right t(» be; you discover the sole tenant of that room is a man who has apparently come to a violent end. When you. re- covered from the first shock of the discovery, what would probably be your next feeling? Dismay at the critical situation in which your own folly had placed you. Should any one discover you there, it is obvious that the natural concl usion would be that you were the assassin. This was the terrible situation in which my client found himself on that July evening. He is a man, remember, accustomed to coixfront danger, and has known before now what it is to look death in the face, but in all his life, 1 will venture to sa}", he has never found himself in eo desperate a strait as this. He did what 1 108 STRUCK DOWN. venture to supjgest any man, who did not lose his head, would have done under the circumstances. He withdrew promptly from the scene ot the tragedy, but, ere he did so, he turned once more to 3ook at the slain man. As he did so, something glittering on the carpet caught his eye. He stooped, picked it up, and brought it away with him, and it is fortunate for him that he did so, as per- haps his very life hangs upon that trifling trinket. The man’s next instinct was naturally to save himself. He was, as it turns out, quite as well acquainted with that egress from the citadel which Sergeant Blane has described to you, and which Inspector Pollock seems to have practically tested, as either of them. He had got out of the citadel more than once before in similar fashion, and now in his need, 1 need scarcely say, he made use of it once more. “ But, gentlemen, 1 am not in the least going to conflne myself to the mere statement ot a man accused ot a great crime, and to which circumstances at all events somewhat tend to prove that it was likely he may have committed. 1 have got evidence to bring before you that will, 1 think, go far to show that another is very much more likely to have been the real culprit than ray unfortunate client. ,1 won’t detain you longer. Mere talk will not vindicate the prisoner’s reputation. 1 am about to put facts before you, and the sooner I commence doing so the better.” And then Mr. Ploygate sat down, and the first witness for the defense was called. This proved to be no other than the assistant to tbe canteen-keep- er, who had already supplied the prisoner with the information as to where Mr. Clayford’s quarters were, and his evidence fairly startled tbe court. He swore that he had known Mr. Skirley under the name of Bunker for some weeks, that he was a friend of his master’s, with whom he fancied he had some business relations, that he had more than once slept at their place, and that he did so on the night of the murder, leaving after the gates were open in the morning; that some four weeks back, Mr. Bunker had asked him which were Mr. Clayford’s quarters, saying that he had seen that young gentleman down on the Barbican, and that he had given him a commission to procure him a few pounds of good cigars. Mr. Bunker professed to trade in those and foreign spirits. Had no idea of his real name or calling, until he had seen him in the witness-box yesterday, and had then hastened to give inforriiation to the police. The next witness was the canteen-keeper himself, who not only corroborated all that this bar- man had said, but further stated that Skirley, alias Bunker, had arrived at the canteen between five and six in the afternoon, that he had ha(i some refreshment there. A>i STRUCK DOWK. 109 a little after seven he announced bis intention of smoking a cigar on the ramparts, and did not return till past ten, which would be short- ly after the muraer had been committed. Did not hear the shots himself, but the canieen was the opposite side the fortress from the officers’ quarters. Had no idea that Mr. Bunker was a seafaring man. He never dressed the least as such when he visited him. Thought that he was a sort of between between some of the merchant captains and a few odd customers on shore. Knew he sold very good wares at very reasonable prices. Did he suppose that those cigars and spirits had paid duty? Would rather not an- swer that question, at all events he knew nothing to the contrary. “Before calling my next witnesses,*’ said Mr„ Fioygate, “1 must now produce to the court this very peculiar silver ring. It is, as ycu will see, my lord, of a very uncommon pattern/* and here one of ihe officials of the court handed the bauble in question up to Mr. Justice Shingles. “ 1 think, my lord, both yourself and the gentlemen of the jury, when they have examined it, will admit that it is a ring of so un- common a pattern as to make an impression on most people who had once seen it. My client’s lips are sealed for the present, gen- tlemen, by the position in which he is placed; otherwise he would tell you that he picked up that ring from the side of the murdered man. Its very peculiarity renders it easy to identify, and 1 am about to call three witmsses who can tell you who is the owner of that ring. 1 could call half a dozen more if necessary, but 1 con- ceive that three credible witnesses are sufficient for my purpose.” And then, for the first time in his life, and greatly to his astonish- ment, Captain Noreton found himself in the witness-box. Yes, he knew the ring well; had seen it hundreds of times. Dave Skirley usually wore it round his neck handkerchef. John Black and another habitue of the “ skipper’s parlor ” bore similar testimony. Skirley had worn that ring for some time. He couldn’t rightly say how long, but for some three or four years; it might be more. The excitement of the court was now intense; and Dave Skirley, who was among the lookers-on, felt beads of cold perspiration stand on his brow, as he listened to the damning evidence whicli was roll- ing up against him. He glanced uneasily round him, with the look of a trapped wild beast in his eyes. He was appalled by the fear of being recognized. Packed though he was among the crowd in the body of the court, already he began to fancy faces were turned his way. He must maKe his way out at all hazards. Escape he knew no STRUCK DOWKe was hopeless, but it would be a relief to avoid recognition. He / turned to go, and in an instant a policeman liad taKen him by the / arm, and another going in iront of him, said, quietly but promptly, > “Make way please; the gentleman is taken ill. “ And when he found himself outside the building he also found himself in the | custody of the police. “1 have now,“ continued Mr. Floygate, “another important / witness to bring before you, who, though he yesterday figured as a / witness against my client, has now some valuable evidence to give in his favor.” Inspector Pollock, being sworn, stated that in consequence of the information he had received last night, he had gone down by the mail train to Plymouth to bring up the canteen-keeper. That while there! he thought it would be as well to search Skirley^s room at the Golden Galleon. That he did so, and the result had been the dis* j covery of three cartridges exactly corresponding with those found in the pistol. As Mr Pollock left the box, Mr. Floygate rose to address the jury. “ Gentlemen,” he said, “ the case against my client rests entirely upon circumstantial evidence, and though, as my learned brother said in his opening; speech, in the crime of murder we generally ' have to rely upon such, still 1 would venture to say that, awkward as circumstances looked against the prisoner at one time, the evi- dence, when sifted, comes to very little. What has been proved against him amounts to this; He was in tbe citadel on the night of the tragedy. He met Miss Black upon the ramparts, and quarreled with her. He then took a turn round the fortress, brooding, no doubt, over his wrongs, and finally came to the con- clusion that he would see Mr. Claytord, point out to him that Miss Black was a girl not in his own station, and that if his intentions were not honorable concerning her, he had better abandon them, as there were those, foremost among whom was himself, who would exact bitter reparation for any wrong done to her. With this inten- tion, he makes his way to the deceased’s quarters, to which he ob- tains access with considerable difficulty, and finds himself face to face with a great crime, and picturing the terrible consequences which would accrue to himself should he be found there, that he should make his escape from the citadel as soon as possible was only nat- ural ; he admits that he did so in the manner described by Inspector Pollock. But, on the other l)and, look at the circumstantial evi- dence against Dave Skirlej", 1 am quite aware that we are not try- STRUCK DOWK. Ill ing him, and therefore shall only call your attention to a few salient points that testify to his detriment. Remember be acknowledged before you yesterday, that he had the same reason tor detesting Mr. Clayford that the prisoner had, and 1 thipk nobody that heard the passionate burst, with which he confessed to it, can doubt the truth of his statement. He was the author of those anonymous letters, the object of which was, no doubt, to embroil the prisoner and the deceased. He, some weeks back, endeavored to ascertain which were Mr. Clayford’s quarters. He was in the citadel the whole night, though at the time of the murder nobody seems to have known his exact whereabouts. A ring, amply identified as his, was found by the side of the dead man, while three cartridges cor- responding to those found in the pistol were discovered in his lodg- ings at Plymouth. The balance of testimony seeiUvS to me to weigh heavier against Skirley than it does against Captain Furness, so that it is with the most perfect confidence 1 leave his fate in your hands."' And thus saying, Mr. Ploygate resumed his seat. {So convinced was the counsel for the crown that they were prose- cuting the wrong man, that he waived his right to reply, and Mr. Justice Shingles proceeded to sum up, which he did, very much in favor of the prisoher; and then, with a few words of caution, beg- ging them to bear in mind that they were trying John Furness, and had nothing to do with the evidence against Skirley, further than it went to exonerate the prisoner, he dismissed them. They were not more than half an hour out of court before they trooped back into their box; and in reply to the clerk's “ Gentlemen of the jury, ‘ Guilty or not guilty?" the foreman in clear tones de- livered the verdict of “Not Guilty,’" which elicited a burst of ap- plause that the officials had some difficulty in suppressing. Captain Noreton, indeed, and one or two other prominent members of the “ skipper’s parlor,"” narrowly escaped being taken into custody, on account of their noisy ebullitions of satisfaction. “DAVE SKIRLEY’S DOOM." A VERY few days, indeed, before that assize was over, John Fur* ness and Dave Skirley had changed places, and it was the latter who now stood in tha dock accused of the foul murder committed that warm July evening. As Mi. Floy gate had said, the circumstan- tial evidence was infinitely stronger against the present accused than it had ever been, against John Furness; very different, too, was the bearing of the two men when brought to the bar. Whereas Furness 112 STRUCK DOWlSr. had displayed a gallant spirit of endurance under diflSciilties mixed with terrible emotion when the Benora was dragged into court, Skir^ ley developed the sullen disposition of the human tiger brought at last to bay. Once again had the hapless Marietta to go into the witness-box, and confess, while the tears scalded her eyes, to that shameful scene in the parlor of the Golden Galleon. Reluctantly did she admit that Bkirle}^ taking advantage of his knowledge of lier relations with Clayford, and of her having met Furness that night in the citadel, had aitempted to extort a promise of marriage from her, as a condition that she should be by no means mixed up m the tragedy. How lie bad threatened that, if slie refused his request, she should not only be forced into the witness-box, but perhaps even accused of having been an accessory to the murder. By this, things were different. The Benora, tor some uncalled-for reason, had be- come a heroine, instead of merely a young woman who had made a woful mess of her love affairs. Tiie sympathies of the public were with her, and as a matter of course, popular feeling ran high against the prisoner at the bar. As for Inspector Pollock, irritated by his first mistake, he was simply untiring in riveting the chain of evi- dence around his whilom comrade; and a good deal of slight confir- matory evidence did beget together within the few days that elapsed between the acquittal of John Furness and the arraignment of David Skirley for the willful murder of Charles Clayford. Two days’ impartial investigation resulted in overwhelming evi- dence against the prisoner. The judge, who summed up most conclusively against him, concluded in these w’ords: “ And, gentle- men, if in consideration of all the evidence that has been placed be- fore you, you come to the conclusion that the prisoner is guilty, and 1 regret to say it seems difficult to arrive at any other opinion, you must bear in mind that you had to try and determine one of the most atrocious and dastardly crimes it has ever been my lot to see hiought before a court of justice. Not only has the prisoner in his infatuation for Miss Black, whom, 1 am bound to say, as far as we can see, never gave him the faintest encouragement, apparently taken the life of one of his rivals, but has actually entertained the revolt- ing idea of getting rid of his .second rival, John Furness, by allow- ing him to suffer for the crime which he himself had committed. In sliort, gentlemen, bear in mind, that if after due consideration you find the prisoner guilty of the murder of the late Charles Clayford, he further nearly accomplished a second and still more shameful murder, insomuch as he allowed an innocent man to be tried for the crime which he himself had committed.” STRUCK DOWK. , 113 A short delay, and a verdict of “ Guilty was recorded against David Skirley, and once more the officials of Ibe court bad trouble in suppressing tbe approval of those boisterous Devonshire throats. And then solemnly and impressively Mr. Justice Shingles passed sentence of the extreme penalty of the law. Whether Marietta and Jack Furness came together in the sequel 1 must leave my readers to coujecture. ISo girl could have tailed U) be touched by the almost wild chivalry of a lover who had risked his life to save her appearance in a court of law. Sore from all she had gone through; sick at heart from the awful tragedy in which her first love affair had ended, it was hardly likely that Marikta would iist to any man’s wooing for some time, let him plead ever so earnestly. Dut time softens all things, and it may be, in the days to come, she might listen kindly to what Jack Furness has to say to her. THE BND. THE NEW MAGDALEN FIRST SCENE. THE COTTAGE OJSF THE FRONTIER, PREAMBLE The place is France. The time is autumn, in the year eighteen hundred and seventy— the year of the war between France and Germany. The persons are, Captain Arnault, of the French army; Surgeon Surville, of the French ambulance; Surgeon Wetzel, of the German army; Mercy Merrick, attached as nurse to the French ambulance; and Grace Roseberry, a traveling lady on her way to England. o CHAPTER I. \ THE TWO WOMEN. It was a dark night. The rain was pouring in torrents. Late in the evening a skirmishing party of the French and a skir- mishing party of the Germans had met, by accident, near the little village of Lagrange, close to the German frontier. In the struggle that followed the French had (for once) got the better of the enemy. For the time, at least, a few hundreds out of the host of the invaders had been forced back over the frontier. It was a trifling affair, oc- curring not long after the great German victory of Weissenburg, and the newspapers took little or no notice of it. Captain Arnault, commanding on the French side, sat alone in one of the cottages of the village, . inhabited by the miller of the dis- 4 THE HEW MAGDALEH. trict. The captain was reading, by the light of a solitary tallow candle, some intercepted dispatches taken from the Germans. He had suffered the wood fire, scattered over the large open grate, to burn low; the red embers only faintly illuminated a part of the room. On the floor behind him lay some of the miller’s empty sacks. In a corner opposite to him was the miller’s solid walnut- wood bed. On the walls all round him were the miller’s colored prints, representing a happy mixture of devotional and domestic sub- jects. A door of communication leading into the kitchen of the cot- tage had been torn from its hinges, and used to carry the men wounded in the skirmish from the field. They were now comfort- ably laid at rest in the kitchen, under the care 6f the French sur- geon and the English nurse attached to the ambulance. A piece of coarse canvas screened the opening between the two rooms in place of the door. A second door, leading from the bed-chamber into the yard, was locked; and the wooden shutter protecting the one win- dow of the room was carefully barred. Sentinels, doubled in num- ber, were placed at all the outposts. The French commander had neglected no precaution which could reasonably insure for himself and for bis men a quiet and comfortable night. Still absorbed in his perusal of the dispatches, and now and then making notes of what he read by the help of writing materials placed at his side, Captain Arnault was interrupted by the appearance of an intruder in the room. Surgeon Surville, entering from the kitchen, drew aside the canvas scteen, and approached the little round table at which his superior officer was sitting. “ What is it?” said the captain, sharply. ” A question to ask,” replied the surgeon. “ Are we safe for the night?” “ Why do you want to know?” in( mired the captain, suspiciously. The surgeon pointed to the kitchen, now the hospital devoted to the wounded men. “ The poor fellows are anxious about the next few hours,” he re- plied. ‘‘They dread a surprise, and they ask me if there is any reasonable hope of their having one night’s rest. What do you think of the chances?” The captain shrugged his shoulders. The surgeon persisted. “ Surely you ought to know?” he said. ‘‘ I know that we are in possession of the village for the present,” retorted Captain Arnault, “ and I know no more. Here are the papers of the enemy.” He held them up, and shook them impa- tiently as he spoke. ” They give me no information that I can rely THE HEW MAGDALEH, 5 on. For all I can tell to the contrary, the main body of the Ger- mans, outnumbering us ten to one, may be nearer this cottage than the main body of the French. Draw your own conclusions. 1 have nothing more to say.'" Having answered in those discouraging terms. Captain Arnault got on his feet, drew the hood of his great coat over his head, and lit his cigar at the candle. “ Where are you going?” asked the surgeon. “ To visit the outposts.” “ Do you want this room for a little while?” “Not for some hours to come. Are you thinking of moving any of your wounded men in here?” “I was thinking of the English lady,” answered the surgeon. “ The kitchen is not quite the place for her. She would be more comfortable here; and the English nurse might keep her company.” Caotain Arnault smiled, not very pleasantly . “ They are two tine women,” he said, “and Surgeon Survilie is a ladies’ man. Let them come in, if they are rash enough to trust themselves here with you.” He checked himself on the point of going out, and looked back distrustfully at the lighted candle. “ Caution the women,” he said “ to limit the exercise of their curiosity to the inside of this room.” “ What do you mean?” The captain’s forefinger pointed significantly to the closed win- dow-shutter. “ Did you ever know a woman who could resist looking out of window?” he asked. “ Dark as it is, sooner or later these ladies of yours will feel tempted to open that shutter. Tell them I don’t want the light of the candle to betray my head-quarters to the German scouts. How is the weather? Still raining?” “ Pouring.” “ So much the better. The Germans won’t see us.” With that consolatory remark he unlocked the door leading into the yard, and walked out. The surgeon lifted the canvas screen and called into the kitchen: “ Miss Merrick, have you time to take a little rest?” “ Plenty of time,” answered a soft voice with an underlying mel- ancholy in it, plainly distinguishable though it had only spokeR three words. “ Come in, then,” continued the surgeon, “ andbringthe English lady with you. Here is a quiet room all to yourselves.” He held back the canvas, and the two women appeared. 0 THE KEW MAGDALEK. The nurse led the way— tall, lithe, and graceful— attired in her uniform dress of neat black stud:, with plain linen collar and cuffs, and with the scarlet cross of the Geneva Convention embroidered on her left shoulder. Pale and sad, her expression and manner both eloquently suggestive of suppressed suffering and sorrow, there was an innate nobility in the carriage of this woman’s head, an innate grandeur in the gaze of her large gray eyes and in the lines of her finely proportioned face, which made her irresistibly striking and beautiful, seen under any circumstances and clad in any dress. Her companion, darker in complexion and smaller in stature, possessed attractions which were quiet marked enough to account for the sur- geon’s polite anxiety to shelter her in the captain’s room. The com- mon consent of mankind would have declared her to be an unusually pretty woman. She wore the large gray cloak that covered her from head to foot with a grace that lent its own attractions to a plain and even a shabby article of dress. The languor in her movements, and the uncertainty of tone in her voice as she thanked the surgeon, sug- gested that she was suffering from fatigue. Her dark eyes searched the dimly lighted room timidly, and she held fast by the nurse’s arm with the air of a woman whose nerves had been severely shaken by some recent alarm. You have one thing to remember, ladies,” said the surgeon. Beware of opening the shutter, for fear of the light being seen through the window. For the rest, we are free to make ourselves as comfortable here as we can. Compose yourself, dear madam, and rely on the protection of a Frenchman who is devoted to you!” He gallantly emphasized his last words by raising the hand of the En- glish lady to his lips. At the moment when he kissed it the canvas screen was again drawn aside. A person in the service of the am- bulance appeared, announcing that a bandage had slipped, and that one of the wounded men was to all appearance bleeding to death. The surgeon, submitting to destiny with the worst possible grace, dropped the charming Englishwoman’s hand, and returned to his duties in the kitchen. The two ladies were left together in the room. “Will you take a chair, madam?” asked the nurse. “ Don’t call me ‘ madam,’ ” returned the young lady, cordially, “ My name is Grace Roseberry. What is your name?” The nurse hesitated. “ Hot a pretty name like yours,” she said, and hesitated again. “ Call me * Mercy Merrick,’ ” she added, after a moment’s consideration. Had she given an assumed nanie? Y/as there some unhappy THE HEW MAGDALEH. 7 celebrity attached to her own name? Miss Koseberry did not wait to ask herself those questions. “ How can I thank you/' she ex- claimed, gratefully, “for your sisterly kindness to a stranger like me?" “ 1 have only done my duty," said Mercy Merrick, a little coldly. “ Don’t speak of it." “ I must speak of it. What a situation you found mein when the French soldiers had driven the Germans away! My traveling car- riage stopped; the horses seized; I myself in a strange country at night fall, robbed of m}^ money and my luggage, and drenched to the skin by the pouring rain! I am indebted to you for shelter in this place— I am wearing your clothes— I should have died of the fright and the exposure but for you. What return can 1 make for such services as these?" Mercy placed a chair for her guest near the captain’s table., and seated herself, at some little distance, on an old chest in a corner of the room. “ May I ask you a quest on?" she said, abruptly. “ A hundred questions," cried Grace, “ if you like." She looked at tlie expiring fire, and at the dimly visible figure of her companion seated in the obscurest corner of the room. “ That wretched candle hardly gives any light," she said, impatiently. “It won’t last much longer. Can’t we make the place more cheerful? Come out of your corner. Call for more wood and more lights." Mercy remained in her corner and shook her head. “ Candles and wood are scarce things here," she answered. “We must be pa- tient, even if we are left in the dark. Tell me," she went on, rais- ing her quiet voice a little, “ how came you to risk crossing the country in war time?" Grace’s voice dropped when she answered the question. Grace’s momentary gayety of manner suddenly left her. “I had urgent reasons," she said, “ for returning to England." “Alone?" rejoined the other. “Without any one to protect you?" Grace’s head sank on her bosom. “ I have left my only protector — my father — in the English burial-ground at Rome," she answered, simply. “ My mother died years since in Canada/’ The shadowy figure of the nurse suddenly changed its position on the chest. She had started as the last word passed Miss Rose- berry’s lips. “ Do you know Canada?" asked Grace. “ Well/’ was the brief answer— reluctantly given, short as it was. “ Were you ever near Fort Logan?" 8 THE KEW MAGDALEH, “ 1 once lived within a few miles of Port Logan.’* “ When?” “ Some time since.” With those words Mercy Merrick shrank back into her corner and changed the subject. “ Your relatives in England must be very anxious about you,” she said. Grace sighed. “ 1 have no relatives in England. You can hardi r imagine a person more friendless than 1 am. We went awav from Canada when my father’s health failed, to try the climate of Italy, by the doctor’s advice. His death has left me not only friendless, but poor.” She paused, and took a leather letter-case from the pocket of the large gray cloak which the nurse had lent to her. “My prospects in life,” she resumed, “are all contained in this little case. Here is the one treasure I contrived to conceal when I was robbed of my other things!” Mercy could just see the letter-case as Grace held it up in the deepening obscurity of the room. “ Have you got money in it?” she asked. “ Ho; only a few family papers, and a letter from my father, in- troducing me to an elderly lady in England— a (jonnection of his by marriage, whom 1 have never seen. The lady has consented to re-, ceive me as her companion and reader. If I don’t return to Eng- land soon, some other person may get the place.” “ Have you no other resource?” “None. My education has been neglected — we led a wildlife in the far West. 1 am quite unfit to go out as a governess. I am absolutely dependent on this stranger, who receives me for my fa- ther’s sake.” She put the letter-case back in the pocket of her cloak, and ended lier little narrative as unaffectedly as she had begun it. “ Mine is a sad story, is it not?” she said. The voice of the nurse answered her suddenly and bitterly in these strange words: “There are sadder stories than yours. There are thousands of miserable women who would ask for no greater blessing than to change places with You.” Grace started. “ What can there possibly be to envy in such a lot as mine?” “ Your unblemished character and your prospect of being estab- lished honorably in a respectable house.” Grace turned in her chair, and looked wonderingly into the dim corner of the room. “How strangely you say that!” she exclaimed. There was no answer; the shadowy figure on the chest never moved. Grace rose impulsively, and drawing her chair after her, approached tba THE KBW MAGDALEH. 9 nurse. “ Is there some romance in your life?” she asked. “Why have you sacrificed yourself to the terrible duties which I find you performing here? You interest me indescribably. Give me your hand.” Mercy shrank back, and refused the offered hand. “ Are we not friends?” Grace asked, in astonishment. ” We can never be friends.” ” Why not?” The nurse was dumb. Grace called to mind the hesitation that she had shown when she had mentioned her name, and drew a new conclusion from it. ” Should I be guessing right,” she asked, eagerly if I guessed you to be some great lady in disguise?” Mercy laughed to herself, low and bitterly. “I a great lady!” she said, contemptuously. ‘‘ For Heaven^s sake, let us talk of something else!” Grace’s fcuriosity was thoroughly roused. She persisted. ” Once more,” she whispered, persuasively. “Let us be friends.” She geatly laid her hand as she spoke on Mercy’s shoulder. Mercy roughly shook it off. There was a rudeness in the action which would have offended the most patient woman living. Grace drew back indignantly. “ Ah!” she cried, “ you are cruel.” “ I am kind,” answered the nurse, speaking more sternly than ever. “ Is it kind to keep me at a distance? I have told you my story.” ^The nurse’s voice rose excitedly. “Don’t tempt me to speak out,” she said; “ you will regret it.” Grace declined to accept the warning. “ I have placed confidence in you,” she went on. “It is ungenerous to lay me under an* obligation, and then to shut me out of your confidence in return.” “ You have it?” said Mercy Merrick. “You shall have it! Sit down again!” Grace’s heart began to quicken its beat in ex- pectation of the disclosure that was to come. She drew her chair closer to the chest on which the nurse was sitting. With a firm hand Mercy put the chair back to a distance from her. “Not so near me!” she said, harshly. “ Why not?” “ Not so near,” repeated the sternly resolute voice. “ Wait till you have heard what I have to say.” Grace obeyed without a word more. There was a momentary silence. A faint flash of light leaped up from the expiring candle, and showed Mercy crouching on the chest, with her elbows on her knees, and her face hidden in her hands. The next instant the room was buried in obscurity As the darkness fell on the two women, the nurse spoke. 10 THE KEW MAGDALEK. CHAPTER II. MAGDALEN— IN MODERN TIMES. ‘‘ When your mother was alive, were you ever out with her after ni^j:htfall in the streets of a great city?’^ In those extraordinary terms Mercy Merrick opened the confi- dential interview which Grace Roseberry had forced on her. Grace answered, simply, “ 1 don’t understnd you.” “I will put ft in another way,” said the nurse. Its unnatural hardness and sternness of tone passed away from her voice, and its native gentleness and sadness returned, as she made that reply. ‘‘You read the newspapers like the rest of the world,” she went on; “have you ever read of your unhappy fellow creatures (the starving outcasts of the population) whom Want has driven iat4> Sin?” Still wondering, Grace answered that she had read of such things often, in newspapers and in books. “ Have you heard— when those starving and sinning fellow-creat- ures happened to be women— of Refuges established to protect and reclaim thena?” The wonder in Grace’s mind passed away, and a vague suspicion of something painful to come took its place. ^ “ These are extraor- dinary questions,” she said, nervously. “ What do you mean?” “Answer me,” the nurse insisted. “Have you heard of the Refuges? Have you heard ''.he Women?” “Yes.” “Move your chair a little further away from me.” She paused. Her voice, without losing its steadiness, fell to its lowest tones, “ I was once of those women,” she said, quietly. Grace sprang to her feet with a faint cry. She stood petrified- incapable of uttering a word. “ I have been in a Refuge,” pursued the sweet sad voice of the other woman, “ / have been in a Prison. Do you still wish to be my friend? Do you still insist on sitting close by me and taking my hand?” She waited for a reply, and no reply came. “You* see you were wrong,” she went on, gently, “ when you called me cruel — and 1 was right when I told you I was kind.” At that appeal Grace composed herself, and spoke. “ I don’t wish THE KEW MAGDALEX. 11 to offend you—” she began, confusedly. Mercy Merrick stopped here there. “ You don't offend me," she said, without the faintest note of displeasure in her tone. 1 am accustomed to stand in the pillory of my own past life. I sometimes ask myself if it was all my fault. 1 sometimes wonder if Society had no duties toward me when 1 was a child selling matches in the street— when I was a hard- work- ing girl fainting at my needle for want of food." Her voice fal- tered a little for the first time as it pronounced those words; she waited a moment, and recovered herself. '‘It’s too late to dwell on these things now," she said, resignedly. “ Society can subscribe to reclaim me; but Society can’t take me back. You see me here in a place of trust— patiently, humbly, doing all the good I can. It doesn’t matter! Here, or elsewhere, what lam can never alter what 1 was. For three years past all that a sincerely penitent woman can do I have done. It doesn’t matter! Once let my past story be known, and the shadow of it covers me; the kindest people shrink." She waited again. Would a word of sympathy come to comfort her from the other woman’s lips? No! Miss Roseberry was shocked; Miss Roseberry was confused. “I am very sorry for you," was all that Miss Roseberry could say. Everybody is sorry for me," answered the nurse, as patiently as ever : " everybody is kind to me. But the lost place is not to be regained. I can’t get back! I can’t get back!" she cried, with a passionate outburst of despair — checked instantly the moment it had escaped her. “ Shall I tell you what my experience has been?" she resumed. “ Will you hear the story of Magadalen — in modern times?" Grace drew back a step ; Mercy instantly understood her. “lam going to tell you nothing that you need shrink from hear- ing," she said. “A lady in your position would not understand the trials and the struggles that I have passed through. My story shall begin at the Refuge. The matron sent me oat to service with the character that I had honestly earned — the character of a re- claimed woman. I justified the confidence placed in me ; I was a faith- ful servant. One day my mistress sent for me — a kind mistress, if ever there was one yet. ‘ Mercy, 1 am sorry for you ; it has come out that I took you from a Refuge; I shall lose every servant in the house ; you must go. ’ 1 went back to the matron — another kind woman. She received me like a mother. ‘ We will try again, Mercy; don’t be cast down.’ 1 told you I had been in Canada?" Grace began to feel intcu p.'^ ! in spite of herself. She answered 12 THE HEW MAGDA LEH. wth something like warmth in her tone. She returned to her chair —placed at its safe and significant distance from the chest. The nurse went on : “ My next place was in Cahada, with an ofidcer's wife ; gentle- folks who had emigrated. More kindness; and, this time, a pleasant peaceful life for me. I said to myself, ‘ Is the lost place regained? Have I got back? My mistress died. New people came into our neighborhood. There was a young lady among them — my master began to think of another wife. I have the misfortune (in my situ- ation), to be what is called a handsome woman; I rouse the curios- ity of strangers. The new people asked questions about me; my master’s answers did not satisfy them. In a word, they found me out. The old stor}'' again! ‘Mercy,! am very sorry; scandal is busy with you and with me; we are innocent, but there is no help for it— we must part.’ I left the place having gained one advantage during my stay in Canada, which 1 find of use to me here.” “ What is it?” “ Our nearest neighbors were French Canadians. I learned to speak the French language.” “ Did you return to London? ’ “ Where else could I go without a character?” said Mercy, sad- ly. “1 went back again to the matron. Sickness had broken out in the Refuge. I made myself useful as a nurse. One of the doc- tors was strqck with me — ‘ fell in love ’ with me, as the phrase is. He would have married me. The nurse, as an honest woman, was bound to tell him the truth. He never appeared again. The old story! I began to weary of saying to myself, * I can’t get back! I can’t get back!’ Despair got hold of me, the despair that hardens the heart. I might have committed suicide; I might even have drift- ed back into my old life — but for one man.” At those last words, her voice— quiet and even through the earlier parts of her sad story — began to falter once more. She stopped, following silently the memories and associations roused in her by what she had just said. Had she forgotten the presence of another person in the room? Grace’s curiosity left Grace no resource but to say a word on her side. “ Who was the man?” she asked, “ How did he befriend you?” “ Befriend me? He doesn’t even know that such a person as I am is in existence.” That strange answer, naturally enough, only strengthened the anxiety of Grace to hear more. “ You said just now—” she began. 1 said just now that he saved me. He did save me; you shall THE HEW MAGBALEH. 13 hoar how. One Sunday our regular clergyman at the Kefuge was not able to officiate. His place was taken by a stranger, quite a young man. The matron told us the stranger’s name was Julian Gray. 1 sat in the back row of seats, under the shadow of the gal- lery, where I could see him without his seeing me. His text was from the words, ‘ Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that re- })enteth, more tlian over ninety and nine just persons, which need •u) repentance.’ What happier women might have thought of his srrmon I cannot say; there was not a dry eye among us at the Ref- uiie. As for me, he touched my heart as no man has touched it be- fore or since. The hard despair melted in me at the sound of his voice; the weary round of my life showed its nobler side again wffiile he spoke. From that time I have accepted my hard lot, I have been a patient woman., I might have been something more, I might have be^m a happy woman, if I could have prevailed on my- self to speak to Julian Gray.” ‘‘ What hindered you from speaking to him?” “ 1 was afraid.” ” Afraid of what?” Afraid of making my hard life harder still.” A woman who could have sympathized with her would perhaps have guessed wdiat those words meant. Grace was simply embar- rassed by her; and Grace failed to guess. 1 don’t understand you,” she said. There was no alternative for Mercy but to own the truth in plain words. She sighed, and said the words; “ 1 was afraid I might interest him in m}^ sorrows, and might set my heart on him in re- turn.” The utter absence of any fellow-feeling with her on Grace’s side expressed itself unconsciously in the plainest terms. “You!” she exclaimed, in a tone of blank astonishment. The nurse rose slowly to her feet. Grace’s expression of surprise told lier plairdy — almost brutally — that her confession had gone far enough. “ I astonish you?” she said. “ Ah, my young lady, you don’t know what rough usage a woman’s heart can bear, and still beat truly! Before 1 saw Julian Gray 1 only knew men as objects of horror to me. Let us drop the subject. The preacher at the Refuge is nothing but a remembrance now — the one welcome remembrance of my life! I have nothing more to tell you. You insisted on hear- ing my story— you have heard it.” “ I have not heard how you found employment here,” said Grace, continuing the conversation with uneasy politeness, as she best 14 THE ]^EW MAGHALEE-. iniffAt. Mercy crossed the room, and slowly raked together the last Hiring embers of the fire. “ The matron has friends in France/’ she answered, “ who are connected with the mOitary hospitals. It was not difficult to get me the place, under those circumstances. Society can find a use for me here. My hand is as light, my words of comfort are as welcome, among those suffering wrelches ” (she pointed to the room in which the^wounded men were lying) '' as if I was the most reputable woman breathing. And if a stray shot comes my way before the war is over— well! Society will be rid of me on easf terms.” She stood looking thoughtfully into the wreck of the fire — as if she saw in it the wreck of her own life. Common humanity made it an act of necessity to say something to her. Grace considered — advanced a step toward her — stopped— and took refuge in the most trivial of all the common phrases which one human being can ad- dress to another. “ If there is anything I can do for you she began. The sen- tence, halting there, was never finished. Miss Roseberry was just merciful enough toward the lost woman who had rescued and shel- tered her to feel that it was needless to say more. The nurse lifted her noble head and advanced slowly toward the canvas screen to return to her duties. Miss Roseberry might have, taken my hand!” she thought to herself, bitterly. '‘No! Miss Roseberry stood there at a distance, at a loss wffiat to sa.y next., ‘‘What can you do for me?” Mercy asked, stung by the cold couitesy of her companion into a momentary outbreak of contempt. ‘‘ Can you change my identity? Can you give me the name and the place of an innocent woman ? If I only had your chance ! If I only had your reputation and your prospects!” She laid one hand over her bosom, and controlled herself. “Stay here,” she resumed, “ while I go hack to my work. I will see that your clothes are ied You shall wear my clothes as short a time as possible.” YvMth those melancholy words — touchingly, not bitterly spoken — she moved to pass into the kitchen, when she noticed that the pattering sound of the rain against the windows was audible no more. Dropping the canvas for the moment, she retraced her steps, and, unfastening the wooden shutter, looked out. The moon was rising dimly in the watery sky; the rain had ceased; the friendly darkness which had hidden the French position from the Gennan scouts was lessening every moment. In a few hours more (if nothing happened) the English lady might Besuine her journey. In a few hours more the morniniy would dawn. Mercy lifted her THE HEW MAGDALEH. 15 band to ^ose the shutter. Before she could fasten it the report of a riflC' shot reached the cottage from one of the distant posts. It was followed almost instantly by a second report, nearer and louder than the first. Mercy paused, with the shutter in her hand, and listened intently for the next sound. CHAPTER 111. THE GERMAN SHELL. A “third rifle-shot rang through the night air, close to the cot tage. Grace started and approached the window in alarm. What does that firing mean?’^ she asked. “ Signals from the outposts,” the nur.se quietly replied. “ Is there any danger? Have the Germans come back?” Surgeon Surville answered the question. He lifted the canvas screen, and looked into the room as Miss Roseberry spoke. The Germans are advancing on us,” he said. ‘‘ Their van-guard is in sight.” Grace sank on the ch;»ir near her, trembling from head to foot. Mercy advanced to the surgeon, and put the decisive question to him. ” Do we defend the position?” she inquired. Surgeon Surville ominously shook his head. ” Impossible! We are outnumbered as usual — ten to one.” The shrill roll of the French drums was heard outside. There is the retreat sounded!” said the surgeon. “ The captain is not a man to think twice about what he does. We are left to take care of ourselves. In five minutes we must be out of this place.” A volley of rifle-shots rang out as he spoke. The German van- guard was attacking the French at the outposts. Grace caught the surgeon entreatingly by the arm. “ Take me with you,” she cried. ” Oh, sir, I have suffered from the Germans already! Don’t forsake me, if they come back!” The surgeon was equal to the occasion; he placed the hand of the pretty Englishwoman on his breast. “Fear nothing, madam,” he said, looking as if he could have annihilated the whole German force with his own invincible arm. “ A Frenchman’s heart beats under your hand. A French- man’s devotion protects you.” Grace’s head sank on his shoulder. Monsieur Surville felt that he had asserted himself; he looked round invitingly at Mercy. She, too, was an attractive woman. The Frenchman had another shoulder at service. Unhappily the 16 THE NEW MAGDALEN. room was dark — the look was l;)st on Mercy. She was thinking of the helpless men in tlie inner chamber, and she quietly recalled the surgeon to a sense of his prcd'es.'sional duties. What is to become of tlie sick and wouuded?'' she asked. Monsieur Surville shrugged one shoulder — the shoulder that was free. “ The strongest among them we can take away with us/' he said. ‘‘ The others must be left here. Fear nothing for yourself, dear lady. There will be a place for you in the baggage- wagon." “ And for me, too?" Grace pleaded eagerly. The surgeon's invincible arm stole round the young lady's waist, and answered mutely with a squeeze. Take her with you," said Mercy. '‘„My place is with the men whom you leave behind." Grace listened in amazement. “ Think what you risk," she said, " if you stop here " Mercy pointed to her left shoulder. “ Don't alarm yourself on my account," she answered; “ the red cross will protect me." Another roll of the drum warned the susceptible surgeon to take his place as director-general of the ambulance without any further delay. He conducted Grace a chair, and placed both her hands on his heart this time, to reconcile her to the misfortune of his ab- sence. “Wait here till I return for you," he whispered “Fear nothing, my charming friend. Say to yourself, ' Surville is the soul of honor! Surville is devoted to me!’ " He struck his breast; he again forgot the obscurity in the room, and cast one look of un- utterable homage at his charming friend. “A Uentot!^^ he cried, and kissed his hand and disappeared. As the canvas screen fell over him the sharp report of the rifle-fir- ing was suddenly and grandly dominated by the roar of cannon. The instant after a shell exploded in the garden outside, within a few yards of the window. Grace sank on her knees with a shriek of terror. Mercy, without losing her self-possession, advanced to the window and looked out. “ The moon has risen," she said. “ The Germans are shelling the village." Grace rose, and ran to her for protection. “Take me awayl" she cried. “ We shall be killed if we stay here. " She stopped, looking in astonishment at the tall black figure of the nurse, standing immovable by the window. “ Are you made of iron?" she exclaimed. “ AYill nothing frighten you?" THE NEW MAGDALEN. I'J Morey smiled sadly. Why should I be afraid of losing my life?’' she answered. “ I have nothing worth living for!” The roar of the cannon shook the cottage for the second lime. A second shell exploded in the court- yard, on the opposite side of the building. Bewildered by the noise, panic-stricken as the danger from the shells threatened the cottage more and more nearly, Grace threw her arms round the nurse, and clung, in the abject familiarity of terror, to the woman whose hand she had shrunk from touchimr not five minutes since, “ Where is the safest?” she cried. Where can I hide myself?” “ How can I tell where the next shell will fall?” Mercy answered, quietly. The steady composure of the one woman seemed to madden the other. Releasing the nurse, Grace looked wildly round for a way of escape from the cottage. Making first for the kitchen, she was driven back by the clamor and confusion attending the removal of those among the wounded who were strong enough to be placed in the wagon. A second look round showed her the door leading into the yard. She rushed to it with a cry of relief. She had just laid her hand on the lock when the third report of cannon burst over the place. Starting back a step, Grace lifted her hands mechanically to her ears. At the same moment the third shell broke through the roof of the cottage, and exploded in the room, just inside the door. Mercy sprang forward, unhurt, from her place at the window. The burning fragments of the shell were already firing the dry wooden fioor, and in the midst of them, dimly seen through the smoke, lay the insensible body of her companion in the room. Even at that dreadful moment the nurse's presence of mind did not fail her. Hurrying back to the place that she had just left, near wdiich she had already noliced the miller’s empty sacks lying in a heap, she seized two of them, and, throwing them on the smoldering floor, trampled out the fire. That done, she knelt by the senseless woman, and lifted her head. Was she wounded? or dead? Mercy raised one helpless hand, and laid her fingers on the wrist. While she was still vainly trying to feel for the beating of the pulse. Surgeon Surville (alarmed for the ladies) hurried in to inquire if any harm had been done. Mercy called to him to approach. ” I am afraid the shell has struck her,” she said, yielding her place to him. “ See if she is badly hurt.’* The surgeon’s anxiety for his charming patient exv pressed itself briefly in an oath, with a prodigious emphasis laid on 18 THE NEW MAGDALEN. one of the letters in it — the letter R. “Takeoff her cloak/* he cried, raising his hand to her neck. “ Poor angel! She has turned in falling; the string is twisted round her throat.’* Mercy removed the cloak. It dropped on the floor as the surgeon lifted Grace in his arms. “Gel a candle,” he said, impatiently; “ tliey will give you one in the kitchen.” He tried to feel the pulse; his hand trembled, the noise and confusion in the kitchen bewildered him. “Just Heaven!” he exclaimed. “ My emotions overpower me!” Mercy approached him with the candle. The light disclosed the frightful injury which a fragment of the shell had inflicted on the Englishwoman’s head. Surgeon Surville’s manner altered on the instant. The expression of anxiety left his face; its professional composure covered it suddenly like a mask. What was the object of his admiration now? An inert burden in his arms — nothing more. The change in his face was not lost on Mercy. Her large gray eyes watched him attentively. “ Is the lady seriously wounded?” she asked. “ Don’t Irouble yourself to hold the light any longer,” was the ctiol reply. “ It’s all over — I can do nothing for her.”' “ Dead?” Surgeon Surville nodded, and shook his fist in the direction of the outposts. “ Accursed Germans!” he cried, and looked down at the dead face on his arm, and shrugged his shoulders resignedly. “ The fortune of war!” he said, as he lifted the body and placed it on the bed in one corner of the room, “ Next time, nurse, it may be you or me. Who knows? Bah! the problem of human destiny dis- gusts me.” He turned from the bed, and illustrated his disgust by spitting on the fragments of the exploded shell. “ We must leave her there,” he resumed, “She was once a charming person— she is nothing now. Come away. Miss Mercy, before it is too late.” He offered his arm to the nurse ; the creaking of the baggage-wagon, starting on its journey, was heard outside, and the shrill roll of the tlrums was renewed in the distance. The retreat had begun. Mercy drew aside the canvas, and saw the badly wounded men» left helpless at the mercy of the enemy, on their straw beds She refused the offer of Monsieur Surville’s arm. “ I have already told you that I shall stay here,” she answered.’ Monsieur, Surville lifted his hands in polite remonstrance. Mercy held back the curtain, and pointed to the cottage door. “ Go,” she said. “ My mind is made up.” Even at that final moment the Frenchman asserted himself. He THE NEW MAGDALEN. 19 made his exit with unimpaired grace and dignity. ‘‘ Madam/* he said, “ you are sublime!” With that parting compliment the man of gallantry— true to the last to his admiration of the sex — bowed, with his hand on his heart, and left the cottage. Mercy dropped the canvas over the doorway. She was alone with the dead woman. The last tramp of footsteps, the last rumbling of the wagon wheels, died away in the distance. No renewal of firing from the position occupied by the enemy disturbed the silence that followed. The Germans knew that the French were in retreat. A few min- utes more and they would tiike possession of the abandoned village; the tumult of their approach would become audible at the cottage. In the meantime the stillness w^as terrible. Even the wounded wretches who were left in the kitchen waited their fate in silence. Alone in the room, Mercy’s first look was directed to the bed. The two women had met in the confusion of the first skirmish at the close of twilight. Separated, on their arrival at the cottage, by the duties required of the nurse, they had only met again in the captain’s room. The acquaintance between them had been a short one; and it had given no promise of ripening into friendship. But the fatal accident had roused Mercy’s interest in the stranger. She took the candle, and approached the corpse of the woman who had teen literally killed at her side. She stood by the bed, looking down in the silence of the night at the stillness of the dead face. It was a striking face — once seen (in life or in death) not to be for- gotten afterward. The forehead was unusually low and broad; the eyes unusually far apart; the mouth and chin remarkably small. With tender hands Mercy smoothed the disheveled hair and arranged the crumpled dress. “Not five minutes since,” she thought to her- self, “ I was longing to change places with yoio She turned from the bed with a sigh. “ I wish I could change places now!” The silence began to oppress her. She walked slowly to the other end of the room. The cloak on the fioor — her own cloak, which she had lent to Miss Koseberry — attracted her attention as she passed it. She picked it up and brushed the dust from it, and laid it across a chair. This done, she put the light back on the table, and going to the win- dow, listened for the first sounds of the German advance. The faint passage of the wind through some trees near at hand was the only sound that caught her ears. She turned from the window, and seated herself at the table, thinking. Was there any duty still left undone that Christian charity owed to the dead? Was there any 30 THE HEW WAGDALEH. further service tliat pressed for performance in the interval before the Germans appeared? Mercy recalled the conversation that had passed between her ill- fated companion and herself. Miss Roseberry had spoken of her object in returning to England. She had mentioned a Vdcly — a connec- lion by marriage, to whom she was personally a stranger — who was waiting to receive her. Some one capable of stating how the poor creature liad met with her death ought to write to her only friend. Who was to do it? There was nobody to do it but, the one witness of the catastrophe now left in the cottage — Mercy herself. She lifted the cloak from the chair on which she had placed it, and took from the pocket the leather letter-case which Grace had shown to her. The only way of discovering the address to write to in England was to open the case and examine the papers inside. Mercy opened the case— -and stopped, feeling a strange reluctance to carry the investigation any further. A moment’s consideration satisfied her that her scruples were misplaced. If slie respected the case as inviolable, the Germans would certainly not hesitate to ex- amine it, and the Germans would hardly trouble themselves to write to England. Which were the fittest eyes to inspect the papers of the deceased lady — the eyes of men and foreigners, or the eyes of her own country-woman? Mercy’s hesitation left her. She emptied the contents of the case on the table. That trifling action decided the whole future course of her life. CHAPTER IV. THE TEMPTATION. Some letters, tied together with a ribbon, attracted Mercy’s atten- tion first. The ink in which the addresses were written had faded with age. The letters, directed alternately to Colonel Roseberry and to the Honorable Mrs. Roseberry, contained a correspondence be- tween the husband and wife af a time when the Colonel’s military duties had obliged him to be absent from home. Mercy tied the let- ters up again, and passed on to the papers that lay next in order under her hand. These consisted of a few leaves pinned together, and headed (in a woman’s hand-writing), “ My Journal at Rome.” A brief exami- nation sliowed that the journal had been written by Miss Roseberry, and that it wa.s mainly devoted to a record of the last days of her father’s life. THE In^EW MAGDALEN, 21 After replacing the journal and the correspondence in the case, the one paper left on the table was a letter. The envelope, which was enclosed, bore this address: “Lady Janet Roy, Mablethorpe House, Kensington, London.” Mercy took the inclosure from the Oi)en envelope. The first lines she read informed her that she had found the Colonel’s letter of introduction, presenting his daughter to her protectress on her arrival in England. Mercy read the letter through. It was described by the w iter as the last effort of a dying man. Colonel Roseberry v/rote affection* ately of his daughter’s merits, and regretfully of her neglected education — ascribing the latter to the pecuniary losses which had forced him to emigrate to Canada in the character of a poor man. Fervent expressions of gratitude followed, addressed to Lady Janet. “I owe it to you,” the letter concluded, “that 1 am dying with my mind at ease about the future of my dar ling girl. To your generous protection 1 commit the one treas lire I have left to me on earth. Through your long lifetime you have nobly used your high rank and your great fortune as a means of doing good. I believe it will not be counted among the least of your virtues hereafter that you comforted the last hours of an old soldier by opening your heart and your home to his friendless child.” So the letter ended. Mercy laid it down with a heavy heart. What a chance the poor girl had lost! A woman of rank and fort- une waiting to receive her — a woman so merciful and so generous that the father’s mind had been easy about the daughter on his death -bed — and there the daughter lay, beyond the reach of Lady Janet’s kindness, beyond the need of Lady Janet’s help! The French captain’s writing materials were left on the table. Mercy turned the letter over so that she might write the news of Miss Kose- berry’s death on the blank page at the end. She was still consider- ing what expression she should use, when the sound of complaining voices from the next room caught her ear. The wounded men left buliind were moaning for help—the deserted soldiers were losing their fortitude at last. She entered the kitchen. A cry of delight welcomed her appear- ance — the mere sight of her composed the men. From one straw bed to another she passed with comforting words that gave them hope, with skilled and tender hands that soothed their pain. They kissed the hem of her black dress, they called her their guardian angel, as the beautiful creature moved among them, and bent over their hard pillows her gentle compassionate face I will be witS 22 THE KEW MAGDALEH. you when the Germans come,” she saicl, as she left him to return to her unwritten letter. '‘Courage, my poor fellows! you arc not deserted by your nurse.” “ Courage, madam!” the men replied; “and God bless you!” If the firing had been resfimed at that moment— if a shell had struck her dead in the act of succoring the afflicted, what Christian judgment would have hesitated to declare that there was a place for this woman in heaven? But if the war ended and left her still liv- ing, where was the place for her on earth? Where were her pros- pects? Where was her home? She returned to the letter. Instead, however, of seating herself to write, she stood by the table, absently looking down at the morsel of paper. A strange fancy had sprung to life in her mind on re-entering the room; she herself smiled faintly at the extravagance of it. What if she were to ask Lady Janet Roy to let her supply Miss Roseberry's place? She had met Miss Roseberry under critical circumstances, and she had done for her all that one woman coiild do to help another. There was in this circumstance some little claim to notice, perhaps, if Lady Janet had no other companion and reader in view. Suppose she ventured to plead her own cause— what would the noble and merciful lady do? She would write back and say, “ Send me references to your character, and I will see what can be done.” Her character! Her references! Merey laughed bitterly, and sat down to write in the fewest words all that was needed from her — a plain statement of the facts. No! Not a line could she put on the paper. That fancy of hers was not to be dismissed at will. Her mind was perversely busy now with an imaginative picture of the beauty of Mablethorpe House and the comfort and elegance of the life that was led there. Once more she thought of the chance which Miss Roseberry had lost. Unhappy creature! what a home would have been open to her if the shell had only fallen on the side of the window, instead of on the side of the yard! Mercy pushed the letter away from her, and walked impatiently to and fro in the room. The perversity in her thoughts was not to be mastered in that way. Her mind only abandoned one useless train of reflection to occupy itself with another. She was now looking by anticipation at her own future. What were her prospects (if she lived through it) when the war was over? The experience of the past delineated with pitiless fidelity the dreary scene. Go where she might, do what she might, it would end always in the same way. Curiosity and, admiration excited by her beauty; inquiries made about her; the THE HEW MAGDALEH. 23 story of the past discovered; Society charitably sorry for her; Society generously subscribing for her; and still, through all the years of her life,, the same result in the end— the shadow of the old disgrace surrounding her as with a pestilence, isolating her among other women, branding her, even when she had earned her pardon in the sight of God, with the mark of an indelible disgrace in the sight of man: there was the prospect! And she was only five and-twenty last birthday; she was in the prime of her health and her strength; she might live, in the course of nature, fifty years more! She stopped again at the bedside; she looked again at the face of the corpse. To what end had the shell struck the woman who had some hope in her life, and spared the woman who had none? The words she had herself spoken to Grace Eoseberry came back to her as she thought of it. If 1 only had your chance. If I only had your reputation and your prospects!'* And there was the chance wasted! there were the enviable prospects thrown away? It was almost maddening to contemplate that result, feeling her own position as •he felt it. In the bitter mockery of despair she bent over the life- less figure, and spoke to it as if it had ears to hear her. “ Oh!” she said, longingly, “ if you could be Mercy Merrick and if I could be Grace Eoseberry now The instant the words passed her lips she started into an erect position. She stood by the bed, with her eyes staring wildly into empty space; with her brain in a flame; with her heart beating as if it would stifle her. “ If you could be Mercy Merrick, and if I could be Grace Eoseberry, now!** In one breathless moment the thought assumed a new development in her mind. In one breathless moment the conviction struck her like an electric shock. Slie might be Gh^ace Eoseberry if she dared! There was absolutely nothing to stop her from presenting herself to Lady Janet Eoy under Grace's name and in Grace's place! What were the risks? Where was the weak point in the scheme? Grace had said it herself in so many words— she and Lady Janet had never seen each other. Her friends were in Canada; her rela- tions in England were dead. Mercy knew the place in which she had lived — the place called Port Logan— as well as she had known it herself. Mercy had only to read the manuscript journal to be able to answer any questions relating to the visit to Eome and to Colonel Eoseberry *s death. She had no accomplished lady to personate: Grace had spoken herself — her father's letter spoke also in the plainest terms — of her neglected education. Everything, literally THE HEW MAGDALEH. 84 every vhing, was in the lost woman’s favor. The people with whom she had been con nected in the ambulance had gone to return no more. Her own c)othes were on Miss Roseberry at that moment — marked with her own name. Miss Roseberry 's clothes, marked with her name, were drying, at Mercy’s disposal, in the next room. The way of escape from the unendurable humiliation of her present life lay open before her at last. What a prospect it was! A, new identity, which she might own anywhere! a new name, which was beyond reproach! a new past life, into which all the world mighi search, and be welcome! Her color rose, her eyes sparkled; she had never been so irresistibly beautiful as she looked at the moment f when the new future disclosed itself, radiant with new hope. She waited a minute, until she could look at her own daring proj- ect from another point of view. Where was the harm of it? what did her conscience say? As to Grace, in the first place. What in- jury was she doing to a woman who was dead? The question answered itself. No injury to the woman. No injury to her rela- tions. Her relations were dead also. As to Lady Janet, in the second place. If she served her new mistress faithfully, if she filled her new sphere honorably, if she was diligent under instruction and grateful for kindness — if, in one word, she was all that she might be and would be in the heavenly peace and security of that new life— what injury was she doing to Lady Janet? Once more the question answered itself. !She might, and would, give Lady Janet cause to bless the day when she first entered the house. She snatched up Colonel Roseberry ’s letter, and put it into the case with the other papers. The opportunity was before her; the chances were all in her favor; her conscience said nothing against trying the daring scheme. She decided then and there — “ I’ll do it!’’ Something jarred on her finer sense, something offended her better nature, so she put the case into the pocket of her dress. She had decided, and yet she was not at ease; she was not quite sure of having fairly questioned her conscience yet. What if she laid the letter case on the table again, and waited until her excitement had cooled down, and then put the contemplated project soberly on its trial before her own sense of right and wrong? She thought once, and hesitated. Before she could think twice, the distant tramp of marching footsteps and the distant clatter of horses’ hoofs were wafted to her on the night air. The Germans were entering the village! In a few minutes more they would ap- pear in the cottage; they would summon her to give an account of THE HEW MAGDALEH. 25 herself There was do time for waiting until she was composed again. Which should it be — the new life, as Grace Eoseberry? or the old life, as Mercy Merrick? She looked for the last time at the bed. Grace’s course was run; Grace’s future was at her disposal. Her resolute nature, forced to a choice on the instant, held by the daring alternative. She per- sisted in the determination to take Grace’s place. The tramping footsteps of the Germans came nearer and nearer. The voices of the officers w^ere audible, giving the words of com- mand. She seated herself at the table, waiting steadily for what was to come. The ineradicable instinct of the sex directed her eyes to her dress, before the Germans appeared. Looking it over to see that it was in perfect order, her eyes fell upon the red cross on her l<*ft shoulder. In a moment it struck her that her nurse’s costume might involve her in a needless risk. It associated her with a public position; it might lead to inquiries at a later time, and those inquiries might betray her. She looked round. The gray cloak which she had lent to Grace attracted her attention. She took it up and covered herself with it from head to foot. The cloak was just arranged round her when she heard the outer door thrust open, and voices speaking in a strange tongue and arms grounded in the room behind her. Should she wait to be discov- ered? or should she show herself of her own accord? It was less trying to such a nature as hers to show herself than to wait. She advanced to enter the kitchen. The canvas curtain, as she stretched out her hand to it, was suddenly thrown back from the other side, and three men confronted her in the open doorway. CHA.PTER V. THE GERMAN SURGEON. The youngest of the three strangers — judging by features, com. plexion and manner — was apparently an Englishman. He wore a military cap and military boots, but was otherwise dressed as a civil- ian iSText to him stood an officer in Prussian uniform, and next to ttie officer was the third and oldest of the part}^ He also was dressed in uniform, but his appearance was far from being suggest- ive of the appearance of a military man. He halted on one foot, he stooped at the shoulders, and instead of a sword by his side he car- ried a stick in his band. After looking sharply through a large THE HEW MAGDA LEH. 20 / / \ pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, first at Mercy, then at the bed, then all round the room, he turned ivith a cynical composure of manner to the Prussian officer, and broke the silence in these words: ** A woman ill on the bed; another woman in attendance on har, and no one else in the room. Any necessity, major, for setting a guard here?’’ “ HTo necessity,” answered the major. He wheeled round on his heel and returned to the kitchen. The German surgeon advanced a little, led by his professional instinct, in the direction of the bedside. The young Englishman, whose eyes had remained riveted in admira- tion on Mercy, drew the canvas screen over the doorway, and re- spectfully addressed her in the French language. “ May I ask if I am speaking to a French lady?” he said. “ 1 am an Englishwoman,” Mercy replied. The surgeon heard the answer. Stopping short on his way to the bed, he pointed to the recumbent figure on it, and said to Mercy, in good English, spoken with a strong German accent: ” Can I be of any use there?” His manner was ironically courteous, his harsh voice was pitched in one sardonic monotony of tone. Mercy took an instantaneous dislike to this hobbling, ugly old man, staring at her rudely through his great tortoise-shell spectacles. “You can be of no use. Sir,” she said, shortly. “ The lady was killed when your troops shelled this cottage.” The Englishman started, and looked compassionately toward the bed. The German refreshed himself with h pinch of snuff, and put another question. “ Has the body been examined by a medical man?” he asked. Mercy ungraciously limited her reply to the one necessary word, “Yes.” The present surgeon was not a man to be daunted by a lady’s dis- approval of him. He went on with his questions. “ Who has examined the body?” he inquired next. Mercy answered, “ The doctor attached to the French ambu- lance.” The German grunted in contemptuous disapproval of all French- men and all French institutions. The Englishman seized his first opportunity of addressing himself to Mercy once more. Is the lady a countrywoman of ours?” he asked, gently. Mercy considered before she answered him. With the object she had in view, there might be serious reasons for speakng with ef- treme caution when she spoke of Grace. THE MAGDALEK. 27 I believe so/’ she said. “We met here by accident. I know nothing of her.'’ “ Kot even her name?” inquired the German surgeon. Mercy’s resolution was hardly equal yet to giving her own name openly as the name of Grace. She took refuge in flat denial. “ Not even her name,” she repeated obstinately. The old man stared at her more rudely than ever, considered with himself, and took the candle from the table. He hobbled back to the bed, and examined the figure laid on it in silence. The Englishman continued the conversation, no longer concealing the interest that he felt in the beautiful woman who stood before him. “ Pardon me,” he said; ” you are very young* to be alone in war- time in such a place as this.” The sudden outbreak of a disturbance in the kitchen relieved Mercy from any immediate necessity for answering him. She heard the voices of the wounded men raised in feeble remonstrance, and the harsh command of the foreign officers, bidding them be silent. The generous instincts of the woman instantly prevailed.over every personal consideration imposed on her by the position which she had assumed. Reckless whether she betrayed herself or not as nurse in the French ambulance, she instantly drew aside the canvas to enter the kitchen. A German sentinel barred the way io her, and an- nounced, in his own language, that no strangers were admitted. The Englishman, politely interposing, asked if she had any special object in wishing to enter the room. “ The poor FrenchmenI” she said, earnestly, her heart upbraiding her for having forgotten them. “ The poor wounded Frenchmen.” The German surgeon advanced from the bedside, and took the matter up before the Englishman could say a word more. “ You have nothing to do with the wounded Frenchmen,” he croaked, in the hardest notes of his voice. “ The wounded French- men are my business, not yours. They are our prisoners, and they are being moved to our ambulance. I am Ignatius Wetzel, chief of tlie medical staff — and I tell you this. Hold your tongue.” He turned to the sentinel, and added in German, “Draw the curtain again ; and if the woman persists, put her back into this room with your own hand.” Mercy attempted to remonstrate. The Englishman respectfully took her arm, and drew her out of the sentinel’s reach. “ It is useless to resist,” he said. “ The German discipline never gives way. There is not the least need to be uneasy about the Frenchmen. The ambulance under Surgeon Wetzel is admirably 28 THE HEW MAGDALEH, administered. 1 answer for it, the men will be well treated/" He saw the tears in her eyes as he spoke ; his admiration for her rose liigher and higher. “Kind as well as beautiful,’’ he thought. “ What a charming creature!” “ Well,” said Ignatius Wetzel, eying Mercy sternly through his spectacles, “ are you satisfied? And will you hold your tongue?” She yielded: it was plainly useless to persist. But for the sur- geon’s resistance, her devotion to the wounded men might hav6 stopped her on the downward way that she was going. If she could only have been absorbed again, mind and body, in her good work as a nurse, the temptation might even yet have found her strong enough to resist it. The fatal severity of the German discipline ha^ snapped asunder the last tie that bound her to her better self. Her face hardened as she walked away proudly from Surgeon Wetzel, and took a chair. The Englishman followed her, and reverted to the question of her present situation in the cottage. “ Don’t suppose that I want to alarm you,” he said. “ There is, I repeat, no need to be anxious about the Frenchmen, but there is serious reason for anxiety on your own account. The action will be renewed round this village by daylight; you ought really to be in a place of safety. I am an ofl3.cer in the English army —my name is Horace Holmcroft. I shall be delighted to be of use to you, and I can be of use, if you will let me. May I ask if you are traveling?” Mercy gathered the cloak which concealed her nurse’s dress more* closely round her, and committed herself silently to her first overt act of deception. She bowed her head in the affirmative. “ Are you on your way to England?” “Yes.” “ In that case I can pass you through the German lines, and for- ward you at once on your journey.” Mercy looked at him in unconcealed surprise. His strongly felt interest in her was restrained within the strictest limits of good breeding: he was unmistakably a gentleman. Did he really mean what he had just said? “You can pass me through the German lines?” she repeated. ‘ You must possess extraordinary infiiience, sir, to be able to do that.” Mr. Horace Holmcroft smiled. “ I possess the influence that no one can resisit,” he answered — “the influence of the Press. I am serving here as a 'war corre- spondent of one of our great English newspapers. If I ask him, the THE HEW MAGDALEH. 29 commanding officer will grant you a pass. He is close to this cottage. What do you say?” She summoned her resolution— not without difficulty, even now — and took him at his word. “ 1 gratefully accept your offer, sir.” He advanced a step toward the kitchen, and stopped. ” It may be well to make the application as privately as possible,” he said, ' I shall be questioned if 1 pass through that room. Is there no other vay out of the cottage?” Mercy showed him the door leading into the yard. He bowed — md left her. She looked furtively toward the German surgeon. Ignatius Wetzel was still at the bed, bending over the body,# and apparently absorbed in examining the wound which had been in- flcted by the shell. Mercy’s instinctive aversion to the old man in- creased tenfold now that she was left alone with him. She withdrew uneasily to the window, and looked out at the moonlight. Had she committed herself to the fraud? Hardly, yet. She had committed herself to returning to England — nothing more. There was no neccwssity, thus far, which forced her to present herself at Mablethorpe Hou.se, in Grace’s place. There was still time to recon- sider her resolution — still time to write the account of the accident, as she had proposed, and send it with the letter case to Lady Janet Roy. Suppose she finally decided on taking this course, what was to become of her when she found herself in England again? There was no alternative open but to apply once more to her friend the matron. There was nothing for her to d o but to return to the Refuge ! The Refuge! The matron! What past association with these two was now presenting itself uninvited, and taking the foremost place in her mind? Of whom was she now thinking, in that strange place, and at that crisis in her life? Of the man whose words had found their way to her heart, whose influence had strengthened and com- forted her, in the chapel of the Refuge. One of the finest passages in his sermon had been especially devoted by Julian Gray to warn- ing the congregation whom he addressed against the degrading in- fluences of falsehood and deceit. The terms in which he had ap- pealed to the miserable women round him — terms of sympathy and encouragement never addressed to them before— came back to Mercy Merrick as if she had heard them an hour since. She turned deadly pale as they now pleaded with her once more. ” Oh!” she whispered to herself, as she thought of what she had purposed and planned, ” what have I done? what have I done?” She turned from the window with some vague idea in her mind of following Mr. Holmcroft and calling him ])ack. As she faced the 30 THE KEW MAGDALEH. bed again she also confronted Ignatius Wetzel. He was Just stej^- ping forward to speak to her, with a white handkerchief— the hand- kerchief which she had lent to Grace -held up in his hand. “ I have found this in her pocket,” he said. “ Here is her name written on it. She must be a countrywoman of yours.” He rea the letters marked on the handkerchief, with some diflQcuIty. ” H name is— Mercy Merrick.” His lips had said it — not hers! He had given lier the name. '‘‘Mercy Merrick’ is an English name?'* pursued Ignath Wetzel, with his eyes steadily fixed on her. “ Is it not so?” The hold on her mind of the past association with Julian Gray began to relax. One present and pressing question now possessed itself of the foremost place in her thoughts. Should she correct tlje error into which the German had fallen ’ The time had come— /o speak, and assert her own identity; or to be silent, and commit her- self to the fraud. Horace Holmcroft entered the room again at tne moment when Surgeon Wetzel’s staring eyes were still fastened jhn her, waiting for her reply. ‘‘ I have not overrated my interest,” he said, pointing to a little slip of paper in his hand. ” Here is the pass. Have you got pen and ink? I must fill up the form. ” Mercy pointed to the writing materials on the table. Horace seated himself, and dipped the pen into the ink. ‘‘ Pray don’t think tbatl wish to intrude myself into your affairs,” he said. ” I am obliged to ask you one or two plain questions. What is your name?” A sudden trembling seized her. She supported herself against the foot of the bed. H^er whole future existence depended on her an- swer. She was incapable of uttering a word. Ignatius Wetzel stood her friend for once. His croaking voice filled the empty gap of silence exactly at the right time. He doggedly held the hand- kerchief under her eyes. He obstinately repeated, ” Mercy Merrick is an English name. Is it not so?” Horace Holmcroft looked up from the table. “Mercy Merrick?” he said. “Who is Mercy Merrick?” Surgeon ^Vetzel pointed to the corpse on the bed. “ I have found the name on the handRerchief,” he said. “ This lady, it seems, had not curiosity enough to look for the name of her own countrywoman.” He made that mocking allusion to Mercy with a tone which was almost a tone of suspicion,, and a look which was almost a look of contempt. Her quick temper instant- ly resented the discourtsey of which she had been made the ob- THE NEW MAGDALEN. 31 ject. The irritation of the moment— so often do the most trifling motives determine the most serious human actions — decided her on the course that she should pursue. She turned her hack scornfully on the rude old man, and left him in the delusion that he had discovered the dead woman’s name. Horace returned to the business of filling up the form. “ Pardon me for pressing the question,’’ he said. “ You know what German discipline is by this time. What is your name?” She answered him recklessly, defiantly, without fairly realizing what she was doing until it was done. “ Grace Roseberry , ” she said. The words were hardly out of her mouth before she would have given everything she possessed in the word to recall them. ” Miss?” asked Horace smiling. She could only answer him by bowing her head. He wrote, ” Miss Grace Roseberry ’’—reflected for a moment — and then added, interrogatively, “ Returning to her friends in Eng- land?” Her friends in England? Mercy’s heart swelled: she silently replied by another sign. He wrote the words after the name, and shook the sand-box over the wet ink. “ That will be enough,” he said, rising and presenting the pass to Mercy; ” I will see you through the lines myself, and arrange for your being sent on by the railway. Where is your luggage?” Mercy pointed toward the front-door of the building. “ In a shed outside the cottage,” she ans\\'ered “It is not much; I can do ' everything for myself if the sentinel will let me pass through the kitchen.” Horace pointed to the paper in her hand. “You can go where you like now,” he said. “ Shall I wait for you here or outside?” Mercy glanced distrustfully at Ignatius Wetzel. He was again absorbed in his endless examination of the body on the bed. If she left him alone with Mr. Holmcroft, there was no knowing what the hateful old man might not say of her. She answered, “ Wait for me outside, if you please.” The sentinel drew back with a military salute at the sight of the pass. All the French prisoners had been removed; tliere were not more than half a dozen Germans in the kitchen, and the greater part of them were asleep. Mercy took Grace Roseberry’s clothes from the corner in which they had been left to dry, and made for the shed — a rough structure of wood, built out from the cottage wall. At the front- door she encountered a second sentinel, and showed her pass for the second time. She spoke to this man, asking him if he understood French. He answered that he understood a little. Mercy gave him a piece of money, and 32 THE HEW MAGDALEH. fiaid, “ I am going to pack up my luggage in the shed. Be kind enough to see that nobody disturbs me.’’ The sentinel saluted, in token that he understood. Mercy disappeared in the dark interior of the shed. Left alone with Surgeon Wetzel, Horace noticed the strange old man still bending intently over the English lady who had been killed by the shell. “ Anything remarkable,” he asked, ” in the manner of that poor creature’s death?” ” Nothing to put in a newspaper,” retorted the cynic, pursuing his investigations as attentively as ever. ” Interesting to a doctor— eh?” said Horace. “ Yes. Interesting to a doctor,” was the gruff reply. Horace good-humoredly accepted the hint implied in those words. He quitted the room by the door leading into the yard, and waited for the ch 0 ,rming Englishwoman, as he had been instructed, out- side the cottage. Left by himself, Ignatius Wetzel, after a first cautious look all round him, opened the upper part of Grace’s dress, and laid his left hand on her heart. Taking a little steel instrument from his waist- coat pocket with the other hand, he applied it carefully to the wound, raised a morsel of the broken and depressed bone of the skull, and waited for the result. ‘‘ Aha!” he cried, addressing with tt terrible gayety the senseless creature under his hands. ” The Frenchman says you are dead, my dear — does he? The Frenchman vs a Quack! The Frenchman is an Ass!” He lifted his head, and called into the kitchen. ‘ Max!” A sleepy young German, cov- ered with a dresser’s apron from his chin to his feet, drew the cur- tain and waited for his instructions, ” Bring me my black bag,” said Ignatius Wetzel. Having given that order, he rubbed his hands cheerfully, and shook himself like a dog. ” Now 1 am quite happy,” croaked the terrible old man, with his fierce eyes leering sidelong at the bed. ” My dear dead Englishwoman, I would not have missed this meeting with you for all the money I have in the world. Ha! you infernal French Quack, you call it death, do you? I call it suspended animation from pressure on the brain!” Max appeared with tiie black bag. Ignatius Wetzel selected two fearful instruments, bright and new, and hugged them to his bosom. “My little boys,” he said, tenderly, as if they were two cliildren; “my blessed little boys, come to work!’' He turned to the assidant, “ Do you remember the battle of Solferino, Max — and the Austrian soldier I operated on for a wound on the head?” THE HEW MAGDALEN. 33 The assistant’s sleepy eyes opened wide; he was evidently inter- ested, I remember,” he said. “ I held the candle. ” The mas- ter led the way to the bed. “ I am not satisfied with the result of that operation at Solfer ino,”hesaid; “I have wanted to try again ever since. It’s true that I saved the man’s life, but I failed to give him back his reason along with it. It might have been something wrong in the opera- tion. or it might have been something wrong in the man. Which- ever it was, he will live and die mad. Now look here, my little Max, at this dear youna: lady on the bed. She gives me just what I wanted; here is the case at Solferino once more. You shall hold the candle again, my good boy; stand there, and look with all your eyes. I am going to try if I can save the life and the reason too this time.” He tucked up the cuflis of his coat and began the operation. As |iis fearful instrument touched Grace’s head, the voice of the sen- tinel at the nearest outpost was heard, giving the word in German which permitted Mercy to take the first step on her journey to Eng- land: ” Pass the English lady ! ” The operation proceeded. The voice of the sentinel at the next post was heard more faintly in its turn: Pass the English larly!” The operation ended. Ignatius Wetzel held up his hands for silence and put his ear close to the patient’s mouth. The first trembling breath of returning life fiuttered over Grace Roseberry’s lips, and touched the old man’s wrinkled cheek. “Aha!” he cried. “Good gad! you breathe — you live!” Ashe sp;)ke, the voice of the sentinel at the final limit of the German lines ''barely audible in the distance) gave the word for the last time: “ Pa;ss the English lady I” 34 THE HEW MAGDALEH, SECOND SCENE. MABLETHORPE HOUSE. PREAMBLE. The place is Enirland. The time is winter, in the year eighteen hundred and seventy. The persons are, Julian Gray, Horace Holmcroft, Lady Janet Roy, Grace Roseberry, and Mercy Merrick. CHAPTER VI. LADY JANET'S COMPANION. It is a glorious winter’s day. The sky is clear, the frost is hard, imd the ice bears for skating. The dining-room of the ancient mansion called Mablethorpe House, situated in the London suburb of Kensington, is famous among artists and other per^ns of taste for the carved woodwork, of Italian origin, which covers the walls on three sides. On the fourth side the march of modern improvement has broken in, and has va- ried and brightened the scene by means of a conservatory, forming an entrance to the room through a winter-garden of rare plants and flowers. On your right hand, as you stand fronting the conserva- tory, the monotony of the paneled wall is relieved by a quaintly pat- terned door of old inlaid wood, leading into the library, and thence, across the great hall, to the other reception-rooms of the house. A corresponding door on the left hand gives access to the billiard room, to the smoking-room, next to it, and to a smaller hall commanding one of the secondary entrances to the building. On the left side also is the ample fire-place, surmounted by its marble mantel-piece, carved in the profusely and confusedly ornate style of eighty years since. To the educated eye the dining-room, with its modern furni- ture and conservatory, its ancient walls and doors, and its lofty mantel-piece (neither very old nor very new), presents a startling, almost a revolutionary, mixture of the decorative workmanship of widely differing schools. To the ignorant eye the one result pro- duced is an impression of p(3rfect luxury and comfort, united in the THE KEW MAGDALEK. 35 friendliest combination, and developed on the largest scale. The clock has just struck two. The table is spread for luncheon. The persons seated at the table are three in number. First, Lady Janet Foy. Second, a young lady who is her reader and companion. Third, a guest staying in the house, who has already appeared in these pages under the name of Horace Holmcroft— attached to the German army as war correspondent of an English newspaper. Lady Janet Koy needs but little introduction. Everybody with the slightest pretension to experience in London society knows Lady Janet Roy. Who has not heard of her old lace and her priceless rubies? Who has not admired her commanding figure, her beautifully dressed white hair, her wonderful black eyes, which still preserve their youthful brightness, after first opening on the world seventy years since? Who has not felt the warmth of her frank, easy flowing talk, her inexhaustible spirits, her good-humored, gracious sociability of manner? Where is the modern hermit who is not familiarly ac- quainted, by hearsay at least, with the fantastic novelty and humor of her opinions; with her generous encouragement of rising merit of any sort, in all ranks, high or low; with her charities, which know no distinction between abroad and at home; with her large indul- gence, which no ingratitude can discourage, and no servility pervert? Everybody has heard of the popular old lady— the childless widow of a long-forgotten lord. Everybody knows Lady Janet Roy. But who knows the handsome young woman sitting on her right hand, playing with her luncheouBinstead of eating it? Nobody really knows her. She is prettily dressed in gray poplin, trimmed with gray velvet, and set off by a ribbon of deep red tied in a bow at the throat. She is nearly as tall as Lady Janet herself, and possesses a grace and beauty of figure not always seen in women who rise above the medi- um height. Judging by a certain innate grandeur in the carriage of her head and in the expression of her large melancholy gray eyes, believers in blood and breeding will be apt to guess that this is an- other noble lady. Alas! she is nothing but Lady Janet’s companion and reader. Her head, crowned with its lovely light brown hair, bends with a gentle respect when Lady Janet speaks. Her fine firm hand is easily and incessantly watchful to supply Lady Janet’s slightest wants. The old lady — affectionately familiar with her— speaks to her as she might speak to an adopted child. But the gratitude of the beautiful companion has always the same restraint in its acknowledgment of kindness; the smile of the beautiful com* 36 THE HEW MA.GDALEH. panioa ims always tlie same iinderijing sadaess when it responds to Lady Janet’s hearty laugh. Is there something wrong here, under the surface? Is she suffering in m'ind, or suffering in body? What is the matter with her? The matter with her is secret remose. This delicate and beautiful ceature pines under the slow torment of constant self-reproach. To the mistress of tfie house, and to all who inhabit it or enter it, she is known as Grace Roseberry, the orphan relative by marriage of Lady Janet Roy. To herself alone she is known as the outcast of the Lon* don streets; the inmate of the London Refuge; the lost woman who has stolen her way back — after vainly trying to fight her way back — to Home and IMame. There she sits in the grim shadow of her own terrible secret, disguised in another person’s identity, and es- tablished in another person’s place. Mercy Merrick had only to dare, and to become Grace Roseberry if she pleased. She has dared, and she has been Grace Roseberry for nearly four months past. At this moment, while Lady Janet is talking to Horace Holm- croft, something that has passed between them has set her thinking of the day when she took the first fatal step which committed her to the fraud. How marvelously easy of accomplishment the act of personation had been! At first sight Lady Janet had yielded to the fascination of the noble and interesting face. No need to present the stolen letter: no need to repeat the ready-made story. The old lady had put the letter aside unopened, and had stopped the story at the first words. “ Your face is your introduction, my dear; your father can say nothing for you which you have, not already said for yourself. ” There was the welcome which established her firmly in her false identity at the outset. Thanks to her own experience, and thanks to the Journal” of events at Rome, questions about her life in Canada and questions about Colonel Roseberry’s illness found her ready with answers which (even if suspicion had existed) would, have disarmed suspicion on the spot. While the true Grace was slowly and painfully winning her way back to life on her bed in a German hospital, the false Grace was presented to Lady Janet’s friends as the relative of the mistress of Mablethorpe House. From that time forward nothing had happened to rouse in her the faintest suspicion that Grace Roseberry was other than a dead and-buried woman. So far as she now knew— she might live out her life in perfect security (if her conscience would let her), respected, distim guished, and beloved, in the position which she had usurped. THE HEW MAGDA LEH. 37 She rose abruptly from the table. The effort of her life was to shake herself free of the remembrances which haunted her perpetu* ally as they were haunting her now. Her memory was her worst enemy; her oiie refuge from it was in change of occupation and change of scene. “ May I go into the conservatory, Jady Janet she asked. Certainly, my dear.” She bent her head to her protectress, looked for a moment with a steady, compassionate attention at Horace Holmcroft, and, slowly crossing the room, entered the winter-garden. The eyes of Horace followed her, as long as she was in view, with a curious contra- dictory expression of admiration and disapproval. When she had passed out of sight the admiration vanished, but the disapproved remained. The face of the young man contracted into a frown: he sat silent, with his fork in his hand, playing absently with the fragments on his plate. “ Take some French pie, Horace,” said Lady Janet “ No, thank you.” ” Some more chicken, then?” ” No more chicken.” “ Will nothing tempt you?” ” I will take some more wine, if you will allow me.” He filled his glass (for the fifth or sixth time) with claret, and emptied it sullenly at a draught. Lady Janet’s bright eyes watched him with sardonic attention; Lady Janet’s ready tongue spoke out as freely as usual what was passing in her mind at the time. ” The air of Kensington doesn’t seem to suit you, my young friend,” she said. “The longer you have been my guest, the oftener you fill your glass and empty your c: gar-case. Those are bad signs in a young man. When you first came here you arrived invalided by a wound. In your place, I should not have exposed myself to be shot, with no other object in view than describing a battle in a newspaper. I suppose tastes differ. Are you ill? Does your wound still plague you?” “ Not in the least.” “ Are you out of spirits?” Horace Holmcroft dropped his fork, rested his elbows on the table, and answered, “ Awfully.” Even Lady Janet’s large toleration had its limits. It embraced every human offense except a breach of good manners. She snatched up the nearest weapon of correction at hand— a tablespoon — and 38 THE KEW MAGDALEH, rapped her youDp: friend smartly with it on the arm that was nearest to her. “ My table is not the club table/’ said the old lady. ‘‘ Hold up your head. Don’t look at your fork — look at me. I allow nobody to be out of spirits in My house. I consider it to be a reflection on Me. If our quiet life here doesn’t suit you, say so plainly, and find something else to do. There is employment to be had, I suppose — if you choose to apply for it? You needn’t smile. I don’t want to see your teeth — 1 want an answer.” Horace admitted, with all needful gravity, that there was employ- ment to be had. The war between France and Germany, he re- marked, was still going on: the newspaper had offered to employ him again in the capacity of correspondent. Don’t speak of the newspapers and the war!”, cried Lady Janet, with a sudden explosion of anger, which was genuine anger this time. ” I detest the newspapers! I won’t allow the newspapers to enter this house. I lay the whole blame of the blood shed between France and Germany at their door. Horace’s eyes opened wide in amzement. The old lady was evi- dently in earnest. “ What can you possibly mean?” he asked. “ Are the newspapers responsible for the war?” Entirely responsible,” answered Lady Janet. “ Why, you un- derstand the age you live in! Does anybody do anything nowadays (fighting included) without wishing to see it in the newspapers? 1 subscribe to a charity; thou art presented with a testimonial; Jie preaches a sermon; toe suffer for a grievance; you make a discovery; they go to church and get married. And I, thou, he; we, you, they, all want one and the same thing — we want to see it in the papers. Are kings, soldiers, and diplomatists exceptions to the general rule of humanity? Not they! I tell you seriously, if the newspapers of Europe had one and all decided not to take the smallest notice in print of the war between France and Germany, it is my firm con- viction the war would have come to an end for want of encourage- ment long since. Let the pen cease to advertise the sword, and I, for one, can see the result. No report — no fighting.” ” Your views have the merit of perfect novelty, ma’am,” said Horace. Would you object to see them in the newspapers?” Lady Janet worsted her young friend with his own weapons. “ Don’t 1 live in the latter part of the nineteenth century?” she asked. ” In the newspapers, did you say? In large type, Horace, if you love me!” Horace changed the subject. THE HEW MAGDALEH. 39 “You blame me for being out of spirits,” he said; “and you seem to think it is because I am tired of my pleasant life at Mable- thorpe House. I am not in the least tired, Lady Janet. ” He looked toward the conservatory : the frown showed itself on his face once more. “ The truth is,” he resumed, “I am not satisfied with Grace Roseberry.” “ What has Grace done?” She persists in prolonging our engagement. Nothing will per- suade her to fix the day for our marriage.” It was true! Mercy had been mad enough to listen to him, and to love him. But Mercy was not vile enough to marry him under her false character, and in her false name. Between three and four months had elapsed since Horace had been sent home from the war, wounded, and had found the beautiful Englishwoman whom he had befriended in France established at Mablethorpe House. Invited to become Lady Janet’s guest (he had passed his holidays as a school- boy under Lady Janet’s roof) — free to spend the idle time of his convalescence from morning till night in Mercy’s society — the im- pression originally produced on him in the French cottage soon strengthened into love. Before the month was out Horace had de- clared himself, and had discovered that he spoke to willing ears. From that moment it was only a question of persisting long enough in the resolution to gain his point. The marriage engagement was ratified— most reluctantly on the lady’s side — and there the further progress of Horace Holmcroft’s suit came to an end. Try as he might, he failed to persuade his betrothed wife to fix the day for the marriage. There were no obstacles in her way. She had no near relations of her own to consult. As a connection of Lady Janet’s by marriage, Horace’s mother and sisters \yere ready to receive her with all the honors due to a new member of the family. No pe- cuniary considerations made it necessary, in this case, to wait for a favorable time. Horace was an only son; and he had succeeded to his father’s estate with an ample income to support it. On both sides alike there was absolutely nothing to prevent the two young people from being married as soon as the settlements could be drawn. And yel, to all appearance, here was a long engagement in prospect, with no better reason than the lady’s incomprehensible perversity to explain the delay. “ Can you account for Grace’s conduct?” asked Lady Janet. Her manner changed as she put the question. She looked and spok« like a person who was perplexed and annoyed. “ I hardly like to own it,” Horace answered, “ but I am afraid 40 THE HEW MAGDALEH. she has some motive for deferring our marriage which she cannot confide either to you or to me.’’ Lady Janet started. “ What makes you think that?” she asked. ” 1 have once or twice caught her in tears. Every now and then —sometimes when she is talking quite gayly — she suddenly chan 5 :es color and becomes silent and depressed. Just now, when she left the table (didn’t you notice it?), she looked at me in the strangest way— almost as if she was sorry for me. What do these things mean?” Horace’s reply, instead of increasing Lady Janet’s anxiety, seemed to relieve it. He had observed nothing which she had not noticed herself. ‘‘You foolish boy!” she said, the meaning is plain enough. Grace has been out of health for some time past. The doctor recommends change of air. I shall take her away with me.” ” It would be more to the purpose,” Horace rejoined, ” if I took her away with me. She might consent, if you would only use your influence. Is it asking too much to ask you to persuade her? My mother and my sisters have written to her, and have produced no effect. Do me the greatest of all kindnesses — speak to her to-day!” He paused, and possessing himself of Lady Janet’s hand,. pressed it entreatingly. ” You have always been so good to me,” he said, softly, and pressed it again. The old lady looked at him. It was impossible to dispute that there were attractions in Horace Holmcrofi’s face which made it well worth looking at. Many a woman might have envied him his clear complexion, his bright blue eyes, and the warm amber tint in his light Saxon hair. Men— especially men skilled in observing phys- iognomy — might have n'oticed in the shape of his forehead and in the line of his upper lip the signs indicative of a moral nature de- ficient in largeness and breadth— of a mind easily accessible to strong prejudices, and obstinate in maintaining those prejudices in the face of conviction itself. To the observation of women tlu?se remote defects were too far belcnv the surface to be visible. He charmed the sex in general by his rare personal advantages, and by the graceful deference of his manner, To Lady Janet he was en deared, not by his own merits only, but by old associations that were connected with him. His father had been one of her many admirers in her young days. Circumstances had parted them. Her marriage to another man had been a childless marriage. In past times, when the boy Horace had come to her from school, she ha.? THE HEW MAGBALEH. 41 cherivihed a secret fancy (too absurd to be communicated to any liv- ing creature) that he ought to have been ker son, and might have been her son, if she had married his father! She smiled charming- ly, old as she was— she yielded as his mother might have yielded-— when the young man took her hand and entreated her to interest herself in his marriage. “ Must I really speak to Grace?” she asked, with a gentleness of tone and manner far from characteristic, on ordinary occasions, of the lady of Mablethorpe House. Horace saw that he had gained bis point, lie sprang to his feet ; his eyes turned eagerly in the direction of the conservatory; his handsome face was radiant with hope. Lady Janet (with her mind full of his father) stole a "last look at him, sighed as she thought of the van- ished days, and recovered herself. “ Go to the smoking-room,” she said, giving him a push toward the door. Away with you, and cultivate the favorite vice of the nineteenth century.” Horace attempted to express his gralituda “ Go and smoke!” was all she said, pushing him out. ‘‘Go and smoke!” Left by herself. Lady Janet took a turn in the room, and considered a little. Horace’s discontent was not unreasonable. There was really no excuse for the delay of which he complained. Whether the young lady had a special motive for hanging back, or whether she was merely fretting because she did not know her own mind, it was, in either case, necessary to come to a distinct understanding, sooner or later, on the serious question of the marriage. The difficulty was, how to approach the subject without giving offense. “ 1 don’t understand the young women of the present generation,” thought Lady Janet. “ In my time, when we were fond of a man, we were ready to marry him at a moment’s notice. And this is an age of / progress! They ought to be readier still.” Arriving, by her own process of induction, at this inevitable con elusion, she decided to try what her influence could accomplish, and to trust to the inspiration of the moment for exerting it in the right way. ” Grace!” she called out, approaching the conservatory door. The tall lithe figure in its gray dress glided into view, and stood re- lieved against the green background of the winter-garden. ” Did your ladyship call me?” ” Yes; 1 want to speak to you. Come and sit down by me.” With these words Lady Janet led the way to a sofa, and placed lier companion by her side. 42 THE HEW MAGDALEH, CHAPTEE VII. THE MAN IS COMING. “ You look very pale this morning, my child.” Mercy sighed wearily. “ 1 am not well,” she answered. ” The slightest noises startle me. I feel tired if I only walk across the room.” Lady Janet patted her kindly on the shoulder. “ We must try what a change will do for you. Which shall it be? the Continent or the sea-side?” “ Your ladyship is too kind to me.” ” It is impossible to be too kind to you.” Mercy started. The color flowed charmingly over her pale face. “Oh!” she exclaimed, impulsively. “ Say that again!” “ Say it again?” repeated Lady Janet, with a look of surprise. “ Yes! Don’t think me presuming; only think me vain. I can’t hear you say too often that you have learned to like me. Is it really a pleasure to you to have me in the house? Have I always behaved well since 1 have been with you?” (The one excuse for the act of perBonation-<^if excuse there could be — lay in the affirmative answer to those questions. It would be something, surely, to say of the false Grace that the true Grace could not have been worthier of her welcome, if the true Grace had been received at Mablethorpe House!) Lady Janet was partly touched, partly amused, by the ex- traordinary earnestness of the appeal that had been made to her. ” Have you behaved well?” shd repeated. “ My dear, you talk as if you were a child!” She laid her hand caressingly on Mercy’s arm, ahd continued, in a graver tone: ‘‘It is hardly too much to say, Grace, that I bless the day when you first came to me. I do believe I could be hardly fonder of you if you were my own daugh- ter.” Mercy suddenly turned her head aside, so as to hide her face. Lady Janet, still touching her arm, felt it tremble. “ What is the matter with you?” she asked, in an abrupt, downright manner. ” I am only very grateful to your ladyship— that is all.” The words were spoken faintly, in broken tones. The face was still averted from Lady Janet’s view. “ What have I said to pro- voke this?” wondered the old lady. “ la she in the melting mood to-day? If she is, now is the time to say a word for Iloracel” THE HEW MAGDALEH. 43 Keeping that excellent object in view, Lady Janet approached the delicate topic with all needful caution at starting. '‘We have got on so well together,” she resumed, “ that it will not be easy for either of us to feel reconciled to a change in our lives. At my age, it will fall hardest on me. What shall I do, Grace, when the day comes for parting with my adopted daughter?” Mercy started, and showed her face again. The traces of tears were in her eyes. ” Why should I leave you?” she asked, in a tone of alarm. “ Surely you know I” exclaimed Lady Janet “ Indeed 1 d^’t. Tell me why.” “ Ask Horace to tell you. ” The last allusion was too plain to be misunderstood. Mercy's head drooped. She began to tremble again. Lady Janet looked at her in blank amazement. ” Is there anything wrong between Horace and you?” she asked. “Ho.” “You know your own heart, my dear child? You have surely not encouraged Horace without loving him?” “ Oh no!” “ And yet—” For the first time in their experience of each other Mercy ventured to interrupt her benefactress. “ Dear Lady Janet,” she interposed, gently, “ 1 am in no hurry to he married. There will be plenty o^ time in the future to talk of that. You had something you wishef to say to me. W^liat is it?” It was no easy matter to disconcert Lady Janet Roy. But tha.t last question fairly reduced her to silence. After all that had passed, there sat her young companion, innocent of the faintest suspicion of the subject that was to be discussed between them ! “ What are the young women of the present lime made of?” thought the old lady, utterly at a loss to know what to say next. Mercy waited, on her side, with an impenetrable patience which only aggravated the difficulties of the position. The silence was fast threatening to bring the interview to a sudden and untimely end, when the door from the library opened, and a man-servant, bearing a little silver salver, en- tered the room. Lady Janet’s rising sense of annoyance instantly seized on the servant as a victim. “ What do you want?” she asked, sharply. “ I never rang for you.” “ A letter, my lady. The messenger waits for an answer.” The man presented his salver with the letter on it, and withdrew. u THE NEW MAGHALEN. Lady Janet recognized the handwriting on the address with a look of surprise. Excuse me, my dear,’’ she said, pausing with her old-fashioned courtesy, before she opened the envelope. Mercy made the necessary acknowledgment, and moved away to the other end of the room, little thinking that the arrival of the letter marked a crisis in her life. Lady Janet put on her spectacles. “ Odd that he should have come back already!” she said to herself , as she threw the empty envelope on the table. The letter contained these lines, the writer of them being no other than the man who had preached in the chapel of the Refuge: “ Dear Aunt, — I am back again in Loudon before my time. My friend the rector has shortened his holiday, and has resumed his du- ties in the country. I am afraid you will blame me when you hear of the reasons which have hastened his return. The sooner I make my confession, the easier I shall feel. Besides, I have a special ob- ject in wishing to see you as soon as possible. May I follow my let- ter to Mablethorpe House? And may I present a lady to you— a perfect stranger— in whom I am interested? Pray say Yes, by the bearer, and oblige your affectionate nephew, Julian Gray.” Lady Janet referred again suspiciously to the sentence in the let- ter which alluded to the “ lady.” Julian Gray was her only surviving nephew, the son of a favorite sister whom she had lost. He would have held no very exalted position in the estimation of his aunt — who regarded his views in politics and religion with the strongest aversion — but for his marked resemblance to his mother. This pleaded for him with the old lady, aided as it was by the pride that she secretly felt in the early celeb- rity which the young clergyman had achieved as a writer and a preacher. Thanks to these mitigating circumstances, and to Julian’s inexhaustible good humor, the aunt and the nephew generally met on friendly terms. Apart from what she called “ his detestable opinions,” Lady Janet was sufficiently interested in Julian to feel some curiosity about the mysterious ” lady ” mentioned in the let- ter. Had he determined to settle in life? Was his choice already made? And if so, would it prove a choice acceptable to the family? Lady Janet’s bright face showed signs of doubt as she asked herself that last question. Julian’s liberal views were capable of leading him to dangerous extremes. His aunt shook her head ominously as she rose from the sofa and advanced to the library door. ” Grace,” she said, pausing and turning round, ” I have a note to write to my nephew. I shall be back directly. ” Mercy approached her, from the opposite extremity of the room, with an exclamation of stirprise. THE HEW MAGDALEH. 45 ‘‘ 'Your nephew?” she repeated. “ Your ladyship never told me you had a nephew.” Lady Janet laughed. “ I must have had it on the tip of my tongue to tell you, over and over again,” she said. ” But we have had so many things to talk about— and, to own the truth, my nephew is not one of my favorite subjects of conversation. I don’t mean that I dislike him; 1 detest his principles, m^^dear, that’s all. How- ever, you shall form your own opinion of him; he is coming to see me to- day. Wait here till I return; 1 have something more to say about Horace. ” ^ Mercy opened the library door for her, closed it again, and walked slowly to and fro alone in the room, thinking. Was her mind running on Lady Janet’s nephew? No. Lady Janet’s brief allusion to her relative had not led her into alluding to him by his name. Mercy was still as ignorant as ever that the preacher at the Refuge and the nephew of her benefactress were one and the same man. Her memory was busy now with the tribute which Lady Janet had paid to her at the outset of the interview between them : It is hardly too much to say, Grace, that I bless the day when you first came to me.’' For the moment there was balm for her wounded spirit in the remembiance of those words. .Grace Roseberry herself could surely have earned no sweeter praise than the praise that she had won. The next instant she was seized with a sudden horror of her own successful fraud. The sense of her degradation had never been so bitterly present to her as at that moment. If she could only confess the truth— if she could inno^ cently enjoy her harmless life at Mablethorpe House — what a grate- ful, happy woman she might be! Was it possible (if she made the confession) to trust to her own good conduct to plead her excuse? No! Her calmer sense warned her that it was hopeless. The place she had won — honestly wmn— in Lady Janet’s estimation had been obtained by a trick. Nothing could alter, nothing could excuse that. She took out her handkerchief and dashed away the useless tears that had gathered in her eyes, and tried to turn lier thoughts some other way. What was it Lady Janet had said on going into the library? She had said she was coming back to speak about Horace. Mercy guessed what the object was; she knew but too well what Horace wanted of her. How was she to meet the emer- gency? In the name of Heaven, what was to be done? Could she let the man who loved her— the man whom she loved— drift blind- fold into marriage ^ ith such a woman as she had been? No! it w^as her duty to warn him. How? Could she break his heart, could 46 THE HEW MAGDALEH. she lay his life waste by speaking the cruel words which might part them forever? “I can’t tell him! I won’t tell him!” she burst out, passionately. “ The disgrace of it would kill me!” Hervary^ ing mood changed as the words escaped her. A reckless defiance of her own better nature — that saddest of all the forms in which a woman’s misery can express itself — filled her heart with its poison- ing bitterness. She sat down again on the sofa with eyes that glit- tered and cheeks suffused with an angry red. “ I am no worse than another woman!” she thought. ‘‘Another woman might have married him for his money.” The next moment the miserable in- suflSciency of her own excuse for deceiving him showed its hollow- ness, self exposed. She covered her face with her hands, and found refuge — where she had often found refuge before — in the helpless resignation of despair. ” Oh, that I had died before I entered this house! Oh, that I could die and have done with it at this moment!” So the struggle had ended with her hundreds of times already. So it ended now. The door leading into the billiard-room opened softly. Horace Holrncroft had waited to hear the result of Lady Janet’s interfer- ence in his favor until he could wait no longer. He looked in cau- tiously, ready to withdraw again unnoticed if the two were still talking together. Tbe absence of Lady Janet suggested that the in- terview had come to an end. Was his betrothed wife waiting alone to speak to him on his return to the room? He advanced a few steps. She never moved; she sat heedless, absorbed in her thoughts. Were thej" thoughts of Mmf He advanced a little nearer, and called to her. ‘‘ Grace!” She sprang to her feet, with a faint cry. “ I wish you wouldn’t startle me,” she said, irritably, sinking back on the sofa. “ Any sudden alarm sets my heart beating as if it would choke me.” Horace pleaded for pardon with a lover’s humility. In her pres- ent state of nervous irritation she was not to be appeased. She looked away from him in silence. Entirely ignorant of the par- oxysm of mental suffering through which she had just passed, he seated himself by her side, and asked her gently if she had seen Lady Janet. She made an affirmative answer with an unreasonable impatience of tone and manner which would have warned an older and more experienced man to give her time before he spoke again. Horace was young, ami weary of the suspense that he had endured in the other room. He unwisely pressed her with another question: “ Has Lady Janet said anything to you — ” She turned on him angrily before he could finish the sentence. THE KEW MAGDALEH, 47 ** You have tried to make her hurry me into marrying you/' she burst out. I see it in your face!’' Plain as the warning was, this time, Horace still failed to interpret it in the right way. “ Don’t be angry!” he said, good-humoredly. ‘‘Is it so very inexcusable to ask Lady Janet to intercede for me? I have tried to persuade you in vain. My mother and my sisters liave pleaded for me, and you turn a deaf ear — ' She could endure it no longer. She stamped her foot on the floor with hysterical vehemence.^ “lam weary of hearing of your mother and your sisters!” she broke in violently. “You talk of nothing else.” It was just possible to make one more mistake in dealing with her — and Horace made it. He took offense, on his side, and rose from the sofa. His mother and sisters were high authorities in his esti- mation; they variously represented his ideal of, perfection in women. He withdrew to the opposite extremity of the room, and adminis- tered the severest reproof that he could think of on the spur of the moment. “ It would be w^ell, Grace, if you followed the example set you by my mother and my sisters,” he said. “ They are not in the habit of speaking cruelly to thovse who love them.” To all appearance the rebuke failed to produce the slightest effect. She seemed to be as indifferent to it as if it had not reached her ears. There was a spirit in her — a miserable spirit, born of her own bitter experience — which rose in revolt against Horace's habitual glorification of the ladies of his family. “It sickens me,” she thought to herself, “ to hea^rof the virtues of women who have never been tempted! Where is the merit of living reputably, when your life is one course of prosperity and enjoyment? Has his mother known starvation? Have his sisters been left forsaken in the street?” It hardened her heart—it almost reconciled her to deceiving him — when he set his relatives up as patterns for her. Would he ne^er understand that women detested having other women exhibited as examples to them? She looked round at him with a sense of impa- tient wonder. He was sitting at the luncheon-table, with his back turned on her, and his head resting on his hand. If he had attempt- ed to rejoin her, she would have repelled him; if he had spoken, she would have met him with a sharp reply. He sat apart from her, without uttering a word. In a man’s hands silence is the most ter- rible of all protest to the woman who loves him. Violence she can endure. Words she is always ready to meet by words on her side. Silence conquers her. After a moment's liesitation, Mercy left the 48 THE KEW MAGDALEl^. sofa and advanced submissively toward the table. She had offend ed him — and she alone was in fault. How should he know it, poor fellow, when he innocently mortitied her? Step by step she drew closer and closer. He never looked round; he never moved. She laid her hand timidly on his shoulder. “ Forgive me, Horace, ' she whispered in his ear. ‘‘I am suffering this morning; I am not myself. 1 didn’t mean what 1 said. Pray forgive me.” There was no resisting the can ssing tenderness of vx)ice and man- ner which accompanied those words. He looked up; he took her hand. She bent over him, and touched his forehead with her lips. “ Am I forgiven?” she asked. “Oh, my darling,” he said, “if you only knew how I loved you!” “ 1 do know it,” she answered gently, twining his hair round her finger, and arranging it over his forehead where his hand had ruffled it. They were completely absorbed in each other, or they must, at that moment, have heard the library door open at the other end of the room. Lady Janet had written the necessary reply to her nephew, and had returned, faithful to her engagement, to plead the cause of Hor- ace. The first object that met her view was her client pleading, with conspicuous success, for himself! “ I am not wanted, evi- dently,” thought the old lady. She noiselessly closed the door again, and left the lovers by themselves. Horace returned, with unwise persistency, to the question of the deferred marriage. At the first words that he spoke she drew back directly— sadly, not angrily. “ Don’t press me to-day,” she said; “ I am not well to-day.” He rose and looked at her anxiously. “ May I speak about it to- morrow?” “Yes, to-morrow.” She returned to the sofa, and changed the subject. “ What a time Lady Janet is away!” she said. “ What can be keeping her so long?” Horace did his best to appear inter- ested in th« question of Lady Janet’s prolonged absence. “ W’hat made her leave you?” he asked, standing at the back of the sofa and leaning over her. “ She went into the library to write a note to her nephew. By- the-bye, who is her nephew?” “ Is it possible you don’t know?” “ Inderd I don’t.” “You have heard of him, no doubt,” said Horace. “Lady Janet’s nephew is a celebrated man.” He paused, and stooping THE KEW MAGDALEN*. 49 nearer to her, lifted a lovelock that lay over her shoulder, and pressed it to his lips. “ Lady Janet’s nephew,” he resumed, ‘‘is Julian Gray.” She started off her seat, and looked round at him in blank, bewildered terror, as if she doubted the evidence of her own senses. Horace was completely taken by surprise. “ My dear Grace!” he exclaimed; “ what have I said or done to startle you this time?” Bhe held up her hand for silence. “ Lady Janet’s nephew k •Julian Gray,” she repeated; ‘‘ and I only know it now!” Horace’s perplexity increased. “ My darling, now you do know It, what is there to alarm you?” he asked. (There was enough to alarm the boldest women living— in such a position, and with such a temperament as hers. To her mind the personation of Grace Roseberry had suddenly assumed a new aspect: the aspect of a fatality. It had led her blindfold to the house in which she and the preacher at the Refuge were to meet. He was coming — the man who had reached her inmost heart, who had influ- enced her whole life! Was the day of reckoning coming with him?) “Don’t notice me,” she said, faintly. “I have been ill all the morning. You saw it yourself when you came inhere; even the sound of your voice alarmed me. I shall be better directly. I am afraid I startled you?” “ My dear Grace, it almost looked as if you were terrified at the Bound of Julian’s name! He is a public celebrity, I know; and I have seen ladies start and stare at him when he entered a room. But you looked perfectly panic stricken.” She rallied her courage by a desperate effort; she laughed — a harsh uneasy laugh— and stopped him by putting her hand over his mouth. “Absurd!” she said, lightly. As if Mr. Julian Gray had anything to do with m}'- looks! I am better already. Sed for yourself!” She looked round at him again with a ghastly gayety; and returned, with a desperate assumption of indifference, to the subject of Lady Janet’s nephew. “ Of course I have heard of him,” she said. “ Do you know that he is expected here to-day? Don’t stand there behind me- it’s so hard to talk to you. Come and sit down.” He obeyed— but she had not quite satisfied him yet. His face had not lost its expression of anxiety and surprise. She persisted in playing her part, determined to set at rest in him any possible suspi- cion that she had reasons of her own for being afraid of Julian Gray. “ Tell me about this famous man of yours,” she said, pub ting her arm familiarly through his arm. “ What is he like?” Th^ 50 THE HEW MAGDALEH. caressing wcWoh and the easy tone had their effect on Horace. Hi« face began to ciear; he answered her lightly on his side. “ Prepare yourself to meet the most unclerical of clergymen/’ he said. “ Julian is a lost sheep among the parsons, and a thorn in the side of his bishop. Preaches, if they ask him, in Dissenters’ chapels. Declines to set up any pretensions to priestly authority and priestly power. Goes about doing good on a plan of his own. Is quite re- signed never to rise to the high places in his profession. Says it’s rising high enough for Mm to be the Archdeacon of the afflicted, the Dean of the hungry, and the Bishop of the poor. With all his oddities, as good a fellow as ever lived. Immensely popular with the women. They all go to him for advice. I wish you would go too.” Mercy chan ged color. * ‘ What do you mean ? ” she asked, sharply. ” Julian is famous for his powers of persuasion, ” said Horace, smiling. ” If spoke to you, Grace, he would prevail on you to fix the day. Suppose I ask Julian to plead for me?” He made the proposal in jest. Mercy’s unquiet mind accepted it as addressed to her in earnest. He will do it,” she thought, with a sense of indescribable terror, if I don’t stop him!” There was but one chance for her. The only certain way to prevent Horace from appealing to his friend was to grant what Horace wished for before his friend entered the house. She Jaid her hand on his «iioulder; she hid the terrible anxieties that were devouring her >mder an assumption of coquetry, painful and pitiable to see. Don’t talk nonsense!” she said, gayly. ” What were we saying ^ust now— before we began to speak of Mr. Julian Gray?” ” We were wondering what had become of Jady Janet,” Horace replied. She tapped him impatiently on the shoulder. ” No\ no! It was something you said before that.” Her eyes completed what her words had left unsaid. Horace‘s arm stole round her waist. “ I was saying that I loved you,” he answered, in. a whisper. ” Only that?” ” Are you tired of hearing it?” She smiled charmingly. “ Are you so very much in earnest nbout — about — ” She stopped, and looked away from him. ” About our mariiage?” “Yes.” “ It is the one dearest wish of my life.” “ Really?” “ReaHy.” THE HEW MAGHALEH 51 There was a pause. Mercy’s fingers toyed nervously with the trinkets ht her watch-chain. “ When would you like it to be?” she said, very softly, with her whole attention fixed on the watch-chain. She had never spoken, she had never looked, as she spoke and looked now. Horace was afraid to believe in his own good fortune. ** Oh, Grace!” he exclaimed, “ you are not trifling with me?” “ What makes you think I am trifling with you?” Horace was innocent enough to answer her seriously. You would not even let me speak of our marriage just now,” he said. “Nevermind what I did just now,” she retorted, petulantly. “ They say women are changeable. It is one of the defects of the sex.'’ “Heaven be praised for the defects of the sex!” cried Horace, with devout sincerity. “ Do you really leave me to decide?” “ If you insist on it. ” Horace considered for a moment—the subject being the law of marriage. “We may be married by license in a fortnight,” he said. “ I fix this day fortnight.” She held up her hands in protest. “ Why not? My lawyer is ready. There are no preparations to make. You said when you accepted me that it was to be a pri- vate marriage.” Mercy was obliged to own that she had certainly said that. “We might be married at once — if the law would only let us. This day fortnight! Say— -Yes!” He drew her closer to him. There was a pause. The mask of coquetry — badly worn from the first — dropped from her. Her sad gray eyes rested compas- sionately on his eager face. “Don’t look so serious!” he said. “ Only one little word, Grace! Only Yes.” She sighed, and said it. He kissed her passionately. It was only by a resolute effort that she released herself. “Leave me!” she said, faintly. “ Pray leave me by myself!” She was in earnest— strangely in earnest. She was trembling frcrm head to foot. Horace rose to leave her. “I will find Lady Janet,” he said; “1 long to show the dear old lady that I have recovered my spirits, and to tell her why.” He turned round at the library door. “ You won’t go away? You will let me see you again when you are more composed?” “ I will wait here,” said Mercy. Satisfied with that reply, he left the room. Her hands dropped on her lap ; her head sank back wearily on the cushions at the head of the sofa. There was a dazed sensation in her: her mind felt stunned. She wondered vacantly whether sh^ 53 THE KEW MAGDALEK. was awake or dreaming. Had she really said the word which pledged her to marry Horace Holmcroft in a fortnight? A fort- night! Something might happen in that time to prevent it : she might find her way in a fortnight out of the terrible position in which she stood. Any way, come what might of it. she had chosen the preferable alternative to a private interview with Julian Gray. She raised herself from her recumbent position with a start, as th€» idea of the interview— dismissed for the last few minutes-— possessed itself again of her mind. Her excited imagination figured Julian Gray as present in the room at that moment, speaking to her as Horace had proposed. She saw him seated close at her side — this man who had shaken her to the soul when he was in the pulpit, and when she was listening to him (unseen) at the other end of the chapel — she saw him close by her, looking her searchingly in the race; seeing her shameful secret in her eyes; hearing it in her voice; feeling it in her trembling hands ; forcing it out of her word by word, till she fell prostrate at his feet with the confession of the fraud. Her head dropped again on the cushions, she hid her face in horror of the scene which her excited fancy had conjured up. Even now, when she had made that dreaded fiiterview needless, could she feel sure (meeting him only on the most distant terms) of not betraying herself? She could not feel sure. Something in her shuddered and shrank at the bare idea of finding herself in the same room with him. She felt it, she knew it: her guilty conscience owned and feared its master in Julian Gray! The minutes passed. The violence of her agitation began to tell physically on her weakened frame. She found herself crying silently without know- ing why. A weight was on her head, a weariness was in all lier limbs. She sank lower on the cushions— her eyes closed— the mo- notonous ticking of the clock on the mantel-piece grew drowsily fainter and fainter on her ear. Little by little she dropped into slumber— slumber so light that she started when a morsel of coai fell into the grate, or when the birds chirped and twittered in their aviary in the winter-garden. Lady Janet and Horace came in. She was faintly conscious of persons in the room. After an interval she opened her eyes, and half rose to speak to them.. The room was empty again. They had stolen out softly, and left her to repose. Her eyes closed once more. She dropeed back into slumber, and from slumber, in the favoring warmth and quite of the place, into deep and dreamless THE HEW MAGDALEH. 53 CHAPTER YIIl. THE MAN APPEARS. After an interval of rest Mercy was aroused by the shutting of a glass door at the far end of the conservatory. This door, leading into the garden, was used only by the inmates of the bouse, or by old friends privileged to enter the reception rooms by that way. Assuming that either Horace or Lady Janet was returning to the dining-room, Mercy raised herself a little on the sofa and listened. The voice of one of the men-servants caught her ear. It was an- swered by another voice, which instantly set her trembling in every limb. She started up, and listened again in speechless terror. Yes! there was no mistaking it. The voice that was answering the serv- ant was the unforgotten voice which she had heard at the Refuge. The visitor who had come in by the glass door was— Julian Gray! His rapid footsetps advanced nearer and nearer to the dining-room. She recovered herself sufficiently to hurry to the library door. Her hand shook so that she failed at first to open it. She had just suc- ceeded when she heard him again — speaking to her. ‘‘ Fray, don’t run away! I am nothing very formidable. Only Lady Janet’s nephew— Julian Gray.' She turned slowly, spell-bound by his voice, and confronted him in silence. He was standing, hat in hand, at the entrance to the conservatory, dressed in black, and wearing a white cravat, but with a studious avoidance of anything specially clerical in the make and form of his clothes. Young as he was, there W'ere marks of care already on his face, and the hair was prematurely thin and scanty over his forehead. His slight active figure was of no more than the middle height. His complexion was pale. The lower part of his face, without beard or whiskers, was in no way remarkable. An average observer would have passed him by without notice — but for his eyes. These alone made a marked man of him. The unusual size of the orbits in which they were set was enough of it- self to attract attention; it gave a grandeur to his head, which the head, broad and firm as it was, did not possess. As to the eyes themselves, the soft lustrous brightness of them defied analysis. IST^ two people could agree about their color; divided opinion declaring alternately that they were dark gray or black. Painters had tried 64 THE KEW MAGDALEK. to reproduce them, and had given up the effort, in despair of sek. ing any one expression in the bewildering variety of expressions which they presented to view. They were eyes that could charm at one moment and terrify at another; eyes that could set people laughirg or crying almost at will. In action and in repose they were irresistible alike. When they first descried Mercy running to the door, they brightened gayly with the merriment of a child. When she turned and faced him, they changed instantly, soft- ening and glowing as they mutely owned the interest and the admira- tion which the first sight of her had roused in him. His tone and manner altered at the same time. He addressed her with the deep- est respect when he spoke his next words. “Let me entreat you to favor me by resuming your seat,*’ he said. “ And let me ask your pardon if I have thoughtlessly intruded on you.” He paused, waiting for her reply, before he advanced into the room. Still spell-bound by liis voice, she recovered self-control enough to bow to him and to resume her place on the sofa. It was impossible to leave him now. After looking at her for a moment, he entered the room without speaking to her again. She was be- ginning to perplex, as well as to interest him. “ No common sor- row,” he thought, “ has set its mark on that woman’s face; no com. mon heart beats in that woman’s breast. Who can she be?” Mercy rallied her courage, and forced herself to speak to him. “ Lady Janet is m the library, I believe,” she said, timidly. “ Shall I tell her you are here?” “ Don’t disturb Lady Janet, and don’t disturb yourself.” With that answer he approached the luncheon table, delicately giving her time to feel more at her ease. He took up what Horace had left of the bottle of claret, and poured it into a glass. “ My aunt’s claret shall represent my aunt for the present,” he said, smiling, as he turned toward her once more. “ I have had a long walk, and I may venture to help it myself in this house without invitation. Is it useless to offer you anything?” Mercy made the necessary reply. She was beginning already, afler her remarkable experience of him, to wonder at his easy man- ners and his light way of talking. He emptied his glass with the air c f a man who thoroughly understood and enjoyed good wine. “ My aunt’s claret is worthy of my aunt,” he said, with comic gravity, as he set down the glass. “ Both are the genuine products of Nature.” He seated himself at the table, and looked critically at the different dishes ieff on it. One dish especially attracted his attention, THE HEW MAGDALEK. 55 “ What is this?’' he went on. “ A French pie! It seems grossly unfair to taste French wine, and to pass over French pie without notice.” He took up a knife and fork, and enjoyed the pie as crit- ically as he had enjoyed the wine. “ Worthy of the Great Nation!” he exclaimed, with enthusiasm. ‘‘ Vive la France Mercy listened and looked, in inexpressible astonishment. Hi* was utterly unlike the picture which her fancy had drawn of him in every-day life. Take off his white cravat, and nobody would have discovered that this famous preacher was a cleigyman ! He helped himself to another plateful of the pie, and spoke more directly to Mercy, alternately eating and talking as composedly and pleasantly as if they had known each other for years. “ 1 came here by way of Kensington Gardens,” he said. ” For some time past I have been living in a flat, ugly, barren, agricultural district. You can't think how pleasant I found the picture presented by the Garden, as a contrast. The ladies in their rich winter dresses, the smart nursery maids, the lovely children, the ever* moving crowd skating on the ice of the Round Pond; it was all so exhilarating after what 1 have been used to, that I actually caught myself whistling as I walked through the brilliant scene! (In my time boys used always to whistle wlien they were in good spirits, and 1 have not got over the habit yet,) who do you think I met when I was in full song?” As well as her amazement would let her, Mercy excused herself from guessing. She had never in all her life before spoken to any living being so confusedly and so unintelligently as she now spoke to Julian Gray. He went on more gayly than ever, without appearing to notice the effect that he had produced on her. Whom did 1 meet,” he repeated, “ when I was in full song? My bishop! If 1 had been whistling a sacred melody, his lordship might perhaps have excused my vulgarity out of consideration for my music. Unfortunately, the composition I was executing at the moment (I am one of the loudest of living whistlers) was by Verdi — ‘ La Donna a Mobile ’ — familiar, no doubt, to his lordship on the street organs. He recognized the tune, poor man, and when I took off my hat to him he looked the other way. Strange, in a world that is bursting with sin and sorrow, to treat such a trifle seriously as a cheerful clergyman whistling a tune!” He pushed away his plate as he said the last words, and went on simply and earnestly in an altered tone. I have never been able,” he said, to see why we should assert ourselves among other men as belonging to a particu^ 55 THE HEW MAGDALEH. lar caste, and as being forbidden, in any harmless thing, to ^ other people do. The disciples of old set ns no such example; they were wiser and better than we are. I venture to say that one of the worst obstacles in the way of our doing good among our fellow- creatures is raised by the mere assumption of the clerical manner and the clerical voice. ' For my part, 1 set up no claim to be more sacred and more reverend than any other Christian man who does what good he can.” He glanced bright!}^ at Mere}", looking at hirn in helpless perplexity. The spirit of fun took possession of him again. ” Are you a Radical?” he asked, with a humorous twinkle in his large lustrous eye. I am!” Mercy tried hard to understand him, and tried in vain. Could this be the preacher whose words had charmed, purified, ennobled her? Was this the man whose sermon had drawn tears from women about her whom she knew to be shameless and hardened in crime? Yes! The eyes that now rested on her humorously were the beau- tiful eyes which had once looked into her soul. The voice that had just addressed a jesting question to her was the deep and mellow voice which had once thrilled her to the heart. In the pulpit he was an angel of mercy; out of the pulpit he was a boy let loose from school. ” Don’t let me startle you,” he said, good-naturedly, noticing her confusion. ” Public opinion has called me by harder names than the name of / Radical.’ I have been spending my time lately-— as I told you just now — in an agricultural district. My business there was to perform the duty for the rector of the place, who wanted a Holiday. How do you think the experiment ended? The Squire of the parish calls me a Communist; the farmers denounce me as an Incendiary; my friend the rector has been recalled in a hurry, and I have now the honor of speaking to you in the charactei of a banished man who has made a respectable neighborhood too hot to hold him.” Willi that frank avowal he left the luncheon- table, and took a chair near Mercy. “ You will naturally be anxious,” he went on, to know wliat my offense w^as. Do you understand Political Economy and the Laws of Supply and Demand?” Mercy owned that she did not understand them. “ No more do I — in a Christian country,” he said. ” That 'was my offense. You shall hear my confession (just as my aunt will luar it) in two words.” He paused for a little time; his variable manner changed again. Mercy, shyly looking at him, saw a new THE KEW MAGHALE^T, 57 expression in his eyes — an expression which recalled her first re- membrance of him as nothing had recalled it yet. “ I had no idea/* he resumed, “ of what. the life of a farm laborer really was, in some parts of England, until I undertook the rector’s duties. Never be- fore had I seen such dire wretchedness as I saw in the cottages. Never-before had 1 met with such noble patience under suffering as I found among the people. The martyrs of old could endure, and die. 1 asked myself if they could endure, and Uw, like the martyrs 1 saw around me? — live, week after week, month after month, year after year, on the brink of starvation; live, and see their pining chil- dren growing up round them, to work and want in their turn; live, with the poor man’s parish-prison to look to as the end, when hunger and labor have done their worst! Was God’s beautiful earth made to hold such misery as this? I can hardly think of it, 1 can hardly speak of it even now, with dry eyes!” His head sank on his breast. He waited — mastering his emotion before he spoke again. Now, at last, she knew him once more. Now, he was the man, indeed, whom she had expected to see. Un- consciomly she sat listening, with her e3^es fixed on his face, with her heart hanging on his words, in the very attitude of the by -gone day when she had heard him for the first time ! ” I did all I could to plead for the helpless ones,” he resumed. “ I went round among the holders of the land to say a word for the tillers of the land. ' These patient people don’t want much,’ I said; ‘ in the name of Christ, give them enough to live on!’ Politi cal Economy shrieked at the horrid proposal; the Laws of Supply and Demand veiled their majestic faces in dismay. Starvation wages were the right wages, I was told. And why? Because the laborer was obliged to accept them! 1 determined, so far as one man could do it, that the laborer should not be obliged to accept them. 1 collect- ed my own resources— I wrote to my friends — and I removed some of the poor fellows to parts of England where their work was better paid. Such was the conduct which made the neighborhood too hot to hold me. So let it be! I mean to go on. 1 am known in Lon- don; I can raise subscriptions. The vile Laws of Supph and De- mand shall find labor scarce in that agricultural district; and piti^ less Political Economy shall spend a few extra shillings on the poor as certainly as I am that Radical, Communist, and Incendiary-^ Julian Gray!” He rose— making a little gesture of apology for the warmth with tvhich he had spoken— and took a turn in the room. Fired by Ms enthusiasm, Mercy followed him. Her purse was in her hand. When he turned and faced her. 68 THE NEW HAGDALEK. ‘‘Pray let me ojffier my little tribute— such as it is!” she said, tagerly. A momentary flush spread over his pale cheeks as he looked at the beautiful compassionate face pleading with him. “No! no!” he said, smiling; “though 1 am a parson, I don’t carry the begging-box everywhere.” Mercy attempted to press the purse on him. The quaint humor began to twinkle again in his eyes as he abruptly drew back from it. “ Don’t tempt me!” he said. “ The frailest of all human creatures is a clergyman tempted by a subseription. ’ ’ Mercy persisted and conquered ; she made him prove the truth of his own profound observation of clerical human nature by taking a piece of money from the purse. If 1 must take it— I lnust!“ he remarked. “ Thank you for setting the good example! thank you for giving the timely help! What name shall I put down on my list?” Mercy’s eyes looked confusedly away from him, “No name,” she said, in a low voice. “ My subscription is anonymous.” As she replied the library door opened. To her infinite relief — to Julian’s secret disappointment— Lady Janet Roy and Horace Holm- croft entered the room together. “ Julian!” exclaimed Lady Janet, holding up her hands in aston- ishment. He kissed his aunt on the cheek. “ Your ladyship is looking charmingly.” He gave his hand to Horace. Horace took it and passed on to Mercy. They walked away together slowly to the other end of the room. Julian seized on the chance which left him fr6e to speak privately to his aunt. “ 1 came in through the conservatory,” he said. And I found that young lady in the room. Who is she?” “ Are you very much interested in her?” asked Lady Janet, in her gravely ironical way. Julian answered in one expressive word. ‘ Indescribably!” Lady Janet called to Mercy to join her. “My dear,” she said, “ let me formally present my nephew to you. Julian, this is Miss Grace Roseberry— ” She suddenly checked herself. The instant she pronounced the name, Julian started as if it was a surprise to him. “ What is it?” she asked, sharply. “ Nothing,” he answered, bowing to Mercy, with a marked ab- sence of his former ease of manner. She returned the courtesy a little restrainedly on her side. She, too, had seen him start when Lady Janet mentioned the name by which she was known. The start meant something. What could it be? Why did he turn aside, THE KEW HAGDALEK. 59 wing to her, and address himself to Horace, wftli an absent his face, as if his thoughts were far away from his words? plete change had come over him; and it dated from the mOv when his aunt had pronounced the name that was not Iut e— the name that she had stolen! Janet claimed Julian’s attention, and left Horace free to re to Mercy. “ Your room is ready for you,” she said. ‘'You :tay here, of course?” Julian accepted the invitation — still air of a man whose mind was preoccupied. Instead of ing at his aunt when he made his reply, he looked round at with a troubled curiosity in his face, very strange to see. Lady Janet tapped him impatiently on the shoulder. ” I expect people to look at me when people speak to me,” she said. “ What are you staring at my adopted daughter for?” ” Your adopted daughter” Julian repeated — looking at his aunt this time, and looking very earnestly. “ Certainly! As Colonel Roseberry’s daughter, she is connected with me by marriage already. Did you think I had picked up a foundling?” Julian’s face cleared; he looked relieved. “I had forgotten the Colonel,” he answered. “Of course the young lady is related to us, as you say. ” “ Charmed, I am sure, to have satisfied you that Grace is not an impostor,” said Lady Janet, with satirical humility. Bhe took Julian’s arm, and drew him out of hearing of Horace and Mercy. “ About that letter of yours!” she proceeded. “ There is one line in it that rouses my curicsity. Who is the mysterious ‘ lady ’ whom you wish to present to me? ’ Julian started, and changed color. “ I can’t tell you now,” he said in a whisper. “ Why not” To Lady Janet’s unutterable astonishment, instead of replying, Julian looked round at her adopted daughter once more. “ What has she got to do with it” asked the old lady, out of all ^latience with him. “It is imposible for me to tell you,” he answered, gravely, " while Miss Roseberry is in the room.” CHAPTER IX. NEWS FKOM MANNHEIM. Lady Janet’s curiosity was by this time thoroughly aroused. Bummoued to explain who the nameless lady mentioned in his letter THE HEW MAGDALEH, \ '■ could possibly be, Julian had looked at her adopted dJughteff. Asked next to explain what her adopted daughter had got\ to do with it, he Lad declared that he could not answer while Miss Slose berry was in the room. What did he mean. Lady Janet deterrihiDed to find out. \ “ I hale all mysteries,'’ she said to Julian. “ And as for secrets, 1 consider them to be one of the forms of ill-breeding. People in lour rank of life ought to be above whispering in corners. If you have your mystery, 1 can offer you a corner in the library. ®Dme with me." \ Julian followed his aunt very reluctantly. Whatever the n^S' lery might be, he was plainly embarrassed by being called upoiT"^^ to reveal it at a moment’s notice. Lady Janet settled herself in her chair, prepared to question and cross-question her nephew, when an obstacle appeared at the other end of the library, in the shape of a man servant with a message. One of Lady Janet’s neighbors had called by appointment to take her to the meeting of a certain committee which assembled that day. The servant announced that the neighbor — an elderly lady—was then waiting in her carriage at the door. Lady Janet’s ready invention set the obstacle aside without a moment’s delay. She directed the servant to show her visitor into the drawing-room, and to say that she was unexpectedly engaged, but that Miss Roseberry would see the lady immediately. She then turned to Julian, and said, with her most satirical emphasis of tone and mannoi% “ Would it he an additional convenience if Miss Rose- berry was not only out of the room before you disclose your secret, but out of the house?’’ Julian gravely answered, " It may possi- bly be quite as well if Miss Roseberry is out of the house.’’ Lady Janet led the way back to the dining-room. “ My dear Grace,’’ she said, '‘you looked flushed and feverish when I saw you asleep on the sofa a little while since. It will do you no harm to have a drive in the fresh air. Our friend has called to take me to the committee meeting. 1 have sent to tell her that I am engaged — and 1 shall be much obliged if you will go in my place.’’ Mercy looked a little alarmed. " Does your ladyship mean the committee meeting of the Samaritan Obnvalescent Home? The members, as I understand it, are to decide to-day which of the plans for the new building they are to adopt. I cannot surely presume to vote in your place?" ^ “ You can vote, my dear child, just as well as I can,’’ replied the THE HEW MAGDA LEH. 61 \ oltl lady, ‘‘ Architecture is one of the lost arts. You know nothing aboit it; 1 know nothing about it; the architects themselves know nothing about it. One plan is no doubt just as bad as the other. Vote] as I should vote, with the majority. Or as poor dear Dr. Johnson said, ‘ Shout with the loudest mob.’ Away with you — and don’t keep the committee waiting.” Horace hastened to open the door for Mercy. ‘‘ How long shall you be away?” he whispered, confidentially. ” I had a thousand things to say to you, but they have interrupted us.” “ I shall be back in an hour.” We shall have the room to ourselves by that time. Come here ' when you return. You will find me waiting for you.” Mercy pressed his hand significantly and went out. Lady Janet turned to Julian, who had thus far remained in the background, still, to all appearance, as unwilling as ever to enlighten his aunt. Well?” she said. “ What is tying your tongue now? Grace is out of the room; why don’t you begin? Is Horace in the way?” “ Hot in the least. I am only a little uneasy — ” ‘‘ Uneasy about what?” ‘‘ I am afraid you have put that charming creature to some In- convenience in sending her av»ray just at this time.” Horace looked .. up suddenly, with a flush on his face. “ When you say ‘ that charming creature,’ ” he asked sharply, ” I suppose you mean Miss Roseberry?” Certainly,” answered Julian. “Why not?” Lady Janet interposed. “Gently, Julian,” she said. “Grace has only been introduced to you hitherto in the character of my adopted daughter — ” “ And it seems to be high time,” Horace added, haughtily, “ that I should present her next in the character of my engaged wife.” Julian looked at Horace as if he could hardly credit the evidence of his own ears. “ Your wife!” he exclaimed, with an inexpressi- ble outburst of disappointment and surprise. “Yes, my wife,” returned Horace. “ V\^e are to be married in a fortnight. May 1 ask,” he added, with angry humility, “ if you disapprove of the marriage?” Lady Janet interposed once more. “ Honsense, Horace,” she said, “ Julian congratulates you, of course. ” Julian coldly and absently echoed the words, “ Oh, yes, I con* gratulate you, of course.” 62 THE KEW MAGDALEK. Lady Janet returned to the main object of the interview. “ Kow we thoroughly understand one another/’ she said, “ le% ns speak of a lady who has dropped out of the conversation for the last minute or two. I mean, Julian, the mysterious lady of your letter. We are alone, as you desired. Lift the veil, my reverend nephew, which hides her from mortal eyes! Blush, if you like — and can. Is she the future Mrs. Julian Gray/’ “ She is a perfect stranger to me,” Julian answered, quietly. “ A perfect stranger! You wrote me word you were interested in her.” ** I am interested in her. And, what is more, you are interested in her too.” Lady Janet’s fingers drummed impatiently on the table. ‘‘ Have I not warned you, Julian, that I hate mysteries? Will you, or will you not, explain yourself?” Before it was possible to answer, Horace rose from his chair. Perhaps I am in the way,” he said. Julian signed to him to sit down again. I have already told Lady. Janet that you are not in the way,” he answered. ” I now tell you — as Miss Koseberry’s future husband — that you too have an interest in hearing what I have to say.” Horace resumed his seat with an air of suspicions surprise. Julian addressed himself to Lady Janet. “You have often heard me speak,” he began, “ of my old friend and school-fellow, John Cressingham?” “ Yes. The English consul at Mannheim?” “ The same. When I returned from the country I found amonj^ my other letters a long letfcr from the consul. I have brought it with me, and I propose to read certain passages from it, which tell a very strange story more plainly and more credibly than 1 can tell it in my own words.” “ Will it be very long?” inquired Lady Janet, looking with some alarm at the closely written sheets of paper which her nephew spread open before him. Horace followed with a question on his side. “ You are sure I am interested in it?” he asked. “ The consul at Mannheim is a total stranger to me.” “ 1*11 answer for it,” replied Julian, gravely, “ neither my auii.;’s patience nor yours, Horace, will be thrown away if you will favor me by listening attentively to what 1 aha about to read.” THE NEW MAGDALEN. 63 With those words he began his first extract from the consul’s let- ter: . “ ‘ My memory is a bad one for dates. But full three months must have passed since information was sent to me of an English patient, received at the hospital here, whose case I, as En- glish consul, might feel an interest in investigating. “ ‘ I went the same day to the hospital, and was taken to the bed- side. * The patient was a woman— young, and (when in health), I should think, very pretty. When I first saw her she looked, to my uninstructed eye, like a dead woman. 1 noticed that her head had a bandage over it, and I asked what was the nature of the injury that she had received. The answer informed me that the poor creat- ure had been present, nobody knew why or wherefore, at a skirmisb or night attack between the Germans and the French, and that the injury to her head had been inflicted by a fragment of a German shell.’” Horace — thus far leaning back carelessly in his chair— suddenly raised himself and exclaimed, “ Good heavens! can this be the woman I saw laid out for dead in the French cottage?” ” It is impossible for me to say,” replied Julian. “ Listen to the rest of it. The consul’s letter may answer your question.” He went on with his reading: “ ‘ The wounded woman had been reported dead, and had been left by the French in their retreat, at the time when the German forces took possession of the enemy’s posilian. She was found on a bed in a cottage by the director of the German ambulance — ’ ” ‘‘Ignatius Wetzel?” cried Horace. “ Ignatius Wetzel,” repeated Julian,. looking at the letter. ” It the same!” said Horace. ” Lady Janet, we are really in- terested in this. You remember my telling you how I first met with Grace? And you have heard more about it since, no doubt, from Grace herself?” ” She has a horror of referring to that part of her journey home,” replied Lady Janet. “ She mentioned her having been stopped on the frontier, and her finding herself accidentally in the company of another Englishwoman, a perfect stranger to her. I naturally asked questions on my side, and was shocked to hear that she had seen the woman killed by a German shell almost close at her side. Neither she nor I have had any relish for returning to the subject since. You were quite right, Julian, to avoid speaking of it vyhile sbe was in the room. I understand it all now. Grace, I suppose, mentioned my name to her fellow -traveler. The woman is, no doubt, in want of assistance, and she applies to me through you* 64 THE HEW MAGDALEH. 1 will help her; but she must uot come here until 1 have prepared Grace for seeing her again, a living woman. For the present there is no reason why they should meet.” I am not sure about that,” said Julian, in low tones, without looking up at his aunt. “ What do you mean? Is the mystery not at an end yet?” “ The mystery has not even begun yet. Let my friend the consul proceed.” Julian returned for the second time to his extract from the letter: “ ' After a careful examination of the supposed corpse, the Ger- man surgeon arrived at the conclusion that a case of suspended animation had (in the hurry of the French retreat) been mistaken for a case of death. Feeling a professional interest in the subject, he decided on putting his opinion to the lest. He operated on the patient with complete success. After performing the operation he kept her for some days under his own care, and then transferred her to the nearest hospital— the hospital of Mannheim. He was obliged to return to his duties as army surgeon, and he left his patient in the condition in which I saw her, insensible on the bed. Neither he nor the hospital authorities knew anything whatever about the woman. No papers were found on her. All the doctors could do, when I asked them for information with a view to com- municating with her friends, was to show me her linen marked with her name. I left the hospital after taking down the name in my pocket book. It was “ Mercy Merrick.” ’ ” Lady Janet produced lier pocket book. ” Let me take the name down too,” she said, I never heard it before, and I might other- wise forget it. Go on, Julian.” Julian advanced to his second ex- tract from the consul’s letter: ” ‘ Under these circumstances, I could only wait to hear from the hospital when the patient was sufficiently recovered to be able to speak to me. Some weeks passed without my receiving any com- munication from tlie doctors. On calling to make inquiries I was informed that fever had set in, and that the poor creature’s condiliou now alternated between exhaustion and delirium. In her delirious moments the name of your aunt, Lady Janet Roy, frequently es- caped her. Otherwise her wanderings were for the most part quite unintelligible to the people at her bedside. I thought once or twice of writing to you, and of begging you to speak to Lady Janet. But as the doctors informed me that the chances of life or death were at this time almost equally balanced, I decided to wait until time should determine whether it was necessary to trouble you or not.’ ” ** You know best, Julian,” said Lady Janet. ‘‘ But I own 1 don’t quite see in what way 1 am interested in this part of the story.” “ Just what 1 was going to say,” added Horace. ** It is very sad no doubt. But what have ^oe to do with it?” THE HEW MAGDALEK. 65 ‘^Let me read my third extract,” Julian answered, “and you will see.” He turned to the third extract, and read as follows: “ ‘ At last I received a message from the hospital, informing me that Mercy Merrick was out of danger, and that she was capable (though still very weak) of answering any questions which 1 might think it desirable to put to her. On reaching the hospital I was requested, rather to my surprise, to pay my first visit to the head physicia)! in his private room. “ 1 think it right,” said this gentle- man, “ to warn you, before you see the patient, to be very careful how you speak to her, and not to irritate her by showing any sur- prise or expressing any doubts if she talks to you in an extravagant manner. We differ in opinion about her here. Some of us (myself among the number) doubt whether the recover}^ of her mind has ac- companied the recovery of her bodily powers. Without pronounc- ing her to be mad — she is perfectly gentle and harmless — we are nevertheless of opinion that she is suffering under a species of in- sane delusion. Bear in mind the caution which I have given you — and now go and judge for yourself.” 1 obeyed, in some little per- plexity and surprise. The sufferer, when I approached her bed, looked sadly weak and worn; but, so far as 1 could judge, seemed to be in full possession of herself. Her tone *aud manner were un- questionably the tone and manner of a lady. After briefly introduc- ing myself, 1 assured her that 1 should be glad, both officially and personally, if I could be of any assistance to her. In saying these trifling words I happened to address her by the name I had seen marked on her clothes. The instant the words ” Miss Merrick” E assed my lips a wild, vindictive expression appeared in her eyes. he exclaimed, angrily, ” Don’t, call me by that hateful name! It’s not my name. All the people here persecute me by calling me Mercy Merrick. xAnd when I am angry with them they show me the clothes. Say what I may, they persist in believing they are my clothes. Don’t you do the same, if you want to be friends with me.” Kemembering what the physician had said to me, I made the neces- sary excuses, and succeeded in soothing her. Without reverting to the irritating topic of the name, I merely inquired wliat her plans were, and assured her that she might command my services if she required them. ” Why do you want to know what my plans are?” she asked, suspiciously. I reminded her in reply that I held the position of English consul, and that my object was, if possible, to be of some assistance to her. “You can be of the greatest assistance to me,” she said, eagerly. “Find Mercy Merrick!” I saw the vindictive look come back into her eyes, and an angry flush rising on her white cheeks. Abstaining from showing any surprise, 1 asked her who Mercy Merrick was. “ A vile woman, by her own con fession,” was the quick reply. “ How am I to find her?” I inquired next. “ Look for a woman in a black dress, with the Red Geneva Cross on her shoulder; she is a nurse in tlie French ambulance.” “ What has she done?” “ I have lost my papers; I have lost my ^^wn clothes; Mercy Merrick has taken them.” “ How do you know that Mercy Merrick has taken them?’' “ Nobody else could have taken them—tbat’s how I know it. Do you believe me or not?” She was beginning to excite herself again; I assured her that I would 8 66 THE ]?rEW MAGDALEH. at once send to make inquiries after Mercy Merrick. She turned round contented on the pillow. “ There's a good man!” she said. ‘‘ Come hack and tell me when you have caught her.” Such was my first interview with the English patient at the hospital at Mann^ heim. It is needless to say that I doubted the existence of the absent person described as a nurse. However, it was possible to make in- quiries by applying to the surgeon, Ignatius Wetzel, whose where- abouts was known to his friends in Mannheim. I wrote to him, and received his answer in due time. After the night attack of the Germans had made them masters of the French position, he had entered the cottage occupied by the French ambulance. He had found the wounded Frenchmen left behind, but had seen no such person in attendance on them as the nurse in the black dress with the red cross on her shoulder. The only living woman in the place was a young English lady, in a gray traveling cloak, who had been stopped on the frontier, and who was forwarded on her way home by the war correspondent of an English journal.' ” “ That was Grace,” said Lady Janet. ‘‘ And I was the war cor- respondent,” added Horace. ” A few words more,” said Julian, ‘‘and you -will understand my object in claiming your attention.” He returned to the letter for the last time, and concluded his extracts from it as follows; “ ‘ Instead of attending at the hospital myself, I communicated by letter the failure of my attempt to discover the missing nurse. For some little time afterward I heard no more of the sick woman whom I shall still call Mercy Merrick. It was only yesterday that I received another summons to visit the patient. She had by this time sufficiently recovered to claim her discharge, and she had an- nounced her intention of returning forthwith to England. The head physician, feeling a sense of responsibility, had sent for me. It was impossible to detain her on the ground that she was not fit to be trusted by herself at large, in consequence of- the difference of opinion among the doctors on the case. All that could be done was to give me due notice, and to leave the matter in my hands. On seeing her for the second time, I found her sullen and reserved. She openly attributed my inability to find the nurse to want of zeal for her interests on my part. I had, on my side, no authority whatever to detain her. I could only inquire whether she had money enough to pay her traveling expenses. Her reply informed me that the chaplain of the hospital had mentioned her forlorn situation in the town, and that the English residents had subscribed a small sum of money to enable her to return to her own country. Satisfied on this head, I asked next if she had friends to go to in England. ” I have one friend,” she answered, “who is a host in herself — Lady Janet Roy.” You may imagine my surprise when I heard this. [ found it quite useless to make any further inquiries as to how she came to know your aunt, whether your aunt expected her, and so on. My questions evidently offended her; they were received in sulky silence. Under these circumstances, well knowing that I can ^rust implicitly to your humane sympathy for misfortune, I have THE KAGDALEljr. 67 decided (after careful reflection) to insure the poor creature’s safety when she arrives iii London by giving her a letter to you. You will bear what she says, and you will be better able to discover than I am whether she really has any claim on Lady Janet Roy. One last word of information, which it may be necessary to add, and I shall close this inordinately long letter. At my first interview with her, I ab- stained, as I have already told you, from irritating her by any in- quiries on the subject of her name. On this second occasion, how- ever, 1 decided on putting the question.’ ” As he read those last words, Julian became aware of a sudden movement on the part of his aunt. Lady Janet had risen softly from her chair and had passed behind him, with the purpose of reading the consul’s letter for herself over her nephew’s shoulder. Julian detected the action just in time to frustrate Lady Janet’s intention by placing his hand over the last two lines of the letter. ‘‘ What do you do that for?” inquired his aunt, sharply. ” You are welcome, Lady Janet, to read the close of the letter for yourself,” Julian replied. “ But before you do so, I am anxious to prepare you for a very great surprise. Compose yourself, and let me read on slowly, with your eye on me, until I unco\er the last two words which close my friend’s letter.” He read the end of the letter, as he had proposed, in these terms: ‘I looked the woman straight in the face, and I said to her, “ You have denied that the name marked on the clothes which you wore when you came here was your name. If you are not Mercy Merrick, who are you?” She answered, instantly, ‘‘My name is — ” ' ” Julian removed his hand from the page. Lady Janet looked at the next two words, and started back with a loud cry of astonish- ment, which brought Horace instantly to his feet. “ Tell me, one of you I” he cried. “ What name did she give?” Julian told him: “ Gbace Rosebekry.” CHAPTER X. A COUNCIL OP THREE. For a moment Horace stood thunderstruck, looking in blank aah tonishment at Lady Janet. His first words, as soon as he had re- covered himself, were addressed to Julian. ” Is this a joke?” he asked, sternly. “ If it is, I for one don’t see the humor of it.” Julian pointed to the closely -writ ten pages of the consul’s letter. “A man writes. in earnest,” he said, “when he writes at such 68 THE HEW MAGDALEH. leogth as this. The woman seriously gave the name of Grace Rose- berry, and when she left Mannheim she traveled to England for the express purpose of presenting herself to Lady Janet Roy.” He turned to his aunt. “ You saw me start,” he went on, ‘‘ when you first mentioned Miss Roseberry’s name in my hearing. Now you know why.” He addressed himself once more to Horace. “You heard me say that you, as Miss Roseberry’s future husband, had an interest in being present at my interview with Lady Janet. Now you know why.” “ The woman is plainly mad,” said Lady Janet. “ But it is cer- tainly a startling form of madness w^hen one first hears of it. Of course we must keep the matter, for the present at least, a secret from Grace.” “ There can be no doubt,” Horace agreed, “ that Grace must be kept in the dark, in her present state of health. The servants had better be warned beforehand, in case of this adventuress or mad- woman, whichever she may be, attempting to make her way into the house.” “ It shall be done immediately,” said Lady Janet. “ What sur- prises me, Julian (ring the bell, if you please), is, that you should describe yourself in your letter as feeling an interest in this i^erson. ” Julian answered — without ringing the bell. “lam more interested than ever,” he said, “now I find that Miss Roseberry herself is your guest at Mablethorpe House.” “ You were always perverse, Julian, as a child, in 3 mur likings and dislikings,” Lady Janet rejoined. “ Why don’t you ring the bell?” “ For one good reason, my dear aunt. I don’t wish to hear you tell your servants to close the door on this friendless creature.” Lady Janet cast a look at her nephew which plainly expressed that she thought he had taken a liberty with her. “ You don’t expect me to see the woman?” she asked, in a tone of cold surprise. “ I hope you will not refuse to see her,” Julian answered, quietly. “ I was out when she called. I must hear what she has to say~and 1 should infinitely prefer hearing it in your presence. vV^hen I got your reply to my letter, permitting me to present her to you, I wrote to her immediately, appointing a meeting here. ” Lady Janet lifted her bright black eyes in mute expostulation to the carved Cupids and wreaths on the dining room ceiling. “ When am I to have the honor of the lady’s visit?” she inquired, with ironical resignation. 69 THE KEW HACnALEH. ** To day/* answered her nephew, with impenetrable patience. “ At what hour?’* Julian composedly consulted his watch. “ She is ten minutes after her time,” he said, and put his watch back iu his pocket again. At the same moment the servant appeared, and advanced to Julian, carrying a visiting-card on his little silver tray. “ A lady to see you, sir.” Julian took the card, and, bowing, handed it to his aunt. Here she is,” he said, just as quietly as ever. Lady Janet looked at the card, and tossed it indignantly back to her nephew, “Miss Itoseberry!” she exclaimed. “ Printed— ac- tually printed on her card! Julian, even my patience has its limits. I refuse to see her!” The servant was still waiting — not like a human being who took an interest in the proceedings, but, as became a perfectly bred foot- man, like an article of fjirniture artfully constructed to come and go at the word of command Julian gave the word of command, addressing the admirably constructed automaton by the name of “James.” “ Where is the lady now?” he asked. “ In the breakfast- room, sir.” “ Leave her there, if you please, and wait outside within hearing of the bell.” The legs of the furniture-footman acted, and took him noiselessly out of the room. Julian turned to his aunt. “Forgive me,” he said, “for venturing to give the man his orders in your presence. I am very anxious that you should not decide hastily. Surely we ought to hear what this lady has to say?” Horace dissented widely from his friend’s opinion. “ It’s an in- sult to Grace,” he broke out, warmly, “to hear what she has to say?” Lady Janet nodded her head in high approval. “ I think so too,” saM her ladyship, crossing^ her handsome old hands resolutely on her lap. Julian applied himself to answering Horace first. “ Pardon me,” he said. “ I have no intention of presuming to reflect on Miss Roseberry, or of bringing her into the matter at all. The consul’s letter.” he went on, speaking to his aunt, “ mentions, if you remember, that the medical authorities of Mannheim were divided in opinion on their patient’s case. Some of them — the phy- aician-in-chief being among the number — believe that the recovery of her mind has not accompanied the recovery of her body.” “ In other words,” Lady Janet remarked, “a madwoman is ia my house, and 1 am expected to receive her!” 5^0 THte KEW MAGDALEK. “Don’t let us exaggerate,” said Julian, gently. “It can serve no good interest, in this serious matter, to exaggerate any thing. The consul assures us, on the authority of the doctor, that she is perfectly gentle and harmless. If she is really the victim of a men^ tal delusion, the poor creature is surely an object of compassion, and she ought to be placed under proper care. Ask your own kind heart, my dear aunt, if it would not be downright cruelty to tura this forlorn woman adrift in the world without making some in- qury first.” _ Lady Janet’s inbred sense of justice ’admitted — not overwillingly —the reasonableness as well as the humanity of the view expressed in those words. “There is some truth in that, Julian,” she said, shifting her position uneasily in her chair, and looking at Horace. “ Don’t you ihink^so too?” she added. “ I can’t say I do,” answered Horace, in the positive tone of a man whose obstinacy is proof against every form of appeal that can be addressed to him. The patience of Julian was firm enough to be a match for the ob- stinacy of Horace. “At any rate,” he resumed, with undimin- ished good temper, “we are all three equally interested in setting this matter at rest. I put it to you. Lady Janet, if we are not favored, at this lucky moment, with the very opportunity that we want? Miss Roseberry is not only out of the room, but out of the house. If we let this chance slip, who can say what awkward accident may not happen in the course of the next few days.” “ Let the woman come in,” cried Lady Janet, deciding headlong, with her customary inpatience of all delay. “ At once, Julian, be- fore Grace can come back. Will you ring the bell this time?” 1 This time Julian rang it. “ May I give the man his orders?” he respectfully inquired of his aunt. “ Give him anything you like, and have done with it!” retorted the irritable old lady, getting briskly on her feet, and taking a turn in the room to compose herself. The servant withdrew, with orders to show the visitor in. Horace crossed the room at the same time — apparently with the intention of leaving it by the door at the opposite end. “You are not going away?” exclaimed Lady Janet. “ I see no use in my remaining here,” replied Horace, not very graciously. “In that case,” retorted Lady Janet, “remain here because, 1 wish it.” “ Certainly— if you wish it. Only remember,” he added, more THE OTW MAGDALEH. 71 obstinately than ever, “ that I differ entirely from Julian's view. In my opinion the woman has no claim on us." A passing movement of irrilation escaped Julian for the first time. “ Don’t he hard, Horace," he said, sharply. “ All ’women have a claim on us." They had unconsciously gathered together, in the heat of the little debate, turning their backs on the library door. At the last words of the reproof administered by Julian to Horace, their attention was recalled to the passing events by the slight noise produced by the opening and closing of the door. With one accord the three turned and looked in the direction from which the sounds had come. CHAPTER XI. THE DEAD ALIVE. Just inside the door there appeared the figure of a small woman dressed in plain and poor black garments. She silently lifted her black net veil, and disclosed a dull, pale, w^orn. weary face. The forehead was low and broad; the eyes were unusually far apart; the lower features were remarkably small and delicate. In health (as the consul at Mannheim had remarked) this wmrnan must have pos- sessed, if not absolute beauty, at least rare atttractions peculiarly her own. As it was now, suffering— sullen, silent, self-contained suffer- ing-had marred its beauty. Attention and even curiosity it might still rouse. Admiration or interest it could excite no longer. The small, thin, black figure stood immovably inside the door. The dull, worn, white face looked silently at the three persons in the room. The three persons in the room, on their side, stood for a moment without moving, and looked silently at the stranger on the threshold. There was something either in the woman herself, or in the sudden and stealthy manner of her appearance in the room, which froze, as if with the touch of an invisible cold hand, the sympathies of all three. Accustomed to the world, habitually at their ease in. every social emergency, they were now silenced for the first time in their lives by the first serious sense of embarrassment which they had felt since they were children in the presence of a stranger. Had the appearance of the true Grace Roseberry aroused in their minds a suspicion of the woman who had stolen her name and taken her place in the house? Not so much as the shadow of a suspicion of Mercy was at the bottom of the strange sense of uneasiness v/hich had now deprived n THE KEW MAGDALEH, them alike of their habitual courtesy and their habitual presence ol mind. It was as practically impossible for any one of the three to doubt the identit}’- of the adopted daughter of the house as it would be for you who read these lines to doubt the identity of tliO nearest and dearest relative you have in the world. Circumstances had fortified Mercy behind the strongest of all natural rights — the ri^rlit of first possession. Circumstances had armed her with the most irre- sistible of all natural forces—tlie force of previous association and previous habit. Not by so much ac a hair breadth was the position of the fals:' Grace iloseberry shaken by the first appearance of the true Grace Roseberry within the doors Mablethorpe House. Lady Janet felt euddonly repelled without knowing why. Julici and Horace felt suddenly repelled, without knowing why'. Asked to describe their own sensations at the moment, they would have shaken their heads in despair, and would have answered in those words. The vague presentiment of some misfortune to come had entered the room with the entrance of the woman in black. But it moved in- visibly; and it spoke as all presentiments speak, in the Unknown Tongue. A moment passed. The crackling of the fire and the ticking of die clock were the only sounds audible in the room. The voice of the visitor— hard, clear, and quiet— was the first voice that broke the silence. Mr. Julian Gray?” she said, looking interrogatively from one of the two gentlemen io the other. Julian advanced a few steps, instantly recovering his self-posses- sion. ‘‘ 1 am. very sorry I w,:s not at home,” he said, when you called with your letter iroio ihe consul. Fray take a chair.” By way of setting the example. Lady Janet seated herself at some little distoiice, with Horace I.i attendance ctanding near. 8he bowed to the stra^i^er wifii studious politeness, but without uttering a wor l, before she settled herself in her chair. ” I am obliged to listen lo this person,” thought the old lady, ” I'ut I am obliged to speak to her. That is Julian's business—not mine. Don't stand, Horace! Yv i fidget me. Sit down.” Armed beforehand in her policy of silence, Lady Janet folded her handsome hands as lisoal, and waited for the proceedings to begin, like a jud 2 :e on the bench. Will you take a chair?” Julian repeated, observing that the visit- or appeared neither to heed nor to hear his first words of welcome to her. At this second appeal she spoke to him. Is that Lady Janet Boy?” she asked. wUh her eves fixed on the mistress of the house. THE KEW MAGDALEH. 73 Julian answered, and drew back to watch the result. The woman in the poor black garments changed her position for the first time. She moved slowly across the room to the place at which Lady Janet was sitting, and addressed her respectfully with perfect self posses- sion of manner. Her whole demeanor, from the moment 'when she had appeared at the door, had expressed— at once plainly and be- comingly — confidence in the reception that awaited her. “ Almost the last words my father said to me on his death-bed, ’’ she began, “ were words, madam, which told me to expect protec- tion and kindness from you.” It was not Lady Janet’s business to speak. She listened with the blandest attention. She waited whh the most exasperating silence to hear more. Grace Koseberry drew back a step— not intimidated— only mortified and surprised. “Was my father wrong?” she asked, with a simple^ dignity of tone and manner which forced Lady Janet to abandon her policy of silence, in spite of herself. “Who was your father?” she asked, coldly. Grace Roseberry answered the question in a tone of stern surprise. Has the servant not given you my card?” she said. ” Don’t you know my name?” ” Which of your names?” rejoined Lady Janet."* “ I don’t understand your ladyship.” I will make myself understood. You asked me if I knew your name. I ask you, in return, which name it is? The name on your card is ‘ Miss Roseberr3r.’ The name marked on your clothes, when you were in the hospital, was " Mercy Merrick.’ ” The self-possession which Grace had maintained from the moment when she had entered the dining-room, seemed now, for the first time, to be on the point of failing her. She turned and looked ap- pealingly at Julian, who had thus far kept his place apart, listening attentively. ” Surely,” she said, ** your friend, the consul, has told you in his fetter about the mark on the clothes?” Something of the girlish hesitation and timidity which had marked her demeanor at her interview with Mercy in the French cottage, reappeared in tone and manner as the spoke tliose words. The changes — mostly changes for the worse — wrought in her by the suffering through which she had passed since that time, were now (for the moment) effaced. All that was left of the better and simpler, side of her character asserted itself in her brief appeal to Julian, She had hitherto repelled him. He began to feel a certain compas^ sionate interest in her now. THE NEW MAGDALEN. “ The consul has informed me of what you said to him/’ he an- swered, kindly. ** But, if you will take my advice, 1 recommend you to tell your story to Lady Janet in your own words.” Grace again addressed herself with bmissive reluctance to Lady Janet. “The clothes your ladyship .^peaksef,” she said, “were the clothes of another woman. The rain was pouring when the soldiers detained me on the frontier. I had been exposed for hours to the weather — 1 was wet to the skin. The clothes marked ' Mercy Merrick ’ were the clothes lent to me by Mercy Merrick herself bile my own things were drying. I was struck by the shell in those clothes. I was carried away insensible in those clothes after the operation had been performed on me.” Lady Janet listened to perfection-— and did no more. She turned confidentially to Horace, and said to him, in her gracefully ironical way, “ She is ready with her explanation. ” Horace answered in the same tone, “ A great deal too ready.” Grace looked from one of them to the other. A faint flush of color showed itself in her face for ti e first time. “ Am I to under- stand,” she asked, with proud composure, “that you don’t be- lieve me?” Lady Janet maintained her policy of silence. Che waved one hand courteously toward Julian, as if to say, “ Address your in- quiries to the gentleman who introduces you.” Julian, noticing the gesture, and observing the rising color ia Grace’s cheeks, inter- fered directly in the interest of peace. “ Lady Janet asked you a question just now,” he said; “ Lady Janet inquired who your father was.” “ My father was the late Colonel Koseberry.” Lady Jane made another confidential remark to Horace. “ Her assurance amzes me!” she exclaimed. Julian interposed before his aunt could add a word more. “ Pray let us hear her,” he said, in a tone of entreaty which had something of the imperative in it this time. He turned to Grace. “ Have you any proof to produce,” he added in his gentler voice, “ which will satisfy ::3that you arc Colonel Roseberry’s daughter?” Grace looked at Ir’m indignantly. “ Proof!” she repeated. “ Is my word not enough?” Julian kept his temper perfectly. “Pardon me,” he rejoined, you forget that you and Lady Janet meet now for the first time. Try to put yourself in my aunt’s place. How is she to know that you are the late Colonel Roseberry’s daughter?” Grace’s head sunk on her breast; she dropped into the nearest THE ISTEW MAGDALEK. 75 chair. The expression of her face changed iustantly from anger to discouragement. “Ah,’’ she exclaimed, bitterly “if I only had the letters that have been stolen from me!’’ “ Letters,’’ asked Julian, “ introducing you to Lady Janet?” “Yes.” She turned suddenly to Lady Janet. “ Let me tell you how I lost them,” she said, in the first tones of entreaty which had escaped her yet. Lady Janet hesitated. It was not in her generous nature to resist the appeal that had just been made to her. The sympathies of Hor- ace were far less easily reached. He lightly launched a new shaft of satire— intended for the private amusement of Lady Janet. “ An- other explanation!” he exclaimed, with a look of comic resignation. Julian overheard the words, His large lustrous eyes fixed them- selves on Horace with a look of measured contempt. “ The least you can do,” he said, sternly, “ is not to irritate her. It is so easy to irritate her!” He addressed himself again to Grace, endeavoring to help her through her difficulty in a new way. “ Never mind explaining yourself for the moment,” he said. “ In the absence of your letters, have you any one in London who can speak to your identity?” Grace shook her head sadly. “I have no friends in London,” she answered. It was impossible for Lady Janet — who had never in her life heard of anybody without friends in London— to pass this over without notice. “No' friend in London!” she repeated, turning to Horace. Horace shot another shaft of light satire. “ Of course not!” he rejoined. Grace saw them comparing notes. “ My friends are in Canada,” she broke out, impetuously. “ Plent}" of friends who could speak for me, if 1 could only bring them here.” As a place of reference— mentioned in the capital city of England —Canada, there is no denying it, is open to objection on the ground of distance. Horace was ready with another shot. “Far enough off, certainly,” he said. “ Far enough off, as you say,” Lady Janet agreed. Once more Julian’s inexhaustible kindness strove to obtain a hearing for the stranger who had been confided to his care. “ A little patience. Lady Janet,” he pleaded. “A little consideration, Horace, for a friendless woman.” “ Thank you. Sir,” said Grace. “ It is very kind of you to try and help me, but it is useless. They won’t even listen t^ me.” She at- tempted to rise from her chair as slie pronounced the last words. 76 THE NEW MAGDALEN. Julian gently laid bis hand on her shoulder and obliged her to re* sume her seat. 1 will listen to you,” he said. ” You referred me just now to the consul’s letter. The consul tells me you suspected some one of taking your papers and your clothes.” ” I dcm’t suspect,” was the quick reply; I am certain! I tell you positively Mercy Merrick was the thief. She was alone with me when I was struck down by the shell. She was the only person Who knew that I had letters of introduction about me. She con- fessed to my face that she had been a bad woman— she had been in a prison — she had' come out of a refuge—” Julian stopped her there with one plain question, which threw a doubt on the whole story. ‘‘ The consul tells me you asked him to search for Mercy Merrick,” he said. ” Is it not true that he caused inquiries to be made, and that no trace of any such person was to be heard of?” The consul took no pains to find her,” Grace answered, angrily. ” He was, like eveiybody else, in a conspiracy to neglect and mis- judge me.” Lady Janet and Horace exchanged looks. This time it was im possible for Julian to blame them. The further the stranger’s nar- rative advanced, the less worthy of serious attention he fell it to be. The longer she spoke, the more disadvantageously she challenged comparison with the absent woman, whose name she so obstinately and so audaciously persisted in assuming as her own. ” Granting all that you have said,” Julian resumed, with a last effort of patience, ” what use could Mercy Merrick make of your letters and your clothes?” What use?” repeated Grace, amazed at his not seeing the posi tion as she saw it. My clothes were marked with my name. One of my papers was a letter from my father, introducing me to Lady Janet. A woman out of a refuge would be quite capable of presenting herself here in my place.” Spoken entirely vX random, spoken without so much as a frag- ment of evidence to support them, those last words still had their effect. They cast a reflection on Lady Janet’s adopted daughter which was too outrageous to be borne. Lady Janet rose instantly. “ Give me your arm, Horace,” she said, turning to leave the room. “I have heard enough.” Horace respectfully offered his arm. ” Your ladyship is quite right,” he answered. ” A more monstrous story never was invented.” He spoke, in the warmth of his indig* THE KEW MAOTALEK. 77 natioD, loud enough for Grace to hear him. “ What is there mon- strous in it?” she asked, advancing a step toward him, defiantly. Julian checked her. He too— though he had only once seen Mercy — feit an angry sense of the insult offered to the beautiful creature who had interested him at his first sight of her. “ Silence!” he said, speaking sternly to Grace for the first time. ” You are offending —justly offending — Lady Janet. You are talking worse than ab- surdly — you are talking offensively — when you speak of another woman presenting herself here in your place.” Grace's blood was up. Stung by Julian’s reproof, she turned on him a look which was almost a look of fury. “ Are you a clergyman? Are you an educated man?” she asked. “ Have you never read of cases of false personaticn, in newspapers and books? 1 blindly confided in Mercy Merrick before I found out what her character really was. She left the cottage— 1 know it, from the surgeon who brought me to life again— firmly' persuaded that the shell had killed me. My papBis and my clothes disappeiired at the same time. Is there nothing suspicious in these circumstances? There were people at the hospital who thought them highly suspicious — people who warned me that 1 might find an impostor in my place.” .She suddenly paused. The rustling sound of a silk dress had caught her ear. Lady Janet was leaving the room, with Horace, by way of the conservatory. With a last effort of resolution, Grace sprang forward and placed herself in front of them. ‘‘ One word. Lady Janet, before you turn your back on me,” she said, firmly. One w ord, and 1 will be content. Has Colonel Roseberry’s letter found its way to this house or not? If it has, did a woman bring it to you?” Lady Janet looked — as only a great lady can look, when a person of inferior rank has presumed to fail in respect toward her. ‘‘ You are surely not aware,” she said, with icy composure, “ that these questions are an insult to Me?” “And worse than an insult,” Horace added, warmly, “to Grace!” The little resolute .black figure (still barring the way to the con- servatory) was suddenly shaken from head to foot. The woman’s eyes traveled backward and forward between Lady Janet and Hor- ace with the light of a new suspicion in them. “ Grace!” she exclaimed. “ What Grace ? That’s my name. Lady Janet, you ham got the letter! The woman is here!” Lady Janet dropped Horace’s arm, and retraced her steps to the place at which her nephew was standing. THE HEW MAGDALEH. 78 “ Julian,*’ she said. You force me for the first time in my life to remind you of the respect that is due to me in my own house. Send that woman away.** Without waiting to be answered, she turned back again, and once more took Horace’s arm. ‘‘ Stand back, if you please,” she said, quietly, to Grace. Grace held her ground. ‘‘ The woman is here!” she repeated. “ Confront me with her — and then send me away if you like.” Julian advanced, and firmly took her by the arm. “ l^ou forget what is due to Lady Janet,” he said, drawing her aside. “You forget what is due to yourself.” With a desperate effort, Grace broke away from him, and stopped Lady Janet on the threshold of the conservatory door. “ Justice!” she cried, shaking her ciinched hand with hysterical frenzy in the air. “ 1 claim my right to meet that woman face to face! Where is she? Confront me with her! Confront me with her!” While those wild words were pouring from her lips, the rumbling of carriage wheels became audible on the drive in front of the house. In the all-absorbing agitation of the moment, the sound of the wheels (followed by the opening of the house door) passed un- noticed by the persons in the dining-room. Horace’s voice was still raised in ajigry protest against the insult offered to Lady Janet; Lady Janet herself (leaving him for the second time) was vehement- ly ringing the bell to summon the servants; Julian had once more taken the infuriated woman by the arm, and was trying vainly to compose her — when the library door was opened quietly by a young lady wearing a mantle and a bonnet. Mercy Merrick (true to the appointment which she had made with Horace) entered the room. The first eyes that discovered her presence on the scene were the eyes of Grace Roseberry. Starting violently in Julian’s grasp, she pointed toward the door. “ Ah!” she cried, with a shriek of vin- dictive delight. “ There she is!” Mercy turned as the sound of the scream rang through the room, and met — resting on her in savage triumph — the living gaze of the woman whose identity she had stolen, whose body she had left laid out for dead. On the instant of that terrible discovery — with her eyes fixed helplessly on the fierce eyes that had found her — she dropped senseless on the floor. THE KEW MAGDALEK. 79 CHAPTER XIL EXIT JULIAN. Julian happened to be standing nearest to Mercy. He was the first at her side when she fell. In the cry oi alarm which burst from him, as he raised her for a moment in his arms, in the expression of his eyes when he looked at her death-like face, there escaped the plain— too plain — confes- sion of the interest which he felt in her, of the admiration which she had aroused in him. Horace detected it. There was the quick suspicion of jealousy in the movement by which he joined Julian; there was the ready resentment of jealousy in the tone in which he pronounced the words, Leave her to me.’* Julian resigned her in silence. A faint flush appeared on his pale face as he drew back while Horace carried her to the sofa. His eyes sank to the ground; he seemed to be meditating self-reproachfully on the tone in which his friend had spoken to him. After having been the first to take an active part in meeting the calamity that had happened, he was now to all appearance insensible to everything that was passing in the room. A touch on his shoulder roused him. He turned and looked round. The woman who had done the mischief — the stranger in the poor black garments— was standing behind him. She pointed to the prostrate figure on the sofa, with a mercilesss smile. “ You wanted a proof just now,” she said. ” There it is!” Horace heard her. He suddenly left the sofa and joined Julian. His face, naturally ruddy, was pale with suppressed fury. ” Take that wretch away!” he said. ” Instantly! or I won’t an- swer for what 1 may do.” Those words recalled Julian to himself. He looked round the room. Lady Janet and the housekeeper were together, in attend- ance on the swooning woman. The startled servants were congre- gated in the library doorway. One of them offered to run to the nearest doctor; another asked if he should fetch the police. Julian silenced them by a gesture, and turned to Horace. ” Compose yourself,” he said. “Leave me to remove her from the house.” He took Grace by the hand as he spoke. She hesitated and tried to release herself. Julian pointed to the group at the sofa and to th^ 80 THE 2^EW MAGDALEK. servants looking on. “ You have made an enemy of every one in this room,” he said, “ and you have not a friend in London. Do you wish to make an enemy of me V' Her head drooped; she made no reply; she waited, dumbly obedient to the firmer will than her own. Julian ordered the servants crowding together in the doorway to withdraw. He followed them into the librar}^, leading Grace after him by the hand. Before closing the door he paused, and looked back into the dining-room. Is she recovering?” he asked, after a moment’s hesitation. Lady Janet’s voice answered him. Not yet.” “ Shall 1 send for the nearest doctor?” Horace interposed. He declined to let Julian associate himself, even in that indirect manner, with Mercy’s recovery. “ If the doctor is wanted,” he said, I will go for him myself.” Julian closed the library door. He absently released Grace; he mechanically pointed to a chair. She sat down in silent surprise, following him with her eyes as he walked slowly to and fro in the room. For the moment his mind was far away from her, and from all that happened since her appearance in the house. It was impossible that a man of his fineness of perception could mistake the meaning of Horace’s conduct toward him. He was questioning his own heart, on the subject of Mercy, sternly and unreservedly as it was his habit to do. ” After only once seeing her,’ he thought, ” has she produced such an impression on me that Horace can discover it, before I have even suspected it myself? Can the time have come already, when I owe it to my friend to see her no more?” He stopped irritably in his walk. As a man devoted to a serious call- ing in life, there was something that wounded his self-respect in the bare suspicion that he could be guilty of the purely sentimental ex- travagance called ” love at first sight.” He had paused exactly opposite to the chair in which Grace was seated. Weary of the silence, she seized the opportunity of speak- ing to him. ” I have come here with you as you wished,” she said. ” Are you going to help me? Am I to count on you as my friend?” He looked at her vacantly. It cost him an effort before he could give her the attention that she had claimed. '‘You have been hard on me,” Grace went on. “But you showed me some kindness at first; you tried to make them give me a fair hearing. I ask you, as a just man, do you doubt now iliat the woman on the sofa in the next room is an impostor who l:as 1 THE HEW MAGDALEH'. 81 taken my place? Can there be any plainer confession that she is Mercy Merrick than the confession she has made? You saw it; they saw it. She fainted at the sight of me.’' Julian crossed the room— still without answering her— and rang the bell. When the servant appeared, he told the man to fetch a cab? Grace rose from her chair. “ What is the cab for?” she asked, sharply. ‘‘For you and for me,” Julian replied. ‘‘lam going to take you back to your lodgings.” ” I refuse to go. My place is in this house. Neither Lady Janet nor you can get over the plain facts. All I asl.ed was to be con- fronted with her. And what did she do when she came into the room? She fainted at the sight of me.” Reiterating her one triumphant assertion, she fixed her eyes on Julian with a look which said plainly, Answer that if you can. In mercy to lier^ Julian answered it on the spot. “ So far as I understand,” he said, ” you appear to take it for granted that no innocent woman would have fainted on first seeing you. I have something to tell you which will alter your opinion. On her arrival in England this lady informed my aunt that she had met with you accidentally on the French frontier, and that she had seen you (so far as slie knew) struck dead at her side by a shell. Remember that, and recall what happened now. Without a word to w'arn her of your restoration to life, she finds herself suddenly face to face with you, a living woman— and this at a time when it is easy for any one who looks at her to see that she is in delicate health. What is there wonderful, what is there unaccountable, in her faint- ing under such circumstances as these?” The question was plainly put. Where was the answer to it? There was no answer to it. Mercy’s wisely candid statement of the manner in which she had first met with Grace, and of the accident which had followed, had served Mercy’s purpose but too well. It was simply impossible for persons acquainted with that statement to attach a guilty meaning to the swoon. The false Grace Roseberry was still as far beyond the reach of suspicion as ever, and the true Grace was quick enough to see it. She sank into. the chair from which she had risen ; her hands fell in hopeless despair on her lap. “Everything is against me,” she said. “ The truth itself turns liar, and takes Tier side.” She paused and rallied her sinking cour- age. “ No I” she cried, resolutely, “I won’t submit to have my name and my place taken from me by a vile adventuress! Say wha^ you like, I insist on exposing her; I won’t leave the house!” The servant entered the room, and announced that the cab was at 82 THE ISTEW MAGDALEK. the door. Grace turned to Julian with a defiant wave of her hand “ Don’t let me detain you,” she said. “ I see I have neither advice nor help to expect from Mr. Julian Gray.” Julian beckoned to the servant to follow him into a corner of the room. “ Do you know if the doctor has been sent for?” he asked. “ I believe not, sir. It is said in the servants’ hall that the doctor is not wanted.” Julian was too anxious to be satisfied with a report from the serv- ants’ hall. He hastily wrote on a slip of paper: ” Has she recov- ered?” and gave the note to the man, with directions to take it to Lady Janet. “ Did you hear what 1 said?” Grace inquired, while the messenger was absent in the dining-room. ” I will answer you directly,” said Julian. The servant appeared again as he spoke, with some lines in pencil written by Lady Janet on the back of Julian’s note. ” Thank God, we have revived her. In a few minutes we hope to be able to take her to her room.” The nearest way to Mercy’s room was through the library. Grace’s immediate removal had now become a necessity which was not to be trifled with. Julian addressed himself to meeting the difliculty the instant he was left alone with Grace. “ Listen to me,” he said. The cab is waiting, and I have my last words to say to you. You are now (thanks to the consul’s recommendation) in my care. Decide at once whether you will re- main under my charge, or whether you will transfer yourself to the charge of the police.” Grace started. “ What do ^ou mean?” she asked, angrily. If you wish to remain under my charge,” Julian proceeded, “ you will accompany me at once to the cab. In that case I will un- dertake to give you an opportunity of telling your story to my own lawyer. He will be a fitter person to advise you than I am. IToth- ing will induce me to believe that the lady whom you have accused has committed, or is capable of committing, such a fraud as you charge her with. You will hear what the lawyer thinks, if you come with me. If you refuse, I shall have no choice but to send into the next room, and tell them that you are still here. The result will be that you will find yourself in charge of the police. Take which course you like ; I will give you a minute to decide. And renjember this, if I appear to express myself harshly, it is your conduct which forces me to speak out. I mean kindly toward you; I am advising you h('ncstly for your good.’* THE HEW MAGDALEK. 83 He took out liis wiitcli to count the minute. Grace stole one fur- tive glance at his steady, resolute face. She was perfectly unmoved by the manly consideration for her which Julian’s last words had ex- pressed. All she understood was that he was not a man to be trifled with. Future opportunities would offer themselves of returning secretly to the house. She determined to yield — and deceive him. “ I am ready to go,” she said, rising with dogged submission. Your turn now,” she muttered to herself, as she turned to the look- ing-glass to arrange her shawl. ” My turn will come.” Julian advanced toward her, as if to offer her his arm, and checked himself. Firmly persuaded as he was that her mind v'as deranged —readily as he admitted that she claimed, in virtue of her aflliclion, every indulgence that he could extend to her — there was something repellent to him at that moment in the bare idea of touching her. The image of the beautiful creature who was the object of her mon- strous accusation — the image of Mercy as she lay helpless for a mo- ment in his arms — was vivid in his mind while he opened the door that led into the hall, and drew back to let Grace pass out before him. He left the servant to help her into the cab. The man respect- fully addressed him as he took his seat opposite to Grace. ‘‘ 1 am ordered to say that your room is ready, sir, and that her ladyship expects you to dinner.” Absorbed in the events which had followed his aunt’s invitation, Julian had forgotten his engagement to stay at JMablethorpe House. Could he return, knowing his own heart as he now knew it? Could he honorably remain, perhaps for weeks together, in Mercy’s societj', conscious as he now was of the impression which she had produced on him? No. The one honorable course that he could take was to find an excuse for withdrawino: from his engagement. “ Beg her ladyship not to wait dinner for me,” he said. “ I will write and make my apologies. ” The cab drove off. The wondering servant waited on the doorstep, looking after it. “I wouldn’t stand in Mr. Julian’s shoes for something,” he thought, with his mind running on the difficulties of the young clergyman’s position. “ There she is along with him in the cab. What is he going to do with her after that? ’ Julian himself, if it had been put to him at the moment, could not have answered the question. Lady Janet’s anxiety was far from being relieved when Mercy had been restored to her senses and conducted to her own room. Mercy’s mind remained in a condition of unreasoning alarm, which it was impossible to remove. Over and over again she was told that the woman who had terrifie:; )jrr liad left the house, and 84 ’ ■ '':dlE MAGDALEK. would never be permitted to enter it more. Over and over again she was assured that the stranger's frantic assertions were regarded by everybody about her as unworthy a moment's serious attention. She persisted in doubting whether they were telling her the truth. A shocking distrust of her friends seemed to possess her. She shrank when Lady Janet approached the bedside. She shuddered when Lady Janet kissed her. She flatly refused to let Horace see her. She asked the strangest questions about Julian Gray, and shook her head suspiciously when they told her that he was absent from the house. At intervals she hid her face in the bedclothes and mur- mured to herself piteously, “Oh, what shall 1 do? What shall I do?" At other times her one petition was to be left alone. “ 1 want nobody in my room" — that washer sullen cry— “nobody in my room." The evening advanced and brought with it no change for the bet- ter. Lady Janet, by the advice of Horace, sent for her own medical adviser. The doctor shook his head. The symptoms, he said, in- dicated a serious shock to the nervous system. He wrote a sedative prescription; and he gave (with a happy choice of language) some sound and safe advice. It amounted briefly to this: " Take her away and try the seaside." Lady Janet's customary energy acted on the advice without a moment’s needless delay. She gave the necessary directions for packing the trunks overnight, and decided on leaving Mablethorpe House with Mercy the next morning. Shortly after tlie doctor had taken his departure a letter from Julian, addressed to Lady Janet, was delivered by private messenger. Be- ginning with the necessary apologies for the writer’s absence, the let- ter proceeded in these terms : “ Before I permitted my companion to see the lawyer, I felt the necessity of consulting him as to my present position toward her first. “ I told him — what 1 think it only right to repeat to you — that I do not feel justified in acting on my own opinion that her mind is deranged. In the case of this friendless woman I want medical authority, and, more even than that, I want some positive proof, to satisfy my conscience as well as to confirm my view. “ Finding me obstinate on this point, the lawyer undertook to consult a physician accustomed to the treatment of the insane, on my behalf. “ After sending a message and receivins the answer, he said, ‘ Bring the lady here — in half an hour; she shall tell her story to the <^toetor insleati of telling it to me.' The proposal rather staggered ^ .,.«Ked how it was possible to induce her to do that. He laughed and answered, ‘ I shall present the doctor as my senior part ner: my Senior partner will be tijc very man t<) advise her.' You THE isEW MAGDALEK. 85 know tliat I hate all deception, even where the end in view appears to justify it. On this occasion, however, there was no other alterna- tive than to let the lawyer take his own course, or to run the risk of a delay which might be followed by serious results. “ I waited in a room by myself (feeling very uneasy, I own) until the doctor joined me after the interview was over. His opinion is briefly, this: “ After careful examination of the unfortunate creature, bethinks that there are unmistakably symptoms of mental aberration. But how far the mischief has gone, and whether her case is or is not, sufficiently grave to render actual restraint necessary, he cannot pos- itively say, in our present state of ignorance as to facts. * Thus far,' he observed, ‘ we know nothing of that part of her delusion which relates to Mercy Merrick. The solution of the diffi- culty, in this case, is to be found there. I entirely agree with the lady that the inquiries of the consul at Mannheim are far from being conclusive. Furnish me with satisfactory evidence either that there is, or is not, such a person really in existence as JVIercy Merrick, and 1 will give you a positive opinion on the case when- ever you choose to ask for it. ' “ Those word have decided me on starting for the Continent and renewing the search for Mercy Merrick. My friend the lawyer wonders jocosely whether I am in my right senses. His advice is that I should apply to the nearest magistrate, and relieve you and myself of further trouble in that way. Perhaps you agree with him? My dear aunt (as you have often said), I do nothing like other people, i am interested in this case. I cannot abandon a forlorn woman who has been confided to me to the tender mercies of strangers, so long as there is an}'^ hope of my making discoveries which may be instrumental in restoring her to herself — perhaps, also, in restoring her to her friends, “ 1 start by the mail-train of to-night. My plan is to go first to Mannheim and consult with the consul and the hospital doctors; then to find my way to the German surgeon and to. question him; and that done, to make the last and hardest effort of all— the effort to trace the French ambulance and to penetrate the mystery of Mercy Merrick. “ Immediately on my return I will wait on you, and tell you what I have accomplished, or how I have failed. “ In the meanwhile, pray be under no alarm about the reappear- ance of this unhappy woman at your house. She is fully occupied in writing (at my suggestion) to her friends in Canada; and she is under the care of the landlady at her lodgings— an experienced and trustworth 3 ^ person, who has satisfied the doctor as well as myself of her fitness for the charge that she has undertaken. ‘‘ Pray mention this to Miss Roseberry (whenever you think it desirable), with the respectful expression of my sympathy, and of my best wishes for her speedy restoration to health. And once more forgive me for failing, under stress of necessity, to enjoy the hospitality of Mablethorpe House." Lady Janet closed Julian’s letter, feeling far from satisfied witn it. She sat f#r a while, pondering over what her nephew had written 86 THE NEW MAGDALEN. to Ler. One of two things,” thought the quick-witted old iadj, ” Either the lawyer is right, and Julian is a fit companion for the madwoman whom he has taken under his charge, or he has some second motive for this absurd journey of his which he has carefully abstained from mentioning in his letter. What can the motive be?” At intervals during the night that question recurred to her lady- ship again and again. The utmost exercise of her ingenuity failing to answer it, her one resource left was to wait patiently for Julian’s return, and, in her own favorite phrase, to '‘have it out of him” then. The next morning Lady Janet and her adopted daughter loft Mablethorpe House for Brighton; Horace (who had begged to be allowed to accompany them) being sentenced to remain in London by Mercy’s express desire. Why— -nobody could guess; and Mercy refused to say. CHAPTER XIIL ENTER JULIAN. A WEEK has passed. The scene opens again in the dining-room of Mablethorpe House. The hospitable table bears once more its burden of good things for lunch. But, on this occasion, Lady Janet sits alone. Her at- tention is divided between reading her newspaper and feeding her cat. The cat is a sleek and splendid creature. He carries an erect tail. He rolls luxuriously on the soft carpet. He approaches his mistress in a series of coquettish curves. He smells with dainty hesitation at the choicest morsels that can be offered to him. The musical monotony of his purring falls soothingly on her ladyship’s ear. IShe stops in the middle of a leading article and looks with a careworn face at the happy cat ” Upon my honor,” cries Lady Janet, thinking, in her in veterately ironical manner, of the cares that trouble her, "all things considered, Tom,. I wish I was You!” The cat starts— not at his mistress’s complimentary apostrophe, but at a knock at the door, which follows close upon it. Lady Janet says, carelessly enough, "Come in;” looks round listlessly to see who it is; and starts, like the cat, when the door opens and discloses —Julian Gray I " You — or your ghost?” she exclaims. She has noticed already that Julian is paler than usual, and that .here is something m his manner at once uneasy and subdued— highly uncharacteristic of him at other times. He takes a seat by her side, and kisses her h^nd. But for the first time in fiis THE HEW MAGDALEK. 8 ? experience of him — he refuses the good things on the luncheon- table, and he has nothing to say to the cat! That neglected animal takes refuge on Lady Janet’s lap. Lady Janet, with her eyes fixed expectantly on her nephew (determining to “ have it out of him ” at the first opportunity), waits to hear what he has to say for himself. Julian has no alternative but to break the silence, and tell the story as best he may. “ I got back from the Continent last night,” he began. ‘‘ And I come here, as I promised, to report myself on my return. Plow does your ladyship do? How is Miss Eoseberry?” Lady Janet laid an indicative finger on the lace pelerine which ornamented the upper part of her dress. “Here is the old lady, well,” she answered — and pointed next to the room above them. “ And there,” she added, “ is the young lady, ill. Is anything the matter with you, Julian?” “ Perhaps I am a little tired after my journey. Never mind me. Is Miss Roseberry still suffering from the shock?” “ What else stiould she be suffering from? I will nev^er forgive you, Julian, for bringing that crazy impostor into my house.” “ My dear aunt, when I was the innocent means of bringing her here I had no idea that such a person as Miss Roseberry was In ex- istence. Nobody laments what has happened more sincerely than Ido. Have you had medical advice?” “ I took her to the sea-side a week since by medical advice.” “ Has the change of air done her no good?” “ None whatever. If anything, the change of air has made her worse. Sometimes she sits for hours together, as pale as death, with- out looking at anything, and without uttering a word. Sometimes she brightens up, and seems as if she was eager to say something; and then. Heaven only knows why, checks herself suddenly as if she was afraid to speak. I could support that. But what cuts me to the heart, Julian, is, that she does not appear to trust me and to love me as she did She seems to be doubtful of me; she seems'^to be frightened of me. If I did not know that it was simply impossible that such a thing could be, I should really think she suspected me of believing what that wretch said of her. In one word (and between ourselves), I begin to fear she will never get over the fright which caused that fainting-fit. There is serious mischief somewhere; and try as I may to discover it, it is a mischief beyond my finding.” “ Can the doctor do nothing?” Lady Janet’s bright black eyes answered before she replied in words, with a look of supreme contempt. “ The doctor I” she re* THE KEW MAGDALEK. peated, disdainfully. 1 brought Grace back last night in sheer despair, and 1 sent for the doctor this morning. He is at the head of his profession; he is said to be making ten thousand a year; and he kno prs no more about it than I do. I am quite serious. The great physician has just gone away with two guineas in his pocket. One guinea for advising me to keep her quiet; another guinea for telling me to trust to time. Do you wonder how he gets on at this rate? My dear boy, they all get on the same way. The medical profession thrives on two incurable diseases in these modern days-— a He-disease and a She- disease. She-disease — nervous depression; He- disease— suppressed gout. Remedies, one guinea if you go to the doctor; two guineas if the doctor goes io^you, 1 might have bought a new bonnet,” cried her ladyship, indignantly, ” with the money I have given that man! Let us cliango the subject. I lose my temper when I think of it. Besides, I want to know something. AV^hy did you go abroad?” At that plain question Julian looked unaffectedly surprised. '' I wrote to explain,” he^aid. ‘‘ Have you not received my letter?” “ Oh, I got your letter. It was long enough, in all conscience-, and, long as it was, it didn’t tell me the one thing I wanted to know.” ” What is the ' one thing?’ ” Lady Janet’s reply pointed— not too palpably at first — at that second motive for Julian’s journey which she had suspected Julian of concealing from her. ”1 want !o know,” she said, why you troubled yourself to make inquiries on the Continent in person? You know where my old courier is to be found. You have yourself pronounced him to be the most intelligent and trustworthy of men. Answer me honestly, could you not have sent him in your place?” ” I might have sent him,” Julian admitted, a little reluctantlj^ '' You might have sent the courier — and you were under an eu^ gagement to stay here as my guest. Answer me honestly once more. Why did you go away?” Julian hesitated. Lady Janet paused for his reply, with the air of a woman who was prepared to wait (if necessary) for the rest of the afternoon. ” I had a reason of my own for going,” Julian said at last. ''Yes?” rejoined Lady Janet, prepared to wait (if necessar}^) till the next morning. " A reason,” Julian resumed, “which I would rather not men lion/’ • THE NEW MAGDALEN. 89 '* Oh!” eakl Lady Janet. “ Another mystery — eh? And another woman at the bottom of it, no doubt. Thank you — that will do— -I am sufficiently answered. No wonder, as a clergyman, that you look a little confused. There is perhaps a certain grace, under the circumstances, in looking confused. We will change the subject again. You stay here, of course, now you have come back?” Once more the famous pulpit orator seemed to find himself in the inconceivable predicament of not knowing what to say. Once more Lady Janet looked resigned to wait (if necessary) until the middle of next week. Julian took refuge in an answer worthy of the most common- place man on the face of the civilized earth. ” I beg your ladyship to accept my thanks and my excuses,” he said. Lady Janet’s many-ringed fingers mechanically stroking the cat in her lap, began to stroke him the wrong way. Lady Janet's inex- haustible patience showed signs of failing her at last. “ Mighty civil, I am sure,” she said. “ Make it complete. Say, Mr. Julian Gray presents his compliments to Lady Janet Hoy, and regrets that a previous engagement — Julian!” exclaimed the old lady, suddenly pushing the cat off her lap, and flinging her last pre- tense of good temper to the winds — Julian, I am not to be trifled with! There is but one explanation of your conduct — you are evi- dently avoiding my house. Is there somebody you dislike in it? it me?” Julian intimated by a gesture that his aunt’s last question was absurd. (The much-injured cat elevated his back, waved his tail slowly, walked to the fire-place, and honored the rug by taking a seat on it.) Lady Janet persisted. ‘‘ Is it Grace Roseberry ?” she asked next. Even Julian’s patience began to show signs of yielding. His manner assumed a sudden decision, his voice rose a tone louder. ” You insist on knowing?” he said. It is Miss Roseberry.” “You don’t like her?” cried Lady Janet, with a sudden burst of angry surprise. Julian broke out, on his side; “If I see any more of her,” he answered, the rare color mounting in his cheeks, “ I shall be the unhappiest man living. If I see any more of her, I shall be false to my old friend, who is to marry her. Keep us apart, li you have any regard for my peace of mind, keep us apart.” Unutterable amazement expressed itself in his aunt’s lifted hands. Ungovernable curiosity utt^.,rcd itself in his aunt’s next words 90 THE KEVV MAGHALEJT. *’ You don’t moan to tell me you are in love with Grace? ’ Julian sprang restlessly to his feet, and disturbed the cat at the fireplace. (The cat left the room.) “ 1 don’t know what to tell you,” he said; “1 can’t realize it to myself. No other woman has ever roused the feeling in me which this woman seems to have called to life in an instant. In the hope of forgetting her I broke my engage- ment here; I purposely seized the opportunity of making those inquiries abroad. Quite useless. I think of her morning, noon, and night. I see her and hear her, at this moment, as plainly as 1 see and hear you. She has made herself a part of myself. 1 don’t understand my life without her. My power of will seems to be gone. 1 said to myself this morning, ‘ I will write to my aunt; I won’t go back to Mablethorpe House!’ Here I am in Mablethorpe House, with a mean subterfuge to Justify me to my own conscience. ‘I owe it to my aunt to call on my aunt.’ That is what I said to myself on the way here; and 1 was secretly hoping every step of the way that she would come into the room when I got here. I am hoping it now. And she is engaged to Horace Holmcroft — to my oldest friend, to my best friend! Am I an infer- nal rascal? or am I a weak fool? God knows — I don't. Keep my secret, aunt. I am heartily ashamed of myself; I used to think 1 was made of better stuff than this. Don’t sa,y a word to Horace. I must, and will, conquer it. Let me go.” He snatched up his hat. Lady Janet, rising with the activity of a young woman, pursued him across the room, and stopped him at the door. ” No,” answered the resolute old lady, ” I won’t let you go. Come back with me.” As she said those words, she noticed with a certain fond pride the brilliant color mounting in his cheeks — the flashing brightness which lent an added luster to his eyes. He had never, to her mind, looked so handsome before. She took his arm, and led him to the chairs which they had just left. It was shocking, it was wrong (she mentally admitted), to look on Mercy, under the circum- stances, with any other eye than the eye of a brother or a friend. In a clergyman (perhaps) doubly shocking, doubly wrong. But, with all her respect for the vested interests of Horace, Lady Janet could not blame Julian. Worse still, she was privately conscious that he had, somehow or other, risen, rather than fallen, in her estimation within the last minute or two. Who could deny that her adopted daughter was a charming creature? Who could wonder if a man of refined tastes admired her? Upon the wfliole, her lady-ship hu- manely dccihed that her nephew was rather to be pitied than THE KEW MAGDALEK. 91 blamed. What daughter of Eve (no matter whether she was seven teen or seventy) could have honestly arrived at any other conclu> sion? Do what a man may — let him commit anything he likes, from an error to a crime— so long as there is a woman at the bottom of it, there is an inexhaustible fund of pardon for him in ever}^ other woman’s heart. “ Sit down,” said Lady Janet, smiling in spite of herself; “ and don’t talk in that horrible way again. A man, Julian — especially a famous man like you— ought to know how to control himself.” Julian burst out laughing bitterly. ‘‘ Send up stairs for my selL control,” he said. “It’s In her possession — not in mine. Good- morning, aunt.” He rose from his chair. Lady Janet instantly pushed him back into it. “ 1 insist on your staying here,” she said, “ if it is only for a few minutes longer. 1 have something to say to you.” “ Does it refer to MissRoseberry?” “ It refers to the hateful woman who frightened Miss Roseberry. Kow are you satisfied?” Julian bowed, and settled himself in his chair. “I don’t much like to acknowledge it,” his aunt went on. “ But 1 want you to understand that 1 have something really serious to speak about, for once in away. Julian! that wretch not only frightens Grace— she actually frightens me.” “ Frightens you? She is quite harmless, poor thing!” “Poor thing!” repeated Lady Janet. “Did you say * poor thing?’ ” “Yes.” “ Is it possible that you pity her?” “ From the bottom of my heart.” The old lady’s temper gave way again at that reply. “ 1 hate a man who can’t hate anybody!” she burst out. “ If you had been an ancient Roman, Julian, I believe you would have pitied Nero himself.” Julian cordially agreed with her. “ I believe I should,” he said, quietly. “All sinners, my dear aunt, are more or less miserable sinners. Nero must have been one of the wretchedest of mankind.” “ Wretched!” exclaimed Lady Janet. “ Nero wretched! A man who committed robbery, arson, and murder to his own violin ac- companiment — only wretched! What next, I wonder? Whe? modern philanthropy begins to apologize for Nero, modern philan IhBopy has arrived at a pretty pass indeed! We shall hear next that 92 THE HEW MAGDALEH. Bloody Queen Mary was as playful as a kitten; and if poor dear Henry the Eighth carried anything to an extreme, it was the prac- tice of the domestic virtues. Ah, how 1 hate cant! What were we talking about just now? You wander from the subject, Julian; 3^ou are what I call bird-witted. I protest I forget what 1 wanted to say to you. No, I won’t be reminded of it. I may be an old woman, but I am not in my dotage yet! Why do you sit there staring? Have you nothing to say for yourself? Of all the people in the world, have you lost the use of your tongue?’* Julian’s excellent temper and accurate knowledge of his aunt’s character exactly fitted him to calm the rising storm. He contrived to lead Lady Janet insensibly back to the lost subject by dexterous reference to a narrative which he had thus far left untold — the narrative of his adventures on the Continent. “ 1 have a great deal to say, aunt,” he replied. ” I have not yet told you of mf discov- eries abroad.” Lady Janet instantly took the bait. ‘‘1 knew there was something forgotten,” she said. “ "You have been all this time in the house, and you have told me nothing. Be- gin directly. ” Patient Julian began. CHAPTER XI Y. COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. “ I WENT first to Mannheim, Lawly Janet, as 1 told you 1 should in my letter, and 1 heard all that the consul and the hospital doc- tors could tell me. No new fact of the slightest importance turned up. I got my directions for finding the German surgeon, and I set forth to try what I could make next of the man who had performed the operation. On the question of his patient’s identity he had (as a perfect stranger to her) nothing to tell me. On the question of her mental condition, however, he made a very important statement. He owned to me that he had operated on another person injured by a shell- wound on the head at the battle of Solferino, and that the patient (recovering also in this case) recovered— mad. That is a remarkable admission; don’t you think so?” Lady Janet’s temper had hardly been allowed time enough to subside to its customary level. “Very remarkable, I dare say,” she answered, to people who feel any doubt of this pitiable lady of yours being mad. 1 feel no doubt— and thus far, I find your ac- count of yourself, Julian, tiresome in the extreme. Get on to the end. Did you lay your hand on Mercy Merrick?’' THE KEW MAGDALEK. 93 “No.’’ “ Did you bear anything of her?” “Nothing. Difficulties beset me on every side. The French ambulance had shared in the disasters of France — it was broken up. The wounded Frenchmen were prisoners somewhere in Germany, nobod}^ knew where. The French surgeon had been killed in action. His assistants were scattered — most likely in hiding. 1 began to despair of making any discovery, when accident threw in my way two Prussian soldiers who had been in the French cottage. They confirmed what the German surgeon told the consul, and what Horace himself told me, namely, that no nurse in a black dress was to be seen in the place. If there had been such a person, she would certainly (the Prussians informed me) have been found in attendance on the injured Frenchmen. The cross of the Geneva Convention would have been amply sufficient to protect her; no woman v;eanng that badge of honor would have disgraced herself by abandoning the wounded men before the Germans entered the place.’’ “ In short,” interrupted Lady Janet, “ there is no such person as Mercy Merrick.” “ I can draw no other conclusion,” said Julian, “ unless the En- glish doctor’s idea is the right one. After hearing what T have just told you, be thinks the woman herself is Mercy Merrick.” Lady Janet held up her hand as a sign that she had an objection to make here. “You and the doctor seem to have settled everything to your en- tire satisfaction on both sides,” she said. “ But there is one diffi- culty that you have neither of you accounted for yet.” “ What is it, aunt?” “ You talk gdbly enough, Julian, about this woman’s mad asser- tion that Grace is the missing nurse, and that she is Grace. But you have not explained yet how the idea first got into her head; and, more than that, how it is that she is acquainted with my name and address, and perfectly familiar with Grace’s papers and Grace’s allairs. These things are a puzzle to a person of my average intelli- gence. Can your clever friend, the doctor, account for them?” “ Shall I tell you what he said when I saw him this morning?” “ Will it take long?” “ It will take about. a minute.” “ You agreeably surprise me. Go on.” “ You want to know how she gained her knowledge of your name and of Miss Koseberry’s affairs,” Julian resumed. “ The doctor says in one of two ways. Either Miss Boseberry must have spoken 94 CHE NEW MAGDALEN, of you and of her own affairs while she and the stranger were to- gether in the French cottage, or the stranger must have obtained access privately to Miss Koseberry’s papers. Do you agree so far?” Lady Janet began to feel interested for the first time. Perfectly,” she said. “ I have no doubt Grace rashly talked of matters which an older and wiser person would have kept to her- self.” Very good. Do you also agree that the last idea in the woman’s mind when she was struck by the shell might have been (quite probably) the idea of Miss Roseberry’s identity and Miss Roseberry’s affairs? You think it likely enough ? Well, what happens after that? The wounded woman is brought to life by an operation, and she becomes delirious in the hospital at Mannheim. During her delirium the idea of Miss Roseberry's identity ferments in her brain, and assumes its present perverted form. In that form it still re- mains. As a necessary consequence, she persists in reversing the t wo identities. She says she is Miss Roseberry, and declares Miss Roseberry to be Mercy Merrick. There is the doctor’s explanation. What do you think of it?” Very ingenious, I dare say. The doctor doesn’t quite satisfy me, however, for all that. 1 think — ’' What Lady Janet thought was not destined to be expressed. She surldenly checked herself, and held up her hand for the second time. “ Another objection?’' inquired Julian. “ Hold your tongue!” cried the old lady. “ If you say a word more, I shall lose it again.” Lose what, aunt?” ‘‘What I wanted to say to you ages ago. I have got it back again— it begins with a question. (No more of the doctor — I have had enough of him!) Where is fi\\Q—your pitiable lady, my crazy wretch. Where is she now? Still in London?” “Yes.” “ And still at large?” “ Still with the landlady, at her lodgings.” “Very well. Now answer me this: What is to prevent her from making another attempt to force her way (or steal her way) into my house? How am I to protect Grace, how am I to protect myself, if she comes here again?” “ Is that really what you wished to speak to me about?” “ That, and nothing else.” They were both too deeply interested in the subject of their con* THE NEW MAGDALEN. 95 versation to look toward the conservatory, and to notice the appear ance at that moment of a distant gentleman among the plants and liowers, who had made his way in from the garden outside. Ad- vancing noiselessly on the soft Indian matting, the gentleman ere long revealed himself under the form and features of Horace Holm- croft. Before entering the dining-room he paused, fixing his ej'es inquisitively on the back of Lady Janet’s visitor — the back being all that‘he could see in the position he then occupied. After a pause of an instant, the visitor spoke, and further uncertainly was at once at an end. Horace, nevertheless, made no movement to enter the room. He had his own jealou^ distrust of what Julian might be tempted to say at a private interview with his aunt; and he waited a little longer on the chance that his doubts might be verified. “ Neither you nor Miss Roseberry need any protection from the poor deluded creature,” Julian went on. ‘'I have gained great infiuence over her— and I have satisfied her that it is useless to pre- sent herself here again.” I beg your pardon,” interposed Horace, speaking from the con- servatory door. ‘‘You have done nothing of the sort.” (He had heard enough to satisfy him that the talk was not taking the direction which his suspicions had anticipated. And, as an ad- ditional incentive to show himself a happy chance had now offered him the opportunity of putting Julian in the wrong.) ” Good Heavens, Horace 1” exclaimed Lady Janet. “ Where do you come from? And what do you mean?” “ I heard at the lodge that your ladyship and Grace had returned last night. And I came in at once, without troubling the servants, by the shortest way.” He turned to Julian next. ‘‘The woman you were speaking of just now,” he proceeded, “has been here again already — in Lady Janet’s absence.” Lady Janet immediately looked at her nephew. Julian reassured her by a gesture. “ Impossible,” he said. ” There must be some mistake.” “ There is no mistake,” Horace rejoined. ‘‘lam repeating what I have just heard from the lodge- keeper himself. He hesitated to mention it to Lady Janet for fear of alarming her. Only three days since this person had the audacity to ask him for her ladyship’s ad- dress at the sea-side. Of course he refused to give it.” “You hear that, Julian?” said Lady Janet. No signs of anger or mortification escaped Julian. The expres- sion in his face at that moment was an expression of sincere dis- tress. “ Pray don’t alarm yourself,” he said to his aunt, in his quietest 96 THE HEW MAGDALEH. tones. “ If she attempts to annoy you or Miss Roseberry again. I have it in my power to stop her instantly.’’ '' How?” asked Lady Jan^t. ” How, indeed!” echoed Horace. If we give her in charge to the police, we shall become the subject of a public scandal.” '*1 have managed to avoid all danger of scandal,” Julian an- swered; the expression of distress in his face becoming more and more marked wliile he spoke. Before I called here to-day I had a private consultation with the magistrate of the district, and I have made certain arrangements at the police station close by. On receipt of my card, an experienced man, in plain clothes, will present him- self at any address that I indicate, and will take her quietly away. The magistrate will hear the charge in his private room, and will ex- amine the evidence which I can produce, showing that she is not accountable for her actions. The proper medical officer will report officially on the case, and the law will place her under the necessary restraint.” Lady Janet and Horace looked at each other in amazement. Julian was, in their opinion, the last man on earth to take the course — at once sensible and severe— which Julian had actually adopted. Lady Janet insisted on an explanation. ” "Why do I hear of this now for the first time?” she asked. ” Why did you not tell me you had taken these precautions be- fore?” Julian answered frankly and sadly. ” Because 1 hoped, aunt, that there would be no necessity for pro- ceeding to extremities. You now force me to acknowldge that the lawyer and the doctor (both of whom I have seen this morning) think, as you do, that she is not to be trusted. It was at their suggestion entirely that I went to the magistrate. They put it to me whether the result of my inquiries abroad — unsatisfactory as it may have been in other respects — did not strengthen the conclusion that the poor woman’s mind is deranged. I felt compelled in com- mon honesty to admit it was so. Having owned this, I was bound to take such precautions as the lawyer and the doctor thought necessary. I have done my duty— sorely against my own will. It is weak of me, I dare say; but I can not bear the thought of treating this affiicted creature harsh ly.‘ Her delusion is so hopeless! her situ^jjtion is suc^ a pitiable one!” His voice fal- tered. He turned away abruptly and took up his hat. Lady Janet followed him, and spoke to him at the door. Horace smiled satir- ically, and went to warm himself at the fire. THE HEW MAGDALEH. 91 Are you going away, Julian?” “ I am only going to the lodge-keeper. I want to give him a word of warning in case of his seeing her again.” '‘You will come back here?” (Lady Janet lowered her voice to a whisper.) There is really a reason, Julian, for your not leaving the house now.” “ I promise not to go away, aunt, until I have provided for your security. If you, or your adopted daughter, are alarmed by another intrusion, I give you my word of honor my card shall go to the police station, however painfully 1 may feel it myself.” (He, too, lowered his voice at the next words.) " In the mean time, remember what I confessed to you while we were alone. For my sake, let me see as little of Miss lioseberry as possible. Shall I find you in this room when I come back?” "Yes.” " Alone?” He laid a strong emphasis of look as well as of tone, on that one word. Lady Janet understood what the emphasis meant. " Are you really,” she whispered, " as much in love with Grace as that?” Julian laid one hand on his aunt’s arm, and pointed with the other to Horace— standing with his back to them, warming his feet on the fender. 'vWell?” said Lady Janet. " Well,” said Julian, with a smile on his lip and a tear in his eye, •' 1 never envied any man as I envy him!'' 'With those words he left the room. CHAPTER XV. A woman’s REMORSE. Having warmed his feet to his own entire satisfaction, Horace turned round from the fire-place and discovered that he and Lady Janet were alone. " Can 1 see Grace?” he asked. The easy tone in which he put the question— a tone, as it were, of proprietorship in " Grace ” — jarred on Lady Janet at the moment. For the first time in her life she found herself comparing Horace with Julian — to Horace’s disadvantage. He 'was rich; he was a gentleman of ancient lineage ; he bore an unblemished character. But who had the strong brain? who had the great heart? Which was the Man of the two? 4 98 THE KEW MAGDALEK. ^‘Nobody can see her/’ answered Lady Janet, even you!*' The tone of the reply w^as sharp, with a dash of irony in it. But where is the modern young man, possessed of health and an inde- pendent income, who is capable of understanding that irony can be presumptuous enough to address itself to him I Horace (with per- fect politeness) declined to consider himself answered. “ Does your ladyship mean that Miss' Boseberry is in bed?’* he asked. “ I mean that Miss Boseberry is in her room. I mean that 1 have twice tried to persuade Miss Boseberry to dress and come down stairs, and tried in vain. I mean that what Miss Boseberry refuses to do for Me, she is not likely to do for You — " How many more meanings of her own Lady Janet might have gone on enumer- ating, it is not easy to calculate. At her third sentence a sound in the library caught her ear through the incompletely closed door, and suspended the next words on her lips. Horace heard it also. It was the rustling sound (traveling nearer and nearer over the library carpet) of a silken dress. (In the interval while a coming event re- mains in a state of uncertainty, what is the inevitable tendency of every Englishman under thirty to do? His inevitable tendency is to ask somebody to bet on the event. He can no more resist it than he can resist lifting his stick or his umbrella, in the absence of a gun, and pretending to shoot if a bird flies by him, while he is out for a walk.) ‘‘ What will your ladyship bet that this is not Grace?** cried Hor- ace. Her lady ship, to ok no notice of the proposal; her attention re- mained fixed on the library door. The rustling sound stopped for a moment. The door was softly pushed open. The false Grace Boseberry entered the room. Horace advanced to meet her, opened his lips to speak, and stopped— struck dumb by the change in his affianced wife since he had seen her last. Some terrible oppres- sion seemed to have crushed her. It was as if she had actually shrunk in height as well as substance. She walked more slowly than usual ; she spoke more rarely than usual, and in a lower tone. To those who had seen her before the fatal visit of the stranger from Mannheim, it was the wreck of the woman that now appeared, in- stead of the woman herself. And yet there was the old charm still surviving through it all ; the grandeur of the head and eyes, the delicate symmetry of the features, the unsought grace of every THE HEW MAGDALEK. 99 movement— in a word, the unconquerable beauty which suffering eannot destroy, and which time itself is powerless to wear out. Lady Janet advanced, and took her with hearty kindness by both hands. My dear child, welcome among us again! You hare come down stairs to please me?” She bent her head in silent acknowledgment that it was so. Lady Janet pointed to Horace; “ Here is somebody who has been longing to see you, Grace.” She never looked up; she stood submissive, her eyes fixed on a little basket of colored wools which hung on her arm. “Thank you. Lady Janet,” she said, faintly. “ Thank you, Horace.” Horace placed her arm in his and led her to the sofa. She shiv- ered as she took her seat, and looked round her. It was the first time she had seen the dining-room since the day when she had found herself face to face with the dead-alive. “ Why do you come here, my love?” asked Lady Janet. “ The drawing-room would have been a warmer and pleasanter place for you.” “ I saw a carriage at the front-door. 1 was afraid of meeting with visitors in the drawing-room.” As she made that reply, the servant came in, and announced the visitors’ names. Lady Janet sighed wearily. “ 1 must go and get rid of them,” she' said, resigning herself to circumstances. “ What will you do, Grace?” “ I will stay here, if you please.” “ I will keep her company,” added Horace. Lady Janet hesitated. She had promised to see her nephew in the dining-room on his return to the house— and, to see him alone. Would there be time enough to get rid of the visitors and to estab- lish her adopted daughter in the empty drawing-room before Julian appeared? It was ten minutes’ walk to the lodge, and he had to make the gatekeeper understand his instructions. Lady Janet de- cided that she had time enough at her disposal. She nodded kindly to Mercy, and left her alone with her lover. Horace seated himself in the vacant place on the sofa. So far as it was in his nature to devote himseif to any one he was devoted to Mercy. “ 1 am grieved to see how you have suffered,” he said, with honest distress in his face as he looked at her. “ Try to for- get what has happened.” “ I am trying to forget. Do you think of it much?” “ My darling, it is too contemptible to be thought of ” 100 THE HEW MAGDALEH. She placed her work basket on her lap. Her wasted fingers began absently sorting the wools inside. “ Have you seen Mr. Julian Gray?” she said, suddenly. “Yes.” “What does he say about it?” She looked at Horace, for the first time steadily scrutinizing his face. Horace took refuge in prevari- cation. “ I really haven’t asked for Julian’s opinion,” he said. She looked down again, with a sigh, at the basket on her lap — considered a little - and tried him once more. “ Why has Mr. Julian Gray not been here for a whole week?” she went on. “ The servants say he has been abroad. Is that true?” It was useless to deny it. Horace admitted that the serv- ants were right. Her fingers suddenly stopped at their restless work among the wools; her breath quickened perceptibly. What had Julian Gray been doing abroad? Had he been making in- quiries? Did he alone, of all the people who saw that terrible meet- ing, suspect her? Yes! His was the finer intelligence; his was a clergyman’s (a London clergyman’s) experience of frauds and de- ceptions, and of the women who were guilty of them. Not a doubt of it now! Julian suspected her. “ When does he come back?” she asked, in tones so low that Horace could barely hear her. “ He has come back already. He returned last night.” A faint shade of color stole slowly over the pallor of her face. She suddenly put her basket away, and clasped her hands together to quiet the trembling of them, before she asked her next question. “ Where is ” she paused to steady her voice. “ Where is the person,” she resumed, “ who came here and frightened me?” Horace hastened to reassure her. “ The person will not come again,” he said. “ Don’t talk of her! Don’t think of her!” She shook her head. “ There is something I want to know,” she persisted. “ How did Mr. Julian Gray become acquainted with her?” This was easily answered. Horace mentioned the consul at Mann- heim, and the letter of introduction. She listened eagerly, and said her next words in a louder, firmer tone. “ She was quite a stranger, then, to Mr. Julian Gray — before that?” “ Quite a stranger,” Horace replied. “No more questions — not another word about her, Grace! I forbid the subject. Come, my own love!” he said, taking her hand and bending over her tenderly, THE NEW MAGDALEN. ' 101 "rally your spirits! We a.ie young— we love each other — now is our time to be happy Her hand turned suddenly cold, and trembled in his. Her head sank with a helpless weariness on her breast. Horace rose in alarm. “You are cold— you are faint,” he said. “Let me get you a glass of wine! — let me mend the fire!” The decanters were still on the luncheon-table. Horace insisted on her drinking some port wine. She barely took half the contents of the wine-glass. Even that little told on her sensitive organiza- tion; it roused her sinking energies of body and mind. After watching her anifiously, without attracting her notice, Horace left her again to attend to the fli'e at the other end of the room. Her eyes followed him slowly with a hard and tearless despair. “ Kally your spirits, ’’she repeated to herself in a whisper. “My spirits! O God!” She looked round her at the luxury and beauty of the room, as those look who take their leave of familiar scenes. The moment after, her eyes sank, and rested on the rich dress that she wore— a gift from Lady Janet. She thought of the past; she thought of the future. Was the time near when she would be back again in the Refuge, or back again in the streets?— she who had been Lady Janet’s adopted daughter, and Horace Holmcroft’s betrothed wife! A sudden frenzy of recklessness seized on her as she thouirht of the coming end. Horace was right! Why not rally her spirits? Why not make the most of her time? The last hours of her life in that house were at hand. Why not enjoy her stolen position while she could? “ Adventuress!” whispered the imtcking spirit within her, “ be true to your character. Aw^ay with remorse! Remorse is the luxury of an honest woman.” She caught up her basket of wools, inspired by a new idea. “ Ring the bell!” she cried out to Horace at the fire-place. He looked round in wonder. The sound of her voice was so com- pletely altered that he almost fancied there must have been another woman in the room. “ Ring the bell!” she repeated. “ I have left my work up stairs. If you want me to be in good spirits, 1 must have my work.” Still looking at her, Horace put his hand mechanically to the bell and rang. One of the men-eervants came in. “ Go up stairs and ask my maid for my work,” she said, sharply. Even the man was taken by surprise; it was her habit to speak to the servants with a gentleness and consideration which had long since won all theiy hearts. “Do you hear me?” she asked impa- 102 THE KEW MAGDALEK. tiently. The servant bowed, and went out on his errand. She turned to Horace with flashing eyes and fevered cheeks. “ What a comfort it is,'' she said, “ to belong to the upper classes) A poor woman has no maid to dress her, and no footman to send up stairs. Is life worth having, Horace, on less than five thousand a year?'' The servant returned with a strip of embroidery. She took it with an insolent grace, and told him to bring her a footstool. The man obeyed. She tossed the embroidery away from her on the sofa. '‘On second thoughts, 1 don’t care about my work,” she said. “ Take it up stairs again.” The perfectly trained servant, marvel- ing quietly, obeyed once more. Horace, in silent astonishment, ad- vanced to the sofa to observe her more nearly. ” How grave you look!” she exclaimed, with an air of flippant unconcern. “You don’t approve of my sitting idle, perhaps? Anything to please you! /haven’t got to go up and down stairs. Ring the bell again.” “ My dear Grace,” Horace remonstrated, gravely, “ you are quite mistaken. I never even thought of your work.” “Never mind; it’s inconsistent to send for my work, and then send it away again. Ring the bell. ” Horace looked at her without moving. “ Grace!” he said, “ what has come to you?” “ How should I know?” she retorted, carelessly. “ Didn’t you tell me to rally my spirits? Will you ring the bell, or must I?” Horace submitted. He frowned as he walked back to the bell. He was one of the many people who instinctively resent anything that is new to them. This strange outbreak was quite new to him. For the first time in his life he felt sympathy for a servant, when the much-enduring man appeared once more. “ Bring my work back; I have changed my mind.” With that brief explanation she reclined luxuriously on the soft sofa-cushions, swinging one of her balls of wool to and fro above her head, and looking at it lazily as she lay back. “ 1 have a remark to make, Horace,” she went on, when the door had closed on her messenger. “ It is only people in our rank of life who get good servants. Did you notice? Nothing upsets that man’s temper. A servant in a poor familj" would have been impudent; a maid of all-work would have wondered when 1 was going to know my own mind.” The man returned with the embroidery. This time she received him graciously; she dismissed him with her thanks. “ Have you seen your mother lately, Horace?” she asked, suddenly sitting up and busying herself with her work. THE KEW MAGHALEK. 103 ** I saw her yesterday,’’ Horace answered. “ She understands, I hope, that I am not well enough to call on her? She is not offended with me?” Horace recovrerecl his serenity. The deference to his mother im- plied in Mercy’s questions gently flattered his self-esteem. He re- sumed his place on the sofa. ” Offended with you!” he answered, smiling. My dear Grace, she sends you her love. And more than that, she has a wedding- present for you.” Mercy became absorbed in her work; she stooped close over the embroidery — so close that Horace could not see her face. “ Do you know what the present is?” she asked, in lowered tones, speaking absently. “ No. 1 only know it is waiting for you. Shall I go and get it to-day?” She neither accepted nor refused the proposal — she went on with her work more industriously than ever. There is plenty of time,” Horace persisted. ‘‘lean go before dinner.” Still she took no notice: still she never looked up. “ Your mother is very kind to me,” she said, abruptly. “ I was afraid, at one time, that she would think me hardly good enough to be your wife.’' Horace laughed indulgently; his self-esteem was more gently flattered than ever. ‘‘ Absurd!” he exclaimed. ” My darling, you are connected with Lady Janet Koy. Your family is almost as good as ours.” “ Almost?” she repeated. “ Only almost?” The momentary levity of expression vanished from Horace’s face. The family question was far too serious a question to be lightly treated. A becoming shaclow of solemnity stole over his manner. He looked as if it was Sunday, and he was just stepping into church. “ In OUR family,” he s^id, “ we trace back — by my father, to the Saxons; by my mother, to the Normans. Lady Janet’s family is an old family — on her side only.” Mercy dropped her embroidery, and looked Horace full in the face. She, too, attached no common importance to what she had next to say. ‘‘If I had not been connected with Lady Janet,” she began^. ” would you ever thought of marrying me?” ‘‘My love! what is the use of asking? You are connected with Lady Janet.” She refused to let him escape answering her in that way. “ Suppose I J3ad not been connected with Lady Janet,” she per- 104 THE HEW MAGDALEH. sisted. “ Suppose I had only been a good girl, with nothing but my own merits to speak for me. What would your mother have said then?” Horace still parried the question —only to find the point of it pressed home on him once more. ‘‘ Why do you ask?” he said. “ I ask to be answered,” she rejoined. ‘‘ Would your mother have liked you to marry a poor girl of no family — with nothing but her own virtues to speak for her?” Horace was fairly pressed back to the wall. ‘‘If you must know, ” he replied, “ my mother would have refused to sanction such a marriage as that. ” “Ho matter how good the girl might have been?” There was something defiant — almost threatening— in her tone. Horace was annoyed — and he showed it when he spoke. ” My mother would have respected the girl, without ceasing to respect herself,” he said. ” My mother would have remembered wbat was due to the family name.” ” And she would have said. No?” “ She would have said. No.” “Ah!” There was an undertone of angry contempt in the ex- clamation which made Horace start. “ What is the matter?” he asked. “Nothing,” she answered, and took up her embroidery again. There he sat at her side, anxiously looking at her— his hope in the future centered in his marriage! In a week more, if she chose, she might enter that ancient family, of which he had spoken so proudly, as his wife. “ Oh!” she thought, “if 1 didn’t love him! if I had only his merciless mother to think of!” Uneasily conscious of some estrangement between them, Horace spoke again. “Surely I have not offended you?” he said. She turned toward him once more. The work dropped unheeded on her lap. Her grand eyes softened into tenderness. A smile trembled sadly on her delicate lips. She laid one hand caressingly on his shoulder. All the beauty of her voice lent its charm to the next words that she said to him. The w^oman’s heart hungered in its misery for the comfort that could only come from his lips. “ You would have loved me, Horace — without stopping to think of the family name?” The family name again! How strangely she persisted in coming back to thatl Horace looked at her without answering, trying vainly wO fathom what was passing in her mind. She took his hand, and THE iTEW MAGDALEH. 105 wrun/ 3 c it hard — as if she would wring the answer out of him in that way. Tou would have loved me?” she repeated. The double spell of her voice and her touch was on him. He aii^ swered, warmly, ‘"Under any circurnstances! under any name!” She put one arm round his neck, and fixed her eyes on his. ” Is that true?” she asked. ” True as the heaven above us!” She drank in those few commonplace words with a greedy delight. She forced him to repeat them in a new form. “ No matter who I might have been? For myself alone?” * “ For yourself alone. ” She threw both arms round him, and laid her head passionately on his breast. ” I love you! I love you!! I love you!!!” Her voice rose with hysterical vehemence at' each repetition of the words — then suddenly sank to a low hoarse cry of rasce and despair. The sense of her true position toward him revealed itself in all its horror as the confession of her love escaped her lips. Her arms dropped from him; she flung herself back on the sofa-cushions, hiding her face in her hands. “ Oh, leave me!” she moaned, faintly. ” Go! go!” Horace tried to wind his arm round her, and raise her. She started to her feet, and waved him back from her with a wild action of her hands, as if she was frightened of him. “ The wedding pres ent!” she cried, seizing the first pretext that occurred to her. “ You offered to bring me your mother’s present. I am dying to see what it is. Go and get it!” Horace tried to compose her. He might as well have tried to compose the winds and the sea. “Go!” she repeated, pressing one clinched hand on her bosom. “ I am not well. Talking excites me— 1 am hysterical; I shall be better alone. Get me the present. Go!” “ Shall 1 send Lady Janet? Shall I ring for your maid?” “ Send for nobody! ring for nobody! If you love me — leave me here by myself! leave me instantly!” “ I shall see you when I come back?” “ Yes! yes!” There was no alternative but to obey her. Unwillingly and fore- bodingly, Horace left the room. She drew a deep breath of relief, and dropped into the nearest chair. If Horace had stayed a moment longer — she felt it, she knew it- her head would have given way; she would have burst out before him with the terrible truth. “ Oh!” she thought, pressing her cold hands on her burning eyes^ “ if I could only cry, now there is nobody to see me!” The room was empty : she had every reason for concluding that 1:HE new MAGDALEN. 106 she was alone. And yet at that very naoment there were ears that listened— there were eyes waiting to see her. Little hy little the door behind her which faced the library and led into the billiard- room was opened noiselessly from without, by an inch at a time. As the opening was enlarged a hand in a black glove, an arm in a black sleeve, appeared, guiding the movement of the door. An in- terval of a moment passed, and the worn white face of Grace Rose- berry showed itself stealthily, looking info the dining-room. Her eyes brightened with vindictive pleasure as they discovered Mercy sitting alone at the further end of the room. Inch by inch she opened the door more widely, took one step forward, and checked herself. xA sound, just audible at the far end of the conservatory, had caught her ear. She listened— satisfied herself that she was not mistaken— and drawing back with a frown of displeasure, softly closed the door again, so as to hide herself from view. The sound that had dis- turbed her was the distant murmur of men’s voices (apparently two in number), talking together in lowered tones, at the garden entrance to the conservatory. Who were the men? and what would they do next ? They might do one of two things: they might enter the draw- ing room, or they might withdraw again by wmy of the garden. Kneeling behind the door, with her ear at the key-hole, Grace Rose- berry waited the event. CHAPTER XVI. THEY MEET AGAIN. Absorbed in herself, Mercy failed to notice the opening door or to hear the murmur of voices in the conservatory. The one terrible necessity which had been present to her mind at intervals for a week past was confronting her at that moment. She owed to Grace Roseberry the tardy justice of owning the truth. The longer her confession was dela3^ed, the more cruelly she was injur- ing the woman whom she had robbed of her identity — the friendless woman who had neither witnesses nor papers to produce, who was powerless to right her own wrong. Keenly as she felt this, Mercy failed, nevertheless, to conquer the horror that shook her when she thought of the impending avowal. Day followed day, and still she shrank from the unendurable ordeal of confession— as she was shrinking from it now! Was it fear for herself that closed her lips? She trembled— as any human being in her place must have trembled --at tlie bare idea of finding herself thrown back again on the world, THE KEW MAGEALEK. 107 which had no place in it and no hope in it for her. But she could have overcome that terror — she could have njsigned herself to that doom. No! it was not the fear of the confession itself, or the fear of the consequences which must follow it, that still held her silent. The horror that daunted her was the horror of owning to Horace and to Lady Janet that she had cheated them out of their love. Every Jay Horace was fonder and fonder of her. How could she confess to Lady Janet? how could she own to Horace that she had imposed upon him? ** I can’t do it. They are so good to me — 1 can’t do it!” In that hopeless way it had ended durinsr the seven days that had gone by. In that hopeless way it ended again now. The murmur of the two voices at the further end of the conserva- tory ceased. The billiard-room door opened again slowly, by an inch at a time. Mercy still kept her place, unconscious of the events that were passing around her. Sinking under the hard stress laid on it, her mind had drifted little by little into a new train of thought. For the first time she found the courage to question the future in a new way. Supposing her confession to have been made, or suppos- ing the woman whom she had personated to have discovered the means of exposing the fraud, what advantage, she now asked herelf, Would Miss Roseberry derive from Mercy Merrick’s disgrace? Could Lady Janet transfer to the woman who was really her relative by marriage the affection which she had given to the woman who had pretended to be her relative? No! All the right in the world would not put the true Grace into the false Grace’s vacant place. The qualities by which Mercy had won Lady Janet’s love were the qualities which were Mercy’s own. Lady Janet could do rigid jus- tice— but hers was not the heart to give itself to a stranger (and to give itself unreservedly) a second time. Grace Roseberry would be formally acknowledged, and there it would end. Was there hope in this new view? Yes! There was the false hope of making the inevitable atonement by some other means than by the confession of the fraud. What had Grace Roseberry actually lost by the wrong done to her? She had lost the salary of Lady Janet’s ‘"companion and reader.” Say that she wanted money, Mercy had her savings from the generous allowance made to her by Lady Janet; Mercy could offer money. Or say that she wanted employment, Mercy’s interest with Lady Janet could offer employment, could offer anything Grace might ask for, if she would only come to terms. Invigorated by the new hope, Mercy rose excitedly, weary of in* 108 THE HEW MAGDA LEH. action in the empty room. She who but a few minutes since had shuddered at the thought of their meeting again, was now eager to devise a means of finding her way privately to an interview with Grace. It should be done without loss of time— on that very day, if passible; by the next day at latest. She looked round her me- chanically, pondering how to reach the end in view. Her eyes rest- ed by chance on the door of the billiard-room. Was it fancy? or did she really see the door first open a little, then suddenly and softly close again? Was it fancy? or did she really hear, at the same moment, a sound behind her, as of persons speaking in the conservatory? She paused, and, looking back in that direction, listened intently. The sound — if she had really heard it — was no longer audible. She ad- vanced toward the billiard-room, to set her first doubt at rest. She stretched out her hand to open the door, when the voices (recogniza- ble now as the voices of two men) caught her ear once more. This time she was able to distinguish the words that were spoken. ** Any further orders, sir?'’ inquired one of the men,. “ Nothing more,” replied the other. Mercy started, and faintly flushed, as the second voice answered the first. She stood irresolute close to the billiard-room, hesitating what to do next? After an interval the second voice made itself heard again, advancing nearer to the dining-room. “Are you there, aunt?” it asked, cautiously. There was a moment’s pause. Then the voice spoke for the third time, sounding louder and nearer. “Are you there,” it reiterated; “I have something to tell you.” Mercy summoned her resolution, and answered, “Lady Janet is not here.” She turned as she spoke toward the conservatory door, and confronted on the threshold Julian Gray. They looked at one another without exchanging a word on either side. The situation — for widely different reasons — was equally embarrassing to both of them. There — as Julian saw her — was the woman forbidden to him, the woman whom be loved. There — as Mercy saw him — was the man whom she dreaded, the man whose actions (as she interpreted them) proved that he suspected her. On the surface of it. tlie incidents . which had marked their first meeting were now exactly repeated, with the one difference that the impulse to withdraw this time ap- peared to be on the man’s side, and not on the woman’s. It was Mercy who spoke first. “Did you expect to find Lady Janet here?” she asked, con- strainedly. THE NEW MAGDALEN. 109 H(l answered, on bis part, more constrainedly still. “ It doesn't matter," he said. “ Another time will do." He drew back as he made the reply. She advanced desperately, with the deliberate intention of detaining him by speaking again. The attempt which he had made to withdraw, the constraint in his manner when he had answered, had instantly confirmed her in the false conviction that he, and he alone, had guessed the truth! It she was right — if he had secretly made discoveries abroad which placed her entirely at his mercy— the attempt to induce Grace to consent to a compromise with her would be manifestly useless. Her first and foremost interest now was to find out how she really stood in the estimation of Julian Gray. In a terror of suspense that turned her cold from head to foot, she stopped him on his way out, and spoke to him with the piteous counterfeit of a smile. “ Lady Janet is receiving some visitors," she said. " If you will w'ait here, she will be back directly." The effort of hiding her agitation from him had brought a passing color into her cheeks. Vv'orn and wasted as she was, the spell of her beauty was strong enough to hold him against his own will. All he had to tell Lady Janet was that he had met one of the garden- ers in the conservatory, and had cautioned him as well as the lodge- keeper. It would have seen easy to write- this, and to send the note to his aunt on quitting the house. For the sake of his own peace of mind, for the sake of his duty to* Horace, he was doubly bound to make the first polite excuse that occurred to him and to leave her as he had found her, alone in the room. He made the attempt, and hesitated. Despising himself for doing it, he allowed himself to look at her. Their eyes met. Julian stepped into the dining-room. “ If I am not in the way," he said, confusedly, " I will wait, as you kindly ‘propose." She noticed his embarrassment ; she saw that he was strongly re- straining himseff from looking at her again. Her own eyes dropped to the ground as she made the discovery. Her speech failed her; her heart throbbed faster and faster. " If I look at him again (was the thought in her mind), I shall fall at his feet and tell him all that I have done!" “ If I look at her again (was the thought in Ms mind), I shall fall at her feet and own that I am in love with her!" With downcast eyes he placed a chair for her. With downcast eyes she bowed to him and took it. A dead silence followed. Never was any human misunderstanding more intricately complete than the misunderstanding which had now established itself between no THE KEW MAGDALEi^-. those two. Mercy’s work-basket was near her. She took it and gained time for composing herself by pretending to arrange the col- ored wools. He stood behind her chair, looking at the graceful turn of her head, looking at the rich masses of her hair. He reviled him- self as the weakest of men, as the falsest of friends, for still remain- ing near her — and yet he remained. The silence continued. The billiard-room door opened again noiselessly. The face of the listen- ing woman appeared stealthily behind it. At the same moment Mercy roused herself and spoke: Won’t you sit down?” she said, softly, still not looking round at him, still busy with her basket of wools. He turned to get a chair, turned so quickly that he saw the billiard-room door move, as Grace Rose- berry closed it again. Is there any one in that room?” he asked, addressing Mercy. “ I don’t know,” she answered. ” I thought I saw the door open and shut again a little while ago.” He advanced at once to look into the room. As he did so, Mercy dropped one of her balls of wool. He stopped to pick it up for her — then threw open the door and looked into the billiard-room. It was empty. Had some person been listening, and had that per- son retreated in time to escape discovery. The open door of the smoking-room showed that room also to be empty. A third door was open— the door of the side hall, leading into the grounds. Julian closed and locked it, and returned to the dining-room. I can only suppose,” he said to Mercy, “ that the billiard-room door was not properly shut, and that the draught of air from the hall must have moved it.” She accepted the explanation in silence. He was, to all appear- ance, not quite satisfied with it himself. For a moment or two he looked about him uneasily. Then the old fascination fastened its hold on him again. Once more he looked at the graceful turn of her head, at the rich masses of her hair. The courage to put the critical question to him, now that she had lured him into remaining in the room, was still a courage that failed her. She remained as busy as ever with her work — too busy to look at him; too busy to speak to him. The silence became unendurable. He broke it by making a commonplace inquiry after her health. ‘‘ I am well enough to be ashamed of the anxiety I have caused and'^the trouble I have given,” she answered. “ To day I have got down stairs for the first time. I am trying to do a little work” She looked into the basket. The various specimens of wool in it wore partly in balls and partly in loose skeins. The skeins were THE NEW MAGDALEN. Ill mixed and tangled. “ Here is sad confusion!’.' she exclaimed, tim- idly, with a faint smile. How am 1 to set it right again?" “ Let me help you," said Julian. "You!" " Why not?" he asked, with a momentary return of the quaint humor which she remembered so well. " You forget that 1 am a curate. Curates are privileged to make themselves useful to young ladies. Let me try." He took a stool at her feet, and set himself to unravel one of the tangled skeins. In a minute the wool was stretched on his hands, and the loose end was ready for Mercy to wind. There was some- thing in the trivial action, and in the homely attention that it im- plied, which in some degree quieted her fear of him. She began to roll the wool off his hands into a ball. Thus occupied, she said the daring words which were to lead him little by little into betraying his suspicions, if he did indeed suspect the truth. CHAPTER XVn. THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. "You were here when I fainted, were you not?" Mercy began. " Y"ou must think me a sad coward, even for a woman." He shook his bead. " 1 am far from thinking that," he replied. " No courage could have sustained the shock which fell on you. I don’t wonder that you fainted. I don’t wonder that you have been ill." She paused in rolling up the ball of wool. What did those words of unexpected sympathy mean? Was he laying a trap for her? Urged by that serious doubt, she questioned him more boldly. " Horace tells me you have been abroad," she said. " Did you enjoy your holiday?" " It was no holiday. I went abroad because I thought it right to make certain inquiries — ’’ He stopped there, unwilling to return to a subject that was painful to her. Her voice sank, her fingers trembled round the ball of wool; but she managed to go on. " Did you arrive at any results?" she asked. “ At no results worth mentioning." The caution of that reply renewed her worst suspicions of him. In sheer despair, she spoke out plainly. " I want to know your opinion—" she began. “ Gently!" said Julian. " Y'ou are entangling the wool again. " 113 THE NEW MAGDALEN. “ 1 want to know your opinion of the person who so terribly frightened me. Do you think her — “ Do 1 think her— what?” ** Do you think her an adventuress?” (As she said those words the branches of a shrub in the conserv- atory were noiselessly parted by a hand in a black glove. The face of Grace Roseberry appeared dimly behind the leaves. Undiscov- ered, she had escaped from the billiard-room, and had stolen her way into the conservatory as the safer hiding-place of the two. Be- hind the shrub she could see as well as listen. Behind the shrub she waited as pcitientl}^ as ever.) . “ I take a more merciful view, ” Julian answered. ** 1 believe she is acting under a delusion. I don’t blame her; I pity her.” “You pity her?” As Mercy repeated the words she tore off Julian’s hand the last few lengths of wool left, and threw the im- perfectly wound skein into the basket. “ Does that mean,” she re- sumed, abruptly, “ that you believe her?” Julian rose from bis seat, and looked at Mercy in astonishment. “ Good Heavens, Miss Roseberry! what put such an idea as that into your head?” “ I am little better than a stranger to you,” she rejoined, with an effort to assume a jesting tone. “ You met with that person before you met with me. It is not so very far from pitying her to believ- ing her. How could I feel sure that you might not suspect me?” “Suspect you!'' he exclaimed. “You don’t know how you distress, how you shock me. Suspect you I The bare idea of it never entered my mind. The man doesn't live who trusts you more implicitly, who believes in you more devotedly, than 1 do.” His eyes, his voice, his manner, all told her that those words came from the heart. She contrasted his generous confidence in her (the confidence of which she was unworthy) with her ungracious distrust of him. Not only had she wronged Grace Roseberry — she had wronged Julian Gray. Could she deceive him as she had deceived the others? Could she meanly accept that implicit trust, that de- voted belief? Never had she felt the base submissions which her own imposture condeinned her to undergo with a loathing of them so overwhelming as the loathing that she felt now. In horror of herself, she turned her head aside in silence, and shrank from meet- ing his eye. He noticed the movement, placing his own mterpreta tion on it. Advancing closer, he asked anxiously if he had offended her. ” You don’t knowhow your confidence touches me,” she said. THE 2!TEW MAGDALEK. 113 without looking up, “You little think how keenly 1 feel your kindness.” She checked herself abruptly. Her fine tact warned her that she was speaking t o warmly — that the expression of her gratitude might strike him as being strangely exaggerated. She handed him her work-basket before he could speak again. “ Will you put it away for me?” she asked, in her quieter tones. “ 1 don't feel able to work just now.” His back was turned on her for a moment, while he placed the basket on a side-table. In that moment her mind advanced at a bound from present to future. Accident might one day put the true Grace in possession of the proofs that she needed, and might reveal the false Grace to him in the identity that was her own. What would he think of her then? Could she make him tell her without betraying herself? She determined to try. “ Children are notoriously insatiable if you once answer their questions, ‘and women are nearly as bad,” she said, when Julian returned to her. “ Will your patience hold out if 1 go back for the third time to the person whom we have been speaking of?” “ Try me,” he answered, with a smile. “ Suppose you had not taken your merciful view of her?” “ Yes?” “ Suppose you belived that she was wickedly bent on deceiving others for a purpose of her own — would you not shrink from such a woman in horror and disgust?” “ God forbid that I should shrink from any human creature!” he answered, earnestly. “ Who among us has a right to do that?” She hardly dared trust herself to believe him. “You would still pity her?” she persisted, “ and still feel for her?” “ With all my heart.” “ Oh, how good you are!” He held up his hand in warning. The tones of his voice deep- ened, the luster of his eyes brightened. She had stirred in the depths of that great heart the faith in which the man lived — the steady principle which guided his modest and noble life. “Ho!” he cried. “Don’t say. that! Say that I try to love my neighbor as myself. -Who but a Pharisee can believe that he is better than another? The best among us to day may, but for the mercy of God, be the worst among us to-morrow. The true Christian virtue is the virtue which never despairs of a fellow creature. The true Christian faith believes in Man as well as in God. Frail and fallen as we are, we can rise on the wings of repentance from earth 114 THE KEW MAGDALEK". to heaven. Humanity is sacreu. Humanity has its immortal destiny. "Who shall dare say to man or woman, ' There is no hope in you?* Who shall flare say the work is all vile, when that work bears on it the stamp of the Creator’s hand?’* He turned away for a moment, struggling v^7ith the emotion which she had aroused in him. Her eyes, as they followed him, lighted with a momentary enthusiasm — then sank wearily in the vain re- gret which comes too late. Ah! if he could have been her friend and her adviser on the fatal day when she first turned her steps toward Mablethorpe House! She sighed bitterly as the hopeless aspiration wrung her heart. He heard the sigh; and, turning again, looked at her with a new interest in his face. “ Miss Roseberry,” he said. She was still absorbed in the bitter memories of the past ; she failed to hear him. ‘‘ Miss Roseberry,’* he repeated, approaching her. She looked up at him with a start. “ May I venture to ask you something?” he said, gently. She shrank at the question. ” Don’t suppose 1 am speaking out of mere curiosity,” he went on. “ And pray don’t answer me unless you can answer without betraying any confidence which may have been placed in you,” ” Confidence!” she repeated. “ What confidence do you mean?” “ It has just struck me that you might have felt more than a com- mon interest in the questions w'hichyou put to me a moment since, ” he answered. ” Were you by auy chance speaking of some un- happy woman — not the person wdio frightened you, of course — but of some other woman whom you know?” Her head sank slowly on her bosom. He had plainly no sus- picion that she had been speaking of herself ; his tone and manner both answered for it that his belief m her was as strong as ever. Still those last words made her tremble; she could not trust lier- self to reply to them. He accepted the bending of her head as a reply. ” Are you interested in her?” he asked next. She faintly answered this lime. ”'Yes.” “ Have you encouraged her?” “ 1 have not dared to encourage her.' His face lit up suddenly Vvith enrliuslasm. ” Go to her,” he said, ” and let me go with you and help you.” The answer came faintly and mourul'uii.y. She has sunk too low for Ihatl” THE NEW MAGDALEH. 115 He interrupted her with a gesture of impatience. “ What has she done?” he asked. She has deceived— basely deceived— innocent people who trusted lier. She has wronged — cruelly wronged — another woman.” For the first time Julian seated himself at her side. The interest that was now roused in him was an interest above reproach. He could speak to Mercy without restraint; he could look at Mercy with a pure heart. “You judge her very harshly,” he said. ''T>oyou know how she may have been tried and tempted?” There was' no answer. “ Tell me,” he went on, “ is the person whom she has injured stid living?” “Yes.” “ If the person is still living, she may atone for the wrong. The time may come when this sinner too, may win our pardon and de- serve our respect.” “ Could ^ 0 ?^ respect her?” Mercy asked, sadly. “ Can such a mind as yours understand what she has gone through?” A smile, kind and momentary, brightened his attentive face. “You forget my melancholy experience,” he answered. “ Young as I am, I have seen more tban most men of women who have sinned and suffered. Even after the little that you have told me, I think 1 can put myself in her place. I can well understand, for in- stance, that she may have been tempted beyond human resistance. Am I right?” “You are right.” “She may have had nobody near at the time to advise her, to warn her, to save her. Is that true?” “ It is true.” “ Tempted and friendless, self- abandoned to the evil impulse of the moment, this woman may have committed herself headlong to the : ct which she now vainly repents. She may long to make atonement, and may not know how to begin. All her energies may be crushed under the despair and horror of herself, out of which the truest repentance grows. Is such a woman as this all wicked, all vile? I deny it! She may have a noble nature; and she may show it nobly yet. Give her the opportunity she n^eds, and our poor fallen fellow-creature may take her place among the best of us — honored, blameless, happy, once more!” “ Mercy’s e\"es resting eagerly on him whilo he was speaking, dropped again despondingly when he had done. “ There is no such future as that,” she answered, “ for the woman 116 THE HEW MAGDALEH. whom I am thinking of. She has lost her opportunity. She has done with hope. ” Julian gravely considered with himself for a moment. “ Let us understand each other,” he said, ” She has committed an act of deception to the injury of another woman. Was that what you told me?” ^‘Yes.” “ And she has gained something to her own advantage by the act?” “Yes.” “ Is she threatened with discovery?” “ She is safe from discovery — for the present, at least.” “ Safe as long as she closes her lips?” “ As long as she closes her lips.” “There is her opportunity!” cried Julian. “Her future is before her. She has not done with hope!” With clasped hands, in breathless suspense, Mercy looked at that inspiriting face, and listened to those golden words. “Explain yourself,” she said. “Tell her, through me, what she must do.” “ Let her own the truth,” answered Julian, “ without the base fear of discovery to drive her to it. Let her do justice to the woman whom she has wronged, while that woman is still powerless to expose her. Let her sacrifice everything that she has gained by the fraud to the sacred duty of atonement. If she can do that — for conscience sake, and for pit}- 's sake — to her own prejudice, to her own shame, to her own loss — then her repentance has nobly revealed the noble nature that is in her; then she is a woman to be trusted, respected, beloved! If I saw the Pharisees and fanatics of this lower earth passing her by in contempt, I would hold out my band to her before them all. I would say to her in her solitude, in her affliction, ‘ Rise, poor wounded heart! Beautiful, purified soul, God's angels rejoice over youl Take your place among the noblest of God’s creatures!’ ” In those Idst sentences he unconsciously repeated the language in which he had spoken, years since, to his congregation in the chapel of the Refuge. With tenfold power and tenfold persuasion they now found their way again to Mercy’s heart. Softly, suddenly, mysteriously, a change passed over her. Her troubled face grew beautifully still. The shifting light of terror and suspense vanished from her grand gray eyes, and left in them the steady inner glow o! a high and pure resolve. There was a moment of silence between THB NEW MAGDALEN. 117 them. They both had need of silence. Julian was the first to speak again. “Have I satisfied you that her opportunity is still before her?’’ he asked. “Do you feel, as 1 feel, that she has done with hope?” “You have satisfied ms that the world holds no truer friend to ‘ her than you,” Mercy answered, gently and gratefully. “ She shall prove herself worthy of your generous confidence in her. She shall show you yet that you have not spoken in vain.” Still inevitably failing to understand her, he led the way to the door. “Don’t waste the precious time,” he said. “ Don’t leave her cruelly to herself. If you can’t go to her, let me go as your mes senger, in your place.” She stopped him by a gesture. He look a step back into the room, and paused, observing with surprise that she made no at. tempt to move from the chair that she occupied. “ Stay here,” she said to him, in suddenly altered tones. “ Pardon me,” he rejoined, “ I don’t understand you.” “ You will understand me directly. Give me a little time. ” He still lingered near the door, with his eyes fixed inquiringly on her. A m^n of a lower nature than his, or a man believing in Mercy less devotedly than he believed, would now have felt his first suspicion of her. Julian was as far as ever from suspecting her, even yet. “ Do you wish to be alone?” he asked, considerately. “ Shall I leave you for a while and return again?” She looked up with a start of terror. “ Leave me?” she repeated, and suddenly checked herself on the point of saying more. Nearly half the length of the room divided them from each other. The words which she was longing to say were words that would never pass her lips unless she could sec some encouragement in his face. “ No!” she cried out to him, on a sudden, in her sore need, “ don’t leave me! Come back to me!” He obeyed her in silence. In silence, on her side, she pointed to the chair near her. He took it. She looked at him, and checked herself again; resolute to make her terrible confesvsion, yet still hes- itating how to begin. Her woman’s instinct whispered to her, “ Find courage in his touch!” She said to him, simply and artless, ly said to him, “ Give me encouragement. Give me strength. Let me take your hand.” He neither answered nor moved. His mind itemed to have become suddenly preoccupied; hjs eyes rested oh 118 THE KEW MAGDALEl^, her vacantly. He was on the brink of discovering her secret; in another instant he would have found his way to the truth. In that instant, innocently as his sister might have taken it, she took his hand. Tile soft clasp of her fingers, clinging round his, roused his senses, fired his passion for her, swept out of his mind the pure aspirations which had filled it but the moment before, paralyzed hi# perception when it was just penetrating the mystery of her dis- turbed manner and her strange words. All the man in him trem- bled under the rapture of her touch. But the thought of Horace was still present to him: his hand lay passive in hers; his eyes looked uneasily away from her. She innocently strengtliened her clasp of his hand. She innocently said to him, “ Don’t look away from me. Your eyes give me courage.” His hand returned the pressure of hers. He tasted to the full the delicious joy of looking at her. She had broken down his last re- serves of self control. The thought of Horace, the sense of honor, became obscured in him. In a moment more he might have said the words which he would have deplored for the rest of his life, if she had not stopped him by speaking first. “ 1 have more to say to you.” she resumed, abruptly, feeling the animating resolution to lay her heart bare before him at last; ” more, far more, than I have said yet. Generous, merciful friend, let me say it here!'' She attempted to throw herself on her knees at his feet. He sprang from his seat and checked her, holding her with both his fiands, raising her as he rose himself. In the words which had just escaped her, in the startling action which had accompanied them, the truth burst on him. The guilty woman she had spoken of was herself! While she was almost in his arms, while her bosom was just touching his, before a word more had passed his lips oi ncrs, the library door opened. Lady Janet Roy entered the room. CHAPTER XYIII. THE SEARCH IN THE GROUNDS. Grace Roseberry, still listening in the conservatory, saw the Tnr open, and recognized the mistress.of the house. /She softly drew Dack and placed herself in safer hiding, beyond the range of viewTrom (he dining-room. Lady Janet advanced no further tham the threshold^ She stood there and looked at her nephew and her adopted daughter in stern silence. Mercy dropped into the chair at her side. Julian kept his place by her. His mind was still stunned by the THE HEW MAGDALEH. 119 discovery that had burst on it ; his eyes still rested on her in mute terror of inquiry. He was as completely absorbed in the one act of looking at her as if they had been still alone together in the room> Lady Janet was the first of the three who spoke, She addressed herself to her nephew. “ You were right, Mr. Julian Gray,’’ she said, with her bitterest emphasis of tone and manner. ‘‘You ought to have found nobody in this room on your return but me. I detain you no longer. You are free to leave my house.” Julian looked round at his aunt. She was pointing to the door. In the excited state of his sensibilities at that moment, the action stung him to the quick. He answered without his customary con- sideration for his aunt’s age and his aunt’s position toward him. “You apparently forget, Lady Janet, that you are not speaking to one of your footmen,” he said. “ There are serious reasons (of which you know nothing) for my remaining in your house a little longer. You may rely upon my trespassing on your hospitality as short a time as possible.” He turned again to Mercy as he said these words, and surprised her timidly looking up at him. In the instant when their eyes met, the tumult of emotions struggling in him became suddenly stilled. Sorrow for her— compassionating sorrow — rose in the new calm and filled his heart. Now, and now only, he could read in the wasted and noble face how she had suffered. The pity which he had felt for the unnamed woman grew to a tenfold pity for her. The faith which he professed— honestly professed — in the better nature of the unnamed woman strengthened into a tenfold faith in her. He addressed himself again to his aunt, in a gentler tone. “ This lady,” he resumed, “ has something to say to me in private which she has not said yet. That is my reason and my apology for not immediately leaving the house.” Still under the impression of what she had seen on entering tlie room, Lady Janet looked at him in angry amazement. Was Julian actually ignoring Horace Holmcroft’s claims, in the presence of Horace Holmcroft’s betrothed wife? She appealed to her adopted daughter. “ Grace,” she exclaimed, “ have you heard him? Hare you nothing t® say? Must I remind you — ” She stopped. For the first time in Lady Janet’s experience of her young companion^ she found herself speaking to ears that were deaf to her. Mercy was incapable of listening. Julian’s eyes had told her that Julian understood her at last! Lady Janet turned to 120 THE HEW MAGDALEH. her nephew once more, and addressed him in the hardest words that she had ever spoken t *) her sister’s son. “ If you have any sense of decency,” she said — “ I say nothing of a sense of honor— you will leave this house, and your acquaintance with that lady will end here. Spare me your protests and excuses; I can place but one interpretation on what I saw when 1 opened that door.” '‘You entirely misunderstand what you saw when you opened that door,” Julian answered quietly. ‘ Perhaps I misunderstood the confession which you made to me not an hour ago?” retorted Lady Janet. Jqlian cast a look of alarm at Mercy. “Don’t apeak of it!” he said, in a whisper. “ She might hear you.” “Do you mean to say she doesn’t know you are in love with her?” “ Thank Grod, she has not the faintest suspicion of it.” There was no mistaking the earnestness with which he made that reply. It proved his innocence as nothing else could have proved it. Lady Janet drew back a step — utterly bewildered; com^ pletely at a loss what to say or what to do next. The silence that followed was broken by a knock at the library door. The man- servant— with news, and bad news, legibly written in his disturbed face and manner — entered the room. In the nervous irritability of the moment. Lady Janet resented the servant’s appearance as a posi- tive offense on the part of the harmless man. “ Who sent for you?” she asked, sharply. “ What do you mean by interrupting us?” The servant made his excuses in an oddly bewildered manner. “ I beg your ladyship’s pardon. I wished to take the liberty — I wanted to speafc to Mr. Julian Gray.” “ What is it?” asked Julian. The man looked uneasily at Lady Janet, hesitated, and glanced at the door, as if he wished himself well out of the room again. “ I hardly know if 1 can tell you, sir, before her ladyship,” he answered. Lady Janet instantly penetrated the secret of her servant’s hesi^ tation. “I know what has happened,” she said; “that abomi- nable woman has found her way here again. Am I right?” The man’s eyes helplessly consulted Julian. “ Yes or no?” cried Lady Janet, imperatively. “ Yes, my lady .” Julian at once assumed the duty of asking the necessary ques tions. THE HEW MAGEALEH< Ul ** Where is she?” he began. “ Somewhere in the grounds, as we suppose, sir.” “ Did you see her?” “ No, sir.” “ Who saw her?” “ The lodge-keeper’s wife. ” This looked serious. The lodge-keeper’s wife had been present while Julian had given his instructions to her husband. She was not likely to have mistaken the identity of the person whom she had discovered. ” How long since?” Julian asked next. “Not very long, sir.” ‘ ‘ Be more particular. How long ? ’ ’ “ I didn’t hear, sir.” “ Did the lodge-keeper’s wife speak to the person when she saw her?” “ No, sir; she didn’t get the chance, as I understand it. She is a stout woman, if you remember. The other was too quick for her — discovered her, sir, and (as the saying is) gave her the slip.” “In what part of the grounds did this happen?” The servant pointed in the direction of the side hall. “ In that part, sir. Either in the Dutch garden or the shrubbery. 1 am not sure which.” It was plain, by this time, that the man’s informa- tion was too imperfect to be practically of any use. Julian asked if the lodge-keeper’s wife was in the house. “No, sir. Her husband has gone out to search the grounds in her place, and she is minding the gate. They sent their boy with the message. From what I can make out from the lad, they would be thankful if they could get a word more of advice from you, sir.” Julian reflected for a moment. So far as he could estimate them, the probabilities were that the stranger from Mannheim had already made her way into the house; that she had been listening in the billiard -room ; that she had found time enough to escape him on his approaching to open the door; and that she was now (in the servant’s phrase) “ somewhere in the grounds,” after eluding the pursuit of the lodge-keeper’s wife. The matter was serious. Any mistake in dealing with it might lead to very painful results. If Julian had correctly anticipated the nature of the confession which Mercy had been on the point of addressing to him, the person whom he had been the means of introducing into the house was — what she had vainly asserted herself to be — no other than the true Grace Roseberry. 122 THE HEW MAGDALEH. Taking this for granted, it was of the utmost importance that he should speak to Grace privately, before she committed herself to any rashly renewed assertion of her claims, and before she could gain access to Lady Janet’s adopted daughter. The landlady at her lodgings had already warned him that the object which she held steadily in view was to find her way to Miss Boseberry when Lady Janet was not present to take her part, and when no gentlemen were at hand to protect her. “ Only let me meet her face to face ” (she had said) “ and I will make her confess herself the imposter that she is!” As matters now stood, it was impossible to estimate too seriously the mischief w^hich might enshe from such a meeting as this. Everything now depended on Julian’s skillful management of an exasperated woman; and nobody, at that moment, knew where the woman was. In this position of affairs, as J ulian understood it, there seemed to be no other alternative than to make his inquiries instantly at the lodge, and then to direct the search in person. He looked toward Mercy’s chair as he arrived at this resolution. It was at a cruel sac- rifice of his own anxieties and his own wishes that he deferred con- tinuing the conversation with her from the critical point at which Lady Janet’s appearance had interrupted it. Mercy had risen while he had been questioning the servant. The attention which she had failed to accord to what had passed between his aunt and him- self she had given to the imperfect statement which he had extracted from the man. Her face plainly showed that she had listened as eagerly as Lady Janet had listened; with this remarkable difference between them, that Lady Janet looked frightened, and that Lady Janet’s companion showed no signs of alarm. She appj^ared to be i nterested ; perhaps anxious— nothing more. J ulian spvoke a parting word to his aunt. “Pray compose yourself,” he said. “ I have little doubt, when I can learn the particulars, that we shall easily find this person in the grounds. There is no reason to be uneasy. I am going to superintend the search myself. I will return to you as soon as possible.” Lady Janet listened absently. There was a certain expression in her eyes which suggested to Julian that her mind was busy with some project of its own. He stopped as he passed Mercy, on his way out by the billiard-room door. It cost him a hard effort to control the contending emotions which the act of looking at her now awakened m him. His heart beat fast, his voice sank low, as he spoke to her. “You : hall see me again,” he^said. “I never was more in THE HEW MAGHALEH, 123 earnest in promising you my truest help and sympathy than 1 am now/’ She understood him. Her bosom heaved painfully; her eyes fell to the ground — she made no reply. The tears rose in Julian’s eyes as he looked at her. He hurriedly left the room. When he turned to close tlie billiard-room door he heard Lady Janet say, ‘‘ I will be with you again in a moment, Grace; don’t go away.” Interpreting these words as meaning that his aunt had some business of her own to attend to in the li barary, he shut the door. He had just ad- vanced into the smoking room beyond, when he thought he heard the door open again. He turned round. Lady Janet had followed him. ‘ “Do you wish to speak to me?” he asked. “ 1 want something of you,” Lady Janet answered, “ before you go.” “ What is it?’ “ Your card.” “My card?” ^ “ You have just told me not to be uneasy,” said the old lady. “ I am uneasy, for all that. 1 don’t feel as sure as you do that this woman really is in the grounds. {She may be lurking somewhere in the house, and she may appear when your back is turned. Kemem- ber what you told me.” Julian understood the allusion. He made no reply. “ The people at the police station close by,” pursued Lady Janet, “ have instructions to send an experienced man, in plain clothes, to any address indicated on your card the moment they re- ceive it. That is what you told me. For Graeme’s protection, I want your card before you leave us.” It was impossible for Julian to mention the reasons which now for- bade him to make use of his own precautions~in the very face of the emergency whicii they had been especially intended to meet. How could he declare the true Grace Hoseberry to be mad? How could he give the true Grace Roseberry into custody? On the other hand, he had personally pledged himself (when the circumstances appeared to require it) to place the means of legal protection from insult and annoyance at his aunt’s disposal. And now, there stood Lady Janet, unaccustomed to have her wishes disregarded by any- body, with her hand extended, waiting for the card! What was to be done? The one way out of the difficulty appeared to be to sub- mit for the ntoment. If he succeeded in discovering the missing woman, he could easily take care that she. should be subjected to no needless indignity. If she contrived to slip into the house in his 124 THE KEW MAGDALEK. absence, he could provide against that contingency by sending a second card privately to the police station, forbidding the officer to stir in the affair until he had received further orders. Julian made one stipulation only before h(3 handed his card to his aunt “ You will not use this, I am sure, without positive and pressing necessity, he said. “ But I must make one condition. Promise me to keep my plan for communicating with the police a strict secret—” “ A strict secret from Grace?” interposed Lady Janet. (Julian bowed.) “ Do you suppose I want to frighten her? Do you think I have not had anxiety enough about her already? Of course I shall keep it a secret from Grace!” Reassured on this point, Julian hastened out into the grounds. As soon as his back was turned Lady Janet lifted the gold pencil- ease which hung at her watch-chain, and wrote on her nephew’s card (for the information of the officer in plainclothes), “ You are wanted at Mahlethorpe House.'' This done, she put the card into the old- fashioned pocket of her dress, and returned to the dining-room. Grace was waiting, in obedience to the instructions which she had received. For the first moment or two not a word was spoken on' either side. Now that she was alone with her adopted daughter, a certain coldness and hardness began to show itself in Lady Janet’s manner. The discovery that she had made on opening the drawing- room door still hung on her mind. Julian had certainly convinced her that she had misrepresented what she had seen; but he had con- vinced her against her will. She had found Mercy deeply agitated; suspiciously silent. Julian might be innocent, she admitted — there was no accounting for the vagaries of men. But the case of Mercy was altogether different. Women did not find themselves in the arms of men without knowing wdiat they were about. Acquitting Julian, Lady Janet declined to acquit Mercy. ” There is some secret understanding between them,” thought the old lady, “and she’s to blame; the women always are!” Mercy still waited to be spoken to ; pale and quiet, silent and sub- missive. Lady Janet— in a highly uncertain state of temper — was obliged to begin. “ My dear!” she called out, sharply. “Yes, Lady Janet.” “ How much longer are you going to sit there with your mouth shut up and your eyes on the carpet? Have you no opinion to offer on this alarming state of things? You heard what the man said to Julian— I saw you listening. Are you horribly frightened?” “ No, Lady Janet.” * THE HEW MAGDALEH. 125 “Not even nervous?^’ “ No, Lady Janet.” “Ha! I should hardly have given you credit for so much cour- age after my experience of you a week ago. I congratulate you on your recovery. Do you hear? I congratulate you on your re- covery,” “ Thank you, Lady Janet.” “ I am not so composed as you are. We were an excitable set in my youth— -and I haven’t got the better of it yet. I feel nervous. Do you hear? I feel nervous.” “lam sorry , Lady J anet. ’ ’ “ You are very good. Do you know what I am going to do?” “ No, Lady Janet.” “ I am going to summon the household. When I say the house- hold, I mean the men , the women are no use. I am afraid 1 fail to attract your attention?” “You have my Dest attention, Lady Janet.” “ You are very good again. I said the women were of no use.” “ Yes, Lady Janet.” “ I mean to place a man-servant on guard at every entrance to the house. I am going to do it at once. Will you come with me?” “ Can I be^of any use if I go with your ladyship?” “You can’t be of the slightest use. I give the brders in the house —not you. I had quite another motive in asking you to come with me. I am more considerate of you than you seem to think — I don’t like leaving you here by yourself. Do you understand?” “Tara much obliged to your ladyship. 1 don’t mind being left here by myself.” “You don’t mind? I never heard of such heroism in my life — out of a novel! Suppose that crazy wretch should find her way in here?” “ She would not frighten me this time as she frightened me before.” “ Not too fast, my young lady! Suppose— Good Heavens! now 1 think of it, there is the conservatory. Suppose she should be hidden in there? Julian is searching the grounds. Who is to search the conservatory?” “ With your ladyship’s permission, 1 will search the conserva- tc.ry.” “ You!!!” “ With your ladyship’s permisilion.” “ I can hardly believe my own ears! Well, ‘ Live and learn ’ is 126 THE KEW MAGDALEH. / an old proverb. I thought I knew your character. This is a change You forget, Lady Janet (if I may venture to say so^ that the circumstances are changed. She took me by surprise on the last oc- casion; I am prepared for her now.’' ‘‘ Do you really feel as coolly as you speak?" ‘‘ Yes, Lady Janet." “ Have your own way, then. I shall do one thing, however, in case of your having overestimated your own courage. I shall place one of the men in the library. You will only have to ring for him if anything happens. He will give the alarm— and I shall act ac- cordingly. 1 have my plan, " said her ladyship, comfortably con- scious of the card in her pocket. “ Don’t look as if you wanted to know what it is. I have no intention of saying anything about it — except that it will do. Once more, and for the last time — do you stay here? or do you go with me?" “ 1 stay here." She respectfully opened the library door for Lady Janet’s depart- ure as she made that reply. Throughout the interview she had been carefully and coldly deferential; she bad not once lifted her eyes to Lady Janet’s face. The conviction in her that a few^ hours more would, in all probability, see her dismissed from the house had of necessity fettered every word that she spoke— had morally separated her already from the injured mistress whose love she had won in disguise. Utterly incapable of attributing the change in her young companion to the true motive, Lady Janet left the room to summon her domestic garrison, thoroughly puzzled and (as a necessary con- sequence of that condition) thoroughly displeased. Still holding the library door in her hand, Mercy stood watching with a heavy heart the progress of her benefactress down the length ©f the room on the way to the front hall beyond. She had honestly loved and respected the warm-hearted, quick-tempered old lady. A sharp pang of pain wrung her as she thought of the time when even the chance utter- ance of her name would become an unpardonable offense in Lady Janet’s house. But there was no shrinking in lier now from' the ordeal of the confession. She was not only anxious — she was im- patient for Julian’s return. Before she slept that night Julian’s com tidence in her should be a confidence that she had deserved. “ Let her own the truth, without the base fear of discovery to drive her to it. Let her do jtistice to the woman whom she has wronged, while that woman is still powerless to expose her. Let her sacrifice everything that she has gained by the fraud to the sacred duty of THE HEW MAOBALEH. 137 fttomiiiqit. If she can do that, then her repentance has nobly re- V'caled the noble nature that is in her; then she is a woman to be Trusted, respected, beloved/^ Those words were as vividly present to her as if she still heard them falling from his lips. Those other Words which had followed them rang as grandly as ever in her ears: “ Hise, poor wounded heart ! BeaiAliful, purified soul, God’s angels rejoice over you! Take your place among the noblest of God’s creatures!” Did the woman live who could hear Julian Gray say that, and who could hesitate, at any sacritice, at any loss, to justify his belief in her? “Oh!” she thought, longingl}^ while her eyes followed Lady Janet to the end of the library, “ if your worst fears could only be realized! If I could only see Grace Roseberry in this room, how fearlessly 1 could meet her now!” She closed the library door, while Lady Janet opened the other door which led into the hall. As she turned and looked back into the dining-room a cry of astonishment escaped her. There — as if in answer to the aspiration which was still in her mind; there, es- tablished in triumph on the cliair that she had just left — sat Grace Roseberry, in sinister silence, waiting for her. CHAPTER XIX. THE EVIL GENIUS. Recovering from the first overpowering sensation of surprise, Mercy rapidly advanced, eager to say her first penitent words, Grace stopped her by a warning gesture of the hand. “No nearer to me,” she said, with a look of contemptuous command. “ Stay where you are.” Mercy paused. Grace’s reception had startled her. She instinctively took the chair nearest to her to support her- self. Grace raised a warning hand for the second time, and issued another command : “ I forbid you to be seated in my presence. You have no right 1.0 be in this house at all. Remember, if you please, who you are, and who I am.” The tone in which those words were spoken was an insult in itself. Mercy suddenly lifted her head; the angry answer was on her lips. She checked it, and submitted in silence. “ I will be worthy of Julian Gray’s confidence in me,” she thought, as she stood patiently by the chair. “ I will bear anything from the woman whom I have wronged.” In silence the two faced each other; alone together, foit the fifst 128 THE HEW MAGDALEK, time since they had met in the French cottage. The contrast be tween them was strange to see. Grace Eoseberry, seated in hex chair, little and lean, with her dull, white complexion, with her hard, threatening face, with her shrunken figure clad in its plain and poor black garments, looked like a being of a lower sphere, compared with Mercy Merrick, standing erect in her rich silken dress; her tall, shapely figure towering over the little creature before her; her grand head bent in graceful submission; gentle, patient, beautiful; a woman whom it was a privilege to look at and a dis- tinction to admire. If a stranger had been told that those two had played their parts in a romance of real life— that one of them was really connected by the ties of relationship with Lady Janet Eoy, and that the other had successfully attempted to personate her — he would inevitably, if it had been left to him to guess which was which, have picked out Grace as the counterfeit and Mercy as the true woman. Grace broke the silence. She had waited to open her lips until she had eyed her conquered victim all over, with disdain- fully minute attention, from head to foot. “ Stand there. I like to look at you,"^ she said, speaking with a spiteful relish of her own cruel words. It’s no use fainting this time. You have not got Lady Janet Eoy to bring you to. There are no gentlemen here to-day to pity you and pick you up. Mercy Merrick, I have got you at last. Thank God, my turn has come! You can’t escape me now!” All the littleness of heart and mind which had first shown itself in Grace at the meeting in the cottage, when Mercy told the sad story of her life, now revealed itself once more. The woman who in those past times had felt no impulse to take a suffering and a penitent fellow -creature by the hand was the same woman who could feel no pity, who could spare no insolence of triumph, now. Mercy’s sweet voice apswered her patiently, in low, pleading tones. ‘‘I have not avoided you,” she said. “I would have gone to you of my own accord if I had known that you were here. It is my heart-felt wish to own that I have sinned against you, and to make all the atonement that I can. 1 am too anxious to deserve your forgiveness to have any fear of seeing you.” Conciliatory as the reply was, it was spoken with a simple and modest dignity of manner which roused Grace Eoseberry to fury. ” How dare you speak to me as if you were my equal?” she burst out, “You stand there and answer me as if you had your right and your place in this house. You audacious woman! 1 have my right and my place here — and what am 1 obliged to do? I am THE NEW MAGDALEN. 129 oblteed to hang about in the grounds, and fly from the sight of the servants, and hide like a thief, and wait like a beggar, and all for what? For the chance of having a word with you. Yes! you, madam! with the air of the Kefuge and the dirt of the streets on you!’’ Mercy’s head sank lower; her hand trernbled as it held by the back of the chair. It was hard to bear the reiterated insults heaped on her, but Julian’s influence still made itself felt. She answered as patiently as ever. “If it is your pleasure to use harsh words to me,” she said, “ I have no right to resent them.” “ You have no right to anything!” Grace retorted. “You have no right to the gown on your back. Look at Yourself, and look at Me!” Her eyes traveled with a tigerish stare over Mercy’s costly silk dress, “Who gave you that dress? Who gave you those jewels? I know! Lady Janet gave them to Grace Roseberry. Are you Grace Roseberry? That dress is mine. Take off your bracelets and your brooch. They were meant for me.” “You may soon have them. Miss Roseberry. They will not be in my possession many hours longer.” “ What do you mean?” However badly you may use me, it is my duty to undo the harm that I have done. I am bound to do you justice — I am determined lo confess the truth.” Grace smiled scornfully. “ You confess!” she said. “ Do you think I am fool enough to believe that? You are one shameful brazen lie from head lo foot! Are you the woman to give up your silks and your jewels, and your position in this house, and to go back to the Refuge of your own accord? Not you — not you!” A first faint flush of color showed itself, stealing slowly over Mercy’s face; but she still held resoiute'}^ by the good influence which Julian had left behind him. She could still say to herself, “ Anything rather than disappoint Julian Gray?” Sustained by the courage which he had called to life in her, she submitted lo her martyrdom as bravely as ever. But there was an ominous change in her now ; she could only submit in silence ; she could no longer trust herself to answer. . The mute endurance in her face additionally exasperated Grace Rosebery. “ You won’t confess,” she went on. “ You have had a we«k to confess in, and you have not done it yet. No, no! you are of the sort that cheat and lie to the last. I am glad of it; 1 shall have the T^y of exposing you myself before the whole house. I shall be the 130 THE HEW MAGDALLH. blessed means of casting you back on the streets. Oh! it .will be almost worth all I have gone through to see you with a policeman's hand on your arm, and the mob pointing at you and mocking you on your way to jail! ' This time the sting struck deep; the outrage was beyond endur- ance. Mercy gave the . woman who had again and again deliberately insulted her a first warning. Miss Roseberry/' she said, “I have borne without a murmur the bitterest words you could say to me. Spare me any more in- /gults. Indeed, indeed, I am eager to restore you to your just rights. With my whole heart I say it to you— I am resolved to confess everything P’ Slie spoke with trembling earnestness of tone. Grace listened with a hard smile of incredulity and a hard look of contempt. “ Ton are not far from the bell,” she said; “ ring it.” Mercy looked at her in speechless surprise. '‘You are a perfect picture of repentance — you are dying to own the truth,” pursued the other, satirically. “Own it before everybody, and own it at once. Call in Lady Janet— call in Mr. Gray and Mr. Holmcroft— call in the servants. Go down on your knees and acknowledge yourself an impostor before them all. Then I will believe you — > not before.” “ Don’t, don't ^arn me against you!” cried Mercy, entreatingly. “ What do I care whether you are against me or not?” “ Don’t— for your own sake don’t go on provoking me mucl^ longer!” “ For my own sake? You insolent creature! Do you mean to threaten me?” With a last fiesperate effort, her heart beating faster and faster, the blood burning hotter and hotter in her cheeks, Mercy still con trolled herself, “Have some compassion on me!” she pleaded. “Badly as \ have behaved to you, 1 am still a woman like yourself. I can’t face the shame of acknowledging what I have done before the whole house. Lady Janet treats me like a daughter; Mr. Holmcroft has engaged to marry me. 1 can’t tell Lady Janet and Mr. llolmorofl to their faces that I have cheated them out of their love. But they shall know it for all that. I can, and will, before 1 rest to-night, t«l] the whole truth to Mr. Julian Gray.” Grace burst out laughing. “ Aha!” she exclaimed, with a cyn ical outburst of gayety. “ Now we have come to it at last I” “ Take care!” said Mercy “ Take care!”' THE NEW MAGDALEN 131 *‘Mr. Julian Gray! I was behind the billiard-room door — 1 saw you coax Mr. Julian Gray to coaie in! Confession loses all its hor- rors, and becomes quite a luxury, with Mr. Julian Gray!^’ “ No more, Miss Koseberry! no more! For God’s sake, don’t put me besi(l€ myself! You have tortured me enough already.” ”You haven’t been on the streets fur nothing. You are a woman with resources; you know the value of having two strings to your bow. If Mr. Holmcroft. fails you, you have got Air. Julian Gray. Ah! you sicken me. Til see that Mr. Ho^iiicroft’s eyes are opened; he shall know what a woman he might have mar- ried but for Me—” She checked herself; the next refinement of insult remained sus- pended on her lips. The woman whom she had outraged suddenly advanced on her. Her eyes, staring helplessly upward, saw Mercy Alerrick’s face, while with the terrible anger which drives the blood back on the heart, bending threateningly over her. “ * You wdll see that Mr. Holmcroft’s eyes are opened,’ ” Mercy slowly repeated; ‘ he shall know what a woman he might have married but for you!’ ” jShe paused, and followed those words by a question which struck a creeping terror through Grace Eoseberry, from the hair of her head to the soles of her feet: ^ “ Who are youV^ The suppressed fury of look and tone which accompanied that question told, as no violence could have told it, that the limits of Mercy’s endurance had been found at last. In the guardian angel’s absence the evil genius had done its evil work. The better nature which Julian Gray had brought to life sank, poisoned by the vile venom of a woman’s spiteful tongue. An easy and a terrible means of avenging the outrages heaped on her was within Alercy’s reach, if she chose to take it. In the frenzy of her indignation she never hesitated — she took it. ” Who are you?” she asked for the second time. Grace roused herself and attempted to speak. Mercy stopped her with a scornful gesture of her hand. “I remember!” she went on, with the same 'fiercely-suppressed rage. “ You are the madwoman from the German hospital who came here a week ago. I am not afraid of you this time. Sit down and rest yourself, Mercy Alerrick.” Deliberately giving her that name to her face, Mercy turned from her and took the chair which Grace had forbidden her to occupy when tlie interview began. Grace started to her feet. 132 THE NEW MAGDALENc “ What does this mean?” she asked. ” It means,” answered Mercy, contemptuously, ” that 1 recall every word I said to you just now. It means that I am resolved to keep my place in this house.” “ Are you out of your senses?” “ You are not far from the bell. Ring it. Do what you asked me to do. Call in the whole household, and ask them which of us is mad— you or I.” Mercy Merrick! you shall repent this to the last hour of your life!” Mercy rose again, and fixed her flashing eyes on the woman who still defied her. ‘‘ I have had enough of you!” she said. “ Leave the house while yom can leave it. Stay here, and I will send for Lady Janet Roy.” '‘You can’t send for her! You daren’t send for her!” ” I can and I dare. You have not a shadow of a proof against me. I have got the papers; I arn in possession of the place; I have established myself in Lady Janet’s confidence. I mean to deserve your opinion of me — I will keep my dresses and my jewels and my position in the house. I deny that I have done wrong. Society has used me cruelly. I owe nothing to Society. I have a right to take any advantage of it I’f I can. I deny that I have injured you. How was 1 to know that you would come to life again? Have I degraded your name and your character? I have done honor to both. I have won everybody’s liking and everybody’s respect. Do you think Lady Janet would have loved you as she loves me? Not she! I tell you to your face I have filled the false position more creditably than you could have filled the true one, and I mean to keep it. I won’t give up your name; I won’t restore your character. Do your worst; I defy you!” She poured out those reckless words in one headlong flow which defied interruption. There was no answering her until she was too breathless to say more. Grace seized her opportunity the moment it was within her reach, “You defy me?” she returned, resolutely. “You won’t defy me long. I have written to Canada. My friends will speak for me.” “ What of it, if they do? Your friends are strangers here. I am Lady Janet’s adopted daughter. Do you think she will believe your friends? She will believe me. She will burn their letters if they write. She will forbid the house to them if they come. 1 shall be Mrs. Horace Holmcroft in a week’s time. Who can shake position? Who can injure Me?” THE HEW MAGHALEH. 133 “ Wait a little. You forget the matron at the Refuge.” ” Find her, if you can. 1 never told you her name. 1 never told you where the Refuge was.” ” I will advertise your name, and find the matron in that way.” “ Advertise in every newspaper in London. Do you think 1 gave a stranger like you the name I really bore in the Refuge? 1 gave you the name 1 assumed when 1 left England. No such person as Mercy Merrick is known to the matron. No such person is known to Mr. Holmcroft. He saw me at the French cottage while you were senseless on the bed. 1 had my gray cloak on; neither he nor any of them saw me in my nurse’s dress. Inquiries have been made about me on the Continent — and (1 happen to know from the person who made them) with no result. I am safe in your place; I am known by your name. I am Grace Roseberry; and you are Mercy Merrick. Disprove it if you can!” Summing up the unassailable security of her false position in those closing words, Mercy pointed significantly to the billiard-room door. “You were hiding there, by your own confession,” she said. “You know your way out by that door. Will you leave the room?” “ I won’t stir a step!” Mercy walked to a side-table, and struck the bell placed on it. At the same moment the billiard-room door opened. Julian Gray appeared —returning from his unsuccessful search in the grounds. He had barely crossed the threshold before the library door was thrown open next by the servant posted in the room. The man drew back respectfully, and gave admission to Lady Janet Roy* She was followed by Horace Holmcroft with his mother’s wedding present to Mercy in his hand. CHAPTER XX. THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES. Julian looked round the room, and stopped at the door which he had just opened. His eyes rested first on Mercy, next on Grace. The disturbed faces of both the w^omen told him but too plainly that the disaster which he had dreaded had actually happened. They had met without any third person to interfere between them. To What extremities the hostile interview might have led it was impos- sible for him -to guess. In his aunt’s presence he could only wait 134 THE HEW MAGDALEH. his opportunity of speaking to Mercy, and be ready to interpose if anything was ignorantly done which might give just cause of offense to Grace. Lady Janet’s course of action on entering the dining- room was in perfect harmony with Lady Janet’s character. Instantly discovering the intruder, she looked sharply at Mercy. “What did I tell you?” she asked. “Are you frightened? Ho! not in the least frightened ! Wonderful!” She turned to the serv- ant. “ Vfait in the library; I may want you again.” She looked at Julian. “ Leave it all to me; I can manage it” She made a sign to Horace. “ Stay where you are, and told your tongue.” Having now said all that was necessary to every one else, she advanced to the part of the room in which Grace was standing, with lowering brows and firmly shut lips, defiant of everybody. “ 1 have no desire to offend you, or to act harshly toward you,’* her ladyship began, very quietly. “ I only suggest that your visits to my house cannot possibly lead to any satisfactory result. I hope you will not oblige me to say any harder w^ords than these — I hope you will understand that I wish you to withdraw.” The order of dismissal could hardly Uave been issued with more humane consideration for the supposed mental infirmity of the per- son to whom it was addressed. Grace instantly resisted it in the plainest possible terms, “ In justice to my father’s memory and in justice to myself,” she answered, “I insist on a hearing. I refuse to withdraw.” She deliberately took a chair and seated herself in the presence of the mistress of the house. Lady Janet wailed a moment — steadily con- trolling her temper. In the interval of silence Julian seized the op- portunity of remonstrating with Grace. “ Is this what you promised me?” he asked, gently. “You gave me your word that you would not return to Mablethorpe House.’* Before he could say more Lady Janet had got her temper under command. She began her answer to Grace by pointing with a per emptory forefinger to the library door. “ If you have not made up your mind to take my advice by the time I have walked back to that door,” she said, “ I will put it out of your power to set me at defiance. I am used to be obeyed, anSl I will be obeyed. You force me to use hard words. I warn you be- fore it is too late. Go!” She returned slowly toward the library. Julian attempted to in- terfere with another word of remons: rmce. His aunt stopped him by a gesture which said, plainly, “ I insist on acting for myself.” He looked next at Mercy. [Wouli she remain passive? Yes. THE NEW MAGDALEN. 135 She never lifted her head ; she never moved from the place in which she was standing apart from the rest. Horace himself tried to at- tract her attention, and tried in vain. Arrived at the library door. Lady Janet looked over her shoulder at the little immovable black figure in the chair. Will you go?'’ she asked, for the last time. Grace started up angrily from her seat, and fixed her viperish eyes on Mercy. ‘'H won’t be turned out of your ladyship’s house in the presence of that impostor,” she said. “ 1 may yield to force, but I will yield to nothing else. I insist on my right to the place that she has stolen from me. It’s no use scolding me,” she added, turning doggedly to Julian. ” As long as that woman is here under my name I can’t and won’t keep away from the house. I warn her, in your presence, that I have written to my friends in Canada! I dare her before you all to deny that she is the outcast and adventuress, Mercy Merrick. ” The challenge forced Mercy to take part in the proceedings, in her own defense. Bhe had pledged herself tf meet and defy, Grace Eoseberry on her own ground. She attemT ed to speak — Horace stopped her. ‘‘You degrade yourself if you answer her,” he said. ” Take my arm, and let us leave the room.” ‘‘Yes! Take her out!” cried Grace. ‘‘ She may well be ashamed to face an honest woman. It’s her place to leave the room— not mine!” Mercy drew her hand out of Horace’s arm. ” I decline to leave the room,” she said, quietly. Horace still tried to persuade her to withdraw. ‘‘ I can’t bear to hear you insulted,” he rejoined. ‘‘ The woman offends me, though I know she is not responsible for what she says.” ‘‘Nobody’s endurance will be tried much longer,” said Lady Janet. She glanced at Julian, and taking from her pocket the card which he had given her, opened the library door. ” Go to the police station,” she said to the servant in an under- tone, ‘‘ and give that card to the inspector on duty. Tell him there is not a moment to lose.” ‘‘ Stop!” said Julian, before his aunt could close the door again. “ Stop?” repeated Lady Janet, sharply. ” I have given the man his orders. What do you mean?” ‘‘ Before you send the card I wish to say a word in private to this lady,’" replied Julian, indicating Grace. “ When that is done,” he continued, approaching Mercy, and pointedly addressing himself to 136 THE HEW MAGHALEH. her, ‘‘ 1 shall have a request to make — I shall ask you to give me an opportunity of speaking to you without interruption. His tone pointed the allusion, Mercy shrank from looking at him. The signs of painful agitation began to show themselves in her shifting color and her uneasy silence. Roused by Julian’s sig- nificantly distant reference to what had passed between them, her better impulses were struggling already to recover their influence over her. She might, at that critical moment, have yielded to the promptings of her own nobler nature—she might have risen supierior to the galling remembrance of the insults that had been heaped upon her— if Grace’s malice had not seen in her hesitation a means of re- ferring offensively once again to her interview with Julian Gray. “ Pray don’t think twice about trusting him alone with me,” she said, with a sardonic affectation of politeness. “ i am not interested in making a conquest of Mr. Julian. Gray.” The jealous distrust in Horace (already awakened by Julian’s re- quest) now attempted to assert itself optnly. Before he could speak, Mercy’s indignation had dictated Mercy’s answer. “lam much obliged to you, Mr. Gray,” she said, addressing Julian (but still not raising her eyes to his). “ 1 have nothing more to say. There is no need for me to trouble you again.” In those rash words she recalled the confession to which she stood pledged. In those rash words she committed herself to keeping the position that she had usurped, in the face of the woman whom she had deprived of it! Horace was silenced, but not satisfied. He saw Julian’s eyes fixed in sad and searching attention on Mercy’s face while she was speaking. He heard Julian sigh to himself when she had done. He observed Julian — after a moment’s serious consider- ation, and a moment’s glance backward at the stranger in the poor black clothes— lift his head with the air of a man who had taken a sudden revsolution. * “ Bring me that card directly,” he said to the servant. His tone announced that be was not to be trifled with. The man obeyed. Without answering Lady Janet — who still peremptorily insisted on her right to act for herself — Julian took the pencil from his pocket-book and added his signature to the writing already inscribed on the card. When he hdd handed it back to the servant he made his apologies to his aunt. “ Pardon me for venturing to interfere,” he said. “ There is a serious reason for what I have done, which I will explain to you at a later time. In the meanwhile I offer no further obstruction to the THE HEW MAGDALEH. 137 course which you propose faking. On the contrary, 1 have just assisted you in gaining the end that you have in view.'' As he said that he held up the pencil with which he had signed his name. Lady Janet, naturally perplexed, and (with some reason perhaps) offended as well, made no answer. She waved her hand to the servant, and sent him away with the card. There was silence in the room. The eyes of all the persons present turned more or less anxiously on Julian. Mercy was vaguely surprised and alarmed. Horace, like Lady Janet, felt offended, without clearly knowing why. Even Grace Roseberry herself was subdued by her own pre- sentiment of some coming interference for which she was completely unprepared. Julian's words and actions, from the moment when he had written on the card, were involved in a mystery to which not one of the persons round him held the clew. The motive which had animated his conduct may, nevertheless, be described in two words Julian still held to his faith in the inbred nobility of Mercy’s nature. He had inferred, vrith little difficulty, from the language which Grace had used toward Mercy in his pres- ence, that the injured woman must have taken pitiless advantage of her position at the interview which he had interrupted. Instead of appealing to Mercy’s sympathies and Mercy's sense of right-r-instead of accepting the expression of her sincere contrition, and encourag- ing her to make the completest and speediest atonement— Grace had evidently outraged and insulted her. As a necessary result, her endurance had given way — under her own sense of intolerable severi- ty and intolerable wrong. The remedy for the mischief thus done was, as Julian had first seen it, to speak privately with Grace, to soothe her by owning that his opinion of the justice of her claims had undergone a change in her favor, and then to persuade her, in her own interests, to let him carry to Mercy such expressions of apology and regret as might lead to a friendly understanding between them. With those motives, he had made his request to be permitted to speak separately to the one and the other. The scene that had followed, the new insult offered by Grace, and the answer which it had wrung from Mercy, had convinced him that no such interference as he had contemplated would have the slightest prospect ot success. The one remedy now left to try was the desperate remedy of letting things take their course, and trusting implicitly to Mercy’s better nature for the re- sult. Let her see the police offieer in plain clothes enter the room. Let her understand clearly what the result of his interference would be. Let her confront the alternative of consigning Grace Roseberry 138 THE HEW MAGDALEH, to a mad-house or of confessing the truth — and what would happen? If Julian's confidence in her was a confidence soundly placed, she would nobly pardon the outrage* that had been heaped upon her, and she would do justice to the woman whom she had wronged. If, on the other hand, his belief in her was nothing better than the blind belief of an infatuated man — if she faced the alternative and persisted in asserting her assumed identity — what then? Julian's faith in Mercy refused to let that darker side of the question find a place in his thoughts. It rested entirely with him to bring the officer into the house. He had prevented Lady Janet from making any mischievous use of his card by sending to the police station and warning them to attend to no message which they might receive un- less the card produced bore his signature. Knowing the responsi- bility that he was taking on himself — knowing that Mercy had made no confession to him to which it was possible to appeal— he had signed his name without an instant’s hesitation; and there he stood now, looking at the woman whose better nature he was determined to vindicate, the only calm person in the room. Horace’s jealousy saw something suspiciously suggestive of a private understanding in Julian’s earnest attention and in Mercy’s downcast face. Having no excuse for open interference, he made an effort to part them. “ You spoke just now,” he said to Julian, “of wishng to say a word in private to that person.” (He pointed to Grace). ” Shall we retire, or will you take her into the library?” ” I refuse to have anything to say to him,” Grace burst out, before Julian could answer. ” 1 happen to know that he is the last person to do me justice. He has been efiectiially hoodwinked. If I speak to anybody privately, it ought to be to you. You have the greatest interest of any of them in finding out the truth.” ” What do you mean?” ” Do you want to marry an outcast from the streets?” Horace took one step forward toward her. There was a look in his face which plainly betrayed that he was capable of turning her out of the house with his own hands. Lady Janet stopped him. ” You were right in suggesting just now that Grace had better leave the room,” she said. “Let us all three go. J ulian will re- main here and give the man his directions when he arrives. Come.” No. By a strange contradiction it w'as Horace himself who now interfered to prevent Mercy from leaving the room. In the heat of his indignation he lost all sense of his own dignity; he descended to the level of a woman whose intellect he believed to be deranged. To the surprise of every one present, he stepped back and took from THE HEW MAGDALEH. 139 the table a jewel-case which he had placed there when he had come into the room. It was the wedding present from his mother which he had brought to his betrothed wife. His outraged self-esteem seized the opportunity of vindicating Mercy by a public bestowal of the gift. “ Wait!’’ he called out sternly. That wretch shall have her answer. She has sense enough to see, and s^nse enough to hear. Let her see and hear!” He opened the jewel case, and took from it a magnificent pearl necklace in an antique setting. ‘‘ Grace,” he said, with his highest distinction of manner, “ my mother sends you her love and her congratulations on our ap’ proaching marriage. She begs you to accept, as part of your bridal dress, these pearls. She was married in them herself. They have been in our family for centuries. As one of the family, honored and beloved, my mother offers them to my wife.” He lifted the necklace to clasp it round Mercy’s neck. Julian watched her in breathless suspense. Would she sustain the ordeal through which Horace had innocently condemned her to pass? Yes! In the insolent presence of Grace Roseberry, what was there now that she could not sustain ? Her pride was in arms. Her lovely eyes lighted up as only a woman’s eyes can light up when they see jewelry. Her grand head bent gracefully to receive the necklace. Her face warmed into color; her beauty rallied its charms. Her triumph over Grace Roseberry was complete ! Julian’s head sank. For one sad moment he secretly asked himself the ques^ tion, ‘‘ Have 1 been mistaken in her?” Horace arrayed her in the pearls. ” Your husband puts these pearls on your neck, love,” he said, proudly, and paused to. look at her. ” Now,” he added, with a con- temptuous backward glance at Grace, ” we may go into the library. She has seen, and she has heard. ” He believed that he had silenced her. He had simply furnished her sharp tongue with a new sting. ** You will hear, and you will see, when my proofs come from Canada,” she retor^d. “ You will hear that your wife has stolen my name and my character! Yju will see your wife dismissed from this house!” Mercy turned on her with an uncontrollable outburst of passion. ‘'You are mad!” she cried. Lady Janet caught the electric infection of anger in the air of the room. She too turned on Grace. She too said it: 140 THE NEW MAGDALEN. “ You are mad!’* Horace followed Lady Janet. He was beside himself. He fixecj his pitiless eyes on Grace, and echoed the contagious words; “ You are mad!” She was silenced, she was daunted at last. The treble accusa- tion revealed to her, for the first time, the frightful suspicion to which she had exposed herself. She shrank back, with a low cry of horror, and struck against a chair. She would have fallen if Julian had not sprung forward and caught her. Lady Janet led her way into the library. She opened the door —started— and suddenly stepped aside, so as to leave the entrance free. A man appeared in the doorway. He was not a gentleman; he was not a workman; he was not a servant. He was vilely dressed, in ‘glossy black broadcloth. His f'rock-coat hung on him instead of fitting him. His wa’st coat was too short and too light over the chest. His trousers were a pair of shapeless black bags. His gloves were too large for him. His highly polished boots creaked detestably whenever he moved. He had odiously watchful eyes — eyes that looked skilled in peeping through key-holes. His large ears, set forward like the ears of a monkey, pleaded guilty to meanly listening behind other people’s doova. His manner was quietly confidential when he spoke, im- penetrably self-possessed when he was silent. A lurking air of secret service enveloped the fellow, like an atmosphere of his own, from head to foot. He looked all round the magnificent room without betraying either surprise or admiration. He closely inves- tigated every person in it with one glance of his cunningly watchful eyes. Making his bow to Lady Janet, he silently showed her, as his introduction, the card that had summoned him. And then he stood at ease, self -revealed in his own sinister identity — a police officer in plain clothes. Nobody spoke to him. Everybody shrank inwardly, as if a reptile had crawled into the room. He looked backward and forward, perfectly unembarrassed, be- tween Julian and Horace. “ Is Mr. Julian Gray here?” he asked. Julian led Grace to a seat. H«:.r eyes were fixed on the man. She trembled — she whispered, ” who is he?” Julian spoke to the police officer without answering her. ‘‘Wait there,” he said, pointing to a chair in the most distant corner of the room. “ 1 will speak to you directly.” The man advanced to the chair, marching to the discord of his THE HEW MAGDALEH. 141 creakiDg boots. He privately valued the carpet at so much a yard as he walked over it. He privately valued the chair at so much the dozen as he sat down on it. He was quite at his ease: it was no mat- ter to him whether he waited and did nothing, or whether he pried into the private character of every one in the room, as tong as he was paid for it. Even Lady Janet’s resolution to act for herself w^as not proof against the appearance of the policeman in plain clothes. Hhe left it to her nephew to take the lead. Julian glanced at Mercy before he stirred further in the matter. He alone knew that the end rested now not with him, but with her. She felt his eye on her while her own eyes were looking at the man. She turned her head — hes- itated — and suddenly approached Julian. Like Grace Hoseberrj^ she was trembling. Like Grace Koseberry, she whispered, “ Who is he?” J ulian told her plainly who he was. “ Why is he here?” “ Can’t you guess?” “Ho.” Horace left Lady Janet, and joined Mercy and Julian — impatient of the private colloquy between them. “ Am I in the way?” he inquired. Julian drew back a little, understanding Horace perfectly. He looked round at Grace. Nearly the whole length of the spacious room divided them from the place in which she was sitting. She had never moved since he had placed her in a chair. The direst of all terrors was in possession of her— terror of the unknown. There was no fear of her interfering, and no fear of her hearing what they said so long as they were careful to speak in guarded tones. Julian set the example by lowering his voice. ** Ask Horace why the police officer is here?” he said to Mercy. She put the question directly. “ Why is he here?” Horace looked across the room at Grace and answered, “ He is here to relieve us of that woman.” “ Do you mean that he will take her away?” ‘‘ Aes.” Where will he take her to?” ” To the police station” Mercy started, and looked at Julian. He was still watching the slightest changes in her face. She looked back again at Horace. “ To the police station!” she repeated. ‘‘ What for?” “ How can you ask the question?” said Horace, irritably. ** To be placed under restraint, of course,” 142 THE NEW MAGDALENTc I>o you mean prison?'’ . " I mean an asylum.” Again Mercy turned to Julian. There was horror now, as well as surprise, in her face. Oh!” she said to him, “ Horace is surely wrong. It can't he?” Julian left it to Horace to answer. Every faculty in him seemed to he still absorbed in watching Mercy's face. She was compelled to address herself to Horace once more. ‘‘ What sort of asylum?” she asked. “ You don't surely mean a madhouse?” “ I do,” he rejoined. ” The work-house first, perhaps — and then the mad-house. What is there to surprise you in that? 7ou your- self told her to her face she was mad. Good Heavens! how pale yeu are! What is the matter?” She turned to Julian for the third time. The terrible alternative that was offered to her had showed itself at last, without reserve or disguise. Restore the identity that you have stolen, or shut her up in a mad -house— it rests with you to choose! In that form the situ- ation shaped itself in her mind. She chose on the instant. Before she opened her lips the higher nature in her spoke to Julian, in her eyes. The steady inner light that he had seen in them once already shone in them again, brighter and purer than before. The con- science that he had fortified, the soul that he had saved, looked at him, and said, Doubt us no more! ‘‘ Send that man out of the house.” Those were her first words. She spoke (pointing to the police officer) in clear, ringing, resolute tones, audible in the remotest corner of the room. Julian's hand stole unobserved to hers, and told her, in its momen- tary pressure, to count on his brotherly sympathy and help. A! the other persons in the room looked at her In speechless surprise. Grace rose from her chair. Even the man in plain clothes started to his feet. Lady Janet (hurriedly joining Horace and fully sharing his perplexity and alarm) took Mercy impulsively by the arm, and shook it, as if to rouse her to a sense of what she was doing. Mercy held firm; Mercy resolutely repeated what she had said: ” Send that man out of the house.” Lady Janet lost ail patiene=o her. What has come to your'’ she asked, sternly. “Do you know what you afo scyr ^ Tne man is here in your interest, as well as mine; the man is here to spare you, as well as me, further ‘mnoyance and insult. And THE NEW MAGDALEN. 143 you insist— insist, in my presence— on his being sent awayl What does it mean?’' You shall know what it means, Lady Janet, in, half an hour. I don’t insist — I only reiterate my entreaty. Let the man be sent away!” Julian stepped aside (with his aunt’s eyes angrily following him) and spoEe to the police officer. Go back to the station,” he said, “ and wait there till you hear from me.” The meanly vigilant eyes of the man in plain clothes traveled sidelong from Julian to Mercy, and valued her beauty as they had valued the carpet and chairs. ” The old story,” he thought. ‘‘The nice-looking woman is always at the bottom of it; and, sooner or later, the nice looking woman has her way. ” He marched back across the room, to the discord of his own creaking boots, bowed, with a villainous smile which put the worst construction on everything, and vanished through the library door. Lady Janet’s high breeding restrained her from saying anything until the police officer was out of hearing. Then, and not till then, she appealed to Julian. ” I presume you are in the secret of this?” she said. ” 1 suppose you have some reason for setting my authority at defiance in my own house?” ” I have never yet failed to respect your ladyship, ” Julian an- swered. ” Before long you will know that I am not failing in re- spect toward you now.” Lady Janet looked across the room. Grace was listening eagerly, conscious that events had taken some mysterious turn in her favor within the last minute. ” Is it part of your new arrangement of my affairs,” her ladyship continued, ” that this person is to remain in the house?” The terror that had daunted Grace had not lost all hold of her yet. She left it to Julian to reply. Before he could speak Mercy crossed the room and whispered to her, ” Give me time to confess it in writing. 1 can’t own it before them — with this round my neck.” She pointed to the necklace, Grace cast a threatening glance at her, and suddenly looked away again in silence. Mercy answered Lady Janet’s question. ” 1 beg your ladyship to permit her to remain until the half hour is over,” she said. “ My request will have explained itself by that time.” Lady Janet raised no further obstacles. Something in Mercy’s face, or in Mercy’s tone, seemed to have silenced her, as it had giienced Grace. Horace was the next who spoke. In tones of sup- 144 THE KEW MAGHALEK. pressed rage and suspicion he addressed himself to Mercy, standing fronting him by Julian’s side. Am i included/' he asked, “ in the arrangement which engages you to explain your extraordinary conduct in half an hour?" Ms hand had placed his mother’s wedding present round Mercy’s neck. A sharp pang wrung her as she looked at Horace, and saw how deeply she had already distressed and offended him. The tears rose in her eyes; she humbly and faintly answered him. “ If you please,” was all she could say, before the cruel swelling at her heart rose and silenced her. Horace’s sense of injury refused to be soothed by such simple submission as this. “ 1 dislike mysteries and innuendoes,” he went on, harshly. “ In my family circle we are accustomed to meet each other frankly- Why am I to wait half an hour for an explanation which might be given now? What am I to wait for?” Lady Janet recovered herself as Horace spoke. “1 entirely agree with you,” she said. ”I ask, too, what we are to wait for?” Even Julian’s self-possession failed him when his aunt repeated that cruelly plain Question. How would Mercy answer it? Would her courage still hold out? You haveaskd me what you are to wait for,” she said to Horace quietly and firmly. ” Wait to hear something more of Mercy Merrick.” Lady Janet listened with a look of weary disgust. “Don’t return to that!'" she said. ^ “We know enough about Mercy Merrick already.” “ Pardon me— your ladyship does not know. I am the only person who can inform you.” “You?” She bent her head respectfully. “ I have begged you, Lady Janet, to give me half an hour,” she went on. “ In half an hour I solemn engage myself to produce Mercy Merrick in this room. Lady Janet Roy, Mr. Horace Holm- croft, you are to wait for that.” Steadily pledging herself in these terms to make her confession, she unclasped the pearls from her neck, put them away in their case, and placed it in Horace’s hand. “Keep it,” she said, with a momentary faltering in her voice, “ until we meet again,” Horace took the case in silence; he looked and acted like a man whose mind was paralyzed by surprise. His hand moved mechan- ically. His eyes followed Mercy with a vacant, questioning look. Lady Janet seemed, in her differeni way, to share the strange 0 {»* THE NEW MAGDALEN. 145 p»i'ession that had fallen on him. A vague sense of dread and dis- tress hung like a cloud over her mind. At that memorable moment she felt her age, she looked her age, as she had never felt or looked it yet. Have I your ladyship’s leave,” said Mercy respectfully, to go to my room?” Lady Janet mutely granted the reqiiest. Mercy’s last look, before she went out, was a look at Grace. ” Are you satisfied now?” the grand gray eyes seemed to say, mournfully. Grace turned her head aside, with a quick, petulant action. Even her narrow hature opened for a moment unwillingly, and let pity in a little way, in spite of V itself. Mercy's parting words recommended Grace to Julian’s care: ''You will see that she ia allowed a room to wait in? You will Vvarn her yourself when the half hour has expired?” Julian opened I he library door for her. Well done! Nobly done!” he whispered. “ All my sympathy is with you— all my help is yours.” Her eyes looked at him, and thanked him, through her gathering tears. His own eyes were dimmed. She passed quietly down the room, and was lost to him before he had shut the door again. CHAPTER XXL THE FOOTSTEP IN THE CORRIDOR. Mercy was alone. She had secured one half hour of retirement ia her own room, designing to devote that interval to the writing of her confession, in the form of a letter addressed to Julian Gray. No recent change in her position had, as yet, mitigated her horror of acknowledging to Horace and to Lady Janet that she had won her way to their hearts in disguise. Through Julian only could she say the words which were to establish Grace Roseberry in her right position in the house. How was her confession to be addressed to him? In writing? or by word of mouth? After all that had happened, from the time when Lady Janet’s appearance had interrupted them, she would have felt relief rather than embarrassment in personally opening her heart to a man who had so delicately understood her, who had so faithfuly befriended her in her sorest need. But the repeated betrayals of Horace’s jealous suspicion of Julian warned her that, she would only be surrounding herself with new difficulties, and be 146 THE MAGEALEN", placing Julian in a position of painful embarrassment, if she ad mitted him to a private interview while Horace was in the house. The one course left to take was the course that she had adopted. Determining to address the narrative of the Fraud to Julian, in the form of a letter, she arranged to add, at the close, certain instruc- tions, pointing out to him the line of conduct which she wished him to pursue. These instructions contemplated the communication of her letter to Lady Janet and to Horace in the library, while Mere}"— self-con- fessed as the missing woman whom s^ihe had pledged herself to pro- duce — awaited in the adjoining room w^hatever sentence it pleased them to pronounce on her. Her resolution not to screen herself be hind Julian from any consequences which might follow the confes- sion had taken root in her mind from the moment when Horace had harshly asked her (and when Lady Janet had joined him in asking) why she delayed her explanation, and what she was keeping them waiting for. Out of the very pain which those questions inflicted, the idea of waiting her sentence in her own person in one room, while her letter to Julian was speaking for her in another, had sprung into life. “ Let them break my heart if they like,” she had thought to herself, in the self-abasement of that bitter moment; “ it will be no more than 1 have deserved. ” She locked her door and opened her writing-desk. Knowing what she had to do, she tried to collect herself and do it. The effort was in vain. Those persons who study writing as an art are probably the only persons who can measure tlie vast distance which separates a conception as it exists in the mind from the re- duction of that conception to form and shape in words. The heavy stress of agitation that had been laid on Mercy for hours together had utterly unfitted her for the delicate and difficult process of arrang- ing the events of a narrative in their due sequence and their due pro- portion toward each other. Again and again she tried to begin her letter, and again and again slie was baffled by (he saree hopeless confusion of ideas. She gave up the struggle in despair. A sense of sinking at her heart, a weight of hysterical oppression on her bosom, warned her not to leave herself unoccupied, a prey to morbid self-investigation and imaginary alarms. She turned in- stinctively, for a temporary employment of some kind, to the con- sideration of her own future. Here there were no intricacies or en- tanglements. The prospect began and ended with her return to the Refuge, if the matron would reef ivc her. She did no injustice lu THE NEW MAGDALEN. 147 Julian Gray; that great heart would feel for her, that kind hand would be held out to her, she knew. But what would happen if she thoughtlessly accepted all that his sympathy might offer? Scandal would point to her beauty and to liis youth, and would jdace its own vile interpretation on the purest friendship that could exist between them. And Tie would be the sufferer, for Tie had a charac- ter — a clergyman’s character — to lose. No. For his sake, out of gratitude to him, the farewell to Mable thorps House must be also the farewell to Julian Gray. The precious minutes were passing. She resolved to write to the matron and ask if she might hope to be forgiven and employed at the Kefuge a^ain. Occupation over the letter that was easy to write might have its fortifying effect on her mind, and might pave the way for resuming the letter that was hard to write. She waited a moment at the window, thinking of the past life to which she was soon to return, before she took up the pen again. Her window looked eastward. The dusky glare of lighted London met her as her eyes rested on the sky. It seemed to beckon her back to the horror of the cruel streets—to point her way mockingly to the bridges over the black river— to lure her to the top of the parapet, and the dread- ful leap into God’s arms, or into annihilation — who knew which? She turned, shuddering, from the window. “ Will it end in that way,” she asked herself, “ if the matron says No?” She began her letter. ” Hear Madam, — So long a time has passed since you heard from me that I almost shrink from writing to you. I am afraid you have already given me up in your own mind as a hard-hearted, un- grateful woman. 1 have been leading a false life; 1 have not been fit to write to you before to-day. Now, when i am doing what 1 can to atone to those whom I have injured — now, when I repent with my whole heart— may 1 ask leave to return to the friend who has borne with me and helped me through many miserable years? Oh, madam, do not cast me off ! I have no one to turn to bat you. “ Will you let me own everything to you? Will you forgive me when you know what 1 have done? Will you take me back into the Refuge, if you have any employment for me by which I may earn my shelter and my bread? ‘‘ Before the night comes I must leave the house from which 1 am now writing. I have nowhere to go to. The little money, the few valuable possessions 1 have, must be left behind me: they have been obtained under false pretenses : they are not mine. No more forlorn creature than I am lives at this moment. You are a Christian woman. Not for my sake — for Christ’s sake — pity me and take me back. “ I am a good nurse, as you know, and I am a quick worker with Tffh; JNKW MAGDALfini^. 14^ my needle. In one way or the other can you not find occupation for me? “ I could also teach, in a very unpretending \fay. But that is use* less. Who would truit their children to a woman without a charac- ter? There is no hope for me in this direction. And yet 1 am so fond of children! I think 1 could be, not happy again, perhaps, but content with my lot, if I could be associated with them in some way. Are there not charitable societies which are trying to help and protect destitute children wandering about the streets? I think of my own wretched childhood— and oh! I should so like to be em- ployed in saving other children from ending as I have ended. I could work, for such an object as that, from morning to night, and never feel weary. All my heart would be in it; and 1 should have this advantage over happy and prosperous women— 1 should have nothing else to think of. Surely they might trust me with the poor little starving wanderers of the streets— if you said a word for me? If I am asking too much, please forgive me. I am so wretched, madam — so lonely and so weary of my life. “There is only one thing more. My time here is very short. Will you please reply to this letter (to say yes or no) by telegram? “ The name by which you know me is not the name by which I have been known here. I must beg you to address the telearam to ‘ The Keverend Julian Gray, Mablethorpe House, Kensington.’ He is here, and he will show it to me. No words of mine can describe what I owe to him. He has never despaired of me — he has saved me from myself. God bless and reward the kindest, truest, best man 1 have ever known! “ I have no more to say, except to ask you to excuse this long let- ter, and to believe me your grateful servant, She signed and inclosed the letter, and wrote the address. Then, for the first time, a.n obstacle which she ought to have seen before showed itself, standing straight in her way. There was no time to forward her letter in the ordinary manner by post. It must be taken to its destination by a private messenger. Lady Janet’s servants had hitherto been, one and all, at her disposal. Could she presume to employ them on her own affairs, when she might be dismissed from the house, a disgraced woman, in half an hour’s time? Of the two alternatives it seemed better to take her chance, and present herself at the Refuge without asking leave first. While she was still con- sidering the question she was startled by a knock at her door. Ckn opening it she admitted Lady Janet’s maid, with a morsel of folded note-paper in her hand. ‘From my lady, miss,” said the woman, giving her the note. “ There is no answer.” . Meicy stopped her a« she was about to leave the room. The ap- pearance of the maid suggested an inquiry to her. She asked if aiij of the servants were likely to be going into town that afternoon. THE HEW MAGDALEH. 149 Yes, miss. One of tbe grooms is going on horseback, with a message to her ladyship’s coach-maker.” The Refuge was close by the coach-maker’s place of business. Under the circumstances, Mercy was emboldened to make use of the man. It was a pardonable liberty to emploj^ his services now. “ Will you kindly give the groom that letter for me?” she said, “ It will not take him out of his way. He has only to deliver it-— nothing more.” The woman willingly complied with the request. Left once more by herself Mercy looked at the little note which had been placed in her hands. It was the first lime that her benefactress had employed this formal method of communicating with her when they were both in the house. What did such a departure from established habits mean? Had she received her notice of dismissal? Had Lady Janet’s quick intellig( nee found its way already to a suspicion of the truth ? Mercy’s nerves were unstrung. She trembled pitiably as she opened the folded note. It began without a form of address, and it ended without a signature. Thus it ran: “I must request you to delay for a little while the explanation which you have promised me. At my age, painful surprises are very trying things. I must have ti me to compose myself, before I can hear what you have to say. You shall not be kept waiting longer than I can help. In the meanwhile everything will go on as usual. My nephew Julian, and Horace Holmcroft, and the lady whom I found in the dining-room will, by my desire, remain in the house until I am able to meet them, and to meet you again.”' There the note ended. To what concusion did it point? Had Lady Janet really guessed the truth? or had she only surmised that her adopted daughter was connected in some discrelitable manner with the mystery of ” Mercy Merrick?” The line in which she referred to the intruder in the dining-room as “ the lady ” showed very remarkably that her opinions had undergone a change in that quarter. But was the phrase enough of itself to justify the infer- ence that she had actually anticipated the nature of Mercy’s confes- sion? It was not easy to decide that doubt at the moment — and it proved to be equally difficult to throw any light on it at an after' time. To the end of her life Lady Janet resolutely refused to com- municate to any one the conclusions which she might have pri- vately formed, the griefs which she might have secretly stifled, on that memorable day. Amidst, much, however, which was beset with uncertainty, one thing at least was clear. The time at Mercy’s disposal in her own room }|a,d been indefinitely prolonged by Mercy’s benefactress. Hours might pass before the disclosure to ^0 THE KEW MAGBALElsr^ which she stood committed would be expected from her. In those hours she might surely compose her mind sufficiently to be able to write her letter of confession to Julian Gray. Once more she placed the sheet of paper before her. Eesting her head on her hand as she sat at the table, she tried to trace her way through the labyrinth of the past, beginning with the day when she had met Grace Hose- berry in the French cottage, and ending with the day which hii6 brought them face to face, for the second time, in the dining room> at Mablethorpe House. The chain of events began to unroll itself in her mind clearly, link by link. She remarked, as she pursued the retrospect, how strangely Chance, or Fate, had paved the way for the act of personation, id the first place. If they had met under ordinary circumstances, neither Mercy nor Grace would have trusted each other with the confidences which had been exchanged between them. As the event had happened, they had come together, under those extraor- dinary circumstances of common trial and common peril, in a strange country, which would especially predispose two women of the same nation to open their hearts to each other. In no other way could Mercy have obtained at a first interview that fatal knowledge of Grace’s position and Grace’s affairs which had placed temptation before her, as the necessary consequence that followed the bursting of the German shell. Advancing fiom this point through the succeeding series of events which had so naturally and yet so strangely favored the per- petration of the fraud, Mercy reached the latter period when Grace had followed her to England. Here again she remarked, in the second place, how Chance, or Fate, had once more paved the way for that second meeting which had confronted them with one an- other at Mablethorpe House. She had, as she well remembered, attended at a certain assembly (convened by a charitable society) in the character of Lady Janet’s representative, at Lady Janet’s own request. For that reason she had been absent from the house when Grace had entered it. If her return had been delayed by a few minutes only, Julian would have had time to take Grace out of the room, and the terrible meeting which had stretched Mercy senseless on the floor would never have taken place. Ai the event had happened, the period of her absence had been fatally shortened by what appeared at the time to be the commonest possible occurrence. The persons assembled at the so- ciety’s rooms had disagreed so seriously on the business which had brought them together as to render it necessary to take the ordinary THE KEW MAGDALEK, 151 course of adjourning the proceedings to a future day. And Chance, or Fate, had so timed that adjournment as to bring Mercy back into the dining-room exactly at the moment when Grace Koseberry i»* sisted on being confronted with the woman who had taken her place. She had never yet seen the ciro