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 DELAMERE.
 
 DEL AMERE 
 
 a xofati. 
 
 BY 
 
 G. CURZON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF •' THE VIOLIXIST OF THE QUAKTIER LATIX. 
 
 Jl 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 YOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEAELE & EIYINGTON, 
 CROWX BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 
 
 1886. 
 
 (^All rights reserved.)
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRIMED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
 
 
 :> 
 
 DELAMERE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 The tourist travelling through Daleshire 
 cannot fail to be struck with the pic- 
 turesque position of Delamere, the seat 
 ^ of the De Euthvyns. The castle, a 
 •^rambling and irregular pile of architec- 
 ^ tiire, is situated on an eminence over- 
 ^ looking the fertile valley of the Iser, and 
 J is bordered on three sides by lofty hills. 
 ^It has been untenanted for many years, 
 ^^ and even the modern portion is now be- 
 i;' ginning to show signs of decay. A stranger 
 
 ^ VOL. I. B
 
 Z DELAMERE. 
 
 walking through the solitudes of its noble 
 park, or wandering through the deserted 
 gardens, is apt to speculate upon the 
 strange caprice of its owners in abandon- 
 ing a home so rich in natural beauties, 
 and which, from the antiquity of the 
 original castle, must have been in their 
 possession for centuries. A spiral stair- 
 case leads to the roof of one of the 
 turrets, and the ascent is rewarded 
 by an enchanting view of the surround- 
 ing scenery. The deer park, studded 
 with gigantic oaks and beeches, stretches 
 to an immense extent on one side ; 
 while, on the other, the ground slopes 
 suddenly towards a picturesque valley, 
 watered by the Iser ; and all round, 
 in their ever-varying beauty, rise the 
 wooded declivities and purple peaks, 
 presenting a landscape that might charm 
 a Turner.
 
 DEL AM ERE. 3 
 
 A sultry evening in June, '58, when 
 Delamere was the favourite abode of its 
 owners, the members of the family then 
 residing at the castle were assembled 
 near an open window in the large 
 drawing-room. The aged man in the 
 armchair, whose white hair strongly con- 
 trasted with his dark brows and drooping 
 moustache, was General de Euthvyn. 
 His second son, Kandolph, was standing 
 beside him, reading, for the benefit of 
 those present, a closely written letter 
 upon foreign paper, which had come by 
 that evening's post. At a httle distance 
 from the general, with his arms folded 
 upon the back of a chair, and his chin 
 resting upon his hands, was seated a 
 young man, who, though only a guest, 
 could scarcely be accounted a stranger, as 
 he was step-brother to Eandolph's wife. 
 He was German by parentage, but had
 
 4 DELAMERE. 
 
 been brought up aud educated in Eng- 
 land. The appearance of Bernard Wald 
 stein was not in his favour. His forehead 
 was low and receding; his prominent 
 eyes were light in colour, and had a 
 cunning expression ; while his curling 
 hair and beard were unmistakably red. 
 In the latter respect, he was a contrast 
 to his brother-in-law, w^ho had a sallow 
 complexion, and w^hose dark hair was 
 cropped as closely as a Puritan's. Ean- 
 dolph's wife stood a little apart, and was 
 sorting different shades of silk at a work- 
 table. She was the only child of Lord 
 Leith, a Scotch peer, whose rent-roll was 
 much shorter than his pedigree. There 
 was nothing Scotch, however, about the 
 physiognomy of Evelyn de Euthvyn ; nor 
 did she in the least resemble her step- 
 brother, Bernard. Her features were 
 Grecian in outline, her eyes and hai^-
 
 DELAMEEE. 5 
 
 dark, and her complexion pale. She had 
 a sHght, girHsh figui'e, but there was a sad, 
 wistful expression about her face which 
 made her look older than she really 
 was. 
 
 ^^You say you know something of 
 Vienna, Bernard. Do you think the 
 cKmate will agree with Philip ? " inquired 
 the general. 
 
 "Agree with him! You may depend 
 upon it. Let him once taste the pleasures 
 of the imperial city, and he will be in no 
 hurry to leave it. I only wish I was 
 back there." 
 
 " But it is not a question of amuse- 
 ment," replied the old gentleman, sharply. 
 ''If Philip were a mere pleasure-seeker, 
 our own metropolis might offer him as 
 many attractions as any other. The 
 principal object of these travels is to 
 ward off a threatened malady, and I
 
 6 DELAMEEE. 
 
 should much prefer that he kept to the 
 places recommended by his doctor." 
 
 *^ Don't you see plainly enough by his 
 letter that Philip is perfectly well again?" 
 interposed Eandolph, in rather an irritable 
 tone. ^'I don't wonder that he made 
 an effort to escape from Mentone. I 
 know I should have died for want of 
 something to do, if I had been forced to 
 remain there." 
 
 '^ But why part with Lord Eoslin and 
 his tutor? I can't tell you the satis* 
 faction it was to me to feel that Philip 
 was in safe hands ; and they are going 
 to Algiers, the place above all others for 
 delicate lungs." 
 
 ^' You can't expect Philip to remain in 
 leading-strings like young Eoslin, a lad 
 of eighteen. Eemember, dear dad, that 
 your son and heir is a year older than I, 
 who have taken the responsibilities of a
 
 DELAMERE. 7 
 
 wife upon myself." Randolph smiled at 
 Evelyn as he spoke. 
 
 " Older than you in one way, I admit, 
 but years younger in prudence and worldly 
 wisdom. Go on with his letter, however, 
 and let us see how he likes Vienna." 
 
 '^ * Entering the city by the Trieste 
 railway,' " continued Randolph, smooth- 
 ing out his brother's letter to make it 
 more legible, '^ ^ I was scarcely able to 
 move along the platform with the crowd 
 of excursionists. Being Sunday, the 
 terminus was unusually thronged. They 
 were not all the bourgeoise class, for I 
 saw several refined and pretty faces 
 among the crowds. The suburbs of 
 Vienna seem very attractive, but the city 
 itself is a forest of tall houses. I see 
 placards all over the town of the new 
 prima donna, Mademoiselle Flora Venosti, 
 who is to make her dehut to-morrow
 
 8 DELAMERE. 
 
 evening at the opera, and I have sent to 
 engage a staU. You will hear from me 
 again in a day or two, as soon as I know 
 my way better through the intricacies of 
 this lively town. At present I am off 
 to the Prater, and later on to Dorn- 
 bach.' '' 
 
 *'Dornbach!" said Bernard, suddenly 
 interrupting. ^^ I remember, as if it were 
 but yesterday, a very pleasant excursion I 
 had there on a Sunday. I made the 
 acquaintance of a pretty little girl en route, 
 and we were great friends for a long time 
 afterwards." 
 
 ^^ What kind of place is this Dornbach ? 
 A dancing-garden, I suppose?" growled 
 the general. 
 
 ''It is plain to see, sir, that you have 
 never been in Vienna," said Bernard. 
 ''Dornbach is a village a few miles from 
 the city. It is a pretty drive, and
 
 DELAMERE. 9 
 
 people make up parties to visit it. I met 
 my little girl in the stellwagen." 
 
 *^ And what about this opera-dancer of 
 whom he seems to have heard so much ? " 
 
 " There you are mistaken again, go- 
 vernor," said Eandolph. ^' Mademoiselle 
 Yenosti is an opera-singer, not a dancer. 
 It is laughable the way you go on about 
 Philip; one would think that he was a 
 girl of seventeen." 
 
 ^' I confess I should like to see him 
 home again, and married and settled 
 before I die," said the general. 
 
 ''There is Miss Brandreth, the rich 
 heiress, who has come to live near you. 
 She has good looks, wealth, irreproachable 
 connection," said Bernard, in a bantering 
 tone. 
 
 ''My dear fellow, she is years too old 
 for Philip," rejoined Eandolph. 
 
 "Yes," said the general; "you could
 
 10 DELAMERE. 
 
 scarcely have mentioned a more ineligible 
 person. Philip does not want money, 
 but his wife must not be of inferior rank 
 to his sister-in-law. I shall be fully con- 
 tent if his bride, in every sense of the 
 word, is like my daughter-in-law Evelyn." 
 
 ^^Do you hear, Evy, the flattering 
 remarks the governor is making upon 
 you ? " said Eandolph, with a pleased 
 smile, as he placed his arm round his 
 wife's waist and drew her towards his 
 father. 
 
 " My dear, I am very well pleased with 
 you," said the old man, with a smile. 
 ^^ I was just saying that I wished Philip 
 would give me such another daughter-in- 
 law." 
 
 '^ Philip will marry before long, rest 
 assured," said Evelyn, with a deepening 
 colour. '^ I have an idea that he will 
 make a romantic marriage, as he is of
 
 DELAMEEE. 11 
 
 such a poetical turn of mind. He writes 
 poetry, I know, for Kandolph showed me 
 such pretty verses, which he said were 
 his. What would you say, general, to an 
 Italian or German countess for your 
 future daughter-in-law ? " 
 
 The old gentleman was beginning to 
 inveigh against all foreigners, countesses, 
 and opera-dancers ahke, when a flash of 
 lightning, followed rapidly by a peal of 
 thunder, interrupted the conversation. 
 
 He rose from his seat with the aid of 
 Bernard, and moved to a distant part 
 of the room, while Eandolph closed the 
 windows. 
 
 '^ The skies are illuminating in your 
 honour to-night, Evelyn ; those flashes 
 quite surpass the bonfires that blazed 
 upon the hills the evening of our arrival." 
 
 As Kandolph spoke he turned round, 
 and perceived that his wife had left the
 
 12 DELAMERE. 
 
 room. The general seemed annoyed that 
 she had gone. He had been flattered by 
 her allusions to Philip's literary tastes, 
 and would willingly have descanted more 
 fully upon his poetical effusions. 
 
 ^^ Your wife seems a little shy among 
 us all/' he said to Randolph ; '^ she wants 
 a season or two in London to give her 
 more self-confidence." 
 
 ^' Shyness is scarcely the w^ord to apply 
 to Evelyn," said Bernard. '^ From the 
 time she could speak she never was at a 
 loss for self-possession, but could do or 
 say anything she liked with the most 
 complete sang-froid.'' 
 
 ^^You are right about the self-posses- 
 sion," said Randolph, eagerly. '* I wish, 
 general, you had seen her at Ischl, sur- 
 rounded by all the Austrian grandees, and 
 you would not have thought her shy. 
 She was most delightfully indifferent to
 
 DELAMERE. 13 
 
 their admiration. Her composure was 
 something wonderful, considering her 
 youth and the secluded life she led at 
 Monkhurst ; but I confess she wants 
 animation. I would give much to see her 
 genuinely pleased, as it would add tenfold 
 to her good looks." 
 
 When Eandolph once began to talk 
 about his wife, it was difficult for any one 
 else to get in a word. He would ex- 
 patiate for hours upon her beauty and 
 cleverness ; but his father and Bernard 
 knew his weakness, and made allowance 
 for him. His courtship had not been 
 an easy one. There had been obstacles 
 to his engagement with Miss Leith 
 which some men would have thought 
 insuperable, but the difficulties had only 
 increased his infatuation. Their mar- 
 riage was a proof of what ingenuity 
 and perseverance could accomplish, and
 
 14 DELAMEEE. 
 
 though she did not love him yet as he 
 wished to be loved, he had great hopes of 
 the future. He had never yet failed in 
 achieving a purpose that he had set his 
 mind upon, and he felt confident the day 
 would arrive when her frigid smiles would 
 be replaced by a radiant look of love, 
 such as he had once seen upon her face ; 
 but it was not he who had inspired it. 
 
 Kandolph had met Evelyn for the first 
 time a little more than a year ago, during 
 a successful canvass of the borough of 
 Leith. He had been intimately ac- 
 quainted with her step-brother, Bernard, 
 some years before. The latter was his 
 chief supporter in the election, and had 
 suggested his candidature. On the ap- 
 proach of the electioneering campaign, 
 Eandolph received a cordial invitation to 
 Monkhurst, the seat of Lord Leith. 
 Evelyn was then a mere school-girl, and
 
 DELAMERE. 15 
 
 seldom appeared in the drawing-room. 
 Her 2^arents had married late in life, and 
 she might have been mistaken for their 
 granddaughter. She dined with her 
 governess in the middle of the day, and 
 was not even introduced to Eandolph; 
 but the little he saw^ of her made a deep 
 impression on him. Eandolph w^as of an 
 observant nature, and took in all the 
 details of the establishment at Monk- 
 hurst. The ill-kept demesne, the mansion 
 falling into dilapidation, and the large 
 tract of bleak and profitless moor, which 
 represented Lord Leith's possessions. 
 
 Soon after Eandolph returned to Dela- 
 mere. Lady Leith and her daughter were 
 the guests of General de Euthvyn. Evelyn 
 looked radiant throughout the visit, and 
 was in unusually high spirits ; but she had 
 a way of turning ojff Eandolph 's tender 
 speeches which was very provoking to
 
 16 DELAMERE. 
 
 him, and he decided to put off his pro- 
 posal until his next visit to Leith. 
 
 The family at Monkhurst consisted of 
 Lord Leithj his wife, his step-son Bernard, 
 and his daughter Evelyn. The lattea^ 
 was completely under the care of Miss 
 Carlyle, a young lady towards whom 
 Eandolph felt an antipathy at first sight. 
 The only other member of the family he 
 knew anj^tbing of was Kate Penthony, a 
 niece of Lady Leith. He had heard 
 nothing of Donald Stamer, Evelyn's 
 cousin on her father's side ; Bernard had 
 never even mentioned his existence, and 
 it was not until he paid his second visit 
 to Monkhurst that he knew of their great 
 intimacy, and discovered that he and 
 Evelyn had been inseparable for the last 
 three months, while Mr. Stamer's regi- 
 ment was quartered at Stirling. 
 
 Lady Leith was indignant when
 
 DELAMERE. 17 
 
 Piandolph suggested that he was a lover. 
 He had been staying with them repeatedly 
 ever since he was a child, but there was 
 nothing but a cousinly intimacy between 
 him and Evelyn. She laughed at the 
 idea that her daughter was capable of 
 either inspiring or conceiving love. She 
 was still a child, the mother insisted — a 
 listless and rather uninteresting child. 
 She would make a stir in society, no 
 doubt, some future day when her manners 
 would become more formed, and her ex- 
 pression more animated, but she was too 
 distraite at present to be even an agree- 
 able companion. It was on the eve of 
 Donald's departure with his regiment for 
 Berwick, that Eandolph arrived for the 
 third time at Monkhurst. A very short 
 interval had elapsed since his last visit, 
 but, being member for Leith, he had a 
 good excuse for visiting the neighbour- 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 DELAMEKE. 
 
 hood. Before leaving Delamere, he had 
 confided his great admiration of Evelyn to 
 her step-brother, who promised to favour 
 his suit to the utmost. Kandolph rode 
 over to Monkhurst as soon as he arrived 
 at Leith, and found the family in a state 
 of commotion. Evelyn, distracted at 
 parting with her cousin, admitted that 
 she was engaged to him. She implored 
 her mother to sanction the engagement, 
 and, upon the latter refusing to see Donald, 
 threatened to defy all opposition. 
 
 Lady Leith first took refuge in hysterics, 
 and then had recourse to her son. He 
 was cool and clear headed, and had often 
 brought her through difficulties before. 
 Her excitement calmed down when he 
 assured her that everything would come 
 right in the end. There was to be no 
 scene, no opposition. He would give 
 Evelyn a few quiet words of advice, and
 
 DELAMEEE. 19 
 
 if she discarded them, what matter ? She 
 was welcome to consider herself engaged 
 if she liked. 
 
 Bernard and Kandolph had a long 
 private interview. No one knew pre- 
 cisely the nature of it, hut the disap- 
 pointed lover looked less crestfallen when 
 it was over. He remained a week longer 
 at Monkhurst, and then returned to Dela- 
 mere to bide his time, as Bernard said 
 significantly, when bidding him good-bye. 
 
 Three months had scarcely passed, when 
 he was invited to return. It was only an 
 ordinary invitation, but it was a message 
 of life and death to him. He knew the 
 deep meaning conveyed in Lady Leith's 
 simple word, and guessed beforehand that 
 the path was made clear for him, and 
 that Evelyn was free. She was cold and 
 distant in her manner, but she accepted 
 his proposal, and complied with her
 
 20 DELAMERE. 
 
 mother's wish that the wedding should 
 be soon. 
 
 Bernard was at Monkhurst, but 
 Eandolph asked him for no particulars, 
 and rather avoided his society. The plan 
 had succeeded, and he shrank from learn- 
 ing the means employed. Evelyn's face 
 told its tale of suffering, but none ever 
 knew the fierce alternations of hope, sus- 
 pense, and anguish she had experienced 
 while Donald Stamer's letters were sup- 
 pressed. It was over now, and the calm- 
 ness of despair had settled upon her. She 
 seemed to have lost the faculty of thought 
 from the time she received a letter from 
 him, the only one that ever reached her 
 since he left for Berwick. It was a cold, 
 formal little note, and said that it was 
 best their engagement should be at an 
 end, as her parents did not approve of it. 
 
 A very short time after Eandolph's final
 
 DELAMEEE. 21 
 
 visit to Monkhiirst, Lord and Lady Leith 
 and Evelyn started for London. A house 
 was taken in Dover Street for six weeks, 
 and at the end of that time the society 
 journals announced that a fashionable 
 marriage had taken place at St. George's 
 Church, Hanover Square, between Ean- 
 dolph, second son of General de Euthvyn, 
 of Delamere, and the Hon. Evelyn Edith, 
 only daughter of Lord Leith. 
 
 Eandolph often thought since of his 
 strange wooing. He would muse over 
 the cleverness of Bernard, and praise 
 himseK for his own perseverance. He 
 had won, in the face of great obstacles, 
 the only woman who had ever set his 
 pulses throbbing. But the news of her 
 cousin's inconstancy had not altogether 
 killed her love for him, and this fact was 
 apparent to Eandolph. Her thoughts still 
 clung to Donald, though she heard that
 
 22 DELAMERE. 
 
 Miss Caiiyle and he were engaged, and 
 were to be married almost directly. She 
 kept all his earlier letters, and had his 
 likeness in a large oval locket. 
 
 Eandolph knew that she had preserved 
 these mementoes, and did not interfere. 
 He was content to bide his time. She 
 was too young to be perpetually sad. 
 Nature would reassert itself in time, and 
 the clouds of the past would be dispersed 
 by the sunshine of the future. As he 
 walked up and down the terrace in front 
 of his wife's apartments, he thought that 
 to be mistress of such a home as Dela- 
 mere might well compensate to her for the 
 spoiling of the early romance of her life. 
 There were many chances in favour of 
 the property descending to her children, 
 as Philip was an invalid, and not at all 
 likely to marry. 
 
 Eandolph built castles in the air in
 
 DELAMEEE. 23 
 
 this quiet twilight hour, while his eyes 
 roamed over the dark masses of forest 
 and woodland that extended in limitless 
 acres round him. He mused and specu- 
 lated upon the many things he would 
 accomplish if he should become owner 
 of Delamere. He was an ambitious man, 
 and felt that he had not yet had full 
 scope for his talents ; but the future might 
 have great things in store for him. Evelyn 
 should be proud of him. He would make 
 a name for himself in Parliament. He was 
 more Liberal in politics than his father, 
 and better suited to go with the times. 
 He would advocate Parliamentary reform, 
 an extended franchise, and the removal 
 of religious disabihties. He would master 
 the intricacies of the currency and bank- 
 ing questions that agitated the com- 
 mercial world, and apply himself to the 
 study of the portentous mass of blue-
 
 24 DELAMERE. 
 
 books that littered his London chambers. 
 He pictured himself emerging from the 
 obscurity of the back benches, and for- 
 saking the pleasanter lounge of the 
 smoking-room, which had hitherto been 
 his principal resort while impatiently 
 waiting for the division. 
 
 He knew that ambition only slumbered 
 within him, and needed but to be aroused 
 to spur him on to success. He would 
 mingle in the struggle of the contending 
 parties that fought under the leadership 
 of Palmerston and Derby. His voice 
 would be heard in the debates on the 
 vast issues of foreign policy that ordered 
 the destinies of Italy and India, and he 
 was already sure of the renown that 
 orators and statesmen were earning. 
 
 It is difficult to say how far Eandolph's 
 imagination would have soared ; he would 
 probably have ended in fancying himself
 
 DELAMERE. 25 
 
 a cabinet minister, but the shades of 
 night fell rapidly, and his cigar was burnt 
 out, so he descended from ideal regions, 
 and went indoors to join his wife.
 
 2G DELAMERE. 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 There is a picturesque little village in 
 the Tyrol, about fifteen miles from 
 Roveredo, in the heart of pine-clad hills 
 and gurgling streams, and nestling at the 
 foot of the Ehaetian Alps. It scarcely 
 deserves the name of a village, as the 
 huts are few and scattered, and there is 
 no attempt at a street; but its chapel 
 contains an image of the Virgin, and 
 attracts devout pilgrims at stated festivals. 
 About a month after Eandolph de 
 Ruthvyn brought his bride home to Dela- 
 mere, his eldest brother Philip arrived at 
 the solitary inn of this remote Tyrolese
 
 DELAMEEE. 27 
 
 village, and before the day was over lie 
 had an interview with the priest. The 
 latter was a withered-looking little man, 
 over sixty years of age, and an ItaHan 
 by birth. Times had been hard on him 
 lately. The pilgrimages were falling off, 
 and there had been a sad dearth of 
 christenings and weddings among his 
 scanty congregation ; but good luck came 
 to him in a sweep, and the Englishman 
 placed more money in his hand at the 
 close of the interview than he had made 
 by ceremonies or offerings for the last 
 haK- dozen years. 
 
 He was shrewd enough to guess that 
 the handsome stranger, who w^as so lavish 
 with his money, had some special reason 
 for choosing this secluded hamlet for his 
 marriage. Ifc w^as no concern of his, 
 however, and he ordered the chapel bells 
 to ring a merry chime the following
 
 28 DELAMEEE. 
 
 morning, while lie bustled about with an 
 unusually cheery expression of counte- 
 nance, doing his utmost to make the 
 little edifice look to its best advantage. 
 With the help of two acolytes, he polished 
 the statue of the patron saint, and placed 
 a gilt crown upon her forehead ; he 
 brought a colossal pair of candles from 
 the vestry, and replaced the faded, dusty- 
 looking flowers on the altar by stiff, 
 gaudy bouquets, kept under lock and key 
 for special occasions like the present. 
 
 Twelve o'clock was the hour appointed 
 for the marriage. It was to be strictly 
 private, according to the bridegroom's 
 express wishes, and at a quarter of an 
 hour before the time he arrived at the 
 church door. He was a tall, well-made 
 man, with aquiline features and blue 
 eyes ; but there was a pallor about his 
 complexion which gave him an appear-
 
 DELAMERE. 29 
 
 ance of delicacy. He exchanged a few 
 words of greeting with the shrivelled old 
 man, who was soon to perform an im- 
 portant service for him, and then took 
 up his stand at the chmxh door to watch 
 the arrival of the bride, who was to drive 
 with her guardian and female attendant 
 from Prad. 
 
 Punctually to the moment of twelve 
 a covered carriage appeared in sight. 
 The eager bridegroom got a glimpse of 
 the lovely face of his bride, and with 
 a beating heart walked up the aisle to 
 await her at the altar. A middle-aged 
 man, with Jewish features and sallow 
 complexion, assisted her to alight. She 
 was small and slight, and the bloom of 
 extreme youth was upon her countenance. 
 She wore a grey dress of soft clinging 
 material, made with nun-like simplicity, 
 and a hat of the same colour partly con-
 
 30 DELAMERE. 
 
 cealed her golden-brown hair. A shy 
 look came into her hazel eyes, and a 
 warm blush spread over her cheeks, as 
 she placed her arm within her guardian's 
 and walked up the aisle with him. Philip 
 met them at the altar, and the young girl 
 took her place beside him. They were 
 a handsome couple, and the priest, who 
 was a good judge of beauty, notwith- 
 standing his secluded life, was not blind 
 to the fact. 
 
 The solemn words of the service pro- 
 ceeded, and all present became engrossed 
 in it. The man and woman were joined 
 together for better, for worse, for richer, 
 for poorer, until death parted them. The 
 ring w^as placed on Flora's finger, the 
 benediction pronounced, and, as Philip 
 folded his wife in his arms and pressed 
 a fervent kiss upon her lips, Delamere 
 w^as forgotten, and his proud old father,
 
 DELAMERE. 31 
 
 who loved him better than Hfe, faded 
 completely from his thoughts. 
 
 Ten minutes later, the bride and bride- 
 groom took their seats in a carriage, 
 which was in readiness at the church 
 door, and drove to Riva, on the Lago di 
 Garda, whence they intended to proceed 
 by easy stages to Verona. 
 
 The old priest had made a shrewd 
 guess with regard to the marriage he had 
 just celebrated. It was a clandestine 
 marriage, and one that Philip de Euthvyn 
 could never hope to reveal to his father. 
 His bride was child-hke in her innocence, 
 was fair to look upon, and had the most 
 charmingly ingenuous manners; but she 
 had already achieved a triumph on the 
 stage, being no other than Flora Venosti, 
 whose very name had filled the old 
 general with a foreboding of evil. It 
 was a case of love at first sight with
 
 32 DELAMEEE. 
 
 Philip, who shared neither his father's 
 pride nor his prejudice. He had heard 
 many opera-singers in London and Paris, 
 hut none had bewitched him like the 
 young girl who had just made her debut, 
 and whom he resolved to marry after a 
 fortnight's acquaintance. He had rushed 
 blindly on his fate. There was oppor- 
 tunity for pausing and turning back had 
 he wished. There had been great diffi- 
 culties in obtaining an introduction to 
 Flora, and when that important step was 
 effected, and he was assured of her love 
 by her own lips, unlooked-for obstacles 
 had awaited him. Her guardian, Di Lira, 
 sternly refused to listen to his proposal. 
 He had other views for Mademoiselle 
 Yenosti, he said. He could not think 
 of marring her brilliant future by giving 
 her to the first man who offered to marry 
 her. She was altogether too young to
 
 DELAMERE. 33 
 
 think "of marrying. There was a glorious 
 career before her, upon which she had 
 only just entered, which he had long 
 foreseen, and which he had struggled 
 to procure for her, and she should not 
 be taken from it at the bidding of any 
 one. 
 
 " True," said Philip, ^^ there is a 
 brilliant career before Mademoiselle 
 Venosti, and I do not for a moment 
 conceal from you that if she becomes 
 my wife she will have to abandon it, but 
 surely you do not think it so desirable 
 for her as the position I offer ? You, who 
 have adopted her, and stand in lieu to 
 her of all blood relatives, ought to con- 
 sider before you refuse her in marriage 
 to one who can bestow great wealth upon 
 her, as well as a position among the 
 noblest in England. You cannot deny 
 that her profession exposes her to many 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 DELAMERE. 
 
 perils which at present you are able to 
 guard her against, but which would be 
 none the less dangerous should sickness 
 or death remove you from her." 
 
 ^' And will her position be among the 
 noblest in England ? will you promise 
 to acknowledge your marriage in sight 
 of all the world ? and will you bring your 
 bride home to the ancestral estates of 
 which you boast so proudly, that she may 
 be there treated with the admiration and 
 respect due to her ? " replied Di Lira, 
 with a cynical sneer. 
 
 '' I do not feel bound to submit all the 
 movements of my future life to you," 
 answered Philip, as a dark flush mounted 
 his forehead. ^^Is it not enough that I 
 offer to marry Mademoiselle Yenosti, and 
 that you are welcome to be one of the 
 witnesses of the marriage ? Family 
 arrangements and my own health may
 
 DELAMERE. 35 
 
 compel me to live abroad some years 
 longer." 
 
 *^ Precisely so," interrupted Di Lira; 
 ^'family arrangements, or rather, family 
 pride. Call it by its right name. Speak 
 no more to me on the subject," continued 
 he, with an impatient gesture. "I en- 
 tirely refuse my consent to your marriage 
 with Mademoiselle Venosti, and feel 
 satisfied that I am furthering her best 
 interests in doing so." 
 
 ^' You profess to love her," said Philip, 
 now irritated beyond control, "but no 
 genuine feehngs could prompt you to 
 such harshness, for she loves me, and 
 you will be destroying her future happi- 
 ness as well as mine." 
 
 "She loves you?" said Di Lira, in 
 ironical tones — "you whom she has only 
 known for a fortnight ? You must have 
 as great an opinion of your personal
 
 86 DELAMERE. 
 
 charms as of the splendour of your 
 estates." 
 
 These words, spoken with such aggra- 
 vating insolence, did not accord with the 
 expression of pain and fear that stole over 
 the face of the Italian. Philip, detecting 
 the look, determined to ignore the last 
 remark and to persevere; for, although he 
 had resolved to marry Flora without Di 
 Lira's consent if he refused to give it, 
 he considered it pleasant er for her and 
 more honourable for himself to procure 
 it, if possible. 
 
 ''Do not finally refuse me until you 
 consult Mademoiselle Venosti. You will 
 hear from her own lips that she loves 
 me, if I am not very much mistaken." 
 
 " You have scarcely known her a fort- 
 night, whereas I have devoted myself to 
 her since her infancy, and yet you 
 proj)ose in the coolest manner to rob
 
 DELAMERE. 37 
 
 me of her," said Di Lira, in a hoarse 
 tone. 
 
 ^' Fathers, in general, do not object to 
 such robbery, but, on the contrary, look 
 forward to it as a natural and desirable 
 event." 
 
 *^ But I am not her father," said Di 
 Lira, his lips quivering with suppressed 
 emotion. 
 
 ^' True," said Philip ; ^^ and in my 
 eagerness I had forgotten your great 
 claim. You, a stranger who generously 
 devoted your life to her, who cultivated 
 her genius at your own expense, and who 
 are only now beginning to reap a reward, 
 may lawfully expect a large compensa- 
 tion, and you shall not be the loser. 
 State your own terms and you shall be 
 paid the day of our wedding. Indepen- 
 dently, you shall always have a home 
 with your daughter and me."
 
 38 DELAMERE. 
 
 Philip would have continned to enlarge 
 upon the advantages Di Lira would 
 secure to himself by the arrangement, 
 but a haughty glance from the latter 
 caused him to pause in his argument. 
 
 ^'Talk not to me of money, Mr. de 
 Euthvyn. All the money you are pos- 
 sessed of would not compensate to me 
 for her ; but if she loves you, I shall not 
 be an obstacle to your marriage." 
 
 Di Lira seemed so strangely overcome 
 by the conversation that Philip thought 
 it best to depart, and, having agreed that 
 the decision should be left with Flora, 
 lie took his leave of the Italian. 
 
 The following day he received a short 
 note from Di Lira, accepting his offer of 
 marriage on the part of Mademoiselle 
 Venosti, and the subsequent arrange- 
 ments were speedily made. The young 
 prima donna was allowed to finish her
 
 DELAMERE 39 
 
 engagement at Vienna, bat Di Lira 
 refused all other offers from im^presarios. 
 It was announced that Mademoiselle 
 Yenosti was going to retire from the 
 stage, but nothing was said about her 
 marriage, at Philip's special request. 
 Ten days after Di Lii'a gave his consent, 
 the civil marriage was performed in 
 Vienna ; but as that was not sufficient to 
 satisfy the rehgious scruples of either Di 
 Lira or Flora, it was followed by the 
 sacred ceremony in the lonely Tyrolese 
 chapel.
 
 40 DELAMERE. 
 
 CHAPTEK III, 
 
 Time had not dimmed the ardour of their 
 love, nor robbed it of its freshness, when, 
 in the second year of their marriage, 
 PhiHp and Flora settled down to quiet 
 wedded happiness in their beautiful villa 
 at Terracina. They had travelled through 
 the most picturesque scenery of Europe, 
 avoiding the localities most frequented 
 by British tourists ; but where, throughout 
 the length and breadth of Europe, could 
 Philip be safe from meeting his un- 
 welcome countrymen ? Chance, on more 
 than one occasion, threw him in the path 
 of intimate friends, who chaffed him about
 
 DELAMERE. 41 
 
 his charming companion ; but, keenly as 
 he felt theii* badinage, he abstained from 
 revealing his marriage. He had no hope 
 that his father would condone it, and for 
 that reason he resolved to keep it secret. 
 He knew already how stern and unfor- 
 giving the general could be. He had a 
 favourite brother, four years younger 
 than Eandolph, who had the misfortune 
 to offend him some years before, and his 
 existence had been ignored ever since. 
 In the early days of their marriage, Philip 
 bemoaned his father's pride to Flora. He 
 told her of his harshness to his brother 
 Arthur, and grieved over the necessity of 
 keeping the marriage secret ; but she saw 
 no cause for grieving. Philip's presence 
 was an all-sufficing joy and dehght to 
 her, and what did doubtful appearances 
 signify. Until the necessity for secresy 
 no longer existed, they agreed to adopt
 
 42 DELAMERE. 
 
 the name of Delille, and it was in that 
 name that Philip rented the villa at 
 Terracina. Every luxury that the most 
 fastidious taste could desire, all that 
 art could invent and wealth procure, was 
 lavished upon that secluded home to 
 make it worthy of Flora, and compensate 
 in some measure for Philip's unwilling 
 injustice ; and it was there a few months 
 later that their happiness was completed 
 by the birth of a child, whom they called 
 Fleurette. No forebodings of the future 
 that menaced her troubled the minds of 
 either father or mother. They did not 
 dream of the pale, stately looking girl, 
 who was ruling as mistress of Delamere, 
 and who would be opposed to their child 
 some future day in the deadliest rivalry. 
 The infant slept, while notes sweet as a 
 nightingale's murmured its lullaby; and 
 Philip, radiant with delight, looked fondly
 
 DELAMERE. 43 
 
 upon mother and child, conscious that in 
 them his genius would find its truest 
 inspiration. 
 
 While Flora spent her days in wor- 
 shipping her new treasure, Philip was 
 absorbed in literary work. To portray 
 by the word-painting of his art, the 
 varied beauties of Nature, or to give 
 language to the passionate energy of 
 poetic thought, was a welcome task to 
 one w^ho had travelled much and ob- 
 served closely, and whose wedded life 
 had hitherto ghded serenely, in the deep 
 and pure enjoyment of an unselfish love. 
 
 One soft balmy evening Philip and 
 Flora were out on the terrace facing 
 the sea. Huge masses of roses and 
 opal-tinted clouds piled in the western 
 sky, reflected their gorgeous hues in 
 the glassy surface beneath. The sun, 
 sinking slowly behind the Ponza islands.
 
 44 DELAMERE. 
 
 flooded them in brilliant light, shed his 
 lingering beams upon the Monte Circello, 
 and illuminated the lonely ruins of the 
 temple once dedicated to him. 
 
 Flora felt oppressed with the stillness 
 of the scene, and an indefinable melan- 
 choly stole over her. 
 
 ^' Is not our life like those sunset 
 clouds, Philip, all golden and rose 
 coloured ? I sometimes fear that it is 
 too bright to last. We are mortals, and 
 can we hope to be free from the ills of 
 humanity ? ' ' 
 
 '^ So you are beginning to philosophize 
 already," replied her husband, gaily, while 
 he placed his arm round her waist. 
 ^' Why should we not be happy, dearest ? 
 We are blessed with all the requisites for 
 a happy life, and we need not anticipate 
 evil. We have youth, wealth, and each 
 other's love. Let us be thankful for our
 
 DELAMERE. 45 
 
 blessings, and not trouble ourselves with 
 vague misgivings for the future." 
 
 Tempted by the beauty of the evening, 
 they remained out longer than usual, and 
 were about to descend a flight of steps 
 cut in the rock to reach a favourite nook 
 of theirs, when Philip saw his valet 
 coming towards him. He guessed at 
 once that something was the matter, and, 
 turning back to meet him, was startled 
 to perceive a telegram in his hand. He 
 tore open the envelope with much agi- 
 tation. 
 
 *' It is from Randolph," he said to his 
 wife, who stood beside him with a scared 
 countenance. '' My father is ill, and I 
 must go to him at once. I have neglected 
 him lately, poor old man," he added, 
 seeing the tears gathering in her eyes at 
 the prospect of separation. 
 
 ''And I have been the cause of that
 
 46 DELAMERE. 
 
 neglect," said she. ^^For me you have 
 left your family, and have been an exile 
 from your native land." Saying this she 
 threw herself into his arms, and gave vent 
 to a burst of passionate sobs. 
 
 ^' Life with you would be no exile, even 
 in Siberia," replied Philip, tenderly ; ^' but 
 my father has immense claims upon me, 
 and I know you will bear up for my 
 sake ; besides, you will scarcely have 
 time to miss me. I shall be back so 
 soon." 
 
 *' See ! " said she, pointing to the sky. 
 ''The golden sunset clouds have vanished, 
 and nothing remains but the cold grey 
 shadows of the coming night. Is my life 
 to be thus ? Is my sunshine leaving me, 
 my happiness drifting from me ? Oh, I 
 know that it is so ! " and with a fresh 
 tumult of passionate grief, she again threw 
 her arms round her husband.
 
 DELAMERE. 47 
 
 ^' Silly child!" said Philip, almost 
 angrily; *^ you will aggravate me with 
 your folly. It is because I never left you 
 before that you are making such a tragedy 
 of it. You will work yourself into a fever 
 if you give way like this." 
 
 ^^ You will write, Philip? " said she, in 
 a tremulous voice, as they turned their 
 steps towards the villa. 
 
 " Of course, dearest. The postman 
 will have a busy time in bringing my 
 letters. I shall write not only once, but 
 twice a day, if it is any satisfaction to 
 you, and I shall expect the most loving 
 little notes in return." 
 
 Flora smiled faintly, repressing a rising 
 sob, and resolving to display a Spartan 
 courage, so as not to merit any more 
 reproaches. Together they consulted 
 Bradshaw, that never-failing refuge of 
 the English tourist, and discovered at 
 
 ^
 
 48 DELAMERE. 
 
 length, through its intricate columns, the 
 most expeditious route. When all the 
 preparations for the hurried start were 
 complete. Flora brought her child to 
 receive its father's embrace, and looked 
 so fragile as she lifted it up to his lips 
 that for a moment his heart misgave him, 
 and the possibility of bringing her with 
 him flashed upon his mind, but he put 
 the thought from him. To bring her to 
 Delamere while his father was ill might 
 hasten his death, and was not to be 
 thought of, and if not there, where else 
 would she be so safe as at Terracina, 
 surrounded by her faithful servants. Had 
 Flora known what thoughts were passing 
 in his mind, she would have taken advan- 
 tage of them, and her pleadings to accom- 
 pany him might have conquered his 
 objections ; but she felt it too hopeless 
 a subject to speak on. The sound of
 
 DELAMEIIE. 49 
 
 approaching wheels aroused them from 
 their reverie, and was a vivid reminder 
 that the parting moment had come. The 
 infant was placed on a couch, and with a 
 long wail. Flora twined her arms round 
 her husband's neck, clinging to him as 
 though the parting was death. 
 
 In a few moments more he was gone, 
 and with a sick heart and bhnding tears 
 she was straining her eyes through the 
 gloom, as his mail phaeton bore him on 
 the first stage of his homeward journey. 
 
 VOL.
 
 50 DELAMEEE. 
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 It is the height of the London season, 
 and a broiling day in June. Eandolph 
 de Euthvyn and his wife have just re- 
 turned from a ride in the Eow, and the 
 south side of Cavendish Square, where 
 the general's town house is situated, 
 seems cool and quiet after the heat and 
 glare of the Park. Evelyn does not wait 
 to take off her riding-habit, but makes 
 her way to a large airy room, where the 
 blinds are lowered to keep out the sun, 
 and an elderly woman is keeping guard 
 over a little boy asleep in his cot. He 
 is Evelyn's firstborn, and has passed the
 
 DELAMERE. 51 
 
 stage of mere babyhood, being two years 
 old. His mother takes care of him at 
 this hour, as the nurse prefers dining 
 downstairs with the other servants to 
 taking her noonday repast in solitar}^ 
 state in the nursery, and he is too 
 precious to be entrusted to her assistants. 
 He is a dehcate-looking little specimen 
 of humanity, more fragile than one would 
 expect, considering that he has been 
 reared in the country ; but his mother 
 thinks him perfection. Eandolph no 
 longer complains of her want of anima- 
 tion. There is a smile upon her lips, 
 and a glad light in her eyes, and the 
 happiness which he coveted for her three 
 years ago has come to her in all its fulness. 
 The past is almost forgotten in the new 
 and absorbing interest with which her child 
 inspires her, and Eandolph's devotion 
 has at length met its reward. Evelyn 
 
 U^'^^^l.w Of \iUNm5 
 
 ;;vE8»^^ ^^
 
 52 DELAMEEE. 
 
 does not care for a town life, and it is 
 not altogether with her will that she 
 is in London. She has had a nervous 
 dread of meeting Donald ever since her 
 marriage ; and though she heard he was 
 with his regiment at York, she remained 
 at Delamere to be completely out of his 
 reach. She had a good excuse for a 
 retired life, as she was in delicate health 
 for many months ; but Randolph and his 
 father never ceased to lament that the 
 house in town was made so little use of. 
 
 Philip was abroad, and, though his 
 health seemed to have improved, he never 
 talked of coming home. On the contrary, 
 he had lately bought a villa at Terracina, 
 w^hich looked like as if he was going to 
 settle there. The general sighed at his 
 long absence, and seemed to dread some 
 entanglement, but Randolph saw nothing 
 to regret in his absence. Living abroad
 
 DELAMEEE. 53 
 
 might put marriage more completely out 
 of his head, and would be all the better 
 for Eandolph himself in the end. 
 
 Evelyn's forebodings that she would 
 meet her cousin if she came to London 
 were soon realized. She was not more 
 than a week in town, when he passed 
 her on horseback while she was diiving 
 in the Park, and she met him soon 
 afterwards at a dinner-party. There was 
 a bitterness of feeling on both sides, 
 which placed an effectual banier between 
 them. Explanations under the circum- 
 stances were impossible, and Eandolph 
 felt he was safe. Still, he was uneasy 
 when Donald appeared at the dinner- 
 party, and he took care that his wife 
 should have no opportunity for private 
 conversation with him, if she were even 
 inchned for it. Ten days later, she saw 
 Donald again at a concert. He was with
 
 54 DELAMERE. 
 
 young Brandreth, a brother officer of his, 
 whom Evelyn knew intimately. The 
 latter came up during the concert, and 
 sat between her and her little cousin, 
 Kate Penthony. He laughed outright 
 when Evelyn asked him why Mr. Stamer's 
 wife was not with him. 
 
 Miss Carlyle had done her best to en- 
 trap him into a Scotch marriage, he said, 
 but, thank heaven ! she had not suc- 
 ceeded. Donald was too clever to be 
 hoodwinked by her. She was a horrid 
 woman ; and, if Evelyn would not be 
 offended, he would tell her a great many 
 things about her that would amaze her. 
 
 Evelyn did not ask to be enlightened. 
 She was intensely proud, and felt that 
 the subject was lowering to her dignity. 
 Fred Brandreth saw, however, that his 
 words had an effect, for she looked pre- 
 occupied during the remainder of the
 
 DELAMERE. 55 
 
 concert, and seemed to take no further 
 interest in the music. 
 
 Eandolph had not accompanied his 
 wife to the concert. He was not suffi- 
 ciently fond of music to endure being 
 shut up in a hot, crowded building in the 
 daytime, but he had arranged to meet 
 Evelyn in the Park, and drive home with 
 her. She was sitting, later on, under one 
 of the trees in the Park, with her little 
 cousin Kate and Fred Brandreth. They 
 were watching the stream of fashionable 
 loungers, and expecting every moment to 
 be joined by Eandolph, when Donald 
 Stamer came up behind, and accosted 
 them suddenly. Evelyn was angry with 
 herself for changing colour. She had 
 been so anxious to show her indifference 
 to Donald, that this involuntary display 
 of emotion was humiliating. Still, she 
 was more incHned to be forgiving to
 
 56 DELAMERE. 
 
 Mm since she knew his real feelings 
 towards Miss Carlyle, and there was a 
 shade more warmth in her manner than 
 nsual. Fred Brandreth and Kate were 
 chatting gaily together, and she and 
 Donald were left to themselves. 
 
 She was more like her old self, he 
 thought, as he took a vacant seat heside 
 her. Her eyes were more lustrous, her 
 complexion more radiant, her beauty 
 more matured than when he parted with 
 her at Monkhurst, but in all else she was 
 unchanged. The look of disdainful in- 
 difference which she bestowed upon him 
 a few evenings ago, and which somewhat 
 spoilt her loveliness, had vanished. He 
 was at a loss to account for the gracious- 
 ness of her present mood, but he did not 
 presume upon it. 
 
 They talked upon the most common- 
 place subjects, and made a pretence of
 
 DELAMERE. 57 
 
 composure and unconcern, but their 
 thoughts -wandered back to the pine 
 woods at Monkhurst, where three short 
 3-ears ago they had promised to be true 
 to one another. Evelyn's thoughts were 
 occupied also with Miss Carlyle. She 
 would have given much to know the truth 
 of the story that w^as afloat about her 
 and Donald, but she could not stoop to 
 question him. Pride came to her rescue, 
 and sealed her Hps on the past. 
 
 She would be in town about three 
 weeks longer, she told Donald; and, on 
 comparing notes, they found they w^ould 
 meet on several occasions at the houses 
 of mutual friends. 
 
 The reserve of manner on both sides 
 was beginning to melt insensibly, and it 
 is probable they would have become 
 confidential, if Eandolph had not arrived 
 upon the scene. There was an angry
 
 58 DELAMERE. 
 
 light in his eyes when he discovered that 
 it was Donald who was in such earnest 
 conversation with his wife, and he barely 
 noticed either him or Fred Brandretb. 
 Evelyn was quick to perceive that some- 
 thing was amiss, and looked anxiously at 
 Kandolph ; but he scarcely spoke a word 
 to her as he escorted her and Kate to the 
 carriage, which was waiting for them. 
 
 Evelyn has not seen Donald since she 
 met him in the Park ; but he has been a 
 great deal in her thoughts. She thinks 
 of him now in her quiet, darkened room, 
 as she bends over her sleeping child, 
 and the thought flashes across her mind 
 that she was harsh and unjust in her 
 rapid condemnation of him three years 
 ago. There was no truth in the report 
 of his marriage she knows now, and she 
 is almost frightened at the joy which the 
 'contradiction of that report has brought
 
 DELAMERE. 59 
 
 her. Why should it affect her so much ? 
 she wonders. Under all chcumstances, 
 they must be strangers to each other 
 now. 
 
 Evelyn has no wish to be disloyal to 
 her husband. She is not ungrateful by 
 natm-e ; and, if bound to him by no closer 
 tie than gratitude, she could not easily 
 forget his devotion and tenderness. She 
 is determined to be faithful to him in 
 thought, word, and deed ; but, in spite of 
 her good resolutions, she cannot help 
 thinking of Donald. She persuades her- 
 self that all she wishes is to have the 
 mystery of the past explained. Why did 
 he write that cruel letter to her ? What 
 motive prompted him to do so ? The 
 report of his marriage may be contra- 
 dicted, but nothing could explain his own 
 deliberate renunciation of her. Evelyn's 
 heart hardens to him as she recalls his
 
 60 DELAMERE. 
 
 last letter. It is treason to her husband 
 to bestow a thought on either it or the 
 writer, and she is impatient with herself 
 for doing so. 
 
 She is in this incertitude of mind 
 when the door opens, and Kate Penthony 
 comes into the room in her usual noisy- 
 fashion. She is a lively girl of sixteen, 
 with a retrousse nose, piquant expression, 
 and bright wavy hair. Her father and 
 Lady Leith were brother and sister, and 
 since his death, two years ago, she has 
 lived completely with her aunt. The old 
 lady has come to London to consult a 
 doctor about her chest, and is staying 
 within ten minutes' walk of Cavendish 
 Square, which accounts for Kate and 
 Evelyn being so often together. 
 
 ^' I have news for you," said the young 
 girl, throwing off her hat, and nestling 
 comfortably in the nurse's rocking-chair.
 
 DELAMERE. 61 
 
 ''Talk softly, dear, or you will wake 
 Raymond, and we shall have such trouble 
 with him until Mrs. Finch comes up," 
 interposed Evelyn. 
 
 ''I have been at the Academy all the 
 morning with Aunt Fanny. Dr. FeiTars 
 said she was not to mope, but to go 
 about and amuse herself, and she took 
 it into her head to see the paintings. I 
 had a gentleman escorting me all the 
 time I was there, I can tell you. Can 
 you guess who he was ? " 
 
 '' Fred Brandreth, I suppose," answered 
 Evelyn, laughing. '' You and he seemed 
 very good fiiends at the concert. You 
 are a precocious young monkey, to have 
 an admirer at your age." 
 
 ''It was not Fred Brandi'eth," replied 
 Kate, with a saucy smile. " It was 
 Donald Stamer, and he seemed greatly 
 disappointed that you were not with me."
 
 62 DELAMERE. 
 
 An eager look sprang into Evelyn's 
 eyes at tlie sound of her cousin's name, 
 and she stooped over her child to conceal 
 her agitation. 
 
 *^ How did he and mamma get on ? " 
 she said, after a moment's pause, in as un- 
 concerned a tone as she could assume. 
 ** They never liked each other so long 
 as I remember, and have not met for 
 years." 
 
 ^'Aunt Fanny scarcely saw him; she 
 felt faint when we first arrived, and went 
 into the refreshment-rooms for a glass of 
 wine. She met some of her cronies there, 
 and it was very dull for me ; but she 
 allowed me to go into the next room to 
 look at some paintings, and it was there I 
 met Donald. He gave me this little note 
 for you, and I partly guess what is in it." 
 As Kate spoke, she handed Evelyn a 
 small three-cornered note, addressed in a
 
 DELAMEEE. 68 
 
 well-known hand. ^* Now, don't put it 
 into your pocket, and forget all about it," 
 she said, in the saucy tone she usually 
 assumed when speaking to Evelyn ; '' but 
 say you will do what he asks." 
 
 The sight of her cousin's handwriting 
 awoke a flood of memories — some painful, 
 but some infinitely sweet. She would 
 have preferred reading his letter in the 
 privacy of her own room, but she knew 
 Kate would give her no peace. 
 
 '' Is it so very urgent ? " she said, with 
 a smile, as she moved over to the window, 
 while the young girl took her place at the 
 cot. 
 
 There was not much in the letter. It 
 was only a few lines, asking her to bring 
 Kate to the Academy again that after- 
 noon, as she had not seen half the 
 pictures. There were one or two gems 
 he wished particularly to call Evelyn's
 
 '64 DELAMERE. 
 
 own attention to. He would be there at 
 a little before four o'clock on cbance. It 
 was signed ^^ yours faithfully, Donald," 
 and was so carefully worded all through 
 that even Eandolph could not have made 
 any mischief out of it. 
 
 '^Do come, there's a dear," said Kate, 
 who had been eagerly watching Evelyn's 
 expression. ^' You have nothing to do 
 after luncheon, and it would be so nice 
 for us to go to the Academy together. I 
 never see anything properly with Aunt 
 Fanny. She sits down ^vhenever she 
 arrives at a place, and won't let me stir 
 from her. If we leave this a little after 
 three, you will be back in time to take 
 her for her drive as usual." 
 
 '^Imust think about it," said Evelyn, 
 putting the letter in her pocket, and 
 placing her arm round the young girl's 
 waist. ^' You see, if I give in to you and
 
 DELAMERE. 65 
 
 Donald to-day, you will give me no rest 
 — you will want me to go to-morrow to 
 tlie Kensington Museum, or somewhere 
 else, perhaps, and you know how tired I 
 feel in the evenings." 
 
 Kate was assuring her that she would 
 be allowed a fortnight to rest from the 
 exertion of the Academy, if necessary, 
 when a step was heard outside, and the 
 nurse made her appearance, looking 
 greasier about the mouth and redder in 
 the face than when she descended to the 
 servants' hall half an hour ago. 
 
 Evelyn gave her child a parting kiss on 
 the forehead, and after giving some in- 
 structions about his afternoon airing to the 
 nurse, she and Kate left the room to- 
 gether. It was luncheon hour, and the 
 gong was sounding; but before they 
 reached the dining-room, they were met 
 by Randolph. He was coming out of his 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 DELAMEKE. 
 
 study with a letter in his hand, and 
 looked much agitated. 
 
 ^' The governor is ill, Evelyn," said 
 he. ^^ This letter is from Mrs. Cruise, 
 the housekeeper, and is very alarming. 
 He seems to have caught cold in some 
 way, and the doctor thinks him in great 
 danger. We must leave for Delamere by 
 the five o'clock train from E us ton, and I 
 have to telegraph to Philip first." 
 
 Evelyn took the letter from her hus- 
 band, and read it with a grave counte- 
 nance. She was fond of the old general, 
 who loved her as his own daughter, and 
 the thought of his life being in peril 
 drove away all other considerations. She 
 went through the formality of lunch, 
 but ate little, and went upstairs as soon 
 as possible to make preparations for her 
 journey. It was past three o clock when 
 she left the dining-room, to give her maid
 
 DELAMEEE. 67 
 
 directions about packing ; but she con- 
 trived, in the midst of the bustle and 
 confusion, to write a few lines to Donald 
 Stamer. 
 
 Clarice the maid went composedly to 
 work at her mistress's wardrobe ; but the 
 suddenness of the move upset the nurse's 
 equilibrium. She exclaimed at her pre- 
 cious child being exposed to cold by 
 travelling at night. His white fi'ocks, 
 too, were at the wash, and would be lost 
 to a moral certainty if she was not there 
 to count them herself. 
 
 Mrs. Finch was a very important person 
 in the establishment, and had to be 
 humoured. Evelyn gave way to her as 
 usual, and arranged that she and Eay- 
 mond were to follow next morning. Kate 
 was to superintend all the arrangements 
 for their journey, and felt quite elated 
 at her sudden responsibilities. Evelyn
 
 68 DELAMEEE. 
 
 almost confused her with the variety of 
 her directions, and, among other things, 
 entrusted her with the note to Donald. 
 She was to be sure to post it, Evelyn said, 
 and not trust to seeing him. It explained 
 why they could not go to the Academy, 
 and he would think it very unkind if he 
 did not hear. Kate took the note, pro- 
 mising to remember everything ; but the 
 sudden departure of her cousin, and the 
 many things she had to do, drove Donald 
 and the Academy far from her thoughts. 
 
 Lady Leith was irritated when she 
 heard that her daughter was gone, and 
 the establishment in the square broken 
 up. She would not remain any longer, 
 she said. The doctor was doing her no 
 good, and she would try Bournemouth. 
 
 London was suffocating, and the change 
 to the sea would be pleasant. She only 
 waited to see her little grandson off next
 
 DELAMERE. 69 
 
 morning, when she gave notice to her 
 landlady, and started a couple of days 
 later for the south of England with Kate. 
 It was not until the latter was nearly 
 a week in Bournemouth, that, shopping 
 one day with her aunt, she put her hand 
 in her pocket and found Evelyn's note. 
 Lady Leith recognized her daughter's 
 handwriting, and saw at a glance to 
 whom it was addressed. She looked at it 
 eagerly, and made Kate explain all about 
 it. The best thing she could do with it 
 was to tear it up, she said. It was out of 
 date, and it would be absurd to post it. 
 Kate followed her advice, consoling her- 
 self with the reflection that it was not a 
 very important letter, and that it would 
 not much signify whether Donald got it 
 or not.
 
 70 DELAMERE. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 Ten years have passed since Flora was 
 left disconsolate at Terracina, to mourn 
 her husband's absence and count the 
 days until his return. It is ten years, 
 too, since the day Eandolph and his wife 
 started on their hurried journey to Dela- 
 mere, while Donald waited impatiently 
 at the Academy, vowing in bitterness of 
 spirit that he would think no more of 
 Evelyn. 
 
 It was a bright morning in June, ten 
 years after these circumstances, and 
 Bernard Waldstein and Donald Stamer 
 are pacing the deck of an Ostend steamer.
 
 DELAMEBE. 71 
 
 The vessel has long left the discoloured 
 waters of the Thames, and, with a fresh 
 wind in her favour, is making rapid way 
 towards the Belgian coast. Though 
 Bernard is of an average height and 
 fairly proportioned, he looks to a dis- 
 advantage beside Captain Stamer. That 
 tall and commanding figure, with its 
 splendid breadth of chest and noble pose 
 of the head, has few rivals. Yet there 
 never lived a man more devoid of conceit. 
 The disappointment of his early youth had 
 destroyed all traces of vanity in him, and 
 he is either utterly unconscious of, or 
 indifferent to, the fact that other men act 
 as foils to him. As he walks up and down 
 the deck, with the sunlight shining upon 
 his clearly cut features and bronzed com- 
 plexion, there is a marked resemblance in 
 him to the portrait in Evelyn's locket. 
 The brown moustache is larger than in
 
 72 DELAMEEE. 
 
 the picture, and more completely conceals 
 the mouth. The lower part of the face 
 is slightly changed also — it has become 
 squarer and firmer; but the eyes and 
 expression are the same. 
 
 ^^ Well, you do surprise me, my dear 
 fellow," said Bernard, pausing in his walk, 
 and looking with astonishment at his 
 companion. "When I heard of your 
 marriage, I thought it was another false 
 report. I should not have credited it if I 
 had heard it from any one else. I suppose 
 I ought to congratulate you, but from the 
 sad account you give of Mrs. Stamer, I 
 fear it is more a matter of condolence." 
 
 " You may spare me both your con- 
 gratulations and condolences," answered 
 Donald, rather bitterly. ''I suppose I 
 shall get used to it all after a time." 
 
 " I should not give up hope if I were 
 you. Some bad cases of insanity have
 
 DELAMERE. 73 
 
 come under my own knowledge, and the 
 patients have eventually recovered. If it 
 is hereditary madness, of course it is a 
 different thing." 
 
 '* That's just what I fear it is," replied 
 Donald. ^^Her general health, however, 
 has improved. She has grown much 
 stouter and stronger looking, and if you 
 saw her now, you would scarcely recog- 
 nize the sickly looking girl we all knew 
 years ago at Monkhurst." 
 
 '* Did ifc never occur to you that there 
 was something peculiar about her eyes ? " 
 said Bernard. ^^ She always seemed to 
 be watching on the sly. It is terrible to 
 think that we had an incipient madwoman 
 about us all those years." 
 
 *^IIow is Kandolph ? " said Donald, 
 hoping to change the subject from his 
 unfortunate wife. " I am sorry to see by 
 the Times that he has been so ill."
 
 74 DELAMEEE. 
 
 *' 111 is no word for it," replied Bernard ; 
 ^' the man is dying. There is not the 
 smallest hope of his recovery. I am 
 expecting every day to hear of the end ; 
 and, indeed, his death will be a happy 
 release to him. He has suffered horribly 
 for the last conple of years, and Evelyn 
 is worn to a shadow with watching and 
 anxiety." 
 
 ^' You ought to have a couple of trained 
 nurses to relieve her. It is unfair to sacri- 
 fice her health in such a hopeless cause." 
 
 ''We have had two of them at Dela- 
 mere for the last six months, but she 
 makes little use of them. If Eandolph 
 had some terrible secret upon his mind 
 which she feared he would reveal, she 
 could not guard him more jealously. She 
 w^ould not allow even me to relieve her, 
 except on very rare occasions." 
 
 '' There was some story connected with
 
 DELAMERE. 75 
 
 Arthur's death, if I am not mistaken. I 
 was in India at the time, and never heard 
 the particulars." 
 
 '^ Yes ; he was killed near Naples m 
 the late Itahan war. He always had the 
 knack of getting himself into mischief, 
 and it was his fate to be killed in a 
 foreign land, heading a body of insurgents. 
 Philip was living in the south of Italy at 
 the time, and by some lucky accident 
 happened to be near the scene of action. 
 I believe it was little better than an 
 affi'ay. However, poor Arthur lost his life 
 by it. He left a little daughter — a nice 
 httle girl, who is being brought up with 
 Evelyn's children ; but her mother was 
 an actress, or something equally low. I 
 believe myself that Arthur's object in this 
 mesalliance was to thwart his father, 
 who was the proudest man that ever 
 breathed. They were always quarrelling. ' '
 
 76 DELAMERE. 
 
 ^^ Poor old man ! I can excuse his re- 
 senting such a connection," said Donald. 
 *^Is this Mrs. Arthur de But hvyn under 
 the protecting care of your sister also ? " 
 
 "No; fortunately for the family, she 
 died before her husband. Arthur, when 
 committing his child to Philip, gave him 
 the particulars of the marriage, which 
 the latter, of course, condoned ; but Philip 
 was one of those good-natured, easy-going 
 fellows, who would condone anything 
 short of murder. By all accounts, he 
 performed his trust to the letter, and 
 upon his own death, five years later, 
 handed the child over to Eandolph and 
 Evelyn. She promises to be very pretty, 
 and is uncommonly like Phihp. The old 
 general noticed the hkeness at once, and 
 it was the means of gaining his good 
 graces. He took a fancy to her, in spite 
 of her mother's connection with the stage.
 
 DELAMERE. 77 
 
 I dare say he felt some remorse for his 
 stern conduct towards her father." 
 
 *' Philip was over in England about ten 
 years ago, was he not ? I remember 
 hearing that he was at Delamere, just as 
 I was about starting for Gibraltar, The 
 old man was ill at the time, if I am not 
 mistaken," said Donald. 
 
 *^You are right; he was seriously ill 
 then. No one thought he would recover, 
 but he began to improve once PhiHp 
 came over ; he was so delighted to have 
 him back with him. I often wondered 
 why PhiHp did not remain. It must 
 have been a great disappointment to the 
 old general that he did not marry and 
 settle down at Delamere, but he went 
 back to Italy, and his father never saw 
 him again. His remains were brought 
 home some years later for interment. 
 The general had a powerful constitution,
 
 78 DELAMERE. 
 
 but Philip's death was a blow he could 
 not get over, and he only survived him 
 a few months. The old man died with- 
 out a will, but the estates descended to 
 Randolph, the heir-at-law, as a matter 
 of course. Philip and his father had 
 barred the entail." 
 
 *^ It is strange, considering the great 
 age the general attained, that the sons 
 should all die in the pride of manhood." 
 
 " Strange indeed," replied Bernard. 
 ^' Quite a fatality seems to pursue the 
 present generation. Randolph never had 
 a day's health since he came in for the 
 property, and the present heir is far from 
 strong looking either. He is of a moody 
 temper, too, and very precocious for his 
 age. But tell me something about your- 
 self now. We have exhausted the De 
 Ruthvyns, root and branch. Are you 
 going on foreign service again ? "
 
 DELAMERE. 79 
 
 ^' Not yet awhile, I hope. I came 
 home invahded, and must avoid un- 
 healthy climates, if possible. I am not 
 as strong as I look." 
 
 " Nonsense, Stamer ; there is not a 
 trace of ill-health about you. It is 
 ridiculous for a man with your breadth 
 of chest and sunburnt complexion to ape 
 the invahd." 
 
 ^' I was attacked by ague and fever last 
 spring at Poonah, and, in spite of my 
 herculean appearance, have never felt the 
 same since ; but I don't look like an 
 invalid, and am glad of it." 
 
 '' Do you see that strange-looking little 
 man with the grey whiskers, reading the 
 paper over there ? " said Bernard. '^ He 
 has been watching us for the last five 
 minutes, and is only pretending to read." 
 
 *^ Ah, that is one of Helen's atten- 
 dants," replied Captain Stamer. ^' She
 
 80 DELAMERE. 
 
 is perfectly harmless, bat I always think 
 it safe to have him with me." 
 
 *^ He is a keeper, I .suppose ? " said 
 Bernard, in a low tone. ^^ I had no idea, 
 my dear fellow, that she required such 
 care. Is she on board? " 
 
 *' Yes ; she and her maid have a private 
 cabin downstairs. She has been for the 
 last three years in London, at a private 
 asylum, and I am now going to try what 
 foreign doctors will do for her. That 
 fellow wants me, evidently, so I had better 
 go to him. I will be with you again by- 
 and-by." As Donald spoke, he crossed 
 to the other side of the vessel, and, join- 
 ing the little man with the grey whiskers, 
 talked earnestly with him for a few 
 moments, and then followed him down- 
 stairs.
 
 DELAMERE. 81 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 It is summer again at Delamere. The 
 birds are singing in the deep green woods. 
 The bloom of the heather is upon the 
 hills, and there is little alteration in the 
 castle and its surroundings since Evelyn 
 came home to it a bride. The moss and 
 lichens have stealthily advanced over the 
 old grey walls of the tower, and the touch 
 of decay has crumbled away a little more 
 of the masonry, but the change is so slight 
 that it is barely perceptible. The giant 
 oaks and beeches sway their leafy boughs 
 in the breeze, untouched by the lapse of 
 time. Twelve years are as twelve seconds 
 in their immeasurable duration, and they 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 DELAMERE. 
 
 are fresh in tlieir renewed vitality to-day, 
 as centuries ago, when the first Eaymond 
 de Enthvyn rode beneath their wide- 
 spreading branches; but the years that 
 have passed have not been without sig- 
 nificance to the present family. There 
 have been births and deaths at the 
 castle. A second son has been born to 
 Evelyn ; the old general has been laid to 
 rest in the churchyard, having reached 
 the age of eighty-four ; and mourners are 
 assembled again round an open vault, to 
 pay the last mark of respect to Eandolph, 
 whose long illness ended fatally three 
 days ago. 
 
 The rector of the parish has touchingly 
 alluded to the fate of the two brothers, 
 who one after another were called away 
 in the prime of life. He refrained from 
 mentioning Arthur, as he was buried in 
 a foreign land, and had not been at
 
 DELAMERE. 83 
 
 Delamere for many years before his 
 death ; but the greater number of those 
 present know the particulars of his un- 
 timely end, and are aware that Kandolph 
 survived both his brothers. 
 
 All eyes turn with interest upon Eay- 
 mond, the present owner of the estates, 
 who stands beside his grandfather, Lord 
 Leith, He has a low forehead and 
 marked features, and his deep-set eyes 
 have a thoughtful, preoccupied look for 
 one so young. There is a large attend- 
 ance of females, but they are chiefly the 
 women servants. 
 
 Evelyn has remained in solitude at the 
 castle, and there is a strange, scared 
 expression about her countenance. She 
 has locked the doors of her bedroom, and 
 her eyes are fixed in a vacant manner 
 upon a letter which Hes upon her lap. It 
 is in Kandolph's handwriting, yet she only
 
 84 DELAMERE. 
 
 found it half an hour ago, when sorting 
 some papers in her desk. It was addressed 
 to her, and began as follows : — 
 
 ^* Deaeest Evelyn, 
 
 *^ I leave it to your womanly 
 tact to save my honour as much as lies 
 in your power. Some story can be 
 devised of a lately discovered marriage 
 certificate, which caused me to make a 
 new will. You will find both will and 
 certificate in the oaken secretary; also 
 letters from Philip to the governor, which 
 will explain everything to you better than 
 I can. Would to Heaven I had fulfilled 
 my promise, and that I had given those 
 letters years ago ! It would be less hard 
 for you and Eaymond now. You will 
 have much to forgive, my darling, but, 
 remember, it was love for you prompted 
 -the deception."
 
 DELAMEEE. 85 
 
 Here the writing broke off. Possibly 
 the writer intended to add more, and was 
 arrested by pain, as the last line was 
 blotted and written indistinctly; but 
 enough was said to terrify Evelyn. She 
 could form no idea how the letter came 
 into her desk, nor at what stage of her 
 husband's illness it was placed there ; but 
 it confronted her with terrible solemnity, 
 and seemed like a message from the dead. 
 
 The oaken secretary mentioned by Kan- 
 dolph was in the next room. She knew 
 where it stood, and knew that, whatever 
 course she might adopt hereafter about 
 the papers, it was a matter of life and 
 death to her to find them now. Pushing 
 her hair from her temples, she rose from 
 her chair and walked into the next room, 
 as though in a dream. Confused thoughts 
 rushed through her mind, as she unlocked 
 the drawers, and unfolded the various
 
 86 DELAMERE. 
 
 papers which were strewn throngli them. 
 Her very sight became dimmed with the 
 intensity of her emotion. The one 
 absorbing purpose that animated her, the 
 one clear idea that burned itself into her 
 brain, was that she must search for the 
 papers until she found them, though the 
 discovery of them should overwhelm her 
 with humiliation and misery. The search 
 took a long time to complete, from the 
 vast amount of papers that were collected. 
 The strain, besides, was so great upon 
 her nerves that she was frequently obliged 
 to desist. Her hands trembled, and a 
 faintness stole over her, when from time 
 to time her eyes lighted upon papers 
 which her boding heart warned her were 
 the confirmation of Eandolph's extra- 
 ordinary letter, but the task came to an 
 end at length. 
 - Pale and haggard looking, she returned
 
 DELAMERE. 87 
 
 to her bedroom, and threw herself, half 
 fainting, upon a couch. Repose, however, 
 was impossible to her. She doubted that 
 she should ever know peace or rest again, 
 for, although she had not found the papers, 
 she remembered the self-reproaches that 
 fell from her husband's lips during his 
 illness, and could no longer persuade 
 herself that they were meaningless. How 
 often had the names Phihp and Fleurette 
 filled her with vague alarm ! They w^ere 
 the only articulate sounds w^hich his livid 
 lips seemed capable of framing during the 
 days preceding his death. There was a 
 day which she well remembered, when 
 he made a desperate struggle to confide 
 something to her. She had hung over 
 him to catch the faintest sound of his 
 voice, but he had fallen back exhausted 
 on the pillow, and all that she had been 
 able to gather from his feeble mutterings
 
 88 DELAMERE. 
 
 was that he had some secret on his mind 
 connected with the Delamere estates. 
 Shall she confide her fears and suspicions 
 to the family lawyer, show him her hus- 
 band's strange letter, and abide by his 
 advice, or shall she burn it ? No one 
 could condemn her for destroying it, and 
 she can soothe her conscience with the 
 thought that she has done her utmost to 
 fulfil the duty it imposed upon her. 
 
 She remained for some moments lost 
 in reflection; then, glancing at a clock 
 on the mantelpiece, was startled to find 
 that it was already midday. Whatever 
 she had to do must be done quickly, as 
 one o'clock was the hour appointed for 
 reading the will. As if impelled by a 
 sudden resolution, Evelyn tore up the 
 letter which had caused her such terror, 
 and threw the fragments into a waste- 
 paper basket. She then walked over to
 
 DELAMEEE. 89 
 
 a cheval glass and looked at her reflec- 
 tion. Mental anxiety and long confine- 
 ment in a sick-room had made havoc 
 with her good looks. Her pale com- 
 plexion had become a sickly yellow, and 
 her eyes looked unnaturally large and 
 dark from the shadows underneath. 
 Tears stole into her eyes, blurring her 
 image. It was a yearning pity for her 
 youth, which had come and gone, and 
 brought so httle gladness with it. Her 
 days had been all sombre and colourless. 
 There had been a calm about them 
 amounting to stagnation, but from hence- 
 forth she must be pursued by terror. She 
 feels as if she were standing on a mine, 
 which at any moment may explode under 
 her feet. When she least expects it 
 Kandolph's mysterious secret may be 
 dragged to light, and who will believe 
 that she had no share in it ? Misery
 
 90 DELAMERE. 
 
 seemed to confront her, no matter what 
 course she decided upon. Her thoughts 
 reverted to the one person whose good 
 opinion she valued more than all the 
 world beside, and she remembered with 
 a sigh how ready he has been for years 
 past to judge her harshly. He would 
 laugh at the idea of reparation or atone- 
 ment, and would believe that nothing but 
 the dread of discovery induced her or 
 Kandolph to relinquish the property. She 
 must indulge in no more reverie, however, 
 as the moments are passing, and she 
 must dress to-day without the assistance 
 of her maid. 
 
 She brushed back the dark hair that 
 fell in a thick veil behind her, and coiled 
 it closely round her head. She then ex- 
 changed her morning dress for darker 
 and gloomier attire. Though her face 
 was pale and worn-looking, her figure
 
 DELAMEEE. 91 
 
 was still superb, and her long black crepe 
 gown suited her to perfection. 
 
 The door opened noiselessly, and a 
 young girl entered. It was Clarice, who 
 came in to tell her mistress that Mr. 
 Hilton, the lawyer, had arrived, and that 
 Mr. Waldstein was waiting for her in the 
 anteroom to conduct her downstairs. 
 
 Evelyn trembled, knowing that the 
 crucial moment had come, and supported 
 herself against an armchair. In an 
 instant it flashed upon her that Eandolph 
 had entrusted the papers to his lawyer. 
 She may have come to a wrong con- 
 clusion in believing they were connected 
 with Philip. Terrible as her suspicions 
 were, the truth might prove even worse. 
 What if the certificate to which Eandolph 
 alluded was a proof that he had a living 
 wife when he went through the mar- 
 riage ceremony with herself ? While this
 
 92 DELAMERE. 
 
 thaught took possession of her, she knew 
 that Clarice was looking at her with 
 wonder and alarm. 
 
 ^'Yon are very ill, madame," faltered 
 the girl, while she poured out some sal 
 volatile and water, which she held to her 
 mistress's lips. 
 
 Evelyn drank the mixture and felt 
 better. She would go through the ordeal 
 to the bitter end, she thought, and know 
 the worst at once. She had lived through 
 one trying scene already to-day, and was 
 prepared to encounter another. Who 
 could say but the issues would prove as 
 triumphant ? 
 
 *' I am quite recovered now, and, as 
 they want me downstairs, I must make 
 an effort to join them. I do not look 
 so very dreadful, do I?" said Evelyn, 
 forcing a smile, and surveying herself 
 again in the mirror.
 
 DELAMERE. 93 
 
 Clarice, perceiving that to remonstrate 
 was useless, put the final touches to her 
 mistress's toilet. The livid hue had left 
 her cheeks, hut there was a perplexed, 
 abstracted look about her which alarmed 
 the girl more. There was some fresh 
 trouble on her mind, she feared, and she 
 gazed anxiously after her as she left the 
 room to join Bernard.
 
 94 DELAMERE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Six weeks have passed, and Randolph's 
 funeral has ceased to be the engrossing 
 topic of the neighbourhood at Delamere. 
 Raymond has returned to Rugby. The 
 guests, with the exception of Lord Leith 
 and his stepson, have taken their de- 
 parture, and life at the castle flows on 
 with a dull monotony which, though 
 very agreeable to the old lord, is trying 
 to Bernard Waldstein, and he is counting 
 the days to the first of October, when he 
 is to join his friend Colonel Standish for 
 the pheasant-shooting. 
 
 Evelyn has no longer the pained, 
 anxious expression of countenance that
 
 DELAMERE. 95 
 
 Clarice noticed a few weeks ago. She is 
 beginning to breathe more freely, and is 
 trying to forget that she ever saw 
 Kandolph's strange letter. The ordeal 
 w^hich she so much dreaded is over, and 
 has proved less terrible than she expected. 
 The will was read by Mr. Hilton, the 
 lawyer, in the presence of a numerous 
 assembly, a few hours after the funeral. 
 It was the will which Eandolph had made 
 on his accession to the estates. None 
 other was forthcoming. The word certi- 
 ficate never passed Mr. Hilton's lips, 
 and no mention was made of the child 
 who had lived for the last five years 
 at Delamere, and whom Evelyn had 
 hitherto believed to be Arthur's. The 
 testator's private property was bequeathed 
 to his second son, Charles, and Kaymond 
 succeeded to the estates, subject to 
 Evelyn's jointure. The latter was ap-
 
 96 DELAMERE. 
 
 pointed guardian of her sons, conjointly 
 with the trustees of the will, Colonel 
 EUmore and Sir George Digby. There 
 were a few trifling legacies to old 
 servants, and a valuable diamond ring 
 to Bernard. 
 
 The will caused no surprise. It was 
 just as was expected. Evelyn was silent 
 about the mysterious letter, but as she 
 was asked no questions, she was not 
 bound to say anything. Her conscience, 
 however, was not easy, and for many 
 weeks afterwards the presence of her 
 niece was a reproach to her. The latter 
 was inconsolable for some days after her 
 cousin's return to school. The children 
 were mutually attached, and at the close 
 of each vacation there was generally an 
 outburst of grief on both sides. Kay- 
 mond bore these partings more heroically 
 than Fleurette, but both children were
 
 DELAMERE. 97 
 
 specially grieved at the present separa- 
 tion. Eaymond was now an important 
 personage — owner of the Delamere estates 
 — and would have to stay at home, as 
 a matter of course. His mother, how- 
 ever, had different views on the suhject, 
 and surprised him very much by telling 
 him that he would have to return to 
 Eugby as usual. A trying scene followed ; 
 Fleurette wept bitterly, and Evelyn was 
 for the first time struck with her devo- 
 tion to her son. As she tried to soothe 
 the child's sorrow, visions arose in her 
 mind built upon the insecure foundation 
 of her love for Eaymond. She looked 
 into futurity, and saw Eaymond and 
 Fleurette no longer children, their lives 
 woven into one, their interests united by 
 a marriage, which would atone for all 
 injuries, real and suspected, and which 
 would bring peace to her own conscience. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 DELAMERE. 
 
 A sultry afternoon, about a week after 
 Kaymond's return to school, Bernard lay 
 stretched under the shadow of a large 
 cedar tree, smoking a cigar and reading 
 a French novel. The book w^as dull, and 
 the reader's thoughts frequently reverted 
 to Kate Penthony, with whom for the 
 last twelve months he had carried on 
 a flirtation, amusing to him for the 
 time, but which he took care should 
 never compromise him. Bernard had a 
 sufficiently good opinion of his own 
 attractions to beheve that Kate would 
 throw over any other engagements for 
 the pleasure of his society, but there 
 was little chance of seeing her this year 
 at Delamere. Gloom was the order of 
 the day, and he had no prospect of 
 liveher companionship for the next fort- 
 night than a querulous invalid, two small 
 • children, and his sister, who seemed to
 
 DELAMERE. 99 
 
 liim in a perpetual state of abstraction — 
 the natural cause, he supposed, of her 
 recent affliction. 
 
 Bernard's thoughts were further dis- 
 tracted from his book by the frolics oi 
 Fleurette, whose graceful little figui'e 
 flitted here and there, like a butterfly 
 through the trees. She emerged every 
 now and then from a grove of firs behind 
 Bernard, to throw flowers and moss at 
 him, darting back to her hiding-place 
 each time he made an attempt at pur- 
 suino" her. 
 
 Bernard entered into the sport for 
 some minutes, but, tiring of it sooner 
 thao she did, was about to make his 
 escape, when a loud shout announced 
 the retui-n of his little tormentor. She 
 had neither flowers nor moss this time, 
 but held something glittering, which 
 Bernard upon coming closer, perceived
 
 100 DELAMERE. 
 
 was a locket. He was familiar witli its 
 appearance, as she was in the habit of 
 wearing it, and he knew that it contained 
 a miniature of her mother. Her present 
 excitement was caused by the discovery 
 of a second portrait in the locket. The 
 slender chain which fastened it upon her 
 neck had caught in one of the branches, 
 and the locket, suddenly falling to the 
 ground, had burst open, revealing a 
 portrait which she had never seen there 
 before, but which called to her mind a 
 familiar but half-forgotten face. 
 
 ^^ Here is my papa, my own papa, who 
 used to love me long ago. I never knew 
 there was a picture of him in my locket 
 before. You may kiss him if you are 
 very good," cried Fleurette, eagerly, as 
 she buried the miniature in Bernard's 
 silky moustache. 
 
 ** I cannot see it, you little witch, if
 
 DELAMERE. 101 
 
 you do not give it into my hands," 
 replied Bernard, whose curiosity was 
 aroused by the child's statement. 
 
 " It fell off my neck, and this end of 
 the case opened of itseH. Is it not 
 lovely?" she continued, as she clapped 
 her hands with merriment, while her 
 companion raised his glass to his eye 
 and scrutinized the likeness. 
 
 Bernard had often seen Philip and 
 Arthur de Euthvyn, and the moment he 
 glanced at the miniature he was struck 
 by its resemblance to the elder of the 
 two brothers : the expression was the 
 same, and the features were identical ; 
 yet it was not Philip who was Flora's 
 husband, but Arthm-, to whom the 
 miniature was totally dissimilar. The 
 three brothers were equally unlike one 
 another, and it would not be more diffi- 
 cult to mistake the portrait for Randolph
 
 102 DELAMERE. 
 
 than for Arthur. Bernard mused upon 
 the strange coincidence of a locket con- 
 taining the likeness of a brother and 
 sister-in-law, and, suspecting that some 
 mystery was connected with it, he 
 opened the corresponding side of the 
 case, and gazed with newly awakened 
 curiosity upon the beautiful face of 
 Flora. He had often glanced at it 
 casually, but it had never aroused his 
 interest before. He looked long and 
 carefully at it now, yet it was scarcely 
 more attractive than the living face 
 beside him. Fleurette had twined a 
 wreath of ivy in her pale golden hair. 
 The exercise had brought a delicate flush 
 to her cheeks, and her violet eyes were 
 gleaming with merriment. They were 
 expressive eyes, large, dark, and at 
 times dreamy looking, and promised to 
 betray in their liquid depths at some
 
 DELAMERE. 103 
 
 future day infinite passion and tender- 
 ness. 
 
 "Why do you not speak?" said 
 Meurette, feeling quite aggrieved at her 
 companion's silence. She did not like 
 his abstracted mood, and ^^islied him to 
 be more demonstrative about her new 
 discovery. "You are not looking at the 
 right picture," she added suddenly, as 
 she perceived that Bernard's eyes were 
 bent upon Flora. "You have often seen 
 mamma before ; I want you to look 
 at the new face. I know it is my 
 papa; I remember him quite well, and 
 it was he who gave it to me years 
 ago." 
 
 "Years ago, little fairy! What do 
 you know about years ago ? One would 
 think 3"ou were forty instead of ten. Tell 
 me," continued Bernard, as he put his 
 arm round Fleurette and perched her
 
 104 DELAMEEE. 
 
 upon his knee, *^ have you shown this 
 new face to any one but me ? " 
 
 ^'No one has seen it but Teresa. She 
 picked up my locket when it fell, and she 
 was as surprised as I was. There she is, 
 sitting under the trees with Charlie;" 
 and Fleurette pointed down a vista of 
 beeches, were Bernard saw the fluttering 
 of a woman's dress. '' Teresa says she 
 saw my papa once when I must have 
 been a baby, and that he gave her a gold 
 piece of money, which she has kept ever 
 since in her work-box." 
 
 ^' This gentleman," said Bernard, 
 pointing to Philip's likeness, " is only 
 your uncle, although you call him papa ; 
 your real father died when you were an 
 infant, and you cannot possibly remember 
 him." 
 
 *'I know it," replied Fleurette, in a 
 sadder tone, while a shadow stole across
 
 DELAMERE. 105 
 
 her sensitive face ; ^' I know lie was only 
 my uncle, but I always caHed him papa 
 when I hyed in Italy." 
 
 '' Tell me all about yourself, Fleurette, 
 and let me hear what you remember of 
 that Itahan home, where you hved before 
 you came here. You know, I never was 
 in Italy, and I should hke to hear 
 about it." 
 
 *'We lived in a white house near the 
 sea. We went by steps right down to 
 the water, and there were orange-trees 
 near us. I remember the oranges ; they 
 were like big golden balls, and nurse used 
 to pick them and put them in baskets. 
 There was a terrace where she used to sit 
 and work in the evenings." 
 
 *' Nurse and Teresa are the same, I 
 suppose ? " interrupted Bernard. 
 
 "Oh dear, no. Xurse was old and 
 brown, and she had a stoop ; but she loved
 
 106 DELAMEEE. 
 
 me very much, and she cried when Uncle 
 Randolph sent her away. She said he 
 must be a bad man to part us, as she had 
 been with me since I was born." 
 
 '^You have a wonderful memory, to 
 remember all these things, Fleurette. 
 Tell me now what you recollect of the 
 delicate gentleman whom you used to 
 call papa, and who died before you left 
 Italy. Did you see him often ? " 
 
 ^^ Not very often, as he was always ill. 
 Before Uncle Randolph came, the padre 
 used to carry me into papa's room and 
 place me upon his lap. One day he gave 
 me the locket, and told me to keep it 
 safe." 
 
 ^^ Who was the padre?'' inquired 
 Bernard. 
 
 ^^ Nurse said he was a priest. Papa 
 called him Luigi. He always looked 
 very sad and serious, and wore a long
 
 DELAMERE. 107 
 
 black gown. I used to feel afraid of him ; 
 but I was much more afraid of Uncle 
 Eandolph." 
 
 '^And was it the joadre or Uncle 
 Eandolph who told you that the invalid 
 gentleman had adopted you, and that he 
 was not your own papa ? " 
 
 " I can't remember. I began to know 
 it by degrees. Perhaps it was Eaymond 
 who told me, as he never keeps any 
 secrets from me. Do you know what he 
 is going to give me next Christmas ? He 
 tried not to tell, but I made him. I 
 shall give you three guesses, and if you 
 cannot think of it you must pay a fine." 
 
 Bernard let the child talk, while he 
 examined the locket. He perceived at 
 once that the workmanship of the springs 
 w^as peculiar, and, upon fastening the side 
 of the locket which contained Philip's 
 likeness, he found great difficulty in
 
 108 DELAMERE. 
 
 opening it again. He noticed, also, tliat 
 the locket was very thick for the size of 
 the portraits, and he suspected that there 
 was some mechanism in it which he had 
 not yet discovered. 
 
 ^^ See, now, whether I can catch yon 
 before you reach Teresa," said Bernard, 
 rising from his recumbent position, and 
 fastening the locket and chain round 
 Fleurette's neck with a loose twist where 
 it was severed. 
 
 Fleurette jumped up, and before she 
 had run many yards the result was as 
 Bernard expected. The locket and chain 
 slipped off her neck, and he put them 
 quietly in his pocket. Through the 
 thickest of the trees Fleurette ran, regard- 
 less of the crepe trimming to her dress, 
 which before long adorned many a branch, 
 and hung in ragged festoons about her. 
 Bernard followed, pretending to miss her
 
 DELAMERE. 109 
 
 track, and only lighting upon her as she 
 darted off in another direction. At 
 length, breathless and wearied, she sat 
 down nnder the tree from which they had 
 started, and made him admit that he was 
 vanquished. 
 
 ^' Look at my frock ; what will Teresa 
 say ? " said she, as the charm of her 
 success began to die away, and the 
 tattered condition of her dress claimed 
 her attention. ^* It is my best frock, too. 
 I only put it on because Mabel and Nellie 
 Hurst are coming to tea with me ; and 
 my locket ! It is gone ! " she added, in a 
 dismayed tone, as she jumped to her feet 
 and raised her hand instinctively to her 
 throat. ^' Oh, what shall I do ? It is lost, 
 and I shall never see it again ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! don't cry, child. Let us 
 look for it first. We shall be sure to 
 find it among the trees where you were
 
 110 DELAMERE. 
 
 runniDg ; " and, taking Fleurette by the 
 hand, Bernard set off on a reconnoitering 
 expedition, the result of which he knew 
 tolerably well beforehand. 
 
 Fleurette searched in the wild, erratic 
 manner common to children, and Bernard 
 made a very good pretence of assisting 
 her. He pushed aside the branches to 
 facilitate her movements, and seemed as 
 intent in fche search as though he had lost 
 some of his own property. Every yellow 
 leaf that lay upon the ground deluded 
 her, and led to a fresh burst of grief, 
 which had a very irritating effect upon 
 Bernard. 
 
 *' I did not think that you were such a 
 baby, Fleurette," said he, hoping to pique 
 her and rouse her from her grief. ^' It 
 does not follow, because you do not find 
 your locket at once, that you will never 
 get it. I will tell old Eoberts that you
 
 DELAMERE. Ill 
 
 have lost it, and he will be sure to have 
 it for you in a day or two." 
 
 Fleurette was not to be consoled by 
 these assurances. She wrung her hands, 
 and looked miserable. 
 
 "I teU you what, Fleurette," said 
 Bernard, a lucky thought suddenly occur- 
 ring to him ; ^^ I am going to Broomhill 
 to-morrow, and I shall bring you home a 
 dear little King Charles. Tom Nugent, 
 who is staying there, has a litter of pups ; 
 and I'll get a silver collar for him at 
 Stockford. So don't fret any more, but 
 think of what name we shall call the 
 dog. We must have his name engraved 
 upon the collar, so you must decide at 
 
 once." 
 
 Fleurette brightened up at the idea of 
 possessing a King Charles. It would be 
 such a surprise to Raymond. He had 
 intended getting a Blenheim spaniel for
 
 112 DELAMERE. 
 
 her, but she would make him give her 
 something else now. 
 
 The selection of the dog's name gave 
 rise to much joking and laughter, and 
 Bernard saw to his reHef that the locket 
 was forgotten. "While thus diverting 
 Fleurette, Bernard purposely walked 
 towards the tree where the Italian girl 
 was sitting at work, with Evelyn's youngest 
 child playing near. She rose as they 
 approached, and addressed some words in 
 Italian to Fleurette, which he did not 
 understand, but he could perceive by the 
 frown on the girl's face, and the depre- 
 cating look of the child, that she was 
 scolding her about her dress. 
 
 ^' You must not blame Mademoiselle 
 Fleurette. It is altogether my fault that 
 her dress is so much torn. We were 
 playing hide-and-seek together, and this 
 is the lamentable consequence."
 
 DELAMERE. 113 
 
 Bernard made this little speech in 
 French, and was glad to find that Teresa 
 not only understood him, hut was able to 
 answer him in the same language. She 
 was a tall, slender girl of about five and 
 twenty. Her complexion was a dark 
 olive, and her face would have been 
 pleasing but for the size and prominence 
 of her teeth. She had small, dark eyes, 
 which shone with the brilliancy of jet 
 beads, while their hard expression indi- 
 cated a fierce and cruel temper, and 
 Bernard had an idea that she would be a 
 dangerous person to offend. He was 
 resolved, however, to become on friendly 
 terms with her, if possible, as she was 
 mixed up with the mystery of the 
 locket. She admitted to Fleurette that 
 she had seen her father and might 
 therefore help him in discovering the 
 truth of the child's parentage. It would 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 DELAMERE. 
 
 be some amusing occupation for the next 
 couple of weeks, and it was quite possible 
 that he might hereafter reap some benefit 
 from his inquiries.
 
 DELAMERE. 115 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 About the same hour the following day 
 Bernard loitered towards the wood where 
 he and Fleurette had played hide-and-seek. 
 He had not been idle for the last four and 
 twenty hours. As soon as the household 
 at Delamere had retired for the night, he 
 had shut himself up in his room, and had 
 made a minute examination of the locket. 
 Being baffled in discovering a secret 
 spring, he had inserted his penknife 
 beneath the portraits, and had taken the 
 locket to pieces, solacing himself with the 
 thought that a jeweller could put it to- 
 gether for him at any time. It was the
 
 116 DELAMERE. 
 
 most efiective way of examining it, and 
 he was rewarded by the discovery of a 
 plain gold ring, which was placed some- 
 where at the back of Flora's Hkeness. It 
 did not throw much extra Hght upon 
 Fleurette's parentage ; bnt Bernard had 
 already his suspicions, and they were not 
 easily dispelled. He let his mind travel 
 back to the child's arrival at Delamere, 
 five years before. At this distance of 
 time, he could not remember who had 
 told him that she was Arthur's child ; 
 but it was a generally accepted fact, and 
 he had never doubted it until a few 
 hours ago. 
 
 Looking at it now by the hght of his 
 recent discovery, he wondered that he 
 had beheved it for a moment. It was a 
 story that rested entirely upon Eandolph's 
 evidence, and, though accepted by all the 
 family, had never been corroborated by
 
 DELAMEKE. 117 
 
 any disinterested person ; and as Bernard 
 called to mind the intriguing propensities 
 of liis brother-in-law, he felt convinced 
 that rienrette was the lawful owner of 
 the Delamere property. 
 
 These thoughts engrossed his mind as 
 he sauntered the next day into the park, 
 hoping to have another talk with the 
 Italian girl. The shouts and laughter of 
 the childi'en attracted him to the spot 
 where she was sitting with her work. 
 She looked up with a haK-pleased, half- 
 confused expression, and blushed a rosy 
 red as he wished her good morning. 
 
 Fleurette ran up to him at once, clung 
 to his arm, and overpowered him with 
 questions about the dog. ^' Had he gone 
 to Broomhill yet ? had he brought the 
 dog ? what was it like ? where was it ? " 
 Her pretty lips pursed themselves into 
 a pout, and she tossed back her fair
 
 118 DELAMEEE. 
 
 curls with an impatient gesture, when 
 Bernard told her that he had not heen 
 to Broomhill since. 
 
 ^^ That is a nice sensible frock yon have 
 on to-day — good strong stuff, that will 
 not easily be torn. Eun off now, you 
 and Charlie, and see if you can get any 
 chestnuts. We shall make a big bonfire 
 by-and-by." 
 
 Meurette ran off, delighted with the 
 errand, followed by her small cousin ; and 
 Bernard threw himself down on the grass 
 beside Teresa, who was in a flutter of 
 excitement at his sudden condescension. 
 
 ** And how have you been, mademoiselle, 
 since I saw you yesterday ? " he inquired 
 insinuatingly, as soon as the children had 
 disappeared through the trees. *^ Have 
 you been at needlework ever since ? " 
 
 " Not so, monsieur," replied Teresa, 
 vnth a smile, and a bashful lowering of
 
 DELAMERE. 119 
 
 the eyelids. ^^ I have been searching for 
 the locket all the morning with the 
 children. Mademoiselle Flenrette cried 
 so last night for it, that it made my heart 
 ache. She is as fond of her mamma, poor 
 child, as if she only lost her yesterday, 
 and yet she cannot possibly remember 
 her." 
 
 ^' She did not like to lose her finery, 
 and that was the secret of her grief," said 
 Bernard. ^'A child of her age is in- 
 capable of a sentimental fancy ; but is 
 it the case that she cannot remember her 
 mother ? You knew both her parents, of 
 course? " 
 
 ^^I never saw either of them," replied 
 Teresa. " She was an orphan when Mr. 
 Eandolph engaged me at Marseilles. Ho 
 told me that she had lately lost her 
 father, and that he was taking her with, 
 him to England."
 
 120 DELAMERE. 
 
 '' What year was that ? '' asked 
 Bernard. 
 
 *' It is ^Ye years ago last June, and I 
 have lived at the castle ever since ; though 
 when I came I had no idea of staying 
 so long." 
 
 ^' You have been here for the last five 
 years 1 " repeated Bernard, as he fixed a 
 bold and admiring glance upon Teresa. 
 ^^ Where were my eyes that they did not 
 see your pretty face all that time ? I can 
 almost imagine myself back in Italy, when 
 I look at those handsome eyes of yours, 
 and listen to your soft, sweet voice." 
 
 " Monsieur must not pay compliments," 
 said Teresa, though her eyes sparkled 
 with pleasure at the flattering remarks, 
 which she thought prudent to reprove. 
 '^ You are fond of Italy ? " she added, with 
 a sigh. 
 
 ^' I adore it," replied Bernard, enthusi-
 
 DELAMEEE. 121 
 
 astically. '' There is no country that 
 can be compared to it. It is the land of 
 poetry and romance, and its daughters 
 are the most lovely and lovable of 
 womankind." Bernard spoke with poetic 
 solemnity, and followed up the speech 
 with a tender squeeze of Teresa's hand. 
 ''Teresa dear," continued he, ''I want 
 you to tell me where you saw the gentle- 
 man whose portrait Fleurette discovered 
 in her locket yesterday ? ' ' 
 
 '' Ah, I must have been mistaken," she 
 replied, '' as Fleurette says it is her papa. 
 It reminded me for the mom.ent of such a 
 kind, handsome gentleman, a Mr. Delille, 
 who lived near Terracina." 
 • *' DeliUe ? " said Bernard, in a musing 
 tone. '' The name seems familiar to me, 
 and yet I cannot remember it. I have it 
 now ! " as his countenance suddenly lit 
 up. ''How long ago is it since you met
 
 122 DELAMERE. 
 
 him ? Believe me, it is no mere curiosity 
 prompts me to ask you." 
 
 " I have no objection to tell you all I 
 know," replied Teresa, smiling. ^' I can 
 very well remember the date, as it was 
 the year of the insurrection, when the 
 king had to leave Naples for Gaeta. I 
 was drawing water at a well near II 
 Borgo, a little village where we lived — it 
 is quite close to Gaeta — when a gentle- 
 man came clattering up on horseback, pale 
 as death, and in great agitation. He 
 said that there had been a skirmish in 
 the wood close by, and that an officer 
 was dying. He wanted me to bring 
 him some water, and get him any assist- 
 ance I could. On our way there, he told 
 me that the wounded man was his 
 brother, and that he had lighted on him 
 quite accidentally." 
 
 " What became of him ? Did he
 
 DELAMERE. 123 
 
 die ? " asked Bernard, -with strange eager- 
 ness. 
 
 '' Yes, he did, but not for some days 
 afterwards. My brother got some of the 
 villagers to assist, and they carried him 
 on a stretcher to our cottage, where he 
 lay for two days. Monsieur Delille got a 
 carriage then, and drove him to his own 
 villa at Terracina. I heard afterwards 
 that he died during the journey." 
 
 "Was the wounded man able to talk 
 while he was at your cottage ? " 
 
 " No ; he never uttered a word, though 
 he looked at Monsieur Delille sometimes 
 as if he recognized him." 
 
 ** Did he make any written statement ? " 
 
 ** He never moved hand or foot, that I 
 know of, while he was with us. I don't 
 beheve he could have put pen to paper." 
 
 " And how did you come to know that 
 the gentleman's name was Delille ? "
 
 124 DELAMERE. 
 
 ** When he was leaving, he gave us his 
 name and address at Terracina, written 
 down, and bade ns write to him if ever 
 we were in distress. About six months 
 afterwards, my brother Pietro took him at 
 his word, and wrote for the loan of ^Ye 
 hundred francs. He was engaged to be 
 married to a girl at Marseilles, whose 
 father was in business in the Cannebiere. 
 The old man offered to take him into 
 partnership if he could bring that sum, and 
 Pietro tried to raise it among his friends, 
 but failed. There was some talk about 
 the match being broken off, as he could 
 not get the money ; so he thought of the 
 kind gentleman who had left his address, 
 and wrote to ask the loan from him. 
 About a week afterwards, a priest came 
 with the money. He brought very sad 
 news of Monsieur Delille. His wife had 
 died a few days after his brother, and
 
 DELAMERE. 125 
 
 tliey Vi'eve buried side by side in the 
 Campo Santo near Naples. The priest 
 said the gentleman was in terrible grief, 
 and that he would never be the same 
 again. It was all through my brother 
 setting up at Marseilles that I came to be 
 here," continued Teresa. ^' I went to 
 stay vvdth his wife a few years after they 
 were married, to help her to mind the 
 children, and it was some time in the 
 spring of the following year that Mr. de 
 Kuthvyn engaged me. He was staying 
 at the big Hotel de Noailles, and was on 
 his way home to England. He was 
 greatly put out with Fleurette, as she 
 was very troublesome, and was not able 
 to speak a word of French or Enghsh. 
 Her nurse had got ill, he said, and he 
 had been obliged to send her to the 
 hospital. He heard me talking in Italian 
 to the children in front of the open door-
 
 126 DELAMERE. 
 
 way one eyening, and engaged me on the 
 spot, offering me very liberal terms to 
 take care of the child as far as England. 
 He only wanted me for the voyage, as he 
 was not sure whether Mrs. de Kuthvyn 
 would like me ; but she took a fancy to 
 me, and kept me on ever since." 
 
 *' I am not surprised at that part of the 
 story, my dear girl. Evelyn only showed 
 her good taste. It would not be very 
 difficult, I imagine, to take a very great 
 liking to you. Now, don't turn away 
 your head and look cross, but tell me, do 
 you think it possible that you could ever 
 become just a little bit fond of me ? " 
 As Bernard spoke, he drew himself nearer 
 to the Italian girl, and sHpped his arm 
 round her waist. ^* Could we not arrange 
 to meet here now and then ? Even half 
 an hour of your company would be very 
 sweet to me," continued he, in a low tone.
 
 DELAMERE. 127 
 
 ^' Ah, monsieur ! " said Teresa, with a 
 smile, as she moved a little further from 
 her companion. ^'I can read your 
 thoughts. It is not altogether for myself 
 that you want to meet me. You are 
 interested for some reason in Monsieur 
 Delille or Fleurette, or perhaps in both, 
 and you think I can help you to find out 
 what you want to know." 
 
 *^ I confess I was curious about the 
 hkeness," said Bernard, a dark shadow of 
 annoyance crossing his features, as he 
 felt conscious that Teresa was a match 
 for him in cunning. ^' It reminded me 
 of a friend of my own, and when I heard 
 that you had recognized it also, my 
 interest was further aroused; besides, 
 Fleurette told me that the gentleman 
 had given you a gold piece, which you 
 kept in your work-box as a love-token, I 
 presumed. You know, Teresa dear, ad-
 
 128 DELAMEEE. 
 
 miration leads to love, and there is never 
 true love without jealousy, and I confess 
 I was beginning to be a little jealous of 
 this handsome stranger, whose gift yon 
 prized so much." 
 
 *^ There were no love-scenes between 
 Mr. Delille and me. I felt grateful for 
 his kindness, and I kept the piece of 
 money he gave at the well as a souvenir, 
 but I never thought of him except as a 
 benefactor. Ah ! there is one o'clock 
 striking, and the children are nowhere in 
 sight. They will be late for dinner, and 
 I shall get into trouble with the house- 
 keeper again ! " exclaimed Teresa, as she 
 jumped up and called to the children, 
 whose figures were screened by the trees. 
 
 *' Just tell me if any one scolds you, 
 my dear, and they will not venture it 
 again, I think. Here, Fleurette, Charlie, 
 come along quick ! " Bernard cried, as he
 
 DELAMERE. 129 
 
 pushed aside the heavy branches and 
 beckoned to the children, who were a few 
 paces off; while Teresa collected her 
 working materials, and placed them in 
 her basket. 
 
 ^^ Look at all my lovely chestnuts," 
 said Fleurette, running up to them, with 
 her hat hanging off, and her hair in 
 disorder. ** They are such beauties some 
 of them, and will make such a grand 
 blaze. There is an open space a httle 
 further on, just the spot for the bonfire ; 
 so come along," continued she, as she 
 dived her hand into Bernard's coat pocket 
 to search for a match-box. 
 
 *' But Teresa says you must both go 
 home now, and you know her word is 
 law, and we must obey it," rejoined 
 Bernard, anxious to escape from the bon- 
 fire. 
 
 '' You always break your promises," 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 DELAMERE. 
 
 said Fleurette, as tears of disappointment 
 rose to her eyes. *' Yesterday you pro- 
 mised me the King Charles ; and to-day 
 you said you would light the bonfire, and 
 I have taken ever so much trouble to find 
 the chestnuts." 
 
 '' They will keep, my child. Place them 
 in the hollow of this tree, and let us all 
 return here in an hour's time, and we 
 shall have a bonfire as high as the 
 castle." As Bernard spoke, he shook 
 hands with Teresa, and then made off 
 with himself down a side pathway, not 
 wishing to reach the castle in company 
 with her and the children. 
 
 ^'Was I too impetuous, and have I 
 roused her suspicions, instead of inspiring 
 the tender passion ? " thought Bernard, 
 as he walked home through the park, 
 with his brows knitted. ^' She is a lively, 
 pretty girl, a little too clever for my
 
 DELAMERE. 131 
 
 purpose, and sharp enough to know the 
 sham from the real ; but perhaps I shall 
 drift into a genuine flirtation with her, 
 and she will become more amiable then, 
 I imagine. Love-making would be some 
 diversion in this dull place ; but if I 
 want to serve Fleurette, I must keep my 
 wits well about me. How strange that 
 Teresa should have known PhiHp under 
 his assumed name, and that she has no 
 suspicion he is Fleurette's father ! Strange, 
 too, that the name Delille should have 
 escaped my memory ! I ought never to 
 have forgotten Kandolph's frightened look 
 when he lighted upon the letter addressed 
 to Madame Delille in Philip's handwriting. 
 How he tried to persuade himself that 
 she was only a cliere amie ! But I believe 
 he would have opened the letter if his 
 brother had not come into the room. 
 The luck was against him all his life
 
 132 DELAMEEE. 
 
 poor wretch ! but his worst luck was 
 being kept in ignorance of PhiHp's 
 marriage. It was hard lines to believe 
 himself the heir for so many years, and to 
 be disappointed in the end, and through 
 a girl, too. It goes against my grain 
 to increase his ill luck, but Fleurette is 
 worth any sacrifice. She is a charming 
 child, and will be still more charming in 
 four or five years. It will take the best 
 part of that time to accumulate the 
 evidence for her case, as I must work 
 secretly and with good care ; for if my 
 high and mighty sister got wind of my 
 proceedings, she would lock her up in a 
 convent, or place her somewhere beyond 
 my reach, at all events." 
 
 While thus musing, a turn in the 
 avenue brought the castle into sight, and 
 Bernard stopped short and gazed at it 
 with new and absorbing interest. It was
 
 DELAMERE. 133 
 
 the old historic portion of the edifice 
 that faced him, its dark grey walls 
 covered with moss and ivy, and its partly 
 ruined battlements rising into the clear 
 blue air. There was a sense of elation 
 in the thought that he held the clue to 
 its ownership. The power of giving or 
 T^dthholding it almost intoxicated him with 
 dehght, and his brain Avas in a whirl, as 
 he contemplated the future which might 
 possibly be within his grasp. His imagi- 
 nation wandered through the vista of 
 coming years, and pictured Fleurette as 
 the acknowledged mistress of Delamere, 
 confiding as when a child, but infinitely 
 more beautiful, and drawn to him by 
 the closest bonds of gratitude and love, 
 her thoughts and affections concentrated 
 on him, to whose unaided efforts she 
 would owe all that was regained, and 
 willing to reward him in the way most
 
 134 DELAMERE. 
 
 pleasing to his vanity and self-esteem. 
 It was too dazzling a picture to contem- 
 plate. It was so briglit a vision that 
 it quickly faded before Bernard's re- 
 awakening common sense. 
 
 *'Much must be accomplished before 
 those dreams can be realized," thought 
 he, with an impatient sigh, as he sauntered 
 on again, and passed beneath the stone 
 archway, which was the entrance to the 
 modern residence.
 
 DELAMERE. 135 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Bernard would have given a good deal to 
 know if his sister believed that Fleurette 
 was Arthur's child, or whether Randolph 
 had kept the secret of her parentage to 
 himself. He had thought much over the 
 matter during the last few days, and had 
 no longer a doubt that Philip was her 
 father. It was quite possible that she 
 was not the lawful heii*ess, and that, to 
 save her from that painful knowledge, 
 they invented the story of Arthur's 
 marriage, and passed her off as his child. 
 It would be provoking and humihating 
 if he should find by-and-by that his
 
 136 DELAMERE. 
 
 time and money had been spent for no 
 better purpose than to rake up Philip de 
 Euthvyn's past misdoings. Still, if the 
 deception were for such a praiseworthy 
 motive as to screen Fleurette from the 
 consequences of her parent's actions, it is 
 more likely that Kandolph and Evelyn 
 would have confided the secret to him. 
 
 A few mornings after his conversation 
 with Teresa in the wood, he was reading 
 his newspaper in a large oriel window in 
 the library, while Fleurette was sitting 
 upon a footstool near him. They were 
 capital friends now. He had burnt bon- 
 fires for her ; he had given her divers 
 boxes of chocolate and crystallized fruits ; 
 and a glossy, dark-haired King Charles 
 pup, scarcely distinguishable from her 
 black frock, lay curled upon her lap. 
 The silver collar had not yet arrived, and 
 its neck meantime was adorned by a pale
 
 DELAMERE. 137 
 
 blue ribbon. Bernard was by nature rest- 
 less, and rarely kept bis attention fixed 
 upon anything for more than ten minutes 
 at a time. He soon threw down the 
 paper, and began to tease the pup. It 
 was just at the age for learning tricks. It 
 could be taught to do all sorts of things, 
 he assured Fleurette, if proper attention 
 were paid to its education now ; but she 
 shook her head, and protested against the 
 cruelty that the teaching would involve. 
 While she and Bernard were thus 
 engrossed, Mrs. de Euthvyn and her 
 youngest child were on the terrace out- 
 side. Charlie was still in petticoats, 
 though he was four years old. He was a 
 ruddy-faced boy, well grown for his age, 
 and promised to develop into a better 
 specimen of manhood than his elder 
 brother. He had a whip in one hand, 
 while with the other he held a scarlet
 
 138 DELAMERE. 
 
 cord, ornamented with bells, that was fas- 
 tened round his mother's waist. Evelyn 
 had been taking violent exercise for his 
 special amusement for the last quarter of 
 an horn', and she was now tired and out 
 of breath. 
 
 Bernard looked up as she passed, and 
 a sudden idea occurred to him. Taking 
 Fleurette upon his lap, he began to stroke 
 her golden hair. 
 
 *' I think we ought to tell Aunt Evelyn 
 about the locket," said he, after a 
 moment's pause, while he twined one of 
 her curls round his forefinger. *' She 
 may be a little angry at first, but she will 
 be angrier when she finds that it is gone, 
 and that she has not been told." 
 
 Fleurette was pondering over Bernard's 
 words, and regretting that she had not 
 long ago taken Evelyn's advice, and put 
 the locket safely by, when Charlie ran
 
 DELAMERE. 139 
 
 into the room, followed by liis mamma. 
 Evelyn had a smile upon her lips, and a 
 lovely bloom upon her cheeks from the 
 exercise; but it rapidly died away, and 
 gave place to the clear pallor which was 
 habitual to her. The brilliancy had come 
 back to her large grey eyes, and her face 
 had regained something of its beautiful 
 contour. She threw herself into a large 
 armchaii', while CharHe ran over to 
 Fleurette to admire the pup. The little 
 gui made him sit upon the footstool, and, 
 to his great dehght, placed the dog upon 
 his lap, warning him to be careful of the 
 whip. She then approached Mrs. de 
 Euthvyn, with a conscious expression of 
 countenance and with hesitating steps. 
 
 " Well, Fleurette, what is the matter ? 
 Have you broken something very valuable, 
 or is the pup threatened with distemper, 
 that you look so troubled ? "
 
 140 DELAMEEE. 
 
 *' I have lost my medallion, Aunt 
 Evelyn — the large locket with mamma's 
 likeness, that had the pearls round it. I 
 am so sorry I did not put it by, as you 
 advised." 
 
 Mrs. de Euthvyn smiled at the grave 
 way the child spoke. It was not a very 
 serious loss in her eyes. It had long 
 ceased to be valuable, as the pearls had 
 nearly all dropped out, and the case was 
 injured from repeated accidents. 
 
 "• Where did you lose this wonderful 
 treasure of yours ? and have you quite 
 given up all hope of finding it ? " asked 
 Evelyn, with a smile. 
 
 ^' I lost it in the wood a few days ago, 
 when I was playing hide-and-seek. Ber- 
 nard was with me at the time, and we 
 both looked for it everywhere." 
 
 ^' Eleurette made a strange discovery a 
 short time before she lost it," said Ber-
 
 DELAMEEE. 141 
 
 nard, throwing down his newspaper, and 
 turning round on his seafc so as to face 
 his sister. ^' Had you any suspicion that 
 the locket contained a hkeness of Phihp 
 de Euthvyn ? " 
 
 ''It was there all the time, as well as 
 mamma's," chimed in Fleurette, eagerly. 
 " Was it not provoking that I should 
 lose it?" 
 
 Evelyn seemed unable to reply. She 
 was astonished and bewildered, and a 
 deep flush suffused her cheeks. 
 
 "A likeness of Phihp?" she said at 
 length, in a voice that was scarcely 
 steady. " If you were with Fleurette at 
 the time, how is it that she did not find it 
 at once ? " she continued, looking at Ber- 
 nard with an angry light in her eyes. 
 
 ''It is not likely, my dear Evelyn, that 
 I could follow all her footsteps, and it 
 was a most unfortunate place to lose it.
 
 142 DELAMERE. 
 
 You might as well look for a needle in a 
 bundle of hay as expect to find a small 
 locket in the middle of the brushwood. 
 I don't believe she has the smallest 
 chance of finding it again." 
 
 ^^ Eoberts says that if I show him the 
 place, he will make all the men look for 
 it, and that they will turn up every leaf 
 on the ground until they find it," re- 
 joined Fleurette. ^'Come along, Charlie," 
 she continued. " I see Teresa waiting 
 for us outside. You and I will go with 
 her to his house, and remind him of his 
 promise. Here, give me the doggie, and 
 I will carry him part of the way." 
 
 *' You don't seem very much surprised 
 to hear of this portrait of Philip de 
 Euthvyn. Possibly it does not strike 
 you in the same light that it does me," 
 said Bernard to his sister, as soon as the 
 children had left the room.
 
 DELAMERE. 143 
 
 ^* And how does it strike you?" said 
 Evelyn, in a listless tone, as though the 
 subject had no possible interest for her. 
 She had left the armchair, which was 
 directly opposite Bernard, and was now 
 reclining on a sofa at the other end of 
 the room. 
 
 '^ Don't you think it very strange that 
 Fleurette should have a likeness of Phihp 
 in her possession ? " 
 
 "Not at all," replied Evelyn. "I see 
 nothing to be surprised at in it. He had 
 adopted her, and was as fond of her as 
 if she were his own child. The only 
 strange thing is that we did not discover 
 it before." 
 
 ** If his likeness were the only one in 
 the locket, I should not give it a second 
 thought, but it is side by side with her 
 mother's, and is the work of the same 
 artist. Did it never occur to you that
 
 144 DELAMERE. 
 
 she miglit be his daughter — I don't mean 
 his heiress, of course." 
 
 " I am not sufficiently interested in 
 the subject to think about it," said 
 Evelyn. 
 
 ^* It might not occur to you, but now 
 that I suggest it, do you not think it 
 probable ? " 
 
 ^^ It is a pity you did not keep the 
 locket, as it suggested such a variety of 
 thoughts to you," replied Evelyn, sar- 
 castically. '^ If you should find it, I 
 recommend you not to give it up until 
 you have completely exhausted your 
 curiosity. Another request I must make 
 is, that you do not follow Teresa about 
 as you have done lately. It is neither 
 fair nor right, and I shall have to send 
 her away if you persist in doing so." 
 
 Bernard burst into a loud laugh, but 
 it was a forced one. ^' My dear Evelyn,
 
 DELAMERE. 145 
 
 don't b3 friglifcened ; I liave no designs 
 on Teresa. She is too dark and sour 
 looking for my taste. But I have not 
 told you my real news yet. I met Fred 
 Bra,ndreth yesterday, and he told me 
 that Donald Stamer was coming to stay 
 with them in a few weeks." 
 
 From the position of the sofa on which 
 Evelyn was reclining, Bernard could only 
 see her profile. She was glad that she 
 was not under his scrutinizing gaze, with 
 the full light from the window revealing 
 every change in her face when he men- 
 tioned that name, which made her heart 
 beat violently. 
 
 ^' I was quite right in what I told you 
 about his marriage. Not satisfied with 
 the Scotch form, he was married to Miss 
 Carlyle, in a church near Chatham, five 
 years ago. I met him on my way to 
 Belgium a short time before poor Ean- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 DELAMERE 
 
 dolph died, and we had a long talk 
 together over old times. He is very 
 little changed, and seems to take life 
 easy." 
 
 ^^ I never know what to believe about 
 Mr. Stamer's marriage ; and, to tell yon 
 the truth, the subject has ceased to have 
 any interest for me. For the last twelve 
 years I have been told that he is married, 
 and have as often heard the report con- 
 tradicted. A year or so after the Scotch 
 marriage was supposed to have taken 
 place, I met him at a dinner-party, 
 and he was quite astonished when I 
 spoke to him of his wife. He was not 
 married then, certainly, according to any 
 form." 
 
 *^ Well, there is no mistake about the 
 present affair, for he told me all about 
 it himself. However, you need not dis- 
 tress yourself with the thought that you
 
 DELAMERE. 147 
 
 will have to entertain your former 
 governess. Yoii are not expected to give 
 dinner-parties this year; and, besides, 
 the lady herself is snug in a lunatic 
 asylum somewhere in Belgium." 
 
 Evelyn rose from the sofa. The rapid 
 pulsation of her heart had ceased, but 
 she was still very pale. ^^I can't stay 
 to hear any more of your gossip now, 
 Bernard, as I have letters to write for 
 the post," said she, passing into an ad- 
 joining room, where she usually spent 
 her morning hours when not inveigled 
 out-of-doors by the children. She was 
 too much bewildered with the news she 
 had just heard to sit down calmly and 
 write letters, but she was glad of any 
 excuse to get away from Bernard, whose 
 presence was becoming intolerable to her. 
 She was not altogether unprepared for 
 his story about Donald, as his intimate
 
 148 DELAMERE. 
 
 friend, Fred Brandreth, had told her 
 some time ago that he feared Miss 
 Carlyle had at length entrapped him into 
 a genuine marriage. It was more than 
 a question of fear now, Evelyn thought. 
 Donald had admitted the marriage to 
 Bernard with his own lips, and it was 
 vain for her to contradict it any longer. 
 Was he married to her before he went 
 to India, or did Miss Carlyle follow him 
 out there ? Evelyn wondered. She felt 
 a morbid curiosity on the subject, and, 
 before retiring for the night, wrote a long 
 letter to Kate Penthony, w^ho was always 
 ready to talk with her about Donald and 
 his affairs. Evelyn mentioned in her 
 letter that she would soon pay a visit to 
 Monkhurst. She wanted a change, and 
 would rather go to her old home in 
 Scotland than anywhere else. 
 
 Not many days after posting her letter
 
 DELAMEEE. 149 
 
 to Kate, she received the following 
 voluminous reply : — 
 
 " Monkhurst. 
 
 ^' Deaeest Evy, 
 
 '^ Your welcome letter arrived 
 just as I was trying to resign niyseK to 
 a life of dulness here for the next three 
 months, and I have been in wild spirits 
 ever since. I shall be counting the days 
 now until you arrive. I returned home 
 about three weeks since from Comber- 
 mere, and had such a pleasant time with 
 the Gordons. Fred Brandreth was there, 
 and we had quite a romance together ; 
 but I shall reserve all news until we 
 meet, as it will be an inducement for you 
 to come. And now, dear, for the ques- 
 tions you ask me. I am so glad to be 
 able to speak to you on the subject again, 
 but yoa know you forbade me to mention
 
 150 DELAMERE. 
 
 Donald's name to you two years ago, and 
 I have never liked to do so since. I can 
 understand your wish to avoid meeting 
 him — it is only natural ; but as far as I 
 can see, fate seems so determined to keep 
 you apart that it is almost unnecessary 
 for you to take any further trouble 
 about it. 
 
 ** Fred explained the mystery of the 
 Scotch marriage to me ; and, though I 
 always detested Miss Carlyle, I should 
 scarcely have suspected her of such 
 treachery to you. When Aunt Fanny 
 dismissed her long ago, before you were 
 engaged to Eandolph, it seems she went 
 at once to Berwick, and aroused Donald's 
 sympathy by telling him that she had 
 been turned away at a moment's notice, 
 because she had done her best to promote 
 his marriage with you. She told him 
 not to expect letters from you, as you
 
 DELAMERE. 151 
 
 were too closely watched to be able to 
 write, but that you had resolved to write 
 to him at the end of three mouths, if 
 your parents still refused their consent. 
 This message quieted his fears, and kept 
 him from going to Monkhurst. I hear 
 Miss Carlyle frequently met him about 
 this time, and that the officers used to 
 chaff him about her; but Fred says he 
 only cared for her because she could give 
 him some tidings of you. During one 
 of these interviews, she affected very low 
 spirits, sighed a good deal, threw up her 
 eyes, and then handed Donald a paper 
 with the announcement of your marriage 
 in it. She left Berwick very soon after- 
 wards. She perceived, I suppose, that 
 he was not in a humour to be influenced 
 by her blandishments, and was satisfied 
 that her contrivances had succeeded so 
 far. It was unfortunate that Donald left
 
 152 DELAMERE. 
 
 Berwick very much at the same time as 
 Miss Carlyle. He got leave of absence, 
 as he was in bad health, and went for a 
 tour to the Trosachs. It was somewhere 
 near Callander that he met with an 
 accident. He was crossing a little bridge 
 ovfer a stream, when he slipped and broke 
 his leg. Some peasants passing by con- 
 veyed him back to the inn at Callander, 
 and the landlord sent for a surgeon ; but 
 the injury brought on fever, and he was 
 very ill for a long time. He told Fred 
 that he was quite unconscious for many 
 days, and that it was during that time 
 Miss Carlyle arrived. She called herself 
 Mrs. Stamer, and was admitted to him 
 without delay. She nursed him night 
 and day, and took the complete charge 
 and control of his affairs. I believe he 
 w^as rather pleased at finding her there 
 when he regained consciousness, but
 
 DELAMERE. 153 
 
 lie was greatly astonished when the 
 servants addressed her as Mrs. Stamer. 
 He asked her to account for the mistake, 
 and she excused herself by saying that 
 the people at the inn would have denied 
 her admittance, if she had not passed 
 herself off as his wife. She begged him 
 to have some consideration for her feel- 
 ings, and not to undeceive them until 
 he was well enough to be removed. All 
 she cared for was to see him safely re- 
 stored to health, and she would then go 
 away and not trouble him further. He 
 was scarcely a month back in Berwick, 
 when she called at the barracks and 
 insisted upon seeing him. She talked 
 in a loud, noisy manner, and said they 
 were married according to the Scotch 
 law; an emineut lawyer in Edinburgh 
 had told her that the marriage was per- 
 fectly legal. Donald vras too stunned to
 
 154 DELAMERE, 
 
 answer, but Fred, came to the rescue, 
 and defied, her to make any claim upon 
 his friend. They got rid of her after 
 some difficulty, and Donald did not see 
 her again for many years. The regiment 
 was under orders to embark for Gibraltar, 
 and all the time he was there he heard 
 nothing of her. His own words are that 
 he would have forgotten her existence if 
 she had not been associated in his mind 
 with you. He was not long back in 
 England, however, when she again 
 crossed his path. She was quite changed 
 in her manners, having adopted a bashful 
 and reserved style, and seemed very 
 nervous and depressed. She looked paler 
 than usual, and said she had only lately 
 recovered from a very long illness. She 
 told him, after a little hesitation, that 
 she was reduced to great poverty. Her 
 friends had cast her off in consequence
 
 DELAMERE. 155 
 
 of her unfortunate visit to Callander, and 
 no ladies would engage her to teach their 
 daughters. Well, dearest, you can easily 
 guess what followed. There was too 
 much chivalry in Donald's nature to 
 allow a woman to suffer for his sake, and 
 very shortly afterwards he and Miss 
 Carlyle were married in a little church 
 in the outskirts of Chatham. His regi- 
 ment was quartered in that town, and 
 it was somewhere in the neighbourhood 
 that he had the misfortune of meeting 
 her. Perhaps I am wrong to write all 
 this to you. I should not have done so, 
 but that you asked me to tell you every- 
 thing connected with the marriage. As 
 far as I can judge, Miss Carlyle was not 
 much the happier for having at length 
 achieved her purpose, as she and Donald 
 parted very soon after their marriage. 
 He went to India a few months after-
 
 156 DELAMERE. 
 
 wards, and she had no desire to accom- 
 pany him. She had become very odd in 
 her manner, and used to get into violent 
 fits of temper. The fact was, she had 
 been an incipient hmatic for years, and 
 the madness was then beginning to 
 develop more rapidly. She was put 
 under the care of a doctor while Donald 
 was in India, and is at present in some 
 lunatic asylum abroad. I met him since 
 his return from India, and he told me 
 much that Fred corroborated since. You 
 know, Donald always looked upon me as 
 a sister, and liked to confide in me. I 
 think if I had been grown up when you 
 and he were engaged to each other, I 
 should not have allowed you to drift 
 apart. You will be tired reading all this, 
 so I must say no more about Donald 
 and his misfortunes until we meet. You 
 will bring Charlie and Fleurette with
 
 DELAMERE. 157 
 
 you, of course. They will cheer up the 
 old people, and make this dull house 
 lively for a time. An- revoir, cherie. 
 '* Your affectionate 
 
 '' Kate."
 
 158 DELAMERE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 It is the month of May, and many months 
 have passed since Bernard discovered 
 PhiHp's Hkeness in Fleurette's locket, 
 but, until the last few weeks, he has not 
 done much towards following up the clue. 
 It was not that his interest in the child 
 had lessened ; she was his chief con- 
 sideration, and the absorbing thought of 
 his mind ever since it had dawned upon 
 him that she was the owner of Delamere. 
 He was fully alive, also, to the importance 
 of at once proving her parentage and 
 legitimacy, knowing that witnesses who 
 would testify to the truth now might be
 
 DELAMEEE. 159 
 
 beyond his reach in a couple of years' 
 time. Death might seal the lips of those 
 who, if alive, would be interested in re- 
 storing her to her rights. But private 
 business had detained him in England 
 very much against his will all during 
 the winter ; and even after he arrived in 
 Italy, disappointment awaited him. He 
 had great trouble in discovering the abode 
 of Teresa's mother, as she had left the 
 little village of II Borgo, and had gone to 
 a small cottage in the outskirts of Naples. 
 Bernard hoped that she would have been 
 able to give him the address of the priest 
 who brought her son the five hundred 
 francs from Philip de Euthvyn, and whom 
 he had no difficulty in identifying as the 
 sober-faced individual in the long black 
 gown who used to carry Fleurette into 
 her father's room, when he was too weak 
 to walk.
 
 160 DELAMERE. 
 
 It was all-important to Bernard to find 
 this priest, as it was evident lie had been 
 on intimate terms with Philip until the 
 hour of his death, and probably could 
 throw light upon his marriage ; but the 
 old woman could give no tidings of him. 
 She was in great distress a few years ago, 
 she told Bernard, and she had written to 
 Monsieur Delille for assistance, but had 
 received no answer, and she had never 
 seen either him or the priest since. She 
 detained Bernard, much against his will, 
 to tell him all the misfortunes that had 
 happened to her. In the great storm two 
 months ago, her husband's fishing-boat 
 had been knocked to pieces, and he had 
 barely escaped with his life. Only for 
 the kindness of the neighbours, they 
 would not be alive now. They had 
 raised the price of a new boat among 
 them, and had started him again ; but
 
 DELAMERB. 161 
 
 it would be a long time before slie and 
 her husband would be free of the debt^. 
 Her sons had all married and left her, 
 and she had no one but her old man to 
 support her. She was glad to hear from 
 Teresa. She thought she had forgotten 
 her too, not having heard from her for 
 so long, and knowing that she was in a 
 strange land and among grand people ; 
 but no doubt she had written, and that 
 her letter had gone astray. 
 
 Bernard was the bearer of a letter 
 containing a small sum of money from 
 Teresa to her mother, and he good- 
 naturedly added a few gold pieces to it 
 himself, although the information he 
 received from the old woman was of the 
 scantiest nature. As he was about to 
 take his leave, she told him a piece of 
 news that might have been of soma 
 importance, but which, unfortunately, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 DELAMERE. 
 
 led him on a wrong scent. She was 
 walking along the Chiaja at Naples one 
 day ahont two years ago, when she 
 recognized the man-servant who came 
 in Monsieur Delille's carriage to remove 
 the wounded gentleman from her cottage 
 at II Borgo many years ago. The man 
 was no longer in livery, and had a good 
 deal more hair about his face than when 
 she saw him before, but she said she 
 knew him at once. He had a scar just 
 above his left eyebrow, by which she 
 could identify him anywhere. Before 
 she could recover from her surprise, he 
 was lost in the crowd, and she had never 
 seen him since ; but she had described 
 him to some of her friends, and they said 
 that a man answering to this description 
 had lately set up as innkeeper at Naples. 
 Not knowing his name, however, she had 
 let the matter drop.
 
 DELAMEEE. 163 
 
 Bernard believed he had got a clue, 
 and was resolved not to leave Naples 
 without making further inquiries. He 
 went the rounds of all the small hotels 
 and inns in the town the following day, 
 and interviewed all the proprietors ; but 
 not one of them had hved as valet with 
 an English gentleman, nor were any of 
 them disfigured by a scar on the left 
 eyebrow. Terracina was his ground, he 
 confidently hoped, and thither he went 
 next day. A shopkeeper in the town re- 
 membered Monsieur Delille, and was able 
 to direct him to Villa Bellamonte — a 
 fantastic-looking low white house, which 
 was some little distance from the village, 
 and quite close to the sea, as Fleurette 
 described; but it was occupied by an 
 Italian family, and neither they nor their 
 servant knew anything of the former 
 inhabitants. The family had only been
 
 164 DELAMERE. 
 
 there a couple of years, and many of the 
 servants had come since. Bernard's in- 
 quiries among the shopkeepers were 
 equally futile. Many of them remem- 
 bered Monsieur Delille, as it was only 
 seven years since he had died there. 
 They had some recollection of a priest, 
 who used to be there on and off, but 
 their ideas on the subject were vague. 
 He was about to leave the village, when 
 good luck prompted him to make in- 
 quiries at the inn where he had slept the 
 previous night. He had visited so many 
 small hotels and inns at Naples, all to no 
 purpose, that he was not sanguine of any 
 better success now, and he could scarcely 
 believe his senses when the innkeeper, a 
 greasy, swarthy-faced Italian, who helped 
 him out of his difficulties with the lan- 
 guage more blandly than his Neapolitan 
 confreres^ told him that Monsieur Dufour,
 
 DELAMERE. 165 
 
 the late Monsieur Delille's valet, was a 
 very great friend of his. He had lost 
 sight of all the other servants, but he 
 knew this one well. After Monsieur 
 Delille's death, he had remained for a 
 time with him as assistant at the inn ; 
 but, having amassed a good deal of money 
 while living with his former employer, 
 he had set up for himself about three 
 years ago at the Locanda Barbarossa at 
 Fondi, where, no doubt, he would be 
 found still. 
 
 After this pleasing news, Bernard was 
 impatient to reach Fondi, and although 
 the day w^as advanced, he resolved to 
 set off at once. As it was not far from 
 Terracina he calculated upon arriving 
 there before dusk, and he barely gave 
 himself time to partake of refreshment, 
 when he bade adieu to Signor Bromelli, 
 the innkeeper of La Posta, who gave him
 
 166 DELAMERE. 
 
 a note to Monsieur Dnfonr, which he 
 promised would ensure his civility. 
 
 The evening was falling as Bernard 
 rode along the picturesque road between 
 Terracina and Fondi. The crescent moon 
 was rising behind the precipitous moun- 
 tains at his left, and reflecting its rays 
 in the rippling waves that murmured at 
 his feet ; but Bernard's thoughts were so 
 full of his pending interview with Philip 
 de Euthvyn's valet, that the loveliness 
 of the scene was lost on him. It was 
 quite dark when he entered the dirty 
 little town of Fondi, and made his way 
 to the Locanda Barbarossa, which, by 
 the light of a dingy oil-lamp, looked 
 anything but an inviting spot to spend 
 the night in. 
 
 The accommodation was better inside 
 than he expected from its cheerless ex- 
 terior, and, having partaken of a tolerably
 
 DELAMERE. 167 
 
 good meal in a room hung with cheap 
 mirrors, he sent Signor Bromelh's note 
 to Monsieur Dufour by one of the waiters, 
 and begged for a private interview. A 
 few moments later, a tall man, with a 
 dark, heavy moustache and beard, and 
 clumsily cut features, appeared in the 
 doorway, with Bernard's card in his hand. 
 *'Be good enough to walk this way, 
 monsieur," said he, pushing open a door 
 that led into a private sitting-room, lit 
 by a pair of wax candles, and less showily 
 furnished than the salle a manger, '^ My 
 friend, Signor Bromelli, says you have 
 some questions to ask me about an 
 English gentleman with whom I was 
 acquainted some years ago," continued 
 Monsieur Dufour in French, motioning 
 Bernard to an armchair, upholstered in 
 faded velvet, whil6 he took possession of 
 another himself.
 
 168 DELAMERE. 
 
 It was a relief to Bernard at length to 
 be addressed in a language which he 
 thoroughly understood ; but the notion of 
 the hotel-keeper claiming acquaintance 
 with Philip de Euthvyn, and putting him 
 upon the same par as Signor Bromelli, 
 rather bothered him. 
 
 '^We must have a couple of bottles 
 of your best Capri, Monsieur Dufour. 
 Talking is thirsty work, and I think you 
 and I will have a good deal to say to one 
 another before the evening is over." 
 
 Monsieur Dufour rose with alacrity, 
 and a pleased smile upon his countenance, 
 and gave the orders, which were promptly 
 obeyed by a shabby-looking youth. 
 
 ** Monsieur Delille, or Mr. de Euthvyn, 
 to call him by his right name, was a near 
 connection of mine, and I understood 
 that you lived for many years with him 
 in a confidential situation," said Bernard,
 
 DELAMERE. 169 
 
 as soon as the waiter retired. As he 
 spoke, he pushed over one of the bottles 
 towards his host, and poured some wine 
 from the other for himself. *' My friend 
 Hved for some years in the Villa Bella- 
 monte at Terracina," continued he, " and 
 while there assumed the name of Delille. 
 He had a wife and daughter, and it is 
 about them that I am anxious to get all 
 possible information." 
 
 *' Alas, monsiem*," said Dufour, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders, ^' I can tell you very 
 little about them. The lady died five 
 years before Mr. de Euthvyn, and the 
 little girl was taken to England by his 
 brother shortly after his death. It is to 
 this brother, Mr. Eandolph de Euthvyn, 
 that you must apply for news of her, as 
 I have never seen her since." 
 
 '* I need scarcely say that you may be 
 thoroughly confidential with me. Mr.
 
 170 DELAMERE. 
 
 Philip de Entlivyn was a great friend of 
 mine, and I am interested in the welfare 
 of his child. He was a wealthy man, 
 and was heir to large estates in England, 
 as no doubt you are aware." 
 
 '' Yes," replied Mousieur Dufour ; ** Mr. 
 de Euthvyn was a gentleman of undoubted 
 wealth and position." 
 - ^^ You see, it was rather an unfortunate 
 thing for the child that her parents lived 
 under an assumed name, as people sus- 
 pect that she is not legitimate." 
 
 *' To tell you the truth, sir," said 
 Monsieur Dufour, drawing his chair 
 closer to Bernard, and lowering his voice, 
 *' I had suspicions myself on that subject 
 for many years; and, to be candid with 
 you, I am not able to give you any proofs 
 of Mr. de Euthvyn' s marriage, beyond 
 the fact that the name De Euthvyn is 
 on the signora's tombstone. That fact,
 
 DELAMERE. 171 
 
 I think, is very conclusive evidence that 
 he married her; but at what time the 
 ceremony took place, I cannot tell." 
 
 " When you first entered the service 
 of Mr. de Kuthvyn, you believed his 
 name to be Delille, I suppose?" said 
 Bernard. 
 
 /*Yes; and for some time afterwards, 
 though I knew by his accent he was not 
 French. He and Madame Delille were 
 travelling about fi'om place to place when 
 I first went to live with them. I acted 
 partly as courier and partly as valet. It 
 was before the child was born, and I 
 never doubted they were married. It 
 was not until we came to live in Terra- 
 cina, and that I knew my master got 
 letters addressed ^ Philip de Euthvyn,' 
 that I began to suspect all was not right. 
 These suspicions increased when he got 
 a telegram summoning him to England,
 
 172 DELAMERE. 
 
 and that he went there without taking 
 the signora and her child with him." 
 
 ^' You must take into consideration that 
 his father was very ill at the time," said 
 Bernard. ^'Is it not quite possible that 
 Mr. de Euthvyn married beneath him, 
 and that he adopted a feigned name to 
 keep his marriage secret from his family ? 
 It would sufficiently explain his leaving 
 his wife and child behind him when he 
 went to England." 
 
 ^'Your view is a very natural one, 
 monsieur ; and, indeed, Mr. de Euthvyn 
 was so passionately fond of Madame 
 Delille that it is difficult to believe he 
 would act in a dishonourable way towards 
 her. I never saw such anguish on the 
 face of man or woman as was on his after 
 lier death. It was his own death-blow, in 
 fact, for he never recovered it." 
 
 " She died much about the same time
 
 DELAMERE. 173 
 
 as his brother, if I am not mistaken," 
 said Bernard ; ^^ but I have only heard 
 the briefest account of her death, and if 
 you could tell me some of the particulars 
 I should be very much obhged, as it may 
 be of some importance to her child." 
 
 "It is a long story, and a very sad 
 one, monsieur, but if it will not tire you 
 to hear it, it will give me great pleasure 
 to tell you all I know," said Monsieur 
 Dufour, filling out another glass of wine, 
 as if to invigorate himself for the effort 
 of talking. " Mr. de Euthvyn was the 
 kindest and best of masters to me, and I 
 would go a long way to serve him or any 
 one belonging to him. He always treated 
 me with consideration, more like a friend 
 than an inferior. ^ Paul,' he said to me 
 the evening he was summoned to Eng- 
 land, ' I leave everything in your care. 
 You have comx3lete control over the
 
 174 DELAMEKE. 
 
 house and servants while I am away, and 
 see that proper attention and respect are 
 paid to Madame DeHlle.' Mr. de Euthvyn 
 expected to be back in a week or ten 
 days at furthest, and he wrote regularly 
 to the signora at first. How she used to 
 watch for those letters, the pretty young 
 creature ! and she was always asking me 
 how long it would take him to travel 
 from England to Terracina. It was an 
 unfortunate time for Mr. de Euthvyn to 
 leave, as the whole country was in a 
 ferment. The name of Garibaldi was on 
 the lips of every one, and many of the 
 villages and towns were in a state of 
 uproar and confusion. Bands of soldiers 
 were constantly passing through Terra- 
 cina, and I saw how terrified my mistress 
 was. She wrote to Mr. de Euthvyn, im- 
 ploring him to return or to make arrange- 
 ments for her to join him in England ;
 
 DELAMERE. 175 
 
 but he did not get the letters for ten days 
 after they were due, as I heard after- 
 wards. 
 
 '' One afternoon I had gone to the post 
 with the signora's letters. She would 
 never trust them to any one but me, and 
 while I was away, a terrible scene had 
 taken place at the villa. It seems that 
 I had scarcely left, when a band of men, 
 disguised as volunteers, came up to the 
 house and clamom^ed for admittance. 
 They wanted to billet themselves therefor 
 the night, they said. Some of the servants 
 were willing to admit them, and others 
 refused. There was a melee between 
 them, and in the fight one of the supposed 
 soldiers and two of the servants were 
 badly wounded. I arrived in the middle 
 of all the confusion, and called in assist- 
 ance, and after some further struggle the 
 intruders retreated, but not before one of
 
 176 DELAMERE. 
 
 their number had given me a cut on the 
 forehead that left me nearly insensible." 
 Monsieur Dufour pushed up his hair as 
 he spoke, and pointed to a small scar over 
 his left eyebrow, which Bernard would 
 not have noticed if his attention had not 
 been attracted to it. " After the row was 
 over, I missed some of the servants, and 
 found that a great many valuables had been 
 stolen. The police identified the wounded 
 soldier as a notorious robber, whom they 
 had long been anxious to capture, and he 
 and the other wounded men were removed 
 that evening to the hospital. I did my 
 best to pacify my young mistress, but 
 nothing would induce her to spend another 
 day in the villa. Before evening came 
 on, she applied for admittance to the 
 convent, and moved there with her child 
 the following day. She had subscribed 
 very handsomely to the erection of a
 
 DELAMERE. 177 
 
 chapel to our Lady about the time her 
 child was born, and had made a friend of 
 the superioress, who promised to take her 
 under her protection until her husband 
 returned. I wrote a full account of the 
 catastrophe at the villa to my master, and 
 he came back in a few days. I had dis- 
 missed all the servants, not knowing 
 which of them could be relied on, and 
 had a trustworthy man with me to take 
 care of the place ; but Mr. de Kuthvyn's 
 only thoughts were for the signer a. He 
 wanted to rush off to the convent at once 
 when he heard she was there, although 
 it was very late in the evening, and it 
 was with difficulty that I was able to 
 restrain him until the next day. Mis- 
 fortunes seemed to follow upon misfortunes 
 then. The signora was said to be suffering 
 from a low fever, and Mr. de Kuthvyn 
 was not allowed to see her. He was 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 DELAMEEE. 
 
 married to her then, I have no doubt, for 
 he spoke of her as his wife, and his grief 
 and frenzy at being separated from her 
 are indescribable. He insisted that she 
 should be attended by Doctor Gennaro, 
 whom he knew to be a clever physician, 
 and he was somewhat reassured when the 
 latter told him that she was in no danger. 
 He advised him to submit to the convent 
 rules, and promised that if a change for 
 the worse came he would send for him. 
 
 '' It was during the days of illness and 
 suspense that followed, that my dear 
 master met with a fresh affliction. He set 
 off one morning to ride towards Gaeta — I 
 heard him mention by chance the direc- 
 tion in which he was going — and he never 
 came back that evening, nor the next 
 day. I was beginning to think something 
 had happened, when I got a note from 
 him, bidding me drive the easiest carriage
 
 PELAMERE. 179 
 
 in the stable to the little village of II 
 Borgo, several miles off, and to bring two 
 servants with me, as he wanted us to 
 assist in conveying home a wounded 
 gentleman, and he described the cottage 
 where we would find him. We were on 
 the road within ten minutes, and on 
 arriving at our destination my master told 
 me that the wounded gentleman was his 
 brother, and that he feared he would 
 never Hve to reach the villa. The poor 
 young gentleman was stretched upon a 
 bed, and looked just like a corpse. He 
 groaned feebly as we placed him in the 
 carriage, but it was his only chance of 
 life, as the atmosphere of the cottage was 
 stifling." 
 
 ^' Did your master tell you how this 
 brother had met with the accident, or in 
 what way he had discovered him ? " asked 
 Bernard.
 
 180 DELAMERE. 
 
 ^^ He mentioned, when we first arrived, 
 that his brother had been wounded in 
 an affray with the king's soldiers. He 
 said it was fortunate he had met him, so 
 I suppose the meeting was quite acci- 
 dental ; but he was very silent all through 
 the journey. He seemed to be fearfully 
 depressed, and scarcely opened his lips. 
 There was worse news in store for him on 
 his arrival at Terracina. We had scarcely 
 laid the sufferer in bed, when a message 
 came from the convent to Mr. de Euthvyn. 
 There was no necessity for me to ask 
 him what that message was. His white, 
 agonized face told me all, and I did not 
 dare to address a word to him. I re- 
 mained at my post beside the wounded 
 man, but he died during the night. He 
 had been shot just above the right lung, 
 and though the ball had been extracted by 
 a surgeon from Gaeta before they left
 
 DELAMERE. 181 
 
 the cottage, the hemorrhage had never 
 ceased. The gradation was so imper- 
 ceptible between the ghastly semblance 
 of death and its reality, that he had 
 ceased to exist for some time before I was 
 aware of it. He and my dear mistress 
 must have died very much at the same 
 time, from what I heard afterwards, and 
 they were buried the same day in the 
 Campo Sant near Naples. I was at the 
 funeral, and I noticed, for the first time, 
 a sallow-faced gentleman, a priest, who 
 seemed very intimate with my master, as 
 they called each other by their Christian 
 names. He returned with us to the villa, 
 and remained there until Mr. de Euthvyn 
 and I set off on our travels six weeks later. 
 I thought at first that my master was 
 going to England, but when I mentioned 
 that country to him, he looked fiercely at 
 me, and said he would never put his foot
 
 182 DELAMEEE. 
 
 on its shores again. It was the only 
 occasion he ever spoke angrily to me. 
 We went to Egypt and Palestine, and 
 kept wandering about for more than six 
 months ; but no place seemed to interest 
 my master. He suddenly made up his 
 mind to return to Terracina, and I was 
 glad, as his child was there, and I was in 
 hopes she would cheer and amuse him. 
 She was an engaging little child, and was 
 just beginning to take notice, and I could 
 see that by degrees she wound herself 
 roimd his affections. He took to his 
 writing again, also, and things went on 
 smoothly until his health began to fail. 
 He had always been delicate, and had 
 caught a bad cough while travelling in 
 Egypt, which he was never able to get 
 rid of. Before he got very bad he 
 talked of going to England, and taking 
 the child with him, and the Frate
 
 DELAMERE. 183 
 
 encouraged him in the thought ; but, as 
 time went on, he felt he had no strength 
 for it." 
 
 '' Did you ever discover a cause for the 
 intimacy that existed between Mr. de 
 Euthvyn and the ItaHan priest ? " asked 
 Bernard. " It is not often that an Enghsh- 
 man, and a Protestant, chooses as his 
 confidante a foreign clergyman of a dif- 
 ferent persuasion from liis own." 
 
 ^' I have litfcle doubt, sir, that the 
 Frate was a near relative of the signora. 
 My master and he used often to talk of 
 her, and they spoke of her by her Chris- 
 tian name. Flora. They used to think 
 the child was like her." 
 
 " I must see this priest, wherever he is 
 to be found," interrupted Bernard. " Did 
 he remain with your master until his 
 death ? " asked Bernard. 
 
 ** Yes, sir ; and it was he who wrote for
 
 184 DELAMERE. 
 
 Mr. Eandolph. My master got very 
 much worse suddenly, and wished to see 
 his brother before he died. He was worn 
 to a shadow when he arrived." 
 
 ^' If his child was legitimate, it is likely 
 that he gave the proofs of his marriage to 
 his brother," suggested Bernard. 
 
 '^ I cannot tell you what passed between 
 them, as the door of the room was always 
 locked while they were talking inside." 
 
 '^And how long did your master live 
 after his brother arrived ? " asked Bernard. 
 
 *' Scarcely a fortnight. He passed away 
 without a pain or ache, and there was 
 no one with him but the Frate and 
 myself. He was something better than 
 usual that morning, and Mr. Eandolph 
 had gone out to take a ride, little dream- 
 ing that he had seen the last of him. He 
 seemed quite angry on his return to find 
 that it was all over, and that he had
 
 DELA^IEPvE. 185 
 
 not been there at the time. Before the 
 week was out, he sold the furniture, and 
 dismissed all the servants, except old 
 Giulietta, the nm'se. He was in a great 
 hurry to be back to England, he said, as 
 he had a day fixed for his brother's 
 funeral." 
 
 *' I must see this nurse, as well as the 
 priest, and you must help me to find 
 them, Monsieur Dufour. You may count 
 on your services being well rewarded." 
 
 ^' The nurse went to England with Mr. 
 Eandolph and the child," repHed Monsieur 
 Dufour, 
 
 " She left Terracina with them, but 
 she was dismissed at Marseilles, and a 
 stranger hired in her place." 
 
 Monsieur Dufour rubbed his head, and 
 looked at his companion with a puzzled 
 expression. 
 
 *' Did she not come back to Terracina
 
 186 DELAMERE. 
 
 after she was dismissed ? " asked Ber- 
 nard. 
 
 ^'I have neither seen her nor heard of 
 her since the morning she left the villa 
 with my master's little girl and his brother, 
 seven years ago." 
 
 " Well, what about Di Lira? He was 
 not spirited off by Mr. de Enthvyn also, I 
 take -for granted." 
 
 Monsieur Dufour seemed in a reflective 
 mood, and did not hurry himself to 
 answer. Bernard poured out a glass of 
 wine and drank it, in the mean time, and 
 his host followed his example. 
 
 '^ Mr. Eandolph had some very angry 
 words with the Frate the day after his 
 brother's death. They never seemed to 
 like each other, and the priest was not 
 the man to submit to insolence tamely. 
 He gave Mr. Eandolph back as warm 
 words as he got from him, and I could
 
 DELAMERE. 187 
 
 see the Englishman quivering with rage. 
 The Frate was pale with suppressed pas- 
 sion, and after they ahused each other 
 for awhile, the priest walked out of the 
 villa and never returned." 
 
 " Have you no clue to his present 
 abode?" 
 
 "I heard — but I cannot vouch for the 
 truth of it — that he joined a fraternity 
 some months afterwards, and that he is 
 to be found at the Camaldoh monastery, 
 near the village of Pianura. If you are 
 thinking of going there, I will look to- 
 morrow for a package of letters which he 
 left behind him in Terracina. Many a 
 time I have been intending to ride over 
 to the monastery, to look him up and give 
 them to him with my own hands, as they 
 may be of importance ; but the road 
 between this and Pianura is very bad, 
 and my time has been so occupied, besides,
 
 188 DELAMERE. 
 
 that I have never had a moment to spare. 
 They say the road is infested by robbers, 
 so if you are bent on going, I would 
 recommend you to start early, so as to 
 arrive at Pianura before dusk." 
 
 ^'I will take your advice, my dear 
 Dufour, and as you recommend an early 
 start I will bid you good night now. You 
 will have to give me very explicit direc- 
 tions for my journey to-morrow, as I have 
 not the least notion in what direction the 
 village lies," continued Bernard, moving 
 towards the door, and lighting his cigar. 
 ^' By-the-by, if you should happen to 
 come across that package of letters, you 
 may as well send them into my room to- 
 night."
 
 DELAMERE. 189 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 Beknaed left word with the servant to 
 wake him at an early hour the next morn- 
 ing, and he was down in the courtyard, 
 giving directions for his ride to the 
 Camaldoli, a little after eight o'clock. 
 Monsieur Dufour joined him in the coffee- 
 room, and Bernard's quick eye detected 
 at once a portion of a large envelope 
 sticking out of his breast pocket, which 
 he had no doubt was the letter he alluded 
 to the previous night. 
 
 ^^Mafoi, monsieur, you are early. When 
 I advised you to set off in good time, I 
 did not expect you would rise at cock- 
 crow. There is no occasion for you to
 
 190 DELAMERE. 
 
 start for anotlier hour, or more. I must 
 hurry these lazy waiters, or you will be 
 famished before they have your breakfast 
 ready. Ah, by-the-by," he continued, as 
 he was about to leave the room, '^ here 
 are the letters I promised you last night. 
 It was too late when I found them to' 
 think of disturbing you. You will kindly 
 give them to the reverend signor yourself, 
 and tell him I sent them." As Monsieur 
 Dufour spoke, he gave the sealed letter to 
 Bernard which had already attracted his 
 attention, and, diving into his coat pocket 
 for a roll of manuscript, placed it beside 
 the package. 
 
 A few moments later, Bernard was 
 sitting down to a substantial breakfast, 
 to which he did ample justice, while his 
 host hovered about, telling him the 
 different objects of interest in the neigh- 
 bourhood.
 
 DELAMERE. 191 
 
 Had monsieur not heard of the story 
 from which the inn derived its name ? 
 
 Bernard confessed his ignorance. He 
 was quite a stranger in the neighbour- 
 hood, and had heard none of the gossip 
 connected with the place. 
 
 " But this is an historical event, and 
 if monsieur pay a visit to our church, 
 which is well worth seeing, he can read 
 an inscription which records the event. 
 It is a well-known fact," continued 
 Dufour, "that in the sixteenth century 
 Heyradin Barbarossa attempted to carry 
 off the beautiful Countess Griulia, widow 
 of the Colonna, to give her to the Tm^kish 
 sultan. She made her escape from an 
 open window in the castle, and fled to 
 the mountain, where she concealed her- 
 self for weeks." 
 
 Bernard cared nothing for the Church 
 of St. Mary, nor for the Countess Giulia,
 
 192 DELAMERE. 
 
 and lie was burning with impatience to 
 break open the package, and see if the 
 letters threw any light upon Philip de 
 Euthvyn's marriage ; but he listened 
 patiently to the long-winded stories of 
 his host, not knowing how soon he might 
 require his services, and feeling that time 
 was not misspent in ingratiating himself 
 with him. 
 
 Before he started on his journey, he 
 managed to secure some moments free 
 from intrusion in the room where he had 
 slept the night before, and, unfastening 
 the seal of the outer envelope, perceived 
 that it contained a number of letters. 
 They were in different handwritings, but 
 were all in Itahan, and a glance told 
 Bernard that he would never be able to 
 master their contents without an inter- 
 preter. Some were addressed to " Signor 
 di Lira, Fifth Avenue, New York; " and
 
 DELAMERE. 193 
 
 he guessed, by the small, effeminate hand, 
 that they were written by Flora. He 
 felt as if fortune had suddenly placed a 
 mine of undiscovered treasure before him. 
 If Flora were married to Philip, it was 
 more than probable she would make some 
 allusion to her marriage, when writing all 
 the way to New York, to this solitary 
 relative. She might even mention the 
 name of the church or chapel where the 
 ceremony took place. Bernard silently 
 determined not to part with the papers 
 under any pretext until he was thoroughly 
 familiar with their contents, and he 
 trusted to chance to be able to make 
 some excuse to Monsieur Dufour, if he 
 should find out that they had not reached 
 their destination. 
 
 He unfolded the roll of manuscript, 
 and perceived that it was v/rifcten in Eng- 
 lish. It was evidently Philip's writing, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 DELAMERE. 
 
 and, from the frequent appearance of 
 Flora's name, he had no doubt that it 
 was a memoir of her. He read a few 
 pages, and was deeply interested ; but 
 time was passing, and he had a long 
 journey before him. 
 
 E oiling up the manuscript again, and 
 resealing the letters, he descended to the 
 courtyard again, in high spirits at the 
 success which had so far attended him. 
 He paid his bill in an offhand manner, 
 without a word of remonstrance at any of 
 the items, which would have called forth 
 angry remarks from him at another time. 
 He slipped a gold piece into Monsieur 
 Dufour's hand for the information he had 
 given him ; and then, with many promises 
 to return, and waving a parting salute, 
 he turned his horse's head in the direction 
 of Itri. 
 
 After traversing a gradually ascending 

 
 DELAMERE. 19 
 
 O 
 
 plain for some miles, his road lay through 
 the wild and picturesque passes, notorious, 
 since the days of the renowned Fra 
 Diavolo, as the haunts of the most des- 
 perate banditti. Those lonely fastnesses, 
 so peculiarly adapted by nature to be the 
 lurking-place of thieves and brigands, 
 recalled to his mind Dufour's caution 
 about the robbers, but no adventure befell 
 him, and he reached Itri before noon. 
 He spent half an hour in the miserable 
 little inn, for the purpose of resting his 
 horse, not expecting to meet witli another 
 halting-place for a number of hours, and 
 partook of a slight refreshment himself. 
 
 His thoughts were full of Philip de 
 Euthv}m, as he descended the vine-clad 
 hills from Itri, and approached the 
 romantic coast of the Gulf of Gaeta. He 
 was not surprised that a man of his 
 ardent and impulsive temperament, united
 
 196 BELAMERE. 
 
 to the woman he loved, should be content 
 to idle away life in the midst of such 
 poetic and beautiful surroundings. 
 
 Bernard himself, though not much of a 
 lover of scenery, was struck by the mag- 
 nificence of the panorama that burst 
 upon him. The wide expanse of sea lay 
 calm and glittering in the sunlight, its 
 azure surface studded with many an 
 island, and encircled by the classic shores 
 immortaHzed by poets of old. He let 
 his gaze wander over the vine-clad hills 
 and olive-groves from the Torre di 
 Cicerone to the headland of Gaeta ; while, 
 in the distance, he could descry through 
 the clear blue air the faint outline of 
 Vesuvius. 
 
 After he had passed the Torre di Cice- 
 rone, the road turned to the left through 
 a beautifully fertile country, intersected 
 by hedges and studded with poplar and
 
 DELAMERE. 197 
 
 mulberry trees. The sun was decliniug 
 in the heavens as he approached the 
 quarries near the village of Pianura, and 
 entered the winding road which led, 
 through rocks and forests and many a steep 
 ascent, to the lofty eminence upon which 
 the Camaldoli monastery is situated. 
 Broad masses of shade and dusky alleys 
 opened before him as he advanced, and 
 he almost lost his way amid the labyrinth 
 of verdant recesses. Before he succeeded 
 in finding his path to the main entrance, 
 a bell began to toll, and a number of 
 monks issued from the garden of the 
 monastery. Bernard addressed the fore- 
 most, and learnt in a very few words that 
 the reverend signor belonged to a different 
 fraternity, and was many miles away in 
 the Yallombrosa near Florence. He had 
 been staying at their monastery many 
 years ago, before he became a monk, and
 
 198 DELAMEEE. 
 
 had been noted for his skill in medicine 
 and surgery. The monk who acted as 
 spokesman for the rest regretted he could 
 not show Bernard any hospitality, as it 
 was contrary to their rules to admit 
 visitors at that late hour without a letter 
 of introduction to the abbot. 
 
 Anathematizing Dufour for sendiug him 
 upon such a wild-goose chase, Bernard 
 took his leave, and made his way over 
 bare and bleak-looking hills to the 
 miserable httle village of Soccavo. In 
 the largest of the cottages, which was 
 dignified by the name of inn, Bernard got 
 a lodging for the night, and a repast 
 which was scarcely worthy the name of 
 dinner, as it consisted of an omelette, 
 some cheese, and a few fennel roots. He 
 luckily had a flask of brandy in his 
 pocket, the contents of which helped to 
 cheer him, and he improved the comforts
 
 DELAMERE. 199 
 
 of his situation by causing a good fire to 
 be placed in the stove. 
 
 After a good deal of grumbling on the 
 part of his hostess, an oil-lamp was pro- 
 duced, by the light of which he read the 
 subjoined memoir. A glance told him 
 that it was incomplete, and that it did 
 not throw any light upon Flora's early 
 days, or the manner in which she and 
 Philip de Euthvyn had become acquainted 
 with each other. It was a mere fragment, 
 and commenced abruptly as follows : — 
 
 *^ Looking back upon that terrible time 
 after a space of five years, I cannot call 
 to mind in what manner I reached the 
 convent, or who admitted me upon my 
 arrival there. My mind was a blank from 
 the time I received the doctor's letter 
 until I found myself beside Flora. There 
 was little change in her appearance, ex-
 
 200 DELAMERE. 
 
 cept that her hair was cut short, and that 
 her eyes had a pecuHar expression which 
 I had never seen in them before. She 
 did not recognize me, though I bent over 
 her and called her by the most endearing 
 names. Taking her hand in mine, and 
 fixing my tear-dimmed eyes upon her, I 
 implored her to speak, but while I gazed, 
 a bluish tinge passed over her face, 
 and her features were convulsed. A 
 priest, whom I had not hitherto observed, 
 approached the bed. His head was 
 lowered, so that his features were not 
 distinguishable, but upon looking up his 
 eyes met mine, and I at once recognized 
 my wife's guardian, Di Lira. 
 
 ^' ' You here, and in that disguise ? ' said 
 I, in a savage tone, while I felt the hot 
 blood mounting to my temples. * I now 
 understand why I was refused admittance. 
 It was all your doing. You hoped, by
 
 DELAMERE. 201 
 
 separating me from my wife, to regain 
 your former influence over her.' 
 
 '^ ' I shall disprove your accusations, 
 but not now. Unjust as they are, they 
 shall not tempt me to disturb her in her 
 last moments.' 
 
 ^^As Di Lira spoke, he gave Flora 
 some drops of a bright-coloured fluid, 
 which had a magical efi'ect upon her. A 
 delicate rose tint suffused her cheeks, and 
 a more natural expression came into her 
 eyes. Although she did not wholly regain 
 consciousness, she seemed aware of my 
 presence, for she pressed my hand to her 
 lips, and murmured my name and that of 
 her child. 
 
 ^'^You will live for me, my sweet 
 one ? ' said I, overjoyed by the fictitious 
 improvement in her looks, and forgetful 
 of Di Lira's presence in the happiness of 
 hearing my name pronounced by her lips ;
 
 202 DELAMERE. 
 
 ' you will live for me and for our child ? ' 
 I repeated. 
 
 ^* ' Our child ! ' rejoined Flora, mechani- 
 cally, as though she had forgotten again 
 the existence of her infant. Then, 
 pressing her hand to her temples, she 
 whispered the name, ' Fleurette.' 
 
 ^' I advanced to the door to give direc- 
 tions that the child should be sent for, 
 but a piteous cry at once brought me 
 back to Flora. 
 
 *'^Do not ever leave me again,' she 
 wailed, while she looked at me with a 
 beseeching expression, and made a feeble 
 effort to raise herself in the bed. 
 
 ** Her consciousness had returned, but 
 it was only the leaping up of the flame of 
 life before the final darkness. 
 
 ^^ ^ Fear not, dearest,' I said reassur- 
 ingly ; * there shall be no more separation 
 between you and me. You did not mourn
 
 DELAMERE. 203 
 
 that dismal time as mucli as I did, but 
 think no more of it ; think only of the 
 bright future before us.' 
 
 ^^ As I spoke, the sun, which had been 
 veiled during the earher part of the day, 
 broke through the grey mist, and, stream- 
 ing through the windows opposite the 
 bed, shed a golden halo upon her. 
 
 "* Philip,' she said, turning round to 
 me, and her voice was scarcely audible, 
 * it is growing dark. I cannot see your 
 face ; it is fading. Hold me ; let me feel 
 you still.' 
 
 ** As she spoke, she made an effort to 
 grasp me ; then, falling back upon the 
 pillow, her eyes became fixed, and the 
 last change came over her. 
 
 *^ Half an hour later, the doctor -came 
 back, accompanied by old ' Giulietta, who 
 carried Fleurette. They placed the child 
 beside the warm and life-like remains of
 
 204 DELAMERE. 
 
 the mother, but the lips that would have 
 rained kisses on the infant were mute, 
 and the heavily drooping arms were 
 powerless to encircle her. 
 
 ***** 
 '^ How can I describe the days that 
 followed, days in which I may have been 
 said to exist, but not to live ? I was at 
 the funeral service at the Campo Santo, 
 and looked on listlessly, as though under 
 the influence of some strong narcotic, 
 while the coffins of my wife and brother 
 were lowered into the cold, dark ground. 
 I felt as if it were some terrible night- 
 mare, from which I should presently 
 awake. I knew Di Lira was with me, 
 but I neither cared for nor resented his 
 interference. My senses were numbed 
 and paralyzed ; but this dull, quiet stupe- 
 faction was soon followed by the intense 
 anguish of reawakening, and I realized to
 
 DELAMERE. 205 
 
 the full my desolation. As time went on, 
 Di Lira's presence insensibly consoled 
 me. To him I could talk unreservedly 
 of my lost darling. He had loved her 
 himself, and he never wearied of the 
 subject. There was a fellowship of suffer- 
 ing between us, and it was his deep and 
 genuine regret for her that led to our 
 great friendship. 
 
 '^ The fever of which Flora died spread 
 in the neighbourhood, and Di Lira spent 
 much of his time among the poor. He 
 had learnt the science of medicine after he 
 joined the priesthood in America, and 
 was able to distil cures from the simplest 
 wayside herbs. We had long ago retracted 
 the hasty words we had spoken to each 
 other in the convent, and he told me the 
 strange chain of circumstances that had 
 brought him to the death-bed of his 
 adopted daughter. He had returned to
 
 206 DELAMEEE. 
 
 his native land three months before I met 
 him in the convent, uncertain whether 
 we were in Italy or England, as he had 
 not heard from us for many months. We 
 had lost the address he gave us when 
 leaving New York ; and his letters to us 
 had gone astray, as we were constantly 
 moving about before we settled in Terra- 
 cina. 
 
 *^It was while staying at the Camaldoli 
 monastery, whither he had gone upon 
 some charitable errand, that a message 
 came to him from the abbess of Santa 
 Maria, begging him to attend an urgent 
 case of fever in the convent. His sur- 
 prise and grief were unspeakable when he 
 found that the patient was Flora ; and, 
 hearing that I was in England, he came 
 to the conclusion that I had deserted her. 
 Di Lira frequently advised me to return 
 to England and take up my position in
 
 DELAMEKE. 207 
 
 society, if not for my own sake, at least 
 for my child's, but I recoiled from the 
 idea. Society was hateful to me, and 
 my antipathy to my native country had 
 tenfold increased, as I attributed all my 
 misfortunes to my last visit to Delamere. 
 Still, to please him, I agreed to leave 
 Terracina for a time, and try foreign 
 travel. I sought out each spot and 
 revisited each haunt where Mora and I 
 had roamed together, full of hope and 
 happiness, two short years ago, and the 
 contrast between the joy of the past and 
 the misery of the present almost maddened 
 me. I persistently shunned the society 
 of my fellow-creatures, and the occasional 
 friends who met me during my travels 
 must have come to the conclusion that I 
 was verging on melancholy madness. 
 
 '^ The mere effort of moving about from 
 place to place irritated me unspeakably.
 
 208 DELAMEKE. 
 
 and I decided to return to Terracina. In 
 that calm retreat, where Flora and I had 
 spent such happy months together, I 
 should be at least secure from intrusion, 
 and if peace would come to me any- 
 where, it would be there. I longed for 
 a cessation of misery, but overwhelmed 
 myself with reproaches, if even for a brief 
 space of time, her image lost its vivid 
 hold upon my memory. Forgetfulness 
 would be treason to her, and I would 
 rather cherish my grief than become 
 oblivious of her. 
 
 '^ She should live to me still, I cried, 
 and be perpetually embodied in my waking 
 and sleeping thoughts. Miserable idea, 
 and one fraught with bitterness for those 
 who are separated by death ! There is 
 some happiness in calling to mind the 
 living who are lost to us — some consola- 
 tion to be found in the imaginary presence
 
 DELAMERE, 209 
 
 of those whom we may never see again 
 in life, but are yet living, moving, breath- 
 ing somewhere ; our thoughts span the 
 miles that divide us, and again we see 
 the beloved form, and hear the beloved 
 voice : but it is different when unrelent- 
 ing death divides two who have lived but 
 for each other. 
 
 ^* ' Where art thou ? where shall I seek 
 thee. Flora ? ' was the cry of my anguish, 
 as the grave stretched between us its 
 barrier of appalling and impenetrable 
 strength. Often have I stood upon the 
 threshold of my desolate home, and, 
 while watching for the constellated heralds 
 of Almightiness, as star after star emerged 
 in pure and solemn radiancy from the 
 deepening twilight, I have wondered 
 which of those myriad worlds, unseen in 
 the transient glare of our daylight, was 
 the heaven of my dead wife's dreams, the 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 DELAMEEE. 
 
 paradise of her innocent faith, the fit- 
 ting shrine of an unstained soul in its 
 immortahty. Or was her spirit absorbed 
 in the unknowable impersonal essence 
 of the Universe which dialecticians vainly 
 present to man as the phantasm of his 
 God — the soul's individuality lost in the 
 embrace of the Infinite ? Truly the simple 
 evangelism of Gahlee attunes better with 
 the bruised heart in af&iction than all the 
 teachings of transcendentahst or icono- 
 clast. 
 
 *^ But vain was it for Eeason or Keligion 
 to preach of patience or to whisper peace. 
 I bade them, ^ Soothe not, mock not my 
 distress.' All that was human within me 
 longed the more vehemently for her 
 human presence ; but never, throughout 
 all the ages to come — and the thought 
 was agony to me — should we be to each 
 other as in the past. Then methought
 
 DELAMEEE. 211 
 
 a voice reached me from the himinous 
 skies, saying, ' Mortal, grieve not for that 
 which could but satisfy and sympathize 
 with thine own perishable and evanescent 
 self. In the hereafter, initiated and pre- 
 pared for its higher destinies, thy soul 
 shall revel in its expanded powers. Then 
 earthly joys shall pale, grow dim, and 
 sink into oblivion beside the intoxicating 
 vision of the Infinite, and the immortality 
 within thee shall lack not the light, the 
 love, the knowledge which are promised 
 by the sui'e prescience of Faith.' " 
 *****
 
 212 DELAMERE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Upon leaving Soccavo, after his unsuc- 
 cessful visit to the Camaldoh monastery, 
 Bernard started direct for Naples. He 
 had decided upon leaving the south of 
 Italy early next morning, as there was 
 nothing further to be gained by staying 
 there ; but before quitting the neighbour- 
 hood, he determined to pay a visit to the 
 cemetery where Flora and Arthur de 
 Ruthvyn were buried. He wished to see 
 the last resting-place of that brother and 
 sister-in-law who had never seen each 
 other during their lifetime, yet whom 
 the craft of Eandolph de Euthvyn had
 
 DELAMERE. 213 
 
 represented to the world as husband and 
 wife. 
 
 The cemetery was situated on the south 
 declivity of the Poggio Eeale, and was 
 approached by an avenue of cypress trees. 
 The sun was shining with almost tropical 
 heat when Bernard entered the gates — a 
 change for which he was unprepared, as 
 the weather since his arrival in the south 
 of Italy had been unusually chilly. It 
 was a saint's day, although he was not 
 aware of it, and a good many people of 
 the bourgeoise class were sauntering 
 about. He was not surprised, therefore, 
 upon approaching the spot which Dufour 
 had described, to perceive a female figure 
 standing before the monuments which 
 had so special an interest for himself. 
 She was apparently absorbed in reading 
 the inscription, and his astonishment 
 almost deprived him of the power of
 
 214 DELAMERE. 
 
 speech when, upon coming closer, he 
 recognized his cousin, Kate Penthony. 
 
 '^ In the name of wonder, where have 
 you come from ? Have you dropped 
 from the clouds, or sprung up out of the 
 earth?" he ejaculated, while he looked 
 with wide-open eyes at his cousin, who 
 seemed no less startled than he was 
 himself. 
 
 " My dear Bernard, your words apply 
 to yom'self as much as they do to me. 
 The surprise of seeing you here has quite 
 taken away my breath. At first I thought 
 it was your ghost." 
 
 ^* A very ruddy, substantial-looking 
 ghost," replied Bernard, smiling, while 
 his thoughts were busy trying to solve 
 the mystery of Kate's visit to Flora's 
 grave. 
 
 '' We have been doing our best to find 
 you for the last month," said Kate.
 
 DELAMERE. 215 
 
 ** Auut Fanny got a troublesome attack 
 of bronchitis, and Dr. Lee was very 
 uneasy about her. We wrote to your 
 lodgings at Jermyn Street, hoping that 
 you were either there or that you had 
 left directions for letters to be forwarded. 
 The doctor insisted that aunt should 
 start for Mentone, and she was miserable 
 at not hearing from you. She kept on 
 hoping that you would arrive every day 
 at Monkhurst, and declared she would 
 not go to Italy without you. Fancy 
 the responsibiHty of such a journey 
 devolving upon me. I can't imagine why 
 you started off here without telling us, as 
 we could so easily have arranged to come 
 together." 
 
 "I am very glad we did not come 
 here together. From what you say of 
 the old lady, she must have become as 
 hippish as the governor, and would make
 
 216 DELAMERE- 
 
 anything but a pleasant travelling com- 
 panion." 
 
 ^' You are talking in a very unfeeling 
 "way of your mother," said Kate, in a 
 reproachful tone. ^' Her illness was no 
 imaginary affair, I can assure you. Dr. 
 Lee said that her heart was weak, and 
 that she was not to be agitated or annoyed ; 
 but we were unable to carry out his 
 orders, as she felt your neglect very 
 much. It was not the first bronchial attack 
 she had, for you must remember that she 
 was very often ailing during the winter." 
 
 ^' I don't remember anything of the 
 kind," replied Bernard, captiously. ^^ I 
 saw her early in the winter, and she was 
 in rude health ; since then I heard Evelyn 
 and the children were to be with her, and I 
 took for granted she was all right. Letter- 
 writing to me is a detestable nuisance ; 
 but for all that, mother cannot complain
 
 DELAMEEE. 217 
 
 that I did not write regularly to her 
 during the winter. About three weeks 
 ago I had to run down to Yorkshire, to 
 see m}^ friend Colonel Standish on busi- 
 ness connected with a little property of 
 mine in that county. As soon as I could 
 get away, I came here, and my visit to 
 this country is not from motives of amuse- 
 ment, either, I can tell you. But w^hat 
 about yourself, Kate ? If the mater is in 
 Mentone, why are you wandering about 
 here alone ? Have you a ghoulish weakness 
 for churchyards ? '' 
 
 ^' No, indeed," said Kate, laughing; 
 '' and I have had such trouble in finding 
 the present one, that I do not think I 
 shall so readily promise to visit another. 
 It was settled that Aunt Fanny and I 
 were to go to Italy before Evelyn left 
 Monkhurst, and she asked me as a favour 
 to visit the cemetery where Fleurette's
 
 218 DELAMERE. 
 
 parents were buried, and to copy the 
 inscription on their tombs for her. There 
 is very little to copy, except the dates of 
 their births and deaths. They seem to 
 have died the same day, and, as far as I 
 can see, the husband was twenty-four, 
 and the wife twenty years of age. Yery 
 romantic and sad, was it not ? " continued 
 Kate, turning round to look again at the 
 monuments, at which Bernard had as yet 
 scarcely glanced. 
 
 They were large crosses of Carrara 
 marble, and were both alike. Any 
 stranger, looking at them and reading the 
 inscription, would come to the conclusion 
 that the deceased were either husband 
 and wife, or brother and sister. No one 
 would have guessed that they were brother 
 and sister-in-law. There were no texts 
 upon the monuments, and no writing of 
 any kind but the names Flora and Arthur
 
 DELAMERE. 219 
 
 de Ruthvyn, and the dates of their bh'ths 
 and deaths. 
 
 '* I did not think that Evel}Ti was so 
 interested in Fleurette as to trouble her- 
 self about her parents' graves, and I 
 must say that it was very inconsiderate of 
 her to bring you all the way from Mentone 
 to gratify some ridiculous whim of hers." 
 
 " But I did not come all the way fi'om 
 Mentone," rejoined Kate. ^^ We are 
 staying at Capri now. Aunt Fanny took 
 a dislike to Mentone before she was a 
 fortnight there, and insisted on leaving it. 
 Some people died at the hotel while we 
 were staying there. I don't know how 
 she heard of it, for they manage those 
 things so quietly. I believe the coffins 
 were smuggled out of the hotel at night ; 
 but, notwithstanding their precautions, it 
 came to her ears, and she vowed she 
 would stay no longer. The place agreed
 
 220 DELAMEEE. 
 
 with her splendidly, in spite of her morbid 
 fears, and she has not been nearly so well 
 since she came here." 
 
 ^' Get her back there by all means, Kate. 
 It is much better for her to remain in 
 the place the doctor recommends." As 
 Bernard spoke, he and Kate moved from 
 the spot where they had first met, and 
 walked slowly towards the entrance-gate. 
 
 '' You know, Bernard, that yoar mother 
 is very obstinate, and not at all easily 
 led ; the only person who ever had control 
 over her is yourself. She talks now of 
 leaving Italy, and trying the effects of 
 Bournemouth or St. Leonard. Can you 
 not come with me to Capri, and persuade 
 her to spend another month at Men- 
 tone? " 
 
 ** If she once sees me, she won't let me 
 leave her," said Bernard ; ^^ and I have 
 particular business in Florence, which I
 
 dela:mere. 221 
 
 should much like to get over before re- 
 turning to England." 
 
 " You must put it off, then," said Kate, 
 resolutely. '' I could not answer for the 
 consequence if Aunt Fanny hears you are 
 here, and that you do not go to see her. 
 I could not possibly conceal from her that 
 I met you here." 
 
 "No, of course you could not," said 
 Bernard, as he sauntered on moodily, with 
 a freshly lighted cigar between his lips. 
 "I tell you what I'll do, Kate. I'll go 
 to Capri to-morrow, persuade mother to 
 return to Mentone, and then go on to 
 Florence myself. We can all return 
 to England afterwards together." 
 
 "You ought to try and catch the 
 steamer in the morning, for if you miss it 
 you wiU not be with us until very late," 
 said Kate. 
 
 "I won't bind myself to any hour, but
 
 222 DELAMEEE. 
 
 you may depend upon seeing me before 
 the day is over, if I have to engage a 
 special vessel to take me across." 
 
 Bernard walked with Kate to the 
 Marinella, and saw her off in a fishing- 
 boat. The steamer had long gone, but 
 the sea was like glass, and he was almost 
 tempted to go with her. He was in a 
 reflective mood, as he sauntered along the 
 Chiaja afterwards. He had been more 
 disconcerted at meeting Kate in the 
 cemetery than he had cared to show at 
 the time. " She will be sure to tell 
 Evelyn that she found me there," he 
 soliloquized, '^ and that far-seeing sister of 
 mine will suspect that I have got some 
 clue. 1 have played my cards abominably. 
 I should have held my tongue about the 
 locket, and not have let my suspicions be 
 known until I had secured Fleurette and 
 her inheritance. I should not be surprised
 
 DELAMERE. 223 
 
 if she reinstated the child in her rights, 
 just from the spirit of contrariety. She 
 would Hke to be beforehand with me. 
 She must be following up some clue her- 
 self, or she would never have thought of 
 asking Kate to copy the inscriptions ; but 
 she won't get much information from that 
 quarter, I am glad to say."
 
 224 DELAMERE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Days and weeks and months have glided 
 by at Delamere. Another year has fallen, 
 and Flenrette is as tall as her cousin 
 Eaymond. She is very proud of the fact, 
 and predicts that if she continues to grow 
 at the same rate for the next six months, 
 he will look like a pigmy beside her. Her 
 face has lost something of its babyish 
 softness, and has become more oval ; but 
 she is an exception to the rule that 
 pretty children disimprove, for every year 
 adds to the lustre of her eyes, and the 
 expression and beauty of her features. 
 She leads the same careless, happy life as
 
 DELAMEllE. 225 
 
 of old, roaming through the park witli 
 Teresa and Charlie, developing the intel- 
 lectual faculties of the pup, or planning 
 and arranging some wonderful surprise to 
 give Eaymond on his return for the 
 holidays. She has no love for learning, 
 and is neither a precocious nor a clever 
 child. Miss Cowley, a highly educated 
 and accomplished young lady, comes from 
 the neighbouring town of Stockford for 
 three hours a day, to instruct her in 
 English, French, and music ; and the 
 preparation of these lessons, and the 
 weary hours spent at scales and arithmetic, 
 are the only grievances of her otherwise 
 blissful existence. Fleurette is still an 
 ardent admirer of her cousin Eaymond, 
 and loves him in an impulsive, whole- 
 hearted fashion. It is a love mingled 
 with veneration, too; for though so nearly 
 the same age, she looks up to him as a 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 DELAMERE. 
 
 superior being, and believes he cannot err. 
 The happiest time of the year is when he 
 is home for the hoHdays, and Miss Cowley 
 ceases to pay her daily visit to Delamere. 
 Then the piano is closed, and the lesson- 
 books put out of sight, and the children 
 spend happy hours together, riding up 
 the steep hills on their ponies, or picnicking 
 in the woods, or down in the boat-house 
 by the river-side, where Eaymond initiates 
 Fleurette into the art of boat-making. 
 
 The young owner of Delamere is small 
 and slight in stature, and has a keen, 
 intelligent countenance. His features 
 are plain and irregular, but they are 
 redeemed by the large expressive grey 
 ej'es, which are like his mother's. He is 
 a quiet, thoughtful boy, shy, and reserved 
 in his manners, and caring little for the 
 companionship of boys of his own age. 
 He accepts the caressing worship of
 
 DELAMERE. 2li < 
 
 Fleurette in a patronizing manner, and 
 has trained her in all Lis sports. She can 
 handle a gun, and sort his fishing-tackle, 
 as adroitly as he can himself. She is the 
 only companion he cares for, and he shows 
 his appreciation of her society by being 
 moody and miserable when she is away. 
 
 This romantic love of the childi'en, 
 which seems to grow with their gi'owth 
 and strengthen with their strength, is a 
 source of endless comfort to Evelyn. 
 Since her husband's death, and the dis- 
 covery of his strange letter, the conviction 
 has been growing upon her that Fleurette 
 is the lawful owner of Delamere. and that 
 her son is an interloper. Her conscience 
 tells her that in destroving the letter, she 
 frustrated in a measure her husband's 
 feeble attempt at reparation, and the dis- 
 covery of Philip's likeness in the locket 
 has troubled her afi'esh. She has thouiiht
 
 228 DELAMERE. 
 
 deeply on the subject, and has made a 
 copy of Eandolph's letter, which she is 
 resolved to show to her solicitor. She had 
 no diflficiilty in remembering it, for every 
 word was ineffaceably stamped upon her 
 memory. Misfortune is looming in the 
 distance for Eaymond. She foresees it, 
 and knows that it is her hand that must 
 deal the blow at his prosperity, and it is 
 this thought that intensifies her love for 
 him, and makes him dearer to her than 
 Jier other child. Young as he is, he often 
 talks of the imj)rovements he will make 
 at Delamere when he comes of age, and 
 his mother suffers afresh as she listens 
 to him. The one bright ray that gladdens 
 the present and relieves the future of its 
 dark foreboding, is the intensity of the 
 love that exists between the children, as 
 it points to a happy termination of all 
 the difficulties. True, they are but 
 
 -^^
 
 DELAMERE. 229 
 
 cliildren yet, and can love with no deeper 
 affection than brother and sister ; but it 
 pleases Evelyn to magnify every trifle, 
 and to weave a romance about them, like 
 the story of Paul and Virginia. She de- 
 pends much upon Eaymond's disposition. 
 He is unlike other boys. He makes few 
 friends, and seems not to understand 
 sudden friendship ; but his affection and 
 friendship, once given, are rarely forfeited. 
 His love for Fleurette is apparent even 
 to the most casual observer; and as 
 constancy is such a marked feature of his 
 character, why should that love pass 
 away ? Of Fleurette Evelyn feels less 
 secure. She is the opposite to Raymond 
 in every respect. She is all impulse, and 
 much of the affection which she shows 
 Raymond may spring from the inherent 
 sweetness of her temper. 
 
 Kate Penthony, who is not in Evelyn's
 
 230 DELAMERE. 
 
 secrets, and who wonders mucli why she 
 sets such stress upon the children's grow- 
 ing attachment, gives as her opinion that 
 Fleurette is equally fond of Charlie. Kate 
 lives altogether with Evelyn now, and her 
 long attendance upon her uncle and aunt 
 is at an end. She had not exaggerated 
 Lady Leith's illness to Bernard, when she 
 met him a year ago at the cemetery. 
 The old lady made a slight rally after her 
 second journey to Mentone, but died six 
 weeks afterwards in the south of England. 
 Her husband's lingering hold of life was 
 weakened by the shock, and he expired 
 a few days afterwards in his sleep. They 
 had both lived to a good old age, far 
 exceeding the term of life appointed by 
 the Psalmist ; but their death had a 
 saddening effect upon Evelyn. She had 
 hastened to Bournemouth immediately 
 upon getting a telegram from Kate, and
 
 DELAMERE. 231 
 
 was with lier mother during her last 
 illness. She forgot the long years of 
 coldness and indifference, and the marked 
 predilection which Lady Leith had shown 
 at all times for Bernard, and was full of 
 tenderness and devotion to her. She strove 
 to disabuse her mind of the suspicion 
 that her mother had dealt treacherously 
 towards Donald Stamer. Perhaps a hope 
 lurked within her that she would confess 
 the share she had taken to keep them 
 apart ; but Lady Leith divulged no secrets, 
 and Evelyn was too charitably disposed to 
 ask her any questions. The good within 
 the latter was in the ascendency since 
 she received the long letter from Kate, 
 which cleared Donald Stamer in her eyes, 
 and brought such a wondrous flood of joy 
 to her heart, heaUng in a moment all the 
 achings and heart-burnings of the past, 
 and transforming and softening her whole
 
 232 DELAMEKE. 
 
 existence. Though her mother's hps are 
 silent, and Bernard is inscrutable as the 
 grave, though she may never learn the 
 precise means employed to part her from 
 Donald, she is at length assured of his 
 fidelity, and knows that the love which 
 she lavished upon him with such pas- 
 sionate intensity was not bestowed in 
 vain. In the new joy of having her faith 
 in him restored, it scarcely seems a 
 grievance that they are still doomed to 
 spend their lives apart. What does it 
 matter, she thinks, that another woman 
 has a legal claim to him ? She alone has 
 possession of his love. She had no rival 
 in the past, and she fears none in the 
 future ; but her love for him shall be pure 
 and sacred, and free from passion as the 
 love which we give to the dead, for, 
 though loved above all living things, is he 
 not dead to her ?
 
 DELAMERE. 233 
 
 Evelyn would give all she possessed 
 for a brief interview with Donald, a few 
 moments, to clear up all the misunder- 
 standings of the past, and she knows 
 that she has but to write a couple of 
 lines to accomplish her wish. She would 
 forfeit years of her life to be able to 
 show him that cruel letter which was the 
 means of cancelling their engagement, 
 and which she wonders now could ever 
 have deceived her. She longs for one 
 hour, to explain the seeming treachery of 
 the past, and thinks she could part with 
 him contentedly then, knowing that he 
 believed in her loyalty and faith as fully 
 as she believed in his. But would there 
 not be peril in such a meeting ? Would 
 they listen to the voice of reason, and 
 calmly and coolly resign themselves to 
 a second parting ? Evelyn knows that 
 Donald would not thank her for telling
 
 234 DELAMERE. 
 
 liim of her love, if the next moment she 
 bade him take leave of her. It would 
 but add another pang to his cheerless 
 existence, and she will not exculpate 
 herself at such a price. He thinks her 
 cold and false and mercenary, and she 
 must not undeceive him. 
 
 Such were the reflections of Evelyn 
 one bright spring morning about a year 
 after her parents' death, when Kate Pen- 
 thony, who had been spending the morn- 
 ing at Broomhill, came into her boudoir 
 with an unusually joyous expression, 
 and, after a little hesitation, told her 
 that Fred Brandreth had asked her to 
 marry him. 
 
 ^^ But the wedding is not to be for a 
 while yet,'* she continued, as Evelyn 
 kissed her, and said she had been ex- 
 pecting the happy announcement for the 
 past month.
 
 DELAMERE. 235 
 
 '^I should not think of leaving you so 
 soon after all your trouble ; and I am so 
 very, very happy at Delamere. I have 
 been telling Fred that he must be a 
 perfect paragon to make up to me for 
 losing you." 
 
 '' What a desperate Httle flatterer you 
 are, Kate ! " said Evelyn, with a smile, 
 while she pressed another kiss upon her 
 cousin's rosy cheek. '' I fancy Mr. Fred 
 will leave me quite at a discount before 
 long ; but I shall forgive him, as he is 
 not going to take you far from me. We 
 shall be so close to each other when you 
 are at Broomhill, that I shall quite forget 
 you are not Kate Penthony still." 
 
 ^'I don't fancy I shall be much there, 
 dear. You know, Fred can't afford to 
 give up soldiering yet awhile. He is 
 the poor one of the family. Colonel 
 Brandreth is the heir ; Laura has her
 
 236 DELAMERE. 
 
 aunt's money ; but Fred has next to 
 nothing, except his pay." 
 
 ^^ His father allows him four hundred 
 a year, and he will have his mother's 
 money by-and-by; and you love him, 
 Kate, which is best of all," said Evelyn. 
 
 '' I do indeed ; I love him with all my 
 heart. And oh, Evelyn, I have another 
 piece of news which will be certain to 
 interest you. Fred told me this morning 
 that Donald was coming to Broomhill 
 next week, and I want you to promise 
 me that you will not go off to Monk- 
 hurst, as you did when last he came. 
 If you went I should go too, and Fred 
 would think it very unkind of me. His 
 leave won't last long, and it would be 
 provoking if we could not be together." 
 As Kate spoke, she knelt beside Evelyn, 
 and placed her arm caressingly round her 
 waist.
 
 DELAMERE. 237 
 
 ^' I cannot see why we could not take 
 Fred to Monkhurst with us for a little," 
 said Evelyn, in a voice that was scarcely 
 steady. "All places would be the same 
 to him, I fancy, if he had you with him." 
 
 " But he could not be so rude as to 
 leave his friend, after expressly inviting 
 him to stay with him. Surely you would 
 not wish him to offend Donald ? " 
 
 "Don't fret yourself unnecessarily, 
 dear. I am not going to run away from 
 Delamere, and you and Fred may bill 
 and coo to your heart's content, both 
 here and at Broomhill. But I have 
 something more important on my mind 
 just now. I want you to give me your 
 opinion about these schools. Here is 
 a prospectus which came this morning ; 
 it seems the most likely to suit of any I 
 have seen as yet." As Evelyn spoke, she 
 handed Kate a folded paper. " You see,'
 
 238 DEL A MERE. 
 
 continued she, as Kate glanced hurriedly 
 at the page, '^ the advantage of this 
 school is that Eleurette can come home 
 to us every Saturday till Monday. They 
 have resident foreign teachers, too, which 
 is another point in its favour." 
 
 ^^ I don't think Fleurette will ever get 
 on at school," said Kate, musingly. 
 *' She is not clever enough to learn 
 without individual instruction. It is a 
 pity you cannot get over your prejudice 
 to a resident governess." 
 
 ''I shall never get over my prejudice 
 to them," rejoined Evelyn, emphatically. 
 *^ I should as soon let a scorpion into my 
 house as a resident governess, after my 
 experience of Miss Carlyle." 
 
 ^^AU resident governesses are not like 
 Miss Carlyle," suggested Kate. 
 
 ^' True ; I admit there are many estim- 
 able women among them, but I should
 
 DELAMERE. 239 
 
 not care to run the risk. I prefer school 
 for many reasons. It will give me an 
 excuse for dismissing Teresa; and Ber- 
 nard's attentions to her have made it 
 quite impossible for me to keep her any 
 longer, though certainly the girl is not 
 to blame. Ah ! I see Fred coming 
 through the shrubberies. He is in the 
 troublesome stage of love, and won't 
 leave you long out of his sight. Be sure 
 to make him stay to luncheon, and I will 
 join you by-and-by, when I have written 
 my letters."
 
 240 BELAMERE, 
 
 CHAPTEK XIY. 
 
 While Kate and her lover were spending 
 happy hours together at Delamere, and 
 Evelyn was looking forward, with a 
 strange mingling of dread and delight, 
 to the arrival of Donald, Bernard was 
 looking after a small property in York- 
 shire, wdiich he had recently jmrchased. 
 It w^as a wild, uncultivated place as yet, 
 and the demesne boasted no better resi- 
 dence than a farmhouse ; but Bernard 
 intended making great improvements 
 there. The farmhouse was occupied at 
 present by the bailiff, and Bernard was 
 quartered a couple of miles off, at the
 
 DELAMEEE. 241 
 
 snug bachelor abode of his friend Colonel 
 Standish, the colonel having given him 
 a general invitation to stay with him 
 whenever business brought him to that 
 part of the world. 
 
 Bernard had been meditating a visit to 
 Florence this spring, for the purpose of 
 seeing Monsieur di Lka, and making 
 inquiries about Philip de Euthvyn's 
 marriage. He was vexed beyond measure 
 at not having been able to accomplish 
 this visit the year before ; but from the 
 time he had joined his mother at Capri, 
 he was no longer his own master, and 
 had to remain in constant attendance 
 upon her and Kate, until he had escorted 
 them to England. He was on the eve 
 of starting for Italy a few weeks ago, to 
 carry out his long - deferred visit to 
 Yallombrosa, when a letter reached him 
 with the Eouen postmark on it. Upon 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 DELAMERE. 
 
 opening it, lie discovered that it was 
 from the innkeeper Dufour, telling him 
 that Di Lira was dead. Bernard was 
 greatly staggered at the news, and in- 
 clined to disbelieve it at first. It was 
 last January that he died, Dufour said. 
 He had heard of his illness from a lay 
 brother in the Camaldoli monastery, and 
 had started off, at great inconvenience 
 and expense, all the way from Kouen, 
 where he had set up in business. He 
 had arrived at Vallombrosa just in time 
 to receive papers of great importance 
 from the reverend signer, which he 
 would be willing to dispose of to Mr. 
 Waldstein, if he promised to take care 
 of them for the young lady. As he 
 had lately incurred heavy expenses, he 
 could not part with them under a reason- 
 able remuneration for the trouble and 
 expense he had been put to. They were
 
 DELAMERE. 243 
 
 well worfcli a liundred pounds to Miss de 
 Eiithvyn, according to what Monsieur 
 Waldstein himself had said. 
 
 After pondering a good deal over this 
 letter, Bernard wrote a few lines to 
 Dufour, saying he would look him up 
 some time during the course of the 
 summer at Eouen, when they would 
 discuss the subject together, and probably 
 come to terms. 
 
 *^ Important papers " sounded vague, 
 Bernard thought. They might be of 
 importance, but they might not be worth 
 a straw, and he was not going to part 
 with his money until he knew what he 
 was getting. He might be tempted to 
 pay twenty pounds, or even double that 
 sum, for the marriage certificate or a 
 copy of the register, but mere letters 
 would be of Kttle use to him. He had 
 the bundle of letters which Dufour gave
 
 244 DELAMEEE. 
 
 him on his first visit to Fondi, and there 
 was not a scrap of real evidence in them. 
 Then there was PhiHp's memoir of Flora, 
 which was equally valueless ; and, though 
 it left not a trace of doubt upon his mind 
 that Fleurette was Philip's legitimate 
 child, it would be hard for him to guess 
 what it might be worth in a court of 
 law. Bernard had an idea that Dufour 
 would come down in his price for the 
 papers after a few months; meantime, 
 he was willing to leave the documents 
 with him, feeling confident that no one 
 would outbid him for them. 
 
 He had come to this conclusion on 
 the subject, and had forgotten Fleurette 
 for a time, when, about a fortnight after 
 his arrival in Yorkshire, she was recalled 
 to him again by a letter from Teresa. 
 The latter was a constant correspondent, 
 ' but he was unprepared for her present
 
 DELAMERE. 24o 
 
 news. The letter was written in French, 
 and, owing to the bad grammar and 
 errors in spelhng, Bernard was a long 
 time in making it out. 
 
 " I should have written to you sooner, 
 but did not know your address until I 
 came to London. Oh, Bernard dear ! I 
 am in great distress, and you must stand 
 by me now, and give me something more 
 than your fine speeches. What I long 
 feared has come to pass, and Mrs. de 
 Euthvyn has dismissed me with very 
 short notice. She suspects your love for 
 me, and has thought to get rid of me by 
 sending me away. I am staying with a 
 friend in Oxford Street, and will be on 
 the look-out for you next Saturday after- 
 noon at four o'clock, near the Marble 
 Arch. I think you said you would be in 
 town that day. I have bad news to give 
 you about Fleurette, Clarice wrote a
 
 246 DELAMERE. 
 
 line to me yesterday, to say she had been 
 sent off to a school in Paris; she be- 
 heves it is a convent school, but is not 
 quite sure. If you do not meet me on 
 Saturday, I shall be terribly disappointed. 
 *' Your ever loving and all devoted 
 
 " Teresa." 
 
 Bernard read the letter twice before 
 he seemed to understand it ; then, start- 
 ing to his feet with an oath, he crumpled 
 it in his hand and threw it into the 
 fire. 
 
 Fleurette was irrevocably lost to him, 
 he thought. All his schemes to discover 
 and prove her parentage, so far as he was 
 concerned, had come to nought. His 
 sister had outwitted him, and proved 
 more unscrupulous than he suspected. 
 He had no doubt that Clarice was right 
 about the convent school, and he foresaw
 
 DELAMERE. 247 
 
 that the school would be a stepping-stone 
 to the convent for life. It would be a 
 master stroke of ingenuity on Evelyn's 
 part to immure her niece within the 
 dreary walls of a nunnery, while she and 
 her son usurped her place at Delamere. 
 There was a difficulty about religion, it 
 is true ; but Fleurette was too young to 
 have any fixed views on the subject, and 
 would be as pliant as wax in the hands 
 of her enemies. 
 
 Full of these suspicions, Bernard did 
 not even wait for the post, but rode off 
 in haste to the nearest town and tele- 
 graphed to Teresa to meet him the 
 following day, a little before two o'clock, 
 near the entrance-gate of Kensington 
 Gardens. He bade a hasty adieu to his 
 friend Colonel Standish, and, pleading 
 urgent business as a reason for leaving 
 him sooner than he intended, hastened
 
 248 DELAMERE. 
 
 to London with all speed, and arrived at 
 his lodgings in Jermyn Street before dark. 
 It was a cold, gusty day in March, 
 with occasional showers of sleet, as 
 Bernard rattled along in a hansom the 
 next afternoon through Eegent Street, 
 Oxford Street, towards Kensington 
 Gardens. It was not an inviting day 
 for a stroll, and he was in a very bad 
 huniour. Teresa's late news about Fleu- 
 rette had perplexed and irritated him, 
 and not the least annoying part of it was 
 that it necessitated another love-scene 
 with herself. He was beginning to chafe 
 under her wearisome importunities, and, 
 were it not that he hoped to get news 
 of Fleurette, he would have thought 
 twice before going to meet her. She 
 was beginning to show dangerous signs 
 of determination, and though he had 
 been always scrupulous not to introduce
 
 DELAMERE. 249 
 
 the word marriage, it had come glibly 
 enough to her tongue. She had taken 
 care to let him know all the good offers 
 she had refused for his, sake, and on 
 more than one occasion had pressed 
 him to name a date for the marriage. 
 Bernard had a fiery temper, and was 
 often on the point of rudely undeceiving 
 her; but his craft got the hetter of his 
 ill humour, and saved him from making 
 her an open enemy. So long as his mother 
 hved, he was well able to humour her 
 and temporize with her. He was not 
 his own master, he told her. He was 
 much too poor to marry any one, and 
 if Lady Leith got a hint that he had 
 any notions of the kind, she would leave 
 all her money to Evelyn. But he had 
 no such excuse during the past year, and 
 except that Fleurette was at Delamere, 
 and that he feared to lose sight of her, he
 
 250 DELAMEKE. 
 
 would have kept at a safe distance from 
 Teresa. The fact is, he was tired of the 
 Itahan girl. He had become friendly 
 with her at first, in the hope of discoyer- 
 ing the secret of Fleurette's history ; 
 and, while indulging in a flirtation which 
 he persuaded himself was harmless, had 
 become fonder of her than he intended. 
 But his hking for her at the best was 
 indifference compared to the feeling 
 which he had inspired within her for 
 himself, and he was aware that he was 
 in a dilemma. For the last few months 
 he had been wishing for an opportunity to 
 break off his acquaintance with her, think- 
 ing that the game was hardly worfch the 
 candle, and that she could be of little 
 use to him; but as he drove along to 
 meet her to-day, he congratulated himself 
 that she was still his friend. If her news 
 about Fleurette were true, she could do
 
 DELAMEEE. 251 
 
 him a very good service, and he would 
 require that service immediately. He 
 only hoped she would be sensible, and 
 not worry him with a display of affection. 
 If she could be induced to act as he 
 wished, it might turn out a fortunate 
 thing for him that Fleurette was sent 
 away from Delamere, as it would be the 
 means of getting her completely into his 
 power. 
 
 He dismissed the hansom before 
 arriving at the gate, and was not long 
 in recognizing the girl among the few 
 loiterers in the avenue. It was between 
 half-past one and two o'clock, and the 
 nursemaids and children that usually 
 congregate there had gone home to their 
 dinner. Teresa was smartly dressed, and 
 looked uncommonly well, notwithstanding 
 her reverse in fortune. She wore a black 
 silk gown, a well-fitting black cloth
 
 252 BELAMERE. 
 
 jacket, and a becoming hat and veil. 
 The colour deepened upon her cheeks, 
 and her eyes lit up, as she perceived 
 Bernard. She could never doubt his 
 devotion to her again, since he had come 
 such a long journey to see her, and had 
 altered all his plans on her account, and 
 she would have been slow to disguise her 
 affection, but that a certain stateliness of 
 manner on his part repelled her. 
 
 '^ It was so very good of you to come, 
 Bernard," she said, extending her hand, 
 which he took hold of with less fervour 
 than she expected. ^^ I was half afraid 
 to write to you, lest you would be angry, 
 but I felt so utterly forsaken until I got 
 your telegram." From her long resi- 
 dence in England, Teresa had sufficiently 
 mastered the Enghsh language to be able 
 to converse in it. 
 
 ^' It was a most shabby thing of Evelyn
 
 DELAMEEE. 253 
 
 to dismiss you. I never sliould have 
 thoiight her guilty of such an uncharitahle 
 action, and I will give her a piece of my 
 mind about it to-morrow, when I go to 
 Delamere," said Bernard, pulling furiously 
 at his moustache, and feeHng rather at 
 a loss to know what next to say. 
 
 ^'It would not come so hard on me if 
 Madame Bertrand could keep me longer 
 with her," rejoined Teresa; "but she is 
 expecting a lodger in a few days, and I 
 
 shall have to look for a home elsewhere." 
 
 " You surely ought to have saved 
 
 money during all the years you were at 
 
 Delamere," said Bernard, in a hard, stern 
 
 voice. 
 
 "I am not in actual want, if that's 
 
 what you mean," retorted Teresa, sharply. 
 
 She was beginning to think that Bernard 
 
 was a very business-like lover, totally 
 
 unlike little Monsieur Belot, the Swiss
 
 254 DELAMERE. 
 
 valet at Delamere, whom slie had per- 
 sistently snubbed, yet who was frantic 
 with grief the day she left, and who, if 
 given any encouragement, would be ready 
 to devote his life to her service. Ber- 
 nard's next words, however, were more 
 encouraging. 
 
 '' I am just as glad, my dear girl, 
 that you are not to stay with Madame 
 Bertrand, for I am going to make arrange- 
 ments for you. Tell me, would you be 
 ready to start for the Continent at a few 
 hom^s' notice ? " 
 
 Teresa's countenance grew radiant with 
 delight. '^ What could he mean by other 
 arrangements and a sudden journey to 
 the Continent?" thought she. What 
 interpretation could be given to his words 
 but a speedy marriage with herself ? Her 
 heart beat tumultuously, and the bright 
 colour mantled in her cheeks, as she laid
 
 DELAMERE. 255 
 
 her hand within his arm and drew closer 
 to his side. 
 
 ^' Whenever you are ready, my dearest 
 hoy, I shall be ready too," she replied, in 
 a soft cooing tone, while she raised her 
 eyes lovingly to his. 
 
 * ' Pray don't misunderstand me, Teresa, ' ' 
 said Bernard, aghast at her words. '' I 
 am not going with you myself — at least, 
 not this time. This is purely a business 
 matter. You told me Fleurette was sent 
 to a convent school in Paris. I w^ant 
 you to find out the name of the school, 
 and then try and get into communication 
 with Fleurette herself." 
 
 ''I am sick of the name Fleurette. I 
 believe you care far more for her than 
 you do for me," said Teresa, in a voice 
 trembling with passion, while tears of 
 mortification rose to her eyes. 
 
 '' Nonsense, girl. You know Fleurette
 
 256 BELAMERE. 
 
 is only a child. What interest can I take 
 in her except as a friend? I told you 
 more than a year ago that it was most 
 important, both for her interests and 
 mine, that I should have constant access 
 to her. If you are as fond of me as you 
 pretend to be, you ought to try and 
 further my interests, instead of making 
 obstacles at every hand's turn ; but there, 
 I knew beforehand I should get nothing 
 but tears from you." 
 
 '^ It is very unkind of you to talk like 
 this," said Teresa, half sobbing. '' Plave 
 I not always done my best for you ? 
 Even after I was sent homeless and 
 houseless on the world by your sister, did 
 I not still remember your wishes and 
 write to Clarice about the child? And 
 that is all the thanks I get." 
 
 "Well, cheer up, dear. I was wrong 
 to say a word to you," said Bernard,
 
 . DELAMERE. 257 
 
 placing his arm round her waist, and 
 tenderly pressing her hand. They were 
 now in the most retired part of the 
 garden, screened hy evergreens from any 
 casual passer-by, and Bernard thought he 
 could safely indulge her in a little petting. 
 
 " I have a rough way sometimes with 
 me, Teresa ; but you know, or ought to 
 know by this time, how dear you are to 
 me." As he said this, he drew her closer 
 to him and kissed her with well-simulated 
 fervour. 
 
 " I am never tired of hearing you say 
 that you love me," replied the girl, with 
 a languishing look at her companion ; 
 "and oh, Bernard, when you talked of 
 starting for the Continent, I thought for 
 the moment it was to be our honeymoon, 
 and that you were coming with me." 
 
 Bernard's face clouded again. " You 
 don't know all the worry I have had with 
 
 VOL. I. fl
 
 2o8 DELAMERE. 
 
 money matters. My affairs have been all 
 astray since my mother's death, and my 
 property in Germany has been terribly 
 mismanaged. I am going to get a new 
 overseer there, and must cross to Ham- 
 burg next v/eek to see what he is doing. 
 However, in a year, at furthest, I expect 
 to see myseK out of my present diffi- 
 culties ; and then, sweetheart, you and I 
 will be taking our little voyage together." 
 
 '^ What is it you want me to do for 
 you, Bernard? Whatever it is, I shall 
 do it to the best of my ability," said 
 Teresa, in a moUified tone, her temper 
 somewhat smoothed by the conciliatory 
 speeches of her companion. 
 
 '' Find out where Fleurette is, to begin 
 with," answered Bernard. 
 
 *' Ah ! I have done that already. Clarice 
 wrote to me again this morning, and en- 
 closed me this scrap of paper, which she
 
 DELAMERE. 259 
 
 found on Mrs. cle Euthvyn's dressing- 
 table. It is sure to be the address of the 
 convent school," said Teresa, as she 
 opened a neat little pocket-book and gave 
 Bernard a folded slip of paper. 
 
 '' You are a trump, a regular trump, 
 to get hold of this," said the latter, his 
 face suddenly lighting up. '^ This is the 
 address, of course, and everything will 
 come easy to us now. Listen," continued 
 he, speaking in an earnest tone, and 
 pressing her hand to emphasize his words. 
 '' You must start for Paris to-morrow 
 morning, in time to catch the boat for 
 Folkestone. I will make inquiries about 
 the time the train leaves Victoria, and 
 will furnish you with the expenses of the 
 journey. You will arrive in Paris some 
 time in the evening, and I should recom- 
 mend you to the Hotel de Lille et d' Albion. 
 Make no delay next morning in finding
 
 260 DELAMERE. 
 
 out the convent of St. Cecile, and try 
 and see Fleurette yourself. I will get 
 you a visiting-card of my sister's, which 
 will ensure your admittance ; but they 
 may have rules about visitors' days, and 
 you may not get leave to see the child 
 at once. Discover what day the pupils 
 have a half-holiday, and persuade the 
 superioress to let Fleurette go out with 
 you. Then make off to the railway 
 station with her as quick as you can, and 
 travel back to England by the earliest 
 train. Send a telegram to me before 
 starting, and I will meet you." 
 
 '' Shall I pass myself off as Mrs. de 
 Ruthvyn at the convent, or keep to my 
 own name ? " asked Teresa. 
 
 Bernard smiled. '' Keep to your own 
 name, my dear. You have no resem- 
 blance to the dignified Mrs. de Ruthvyn, 
 and, it is quite possible they may know
 
 DELAMERE. 261 
 
 her appearance. When they see tlie card 
 they will believe you are her messenger, 
 and that will be sufficient. I don't 
 expect you will have any difficulty in the 
 matter," continued Bernard. '' Fleurette 
 will be overjoyed to see j^ou, and will be 
 happier still when she finds she is coming 
 home. Of course, you will let her think 
 that she is returning to Delamere." 
 
 "And what are we to do after you 
 meet us at Folkestone ? " asked Teresa. 
 
 ''Time enough to discuss that yet. If 
 all goes on smoothly, I may probably take 
 a cottage at Chelsea for you and Fleurette. 
 I know one that would suit, and I should 
 be able to go out two or three times a 
 week to see you. You would be near 
 Battersea Park, so that Fleurette might 
 fancy she was still in the country." 
 
 ''It is what suits Fleurette, and not 
 what suits me, that you are thinking of,"
 
 262 DELAMERE. 
 
 said Teresa, in a sulky tone. '^ I hate 
 Chelsea, and I think Battersea Park the 
 dullest spot I ever was in." 
 
 '' I know you will be a good little girl, 
 and that you will try and like any place 
 that suits me for a time. I have been 
 long wishing to get the entire control of 
 Fleurette, and I may never have another 
 opportunity. She may be the means of 
 putting us in for a good sum of money, 
 my dear, if we can keep her safely with 
 us for the next couple of years. I 
 suppose she is nearly fifteen by this 
 time." 
 
 ''Nearly fifteen!" repeated Teresa, 
 with a smile. '' She is not thirteen yet, 
 but she is very tall for her age. If I 
 promise to do all this for you, Bernard, 
 you must give me a substantial return. 
 I foresee great risks and danger in this 
 scheme of yours, and I should not wonder
 
 DELAMERE. 263 
 
 if it ended in my being taken up for kid- 
 napping." 
 
 " Kidnapping ! fiddlesticks ! One would 
 think the child was a baby. I will 
 answer that you won't get into trouble 
 about it. Why, you will be half-way 
 across the Channel before they will have 
 had time to miss her ; and, depend upon 
 it, once I get hold of her, I will defy all 
 Scotland Yard to discover her." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIASI CLOWES AND SONS, IIJIITED, 
 STAilFORD STREET AND CHARING CEOSS.