LI B R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 M54Ss
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/strayedbutnotlos01merl
 
 /'? 
 
 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST.
 
 STRAYED, 
 BUT NOT LOST 
 
 By MERLIN. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LIVERPOOL: 
 ROWLAND A. ELLIOTT, 42 CANNING PLACE. 
 
 LONDON: E. W. ALLEN, STATIONERS' HALL CO DET. 
 187 6.
 
 v, a. 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 An opinion appears to prevail that every 
 woman who makes one false step, must have 
 a natural tendency to vice, and that she is 
 thenceforth utterly lost to all sense of shame. 
 In the following pages the Author has endea- 
 voured, in what he ventures to hope may be 
 found a readable story, to contradict this theory, 
 and to show that with fair opportunities, and 
 kind, instead of harsh treatment, such a woman 
 may prove not only a devoted wife and an ex- 
 cellent mother, but an ornament to her sex. 
 
 In the hope of dispersing that which he 
 cannot but regard as altogether a fallacy, and 
 
 L inducing some of his readers to " temper justice 
 
 S with mercy," this work is confidently given to 
 
 pthe Public by 
 
 J THE AUTHOR.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. 
 
 I. Mors Janua Yit^e, 
 
 II. Alone, 
 
 III. Marie's Early Life and Marriage, 
 
 IV. A Mighty Nimrod, 
 V. The Half-Brothirs, 
 
 VI. Beech-wood, 
 VII. Annette, . 
 VIII. Unrequited Affection, 
 IX. The Storm, 
 X. Ketribution, 
 XI. Mr Filcher's P.P.C., 
 XII. The Captain's Mishap, 
 
 XIII. Something Better than Salmon, 
 
 XIV. Two Oyer- worked Students, . 
 XV. The Mutiny, 
 
 XVI. Secrets of the Law, 
 XVII. The Bendez-yous, 
 XVIII. Annette's Confession, 
 XIX. Mrs Curtis Eeconciled, 
 
 tage 
 
 1 
 
 9 
 
 19 
 
 28 
 
 38 
 
 48 
 
 51 
 
 60 
 
 70 
 
 81 
 
 87 
 
 99 
 108 
 121 
 129 
 144 
 148 
 162 
 173
 
 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MORS JANUA V1T2E. 
 
 " Hark, they whisper — angels say, 
 ' Sister spirit, come away ! ' " 
 
 Pope. 
 
 "Is there any hope, Doctor?" asked a tall, 
 powerful-looking young man of one or two- 
 and-twenty years of age. 
 
 He spoke calmly, but the very calmness and 
 deliberation with which the words were pro- 
 nounced betrayed the fierce struggle for the 
 mastery between the feelings and the utter- 
 ance of a strong man. 
 
 VOL. 1. B
 
 2 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 "Monsieur/' replied the accoucheur, eva- 
 sively, " the life of Madame is in the hands 
 of the good Grod." 
 
 "Yes, yes," impatiently rejoined the first 
 speaker, " but in your opinion as a medical 
 man, is there any chance of her recovery ? " 
 
 " Madame is very, very ill," was the some- 
 what aggravating reply. 
 
 The young man turned savagely on the 
 tender-hearted little doctor, and seizing him 
 by the shoulders, shook him violently. 
 
 "Come, come," cried he; "prevarication is 
 as useless as it is unseemly — the truth — the 
 truth — I must bear it ; there is then no 
 hope ? " 
 
 The doctor's voice faltered as he laconically 
 answered, " none." 
 
 What is more touching, more heart-rending 
 to witness than the agony of a strong man ? 
 
 The wretched husband essayed to speak, 
 but a choking sensation in his throat denied 
 him utterance, and after pressing the hand 
 of the kind little doctor he waved him away,
 
 MORS JANUA VITiE. 
 
 and gently opening the door of the chamber 
 (outside which the above conversation had 
 taken place) walked on tip-toe to the side of 
 the bed on which lay his dying wife. 
 
 She had been married scarcely more than 
 twelve months, and within the last few hours 
 had given birth to a daughter. She appeared 
 at least ten years older than her husband, but 
 was in reality two or three years younger. A 
 year ago she was fresh, gay and beautiful as 
 any of nature's fairest flowers ; and now, pale, 
 careworn and prematurely aged, she lay on 
 her death-bed. The hand of Death was upon 
 her, it needed no practised eye to trace the 
 prints of his cruel nails. 
 
 Eeacler ! it is hard to die so young ! life is 
 very, very sweet. They who, in the prime of 
 youth and strength, can welcome Death with 
 out-stretched hand have never lived. How 
 many have we known who for years have 
 existed, but never lived ! What is Death to 
 them ? 'Tis but the snapping of the thread 
 of existence. How can such as these crave for
 
 4 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 those delicious draughts of life and pleasure 
 which they have never tasted ? But they who 
 have lived and loved, who have drained to the 
 very dregs the brimming cup of pleasure, who 
 have lived not only for themselves but for an- 
 other, who have been blessed with eyes to see 
 and ears to hear, who have recognized and 
 appreciated all and every of nature's beauties 
 and wonders ; can such, we ask, throw off this 
 mortal coil without regret ? Header ! be not 
 fooled by hypocrites and religious enthusiasts ! 
 We tell you it is hard for such to die. 
 
 The husband's eyes filled with tears as he 
 gazed on the features of the dying girl. For 
 the first time he realized the awful fact that he 
 was the cause of the wreck of the good ship, 
 which he should have piloted in safety through 
 the troubled waters of life. In an agony of 
 grief he threw himself on his knees at the 
 bed-side, and for the first time in his life 
 prayed. His prayer was short, " My God, 
 spare her ! " 
 
 Since her marriage the poor girl had lived
 
 MORS JANUA VIT^. 
 
 but for one object — bis happiness ; he was her 
 centre, her all. And how had her thoughtless 
 husband appreciated her devotion and love? 
 He had neglected her. No harsh words, no 
 cruel blows, had ever passed ; no kinder or 
 better intentioned husband ever lived ; but he 
 had been thoughtless and selfish, and night 
 after night had he left her alone, — alone in 
 Paris, — without friends, without any amuse- 
 ment, to watch the clock and count the weary 
 hours which must pass before his return from 
 the gambling-house, or from the house of some 
 of his wild and dissipated acquaintances. To 
 a woman of his wife's nature, this treatment 
 meant death by slow torture. 
 
 The birth of her child was soon to cut 
 short the thread of an existence which might 
 otherwise have been prolonged to years of 
 misery. 
 
 She had been unconscious, and her mind 
 had been wandering for the past hour, but her 
 husband's footfall, lightly though he trod, 
 seemed to rouse her, and that wonderful inter-
 
 6 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 val of consciousness which the All-Merciful 
 Being so frequently sends His dying creatures, 
 ensued. 
 
 Having at her request been propped up in 
 the bed with pillows, she clasped her husband's 
 hand, and spoke with a difficult energy. 
 
 To upbraid him for his neglect of her ? 
 Not so. 
 
 "Darling!" whispered the loving wife, " I 
 am dying ; perhaps it is better so ; I feel that 
 I have been a burden to you, dearest ; forgive 
 me ! I have been selfish and thoughtless ; I 
 loved you too much, darling ; I tired you with 
 my love, and drove you from me by my in- 
 ability to hide my affection, and — and mine 
 was but poor society for you, John, you who 
 are so clever and so well educated ; no wonder 
 you found my conversation wearisome. Oh 
 dearest ! I see it all now ! and had it been the 
 will of God to spare my life, I could, I think, 
 have been less selfish, less troublesome, less 
 foolish ! say you forgive me, darling ? " 
 
 Little did the tender, innocent, simple girl
 
 MORS JANUA YITM. 
 
 think what coals of fire she was heaping on her 
 husband's head ! 
 
 Which of them had been guilty of selfish- 
 
 ness ? 
 
 An impassioned kiss on the dry cracked lips 
 of the dying woman was the only reply his 
 feelings would permit. 
 
 " My child, my child ! " continued the suf- 
 ferer, "give me my child!" and the glazing 
 eyes brightened, and the pale face was lit up 
 with the ray of a mother's pride, as the nurse 
 placed the little helpless squalling mass of 
 humanity in her bosom. 
 
 The effort of speaking to her husband had 
 been too much for her, and she sank back 
 apparently exhausted; but suddenly raising 
 herself again by an effort of which none could 
 have believed her capable, she cried, " There ! 
 there ! I see them all, father, mother, and 
 Jacques, and — and — little Marie ! Husband, 
 dear ! you remember little Marie ! I am 
 going to them ! oh ! so — so fast ! Kiss me 
 darling before you go, and — and you won't be
 
 8 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 very late to-niglit, will you, dearest ? 'Tis so, 
 so lonely, and — and John, dear! call her 
 Marie!" 
 
 " The world recedes, it disappears ! 
 Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 
 
 With sounds seraphic ring! 
 Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly 
 
 O grave, where is thy victory? 
 
 death, where is thy sting ? " 
 
 Pope.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 '' Be taught, vain man ! how fleeting all thy joys, 
 Thy boasted grandeur and thy glittering store ; 
 Death comes and all thy fancied bliss destroys, 
 Quick as a dream it fades and is no more." 
 
 Beattie. 
 
 The young widower was known to his Parisian 
 acquaintances as John Brandreth : he had 
 been sent abroad as a young man to see a 
 little of the world and to acquire the conti- 
 nental languages. Whilst making a short stay 
 in the Channel Islands, he had fallen in love 
 with Lucy Geyton, the daughter of an hotel- 
 keeper in Guernsey, and, after a very short 
 courtship, had married her. Nor had she ever 
 given him cause to regret the step. Bran-
 
 10 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 dreth knew well that his match would not be 
 approved of by his parents, and being on a 
 three years' tour, he thought it prudent to 
 conceal from them as long as he could a union 
 which he felt sure they would consider a mes- 
 alliance. From his father, already an old man, 
 he had great expectations, and as it was not at 
 all improbable that his father might die before 
 the termination of the three years' tour, he 
 argued that it was far wiser for him to keep 
 his secret than to publish the fact of his 
 marriage at. the risk of being disinherited. 
 His wife's death now rendered it more than 
 ever unnecessary for him to disclose the fact, and 
 having placed the child out to nurse, he would 
 be able to return to his home as he had left, 
 " en gar^on." 
 
 John Brandreth had led a reckless dissolute 
 life, and had found Paris so fascinating that 
 he had made it his abode for the last nine 
 or ten months prior to his wife's death. 
 
 For more than an hour Brandreth knelt 
 over the lifeless form, crushed by the sudden
 
 ALOIvfi. 11 
 
 violence of the blow, and seeming scarcely 
 to realize his position. 
 
 The old nurse, with a view to alleviate his 
 distress, gently touched him on the shoulder, 
 and called his attention to the child, which 
 she had removed from the mother's bosom, 
 and was dandling in her arms. 
 
 The sight of the child instantly brought to 
 the widower's recollection the loss he had just 
 sustained, and, with an impatient gesture, he 
 thrust the old woman from him, ordering her 
 to at once remove herself and the babe from 
 his presence. It was no natural — or, to speak 
 perhaps more correctly, unnatural — dislike of 
 children, no innate brutality, that prompted 
 Brandreth to act thus. There had been an 
 exchange — the life of the wife for the life of 
 the little child, and the bargain was terribly 
 distasteful to him. 
 
 True it is that the birth of her child had 
 cost Lucy her life, but equally true it is that 
 her husband's thoughtlessness and neglect had 
 reduced her to a state of weakness which could
 
 12 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 ill bear the attendant sufferings. And Brand- 
 reth's conscience told him this ; told him that 
 but for his conduct his wife would have had 
 strength to successfully combat her illness; 
 and therefore he sought to drown the whisper- 
 ings of that conscience by denouncing the babe 
 as the cause of the death of his darling. 
 
 He had been a gambler ; night after night 
 had he left her alone : no complaint had ever 
 escaped her lips, but her wan face and sunken 
 eyes had too plainly testified how terribly she 
 felt her solitude. Brandreth had noticed the 
 change; noticed her careworn face, her wasting 
 form, and pitied her; but the demon of play 
 possessed him, and he had not the moral 
 courage to wrestle with the fiend. And now 
 retribution had come. He was alone now. 
 
 The unhappy man left the house, and walked 
 he hardly knew whither. After an hour's 
 walking he became more collected, and began 
 to reflect as to what course he should adopt. 
 He argued, as before, that his relatives being 
 unaware of his marriage, and his wife being
 
 ALONE. 1 3 
 
 now dead, there could be no use la disclosing 
 to his family a secret which would probably 
 be displeasing to them. As for the child, he 
 determined to place it with some poor family 
 to bring up as their own, reserving to himself 
 the right of claiming it, should he feel inclined 
 hereafter to do so. With a heavy heart, and 
 an aching head, he returned to his lodging, 
 and in vain courted that fickle sleep which so 
 often refuses to visit us when we need it most. 
 
 On the following day John Brandreth gave 
 the necessary orders for his wife's funeral, and 
 then went in search of some lawver to consult 
 as to the disposal of the child and her main- 
 tenance. 
 
 After walking some distance, he perceived 
 in the Rue Royale a brass-plate with the words 
 " Raimond, N otaire," and at once walked into 
 the lawyer's office. 
 
 He found the man of law intelligent, affa- 
 ble, and courteous, and had therefore no 
 trouble in getting at once to the business 
 which had induced him to seek legal advice.
 
 14 
 
 Monsieur Raimond, who was a young man 
 but a few years his senior, at once mastered 
 the case, and saw at a glance Brandreth's 
 anxiety to keep his marriage a secret, and to 
 relieve himself of the burden thrust on him 
 in the shape of the infant child. 
 
 On Brandreth's suggestion that the child 
 should at once be put out to nurse, the lawyer 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 It was a good plan, an excellent plan, he 
 said ; but there would be difficulty. Did 
 Monsieur know any person with whom the 
 child could be placed ? So far from knowing 
 any one likely to take the child, Brandreth 
 knew no one in Paris but a few dissolute 
 young men who had been his companions at 
 the gambling-tables. 
 
 The lawyer suggested that the medical man 
 who attended Mrs Brandreth would be far 
 more likely than any one else to know of 
 some family where the baby could be placed ; 
 and on Brandreth's mentioning the doctor's 
 name, Monsieur Raimond fell into an ecstasy
 
 ALONE. 15 
 
 of delight : " Did he know the Doctor 
 Feuillet ? They were the best of friends. How 
 it was fortunate ! How it was extraordinary ! " 
 and the little fellow rubbed his hands and 
 seemed delighted. They would go and call 
 upon the Doctor Feuillet at once. 
 
 They proceeded at once to the doctor's re- 
 sidence, and found that gentleman at home. 
 Again it was fortunate — it was extraordinary ! 
 On stating the object of their visit, Feuillet 
 informed them that he knew a woman, a 
 patient of his, who he expected would gladly 
 take care of the infant. She was the wife of 
 an artisan, and having known her for several 
 years past, he could confidently recommend 
 her as an honest industrious woman, and a 
 healthy wet-nurse. 
 
 Feuillet promised to call on his patient, and 
 consult her on the subject, and let Brandreth 
 know the result as soon as possible ; and, in 
 the event of her entertaining the proposal (and 
 of this he had little doubt) Brandreth and the 
 lawyer were to call upon the good woman, and
 
 16 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 arrange as to terms. The latter gentleman, 
 who was as kind-hearted as the doctor, and 
 seemed already deeply interested in the affair, 
 was deli o-h ted. " How it was fortunate ! How 
 it was most fortunate ! Tout allait a merveille ! 
 II en etait ravi ! " In such like expressions the 
 little lawyer's feelings found vent. 
 
 The day after his wife's burial, Brandreth 
 received a favourable communication from 
 Doctor Feuillet, and accompanied by Monsieur 
 Raimond, called on Madame Lejeune, the 
 artisan's wife, whom they found precisely what 
 Feuillet had described her. Her husband was 
 a working jeweller by trade ; and, as they were 
 poor, and had three young children, any small 
 addition to their slender income would, she 
 said, be most acceptable. The terms agreed 
 on were that Brandreth should pay Madame 
 Lejeune, through Eaimond, twelve francs a 
 week, and should be at liberty at any time to 
 claim the child, and remove her from the 
 Lejeune's custody. As twelve francs was a 
 large weekly sum to pay for so young a child,
 
 ALONE. 17 
 
 it was further agreed that should Brandreth 
 die before the girl became able to earn a 
 living, the Lejeunes were not to expect any 
 further payments from his estate. The object 
 of this last arrangement was, of course, to 
 ensure secrecy. The father was to provide 
 money to buy an outfit of clothes and neces- 
 saries for his daughter. 
 
 Monsieur Eaimond, as well as Dr Feuillet, in 
 the absence of Brandreth, was to have access 
 to the child to see that she was well cared for, 
 and the bargain was struck. 
 
 The marriage certificate of Lucy Brandreth 
 was handed over to the lawyer, and the 
 widower, having left a sum of money in 
 Kaimond's hands to meet the weekly instal- 
 ments payable to the Lejeunes, hurried away 
 from Paris. 
 
 For ten or twelve years after his wife's 
 death, Brandreth led a wandering life, travel- 
 ling to and from the great capitals of Europe, 
 vainly endeavouring to forget the cruel fact 
 that, but for his own selfish and unfeeling 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 behaviour, the woman whom he had so dearly 
 loved, and whose value he had never discovered 
 until too late, might still have been his fond 
 wife and his child's mother.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 marie's early life and marriage. 
 
 " Woman, the gift of heav'n, demands our love ! 
 On earth she constitutes our only bliss ; 
 No undivided joy the soul can move, 
 And Adam sighed alone in Paradise." 
 
 F. Hodgsox. 
 
 Our story demands that we should pass rapidly 
 over the early life of little motherless Marie. 
 
 From time to time Brandreth received news 
 of the child through Monsieur Eaimond. He 
 had once or twice visited the Lejeunes to see 
 her, but she, poor child, recognizing, of course, 
 no other parents than her foster mother and 
 her good husband, was terrified at the sight of a 
 stranger, and rejected all the advances which 
 Brandreth made towards her. Seeing no 
 chance of winning the child's love, and how
 
 2 TRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 happy she was with the Lejeunes, Brandreth 
 plainly perceived that he could not do better 
 than leave her where she was, and from that 
 time till Marie had attained the age of 
 eighteen he rarely saw her. A communication 
 of a most important nature from Monsieur 
 Eaimond brought him to Paris soon after 
 Marie's eighteenth birthday. Pierre, the elder 
 son of the Lejeunes, who was then a fine -grown 
 young fellow of four and twenty, had proposed 
 marriage to Marie ; the young people were 
 mutually attached to one another, the Lejeunes 
 were most anxious to secure at once the hap- 
 piness of their son and their foster-daughter, 
 and nothing was wanting but Brandreth's sanc- 
 tion. 
 
 Marie had grown up a fine handsome girl, 
 and her father, on seeing her, deeply regretted 
 that he could not command the love of such a 
 daughter. With her intended, Brandreth was 
 much pleased ; but he felt that he should have 
 liked to have seen Marie allied to some man 
 a few rungs higher on the social ladder.
 
 MARIE'S EARLY LIFE AND MARRIAGE. 21 
 
 Pierre had, as a boy, been apprenticed to an 
 owner of fishing-boats at the little village of 
 Sante-Croix, on the coast of Normandy. His 
 industry, honesty, sobriety and skill, had .won 
 for him the golden opinions of his employer, 
 and at this early age he found himself in part- 
 nership with his old master, and part owner of 
 three or four valuable fishing-boats and gear. 
 
 During the occasional visits which he made 
 to his parents in Paris, the attachment which 
 had existed between Marie and himself as 
 children ripened into love, and finding the 
 growing girl more beautiful and more amiable 
 at each successive visit, he had now asked her 
 to become his wife, and take care of a little 
 house at Sante-Croix, which, in his mind's eye, 
 he had already taken for her. Brandreth know- 
 ing that this alliance was, in a great mea- 
 sure, at least attributable to his own fault, and 
 perceiving how deeply attached his daughter 
 was to honest Pierre, concealed his disappoint- 
 ment, and gave his consent to the marriage, 
 which was solemnized within ten days of his
 
 22 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 arrival in Paris, and very shortly afterwards the 
 happy young folks took up their residence in 
 the little house at Sante- Croix, and Pierre's 
 fondest hopes were realised. 
 
 Brandreth was about to return to England, 
 whence he had set out on receiving from the 
 lawyer the intelligence of his daughter's at- 
 tachment. The little doctor and Brandreth, 
 and their mutual friend Raimond, were dining 
 together at the house of the last, and were 
 talking over the event which had just passed, 
 and that which had occurred some eighteen 
 years before. 
 
 Eaimond and Feuillet were in great glee, the 
 former especially. 
 
 "How it is fortunate!" said Eaimond: 
 (i How it is extraordinary ! " 
 
 The doctor was proud to think that the little 
 girl he had brought into the world had grown 
 up so strong, so healthy, so handsome, under the 
 care of the woman whom he had recommended. 
 
 Both, of course, had been present at the 
 wedding ; indeed both had signed their names
 
 MARIE'S EARLY LIFE AND MARRIAGE. 23 
 
 in the Register Book as witnesses of the cere- 
 mony. Brandreth was not so elated ; he felt, 
 truth to tell, somewhat ashamed of himself. 
 Of the- trio, he was the only one who had not 
 evinced the liveliest interest in the little Marie ; 
 — he, her father. The tears gushed into his 
 eyes as he mentally compared the warm kiss 
 on both cheeks which the open-hearted innocent 
 girl had given Eaimond and Feuillet on leaving 
 Paris, with the cold, formal salutation he had 
 himself received. He felt that as he had failed 
 to appreciate the mother's devotion, so had he 
 thrust aside the daughter's love. 
 
 Brandreth informed his companions, what 
 hitherto he had not divulged, that his father 
 was in a most precarious state, and that he was 
 heir- apparent to large landed property in Eng- 
 land. At that present time, he observed, his 
 resources were limited ; but on his coming into 
 the property he hoped to be able to make them 
 some fitting acknowledgment of their great 
 kindness to his daughter, his gratitude for which 
 he could not find words to express.
 
 24 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 It would be necessary for him at once to 
 return home, as it was hardly possible that his 
 father could live many months. He promised 
 to communicate with them, or one of them, from 
 time to time, and expressed great contrition for 
 his neglect of his daughter, for which he hoped 
 to atone, by placing her and her husband in an 
 independent state on his succeeding to his 
 father's estates. At his death Marie would of 
 course be his heiress, and he declared his 
 intention of making Monsieur Eaimond his 
 executor 
 
 Both gentlemen thanked him for his kind 
 intentions ; but assured him that to have been 
 of service to Marie was an ample reward for 
 any trouble they might have taken. Monsieur 
 Raimond here went to his escritoire, and pro- 
 duced a small bundle of papers, and, placing 
 them in Brandreth's hands, said, " I trust you 
 will pardon the liberty I have taken, but after 
 Marie's birth you left Paris so hurriedly, that 
 you omitted to leave any instructions as to the 
 faith in which you wished her to be brought
 
 MARIE'S EARLY LIFE AND MARRIAGE. 25 
 
 up. I therefore took upon myself to have her 
 baptized, and some three or four years since 
 she received, at the hands of the Bishop, the 
 rite of confirmation and her first sacrament. 
 She has been piously brought up, and educated 
 by Madame Lejeune in the Roman Catholic 
 faith ; indeed, placed as she was with a family 
 of that persuasion, it would have been most 
 difficult, if not actually impossible, to instil 
 into her any other doctrines. Here are your 
 marriage certificate and Marie's certificate of 
 baptism, and a copy of the register of her 
 birth. I have taken office copies of them, and 
 you had better take the originals into your 
 custody." 
 
 Brandreth thanked Monsieur Eaimond, and 
 admitted that under the circumstances he 
 could not have acted more wisely. 
 
 Doctor Feuillet also craved pardon for 
 having, during Marie's youth, administered 
 certain medicines to her, and attended her 
 during one or two slight indispositions, with- 
 out being authorized by Brandreth to do so.
 
 2() STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 Neither of these warm-hearted men would 
 take one farthing for their professional services, 
 and it was with a feeling of relief that Bran- 
 dreth quitted them, for every little act of kind- 
 ness they had done to his daughter reminded 
 him too painfully of his own cruel conduct. 
 
 Eaimond soon after received a letter from 
 Brandreth, informing him of his safe arrival 
 
 in D shire. The same letter informed him 
 
 that his father had rallied in the most wonder- 
 ful manner. Every year, at least, Eaimond re- 
 ceived intelligence of Brandreth, and the latter 
 received, through Eaimond, news of his daughter. 
 
 Two years after Brandreth's departure from 
 Paris, the lawyer had a letter from him an- 
 nouncing his father's death and his succession 
 to the property. In a letter written some 
 months subsequently, however, Brandreth in- 
 formed him that on taking possession he had 
 found the estates so heavily incumbered that 
 he foresaw there would, unless the most rigid 
 economy were practised, be barely sufficient 
 to pay the interest on the mortgages. Under
 
 marie's early life and marriage. 27 
 
 these circumstances he said it would be more 
 beneficial to Marie to apply the annuity which 
 he had intended for her towards paying off 
 these charges, so as to leave her at his death 
 an unincumbered estate, than to pay her the 
 money at that present time, as he had contem- 
 plated doing. In this the lawyer fully agreed 
 with him ; and in his reply to Brandreth's 
 letter expressed his condolence with him, re- 
 commending him to cut down his establishment, 
 and economise, as much as possible, so as to 
 free the estates the more quickly. The letter 
 also contained a piece of news — Marie had 
 given birth to a daughter, and both were 
 doing well. 
 
 Some eight years after the birth of Brand- 
 reth's grand- daughter, Monsieur Eaimond re- 
 ceived a communication from D shire, but 
 
 written by the valet of his old friend, informing 
 him that his master was so crippled with gout 
 that he was quite unable to use his right hand, 
 and from that time the letters to Raimond 
 were always written by this servant.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A MIGHTY NIMROD. 
 
 " Fill the bumper fair ! 
 
 Every drop we sprinkle 
 O'er the brow of care 
 
 Smooths away a wrinkle. 
 "Wit's electric flame 
 
 Ne'er so swiftly passes, 
 As when through the frame 
 
 It shoots from brimming glasses." 
 
 T. Moorf. 
 
 " 'Gad sir, I remember as if it were but yester- 
 day, old Satyr taking me over the Park gate 
 — topped with most infernal spikes, just as it 
 is now — only wood in those days instead of 
 iron — five or six men had passed through, 
 when some lady of course let the gate shut 
 right in my face, sir ! Confound the women, I 
 say, what business have they in the hunting- 
 field ? none at all, sir ! out of place ! alto-
 
 A MIGHTY NIMROD. 29 
 
 gether out of place ! Well, you see, I had of 
 course been expecting the petticoat to give 
 the gate a swing, as any Christian would have 
 done. Devil a bit, sir ! never even made an 
 attempt ! old Satyr pulled up so short as 
 nearly to throw me over his head, and I was 
 righting myself in the saddle, when, by Jove, 
 sir, the old horse rose and bucked over the 
 gate standing — at a bound — you'd hardly 
 credit it, would you, Dick ? That gate was 
 five feet high, sir, if it was an inch ! " 
 
 The wine is with you, my boy. 
 
 " 'Gad, sir ! I feel the old horse rising under 
 me now," continued Mr. Tyrrell, sitting well 
 back in his chair. 
 
 His companion thought that the port might 
 possibly have lent additional force to his 
 uncle's imagination, and that if he had used 
 the word " chair " instead of horse, he would 
 have been nearer the mark. 
 
 But Eichard Tyrrell was a first-rate listener, 
 and knew better than to interrupt his uncle in 
 his after-dinner stories.
 
 30 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 " That was a clipping run that day, I tell 
 you, my boy ! It was in the middle of the 
 run that we ran through the park ; old Satyr 
 and I showed them the way from find to finish; 
 and a brilliant finish it was too — rolled him 
 over in the open on the top of White Down. 
 One of the quickest things I ever rode in my 
 life, sir," said the old gentleman, filling his 
 glass. 
 
 "£fc>w I don't say, mind you," continued he, 
 " that I should not have ridden at the Park 
 gate if the old nag had not taken me over 
 before I intended; I don't say that mind you, 
 my blood was up, and I don't think fixed 
 bayonets would have stopped me then. I 
 merely tell you the story as it happened, sir. 
 Old Flint (he was the huntsman in those days ; 
 I am speaking of fifteen years ago, mind you), 
 old Flint, I say, could scarcely believe that the 
 old horse could have jumped a five feet six 
 gate standing — 'Gad sir, when the old gate was 
 taken away, I had the new iron one of the very 
 same height to commemorate the leap. I say,
 
 A MIGHTY NIMROD. 31 
 
 Dick, six feet of spikes makes you shudder, 
 don't it?" 
 
 The diplomatic nephew having given the 
 shudder which his uncle's story demanded, and 
 duly applauded the performance of the Satyr, 
 began to sing the praises of the Port. 
 
 This young man was about twenty years of 
 age. He was not of prepossessing appearance, 
 nor was he one of his uncle's kidney, as he 
 cared for no sort of field sport. He was a son 
 of Mr. Walter Tyrrell, the younger brother of 
 the sporting gentleman who took the extra- 
 ordinary leap. 
 
 Walter Tyrrell had twice married, and this 
 young man was the only child of the former 
 marriage. The hunting season being over, and 
 the guests who had been staying at Beechwood 
 having taken their departure, Richard Tyrrell 
 was staying for a few weeks with his uncle at 
 Beechwood Hall. 
 
 John Tyrrell found, or thought he found, two 
 or three redeeming points about his nephew. 
 Firstly — He was a splendid listener, and never
 
 32 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 wearied of his stories. Secondly — He always 
 drank fair. Bichard Tyrrell hated the after- 
 dinner stories, and so far from drinking fair 
 drank half a bottle to his uncle's bottle and a 
 half. When his uncle's eye was upon him he 
 invariably finished his glass and re-filled to 
 the brim ; but, as we before observed, he was 
 very diplomatic, and Mr. Tyrrell generally 
 imbibed at least a pint more wine than he was 
 conscious of having done. One other recom- 
 mendation had Richard ; he read well. He 
 used to read the Times after dinner to his uncle 
 until the latter went to sleep. 
 
 As John Tyrrell had no wife, an old house- 
 keeper used to superintend the domestic eco- 
 nomy of Beechwood Hall. 
 
 We have stated before that Bichard was a 
 first-rate listener. It is not every one who is a 
 good listener, so far as after-dinner stories are 
 concerned. 
 
 When a man has reached his fifth lustre, and 
 has drank for fifteen or twenty years past, when 
 gout would permit, a bottle or more of port
 
 A MIGHTY NIMROD. 33 
 
 a-day, however enthusiastic a sportsman he may 
 have been, depend upon it his performances are 
 better after dinner. And naturally so. The 
 seat cannot be so firm, the hand so light, the 
 eye so quick, the nerve so strong as of yore. 
 There is not the rapid circulation of blood 
 which youth enjoys, and what man can ride 
 boldly if he is cold ? In short, our old sports- 
 man shirks the fence and makes away for the 
 gate, and we ought to applaud his discretion. 
 This is in the field ; but after dinner, when he 
 has well lined his stomach, and put himself 
 outside a bottle of generous port, seated by the 
 cheery fire-blaze, with his legs well under the 
 mahogany, instead of embracing the flanks of 
 his hunter, then the blood begins to circulate, 
 and how he does ride ! We have known the 
 poor hobby almost ridden to death ! We really 
 believe some of these jolly old bucks would ride 
 if we could get them into the saddle after- 
 dinner, — at all events we give them credit for 
 thinking they would. These after-dinner 
 romancers are a class " sui generis." They are 
 
 VOL. I. d
 
 34 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 most entertaining people, they are one of the 
 stays of the dinner-table. Whether they are 
 induced by their sporting zeal to imagine they 
 really accomplished the marvels they narrate, 
 whether they begin to believe them themselves 
 from constant repetition, whether they tell 
 them purely to amuse others, or in the hope of 
 immortalizing themselves ; how much is true, 
 how much false, how many stories are founded 
 on fact, and how many are without the slightest 
 foundation, and lastly, whether the listeners 
 are expected to believe all or any part of them — 
 cest tout egal — who cares ? If the narrator be- 
 lieves the story he is relating, we cannot blame 
 him ; if he narrates what he knows to be false, 
 we hope he does so merely to amuse his audi- 
 ence ; and if he invents a good story as he goes 
 on without tripping himself up, he shows him- 
 self a genius. Surely embellishment is a very 
 venial crime. 
 
 To be a good listener a man must hear 
 stories he has heard fifty times, as if he had 
 never heard them before — he must never in-
 
 A MIGHTY NDIROD. 35 
 
 terrupt, lie must pass over any discrepancies ; 
 should the story be inconsistent, he must fail 
 to see it, he must see nothing but the point, 
 and if there be no point (as not unfrequently 
 happens), he must pretend to see one, but he 
 must be careful to laugh at the right moment. 
 He should also betray astonishment, or any 
 other emotion that may be expected, and 
 occasionally ask where and when the event 
 occurred, so as to feign interest, and make 
 believe that the story is quite new to him, 
 
 Eichard Tyrrell understood all this ; lie had 
 noticed how the wall had grown exactly one 
 foot during the story; he had also remarked 
 that although Mr. Tyrrell had followed six or 
 seven people in the middle of the run, he had 
 led the field from find to finish. 
 
 Richard's countenance never betrayed his 
 observations ; he was a diplomatist. His father 
 might reasonably expect to succeed to Beech- 
 wood should he survive the present owner, 
 and was not he his father's eldest son ? 
 
 In the midst of life we are in death ; within
 
 36 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 a week of relating the story of the Satyr, Mr. 
 Tyrrell came to an untimely end. His horse 
 had put his foot on a loose stone and fallen, 
 throwing his rider. Mr. Tyrrell was a heavy 
 man, and fell on his head. Concussion of the 
 brain was the result, and he died within four- 
 and-twenty hours of the accident. 
 
 The funeral over, the family lawyer an- 
 nounced that the late owner of Beechwood hav- 
 ing died intestate, and without issue, the estate 
 passed to his brother Walter as heir-at-law. 
 
 Great surprise was expressed at a man 
 possessed of such large landed property having 
 left no will ; but the statement was borne out 
 by Eichard and the late Mr. Tyrrell's con- 
 fidental servant Filcher, who had searched 
 high and low, and declared that neither will, 
 nor even any paper containing any particular 
 wishes, could be found. The lawyer, Mr. 
 Hookham, felt aggrieved, as he doubtless 
 thought it a reflection on his advice; he, 
 however, was quite sure that had Mr. Tyrrell 
 been more provident, he would have had the
 
 A MIGHTY NIMROD. 37 
 
 drawing of his will. He had freouentlv, he 
 said, spoken to Mr. Tyrrell of the advisability 
 of making his will, but the squire had always 
 put the matter off. 
 
 Perhaps none regretted Mr. Tyrrell's death 
 more than Filcher. " Poor dear master," said 
 Filcher, " 'e was a gentleman, 'e was. I shan't 
 never get another like 'un." 
 
 And Filcher spoke very feelingly. For ten 
 years past he had enjoyed the run of the 
 house, and, better still, of the cellar. For ten 
 years he had had a snug billet. Acutely he 
 felt the loss of his master ; the consequent loss 
 of the keys perhaps even more acutely. 
 
 " 'Tis J ard," said he to Mrs. Crimp the 
 housekeeper, " 'tis 'ard ; but there's One above 
 will provide, M rs. Crimp. There's nothing 
 more 'eavenly than 'ope, is there ma'am ? 
 Better myself I can't expect to ; but, as we 
 know, the Lord will provide." 
 
 When Mr. Walter Tyrrell took possession, 
 Mr. Filcher got his conge. Mrs. Crimp was, 
 however, retained as housekeeper.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE HALF-BROTHERS. 
 
 His mother from the window look'd, 
 With all the longing of a mother." 
 
 Logan. 
 
 Seven years have elapsed since the death of Mr. 
 John Tyrrell. 
 
 In the comfortably furnished drawing-room 
 of Beechwood Hall, are seated four persons, two 
 of either sex. 
 
 The elder gentleman is fifty-three years of 
 age, but looks younger ; rather above the 
 middle height, and of very commanding and 
 gentlemanly appearance; his features are 
 regular, though not strictly handsome; the 
 well-defined chin shows him to be a man of
 
 THE HALF-BROTHERS. 39 
 
 firmness ; whilst his hair, as yet scarcely tinged 
 with grey, and his fresh, healthy complexion, 
 proclaim him a man who has lived a sober, 
 steady, and methodical life. 
 
 This is Mr. Walter Tyrrell, the present 
 owner of the Beechwood property, or, as he is 
 more generally styled by his tenants, " the 
 squire ; " he is sitting in his arm-chair reading 
 the Times (by the way what would a country 
 gentleman do without his Times ?), and the 
 lady sitting at work in the recess of the bay- 
 window is his wife. A young man of six or 
 seven-and-twenty years of age is poring in- 
 tently over the contents of the large volume be- 
 fore him. No one can mistake him for a child 
 of Mrs. Tyrrell, who appears too young to be 
 his mother. This is Eichard Tyrrell, whose 
 acquaintance the reader made in the last 
 chapter. 
 
 The present Mrs. Tyrrell's sweet counte- 
 nance proclaims her to be what she is — a 
 good and loving mother and a fond and duti- 
 ful wife, whose happiness consists in making
 
 40 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 all around her happy, and in superintending 
 the domestic economy of her establishment 
 with order and precision. 
 
 Rarely do we see a woman, the mother of 
 three children, whose features show no trace 
 of care or anxiety ; but Mrs. Tyrrell's face is 
 as joyous, her hair as thick and long now as 
 on her wedding-day, between seventeen and 
 eighteen years ago. Her oval-shaped face 
 and eyes of the same rich brown tint as 
 her luxuriant hair, give a peculiar softness to 
 her expression. Her nose is straight, and 
 when she smiles (she nearly always wears a 
 smile) the dimples play round the little mouth, 
 and, but for her somewhat matronly figure, she 
 might pass for six or seven-and-twenty. No 
 one could look at her and believe her anything 
 but pure and virtuous. 
 
 On the stool on which her mother's little 
 arched feet are resting, sits a child of about 
 nine years of age, whom we cannot describe 
 better than by saying that she promises to 
 become Mrs. Tyrrell's counterpart.
 
 THE HALF-BROTHERS. 41 
 
 The dissimilarity between the little girl and 
 her half-brother Richard is very striking. His 
 features, as we have said, are not prepossessing, 
 and he is one of those persons to whom we 
 somehow or other take an instinctive dislike, 
 without being able to assign our reason for so 
 doing. 
 
 " I do not love 1h.3e, Doctor Fell, 
 The reason why I cannot tell ; 
 But this alone I know full well, 
 I do not love thee, Doctor Fell." 
 
 It was midsummer, and through the open 
 windows the light breeze, gradually dying away 
 with the sinking sun, stole in soft and balmy, 
 loaded with the fragrant scent of the jasmine 
 that clung to the front of the house. 
 
 From time to time Mrs. Tyrrell cast wistful 
 glances towards the river, which ran at the 
 foot of the slope on which the Hall is situate, 
 and at last the object of her search came in 
 view. A sweet smile, full of love and yearn- 
 ing, lit up her face as the snow-white canvass 
 of the jib of a yacht of about twenty tons
 
 42 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 opened a point of the estuary about half a mile 
 from the Hall. 
 
 " Here he is at last ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Tyrrell. " Look, Walter, how prettily the 
 yacht glides along ! " 
 
 Mr. Tyrrell came to the window, but did 
 not appear so delighted with the scene as his 
 better-half. 
 
 " Why, where on earth is the young mad- 
 cap bringing her," said he; "he has passed 
 the moorings by a quarter of a mile, she will 
 ground if he is not very careful." 
 
 Presently " the Wild Duck " dropped her 
 kellick and, bringing her sharp bow to the 
 flood-tide, swung slowly round. 
 
 From the window could be seen a youth of 
 sixteen, an old man very short and grizzled 
 in appearance, and a diminutive urchin, who 
 formed the crew, busily engaged in stowing 
 the canvass and making all snug and ship- 
 shape. Then the young gentleman, taking 
 with him the small boy, cast off the punt 
 which was astern, and pulled ashore. Directly
 
 THE HALF-BROTHERS. 43 
 
 the bow of the punt grated on the shingle, he 
 neatly jerked his paddles in by a quick turn 
 of the wrist, jumped over the gunwale, pushed 
 her off, and before the boy had rowed back 
 to the cutter, a distance of some thirty or 
 forty yards, was half way up the lawn on his 
 way to the Hall. Two or three minutes later 
 he rushed somewhat unceremoniously into the 
 drawing-room, threw his arms round his mo- 
 ther's neck, and kissed her affectionately. Mrs. 
 Tyrrell said nothing, but one of her loving 
 smiles passed over her face as she returned her 
 son's caress. 
 
 "Why, Paul," said Mr. Tyrrell, "what made 
 you bring the yacht so far up the creek, in- 
 stead of leaving her at her moorings? You 
 ran a great risk of sticking in the mud." 
 "Oh, no, father!" cried Paul, "Old Bunt 
 said there was plenty of water at spring-tides, 
 and the tide was flowing, so I thought I might 
 as well come by water as land. He will put 
 the legs on her. Had rare sport," he con- 
 tinued, " a turbot, four brills, two or three
 
 44 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 dories, and no end of whiting. Had a soldier's 
 wind, so we were able to run out to the fishing- 
 ground, and keep the trawl down for two or 
 three hours. Shrimp is going to bring up the 
 turbo t and the brills when he has done his 
 work for old Bunt. Lovely day ! there was 
 not roll enough to upset our little Nell," he 
 rattled on, stooping down and kissing the 
 little girl, who still sat on the stool at her 
 mother's feet. Here Eichard Tyrrell, who knew 
 Paul's volubility, gave a look of intense disgust, 
 and, taking up the book in which he appear- 
 ed so deeply interested, stole quietly from the 
 room. 
 
 The lad who had thus disturbed his re- 
 searches was a fine grown young fellow, neither 
 tall nor short for his age, but remarkably well- 
 proportioned and muscular. 
 
 His manly face was very much sunburnt, 
 and his hands were tanned of a colour ap- 
 proaching mahogany ; his brown hair was very 
 thick and wavy, and a shade or so darker than 
 that of his mother ; his eyes were of a greyish-
 
 THE HALF-BROTHERS. ' 45 
 
 blue, and his prominent nose, if not actually 
 large, was at least bien prononce ; it was, how- 
 ever, of a good Roman shape. His mouth 
 was very small, too small perhaps for that of 
 a boy, and was cut exactly like his mother's. 
 It was pleasing to look upon his open counte- 
 nance, beaming with health and happiness, in 
 which respect his appearance differed greatly 
 from that of his half-brother Richard, who not 
 only looked sad and sullen, but delicate. 
 
 This might have been owing, in a great 
 measure, to the widely different manner in 
 which they spent their time, for they seemed 
 to be diametrically opposed to each other in 
 their habits, character, and pursuits. Paul was 
 passionately fond of all kinds of sport, and 
 seemed restless and uncomfortable to a degree 
 when by any mischance he was confined to 
 the house ; Richard, on the other hand, cared 
 little whether it rained or shone ; he seldom 
 went beyond the Park gates, and held Paul 
 in contempt for deriving any pleasure from 
 the pursuit of any kind of sport.
 
 46 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 The two, therefore, saw but little of each 
 other. Paul was between sixteen and seven- 
 teen years of age, and had just completed his 
 last half at Eton, so he was now busily engaged 
 in following up his favourite amusements. 
 
 Eichard, though some ten years older than 
 Paul, had not long finished his education ; 
 his passion for books easily overcoming the 
 yearning which most young men evince to 
 leave school. 
 
 For a man who not only disliked sporting 
 himself, but was narrow-minded enough to 
 despise others for so doing, Beechwood was 
 perhaps as unsuitable a residence as could be ; 
 there was little or nothing for Richard to do 
 but read, and read, read, read, he did; poor 
 Eichard seemed indeed a blighted being; his 
 perpetual studies and sedentary habits had 
 made him misanthropical to a degree. 
 
 He appeared to look upon his sweet step- 
 mother as an intruder, although in his boyish 
 days she had lavished her affection on him as 
 on one of her own children ; but Mrs. Tyrrell's
 
 THE HALF-BROTHERS. 47 
 
 heart could not bear the contemptuous glance 
 which Richard was wont to throw on her 
 darling Paul on his return from his out-door 
 recreations.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEECHWOOD. 
 
 " Tli3 house was a large square : but plain and low 
 Wise Nature's use Art strove not to outgo." 
 
 COWLEY. 
 
 The fine old estate of Beechwood comprises 
 about three thousand acres, and is admirably 
 adapted for the seat of a gentleman who is a 
 true lover of British sports. Hunting, shooting, 
 and fishing may be indulged in within easy 
 distance of the Hall, which stands in the centre 
 of about a hundred acres of park land enclosed 
 by a ring fence, and on which flourish some 
 remarkably fine-grown old trees, which probably 
 gave their name to the estate. The Hall itself 
 is built in the Elizabethan style, a large house
 
 BEECHWOOD. 49 
 
 built for comfort rather than show. The walls 
 are of great thickness, and the whole fabric 
 wears an appearance of massiveness and solidity. 
 In front of the house the lawn slopes gradually 
 downwards for nearly a quarter of a mile, and 
 at the foot of the hill flows a small river, the 
 waters of which meet the tide at high water at 
 this point. Within half a mile or less from 
 the junction of the fresh and salt waters, the 
 bed of the river widens very suddenly, forming 
 an estuary which gradually increases in breadth 
 towards the mouth of the river, which may be 
 perhaps a quarter of a mile across. Although 
 small until entering the Beech woe d estate, the 
 river below its junction with the tidal waters is 
 navigable to small craft up to within less than 
 half a mile of the Hall, while a similar distance 
 above the confluence finds it a trout stream, 
 clear as crystal, and extremely rapid in its 
 course, until arrested in the impetuosity of its 
 career by the widening of its bed on nearing 
 the sea. At the head of the estuary a bend in 
 the river's course secures shelter and a snug 
 VOL. i. e
 
 50 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 anchorage for Mr. Tyrrell's little yacht and two 
 or three hookers belonging to the fishermen of 
 
 the little village of D . The navigation 
 
 of the stream is, it is true, somewhat difficult 
 on account of its windings ; but this objection 
 is more than counterbalanced by the protection 
 which the serpentine character of the creek 
 affords to the boats, which, if the river ran in a 
 direct line to the coast, would be exposed to the 
 gales from the sea. Beechwood is indeed a 
 paradise for a sportsman. 
 
 A yacht lying snugly at her moorings within 
 sight of the windows — hounds — hunted regularly 
 within easy distance — fresh and salt water fish- 
 ing — shooting of the most varied description, 
 the estate fairly stocked with game, and w T ild 
 fowl of many sorts frequenting the creek and 
 neighbouring marshes in the cold weather ; with 
 a suitable income, what more does a human 
 being want ?
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ANNETTE, 
 
 And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 
 A Nymph, a Haiad, or a Grace, 
 Of finer form or lovelier face ! 
 What though the sun, with ardent frown, 
 Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown — 
 The sportive toil, which, short and light, 
 Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, 
 Served too in hastier swell to show 
 Short glimpses of a breast of snow." 
 
 Walter Scott. 
 
 We must pass over two years, and take a look 
 at our old friends the Lejeunes. 
 
 The summer was over, the leaves were 
 beginning to fall, and the days were shortening 
 rapidly. The wind howled dismally in the 
 old-fashioned chimney of a small house, which 
 stood, and perhaps still stands, in the main
 
 52 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 street of a little seaport town on the wild coast 
 of Normandy. 
 
 In the principal room of this house were 
 seated a woman of about thirty-eight, and two 
 strikingly handsome girls of eighteen and 
 fifteen respectively ; Madame Pierre Lejeune 
 and her daughters, Annette and Christine. 
 The former was busily engaged in knitting a 
 coarse woollen jersey, evidently intended for 
 some fisherman. The elder girl was tall and 
 beautifully proportioned, and her dark brown 
 hair was coiled round and round in a simple 
 twist, and fastened at the back of the 
 classically- shaped head by a tortoise-shell 
 comb. Seated on a low chair close to the 
 hearth, on which a small wood fire was 
 burning, her hands clasping her knees, her 
 large blue eyes fixed on the embers, she 
 appeared to be listening to the moaning of 
 the wind, and to the dull monotonous sound 
 caused by the dashing of the waves against the 
 rocks of the iron-bound coast, which every now 
 and then struck upon the ears of the inmates
 
 ANNETTE. 53 
 
 of the room like distant thunder. She had not 
 the features of a French peasant — her face 
 exhibited none of the coarseness which usually 
 characterizes the race. The straight Grecian 
 nose and delicately-cut nostrils seemed to 
 assert gentleness of birth ; the short upper lip 
 betrayed something of pride, but the fulness 
 of the lower, and the pretty curve of the little 
 mouth, entirely contradicted any insinuations 
 against her temper. The expression was some- 
 what haughty, but very sweet, for although the 
 features were decided, there was not a hard 
 line in her loving, innocent face. The coarse 
 blue serge frock in which she was attired, did 
 not in the least detract from her beauty ; its 
 extreme simplicity perhaps suited her better 
 than a more fashionable garment would have 
 done. 
 
 She was at length aroused from the reverie 
 in which she had been indulging, by her mother 
 exclaiming, as a squall, more angry than the 
 previous ones, struck the old house, " The Bon 
 Dieu preserve us, what a night ! And your
 
 54 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 father not yet returned ! Go, Annette, ma 
 ehere, run down to the quay and see if the 
 boats are in. The sun must have set these two 
 hours, the night is dark as pitch, and it is 
 blowing hard on shore. I wish your father were 
 home." As soon as the girl had set off on her 
 errand, Madame Lejeune proceeded to rake 
 together the wood embers, and by the aid of a 
 pair of bellows and a fresh log, soon procured a 
 bright clear fire. Annette had not been gone 
 more than ten minutes before she returned, 
 saying that her father had arrived, and would 
 be home shortly ; he was merely lending a 
 hand to pack the fish and moor the boat 
 securely for the night. "Father is cold and 
 wet," said she ; " he will be glad of his supper 
 and dry clothes as soon as he comes. ,, 
 
 Having made some coffee, Annette laid a 
 coarse but scrupulously clean cloth on the 
 deal table, and produced from a cupboard 
 some black bread, a piece of pork, and a small 
 bottle of brandy. 
 
 These arrangements for the evening meal
 
 ANNETTE. 55 
 
 were just completed, when a man, apparently 
 some forty years of age, entered. Having 
 thrown off the dripping tarpaulins with which 
 he was almost entirely covered, he approached 
 his wife and daughters, and kissed them affec- 
 tionately. Annette wrung the briny water 
 from her father's beard, exclaiming, "pauvre 
 petit papa, voila votre soupe, mangez bien, 
 petit papa." The adjective could only have 
 been used by Annette in an endearing sense, 
 as her " petit papa " stood about five feet 
 eleven without his long sea boots, and was 
 broad-shouldered in proportion. He had a 
 handsome manly countenance, and was like 
 his daughter in feature. 
 
 The reader will, doubtless, have recognized 
 Madame Lejeune as the daughter of Brandreth, 
 and the wife of Pierre. 
 
 Annette spoke French with a Parisian 
 accent. She owed the accuracy of her pro- 
 nunciation to a Madame Lorin, who resided 
 in a chateau about two miles from Sainte- 
 Croix. This lady had taken a great fancy to
 
 56 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 the fisherman's little girl, and Annette from 
 her childhood had been constantly in the so- 
 ciety of Madame Lorin and her daughter 
 Julie. 
 
 The latter was much about her own age, and 
 Madame Lorin kindly allowed Annette to take 
 lessons in English singing and music from the 
 masters who came to instruct her own daugh- 
 ter, and thus our heroine received a much 
 more elaborate education than would otherwise 
 have fallen to her lot. These great advantages 
 were not lost upon Annette, who was naturally 
 clever, and notwithstanding lessons sometimes 
 missed by her absence, owing to stress of 
 weather, or in consequence of her being re- 
 quired at home, she was at least as good a 
 scholar as Julie, and far surpassed her fellow- 
 pupil in music. Her voice, too, naturally 
 sweet and of great range, developed wonder- 
 fully under the tuition of an able master, and 
 Madame Lorin's love of music rendered the 
 girl's society very pleasant to her. 
 
 Annette's position with regard to Julie
 
 ANNETTE. 57 
 
 Lorin was almost that of a foster-sister, for 
 there was so little society in the vicinity of 
 Saint e-Croix, that Madame Lorin was glad to 
 have her as a companion for her own daugh- 
 ter, notwithstanding the difference in their 
 rank. But Annette had grown up "every 
 inch a lady," thanks to Madame Lorin's kind- 
 ness in educating her ; and if poverty be no 
 crime, Mademoiselle Lejeune had little to be 
 ashamed of. 
 
 The good widow Lorin had one son, Henri, 
 the pride of his mother's heart. He was a 
 subaltern in the army, a fine, well-grown, 
 handsome lad of twenty; and had been for 
 some time at home on sick-leave, but was now 
 convalescent. During his illness Annette, glad 
 of an opportunity of showing her gratitude to 
 her benefactress, had nursed him with great 
 care and kindness ; can it be wondered that 
 the vivacious young officer's society pleased 
 the simple and confiding young girl ? Alas ! 
 those pretty speeches and compliments which 
 go for nothing with the ball-going young
 
 58 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 lady, tell most cruelly on an innocent girl in 
 Annette's position. How could she fail to be 
 pleased and flattered at the attentions paid 
 her by a good-looking young officer ? she who 
 had scarcely ever seen a young man of Henri's 
 stamp before ? For seven or eight months had 
 Henri been at home, and now the time of 
 his departure was at hand ; a time to which 
 Annette looked forward with much sorrow, for 
 she felt that she loved, and would have died for 
 him. 
 
 In his mother's presence Henri paid her no 
 attentions, and she was glad of this, for her 
 modest nature would have shrunk from re- 
 ceiving them except when alone with him. 
 Unsophisticated as she was, she attributed 
 this reserve to modesty ; for the poor girl used 
 to blush like a peony when Madame detected 
 her tender glances towards her son, and she 
 measured Henri by her own standard. Ma- 
 dame Lorin could not help observing the 
 girl's embarrassment, and suspected that poor 
 Annette was dazzled by the handsome features
 
 ANNETTE. 59 
 
 and polished bearing of her soldier-boy, but 
 as she had no reason to believe that Henri 
 loved her protegee, she attached little or no 
 importance to the matter, hoping that Henri's 
 absence would quickly efface the impressions, 
 if any, left upon the girl. Henri himself had 
 suddenly discovered that it was important that 
 he should at once rejoin his regiment, and his 
 departure was therefore to take place at once.
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 UNREQUITED AFFECTION, 
 
 Or if (ah, too faithful !) with fondness she sighs 
 For one who has ceased her affection to prize, 
 Forgetting the vows by whose magic he strove 
 To gain that rich treasure, the virgin's first love. 
 
 If, tempted by interest, he venture to shun 
 The gentle affection his tenderness won ; 
 Through passion's soft maze with another to rove, 
 Where then the delight of the virgin's first love ? " 
 
 Opie. 
 
 By the pale moonlight may be seen two figures 
 in the extensive garden of the chateau in which 
 Madame Lorin resided. It is about seven 
 o'clock in the evening, and the month is 
 December, and Henri Lorin and Annette 
 Lejeune are walking side by side down a path 
 in the shrubbery, at a little distance from the 
 chateau.
 
 UNREQUITED AFFECTION. 61 
 
 The girl's face is deadly pale, and appears 
 almost ghastly by the sickly light of the moon ; 
 the man's features are firmly set, and a con- 
 temptuous smile curls his upper lip, as he 
 suddenly stops, and confronting her, exclaims 
 in a scornful tone — 
 
 " Yous plaisantez, ma chere ! You surely 
 could never have thought so. Marry you ! 
 Do you take me for a fool ? " 
 
 Annette said nothing, but the nervous 
 twitching of her blanched lips, and the heaving 
 of her bosom, too plainly told of the bitter 
 pangs which were piercing her tender heart; 
 her head swam, and a feeling of sickness came 
 over her. She tottered, and would have fallen 
 had not the young man caught her and drawn 
 her arm through his own. With an effort of 
 which one would scarcely have thought her 
 capable, the unhappy girl tore herself away, 
 and leant against the trunk of a small tree at a 
 few paces from Lorin. 
 
 "Henri," said she, "how can you dare speak 
 to me thus ? You do not know — you cannot
 
 62 
 
 know — how I have loved you. Have not I 
 done everything in my power to please you ? 
 And now you are going away on foreign service 
 for years — perhaps I may never see you again ! " 
 Her sobs prevented her saying more, and with 
 an hysterical laugh, she fell to the ground. 
 Lorin raised her, unhooked the bosom of her 
 dress, and held his pocket-handkerchief, which 
 was scented with eau-de-cologne, to her nostrils. 
 After a few minutes she recovered from her 
 insensibility, and Lorin, in a kindlier tone, 
 endeavoured to calm her, and reason away her 
 grief. Annette listened attentively to him with- 
 out replying, but her lovely face betrayed the 
 convulsions which were at work within her. 
 There was a pause for two or three minutes, 
 during which time the poor girl appeared ab- 
 sorbed in deep thought. 
 
 Love was getting the better of her pride, 
 and, in a faltering voice, she exclaimed, " For- 
 give me, Henri ; I was wrong. I was selfish to 
 expect such a thing ; but little did I think of 
 our parting. STo, no! Henri, dear, we need
 
 UNREQUITED AFFECTION. 63 
 
 not part; you will take your little Annette 
 with you as your servant — as anything — as 
 anybody, only let me be near you to share 
 your dangers, to nurse you when ill, to make 
 you happy and comfortable when well, to work 
 for you, to die for you! How could I be so 
 vain as to expect you to marry the daughter of 
 a poor fisherman ? How could I be so un- 
 grateful as to entertain any such idea, which 
 must be displeasing to your mother, my friend 
 and benefactress? You will do this, Henri, 
 dear ? " and Annette pressed her lips to his 
 passionately. 
 
 Lorin's face became cloudy, and he reflected 
 for an instant before answering her. He had 
 not bargained for this ; he had not believed 
 any love could be so intense. He was, however, 
 too accomplished a villain to let the girl per- 
 ceive his embarrassment, and, whilst embracing 
 Annette warmly, he bethought him how best 
 he could avert the new calamity which threat- 
 ened him. 
 
 "Annette, dear," said he, " you know what
 
 64 STRATED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 pain it will cost me to part with you. Are 
 you the only sufferer ? My duty calls me 
 away, and would to heaven that it were pos- 
 sible for you to go with me ; but what you ask 
 is madness; your flight at the time of my 
 departure would create suspicions. How would 
 your absence be accounted for? If you love 
 me, as you say you do, you will not ask me 
 to take a step which would break the heart 
 of my mother, your benefactress. Do you not 
 see that your disappearance from here would 
 be immediately associated with my departure ; 
 and have I not already told you that it would 
 break my mother's heart if she knew in what 
 relation we stand to one another ? Besides, 
 your father and mother, child ; you forget 
 them. You love your parents, 1 suppose?'' 
 
 " Love them ? yes ! at least I thought I did 
 until ; — until — my God. Henri ! what are 
 father and mother to me now ! " said Annette, 
 sobbing. Lorin started. " I thought, Annette," 
 said he, assuming a reproachful tone, " you 
 were a dutiful girl — you have often told me
 
 UNREQUITED AFFECTION. 65 
 
 how tenderly you loved your parents, and now 
 to gratify your selfish whims you ask me to 
 inflict on them this heavy blow, this fearful 
 anxiety ! " 
 
 " God forgive me ! Henri, I do ask you, and 
 if you refuse me, I will follow you wherever you 
 may go.'' 
 
 "Listen! Annette," said the young man 
 after a momentary pause, " in less than a year 
 I shall be enabled to get leave of absence for a 
 short time, I will then return and entreat my 
 mother to consent to our union, on condition 
 that you remain quietly here until my return, 
 and tell nothing of what has passed between us 
 to a living creature. Should you break either 
 of these conditions, I will not redeem my 
 promise." 
 
 Annette's eyes brightened whilst he was 
 speaking. "Oh Henri," said she, "I could 
 reconcile myself to any terms for the chance 
 of gaining such a prize as you. Do you think 
 there is any chance of Madame Lorin's giving 
 her consent ? " 
 
 VOL. i. f
 
 QQ STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 " That will depend mainly on your behaviour 
 to her during my absence/' returned Lorin. 
 
 There was a pause of some moments ; the 
 cheering promises held out by Henri had 
 brought the colour to Annette's cheek again. 
 Lorin broke the silence, and taking the girl's 
 hand, said, " Is it a bargain, Annette ? " 
 
 " It is," replied the girl. 
 
 " Are you certain," continued Lorin, " that 
 no one suspects anything ? " 
 
 " Quite certain," said she. 
 
 And stooping down he whispered something 
 in her ear. Annette blushed painfully at the 
 question he had put to her; but turning her 
 head and looking towards the ground, she said, 
 " No, there is no cause to fear that." 
 
 " God be praised," exclaimed Henri in a 
 sincere tone, feeling relieved to find there was 
 no risk of his conduct being discovered. 
 
 " A fter all your case is not nearly so bad as 
 it might have been." 
 
 " Perhaps so," returned the girl with a sigh ; 
 " but I could almost wish it were otherwise.
 
 UNREQUITED AFFECTION. 67 
 
 Twelve long months ! Oh, Henri, those months 
 will appear years, and if I knew that I were to 
 become the mother of your child, the thought 
 would cheer my lonely hours." 
 
 "Bah, child," said Henri, "your chance of 
 ever becoming my wife would be small indeed 
 were that the case. Do you think my mother 
 would receive you then as now ? " 
 
 " Is it a crime to love ? " returned Annette, 
 simply. 
 
 " Ma foi, no ! " answered the young man ; 
 " but it is a great sin to be found out." 
 
 " You will often write to me, Henri ? " asked 
 the girl. 
 
 " Of course," replied he quickly, " and now 
 Annette I must bid you good-bye. 
 
 " But Henri, dear, I shall see you again to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " ~So ; although I shall not start until the 
 day after, I shall be occupied all to-morrow in 
 making the necessary arrangements for my 
 departure ; besides, we may have no other op- 
 portunity of taking an affectionate farewell."
 
 68 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 The young girl threw herself upon him, and 
 clasping his neck with her arms, pressed her 
 lips passionately to his. 
 
 " You will not betray me, Annette ? " said 
 Henri, looking straight into the upturned face, 
 as if to satisfy himself as to her sincerity. 
 
 " Never whilst you live," replied the girl, 
 readily. 
 
 " Swear it ! " exclaimed the young man. 
 
 " I swear it ! " repeated the girl, slowly. 
 
 " Well, well, good-bye, Annette ; twelve 
 months will soon slip away," said Henri, in a 
 gay tone. 
 
 " Kiss me once more, darling," whispered the 
 trembling girl ; and again the loving arms were 
 twined round the worthless object of her 
 adoration. 
 
 " God bless and preserve you, Henri dear, 
 and grant you a speedy return," sobbed Annette, 
 mastering bravely the emotion she felt, " you 
 will come back as soon as possible to your poor 
 girl ? " 
 
 " YeF, yes," said the soldier, " cheer up child,
 
 UNREQUITED AFFECTION. 69 
 
 and remember your oath ; " and after kissing 
 the cold cheek he gently disengaged himself 
 from the girl's embrace, and sauntered slowly 
 towards the house. 
 
 He had not proceeded many yards before he 
 heard a light step behind him, and Annette's 
 quivering voice, saying, "Henri, dearest Henri," 
 say u God bless you, Annette ! " 
 
 "There, there, God bless you, child," said 
 he in an impatient tone, and avoiding the 
 threatened caress, resumed his walk towards 
 the chateau. 
 
 Annette Lejune walked slowly back to her 
 home in the little narrow street, feeling as only 
 a woman who has parted with the object of her 
 love can feel, and through the long weary sleep- 
 less night the coarse linen of her pillow was 
 bedewed with her tears.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 THE STORM. 
 
 " But who shall bide Thy tempest ? who shall face 
 The blast that wakes the fury of the sea ? 
 Oh God!" 
 
 W. C. Bryant. 
 
 Three months had elapsed since Henri Lorin's 
 departure, and no news of him had reached 
 Annette, except through the chateau. 
 
 Day after day passed slowly, steadily on, but 
 no letter from Henri. Madame Lorin and 
 Julie had received letters informing them of 
 his arrival at his destination, and of his good 
 health, and in these epistles he sent his "kind 
 regards " to Annette. 
 
 His "kind regards" to the woman that
 
 THE STORM. 71 
 
 would have died for him ! Annette's heart 
 ached, but no feeling of resentment or mistrust 
 arose in that sincere, loving girl. " He is trying 
 me," she would repeat to herself, " to see how 
 true I can be to him." 
 
 u Petit papa," her mother, and Madame 
 Lorin, could not imagine the cause of Annette's 
 loss of spirits and appetite, and the honest 
 fisherman, under pretence of requiring her 
 services in his boat, often beguiled her to 
 accompany him as the spring of the year came 
 on, hoping that the open air might restore the 
 health of his daughter ; and these excursions 
 seemed certainly beneficial to her. Her colour 
 and appetite partially returned, but she was 
 unhappy, very unhappy, although she battled 
 bravely against her affliction. Summer passed, 
 autumn came. 
 
 On a wild night the Lejeunes, father, mother, 
 and daughters were seated in the little room 
 where the reader first made the acquaintance 
 of Annette and her sister. A fierce, equi- 
 noctial gale was raging without, the wind
 
 72 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 howled dismally in the great chimney, and the 
 rain pattered against the small windows. 
 
 " Petit papa " was engaged in repairing some 
 fishing gear; Madame Lejeunewas occupied as 
 usual with her knitting ; whilst Annette sat 
 in a low chair moody and disconsolate. Need 
 it be told of whom she was thinking ? Suddenly 
 a loud report shook the walls of the cottage. 
 A second convinced the inmates that the 
 sounds were not thunder- claps. The loud 
 booming at regular intervals was understood 
 by the fisherman ; they were minute guns ; 
 " A vessel in distress ! " exclaimed Pierre, 
 throwing aside his fishing-gear and snatching 
 up his tarpaulin garments ; " God help the 
 poor fellows aboard her ! " Pierre was soon on 
 the quay, where most of the inhabitants of 
 Sainte-Croix now stood in a state of fear- 
 ful excitement. The night was cloudy and 
 very dark, but soon a vivid flash of lightning 
 discovered a large vessel apparently at the 
 mercy of the wind and waves. Flash after 
 flash revealed her position for an instant,
 
 THE STORM. 73 
 
 and after every flash she was again lost in the 
 pitchy darkness. The flash of her guns, how- 
 ever, indicated at intervals her whereabouts. 
 She seemed to be about four miles from the 
 shore, towards which she was fast drifting. It 
 was evident that she must go ashore. She was 
 embayed, and could make no headway against 
 the gale. " There is only one chance for her," 
 cried Pierre, " to board her and run her in 
 over the bar ; if she strikes on the bar there 
 is better hope of saving life than if she runs on 
 the rocks. It is close upon high water, and if 
 she is run fast on the sand, the tide will leave 
 her if she holds together for an hour's ebb. I 
 fear so large a vessel can never float over the 
 bar, but we cannot tell what water she may 
 draw ; it is her only chance. Comrades, you 
 will not stand by and see fellow-creatures 
 perish without an effort to save them ? Who 
 mans my lugger ? I shall want extra hands." 
 Three or four fishermen volunteered ; many, 
 however, shook their heads, declaring it would 
 be madness to attempt to board the vessel on
 
 74 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 such a night. " Let me go, father/' whispered 
 Annette^ who had just reached Pierre's side. 
 "You shall take the helm, my lass/' said 
 Pierre, divesting himself of his over-all, and 
 wrapping it round his daughter. 
 
 The entrance to the little harbour of Sainte- 
 Croix was the mouth of a small river. A 
 formidable bar of sand extended three-fourths 
 of the width of the river's mouth, leaving but 
 a very narrow and winding channel for craft to 
 pass through. To beat the lugger out in the 
 teeth of such a gale through such a narrow 
 channel required no ordinary skill. There was 
 plenty of water for the little craft over the 
 bar at this time of the tide, but an on-shore 
 gale raised such a surf in the shallow water, 
 that nothing but a life-boat could live in it. 
 Hence the necessity for keeping the channel, 
 where, owing to the greater depth the water 
 was comparatively smooth. 
 
 In a few minutes the fishing-boat was bound- 
 ing along under a try-sail and a little rag of a 
 storm-jib, quite as much, however, as she could
 
 THE STORM. 75 
 
 stagger under. So fierce was the wind that the 
 raindrops beat like hail, making Annette's face 
 smart as she steered the boat on her errand of 
 mercy. The people on the quay could not see 
 the lugger, but they could see her lantern, now 
 riding on the top of a wave, now dipping into 
 the trough of the sea. They could hear every 
 now and then the loud flapping of her sails 
 as Annette, at her father's command, put her 
 about. On one hand a rocky shore, on the 
 other a seething mass of white broken water — 
 to miss stays here were bad indeed. Pierre 
 stood forward and trimmed the little jib as he 
 shouted, a Hard a lee ! " to his daughter. It 
 was hard work for Annette, and took some 
 strength to tend the tiller. With firm hands, 
 and on the qui vive for the word of command, 
 the brave girl coaxed the lugger to windward, 
 taking advantage of every gust to keep her 
 luff, and never letting her fall away. The 
 gentle flip-flap of the foot of the trysail told 
 her to a nicety that the sails were full but that 
 the boat could lie no closer. Thev had now
 
 76 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 reached the open sea, and the drenching spray 
 came right aft as every now and then a heavy 
 sea would break over the weather-bow, making 
 the lunger sn i ver from stem to stern. The 
 crew of the vessel had seen the lugger's light, 
 and knowing that a boat had put off to their 
 assistance, kept burning blue lights and flares- 
 up, to show their whereabouts, and give light 
 to those on board the lugger. 
 
 She was a large full-rigged ship ; her after 
 canvass had been blown away, and her hawsers 
 had apparently just parted, as she was drifting 
 stern first to her doom. A minute or two 
 more and she would drift past them. Pierre 
 had fastened one end of a long line round 
 his waist, and now stood ready to throw the 
 coil of the other end on board the ship. 
 " Hard down, lass," shouted he, and the lugger 
 immediately shot up in the wind's eye, and was 
 laid-to within two or three fathoms of the 
 passing ship. Quick as thought, and with 
 wonderful dexterity, the fisherman threw the 
 line aboard, shouted to the crew to make their
 
 THE STORM. 77 
 
 end fast, and haul him on board, and the 
 instant he felt the line tauten, plunged into 
 the angry sea. For a few moments Annette 
 held her breath in fearful suspense, and great 
 was her relief when, by the aid of a ghastly 
 blue light, she saw her father drawn up over 
 the side of the vessel. Pierre safe on board, 
 Annette put about her little craft, which, with 
 eased sheets, was soon bounding back past the 
 disabled vessel towards the shelter of Sainte- 
 Croix. 
 
 The ship which Pierre had thus courage- 
 ously boarded was a transport, with a number of 
 sick and time-expired soldiers on board. The 
 most dreadful confusion prevailed, and the 
 majority of those aboard were in despair. The 
 captain inquired eagerly of Pierre what harbour 
 there was, and what could be done for the 
 safety of the ship and her living freight. 
 " Leave all to me," said Pierre, " and, with 
 God's help, I may save many lives. We must 
 cant her. Can you make any sail on her for- 
 ward ? " The after-sails having been carried
 
 78 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 away, the head- sails of the transport had been 
 taken in. An outer-jib was now, however, 
 quickly run up, and taking advantage of the 
 vessel's stern way, Pierre soon canted her, and 
 stood straight in for the sand-bar, now scarcely 
 a mile distant. " What water do you draw ? " 
 asked Pierre of the captain. " Eighteen feet 
 at least," was the reply. The fisherman knew 
 at once it was hopeless to attempt to get the 
 ship into the little port ; he, therefore, resolved 
 to run her aground on the bar as near the 
 shore as he dare. More canvass was now put 
 on the vessel to give her better steerage-way, 
 and to run her the faster upon the sand. As 
 the water became more shallow, the surf be- 
 came terrific, and more than once the ship was 
 nearly pooped, Happily for the poor creatures 
 on board, the darkness prevented their seeing 
 the terrible seas that broke over the bar. All 
 on deck prepared themselves for the momenta- 
 rily expected shock. The suspense was awful, 
 and moments seemed hours. Would she never 
 strike? Some began to hope that Pierre had
 
 THE STORM. 79 
 
 miscalculated the depth of water, and that the 
 ship would float over the bar. JSTot so the ex- 
 perienced fisherman who watched the shiftings 
 of the sand after every spring tide. " Stand 
 by ! " shouted Pierre, at the top of his voice, 
 " the next sea will put her ashore ! Hold on 
 for your lives ! " Another moment and a 
 terrific shock shook the vessel from end to 
 end ; the receding sea rushed back on either 
 side, leaving the transport hard aground. The 
 sea now broke completely over the vessel, 
 sweeping her decks from stern to bow. Many 
 of the crew had betaken themselves to the 
 rigging, whilst others had got as far forward 
 as possible to avoid the seas which kept break- 
 ing over the stern. Nothing more could be 
 done until the tide went back. Meanwhile 
 those on shore were busily preparing a basket 
 apparatus for taking off the men. Directly 
 the tide had ebbed sufficiently to admit of the 
 attempt, Pierre was hard at work endeavouring 
 to establish the basket communication between 
 the ship and the shore. For this purpose he
 
 80 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 had climbed to the main-top, and was securing 
 the end of the line which was to be sent ashore, 
 when the standing rigging suddenly gave way, 
 and the mainmast went by the board, hurling 
 Pierre and two seamen who were assisting him 
 into the raging surf, and killing or wounding 
 in its fall several of those on deck.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 RETRIBUTION. 
 
 v Air slumbers ; "wave with wave no longer strives, 
 Only a heaving of the deep survives, 
 A tell-tale motion ! Soon it will be laid, 
 And by the tide alone the water sway'd." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 After a storm comes a calm. The following 
 morning broke bright and clear on the scene of 
 the horrors of the previous night. The wind 
 had quite gone down, the sun shone warmly, 
 the sea had subsided, leaving a long rolling 
 ground swell. On the bar, however, was con- 
 clusive evidence of the anger of the elements. 
 The wreck of the once noble vessel lay fast 
 embedded in her sandy resting-place, her main 
 and mizen-masts hung over her side, her bul- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 warks were smashed in, she had opened in 
 several places, and would probably soon go to 
 pieces. Happily, however, she had held together 
 until daylight, when, by the aid of the basket 
 apparatus, the women and children had been 
 taken off. A small line had been thrown 
 ashore from the vessel by a rocket, and to this 
 line was attached a hawser, which was hauled on 
 shore by those on the rocks, the shore end of 
 the hawser being made fast, whilst the other was 
 firmly secured to the foretop of the ship. By 
 the time the women and children were all 
 taken off, the danger of further loss of life was 
 at an end. The sea had run down sufficiently 
 to admit of boats coming alongside, and many 
 of the perishable articles were got out before 
 the re-approach of high water. 
 
 The fall of the main-mast had been the only 
 fatality. Nothing had as yet been seen of the 
 bodies of Pierre and the two sailors who were 
 precipitated from the main-top. Several per- 
 sons had been injured or knocked overboard 
 by the fall of the mast and two killed, the
 
 RETRIBUTION. 83 
 
 bodies of these latter were brought ashore and 
 laid out in a room in the village cabaret. 
 
 Prompted by that morbid curiosity which 
 characterizes the class, the poor inhabitants of 
 Sainte-Croix crowded into the little room to 
 get a glimpse of the dead. Their features were, 
 however, quite unknown to them. 
 
 Through the entire night of the wreck, the 
 Lejeunes, mother and daughters, had remained 
 on the rocks watching the ill-fated vessel, 
 dreading every moment lest she should go to 
 pieces, and fearfully apprehensive for the safety 
 of the brave fisherman. And when the morn- 
 ing broke, and the tide receded, and the seas 
 broke less violently over the vessel, what heart- 
 felt thanks they gave to their God ! Little 
 thought they that the spirit of him that was 
 most dear to them, their all in all, had flown ! 
 But so it was, and when the sad news was 
 brought ashore, what grief was theirs ! 
 
 Towards mid- day a rumour reached the 
 Lejeunes that a body had been recovered. 
 They hurried to the spot, where a knot of
 
 84 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 people had already collected. It would be, 
 they felt, some consolation to recover the body 
 and imprint a last kiss on that well-loved face. 
 Alas ! it was not the body of Pierre. On a 
 rude stretcher formed of a boat's bottom-boards 
 hastily put together, lay a young man in un- 
 dress uniform. The features were slightly 
 mutilated, and the deceased had evidently been 
 struck across the head by the falling gear and 
 knocked overboard. For an instant Annette 
 gazed intently on the distorted face, a giddiness 
 came over her, and without sound or gesture 
 she fell senseless on the prostrate form. She 
 had recognized the body as that of Henri Lorin. 
 On closer examination, her mother, sister, and 
 several of the villagers assured themselves that 
 it was indeed no other than he, and the terrible 
 news was quickly on its way to the chateau. 
 The conduct of Annette had created a little 
 surprise amongst the bystanders, who, however, 
 imagined that this second fatality had been too 
 much for her nerves, already unstrung by the 
 loss of her father. Moreover, they had no time
 
 RETRIBUTION. 85 
 
 to wonder on this eventful day, and this little 
 episode was soon forgotten, and merged in the 
 great catastrophe. Grief reigned supreme at 
 Sainte- Croix. Pierre had been loved and re- 
 spected by all the inhabitants, and having re- 
 ceived a better education than those around 
 him, he had always been looked upon as an 
 authority. What a change had one wild night 
 wrought on the little cottage, where but a few 
 short hours before all seemed so prosperous ! 
 What had so short a time before been a happy 
 home, had now become but a refuge for the 
 fatherless and widow. 
 
 We will not dwell on the grief of these poor 
 creatures, or the weary anxious hours spent in 
 searching for the body. Suffice it to say, that 
 it was after two or three days recovered, and 
 was buried in the little chapelyard, whither the 
 whole population of Sainte-Croix mournfully 
 followed it. Three other bodies were consigned 
 to the earth at the same time ; those of the 
 two men killed by the mast, and that of Henri 
 Lorin. Strange fate ! On that terrible night
 
 86 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 Annette lost her best friend and her worst 
 enemy, and the remains of the brave man and 
 the cowardly betrayer of his daughter lie peace- 
 fully side by side. 
 
 The wrecked vessel proved to be a French 
 government transport bound for Cherbourg. 
 Lorin finding the climate of a hot country be- 
 ginning to tell on him, had just effected an 
 exchange into a home regiment, which he was 
 on his way to join. On nearing his destination 
 the storm came on, and by a singular coinci- 
 dence, the vessel was run aground almost within 
 sight of his own home, and that of the girl he 
 had so cruelly wronged.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 MR FILCHEr's P.P.C. 
 
 " For every inch that is not fool is rogue." 
 
 Deyden. 
 
 In the spring of the second year from the 
 occurrence of the events narrated in the last 
 chapter, Eichard Tyrrell was sitting one day in 
 his sanctum at Beechwood, when a note was 
 brought him. Hastily glancing over the 
 contents, he dismissed the servant, and putting 
 on his hat walked hastily towards the Park 
 gate, where he was met by a seedy-looking 
 individual. 
 
 " Well, Filcher, what's in the wind now ? " 
 began Richard, with an uncomfortable look. 
 (i Well, sir, the fact is I am off on a bit of
 
 88 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 a cruise, going to do a little yachting." 
 Kichard felt relieved. "I have got a situa- 
 tion as valet to Mr. Witney, the owner of the 
 schooner "Zouave/' perhaps you may have 
 heard of her ; so, as we may be away twelve 
 months or so, I thought I should like to see 
 you before starting." 
 
 "Very kind, very considerate, indeed, 
 Filcher," said Eichard, " I congratulate you 
 on having secured such a capital situation ; 
 Witney has money." Filcher looked grave. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Eichard, many of those as 'as it 
 don't know how to do good with it ! Lord, 
 sir, if you 'ad his money what a power of good 
 you would do amongst us poor ! " Eichard 
 winced ; he guessed what was coming. " This 
 hout-fittings a monstrous expensive job," con- 
 tinued Filcher, " when one goes to take a situa- 
 tion like this 'ere, one must go decent." 
 
 " Of course, of course," replied Eichard ; 
 "and if a five pound note is any use to you, 
 Filcher." 
 
 " Three fives, Mr. Eichard, if you please,"
 
 MR filcher's p.p.c. 89 
 
 suggested Filcher, insinuatingly. And three 
 fives it was eventually. After the receipt of 
 the money Filcher soon withdrew, and pro- 
 ceeded towards the town to make his purchases 
 preparatory to joining " The Zouave." 
 
 Three or four days after a magnificent yacht 
 of 150 tons might have been seen gliding 
 rapidly out of Eyde harbour before a northerly 
 breeze. Let us see who are on board. 
 
 There is the owner, George Witney, a pale 
 enervated young man, the only son of a tailor 
 who died some two years since, leaving him an 
 immense fortune. He is about seven or eight- 
 and-twenty, and is taking seemingly as much 
 pains to get rid of his money as his parent did 
 to amass it. 
 
 On this occasion he has with him but one 
 
 companion, Captain Leach, late of the th. 
 
 The captain is a constant attendant on Witney, 
 a sort of guardian angel in fact. The captain 
 has little or nothing beyond his half-pay to live 
 on, and he therefore finds it extremely com- 
 fortable and convenient to accept Witney's
 
 90 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 hospitality, although his friend's father was a 
 tailor. The captain was above such vulgar 
 prejudice ; but, at the same time, he loved to 
 patronise the young man, so far as he could do 
 so without damage to his own interests. Leach 
 was some ten or twelve years older than Wit- 
 ney. He had been in a cavalry regiment, from 
 which he retired, when retiring became the only 
 step which saved him from being kicked out. 
 Certain little irregularities in his accounts, and 
 mistakes affecting the score at various games of 
 
 chance, rendered it desirable that the th 
 
 should know him no more. Since quitting the 
 regiment, he had lived principally by his wits, 
 and never had he been in such clover as now 
 that he had the luck to fall in with George 
 Witney. He was a cool calculating fellow 
 enough naturally, but years of idleness, late 
 hours, and bad company, had set their mark on 
 him, and his passion for strong drink often got 
 the better of his judgment. 
 
 The skipper of the yacht was an intelligent 
 man of the name of Phillips, and he had for
 
 MR filcher's p.p.o. 91 
 
 mate Jem Marline, a young man of six or 
 seven-and twenty, who having served his ap- 
 prenticeship in a western pilot-boat, had de- 
 servedly earned the reputation of a smart 
 young sailor. There were besides these the 
 cook and steward, making with the eight other 
 hands a complement of twelve, exclusive of 
 Filcher, who had little or nothing to do but 
 attend on the persons of the captain and 
 AYitney. These worthies had started off on a 
 cruise they hardly knew whither. 
 
 The captain was continually pointing out to 
 his friend the necessity of being master of his 
 own ship, to take the crew on the "ground 
 hop," as he put it. " There isn't one yachts- 
 man in a hundred," Leach would remark, "that 
 is master aboard his own ship, these fellows of 
 skippers have it all their own way. Now look 
 you here, George, my boy, we'll show them 
 who's master here." 
 
 Now, the captain was right enough, and 
 Witney would have been right to show that he 
 was not to be imposed upon, but unfortunately he
 
 92 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 could not make the crew understand his senti- 
 ments in an unoffensive manner. This petty 
 despotism pleased Witney, as it made him feel 
 important, and he failed not to tyrannize over 
 his unlucky crew. 
 
 The previous night Witney and the captain 
 had been dining ashore with some friends, and 
 had returned to the yacht shortly before mid- 
 night rather the worse for liquor. Witney be- 
 ing in a bullying humour aroused the whole 
 crew, and declared his intention of getting 
 under weigh that very night. On being in- 
 formed that it would be necessary to take in a 
 supply of fresh meat, butter, milk, etc., which 
 could not possibly be procured until the follow- 
 ing morning, he postponed his departure till 
 the opening of the shops, vowing vengeance if 
 the yacht was not under weigh by the time he 
 should be up. Having instructed Phillips to 
 shape the vessel's course for Brest, he turned 
 in. Thus it was, that at ten o'clock on this 
 lovely April morning, " The Zouave " was bowl- 
 ing along towards the open channel.
 
 MR filcher's p.p.c. 93 
 
 The captain, whose recollection of Witney's 
 orders of the previous night was hazy, was not 
 a little surprised on looking out at the dead- 
 eye to see the green water rushing past as the 
 clipper tore through it at the rate of nine or 
 ten knots an hour. 
 
 " I say, George, what's up ? we are under 
 weigh ! " began he in a husky voice. " Under 
 weigh; of course we are," returned Witney; 
 " don't you remember I took 'em on the ground 
 hop last night ? " 
 
 " Ah ! to be sure," said the captain, " so you 
 did; nothing like keeping them up to the 
 mark; my throat is awfully dry somehow, 
 George. What do you say to a brandy and 
 soda?" 
 
 " I had one half-an-hour ago," replied Wit- 
 ney, " shall I order one for you ? " 
 
 The captain's answer may be guessed, and 
 presently Filcher arrived with the drink. 
 
 Filcher having only joined the previous after- 
 noon, the captain had not seen him before. 
 Leach looked hard at the valet for some mo-
 
 94 STEAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 ments, and then burst into an immoderate fit 
 of laughter. 
 
 " What, c 'Zekiel/ you here ! " exclaimed he, 
 " well, I'm bles't, if this don't lick cock fight- 
 ing ! " 
 
 " At your service, cap'n ! " said that polite 
 domestic, with a grin of satisfaction. 
 
 After the death of Mr. John Tyrrell, Filcher 
 had, amongst other situations, filled that of 
 messman to the th ; and as it was gene- 
 rally believed in the regiment that Leach and 
 the messman had " squared " little matters on 
 certain occasions, the dismissal of the one fol- 
 lowed rapidly on the retirement of the other. 
 
 Witney was unacquainted with the particulars 
 of the gallant captain's retirement, and knew 
 nothing about Filcher having been messman to 
 
 the th. He therefore learnt with extreme 
 
 satisfaction that he had procured an invaluable 
 domestic in Filcher. 
 
 H Chuck this away, 'Zekiel," said the captain, 
 pointing to the brandy and soda, * and make 
 us one of those cunning drinks for which you
 
 MR filcher's p.p.c. 95 
 
 were so famous, a regular corpse-revivor, you 
 know." 
 
 " That fellow is worth his weight in gold," 
 continued Leach, "you are a lucky fellow, 
 George, to come across him; makes the best 
 pick-me-up I ever drank, a useful knave in 
 every respect, I warrant you." 
 
 Filcher soon appeared with the cunning mix- 
 ture, which was voted excellent by these parch- 
 ed heroes ; so effectual, indeed, did the pick- 
 me-up prove, that by mid-clay (after an hour 
 or more on deck) the captain thought he could 
 " do " a little breakfast ; so a dainty little meal 
 was served, and with the aid of sundry provo- 
 catives and a toothful of prime cognac, the 
 yachtsmen did fair justice to the viands. 
 
 Witney and Leach both professed to love 
 sport ; in reality one was as little a sportsman 
 as the other. All Leach's successes had been 
 accomplished abroad, and he had some won- 
 derful stories on all sorts of sporting topics. 
 If the ownership of a quantity of rifles, guns, 
 rods, and gear of all descriptions constitute a
 
 96 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 sportsman, Witney should have been at the top 
 of the tree ; none of his implements, however, 
 showed much wear, and if there is any cruelty 
 in fishing or shooting, it must, in Witney's case 
 at least, have been infinitesimal. Salmon-fish- 
 ing was the idea now. " Where could they get 
 some salmon-fishing ? " enquired Witney. 
 
 " Now look you here, George, my boy," be- 
 gan the captain, "if its salmon-fishing you're 
 after, I remember when we were in Canada." 
 
 " Oh, Canada be ! " replied Witney, 
 
 " I've heard that story three times lately ; be- 
 sides I want to get at it at once. There are 
 lots of salmon nearer than Canada." 
 
 " Ask Filcher," suggested Leach. 
 
 " What the devil does Filcher know about 
 salmon-fishing ? " continued Witney, who was 
 growing irascible. 
 
 " My dear George," urged Leach, " you little 
 know what a treasure you possess in my old 
 acquaintance 'Zekiel ; he used to be regarded in 
 the regiment as a walking encyclopedia." 
 
 " Here, Filcher ! " shouted, he as that worthy's
 
 97 
 
 head was disappearing down the companion, 
 "Is there any good salmon-fishing on the 
 French coast ? " 
 
 " Salmon-fishing, sir ! " replied Filcher, "cele- 
 brated for it, sir ! hardly a stream running into 
 the sea but what's full on 'em, more especially 
 on the coasts of Normandy and Brittany." 
 
 Leach looked triumphantly at his companion. 
 
 " I think I could show you some excellent 
 sport, if you will take my recommendation," 
 continued the valet. " I once travelled with a 
 
 gentleman who had capital sport on the D 
 
 river." 
 
 " I suppose you can gaff a fish then ? " en- 
 quired Leach. 
 
 " And tie flies ? " asked Witney. 
 
 " And splice a rod? " continued the captain. 
 
 Filcher remembered the time when all this 
 was child's play to him, and did not doubt but 
 that he might still be able to turn his hand to 
 account. 
 
 Early on the following morning they anchored 
 at Brest, where the yachtwas replenished with 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 dairy produce, and Witney purchased some 
 maps of the neighbouring country showing the 
 different streams. Phillips retained their French 
 pilot, and on the following day they got under 
 weigh on their " coasting " expedition.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S MISHAP. 
 
 " We may say of angling as Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, ' Doubt- 
 less God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never 
 did ; ' and so, if I might be judge, God never did make a more calm, 
 quiet, innocent recreation than fishing." 
 
 Isaak Walton— The Complete Angler. 
 
 Wherever there was snug anchorage . the 
 " Zouave " would drop her anchor, and our 
 enthusiasts, attended by Filcher, would set off 
 for the nearest river. As yet they had not 
 succeeded in landing a fish ; their luck seemed 
 to be dead out. That there were plenty of 
 fish in the rivers was certain, as they had seen 
 them almost everywhere but out of the water. 
 Witney, by his own account, had "moved " 
 three or four, and hooked one, which of course 
 got off. The captain vowed he had been on to
 
 100 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 a big fish for more than an hour, when he lost 
 him in some extraordinary and unaccountable 
 manner. 
 
 Their plan was for Witney to fish one run 
 and Leach another, Filcher being posted half- 
 way between them, so as to be ready if re- 
 quired. This idea originated with Filcher, who 
 laid much stress on the importance of having 
 some one who knew how to use the gaff. As 
 the sailor who carried the refreshments had 
 as much idea of gaffing a salmon as riding a 
 steeple-chase, it would manifestly have been 
 very unfair for Filcher to have given his valu- 
 able services to one only of the fishermen. 
 
 Another great point that Filcher insisted on 
 was to keep away from the river out of sight 
 of the fish. Accordingly 'Zekiel and Jack 
 (who was voted fit for nothing but carrying 
 the provisions) used to retire some fifty paces 
 from the river (just out of reach of the flies), 
 lay down amongst the high bracken, out with 
 the lunch, and amuse themselves according to 
 the bent of their inclination.
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S MISHAP. 101 
 
 If the weather was warm, they generally 
 indulged in a nap, their somnolency being 
 doubtless produced by the lulling murmuring 
 noise of the river, and the composing influence 
 of the liquor, of which a good supply was in- 
 variably taken. At other times they would loll 
 about and blow their 'baccy, and laugh at the 
 unsuccessful exertions of their energetic master 
 and his friend. 
 
 On the third or fourth morning of the fishing 
 expedition, the party were engaged as above 
 described. Filcher, having refreshed himself 
 to his heart's content, had stretched himself 
 out for a nap, but Jack, who had no inclina- 
 tion to sleep that morning himself, was not much 
 entertained by the music which proceeded from 
 his companion as he lay, with his mouth open, 
 on his back at full length. 
 
 " Get up, you fool," said Jack, giving the 
 prostrate Filcher a hearty kick, " you be going 
 to sleep ; you'll be wanted directly." 
 
 " Asleep ! Nonsense ! " replied 'Zekiel, get- 
 ting up and rubbing his eyes, and lustily
 
 102 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 denying the fact, though he had been snoring 
 violently for the past quarter of an hour. 
 
 u Wanted ! " continued he derisively, " No 
 trees about here, are there ? and not many 
 rocks in the river. I brought 'em here 'cause 
 they shouldn't 'itch their lines up." 
 
 " But supposing either on 'em should 'ook a 
 fish ? " suggested Jack. 
 
 " Fish ! " replied Mr. Filcher with great 
 contempt, " fish ! if I a'int wanted till one of 
 them 'ooks a salmon, I'm right. Just give 
 that there bottle a push this way, Jack." 
 
 Mr. Filcher having had a glass of wine, 
 changed the conversation. 
 
 " That's not bad sherry," he began, " 'ardly 
 dry enough, perhaps, but I don't quarrel with 
 it." 
 
 " Dry enough ! " exclaimed Jack, " Why, 
 'Zekiel, you beant half awake. How can drink 
 be dry ? If a pal means standing, he says to 
 me, says he, let's turn in here, Jack, and have 
 a wet; don't he?" 
 
 Filcher felt it would be hopeless to try to
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S MISHAP. 103 
 
 explain the term to his companion, so he 
 merely passed the bottle back in silence, with 
 an air of superiority. Jack, curious to see this 
 dry-wet, as he termed it, took a gulp, but spit 
 it all out. 
 
 Poor Sherry that ! " cried he, " I don't be- 
 lieve there's a drop of spirit in it." 
 
 Filcher had just composed himself for a 
 second nap, when another lusty kick from Jack 
 disturbed his equanimity. 
 
 " Shiver my timbers if there 'ain't something 
 up ! " Here 'Zekiel, get up — look sharp ! " 
 shouted Jack, applying his toe a second time 
 to the carcase of the unfortunate valet, " here's 
 the guv'ner a 'ollering and the cap'en a run- 
 ning — come, look sharp, I say, and bring that 
 boat-hook of your'n along with you." 
 
 Witney had hooked a salmon. The fact of 
 the matter was, that wearied with flogging the 
 stream, he had sat down on a rock to rest, with 
 his great two-handed rod over his shoulder, and 
 the line in the running water. He was sitting 
 with his back to the stickle watching the exer-
 
 104 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 tions of Leach, who was industriously flogging 
 away about two hundred yards up stream of 
 him, when he was greatly surprised by a sudden 
 jerk and a tremendous splashing. What with 
 the jerk and turning round quickly to learn the 
 cause of the splashing, he nearly lost his balance, 
 and fell off the rock on which he was seated. 
 However, he recovered himself, and saw to his 
 delight the line travelling about the pool, and 
 the quivering of the top piece. He was sure he 
 had a fish, but he felt much surprised that the 
 fish did not use more exertion to get away ; he 
 thought the salmon must be a very small one, 
 and that it would redound more to his credit 
 to kill the fish unassisted than with the aid of 
 Filcher's gaff. With this idea he put his hand 
 to the winch, and was just going to wind him 
 in, when " whish " went the reel, as the salmon 
 made such a run as only a clean fish can. 
 
 If Witney thought he had but a small fish on 
 before, he was now quite as firmly convinced 
 that it was a " whopper " ; he therefore shouted 
 to Filcher, Leach, and Jack, with all his might.
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S MISHAP. 105 
 
 The captain had put down his rod, and arrived 
 about the same time as the others. The ex- 
 citement was intense. " Isn't he a beauty ? " 
 said Witney, proudly, to the captain, as the fish, 
 somewhat exhausted with his run, came slowly 
 towards the surface, looking as yellow as a 
 guinea. 
 
 " He seems a tidy fish," answered the cap- 
 tain, who to tell the truth was rather annoyed 
 at the prospect of his companion's landing the 
 first fish," but, " Lord bless you, when we were 
 in Canada — " 
 
 " Come, come, old fellow," replied Witney, 
 " let's kill the fish, and I promise to listen to 
 the story afterwards." 
 
 It was not the fault of honest Jack that the 
 salmon was killed. Immediately the fish be- 
 came visible under the surface of the water, he 
 threw at him the biggest pebble he could find, 
 
 and pronouncing his effort — " a fine shot/' 
 
 was going to repeat the performance on the 
 next opportunity, had he not been cautioned by 
 Filcher against such atrocities. The effect of
 
 106 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 Jack's " fine shot " was another splendid run on 
 the part of the salmon, ending with a clear jump 
 of three feet or more out of the water. Had he 
 not been unusually firmly hooked, Witney must 
 have lost him. More, however, by good luck 
 than good management, the tackle held, and 
 the threatened dissolution of partnership was 
 averted. 
 
 Witney was standing on a rock in mid-stream, 
 and in order to bring the fish into a place where 
 he could be gaffed, he had to spring from stone 
 to stone to gain the bank. The captain, in his 
 excitement had, by stepping from one rock to 
 another, got as close to Witney as he could 
 without wetting his feet, of which he had an 
 infinite horror. He was standing looking over 
 into the pool beneath, when Witney jumping 
 quickly on to an adjoining rock, slipped his foot 
 on some wet moss growing on the boulder, and 
 in his anxiety to save himself, with his unen- 
 cumbered hand grasped at the nearest support. 
 His outstretched arm came in contact with 
 the unfortunate captain, who was precipitated
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S MISHAP. 107 
 
 into the pool beneath, where he and the fast 
 expiring salmon floundered about in equal dis- 
 tress. Knowing that his companion could 
 swim, and that he was in no danger, Witney 
 thought only of securing the fish, which being, 
 after one or two attempts, successfully landed, 
 Filcher was despatched to the lower end of the 
 pool to gaff the captain, who had been borne 
 down by the current. 
 
 After some trouble Leach was dragged out, 
 execrating fearfully, having received no injuries 
 but a wetting and two or three prods, occasioned 
 by the zealous Filcher's ineffectual attempts to 
 gaff him. After a long pull at the brandy- 
 bottle the gallant captain revived, but his un- 
 expected immersion rendered a return home ne- 
 cessary. Neither Witney nor Leach were very 
 good tempered for the rest of the day. The 
 captain was exceedingly annoyed at having been 
 knocked into the river, and Witney cursed the 
 accident as having curtailed the day's sport.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SOMETHING BETTER THAN SALMON. 
 
 " Hush ! my dear, lie still and slumber ; 
 Holy angels guard thy bed ; 
 Heav'nly blessings without number 
 Gently falling on thy head." 
 
 Watts — A Cradle Hymn. 
 
 The young men did not remain long at any of 
 the different streams, but coasted along in 
 search of still better waters. Filcher had in- 
 formed them of a magnificent salmon river 
 further to the southward, and, the weather 
 being bright and unpromising for sport, the 
 following day was devoted to getting to the 
 harbour, from which this much vaunted stream 
 was most accessible. On the same night, 
 though somewhat late, the " Zouave " dropped
 
 SOMETHING BETTER THAN SALMON. 109 
 
 her anchor amongst the boats belonging to the 
 fishermen of Sainte-Croix. Great was the sur- 
 prise and excitement of the natives of that 
 quiet village on seeing the strange form of the 
 handsome raking craft early on the following 
 morning, and various were the conjectures as to 
 the object of her visit. For a yacht to enter 
 Sainte-Croix was quite an event, but such a 
 yacht as the "Zouave " the good folks could not 
 have believed walked the water. 
 
 The sportsmen were up betimes, and having 
 run the gauntlet of the curious inhabitants, hired 
 a couple of animals, and rode away towards the 
 river, which was a few miles distant from the 
 village. Annette and Christine naturally peeped 
 out between the blinds at the illustrious stran- 
 gers. The weather was still bright and hot, and 
 as far as sport was concerned the gentlemen 
 might as well have stayed at home ; but as we 
 before stated, our sportsmen had more zeal than 
 experience. Now the captain was very jealous 
 of Witney since he had caught the first fish, 
 and this feeling was not diminished by the cold
 
 1 10 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 bath which he unintentionally took on that 
 occasion. Great was his inward delight then, 
 when, with a succession of oaths, his fellow - 
 piscator (who had got foul of a rock) announced 
 the smash of his rod, and his intention of giv- 
 ing up for the day. Now was Leach's chance ! 
 He had the river to himself, and whilst pre- 
 tending to sympathize with his companion's 
 misfortune, he chuckled within himself, and 
 thought how industriously he would flog every 
 likely run, buoyed up by the hope of beating 
 his rival ! 
 
 Having done ample justice to the lunch, Wit- 
 ney rode slowly towards Sainte-Croix, inwardly 
 praying that the captain might not be lucky 
 enough to catch a fish. 
 
 Returning the horse to the person from whom 
 he had been borrowed, Witney walked towards 
 the shore with the intention of hailing the 
 yacht, which was lying farther off the shore than 
 the bulk of the fishing boats. To gain the 
 nearest point to his vessel Witney strolled past 
 the quay, and along the rocky shore, and was
 
 SOMETHING BETTER THAN SALMON. Ill 
 
 searching for a convenient place for his dingy 
 to put in, when he caught sight of a female 
 figure seated on the rocks within a few paces of 
 where he stood. An agreeable contrast to the 
 uncouth peasantry, to which the young man's 
 eyes were fast growing accustomed, was this 
 fair young form. How fresh and fair she looked 
 after the Breton and Norman peasants ! She 
 appeared about seventeen years of age — a 
 beautiful bud bursting as it were into the full 
 blossom of womanhood. Her dress was black 
 and simple, but very different withal from the 
 garb of the poorest classes. There was a neat- 
 ness and style about the girl which Witney 
 could not have believed to exist in these out-of- 
 the-way places. Never had the native head- 
 dress seemed becoming before. 
 
 Unconscious of his presence, the girl sat with 
 her elbow on her knee, and her little chin rest- 
 ing on the palm of her hand, watching the 
 scene, and seemingly lost in admiration of the 
 "Zouave," which was airing some of her snowy 
 canvass in the evening breeze. The girl's light
 
 112 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 brown tresses played about her neck, discovering 
 more than one shade, as the radiance of the set- 
 ting sun fell upon them. Concealing himself 
 from her view, the better to feast his eyes on the 
 fair girl, Witney wondered within himself who 
 she could be. 
 
 " A luscious morsel," muttered he, " what a 
 pity for her to waste her sweetness on the desert 
 air ! By Jove ! I'll go and speak to her." 
 
 Hardly, however, had he taken two paces 
 forwards, when it suddenlv occurred to him that 
 the fair creature's knowledge of his language 
 was probably as limited as his of French. His 
 footstep, however, had aroused her from her 
 reverie, and it was too late to draw back. 
 
 " Pardon, Mam'selle ! " began Witney, lifting 
 his hat as he brushed close past her, under pre- 
 tence of getting close to the water's edge to hail 
 the yacht. 
 
 Christine (for it was Madame Lejeune's 
 younger daughter) rose from the rock on which 
 she had been sitting, and moved aside to make 
 more room for Witney to pass. That gentleman
 
 SOMETHING BETTER THAN SALMON. 113 
 
 was sorely tempted to enter into such a conver- 
 sation with the young girl as his knowledge of 
 the language would have permitted, but suddenly 
 seemed to think better of it, and placing his 
 whistle to his lips, he blew a shrill blast, which 
 was instantly heard on board the "Zouave," 
 and in a few moments his boat was on its way 
 towards him. 
 
 The^sight of this young girl had a great effect 
 on Witney, and he longed for the return of the 
 captain, that he might talk over her beauty, and 
 conjecture as to who she possibly could be. 
 That she was not a mere peasant girl he felt 
 assured. 
 
 Since their father's death Annette and 
 Christine had more than ever been cared for 
 by Madame Lorin ; the melancholy circum- 
 stances of the fate of Henri and Pierre seemed 
 to bind the association between the bereaved 
 mother and the fatherless girls, and Annette 
 and Christine were educated as her own girl 
 Julie. 
 
 On this evening Christine having got over 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 her day's work had strolled out to have a peep 
 at the beautiful yacht. Such a sight was quite 
 novel to her ; she could hardly believe such a 
 beautiful craft could be the property of one 
 man, and kept merely for purposes of pleasure. 
 
 About two hours after Witney had got on 
 board the captain returned in great glee. He 
 had got a nice salmon, and vowed that by the 
 most cursed ill-luck he had lost another, which, 
 of course, was twice, if not three times as heavy 
 as the one he had killed. Leach's equanimity 
 was perfectly restored, and his ducking quite 
 forgotten. He was relating his exploits to his 
 companion in the state cabin that night, when 
 Witney, whose thoughts were evidently far 
 away from fishing, suddenly broke in with, "Oh, 
 curse the salmon, old man ! I came across some- 
 thing to-day worth all the fish in the H" 
 
 river a hundred times over." 
 
 " Indeed ? " asked Leach, pretending to feel 
 intensely interested ; " what on earth was it, 
 George ? " 
 
 " A. petticoat," laconically answered Witney."
 
 SOMETHING BETTER THAN SALMON. 115 
 
 The captain's pretended interest instantly 
 became genuine, 
 
 " Come, come, George ! " said he, " I can't 
 believe that you have seen in these out-of-the- 
 way parts a woman who could have interested 
 you." 
 
 " Fact ! " replied Witney. "Leach ! I must 
 have that girl." The captain gave a low whistle, 
 indicative of his surprise at Witney's suscepti- 
 bility. 
 
 " I think it might be managed," continued 
 Witney ; "let me have the benefit of your 
 advice." 
 
 " Well," said Leach, " if you are really de- 
 termined to have this girl, whoever she may be, 
 the thing must be done quietly." 
 
 " Stratagem, I suppose ? " asked Witney. 
 
 "Decidedly ; " returned the captain, " my ad- 
 vice is to tell Filcher the state of the case, and 
 leave it to him." The valet was called into 
 the state-cabin, and soon put in possession of 
 the facts of the case. The omniscient Filcher 
 seemed to know the young lady in question ;
 
 116 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 lie had, he said, seen her in the village; and the 
 three entered into a consultation which proved 
 no good to the poor girl. 
 
 The next evening Christine was taking her 
 walk on the shore when she was met by Mr. 
 Eilcher, who, in his best French, asked her to 
 inform him who, in the village, could supply the 
 yacht with milk, butter, and eggs. 
 
 As the girl turned to reply Filcher started. 
 Perhaps he was astonished at her beauty, or at 
 her replying to him in English. He instantly 
 recovered his equanimity, however. Christine 
 had guessed by his accent that he was an 
 Englishman, and therefore had answered him 
 in his native tongue, of which, thanks to her 
 intimacy with Madame Lorin, she had a very 
 fair knowledge. 
 
 Christine informed him that her mother 
 would gladly supply the articles required, add- 
 ing, that she would herself take him to her 
 mother's house. 
 
 On arriving at Madame Lejeune's the valet 
 purchased the articles which he professed to
 
 SOMETHING BETTER THAN SALMON. 117 
 
 want, and asked for a receipt, which was given 
 him, signed "Marie Lejeune." Filcher rubbed 
 his eyes as if doubtful whether he was awake, and 
 having satisfied himself on the point, pocketed 
 the receipt, and bade Madame good day. 
 
 The supply of dairy produce purchased by 
 Filcher being considerable, the good-natured 
 Christine volunteered to lend him a hand in 
 carrying them down to the quay. Filcher 
 praised the yacht and her fittings, and asked 
 Christine if she were ever on board a vessel like 
 the " Zouave." Christine never had been on 
 board a vessel of this class, and much longed 
 to go. Filcher assured her that this was a 
 capital opportunity for her, as his master and 
 his companion were both ashore, and would not 
 be back for two hours or more. The yacht's 
 boat was alongside the quay, and, tempted by 
 curiosity, and overcome by the persuasions of 
 Filcher, the girl stepped into the boat, and was 
 quickly rowed alongside. 
 
 Witney and the captain, who had been 
 watching the proceedings through the tele-
 
 118 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 scope from one of the ports of the state-cabin, 
 on seeing the approach of the boat with 
 Christine, immediately retired to their sleeping 
 cabins. The whole plot had been well and 
 deeply laid. Phillips had been sent to his 
 cabin with orders to consult the charts and lay 
 the ship's course, as Witney intended to get 
 under weigh that night. The two men who 
 had been sent in the boat had been well plied 
 with grog by Filcher after they got on board. 
 The rest of the crew knew not whether the 
 young lady had not come on board to take a 
 cruise of her own free will. Whichever was 
 the case, it could be no business of theirs. 
 
 Christine was escorted by Filcher all over 
 the vessel. Her surprise at the luxury and 
 convenience of everything on board knew no 
 bounds, and the artful valet took care to in- 
 terest her by explaining the use of every article. 
 The evening was very fine, and the gentle 
 breeze from the land scarcely ruffled the sur- 
 face of the water. Having shipped her moorings 
 (she was merely fast to the moorings of one of
 
 SOMETHING BETTER THAN SALMON. 119 
 
 the fishing-boats) the " Zouave " stole quietly 
 and quickly away before the fine breeze, and 
 so smoothly did she glide through the water, 
 that no one could have imagined she was under 
 weigh. After a deal of persuasion Filcher 
 persuaded Christine to take a glass of sherry. 
 This done his task was easy enough, the opiate 
 he had put in it being sufficient to ensure un- 
 consciousness for the next three or four hours 
 at least. 
 
 The drug soon did its work, and in less than 
 a quarter of an hour the resistless form of the 
 fair girl was laid in the berth of the little cabin 
 in which she was destined to pass this and 
 many succeeding nights. Filcher's arduous 
 task being over, he hastened to apprise his 
 master of his complete success, of which he 
 had ample evidence, by showing him the un- 
 fortunate Christine, as she lay in blissful igno- 
 rance of the evil that had befallen her, in the 
 little narrow berth. So bewitching was the 
 sight, that the libertine could not resist calling 
 his companion to share his ecstasy.
 
 120 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 "There!" cried Witney triumphantly, "Did 
 I not tell you she was worth all the salmon in 
 the world ? " The captain said nothing, but 
 his bloodshot eyes eagerly devoured the fair 
 form and sweet innocent countenance. 
 
 The breeze freshened, the clipper tore 
 through the water with the wind on her 
 quarter ; the shores of Normandy were fast 
 fading in the approaching darkness, all was 
 still and lonely. The " Zouave " was bound 
 for the North Sea.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TWO OVER- WORKED STUDENTS. 
 
 Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, 
 
 When thought is speech and speech is truth." 
 
 Sco tt — Marmion. 
 
 Shortly after attaining his seventeenth year, 
 our young friend Paul Tyrrell had been articled 
 to a firm of solicitors at the neighbouring sea- 
 port town of Westhampton, distant some nine 
 or ten miles from Beechwood. Messrs Hook- 
 ham & Land had been the legal advisers of the 
 family for a number of years, and enjoyed a 
 pretty extensive practice in Westhampton and 
 its vicinity. 
 
 In few professions, if any, are you more 
 independent than in that of the law. You are 
 not liable to be ordered about from place to
 
 122 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 place like unfortunate soldiers and sailors, or to 
 be disturbed at unholy hours like doctors. You 
 close your office at a certain hour ; and if any 
 one wants to see you after that hour, he can 
 call again to-morrow, he knows what time the 
 office will be open. Clients do not require half 
 so much personal attention as patients. You 
 can go away for a month's time (leaving your 
 business in the hands of a competent managing 
 man) without damaging your practice in the 
 least. The army is all very well for young men 
 with plenty of money, who can afford to spend 
 £700 or £800 a year and their pay, and ex- 
 change out of a regiment ordered to any un- 
 healthy or undesirable station ; but still there 
 must be the sense of not being one's own 
 master. The same objection applies to the 
 navy. In short, the legal gentleman who 
 practises on his own account, with a sharp, 
 trustworthy business-like managing clerk under 
 him, and with a fair connection, has a decidedly 
 good billet. 
 
 Paul was "reading for the law." Before
 
 TWO OVER-WORKED STUDENTS. 123 
 
 being allowed to practise for himself, a young 
 man has to serve under articles of clerkship for 
 five years, and (now-a-days) to pass an exami- 
 nation. Eeading was, as may be imagined, for 
 the first four years at least, entirely a fiction, 
 and Paul had, like most other law-students, a 
 very easy time of it. 
 
 In the same office as Paul was another 
 articled clerk of about the same standing, by 
 name Philip Eattle, a good-tempered, jovial, 
 careless dog, who liked to enjoy his life and see 
 others enjoy theirs. 
 
 These two were fast friends, indeed, such 
 " chums " had they become that they lodged 
 together, Paul having persuaded Battle to take 
 up his abode at the lodging-house of Mrs. 
 Betsy Curtis, a good old creature who had 
 nursed Paul in his infancy, and had been in his 
 father's service for a great number of years. 
 "When Paul and his sister no longer required 
 a nurse, and Mrs. Curtis had reached an age 
 which prevented her doing much household 
 work, Mr. Tyrrell had assisted her in taking a
 
 124 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 house in Westhampton, which she now let out 
 in furnished apartments. Naturally, therefore, 
 Paul became old Betsy's lodger, his father being 
 glad to put him under such safe keeping, and 
 Rattle found his friend's " digging," as he 
 called it, so much more comfortable than his 
 own, that he soon removed his Penates to the 
 house of the kind old widow. 
 
 Both these young gentlemen were of a trou- 
 blesome age, and the poor old lady had her 
 work cut out to keep them in order. Fre- 
 quently she would wring her hands and regret 
 the premature decease of " Curtis — poor, dear 
 man " — feeling how far better equal he would 
 have been to the task. 
 
 " Mr. Paul," she would say, "was bad enough 
 in all conscience ; but Mr. Eattle, he was a 
 proper young limb." Many were the practical 
 jokes which this young worthy used to play on 
 poor old Betsy, — concealing her wig, and set- 
 ting innumerable booby-traps to ensnare the 
 poor old soul. She made every allowance, how- 
 ever, for the eccentricities of youth, and took
 
 TWO OVER- WORKED STUDENTS. 125 
 
 these pranks in good part. Her conscience, 
 however, could not permit her young lodgers 
 to have a latch-key, consequently she was 
 frequently disturbed at unholy hours of the 
 night. 
 
 Let us see how these hard-working young 
 students pass their evenings. 
 
 Whilst their fond mammas at home are pic- 
 turing to themselves their dutiful sons plodding 
 away at dreadfully dry books, with a wet towel 
 round the head, and anxiously praying that 
 their health may not suffer from over-study, 
 Mr. Philip Rattle and Mr. Paul Tyrrell are thus 
 employed. The former, seated in a comfortable 
 arm-chair, with his heels resting on Mrs. Cur- 
 tis's mantel-piece, calmly watches the smoke of 
 his cigar, which for want of something better 
 to do he blows from his mouth in rings ; the 
 latter stretched at full length on the sofa, is 
 lazily scanning the contents of the evening 
 paper. A short meerschaum pipe adorns his 
 mouth. There is beer on the table, but both 
 seem too indolent to help themselves. They
 
 126 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 did not often trouble the office before eleven 
 o'clock, and their hours of attendance were by 
 no means regular. 
 
 Mr. Land, however, was an easy going sort of 
 gentleman, and made no comment on this want 
 of punctuality ; and as the senior partner, Mr. 
 Hookham, never arrived before a quarter after 
 eleven, there was no occasion for any unseemly 
 hurry in the morning. And here we must, to 
 a certain extent, justify the proceedings of these 
 young gentlemen. There is a wide difference 
 between the salaried clerk and an articled clerk. 
 The time of the latter is his own, that of the 
 former belongs to his employer. The articled 
 clerk pays (or has paid for him) a large sum of 
 money, in consideration of which he is to be 
 taught the profession of an attorney-at-law, and 
 a solicitor of the High Court of Chancery. The 
 articled clerk has the run of the office, but the 
 gentlemen who pocket the premium do not, as 
 a rule, put themselves much out of the way to 
 instruct their pupils. 
 
 Many seem to have an idea that their craft
 
 TWO OVER-WORKED STUDENTS. 127 
 
 is to be taught by employing their articled clerks 
 in fair copying, and therefore require them to 
 do what a mere salaried clerk would do much 
 better. Paul and his friend very properly ob- 
 jected to being made menials, and Messrs. 
 Hookham & Land ' soon found out that the 
 services of their pupils would not enable them 
 to economize in the matter of clerks. Both 
 young men had served about two years of their 
 articles, and if they took matters easy at the 
 office, they took them, if possible, easier at home, 
 for the dread of an impending examination was 
 unknown in those days. 
 
 Eattle as well as Paul was passionately fond 
 of the water, and between them they kept a 
 small pleasure boat of about six tons. During 
 the summer months they were cruising nearly 
 every day, and by constant experience had 
 really learnt to manage their little craft in a 
 very creditable manner. 
 
 Mr. Eattle was au fait at most things, and 
 was always (in his own opinion at least) mak- 
 ing conquests of the sex. This evening he
 
 128 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 is treating Paul to an account of some little 
 amourette of which he was the hero, and whilst 
 he is spinning his yarn let us see what has be- 
 come of the " Zouave."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE MUTINY. 
 
 " The man that lays bis band upon a woman 
 Save in tbe way of kindness, is a wretch 
 Whom 'twere gross flattery to name a coward." 
 
 Tobix — Honeymoon. 
 
 The yacht's course had been shaped for the ex- 
 treme north of Scotland, and being well pro- 
 visioned no port was touched. North, still 
 north, past the Orkneys, the Shetlands, and 
 Faroe, into the wild North Sea. Little traffic 
 is there here compared to that of more southern 
 waters. Save perhaps a few Scotch fishing 
 smacks, or an occasional whaler, no sail meets 
 the eye. A dreary expanse of water is that 
 between Thorshaven and the coast of Iceland, 
 A few hours after the coast of Normandy had 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 130 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 been left astern, poor Christine had recovered 
 her senses only to find how cruelly she had 
 been ensnared. 
 
 Young and innocent as she was, she was 
 quite at a loss to understand why she had been 
 thus treated. Alone, amongst some fifteen or 
 sixteen rough men, and those men foreigners, 
 cooped up in her little cabin, her situation would 
 have enlisted the sympathy of any but the 
 heartless libertines who had compassed her de- 
 struction. 
 
 No wonder that she could neither eat nor sleep. 
 Happily her previous life had accustomed her 
 to the motion of sea-going vessels, and she was 
 at least free from the horrors of sea-sickness. 
 After all what is bodily suffering to mental agony ? 
 "With an aching heart, poor Christine thought of 
 the anguish which her mysterious disappearance 
 must be causing her dear mother and sister. 
 
 The poor young girl had been subjected to 
 the brutal insults of Witney ; she had repulsed 
 his overtures with becoming indignation ; no 
 violence had as yet been offered, but she was in
 
 THE MUTINY. 131 
 
 constant dread of what would happen next. 
 She had now been on board five days, during 
 which time she had scarcely left her cabin. 
 One friend, however, had she found amongst 
 the yacht's crew — Jem Marline — the mate. 
 Under pretence of seeing to her comfort, the 
 honest young fellow had introduced himself to 
 her, and from her received a confirmation of 
 that which he had previously suspected. Jem 
 was not the man to stand by and see a woman 
 outraged, and great was his delight to find that 
 poor Christine could speak and understand his 
 own lingo. He lost no time in telling her that 
 Witney was a most unprincipled scoundrel — 
 that he had carried her off with the intention of 
 accomplishing her ruin, and had shaped the 
 yacht's course to these unfrequented w r aters to 
 avoid pursuit and possible detection. Christine 
 could understand but little of Jem's conversa- 
 tion, owing to his broad county accent ; but 
 she gathered enough to learn what she had to 
 dread, and that Jem was her friend. 
 
 " Aboard this 'ere craft," says Jem, " tisn't
 
 132 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 6 one and all/ as we say in Cornwall ; the 
 guv'ner he's got his mates, and there's me as 
 has got my mates, but there's four or five new 
 hands along with us, and I can't hardly tell who 
 they'd mate with. But never you fear, miss, 
 Jem Marline won't see a craft in distress and 
 never heave her so much as a tow-line, and if 
 that 'ere blackguard tries to run into you, I 
 knows one as '11 damage his figure-head." 
 
 The greater part of this was Greek to Chris- 
 tine, but Jem's gesticulations spoke more strong- 
 ly than his words, and the girl felt assured that 
 he would stand by her. 
 
 And now the coast of Iceland was in sight, 
 and bleak and inhospitable it looked. The 
 snow-capped summit of Hekla was visible in the 
 distance, and, still far off as they were from 
 land, the snow appeared to lie right down to the 
 water's edge ; but on nearing the island, how- 
 ever, they found that the snow in reality lay on 
 the tops of precipitous cliffs some 800 or 900 
 feet above the sea-level. A strange sight, indeed, 
 is the first view of the Icelandic coast. Here
 
 THE MUTINY. 133 
 
 and there may be seen a huge whale "blowing" 
 a column of water to a height of thirty or forty 
 feet. Myriads of aquatic birds are swimming 
 in all directions. The cut- water of the "Zouave" 
 almost strikes them as she glides through the 
 water, which is so clear that to a great depth 
 may be seen the divers, guillemots, and ducks 
 diving to avoid the intruding vessel. Great 
 splashes here and there betray the descent of 
 the gannets, or solan geese, as they drop per- 
 pendicularly on their unsuspecting prey. Far- 
 ther off may be observed a flock of these birds 
 presenting the appearance of a snow storm, each 
 bird appearing no larger than a flake. The 
 noise of the various birds is deafening ; here, 
 indeed, nature reigns supreme. At intervals the 
 yacht passes a huge inaccessible rock, glistening 
 white as snow, so thickly is it covered with the 
 refuse of the feathered tribe by which it is so 
 densely populated — the home of the gannet, 
 the cormorant, the eider-duck, the guillemot, 
 the gull, the diver, the puffin, the razor-bill, 
 the rock dove, the oyster-catcher, and the tern.
 
 134 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 Safe indeed are their nests from the intrusion 
 of man ! Well may the spectator exclaim, 
 " How wonderful are Thy works, O Lord ! " 
 
 Witney evidently had not chosen these out- 
 of-the-way waters out of mere curiosity. 
 
 The crew, however, did not appreciate the 
 voyage they were undertaking — to be a whole 
 week perhaps on blue water did not suit them. 
 A general feeling of discontent sprang up, and 
 they began to consult with one another as to 
 the probable length of the cruise, and their 
 destination. Jem Marline observed this, and 
 resolved to take advantage of their disaffection. 
 He knew that to protect this poor girl, as he 
 had determined to do, would be an act of 
 mutiny, that Witney would order him to be 
 confined, and that unless he could get the bulk 
 of the crew on his side, it would fare badly with 
 him, and worse with Christine. 
 
 Jem therefore lost no opportunity of grum- 
 bling at the voyage, and painting Iceland as the 
 worst spot in the known world. 
 
 " Look'ee here, mates," said he, to the crew
 
 THE MUTINY. 135 
 
 who were collected together in the forecastle of 
 the yacht, taking their evening allowance of 
 rum, " are we going to be such tarnation fools 
 as to allow ourselves to be wintered up here in 
 these latitudes ? None of you have been in the 
 Polar regions, or you wouldn't take matters so 
 easy. If the guv'ner gets ashore here he's as 
 likely to stop six weeks as one, and then, mind 
 you, we are here for the winter, as in another 
 month or so the ice will be down, and we shall 
 not be able to get through it. Another thing, 
 my lads, how comes this gal aboard of us ? Is 
 she here for any good ? If there's ever a man 
 among you he won't stand off on the other 
 tack, after seeing a craft hoist signals of distress ? 
 Who brought her off?" 
 
 " Ned Richards and me," replied one of the 
 men, " she came off 'long with the valet of her 
 own accord to look over us. I never knew no 
 other but she'd been put ashore again, 'till I 
 found we were under weigh." 
 
 a How was that ? " enquired Jem. 
 
 " Well, you see, ar'ter we brought her aboard,
 
 136 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 Mr. Filcher lie asks us down to take a drop 
 
 'long with him, and, me if I call to mind 
 
 much afterwards ; do you, Ned ? " 
 
 " No more than you, Bill," said Ned, " 1 do 
 mind though 'twas much better grog than this 
 'ere," continued he, tossing off the contents of 
 his rummer. 
 
 " As I thought," said Jem ; " a plant, — a 
 
 sneaking cowardly plant. Mates, you 
 
 won't have this, will you ? " 
 
 " No, no ! if we do ! " shouted half-a- 
 dozen voices. 
 
 " I tell you what it is," quietly began an old 
 man, named Purvis ; " we'll 'bout ship, and 
 home again ! what d'ye say, lads ? " 
 
 " Ay, ay, so we will ! " assented the mal- 
 contents. 
 
 Accordingly it was that night arranged that 
 on a signal being given on the following day by 
 Jem, the yacht's course was to be altered, and 
 AVitney was, if necessary, to be told that he 
 was no longer considered captain of his own 
 vessel.
 
 THE MUTINY. 137 
 
 On the morning of the following day Chris- 
 tine was visited by Witney, who in vain renewed 
 the solicitations which she had hitherto success- 
 fully repulsed. Exasperated by her firmness 
 and unflinching courage, Witney would have 
 attempted force. Remembering the promise 
 made her, Christine screamed, and a moment 
 after the cabin door was burst open with a 
 crash, and Jem Marline, armed with a boat's 
 stretcher, appeared on the scene. 
 
 " Come out of that, you lubberly swab ! " 
 shouted he, seizing the astonished Witney by 
 the coat-collar, and hurling him to the other 
 end of the cabin. 
 
 " Come, slip your moorings, this 'ere bean't 
 no anchorage ground for you ! " 
 
 Witney was speechless from mingled fright 
 and astonishment, and apprehensive of further 
 rough usage from Jem retired precipitately to 
 the state cabin, where he found the captain, 
 and in a hurried and excited manner narrated 
 to him what had occurred. 
 
 "My dear George," began Leach, "I must
 
 138 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 blame you. It's your doing — your own fault 
 entirely — you never take 'em on the ground 
 hop ; I remember when I was in Canada — " 
 
 " Here, Filcher," shouted Witney, " go seize 
 the mutinous dog, and put him in irons." 
 
 But somehow or other Filcher did not seem 
 to relish the chance of an encounter with the 
 sturdy young tar who stood up defiantly before 
 him, so he rushed off for assistance, shouting 
 lustily to several of the yacht's crew. Two or 
 three sailors responded, and were ordered by 
 the infuriated Witney to bind Jem and put 
 him in irons. 
 
 Great was the astonishment of the owner of 
 the yacht, when, instead of his orders being 
 promptly executed, one of the hands exclaimed, 
 " Seize him yourself, you blackguard, we don't 
 do no dirty work for you ! " " Ay ! ay ! ! seize 
 him yourself, you cowardly lubber ! " echoed 
 the others, " we've had enough of this 'ere job 
 and sailed far north enough to please you, now 
 damn you, you shall sail south to please us." 
 
 Witney saw that the men were determined,
 
 THE MUTINY. 139 
 
 and that discretion would be the better part of 
 valour, so he betook himself to the captain's 
 cabin to discuss the awkward situation in which 
 they found themselves. Meanwhile Jem had 
 comforted Christine, and made her understand 
 that no harm should come to her. He took 
 possession of the cabin next hers, that he might 
 in case of need be near to protect her. He 
 might have spared himself the trouble of chang- 
 ing berths, however, as Witney was far too 
 frightened to meditate any further violence. 
 All was disorder and confusion on board the 
 "Zouave." The skipper of the yacht was at 
 his wit's end — he knew not what to do. On 
 learning the diabolical trick that had been 
 played upon Christine he was very indignant, 
 and could scarcely but applaud the decision at 
 which the crew had arrived. On the other hand 
 he was captain of the craft, and his duty was to 
 preserve order and discipline on board, and 
 obey his master's orders. He resolved there- 
 fore to take no active part on one side or the 
 other, and quietly represented to Witney that
 
 140 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 the vessel was evidently at the mercy of the 
 crew, that he was sorry that Witney's conduct 
 should have caused the mutiny, that if he con- 
 tinued the command he would be deprived of 
 it as soon as ever anything displeasing to the 
 mutineers occurred, and, in short, that he pre- 
 ferred resigning his berth. 
 
 Jem Marline was unanimously elected 
 "cap'en;" orders were given to 'bout- ship, and 
 the clipper was soon tearing away in the direc- 
 tion from which she had come. Jem Marline 
 being a smart young fellow knew enough of 
 navigation to lay the yacht's course, and having 
 told off the watches, he proceeded to take pos- 
 session of the keys, that the crew might not 
 get at the spirit-lockers, which they are apt to 
 do on such occasions. 
 
 Witney, Leach, and Filcher spent a most 
 dreary time of it ; they fared as the common 
 men, and scarcely dared show their faces on 
 deck ; whilst Christine was treated like a 
 princess, and walked the quarter-deck as if she 
 were mistress of the vessel. Jem Marline had
 
 THE MUTINY. 141 
 
 quite determined on seeing Christine safely out 
 of her trouble, and his intention was to quit the 
 u Zouave " on arriving in England, and to take 
 the poor girl to his mother's house in Cornwall. 
 In due course they made Aberdeen, where they 
 touched to get a few necessaries, and then sailed 
 for the Isle of Wight, their starting-point. 
 
 When within a few miles of the island, Jem 
 took Christine off in one of the yacht's boats, so 
 as to get a clear start of Witney, and they were 
 soon on their journey towards Marline's home. 
 Christine's heart was light again, for she knew 
 she was in honest hands. On reaching Jem's 
 home Madame Lejeune was at once written to, 
 and great was the joy at Sainte-Croix when 
 tidings of the lost sheep arrived. For some 
 time past the fisherman's widow had entertained 
 thoughts of removing to England, where she 
 thought there might be more scope for her 
 daughters, who would of course have to work 
 for their bread. Little inducement was there 
 left for the poor woman to remain at Sainte- 
 Croix, the scene of her greatest troubles.
 
 142 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 Oil hearing of Christine's safety and where^ 
 abouts, she therefore determined on selling the 
 little house and her belongings, going to Eng- 
 land, to reclaim Christine, and taking up her 
 abode there. In less than two months the Le- 
 jeunes found themselves at Penruthan, a small 
 fishing village on the Cornish coast, the home 
 and birth-place of the brave Jem, who had so 
 gallantly saved Christine from the ills which 
 threatened her. One of the Sainte-Croix boats 
 had put them across, so the cost of removal was 
 not great. Finding Mrs. Marline an honest 
 good-natured old person, and the village cheap 
 and convenient, Madame Lejeune decided on 
 (for a time at least) making Penruthan her 
 home ; and a cottage within a stone's throw 
 of Jem's was obtained for her through his in- 
 fluence with the landlord. 
 
 Very pleasant the young girls found Pen- 
 ruthan, and quite contented would they have 
 been to remain as they were. But the widow 
 was now living on the proceeds of the sale of 
 her house and fishing- boats. She therefore
 
 THE MUTINY. 143 
 
 saw the necessity of her girls obtaining em- 
 ployment. 
 
 With a view to getting pupils in music, or 
 French, Annette was despatched with a little 
 ready money to Westhampton, Christine being 
 kept at home as company to her mother, and 
 Jem Marline, whose kindness and bravery had 
 made a wonderful impression on them both.
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 SECRETS OF THE LAW. 
 
 Variety's the very spice of life, 
 That gives it all its flavour." 
 
 Cowper, — The Time-piece. 
 
 Mr Phil Eattle on this point, at least, agreed 
 with the poet Cowper. We left him entertain- 
 ing Paul with an account of his last conquest ; 
 we should have said "then last," for we find 
 him now (but six months after) engaged in a 
 similar way ; but on this occasion the heroine 
 was a far superior creature to her of whom he 
 had, but a short time since, been so proud. 
 This was " positively the last." By this time 
 Paul quite understood the peculiarities of his 
 vivacious friend — quicksilver was tranquil com- 
 pared to Phil Eattle, who, however, considered
 
 SECRETS OF THE LAW. 145 
 
 himself the most unchangeable of admirers. 
 The then present admiration was always the 
 one par excellence — the out-and-outer — until he 
 saw some one he admired more, and wondered 
 how he could have been imposed on by such 
 mediocre charms as those of the one who had 
 just lost his regard. 
 
 Paul listened with as little attention as usual. 
 He was the reverse of his friend ; that is to say, 
 he was not what is now-a-days termed "gush- 
 ing ; " he generally kept his own counsel, but 
 to-night he longed to unburden his mind, and 
 relate to his friend an adventure which had that 
 day befallen him. 
 
 What an indescribable relief it is to impart 
 to a friend the subject which engrosses all our 
 thoughts ! 
 
 Is it that we feel the matter too much for 
 our individual brain, or why ? 
 
 How often do we disclose our secrets, and 
 feel relieved by so doing, all the while suspect- 
 ing (and but too often rightly) that we are 
 making fools of ourselves ! 
 
 vox. i. l
 
 146 
 
 Undoubtedly the pleasure of a secret consists 
 in imparting it to another. How one itches to 
 tell a third party anything " between you and 
 me, you know." Twenty times had Paul been 
 on the point of narrating his adventure to his 
 friend — twenty times had he postponed it, not 
 knowing how to begin, and doubtful whether 
 after all it would not be wiser to keep his own 
 counsel. 
 
 At last out it came, and Paul wondered what 
 could have prevented his telling it to Eattle 
 half-an-hour ago. 
 
 " Your conquests are all very well, Phil," be- 
 gan our hero, " as far as they go ; but hitherto 
 you do not appear to me to have got beyond a 
 work-girl, or, at most, a little milliner. I won- 
 der what you would have thought of the fair 
 creature I met this afternoon — none of your 
 vulgarians without an g h ' about them — but a 
 regular little lady speaking French better than 
 English, so stylish, and such a handsome face ! 
 When I say ' little,' you know, I don't mean 
 she is short, on the contrary, she is a very fine
 
 SECRETS OF THE LAW. 147 
 
 grown girl ; I only used the epithet ' little ' as 
 a term of endearment ; but you shall see her, 
 Phil, you shall see her, old boy, and if she 
 doesn't take the shine out of all your nymphs, 
 my name's not Paul Tyrrell ! " 
 
 Phil looked half-annoyed, half- astounded. 
 It was his principal delusion that the sex found 
 him totally irresistible ; he could not help feel- 
 ing jealous of Paul's luck, and calculating what 
 a tremendous impression he would have made 
 had he been in his friend's place. He, however, 
 thought it advisable to " pooh, pooh " the young 
 lady, and caution Paul against French refugees, 
 and so forth. 
 
 Seeing Phil's humour, Paul thought it unad- 
 visable to say more about his adventure that 
 evening, and so the subject dropped.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE RENDEZ-VOUS. 
 
 " If to her share some female errors fall 
 Look on her face, and you'll forget them all." 
 
 Pope— The Bcqie of the Loch. 
 
 The following afternoon at three o'clock, our 
 hero found himself by the sea-side, about a mile 
 from the town of Westhampton. He wandered 
 to and fro with a listless air, and kept looking 
 at his watch, and round the corner of the road- 
 way, as if he expected some one. Nor was he 
 doomed to disappointment, for in a few minutes 
 a tall comely looking girl tripped up to him and 
 bade him good afternoon in the most self-pos- 
 sessed manner. Having returned the saluta- 
 tion, Paul pulled the girl's arm through his 
 own, and led her by a by* path to the beach.
 
 THE RENDEZ-VOXTS. 149 
 
 " I was so afraid you would disappoint me," 
 began Paul — " that you would not come." 
 
 " But," returned the girl, who seemed much 
 of an age with the young student, " Did I not 
 promise ? " 
 
 u Certainly, you promised," replied Paul ; 
 " but young ladies, I know, from experience, 
 do not always keep promises of that kind." 
 
 " To me a promise is a promise," said the 
 young girl, slowly and thoughtfully, as if she 
 too had had experience of broken vows. 
 
 " And my word is my bond," returned Paul, 
 " as I thought yesterday, you are a girl after 
 my own heart ; by the way, what am I to call 
 you, — you told me your name was " 
 
 " Annette," added the girl ; " but do not 
 call me so, call me anything short — anything, 
 but that." 
 
 " Well then, what do you say to Nannie ? " 
 asked the young man ; " that is a pretty name." 
 
 "Yes, yes, that will do capitally," laughed 
 his companion. 
 
 They walked on for some time in silence,
 
 150 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 •until coming to a large flat rock on the beach, 
 Paul suggested that they should sit down, to 
 which proposition Annette made no objection. 
 
 " M'sieur," asked the girl, after seeming to 
 reflect for some time, " you are ' triste,' you 
 think very much, is it that I displease you? 
 Tell me, what wrong have I done ? " 
 
 The fact of the matter was, Paul found him- 
 self in a very uncomfortable position. Only 
 the previous afternoon this young girl had 
 modestly and politely enquired her way to a 
 certain street, and Paul seeing how handsome 
 she was, had, under pretence that his own road 
 lay in that direction, accompanied her to the 
 place she wished to reach. Naturally vivacious, 
 their conversation became rapid and confiden- 
 tial, and before they parted, Paul had laid 
 Annette under a requisition to meet him the 
 following afternoon, which she had. very im- 
 prudently, perhaps, consented to do. Thus it 
 came about that these young people were sit- 
 ting together on the same flat stone on the 
 beach.
 
 THE RENDEZ-VOUS. 151 
 
 " And how long have you been in Westh 
 
 o 
 
 you oeen in w estnamp- 
 
 ton, Mam'selle ? " asked Paul. 
 
 u Only a few days/' returned the girl ; I know 
 no one here, it is so lonely ; but what would 
 you ? — one must live, and I am arrived here 
 quite alone to endeavour to get some pupils." 
 
 " Pupils ! " echoed the young man, " so you 
 teach, then ? and what may you teach ? " 
 
 " As yet," replied Annette, " I have been un- 
 successful in my attempt to get pupils, so have 
 taught nothing ; but I know enough of your 
 language to enable me to teach mine, and 1 
 can play and sing. When we met yesterday I 
 was on my way to the house of a lady, who I 
 expect will engage me to teach her girls music ; 
 I hope indeed she will, for it is most expensive 
 to remain here earning nothing, and I am sure 
 my mother cannot afford to give me more 
 money." 
 
 " So you have a mother ? " said Paul, enquir- 
 ingly ; "how then is it that she is not with 
 you ? " 
 
 " A town like this is too dear for one of us,"
 
 152 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 returned the girl sorrowfully, "how then could 
 three of us afford to live here ? " 
 
 " But I suppose/' argued our hero, * your 
 father can do something for your mother and 
 yourself ? " 
 
 An expression of grief came over Annette's 
 countenance, as she told Paul that she had lost 
 her father some two years ago. 
 
 The kind-hearted young fellow saw that he 
 had been too hasty in his conjectures, and apolo- 
 gized for his thoughtlessness. 
 
 This last unhappy shot of his prevented his 
 cross-examining his companion further, and 
 for some time he maintained silence, wonder- 
 ing who the third person in the family could 
 be. 
 
 Annette saw his curiosity, and came to the 
 rescue. 
 
 " You would admire my sister," said she, " she 
 is very beautiful — so fair, not like me. Ah ! 
 but Christine ! elle est jolie comme un cceur ! " 
 
 "And you are not, I suppose," interrupted 
 Paul. "I wonder whether you really think your-
 
 THE RENDEZ-VOUS. 153 
 
 self less good-looking than your sister ! All I 
 know is, if she is handsomer than you, she must 
 be a clipper ! " 
 
 i( A what ? " asked Annette, " quest ce que 
 vous voulez dere ? — a cleep-are ! I know not 
 at all such a word." 
 
 " Ah, naturally," replied Paul, " you cannot 
 be expected to understand a word which I had 
 no business to use. I merely meant that your 
 sister must be uncommonly handsome." 
 
 "And so she is, M'sieur," rejoined the elder 
 sister, proudly. 
 
 " I can quite believe it, if she bears any family 
 likeness to you," said the young man, looking 
 tenderly and admiringly on the exquisite features 
 of the young girl sitting beside him. 
 
 Paul was, as Annette had remarked, extremely 
 thoughtful and silent. To tell the truth he felt 
 heartily ashamed of himself. To gratify his 
 vanity he had forced his society upon this hand- 
 some girl, in perfect ignorance of her station, 
 birth, and antecedents. 
 "We must not disguise facts ; Paul was a young
 
 154 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 man, and wild as a colt, frisky and full of life. 
 A love of adventure, of a pretty face, and the 
 chance of an intrigue had prompted him to 
 cultivate the girl's acquaintance. He had, like 
 other young men, done the same thing a dozen 
 times before with various success. 
 
 Like most young men he was silly, and 
 thought it the thing to be sceptical about the 
 virtue of women, and on his first meeting with 
 Annette, we more than half fear that any dis- 
 play of virtuous indignation on her part would 
 not have been appreciated by him as it should. 
 This afternoon, however, he had not been in 
 the company of the girl a quarter of an hour, 
 before he felt convinced that he was talking to 
 as virtuous a creature as God had ever made, 
 and could not but hate himself for having ever 
 entertained doubts of her purity. What would 
 the girl think of him could she know the 
 thoughts he had harboured ? 
 
 Poor Annette ! she had not thought at all ! 
 She had been but a few weeks in England, and 
 till her arrival in Cornwall had lived all her life
 
 THE RENDEZ-VOUS. 155 
 
 at the small fishing village on the coast of 
 ^Normandy. 
 
 In all innocence had she accepted Paul's 
 proposal to escort her to her destination on the 
 previous evening, and to take her for a walk 
 the following day ; and our hero must be for- 
 given if to a certain extent he had misunder- 
 stood her, for unsophisticated innocence was a 
 rare article in Westhampton. But now, as 
 Annette, in her light prattling conversation, 
 from time to time betrayed her ignorance and 
 guilelessness, the young student felt that in- 
 stead of leading this fair young thing into 
 temptation, it should have been his part to 
 shelter her from the dangers which must beset 
 a beautiful young girl living alone in a gay 
 town in a foreign country. 
 
 Paul was no advocate for wanton cruelty, 
 and would not for worlds intentionally place a 
 stumbling-block in an innocent woman's path. 
 Here was a girl worthy in every respect, so 
 far as he could judge, of his lasting love and 
 esteem, and the reckless young fellow gazed
 
 156 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 admiringly on her and thought how he should 
 have cursed himself if he had injured such a 
 woman as the one who sat by him. 
 
 Such were Paul's thoughts. What were 
 those of Annette ? We remember her sitting 
 before the fire in her old home at Sainte- 
 Croix ; she was thinking then, and had thought 
 on from that time until the death of Lorin ; 
 but after his fate and that of her father, what 
 was left for poor Annette ? 
 
 For months she gave way to that bitter 
 grief which seems to expend itself in its inten- 
 sity, but at last the welcome change came. 
 Grief cannot last for ever ; time is the great 
 healer: and now, two years after the wreck, 
 Annette was again at times the light-hearted, 
 merry, careless girl she was before the reader 
 knew her. 
 
 The temporary loss of Christine, and anx- 
 iety for her safety, had of course damped her 
 spirits; but now Christine had been brought 
 back in safety, she was full of life and health, 
 and the bustle and excitement of Westhamp-
 
 THE REXDEZ-VOUS. 157 
 
 ton, the largest town she had as yet been in, 
 elevated her wonderfully. 
 
 Although Annette's usual manner was, as we 
 have said, blithe and gay, there were times at 
 which recollection of past events pained her 
 terribly ; and at such times she would be 
 downcast, moody, and silent. This, however, 
 was one of the girl's bright days — a day on 
 which to meet her one would never believe 
 that she had ever known trouble. 
 
 To-day she felt no care for past, present, or 
 future ; to-morrow all three periods might 
 cause her the greatest concern — so buoyant 
 was her nature. 
 
 Her companion remained silent and thought- 
 ful, an unusual thing for the light-hearted 
 young man. What his thoughts were we have 
 endeavoured to describe. He seemed lost in 
 admiration at the beautiful girl beside him. 
 As a rule he had no lack of impudence, and on 
 the slightest provocation would make nothing 
 of putting his arm round a girl's waist and 
 kissing her. But with Annette he was com-
 
 158 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 pletely non-plussed. He neither knew what 
 to do or say : in all his life he had never felt 
 so much disposed for love-passages and so 
 utterly incapable of commencing the siege. 
 The fair creature seemed unintentionally to 
 hold him as it were at arm's length. 
 
 It was the month of November, and the 
 days were shortening rapidly. The approach 
 of darkness reminded the young couple of the 
 hour ; and, with a mingled feeling of relief and 
 regret, Paul conducted his companion towards 
 the town, the gas-lights of which could already 
 be seen shining dimly through the foggy, 
 clammy atmosphere. Paul's courage revived 
 with the increasing darkness, and we fear that 
 as our hero sauntered along with Annette's arm 
 linked in his, he was guilty of many of those 
 little hand-squeezings which speak so much 
 more loudly than words. Who can doubt the 
 existence of animal magnetism ? Surely not 
 those who have experienced the thrill occa- 
 sioned by the caresses of love, whether by the 
 impassioned kiss, or the gentle pressure of the
 
 THE RENDEZ-VOUS. 159 
 
 hand. How intensely gratifying to woman's 
 nature it is to feel that she is the one loved by 
 a man above all the rest of her sex ! Few 
 women indeed can fail to appreciate such a 
 compliment as this, even though she doubt 
 the value of the love proffered her — fewer still 
 can fail to reciprocate the love of a man whom 
 they believe fully entitled to their's. 
 
 Thus it was with Annette. Brought up as 
 she had been, she was to a great extent un- 
 conscious of her beauty. She had not been 
 spoilt, as too many pretty girls are, by con- 
 stantly having their beauty pointed out to 
 them. Hence our hero's attentions to her 
 were the more appreciated. 
 
 Paul saw her home to the street in which 
 she lodged, and an appointment was made to 
 meet on the following day. 
 
 So things went on, and in three weeks time 
 the young people were unquestionably in love 
 with each other. Annette had been fortunate 
 enough to procure some half-a-dozen pupils, 
 and was earning enough to pay her way, and
 
 160 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 occasionally make a small remittance to her 
 mother. 
 
 Phil Rattle had been introduced to her, and 
 found her society so agreeable that he was fast 
 forgetting his mortification at his friend's luck. 
 Mr. Rattle soon announced to Betsy Curtis that 
 a young cousin of his was staying in the town, 
 and would one evening honour Paul and him- 
 self with her company at tea. The good old 
 lady was at first rather sceptical about the 
 relationship ; but when Annette arrived, she 
 was so delighted with " the young person from 
 France," as she persisted in calling her, that 
 her doubts soon vanished. The fact was, the 
 good old lady could not manage the French 
 name Lejeune, and after two or three attempts 
 at the pronunciation, in which she treated 
 Annette's patronymic most barbarously, gave 
 up in disgust. 
 
 Mrs. Curtis could not refrain from expressing 
 her astonishment that " the young person " 
 should be about so much by herself, and was 
 inclined to be curious about her relations ; but
 
 THE RENDEZ-VOUS. 161 
 
 Rattle was always equal to the occasion. He 
 would begin some extraordinary romance, and 
 gradually entice the old landlady away from 
 the subject, the result being that poor old 
 Betsy knew no more at the end of his yarn 
 than before. 
 
 Annette's visits became very frequent, and 
 very pleasant were the long evenings spent by 
 the three young people. Annette would play 
 the old worn-out piano, and sometimes sing 
 with Paul, whilst Phil would persist in accom- 
 panying the vocalists with his banjo. 
 
 Although Annette was very fond of Phil, it 
 must not be imagined that her regard for him 
 was of the same nature as that she entertained 
 for Paul. Nothing was done without Paul's 
 advice and sanction, and day by day the ties of 
 their mutual love were drawn more closely. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ANNETTE'S CONFESSION. 
 
 " liet me not to the marriage of true minds 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 Which alters when it alteration finds." 
 
 Shakspeare — Sonnet CXVI. 
 
 Paul and Annette had frequent opportunities 
 for tete-a-tete. They generally walked out of 
 an afternoon if the weather were at all fine : 
 indeed, each began to feel the society of the 
 other indispensable. Rattle, like a good- 
 hearted fellow, seeing how attached his friend 
 was to the girl, would often find engagements 
 which he feared would deprive him of the 
 pleasure of their society. In short, he took 
 himself out of the way, " that the young people 
 (Phil was about six months older than Paul) 
 might do a quiet spoon."
 
 Annette's confession. 163 
 
 On one of these occasions Paul and Annette 
 were sitting by the fire, when somehow or 
 other the conversation turned upon their 
 youthful reminiscences. Paul had been nar- 
 rating some little incident which occurred to 
 him as a boy, when he perceived that Annette's 
 eyes were full of tears. This evening she had 
 allowed her recollections to overcome her. To 
 Paul, who had never before witnessed one of 
 the girl's melancholy fits, her grief was inex- 
 plicable. In an instant his arms were thrown 
 round her neck, and in the most anxious tone 
 he begged to be informed what ailed her. 
 
 "Oh! nothing, nothing," was Annette's 
 womanly reply; but the young man saw 
 plainly that he had unintentionally brought to 
 the girl's memory some painful event which 
 she shrunk from telling him. In vain he 
 attempted to soothe her, and bid her dry her 
 tears. At last, when she had become a little 
 calmer, Paul again demanded the cause of her 
 emotion. 
 
 " Oh, Paul ! dear Paul ! " exclaimed she,
 
 164 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 " do not ask me ! Spare me ! Do not let any- 
 thing interrupt our happiness — and yet I 
 should have no secrets from you. But what if 
 I should forfeit your love ? The thought is too 
 much for me." 
 
 The young man was thoroughly amazed. 
 What secret could Annette have the know- 
 ledge of which could possibly cause his love for 
 her to decrease ? 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Nannie/' cried he, 
 " put an end to this mystery ! I am sure you 
 are making a great fuss about some very little 
 occurrence. Come, tell me all about it, like a 
 dear old girl ! " And Paul seated himself in 
 the arm-chair, drew the girl gently on to his 
 lap, and rested her head on his breast. 
 
 Annette's fine earnest eyes looked up into 
 her lover's face enquiringly, as if to ask how 
 the intelligence would be received. Finding 
 nothing to discourage her in Paul's expression, 
 she began slowly and seriously. 
 
 " Listen, Paul. No living creature but my- 
 self knows the secret which I shall now reveal
 
 Annette's confession. 165 
 
 to you. A secret should exist between two 
 persons only." 
 
 She paused. 
 
 During all this time Annette was seated in 
 Paul's lap, her head resting on his breast. 
 Could the young fellow do less than hug the 
 pretty girl whose form was encircled within his 
 arms ? Would any hero be tolerated who 
 could refrain from snatching kisses under such 
 circumstances ? 
 
 It was not the first time that the young 
 couple had found themselves in this dangerous 
 position, but never before to-night had An- 
 nette's manner been so impassioned and unre- 
 strained. Paul was surprised ; for, affectionate 
 as the girl had always shown herself, there had 
 always hitherto been a certain retiring modesty 
 about her which indeed had, as the reader will 
 remember at their first rendez-vous, tended to 
 repulse our hero's advances. This evening, 
 however, overcome with recollections of past 
 events and present happiness, her self-control 
 seemed to have deserted her, and she returned
 
 166 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 Paul's warm caresses in a manner which left no 
 doubt in his mind as to her sincerity. 
 
 " Oh ! Paul, dear/' continued she, " I feel so 
 happy ; but yet I feel I have no business here. 
 I know now what a miserable wretch I am : 
 would to Heaven that I had known three years 
 ago what I know now ! I dread to tell you, 
 dearest — you will never love me any more.' , 
 
 " Why, Nannie," returned the young man in 
 a gay tone, " I shall think you have committed 
 some horrible murder or robbed a church, if 
 you go on condemning yourself so. Come, 
 come ; open confession is good for the soul ; 
 your crime is venial enough, I'll warrant ! " 
 
 After some hesitation the poor girl told Paul 
 her melancholy story — how she had loved 
 Lorin, not wisely, but too well — how young and 
 innocent she was at the time — how her sister 
 had been carried off in the yacht, and rescued 
 from dishonour by the bravery of Marline — 
 how her mother had sold her house and effects, 
 and crossed the channel with her to reclaim 
 Christine — and lastly, how she came to be
 
 Annette's confession. 167 
 
 resident in Westhampton, teaching French and 
 music. 
 
 Paul had listened attentively to the poor 
 girl's narrative, and, though he felt a slight 
 pang of disappointment at learning his beloved 
 was not what he had hitherto believed her, he 
 was so convinced that she, when a trusting and 
 innocent girl, had been heartlessly betrayed, 
 that his sympathy for her was aroused, and he 
 felt that it would be hard indeed if the misfor- 
 tune which had befallen her could in any wise 
 lessen his love for her ; and his indignation at 
 Lorin's conduct knew no bounds. 
 
 "And where," cried he, jumping up, and 
 nearly upsetting Annette, " is this scoundrel — 
 this Lorin ? " 
 
 " Hush, Paul ! " whispered the girl gently ; 
 " Henri would have made me his wife : he told 
 me, when he went abroad, that on his return 
 home he would ask his mother to consent to 
 our union " 
 
 " Which he knew very well his mother would 
 refuse ! " broke in Paul, angrily. " I tell you,
 
 168 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 Annette, the man who would betray a young 
 and innocent girl would not hesitate to break 
 his word. Where is the villain ? " 
 
 "Beyond the reach of your reproaches," 
 replied Annette, gravely. " He is dead — was 
 drowned within sight of my old home on the 
 same night as my dear father " 
 
 " A judgment on him, say 1 ! " interrupted 
 the young man, hastily. 
 
 " On my father ? " asked the girl. 
 
 " No, no — on Lorin," returned Paul. " Was 
 your father then drowned at the same time ?" 
 
 u Alas ! yes," replied Annette with a sigh. 
 " What a fearful night that was ! Little did 
 I think, when I went out in the boat with 
 father, who was on board that unlucky ship." 
 
 " Do you mean to say you went to sea with 
 your father in such a night? WTiat good 
 could you have been in a gale of wind? " 
 
 Annette laughed at Paul's scepticism as to 
 her knowledge of boat management, and told 
 him the horrors of that night as we have 
 already described them.
 
 ANNETTE'S CONFESSION. 1G9 
 
 Our hero was delighted with the girl's skill 
 and bravery, and secretly determined that she 
 should teach Phil Eattle (who fancied himself 
 a perfect sailor) how to sail the little six-ton 
 craft they owned between them. How dis- 
 gusted poor Phil would be ! 
 
 Few evenings passed of which Annette did 
 not spend the greater part in Paul's rooms, 
 and she had become, as Phil Eattle observed, 
 " quite an institution." 
 
 " Oh ! Paul darling ! " exclaimed Annette 
 one evening, as she threw her arms affection- 
 ately around him, " how I wish we could be 
 always together — the days seem so long with- 
 out you ! " 
 
 * Eeally, Nannie," answered Paul, u I don't 
 see why you shouldn't. Mrs. Curtis has a nice 
 room to let. What do you say to changing 
 your lodgings ? I wonder we never thought of 
 it before." 
 
 " Oh ! if I could but do that ! * continued 
 the girl, clapping her hands with delight. 
 " Will you let me, Paul ? But what do you
 
 170 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 think Mr. Eattle will say ? I could make your 
 tea and breakfast, couldn't I ? " 
 
 " Oh, Phil be hanged ! " returned Paul, " be- 
 sides he'll be pleased enough, I'll warrant." 
 
 Finally it was arranged that Mrs. Curtis 
 should be spoken to on the subject. 
 
 Poor old Betsy's one idea was to let her 
 lodgings, and though she would perhaps have 
 preferred an English lady to " the young per- 
 son from France," the opportunity was too 
 good to be lost. The following week there- 
 fore found Mademoiselle Lejeune domiciled at 
 Mrs. Curtis's lodgings. The " young person " 
 was supposed to take her meals in her own 
 room, but the gentlemen found her so useful 
 at their table, that it was not long before she 
 messed with them. This plan saved Betsy 
 Curtis a deal of trouble, and as the old soul 
 did nearly all the work herself, having only the 
 assistance of the unlucky maid -of -all -work 
 (such an institution in lodgings), it suited her 
 well. 
 
 The good old lady, of course, looked upon
 
 Annette's confession. 171 
 
 "the young person from France " as Mr. 
 Rattle's cousin. 
 
 Mrs. Curtis had little to do with Annette's 
 room, as that young lady made her own bed, 
 and looked after her own affairs. One morn- 
 ing, however, Betsy had occasion to go to An- 
 nette's chamber at an unholy hour of the night. 
 Two or three gentle raps did the old lady give 
 at the door, but no response. After a time, 
 thinking Annette was in a sound sleep, she 
 gently pushed the door open and walked in. 
 To her amazement and horror " the young per- 
 son from France " was not there, — evidently 
 no one had slept in her bed that night. 
 
 Mrs. Curtis rubbed her eyes and looked 
 round the room, and in the cupboard, and under 
 the bed, as if she thought her lodger might be 
 in any of those places, and wished to give her 
 the benefit of the doubt. The old lady's thoughts 
 were almost unsupportable. 
 
 That " young limb," Mr. Eattle, was at the 
 bottom of this, she would be bound ! Betsy 
 waited at least half-an-hour in Annette's room,
 
 172 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 and finding she did not return, determined on 
 visiting the room again the following night. 
 
 Poor Betsy ! her worst suspicions were then 
 confirmed, and she vowed dreadful things 
 against that " young hemp of a Eat tie, and that 
 there deceitful young person from France."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MRS. CURTIS RECONCILED. 
 
 But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast 
 To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last. 
 
 Moore — Veiled Prcphet of Khoramm. 
 
 The following morning Mr. Rattle was " inter- 
 viewed " by Mrs. Curtis, when some smart dia- 
 logue took place. Phil was perfectly ignorant 
 of the cause of his landlady's indignation, and 
 the old lady was exasperated beyond measure, 
 because she thought Rattle's ignorance was 
 assumed. Betsy opened fire with a broad- side. 
 "You young wiper," cried she, thrusting 
 open the door of the room in which Phil was
 
 174 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 taking his breakfast, " you wicked young hemp ! 
 To think that you, a friend of Mr. Paul's (which 
 you was recommended by him to me) should 
 bring me to this." 
 
 " Bring you to what ? " enquired Phil with 
 an astonished air, u you are not brought to the 
 work-house, are you ? " 
 
 " Worse than that, much worse than that," 
 whined the old woman, putting the corner of 
 her apron to her eye. 
 
 " Pawn-shop ? " suggested Rattle, " nonsense, 
 Betsy, you are not come to tbat surely ! Oh, 
 I say, it, I'd sooner have paid you some- 
 thing on account, you know ! Why didn't you 
 ask me for it, instead of coming here bullying 
 me like this ? I daresay I could have borrowed 
 a flimsy. 
 
 " And do you think, Mr. Rattle, sir, that be- 
 cause I am poor I am to be bribed by an early 
 settlement of what is justly due to me ? " 
 
 "Bribed!" roared Phil, "who thought of 
 bribing you ? Why in the name of goodness 
 should I bribe you ? "
 
 MRS. CURTIS RECONCILED. 175 
 
 " Come, come, Mr. Battle," said Betsy, " 'tis 
 no use your carrying on and making believe — 
 I caught her " 
 
 " Caught her ! caught who ? " asked Phil, 
 going towards Betsy, and sniffing enquiringly, 
 as if uncertain as to whether she had been im- 
 bibing something with her tea that morning. 
 
 " Don't smell of it, anyhow ! " said he to 
 himself. * I hope the old girl isn't going off 
 her nut ! " 
 
 Mrs. Curtis was now sobbing violently, and 
 talking very incoherently about the respecta- 
 bility of her house, her kte lamented husband, 
 and her impending ruin. 
 
 " Tell us who you caught ? " continued Phil, 
 " that maid of yours has been prigging, I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 " That wicked young person from France," 
 sobbed Mrs. Curtis, " now don't look so inno- 
 cent, if you please ! " 
 
 " What, prigging ? Oh, I say, come, you 
 know, this won't do ; my cousin ain't a thief! " 
 
 " Which thieving is nothing to it," retorted
 
 176 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 his landlady, " but she shan't stop in the house 
 a day longer — not an hour ! " 
 
 " Pray collect yourself, Mrs. Curtis," said 
 Rattle, in a more serious tone, " and tell me 
 with what crime you charge Annette, for I 
 give you my honour I don't understand a word 
 of what you are saying." 
 
 It was such an unusual occurrence for Phil 
 to speak seriously, that Mrs. Curtis could not 
 fail to remark his sincere tone, and began to 
 wonder whether she had not put the saddle on 
 the wrong horse. She therefore deemed it 
 prudent to say no more to Eattle on the sub- 
 ject, but to go straight to Annette for an ex- 
 planation. She was on the point of abruptly 
 withdrawing, when Phil prevented her, saying, 
 " Well, Mrs. Curtis, you have blackguarded me 
 pretty considerably, I wish to know of what 
 you accuse me ? " 
 
 " All in good time, sir, all in good time," re- 
 turned the old woman, evasively ; and gaining 
 the door she left the room, leaving Phil quite 
 bewildered.
 
 MRS. CURTIS RECONCILED. 177 
 
 Annette was sitting in her own room mend- 
 ing socks when Betsy entered. 
 
 The girl looked up from her work, and kindly 
 bade her " Good morning." 
 
 "Don't 'good morning' me, you wicked deceit- 
 ful hussey ! " returned Mrs. Curtis, confronting 
 her, "I've found out your nasty Frenchified 
 ways, and out of this house you go this instant !" 
 
 Poor Annette did not understand all the 
 speech, but the landlady's tone and gesticula- 
 tions convinced her that she was the subject of 
 her abuse. 
 
 " How have I offended Madame ? " asked 
 she, simply. 
 
 "Drat her imperence!" shrieked Betsy, "well, 
 I never! and she sitting there as if butter 
 wouldn't melt in her mouth. !Now then, Miss 
 Parley-voo, where was you last night ! !Not in 
 your own room, anyhow ? " 
 
 " In my own room ?" repeated Annette, " no, 
 certainly not ; I have not slept there for 
 weeks past. You see Paul's is larger and more 
 comfortable." 
 
 VOL. i. n
 
 178 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 " And you dare to tell me this to my face ? " 
 said her landlady ; " why, you don't seem the 
 least ashamed of yourself." 
 
 * Why should I ? " returned the girl, " I love 
 Paul. I know that many people think there 
 is no marriage without the usual ceremony at 
 church, but Paul is my husband for all that, 
 and I am his wife." 
 
 Mrs. Curtis began to wonder whether the 
 young people had been united at the Eegistrar 
 Office, and looked furtively at Annette's hand, to 
 see if there were a wedding-ring on her finger. 
 " Wife or no wife," said Betsy, " you h'an't 
 got no ring ; and these 'ere Frenchified ways 
 won't do for me. May the Lord forgive you 
 both ! Poor Mr. Paul, too, whom I nursed as 
 a child, to think that ever he should have been 
 sedooced and led away like this. What will 
 his dear papa and mamma say — and to happen 
 in my house, too ! Oh dear, oh dear ! you 
 wicked forward young hussey ! " 
 
 Having obtained a full confession from An- 
 nette, Betsy bounced off to attack our hero.
 
 MRS. CURTIS RECONCILED. 179 
 
 Towards him, however, she seemed to evince 
 more pity than anger, and after dilating for 
 some time on the care and attention she had 
 bestowed on his youthful training, and on what 
 a bitter disappointment it was to her to see 
 him grown up into such a wicked young man, 
 gave vent to tears. 
 
 " I need not tell you, Mr. Paul," said Mrs. 
 Curtis, "that the young person cannot stay 
 another night in my house." 
 
 " Certainly not, against your wish, Betsy," 
 said Paul. " You of course understand, how- 
 ever, that if Annette leaves your house I leave 
 with her. Be good enough to ask her after 
 she has packed her own things to pack mine, 
 when we will at once go in search of other 
 lodgings." 
 
 Betsy winced ; she did not like the idea of 
 losing two lodgers, and one of them such a 
 lodger as Paul, for whom Mr. Tyrrell paid on 
 the most liberal scale. 
 
 Paul noticed the effect of his speech, and 
 hastened to follow up his advantage.
 
 180 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 " You see, Betsy/' continued he, * puting 
 aside the question whether or not this familiarity 
 between Mademoiselle Lejeune and myself is 
 improper (a question which I do not think it 
 necessary to discuss) your declining to let us 
 your apartments any longer will not prevent 
 our continuing to live together. There are 
 other lodgings to be had in Westhampton, 
 though it is but just to you to say, that I doubt 
 whether we shall succeed in finding such clean 
 and comfortable quarters elsewhere." 
 
 In the course of the day Paul related to Rat- 
 tle what had occurred, and told him that as he 
 was quite determined not to give up Annette, 
 he feared they would be no longer able to 
 occupy the same lodgings as Phil. 
 
 w Oh, nonsense !" said that young gentleman, 
 (t don't listen to what that old fool says, stop on 
 as you are ; it will be all right again in a few 
 days. I'll go at once and tell the old girl that 
 after the manner in which she has treated my 
 cousin it will be impossible for me to remain 
 here any longer— that will frighten her ; I guess
 
 MRS. CURTIS RECONCILED. 181 
 
 she can't afford to lose all her lodgers, besides, 
 I will point out to her that when your father 
 hears you have changed your diggings, he will 
 find out that the girl was permitted by Betsy 
 to visit here. I know she can't afford to offend 
 your father. Leave it to me, Paul, leave it 
 to me ; I worked the oracle for you to get 
 Annette here, and I'll work it to keep her 
 here. ,, 
 
 With a most serious face, and the air of one 
 who has been deeply injured, Phil sought out 
 Betsy, and gave her notice that he should quit 
 if Paul and Annette were turned out, and even 
 had the impudence to ask for an apology for 
 the insult offered to his cousin. 
 
 The poor old landlady was non-plussed. 
 She had not anticipated losing either Paul or 
 Eattle ; it was a time of the year at which there 
 was little or no demand for lodging accommo- 
 dation at "Westhampton, and Mrs. Curtis felt 
 that it would probably be a long time before 
 she could succeed in letting any of her apart- 
 ments ; as for letting all, she knew it was out
 
 182 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 of the question. On the other hand, how could 
 she countenance such " goings-on " as she was 
 pleased to term them ? To be at once de- 
 prived of the income she derived from her 
 lodgers, was ruin to the poor old lady. She 
 had no other source of revenue but them, and 
 even had her credit been sufficiently good, 
 she could not afford to run into debt. Clearly 
 the matter required most serious consideration. 
 In the meantime Annette was busy packing 
 her own trunks as well as Paul's, and Phil 
 made a great show of preparation for a speedy 
 departure. Towards the evening Mr. Eattle 
 received a second visit from Mrs. Curtis, for 
 which he was not altogether unprepared. His 
 demeanour and conversation were so diplomatic, 
 that at the conclusion of the interview, it was 
 arranged that Paul and Annette should be re- 
 quested to stay that night in the house, as Mrs. 
 Curtis didn't wish " to part in anger." At the 
 same time, Phil doubted much whether the 
 harshly-treated individuals would remain an 
 hour longer than necessary under Mrs. Curtis's
 
 MRS. CURTIS RECONCILED. 183 
 
 roof. He, however, would persuade them if 
 possible to do so. 
 
 Mrs. Curtis's lodgers did not leave that day, 
 or the following day, or the day after that ; and 
 after the lapse of a week or so, the landlady 
 became satisfied in her own mind that the 
 young couple had been lawfully joined in the 
 bonds of holy matrimony, an idea which Phil 
 nursed with his wonted savoir-faire, by hinting 
 that it was a profound secret, and begging her 
 not to divulge it. Poor old soul ! the wish that 
 it might be so begot the thought that it was so, 
 and the infant thought gained strength with 
 time, and thrived on Rattle's blarney. The 
 Court of Chancery looks on that which ought 
 to be done as done, and if Betsy was not a 
 Chancery advocate, she was at least an equitable 
 old woman. She begged Annette to wear a 
 plain gold ring, and when this request was 
 acceded to, her mind was more at ease. 
 
 Madame Lejeune was delighted to hear of 
 her daughter's success as an instructress, and 
 threatened two or three times coining up to
 
 184 STRAYED, BUT NOT LOST. 
 
 "Westliampton to pay her a visit. Annette, 
 however, dissuaded her from doing this, repre- 
 senting to her that her pupils' holidays would 
 soon afford her the opportunity of running 
 down to Penruthan to see her and Christine. 
 
 end or VOL. I.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS WORKS, 
 
 LIVERPOOL: 
 
 ROWLAND A. ELLIOTT, 42 CANNING PLACE.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS WORKS. 
 
 STRAYED, BUT HOT LOST. A Novel. By 
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 Seasonable Pictures, No. 1 
 Up in a Garret 
 Song of Father Christmas 
 The Hansom Ghost 
 The Sonnet Wave 
 The Haunted House 
 ' A Merry Christmas ' 
 
 To Love 
 
 Seasonable Pictures, No. 2 
 
 My Aunt's Present 
 
 Ned Willoughby's Christmas 
 
 A Parting 
 
 ' Stand off them Points ' 
 
 The Mystery of Kindelay Hall 
 
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