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+Project Gutenberg's Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir, by Charles Garvice
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir
+
+Author: Charles Garvice
+
+Release Date: March 9, 2011 [EBook #35523]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONLY ONE LOVE, OR WHO WAS THE HEIR ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Heather Clark, eagkw and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ONLY ONE LOVE
+
+Or
+
+WHO WAS THE HEIR
+
+
+By
+
+CHARLES GARVICE
+
+Author of
+
+  "Claire," "Elaine," "Her Heart's Desire," "Leola Dale's Fortune,"
+  "Her Ransom," "Leslie's Loyalty," "Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold,"
+  "The Marquis," "Only a Girl's Love,"
+  "She Loved Him," "A Wasted Love,"
+  Etc.
+
+
+CHICAGO
+
+M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY
+
+407-429 Dearborn Street
+
+
+
+
+  M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY
+  PRINTERS AND BINDERS
+  407-429 DEARBORN STREET
+  CHICAGO
+
+
+
+
+ONLY ONE LOVE
+
+Or,
+
+Who Was The Heir?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+One summer's evening a young man was tramping through the Forest of
+Warden. "Forest of Warden" sounds strange, old-fashioned, almost
+improbable; but, thank Heaven, there yet remain, in over-crowded
+England, some spots, few and far between though they may be, still
+untouched by the greedy fingers of the destroyers, whom men call
+Progress and Civilization.
+
+To this grand old forest, for instance, whose dim shades echo the soft
+pit-pat of the deer and the coo of the wood-pigeon, comes not the
+tourist, with hideous knapsack and suit of startling check; no panting
+locomotive belches out its cloud of coal smoke to dim the brightness of
+the sky and choke the elms and oaks which reared their stately heads
+before their fell enemy, the steam engine, was dreamt of.
+
+So remote and unfrequented is the forest that there is scarcely a road
+from end to end of its umbrageous length, for the trail made by the
+rough carts of the woodmen and charcoal burners could scarcely be
+dignified by the title of thoroughfare, and a few footpaths that wind
+about the glades are so faint and seldom used as to be scarcely
+distinguished from the undergrowth of ferny moss around.
+
+Along one of the footpaths the young man tramped, occasionally stopping
+for a moment to look up at the sky which shone redly through the
+openings of the trees or to watch some frightened hare scamper across
+the glade.
+
+Every now and then a herd of deer would flit through the undergrowth,
+turning toward him distended eyes of alarm and curiosity, for of the two
+kinds of men with whom they were acquainted--charcoal burners and
+woodmen--he was neither; nor did he belong to the tribe of tourists, for
+he carried no knapsack, and instead of the inevitable check and
+knickerbockers, was clad in a loose Cheviot suit, which, though well
+worn, bore about it the unmistakable stamp of Saville Row.
+
+That he was young and light-hearted was evident from the fact that he
+broke out into an occasional snatch of an air from the last new popular
+_opera bouffe_, notwithstanding that the evening was closing in and he
+had most completely and emphatically lost his way.
+
+Now, to lose your way in a forest reads rather romantic and entertaining
+than otherwise, but like shipwreck, or falling into the hands of Greek
+banditti, it is a much pleasanter thing on paper than in reality.
+
+A bed of moss, though very charming in the daytime, is not nearly so
+comfortable as a spring mattress, and is sure to be damp, and primeval
+oaks, majestic and beautiful as they are, do not keep out the draught.
+The worst room in the worst inn is preferable to a night's lodging in
+the grandest of forests.
+
+But, though he had never been in the Warden Forest before, the young man
+knew it would be midsummer madness to hope for an inn and was wandering
+along on the chance of coming across some woodman's hut, or by meeting a
+stray human being of whom he could inquire his way.
+
+He was tired--he had been walking since morning, and he was hungry and
+athirst, but he tramped on, and smoked and sang as carelessly as if he
+were strolling down the shady side of Pall Mall.
+
+Slowly the sun set, and the glades, which had been dusky an hour ago,
+grew dark. The faint footpath grew still more indistinct, the
+undergrowth denser and more difficult for persons walking.
+
+The pedestrian fought on for some time, but at last, as he stumbled over
+one of the gnarled roots which a grand chestnut had thrust up through
+the ground, he stopped and, looking round, shook his head.
+
+"A regular babe in the wood, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "I shall have to
+make a night of it, I expect. Wonder whether the robins will be good
+enough to cover me over in the proper nursery-book style? Is it any good
+halloing, I wonder? I tried that an hour ago, much to the disgust of the
+live animals; and I don't think I can kick up a row at this time of
+night. Let's see how the 'bacca goes. Hem! about three--perhaps four
+pipes. I wish I had something to eat and drink; what a fool I was to
+leave that piece of steak at breakfast. Steak! I mustn't think of
+it--that way madness lies. Well, this looks about as sheltered a spot as
+I could find--I'll turn in. I wonder if anybody has, ever since the
+world began, hit upon a short cut? I never have, and hang me if I'll try
+it again. By George! the grass is wet already. Such a likely place for
+snakes--find my pocket full when I wake, no doubt."
+
+Then, with a laugh, he dropped down amongst the long brake; but the idea
+of going to bed in a forest, at the early hour of nine, was too much for
+him, and instead of composing himself to rheumatic slumber, he began to
+sing:
+
+    "Oh, wake and call me early, mother,
+    Call me early, mother, dear."
+
+Scarcely had he finished the line when there came through the darkness,
+as if in response, a short, sharp bark of a dog.
+
+The wanderer leapt to his feet as if something had bitten him, and after
+listening intently for a moment, exclaimed:
+
+"Another chance, by Jove!" and sent up a shout that, ringing through the
+stillness, echoed from tree to tree, and at last called forth the
+answering bark from the distant dog.
+
+Knocking out his pipe as he ran, he made his way as best he could toward
+the sound, shouting occasionally and listening warily to the dog's
+response.
+
+At last, after many a stumble, he found himself in a narrow glade, at
+the end of which, faintly defined against the patch of sky, stood the
+figure of a man.
+
+"Saved, by George!" exclaimed the youth, with mock melodramatic
+emphasis.
+
+"Halloa! Hi! Wait a moment there, will you?" he shouted.
+
+The figure stopped and turned its head, then, after what seemed a
+moment's hesitation, brought back the dog, which was running toward the
+belated youth, and suddenly disappeared.
+
+The wanderer pulled up and stared about the glade with an astonishment
+which immediately gave place to wrath.
+
+"Confound his impudence!" he exclaimed, fiercely. "I'll swear he saw me!
+What on earth did he mean by going off like that? Did the fool think I
+was a ghost? I'll show him I'm a ghost that carries a big stick if I
+come up with him. Confound him, where----" Then, as a sudden thought
+struck him, he set off running down the glade, barking like a dog.
+
+No live, real dog could withstand such an invitation. The dog ahead set
+up an angry echo, through which the youth could hear the man's angry
+attempt to silence the animal, and guided by the two voices, the
+wanderer struck into a footpath, and running at a good pace, came
+suddenly into a small clearing, in which stood a small wooden hut,
+before the door of which man and dog were standing as if on guard.
+
+For a moment the two men stood and regarded each other in silence, the
+youth hot and angry, the man calm and grim.
+
+Each, in his way, was a fine specimen of his class; the man, with his
+weather-beaten face and his thick-set limbs, clad in woodman's garb; the
+youth, with his frankly handsome countenance and patrician air.
+
+"What the deuce do you mean by leaving a man in the lurch like this?"
+demanded the young man, angrily. "Did you take me for a ghost?"
+
+The woodman, half leaning on his long-handled axe, regarded him grimly.
+
+"No. I don't come at every man's beck and call, young sir. What's your
+will with me?"
+
+"Why didn't you stop when I called to you just now?" retorted the youth,
+ignoring the question.
+
+"Because it didn't suit me," said the man, not insolently, but with
+simple, straightforward candor. "You are answered, young sir; now, what
+do you want?"
+
+The young man looked at him curiously, conquering his anger.
+
+"Well, I've lost my way," he said, after a moment's pause.
+
+"Where are you going?" was the quiet response.
+
+"To Arkdale."
+
+The woodman raised his eyes, and looked at him for a moment.
+
+"Arkdale? Yes, you are out of the way. Arkdale lies to the west. Follow
+me, young sir, and I'll show you the road."
+
+"Stop a moment," said the other; "though you declined to wait for me
+just now, you would not refuse to give me a glass of water, I suppose."
+
+The man turned, he had already strode forward, and laid his hand on the
+latch of the cottage door.
+
+The young man was following as a matter of course; but the woodman, with
+his hand still on the latch, pointed to a wooden seat under the window.
+
+"Take your seat there, sir," he said, with grim determination.
+
+The other stared, and the hot blood rose to his face; but he threw
+himself on the bench.
+
+"Very well," he said; "I see you still think me a ghost; you'll be more
+easy when you see me drink. Look sharp, my good fellow."
+
+The woodman, not a whit moved by this taunt, entered the cottage, and
+the young man heard a bolt shot into its place.
+
+A few moments passed, and then the man came out with a plate and a
+glass.
+
+"Thanks," said the young man. "What's this?"
+
+"Cider--cake," was the curt answer.
+
+"Oh, thanks," repeated the other; "jolly good cider, too. Come, you're
+not half a bad fellow. Do you know I meant to give you a hiding when I
+came up to you?"
+
+"Very like," said the man, calmly. "Will you have any more?"
+
+"Another glass, thanks."
+
+With his former precaution in the way of bolting and barring, the man
+entered the cottage and reappeared with a refilled glass.
+
+This the young man drank more leisurely, staring with unconcealed
+curiosity at his entertainer.
+
+It was a kind of stare that would embarrass six men out of ten, and
+madden the remaining four; but the woodman bore it with the calm
+impassiveness of a wooden block, and stood motionless as a statue till
+the youth set down the glass, then he raised his hand and pointed to the
+west.
+
+"Yonder lies Arkdale."
+
+"Oh! How far?"
+
+"Four miles and a half by the near road. Follow me, and I will put you
+into it."
+
+"All right, lead on," said the other; but as he rose he turned, and
+while refilling his pipe stared at the closely locked cottage.
+
+"Comfortable kind of crib that, my man."
+
+The woodman nodded curtly.
+
+"You are a woodman?"
+
+Another nod.
+
+"And poacher too, eh? No offense," he added, coolly. "I only supposed so
+from the close way in which you keep your place locked up."
+
+"Suppose what you please," retorted the woodman, if words so calmly
+spoken could be called a retort. "Yonder lies your road, you'd best be
+taking to it."
+
+"No hurry," retorted the young man, thrusting his hands in his pockets
+and smiling at the ill-concealed impatience which struggled through the
+grave calm on the weather-beaten face. "Well, I'm coming. You're not
+half such a bad sort, after all. What have you got inside there that you
+keep so close, eh? Some of the crown jewels or some of the Queen's
+venison? Take my advice, old fellow--if you don't want people to be
+curious, don't show such anxiety to keep 'em out of your crib."
+
+The man, pacing on ahead, knit his brows as if struck by the idea.
+
+"Curious folk don't come this way, young sir," he said, reluctantly.
+
+"So I should think," retorted the other. "Well, I'm not one of the
+curious, though you think I am. I don't care a button what you've got
+there. Will you have a pipe? I've got some 'bacca."
+
+The man shook his head, and they walked on in silence for some minutes,
+the footpath winding in and out like a dimly-defined serpent. Presently
+it widened, and the woodman stopped short and pointed down the leafy
+lane.
+
+"Follow this path," he said, "until you come to a wood pile; take the
+path to the left of it, and it will bring you to Arkdale. Good-night,
+young sir."
+
+"Here, stop!" said the young man, and he held out his hand with a dollar
+in it. "Here's a trifle to drink my health with."
+
+The woodman looked at the coin, then shook his head slowly; and with
+another "good-night" turned and tramped off.
+
+Not at all abashed the young man restored the coin to his pocket,
+laughed, and strode on.
+
+The woodman walked back a few yards, then stopped, and looked after the
+stalwart figure until it deepened in the gloom, a thoughtful, puzzled
+expression upon his face, as if he were trying to call up some
+recollection.
+
+With a shake of his head, denoting failure, he made his way to the
+cottage, unlocked it and entered.
+
+The door opened into what appeared to be the living room. It was small
+and plainly furnished, after the manner of a woodman's hut, and yet,
+after a moment's glance, a stranger would have noticed a subtle air of
+refinement in common with better habitations.
+
+The table and chairs were of plain deal, the walls were of pine, stained
+and varnished, but there was a good thick carpet on the floor, and on
+one side of the room hung a bookcase filled with well-bound volumes.
+
+Beside the table, on which was spread the supper, stood a chair, more
+luxurious than its fellows, and covered with a pretty chintz. The knife
+and fork laid opposite this chair was of a better quality than the
+others on the table; and beside the knife and fork lay a white napkin
+and a daintily engraved glass; the other drinking vessels on the table
+were of common delf. As the woodman entered, a woman, who was kneeling
+at a fire in an adjoining room, looked round through the doorway.
+
+"Is't you, Gideon?"
+
+"Yes," he answered. "Where is Una?"
+
+"Una? Isn't she with you? I heard voices. Who was it?"
+
+"Where is Una?" he said, ignoring her question.
+
+"In the clearing, I suppose," said the woman. "She went out a few
+minutes ago. I thought she went to meet you?"
+
+The man opened the door and called the dog, who had been wandering round
+the room in an uneasy fashion.
+
+"Go, Dick," he said. "Go fetch her!"
+
+Then he came and stood by the fire thoughtfully.
+
+"No," he said, "it was not Una. I wish she wouldn't leave the cot after
+dusk."
+
+"Why not? What's the fear? What has happened? Who was that I heard with
+you?"
+
+"A stranger," he said, "a young gentleman lost his way. How long has she
+been gone?"
+
+"Not ten minutes. A young gentleman. Think of that! How came he here?"
+
+"Lost his way. He followed me through the Chase. He has gone on to
+Arkdale."
+
+"Lost his way," repeated the woman. "Poor fellow! Five miles it is to
+Arkdale! A gentleman! A gentleman, did thee say?"
+
+"Ay," responded the man, frowning. "An outspoken one, too; I heard him
+at the bottom of the Chase and thought to give him the slip, but he was
+cunning, he teased the dog and ran us down. I had hard work to get rid
+of him; he looked sore tired. No matter, he's gone," and he gave a sigh
+of relief. "'Tis the first stranger that has come upon us since she
+came."
+
+"Lost his way," murmured the woman, as she lifted a saucepan from the
+fire, "and a gentleman. It is a rare sight in Warden Forest. Why,
+Gideon, what has happened to thee?" and saucepan in hand, she stared at
+her husband's cloudy brow.
+
+"Tut--nothing!" he answered, thrusting a projecting log into the fire
+with his foot. "The young man's face seemed--as I thought--'twas but a
+passing fancy--but I thought it was familiar. It was the voice more than
+the face. And a bold face it was. I wish," he broke off, "that the lass
+would come in. From to-night I will have no more wanderings after
+sunset! One stranger follows another, and it is not safe for her to be
+out so late----"
+
+"Hush!" interrupted the woman, holding up a forefinger. "Here she
+comes."
+
+"Not a word!" said Gideon, warningly.
+
+As he spoke the door opened, the dog bounded in with a short yelp of
+satisfaction, and close behind him, framed like a picture in the dark
+doorway, stood a young girl.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+She had evidently run some distance, for she stood panting and
+breathless, the color coming and going on her face, which shone out of
+the hood which half covered her head.
+
+She was dressed in a plain cotton dress which a woodman's daughter might
+wear, and which was short enough in the skirt to reveal a shapely foot,
+and scant enough in the sleeves to show a white, shapely arm.
+
+But no one would have wasted time upon either arm or foot after a glance
+at her face.
+
+To write it down simply and curtly, it was a beautiful face; but such a
+description is far too meager and insufficient. It requires an artist, a
+Rembrandt or a Gainsborough, to describe it, no pen-and-ink work can do
+it. Beautiful faces can be seen by the score by anyone who chooses to
+walk through Hyde Park in the middle of the season, but such a face as
+this which was enframed by the doorway of the woodman's hut is not seen
+in twenty seasons.
+
+It was a face which baffles the powers of description, just as a sunset
+sky laughs to scorn the brush of the ablest painter. It was neither dark
+nor fair, neither grave nor sad, though at the moment of its entrance a
+smile played over it as the moonbeams play over a placid lake.
+
+To catalogue in dry matter-of-fact fashion, the face possessed dark
+brown eyes, bright brown hair, and red, ripe lips; but no catalogue can
+give the spirit of the face, no description convey an idea of the swift
+and eloquent play of expression which, like a flash of sunlight, lit up
+eyes and lips.
+
+Beautiful! The word is hackneyed and worn out. Here was a face more
+than beautiful, it was soulful. Like the still pool in the heart of a
+wood, it mirrored the emotion of the heart as faithfully as a glass
+would reflect the face. Like a glass--joy, sorrow, pleasure, mirth, were
+reflected in the eloquent eyes and mobile lips.
+
+Of concealment the face was entirely ignorant; no bird of the forest in
+which she lived could be more frank, innocent of guile, and ignorant of
+evil.
+
+With her light summer cloak held round her graceful figure, she stood in
+the doorway, a picture of grace and youthful beauty.
+
+For a moment she stood silent, looking from the woodman to his wife
+questioningly, then she came into the room and threw the hood back,
+revealing a shapely head, shining, bronze-like, in the light of the
+lamp.
+
+"Did you send Dick for me, father?" she said, and her voice, like her
+face, betokened a refinement uncommon in a woodman's daughter. "I was
+not far off, only at the pool to hear the frogs' concert. Dick knows
+where to find me now, he comes straight to the pond, though he hates
+frogs' music; don't you, Dick?"
+
+The dog rubbed his nose against her hand and wagged his tail, and the
+girl took her seat at the table.
+
+To match face and voice, her mien and movements were graceful, and she
+handled the dinner-napkin like--a lady. It was just that, expressed in a
+word. The girl was not only beautiful--but a lady, in appearance, in
+tone, in bearing--and that, notwithstanding she wore a plain cotton gown
+in a woodman's hut, and called the woodman "father."
+
+"You did not come by your usual path, father," she said, turning from
+the deerhound, who sat on his haunches and rested his nose in her lap,
+quite content if her hand touched his head, say once during the meal.
+
+"No, Una," he replied, and though he called her by her Christian name,
+and without any prefix there was a subtle undertone in his voice and in
+his manner of addressing her, which seemed to infer something like
+respect. "No, I went astray."
+
+"And you were late," she said. "Was anything the matter?" she added,
+turning her eyes upon him, with, for the first time, an air of
+interrogation.
+
+"Matter? No," he said, raising himself and coming to the table. "What
+should be? Yes, I came home by another path, and I don't think you must
+come to meet me after dark, Una," he added, with affected carelessness.
+
+"No?" she asked, looking from one to the other with a smile of surprise.
+"Why not? Do you think I should get lost, or have you seen any wolves in
+Warden Forest, father? I know every path from end to end, and wolves
+have left merry England forever."
+
+"Not quite," said Gideon, absently.
+
+"Yes, quite," and she laughed. "What Saxon king was it who offered
+fivepence for every wolf's head? We were reading about it the other
+night, don't you remember?"
+
+"Reading! you are always reading," said the woman, as she put a smoking
+dish on the table, and speaking for the first time. "It's books, books,
+from morn to night, and your father encourages you. The books will make
+thee old before thy time, child, and put no pence in thy father's
+pocket."
+
+"Poor father!" she murmured, and leaning forward, put her arms round his
+neck. "I wish I could find in the poor, abused books the way to make him
+rich."
+
+Gideon had put up his rough hand to caress the white one nestling
+against his face, but he let his hand drop again and looked at her with
+a slight cloud on his brow.
+
+"Rich! who wants to be rich? The word is on your lips full oft of late,
+Una. Do _you_ want to be rich?"
+
+"Sometimes," she answered. "As much for your sake as mine. I should like
+to be rich enough for you to rest, and"--looking round the plainly
+furnished but comfortable room--"and a better house and clothes."
+
+"I am not weary," he said, his eyes fixed on her with a thoughtful air
+of concealed scrutiny. "The cot is good enough for me, and the purple
+and fine linen I want none of. So much for me; now for yourself, Una?"
+
+"For myself?" she said. "Well, sometimes I think, when I have been
+reading some of the books, that I should like to be rich and see the
+world."
+
+"It must be such a wonderful place! Not so wonderful as I think it,
+perhaps, and that's just because I have never seen anything of it. Is it
+not strange that for all these years I have never been outside Warden?"
+
+"Strange?" he echoed, reluctantly.
+
+"Yes; are other girls so shut in and kept from seeing the world that one
+reads so pleasantly of?"
+
+"Not all. It would be well for most of them if they were. It has been
+well for you. You have not been unhappy, Una?"
+
+"Unhappy! No! How could one be unhappy in Warden? Why, it's a world in
+itself, and full of friends. Every living thing in it seems a friend,
+and an old friend, too. How long have we lived in Warden, father?"
+
+"Eighteen years."
+
+"And I am twenty-one. Mother told me yesterday. Where did we live before
+we came to Warden?"
+
+"Don't worry your father, Una," said Mrs. Rolfe, who had been listening
+and looking from one to the other with ill-concealed anxiety; "he is too
+weary to talk."
+
+"Forgive me, father. It was thoughtless of me. I should have remembered
+that you have had a hard day, while I have been idling in the wood, and
+over my books; it was stupid of me to trouble you. Won't you sit down
+again and--and I will promise not to talk."
+
+"Say no more, Una. It grieves me to think that you might not be content,
+that you were not happy; if you knew as much of the world that raves and
+writhes outside as I do, you would be all too thankful that you are out
+of the monster's reach, and that all you know of it is from your books,
+which--Heaven forgive them--lie all too often! See now, here is
+something I found in Arkdale;" and as he spoke he drew from the
+capacious pocket of his velveteen jacket a small volume.
+
+The girl sprang to her feet--not clumsily, but with infinite grace--and
+leaned over his shoulder eagerly.
+
+"Why, father, it is the poems you promised me, and it was in your pocket
+all the while I was wearying you with my foolish questions."
+
+"Tut, tut! Take your book, child, and devour it, as usual."
+
+Once or twice Gideon looked up, roused from his reverie by the rustling
+of the trees as the gusts shook them, and suddenly the sky was rent by a
+flash of lightning and a peal of thunder, followed by the heavy rattle
+of the rainstorm.
+
+"Hark at the night, father!" she said, raising her eyes from the book,
+but only for a moment.
+
+"Ay, Una," he said, "some of the old elms will fall to-night. Woodman
+Lightning strikes with a keen ax."
+
+Suddenly there came another sound which, coming in an interval of
+comparative quiet, caused Una to look up with surprise.
+
+"Halloa there! open the door."
+
+Gideon sprang to his feet, his face pale with anger.
+
+"Go to your room, Una," he said.
+
+She rose and moved across the room to obey, but before she had passed up
+the stairs the woodman had opened the door, and the voice came in from
+the outside, and she paused almost unconsciously.
+
+"At last! What a time you have been! I've knocked loud enough to wake
+the dead. For Heaven's sake, open the door and let me in. I'm drenched
+to the skin."
+
+"This is not an inn, young sir."
+
+"No, or it would soon come to ruin with such a landlord. It's something
+with four walls and a roof, and I must be content with that. You don't
+mean to say that you won't let me come in?"
+
+"I do not keep open house for travelers."
+
+"Oh, come," exclaimed the young man, with a short laugh. "It's your own
+fault that I am back here; you told me the wrong turning. I'll swear I
+followed your directions. I must have been walking in a circle; anyhow I
+lost my way, and here I am, and, with all your churlishness, you can't
+refuse me shelter on such a night as this."
+
+"The storm has cleared. It is but an hour's walk to Arkdale; I will go
+with you."
+
+"That you certainly will not, to-night, nor any other man," was the
+good-humored retort. "I've had enough of your confounded forest for
+to-night. Why, man, are you afraid to let me in? It's a nasty thing to
+have to do, but----" and with a sudden thrust of his strong shoulder he
+forced the door open and passed the threshold.
+
+But the woodman recovered from the surprise in a moment and, seizing him
+by the throat, was forcing him out again, when, with a low cry, Una
+sprang forward and laid her hand on his arm.
+
+At her touch Gideon's hands dropped to his side. The stranger sprang
+upright, but almost staggered out with discomfited astonishment.
+
+For the first time in her life she stood face to face with a man other
+than a woodman or a charcoal-burner. And as she looked her heart almost
+stopped beating, the color died slowly from her face. Was it real, or
+was it one of the visionary heroes of her books created into life from
+her own dreaming brain?
+
+With parted lips she waited, half longing, half dreading, to hear him
+speak.
+
+It seemed ages before he found his voice, but at last, with a sudden
+little shake of the head, as if he were, as he would have expressed it,
+"pulling himself together," he took off his wide hat and slowly turned
+his eyes from the beautiful face of the girl to the stern and now set
+face of the woodman.
+
+"Why didn't you tell me that you had a lady--ladies with you?" half
+angrily, half apologetically. Then he turned quickly, impulsively, to
+Una. "I hope you will forgive me. I had no idea that there was anyone
+here excepting himself. Of course I would rather have got into the first
+ditch than have disturbed you. I hope, I do hope you believe that,
+though I can't hope you'll forgive me. Good-night," and inclining his
+head he turned to the door.
+
+Una, who had listened with an intent, rapt look on her face, as one sees
+a blind man listen to music, drew a little breath of regret as he ceased
+speaking, and then, with a little, quick gesture, laid her hand on her
+father's arm.
+
+It was an imploring touch. It said as plainly as if she had spoken:
+
+"Do not let him go."
+
+"Having forced your way into my house you--may remain."
+
+"Thanks. I should not think of doing so. Good-night."
+
+"No; you must not go. He does not mean it. You have made him angry.
+Please do not go!"
+
+The young man hesitated, and the woodman, with a gesture that was one of
+resigned despair, shut the door.
+
+Then he turned and pointed to the next room.
+
+"There's a fire there," he said.
+
+"I'd rather be out in the wood by far," he said, "than be here feeling
+that I have made a nuisance of myself. I'd better go."
+
+But Gideon Rolfe led the way into the next room, and after another look
+from Mrs. Rolfe to Una, the young man followed.
+
+Una stood in the center of the room looking at the door behind which he
+had disappeared, like one in a dream. Then she turned to Mrs. Rolfe.
+
+"Shall I go, mother?"
+
+"Yes. No. Wait till your father comes in."
+
+After the lapse of ten minutes the woodman and the woodman's guest
+re-entered. The latter had exchanged his wet clothes for a suit of
+Gideon's, which, though it was well-worn velveteen, failed to conceal
+the high-bred air of its present wearer.
+
+Meanwhile Mrs. Rolfe had been busily spreading the remains of the
+supper.
+
+"'Tis but plain fare, sir," she said; "but you are heartily welcome."
+
+"Thanks. It looks like a banquet to me," he added, with the short laugh
+which seemed peculiar to him. "I haven't tasted food, as tramps say,
+since morning."
+
+"Dear! dear!" exclaimed the wife.
+
+Una, calling up a long line of heroes, thought first of Ivanhoe,
+then--and with a feeling of satisfaction--of Hotspur.
+
+Figure matched face. Though but twenty-two, the frame was that of a
+trained athlete--stalwart, straight-limbed, muscular; and with all
+combined a grace which comes only with birth and breeding.
+
+Wet and draggled, he looked every inch a gentleman--in Gideon's suit of
+worn velveteen he looked one still.
+
+Silent and motionless, Una watched him.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I got some lunch at the inn--'Spotted Boar' at
+Wermesley--about one o'clock, I suppose. I have never felt so hungry in
+my life."
+
+"Wermesley?" said the wife. "Then you came from----"
+
+"London, originally. I got out at Wermesley, meaning to walk to Arkdale;
+but that appears to be easier said than done, eh?"
+
+Gideon did not answer; he seemed scarcely to hear.
+
+"I can't think how I missed the way," he went on. "I found the charcoal
+burner's hut, and hurried off to the left----"
+
+"To the right, I said," muttered Gideon.
+
+"Right, did you? Then I misunderstood you. Anyhow, I lost the right
+path, and wandered about until I came back to this cottage."
+
+"And you were going to stay at Arkdale? 'Tis but a dull place," said
+Mrs. Rolfe.
+
+"No; I meant taking the train from there to Hurst Leigh----Hurst
+Leigh," repeated the young man. "Do you know it? Ah," he went on, "don't
+suppose you would; it's some distance from here. Pretty place. I am
+going to see a relative. My name is Newcombe--Jack Newcombe I am
+generally called--and I am going on a visit to Squire Davenant."
+
+Gideon Rolfe sprang to his feet, suddenly, knocking his chair over, and
+strode into the lamplight.
+
+The young man looked up in surprise.
+
+"What's the matter?" he asked.
+
+With an effort Gideon Rolfe recovered himself.
+
+"I--I want a light," he said; and leaning over the lamp, he lit his
+pipe. Then turning toward the window, he said: "Una, it is late; go to
+bed now."
+
+She rose at once and kissed the old couple, then pausing a moment, held
+out her hand to the young man, who had risen, and stood regarding her
+with an intent, but wholly respectful look.
+
+But before their hands could join, the woodman stepped in between them,
+and waving her to the stairs with one hand, forced the youth into his
+seat with the other.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+A hearty meal after a long fast invariably produces intense sleepiness.
+
+No sooner had the young gentleman who was called, according to his own
+account, Jack Newcombe, finished his supper than he began to show
+palpable signs of exhaustion.
+
+He felt, indeed, remarkably tired, or be sure he would have demanded the
+reason of the woodman's refusal to allow his daughter to shake hands.
+
+For once in a way, Jack--who was also called "The Savage" by his
+intimate friends--allowed the opportunity for a quarrel to slide by, and
+very soon also allowed the pipe to slide from his mouth, and his body
+from the chair.
+
+Rousing himself with a muttered apology, he found that the woodman alone
+remained, and that he was sitting apparently forgetful of his guest's
+presence.
+
+"Did you speak?" said Jack, rubbing his eyes, and struggling with a very
+giant of a yawn. Gideon looked round.
+
+"You are tired," he said, slowly.
+
+"Rather," assented the Savage, with half-closed eyes; "it must have been
+the wind. I can't keep my head up."
+
+The woodman rose, and taking down from a cupboard a bundle of fox-skins,
+arranged them on the floor, put a couple of chair-cushions at the head
+to serve as pillows, and threw a riding-cloak--which, by the way, did
+not correspond with a woodman's usual attire, and pointed to the
+impromptu bed.
+
+"Thanks," said Jack, getting up and taking off his coat and boots.
+
+"It is a poor bed," remarked the woodman, but the Savage interrupted him
+with a cheerful though sleepy assurance that it needed no apologies.
+
+"I could sleep on a rail to-night," he said, "and that looks comfortable
+enough for a king! Fine skins! Good-night!" and he held out his hand.
+
+Gideon looked at it, but refusing it, nodded gravely.
+
+"You won't shake hands!" exclaimed the Savage, with a little flush and
+an aggrieved tone. "Come, isn't that carrying the high and imposing
+rather too far, old fellow? Makes one feel more ashamed than ever, you
+know. Perhaps I'd better march, after all."
+
+"No," said Gideon, slowly. "It is not that I owe you any ill-will for
+your presence here. You are welcome, but I cannot take your hand.
+Good-night," and he went to the stairs.
+
+At the door, however, he paused, and looked over his shoulder.
+
+"Did you say that--Squire Davenant was your uncle, Mr. Newcombe?"
+
+"Eh--uncle? Well, scarcely. It's rather difficult to tell what
+relationship there is between us. He's a sort of cousin, I believe,"
+answered Jack, carelessly, but yet with a touch of gravity that had
+something comical about it. "Rum old boy, isn't he? You know him, don't
+you?"
+
+Gideon shook his head.
+
+"Oh, I thought you did by the way you looked when I mentioned his name
+just now. Good thing you don't, for you might have something to say
+about him that is not pleasant, and though the old man and I are not
+turtle doves just now, I'm bound to stand up for him for the sake of old
+times."
+
+"You have quarreled?" the old man said; but the Savage had already
+curled himself up in the fox-skins, and was incapable of further
+conversation.
+
+Gideon Rolfe crossed the room, and holding the candle above his head,
+looked down at the sleeper.
+
+"Yes," he muttered, "it's the same face--they are alike! Faces of angels
+and the hearts of devils. What fate has sent him here to-night?"
+
+Though Jack Newcombe was by no means one of those impossible, perfect
+heroes whom we have sometimes met in history, and was, alas! as full of
+imperfections as a sieve is of holes, he was a gentleman, and for a
+savage, was possessed of a considerable amount of delicacy.
+
+"Seems to me," he mused, "that the best thing I can do is to take my
+objectionable self out of the way before any of the good folks put in an
+appearance. The old fellow will be sure to order me off the premises
+directly after the breakfast; and I, in common gratitude, ought to save
+him the trouble."
+
+To resolve and to act were one and the same thing with Jack Newcombe.
+Going into the adjoining room, he got out of the woodman's and into his
+own clothes, and carefully restored the skins and the cloak to the
+cupboard. Then he put the remainder of the loaf into his pocket, to
+serve as breakfast later on, then paused.
+
+"Can't go without saying good-by, and much obliged," he muttered.
+
+A bright idea struck him; he tore the blank leaf from an old letter
+which he happened to have with him, and after a few minutes'
+consideration--for epistolary composition was one of the Savage's
+weakest points--scribbled the following brief thanks, apology, and
+farewell:
+
+"Very much obliged for your kindness, and sorry to have been such a
+bore; shouldn't have intruded if I'd known ladies were present. Will you
+oblige me by accepting the inclosed"--he hesitated a moment, put back
+the sovereign which he had taken from his pocket, and filled up the
+line--"for your wife."
+
+Instead of the coin, he wrapped up a ring, which he took from his little
+finger.
+
+He smiled, as he wrapped it up, for he remembered that the wife had
+particularly large hands; and he thought, cunningly, "_she_ will get
+it."
+
+Having placed this packet on the top of the cheese, he took a last look
+round the room, glanced toward the stairs rather wistfully--it was
+neither the woodman nor his wife that he longed to see--gently unbarred
+the door, and started on his road.
+
+Choosing a sheltered spot, the Savage pulled out his crust, ate it
+uncomplainingly, and then lay down at full length, with his soft hat
+over his eyes, and while revolving the strange events of the preceding
+night, and striving to recall the face of the young girl, fell asleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+A more beautiful spot for a siesta he could not have chosen. At his feet
+stretched the lake, gleaming like silver in the sun, and set in a frame
+of green leaves and forest flowers; above his head, in his very ears,
+the thrushes and linnets sang in concert, all the air was full of the
+perfumes of a summer morning, rendered sweeter by the storm of the
+preceding night, which had called forth the scent of the ferns and the
+honeysuckle.
+
+As he lay, and dreamt with that happy-go-lucky carelessness of time and
+the daily round of duties which is one of the privileges of youth, there
+rose upon the air a song other than that of the birds.
+
+It was a girl's voice, chanting softly, and evidently with perfect
+unconsciousness; faintly at first, it broke upon the air, then more
+distinctly, and presently, from amongst the bushes that stood breast
+high round the sleeping Savage, issued Una.
+
+The night had had dreams for her, dreams in which the handsome face,
+with its bold, daring eyes, and quick, sensitive mouth, had hovered
+before her closed eyes and haunted her, and now here he lay at her feet.
+
+How tired he must be to sleep there, and how hungry! for, though she had
+not seen the note--nor the ring--she knew that he had gone without
+breakfast.
+
+"Poor fellow!" she murmured--"his face is quite pale--and--ah----!" she
+broke off with a sudden gasp, and bent forward; a wasp, which had been
+buzzing around his head for some time, swept his cheek.
+
+Too fearful of waking him to sweep the insect aside, she knelt and
+watched with clasped hands and shrinking heart; so intent in her dread
+that the wasp should alight on his cheek and sting him as almost to have
+forgotten her fear that he should awake.
+
+At last the dreaded climax occurred; the wasp settled on his lips; with
+a low, smothered cry, she stretched out her hand, and, with a quick
+movement, swept the wasp off. But, lightly as her finger had touched his
+lips, it had been sufficient to wake him, and, with a little start, he
+opened his eyes, and received into them, and through them to his heart
+the girl's rapt gaze.
+
+For a minute neither moved; he lest he should break the dream; she,
+because, bird-like, she was fascinated; then, the minute passed, she
+rose, and drew back, and glided into the brake.
+
+The Savage with a wild throb of the heart, saw that his dream had grown
+into life, raised himself on his elbow and looked after her, and, as he
+did so, his eye caught a small basket which she had set down beside him.
+
+"Stay," he called, and in so gentle a voice that his friends who had
+christened him the Savage would have instantly changed it to the Dove.
+
+"Stay! Please stay. Your basket."
+
+"Why did you run from me?" asked the Savage, in a low voice. "Did you
+think that I should hurt you?"
+
+"Hurt me? No, why should you?" and her eyes met his with innocent
+surprise.
+
+"Why should I, indeed! I should have been very sorry if you had gone,
+because I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night."
+
+"You have not to thank me," she said, slowly.
+
+"Yes," he assented, quietly. "But for you----" then he stopped,
+remembering that it was scarcely correct to complain of her father's
+inhospitality; "I behaved very badly. I always do," he added--for the
+first time in his life with regret.
+
+"Do you?" she said, doubtfully. "You were wet and tired last night,
+and--and you must not think ill of my father; he----"
+
+"Don't say another word. I was treated better than I deserved."
+
+"Why did you go without breakfast this morning?" she said, suddenly.
+
+"I brought it with me," he replied. "You forgot the loaf!" and he
+smiled.
+
+"Dry bread!" she said, pityingly. "I am so sorry. If I had but known, I
+would have brought you some milk."
+
+"Oh, I have done very well," he said, his curt way softened and toned
+down.
+
+"And now you are going to Arkdale?" she said, gently.
+
+"That is, after I have gone to rest for a little while longer; I am in
+no hurry; won't you sit down, Una? Keep me company."
+
+To her there seemed nothing strange in the speech; gravely and
+naturally she sat down at the foot of an oak.
+
+"You think the forest is lonely?" she said.
+
+"I do, most decidedly. Don't you?"
+
+"No; but that is because I am used to it and have known no other place."
+
+"Always lived here?" he said, with interest.
+
+"Ever since I was three years old."
+
+"Eighteen years! Then you are twenty-one?" murmured Jack.
+
+"Yes; how old are you?" she asked, calmly.
+
+"Twenty-two."
+
+"Twenty-two. And you have lived in the world all the time?"
+
+"Yes--very much so," he replied.
+
+"And you are going back to it. You will never come into the forest
+again, while I shall go on living here till I die, and never see the
+world in which you have lived. Does that sound strange to you?"
+
+"Do you mean to say that you have never been outside this forest?" he
+said, raising himself on his elbow to stare at her.
+
+"Yes. I have never been out of Warden since we came into it."
+
+"But--why not?" he demanded.
+
+"I do not know," she replied, simply.
+
+"But there must be some reason for it? Haven't you been to Arkdale or
+Wermesley?"
+
+"No," she said, smiling. "Tell me what they are like. Are they gay and
+full of people, with theaters and parks, and ladies riding and driving,
+and crowds in the streets?"
+
+"Oh, this is too much!" under his breath. "No, no--a thousand times no!"
+he exclaimed; "they are the two most miserable holes in creation! There
+are no parks, no theaters in Arkdale or Wermesley. You might see a lady
+on horseback--one lady in a week! They are two county towns, and nothing
+of that kind ever goes on in them. You mean London, and--and places like
+that when you speak of theaters and that sort of thing!"
+
+"Yes, London," she says, quietly. "Tell me all about that--I have read
+about it in books."
+
+"Books!" said the Savage, in undisguised contempt; "what's the use of
+_them_! You must see life for yourself--books are no use. They give it
+to you all wrong; at least, I expect so; don't know much about them
+myself."
+
+"Tell me," she repeated, "tell me of the world outside the forest; tell
+me about yourself."
+
+"About myself? Oh, that wouldn't interest you."
+
+"Yes," she said, simply, "I would rather hear about yourself than about
+anything else."
+
+"Look here, I don't know what to tell you."
+
+"Tell me all you can think of," she said, calmly; "about your father and
+mother."
+
+"Haven't got any," he said; "they're both dead."
+
+"I am sorry," she said.
+
+"Yes, they're dead," he said; "they died long ago."
+
+"And have you any brothers and sisters?"
+
+"No; I have a cousin, though," and he groaned.
+
+"I am so glad," she said, in a low voice.
+
+"Don't be. I'm not. He's a--I don't like him; we don't get on together,
+you know."
+
+"You quarrel, do you mean?"
+
+"Like Kilkenny cats," assented the Savage.
+
+"Then he must be a bad man," she said, simply.
+
+"No," he said, quietly; "everybody says that I am the bad one. I'm a
+regular bad lot, you know."
+
+"I don't think that you are bad," she said.
+
+"You don't; really not! By George! I like to hear you say that; but,"
+with a slow shake of the head, "I'm afraid it's true. Yes, I am a
+regular bad lot."
+
+"Tell me what you have done that is so wrong," she said.
+
+"Oh--I've--I've spent all my money."
+
+"That's not so very wrong; you have hurt only yourself."
+
+"Jove, that's a new way of looking at it," he muttered.
+"And"--aloud--"and I've run into debt, and I've--oh, I can't tell you
+any more; I don't want you to hate me!"
+
+"Hate you? I could not do that."
+
+He sprang to his feet, paced up and down, and then dropped at her side
+again.
+
+"Well, that's all about myself," he said; "now tell me about yourself."
+
+"No," she said; "not yet. Tell me why you are going to Arkdale?"
+
+"I'm going to Arkdale to take a train to Hurst Leigh to see my uncle,
+cousin, or whatever he is--Squire Davenant."
+
+"Is he an old man?"
+
+"Yes, a very old man, and a bad one, too. All our family are a bad lot,
+excepting my cousin, Stephen Davenant."
+
+"The one you do not like?"
+
+"The same. He is quite an angel."
+
+"An angel?"
+
+"One of those men too good to live. He's the only steady one we've got,
+and we make the most of him. He is Squire Davenant's heir--at least he
+will come into his money. The old man is very rich, you know."
+
+"I see," she said, musingly; then she looked down at him and added,
+suddenly: "You were to have been the heir?"
+
+"Yes, that's right! How did you guess that? Yes, I was the old man's
+favorite, but we quarreled. He wanted it all his own way, and, oh--we
+couldn't get on. Then Cousin Stephen stepped in, and I am out in the
+cold now."
+
+"Then why are you going there now?" she asked.
+
+"Because the squire sent for me," he replied.
+
+"And you have been all this time going?"
+
+"You see, I thought I'd walk through the forest," he said,
+apologetically.
+
+"You should be there now--you should not have waited on the road! Is
+your Cousin Stephen--is that his name?--there?"
+
+"I don't know," he said, carelessly.
+
+"Ah, you should be there," she said. "Squire Davenant would be friendly
+with you again."
+
+"I'm afraid you haven't hit the right nail on the head there," he said.
+"I rather think he wants to give me a good rowing about a scrape I've
+got into."
+
+"Tell me about that."
+
+"Oh, it's about money--the usual thing. I got into a mess, and had to
+borrow some money of a Jew, and he got me to sign a paper, promising to
+pay after Squire Davenant's death; he called it a _post obit_--I didn't
+know what it was then, but I do now; for the squire got to hear of it,
+but how, hanged if I can make out; and he wrote to me and to the Jew,
+saying that he shouldn't leave me a brass farthing. Of course the Jew
+was wild; but I gave him another sort of bill, and it's all right."
+
+"Excepting that you will lose your fortune," said Una, with a little
+sigh. "What will you do?"
+
+"That's a conundrum which I've long ago given up. By Jove! I'll come and
+be a woodman in the forest!"
+
+"Will you?" she said. "Do you really mean it?--no, you were not in
+earnest!"
+
+"I--why shouldn't I be in earnest?" he says, almost to himself. "Would
+you like me to? I mean shall I come here to--what do you call
+it--Warden?" and he threw himself down again.
+
+"Yes," she said; "I should like you to. Yes, that would be very nice. We
+could sit and talk when your work was done, and I could show you all the
+prettiest spots, and the places where the starlings make their nests,
+and the fairy rings in the glades, and you could tell me all that you
+have seen and done. Yes," wistfully, "that would be very nice. It is so
+lonely sometimes!"
+
+"Lonely, is it?" he said. "Lonely! By George, I should think it must be!
+I can't realize it! Books, it reads like a book. If I were to tell some
+of my friends that there was a young lady shut up in a forest, outside
+of which she had never been, they wouldn't believe me. By the way--where
+did you go to school?"
+
+"School? I never went to school."
+
+"Then how--how did you learn to read? and--it's awfully rude of me, you
+know, but you speak so nicely; such grammar, and all that."
+
+"Do I?" she said, thoughtfully. "I didn't know that I did. My father
+taught me."
+
+"It's hard to believe," he said, as if he were giving up a conundrum. "I
+beg your pardon. I mean that your father would have made a jolly good
+schoolmaster, and I must be an awful dunce, for I've been to Oxford, and
+I'll wager I don't know half what you do, and as to talking--I am not
+in it."
+
+"Yes, my father is very clever," she said; "he is not like the other
+woodmen and burners."
+
+"No, if he is, they must be a learned lot," assented Jack; "yes, I think
+I had better come and live here, and get him to teach me. I'm afraid he
+wouldn't undertake the job."
+
+"Father does not like strangers," she said, blushing as she thought of
+the inhospitable scene of the preceding night. "He says that the world
+is a cruel, wicked place, and that everybody is unhappy there. But I
+think he must be wrong. You don't look unhappy."
+
+"I am not unhappy now," said Jack.
+
+"I am so glad," she said; "why are you not?"
+
+"Because I am with you."
+
+"Are you?" she said, gently. "Then it must be because I am with you that
+I feel so happy."
+
+The Savage flushed and he looked down, striving to still the sudden
+throb of pleasure with which his heart beat.
+
+"Confound it," he muttered, "I must go! I can't be such a cad as to stop
+any longer; she oughtn't to say this sort of thing, and yet I--I can't
+tell her so! No! I must go!" and he rose and took out his watch.
+
+"I am afraid I must be on the tramp."
+
+"Yes," she assented; "you have stayed too long. I hope you will find
+that the Squire Davenant has forgiven you. I think he cannot help it.
+And you will have your fortune and will go back into the world, and will
+quite forget that you lost your way in Warden Forest. But I shall not
+forget it; I shall often think of it."
+
+"No," he said, "I shan't forget it. But in case I should, will you give
+me something--no, I won't ask it."
+
+"Why not?" she said, wonderingly. "Were you going to say, will I give
+you something to help you to remember?"
+
+"Yes, I will. What shall I give you?" and she looked around.
+
+Jack looked at her. His bad angel whispered in his ear, "Ask her to give
+you a kiss," but Jack metaphorically kicked him out of hearing.
+
+"Give me a flower," he said, and his voice was as gentle as its deep
+ringing bass could be.
+
+Una nodded, and plucking a dog rose held it out to him.
+
+"There," she said; "at least you will remember it as long as the rose
+lasts. But it soon dies," and she sighed.
+
+Jack took it and looked at it hard. Then he put it to his lips.
+
+"There is no smell to a dog rose," said Una.
+
+"Ah no! I forgot. Just so. Well, good-by. We may shake hands, Una. That
+is your name, isn't it? How do you spell it?"
+
+"U--n--a," she said, giving him her hand.
+
+"It's a pretty name," he said, looking at her.
+
+"Is it?" she said, dreamily. "Yes, I think it is, now. Say it again."
+
+"Una, good-by. We shall meet again."
+
+"Do you think so? Then you will have to come to Warden again."
+
+"And I will. I will come soon. Oh, yes, we shall meet again. Good-by,"
+and, yielding to the temptation, he bent and touched her hand--Heaven
+knows, reverently enough--with his lips.
+
+A warm flush spread over the girl's face and neck, and she quivered from
+head to foot. It was the first kiss--except those of her father and
+mother--that she had ever received.
+
+"Good-by," he repeated, and was slowly relinquishing her hand, the hand
+that clung to his, when a hand of firmer texture was laid on his arm and
+swung him round.
+
+It was Gideon Rolfe, his face white with passion, his eyes ablaze, and a
+heavy stick upraised.
+
+The Savage had just time to step back to avoid the blow and plant his
+feet firmly to receive a renewed attack; but with an effort the old man
+restrained himself, and struggling for speech, motioned the girl away
+with one hand and pointed with the other to Jack.
+
+"You scoundrel!" he gasped, hoarsely. "Go, Una, go. You scoundrel! I
+warmed you at my hearth, you viper! and you turn to sting me. Go,
+Una--go at once. Do you disobey me?"
+
+White and trembling, the girl shrank into the shade.
+
+"You villain!" went on the old man, struggling with his passion.
+
+"Stop!" exclaimed Jack, the veins in his forehead swelling ominously.
+"You must be mad! Don't strike me!--you are an old man!"
+
+"Strike you! No, no; blows are of no avail with such as you! Curs take
+no heed of blows! What other way can one punish the scoundrel who repays
+hospitality by treachery? Was it not enough that you forced your way
+into my house, broke my bread, but you must waylay a credulous girl and
+lead her in the first step to ruin. Oh, spare your breath, viper! I know
+you and your race too well. Ruin and desolation walk hand in hand with
+you; but you have reckoned without your host here. My knowledge of you
+arms me with power to protect a weak, innocent girl from your wiles.
+Scoundrel!"
+
+"You use strong words," he said, and his voice was low and hoarse. "You
+are an old man and--you are her father. You call me a scoundrel; I call
+you a fool, for if I were half the scoundrel you think me, you'd be to
+blame for any harm I might have done. I've done none. But that's no
+thanks to you, who keep such a girl as she is shut up as you do, and
+leave her to wander about unprotected. You know me, you say, and you
+know no good of me; that's as it may be, but I say when you call me a
+scoundrel, you lie!"
+
+"Yes, I know you. I know the stock from whence you sprung, villains all!
+I thought that here, at least, I was safe from your kind; but Fate led
+you here--thank Fate that I let you go unhurt. Take an old man's advice,
+and, unlike your race, for once leave the prey which you thought so easy
+to destroy. Go!"
+
+"I am going," he said, grimly. "I shall go, because if I stayed all
+night I should not convince you that I am not the scoundrel you suppose
+me. But, if you think that I am to be frightened by these sort of
+threats, you are mistaken. I have said that I will come back, and I
+_will_!" and with a curt nod he strode off.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+It was the evening of the day on which Jack Newcombe had parted from
+Gideon and Una, and the young moon fell peacefully on the irregular pile
+of the ancient mansion known familiarly for twenty miles of its
+neighborhood as The Hurst.
+
+The present owner was one Ralph Davenant, or Squire Davenant, as Jack
+Newcombe had called him, and as he was called by the county generally.
+
+He was an old man of eighty, who had lived one-half his life in the
+wildest and most dissipated fashion, and the other half in that most
+unprofitable occupation known as repenting thereof.
+
+I say "known as," for if old Squire Davenant had really repented, this
+story would never have been written.
+
+If half the stories which were told of him were true, Ralph Davenant,
+the present owner of Hurst, deserves a niche in the temple of fame--or
+infamy--which holds the figures of the worst men of his day. He had been
+a gambler, a spendthrift, a rogue of the worst kind for one half his
+life; a miser, a cynic, a misanthrope for the other.
+
+And he now lay dying in his huge, draughty bed-chamber, hung with the
+portraits of his ancestors--all bad and filled with the ghosts of his
+youth and wasted old age.
+
+As it was, he lay quite still--so still that the physician, brought down
+from London at a cost of--say, ten guineas an hour, was often uncertain
+whether he was alive or dead.
+
+There was a third person in the room--a tall, thin young man, who stood
+motionless beside the bed, watching the old man, with half-closed eyes
+and tightly compressed lips. This was Stephen Davenant, the old man's
+nephew, and, as it was generally understood, his heir. Stephen Davenant
+was called a handsome man, and at first sight he seemed to merit that
+description. It was not until you had looked at him closely that you
+began to grow critical and to find fault. He was dark; his hair, which
+was quite black, was smooth, and clung to his head with a sleek, slimy
+closeness that only served to intensify the paleness, not to say pallor,
+of the face. Pallor was, indeed, the prevailing characteristic, his lips
+even being of a subdued and half-tinted red; they were not pleasant
+lips, although for every forty minutes out of the sixty they wore a
+smile which just showed a set of large and even teeth, which were, if
+anything, too faultless and too white. Jack said that when Stephen
+smiled it was like a private view of a cemetery.
+
+In short, to quote the Savage again, Stephen Davenant was an admirable
+example, as artists would say, of "a study in black and white."
+
+As he stood by the bed, motionless, silent, with the fixed regard of his
+light gray eyes on the sick man, he looked not unlike one of those sleek
+and emaciated birds which one sees standing on the bank of the Ganges,
+waiting for the floating by of stray dead bodies.
+
+And yet he was not unhandsome. At times he looked remarkably well; when,
+for instance, he was delivering a lecture or an address at some
+institute or May meeting. His voice was low and soft, and not seldom
+insinuating, and some of his friends had called him, half in jest, half
+in earnest, "Fascination Davenant."
+
+It will be gathered from this description that to call all the race of
+Davenants bad was unfair; every rule has its exception, and Stephen
+Davenant was the exception to this. He was "a good young man."
+
+Fathers held him up as a pattern to their wayward sons, mothers
+patronized and lauded him, and their daughters regarded him as almost
+too good to live.
+
+The minutes, so slow for the watchers, so rapid to the man for whom they
+were numbered, passed, and the old cracked clock in the half-ruined
+stables wheezed out the hour, when, as if the sound had roused him, old
+Ralph moved slightly, and opening his eyes, looked slowly from one
+upright figure to the other.
+
+Dark eyes that had not even yet lost all their fire, and still shone out
+like a bird's from their wrinkled, cavernous hollows.
+
+Stephen unlocked his wrist, bent down, and murmured, in his soft, silky
+voice:
+
+"Uncle, do you know me?"
+
+A smile, an unpleasant smile to see on such a face, glimmered on the old
+man's lips.
+
+"Here still, Stephen?" he said, slowly and hollowly. "You'd make a
+good--mute."
+
+A faint, pink tinge crept over Stephen's pale face, but he smiled and
+shook his head meekly.
+
+"Who's that?" asked Ralph, half turning his eyes to the physician.
+
+"Sir Humphrey, uncle--the doctor," replied Stephen, and the great doctor
+came a little nearer and felt the faint pulse.
+
+"What's he stopping for?" gasped the old man. "What can he do, and--why
+don't he go?"
+
+"We must not leave you, uncle, till you are better."
+
+A faint flame shot up in the old man's eyes.
+
+"Better, that's a lie, you know. You always were----" Then a paroxysm of
+faintness took him, but he struggled with and overcame it.
+
+"Is--is--Jack here?" he asked.
+
+"I regret to say," he replied, "that he is not. I cannot understand the
+delay. I hope, I fervently hope, that he has not willfully----"
+
+"Did you tell him I was dying?" asked Ralph, watching him keenly.
+
+"Can you doubt it?" murmured Stephen, meekly. "I particularly charged
+the messenger to say that my cousin was not to delay."
+
+The old man looked up with a sardonic smile.
+
+"I'll wait," he muttered, and he closed his eyes resolutely. The minutes
+passed, and presently there was a low knock at the door, and a servant
+crept up to Stephen.
+
+"Mr. Newcombe is below, sir."
+
+Stephen looked warningly at the bed, and stole on tiptoe from the
+room--not that there was any occasion to go on tiptoe, for his ordinary
+walk was as noiseless as a cat's--down the old treadworn stairs, into
+the neglected hall, and entered the library.
+
+Bolt upright, and looking very like a Savage indeed, stood Jack
+Newcombe.
+
+With noiseless step and mournful smile, Stephen entered, closed the
+door, and held out his hand.
+
+"My dear Jack, how late you are!"
+
+With an angry gesture Jack thrust his hands in his pockets, and glared
+wrathfully at the white, placid face.
+
+"Late!" he echoed, passionately. "Why didn't you tell me that he was
+dying?"
+
+"Hush!" murmured Stephen, with a shocked look--though if Jack had
+bellowed in his savagest tone, his voice would not have reached the room
+upstairs. "Pray, be quiet, my dear Jack. Tell you! Didn't my man give
+you my message? I particularly told him to describe the state of my
+uncle's health. Slummers is not apt to forget or neglect messages!"
+
+"Messages!" said Jack, with wrathful incredulity; "he gave me none--left
+none, rather, for I was out. He simply said that the squire wanted to
+see me."
+
+"Dear, dear me," murmured Stephen, regretfully. "I cannot understand it.
+Do you think the person who took the message delivered it properly?
+Slummers is so very careful and trustworthy."
+
+"Oh," said Jack, contemptuously. "Do you suppose anyone would have
+forgotten to tell me if your man had told them that the squire was
+dying? I don't if you do, and I don't believe you do. You're no fool,
+Stephen, though you have made one of me," and he moved toward the door.
+
+"Stay," said Stephen, laying his white hand gently on Jack's arm. "Will
+you wait a few minutes? Though by some unfortunate accident you were not
+told how ill my uncle is, I assure you that he is too ill now to be
+harassed----"
+
+"Oh, I know what you mean without so many words," interrupted Jack,
+scornfully. "Make your mind easy, I am not going to split upon you.
+Bah!" he added, as Stephen shook his head with sorrowful repudiation.
+"Do you suppose that I don't know that your man was instructed to keep
+it from me? What were you afraid of--that I should cut you out at the
+last moment? You judge me by your own standard, and you make a vast
+mistake. It isn't on account of the money--you are welcome to that--and
+you deserve it, for you've worked hard enough for it; no, it's not on
+that account, it's--but you wouldn't understand if I told you. I am
+going up now," and he sprang up the stairs quickly.
+
+Stephen followed him, and entered the room close behind him. The old man
+looked up, motioned with his hand to Jack, looked at the other two and
+quietly pointed to the door.
+
+Stephen's eyes closed and his lips shut as he hesitated for a moment,
+then he turned and left with the physician.
+
+"I think," said Sir Humphrey, blandly, and looking at his watch--one of
+a score left him by departed patients, "I think that I will go now, Mr.
+Davenant; I can do no good and my presence appears only to irritate your
+uncle."
+
+The great doctor departed, just thirty guineas richer than when he came,
+and Stephen went into the library and closed the door, and as he did so
+it almost seemed as if he had taken off a mask and left it on the mat
+outside.
+
+The set, calm expression of the face changed to one of fierce,
+uncontrollable anxiety and malice. With sullen step he paced up and down
+the room, gnawing--but daintily--at his nails, and grinding the white
+tombstones.
+
+"Another half hour," he muttered, "and the fool would have been too
+late? Will he tell the old man? Curse him; how I hate him! I was a fool
+to send for him--an idiot! What is he saying to him? What are they
+doing? Thank Heaven, that old knave Hudsley isn't there! They can't do
+anything--can't, can't! No, I am safe."
+
+Stephen Davenant need not have been so uneasy; Jack was not plotting
+against him, nor was the old man making a will in the Savage's favor.
+
+Jack stood beside the bed, waiting for one of the attacks of faintness
+to pass, looking down regretfully at the haggard, death-marked face,
+recalling the past kindnesses he had received from the old man, and
+remorsefully remembering their many quarrels and eventful separation.
+
+"Bad lot" as he was, no thought of lucre crossed the Savage's mind; he
+forgot even Stephen and the cowardly trick he had played him, and
+remembered only that he was looking his last on the old man, who, after
+his kind, had been good, and so far as his nature would allow it,
+generous to him.
+
+At last old Ralph opened his eyes.
+
+"Here at last," he said; and by an effort of the resolute will, he made
+himself heard distinctly, though every word cost him a breath.
+
+"I'm sorry I'm so late," he said; and his voice was husky. "I didn't
+know----"
+
+The old man looked at him shrewdly.
+
+"So Stephen didn't send? It was just like him. A good stroke."
+
+"Yes, he sent," said Jack; "but----"
+
+The old man waved his hand to show that he understood.
+
+"A sharp stroke. A clever fellow, Stephen. You always were a fool."
+
+"I'm afraid so, sir," he said quietly.
+
+"But Stephen is a knave, and a fool, too," murmured the old man. "Jack,
+I wish--I wish I could come back to the funeral."
+
+"To see his face when the will's read," explained old Ralph, with a grim
+smile.
+
+Jack colored, and, I am ashamed to say, grinned.
+
+A sardonic smile flitted over the old man's face.
+
+"Be sure you are there, Jack; don't let him keep you away."
+
+"Not that you will be disappointed--much," said the old man.
+
+"Don't think of me, sir," said Jack, with a dim sense of the discordance
+in such talk from such lips.
+
+"I have thought of you as far--as--as I dared. Jack, you are an honest
+fool. Why--why did you give that _post obit_?"
+
+"I don't know," said Jack, quietly. "Don't worry about that now."
+
+"Stephen told me," said the old man, grimly. "He has told me every piece
+of wickedness you have done. He is a kind-hearted man, is--Ste--phen."
+
+"We never were friends, sir," he said. "But don't talk now."
+
+"I must," murmured the old man. "Now or never, and--give me your hand,
+Jack."
+
+"I've had yours ever since I came in," said Jack, simply.
+
+"Oh, I didn't know it. Good-by, boy--don't--don't end up like this.
+It--and--for Heaven's sake don't cry!" for Jack emitted a suspicious
+little choking sound, and his eyes were dim. "Good-by; don't be too
+disappointed. Justice, Jack, justice. Where is Stephen?--send him to me.
+I"--and the old sardonic smile came back--"I like to see him--he amuses
+me!"
+
+The eyes closed; Jack waited a moment, then pressed the cold hand, and
+crept from the room.
+
+Half way down the stairs he leaned his arm on the balustrade and dropped
+his face on it for a minute or two, then choking back his tears, went
+into the library--where Stephen was sitting reading a volume of
+sermons--and pointed up-stairs.
+
+"My uncle wants me?" murmured Stephen. "I will go. Might I recommend
+this book to you, my dear Jack; it contains----"
+
+Jack, I regret to say, chucked the volume into a corner of the room, and
+Stephen, with a mournfully reproachful sigh, shook his head and left the
+room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+"Villains," says an old adage, "are made by accident." Now mark how
+accident helped to make a villain of the good Stephen Davenant.
+
+He passed up the stairs and entered the bedroom. As he did so his foot
+struck against a chair and caused a little noise. The dying man heard
+it, however, and opening his eyes, said, almost inaudibly:
+
+"Is that you, Hudsley?"
+
+Stephen was about to reply, "No, it is I--Stephen," but stopped,
+hesitated, and as if struck by a sudden idea, drew back behind the
+bed-curtains.
+
+Whatever that idea was, he was considerably moved by it; his hands
+shook, and his lips trembled during the interval of silence before the
+old man repeated the question:
+
+"Is that you, Hudsley?"
+
+Then Stephen, wiping his lips, answered in a dry voice utterly unlike
+his own, but very remarkably resembling that of the old solicitor,
+Hudsley:
+
+"Yes, squire, it's Hudsley."
+
+The dying man's hearing was faint, his senses wandering and dimmed; he
+caught the sense of the words, however, for with an effort he turned his
+head toward the curtains.
+
+"Where are you?" he asked, almost inaudibly; "I can't see you; my sight
+has gone. You have been a long while coming. Hudsley, you thought
+you--knew--everything about the man who lies here; you were wrong.
+There's a surprise for you as well as the rest. Did you see Jack?"
+
+Stephen had no need to reply: the old man rambled on without waiting,
+excepting to struggle for breath.
+
+"He is down-stairs. Poor boy! it's a pity he is such a fool. There was
+always one like him in the Newcombe family. But the other--Stephen--the
+man who has been hanging about me all this time, eager to lick my boots
+so that he might step into them when I was gone; he is a fool and a
+knave."
+
+Stephen's face went white and his lips twitched. It is probable that he
+remembered the adage: "Listeners hear no good of themselves."
+
+"He is the first of his kind we have had in the family. Plenty of fools
+and scamps, Hudsley, but no hypocrites till this one. Well, he'll get
+his deserts. I'd give a thousand pounds to come back and hear the will
+read, and see his face. He makes so sure of it, too, the oily eel!"
+
+Stephen writhed like an eel, indeed, and his lips blanched. Was the old
+man delirious, or had he, Stephen, really played the part of sycophant,
+toady and boot-licker all these years for nothing?
+
+Great drops of sweat rolled down his face, his tongue clove to the roof
+of his mouth, and his knees shook so that he had to steady himself by
+holding the curtain.
+
+"Yes, disappointed all. You don't understand. You think that you know
+everything. But no; I trusted you with a great deal, but not with all.
+How dark it is! Hudsley, you are an old man; don't finish up like--like
+this. Only one soul in the wide world is sorry that I'm going; and he's
+a fool. Poor Jack! I remember----"
+
+Then followed, half inaudibly, a string of names belonging to the
+companions of his youth. Most of them were dead and forgotten by him
+until this hour, when he was about to join their shades.
+
+"Ah, the old time! the old time. But--but--what was it I was saying?
+I--I--Hudsley--quick! for Heaven's sake! I--the key--the key----"
+
+Stephen came round, in his eagerness risking recognition.
+
+"The key?" he asked, so hoarsely that his voice might well be taken for
+an old man's. "What key?"
+
+"Feel--under my pillow!" gasped Ralph Davenant.
+
+Stephen thrust his trembling hand under the pillow, and, with a leap of
+the heart, felt a key.
+
+"The safe!" murmured a faltering voice. "The bottom drawer. Bring them
+to me! Quick!"
+
+Stephen glided snake-like across the room to a small safe that stood in
+a recess, opened the door, and with trembling hands drew out the drawer.
+His hands shook so, his heart beat to such an extent, that as a movement
+in the next room struck upon his ears, he could scarcely refrain from
+shrieking aloud; but it was only the nurse, whom the old man would only
+allow to enter the room at intervals; and setting his teeth hard, and
+fighting for calm, Stephen took out two documents.
+
+One was a parchment of goodly proportions.
+
+Both were folded and endorsed on the back--the parchment with the
+inscription, "Last will and testament of Ralph Davenant, Gent., Jan.
+18--."
+
+With eyes that almost refused to do their task, Stephen turned the other
+paper to the light, and read, "Will, July 18--." This inscription was
+written in an old man's hand--the parchment was engrossed as usual.
+
+Two wills! The one--the parchment, however, was useless; the other--the
+sheet of foolscap--was the last.
+
+"Well," rose the voice from the bed, hollow and broken, "have you got
+them?"
+
+Stephen came up and stood behind the curtain, and held the wills up.
+
+"Yes, yes," he said. "The first is--is in whose favor?"
+
+The old man struggled for breath. White, breathless himself with the
+agony of anxiety and fear--for any moment someone might enter the
+room--Stephen stood staring beside him. He dared not undo the tapes and
+glance at the wills, in case of interruption--dared not conceal them,
+for Hudsley might appear on the scene. With the wills clasped in his
+hand, he stood and waited.
+
+The faintness passed--old Ralph regained his voice.
+
+"One is parchment--the other is paper. The parchment one you drew up;
+you know its contents--I want it destroyed, or, stay, keep it. It will
+add to the deceitful hound's disappointment. The other--ah, my God--it
+is too late--Hudsley, there is a cruel history in that paper. No hand
+but mine could pen it. But--but--I have done justice. Too late!--why do
+you say--too late? Why do you mock a dying man? Mind, Hudsley, I trust
+to you. It is a sound will, made in sound body--and--mind. Don't leave
+that hypocritical hound a chance of setting it aside. I trust to you.
+Stop, better burn the first will; burn it here now--now," and in his
+excitement he actually raised his head. Raised it to let it drop upon
+the pillow again with exhaustion.
+
+Stephen stood and glared, torn this way and that by doubt and
+uncertainty.
+
+"Justice," he whispered hoarsely. "The first will, my will leaves all
+to----"
+
+"To that hound Stephen!" gasped the old man. "I did it in a weak moment
+and repented of it. Leaves all to him; but not now."
+
+Stephen hesitated no longer. With the quick, gliding movement of a cat
+he reached the iron safe, replaced the parchment in the drawer and
+locked the outer door, and thrust the paper will into his pocket.
+
+Scarcely had he done so, before he had time to get to his place, the
+door opened and Hudsley, the lawyer, entered.
+
+He was an old man, as thin and bent as a withy branch, with a face
+seamed and wrinkled, like his familiar parchment, with the like spots;
+his dark, keen gray eyes, which looked out from under his shaggy
+eyebrows, like stars in a cloudy sky.
+
+As he entered, Stephen came forward, his back to the light, his face in
+the shadow, and held out his hand.
+
+Hudsley took it, held it for a moment, and dropped it with a little,
+irritable shudder--the slim, white hand was as cold as ice--and,
+turning to the bed, looked anxiously at the dying man.
+
+"Great heaven!" he said, "is he dead?"
+
+A savage hope shot up in Stephen's heart, but he looked and shook his
+head.
+
+"No. You have been a long time coming, Mr. Hudsley."
+
+"I have, sir, thanks to your man's stupidity," said the lawyer, in an
+angry whisper. "He came for me in a confounded dogcart!"
+
+"The quickest vehicle to get ready," murmured Stephen. "I told him, to
+take the first that came to hand."
+
+"And the result," said the lawyer impatiently. "The result is that we
+lost half an hour on the road! Does your man drink, Mr. Stephen?"
+
+"Drink! Slummers drink!" murmured Stephen. "A most steady,
+respectable--I may say conscientious--man."
+
+"He may be conscientious, but he's a very bad driver. I never saw such a
+clumsy fellow. He drove into a ditch half a mile after we had started."
+
+"Dear, dear," murmured Stephen regretfully. "Poor Slummers. It is not
+his fault. He is a worthy fellow, but too sympathetic, and my uncle's
+illness quite upset him----"
+
+"Hush!" interrupted Mr. Hudsley, holding up his finger and bending down.
+
+"Squire, do you know me? I am Hudsley."
+
+The dying man moved his hand faintly in assent.
+
+"Yes. Have you done as I told you?"
+
+"You have told me nothing yet."
+
+"The safe!--the key!--the pillow!" said the Squire.
+
+Hudsley caught his meaning and felt under the pillow, and Stephen, as if
+to assist, thrust his hand under, and withdrew it with the key in his
+fingers.
+
+"Why--again?" came the voice, broken and impatient. "You have done it!
+you have burnt the first."
+
+"What is he saying?" he asked.
+
+"You have burned it; show me the other--the last; let me--touch it."
+
+Hudsley opened the safe and took the first will from the drawer.
+
+"Two, did he say?" he muttered: "there is only one here--the will;" and
+he came to the bed with it.
+
+"There is only one will here, of course, squire," he said, bending down
+and speaking slowly and distinctly.
+
+"Yes--you, you have--burned the other. Speak. I cannot see, but I can
+hear you."
+
+"I have burned none," said Hudsley. "Have only just come--there is only
+one will here."
+
+"Which?" gasped the dying man.
+
+"The will of January--Mr. Stephen----"
+
+Before they could finish, they saw, with horror, the dying man half
+raise himself, his face livid, his hands wildly clutching the air, his
+eyes, by accident, turned toward Stephen.
+
+"You--you thief!" he gasped. "Give it to me!--give--give--oh, God! Too
+late?--too la----"
+
+It was too late. Before the nurse and Jack could rush into the room,
+horrified by the shriek which rang from Stephen's white lips, old Ralph
+Davenant had fallen back dead!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+Half an hour afterward Stephen Davenant passed down the stairs on
+tiptoe, though the tramp of an armed host could not disturb old Ralph
+Davenant now--passed down with his hand pressed against his breast
+pocket, in which lay the stolen will. Had the sheet of blue foolscap
+been composed of red-hot iron instead of paper, Stephen could not have
+felt its presence more distinctly and uncomfortably; it seemed to burn
+right through his clothes and scorch his heart; he could almost fancy,
+in his overstrained state, that it could be seen through his coat.
+
+He paused a moment outside the library door, one white hand fingering
+his pale lips, the other vainly striving to keep away from his breast
+pocket, and listened to the tramp, tramp of Jack as he walked up and
+down the room. Any other face would have been more endurable than
+Jack's, with its fiercely frank gaze and outspoken contempt.
+
+At last he opened the door and entered, his handkerchief in his hand.
+Jack stopped and looked at him.
+
+"I have been waiting for you," he said.
+
+"My poor uncle!"
+
+Jack looked at him with keen scrutiny, mingled with unconcealed scorn.
+
+"I have been waiting for you, in case you wished to say anything before
+I went."
+
+"What?" murmured Stephen, with admirably feigned surprise and regret.
+"You will not go, my dear Jack! not to-night."
+
+"Yes, to-night," said Jack quietly. "I couldn't stop in the house--I
+shall go to the inn."
+
+"But----"
+
+"No, thanks!" said Jack, cutting him short.
+
+"Oh, do not thank me," murmured Stephen, meekly. "I may have no right to
+offer you hospitality, the house may be yours."
+
+"Well, I think you could give a pretty good guess on that point," said
+Jack, bluntly; "but let that pass. I am going to the 'Bush.' If you or
+Mr. Hudsley want me--where is Hudsley?" he broke off to inquire.
+
+"Mr. Hudsley is up-stairs sealing up the safe and things," said Stephen
+humbly. "He wished me to assist him, but I had rather that he should do
+it alone--perhaps you would go through the house with him?"
+
+Jack shook his head.
+
+"As you please," murmured Stephen, with a resigned sigh. "Mr. Hudsley is
+quite sufficient; he knows where everything of importance is kept. You
+will have some refreshments after your journey, my dear Jack?"
+
+"No, thanks," said Jack; "I want nothing--I couldn't eat anything. I'll
+go now."
+
+"Are you going, Mr. Newcombe?" said Mr. Hudsley, entering and looking
+from one to the other keenly.
+
+"I am going to the 'Bush;' I shall stay there in case I am wanted."
+
+"The funeral had better be fixed for Saturday. You and Mr. Stephen will
+be the chief mourners." Then he turned to Stephen. "I have sealed up
+most of the things. Is there anything you can suggest?"
+
+"You know all that is required; we leave everything to you, Mr Hudsley.
+I think I may speak for my cousin--may I not, Jack?"
+
+Jack did not reply, but put on his gloves.
+
+"I will go now," he said. "Good-night, Mr. Hudsley."
+
+The old lawyer looked at him keenly as he took his hand.
+
+"I shall find you at the 'Bush?'" he said.
+
+"Yes," replied Jack, and was leaving the room when Stephen rose and
+followed him.
+
+"Good-night, my dear Jack," he said. "Will you not shake hands on--on
+such an occasion?"
+
+Jack strode to the door and opened it without reply, then turned and, as
+if with an effort, took the hand which Stephen had kept extended.
+
+"Good-night," he said, dropping the cold fingers, and strode out.
+
+Stephen looked after him a moment with his meek, long-suffering
+expression of face changed into a malignant smile of triumph, and his
+hand went up to his breast pocket.
+
+"Good-night, beggar!" he murmured, and closed the door.
+
+Mr. Hudsley was still standing by the library-table, toying absently
+with the keys, a thoughtful frown on his brow, which did not grow
+any lighter as Stephen entered, making great play with the
+pocket-handkerchief.
+
+"I think I also may go now, Mr. Stephen," he said. "Nothing more can be
+done to-night. I will be here in the morning with my clerk."
+
+"I suppose nothing more can be done. You have sealed up all papers and
+jewels? I am particularly anxious that nothing shall be left informal."
+
+"I don't think there is anything unsealed that should have been."
+
+"A very strange scene, the final one, Mr. Stephen."
+
+"Awful, awful, Mr. Hudsley. My poor uncle seemed quite delirious at the
+last."
+
+"Hem!" grunted the old lawyer, putting his hat to his lips and looking
+over it at the white, smooth face. "You think he was delirious----"
+
+"Don't you, Mr. Hudsley? Do you think that he was conscious of what he
+was saying? You have been his legal adviser and confidant for years; you
+would know whether there was any meaning in his wild and incoherent
+statement about the will. As you are no doubt aware, my poor uncle never
+broached the subject of his intentions to me."
+
+"I know of only one will--that of last year. That will I executed for
+him; it is the will locked up in the safe up-stairs. I have a copy at
+the office," he added, dryly.
+
+"You--you don't think there is any other--any other later will?" he
+asked, softly.
+
+"I didn't think so until an hour ago. I am not sure that I think so now.
+Do you?"
+
+"No," he said, shaking his head. "My uncle was not the man to draw up a
+will with his own hand, and his confidence, and I may say affection for
+you, were so great that he would not have gone to any other legal
+adviser to do it for him. No, I do not think there is any other will; of
+course, I do not know the contents of the will in the safe."
+
+"Of course not," said Mr. Hudsley, in a tone so dry that it seemed to
+rasp his throat.
+
+"And yet I cannot understand, my poor uncle's outbreak, except by
+attributing it to delirium."
+
+"Hem!" said Mr. Hudsley. "Well, in case there should have been any
+meaning and significance in it, my clerk and I will make a careful
+search to-morrow."
+
+"Yes," murmured Stephen, "and I devoutly trust that should a later will
+be in existence, you may find it."
+
+"I hope we may," said Mr. Hudsley. "Good-night!"
+
+Stephen accompanied him to the door as he had accompanied the doctor and
+Jack, and saw him into the brougham, and then turned back into the house
+with a look of release, which, however, gradually changed to one of
+lurking fear and indefinite dread.
+
+"Conscience makes cowards of us all."
+
+It makes a worse coward of Stephen Davenant than he was naturally.
+
+As he stood in the deserted hall, and looked round, at its vast dimness,
+at the carved gallery and staircase, somber and dull for want of
+varnish, and listened to the faint, ghostly noises made by the
+awe-stricken servants moving to and fro overhead, a chill crept over
+him, and he wished that he had kept one of them, even Jack, to bear him
+company.
+
+With fearful gaze he peered into the darkness, scarcely daring to cross
+the hall and enter the library. For all the stillness, he fancied he
+could hear that last shriek of the dying man ringing through the house;
+for all the darkness, the slim, bent figure seemed to be moving to and
+fro, the dark piercing eyes turned upon him with furious accusation.
+Even when he had summoned up courage to enter the library, locking the
+door after him, the eyes seemed to follow him, and with a shudder that
+shook him from head to foot he poured out a glass of brandy and drank it
+down.
+
+The Spirit of Evil certainly invented brandy for cowards.
+
+Stephen set down the empty glass and looked round the room--another man.
+
+He even smiled in a ghostly kind of fashion as he took the will from his
+pocket and opened it.
+
+"Poor Jack!" he murmured, with a sardonic display of the white teeth.
+"This no doubt makes you master of Hurst Leigh; but Providence has
+decreed that the spendthrift shall be disappointed. Yes, I am the humble
+instrument chosen. I am----"
+
+He stopped suddenly with a start, for he had been reading as he
+soliloquized, and he had come upon words that struck him to the very
+heart's core.
+
+Was he dreaming, or had his senses taken leave of him?
+
+With beating heart and white, parched lips he stared at the paper until
+the lines of crabbed handwriting danced before his astounded eyes.
+
+If brevity is the soul of wit, old Ralph Davenant's will was wit itself.
+It consisted of five paragraphs.
+
+The first was merely the usual preamble declaring the testator to be of
+sound mind.
+
+The second ran thus:
+
+"To John Newcombe I will and bequeath the sum of fifty thousand pounds,
+the said sum to be realized by the sale or transfer of bonds and stocks,
+at the discretion of James Hudsley."
+
+Enough in this to move Stephen, but it paled into insignificance before
+what followed:
+
+"To my nephew, Stephen Davenant, I will and bequeath the set of Black's
+sermons in twenty-nine volumes, standing on the second shelf in the
+library, having remarked the affection which the said Stephen Davenant
+bore the said volumes, and accepting his repeated assertions that his
+attendance upon me was wholly disinterested."
+
+An ugly flash and an evil glitter swept over Stephen's white face and
+eyes, and his teeth ground together maliciously.
+
+"To each and every one of my servants I bequeath the sum of one hundred
+pounds, such sum to be forfeited by each and every one who assumes
+mourning for my death, which each and every one has anxiously looked
+forward to.
+
+"And lastly, I will and bequeath the remainder of my property of
+whatsoever kind, be it money, houses, lands, or property of any
+description, to my only daughter and child, Eunice Davenant, the same to
+be held in trust for her sole use and benefit by James Hudsley.
+
+"And I hereby inform him, and the world at large, that the said Eunice
+Davenant is the only issue of my marriage with Caroline Hatfield; that
+the said marriage was celebrated in secret at the Church of Armfield, in
+Sussex, in June, 18--. And that the said Eunice Davenant, my daughter,
+is in the keeping of one Gideon Rolfe, woodman, of Warden Forest, who
+has reared her as his own child, and who is unacquainted with the facts
+of my secret marriage, and I decree and appoint James Hudsley sole
+guardian, trustee, and ward of the aforesaid Eunice Davenant, and at her
+hands I crave forgiveness for my neglect of her mother and herself.
+
+                            "(Signed) RALPH DAVENANT,
+                                                "Hurst Leigh.
+                              "Witness--George Goodman,
+                                      "Coachman, Hurst Leigh.
+                                      "Martha Goodman,
+                                          "Cook, Hurst Leigh."
+
+
+White, breathless, Stephen held the paper in his clinched hands and
+stared at the astounding contents.
+
+Eunice Davenant the squire's daughter.
+
+His overstrained brain refused to realize it.
+
+Old Ralph Davenant married! Married! It was impossible.
+
+_Oh, yes, that was it._ A smile, a ghastly smile shone on his face. _It
+was a joke_--a vile, malicious joke, worthy of the crabbed,
+misanthropical old man! A villainous joke, set down just to bring about
+litigation, and create trouble and confusion between the two young men,
+himself and Jack Newcombe. And yet--and the smile died away and left his
+face fearful and haggard--and yet that awful fury of the dying man when
+he knew that the will had been stolen.
+
+No, it was no jest. The marriage had taken place; there _was_ a
+daughter, and she was the heiress of all that immense, untold wealth,
+except the fifty thousand pounds left to Jack Newcombe, while he--he,
+Stephen Davenant, the next of kin, the man who had been working, lying,
+toadying for the money, was left with a set of musty sermons.
+
+Rage filled his heart; stifling, choking with fury, the disappointed
+schemer struck the senseless paper with his clinched fist, and ground
+his teeth at it; then, suddenly, as if by a swift inspiration, he
+remembered that this accursed will, which would reduce him to beggary,
+and leave an unknown girl and his hated cousin wealthy, was in his
+hands; that he and he only knew of its existence. With a sudden
+revulsion of feeling he sprang to his feet, and held the paper at arm's
+length and laughed softly at it, as if it were endued with sense, and
+could appreciate its helplessness.
+
+Then he drew the candle near, folded the paper into a third of its size,
+held it to the candle--and drew it back again, overcome by that
+fascination which almost invariably exercises itself on such
+occasions--that peculiar reluctance to destroy the thing whose existence
+can destroy the possessor.
+
+The flame flickered and licked the frail paper; the smoke curled round
+its edge; and yet--and yet he could not destroy it.
+
+Instead, he sat down, and with clinched teeth unfolded the will and
+read it--read it again and again, until every word was burned and seared
+into his brain.
+
+"Eunice Davenant! Eunice Davenant! Curse her!" he groaned out.
+
+But even as the words left his lips a sound rose, the unmistakable
+tap--tap of something--some finger striking the window-pane.
+
+Biting his bloodless lips to prevent himself calling out in his ecstasy
+of fear, he thrust the will into his pocket, caught up the candle, swept
+the curtains aside, and started back.
+
+The light fell full upon the face of a young girl.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+The face at the window was that of a young girl of about two-and-twenty.
+
+It would be hard to say whether Stephen Davenant was pleased or annoyed
+by this apparition. That he was surprised there could be no doubt, for
+he almost dropped the candle in his astonishment, and fumbled at the
+lock of the window for some moments before he could open it.
+
+"Laura!" he exclaimed, "can it be you? Great Heavens! Impossible!"
+
+With a little gasp of relief and suppressed excitement, the girl stepped
+into the room, and leaned upon his arm, panting with a commingling of
+weariness and fear.
+
+"My dear Laura," he said, still holding the candle, "how did you come
+here? Why----"
+
+"Oh, Stephen, is it really you? I was afraid that I had made some
+mistake--that I had come all this way----"
+
+"You do not mean to say you have come all the way from London
+alone--alone!"
+
+"Yes, I have come all the way from London. Do not be angry with me,
+Stephen. I--I could not wait any longer. It seemed so long! Why did you
+leave me without a word? I did not know whether you were alive or dead.
+Three weeks--think, three weeks! How could you do it?"
+
+"Hush! hush! Do not speak so loud," he whispered. "Did anyone see you
+come in?"
+
+"No one. I have been waiting in the shrubs for--oh, hours! I saw the
+visitors go away--an old gentleman and a young one--and I saw your
+shadow behind the blind," and she pointed to the window. "I have been
+outside waiting, and dreading to knock in case you should not be alone."
+
+"You--you saw my shadow?" he said, with an uneasy smile. "Did you see--I
+mean, what was I doing?"
+
+"I did not see distinctly; I was listening for voices. Oh, Stephen, I am
+so weary!"
+
+He drew a chair for her, and, motioning her to sit, mixed a glass of
+brandy-and-water, and stood over her holding her wrist and looking down
+at her with an uneasy smile.
+
+"Now," he said, taking the glass from her, "tell me all about it--how
+you came, and why? Speak in a whisper."
+
+"You don't need to ask me why, Stephen," she said, leaning forward and
+laying her hand upon his arm, her dark eyes fixed on his half-hidden
+ones. "Why did you leave me so long without a word?"
+
+"I will tell you directly," he answered. "Tell me how you came--alone!
+Great Heaven!"
+
+"Alone, yes; why not? I was not afraid. I came by the train."
+
+"But--but----" he said, with a little flush and a shifting glance, "how
+did you know where I was?"
+
+"You would never guess! You do not deserve that I should tell you. Well,
+I followed Slummers!"
+
+"Followed Slummers!" he echoed, with a forced smile.
+
+"Yes, I met him in the street; you are going to ask me why I did not ask
+him where you were," she broke off with a smile and a shake of her head.
+
+"Because I knew he would not tell me. Stephen, I do not like that man,
+and he does not like me. Why do you trust him so?"
+
+"You followed Slummers--well?"
+
+"To the station. I was behind him when he took his ticket, and I took
+one for the same place. I was quite close behind him, but he did not see
+me. I got into the train at the last moment, and I followed him from the
+station here."
+
+"My dear Laura," he murmured, soothingly; "how rash, how thoughtless!"
+
+"Was it?" she said. "Perhaps it was. I did not stop to think."
+
+"But now--now what are you to do?"
+
+"Don't be angry with me, Stephen, now I _am_ here. You must tell me what
+I am to do." Then her eyes wandered round the house. "What a large
+house! Is it yours, Stephen?"
+
+"Eh?" he said, starting slightly. "I--I--don't know--I mean it was my
+uncle's. I was going to write to-night and tell you where I was, and why
+I did not write before."
+
+"Why didn't you?" she said, with gentle reproach.
+
+"Because," he replied, "I could not--it was impossible. I could not
+leave the house, and could not trust the letter to a servant. My uncle
+has been very ill: he--he--lies dead up-stairs."
+
+"Up-stairs! Oh, Stephen!"
+
+"You see," he exclaimed reproachfully, "that I have a good excuse, that
+I have not desert--left you without a word for no cause."
+
+"Forgive me, Stephen, dear!" she murmured, penitently. "Do not be angry
+with me. Say you are glad to see me now I have come."
+
+"Of course I am glad to see you, but I am not glad you have come, my
+dear Laura. What am I to do with you? I am not alone here, you know. The
+house is full of servants; any moment someone may come in. Think of the
+awkward position in which your precipitancy has placed me--has placed
+both of us!"
+
+"I never thought of that--I did not know. Why did you not tell me you
+were with your uncle? Oh, Stephen, why have you hidden things from me?"
+
+"Hidden things?" he echoed, with ill-concealed impatience. "I did not
+think that it was worth telling. I did not know that I was coming--I was
+fetched suddenly. Now that I come to think of it, I told Slummers to
+call and tell you."
+
+"And he forgot it--on purpose. I hate Slummers!"
+
+"Poor Slummers!" murmured Stephen. "Never mind him, however. We must
+think now of what is to be done with you. You--you cannot stay here."
+
+"Can I not? No, I suppose not. I can go back," she added, with a touch
+of bitterness.
+
+"My darling," he said, coaxingly, "I am afraid you must go back. There
+is an up-train--the last--in half an hour."
+
+The girl leaned back and clasped her hands in her lap.
+
+"I am very sorry," he said, grasping her arm; "but what can I do? You
+cannot stay here. That's impossible. There is only one inn in the place,
+and your appearance there would arouse curiosity, and--oh, _that_, too,
+is quite impossible! My poor Laura, why did you come?"
+
+"Yes," she said, slowly, "it was foolish to come. You are not glad to
+see me, Stephen."
+
+He bent over her and kissed her, but she put him from her with a touch
+of her hand, and rose wearily.
+
+"I will go," she said. "Yes, I was wrong to come. Tell me the way," and
+she drew her jacket close.
+
+"Don't look so grieved, dear," he murmured. "What am I to do? If there
+was any place--but there is not. See, I will come with you to the
+station. We shall have to walk, I am afraid; I dare not order a
+carriage. My poor child, if you had only foreseen these difficulties."
+
+"Do not say any more," she interrupted coldly. "I am quite convinced of
+my folly and am ready to go."
+
+"Sit down and wait while I get my hat. We must get away unobserved.
+Suspicious eyes are watching my every movement to-night. I can't tell
+you all, but I will soon. Sit down, my darling; I will not be gone a
+moment. If anyone comes to the door, step through the window and conceal
+yourself."
+
+Unlocking the door noiselessly he went out, turning the key after him.
+
+Barely a minute elapsed before he was in the room again.
+
+Warm though the night was he put on an overcoat and turned up the collar
+so that it hid the lower part of his face.
+
+Locking the door after him, he came up to the table, poured out another
+glass of brandy-and-water, and got some biscuits.
+
+"Come," he said, "you must eat some of these. Put some in your pocket.
+And you must drink this, my poor darling, or you will be exhausted."
+
+She put back the glass and plate from her with a gesture of denial.
+
+"I could not eat," she said. "I do not want anything, and I shall not be
+exhausted. Let us go; this house makes me shudder," and she moved to the
+window and passed out.
+
+"Laura, my dear Laura," murmured Stephen, in his most dulcet tones, "why
+are you angry with me?"
+
+"I am not angry with you," she said, and the voice, cold and
+constrained, did not seem the same as that in which she had greeted him
+a quarter of an hour ago. "I am angry with myself; I am filled with
+self-scorn."
+
+"My dear Laura," he began, soothingly, but she interrupted him with a
+gesture.
+
+"You are quite right; I was wrong to come. You have not said so in so
+many words, but your face, your eyes, your very smile have told me so
+plainly."
+
+"What have I said?"
+
+"Nothing," she answered, without hesitation, and with the same air of
+cold conviction. "If you had said angry words, had been harsh and
+annoyed openly, and yet been glad to see me, I could have forgiven
+myself, but you were not glad to see me. If I had been in your
+place--but I am a woman. Don't say any more. Is the station near?"
+
+"My dear Laura," murmured Stephen for the third time, and now more
+softly than ever, "more must be said. I am anxious, naturally anxious,
+to learn whether this--this sudden journey can be concealed."
+
+It was quite true, he was anxious, very anxious--on his own account.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+"Come," he said; "it is all right, then. Do not take the matter so
+seriously, my darling Laura. The worst part of it is that you should
+have made such a journey alone, and have to go back alone, and at night!
+That is what grieves me. If I could but go with you--and yet that would
+scarcely be wise--but it is impossible under the circumstances. Come,
+give me your arm, my dear Laura."
+
+A little shiver ran through her frame, and she caught her breath with a
+stifled sob.
+
+"Come, come, my darling," he murmured; "don't look back, look forward.
+In an hour or two you will be home."
+
+"Do you think I am afraid?" she asked, and her voice trembled, but not
+with fear. "No, I am looking back. Oh, Stephen, do you remember when we
+met first?"
+
+"Yes, yes," said Stephen, soothingly, and with an anxious, sidelong look
+about--to be seen promenading the high road with a young woman on his
+arm on the night of his uncle's death would be the ruin of his carefully
+built-up reputation. "Yes, yes," he murmured. "Shall I ever forget? How
+fortunate you lost your way, Laura, and that you should have come up to
+me to ask it, and that I should have been going in that direction. And
+yet the thoughtless speak of chance!"
+
+And he cast up his eyes with unctuous solemnity, though there was no one
+in the dark road to be impressed by it.
+
+"Chance," said the girl, sadly--"an evil or a good chance for me--which?
+Stephen, I sometimes wish that we had never met--that I had not crossed
+your path, and so have left the old life, with its dull, quiet and sober
+grayness; but the die was cast that afternoon. I went back to the quiet
+home, to the old man who had been my father, mother and all to me, and
+life was changed."
+
+"Your grandfather has no suspicion?"
+
+"No, he trusts me entirely. If he asks a question when I go to meet you,
+he is satisfied when I tell him that I am going to a neighbor. Stephen,
+if I had had a mother, do you think I should have deceived her also?"
+
+"Deceived? Deceived is too harsh a word, my dear Laura. We have been
+obliged, for various reasons, to use some reserve--let us say candidly,
+to conceal our engagement. You have not mentioned my name to anyone?" he
+broke off.
+
+"To no one," she answered.
+
+"Such concealment was necessary. My uncle was a man of rough and hasty
+temper, ill-judging and merciless."
+
+"But," she said, with a sudden eagerness, and a slight shudder, "he--he
+is dead now, Stephen. There is no need for further concealment."
+
+"Softly, softly, dear Laura. We must be patient--must keep our little
+secret a little while longer. I can trust my darling to confide in
+me--yes, yes, I know that----"
+
+"Stephen, to-night for the first time--why, I know not--I have
+doubted--no, not doubted, for I have fought hard against the suspicion
+that I was wrong to trust you."
+
+"My dearest!" he murmured reproachfully.
+
+"You were wrong to leave me for so long without a word--you put my love
+to too severe a test. I--I cannot say whether it has stood it or not.
+To-night I am full of doubt. Stephen--look at me!"
+
+He turned his face and looked down. He had not far to look, for she was
+tall, and in the moment of excitement had drawn herself to her full
+height. The moon, sailing from amongst the clouds, shone on her upturned
+face; her lips were set, and the dark eyes gleamed from the white face.
+
+"Look at me, Stephen. If--I say if--there is the faintest idea of
+treachery lurking in your mind----"
+
+"My dearest----"
+
+"Cast it out! Here, to-night, I warn you to cast it out! Such love as
+mine is like a two-edged sword, it cuts both ways, for love--or hate!
+Stephen, I have loved, I have trusted you--for mine, for your own sake,
+be true to me!"
+
+He was more impressed than alarmed. This side of her character had been
+presented to him to-night for the first time. Hitherto the beautiful
+girl had been all smiles and humble devotion. Was she bewitched, or had
+he been mistaken in her. Perhaps it was the moon, but suddenly his face
+looked paler than ever, and the white eyelids drooped until they hid the
+shifting eyes, as he put his arm around her.
+
+"My dearest! What can you mean? Deceive you! Treachery! Can you deem
+me--_me_--capable of such things. My dearest, you are overtired! And
+your jacket has become unbuttoned. Listen, that is the railway bell.
+Laura, you will not leave me with such words on your lips?"
+
+"Forgive me, Stephen."
+
+"I have done so already, dearest, and now we must part! It is very
+hard--but--I cannot even go with you to the platform. Someone might see
+us. It is for your sake, darling."
+
+"Yes, yes, I know," she said, with a sigh. "Good-bye--you will write or
+come to me--when?"
+
+"Soon, in a day or two," he said. "Do not be impatient. There is much to
+be done; my poor uncle's funeral, you know. Good-bye. See! I will stay
+here and watch the train off. Good-bye, dear, dear Laura!"
+
+She put her arm round him and returned his kiss, and glided away, but at
+the turn of the road leading to the station she turned and, holding up
+her hand, sent a word back to him.
+
+It was:
+
+"Remember!"
+
+Stephen waited until the train puffed out of the station, and not until
+it had flashed some distance did the set smile leave his face.
+
+Then, with a rather puzzled and uneasy expression, he turned and walked
+swiftly back to the house.
+
+His brain was in a whirl, the sudden appearance of the young girl coming
+on the top of the other causes of excitement bewildered him, and he felt
+that he had need of all his accustomed coolness. The sudden peril and
+danger of this accursed will demanded all his attention, and yet the
+thought of the girl would force itself upon him. He had met her, as she
+had said, in the streets, and had commenced an acquaintance which had
+resulted in an engagement. Alone and unprotected, save for an old
+grandfather, and innocent of the world, Laura Treherne had been, as it
+were, fascinated by the smooth, soft-spoken Stephen, from whose ready
+tongue vows of love and devotion rolled as easily as the scales from a
+serpent in spring-time. And he, for his part, was smitten by the dark
+eyes and quick, impulsive way of the warm-hearted girl.
+
+But there had come upon him of late a suspicion that in binding himself
+to marry her he had committed a false step; to-night the suspicion grew
+into something like certainty.
+
+To tell the truth, she had almost frightened him. Hitherto the dark eyes
+had ever turned on his with softened gaze of love and admiration;
+to-night, for the first time, the hot, passionate nature had revealed
+itself.
+
+The deep-toned "Remember!" which came floating down the lane as she
+disappeared rang unpleasantly in his ears. Had he been a true-hearted
+man the girl's spirit would have made her more precious in his eyes;
+but, coward-like, he felt that hers was a stronger nature than his, and
+he began to fear.
+
+"Yes," he muttered, as he unlocked the library window, and sank into a
+chair. "It was a weak stroke, a weak stroke! But I can't think of what
+is to be done now, not now!"
+
+No, for to-night all his attention must be concentrated on the will.
+
+Wiping the perspiration from his brow, he lit another candle. This time
+nothing should prevent him from destroying the accursed thing which
+stood between him and wealth; he would burn it at once--at once. With
+feverish eagerness he thrust his hand in his coat, then staggered and
+fell back white as death.
+
+_The pocket was empty. The will was not there._
+
+"I--I am a fool!" he muttered, with a smile. "I put it in the other
+coat," and he snatched up the overcoat, but a glance, a touch showed him
+that it was not there either.
+
+Wildly, madly he searched each pocket in vain, went on his knees and
+felt, as if he could not trust his sight alone, every inch of the
+carpet; turned up the hearth-rug, almost tore up the carpet itself,
+shook the curtains, and still hunted and searched long after the
+conviction had forced itself upon his mind that in no part of the room
+could the thing be hidden.
+
+Then he paused, pressing his hand to his brow and biting his livid lips.
+Let him think--think--think! Where could it be? He had not dropped it on
+the stairs or in any other part of the house, for he remembered, he
+could swear, that he had felt the thing as he stood in the study
+buttoning up his overcoat. If not in the house, where then?
+
+Throwing aside all caution in his excitement, he unfastened the window,
+and, candle in hand, examined the grand terrace, traced every step which
+he had taken across the lawn--and all to no purpose.
+
+"It is lying in the road," he muttered, the sweat dropping from his
+face. "Heaven! lying glaring there, for any country clown to pick up and
+ruin me. I must--I will find it! Brandy--I must have some
+brandy--this--this is maddening me!"
+
+And indeed he seemed mad, for though he knew he had not passed it, he
+went back, still peering on the ground, the candle held above his head.
+Suddenly he stumbled up against some object, and, looking up, saw the
+tall figure of a man standing right in his path. With a wolfish cry of
+mingled fear and rage, he dropped the candle and sprang on to him.
+
+"You--you thief!" he cried, hoarsely; "give it to me--give it me!"
+
+The man made an effort to unlock the mad grasp of the hands round his
+throat, then scientifically and coolly knocked his assailant down, and,
+holding him down writhing, struck a match.
+
+Gasping and foaming, Stephen looked up and saw that it was Jack
+Newcombe--Jack Newcombe regarding him with cool, contemptuous surprise
+and suspicion.
+
+"Well," he said contemptuously, "so it's you! Are you out of your mind?"
+and he flung the match away and allowed Stephen to rise.
+
+Trembling and struggling for composure, Stephen brushed the dust from
+his black coat and stood rubbing his chest, for Jack's blow had been
+straight from the shoulder.
+
+"What have you got to say for yourself?" said Jack, sternly. "I asked
+you if you had gone mad. What are you doing here with a candle, and
+behaving like a lunatic?"
+
+Stephen made a mighty effort for composure, and a ghastly smile
+struggled to his face.
+
+"My dear Jack, how you startled me!" he gasped. "I was never so
+frightened in my--my life!"
+
+"So it appeared," said Jack, with strong disgust in his voice. "Pick up
+the candle--there it is."
+
+And he pointed with his foot. But Stephen was by no means anxious for a
+light.
+
+"Never mind the candle," he said. "You are quite right--I must have
+seemed out of my mind. I--I am very much upset, my dear Jack."
+
+"Are you hurt?" inquired Jack, but with no great show of concern.
+
+"No, no!" gasped Stephen; "don't distress yourself, my dear Jack--don't,
+I beg of you. It was my fault, entirely. The--the fact is that I----"
+
+He paused, for Jack had got the candle, lit it, and held it up so that
+the light fell upon Stephen's face.
+
+"Now," he said, his tone plainly intimating that he would prefer to see
+Stephen's face while he made his explanation.
+
+"The fact is," Stephen began again, "I have had the misfortune to lose a
+pocketbook--no, not a pocketbook, that is scarcely correct, but a paper
+which I fancied I had put in my pocketbook, and which must have dropped
+out. It--it was a draft of a little legal document which my lawyer had
+sent me--of no value, utterly valueless--oh, quite----"
+
+"So I should judge from the calm way in which you accused the first man
+you met of stealing it," said Jack, with quiet scorn.
+
+Stephen bit his lip, and a glance of hate and suspicion shot from under
+his eyelids.
+
+"Pray forgive me, my dear Jack," he said, pressing his hand to his brow,
+and sighing. "If you had sat up for so many nights, and were so worn and
+overwrought, you would have some sympathy with my overstrained nerves. I
+am much shaken to-night, my dear Jack--very much shaken."
+
+And indeed he was, for the Savage's fist was by no means a soft one.
+
+Jack looked at him in silence for a moment, then held the candle toward
+him.
+
+"You had better go to the house and get some of the servants to help you
+look for the paper," he said. "Good-night."
+
+"Oh, it is of no consequence," said Stephen, eagerly. "Don't go--stop a
+moment, my dear Jack. I--I will walk with you as far as the inn."
+
+"No, thanks," said Jack, curtly; then, as a suspicious look gleamed in
+Stephen's eyes, he added: "Oh, I see! you are afraid I should pick it up
+in the road. You had better come."
+
+Stephen smiled, and laid his hand on Jack's arm.
+
+"You--you are not playing a joke with me, my dear Jack? You haven't got
+the--document in your pocket all the time?"
+
+"If I said that I hadn't you wouldn't believe me, you know," he replied.
+"There, take your hand off my coat!"
+
+"Stop! stop!" exclaimed Stephen, with a ghostly attempt at a laugh.
+"Don't go, my dear Jack; stop at the house to-night. I should feel very
+much obliged, indeed, if you would. I am so upset to-night that I--I
+want company. Let me beg of you to stop."
+
+And in his dread lest Jack should escape out of sight, he held on to his
+arm.
+
+Jack shook him with so emphatic a movement of disgust that Stephen was
+in imminent danger of making a further acquaintance with the lawn.
+
+"Go indoors," he said sternly, "and leave me alone. I'd rather not sleep
+under the same roof with you. As for your lost paper, whatever it may
+be, you had better look for it in the morning, unless you want to get
+into further trouble," and he turned on his heel and disappeared.
+
+Stephen waited until he had got at a safe distance, and, blowing out the
+candle, followed down the road with stealthy footsteps, keeping a close
+watch on the rapidly-striding figure, and examining the road at the same
+time. But all to no purpose; Jack reached and entered the inn without
+stopping, and neither going nor returning could Stephen see anything of
+the missing will.
+
+Two hours afterward he crept back and staggered into the library more
+dead than alive, one question rankling in his disordered brain.
+
+Had Jack Newcombe found the will, and, if not, where was it?
+
+After a time the paroxysm of fear and despair passed, and left him
+calmer. His acute brain, overwhelmed but not crushed out, began to
+recover itself, and he turned the situation round and round until he had
+come to a plan of action.
+
+It was not a very definite one, it was rather vague, but it was the most
+reasonable one he could think of.
+
+There in Warden Forest, living as the daughter of a woodman, who was
+himself ignorant of her legitimacy, was the girl. I am sorry to say that
+he cursed her as he thought of her. Where was the will? Whoever had got
+it would no doubt come to him first to make terms, and, failing to make
+them, would go to the real heiress.
+
+Stephen, quick as lightning, resolved to take her away.
+
+But where?
+
+He did not much care for the present, so that it was somewhere under his
+eyes, or in the charge--the custody, really--of a trustworthy friend.
+
+The only really trustworthy friend whom Stephen knew was his mother.
+
+"Yes, that is it," he muttered. "Mother shall take this girl as--as--a
+companion. Poor mother, some great ignorant, clodhopping wench who will
+frighten her into a nervous fit. Poor mother!" And he smiled with a
+feeble, malicious pleasure.
+
+There are some men who take a delight in causing pain even to those who
+are devoted to them.
+
+"Dear mother," he wrote, "I have to send you the sad news of my uncle's
+death. Need I say that I am utterly overwhelmed in grief. I have indeed
+lost a friend!" ("The malicious, mean old wolf," he muttered, in
+parenthesis.) "How good he was to me! But, mother, even in the midst of
+our deepest sorrows, we must not forget the calls of charity. I have a
+little duty to perform, in which I require your aid. I fear it will
+necessitate your making a journey to Wermesley station on this line. If
+you will come down by the 10:20 on Wednesday, I will meet you at
+Wermesley station. Do not mention your journey, my dear mother; we must
+not be forgetful that we are enjoined to do good by stealth.
+                                "In great affliction,
+                                  "Your loving son,
+                                    "STEPHEN DAVENANT."
+
+
+It was a beautiful letter, and clearly proved that Stephen was not only
+a bad man, but an extremely clever and dangerous one--for he could
+retain command over himself even in such moments as these.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+Let us hasten from the gloomy atmosphere of Hurst Leigh, and, leaving
+the presence of the thwarted old man lying upstairs, and the no less
+thwarted young man writhing in torturing dread in the darkened library,
+return to Warden Forest.
+
+With fleet feet Una fled from the lake, the voices of the woodman and
+Jack Newcombe ringing in her ears, a thousand tumultuous emotions
+surging wildly in her heart.
+
+Until the preceding night Gideon Rolfe had seemed the calmest and most
+placable of fathers; nothing had occurred to ruffle his almost studied
+impassability. New and strange experiences seemed to crowd upon her so
+suddenly that she scarcely accepted them as real. Had she been dreaming,
+and would she wake presently to find the handsome young stranger, with
+his deep musical voice, and his dark, eloquent eyes, the phantom of a
+vision?
+
+As she came in sight of the cottage she turned aside and, plunging into
+the depths of the wood, sank down upon a bank of moss and strove to
+recall every word, every look, every slight incident, which had passed
+since the arrival of the stranger; and, as she did so, she seemed
+vaguely conscious that a change, indefinite yet undeniable, had fallen
+upon her life. The very trees, the atmosphere itself, seemed changed,
+and in place of that perfect, unbroken calm which had hitherto enwrapped
+her life, a spirit of unrest, of vague longing, took possession of her.
+
+A meteor had crossed the calm, serene sky of her existence, vanishing as
+quickly as it had come, and creating a strange, aching void.
+
+Still it was not at all painful, this novel feeling of wistfulness and
+unrest; a faint echo of some mysterious delight rang in the inner
+chambers of her young soul, the newly awakened heart stirred within her
+like an imprisoned bird, and turned to the new light which had dawned
+upon her. That it was the celestial light of love she was completely
+ignorant. She only knew and felt, with all the power of mind and soul,
+that a spirit had fallen upon her life, that she had, half-blinded, left
+the road of gray, unbroken calm, never to return--never to return.
+
+Step by step she recalled all that had passed, and sat revolving the
+strange scene with ever-increasing wonder.
+
+What did it mean? Why should her father be angry with the youth? Why
+should he accuse and insult him, and drive her away as if from the
+presence of some wild animal who was seeking to devour her?
+
+Wild animal! A smile, sad and wistful, flitted over her beautiful face
+as she called up the handsome face and graceful form of the youth. Was
+it possible that one so base as her father declared him to be could look
+as this youth had looked, speak as he had spoken? With a faint,
+tremulous, yet unconscious blush, she remembered how graceful he looked
+lying at her feet, his lips half parted in a smile, his brow frank and
+open as a child's.
+
+And yet he himself had said, half sadly, that he was wild and wicked.
+What could it mean?
+
+Innocent as a nun, ignorant of all that belonged to the real living
+world, she sat vainly striving to solve this, the first enigma of her
+inner life.
+
+Once, as she sat thinking and pondering, her eyes cast down, her brows
+knit, her fingers strayed to her right arm with a gentle, almost
+caressing touch. It was the arm upon which Jack's hand had rested: even
+now she seemed to feel the pressure of the strong fingers just as she
+heard the ring of his deep, musical voice, and could feel the gaze of
+his dark, flashing eyes; they had looked fierce and savage when she had
+first seen them at the open door of the cottage last night, but this
+morning they had worn a different expression--a tender, half-pitying,
+and wholly gentle expression, which softened them. It was thus she liked
+to remember them--thus she would remember them if she never saw them
+again.
+
+And as this thought flashed across her mind a wistful sadness fell upon
+her, and a vague pain came into her heart. Should she never see him
+again? Never! She looked round mournfully, and lo! the whole world
+seemed changed; the sun was still shining, the trees were still crowned
+in all their glory of summer leafage, but it all looked gray and dark to
+her; all the beauty and glory which she had learned to love had
+gone--vanished at the mere thought that she should never see him again.
+
+Slowly she rose, and with downcast eyes moved toward the cottage. She
+passed in at the open door and looked round the room--that, too, seemed
+altered, something was missing; half-consciously she wandered round,
+touching with the same half-caressing gesture the chair on which Jack
+Newcombe had sat, opened the book at the page which she was reading
+while he was eating his supper; a spell seemed to have fallen upon her,
+and it was with a start like one awakening from a dream that she turned
+as a shadow fell across the room and Gideon Rolfe entered.
+
+She turned and looked at him questioningly, curiously, but without fear.
+The cry of alarm when he had broken in upon them by the lake had been on
+Jack's account, not her own; never since she could remember had Gideon
+Rolfe spoken harshly to her, looked angrily; without a particle of fear,
+rather with a vague wonder, she looked and waited for him to speak.
+
+The old man's face wore a strange expression; all traces of the fierce
+passion which had convulsed it a short time ago had passed away, and in
+its place was a stern gravity which was almost sad in its grim
+intensity.
+
+Setting his ax aside, he paced the room for a minute in silence, his
+brows knit, his hands clasped behind his back.
+
+Una glided to the window and looked out into the wood, her head leaning
+on her arm.
+
+"Una," he said, suddenly, his voice troubled and grave, but not unkind.
+
+She started, and looked around at him; her spirit had fled back to the
+lake again, and she had almost forgotten that he was in the room.
+
+"Una, you must not wander in the forest alone again."
+
+"No! Why not?"
+
+He hesitated a moment, as if he did not know how to answer her; then he
+said, with a frown:
+
+"Because I do not wish it--because the man you saw here last night, the
+man you were with by the lake, may come again"--a faint light of
+gladness shone in her eyes, and he saw it, and frowned sternly as he
+went on--"and I do not wish you to meet him."
+
+She was silent for a moment, her eyes downcast, her hands tightly
+clasped in front of her; then she looked up.
+
+"Father, tell me why you spoke so angrily to him--why do you not want
+him to come to Warden again?"
+
+"I spoke as he deserved," he answered; "and I would rather that Warden
+should be filled with wild beasts than that he should cross your path
+again."
+
+Her face paled slightly, and her eyes opened with wonder and pain.
+
+"Is he so very bad and wicked?" she asked, almost inaudibly.
+
+Gideon Rolfe strode to and fro for a moment before he answered. How
+should he answer her?--how warn and caution her without destroying the
+innocence which, like the sensitive plant, withers at a touch?
+
+"Is it not sufficient that I wish it, Una?" he said. "Why are you not
+satisfied? Wicked! Yes, he's wicked; all men are wicked, and he's the
+most wicked and base!"
+
+"You know him, father?" she asked. "You would not say so if you did not.
+I am sorry he is so bad."
+
+"Look at me, Una," he said.
+
+She turned, her eyes downcast and hidden, her lips trembling for a
+moment.
+
+"Yes, father."
+
+"Una," he said, "what is the meaning of this? Why are you changed--why
+do you shrink from me?"
+
+She looked up with a curious mixture of innocent pride and dignity.
+
+"I don't shrink from you, father," she said in a low voice.
+
+Gideon's hand dropped from her shoulder, and the frown gave place to a
+sad expression. "Has the time I looked forward to with fear and dread
+come at last?" he murmured, inaudibly, and he paced to and fro again, as
+if endeavoring to arrive at some decision.
+
+Una watched him with dreamy, questioning eyes, in which shone a tender
+mournfulness. Why were all men wicked? Why was this one man, with the
+handsome face and the musical voice, more wicked than the rest? What was
+it that her father knew that should make him hate the youth so? These
+were the questions that haunted her as she waited silent and motionless.
+
+At last, with a wave of the hand, as if he were putting some decision on
+one side, Gideon Rolfe turned to her and motioned her to the
+window-seat. "Una," he said, "last night you were wondering why your lot
+should be different from that of other girls; you were wondering why I
+have kept you here in Warden, and out of the world. It is so, is it
+not?"
+
+She did not answer in words, but her eyes said "yes," plainly.
+
+Gideon Rolfe sighed, and passed his hand over his brow; it was a hand
+hardened by toil, but it was not the hand of a peasant, any more than
+was his tone or his words those of one.
+
+"Una, I have foreseen this question; I have been expecting it, and I had
+resolved that when it came I would answer it. But," and his lips
+twitched, "I cannot do it--I cannot," and his brow contracted as if he
+were suffering some great, mental anguish. "For my sake, do not press
+me. In time to come, sooner or later, you must know the secret of your
+life, you must learn why and wherefore your whole life has been spent in
+seclusion; you have guessed that there is some mystery, some
+story--there is. It must remain a mystery still. For your own sake I
+dare not draw aside the veil which conceals; for your own sake my lips
+are for the present sealed. Child, can you tell me that, secluded and
+lonely as your life has been, it has been an unhappy one?"
+
+"Father!" she murmured, and her eyes filled slowly.
+
+"God forgive me if it has been!" he said, sadly. "I have striven to make
+it a happy one."
+
+Silently she rose and laid her hand upon his arm and put up her lips to
+kiss him, but with a gentle gesture he put her away from him.
+
+"Una, listen to me. All my life I have had but one aim, one purpose,
+your happiness and welfare. For your sake I left the world and an
+honored name----" he stopped suddenly, warned by the gentle wonder of
+her gaze, and with a faint color in his face hurried on--"for your sake,
+and yours only. Do you think that it is by choice that I have kept you
+hidden from the world? No, but of necessity. Una, between the world and
+you yawns a wide gulf. On this side are peace, and innocence, and
+happiness; on the other," and his voice grew grave and solemn, "lie
+misery and--shame." White and wondering, she gazed at him, and the
+innocent wonder in the beautiful face recalled him to himself. "Enough!
+You can trust me, Una; it is no idle, meaningless warning. Remember what
+I have said, when your thoughts turn to the world beyond the forest,
+when you grow weary and impatient with the quiet life which, though it
+may seem sad and weary, is the only one you can ever know without
+passing that gulf of which I have spoken."
+
+"And now I want you to give me a promise, Una."
+
+"A promise, father?" she echoed, in a low voice.
+
+"Yes; I want you to promise me that if this--this young man should come,
+as he has threatened to do--that if he should come to you, and speak to
+you, you will not listen, will not speak to him."
+
+An impatient frown knitted Gideon Rolfe's brow.
+
+"Is this so much to ask you?" he said, in a low voice. "Is it so grave
+a thing to demand of you that you should avoid a man whom you have seen
+but twice in your life, one whom you know to be wicked and worthless?"
+
+"Girl," he exclaimed, in low, harsh accents, "has the curse fallen upon
+you--already? Has he bewitched you? Speak? Why do you not speak? Has all
+the careful guarding of years been set at naught and rendered of no
+avail by the mere sight of one of his race, by a few idle words spoken
+by one of his hateful kin?"
+
+He grasped her shoulder; instantly, with a revulsion of feeling, he
+withdrew his hand, and bent his head with a gesture almost of humility.
+
+"Una, forgive me. You see how this unmans me--can you not understand how
+great must be the danger from which I wish to save you? Promise me what
+I ask you, for your own sake--ay, and for his."
+
+"For his?" she murmured.
+
+"Yes, for his. Let him but attempt to cross your path again, and I will
+not hold my hand. I held it once--would to Heaven I had not! I say, for
+his sake, promise that you will hold no speech with him!"
+
+"Father, what has he done to make you hate him so?" she asked.
+
+"I cannot, I will not tell you more than this: His race has ruined my
+life and yours--ruined it beyond all reparation here and hereafter. No
+more. I wait for your promise."
+
+"I promise," she said.
+
+"Good," he said. "I can trust you, child."
+
+"Yes, you can trust me," she said, in a low voice; then with slow,
+listless steps she crossed the room and stole up-stairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+The Savage, wholly unconscious of, and totally indifferent to, the fact
+that his every footstep was watched by Stephen, entered the "Bush" Inn
+and went straight to his room, the little knot of regular customers, who
+were drinking and smoking in the parlor, either rising respectfully as
+he entered or maintaining an equally respectful silence until he was out
+of hearing.
+
+"Mr. Jack's a fine fellow," said the landlord, looking at the fire
+solemnly. "Did you notice his face as he went through? I'm afraid it's
+all over with the old squire. Well, well, rest his soul, I say. I'm not
+one to bear grudges against the dead."
+
+There was, if not a hearty, a unanimous assent to this dutiful
+sentiment, and the landlord, encouraged, ventured a little further,
+looking first over his shoulder to see if the door was shut, and then
+glancing at a little wrinkled faced man who sat in the corner by the
+fireplace, and looked, in his rusty black suit, like a lawyer's clerk,
+as indeed he was.
+
+"All over now, Mr. Skettle," said the landlord, with a little cough. "I
+wonder--ahem--who'll be the next squire?"
+
+The old clerk peered out from under his hairless brows, and shook his
+head with a dry smile; it was a very fair imitation of his master's, Mr.
+Hudsley's, manner, and never failed to impress the company at the
+"Bush."
+
+"Aha!" he breathed. "Hem--yes. Time will prove--time will prove,
+Jobson."
+
+Jobson, the landlord, looked round and winked with impressive
+admiration, as much as to say, "Deep fellow, Skettle; knows all about
+it, mind you, but not a word!"
+
+"Well," said the parish clerk, with a shake of the head, "if wishing
+would make the mare to go, I know who'd be the Squire o' Hurst," and he
+pointed with his pipe to the ceiling, above which the Savage was
+thoughtfully pacing to and fro.
+
+"We've had enough o' Davenants," began the miller; but Jobson stopped
+him with a warning gesture.
+
+"No names, South--no names; this air a public house, and I'm a man as
+minds my own business."
+
+"So was the last squire," retorted the miller, who was not to be put
+down--"leastways, he didn't meddle or help his neighbors. Not one
+shilling have I took from the Hurst since I was that high. Is there a
+man in this room as can say he'll be a penny the worse for Squire
+Ralph's death?
+
+"And from what I see it seems to me that if things go on as they appear
+to be going, we shan't be much better for the new squire, if the name's
+to be the same."
+
+"A nice spoken gentleman, Mr. Stephen," muttered the tailor, from behind
+the table.
+
+The miller smiled and shook his head.
+
+"There's some grain as grinds so soft that you can't keep it on the
+ground from the wind; but it don't make good bread, neighbor. No! Now
+the youngster up above," and he jerked his head toward the ceiling, "he
+comes of a different branch--same tree, mind yer, but a healthier
+branch. It will be good news for Hurst Leigh if it's found that Master
+Jack is to be our head."
+
+"Nothing soft about Mr. Jack. If all we hear be true, it's a pretty wild
+branch of the tree he comes from."
+
+"They say he's wild. No doubt; he always was. I can remember him a boy
+home for the holidays. He used to come down to the mill and poach my
+trout--a bit of a boy no higher than that"--and he put his hand against
+the table--"as fine a boy as ever I see. One day I caught him, and told
+him I'd either give him a thrashing or tell his uncle; for, do yer see,
+we allus called the old squire his uncle.
+
+"'All right,' said he, 'wait till I've landed this fish and we'll settle
+it between us like gentlemen.' Another time I found him in the orchard.
+'Well, Master Jack,' says I, 'bean't you got enough apples at the Hurst,
+but you must come and plague me?' He thought a moment, then he looks up
+with that audacious flash in his eyes, and says, quiet enough: 'Stolen
+fruit is the sweetest, South. If you feel put upon, take it out of the
+Hurst Orchard. I give you leave.' What was to be done with a boy like
+that? Fear! He didn't know what fear was. Do any o' you remember that
+roan mare as the old parson had? Well, Master Jack hears us talking o'
+the spiteful beast one day, and nothing 'ud do but he must go off and
+ask the parson to let him ride 'un. Of course the old fellow said no.
+Two nights after that the young varmint breaks open the stables, takes
+out the mare, saddles her, and rides her out to the common. I was late
+at the mill that night, and I hears her come clattering down the yard
+like a fire-engine, with Master Jack on her back, his eyes flashing and
+his hair a-flying, and him a-laughing as if it was the rarest bit o' fun
+in the world. I'd just time to cut across the meadow to the five-barred
+fence, and here he come past me, making straight for the fence, waving
+his hand and shouting someut about Dick Turpin. Ah, and he took the
+fence, too, and when that vicious beast threw him, and we came up to
+him, lying all o' a heap, with his arm broke, and the blood streaming
+from his face--what's he do but laugh at us, and swear as we'd startled
+her! And as for fighting! There warn't a week but what he'd come to the
+mill, all cut and mauled, for the missis to wash him and put him to
+rights. He'd never go home to the Hurst those times. Even then the old
+squire and him didn't agree. The old man called him a Savage, and I hear
+as that's what they call him up in London, and yet there warn't a house
+in Leigh as he warn't welcome in. Many and many a time he's slept up in
+the mill loft after one of his harum-scarum tricks, and many's the time
+I've faced the old squire when he's come after him with a horsewhip."
+
+"They say that he run through all the money, as was his by rights, up in
+London in fast living," said the parish clerk, gravely.
+
+"May be," said the miller, curtly. "If fast living means open-handed
+living, it's like enough; he never could keep a shilling when he was a
+boy, the first tramp as passed had it, safe as a gun. What's bred in the
+bone must come out in the flesh. Here's to the new squire--if it be
+Master Jack," and the sturdy old man raised his glass and emptied its
+contents at one vigorous but steady pull.
+
+Meanwhile the subject of the discussion paced to and fro, pulling at his
+brier, and indulging in a study of the brownest description.
+
+Never perhaps in his life had Jack been so upset, so serious and so
+sobered.
+
+In the first place the sudden--or rather sudden to Jack--death of the
+old man with whom he had lived and quarreled as a boy, affected him more
+deeply than even he was aware. There in the silent room in the inn, he
+recalled all the old man's good qualities, all the little kindnesses he
+had done him, Jack, and more than all, the few last solemn and quite
+unexpectedly affectionate words which had dropped from his dying lips.
+
+Jack, puffing at his pipe and rubbing his short hair with a puzzled
+frown, went over the scene again and again, and with no mercenary
+thoughts of the old man's declaration that he had remembered Jack in his
+will, but with reference to the mysterious allusions in the disposal of
+the large part of the property; then Jack's mind would fly off to the
+fearful scene at the actual death.
+
+The wild cry, the white and horrified face of Stephen, the puzzled and
+sternly questioning one of the old lawyer. What did it mean?
+
+And still more mysterious, what was the meaning of Stephen's conduct on
+the lawn? What was he hunting for with such intense eagerness as to make
+him fly at Jack like a madman?
+
+Jack--as no doubt the reader will have surmised--was not clever.
+
+He could not piece this and that together, and from disjointed incidents
+form an intelligent whole, as a child does with a box of puzzles.
+
+The whole thing was a mystery to him, and grew more confusing and
+bewildering the more he thought of it.
+
+It takes a villain thoroughly to appreciate a villain, a thief to
+understand and catch a thief; and Jack, being neither one nor the other,
+utterly failed to understand Stephen.
+
+That he disliked him, with a feeling more like contempt than hatred, was
+a matter of course, but if any one had told Jack straight out that
+Stephen had abstracted the will, Jack would in all probability have
+refused to credit it. Will stealing and all such meanness was so
+thoroughly out of his line that he would not have understood how
+Stephen, led on step by step, could have possibly been guilty of it.
+
+Then again, something else came forcing itself on these thoughts
+concerning the strange events at the Hurst. For the life of him he could
+not forget the Forest of Warden and all that had happened to him within
+its leafy shades.
+
+At one moment it seemed as if years must have elapsed since he lost his
+way and forced an entrance at the woodman's hut, at another he was half
+inclined to believe that he had dined rather heavily at the club and
+dreamed it all. Like Una, he could not realize that they had met,
+touched hands and exchanged speech.
+
+Jack could not get the beautiful face out of his mental vision; it
+mingled with the wan face of the dying man, with Stephen's pale,
+distorted countenance; it seemed to beam and shine upon him from the
+dark corners of the room with the same frank, pure, innocent smile with
+which it had shone down upon him as he lay at her feet in the woods.
+
+And then the girl's surroundings! The extraordinary father, with his
+laborer's dress and his refined speech and bearing. What mystery
+enveloped the little group of persons buried in the depths of a wood,
+living apart from the world?
+
+Jack rumpled his hair and drew a long breath eloquent of confusion and
+bewilderment.
+
+It was certainly extraordinary! Three days ago he had left London,
+prosaic London, and was now plunged to the neck in a sea of romance and
+secrecy.
+
+On one thing he was, however, resolved. He would keep his threat or
+promise. He would go to Warden Forest and see that beautiful face again,
+though he had to brave the anger of twenty mysterious woodmen. He
+thought at first that he would start on the morrow, but some
+feeling--perhaps some reverence and respect for the dead man--made him
+change his mind.
+
+"No," he said to himself, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and
+prepared for bed; "I'll stay here over the funeral, and then----"
+
+But, though he felt tired and worn out, it was hours before he could
+sleep, and when he did, his spirit fled back to Warden Forest, and the
+face that had haunted him waking hovered about him in dreams.
+
+Was it love; love at first sight? Jack would have been first to laugh at
+the idea; but it is worthy of note that all the loves which had occurred
+in his wild, reckless life had never, in their warmest epochs, moved him
+as the remembrance of Una had done; not one had had the power to disturb
+his sleep or to bring him dreams.
+
+Jack kept to his resolution. Five days passed, and he stuck to the
+"Bush" manfully. They were, perhaps, the dreariest days he ever spent in
+his life, and he never thought of them afterward without a shudder.
+
+Every day he was tempted to take flight and go to London until the day
+of the funeral; but his promise to Hudsley kept him at his post. He
+would not even leave the "Bush."
+
+On the first day, a note, written on the deepest of mourning paper, had
+come from Stephen, begging him to come to the Hurst; but he had written
+a firm and what was for him a polite refusal. Of Stephen himself he saw
+nothing. Mr. Hudsley had also sent, and asked him to stay at his house;
+and this, too, Jack had declined.
+
+The fact was he wanted to be left alone, to think over the strange
+adventures in the forest, to dwell with unceasing wistfulness on the
+beautiful face and sweet, musical voice.
+
+So he clung to the inn; taking a morning dip in the river; strolling
+about, with his brier pipe in his mouth and his hands in his pockets,
+exchanging a word with this man and the other, and bestowing his odd
+change on any children he happened to meet. Sometimes he would drop in
+at one of the cottages, where he was so welcome when a boy, and smoke
+and chat; but usually he kept to his room.
+
+But wherever he went he was the observed of all observers. Every night
+the little club that met in the "Bush" parlor talked about him, and
+wondered why he didn't go to the Hurst, and whether he would be the new
+squire.
+
+The day of the funeral arrived at last--a cold, wet day, that
+foreshadowed the approaching autumn; and Jack put on his black
+suit--made by the village tailor who had described Stephen as a
+nice-spoken gentleman--and went up to the Hurst.
+
+It was the first time he had been near it since the night he had the
+scuffle with Stephen on the lawn; and, to Jack's eyes, it looked
+gloomier than ever.
+
+As he entered the hall, a shrunken figure in shabby black came to meet
+him; it was old Skettle, Hudsley's clerk.
+
+The old man peered at him curiously, and made him a respectful bow in
+response to Jack's blunt greeting, and opened the library door.
+
+Mr. Hudsley was standing at the table, and looked up with his wrinkled
+face and keen eyes--not a trace of expression beyond keenness in them.
+Jack shook hands with him and looked around.
+
+"Where is Stephen?" he said.
+
+As he spoke the door opened and Stephen entered. Jack, frank and candid,
+stared at him with astonishment.
+
+"Are we ready?"
+
+And they passed out.
+
+In silence they stood beside the grave while all that was mortal of
+Ralph Davenant was consigned to the earth, and in silence they returned
+to the library.
+
+With the same stony, impassive countenance, Mr. Hudsley seated himself
+at the head of the table; Stephen sank into a chair beside him, and sat
+with his eyes hidden under the white lids; Jack stood with folded arms
+beside the window, glancing at the far-stretching lawns and watching the
+servants as they filed in, a long line of black.
+
+When they had all entered Mr. Hudsley drew from his pocket a folded
+parchment, slowly put on his spectacles, and without looking round,
+said:
+
+"I am now about to read the last will and testament of Ralph Davenant."
+
+There was a pause, a solemn pause, then he looked up and said:
+
+"This will was drawn up by me on January--last year. It is the last will
+of which I have any cognizance. A careful search has been made, but no
+other document of the kind has been found. That is so, Mr. Stephen, is
+it not?" and he turned to Stephen so suddenly that all eyes followed
+his.
+
+Stephen paused a moment, then raised his lids, and with a shake of his
+head and a sigh murmured an assent.
+
+Mr. Hudsley allowed his keen eyes to rest on him for an instant, then
+slowly looked in the direction of Jack.
+
+"A most careful search," he repeated.
+
+Jack, feeling that the remark was addressed to him, nodded and looked at
+the lawn again.
+
+Mr. Hudsley cleared his throat, and opened the crackling parchment.
+
+There was an intense silence, so intense that Stephen's labored
+breathing could be heard as plainly as the rain on the windows.
+
+In the same dry, hard voice Mr. Hudsley began to read. Clause by clause,
+wrapped in the beautiful legal jargon in which such documents are, for
+some inscrutable reasons, worded, no one understanding the import, but
+suddenly familiar words struck upon the ear. They were the servants'
+legacies, and a mourning ring to Mr. Hudsley; then, in a stillness that
+was oppressive, there fell the words:
+
+"To my nephew, Stephen Davenant, I will the whole and sole remainder of
+all I possess, be it in lands or money, houses or securities, all and of
+every kind of property, deducting only the afore-mentioned legacies."
+
+A thrill ran through the assemblage, every eye turned, as if magnetized,
+to the white, death-like face of the heir.
+
+There he sat, the new squire, the owner of Hurst Leigh and the uncounted
+thousands of old Ralph Davenant, motionless, white, too benumbed to
+tremble.
+
+Slowly Mr. Hudsley read over the signatures, and then slowly commenced
+to fold the parchment.
+
+Then, from the shadow of the curtains, Jack emerged, pale, too, but with
+cool, calm dignity.
+
+Quite quietly, and with perfect self-possession, he came to the table
+and looked at the dry, wrinkled face.
+
+"So I understand, Mr. Hudsley, that the squire has left me--nothing."
+
+Mr. Hudsley looked up, no trace of expression on his face.
+
+"Quite right, Mr. Newcombe," he replied.
+
+"He has not named me," said Jack.
+
+"He has not named you in this will."
+
+Jack bowed, and was turning from the table when Stephen started to his
+feet.
+
+For one moment his eyes rested on Jack's face with an awful, piercing
+look of scrutiny, then his eyes lit up with a malicious gleam of
+triumph, but it disappeared instantly, and with a gesture of honest
+generosity and regret, he exclaimed:
+
+"Not named! My dear Jack! But stay! I see how it is. My uncle felt that
+he could trust to my feeling in the matter. He knew that you would not
+have to look to me in vain."
+
+Jack turned and looked at him with infinite contempt and unbelief, and
+then slowly passed out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+
+Two days passed since Una had given her promise that should Jack
+Newcombe come to seek her she would hold no converse with him. How much
+that promise had cost her no one could say; she herself did not know.
+She only knew that whereas her life had always seemed dull and
+purposeless, it had, since Jack Newcombe's visit, grown utterly dreary
+and joyless.
+
+Was it love? She did not ask herself the question. Had she done so, she
+could not have answered it.
+
+Any school-girl of fifteen feeling as Una felt would have known that she
+was in love, but Una's only schooling had consisted of the few stern
+lessons of Gideon Rolfe.
+
+"I can never see him, hear him, speak to him again," was her one sad
+reflection; "but if I could be somewhere near him, unseen!"
+
+Then, through her brain, her father's words rang with melancholy
+persistence. This youth, whose eyes had seemed so frank and brave, whose
+voice rang with music so new and sweet, was, so her father said,
+unutterably wicked. One to be avoided as a dangerous animal! It could
+not but be true; she thought her father was truth itself.
+
+But if it were so, then how false the world must be, for one to look and
+speak so gently, and yet be so wicked!
+
+All day she wandered in the woods, returning to the cottage pale and
+listless, to leave her plate untouched or at best trifled with. Gideon
+Rolfe saw the change which had befallen her, but held his peace, though
+a bitter rage filled his heart; Martha Rolfe chided her for her
+listlessness, and tried to tempt her to eat; but Una put chiding and
+coaxing aside with a gentle smile, and escaped to the lake where she
+could dream alone and undisturbed.
+
+The two days passed--on the third, as she was sitting beside the spot
+which had grown sacred in her eyes, with its crushed and broken ferns,
+she heard steps behind. Thinking that they were those of her father or
+one of the charcoal burners, she did not turn her head. The footsteps
+drew nearer, and a man came out from the thick wood and stood on the
+margin of the lake, and remained for a moment looking about him.
+
+Una was so hidden by the tall brake that she remained unseen, and sat
+holding her breath watching him.
+
+He was tall, thin, and dressed in black, and when he turned his face
+toward her, Una saw that he was not ill-looking. She might have thought
+him handsome but for that other face which was always in her mental
+vision. He was very pale, and looked anxious and ill at ease; and as he
+stood looking before him his right hand took his left into custody. It
+was Stephen Davenant.
+
+For a few moments he stood with a half-searching, half-absent expression
+on his pale face, then turned and entered the wood again.
+
+Pale with wonder and curiosity, Una rose and looked after him, and to
+her infinite surprise saw a carriage slowly approaching.
+
+A lady was seated in it, a lady with a face as pale as the man's but
+with a still more anxious and deprecating expression.
+
+Una, with the quickness of sight acquired by a life spent in communion
+with nature, could see, even at that distance, that the lady's eyes were
+like those of the man's, and, furthermore, that she was awaiting his
+approach with a nervous timidity that almost amounted to fear.
+
+With fast beating heart Una watched them wondering what could have
+brought them to Warden, wondering who and what they were, when suddenly
+her heart gave a great bound, for the gentleman, turning to the driver,
+said, in a soft, low voice:
+
+"We are looking for the cottage of a woodman, named Gideon Rolfe."
+
+"Never heard of it, sir. Do you know what part of the forest it is in?"
+
+"No," said Stephen.
+
+"Then it's like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay," retorted the
+man.
+
+"However difficult, it must be found," said Stephen. "Drive on till you
+come to some road and follow that. It may lead us to some place where we
+can ascertain the direction of this man's cottage."
+
+The man touched his horse with the whip, and still Una stood as if
+spell-bound, but, suddenly remembering that they were going in the
+opposite direction to the cottage, she was about to step forward, when
+she heard the bark of the dog, and almost as if he had sprung from the
+ground, Gideon Rolfe stood beside the carriage.
+
+"Ah, here is someone," said Stephen. "Can you tell us the road to the
+cottage of Gideon Rolfe, the woodman, my man?" he asked.
+
+"And what may be your business with him?"
+
+"Why do you ask, my good man?" he replied.
+
+"Because I am he you seek," said Gideon.
+
+"You are Gideon Rolfe? How fortunate."
+
+"That's as it may prove," said Gideon, coldly. "What is your business?"
+
+"It is of a nature which, I think, had better be stated in a more
+convenient spot. Will you kindly permit me to enter your cottage and
+rest?"
+
+Gideon looked searchingly into Stephen's face for a moment that seemed
+an age to Una, then nodded curtly, and said: "Follow me."
+
+"Will you not ride?" asked Stephen, suavely.
+
+But Gideon shook his head, and shouldering his ax, strode in front of
+the horse, and Stephen motioning to the driver, the carriage followed.
+
+"A charming spot, Mr. Rolfe--charming! Rather shall I say, retired, if
+not solitary, however."
+
+"Say what you please, sir," retorted Gideon, grimly and calmly. "I am
+waiting to learn the business you have with me."
+
+"Mother," he said--"this lady is my mother, Mr. Rolfe--I think, I really
+think you would find it pleasant and refreshing on the bench which I
+observed outside the door."
+
+With a little deprecatory air the lady got up and instantly left the
+cottage.
+
+Then Stephen's manner changed. Leaning forward he fixed his gray eyes on
+Gideon Rolfe's stern face and said:
+
+"Mr. Rolfe--my name is Davenant----"
+
+Gideon started, and, with a muttered oath, raised the ax.
+
+Stephen's face turned as white as his spotless collar, but he did not
+shrink.
+
+"My name is Davenant," he repeated--"Stephen Davenant. I am afraid the
+name has some unpleasant associations attached to it. I beg to remind
+you, if that should be the case, that those associations are not
+connected with any fault of mine."
+
+"Go on. Your name is Stephen Davenant?"
+
+"Stephen Davenant. I am the nephew of Squire Davenant--Ralph Davenant.
+The nephew of Ralph Davenant. I think you can guess my business with
+you."
+
+"Do you come from--him?" he asked, hoarsely.
+
+"In a certain sense, yes," he said. "No doubt you have heard the sad
+news. My uncle is dead."
+
+"Dead!" he repeated fiercely.
+
+"Dead. My uncle died three days ago."
+
+"Dead!" repeated Gideon, not in the tone of a man who had lost a friend,
+but in that of one who had lost an enemy.
+
+"Yes," said Stephen, wiping his dry eyes with his spotless handkerchief;
+"my poor uncle died three days ago. I am afraid I have not broken it as
+softly as I should have done. You knew him well?"
+
+"Yes, I knew him well."
+
+"Then you know how great a loss the county has suffered in----"
+
+"Spare your fine phrases. Come to your business with me. What brings you
+here?"
+
+"I am here in consequence of a communication made to me by my uncle on
+his death-bed. Are you alone?"
+
+Gideon waved his hand with passionate impatience.
+
+"That communication," Stephen continued, "concerns a certain young
+lady----"
+
+"He told you?" he exclaimed.
+
+"My uncle told me that I should find a young lady, in whose future he
+was greatly interested, in the charge of a certain person named Gideon
+Rolfe."
+
+"Well, did he tell you any more than that?"
+
+Stephen made a gesture in the negative.
+
+"So," said Gideon Rolfe, "he left it to me to tell the story of his
+crime. You are Ralph Davenant's nephew. You are the nephew of a villain
+and a scoundrel!"
+
+It was true, then, that the man knew nothing of the secret marriage of
+Ralph Davenant and Caroline Hatfield.
+
+"A scoundrel and a villain!" repeated Gideon, leaning forward and
+clutching the table. "You say that he told you the story of his crime,
+glossed over and falsified. Hear it from me. Your uncle and I were
+schoolfellows and friends. I was the son of the schoolmaster at Hurst.
+Your uncle left school to go to college. I remained at Hurst in my
+father's house. I could have gone to college also, but I would not leave
+Hurst, for I was in love. I loved Caroline Hatfield. She was the
+daughter of the gamekeeper on the Hurst estate, and we were to be
+married. Two months before the day fixed for our marriage your uncle, my
+friend--my friend!--came home to spend the vacation. We were friends
+still, and I--cursed fool that I was--took him to the gamekeeper's lodge
+to introduce him to my sweetheart. Six weeks afterward he and she had
+fled."
+
+Stephen watched him closely, his heart beating wildly.
+
+"They had fled," continued Gideon, in a broken voice. "My life was ended
+on the day they brought me the news. I left Hurst Leigh and came here. A
+year later she came back to me--came back to me to die. She died and
+left me----. She left me her child. I--I loved her still and swore to
+protect that child, and I have done so. There is my story. What have you
+to say?"
+
+"It is terrible, terrible!" he exclaimed.
+
+"I have kept my vow. Her child has grown up ignorant of the shame which
+is her heritage. Here, buried in the heart of the forest, away from the
+world, I have kept and guarded her for her mother's sake. There is the
+story, told without gloss or falsehood. What have you to say?"
+
+"You have discharged your self-appointed trust most nobly! But--but that
+trust has come to an end."
+
+"Who says so?"
+
+"I say so. You have done your duty--more than your duty--I must do mine.
+My uncle, on his deathbed, bequeathed his daughter to my charge."
+
+"To yours?"
+
+"To mine," said Stephen, gravely.
+
+"Where is your authority?"
+
+"That I do not come without authority is proven by the mere fact of my
+presence here and by my knowledge of my uncle's secret. No one but
+yourself, your wife and I know of the real identity of this girl. It was
+my uncle's wish that the story of her birth should still remain a
+secret--that it should be buried, as it were, in his grave. Why should
+the poor girl ever learn the truth, when such knowledge can only bring
+her shame and mortification?"
+
+"Grant that," said Gideon, "where could she better be hidden than here?
+Her secret, her very existence, have been concealed from the world."
+
+"True, but--but the future, my dear sir--the future! You are not a young
+man----"
+
+"I am still young enough to protect her."
+
+"My dear Mr. Rolfe, you may live--you look as if you would--to be a
+hundred; you have discharged your self-imposed task most nobly, but you
+must not forget that it has now devolved upon one who is bound by ties
+of blood to fulfill it, if not so well, certainly with the best
+intentions. Mr. Rolfe, I am the young girl's cousin."
+
+"You speak of ties of blood; say rather, the ties of shame! Suppose--I
+say suppose--that I refuse to deliver her up to your care?"
+
+"I do not think you will do that. You forget that, after all, we have
+little choice in the matter."
+
+Gideon Rolfe eyed him questioningly.
+
+"The young girl is now of age, and----"
+
+"Go on."
+
+"And supposing that you were to refuse to hand her over to my charge, I
+should feel compelled to tell the story of her life, and----. Pray--pray
+be calm. I beg you to remember that I am not here of my own desire; that
+I am merely fulfilling my duty to my uncle, and endeavoring to obey his
+last wishes. I do not blame you for your reluctance to part with her. It
+does you credit, my dear Mr. Rolfe--infinite credit. But duty--duty; we
+must all do our duty."
+
+"Has anyone of your name ever yet done his duty?" repeated Gideon,
+sternly.
+
+"For my part, Mr. Rolfe, I have always striven to do mine; yea, even in
+the face of great temptation and difficulties. I must do it now. After
+all, why should you resist my uncle's wish? Consider, she, who was once
+a child, is now a woman. Do you think it possible to keep her imprisoned
+in this wood for the whole of her days?"
+
+Gideon Rolfe turned toward the window. For the first time Stephen had
+found a weak spot in his armor. It was true! Already she was beginning
+to pine and hunger for the world. Could he keep her much longer?
+
+"Come," said Stephen, quick to see the impression he had made. "Do not
+let us be selfish; let us think of her welfare, as well as our own
+wishes. Candidly, I must confess that I should be perfectly willing to
+leave her in her present obscurity."
+
+Gideon Rolfe broke in abruptly.
+
+"Where will you take her?" he asked, hoarsely.
+
+"It is my intention," he said, "to place her in my mother's charge. She
+lives in London, alone. There my cousin will find a loving home and a
+second mother. Believing that you would naturally have some reluctance
+at parting with her, not knowing with whom and where she was going, I
+have brought my mother with me."
+
+Gideon glanced at the quiet, motionless figure seated on the bench
+outside, and then paced the room again.
+
+"Does she know?" he asked hoarsely.
+
+"She knows nothing," said Stephen. "My mother can trust me implicitly.
+She has long wanted a companion, and I have told her that I know of a
+young girl in whom I am interested."
+
+"You intend to keep her secret?" said Gideon.
+
+"Most sacredly," responded Stephen, with solemn earnestness.
+
+Gideon went to the door and opened it.
+
+"Wait," he said, and disappeared.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+
+Stephen rose softly and watched him from behind the window curtains
+until Gideon had vanished amongst the trees; then Stephen went out and
+smiled down upon his mother with the air of a man who had just succeeded
+in accomplishing some great work for the good of mankind at large.
+
+"Sorry to keep you waiting, mother," he said. "I have been making some
+arrangements with the worthy man, her father."
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked up with the nervous, deprecatory expression which
+always came upon her face when she was in the presence of her son.
+
+"It does not matter, Stephen; I am glad to rest. Where has the man gone?
+He--he--doesn't he look rather superior for his station, and why does he
+look so stern and forbidding?"
+
+"A life spent in solitude, away from the world, has made him reserved
+and cold," replied Stephen, glibly, "and, of course, he feels the
+parting from his daughter."
+
+"Poor man--poor girl!" murmured Mrs. Davenant.
+
+Stephen looked down at her with a contemplative smile, while his ears
+were strained for the returning footsteps of Gideon Rolfe.
+
+"Yours is a sweetly sympathetic nature, my dear. I can already foresee
+that the 'poor girl' will not long need anyone's sympathy. You are
+already prepared to open your arms and take her to your heart. Is it not
+so?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked up--just as if she wanted to see what he expected
+of her to say, and seeing that he meant her to say "yes," said it.
+
+"Yes, I shall be very glad to have a young girl--a good young girl--as a
+companion, Stephen. My life has been very lonely since you have been
+away."
+
+"And I may be away so much. But, mother, you will not forget what I said
+during our drive? There are special reasons why the girl's antecedents
+should not be spoken of. The friend who interested me in her wishes her
+to forget, if possible, everything concerning her early life."
+
+"I understand, Stephen."
+
+"And, by the way, do not allow any expression of astonishment to escape
+you if, when you see her, you feel astonished at her appearance or
+manner. Remember that she has spent all her life here, buried in the
+forest, her sole companions a woodsman and his wife."
+
+"Her mother and father?" said Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"I said her mother and father, did I not? Just so--her mother and
+father. Well, we must not expect too much. And after all, it will be far
+more interesting for you to have a fresh and unsophisticated nature
+about you, although she may be rather rough and rustic----"
+
+"I shall be quite content if she is a good girl."
+
+"Just so. Virtue is a precious gem though incased in a rough casket."
+
+Gideon Rolfe had returned, but not alone. Emerging from the deep shadow
+of the trees was what looked to their astonished and unprepared eyes a
+vision of some wood nymph.
+
+Gideon Rolfe strode forward, his face set hard and sternly cold, and as
+he reached the cottage he took Una's hand in his, and looking steadily
+into Stephen's eyes, said:
+
+"Mr. Davenant, I have informed my daughter of your mother's offer to
+take her under her charge, but I have asked her to postpone her answer
+until she saw you."
+
+Stephen bowed, and laid his white hand on his mother's arm.
+
+"Miss Rolfe," he said, in a low voice in which paternal kindness and
+social respect were delicately blended, "this lady is my mother. Like
+most mothers whose children have flown from the nest, she lives alone
+and feels her solitude. She is desirous of finding some young lady who
+will consent to share it with her. It is not only a home she offers you,
+but--I think I may add, mother--a heart."
+
+"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Davenant, and as she held out her hand her
+voice trembled and a tear shone in her eye.
+
+Una, who had been looking from one to the other, with the breath coming
+in little pants through her half parted lips, drew near and put her hand
+in the outstretched one, but the next moment turned and clung to
+Gideon's arm with a sudden sob.
+
+"Oh, father, I cannot leave you!" she murmured.
+
+Gideon bent his head, perhaps to hide his face, which was working with
+emotion.
+
+"Hush! it is for the best. Remember what I have said. You wanted to see
+the world----"
+
+"Yes--with you," said Una, audibly.
+
+"The world and I have parted forever, Una."
+
+"But shall I never see you again?"
+
+"Yes, yes, we shall meet now and again."
+
+"I trust, Miss Rolfe, that we shall wean your father from his long
+seclusion. You must be the magnet to draw him from his retreat into the
+busy haunts of men."
+
+"You will come and see me?" she murmured.
+
+"Yes, Una. Go where you will," and he glanced over her head at Stephen,
+"you may feel that I am watching over you, as I have always watched and
+guarded you. If any harm comes to you----"
+
+"Harm?" she breathed, and looked up into his face with questioning gaze.
+
+"Come, Mr. Rolfe, you mustn't alarm your daughter," said Stephen,
+softly. "She will think that the world is filled with lions and wolves
+seeking whom they may devour. I think you may feel safe from any harm
+under my mother's protection, Miss Rolfe."
+
+"Yes. I have never had a daughter. If you come you shall be one to me."
+
+"You think me ungrateful?" said Una to her, in her simple, frank way.
+
+"No, my dear," replied Mrs. Davenant. "I think you only show a naturally
+affectionate heart. You have never been from home before."
+
+"Never," said Una. "Never out of the woods."
+
+"My poor child. No, I do not think you ungrateful. I like to see that
+you feel leaving home so much. For you will come, will you not? I shall
+be disappointed and grieved if you do not, now that I have seen you."
+
+"Now that you have seen me," said Una.
+
+"Yes, my dear. For I am sure that I shall love you, and I hope that you
+will grow fond of me."
+
+"Do you?" said Una, musingly. "Yes," she said, after a pause, "I shall
+love you."
+
+"Will you kiss me, my dear," she said; and Una bent and kissed her.
+
+"And now that you think--that you are sure you will like me--you will
+come," said Mrs. Davenant.
+
+Una looked before her thoughtfully, almost dreamily, for a moment, then
+replied:
+
+"Yes, my father wishes me to go. Why does he wish me to go into the
+world he hates and fears so much? It was only the other day that he
+warned me against wishing for it, and told me that I should never be
+happy if I left Warden. Why has he changed so suddenly?"
+
+"I--I think it must have been Stephen who persuaded him. I heard them
+talking together."
+
+"Stephen--that is your son," said Una.
+
+"Yes, he is my son; he is very good and clever--so very clever! He has
+been a most affectionate son to me, and has never caused me a day's
+uneasiness."
+
+"All sons are not so?" she asked.
+
+"No, indeed," responded Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"Is he ill?" asked Una, after a pause.
+
+"Ill!"
+
+"Because he is so pale," she said.
+
+"Yes, Stephen is pale. It is because he thinks and reads so much, and
+then he is in great trouble now; his uncle died three days ago."
+
+"Is that why he is dressed in black--and you, too? I am very sorry."
+
+"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Davenant, "that was very nice of you to
+say that. I can see you have a kind heart. Yes, his uncle is just dead,
+Mr. Ralph Davenant--Squire Davenant. Why did you start?"--for Una had
+started and turned to her with a sudden flash of intense interest in her
+eyes--"did you know him? Ah, no, you could not, if you have not been out
+of the forest--how strange it seems!--but you have heard of him,
+perhaps?"
+
+"Yes, I have heard of him."
+
+At that moment the door opened, and Stephen and Gideon Rolfe came out.
+
+The usual smile sat upon Stephen's face, in strange contrast to the
+stern, set look on his companion's.
+
+Raising his hat to Mrs. Davenant as he approached, Gideon put his hand
+on Una's shoulder.
+
+"Go indoors, Una, to your mother," he said quietly.
+
+Una rose, and after a momentary glance at each of their faces, went
+inside. Stephen opened and held the door for her, then closed it and
+came back to the others.
+
+"Mother," he said, "Mr. Rolfe and I have made our arrangements, and he
+agrees with me that it would be wiser, now that the news is broken to
+Miss Rolfe, for her to accompany you back to town this afternoon."
+
+Mrs. Davenant nodded, and glanced timidly at Gideon's stern face.
+
+"We have won Mrs. Rolfe over to our side, and she is already making the
+few preparations necessary for Miss Rolfe's journey."
+
+Gideon Rolfe inclined his head as if to corroborate this, then he said:
+
+"Will you come inside, madam, and partake of some refreshment?"
+
+"I would rather wait here. Mr. Rolfe, I hope you feel that, in trusting
+your daughter to my charge, that she will at least have a happy home, if
+I can make one for her?"
+
+"That I believe, madam."
+
+"Yes, I have quite convinced Mr. Rolfe that the change will be
+beneficial to Miss Rolfe, and that she will be taken every care of. I
+suppose you are quite old friends already, eh, mother?"
+
+"I think she is a beautiful girl whom one could not help loving,"
+murmured Mrs. Davenant.
+
+Half an hour passed, and then Una and Martha came out. Una was pale to
+the lips, the other was red-eyed with weeping, and her tears broke out
+afresh when Mrs. Davenant shook hands with her and assured her that her
+daughter should be happy.
+
+"Thank you, ma'am," said Martha. "It's what I said would come to pass.
+Gideon couldn't expect to keep her shut up here, like a bird in a cage,
+forever and a day. It was against reason, but it is so sudden," and her
+sobs broke into her speech and stopped her.
+
+Mrs. Davenant's eyes were wet, and she glanced at Stephen, half inclined
+to postpone the journey; but Gideon Rolfe had called the carriage to the
+door, and the box was already on the seat.
+
+With the same set calm which he had maintained throughout, Gideon took
+Una in his arms, held her for a moment and whispering, "Remember,
+wherever you are I am watching over you!" put her in the carriage in
+which Stephen had already placed his mother.
+
+He, too, had a word to whisper. It was also a reminder.
+
+"Remember, mother, not another word of the past. Her life begins from
+today."
+
+Then he looked at his watch, and said aloud:
+
+"You will just have time to catch the train. Good-bye."
+
+With the most dutiful affection, he kissed his mother, then went round,
+and, bare-headed, offered his hand to Una.
+
+"Good-bye, Miss Rolfe," he said. "You are now starting on a new life. No
+one, not even your father, can more devoutly wish you the truest and
+fullest happiness than I do."
+
+Una, half-blinded with her tears, put her hand in his; but almost
+instantly drew it away, with something like a shudder. It was cold as
+ice.
+
+The next moment the carriage started, and the two men were left alone.
+
+For fully a minute they stood looking at it, till it had been swallowed
+up by the shadows of the trees; then Gideon turned, his face white and
+working.
+
+"Stephen Davenant," he said, in slow, measured tones, "one word with you
+before we part. You have gained your end--be what it may; I say for your
+sake, let it be for good; for if it be for evil, you have one to deal
+with who will not hold his hand to punish and avenge. Rather than let
+her know the heritage of shame which hangs over her, I have let her go.
+If you value your safety, guard her, for at your hands I require her
+happiness and well being."
+
+Stephen's face paled, but the smile struggled to its accustomed place.
+
+"My dear Mr. Rolfe," he began, but Gideon stopped him with a gesture.
+
+"Enough. I set no value on your word. There is no need for further
+speech between us. From this hour our roads lie apart. Take yours, and
+leave me mine."
+
+"This is very sad. Well, well; as you say, I have gained my end, but, as
+I would rather put it, I have done my duty, and I must bear your
+ungrounded suspicions patiently. Good-bye, my dear sir--good-bye."
+
+"I have sworn never to touch the hand of a Davenant in friendship," he
+said, grimly. "There lies your path"--and he pointed to the Wermesley
+road--"mine is here, for the present."
+
+And with a curt nod, he turned toward the cottage.
+
+With a gentle sigh and shake of the head, Stephen, after lingering for a
+moment, as if he hoped that Gideon's heart might be softened, turned and
+entered the wood.
+
+Once in the shadow and out of sight, the smile disappeared, and left his
+face careworn, restless and anxious.
+
+"Fate favors me," he muttered. "That boor knows--guesses--nothing of the
+truth. I never thought to get the girl out of his clutches so easily!
+Now she is under my watch and ken--I hold her in my hand. But--but"--he
+mused, his lips twitching, his eyes moving restlessly to and fro--"what
+shall I do with her? Beautiful--she is lovely! How long will she escape
+notice in London? Someone will see her--some hot-headed fool--and fall
+in love. She might marry. Ah!"
+
+And he stooped amongst the brakes and ferns, and looked up, with a
+sudden, dull-red flush on his pale cheek, a bright glitter in his light
+eyes, while a thought ran like lightning through his cunning brain.
+
+"Marry her! Why--why should not I?"
+
+An answer came quickly enough in the remembrance of the pale dark face
+of Laura Treherne, the girl to whom he was pledged.
+
+But with a gesture of impatience he swept the obtrusive remembrance
+aside.
+
+"Why not?" he muttered. "Then, at one stroke, I should secure myself. By
+Heaven--I will! I will!"
+
+So elated was he by the thought that he stopped and leaned against a
+tree and took off his hat, allowing the cool breezes to play upon his
+white forehead.
+
+"Beautiful, and the real heiress of Hurst Leigh," he muttered. "Why
+should I not? By one stroke I should make myself secure, and set that
+cursed will at defiance, let it be where it may! I will! I will!" he
+repeated, setting his teeth; then, as he put on his hat, he smiled
+pitifully and murmured:
+
+"Poor Laura, poor Laura!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+
+Una saw her last of Warden Forest through a mist of tears; while a tree
+remained in sight her face was turned toward it, and in silence she bade
+farewell to the leafy world in which her life had passed with so much
+uneventfulness--in silence listened to the soughing of the breeze that
+seemed to voice her a sad good-bye.
+
+Her companion sat in silence, too, holding the soft, warm hand which
+clung to hers with an eloquent supplication for protection and sympathy.
+
+But youth and tears are foes who cannot abide long together, and by the
+time the little railway village of Wermesley was reached, Una's eyes
+were full of interest and curiosity.
+
+As the fly rumbled over the unkept streets toward the station, past the
+few tame shops and the dead-and-alive hotel, her color came and went in
+rapid fluctuations.
+
+"Is--is this the world?" she asked, in a low voice.
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked at her with a smile, the first which Una had seen
+on the thin, pale face. She had yet to learn that Mrs. Davenant never
+smiled in her son's presence.
+
+"The world, my dear?" she replied. "Well, yes; but a very quiet part of
+it."
+
+"And yet there are so many people in the streets, and--ah!" she drew
+back with an exclamation as the train shrieked into the station.
+
+Mrs. Davenant started--she was nervous herself, and had not yet realized
+that she had for companion one who was as ignorant of our modern
+high-pressure civilization as a North American Indian.
+
+"That is the train; don't be frightened, my dear," she said.
+
+"Forgive me. I know it is the train--I have read about it. I am not
+frightened," she added, quietly, and with a touch of gentle dignity that
+puzzled Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"My dear," she said, "I am not finding fault, or chiding you, it is only
+natural that you should be surprised, but you will find a great deal
+more to be surprised at when we get to London."
+
+Una inclined her head as she mentally registered a resolution to
+conceal, at any cost, any surprise or alarm she might feel on the rest
+of the journey.
+
+Nevertheless, she kept very close to Mrs. Davenant as they passed to the
+train, and shrank back into the corner of the carriage driven there by
+the stupid stare of one or two of the passengers.
+
+"Now we are all right," said Mrs. Davenant, gently. "We shall not sleep
+now till we get to town."
+
+"To London--we are going to London?" asked Una in a low voice.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Davenant. "That is where I live; I live in a great
+square at the West-end."
+
+"I know the points of the compass," said Una, with a smile; "my father
+taught me," and she sighed--"poor father!"
+
+"I think your father must be a very clever man, my dear. He appears to
+have taught you a great deal--I mean"--she hesitated--"you speak so
+correctly."
+
+"Do I?" said Una. "Yes, my father is very clever. He knows everything."
+
+"It is very curious," she said. "I mean--I hope you won't be
+offended--but men in his position are not generally so well informed."
+
+"Are they not?" said Una, quietly. "I don't know. Perhaps my father
+learned all he knows from books."
+
+"And taught you in the same way. Tell me what books you have read."
+
+Una smiled softly, and as she did so, Mrs. Davenant started, and looked
+around at her with something like fright in her grave, still eyes.
+
+"What is the matter?" asked Una.
+
+"No--nothing," replied the other. "I--you reminded me of somebody when
+you laughed, I can't tell whom. But the books, you were going to tell me
+about the books."
+
+"I can't remember all," said Una, and then she mentioned the titles of
+some of the well-bound volumes which stood on the little bookshelf in
+the hut.
+
+Mrs. Davenant regarded her curiously.
+
+"Those are all books of a world that existed long ago," she said. "You
+have never read any novels--any novels of present day life?"
+
+"No, I think not."
+
+"Then you are absolutely ignorant of life as it is," said Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"Yes, I suppose so," assented Una.
+
+"I can understand now how useful fiction really is," murmured Mrs.
+Davenant. "It is by it alone that a future age will understand what ours
+is. You are entering upon some strange experiences, Miss Rolfe."
+
+Una started; the name was so unfamiliar to her that she hardly
+recognized it.
+
+"Please don't call me that," she said, laying her hand on Mrs.
+Davenant's arm. "My name is Eunice--Una. Call me Una."
+
+"I will," said Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"You have promised to love me, you know."
+
+"A promise easy to keep, my dear," she said, and her eyes grew moist. "I
+little thought when my son Stephen telegraphed to meet him that he was
+taking me to a daughter."
+
+"Your son Stephen--he sent for you!" said Una, with frank curiosity.
+"How did he know of my existence?"
+
+"Through some friend," said Mrs. Davenant, with much hesitation and
+nervous embarrassment. "My son is a very good man, and always
+interesting himself in some good cause or other--something that will
+benefit his fellow creatures. You--you will like my son when you know
+more of him," she added, and though she spoke with pride there was a
+touch of something like fear in her voice, which always came when she
+mentioned his name or spoke of his goodness.
+
+"Yes," said Una, simply, "I will for your sake."
+
+"Thank you, my dear," murmured Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"But how," went on Una, after thinking a moment, "how did his friend
+know anything about me? Did my father----"
+
+"I don't know, Una," said Mrs. Davenant, nervously. "Stephen doesn't
+always tell me everything; you see he has so much to think of, and just
+now he is in great trouble, you know."
+
+"Ah! yes," said Una, gently; "and he had not time to tell you. But he
+will. I am sorry he is in such trouble." Then, after a pause, she said:
+"Are you rich?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant started. The question, so unusual and so strange,
+bewildered her by its suddenness and its frankness.
+
+"Rich, my dear?" she said. "Yes--I suppose I am rich."
+
+"And he is rich?"
+
+"He will be, perhaps; we do not know until his uncle's will is read."
+
+"I know what a will is," said Una, with a smile. "It is the paper which
+a man leaves when he dies, saying to whom he wishes his money to go. And
+Stephen----"
+
+"You should say Mr. Stephen, or Mr. Davenant, my dear," she said. "I
+don't mind your calling him Stephen, but--but----" She looked round in
+despair. How was she to explain to this frank, beautiful girl the laws
+of etiquette? "But everyone who speaks of those to whom they are not
+related say Mr., or Mrs., or Miss."
+
+"I see," said Una. "Then Mr. Davenant expects to get his uncle's money,
+and then he will be rich. I am very glad. And he does not live in the
+same house with you?"
+
+"No," replied Mrs. Davenant--and surely there was something like a tone
+of relief in her voice--"no; when he is in London he lives in chambers
+in rooms by himself; but he has been staying at Hurst Leigh."
+
+"At Hurst Leigh!" echoed Una, softly, and a faint color stole over her
+face. How wonderful it was! That other--he whose face was always with
+her, was going there!
+
+"At Hurst Leigh," repeated Mrs. Davenant. "Do you know it?"
+
+Una shook her head silently. She longed to ask more, to ask if Mrs.
+Davenant knew the youth who had taken shelter in the cottage, but she
+simply could not. Love is a wondrous schoolmaster--he had already taught
+her frank, out-spoken nature the art of concealment.
+
+"It is a grand place," continued Mrs. Davenant. "A great, huge place,"
+and she shivered faintly, "and--and if Squire Davenant has left it to
+Stephen, he will live there."
+
+"You don't like it?" said Una, with acute intuition.
+
+"No," replied Mrs. Davenant, with unusual earnestness. "No, oh no! it
+frightens me. I was never there but once, and then I was glad--very,
+very glad to get away, grand and beautiful as it was!"
+
+"But why?" asked Una, eagerly.
+
+"Because--have you never heard of Ralph Davenant?"
+
+Una hesitated a moment. She had heard of him.
+
+"He was a wonderful man, but terrible to me. His eyes looked through
+one, and then he had been so wicked."
+
+She stopped short, and Una sighed. So there was another person who was
+wicked.
+
+"Why are men so wicked?" she asked, in a low voice.
+
+"I--I--don't know. What a singular question," said Mrs. Davenant. "No
+one knows. Perhaps it is because they have different natures to ours.
+But you need not look so grieved, my dear," she added, with a little
+smile, "you need not know any wicked men."
+
+"Who can tell? One does not know; wicked men are just like the others,
+only we like them better."
+
+Mrs. Davenant stared at her, and utterly overwhelmed by the strange
+reply, sank into her corner and into silence.
+
+The panting engine tore along the line, and presently the clear
+atmosphere was left behind, and the cloud of smoke which hangs over the
+Great City came down upon them and took them in, and infolded them.
+
+To Una's amazement the train seemed to glide over the tops of houses,
+houses so thick that there seemed but two, or three inches between them.
+With suppressed excitement--she had resolved to express no surprise or
+fear--she watched through the window. Sometimes she caught sight of
+streets thronged with people, and with commingled alarm and curiosity,
+wondered what had happened to draw them all together so.
+
+She would not ask Mrs. Davenant, for wearied by her double journey, she
+was leaning back with closed eyes.
+
+Suddenly the train stopped--stopped amidst the noise and confusion of a
+large terminus--Mrs. Davenant woke, a porter came to the door, received
+instructions as to the luggage and handed them out.
+
+Notwithstanding her resolution, Una felt herself turning pale.
+
+From Warden Forest to a London railway station.
+
+"Keep close to me, dear," said Mrs. Davenant, who seemed only nervous
+and helpless in her son's presence. "Come, there is a cab."
+
+In silence Una followed. Men--and women, too,--turned to look at the
+tall, graceful figure in its plain white dress, and stared at the lovely
+face, with its half-frightened, half-curious, downcast eyes, and Una
+felt the eyes fixed on her.
+
+"Why--why do they look at me so?" she asked, when they had entered the
+cab.
+
+Mrs. Davenant regarded her with a smile, and evaded the frank, open
+eyes. Was it possible that the girl was ignorant of her marvelous
+beauty?
+
+"People in London always stare, my dear Una," she replied, "and they see
+that you are strange."
+
+"It is my dress," said Una, who had been looking out of the window at
+some of the fashionably-attired ladies. "It is different to theirs.
+See--look at that lady! Why does she wear so long a dress? she has to
+hold it up with one hand."
+
+"It is your dress, no doubt, my dear," she said. "We must alter it when
+we get home."
+
+The cab rolled into the street, and Una was rendered speechless.
+
+But for her resolve she would have shrunk back into the farthest corner
+of the cab. The number of people, the noise, alarmed her, and yet she
+felt fascinated.
+
+Were all the people mad that they hurried on so with such grave and
+pre-occupied faces. She had never seen her father hurry unless he had
+cut down a tree that had been struck by lightning, and which might
+injure others in its fall unless cut down with greatest care.
+
+Presently they passed into one of the leading thoroughfares, already lit
+up, its shops gleaming brightly with the gas-light, its ceaseless line
+of cabs, and omnibuses, and carriages.
+
+At last, when her eyes were weary with looking, she murmured:
+"This--this--is the world then at last."
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh. "This is the world, Una!"
+
+"And are those palaces!" asked Una, as they passed through the West End
+streets and squares.
+
+"No," said Mrs. Davenant; "they are only houses, in which rich people
+dwell, as you would call it."
+
+"And the trees! Are there no trees?" asked Una, with, for the first
+time, a sigh.
+
+"Not here, dear. There are some in the parks; some even in the middle of
+the city itself. You will miss your trees, Una."
+
+"Yes, I shall miss my trees. But this--this world seems so large; I
+thought that----"
+
+"Well," said Mrs. Davenant, amused with her bewilderment.
+
+"I thought that people in the world knew each other; but that is
+impossible."
+
+And she sighed, as she thought that, after all, now that she was in the
+world, she was no nearer that one being who, for her, was the principal
+person in it.
+
+"Very few people know each other, Una. It's a big world, this London. I
+wonder whether you will be happy?"
+
+Una turned to her with a look upon her face that would have melted a
+sterner heart than Mrs. Davenant's.
+
+"I shall be happy, if you will love me," she said.
+
+Something in the frank, simple reply made Mrs. Davenant tremble. What
+had she undertaken in the charge of this simple, pure-natured girl,
+whose beauty caused people to turn and stare at her, and whose innocence
+was that of a child?
+
+Through miles and miles of streets, as it seemed to Una, the cab made
+its slow, rumbling way; houses, that were palaces in her eyes, flitted
+past; and at last they stopped before a palace, as it seemed to Una, in
+a quiet square.
+
+The door of the house opened, and a servant came out and opened the cab
+door.
+
+In silent wonderment Una entered the hall, lit with its gas-lamps and
+lined with flowers, and followed Mrs. Davenant into what was really the
+drawing-room of a house in Walmington Square; but which seemed to Una to
+be the principal apartment in some enchanted castle.
+
+But true to her resolve, she stood calm and silent, feeling, rather
+than seeing, that the eyes of the servant were fixed upon her with
+curious interest.
+
+"Come upstairs, Una, dear," said Mrs. Davenant, and Una followed her
+into another fairy chamber. Flowers, of which Mrs. Davenant, like most
+nervous persons, was inordinately fond, seemed everywhere: they lined
+the staircase and the landing, and bloomed in every available corner.
+
+Mrs. Davenant entered her own room, then opened a door into an adjoining
+one.
+
+"This is your room, my dear," she said. "If--if--you like it----"
+
+"Like it!" said Una, with open eyes and beating heart. "Is--is this
+really mine?" and she looked round the dainty room with incredulous
+admiration.
+
+"If--if you like it, my dear," said Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"How could I do otherwise? It is too beautiful for me----"
+
+"I don't think anything could be too beautiful for you, Una," said Mrs.
+Davenant, with a significance that was entirely lost on Una. "If there
+is anything you want--I can't give you any trees, you know."
+
+"I shan't want trees while the flowers are here. It is nothing but
+flowers."
+
+"I am very fond of them," said Mrs. Davenant, meekly. "You will hear a
+bell ring in half an hour; come to me then, I shall wait in the next
+room for you. I will not lock the door," and she left her.
+
+Una felt dazed and stunned for a few minutes, then she made what
+preparations were possible. She chose from her box, which had been
+conveyed to her room by some invisible agency apparently, a plain muslin
+dress, and, more by instinct than any prompting of vanity, fastened a
+rose in her hair.
+
+She had scarcely completed her simple toilet when the bell rang, and she
+went into the next room.
+
+A maid servant--Una noticed that it was not the one who had opened the
+door--was in attendance upon Mrs. Davenant, and dropped a courtesy as
+Mrs. Davenant said, in her nervous, hesitating fashion:
+
+"This is Miss Rolfe, Jane."
+
+Una smiled, and was about to hold out her hand, but stopped, seeing no
+movement of a similar kind on the part of the neatly-dressed girl.
+
+"Jane is my own maid, Una," said Mrs. Davenant. "She will attend to you
+when you want her."
+
+Jane dropped another courtesy, but Una detected a glance of curiosity
+and scrutiny at the plain white muslin.
+
+"Come," said Mrs. Davenant, "let us go down. Dinner is ready," and she
+led the way down-stairs.
+
+Another fairy apartment broke upon Una's astonished vision as they
+entered the dining-room.
+
+Small as the houses are in Walmington Square, Una, accustomed only to
+the small room in the hut, thought that this dining-room was large
+enough to be the banquet hall of princes.
+
+But, whatever surprise Una felt, she, mindful of her resolve, concealed.
+
+Not even the maid in waiting could find anything to condemn. When she
+went down-stairs her verdict was favorable.
+
+"Whoever she is," she said, "she's a lady. But where on earth she comes
+from, goodness only knows. A plain muslin dress that might have come out
+of the ark."
+
+Dinner was over at last. A "last" that seemed to Una an eternity. Mrs.
+Davenant rose and beckoned her to follow, and they went into the
+drawing-room.
+
+"Are you very tired, Una?"
+
+"No," said Una, thinking of her long wanderings in Warden Forest, "not
+tired at all, but very surprised."
+
+"Surprised?" said Mrs. Davenant, questioningly.
+
+"Yes. Do all the people in London live like this--in such beautiful
+houses, with people to wait upon them, and with so many things to eat,
+and with such pretty things in the houses?"
+
+"Not all," said Mrs. Davenant, watching the tall, graceful figure as it
+moved to and fro--"not all. But it would take too long to explain. You
+think these are pretty things; what will you say when you see the great
+sights--sights which we Londoners think nothing of?"
+
+Una did not answer; she had been looking round the room at the pictures,
+mostly portraits, on the walls.
+
+"Are these pictures of friends of yours?" she said. "Who is that?"
+
+"That? That is the portrait of a man I was speaking of in the train.
+That is Ralph--Squire Davenant--when he was a young man."
+
+It was a portrait of Ralph Davenant in his best--and worst--days. It had
+been painted when men wore their hair long, and brushed from their
+foreheads. One hand, white as the driven snow, was thrust in his breast,
+the other held a riding-whip.
+
+Una looked at it long and earnestly, and Mrs. Davenant, impressed by her
+long silence, rose and stood beside her.
+
+"Yes," she said, "that is Ralph Davenant. It was painted when he was
+about your age, my dear. Ah----"
+
+"What is the matter?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant, pale and excited, took up a hand-mirror from one of the
+tables and held it in front of Una.
+
+"Look!" she exclaimed.
+
+"Well?" she said.
+
+"Well?" echoed Mrs. Davenant. "Don't you see? Look again. The very
+image! It is himself come to life again; it is Ralph Davenant turned
+woman!" she exclaimed.
+
+And before Una could glance at the glass a second time Mrs. Davenant
+threw it aside.
+
+"Am I so like?" said Una, with a smile. "How mysterious! And that is so
+beautiful a face."
+
+"Beautiful eyes, and you are----" said Mrs. Davenant, but stopped in
+time, warned by Una's frank, questioning gaze. "If you like to look at
+portraits," she said, "there is an album there; look over that."
+
+Una took up the album and turned over its pages; suddenly she stopped,
+and the color flew to her face.
+
+With unconcealed eagerness she came toward Mrs. Davenant with the open
+album in her hand.
+
+"Look!" she said; "who is that?"
+
+"That," said Mrs. Davenant, peering at it, "that is--Jack Newcombe."
+
+"Jack Newcombe," said Una, breathlessly. "You know him?"
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh. "Poor Jack! Shut the book, my
+dear."
+
+"Why do you say 'Poor Jack?'" said Una, with a hollow look in her
+beautiful eyes.
+
+"Because--because he is a wicked young man, my dear," said Mrs.
+Davenant. "Poor Jack!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+
+Amidst a profound silence Jack walked slowly and quietly out of the
+house. There was no anger in his heart against the old man whose
+favorite he had once been--for the moment there was scarcely any anger
+against Stephen; surprise and bewilderment overwhelmed every other
+feeling.
+
+He had not expected a large sum of money--had certainly not expected the
+Hurst; and but for the words spoken by the dying man, he would not have
+expected anything at all, after having offended him in the matter of the
+money-lenders and the post-obit. But most assuredly the squire had
+intimated that there would be something--something, however small.
+
+And now he was told that there was nothing, that his name was not even
+mentioned.
+
+Apart from any mercenary consideration, Jack was cut up and
+disappointed; if there had been a simple mourning ring, a few of the old
+guns out of the armory--anything as a token of the old man's
+forgiveness, he would have been satisfied; but nothing, not one word.
+
+Then, again, he could not understand it, near his end as he was when he
+spoke to him. The squire was as sane and clear-headed as he had been at
+any time of his life, or at least so it seemed to Jack; and he certainly
+had given him to understand that he had left him some portion of his
+immense wealth.
+
+It was another link in the chain of mysteries which had seemed to coil
+around Jack since he started from London.
+
+Slowly and thoughtfully he made his way back to the "Bush," and began to
+pack up the small portmanteau which had been sent from town.
+
+Hurst Leigh was no place for him; every minute he remained in it seemed
+intolerable to him. He would go straight back to town by the next train.
+
+Suddenly a thought struck him, and he paused in his task of packing the
+portmanteau, an operation which he reduced to its simplest by thrusting
+in anything that came first and jamming it down tight with his fist; he
+stopped and looked up with a red flush on his handsome face. Why
+shouldn't he go to Warden Forest on his way back?
+
+In a moment, the idea thrilled him with the delight of anticipation, the
+next, a shade came over his brow. Why shouldn't he? Rather, why _should_
+he? What was the use of his going? If he had no business there before,
+he had less excuse now. He was next door to a beggar--and----
+
+Realizing for the first time the blow that had been dealt him by the
+squire's neglect, he continued at the jamming process, jumped and kicked
+at the portmanteau till it consented to be locked, and then went down to
+the bar and called for his bill.
+
+There were several people hanging about--a funeral is a good excuse for
+a holiday in a country village--but Jack, in his abstraction, scarcely
+noticed the little group of men who sat and stood about, and merely
+nodded in response to the respectful and kindly greetings.
+
+"But, Mr. Jack," said Jobson, with a deeply respectful air of surprise,
+"you don't think of going right away at once, sir?"
+
+"Yes, I'm off, Jobson," said Jack. "What's the next train?"
+
+"To London?" said a dry, thin voice behind him; and Jack turned and saw
+Mr. Hudsley's clerk--old Skettle. "There's no train to London till seven
+o'clock; there's a train to Arkdale in an hour, but it stops there."
+
+"All right," he said, "I'll go to Arkdale; and, by the way, Jobson, I
+don't want to be bothered with the portmanteau; send it on by rail to my
+address--Spider Court, the Temple, you know."
+
+Jobson touched his cap, and while he was making out the bill Jack lit
+his pipe and paced up and down, his hands in his pockets, the knot of
+men watching him out of the corners of their eyes with sympathetic
+curiosity.
+
+Jack paid the bill--so moderate a one that he capped it with half a
+sovereign over; and with a "good-day" all round, started off. He had not
+got further than the signpost, when he felt a touch on his arm, and,
+turning, saw that old Skettle had followed him.
+
+"Halloa," said Jack, in his blunt way, "what's the matter?"
+
+The old man looked up at him from under his wrinkled lids, and fumbled
+at his mouth in a cautious sort of a way.
+
+"I'm very sorry things have gone on so crooked up at the Hurst, Master
+Jack," he said, respectfully.
+
+"But not more sorry than I am, Skettle, thank you."
+
+"I'm afraid it's rather unexpected, Master Jack," he continued, his
+small, keen eyes fixed, not on Jack, but on his second waistcoat-button,
+counting from the top.
+
+"Well, yes, it is," said Jack, tugging at his mustache. "Very much so.
+I've got a hit in the bread-basket this time, Skettle, and I'm on my
+back again."
+
+Old Skettle looked a keen glance at the handsome face and frank eyes
+that were looking rather ruefully at the ground.
+
+"Hitting below the belt is not considered fair, is it, Master Jack?" he
+asked.
+
+"Eh, what?" said Jack, who had not been paying much attention. "No,
+according to the rules; but what do you mean by the question? You are
+always such a mysterious old idiot, you know. You can't help it, I
+suppose."
+
+Old Skettle smiled, if the extraordinary contortion of the wrinkled face
+could be called by so flattering a designation.
+
+"I've seen such mysterious things since I first went into Mr. Hudsley's
+office to sweep the floor----"
+
+"Now, then," said Jack, "none of that game; going into the old story,
+which I have heard a hundred times, of how you went as an office boy,
+and have risen to the proud position of confidential clerk. You're like
+one of the old fellows in the play, who draws a chair up to the
+footlights, and says, 'It's seven long years ago----' and the people
+begin to clear out into the refreshment bar, and wait there till he's
+done. Where were you? Oh, 'mysterious experiences.' Well, go on."
+
+But old Skettle had, apparently, nothing to say; he had, while Jack had
+been speaking, changed his mind.
+
+"I beg pardon for stopping you, Master Jack," he said. "I felt I
+couldn't let you go out of the old place without expressing my
+sympathy."
+
+"Thanks, thanks," said Jack, holding out his hand. "You're one of the
+right sort, Skettle, and so's Hudsley. I believe he's sorry, too. Looks
+a little puzzled, too. Puzzled isn't the word for what I feel. I've got
+the sensation one experiences when he's been sitting through one of the
+old-fashioned melo-dramas. Not even a mourning-ring, or a walking-stick.
+Poor Squire--well, I forgive him. He had a right to do what he liked
+with his own."
+
+"Just so, Master Jack, but it's hard for you," said Skettle. "Not a
+mourning-ring. By the way, sir," and something like a blush crept over
+his wrinkled face. "If--if you should be in want of a little money----"
+
+Jack stared, then laughed grimly.
+
+"Well, you certainly must be mad, Skettle," he interrupted. "Want money!
+When didn't I want it? But don't you be idiot enough to lend me any. It
+would be a jolly bad speculation, old fellow. There is not a Jew in
+London would take my paper. No, Skettle, it would be downright robbery,
+and I don't think I could rob you, you know."
+
+"Do you remember the day you swam across the mill-pond, and fished my
+little boy out, Master Jack?"
+
+"You take care I shan't forget it, Skettle," said Jack, with a smile.
+"It was a noble deed, wasn't it? Every time you mention it, I try to
+feel like a hero, but it won't come. How is little Ned?"
+
+"He's well, sir; he's in London now, working his way up. He'd have been
+in the church-yard if it hadn't been for you."
+
+"Why, Skettle, this is worse than ''Twas seven long years ago!'"
+exclaimed Jack.
+
+"On that day, Master Jack, I swore that if ever a time came when I'd a
+chance of serving you, I'd do it. It did not seem very likely then, for
+we all thought you'd be the next squire; but now, Master Jack, I should
+be grateful if you'd borrow ten pounds of me."
+
+"Nonsense," cried Jack. "Don't be an idiot, Skettle. _You_ a lawyer!
+why, you're too soft for anything but a washerwoman. There, good-bye;
+remember me to little Ned when you write, and tell him I hope he'll grow
+up a little harder than his father. Good-bye," and he shook the thin,
+skinny claw heartily.
+
+Old Skettle stood and looked after him, his right hand fumbling in his
+waistcoat pocket; and when Jack had got quite out of sight he pulled the
+hand out, and with it a small scrap of paper with a few words written on
+it, and a seal. It was just such a scrap of paper which might have been
+torn from a letter, and the seal was the Davenant seal, with its griffin
+and spear plainly stamped.
+
+Old Skettle looked at it a moment curiously, then shook his head.
+
+"No, I was right after all in not giving it to him; it may be
+nothing--nothing at all. And yet--it's the squire's handwriting, for
+it's his seal, and what was it lying outside the terrace for? Where's
+the other part of it, and what was the other part like? I'll keep it. I
+don't say that there's any good in it, but I'll keep it. Not a
+mourning-ring or a walking-stick! All--house, lands, money--to Mr.
+Stephen, with the sneaking face and the silky tongue. Poor Master Jack!
+I--I wish he'd taken that ten-pound note; it burns a hole in my pocket.
+Not--a--mourning-ring," he muttered. "It's not like the squire, for he
+was fond of Master Jack, and if I'm not half the idiot he called me, the
+old man hated Mr. Stephen. I seem to feel that there's something wrong.
+I'll keep this bit of paper;" and he restored the scrap to its place and
+returned to the "Bush" with as much expression on his face as one might
+expect to see on a blank skin of parchment.
+
+Jack was more moved than he would have liked to admit by old Skettle's
+sympathy and offer of assistance, and in a softened mood, produced by
+the little incident, sat and smoked his pipe with a lighter spirit.
+
+After all he was young, and--and--well, things might turn up; at any
+rate, if the worst came to the worst, he could earn his living at
+driving a coach-and-four, or, say, as a navvy.
+
+"I shouldn't make a bad light porter," he mused, "only there are no
+light porters now. I wonder what will become of me. Anyhow, I'd rather
+live on an Abernethy biscuit a day than take a penny from Stephen or
+borrow ten pounds from Skettle. Stephen. Squire of Hurst Leigh! He'll
+make a funny squire. I don't believe he knows a pheasant from a
+barn-door fowl, or a Berkshire pig from a pump-handle. I should have
+made a better squire than he. Never mind; it's no use crying over spilt
+milk!"
+
+Jack was certainly not the man to cry over milk spilt or strewn, and
+long before the train had reached Arkdale he had forgotten his ill-luck
+and the mystery attending the will, and all his thoughts were fixed on
+the beautiful girl who dwelt in a woodman's hut in the midst of Warden
+Forest.
+
+Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest, and Jack felt that the fruit was
+forbidden here. What on earth business had he, a ruined man, to be
+lounging about Warden, or any other forest, in the hope of getting a
+sight of, or a few words with, a girl, whom, be she as lovely as a peri,
+could be nothing to him? What good could he do? On the contrary,
+perhaps, a great deal of harm; for ten to one the woodman would cut up
+rough, and there would be a row.
+
+But he felt, somehow, that he had made a promise, and promises were
+sacred things to Jack--excepting always promises to pay--and a row had
+rather a charm for him.
+
+Nevertheless, when the train drew up at Arkdale Station, he had quite
+resolved to wait until the London train came up, and as such resolutions
+generally end, it ended in giving up the idea and starting for Warden.
+
+Jack was not sentimental. Men with good appetites and digestions seldom
+are; but his heart beat as he entered the charmed center of the great
+elms and oaks which fringed the forest, and the whole atmosphere seemed
+full of a strange fascination.
+
+"I wonder what she will say, how she will look?" he kept asking himself.
+"I'd walk a thousand miles to hear her voice, to look into her eyes. Oh,
+I'm a worse idiot than old Skettle! What can her eyes and her voice be
+to me? By Jove, though, I might turn woodman and--and----" marry her,
+he was going to say, but the thought seemed so bold, so--well, so coarse
+in connection with such a beautiful person, that Jack actually blushed
+and frowned at his effrontery.
+
+He found no difficulty in recognizing the way, and strode along at a
+good pace, which, however, grew slower as he neared the clearing in
+which stood Gideon Rolfe's cottage, and just before he emerged from the
+wood into it he stopped, and felt with a faint wonder that his heart was
+beating fast.
+
+It was a new sensation for Master Jack, and it upset him.
+
+"This won't do," he said; "I must keep cool. A child would get the
+better of me while I am like this; and I mustn't forget I've got to face
+that wooden-faced woodman. Courage, my boy, courage!"
+
+And with a resolute front he stepped into the clearing.
+
+Yes, there was the cottage, but why on earth were the shutters up.
+
+With a strange misgiving he walked up to the door and knocked.
+
+There was no answer. He knocked again and again--still no answer.
+
+Then he stepped back and looked up at the chimney. There was no smoky
+trail rising through the trees. He listened--there was no sound. His
+heart sank and sank till he felt as if it had entered his boots.
+
+With a kind of desperate hope he knelt on the window-sill and looked
+through a hole in the shutter into the room.
+
+It was bare of furniture--empty, desolate.
+
+He got down again and looked about him like one who, having buried a
+treasure, goes to the spot and finds that it has gone.
+
+Gone--that was the word--and no sign!
+
+It was incredible. Three days--only three days. What had happened?
+Was--was anyone dead? And at this thought his face grew as pale as the
+tan would allow it.
+
+No; that was absurd. People--she--could not have died and been buried in
+three days! Then, where was she? Was it possible that the old man had
+actually left the wood--thrown up his livelihood--because of his
+(Jack's) visit to the cottage?
+
+A great deal more disturbed and upset than he had been over the squire's
+will, he paced up and down. He sat down on the seat outside the
+window--the seat where he had drunk his cider and eaten his cake--the
+seat where Mrs. Davenant sat so patiently--and he lit his pipe and
+smoked in utter bewilderment.
+
+Disappointment is but a lukewarm word by which to describe his feelings.
+
+He felt that he had looked forward to seeing Una as a sort of set-off
+against the terrible blow which the squire's will had dealt him, and now
+she was gone!
+
+I am afraid to say how many hours he sat smoking and musing, in the vain
+hope that she, or Gideon Rolfe, or someone would come to tell him
+something about it; but at last he realized that she had indeed flown;
+that the nest which had contained the beautiful bird was empty and void;
+and with a heart that felt like lead, he set out for Wermesley.
+
+By chance, more than calculation, he caught the up-train, and was
+whirled into London.
+
+Weary, exhausted rather, he signaled a hansom, and was driven to Spider
+Court.
+
+Spider Court is not an easy place to find. It is in the heart of the
+Temple, and consists of about ten houses, every one of which, like a
+Chinese puzzle, contains a number of houses within itself.
+
+Barristers--generally briefless--inhabit Spider Court; but it is the
+refuge of the hard-working literary man, and of the members of that
+strange class which is always waiting for "something to turn up."
+
+Jack ascended the stairs of No. 5, passed various doors bearing the
+names of the occupants on the other side of them, and opened a door
+which bore the legend:
+
+                 "Leonard Dagle.
+                 "John Newcombe."
+
+painted in small black letters on its cross-panel.
+
+It was not a large room, and it was plainly furnished; but it looked
+comfortable. Its contents looked rather incongruous.
+
+At the end of the room, close by the window, which only allowed about
+four hours of daylight to enter it, stood a table crowded with papers,
+presenting that appearance which ladies generally call "a litter." The
+table and book-shelf, filled with heavy-looking volumes, would give one
+the impression that the room belonged to a barrister or a literary man,
+if it were not for a set of boxing-gloves and a pair of fencing foils,
+which hung over the fireplace, and the prints of ballet-girls and famous
+actresses which adorned the walls.
+
+As Jack entered the room, a man, who was sitting at the table, turned
+his head, and peering through the gloom which a single candle only
+served to emphasize, exclaimed:
+
+"Jack, is that you?"
+
+The speaker was the Leonard Dagle whose name appeared conjointly with
+Jack's on the door of the chambers.
+
+Seen by the light of the single candle, Leonard Dagle looked handsome;
+it was left for the daylight to reveal the traces which life's battle
+had cut in his regular features. One had only to glance at the face to
+be reminded of the old saying of the sword wearing the scabbard. It was
+the face of a man who had fought the hard fight of one hand against the
+world, and had not yet won the victory.
+
+Leonard Dagle was Jack's old chum; friends he had in plenty--dangerous
+friends many of them--but Leonard was his brother and companion in arms.
+They had shared the same rooms, the same tankard of bitter, sometimes
+the same crust, for years.
+
+There was not a secret between them. Either would have given the other
+his last penny and felt grateful for the acceptance of it. It was a
+singular friendship, for no two men could be more unlike than Leonard
+Dagle, the hard-working barrister, and Jack Newcombe, the spendthrift,
+the ne'er-do-well, and--the Savage.
+
+"Is that you, Jack?" exclaimed Leonard, straightening his back. "Home
+already?"
+
+"Yes, I'm back."
+
+"What's the matter--tired?"
+
+"Tired--bored--humbled--thoroughly used up! I've got news for you,
+Len."
+
+"Bad or good?"
+
+"Bad as they can be. First the squire's dead!"
+
+"Dead?"
+
+"Yes, dead and buried. Poor old fellow!"
+
+"I am very sorry. Then you--then you--am I addressing the Squire of
+Hurst Leigh?"
+
+"You are addressing the pauper of Spider Court."
+
+"Jack, what do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that the poor old fellow has died and left me nothing--not even
+a mourning-ring."
+
+"I'm very sorry. Left you nothing, my dear old man!"
+
+"Don't pity me. I can't stand that. Say serves you right, say anything.
+After all, what did I deserve?"
+
+"But you expected something," said Leonard.
+
+"Yes, and no. I expected nothing till I got there, and then did. I saw
+him for a few minutes before he died, and he said--certainly said--that
+I--well, that there would be something for me."
+
+"And there is nothing."
+
+"Not a stiver. Mind I don't complain, Len. I didn't deserve it."
+
+"Where has it all gone? He was a rich man, was he not?" asked Leonard.
+
+"Rich as a Croesus," replied Jack, "and it has all gone to Stephen
+Davenant."
+
+"That is the man that goes in for philanthropy and all that sort of
+thing."
+
+"That's the man," replied Jack.
+
+"Tell me all about it," said Leonard, after a long pause.
+
+And, with many pauses, Jack told his story.
+
+Leonard Dagle listened intently.
+
+"It's a strange story, Jack," he said. "I--I--it rather puzzles me.
+There could be--of course, there could be nothing wrong."
+
+"Wrong, how do you mean?" exclaimed Jack.
+
+"Well, Stephen Davenant's conduct is rather peculiar--isn't it?"
+
+"Oh, he's half out of his mind," said Jack, carelessly. "He has been
+playing a close game for the money, and hanging about the old man till
+he has got as hysterical as a girl. What do you think could be wrong?
+Everything was as correct as it could be--family lawyer, who made out
+the will, and all the rest of it."
+
+"Then you think the squire was wandering in his mind at last?"
+
+"That's it," said Jack. "He wanted to provide for me--to leave me
+something, and he fancied he'd done it. It's often the case, isn't it?"
+
+"I've met with such cases," said Leonard.
+
+"Just so," said Jack. "Is there anything to drink?" he asked, abruptly,
+as if he wanted to change the subject.
+
+"There's some whiskey----"
+
+Jack mixed himself a tumbler and sat on the edge of the table, and
+Leonard Dagle leaned back and watched him.
+
+"There's something else, Jack," he said. "Out with it; what is it?"
+
+"What a fellow you are, Len. You are like one of those mesmeric men;
+there's no keeping anything from you. Well, I've had an adventure."
+
+"An adventure?"
+
+"Yes, I'm half under the impression that it's nothing but a dream. Len,
+I've seen the most beautiful--the most--Len, do you believe in witches?
+Not the old sort, but the young ones--sirens, didn't they call them; who
+used to haunt the woods and forests and tempt travelers into quagmires
+and ditches. The innocent-looking kind of sirens, you know. Well, I've
+seen one!"
+
+"Jack, you've been drinking; put that glass down."
+
+"Have I? Then I haven't. Look here," and he told the story of his
+wanderings in Warden, and all it had led up to.
+
+"How's that for an adventure?" he said, when he had finished.
+
+"It would do for a mediaeval romance. And she has gone, you say?"
+
+"Clean gone," said Jack, with a sigh and a long pull at the tumbler.
+"Gone like a--a dream, you know. How is that for an adventure? You don't
+believe in them, though."
+
+Leonard Dagle looked up, and there was a strange, half-shy expression in
+his face.
+
+"You are right, Jack. I didn't till the day before yesterday."
+
+"The day before yesterday? What do you mean?"
+
+"Simply that I, too, have had an adventure."
+
+"Seems to me that we're like those confounded nuisances who used to meet
+on a coach and tell stories to amuse themselves. Go on; it's your turn
+now."
+
+"Mine's soon told. After you started for Hurst Leigh I got a letter from
+a man at Wermesley----"
+
+"Wermesley!" exclaimed Jack. "Why----"
+
+"Yes, it is on the same line. He wanted me to go down to look over some
+deeds, and I went. I took a return ticket and got into the last train.
+When I got into the carriage--I went 'first' on the strength of the
+business--I saw a young lady--mind, a young lady--seated in a corner. It
+struck me as rather odd that a young girl should be traveling alone at
+this time of night, and I shifted about until I could get a good look at
+her. Jack, you're not the only man that has seen a beautiful girl within
+the last week."
+
+"Beautiful, eh?" cried Jack, interested.
+
+"Beautiful in my eyes. The sort of face that Cleopatra might have had
+when she was that girl's age. I never saw such eyes, and I had plenty of
+opportunity of seeing them, for she seemed quite unconscious of my
+presence. Jack, I'm a shy man, and I'm often sorry for it, but I was
+never sorrier than I was then, for I'd have given anything to have been
+able to speak to her and hear her speak. There she sat, looking like a
+picture, quite motionless, with her eyes fixed on the flare of the lamp;
+and there I sat and couldn't pluck up courage to say a word. At last we
+got to London; they came for the tickets, and she couldn't find hers. I
+went down on my hands and knees, and at last I found the ticket under
+the seat. I looked at it as I gave it to the porter; and where do you
+think it was from?"
+
+Jack shook his head. He didn't think it much of an adventure after Una
+and Warden Forest.
+
+"You'll never guess. What do you say to Hurst Leigh?"
+
+"Hurst Leigh! Why, who was she? Somebody I know, perhaps."
+
+"I found my tongue at last, and said, 'You have had a long journey.
+Hurst Leigh is a beautiful place.' And what do you think she said?"
+
+Jack shook his head.
+
+"She said, 'I don't know. I have never been there before today.' That's
+all until we got to the terminus, then I asked her if I could get her
+luggage. 'I haven't any,' she said. 'Could I get her a cab?' I asked.
+Yes, I might get her a cab. I went and found a cab and put her in it;
+and, if I had a shadow of a doubt as to her being a lady, the way in
+which she thanked me would have dispelled it. I asked her where I should
+direct the cabman to drive, and she said 24 Cheltenham Terrace. And--and
+then she went."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, I--of course you'll call me a fool, Jack, I am quite aware of
+that--I followed in another cab."
+
+"Good heavens! You've been drinking!"
+
+"No. I followed, and when she had gone I knocked at the door of the next
+house and asked the name of the people who lived next door. They--for a
+wonder--were civil, and told me. She lives with her grandfather, and her
+name is Laura Treherne."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+
+"Her name is Laura Treherne," said Leonard.
+
+"Laura Treherne. Never heard the name before."
+
+"Nor I, but it belongs to the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."
+
+"That's because you haven't seen Una Rolfe," put in Jack, coolly. "But I
+say, Len, what has come to us? We've both caught the universal epidemic
+at the same time. It's nothing wonderful in me, you know--but
+you--_you_, who wouldn't look at a woman! Have you got it bad, Len?"
+
+"Very bad, Jack. Yes, the time which Rosseau calls the supremest in
+one's life, has come to me. As a novice in the art of love-making, I
+come to you for advice."
+
+"Why, it's easy enough in your case. You know where to put your hand
+upon the lady. What are you to do? Why, disguise yourself as a sweep,
+and go and sweep the chimneys at 24 Cheltenham Square, or pretend you're
+the tax collector, or 'come to look at the gas meter.' You've got half a
+dozen plans, but I--what am I to do? I've seen the most beautiful
+creature in existence, and if I'm not in love with her----"
+
+"I should say you were," said Leonard, gently.
+
+"Yes, I am. I knew it when I found that confounded cottage empty. But
+what am I to do? I haven't the faintest clew to her whereabouts. The old
+gentleman with the hatchet may have murdered his whole family--her
+included--or emigrated to Australia."
+
+"It is very strange. Didn't you notice any sign of a move about the
+place the first night you were there?"
+
+"No, none. Everything looked as if it had been going on for a hundred
+years--excepting Una--and meant to go on for another hundred. Len, I'm
+afraid we've been bewitched. Perhaps it's all a dream; I haven't been
+down to Hurst and you haven't been down to Wermesley. We shall wake up
+directly--oh, no! The poor squire! Len, it's all true, and we're a
+couple of young fools!"
+
+"Speak for yourself, old fellow. I have been a fool until three days
+ago, now I am as wise as Solomon, for I have learned what love is."
+
+"So have I--I have also learned the vanity of human wishes, and the next
+thing I shall have to learn will be some way of earning a livelihood. I
+should prefer an honest one, but--poor men can't afford to be
+particular, and honesty doesn't seem to pay now-a-days. I feel so hard
+up and reckless that I could become a bank director or a member of
+Parliament without feeling a pang of conscience."
+
+Leonard looked up at him, for the vein of bitterness was plainly to be
+detected running through Jack's banter; and Leonard knew that when Jack
+was bitter--which was but once a year, say--he was reckless.
+
+"We must talk it over. Sit down--get off that table; you're making a
+perfect hash of my papers--and let's talk it over. You won't go out
+tonight."
+
+"Yes, I shall. I shall go down to the club."
+
+"No, no, keep away from the club tonight, Jack."
+
+"What are you afraid of? Do you think I shall want to gamble? I've no
+money to lose."
+
+"That's the very reason you'll want to play. Do keep at home tonight."
+
+"I couldn't do it, old man," he said. "I'm on wires--I'm all on fire. If
+I sat here much longer, I should get up suddenly, murder you, and sack
+the place. The Savage has got his paint on, and is on the trail."
+
+"Don't be a fool, Jack. You are hot and upset. Keep away from the club
+tonight. Well, well--let the _ecarte_ alone, at any rate."
+
+"All right, I'll promise you that. I won't touch a card tonight.
+_Ecarte!_ I couldn't play beggar-my-neighbor tonight! Len, I wish you
+were a bigger man; I'd get up a row, and have a turn-to with you. Sit
+down here! I couldn't do it. I want to be doing something--something
+desperate. You can sit here and dream over your complaint; I can't--I
+should go mad! Don't sit up for me."
+
+Leonard looked after him as he disappeared into one of the two bedrooms
+which adjoined the common sitting-room, and, with a shake of his head,
+muttered, "Poor Jack!" and returned to his work.
+
+Jack took a cold bath, dressed himself, and merely pausing to shout a
+good-night, as he passed down the stairs, went into the street, and
+jumped into a hansom, telling the man to drive to the Hawks' Club.
+
+It was rather early for the "Hawks," and only a few of them had
+fluttered in. It was about the last club that such a man as Jack should
+have been a member of. It was fast, it was expensive, it was
+fashionable, and the chief reason for its existence lay in the fact that
+play at any time, and to any extent, could be obtained there.
+
+When Jack entered the cardroom, that apartment was almost empty, but the
+suspicious-looking tables were surrounded by chairs stuck up on two
+legs, denoting that they were engaged, and those men who were present
+were all playing.
+
+Every head was turned as he entered, and a buzz of greeting rose to
+welcome him.
+
+"Halloa; you back, Jack!" said a tall, military-looking man, who was
+known as the "Indian Nut," because he was one of the most famous of our
+Indian colonels. "You're just in time to take a hand at loo."
+
+"No; come and join us," said young Lord Pierrepoint, from another table,
+at which nap was being played.
+
+But if you could only wring a promise out of Jack, you could rest
+perfectly certain that he would keep it; and he shook his head firmly.
+
+"Nary a card."
+
+"What! Don't you feel well, Jack?"
+
+"No, I'm hungry. I'm going to get something to eat."
+
+"Dear me, I didn't know you did eat, Jack. However, man, come and sit
+down, and don't fidget about the room like that."
+
+"Len's right, the club won't do neither. I couldn't hold a card straight
+tonight. I'll get some dinner, and go back, and we'll have it all over
+again."
+
+It was a wise and virtuous resolution; and, unlike most resolves, Jack
+meant to keep it. But alas! before he had got through with his soup, the
+door opened and two men strolled in.
+
+They were both young and well-known. The one was Sir Arkroyd Hetley; the
+other, the young Lord Dalrymple, whose coronet had scarcely yet warmed
+his forehead, as the French say.
+
+Both of them uttered an exclamation at seeing Jack, and made straight
+for his table.
+
+"Why, here's the Savage!" exclaimed Dalrymple. "Back to his native
+forest primeval."
+
+"Been on the war trail, Jack?" asked Sir Arkroyd. "How are the squaws
+and wigwams? Seriously, where have you been, old man?"
+
+"Yes, I have been on the war trail," he said.
+
+"And got some scalps, I hope," said Dalrymple. "What are you
+doing--dining? What do you say, Ark, shall we join him? It's so long
+since I've eaten anything that I should like to watch a man do it before
+I make an attempt."
+
+The footman put chairs and rearranged the table, and the two men chatted
+and conned over the _carte_.
+
+"You don't look quite the thing, Jack. Been going it in the forest, or
+what?"
+
+"Yes, I've been going it in the forest, Dally."
+
+"Been hunting the buffalo and chumming up with his old friend, Spotted
+Bull," said Arkroyd. "Bet you anything he hasn't been out of London,
+Dally."
+
+"Take him," said Jack. "I've been out of London on a little matter of
+business."
+
+"He's been robbing a bank," said Arkroyd, "or breaking one."
+
+"Neither. Stop chaffing, you two, and tell a fellow what's going on."
+
+"Shall we tell him, Dally? Perhaps he'll try to cut us out. It wouldn't
+be a bad idea to start a joint stock company, all club together, you
+know, and work it in that way, the one who wins to share with the other
+fellows."
+
+"Wins what? What on earth are you talking about? Is it a sweepstake, a
+handicap, or what----"
+
+"No, my noble Savage. It's the heiress."
+
+"Oh," said Jack, indifferently, and he sipped his claret critically.
+
+"What has come to you, Jack? Have you decided to cut the world or have
+heiresses become unnecessary? Perhaps someone has left you a fortune,
+old man; if so, nobody will be more delighted than I shall be--to help
+you spend it."
+
+A flush rose to Jack's face, and his eyes flashed. He had been drinking
+great bumpers of the Hawks' favorite claret--a heady wine which Jack
+should never have touched at any time, especially not tonight.
+
+"No, no one has left me a fortune; quite the reverse. But you'd better
+tell me about this heiress, I see, or you'll die of disappointment. Who
+is she--where is she?--what is she? Here's her good health, whoever she
+is," and down went another bumper of the Lafitte; and as it went down,
+it was to Una he drank, not to the unknown one.
+
+"Do you remember Earlsley?" said Arkroyd. "Oh, no, of course not, you
+must have been in your cradle in the wigwam in that time. Well; old
+Wigsley died and left his money to a fifty-second cousin, who turned out
+to be a girl. No one knew anything about her; no one knew where to find
+her; but at last there comes a claimant in the shape of a girl from one
+of the Colonies--Canada. That isn't a colony, is it, though?
+Australia--anywhere--nobody knows, you know. She came over with her
+belongings--a rum-looking old fellow, with a white head of long hair,
+like, a--a--what's got a long head of white hair, Dally?"
+
+"Try patriarch," murmured the marquis.
+
+"Well, in addition to the money, and there's about a million, more or
+less--she's got the most beautiful, that isn't the word, most charming,
+fascinating little face you ever saw. If she looks at you, you feel as
+if you never could feel an ache or pain again as long as you lived."
+
+"Ark, you've had too much champagne."
+
+"No; 'pon my honor. Isn't it right, Dally?"
+
+"Yes, and if she smiles," said Dalrymple, "you never could feel another
+moment's unhappiness. The prettiest mouth--and when it opens, her
+teeth----"
+
+"Oh, confound it!" exclaimed Jack, brusquely. "You needn't run over her
+points as if she were a horse; I don't want to buy her."
+
+As a matter of fact, he had only caught the last word or two, for while
+Arkroyd had been talking he had been thinking of that other beautiful
+girl--not a doll, with teeth and a smile, but an angel, pure and
+ethereal--a dream--not a fascinating heiress.
+
+"Buy her!" exclaimed Arkroyd. "Listen to him! Don't I tell you she's
+worth a million?"
+
+"And I'd make her Countess of Dalrymple tomorrow if she hadn't a penny,
+and would have me," said Dalrymple.
+
+"Try her," said Jack, curtly.
+
+"No use, my dear Savage," he said, tugging at his incipient fringe of
+down ruefully. "She won't have anything to say to yours truly, or to any
+one of us for that matter. She only smiles when we say pretty things,
+and shows her teeth at us. Besides, the title wouldn't tempt her. She's
+got one already. Don't I tell you she's one of the Earlsley lot? No;
+we've all had a try, even Arkroyd. He even went so far as to get a
+fellow to write a poem about her in one of the society journals, and
+signed it 'A. H.;' but she told him to his face that she didn't care for
+poetry. It was a pretty piece, too, wasn't it, Ark?"
+
+"First-rate," said Arkroyd, with as much modesty as if he had written
+it. "But it was all thrown away on Lady Bell."
+
+"On whom?" said Jack, waking up again.
+
+"On Lady Bell--Isabel Earlsley is her name. You're wool-gathering
+tonight, Jack."
+
+"Oh, Lady Bell, is it?" said Jack, carelessly. "Go ahead. Anything
+else?"
+
+"No, that's all, excepting that I'll wager a cool thousand to a china
+orange that you'll change your tone when you see her, Savage."
+
+"Perhaps," said Jack, "but your description doesn't move me; not much,
+Ark. You're not good at that sort of thing. It isn't in your line. The
+only things you seem to have remarked are her smile and her teeth."
+
+"Savage, you are, as usual, blunt, not to say rude. Let us have another
+bottle of Cliquot."
+
+Jack shook his head, but another bottle came up, and he sat and took his
+share in silence, and, indeed, almost unconsciously. For all the
+attention he paid to the chatter of his two friends they might not have
+been present.
+
+His thoughts flew backward to the shady grove of Warden Forest, to the
+girl who, like a vision of purity and innocence and loveliness, had
+floated like a dream across his life.
+
+He gave one passing thought to Len, too, and his story.
+
+It was a strange coincidence that they should both have met their fates
+at one and the same time, or nearly so.
+
+He would have thought it stranger still if he could have lifted the veil
+of the future and seen how closely the web of his life was woven with
+the woof, not only of Una's, but of Laura Treherne, and also of Lady
+Bell Earlsley.
+
+All unconscious he had turned a leaf of his life's book, and had begun a
+new chapter in which these three women were to take a part.
+
+But he sat and drank the champagne, knowing nothing of this, and--I am
+sorry to have to say it--he was rapidly arriving at that condition in
+which it is dangerous to be within a mile of that fascinating fluid.
+When a man passes from a state of half-feverish restlessness and
+dissatisfaction to one of comparative comfort, and that by the aid of
+the cheering glass, it is time to put the cheering glass aside and go
+home.
+
+Jack did not go home; on the contrary, he went into the billiard-room,
+and Cliquot followed, as a matter of course.
+
+For a time Jack had managed to forget everything excepting his promise
+to Len; he would not enter the card-room, but he stuck to pool and
+champagne.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+
+I am not going to apologize for our hero, nor am I going to gloss over
+his faults with any specious special pleading. No man is either wholly
+good or wholly bad; certainly Jack was not wholly good; he was human,
+very human, and blessed, or cursed, with a hot, passionate blood, which
+made him more liable to trip than most men. But, at the same time, this
+in justice must be said of him, that he very rarely sinned in this way.
+
+Tonight his blood was at full heat; the love which had sprung up like a
+tongue of flame in his heart burned and maddened him, and to this
+newly-born love was added the disappointment and bewilderment of Una's
+sudden disappearance. Add, too, that he had been overstrained and upset,
+and--well, there are the excuses and apologies, after all.
+
+Somewhere about two o'clock, when the club was full with men who had
+dropped in from theater and ball-room, and amidst the popping of corks
+and click of pool balls, a certain feeling came over poor Jack that he
+had taken quite as much, and more, of the sparkling juice than was good
+for him; and with that consciousness came the resolution to go home.
+
+The game was just over, and without a word he put up his cue, motioned
+to a footman to bring him his hat, and, scarcely noticed in the crowd
+and bustle, slowly descended the broad and indeed magnificent staircase
+for which and its palatial hall the club was famous.
+
+He descended very slowly, with his hand on the balustrade, and having
+reached the bottom, he filled a glass with water from the crystal filter
+that stood on a side table in the porter's box, and sallied out.
+
+The night air struck upon his hot brow in a cool and welcome fashion,
+and Jack stood for a moment or two, fighting with the hazy and
+stupefying effects of the night's work.
+
+"I won't go home yet," he muttered. "Len will be cut up; he always is.
+He's as bad as a father--almost as bad as a mother-in-law. Well, I
+didn't touch the cards, anyhow. And if it had not been for those two
+idiots, Ark and Dally, I shouldn't have got so far into the champagne.
+How bright the stars shine--an unaccountable number of them tonight."
+Poor Jack! "Never saw such a quantity! No, I won't go home yet. I'll
+walk it off if I have to walk till tomorrow morning. Where am I? Ah!
+where is _she_? Thank Heaven, she isn't near me now! I'm glad she's
+gone; I'm glad I shall never see her any more. I'm not fit to see her;
+not worthy to touch her hand. But I did touch it," and, with a kind of
+wonder at his audacity, he stretched out his hand and stared at it under
+the gas-lamp.
+
+Then he walked on perfectly indifferent to the direction, perfectly
+indifferent to the weariness which was gradually--no, rapidly--coming on
+him.
+
+Just at this time, while he was walking off the drowsy dream that had
+got possession of him, a stream of carriages was slowly moving down Park
+Lane, taking up from one of the best known houses in town--Lady
+Merivale's.
+
+Lady Merivale was one of the leaders of _ton_ and had been one as long
+as most middle-aged people could remember. To be seen at Lady Merivale's
+was to be acknowledged as one of that small but powerful portion of
+humanity known as "the upper ten."
+
+It was one of her ladyship's grand balls, and not only were the ball and
+drawing-rooms full, but the staircase also, and any one wishing to enter
+or exit had to make his way down a narrow line flanked on either side by
+the youth and nobility of the best kind of society.
+
+That it had been a great success no one who knows the world--and Lady
+Merivale--needs to be told. It had, perhaps, been one of her greatest,
+for in addition to two princes of the blood royal, she had secured the
+great sensation of the day, the young millionairess, Lady Isabel
+Earlsley.
+
+And this was no slight achievement, for Lady Bell, as she was generally
+called, was a wilful, uncertain young personage, from whom it was very
+hard to procure a promise, and who, not seldom, was given to breaking it
+when made, at least, so far as acceptation of invitations went.
+
+But she was there tonight; as the next issue of the _Morning Post_ would
+testify.
+
+Jack had been really too careless and scornful in his indifference. Lady
+Bell was not only beautiful, she was--what was more rare than
+beauty--charming. She was rather short than tall; but not too short. She
+had a beautiful figure; not a wasp waist by any means, but a natural
+figure, full of power and grace. Her skin was, well, colonial;
+delicately tinted and creamy; and her eyes--it is difficult to catalogue
+her eyes, because their lights were always changing--but the expression
+which generally predominated was one of half-amused, half-mocking light.
+
+With both expressions she met the open admiration of the gilded youths
+who thronged round her, amused at their foppery, mocking at their
+protestations of devotion.
+
+Tonight she was dressed neither magnificently nor superbly, but with,
+what seemed to the women who gazed at her with barely concealed envy,
+artful simplicity.
+
+Her dress was of Indian muslin, priceless for all its simplicity; and
+she wore glittering in her hair, on her arms, and on her cream-white
+bosom, pearls, that, in quantity and quality would have made the fortune
+of any enterprising burglar.
+
+By her side stood--for they were moving toward the door, on their way to
+an exit--an elderly woman, with an expressionless face, simply and
+plainly dressed. She was generally spoken of as the watch dog; but she
+scarcely deserved that name, for Lady Bell was quite capable of watching
+over herself; and Mrs. Fellowes, the widow of the Indian colonel, was
+too mild to represent any sort of dog whatever.
+
+Surrounded by a crowd of devoted courtiers, the great heiress and her
+companion moved toward the door where the hostess stood receiving the
+farewells and thanks of her guests; and when one thinks of the many
+hundred times Lady Merivale had stood by that door, and undergone that
+terrible ordeal, one is filled with amazement and awe at her courage and
+physical strength.
+
+For forty years she had been standing at doors, receiving and meeting
+guests; yet she stood tonight as smiling and courageous as ever.
+
+At last Lady Bell reached her hostess, and Lady Merivale, tired and done
+up as she was, gave her special recognition.
+
+"Must you go, Lady Bell? Well, good-night. And thank you for making my
+poor little dance a success. Thank you very much."
+
+Lady Bell said nothing, but she smiled "in her old colonial way," as
+they called it, and threaded through the lane of human beings on the
+stairs.
+
+"Lady Earlsley's carriage!" shouted the footman in the gorgeous Merivale
+livery, and a little brougham drove up.
+
+Lady Bell hated show and magnificence.
+
+Her stables and coach-houses were crowded with horses and carriages, her
+wardrobes filled to repletion with Worth's costumes and Elise's
+"confections," as bonnets are called now-a-days, but a plain little
+brougham was her favorite vehicle, and the simplest of costumes pleased
+her best.
+
+All the way down the stairs she had to nod and smile and exchange
+farewells, and at the bottom, in the hall, on the stone steps
+themselves, she was surrounded by men eager to secure the privilege of
+putting her into her little brougham.
+
+But she avoided them all, and sprang in as if she had not been dancing
+for four hours, and throwing herself back into the corner, exclaimed:
+
+"Thank goodness, that is over. Poor old Fellowes! you are worn out.
+Confess it."
+
+"I am rather tired, my dear," said Mrs. Fellowes, who had been sitting
+against a wall all the evening.
+
+"Tired! of course you are; it's ever so much more tiring looking on than
+dancing, and joining in the giddy round. I don't feel a bit tired; I'm a
+little bored."
+
+"Bored! what a word, my dear Bell," murmured Mrs. Fellowes, sleepily.
+
+"It's a good word--it's an expressive word--and it just means really
+what I feel."
+
+"And yet you received more attention than any woman--any girl--in the
+room, my dear," murmured Mrs. Fellowes.
+
+"My money-bags may have done so," said Lady Bell, scornfully; "not I. Do
+you think that if I were as penniless as one of Lady Southerly's
+daughters, I should receive as much attention? Fellowes, don't you take
+to flattering me. I couldn't stand that."
+
+"I don't want to flatter you, my dear Bell; but when the prince himself
+dances twice with you----"
+
+"Of course he did. I am a celebrity. I am the richest young woman in the
+kingdom, and he would have done it if I had been as ugly as sin--which
+isn't ugly, by the way."
+
+"What strange things you say," murmured Mrs. Fellowes, with mild rebuke.
+"I'm sure no girl received more attention than you have tonight. I sat
+and watched you, my dear, and a spectator sees more of the game than a
+player."
+
+"You are right, it is all a game, a gamble," retorted Lady Bell. "All
+those nice young men were playing pitch and toss who should make the
+hardest running with the great heiress. Do you think I am blind? I can
+see through them all, and I despise them. There isn't a man among them
+but would pay me the same court if I were as plain as Lucifer----"
+
+"My dear Bell----"
+
+"But it is true," said Lady Bell. "I can read them all. And if they knew
+how I despised them, even while I smile upon them, they would keep at
+arm's length for very shame. I wish I hadn't a penny in the world."
+
+"My dear Bell!" ejaculated Mrs. Fellowes, really and truly shocked at
+such a fearfully profane wish.
+
+"I do! I do! I should then find out if any one of them cared for me--for
+myself. You say I am beautiful, but you are so partial; do you think I
+am beautiful enough to cause any man to risk his all in life for my
+sake?"
+
+"I don't know. I don't just follow you," said poor Mrs. Fellowes.
+
+"No, you are half asleep," retorted Lady Bell. "There, curl yourself up
+and snooze. I shan't talk any more."
+
+Lady Bell leaned forward, and looked up at the stars--the same stars
+that seemed so numerous to poor Jack--and pondered over the events of
+the evening.
+
+It was true that a prince of the blood had danced there with her; it was
+true that, all through the evening, she had been surrounded by a court
+of the best men in London; it was true that she had sent one half the
+women home burning with envy and malice and all uncharitableness; but
+still she was not happy.
+
+"No," she murmured, unheard by the sleeping companion; "the dream of my
+life has not yet been fulfilled. I have not yet met the man to whom I
+could say, 'I am yours, take me!' Perhaps I never shall; and until I do,
+I will remain Lady Bell, though they buzz round my money-bags till I am
+deaf with their hum."
+
+The brougham was going at a great pace, simply because the coachman very
+reasonably desired to get home and to bed; and Lady Bell saw the houses
+flit past as if they had been part of a panorama got up for her special
+amusement.
+
+But suddenly the brougham swerved, and, indeed, nearly upset, and the
+stillness of the night was broken by what seemed remarkably like an oath
+by the coachman.
+
+Lady Bell felt that something was wrong; but she neither turned color
+nor lost her presence of mind.
+
+Putting her head, with a thousand pounds of jewels on it, through the
+window, she said, in clear tones:
+
+"What is the matter, Jackson?"
+
+"I--whoa! I don't quite know, my lady; I think it is a man. Something
+came right across the road. Yes, it is a man."
+
+Lady Bell opened the brougham door, stepped into the road--the light
+from the lamp flashing on her pearls--and went toward the horse.
+
+"Keep away from her hind legs, for goodness' sake, my lady," ejaculated
+Jackson. "Keep still, will you!" this was of course addressed to the
+horse.
+
+"What is it? what is it?" asked Lady Bell, peering about.
+
+"Here, my lady, on the near side--on the left. It's down in the road,
+whatever it is."
+
+Lady Bell went behind the brougham to the near side--she was too well
+acquainted with horses and their moods to cross in front of the horse's
+eyes--and looked about her. For a moment she could see nothing, but
+presently, when her eyes had become used to the darkness, she saw a man
+lying, as it seemed, right under the horse's body.
+
+Her impulse--and she always acted on that impulse--was to pull him out.
+But to pull a man even an inch is a difficult task even for the
+strongest girl, and after a moment's tug she was about to tell Jackson
+to alight while she stood at the horse's head, when suddenly the
+prostrate man staggered to his feet, and leaned against the brougham as
+if it had been specially built and brought there for that purpose.
+
+Lady Bell went up to him and laid her hand upon his arm.
+
+"What has happened?" she said, anxiously. "Were you run over--are you
+hurt?"
+
+Jack--for it was Jack--opened his eyes and stared at her with the
+gravity of a man suddenly sobered.
+
+"No," he said, "I am not hurt. Don't blame the man, it was my fault. Not
+hurt at all. Good-night."
+
+And he feels for his hat, which at that moment was lying under the
+carriage a shapeless mass.
+
+As he spoke Lady Bell saw something drop on to his hand, and looking at
+it saw that it was a drop of blood.
+
+With a shudder--for she could not bear the sight of blood--she said:
+
+"Not hurt! Why, you are bleeding."
+
+"Am I?" said Jack, gravely and curtly. "It will do me good. Don't you be
+alarmed, miss. I am used to being upset, and my bones are too hard to
+break. Good-night."
+
+And he made for the pavement pretty steadily. But a hand, soft and warm,
+and strong also, stayed him.
+
+"Stop," said Lady Bell; "I am sure you are hurt. How did you come to be
+run over?"
+
+"Got in the way of the horse, I suppose," said Jack, quietly. "That is
+the usual way."
+
+"But--but," said Lady Bell; and she looked at the handsome face
+scrutinizingly.
+
+Then she stopped, for her scrutiny had discovered two facts; first, that
+the individual who had been run over was a gentleman; secondly, that he
+had been drinking.
+
+"Wait," she said, still keeping her hand on his arm; "you are not fit to
+go alone without some assistance, and I am sure you are hurt. Look, you
+are bleeding."
+
+"A mere nothing," said Jack; "don't trouble. Allow me to put you in--I
+shall get home all right."
+
+Lady Bell, still keeping her eyes fixed on his face, shook her head.
+
+"I couldn't leave you like this," she said. "Where do you live?"
+
+"Where do I--live?" repeated Jack. "Spider Court, Temple. It's no
+distance from here."
+
+"The Temple!" exclaimed Lady Bell. "It must be miles away."
+
+"A hansom," smiled Jack.
+
+"But there are no cabs here, not one. I cannot leave you like this--you
+must get into the brougham."
+
+"Not for worlds! I have given you quite enough trouble," he said. "I
+shall find my way home somehow."
+
+"No," she said; "I cannot let you go without seeing you safe into a cab.
+There are none here. You do not know--I do not know--how much you are
+hurt. You must let me take you to your home."
+
+"I assure you I am all right," he said.
+
+"And I refuse to accept your assurance," said Lady Bell, with a little
+shudder at the streak of blood which oozed from his forehead. "Come, you
+will not refuse to obey a lady. I wish you to enter my brougham."
+
+"No, I can't refuse to obey a lady," he said.
+
+"Then come with me," said Lady Bell.
+
+"Where to, my lady?" asked Jackson, who was used to her ladyship's
+willfulness, and sat, patient as Job, waiting for the issue of this
+strange adventure.
+
+"To--where did you say?" asked Lady Bell.
+
+"Spider Court," said Jack; "but I wish you'd let me go out and walk. It
+must be right out of your way."
+
+"Spider Court, Temple," said Lady Bell, and the brougham rolled on.
+
+Through it all Mrs. Fellowes had remained in the deep sleep which the
+gods vouchsafe to good women of her age, and the two--Lady Bell and
+Jack--were, to all intents and purposes, alone.
+
+Lady Bell looked at him as he sat in his corner, the thin, red stream
+trickling down from his forehead, and shuddered; not at him, but at the
+blood.
+
+"How did you come to be run over?" she asked. "Did you fall?"
+
+"Must have done," he said, coolly; "anyway I'll swear it wasn't the
+coachman's fault."
+
+"I am not going to blame the coachman," said Lady Bell, with the shadow
+of a smile.
+
+"That's right," said Jack. "It was all my fault. I'd been--been to see a
+favorite aunt."
+
+"You had been to your club," said Lady Bell.
+
+"How did you know that?" he said.
+
+Lady Bell smiled again, and Jack, his eyes fixed upon her, thought the
+smile wonderfully fascinating.
+
+"A little bird told me," she said.
+
+"The little bird was right," said Jack, shaking his head, with penitence
+and remorse written on every feature. "I have been dining at my club.
+Perhaps the little bird told you everything else?"
+
+"Yes; the little bird also whispered that you had----"
+
+"Drank too much champagne? Confound those fellows! Wonderful little
+bird!" muttered Jack.
+
+"It is very wicked of you," said Lady Bell, gravely, her eyes fixed on
+his face, that, notwithstanding its streak of red, looked wonderfully
+handsome.
+
+While she looked, she almost convinced herself that she had never seen
+such a handsome face, nor such frank eyes.
+
+"It was very wicked of you," she repeated, in a voice pitched in a low
+key, no doubt out of consideration for the sleeping watch dog.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I am a bad lot; I am not fit to be here with you. I
+have been dining at my club; but how you knew it, I can't conceive.
+And--and----"
+
+"Don't tell me any more," said Lady Bell. "I am sorry that you should
+have been run over, and I hope you are not hurt. That--that is blood
+running down your face. Why do you not wipe it off? I can't bear it."
+
+"I beg your pardon," said Jack, and he fumbled for his
+pocket-handkerchief, which at that moment was lying under the seat in
+the billiard-room.
+
+"Here, take this," said Lady Bell, and she put her own delicate
+lace-edged one in his hand.
+
+Jack mopped his forehead diligently.
+
+"Is it all off?" he asked.
+
+"No, it keeps running," replied Lady Bell, with a little thrill of
+horror. "I believe you are much hurt."
+
+"I'm not; I give you my word," said Jack. "There--no, I'll keep it until
+it's washed." And he thrust the delicate cobweb into his pocket.
+
+Lady Bell leaned back, but her eyes wandered now and then to the
+handsome face, pale through all its tan.
+
+Presently, wonderfully soon, as it seemed to her, the brougham came to a
+stop, and Jackson, bending down to the window, said:
+
+"Spider Court, my lady."
+
+"Spider Court," said Jack. "Then I'm home. I'm very much obliged to you,
+and I wish I didn't feel so much ashamed of myself. Hark! who's that?"
+for someone had come to the carriage door.
+
+"It is I--Leonard. Is that you, Jack?"
+
+"Yes," said Jack, and he got out and closed the door. "This lady----"
+
+Lady Bell leaned out and looked at Leonard Dagle's anxious face
+earnestly.
+
+"Your friend has met with an accident," she said, "and I have brought
+him home."
+
+"Thank you, thank you," sighed Leonard.
+
+"I hope he is not much hurt," said Lady Bell. "His forehead is cut. Will
+you--will you be so kind as to let me know if it is anything serious?"
+
+"Anything serious! A mere scratch," ejaculated Jack, carelessly.
+
+But Lady Bell did not look at him.
+
+"Here is my card," she said, taking a card-case from the carriage
+basket. "Will you please let me know? Good-night."
+
+And she held out her hand.
+
+Leonard did not see it, and merely raised his hat. But Jack, who was
+nearest, took the hand and held it for a moment.
+
+"Good-night, good-night," he said. "I shall never forgive myself for
+causing you trouble."
+
+And in his earnestness his hand, quite unconsciously, closed tightly on
+her white, warm palm.
+
+Lady Bell dropped back into her seat, a warm flush spreading over her
+face; and Mrs. Fellowes, awakened by the stopping of the brougham,
+exclaimed, with a yawn:
+
+"Home at last!"
+
+"No, miles away," said Lady Bell. "Go to sleep again, my dear."
+
+Leonard took Jack's arm within his, though there was no occasion for it,
+for Jack was sober enough now, and led him upstairs.
+
+"My dear Jack," he exclaimed, reproachfully, "what have you been doing?"
+
+"Falling under a cab," said Jack, gravely.
+
+"A cab!" retorted Leonard; "a lady's brougham, you mean!"
+
+And he took the card to the light.
+
+"Why!" he exclaimed, with an expression of amazement. "Lady Isabel
+Earlsley! Good Heaven! that's the heiress."
+
+"Eh?" said Jack, indifferently. "What's her name? She's a brick, if ever
+there was one. Oh, Jupiter, I wish I was in bed!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+
+It was Una's first night in London. Weary as she was she could not find
+sleep; the dull roar of the great city--which those who are used to take
+no heed of--rang in her ears and kept her awake. Her brain was busy,
+too; and even as she closed her eyes the endless questions, which the
+strange events of the day had given birth to, pursued and tormented her.
+She could scarcely realize that she had left Warden Forest, that she was
+here in London, the place of her most ardent dreams! And then how
+singular, how mysterious was that coincidence which had brought it
+about.
+
+Until Jack Newcombe, the young stranger, had come to Warden, she had
+never heard the name of Davenant, and now she was actually living under
+the roof of Stephen Davenant's mother.
+
+With half-closed eyes she recalled all that Jack had said about Stephen
+Davenant, and it did not require much effort to recall anything Jack had
+said, for every word was graven on her heart, and it had seemed to her
+as if he had spoken disparagingly of this Stephen, and had implied that
+he was not as good as he was supposed to be.
+
+She herself, as she lay, her beautiful head pillowed on her round white
+arm, was conscious of a strange feeling which had taken possession of
+her in Stephen's presence--not of dislike, but something of doubt,
+something also of a vague fear.
+
+And yet he could not but be good and generous, for was it not to him
+that she owed all that had happened to her? And did not his mother, the
+timid, gentle woman who had already won Una's heart, speak of him as
+great and good?
+
+Alas! and a faint flush stole over her cheek, and a long sigh stole from
+her lips--alas! it was that other--Jack Newcombe--who was bad; it was he
+whom she was to avoid.
+
+And so, notwithstanding that she was in the very city of her dreams, she
+fell asleep with a vague sadness in her heart.
+
+Quiet as Walmington Square is, the noise of the market carts passing to
+Covent Garden awoke her soon after dawn.
+
+She looked round with a stare of amazement as her eyes fell upon the
+dainty room, with its costly furniture and rich hangings, and listened
+for a moment, as if expecting to hear the rustle of the great oaks which
+surrounded the cottage at Warden; then she remembered the change that
+had befallen her, and springing out of bed, ran to the window.
+
+All the square was asleep; the blinds were closely drawn in all the
+houses, and only the birds on the trees seemed thoroughly awake.
+
+She could hear the market carts rumbling in the great thoroughfare
+beyond, and as she had gone asleep with the rattle of wheels in her
+ears, she asked herself, wonderingly:
+
+"Does London never rest?"
+
+She remembered that Mrs. Davenant had showed her a bathroom
+communicating by a door from her own room, and then--with her cold water
+was as necessary as air--went and had her bath; then she dressed
+herself, and, opening her door, went downstairs.
+
+To her amazement, all the house seemed wrapped in slumber.
+
+At home, at the cottage at Warden, Gideon and all of them were up with
+the lark, and life began with the morning sun.
+
+She stole into the drawing-room, and, unfastening the shutters with some
+little difficulty, opened the window and leaned out to breathe the fresh
+air; but it seemed as if the air was asleep, too, or, in its journey
+from the country, had lost itself in the maze of houses, and failed to
+reach Walmington Square.
+
+Una looked out dreamily, wondering who and what sort of people lived in
+the huge blocks of dwellings that surrounded her, and wondered, faintly,
+whether she could be looking at the spot where Jack Newcombe dwelt.
+
+She could not guess that Jack had not come back from Hurst Leigh yet,
+but was waiting for the squire's funeral.
+
+Instinctively she turned to the table and took up the album and went
+back to the window with the book open at the page which contained Jack's
+portrait.
+
+How beautiful the face was! And yet, she thought, with a warm glow in
+her eyes, that she had seen it look still more beautiful, as she had
+looked down at it the morning he lay sleeping at her feet.
+
+Presently a servant came into the room, and startled at the sight of the
+white figure by the window, uttered an exclamation.
+
+"Good-morning," said Una.
+
+Closing the book she came forward and held up her face to be kissed, as
+she had always done to Mrs. Rolfe.
+
+The maid--a pretty young girl, fresh from Devonshire--stared at her and
+looked half-frightened, while a crimson flush of embarrassment came into
+her face.
+
+"Good-morning, miss," she said, nervously, and hastily turned and fled.
+
+Una looked after her a moment, and pondered; and she would have made a
+superb study for a painter at that moment.
+
+How had she frightened the pretty girl, and why had she declined to kiss
+her?
+
+Una could not understand it. Hitherto she had lived only with equals,
+and could not be expected to guess that it was a breach of the
+proprieties to kiss this pretty, daintily-dressed little hand-maiden.
+
+As for Mary, the maid, she flew into the kitchen and sank into a chair,
+gasped at the cook, speechless for a moment.
+
+"What do you think, cook?" she exclaimed, "that young lady--Una, as the
+mistress calls her--is up already. I found her in the drawing-room,
+and--and she said 'Good-morning,' and came up to me as if she--she
+wanted me to kiss her."
+
+"You must be out of your mind, Mary," said the cook, sternly.
+
+But Mary stuck to her assertion, and at last it was decided that Una was
+either out of _her_ mind, or that she was no lady.
+
+"And that I am sure she is," exclaimed Mary, and the other servants
+assented heartily. "If there ever was a true lady, this one is, whoever
+or whatever she may be. Perhaps she's just come from boarding-school."
+
+But the cook scoffed at the idea.
+
+"Boarding-school!" she exclaimed incredulously. "Do you think they don't
+know the difference between mistress and servants there? It's the first
+thing that is taught them."
+
+Meanwhile, quite unconscious of the discussion which her ingenuous
+conduct had caused, Una wandered about the room, examining, with
+unstinted curiosity, the exquisite china and valuable paintings, the
+Collard and Collard grand piano, and the handsomely-bound books.
+
+An hour or two passed in this way; then she heard a bell ring and Mary
+entered, and, eying her shyly, said:
+
+"Mistress says will you be kind enough to step up to her room, miss."
+
+Una went upstairs and knocked at Mrs. Davenant's door, and in answer to
+the "come in," entered, and found Mrs. Davenant in the hands of her maid
+Jane.
+
+Una crossed the room with her swift, light step, and kissed the face
+turned up to her with a timid, questioning smile on it.
+
+"My child," exclaimed Mrs. Davenant, "have you been up all night? I sent
+Jane to your room to help you dress."
+
+Una started, and a smile broke over her face.
+
+"To help me dress?" she repeated, Jane regarding her with wide open
+eyes the while. "Why should she do that? I have always dressed myself
+ever since I can remember."
+
+Mrs. Davenant flushed nervously.
+
+"I--meant to brush your hair and tie your ribbons--as she does mine; but
+it does not matter if you would rather not have her."
+
+"I should not like to trouble her," said Una.
+
+"And how long have you been up, my dear?"
+
+"Since five," said Una, quietly.
+
+Mrs. Davenant stared aghast, and Jane nearly dropped the hair-brush.
+
+"Since five! My dear child! Ah! I see, you--you have been used to rising
+early. I am afraid you will soon lose that good habit. We Londoners
+don't rise with the lark."
+
+"I don't think there are any larks here," remarked Una, gravely; "and at
+this time of the year the lark begins to sing at four. I have often
+watched him rise from his nest in the grass."
+
+"My poor child, you will miss the country so much."
+
+"No," said Una; "I am so anxious to see the world, you know."
+
+"Well, we will begin today."
+
+"Una, you know I wish you to be quite--to be very happy with me.
+And--and I hope if there is anything that you want you will ask for it
+without hesitation."
+
+"Anything I want?" repeated Una, with a smile. "Is it possible that any
+one could want anything more than is here? There seems to be everything.
+I was thinking, as you spoke, of what my father would say if he saw this
+table, with all the things to eat, and the silver and glass."
+
+"My dear child, this is nothing. I live very simply. If you saw, as you
+will see, some of the homes of the wealthy, some of the homes of the
+aristocracy, you would discover that what you deem luxury is merely
+comfort."
+
+"I was never uncomfortable at the cottage," said Una, gravely.
+
+"That is because you were unused to anything better, and--and--you must
+not speak of the past life too much, Una. I mean to strangers. Strangers
+are so curious, and--and my son, Stephen, does not wish everyone to know
+where you come from and how you lived."
+
+"Does he not? Well, I will not speak of it; but I do not
+understand--quite----"
+
+"Neither do I. I am afraid I do not always understand Stephen; but--but
+I always do as he tells me."
+
+And she looked up with the anxious, questioning expression which Una
+noticed was always present when Stephen Davenant was mentioned. Was Mrs.
+Davenant afraid of her son?
+
+Una mused for a minute in silence; then she looked up and said:
+
+"I ought to do what Mr. Stephen wishes. Do you know what he wants me to
+do?"
+
+"You are to be companion to me, my dear."
+
+"I am very fond of fairy tales," she said; "but I have never read one
+more strange and beautiful than this."
+
+"Let me show you how to put on your gloves, dear," she said. "Yes, you
+have got a small hand, and a beautifully-shaped one, too. Strange, small
+hands are a sure sign of high birth."
+
+"Perhaps I am a princess in disguise. No! I am a woodman's daughter in
+the disguise of a princess, that is it."
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked at her curiously.
+
+"You are not ashamed of being a woodman's daughter, Una," she said; "but
+yet--perhaps the time will come when you will----"
+
+Una's opened-eyed surprise stopped her.
+
+"Ashamed?" she echoed, with mild astonishment. "Why?"
+
+"I--I don't know. Never mind, my dear," said Mrs. Davenant, as the
+brougham stopped.
+
+"You are a strange child, and--and you say such strange things so
+naturally that I am puzzled to know how to speak to you."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+
+As the days passed on, Mrs. Davenant grew to understand more fully the
+innocent but frank and brave nature of the beautiful girl whom her son
+Stephen had so strangely committed to her charge; grew to understand and
+to love her, and, bit by bit, her nervousness and timidity wore off in
+Una's presence. Insensibly she grew to lean and rely on the girl, who,
+with all her innocence and ignorance of the world, was so gently calm
+and self-possessed, and Una, in return, lavished her love upon the
+timid, shrinking woman.
+
+Mrs. Davenant had heard no word from Stephen; she was accustomed to such
+silence, and almost dreaded to hear, lest it should be a message tearing
+Una from her side. She did not know that Stephen was master of Hurst
+Leigh and all the immense wealth of Ralph Davenant.
+
+Una did not know that Jack Newcombe was back here in London, almost
+within half an hour of her. When she thought of her father and mother
+there in Warden, it was always with the confident trust that they were
+well, for she felt that if it were otherwise, Gideon would somehow let
+her know. She was quite ignorant that the cottage was empty and
+deserted.
+
+Indeed, there was not much time for thought. Day after day brought its
+succession of wonderful sights and experiences, as the little green
+brougham bore them about town, and Mrs. Davenant showed her all the
+marvels of the great city.
+
+Una was dazzled, bewildered sometimes: but her instinctive good taste
+helped her to keep back all extravagant expressions of surprise on her
+voyage through Fairyland.
+
+One day, however, an exclamation of delight escaped her, as she came in
+sight of a jeweler's window, opposite which the brougham had stopped.
+
+To her who had only read of precious stones, and regarded them as
+objects almost fabulous, the window looked as if it contained the wealth
+of the Indies and of Aladdin's palace combined.
+
+They entered and Mrs. Davenant asked to see some ladies' watches,
+selected one and a handsome albert, and, with a smile, arranged them at
+Una's waist, in which, to her equal amazement, she found a pocket
+already provided.
+
+Pale with emotion, she could not utter a word, and to hide the tears
+that sprang into her eyes, turned aside to look at a case containing a
+magnificent set of brilliants. The jeweler politely unlocked the case,
+and placed the bracelet in her hand.
+
+"A really magnificent set. It is sold. They were purchased by Lady
+Isabel Earlsley."
+
+"Lady Earlsley," said Mrs. Davenant. "Ah, yes; she is fond of diamonds,
+is she not?"
+
+"Yes, and of other precious stones, too, madam. She has excellent taste
+and discrimination. Perhaps you have seen her set of sapphires?"
+
+"No," said Mrs. Davenant, in her quiet way, "I have met Lady Earlsley,
+but I have not seen them."
+
+The jeweler opened an iron safe, and took out a case containing a
+superb, a unique set of sapphires, and handed them to her.
+
+"This is it--I have it to alter. They are the purest in the world--finer
+even than her ladyship's rubies, which are considered, but wrongly,
+matchless."
+
+Una stared open-eyed, and the jeweler, pleased by her enthusiasm and
+admiration, took the set from its case and laid it in her hands.
+
+As Una was bending over them fascinated, a handsome carriage drew up,
+and the shop door was opened by a footman in rich livery.
+
+Una looked up, and saw a beautiful girl who, pausing in the doorway,
+stood regarding her.
+
+The eyes of the two girls met, Una's with an instant frank admiration in
+her calm depths--a curious, half-amazed, but also admiring stare in the
+bright, dark eyes of the other.
+
+The jeweler glanced from the new-comer to the gems in Una's lap, and
+changed color. Mrs. Davenant started nervously, and turned pale.
+
+With a quick, bird-like, but thoroughly graceful movement, the
+richly-dressed lady turned, and with a smile of recognition, bowed.
+
+"Mrs.----" she said, and hesitated.
+
+"Davenant," said Mrs. Davenant. "How do you do, Lady Earlsley?"
+
+Lady Isabel Earlsley, the great heiress and queen of fashion, held out
+her hand in her quick, impulsive way, but turned her quick glance on
+Una, whose eyes had never left the dark, bewitching face.
+
+"Your daughter, Mrs. Davenant?"
+
+Poor Mrs. Davenant trembled with nervous agitation.
+
+"No--no--a young friend, Miss Rolfe," she answered, tremulously.
+
+Lady Bell went straight up to Una and held out her hand, her eyes fixed
+on the now flushed face.
+
+"How do you do?" she said, in the almost blunt fashion which her
+admirers declared so charming, and which, though envious tongues
+declared an affectation, was a perfectly natural consequence of her
+early life.
+
+Una put her hand in the delicate white gloved one, and the two women
+looked at each other for a moment in silence.
+
+Was it possible at that moment that some prophetic instinct whispered to
+the heart of each that the threads of both their lives were doomed to be
+entangled together?
+
+Then Una suddenly remembered that she had in her hand the jewels
+belonging to this young lady, and with a grave smile she put them back
+in their case.
+
+"You are looking at my sapphires, I see," said Lady Bell, in a tone
+which set the soul of the alarmed jeweler at rest. "Do you admire them?
+Are they fine, do you think?"
+
+Una smiled.
+
+"I do not know. They are very beautiful. I have never seen anything like
+them before."
+
+"Really," said Lady Bell, with a nod; "I don't care for them. They don't
+suit me; there is not enough color in them." Then, turning to the
+jeweler, she said, in that quiet tone of command which for the first
+time fell upon Una's ears: "Give me the rubies, please."
+
+The man hastened to hand her a case from the safe, and Lady Bell placed
+the contents in Una's lap.
+
+"Ah!" she said, with a smile, as Una's eyes opened wide with admiration,
+at once childish and yet dignified, "you are of my opinion, too. But the
+sapphires would suit you best. I wish I were your husband."
+
+Una looked up with a smile of grave astonishment; and Lady Bell turned
+with a light laugh to Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"How puzzled she looks! I mean," she went on to Una, "that if I were
+your husband I would give you the sapphire set; though a lover would be
+more suitable, would it not?"
+
+Then seeing Una's grave, open-eyed wonder, Lady Bell turned to Mrs.
+Davenant, and in a low tone, said:
+
+"Who is she, Mrs. Davenant?--has she just come out of a convent? She is
+simply lovely; her eyes haunt me--who is she?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant stammered, and fidgeted speechlessly.
+
+"Ah!" said Lady Bell, quickly, in the same low tone. "You think I'm rude
+and ill-bred. They all do when I ask a simple question, or show the
+slightest interest in anything." She glanced at Una lingeringly: "I
+mustn't ask, I suppose?"
+
+"I--I--she is new to London," said Mrs. Davenant. "It is her first
+day----"
+
+"Her first day!" echoed Lady Bell, her eyes twinkling. "Do you mean that
+she was never in London before? How I envy her; I who am sick and weary
+of it! Yes, the glamour is on her; I can see it in her eyes--on her
+face. She is like some beautiful wild bird who has settled on an
+inhabited island for the first time, and is marveling at the strange
+sights and faces--look at her!" and she touched Mrs. Davenant's arm.
+
+Una, quite unconscious of their scrutiny, was sitting looking dreamily
+into the street with its ceaseless throng of carriages and people. Lady
+Bell had hit upon a happy simile; she looked like some beautiful bird,
+half stupefied by the strange life moving around her.
+
+Mrs. Davenant rose; but Lady Bell, with a gentle pressure, forced her
+back into her seat.
+
+"Not this minute; leave her for a minute. See what a beautiful picture
+she makes! New to London! Do you know what will happen when London finds
+that she is in its midst?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked up helplessly. She, too, looked like a bird--like
+some frightened pigeon in the clutch of a glittering hawk.
+
+"You can't guess," went on Lady Bell, with a smile. "Well, it will make
+a queen of her--all London will be at her feet within a month, and I--I
+shall be dethroned."
+
+The last few words were spoken--murmured--almost inaudible, and in a
+tone that was half sad, half mocking. But suddenly her mood changed; and
+with a smile that lit up her face, and seemed to dance like a flash of
+sunlight from eyes to lips and back again, she said:
+
+"At any rate be mine the credit of discovering her. I am the first at
+the shrine of the new goddess!" and touching Una's hand with the top of
+her gloved finger, she said: "Miss Rolfe, Mrs. Davenant has been kind
+enough to promise to come and see me tomorrow night. Are you fond of
+dancing?"
+
+"I don't know," said Una, with a smile. "I do not know how to dance----"
+
+"Heavens!" murmured Lady Bell.
+
+"You forget, Lady Bell," murmured poor Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"Ah, yes, yes; I remember," said Lady Bell, hastily. "Well, you will
+come and see how you like it, won't you?"
+
+Una looked at Mrs. Davenant inquiringly, and Lady Bell looked from one
+to the other impatiently.
+
+"Do not say 'No,' pray, Mrs. Davenant," she said, with her dark, bright
+eyes. "I have set my heart upon it, and a disappointment is
+intolerable. Besides, why should you say 'No?' You would like to come?"
+
+"Yes, I should like to come," said Una gravely.
+
+Lady Bell looked at her as if fascinated.
+
+"From a convent, certainly," she murmured.
+
+"Then it's settled. Remember! I shall look for you--shall wait for you
+with impatience. Mrs. Davenant, I count upon you."
+
+"But--but I cannot go out, Lady Earlsley--I am in mourning."
+
+Lady Bell sighed impatiently.
+
+"I am so sorry! I have never set my heart upon anything so much in my
+life," she said. "Something tells me that we shall be great friends! Are
+you fond of jewels, lace, books?--what are you specially fond of?" And
+she seemed to dazzle Una with her smile. "You shall see them
+all--everything. Yes, let her come, and I will take such care of her as
+if she were something too precious to be touched; she shall not leave my
+side all the evening. Let her come, Mrs. Davenant!"
+
+Mrs. Davenant paled and flushed in turn. What would Stephen say--would
+he be displeased or gratified? What should she do? She could not resist
+the half-imploring, half-commanding eyes which Lady Bell flashed upon
+her, and at last murmured a frightened "Yes."
+
+With a smile that seemed to set the diamonds scintillating, Lady Bell
+shook hands with Mrs. Davenant, and taking Una's, held it for a moment
+in silence, then, with a sudden gravity, she said:
+
+"Good-bye. I will take care of you. I will be your _chaperon_. We shall
+meet again," and was gone.
+
+So interested and absorbed had she been in Una that she had quite
+forgotten her purpose in entering the shop, and had gone without another
+word to the jeweler.
+
+He showed no surprise, however, but smiled complacently as he put the
+jewels back into their cases, being quite used to Lady Bell's vagaries,
+and he bowed Mrs. Davenant and Una out with increased respect and
+deference.
+
+Lady Bell, attended by the two footmen, entered her carriage, and Mrs.
+Fellowes, her friend and companion, who had been sleeping peacefully,
+awoke with a little start.
+
+"Well, my dear, have you got the rubies?"
+
+"The rubies?" said Lady Bell. "No, I quite forgot them."
+
+"Forgot them!" said Mrs. Fellowes.
+
+"Yes. What are stupid rubies compared with an angel?"
+
+"My dear Lady Bell!" exclaimed Mrs. Fellowes, "what are you talking
+about?"
+
+Lady Bell leaned back with her hands folded in her lap, and her eyes
+musingly staring at nothing.
+
+"Yes, an angel," she repeated. "I never believed in them until today,
+but I have seen one this morning--in a jeweler's shop."
+
+"Lady Bell, how strangely you talk. I am getting alarmed."
+
+"You always are," said Lady Bell, coolly. "I repeat, I have seen an
+angel. You are always trying to flatter me by talking of my beauty and
+such nonsense; but I have seen today a real beauty. Not a mere pretty
+pet mortal like myself, but one of the celestials! With eyes like a wild
+bird's, and a lady, too, I'll be sworn!"
+
+"My dear Bell, what language!" murmured Mrs. Fellowes.
+
+"A perfect lady; her hands, her voice would vouch for that. Her voice is
+like a harp. If I had been a man I should have fallen in love with her
+on the spot."
+
+"Fallen in love," said Mrs. Fellowes. "My dear Bell," with a politely
+suppressed yawn, "I am half inclined to think you have taken leave of
+your senses, and you will drive me out of mine. One night it is a young
+man whom we nearly run over; a--I must say--a tipsy young man."
+
+"No; he had only taken too much wine."
+
+"Well, if that isn't being tipsy----"
+
+"Don't, don't," said Lady Bell, pleadingly; "we might have killed him."
+
+"I don't know that he would have been much loss to the world at large,"
+said Mrs. Fellowes.
+
+"Home!" said Lady Bell to the footman; and she sank back with a
+brilliant flush on her face.
+
+Mrs. Davenant drove home also, and in considerable perturbation. What
+had she done? What would Stephen say?
+
+Fortunately for that young man's peace of mind, he was resting at ease
+at Hurst Leigh, little dreaming that Lady Bell, or any one else, would
+meet Una, and coax her out of his mother's nerveless hands.
+
+Una, with quick sympathy, saw that her companion was distressed, and
+with a gentle touch of her hand, said:
+
+"You do not like me to go to this lady's house. I will not go. No; I
+will not go."
+
+"My dear," she replied, with a sigh, "it isn't in our hands now. You
+don't know Lady Bell--nor do I very well; but I know enough of her to be
+convinced that if you do not go tomorrow night, she would come and fetch
+you, though she left all her guests to do so."
+
+"Is she then so--so accustomed to having her own way?"
+
+"Always; she always has her own way. She is rich--very, very rich--and
+petted; and she is even more than that; she--she--I don't know how to
+explain myself. Well, my dear, she is a sort of queen of society, and
+more powerful than many real queens."
+
+"So that when she commands such as I am I must obey," said Una, with her
+low, musical laugh.
+
+"Just so," said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh. "But you will be careful, my
+dear. I mean, don't--don't let her put you forward, remind her of her
+promise to keep you at her side."
+
+"I think I would rather not go."
+
+"Don't be frightened, my dear," said Mrs. Davenant, kindly; but Una's
+calm, steady look of response showed her that there was no fear in the
+young, innocent heart.
+
+"No, I am not frightened," she said. "I do not know what I am to fear."
+
+Having consented to Una's going, Mrs. Davenant lost no time in making
+the few necessary preparations. She selected a plain but rich evening
+dress, set her own maid to make the required alterations, selected from
+her own store a sort of old Honiton, and gave orders that some white
+flowers should be bought at Covent Garden the next morning.
+
+"White flowers, my dear," she said, nervously. "Because I--I am not
+sure that Stephen would not consider that your being in the house with
+me you are not in mourning. But, then, you are no relation, my dear."
+
+"I wish I were," said Una, kissing her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+
+At nine o'clock the next evening the quiet-looking green brougham came
+round to the door, and took them rapidly to Park Lane.
+
+Una had already grown almost weary of staring out of the carriage
+window, but her wonder and interest revived as she saw in the dusky
+twilight the green trees and flowers in the most beautiful park in the
+world, and amazed at the magnificent buildings past which they rolled.
+
+Presently the brougham drew up at a corner house facing the park; an
+awning was suspended from the gateway to the pavement, and three footmen
+in splendid liveries, which she recognized as those she had seen worn by
+the servants attending Lady Bell's carriage, were standing to receive
+the guests; one of them opened the brougham door and escorted them into
+the hall, which seemed to Una, with its flowers and mirrors, its rich
+hangings and statues, a fairy palace, and was about to usher them into
+the drawing-room, when, upon hearing Mrs. Davenant's name, he bowed, and
+took them into a small room at the side, which was Lady Bell's boudoir.
+
+"I will tell her ladyship," he said.
+
+Una had scarcely time to take in the exquisite beauty of the room, with
+its antique furniture and costly knicknacks, when the door opened and
+Lady Bell entered. She was exquisitely dressed; diamonds--the diamonds
+Una had seen at the jeweler's--glittering in her hair and on her neck
+and on her arms, and seemed to Una like some vision which at a breath
+would vanish and leave the room to its subdued twilight again.
+
+With outstretched hands she came toward them, with her eyes dancing and
+her cheeks flushed.
+
+"You have kept your word and brought my wild bird! I knew you would
+come," and she took a hand of each, but suddenly reached up and kissed
+Una. "Yes, I felt that you would come, but it is good of you all the
+same, and to show you that I am grateful, I will let you go at once,
+this minute, dear Mrs. Davenant!"
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked relieved.
+
+"Thank you! thank you, Lady Bell!" she said. "You--you----"
+
+"Will take care of your bird? Yes, that I will. You may trust her to me;
+not a feather shall be ruffled."
+
+Mrs. Davenant murmured something about the time she would come for her,
+and then with a timid look from one to the other was gone.
+
+"And now," said Lady Bell, "let me look at you," as if she had not been
+doing so ever since she entered the room. "My dear, my dear, you
+are----" she stopped short. "No, I'll not be the first to teach you
+vanity. But tell me, do you ever look in your glass, Miss Rolfe--Miss
+Rolfe, I don't like that name, I mean between you and me. My name is
+Bell, and yours is----"
+
+"Mine is Una."
+
+"Una! That is delightful! And have you your lion? Where is he?"
+
+Una had never read the story of "Una and the Lion," and looked calmly
+puzzled.
+
+"Well, if you have not one already, you soon will have. You don't
+understand me. I am glad of that. But will you come now? This is a very,
+very quiet little party, but you may be amused. And I will keep you by
+my side all the evening. Come," and she drew Una's arm through her own
+white one and led her through the corridor into the ball-room.
+
+It was not a large room. Lady Bell detested huge and crowded assemblies
+too much to permit them at her own house, but it was, as a ball-room,
+perfect. There was light, and just enough light, to show the tasteful
+magnificence of the decorations, and nothing of that fearful glare from
+innumerable lights, and their reflections in huge mirrors, which make
+most ball-rooms so trying and unbearable. The band had just commenced as
+they entered, and the whole scene, the beautiful room with its soft
+draperies of Persian damask, the Venetian mirrors, the rich dresses of
+the ladies, and the soul-moving strains of the best band in London, for
+the moment overawed and startled the girl fresh from the primeval
+forest.
+
+For a moment her eyes dilated almost with fear, and she unconsciously
+drew back, but Lady Bell, with a gentle pressure of the arm, drew her
+forward, and skillfully avoiding the dancers, took her to the further
+end of the room, where, in a recess lined with ferns and tropical
+plants, were arranged some seats so placed as to be almost hidden from
+the room, while they allowed the sitter a full view of it.
+
+Lady Bell drew a fauteuil still further into the recess, and playfully
+forced Una into it.
+
+"There, my wild bird, is your cage. You can see all the world without
+being seen, and here you and I will take a peep at it. Now, don't you
+want to know all their names and all about them?"
+
+Una smiled. She was a little pale and was trembling slightly.
+
+"No; I am too surprised and astonished at present. How beautiful it is,
+and how lovely they are."
+
+"The women?" said Lady Bell, with a laugh, and a glance at the
+unconscious face beside her, which she knew outshone all others there.
+"You think so! Well, there are some pretty women here. There is Lady
+Clarence--the one in light blue and swansdown--and Mrs. Cantrip--she was
+the beauty last season. You don't understand?"
+
+"Last season!" said Una. "Who is the beauty this?"
+
+Lady Bell laughed and flushed a little.
+
+"Never mind, child," she said. "One who doesn't care a farthing about
+it, at any rate. But look, do you see that tall lady there, dancing with
+the short man with whiskers? She is the Countess of Pierrepoint, and he
+is the Duke of Garnum----"
+
+"A duke?" said Una, surprised.
+
+"You expected to see a man seven feet high in his ducal robes?" she
+said. "See those two men who have just come in? The dark one is Sir
+Arkroyd Hetley, the other, the boy--the baby they call him--is a
+marquis, the Marquis of Dalrymple. They are always together. They are
+coming to shake hands with me."
+
+Una drew further into the shade as the two men, after hunting about the
+room, came up to the recess, and listened as they paid their
+compliments and seemed anxious to remain, but Lady Bell sent them off
+quite plainly and distinctly, and sat looking toward the door, and
+presently she ceased talking, and her bright, beautiful face grew quiet
+and almost sad, certainly wistful, and at last she sighed and murmured:
+
+"No, he will not come."
+
+"Who will not come?" said Una. "Are you expecting any one?"
+
+"Did I speak?" she said. "Yes, I am expecting someone, but he will not
+come. People one expects and wants never do--never do. You will find
+that out in time, wild bird; you will find--ah!" and she started and
+turned pale, and her hand, which had been laid on Una's arm, closed over
+it with a sudden grip and flutter.
+
+Una looked up, and her face went deadly white.
+
+The room seemed to spin round with her, and the lights to flood her
+brain and paralyze her, for there, towering above the throng, stood Jack
+Newcombe.
+
+Jack Newcombe--not in his rough tweed suit, but in evening dress; Jack,
+not with the frank, tender, pleasant smile which always rested upon his
+face as it appeared in her dreams, but with a cold, half-irritable, and
+wholly bored expression.
+
+Slowly she rose and glided into the shadow of the recess and hid
+herself, her heart beating wildly, her whole form trembling with a
+strange ecstasy of mingled fear and delight.
+
+At last she saw him again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+
+Poor Jack! How came he to be in Lady Bell's ball-room?
+
+The morning after she had nearly driven over him he woke to find Leonard
+Dagle, his friend and fellow lodger, standing beside his bed and looking
+down at him with a grave smile on his intellectual face.
+
+"Hallo!" said Jack, "the house on fire?"
+
+"Not at present," said Leonard, "though it would soon be if you lived in
+it alone. Why don't you blow your candle out, and not chuck your
+slippers at it? How are you this morning?"
+
+"How am I?" said Jack, staring. "How should I be? Quite well of course,"
+which was quite true, for Jack and the headache had not been introduced
+to each other.
+
+"That's all right," said Leonard, with a smile. "Perhaps you remember
+last night's tragic occurrence, then?"
+
+Jack thought for a moment, then shook his head gravely.
+
+"Len, I'm an idiot. I always was. It's a good job idiocy isn't catching
+or you'd have caught it of me long ago. I made a confounded idiot of
+myself last night. It was all Dalrymple and Hetley's fault, and I wish
+they'd knock champagne off the club wine list. Did I take too much,
+Len?"
+
+"What do you think?" said Leonard, grimly.
+
+"I'm afraid I did. For the first time in my life, or nearly--but I
+didn't touch a card, Len."
+
+"I knew you wouldn't do that."
+
+"No, a promise is a promise with me," said Jack. "And I didn't drink
+much, Len, 'pon my honor; but I was upset, and when a man is upset
+he----"
+
+"He generally tries to get run over," said Leonard, with a smile.
+
+Jack stared, then he laughed.
+
+"By George! yes. I remember!"
+
+"But always does not get the luck to be rescued by a beautiful young
+lady--who is an heiress--and who, instead of giving him in charge for
+blocking the queen's highway, brings him home in her brougham."
+
+"It was a kind thing to do, certainly," said Jack, with a yawn.
+
+"Kind is a mild way of putting it," remarked Leonard.
+
+"It was more than I deserved," said Jack; "much more, and she's a
+brick."
+
+"The man who calls Lady Isabel Earlsley a brick should be a bold man."
+
+At last Jack looked up, and pressing his chair back, said:
+
+"And now, old man, let's hold a council of war. Subject to be
+considered: the future of a young man who has been cut off with a
+shilling--by George! the poor old fellow didn't even leave me that--who
+knows no trade, who cannot dig, and to beg is ashamed, and who is
+penniless."
+
+"Quite penniless, Jack?" asked Leonard.
+
+Jack rose, and sauntering to a drawer, pulled forth an old tobacco
+pouch, and pouring the contents on to the table proceeded to count the
+small--very small--heap of coin.
+
+"Twenty-one pounds six-and-fourpence farthing--no; it's a brass
+button--and a brass button."
+
+"Can't carry on this way long with that small amount of ammunition,
+Jack."
+
+"Just so, old Solomon. Well, what's to be done?"
+
+"You might enlist."
+
+"Get shot, and break your heart. No, I'm too fond of you, Len. Go on;
+anything else?"
+
+"Upon my word, you can't do anything."
+
+"Nary thing," admitted Jack, with frank candor.
+
+"What do men--well-born and high-bred men like you----"
+
+"What will you take to drink?" said Jack, bowing low.
+
+"Who have no money, and no brains----"
+
+Jack bowed again, and pitched the sugar tongs at him.
+
+"What do they do? They generally marry an heiress, Jack."
+
+"I shall never marry."
+
+"I've heard that remark before. The last it was from a man who married a
+fortnight afterward."
+
+"I'm not going to marry in a fortnight. Go ahead."
+
+"I've done," said Leonard with a shrug.
+
+"Solomon is dried up," said Jack. "You don't keep a large stock of
+wisdom on hand, old man."
+
+"I've given you the best I've got, and good advice too, with a
+foundation to go upon. Your heiress is ready to your hand."
+
+"What do you mean?" said Jack.
+
+Leonard was about to reply, when the housekeeper entered and brought him
+a card. He looked at it; it bore Lady Isabel Earlsley's name, and on the
+back was written:
+
+"To inquire whether Mr. Newcombe was hurt last night?"
+
+Leonard pitched it across the table, as an answer to Jack's question.
+
+Jack read the card and flushed hotly, then threw it down again.
+
+Leonard took up a piece of paper, and rapidly wrote:
+
+"Mr. Newcombe's compliments, and he was not in any way injured by last
+night's accident, which he deeply regrets as having caused Lady Earlsley
+so much trouble," and gave it to the housekeeper.
+
+"What have you written?" asked Jack sulkily.
+
+"What you are too much of a bear to write," said Leonard, with a
+smile--"an answer and an apology. Jack, you are a favorite of fortune.
+Half the men in London would give the forefinger of their right hand to
+get such a message from Lady Bell. I know her----"
+
+"So do I," broke in Jack, roughly; "I heard all about her at the club
+last night. Hetley and Dalrymple bored me to death about her. She's a
+great heiress and a beauty, and all the rest of it. I know, and I don't
+want to hear any more."
+
+Jack went up to Len and laid his hand on his shoulder.
+
+"Forgive me, old fellow; but I--my heart is full. Only one woman in the
+world has any interest for me, and she has gone--up to the sky again, I
+suppose. What do I care for Lady Bell, or Lady anyone else? I tell you I
+laid awake half the night thinking of that beautiful face, and dreamed
+of her eyes the rest of the night; and I'd give all the world if I had
+it, to find her. And much good it would do me if I succeeded? I couldn't
+ask her to share twenty-one pounds six and a brass button!"
+
+"Forgive _me_, Jack," said Leonard, quietly. "I know what you mean. I'm
+in love myself. But--but at any rate you can't treat Lady Bell rudely.
+You must call and thank her."
+
+"Confound her!" said Jack, and hurried out of the room.
+
+Leonard looked after him, and then went on with his work. He saw no more
+of him until late in the evening, when Jack came in and threw himself
+into a chair, looking weary if not exhausted.
+
+"What have you been doing, Jack?" asked Leonard.
+
+"Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay," replied Jack, grimly.
+
+Leonard nodded.
+
+"I've been walking about ever since I left you, with scarcely a rest.
+I've walked through every thoroughfare in London. I've looked into
+windows and into shops. I've been warned off and told to move on by the
+police, who thought I was a burglar on the search for a job; and here I
+am and there is she as far off as ever. And yet I feel--Heavens knows
+why--that she is here in London. Len, if you smile I shall knock you
+down."
+
+"I was never farther from smiling than I am at this moment," said
+Leonard quietly.
+
+"Do you know what I would do if--if the squire had left me any money?"
+went on Jack, fiercely; "I would spend every penny of it in searching
+for her. I'd have a hundred--a thousand detectives at work. I'd never
+give them rest night or day till they found her."
+
+"And then?" said Leonard.
+
+Jack groaned and lit his pipe. Leonard looked at him.
+
+"I thought you had gone to call on Lady Earlsley," he said.
+
+Jack looked very much as if he really meant to knock him down, and
+marched off to bed.
+
+When he came in to breakfast the next morning Leonard noticed that he
+was dressed in proper walking attire, instead of the loose, free and
+easy, well-worn suit of cheviot, but he said nothing. Jack looked up.
+
+"You are staring at my get-up, Len. Well, I'll do it; but mind it is
+only to please you. What should I care what she thinks? though I ought
+to do it, I know. I'll call and thank her, and then let there be an end
+of it. I can't bear any chaff of that sort even from you, old fellow."
+
+Leonard nodded without a word, for he saw that the once frank face had
+lost its careless _sang froid_ expression, and looked harassed and even
+haggard.
+
+Jack smoked a pipe in silence, watching Leonard's rapidly moving pen;
+then, without a word, went out.
+
+Two hours later he came in, and with an air of relief and even a smile,
+said:
+
+"Well, I've done it, and it's over."
+
+"Well?" said Leonard, curiously.
+
+"Well, nothing; she wasn't at home," said Jack, triumphantly.
+
+"Not at home. What sort of a place was it?"
+
+"The best place in Park Lane," said Jack. "No end of flunkeys about, and
+the rest of it. Looks as if she rolled in gold, as she must do to have
+the place at all."
+
+"And you didn't see her?" asked Leonard.
+
+Jack colored and frowned.
+
+"What a curious beggar you are! Yes, I did see her; her carriage drove
+up just as I was going away."
+
+"And you spoke to her?"
+
+"No, I just raised my hat and walked away," said Jack, gravely.
+
+Leonard shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"She will think you a boor."
+
+"So I am," said Jack. "What does it matter? Tell me something about
+yourself. I am sick of myself. What have you been doing?"
+
+Leonard's pale face flushed.
+
+"I've been to Cheltenham Terrace," he said.
+
+"Well, did you see her?"
+
+"No," said Leonard, sadly. "I saw that the blinds in the upper windows
+were down, and I went to the next door, and asked if anyone was ill."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Yes, her grandfather, old Mr. Treherne, was ill, they said, and I came
+away."
+
+"Well," said Jack, "at any rate you know where to find her--while I----"
+
+"I saw her shadow on the blind," said Leonard, simply. "I could swear to
+it among a hundred. I watched her beautiful profile for an hour in that
+railway carriage."
+
+"Treherne, Laura Treherne," said Jack. "It is a pretty name. What took
+her to Hurst Leigh that night, I wonder? The night the squire died. Len,
+it is a romance, but I envy you. If I knew where Una lived I'd hang
+about the house night and day until I saw her. Len, do you know what it
+is to be hungry, to be parched and dried up with thirst so that you
+would give all you possessed--ten years of your life for a draught of
+water? That is just how I feel when I think of that beautiful face, with
+its soft brown eyes and innocent smile! And when do I not think of
+her?"
+
+"And you didn't speak to Lady Bell?" said Leonard.
+
+Jack made a hasty explanation and made for the door, nearly running
+against the housekeeper.
+
+"A letter for you, sir," she said.
+
+Jack tore it open, read it and threw it to Leonard.
+
+The envelope was a dainty gray color, and stamped with an elaborate coat
+of arms, with the initials I. E. in cipher underneath, and inside was a
+card of invitation to a ball, filled in by a lady's delicate hand, with
+a line in addition.
+
+"With Lady Earlsley's compliments and regret that she was from home when
+Mr. Newcombe called."
+
+"Jack, what condescension. You must go!"
+
+Jack stammered, and argued, and protested. He was too honest to plead
+that he was in mourning; but he simply swore that he would not go.
+
+The day came round and the evening fell, and Jack came into the
+sitting-room in evening dress, his tall form seeming to fill the room.
+
+Leonard used to say that it was a treat to see Jack in evening dress;
+that he was one of the few men who looked to advantage in it, and he
+turned from his eternal pen and ink to look at him with an approving
+smile.
+
+"Yes," said Jack, fiercely, "I am going; I am a fool, but how can a man
+stand against such a perpetual old nuisance as you are? But mind, I am
+just going in and out again, and after this there is an end of it. I
+shall enlist!" and out he went.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+
+Jack called a hansom--of course he could have walked, but he had no idea
+of economy or the value of money--and was driven to Park Lane.
+
+Half a dozen times on the way he felt inclined to stop the cab, jump out
+and go to the club--anywhere but Lady Bell's; but nevertheless, he found
+himself in Park Lane, and ascending the staircase. He saw at once, by a
+few unmistakable signs, that the party was a small and select one, and
+furthermore, judging by the tasteful magnificence of the appointments,
+that Lady Bell's wealth had not been very much exaggerated.
+
+He made his way slowly, for a dance was just over, and the stairs were
+lined, as usual, with people mostly whom he knew, and had to stop to
+speak to. Amongst them were Sir Arkroyd Hetley, and Dalrymple, of course
+together.
+
+"Hullo, here's the Savage!" cried Hetley. "How do you do, Jack? You've
+soon got on the war trail, old fellow," he added in a low voice and with
+a significant smile.
+
+Jack growled something and made his way into the room.
+
+For a moment he could see nothing of Lady Bell, then as she came out of
+the fernery and advanced toward him her dark eyes flashing, or rather
+gleaming softly, with a faint, delicious color mantling on her cheeks,
+he felt almost the same shock of surprise which had fallen on Una.
+
+He had scarcely noticed her the other night, had scarcely, indeed, seen
+her, and he now saw, as it were for the first time, her beauty, set off
+and heightened by the aid of one of Worth's happiest dresses, and
+Emanuel's diamonds. In spite of himself he was dazzled, and his frank
+eyes showed that he was.
+
+And Lady Bell? Well, though his face had scarcely left her mind's eye
+since she had seen it, she was not disappointed.
+
+Notwithstanding the rather bored and surly--not to say ferocious
+expression which set upon it--she thought him handsomer than even she
+had remembered him.
+
+"This is very kind of you, Mr. Newcombe," she said speaking first, for
+Jack had contented himself with bowing over her hand.
+
+"Kind?" said Jack, in his straightforward way.
+
+Lady Bell hesitated, and for the first time, perhaps, in her life,
+smiled shyly.
+
+"I heard--they tell me--that it is as difficult to get Mr. Newcombe to a
+dance as a prince of the blood royal."
+
+"It isn't much in my way," said Jack, quietly; "I am not a dancing
+man--that is, I don't care for it."
+
+"Then it was kind," said Lady Bell, recovering her courage and smiling
+at him with that wonderful smile which Hetley and all the rest of them
+talked so much about.
+
+Jack looked at her. Yes, certainly she was very beautiful, and there was
+a subtle something in that smile.
+
+His ill-temper began to disappear.
+
+"I should say," he said, "that a man ought to feel lucky at the chance
+of getting here."
+
+"They also told me," said Lady Bell, archly, "that you never paid
+compliments."
+
+"Someone seems to have been taking a great deal of trouble to make me
+out a regular boor," said Jack, with his curt laugh. "Did they also tell
+you that I lived in the woods up a tree, and existed on wild animals?"
+
+"Like a savage?" said Lady Bell, wickedly.
+
+Jack flushed and looked at her; then her smile conquered and he laughed.
+
+"Yes, that is what they call me, confound their impudence! But I'm a
+very tame kind of a savage, Lady Earlsley; I shan't scalp you."
+
+"It wouldn't matter much, would it?" she retorted. "They make such
+beautiful false hair now."
+
+Jack looked down on the soft, glossy head, with its thick, light coils,
+and smiled.
+
+"Are you going to change your mind and scalp me, after all?" she said.
+"You make me tremble when you look like that."
+
+Jack laughed right out.
+
+"No," he said; "even a savage is incapable of such ingratitude. I have
+come to-night, Lady Earlsley, to thank you for your kindness the other
+night, and to tell you how sorry I am that--that you should have had so
+much trouble!"
+
+And a blush managed to show itself under the tan.
+
+Lady Bell looked down.
+
+"It was no trouble," she said. "I was afraid that you were hurt. It was
+very clumsy and stupid of my man."
+
+"It was all my fault," said Jack, penitently. "I----"
+
+"Do not say any more," she said, gently, and she put her finger tips on
+his arm.
+
+Jack looked at her, and met her gaze, full of concealed interest, and
+his own eyes fell before it.
+
+They had been standing near the fernery, behind which stood Una; she
+could hear every word, see every look.
+
+Pale and almost breathless she stood, her hands clasped in front of her,
+her heart beating fast, her eyes fixed on Jack's face. She longed to
+fly, yet could not move a foot. Something, his very presence, his very
+voice, held her like a chain.
+
+She felt that if he were to turn and, seeing her, say, "Follow me!" she
+must follow him, though it were to the end of the earth.
+
+A storm of conflicting emotions battled within her for mastery; a wild
+delight at his presence, an intense longing that his eyes might turn and
+rest on her, and at the same time an awful miserable feeling, which she
+did not know was jealousy.
+
+How beautiful they looked, these two, Lady Bell, the heiress, in her
+rich dress and splendid jewels, and he, with his tanned face and bold,
+fierce eyes, his stalwart frame towering above all others, and sinking
+them into insignificance. How well matched they seemed. Why--why did
+Lady Bell smile at him like that? No wonder his face had grown brighter.
+Who could resist that bewitching smile?
+
+The music of a waltz commenced and recalled her to a sense of her
+position. With a start she drew still further back, so that she was
+quite out of sight.
+
+"There's a dance," said Jack, in his blunt way. "I would ask if you were
+free to give it to me, but I cannot dance to-night. I am in mourning.
+Don't let me keep you, though."
+
+"That is a plain intimation," said Lady Bell; "but I am sorry that you
+are in trouble. In sober earnest it was kind of you to come. I hope it
+was no one near to you."
+
+"No," said Jack, and his face clouded at the recollection of Hurst
+Leigh. "It was a very dear old friend who had been very good to me."
+
+Lady Bell inclined her head, and her voice grew wonderfully soft.
+
+"I see that I must not keep you. I shall not be offended if you leave us
+at once. If I had known----"
+
+Now here was Jack's opportunity. Why did he not seize it and go?
+
+"Thanks," he said; "although I won't dance I'll stay a little while if
+you'll permit me."
+
+Lady Bell bowed.
+
+"Thank you," she said, almost humbly, as if he had granted her a great
+favor, as it seemed to Una.
+
+At this moment the great--or little--duke came up with a smile.
+
+"Am I fortunate enough to find you free for this, Lady Earlsley?"
+
+Lady Bell looked at her card, carefully keeping it out of his reach, and
+shook her head.
+
+"I'm so sorry! My partner will be here directly, I expect."
+
+The duke bowed, expressed his regret, and moved off, not without a
+glance at Jack, who stood calm and possessed; and Una knew,
+notwithstanding all her ignorance, that Lady Bell was not engaged, but
+had refused the duke that she might keep Jack by her side; and with this
+knowledge the demon jealousy sprang into life, and made himself fully
+known.
+
+With an awful aching of the heart she sank into a seat and hid her face
+in her hands.
+
+What right had she there--she, the ignorant, untaught forest girl, among
+these grand people? Even supposing that he saw her he would not remember
+her, and if he did he would not care to waste a glance or a word on her,
+while such a beautiful creature as Lady Bell was willing to refuse a
+duke for his sake.
+
+Suddenly the brilliant scene seemed to grow dark and joyless; the music
+sounded harsh and out of tune; all the beauty had vanished, and she
+longed to be sitting in the depths of Warden Forest.
+
+"Your partner doesn't seem to turn up," said Jack. "He's an ungrateful
+idiot."
+
+Lady Bell laughed and sank down in a fauteuil just in front of the
+recess.
+
+"I forgive him," she said, and she swept her skirts aside to make room
+for him.
+
+Jack sat down, not gratefully, but quite courtly.
+
+Lady Bell was silent for a moment, then she said:
+
+"I would have sent a card for your friend, but I could not remember his
+name."
+
+"Oh, Len," said Jack, shaking his head. "I'm afraid he would not have
+come. He never goes out--at least not to this sort of thing. He's a book
+worm, and doesn't care for the gaieties. His name is Leonard Dagle."
+
+"He is a great friend of yours?"
+
+"The best that ever man had," said Jack, quietly; "more than a brother."
+
+"You live with him?" she said, with an interest only too palpable to the
+listening Una, whom Lady Bell had quite forgotten.
+
+"Yes, we live together--have done so for years--always shall, I hope,
+till----"
+
+He paused.
+
+"Till death, were you going to say?" said Lady Bell.
+
+"No, I wasn't," said Jack, simply. "I was going to say till I took his
+advice and--enlisted."
+
+"Enlisted!" she repeated, turning her beautiful face full upon him.
+
+Jack colored and frowned.
+
+"Yes," he said, stoutly; and though he said not a word more, Lady Bell
+knew that he was poor and in trouble.
+
+It was just the one thing wanted to finish the romance. He was poor and
+in trouble, while she was rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Why should
+she not say as she longed to do:
+
+"You want money. See, here am I who have more than I know what to do
+with; take some of it and make me happy!"
+
+Instead, she thought it only, and remained silent.
+
+"How hot it is," she said presently. "It is more than time to leave
+London. One longs for the green fields and the sea."
+
+"It is late," said Jack.
+
+"We are staying in town," she said, "because my father is a bookworm and
+can only live near a library--he only exists elsewhere. I cannot find it
+in my heart to tear him away from the British Museum; but we make the
+best of it. We are going to have a water-party to-morrow at Richmond."
+
+"Yes," said Jack.
+
+She waited for him to ask for an invitation; then, pressing her lip with
+her fan, said:
+
+"Will you join us?"
+
+Jack hesitated a moment.
+
+"I shall be delighted," he said.
+
+"You don't look it," she said. "But I forgot--savages rarely smile. At
+any rate, we start to-morrow at twelve o'clock. Sir Arkroyd is going to
+drive us down in Lord Dalrymple's drag."
+
+"Perhaps there isn't room," said Jack.
+
+"Are you trying to find an excuse for not coming?" she said, smiling on
+him.
+
+Jack frowned, and then laughed.
+
+"I'll come," he said.
+
+Yes, there was a nameless charm about her which had made itself felt
+already. Was it her beauty or her frankness--the latter so different to
+the cut-and-dried and measured manner of the ordinary women of society?
+
+"I'll come," he said.
+
+Then he looked around.
+
+"This is a beautiful room. Where did you get all the flowers from? Some
+of them I never saw before in London."
+
+"Do you like them?" she said. "Many of them we brought over with us from
+'across the seas,' the others I ransacked London to get--at least, poor
+Mrs. Fellowes did."
+
+"Why poor?" he said.
+
+"Because she has the misfortune to be my companion, and I worry her to
+death."
+
+"A pleasant death," he muttered.
+
+"Thanks," she said. "That is the second compliment you have paid me. And
+yet they say you are not gallant, as the French have it."
+
+"It's the heat," said Jack, in his grim way.
+
+"You will find some ices in the ante-room there, behind that lace
+curtain."
+
+"Shall I get you one?" said Jack.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Thanks! Yes, that is the way," and she rose to point to a winding path
+made through the rows of ferns and tropical plants.
+
+He had to pass her in going, and in doing so he struck a spray of a palm
+with his head; it recoiled, and caught some of its soft, spiky leaves in
+her hair.
+
+She uttered a half-laughing cry, and Jack turned.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said. "I am awfully clumsy. Allow me."
+
+She bent her head toward him, laughing, and Jack disentangled the silken
+threads from the great clinging leaf. In doing so he again proved his
+clumsiness, for the silken threads got round his fingers.
+
+He could feel her soft, peach-like face against his wrist, and being
+human his blood thrilled.
+
+Lady Bell looked up. Her face was pale, and her eyes drooping and
+languid.
+
+"Are you going to scalp me after all?" she murmured.
+
+Jack's heart beat strangely.
+
+"I--I am very sorry," he muttered below his breath, and with lowered
+eyes he went on.
+
+Lady Bell looked after him and drew a long breath. A sigh that almost
+echoed hers startled her, and turning she saw Una, sitting where she had
+left her, with her hands clasped in her lap.
+
+"My child," said Lady Bell, "I had almost----"
+
+"Yes, you had quite forgotten me," said Una, with a strange smile.
+
+Lady Bell flushed and looked at her. Her lovely face was pale and her
+eyes clouded with a strange look of pain and weariness.
+
+"Forgive me, my child," she said. "You are quite pale--you are tired. It
+is too hot. Wait! there are some ices coming."
+
+"No, no," said Una, with a sudden shrinking. "Please leave me--do not
+bring him here--I mean----" she stammered, "I would rather be alone. Go
+and dance, Lady Bell."
+
+"What a timid fawn it is," said Lady Bell, caressingly. "There, go and
+sit in the shade there. Don't be frightened; I promised to take care of
+you."
+
+"I am not frightened," said Una, quietly, "but I would rather----"
+
+"I understand," said Lady Bell, quickly; then she said, trying to speak
+carelessly and toying with her fan: "Did you see the gentleman I was
+speaking to, dear?"
+
+"Yes," said Una, calmly.
+
+"Don't you think that he is very handsome?"
+
+Una's heart beat so fast that she could scarcely speak.
+
+"Yes," she answered, at last.
+
+"What a cold Diana it is!" said Lady Bell, caressingly. "What an icy
+'yes.' My dear, he is the handsomest man in the room."
+
+"Yes," said Una, sadly.
+
+Lady Bell looked at her.
+
+"I see, for all your yesses, that you don't think so," she said, with a
+laugh. "Do you know they call him the Savage, and that it is quite an
+achievement on my part to get him here? I made his acquaintance by
+accident. Mrs. Fellowes is quite shocked over it. But I always do as I
+like. I've got a fancy, Una--you'd never guess it."
+
+"What is it?" said Una, raising her dark eyes gravely to the beautiful,
+witching face.
+
+Lady Bell smiled.
+
+"I have a fancy for taming the Savage," she said, more to herself than
+to Una; "it will be so amusing."
+
+Una turned her head aside.
+
+"For him, do you mean?" she asked, in a low voice.
+
+Lady Bell stared at her, and her color came and went amusedly.
+
+"What a strange child it is! For him? No, for me! And--yes, for him too.
+What right has he to pretend to be invincible? Do you think I shall
+succeed?"
+
+Una looked at her with an aching heart.
+
+"Yes," she answered; "I think you will succeed."
+
+"What a flatterer it is!" said Lady Bell, playfully. "Hush! here he
+comes; half tamed already. Now for the first lesson," and, to Una's
+surprise she glided from the recess and was instantly lost in the crowd.
+A moment after Una saw her dancing with the duke.
+
+She drew back into the shadow and watched Jack. He came along slowly,
+the ice in his hand, and looked around for Lady Bell, with astonishment
+and something like anger in his face for a moment. Then he saw her
+dancing with the duke in the center of the room, looked round for some
+place to put the ice down, and, seeing none convenient, gently pitched
+it, plate and all, into a fountain, to the considerable astonishment of
+the gold fish.
+
+Then he sat down and thrusting his hands into his pockets, seemed lost
+in thought; his head thrown back, almost touched Una's arm, and she
+wondered whether he would be glad or sorry, or simply indifferent, if
+she rose and stood before him, or called him by name.
+
+Yes, there he sat, within reach of her hand. She had often dreamed of
+him as being near her, but it was no dream now.
+
+An infinite longing to touch, to speak to him, possessed her, and if he
+would but turn and look at her as he had looked that morning by the
+lake!
+
+She struggled hard against the temptation, and sat motionless, all her
+heart going out toward him.
+
+If she had known that Jack, even at that moment, was thinking of her,
+and recalling her every look and word. It was one of Strauss' waltzes
+they were playing, but he heard it not; in his ears was the rustle of
+the forest trees and the ripple of the lake; before him was one of the
+most beautiful ball-rooms in London, before him moved, in a glittering
+pageant, the pick of London's beauty and rank, but he saw them not; he
+was looking in fancy into the lovely face of the innocent forest girl.
+
+The dance was over, but still Lady Bell did not come; couples,
+arm-in-arm, promenaded past him, but still Jack sat, and dreaming of the
+girl who sat longing, longing for a word or look from him, just behind
+him. Suddenly Una felt something drop into her lap. It was a blossom
+from one of the tropical plants.
+
+She took it up and looked at it absently; then, as if by a sudden
+inspiration, she raised it to her lips and kissed it, and rising,
+dropped it on his knee and fled.
+
+Jack started, and stooping picked up the flower, looked at it for a
+moment, and then turned and looked up to see whence it had come.
+
+As he did so he saw reflected dimly in a mirror framed in palm leaves a
+girl's face.
+
+With a bound he darted to his feet, and naturally enough made for the
+reflection; but ere he could reach the mirror the face had vanished.
+
+Pale and trembling with eagerness he turned--but Una had glided through
+the ferns and reached the ante-room--and came face to face with Lady
+Bell.
+
+She was flushed and laughing, her eyes dancing with the excitement of
+the dance.
+
+"Well," she said, "where is my ice?"
+
+Jack, startled and bewildered, stared at her.
+
+"I must have been dreaming," he muttered.
+
+"Dreaming," she said. "What do you mean?"
+
+He passed his hand over his brow.
+
+"Your ice!" and he glanced at the fountain. "I--I beg your pardon. What
+did I do with it? I will get you another."
+
+"Never mind!" said Lady Bell, laughing; "I do not care for it now; I am
+too hot. Have you been asleep?"
+
+"Asleep!" he said, striving to recover his coolness; "nearly. What could
+I do when you left me?"
+
+"The third compliment," she said, with a smile. "Where are you going
+now?" for Jack, with his eyes fixed on the end of the fernery, was
+moving slowly away.
+
+"I--I'm afraid I must go," he said.
+
+"Good-night!" she said, turning away coldly.
+
+Jack "pulled himself together," as he would have called it, and sat down
+beside her.
+
+"No," he said, "I will stay if I may."
+
+She turned to him with a gentle smile.
+
+"No; go now, please. I am not ungrateful. It was very kind of you to
+come. You will not forget tomorrow?"
+
+"No," said Jack, fingering his crush hat. "I will not forget
+tomorrow--how could I?"
+
+She held out her hand--not a tiny, meaningless one, but a long, shapely
+eloquent hand--and put it into his broad, strong one.
+
+"Good-night!" she said, and her voice grew wondrously low and gentle in
+its caressing, clinging tones. "Good-night!"
+
+Jack felt the slender fingers, warm through the thin gloves, cling round
+his fingers.
+
+"Good-night," she said, hurriedly. "Good-night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+
+Jack walked leisurely enough through the fernery looking this way and
+that in search of the phantom girl; but once clear of the ball-room, he
+hurried through the ante-rooms and down the staircase--utterly ignoring
+the adieus which were sent after him by the crowd on the stairs--and
+reached the hall.
+
+The carriages were already taking up, and without ceremony he pushed
+through the footmen into the open air.
+
+"Has a carriage left just now--five minutes ago?" he asked.
+
+"Two or three, sir," said the footmen, and, too busy to answer any
+further questions, he dashed off.
+
+Jack waited just outside the stream of light for nearly an hour, his
+coat collar turned up, his hands thrust in his pockets. But though many
+a beautiful face passed him and was driven away, Una's lovely face was
+not amongst them.
+
+"I must have fallen asleep and been dreaming," he muttered. "How could
+she possibly have been there?"
+
+Then he called a hansom, and was driven to the club.
+
+His blood was on fire, his brain was in a whirl; two faces--Una's and
+Lady Bell's--seemed to dance before his eyes. Do something he must to
+get rid of them, or they would drive him mad.
+
+There was only one thing to do--play. Before the morning he had lost
+every penny of his twenty-one pounds six and fourpence, and a couple of
+hundred besides.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Chance had favored Una in her escape; no sooner had she reached the
+staircase than she heard Mrs. Davenant's carriage announced. To get her
+shawl and make her way down the staircase was the work of a few moments,
+and the brougham was rolling away toward Walmington Square before Jack
+had got down to the hall.
+
+"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Davenant, "have you enjoyed yourself? You
+look pale and tired."
+
+Una shrunk into her corner.
+
+"I am rather tired," she said, in a low voice, "it was all so new and
+strange."
+
+"And was Lady Bell kind?"
+
+"Very kind," answered Una, with a sigh. "How beautiful she is!"
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Davenant, "she is a very fortunate girl. Youth and
+beauty and wealth, she has much to make her happy. Tell me whom you saw,
+my dear."
+
+Una flushed and trembled. She went over the names of some of the great
+people, but she said nothing of Jack. She could not bring her trembling
+lips to frame his name.
+
+"All the best people in town," said Mrs. Davenant, with a smile. "You
+will be a fashionable young lady before long, Una."
+
+"Oh, no, no!" breathed Una, with a sudden pallor. "Perhaps I shall never
+go again."
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked at her curiously, and relapsed into silence until
+they reached home.
+
+Then, as they entered the drawing-room, she said, with a little nervous
+smile:
+
+"I have heard from my son Stephen, Una."
+
+"From your son?"
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Davenant. "It is good news. He has become very rich.
+His uncle, Squire Davenant, has left him everything he possessed."
+
+Una started and turned pale. Then Jack had been left nothing! That was
+why he had looked so grave and troubled.
+
+"Everything?" she asked.
+
+"Everything," said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh: "the Hurst and the
+estate, and all the money, and he is very rich--very rich indeed."
+
+Una looked before her dreamily. She could not say, "I am very glad."
+Mrs. Davenant waited a moment.
+
+"There is a message for you, my dear," she said timidly, fingering the
+letter.
+
+"For me!" said Una, looking up with a start.
+
+"Yes; Stephen is so thoughtful! He never forgets others even in the
+midst of his great prosperity. He sends his kind regards, and trusts
+that you do not miss Warden, and that you will not find our quiet life
+too dull. He little thinks how we have plunged into gayety already. He
+would be surprised if he knew it."
+
+Indeed Stephen would, with a vengeance!
+
+"It is very kind of him," said Una, in a low voice.
+
+Mrs. Davenant sighed.
+
+"He is always kind and thoughtful. He tells me that he will not be able
+to come home just yet awhile. It seems that there is a great deal to see
+to. The estate was greatly neglected, and there's some business to be
+done with the lawyers; that keeps him there. But he says he will come as
+soon as he can, and, meanwhile, I am to make you as happy as I can. I
+hope I have done that already, dear," she added, with simple affection.
+
+Una rose and kissed her.
+
+"Indeed, yes; I am very happy."
+
+Then she turned her face away to hide her tears.
+
+"Come, you must go to bed," said Mrs. Davenant, "or you will lose all
+your fresh roses."
+
+And she put her candle in her hand, and kissed her tenderly.
+
+It was some time before Una fell asleep. The events of the night flitted
+like phantom visions across her eyes, and Jack's face rose to haunt her,
+with its tender, troubled look in the dark eyes.
+
+The squire had willed all to Stephen then, and Jack was poor and
+forgotten.
+
+The sun was high in the heavens when she awoke, and breakfast was on the
+table by the time she had got down.
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked up with a smile.
+
+"I am so glad to have you safe, dear," she said. "Come, you have got all
+your roses back again; and, see here, you cannot guess whom this is
+from;" and she held up a note. "It is from Lady Bell. It is an awful
+scolding for your running away last night. She says that you flew away
+like a bird, and that she had no sooner missed you than she heard that
+you had gone."
+
+Una colored.
+
+"Was it rude of me?" she said. "I am sorry."
+
+"Never mind, my dear; she has evidently forgiven you, or she says she
+will, if you will go with her for a water picnic to-day."
+
+Una turned pale again.
+
+"I!" she said, below her breath.
+
+Mrs. Davenant opened the note.
+
+"Yes; she says she will take no denial. They are going to drive down to
+Richmond, and she will call for you on the way. Would you like to go, my
+dear?"
+
+Una thought a moment. She longed for, yet dreaded, the meeting which she
+knew must take place between Jack and her if she went.
+
+Mrs. Davenant took her silence for consent.
+
+"There is no need of an answer, my dear," she said, with a little laugh;
+"Lady Bell will take no heed of a refusal. There's the note."
+
+And she threw it across the table.
+
+Una read the kindly-imperative little letter, and sighed as she examined
+the brilliant crest stamped at the head of the paper.
+
+"It is very kind," she said. "Yes, I will go, if you are sure you do not
+mind my leaving you."
+
+After breakfast, Mrs. Davenant and Jane entered into a consultation as
+to what Una should wear, Una standing by with a quiet smile.
+
+At last they decided that a dainty-figured satin should be honored; and
+both of them, notwithstanding Una's protests, insisted upon assisting at
+her toilet.
+
+They could not have chosen anything more suited to her fresh, virginal
+beauty than the simple, delicate dress; and when Jane had brushed the
+soft, silken hair until it shone and flashed like strands of golden
+haze, and coiled it into a knot, Mrs. Davenant could not suppress an
+exclamation of satisfaction and admiration.
+
+As for Una, she had not yet learned to view her changed self without
+surprise, and stared at the tall, beautiful woman which the glass
+reflected as though she could not believe that it was herself.
+
+They were still looking at her, and Jane's restless fingers were
+touching a bow here and a fold there, when they heard the rattle of
+heavy wheels outside, and Mrs. Davenant hurried her downstairs.
+
+Lady Bell was already in the drawing-room, and took Una in her arms as
+if she were a school-girl, instead of a woman taller than herself.
+
+"My child, I came to scold you--I meant to have a fearful scene; but you
+have taken it all out of me!" And she held Una by her elbows, and looked
+at her admiringly. "Child, you are a picture! I've half a mind to drive
+off without you. What will become of me? Mrs. Davenant, don't you think
+I am very stupid to commit suicide in this way?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant smiled, and looked at Lady Bell's beautiful face, all
+bright as if with sunlight, and shook her head gently.
+
+"Bah!" said Lady Bell, pouting. "I am nothing but a foil to her; but I
+shall be useful, at least. Come, we must be off. What is that--milk?"
+
+"Yes," said Una, offering her a glass, with a smile.
+
+"She drinks nothing else," said Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"That accounts for her complexion," said Lady Bell. "No, it doesn't! If
+I drank all the dairies in London dry, I shouldn't get such milk and
+roses on my cheeks."
+
+"Don't turn her head," murmured Mrs. Davenant, under her breath.
+
+Lady Bell laughed.
+
+"My dear Mrs. Davenant, it is just what she wants! There isn't a spark
+of vanity in her composition; she isn't quite a woman, for no woman is
+without vanity. Look at her, as grave and stern as a judge!" and she
+touched Una's arm with her sunshade.
+
+Una started--she had been wondering whether Jack would be there outside,
+on the drag, and was listening for his voice amongst those which came
+floating through the open window.
+
+Trembling inwardly she followed Lady Bell out.
+
+The four horses were champing and pawing impatiently.
+
+The drag was nearly full, and, for a moment, Una saw only a confused
+group of women in dainty morning dresses, and of men in white flannel
+and cheviot. A second glance convinced her that Jack was not there.
+
+As they appeared on the steps the laughter and voices ceased, and a
+well-bred glance of curiosity was turned upon her.
+
+Lady Bell was, however, equal to the occasion.
+
+"Come along, Una," she said, gayly. "Fanny, will you make room beside
+you for Miss Rolfe?"
+
+The Countess of Pierrepoint smiled.
+
+"How do you do, Miss Rolfe!" she said graciously. "I hear you were at
+Lady Bell's dance last night; why did you let her hide you so
+completely?"
+
+Una was silent.
+
+Fortunately Dalrymple made so much bustle and fuss in starting, that
+conversation for a minute or two was impossible; and before that minute
+or two had passed, Una had gained her self-possession.
+
+Seated about, she recognized several of the people Lady Bell had pointed
+out on the preceding evening: Lady Clarence, Mrs. Cantrip, the
+Marchioness of Fairfield. Beside Dalrymple, who had all his work cut out
+in keeping the four spirited nags in good conduct in the crowded London
+streets, sat, as a matter of course, Sir Arkroyd Hetley, while one or
+two other men--one of whom she heard addressed as the viscount--was with
+the ladies.
+
+Had Una been naturally nervous, her timidity could not long have existed
+in such an atmosphere.
+
+Her companions were among the highest in the land; but there was less
+reserve and ceremony than would have been found in a similar gathering
+of middle-class people. The men were laughing and chatting, ever and
+again turning round to make some light-hearted remark, or pass some joke
+round. They were all, it was evident, bent on enjoying themselves.
+
+Very soon Una found herself brought into the conversation, Lady Bell
+talking to her continually, and pointing out the lions of the road.
+
+The roses came back into Una's face in full bloom, her heart beat more
+lightly, and her spirits rose as the four impatient horses dashed along
+the roads which now ran through the beautiful vicinity of Richmond.
+
+She had almost--almost--forgotten that Jack was not there, when
+happening to glance round suddenly at Lady Bell, she saw her looking
+dreamily before her, evidently lost in thought, with a wistful drooping
+of the bright red lips and a disappointed shadow in the dark eyes.
+
+Then Una knew that it was not only she herself who felt the absence of
+the missing one.
+
+However, Lady Bell soon rallied, and when they drove up to the hotel she
+was as bright as ever.
+
+The luncheon had been sent up to Thames Dutton, one of the prettiest
+parts of the Thames, and it had been arranged that the gentlemen should
+row up to the island, hence the white flannel and cheviot costumes. They
+found boats awaiting them at the river side, and, with much laughing and
+gayety, started.
+
+It was a beautiful scene, the river gleaming like a flood of silver
+between its banks of green meadows and stately trees, the three boats
+with their bright colored occupants. Una, who was of nature's own kin,
+was filled with delight; it was better than being at Warden. She leaned
+back in her comfortable seat in the stern of the foremost boat, rapt in
+silent enjoyment.
+
+Lady Bell looked at her rather wistfully.
+
+"How happy you look, child," she said, in a lower voice than usual.
+
+"I am quite happy," said Una, simply.
+
+"You are just the person for a picnic," said Lady Clarence. "I feel sure
+that you would look just as contented and serene if it rained in
+torrents, while the rest of us would be running about bemoaning our
+spoiled clothes."
+
+Una laughed.
+
+"I am not afraid of rain," she said.
+
+"That's fortunate, Miss Rolfe," said Dalrymple, who was pulling stroke,
+and exerting himself nobly, while Hetley, pulling behind him, allowed
+him to do all the work. "That's fortunate, as we shall be sure to have a
+shower or two--always do at a water picnic."
+
+"No prophesying, marquis!" cried Lady Bell. "There isn't a cloud in the
+sky; there isn't a sign of wet."
+
+"I'm sorry for that," he said, with mock gravity, "for I'm fearfully
+thirsty."
+
+They paid no attention to this broad hint, however, until they were
+going through Teddington Lock, when Lady Bell produced some champagne
+and soda water, and Hetley made a cooling cup.
+
+When it came to Una's turn--they all drank out of the same cup, a
+splendid silver tankard, chased with the Earlsley arms--she glanced at
+it askance and shook her head.
+
+"But you must, my dear Una," said Lady Bell. "You will be parched."
+
+"Let me have some water," said Una, and making a cup of her hand--a
+trick she had learned at a very early age--she bent over the boat and as
+quietly and naturally drank a draught.
+
+The countess looked at her earnestly, and Sir Arkroyd muttered to
+Dalrymple:
+
+"Where did she come from?"
+
+"I don't know," said Dalrymple, in the same tone. "I'd stick to water
+all the day if she'd let me drink it out of the same cup. Isn't she
+beautiful--perfectly lovely!"
+
+"Hush, she'll hear you," muttered Sir Arkroyd, warningly.
+
+But he need not have feared.
+
+Una sat like the dream-maiden in the ballad, deaf to all but the plash
+of the oars and the music of the birds.
+
+Presently the stately pile of Hampton Court Palace glided, as it were,
+into their view, and with a long pull Dalrymple sent the boat to the
+island.
+
+The two other boats were close behind, and then these grand people who
+were accustomed to be waited on hand and foot, got out and dragged
+hampers under the shadow of the oaks and willows; and the countess and
+Lady Clarence laid the cloth, while Lady Bell and the rest knelt beside
+the hampers and pulled out the things one by one. Then Sir Arkroyd was
+sent to lay the champagne bottles in the shallow water, and Dalrymple
+was handed a dish and the ingredients for making the salad.
+
+In a few minutes luncheon was set out to the accompaniment of much
+laughter, and a few accidents. One of the champagne bottles had slid
+into the deep water, and disappeared to the bottom of the river to
+astonish the fish. The corkscrew followed it; and dismay fell on all,
+until the viscount calmly produced another from his pocket.
+
+"Never go to a picnic without a corkscrew," he said, shaking his head.
+"Generally have to produce it, too."
+
+Then there was much dragging about of hampers, and arranging of shawls
+and boat cushions to provide seats for the ladies; but at last all were
+seated, and Dalrymple, brandishing a knife in dangerous proximity to
+Lady Pierrepoint's head, cut the first slice of raised pie.
+
+Then it was discovered how easy it is to make jokes at a picnic. You
+can't be stately and ceremonious sitting cross-legged on the grass, and
+balancing your plate on your knees; especially when, in consequence of
+there not being quite enough knives, you have to lend the one you are
+using to your next-door neighbor.
+
+As usual, too, there were not quite enough plates and those dainty
+gentlemen, who went into fits if a fly fell into their wineglasses at
+the club, bent down on their hands and knees and washed plates in the
+river.
+
+"And there is no rain," said Lady Bell.
+
+"Then one of us will have to fall into the river," said the viscount,
+solemnly. "Must have rain or an accident at a picnic, you know. Will you
+have some more cream, Lady Earlsley?"
+
+Lady Bell shook her head, laughingly.
+
+"No, thanks; I have enjoyed it all immensely. Why cannot we have a
+picnic every day?"
+
+But Una, who sat next her, had noticed that she scarcely touched
+anything.
+
+"Let us go into Bushey Park, and turn savages," said Dalrymple. "Halloa;
+speaking of savages, what a pity the Savage isn't here. This is just in
+his line."
+
+Lady Bell bent down suddenly to take a flower from the cloth.
+
+"Mr. Newcombe was detained in town," she said, calmly; but Una could
+detect the faint quiver in her voice.
+
+"Poor old Jack," said Dalrymple, after a pause, "seems to be cut up
+about something lately. Do you remember how queer he was that night he
+came back from the country, Arkroyd?"
+
+Lady Bell looked up suddenly.
+
+"Let us go for a ramble. You may smoke, gentlemen," she added. "Now
+don't shake your heads as if you never did such a thing. I can see your
+cigar-case peeping out of your pocket, Lord Dalrymple."
+
+And linking her arm in Una's, she sauntered away.
+
+They strolled in silence for some minutes, until Una, happening to look
+up, saw that Lady Bell's face was quite pale, and that something
+suspiciously like tears were veiling the brightness of the dark eyes.
+
+"Lady Bell!" she murmured.
+
+"Hush!" said Lady Bell, gently. "Don't notice me, child! Oh, how sick I
+am of it all! What a long day it seems! How can they sit there laughing
+and chattering like a set of monkeys?"
+
+"What is the matter?" said Una, in her low, musical voice.
+
+"Nothing," said Lady Bell, softly; then she paused and tried to laugh.
+"Una, my sweet, innocent, I've got a complaint which you know nothing
+of; it is called the heartache. There is no cure for it, I am afraid; at
+least, not for mine. Tut! there, there! your great, grave eyes torture
+me; they seem to go to the bottom of my soul. Not a word more. Here they
+come!"
+
+And the next instant she turned round, all life and gayety.
+
+Una sauntered on, her heart beating wildly. Was Lady Bell's heartache
+produced by the absence of Jack Newcombe? Yes, that must be it!
+
+With a sigh she drew away still further from the rest, and seating
+herself on the trunk of a tree by the riverside, watched the silver
+stream as it flowed past and was lost in the setting sun.
+
+Suddenly she saw in the distance a white speck that looked like a bird,
+flitting up the middle of the stream. The speck grew larger; and she saw
+that it was a light boat putting toward the island.
+
+Gradually it came nearer and nearer, and she saw that it contained one
+man only, and that he was clad in white flannel.
+
+It was a light water-boat--a mere speck of white it looked now on the
+golden stream--and to Una, who had never seen an outrigger before, it
+seemed an almost impossible feat to sit in it.
+
+But the sculler managed it with the greatest ease, and with every stroke
+sent it flying forward.
+
+With regular rhythmical action he pulled on, and very soon she could see
+his great arms bared to the shoulders.
+
+She watched it absently for some minutes, but presently the rower turned
+his head, and something in the movement struck her and made her heart
+bound.
+
+Agitated and trembling she rose and stood staring down the stream.
+
+A curve of the island hid the boat suddenly, and she stood watching for
+it to appear again; but the minutes passed on and it did not come. Then
+suddenly she heard a peal of laughter and the clatter of voices, and she
+knew that the boat had pulled into the island.
+
+With a vague hope and dread commingled she sank to the seat again, and
+sat striving to still the wild beating of her heart.
+
+Presently she heard her name called. It was Lady Bell's voice, and how
+changed; there was no false ring in it now; clear and joyous it rang
+out:
+
+"Una! Una! Where are you?"
+
+There was no escape. She knew she must go, but she waited for full three
+minutes. Then, nerved to an unnatural calm, she rose and moved slowly
+forward. They were all seated again; she could see them.
+
+Dalrymple and Sir Arkroyd were stretched at full length, smoking; the
+ladies, in their dainty sateens and pompadours, were grouped near them,
+and a little apart sat Lady Bell, a cup in one hand and a knife in the
+other, her face turned toward someone eating. Though his back was toward
+her, Una recognized him. It was Jack Newcombe. He had turned down his
+sleeves and put on his white flannel jacket, and was eating and chatting
+at one and the same time.
+
+"Yes, better late than never," she heard him say, and with every word of
+his deep, musical voice her heart leaped as if in glad response. "I
+found I could get away, and I jumped in the train, to learn at Richmond
+that you had just started. I got an outrigger, and here I am."
+
+"Just in time to help wash up," said Dalrymple. "We've eaten all the
+strawberries, old man, and there isn't much cream. It's lucky for you
+there is any pie."
+
+"Don't pay any attention to them, Mr. Newcombe," said Lady Bell, and how
+soft and sweet her voice sounded, with its undertone of tenderness. "I
+am so sorry you are late. Do not let them hurry you. You must be so
+tired. Let me give you some ham--some tongue, then?"
+
+And she herself cut a slice and put it on his plate.
+
+"Don't let me stop the fun," said Jack, in his grave way. "Go on with
+your games. What was it--kiss-in-the-ring?"
+
+There was a laugh; the lightest joke will serve at a picnic.
+
+"I was haunted by the dread that I should come just in time to find
+everything cleared up. What a beautiful day! No, no more, thanks."
+
+"Let me give you some champagne," said Lady Bell, and reached forward
+with the goblet in her hand.
+
+Jack took it, and nodded over it in true picnic fashion.
+
+"Thanks," he said, and raised it to his lips.
+
+At that moment Lady Bell looked up, and, seeing Una standing still and
+motionless, beckoned her.
+
+Mechanically Una went round to her, and so stood in front of Jack.
+
+His eyes were fixed at the bottom of the cup at the moment, but
+presently he lifted them, and, with a sharp cry, he let the cup fall to
+the ground and sprang to his feet.
+
+And then he stood staring at her downcast face with startled eyes and
+pale countenance.
+
+"Hallo! Take care!" cried Dalrymple. "What are you up to now, Savage?
+Anything bitten you?"
+
+Lady Bell looked from one to the other, from Una's white, downcast face
+to Jack's pale, startled one.
+
+"Una," she breathed, "what is it?"
+
+But Jack recovered himself.
+
+"Just like you fellows," he said. "Didn't you know that you had pitched
+me on an ants' nest? What did you say, Lady Bell? I beg your pardon. T
+don't think there is much spilled, and there is nothing broken."
+
+And he knelt down and picked up the cup.
+
+Lady Bell laughed.
+
+"I couldn't think what was the matter," she said. "Are you really
+bitten?"
+
+"Just like Jack," said Sir Arkroyd, with philosophic calmness. "He is
+never happy unless he is breaking something. I give you my word that he
+smashes more glasses at the club than any other man."
+
+"Always was clumsy," said Jack, with a constrained laugh.
+
+Lady Bell smiled.
+
+"You have quite frightened my friend, Miss Rolfe," she said. "Una, this
+unfortunate gentleman is Mr. Newcombe."
+
+Jack had given her time, and she was able now to look at him calmly.
+Jack bowed, his eyes glancing at her as if they scarcely dared trust the
+evidence of their own senses.
+
+"Pray forgive me," he said. "I am very awkward. But I don't break quite
+so many things as they say. Is there any more champagne, Lady Earlsley?
+I don't deserve it, I know----"
+
+Lady Bell took up a bottle.
+
+"Pour this into the cup, Una," she said, with a smile. "It is true he
+doesn't deserve it, but we will be merciful."
+
+Una took the bottle and leaned forward, and as she did so Jack rose and
+stood before her, so that he screened her trembling hand from the eyes
+of the rest.
+
+His own trembled, his own heart beat wildly; all else save the beautiful
+face so close to his own swam before his eyes.
+
+Was he dreaming, or was it really she? He could not trust his eyes, he
+felt that he must touch her.
+
+Slowly he put out his hand, and gently, tremblingly touched her white,
+slender wrist.
+
+Instantly she raised her eyes and looked at him, a long, piteous look,
+as if he had struck her.
+
+Yes, it was she. It was Una, his forest-maiden!
+
+With a long breath he raised the cup to his lips and drained it, then
+sank down on the grass and took up his plate, scarcely knowing what he
+was doing.
+
+The laughing voices around him seemed blurred and indistinct in his
+ears, the green trees and silver stream seemed to fade and vanish, and
+give place to the silent glade in which he had sat with the same
+beautiful girl bending over him.
+
+Mechanically he went through the pretense of eating until a burst of
+laughter recalled him to himself.
+
+"Look here!" shouted Dalrymple in boyish glee. "Here's the Savage, busy
+eating nothing!"
+
+Jack laughed, awakened to the sense of the situation. He must nerve
+himself, if only for her sake.
+
+"It must be sunstroke," he said lightly, staring at his empty plate.
+"Will somebody give me a piece of cake? I have always doted on cake. I
+like a piece with the candied peel on it, Lady Bell. Thanks. Now I am
+just going to begin my luncheon."
+
+"Those persons who are tired of watching the Savage satisfy his barbaric
+appetite are requested to withdraw!" drawled Dalrymple, and he leaped to
+his feet, laughing.
+
+"Seriously, if anyone would like to go up to the palace, I've an open
+door. I should like a row."
+
+There was an instant clamor. Three parts of the party wanted to see the
+palace, and a couple of boat loads started.
+
+Lady Clarence, Lady Bell, Una, and Jack remained.
+
+He still kept up the pretense of eating and drinking; and Lady Bell,
+kneeling opposite him, seemed never to grow weary in supplying his
+wants.
+
+Una, seated at a little distance, noticed with what eager attention she
+hung upon every word he uttered. And Jack kept on talking as if his life
+depended on it. But presently his patience came to an end.
+
+He put down his plate resolutely.
+
+"No more, thanks, or I shall be too heavy for the outrigger. Now, then,
+can't I help pack up?"
+
+But Lady Bell wouldn't hear of it.
+
+"No, you shall light your pipe," she said, "and watch us. Come, Una. I
+know you are dying to help us."
+
+Una awoke with a start and knelt down beside the plates and dishes while
+Lady Bell went for the hamper.
+
+Jack seized his opportunity. Bending forward, he whispered:
+
+"Una!"
+
+She half turned her face, pale and dreamy.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Is it really you? How did you come here? Am I dreaming?"
+
+"It is I," she said, in her low, musical voice.
+
+"But--but," he said, "how did you come here? I did not know you were in
+London. I have been looking for you."
+
+Her heart gave a great leap. He had been looking for her.
+
+"I have been searching for you everywhere, Una. Did you think I should
+not come back? I went to Warden----"
+
+"Yes," she said eagerly.
+
+"And I found the cottage shut up and your people gone."
+
+"Gone?"
+
+"Yes, gone, and I did not know what to do. So I came to town, and--and I
+looked for you everywhere. Ah! you thought that I had forgotten you, as
+you had forgotten me."
+
+Her lovely face flushed, and she turned her dove-like eyes upon him,
+with a reproachful look in their depths.
+
+"Forgotten him!"
+
+"I cannot understand it," he went on, drawing still nearer to her, his
+eyes eagerly scanning her face.
+
+She smiled faintly. A great joy welled up in her heart, every nerve was
+tingling with happiness, she scarcely heard him. The words, "I have been
+searching for you," rang in her ears.
+
+"I scarcely understand it myself," she said; "it seems like a dream."
+
+Jack glanced toward the bank. They had finished the packing, and would
+interrupt them in another minute.
+
+"Where are you staying? You are on a visit?"
+
+"I am staying with Mrs. Davenant," said Una, in the same low voice.
+
+Jack started, and the unlit pipe nearly fell from his hand.
+
+"With Mrs. Davenant?" he exclaimed. "With Stephen's mother?"
+
+Una nodded.
+
+"Yes; he has been very kind and good to me."
+
+Jack stared breathless.
+
+"Stephen good to you!" he said, fiercely. "What do you mean? Am I
+dreaming?"
+
+"It was he who came to Warden with Mrs. Davenant," said Una, vaguely,
+troubled by the stern look of suspicion which had settled like a cloud
+on Jack's face.
+
+"I don't understand," he said grimly. "Stephen--Stephen! How did he know
+of your existence?"
+
+"Some friend," said Una; "I do not quite know. At any rate, it was
+through him. And I like Mrs. Davenant."
+
+Jack nodded.
+
+"Yes, she is a good woman. But Stephen----"
+
+And he passed his hand over his brow.
+
+Una looked at him timidly.
+
+"Are you angry?" she asked.
+
+"Angry! with you!" he exclaimed, bending nearer, with a look of tender
+devotion. "How could you think it? No, I am not angry--only puzzled. I
+cannot make it out. Never mind! don't look so troubled, my dear--Miss
+Rolfe, I mean. At any rate, I have found you. Oh, Una!--Miss Rolfe, I
+mean--if you knew how I have searched for you, and"--with a groan--"what
+a fool I have been!"
+
+"I thought you had forgotten me," said Una, with that sweet humility of
+love.
+
+Jack's eyes gleamed.
+
+"I have not forgotten you for one moment--not for one moment! Una,
+I----Oh, confound it! here they are."
+
+He broke off impatiently, as Lady Bell and the rest came back.
+
+"What are we going to do now?" she said, with her bright smile. "Some of
+them have gone to the palace. Shall we wait for them, or go and meet
+them! What do you say, Mr. Newcombe?"
+
+But Jack would not stir.
+
+"They'll come back," he said, absently, his eyes drawn toward the
+downcast face.
+
+How lovely it was! If they would only all go away, and leave them alone!
+He had so much to say--so much to ask.
+
+But Lady Bell showed no sign of going; instead, she threw herself down
+on the grass beside them, and commenced to talk.
+
+Had he enjoyed the pull up? Why had he not driven down with them? She
+didn't believe in particular business; and so on.
+
+Jack pulled at his pipe, and returned absent, scarcely civil answers. At
+last Lady Bell noticed his abstraction, and turned her head away in
+silence.
+
+Meanwhile Una sat speechless, her face turned toward the river, her
+whole soul absorbed by his presence. It frightened her, this feeling of
+absorption. She found herself waiting and listening for every word that
+dropped from his lips as if her life depended on it. She trembled lest
+he should touch her.
+
+His manner filled her with an ecstasy of pleasure that was almost pain.
+How handsome he looked, stretched out at full length, his tanned face
+turned to the sky, his tawny mustache sweeping his clear cut lips; she
+felt, rather than knew, that his eyes sought her face, and she dared not
+turn her eyes toward him, though she longed to do so.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+
+Presently, to the relief of Una, at least, the other boats came back;
+the third boat was got ready, the hampers put on board, and the ladies
+seated.
+
+Jack stood near the stern, and took Una's hand in his to help her to
+embark.
+
+"Take care," he said, aloud, then in an undertone, he added: "I shall
+see you at Richmond."
+
+"Are you going to row the outrigger down, Savage?" said Dalrymple, eying
+the first boat enviously.
+
+Jack turned to him eagerly.
+
+"No, I'll take your place in this boat; I can see you are longing for
+mine. Here, get in"; and before Dalrymple could refuse, Jack had almost
+lifted him into the outrigger, and leaped into his place in Lady Bell's
+boat.
+
+All the darkness vanished from his brow. He was sitting opposite Una; so
+near, that when he leaned forward to make the stroke, his hand almost
+touched her dress.
+
+"Are you coming with us?" said Lady Bell; "I am so glad."
+
+"So am I," said Jack; but his eyes went to Una's face.
+
+"Now, then," said Jack, as he bent forward.
+
+"Steady, old man," said Sir Arkroyd; "we haven't all got blacksmith's
+muscles!"
+
+But Jack was wild, delirious with joy, and he pulled, heart and soul,
+his great, strong arms bare to the elbows.
+
+"What a lovely night!" said Lady Bell. "Won't anybody sing?"
+
+Of course no one replied.
+
+"Sing something, my dear child," she said to Una. "You have a singing
+face. You have no idea how beautiful it sounds on the water."
+
+"Oh, no, no," said Una, shrinking modestly.
+
+Jack looked up.
+
+"Sing," he murmured, pleadingly. As if he had uttered a command, she
+looked at him with meek obedience, and began the song he had heard her
+singing in the forest.
+
+Is there anything more exquisite on earth than the voice of a young
+girl? Una knew nothing of the science of song; she had had no master, no
+instruction of any sort; but her voice was clear and musical as a young
+thrush's and she sang straight from her heart.
+
+No need to tell Jack to pull slower! He ceased rowing, and rested on his
+oar, his eyes fixed on her face, his lips half apart.
+
+The other boats stopped also as the music of the sweet, young voice
+floated down the stream, and one and all felt the spell.
+
+Lady Bell sat with lowered lids and pale face, and when the last note
+died away and she looked up, her eyes were moist.
+
+"My dear," she said, in a low voice, "where did you learn to sing like
+that?"
+
+Una, half frightened at the effect she had produced, flushed and sank
+back into her seat.
+
+"I have never learned," she said, quietly.
+
+There was a murmur, and Lady Clarence turned and looked at her
+curiously.
+
+"You have a beautiful voice," she said, "and exquisite taste, or you
+could not sing as you do. It is a pity you have not been thoroughly
+trained. You should have a master."
+
+"She shall!" said Lady Bell, impulsively. "She shall have the best. It
+would be criminal to let such a gift be wasted!"
+
+Jack looked up with a flush of pleased gratitude, and Lady Bell happened
+to catch that glance.
+
+With a slight start she turned pale, and looked from his face all aglow
+with the fervor of loving admiration to Una's downcast one, and then,
+with something like a shudder, she, too, sank back into the seat.
+
+"Isn't--isn't it cold?" she said, in a strangely changed voice.
+
+"Is it?" said Jack, musing. "We'll row on," and he bent to the oar
+again.
+
+A peculiar silence fell upon them all; it seemed as if they were still
+listening to the sweet voice. Lady Bell closed her eyes and remained
+motionless, and Jack pulled as if he had undertaken to reach Richmond
+within a given time.
+
+At Richmond tea was brought to them on the terrace while the horses were
+put to, and very soon they were dashing toward London.
+
+Dalrymple declared that his arms were too stiff to allow him to handle
+the four grays properly, and Jack was unanimously voted to the box.
+
+He looked rather inclined to refuse, but seeing that Una had been seated
+close behind him, he climbed up and took the reins without a word.
+
+For the first mile or two he had quite enough to do to keep the nags in
+hand; but he could feel that Una was close behind him, could feel her
+breath on his cheek, and hear every word of the clear, low-pitched
+voice, and he was deliriously happy.
+
+Presently, when he had got the horses into steady working, he turned his
+head and pointing with his whip, as if he were directing her attention
+to some object in the landscape, said in a low voice:
+
+"Una, can you hear me?"
+
+"Yes," she said, leaning forward.
+
+"I have been thinking it all over," he said, "but I can't make head or
+tail of it. It's all a mystery. However, I know where you are now, and
+that's something; and I can come and see you, and that's everything--to
+me. Are you angry with me for speaking so--so boldly?"
+
+"No," she faltered.
+
+"And I may come and see you? I know Mrs. Davenant; she is a good
+creature, though she thinks me everything that's bad--and she's not far
+wrong, I'm afraid----"
+
+Una sighed faintly.
+
+"And perhaps she'll tell me what it means, and why Stephen has sent you
+to be with her. Why, Una, did your father allow you to come? He loathed
+me for being a distant relative of the Davenants."
+
+"I do not know," said Una, troubled.
+
+"Never mind," said Jack, hastening to soothe her; "it's sure to be all
+right, if he did it. I liked your father, notwithstanding he was so
+rough with me. I liked him because he took such care of you. Steady,
+silly!" This was to the near leader, and not to Una. "What a lovely
+night! Are you enjoying it?--are you happy?"
+
+A sigh, faint and tremulous, was full answer.
+
+"Please Heaven, we'll have many a night like this. Happy! I could go
+half mad with delight at having you so near me. Una--I may call you
+Una?"
+
+"Yes," she murmured.
+
+"Can you guess--you sweet, innocent flower--what makes me so happy?"
+
+"Tell me!" she answered, in a low voice, and leaning forward until her
+soft, silken hair almost touched his.
+
+Jack's heart beat fast, and his blood bounded in his veins.
+
+"It is because I love you. I love you! Do you understand? Ah, my
+darling! you don't know what love is. But I ought not to call you
+so--not yet. I can't see your face; perhaps I shouldn't dare to be so
+bold if I could. Speak to me, Una; speak to me. Tell me that you are not
+angry. Tell me that, while I have never had your sweet face out of my
+mind since that day we parted in Warden, you have thought once or twice
+of me. I don't deserve it. I'm a bad lot; but I love you, Una. Do you
+love me?"
+
+There was no reply; but there was a soft nestle beside him, and then he
+felt her hand timidly touch his arm.
+
+He slipped the whip and reins into one hand, and seized the little
+trembling hand and enclosed it as if he meant thus to swallow it up
+forever.
+
+But, alas! the horses were going down hill, and were fidgeting and
+pulling; and with impatient exclamation at their stupidity, he was
+obliged to let the little hand go; but it did not go far; he could feel
+it touching, softly and timidly, the edge of his coat-sleeve, and that
+was enough for him. It was a mercy and a miracle that the drag was not
+upset, for he scarcely knew where or how he was driving, and it was more
+by instinct and habit that he brought the team safe and sound, but
+sweating tremendously, before the house in Park Lane.
+
+"You must all come in," said Lady Bell.
+
+The gentlemen looked at their white flannels apologetically, but Lady
+Bell laughed.
+
+"Let us pretend that we are our own masters and mistresses for one
+night," she said, "and not the slaves of Fashion."
+
+Jack stood out. He felt that, for the present, it behooved him to be
+discreet, and he knew that if he were not, it would be impossible for
+him to conceal the romantic love which burned through and through him.
+Besides, he knew that there would be no opportunity of speaking to Una
+there; and he felt that it would be agony for him to assume the
+conventional air of polite indifference to her for that evening, at
+least.
+
+So he went. But he stood on the pavement to help her down; and as he
+held her in his arms, he kept her for one moment poised between heaven
+and earth; and as he put her down, his lips touched her arm, and she
+knew it.
+
+"I'll see to the horses, Dal," he said; and he leaped up, and drove off
+as if he were possessed.
+
+"That's what the Savage calls seeing to them!" grumbled Dalrymple.
+"He'll throw 'em down, or run over somebody, and I shall be fined five
+pounds for furious driving."
+
+Jack was conscientious--where horses were concerned--and he sat on the
+rack and saw them rubbed down and fed with the patience of a martyr;
+then he jumped into a hansom, was driven to Spider Court, and, bursting
+into the room, fell into a chair and flung his cap at Leonard's head.
+
+"Mad at last!" said Leonard.
+
+"Yes, stark, staring, ramping mad, old fellow. I've found her!"
+
+"No!" said Leonard, turning round.
+
+"Yes! Yes! And I've spent the day with her. She's here in London, and
+who do you think she is staying with? With Mrs. Davenant, Stephen's
+mother!"
+
+"Stephen's mother!" said Leonard, with surprise. "Nonsense."
+
+"Fact! What do you make of it?"
+
+Leonard Dagle mused in silence.
+
+"I can make nothing of it," he said at last.
+
+"Did she know Mrs. Davenant?"
+
+"No; that's the mystery. Stephen, it seems, is the cause of her being
+here. He found out her father--how I can't guess--he must, of course,
+have known her before; there's nothing wonderful in that. But what is
+wonderful is that Stephen should do anyone a good turn,
+unless--unless--" and his face darkened suddenly and grew
+fierce--"unless he had some end in view."
+
+"What end could he have in view here?" said Leonard.
+
+"That's what I can't make out; can you?"
+
+Leonard shook his head.
+
+"It's a strange story throughout."
+
+"It is," said Jack, grimly. "But, Stephen Davenant, if you mean any
+mischief, look out! I'm on your track, my friend! But, Len, old man, you
+look rather done up. What's the matter?"
+
+Leonard passed his hand over his brow.
+
+"Something strange and mysterious also," he said. "I went to Cheltenham
+Terrace an hour ago, just on the chance of getting a glimpse
+of--of----"
+
+"Of Laura Treherne. Well, old man?"
+
+"And I met with a similar shock to yours in Warden Forest. I found the
+house shut up, and she--gone, vanished, disappeared!"
+
+"What!" exclaimed Jack.
+
+Leonard paced up and down.
+
+"I went to inquire next door, and I learned that old Mr. Treherne was
+dead--you remember my telling you that the blinds were down--that the
+funeral took place yesterday, and Miss Treherne had gone. They only
+lodged there, it seems, and of course she could go at any moment. Where
+she has gone no one seems to know. So there is an end to my little
+romance! But no! it shall not end there."
+
+"No; take courage by my luck, old man," said Jack, laying his hand on
+his shoulder--"take courage by me! Let us talk about it."
+
+"No, no!" said Leonard, shrinking; "I cannot--yet. You don't know how I
+feel. Tell me what happened today. Was she glad to see you? Did you let
+her see that you cared for her? Of course you did."
+
+"Yes," said Jack, with a proud, happy smile. "Yes, I told her that I
+loved her, and--oh, Len! Len! I know that she cares for me!"
+
+Leonard stared at him gravely, and put down a paper which he had taken
+up. But Jack saw it and took it off the table.
+
+"What are you reading there, Len?"
+
+Leonard took it out of his hand.
+
+"My poor, light-hearted, unreasoning Jack," he said. "It's Levy Moss'
+reminder about that bill!"
+
+Jack's face fell and he dropped into a chair.
+
+"Quite right, Len," he said, hoarsely. "I am an unreasoning fool! What
+have I done? I've behaved like a blackguard! I've got this angel to
+admit that she loved me--me, a beggar--more than a beggar! But I swear I
+forgot--I forgot everything when I was near her. Oh, Heaven, Len, it's
+hard lines! What shall I do! If the poor old squire had but left me a
+few hundreds a year, how happy we could be!"
+
+"But he hasn't," said Leonard, gravely and gently. "And what are you
+going to do? There's the money you lost last night----"
+
+Jack groaned.
+
+"What an idiot I was. Len, I swear to you that I was nearly driven out
+of my mind last night. First there was Lady Bell--she was more than
+civil, and bearing in mind all you said and wanted me to do, I made
+myself agreeable, and--and--she's very beautiful, Len, and when she
+looks right into your eyes and smiles, she seems to do what she likes
+with you. Len, I was nearly gone when that vision--as I thought it--came
+into the glass amongst the ferns. I thought it was a vision--I know now
+that she was there--and it drove me silly. I bolted out and made for the
+club, and played to forget it all."
+
+"And made bad matters worse," said Leonard. "You're in a hole, Jack, I'm
+afraid. Moss won't wait; there are other bills, and there's the I. O. U.
+of last night, and you've lost the money you had, and you've asked this
+young girl to love you. You mean to marry her--I say, you mean to marry
+her. On what? How can you go to her father--who already doesn't seem
+altogether prepossessed in your favor--and ask him to give his daughter
+to a penniless gentleman? Mind--a gentleman! If you were a woodman like
+himself, your being hard up wouldn't matter. You could take an ax, or
+whatever they use, and earn your living. But you can't go and ask him to
+let her share your over-due bills and I. O. U.'s."
+
+Jack groaned.
+
+"What shall I do, Len? My darling, my darling!"
+
+Leonard sighed. His heart--the heart of as true a friend as ever the
+world held--ached for the wild, thoughtless youth.
+
+"Was Lady Bell there?" he asked, quietly.
+
+Jack leaped to his feet.
+
+"Lady Bell! I see what you mean!" he groaned. "Len, you are in love
+yourself, and yet you ask me to sell myself----"
+
+Leonard flushed.
+
+"Jack, much as I care for you, I swear that I am thinking as much of her
+good and happiness as of your own. If you marry her--which, after all,
+you _cannot_--if you could you would make her life miserable; if you
+marry Lady Bell, you will at least make _her_--happy."
+
+Jack paced up and down for a moment. Then he turned, white and haggard,
+and held out his hand:
+
+"You are right. Would to Heaven you were not! I see it, I cannot help
+it. I will not make her life miserable. But--but--I must go and tell
+her. Heaven help us both!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+
+Where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise. Quite ignorant and
+unconscious of all that was going on in London, Stephen remained down at
+the Hurst.
+
+What he had written to his mother was quite true; as a matter of fact
+Stephen was far too clever to write direct falsehoods--he was kept at
+Hurst Leigh very much against his will.
+
+Squire Ralph had left him everything--money, house, lands, everything
+excepting the few legacies to servants, and Stephen had been hard at
+work, and was still hard at work ascertaining how much that everything
+was.
+
+And, as day followed day, and disclosure succeeded disclosure, he became
+fascinated and possessed by the immense wealth which had fallen into his
+hands, or, say rather, which he had seized upon.
+
+For many years the old squire had lived upon less than half his income;
+the remainder he had invested and speculated with, and as often happens
+to the miser, the luck of Midas had fallen upon him.
+
+Everything he touched had turned to gold. The most unlikely speculations
+had proved successful; properties which he had bought for a mere song,
+and which had been regarded by the most wary as dangerous and
+profitless, had become profitable and valuable.
+
+Some of these risky speculations he had, not unnaturally, kept concealed
+from the prudent Hudsley, who only now, by the discovery of scrip and
+bonds in out-of-the-way desks and bureaus, learned what kind of man his
+old friend had really been.
+
+Not a day passed but it brought to light some addition to the old man's
+gains, and served to swell the immense total.
+
+Even the lands round Hurst had been manipulated by the old man, so that
+leases ran out almost at his death, and rents were raised.
+
+One speculation will serve as an instance; he had purchased, some
+fifteen years before his death, the freehold of an estate bordering upon
+London; and in a locality which was then regarded as hopelessly
+unfashionable. A great capitalist had ruined himself by building large
+houses on the property, foreseeing that at some time or other the tide
+of the great city would reach this hitherto high and dry spot. But he
+had made a miscalculation, and he died before the tide which was to
+bring him wealth reached his property; old Ralph had then stepped in and
+bought it--houses, land, everything. In ten years' time the tide of
+fashion rolled that way, and now what had once been a neglected and
+forgotten quarter was the center of fashionable London.
+
+It reads like a romance, but like many other romances, it was true.
+
+Old Ralph himself had no idea of his own wealth, and that when he died
+he should leave behind him one of the most colossal fortunes in England.
+
+Almost stunned by the immense total--so far as it had been arrived
+at--Stephen went about the place silent and overwhelmed.
+
+But one thought was always ringing like a bell in his brain--"And I had
+nearly lost all this!"
+
+Sometimes, in the quiet of the library, where he sat surrounded by books
+and papers, by accountants' statements and estimates, he would grow pale
+and tremble as he reflected by what a narrow chance he had secured this
+Midas-like wealth.
+
+But had he secured it? and when the question presented itself, as it did
+a hundred, aye, a thousand times a day, he would turn ashy pale, and
+clutch the edge of the table to keep himself from reeling.
+
+Where was that will--the real, true, valid will--which left everything
+away from him to Una?
+
+Day by day, while going over the accounts, he found himself waiting,
+watching, expecting someone--whom he could not imagine--coming in and
+saying: "This is not yours; here is the will. I found it so and so, at
+such and such a time!" and he felt that if such a moment occurred it
+would kill him.
+
+But as the days passed and no one came to contest his claim to the
+property, he grew more confident and assured, and at last he nearly
+succeeded in convincing himself that he really had burned the will.
+
+"After all," he mused, over and over again, "that is the only probable,
+the only possible explanation. Is it likely that if anyone had the
+accursed thing they would keep it hidden? No! If they were honest, they
+would have declared it at once; if dishonest, they would have brought it
+to me and traded upon it. Yes, I was half mad that night. I must have
+destroyed it at the moment Laura knocked at the window."
+
+But all the same he determined to make his position secure. Immediately
+he had arranged matters at the Hurst he would go to London and marry
+Una.
+
+"She is all safe and sound there," he mused, with a satisfied smile. "My
+mother leads the life of a hermit. The girl herself has no friends--not
+one single soul in London. I shall be her only friend, and--the rest is
+easy."
+
+Poor Stephen!
+
+Then he would give a passing thought to Laura, and now and then would
+take from his pocket half a dozen letters, which she had written to him
+since the night of her journey to Hurst.
+
+To not one of these had he replied, and the last was dated a week back.
+
+"By this time," he thought, "she has forgotten me, or what is better,
+has learned that plain Stephen Davenant and Squire Davenant of Hurst
+Leigh are two very different men. Poor Laura! Well, well, I must do
+something for her. I'll make her a handsome present. Say a thousand
+pounds; perhaps find a husband for her. She's a sensible girl, too
+sensible to dream that I should think of marrying her now. After all,
+what harm is done? We were very happy, and amused ourselves with
+innocent flirtation. A mere flirtation, that is all."
+
+And he tried to forget the pale face and flashing eyes which turned
+toward him that night at parting with such a strange look of warning.
+But he did not always succeed in forgetting. Sometimes the remembrance
+of that face rose like a vision between his eyes and the endless rows of
+figures, and made him shudder with mingled fear and annoyance.
+
+"It has been a lesson to me," he would say, after awhile. "It is the
+only weakness I have ever been guilty of, and see how I am punished. I
+deserve it, and I must bear it."
+
+It punished him, and it told upon him. The pallor which had come upon
+his face the day the will was read had settled there. The old look of
+composed serenity and "oiliness," as Jack called it, had gone, and in
+the place was a look of strained intentness, as if he were always
+listening, and watching, and waiting.
+
+He was a fine actor, and would have made a fortune on the boards, and he
+managed to suppress this look at times, but the effort of suppression
+was palpable; he showed that he was affecting a calmness and serenity
+which he did not possess.
+
+By two men, of all others, this change in him was especially noticed--by
+Mr. Hudsley and old Skettle.
+
+The old lawyer and his clerk were necessarily with him every day;
+Stephen could not move a step without them. He hated Hudsley, whose
+keen, steel-like eyes seemed to penetrate to his inmost heart; and he
+detested Skettle, whose quiet, noiseless way of moving about and
+watching him from under his wrinkled lids, irritated Stephen to such an
+extent that sometimes he felt an irresistible desire to fling something
+at him.
+
+But both of the men were indispensable to him at present, and he
+determined to wait until everything was straight before he cut all
+connections with them.
+
+"Once let me get matters settled," he muttered to himself over and over
+again, "and those two vultures shall never darken my doors again."
+
+And yet Hudsley was always scrupulously polite and civil, and Skettle
+always respectful.
+
+With his characteristic graveness, Mr. Hudsley went through the work
+systematically and machine-like.
+
+But Stephen noticed when he came to announce some fresh edition to the
+great Davenant property, he never even uttered a formal congratulation,
+or seemed pleased and gratified.
+
+One day Stephen, nettled beyond his usual caution, said: "You must be
+tired of all this, Mr. Hudsley. I notice that it seems to annoy you."
+
+And the old lawyer had looked up with grim impassibility.
+
+"You are mistaken, Mr. Stephen. I am never tired, and I am never
+annoyed."
+
+"At least you must be surprised," said Stephen; "you had no idea that my
+uncle had left so much."
+
+"No, I am not even surprised," retorted Mr. Hudsley, if his calm reply
+could be called a retort. "I have lived too long to be surprised by
+anything."
+
+And there was something in his keen, icy look which silenced Stephen,
+and made him bend over his papers suddenly.
+
+Others noticed the change which had come over the once sleek,
+smooth-spoken young man. It got to be remarked that he rarely left the
+Hurst grounds, and that what exercise he took was on the terrace in
+front of the library, or on the lawn below it. It was said that he paced
+up and down this lawn for hours.
+
+It was said, too, that he rarely addressed a servant in or out of the
+house. All the orders came through the valet Slummers.
+
+Mention has been made of Slummers. It would have been difficult to
+describe him. He was called in the village "the Shadow," because he was
+so thin and noiseless, so silent and death-like.
+
+In addition to his noiselessness, he had a trick of going about with
+closed eyes, or with his lids so lowered that it looked as if his eyes
+were closed.
+
+Bets had been made upon the supposed color of those visional organs, but
+had never been decided, for never by any chance did he look anyone in
+the face when speaking; and when by some accident those sphinx-like lids
+were raised they were dropped again so quickly that examination of what
+lay behind them was impossible.
+
+Secretiveness was part and parcel of this man. He never did anything
+openly. When he gave an order it was in a round-about way. The simplest
+action of his daily life was enveloped in mystery. Even his meals were
+taken in a room apart; only a few of the servants knew the room he
+occupied. Then he seemed ubiquitous. He was everywhere at once, and
+turned up when least expected.
+
+With noiseless step he came and went about the house; now in the
+servants' hall, now in the library closeted with his master, now in the
+stables looking under his lids at the horses, counting, so said the
+grooms, every oat that went into the mangers. Not a thing was done in
+the house but he was acquainted with it.
+
+And he knew everything! Not a secret was kept from him. Had anyone in
+the village an episode in his life, which he hoped and deemed hidden and
+forgotten, Slummers knew it, and managed by some dropped word or look to
+let the miserable man know that he knew it.
+
+Before he had been at Hurst a week he had half the servants and
+villagers in his power.
+
+Power! That was the secret mainspring of the man's existence. He loved
+power.
+
+Give even the fiend his due. This man had one good quality, he was
+devoted to his master. Saving this one great event of his life--the
+theft and loss of his will--Stephen trusted him in everything.
+
+And Slummers admired him. In his eyes Stephen was the cleverest man on
+earth, and being the cleverest man on earth Slummers was content to
+serve him. Yes, Slummers was devoted to his master, but he made up for
+it in his detestation of the rest of mankind in general, and of one man
+in particular--Jack Newcombe.
+
+Between Jack--honest, frank, and reckless Jack--and the serpent-like
+Slummers there had been a feud which had commenced from the moment of
+their first introduction.
+
+On that occasion Slummers had been sent with a message to Jack's room.
+Jack happened to be out, and Slummers whiled away the tediousness of
+waiting by opening a drawer in Leonard's table and reading some
+unimportant letters. Jack, coming in with his usual suddenness, caught
+him and kicked him. Jack had forgotten it long ago, but Slummers had
+not, and he waited for the time till he could return that kick in his
+own fashion.
+
+The days passed, and Mr. Hudsley's task appeared to be nearing a
+conclusion.
+
+One morning he came up to the Hurst, his hands behind his back, his head
+bent as usual, and asked for Stephen.
+
+Stephen was in the library, and Slummers noiselessly ushered in the
+lawyer. It happened to be what Stephen would have called one of his bad
+mornings. He was seated at the table, not at work, but looking at the
+pile of papers with lack-luster eyes, that saw nothing, and pale, drawn
+face.
+
+Hudsley had seen him like this before, but his keen eyes looked like
+steel blades.
+
+Stephen started and put his thin, white hand across his brow.
+
+"Good morning," he said. "Good morning. Any news? Sit down."
+
+But Hudsley remained standing.
+
+"I have no news," he said. "I think I may say that there are no more
+surprises for us. You know the extent of the fortune which you hold!"
+
+He did not say "which is yours," or "which your uncle left you." Simply
+"which you hold." On Stephen's strained mind the phrase jarred. He
+nodded and kept his eyes downcast.
+
+"The business that lies within my province," continued Mr. Hudsley, "is
+completed. What remains is the work of an accountant. My task is done."
+
+"I am sure," said Stephen, smoothly, "that you do not need any assurance
+of my gratitude----"
+
+The old man waved his wrinkled hand.
+
+"I have been the legal adviser of the Davenant family for the last forty
+years," he said, "and I know my duty. I trust I have done it so far as
+you are concerned," he said, sternly. "And now I have come to you to
+request you to receive what papers and documents are in my charge--my
+clerk, Skettle, will hand them to you and take your receipt--and to
+inform you that I wish to withdraw from my position as your legal
+adviser."
+
+Stephen's pale face winced and shrunk, and he raised his eyes
+suspiciously.
+
+"Mr. Hudsley, you surprise me! May I ask your reasons for this abrupt
+withdrawal?"
+
+"My reasons are my own," said Hudsley, dryly; "I may say that I am
+growing old, and that I am disinclined to undertake the charge of so
+large an estate."
+
+"Oh!" said Stephen, with a sickly smile. "Such a reason is unanswerable.
+But I deeply regret it--deeply. My uncle always trusted you."
+
+"He did nothing of the sort," interrupted Mr. Hudsley, sternly. "He
+trusted no man."
+
+"At any rate, I have placed implicit and well-merited confidence in
+you," said Stephen.
+
+The old man looked at him and Stephen trembled.
+
+"I--I hope I shall find your bill of costs among the papers?" he said,
+hoarsely.
+
+"No," said Mr. Hudsley. "What service I have rendered you I consider as
+rendered to the estate. The estate has paid me sufficiently hitherto. I
+need, I will receive no other payment."
+
+"But----" urged Stephen.
+
+Mr. Hudsley waved his hand.
+
+"I am quite resolved, sir. If you should need any information respecting
+any business that has occurred up to the present, I am at your service;
+but for the future I beg to withdraw. Good-morning."
+
+Stephen rose, and held out his hand.
+
+"At least, Mr. Hudsley," he said, "we part as friends, notwithstanding
+this hasty resolution of yours?"
+
+"It is not hasty, sir," said Hudsley, and just touching the cold, thin
+hand, he bowed and left the room.
+
+Stephen sank into a chair, and wiped the drops of cold sweat that had
+accumulated on his brow.
+
+"He suspects me," he muttered. "He suspects! But he suspects only, and
+he can do nothing, or he would have done it. Yes; he is powerless. Let
+him go! let him go!" he repeated; and he paced the room.
+
+Gradually the relief of Hudsley's withdrawal broke upon him, and his
+step grew lighter.
+
+"Yes, let him go! Now I am free--I am my own master! master of wealth
+undreamed of! And I'll use it! By Heaven, I'll be happy! Let him go! I
+meant to get rid of him--he has saved me an unpleasant scene. And now
+to work, to work!"
+
+He ran rather than walked across the room, and rang the bell.
+
+Slummers opened the door almost instantly and stood motionless and
+silent.
+
+"Has--has that old idiot gone?" asked Stephen.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Slummers.
+
+Stephen laughed hoarsely.
+
+"Let the past go with him!" he said. "Slummers, go to my room and bring
+a roll of papers from my bureau-drawer. You know what they are! Plans
+and estimates. Do you know what I am going to do?"
+
+Slummers raised his eyes.
+
+"Of course you do!" said Stephen with the same laugh. "I'm going to make
+a clean sweep here, Slummers. I'm going to pull half this beastly place
+to the ground. Alterations, Slummers--alterations that will make Hurst a
+place for a man to live in, not a tomb, as it is at present."
+
+"You are right, sir, it is a tomb," said Slummers, in his low, hollow
+voice.
+
+Stephen shuddered.
+
+"Yes, yes; but I mean to alter that. I'll make it fit to live in, fit to
+bring a young bride to. Fetch the plans, Slummers; I'll go over them at
+once, this minute. Yes, I will change the place till the very trees
+shall not know it. Fetch the plans! I'll pull the whole of it down,
+every stick and stone! I hate it--hate it! I'll change the name! I can
+do it. I can do anything now, or what is the use of this money? Fetch
+the plans! Fetch----" He broke off suddenly and staggered.
+
+Slummers sprang nervously forward and caught him, and putting him into a
+chair, poured out some neat brandy and gave it to him.
+
+Stephen tugged at his collar and struggled for a moment, then sank back
+helplessly.
+
+"Stop!" he said, "stay here. Don't go. I--I can hear voices--an old
+man's voice--what is it?"
+
+"Nothing--nothing," said Slummers. "Be calm, sir."
+
+"Calm--I am calm!" retorted Stephen. "It's this beastly house, it's full
+of noises! Give me some brandy--and--get the time table. I'll go to
+London to-morrow, Slummers. Yes, I'll go to London!"
+
+And the master of Hurst, the owner of a million and more, sank back in
+his chair and fingered the time table with trembling fingers.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+
+"Jack Newcombe!" exclaimed Mrs. Davenant, looking at the card which Mary
+had brought in. "Jack Newcombe!" she repeated a second time. "My dear,
+come here!"
+
+Una was sitting beside the open window, a book in her lap, her eyes
+fixed on the sun setting just behind the chimneys.
+
+"Yes," she said, her face flushed, her eyes glowing as if the sun were
+reflected in them; but she did not move.
+
+Mrs. Davenant hurried across the room with the card in her hand.
+
+"Una, dear, see here," she said, nervously. "Here is Jack Newcombe!
+You've heard me speak of him."
+
+Una, feeling guilty and deceitful, hung her head.
+
+Her heart beat fast. For two days she had waited and watched for
+him--never for a moment had he been absent from her mind.
+
+And now he was here, in the next room.
+
+"Yes," she said, "I--I remember."
+
+"Well, my dear, I don't know what to do. I don't know what he wants--do
+you?--but of course you don't!"
+
+Una flushed crimson to her very neck.
+
+"I think you had better go, my dear," said Mrs. Davenant, fidgeting with
+the card.
+
+Una did not move.
+
+"Why?" she asked, raising her eyes for the first time.
+
+Mrs. Davenant moved her head nervously.
+
+"Because--I don't think Stephen--I mean--Jack Newcombe is the sort of
+man you ought to know."
+
+"But," said Una, softly and with a steady look in her dark eyes, "I do
+know him already."
+
+Mrs. Davenant stared.
+
+"You know him? Jack Newcombe?"
+
+Una nodded.
+
+"Yes," she said in a low voice. "I met him up the river. I saw him at
+Lady Bell's--he is a friend of hers----"
+
+"But why didn't you tell me?" said Mrs. Davenant, looking distressed and
+frightened.
+
+Una felt guilty.
+
+"I don't know," she said in reply. "I think it was because I knew you
+would feel angry."
+
+Mrs. Davenant stared at her. It was like the reply of a child in its
+simple, naked truth.
+
+"Well, well," she said, with a troubled voice, "of course you couldn't
+help it, and I couldn't help it. And"--here the door opened quietly, and
+Jack's head appeared, and Mrs. Davenant started.
+
+Seeing that they were alone, Jack came in with his usual coolness,
+though his heart beat; and he crossed the room, and took Mrs. Davenant's
+hand and kissed her forehead.
+
+And the poor woman melted in a moment, as she always did when Jack was
+actually present. As a matter of simple truth, she was really as fond of
+him as if he had been her own son, and but for Stephen, Jack would have
+seen her oftener.
+
+He had lost his mother in early boyhood, and the kind-hearted,
+affectionate, timid Mrs. Davenant had often dried his boyish tears and
+held him in her arms. Even now, notwithstanding Jack's wickedness, of
+which Stephen made the most, her heart went out toward him.
+
+He had not been near her for some months, nearly a year, all through
+Stephen, and she had almost given him up; but Jack's kiss revived all
+the old tenderness. And what woman could resist his handsome face and
+frank, manly way?
+
+"Well, ma'am," he said--and "ma'am" sounded in her ears and in Una's
+almost like "mother"--"and how are you? And aren't you glad to see me?"
+
+"Yes, Jack," said Mrs. Davenant, nervously.
+
+"Then why do you keep me in the draughty hall for half an hour? Do you
+want me to catch cold?"
+
+"Half an hour?" murmured Mrs. Davenant. "I'm sure you haven't been there
+three minutes."
+
+"Two minutes and a half too long," he said, smiling. He was giving Una
+time to recover herself.
+
+"You never come to see me now, Jack," said Mrs. Davenant, looking up at
+him sadly.
+
+"And now I do, you keep me outside. Besides, you never ask me. Who's
+that in the back room, ma'am?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant started; she had almost forgotten Una.
+
+"You know her!" she said.
+
+Jack had got his cue.
+
+"Oh, it's Miss Rolfe," he said, and then he crossed the room and held
+out his hand.
+
+Una rose, and without a word put her hand in his, her eyes downcast,
+lest the love which beamed in them should escape against her will.
+
+"Yes," said Jack, "I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Rolfe once or
+twice lately."
+
+Then he turned away from her and began talking to Mrs. Davenant, as if
+Una were not in the room.
+
+It was just what Una wanted. She felt that she could not speak, and for
+the present it was happiness enough to have him in the same room with
+her, and to hear his voice.
+
+And Mrs. Davenant, now that the first shock was over, was glad enough to
+sit down and listen to the frank, musical voice--so unlike Stephen's
+measured, modulated tone.
+
+Presently she said in a low, nervous tone:
+
+"Jack, I am so sorry!"
+
+Jack nodded, and his face dropped.
+
+"About the poor squire? Yes! Never mind. It is all right. No! It's all
+wrong for me, but all right for Stephen."
+
+"But Stephen doesn't--doesn't want it all," she murmured.
+
+Jack looked another way; he had a different opinion.
+
+"Never mind," he said, "don't let us worry about it--you and I. It's all
+past and gone, and there's no help for it."
+
+"But you have worried," she said. "You don't look so well as you did,
+Jack. I hope--I do hope," and her voice faltered.
+
+Jack's face flushed for a moment.
+
+"You are going to scold me, as usual," he said. "Well, go on, it will
+be your last opportunity, ma'am. I've reformed."
+
+There was something in his tone, something so earnest and grave, that
+she looked at him anxiously.
+
+"Oh, Jack, I wish--I wish you would be more steady."
+
+"Wait and see," he said, gravely, and in a low voice.
+
+Mrs. Davenant wiped her eyes, and glanced at the clock. It was near the
+dinner hour.
+
+"Do you want me to go?" said Jack, in his blunt way, and he took up his
+hat and gloves.
+
+Mrs. Davenant hesitated a moment.
+
+"You wouldn't stop to dinner, if I asked you," she said, with a faint
+smile.
+
+Una's heart gave a great leap.
+
+"Try me," said Jack. "Yes, I'll stay. Now don't look frightened and
+disappointed, or I'll go."
+
+Mrs. Davenant rose, with her rare laugh.
+
+"I must go and tell them," she said, "or you'd be starved," and she left
+the room.
+
+Jack went and stood beside the silent, motionless figure and looked down
+at her with infinite yearning and infinite sorrow. He had come resolved
+to tell her the truth and to bid her to forget him.
+
+"Una," he said, in a low voice.
+
+She raised her eyes, and in an instant his grand resolution, built up
+with such care for the last two days, crumbled into dust. With something
+like a groan he was on his knee and caught her to his breast.
+
+For a moment she resigned herself to the exquisite joy of his embrace,
+and with downcast eyes drooped beneath his passionate kisses, then with
+an effort she regained possession of the soul which had slipped from her
+into his, as it were, and gently disengaged herself.
+
+"No, no, you frighten me!" she murmured, as Jack's arm drew her toward
+him again.
+
+"My darling! There!" and he kissed her hands. "How can I do it? It is
+too much to ask of mortal man."
+
+"Do what?" she murmured.
+
+Jack's face paled.
+
+"Nothing--nothing," he said.
+
+"And are you really going to stay?" she murmured, her eyes beaming with
+pleasure.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I came on purpose. If she had not asked me I meant to
+ask her."
+
+"And you love her, don't you? Is she not good--and isn't it cruel to
+deceive her," said Una, and she hung her head.
+
+"She's the dearest old lady in the world," said Jack, enthusiastically,
+who would have loved a gorilla, much less Mrs. Davenant, if it had been
+kind to Una. "Why, she was a second mother to me until Stephen grew
+up--and she has been kind to you. I can see that for myself. But you
+must tell me all about it--all about everything tonight. Think, my
+darling! we shall be together here all the evening! No noisy crowd to
+prevent us talking--no interference. I shall want to know everything.
+Hush! here she comes," and with another swift kiss he rose and went into
+the next room. Una stole out and upstairs to dress.
+
+Quite unsuspicious, Mrs. Davenant came back smiling. She had ordered one
+or two of Jack's favorite dishes, and had come to ask him about the
+claret.
+
+"There is some of the Chateau la Rose, Jack. Would you like to have it
+warmed a little?" she asked, anxiously.
+
+"Let them put a bottle in the kitchen somewhere," said Jack. "It will
+get right there by dinner time. Eight o'clock you dine, I know. I'll
+just run home and dress, and be back punctually to the minute."
+
+"It will be the first time in your life then," said Mrs. Davenant.
+
+For the first time in his life then Jack was punctual. At five minutes
+to eight a hansom dashed up to the door, and Jack, in evening dress,
+with his light overcoat, strode up the steps and into the drawing-room.
+
+It was empty, but a minute afterward he heard the rustle of a woman's
+dress, and turned as Una entered the room. She wore the dress she had
+worn at Lady Bell's, and Jack, who had not yet seen her in her "war
+paint"--as he would have described it--was startled; and Una, as she saw
+the look of surprise and rapt admiration, felt, like a true woman, a
+glow of satisfaction and pleasure. It was not that she was beautiful,
+but that he should think her so.
+
+"My darling," he murmured, holding her at arm's length; "what magic
+charm do you possess that enables you to grow more beautiful every time
+I see you? Or is it all a mistake, and are you another Una than the Una
+of Warden Forest?"
+
+Una put her hands on his shoulders trustfully, and turned her face up to
+him.
+
+"Tell me," she murmured, "which Una do you like best?"
+
+Jack thought a moment.
+
+"I love them both so well," he said, "that I can't decide." And he
+kissed her twice. "One is for the Una of the Forest, and one for the Una
+of the world," he said.
+
+She had only time to slip from his arms when Mrs. Davenant entered.
+
+"What do you say to punctuality, ma'am?" he exclaimed, triumphantly, as
+he gave her his arm and lead her into the dining-room.
+
+Jack was a favorite, for all his wickedness, wherever he went. It was no
+sooner known that he was to dine in the house, that the cook awoke to
+instant energy and enthusiasm.
+
+"Master Jack's a gentleman worth cooking a dinner for," she declared.
+"It's a waste of time to worry yourself for women folk; they don't know
+a good dinner from a bad one; but Master Jack--oh, that's a different
+thing! He knows what clear soup ought to be; and he shall have it right,
+too."
+
+Mrs. Davenant herself was surprised at the elaborate little dinner.
+
+"I wish you'd dine with us every day, my dear Jack," she said.
+
+Jack glanced demurely at Una, in time to catch the sparkle in her dark
+eyes.
+
+"I'm afraid you'd soon get tired of me," he said. "But, seriously, I
+should improve the cooking; not this day's, I mean, but the usual ones.
+You've got a treasure of a cook, ma'am."
+
+And, of course, this was carried down by Mary to the empress of the
+kitchen, and her majesty was rewarded for all her trouble.
+
+"What did I tell you?" she demanded. "Master Jack knows."
+
+Jack's appetite was always good, in love or out of it, and this evening
+would have been the happiest in his life but for certain twinges of
+conscience.
+
+What should he say to Leonard, the faithful friend, when he got home and
+was asked how he had parted from Una? However, he stifled conscience--it
+is always easy to do that at dinner time.
+
+"Will you have some more claret?" asked Mrs. Davenant, as she and Una
+prepared to leave him. "You can smoke a cigarette, if you like; but open
+the window afterward."
+
+"I won't have any more claret, and I won't smoke," said Jack. "I'll just
+finish this glass and come with you for a cup of tea."
+
+Five minutes of solitude spent in going over every look and word of the
+lovely creature he had won, were enough for Jack.
+
+He found them seated at the window; Una in a low chair, almost at Mrs.
+Davenant's feet. They both looked up, as if glad to see him; and Mrs.
+Davenant at once rang for tea and coffee.
+
+Una rose, and officiated with calm self-possession and accustomed
+ease--no one would have guessed that her acquaintance with a London
+drawing-room, and its accompanying forms and ceremonies, was only that
+of a few weeks--and brought Jack his cup.
+
+In taking it, he tried to touch her hand, and nearly upset the cup.
+
+"Take care, my dear Jack," said Mrs. Davenant. "Has he spoiled your
+dress, my dear?"
+
+"No," said Una, her face red as a rose. "It was my fault."
+
+"Yes; it was her fault," said Jack, significantly.
+
+"You always were clumsy, my dear Jack," said Mrs. Davenant. "You are too
+big."
+
+"I'll get myself cut down a foot or two," said Jack.
+
+Happy! They were as happy as any two women in London, notwithstanding
+Jack's wickedness.
+
+Jack glanced at the piano.
+
+"I wish you could play," he said to Una.
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked at him.
+
+"How do you know she cannot?" she said.
+
+Jack looked embarrassed.
+
+"I rather fancy I heard U--Miss Rolfe--admit as much. But she can sing,
+I know."
+
+"And you can play for her," said Mrs. Davenant. "You used to play very
+nicely when you were a boy," and she sighed.
+
+Jack looked dubious for a moment, then, with sudden assurance and
+confidence, jumped up.
+
+"Let me try. Will you come, Miss Rolfe?"
+
+Una followed him to the piano, and Jack turned out all the music from
+the canterbury on the floor.
+
+"Come and see if there is anything you know," he said, and Una knelt
+down beside him.
+
+Of course Jack's hand was on hers in a moment.
+
+"I nearly let the cat out of the bag just then," he said. "I must be
+careful."
+
+"But why?" asked Una. "Why may we not----" she paused, then, having
+raised her eyes, she continued--"why may she not know?"
+
+"So she shall," said Jack, "all in good time. I can't consent to share
+my secret all in one evening! Besides----"
+
+"Cannot you find anything," said Mrs. Davenant, sleepily, from the next
+room.
+
+Jack stuck up some music on the stand and sat down.
+
+He had played well at one time, in a rough fashion, and had a wonderful
+ear, and, quite regardless of the music, he launched into a prelude.
+
+"Sing the song you sang the other evening, my darling," he whispered. "I
+remember every note of it."
+
+Una obeyed instantly. Free from any spark of vanity, she knew nothing of
+the shyness which assails self-conscious people. Jack, with his acute
+ear, played a running accompaniment easily enough; it was true he had
+remembered every note of it.
+
+"You nightingale," he whispered, looking up at her, and the fervent
+admiration of his eyes made her heart throb.
+
+"Now sing something yourself, Jack," said Mrs. Davenant.
+
+Jack thought a moment, his fingers straying over the keys, then
+softening his full baritone voice as much as possible, he sang--"Yes,
+dear, I love but thee!"
+
+It was an old English song, one of the sweetest of the old melodies
+which even now have power to rouse a _blase_ audience to enthusiasm.
+
+Una stood behind him entranced, bewitched; he sang every word to _her_.
+
+"Yes, dear, I love but thee!"
+
+Oh, Heaven, it was too great a joy!
+
+Unconsciously she drew nearer and put her hand upon his shoulder,
+timidly, caressingly, and as the music ceased, Jack turned and caught it
+prisoner in his.
+
+"Yes, dear, I love but thee!" he murmured.
+
+"And I"--she breathed, her eyes melting with passionate tenderness--"and
+I love but thee."
+
+"My darling," he whispered, "do you know what you are giving me--your
+precious self--and to whom you are giving it?"
+
+The voice fell; conscience was awake again.
+
+"Una," he went on, hurriedly, passionately. "I am not worthy of your
+love----"
+
+"I love but thee!" she breathed, softly.
+
+"You do not know, you who are so ignorant of the world, what it means to
+wed a man like myself, penniless, worthless--oh, Heaven, forgive me!"
+
+"I love but thee!" she breathed, for all her answer.
+
+Jack bent his head over her hand.
+
+"What can I do?" he murmured, bitterly. "I cannot give her up."
+
+Then he looked up.
+
+"Have you no fear, Una? Do you trust me so entirely? Think, can you face
+poverty and all its trials. Dear, I am very poor, worse than poor."
+
+She smiled an ineffable smile.
+
+"And I am rich--while I have your love."
+
+Then suddenly her voice changed, and with a look of terror she bent over
+him, almost clingingly.
+
+"What is it you are saying? Jack! Jack! you will not leave me?"
+
+Jack started to his feet, and regardless of waking Mrs. Davenant, took
+her in his arms.
+
+"Never, by Heaven!" he exclaimed.
+
+There was one moment of ecstatic joy, then suddenly Una drew back; and
+with a gesture of alarm, pointed to the looking-glass. Jack raised his
+head, and with a sudden cry drew her nearer to him as if to protect her.
+
+Reflected in the glass was the thin figure of Stephen Davenant, looking
+rather like a ghost than a man--silent, motionless, with pallid face,
+and set, rigid eyes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+
+White and haggard, Stephen stood in shadow-way, his eyes fixed on Jack
+and Una with an expression of mingled astonishment and rage beyond all
+description.
+
+Jack was too astonished by what seemed as much an apparition as a
+reality, to withdraw his arm from round Una's waist, and it was she who
+first recovered self-possession enough to cross over to Mrs. Davenant
+and wake her.
+
+Her movement seemed to recall Stephen to a sense of the situation, and
+in a moment he rose and coped with it.
+
+Another man, a weaker man, coming thus suddenly upon what looked like
+the wreck of all his deeply-laid plans, upon seeing the girl, whom it
+was all-important he should secure for himself, in the arms of the man
+he hated and feared most in the world, would have given vent to his
+wrath and disappointment. But not so Stephen. By a vast effort, he
+suppressed the evil glance in his eyes, forced a smile to his compressed
+lips, and came across the room with outstretched hand and an expression
+of warmest and most affectionate greeting.
+
+"My dear Jack!" he exclaimed, in his soft tones, almost rough in their
+warmth and geniality. "Now, this is a pleasant surprise. How do you do?
+how do you do?"
+
+But almost before Jack knew it, Stephen had seized him by the hand, and
+was swinging it convulsively, smiling so that all his teeth glittered
+and shone in the candle-light.
+
+Jack was taken by surprise, and returned the greeting cordially; indeed,
+what else could he do, seeing that he was in Stephen's mother's house,
+and making love to Stephen's _protegee_?
+
+"Quite a surprise!" said Stephen, laughing; and then, still talking to
+Jack, he crossed over and bent down to kiss his mother. "How do you do,
+my dear mother? Now don't be angry at my taking you so unexpectedly."
+
+"Angry, my dear Stephen!" faltered Mrs. Davenant; and indeed, it was not
+anger so much as fear that shone in the timid eyes.
+
+Then, having got himself completely under control, Stephen raised his
+eyes to Una, and held out his hand.
+
+"And how do you do, Miss Rolfe? I hope your health has not suffered in
+this close London of ours. May I say that there are no signs of such an
+ill result in your face?"
+
+Una gave him her hand, and smiled at him in her quiet, grave way.
+
+"I am very well, thank you," she said.
+
+"That's right," said Stephen--"that's right!"
+
+And he stood and looked from one to the other, rubbing his white, soft
+hands, and smiling as if he were over-running with the milk of human
+kindness.
+
+Meanwhile Mrs. Davenant had risen, and was fluttering about nervously.
+
+"Have you dined, Stephen? We can get some dinner, or--or something
+directly."
+
+"My dear mother, I dined at my rooms two hours ago; but if you have a
+cup of tea, now; but don't trouble--it does not matter in the
+slightest."
+
+Fresh tea was brought in, and Una, as usual, officiated. Stephen,
+leaning over a chair-back, talked to Jack and Mrs. Davenant, but his
+eyes turned continually on the graceful figure and the beautiful
+profile; and not one of them guessed the rage and fury which boiled and
+simmered under his calm and amiable exterior.
+
+Already, as if some one had told him, he knew that Una had been out into
+the world. Her dress, her manner told him that; and while he smiled
+lovingly at his mother, he was crying out inwardly:
+
+"Fool! fool! to trust Una to her."
+
+He took his cup of tea, his hand as steady as a rock, and chatted with
+Jack, full of the pleasantest interest.
+
+Where had he been, and what had he been doing? and was he in those
+eccentric but charming rooms of his in the Temple still? and how was his
+friend Leonard Dagle?
+
+He was full of questions, questions which Jack answered in his curt,
+brief fashion. And all the while Stephen was weighing the situation,
+realizing all its danger and peril, and determining on a course of
+action.
+
+"Just one more cup, Miss Rolfe, if you please. Tea is my favorite
+beverage--I am quite an old washerwoman!"
+
+Then he took his cup, and sat down beside her.
+
+"Yes," he said, not in a particularly low tone, but in his softest
+manner--"yes, I am glad to see that your health has not suffered in
+London. I trust you have been happy?"
+
+Una looked up with a faint flush on her face.
+
+"I have been--I am very, very happy," she said, and Jack's face flushed
+too with the delight at the accent on "I am."
+
+"That is right," said Stephen, with the air of an old, old friend, "and
+I hope my mother has found some amusement for you--that she has shown
+you something of the great world."
+
+"Yes," said Una, and she glanced at Mrs. Davenant, from whose pale face
+all traces of the calm serenity which had reigned there during the
+earlier part of the evening had entirely fled--"yes, I have been very
+gay--is not that the word? I have been to a ball, and to a picnic, and
+have seen all the sights."
+
+"And where was the ball?"
+
+"At Lady Earlsley's," said Una.
+
+Stephen opened his eyes and smiled.
+
+"My dear Miss Rolfe, you have penetrated the most exclusive of social
+rings! Lady Earlsley's! Come, that is very satisfactory; and Jack--Jack
+is my cousin--well, very nearly cousin, you know, I hope he has made
+himself useful and agreeable?"
+
+Una glanced shyly and gravely at Jack--a glance that told everything,
+even if Stephen had not seen her in Jack's arms.
+
+"Yes," she said, in a low voice, "Mr. Newcombe has been very--kind."
+
+Stephen smiled and showed all his teeth.
+
+"I am afraid there will be nothing left for me to do," he said.
+
+Then, in a lower voice, he added:
+
+"You will be glad to hear that I have news of your father."
+
+Una looked up breathlessly. The question had been hovering on her lips.
+
+Stephen nodded.
+
+"Yes, he wrote me from a place in Surrey called--tut--tut! The name has
+escaped me! They are quite well, and send their fondest love."
+
+Una's eyes filled.
+
+"Why did they leave the cottage so suddenly?" she said.
+
+"Because your father wished for a change. I told you truth, you see,
+when I said that your departure would be good for him, and wean him from
+his seclusion."
+
+"Why does he not come to see me?" asked Una.
+
+"He is coming, my dear Una," said Stephen. "But at present he is very
+much engaged, and quite satisfied with my favorable report of your
+health and happiness. But come, I must not make you homesick. Were you
+not playing when I came in?"
+
+Una flushed.
+
+"Jack--Mr. Newcombe--was playing," she said; "I was singing."
+
+"Pray don't let me interrupt you," said Stephen, genially, "or I shall
+feel like an intruder, and walk off again. Jack, go on with your music,
+my dear fellow."
+
+But Jack declined promptly, though politely.
+
+"I'm afraid I must be off," he said, looking at his watch, and then at
+Una, wistfully.
+
+"Not yet," said Stephen. "I have a whole budget of news to tell you. I
+dare say you wonder why I haven't been up before this; but there was so
+much to do--a surprising deal."
+
+Jack nodded curtly. He certainly didn't want to finish up this
+particular evening by hearing Stephen's talk of the Hurst.
+
+"No doubt," he said. "You must come and dine with me and tell me.
+Good-night, Mrs. Davenant!"
+
+Mrs. Davenant gave him her hand.
+
+"Must you go, Jack?" she said, tremulously. "You--you will come again?"
+
+"Most certainly I will," said Jack, significantly.
+
+Una had risen and gone to the piano to gather up the music which Jack,
+with his usual untidiness, had scattered about.
+
+He followed her, and knelt down as if to help her.
+
+"Good-night, my darling!" he murmured, touching her arm caressingly.
+"Don't be afraid."
+
+Una raised her arm and touched it with her lips.
+
+"Afraid--of whom?"
+
+"Of--nobody!" said Jack, rather ungrammatically.
+
+"Not of Mr. Davenant, who has been so kind?" she whispered, with a
+surprised look.
+
+Jack bit his lip.
+
+"No, no; certainly not. Oh, yes, he has been kind."
+
+Then with a long, loving look into her sweet face he crossed the room.
+
+"Good-night, Stephen."
+
+"You are really going? Well, then, I'll go with you," said Stephen.
+"Mother will not mind my running away tonight, I am rather tired."
+
+And he stooped and kissed her, and went to the door.
+
+It almost seemed as if he had forgotten Una; but he turned suddenly and
+held out his hand, a bland, benevolent smile on his pale face.
+
+"Good-night, good-night," he murmured, softly, and followed after Jack,
+who, the moment he reached the pavement, looked out for a hansom; but
+Stephen linked his arm in Jack's, and said:
+
+"Are you in a hurry, my dear Jack? If not, I'll walk a little way with
+you; or will you come toward my rooms?"
+
+Jack consented to the latter course, by turning in the direction of the
+"Albany" in silence.
+
+He felt that Stephen was playing a part--why or wherefore he could not
+guess--and now that he had recovered from his surprise at Stephen's
+sudden appearance, his old mistrust and dislike were returning to him.
+
+They walked on in silence for some few moments, then Stephen said:
+
+"I wanted to have a few words with you, my dear Jack. I should have
+written, but I felt that I could make myself understood better by word
+of mouth."
+
+Jack nodded.
+
+"Of course, what I have to say concerns my poor uncle's death and its
+consequences."
+
+Jack was silent still. He would not help him in the slightest.
+
+"I cannot but feel that those consequences, while they have been
+distinctly beneficial to me, have--and to put it plainly, and I wish to
+speak plainly, my dear Jack--have been unfortunate for you."
+
+"Well," said Jack, grimly.
+
+"Well," said Stephen, softly, "I had hoped, I still hope, that you will
+allow me the happiness of setting right, to some extent, the wrong--yes,
+I will say wrong--done you by my uncle's will."
+
+"That's impossible," said Jack, gravely.
+
+"But, my dear Jack, why not? It is my right. Have you any idea of the
+fortune----"
+
+"Not the slightest," said Jack, breaking in abruptly, "and it's no
+business of mine; large or small, I hope you'll enjoy it. It was the
+squire's to do as he liked with, and I suppose he did as he liked; and
+there's an end of it."
+
+Stephen winced and bit his lip.
+
+"And now," said Jack, quietly, but with his heart beating wildly, "I
+want a word with you, Stephen."
+
+"Say on, my dear Jack. If there is anything I can do for you----"
+
+"Yes, there is," said Jack. "I want to know--I want you to tell
+me--something respecting Miss Rolfe."
+
+"Miss Rolfe!" said Stephen, softly.
+
+"Yes," continued Jack. "You'll want to know, before I go any further, on
+what grounds I ask for information. I'll tell you. I have asked Miss
+Rolfe to be my wife."
+
+Stephen feigned a start of astonishment.
+
+"My dear Jack, isn't that rather sudden--rather premature?"
+
+"It may be sudden, I don't know whether it is premature; that's for Miss
+Rolfe to decide. And she has decided."
+
+Stephen moistened his lips; they burned like coals.
+
+"She has accepted you?"
+
+"She has," said Jack, who felt reluctant to utter one word more than was
+necessary.
+
+Stephen pulled up and held out his hand.
+
+"My dear Jack, I congratulate you. I congratulate you," he exclaimed,
+fervently. "You are indeed a happy man."
+
+Jack, confounded, allowed his hand to be wrung by the soft, white palm
+that burned hot and dry.
+
+"You are a lucky fellow, my dear Jack. Miss Rolfe is one in a thousand.
+I question if there is a more beautiful girl in London--and her
+disposition. You are indeed a lucky fellow."
+
+"Thanks, thanks!" said Jack, still overwhelmed by this flood of good
+will. "And now, perhaps you will tell me what I had better do in the
+affair! You see I find her visiting--settled, rather, at your mother's
+house, and neither she nor your mother seem to know why or
+wherefore----"
+
+Stephen interrupted him with a pressure of the arm.
+
+"I understand, my dear Jack; your anxiety for information is only
+natural. I am very glad I came up this evening--very glad! And now, as I
+feel rather tired, would you mind coming up to my rooms? and we'll have
+a hansom, after all."
+
+Jack hailed a cab, and they were rattled to the Albany.
+
+Of course they could not talk, and Stephen had therefore time to perfect
+his scheme; for he had already begun to plot and plan.
+
+The door of the chambers was opened by Slummers, his tall, square figure
+dressed in black, his discreet, shifty eyes absolutely veiled under his
+lids.
+
+"Let us have some Apollinaris and the liquor-case, Slummers," said
+Stephen, "and that box of cigars which Mr. Newcombe liked. Sit down, my
+dear Jack."
+
+And he wheeled forward a chair facing the light, and took one for
+himself, so that his own face should be shaded.
+
+Jack looked round the room while Slummers brought the tray.
+
+The four walls were nearly covered with books, all of them of the dryest
+and most serious kind. Where any space was left, it was filled up with
+portraits of eminent divines and philanthropists, and every article in
+the room was neatly and methodically arranged. In fact, it presented as
+marked a contrast to Jack's rooms as it was possible to conceive.
+
+Jack had not been inside it for years, but he remembered distinctly how
+he used to loathe the room and its "fixings."
+
+"Now, my dear Jack, pray help yourself--those cigars I know you approve;
+I heard you praise them at the Hurst, and I brought a box at once."
+
+"Thanks," said Jack, and he lit a cigar.
+
+Stephen mixed the Apollinaris and brandy; and leaned back serene and
+amiable.
+
+"And now, my dear Jack, I am ready to answer all questions."
+
+Jack looked down and frowned thoughtfully. He did not know how to put
+them. Stephen smiled maliciously behind his hand.
+
+"You want to know how it comes about that Miss Rolfe is under my
+mother's charge--under my charge, I may say?"
+
+"Under yours?" said Jack, grimly.
+
+Stephen nodded.
+
+"It is a very simple affair, Jack. There is no mystery. The fact is, I
+have known Miss Rolfe's father for some years. He is a very good fellow,
+but very eccentric."
+
+"I know," said Jack; "I've seen him."
+
+Stephen started, and concealed his expression of surprise by reaching
+for his glass.
+
+"Ah, then, no doubt, you noticed that his appearance and manner does not
+correspond with the station he occupies?"
+
+"I did," said Jack.
+
+"Yes, yes, just so. Well, my dear Jack, my poor friend Rolfe has been in
+early life unfortunate--money matters, which I never quite understand.
+Like most men of his kind, he got disgusted with the world and hid
+himself--there is no other word for it. But it is one thing to hide
+yourself and quite another to bury your children. My friend Rolfe felt
+this when he awoke to the fact that his daughter had grown from a child
+to a young woman, and like a sensible man he applied to one who was
+conversant with the world, and one in whom he could have, I trust, full
+confidence--my self."
+
+Jack sat silently regarding the white, calm face with grim, observant
+eyes.
+
+"He did not appeal to an old friendship in vain. I undertook the charge
+of Miss Rolfe on one condition. I may say two--one on her side, one on
+mine. Hers was that she should live with my mother, under her protecting
+wing, as it were; mine was that I should be the absolute guardian of the
+young girl committed to my charge."
+
+Jack stared.
+
+"You are Una's guardian?" he said, at last, with unconcealed surprise,
+as Gideon Rolfe's curse upon the race of Davenants flashed upon his
+memory.
+
+Stephen Davenant smiled.
+
+"You are surprised, my dear Jack. But think! It is very natural. Unless
+I had unquestionable control over the young lady, how could I answer for
+her safety? How guard her against the attacks of fortune hunters----"
+
+Jack started.
+
+"Fortune hunters!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that Una is an
+heiress?"
+
+Stephen's face had flushed and turned deadly pale.
+
+He had actually been thinking of Una Davenant while he had been talking
+of Una Rolfe.
+
+"You did not hear me out, my dear Jack," he said, softly, recovering his
+composure instantly. "I was going to say against the attack of fortune
+hunters who might besiege her under the impression that, as my ward, she
+would be possessed of wealth, instead of being, as you know, absolutely
+penniless."
+
+Jack nodded.
+
+"At any rate," he said, grimly, "I was not so deceived."
+
+"My dear Jack!" exclaimed Stephen, reproachfully, "do you suppose that I
+do not know that! You, who are the soul of honor and disinterestedness,
+are not likely to be mistaken for a fortune hunter by anyone, least of
+all by me, who know and love you so well!"
+
+Jack winced, as the vision of Lady Bell rose before his eyes.
+
+"Go on," he said, impatiently.
+
+"Well, my dear Jack," said Stephen with a smile, and rubbing his hands
+softly, "is it not rather for you to go on? I am Una's guardian, you are
+her lover."
+
+"I see," said Jack, rising and pacing up and down the room. "You want me
+to ask your consent formally. Well, I do so."
+
+Stephen laughed as if at an excellent joke.
+
+"What a grim, thorough-going old bulldog you are, my dear Jack!" he
+exclaimed affectionately. "You ask my consent, as if you did not know
+that you have it, and my best, my very heartiest wishes into the
+bargain. But, Jack, don't you see why I am so pleased--why this makes me
+so happy? It is because now you will be compelled to do me the favor of
+taking a share of the poor squire's money!"
+
+Jack started as if he had been stung.
+
+"You see, my dear fellow! you can't marry on nothing--now, can you? Love
+must have a cottage, and--but I beg your pardon, my dear fellow! I am,
+perhaps, going too far. Much to my grief and regret you have never
+confided in me as I should have wished, and perhaps--I hope that it may
+be so--you have some means----"
+
+Jack paced up and down, the perspiration standing on his knitted brow.
+
+In the ecstatic joy which had fallen upon him like a glamour during
+those few short hours with Una, he had absolutely forgotten that he was
+penniless, and in debt, and without a prospect in the wide world.
+
+And now it all rushed back upon him; every softly-spoken word of
+Stephen's fell upon him like a drop in an icy shower bath, and awoke him
+from his dream to the stern reality.
+
+What was he to do? Great Heaven, was he actually driven to accept
+Stephen's charity?
+
+A shudder ran through him, a pang of worse than wounded pride.
+
+Become a pensioner of Stephen Davenant's! No, it was simply impossible.
+White and haggard with the struggle that was going on within him, he
+turned upon the smiling face.
+
+"What you want--what you propose, is impossible," he said, hoarsely. "I
+cannot and will not do it. I would rather beg my bread----"
+
+Stephen smiled. It was a delicious moment for him, and he prolonged it.
+
+"My dear Jack! what would Mr. Gideon Rolfe say if I gave his daughter to
+a beggar? I use your own words. It is ridiculous. But come, sit down.
+Grieved as I am at what I must call your mistaken obstinacy, I can't
+help being touched by it. You always were willful, my dear Jack, always.
+Alas! it was that very willfulness that estranged you from my uncle----"
+
+"No more of that," said Jack, sternly.
+
+Stephen made a gesture with his hand.
+
+"And it would, if another man were in my place, rob you of your
+sweetheart; but it shall not. I am determined to prove to you, my dear
+Jack, that my desire to be a friend is sincere and true. Let me think.
+There may be some loophole in your pride which I can creep in at."
+
+Jack went back to his seat and lit another cigar, and Stephen appeared
+lost in thought, but in reality he watched through his fingers, and
+gloated over the despair and trouble depicted on Jack's miserable
+countenance.
+
+"Yes, I have it. Come, Jack, you won't refuse assistance when it comes
+from the hand of her Majesty? You won't object to a government
+appointment?"
+
+"A government appointment?" said Jack, vaguely.
+
+Stephen nodded.
+
+"Yes," he went on. "By a singular chance I have acquired some influence
+with the present government. One of these men has a seat in Wealdshire,
+which really hangs on the Hurst influence. The squire never interfered,
+but I could do so; and--you see, my dear Jack--a snug little sinecure,
+say of a thousand a year! It is not much, it is true; but Una has not
+been accustomed to wealth so long as to feel a thousand a year to be
+poverty."
+
+Jack rose and paced the room. Was he dreaming, or was this a different
+Stephen to the one he knew and disliked? He had heard of sudden wealth
+as suddenly transforming the nature of a man. Had Stephen's nature
+undergone this marvelous change?
+
+He doubted and mistrusted him, but here was the absolute evidence. What
+could Stephen gain by this generosity? Nothing--absolutely nothing. It
+was strange, passing strange; but who was he that he should refuse to
+believe in the generosity and virtue of another man, especially when
+that generosity was exerted on his behalf?
+
+Struggling against his suspicion and prejudice, Jack strode round the
+table and held out his hand.
+
+"Stephen, I--I have wronged you. You must be a good fellow to behave in
+this way, and I--well, I have been a brute, and don't deserve this on
+your part."
+
+Stephen winced under the hard grip of the warm, honest hand.
+
+"Not a word more, my dear Jack; not a word more," he exclaimed.
+"This--this is really very affecting. You move me very much."
+
+And he pressed his spotless handkerchief to his eyes.
+
+Jack's ardor cooled at once, and the old disgust and suspicion rose; but
+he choked them down again, and sat down.
+
+"Not a word more," said Stephen, with a gulp, as if he were swallowing a
+flood of tears. "I have long, long felt your coldness and distrust, my
+dear Jack, but I vowed to live it down, and prove to you that you have
+wronged me. Believe me that my good fortune--my unexpected fortune--was
+quite imbittered to me by the thought that you would misjudge me."
+
+Jack pulled at his cigar grimly. Stephen was on the wrong track, and he
+saw it, and hastened to change it.
+
+"But now, my dear Jack, we shall understand each other. You will believe
+me that I have your welfare deeply at heart. Who else have I to think
+of--except my mother, my dear mother? And we may conclude that our
+little negotiation as suitor and guardian is ended. Eh, Jack? You shall
+have the appointment and Una--lucky fellow that you are--and I shall be
+rewarded by seeing you happy."
+
+Jack nodded. The mention of Una had filled him with gratitude. He could
+not forget that he owed her in two ways to Stephen.
+
+"You are a good fellow, Stephen," he said, "and you deserve _your_ luck.
+After all, you'll make a better master of Hurst than I should. You'll
+take care of it."
+
+Stephen sighed. He was going to gloat again.
+
+"I don't know. I wish to do my duty. It is an immense sum of money,
+Jack; immense."
+
+Jack nodded again.
+
+"I'm glad of it," he said, easily. "I don't envy you. I did once, and
+not very long ago. But I rank Una above the Hurst even, and if I have
+her, you are welcome to the Hurst."
+
+Stephen winced, and looked at him from the corners of his eyes. Was
+there any significance in the speech? But Jack's face was open and
+frank, as usual.
+
+"That's a bargain," said Stephen, laughing.
+
+Jack thought a moment.
+
+"But what about Mr. Rolfe?" he said, dubiously.
+
+"Leave him to me," said Stephen, confidently. "I will manage him. And,
+by the way, I think for the present that we had better keep our little
+engagement quiet. You understand? He had better hear it from my lips,
+and--you quite see, Jack?"
+
+Jack didn't quite see. He would have preferred to go to Gideon Rolfe and
+have the matter out--fight it out if need be--but he was, so to speak,
+in Stephen's hands.
+
+"Very well," he said.
+
+"And now have another cigar, my dear Jack, you've eaten that one."
+
+But Jack was anxious to go. He wanted to be alone to think over this
+strange interview, and realize that Una was his.
+
+"Well, if you will go," said Stephen, reluctantly; "but mind, I shall
+expect you to make this your second home."
+
+Jack glanced round rather dubiously.
+
+"And of course we shall see you at the Square?"
+
+This invitation Jack accepted heartily, and once more he wrung Stephen's
+hand.
+
+"Good-night, good-night, my dear Jack," said Stephen, and he took a
+candle from the table to light him down the stairs, and smiled till
+every tooth in his head showed like a grave-stone.
+
+Then, as Jack's heavy step faded away and was lost, Stephen went back
+into the room, closed the door, and sinking into a chair sat
+motionless, with folded arms and haggard face.
+
+"Yes, yes," he muttered, "I have played the best game--I have gulled
+him. Another man would have attempted to thwart him openly, and have
+raised a storm. My plan is the wiser. But to think that fate should have
+played me such a trick! and I thought she was safe and secure!" and he
+wiped the drops of cold sweat from his knitted brow. "Fool, fool that I
+was! Better to have left her there in the heart of the Forest! And
+yet--and yet--" he mused, "it is not so bad. The man might have been
+more powerful and cunning than the idiot whom I have in the hollow of my
+hand. Curse him! curse him! I never look on his face but I tremble. I
+hate him!" and he stretched out his closed hand as if with a curse.
+
+As he did so it came into contact with Jack's glass.
+
+In a paroxysm of fury he caught up the glass and dashed it into the
+fire-place.
+
+It relieved and brought him to his senses.
+
+With a gesture of self-contempt he rose and rang the bell.
+
+Slummers stole in with his noiseless step and stood beside the table
+with downcast eyes, which, nevertheless, had taken in the broken
+tumbler.
+
+"I've broken a glass, Slummers," said Stephen, with affected
+carelessness. "Never mind, leave it till the morning. Now, then, what
+have you learned?"
+
+Slummers cleared his throat, and barely opening his thin lips, replied:
+
+"A great deal, considering the time, sir. The young lady at Mrs.
+Davenant's----"
+
+"I know all about her," said Stephen, breaking in impatiently. "What
+about Mr. Newcombe?"
+
+Nowise embarrassed, Slummers wiped his dry lips with a handkerchief as
+spotless as his master's.
+
+"It is as you expected, sir. Mr. Newcombe is in difficulties."
+
+"Ah!" said Stephen, with evident satisfaction.
+
+"He has been playing and giving paper. There are some old bills out,
+too. These are in the hands of Moss the money-lender."
+
+Stephen nodded and rubbed his hands.
+
+"I know Moss--a hard man. Go on."
+
+"But they say," continued Slummers, raising his eyes for a moment to his
+master's face, "that Mr. Newcombe is going to set things right by
+marrying an heiress."
+
+Stephen smiled and leaned back in his chair.
+
+"Oh, they do, do they; and who is this most fortunate young lady?"
+
+"Lady Isabel Earlsley."
+
+Stephen started forward.
+
+"What!"
+
+"Lady Isabel Earlsley," repeated Slummers, without the slightest change
+of voice or countenance.
+
+"No--it's a lie!" said Stephen, with a chuckle. "Where did you hear it?"
+
+"At the club. It is the talk of town, sir. Mr. Newcombe has been in
+close attendance upon her ladyship for some time. They say that her
+ladyship's brougham nearly ran over him, and that she took him home. It
+is true; her own coachman told me."
+
+Stephen leaned back and hid his face with his hand, his busy brain at
+work on this last turn of the wheel.
+
+"Go on," he said.
+
+"That is all, sir."
+
+Stephen was silent for a minute or two, then he turned to the writing
+table and wrote for some minutes.
+
+"Go to Moss to-morrow morning," he said, "and tell him not to press Mr.
+Newcombe, and I don't think he will require more than the hint--but you
+may say I will buy all Mr. Newcombe's bills at a fair price. Mind! I
+want every I O U and bill that Mr. Newcombe gives. You understand?"
+
+"I understand, Mr. Stephen," said Slummers, and a faint, malicious smile
+stole over his face.
+
+"And if Mr. Moss likes to oblige Mr. Newcombe with a little loan, I will
+take the bill. You understand?"
+
+Slummers nodded.
+
+"Here is the letter to Moss for his own satisfaction. He will not
+mention my name."
+
+Slummers took the note. Stephen passed his hand over his forehead, and
+turned his back to the light.
+
+"Any--any other news, Slummers?"
+
+Slummers smiled behind his hand.
+
+"I have been to Cheltenham Terrace. We were rightly informed, sir. Old
+Mr. Treherne is dead, and Miss Treherne has disappeared."
+
+Stephen drew a breath of relief.
+
+"Indeed," he said. "Very good. Let me see, is there anything else?"
+
+Slummers coughed.
+
+"Nothing, sir, except to remind you that you have to speak at the
+charitable meeting tomorrow night."
+
+"Ah, yes, thank you, very good, Slummers. Be good enough to hand me the
+last charitable reports. Good-night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+
+Happy! If ever two young people were happy, Una and Jack were. To Una
+the days passed like a happy dream time. Her sky was without a cloud; it
+almost seemed as if the world had been made for her, so entirely did
+everything lend itself to her enjoyment.
+
+Every morning, soon after breakfast, Jack's quick, buoyant step was
+heard ascending the stone steps of the house in Walmington Square, and
+he would come marching into the breakfast room with some palpable excuse
+about his just happening to pass, and Mrs. Davenant would smile her
+gentle welcome, and Una--well, Una's eyes were eloquent, if her tongue
+was mute, and would speak volumes.
+
+And Jack would lounge about for an hour, telling them all the news, and
+perhaps smoking a cigarette, just inside the conservatory; and Una was
+sure to find an excuse for being near him.
+
+Indeed, if that young lady could be within touching distance of her god
+and hero, she seemed passing content. He was the very light of her life,
+soul of her soul; every day seemed to increase the passionate devotion
+of her first, her maiden love, for the wild, young ne'er-do-well.
+
+And she was repaid. Jack thought that there never had been, since Eve
+began the sex, such a marvel of beauty and grace and virtue as Una. He
+would sit for half-an-hour smoking and watching her in silence.
+
+"Didn't one of those clever fellows say of a certain woman that to know
+her was a liberal education?" he said to Mrs. Davenant. "Well, I say,
+that to be in Una's presence, to watch her moving about in that quiet,
+graceful way of hers, and then to catch a smile now and again, is like
+reading a first-class poem; better, indeed, for me, because I don't go
+in for poetry."
+
+Not that these young lovers spent all their time in silently watching
+each other. Every day Jack arrived with some plan for their amusement
+and enjoyment. Sometimes it would be:
+
+"Well, what are you going to do today? What do you say to taking the
+coach to Guildford, getting a snack there, and back in the evening?"
+
+Una's face would light up, and Mrs. Davenant would smile agreeably, and
+in half-an-hour they would be ready, and Jack, as proud of Una's beauty
+as if it were unique, would escort them to the "White Horse" in
+Piccadilly, and away they would spin through the lovely Surrey valleys
+to that quaintest of old towns in the hills. Sometimes Jack himself
+would take the ribbons, and, with Una by his side, "tool the truck," as
+he called the handsome coach, back to town.
+
+Then, again, he never came without a box for one of the theaters or a
+stall for a concert; and though not over fond of classical music
+himself, was quite content to sit and watch the look of rapt delight in
+Una's face as she listened absorbed in Joachim's wonderful violin.
+
+But most of all, I think, they enjoyed their days on the river, when
+Jack, attired in his white flannels, would pull the two ladies up to
+Walton or Chertsey, and give them tea in one of the quiet, river-side
+inns.
+
+Ah! those evenings, those moonlight nights, when the boat drifted down
+stream, and the two young people sat, hand in hand, whispering those
+endless exchanges of confidence which go to make up lovers'
+conversations.
+
+It was wonderful that Mrs. Davenant did not catch cold, but Jack took
+great care of her, and wrapped her up in his thick ulster; and she
+never seemed to grow tired of witnessing their happiness.
+
+Sometimes Jack would ask Stephen to join them, but Stephen would always
+find an excuse. Now it was because he had an engagement with the
+lawyers; at another time he had promised to speak at some philanthropic
+meeting, or had promised to dine at the club. He would, however,
+occasionally dine at the Square, or drop in and take a cup of tea; and
+wore always the same friendly smile and genial manner.
+
+Jack had become quite convinced that he had done Stephen a great deal of
+injustice, and now thought that Stephen was everything that was kind and
+thoughtful.
+
+It was only at chance times, when Jack happened to catch the pale face
+off its guard, that the old doubts rose to perplex and trouble him; but
+then he always set them to rest by asking himself what Stephen could
+possibly have to gain by acting as he did.
+
+Of course, all these outings by land and water cost a great deal of
+money, but Jack had found Moss, the money-lender, most suddenly and
+strangely complaisant.
+
+Instead of dunning him for what was owing, Moss actually pressed him to
+borrow more, and Jack, always too careless in money matters, was quite
+ready to oblige him.
+
+"I can pay him out of my salary, when I get the appointment," he said to
+Leonard, in response to the latter's remonstrances and warnings.
+
+"Yes, when you get it," said Leonard.
+
+"What do you mean?" said Jack. "Do you mean to hint that Stephen isn't
+to be relied upon?"
+
+"I haven't the honor of knowing much of Mr. Davenant," said Leonard,
+"and so can't say whether he is more reliable than most public men who
+promise places and appointments; but I do know that men have grown
+gray-headed while waiting for one of those said places."
+
+"You don't know Stephen," said Jack, confidently. "He can manage
+anything he likes to set his mind on. He is not one of my sort. He can't
+let the grass grow under his feet. There, stop croaking, and come and
+dine at the Square."
+
+And Leonard would go, for he and Una had, as Jack said, "cottoned to one
+another."
+
+Una felt all sorts of likings and gratitude for the man who had always
+been Jack's friend, and none of the jealousy which some girls feel for
+their lover's bachelor acquaintances.
+
+"I am sure he is good and true, Jack," she said.
+
+"Good! There isn't a better man in England," Jack affirmed. "And he's as
+true as steel. Poor old Len!"
+
+"Why do you pity him?" said Una, who had not altogether lost her way of
+asking direct questions.
+
+"Well, you see, there's a lot of romance about Len," said Jack; and he
+told her about Leonard's meeting with Laura Treherne.
+
+"And he has never found her?" said Una.
+
+"Not from that day to this," answered Jack.
+
+"And yet he still remembers and loves her," murmured Una. "Yes, I like
+your friend, Jack, and I do hope he will meet with this young lady and
+be happy. I should like all the world to be as happy as I am!"
+
+"Ah, but don't you see all the world aren't angels like you, you know,"
+retorted Master Jack, kissing her.
+
+Though, in accordance with Stephen's advice, the engagement had not been
+made public, the outside world was beginning to get an inkling of what
+was going on in Walmington Square.
+
+Jack's friends at the club chaffed him on the unfrequency of his visits.
+
+"There's some mischief the Savage is planning," said Dalrymple. "You
+scarcely ever see him here now; he doesn't play, and shuns the bottle as
+if it were poison, and he's altogether changed. I shouldn't be surprised
+if he were to take to public meetings like that distant cousin of his,
+Stephen Davenant."
+
+"It is my opinion," said Sir Arkroyd Hetley, "that he spends all his
+time at Walmington Square, for my man sees him going and coming at all
+hours. The Savage is in love."
+
+And gradually those rumors spreading, like the ripple of a stone in a
+pool, reached Park Lane, and got to Lady Bell's ears.
+
+She had gone out of town for a week or two, and had, of course, seen
+nothing of Jack or Una, but on her return she drove to the Square.
+
+Una and Mrs. Davenant were sitting by the tea table, and wondering
+whether Jack would come in.
+
+Lady Bell's entrance made quite a little flutter.
+
+"How do you do, Mrs. Davenant, and how do you do, Wild Bird?" and she
+kissed Una, and holding her at arm's length, scanned her smilingly.
+"What have you been doing to look so fresh and happy?" Here Una's face
+over-spread with blushes. "What a child it is! But see, here I am just
+from the seaside, and as pale, or rather as yellow as a guinea, while
+you are like a dairy-maid. My dear girl, you positively beam with
+happiness."
+
+Mrs. Davenant and Una exchanged glances--glances that were not lost upon
+Lady Bell's acuteness.
+
+"Is there a secret?" she said, quickly. "Have you come into a fortune?
+But, no, that can't be it, for I know that I've never been thoroughly
+happy since I came into mine."
+
+"You always look happy, Lady Bell," said Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"My dear, don't judge by appearances," said Lady Bell, in her quick way.
+"I am not always happy; most of my time I am bored to death; I am always
+worried and hurried. Oh, by-the-way, speaking of worries, can you
+recommend me a maid? My own, a girl who came from the colonies with me,
+and swore, after a fashion, never to leave me, has gone and got married.
+I should be angry if I didn't pity her."
+
+"Don't you believe in the happiness of the married state, then?" asked
+Mrs. Davenant, while Una looked on smilingly.
+
+"No," said Lady Bell, shortly. "Men are tyrants and deceivers; there is
+no believing a word they say. A woman who marries is a slave, and----"
+
+She broke off sharply, for the door opened and Jack entered. A warm
+flush rose to Lady Bell's face, and she was too much occupied in
+concealing it to observe the similar flush which flooded Una's cheeks.
+
+Jack was striding in with Una's name on his lips, but he stopped short
+at sight of Lady Bell, and the flush seemed an epidemic, for it glowed
+under his tan.
+
+"I thought you were at Brighton, Lady Bell," he said, as he shook hands.
+
+"So I was--three hours ago. I came away suddenly; got tired and bored of
+it before I had been there three days. If there is one place more
+unendurable than another it is the fashionable watering-place. I bore it
+until this morning, and then poor Mrs. Fellowes and I made a bolt of it,
+or rather I bolted and dragged her with me. I left Lord Dalrymple and
+Sir Arkroyd in happy unconsciousness of our desertion."
+
+"Then, at this moment, they are wandering about the Parade in despair,"
+said Jack, laughing. And, as he laughed, he looked from one girl to the
+other, making a mental comparison. Yes, Lady Bell was beautiful, with a
+beauty undeniable and palpable, but how it paled and grew commonplace
+beside Una's fresh, spiritual loveliness.
+
+He had held her hand for a moment when he entered, and now, as he
+carried the tea cup, he got an opportunity of touching her arm,
+lovingly, caressingly.
+
+He longed to take her by the hand and say to Lady Bell:
+
+"This is my future wife, Lady Bell," but he remembered Stephen's advice,
+and was on his guard, so much so that though she watched them closely,
+Lady Bell saw no sign of the existing state of things.
+
+It was singular, but since Jack's arrival she did not seem at all bored
+or worried, but rattled on in her gayest mood.
+
+"And what have you been doing since I left town?" she asked Una. "I hope
+Mr. Newcombe has made himself useful and attentive;" and she looked at
+Jack, who nodded coolly enough, though Una's face crimsoned.
+
+"Yes, I've been doing the knight errant, Lady Bell. Mrs. Davenant and I
+are old friends--relations, indeed."
+
+"Ah, yes," said Lady Bell. "I hear your son, Mr. Stephen, is in London."
+
+In a moment Mrs. Davenant's face lost its brightness.
+
+"Yes, yes," she said, nervously; "yes, he is in London."
+
+"Where is he?" said Lady Bell, looking round as if she expected to see
+him concealed behind one of the chairs. "He's always addressing public
+meetings, isn't he?"
+
+"Not always, Lady Earlsley," said Stephen, from the open doorway.
+
+"Good heavens! Speak of the--angels, and you hear the rustle of their
+wings!" exclaimed Lady Bell, not at all embarrassed. "How did you come
+in, Mr. Davenant?"
+
+"By the door, Lady Earlsley, which was open. Mother, you will lose all
+your plate some day."
+
+"And what public meeting have you come from now?" asked Lady Bell, with
+a smile.
+
+"I have been walking in the park," said Stephen, "and am at your
+ladyship's service."
+
+"I am glad of it," said Lady Bell, quickly, "for I want you--all of you
+to come and dine with me tonight."
+
+"Tonight!" echoed Jack.
+
+"Tonight! Why not? You have plenty of time to dress. Come, it will be
+charity--there's an argument for you, Mr. Davenant--for Mrs. Fellowes
+and I are all alone; papa has gone to some learned society meeting.
+Come, I'll go home at once and tell them to get your favorite wines
+ready. What _is_ your favorite, Mr. Newcombe?"
+
+Jack laughed.
+
+"I'd come and dine with _you_, Lady Bell, if you gave us ginger beer,"
+he said.
+
+Lady Bell laughed, but she looked pleased.
+
+"Now, that is what I call a really good compliment--for a Savage," and
+she glanced at Jack archly. "We'll say half-past eight tonight to give
+you time to finish your chat. _Au revoir_," and waving her
+daintily-gloved hand, she flitted from the room.
+
+"Would he dine with me if I had only ginger beer to offer him?" she
+asked herself, as she went back in the brougham. "Would he? He looks so
+honest and so true!--so incapable of a mean, unworthy action! I wish I
+were as poor--as poor as Una. How quietly she sits. She has just the air
+of one of the great ones of the earth--the air which I, with all my
+title and wealth, shall never have. I wonder who she is, and whether Mr.
+Stephen thinks her as beautiful as I do! He looked at her as he went
+in--well, just as I would that _some one else_ would look at me. How
+handsome he is, so different to Stephen Davenant. Ah, me! I know now why
+Brighton was so hateful; if Jack Newcombe had been there I should not
+have hungered and pined for London! What a miserable, infatuated being I
+am. I am as bad as that foolish maid of mine. Yes, just as bad, for if
+Jack Newcombe came and asked me, I should run away with him as she did
+with her young man!"
+
+Still thinking of him, she reached home and went up to her own room,
+where Mrs. Fellowes, the long-suffering, hastened to meet her.
+
+"My dear, I'm so glad you've come. How long you have been."
+
+"My dear, you say that every time I come in. What is the matter--another
+maid run away?"
+
+"No, but a maid has come, at least a young person--I was going to say
+lady--who wants the situation."
+
+"Well, a lady's maid ought to be a lady," said Lady Bell, languidly.
+"Where is she?"
+
+"In my room," said Mrs. Fellowes. "She came with a note from Lady
+Challoner. It seems the poor girl has been in trouble--she has lost her
+father--and not caring to go for a governess----"
+
+"For which I don't blame her," said Lady Bell.
+
+"She is desirous of getting an engagement as a companion or lady's
+maid."
+
+"A companion's worse off than a governess, isn't she?" said Lady Bell,
+naively.
+
+Mrs. Fellowes smiled.
+
+"Yes. What is her name?" asked Lady Bell.
+
+"Well, there's the point," said Mrs. Fellowes. "Her name is Laura
+Treherne, but as some of her friends--she hasn't many, she says--might
+think that she had done wrong in taking a menial situation she wishes to
+be known by some other name."
+
+"I hate mysteries and aliases," said Lady Bell. "I don't think I shall
+engage her. She'll be too proud to do my hair and copy all my dresses in
+common material. Well, I'll see her."
+
+"I'll send her away if you like," said Mrs. Fellowes; "but I think
+you'll like her."
+
+"Do you? Then I know exactly what she's like before I see her if she
+has taken your fancy. Some prim old maid in black cotton and thick
+shoes."
+
+Mrs. Fellowes smiled and rang the bell, and bade a servant to ask the
+young person who was waiting to step that way.
+
+Lady Bell began taking off her gloves yawningly, but stopped suddenly,
+and looked up with an air of surprise as the door opened and a tall
+girl, with dark hair and eyes, entered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+
+Lady Bell overmastered her surprise, and asking the young girl to sit
+down, looked at her critically as she did so.
+
+Yes, the girl was a lady, there could be no doubt of that. But it was
+not only the evidence of refinement in the face and the manner of the
+girl that struck Lady Bell; there was an expression in the dark eyes and
+clear-cut lips, slightly compressed, which roused her interest and
+curiosity.
+
+It was a face with a history.
+
+For the first time she looked at Lady Challoner's note.
+
+"I see," she said, "that Lady Challoner knows you, Miss Treherne."
+
+"She knew my grandfather," was the quiet answer. "He is dead."
+
+"Lately?" said Lady Bell, glancing at the note.
+
+Laura Treherne bent her head.
+
+"Two months ago," she said, sadly.
+
+"And have you no friends with whom you could go and live?"
+
+"None who would care to have me, or to whom I should wish to go."
+
+Lady Bell was silent for a moment--the girl interested her more each
+minute.
+
+"Are you taking a wise step in seeking for a situation which is
+considered menial?" she asked.
+
+Laura Treherne paused for a moment.
+
+"I do not think it degradation to serve Lady Earlsley," she said.
+
+Lady Bell smiled, not ill pleased.
+
+"You mean to say that you would not accept any situation?"
+
+Laura Treherne inclined her head.
+
+"How did you know that I wanted a maid?"
+
+"I heard it in the house where I am lodging," she replied.
+
+"And you knew me?"
+
+"Yes; I had heard of you, my lady."
+
+"Have you any other testimonials besides this note of Lady Challoner's?"
+
+"None, my lady."
+
+Lady Bell hesitated.
+
+"It is quite sufficient," she said; "but I am afraid you do not
+understand the duties of a lady's maid."
+
+"I think so, my lady. What I do not know now, I can soon learn."
+
+"That's true. And I see you do not wish your real name to transpire?"
+
+"I would rather that it did not. I would rather be known by some other
+name," answered Laura Treherne.
+
+"Why?"
+
+There was a moment's hesitation, and the dark face paled slightly.
+
+"I thought Lady Challoner had explained. My friends----"
+
+"You do not care for your friends to know that you are in a situation?
+You think their pride would be greater than your own?"
+
+"Exactly, my lady."
+
+"Well, I'll engage you," she said. "When can you come? I have no maid at
+present."
+
+"Now, at once, if your ladyship wishes. I will stay now, and send for my
+luggage, if you please."
+
+"Very well," said Lady Bell. "Come to my room in half an hour, and we
+will arrange matters. You have said nothing about salary."
+
+"That I leave in your ladyship's hands."
+
+"Like the cabmen," said Lady Bell, laughing. "Well, come to my room in
+half an hour."
+
+Laura Treherne bowed and left the room, and Mrs. Fellowes lifted up her
+voice in remonstrance.
+
+"My dear Bell, that letter may be a forgery."
+
+"It might be, but it isn't. I can read faces, and I like that young
+lady's. Yes, she's a lady, poor girl. Well, she might have hit upon a
+worse mistress; I shan't bang her about the head with a hair brush when
+I'm in a temper, as Lady Courtney does her maid. There, spare your
+remonstrances, my dear. The girl's engaged, and I mean to keep her. And
+now there are three or four people coming to dinner, Mr. and Mrs.
+Davenant, Jack--I mean Mr. Newcombe--and that strange girl, Una. What a
+lovely creature she is! Do you know I rather think she will become Mrs.
+Stephen Davenant."
+
+"She is a very nice girl," said Mrs. Fellowes. "She ought to make a good
+match."
+
+"_Ay de me_," said Lady Bell, with a sigh. "I'm sick of that word. Men
+and women don't 'marry' now, they make 'good matches.' My dear, I hate
+your worldly way of looking at matrimony. If I were a poor girl, I'd
+marry the man of my heart, if he hadn't a penny. Ah, and if he were the
+baddest of bad lots."
+
+"Like Jack Newcombe, for instance," said Mrs. Fellowes, archly.
+
+"Yes," said Lady Bell, turning with the door in her hand; "like Jack
+Newcombe," and she ran up to her room.
+
+Punctual to the minute, Laura Treherne knocked at the door of the
+dressing-room. Lady Bell was seated before the glass, surrounded by her
+walking clothes, which, as was her custom, she had slipped out of or
+flung carelessly aside.
+
+Without a word Laura picked them up and put them in the wardrobe, and
+without a word took up the hair brushes. Lady Bell watched her in the
+glass, and gave her a hint now and then, and when her hair was dressed
+glanced round approvingly.
+
+"Yes," she said, "that is very nice; and you have not hurt me once. The
+last maid used to pull me terribly. I suppose she was thinking of her
+young man. By the way, are you engaged?"
+
+The dark face flushed for a moment, then grew pale.
+
+"No, my lady."
+
+"I'm glad of it. Take my advice and don't be. That sounds selfish,
+doesn't it. Now you want to know what I am going to wear. I don't know
+myself. What would you choose? Go to the wardrobe."
+
+Laura went to the wardrobe, and came back after a minute or two with a
+dress of black satin and lace looped up with rosebuds of the darkest
+red. It was one newly arrived from Worth.
+
+Lady Bell nodded.
+
+"Yes, that just suits me. Give me a lady for good taste! And now choose
+the ornaments. There is the jewel-box."
+
+Laura chose the set of rubies and diamonds, and Lady Bell smiled again.
+
+"I shall look rather Spanish. Never mind. Let us try them."
+
+With deft and gentle hands Laura helped her to dress, and Lady Bell
+nodded approval.
+
+"Am I ready?"
+
+Laura hesitated a moment.
+
+"Will your ladyship wear the pendant?"
+
+Lady Bell glanced in the glass.
+
+"Ah, I see, you think that is rather too much against the rosebuds. You
+are right. Take it off, please. Thanks. Put the key of the jewel-box in
+your pocket. Stay! there is a chain for you to wear it on;" and she took
+out a small gold chain. "You can keep that as your own."
+
+Laura Treherne flushed, and she inclined her head gratefully.
+
+Lady Bell was relieved; her last maid used to overwhelm her with thanks.
+
+"And now I will go down. By the way, will you please tell Simcox--that's
+the butler--that the gentlemen will want Lafitte, at least, Mr. Newcombe
+will. I don't know what Mr. Stephen Davenant drinks. What's the matter?"
+she broke off to inquire, for she heard Laura stumble and fall against
+the wardrobe.
+
+There was a moment's pause; then, calmly enough, Laura said:
+
+"My foot caught in your ladyship's dress, I think."
+
+"Have you hurt yourself?" asked Lady Bell, kindly. "You have gone quite
+pale! Here, take some of this sal-volatile."
+
+But Laura declined, respectfully. It was a mere nothing, and she would
+be more careful of alarming her ladyship for the future.
+
+Lady Bell looked at her curiously. The quiet, self-contained manner, so
+free from nervousness or embarrassment, interested her.
+
+She stopped her as Laura was leaving the room.
+
+"We haven't fixed upon a name for you yet," she said.
+
+"No, my lady; any name will do."
+
+"It is a pity to change yours--it is a pretty one."
+
+"Will Mary Burns do, my lady? It was my mother's name."
+
+"Very well," said Lady Bell; "I will tell Mrs. Fellowes that you will be
+known by that."
+
+"That girl has a history, I know," she thought, as she went downstairs.
+
+Punctual almost to the minute, Mrs. Davenant's brougham arrived.
+
+The evenings had drawn in, and a lamp was burning in the hall; and a
+small fire made the dining-room comfortable.
+
+Lady Bell welcomed Una most affectionately.
+
+"Now we will have a really enjoyable evening," she said. "I hate dinner
+parties, and if I had my way, would never give nor go to another one. If
+it were only a little colder, we'd sit round the fire and bake
+chestnuts. Have you ever done that, Wild Bird?"
+
+"Often," said Una, with a quiet smile, and something like a sigh, as she
+thought of the long winter evenings in the cot. How long ago they
+seemed, almost unreal, as if they had never happened.
+
+"Oh, Una is very accomplished," said Jack; "I believe she could make
+coffee if she tried."
+
+Very snug and comfortable the dining-room looked. Lady Bell had
+dispensed with one of the footmen, and had evidently determined to make
+the meal as homely and unceremonious as possible.
+
+Never, perhaps, had the butler seen a merrier party. Even Stephen was
+genial and humorous; indeed he seemed to exert himself in an
+extraordinary fashion. Lady Bell had given him Una to take in, and he
+was most attentive and entertaining--so much that Jack, who was sitting
+opposite, and next to Lady Bell, felt amused and interested at the
+change which seemed to have come over him.
+
+Could he have seen the workings of the subtle mind concealed behind the
+smiling exterior, he would have felt very much less at his ease; for
+even now Stephen was plotting how best he could mold the material round
+him to serve his purpose, and while the laugh was lingering on his
+smooth lips, his heart was burning with hate and jealousy of the rival
+who sat opposite.
+
+For it had come to this, that he desired Una, and not only for the
+wealth of which he had robbed her, but for herself. As deeply as it was
+possible for one of his nature he loved the innocent, unsuspecting girl
+who sat beside him.
+
+Tonight, as he looked at the beautiful face and marked each fleeting
+expression that flitted like sunshine over it: as he listened to the
+musical voice, and felt the touch of her dress as it brushed his arm, a
+passionate longing seized and mastered him, and he felt that he would
+risk all of which he was wrongfully possessed to win her--ah, and if she
+were, indeed, only the daughter of a common woodman.
+
+"Curse him!" he murmured over his wine glass, as his eyes rested on
+Jack's handsome face. "If he had not crossed my path, she would have
+been mine ere now; no matter, I will strike him out of it, as if he were
+a viper in my road."
+
+Meanwhile, quite unconscious of Stephen's generous sentiments, Jack went
+on with his dinner, enjoying it thoroughly, and as happy as it is given
+to a mortal to be.
+
+Presently the conversation turned upon their plans for the autumn.
+
+"What are we all going to do?" said Lady Bell. "You, I suppose, Mr.
+Davenant, will go down to your place in Wealdshire--what is it called?"
+
+"Hurst Leigh," said Stephen, quietly. "Yes, I must go down there, I
+ought to have been there before now, but I find so many attractions in
+town," and he smiled at Una.
+
+"And you, my dear?" said Lady Bell to Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"My mother will go down with me," said Stephen.
+
+Mrs. Davenant glanced at him nervously.
+
+"And that means Miss Wild Bird, too, I suppose?" remarked Lady Bell.
+
+"If Miss Una will honor us," said Stephen, with an inclination of the
+head to Una. "Yes, we shall make quite a family party. You will join us,
+of course, Jack?"
+
+Jack, who had looked up rather grim at the foregoing, bit his lip.
+
+"I don't quite know," he said, gravely.
+
+"Surely you will not let the poachers have all the birds this year,
+Jack!" said Stephen, brightly. "Besides my mother will be quite lost
+without you."
+
+"Do come, Jack," whispered Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"I'll see," said Jack, grimly, and Una looked down uneasily; she
+understood his reluctance to go to the old place.
+
+"Oh, we will take no refusal," said Stephen, buoyantly. "And what are
+your plans, Lady Bell?"
+
+Lady Bell looked up with rather a start and a flush.
+
+"I--I--don't quite know," she said. "I had been thinking of going to a
+small place we have at Earl's Court."
+
+"Earl's Court!" exclaimed Jack. "Why, that is only thirteen miles or so
+from the Hurst."
+
+"Is it?" said Lady Bell. "I didn't know. I haven't seen it. I'm ashamed
+to say that I haven't made a round of inspection of the property yet. My
+stewards are always bothering me to do so, but I don't seem to have
+time."
+
+"A sovereign cannot be expected to visit the whole of her kingdom," said
+Stephen, with a smile.
+
+Lady Bell sighed.
+
+"I often wish the old earl had left me five hundred a year and a cottage
+somewhere," she said, quietly. "I should have been a happier woman. Oh,
+here is the claret. Give Mr. Newcombe the Lafitte, Simcox. Mr.
+Davenant----"
+
+"I always follow Jack's suit," said Stephen, rising to open the door for
+the ladies. "He is an infallible guide in such matters."
+
+"Fancy a woman lamenting the extent of her wealth," he said, with
+something like a sneer, as he went back to the table. "If any girl ought
+to be happy that girl ought to be. What a chance for some young fellow!
+My dear Jack, if I had been in your place----"
+
+Jack looked up with a tinge of red in his face.
+
+"What nonsense. Lady Bell knows better than to be caught by such chaff
+as I am. Besides, I am more than content. I wouldn't exchange Una for a
+Duchess, with the riches of Peru in her pockets. What about the
+commissionership, or whatever it is, Stephen?"
+
+"All in good time, my dear Jack. Those sort of things aren't done in a
+moment; the matter is in hand, and we shall get it, be sure. Meanwhile,
+if you want any money----"
+
+"Thanks, no," said Jack, easily.
+
+He had only that morning negotiated a bill with Mr. Moss for another
+hundred pounds.
+
+Stephen smiled evilly behind his pocket handkerchief. He held that bill
+in his pocketbook at that moment, in company with all Jack's previous
+ones.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+
+The two men sat beside the fire almost in silence. Jack was trying to
+get over his reluctance to go to the Hurst, and wondering what would
+become of him if he did not, and Una left him all alone in town; and
+Stephen was wondering whether it was time to strike the blow he
+meditated.
+
+Very soon Jack jumped up.
+
+"If you've had enough wine, let us join the ladies," he said, and went
+toward the door.
+
+Stephen followed him, but turned back to fetch his pocket handkerchief.
+
+Lying beside it, on the table, was a rose which had fallen from the
+bosom of Una's dress. He took it up, and looked at it with that look
+which a man bestows on some trifle which has been worn by the woman he
+loves, and then, as if by an irresistible impulse, raised it to his
+lips, kissing it passionately, and put it carefully in his bosom. As he
+did so, he raised his eyes to the glass, which reflected one side of
+the room, and saw the slight figure of a woman standing in the open door
+and watching him.
+
+The light from the carefully shaded lamp was too dim to allow him to see
+the face distinctly, but something in the figure caused him to feel a
+sudden chill.
+
+He turned sharply and walked to the door; but the hall was empty and
+there was no sound of retreating footsteps.
+
+"Some servant maid waiting to come in to clear the table," he muttered.
+
+But he returned to the dining-room, and drank off a glass of liquor
+before going to the drawing-room, from which ripples of Jack's frank
+laughter were floating in the hall.
+
+Lady Bell was seated at the piano, playing and singing in her
+light-hearted, careless fashion; Jack and Una were seated in a dimly-lit
+corner, talking in an undertone.
+
+Stephen went up to the piano and stood apparently listening intently,
+but in reality watching the other two under his lowered lids.
+
+The presence of the rose in his bosom seemed to heighten the passion
+which burned in his heart; and the sight of Jack bending over Una, and
+of her rapt, up-turned face as she looked up, drinking in his lightest
+word as if it were gospel, maddened him.
+
+It was with a start that he became conscious that Lady Bell had ceased
+playing, and that she, like him, was watching the lovers.
+
+"Miss Una and Mr. Newcombe seem very good friends," she said, with a
+forced smile.
+
+"Do they not?" said Stephen, in his softest voice. "Too good."
+
+Lady Bell looked up at him quickly.
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+Stephen looked down at her gravely.
+
+"Can you keep a secret, Lady Bell?" he said, hesitatingly.
+
+"Sometimes," she said. "What is it?"
+
+Stephen glanced across at Jack and Una.
+
+"I'm rather anxious about our young friends," he said, his voice dropped
+still lower, his head bent forward with such an insidious smile that
+Lady Bell could not, for the life of her, help thinking of a serpent.
+
+"Anxious!" she echoed, her heart beating. "As how?"
+
+"Can you not guess?" he said, raising his eyebrows.
+
+"You--you mean that they may fall in love with each other. Well, they
+are not badly matched," said Lady Bell, bravely, though her heart was
+aching.
+
+"Not badly, in one sense," said Stephen, after a pause; "but as badly as
+two persons could be in all others. They are a match as regards their
+means. They are both penniless."
+
+Lady Bell looked up with a start.
+
+"Is--is Mr. Newcombe so badly off? I thought--that is, I fancied he had
+a wealthy uncle----" She paused.
+
+"You mean Mr. Ralph Davenant," said Stephen, calmly, and with an air of
+sadness. "I am sorry to say that he left everything which he possessed
+to a less worthy person--to me."
+
+Lady Bell looked at him inquiringly.
+
+"To me," he repeated, "and poor Jack was--well, disinherited, and left
+penniless. It is of him I think when I say that I am anxious about them;
+naturally, I think of him. Miss Rolfe is a friend of my mother's, and
+has been used to a straitened life; but poor Jack does not know what
+poverty means, and in his ignorance may drift into an entanglement which
+may embitter her life. No man in the world is less fitted for love in a
+cottage, and nothing to pay the rent, than Jack Newcombe. You, who have
+seen something of him, must have remarked his easy-going, careless
+nature, his utter ignorance of the value of money, his unsuitableness
+for a life of poverty and privation."
+
+Lady Bell's heart beat fast.
+
+"But--but--" she said, "you have plenty."
+
+"Of which Jack will not take one penny. You see he is as proud as he is
+poor."
+
+"I like him for that," murmured Lady Bell.
+
+"Yes, so do I; though it pains and grieves me. If Jack would permit me
+to help him, Lady Bell, he might marry Una Rolfe tomorrow; but as it is,
+I fear, I am anxious. Another man would be wiser, but Jack has no idea
+of prudence, and would plunge head first into all the misery of such a
+union without a thought of the morrow."
+
+"And you--you think he loves her," murmured Lady Bell; and she waited
+for an answer as a man on his trial might wait for the verdict of the
+jury.
+
+Stephen smiled. He could read Lady Bell's heart as if it were an open
+book.
+
+"Loves her! No, certainly not--not yet. He is amused and entertained,
+but love has not come yet."
+
+"And she?" asked Lady Bell, anxiously, her eyes fixed on Una's face.
+
+Stephen smiled again.
+
+"No, not yet. She is ignorant of the meaning of the word. I have taken
+some trouble to arrive at the truth, and I am sure of what I say. It is
+well for her that she is not, for anything like a serious engagement
+would be simply madness. Poor Jack! His future lies so plainly before
+him, and if he would follow it, the rest of his life might be happiness
+itself."
+
+"You mean that he should marry for money," said Lady Bell, coldly.
+
+"No, not for money alone," murmured Stephen. "Jack is too high-minded to
+be guilty of such meanness; but is it not possible to marry for love and
+money, too, Lady Bell?"
+
+Lady Bell turned her head aside; her heart beating fast. The voice of
+the tempter sounded like music in her ear. Why should not he marry for
+love as well as money? She had both. She loved him passionately, and she
+would pour her money at his feet to do as he liked with; to squander and
+make ducks and drakes of, if he would but give her a little love in
+return.
+
+As she looked across the room at him, that awful, wistful longing which
+only a woman who loves with all her heart can feel, took possession of
+her and mastered her.
+
+"Why do you tell me this?" she asked, sharply turning her face, pale and
+working.
+
+"Because," murmured Stephen, "because I have Jack's interest so much at
+heart that I am bold enough to ask for aid where I know it can be of
+avail."
+
+"Do you mean that you ask _me_?" she said, tremulously. "What can I do?"
+
+"Much, everything," he whispered, his head bent low, almost to her ear.
+"Ask yourself, dear Lady Bell, and you will understand me. Let me be
+plain and straightforward, even at the risk of offending you. There was
+a time, not many months ago, when I and his best friends thought Jack
+had made a choice at once happy and wise."
+
+Lady Bell rose and moved to and fro, and then sank down again trembling
+with agitation.
+
+"You mean that--that he was falling in love with me?"
+
+Stephen inclined his head with lowered eyes.
+
+"It is true," he said. "You cannot fail to have seen what all observed."
+And he went on quickly--"And but for this fancy--this passing fancy--all
+would have been well. Lady Bell, I am speaking more openly than I ever
+have spoken to woman before. I am risking offending you, but I do so
+from the affection which I bear my cousin. Lady Bell, I implore you to
+help me in saving him from a step which will plunge him into life-long
+misery. He is totally unfitted to battle with the world; married wisely
+and well, he would be a happy and contented man; married unwisely and
+badly, no one can picture the future."
+
+Lady Bell rose, her face pale, her eyes gleaming under the strain which
+she was enduring.
+
+"Don't say any more," she said; "I--I cannot bear it. You have guessed
+my secret; I can feel that. Yes, I would save him if I could, and if you
+are sure that--that there is no engagement----"
+
+"There is none," said Stephen, lying smoothly. "There can be none; the
+idea is preposterous."
+
+Lady Bell moved away as he spoke, and turned over some book on the table
+to conceal her agitation, and Stephen, humming a popular hymn tune,
+crossed the room and looked down at Jack and Una with a benedictory
+smile, as if he was blessing them.
+
+"Are you aware of the time, and that Lady Bell's hall porter is uttering
+maledictions for our tardiness?" he said, playfully.
+
+Jack looked at his watch.
+
+"By Jove! No idea it was so late. Are you ready, Mrs. Davenant?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant woke from a sleep, and she and Una went upstairs.
+
+"I see you have a new maid," she said, when they came down again. "What
+a superior-looking young girl."
+
+"Is she not?" said Lady Bell, absently. "She is more than superior, she
+is interesting. She has a history."
+
+Stephen, standing by, folding and unfolding his opera hat, smiled.
+
+"Very interesting; but take care, Lady Bell; I am always suspicious of
+interesting people with a history."
+
+As he spoke, a pale, dark face looked down upon him from the upper
+landing for a moment, then disappeared.
+
+"You will come with us, Stephen?" said Mrs. Davenant, nervously.
+
+"No, thanks. I should like the walk. Good-night," and he kissed her
+dutifully, and shook hands with Jack and Lady Bell.
+
+"Going to walk?" cried Mrs. Davenant. "It is very chilly, and you've
+only that thin overcoat."
+
+"I've a scarf somewhere--where is it?" said Stephen.
+
+Una stooped, and picked up a white scarf.
+
+"Here it is," she said, laughing, and all innocently she threw it round
+his neck.
+
+"Will you tie it, please?" said Stephen, in an ordinary tone, and Una,
+laughing still, tied it.
+
+Stephen stood motionless, his eyes cast down; he was afraid to raise
+them lest the passion blazing in them should be read by all there.
+
+"Thanks. I cannot catch cold now," he said, as he took her hand and held
+it for a moment.
+
+He put them into the brougham, and under the pretext of arranging her
+shawl, touched her hand once again; then he stood in the chilly street
+and watched the brougham till it disappeared in the distance.
+
+Then he turned and walked homeward.
+
+"One step in the right direction," he muttered. "Take care, Master Jack;
+I shall outwit you yet."
+
+As he ascended the stairs of his chambers, Slummers came out to meet
+him.
+
+"There is a--person waiting for you, Mr. Stephen," he said.
+
+Stephen stopped, and his hand closed on the balustrade; his thoughts
+flew to Laura Treherne.
+
+"A--woman, Slummers?"
+
+"No, sir, a man," said Slummers.
+
+"Very good," said Stephen, with a breath of relief. "Who is it--do you
+know?"
+
+Slummers shook his head.
+
+"A rough sort of man, sir; says he has come on business. He has been
+waiting for hours."
+
+"I am very sorry," said Stephen, aloud and blandly, for the benefit of
+the visitor. "I am sorry to have kept anyone waiting. But it is rather
+late----"
+
+He entered the room as he spoke, and started slightly, for standing in
+the center of the apartment was Gideon Rolfe.
+
+Notwithstanding the start Stephen came forward with outstretched hand
+and a ready smile of welcome.
+
+"My dear Mr. Rolfe, I am indeed sorry that you should have been kept so
+long. If I had only known that you were coming----"
+
+Gideon Rolfe waived all further compliment aside with a gesture of
+impatience.
+
+"I wished to see you," he said. "Time is no object to me."
+
+Stephen shut the door carefully and stood in a listening attitude. He
+knew it was of no use to ask his visitor to sit down.
+
+"You have come to inquire about your daughter?"
+
+"No, I have not," said Gideon Rolfe, calmly. "I know that she is well--I
+see her daily. I came to remind you of our contract--I came to remind
+you of your promise that no harm should come near her."
+
+Stephen smiled and shook his head.
+
+"And I trust no harm has come near her, my dear Mr. Rolfe."
+
+"But I say that it has," said Gideon Rolfe, coldly. "I have watched her
+daily and I know."
+
+"To what harm do you allude?" asked Stephen, bravely.
+
+"Do you deny that the young man Jack Newcombe is near her?"
+
+"Oh," said Stephen, and he drew a long breath.
+
+Then he commenced untying the scarf, his acute brain hard at work.
+
+Here was an instrument ready to his hand, if he chose to use it
+properly.
+
+"Oh, I understand. No, I do not deny it; I wish that I could do so, for
+your sake and for Una's," he said gravely.
+
+"Speak plainly," said Gideon Rolfe, hoarsely.
+
+"I will," said Stephen. "Plainly then, Mr. Newcombe has chosen to fall
+in love with--your daughter! That accounts for his constant attendance
+upon her."
+
+Gideon Rolfe's face worked.
+
+"I will take her back," he said, grimly.
+
+Stephen smiled.
+
+"Softly, softly. There are two to that bargain, my dear Mr. Rolfe. For
+Miss Una to go back to a state of savagery in Warden Forest is
+impossible. You, who have seen her in her new surroundings, and the
+change they have wrought in her, must admit that."
+
+Gideon Rolfe wiped the perspiration from his brow.
+
+"I know that she is changed," he said. "She is like a great lady
+now. I see her dressed in rich silks and satins, and coming and
+going in carriages, with servants to wait upon her, and I know that
+she is changed, and that she has forgotten the friends of her
+childhood--forgotten those who were father and mother to her----"
+
+"You wrong Miss Una," said Stephen, smoothly. "Not a day passes but she
+inquires for you and deplores your absence----"
+
+"But," went on Gideon, as if he had not been interrupted, "I have not
+forgotten her, nor my promise to her mother. In a weak moment, moved by
+your threats more than your persuasions, I consented to part with her,
+but I would rather she were dead than that should happen--which you say
+will happen."
+
+"Pardon me," said Stephen, blandly, and with an evil smile. "I said that
+Mr. Newcombe had fallen in love with her; I did not say that he would
+marry her. _I_ would rather she were dead than that should happen," and
+he turned his face for one moment to the light.
+
+It was pale even to the lips, the eyes gleaming with resolute purpose.
+
+Gideon Rolfe looked at him in silence for a moment.
+
+"I do not understand," he said, in a troubled voice.
+
+"Let me make it clear to you," said Stephen. "Against my will and wish
+these two have met and become acquainted. Against my will and wish that
+acquaintance has ripened into"--he drew a long breath as if the word
+hurt him--"into love, or what they mistake for love. Thus far it has
+gone, but it must go no further. I am at one with you there. You and I
+must prevent it. You cannot do it alone, you know. You have no control
+over Miss Una; you who are not her father and in no way related to her."
+
+Gideon Rolfe set his teeth hard.
+
+"You see," said Stephen, with a haggard smile, "alone you are helpless.
+Be sure of that. If you move in the matter without me, I will declare
+the secret of her birth. Stop! be calm! But you and I can put an end to
+this engagement."
+
+"They are engaged?" muttered Gideon Rolfe.
+
+Stephen smiled contemptuously.
+
+"My good friend, this matter has passed beyond your strength. Leave it
+to me. Yes, they are engaged; the affair has gone so far, but it must go
+no further. While you have been lurking outside area gates and behind
+carriages I have been at work, and I will stop it. I am not too proud to
+accept your aid, however. When the time comes I will ask your aid. Give
+me an address to which to write to you."
+
+Gideon Rolfe, with a suspicious air, drew a piece of paper from his
+pocket and wrote an address.
+
+"This will find you?" said Stephen. "Good. When the time comes I will
+send for you; meanwhile"--and he smiled--"you can go on haunting area
+gates and watching carriages, but be sure of one thing, that this
+marriage shall never take place."
+
+Gideon Rolfe watched the pale face grimly.
+
+"I must know more," he said. "How will you put an end to this?"
+
+Stephen smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.
+
+"You want to see the _modus operandi_? How the conjurer is going to
+perform the wonderful feat? Well, it is very simple. My friend and
+somewhat cousin, for all his romance, will not care to marry a girl
+whose name is stained with shame. If I know my dear Jack, he will not
+care to make an illegitimate child of Gideon Rolfe, the woodman, Mrs.
+Newcombe."
+
+Gideon Rolfe started.
+
+"You will tell him?" he said, hoarsely.
+
+"Yes," said Stephen; "I shall tell him the truth, of course concealing
+the proper names, and you must be here to confirm my statement. That is
+all you have to do. Mind! not a word of my uncle's connection with the
+matter, or all is lost. You understand?"
+
+"Yes, I understand," said Gideon, hoarsely. "I care not by what means so
+that the marriage is prevented."
+
+"Nor I," said Stephen, coolly; "and now we are agreed on that point.
+When I want you I will write to you. Until then--will you take any
+refreshment?"
+
+Gideon Rolfe waved his hand by way of negative, and Stephen rang the
+bell. "Show this gentleman out, Slummers. Mind the lower stairs, the gas
+has been put out. Good-night, good-night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+
+It was settled that Mrs. Davenant, Una and Stephen should go to the
+Hurst in a week's time. Jack had definitely declined to go to the Hurst.
+He felt that he would rather bear the absence of Una for a week or two
+than go to the old house, haunted as it was, for him, with so many
+memories; but lo and behold, a few days after the dinner party, had come
+a note from Lady Bell's father, asking him to visit Earl's Court.
+
+Of course, Jack accepted gladly enough, without a thought of Lady Bell,
+and only remembering that a good nag would take him from Earl's Court to
+Hurst in an hour and a half, or less.
+
+The week passed rapidly, and with something like restlessness Lady Bell
+organized all kinds of outings and expeditions, in all of which Jack's
+services were found to be indispensable.
+
+He could not exactly tell how it happened; but he seemed to spend almost
+as much time with Lady Bell as with Una. Now it was to go and try a
+horse which Lady Bell wanted to buy; then to select some dogs to take
+down to Earl's Court; and, again, to buy and send down pony-carriages
+and dog-carts.
+
+There was always something to take him to Park Lane, and though Jack
+felt inclined to kick at these demands upon his time, which would
+otherwise have been spent near Una, he could not see his way to refuse.
+Then he was fond of buying horses, and dogs, and carriages, and used to
+hold a _levee_ at Spider Court of disreputable-looking men in fustian
+corduroys, much to Leonard Dagle's disgust.
+
+"It seems to me, Jack," he said, "that you have become Lady Bell's grand
+vizier. Do you choose her dress for her?"
+
+"Chaff away, old man," said Jack. "It was only the other day that you
+were badgering me with being cool to her."
+
+"Yes, with a purpose," said Leonard; "but that purpose has disappeared.
+Have you been to the Square yet this morning?"
+
+"No; I'm going now. No, I can't, confound it! I promised to see to the
+harness for the pair of ponies Lady Bell bought."
+
+Leonard smiled rather grimly.
+
+"How Miss Una must love Lady Bell," he said, ironically.
+
+"So she does," said Jack, sharply. "Now don't pretend to be cynical,
+Len. You know as well as I do that I would spend every hour of my life
+by Una's side if I could; but what can I do?"
+
+"All right!" said Len, and he fell to work again.
+
+Strangely enough now, that Jack was so much occupied with Lady Bell's
+affairs, Stephen happened to find more leisure to visit his mother, and
+very often he accompanied her and Una to some concert or picture-gallery
+to which Jack was prevented from going. Stephen seemed, in addition,
+quite changed, and had become quite the man of pleasure in contrast to
+his former habits.
+
+He rarely appeared at the Square without a nosegay or a new novel; he
+took the greatest interest in any subject which interested Una, and was
+as attentive to her as if he had been the most devoted of lovers. Now
+that Jack was so much absent, it was he who sat opposite her in the
+little brougham, who leaned over her chair at the theater, or rode
+beside her in the Row.
+
+At first Una felt rather constrained by his constant attendance; she had
+been so used to have Jack at her side that she felt embarrassed with
+Stephen; but Stephen, whose tact was second only to his cunning, soon
+put her at her ease. She found that it was not necessary to talk to him,
+that she might sit by his side or ride with him for an hour without
+uttering a word, and was quite free to think of Jack while Stephen
+chatted on in his smooth, insinuating voice.
+
+And so the very effect Stephen desired to produce came about; she got
+accustomed to have him near her, and got to feel at her ease in his
+presence. But how long the mornings seemed! and how she longed for Jack
+and wondered what he was doing! If anyone had openly told her she was
+jealous of Lady Bell, she would have repudiated the idea with scorn too
+deep for anything but a smile; and yet--and yet--that bright, happy look
+which Lady Bell had so much admired, grew fainter and fainter, and
+nearly disappeared, reviving only when Jack hurried in to spend a few
+hours with her, and then hurried off to keep some engagement with Lady
+Bell or on Lady Bell's affairs.
+
+But never by word or look did Una show that his absence pained her;
+instead, she was always the first to remind him of his engagements and
+to bid him depart.
+
+At last the day arrived for her departure to Hurst. Lady Bell did not go
+down to Earl's Court till three days later, and Jack, of course, had to
+remain in town for a day or two after that.
+
+"It is the first time we have been parted for twenty-four hours since
+that happy day I learned you loved me, my darling!" he whispered as he
+held Una in his arms: "I almost wish that I had accepted Stephen's
+invitation. But--but I could not sleep under the old roof--by Heaven, I
+could not! You cannot understand----"
+
+"But I do," murmured Una; "and I am glad you are not coming. If----"
+
+And she paused.
+
+"Well, darling?" asked Jack, kissing her.
+
+"If you had said half a word, I would not have gone."
+
+"Why not?" said Jack, with a sigh. "Yes, I am glad you are going. You
+will see the old house in which I was so happy as a boy--which I once
+thought would have been mine."
+
+"Dear Jack!" she murmured; and her hand smoothed the hair from his
+forehead caressingly and comfortingly.
+
+"Well, never mind," said Jack; "it is better as it is. Perhaps I should
+have had the Hurst, and have lost you; and I would rather lose the whole
+earth than you, my darling! Besides, Stephen has turned out a better
+fellow than I thought him, and deserves all he has got, and will make a
+better use of it than I should. No, I am content--I have got the
+greatest treasure on earth!"
+
+And he pressed her closer to him, and kissed her again and again until,
+from very shame, she slid from his grasp.
+
+Stephen had engaged a first-class carriage, had even taken the
+precaution to order foot-warmers, though the weather was not yet
+winterish, and if he had been the personal attendant on a sovereign, and
+that sovereign had been Una, he could not have been more anxious for her
+comfort. He was so thoughtful and considerate that there was nothing
+left for Jack to do but go down to the station and see them off.
+
+"Four days only, my darling," he whispered, as the train was starting;
+"they will seem years to me."
+
+And he clung to her hand to the last moment, much to the disgust of the
+guard and porters, who expected to see him dragged under the train. Then
+he went back to Spider Court, feeling cold, chilly and miserable, as if
+the sun had been put out.
+
+"Len, I wish I had gone!" he exclaimed, as he opened the door.
+
+But there was no Len to hear him--the room was empty.
+
+"Great Heaven! has everyone disappeared?" he exclaimed, irritably, and
+flung himself out of the house and into a hansom.
+
+"Where to?" said the cabman, and Jack, half absently, answered:
+
+"Park Lane."
+
+The man had often driven him before, and he drove straight to Lady
+Bell's.
+
+Jack walked into the drawing-room quite naturally--the room was familiar
+to him--and sat down before the fire; and Lady Bell came in with
+outstretched hand.
+
+It was a comfort to have someone left, and Jack greeted her warmly, more
+warmly than he knew or intended. Lady Bell's face flushed as he held her
+hand longer than was absolutely necessary.
+
+"Thank Heaven! there is someone left," he said, devoutly. "They have all
+gone, and Len is out, and----"
+
+"I am left," said Lady Bell. "Well, you are just in time for luncheon. I
+half expected you, and I have told them to make a curry."
+
+Curry was one of Jack's weaknesses.
+
+"That is very kind of you," he said, gratefully. He felt, very
+unreasonably, neglected somehow. "You always seem to know what a fellow
+likes."
+
+"That's because I have a good memory," said Lady Bell, smiling down at
+him. "I shall take care to have plenty of curries at Earl's Court. And,
+by the way, will you choose a paper for the smoking-room down there? I
+have told them that they must do it at once."
+
+Jack rose without a word; he had been choosing papers and decorations
+for a week past, and it did not seem strange. Luncheon was announced
+while they were discussing the paper, and Jack gave her his arm. Mrs.
+Fellowes was the only other person present, and she sat reading a novel,
+deaf and blind to all else. Not but what she might have heard every
+word, for the young people talked of the most commonplace subjects, and
+Jack was very absent-minded, thinking of Una, and quite unconscious of
+the light which beamed in Lady Bell's eyes when they rested on him.
+
+Then they rode in the Row; he could do no less than offer to accompany
+her, and Mrs. Fellowes wanted to see a piece at one of the theaters, and
+Jack went to book seats, and took one for himself, and sat staring at
+the stage and thinking of Una; but he sat behind Lady Bell's chair, and
+spoke to her occasionally, and Lady Bell was content.
+
+Hetley and Arkroyd were in the stalls, and saw him.
+
+"Jack's making the running," said Lord Dalrymple, eying the box through
+his opera glass. "He's the winning horse, and we, the field, are
+nowhere."
+
+And not only those two, but many others, remarked on Jack's close
+attendance on the great heiress, and not a few who would have gone to
+the box if he had not been there, kept away.
+
+Meanwhile, Jack, simple, unsuspecting Jack, was bestowing scarcely a
+thought on the beautiful woman by his side, and thinking of Una miles
+away.
+
+The theater over, and Lady Bell put into the carriage, he looked in at
+the club, sauntered into the card-room, smoked a cigar in the
+smoking-room, and then went home to Spider Court.
+
+Much to his surprise he found Leonard up, not only up, but pacing the
+room, his face flushed and agitated.
+
+"Hallo!" exclaimed Jack, "what's the matter? And where on earth have you
+been?"
+
+"Jack, I have found her!"
+
+"That's just what I said some months ago!"
+
+"Yes, I know. I have been thinking how strangely alike our love affairs
+have been. It is my turn now. I have found her!"
+
+"What, this young lady, Laura Treherne?"
+
+"Yes," said Leonard, with a long breath.
+
+"Tell me all about it," said Jack. "Hold hard a minute, till I get
+something to drink. Now, fire away."
+
+"Well," said Leonard, still pacing up and down, and seeming scarcely
+conscious of Jack's presence, "I was walking in the park. You know the
+place, that quiet walk under the beeches. I was thinking of you and your
+love affairs, when I saw, sitting under a tree, a figure that I knew at
+once. For a moment I could not move, and scarcely think; then I wondered
+how I should get to speak to her; but presently, when I had pulled
+myself together, I saw that she had dropped her handkerchief, and I went
+and picked it up and took it to her."
+
+"A fine opening," muttered Jack.
+
+Leonard Dagle evidently did not hear him.
+
+"Well, she started when I approached her, and merely thanked me with a
+bow, but I was determined not to let her go this time, and I said,
+'Pardon me, but we have met before.' 'Where?' said she. 'In a railway
+carriage,' I said, and she looked at me, and trembled. 'I remember,' she
+said, and I swear I saw her shudder. 'Since then,' I said, 'I have
+sought you far and near.' 'Why should you do that?' she asked."
+
+"A very natural question," interjected Jack.
+
+"Then I told her. I told her that from that hour I had been unable to
+rid my mind of her face, that it had haunted me; that I had followed her
+and learned her address; and that though I had lost her I had sought her
+all over London."
+
+"Was she angry?" asked Jack.
+
+"At first she was," said Leonard, "very angry, but something in my voice
+or my face--Heaven knows I was earnest enough! convinced her that I
+meant no harm, and she listened."
+
+"Well," said Jack, interested and excited.
+
+"Well," said Leonard, "we sat talking for an hour, perhaps more, and she
+has promised to meet me again; at least she admitted that she walked in
+the park every afternoon. I tried to get her address, but she told me
+plainly that she would not give it to me."
+
+"And is that all you learned?" asked Jack, with something like
+good-natured contempt.
+
+"No!" replied Leonard. "I learned that she had been injured--oh, not in
+the way you think--and that she had some purpose to effect--some wrong
+to right."
+
+"And of course you offered to help her?" said Jack.
+
+"I offered to help her; I laid my services, my whole time and strength,
+at her disposal; I went so far as to beseech her to tell me what this
+purpose, this wrong was; but she would not tell me, and so we parted.
+But we are to meet again. She is much changed; paler and thinner than
+when I saw her in the railway carriage, but still more beautiful in my
+eyes than any other woman in the world."
+
+"It is a strange affair," mused Jack. "Quite a romance in its way. Isn't
+it funny, Len, that both our love affairs should be romantic, and so
+much alike!"
+
+"Yes," said Leonard, "very. But mine has scarcely begun, while yours has
+ended happily, or will do so, if you do not play the fool!"
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Jack, sharply.
+
+"Where have you been to-night?" asked Leonard.
+
+"To the theater with Lady Bell."
+
+"I expected as much," said Leonard, and he fell to at his writing, and
+would say no more, though Jack stormed and raved.
+
+Meanwhile the Davenant party had, thanks to Stephen, made a comfortable
+journey. They found a carriage and pair waiting for them at the station;
+not the ramshackle vehicle of the old squire's time, but a new carriage
+from the best man in Long Acre, and they were rolled along the country
+lanes in a style Ralph Davenant would have marveled at.
+
+Presently they came in sight of the Hurst, and Mrs. Davenant uttered an
+exclamation.
+
+"Why, Stephen, it is altered!" she said.
+
+Stephen smiled proudly.
+
+Short as the time had been he had effected a radical change in the old
+house; a hundred workmen had been busy, and the ramshackle old mansion
+had been transformed. Wings had been added, the grounds had been newly
+laid out; the road, even, had been altered, and they drove through an
+avenue of thriving young limes.
+
+Una, silent and interested, kept her eyes fixed on the house. She had
+often heard Jack describe it, but this palatial residence did not answer
+to his description. Stephen's money and energy had entirely transformed
+the place.
+
+The carriage pulled up at the entrance, and half a dozen grooms flew to
+the horses' heads: footmen in handsome liveries stood in attendance,
+and the servants formed a lane for their master to pass through. Una had
+often read of such a reception, but here was a reality.
+
+Stephen helped her to alight, and took her and his mother on his arm,
+his head erect, a warm flush on his cheek.
+
+Suddenly the flush disappeared and a frown took its place as he saw
+amongst the crowd gathered together at the entrance the parchment-like
+visage of old Skettle.
+
+But the frown disappeared as he entered the house, and stood silent,
+listening to the approving comments of Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"My dear Stephen," she said, "you have certainly altered the place--I
+should not have known it. And is this what was the gloomy old Hall?"
+
+"Yes," said Stephen, proudly, and he glanced round at the alterations
+with an air of satisfaction, and looked at Una's face for some sign of
+approval.
+
+But Una was looking around anxiously. If it was so much altered, then it
+was not the old home that Jack knew and remembered.
+
+"You will find everything altered and improved, I hope," said Stephen.
+
+Altered, indeed! They have even shifted the old staircase, so that it
+would have been difficult to have found the room in which the old squire
+died, exclaiming:
+
+"You thief! you thief! what have you done with the will?"
+
+Yes, indeed, there was great alteration. The old squire, if he had come
+to life again, would not have known Hurst as Stephen had made it.
+Masons, carpenters, and decorators had been at work to some purpose.
+Everything was changed, and unmistakably for the better.
+
+Stephen looked around with an air of pride.
+
+"They have been very quick," he said. "I placed it in good hands. You
+will find everything you require up-stairs. You must know," he said,
+turning to Una, "that I found the place little better than a barn, and
+have done my best to make it fit to receive you! You are looking at the
+portraits," he added, seeing Una's gaze wandering along the double line
+of dead and gone Davenants. "Most of them you would not have seen two
+months ago, they had been terribly neglected, but I have had them
+cleaned and renewed. That is the old squire, my poor uncle," and he
+sighed comfortably.
+
+Una paused before this, the last portrait of the series, and looked at
+it long and curiously, and the other two stood and watched her, Stephen
+with a keen glance of scrutiny and with a nervous tremor about his
+heart. If she could but know that she was looking at the portrait of her
+own father! Una turned away at last with a faint sigh. She was thinking
+that this was the old man who had once loved Jack and left him to
+poverty.
+
+Mrs. Davenant shuddered slightly.
+
+"He was a terrible old man, my dear," she murmured, "and always
+frightened me. I trembled when he looked at me."
+
+"He does not look so terrible," said Una, sadly.
+
+Stephen fidgeted slightly.
+
+"Come," he said, "you must not catch cold. Your maids are here by this
+time. Will you go up to your room? The housekeeper will show them to
+you, and I hope you will find everything comfortable."
+
+Very slowly, looking to right and left of her, Una followed Mrs.
+Davenant up the broad staircase.
+
+The place seemed to have a strange fascination for her; she could almost
+have persuaded herself that she had been in it before, and it seemed
+familiar, though so much changed from all likeness to Jack's description
+of it.
+
+They found the rooms upstairs beautifully decorated, and furnished in
+the most approved and luxurious style. Lady Bell's house in Park Lane
+even was eclipsed.
+
+"Stephen has made it a palace," said Mrs. Davenant. "How I used to hate
+it in the old time! it was so dark and grim and gloomy, always felt dull
+and damp. Stephen tells me that he has had it thoroughly drained after
+the new fashion, and that it is quite dry. Such a palace as this wants a
+mistress; I wish he would marry."
+
+"Why do you not tell him so?" said Una, with a smile.
+
+Mrs. Davenant shook her head nervously.
+
+"That would do no good, my dear," she said. "I sometimes think he will
+never marry."
+
+And she glanced at Una with some embarrassment. A dim suspicion had of
+late crossed her mind that if Una had been free, Stephen might have
+stood in Jack's place. She could not help noticing Stephen's close
+attendance on Una--a mother's eyes are sharp to note such things.
+
+If the old squire could have seen the dining-room and the elaborate
+_menu_ that evening, he would have stared and sworn. Stephen had engaged
+a French cook; the appointments were as perfect as they could be; the
+servants admirably trained, and as to the wines the Hurst cellar stood
+second to none in the country.
+
+It almost seemed as if he were sparing no pains to impress on Una all
+that the wife of Stephen Davenant would possess. And Una, more than half
+the dinner-time, was thinking of Jack, and fondly picturing the little
+house they had so often talked of setting up when the commissionership
+came home. Just at the same time, Jack was leaning over Lady Bell's
+chair in the theater.
+
+Stephen was in his best mood, and exerted himself to the uttermost. He
+described the neighborhood, planned excursions and expeditions; told
+innumerable anecdotes of the village folk, and played the host to
+perfection.
+
+In a thousand ways he showed his anxiety for Una's comfort; and after
+dinner he had the place lit up, and went over it, asking her opinion on
+this point and the other, and humbly begging her to suggest alterations.
+So much so that Una began to grow shy and reserved, and shrank closer to
+Mrs. Davenant; and Stephen, quick to see when he was going too fast,
+left them and went to the library to write letters.
+
+Now, strange to say, of all the rooms in the house, this one room
+remained unaltered. He had not allowed it to be touched--indeed it was
+kept closely locked, and the key never left him night and day. Just as
+it had been on the night of the squire's death, when Stephen stood with
+the stolen will in his hand, so it was now.
+
+He never entered it without a shudder, and all the time he was in it his
+eyes unconsciously wandered over the floor and furniture as if
+mechanically searching for something.
+
+It exerted a strange, weird influence over him, and seemed to draw him
+into it. Tonight he paced up and down, looking at the familiar objects,
+and making no attempt to write his letters.
+
+His brain was busy, not with schemes of ambition and avarice, but of
+love. The blood ran riot in his veins as he thought that Una was under
+the same roof as himself, and one mighty resolve took possession of him.
+
+"She shall never leave it but to come back as my wife," was his resolve.
+
+Even the lost will did not trouble him tonight. He had Una in his grasp,
+Una upon whom everything turned.
+
+It was far into the morning before he went to bed, and at the head of
+the stairs he turned and looked round with a proud smile.
+
+"All--all mine!" he muttered, "and I will have her, too," and he went to
+sleep and dreamed, not of Una, but of Laura Treherne.
+
+All through the watches of the night the pale, dark face haunted him. At
+times he saw it peering at him through the library window, at others it
+was pursuing him along an endless road; but always it wore a threatening
+aspect and filled him with a vague terror.
+
+Some men's conscience only awake at night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+
+If Una had been a queen visiting some distant part of her realm, more
+elaborate preparations for her amusement could not have been made.
+
+Not a day passed but Stephen had got some proposition for pleasuring,
+and he never tired of hunting up some place to go.
+
+One morning they would drive to some romantic and historic spot; another
+there would be some flower show or _fete_, which he insisted upon them
+seeing; on others, they would play lawn tennis in the now beautiful
+grounds. The fame of the new Hurst had spread abroad, and those of the
+county families who were in residence called at once, and dinner parties
+were given and accepted. So the week glided by quickly, even to Una,
+who reckoned time by the day on which she would see Jack.
+
+Every morning there came a scrawl--Jack's handwriting was mysterious and
+terrible--from him; in every letter he expressed his longing to see her,
+and the hateful time he was having in town. But every letter had some
+mention of Lady Bell; and it was evident that he spent most of his time
+at Park Lane.
+
+But Una was not jealous--she put away from her resolutely any feeling of
+that kind.
+
+"I am so glad that Lady Bell is in town, and that Jack has some place to
+go to," she said to Mrs. Davenant.
+
+And Mrs. Davenant smiled; but sighed at the same time. To her, as to
+others, it seemed that Jack spent too much time in attendance upon the
+great heiress.
+
+Stephen's money flew, it was scattered about in every direction; but
+still he was not popular. Men touched their hats, but they never smiled
+as they had done at the old squire, and as they had done at Jack. There
+was something about Stephen that the Hurst folk could not and would not
+take to; and even while they were drinking with his money, they talked
+of Master Jack and shook their heads regretfully.
+
+And Stephen knew it, and hated them all; but most of all hated old
+Skettle. It seemed as if the old man was ubiquitous; he was everywhere.
+Stephen could not take a walk outside the grounds but he came upon the
+old man; and, though Skettle always raised his hat and gave him
+"Good-day," Stephen felt the small, keen eyes watching him. Of Hudsley
+he had seen nothing.
+
+At last the county papers announced the important fact that Lady
+Earlsley had arrived at Earl's Court, and Una knew that in two days she
+would see Jack.
+
+That night Stephen was more attentive than ever. They had been dining
+out at a neighbor's, and were sitting in the drawing-room, talking over
+the evening. The prospect of Jack's coming had brought a glad light to
+Una's eyes--a brighter color to her face. In two days she should see
+him! In her happiness she felt amiable and tender to all around her,
+and, for the first time, she responded to Stephen's unceasing devotion.
+He had brought in from the new library a whole pile of books relating
+to the county, and was showing and explaining the illustrations.
+
+"That is Earl's Court," he said; "a beautiful place, isn't it? But Lady
+Bell has several grander places than that."
+
+"She is very rich," said Una.
+
+"Very," he said, thoughtfully. "It's a pity that she does not marry."
+
+Una smiled.
+
+"She says that she will never marry," she said.
+
+Stephen looked up.
+
+"And yet a little while ago they were saying that she would be married
+before the year was out."
+
+"Indeed!" said Una.
+
+"It would be a grand match for any one," said Stephen. "It would have
+been a great match for him."
+
+"For him?" said Una. "Who was it?"
+
+Stephen started and looked embarrassed, as if he had made a slip of the
+tongue.
+
+"Well," he said, with a little, awkward laugh; "but--are you jealous?
+Perhaps I ought not to tell tales out of school, though the affair is
+off long ago, and he has made a happier choice."
+
+Una put the fire screen on one side and looked at him calmly. He was
+sitting almost at her feet. Mrs. Davenant was dozing in her accustomed
+arm-chair.
+
+"Of whom do you speak?" she asked.
+
+Stephen hesitated, as if reluctant to reply.
+
+"Well," he said, "it is mere gossip, of course, but gossip awarded the
+great prize of the season to a near and dear friend of yours."
+
+Una's heart beat fast. She guessed what was coming.
+
+"Tell me," she said, in a low voice.
+
+"Tut!" said Stephen, as if ashamed to retail such idle gossip.
+
+"Well, they said that Jack meant to marry the great heiress."
+
+"It is not true," Una said; but her color went, and left her quite pale
+and cold.
+
+"Of course not," said Stephen, cheerfully; "though I would not say but
+there was some excuse for the rumor. Jack was a great deal at Park Lane
+until he met--one who shall be nameless." And he looked up at her with
+a smile. "Why, they went so far as to congratulate him," he said,
+laughing as if at an excellent joke. "And indeed I think if Jack had
+said 'Yes,' Lady Bell would not have said 'No.' So, you see, that you
+have made a veritable conquest!"
+
+And he laughed again.
+
+But there was no answering smile on Una's pale face. It was not of Lady
+Bell she thought, but of herself and Jack.
+
+It was true she had stepped in between Jack and wealth and
+prosperity--she, the penniless daughter of a woodman, had prevented his
+marrying the great heiress and becoming the master of Earl's Court and
+all the Earlsley wealth! A chill passed over her, and she raised the
+screen to hide her face from Stephen's eye.
+
+"Yes, it would have been a great match for Jack," he said,
+carelessly--"it would have set him on his feet, as they say. But he is
+still more fortunate." And he sighed.
+
+Una rose.
+
+"I think I will go up now," she said; and she went and woke Mrs.
+Davenant.
+
+Stephen escorted them to the head of the stairs, smiling as if nothing
+had been said, and then went straight to the old library and rang the
+bell.
+
+It was understood that no one was to answer the library bell but
+Slummers, and Slummers now appeared.
+
+Stephen wrote two letters; one ran thus:
+
+"MY DEAR MR. ROLFE:--Be kind enough to be at my chambers tomorrow
+morning at eight o'clock."
+
+The other was still more short; it was addressed to Mr. Levy Moss:
+
+"Put on the screw at once."
+
+Calmly and leisurely he put them in their envelopes, as if the fate and
+happiness of two souls were not hanging upon them, and gave them to
+Slummers.
+
+"Take the morning express and deliver these yourself," he said, quietly.
+"I shall follow you by the midday train. When you have done so, find Mr.
+Newcombe and keep him in sight. You understand?"
+
+"Quite, sir," said Slummers, and disappeared as silently as usual.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+
+It was Jack's last day in town. Tomorrow he would be at Earl's Court,
+and in the evening would be riding as fast as a horse could carry him to
+Una.
+
+The hours seemed to drift with leaden wings.
+
+It was no use going to Park Lane, for the blinds were down, and Lady
+Bell was at Earl's Court. It was no use going to the club, for the
+whitewashers had taken possession of it; never had Jack been so utterly
+bored and wearied. At last he strolled into the park, and sat on one of
+the seats and stared at the Row, giving himself up to thoughts of Una,
+and picturing their meeting on the morrow.
+
+He lingered in the park till dusk: then he went home to dress.
+
+"Still writing, old man?" he said, as he entered, and laid his hand on
+Leonard's shoulder.
+
+"Halloa! is that you, Jack?" said Leonard, throwing down his pen. "I
+have been expecting you."
+
+"Why for?" asked Jack, yawning. Then he looked up curiously. "I wish I'd
+known it; I'd have come home. Look here, Len, we'll go and dine
+somewhere; if there is anything left to eat in this howling desert of a
+London. If ever any man was bored to death and sick of it, I am this
+day. Twenty-four hours more of it, and I should chuck myself into the
+Serpentine! I never spent such a day----"
+
+He stopped suddenly, for he became conscious that Leonard was standing,
+looking down at him with a grave and earnest regard.
+
+"What's the matter, old man?" he asked.
+
+Leonard hesitated.
+
+"Jack," he said, at last, "Moss has been here."
+
+"Oh, has he?" said Jack, carelessly.
+
+"Yes, and there is trouble about. He is pressing for his money."
+
+"What!" exclaimed Jack.
+
+Leonard nodded.
+
+"Yes, he means mischief; he made quite a fuss here. Said he had a heavy
+claim to meet----"
+
+"Oh, I know that old yarn."
+
+"And that he must and would have money to meet those bills of yours."
+
+Jack looked grave.
+
+"Did he mean it?"
+
+"Yes," said Leonard. "Thanks to you, I know Mr. Levy Moss by this time,
+and I am sure he was in earnest."
+
+"Confound him!" muttered Jack.
+
+"Confounding him won't pay him," said Leonard, sensibly.
+
+Jack rose and paced the room.
+
+"What am I to do, Len?"
+
+"I don't know," said Leonard. "If I could help you--but all I have
+wouldn't meet one bill."
+
+"And I wouldn't take it if it would," said Jack. "But I can't understand
+it! Only last week he was bothering me to take a hundred or two."
+
+Leonard shook his head.
+
+"All I can tell you is, that he was simply furious. He said that he must
+and would have some money, that if you did not pay him he would----"
+
+"Well?" said Jack, grimly.
+
+"That he would put you through the Court," said Leonard.
+
+Jack turned pale.
+
+"What am I to do?" he said. "I have been relying on the commissionership
+that Stephen promised, and Moss seemed quite willing to wait. I can't
+find any money."
+
+Leonard shook his head.
+
+"The man was furious. Worse than I have ever seen him. You will have to
+find some money somewhere. How much do you owe him?"
+
+Jack tilted his hat on one side and scratched his head.
+
+"Hanged if I know. He has let me have a great deal lately. Five hundred,
+perhaps."
+
+"Jack, you have been a fool," said Leonard. "I told you that it was no
+use counting upon the place your cousin Stephen promised you."
+
+"I don't so much care for myself, but Una, Una," said Jack, with a
+groan. Then he jumped up. "Let us go and get some dinner, and think it
+over."
+
+They went to a well-known house in Strand, and Jack, careless Jack,
+ordered a dinner fit for a prince, and enjoyed it as he would have
+enjoyed it if he had been going to be hanged on the morrow.
+
+"I don't understand Moss," he said. "He was everything that was
+agreeable and pleasant a few days ago."
+
+"And today he was like a wolf hunting for a bone," said Leonard. "Hello,
+who's this?" for a gentleman had entered the dining-room and approached
+their table.
+
+"Why, it's Stephen!" exclaimed Jack, forgetting Moss in a moment. "Just
+in time, Stephen, we'll have another bottle of claret up. What on earth
+brings you to town? And how is--how are they all?"
+
+Stephen sat down with a grave smile, and just sipped the claret, the
+best the house had on its list. And he sat and talked till the wine was
+finished, the greater part of which Jack drank, then he said:
+
+"Jack, I want you to come to my chambers; I have something to tell you."
+
+"All right," said Jack. "Leonard can find his way home very well."
+
+Stephen called a hansom, and they were rattled away to the Albany.
+
+As they ascended the stairs, Stephen laid his hand on Jack's arm.
+
+"Jack, I am sorry to say I have bad news for you. You will be calm."
+
+"Bad news!" said Jack, and his heart stood still. "What is it? Una----"
+
+"Yes," said Stephen; "it is about Una. You will be calm, my dear Jack?"
+
+Jack leaned against the balustrade and drew a long breath.
+
+"Is she ill--dead?" he gasped.
+
+"Neither," said Stephen. "Come, be a man."
+
+"I am ready," said Jack. "If she is neither ill nor dead I can bear
+anything else."
+
+Stephen opened the door, and Jack, entering, saw Gideon Rolfe standing
+on the hearthrug.
+
+"Mr. Rolfe!" he exclaimed. "How do you do? I am very glad to see you!"
+and he held out his hand.
+
+Gideon Rolfe nodded and turned aside.
+
+"What is it? What is the matter?" asked Jack, turning to Stephen, who
+had carefully closed the door and stood with knitted brow and sad
+countenance.
+
+At Jack's question he glanced at Rolfe, and then, with a sigh, said:
+
+"Yes, Jack, I will tell you. It will come better from me than Mr. Rolfe.
+Jack, you were right in suspecting that the business referred to Una.
+She is quite well--and happy. But--but I am afraid your engagement must
+cease."
+
+At this, Jack's calmness came back to him, and with something like a
+smile, he said, scornfully:
+
+"Indeed!"
+
+"Yes," said Gideon Rolfe, but Stephen held up his hand and silenced him.
+
+"Perhaps you will tell me for what reason?" said Jack, quietly.
+
+"For a sad, very sad reason," said Stephen, in a subdued and mournful
+tone. "Jack, my heart bleeds for you----"
+
+"Never mind your heart," said Jack, curtly. "Come to the point,
+Stephen."
+
+"I sympathize with you deeply," continued Stephen, not at all affronted.
+"The fact is, Mr. Rolfe has tonight made a communication respecting our
+dear young friend, which has completely overwhelmed me----"
+
+"Let me see if it will overwhelm me," said Jack. "What is it?"
+
+"My dear Jack, it is a story involving shame----"
+
+"Shame!" echoed Jack, and his brow darkened. "To whom?"
+
+"To those who can feel shame no longer," said Stephen; "but alas! its
+shadow falls on a young life as innocent and pure as the angels."
+
+"On Una?" demanded Jack, fiercely.
+
+Stephen bowed his head.
+
+"Yes, Jack. Una is a nameless child--she is illegitimate."
+
+Jack reeled and fell into a chair, and there he sat for a moment.
+
+"It is a lie!" he said at last.
+
+"It is true!" said the deep voice of Gideon Rolfe; and Jack, fixing his
+startled eyes on the rough, ragged face, knew that it was the truth.
+
+With a groan he covered his face with his hands; then he started up and
+struck the table a blow that made Stephen wince.
+
+"Well," he exclaimed, with a short laugh--"well, what business is it of
+anyone's but mine and Una's? What do I care whether she is illegitimate
+or not? Let her be the daughter of whom she may, married or unmarried,
+it matters not to me. She _is_ Una, and that is enough!"
+
+His voice rang out loud and clear as a bell's tone, and he looked from
+one to the other defiantly.
+
+"And now that is settled," he said, sternly. "Let us come to
+particulars, to proof. Mr. Rolfe, though I know you are averse to our
+marriage, I believe you. I do not think you are capable of inventing a
+lie--a base, fiendish lie--to serve your ends. But all the same I ask,
+and not without reason, some proofs. First, who are Una's parents?"
+
+Gideon Rolfe was about to reply, but a glance from Stephen stopped him.
+
+"That is the question I have implored Mr. Rolfe to answer," he said. "I
+have entreated him to give us some information, but he declines. It is a
+secret which he says shall go down to the grave with him, unless----"
+
+"Unless what?" demanded Jack, hoarsely.
+
+"Unless you are still determined to hold Una to her engagement.
+Then----"
+
+He paused, and Jack looked from one to the other.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Then he declares he will go to Una and inform her of the shame that
+clings to her name."
+
+Jack uttered a low cry and sank back in his chair. He saw by what heavy
+chains he was bound. To get possession of Una he must inflict the agony
+of shame upon her.
+
+If ever a man loved truly and nobly Jack loved Una. He would have died
+the death to spare her a moment's pain; and here was this man
+threatening to darken and curse her whole life if he, Jack, did not
+relinquish her.
+
+"Are you human?" he said, turning his eyes upon Gideon Rolfe with a
+wild, hunted gaze.
+
+Gideon Rolfe smiled bitterly.
+
+"I am human enough to prevent this marriage."
+
+Jack rose and confronted him.
+
+"I will not give her up," he said hoarsely. "I defy you!"
+
+"Good!" said Gideon Rolfe. "Then I go to the girl and acquaint her with
+the true story of her birth. If I know her--and I do--she has sufficient
+pride to prevent her staining so honorable a family as the Davenants by
+marrying into it," and he sneered bitterly.
+
+Jack's face flushed.
+
+"You professed to love her," he said. "Are you totally indifferent to
+her happiness?"
+
+"No happiness could follow her union to one of your race," said Gideon
+Rolfe.
+
+Stephen trembled. He was playing a dangerous and desperate game. A word
+from Rolfe might put Jack in possession of Una's real parentage, and
+Stephen would be ruined.
+
+"My dear Jack," he said, sorrowfully, "I have besought Mr. Rolfe, almost
+on my knees, to hold his hand, but he is like stone--immovable."
+
+There was a pause.
+
+Jack stood, his brain in a whirl, his heart beating wildly. His frenzied
+brain saw the whole thing clearly. On one side stood his passionate love
+and his life-long happiness, on the other Una's shame and agony.
+
+"I love her so!" he moaned.
+
+"You say that you love her," said Gideon Rolfe, sternly. "Prove it by
+saving her from the knowledge of the shame which clings to her name. If
+your love is worth anything it will make that sacrifice. Remember, it is
+on your side only. She is young--a mere girl, a few weeks, months at
+most, and she will have learned to forget you."
+
+"That's a lie, at least," groaned Jack. "I know her better than you."
+
+"No matter," said Gideon Rolfe, coldly. "Time will heal a disappointed
+love; no time can heal an undying shame."
+
+Jack rose and paced the room.
+
+"Leave me alone for a few minutes," he said hoarsely. "I must think this
+out; nothing you can say can influence me."
+
+At a signal from Stephen, Gideon Rolfe remained silent.
+
+Five minutes passed and then Jack came to the light.
+
+The handsome face was haggard and white and so changed that ten years
+might have passed over his head in those few minutes.
+
+"Mr. Rolfe," he said, and his voice was broken and hollow, "why you bear
+me such deadly enmity I cannot imagine, and you will not tell me?"
+
+Gideon Rolfe made a gesture of assent.
+
+"It is a mystery to me; I only know its results. Once more I ask you to
+relent, and spare the unhappiness of both of us."
+
+"I am resolved," said Gideon. "Either relinquish her or I tell her all.
+The decision is in your hands. I do not doubt you will seize your
+happiness, even at the cost of her shame."
+
+"Then you wrong me," said Jack. "Rather than she should know the shadow
+which hangs on her life I relinquish her."
+
+A light gleamed in Stephen's eyes, and his lips twitched.
+
+"This I do," continued Jack, in a voice so low and broken that it
+scarcely reached them, "placing implicit trust in your assertion that
+she is--as you state."
+
+He drew a long breath.
+
+"I dare not risk it; but if in the future I should find that you have
+played me false--if, I say, this should prove a lie, then I tell you
+beware, for, as there is a Heaven above us, I will take my vengeance."
+
+"So be it," said Gideon Rolfe, grimly. "Now write," and he pointed to a
+bureau on which stood pen and paper, as if prepared for use.
+
+Jack started.
+
+"You will not take my word?" he said, bitterly.
+
+Gideon Rolfe hesitated; but, at a glance from Stephen, said:
+
+"Let the knowledge that the engagement is at an end come from you; it
+will be better so."
+
+Jack went to the bureau and sank into a chair.
+
+Yes, if the blow must be dealt it better be by his hands, as tenderly as
+possible.
+
+He sat for some moments with his head in his hands, as utterly oblivious
+of the presence of the others as if they were absent.
+
+Before him rose the lovely face with its trustful eyes; in his ears rang
+the musical voice which he should never hear again.
+
+What should he write? Why should he write?
+
+Stephen stole behind him.
+
+"You will be careful to conceal the truth, my dear Jack," he murmured.
+
+Jack started, and turned upon him with a look that caused Stephen to
+shrink back behind the table.
+
+"For what am I giving up what is most precious in life?" he said
+hoarsely.
+
+Then in sheer despair he seized the pen, and wrote in a trembling hand:
+
+"MY DEAREST:--Since you left me, circumstances have occurred which have
+changed the current of both our lives. I dare not tell you more, but I
+pray, I beseech, you not to misjudge me. If you knew the position in
+which I am placed, you would understand why I am acting thus, and
+instead of condemning, pity me. Una, from this moment our lives are
+separate. Heaven send you happiness, and--as I know your true, loving
+heart--forgetfulness. I cannot tell you more--would to Heaven that I
+could. From the first I have been unworthy of you; I am more unworthy
+now than ever. I dare not ask of you to remember me; forget me, Una,
+forget that such a person as I ever crossed your path. Would to Heaven
+that we had never met! Don't think hardly of me, my darling, whatever
+you may hear. What I am doing is as much for your good as for mine.
+Good-bye. I shall never cease to remember and love you, whatever
+happens. Good-bye!                                    "JACK."
+
+
+Blotted and smeared, he enclosed it in an envelope, and dropped it
+before Gideon Rolfe; then he looked round for his hat.
+
+"A glass of wine, Jack?" murmured Stephen.
+
+But Jack took no more notice than if he had been deaf, and seizing his
+hat staggered from the room.
+
+Stephen drew a long breath.
+
+"Well, Mr. Rolfe," he said, "we have conquered. As for this note, I will
+see that it is delivered at a proper opportunity."
+
+"Good," said Gideon Rolfe; then he paused, and frowned sternly. "I am
+sorry for the young man."
+
+Stephen smiled, and waved his hand.
+
+"A mere fancy," he said, lightly. "My dear Jack is apt to take these
+matters as very serious, but he generally manages to get over them. And
+now what will you take to drink, Mr. Rolfe?"
+
+Gideon Rolfe waved his hand and put on his hat.
+
+"I leave the letter with you," he said. "Good-night."
+
+Stephen filled a wine glass with brandy, and drank it off, his hand
+shaking. Then he eyed Jack's letter curiously, and at last held the
+envelope over the steam of the hot water, and drew it apart.
+
+"A very sensible letter," he muttered, as he read. "Ambiguous, but all
+the better for that. Really, anyone reading this, would conclude that
+Jack had made up his mind to marry Lady Bell, and was ashamed to say
+so."
+
+Then he reclosed the envelope, and went to bed, and slept the sleep of
+the just.
+
+Meanwhile Jack strode around the streets of London, his brain in a
+whirl, half mad with "the desperation of despair," as a poet has it.
+
+At last he reached home, and found the rooms dark and lonesome, and
+Leonard in bed.
+
+He sat down and wrote a short note to Lady Bell, telling her that things
+had turned up which prevented him coming to Earl's Court--giving no
+reason, but just simply the fact. Then he turned out, and he walked
+about till daylight.
+
+When he came in Leonard was at breakfast, and stared aghast at Jack's
+haggard face and changed appearance.
+
+"My dear old man," he commenced, but Jack cut him short.
+
+"Len, I'm the most miserable wretch in existence. Don't ask me the why
+and the wherefore; but all is over between me and Una."
+
+"Impossible!" said Leonard.
+
+"Impossible, but true," retorted Jack. "All is over between us, and if
+you value our friendship you will not mention her name again."
+
+"But----" said Leonard.
+
+"Enough," said Jack. "I tell you that it is so."
+
+"Moss has been here again," Leonard said.
+
+"I don't care."
+
+"But, my dear fellow----"
+
+"I don't care," said Jack, stolidly. "A hundred Mosses wouldn't matter
+to me now. Let him do his worst."
+
+"You don't know what his worst is," said Leonard. "He has got you in his
+power."
+
+"All right," said Jack, coolly. "Let him exercise it to his uttermost."
+
+Leonard had never seen Jack like this.
+
+"Listen to me," he said. "If Moss does all he can do, he can expel you
+from any club in London, can make you an utter out-cast. Come, Jack, be
+reasonable."
+
+"I can't be reasonable!" retorted Jack. "I am utterly ruined and undone.
+With Una everything that is worth living for has gone. I care nothing
+for Moss or anything he can do."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+
+"In another hour he will be here," said Una, as she stood at her
+dressing-room window, and looked out upon the lawns and park of Hurst,
+where they stretched down toward the road.
+
+"Another hour!" and at the thought, a smile--yet scarcely a smile, but a
+suitable light like a sun ray stole over her face.
+
+The great poet Tennyson has, in one of his greatest poems, portrayed a
+girl who, all unconscious of the bitter moments awaiting her, decked
+herself in her brightest ribbons to receive her expected lover.
+
+Bright ribbons are out of fashion now, but Una had paid some, for her,
+extraordinary attention to her toilet. Jack was never tired of calling
+her beautiful; had even gone so far as to speak of her loveliness, and
+it had raised no vanity in her; but this evening she felt she would like
+to appear really and truly beautiful in his eyes, so beautiful that even
+Lady Bell's spirited face should be forgotten.
+
+She had chosen the dress he liked best; had selected, with unusual care,
+a couple of flowers from the costly bouquet, which, morning and evening,
+was sent to her room from the hot-houses, and had decked herself in the
+locket and bracelet, and ring which Jack had given her.
+
+Mrs. Davenant had made her many presents of jewelry, some of it costly,
+and even rare; but she would not wear anything but Jack's own gifts
+tonight.
+
+"He will come fresh from Lady Bell's diamonds and sapphires, and would
+think little of mine, beautiful as they are; but he will like to see his
+locket and his bracelet, and will know that I love him best."
+
+Not once, but twice and thrice she had moved from the window to the
+glass, and looked into it. Not with any expression of pleased vanity,
+but rather with merciless criticism. For the first time, she would like
+to be as beautiful as Jack thought her. For the last few days she had
+been rather silent, and somewhat pale. Stephen's cunning hints
+respecting Jack and Lady Bell had had their effect; but tonight's
+expectation, and the nearness of Jack's approach, had brought a faint
+rose-like tint to her cheeks, and her eyes shone with the subtle light
+of love and hope.
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked up at her as she entered the drawing-room and
+smiled affectionately.
+
+"How well you look tonight, dear," she said, as she kissed her and drew
+her down beside her. "I'm inclined to believe Jack, when he says that
+you grow more beautiful than ever."
+
+"Hush," said Una, but with a blush. "Jack says so many foolish things,
+dear."
+
+"If he never said anything more foolish than that he would be a wise
+man," said Mrs. Davenant. "How long would he be now, dear?"
+
+Una glanced at the clock.
+
+"Just forty minutes," she said simply.
+
+Mrs. Davenant smiled and patted her hand.
+
+"Counting the very minutes," she murmured, gently. "What a thing love
+is! What would life be without it?"
+
+"Death," said Una, with a grave smile. "Worse than death."
+
+Mrs. Davenant sighed.
+
+"Jack is a happy man," she said. "I wonder whether Stephen will come
+down this evening?"
+
+"Do you not know?" said Una, absently.
+
+"No," replied Mrs. Davenant. "I thought, perhaps, he might have told
+you."
+
+"Me!" said Una, with open eyes. "Oh, no. Why should he?"
+
+"I didn't know," said Mrs. Davenant, quietly. "He tells you everything,
+I think."
+
+Una smiled.
+
+"He is very good and kind," she said, still a little absently. "Oh, very
+kind. No one could have taken more trouble to make me happy."
+
+"Yes, Stephen likes to see you happy," said Mrs. Davenant, softly. "Poor
+Stephen!" and she sighed.
+
+But Una heard neither the expression of pity nor the sigh. She had
+risen, and was moving about the room with that suppressed impatience
+which marks the one who wafts an expected joy.
+
+Presently her quick ears heard the rattle of approaching wheels, and
+with a throbbing heart she looked at the clock. It wanted ten minutes to
+the appointed time for Jack's arrival. With a quick flush of gratitude
+for his punctuality she moved to the door, and stole swiftly and softly
+to her own room, to regain composure. She heard the carriage pull up and
+go away to the stables--heard the hurried tread of footsteps in the
+marble hall--and then, with the faint flush grown into a full-blown
+blush, went downstairs and entered the drawing-room.
+
+A sudden shock of disappointment chilled her. Stephen was standing
+before the fire warming his hands, but Jack was not there.
+
+Stephen, in the glass, saw her enter, saw the sudden start and
+disappearance of the warm flush, and turned to meet her.
+
+He looked tired, pale and worn, and the smile with which he met her was
+a singular one, one that would have been almost triumphant but for the
+expression of anxiety underlying it.
+
+"I have got back, you see," he said. "And are you quite well?"
+
+Una murmured an inaudible response, and he went back to the fire and
+bent over it, warming his hands, his face grown, if anything, still
+paler.
+
+"How beautiful she looks!" he thought. "How beautiful! Worth risking all
+for--all!"
+
+"Won't you go up and dress, Stephen?" said Mrs. Davenant. "There is a
+large fire in your room, and in Jack's too; I have just been into both
+of them."
+
+"Yes, yes," he said, not nervously, but with almost an absent air, and
+he left the room.
+
+"Stephen looks tired," said Mrs. Davenant. "I'm afraid he has had some
+business that has worried him. I can always tell by his face."
+
+"I am very sorry," said Una, gently. "Yes, he did look tired and
+worried," she added, but with her eyes on the clock. The hands went
+round to the hour--an hour beyond Jack's time--and the butler announced
+dinner.
+
+"Oh, we will wait a little while for Mr. Newcombe!" said Mrs. Davenant,
+but Una, with a little flush, murmured:
+
+"No, do not, please; Mr. Davenant must want his dinner. Please do not
+wait;" and Mrs. Davenant, never able to stand out against anyone's will,
+rose and put her arm in Una's and they went into the dining-room.
+Stephen followed and sat down without making any remark on Jack's
+absence; even when Mrs. Davenant said to the butler--"Let them be sure
+and keep the soup hot for Mr. Newcombe," Stephen made no observation.
+
+Dish after dish disappeared, and Una made a faint pretence at eating as
+usual, and joined in the conversation between Stephen and Mrs. Davenant,
+but her eyes were continually straying toward the clock, her ears
+straining for the sound of wheels or a galloping horse.
+
+The dinner was a thing of the past, and the soup had been kept hot in
+vain; no Jack arrived. Gradually silence had fallen on the three, and
+when Mrs. Davenant rose it was with a sigh of loving sympathy with the
+troubled heart that ached so near her own.
+
+"I cannot think what has kept him," she said, when they were alone
+together in the drawing-room. "If it were anyone but Jack I should feel
+nervous--but even I cannot feel nervous about _him_. It is a plain, easy
+road from Earl's Court, and he rides like a--a centaur."
+
+"Perhaps," said Una, with her eyes fixed on the fire--"perhaps Lady Bell
+pressed him to stay to dinner, and he will be here presently."
+
+"That must be it," said Mrs. Davenant, hopefully. "He will come in
+directly, making a most tremendous noise, and raging against whatever
+has been keeping him. Jack's rages are dreadful while they last--they
+don't last long!"
+
+Una smiled, and listened.
+
+Stephen entered--so noiselessly that she almost started--and stooped
+over his mother.
+
+"There are some things in the breakfast room I brought from London, will
+you go and see to them?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant rose instantly.
+
+"Una, dear," she said, "see to the tea, I will be back directly."
+
+Una nodded, and sat down at the gypsy table. Stephen stood beside the
+fire, one white hand stretched out to the blaze, his face turned toward
+her, his eyes watching her under their lowered lids. His heart beat
+nervously, the task before him seemed to overmaster him, and he shrank
+from it; with one hand he felt Jack's letter, lying like an asp in his
+breast coat pocket.
+
+"There is a cold wind tonight," he said absently. "Jack said the wind
+had gone round this morning."
+
+"Jack," said Una, raising her eyes, with a sudden flame of color in her
+face. "Have you seen him? You have been to Earl's Court?"
+
+Stephen frowned as if angry at making a slip.
+
+"No--no," he said with gentle hesitation. "No; I saw him in London. He
+is not at Earl's Court."
+
+"Not at Earl's Court!" said Una, with surprise. "How is that? Oh, he is
+not ill?"
+
+And her breath came sharply.
+
+Stephen turned to the fire, with knitted brow and compressed lip, and
+fidgeted with the poker.
+
+"No," he replied, slowly, and as if uncertain what to say--"he is not
+ill."
+
+"Then why did he not go?" asked Una.
+
+Stephen remained silent; and still keeping her eyes fixed on his pale
+face, she rose and glided to his side.
+
+"You have something to tell me," she said, laying her hand on his arm,
+and speaking in a low, panting voice. "What is it? You will tell me,
+will you not? Has anything happened to Lady Bell? Is she at Earl's
+Court?"
+
+"Yes, she is at Earl's Court," he said, almost bitterly, "and she is
+quite well, I believe."
+
+"Then," said Una, in a low voice, which she tried vainly to keep
+steady--"then it is something concerning Jack. Oh, why do you keep me in
+suspense?"
+
+Her misery maddened him.
+
+"I will tell you that he is quite well," he said, almost sharply. "I
+left him in perfect health. I dined with him, and he made an excellent
+dinner."
+
+"You are angry with him! What has he done to make you angry?" she asked.
+
+He raised her hand, and let it fall with a gesture of noble indignation.
+
+"What has he done?" he repeated, as if to himself. "I can find no words
+to describe it adequately. My poor Una!"
+
+And he turned to her, and laid his hand caressingly and pityingly on her
+arm.
+
+Una, white and cold, was all unconscious of his touch.
+
+Stephen drew her gently to a low seat, and stood over her, his hand
+resting with the same caressing pity on her arm.
+
+"Yes, I must tell you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "Would to
+Heaven I had been spared the task. Dear Una! you will be calm--I know
+your brave spirit and true, courageous heart. You will summon all your
+strength to bear the blow it is left for me to deal you--me who would
+lay down my life to spare you a moment's pain!"
+
+She scarcely heeded him. Her eyes, fixed on his face, were dilated with
+fear and dread, her lips white and apart with suspense.
+
+"Tell me," she murmured. "It is something to do with Jack?"
+
+"It is," he said. "It is."
+
+"He is dead!" she breathed.
+
+And her eyes closed, as a shudder ran through her frame.
+
+"Would to Heaven he had died, ere this night's work," said Stephen, in a
+low, fierce voice. "No; I have told you the truth. I left him well
+and--Heaven forgive him--happy."
+
+Una drew a long breath, and smiled wearily.
+
+"What can you have to tell me about him that is so dreadful, if he is
+alive and happy?"
+
+"He is alive, but he must be dead to you, dear Una," said Stephen.
+
+"Dead to me!" repeated Una, as if the words had no meaning for her.
+"Dead to me! I--I do not understand."
+
+Then, as he stood silent, with a look of gentle pity and sorrow on his
+pale face, a sharp expression of apprehension flashed across her face.
+
+"Say that again," she said. "You--you mean to tell me that he has left
+me?"
+
+Stephen lowered his head.
+
+Una was silent, while the clock ticked three, then three words came
+swiftly and sharply from her white lips:
+
+"It is false!"
+
+Stephen started.
+
+"Would to Heaven it were," he murmured.
+
+"Gone! left me without a word," said Una, with a smile of scorn. "Can
+you ask--can you expect me to believe it?"
+
+"No," said Stephen. "No one would believe such base and hideous
+treachery without proof."
+
+"Proof!" she echoed, faintly, and with sudden sinking of the heart.
+"Proof! Give it to me!"
+
+Stephen drew the letter from his pocket slowly and reluctantly.
+
+Una saw it and shivered.
+
+"It is from him; give it to me," she said.
+
+And she held out her hand.
+
+Stephen took it in his, and held it for a moment.
+
+"Wait--for Heaven's sake wait," he murmured, with agitation. "I meant to
+break it to you--to explain----"
+
+"Give it to me," was all she said, and she shook his hand off
+impatiently.
+
+"Take it," said Stephen, with a tremor in his voice, "take it, and would
+to Heaven he had found some other messenger to bear it."
+
+Una took the letter and slowly but steadily carried it to another part
+of the room.
+
+There she stood and looked at it as if she were waiting to gain strength
+to open it.
+
+At last, after what seemed an eternity to Stephen, who was watching her
+in the glass, she broke open the envelope and read.
+
+Not twice, but thrice she read it, as if she meant to engrave every line
+on her heart, then she thrust the letter in her bosom and came back to
+the fire.
+
+Stephen turned, and with a low cry of alarm at sight of her altered
+face, moved toward her; but she put up her hand to keep him back.
+
+Altered! Not only in face but in bravery. A minute ago she had been a
+gentle-hearted, suffering, tortured girl, now she was an injured,
+deserted woman.
+
+"Thanks," she said, and the words fell like ice from her lips. "You
+spoke of an explanation. Will you tell me all you know, Stephen?"
+
+"Pray--not now," he murmured. "Tomorrow----"
+
+But she stopped him with a smile, awful to see in its utter despair and
+unnatural calmness.
+
+"Now, please."
+
+"It--it is too easy of explanation," said Stephen hoarsely. "He was
+tempted and he has fallen. He has bartered his honor for gold. Ask me no
+more."
+
+Una drew a long breath.
+
+"It is needless," she said. "You mean that he has left me, because I am
+poor, for Lady Earlsley, who can make him rich."
+
+Stephen turned away and sighed heavily.
+
+Una looked at him for a moment, then sat down at the tea-table.
+
+"You will have some tea?" she said calmly.
+
+Stephen started and looked at her. She had taken up the cream ewer with
+an unfaltering hand. Great Heaven! could it be possible that she did not
+feel it--that she did not really love Jack after all! A wild feeling of
+exultation rose within his heart.
+
+"Thank Heaven!" he murmured, "you can meet such treachery as it
+deserves--with scorn and contempt."
+
+She looked up at him with a strange smile on her cold, white face, and
+held out a tea-cup. But as he came near her, the cup dropped from her
+hand with a crash, and she fell back like one stricken unto death.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That same evening, Lady Bell stood in the drawing-room of Earl's Court.
+She was richly dressed, more richly than was usual with her; upon her
+white neck and arms sparkled the diamond set which she wore only on the
+most special occasions. The room was full. Four or five of the country
+families had been dining with her, and the buzz of conversation and
+sound of music rose and fell together confusedly.
+
+Surrounded, as usual, by a little circle of courtiers, she reigned, by
+the right of her beauty, her birth, and her wealth, a queen of society.
+
+Brilliant and witty she, so to speak, kept her devoted adherents at bay,
+her beautiful face lit up with the smile which so many found so falsely
+fascinating, her eyes shining like the gems in her hair. Never had she
+appeared so beautiful, so irresistible.
+
+Regarding her even most critically one would have assented to the
+proposition that certainly if any woman in the world was happy that
+night it was Lady Isabel Earlsley.
+
+And yet beneath all her brilliance Lady Bell was hiding an aching heart.
+Half the country was there at her feet, and only one of all her invited
+guests absent, and he a poor, tireless, ne'er-do-well. But Lady Bell
+would willingly, joyfully have exchanged them all for that one man, for
+that scapegrace with the bold, handsome face and frank, fearless eyes.
+
+Since mid-day she had been expecting him. Like Una, her eyes had
+wandered to the clock, and she had told the minutes over; but he had not
+come, and now, with that false gayety of despair, she was striving,
+fighting hard to forget him.
+
+But her eyes and ears refused to obey her will, and were still watching
+and waiting, and suddenly her glance, wandering over her fan, saw a
+figure standing in the doorway.
+
+It was not a man's, it was that of Laura Treherne's--Mary Burns.
+
+Not one of them around her noticed any difference in her smile or
+guessed why she dismissed them so easily and naturally. She did not even
+march straight for the door, but making a circuit, gradually reached the
+hall.
+
+Pale and calm and self-possessed as usual, the strange maid was waiting
+for her.
+
+"Well!" said Lady Bell, and her voice was scarcely above a whisper.
+"Has--has he come?"
+
+"No," said Laura Treherne. "But though your ladyship told me only to let
+you know of Mr. Newcombe's arrival, I thought it best to bring you this
+letter."
+
+Lady Bell almost snatched it from her hand.
+
+"You did right," she said.
+
+With trembling hands she broke open the envelope, not noting that it
+opened easily as if it had been tampered with, and read the note.
+
+"DEAR LADY BELL--I am sorry I cannot come as arranged. I am in great
+trouble, and cannot leave London.
+                                    "Yours truly,
+                                      "JACK NEWCOMBE."
+
+
+Lady Bell looked at the few lines for full a minute, then she pressed
+the letter to her lips. As she did so, she saw that the slight figure in
+its dark dress was still standing in front of her, and she started.
+
+"Why are you waiting?" she said angrily.
+
+Laura Treherne turned to go, but Lady Bell called to her.
+
+"Wait. I beg your pardon. I am going to London tomorrow by the first
+train. Will you have everything ready?"
+
+Laura Treherne bowed.
+
+"Yes, my lady."
+
+"And--and--you need not sit up," said Lady Bell.
+
+"Thanks, my lady," was the calm response. And the dim figure disappeared
+in the distance.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+
+Christmas was near at hand; but notwithstanding that nearly everybody
+who had a country house, or an invitation to one, was away in the
+shires, London was by no means empty. There were still "chariots and
+horsemen" in the park; and the clubs were pretty well frequented. Not a
+few have come to the conclusion that after all London is at its best and
+cheerfulest in mid-winter; and that plum pudding and roast beef can be
+enjoyed in a London square as well, if not better, than in the country.
+
+Among these was Lady Bell. Although she had two or three country houses
+which she might have filled with guests, she, for sundry reasons,
+preferred to remain in Park Lane.
+
+Perhaps, like Leonard Dagle, she thought that there was no place like
+London. He would have his idea that there was no place in it like Spider
+Court. Spring, summer, autumn, and winter, with perhaps, just a short
+interregnum of a fortnight in summer, Leonard stuck to Spider Court; and
+on this winter evening he was sitting in his accustomed place, busily
+driving the pen.
+
+There was a certain change about Leonard which was worthy of remark. He
+looked, not older than we saw him last, but younger. In place of the
+weary, abstracted air, which had settled upon him during the long months
+of the search of Laura Treherne, there was an expression of hopefulness
+and energy which was distinctly palpable. The room too looked changed.
+It was neater and less muddled; and though the boxing gloves and
+portraits of actresses and fair ladies of the ballet still adorned the
+walls, the floor and chairs were no longer lumbered with Jack's boots
+and gloves, cigar boxes, and other impedimenta.
+
+Perhaps Leonard missed these untidy objects, for he was wont to look up
+from his work and round the room with a sigh, and not seldom would rise
+and stalk into the bed-room beyond his own; the bed-room which Jack kept
+in a similar litter, but which now was neat and tidy--and unoccupied.
+
+At such times Leonard would sigh and murmur to himself, "Poor Jack!" and
+betaking himself to his writing desk again would pull out a locket and
+gaze long and earnestly on a face enshrined therein, a face which
+strikingly resembled that of Laura Treherne, and so would gain comfort
+and fall to work again.
+
+Tonight, he had wandered into the unoccupied room and had glanced at the
+portrait two or three times, for he felt lonely and would have given a
+five-pound note to hear Jack's tread upon the stairs, and his voice
+shouting for the housekeeper to bring him hot water.
+
+"Poor Jack!" he murmured, "where is he now?" For some months had elapsed
+since he had found a few lines of sad farewell from Jack lying on his
+writing desk, but pregnant with despair and reckless helplessness. And
+Jack had gone whither not even Mr. Levy Moss, who sought him far and
+wide, could discover; and not Mr. Moss alone, but Lady Bell Earlsley;
+fast as she had traveled from Earl's Court to London, she arrived too
+late to see Jack, too late to learn from his lips the nature of the
+trouble which he had spoken of in his short note to her. And from
+Leonard even, she could not learn much. He could only tell her that Jack
+and Una's engagement was broken off, and by Jack himself, but for what
+reason he could not tell or guess. And with that Lady Bell had to be,
+not content, but patient.
+
+"You were his dearest friend," she said to Leonard, "can you not guess
+where he has gone?"
+
+And Leonard had shaken his head sorrowfully. "I cannot even guess. He
+was utterly miserable and reckless; he once spoke, half in jest, of
+enlisting. He was in great trouble."
+
+"Money trouble?" Lady Bell had asked.
+
+"Money trouble," assented Len, and Lady Bell had sunk into Leonard's
+chair and wrung her white hands.
+
+"Money! money! how I hate the word! and here I am with more of the vile
+stuff than I know what to do with!"
+
+"That would make no difference to Jack," Leonard said, quietly; and Lady
+Bell had sighed--she almost sobbed--and gone on her way as near
+broken-hearted as a woman could be.
+
+And then she had sought for him as openly as she dared, but with no
+result, save discovering that there were hundreds of young men who
+answered to Jack's description, and who were all indignant when they
+applied in response to the advertisements and found that they were not
+the men wanted.
+
+And so the months had rolled on, and the "Savage" was nearly forgotten
+at the Club, excepting at odd times when Hetley or Dalrymple remembered
+how well he used to tool a team to the "Sheaves," or row stroke in a
+scratch eight. My friend, if you want to find out of how little
+importance you are in your little world, disappear for a few months, and
+when you come back you will find that your place has been excellently
+well filled, excepting in the hearts of the one or two faithful men and
+women who loved you.
+
+The world went on very well without Jack, and only two or three hearts
+ached, really ached, at his absence--Len, honest Len, in his den in
+Spider Court; Lady Bell, in Park Lane; and that other tender, loving,
+and tortured heart in the old new house at Hurst.
+
+Leonard often thought of that tender heart, and sighed over it as he
+sighed for Jack. It was still a mystery to him, their separation; he
+knew that Una was still at the Hurst, but that was all. No news of her
+ever reached him. At times he ran across Stephen in London, and
+exchanged a word or a bow with him, and had noticed that he was looking
+better and sleeker, and less pale--more flourishing in fact, than he had
+done for some time.
+
+He, too had come to Spider Court, and expressed profound grief at
+Jack's disappearance, and had gone away after wringing Leonard's hand
+sympathetically.
+
+Leonard sat thinking over this far more than was good to the work he had
+in hand, when he heard the door open, and half starting, said absently:
+
+"Nothing more wanted tonight, Mrs. Brown."
+
+But a step, certainly not Mrs. Brown's, crossed the room, and a heavy
+hand was laid on his shoulder, and looking up, he saw Jack's face above
+him.
+
+"Jack!" he exclaimed, clutching him as if he expected to see him
+disappear again. "It is you, really you? Great Heaven!"
+
+There was reason for the exclamation; for though it was Jack, he was so
+altered as to have rendered the description of him in the advertisements
+quite useless. Thin, pale, careworn, it was no more the old Jack than
+the living skeleton is Daniel Lambert.
+
+"Great Heaven! Is it really you, Jack?"
+
+"Yes, it is I! what is left of me, Len. You--you are looking well, old
+man. And the old room; how cheery it seems."
+
+And he laughed--the shadow of the old laugh--even more pitiable than
+tears.
+
+"For Heaven's sake be quiet; don't speak just yet," said Len, with a
+husky voice. "Sit down. You've frightened me, Jack. Have you been ill?"
+
+"Slightly," said Jack, with a smile.
+
+"And where have you been? Tell me all about it--no, don't tell me
+anything yet."
+
+And he went to the cupboard, and brought out the whisky, and mixed a
+stiff glass.
+
+"Now, then, old man, where's the cigars? here--here's a light. Now
+then--no; take off your boots. I'll tell Mrs. Brown to air the bed and
+get your dressing-gown. And what about supper?"
+
+And with a suspicious moisture in his eyes, Len turned from the room.
+
+"Staunch as a woman, tender as a man." It was a wise saying, whoever
+wrote it.
+
+Jack sipped his whisky and water, and smoked his cigar, and pulled
+himself together, which was just what Len wanted to get him to do; and
+then Len came back.
+
+"Now then, old man, out with it. Where have you been?"
+
+"I've been to America," said Jack. "Don't ask me any particulars, Len; I
+wouldn't tell you much if you did. I've been nearly out of my mind half
+the time, and down with one of their charming fevers the remainder. You
+won't get enough information out of me to write even a magazine article,
+old man."
+
+And he smiled, with a faint attempt at badinage.
+
+"Great Heaven!" exclaimed Len, again; "and--and is that all?"
+
+"That's all it amounts to," said Jack, wearily. "You want to know how I
+came back, and why? Well, I can scarcely tell why. I got so sick of
+trying to get knocked on the head, and failing miserably, that I got
+disgusted with the country, weary of wandering about, and resolved that
+it would be better to come and give Levy Moss his revenge. He's still
+alive, I hope?"
+
+"And you got back?" said Len.
+
+"I worked my passage over," said Jack, curtly. "I was a bad hand, and
+caught cold on the top of the last affair, and just managed to pull
+myself together to reach London, and here I am. Not very lucid, Len, is
+it? But there's no more to tell."
+
+Leonard looked at him with infinite pity, and mixed another glass of
+whisky.
+
+"Poor old Jack," he murmured.
+
+"And now it's your turn," said Jack, lighting another cigar. "Tell me
+all the news, Len, about yourself first. How are Hetley, and Dalrymple,
+and the rest of them? But yourself first, Len. You look well--better
+than when I left. Things have gone right with you."
+
+"Then you have not forgotten?" said Len, gratefully.
+
+"It is not likely," he said, quietly. "I have thought of you many a
+night as I lay burning with that confounded fever. Are you married?" and
+he looked round the room as if he expected to see Mrs. Dagle in some dim
+corner.
+
+Leonard blushed.
+
+"Nonsense! No, Jack, I'm not married. But--I'm very happy, old
+man--should have been quite happy, but for missing you."
+
+Jack nodded.
+
+"I'm glad of that. Glad it has all worked round, and that you have
+missed me, too. Where is she--Laura Treherne? You see I remember her
+name."
+
+Leonard hesitated, and looked troubled.
+
+"I--I'm afraid I mustn't tell you. You see, Jack, there's still some
+kind of mystery hanging about this love affair of mine. It is Laura's
+wish that I should keep silent as to her whereabouts. I give you my word
+I don't understand why. But I don't want to talk of myself and my
+affairs, Jack. There is something and someone else you want to hear
+about."
+
+Jack looked up with a sudden start, and held up his hand.
+
+"No, not a word!" he said. "Don't tell me a word. I--that affair is
+over--dead and buried. Don't speak her name, Len, for Heaven's sake. Let
+that rest forever between us."
+
+Len sighed.
+
+"Tell me more about yourself," said Jack, impatiently, as if anxious to
+get away from the other subject. "There is some mystery, secret, you
+say."
+
+"Yes," said Leonard, humoring him, "there is a mystery and secret,
+which, much as I love her, and I hope and believe she loves me, Laura
+will not trust--well, I will not say 'trust'--which she does not feel
+authorized to confide to me."
+
+"I remember," said Jack, "your telling me that she had some task, or
+mission, or something to accomplish--sounds strange."
+
+"Yes," said Leonard, with a sigh, "and that mission is still
+unaccomplished, and blocks the marriage. But I am content to wait and
+trust, and I am happy."
+
+Jack sighed.
+
+"You deserve to be, old fellow!" he said.
+
+"No, I don't!" exclaimed Leonard, remorsefully, "for flaunting my
+happiness in your face, Jack. And now, here's the supper," he added, as
+a waiter from a neighboring chop-house brought in a tray.
+
+Jack sat down, and Leonard waited upon him, hanging over him, and
+watching him as if every mouthful he ate did him, Leonard, good;
+meanwhile chatting cheerfully.
+
+"London pretty full, Jack; lots of people up this year."
+
+"Yes," said Jack, then he looked up. "I suppose I shan't be able to show
+up, because of Moss, Len?"
+
+"Oh, he won't know you are here! And we'll cut it. We'll go down to the
+country somewhere, Jack, before anyone sees you. You haven't met anyone,
+have you?"
+
+"Met them, no. But I have seen Stephen."
+
+"Stephen Davenant?"
+
+"Yes, I saw him, but I don't think he saw me. He is looking well."
+
+Leonard nodded.
+
+"He did not see you--but it wouldn't have mattered."
+
+"No," said Jack, with a sigh. "Len, this is the first 'square meal,' as
+they say over the sea, that I've enjoyed since I left. I'm very tired."
+
+"I can see that," said Leonard. "Go off to bed, old man. We'll have no
+more questions tonight."
+
+Jack rose and took his candle.
+
+"Yes, one more," he said, as he held Leonard's hand, tightly. "Is--is
+she well, Len?"
+
+Leonard nodded.
+
+"Yes, I think so----"
+
+"That's all," said Jack, resolutely. "Good-night, Len, good-night," and
+he turned away quickly.
+
+Leonard stole into Jack's room several times that night and looked down
+upon the tired, weary face, still handsome for all its lines and
+haggardness, handsomer some might have thought, for suffering sets a
+seal of dignity upon a man's face if there be sterling stuff in him.
+Leonard looked down at it pityingly.
+
+"Poor old man; he has had a hard time of it if any man has."
+
+Jack turned up at breakfast time looking much refreshed.
+
+"First good night's rest I've had since--oh, too long to remember, Len.
+Dreamed that all that has happened was only a dream, and that I was
+waking up and going to see----" he broke off suddenly and sighed.
+
+Leonard was delighted to see him so much better.
+
+"We'll leave town directly, Jack," he said. "I've just done my usual
+batch of work, and am free. We'll spend our Christmas at some old
+inn----"
+
+Jack looked at him gratefully.
+
+"You're a staunch old man, Len," he said, quietly. "You'd sacrifice your
+sweetheart to your friend."
+
+Len colored.
+
+"I'm sure she'd be the first to urge us to go," he said. "Laura is so
+unselfish."
+
+"She shan't be sacrificed for me," said Jack. "No, Len, I'll go off by
+myself, before anyone knows I'm back--hallo! what's that?"
+
+It was a footstep on the stairs, Len motioned for Jack to retreat into
+the bedroom, and only just in time, for, barely stopping to knock, Mr.
+Levy Moss opened the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+
+"Good-morning, Mr. Dagle," said Moss, his eyes roaming about the room.
+"Here I am again, you see, Mr. Dagle; and where is Mr. Newcombe? He's
+here, I know."
+
+"If you know so much you've no need to ask," said Leonard. "Who told you
+he was here?"
+
+Levy Moss winked one bleared eye cunningly.
+
+"I'm smart, Mr. Dagle; I keep my eyes open and my feet a-moving."
+
+"Just so," said Leonard, "and if you'll be good enough to move them out
+of my room I shall be obliged. Please observe that these are _my_ rooms,
+Mr. Moss, and not Mr. Newcombe's, and that I am not desirous of further
+visits from you."
+
+"You're sharp, too, Mr. Dagle," said Moss; "but Mr. Newcombe's here; you
+don't want two cups and saucers, and two plates, you know, for your
+breakfast, eh?"
+
+"Get out!" said Len, who, when he was roused was, like most quiet men,
+rather hot-headed. "Get out! and, by the way, if you meet Mr. Newcombe,
+I'd advise you to keep clear of him; he's back from America and carries
+two revolvers and a bowie knife, and I needn't tell you, who know him so
+well, that he'd as soon put a bullet through your head or stick the
+knife in between your ribs as look at you--far rather, perhaps."
+
+Moss turned pale.
+
+"I hope Mr. Jack won't do anything rash."
+
+"I won't answer for him. They don't think much of killing your sort of
+people on the other side, Moss. Get out," and Mr. Moss shuffled out;
+Leonard bolting the door after him.
+
+Jack came in and sat down quietly and gravely.
+
+"I've frightened him," said Leonard, smiling. "He'll keep clear of you
+for a day or two. But how did he know you were back? He couldn't have
+been keeping watch for all these months."
+
+"I don't know; someone must have seen me, and told him; I don't know
+who, Len. I'm going out."
+
+"Now, Jack?" said Leonard, fearfully.
+
+Jack smiled.
+
+"No, Len; I won't cut it again without telling you and saying 'good-by.'
+I'm only going for a walk; and I'll be back to dinner."
+
+Leonard looked after him, still rather anxiously; there was a look of
+determination on the pale, thoughtful face which alarmed him.
+
+Jack walked to Regent street--please mark that he didn't call a hansom;
+though Len had pressed some money upon him--and then into Piccadilly,
+and still with the thoughtful look of determination on his face, into
+Park Lane, and ascended the steps of Lady Bell's villa.
+
+A footman, who knew not Jack, opened the door, and Jack, who had not any
+cards, gave his name, which the footman gave to Lady Bell's maid as "Mr.
+Bluecut."
+
+Jack walked into the drawing-room, every article of which was familiar
+to him; and sat down in the chair which he had so often drawn close to
+Lady Bell's, only a few months back; and yet how long, long ago it
+seemed.
+
+Presently the door opened, and Lady Bell came in.
+
+He saw her in the glass before she saw him.
+
+Tastefully and simply dressed, she looked, if anything, more beautiful
+than ever, but not so bright and restless; Jack noticed that. There was
+an undefinable change about her, just as if she had gone through some
+trouble, or had done battle with some grief.
+
+Suddenly she looked round and saw him, and stopped; one hand holding a
+chair, her face going from white to crimson.
+
+Jack rose.
+
+"I've startled you; I'm very sorry."
+
+Lady Bell recovered herself, and went to him with outstretched hand and
+a look in her dark eyes that she tried to keep out of them.
+
+"Jack," she said, almost involuntarily.
+
+"Yes, it's I; like the bad penny, back again, Lady Bell."
+
+And he sat down and laughed.
+
+She sank into a chair beside him, and looked at his careworn face.
+
+"Where have you been?" she asked, softly.
+
+"To America," said Jack.
+
+"You have been ill?" she said, still more softly.
+
+Jack nodded.
+
+"Yes. I'm all right now. And you? You don't look quite the thing?"
+
+"Do I not?" she said, with a smile. "I am quite well. And is that all
+you are going to tell me of your wanderings?"
+
+"No. I'll tell you everything some other time," said Jack, quietly.
+
+"You are not going away again, then?" she asked, looking at him, and
+then away from him.
+
+Jack flushed.
+
+"That depends," he said, quietly.
+
+"Depends on what?" she asked.
+
+"On you," he said.
+
+Lady Bell started, and the crimson flush flooded her face and neck. Her
+lips trembled, and she looked away.
+
+"On me?" she murmured, faintly.
+
+"On you," said Jack, earnestly. "Lady Bell, I have come back to ask you
+to be my wife."
+
+She was silent; her face turned from him, so that he could not see the
+tears that welled up in her eyes.
+
+Jack took her hand.
+
+"Lady Bell, I know that I am not worthy of you--know it quite well.
+There isn't a man in the world who is; I, least of all. I know, too,
+what the world would say if you should answer 'Yes.' It will impute all
+sorts of base motives to me. But, as Heaven is my witness, it is not for
+your wealth that I ask you to be my wife. I am poor, and in all sorts of
+trouble; but if you were poorer than I am I would still ask you."
+
+"You would?" she murmured.
+
+"Yes," he said, quietly. "Yes, I can say that, though I tell you in the
+same breath that I am, at this moment, being hunted for money. And I
+think you will believe me."
+
+She made a gesture of assent with her hand.
+
+"Dear Lady Bell," he continued, "during the last few months I have been
+looking back to those happy days we spent together; and when a man's
+down with the fever he looks back with keen and wise insight into the
+turn of things, and knows when he was happy in the past, and with whom;
+and I swore that, if ever I pulled through and got back, I would ask you
+if you did not think we might be as happy in the future as in the past.
+Dear Bell, I would try and make you happy. Will you be my wife?"
+
+Trembling in every limb, she sat silent, and with averted face. Then,
+suddenly and yet slowly, she turned her eyes upon him--eyes full of
+ineffable love and sadness.
+
+Slowly, softly, she put her other hand in his, and smiled at him.
+
+"You ask me to be your wife, Jack?"
+
+"I do," he said. "Your answer, dear Bell?"
+
+"Is--No," she said.
+
+Jack started, and his eyes fell before the deep love and tenderness in
+hers. He would have drawn his hand away, but she still held it gently.
+
+"Do you ask me why, Jack? I will tell you. It is because you do not love
+me."
+
+He looked up with a start, and turned pale.
+
+Lady Bell shook her head gently.
+
+"Do not speak--it is useless. Besides, you would not tell me a lie,
+Jack. Listen; I, too, have been looking back; I, too, have learned a
+lesson--a truth--while you have been away. And that truth is, that
+others may love as truly and deeply as myself; and that others may find
+it as impossible to forget----"
+
+Jack, pale and agitated, stopped her.
+
+"The past is buried," he said, hoarsely--"let it rest."
+
+"It is not buried--it cannot be. See! it revives--springs up, even
+without the mention of her name. Jack, you do not love me--you cannot;
+for all your love has been given, is still given, to Una."
+
+"For Heaven's sake!" he implored, rising and pacing the room.
+
+Lady Bell looked at him.
+
+"Ah, how you love her still, Jack! See how right I was; and yet you
+would come to me."
+
+And the tears fall slowly.
+
+"Forgive me," said Jack, bending over her humbly, imploringly--"forgive
+me! You--you are right. But I swear I thought it was over for me. You
+knew me better than I knew myself."
+
+"Yes, for a good reason, Jack," she murmured; "for I love you."
+
+Jack winced.
+
+"I have been a brute!" he murmured.
+
+"No, Jack," she said--and she put her hand on his arm and looked up at
+him with a smile--"you meant well and honestly. You did not know how it
+stood with you. I could not have loved you so well if you had been
+false--if you had forgotten her. I have been thinking it out, Jack; and
+I know now that to love once--as you and I love--is to love forever."
+
+"But it is past," he said, "utterly, irrevocably past. You do not know
+the barrier that stands immovably between her and me."
+
+"Do I not?" she murmured, inaudibly. "Be it what it will, your love and
+hers stand firm on either side of it. But no more of that, Jack. I am
+glad you have come to me--very, very glad. And though I cannot be your
+wife, Jack"--with what tenderness and sadness those two words were
+breathed--"I can be your friend. I want you to promise me something."
+
+Jack pressed her hand. He could not trust himself to speak.
+
+"I want you to promise that you will not go away again, that you will
+not leave London whatever happens--mind, whatever happens--without
+letting me know! I may ask that much, Jack?"
+
+"You may ask anything," he said, huskily; "I will do anything you ask of
+me--simply anything."
+
+"I think you would," she said. "Then I have your promise? And, Jack,
+this must make no difference between us; you will come and see me?"
+
+"I do not deserve to come within a mile of you."
+
+She smiled.
+
+"And so punish me for not saying 'yes,'" she said, with a little attempt
+at archness. "That would be hard for me, Jack. I should lose lover and
+friend as well."
+
+"You are the truest-hearted woman in the world," said Jack, deeply
+moved.
+
+"Except one," said Lady Bell. "There, go now, Jack, and come to dinner
+tonight, and bring Leonard Dagle with you--another true heart."
+
+"I will," said Jack, simply. And he held out his hand.
+
+She held out both of hers, and looked at him with a strange, wistful
+yearning in her eyes.
+
+"Jack," she breathed, softly, "will you kiss me for the first and last
+time?"
+
+Jack drew her toward him and kissed her. Then, with a little sigh, she
+left him. How Jack got out he knew not, for his eyes were strangely dim
+and useless.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+
+A dim light was burning in the drawing-room of the Hurst. Outside, the
+storm was raging wild and pitiless, making the warm room seem like a
+harbor of refuge. Beside the fire sat Mrs. Davenant, half dozing over a
+piece of finest needlework for the village working club. She was alone
+in the room, and every now and then glanced anxiously toward the door.
+Presently it opened, and the tall figure of Stephen entered and crossed
+over to her.
+
+"Mother," he said, and there was a tremulous ring in his voice and a
+quiver in his lips that were in marked contrast to his usual smooth
+calm.
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked up with a glance of alarm. "Una!" she exclaimed.
+
+"Hush!" he said, laying his hand on her shoulder. "Una," and his voice
+dwelt on the name. "Una is asleep. She has gone to her own room for a
+little while. Mother," he said, slowly, "she has consented."
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked up and trembled: "Oh, Stephen!"
+
+He nodded, and stood before the fire, looking up with a smile of
+undisguised triumph and joy. "Yes, she has consented. It was--well, hard
+work; but my love overmastered her. I told her that you agreed with me
+that the sooner the marriage took place the better. You do, do you not?"
+
+"Yes," murmured Mrs. Davenant.
+
+"She wants change; nothing but entire change of life and thought will do
+her good. Mother, if she remained here, if something were not done, she
+would"--he paused, and went on hoarsely, "she would die!"
+
+Mrs. Davenant shuddered and her eyes filled. "My poor, poor Una!" she
+murmured.
+
+Stephen moved impatiently. "She will not need your pity, mother. A few
+weeks hence and you will have no reason to pity her. I'll stake my life
+that I bring her back here with the roses in her cheeks, with the smile
+in her eyes, as of old. Mother, you do not know what such love as mine
+can do!" and his voice trembled with suppressed passion.
+
+Mrs. Davenant looked up at him, tearfully.
+
+"You--you are much changed, Stephen," she murmured.
+
+"I am," he said, with a curt laugh. "I am changed, am I not? I scarcely
+know myself. And she has done it. She! My beautiful queen, my lily! Yes,
+she shall be happy, if man can make her." He was silent a moment,
+dwelling on his love and future, and looked, as he spoke, much changed.
+Then he awoke at a question from his mother.
+
+"When is it to be, Stephen?"
+
+"Tomorrow," he said, quietly.
+
+"Tomorrow!" gasped. Mrs. Davenant. "Impossible!"
+
+"Not at all," he said, curtly. "Remember, I told you not to be
+surprised, that it would come suddenly."
+
+"But----"
+
+He made a movement of impatience.
+
+"Do you think I have not made preparations? See," and he took a paper
+from his pocket, "I have had the license for a week past. It is no
+ordinary marriage. We want no bridesmaid and wedding favors. She would
+not have them--or me, if you insisted upon it. It is principally on the
+condition that the ceremony shall be quite private--secret almost--that
+she has consented."
+
+Mrs. Davenant stared at the fire.
+
+Stephen smiled.
+
+"You do not understand me, even yet, mother," he said. "Did you ever
+know anything fail me?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant shuddered, or was it the play of the fire-light?
+
+"Never," she said, in a low voice.
+
+Stephen smiled again.
+
+"I have seen this coming, have seen my way to it for months past; I have
+swept every barrier away----" He stopped suddenly and bit his lip--"and
+now for our plans, mother. Try and collect yourself; this has surprised
+and upset you," he said, sharply.
+
+Mrs. Davenant sat up and looked at him attentively.
+
+"Tomorrow we start, without fuss or bother, for Clumley. I have ordered
+them to take a pair of horses to the half-way house, so that we can
+change without loss of time. I have also sent a letter to the clergyman
+telling him to be prepared for us, and keep his own counsel. We shall
+reach Clumley, traveling easily, by half-past ten. There will be no
+wedding breakfast--thank Heaven! no fuss or ceremony. We shall go
+straight from the church to London, and thence to Paris. Excepting
+ourselves and clergyman no one can know anything of the matter until the
+marriage is over, then----" and he drew a long breath and smiled.
+
+Mrs. Davenant, pale and trembling, stared up at him.
+
+"And--and Una? Does she agree to all this?"
+
+"Una agrees to everything," he said, impatiently. "She herself
+stipulated that it should be done quietly, and"--with a smile--"if this
+is not quietly, I do not know what is. And now, my dear mother, go and
+make what preparations are absolutely necessary, and make them yourself,
+and unaided. Remember there must be no approach to any wedding party. We
+are only going to take an outing for a day or two. You understand?"
+
+"I understand," she faltered; "and when will you be back, Stephen?" she
+asked, pitiably. "I--I--you won't be away long, Stephen? I shall miss
+her so."
+
+Stephen patted her on the shoulder.
+
+"Don't be afraid, mother. We shall not be away too long. I am too proud
+of my beautiful bride to hide her away. I want to see her here, mistress
+of the Hurst. My wife! my wife! Hush! here she comes. Do not upset her."
+
+And, with a quick, noiseless step, he went out as Una entered.
+
+Framed in the doorway, she stood for a moment like a picture. Paler and
+slighter than in the old days, she had lost none of her beauty. Stephen
+had cause to be proud of his bride. There would be no lovelier woman in
+Wealdshire than the future mistress of the Hurst. And yet, if Jack could
+have seen her that moment, what agony her face would have cost him; for
+his eyes, quickened by his passionate love, would have read and
+understood that subtle change that had fallen on the beautiful face;
+would have read the settled melancholy which sat enthroned on the dark
+eyes, and gave them the dreamy, far-away look which never left them for
+a moment.
+
+    "Communing with the past, she walked;
+    Alive, yet dead to all the world."
+
+Slowly she crossed the room, and stood just where Stephen had stood, and
+looked into the fire; but not as he had looked--triumphantly, joyfully;
+but with an absent, dreamy air.
+
+Mrs. Davenant put out her hand, and touched her arm.
+
+"Una!"
+
+She turned her head, and looked at her questioningly, with a weary,
+uninterested gaze.
+
+"Una, he--Stephen has told me. Oh, my darling, I hope you will be
+happy!"
+
+Una smiled--a cold, mechanical smile.
+
+"Happy? Yes, he says I shall be happy. Do you think," and she looked
+calmly at the anxious, nervous face, "do you think I shall be happy?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant drew her toward her.
+
+"My dear, you frighten me. You--you are so--so strange and cold. Cold!
+Your hands are like ice. Oh, Una, do you know what it means--this that
+you are going to do? It is not too late. Think, Una. You know how I love
+you, dear. That I would give all the world to call you--what you are, my
+heart of hearts--my own daughter. But, oh, Una! if you think, if you are
+not quite sure that you will be happy----"
+
+Una looked straight at the fire.
+
+"He says so," she said, in the same hard, cold voice; "he is clever and
+wise. He is your son; why do you doubt him?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant shivered.
+
+"I--I don't doubt him, dear. Yes, he is my son; he has been a good son
+to me. But you are to be his wife; think."
+
+"I have thought," said Una, quietly. "It will make him happy--he says
+so; and the rest does not matter to me. Yes, I have thought; I am tired
+with thinking"; and she put her hand to her brow with a sharp gesture,
+half wild, half weary. "I will make him happy, and I shall always be
+with you, whom I love. What does the rest matter?"
+
+Mrs. Davenant uttered a little moan.
+
+"And--and have you quite forgotten?"
+
+Una looked at her calmly, but with a faint shadow in her eyes and a
+touch of pain on her lips.
+
+"Forgotten! No, I shall not forget until I am dead; perhaps not then;
+who knows?" and the dreamy look came back. "But that cannot matter. He,
+Stephen, is content; I have told him all, and he is content. He is
+easily satisfied." And for the first time a smile of bitterness crossed
+her lips. "Why should he love me so?" she said, curtly. "Why should he
+be so anxious to make me his wife? I cannot understand it. Is it because
+he thinks that I am beautiful? I looked in the glass just now, and it
+seemed a dead face."
+
+"Una!"
+
+She turned and smiled.
+
+"It is true. But I have made you cry. Don't do that, dear. At least, we
+shall be together, shall we not?"
+
+In answer, the poor woman took her in her arms, and cried over her; but
+Una shed not a single tear.
+
+No, Stephen was not likely to fail. There were not likely to be any
+hitches in anything he undertook.
+
+Even the weather seemed to conform to his plans and wishes, for the
+morning broke clear and bright, so that he might say:
+
+"Happy is the bride whom the sun shines on."
+
+Without fuss or bustle, the traveling chariot, with its pair of handsome
+bays, drew up to the door; a couple of portmanteaus, no larger than was
+necessary for a day or two's outing, were put in the box; and Slummers,
+in his tall hat and black overcoat, looking very much like the
+old-fashioned banker's clerk, stood with the carriage door in his hand.
+
+Presently Stephen came down the steps, dressed in a traveling suit, and
+looking as calm as usual, but for the touch of color in his face. He had
+grown younger in appearance, less prim and formal, and altogether
+better-looking. If he could have lost the trick of looking from under
+his lowered eyelids, he would have been worth calling handsome. He
+exchanged a word with Slummers.
+
+"All right, sir. The horses are at Netherton; everything is arranged
+exactly according to your wishes."
+
+"And no one suspects anything?"
+
+"Not a soul," said Slummers, with a smile.
+
+This morning's work was the sort of thing Slummers liked. He was
+enjoying himself, and as happy as his master.
+
+Stephen went into the house again, and presently Mrs. Davenant and Una
+appeared. Notwithstanding Stephen's warning, Mrs. Davenant's eyes were
+red; but Una showed no traces of emotion; pale, almost white, she looked
+calmly around her.
+
+In the night she had started out of her sleep, calling wildly,
+piteously, on Jack to come and save her. But there was no Jack
+here--only Stephen, smiling and watchful as he came to meet her and help
+her into the carriage. For a moment her hand touched his bare wrist, and
+he felt it cold as ice even through her glove; but he smiled still as if
+he had no fear.
+
+"Once mine," he thought, "and all will be well!"
+
+Quietly, with no fuss or bustle, Slummers closed the door, mounted the
+box, and the horses started off.
+
+Stephen looked at his watch, and smiled.
+
+"Punctual almost to the minute," he said. "Are you warm enough, my
+darling?"
+
+And he bent forward, and arranged the costly furs round the slight form.
+
+"Quite," she said; but she shrank into her corner with a little shiver.
+
+Stephen left her to herself, but would not remain silent, chatting with,
+or rather to, Mrs. Davenant, in a strain of easy cheerfulness, his eyes
+wandering to the pale face just showing above the pile of furs.
+
+Their hoofs ringing on the road, which a few hours of early frost had
+made hard, the horses, the finest pair in the county, for Stephen was
+critical in such matters and liked the best, spun the distance, and
+again, almost punctual to the minute, the village of Netherton, to
+which Stephen had sent the change of horses, was reached.
+
+Slummers stepped down from the box, and was seen to enter the inn yard.
+
+"The horses ought to be out and waiting," said Stephen, with a little
+impatience.
+
+A moment or two passed, and then Slummers came to the carriage door.
+
+Stephen jumped out.
+
+"What is it? Why do you not put the horses to?"--for the others had been
+taken out and were standing in the stable.
+
+Slummers, for the first time in his life, changed color and hesitated.
+
+"There has been some mistake, sir."
+
+"Mistake!"
+
+"The horses are not here."
+
+Stephen glared at him.
+
+"I can't understand it, sir. I gave your orders most minutely, but
+George has taken the horses on to Clumley."
+
+Stephen bit his lip and glanced at the carriage.
+
+"Put the others back," he said, "and tell Masters to drive for his
+life."
+
+Slummers hesitated and went to the coachman, coming back in a moment
+with an uneasy countenance.
+
+"I'm--I'm afraid they won't reach Clumley in time, sir," he said.
+"Masters says that it is impossible. Calculating on fresh horses, he has
+forced them a bit on the road, and they are used up. If you will look at
+them, sir----"
+
+Stephen uttered an oath, and his face twitched.
+
+The coachman came up, troubled but respectful. It was no fault of his.
+
+"I thought I should get the change here, sir. I couldn't do it, unless
+the horses had a quarter of an hour and a wipe down, and then----"
+
+He paused and shook his head.
+
+Stephen controlled himself, though his face was white.
+
+"A quarter of an hour," he said. "We will wait so long, and not a moment
+longer. Then drive as if your life depended on it. Do not spare the
+horses."
+
+Then he went to the carriage and forced a smile.
+
+"A little delay," he said, cheerfully. "Would you like to get out for a
+quarter of an hour, darling?"
+
+Una shook her head.
+
+"I do not care"; but Mrs. Davenant looked at her and spoke out.
+
+"Yes, Stephen," she said. "My dear, you are half frozen."
+
+Stephen went to the window of the inn and looked into the room, then
+went back.
+
+"Come," he said. "There is a pleasant fire. A rest and the warmth will
+do you good. Come," and, wrapping a huge fur round her, he took her on
+his arm and entered the inn.
+
+Mrs. Davenant followed into the room. A fire was burning in the
+old-fashioned grate. Stephen drew a chair near to the welcome blaze and
+led Una to it. White and indifferent she sat and looked at the flames.
+
+"It is only for a few minutes, darling, then we shall be off. Come,
+drink some of this," and he held a glass of hot spirit and water to her
+hand.
+
+Una shook her head.
+
+"Thanks, I could not," she said, simply.
+
+Stephen motioned to his mother.
+
+"See that she takes some," he said, in a low voice. "I will go and look
+after the horses," and he turned. As he did so the door opened, and a
+lady entered.
+
+For a moment, in the dim light of the low room, Stephen did not
+recognize her, then a chill fell on him as if a cold hand had laid on
+his heart. He staggered back, and then she raised her veil and looked at
+him.
+
+Not a word passed. Face to face, eye to eye, they stood. A moment
+passed. Una had not looked round, only Mrs. Davenant stood speechless
+and trembling. Then, as if with an effort, Stephen regained possession
+of his quaking soul, and stole nearer to her.
+
+"Laura," he whispered, glancing behind him. "You here? You want me?
+Well, let us come outside."
+
+A smile, calm and scornful, flashed from her dark face.
+
+"You cannot pass," she said.
+
+A wild devil leaped, full grown, into his bosom, and he raised his hand
+to strike her, but the next instant he was grasped by the shoulder and
+flung aside, and Gideon Rolfe stood over him.
+
+The room whirled round; scarcely conscious that other figures had
+entered and surrounded him, he staggered to his feet. Then a cry, two
+words, "Father! Jack!" smote upon his ear, and with an effort he turned
+and saw Jack's tall form towering in the low room, with Una clasped
+tightly, lying prone in his arms.
+
+It was all over. Just as the criminal in the dock, when he sees the
+judge placing the black cap on his head, knows that his doom is sealed,
+Stephen knew that all was lost. But the will was not all subdued yet.
+
+There was Davenant blood in his veins. White to the very lips, he stood
+and glared at them, one hand grasping the table, the other thrust in his
+breast. Then an evil smile curled the cunning mouth.
+
+"Cleverly planned," he said, speaking as if every word cost him a pang.
+"You have beaten me, thus far. Gideon Rolfe, I congratulate you upon the
+success of your maneuvers; in another hour your daughter would have been
+the mistress of Hurst; she will, now, I presume, be the wife of a
+beggar."
+
+Gideon Rolfe looked at him with stern, immovable eyes.
+
+Stephen smiled and took up his hat.
+
+"You have robbed me of my bride," he said; "permit me to return to the
+home which still remains to me."
+
+There was an intense silence. Then a slight stir as Jack, carrying Una
+in his arms, left the room, followed by Mrs. Davenant. With haggard eyes
+Stephen watched them, then, with a convulsive movement, he took up his
+hat.
+
+"You will find me at the Hurst," he said; "I will go there. If there is
+any law in the land which can punish you, I will have it, though it cost
+me a fortune. Yes, I will go home."
+
+Still they were silent. Whether from pity, or awe at the sight of his
+misery, they were silent. He looked round and, as if he had called,
+Slummers glided to his side. They had already reached the door, when a
+voice said:
+
+"Tell him."
+
+It was Jack who had returned to the room.
+
+At the sound of the voice, grave and pitying, Stephen swung round as if
+he had been stung.
+
+"You are here still," he said, and a glance of malignant hatred
+distorted his face. "I thought you were in jail by this time. You were
+waiting to take your wife with you. It would have been wiser to allow
+her to go to the Hurst."
+
+"Tell him," said Jack.
+
+With a slow, almost reluctant movement, Laura Treherne drew a paper from
+under her jacket and held it up.
+
+Stephen looked at it for a moment as if his sight had failed him, then
+he smiled.
+
+"The plot thickens," he said. "You have robbed me of my wife; you have,
+no doubt, some ready-forged document to rob me of my estate. Am I to
+give the credit to you for this?" Then he broke out wildly, with a mad
+laugh. "It is a forgery! a forgery! I will swear it. There is no such
+will. The marriage never took place. You've to prove both yet! You are
+not so clever as I thought. You should have stopped short where you
+were. You have got her, be satisfied; the rest is mine! Mine, and you
+cannot take it from me," and he held his clinched fist toward Jack as he
+held all Hurst in his grasp.
+
+"Show him," said Gideon Rolfe.
+
+Stephen waved his hand contemptuously.
+
+"A stale trick," he said. "A clumsy forgery. You cannot connect it with
+my uncle's death. Go to your lawyer--Hudsley, if you will; he will be
+ready enough to help you--and he will tell you that proof is
+impossible."
+
+As he spoke his voice grew clearer. It was a relief to his overwrought
+brain to fight them on ground he had often mentally surveyed. With an
+insolent smile on his face he leaned both hands on the table and looked
+at them.
+
+"Come," he said, "you have not won everything yet. The Hurst is mine; I
+laugh your forgery to scorn. I will spend every penny of the estate to
+contest it. I assert that this paper was forged--last night--if you
+like. You cannot prove it was in existence an hour sooner; I defy you.
+You have overreached yourselves. Take care! This is your hour. Mine will
+come when I see you in the dock."
+
+In his excitement he had not noticed the entrance of the bent figure of
+Skettle, and he turned with a start as the thin, dry voice, close to his
+elbow, croaked:
+
+"Quite right, Mr. Stephen. That's their weak point--want of connection.
+If they could carry it back, say to the night of the squire's death,
+now, it would be different."
+
+Stephen looked round with a cunning smile of defiance.
+
+"This old fool will bear me out. Show him your will."
+
+"A daring forgery this, Mr. Stephen, if it is a forgery. Leaves the
+Hurst to Miss Una, the squire's legitimate daughter. Fifty thousand to
+Master Jack; and a set of sermons to you."
+
+"No doubt," he said, with a hoarse laugh; "it was not worth their while
+to do things by halves."
+
+"Been scorched, too," said Skettle. "Bit torn out by the seal. Now, if
+they could find that bit in the possession of a respectable man, who
+could prove that he found it on the night, say, of the squire's death,
+well--it would go hard with you, Mr. Stephen."
+
+"But they cannot."
+
+"I don't know," said Skettle; and slowly drawing out a leather pocket
+book of ancient date, he took out a piece of paper and fitted it to the
+will.
+
+"It is a conspiracy!"
+
+"It is the will I saw you looking for the night of the squire's death."
+
+"Let me go." And leaning heavily on the arm of his fellow-knave, he
+moved with the gait and bearing of an old man, to the door.
+
+"Great Heaven, this is awful!" said Jack.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Winter had passed and spring had clothed the earth with her soft, green
+mantle, and in her glad sunlight that sat like a benediction on the
+great elms and smooth lawn of Hurst, a party of ladies and gentlemen
+were standing on the stone steps that led up to the entrance.
+
+It was, in a word, the wedding day of Squire Jack Newcombe and Miss Una
+Davenant, and these good and tried friends were waiting about the steps
+to see the bride and bridegroom start for their honeymoon.
+
+That Len and Laura and Lady Bell should be there calls for no surprise,
+but how comes it that Gideon Rolfe should be a willing witness to the
+marriage of Una with one of the hated race of Davenants? Well, when the
+cause of hatred is removed, all hate vanishes from the heart of an
+honest man.
+
+On the day he learned that the old squire had not wronged the girl he
+had stolen from Gideon, Gideon's hatred had flown, and in its place had
+sprung up a longing for atonement; and what better step could he take
+toward burying the old animosity than in giving his adopted daughter to
+the man of her choice--the man who would make her, as her mother had
+been before her, the Squire of Hurst's wife?
+
+And thus it came to pass that he stood silently, but not grimly waiting
+for his daughter--for she was still his daughter--to pass out to the new
+life of happiness. And presently there rose a buzz and a hum of
+excitement in the house, and the stalwart figure of Jack appeared on the
+top step. A moment later and the beautiful face of Una was by his side.
+No longer pale, but bright with blushes, and glowing with health and
+happiness, she stood, half timidly, pressing close to the proud fellow
+beside her.
+
+Is it all a dream in her eyes, dimmed as they are by happy tears? Can it
+be true that Jack is all her own--that these good friends and true are
+really clustering round her, bidding her Godspeed and yet hindering her
+going as if they were loth to let her go? Perhaps she does not realize
+it all until they part and let her pass to where the old bent figure of
+Stephen's mother stands waiting to see the last of the girl whom she has
+loved and still loves as a daughter.
+
+Then as Una takes the trembling figure in her arms and kisses the pale
+face, she realizes it all, and through sobs she hears the faltering
+voice murmuring:
+
+"God bless you, my darling! God bless and keep you!"
+
+And as the broken benediction falls from the trembling lips, the crowd
+stand back, silent and tearful, and Jack and his bride are allowed to
+enter the carriage at last. Then breaks forth the cheer from outside
+the gates, and so, wafted around by blessings and good wishes, they
+commence their real life. A month later they will come back to find
+those friends who saw them depart, eager to welcome them back.
+
+"No coming home to a silent house, my wild bird!" says Jack. "We'll have
+them all here, everyone of them. I'd have all the world to see my
+darling, if I could."
+
+"My darling! my darling! they might take all the rest if they would
+leave me you."
+
+And Stephen? There is no difficulty in finding Stephen--he is too public
+a man. You can see and hear him any evening during the month of
+charitable meetings, if you will but go to the proper places.
+
+There amongst philosophers and social reformers, you will see a tall,
+thin gentleman, with a white face and spotless linen, who, when he comes
+forward to make his speech, is received with deafening cheers, and who
+never fails to draw tears from the audience by his pathos and
+tender-souled eloquence; and when the meeting is over, if you wait
+beside the private entrance to the hall, you will see another tall,
+thin, black-coated man, who is like a reflection of the great
+philanthropist for whom he is waiting, and who, when he emerges, will
+take him by the arm and lead him to his brougham. For, excepting when he
+is before the public, Stephen is an injured, broken-down man, only at
+times able to whine out the story of the wrongs wrought him by the hands
+of those he most trusted. By his own account he has been robbed of his
+wife, his estate, his all, and left to the charity of a generous public;
+and it is only Slummers, besides Stephen himself, who knows that a check
+arrives punctually each quarter from Jack's lawyer for the support of
+the man who returns forgiveness and generosity with undying hate and
+calumny. Yes, Stephen Davenant is regarded as a deeply injured man, and
+when he appears, with his pale face, and soft, mournful voice, there is
+always a show of handkerchiefs.
+
+But Jack and Una are quite content, and whenever his name is mentioned,
+it is with more pity than anger. There is no room for aught else in
+their hearts but love.
+
+
+[THE END.]
+
+
+
+
+PATRIOTIC RECITATIONS AND READINGS
+
+Compiled by Charles Walter Brown
+
+[Illustration]
+
+This is the choicest, newest and most complete collection of Patriotic
+recitations published, and includes all of the best known selections,
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+
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+Life And Sayings Of THEODORE ROOSEVELT
+
+By THOMAS W. HANDFORD
+
+Introduction by Charles Walter Brown, A. M.
+
+Author of "Ethan Allen," "John Paul Jones," "Nathan Hale," "Lafayette,"
+"Pulaski," "Washington," "Abraham Lincoln," "Sherman," etc.
+
+[Illustration]
+
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+
+  It is a most creditable work.--_Indianapolis Sentinel._
+
+  I have read it with great interest and pleasure.
+                        --_John Hay, Secretary of State._
+
+  The work reflects great credit on its authors.
+            --_A. Chamberlaine, Governor of Connecticut._
+
+  It should have a place in every library in the land.
+            --_Joseph W. Fifer, Ex-Governor of Illinois._
+
+  It is varied, animated, full of strong meat, with not a dull page.
+                  --_Congressman R. R. Hitt, (Illinois)._
+
+Large, thick, 12mo. cloth, 320 pages; many text and full page half-tone
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+in red silk cloth stamped with unique dies in gold and inks.
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+
+M.A. Donahue & Co., 407-429 Dearborn Street, Chicago
+
+
+SWEET DANGER
+
+By ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
+
+Author of "Poems of Pleasure," "Poems of Passion," etc.
+
+Ella Wheeler Wilcox needs no introduction to our readers. Her name is a
+household word wherever English is spoken. The public has long awaited a
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+
+  12mo, Paper      Price, $0.50
+  12mo, Cloth        "     1.25
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+MADAME DUBARRY
+
+The King's Mistress
+
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+
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+TOLD BY TWO
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+
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+
+  12mo, Paper                        Price, $0.50
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+
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+
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+
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+Donohue's Padded Leather
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+_POETS_
+
+12MO Illustrated
+
+[Illustration]
+
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+
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+
+  Browning, Robert.
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+
+For sale by all Book and Newsdealers, or sent to any address in the
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+The Greatest Life Of
+
+ABRAHAM LINCOLN
+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+   1. Adventures Among the Indians      W. H. G. Kingston
+   2. Afloat in the Forest              Reid
+   3. All Aboard                        Oliver Optic
+   4. Among the Malays                  Henty
+   5. Boat Club                         Oliver Optic
+   6. Bonnie Prince Charlie             Henty
+   7. Bound to Rise                     Alger, Jr.
+   8. Boy Knight, The                   Henty
+   9. Brave and Bold                    Alger, Jr.
+  10. Bravest of the Brave              Henty
+  11. By England's Aid                  Henty
+  12. By Pike and Dyke                  Henty
+  13. By Sheer Pluck                    Henty
+  14. Capt. Bayley's Heir               Henty
+  15. Cash Boy, The                     Alger, Jr.
+  16. Cast Up by the Sea                Baker
+  17. Cornet of Horse                   Henty
+  18. Desert Home                       Mayne Reid
+  19. For Name and Fame                 Henty
+  20. For the Temple                    Henty
+  21. Friends tho' Divided              Henty
+  22. Golden Canon                      Henty
+  23. Hero of Pine Ridge                Butler
+  24. In Freedom's Cause                Henty
+  25. In the Reign of Terror            Henty
+  26. In Times of Peril                 Henty
+  27. Jack Archer                       Henty
+  28. Jack Harkaway's School Days       Hemyng
+  29. Julius the Street Boy             Alger, Jr
+  30. Lion of St. Mark                  Henty
+  31. Lion of the North                 Henty
+  32. Lone Ranch                        Mayne Reid
+  33. Now or Never                      Oliver Optic
+  34. One of the 28th                   Henty
+  35. Out on the Pampas                 Henty
+  36. Pathfinder                        Fenimore Cooper
+  37. Paul the Peddler                  Alger, Jr.
+  38. Pilot, The                        Fenimore Cooper
+  39. Poor and Proud                    Oliver Optic
+  40. Rifle Rangers                     Mayne Reid
+  41. Risen from the Ranks              Alger
+  42. Robinson Crusoe                   D. DeFoe
+  43. Scalp Hunters                     Mayne Reid
+  44. Slow and Sure                     Alger, Jr.
+  45. Star of India                     E. S. Ellis
+  46. Store Boy, The                    Alger, Jr.
+  47. Strive and Succeed                Alger, Jr.
+  48. Strong and Steady                 Alger, Jr.
+  49. Sturdy and Strong                 Henty
+  50. Through the Fray                  Henty
+  51. Try Again                         Oliver Optic
+  52. Uncle Tom's Cabin                 Stowe
+  53. With Clive in India               Henty
+  54. Young Buglers                     Henty
+  55. Young Carthaginians               Henty
+  56. Young Colonists                   Henty
+  57. Young Midshipman                  Henty
+  58. Young Outlaw, The                 Alger, Jr.
+
+For sale by all Book and Newsdealers, or will be sent to any address
+in the U. S., Canada or Mexico, post paid, on receipt of price,
+75c each, in currency, money order or stamps.
+
+M. A. Donohue & Co. 407-409 Dearborn St. Chicago
+
+
+THE YOUNG HUNTERS SERIES
+
+[Illustration]
+
+By
+
+CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL
+
+  Gun and Sled
+  Young Hunters of Porto Rico
+
+Price 75c, postpaid
+
+  Chicago
+  M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
+  407-429 Dearborn St.
+
+
+WORKS OF JAMES OTIS
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  Down the Slope
+  Messenger 48
+  Teddy
+  Telegraph Tom's Venture
+
+Price 75 Cents, Postpaid.
+
+  Chicago
+  M. A. Donohue & Co.
+  415-429 Dearborn St.
+
+
+ELLA WHEELER WILCOX
+
+POEMS of REFLECTION
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The most noted and helpful poetical work of this famous writer is here
+collected in popular form in a suitable binding for birthday or holiday
+presentations, or for table or library. Stamping done in light green
+upon dark over special design in gold.
+
+Among the "POEMS OF REFLECTION," a few may be named, as follows:
+Penalty, Life Lines from "Maurine," When, Only Dreams, "In the Night,"
+Contentment, Mother's Loss, The Women, "Vampires," Dying, The King and
+Siren, Sunshine and Shadow, "Whatever is,--is Best," Worldly Wisdom, My
+Comrade, So Long In Coming, Perished, The Belle's Soliloquy, My Vision,
+Dream Time, The Belle of the Season, Joy, Bird of Hope, A Golden Day,
+Fading, All the World, Old, Daft, Hung, When I am Dead, Ghosts, Out of
+the Depths, Mistakes, Presumption, Song of the Spirit, A Dream, Dying,
+Our Angel. This book is poetical inspiration of the highest order for
+sustaining and strengthening the heart and mind for the disappointments,
+vicissitudes and achievements of life.
+
+Price 75 cents
+
+
+Poems Of Love, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
+
+A beautiful book--companion to "Poems of Reflection." The following is a
+selection from a few of the poems in the POEMS OF LOVE: Sweet Danger, A
+Fatal Impress, Love, I Will be True, The Kingdom of Love, Love will
+Wane, A Maiden's Secret, Lines from "Maurine." This book is handsomely
+bound in the style of Poems and Reflections.
+
+Cloth, price 75 cents
+
+
+Sweet Danger, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
+
+This popular author tells the story of love in this book as it has never
+been elsewhere told.
+
+Cloth, price 75 cents
+
+Sent prepaid on receipt of price,
+
+M. A. DONOHUE & CO., 407-429 Dearborn Street: CHICAGO.
+
+
+PICTURESQUE AMERICAN BIOGRAPHIES
+
+"In John Paul Jones and Ethan Allen, Mr. Brown found two of the most
+picturesque figures in the life of the country, and he has shown himself
+able to deal with them as historical persons, without detracting
+anything from the romantic qualities of their individuality. He competes
+with historical fiction by developing the superior interest of the facts
+as they grew out of the life of his heroes and the life of their times.
+Few biographies intended for popular reading and the widest general
+circulation illustrates this same faculty of measuring statement and
+giving its governing value to fact while developing the picturesque and
+the romantic as it lies latent in history."--WILLIAM VINCENT BYARS in
+_The St. Louis Star_.
+
+
+Life And Deeds Of ETHAN ALLEN And The Green Mountain Boys
+
+By Charles Walter Brown, A. M.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Author of "John Paul Jones," "Nathan Hale," "Lafayette," "Pulaski,"
+"Washington," "Abraham Lincoln," "Sherman."
+
+16 ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+"It is the best 'life' of Ethan Allen published."--_Chicago Chronicle._
+
+"It abounds in incidents, anecdotes and adventures."--_Louisville
+Courier Journal._
+
+"It is a painstaking and accurate biography, possessing the fascination
+of romance."--_St. Louis Republic._
+
+"The account of the expedition into Canada and Allen's lamentable
+capture by the British, near Montreal, holds the reader's attention with
+all the force of a work of fiction."--_Chicago Journal._
+
+  12mo, cloth, size 5-5/8x7-7/8, nearly 300 pages.
+  Price, Postpaid                            $1.00
+
+
+Life And Deeds Of JOHN PAUL JONES Of Naval Fame
+
+By Charles Walter Brown, A. M.
+
+12 ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"This book is a credit to any publishing house."--_Detroit Free Press._
+
+"The publication is a careful and commendable one."--_Chicago Journal._
+
+"The public will readily welcome this new and valuable biography of John
+Paul Jones."--_Indianapolis Sentinel._
+
+"Mr. Brown is a faithful biographer and historian, and has the happy
+knack of making his hero live again in the imagination of his host of
+readers."--_Literary Life, New York._
+
+  Size, 5-5/8x7-7/8; nearly 300 pages; 12mo, cloth.
+  Price, Postpaid                              $1.00
+
+  This set of two volumes, "Allen" and "Jones" sent to
+  one address, express paid, for               $1.25
+
+M. A. DONOHUE & CO., 407-429 Dearborn Street  Chicago
+
+
+THE YOUNG SPORTSMAN SERIES
+
+[Illustration]
+
+By Captain Ralph Bonehill
+
+  Young Oarsman of Lake View
+  Leo, the Circus Boy
+  Rival Cyclists
+
+Price 75c post paid
+
+  CHICAGO
+  M. A. Donohue & Co.
+  407-429 Dearborn St.
+
+
+Works Of HARRY CASTLEMON
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  The First Capture
+  A Struggle for a Fortune
+  Winged Arrow's Medicine
+
+Price 75c postpaid
+
+  Chicago
+  M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
+  415-429 Dearborn St.
+
+
+ON A SLOW TRAIN THROUGH ARKANSAW
+
+By Thomas W. Jackson
+
+[Illustration]
+
+_The Funniest Of All Books_
+
+Over 900,000 sold since Jan. 20, 1904
+
+It tells of all the funny things that happened on a slow train. Many
+funny Railroad Stories, Sayings of the Southern Darkies. All the latest
+and best Minstrel Jokes of the Day. Paper Covers.      Price, 25 cents.
+
+  900,000 Copies of "On a Slow Train Through Arkansaw"
+                    were sold in 9 months. It still sells at the
+                    rate of nearly 50,000 a month, but
+
+  THREE YEARS IN ARKANSAW
+
+  JUST OUT  Bids fair to outsell that immensely popular
+            book. "The Most Unique Book Ever Published."
+
+"A complete history of the funny, comical, unreasonable, rich, rare and
+peculiar things that happened, transpired and turned up during my three
+years of life, liberty and pursuit of happiness along the rocky path of
+life down in old Arkansaw."--_M. Hughes._
+
+Paper Covers, Price, 25 cents.
+
+
+THROUGH MISSOURI ON A MULE
+
+_"Worse than Arkansaw" ALL NEW._
+
+By Thomas W. Jackson, author of "On a Slow Train Through Arkansaw."
+Contains funny Railroad Stories, Old Time Darky Sayings, Minstrel Jokes,
+all the late and funny sayings of the day.
+
+Paper Covers, Price, 25 cents.
+
+For sale by all Book and Newsdealers, or will send to any address in the
+United States, Canada or Mexico, postage prepaid, on receipt of price,
+in currency, money order or stamps.
+
+M. A. DONOHUE & CO., 407-429 Dearborn St., CHICAGO, ILL.
+
+
+LOVE LETTERS
+
+With Directions How To Write Them
+
+By INGOLDSBY NORTH.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+This is a branch of correspondence which fully demands a volume alone to
+provide for the various phases incident to Love, Courtship and Marriage.
+Few persons, however otherwise fluent with the pen, are able to express
+in words the promptings of the first dawn of love, and even the ice once
+broken how to follow up a correspondence with the dearest one in the
+whole world and how to smooth the way with those who need to be
+consulted in the matter. The numerous letters and answers in this book
+go far to overcome the difficulties and embarrassment inseparable from
+letters on this all-absorbing topic in all stages from beginning to end
+of a successful courtship, aided in many instances by the author's
+sensible comments on the specimen letters, and his valuable hints under
+adverse contingencies. It also contains the Art of Secret Writing, the
+Language of Love portrayed and rules in grammar.
+
+Paper Covers, 25 Cents.    Cloth, 50 Cents.
+
+
+The Complete LETTER WRITER
+
+Being the only Comprehensive and Practical Guide and Assistant to Letter
+Writing Published.
+
+Edited by CHARLES WALTER BROWN, A. M.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+There are few books that contain such a fund of valuable information on
+the everyday affairs of life. In addition to every conceivable form of
+business and social correspondence, there are letters of Condolence,
+Introduction, Congratulation, Felicitation, Advice and Favor; Letters
+accompanying presents; Notes on Love, Courtship and Marriage; Forms of
+Wedding Anniversaries, Socials, Parties, Notes, Wills, Deeds, Mortgages;
+Tables, Abbreviations, Classical Terms, Common Errors, Selections for
+Autograph Albums; Information concerning Rates on Foreign and Domestic
+Postage, together with a dictionary of nearly 10,000 Synonyms and other
+valuable information which space will not admit of mention. The book is
+printed from new plates, on a superior quality of paper and bound in
+substantial and durable manner. 12mo.
+
+Paper Covers, 25c.  Cloth, 50c.  Cloth, 320 Pages, Price $1.00
+
+For sale by all book and newsdealers, or sent to any address in the
+U.S., Canada or Mexico, postage prepaid on receipt of price in currency,
+money order or stamps.
+
+M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 407-429 Dearborn St.  Chicago
+
+
+THE VOTER'S MANUAL AND ARGUMENT.
+
+Settler For The Vest Pocket
+
+A strictly non-partisan compilation of political facts and statistics,
+designed for ready reference, containing information with which every
+voter in the United States should be familiar. Concise, correct,
+convenient. A new and valuable work.
+
+  Bound in leather, title on side in gold, 35 cents.
+  Bound in cloth, 20 cents.
+
+
+HOYLE'S BOOK OF GAMES
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Containing all of the games played with cards, also containing rules for
+Backgammon, Chess, Checkers, Billiards, Pool, Bagatelle, Bowls, etc.
+Numerous diagrams and engravings. The best and most complete edition of
+Hoyle published. Printed from new plates, substantially bound in cloth,
+stamped in ink and gold.
+
+  Price, $1.00
+  Bound in paper, 25 cents.
+
+
+Leaves From CONJURER'S SCRAP BOOK
+
+Or Modern Magicians And Their Works
+
+By H. J. Burlingame. 274 pages. 73/4 x 51/2 inches, containing
+numerous illustrations. This work presents modern magic in a skillful
+manner and shows how the startling and marvelous performances of
+magicians are accomplished. It is a very interesting and desirable
+publication.
+
+Price, $1.50
+
+Sent Prepaid on Receipt of Price
+
+  M. A. DONOHUE & CO.,
+  407-429 Dearborn St.,
+  Chicago.
+
+
+VASSAR SERIES
+
+FOR GIRLS.
+
+Illustrated
+
+[Illustration]
+
+This is the most attractive and carefully selected series of stories for
+girls published. Each book is a masterpiece by a master hand and was
+selected not merely because of the established reputation of its author
+but because it had earned a place in every home where there are girls.
+Uniform cloth binding, title in gold, sides and back stamped in inks.
+
+Price per volume      75c.
+
+   1 Adventures of a Brownie, as Told to My Child, Mulock.
+   2 Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and through the Looking Glass,
+     Carroll.
+   3 Arabian Nights.
+   4 Andersen's Fairy Tales, Andersen.
+   5 Aunt Diana, Rosa N. Carey.
+   6 Averil, Rosa N. Carey.
+   7 Black Beauty, Anna Sewall.
+   8 Book of Golden Deeds, Yonge.
+   9 Cuckoo Clock, Molesworth.
+  10 Deb and Duchess, Meade.
+  11 Esther, Rosa N. Carey.
+  12 Fairy Book, Miss Mulock.
+  13 Flat Iron for a Farthing, Mrs. Ewing.
+  14 Four Little Mischiefs, Rosa Mulholland.
+  15 Girl in Ten Thousand, Meade.
+  16 Girl Neighbors, Sara Tyler.
+  17 Girls and I, and Girls in Black, Mrs. Molesworth.
+  18 Grandmother Dear, Mrs. Molesworth.
+  19 Grimm's Household Stories, Grimm.
+  20 Grimm's Popular Fairy Tales, Grimm.
+  21 In the Golden Days, Lyall.
+  22 Jackanapes, Mrs. Ewing.
+  23 Lamplighter, The Cummings.
+  24 Little Lame Prince, Mulock.
+  25 Little Susy Stories containing: Little Susy's Six Birthdays,
+     Little Susy's Six Teachers, Little Susy's Little Servants,
+     Prentiss.
+  26 Margery Merton's Girlhood, A. Corkran.
+  27 Meg's Friend, A. Corkran.
+  28 Merle's Crusade, Carey.
+  29 Naughty Miss Bunny, Mulholland.
+  30 Old, Old Fairy Tales.
+  31 Our Bessie, Rosa N. Carey.
+  32 Palace Beautiful, Meade.
+  33 Pilgrim's Progress, Ill., John Bunyan.
+  34 Polly, A New Fashioned Girl, Meade.
+  35 Queenie's Whim, Carey.
+  36 Robin Redbreast, Mrs. Molesworth.
+  37 Schonberg-Cotta Family, Mrs. Charles.
+  38 Six to Sixteen, Mrs. Ewing.
+  39 Six Little Princesses and What They Turned Into, Mrs. Prentiss.
+  40 Sweet Girl Graduate, A, L. T. Meade.
+  41 Taming a Tomboy, Emmy von Rhoden.
+  42 Three Bright Girls, A. E. Armstrong.
+  43 Two Little Maids, Verdier.
+  44 "Us," Mrs. Molesworth.
+  45 Very Odd Girl, A, A. E. Armstrong.
+  46 Water Babies, C. Kingsley.
+  47 Wide, Wide World, E. Wetherell.
+  48 Wild Kitty, L. T. Meade.
+  49 World of Girls, A, Meade.
+  50 Young Mutineer, Meade.
+
+For sale by all Book and News Dealers, or sent to any address in the
+United States, Canada, or Mexico, postage prepaid, on receipt of price,
+in currency, money order or stamps.
+
+
+  M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY
+  407-429 DEARBORN STREET,--CHICAGO
+
+
+
+
+  Transcriber's Notes:
+
+
+  Obvious printer's errors were silently corrected.
+
+  Errors in the names were corrected for consistency and changed to either
+  the first or the most occurring one:
+ q -Stephen Davenant was called Stephen Newcombe on page 26
+  -Mrs. Davenant's maid Jane was called Janet on page 134
+  -Mrs. Cantrip on page 146 was called Cantup on page 169
+  -Walmington Square was called Washington Square on page 221.
+
+  Otherwise the author's writing style has been preserved, including:
+  -archaic and inconsistent spelling
+  -inconsistent hyphenation
+  -French words written without accents.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir, by
+Charles Garvice
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONLY ONE LOVE, OR WHO WAS THE HEIR ***
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