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diff --git a/41672-8.txt b/41672-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2bab805..0000000 --- a/41672-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,19306 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Changed Heart, by May Agnes Fleming - -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/license - - -Title: A Changed Heart - A Novel - -Author: May Agnes Fleming - -Release Date: December 20, 2012 [EBook #41672] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHANGED HEART *** - - - - -Produced by Brenda Lewis, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at -http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - A CHANGED HEART - - A Novel. - - BY MAY AGNES FLEMING, - - AUTHOR OF "GUY EARLSCOURT'S WIFE," "A TERRIBLE SECRET," "A WONDERFUL - WOMAN," "ONE NIGHT'S MYSTERY," "SILENT AND TRUE," "A MAD MARRIAGE," - "LOST FOR A WOMAN," ETC., ETC. - - - "If Fortune, with a smiling face, - Strew roses on our way, - When shall we stoop to pick them up? - To-day, my love, to-day." - - - NEW YORK: - Copyright, 1881, by - _G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers_, - LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. - MDCCCLXXXIII. - - Stereotyped by - SAMUEL STODDER, - ELECTROTYPER & STEREOTYPER, - 90 ANN STREET, N. Y. - - - TROW - PRINTING AND BOOK-BINDING CO. - N. Y. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. Miss McGregor at home 7 - - II. Nathalie 14 - - III. Miss Rose 25 - - IV. Val's office 36 - - V. Killing two birds with one stone 46 - - VI. An evening at Miss Blake's 59 - - VII. Too many irons in the fire 67 - - VIII. Val turns mentor 82 - - IX. Wooed and won 95 - - X. Fast and loose 112 - - XI. How Captain Cavendish meant to marry Cherrie. 123 - - XII. In which the wedding comes off 138 - - XIII. After the wedding 150 - - XIV. Mining the ground 157 - - XV. Springing the mine 167 - - XVI. A crime 179 - - XVII. Found guilty 191 - - XVIII. The darkening sky 207 - - XIX. The flight 217 - - XX. "One more unfortunate" 227 - - XXI. Mrs. Butterby's lodgings 236 - - XXII. The heiress of Redmon 247 - - XXIII. The heiress of Redmon enters society 259 - - XXIV. The spell of the enchantress 275 - - XXV. The double compact 283 - - XXVI. Mr. Paul Wyndham 299 - - XXVII. Mr. Wyndham's wooing 312 - - XXVIII. Mr. Wyndham's wedding 324 - - XXIX. Mr. Wyndham's mother 336 - - XXX. Very mysterious 349 - - XXXI. Val's discovery 366 - - XXXII. Cherrie tells the truth 377 - - XXXIII. Overtaken 391 - - XXXIV. The Vesper-Hymn 406 - - XXXV. "Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore'" 417 - - XXXVI. Drifting out 425 - - XXXVII. Dies Iræ, Dies Illa 430 - - XXXVIII. Out of the crooked ways 450 - - XXXIX. In Hope 478 - - - - -A CHANGED HEART. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -MISS McGREGOR AT HOME. - - -It was a foggy night in Speckport. There was nothing uncommon in its -being foggy this close May evening; but it was rather provoking and -ungallant of the clerk of the weather, seeing that Miss McGregor -particularly desired it to be fine. Miss Jeannette (she had been -christened plain Jane, but scorned to answer to anything so -unromantic)--Miss Jeannette McGregor was at home to-night to all the -élite of Speckport; and as a good many of the élite owned no other -conveyance than that which Nature had given them, it was particularly -desirable the weather should be fine. But it wasn't fine; it was nasty -and drizzly, and sultry and foggy; and sky and sea were blotted out; and -the gas-lamps sprinkled through the sloppy streets of Speckport blinked -feebly through the gloom; and people buttoned up to the chin and wrapped -in cloaks flitted by each other like phantoms, in the pale blank of wet -and fog. And half the year round that is the sort of weather they enjoy -in Speckport. - -You don't know Speckport! There I have the advantage of you; for I know -its whole history, past, present, and--future, I was going to say, -though I don't set up for a prophet; but the future of Speckport does -not seem hard to foretell. The Union-jack floats over it, the State of -Maine is its next-door neighbor, and fish and fog are its principal -productions. It also had the honor of producing Miss McGregor, who was -born one other foggy night, just two-and-twenty years previous to this -"At Home," to which you and I are going presently, in a dirty little -black street, which she scorns to know even by name now. Two-and-twenty -years ago, Sandy McGregor worked as a day-laborer in a shipyard, at -three and sixpence per day. Now, Mr. Alexander McGregor is a -ship-builder, and has an income of ten thousand gold dollars per year. -Not a millionaire, you know; but very well off, and very comfortable, -and very contented; living in a nice house, nicely furnished, keeping -horses and carriage, and very much looked up to, and very much respected -in Speckport. - -Speckport has its Fifth Avenue as well as New York. Not that they call -it Fifth Avenue, you understand; its name is Golden Row, and the abiders -therein are made of the porcelain of human clay. Great people, magnates -and aristocrats to their finger-tips, scorning the pigmies who move in -second and third society and have only the happiness of walking through -Golden Row, never of dwelling there. The houses were not brown-stone -fronts. Oh, no! there were half-a-dozen brick buildings, some pretty, -little Gothic cottages, with green vines, and beehives, and bird-houses, -about them, and all the rest were great painted palaces of wood. Some -had green shutters, and some had not; some were painted white, and some -brown, and some stone-color and drab, and they all had a glittering air -of spickspan-newness about them, as if their owners had them painted -every other week. And in one of these palaces Mr. McGregor lived. - -You drove down Golden Row through the fog and drizzle, between the -blinking lamps, and you stop at a stone-colored house with a brown -hall-door, and steps going up to it. The hall is brilliant with gas, so -is the drawing-room, so are the two parlors, so is the dining-room, so -are the dressing rooms; and the élite of Speckport are bustling and -jostling one another about, and making considerable noise, and up in the -gallery the band is in full blast at the "Lancers"--for they know how -to dance the Lancers in Speckport--and the young ladies dipping and -bowing through the intricacies of the dance, wear their dresses just as -low in the neck and as short in the sleeves as any Fifth avenue belle -dare to do. - -Very pretty girls they are, floating about in all the colors of the -rainbow. There are no diamonds, perhaps, except glass ones; but there -are gold chains and crosses, and bracelets, and lockets and things; and -some of the young ladies have rings right up to the middle joint of -their fingers. The young gentlemen wear rings, too, and glittering -shirt-studs and bosom-pins, and are good looking and gentlemanly. While -the young folks dance, the old folks play wallflower or cards, or take -snuff or punch, or talk politics. All the juvenile rag-tag and bobtail -of Speckport are outside, gaping up with open-mouthed admiration at the -blazing front of the McGregor mansion, and swallowing the music that -floats through the open windows. - -Sailing along Golden Row, with an umbrella up to protect her bonnet from -the fog, comes a tall lady, unprotected and alone, and "There's Miss Jo, -hurrah!" yells a shrill voice; and the tall lady receives her ovation -with a gratified face, and bows as she steps over the McGregor -threshold. Ten minutes later, she enters the drawing-room, divested of -her wrappings; and you see she is elderly and angular, and prim and -precise, and withal good-natured. She is sharp at the joints and -shoulder-blades, and her black silk dress is hooked up behind in the -fashion of twenty years ago. She wears no crinoline, and looks about as -graceful as a lamp-post; but she is fearfully and wonderfully fine, with -a massive gold chain about her neck that would have made a ship's cable -easily, and a cross and a locket clattering from it, and beating time to -her movements on a cameo brooch the size of a dinner-plate. Eardrops, a -finger-length long, dangle from her ears; cameo bracelets adorn her -skinny wrists; and her hair, of which she has nothing to speak of, is -worn in little corkscrew curls about her sallow face. - -Miss Joanna Blake is an old maid, and looks like it; she is also an -exile of Erin, and the most inveterate gossip in Speckport. - -A tremendous uproar greets her as she enters the drawing-room, and she -stops in considerable consternation. - -In a recess near the door was a card-table, round which four elderly -ladies and four elderly gentlemen sat, with a laughing crowd looking on -from behind. The card-party were in a violently agitated and excited -state, all screaming out together at the top of the gamut. - -Miss Jo swept on in majestic silence, nodding right and left as she -streamed down the apartment to where Mrs. McGregor stood, with a little -knot of matrons around her--a lady as tall as Miss Jo herself, and ever -so much stouter, her fat face hot and flushed, and wielding a fan -ponderously, as if it were a ton weight. Mrs. McGregor, during forty -years of her life, had been a good deal more familiar with -scrubbing-brushes than fans; but you would not think so now, maybe, if -you saw her in that purple-satin dress and gold watch, her fat hands -flashing with rings, and that bewildering combination of white lace and -ribbons on her head. Her voice was as loud as her style of dress, and -she shook Miss Jo's hand as if it had been a pump-handle. - -"And how do you do, Miss Blake, and whatever on earth kept you till this -hour? I was just saying to Jeannette, a while ago, I didn't believe you -were going to come at all." - -"I could not help it," said Miss Jo. "Val didn't come home till late, -and then I had to stop and find him his things. You know, my dear, what -a trouble men are, and that Val beats them all. Has everybody come?" - -"I think so; everybody but your Val and the Marshes. Maybe my lady is in -one of her tantrums, and won't let Natty come at all. Jeannette is all -but distracted. Natty's got lots of parts in them things they're -having--tablets--no; tableaux, that's the name, and they never can get -on without her. Jeannette's gone to look for Sandy to send him up to -Redmon to see." - -"I say, Miss Jo, how do you find yourself this evening?" exclaimed a -spirited voice behind her; and Mrs. McGregor gave a little yelp of -delight as she saw who it was--a young man, not more than twenty, -perhaps, very good-looking, with bright gray eyes, fair hair, and a -sunny smile. He was holding out a hand, small and fair as a lady's, to -Miss Blake, who took it and shook it heartily. - -"Jo's very well, thank you, Mr. Charles. How is your mamma this -evening?" - -"She was all right when I left home. Is Val here?" - -"Not yet. Have you just come?" - -The young gentleman nodded, and was turning away, but Mrs. McGregor -recalled him. - -"Isn't your mother coming, Charley?" - -"No, she can't," said Charley. "The new teacher's come, and she's got to -stay with her. She told me to bring her apologies." - -The ladies were all animation directly. The new teacher! What was she -like? When did she come? Was she young? Was she pretty? Did she seem -nice? - -"I didn't see her," said Charley, lounging against a sofa and flapping -his gloves about. - -"Didn't see her! I thought you said she was in your house?" cried Mrs. -McGregor. - -"So she is. I mean I didn't see her face. She had a thick vail on, and -kept it down, and I left two or three minutes after she came." - -"She came to Speckport in this evening's boat, then?" said Miss Jo. -"What did she wear?" - -Charley was bowing and smiling to a pretty girl passing on her partner's -arm. - -Mrs. McGregor nodded, and Charley sauntered off. The two ladies looked -after him. - -"What a nice young man that Charley Marsh is!" exclaimed Miss Jo, -admiringly, "and so good-looking, and so steady, and so good to his -mamma. You won't find many like him nowadays." - -Mrs. McGregor lowered her voice to a mysterious whisper. - -"Do you know, Miss Jo, they say he goes after that Cherrie Nettleby. Did -you hear it?" - -"Fiddlestick!" said Miss Jo, politely. "Speckport's got that story out, -has it? I don't believe a word of it!" - -"Here's Val!" cried Mrs. McGregor, off on a new tack; "and, my patience! -what a swell he's got with him!" - -Miss Jo looked round. Coming down the long room together were two young -men, whose appearance created a visible sensation--one of them, -preposterously tall and thin, with uncommonly long legs and arms--a -veritable Shanghai--was Mr. Valentine Blake, Miss Jo's brother and sole -earthly relative. He looked seven-and-twenty, was carelessly dressed, -his clothes hanging about him any way--not handsome, but with a droll -look of good humor about his face, and a roguish twinkle in his eyes -that would have redeemed a plainer countenance. - -His companion was a stranger, and it was he who created the sensation, -not easy Val. Mrs. McGregor had called him a "swell," but Mrs. McGregor -was not a very refined judge. He was dressed well, but not overdressed, -as the slang term would imply, and he looked a thorough gentleman. A -very handsome one, too, with dark curling hair, dark, bright, handsome -eyes, a jetty mustache on his lip, and a flashing diamond ring on his -finger. There was a certain air militaire about him that bespoke his -profession, though he wore civilian's clothes, and he and Val looked -about the same age. No wonder the apparition of so distinguished-looking -a stranger in Mrs. McGregor's drawing-room should create a buzzing among -the Speckport bon ton. - -"My goodness!" cried Mrs. McGregor, all in a flutter. "Whoever can he -be? He looks like a soldier, don't he?" - -"There came a regiment from Halifax this morning," said Miss Jo. "Here's -Val bringing him up." - -Mr. Val was presenting him even while she spoke. "Captain Cavendish, -Mrs. McGregor, of the --th," and then the captain was bowing profoundly; -and the lady of the mansion was returning it, in a violent trepidation -and tremor, not knowing in the least what she was expected to say to so -distinguished a visitor. But relief was at hand. Charley Marsh was -beside them with a young lady on his arm--a young lady best described by -that odious word "genteel." She was not pretty; she was sandy-haired -and freckled, but she was the daughter of the house, and, as such, -demanding attention. Val introduced the captain directly, and Mrs. -McGregor breathed freely again. - -"Look here, Val!" she whispered, catching him by the button, "who is he, -anyway?" - -Val lowered his voice and looked round him cautiously. - -"Did you ever hear of the Marquis of Carrabas, Mrs. McGregor?" - -"No--yes--I don't remember. Is he an English nobleman?" - -"A very great nobleman, Ma'am; famous in history as connected with the -cat-trade, and Captain Cavendish is next heir to the title. Mrs. Marsh -can tell you all about the Marquis; can't she, Charley?" - -Charley, who was ready to burst into a fit of laughter at -Mrs. McGregor's open-mouthed awe, took hold of the arm of a -feeble-minded-looking young gentleman, whose freckled features, sandy -hair, and general resemblance to the family, proclaimed him to be Mr. -Alexander McGregor, Junior, and walked him off. - -"And he came from Halifax this evening, Val?" Mrs. McGregor asked, -gazing at the young Englishman in the same state of awe and delight. - -"Yes," said Val, "it was there I got acquainted with him first. I met -him on my way here, and thought you would not be offended at the liberty -I took in fetching him along." - -"Offended! My dear Val, you couldn't have pleased me better if you had -been trying for a week. A Markis and a Captain in the Army! Why, it's -the greatest honor, and I'm ever so much obliged to you. I am, indeed!" - -"All right," said Val. "Speckport will be envious enough, I dare say, -for it's not every place he'll go to, and all will want him. You'll lose -Jane if you're not careful, though--see how he's talking to her." - -Mrs. McGregor's eyes were dancing in her head. A dazzling vision rose -before her--her daughter a Marchioness, living in a castle, dressed in -satin and diamonds the year round! She could have hugged Val in her -rapture; and Val reading some such idea in her beaming face, backed a -little, in some alarm. - -"I say, though, wasn't there to be tableaux or something?" he inquired. -"When are they coming off?" - -"As soon as Natty Marsh gets here; they can't get on without her." - -"What keeps her?" asked Val. - -"The new teacher's come to Mrs. Marsh's, Charley says, and Natty is -stopping in to see her. There's the captain asking Jeannette to dance." - -So he was; and Miss Jeannette, with a gratified simper, was just laying -her kidded fingers inside his coat-sleeve, when her brother came -breathlessly up. - -"Look here, Janie! you'd better not go off dancing," was his cry, "if -you mean to have those tableaux to-night. Natty's come!" - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -NATHALIE. - - -Mrs. McGregor's drawing-room was empty. Everybody had flocked into the -front parlor and arranged themselves on seats there to witness the -performance; that is to say, everybody who had no part in the -proceedings. Most of the young people of both sexes were behind the -solemn green curtain, with its row of footlights, that separated the two -rooms, dressing for their parts. The old people were as much interested -in the proceedings as the young people, for their sons and daughters -were the actors and actresses. - -Captain Cavendish and Mr. Val Blake occupied a front seat. Val had a -part assigned him; but it did not come on for some time, so he was -playing spectator now. - -"I saw you making up to little Jane, Cavendish," Val was saying, sotto -voce, for Miss Janie's mamma sat near. "Was it a case of love at first -sight?" - -"Miss McGregor is not very pretty," said Captain Cavendish, moderately. -"Who was that young lady with the red cheeks and bright eyes I saw you -speaking to, just before we came here?" - -"Red cheeks and bright eyes!" repeated Val, putting on his -considering-cap, "that description applies to half the girls in -Speckport. What had she on?" - -Captain Cavendish laughed. - -"Would any one in the world but Val Blake ask such a question? She had -on a pink dress, and had pink and white flowers in her hair, and looked -saucy." - -"Oh, I know now!" Val cried, with a flash of recollection; "that was -Laura Blair, one of the nicest little girls that ever sported crinoline! -Such a girl to laugh, you know!" - -"She looks it! Ah! up you go!" - -This apostrophe was addressed to the curtain, which was rising as he -spoke. There was a general flutter, and settling in seats to look; the -orchestra pealed forth and the first tableau was revealed. - -It was very pretty, but very common--"Rebecca and Rowena." Miss Laura -Blair was Rowena, and a tall brunette, Rebecca. The audience -applauded, as in duty bound, and the curtain fell. The second was -"Patience"--"Patience on a monument smiling at Grief." On a high -pedestal stood Miss Laura Blair, again, draped in a white sheet, like a -ghost, her hair all loose about her, and an azure girdle all over -spangles clasping her waist. - -At the foot of the pedestal crouched Grief, in a strange, distorted -attitude of pain. The face of the performer was hidden in her hands; her -black garments falling heavily around her, her hair unbound, too, her -whole manner expressing despair, as fully as attitude could express it. -The music seemed changing to a wail; the effect of the whole was -perfect. - -"What do you think of that?" said Val. - -"Very good," said Captain Cavendish. "It goes considerably ahead of -anything I had expected. Patience is very nice-looking girl." - -"And isn't she jolly? She's dying to shout out this minute! I should -think the glare of these footlights would force her eyelids open." - -"Who is Grief?" - -"Miss Catty Clowrie--isn't there music in that name? She makes a very -good Grief--looks as if she had supped sorrow in spoonfuls." - -"Is she pretty? She won't let us see her face." - -"Beauty's a matter of taste," said Val, "perhaps you'll think her -pretty. If you do, you will be the only one who ever thought the like. -She is a nice little girl though, is Catty--the double-distilled essence -of good-nature. Down goes the curtain!" - -It rose next on a totally different scene, and to music solemn and sad. -The stage was darkened, and made as much as possible to resemble a -convent-cell. The walls were hung with religious pictures and statues, a -coverless deal table held a crucifix, an open missal, and a candle which -flared and guttered in the draft. On a prie-dieu before the table a -figure knelt--a nun, eyes uplifted, the young face, quite colorless, -raised, the hands holding her rosary, clasped in prayer. It was -Evangeline--beautiful, broken-hearted Evangeline--the white face, the -great dark lustrous eyes full of unspeakable woe. Fainter, sweeter and -sadder the music wailed out; dimmer and dimmer paled the lights; all -hushed their breathing to watch. The kneeling figure never moved, the -face looked deadly pale by the flickering candle-gleam, and slowly the -curtain began to descend. It was down; the tableau was over; the music -closed, but for a second or two not a sound was to be heard. Then a -tumult of applause broke out rapturously, and "Encore, encore!" twenty -voices cried, in an ecstasy. - -Captain Cavendish turned to Val with an enthusiastic face. - -"By George, Blake! what a beautiful girl! Evangeline herself never was -half so lovely. Who is she?" - -"That's Natty," said Val, with composure. "Charley Marsh's sister." - -"I never saw a lovelier face in all my life! Blake, you must give me an -introduction as soon as these tableaux are over." - -"All right! But you needn't fall in love with her--it's of no use." - -"Why isn't it?" - -"Because the cantankerous old toad who owns her will never let her get -married." - -"Do you mean her mother?" - -"No, I don't, she doesn't live with her mother. And, besides, she has no -room in her heart for any one but Charley. She idolizes him!" - -"Happy fellow! That Evangeline was perfect. I never saw anything more -exquisite." - -"I don't believe Longfellow's Evangeline was half as good-looking as -Natty," said Val. "Oh! there she is again!" - -Val stopped talking. The curtain had arisen on an old scene--"Rebecca at -the well." Evangeline had transformed herself into a Jewish maiden in an -incredibly short space of time, and stood with her pitcher on her -shoulder, looking down on Eleazer at her feet. Sandy McGregor was -Eleazer, and a sorry Jew he made, but nobody except his mother looked at -him. Like a young queen Rebecca stood, her eyes fixed on the bracelets -and rings, her hair falling in a shower of golden bronze ripples over -her bare white shoulders. One would have expected black hair with those -luminous dark eyes, but no ebon tresses could have been half so -magnificent as that waving mass of darkened gold. - -"Nice hair, isn't it?" whispered Val. "Natty's proud of her hair and her -voice beyond anything. You ought to hear her sing!" - -"She sings well?" Captain Cavendish asked, his eyes fixed as if -fascinated on the beautiful face. - -"Like another Jenny Lind! She leads the choir up there in the cathedral, -and plays the organ besides." - -Captain Cavendish had a pretty pink half-blown rose in his button-hole. -He took it out and flung it at her feet as the curtain was going down. -He had time to see her bright dark eye turn upon it, then with a little -pleased smile over the spectators in quest of the donor, and then that -envious green curtain hid all again. - -"Very neat and appropriate," criticised Val. "You're not going to wait -for the introduction to begin your love-passage, I see, Captain -Cavendish." - -The captain laughed. - -"Nothing like taking time by the forelock, my dear fellow. I will never -be able to thank you sufficiently for bringing me here to-night!" - -"You don't say so!" exclaimed Val, opening his eyes, "you never mean to -say you're in love already, do you?" - -"It's something very like it, then. Where are you going?" - -"Behind the scenes. The next is 'Jack and the Beanstalk,' and they want -me for the beanstalk," said Val, complacently, as his long legs strode -over the carpet on his way to the back parlor. - -There were ever so many tableaux after that--Captain Cavendish, -impatient and fidgety, wondered if they would ever end. Perhaps you -don't believe in love at first sight, dear reader mine; perhaps I don't -myself; but Captain Cavendish, of Her Most Gracious Majesty's --th -Regiment of Artillery did, and had fallen in love at first sight at -least a dozen times within quarter that number of years. - -Captain Cavendish had to exercise the virtue of patience for another -half-hour, and then the end came. - -In flocked the performers, in laughing commotion, to find themselves -surrounded by the rest, and showered with congratulations. Captain -Cavendish stood apart, leaning against a fauteuil, stroking his mustache -thoughtfully, and looking on. Looking on one face and form only of all -the dozens before him; a form tall, taller than the average height, -slender, graceful, and girlish as became its owner's eighteen years; -and a face inexpressibly lovely in the garish gaslight. There was -nobility as well as beauty in that classic profile, that broad brow; -fire in those laughing blue eyes, so dark that you nearly mistook them -for black; resolution in those molded lips, the sweetest that ever were -kissed. The hair alone of Nathalie Marsh would have made a plain face -pretty; it hung loose over her shoulders as it had done on the stage, -reaching to her waist, a cloud of spun gold, half waves, half curls, -half yellow ripples. - -Few could have worn this hair like that, but it was eminently becoming -to Nathalie, whom everything became. Her dress was of rose color, of a -tint just deeper than the rose color in her cheeks, thin and flouting, -and she was entirely without ornament. A half-blown rose was fastened in -the snowy lace of her corsage, a rose that had decked the buttonhole of -Captain Cavendish half an hour before. - -Val espied him at last and came over. "Are you making a tableau of -yourself," he asked, "for a certain pair of bright eyes to admire? I saw -them wandering curiously this way two or three times since we came in." - -"Whose were they?" - -"Miss Nathalie Marsh's. Come and be introduced." - -"But she is surrounded." - -"Never mind, they'll make way for you. Stand out of the way, Sandy. Lo! -the conquering hero comes! Miss Marsh, let me present Captain Cavendish, -of the --th; Miss Marsh, Captain Cavendish." - -The music at that instant struck up a delicious waltz. Mr. Val Blake, -without ceremony, laid hold of the nearest young lady he could grab. - -"Come, Catty! let's take a twist or two. That's it, Cavendish! follow in -our wake!" - -For Captain Cavendish, having asked Miss Marsh to waltz, was leading her -off, and received the encouraging nod of Val with an amused smile. - -"What a character he is!" he said, looking after Val, spinning around -with considerable more energy than grace; "the most unceremonious and -best-natured fellow in existence." - -The young lady laughed. - -"Oh, everybody likes Val! Have you known him long?" - -"About a year. I have seen him in Halifax frequently, and we are the -greatest friends, I assure you. Damon and Pythias were nothing to us!" - -"It is something new for Mr. Blake to be so enthusiastic, then. Pythias -is a new rôle for him. I hope he played it better than he did Robert -Bruce in that horrid tableau awhile ago." - -They both laughed at the recollection. Natty scented her rose. - -"Some one threw me this. Gallant, wasn't it? I love roses." - -"Sweets to the sweet! I am only sorry I had not something more worthy -'Evangeline,' than that poor little flower." - -"Then it was you. I thought so! Thank you for the rose and the -compliment. One is as pretty as the other." - -She laughed saucily, her bright eyes flashing a dangerous glance at him. -Next instant they were floating round, and round, and round; and Captain -Cavendish began to think the world must be a great rose garden, and -Speckport Eden, since in it he had found his Eve. Not quite his yet, -though, for the moment the waltz concluded, a dashing and dangerously -good-looking young fellow stepped coolly up and bore her off. - -Val having given his partner a finishing whirl into a seat, left her -there, and came up, wiping his face. - -"By jingo, 'tis hard work, and Catty Clowrie goes the pace with a -vengeance. How do you like Natty?" - -"'Like' is not the word. Who is that gentleman she is walking with?" - -"That--where are they? Oh, I see--that is Captain Locksley, of the -merchant-service. The army and navy forever, eh! Where are you going?" - -"Out of this hot room a moment. I'll be back directly." - -Mrs. McGregor came up and asked Val to join a whist-party she was -getting up. "And be my partner, Val," she enjoined, as she led him off, -"because you're the best cheat I know of." - -Val was soon completely absorbed in the fascinations of whist, at a -penny a game, but the announcement of supper soon broke up both -card-playing and dancing; and as he rose from the table he caught sight -of Captain Cavendish just entering. His long legs crossed the room in -three strides. - -"You've got back, have you? What have you been about all this time?" - -"I was smoking a cigar out there on the steps, and getting a little -fresh air--no, fog, for I'll take my oath it's thick enough to be cut -with a knife. When I was in London, I thought I knew something of fog, -but Speckport beats it all to nothing." - -"Yes," said Val, gravely, "it's one of the institutions of the country, -and we're proud of it. Did you see Charley Marsh anywhere in your -travels. I heard Natty just now asking for him." - -"Oh, yes, I've seen him," said Captain Cavendish, significantly. - -There was that in his tone which made Val look at him. "Where was he and -what was he doing?" he inquired. - -"Making love, to your first question; sitting in a recess of the tall -window, to your second. He did not see me, but I saw him." - -"Who was he with?" - -"Something very pretty--prettier than anything in this room, excepting -Miss Natty. Black eyes, black curls, rosy cheeks, and the dearest little -waist! Who is she?" - -Val gave a long, low whistle. - -"Do you know her?" persisted Captain Cavendish. - -"Oh, don't I though? Was she little, and was she laughing?" - -"Yes, to both questions. Now, who is she?" - -Val's answer was a shower of mysterious nods. - -"I heard the story before, but I didn't think the boy was such a fool. -Speckport is such a place for gossip, you know; but it seems the gossips -were right for once. What will Natty say, I wonder?" - -"Will you tell me who she is?" cried Captain Cavendish, impatiently. - -"Come to supper," was Val's answer; "I'm too hungry to talk now. I'll -tell you about it by-and-by." - -Charley was before them at the table, helping all the young ladies right -and left, and keeping up a running fire of jokes, old and new, stale and -original, and setting the table in a roar. Everybody was talking and -laughing at the top of their lungs; glass and china, and knives and -forks, rattled and jingled until the uproar became deafening, and people -shouted with laughter, without in the least knowing what they were -laughing at. The mustached lip of Captain Cavendish curled with a little -contemptuous smile at the whole thing, and Miss Jeannette McGregor, who -had managed to get him beside her, saw it, and felt fit to die with -mortification. - -"What a dreadful noise they do keep up. It makes my head ache to listen -to them!" she said, resentfully. - -Captain Cavendish, who had been listening to her tattle-tittle for the -last half-hour, answering yes and no at random, started into -consciousness that she was talking again. - -"I beg your pardon, Miss McGregor. What was it you said? I am afraid I -was not attending." - -"I am afraid you were not," said Miss McGregor, forcing a laugh, while -biting her lips. "They are going back to the drawing-room--_Dieu merci!_ -It is like Babel being here." - -"Let us wait," said Captain Cavendish, eying the crowd, and beginning to -be gallant. "I am not going to have you jostled to death. One would -think it was for life or death they were pushing." - -It was fully ten minutes before the coast was clear, and then the -captain drew Miss Jeannette's arm within his, and led her to the -drawing-room. Mrs. McGregor, sitting there among her satellites, saw -them, and the maternal bosom glowed with pride. It was the future -Marquis and Marchioness of Carrabas! - -Some one was singing. A splendid soprano voice was ringing through the -room, singing, "Hear me, Norma." It finished as they drew near, and the -singer, Miss Natty Marsh, glancing over her shoulder, flashed one of her -bright bewitching glances at them. - -She rose up from the piano, flirting out her gauze skirts, and laughing -at the shower of entreaties to sing again. - -"I am going to see some engravings Alick has promised to show me," she -said; "so spare your eloquence, Mesdames et Messieurs. I am inexorable." - -"I think I will go over and have a look at the engravings, too," said -Captain Cavendish. - -She was sitting at a little stand, all her bright hair loose around her, -and shading the pictures. Young McGregor was bending devoutly near her, -but not talking, only too happy to be just there, and talking was not -the young gentleman's forte. - -"Captain Cavendish," said the clear voice, as, without turning round, -she held the engraving over her shoulder, "look at this--is it not -pretty?" - -How had she seen him? Had she eyes in the back of her head? He took the -engraving, wondering inwardly, and sat down beside her. - -It was a strange picture she had given him. A black and wrathful sky, a -black and heaving sea, and a long strip of black and desolate coast. A -full moon flickered ghastly through the scudding clouds, and wan in its -light you saw a girl standing on a high rock, straining her eyes out to -sea. Her hair and dress fluttered in the wind; her face was wild, -spectral, and agonized. Captain Cavendish gazed on it as if fascinated. - -"What a story it tells!" Nathalie cried. "It makes one think of Charles -Kingsley's weird song of the 'Three Fishers.' Well, Charley, what is -it?" - -"It is the carryall from Redmon come for you," said Charley, who had -sauntered up. "If you are done looking at the pictures you had better go -home." - -Natty pushed the portfolio away pettishly, and rose, half-poutingly. - -"What a nuisance, to go so soon!" - -Then, catching Captain Cavendish's eye, she laughed good-naturedly. - -"What can't be cured--you know the proverb, Captain Cavendish. Charley, -wait for me in the hall, I will be there directly." - -She crossed the room with the airy elegance peculiar to her light -swinging tread, made her adieux quietly to the hostess, and sought her -wrappings and the dressing-room. - -As she ran down into the hall in a large shawl, gracefully worn, and a -white cloud round her pretty face, she found Captain Cavendish waiting -with Charley. It was he who offered her his arm, and Charley ran down -the steps before them. Through the wet fog they saw an old-fashioned -two-seated buggy waiting, and the driver looking impatiently down. - -"I wish you would drive up with me, Charley," said Natty, settling -herself in her seat. - -"Can't," said Charley. "I am going to see somebody else's sister home. -I'll take a run up to-morrow evening." - -"Miss Marsh," Captain Cavendish lazily began, "if you will permit me -to----" but Natty cut him short with a gay laugh. - -"And make all the young ladies in there miserable for the rest of the -evening! No, thank you! I am not quite so heartless. Good night!" - -She leaned forward to say it, the next moment she was lost in the fog. -He caught one glimpse of a white hand waved, of the half-saucy, -half-wicked, wholly-bewitching smile, of the dancing blue eyes and -golden hair, and then there was nothing but a pale blank of mist and -wet, and Charley was speaking: - -"Hang the fog! it goes through one like a knife! Come along in, captain, -they are going to dance." - -Captain Cavendish went in, but not to dance. He had come from curiosity -to see what the Speckportonians were like, not intending to remain over -an hour or so. Now that Natty was gone, there was no inducement to stay. -He sought out Mrs. McGregor, to say good-night. - -"What's your hurry?" said Val, following him out. - -"It is growing late, and I am ashamed to say I am sleepy. Will you be in -the office to-morrow morning?" - -"From eight till two," said Val. - -"Then I'll drop in. Good night!" - -The cathedral clock struck three as he came out into the drizzly -morning, and all the other clocks in the town took it up. The streets -were empty, as he walked rapidly to his lodgings, with buttoned-up -overcoat, and hat drawn over his eyes. But a "dancing shape, an image -gay" were with him, flashing on him through the fog; hunting him all the -way home, through the smur and mist of the dismal day-dawn. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -MISS ROSE. - - -Eight was striking by every clock in the town, as down Queen Street--the -Broadway of Speckport--a tall female streamed, with a step that rang and -resounded on the wooden pavement. The tall female, nodding to her -acquaintances right and left, and holding up her bombazine skirts out of -the slop, was Miss Jo Blake, as bright as a new penny, though she had -not had a wink of sleep the night before. Early as the hour was, Miss Jo -was going to make a morning call, and strode on through the fog with her -head up, and a nod for nearly every one she passed. - -Down Queen Street Miss Jo turned to the left, and kept straight on, -facing the bay, all blurred and misty, so that you could hardly tell -where the fog ended and the sun began. The business part of the town, -with its noise and rattle and bustle, was left half a mile behind, and -Miss Jo turned into a pretty and quiet street, right down on the -sea-shore. It was called Cottage Street, very appropriately, too; for -all the houses in it were cozy little cottages, a story and a half high, -all as much alike as if turned out of a mold. They were all painted -white, had a red door in the center, and two windows on either side of -the door, decorated with green shutters. They had little grass-plots and -flower-beds in front, with white palings, and white gate, and a little -graveled path, and behind they had vegetable-yards sloping right down to -the very water. If you leaned over the fences at the lower end of these -gardens, on a stormy day, and at high tide, you could feel the salt -spray dashing up in your face, from the waves below. At low water, there -was a long, smooth, sandy beach, delightful to walk over on hot summer -days. - -Before one of the cottages Miss Jo drew rein, and rapped. While waiting -for the door to open, the flutter of a skirt in the back garden caught -her eye; and, peering round the corner of the house, she had a full view -of it and its wearer. - -And Miss Jo set herself to contemplate the view with keenest interest. -To see the wearer of that fluttering skirt it was that had brought Miss -Jo all the way from her own home so early in the morning, though she had -never set eyes on her before. - -Uncommonly friendly, perhaps you are thinking. Not at all: Miss Jo was a -woman, consequently curious; and curiosity, not kindness, had brought -her out. - -The sight was very well worth looking at. You might have gazed for a -week, steadily, and not grown tired of the prospect. A figure, slender -and small, wearing a black dress, white linen cuffs at the wrists, a -white linen collar, fastened with a knot of crape, a profusion of pretty -brown hair, worn in braids, and low in the neck, hands like a child's, -small and white. She was leaning against a tree, a gnarled old rowan -tree, with her face turned sea-ward, watching the fishing-boats gliding -in and out through the fog; but presently, at some noise in the street, -she glanced around, and Miss Jo saw her face. A small, pale face, very -pale, with pretty features, and lit with large, soft eyes. A face that -was a history, could Miss Jo have read it; pale and patient, gentle and -sweet, and in the brown eye a look of settled melancholy. This young -lady in black had been learning the great lesson of life, that most of -us poor mortals must learn, sooner or later, endurance--the lesson One -too sublime to name came on earth to teach. - -Miss Jo dodged back, the door swung open, and a fat girl, bursting out -of her hooks and eyes, and with a head like a tow mop, opened the door. -Miss Jo strode in without ceremony. - -"Good morning, Betsy Ann! Is Mrs. Marsh at home this morning?" - -"Yes, Miss Jo," said Betsy Ann, opening a door to the left, for there -was a door on either hand; that to the right, leading to the -drawing-room of the cottage, and a staircase at the end leading to the -sleeping-room above; the door to the left admitted you to the -sitting-room and dining-room, for it was both in one--a pleasant little -room enough, with a red and green ingrain carpet, cane-seated chairs, -red moreen window-curtains on the two windows, one looking on the bay, -the other on the street. There was a little upright piano in one corner, -a lounge in another; pictures on the papered walls; a Dutch clock and -some china cats and dogs and shepherdesses on the mantel-piece; a -coal-fire in the Franklin, and a table laid for breakfast. - -The room had but one occupant, a faded and feeble-looking woman, who sat -in a low rocking-chair, her feet crossed on the fender, a shawl around -her, and a book in her hand. She looked up in her surprise at her early -visitor. - -"Law! Miss Blake, is it you? Who'd have thought it? Betsy Ann, give Miss -Blake a chair." - -"It's quite a piece from our house here, and I feel kind of tired," said -Miss Jo, seating herself. "Your fire feels comfortable, Mrs. Marsh; -these foggy days are chilly. Ain't you had breakfast yet?" - -"It's all Charley's fault; he hasn't come down stairs yet. How did you -enjoy yourself at the party last night?" - -"First-rate. Never went home till six this morning, and then I had to -turn to and make Val his breakfast. Charley left early." - -"Early!" retorted Mrs. Marsh; "I don't know what you call early. It was -after six when he came here, Betsy Ann says." - -"Well, that's odd," said Miss Jo. "He left McGregor's about half past -three, anyway. Did you hear they had an officer there last night?" - -"An officer! No. Who is it?" - -"His name is Captain Cavendish, and a beautiful man he is, with a -diamond ring on his finger, my dear, and the look of a real gentleman. -His folks are very great in England. His brother's the Marquis of -Cabbage--Carraways--no, I forget it; but Val knows all about him." - -"Law!" exclaimed Mrs. Marsh, opening her light-blue eyes, "a Marquis! -Who brought him?" - -"Val did. Val knows every one, I believe, and got acquainted with him in -Halifax. You never saw any one so proud as Mr. McGregor. I didn't say -anything, my dear; but I thought of the time when lords and marquises, -and dukes and captains without end, used to be entertained at Castle -Blake," said Miss Jo, sighing. - -"And what does he look like? Is he handsome?" asked Mrs. Marsh, with -interest; for Castle Blake and its melancholy reminiscences were an old -story to her. - -"Uncommon," said Miss Jo; "and I believe Mrs. McGregor thinks her Jane -will get him. You never saw any one so tickled in your life. Why weren't -you up?--I expected you." - -"I couldn't go. Miss Rose came just as I was getting ready, and of -course I had to stay with her." - -"Oh, the new teacher! I saw a young woman in black standing in the -background as I came in; was that her?" said Miss Jo, who did not always -choose to be confined to the rules of severe grammar. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Marsh; "and what do you think, Miss Blake, if she -wasn't up this morning before six o'clock? Betsy Ann always rises at -six, and when she was rolling up the blind Miss Rose came down-stairs -already dressed, and has been out in the garden ever since. Betsy Ann -says she was weeding the flowers most of the time." - -"She's a little thing, isn't she?" said Miss Jo; "and so -delicate-looking! I don't believe she'll ever be able to manage them big -rough girls in the school. What's her other name besides Miss Rose?" - -"I don't know. She looks as if she had seen trouble," said Mrs. Marsh, -pensively. - -"Who is she in mourning for?" - -"I don't know. I didn't like to ask, and she doesn't talk much herself." - -"Where did she come from? Montreal, wasn't it?" - -"I forget. Natty knows. Natty was here last night before she went up to -McGregor's. She said she would come back this morning, and go with Miss -Rose to the school. Here's Charley at last." Miss Jo faced round, and -confronted that young gentleman sauntering in. - -"Well, Sleeping Beauty, you've got up now, have you?" was her salute. -"How do you feel after all you danced last night?" - -"Never better. You're out betimes this morning, Miss Jo." - -"Yes," said Miss Jo; "the sun don't catch me simmering in bed like it -does some folks. Did it take you from half-past three till six to get -home this morning, Mr. Charles?" - -"Who says it was six?" said Charley. - -"Betsy Ann does," replied his mother. "Where were you all the time?" - -"Betsy Ann's eyes were a couple of hours too fast. I say, mother, is the -breakfast ready? It's nearly time I was off." - -"It's been ready this half-hour. Betsy Ann!" - -That maiden appeared. - -"Go and ask Miss Rose to please come in to breakfast, and then fetch the -coffee." - -Betsy Ann fled off, and Charley glanced out of the window. - -"Miss Rose is taking a constitutional, is she? What is she like, -mother--pretty? I didn't see her last night, you know." - -"What odds is it to you?" demanded Miss Jo; "she's not as pretty as -Cherrie Nettleby, anyhow." - -Charley turned scarlet, and Miss Jo's eyes twinkled at the success of -her random shaft. The door opened at that instant, and the small, -slender black figure glided in. Glided was the word for that swift, -light motion, so noiseless and fleet. - -"Good morning," said Mrs. Marsh, rising smiling to shake hands; "you are -an early bird, I find. Miss Blake, Miss Rose--Miss Rose, my son -Charles." - -My son Charles and Miss Blake both shook hands with the new teacher, and -welcomed her to Speckport. A faint smile, a shy fluttering color coming -and going in her delicate cheeks, and a few low-murmured words, and then -Miss Rose sat down on the chair Charley had placed for her, her pretty -eyes fixed on the coals, her small childlike hands fluttering still one -over the other. Betsy Ann came in with the coffee-pot and rolls and -eggs, and Mrs. Marsh invited Miss Jo to sit over and have some -breakfast. - -"I don't care if I do," said Miss Jo, untying her bonnet promptly. "I -didn't feel like taking anything when Val had his this morning, and your -coffee smells good. Are you fond of coffee, Miss Rose?" - -Miss Rose smiled a little as they all took their places. - -"Yes, I like it very well." - -"Some folks like tea best," said Miss Jo, pensively, stirring in a third -teaspoonful of sugar in her cup, "but I don't. What sort of a journey -had you, Miss Rose?" - -"Very pleasant, indeed." - -"You arrived yesterday?" - -Miss Rose assented. - -"Was it from Halifax you came?" - -"No, ma'am; from Montreal." - -"Oh, from Montreal! You were born in Montreal, I suppose?" - -"No, I was born in New York." - -"Law!" cried Mrs. Marsh, "then, you're a Yankee, Miss Rose?" - -"Do your folks live in Montreal, Miss Rose?" recommenced the persevering -Miss Jo. - -The faint, rosy light flickered and faded again in the face of Miss -Rose. - -"I have no relatives," she said, without lifting her eyes. - -"None at all! Father, nor mother, nor brothers, nor sisters, nor -nothing." - -"I have none at all." - -"Dear me, that's a pity! Who are you in black for?" - -There was a pause--then Miss Rose answered, still without looking up: - -"For my father." - -"Oh, for your father! Has he been long dead? Another cup, if you please. -Betsy Ann knows how to make nice coffee." - -"He has been dead ten months," said Miss Rose, a flash of intolerable -pain dyeing her pale cheeks at this questioning. - -"How do you think you'll like Speckport?" went on the dauntless Miss Jo. -"It's not equal to Montreal or New York, they tell me, but the Bluenoses -think there's no place like it. Poor things! if they once saw Dublin, -it's little they'd think of such a place as this is." - -"Halte là!" cried Charley; "please to remember, Miss Jo, I am a native, -to the manner born, an out-and-out Bluenose, and will stand no nonsense -about Speckport! There's no place like it. See Speckport and die! -Mother, I'll trouble you for some of that toast." - -"Won't you have some, Miss Rose?" said Mrs. Marsh. "You ain't eating -anything." - -"Not any more, thank you. I like Speckport very much, Miss Blake; all I -have seen of it." - -"That's right, Miss Rose!" exclaimed Charley; "say you like fog and all. -Are you going to commence teaching to-day?" - -"I should prefer commencing at once. Miss Marsh said she was coming this -morning, did she not?" Miss Rose asked, lifting her shy brown eyes to -Mrs. Marsh. - -"Yes, dear. Charley, what time did Natty go home last night?" - -"She didn't go home last night; it was half-past two this morning." - -"Did she walk?" - -"No; the old lady sent that wheelbarrow of hers after her." - -"Wheelbarrow!" cried his mother, aghast. "Why, Charley, what do you -mean?" - -"It's the same thing," said Charley. "I'd as soon go in a wheelbarrow as -that carryall. Such a shabby old rattle-trap! It's like nothing but the -old dame herself." - -"Charley, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Did you go with her?" - -"Not I! I was better engaged. Another gentleman offered his services, -but she declined." - -"Who was it? Captain Locksley?" - -"No, another captain--Captain Cavendish." - -"Did he want to go home with Natty?" asked Miss Jo, with interest. "I -thought he was more attentive to her than to Jane McGregor! Why wouldn't -she have him?" - -"She would look fine having him--an utter stranger! If it had been -Locksley, it would have been different. See here, Miss Rose," Charley -cried, springing up in alarm, "what is the matter?" - -"She is going to faint!" exclaimed Miss Jo, in consternation. "Charley, -run for a glass of water." - -Miss Rose had fallen suddenly back in her seat, her face growing so -dreadfully white that they might well be startled. It was nothing for -Miss Rose to look pale, only this was like the pallor of death. Charley -made a rush for the water, and was back in a twinkling, holding it to -her lips. She drank a portion, pushed it away, and sat up, trying to -smile. - -"I am afraid I have startled you," she said, as if necessary to -apologize, "but I am not very strong, and----" - -Her voice, faltering throughout, died entirely away; and, leaning her -elbows on the table, she bowed her forehead on her hands. Miss Jo looked -at her with compressed lips and prophetic eye. - -"You'll never stand that school, Miss Rose, and I thought so from the -first. Them girls would try a constitution of iron, let alone yours." - -Miss Rose lifted her white face, and arose from the table. - -"It is nothing," she said, faintly. "I do not often get weak, like this. -Thank you!" - -She had gone to the window, as if for air, and Charley had sprung -forward and opened it. - -"Does the air revive you, or shall I fetch you some more water?" -inquired Charley, with a face full of concern. - -"Oh, no! indeed, it is nothing. I am quite well now." - -"You don't look like it," said Miss Jo; "you are as white as a sheet -yet. Don't you go near that school to-day, mind." - -Miss Rose essayed a smile. - -"The school will do me no harm, Miss Blake--thank you for your kindness -all the same." - -Miss Jo shook her head. - -"You ain't fit for it, and that you'll find. Are you off, Charley?" - -"Very hard, isn't it, Miss Jo?" said Charley, drawing on his gloves. -"But I must tear myself away. Old Pestle and Mortar will be fit to -bastinado me for staying till this time of day." - -"Look here, then," said Miss Jo, "have you any engagement particular for -this evening?" - -"Particular? no, not very. I promised Natty to spend the evening up at -Redmon, that's all." - -"Oh, that's nothing, then. I want you and your mother, and Miss Rose, to -come over to our house this evening, and take a cup of tea. I'll get -Natty to come, too." - -"All right," said Charley, boyishly, taking his wide-awake. "I'll take -two or three cups if you like. Good morning, all. Miss Rose, don't you -go and use yourself up in that hot school-room to-day." - -Off went Charley, whistling "Cheer, boys, cheer!" and his hands rammed -down in his coat-pockets; and Miss Jo got up and took her bonnet. - -"You'll be sure to come, Mrs. Marsh, you and Miss Rose, and come nice -and early, so as we can have a chat." - -"Certainly," said Mrs. Marsh, "if Miss Rose has no objection." - -Miss Rose hesitated a little, and glanced at her mourning dress, and -from it to Miss Jo, with her soft, wistful eyes. - -"I have not gone out at all since--since----" - -"Yes, dear, I know," said Miss Jo, kindly, interrupting. "But it isn't a -party or anything, only just two or three friends to spend a few hours. -Now, don't make any objection. I shall expect you both, without fail, so -good-bye." - -With one of her familiar nods, Miss Jo strode out, and nearly ran -against a young lady, who was opening the gate. - -"Is it you, Miss Jo? You nearly knocked me down! You must have been up -with the birds this morning, to get here so soon." - -The speaker was a young lady who had been at Mrs. McGregor's the -previous night; a small, wiry damsel, with sallow face, thin lips, dull, -yellow, lusterless hair, and light, faded-looking eyes. She was not -pretty, but she looked pleasant--that is, if incessant smiles can make a -face pleasant--and she had the softest and sweetest of voices--you could -liken it to nothing but the purring of a cat; and her hands were limp -and velvety, and catlike too. - -Miss Jo nodded her recognition. - -"How d'ye do, Catty? How do you feel after last night?" - -"Very well." - -"Well enough to spend this evening with me?" - -Miss Catty Clowrie laughed. - -"I am always well enough for that, Miss Jo! Are you going to eclipse -Mrs. McGregor?" - -"Nonsense! Mrs. Marsh and Miss Rose are coming to take tea with me, -that's all, and I want you to come up." - -"I shall be very happy to. Are Natty and--Charley coming?" - -Miss Jo nodded again, and without further parley walked away. As she -turned the corner of Cottage Street into a more busy thoroughfare, known -as Park Lane, she saw a lady and gentleman taking the sidewalk in -dashing style. Everybody looked after them, and everybody might have -gone a long way without finding anything better worth looking after. The -young lady's tall, slight, willowy figure was set off by a close-fitting -black cloth basque, and a little, coquettish, black velvet cap was -placed above one of the most bewitching faces that ever turned a man's -head. Roseate, smiling, sunshiny, the bright blue eyes flashing laughing -light everywhere they fell. Her gloved hands daintily uplifting her -skirts, and displaying the pretty high-heeled boots, as she sailed along -with a very peculiar, jaunty, swinging gait. - -And quite as well worth looking at, in his way, was her cavalier, -gallant and handsome, with an unmistakable military stride, and an -unmistakable military air generally, although dressed in civilian's -clothes. As they swept past Miss Jo, the young lady made a dashing bow; -and the young gentleman lifted his hat. Miss Jo stood, with her mouth -open, gazing after them. - -"A splendid couple, ain't they, Miss Blake?" said a man, passing. It was -Mr. Clowrie, on his way to his office, and Miss Jo, just deigning to -acknowledge him, walked on. - -"My patience!" was her mental ejaculation, "what a swell they cut! He's -as handsome as a lord, that young man; and she's every bit as -good-looking! I must go up to Redmon this afternoon, and ask her down. -Wouldn't it be great now, if that should turn out to be a match!" - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -VAL'S OFFICE. - - -Among the many tall, dingy brick buildings, fronting on that busy -thoroughfare of Speckport, Queen Street, there stood one to the right as -you went up, taller and dingier, if possible, than its neighbors, and -bearing this legend along its grimy front, "Office of Speckport -Spouter." There were a dozen newspapers, more or less, published in -Speckport, weekly, semi-weekly, and daily; but the Spouter went ahead of -them all, and distanced all competitors. - -At about half-past seven o'clock, this foggy spring morning, two -individuals of the manly sex occupied the principal apartment of the -printing establishment. A dirty, nasty, noisy place it generally was; -and dirty and nasty, though not very noisy, it was this morning, for the -only sound to be heard was the voice of one of its occupants, chattering -incessantly, and the scratching of the other's pen, as he wrote, perched -up on a high stool. - -The writer was foreman in the office, a sober-looking, middle-aged man, -who wore spectacles, and wrote away as mechanically as if he was doing -it by steam. The speaker was a lively youth of twelve, office-boy, -printer's devil, and errand-runner, and gossiper-in-chief to the place. -His name was in the baptismal register of Speckport cathedral, William -Blair; but in every-day life he was Bill Blair, brother to pretty Laura, -whom Val Blake had eulogized as "such a girl to laugh." - -Laughter seemed to be a weakness in the family, for Master Bill's mouth -was generally stretched in a steady grin from one week's end to the -other, and was, just at this present moment. He was perched up on -another high stool, swinging his legs about, chewing gum, looking out of -the window, and talking. - -"And there goes Old Leach in his gig, tearing along as if Old Nick was -after him," went on Master Bill, criticising the passers-by. "Somebody's -kicking the bucket in Speckport! And there's Sim Tod hobbling along on -his stick! Now, I should admire to know how long that old codger's going -to live; he must be as old as Methuselah's cat by this time. And there, -I vow, if there ain't Miss Jo, streaking along as tall as a grenadier, -and as spry as if she hadn't been up all night at that rout in Golden -Row. What a frisky old girl it is!" - -"I tell you what, Bill Blair," said the foreman, Mr. Gilcase, "if you -don't take yourself down out of that, and get to work, I'll report you -to Mr. Blake as soon as he comes in!" - -"No, you won't!" said Bill, snapping his gum between his teeth like a -pistol-shot. "There ain't nothing to do. I swept the office, and -sprinkled this floor, and I want a rest now, I should think. I feel as -if I should drop!" - -"The office looks as if it had been swept," said Mr. Gilcase, -contemptuously; "there's the addresses to write on those wrappers; go -and do that!" - -"That's time enough," said Bill; "Blake won't be here for an hour or two -yet; he's snoozing, I'll bet you, after being up all night. Look here, -Mr. Gilcase, did you know the new teacher was come?" - -"No," said the foreman, looking somewhat interested; "has she?" - -"Came last night," nodded Bill; "our Laury heard so last night at the -party. Her name's Miss Rose. Did you know they had an officer last night -at McGregor's?" - -"I didn't think the officers visited McGregor's?" - -"None of 'em ever did before; but one of them was there last night, a -captain, by the same token; and, I expect, old McGregor's as proud as a -pig with two tails. As for Jane, there'll be no standing her now, and -she was stuck-up enough before. Oh, here's Clowrie, and about as -pleasant-looking as a wild cat with the whooping-cough!" - -A heavy, lumbering foot was ascending the steep dark stairs, and the -door opened presently to admit a young gentleman in a pea-jacket and -glazed cap. A short and thick-set young gentleman, with a sulky face, -who was never known to laugh, and whose life it was the delight of -Master Bill Blair to torment and make a misery of. The young gentleman -was Mr. Jacob Clowrie, eldest son and hope of Peter Clowrie, Esq., -attorney-at-law. - -"How are you, Jake?" began Mr. Blair, in a friendly tone, knocking his -heels about on the stool. "You look kind of sour this morning. Was the -milk at breakfast curdled, or didn't Catty get up to make you any -breakfast at all?" - -Mr. Clowrie's reply to this was a growl, as he hung up his cap. - -"I say, Jake, you weren't at McGregor's tea-splash last night, were you? -I know the old man and Catty were there. Scaly lot not to ask you and -me!" - -Mr. Clowrie growled again, and sat down at a desk. - -"I say, Jake," resumed that young demon, Bill, grinning from ear to ear, -"how's our Cherrie, eh?--seen her lately?" - -"What would you give to know?" snapped Mr. Clowrie, condescending to -retort. - -"But I do know, though, without giving nothing! and I know your cake's -dough, my boy! Lor, I think I see 'em now!" cried Bill, going off in a -shout of laughter at some lively recollection. - -Mr. Clowrie glared at him over the top of his desk, with savage inquiry. - -"Oh, you're cut out, old fellow! you're dished, you are! Cherrie's got a -new beau, and you're left in the lurch!" - -"What do you mean, you young imp?" inquired Mr. Clowrie, growing very -red in the face. "I'll go over and twist your neck for you, if you don't -look sharp!" - -Mr. Blair winked. - -"Don't you think you see yourself doing it, Jakey? I tell you it's as -true as preaching! Cherrie's got a new fellow, and the chap's name is -Charley Marsh." - -There was a pause. Bill looked triumphant, Mr. Clowrie black as a -thunderbolt, and the foreman amused in spite of himself. Bill crunched -his gum and waited for his announcement to have proper effect, and then -resumed, in an explanatory tone: - -"You see, Jake, I had heard Charley was after her, but I didn't believe -it till last night, when I see them with my own two blessed eyes. My -governor and Laury were off to McGregor's, so I cut over to Jim Tod's, -to see a lot of terrier-pups he's got--me and Tom Smith--and he promised -us a pup apiece. Jim's folks were at the junketing, too; so we had the -house to ourselves. And Jim, he stole in the pantry through the window -and hooked a lot of pies and cakes, and raspberry wine, and Tom had a -pack of cards in his trowsers pocket. And we went up to Jim's room, and, -crackey! hadn't we a time! There was no hurry neither; for we knew the -old folks wouldn't be home till all hours, so we staid till after three -in the morning, and by this time Jim and me had lost three shillings in -pennies each, and the three of us were about ready to burst with all we -had eat and drank! It was foggy and misty coming home, and me and Tom -cut across them fields and waste lots between Tod's and Park Lane, when -just as we turned into Golden Row, who should we meet but Charley Marsh -and Cherrie. There they were, coming along as large as life, linking -together, and Charley's head down, listening to her, till their noses -were nearly touching. Me and Tom laughed till we were fit to split!" - -Mr. Blair laughed again at the recollection, but Mr. Clowrie, scowling -more darkly than ever, replied not save by scornful silence. Bill had -his laugh out, and recommenced. - -"So you see, Jake, it's no go! You can't get the beautifulest mug that -ever was looked at, and you haven't the shadow of a chance against such -a fellow as Charley Marsh! O Lor!" - -With the last ejaculation of alarm, Bill sprang down from his perch in -consternation, as the door opened and Mr. Val Blake entered. He had been -so absorbed chaffing Mr. Clowrie that he had not heard Val coming -up-stairs, and now made a desperate dash at the nearest desk. Val -stretched out his long arm and pinned him. - -"You young vagabond! is this the way you spend your time in my absence? -What's that about Charley Marsh?" - -"Nothing, sir," said Bill, grinning a malicious grin over at Mr. -Clowrie. "I was only telling Jake how he was being cut out!" - -"Cut out! What do you mean?" - -"Why, with that Cherrie Nettleby! Charley Marsh's got her now!" - -"What!" said Val, shortly; "what are you talking about, you little -rascal?" - -"I can't help it, sir," said Bill, with an injured look, "if I am a -rascal. I saw him seeing her home this morning between three and four -o'clock, and if that don't look like cutting Jake out, I don't know what -does!" - -"And what were you doing out at three o'clock in the morning, Master -Blair?" - -"I was over to Tod's spending the evening, me and a lot more fellows, -and that was the time we were getting home. I don't see," said Bill, -with a still more aggrieved air, "why we shouldn't stop out a while, if -all the old codgers in the town set us the example!" - -Val released him, and strode on to an inner room. - -"See if you can attend to your business for one morning, sir, and give -your tongue a holiday. Mr. Gilcase, was the postman here?" - -"Yes, sir. The letters and papers are on your table." - -Val disappeared, closing the door behind him, and Master Blair turned a -somersault of delight and cut a pigeon-wing afterward. - -"Get to work, sir!" shouted Mr. Gilcase, "or I'll make Mr. Blake turn -you out of the office!" - -"Mr. Blake knows better," retorted the incorrigible. "I rather think the -Spouter would be nowhere if I left; Do you know, Mr. Gilcase, I think -Blake has some notion of taking me into partnership shortly! He has to -work like a horse now." - -Val had to work hard--no mistake about it, for he was sole editor and -proprietor of the Sunday and Weekly Speckport Spouter. He is sitting in -his room now--and a dusty, grimy, littered, disordered room it -is--before a table heaped with papers, letters, books, and manuscript of -all kinds, busily tearing the envelopes off sundry overgrown letters, -and disgorging their contents. - -"What's this? a private note from Miss Incognita. 'Would I be so kind as -to speak to the printers; they made such frightful mistakes in her last -sketch, filled her heroine's eyes with tars, instead of tears, and in -the battle-scene defeated Cromwell and his soldiers with wildest -laughter, instead of slaughter!' Humph. - -"It's her own fault; why don't she write decently? Very well, Miss -Laura, I'll stick you in; you think I don't know you, I suppose. Come -in." - -Val looked up from his literary labors to answer a tap at the door. Mr. -Gilcase put in his head. - -"There's a gentleman here wants to see you, sir. Captain Cavendish." - -Val got up and went out. Captain Cavendish, in a loose overcoat, and -smoking a cigar, was lounging against a desk, and being stared at by -Messrs. Clowrie and Blair, took out his cigar and extended his hand -languidly to Val. - -"Good morning! Are you very busy? Am I an intruder? If so, I'll go away -again." - -"I'm no busier than common," said Val. "Come in, this is my sanctum, and -here's the editorial chair; sit down." - -"Is it any harm to smoke?" inquired the Captain, looking rather -doubtful. - -"Not the least. I'll blow a cloud myself. How did you find your way here -through the clouds of fog?" - -"Not very easily. Does the sun ever shine at all in Speckport?" - -"Occasionally--when it cannot help itself. But when did you take to -early rising, pray? You used to be lounging over your breakfast about -this hour when I knew you in Halifax." - -"Yes, I know--I'm a reformed character. Apropos, early rising seems to -be the style here. I met two ladies of my acquaintance figuring through -the streets ever so long ago." - -"Who were they?" - -"Your sister was one; Miss Marsh, the other." - -"Natty, eh? Oh, she always was an early bird. Were you speaking to her?" - -"I had the pleasure of escorting her to her mother's. By the way, she -does not live with her mother, does she?" - -"No; she lives with old Lady Leroy, up at Redmon." - -"Where is Redmon?" - -"About a mile from Speckport. Natty walks it two or three times a day, -and thinks it's only a hen's jump. Redmon's a fine place." - -"Indeed." - -"Not the house exactly--it's a great barn--but the property. It's worth -eight thousand pounds." - -"So much?" said Captain Cavendish, looking interested. "And who is Lady -Leroy?" - -"The wife--the widow of a dead Jew. Don't stare, she only gets the title -as a nickname, for she's the greatest old oddity the sun ever shone on. -She's a cousin of Natty's mother, and Natty is to be her heiress." - -Captain Cavendish's eyes lightened vividly. - -"Her heiress! Is she very rich, then?" - -"Immensely! Worth thirty thousand pounds or more, and the stingiest old -skinflint that ever breathed. Natty has been with her over a year now, -as a sort of companion, and a fine time she has with the old toad, I -know." - -"And there is no doubt Miss Marsh is to be her heiress?" - -"None at all--the will is made and in the hands of Darcy, her lawyer. -She has no children, and no relatives that ever I heard of nearer than -Miss Marsh. She was old Leroy's servant when he married her--it happened -in New York, where he made his money. This place, Redmon, was to be -sold for debt; Leroy bid it in dirt cheap, and rented it, employing -Darcy as his agent to collect rents, for there is quite a village -attached to it. After the old fellow's death, a year and a half ago, his -venerable relict came here, took up her abode at Redmon, with as great -an oddity as herself for a servant. She took a great fancy to pretty -Natty after awhile, and got her to go up there and reside as companion." - -"And those Marshes--what are they? like the rest of Speckport--begging -your pardon!--nobody?" - -"Family, you mean? That question is so like an Englishman. The father -was a gentleman. His profession was that of engineer, and his family, I -have heard, was something extra in England; but he made a low marriage -over here, and they would have nothing more to do with him. Mrs. Marsh -was pretty, and as insipid as a mug of milk and water, caring for -nothing in the world wide but sitting in a rocking-chair reading novels. -He married her, though; and they lived quite in style until Charley was -fourteen and Natty twelve years old. Then Mr. Marsh had a stroke of -paralysis which left him altogether incapable of attending to his -business, of doing anything, in fact, but teaching. He started a school, -and got a salary for playing the organ in the cathedral, but he only -lived two years after. Before he died they had to give up their fine -house, dismiss their servants, auction their furniture, and rent the -cottage they live in now. Miss Natty, sir, kept the school, gave -music-lessons after hours, took the organ Sundays, and supported the -family for the next three years; in point of fact, does to this day." - -"How is that?" said Captain Cavendish. "Mrs. Leroy pays her a salary as -companion, I suppose?" - -"She does; but that's only a pittance, wouldn't pay her mother's bills -in the circulating library. Natty refused to go to Redmon unless under -certain conditions. She would retain the school, the organ, and her -music pupils as usual, only she would engage another teacher for the -school, coming there one hour a day to superintend. That would take -about four hours a day, the rest was at the service of Lady Leroy. Her -ladyship grumbled, but had to consent; so Natty went to live up at -Redmon, and between all has her hands full." - -"She is indeed a brave girl! What are her duties at the old lady's?" - -"No trifle! She reads to her, retails all the news of the town, writes -her letters, keeps her accounts, receives the rents, makes out the -receipts, oversees the household--does a thousand things besides. If she -had as many hands as what's his name, the fellow in the -mythology,--Briareus, wasn't it?--the old vixen would keep them all -occupied. By the way, did you see Charley this morning when you were -in?" - -"I wasn't in, I left Miss Natty at the door. I say, Val, you didn't tell -me last night who that pretty girl was I saw him with in the window. She -was not a guest, though I'll take my oath there wasn't a young lady -present half so pretty, save the belle of Speckport herself. Who was -she?" - -"Cherrie, otherwise Miss Charlotte Nettleby. A little flirting piece of -conceit. She has had the young men of Speckport tagging after her. Rumor -set Charley down lately as one of her killed or wounded; but Speckport -is always gossiping, and I paid no attention to it. It seems it's true -though, for that young scamp Blair in the next room saw him escorting -her home this morning." - -"What was she doing at the house if not invited!" - -"How should I know? Cherrie is everywhere--she knows the servants, I -suppose." - -"Oh, is that it? Then she is nobody." - -"I wish she heard you! If ever any one thought themselves somebody it's -the same Miss Cherrie. She aspires to be a lady--bless your heart!--and -that foolish boy is to be entrapped into marrying her." - -Val stopped to knock the ashes off his cigar. - -"Well; and what then?" asked the captain. - -"Why, Natty will go frantic, that is all. She thinks the Princess Royal -not half good enough for Charley." - -"Is Miss Cherrie's position in life so low, then?" - -"It's not that. Her father is a gardener, a poor man, but honest and -respectable enough. It's Cherrie herself; she's a shallow, vain, silly -little beauty, as ever made fools of men, and her vanity, and her -idleness, and her dress, and her flirtations are the scandal of the -town. Not that anything worse can be said of little Cherrie, mind; but -she is not the girl for Charley Marsh to marry." - -"Charley is a gentleman; perhaps he isn't going to marry her," suggested -Captain Cavendish, with a light laugh, that told more of his character -than folios could have done. - -"Being a gentleman," said Val, with emphasis, "he means to marry her if -he means anything at all." - -And the young officer shrugged his shoulders. - -"_Chacun à son goût._ I must be going, I believe. Here I have been -trespassing on your time these two hours." - -"The day's young yet," said Val; "have you any engagement for this -evening?" - -"I believe not, except a dinner at the mess-room, which can be shirked." - -"Then come up to Redmon. If you are a student of character, Mrs. Leroy -will amply repay the trouble." - -"I'm there! but not," said Captain Cavendish, laughing, "to see Mrs. -Leroy." - -"I understand. Well, good morning." - -"Until then, _au revoir_." - -Mr. Bill Blair, perched on his high stool, his elbows spread out on the -desk, stared at him as he went out. - -"Cracky, what a rum swell them officer chaps are? I say, Clowrie, -wouldn't Cherrie like that cove for a beau? He would be safe to win if -he tried it on, and Charley Marsh would be where you are now--nowhere." - -And little did Mr. William Blair or his hearers think he was uttering a -prophecy. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -KILLING TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE. - - -Captain Cavendish, looking very handsome and distinguished in the -admiring eyes of Speckport, lounged down Queen Street, and down half a -dozen other streets, toward the sea-shore. The tide was ebbing as he -descended to the beach, and the long, lazy swell breaking on the strand -was singing the old everlasting song it has sung through all time. Its -mysterious music was lost on Captain Cavendish; his thoughts were -hundreds of miles away. Not very pleasant thoughts, either, judging by -his contracted brow and compressed lips, as he leaned against a tall -rock, his eyes looking out to sea. He started up after awhile, with a -gesture of impatience. - -"Pshaw!" he said; "what's the use of thinking of it now? it's all past -and gone. It is Fate, I suppose; and if Fate has ordained I must marry a -rich wife or none, where is the good of my puny struggles? But poor -little Winnie! I have been the greatest villain that ever was known to -you." - -He walked along the beach, sending pebbles skimming over the waves as he -went. Two fishermen in oilcloth trowsers, very scaly and rattling, were -drawing up their boat, laden to the water's edge with gaspereaux, all -alive and kicking. Captain Cavendish stopped and looked at them. - -"Your freight looks lively, my men. You have got a fine boatload there." - -The two young men looked at him. They were tall, strapping, sunburnt, -black-eyed, good-looking fellows both, and the one hauling up the boat -answered; the other, pulling the fish out of the nets, went on with his -work in silence. - -"Yes, sir, we had a good haul last night. The freshet's been strong -this spring, and has made the fishing good." - -"Were you out all night?" - -"Yes; we have to go when the tide suits." - -"You had a foggy night for it, then. Can you tell me which is the road -to Redmon?" - -The young fisherman turned and pointed to a path going up the hillside -from the shore. - -"Do you see that path? Well, follow it; cut across the field, and let -down the bars t'other side. There's a road there; keep straight on and -it will fetch you to Redmon. You can't miss the house when you get to -it; it's a big brick building on a sort of hill, with lots of trees -around it." - -"Thank you. I'll find it, I think." - -He sauntered lazily up the hillside-path, cut across the fields, and let -down the bars as he had been directed, putting them conscientiously up -again. - -The road was a very quiet one; green meadows on either hand, and clumps -of cedar and spruce wood sparsely dotting it here and there. The breeze -swept up cool and fresh from the sea; the town with its bustle and noise -was out of sight and hearing. - -He was walking so slowly that it was nearly half an hour before Redmon -came in sight--a large weather-beaten brick house on the summit of a -hill, with bleak corners and reedy marshes, and dark trees all around -it, the whole inclosed by a high wooden fence. The place took its name -from these marshes or moors about it, sown in some time with crimson -cranberries and pigeonberries, like fields of red stars. But Captain -Cavendish only glanced once at Redmon; for the instant it had come in -sight something else had come in sight, too, a thousand times better -worth looking at. Just outside the extremity of the fence nearest him -there stood a cottage--a little whitewashed affair, standing out in -dazzling contrast to the black cedar woods beside it, hop-vines -clustering round its door and windows, and a tall gate at one side -opening into a well-cultivated vegetable garden. - -Swinging back and forward on this gate was a young girl, whom Captain -Cavendish recognized in a moment. It was a face that few young men -forgot easily, for its owner was a beauty born; the figure was petite -and plump, delightfully rounded and ripe indeed, with no nasty sharp -curves or harsh angles; the complexion dark and clear, the forehead low, -with black, arching brows; the eyes like black beads; the cheeks like -June roses; the lips as red, and ripe, and sweet as summer strawberries, -the teeth they parted to disclose, literally like pearls, and they -parted very often, indeed, to disclose them. The hair was black as hair -can be, and all clustering in little short, shining rings and kinks -about the forehead and neck. Captain Cavendish had seen that face for -the first time last night, in the window with Charley Marsh, but he was -a sufficiently good judge of physiognomy to know it was not necessary to -be very ceremonious with Miss Cherrie Nettleby. He therefore advanced at -once, with a neat little fiction at the top of his tongue. - -"I beg your pardon," he said politely, "but I am very thirsty. Will you -be kind enough to give me a drink?" - -Miss Cherrie, though but nineteen in years, was forty at least in -penetration where handsome men were concerned, and saw through the ruse -at once. She sprang down from the gate and held it open, with the -prettiest affectation of timidity in the world. - -"Yes, sir. Will you please to walk in." - -"Thank you," said the captain, languidly, "I believe I will. My walk has -completely used me up." - -Miss Cherrie led the way into the cottage. The front door opened -directly into the parlor of the dwelling, a neat little room, the floor -covered with mats; a table, with books and knicknacks in the center; a -lounge and a rocking-chair, and some common colored prints on the walls. -It had an occupant as they came in, a sallow, dark-eyed girl of sixteen, -whose hands fairly flew as she sat at the window, netting on a -fisherman's net, already some twenty fathoms long. - -"Ann," said Cherrie, placing a chair for their distinguished visitor, -"go and fetch the gentleman a drink." - -The girl turned her sallow but somewhat sullen face, without rising. - -"There ain't no water in," she said, curtly. - -"Go for some now," said Cherrie. "I'll knit till you come back." - -"No, no!" hastily interposed Captain Cavendish. "I beg you will give -yourself no such trouble. I am not so thirsty as I thought I was." - -"Oh, we'll want the water anyhow to get the boys' dinner," said Cherrie, -throwing off her scarlet shawl. "Go, Ann, and make haste." - -Ann got up crossly, and strolled out of the room at a snail's pace, and -Miss Cherrie took her place, and went to work industriously. - -"Is that your sister?" he asked, watching Cherrie's hand flying as -swiftly in and out as Ann's had done. - -"Yes, that's our Ann," replied the young lady, as if every one should -know Ann, as a matter of course. - -"And do you and Ann live here alone together?" - -Cherrie giggled at the idea. - -"Oh dear, no. There's father and the boys." - -"The boys, and are they----" - -"My brothers," said Cherrie. "Two of 'em, Rob and Eddie. They fish, you -know, and Ann, she knits the nets." - -"Are those you are now making for them?" - -"Yes, these are shad-nets. I hate to knit, but the boys pay Ann for -doing it, and she does them all. I guess you'll be pretty thirsty," said -Cherrie, laughing as easily as if she had known him for the past ten -years, "before Ann gets back with the water. She's horrid slow." - -"Never mind. The longer she is away, the better I shall like it, Miss -Cherrie." - -Miss Cherrie dropped her needle and mesh-block, and opened her black -eyes. - -"Why, how did you find out my name? You don't know me, do you?" - -"A little. I trust we shall be very well acquainted before long." - -Cherrie smiled graciously. - -"Everybody knows me, I think. How did you find out who I was?" - -"I saw you last night." - -"No! did you, though? What time? where was I?" - -"Sitting in a window, breaking a young gentleman's heart." - -Cherrie giggled again. - -"I'm sure I wasn't doing any such thing. That was only Charley Marsh." - -"Only Charley Marsh. Had you and he a pleasant walk home this morning?" - -"Now, I never. How did you know he saw me home?" - -"A little bird told me. I only wish it had been my good fortune." - -"Oh, what a story!" cried Cherrie, her wicked black eyes dancing in her -head; "I wonder you ain't ashamed! Didn't I hear you wanting to ride -home with Miss Natty. I was peeking out through the dining-room door, -and I heard you as plain as could be." - -"Well, I wanted to be polite, you know. Not having the honor of your -acquaintance, Cherrie, I knew there was no hope of escorting you; so I -made the offer to Miss Marsh in sheer despair. Now, Cherrie, I don't -want you to get too fond of that brother of hers." - -Cherrie tittered once more. - -"Now, how can you! I'm sure I don't care nothing about him; but I can't -help his talking to me, and seeing me home, can I?" - -"I don't know. I wouldn't talk too much to him, if I were you; and as -for seeing you home, I'd rather do it myself. There is no telling what -nonsense he may get talking! Does he come here often?" - -"Pretty often; but all the young fellows come! Sandy McGregor, Jake -Clowrie, Mr. Blake, Charley Marsh, and the whole lot of 'em!" - -"What time do they come?" - -"Evenings, mostly. Then, there's a whole lot of Bob and Eddie's friends -come, too, and the house is full most every night!" - -"And what do you all do?" - -"Oh, ever so many things! Play cards, sing songs, and carry on, and -dance, sometimes." - -"May I come, too, Cherrie?" - -"You may, if you like," said Cherrie, with coquettish indifference. "But -the young ladies in Speckport won't like that!" - -"What do I care for the young ladies in Speckport! Oh, here's the -water!" - -Ann came in with a glass, and the captain drank it without being the -least thirsty. - -"Bob and Eddie's coming up the road," said Ann to her sister; "you knit -while I peel the potatoes for dinner." - -"I am afraid I must go," said Captain Cavendish, rising, having no -desire to make the acquaintance of the Messrs. Nettleby. "I have been -here nearly half an hour." - -"That ain't long, I'm sure," said Cherrie; "what's your hurry?" - -"I have a call to make. May I come again, Miss Cherrie?" - -"Oh, of course!" said Miss Cherrie, with perfect coolness; "we always -like to see our friends. Are you going to Redmon?" - -Captain Cavendish nodded, and took his hat. Pretty Cherrie got up to -escort him to the gate. - -"Good-bye, Miss Cherrie," he said, making her a flourishing bow. "I will -have the pleasure of calling on you to-morrow." - -Cherrie smiled most gracious consent. - -As he turned out of the gate he encountered the two young fishermen who -had directed him to Redmon. They were Cherrie's brothers, then; and, -laughing inwardly at the memory of the late interview with that young -lady, he entered the grounds of Redmon. - -"She's a deuced pretty girl!" he said, slapping his boot with a rattan -he carried; "and, faith, she's free and easy! No nonsensical prudery -about Miss Cherrie. I only hope I may get on as well with the -golden-haired heiress as I seem to have done with the black-eyed -grisette!" - -He opened the wooden gate, and sauntered along a bleak avenue, the -grounds on either hand overrun with rank weeds, and spruce, and -tamarack, and fir trees, casting somber gloom around. - -The house, a great red barn, as Val had said, looked like a black, grimy -jail; the shutters were closed on every window, the hall-door seemed -hermetically sealed, and swallows flew about it, and built their nests -in security on the eaves and down the chimneys. There was a great, grim -iron knocker on the door, and the young man's knock reverberated with a -hollow and ghostly echo through the weird house. - -"What a place for such a girl to live in!" he thought, looking up at it. -"Her desire for wealth must be strong to tempt her to bury herself alive -in such an old tomb. The riches of the Rothschilds would not induce me." - -A rusty key grated in a lock, the door swung open with a creaking sound, -and the bright face of Nathalie Marsh looked out. - -She smiled when she saw who it was, and frankly held out her hand. - -"You have lost no time, Monsieur. Walk in, and please to excuse me a few -moments. I must go back to Mrs. Leroy." - -They were in a long and dismal hall, flanked with doors, and with a -great, wide, old-fashioned staircase sweeping up and losing itself -somehow in the upper gloom. Natty opened one of the doors, ushered him -into the reception parlor of the establishment, and then flew swiftly up -the stairs and was gone. - -Captain Cavendish looked about him, that is, as well as he could for the -gloom. The parlor of Redmon was furnished after the style of the cabin -of a certain "fine ould Irish gintleman," immortalized in song, "with -nothing at all for show." No carpet on the dreary Sahara of floor; no -curtains on the gloomy windows; no pictures on the dead, blank waste of -whitewashed walls; a few chairs, a black, old mahogany table, a dreary -horsehair sofa, about as soft as if cushioned with bricks; and that was -all. The silence of the place was something blood-chilling; not the -squeak of a mouse relieved its deathlike quiet. - -Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed, and the captain, getting -desperate, was seriously thinking of making his escape, when a light -step came tripping down the stairs, and Natty, all breathless and -laughing, came breezily in. - -"Are you tired to death waiting?" she laughed gayly. "Mrs. Leroy is -dreadfully tiresome over her toilet, and I am femme de chambre, if you -please! It is over now, and she desires me to escort you to her -presence, and be introduced. I hope you may make a favorable -impression!" - -"But what am I to do?" said Captain Cavendish, with an appalled face. -"How am I to insinuate myself into her good graces? Where is the key to -her heart?" - -"The key was lost years ago, and her heart is now closed. Don't -contradict her, whatever you do. Hush! here we are!" - -They had ascended to a hall like the one below; flanked, like it, by -doors. Natty, with a glance of wicked delight at his dolorous face, -opened the first door to the right, and ushered him at once into the -presence of the awful Lady Leroy. - -Something--it certainly looked more like an Egyptian mummy than anything -else--swathed in shawls and swaddling-clothes, was stuck up in a vast -Sleepy Hollow open arm-chair, and had its face turned to the door. That -face, and a very yellow, and seared, and wrinkled, and unlovely face it -was, buried in the flapping obscurity of a deeply-frilled white cap, was -lit by a pair of little, twinkling eyes, bright and keen as two -stilettos. - -"Mrs. Leroy," said Natty, her tone demure, but her mischievous eyes -dancing under their lashes, "this is Captain Cavendish." - -"How d'ye do, Captain Cavendish?" said Mrs. Leroy, in a shrill, -squeaking voice, like a penny whistle out of tune; "sit down--do! Natty, -can't you give the young man a cheer?" - -Natty did not cheer, but she placed a chair for him, whispering, as she -did so, "Speak loud, or she won't hear you." - -"What's the weather like out o' doors?" inquired the old lady, scanning -him from head to foot with her little piercing eyes; "be the sun -a-shining, hey?" - -"No, Madam," said Captain Cavendish, in a loud key, "it is foggy." - -She had paid no attention to his reply; she had been staring at him all -the time, until even he, cool as any man of the world could be, got a -trifle disconcerted. Natty, sitting demurely near, was enjoying it all -with silent but intense delight. - -"So you're the young English captain Natty was telling me about. You're -not so handsome as she said you were; leastways, you ain't to my taste!" - -It was Natty's turn now to look disconcerted, which she did with a -vengeance, as the dark, laughing eyes of the young officer turned upon -her. - -"Miss Marsh does me too much honor to mention me at all," he said, -speaking more at the young lady than to the old one. - -"Hey?" inquired Lady Leroy, shrilly. "What's that? What did you say?" - -"I was saying how remarkably well you were looking, ma'am," said the -captain, raising his voice, "and that this Redmon is a very fine old -place." - -"It's not!" screamed Lady Leroy, viciously; "it's the hatefulest, -daftest, uncomfortablest hole ever anybody set foot in! Natty!" - -"Yes, ma'am!" said Natty. "What is it?" - -"Is old Nettleby planting them potatoes to-day?" - -"Yes, of course he is." - -"He'll plant Carters where he ought to plant Early Blues! I know he -will!" cried the old lady in an ecstasy of alarm; "run out as fast as -you can, Natty, and tell him not to plant any Carters in the -three-cornered field. Run, run, run!" - -Natty knew Lady Leroy a great deal too well to expostulate. "I will be -back directly," she said, in a low voice, the laughing light in her eyes -still, as she passed her visitor; "do not get into trouble if you can -help it, in my absence." - -She was gone, and Lady Leroy, with her eyes fixed on the opposite wall, -seemed to have gone off into a fit of musing. Captain Cavendish tried to -look about him, which he had not ventured to do before, under those -basilisk eyes. It was a large square room, like all the rest in the -house, and stiflingly close and warm. No wonder, for a small -cooking-stove was burning away, and every window was closed and -shuttered. A bed stood in one corner, an old-fashioned clock ticked in a -loud hoarse voice on the mantel-piece, a small round table stood at the -old lady's elbow, and the floor was covered with a carpet that had been -Brussels once, but which was dirty, and colorless, and ragged now. There -was an open cupboard with dishes, and a sort of pantry with a half glass -door, through which he could see boxes and barrels, hams and dried beef, -and other commissary stores. The chair matched the flinty sofa down -stairs, and the only thing to attract attention in the room was a green -cabinet of covered wood that stood beside the bed. While he was looking -at it, the old-fashioned clock began striking twelve in a gruff and -surly way, as if it did it against its better judgment. The sound woke -the old lady up from her brown study--woke her up with a sharp jerk. - -"It's twelve o'clock!" she exclaimed shrilly, "and I want my dinner! -Call Midge!" - -This was addressed to Captain Cavendish, and in so peremptory a tone -that that gallant young officer looked alarmed and disconcerted. - -"Call Midge, I tell you! Call her quick!" yelped Lady Leroy in an -excited way. "Call Midge, will you!" - -"Where is she? Where will I call her?" said the young man, in -considerable consternation. - -"Open that door, stupid, and call Midge!" cried the old woman, violently -excited; "call her quick, I tell you!" - -Thus ordered, Captain Cavendish opened the door and began calling loudly -on the unknown lady bearing the name of Midge. - -Out of the gloom and dismalness below a hoarse voice shouted in reply, -"I'm a coming;" and Captain Cavendish went back to his seat. The voice -was that of a man, and of a man with a shocking bad cold, too; and the -step lumbering up stairs was a man's step; but for all that, Midge -wasn't a man, but a woman. Such a woman! the Egyptian mummy in the -arm-chair was a Parisian belle compared to her. Between three and four -feet high, and between four and five feet broad, Midge was just able to -waddle under the weight of her own fair person, and no more. A shock of -hair, very like a tar-mop, stood, bristling defiance at combs and -brushes, up on end, like "quills upon the fretful porcupine." To say she -had no forehead, and only two pinholes for eyes, and a little round lump -of flesh in lieu of a decent nose, would be doing no sort of justice to -the subject; for the face, with its fat, puffy cheeks, was altogether -indescribable. The costume of the lady was scant, her dress displaying -to the best advantage a pair of ankles some fifteen inches in -circumference, and a pair of powerful arms, bare to the shoulders, were -rolled up in a cotton apron. With the airy tread of an elephant inclined -to embonpoint, this sylph-like being crossed the hall and stood in the -doorway awaiting orders, while Captain Cavendish stared aghast, and -backed a few paces with a feeble "By Jove!" - -"What do you want, ma'am?" inquired the damsel in the doorway, who might -have been anywhere in the vale of years between twenty and fifty. - -"Get my dinner! It's after twelve! Don't I always tell you to come and -get my dinner when you hear the clock strike twelve?" - -"And how do you suppose I can hear that there clock half a mile off, -down in that kitchen!" retorted Midge, sharply. "I ain't jest got ears -as sharp as lancets, I'd have you know. I'll take the key!" - -Mrs. Leroy produced a key from a pocket somewhere about her; and Midge, -rather jerking it out of her hands than otherwise, unlocked the pantry, -and began busying herself among the forage there. Mrs. Leroy's keen eyes -followed every motion as a cat follows its prey, and Captain Cavendish -gazed too, as if fascinated, on the fairy form of Miss Midge. In passing -to and fro, Midge had more than once caught his eye, and at last her -feelings got the better of her, and, pausing abruptly before him, with -her arms akimbo, burst out, "Look here, sir! I don't know who you are, -but if you're a doggertype-man, come to take my picter, I'd jest thank -you to be quick about it, and not sit there gaping like----" - -"Midge!" called a ringing voice in the doorway. It was Nathalie, her -face stern, her voice imperative. "Midge, how dare you speak so?" - -"Oh, never mind!" said Captain Cavendish, who, in the main, was a -good-natured young officer. "I deserve it, I dare say. I have made an -unpardonably long call, I believe. Mrs. Leroy, I wish you good morning." - -"Good morning!" said Mrs. Leroy, without looking at him, all her eyes -being absorbed in the doings of Midge in the culinary department. -"Natty, you let him out." - -Natty did so, and they both laughed when at a safe distance. - -"What did you do to Midge?" she inquired, "to tempt her to pour the -vials of her wrath on your head, as she was doing when I came in." - -"Staring very hard, I am afraid! Where is Barnum, that he does not get -hold of that domestic monstrosity?" - -"Oh, hush!" said Natty. But the warning came too late. Midge, descending -the stairs, had heard the speech, and gave the speaker a look so baleful -and vindictive, that, had he been troubled with those feminine miseries, -nerves, might have haunted him many a day. He smiled at it then, but he -remembered that look long after. - -"She is acutely sensitive, dull as she seems," said Natty, with a pained -look. "I am sorry she heard you." - -"I am sincerely sorry for my thoughtless words, then, Miss Marsh, if -they pain you." - -"She saved Charley's life once," said Natty, "when he was a little -fellow. I have always liked Midge since, and I believe she loves me with -the faithful and blind fidelity of--but no irreverence--a dog. A -slighting word rankles in her memory long." - -"I shall fetch her a peace-offering the next time I come, which, by the -way," he said, coolly, "is to be this evening, with your permission. -Blake is to be my chaperon on the occasion." - -"I regret I shall not see either of you then; but," said Natty, with a -funny look, "no doubt Mrs. Leroy will be delighted to entertain you till -her bedtime comes, which is precisely nine o'clock." - -"Not see us? Are you----" - -"I have promised to spend the evening out. When I was with the gardener -a few moments ago, Miss Blake came in and asked me to spend the evening -with her. Mamma and Miss Rose, the new teacher, are to be there, and I -could not refuse." - -"Then I shall postpone my call. Oh, there is a summons for you! How -impatient your old lady is!" - -They shook hands, and parted. Captain Cavendish lit a cigar, and went -smoking, meditatingly, down the dreary avenue, and out into the -highroad. Standing near the gate was pretty Cherrie, and a refulgent -smile greeted him from the rosy lips. He lifted his hat, and passed on; -for standing in the doorway was the stalwart young fishermen of the -beach. - -"Two very pretty girls!" he mused, over his Havana; "_belle blonde, et -jolie brunette_. It's extremely convenient their living so near -together; one journey does for both. I think I understand now what is -meant by the old adage of killing two birds with one stone." - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -AN EVENING AT MISS BLAKE'S. - - -The establishment of Miss Joanna Blake was not on a scale of -magnificence. Miss Jo's only parlor being about ten feet square, was not -too grandly vast at any time, and not exactly adapted for the mirthful -throng to disport themselves in. The style of furniture, too, was, some -people might think, on a trifle too grand a scale for its dimensions. -When Val, and his fourteen or fifteen friends aforesaid, lit their -cigars, tilted back their chairs, elevated the heels of their boots on -the piano or table, and all puffed away together, the parlor became -rather obscure, and a stranger suddenly entering might have conceived -the idea that the house was in flames; and that, perhaps, was the reason -the parlor always smelt like a tobacconist's shop. Besides the parlor, -Miss Jo had a dining-room and a kitchen, and two bedrooms, in the floor, -though, and she did her own work. - -In the parlor of No. 16 Great St. Peter's Street, the lamp was lit, the -drab moreen curtains let down, and the table set for tea. There was a -snowy cloth on the mahogany which hid the marks of the bootheels and the -stains of the punch-tumblers, and the china cups and saucers, and the -glass preserve-plates and butter-dish, and spoon-holder, not to speak of -the spoons themselves, which were of real silver, and had cost a dollar -a piece, and had a big capital "B" engraven thereon, glittered and -flashed in the light. There was buttered toast, and hot biscuit, and -pound-cake, and fruit-cake, and mince-pie, and quince-jelly, and cold -chicken, and coffee and tea--all the work of Miss Jo's own fair hands; -and Miss Jo herself, rather flushed with the heat, but very imposing and -stately to look at in a green poplin dress--real Irish poplin at -that--and a worked collar a finger-length deep, presided at the -tea-tray, and dispensed the hospitalities of the festive board. Val, -sitting opposite, did his part, which consisted chiefly in attempting to -pass the cake-plates, and spilling their contents, of upsetting -everything he touched, and looking mildly but reproachfully at the -refractory object afterward. Mrs. Marsh was there, placid, and insipid, -and faded, and feeble, as usual; and Miss Rose was there, pale and -pretty; and Miss Clowrie was there, smiling and soft of voice, and deft -of touch, and purring more than ever; and Miss Blair was there, laughing -at all the funny things, and rosy as Hebe herself; and Charley Marsh was -there, making a martyr of himself in the attempt to be fascinating to -three young ladies at once; and everybody had eaten and drank, forced -thereto by Miss Blake, until they were, as Charley forcibly put it, "a -misery to themselves." So a move was made to adjourn, which just -consisted of pushing their chairs about five inches from the table, not -being able to push them any further, and Miss Jo began rattling among -the tea-things, which she called clearing them off. Miss Catty, always -sweet and obliging, and that sort of a thing, insisted on helping her, -and Charley opening the upright, clattered a "Fisher's Hornpipe" in -spirited style. - -"Come and sing us a song, Laura--that's a good girl," he said, while -Val, making an apology, slipped out. "Come and sing 'The Laird o' -Cockpen.'" - -Miss Blair, all smiles, took her seat, and sung not only "The Laird o' -Cockpen," but a dozen others of the same kidney. - -"What do you think of that?" inquired Miss Blair, triumphantly rising -up, with a finishing bang. "Who says I can't sing? Now, Miss Rose, you -sing, I know." - -"Of course she does," said Charley. "Miss Rose, permit me to lead you to -the instrument." - -Miss Rose looked as though she were about to excuse herself, but that -impulsive Laura Blair ran over and caught her by both hands. - -"Up with you! We won't take any excuses. Charley, the young lady is at -your mercy, lead her off." - -Charley promptly did so. Miss Rose, smiling graciously, ran her white -fingers over the yellow keys, and looked up at him. - -"What shall I sing, Monsieur?" - -"Anything you please, Mademoiselle. I am prepared to be delighted with -'Old Dan Tucker,' if you chose it." - -The white fingers still ran idly over the keys, breaking into a -plaintive prelude at last, and in a voice, "low and sweet" as Annie -Laurie's own, the song began. The words were those of a gifted young -American poetess; the melody, a low sweet air, in a melancholy minor -key--Miss Rose's own, perhaps. - -The sweet voice faltered a little toward the close; but as a buzz of -congratulation ran around the circle she arose hastily. Arose to find -herself face to face with two gentlemen who had entered as she began her -song, and who had stood silently listening with the rest. It was Captain -Cavendish and Val; and the young officer's face wore a look no one in -that room had ever seen it wear before--a pale and startled look of -anxiety, almost of fear--and as she faced them he backed a few paces -involuntarily. Miss Rose, evidently taken completely by surprise, -started visibly, growing white and red by turns. But Val was introducing -them, and only he and one other present saw the changing faces of the -twain. That other was Miss Catty Clowrie, whose eyes were as keen as any -other cat's, and who watched them furtively, with vividest interest. -Miss Catty was enough of a mathematician to know there is no effect -without a cause. What, then, was the cause of this? It was easily enough -answered. Captain Cavendish and Miss Rose had met before, and had known -each other well, though they were now bowing as perfect strangers. The -elegant officer had recovered all his high-bred sangfroid, and was -smooth and bland as sweet oil; but Miss Rose's face had settled into so -deadly a pallor that Mrs. Marsh, albeit not the most eagle-sighted in -the world, noticed it. - -"Dear me, Miss Rose, how pale you are! Aren't you well?" - -Miss Rose murmured something about the heat, and subsided into the most -shadowy corner she could find; and Charley created a diversion by -sitting down to the piano himself and rattling off a jingling symphony. - -In the midst of it carriage wheels rolled up to the door of No. 16, and -the first-floor bell rang loudly a minute after. - -"That's Natty," said Charley. - -Miss Jo met her in the hall and escorted her to her bedroom, which was -the dressing-room for the evening; and presently Miss Nathalie came in, -dressed in black silk, trimmed with black lace, and all her beautiful -golden hair falling in glittering ringlets over her shoulders, her -cheeks glowing with the rapid ride through the night air. Brilliant she -looked; and Captain Cavendish's heart, or whatever the thing is that -does duty for a heart with men of the world, quickened its beating a -little, as he shook hands. Nathalie kissed Miss Rose, sitting so very -still in her quiet corner. - -"My pale little girl! Here you sit like a white shadow, all by yourself. -Charley, what on earth are you shouting there?" - -"Now, Natty, it's your turn," said Miss Jo. - -"Here's the cards," said Charley, laying hold of a pack. "While Natty's -singing we'll play 'Muggins.' Does anybody here know 'Muggins'?" - -Nobody did. - -"What a disgrace! Then I'll teach you. Miss Jo, I'll sit beside you. -Come along, captain; here Laura, Catty, Val, mother; Miss Rose, won't -you join us?" - -"Don't, Miss Rose," said Natty, who was playing a waltz. "They're -nothing but a noisy set. Come here and sing with me." - -Natty sung everything--Italian arias, French chansonettes, German and -Scotch ballads; her full, rich soprano voice filling the room with -melody, as on Sundays it filled the long cathedral aisles. Natty's voice -was superb--Miss Rose listened like one entranced. So did another, -Captain Cavendish, who made all sorts of blunders in the game, and could -not learn it at all, for watching the two black figures at the -piano--the little pale girl with the modest brown braids, and the -stately heiress with her shining yellow curls. Catty Clowrie watched -them and the captain, and the game too, noting everything, and making no -mistakes. A very noisy party they were, every one laughing, -expostulating, and straining their voices together, and Charley winning -everything right and left. - -"I say, Cavendish, old fellow! what are you thinking of?" cried Val. -"This is the third time I've told you to play." - -Captain Cavendish started into recollection, and began playing with the -wildest rapidity, utterly at random. - -"Look here, Natty," called Charley, as the card-party, more noisy than -ever, broke up; "I say it's not fair of you to monopolize Miss Rose all -the evening. Here's Captain Cavendish has lost all his spare change, -because he couldn't watch the game for watching that piano." - -Miss Rose retreated hastily to her corner; Natty wheeled round on the -piano-stool. - -"What noise you have been making. Have you finished your game?" - -Charley jingled a pocketful of pennies--Speckport pennies at that--as -large as quoits. - -"Yes, we have finished, for the simple reason I have cleaned the whole -party completely out, and I have won small change enough to keep me in -cigars for the next two months. Who's this?" - -"It's somebody for me," said Natty, starting up; "that's Rob Nettleby's -knock." - -"Don't go yet, Natty," said Val, "it is too early." - -"It is half-past ten; I should have been off half an hour ago. Miss -Blake, my things, please." - -Miss Jo produced a white cloud and large cloak, and Natty's move was a -signal for all to depart. Catty, Laura, Miss Rose, and Mrs. Marsh's -mufflings had to be got, and the little parlor was a scene of "confusion -worse confounded." - -Val strolled over to where Captain Cavendish was making himself useful, -helping Miss Marsh on with her cloak. - -"Natty, I'll go home with you, if you like," said polite Val; "it will -be rather a dismal drive up there with no one but Rob Nettleby." - -"Mr. Blake is forestalled," said Captain Cavendish, coolly. "Miss Marsh -has accorded the honor to me." - -"All right," said Val, "I'll go home with Laura Blair, then. Charley can -take care of the other three, for Catty lives next door." - -Lady Leroy's carryall, with Cherrie Nettleby's elder brother for driver, -was waiting at the door. Good-byes were said, Natty kissed her mamma, -Laura and Miss Rose, but only shook hands with Miss Clowrie. Captain -Cavendish noticed the omission as he seated himself beside her, and they -drove off. - -"I don't like her," said Natty; "I never did, since I was a child. She -was such a crafty, cunning little thing in those days--a sort of spy on -the rest of us--a sort of female Uriah Heep." - -"Is she so still?" - -"Oh, no; she is well enough now; but old prejudices cling to one, you -know. I don't like her, because I don't like her--an excellent female -reason, you understand." - -"Does your brother share your prejudices, Miss Marsh?" asked the young -officer, with a meaning smile. - -"Charley? I don't know. Why?" - -"Because I fancy the young lady is rather disposed to regard him with -favor. I may be mistaken, though." - -Natty suddenly drew herself up. - -"I think you are mistaken, Captain Cavendish. Catty Clowrie has sense, -whatever else she may lack, and never would dream of so preposterous a -thing." - -"Pardon! it has been my mistake, then. You seem to be all old friends in -this place." - -"Oh," said Natty, with her gay laugh, "every one knows every one else in -Speckport, and a stranger is a marked being at once. Apropos of -strangers, what a perfect darling that Miss Rose is." - -"How very young-ladylike! Miss Rose does not sound like a family name; -has she no other cognomen?" - -"Her letter to me was signed W. Rose. I don't know what the 'W' is for. -I think she has the sweetest face I ever saw." - -"What a lovely night it is?" was Captain Cavendish's somewhat irrelevant -answer; and had the moon been shining, Natty might have seen the flush -his face wore. Perhaps it was the sea-breeze, though; for it was blowing -up fresh and bracing, and a host of stars spangled a sky of cloudless -blue. The monotonous plash of the waves on the shore came dully booming -over the rattle of their own carriage-wheels. - -"What are the wild waves saying? Miss Rose and I have a bond of sympathy -between us: we both love the sea. I suppose," said Natty, going off into -another subject, "Mrs. Leroy will read me a lecture for my long stay, -when I get back." - -"Will she not be asleep?" - -"Asleep? No, indeed; I believe if I staid out for a week she would never -close an eye until I got back." - -"Is she so very fond of you, then?" - -"It is not that; though I think she is as fond of me as it is in her -nature to be of anything, except," with another laugh, "eating and -money. It is fear that keeps her awake; she dreads being left alone." - -"Why? Not from an evil conscience, I trust." - -"For shame, sir. No, she always keeps a large sum of money in her -chamber--you saw that queer cabinet--well, in that; and she is terribly -scared of robbers, in spite of all our bolts and bars." - -"She should not keep it about her, then." - -"Very true; but she will. I sleep in the room next hers, and I presume -she feels my presence there a sort of safeguard against burglars. In -Midge she has no confidence whatever." - -"And yet I should consider Midge the greatest possible safeguard. The -sight of her might scare away an army of robbers." - -"Now, now!" cried Natty. "I shall not have Midge abused. She is the most -faithful and trustworthy creature that ever lived." - -"Perhaps so; but you will own that she is not the most lovely. When I -was a boy at Eton, I used to read German legends of beautiful -princesses guarded by malignant spirits, in uncouth human forms. I -thought of the stories this morning when I was at Redmon." - -"That's a compliment, I suppose," said Natty, "but I don't relish -compliments, I can tell you, at Midge's expense. Here we are at the -cottage." - -"What cottage is it?" Captain Cavendish asked, forgetting suddenly that -he had spent half an hour there that very morning. - -"The Nettlebys. The father is our gardener; the sons, the whole family, -make themselves useful about the place, all but Cherrie, who is more for -ornament than use. Here we are at Redmon, and there is the light burning -in Mrs. Leroy's window." - -"Does it burn all night?" he asked, looking up at it. - -"No; it is a beacon for me. I must go to her room the first thing now, -give an account of myself, and extinguish it. Good-night; I hope you -will enjoy your solitary journey back." - -"I shall have pleasant thoughts of a lady fair to keep me company. Are -you sure you can get in?" - -"Midge is opening the door now; once more, good-night." - -Waving her hand to him, she was gone while she spoke. Midge stood -blinking in the doorway, holding a candle above her head, which tar-mop -was now tied up in a red flannel petticoat. - -She shaded her eyes with her hand, peering out at the tall figure in the -loose overcoat; and when she made sure of his identity, slamming the -door to with a bang that left no doubt of her feelings toward him. - -"Midge, why did you do that?" Natty said, reprovingly. - -"Because I never want to see his wicked face here, Miss Natty; that's -why!" cried Midge, shrilly; "and I don't want to see him with you, for -he is a villain, and he will turn out one, if he was ten officers, ten -times over." - -But Natty was flying up the polished stairs with a new happiness at her -heart, singing as she went a snatch of "Love's Young Dream." - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -TOO MANY IRONS IN THE FIRE. - - -Mr. Val Blake was a young gentleman possessing a great many admirable -virtues, among others the fearful one of always saying what he thought. -Another, not quite so terrible to society, was that of early rising. The -sun, whenever that luminary condescended to show its face in Speckport, -which wasn't so very often, never found him in bed, either winter or -summer. Val might be up until two o'clock in the office, as he sometimes -was in busy seasons, such as election times, but that never prevented -his rising at half-past four the next morning, as bright as a new penny. - -Val had escorted Miss Laura Blair home from his sister's little -sociable--not only escorted her home, in fact, but had gone in with her. -It was past eleven then, but Papa Blair had invited him to blow a -friendly cloud, and Val had accepted the invitation. There they sat, -smoking and talking politics until after one, and it was half-past when -he got back to No. 16 Great St. Peter's Street; but for all that, here -he was next morning at the hour of six, coming striding along the -sea-shore, a pipe in his mouth, and a towel in his hand. Val had been -taking a sea-bath, his invariable custom every fine morning, from the -first of May to the last of October, to the alarming increase of his -appetite for breakfast. There were few to be met on the sand, at that -hour, except in the fishing seasons; and the fishermen not being in yet -from the night's work, the shore was entirely deserted. The editor of -the Speckport Gazette had not the shore all to himself after all; for, -as he passed a jutting bowlder, he came in view of a fluttering figure -walking slowly on before. The black dress waving in the breeze, the -slender form in the long black mantle, the little straw hat, and the -brown braid were familiar by this time. - -Miss Rose, the pretty little school-teacher, was taking an early -constitutional as well as himself, with a book for her only companion. -Val's long legs were beginning to measure off the sand in vast strides, -to join her, when he was forestalled most unexpectedly. Starting up from -behind a tall rock, in whose shadow on the warm sand he had been lying, -his hat pulled over his eyes to protect him from the sun, a gentleman -came forward, lifted his hat, and accosted her. Val knew the gentleman -quite as well as he did the lady, and stopped. At the sound of his voice -coming so suddenly, she had recoiled with a suppressed cry, but at sight -of whom it was, she stood perfectly still, as if transfixed. - -There was a path up the hillside--the very path Captain Cavendish had -been shown by the young Nettlebys the day before. Val turned up this, -with his hands in his pockets, and his mind in a state of soliloquy. - -"I'm not wanted, I expect; so I'll keep clear! There's something queer -about this--they were both taken aback last night, were they not? She's -a pretty little thing, and he's been in Montreal, I know; was quartered -there before he was ordered to Halifax. I suppose it's the old story--he -always was a flirt, and his handsome face sets the girls loony wherever -he goes. Miss Rose looks sensible, but I dare say she's as bad as the -rest." - -Val's suspicions might have become certainty had he been listening to -the conversation of the young officer and the little school-teacher; but -there was no one to listen, except the waves and the wind, and the -seagulls clanging over their heads. - -"Winnie!" Captain Cavendish was hurriedly saying, "I knew you would be -here, and I have been waiting for the past half hour. No, do not go! -Pray stay and hear me out." - -"I must go!" Miss Rose said, in a violent tremor and agitation. "You -have nothing to say to me, Captain Cavendish. I cannot be seen here with -you." - -"There is no one to see us--the shore is deserted! Winnie! you must -stay." - -She had turned to go; but he caught her hand, his own face pale as hers -had turned. - -"Let go my hand, sir!" she cried, in so peremptory a tone that he -dropped it at once; "every word you speak to me is an insult! Let me -go!" - -"Only one moment, Winnie." - -Again she interposed, her eyes quite flashing. - -"Have the goodness, Captain Cavendish, to be a little less familiar; to -cease calling me Winnie." - -"What shall I call you, then?" he said, with a strange look, "Miss -Rose?" - -She turned away, and made a little passionate gesture with her hand. - -"You have no right to call me anything--to speak to me at all! I do not -know what evil fate has driven us together here; but if you have one -feeling of honor, Captain Cavendish, you will leave me in peace--you -will let me alone. My lot is not such a happy one that you should wish -to destroy the little comfort I have left." - -Her voice choked and something fell on her book and wet it. The face of -the English officer looked strangely moved for him. - -"Heaven knows, Winnie, I have no desire to disturb it; I have been a -villain--we both know that--but destiny was against me. I am poor; I am -in debt--I was then--what could I do?" - -"Will you let me go?" was her answer, without turning her averted face -to him. - -"Am I, then, utterly hateful to you?" he asked, with some bitterness. -"You have soon forgotten the past, but I deserve it! I do not ask what -chain of circumstances brought you here; I only ask, being here, that -you will not reveal the story of--of what is past and gone. Will you -promise me this, Winnie?" - -"What right have you to ask any promise of me?" she demanded, her gentle -voice full of indignation. - -"Very little, I know; but still, I want the promise, Winnie, for your -own sake, as well as for me." - -"I am not likely to tell; the story of one's own folly is not too -pleasant to repeat. And now, in return, Captain Cavendish, I want, I -demand, a promise from you! We met last night as strangers, as strangers -let us meet henceforth. Go your own way. I shall not molest you, never -fear; and be generous enough to grant me the same favor. My life is to -be one of hard work. I do not regret that. Let me find happiness in my -own way, and do not disturb me any more." - -"And it has all come to this!" he said, moodily, looking out over the -wide sea. "Well, Winnie, let it be as you wish, only I never thought you -could be so unforgiving." - -"I have forgiven long ago; I want to try and forget as well!" - -She walked rapidly away. Only once had she looked at him all the -time--after that first glance of recognition, her face had been averted. - -Captain Cavendish watched her out of sight, took two or three turns up -and down the sand, and then strolled away to his lodgings. His rooms -were in the Speckport House, fronting on Queen Street; and after -disposing of his beefsteak and coffee with a very good appetite, he -seated himself near an open window, to smoke no end of cigars and watch -the passers-by. - -A great many passers-by there were, and nearly all strangers to him; but -presently, two young men went strutting past, arm-in-arm, and, chancing -to look at his window, lifted their hats in passing. A sudden thought -seemed to flash through the officer's mind as he saw them, and, seizing -his hat, he started out after them. It was young McGregor and Charley -Marsh, and he speedily overtook them. - -"I have been sitting there for over half an hour," he said, taking -Charley's other arm, familiarly, "watching society go by, and you two -were the first I knew. Being tired of my own company, I thought I would -join you. Have a cigar?" - -"You find Speckport rather slow, I suppose?" said Charley, lighting his -weed. "I should myself, if I had nothing to do." - -"Oh, I am used to it; and," with a droll look, "I have discovered there -is more than one pill to kill time, even in Speckport." - -"Already! where do you mean?" - -"Prince Street, for instance." - -Charley laughed, and young McGregor smiled. - -"You go there, do you? Well, I have lived all my life in Speckport, but -I have never set foot over the threshold you mean, yet." - -"Nor I," said young McGregor. "By George, wouldn't the old man look -half-a-dozen ways at once if he thought I would dare look at it twice." - -There was a smile on Captain Cavendish's face, half of amusement, half -of contempt. - -"I am going there now, and was about asking you to accompany me for an -hour's amusement. Come on, better late than never." - -Charley hesitated, coloring and laughing, but McGregor caught at the -invitation at once. - -"I say, Marsh, let us go! I've always wanted to go there, but never had -a chance without the governor finding it out, and kicking up the deuce -of a row!" - -"I have the entree," said Captain Cavendish; "no one will be the wiser, -and if they should, what matter? It is only to kill time, after all." - -But still Charley hesitated, half laughing, half tempted, half -reluctant. "That is all very well from Captain Cavendish, nephew of a -baronet, and with more money than he knows what to do with; but it's of -no use going to that place with empty pockets, and medical students, it -is proverbial, never have anything to spare. No, I think you must hold -me excused." - -"Oh, confound it, Charley," exclaimed McGregor, impatiently, "I'll lend -you whatever you want. Fetch him along, captain; what he says is only -gammon." - -"Perhaps," said the captain, with a cynical smile, "Mr. Marsh has -conscientious scruples--some people have, I am told. If so----" - -He did not finish the sentence, but the smile deepened. That mocking -smile did more to overthrow Charley's resolution than any words could -have done. He turned at once in the direction of Prince Street: "The -only scruples I know anything about relate to weights and measures, and -I believe these are in a dram. I have a couple of hours before dinner; -so until then, I am at your service, captain." - -The trio turned into Prince Street--a quiet street, with staid rows of -white houses, and only one of any pretension, at one of its quiet -corners. Captain Cavendish ran up the steps, with the air of a man -perfectly at home, opened the outer door and rang the bell. There were -few people passing, but Charley and McGregor glanced uneasily about -them, before going in, and closed the street door after them with some -precipitation. - -Charley had told the captain he was at his service for two hours, but -over four passed before the three issued forth again. Charley looked -flushed, excited, and in high spirits, so did Alick McGregor; but -Captain Cavendish, though laughing, was a trifle serious, too. "I had no -idea you were such an adept, Mr. Marsh," he was saying, "but you must -give me my revenge. Better luck next time." - -"All right," said Charley, in his boyish way, "whenever you like, now -that the ice is broken. What do you say, Mac?" - -"I'm your man. The sooner the better, as I intend keeping on until I -make a fortune on my own account. Would not the governor stare if he -knew the pile I made this morning." - -As they passed into Queen Street, the town clock struck three. Charley -looked aghast. - -"Three o'clock! I had no idea it was two. Won't they be wondering what -has become of me at home. I feel as though I should like my dinner." - -"Dine with me," said the captain; "I ordered dinner at half-past three, -and we will be in the nick of time." - -The two young Speckportians accepted the invitation, and the three went -up crowded Queen Street together. - -Streaming down among the crowd came Miss Cherrie Nettleby. One -kid-gloved hand uplifted her silken robe, and displayed an elaborately -embroidered under-skirt to the admiring beholder; the other poised a -blue parasol; and, gorgeous to behold, Miss Nettleby flashed like a -meteor through Speckport. All the men spoke to her--all the women turned -up their fair noses and sailed by in delicate disdain. Charley blushed -vividly at sight of her. - -"Don't blush, Charley," drawled young McGregor, "it's too -young-lady-like, but I suppose you can't help it any more than you can -being in love with her. Good afternoon, Miss Cherrie." - -Miss Cherrie smiled graciously, made them a bow that ballooned her silk -skirt over the whole sidewalk, and sailed on. Charley looked as if he -should like to follow her, but that was next to impossible, so he walked -on. - -"Cherrie comes out to show herself every afternoon," explained Alick; -"you don't know her, Captain Cavendish, do you?" - -"I have seen her before, I think. A very pretty girl." - -"Charley thinks so--don't you, old fellow? Half the young men in the -town are looney about her." - -"I must make her acquaintance, then," said Captain Cavendish, running up -the hotel steps. "The girl that all are praising is just the girl for -me. This way, gentlemen." - -While the triad sat over their dinner and dessert, Miss Nettleby did her -shopping--that is, she chatted with the good-looking clerks over the -counter, and swept past the old and ugly ones in silent contempt. -Cherrie was in no hurry; she had made up her mind before starting to go -through every drygoods store in Speckport, and kept her word. It was -growing dusk when the dress was finally bought, cut off, and paid for--a -bright pink ground, with a brighter pink sprig running through it. - -"Shall we send it, Miss Nettleby?" insinuated the gentlemanly clerk, -tying it up with his most fascinating smile. - -"Of course," said Cherrie, shaking out her skirts with an air; "Mr. -Nettleby's, Redmon Road. Good evening, Mr. Johnston." - -Cherrie was soliloquizing as she gained the street. - -"Now, I do wonder if he'll be home. They have tea at six, I know, and -it's only a quarter to six, now. I can say I want a book, and he'll be -sure to come home with me. I must see that new teacher." - -Walking very fast Cherrie reached Cottage Street as the clocks of -Speckport were chiming six, and the laborers' bells ringing their -dismissal. Catty Clowrie was standing in her own doorway, but Cherrie -did not stop to speak, only nodded, and knocked at Mrs. Marsh's door. -Betsy Ann opened it and Cherrie walked into the sitting-room, where a -fire burned, warm as the afternoon had been, and Mrs. Marsh, with a -shawl about her and a novel in her hand, swayed to and fro in her -rocking-chair. Miss Rose in the parlor was trying her new piano, which -Natty had ordered that morning, and which had just come home. - -"Dear me!" said Mrs. Marsh, looking up from the book and holding out her -hand, "is it you, Cherrie? How do you do? Sit down." - -Cherrie did so. - -"I've been out all the afternoon shopping for Miss Natty, and I thought -I would call here before I went home to ask you for another book. That -last one was real nice." - -"Of course. What were you buying for Natty?" - -"Oh, it was only a calico dress for Midge; it's being sent up. Mrs. -Marsh, who's that playing the piano?" - -"That's Miss Rose, Natty's teacher. Have you seen her yet?" - -"No. How nice she plays. Don't she?" - -"She plays very well. And so you liked that last book--what's this it -was--'Regina,' wasn't it?" - -"Yes," said Cherrie; "and oh, it was lovely. That earl was so nice, and -I liked Regina, too. What's that you're reading?" - -"This is 'Queechy'--a very good story. Did you ever read 'The -Lamplighter?' I'll lend you that." - -"Thank you, ma'am," said Cherrie. "It's getting late. I suppose I must -go." - -"Stay for tea," said Mrs. Marsh, who liked Cherrie; "it's all ready, -and we are only waiting for Charley. I don't see where he's gone too; he -wasn't home to dinner, either." - -"I saw him this afternoon," said Cherrie; "him and young McGregor and -Captain Cavendish were going up Queen Street." - -"Was he? Perhaps they had dinner together there. How did you know -Captain Cavendish, Cherrie?" - -"I saw him at Redmon. He was up all yesterday forenoon. I guess he is -after Miss Natty." - -Mrs. Marsh smiled and settled her cap. - -"Oh, I don't know. Take off your things, Cherrie, and stay for tea. It's -of no use waiting for Charley. Betsy Ann, bring us the teapot, and call -Miss Rose." - -Cherrie laid aside her turban and lace, and was duly made acquainted -with Miss Rose. Cherrie had heard the new teacher was pretty, but she -had hoped she was not so very pretty as this, and a pang of jealousy -went through her vain little heart. She had stayed for tea, hoping -Charley would partake of that repast with them, and afterward escort her -home; but it commenced and was over, but that young gentleman did not -appear. - -Miss Rose played after tea, and Cherrie lingered and lingered, under -pretense of being charmed; but it got dark, and still that provoking -Charley did not come. Cherrie could wait no longer, and a little cross -and a good deal disappointed, she arose to go. - -"You will perish in that lace mantle," said Miss Rose, kindly. "You had -better wear my shawl; these spring nights are chilly." - -Cherrie accepted the offer, rolled her lace up in a copy of the -"Speckport Spouter," and started on her homeward journey. The street -lamps were lit, the shop windows ablaze with illumination, and the cold, -keen stars were cleaving sharp and chill through the blue concave above. -A pale young crescent moon shone serene in their midst, but it might -have been an old oil-lamp for all Miss Nettleby cared, in her present -irate and vexed frame of mind. But there was balm in Gilead; a step was -behind her, a man's step, firm and quick; a tall form was making rapid -head-way in her direction. Cherrie looked behind, half frightened, but -there was no mistaking that commanding presence, that military stride, -in the handsome face with the thick black mustache, looking down upon -her. Cherrie's heart was bounding, but how was he to know that. - -"I knew it was you, Cherrie," he said, familiarly. "Are you not afraid -to take so long and lonely a walk at this hour?" - -"I couldn't help it," said Cherrie, all her good humor returning. "There -was no one to come with me. I was down at Mrs. Marsh's, and Charley -wasn't home." - -"I don't want you to go to Mrs. Marsh's, and I am glad Charley wasn't -home." - -"I didn't go to see Charley," said Cherrie, coquettishly. "I wanted a -book, and I wanted to see Miss Rose. Do you know where Charley is?" - -"He is up at Redmon." - -"And you are going there, too, I suppose." - -"I am going to see you home, just now. Let me carry that parcel, -Cherrie, and don't walk so fast. There's no hurry, now that I am with -you. Cherrie, you looked like an angel this afternoon, in Queen Street." - -As we do not generally picture angelic beings in shot silks and blue -parasols, not to speak of turban hats, it is to be presumed Captain -Cavendish's ideas on the subject must have been somewhat vague. Cherrie -obeyed his injunction not to hurry, and it was an hour before they -reached the cottage. - -Captain Cavendish declined going in, but stood in the shadow of the -trees, opposite the house, tattling to her for another half hour, then -shook hands, and went to Lady Leroy's, where he and Charley and Mr. -Blake were to spend the evening. - -Val and Charley were there before him, the former having but just -entered. The captain had not seen Val, but Val had seen the captain, and -watched him now with a comical look, playing the devoted to Nathalie. - -In Mrs. Leroy's mansion there was no lack of rooms--Natty had two to -herself--sleeping-room adjoining the old lady's, and a parlor adjoining -that. It was in this parlor Natty received her own friends and -visitors, and there the three gentlemen were now. Natty's rooms were the -only light and cheerful ones in the vast, gloomy old house, and Natty -had fitted them up at her own expense. Delicate paper on the walls; -pretty drawings and landscapes, in water-colors, the work of her own -artistic fingers, hung around; a lounge, cushioned in chintz; an -arm-chair, cushioned in the same; attractive trifles of all sorts, -books, a work-table, and an old piano--made the apartment quite pleasant -and home-like. The only thing it wanted was a fire; for it was -essentially a bleak house, full of draughts--but a fire in any room save -her own was a piece of extravagance Lady Leroy would not hear of. So the -gentlemen sat in their overcoats; and Lady Leroy, who had been wheeled -in, in her arm-chair, looked more like an Egyptian mummy than ever. - -Midge sat behind her, on her hunkers, if you know what that is; her -elbows on her knees, her chin between her hands, glaring balefully on -Captain Cavendish, making himself fascinating to her young mistress. If -that gallant young officer had ever heard the legend of the Evil Eye, he -might have thought of it then, with Midge's malignant regards upon him. - -Lady Leroy, who dearly loved gossip, was chattering like a superannuated -magpie to Val and Charley. Mr. Blake was giving her what he knew of the -captain's history. - -"His uncle," said Val, "is a baronet--a Yorkshire baronet at that--and -Captain Cavendish is next heir to the title. Meantime, he has nothing -but his pay, which would be enough for any reasonable man, but isn't a -tithe to him." - -"And he wants a rich wife," said Lady Leroy, with a spiteful glance over -at him. "Ah! I see what he's coming after. Natty!" - -"Ma'am!" said Natty, looking up, and still laughing at some anecdote -Captain Cavendish had been relating. - -"What are you laughing at?" she said, sharply. - -"Only at a story I have been listening to! Do you want anything?" - -"Yes. Go into my room and see what time it is." - -"We bring Time with us," said Mr. Blake, producing a watch as big as a -small football; "it's five minutes to nine." - -"Then it's my bedtime! Natty, go and make me my punch. Midge, wheel me -in, and warm the bed. Young men, it's time for you to go." - -Captain Cavendish and Val exchanged an amused glance and arose. Charley -stepped forward and laid his hand on the arm-chair. - -"I'll wheel you in, Mrs. Leroy. Stand clear, Midge, or the train will -run into you. Go ahead, fellows, I'll be after you." - -"You must not mind Mrs. Leroy's eccentricities, you know," said Natty, -shaking hands shyly and wistfully at the front door with the captain. -"Mr. Blake is quite used to it, and thinks nothing of it." - -"Think better of me, Miss Marsh. I do not mind her brusqueness any more -than he does; in proof whereof I shall speedily pay my respects at -Redmon again. Good night!" - -"Tell Charley to overtake us. Good night, Natty!" called Val, striding -down the moon-lit avenue, and out into the road. - -Captain Cavendish lit a cigar, handed another to his companion, took his -arm and walked along, thinking. The Nettleby cottage was in a state of -illumination, as they passed it; and the shrieks of an accordion, -atrociously played, and somebody singing a totally different air, and -shouts of laughter, mingling together, came noisily to their listening -ears. Val nodded toward it. - -"Cherrie holds a levee every night--the house is full now. Will you come -in? 'All the more the merrier,' is the motto there." - -"No," said the captain, shrinking fastidiously; "I have no fancy for -making one in Miss Cherrie's menagerie." - -"Does the objection extend to Miss Cherrie herself?" asked Mr. Blake, -puffing energetically. - -"What do I know of Miss Cherrie?" - -"Can't say, only I should suppose you found out something while seeing -her home an hour ago, and standing making love to her under the trees -afterward." - -Captain Cavendish took out his cigar and looked at him. - -"Where were you?" - -"Coming through the rye--I mean the fields. The next time you try it on, -take a more secluded spot, my dear fellow, than the queen's highroad!" - -"Oh, hang it!" exclaimed the young officer, impatiently; "it seems to -me, Blake, you see more than you have any business to do. Suppose I did -talk to the little girl. I met her on the road alone. Could I do less -than escort her home?" - -"Look here," said Val, "there is an old saying, 'If you have too many -irons in the fire, some of them must cool.' Now, that's your case -exactly. You have too many irons in the fire." - -"I don't understand." - -"Don't you? Here it is, then! This morning, bright and early, I saw you -promenading the shore with Miss Rose. This evening, I saw you making up -to Cherrie Nettleby; and, ten minutes ago, you were as sweet as -sugar-candy on Natty Marsh. No man can be in love with three women at -once, without getting into trouble. Therefore, take a friend's advice, -and drop two of them." - -"Which two?" - -"That's your affair. Please yourself." - -"Precisely what I mean to do; and now, Val, old boy, keep your own -counsel; there's no harm done, and there will be none. A man cannot help -being polite to a pretty girl--it's nature, you know; and, dear old -fellow, don't see so much, if you can help it. It is rather annoying, -and will do neither of us any good." - -Perhaps Captain Cavendish would have been still more annoyed had he -known Val was not the only witness of that little flirtation with -Cherrie. As that young lady, when he left her, after watching him out -of sight, was about crossing the road to go into the house, a voice -suddenly called, "Hallo, Cherrie! How are you?" - -Cherrie looked up greatly astonished, for the voice came from above her -head. Was it the voice of a spirit?--if so, the spirit must have a -shocking bad cold in the head, and inclined to over-familiarity at that. -The voice came again, and still from above. - -"I say, Cherrie! You put in a pretty long stretch of courting that time! -I like to see you cutting out the rest of the Speckport girls, and -getting that military swell all to yourself." - -Cherrie beheld the speaker at last; and a very substantial spirit he -was, perched up on a very high branch of a tree, his legs dangling about -in the atmosphere, and his hands stuck in his trowsers. - -"Lor!" cried Miss Nettleby, quite startled, "if it ain't that Bill -Blair! I declare I took it for a ghost!" - -Bill kicked his heels about in an ecstasy. - -"Oh, crickey! Wasn't it prime! I ain't heard anything like it this month -of Sundays. Can't he keep company stunning, Cherrie? I say, Charley's -dished, ain't he, Cherrie?" - -"How long have you been up there, you young imp?" asked Cherrie, her -wrath rising. - -"Long enough to hear every word of it! Don't be mad, Cherrie--Oh, no, I -never mentions it, its name is never heard--honor bright, you know." - -"Oh, if I had you here," cried Miss Nettleby, looking viciously up at -him, "wouldn't I box your ears for you!" - -"Oh, no, you wouldn't!" said Bill, swinging about. "How was I to know -when I roosted up here that you were going to take a whack at courting -over there. I was going over to Jim Tod's, and, feeling tired, I got up -here to rest. I say, Cherrie? would you like to hear a secret?" - -Cherrie would like nothing better, only before he told it, she would -rather he got down. It gave her the fidgets to look at him up there. -Bill got lazily down accordingly. - -"Now, what's the secret?" asked the young lady. - -"It's this," replied the young gentleman. "Do you know who Captain -Cavendish happens to be?" - -"I know he's an Englishman," said Cherrie; "all the officers are that." - -"Yes; but you don't know who his folks are, I bet." - -"No. Who are they? Very rich, I suppose?" - -"Rich!" exclaimed Mr. Blair, contemptuously. "I say, Cherrie, you won't -tell, will you? It's a secret." - -"Of course not, stupid. Go on." - -"Say, 'pon your word and honor." - -"'Pon my word! Now go on." - -"Well, then," said Bill, in a mysterious whisper, "he's--Queen -Victoria's--eldest--son!" - -"What!" - -"I told you it was a secret, and it is. I heard him telling my -boss--Blake, you know, and they didn't think I was listening. Queen -Victoria, when she was a young woman, was married secretly to a duke, -the Duke of Cavendish, and had one son. When her folks found it -out--jimminy! wasn't there a row, and the Duke was beheaded for high -treason, and she was married to Prince Albert. Now, you'll never tell, -will you, Cherrie?" - -"Never!" answered Cherrie, breathlessly. "Well?" - -"Well, Captain Cavendish was brought up private, and is the right heir -to the throne; and he expects his mother to leave it to him in her will -when she dies, instead of the Prince of Wales. Now, if he marries you, -Cherrie, and I am pretty sure he will before long--then you are Queen of -England at once." - -"Now, Billy Blair," said Cherrie, puzzled whether to believe his solemn -face or not, "I do believe you're telling lies." - -"It's true as preaching, I tell you. Didn't I hear 'em with my own ears. -That chap's sure to be King of England some day, and when you're queen, -Cherrie, send for Bill Blair to be your prime-minister. And now I must -go--good night." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -VAL TURNS MENTOR. - - -Miss Nathalie Marsh was not the only person in existence who took a -violent fancy to the pretty, pale little school-mistress, Miss Rose. -Before the end of the month, Speckport pronounced her perfection; -though, to do Speckport justice, it was not greatly given to overpraise. -Indeed, it was a common saying with the inhabitants that Speckport would -find fault with an archangel, did one of these celestial spirits think -fit to alight there, and the very person most vehement in this assertion -would have been the first in the backbiting. Yet Speckport praised Miss -Rose, and said their Johnnys and Marys had never get on so fast in their -A B abs, before, and the little ones themselves chanted her praises with -all their hearts. If she appeared in the streets, they rushed headlong -to meet her, sure of a smile for their pains. They brought her flowers -every morning, and a reproachful look was the severest punishment known -in the schoolroom. The old women dropped their courtesies; the old men -pronounced her the nicest young woman they had seen for many a day, and -the young men--poor things! fell in love. - -There was some one else winning golden opinions, but not from all sorts -of people. Only from young ladies, who were ready to tear each other's -dear little eyes out, if it could have helped the matter: and the man -was Captain George Cavendish. Speckport was proud to have him at its -parties; for was he not to be a baronet some day? and was his family in -England, their Alma Mater, not as old as the hills, and older? But he -was an expensive luxury. Their daughters fell in love with him, and -their sons spent their money frightfully fast with him; and all sons or -daughters got in return were fascinating smiles, courtly bows, and -gallant speeches. He was not a marrying man, that was evident; and yet -he did seem rather serious with Nathalie Marsh. Miss Marsh was the -handsomest girl in Speckport; she would be the richest, and she was for -certain the only one that ever had a grandfather--that is, to speak of: -in the course of nature they all had, perhaps; but the grandfathers were -less than nobody--peddlers, rag-men, and fish-hawkers. But her father -and grandfather had been gentlemen born; and it is well to have good -blood in one's veins, even on one side. So the young ladies hated Miss -Marsh, and were jealous of each other; and that high-stepping young -heiress laughed in their face, and walked and talked, and rode and -sailed, and sang and danced with Captain Cavendish, and triumphed over -them like a princess born. - -It was June, and very hot. Speckport was being grilled alive, and the -dust flew in choking simooms. - -Cool through all the heat, Captain Cavendish walked up Queen Street in -the broiling noonday sun. Charley Marsh and Alick McGregor walked on -either side of him, like that other day on which they had met Cherrie; -and Charley's face was flushed and clouded, and young McGregor's drawn -down to a most lugubrious length. They had just come from Prince -Street--an every-day resort now; and Charley and McGregor seldom left it -of that late without clouded expression. Captain Cavendish was laughing -at them both. - -"All in the downs!" he cried; "nonsense, Marsh. One would think you were -ruined for life." - -"I soon shall be at this rate. I owe you a small fortune now." - -"Only fifty pounds," said the captain, as carelessly as if it were fifty -pence, "a mere trifle." - -"And I owe you twice as much," said young McGregor, with a sort of -groan; "won't there be the dickens to pay when it's found out at home." - -"Don't let them find it out, then," said Captain Cavendish, in the same -off-hand manner. - -"That's easily said. How am I to help it?" - -"Your father has a check-book--help yourself." - -"That would be killing the goose that lays the golden eggs," said -Charley. "Let the old man find that out and good-bye to Alick's chance -of ever seeing Prince Street again. Here are my quarters--no use asking -you in to hear the row old Leach will make at my delay, I suppose." - -He nodded, with his own careless laugh, and entered the office of Doctor -Leach. Captain Cavendish looked at his watch. - -"Half-past eleven! I believe I owe your people a call, McGregor; so _en -avant_!" - -Miss Jeannette McGregor was at home, and received the captain and her -brother in her boudoir, a charming little room, with velvet-pile carpet, -gilding, and ormolu, and medallion pictures of celebrated beauties set -in the oval paneled walls. A copy of Longfellow, all gold and azure, was -in her hand; she had once heard Captain Cavendish express his admiration -of the great American poet; and having seen her brother and he coming up -the front steps, she had arranged this little tableau expressly for the -occasion. If there was one young lady in all Speckport who more than -another sincerely hated Nathalie Marsh, or more sincerely admired -Captain Cavendish, that one was Miss McGregor. She had long been jealous -of Natty's beauty, but now she detested her with an honest earnestness -that, I think, only women ever feel. She kissed her whenever they met; -she invited her to every party they gave; she made calls at Redmon: and -she hated her all the time, and could have seen her laid in her coffin -with the greatest pleasure. It is a very common case, my brethren; Judas -Iscariot was not a woman, but kisses after his fashion are very popular -among the gentler sex. - -"Evangeline," said Captain Cavendish, taking up her book; "I always -liked that, but never half so well as since I came to Speckport." - -"Because you saw Miss Marsh in the character," said Jeannette, laughing, -as young ladies must, in these cases. - -"Miss Marsh took her character very well, but that is not the only -reason why I shall long remember that night." - -A glance accompanied this speech that brought a glow to Miss McGregor's -cheek and a flutter to her heart. Captain Cavendish was a clever man. He -had more irons in the fire than even Val knew of, and allowed none of -them to cool; and it does take a clever man to make love discreetly to -half-a-dozen women at once. - -"Natty looked stunning that night," put in Alick; "she is the handsomest -girl in Speckport." - -"You think so--we all know that," said Jeannette, flashing a spiteful -glance at him; "you have been making a simpleton of yourself about her -for the last two years. Why don't you propose at once." - -"Because she wouldn't have me," blurted honest Alick; "I wish to heaven -she would! I would soon do the popping." - -"Faint heart never won fair lady; take courage and try," said the -captain. - -Jeannette looked at him with her most taking smile. - -"Are you quite sincere in that, Captain Cavendish?" - -"Quite! Why not?" - -"Oh, nothing! Only rumor says you are going to carry a Bluenose bride -back to Merrie England." - -"Perhaps I may. You are a Bluenose, are you not, Miss Jeannette?" - -Before Jeannette could answer, a sort of shout from Alick, who was at -the window, took their attention. Miss McGregor looked languidly over. - -"Oh, how noisy you are! What is it, pray?" - -The door-bell rang loudly. - -"It's Natty herself and Laura Blair. You ought to have seen Natty -driving up, captain; she handles the ribbons in tiptop style, and that -black mare of Blair's is no joke to drive." - -Before he had finished speaking, the door opened, and a servant showed -in the two young ladies. Miss Jeannette sprang up with the utmost -effusion, and kissed each on both cheeks. - -"You darling Natty! It is ages since you were here. Laura, how good it -is of you to fetch her! for I know it must have been you." - -"So it was," said Laura, shaking hands with Captain Cavendish. "I -haven't time, I haven't time, is always her cry. I tell her there will -be time when we are all dead--won't there, captain?" - -"I presume so, unless at the loss of Miss Laura Blair the whole economy -of creation blows up with a crash." - -"And so you see," said Laura, sitting down on a chair, and flirting out -her skirts all around her, "I drove up to Redmon this morning, with a -great basketful of English strawberries the size of crab-apples, as a -coaxer to Lady Leroy; and through their eloquence, and the promise of -another, got her to let Natty come to town with me on business." - -"On business;" said Captain Cavendish; "that means shopping." - -"No, sir, it doesn't; it means something serious, and that you must take -share in. You, too, Jeannette, and you, Alick, if we run short." - -"Thank you," said Alick, "what is it?" - -"Why, you know," began Miss Blair, with the air of one about entering -upon a story, "there's that Mrs. Hill--you know her, Alick?" - -"What! the wife of the pilot who was drowned in the storm last week?" - -"That's the one," nodded Laura. "Well, she's poor--Oh, dear me! ever so -poor, and her two children down in the measles, and herself half dead -with rheumatism. I shouldn't have known a thing about it only for Miss -Rose. I do declare Miss Rose is next door to an angel; she found her -out, and did lots of things for her, and told me at last how poor she -was, and asked me to send her some things. So then I made up this plan." - -"What plan?" inquired Jeannette, as Laura stopped for want of breath, -and Nathalie sat listening with an amused look. - -"Oh, didn't I tell you? Why, we're going to have a play, and every one -of us turn into actors; admission, half a dollar. Won't it be grand?" - -"And the play is Laura's own," said Nathalie; "nothing less than the -adventures of Telemachus dramatized." - -"That is delightful," said Jeannette, with sparkling eyes. "Have I a -part, Laura?" - -"To be sure, and so has Natty, and myself, and Captain Cavendish, and -Val Blake, and Charley Marsh, and as many more as we want. The new wing -that pa has built to our house is just finished, and, being unfurnished, -will make a lovely theater. Only a select number of tickets will be -issued, and the place is sure to be crowded. The proceeds will be a -little fortune to Mrs. Hill." - -"You should have given Miss Rose a part, as she was the head of it," -suggested Alick. - -"She wouldn't have it. I tried hard enough, but she was resolute. She is -such a timid little thing, you know, and she would make a lovely nymph, -too." - -"What part have you assigned me?" inquired Captain Cavendish. - -"Being a soldier and a hero, you are Ulysses, of course; Charley is -Telemachus; Val is Mentor--fancy Val with flowing white hair and beard, -like an old nanny-goat. Jeannette, you will be Calypso; Natty will take -Eucharis; I, Penelope. I wanted Miss Rose to be Eucharis--the part would -have suited her so well." - -"I don't believe it would come natural to Charley to make love to her," -said Alick; "he'll have to, won't he, if he is Telemachus?" - -"You must change the casts, Miss Blair," said the captain, decidedly. -"If Telemachus is to do the love-making, I must be Telemachus. Mr. Marsh -and I must change." - -"You would make such a nice Ulysses," said Laura, meditatingly, while -Nathalie blushed; "but please yourself. You must all spend the evening -at our house, and when the whole _dramatis personæ_ are gathered, we can -discuss and settle the thing for good, fix the rehearsal and the night -of the play. Don't fail to come." - -"You need not be in a hurry," said Jeannette, as Laura rose and was -sailing off; "stay for luncheon." - -"Couldn't possibly--promised to leave Natty back safe and sound in an -hour, and it only wants ten minutes now. If we fail one second, she -will never get off for rehearsals. Remember, you are all engaged for -this evening." - -The two long parlors of the Blairs were pretty well filled that night -with young ladies and gentlemen, and a very gay party they were. There -was so much laughing and chaffing over it, that it was some trouble to -settle preliminaries; but Laura was intensely in earnest, and could see -nothing to laugh at, and Captain Cavendish coming gallantly to her aid, -matters were arranged at last. Charley Marsh, who was a Rubens on a -small scale, undertook to paint the scenery, superintend the carpenters -and the machinery of the stage. The young ladies arranged the costumes; -everybody got their parts in MS.; rehearsals were appointed, and some -time before midnight the amateurs dispersed. In the June moonlight, the -English officer drove Nathalie home, and it was not all theatricals they -talked by the way. There was a good deal of trouble about the thing yet, -now that it was finally started. In the first place, there was that -tiresome Lady Leroy, who made a row every time Natty went to rehearsal, -and required lots of strawberries, and jellies, and bottles of old wine, -to bring her to reason. Then they bungled so in their parts, and wanted -so much prompting, and Miss Elvira Tod, sister to the Rev. Augustus, who -was tall and prim, and played Minerva, objected to wearing a tin shield, -and wanted to keep on her hoops. - -"Now, Miss Tod," expostulated Laura, ready to cry, "you know the goddess -Minerva always is painted with a breastplate, to conceal her want of a -bust; and as for your skeleton, you would be a nice goddess with -hoops--wouldn't you?" - -On the whole, things progressed as favorably as could be expected; and -the eventful night was announced, tickets were issued and eagerly -bought, and Speckport was on the qui vive for the great event. When the -appointed night came, the impromptu theater was crowded at an early -hour, and with nothing but the upper-crust, either; the military band, -which formed the orchestra, played the "Nymph's Dance" ravishingly, and -amid a breathless hush, the curtain rose. - -Mrs. Hill, the destitute widow, was made happy next day by some twenty -pounds, the produce of the play, and Speckport could talk of nothing -else for a week. The Speckport Spouter even went into personalities. -"Miss Nathalie Marsh," that journal said, "as Eucharis, astonished every -one. The fire, the energy, the pathos of her acting could not be -surpassed by the greatest professionals of the day. Captain Cavendish, -as the hero, performed his part to the life--it seemed more like reality -than mere acting; and Mr. C. Marsh as Ulysses, and Miss Laura Blair as -Penelope, were also excellent." - -On the morning after this laudatory notice appeared in the Spouter, a -young gentleman, one of the employees of that office, walked slowly -along Queen Street, his hands thrust deep in his coat-pockets, his cap -very much on one side of his head, and his face lengthened to -preternatural solemnity. The young gentleman was Bill Blair; and that he -had something on his mind was evident, for his countenance was -seriously, not to say dismally, meditative. Reaching the office, he -walked deliberately up-stairs, entered the outer room, swung himself -nimbly up on the handiest stool, and began flinging his legs about, -without the ceremony of removing his cap. Mr. Clowrie, the only other -occupant of the apartment, looked at him over his desk with a frown. - -"I thought Mr. Blake told you to be here at half-past six this morning, -and now it's a quarter past eight," began Mr. Clowrie; "if I was Blake, -I would turn you out of the office." - -"But you ain't Blake!" retorted Master Blair; "so don't ruffle your fine -feathers for nothing, Jakey! If you had been up till half-past one this -morning, perhaps you wouldn't be any spryer than I am." - -"What kept you up till that time? Some devilment, I'll be bound." - -"No, it wasn't," said Bill; "our folks, the whole crowd but me, streaked -off to the theatre; so as I couldn't see the fun of playing Robinson -Crusoe at home, I just went over to Jim Tod's to have a game of -all-fours, and a look at the pups, and they're growing lovely. I didn't -mean to stay long, but some of the rest of the fellows were there, and -Jim had a box of cigars, and a bottle of sherry he had cribbaged out of -the sideboard, and it was all so jolly I'll be blowed if it didn't -strike twelve before we knew where we were." - -"Well, now you've come, go to work, or there will be a precious row when -the boss comes." - -"Blake won't row," said Bill, nodding mysteriously; "but I know where -there will be one before long. Cracky, won't there be a flare-up when -it's found out!" - -Mr. Clowrie laid down his pen and looked up. - -"When what's found out?" - -"That's my secret," replied Bill, with a perfect shower of mysterious -nods. "I saw the rummiest go last night when I was coming home ever you -heard tell of." - -"I don't believe it," said Jake, disdainfully; "you're always finding -mare's-nests, and a lot they come to when all's done!" - -"Jake, look here! you won't tell, will you?" - -"Bosh! go to work. What should I tell for?" - -"Well, then," said Bill, lowering his voice, "I've found out who stole -that hundred pounds from old McGregor." - -"What?" - -"You remember that hundred pounds old McGregor had stole a week ago, and -that went so mysteriously? Well, I've found out who took it." - -"You have!" cried Mr. Clowrie, excited; "why, there's a reward of fifty -dollars out for the thief!" - -Bill nodded again. - -"I know it, but I ain't going to apply. You won't tell--honor bright!" - -"I won't tell! who was it?" - -"Don't faint if you can! It was his own son, Alick!" - -"Wha-a-t!" - -"I tell you it was; I heard him say so myself, last night." - -Mr. Clowrie sat thunderstruck, staring. Master Blair went on: - -"Charley Marsh is in the mess too--I don't mean about the -money-stealing, mind! but him and Sandy McGregor are galloping the road -to ruin at a 2.40 rate!" - -"What do you mean?" - -Bill looked round as if fearful the very walls would hear him. - -"They go to Prince Street, Jake! I met them coming out of a certain -house there past twelve o'clock last night!" - -"By ginger!" exclaimed Mr. Clowrie, aghast. "You never mean to say young -McGregor stole the money to gam--" - -"Hu-sh-sh! I wouldn't have it found out through me for the world. It's -all the work of that dandified officer; he was with them in a long -overcoat, but I knew him the minute I clapped eyes on him. They were -talking about the bank-note, and the captain was laughing and smoking -away as jolly as you please; but I saw Charley's face as they passed a -gas-lamp, and I swear he was as white as a ghost!" - -"I suppose he'd been losing." - -"I reckon so, and Alick didn't look much better. That captain's a -regular scape--he's after Cherrie Nettleby as regular as clock-work -now." - -Mr. Clowrie scowled suddenly, but Bill clattered on: - -"I saw him twice last night; once before I met them in Prince Street. It -was about nine, and Cherrie was with him. There the two of them were -standing, like Paul and Virginny, at the gate, making love like sixty! -That Cherrie's the preciousest fool that ever drew breath, I do think. -Why don't you----" - -He stopped short in consternation, for the door swung open and Val -strode in, and, as he had done once before, collared him. With the other -hand he turned the key in the lock to keep out intruders, and Bill -fairly quaked, for Val's face looked ominous. - -"Now, look you, Master Bill Blair," he began, in a tone exceedingly in -earnest, "I have been listening out there for some time, and I have just -got this to say to you: if ever I find you repeat it to mortal man or -woman, as long as you live, I'll break every bone in your body! Do you -hear that?" - -Yes, Master Bill heard, and jerked himself free with a very red and -sulky face. - -"Don't forget now!" reiterated Val; "I'll thrash you within an inch of -your life, as sure as your name's Bill! And you, Clowrie, if you want to -keep yourself out of trouble, take my advice and say nothing about it. -Now get to work, you, sir, and no more gossiping." - -Val strode off to his own room, and sat down to look over a file of -exchanges, and read his letters. But he could neither read nor do -anything else with comfort this morning. The boy's gossip had disturbed -him more than he would have owned; and at last, in desperation, he -pitched all from him, seized his hat, and went out. - -"I played Mentor the other night on the stage. I think I'll try it in -real life. Confound that Cavendish; why can't he let the boy alone? I -don't mind McGregor; he's only a noodle at best, and the old man can -afford to lose the money; but Charley's another story! That Cherrie, -too! The fellow's a scoundrel, and she's a--! Oh, here she comes!" - -Sure enough, tripping along, her blue parasol up, her turban on, a -little white lace vail down, a black silk mantle flapping in the breeze, -a buff calico morning-wrapper, with a perfect hailstorm of white buttons -all over it, sweeping the dust, came Miss Nettleby herself, arrayed as -usual for conquest. The incessant smile, ever parting her rosy lips, -greeted Val. Cherrie always kept a large assortment of different quality -on hand for different gentlemen. Val greeted her and turned. - -"Where are you going, Cherrie?" - -"Down to Mrs. Marsh's. I've got a book of hers to return. How's Miss -Jo?" - -"She's well. I'll walk with you, Cherrie; I have something to say to -you." - -His tone was so serious that Cherrie stared. - -"Lord, Mr. Blake! what is it?" - -"Let us go down this street--it is quiet. Cherrie, does Captain -Cavendish go to see you every evening in the week?" - -"Gracious me, Mr. Blake!" giggled Cherrie, "what a question!" - -"Answer it, Cherrie." - -"Now, Mr. Blake, I never! if you ain't the oddest man! I shan't tell you -a thing about it!" - -"He was with you last night, was he not?" - -"It's none of your business!" said polite Cherrie; "he has as much right -to be with me as any one else, I hope. You come yourself sometimes, for -that matter." - -"Yes; but I don't make love to you, you know." - -"It wouldn't be any use for you if you did," said Miss Cherrie, -bridling. - -"It's a different case altogether," said Val; "you and I are old -friends--he is a stranger." - -"He's not! I've known him more than five weeks! If you only came to -preach, Mr. Blake, I guess you had better go back, and I'll find Mrs. -Marsh's alone." - -"Cherrie, I want to warn you--the less you have to do with Captain -Cavendish the better. People are talking about you now." - -"Let 'em talk," retorted Miss Nettleby, loftily; "when Speckport stops -talking the world will come to an end. I'll just do as I please, and -talk to whom I like; and if everybody minded their own business, it -would be better for some folks." - -With which the young lady swept away majestically, leaving Mr. Blake to -turn back or follow if he pleased. He chose the former, and walked along -to Dr. Leach's office. Charley was standing, looking out of the window, -and whistling a tune. - -"Hallo, Val!" was his greeting, "what brings you here? Want a tooth -pulled, or a little bleeding, or a trifle of physic of any kind? Happy -to serve you in the absence of the doctor." - -"No, I don't want any physic, but I have come to give you a dose. Are -you alone?" - -"Quite. Leach went to visit a patient ten minutes ago. What's the -matter?" - -"Everything's the matter! What's this I hear you have been about -lately?" - -"Turning actor--do you mean that? Much obliged to you, Val, for the puff -you gave me in yesterday's Spouter." - -"No, sir, I don't mean that! Isn't Alick McGregor a nice fellow to rob -his own father and you his aider and abettor? Fine doings that!" - -Charley fairly bounded. - -"Oh, the d----! Where did you find that out?" - -"Never mind, I have found it out; that is enough!" - -"Is it known? Who else knows it?" - -"Two that are not quite so safe to keep it as I am! No, I won't tell you -who they are. Charley, what are you coming to?" - -"The gallows, I suppose; but I had no hand in that. If McGregor took the -money, it was his own doings, and his father could spare it." - -"What did he want of it?" - -"Am I his keeper? How should I know?" - -"You do know! When did you turn gambler, Charley?" - -Charley turned round, his face white. - -"You know that, too?" - -"I do! McGregor stole the hundred pounds to pay a gambling-debt to -Captain Cavendish. And you--where does your money come from, Marsh?" - -"I don't steal it," said Charley, turning from pale to red; "be sure of -that!" - -"Come, my boy, don't be angry. You know I don't deserve that speech; but -surely, Charley, this sort of thing should not go on. Where will it -end?" - -"Where, indeed?" said Charley, gloomily. "Val, I wish you would tell me -how you found this out?" - -"Pshaw! do you really expect to go in and out of the most notorious -gambling-house in Speckport, at all hours of the day and night, and it -not be discovered? You ought to know this place better." - -"That is true; but how did that infernal business of McGregor's leak -out? No one knew it but ourselves." - -"It has leaked out, and is known to two persons, who may blow on you all -at any moment." - -"And I wanted to keep it from Natty. Val, old fellow, do tell me who -they are." - -"You know I won't; it would do no good. Charley, I wish you would stop -in time." - -"Stuff! it's no hanging matter after all. Dozens go there as well as I!" - -"You won't give it up, then?" - -"Not until I win back what I have lost. My coffers are not so full that -I can lose without trying to win it back. Don't talk to me, Blake, it's -of no use; win I must, there is no alternative. Won't Alick go into -white horror when he finds the murder's out?" - -Val turned to leave. - -"You're going, are you?" said Charley. "I need hardly tell you to keep -dark about this; it will only mar, not mend matters, to let it get wind. -Don't look so solemn, old boy, all's not lost that's in danger." - -Val said nothing--what was the use? He passed out and went home to his -domain. - -"I knew how it would be," he said to himself, going along; "but I have -done my duty, and that's satisfactory. I'll keep my eye on you, Captain -Cavendish, and if ever I get a chance, won't I play you a good turn for -this!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -WOOED AND WON. - - -"And if ever I find her going prancing round with him any more," said -Lady Leroy, clawing the air viciously with her skinny fingers, "or -letting him come home with her again, I'll turn her out of doors, I -will, as sure as your name's Midge." - -"Which it isn't," said Midge; "for I was christened Prisciller. And as -for turning her out, you know right well, ma'am, you can never get along -without her, so where's the good of your gabbing." - -The dialogue between mistress and maid took place, of course, in the -former's room, which she rarely left. Midge was preparing her ladyship's -dinner, all the cooking being done in the chamber, and all the edibles -being kept under lock and key, and doled out in ounces. Midge and Lady -Leroy fought regular pitched battles every day over the stinted -allowance awarded her; and Natty had to come to the rescue by -purchasing, from her own private purse, the wherewithal to satisfy -Midge. No other servant would have lived at Redmon on the penurious -wages the old lady grumblingly gave, probably on no wages at all, -considering the loneliness of the place, its crabbed and miserly -mistress, and hard work; but Midge stayed through her love of Nathalie, -and contradicted and bickered with Lady Leroy from morning till night. -In the days when the Marshes were rich and prosperous, Midge had been a -hanger on of the household, doing pretty much as she pleased, and coming -and going, and working or loafing as she liked. She had saved Charley's -life once, nearly at the risk of her own, and loved him and Nathalie -with a depth of self-sacrificing and jealous tenderness few would have -given her credit for. Nathalie was good to her always, considerate and -kind, putting up with her humor and querulousness, and ready to shield -her from slights at any time. Midge scolded the young lady roundly on -many an occasion, and Natty took it good-humoredly always. She was out -now, and Lady Leroy's wrath had been kindled by something that had -happened the preceding night, and which she had found out through -Cherrie Nettleby, for Midge told no tales. Captain Cavendish, contrary -to her express orders, had seen Nathalie home from a little sociable at -her mother's. Val, Miss Jo, Laura Blair, Catty Clowrie, Jeannette and -Alick McGregor, Charley, and Captain Cavendish only had been there; for -some sick pauper had sent for Miss Rose, and she had gone, glad to -escape. Cherrie had seen the captain and Miss Marsh pass the cottage, -and, spiteful and jealous, had tattled next morning. Lady Leroy disliked -Captain Cavendish--she did most people for that matter, but she honored -him with especial aversion. Nathalie had gone off after breakfast to -Speckport, to attend to her music-pupils and visit the school. Cherrie -had come in afterward to retail the town-gossip, and had but just -departed; and now the old lady was raging to Midge. - -"I tell you, Midge, I don't like him!" she shrilly cried, "I don't like -him, and I don't want him coming here." - -"No more don't I," retorted Midge, "I'd go to his hanging with the -greatest pleasure; but where's the odds? He don't care whether we like -him or not; he only laughs and jeers at both of us, so long as she -does." - -"It ain't her he likes," said Lady Leroy, "it's my money, my money, that -I've pinched and spared to save, and that he thinks to squander. But -I'll be a match for him, and for her too, the ungrateful minx, if she -thinks to play upon me." - -"She ain't an ungrateful minx, ma'am!" sharply contradicted Midge; -"she's better nor ever you were or ever will be! She lives shut up here -from one week's end to t'other, slavin' herself for you, and much she -gets for it! She can do what she likes with the money when you're dead!" - -Lady Leroy's face turned so horribly ghastly at this speech that it was -quite dreadful to look at. The thought of death was her nightmare, her -daily horror. She never thought of it at all if she could, and thus -forcibly reminded, her features worked for a moment as if she had a fit. -Even Midge grew a little scared at what she had done. - -"There, ma'am!" she cried, "you needn't go into fits about it. My -speaking of it won't make you die any sooner. I dessay you're good for -twenty years yet, if your appetite holds out!" - -The old woman's livid face grew a shade less deathlike. - -"Do you think so, Midge? Do you think so?" - -"Oh, I think so fast enough! Folks like you always is sure to spin out -till everybody's tired to death of 'em. Here's your dinner ready now; -so swallow it, and save your breath for that!" - -The sight of her meals always had an inspiring effect on the mistress of -Redmon, and Natty was for the moment forgotten. Perhaps it might have -spoiled her appetite a little had she seen the way that young lady was -returning home, and in what company. Not walking discreetly along Redmon -road, and not alone. In the pretty boat, all white and gold, with the -name "Nathalie" in golden letters--the boat that had been poor Alick -McGregor's gift--a merry little party were skimming over the sunlit -waves, reaching Redmon by sea instead of land. The snow-white sail was -set, and Nathalie Marsh was steering; the sea-wind blowing about her -tangled yellow curls, fluttering the azure ribbons of her pretty hat, -deepening the roses in her cheeks, and brightening the starry eyes. She -sang as she steered, "Over the Sea in my Fairy Bark," and the melodious -voice rang sweetly out over the wide sea. Near her Captain Cavendish -lounged over the side, watching the ripples as they flew along in the -teeth of the breeze, and looking perfectly content to stay there -forever. Beside him sat Laura Blair, and, near her, Miss Jo Blake. Laura -was often with Miss Jo, whom she liked, partly for her own sake--for she -was the best-natured old maid that ever petted a cat--and partly for her -brother's, whom Miss Blair considered but one remove from an angel. - -The quartet had "met by chance, the usual way," and Nathalie had invited -him to have a sail. She had rowed herself to town in her batteau, but -the sail back was inconceivably pleasanter. As the batteau ran up on the -beach below Redmon, Natty did not ask them to the house, but no one was -surprised at that. They accompanied her to the gate, Captain Cavendish -slinging the light oars over his shoulder. - -"And you will be at the picnic day after to-morrow, without fail," Laura -was saying to Nathalie. - -"Can't promise," replied Natty. "Mrs. Leroy may take it into her head to -refuse permission, and I have been out a great deal lately." - -"I don't care," said Laura, "you must come! If Mrs. Leroy turns -inexorable, I will go up with a basket of oranges and let them plead in -your behalf. You see, captain, we have to 'stay that old lady with -flagons and comfort her with apples' when we want Natty very badly, and -she turns refractory." - -"All the oranges in Seville would not be thrown away in such a cause. By -all means, Miss Marsh, come to the picnic." - -Speckport was famous for its picnics, and excursions by land and water. -This one was the first of the season, and was to be held on Lady Leroy's -grounds--a pretty high price having to be paid for the privilege. - -"There won't be any fun without you, Natty," said Miss Jo; "I won't hear -of your absenting yourself at all. Is Miss Rose to have a holiday on the -occasion?" - -"I offered her one, but she declined; she did not care for going, she -said." - -"What a singular girl she is!" said Laura, thoughtfully; "she seems to -care very little for pleasure of any kind for herself; but the poor of -Speckport look upon her as an angel sent down expressly to write their -letters, look after them in sickness, make them beef-tea, and teach -their children for nothing. I wish you would make her go to the picnic, -Natty, and not let her mope herself to death, drudging in that horrid -school-room." - -Captain George Cavendish, leaning on the oars he had been carrying, -seemed not to be listening. He was looking dreamily before him, seeing -neither the broad green fields with the summer sunlight sleeping in -sheets of gold upon them, nor the white, winding, dusty highroad, nor -the ceaseless sea, spreading away and away until it kissed the -horizon-sky, nor tall Miss Blake, nor even the two pretty girls who -talked. It had all faded from before him; and he was many a mile away in -a strange, foreign-looking city, with narrow, crooked streets, filled -with foreign-looking men and women, and priests in long black soutanes, -and queer hats, and black nuns and gray nuns, and Notre Dame nuns and -Sisters of Charity and Mercy, all talking in French, and looking at each -other with dark Canadian eyes. He was back in Montreal, he saw the -Champ-de-Mars, the Place d'Arme, the great convents, the innumerable -churches with their tall crosses pointing to the heaven we are all -trying to reach, and he saw himself beside one--fairer in his eyes than -all the dusky Canadian beauties in the world, with their purple-black -hair and great flashing black eyes. "Winnie! Winnie! Winnie!" his false -heart was passionately crying, as that old time came back, and -golden-haired, violet-eyed Nathalie Marsh was no more to him than if she -had been but the fantasy of a dream. He had flirted and played the lover -to scores; played it so long and so often that it had become second -nature, as necessary as the air he breathed; but he had only loved one, -and he seemed in a fair way of going on to the end. He had been a -traitor, but he could not forget. The girl he had jilted was avenged if -she wished for vengeance: no pang he had ever given could be keener than -what he felt himself. - -A laugh aroused him, a merry, girlish laugh. He awoke from his dream -with a start, and found them all looking at him. - -"So you have awoke at last," laughed Laura. "Three times have I told you -we were going, and there you stood, staring at empty space, and paying -no more attention than if you were stone-deaf. Pray, Captain Cavendish, -where were you just now?" - -Before he could answer, the gate against which Nathalie leaned was -pushed violently open, and the thick dwarfish figure and unlovely face -of Midge was thrust out--not made more prepossessing by an ugly scowl. - -"Miss Natty," she shrilly cried, "I want to know if you mean to stand -here all day long? It's past two now, and when you go up to the house, -perhaps the old woman won't give it you--and serve you right, too!" -added Miss Midge, sotto voce. - -"So late!" Nathalie cried, in alarm. "I had no idea of it! Good-bye, -Miss Jo; good-bye, Laura. I must go!" - -She had smiled and nodded her farewell to the captain, and was off like -a dart. Midge slammed the gate in their faces, and went sulkily after. - -In considerable consternation, Nathalie ran up-stairs and into the awful -presence of the mistress of the house. She knew well she was in for a -scolding, and was bracing herself to meet it. - -Lady Leroy had never been so furiously angry since the first day the -young lady had entered beneath her roof, and the storm burst before Miss -Marsh was fairly in the room. Such a tempest of angry words, such a -tornado of scolding, such a wrathful outbreak of old woman's fury, it -has been the ill-fortune of but few to hear. Nathalie bore it like a -heroine, without flinching and without retreat, though her cheeks were -scarlet, and her blue eyes flashing fire. She had clinched one little -hand involuntarily, and set her teeth, and compressed her lips, as if to -force herself not to fling back the old woman's rage in her face; but -the struggle was hard. Passionate and proud Nathalie's nature was, but -the fiery steeds of pride and passion she had been taught, long ago, at -her father's knee, to rein with the curb of patience. But I am afraid it -was not this Christian motive that held her silent always under Lady -Leroy's unreasonable abuse. Ambition was the girl's ruling passion. With -her whole heart and soul she longed for wealth and power, and the first -of these priceless blessings, in whose train the second followed, could -only be obtained through this vituperative old bel-dame. If Nathalie let -nature and passion have their way, and flung back fury for fury, she -would find herself incontinently turned out of doors, and back again, -probably, the day after, in that odious school-room, wearing out her -heart, and going mad slowly with the dull drudgery of a poor teacher's -life. This motive in itself was strong enough, but of late days another -and a stronger had been added. If she were Miss Marsh, the -school-mistress, Captain Cavendish, the heir of a baronet, would -doubtless admire, and--have nothing whatever to say to her; but Miss -Marsh, the heiress of Redmon and of Lady Leroy's thousands, was quite -another thing. He was poor now, comparatively speaking; she knew -that--how sweet it would be to lay a fortune at the feet of the man she -loved! Some day in the bright future he would lay a title at her fair -feet in return, and all her dreams of love, and power, and greatness, -would be more than realized. Not that Nathalie for one instant fancied -George Cavendish sought her for her fortune--she would have flung back -such a suspicion furiously in the face of the profferer--but she knew -enough of the fitness of things to be aware that, however much he might -secretly adore her rose-hued cheeks, golden hair, and violet eyes, he -could never marry a portionless bride. On this tiger-cat old Tartar, -then, all these sweet dreams depended for their fruition; and she must -pocket her pride, and eat humble pie, and make no wry faces over that -unpalatable pastry. She must be patient and long-suffering now, that she -might reign like a princess royal hereafter; so while Lady Leroy stormed -and poured no end of vials of wrath on her ward's unfortunate head, that -young person only shut her rosy lips the harder, and bated her breath -not to reply. We are so strong to conquer ourselves, you see, when -pounds, shillings, and pence are concerned, and so weak and cowardly to -obey the commands of One who was led "as a lamb to the slaughter, and -who opened not his mouth." So Nathalie stood, breathing quick, and only -holding herself from flying at her tormentress by main force, and Lady -Leroy stormed on until forced to stop from want of breath. - -"And now, Miss," she wound up, her little eyes glaring on the young -lady, "I should like to know what you've got to say for yourself." - -"I have nothing to say," replied Nathalie, speaking for the first time. - -"Oh, I dare say not! All I say goes in one ear and out t'other, doesn't -it, now? Ain't you ashamed of yourself, you minx?" - -"No!" quietly said Nathalie. - -Mrs. Leroy glared upon her with a look of fury, horribly revolting in -that old and wrinkled face. - -"Do you mean to say you'll ever do it again? Do you mean to say you'll -go with that man any more? Do you mean to say you defy and disobey me? -Tell me!" cried Lady Leroy, clawing the air as if she were clawing the -eyes out of Captain Cavendish's handsome head, "tell me if you mean to -do this!" - -"Yes!" was the fiery answer flaming in the girl's crimson cheeks and -flashing eyes, "I defy you to the death!" But prudence sidled up to her -and whispered, "Heiress of Redmon, remember what you risk!" and so--oh, -that I should have to tell it!--Nathalie Marsh smoothed her contracted -brows, vailed the angry brightness of her blue eyes under their sweeping -lashes, and steadily said: - -"Mrs. Leroy, you know I have no wish to willfully defy or disobey you. I -should be sorry to be anything but true and dutiful to you, and I am not -conscious of being anything else now." - -"You are--you know you are!" the old woman passionately cried. "You know -I hate this man--this spendthrift, this fortune-seeker, this -smooth-spoken, false-hearted hypocrite! Give up this man--promise me -never to speak to him again, and then I will believe you!" - -Nathalie stood silent. - -"Promise," shrilly screamed Lady Leroy, "promise or else----" - -She stopped short, but the white rage in her distorted face finished the -sentence with emphasis. - -"I will promise you one thing," said Nathalie, turning pale and cold, -"that he shall not come to Redmon any more. You accuse him unjustly, -Mrs. Leroy--he is none of the things you say. Do not ask me to promise -anything else--I cannot do it!" - -What Lady Leroy would have said to this Nathalie never knew; for at that -moment there came a loud knock at the front door, and Miss Marsh, only -too glad to escape, flew down to answer it. - -The alarm at the outer door proved to come from Charley Marsh; and -Nathalie stared, as she saw how pale and haggard he looked--so unlike -her bright-faced brother. - -"What ails you, Charley?" she anxiously asked. "Are you sick?" - -"Sick? No! Why should I be sick?" - -"You are as pale and worn-looking as if you had been ill for a month. -Something has gone wrong." - -"I have been up all night," said Charley, omitting, however, to add, -playing billiards. "That's why. Nathalie," hurriedly and nervously, -"have you any money? I can't ask before that old virago up-stairs." - -"Money! Yes, I have some. Do you want it?" - -"I want you to lend me as much as you can, for a short time. There!" he -said, impatiently, "don't begin asking questions, Natty. I want it -particularly, and I will pay you back as soon as I can. How much have -you got?" - -"I have nearly twenty pounds, more or less. Will that do?" - -"It will help. Don't say anything about it, Natty, like a good girl. -Who's in?" - -"No one but Mrs. Leroy. Won't you come up?" - -"I must, I suppose. Get the money while I am talking to her, and give it -to me as I go out. What a solemn face you have got, Natty!" - -He laughed as he spoke--Charley's careless, boyish laugh, but Nathalie -only sighed as they ascended the stairs together. - -"Mrs. Leroy has been scolding ever since I came from town. If ever a -fortune was dearly bought, Charley, mine will be." - -"Paying too dear for your whistle--eh? Never mind, Natty! it can't last -forever, and neither can Lady Leroy." - -All the shadow had gone from Charley's brow, and the change was magical. -Whether it was the promise of the money, or his natural elasticity of -spirit rebounding, he knew best; but certainly when he shook hands with -the mistress of the domain, the sunshine outside was not brighter than -his handsome face. Mrs. Leroy rather liked Charley, which is saying -folios in the young man's favor, considering how few that cantankerous -old cat admitted to her favor--but every one liked Charley Marsh. - -While Nathalie went to her own room for the money, Nathalie's brother -was holding Mrs. Leroy spell-bound with his brilliant flow of -conversation. All the gossip and scandal of Speckport was -retailed--business, pleasure, fashion, and fights, related with -appetizing gusto; and where the reality fell short, Mr. Marsh called -upon his lively imagination for a few extra facts. The forthcoming -picnic and its delights were discussed, and Charley advised her to -strain a point and be present. - -"Midge can wheel you about the field, you know, in your chair," said -Charley. "You won't take cold--the day's sure to be delightful, and I -know every one will enjoy themselves ten times better for having you -there. You had better come. Val Blake and I will carry you down stairs!" - -To the astonishment of Nathalie, Mrs. Leroy assented readily to the odd -proposition; and Charley departed, having charmed the old lady into -utter forgetfulness, for the time being, of her antipathy to Captain -Cavendish. Speckport could talk of nothing for a week beforehand but the -picnic--the first of the season. All Speckport was going, young and old, -rich and poor. Admission, twenty-five cents; children, half price. - -The Redmon grounds, where the picnic was to be held, were extensive and -beautiful. Broad velvety fields, green lanes, among miniature forests of -fragrant cedar and spruce, and all sloping down to the smooth, white -sands of the beach, with the gray sea tramping dully in, and the salt -spray dashing up in your face. And "I hope it won't be foggy! I do hope -it won't be foggy!" was the burden of every one's cry; the fog generally -choosing to step in and stay a week or two, whenever Speckport proposed -a picnic. How many blinds were drawn aside in the gray and dismal dawn -of that eventful morning, and how many eager pairs of eyes, shaded by -night-cap borders, turned anxiously heavenward; and how delightedly they -were drawn in again! for, wonderful to tell, the sky was blue and -without a cloud, and the sun, rising in a canopy of rose and amber, -promised all beholders a day of unremitting sunshine. - -Before nine o'clock the Redmon road was alive with people--all in -gorgeous array. Before ten, the droves of men, women, and children -increased fourfold, and the dust was something awful. The sun fairly -blazed in the sky; had it ever shone so dazzlingly before, or was there -ever so brilliantly blue a sky, or such heaps and heaps of billows of -snowy white, floating through it? Before eleven, that boiling seaside -sun would have grilled you alive only for the strong sea-breeze, -heaven-sent, sweeping up from the bay. Through fiery heat, and choking -dust, the cry was "still they come," and Redmon grounds swarmed with -people, as the fields of Egypt once swarmed with locust. A great arch of -evergreens surmounted the entrance-gate, and the Union Jack floated -loyally over it in the morning sunshine. The clanging of the band and -the roll of the drum greeted your delighted ears the moment you entered -the fairy arch, and you found yourself lost and bewildered in a sea of -people you never saw before. The swings were flying with dizzying -velocity, young belles went up until the toes of their gaiters nearly -touched the firmament, and your head reeled to look at them. Some two or -three hundred ladies and gentlemen were tripping the light fantastic toe -to the inspiring music of a set of Irish quadrilles; and some eight -hundred spectators were gathered in tremendous circles about them, -looking on, gazing as if never in all their lives had so glorious and -wonderful a vision as their fellow-sinners jigging up and down, dazzled -their enchanted eyes. The refreshment tents were in such a crowded and -jammed and suffocating state, that you could see the steam ascending -from them as from an escape-valve; and the fair ones behind the tables, -bewildered by two dozen clamorous voices, demanding the attention of -each one at once, passed pies and tarts, and sandwiches and soda water, -and coffee and cakes frantically and at random, and let little boys feed -in corners unnoticed, and were altogether reduced to a state of utter -imbecility by the necessity of doing half a dozen things at one and the -same time. Pink and blue, and yellow and green ribbons fluttered, and -silks and muslins and bareges trailed the grass and got torn off the -waist by masculine bootheels; and the picnic was too delightful for -description, and, over all, the fiery noonday July sun blazed like a -wheel of fire, and the sea wind swept up fresh and delicious, and the -waves sang their old song down on the shore, and no one listened to -their mystic music or wondered, like poor little Paul Dombey, what they -were saying. - -No one! Yes, there was one sitting on a green bank, all alone, who had -been very busy all morning until now, arranging tables and waiting on -hungry pleasure-seekers, making little boys and girls behave themselves, -and swinging little people who could get no one else to attend them. The -breeze that set the tall reeds and fern at fandangoing waved her black -barege dress, and flung back the little black lace vail falling from her -hat. Tired and hot, she had wandered here to listen to the waves and to -the tumult behind her. - -What were the thoughts of the man who leaned against a tall tamarack -tree and watched the reclining figure as a cat does a mouse? There are -some souls so dark that all the beauty of earth and heaven are as blank -pages to them. They see without comprehending, without one feeling of -thoughtfulness for all the glory around them. Surely it were better for -such to have been born blind. This man saw no wide sea spreading before -him, glittering as if sown with stars. There was more to him worth -watching in one flutter of that thin black dress on the bank than in all -the world beside, and he stood and watched with his eyes half closed, -waiting until she should see him. - -He had not to wait long. Some prescience that something out of harmony -with the scene was near, made her restless. She rose up on her elbow, -and looked round--a second after, her face flushed, she was up off the -grass and on her feet. The man lifted his hat and advanced. - -"Pardon my intrusion, Winnie--Miss Rose, and--no, no--I beg you will not -go!" - -She had made to turn away, but he himself interposed--something of -agitation in his manner, and it was but rarely, indeed. Captain George -Cavendish allowed himself to be agitated. She stopped gently enough, the -surprised flush faded out from her face--that pretty, pale face, -tranquil as face could be, was only very grave. - -"If you have anything to say to me, Captain Cavendish, please to say it -quickly. I do not wish to be seen here." - -"Is it such a disgrace, then, to be seen for one poor instant with me?" -he said, bitterly. - -She did not reply, save by an impatient tapping of one foot on the -grass, and a backward glance at the crowded grounds. - -"Winnie!" he broke out, passionately, as if stung by her manner, "have -you turned into a flirt? Have you entirely forgotten what is past? You -cannot--you cannot have ceased altogether to care for me, since I -cannot, do what I will, forget you!" - -Miss Rose looked at him--steadily, quietly, gravely, out of her brown -eyes. If he had hoped for anything, that one look would have shivered -his air-castles as a stone shivers brittle glass. - -"I told you once before, Captain Cavendish, that such words from you to -me were insults. The past, where you are concerned, is no more to me -than if you had never existed. I have not forgotten it, but it has no -more power to move me than the waves there can move those piles of rock. -No! I have not forgotten it. I look back often enough now with wonder -and pity at myself, that I ever should have been the idiot that I was." - -His face turned crimson at the unmistakable earnestness of her words. - -"Then I need scruple or hesitate no longer," he said, launching his last -pitiful shaft. "I need hesitate no longer, on your score, to speak the -words that will make one who is rich and beautiful, and who loves me, -happy. I came here willingly to make what atonement I could for the -past, by telling you beforehand, lest the shock of my marriage----" - -He stopped in actual confusion, but raging inwardly at the humiliation -she was making him feel--this poor little pale schoolmistress, whom he -could have lifted with one hand and flung easily over the bank. She was -smiling as she listened to him, a smile not of mockery or disdain, only -so gallingly full of utter indifference to him. - -"There is no atonement necessary," she said, with that conscious smile -still hovering on her lips; "none, I assure you. I have no hard feelings -toward you, Captain Cavendish, nothing to resent or forgive. If I was an -idiot, it was my own fault, I dare say, and I would not blot out one day -that is gone if I could. Marry when you will, marry as soon as you -please, and no one will wish you joy more sincerely on your wedding day -than I." - -It half-maddened him, that supreme indifference, that serene face. He -knew that he loved her, herself, and her alone; and while he fancied her -pining and love-lorn, he was very well satisfied and quite complacent -over her case. But this turn of the story was a little too mortifying to -any man's pride to stand, and the man a lady-killer by profession at -that. - -"I don't believe it," he said, savagely, "you have not forgotten--you -cared for me too much for that. I did not think you could stoop to -falsehood while playing the rôle of a saint." - -Miss Rose gave him a look--a look before which, with all his fury, he -shrank. She had turned to walk away, but she stopped for a moment. - -"I am telling no falsehood, Captain Cavendish: before I stoop to that, I -pray I may die. You know in your heart I mean what I say, and you know -that you believe me. I have many things to be thankful for, but chief -among them, when I kneel down to thank God for his mercies, I thank him -that I am not your wife!" - -She walked slowly away, and he did not follow her; he only stood there, -swallowing the bitter pill, and digesting it as best he might. It was -provoking, no doubt, not to be able to forget this wretched little -school-ma'am, while she so coolly banished him from her memory--so -utterly and entirely banished him; for Captain Cavendish knew better -than to disbelieve her. He had jilted her, it is true, as he had many -another; but where was his triumph now? If he could only have forgotten -her himself; but when the grapes were within his reach, he had despised -them, and now that they grew above his head, and he did want them, it -was exasperating that he could not get them. - -"Pah!" he thought bitterly, "what a fool I am! I could not marry her -were she ever so willing now, any more than I could then. This cursed -debt is dragging me to--perdition--I was going to say, and I must marry -a fortune, and that soon. Nathalie Marsh is the richest girl in -Speckport, therefore I shall marry Nathalie Marsh. She is ten times more -beautiful than that little quakeress who is just gone; but I can't love -her, and I can't forget the other." - -Captain Cavendish leaned against the tamarack a long time, thinking. The -uproar behind him and the roar of the surf on the shore blended together -in a dull, meaningless tumult in his ears. He was thinking of this -marriage de convenance he must make, of this bride he must one day take -home to England. He was a gambler and a spendthrift, this man, over head -and ears in debt, and with no way but this one of ever getting out of -it. From his friends in England? He had no friends in England on whom he -could rely. His only rich relative, his uncle, the baronet, had taken it -into his head, at the age of fifty-five, to get married; and what was -more, there was an heir, a young gentleman of five months old, between -him and the baronetcy. His commission had been purchased by his uncle, -and it seemed all he need ever expect from him. He had never seen -service, and had no particular desire to see any. He must marry a rich -wife--there was no alternative--and he knew the power of his handsome -face extremely well. He had no fear of a refusal; there was no use in -delaying; he would make the heiress of Redmon happy that very day. - -The sun was going down behind the waves, in an oriflamme of gold and -crimson and purple and rose, flushing the whole sky with its tropical -beauty, when the young officer turned away to seek for his future wife. -As if his thoughts had evoked her she was coming toward him, and all -alone; her white dress floating mistily about her, all her golden curls -hanging damp and loose over her shoulders, and her cheeks flushed with -the heat. She had taken off her hat, and was swinging it by its azure -ribbons, as she came up; and she looked so beautiful that the young -Englishman thought that it would not be so very dreadful a thing to -sell himself to this violet-eyed sultana after all. - -"Truant!" said Nathalie, "where have you been all the afternoon? I -thought you had gone away." - -"And all the time I have been standing here, like Patience on a -monument, wishing you would come up." - -"Did you want me, then?" - -"When do I not want you?" - -Nathalie laughed, but she also blushed. "Then you should have gone in -search of me, sir. Mrs. Leroy wants to go home now, and I must go with -her." - -"But not just yet. I have something to say to you, Nathalie." - -And so here, in the hot warmth of the red sunset, the old, old story was -told--the story that has been told over and over again since the world -began, and will be told until its end, and yet is ever new. The story to -which two little words, yes or no, ends so ecstatically, or gives the -deathblow. It was yes this time; and when Nathalie Marsh, half an hour -after, went home with Mrs. Leroy, she was wondering if there was one -among all those thousands--one in all the wide world--as happy as she! - -The last red glimmer of the sunset had faded out of the sky, and the -summer moon was up, round and white and full, before the last of the -picnickers went home. And in its pale rays, with his hands in his -pockets, and a cigar between his lips, Captain Cavendish went home with -Cherrie Nettleby. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -FAST AND LOOSE. - - -Miss Nathalie Marsh was not the only young lady who received a proposal -that memorable picnic-day. Flashing in and out among the other belles of -Speckport, and eclipsing them all as she went, the belle of the -bourgeois, par excellence, came Miss Cherrie Nettleby, quite dazzling to -look at in a pink and white plaid silk, a white lace mantle, the blue -parasol you wot of, the turban-hat, with a long white feather streaking -round it, and the colored white lace vail over her blooming brunette -face. Miss Nettleby had fawn-colored kid gloves, an embroidered kerchief -sticking out of her pocket; and, to crown all, two or three yards of -gold chain around her neck, and hanging ever so far below her waist. An -overgrown locket and a carnelian cross dangled from the chain; and no -giddy young peacock ever strutted about prouder of its tail than did the -little black-eyed belle of these glittering fetters. She had only -received the chain, and locket, and cross the night before; they had -come in a box, with a huge bouquet, under the weight of which a small -black boy staggered, with the compliments of Captain Cavendish, and -would Miss Nettleby do him the honor of accepting them? Nettleby did him -the honor, and was not able to sleep a wink all night for rapture. A -gold chain had been the desire of her heart for many and many a day; -and, at last, some good fairy had taken pity on her and sent it, with -the handsomest man in Speckport for her ambassador. Cherrie's ecstasies -are not to be described; a chain from any one would have been a -delightful gift; but from Captain Cavendish, one smile from whom Cherrie -would have given all the rest of her admirers for, delightedly. She had -hugged Ann in her transports, until that young person, breaking -indignantly from her, demanded to know if she had gone mad; and she had -dressed for the picnic, expecting to have the young Englishman devotedly -by her side the whole day long, before the aggravated and envious eyes -of all Speckport. But Cherrie had never made a greater mistake in all -her life; the blue parasol, the pink silk, the white lace mantle, and -fawn-colored kid gloves were powerless to charm--Captain Cavendish never -came near her. He had not come at all until late, and then he had driven -in in the McGregor barouche, with the heiress of that house by his side, -resplendent to look at; and he had walked about with her, and with Miss -Laura Blair, and Miss Marsh, and sundry other young ladies, a step or -two higher up the ladder of life than Miss Nettleby, but he had not once -walked with her. He had passed her two or three times, as he could not -very well help doing, since she had put herself straight in his way; and -he had nodded and smiled, and walked deliberately on. Cherrie could have -cried with chagrin; but she didn't, not wishing to redden her eyes and -swell her nose there, and she consoled herself by flirting outrageously -with everybody who would be flirted with. - -As the afternoon wore on, Cherrie began to experience that fatigue which -five or six hours' dancing in a blazing July sun is apt to engender, and -informed her partner in the quadrille she was roasted to death. The -partner--who was Mr. Charles Marsh, and who had been her most devoted -all day--was leaning against a stout elderly gentleman as against a -post, fanning himself with his straw wideawake, leisurely set that -headpiece sideways on his brown locks and presented his arm. - -"I thought you would come to that by-and-by, Miss Nettleby, in spite of -your love of dancing. Quadrilles are all very well in December, but I -can't say that I fancy them in the dog-days. Suppose we go down to the -shore and get a whiff of fresh air." - -Miss Nettleby put her fawn-colored kid-glove inside Mr. Marsh's -coat-sleeve, and poising her azure parasol in the other hand, strolled -with him to the beach. On their way, Nathalie, standing with Captain -Locksley, young McGregor, and a number of other gentlemen and ladies, -espied them, and her color rose and her blue eyes flashed at the sight. - -"Egad! I think they'll make a match of it!" laughed Locksley. "Charley -seems to be completely taken in tow by that flyaway Cherrie." - -Nathalie said nothing, but her brow contracted ominously as she turned -impatiently away. - -"Oh, that's nothing," said the Reverend Augustus Tod; "it's the fashion -to go with Cherrie, and Charley is ready to follow fashion's lead. The -little girl will settle down some day, I dare say, into a sensible, -hard-working fisherman's wife." - -Even Nathalie laughed at the idea of Miss Nettleby hard-working and -sensible; and that young lady and her escort sauntered leisurely on to -the breezy seashore. The sun was dipping behind the western waves, the -sky all flushed and radiant with the scarlet and golden glory of its -decline, the blue sea itself flooded with crimson radiance. Even Mr. -Marsh was moved to admiration of its gorgeous splendor. - -"Neat thing in the way of sunsets, Cherrie," he remarked, taking out a -cigar, and lighting it. - -"What a nice magenta color them clouds is!" said Miss Nettleby, -admiringly; "they would make a lovely dress trimmed with black braid. -And that mauve cloud over there with the yellow edge, I should like to -have a scarf of that." - -"Well," said Charley, "I can't get you the mauve cloud, but if there's a -scarf at all like it in Speckport you shall have it. By the way, -Cherrie, where did you get that chain?" - -"You didn't give it to me, anyhow," replied Miss Nettleby, tossing her -turban. "I might wait a long time for anything before I got it from -you." - -"I didn't know you wanted one, or I might. I wish you wouldn't take -presents from anybody but me, Cherrie." - -"From anybody but you!" retorted Cherrie, with scorn. "I'd like to know -the time you gave me anything, Charley Marsh?" - -"Come now, Cherrie, I don't want to be mean, but that's a little too -bad!" - -"I suppose you're hinting at that coral set you sent me last week?" said -Cherrie, in a resentful tone. "But, I can tell you, there's lots of -folks, not a thousand miles off, would be glad to give me ten times as -much if I would take it." - -"Don't take their gifts, Cherrie; there's a good girl; it's not -ladylike, you know; and some day you shall have whatever you want--when -I am rich and you are my wife, Cherrie." - -"The idea!" giggled Cherrie, her color rising, "your wife, indeed; I -think I see myself!" - -"Wouldn't you have me, Cherrie?" - -He was still smoking, and still looking at the sunset--not seeing it, -however. Poor Charley Marsh, light as was his tone, was exceedingly in -earnest. Miss Nettleby stole a glance at him from under the blue -parasol, not quite certain whether he were in jest or in earnest, and -her silly little heart beating a trifle faster than was its wont. - -"I suppose, Mr. Marsh," said the young lady, after a moment's -deliberation, thinking it best to stand on her dignity, "you think it a -fine thing to make fun of me; but I can tell you I ain't going to stand -it, if you are a doctor, and me only a gardener's daughter. I think you -might find something else to amuse you." - -"I'll take my oath, Cherrie," said Charley, throwing his cigar over the -bank, "I never was so much in earnest in all my life." - -"I don't believe it," said Miss Nettleby. - -"What's the reason you don't? Haven't I been going with you long enough? -What did you suppose I meant?" - -"I didn't suppose nothing at all about it. You aren't the only one that -pays attention to me." - -"No; but I don't think any of the others mean anything. I intend to -marry you, Cherrie, if you'll consent." - -Cherrie tossed her turban disdainfully, but in her secret heart she was -in raptures. Not that she meant to accept him just then, with Captain -Cavendish in the background; but neither had she the slightest intention -of refusing him. The handsome Englishman had given her a gold chain, to -be sure, but then he had also given her the cold shoulder all that day; -and if things did not turn out with him as she could wish, Charley Marsh -would do as a dernier resort. Cherrie liked Charley, and he could make -her a lady; and if she failed in becoming Mrs. Cavendish, it would be a -very nice thing to become Mrs. Marsh, and half the young ladies in -Speckport would be dying of envy. Cherrie thought all this in about two -seconds and a half. - -"Well, Cherrie, have you nothing to say?" inquired Charley, rather -anxiously. - -"Mr. Marsh," said Miss Nettleby, with dignity, remembering how the -heroine of the last novel she had read had answered in a similar case, -"I require time to pon--ponder over it. On some other occasion, when I -have seriously reflected on it, you shall have my answer." - -Mr. Marsh stood aghast for a moment, staring at the young lady, and then -went off into a fit of uproarious laughter. - -"Well," demanded Cherrie, facing round rather fiercely, "and what are -you laughing at, sir?" - -"Oh, I beg your pardon, Cherrie," said Charley, recovering from his -paroxysm; "but really you did that so well that I----" - -Charley came near going off again; but, seeing the black eyes flashing, -recovered himself. - -"Come, Cherrie, never mind Laura-Matilda speeches, but tell me, like a -sensible little girl, that you like me, and by-and-by will be my wife." - -"I'll do nothing of the sort!" cried Miss Nettleby, in a state of -exasperation, "either now or at any other time, if I don't choose. -You'll just wait for your answer, or go without." - -She sailed away as she spoke, leaving Charley too much taken aback, not -to say mortified, to follow her. - -"Hang it!" was Mr. Marsh's exclamation, as he turned in an opposite -direction; "the idea of getting such an answer from that girl! What -would Natty say? She would think it bad enough my proposing at all, but -to get such a reply." - -Yet, even in the midst of his chagrin, he laughed again at the -recollection of Miss Nettleby's speech--careless Charley, who never let -anything trouble him long. - -"She'll come to it, I dare say," he reflected, as he went along, "and I -can wait. I do like her, she's such a pretty little thing, and good, -too, in the main, though rather frivolous on the surface. Well, Miss -Rose, how are you enjoying yourself?" - -Miss Rose's fair, sweet face was rather a striking contrast after -Cherrie's, but Charley was not thinking of that, as he offered her his -arm. Cherrie in the distance saw the act, and felt a pang of jealousy. - -"He's gone off with that pale-faced school-mistress, now," she thought, -resentfully. "I dare say she'd be glad to catch him, if she could. Oh!" - -She stopped short with an exclamation half suppressed. She had come upon -Captain Cavendish leaning against a tall tree, and talking to Nathalie -Marsh. Another jealous pang pierced the frivolous heart, and--I am sorry -to tell it--she crept in close under the tree, with the blue parasol -furled, and--yes, she did--she listened. Listened for over twenty -minutes, her color coming and going, her breath bated, her hands -clenched. Then she fluttered hurriedly off, just in time to escape them, -as they walked away, plighted lovers. - -There was a little clump of cedar-bushes, forming a sort of dell, up the -side of the bank. Cherrie Nettleby fell down here in the tall grass, -dashing the blue parasol down beside her, crumpling the turban, soiling -the white feather, and smearing the pink dress, tore off the gold chain, -and burst into such a passion of spiteful, jealous, and enraged tears, -as she had never before shed in her life. To think that all her hopes -should have come to this; that the gold chain was only a glittering -delusion; all his pretty speeches and lover-like attentions only hollow -cheats, and Nathalie Marsh going to be his wife! Cherrie seized the -chain in a paroxysm of fury, as she thought of it, and hurled it over -the bank. - -"The hateful, lying, deceitful scamp," she passionately cried. "I hate -him, and I'll go and marry Charley Marsh, just for spite." - -Charley was not hard to find. He was playing quoits with a lot of other -young Speckportians; and Miss Catty Clowrie was standing gazing -admiringly on, and ready to talk to him between whiles. Cherrie tapped -him on the arm with her parasol, and looked shyly up in his face with a -rosy blush. But the shy look and the blush were exceedingly well got up, -and Charley dropped the quoits with a delighted face. - -"Cherrie! what is it? Have you made up your mind, then?" - -"Yes, Charley! You didn't believe I was in earnest that time, did you? I -do like you, and I will be your wife as soon as ever you like." - -Did Miss Catty Clowrie, standing unheeded by, with ears as sharp as -lances, hear this very straightforward avowal? She had flashed a keen, -quick glance from one to the other; had dropped her vail suddenly over -her face, and turned away. Neither noticed her. - -Charley was in raptures, and might have fallen on Miss Nettleby and -embraced her there and then, only that before that maiden had quite -finished speaking, Nathalie confronted them, her face haughty, her step -ringing, her voice imperious. - -"Charley, Mrs. Leroy is going home, and desires you to come immediately -and assist Mr. Blake." - -"Oh, bother!" cried Charley, politely, "let her get some of the other -fellows; I can't go." - -"Charley!" - -"Why can't she get McGregor, or some of the rest?" said Charley, -impatiently; "don't you see I'm playing quoits, Natty?" - -"I see you're doing nothing of the sort, sir, and I insist on you coming -this instant! Don't trouble yourself about Miss Nettleby, she has -legions of adorers here, who will only be too happy to attend her -home." - -Miss Marsh swept away like a young queen; her violet eyes flashing, her -perfect lips curling. Charley turned to follow, saying, hurriedly, as he -went: - -"I'll be back in half an hour, Cherrie, wait for me here." - -"Proud, hateful thing!" exclaimed Cherrie, apostrophizing the receding -form of Miss Marsh; "she looked at me that time as if she scorned to -touch me! Wait until I am her brother's wife, we will see who will put -on mistress." From where she stood, Cherrie could see the party for -Redmon come. Charley and Val Blake wheeled Mrs. Leroy in her chair of -state over the grass, that mummy having consented to be exhumed for the -occasion, and having been the chief curiosity and attraction of the -picnic. Nathalie walked on one side, and Midge on the other, but Captain -Cavendish did not make one of the party now, for the moment they were -out of sight, that gallant officer hurriedly walked deliberately up to -her. Cherrie tossed her turban again, and curled her lip suspiciously, -not deigning to notice him by so much as a glance. - -"Come, Cherrie, what's the matter?" he began, in a free and easy way; -"how have I got into disgrace?" - -"Oh, it's you, Captain Cavendish, is it?" said Cherrie, loftily, -condescending to become aware of his presence, "I don't know what you -mean." - -"Nonsense, Cherrie! What is the matter? Come, now, be reasonable, and -tell me what I have done." - -"You haven't done anything to me," quite frigidly, though; "how could -you?" - -"That's precisely what I want to know. Where is that chain I saw around -your neck a short time ago?" - -"In my pocket. You had better take it back again. I don't want it." - -Captain Cavendish stared. Miss Nettleby, grasping the parasol firmly, -though the sun had gone down, and the moon was rising, with a very -becoming glow in her cheeks, and bright, angry light in her eyes, -looked straight before her, and addressed empty space when she spoke. - -"There is some mystery here, and I am going to get at the bottom of it," -he said, resolutely; "Cherrie, let me go home with you, and see if we -cannot clear it up by the way." - -"With me?" said Cherrie, stepping back, and looking at him disdainfully; -"why, what would Miss Marsh say to that?" - -A light broke on the captain. - -"Miss Marsh! Why, what have I to do with Miss Marsh?" - -"A great deal, I should think, after what passed between you over there -on the beach." - -"Cherrie! where were you? Not listening?" - -"I was passing," said Miss Nettleby, stiffly, "and I chanced to -overhear. It wasn't my fault if you spoke out loud." - -Even Captain Cavendish stood for a moment non-plussed by this turn of -affairs. He had no desire his proposal to Miss Marsh should become -public property, for many reasons; and he knew he might as well have -published it in the Speckport Spouter, as let Cherrie find it out. -Another thing he did not want--to lose Cherrie; she was a great deal too -pretty, and he fancied her a great deal too much for that. - -"Cherrie, that was all an--an accident! I didn't mean anything! There -are too many people looking at us here, to talk; but, if you will go -home, I will explain by the way." - -"No," said Cherrie, standing resolutely on her dignity, but trying to -keep from crying, "I can't. I promised Mr. Marsh to wait for him." - -"Oh, confound Mr. Marsh! Come with me, and never mind him." - -"No, Captain Cavendish; I think I'll wait. Charley thinks more of me -than you do, since he asked me to marry him this afternoon, and I am -going to do it." - -Captain Cavendish looked at her. He knew Cherrie's regard for truth was -not the most stringent; that she would invent, and tell a fib with all -the composure in life, but she was palpably telling no falsehood this -time. He saw it in the triumphant flash of her black eyes, in the flush -of her face, and set his teeth inwardly with anger and mortification. -"How blessings brighten as they take their flight!" Never had Cherrie -Nettleby looked so beautiful; never had her eyes been so much like black -diamonds as now, when their light seemed setting to him forever. Captain -Cavendish believed her, and resolved not to lose her, in spite of all -the Charley Marshes in the world. - -"So Marsh has asked you to be his wife, has he? Now, Cherrie, suppose I -asked you the same question, what would you say?" - -"You asked Miss Marsh to-day, and I think that's enough." - -"I did not mean it, Cherrie. I swear I did not! I am fifty times as much -in love with you as I am with her." - -And Captain Cavendish was speaking truth. Humiliating as it is to say so -of one's heroine, the black-eyed grisette was a hundred times more to -his taste than the blue-eyed lady. Could they have changed places, he -would have married Cherrie off-hand, and never given one sigh to -Nathalie. It was the prospective fortune of that young lady he was in -love with. - -"Cherrie, you don't believe me," he said, seeing incredulity in her -face, "but I swear I am telling the truth. Let me prove it--give up -Charley Marsh and marry me!" - -"Captain!" - -"I mean it! Which of us do you like best--Marsh or I?" - -"You know well enough," said Cherrie, crying. "I like you ever so much -the best; but when I heard you asking Miss Natty, I--I----" here the -voice broke down in good earnest, and Cherrie's tears began to flow. - -Captain Cavendish looked hurriedly about him. The last rays of the -sunset had burned themselves out, and the moon was making for herself a -track of silver sheen over the sea. The crowd were flocking homeward, -tired out, and there was no one near; but in the distance his eagle eye -saw Charley Marsh striding over the dewy evening grass. Poor Charley! -The captain drew Cherrie's arm inside his own, and walked her rapidly -away. They were out on the Redmon road before either spoke again. - -"I did not mean one word of what I said to Miss Marsh. But I'll tell you -a secret, Cherrie, if you'll never mention it again." - -"I won't," said Cherrie. "What is it?" - -"I should like to share her fortune--that is, you and I--and if she -thinks I am in love with her, I stand a good chance. I should like to be -richer than I am, for your sake, you know; so you must not be jealous. I -don't care a straw for her, but for her money." - -"And you do care for me?" - -"You know I do! Are you ready to give up Charley, and marry me?" - -"Oh!" said Cherrie, and it was all she replied; but it was uttered so -rapturously that it perfectly satisfied him. - -"Then that is settled? Let me see--suppose we get married next week, or -the week after?" - -"Oh! Captain!" cried the enraptured Cherrie. - -"Then that is settled too. What a little darling you are, Cherrie! And -now I have only one request to make of you--that you will not breathe -one word of this to a living soul. Not a syllable--do you understand?" - -"Why? said Cherrie, a little disappointed. - -"My dear girl, it would ruin us both! We will be married privately--no -one shall know it but the clergyman and--Mr. Blake." - -"Mr. Blake? Val?" - -"Yes," said Captain Cavendish, gravely, "he shall be present at the -ceremony, but not another being in Speckport must find it out. If they -do, Cherrie, I will have to leave you forever. There are many reasons -for this that I cannot now explain. You will continue to live at home, -and no one but ourselves shall be the wiser. There, don't look so -disappointed; it won't last long, my darling. Let Charley still think -himself your lover; but, mind you, keep him at a respectful distance, -Cherrie." - -They reached the cottage at last, but it took them a very long time. -Captain Cavendish walked back to Speckport in the moonlight, smoking, -and with an odd little smile on his handsome face. - -"I'll do it, too," he said, glancing up at the moon, as if informing -that luminary in confidence. "There's a law against bigamy, I believe; -but I'll marry them both, the maid first, the mistress afterward." - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -HOW CAPTAIN CAVENDISH MEANT TO MARRY CHERRIE. - - -The clerk of the weather in Speckport might have been a woman, so fickle -and changeable in his mind was he. You never could put any trust in him; -if you did, you were sure to be taken in. A bleak, raw, cheerless, -gloomy morning, making parlor fires pleasant in spite of its being July, -and hot coffee as delicious a beverage as cool soda-water had been the -day before; a morning not at all suited for constitutionals; yet on this -cold, wet, raw, foggy morning Charley Marsh had arisen at five o'clock, -and gone off for a walk, and was only opening the front-door of the -little cottage as the clock on the sitting-room mantel was chiming nine. -Breakfast was over, and there was no one in the room but Mrs. Marsh, in -her shawl and rocker, beside the fire which was burning in the Franklin, -immersed ten fathoms deep in the adventures of a gentleman, inclosed -between two yellow covers, and bearing the euphonious name of "Rinaldo -Rinaldi." Miss Rose had gone to school, Betsy Ann was clattering among -the pots in the kitchen; the breakfast-table looked sloppy and littered; -the room, altogether dreary. Perhaps it was his walk in that cheerless -fog, but Charley looked as dreary as the room; his bright face haggard -and pale, his eyes heavy, and with dark circles under them, bespeaking a -sleepless night. Mrs. Marsh dropped "Rinaldo Rinaldi," and looked up -with a fretful air. - -"Dear me, Charley, how late you are! What will Doctor Leach say? Where -have you been?" - -"Out for a walk." - -"Such a hateful morning--it's enough to give you your death! Betsy Ann, -bring in the coffee-pot!" - -Betsy Ann appeared with that household god, and a face shining with -smiles and yellow soap, and her mistress relapsed into "Rinaldo Rinaldi" -again. Charley seemed to have lost his appetite as well as his spirits. -He drank a cup of coffee, pushed the bread and butter impatiently away, -donned his hat and overcoat, the former pulled very much over his eyes, -and set out for the office. - -Charley had enough to trouble him. It was not only Cherrie's desertion, -though that was enough, for he really loved the girl with the whole -fervor and strength of a fresh young heart, and meant to make her his -honored wife. He was infatuated, no doubt; he knew her to be illiterate, -silly, unprincipled, false and foolish, a little dressy piece of -ignorance, vanity, selfishness and conceit, or might have known it if he -chose; but he knew, too, she was a beautiful, brilliant, bewitching -little fairy, with good-natured and generous impulses now and then, and -the dearest little thing generally that ever was born. In short, he was -in love with her, and love knows nothing about common sense; so when he -had seen her walk off the previous evening with Captain Cavendish, and -desert him, he had leaned against a tree, feeling--heaven only knows how -deeply and how bitterly. Once he had started up to follow them, but had -stopped--the memory of a heavy debt contracted in Prince Street, owing -to this man, and hanging like an incubus about his neck, night and day, -thrust him back as with a hand of iron. He was in the power of the -English officer, beyond redemption; he could not afford to make him his -enemy. - -How that long morning dragged on, Charley never knew; certainly his -medical studies did not progress much. Poor and in debt, in love and -deserted, those were the changes on which his thoughts rang. A -sulky-faced clock, striking one, made him start. It was time to go home -to dinner, and he arose and went out. As he opened the shop-door, he -stopped short. Tripping gayly along the foggy and sloppy streets came -Cherrie herself, her dress pinned artistically up, to display a -brilliant Balmoral skirt, of all the colors of a dying dolphin; her -high-heeled boots clinking briskly over the pavement. Charley's foolish -heart gave a great bound, and he stepped impulsively forward, with her -name on his lips. - -"Cherrie?" - -Cherrie had not seen him until he spoke, and she recoiled with a scream. - -"Sir! Charley Marsh! how you scare me! I wish you wouldn't shout out so -sudden and frighten me out of my wits!" - -"You may spare your hysterics, Cherrie," said Charley, rather coldly; -"you could stand more than that if Captain Cavendish was in question." - -Cherrie laughed, and tripped along beside him with dancing eyes. She -liked Charley, though in a far less degree than the dashing and elegant -young officer, and was in a particularly good-natured state of mind that -morning. There was more than her liking for Charley to induce her to -keep good friends with him--the warning of the captain and her own -prudence. Cherrie, faithless herself, had no very profound trust in her -fellow-creatures. Until she was actually the captain's wife, she was not -sure of him; there is many a slip, she knew; and if he failed her, -Charley was the next best in Speckport. Therefore, at his insinuation, -she only tossed her turbaned head after her coquettish fashion, until -all her black curls danced a fandango, and showed her brilliant white -teeth in a gay little laugh. - -"Oh, you're jealous, are you?" she said. "I thought you would be!" - -"Cherrie!" - -"There, now, Charley, don't be cross! I just did it to make you jealous, -and nothing else! I was mad at you for going off the way you did!" - -"You know I could not help it!" - -"Oh, I dare say not. I'm nobody beside Miss Natty! So, when Captain -Cavendish came up and asked leave to see me home, I just let him! I -thought it wouldn't do you any harm to be a little jealous, you know, -Charley." - -Charley's hopes were high again; but his heart had been too deeply -pained for him to forget its soreness at one encouraging word. Something -wanting in Cherrie, he could not quite define what, had often struck him -before, but never so palpably as now. That want was principle, of which -the black-eyed young lady was totally devoid; and he was vaguely -realizing that trusting to her was much like leaning on a broken reed. - -Cherrie, a good deal piqued, and a little alarmed by his silence, looked -at him askance. - -"Oh, you're sulky, are you? Very well, sir, you can just please -yourself. If you've a mind to get mad for nothing, you may." - -"Cherrie," Charley said, quite gravely for him, "do you think you did -right last night? After promising to be my wife, to go off and leave me -as you did?" - -"I didn't, either!" retorted Cherrie; "it was you went off and left me." - -"That was no fault of mine, and I didn't go with another young lady. -Cherrie, I want you to promise me you will let Captain Cavendish see you -home no more." - -"I shall promise nothing of the sort!" cried Cherrie, with shrill -indignation. "Because I promised to marry you, I suppose you would like -me to live like a nun for the rest of my life, and not even look at any -other man. I'll just do as I did before, Mr. Charley Marsh; and if you -ain't satisfied with that, you may go and marry somebody else--Miss -Rose, or Miss Clowrie--she'd have you, fast enough!" - -"I don't want Miss Clowrie; I only want you, Cherrie; and if you cared -for me, you wouldn't act and talk as you do." - -Some of poor Charley's pain was in his voice and it touched the -coquette's frivolous heart. She stopped, at a dry-goods store, for an -encouraging word before entering. - -"You know very well, Charley, I like you ever so much--a great deal -better than I do any one else; but I can't help being pretty, and having -the young men after me, and I hate to be cross to them, too. Come up to -Redmon this evening, I haven't time to stop to talk now." - -With which the little hypocrite made a smiling obeisance, and darted -into the shop, leaving her lover to pursue his homeward way, a little -lighter in the region of the heart, but still dissatisfied and -mistrustful. - -The afternoon was as long and dreary as the morning. Charley sat in the -dismal little back-office, listening listlessly to the customers coming -in and out of the surgery, to buy Epsom-salts and senna, or hair-oil and -bilious pills; and the shopboy droning over a song-book, which he read -half aloud, in a monotonous sing-song way, when alone, staring vacantly -at the rotten leaves, and bits of chips and straw and paper fluttering -about the wet yard in the chill afternoon wind. And still the fog -settled down thicker, and wetter, and colder than ever; and when the -shopboy came in a little after six, to light the flaring gas-jet--it was -already growing dark--Charley arose, drearily, to go. - -"What a long day it has been!" he said, gaping in the boy's face; "it -seems like a week since I got up this morning. Where's the doctor?" - -"Up to Squire Tod's, sir. The old gentleman's took bad again with the -gout." - -The lamps were flaring through the foggy streets as he walked along, and -the few people abroad flitted in and out of the wet gloom, like shadowy -phantoms. Queen Street was bright enough with the illumination from -shop-windows, but the less busy thoroughfares looked dismal and -deserted, and the spectral passers-by more shadowy than ever. As he was -turning the corner of Cottage Street, one of these phantoms, buttoned up -in an overcoat, and bearing an umbrella, accosted him in a very -unphantomlike voice, and with a very unphantomlike slap on the shoulder. - -"How are you, Marsh? I thought I should come upon you here!" - -Charley turned round, and, with no particular expression of rapture, -recognized Captain Cavendish. - -"Good evening," he said, coldly; "were you looking for me?" - -The captain turned and linked his arm within his own. - -"I was. What became of you last night? We expected you at Prince -Street." - -"I made another engagement." - -"You will be there to-night, of course? I owe you your revenge, you -know." - -"Which means," said Charley, with a laugh, that sounded strange and -bitter from him, "you will get me some thirty or forty dollars more in -your debt!" - -"Talking of debt," said Captain Cavendish, in an indifferent -matter-of-fact tone, "could you oblige me with a trifle on account--say -twenty pounds?" - -Charley silently produced his pocketbook, and handed over the twenty he -had received from Nathalie a few days before. The nonchalant young -officer pocketed it as coolly as if it had been twenty pence. - -"Thanks! One often needs a trifle of this sort on an occasion. Is this -your house? Who is that playing? Not your sister?" - -They had halted in front of the cottage, and could hear the sound of the -piano from within. - -"It is Miss Rose, I presume," said Charley, in the same cold voice; -"will you come in?" - -"Not now. You will be up at Prince Street for certain then to-night?" - -Charley nodded, and entered the house. - -At her own door stood Miss Catty Clowrie. She was often standing there; -and though she returned the captain's bow, it was after Charley she -looked until he disappeared. There was no one in the sitting-room when -he entered; his mother's rocking-chair was vacant, and Miss Rose was -playing and singing in the parlor--touching the keys so lightly and -singing so sweetly that it seemed more an echo of the wind and waves -than anything else. The table was set for tea, and Betsy Ann was -scouring knives in the kitchen, humming some doleful ditty at her work. -There was a lounge under the window overlooking the bay, sullen and -stormy to-night. Charley flung himself upon it, his arm across the -pillow, his face lying in it, and listened in a vague and dismal way to -the music. The song was weird and mournful, truly an echo of the wailing -wind and sea. - -"Come to supper, ma'am!" at this juncture shrilly pealed the voice of -Betsy Ann at the foot of the stairs, to some invisible person above; -"Mr. Charley's here, and the biscuit is getting cold." - -The song died away, as if it had drifted out on the gale surging up from -the black bay, and Mrs. Marsh crept shivering down stairs. - -"Come in, Miss Rose," she said, looking in at the parlor door before -entering the room; "tea is ready, and Charley is here." - -Charley started up; and, as he did so, the front door unceremoniously -opened, and Nathalie, wrapped in a large shawl, and wearing a white -cloud about her head, stepped in, to the surprise of all. - -"Gracious me! Natty! is it you?" cried her mamma, in feeble -consternation, "whatever has taken you out such an evening?" - -"What's the matter with the evening?" said Nathalie, kissing her and -Miss Rose. "A little cold sea-fog is nothing new, that it should keep me -in-doors. Good evening, Charley." - -"It's not a good evening," said Charley; "it's a very bad one, and you -deserve to get your death of cold for venturing out in it. Did the old -lady send you?" - -"No, indeed! I had hard work to get off. Is tea ready, mamma? I have -had no dinner, and am almost famished." - -Mrs. Marsh was profuse in her sympathy. Another cup and plate were laid, -and the quartet sat down to tea. It was wonderful how Nathalie's bright -presence radiated the before gloomy room; the laughing light of her -violet eyes made sunshine of their own, and all her luxuriant golden -hair, falling loose and damp, in curls short and long around her face -and shoulders, never looked so much like silky sunbeams before. - -"How did you get on in school to-day?" she was asking Miss Rose; "I -could not get down. The picnic must have disagreed with Mrs. Leroy; for -I never saw her so cross." - -"I should say all the cake, and pastry, and nastiness of that sort she -devoured, would have disagreed with a horse," said Charley; "it was a -sight only to see Laura Blair cramming her." - -"I got on very well," answered Miss Rose, smiling at Charley's remark, -which was perfectly true; "but the day seems long, Miss Marsh, when you -do not visit us, and the children seem to think so too. I have got a new -music-pupil--little Vattie Gates." - -"You will make your fortune, Miss Rose, if you are not careful," said -Charley; "eight dollars per quarter from each of those music-pupils, -beside your school-salary. What do you mean to do with it all?" - -"I should say rather she will work herself to death," said Nathalie. "Do -you want to kill yourself, Miss Rose, that you take so many pupils?" - -"Dear me! I think it agrees with her," remarked Mrs. Marsh, languidly, -stirring her tea; "she is getting fat." - -Everybody laughed. Miss Rose was not getting very fat; but she certainly -had gained flesh and color since her advent in Speckport, though the -small face was still rather pale, and the small brow sometimes too -thoughtful and anxious. As they arose from table, Miss Clowrie came in -with her crotcheting to spend the evening, Natty went to the piano, Miss -Rose, with some very unfanciful-looking work in a dropsical -work-basket, sat down at the window to sew while the last gray ray of -daylight lingered in the sky, and Charley lounged on the sofa, beside -Catty. - -"What are you making, Miss Rose?" inquired Miss Clowrie, looking -curiously at the small black figure, drooping over the work, at the -window. Miss Rose laughed, and threaded her needle. - -"You needn't ask," said Nathalie; "clothes for all the poor in -Speckport, of course. Why don't you become a Sister of Charity at once, -Miss Winnie?" - -"I came very near it one time," smiled Miss Rose; "perhaps I may yet. I -wish I could." - -There was no mistaking the sincerity of her tone. Nathalie shrugged her -shoulders--to her it looked like wishing for something very dreary and -dismal indeed. The world seemed a very bright and beautiful place to the -heiress of Redmon that foggy summer night. - -"Why don't you become one, then?" asked Catty, who would have been very -glad of it; "I should think they would be pleased to get you." - -"I am not so sure of that; I would be no great acquisition. But just at -present there is a reason that renders it impossible." - -Of course, no one could ask the reason, though all would have liked to -know. When it grew too dark to sew or play, the lamp was lit, and they -had cards, and it was nine when Nathalie arose to go. - -"Couldn't you stay all night, Natty?" asked her mother; "it's dreadfully -foggy to go up to Redmon to-night." - -"If it were ten times as foggy, I should have to go. I don't mind it, -though, in company with Charley and an umbrella." - -She kissed them all good night, even Catty, in the happiness of her -heart; and, wrapped in her shawl and cloud, she took her brother's arm -and started. The fog was thicker, and wetter, and colder than ever; the -night as wretched a one for a walk as could well be imagined, and the -bleak sea wind blew raw in their faces all the way. - -"How confoundedly cold it is!" exclaimed Charley, "more like January -than July. You will perish, Natty, before we get to Redmon! You should -not have come out this evening." - -"I wanted to talk to you, Charley, on a very important matter indeed!" - -Charley stared at her grave tone, but it all flashed upon him directly. -Nathalie was used to talk to him more as a mother than a sister, in her -superior woman's wisdom, and Charley was accustomed to take her lectures -cheerfully enough; but in the damp darkness his face flushed -rebelliously now. - -He would not speak again, and his sister, after waiting a moment, broke -the silence herself. - -"It is about that girl, Charley?" - -"What girl?" inquired Mr. Marsh, rather sulkily. - -"You know well enough--Cherrie Nettleby." - -"Well, what of Cherrie Nettleby?" this time defiantly. - -"Charley, what do you mean by going with her as you do?" - -"Nathalie," said Charley, mimicking her tone, "what do you mean by going -with Captain Cavendish as you do?" - -"My going with Captain Cavendish has nothing whatever to do with it; but -if you want to know what I mean--I mean to marry him!" - -"Nathalie, I don't want you to have anything to do with that man," -Charley burst out passionately. "He is a villain!" - -"Charley!" - -"He is, I tell you! You know nothing about him--I do! I tell you he is a -villain!" - -"This is ungenerous of you, Charley," she calmly said; "it is cowardly. -Is not Captain Cavendish your friend?" - -"A friend I could throttle with the greatest pleasure in life!" -exclaimed Charley, savagely. - -"What has he done?" - -"More than I would like to tell you--more than you would care to hear! -All I have to say is, I would rather shoot you than see you his wife!" - -"You are slandering him!" said Nathalie, her passion rising in spite of -herself. "You are trying to baffle me; to keep me from talking of -Cherrie, but I'll not be put off. You cannot--you cannot mean to marry -that girl." - -"Natty look here," he said, more gently, "I don't want to be -disagreeable, but I cannot be dictated to in this! I am a man, and must -choose for myself. I have obeyed you all my life; but in this you must -let me be my own master." - -"You know what a name she has! She is the talk of all Speckport!" - -"Is Speckport ever done talking? Wouldn't it slander an archangel, if it -got the chance?" - -"But it is true in this instance--she is all that Speckport says--an -idle, silly, senseless, flirty, foolish, dressy, extravagant thing! She -has nothing in the wide world to recommend her but her good looks." - -"Neither has Captain Cavendish, if it comes to that!" - -"Charley, it is false! He is a gentleman by birth, rank, and education!" - -"Yes," said Charley, bitterly. "Nature did her best to make a gentleman -of him, but I know street-sweepers in Speckport ten times more of a -gentleman than he! I tell you he is corrupt to the core of his heart--a -spendthrift and a fortune-hunter! If you were Miss Marsh, the -school-teacher, as you were two or three years ago, he would as soon ask -Miss Jo Blake to be his wife as you!" - -"I don't doubt it," said Nathalie, quite calmly; "he may not be able to -afford the luxury of a penniless bride, and for all that be no -fortune-hunter. You can't shake my faith in him, Charley!" - -"You are blind!" Charley cried, vehemently. "I am telling you Heaven's -truth, Natty, with no other motive than your good!" - -"We will drop the subject," said Nathalie, loftily, "and talk of you and -Cherrie Nettleby!" - -"We'll do nothing of the sort," replied Charley, "resolutely go your own -way, Natty, if you will, and I will go mine! The one marriage can be no -madder than the other!" - -"And you will really marry this girl?" - -"I really will, if she will have me!" - -Nathalie laughed a low and bitter laugh. - -"Have you? Oh, there is little doubt of that, I fancy. Every one knows -how she has been running after you this many a day!" - -"But there is doubt of it. Your fine Captain Cavendish pursues her like -her shadow." - -"Charley, I will not listen to another word," cried Nathalie, -imperiously. "Your infatuation seems to have changed your very nature. -Why, oh why, has this girl crossed your path? If you wanted to marry, -why could you not have chosen some one else? Why could you not have -chosen Miss Rose?" - -Charley smiled under cover of the darkness. The question was absurd. Why -could she not have chosen any of her other suitors, all good and -honorable men? Why could she not have chosen Captain Locksley, young, -handsome, rich, and the soul of integrity. He did not say so, however, -and neither spoke again till the gate of Redmon was reached. - -"Good night," Nathalie briefly said, her voice full of inward pain. - -"Good night, Natty," Charley replied, "and God bless you and," lowering -his voice as he turned away "keep you from ever becoming the wife of -Captain Cavendish!" - -He walked on and entered the Nettleby cottage, where he found Cherrie in -the parlor alone, bending over a novel. Cherrie's welcome to her lover -was uncommonly cordial, for she was ennuied nearly to death. She had -expected Captain Cavendish all the afternoon, and had been disappointed. -Had she known that officer was making arrangements for their speedy -nuptials, she might perhaps have forgiven him; and at that very moment, -whilst talking to Charley of the time when she should be Mrs. Marsh, -everything was arranged for her becoming, the very next week, Mrs. -Captain George Cavendish. - -About five o'clock of that foggy July afternoon, Mr. Val Blake sat in -his private room, in the office of the Speckport Spouter, his -shirt-collar limp and wilted with the heat, his hair wildly disheveled, -and his expression altogether bewildered and distracted. The table at -which he sat was, as usual, heaped with MS., letters, books, buff -envelopes, and newspapers; and Mr. Blake was poring over some sheets of -white ruled foolscap, closely written in a very cramp and spidery hand. -It was a story from "the fascinating pen of our gifted and talented -contributor 'Incognita,' whose previous charming productions have held -spellbound hosts of readers," as the Spouter said, in announcing it the -following week, and the title of the fascinating production was the "Ten -Daughters of Dives." Miss Laura Blair had just finished reading the -"Seven Loves of Mammon," by Mr. George Augustus Sala; hence the title -and the quaint style in which the thing was written. So extremely quaint -and original indeed was the style, that it soared totally beyond the -comprehension of all ordinary intellects, beginning in the most -disconcertingly abrupt manner, and ending with a jerk, while you were -endeavoring to make out what it was all about. - -"It's of no use trying," he murmured, pensively, "the thing is beyond me -altogether. I'll put it in, hit or miss, or Laura will never forgive me; -and I dare say the women will make out what it means, though I can't -make top or tail of it." - -There was a tap at the door as he arrived at this conclusion, and Master -Bill Blair, in a state of ink, and with a paper cap on his head, labeled -with the startling word "Devil" made his appearance, and announced that -Captain Cavendish was in the office and wanted to see him. - -"Tell him to come in," said Val, rather glad than otherwise of a chat by -way of relaxation after his late severe mental labor. - -The captain accordingly came in, smoking a cigar, and presented his -cigar-case the first thing to Val. That gentleman helped himself, and -the twain puffed in concert, and discussed the foggy state of the -weather and the prospects of the "Spouter." As this desultory -conversation began to flag, and the weed smoked out, Mr. Blake -remembered he was in a hurry. - -"I say, captain, you'll excuse me, won't you, if I tell you I haven't -much time to spare this evening. We go press to to-morrow, and I shall -have to get to work." - -Captain Cavendish came out of a brown study he had fallen into, and lit -another cigar. - -"I won't detain you long, Val. I know you're a good fellow, and would do -me a favor if you could." - -Val nodded and lit a cigar also. - -"I want you to do me the greatest service, and I shall be forever your -debtor." - -"Right," said Val; "let us hear what it is." - -"You won't faint, will you? I am going to be married." - -"Are you?" said Mr. Blake, no way discomposed. "To whom?" - -"To Cherrie Nettleby." - -Val did start this time, and stared with all his eyes. - -"To what? You're joking, ain't you? To Cherrie Nettleby!" - -"Yes, to Cherrie Nettleby, but on the cross you know, not on the square. -Do you comprehend?" - -"Not a bit of it. I thought you were after Natty Marsh all the time." - -Captain Cavendish laughed. - -"You dear old daisy, you're as innocent as a new-born babe. I'm not -going to marry Cherrie in earnest, only sham a marriage, and I cannot do -it without your help. The girl is ready to run away with me any day; but -to make matters smooth for her, I want her to think, for a while at -least, she is my wife. You understand now?" - -"I understand," said Val, betraying, I regret to say, not the slightest -particle of emotion at this exposé of villainy; "but it's an -ugly-looking job, Cavendish." - -"Not as bad as if she ran away with me in cold blood--for her I -mean--and she is sure to do it. You know the kind of girl pretty little -Cherrie is, Blake; so you will be doing her rather a service than -otherwise in helping me on. If you won't help, you know I can easily get -some one who will, and I trust to your honor to keep silent. But come, -like a good fellow, help me out." - -"What do you want me to do? Not to play clergyman?" - -"No; but to get some one--a stranger to Cherrie and I--consequently a -stranger in Speckport, who will tie the knot, and on whose discretion -you may depend. You shall play witness." - -Val put his hands in his pockets and mused. - -"Well," he said, after a pause, "it's a horrid shame, but rather than -that she should run off with you, without any excuse at all, I'll do it. -How soon do you want the thing to come off?" - -"As early as possible next week--say Tuesday night. It will be better -after night, she won't be so apt to notice deficiencies." - -Val mused again. - -"Cherrie's a Methodist herself; at least, she sits under the teaching of -the Reverend Mr. Drone, who used to be rather an admirer of hers before -he got married. The chapel is in an out-of-the-way street, and I can -feign an excuse for getting the key from Drone. Suppose it takes place -there?" - -Captain Cavendish grasped his hand, and gave it a friendly vise-like -grasp. - -"Val, you're a trump! You shall have my everlasting gratitude for this." - -"Next Tuesday night, then," responded Val, taking the officer's rapture -stoically enough. "And now I must beg you to leave me, for I have -bushels of work on hand." - -Captain Cavendish, expressing his gratitude once more, lounged into the -drear and foggy night. How lucky for the peace of the community at -large, we cannot read each other's thoughts. The young captain's ran -something after this fashion: - -"I always knew Blake was a spoon, but I never thought he was such an -infernal scoundrel as this. Why, he is worse than I am; for I really am -in love with the girl, and he does his rascality without a single -earthly motive. Well, it's all the better for me. I'll have Cherrie as -sure as a gun." - -Mr. Blake, in the seclusion of his room, leaned back in his chair, and -indulged himself in a low and quiet laugh, before commencing work. - -"I said I owed you one," he soliloquized, throwing away the stump of his -second cigar, "for leading Charley Marsh astray, and now's the time to -pay you. If I don't serve you out this go, Captain Cavendish, my name's -not Valentine Blake!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -IN WHICH THE WEDDING COMES OFF. - - -The foggy day had ended in a stormy night. Black clouds had hurried -wildly over the troubled face of the sky; a dull peal of thunder, -booming in the distance, had been its herald. Rain, and thunder, and -lightning had it all its own way until about midnight, when the sullen -clouds had drifted slowly, and the moon showed her fair, sweet face in -her place. A day of brightest sunshine, accompanied by a high wind, had -been the result; and in its morning refulgence, Captain Cavendish was -sauntering along the Redmon road. Not going to the big brick house, -surely: Nathalie had told him the picnic day of Mrs. Leroy's growing -dislike to visitors, and the hint had been taken. Perhaps it was only -for a constitutional, or to kill time; but there he was, lounging in the -teeth of the gale, and whistling an opera air as he went. The Nettleby -cottage, fairly overrun with its luxuriance of sweetbrier, and climbing -roses, and honeysuckle, was a pretty sight, and well worth looking at, -and perhaps that was the reason Captain Cavendish stood still to admire -it. The windows, all wreathed with crimson and pink roses, were open; -and at one sat Cherrie, in all her beauty, like a picture in a frame. -The crimson July roses about her were not brighter than her cheeks at -the sight of him, and her starry eyes flashed a welcome few men would -not have coveted. How prettily she was dressed, too--knowing well he -would come, the gypsy!--in pink muslin; her bare neck and arms rising -plump and rounded out of the gauziness; all her shining jetty curls -flashing about, and sprays of rosebuds twisted through them. How the -pale, blue-eyed, snowy-skinned, fair-haired prettiness of Nathalie -dimmed in the young officer's ardent imagination beside this tropical, -gorgeous loveliness of the sunny South. He opened the little gate, and -was at the window before she arose. - -"My black-eyed fairy? You look perfectly dazzling this morning. Who is -in?" - -"No one," said Cherrie, showing her pearl-white teeth in her deepening -smile. "The boys are off fishing; father's up working in Lady Leroy's -garden, and Ann's gone to town for groceries." - -"Allah be praised! I may come in, then, my darling, may I not?" - -Cherrie's answer was to throw the door wide open; and the young officer -entered and took a seat, screened from the view of passers-by by the -green gloom of the vines. That green twilight of roses and honeysuckles -was just the thing for lovers to talk in; and Captain Cavendish had a -great deal to say to Cherrie, and to all he said Cherrie had nothing to -give but rapturous assents, and was altogether in the seventh heaven, -not to say a few miles beyond that lofty elysium. It was all arranged at -last as the young gentleman wished, and, lolling easily on the sofa, he -went off on another tack. - -"Are you often up in Redmon House, Cherrie?" he asked, stringing the -black ringlets about his fingers. - -Cherrie, seated on a low stool beside his couch, nestled luxuriously, -with her head on his knee. - -"Pretty often, George." It had come to that, you see. "Why?" - -"Because--because I think you might find out something for me. I have a -fancy, do you know, that the old lady doesn't over and above like me." - -"I know she don't," said Cherrie, decidedly. "She can't bear you, nor -Midge either. They scold Miss Natty like sixty every time you go there." - -"The deuce they do? Suppose she fancied--mind, I only say fancied--I -wanted to marry Miss Natty, do you suppose she would consent?" - -"Consent! She'd pack Miss Natty bag and baggage out of the house, more -likely. She'd die before she'd give in, would Mrs. Leroy." - -Captain Cavendish fell to musing, and mused so long that Cherrie glanced -up from under her black lashes, wondering what made his handsome face -look so grave. - -"What are you thinking about?" she pouted; "Miss Natty, I suppose." - -"No, my little black-eye. I was thinking how you could do something for -me." - -"What is it?" - -"Couldn't you listen; couldn't you manage to hear sometimes what Mrs. -Leroy says to Natty, when they are talking of me?" - -Miss Nettleby was not at all shocked at this proposal; but I suppose the -reader is. I know very well it is disgraceful in one calling himself a -gentleman, and altogether dishonorable; but Captain Cavendish's ideas of -honor, and yours and mine, are rather different. Had any one called him -a liar or a swindler, or thrown a decanter at his head, or a tumbler of -wine in his face, at the mess-table, or elsewhere, he would have -considered his honor forfeited forever, if he did not stand up to shoot -and be shot at by the offending party, as soon as possible afterward. In -one word, not to mince matters, Captain Cavendish, handsome and elegant -as he was, was an infidel and a villain, and you may as well know it -first as last. - -"I dare say I can," was Cherrie's reply to his proposal. "I am up there -often enough, and I know all the ins and outs of the place. I'll do what -I can." - -Captain Cavendish rewarded her, as lovers do reward one another, I am -told, and shortly after arose to take his leave. Miss Nettleby escorted -him to the gate. - -"You won't forget Tuesday night, Cherrie," he said, turning to go. - -"It's not very likely," said Cherrie; "but I'll see you again before -that--won't I, George?" - -"Of course, my darling! Take care of yourself, and good-bye." - -He sauntered up the road at an easy pace; and Cherrie lingered at the -gate, admiring his tall and elegant figure, and thinking, with an -exultant heart beating, what a happy and lucky girl she was. Forget -Tuesday night! the night that was to make her his bride. She quite -laughed aloud at the thought, in the glee of her heart. He was still in -sight, this Adonis of hers, and she still lingered at the gate watching -him. Lingering there, she saw something not quite so pleasant as she -could wish. Miss Nathalie Marsh, in a dress of blue barege, a black silk -mantle, and a pretty white hat trimmed with azure ribbon, its long white -plume tipped with blue, and set jauntily on her flowing sunny curls; -came down the avenue from the house, opened the gate, and stepped into -the road, and confronted her (Cherrie's) beloved. Cherrie saw him start -eagerly forward, but could not hear what he said, and perhaps for her -peace of mind it was just as well. - -"My darling Nathalie! the fortunate chance I have been wishing for has -come then! Are you going to town?" - -Nathalie, smiling and blushing, shyly held out her hand. - -"Good morning, Captain Cavendish! I----" but he interposed -reproachfully. - -"Captain Cavendish, from you, Nathalie; I thought you knew my name." - -"Perhaps I have forgotten it," she laughed. "What are you doing up here, -George," a little hesitatingly, though, and with a vivid flush, not half -so glibly as Miss Nettleby had uttered it ten minutes before. "Were you -going to call?" - -"Hardly--remembering the hint you gave me the other day. But though I -could not storm the castle of my fairy-princess, it was pleasant, at -least, to reconnoiter the outside, and I hoped, too, for the lucky -chance that has arrived. Am I to have the happy privilege of escorting -you into town?" - -Nathalie cast a half-apprehensive glance behind, but Midge was not on -the watch. Had she known how dearly she was to pay for that walk--for -that escort, rather--she had hardly answered with that happy, careless -laugh. - -"Yes, you may have that happy privilege! What did you do with yourself -all day yesterday in the fog?" Cavendish thought of what he had been -doing in Val's office, but he did not tell Miss Marsh. Cherrie was still -standing by the cottage gate, and they were passing it now, looking like -a black-eyed queen, under the arches of scarlet runners and -morning-glories. - -"A pretty place," said Captain Cavendish, "and that girl at the gate has -a beautiful face. They tell me she has turned half the heads in -Speckport." - -Nathalie's fair brow contracted; not in jealousy, she never thought of -that, but at the recollection of Charley. She made no answer. Her -attention was attracted by a lady who was coming toward them. A young -lady, nicely dressed, who stepped mincingly along, with a sweet smile on -her sullen face. - -"What brings Catty Clowrie up this way, I wonder?" exclaimed Nathalie, -bowing as she passed, while the captain lifted his hat. "It is ever so -long since I have seen her on this road before. I hope she is not going -to Redmon." - -But Miss Clowrie was going to Redmon. She had not started with that -idea; it had never entered her head until she met the lovers; but she -turned and looked after them with a smile of evil menace on her face. - -"I hate her!" was her thought. "I hate her! But for her I might have had -him once. Now he is that Nettleby girl's beyond hope. I wish Miss Marsh -joy of her sister-in-law." - -"That Nettleby girl" still stood at the gate. Miss Clowrie bestowed the -light of her smile upon her in passing, still deep in thought. "They say -in Speckport Lady Leroy has forbidden Captain Cavendish the house, and -threatens to disinherit Natty if she keeps his company. Perhaps she does -not know of this. I think I'll go up and tell her. One good turn -deserves another." - -Midge answered the young lady's knock, and admitted her to the presence -of Lady Leroy. That mummy she found in her usual state of wrappings, and -very ready for a little gossip. - -"Why don't you go out more, Mrs. Leroy," insinuated Catty; "it would do -you good, I am sure." - -"No, it wouldn't!" snapped the old lady. "It does me harm. I hain't got -over that picnic yet." - -"But I should think you would find it very lonely here, with Nathalie -away so much. I hear she spends most of her time in town of late." - -"So she does," Lady Leroy screamed. "She will go in spite of me. If it -ain't the school, it's a party or a picnic--something or other; but -she's gallivanting all the time." - -"I met her just now," remarked Catty, in a careless way, "with Captain -Cavendish. He had been waiting for her, I think, at the gate." - -"What?" shrieked Lady Leroy, "who with, or who did you say?" - -"Captain Cavendish," repeated Miss Clowrie, looking surprised. "I -thought you said they were engaged! At least, every one says they are." - -Lady Leroy fell back, gasping, clawing the air in her struggle with her -ten talon-like fingers. Catty, quite alarmed, started up to assist her. -Lady Leroy grasped her by the wrist with a fierce grip. - -"You're sure of this? You're sure of this?" she huskily whispered, still -gasping. "You're sure she was walking with him? You're sure she is -engaged to him?" - -"I am sure she was walking with him," said Catty; "and every one says -she is engaged to him; and what every one says must be true. It's very -strange you did not know it." - -Lady Leroy "grinned horribly a ghastly smile." "I do know it now! I told -her not to go with him--I told her not to go with him--and this is the -way she obeys me!" - -She fell to clawing the air again, in a manner so very uncomfortable to -look at, that Miss Clowrie arose, with some precipitation, to go. - -"They say he is a fortune-hunter and very extravagant, and goes after -her because she is your heiress; but I'm sure I don't know. Good -morning, Mrs. Leroy. I am glad to see you looking so well." - -With which the fair Miss Clowrie bowed herself out, smiling more than -Midge had ever seen her before, and quite laughing, in fact, when she -got out of doors. - -"I think I have paid a little of my debt, Miss Natty," she thought. -"I'll pay it all, my dear, I hope, before either of us die." - -In the silent solitude of her lonely room, Lady Leroy had ample time to -nurse her wrath before the return of her ward. It was nearly noon before -that young lady reached home, her pretty face glowing with her rapid -walk. - -"Midge," was her first breathless question, "has Catty Clowrie been here -this morning?" - -Midge answered in the affirmative, and Nathalie's heart sank. All the -way up-stairs she was preparing herself for a violent outburst of wrath; -but, to her astonishment, Lady Leroy was quite tranquil. She glanced -very hard at her, it is true, and her fingers were clawing empty air -very viciously, but her voice was not loud nor angry. - -"You're very late, aren't you?" she said. "What kept you?" - -"I ran down to see mamma. Miss Rose told me she was not very well; but I -hurried home as fast as I could. I'll make out those bills now." - -"Let the bills wait awhile," said the old lady. "I have something to -tell you." - -This was an ominous commencement, and Nathalie looked at her in some -dread. - -"Who was it you walked into town with this morning?" she asked, glaring -harder than ever. - -Catty had told, then. All the blood in Nathalie's body seemed blazing in -her face, as she answered: - -"It was Captain Cavendish. I chanced to meet him near the gate, and I -could not very well help his walking back to town with me." - -"Didn't you promise me," said Lady Leroy, still speaking with -astonishing calmness, but clawing the air fiercely with both hands, -"when I forbade you going with him, that you would walk with him no -more?" - -"No," said Nathalie. "I said he would come here no more, and neither he -shall." - -"Until I am dead, I suppose," said the old woman, with a laugh that was -very unpleasant to hear, "and you have all my money. Answer me one -question, Natty. Are you engaged to him? Don't tell a lie." - -"No," said Nathalie, proudly, "I am not in the habit of telling -deliberate lies. I am!" - -Lady Leroy gave a shrill gasp, her fingers working convulsively, but the -spasm was over in a moment. She sat up again; and Nathalie, hurriedly -and imploringly, went on: - -"Dear Mrs. Leroy, don't be angry! Indeed, you misjudge Captain -Cavendish; he is a good and honorable man, and respects you much. Dear -Mrs. Leroy, consent to our engagement and I will be the happiest girl in -the world!" - -She went over and put her arms round the mummy's neck, kissing the -withered face. The old woman pushed her away with another of her -unpleasant laughs. - -"There--there, child! do as you please. I knew you would do it anyway, -only I won't have him here--mind. I won't have him here! Now, get to -work at them bills. What's the matter with your mother?" - -"Sick headache," said Nathalie, chilled, she scarcely knew why, by the -old woman's manner. "She wanted me to stay with her this afternoon; but -I told her I was afraid you could not spare me." - -Mrs. Leroy mused a few moments, while Nathalie wrote, and then looked -up. - -"I'll spare you this afternoon, Natty, since your mother is sick. You -can take the bills in with you and collect them. If you are back by -nine, it will do." - -Nathalie was so amazed, she dropped her pen and sat staring, quite -unable to return a word of thanks, and not quite certain she was not -dreaming. - -"Get on, get on!" exclaimed Lady Leroy, in her customary testy tone. -"You'll never have the bills done at that rate." - -Nathalie finished the bills mechanically, and with a mind far otherwise -absorbed. Then she went to her room, and put on her hat and mantle for -another walk to Speckport; but all the time that uneasy feeling of doubt -and uncertainty remained. Mrs. Leroy had acted so strangely, had been so -ominously quiet and unlike herself, and had not consented. Nathalie came -in dressed for town, and bent over her, until her long bright curls -swept the yellow old face. - -"Dear Mrs. Leroy!" she pleadingly said, "I cannot feel satisfied until -you actually say you agree to this engagement. Do--do, if you love your -Natty, for all my happiness depends upon it. Do say you consent, and I -will never offend you again as long as I live?" - -Lady Leroy glared up at her with green, and glittering, and wicked old -eyes. - -"If I don't consent, will you break off, Natty?" - -"You know I cannot. I love him with all my heart. Oh, Mrs. Leroy! -remember you were once young yourself, and don't be hard!" - -Looking at that dry and withered old antediluvian, it was hard to -imagine her ever young--harder still to imagine her knowing anything -about the fever called love. She pushed Nathalie impatiently away. - -"Get along with you, and don't bother!" was her cry. "I told you to have -your way, and you ought to be satisfied. You won't give in to me, but -you'd like me to give in to you--wouldn't you? Go along, and don't -torment me!" - -When Mrs. Leroy's cracked voice grew shrill and piercing, and her little -eyes gleamed greenish flame, Nathalie knew better than to irritate her -by disobedience. She turned to go, with a strange sinking of the heart. - -"I will be back by nine," she said, simply, as she quitted the room. - -Miss Nettleby, seated at her cottage door, under the roses and -sweetbrier, industriously stitching on some gossamer article to be worn -next Tuesday evening, looked up in some surprise at sight of Miss Marsh -on her way to Speckport, for the second time that day. - -"Going back to town, Miss Natty?" she called out, familiarly. - -Miss Natty's answer was a cold and formal bow, as she passed on. Cherrie -dropped her work and started up. - -"I'll go to the house and have a talk with Granny Grumpy herself before -she comes back. Perhaps I may find out something. I wonder what sort of -humor she is in." - -Lady Leroy was in uncommonly serene humor for her. Before Nathalie had -been ten minutes gone, she had shouted for Midge; and that household -treasure appearing, with sleeves rolled up over her elbows, and in a -very soapy and steamy state, had desired her to array herself in other -garments, and go right away into Speckport. - -"Go into Speckport!" cried Midge, in shrill indignation. "I'll see you -boiled alive first, ma'am, and that's the long and short of it. Go into -town, wash-day, indeed! What do you want in town, ma'am?" - -"I want Mr. Darcy--that's what I want!" vehemently replied her mistress. -"I want Mr. Darcy, you ugly little imp; and if you don't go straight -after him, I'll heave this at your head, I will!" - -"This" was a huge black case bottle, which trifle of glass the lady of -Redmon brandished in a manner that made even Midge draw back a few paces -in alarm. - -"I want Mr. Darcy on important business, I do!" screamed Lady Leroy. -"And tell him not to let the grass grow under his feet on the way. Be -off, will you?" - -"Why didn't you tell Miss Natty?" sulkily said Midge. - -"Because she isn't coming back till nine o'clock, that's why; and I -can't wait. Well, what do you want, young woman?" - -This last polite interrogation was addressed to Miss Nettleby, who stood -smiling in the doorway, in all the splendor of her charms. - -"I just ran up to see how you were," said Cherrie. "If you want any -errand done in the town, Mrs. Leroy, I'll go. I can walk faster than -Midge, you know." - -"So she can," cried Midge; "let her go, ma'am; I won't." - -With which Midge waddled off, making the hall quake with her airy tread. -Mrs. Leroy looked with unusual graciousness at the young lady. - -"Will you go, Cherrie, and be quick about it. Tell Darcy to hurry; you -can drive back with him, you know." - -Cherrie wanted nothing better, and was off like a dart, scenting a -secret, and determined to get at the bottom of it. - -"What does she want with her lawyer, I wonder?" soliloquized Cherrie, on -the road. "I'll find out. Miss Natty's out of the way, and Midge will be -down in the kitchen. I'll find out." - -Mr. Darcy was one of the best lawyers in the town, and was Lady Leroy's -man of business ever since her advent in Speckport. Cherrie found him in -his office--a handsome and gentlemanly old man, with gray hair, -whiskers, and mustache, and a clear, bright eye. - -"What can the old lady want?" he wondered, aloud, putting on his hat; -"she didn't tell you, I suppose? Will you drive back with me, Miss -Cherrie?" - -Miss Cherrie consented, and they had a very pleasant drive together, the -old gentleman chaffing her about her beaux, and wanting to know when she -was going to stop breaking hearts, and get married. Cherrie did not say -"next Tuesday," she only laughed, and desired to be set down at her own -gate. - -There she watched the lawyer out of sight, and then went deliberately -after him. Not to the front door, however, but to a back window she knew -of, easily lifted, through it, up-stairs on tiptoe, and into Nathalie's -room, which she locked on the inside. Nathalie's room adjoined Lady -Leroy's, and the wall being thin, the conversation of the lawyer and the -old woman was distinctly audible. Cherrie sat down on the floor, with -her ear glued to the wall, and listened. It was a prolonged and excited -talk, the lawyer angrily protesting, Mrs. Leroy angrily determined; -and it ended in Mr. Darcy's yielding, but grumblingly, and -still under protest. Cherrie had fairly held her breath while -listening--astonishment and delight pictured on her face. - -There was a long silence; Mr. Darcy was writing. In half an hour his -task was completed, and he read it aloud to the mistress of Redmon. -"That will do," said Lady Leroy, "I'm glad it's over." - -"Do you want that paper witnessed? Call Midge." - -Mr. Darcy opened the door, and shouted through the darkness for Midge, -as Captain Cavendish had once done before. Midge made her appearance, as -soapy and steamy as ever. - -"Write your name here," said Mr. Darcy, abruptly pointing to the place. - -"What is it?" inquired Midge. - -"That's no affair of yours, is it? Sign it, will you?" - -Midge took the pen as if it weighed half a ton or so, set her head very -much on one side, thrust her tongue a little out of one corner of her -mouth, and with much labor and painstaking, affixed a blotted -autograph--Priscilla Short. - -"That will do," said Mr. Darcy; "we want another. Call in old -Nettleby--he can write." - -Midge, casting a parting look, of much complacence at her performance, -departed on her errand, and old Nettleby coming in shortly after, -affixed another blotted signature. Mr. Darcy dispatched him about his -business, folded the document, put it in his pocket-book, and took his -hat and cane to go. On the threshold he paused. - -"This has been done under the influence of anger, Mrs. Leroy," he said; -"and you will think better of it, and send me word to destroy it before -long. I consider it most unjust--exceedingly unjust--altogether -unjustifiable! Good afternoon, ma'am." - -Cherrie waited in her hiding-place until she heard the hall door close -after him, then stole noiselessly out, down-stairs, through the window, -and gained her own home, unobserved. - -What had she heard? Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, her whole -manner strangely excited. She could not keep still--she walked -ceaselessly to and from the gate, straining her eyes in the direction of -Speckport. - -"Why don't he come! Why don't he come!" she kept repeating, hurriedly. -"Oh, what will he say to this?" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -AFTER THE WEDDING. - - -Ann Nettleby, busy in the culinary department, never remembered seeing -her restless sister so exceedingly restless as on this afternoon. When -the clock struck six, and old Mr. Nettleby plodded home from his day's -work, and the two young Mr. Nettleby's came whistling from town, and tea -was ready, Ann came out to call her to partake. But Cherrie impatiently -declined to partake; and still waited and watched, while the sunset was -burning itself out of the purple sky, and the cinnamon roses drooped in -the evening wind. The last amber and crimson flush was paling behind the -blue western hills, when he, so long waited for, came up the dusty road, -twirling a cane in his hand, and smoking a cigar. The unspeakable beauty -and serenity of the summer twilight was no more to him than to her who -watched at the vine-wreathed gate. A handsome man and a pretty -girl--each was far more to the taste of the other than all the beauty of -sky and earth. - -Right opposite the cottage were the dark, silent cedar woods. The moment -he came in sight, Cherrie opened the gate, motioning him to follow, -struck into the narrow footpath, winding among the woods. Captain -Cavendish followed, and found her sitting on a little knoll, under the -tree. - -"I have been watching for you this ever so long," she breathlessly -began; "I thought you would never come! I have something to tell you, -and I daren't tell you in the house, for father and the boys are there." - -Captain Cavendish leaned against a tree, puffed his cigar, and looked -lazily down at her. - -"Well, petite, what is it?" - -"Oh, it's something dreadfully important. It's about Miss Marsh." - -The young captain threw away his cigar, and took a seat beside Cherrie, -interested at once. He put his arm round her waist, too, but this is -by-the-way. - -"About Miss Marsh? Have you been listening?" - -Cherrie gave him an account how she had gone for Mr. Darcy, and hidden -afterward in Nathalie's room. - -"My clever little darling! And what did you hear?" - -"You never could guess! O my goodness," cried Cherrie, clasping her -hands, "won't Miss Natty be in a passion, when she finds it out." - -"Will she, though? Let us hear it, Cherrie." - -"Well," said Cherrie, "you know Miss Natty was to be heiress of Redmon, -and have all Lady Leroy's money when she dies?" - -"Yes! well?" - -"Well, she isn't to be any longer! Lady Leroy made a new will this -afternoon, and Miss Natty is disinherited!" - -Captain Cavendish started with something like an oath. - -"Cherrie! are you sure of this?" - -"Certain sure!" said Cherrie, with a look and tone there was no -doubting. "I heard every word of it--her telling him so first, and him -reading the will afterward and father and Midge signed it!" - -"The--devil!" said Captain Cavendish between his teeth; "but what put -such a freak in the old hag's head?" - -"You!" said Cherrie. - -"I!" - -"Yes--just you! She told Mr. Darcy Natty was engaged to you, and would -not give you up, all she could say; so she meant to disinherit her. She -said Nathalie should never know, unless she married you before she was -dead--if she didn't, she shouldn't find it out until she was in her -grave, and then you would desert her when you found out she was poor, -and Nathalie would be rewarded for her disobedience!" - -Captain Cavendish's handsome face wore a scowl so black, and the oath he -swore was so dreadful, that even Cherrie shrank away in something like -terror. - -"The old hag! I could throttle her if I had her here! Cherrie, who did -she leave her money to?" - -"To her brother--or, in case of his death, to his heirs; and five pounds -to Natty to buy a mourning ring." - -"Did you hear her brother's name?" - -"Yes, but I forget! It was Harrington, or Harrison, or something like -that. Mr. Darcy scolded like everything, and said it was unjust; but -Lady Leroy didn't seem to mind him. Isn't it good I listened?" - -"Cherrie! Cherrie! Cherrie!" called Ann Nettleby, "Where are you, -Cherrie? There's somebody in the house wants you!" - -"I must go!" said Cherrie, rising. "You stay here, so Ann won't see you. -Will you be up to-morrow?" - -"Yes," said Captain Cavendish; and Cherrie flitted away rapidly in the -growing dusk. For once he was glad to be rid of Cherrie--glad to be calm -and think, and the late-rising moon was high in the sky before he left -the wood, and walked back to Speckport. - -Cherrie's visitor turned out to be Charley Marsh, who received the -reverse of a cordial welcome from his fickle-minded lady-love, who was -more than a little provoked at his shortening her interview with one she -liked better. She seated herself by the window, with her eyes fixed on -the cedar wood, rapidly blackening now, waiting for her lover to emerge; -but when his tall dark figure did at length stride out through the dark -path, night had fairly fallen, and it was too late to see what -expression his face wore. - -Whatever the young Englishman's state of mind had been on leaving the -wood that night, it was serene as mood could be when, next morning, -Sunday, Miss Nettleby, _en grande tenue_, gold chain and all, made her -appearance in Speckport, and met him as she turned out of Redmon road. -Miss Nettleby was going to patronize the cathedral this morning, -confirmation was to take place, with all the magnificent and poetical -ceremonies of the Catholic Church, and Cherrie would not have missed it -for the world. Neither would Captain Cavendish, who went partly from -curiosity, partly to kill time, partly to show himself in full uniform, -and partly to hear Nathalie Marsh play and sing. Out of the great organ -she was drawing such inspiring strains as Captain Cavendish thought he -had never heard before; rolling out in volumes of harmony over the ears -of people below, and grand and grateful were the notes the instrument -gave forth to her master-hand. In front of the altar all the youthful -aspirants for confirmation were seated, the girls robed in snowy white, -and wearing vails and wreaths on their bowed heads, like young brides. -But now the bishop, in mitre and chasuble, with a throng of attendant -priests, in splendid vestments, preceded by a score of acolytes in -scarlet soutanes, and white lace surplices, bearing candles and crozier, -are all on the altar, and the choir have burst forth as with one voice, -into the plaintive cry "Kyrie Eleison," and pontifical high mass has -begun. High over all that swelling choir, high, clear and sweet, one -soprano voice arises, the voice of the golden-haired organist: "Gloria -in Excelsis!" Something in the deep solemnity of the scene, in the -inspiring music, in the white-robed and flower-crowned girls, in the -silent devotion of the thousands around him, stirred a feeling in the -soul of the man, that he had never felt since, in early boyhood, before -he knew Eton or Voltaire, he had knelt at his mother's knee, and -learned there his childish prayers. He forgot, for a brief while, his -wickedness and his worldliness, forgot the black-eyed girl by his side, -and the blue-eyed girl whose voice vibrated through those lofty aisles, -and, with dreamy eyes, and a heart that went back to that old time, -listened to the sermon of the aged and white-haired priest, grown gray -in the service of that God whom he, a poor atom of the dust, dared -deride. It was one of those moments in which the great Creator, in his -infinite compassion for his lost sheep, goes in search of us to lead us -back to the fold, in which our good angel flutters his white wings about -us, and tries to lift us out of the slime in which we are wallowing. But -the sermon was over, the benediction given, the last voluntary was -playing, and the vast crowd were pouring out. Captain Cavendish took his -hat and went out with the rest; and before he had fairly passed through -the cathedral gates was his old, worldly, infidel self again, and was -pouring congratulations and praise into the too-willing ears of Nathalie -Marsh, on her admirable performances, while Charley went home with -Cherrie. - -All that day, and the next, and the next, Captain Cavendish never came -near Redmon, or the pretty cottage where the roses and sweetbriers grew; -but Mr. Johnston, a pleasant-spoken and dapper young cockney, without an -h in his alphabet, and the captain's confidential valet, came back and -forth with messages, and took all trouble and suspicion off his master. -Neither had Miss Nettleby made her appearance in Speckport; she had -spent the chief part of her time about the red-brick house, but had -learned nothing further by all her eavesdropping. In a most restless and -excited state of mind had the young lady been ever since Monday morning, -in a sort of inward fever that grew worse and worse with every passing -hour. She got up and sat down, and wandered in and out, and tried to -read, and sew, and net, and play the accordion, and threw down each -impatiently, after a few moments' trial. She sat down to her meals and -got up without eating anything; her cheeks burned with a deep, steady -fever-red, her eyes had the unnatural brightness of the same disease, -and Ann stared at her, and opined she was losing her wits. - -In rain and gloom the wedding-day dawned at last. Cherrie's fever was -worse--she wandered from room to room of the cottage all day long, the -fire in her eyes and the hectic on her cheek more brilliant than ever. -The sky was like lead, the wind had a warning wail in its voice, and the -rain fell sullenly and ceaselessly. But the rain could not keep the girl -in-doors; she went out and wandered around in it all, returning dripping -wet, three or four times, to change her drenched clothes. The girls had -the cottage to themselves; old Nettleby was out in the shed, mending his -gardening-tools, and the boys were in Speckport. The dull day was ending -in a duller and rainier twilight, and Ann Nettleby was bustling about -the tidy kitchen, getting tea, and wondering if Cherrie had gone to bed -in her room up-stairs, she had been so quiet for the last half-hour. She -did not go up to see; but set the tea to draw, laid the table, and lit -the lamp. The wet twilight had now closed in, in a black and dismal -night, when Ann heard a carriage stop at the gate, and, a moment after, -a loud knock at the front door. Before she could open it, some person -without did so, and Ann saw Mr. Val Blake, wrapped in a mackintosh, and -waiting at the gate a cab, with a lighted lamp. - -"How are you, Ann?" inquired Mr. Blake. "Is Cherrie in?" - -"Yes, here I am!" a voice called out, and Cherrie herself came running -down stairs, her heart beating so fast and thick she could hardly speak. - -"I thought you would like a drive this evening, Cherrie," said Val; -"it's wet, but you won't mind it in the cab, and I'll fetch you back -before ten. Run and wrap up and come along." - -It was not the first time Ann Nettleby had heard such impromptu -invitations given and accepted, and it was none of her business to -interfere. Cherrie was off like a flash, and down again directly, in -out-door dress, her vail down, to hide her flushed and excited face. - -Ann Nettleby, standing in the cottage-door, watched the cab drive away -through the rainy night, and then, closing the door, went back to the -kitchen, to give her father his tea. She took her own with him, setting -the teapot back on the stove, to keep hot for her brothers. Old Nettleby -fell asleep immediately after tea, with his pipe in his mouth, and Ann -went back to her netting, wondering once more what Cherrie was about, -and wishing she could have such fine times as her elder sister. Could -she only have seen in some magic mirror what was at that moment going on -in a humble little Wesleyan chapel in a retired street of the town! The -building dimly lighted by one flickering candle; a minister, or what -looked like one, in white neckcloth and clerical suit of black; the tall -and distinguished man, wearing a shrouding cloak, and the little girl, -who trembled and quivered so fearfully, standing before him, while he -pronounced them man and wife; and that other tall young man, with his -hands in his coat-pockets, listening and looking on! Could Ann Nettleby -only have seen it all, and known that her pretty sister was that very -night a bride! - -Val Blake was certainly the soul of punctuality. As the clock on the -kitchen-mantel was striking ten, the cab stopped once more at the -cottage-door, and she heard his unceremonious voice bidding Cherrie -good-night. Ann opened the door, and Cherrie, her vail still down, -brushed past her without saying a word, and flitted up the staircase to -her own room. - -It was half an hour later when Ann Nettleby's two brothers came, -dripping like water-dogs, home from town; and Ann having admitted them, -went yawningly up-stairs to bed. - -"I say, father," said Rob Nettleby, pulling off his wet jacket, "was -there company up at Redmon to-day?" - -"No," replied the old man. "Why?" - -"Oh, because we met a carriage tearing by just now, as if Old Nick was -driving. I wonder what it was about?" - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -MINING THE GROUND. - - -Miss Cherrie Nettleby was not a young lady of very deep feeling, or one -likely to be long overcome by romantic emotion of any sort. Therefore, -before a week stood between her and that rainy July night, she was all -her own self again, and that night seemed to have come and gone out of -her life, and left no trace behind it. She was Cherrie Nettleby still, -not Mrs. Captain Cavendish; she lived in the cottage instead of the -handsome suite of apartments the elegant young officer occupied in the -best hotel in Speckport. She flaunted in the old gay way through her -native town, and held her usual evening levee of young men in the -cottage-parlor as regularly as the evening came round. It did seem a -little strange to her at first that marriage, which makes such a change -in the lives of other girls, should make so little in hers. She never -doubted for a single second that she was really and legally his wife, -and Val Blake kept his own counsel. The captain told her that he would -resign his commission or exchange into the first homeward-bound -regiment; and meantime she was to be a good girl and keep their secret -inviolably. She was to encourage Charley Marsh, still--poor Charley! -while he every day played the devoted to Nathalie. - -Cherrie's wedding night had been nearly the last of July. The crimson -glory of an August sunset lay on the climbing roses, the sweetbrier and -honeysuckle arches of the cottage, and was turning its windows into -sheets of red gold. The sun, a crimson globe, was dropping in an -oriflamme of indescribable gorgeousness behind the tree-tops; and at all -this tropical richness of light and coloring, Cherrie, leaning over her -father's garden-gate, looked. - -There were not many passers-by to look at that hot August evening; but -presently up the dusty road came a young man, well-dressed and -well-looking. Cherrie knew him, and greeted him with a gracious smile, -for it was Mr. Johnston, Captain Cavendish's servant. Mr. Johnston, with -a look of unqualified admiration at her dark, bright face, took off his -hat. - -"Good-evening, Miss Nettleby. Ain't it shocking 'ot? Been to the picnic -to-day?" - -Cherrie nodded. - -"'Ad a good time, I 'ope. Weren't you nearly melted with the 'eat?" - -"Yes, it was warm," said Cherrie; "got anything for me?" - -"A letter," said Mr. Johnston, producing the document, "which he'd 'ave -come himself honely hold Major Grove hinvited 'im to dinner." - -Cherrie eagerly broke open the envelope and read: - - "DEAREST:--Meet me to-night, at half-past eight, in the cedar dell, - without fail. Destroy this as soon as read. - - "G. S." - -Cherrie tore the note into atoms, and strewed them over the grass. - -"There was to be a hanswer," insinuated Mr. Johnston. - -"Tell him yes," said Cherrie; "that is all." - -Mr. Johnston took off his hat once more, and himself immediately after. -Ann Nettleby, at the same moment, came to the door to tell Cherrie tea -was ready; and Cherrie went in and partook of that repast with her -father, sister, and brothers. - -"Did you hear, boys," said old Nettleby, "that Lady Leroy has sold -Partridge Farm?" - -"Sold Partridge Farm!" repeated Rob. "No! has she, though? Who to?" - -"To young Mr. Oaks, so Midge tells me; and a rare penny she'll get for -it, I'll warrant you." - -"What does Oaks want of it, I wonder?" said his other son. "He isn't -going to take to farming." - -"Oaks is the richest fellow in Speckport," said Rob Nettleby; "he has -more money a great deal than he knows what to do with, and he may as -well lay it out in property as at the gaming-table." - -"Does he gamble?" asked Cherrie, helping herself to bread and butter. - -Her brother laughed significantly. - -"Doesn't he, though? You may find him and that Captain Cavendish all -hours of the day and night in Prince Street." - -"Is Captain Cavendish a gambler?" said Ann; "that's bad for Miss Natty. -They say they're going to be married." - -Cherrie smiled to herself, and Rob went on speaking. - -"It's bad for Miss Nathalie, for that Cavendish is a villain, for all -his fine airs and graces, and is leading her brother to the devil. I met -him and young McGregor coming from Prince Street last night, and they -hadn't a leg to put under them--either one." - -"Drunk?" said Cherrie, stirring her tea. - -"Drunk as lords, the pair of 'em. I helped them both home, and found out -afterward how it was. They had gone with Cavendish to the gaming-house -as usual, had lost heavily also, as usual, and, excited and maddened, -had drank brandy until they could hardly stand. Young McGregor will -fleece his father before he stops; and where Marsh's money comes from, I -can't tell." - -"You ought to tell Miss Natty, Rob," said his father. "I should not like -to see her throw herself away on such a man, such a handsome and -pleasant-spoken young lady as she is." - -"Not I," said his son, getting up; "she wouldn't thank me, and it's none -of my business. Let Charley tell her, if he likes--a poor fellow like me -has no call to interfere with fine ladies and gentlemen." - -Cherrie, with a little disdainful toss of her black curls, but -discreetly holding her tongue, went into the front room and seated -herself with a novel at the window. She read until a quarter past eight, -and it grew too dark to see; then, rising, she wrapped herself in a -plaided shawl and crossed the deserted road unobserved. Cedar dell, the -place of tryst, was but a few yards off--the green hollow in the woods -where Cherrie had told the captain of the result of her eavesdropping; a -delightful place, shut in by the tall, dark trees, with a carpet of -velvet sward, and a rustic bench of twisted boughs. Cherrie sat down on -the bench and listened to the twittering of the birds in their nests, -the restless murmuring and swaying of the trees in the night-wind, and -watched the blue patches of sky and the pale rays of the new moon -glancing in and out of the black boughs. All the holy beauty of the pale -summer night could not lift her heart to the Creator who had made -it--she was only waiting for the fall of a well-known step, for the -sound of a well-known voice. Both came presently. The branches were -swept aside, a step crashed over the dry twigs, a pale and handsome -face, with dark eyes and mustache, under a broad-brimmed hat, looked in -the white moonlight through the opening, and the expected voice asked: - -"Are you there, Cherrie?" - -"Yes, George," said Cherrie composedly, "Come in." - -Captain George Cavendish came in accordingly, embraced her in very -husbandly fashion, and sat down beside her on the bench. The gloom of -the place and the hat he wore obscured his face, but not so much but -that the girl could see how pale it was, and notice something strange in -his voice and manner. - -"Is there anything the matter?" she asked. "Did you want anything very -particular, George?" - -"Yes," he said, in a low, impressive voice, taking both her hands in -his, and holding them tightly. "I want you to do me the greatest service -it may ever be in your power to render me, Cherrie." - -Cherrie looked up at his white, set face, feeling frightened. - -"I will do whatever I can for you, George. What is it?" - -"You know you are my wife, Cherrie, and that my interests are yours now. -Wouldn't you like I should become rich and take you away from this -place, and keep you like a lady all the rest of your life?" - -Yes--Cherrie would decidedly like that, and gave him to understand -accordingly. - -"Then you must take an oath, Cherrie--do you hear?--an oath to obey me -in all things, and never reveal to living mortal what I shall tell you -to-night." - -Now, Cherrie, thinking very little of a falsehood on ordinary occasions, -held an oath to be something solemn and sacred, and not to be broken, -and hesitated a little. - -"Perhaps it is something hard--something I can't do. I feel afraid to -take an oath, George." - -"You must take it! It is not a matter of choice, and I will ask nothing -you can't do. You must only swear to keep a secret." - -"Well, I'll try," said Cherrie, with a sigh, "but I hate to do it." - -"I dare say you do!" he said, breaking into a slight smile; "it is not -in your line, I know, to keep secrets, Cherrie; but at present there is -no help for it. You know what an oath is, don't you, Cherrie?" - -"Yes." - -"And you swear never to reveal what I am about to say to you?" - -"Yes," said Cherrie, her curiosity getting the better of her fear. "I -swear! What is it?" - -Was it the gloom of the place, or some inward struggle, that darkened so -his handsome face. The silence lasted so long after her question, that -Cherrie's heart began to beat with a cold and nameless fear. He turned -to her at last, holding both her hands in his own, and so hard that she -could have cried out with the pain. - -"You have sworn, Cherrie, to help me. Say you hope you may die if you -ever break that oath. Say it!" - -The girl repeated the frightful words, with a shiver. - -"Then, Cherrie, listen, and don't scream. I'm going to rob Lady Leroy -to-morrow night." - -Cherrie did not scream; but she gave a gasping cry, and her eyes and -mouth opened to their widest extent. - -"Going to rob Lady Leroy," repeated Captain Cavendish, looking at her -fixedly, and magnetizing her with his powerful glance, "to-morrow night; -and I want you to help me, Cherrie." - -"But--but they'll put you in prison for it," gasped Cherrie, all aghast. - -"No, they won't, with your help. I mean they shall put somebody else in -prison for it; not through any dislike to him, poor devil, but to avert -suspicion from myself. Will you help me, Cherrie? Remember, you have -sworn." - -"I will do what I can," shivered poor Cherrie, "but oh! I am dreadfully -scared." - -"There is no need--your part will be very easy, and to-morrow afternoon -you shall leave Speckport forever." - -Cherrie's face turned radiant. - -"With you, George! Oh, I am so glad! Tell me what you want me to do, and -see if I don't do it." - -"That is my good little wife. Now then for explanations. Do you know -that Lady Leroy has sold Partridge Farm?" - -"To Mr. Tom Oaks--yes, and that he is coming up to-morrow to pay her -eight thousand pounds for it." - -"Who told you?" - -"Father and the boys were talking about it at tea. George, is that the -money you're going to steal?" - -"It is. I am deucedly hard-up just at present, Cherrie, and eight -thousand would be a godsend. Now, my dearest, you must be up at the -house when Oaks comes, and find out where the money is put." - -"I know where she always keeps the money," said Cherrie; "and she's sure -to put this with the rest. It is in that black japanned tin box on the -stand at the head of her bed." - -"Very well. You see, I must do it to-morrow night, for she never would -keep so large a sum in the house; it will go into the bank the day -after. The steamer for Halifax leaves to-morrow night at eleven o'clock, -and I shall go to Halifax in her." - -"And take me with you?" eagerly asked Cherrie. - -"No; you must go in another direction. Until our marriage is made -public, it never would do for us to go together, Cherrie. Let me see. -You told me once you had a cousin up in Greentown, who wanted you to -visit her, did not you?" - -"Yes--Cousin Ellen." - -"Well, there is a train leaving Speckport at half-past five in the -afternoon. You must depart by that, and you will be in Greentown before -nine. Take care to make your departure as public as possible. Go into -Speckport early in the morning, and bid everybody you know good-bye. -Tell them you don't know how long you may be tempted to stay." - -"Yes," said Cherrie, with a submissive sigh. - -"All but one. You must tell Charley Marsh a different story." - -"Charley! Why, what's Charley Marsh got to do with it?" - -"A good deal, since I mean he shall be arrested for the robbery. I hate -to do it, but there is no help for it, Cherrie. You told me the other -day that he was getting desperate, and wanted you to elope with him." - -"So he did," said Cherrie. "He went on dreadfully; said he was going to -perdition, and you were dragging him down, but he would take me from you -if he could. He wanted me to go with him to the United States, and we -would be married in Boston." - -"And you--what is this you told him, Cherrie?" - -"I told him I would think about it, and give him his answer in a day or -two." - -"Very well. Give him his answer to-morrow morning. Call at the office, -and tell him you consent to run away with him, but that, to avoid -suspicion for a few days, you are going to give out you are off on a -visit to your cousin in Greentown. That you will actually start in the -cars, but will step quietly out at the first station, which is only -three miles from town, and that you will walk back and get to Speckport -about dark. You understand, Cherrie? You are not really to do this, only -to tell Marsh you will." - -"Yes," said Cherrie, looking hopelessly bewildered. - -"Tell him to come to Redmon between eight and nine, to call at your -cottage first, and if you are not there, to go to Lady Leroy's and wait -there as long as he can. If you are not there before the house is -closed, he is to wait in the grounds for you in front of the house until -you do come. I will enter by that back window you showed me, Cherrie, -and the probability is Charley will wait all night, and, of course, will -be seen by several people, and actually suspected of the robbery." - -"It seems a pity, though, don't it?" said Cherrie, her woman's heart -touched for poor Charley. - -"If he is not suspected, I will be," said Captain Cavendish, sternly. -"Remember your oath." - -"I remember. Is there anything else?" - -"Yes; you must send him a note in the afternoon. Ann will fetch it for -you. To-morrow is Thursday, and at eight in the morning the steamer -leaves for Boston." - -"Here," said the young man, putting his hand in his pocket and producing -a slip of paper, "is a draft of the note you are to send him, written in -pencil. Copy it word for word, and then tear this up. Listen, and I will -read it." - -More from memory than the pale moon's rays glancing through the woods, -Captain Cavendish read: - - "DEAR CHARLEY:--I forgot to tell you this morning, when I consented - to elope with you, that you had better go down to the steamboat - office to-day and secure staterooms, so that we may conceal - ourselves as soon as we go on board. You can pay for this out of - that money; it will do us more good than it ever would do that - miser of a Lady Leroy. Ever yours, - - "CHERRIE NETTLEBY." - -"What money?" inquired Cherrie. "What money is he to pay for the -staterooms out of?" - -"Oh, I forgot. When you see him in the morning, give him this," -producing a bank note. "I know he has not a stiver, and I got this from -Oaks myself yesterday. It is for ten pounds, and Oaks's initials were -scrawled on it, as he has a fashion of doing with all his bills. Tell -him Lady Leroy gave it to your father in payment, and he presented it to -you. Charley will take it; he is too hard up to be fastidious. Your note -will, no doubt, be found upon him, and convict him at once." - -"There's another thing," said Cherrie. "When Charley's arrested and my -name found to that note, they'll think I knew about the robbery, and -come up to Greentown after me. What should I do then?" - -"That is true," said the captain, thoughtfully. "Perhaps, after all, -then, you had better not go to your cousin's. Go on to Bridgeford; it is -thirty miles further up, and a quiet out-of-the-way place, where no one -ever stops, hardly. There is one hotel there, where you can stay quietly -for a few days, and then slip off and get board in some farmer's house. -Call yourself Miss Smith, and write to me when you are settled, telling -all the particulars. Disguise your hand in writing the address, and I -will run up and see you as soon as I safely can, and settle our future -plans. Now, you are sure you remember and understand all I have been -saying?" - -"Yes," said Cherrie; "but, oh, dear me! I feel just as nervous and as -scared! What will they do to Charley? Maybe they'll hang him!" - -"Not the least fear of it. If they put him in prison, I'll try and get -him clear off. You say they always go to bed for certain at nine o'clock -at Redmon house?" - -"At nine to a minute; but Lady Leroy always locks her door, nights. How -will you get in?" - -Captain Cavendish smiled. - -"If it all was as easy as that, it would be a simple affair. Don't look -so discouraged, my darling black eyes. With eight thousand pounds in my -pocket, and the prettiest little girl in wide America as my wife, I will -be off to merry England, and you and I will forget this land of fog and -fish. I'm off now, Cherrie and perhaps it may be two or three weeks -before I shall see you again, so take care of yourself. Here are eight -sovereigns to pay your expenses; and be sure you write to me from -Bridgeford." - -He got up, but Cherrie clung to him, crying: - -"Oh, I am afraid! O George, I am afraid I will never see you again." - -"Little simpleton," he said, giving her a parting caress, "what can -happen if you do your part bravely? If you fail, then, indeed, we will -never meet again." - -Cherrie's tears were falling fast now. - -"I will not fail; but--but----" - -"But what, my darling?" - -"When you go to Halifax, perhaps you will never come back; perhaps you -will never come to Bridgeford." - -"Cherrie, you are a goose! Don't you know I am in your power, and that I -must come back? Come, stop crying now, and give me a kiss, and say -good-bye. It won't be long, you know." - -One other parting caress, and then he was gone. - -Cherrie listened until the echo of his footsteps died out in the -distance, and then she threw herself on her face in the wet grass, -heedless of her white dress, and cried like a spoiled child whose doll -has been taken away. She was frightened, she was excited, she was -grieved, but she was not remorseful. There was little compunction in her -heart for the part she was to play--betraying the man who loved her and -trusted her. It was the old story of Delilah and Samson over again. - -The clocks of Speckport striking ten, and clearly heard this still -summer night, had ceased before she came out, her cheeks pale, her eyes -red with weeping. There was a dull circle round the moon, foreboding a -coming storm; but what was there to give warning to poor Charley Marsh -of the storm about to burst upon him? - -Ann Nettleby was at the door waiting patiently for Cherrie. She turned -crossly upon her when she appeared. - -"I wish you would learn to come home earlier, and not keep folks out of -their beds all night. What were you doing in the woods?" - -"Crying," said Cherrie, quite as crossly as her sister. "I'm tired to -death of this dull place. I'll go off to Greentown to-morrow." - -"I wish to mercy you would; the rest of us would have some peace then. -Did you expect Charley Marsh to-night?" - -"No; why?" - -"He's been here, then, and only just gone. Come in, and let me lock the -door." - -Cherrie went up to her room, but not to sleep. She sat by the window, -looking out on the quiet road, the black woods, and the moon's sickly, -watery glimmer, while the long hours dragged slowly on, and her sister -slept. She was thinking of the eventful to-morrow--the to-morrow that -was to be the beginning of a new life to her. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -SPRINGING THE MINE. - - -When Mr. Robert Nettleby informed his family circle that Charley Marsh -was going to--well, to a certain dark spirit not to be lightly named in -polite literature, he was about right. That young gentleman, mounted on -the furious steed of extravagance, was galloping over the road to ruin -at the rate of an express train. - -Not alone, either; young McGregor, Tom Oaks, Esquire, and some dozen -more young Speckportians, were keeping him company--and all ran nearly -abreast in the dizzy race. - -The terrible terminus--Disgrace, Misery, and Sudden Death--looked very -near to some of them, very near, indeed, to the brother of Nathalie. He -had taken to hard drinking of late, as a natural sequence of the other -vice; gamblers must drink to drown remorse, and it was no unusual thing -now for him to be helped home by pitying friends, and carried up-stairs -to bed. How the mother cried and scolded; how the sister wept in -passionate shame and sorrow in the silence of her own room; how he, the -prodigal, suffered after, Heaven only knows, but it never came to -anything. - -Next day's splitting headache, and insuperable shame and remorse, must -be drowned in brandy; that fatal stimulant brought the old delusive -hopes--he must go back, he must win. - -He was over four hundred dollars indebted to Captain Cavendish now, -without possessing one dollar in the world, or the hope of one, to pay -him. He had ceased to ask money from Nathalie--she had no more to give -him, and Alick McGregor and Tom Oaks found enough to do to foot their -own bills. - -Strange to say, the primary mover of this mischief, the arch-tempter -himself, George Percy Cavendish, remained unsuspected, save by a few, -and went altogether unblamed. Captain Cavendish seldom lost his money, -never his temper; never got excited, was ever gentlemanly and cool, -though half the men about him were mad with liquor and losses, and ready -to hold pistols to their heads and blow their miserable brains out. - -Nathalie, humbled to the very dust with shame for Charley, never -suspected her betrothed lover--never for one second; in her eyes he was -the incarnation of all that was honorable and good. - -It was in one of his fits of rage and remorse that Charley had asked -Cherrie to fly with him. Not that he expected to atone by that; but, far -from Speckport, which enchanting town was fast becoming hateful to him, -and with her as his wife, he hoped to begin a new life, away from those -he had disgraced. He hated Captain Cavendish with a furious and savage -hatred, and it would be a demoniac satisfaction to tear Cherrie from -him. For, with the eyes of jealousy, Charley saw his game, though all -Speckport was blind. Miss Nettleby, at her old game of fast and loose, -had put him off indefinitely. And, casting bitter reproaches to Fate, -after the manner of Dick Swiveller, Charley Marsh let himself drift -with the rapid current, bearing him along to a fearful end. - -The day that came after the night spent by Cherrie and Captain Cavendish -in the cedar dell was one of scorching, broiling heat and sunshine. The -sun was like a wheel of red flame, the sky of burnished brass, the bay a -sea of amber fire. - -Through all the fiery glare of this fierce August morning, went Charley -Marsh to the office of Dr. Leach. No longer the Charley Marsh who had -been the life of Mrs. McGregor's party, that foggy May evening when -Captain Cavendish had first appeared in Speckport, but a pale, -sunken-cheeked, hollow-eyed vision, with parched and feverish lip, and -gaze that shrunk from meeting that of his fellow-men, his temples seemed -splitting, his eyes ached with the blinding gleam, and he could have -cursed the heat in his impious impatience and suffering. He glanced down -toward the shining bay, and thought, if it had only looked blue and -cool, instead of being a lake of fire, he could have gone and lain down -in its pleasant waters, and escaped forever from the miseries of this -life, at least. - -"Charley!" - -The voice at his elbow made him bound. He turned and saw Cherrie -Nettleby, her shining ebon ringlets freshly curled, her black eyes dark -and dewy, her rosy cheeks bright and unwilted, her dress airy and -cool--unflushed, unheated; basking, like a little salamander, in the -genial sunlight, and wearing the smile of an angel. Charley could scarce -believe his eyes. - -"You here, Cherrie!" he cried, "this blazing day. Have you been in -Speckport all night?" - -"No, I got a drive in this morning, and, Charley," dropping her wicked -eyes, "I came to see you!" - -They were near the office. The surgery looked cool and shady, and -Charley opened the door and ushered the young lady in. The shopboy had -the place to himself, and he retreated to a distant corner, with a -knowing grin, at sight of the pair. Dr. Leach was rarely at home. People -would persist in devouring new potatoes, and green peas, and cucumbers, -and string-beans, and other green stuffs, and having pains, and cramps, -and cholera afterward, and the doctor was fairly run off his legs--that -is to say, his horse was. - -"How nice and cool it is in here," said Cherrie; "it's the hottest day -came this summer, I think. What a hurry you were in leaving, last night, -Charley." - -"Hurry! It was past ten." - -"Well, I came in a few minutes after, and was so mad when I found you -were gone. I got such a jawing for being out! I won't stand it," cried -Miss Cherrie, flying out in an affected temper; "I just won't!" - -"Stand what?" - -"Why, being scolded and put upon the way I am! It's dreadful dull, too, -and I am getting tired of the place altogether; and so, I am going to -leave it." - -"With me, Cherrie?" - -"I don't care if I do! I'm off this very day; I'll not stand it a minute -longer--so, if you want me to go with you, you haven't much time to -spare!" - -Charley grasped both her hands, his pale face lighting with ecstasy; and -the shopboy behind the pestle-and-mortar grinned delightedly at the -scene, although he could not hear a word. - -"My darling Cherrie!" Charley cried, "you have made me the happiest -fellow alive! Wait until to-morrow, and we will be off in the boat to -Boston." - -Miss Nettleby fell to musing. - -"Well, I don't care if I do," she said, at length. "I should like to see -Boston, and the trip in the steamboat will be nice. But, look here, -Charley, I've gone and told our folks and everybody else that I was -going to Greentown, in this afternoon's train, and it won't do to back -out." - -"But you must back out, Cherrie! You cannot go to Greentown and to -Boston, both." - -Cherrie put on her considering-cap again, only for a moment, though, and -then she looked up with a sparkling face. - -"I have it, Charley! The nicest plan! This evening, at half-past five, -I'll go off in the cars, and every one will think I've gone to -Greentown, so my absence to-morrow won't be noticed. I'll get out at the -first station, three miles off, and walk back home, but won't go in. -About eight to-night you call at our house, pretending you don't know -about my being off, you know; and when our Ann tells you I have gone, -you go up to Lady Leroy's and stay till bed-time. Then wait around the -grounds in front of the house, and I'll come to you about ten. I can -stop in one of the hotels here, where they don't know me. I'll wear a -thick vail until morning, and then we will hide on board the boat. Isn't -it a splendid plan, Charley? They'll think I'm in Greentown, and never -suspect we have gone off together!" - -No poor fly ever got entangled in a spider's web more readily than did -Charley Marsh in that of Captain Cavendish. He thought the plan was -capital, and he told her so. - -"You must be sure to wait in front of the house until I come," said the -wicked little enchantress, keeping her black eyes fixed anywhere but on -his face. "And here, Charley--now don't refuse--it is only a trifle, and -I won't go with you, if you don't take it. I don't suppose you have much -money, and father made it a present to me after Lady Leroy paid him. I -must go now, because I have ever so much to do before evening. Good-bye, -Charley, you won't forget anything I've said?" - -Forget! That face, fair in spite of its haggardness, was radiant. Bad as -Cherrie was, she had not the heart to look at him as she hurried out of -the shop and down the street. If he had only known!--if he had only -known!--known of the cunning trap laid for him, into which he was -falling headlong--if he had only known what was to take place that fatal -night! - -Charley Marsh did not go home to his dinner; he had dinner enough for -that day. All that long sweltering afternoon he sat in the smothering -little back-office, staring out at the baked and blistered backyard, and -weaving, oh! such radiant dreams of the future. Such dreams as we all -weave; as we see wither to shreds, even in the next hour. Visions of a -home, far, very far from Speckport, where the past should be atoned for -and forgotten--a home of which Cherrie, his darling little Cherrie, -should be the mistress and fireside fairy. - -It was some time past five, when, awakening from these blissful -day-dreams, Charley Marsh found that the little back office was so -insufferably hot as not to be borne any longer, and that a most -extraordinary change had come over the sky, or at least as much of the -firmament as was visible from the dirty office-window. He took his hat -and sauntered out, pausing in the shop-door to stare at the sky. It had -turned livid; a sort of ghostly, greenish glare, all over with wrathful -black clouds and bars of blood-red streaking the western horizon. Not a -breath of air stirred; the trees along the streets of Speckport and in -its squares hung motionless in the dead calm, and feathers and bits of -paper and straw lay on the sidewalk. The sea was of the same ghastly -tinge as sky and air, as if some commotion in its watery bowels had -turned it sick. And, worst of all, the heat was unabated, the planked -sidewalks scorched your feet as you walked, and you gasped for a -mouthful of air. Speckport declined taking its tea; its butter was -butter no longer, but oil; its milk had turned sour, and the water from -the street-hydrants nearly warm enough to make tea of, without boiling -at all. There were very few out as Charley walked down Queen Street, but -among these few he encountered Mr. Val Blake, striding in the direction -of Great St. Peter Street. - -Val nodded familiarly. - -"Hot day, Charley. Going to be a thunder-storm, I take it. By the way, -she'll have an ugly night for her journey." - -"Who will?" - -"Little Cherrie, of course; she's off to Greentown, man! Didn't you know -it? I was down at the station ten minutes ago, and saw her off. How's -the mother?" - -"Getting better. Good afternoon, Val," said Charley, passing on, and -smiling at the news Mr. Blake had told him. - -"What a clever head the little darling has to put them off the scent! -Hallo, what do you want?" - -Some one had shouted after him; and turning round, he saw Master Bill -Blair, his hands in his pockets, his hat cocked on one side of his head, -following at an extremely leisurely pace. - -"I want you to hold on. I'll go part of the way with you, for I'm going -home to tea," replied Mr. Blair, not hurrying himself. "It's hot enough -to roast an ox, it is. You don't suppose the sky has got the jaundice, -do you; it is turned as yellow as a kite's claw." - -"You had better send up and inquire," said Charley, shortly, preferring -his own thoughts to this companionship. - -"I say, Marsh," said Bill, grinning from ear to ear, "Cherrie's gone, -hasn't she? Good riddance, I say. What took her streaking off to -Greentown, and whatever will you do without her?" - -Mr. Marsh came to a sudden stand-still--they were in a quiet street--and -took Mr. Blair by the collar. - -"Look you here, Master Bill," said Charley, emphatically, "you see the -water down there! Well, now take warning; the next time I find you -making too free use of that tongue of yours, I'll duck you! Mind! I've -said it!" - -With which Mr. Marsh released him, and stalked on. Mr. Blair, pretty -well used to being collared, took this admonition so much to heart, that -he leaned against a lamp-post, and went off with a roar of laughter that -awoke all the sleeping echoes of the place. - -There was no one in the cottage parlor when Charley went in; and on the -lounge in the sitting-room his mother lay asleep. He went softly -up-stairs to his own room, so as not to awake her. That poor, pale, -peevish, querulous, novel-reading, fond mother, when should he see her -again? - -A murmur of voices caught the young man's ear as he ascended; it came -from Miss Rose's room--the door of which, that sultry evening, stood -half open. Charley glanced in. Miss Rose, sitting at a little table, was -writing, and an old woman on a chair near, with her shawl and bonnet -on, rocked to and fro, and dictated. Charley knew Miss Rose was scribe -to all the poor illiterate of Speckport, and knew she was at one of -those sacred tasks now. He saw the pale, sweet face in profile; the -drooping white eyelids, hiding the hazel eyes, and the brown hair, damp -and loose, falling over her mourning-dress. He thought of what Nathalie -had said--"If you must marry any one, why not Miss Rose?" as he closed -the door without disturbing them. - -"No, Natty," he mentally answered. "Miss Rose is an angel, which I am -not, unless it be an angel of darkness. No; she is too innocent and good -for such a fellow as I am. I wouldn't marry her if I could, and -couldn't, I dare say, if I would." - -He changed his dress, and packed his trunk, laying out a long waterproof -coat on the bed, as a shield against the coming rain. Before he had -finished, he heard Betsy Ann calling Miss Rose to tea. That reminded him -he had had no dinner, and was hungry; so he went down stairs, and Mrs. -Marsh, at sight of him, broke out in petulant complainings. - -Why had he not come home to dinner? Where had he been? What was the -reason it was so hot, and why was he in evening dress? And Charley -laughed good-humoredly as he took his place at the table. - -"Be easy, mother mine! Who could think of so preposterous a thing as -dinner this sweltering day? I have been in the office since morning." - -"Catty Clowrie was in here some time ago," pursued Mrs. Marsh, feebly -stirring her tea, "and she told me Cherrie Nettleby had gone away up the -country. What's taken her off?" - -Miss Rose was kind-hearted enough not to look at him, and his mother was -without her specs; so neither noticed the hot flush that arose to his -face. - -"How should I know? Am I Miss Nettleby's confidant? Was Nathalie in the -school-room to-day, Miss Rose?" - -"No." - -"It was too hot, I suppose. This intense closeness can only end in a -thunder-storm." - -"I fancy we will have it shortly. The sky looks fearful; it has turned -perfectly livid." - -The meal ended, Charley walked to the window overlooking the wide sea, -and stood blankly gazing out. It was nearly seven--time he was off to -Redmon; and yet, with love and Cherrie beckoning him on, he was -hesitating. When should he stand here again--in this pleasant home where -he had spent so many happy years? When, indeed? He was going to his -fate, as we all go, blindly; and there was no foreshadowing dread to -whisper to him--stand back. - -The clock struck seven. It was possible to linger no longer. He went -over to where his mother sat, and bent over her. Miss Rose in the next -room was practicing. - -"Mother!" Charley said, trying to laugh, and speaking very fast, "I have -not been a very good boy lately, but I am going to turn over a new leaf -from to-day. You can forgive the past, mother dear, can you not, if I -promise better for the future?" - -Mrs. Marsh looked up at him rather surprised, but still peevish. - -"I am glad to hear it, I am sure. You have been acting disgracefully of -late, just as if you wanted to break my heart." - -"But I don't, mother, and I am going to amend. And when after this you -hear others speaking ill of me, you will be my defender, will you not, -mother?" - -"Of course, Charles," his mother said, pettishly, "if you deserve it." - -"Good-bye, then, mother; take care of yourself, and try and forgive me." - -He kissed her, and hastily left the room. Miss Rose faintly and sweetly -was playing some evening hymn. He stopped a moment to look at the slight -black figure--for the last time, perhaps, he thought. - -"Good-bye, Miss Rose," he called out; "I am off." - -She turned round with a smile. - -"Good-bye, Mr. Marsh! There is a storm coming--take care!" - -How little she dreamed of the storm that was coming when she gave him -that warning. He went out of the cottage, closing the hall door after -him; and the street and the figures in it looked blurred to him, seen -through some foolish mist in his eyes. - -With the waterproof overcoat thrown across his arm, his umbrella in his -hand, and his hat pulled far over his eyes, Charley Marsh walked through -the streets of Speckport steadily to his fate. There was an ominous hush -in the stifling atmosphere, a voiceless but terrible menace in the -sullen sky, the black and glassy bay, and the livid-hued evening. -Charley's thoughts wandered to Cherrie. The storm would overtake her -coming to town; she would get drenched, and frightened half to death, -for it was going to lighten. He could not walk fast, owing to the heat, -and night fell before the Nettleby cottage came in sight. With it fell -the storm, flash after flash of lightning cleaving black cloud and -yellow air like a two-edged sword--flash after flash, blinding, -intermittent, for nearly five minutes. Then a long dull roar, that -seemed to shake the town, with great plashing drops of rain, as large -and heavy as peas. And then the tempest burst in its might--flash, -flash, flash!--the heavens seemed one sheet of flame--the earth rocking -with the ceaseless roll of thunder, and the rain descending in torrents. -Some low spruce-bushes, a zigzag fence, his glazed overcoat and -umbrella, were shelter enough for Charley. He sat on a rock by the -wayside, his hands over his eyes, feeling as though the fierce blue -glare had struck him blind. The summer-hurricane was sublime in its -fury, but too violent to last long. In three-quarters of an hour the -lightning and thunder had ceased, but the rain still fell heavily. -Charley got up, drew out his watch, struck a match--for the night had -struck in pitch black--and looked at the hour. A quarter to nine, and -where, oh where, in all this tempest was poor Cherrie? He hurried on at -a frantic pace, fumbling in the blind blackness, until the red light of -the cottage-window streamed across the inky gloom. He never stopped to -imagine what they would think of his presence there at such a time; he -was too full of anxiety for Cherrie. She might have hired a cab and -driven home, frightened by the storm, and he rapped loudly at the door. -Ann Nettleby, lamp in hand, answered his authoritative summons. - -"Is Cherrie here, Ann?" - -Ann stared. - -"Law, Mr. Marsh! how should she be here? Don't you know she went off to -Greentown in the half-past five train?" - -Charley stood looking at her, so pale and wild and wet, that Ann stared -at him harder than ever. - -"Is Lady Leroy worse?" she asked. - -"Worse! Yes--no--I don't know. Has she been ill?" - -"She's been very bad all the day. Dr. Leach has been up to see her, and -our Bob's staying there all night for fear she should take another bad -turn, and some one should be wanted to go for him again." - -This was news to Charley. - -"What is the matter with her?" he asked. - -"Cramps. Did you not get Cherrie's letter?" - -"What?" - -"Cherrie's letter! She left a letter for you, and told me to fetch it to -town to you, and I did this evening, but you weren't in, the boy said." - -"Did you leave it at the office?" - -"Yes." - -Charley wondered what it could be about, but he did not ask Ann. He -turned and walked through the darkness and the slanting rain, to Redmon -House. The outer gate never was fastened, and he went under the dripping -trees up to the castle of Lady Leroy. It was all in darkness, looming up -a blacker spot in the blackness, but one feeble ray shone from -Nathalie's room. Charley knew it was of no use entering then--past -nine--when the place was closed and locked for the night, so he stood -under the tall, gaunt trees, and watched that feeble, flickering ray. It -seemed to connect him--to bring him in communion--with Nathalie; and -when it went out, and all was dark and lonely, a light--the light of his -love for her--seemed to go out of his heart with it. - -And now there was nothing to do but to watch for Cherrie. He seemed to -have bidden farewell to all his old friends, and have only her left. His -past life seemed gliding behind him, out of sight--a newer and better -life opening before him, with her by his side to share it, until they -should lie down at the far end, full of years and good works. He leaned -against a tree, thinking of this, and waiting. The storm was abating, -the rain ceasing, the clouds parting, and a pale and watery moon staring -wanly across the gloom. In another hour the clouds were scudding wildly -before a rising gale, and the moon had broken out, through their black -bars, lighting up the grim old house with an eerie and spectral gloom. -The trees looked like tall, moaning ghosts in the sickly and fitful -rays, and the loneliness of the tomb reigned over all. Another weary -hour of watching, and Charley was nearly mad with impatience and -anxiety. Where--where--was Cherrie? The sighing night-wind, the moaning -and tossing trees, the ghastly light of the fitful moon, and the ominous -silence of nature, had no answer to give him. - -What was that which rent the silence of the night? A shriek from the -house behind him--a woman's shriek--the sound of flying feet, a key -turning in a rusty lock, and the front door thrown wide open. En sac de -nuit, which means, in a short night-gown and red flannel petticoat, her -head tied up in a yellow silk handkerchief, Midge rushed frantically -out, followed by a man. Charley had started forward, and the moon's -light fell full upon his black form in the middle of the park. Quick as -lightning, the iron grasp of the dwarf was upon his collar, and the -shrill voice piercing wildly the night air: "I have him! I have him! -Murder! Murder! Murder!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -A CRIME. - - -What was done that night? - -At the very hour of that fine August morning that Mr. Charles Marsh and -Miss Cherrie Nettleby had the surgery of Dr. Leach so comfortably to -themselves, that medical gentleman up at Redmon, helping its mistress to -fight out a battle with death. Yes, on that hot summer morning Lady -Leroy was likely to die, stood even within the portal of the Valley of -the Shadow, and Redmon and all earthly possessions seem about to slip -from her forever. Good-natured Miss Jo, in the early morning, had sent -up a present of a basket of cucumbers and lettuce, of both of which -specimens of the vegetable kingdom Mrs. Leroy had partaken, well soaked -in vinegar, as a sharpener to breakfast appetite. The consequence was, -that before that repast was well down, she was seized with such -convulsive cramps as only cholera patients ever know. Brandy applied -inwardly, and hot flannel and severe rubbing applied outwardly, being -without avail, Dr. Leach was sent for in hot haste. The old woman was in -agonies, and Nathalie frightened nearly out of her wits. Dr. Leach -looked grave, but did his best. For some hours it was quite uncertain -whether he or the grim Rider of the Pale Horse would gain the battle: -but victory seated herself at last on the medical banner of the -Speckport physician. Mrs. Leroy, totally exhausted with her fierce -sufferings, took an opiate and fell asleep, and the doctor took his hat -to leave. - -"She'll do well enough now, Miss Natty," he said, "only pitch the -cucumbers into the fire the first thing. She'll be all right to-morrow." - -Nathalie sat patiently down in the steaming and oppressive sick-room, to -keep watch. The house was as still as a tomb; Midge was buried in the -regions below, and the sick woman slept long and profoundly. - -Nathalie took a book, and, absorbed by it, did not notice when Lady -Leroy awoke. Awake she did, after some hours, and lay there quite still, -looking at the young girl, and thinking. Of what? Of the long and weary -months that young girl had in a manner buried herself alive in this -living tomb of a house, to minister to her, to arrange all her business, -to read to her, to talk to her, to do her all manner of good service, -and to bear patiently her querulousness and caprice. It had been a -lonely and eerie life for her, but when had she ever complained? and now -what was she to gain by it all! For one act of disobedience she was -disinherited--all these months and years wasted for nothing. She had -come there in the belief--implanted by Mrs. Leroy herself--that she was -to be the heiress of Redmon. Had she any right to go back from her -word--to make her memory accursed--to go into that shadowy and unknown -world opening before her with a lie on her soul? Dared she do it? She -had an awful fear of death, this miserly old woman--an awful fear of -what lay beyond death; and yet, with strange inconsistency, she felt -herself on the verge of the grave--a long life of sin lying behind her, -and making no effort to atone--only letting herself drift on. Yet is the -inconsistency strange? Are we not, every one of us, doing the same? We -are younger, perhaps, and fuller of life; yet do we not know the -terrible truth, that death and ourselves are divided but by a single -step? - -Nathalie, bending over her book, all her fair hair dropping loose about -her, saw not the eyes so closely watching her. How pale she looked. -Perhaps it was the fright, not yet over; perhaps the heat; but her face -was like a lily-leaf. While she watched her, Midge came softly in, and -Mrs. Leroy closed her eyes again. - -"Is she sleeping still?" Midge asked, looking toward the bed. - -"Yes," said Nathalie, glancing up. - -Midge bustled out, and presently returned with a cup of tea. - -"Who do you think was here this morning to say good-bye?" she asked, -while Nathalie was drinking it. - -"I don't know. Who?" - -"Cherrie Nettleby, no less. She wanted to come up here whether or no, to -see you and the missis, but I sent her to the right about quicker. The -flyaway good-for-nothing's off to Greentown in the cars this afternoon." - -"Indeed. And how long is she going to stay?" - -"I told her I was glad to hear it," said Midge, "and that I hoped she -wouldn't come bothering back in a hurry; and she laughed and shook back -them black curls of hers, and said perhaps she would stay all summer. -The place is well rid of her, and I told her so." - -Nathalie, reverting to Charley, perhaps, thought the same, but she did -not say so. Midge departed, refreshed by her bit of gossip, and Nathalie -resumed her book. The steaming sick-room was irksome enough to her, but -she would not leave Mrs. Leroy even for a moment in her present state. -That old lady opened her eyes again; and as she did so, Midge came -bolting back. - -"Miss Natty, here's Mr. Tom Oaks come to pay that there money, I expect. -Shall I send him off again?" - -Before Nathalie could reply, Lady Leroy half sat up in bed, feeble as -she was, the ruling passion strong in death. - -"No, no, no!" she shrilly cried, "don't send him away. Fetch him up -here--fetch him up!" - -Nathalie dropped her book and was bending over her directly. - -"Dear Mrs. Leroy, are you awake? How do you feel now?" - -"Better, Natty, better. Fetch him up, Midge--fetch him up." - -Midge trotted off, soliloquizing as she went: - -"Well, I never! I do think if she was dead and buried, the sound of -money jingling atop of her grave would bring her out of it. You're to -come up, Mr. Oaks. Missis is sick abed, but she'll see you." - -Mr. Tom Oaks, a dashing young fellow, well-looking of face, and free -and easy of manner, strolled in, hat in hand. Nathalie rose to receive -him. - -"Good day to you, Miss Nathalie. How are you, Mrs. Leroy? Nothing the -matter, I hope." - -"She is better, now," said Nathalie, placing a chair for him by the -bedside. - -"I suppose you've come up to pay the money?" Mrs. Leroy inquired, her -fingers beginning to work, as they always did when she was excited. - -Yes, Mr. Oaks had come to pay the money and obtain possession of the -documents that made him master of Partridge Farm. Sundry papers were -signed and handed over--a long roll of bank-bills, each for fifty -pounds, were presented to Lady Leroy and greedily counted by her, over -and over again. Then Nathalie had to go through the performance, and the -roll was found to be correct. Mr. Oaks, master of a magnificent farm, -bowed himself out, the perspiration streaming from every pore. - -When he was gone, the old woman counted the bills over again--once, -twice, three times; her eyes glittering with the true miser's delight. -It was not to make sure of their accuracy, but for the pure and -unalloyed pleasure it gave her to handle so much money and feel that it -was hers. - -A knock at the front door. Mrs. Leroy rolled the bills hastily up. - -"Give me the box, Natty; some one's coming, and it's not safe to let any -one know there's so much money in the house, and only three poor lone -women of us here." - -Nathalie handed her the large japanned tin box Cherrie had spoken of, -which always stood at the head of the bed, and the bills were placed in -it, the tin box relocked and replaced, before the visitor entered. It -proved to be Lawyer Darcy; and Nathalie, availing herself of his -presence, left the room for a few moments to breathe purer air. - -"I was very sorry to hear of your illness," the lawyer said, "and ran in -as I was going by, although I am in rather a hurry. By the way, I am -expecting every day to be summoned back here to alter that last unjust -will of yours. I hope you have begun to see its cruel injustice -yourself." - -"Yes," Lady Leroy gravely replied, "I have. There is no one living has -so good a right to whatever I possess as Nathalie Marsh. I did wrong to -take it from her, but it is not too late yet. Come up here to-morrow -morning and draw out another--my last will--she shall have everything I -own." - -The old lawyer grasped the sick woman's hand delightedly. - -"Thank heaven, my dear Mrs. Leroy, that you have been brought to see -matters in their true light. Natty's the best girl alive--ain't you, -Natty?" - -"What, sir?" Nathalie asked, as she re-entered the room. - -"The best and prettiest girl alive! There, don't blush. Good afternoon -to you both. I'll be up to-morrow morning without fail, Mrs. Leroy, and -I trust I shall find you quite restored." - -He went out. How little did he think that never again, this side of -eternity, should he meet that woman; how little did he think that with -those words he had bidden her an eternal farewell. - -Midge brought up some tea and toast to her mistress after the lawyer's -departure; and feeling more comfortable after it, the old woman lay back -among her pillows, and requested her ward to "read a piece for her." - -The book Nathalie was reading had been one of her father's, and she -loved it for his sake and for its own. It was not a novel, it was "At -the Foot of the Cross," by Faber; and seating herself by the bedside, -she read aloud in her sweet, grave voice. The touching story of Calvary -was most touchingly retold there; more than once the letters swam on the -page through a thick mist of tears, and more than once bright drops fell -on the page and blistered it. - -The long, sultry afternoon hours wore over, and in that shuttered room -it had grown too dark to see the words, before the girl ceased. There -was a silence; Nathalie's heart was full, and Mrs. Leroy was quiet, -looking unwontedly thoughtful. - -"It's a beautiful book," she said, at last, "a beautiful book, Natty; -and it does me good to hear it. I wish you had read to me out of that -book before!" - -"I will read it all through to you," Nathalie said; "but you are tired -now, and it is past seven. You had better have some tea, and take this -opiate and go to sleep. You will be quite well again to-morrow." - -Nathalie got the old woman's tea herself, and made the toast with her -own white hands. Mrs. Leroy wished her to share the meal, but Nathalie -could not eat there; the steaming and fetid atmosphere of that close -chamber made her sick and faint. She was longing for the old woman to go -to rest for the night, so that she might get out. She removed the -tea-tray, and turned to leave the room. - -"I am going out for a walk in the grounds," she said, "but I will be -back by eight to give you the sleeping draught; and, for fear you might -be taken ill again in the night, I will ask one of the Nettlebys to -sleep here." - -Without hat or mantle, she ran down-stairs and out into the hot -twilight. The brassy hue of the sky, and the greenish-yellow haze -filling the air, the ominous silence of nature, and the scudding black -clouds, gave her warning for the first time of the coming storm. - -She went down the avenue, through the gate, and along the dusty road to -the cottage. The roses about it were hanging their heavy heads, the -morning-glories and the scarlet-runners looked limp and wilted. She -found Ann washing the dishes, and the two young Nettlebys lying lazily -on the grass behind the cottage, smoking pipes. Nathalie proferred her -request, and Rob Nettleby at once volunteered. - -"I'll go up in half an hour, Miss Natty," he said, "and, if I'm wanted, -I can gallop into town in ten minutes." - -"Thank you, Rob!" - -She went back to the kitchen, lounging a minute before she left. - -"And so Cherrie's gone, Ann?" - -"Yes," said Ann; "and I'm glad of it. We will have some peace for a -while, which we don't have when she's here, with her gadding." - -Nathalie walked slowly back to the house, wondering and awed by the -weird and ghostly look of the sky. The evening was so close and -oppressive that no breath of air was to be had; yet still it was better -than the house, and she lingered in the grounds until the lightning shot -out like tongues of blue flame, and the first heavy raindrops began to -fall. - -Hurrying in out of the coming storm, followed by Bob Nettleby, who -opined it was going to be a "blazer of a night," she saw that all the -doors and windows were secured, and then returned to Mrs. Leroy's room -to administer the opiate. She found the old woman in a doze, from which -her entrance aroused her, and raised her with her right arm in bed, -while she held the glass to her lips with her left hand. - -"It will make you sleep, dear Mrs. Leroy," the girl said, "and you will -be as well as ever to-morrow." - -"I hope so, Natty.--Is that thunder?" - -"Yes; it is going to be a stormy night. Is there anything else I can do -for you before I go?" - -"Yes; turn down that lamp; I don't like so much light." - -A little kerosene lamp burned on the table. Nathalie lowered the light, -and turned to go. - -"Good-night," she said, "I will come in once or twice through the night -to see how you are. You are sure you do not want anything more?" - -The sleeping-potion was already taking effect. The old woman drowsily -opened her eyes: - -"No," she said; "nothing else. You're a good girl, Natty, and it was -wrong to do it; but I'll make it all right, Natty; I'll make it all -right!" - -They were the last words she ever spoke! Nathalie wondered what she -meant, as she went into her own room, and lit her lamp. - -The storm without was raging fast and furious; the blaze of the -lightning filled the room with a lurid blue glare, the dull and -ceaseless roll of the thunder was appalling, and the rain lashed the -windows in torrents. - -"Heaven help any poor wanderer exposed to such a tempest!" Nathalie -thought. - -If she had only known of him who cowered under the spruce bushes on -Redmon road, waiting for it to subside. - -Nathalie brushed out her long, shining, showering curls, bathed her -face, and said her prayers. The furious and short-lived tempest had -raged itself out by that time, and she blew out the lamp and sat down by -the window--it was too hot to go to bed. She made a pile of the pillows, -and leaned her head against them where she sat; and, with the rushing -rain for her lullaby, fell asleep. - -What was that? She awoke with a start. She knew she had not slept long, -but out of a disturbed dream some noise awoke her--a sharp metallic -sound. Her room was weirdly lighted by the faint rays of the wan and -spectral moon, and with her heart beating thick and fast she listened. -The old house was full of rats--she could hear them scampering over her -head, under her feet, and between the partitions. It was this noise that -had awoke her; the trees were writhing and groaning in the heavy wind, -and tossing their green arms wildly, as if in some dryad agony--perhaps -it was that. She listened, but save these noises all was still. Yes, it -was the rats, Nathalie thought, and settling back among the pillows once -more, she fell into another light slumber. - -No, Nathalie. Neither the wailing wind, nor the surging trees, nor the -scurrying rats made the noise you heard. In the corridor outside your -room a tall, dark figure, with a black crape mask on its face, is -standing. The figure wears a long overcoat and a slouched hat, and it is -fitting a skeleton key in the lock of Mrs. Leroy's door; for Nathalie -has locked that door. Like some dark and evil spirit of the night, it -glides into the chamber; the lamp on the table burns low, and the old -woman sleeps heavily. Softly it steals across the room, lays hold of the -japanned tin box, tries key after key from a bunch it carries, -and at last succeeds. The box is open--the treasure is found. -Fifty--fifty--fifty! they are all fifties--fifty-pound notes on good and -sound Speckport banks. The eyes behind the mask glitter--the eager hands -are thrusting the huge rolls into the deep pockets of the overcoat. But -he drops the last roll and stops in his work aghast, for there is an -awful sound from the bed. It is not a scream, it is not a cry; but -something more awful than ever came from the throat of woman in all the -history of woman's agony. It is like the death-rattle--hoarse and -horrible. He turns and sees the old woman sitting up in bed, one -flickering finger pointing at him, the face convulsed and livid, the -lips purple and foaming, the eyes starting. One cry, and all for which -he has risked so much will be lost! He is by the bedside like a flash; -he has seized one of the pillows, and hurled her back; he has grasped -her by the throat with one-powerful hand, while with the other he holds -the pillow over her face. Fear and fury distort his own--could you see -it behind the mask--and his teeth are set, and his eyeballs strained. -There is a struggle, a convulsive throe, another awful rattle in the -throat, and then he sees the limbs relax, and the palpitating throat -grow still. He need fear no cry now; no sound will ever again come from -those aged lips; the loss or gain of all the treasures in the wide earth -will never disturb her more. He loosens his grasp, removes the pillow, -and the lamplight falls on a horrible sight. He turns away with a -shudder from that blackened and convulsed visage, from the starting eyes -forced out of their sockets, and from the blood which trickles in a -slow, dreadful stream between purple lips. He dare not stop to look or -think what he has done; he thrusts the last roll into his pocket and -flies from the room. He is so furiously impatient now to get away from -that horrible thing on the bed, that he forgets caution. He flies down -the stairs, scarcely knowing that the noise he makes echoes from cellar -to attic of the silent old house. He takes the wrong turning, and swears -a furious oath, to find himself at a door instead of the window by which -he had entered. He hears a shriek, too; and, mad with terror, tears off -his mask and turns down another passage. Right at last! this is the -window! He leaps through it--he is out in the pale moonlight, tearing -through the trees like a madman. He has gained the road--a horse stands -tied to a tree, and he leaps on his back, drives his spurs furiously -into the beast's side, and is off like the wind. In ten minutes, at this -rate, he will be in Speckport, and safe. - - * * * * * - -The apartment in which Midge sought sleep after the fatigues of the day, -was the kitchen, and was on the first floor, directly under Lady Leroy's -room. She had quartered Rob Nettleby in the adjoining apartment--a big, -draughty place, where the rats held grand carnival all the year round. -Midge, like all honest folks in her station, who have plenty of hard -work, and employ their hands more than their heads, was a good sleeper. -But on this stormy August night Midge was destined to realize some of -the miseries of wakefulness. She had not dared to go to bed during the -first fury of the storm; for Midge was scared beyond everything by -lightning and thunder; but after that had subsided, she had ventured to -unrobe and retire. But Midge could not sleep. Whether it was the heat, -or that the tempest had made her nervous, or why or wherefore, Midge -could never afterward tell; but she tossed from side to side, and -listened to the didoes of the rats, and the whistling of the wind about -the old house, and the ghostly moonlight shimmering down through the -fluttering leaves of the trees, and groaned and fidgeted, and felt just -as miserable as lying awake when one wants to go asleep, can make any -one feel. There were all sorts of strange and weird noises and echoes in -the lonely old house; so when Midge fancied she heard one of the back -windows softly opened, and something on the stairs, she set it down to -the wind and the rats, as Nathalie had done. She heard the clock -overhead in Lady Leroy's room--the only timepiece in the house--strike -eleven, and thought it had come very soon; for it hardly seemed fifteen -minutes since it had struck ten. But she set this down to her -fidgetiness, too; for how was she to know that the black shadow in the -room above had moved the hands on the dial-plate before quitting? But -that other noise! this is no imagination, surely. Midge starts up with a -gasping cry of affright. A man's step is on the stairs--a man's hurried -tread is in the hall--she hears a smothered oath--hears him turn and -rush past her door--hears a leap--and then all is still. The momentary -spell that has made Midge speechless is broken. She springs to her -feet--yes, springs, for Midge forgets she is short and fat and given to -waddling, in her terror, throws on the red flannel undergarment you wot -of, and rushes out of her room and up-stairs, shrieking like mad. She -cannot conceive what is the matter, or where the danger lies, but she -bursts into Nathalie's room first. Nathalie, aroused by the wild screams -from a deep sleep, starts up with a bewildered face. Midge sees she is -safe, and still uttering the most appalling yells, flies to the next, to -Lady Leroy's room, Nathalie after her; and Mr. Rob Nettleby, with an -alarmed countenance and in a state of easy undress, making his toilet as -he comes, brings up the rear. - -"What is it? Is Mrs. Leroy worse?" he asked, staring at the shrieking -Midge. - -"There's been somebody here--robbing and murdering the house! -Ah--h--h----!" - -The shriek with which Midge recoiled was echoed this time by Nathalie. -They had entered the fatal room; the lamp still burned on the table, and -its light fell full on the livid and purple face of the dead woman. -Dead! Yes, there could be no doubt. Murdered! Yes, for there stood the -open and rifled box which had held the money. - -"She's killed, Rob Nettleby! She's murdered!" Midge cried, rushing -headlong from the room; "but he can't have got far. I heard him going -out. Come!" - -She was down the stairs with wonderful speed, followed by the horrified -Nettleby. Midge unlocked and flung open the hall-door, and rushed in the -same headlong way out. There was a man under the trees, and he was -running. With the spring of a tigress Midge was upon him, her hands -clutching his collar, and her dreadful yell of "Murder!" piercing the -stillness of the night. The grasp of those powerful hands was not to be -easily shaken off, and Rob Nettleby laid hold of him on the other side. -Their prisoner made no resistance; he was too utterly taken by surprise -to do other than stand and stare at them both. - -"You villain! you robber! you murderer!" screamed Midge, giving him a -furious shake. "You'll hang for this night's work, if anybody hung yet! -Hold him fast, Rob, while I go and send your brother to Speckport after -the p'lice." - -The address broke the spell that held their captive quiet. Indignantly -endeavoring to shake off the hands that held him, he angrily demanded -what they meant. - -Rob Nettleby, with a shout of astonishment, released his hold--he had -recognized the voice. Midge, too, loosed her grasp, and backed a step or -two, and Charley Marsh, stepping from under the shadow of the trees into -the moonlight, repeated his question with some asperity. - -"Charley!" Midge gasped, more horror-stricken by the recognition than -she had been by the murder. - -"What the deuce is the matter, Nettleby?" Charley demanded, impatiently. -"What is all this row about?" - -"There has been a murder done," said the young man, so confounded by the -discovery as to be scarcely able to speak. - -"Mrs. Leroy has been murdered!" - -Charley recoiled with a white face. - -"Murdered! Good heavens! When? By whom?" - -"To-night--just now." - -He did not answer the last query--he thought it superfluous. To his -mind, Charley Marsh was as good as caught in the act. - -"And Nathalie! Where is she? Is she safe?" - -"She is in Lady Leroy's room." - -Charley only waited for the answer, and made a precipitate rush for the -house. The other two followed, neither daring to look at the other or -speak--followed him up-stairs and into the chamber of the tragedy. All -was as it had been. The ghastly and discolored face of the murdered -woman was there, even the pillow, horrible to look at. But going partly -across a chair as she had fallen, all her golden hair tossed about in -loose disorder, and her face white, and fixed, and cold as marble, -Nathalie lay near the center of the room. There, by herself, where the -dreadful sight had first struck her, she had fainted entirely away. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -FOUND GUILTY. - - -Mr. Val Blake sat in his office, in that inner room sacred to his -privacy. He sat at that littered table, writing and scissoring, for they -went to press that day, and the editor of the Speckport Spouter was over -head-and-ears in work. He had just completed an item and was slowly -reperusing it. It begins in a startling manner enough: - - "Mysterious murder! The night before last a most shocking tragedy - occurred at Redmon House, being no less than the robbery and murder - of a lady well known in our town, Mrs. Leroy. The deceased owned - and occupied the house, together with her ward, Miss Nathalie - Marsh, and one female servant. About eleven o'clock on the night of - the 15th, this servant was alarmed by the sound of footsteps on the - stairs, and aroused a young man, Robert Nettleby, who chanced to be - staying in the house, and they proceeded together to discover the - cause. On entering the chamber occupied by Mrs. Leroy, they found - her dead; the protruding tongue and eyeballs, and purple visage, - telling plainly her death had been caused by strangulation. A box, - containing a large sum of money, eight thousand pounds, we believe, - was found broken open and rifled. The assassin escaped, and no - clue to him has as yet been discovered, but we trust the inquest - which is to be held on the premises this morning will throw some - light on the subject. It is a most inhuman affair, and, we are - sure, no effort will be wanting on the part of the officials - concerned to root out the heart of the matter, and punish the - barbarous perpetrator as he deserves!" - -Mr. Blake read this last neatly-rounded period with a complacent face, -and then pulled out his watch. - -"Ten o'clock!" he muttered, "and the inquest commences in half an hour. -Busy or not busy, I must be present." - -Speckport was in a state of unprecedented excitement. A murder--and -people did murder one another sometimes, even in Speckport--always set -the town wild for a week. Even the civic elections were nothing to it; -and there having been a dearth of bloodshed lately, the tragedy at -Redmon was greedily devoured in all its details. Like a rolling -snowball, small enough at first, but increasing as it goes along, the -story of the robbery and murder had grown, until, had Midge heard the -recital, as correctly received in the town, she would have stared -aghast. Crowds had flocked up Redmon Road the whole of that livelong day -following the murder, and gazed with open-mouthed awe on the gloomy and -lonely old house--gloomier and lonelier than ever now. Crowds were -pouring up still. One would think from their morbid curiosity they -expected the old house to have undergone some wonderful transformation. -The Speckport picnics were nothing to it. - -Mr. Blake, going along at his customary swinging pace, speedily reached -No. 14 Great St. Peter Street, and letting himself in with his -latch-key, went up-stairs to his sleeping-apartment, to make some -alteration in his toilet before proceeding to Redmon. There was no one -in the house; for Miss Blake had been absent on a visit to some friend -out of town for the past few days, and Val took his meals at a -restaurant. Thinking himself alone, therefore, Mr. Blake, standing -before the glass, adjusting an obstinate and painfully stiff collar, -was not a little surprised to hear the street-door open and shut with a -slam, then a rapid rush up-stairs, a strong rustling of silk in the -passage, and his own door flung violently open. Mr. Blake turned round -and beheld his sister, in a state of perspiration, her face red with -heat and haste, anger in her eyes and in every rustle of her silk gown. - -"It's not true, Val!" she burst out, before that gentleman could speak; -"it can't be true! They never can have been such a pack of fools!" - -"What can't be true? Who's a pack of fools?" - -"All Speckport! Do you mean to say they've really gone and taken up -Charley Marsh?" - -"Oh, is that it?" said Mr. Blake, returning to his toilet. "They haven't -taken him up that I know of. What brings you home? I thought you weren't -coming until Saturday." - -"And do you mean to say you thought I could stop one moment after I -heard that poor old thing was dead, and Charley Marsh taken up for it. -If you can be unfeeling and cold-blooded," said Miss Jo, turning from -deep pink to brightest scarlet, "I can't." - -"My dear Jo, don't make such a howling! Charley Marsh isn't taken up, I -tell you." - -"But he's suspected, isn't he? Doesn't all Speckport point at him as the -murderer? Isn't he held to appear at the inquest? Tell me that." - -"Yes," said Mr. Blake, looking critically at his cravat, "he is. Is that -collar straight, Jo?" - -Miss Jo's only answer was a withering look. - -"And he can talk of collars at such a time! And he pretended he used to -be a friend of that poor boy!" - -"Don't be a fool, Jo," said Val, testily. "What can I do? I don't accuse -him!" - -"You don't accuse him!" retorted Miss Jo, with sneering emphasis. -"That's very good of you, indeed, Mr. Blake! Oh no, you don't accuse, -but you stand up there, like--like a cold-blooded kangaroo" (Miss Blake -could think of no better simile in the heat of the moment) "fixing your -collar, while all Speckport's down on him, and no one to take his part! -You won't accuse him, indeed! Hadn't you better run up and do it now? -Where's Natty? Answer me that." - -Miss Jo turned so fiercely upon her brother with this query that Mr. -Blake wilted at once. - -"At home with her mother!" - -"Poor dear girl!" and here Miss Jo softened into tears; "poor dear -child! What a shock for her! How does she bear it?" - -"She has been ill and hysterical ever since. They don't suppose she will -be able to give evidence at the inquest." - -"Poor dear Natty! And how does Mrs. Marsh take it?" - -"Very hard. Betsy Ann had to run to the nearest druggist's for -fourpence-worth of smelling-salts, and she has been rocking, and -reading, and smelling at it ever since." - -"Ah, poor dear!" said sympathetic Miss Jo, whose first fury had -subsided. "Does she know they suspect Charley?" - -"Of course not. Who would tell her that? Oh, I say, Joanna, you haven't -heard that about Miss Rose, have you?" - -"What about Miss Rose? Nobody suspects her of the murder, do they?" - -"Not exactly! She is going away." - -"Going where?" - -"To England!--hand me that vest, Jo--with Mrs. Major Wheatly." - -Miss Jo sat agape at the tidings. - -"It is very sudden," said Val, getting into his Sunday waistcoat. "Miss -Rose had notice of it day before yesterday--it was that night, the night -of that terrible affair at Redmon, you know, that it was proposed to -her. She declined then, although the terms were double what she gets -now, and the work very much less; but yesterday afternoon she accepted." - -"She did! What made her change her mind?" - -"Well, Mrs. Marsh told her, I believe, that now Lady Leroy was gone, and -Nathalie come into her fortune, there would no longer be any need to -keep the school, and that, in point of fact, it would break up. Of -course, Miss Rose at once accepted the other offer, and leaves in a very -few days." - -"Direct for England?" - -"Yes, that is to say, by way of Quebec. Mrs. Major Wheatly is a very -great lady, and must have a companion for herself, and a governess for -her little girl, and Miss Rose suits to a T. It's a very good thing for -the little school-mistress, but she will be missed here. The poor looked -upon her as an angel sent direct from heaven, to make their clothes and -buy their blankets, and look after them when sick, and teach their young -ones for nothing." - -"Well, I am sure! I declare, Val, I'm sorry! She was the nicest little -thing!" - -"So she was," said Val, "and now I'm off! Don't you go howling about the -town, Jo, and making a fuss about Marsh; if he is innocent, he will come -out all square--don't you be afraid." - -"If!" screamed Miss Blake; but her brother was clattering down-stairs -half a dozen steps at a time, and already out of hearing. - -Droves of people were still flocking out the Redmon road, raising -blinding clouds of dust, and discussing the only subject proper to be -discussed then in Speckport. Val's long strides outstripped all -competitors; and arriving at the red brick house, presently ran the -blockade of a group of some two hundred idlers, and strode into the -house as one having authority. As Mr. Blake entered, Dr. Leach stepped -forward and joined him, with a very grave face. - -"How are they getting on?" Val asked. - -"They are getting on fast enough," the doctor answered, in a -dissatisfied tone. "They've been examining me. I had to describe that -last interview with her," jerking his thumb toward the ceiling, "and -prove to their satisfaction she came to her death by strangling, and in -no other way. They had Natty up there, too." - -"Oh, she is better, then." - -"Not much! but she had very little to tell, and Laura Blair has driven -her off again. They have detained Mrs. Marsh--she does not know for -what, though--and will examine her presently." - -"To find out the cause of Charley's absence from home that night! Do you -know, doctor, I begin to think things look black for Charley." - -"Ah! you might say so?" said Dr. Leach, with a significant nod, "if you -knew what I do." - -Val looked at him. - -"What you do! Do you mean or pretend to say----" - -"There! there! there! Don't speak so loud. I may tell you, Blake--you're -a friend of his and would do nothing against him. Read that." - -He handed him a note. Val read it with a blank face. It was the note -sent by Cherrie to Charley, which Ann had told him of, and a verbatim -copy of that given Cherrie by Captain Cavendish. - -"How did you get this?" Val asked, with a still whiter face. - -"It was sent by that gadfly, Cherrie, to the shop, the evening of the -murder. Her sister brought it, and, Marsh being out, gave it to the boy. -Now, what do you think the young rascal did? Why, sir, broke it open the -minute the girl's back was turned, and read it. As luck would have it, I -pounced in and caught him in the act. You ought to have seen his face, -Blake! I took the note from him and read it myself, not knowing it was -for Marsh, and I have it ever since. I meant to give it to him next day, -and tell him what I have told you; but next day came the news of the -murder, and underhand whispers of his guilt. Now, Val, what do you think -of it? Isn't the allusion to Lady Leroy's money plain enough?" - -"That bit of paper might hang him," Val emphatically said, handing it -back. "What do you mean to do with it?" - -"There is only one thing I can do with it, as a conscientious man--and -that is, hand it over to the coroner. I like the boy, but I like justice -more, and will do my duty. If we only had that Cherrie here, she might -throw some light on the business." - -"What can she mean by that allusion to state-rooms?" said Val. "Can they -have meant to run off together in the steamer, and was Greentown only a -ruse? I know Charley has been spooney about her this long time, and -would be capable of marrying her at a moment's notice." - -"Blake, do you know I have been thinking she is hiding somewhere not far -off, and has the money. The police should be set on her track at once." - -"They will, when that note is produced. But, doctor, you seem to take it -for granted that Charley is guilty." - -"How can I help it? Isn't the evidence strong enough?" - -"Circumstantial, doctor, circumstantial. It seems hard to believe -Charley Marsh a murderer." - -"So it does, but Scripture and history, ever since the times of King -David, are full of parallel cases. Think of the proof--think of this -note, and tell me what you infer candidly yourself." - -"The note is a staggerer, but still--Oh, hang it!" cried Mr. Blake, -impatiently, "I won't believe him guilty as long as I can help it. Does -he say nothing in is own defense?" - -"Not a syllable, and the coroner and jury are all in his favor, too. He -stands there like a sulky lion, and says nothing. They'll bring him in -guilty without a doubt." - -"Who have been examined?" - -"All who saw Lady Leroy that day--Miss Marsh, Midge, myself, Lawyer -Darcy, and Tom Oaks, who swore roundly when asked that Marsh knew of his -paying the money that day, for he had told him himself. He also swore -that he knew Charley to be over head and ears in debt--debts of honor, -he called them. Debts of dishonor, I should say." - -"I think I'll go in! Can we speak to Charley, I wonder?" - -"Of course. He is not held precisely as a prisoner, as yet. They have -Midge up again. I never knew her name was Priscilla Short, until -to-day." - -"What do they want with her a second time?" - -"She was the first to discover the murder. Her evidence goes clear -against Marsh, though she gives it with the greatest reluctance. Come, -I'll go in with you." - -The two gentlemen went in together, and found the assemblage smiling at -some rebut of Midge's. That witness, with a very red and defiant face, -was glaring at the coroner, who, in rather a subdued tone, told her that -would do, and proceeded to call the next witness, Robert Nettleby. - -Robert Nettleby took his place, and was sworn. In reply to the questions -put to him, he informed his hearers that he had heard nothing until the -yells of Midge aroused him from sleep, and, following her up-stairs, he -found her in Miss Marsh's room. - -"Had Miss Marsh retired?" the coroner wanted to know. - -Mr. Nettleby was not sure. If, by retiring, the coroner meant going to -bed, no; but if he meant going asleep, yes. She was sitting by the -window, dressed, but asleep, until Midge aroused her by her screams. -Then she started up, and followed them into the room of Mrs. Leroy, whom -they found dead, and black in the face, as if she had been choked. Midge -had run down stairs, and he had run after her, and they saw some one -running under the trees, when they got out. Midge had flown out and -collared him, and it proved to be Mr. Charley Marsh. - -Here the coroner struck in. - -"He was running, you say: in what direction?" - -Mr. Nettleby couldn't say positively--was inclined to think he was -running toward, not from them. Couldn't swear either way, for it was a -queer, shadowy kind of a night, half moonlight, half darkness. They had -all three gone back to the house, Mr. Marsh appearing very much shocked -at hearing of the murder; and on returning to the room of the deceased, -had found Miss Marsh in a fainting-fit. They brought her to with water, -and then her brother had taken her to her mother's house in Speckport, -in a gig. He and Midge had gone to his father's cottage, where they had -remained all night. Further than that Mr. Nettleby knew nothing, -except--and here he hesitated. - -"Except what, sir?" the coroner sharply inquired. "Remember you are upon -oath." - -"Well, sir," said Bob, "it isn't much, except that when we came back to -the room, I picked this up close to the bed. It looked as if it belonged -to a man, and I put it in my pocket. Here it is." - -He produced from his coat-pocket, as he spoke, a glove. A gentleman's -kid glove, pale-brown in color, and considerably soiled with wear. Val -started as he saw it, for those were the kind of gloves Charley Marsh -always wore--he had them made to order in one of the stores of the town. -The coroner examined it with a very grave face--there were two letters -inside, "C. M." - -"Do you know to whom this glove belongs?" the coroner asked. - -"I know I found it," said Nettleby, not looking at it, and speaking -sulkily, "that's all I know about it." - -"Does any one you know wear such gloves?" - -"Plenty of gentlemen I've seen wear brown kid gloves." - -"Have you seen the initials, 'C. M.,' inside this glove?" - -"I have." - -"And--on your oath, recollect--are you not morally certain you know its -owner?" - -Nettleby was silent. - -"Speak, witness," the coroner cried; "answer the question put to you. -Who do you suspect is the owner of this glove?" - -"Mr. Marsh! Them letters stands for his name, and he always wears them -kind of gloves." - -"Had Mr. Marsh been near the bed, after your return to the room -together, before you found this glove?" - -"No; I found it lying close by the bedside, and he had never been nearer -than the middle of the room, where he was trying to fetch his sister -to." - -Robert Nettleby was told he might stand down, and Mr. Marsh was called -upon to identify his property. Charley, who had been standing at one of -the windows listening, in gloomy silence, and closely watched by two -policemen, stepped forward, took the glove, examined it, handed it back, -and coldly owned it was his. - -How was he going to account for its being found by the bedside of the -murdered woman? - -Mr. Marsh was not going to account for it at all--he knew nothing about -it. He always had two or three such pairs of gloves at once, and had -never missed this. Amid an ominous silence, he resumed his place at the -window, staring out at the broad green fields and waving trees, bathed -in the golden August sunshine, and seeing them no more than if he had -been stone-blind. - -Mrs. Marsh was the next witness called, and came from an adjoining room, -dressed in black, and simpering at finding herself the cynosure of so -many eyes. Mrs. Marsh folded one black-kid-gloved hand over the other -after being sworn, with a mild sigh, and prepared to answer the -catechism about to be propounded. The coroner began wide of the mark, -and asked her a good many questions, that seemed to have little bearing -on the matter in hand, all of which the lady answered very minutely, and -at length. Presently, in a somewhat roundabout fashion, he inquired if -her son had been at home on the night of the murder. - -"No; he not been at home, at least not until he had come driving home -with Natty, both of them as pale as ghosts, and no wonder, though they -quite made her scream to look at them; but when she had heard the news, -she had such a turn, it was a mercy she hadn't fainted herself, and she -hadn't half got over it yet." - -Here Mrs. Marsh took a sniff at a smelling-bottle she carried, and the -ammonia being strong, brought a tear into each eye, which she wiped -away with a great show of pocket-handkerchief. - -"What time had her son left the house before returning with his sister?" - -"After tea. He had been home to tea, which in itself was so unusual a -circumstance, that she, Mrs. Marsh, felt sure something was going to -happen. She had had a feeling on her all day, and Charley's conduct had -increased that feeling until she was perfectly convinced something -dreadful was going to happen." - -"In what manner had her son's conduct augmented her presentiments?" - -"Well, she did not know exactly, but Charley had behaved odd. He had -come over and talked to her before going out, telling her he had been -bad, but meant to be good, and turn over a new leaf for the future; and, -bidding her take his part if ever she heard him run down, which she -meant to do, for Charley was a good boy as ever lived, in the main, only -he had been foolish lately; but mothers, it is well known, can forgive -anything, and she meant to do it; and if he, the coroner, was a mother, -she would do it herself." - -"Was her son in the habit of stopping out nights?" - -"Not until lately; that is, within the last two weeks, since when he -used to come home in a dreadful state of drink, worrying her nearly to -death, and letting all her advice go in one ear and out of the other." - -Mrs. Marsh was shown the glove, and asked if she knew it. Yes, of course -she did; it was one of Charley's; he always wore those kind, and his -initials were inside. The coroner examined her further, but only got -wordy repetitions of what she had already said. Everything was telling -terribly against Charley, who stood, like a dark ghost, still moodily -staring out of the window. Val Blake crossed over and laid his hand -heavily on his shoulder as Mrs. Marsh left the room. - -"Charley, old boy! have you nothing at all to say for yourself?" - -Charley lifted his gloomy eyes, but turned away again in sullen -silence. - -"You know they will charge you with this crime, and you know you are not -guilty. Can you not prove yourself innocent?" - -"How? Will they take my word for it?" - -"Explain why you were found in the grounds at that hour of the night." - -"They have already asked me to do so, and I have already declined." - -"But this is folly--this is madness! What motive could you possibly have -for being there at such an hour?" - -Charley was silent. Val laid his hand on his shoulder with a kindly -look. - -"Charley, will you not tell me?" - -"No." - -"You know I am your friend." - -"You will not be so long. Those fellows over there will settle the -matter shortly to their own satisfaction, and I am not going to spoil -their sport." - -"Charley," said Val, looking him steadily in the face, "where is -Cherrie?" - -Charley Marsh's face, white and haggard an instant previously, turned -scarlet, and from scarlet whiter than before. But he lifted his eyes -fearlessly to Val's face, roused to eagerness at last. - -"Where is she?" he repeated. "Do you know?" - -"No; but I think you do." - -"Why do you think so?" - -"That's not the question! Where is she?" - -"I don't know." - -"What!" - -"I don't know. I tell you I don't! She is a false-hearted, lying, -treacherous----" - -His face was white with fury. His name, called by the coroner, restored -him to himself. Turning round, he saw that gentleman holding out to him -a letter. It was Charley's fatal note, given to him by Dr. Leach, while -Val and Charley had been speaking. - -"Do you know this, Mr. Marsh?" the coroner asked. - -Charley glanced over the note, the coroner still holding it. It was all -written on the first page, in a pothook-and-hanger fist; and Charley -turned crimson for the second time, as he finished it and read the name -at the bottom. - -"Do you know anything of this, Mr. Marsh?" the coroner repeated. - -"No," Charley coldly and briefly said. - -"You recognize the writing and the name?" - -"Yes." - -"The writer of this, Cherrie Nettleby, alludes to money which she says -will do you and her more good than it ever did Lady Leroy. To what money -does she refer?" - -Charley thought of the bank-note he had taken from her through sheer -necessity, and once more the blood rushed in a scarlet tide to his face, -ebbing again, and leaving him white as ashes. - -Coroner, jury, and spectators saw his changing face, and set it down to -conscious guilt. - -"To what money does she refer?" reiterated the coroner. - -"Sir, I decline answering that question." - -"Indeed! Are you aware, Mr. Marsh, such a refusal tells very much -against you?" - -Charley smiled coldly, contemptuously. - -"I am quite aware, sir, every circumstance tells very much against me. -Nevertheless, I refuse to answer that and any other question I choose." - -"The boy is either mad," thought Val Blake, "or else guilty. In either -case, his doom is sealed!" - -The coroner now explained to his court how the letter came into the -hands of Doctor Leach, and read it aloud, handing it over to the jury -for their inspection when he had finished. The allusion to his taking -state-rooms for them both puzzled all who knew of the girl's departure -for Greentown; but was set down by them, as it had been by Val, as a -blind to deceive her friends. - -Ann Nettleby was next called, and, in a state of great trepidation, -related Charley's call at the cottage and inquiry for Cherrie. Informed -the coroner, in reply to his question, that Mr. Marsh was "after" -Cherrie, a constant visitor at their house, and had asked Cherrie not -long before to run away with him to the States. Had not heard from her -sister since her departure, but supposed she was up in Greentown. - -One or two other witnesses were called, who had nothing to relate -concerning the murder, but a good deal about Mr. Marsh's late dissipated -habits and gambling-debts. When these witnesses were gone, Mr. Marsh was -called upon, and requested, if he had anything to say in his own behalf, -to say it. - -Mr. Marsh had but little to say, and said that little with a -recklessness that quite shocked the assemblage. The secret of his bitter -tone and fiercely-scornful indifference they had no clue to, and they -set it down to the desperation of discovered guilt. He informed them, in -that reckless manner, flinging his words at them like a defiance, that -Ann Nettleby's testimony was correct, that he had called at the cottage -between eight and nine on the night of the murder, and on leaving her -had gone straight to the old house, and remained in the grounds until -discovered by Midge and Rob Nettleby. What had taken him there, what his -motive in lingering, was what Cherrie meant in her note, and all else -concerning his motives and actions he refused to answer. He was a -drunkard, he was a gambler, he was in debt--"his friends" with sneering -emphasis, "have given his character with perfect correctness. But for -all that, strange as it might seem, incredible as he knew they would -think it, he had neither robbed nor murdered his sister's benefactress. -Further than that he had nothing to say." - -He returned to the window again, flashing fierce defiance on every hand, -and the coroner summed up the evidence. He was an old man, and had known -Charley Marsh since he was a pretty little fair-haired, frolicsome boy, -and he would have given a good round sum in hard cash to be able to find -him innocent. But he could not, and justice must be done. He -recapitulated his irregular conduct on the evening of the murder, as -related by his own mother, his lingering in the grounds from dark until -discovered by Priscilla Short and Robert Nettleby, confessed by himself; -his glove found at the bedside, as if dropped in his haste and alarm; -his knowledge of the large sum of money paid the deceased that afternoon -by Mr. Oaks; his knowledge, also, of the house, as proved by his -entering the back-window, found open, and of its lonely and unprotected -state; and lastly, this note of Cherrie Nettleby's, with its distinct -allusion to the money of Mrs. Leroy, to benefit him. It was a pity this -girl was not here--but she soon would be found; meantime, the case was -perfectly clear without her. It was evident robbery, not murder, had -been the primary instigation; but the unfortunate woman awakening, -probably, had frightened him, and in the impulse of the moment he had -endeavored to stifle her cries, and so--strangled her. Perhaps, too, his -sister being her heiress, and inheritrix of all she possessed, he had -persuaded himself, with the sophistry of guilt, that he had some right -to this money, and that he was only defrauding his own sister, after -all. His debts were heavy and pressing, no way of paying them open, and -desperation had goaded him on. He (the coroner) trusted that the sad -case of this young man, once so promising, until he had fallen into evil -habits, would be a warning to others, and an inducement not to stray -away from the path of rectitude into that broad road whose end was -disgrace and ruin. The money stolen had not been found, but there had -been ample time given him to conceal it. He begged the jury to reflect -on the evidence they had heard, consult together, and return a verdict -according to their conscience. - -The jury retired from the room, and in the awful silence which followed, -you might have heard a pin drop. Charles Marsh, in this supreme crisis -of his life, still stood looking out of the window. He neither moved nor -spoke, nor looked at any one, nor betrayed the slightest sign of -agitation; but his teeth were rigidly locked, and the palm of his strong -right hand was bleeding where he had clenched it, in that silent agony, -until the nails had sunk deep into the flesh. He had been reckless and -defiant, and braved it out with a high hand; but Charles Marsh had had -the misfortune to be born with a keenly sensitive heart, and a pride -that had lain latent under all his careless life; and what he felt in -that hour of disgrace and degradation, branded as a thief and a murderer -before the friends who knew him all his life, was known only to Heaven -and himself. - -The jury were not long away. Evidently, his case had been settled in -their minds before they had left their seats. And in that dread silence -the foreman, Mr. Blair, with a grave, sad face, stood up to announce -their verdict. It was only one word--the terrible word, "Guilty." - -There was a swaying sound among the crowd, as if they had drawn breath -for the first time. That dismal word fled from lip to lip like wildfire, -until it passed from the room to the crowd in the hall, and from them to -the swaying mob without. It was quite a lively scene, in fact, out -there, where that big crowd of men stood broiling under the meridian -sun, when the verdict was announced, and the inquiries as to how "young -Marsh" behaved and looked were many and eager. The question was not very -easily answered. Young Marsh, standing by that sunny window, was so -screened by the towering figure of Mr. Valentine Blake, that the gaping -and exasperated throng craned their throats and stood on tip-toe for -nothing. They would see him, however, when he came out to enter the cab, -already in waiting, that was to convey him in the custody of the -constables into town, and it was worth while waiting even for that -fleeting glimpse. - -Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed. The expectant crowd were -getting angry and impatient; it was shameful, this dallying. But two or -three policemen are out now with their red batons and brass buttons of -authority, clearing a way for the gentlemen who are coming out, and for -the cab which is to draw up close to the front door. Still, the mob -press forward, the coroner and jury are departing; and now the -prisoner's coming. But a new disappointment is in store for them; for -when he comes, he has his hat pulled so far over his eyes, and springs -in so quickly, that they don't even get that fleeting glimpse of him -they are crushing each other to death to obtain. The constables follow; -it is pleasant even to see them; the blinds are pulled down; the cab -drives off rapidly, and the crowd go home, ravenous for their dinner. -And Charles Marsh is on his way to Speckport jail, to await his trial -for the willful murder of Jane Leroy! - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -THE DARKENING SKY. - - -The day after the inquest, the funeral took place. As the clock of -Speckport cathedral chimed in sonorous sweetness the hour of ten, all -that was earthly of Mrs. Leroy was placed in the hearse, and the gloomy -cortege started. A great many carriages followed the mistress of Redmon -to her last long home; and, in the foremost, two ladies, robed in sable, -and vailed in crape, rode. The outward mourning was for the dead, the -deeper _deuil_ of the heart for the living--for him who, on this -wretched August day, was a prisoner in Speckport jail, awaiting his -trial for the greatest crime man can commit, doomed to suffer, perhaps, -the greatest penalty man can inflict. - -Nobody in all the long line of carriages talked; they crouched into -corners, and shivered, and were silent, and sulky, and cross, and -uncomfortable, and gaped, and wished the thing was well over, or that -they had never come. - -They got their wish after a while. The last sod was beaten down, and the -carriages rattled back into the foggy town--all but three or four; and -they drove back to the eerie old house, never so lonely and desolate as -now. One ceremony was yet to be gone through--that ceremony the reading -of the last will and testament of Mrs. Leroy. Here, where it had been -written, in the ghostly reception-room, where the inquest had taken -place, and where the rats and black beetles had it all their own way, it -was to be read. It was this that brought Mrs. Marsh, who had been ill -and hysterical ever since she had heard the result of the inquest, to -the funeral at all. To her it was a great and joyful thing this wealth -that after to-day was to be theirs, and not even in her grief could she -forego the pleasure of being present. Heaven knows, it was nothing of -the sort brought her daughter--the silent agony she had endured since -yesterday can never be told; but she had hope yet. She had hope in this -very wealth that was to be hers to help him. Young as she was, she knew -enough of the power of money to be aware it can do almost anything in -this world, and smooth the road to the next; and she trusted in its -magic power to free her imprisoned brother. They all went into the -silent and forlorn house together; Mr. Darcy, who was to read the will, -and whose face was distressed and troubled to the last degree; Mr. -Blair, as an intimate friend of the family; Mr. McGregor, Senior, and -Dr. Leach; Mrs. McGregor and Mrs. Blair were with Mrs. Marsh, and Miss -McGregor and Miss Blair were deeply sympathetic with Miss Marsh--the -heiress!--and Mr. Val Blake, with his sister on his arm; and Midge, who -had been at the signing of the will, brought up the rear. - -The shutters of the closed rooms had all been opened, and the casements -raised, for the first time in many a day, and the pale light of the -foggy morning poured in. Lawyer Darcy took his seat at a table, and laid -out on it a legal-looking document tied with red tape. The others seated -themselves around the apartment; and Nathalie Marsh, in her deep -mourning-robes, and her thick black crape vail down over her face, took -her seat beside one of the open windows, and leaned her forehead on her -hand, as if it ached. - -Long afterward, when she was gone from them forever, they remembered -that drooping black figure and bowed young head, with one or two bright -curls, like lost sunbeams, shimmering out from under her crape bonnet. -Long afterward, they thought of how she had sat that dull and miserable -day, suffering as these patient womanly martyrs only suffer, and making -no sign. - -Lawyer Darcy seemed strangely reluctant to commence his task. He -lingered and lingered, his face pale and agitated, his lips twitching -nervously, and the fingers that untied the document before him, -trembling. His voice, too, when he spoke, was not quite steady. - -"I am afraid," said the lawyer, in that unsteady voice, "that the -reading of this will will be a shock--a disappointment! I know it must -astonish all, as it did me, and I should like to prepare you for it, -before it is read." - -There was a surprised and alarmed murmur, but no one spoke. - -"You are all aware," the lawyer went on, keeping his eyes resolutely -from that drooping figure at the window, "that when Mrs. Leroy made her -will after coming to Speckport she bequeathed all she possessed to her -ward, Miss Marsh. I drew up the will, and she made no secret of her -intentions." - -There was another painful pause. Val Blake broke it. - -"Of course," he said, impatiently, "we all know Mrs. Leroy left Miss -Marsh heiress of Redmon." - -"But you do not know," said Mr. Darcy, "that a short time ago--in fact, -a few days before her tragical death, she revoked that first will and -made a new one." - -"What?" the cry was from Val Blake, but no one heeded him; every eye was -strained upon the lawyer. - -"Made a new one," the lawyer repeated, still averting his eyes from the -black form at the window; "a new one, entirely different; leaving, I am -sorry to say, Redmon away from Miss Marsh--in point of fact, -disinheriting her." - -There were two little feminine shrieks from the Misses Blair and -McGregor, a hysterical cry from Mrs. Marsh, but the bowed figure at the -window never stirred. In the unnatural stillness of her attitude, her -face hidden behind her crape mask, there was something more fearful than -any outbursts of wild womanly distress. - -"The new will was made, as I told you," continued Mr. Darcy, "but a few -days before her death; made whilst smarting under a sense of anger, and -what she called ingratitude. Miss Marsh had offended her, disobeyed her -in a matter on which she had set her heart, and for this she was going -to disinherit her. I expostulated, entreated, did all I could, but in -vain. She was obstinate, and this new will was made, which I now hold in -my hand." - -Mrs. Marsh's face had turned as white as that of a dead woman, and great -beads of cold sweat stood on her forehead. But she sat rigidly still, -listening, and feeling as though she were in some dreadful dream. - -"I drew up the will," pursued Mr. Darcy, "and Midge yonder and old -Nettleby signed it. I fancied when her first resentment cooled, she -would see the injustice of her act, and retract it. I was right; the day -preceding the night of her death, hearing she was ill, I called to see -her, and she told me to come the next morning, and a third will should -be made, leaving all to Nathalie as at first. Next morning she was -dead." - -To the dark form, whose drooping face was pitifully hidden by the black -vail, did any memory come of the words spoken to her by the dead woman -that fatal night, and which had then been so mysterious: - -"I'll make it all right, Natty! I'll make it all right!" Did she know -what was meant now? - -"And do you mean to say, Mr. Darcy," Val Blake cried, astonished and -indignant, "that Nathalie Marsh is not the heiress of Redmon?" - -"I do! this will disinherits her! It is a crying wrong, but no fault of -mine." - -"And who, then, is the heir?" asked Mr. McGregor. - -"She bequeaths all she possesses, unconditionally, to her brother, -Philip Henderson, or, in case of his death, to his children. I will read -the will." - -Amid that profound and impressive stillness, the lawyer read the last -will and testament of Jane Leroy. It was concise enough, and left the -whole of her property, real and personal, without conditions, to her -brother, Philip Henderson, and his heirs, with the exception of five -pounds to Miss Nathalie Marsh, to buy a mourning-ring. - -Mr. Darcy hesitated over this last cruel passage, and felt inclined to -leave it out; but he did not, and there was a suppressed murmur of -indignation from every lip on hearing it. - -Poor Mrs. Marsh was catching her breath in hysterical gasps, and being -fanned and sprinkled with cold water, and the palms of her hands slapped -by Miss Jo and the two married ladies. And still the vailed figure at -the window sat rigidly there, uttering no cry, shedding no tears. - -There are griefs too deep for words, too intense for tears, when we can -only sit in mute and stony despair, while the world reels under our -feet, and the light of the sun is blackness. To Nathalie Marsh, the loss -of fortune was the loss of everything--brother, lover, home, -happiness--the loss of all to which she had looked forward so long, for -which she had endured so much. And now, she sat there, like a figure -carved in ebony; and only for the ghastly pallor of her face in the -indistinct glimpses of it they could catch through the vail, could they -tell that she even heard. - -It was Val Blake who again broke the silence that followed the reading -of the will. - -"I protest against this will!" he indignantly cried. "It is unjust and -ungrateful! You should never have produced it, Mr. Darcy. You should -have read the former will." - -"You are jesting, Mr. Blake! While regretting as much as you can -possibly do this unfortunate change, my duty is sacred, and by this will -we must abide. Mrs. Marsh seems very ill; I think she had better be -conveyed home." - -No one ventured to speak to Nathalie, her unnatural manner awed them; -but when her mother was supported from the room, and she arose to -follow, good natured Miss Jo was beginning a homily on resignation, and -on its being all for the best, perhaps, in the end. Her brother, -however, cut her short with very little ceremony, and handed Miss Marsh -in after her mother, and seating himself by the coachman, they started -off rapidly. He might have spared himself the trouble; good Miss Jo -might have preached for an hour, and Nathalie would not have heard one -word of it. She sat looking straight before her, seeing nothing, hearing -nothing, conscious of nothing, save only that dull and dark despair at -her heart. Midge, who had come with them in the carriage, waited on Mrs. -Marsh, and cried quietly all the way, bestowing anything but blessings -on the memory of her late mistress. - -Mr. Blake assisted both ladies into the house when they reached Cottage -Street. Mrs. Marsh, who was very ill and in a state of hysterics, he -carried in his arms and laid on the sofa. Nathalie entered the parlor, -closed the door, and, still wearing her bonnet and mantle, sat down by -the window that looked out on the blurred and misty street. She had -flung back her vail, and in her white and ghastly face and dilated -violet eyes you could read a waiting look. Nathalie was waiting for one, -who, by some secret prescience, she knew would soon come. - -Doctor Leach entered the cottage soon after their return, prescribed for -Mrs. Marsh, and departed again. Had he been able to minister to a mind -diseased, he might have prescribed for Nathalie, too; but that not -coming within his pharmacopoeia, he left without seeing her. - -It was dusk when he for whom she waited came. The dull wet day was -ending in a duller and wetter evening, and the tramp, tramp of the -long-roaring waves on the shore made a dull bass for the high, shrill -soprano shrieks of the wind. The lamps were flaring through the foggy -twilight in the bleak streets, when Captain Cavendish, in a loose -overcoat, and bearing an umbrella, wended his way to that house of -mourning. He had not been two hours in Speckport, but he had heard all -that had transpired. Was there one in the town, from the aristocratic -denizens of Golden Row and Park Lane to the miserable dwellers in filthy -back-alleys and noisome water-side streets, that did not know, and were -not discussing these unhappy events with equal gusto? The robbery and -murder of Mrs. Leroy, the inquest, the sentence and imprisonment of -Charley Marsh, the will, and the disinheriting of Nathalie, all were as -well known in the obscurest corner of Speckport as in that unhappy home -to which he was going. - -In the course of that long afternoon Midge had only once ventured into -the parlor, and that was in fear and trembling, to ask her young -mistress to take a cup of tea and some toast which she brought. - -Nathalie had tasted nothing since the day before; and poor Midge, with -tears in her fretful eyes, urged it upon her now. The girl looked at her -out of a pair of hollow eyes, unnaturally large and bright, in a vague -way, as if trying to comprehend what she said; and when she did -comprehend, refusing. Midge ventured to urge; and then Nathalie broke -out of her rigid, despairing stillness, into passionate impatience. - -"Take it away!" she cried, "and leave me alone! Leave me alone, I tell -you!" - -Midge could do nothing but obey. As she quitted the room with the tray, -there came a knock at the front door. She set down the tray and opened -it, and the tall form of the young English officer confronted her. Midge -had no especial love for Captain Cavendish, as we know; but she was -aware her young lady had, and was, for the first time in her life, glad -to see him. It was good of him to come, she thought, knowing what had -happened; and perhaps his presence might comfort her poor Miss Natty, -and restore her to herself. - -"Yes," Midge said, in answer to his inquiry; "Miss Marsh was at home, -and would see him, she thought. If he would wait one minute she would -ascertain." - -She returned to the parlor to ask. But Nathalie had already heard his -voice, and was sitting up, with a strained white face, and her poor -wasted hands pressed hard over her heart. She only made an assenting -motion to Midge's question, should she show him in, and a negative one -when she spoke of bringing a lamp. Through all her torpor of utter -misery, she was dimly conscious of a change in herself; that she was -haggard and ghastly, and the beauty which had won him first to her side, -utterly gone. That gloomy twilight hour was best befitting the scene so -soon to take place; for her prophetic heart told her, as surely as if -she had read it in the Book of Fate, that this meeting was to be their -last. - -Midge admitted him, and closing the door behind him, retired into a -distant corner of the hall, and throwing her apron over her head, cried -quietly, as she had done all day. She would have given a good deal if -the white painted panels of the parlor door had been clear glass, and -that she could have seen this man comforting her beloved young lady. -Much as she had disliked him, she could have knelt down in her -gratitude, and kissed the dust off his feet. - -Even in the pale, sickly half-twilight of the dark evening, Captain -Cavendish could see the haggard cheeks, the sunken eyes, and the -death-like livid pallor of the girl's face, and was shocked to see it. -He had expected to find her changed, but not like this; and there was -real pity for the moment in his eyes as he bent over her and took her -hand. He started to find it cold as ice, and it lay in his passive, and -like a bit of marble. - -"Nathalie," he said, "my darling! I am sorry; I cannot tell you how -sorry I am for you. You have suffered indeed since I saw you last." - -She did not speak. She had not looked at him once. Her dilated eyes were -fixed on the blackening night-sky. - -"I only reached Speckport an hour ago," he went on, "and I can never -tell you how deeply shocked I was to hear of the dreadful events that -have taken place since my departure. Is it all true?" - -"Yes--all!" she said. Her voice sounded strange and far-off, even to -herself, and she was aware it must sound hollow and unnatural to him. - -"All is true! My brother is in prison, accused of murder, and I am a -beggar!" - -Her hand felt so icily deathlike in his, that he dropped it with a -shiver. She still sat looking out into the deepening gloom, her white, -set face gleaming marble-white against her black dress and the darkening -room. - -Captain Cavendish rose up from the seat he had taken, and began pacing -rapidly up and down, heartily wishing the scene was over. - -"I know," said the hollow voice, so unlike--so unlike the melodious -voice of Nathalie, "that all between us must end now. Disgrace and -poverty must be my portion from henceforth, and you will hardly care to -marry so fallen and degraded a creature as I am. From all that binds you -to me, Captain Cavendish, I free you now!" - -In the depths of her heart, unseen in the darkness of despair even by -herself, did any feeble ray of hope--that great gift of a merciful -God--still linger? If so, the deep and prolonged silence that followed -her words must have extinguished the feeble glimmer forever. When -Captain Cavendish spoke, and it was some time before he did so, there -was a quiver of shame in his tones, all unusual there. Very few ever had -a better opinion of their own merits, or were less inclined to judge -hardly of themselves, than George Percy Cavendish, but she made him -despise himself now, and he almost hated her for it. - -"You are generous, Miss Marsh," he said--cold and cruel words, and even -he felt them so to be, "and I thank you for that generosity. Loss of -fortune would be nothing to me--that is to say, I could overlook -it--though I am not rich myself, but this other matter is different. As -you say, I could hardly marry into a family stained with--unjustly let -us hope--the brand of murder. I shall ever esteem and respect you, Miss -Marsh, as the best and bravest of women, and I trust that you will yet -make happy some one worthier of you than I am." - -Is murder, the murder of the body, when a man plunges a knife into his -fellow-man's breast, and leaves him stark and dead, the greatest of all -earthly crimes? Earthly tribunals consider it so, and inflict death on -the perpetrator. But is there not another murder--a murder of the -heart--committed every day, of which we hear nothing, and which man has -never made a law to punish. There are wounds which leave little outward -trace; but the patient bleeds inwardly, yet bleeds to death for all -that, and it is the same ultimatum, death, by a different means. But -there is a higher tribunal; and perhaps before that, the sins -over-looked by man shall be judged and condemned. - -Captain Cavendish took his hat and turned to depart. He felt exceedingly -uncomfortable, to say the least of it. He wished that black figure -would not sit so petrified and stone-like, he wished that white face -gazing out into the night would look a little less like the face of a -corpse. He wished she would flame up in some wrathful outburst of -womanly fury and insulted pride, and order him to depart, and never show -her his false face again. He wished she would do anything but sit there, -in that frozen rigidity, as if slowly turning to stone. - -"Nathalie!" he said, venturing to take her icy fingers again, "will you -not speak one word to me before I go?" - -She withdrew her fingers, not hastily or in anger, but never looked at -him. - -"I have nothing to say," her unnatural voice replied. - -"Then good-bye, Nathalie!" - -"Good-bye!" - -He opened and closed the parlor door, opened and closed the front door, -and was gone. He looked at the window of that dark room as he strode by, -and fancied he saw the white face gleaming on him menacingly through the -gloom. The white face was there, but not menacing. Whatever she might -feel in the time to come, when the first terrible shock of all this was -over, she could feel nothing so petty as resentment now. Her anguish was -too supreme in this first dreadful hour. The world to her stood still, -and the blackness of desolation filled the earth. "All for love, and the -world well lost!" had been her motto. It was for his sake she had risked -everything, and verily, she had her reward! - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -THE FLIGHT. - - -Mrs. Major Wheatly was a very fine lady, and lived in a very fine house -two or three miles out of town. Having secured a traveling companion and -a governess for her daughter, in the person of Miss Rose, the little -Speckport school-mistress, she had desired that young person to come out -to their place immediately, and assist in the packing and other -arrangements, preparatory to starting. Miss Rose had obeyed, and being -out of town had heard nothing of the inquest and the verdict until that -night, when the major drove in, after dusk, with the news. Mrs. Major -Wheatly, like any other fine lady, was greatly addicted to news, and -received a severe shock in her nervous system by the manner in which her -paid companion received the intelligence. They were all sitting at tea -when the major blurted out the story, and his conviction that "the young -scamp would be hung, and serve him right," and Miss Rose had fallen -suddenly back in her chair in a violent tremor and faintness. All the -next day she had gone about so pale and subdued that it gave Mrs. -Wheatly the fidgets to look at her; but whatever she felt, she had -wisely kept to herself, and made her moan inwardly, as dependents who -know their places always should. "Sufficient unto the day is the evil -thereof"--that day brought its own evil tidings. The major returning at -his usual hour of the evening from town, announced the astounding -intelligence that Miss Nathalie Marsh was disinherited, and the broad -lands of Redmon given to another. Mrs. Major Wheatly sipped her tea and -ate her buttered toast, and was deeply sympathetic. She had met the -pretty, golden-haired, violet-eyed heiress often in society, and had -admired and liked her, as most people did, and was as sorry for her as -was consistent with the dignity of so great a lady. - -"Of course Captain Cavendish must recede now," she said: "he paid her -very marked attentions, but of course he will not marry a penniless -bride. Were they engaged, I wonder?" - -"Cavendish is a fortune-hunter," said the major. "Miss Marsh is a very -nice girl, and a very pretty one, and altogether too good for him. No -fear of his marrying her, my dear; he wouldn't marry the Venus Celestis -herself, without a handsome dowry." - -"Mrs. Wheatly," Miss Rose said, "I must go into town to-morrow morning, -to see my friends and say good-bye." - -She was so pale and tremulous saying this, that the lady hastened to -assent, nervously, lest she should make another scene. - -"I am going in about nine o'clock," the major said, "and will drive you. -Harris will take you back." - -"And you must not stay long, Miss Rose," his lady languidly said; -"remember we start at half-past two, and there is so much to be done." - -The clock on the sitting-room mantel of that silent house on Cottage -Street was pointing to half-past nine, when Betsy Ann, with fuzzy hair -and sleepy face, hastened to answer a knock at the front door. She -stared sleepily at her visitor, who came hurriedly in. - -"Is she here, Betsy Ann?--Miss Marsh?" - -"Yes'm," Betsy Ann said, "she's up in your room, and Miss Laura Blair -and Midge, they've been and sot up with her all night, and me and Miss -Jo Blake we've been sitting up with Mrs. Marsh. Midge, she's gone to bed -now, and you'd better go up-stairs." - -Miss Rose ascended the stairs, and tapped at the door that had been her -own. It was opened by Laura Blair, looking pale and fagged. - -"Is it you, Miss Rose?" she said, in a low voice, kissing her. "I was -afraid you were not coming to say good-bye." - -"I could not come sooner, and can stay only an hour now. How is she?" - -"There is no change. She has lain all night as she lying now." - -Miss Rose looked at the bed, tears slowly swelling up and filling her -soft brown eyes. Nathalie lay among the white pillows, her amber tresses -trailing and falling loose all about, her hands clasped over her head, -her haggard face turned to the window overlooking the bay, her wide-open -blue eyes staring blankly at the dim gray sea melting away into the low -gray sky. - -"She lies like that," Laura softly said, "all the time. We sat up with -her all night, but she never slept, she hardly moved; whenever we went -near the bed, we found her eyes wide open and vacant, as they are now. -If she could only talk or cry, she would be better, but it makes one's -heart ache to look at her." - -"Does she not talk?" - -"She will answer you if you speak to her, but that is all. She is quite -conscious, but she seems to be in a sort of torpor. I will leave you -with her, and lie down for half an hour. She was very fond of you, and -perhaps you can do more with her than I could." - -Laura departed; and Miss Rose, going over to the bed, stooped down and -kissed the cold, white face, leaving two bright tears upon it. - -"Nathalie, dearest," she said, "do you know me?" - -Her large, melancholy eyes turned upon her sweet, tender face. - -"Yes," she said, in that voice so unlike her own, that it startled her -hearer. She seemed so unlike herself every way, that Miss Rose's tears -rained down far faster than they would have done at any outbreak of -grief. - -"You are ill, my darling," Miss Rose faltered through her tears. "I wish -I could stay and nurse you back to health, but I am going away -to-day--going, perhaps, never to come back." - -"Going away? Oh, yes. I remember!" - -She turned wearily on the pillow, still gazing out over the wide sea, as -if her thoughts were far away. - -"I am very sorry for you, dear, dear Nathalie! Very, very sorry for you! -It seems to me, sometimes, there is nothing in all this world but -suffering, and sorrow, and death." - -"Death!" Nathalie echoed, catching with sudden and startling vehemence -at the word. "Miss Rose, are you afraid to die?" - -The question was so sudden and so strange, that Miss Rose could not for -a moment answer. A wild gleam of light had leaped into the sick girl's -eyes, and irradiated her face so unnaturally, that it struck her -companion with terror. - -"Afraid to die?" she faltered. "To die, Nathalie?" - -"Yes," Nathalie repeated, that abrupt energy yet in her voice; "you are -good and charitable, better than any other girl I know, and you ought -not to be afraid to die. Tell me, are you?" - -She laid hold of Miss Rose's wrist, and looked wildly into her -frightened face. The girl tried to still her beating heart and answer. - -"I am not good, Nathalie. I am an erring and sinful creature; but, -trusting in the great mercy of God, I think I shall not be afraid to die -when it shall please him to call me. We must rely on his mercy, -Nathalie, on that infinite compassion for our misery that made him die -for us. If we thought of his justice, we might all despair." - -Nathalie turned away, and looked out again over the dark, tossing bay. -The sweet voice of Miss Rose broke the stillness. - -"To the just, Nathalie, there is no such word as death! To quit this -world, to them, is only passing from earth to Heaven in the arms of -angels. Why should we ever grow to love this world, when day after day -it is only passing from one new trouble and sorrow to another?" - -"Sorrow!" Nathalie repeated, in a voice sadder than any tears. "Yes, -sorrow, sorrow, sorrow! There is nothing left now but that." - -"Heaven is left, my darling," Miss Rose whispered, her fair face -radiant. "Oh, look up, Nathalie! When all the world deserts us, there -is One left who will never turn away when we cry out to him. We may turn -our backs upon him and forget him in the hour of our happiness and -prosperity, but when the world darkens around us, and all earthly love -fails, he will never leave us or forsake us, but will lead us lovingly -back to a better and purer bliss. Remember, Nathalie, the way to heaven -is the way of the Cross. It is a hard and thorny one, perhaps; but think -of the divine feet that have trodden it before us." - -"Stop, stop, stop!" Nathalie impatiently cried out, "why do you talk to -me like this! I am not good--I am only miserable and despairing, and I -want to die, only I am afraid!" - -She moved away her face; but Miss Rose, bending over her still, kissed -once more the averted face. - -"There was a time, Nathalie," she said softly, "when I was almost as -miserable as you are now, when, God forgive me, I prayed in my -passionate and wicked rebellion to die too. There was a time, Nathalie, -when I was rich and flattered, and beloved and happy--as happy as we can -ever be with the blind happiness of a lotus-eater when we never think or -thank the good God from whom that happiness comes. I thought myself an -heiress as you did, Nathalie; my father was looked upon as a rich and -honorable man, and his only daughter the most enviable girl in all the -city of Montreal. It was balls and parties, and the theater and the -opera, every night; and riding and driving, and dressing and shopping -all day long. I had my carriage to ride in, a fine house to live in, -servants to wait on me, and rich dresses and jewels to wear; and I -thought life was one long holiday, made for dancing and music, and -sunshine and joy. I had a lover, too, whom I thought loved me, and to -whom I had given my whole heart, and we were on the verge of being -married. Are you listening to me, Nathalie?" - -"Yes," Nathalie said. She had been listening intently, forgetting for -the first time her own sorrows, to hearken to the story, so like her -own. - -"Well, Nathalie, in one day, almost as you have done, I lost -all--father, lover, fortune, honor. My father went out from breakfast, -hale and well, and was carried home two hours afterward, struck dead. -Congestion of the brain they said it was. I was so frantic at first, I -could realize nothing but his death, but I was soon sternly compelled to -listen to other bitter facts. Instead of being an heiress, I was a -beggar. I was far poorer than you, for I was motherless and without a -home to shelter me. The creditors seized everything--house, furniture, -carriages, horses, plate, pictures--and turned me, in point of fact, -into the street. I had been educated in a convent, and the good nuns -gave me a home; but for that, I might have gone to the almshouse, for -the friends of prosperity are but frail reeds to lean upon in adversity. -He whom I was to have wedded, Nathalie, cast me off; he could never -disgrace his English friends by bringing to them as his wife the -daughter of a wretched defaulter. Dearest Nathalie, I need not tell you -what I suffered--you are feeling the same anguish now--and I was -rebellious and despairing, and wished impiously for nothing but death. -The nuns, with the sweetness and patience of angels, as they are, used -to sit by me for hours, telling me that blessed are they who mourn and -are chastened; but I could not listen. Oh! it was a miserable, miserable -time! and there seemed no light for me either in earth or heaven. If I -had been 'cursed with the curse of an accomplished evil prayer,' and -died then in my wicked despair, I shudder to think of what would have -been my fate. But that merciful and loving Father had pity on me in -spite of myself, and it is all over now, and I am happy. Yes, Nathalie, -happy, with a far better and more rational happiness than I ever felt in -the most joyous days of my prosperity; and I have learned to thank God -daily, now, for what I then thought the greatest misery that could ever -befall me. I wished to take the vail; but the nuns knew the wish -proceeded from no real vocation, but from that weary heart-sickness that -made me so disgusted with the world, and would not consent, at least not -then. I was to go out into the world again, and mingle in its ceaseless -strife once more; and if at the end of a year the desire was as strong -as ever, I was to go back to that peaceful haven, like the dove to the -ark, and be sheltered from the storms of life forever. So I came here, -Nathalie; and I am happy, as I say--happy, as with Heaven's help you -will one day be. I labor for a sacred cause, and until that is -accomplished, I shall enter no convent--it is to pay my father's debts. -They are not so very large now; and in three or four years, if life and -health be granted me, I hope to accomplish my task. - -"And now, Nathalie, you have heard my story; it is not a very romantic -one, but in many ways it is similar to your own. This fever of -wretchedness will pass, as mine has done, if you only pray. All the -secret lies there, pray; and he who has said 'Seek and ye shall find,' -will not refuse you peace." - -Her face was like the face of an angel. Nathalie looked into the -inspired eyes, and felt how sinful and lost she was beside this heroic -girl--this simple, womanly martyr, kissing meekly the rod which struck -her--this patient, humble soul, rebelling not, but thanking God alike -for the joy and suffering it pleased him to send. She felt, through all -the dull torpor of suffering, how unworthy she was beside her; but she -could not, in that first bitter hour, imitate her. She could not; she -only turned away again in gloomy silence. - -"You will think of all this, dearest Nathalie," the soft, tender voice -went on; "for all this pain, like every other earthly pain, must pass -away. The great lesson of life is endurance; and all, from the king to -the beggar, must learn it." - -She rose, as she spoke, to go, for more than an hour had passed, and -kissed the cold and averted face again. - -"I must leave you, Nathalie," she said, her tears falling on that -colorless face. "Good-bye, and God bless and comfort you." - -"Good-bye," was the only response; and Miss Rose left the room. Laura -Blair met her in the lower hall. - -"Are you going?" she asked; "the gig is waiting for you." - -"Yes; but I think I should like to see Mrs. Marsh, to say good-bye." - -"She is asleep, and so is Miss Blake. I will say it to both of them for -you. I am very sorry you are going, Miss Rose. Do you think you will -ever come back?" - -"Oh, yes, I hope so! If I send you my address, Miss Blair, will you -write and tell me how--how all my friends get on?" - -"Yes, with pleasure." - -Betsy Ann came out to bid farewell, and Laura kissed her, and watched -her as she entered her gig and was driven away. Miss Rose had no time to -bid good-bye to any one else; but when she reached the station early in -the afternoon, in the carriage, with Major and Mrs. and Miss Wheatly, -she found all her pupils assembled, in Sunday attire, waiting to say -farewell. Mrs. Wheatly shrugged her shoulders at the scene, and stared -through her eye-glass, and was relieved when they were all seated in the -car and the scene was over. As they took their place, a gentleman on the -platform leaned his elbow on the window, and lifted his hat in -salutation to the ladies. - -"Hallo, Blake!" said the major, nodding familiarly, "come to see us -off?" - -"No," said Val; "I've come to see myself off. I'm going to take a couple -of holidays and look at the country. Keep a place for me, Miss Rose; I -want to talk to you. I'll be in in a brace of shakes." - -It is probable a brace of shakes meant fifteen minutes, for at the -expiration of that period of time, and just as the train was in motion, -Mr. Blake lounged in, laden with oranges, peaches, and newspapers, which -he distributed promiscuously, and then took a seat beside Miss Rose. It -was pleasant to have Val for a traveling companion, for he knew every -inch of the country, and was so full of stories and anecdotes as to be -perfectly fascinating. He talked of the murder, asserted his belief in -Charley's innocence, in spite of any amount of circumstantial evidence, -and his firm conviction that the mystery would be speedily cleared up; -his present journey, he hinted, being taken to bring about that -desirable result. The fact was, Mr. Blake had of his own choice turned -amateur detective, and was on the track of Miss Cherrie Nettleby, and -positively resolved never to stop until he had hunted that young lady -down. A telegram had been dispatched to Greentown the day before, and -the answer Val had expected returned; Cherrie had never been near her -relations in Greentown at all. The reply threw the family at the cottage -into consternation, but Val reassured them by expressing his resolution -to find her, if she was above ground. From his inquiries at the station, -he had found out from the clerk, who knew her (who did not know -Cherrie?) that she had taken a through ticket to the terminus, thirty -miles beyond Greentown. The conductor remembered very well the pretty -girl with the dark eyes and curls, and rosy cheeks; had found her dozing -every time through the night he had passed in that car; remembered her -ticket was for S----, the terminus, but was positive she had got out -before they reached the final station. Where or when she had left, he -could not say; it was after night, and passengers were getting out and -coming in at every station, and she could easily depart among them -unnoticed. He did not know whether she had gone as far as Greentown; but -he did not remember seeing her after they passed that place. Val got out -at nearly every station where they made any stop, and inquired for the -pretty girl with the dark eyes and curls, but without success. At -Greentown, he bade Miss Rose farewell; told her to take care of herself -and not be sea-sick, and not to go and marry an Englishman before she -returned to them; and, carpet-bag in hand, and the address of Cousin -Ellen in his pocket, strolled along through the gray twilight to pursue -his inquiries. He found the farmhouse easily enough, but not Cherrie. -She had never been seen there, and no one who had been at the station -that night had seen any young lady whatever alight. - -Val remained in Greentown that night, and went on pursuing his inquiries -next day, but with the like result. He went on to S----; it was just -possible she had gone on there, and taken the steamer for Quebec. He -inquired at all the hotels, but no one answering to her description had -stopped at any of them, and her name was not on the list of passengers -by the last steamer. - -Mr. Blake spent three days in the search, and was then compelled by -business to return to town. Short as had been his absence, Speckport had -received a new shock--no less than the escape of the prisoner from jail. -Charley Marsh had broken prison and fled! How, could not very clearly be -ascertained, though the bars had been wrenched from his window and the -casement found wide open, his quilts torn into strips, and dangling from -it. But the window was high, and there was a wall to be got over -afterward, and how he had accomplished that last feat, puzzled -Speckport. He had accomplished it, however, and was flown; and the -police were after him, scouring the woods. Rewards were offered for his -capture. Mr. Blake put his hands in his pockets and whistled, when he -heard it. The recollection of a certain fact, not known to all Speckport -as it was to him, rushed upon his memory. In the days gone by, when the -late Mr. Marsh had been a wealthy man, and the jailer of the prison (not -jailer then) sued for a debt he could not pay, Mr. Marsh had come to his -relief, paid the debt, and freed him. It was hardly probable the man had -forgotten this obligation, and the bread cast then upon the waters had -returned after many days. But the jailer was not suspected, and he and -Val kept their own counsel. - -"I hope he'll get clear off," thought Val; "for if ever he's caught now, -unless the real criminal turns up, there will be nothing to save him. -This flight of his is enough to hang him, in itself." - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -"ONE MORE UNFORTUNATE." - - -The first person to tell Val Blake of Charley's flight was Captain -Cavendish. He found that officer killing time by lounging on the -platform, and staring at the passengers, as he alighted. Speckport, from -time immemorial, had had a great fancy for crowding steamboat wharves -and railway-platforms, to look at new arrivals; and strangers in the -place fell into the habits of the natives, unconsciously. - -"Poor devil!" said the captain, swinging his cane airily about, and -linking his arm in Val's; "I hope he'll dodge them, and escape Jack -Ketch. I never like to see any one I've been on friendly terms with -once, coming to that." - -"Are your friends in the habit of coming to it?" Mr. Blake asked, -innocently. - -"Bah! How did you enjoy your trip up the country?" - -"As well as I expected." - -"And did you find Cherrie?" - -"What?" - -"Did you find Cherrie?" serenely repeated Captain Cavendish. - -"No," said Val. "Do you know where she is!" - -The question might have disconcerted any other man, but it only made the -young officer stare. - -"I! My dear fellow, I don't understand you!" - -"Oh, yes, you do," said Mr. Blake. "I think you are about as apt to know -the hiding-place of little Cherrie as any other man in this province. -That she is in hiding I am positive; and I'll ferret her out yet, as -sure as my name's Blake." - -There was a certain determination in Mr. Blake's voice that the captain -by no means liked, but he only laughed indifferently. - -"Success to you! No one will be more rejoiced to see the little dear -back in Speckport than I! The place is a desert without her; but I give -you my word of honor, Blake, she might be in the moon for all I know to -the contrary." - -And in saying this, Captain Cavendish spoke the truth, for Cherrie had -not yet written. - -The notion had been vaguely floating through Val's mind, ever since the -robbery and murder and Cherrie's flight, that the English officer was in -some way connected with the affair. He might even have mentally -suspected him of the crime, but for one circumstance. It was at -precisely eleven o'clock Midge had first been alarmed by the flying -footsteps of the assassin; and at precisely eleven the Princess Royal -had left Speckport, with the captain on board. It was clear he could not -be in two places at once; so Val had acquitted him of the murder, but -not of knowing Cherrie's whereabouts. Even now, he was anything but -ready to take him at his word, but it was useless to press the question. - -"How do they get on in Cottage Street?" he asked. "I presume you are -there every day." - -"I call every day, of course," replied Captain Cavendish, a slight flush -coloring his nonchalant face; "but I never see any one except Midge, or -that other girl." - -"Betsy Ann?" - -"I suppose so. No one is permitted to enter, it appears, except your -sister and Miss Blair." - -"Indeed," said Val; "I should think you would have the entry above all -others. Have you not seen Nathalie since those melancholy changes have -occurred?" - -"Yes. Once." - -"Ah! At Cottage Street?" - -"Yes." - -"Well," said Val, who was never restrained by sentimental delicacy, -"what did she say?" - -"Not much, but what she did say was exceedingly to the point. She gave -me my _coup de conge_." - -"You don't say so! Did you take it?" - -"What could I do? She was inexorable! Of course, as a man of honor, I -should have made her my wife, in spite of all, but she was determined." - -A queer smile went wandering for a second or two round Mr. Blake's -mouth, but he instantly called his risible faculties to order, and -became grave again. - -"How are they? How do they take Charley's escape?" - -"Mrs. Marsh is poorly--confined to her bed, I believe, but Nathalie, -they tell me, appears better, and takes care of her mother. Your sister, -however, will be able to tell you all particulars." - -"I say, Cavendish," exclaimed Val, "you could go in for Jane McGregor, -now. She is nearly as rich as poor Natty was to be." - -"Bah! What do I care for her riches?" - -"Oh, yes, I understand; but just reflect that her papa will give her ten -thousand pounds on her wedding-day, and three times that much at his -death; and I am sure you will be brought to take pity on her." - -"Take pity on her?" - -"Tah! Tah! Tah!" cried Val; "don't play innocent. You know as well as I -do, she is dying for you." - -"But, my dear Blake," expostulated the captain, "she has red hair and -freckles." - -"Auburn hair--auburn! As for the freckles, her guineas will cover them. -Will you come in?" They were at the office door, but Captain Cavendish -declined. - -"I have to go to barracks," he said. "Good morning." - -Mr. Blake spent some two hours in his office, attending to business, and -then sallied forth again. His steps were bent in the direction of -Cottage Street, where he expected to find his sister. The house looked -as if some one were dead within--the blinds all down, the doors all -closed--and no one visible within or without. It was Midge who opened -the door, in answer to his loud knock. "How are you, Midge?" inquired -Mr. Blake, striding in, "and how are Mrs. and Miss Marsh?" - -Midge's reply was a prolonged and dismal narrative of the sufferings of -both. The elder lady was unable to leave her bed--she had fretted -herself into a low, nervous fever, and was so cross, and captious, and -quarrelsome, and peevish, that she made the lives of every one in the -house a misery to them. She did nothing but sigh, and cry, and moan, and -complain from morning till night, and from night till morning. Nothing -they did pleased her. - -Of Nathalie, Midge had the reverse of this story to tell--she never -complained at all. No, Midge wished she would; her mute despair was far -harder to bear than the weary complainings of her mother. She sat by -that petulant invalid mother's side the livelong day, holding cooling -drinks to her poor parched lips, bathing the hot brow and hands, and -smoothing the tossed pillow; rarely speaking, save to ask or answer some -question; never replying to the endless reproaches of the sick woman; -never uttering one complaint or shedding one tear. - -Mr. Val Blake was ushered by Midge into the darkened chamber of Mrs. -Marsh, and looked at Nathalie sitting by her bedside. In spite of what -he had heard, he was shocked at the change which the past week had made -in her--shocked at the wasted and shadowy form, the wan, transparent -hands, the hollow eyes and haggard cheeks. She was dressed in mourning, -and the crape and bombazine made her look quite ghastly by contrast. - -Mr. Blake's visit was not a long one. Nathalie scarcely spoke at all, -and his sister was not there. Mrs. Marsh, who had been asleep when he -entered, awoke presently, and poured her dreary wailings into his ear. -Val consoled her as well as he could; but there was no balm in Gilead -for her, and he was glad when he could with decency get out of the reach -of her querulous voice. Her time, of late, seemed pretty equally divided -between dozing and bewailings; and she fretted herself into another -slumber shortly after. - -Left alone, Nathalie Marsh sat by the window, while the dull afternoon -wore away, looking out over the gloomy bay, with a darkly brooding face. -Her desolation had never seemed so present to her as on this eerie -evening. She had been stunned and stupefied by the rapidly-falling -blows, but the after-pain was far more acute and keen than that first -dull sense of suffering. "Ruined and disgraced!" they were the two ugly -words on which all the changes of her thoughts rang. Ruined and -disgraced! Yes, she was that; and she who had once been the belle and -boast of the town could never hold up her head there any more. How those -who had envied and hated her for her beauty and her prosperity, would -exult over her now! What had she done that such misery should fall upon -her? What had she done? - -The little house in Cottage Street was very still. Mrs. Marsh yet dozed -fitfully; Midge had gone out to give herself an airing, and Betsy Ann -was standing in the open front door, looking drearily out at the rain, -which was beginning to fall with the night. Like Mariana, she was -"a-weary,"--though, not being quite so far gone in the blues as that -forlorn lady, she did not wish she was dead--and was staring dismally at -the slanting rain, when the rustle of a dress on the stairs made her -turn round, and become transfixed with amazement at beholding Miss -Marsh, in bonnet and shawl, arrayed to go out. Betsy Ann recoiled as if -she had seen a ghost, for the white face of the young lady looked -awfully corpse-like, in contrast with her sable wrappings. - -"Good gracious me! Miss Natty!" she gasped, "you're never going out in -this here rain! Ye'll get your death!" - -If Nathalie heard her, she did not heed, for she walked steadily out and -on through the wet evening, until she was lost to Betsy Ann's shivered -view. There were very few abroad that rainy evening, and those few -hurried along with bent heads and uplifted umbrellas, and saw not the -black figure flitting by them in the gloom. On she steadfastly went, -through the soaking rain, heeding it no more than if it were rays of -sunshine; on, with one purpose in her face, with her eyes ever turned in -one direction--toward the sea. - -Cottage Street wound away with a path that led directly to the shore. It -had been familiar to her all her life, and there was an old disused -wharf at the end, where she and Charley had used to play in the sunny -summer days long ago--a hundred years ago, it seemed, at the least. It -was a useless old wharf, rotten, and slippery, and dangerous, to which -boats were made fast, and where fishermen mended their nets. To this -wharf Nathalie made her way in the thickening darkness, the piteous rain -beating in her face, the sea-wind fluttering her black vail and soaking -dress. Heaven knows what purpose the poor half-delirious girl had in her -mind! Perhaps only to stand on the familiar spot, and listen to the -familiar voices of the wind and waves dashing against the rotten logs -and slimy planks of the old wharf, on which she had spent so many happy -hours. No one ever knew how it was; and we must only pity her in her -dumb agony of despair, and think as mercifully of the dark and -distracted soul as we can. The night was dark, the wharf dangerous and -slippery with the rain, and one might easily miss their footing and -fall. Who can say how it was? but there was a suppressed cry--the last -wail of that despairing soul--a sullen plunge, a struggle in the black -and dreadful waters, another smothered cry, and then the wharf was -empty, and the devouring waves had closed over the golden head of -Nathalie Marsh! - -In the roar of the surf on the shore, and the wailing cry of the night -wind, there was no voice to tell what had happened in the lonely gloom -of the rainy night. No, surely, or the faithful servant, who entered the -cottage dripping, after her constitutional, would have fled wildly to -the scene of the tragedy, instead of standing there in the kitchen, -talking to Betsy Ann, as she placed her wet umbrella in a corner to -drip. - -"I went up to Miss Jo's," said Midge, shaking herself, and giving Betsy -Ann an impromptu shower-bath, "and she made me stay for tea, and fetch -this umberel home. How's the Missis--asleep?" - -"Yes," said Betsy Ann, looking nervous and scared, for she was mortally -afraid of the dwarf; "but you didn't--I mean to say, was not Miss Natty -to Blake's?" - -"Miss--What!" screamed Midge; "how should Miss Natty get there, stupid! -Isn't she in her own room?" - -"No, she ain't," said Betsy Ann, looking still more scared; "and I don't -know where she is, neither! She came down stairs just afore dark, with -her things on, and went out in all the rain. She wouldn't tell me where -she was going, and she wouldn't stay in for me; and you needn't look so -mad about it, for I couldn't help it! There!" - -Midge's florid face turned ashen gray with terror; a vague, nameless, -dreadful fear, that brought cold beads of sweat out on her brow. Betsy -Ann had no need to back in alarm; it was not anger that blanched the -homely face, and her ears were in no danger of being boxed. - -"Which way did she take?" she asked, her very voice husky with that -creeping fear. - -"She went straight along," Betsy Ann replied, "as if a going to the -shore." - -It was the answer Midge had expected, but the hands fastening her shawl -shook so, as she heard it, that she could hardly finish that operation. - -"Go to Mr. Blake!" she said; "run for your life, and tell Mr. Val to -hurry to the beach, and fetch a lantern. Tell him I am afraid something -dreadful has happened." - -She hurried off herself, as she spoke, heedless of the invalid -up-stairs, of lashing rain, and driving wind, and black night. Heedless -of all but that terrible fear, Midge hurried through the storm to the -shore. - -In the next day's issue of the Speckport Spouter, the following item -appeared: - - "MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE!--Yesterday evening, about seven o'clock, - Miss Nathalie Marsh quitted her residence in Cottage Street, - without informing her friends where she was going, and has not - since been heard of. Upon the discovery of her absence, search was - made along the shore, in which direction she was seen to go, and a - crape vail, recognized as belonging to Miss Marsh, found on the old - wharf at the end of Cottage Street. The vail had been caught by a - spike projecting from the wharf, immediately above the water. It - is feared that a dreadful accident has happened, and the young lady - has been drowned. She had been ill and a little delirious some time - before, and we presume wandered down to the old wharf, a most - dangerous place at all times, and particularly so on a dark and - stormy night, such as last night was, and fell in. Any intelligence - of her will be thankfully received, and liberally rewarded, by her - afflicted friends. The young lady was dressed in deep mourning, and - might easily be recognized by the luxuriant abundance of her golden - hair." - -Speckport read this paragraph over its breakfast coffee and toast, and -was profoundly shocked thereby. And so poor Miss Marsh had drowned -herself! They had expected as much all along--she was not the girl to -survive such disgrace! But it was very dreadful; and they wouldn't -wonder to hear next that the poor bereaved mother had died of a broken -heart. They hoped the body would be recovered--it would be a melancholy -consolation to her friends, not to say to her enemies, who would then be -out of doubt as to her fate. People went past the house in Cottage -Street with the same morbid curiosity that had driven them to Redmon -after the murder, and stared at the closed blinds and muffled knocker, -and thought of the wretched mother lying within, whose footsteps were -even then crossing the Valley of the Shadow of Death. - -Two weeks passed, and these charitable wishes were not fulfilled. The -mother of Nathalie still lay ill unto death, and still faithfully waited -on by Midge and Miss Jo. It was toward the close of the second week that -Val received a note from the coroner of a fishing-village, some ten -miles up the coast, informing him that, the day previously, the body of -a woman answering the description of Miss Marsh had been washed ashore, -that an inquest had been held, and a verdict of "Found drowned" -returned. If the missing girl's friends would come immediately they -might be able to identify the corpse. - -Before noon, after the receipt of this missive, Mr. Val Blake was -bending over the corpse of the drowned woman, as it lay in its rough -deal coffin in the village dead-house. Before sunset he was back in -Speckport, and bore the deal coffin and its quiet contents to No. 16. -Great St. Peter Street. The slender girlish form, the mourning dress, -the long fair hair, were not to be mistaken, though what had been the -face was too horrible to look upon. Val turned away from what had once -been so beautiful, with a shudder; and thought of the Duke of Gandia, -made a saint by a similar sight. Before morning, the deal coffin was -inclosed in another of rosewood, and a grave dug in Speckport Cemetery. -The funeral was an unusually quiet and solemn one, though there was no -requiem mass for the soul of the departed offered up in the -cathedral--why should there for a wretched suicide, forever lost? - -Mr. Val Blake, with no sentimentality about him, and not over -straight-laced either, in some things, was yet a generous, good-hearted -fellow in the main, and placed a white marble cross over the dead girl's -grave. Some very good people were rather scandalized by the act. A cross -over the grave of a suicide!--it was sacrilege. But Mr. Blake did not -care much what good people or bad people thought or said of his actions; -and did just as he pleased, in spite of their teeth. So the white cross -remained gleaming palely in the spectral moonlight, and casting its -solemn shadow over the grave in the sunshine. It bore no -inscription--what inscription could be placed over such a grave?--only -the name "Nathalie." Her story was told, her life ended, the world went -on, and she was forgotten! O sublime lesson of life! told in three -words: Dead and forgotten! - -So, while Charley skulked in dark places, a hunted criminal, with a -price on his head, and his mother lay still hovering on that narrow -boundary that divides life and death, morning sunlight and noonday -shadows brightened and darkened around that pale cross in the cemetery, -and the night winds sighed over Nathalie's grave. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -MRS. BUTTERBY'S LODGINGS. - - -The bleak blasts of a raw March afternoon swept through the city -streets, cold and piercing, driving the dust in whirlwinds blindingly -into the eyes of all it encountered. - -In spite of the cold and the piercing wind, Broadway was not empty--Is -Broadway ever empty, I wonder?--and business-men, buttoned up to the -chin in overcoats, and with caps drawn over their frosty noses, tore -along like comets, to home and dinner; ladies in silks, and velvets, and -furs, swarm down the pave to meet them, and young and old, rich and -poor, jostled and elbowed, and pushed and trod on one another's heels -and toes, as usual in that thronged thoroughfare. - -Moving among the ceaseless sea of human life, continually ebbing and -flowing in Broadway, came a young woman, walking rapidly. I say "young -woman" advisedly, for she was not a lady. Her black dress was gray and -dingy, and frayed round the bottom; her black cloth mantle was of the -poorest texture and simplest make, and her black straw bonnet was as -plain and untrimmed as bonnet could be, and who could be a lady in such -array as that? To a good many of the Broadway loungers, who devote their -manly intellect to picking their teeth in front of first-class hotels, -and stare at society going by for a living, her face was well known. It -was a face not likely to pass unnoticed--not at all to be passed in a -crowd; and more than once some of these expensively-got-up loafers had -condescended to follow the young woman with the "deuced fine eyes;" but -the black figure flitted along as if shod with the shoes of swiftness, -and these languid admirers soon gave up the chase in despair. - -I don't think she ever was conscious of this attention; she walked -steadfastly on, looking straight before her, never to the right or -left, her shawl drawn closely around her tall, slight figure, as much -alone as if she had been on Peter Wilkins's desert island. To a -home-sick stranger in New York, I wonder if Broadway, at the fashionable -hour, is not the loneliest and dreariest of places? Hundreds of faces, -and not one familiar or friendly countenance among them; not one smile -or glance of recognition to the lonely and heart-weary brother or sister -jostled about in their midst. The men and women who passed might have -been a set of automatons, for all the interest the young person dressed -in shabby mourning appeared to take in them, as she hurried on with that -rapid step and that darkly-sullen face. For I am sorry to say this -heroine of mine (and she is that) wore a look of habitual sullenness -that was almost a scowl, and something fierce lay latent behind the -flashing of those brilliant eyes, and bitter and harsh in the compressed -lips. A passing physiognomist, not over-choice in his phrases, meeting -her once in the street, had carelessly observed to a friend walking with -him, that "there was a spice of the devil in that girl;" and perhaps the -girl herself might have agreed with him, had she heard it. - -Down town and west of Broadway, there is a certain unfashionable -locality, known as Minetta Street. The houses are tall and dingy, and -swarm with dirty children and noisy mothers; and it is dark and narrow, -and utterly unknown on Fifth Avenue and Madison Square. Among the tall -and dingy houses--all so much alike that they might have been cast in a -mold--there is one with a white board in the front window of the -ground-floor, bearing, in black letters, the name "Mrs. Butterby," and -beneath this legend, "Lodgings." And in this bleak, windy twilight of -this cold March day, the young woman dressed in black turns into Minetta -Street, and walks into Mrs. Butterby's with the air of one having the -right; for she is one of Mrs. Butterby's lodgers, this young person, and -a lodger of some consequence, not only to the house, but to the whole -street. And for this reason--she has a piano in her room! An old and -battered piano, it is true, for which she only pays four dollars per -month; but still it is a piano, and the wonderful harmonies her fingers -evoke from its yellow keys, transfix Minetta Street with amazement and -delight. She has the best room in Mrs. Butterby's house, the first floor -parlor, front, and there is the faded remains of a Brussels carpet on -the floor and a yellow-painted washstand in the corner, two cane-seated -chairs, with three legs between them, a little table, with an oilcloth -cover, and a sheet-iron stove; and these elegant luxuries all of which -she has for the stipend of three dollars per week. There is a bed, too, -and a small trunk, and the battered little high-backed piano, and there -is almost room to turn round in the space which they leave. There is -nothing like this elegant apartment in all Mrs. Butterby's house, and -the other lodgers look into it with envious and admiring eyes. They are -all young ladies, these lodgers--young factory-ladies, and young ladies -in the dressmaking, and pantmaking, and vestmaking, and capmaking, and -bookbinding lines of business, not to speak of an actress, a real -actress, who performed in a Broadway theater, and whom they look upon -with mingled awe and envy. But they like her better than they do the -first-floor lodger, whom they unite in hating with a cordial hatred that -would have delighted Dr. Johnson. They are all young ladies, but they -stigmatize her as "that young woman," "that stuck-up thing," and would -like to scratch those bright eyes of hers out of her head, though she -never did anything to them in her life. - -They knew very little about her, either Mrs. Butterby or her fair -lodgers, although she had been two months in the house, except that her -name was Miss Wade, that she earned her living as an embroideress, and -that she put on a great many unnecessary airs for a New York seamstress. -She embroidered slippers, that were pictures in themselves, on rich -velvets and silks, with floss and Berlin wool, and spangles, and beads; -and cobweb handkerchiefs, that might have been the wonder of a Brussels -lace-maker. She worked for a fashionable Broadway establishment, who -asked fabulous prices for these gems of needlework, and who doled out a -miserable pittance to the pale worker, whose light glimmered far into -the night, and who bent over the glistening fabric in the gray and -dismal dawn. They heard all this in the house, and nothing more; for, -except to the landlady, she had never, scarcely, exchanged a word with a -soul in it--with one exception--she had spoken to the actress, who -occupied the room above her own, and who was nearly as cold and -unsociable as herself. "Birds of a feather," the young ladies said, when -Mrs. Butterby told how Miss Wade had been in Miss Johnston's room (the -actress was Miss Johnston, in every-day life, and Miss St. John on the -bills), sewing spangles and gold braid on Miss Johnston's theatrical -robes, and how Miss Johnston had taken Miss Wade to the theater, and had -made her stay and take tea with her in her own room. No human being of -the "earth earthy," can quite live without any one to speak to; the -heart must turn to some one, let it be ever so proud and self-sustained, -and the actress was made of less coarse and rough clay than the young -factory-ladies, who went dirty and hoopless all the week, and flaunted -in gaudy silks on Sunday. - -Up in her own room, Miss Wade took off her bonnet, and sat down to work -with her mantle still on, for the fireless apartment was perishingly -cold. She had sat there for nearly an hour, and the cheerless March -gloaming was falling drearily on Minetta Street, when there was a -shambling footstep on the stairs, a shuffling, slip-shod, -down-at-the-heel tread in the hall, and a rap at her door. Miss Wade, -work in hand, opened it, and saw her portly landlady smiling in the -doorway. - -"Miss Johnston's compliments, Miss, and would you please to step up to -her room, she says. Bless my heart! ain't you got no fire on, this -perishing evening?" - -"It was too much trouble to light it," Miss Wade said, shutting and -locking her room-door, and going along the dark and dirty hall, up a -dark and dirty staircase, into another hall, darker and dirtier still, -and tapping at the first door she met. - -"Come in!" a feminine voice said, and Miss Wade went in accordingly. It -was a smaller chamber than her own, and far less sumptuously furnished, -with no fine fragments of Brussels on the bare floor, no piano in the -corner, no yellow washstand, or oilclothed table. Its one dim window -looked out on that melancholy sight, a New York backyard, and the gray -and eerie dusk stole palely in, and the wild spring wind rattled the -rickety casement. But it had a fire, this poor little room, in a little -ugly black stove, and, sitting in the one chair the apartment boasted -of, crouching over the heat, in a strange and wretched position, was the -room's mistress. A poor, faded, pallid creature, young, but not -youthful, with sharp cheekbones, and sunken eyes. She was wrapped in a -plaid shawl, but she looked miserable and shivery, and crouched so low -over the stove, that she nearly touched it. Sundry gaudy garments, all -tinsel and spangles and glitter, lay on the bed, with two or three wigs -keeping them company, a rouge-pot, and a powder-box. These were her -stage-dresses; but, looking at her, as she sat there, you would as soon -think of seeing a corpse tricked out in that ghostly grandeur as she. - -She rose up as her visitor entered, with a pale smile of welcome, and -placed the chair for her. There was a certain quiet grace about her that -stamped her, like Miss Wade herself, God help her! as "one who had seen -better days." But she was far more fragile than the seamstress. Whatever -she had once been, she was nothing but a poor, wasted shadow now. - -"Mrs. Butterby said you sent for me," Miss Wade remarked, taking the -chair, and looking with a certain eagerness in her great eyes. "You -spoke to the manager, I suppose?" - -Miss Johnston, who had seated herself on a wooden footstool, did not -look up to meet that eager, anxious gaze. - -"Yes," she said, "but, I am sorry to say, I have been disappointed. The -company was full, he said, and he wanted no more novices. He would not -have taken me, had it not been at the earnest solicitation of a friend, -and there was no room or need for any more." - -The sullen look that had left Miss Wade's face for a moment returned, -and a dark gloom with it. She did not speak; she sat with her brows -drawn into a moody form, staring at the ugly little black stove. - -"A friend of mine, though," the actress went on, "who has considerable -influence, has promised to try and get you a situation in some other -theater. I told him you would certainly be successful, and rise rapidly -in the profession. I know you possess all the elements of a splendid -tragic actress." - -If we might judge by the darkly-passionate face and fiercely-smoldering -eyes, the young woman who sat so gloomily staring straight before her, -was capable of acting a tragedy in real life, quite as fast as on the -stage. There was a certain recklessness about her, that might break out -at any moment, and which told fate and poverty had goaded her on to -desperation. When she spoke, her words showed she had neither heard nor -heeded the actress's last remark. - -"And so goes my last hope," she said, with slow, desperate bitterness; -"the last hope of being anything but a poor, starved, beggarly drudge -all the days of my life! I am a fool to feel disappointed. I might know -well enough by this time, that there is nothing but disappointment for -such a wretch as I!" - -The reckless bitterness of this speech jarred painfully on the hearer's -nerves. Miss Johnston looked at her half-pityingly. - -"There is no need to despair," she quietly said; "the friend of whom I -have spoken will be successful, and I am certain you will be a great -actress yet. With me it is different. I will never rise above -mediocrity." - -"You don't seem to care much," said Miss Wade, looking at her pale, -still face. - -"I don't," said the actress, in the same quiet way. - -"Have you no ambition at all, then?" - -"No!" - -She did not say it indifferently, but in a tone of hard endurance. Miss -Wade's large eyes were fixed curiously on her face. - -"I think," she said, "you have seen a great deal of trouble, and that it -has crushed the ambition out of you. You were never born to be one of -Mrs. Butterby's lodgers! Pardon me if I am impertinent." - -"You are not," the actress said, neither denying nor acknowledging the -charge. "Whatever I once was, I am Mrs. Butterby's lodger now, and a -poor actress, who must sew the spangles on her own dress." - -She took off the bed a short pink gauze skirt, and a bunch of tinsel -braid, and began the womanly work of sewing, with her swift fingers. - -"Are you to wear that to-night?" asked Miss Wade. - -"Yes; it is the dress of a flower-girl." - -"What is the play?" - -"I forget the name," said the actress, indifferently; "it is a French -vaudeville, written expressly for us. I am Ninon, a flower-girl, with -two or three songs to sing. Will you come?" - -"Thank you, I should like to go. It keeps me from thinking for a few -hours, and that in itself is a blessing. What a miserable, worthless -piece of business life is! I think I shall buy twenty cents worth of -laudanum, some of these days, in some apothecary-shop, and put an end to -it altogether." - -The jarring, reckless tone had returned, and was painful to hear. The -actress sewed, steadily on, replying not. - -"It is well enough for those girls," Miss Wade said; "those rough, -noisy, factory girls, brawny arms, and souls that never rise above a -beau or silk dresses; but for me and for you, who were born ladies--it -is enough to drive us mad! Look at me!" she cried, rising to her feet; -"look at me, Miss Johnston! Do I look like one born for a drudge? Do I -look like the women who fill this house?" - -Miss Johnston looked up at the speaker, doing a little private -theatrical tragedy, with her pale, quiet face, unmoved. Perhaps she had -grown so used to tragedy that it had become stale and wearisome to her; -and the regal figure drawn up to its full height, the white face, and -flaring eyes, disturb her no more in her poor room, than Lady Macbeth, -in black velvet, with blood on her hands, did on the theatrical boards. - -"No," she said, "you are not at all like the factory-hands, Miss Wade. -I never doubted you were born a lady." - -"And a lady, rich and happy, flattered and courted, I should have been -yet, but for the villainy of a man. My curse upon him, whether he be -living or dead." - -She began pacing up and down the floor, like any other tragedy-queen. -Miss Johnston, finding it too dark to sew, arose, lit a candle, stood it -on a wooden box that did service for a table, and composedly pursued her -work. - -"How was it?" she asked; "is it long ago?" - -"Long!" exclaimed Miss Wade; "it seems hundreds of years ago; though I -suppose scarcely seven have really passed since he fled, taking all he -possessed with him, and leaving my mother and I to beg, or starve, or -die, if we pleased. Of all the villains Heaven ever suffered to pollute -this earth, I think Philip Henderson was the worst!" - -"Philip Henderson!" Miss Johnston repeated, looking up from her work; -"was that the name of the man who defrauded you?" - -"He was my step-father--the villain! My own father I do not -recollect--he died in my infancy, leaving my mother wealthy--the -possessor of half a million nearly. She had married this man Henderson -before I was three years old; and I remember how pleased I was when he -first came, with the little baby-sister he brought me--for he was a -widower with a child not two years old. Shortly after my mother's second -marriage, we left Rochester, where I was born. Mr. Henderson purchased, -with my mother's money, of course, for he had none of his own, a -magnificent place up at Yonkers--a house like a castle, and magnificent -grounds. Everything was in keeping; the furniture, pictures, and plate -superb; a whole retinue of servants; the fastest horses and finest -carriages in the country. It is like a dream of fairy-land to me now to -look back upon. Olly and I (his daughter's name was Olive), as we grew -up, had a governess, and masters in the house, and played in bright silk -dresses among the pastures, and fountains, and graperies of our -palace-like home. The place was filled with company all the summer -through--nothing but balls and soirees, and dressing and dancing, and -fetes champetre; and in the winter, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson came down to -the city, leaving us in charge of the housekeeper and governess. It is a -very pleasant thing, no doubt, spending money as freely as if it were -water; but, unfortunately, even half a million of dollars will not last -forever. Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, and their two daughters--for I passed -as his child, too, and scarcely knew the difference myself--were all the -fashion for nearly ten years, and then the change began to come. I was -only thirteen, and not old enough to understand the stormy scenes -between Henderson and my mother--her passionate reproaches of his folly -and extravagance, his angry recrimination, and the ominous whisperings -of the servants. Suddenly the crash came--Henderson had fled, taking -Olly with him, and the few thousands that yet remained of our princely -fortune. He was over head and ears in debt; the creditors seized -everything--house, furniture, plate, and all--and my mother and I were -penniless. Miss Johnston, the shock killed her. She had always been -frail and delicate, and she never held up her head after. She was buried -before a month passed; and I, at the age of thirteen, was alone in the -world, and a pauper. But a child of that age cannot realize misery as we -can in after-years. I was fully conscious of present discomfort, but of -the future I never thought. My mother had left Yonkers immediately after -the creditors' seizure, too keenly sensitive to remain a beggar where -she had once reigned a queen, and came here to the city. She came here -to an old servant of hers, to whom she had been a kind friend in other -days, and the woman did not forget it. She was comfortable enough with -her husband and two children, and she kept me and sent me to learn the -business I now work at. I remained with her nearly six years, realizing -more and more every day what I had lost in losing wealth. She is dead -now. Her husband is married again and gone to California, and I am here, -the most miserable creature, I believe, in all this great desert of a -city." - -She had been walking up and down all the time, this impetuous Miss -Wade, with rapid, excited steps, speaking in a rapid, excited voice, a -fierce light flaring in her large angry eyes. The actress had finished -her work; it lay on her lap now, her quiet hands folded over it, her -quiet eyes following the passionate speaker. - -"Wade, I suppose," was her first remark, "was your own father's name. -When did you adopt it?" - -"Only when I came here. The name of Henderson had long been odious to -me, but the family I lived with was too accustomed to it to change." - -"And have you never heard from this man Henderson or his daughter -since?" - -"I have heard of them, which is as good; and, thank God! retribution has -found them out! They are both dead--he committed a forgery, and shot -himself to escape the consequences; and Olly--she was always a -miserable, puling, sickly thing--died in a hospital. They have been made -an example of, thank Heaven! as they deserved to be." - -She uttered the impious thanksgiving with a fierce joy that made the -actress recoil. But her mood changed a second after; she stopped in her -walk, the darkly-sullen look settling on her face again, and stared -blankly at the flaring candle, dripping tears of fat over the -candlestick. So long she stood that the actress rose and began folding -up the flower-girl's dresses, preparatory to starting for the theater. - -"Are you going?" Miss Wade asked, coming out of her moody reverie. - -"Yes, when I have had a cup of tea--it is drawing down stairs at Mrs. -Butterby's fire. Will you not take another?" - -"No, thank you; I can't eat. I will wait here while you take it." - -There was a newspaper on the bed. Miss Wade took it, and sat down to -read whilst she waited. The actress left the room, returning a moment or -two after, with a small snub-nosed teapot and a plate of buttered toast. -She was standing at a little open pantry pouring out the tea, when she -suddenly laid down the teapot, and turned round to look at her -companion. It was not an exclamation Miss Wade had uttered, it was a -sort of cry; and she was holding the paper before her, staring at it in -blank amaze. - -"What is the matter?" Miss Johnston inquired, in her calm voice. - -Miss Wade looked up, a sudden and strange flush passing over her -colorless face. - -"Nothing," she said, slowly. "That is--I mean I saw the--the death of a -person I knew, in this paper." - -She held it up before her face, and sat there while the actress drank -her tea and ate her toast, never moving or stirring. Miss Johnston left -the pantry, put on her bonnet and shawl, and took up her bundle as if to -go. - -"I beg your pardon, Miss Wade," she said, "but it is time for us to go." - -Miss Wade arose, with the paper still in her hand. Two bright spots, all -unusual there, and which strong excitement alone could bring, burned on -either cheek, and a strange dusky fire shone in her eyes. - -"I do not think I will go to the theater to-night, Miss Johnston," she -said. "My head aches. I will take this paper, if you will let me, and -read it in my room for a little while, and then go to bed." - -The actress assented, looking at her curiously, and Miss Wade passed -down the dark stairs to her own room. There was a lamp on the table, -which she lit, then she locked the door; and with that same red spot on -each cheek, and that same bright light in each eye, sat down with the -paper to read. But she only read one little paragraph among the -advertisements, and that she read over and over, and over again. The -paper was the Montreal True Witness, some two or three weeks old, and -the paragraph ran thus: - - "INFORMATION WANTED.--Of Philip Henderson or his heirs. When last - heard from he was in New York, but is supposed to have gone to - Canada. He or his descendants will hear of something to their great - advantage by applying to John Darcy, Barrister-at-Law, Speckport." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE HEIRESS OF REDMON. - - -It is three days by steamer and rail-cars from New York to Speckport; -but as steam never traveled half as fast as story-tellers, we are back -there in three seconds. Dear, foggy Speckport, I salute thee! - -In a grimy office, its floor freshly sprinkled, its windows open to -admit the March-morning sunshine, in a leathern-covered armchair, before -a littered table, Mr. Darcy, barrister-at-law, sits reading the morning -paper. It is the "Daily Snorter," and pitches savagely into the "Weekly -Spouter," whose editor and proprietor, under the sarcastic title of -"Mickey," it mildly insinuates is an ignorant, blundering, bog-trotting -ignoramus, who ought still to be in the wilds of Connemara planting -potatoes, instead of undermining the liberty of this beloved province, -and trampling the laws of society under his ruthless feet, by asserting, -as he did yesterday, that a distinguished member of the Smasher party -had been found lying drunk in Golden Row, and conveyed in that unhappy -state to his residence in that aristocratic street, instead of to the -watch-house, as he should. Much more than this the "Daily Snorter," the -pet organ of the Smasher party, had to say, and the anathemas it -fulminated against "that filthy sheet," the "Spouter," and its vulgar, -blockheaded, addle-pated editor, was blood-curdling to peruse. Mr. Darcy -was deep in it when the office door opened, and Mr. Val Blake lounged -carelessly in. Mr. Darcy looked up with a nod and a laugh. - -"Good morning, Blake! Fine day, isn't it? I am just reading this eulogy -the 'Snorter' gives you." - -"Yes," said Mr. Blake, mounting the back of a chair as if it were the -back of a horse, and looking the picture of calm serenity. "Severe, is -it? Who do you suppose I had a letter from last night?" - -"How should I know?" - -"You won't faint, will you? It was from Charley Marsh!" - -Mr. Darcy dropped the "Snorter," and stared. - -"Char--ley Marsh! It's not possible, Blake?" - -"Yes, it is. I am on my way to Cottage Street at this present writing, -to tell his mother." - -"Well, this is an astonisher! And where is the boy?" - -"You'd never guess. A captain in the Southern army." - -"You don't say so! How did he ever get there?" - -"You see," said Val, "it's a long letter, and he explains everything. -After he broke jail that time (of course, Turnbull helped him off), he -skulked in the woods for two or three weeks, visited occasionally by a -friend (Turnbull again), and through him heard of Nathalie's death. At -last, he got the chance of a blockade-runner. The 'Stonewall Jackson' -was leaving here, and he got on board, ran the blockade, and found -himself in Dixie. There he was offered a captainship, if he would stay -and fight a little. He accepted, and that's the whole story. I must tell -the mother. It will do her more good than fifty novels and fifty -thousand blue pills. Jo went into hysterics of delight when she heard it -at breakfast, and I left her kicking when I came away." - -"Does he say anything at all about the murder?" - -"Oh, yes. I forgot that. He wants to know if Cherrie has turned up yet, -and says he may thank her for all his trouble. He was up at Redmon that -night to meet her. She had promised to elope with him, but she never -came. He protests his innocence of the deed, and I believe him." - -"Humph!" said Mr. Darcy, reflectingly. "It is most singular Cherrie does -not turn up. I dare say she could throw light on the subject, if she -chose." - -"I don't despair, yet," said Val. "I'll find her before I stop, if she's -above ground. No news yet, I suppose, from the heirs of Redmon?" - -"None; and I am sick and tired of advertising. Not a New York or -Canadian paper I have not tried, and all alike unsuccessfully. I believe -the man's dead, and it's of no use." - -"Well," said Mr. Blake, dismounting from the chair, "I'm off. I must get -back to the office after I've seen Mrs. Marsh, and give the 'Snorter' -such a flailing as it won't get over for a month of Sundays." - -Off went Mr. Blake like a long-legged steam-engine; and Mr. Darcy's -office boy entered with a handful of letters from the post-office. The -lawyer, laying down his paper, began to break the envelopes and read. -The first three were business communications, brief and legal, in big -buff envelopes. The fourth bore a different aspect. It was considerably -stouter. The envelope was white; the writing, a lady's delicate spidery -tracery; the postmark New York. The lawyer surveyed it for a moment in -grave surprise, then broke it open and began to read. The letter was a -long one--three sheets of note-paper closely written; and before he had -got to the end of the first, Mr. Darcy, with a sort of shout of -astonishment, began at the beginning again. Once, twice, three times, -and Mr. Darcy perused the letter; and then rising, with the rest -unopened, began pacing up and down the floor. The windows of the office -faced the street, and, glancing out, he saw Mr. Blake striding past -presently, as if shod with seven-league boots. Mr. Darcy put his head -out of the window and hailed him. - -"Hallo, Blake! Come up here a moment, will you?" - -Mr. Blake looked up, ran up-stairs, and entered the office. - -"You'll have to be quick, Mr. Darcy," he said. "Time's precious this -morning, and my conscience is uneasy until I give the 'Snorter' fits. -Anything up?" - -"Yes. The heir of Redmon has turned up at last!" - -"By Jove!" cried Val, "you don't say so? Where is he?" - -"It's not a he. I should have said the heiress of Redmon has come to -light. I have had a letter from Philip Henderson's daughter this -morning." - -"And where's Philip himself?" - -"Where Heaven pleases. The man's dead, and has been these three years. -No wonder he never answered our advertisements." - -"But it is a wonder this daughter of his did not?" - -"She never heard it until the day before she wrote, and then by the -merest chance, she says. She is very poor, I fancy, though she does not -exactly say so, and without the means to come on here." - -"Where is she?" - -"In New York. Mrs. Leroy told me her brother resided in Yonkers, with -his wife and two daughters, she believed, and the writer of this letter -corroborates that statement. They did live in Yonkers, she says, and -were in affluent circumstances for a number of years, until she, the -writer, was thirteen years old, when they became involved in debt, and -everything was seized by the creditors. Henderson, the father, went to -Canada. Mrs. Leroy told me she heard he had gone there, but they never -held any correspondence. He went to Canada and died there about three -years ago. The youngest daughter died about the same time, and the -mother shortly after their loss of fortune. The writer of this letter, -then, is the only survivor of the family, and the rightful heiress of -Mrs. Leroy's fortune. She speaks of Mrs. Leroy, too; says her father had -an only sister, who married a New York Jew of that name, for which low -alliance, her father ever afterwards refused to have anything to do with -her. She refers me to several persons in Yonkers, who can confirm her -story, if necessary; though, as she has not been there since she was a -child of thirteen, and is now a young lady of twenty, they would hardly -be able to identify her. She works for her living, she says--as a -teacher, I presume--and tells me to address my reply to 'Station G, -Broadway.' Her story bears truth on the face of it, I think. Here is the -letter--read it." - -Mr. Blake took the lady-like epistle, and, apparently forgetful of his -late haste, sat down and perused it from the date "New York, March 7th, -1862," to the signature, "Yours respectfully, Olive W. Henderson." He -laid it down with a thoughtful face. - -"Her statement is frank and clear, and coincides in every particular -with what Mrs. Leroy told you. I don't think there is any deception, but -you had better write to Yonkers and ascertain." - -"I shall do so: and if all is right, I will forward money to Miss -Henderson to come here at once. I am heartily glad to be rid of the -bother at last. What will Speckport say?" - -"Ah, what won't it say! It's an ill wind that blows nobody good; and -what killed poor Natty Marsh is the making of this girl. I wonder if -she's good-looking. I shouldn't mind making up to her myself, if she -is." - -"You might make down again, then. She wouldn't touch you with a pair of -tongs. How did Mrs. Marsh take the news?" - -"She cried a little," said Val, turning to go, "and then went back to -'Florinda the Forsaken,' I having disturbed her in the middle of the -ninety-eighth chapter." - -Nodding familiarly, Mr. Blake took his departure, and Mr. Darcy sat down -to write to Station G, Broadway, and to Yonkers. - -The very winds of heaven seemed to carry news in Speckport, and before -night everybody at all concerned knew that the heiress of Redmon had -turned up. - -Before the expiration of a fortnight, Mr. Darcy received an answer from -Yonkers. Mr. and Mrs. Philip Henderson had resided there with their two -daughters some years before, but he had absconded in debt, and his wife -had left the place, and died shortly after. Harriet and Olive, they -believed, were the names of the children; but they knew nothing whatever -of them, whether they were living or dead. Mr. Henderson, they had read -in the papers, had died very suddenly in Canada--committed suicide, they -believed, but they were not certain. - -Mr. Darcy, upon receipt of these letters, forwarded a hundred dollars to -Miss Henderson, desiring her to come on without delay to Speckport, and -take possession of her property. The hunt for the heirs had given Mr. -Darcy considerable trouble, and he was very glad to be rid of the bore. -He directed the young lady to come to his house immediately upon -landing, instead of a hotel; if she sent him word what day she would -come, he would be at the boat to meet her. - -Mr. Val Blake, among less noted people, went down to the wharf one -Tuesday afternoon, nearly a fortnight after Mr. Darcy had dispatched -that last letter containing the hundred dollars, to New York. It was -late in March now, a lovely, balmy, June-like day; for March, having -come in like a lion, was going peacefully out like a lamb. There was not -a shadow of fog in Speckport. The sky was as blue as your eyes, my dear -reader--unless your eyes happen to be black--with billowy white clouds -sailing like fairy ships through a fairy sea. The soft breezes and warm -sunshine rendered fans unnecessary, and the bay was a sheet of sapphire -and gold. The wharf, a superb wharf, by the way, and a delightful -promenade, was thronged. All the pretty girls in Speckport--and, oh! -what a lot of pretty girls there are in Speckport--were there; so were -the homely ones, and all the nice young men, and the officers with canes -under their arms, staring at the fair Speckportians. Young and old, rich -and poor, lined the wharf, sitting down, standing up, and walking about, -attracted by the beauty of the evening, and the report that the new -heiress was coming in that day's boat. - -Mr. Val Blake, with his hands in his trowsers' pockets as usual, and his -black Kossuth hat pushed far back on his forehead, not to obstruct his -view, also as usual, lounged down through the crowd, nodding right and -left, and joined a group near the end of the wharf, of whom Miss -Jeannette McGregor, Miss Laura Blair, Miss Catty Clowrie, and Captain -Cavendish formed prominent features. Two or three more officers and -civilians hovered around, and way was made for Mr. Blake. - -"Oh, Mr. Blake, do you suppose we'll know her when she lands?" eagerly -inquired Miss McGregor. "I am dying to see what she is like!" - -"Darcy's going on board after her," said Val, "you'll see him linking -her up the wharf. I say, Laura, Bill told me you had a letter from Miss -Rose." - -"Why, yes, didn't you know? And she is coming back with Mrs. Wheatly, -and I am so glad!" - -"Have you been corresponding with Miss Rose all this time, Laura?" -inquired Miss Clowrie. - -"No; this is the first letter I have received. I sent her the 'Spouter,' -containing Nathalie Marsh's death, to Quebec, and she wrote back in -reply. This is all I have heard of her until now. She says she has had -scarcely a moment to herself." - -"Do you know, Laura," said Miss McGregor, "I used to think she was half -in love with Charley Marsh before that terrible affair of his. He was a -handsome fellow, and she must have seen a great deal of him, living in -the same house." - -"One might fall in love with Charley without living in the same house -with him, mightn't they, Catty?" asked Mr. Blake, with a grin; "but it's -all nonsense in saying the little school-mistress cared about him. She -was too much of a saint to fall in love with any one." - -"There's the boat!" cried Captain Cavendish; "coming round Paradise -Island!" - -"And there goes Darcy down the floats," echoed Val. "Watch well, ladies, -and you will behold the heiress of Redmon in a jiffy." - -The steamer swept around the island and floated gracefully up the -harbor. In twenty minutes she was at the wharf; a little army of cabmen, -armed with whips, stood ready, as if to thrash the passengers as they -came up. A couple of M. P.'s, brass-buttoned, blue-coated, and -red-batoned, stood keeping order among the rabble of boys, ready to tear -each other's eyes out for the privilege of carrying somebody's luggage. -Our party flocked to the edge of the high wharf overlooking the floats, -up which the travelers must come, and strained their necks and eyes to -catch sight of the heiress. Mr. Darcy had gone on board the first moment -he could, and the passengers were flocking out and up the floats. Some -of them, who had been to Speckport before, or had heard from others that -it was one of the institutions of the place for the population of the -town to flock down on such occasions, passed on indifferently; but -others, more ignorant, looked, up in amazement, and wondered if all -those people expected friends. Most of the passengers had gone, when -there was an exclamation from more than one mouth of "Here she is!" -"There's the heiress with Mr. Darcy!" "Look, she's coming!" and all bent -forward more eagerly than before. Yes, Mr. Darcy was slowly ascending -the floats with a lady on his arm, a tall lady, very slender and -graceful of figure, wearing a black silk dress, a black cloth mantle -trimmed with purple, a plain dark traveling bonnet, and a thick brown -vail. The vail defied penetration--the eyes of Argus himself could not -have discovered the face behind it. - -"Oh, hang the vail!" cried Captain Cavendish; "they ought to be indicted -as public nuisances. The face belonging to such a figure should be -pretty!" - -"How tall she is!" exclaimed Miss McGregor, who was rather dumpy than -otherwise. "She is a perfect giantess!" - -"Five feet six, I should say, was mademoiselle's height," remarked Val, -with mathematical precision. "I like tall women. How stately she walks!" - -"I suppose she'll be putting on airs now," remarked Miss McGregor, with -true feminine dislike to hear another woman praised; "and forget she -ever had to work for her living in New York. Or perhaps she'll go back -there and take her fortune with her." - -"You wouldn't be sorry, Jeannette, would you?" said Laura. "She's a -terrible rival, I know, with her thirty thousand pounds, and her stately -stature. Val, I wish you would find out what she is like before you come -to our house this evening. You can do anything you please, and I am -dying to know." - -"All right," said Val; "shall I drop into Darcy's, and ask Miss -Henderson to stand up for inspection, in order that I may report to Miss -Blair?" - -"Oh, nonsense! you can go into Mr. Darcy's if you like, and see her, -without making a goose of yourself." - -"And I'll go with him, Miss Laura," said Mr. Tom Oaks, sauntering up. -"Blake has no more eye for beauty than a cow, or he would not have lived -in Speckport all these years, and be a single man to-day. We'll both -drop in to Darcy's on our way to you, Miss Blair, with a full, true, and -particular account of Miss Henderson's charms." - -"Oh, her charms are beyond dispute, already," said Captain Cavendish; -"she has thirty thousand, to our certain knowledge." - -"And of all charms," drawled Lieutenant the Honorable Blank, "we know -that golden ones are the most to your taste, Cavendish. You'd better be -careful and not put your foot in it with this heiress, as they tell me -you did with the last." - -Very few ever had the pleasure of seeing Captain Cavendish disconcerted. -He only stared icily at his brother-officer, and offered his arm to Miss -McGregor to lead her to her carriage, which was in waiting, while Mr. -Oaks did the same duty for Laura. Mr. Blake saw her led off under his -very nose, with sublimest unconcern, and lounged along the wharf, -watching the deck-hands getting out freight, with far more interest than -he could ever have felt in Laura's pretty tittle-tattle. If that lady -felt disappointed, she knew the proprieties a great deal too well to -betray it, and held a laughing flirtation all the way up the wharf with -Mr. Tom Oaks. - -"You will be sure to find out what the heiress is like," she said, -bounding into the carriage. "I shall never know a moment's peace until I -ascertain." - -"I will go to Darcy's with Blake," answered Tom; "that's all I can do. -If she shows it is all right; if she don't, a fellow can't very well -send word to her to come and exhibit herself. Adieu, mesdemoiselles!" - -The two gentlemen tipped their chapeaux gallantly as the carriage -rattled off up the hilly streets of Speckport; for every street in -Speckport is decidedly "the rocky road to Dublin." Mr. Oaks hunted up -Mr. Blake, and led him off from the fascinating spot, where the men were -noisily getting out barrels, and bales and boxes. - -"I'll call round for you, Blake," he said; "and we'll drop into Darcy's, -promiscuous, as it were, before going to Laura's. I want to see the -heiress myself, as much as the girls do." - -Mr. Blake was of much too easy a nature to refuse any common request; -and when, about seven o'clock, Mr. Oaks, magnificently got up in full -evening costume, partly concealed by a loose and stylish overcoat, -called at Great St. Peter's Street, he found the master of No. 16 -putting the finishing touches to a characteristically loose and careless -toilet. - -The two young men sallied forth into the brightly starlit March night, -lighting their cigars as they went, and conjecturing what Miss Henderson -might be like. At least Mr. Oaks was, Mr. Blake being constitutionally -indifferent on the subject. - -"What's the odds?" said Val; "let her be as pretty as Venus, or as ugly -as a blooming Hottentot, it makes no difference to you or I, does it?" - -"Perhaps not to you, you dry old Diogenes," said Tom; "but to me it's of -the utmost consequence, as I mean to marry her, should she turn out to -be handsome." - -Mr. Blake stared, for Mr. Oaks had delivered himself of this speech with -profoundest gravity; but as they were at the lawyer's door, there was no -time for friendly remonstrance on such precipitate rashness. Val rang, -and was shown by the young lady who answered the bell, and did general -housework for Mrs. Darcy, into the parlor. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were -there, and so was the new heiress, to whom they were presented in form. -She still wore her black silk dress, and lay back in a cushioned rocker, -looking at the bright coal-fire, and talking very little. It was very -easy to look at her; had she been a tall statue, draped in black, it -could scarcely have been easier; and the two gentlemen took a mental -photograph of her, for Miss Blair's benefit and their own, before they -had been two minutes in the room. - -"We were on our way to Miss Blair's tea-splash," Mr. Blake explained, -"and dropped in. You're not coming, I suppose?" - -No, a note-apology had been sent. They were not going. Mrs. Darcy was -saying this when the young lady looked suddenly up. - -"I beg you will not stay on my account," she said. "I am rather -fatigued, and will retire. I shall be sorry if my arrival deprives you -of any pleasure." - -She had a most melodious voice, deep, but musical, and her smile lit up -her whole dark face with a luminous brightness, most fascinating, but -not easily described. You know the magnetic power some of these dark -faces have, of kindling into sudden light, and how bewitching it is. Mr. -Oaks seemed to find it so; for she was gazing with an entranced -absorption that rendered him utterly oblivious of all the rules of -polite breeding. - -Mr. and Mrs. Darcy hastened to disclaim the idea of her presence -depriving them of any pleasure whatever, as people always do on these -occasions, and repeated their intention of not going. Messrs. Blake and -Oaks accordingly took their leave, and sallied forth again under the -quiet stars for the residence of Miss Laura Blair. - -The pretty drawing-room of Laura's home was bright with gaslight and -flowers, and fine faces and charming toilets, and red coats, for the -officers were there when they entered. What Mr. Blake had denominated a -"tea-splash" was a grand birth-day ball. Miss Laura was just twenty-one -that night. She danced up to them as they entered, looking wonderfully -pretty in rose-silk, and floating white lace, white roses in her hair -and looping up her rich skirt. "So you have come at last!" was her cry, -addressing Tom Oaks, and quite ignoring Mr. Blake--the little hypocrite! -"Have you seen Miss Henderson?" - -"Yes," said Val, taking it upon himself to reply, "and she's homely. Her -nose turns up." - -There was a cry of consternation from a group of ladies, who came -fluttering around them, Miss Jo, tall and gaunt, and grand, in their -midst. - -"Homely!" shouted Mr. Oaks, glaring upon Val. "You lying villain, I'll -knock you down if you repeat such a slander. She is beautiful as an -angel! the loveliest girl I ever looked upon." - -Everybody stared, and there was a giggle and a flutter among the pretty -ones at this refreshingly frank confession. - -"Nonsense!" said Val. "You can't deny, Oaks, but her nose turns up!" - -"I don't care whether it turns up or down!" yelled Mr. Oaks, "or whether -she's got any nose at all! I know it's perfect, and her eyes are like -the stars of heaven, and her complexion the loveliest olive I ever -looked at!" - -"Olive!" said Mr. Blake. "I'll take my oath it's yellow, and she's as -skinny as our Jo there." - -"I'm obliged to you, Mr. Blake, for the compliment, I'm sure!" exclaimed -Miss Jo, flashing fire at the speaker; "and I think you might have a -little more politeness than running down the poor young lady, if her -nose does turn up. Sure, she is not to blame, poor creature! if she is -ugly!" - -"But, I tell you, ma'am," roared Mr. Oaks, growing scarlet in the face, -"she is not ugly! She's beautiful! She's divine! She's an angel!--that's -what she is!" - -"Well," said Mr. Blake, resignedly, "if she's an angel, all I've got to -say is, that angels ain't much to my taste. She is not half as pretty as -yourself, Laura; and now I want you to dance with me, after that." - -Miss Blair, with a radiant face, put her pretty white hand on Val's -coat-sleeve, and marched him off. A quadrille was just forming, and they -took their places. - -"So she's really not handsome, Val? What is she like?" - -"Oh, she's tall and thin, and straight as a poplar, and she has big, -flashing black eyes, and tar-black hair, all braided round her head, and -a haggard sort of look that I don't admire. I dare say, Lady Macbeth -looked something like her; but she is not the least like poor Nathalie -Marsh." - -"Ah! poor Nathalie! dear Nathalie!" Laura sighed. "It seems like -yesterday since that night last May, at Jeannette McGregor's, when she -was the belle and the heiress of Redmon, we all thought, and Captain -Cavendish came for the first time. I remember, too, Miss Rose arrived -that night, and we were asking Charley--poor Charley!--what she looked -like. And now to think of all the changes that have taken place! I -declare, it seems heartless of us to be dancing and enjoying ourselves -here, after all!" - -"So it is," said Val, "and we are a heartless lot, I expect; but, -meantime, the quadrille is commencing, and as you have not taken the -vail yet, Miss Blair, suppose you make me a bow, and let us have a whack -at it with the rest!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -THE HEIRESS OF REDMON ENTERS SOCIETY. - - -A pretty room--Brussels carpet on the floor, marble-topped table strewn -with gayly-bound books and photograph-albums, chairs and sofas cushioned -in green billiard-cloth, hangings of lace and damask on the windows, a -tall Psyche mirror, a dressing-table, strewn with ivory-backed brushes, -perfume bottles, kid gloves, and cambric handkerchiefs; and marble -mantel, adorned with delicate vases filled with flowers. You might have -thought it a lady's boudoir but for the pictures on the papered -walls--pictures of ballet-dancers and racehorses, with one or two Indian -scenes of pig-sticking, tiger and jackal hunts, and massacres of Sepoys, -and the pistols and riding-whips over the mantel, and the gentleman -standing at the window, looking out. He wore a captain's uniform, and -nothing could have set off his fine figure so well; and this lady-like -apartment was his, and told folios about the man's tastes and character. -He stood looking out on the lamp-lit street, with people passing -carelessly up and down, not looking at them, but thinking -deeply--thinking how the best-laid plans of his life had been defeated -by that invincible Fate, which was the only deity he believed in, and -laying fresh plans, so skillfully to be carried out as to baffle grim -Madam Fate herself. He was going to a party to-night--a party given by -Mrs. Darcy, to introduce the new heiress of Redmon to Speckportian -society. - -Captain George Percy Cavendish, standing at the window, looking -abstractedly out at the starlit and gaslit street, was thinking. No one -had wished more to see the heiress than he. She was the fashion, the -sensation, the notoriety of the day. What eclat for him, not to speak of -the solid advantages in the way of dollars and cents, to carry off this -heiress, in fair and open combat, from all competitors. Tom Oaks, the -most insensible of mankind, had seen her but once, and had gone raving -about her ever since. Then, she was the heiress of Redmon, and Captain -Cavendish had vowed a vow long ago, that Redmon and its thousands should -be his, in spite of the very old Diable himself. Did he think -remorsefully of that other heiress who had staked all for him, and lost -the game? I doubt it. - -A little toy of a clock on a Grecian bracket struck ten. There had been -a noisy mess-dinner to detain him, and he was late; but he did not mind -that. Mr. Johnson, his man, appeared, to assist him on with his -greatcoat, and Captain Cavendish started to behold his fate! - -The drawing-room of the lawyer's house was filled when he entered--he -being himself the latest arrival. He stood near the door for some time, -watching the figures passing and re-passing, gliding in and out of the -dance--for they were dancing--glancing from one to the other of those -pretty mantraps, baited in rainbow-silk, jewelry, and artificial -flowers, for the capture of such as he. He was looking for the heiress, -but all of those faces were familiar, and almost all deigned him their -sweetest smiles in passing--for was there another marriageable man in -all Speckport as handsome as he? While he waited, Lieutenant the -Honorable L. H. Blank, in a brilliant scarlet uniform, approached with a -lady on his arm, and Captain Cavendish knew that he was face to face -with the heiress of Redmon! She had been dancing, and the lieutenant led -her to a seat, and left her to fulfill some request of hers. Captain -Cavendish looked at her, with an electric thrill flashing through every -nerve. Tom Oaks was right when he had called this woman glorious. It was -the only word that seemed to fit her, with her dark Assyrian beauty, her -flaming black eye, and superb wealth of dead-black hair. Yes, she was -glorious, this black-eyed divinity, who was dressed like the heroine of -a novel, in spotless white, floating like a pale cloud of mist all about -her, and emblematic of virgin innocence, perhaps; only this dark -daughter of the earth would hardly do to sit to an artist for an ideal -Innocence. - -She was dressed with wonderful simplicity, with a coronal of vivid -scarlet berries and dark-green leaves in the shining braids of her black -hair, and a little diamond star, shining and scintillating on her -breast. Her nose might turn up, her forehead might be too broad and -high, her face too long and thin for classic beauty, but with all that -she was magnificent. There was a streaming light in her great black -eyes, a crimson glow on her thin cheeks, and a sort of subtle brilliant -electricity about her, not to be described, and not to be resisted. This -flashing-eyed girl was one of those women for whom worlds have been -lost--dark enchantresses not to be resisted by mortal man. - -While Captain Cavendish stood there, magnetized and fascinated, a -ringing laugh at his elbow made him look round. It was Miss Laura Blair, -of course; no one ever laughed like that, but herself. - -"Love at first sight, is it?" she asked, with a wicked look; "come -along, and I'll introduce you." - -A moment after he was bowing to the dark divinity, and asking her to -dance. Miss Henderson assented, with a bewitching smile, and turned that -dark entrancing face of hers to Laura. - -"Do you know I wanted you, and have sent my late partner off in search -of you. I suppose the poor fellow is scouring the house in vain. They -are going to take me to Redmon and around the town to-morrow, it seems, -and I want to know if you will come?" - -Come! Laura's sparkling face answered before her words. The enchantress -had fascinated her as well as the rest; and, in a superb and gracious -sort of way, she seemed to have taken a fancy in turn to the -laughter-loving Bluenose damsel. - -While Laura was speaking, Lieutenant Blank came up, looking dazed and -helpless after his search; and directly after him, Mr. Tom Oaks, who had -been hovering around Miss Henderson all the evening, like a moth round a -candle. Mr. Oaks wanted her to dance, and glared vindictively upon -Captain Cavendish on hearing she was engaged to that gentleman, who led -her off with a calm air of superiority, very galling to a jealous lover. - -The dance turned out to be a waltz, and Miss Henderson waltzed as if she -had indeed been the ballet-dancer envious people said she was. She -floated--it was not motion--and the young officer, who was an excellent -waltzer himself, thought he never had such a partner before in his life. -Long after the rest had ceased, they floated round and round, the -cynosure of all eyes, and the handsomest pair in the room. Tom Oaks, -looking on, ground his teeth, and could have strangled the handsome -Englishman without remorse. - -As he stood there glowering upon them, Mr. Darcy came along and slapped -him on the back. - -"It's no use, Oaks. You can't compete with Cavendish! Handsome couple, -are they not?" - -Mr. Oaks ground out something between his teeth, by way of reply, that -was very like an oath, and Mr. Darcy went on his way, laughing. Standing -there, scowling darkly, Mr. Oaks saw Captain Cavendish lead Miss -Henderson to the piano. - -Miss Henderson was a most brilliant pianiste, and quite electrified -Speckport that night. Her white hands swept over the ivory keys, and a -storm of music surged through the room, and held them spell-bound. - -Those who had stigmatized her as a ballet-dancer and a dress-maker were -staggered. Ballet-dancers and dressmakers, poor things! don't often play -the piano like that, or have Mendelssohn's and Beethoven's superbest -compositions at their finger-ends. In short, Miss Henderson bewitched -Speckport that night, even as she had bewitched poor Tom Oaks. Never had -a debut on the great stage of life been so successful. Where the -witchery lay, none could tell; she was not beautiful of feature or -complexion, yet half the people there thought her dazzlingly beautiful. - -In short, Olive Henderson was not the sort of woman fire-side fairies -and household angels and perfect wives are made of, but the kind men go -mad for, and rarely marry. She was so brightly beautiful that she defied -criticism; and she moved in their midst a young empress, crowned with -the scarlet coronal and jetty braids, her diamond-star scintillating -rays of rainbow fire, and that smiling face of hers alluring all. Even -that slow Val Blake felt the spell of the sorceress, recanted his former -heresy, and protested he was as near being in love with her as he had -ever been with any one in his life. - -The confession was made to Laura Blair, of all people in the world; but -the glamour was over her eyes, too, and she heard it without surprise, -almost without jealousy. - -"Oh, she's splendid, Val," the young lady enthusiastically cried. "I -never loved any one so much in my life as I do her! How could you say -she was ugly?" - -"Upon my word, I don't know," responded Mr. Blake helplessly; "I thought -she was at the time, but she don't seem like the same person. How that -Cavendish does stick to her, to be sure." - -The cold pale dawn of the April day was lifting a leaden eye over the -bay and the distant hill-top, when the assembly broke up. It was four -o'clock of a cold and winter morning before the lights were fled, the -garlands dead, and the banquet-halls deserted. Speckport was very quiet -as the tired pleasure-seekers went wearily home, the chill sweeping wind -penetrating to the bone. - -Leaning against a lamp-post, opposite Mr. Darcy's house, and gazing with -ludicrous earnestness at one particular window of that mansion, was a -gentleman, whom the cold and uncomfortable dawn appeared to affect but -very little. The gentleman was Mr. Tom Oaks, his face flushed, his hair -tumbled, and his shirt-bosom in a limp and wine-splashed state, and the -window was that of Miss Henderson's room. Heaven only knows how these -mad lovers find out things; perhaps the passion gives them some -mysterious indication; but he knew the window of her room, and stood -there watching her morning-lamp burn, with an absorption that rendered -him unconscious of cold and sleet and fatigue. While he was gazing at -the light, with his foolish heart in his eyes, a hand was laid on his -shoulder, and a familiar voice sounded in his ear: - -"I say, Oaks, old fellow! What are you doing here? You'll be laid up -with rheumatic fever, if you stand in this blast much longer." - -Tom turned round, and saw Captain Cavendish's laughing face. The young -officer was buttoned up to the chin, and was smoking a cigar. - -"It's no affair of yours, sir," cried Mr. Oaks, rather more fiercely -than the occasion seemed to warrant. "The street's free, I suppose!" - -"Oh, certainly," said the captain, turning carelessly away; "only Miss -Henderson might consider it rather impertinent if she knew her window -was watched, and there is a policeman coming this way who may possibly -take you up on suspicion of burglary." - -It is not improbable, if Captain Cavendish had not already been some -paces off, Tom's fist would have been in his face, and his manly length -measured on the pavement. Tom never knew afterward what it was kept him -from knocking the Englishman down, whom he already hated with the -cordial and savage hatred of a true lover. But the captain was not -knocked down, and walked home to his elegant rooms, a contemptuous smile -on his lips, but an annoyed feeling within. He was so confoundedly -good-looking, he thought, this big, blustering, noisy Tom Oaks, and so -immensely rich, and women had such remarkably bad taste sometimes that-- - -"Oh, pshaw!" he impatiently cried to himself, "what am I thinking of to -fear a rival in Tom Oaks--that overgrown, blundering idiot. What a -glorious creature she is! By Jove! If she were a beggar, those eyes of -hers might make her fortune!" - -Early in the afternoon of the next day, the plain dark carryall of the -lawyer, containing himself and Miss Henderson, drove up to Mr. Blair's -for Laura. - -Laura did not keep them long waiting; she ran down the steps, her pretty -face all smiles, and was helped in and driven off. Miss Henderson lay -back like a princess among the cushions, a black velvet mantle folded -around her, and looked languidly at the beauties of Speckport as Laura -pointed them out. Queen Street stared with all its eyes after the -heiress, and the young ladies envied Miss Blair her position, the -cynosure of all. The windows of Golden Row were luminous with eyes. If -the heiress of Redmon had been the pig-faced lady, she could hardly have -attracted more attention. But she might have been a duchess, instead of -an ex-seamstress, she was so unaffectedly and radically indifferent; she -looked at banks, and custom-houses, and churches, and squares, and men, -and women, with listless eyes, but never once kindled into interest. -Yes, once they did. It was when they reached the lower part of the town, -Cottage Street, in fact, and the bay, all alive with boats, and -schooners, and steamers, and ships, came in sight, its saline breath -sweeping up in their faces, and its deep, solemn, ceaseless roar -sounding in their ears. The heiress sat erect, and a vivid light kindled -in her wonderful eyes. - -"Oh, the sea!" she cried; "the great, grand, beautiful sea! Oh, Laura! I -should like to live where its voice would sound always, night and day, -in my ears!" - -She had grown so accustomed to hear every one the night before call Miss -Blair Laura, that the name came involuntarily, and Laura liked it best. - -"It is down here Nathalie Marsh used to live," Laura said; "there is the -house. Poor Nathalie!" - -"Mrs. Darcy was telling me of her. She was very pretty, was she not?" - -"She was beautiful! Not like you," said Laura, paying a compliment with -the utmost simplicity; "but fair, with dark blue eyes, and long golden -curls, and the loveliest singer you ever heard. Every one loved her. -Poor Natty!" - -Tears came into Laura's eyes as she spoke of the friend she had loved, -and through their mist she did not see how Olive Henderson's face was -darkening. - -"I never received such a shock as when I heard she was missing. I had -been with her a little before, and she had been talking so strangely and -wildly, asking me if I thought drowning was an easy death. It frightened -me; but I never thought she would do so dreadful a deed." - -"There can be no doubt, I suppose, but that it was suicide?" - -"Oh no! but she was delirious; she was not herself--my poor, poor Natty! -They talk of broken hearts--if ever any one's heart broke, it was hers!" - -The strange, dark gloom falling like a pall on the face of the heiress, -darkened, but Laura did not notice. - -"Was it," she hesitated, and averted her face; "was it the loss of this -fortune?" - -"That, among other things; but I think she felt most of all about poor -Charley. Ah! what a handsome fellow he was, and so fond of fun and -frolic--every one loved Charley! I suppose Mrs. Darcy told you all the -story?" - -"Yes. You are quite sure it wasn't he, after all, who committed the -murder?" - -"Sure!" Laura cried, indignantly. "I am certain! If everybody hadn't -been a pack of geese, they would never have suspected Charley Marsh, who -wouldn't hurt a fly! No, it was some one else, and Val--I mean Mr. -Blake--says if ever Cherrie Nettleby is found, it will be sure to come -out!" - -"And Mr. Blake supports Mrs. Marsh, Mrs. Darcy says. That is very good -of him." - -Laura's eyes sparkled. - -"Good! Val Blake's the best, the kindest-hearted, and most generous -fellow that ever lived. He has that off-hand, unpolished way, you know; -but at heart, he is as good, and kind, and tender as a woman!" - -She spoke with an eagerness--this impulsive Laura--that told her secret -plainly enough; but the heiress was thinking of other things. - -"She was engaged to Captain Cavendish--this Miss Marsh--was she not?" -she asked. - -"Yes, I believe so; but it never was so publicly given out. He was her -shadow; and every one said it would be a match after Mrs. Leroy's -death, for she detested him." - -"How did he act after she lost her fortune?" - -"Well, the time was so short between that and her dreadful death, that -he had very little opportunity of doing anything; but the general -opinion was, the engagement would be broken off. In fact, he told Val -himself that she broke off, immediately after--for Natty was proud. He -went to the house every day, I know, until--Oh! _quand on parle de -diable_--there he is himself!" - -Laura did not mean by this abrupt change that his Satanic Majesty was -coming, though it sounded like it. It was only one of his earthly -emissaries--Captain Cavendish, on horseback. Captain Cavendish looked -handsomer on horseback than anywhere else, a fact of which he was fully -convinced, and he rode up and lifted his hat to the ladies with gallant -grace. - -"Good day to you, mesdemoiselles! I called at your house, Mr. Darcy, but -found Miss Henderson out! I trust I find you well, ladies, after last -night's fatigue?" - -He addressed both, but he spoke only to one. That one lifted her dark -eyes and bowed distantly, almost coldly, and it was Laura who answered. - -"Seven or eight hours' incessant dancing have no effect on such -constitutions as ours, Captain Cavendish! We have been showing Miss -Henderson the lions of Speckport!" - -"And what does Miss Henderson think of those animals?" - -"I like Speckport," she said, scarcely taking the trouble to lift her -proud eyes; "this part of it particularly." - -She was in no mood for conversation, and took little pains to conceal -it. "Not at home to suitors," was printed plainly on those contracted -black brows, and in the somber depths of those gloomy eyes. Captain -Cavendish lifted his hat and rode on, and the distrait beauty just -deigned a formal bend of her regal head, and no more. - -Laura smiled a little maliciously to herself, not at all sorry to see -the irresistible Captain Cavendish rather snubbed than otherwise. There -was nowhere to go now but to Redmon, and they drove along the quiet -road, in the gathering twilight of the short March afternoon. A gray and -eerie twilight, too, the low flat sky, of uniform leaden tint, hanging -dark over the black fields and moaning sea. The trees, all along the -road, stretched out gaunt, bare arms, and the cries of the whirling -sea-gulls came up in the cold evening blasts. They had fallen into -silence, involuntarily--the gloom of the hour and the dreary scene -weighing down the spirits of all. Something of the gloominess of the -flat dull landscape lay shadowed on the face of the heiress, as she -shivered behind her wraps in the raw sea-gusts. - -Ann Nettleby stood at her own door as the party drove by. The cottage -looked forlorn and stripped, too, with only bare poles where the -scarlet-runners used to climb, and a dismal entanglement of broom -stalks, where the roses and sweetbrier used to flourish. Mr. Darcy drew -rein for a moment to nod to the girl. - -"How d'ye do, Ann! Any news from that runaway Cherrie yet?" - -"No, sir," said Ann, her eyes fixed curiously on the heiress. - -"Is this Redmon?" asked Miss Henderson, looking over the cottage at the -red brick house. "What a dismal place!" - -Dismal, surely, if house ever was! All the shutters were closed, all the -doors fastened, no smoke ascending from the broken chimneys, no sound of -life within or without; not even a dog, to humanize the ghostly solitude -of the place. Black, and grim, and ghostly, it reared its gloomy front -to the gloomy sky; the stripped and skeleton trees moaning weirdly about -it, an air of decay and desolation over all. Forlorn and deserted, it -looked like a haunted house, and such Speckport believed it to be. The -two young ladies leaning on Mr. Darcy's arms as they walked up the -bleak, bare avenue, between the leafless trees, drew closer to his side, -in voiceless awe. The rattling branches seemed to catch at the heiress -as she passed them, to catch savagely at this new mistress, out of whose -face every trace of color had slowly died away. - -"It's a dismal old barrack," Mr. Darcy said, trying to laugh; "but you -two girls needn't look like ghosts about it. If the sun was shining now, -I dare say you would be laughing at its grimness, both of you." - -"I don't know," said the heiress, "I cannot conceive this place anything -but ghostly and gloomy. I should be afraid of that murdered woman or -that drowned girl coming out from under those black trees in the dead of -night. I shall never like Redmon." - -"Oh, pooh!" said Mr. Darcy, "yes, you will. When the sun is shining and -the grass is green, and the birds singing in these old trees, you'll -sing a different tune, Miss Olive. We'll have a villa here, and this old -rookery out of the way, and fine doings up here, and, after a while, a -wedding, with Laura here, for bridesmaid, and myself to give you away. -Won't we, Laura?" - -"I'm sure I don't know, sir. Who do you want to give her away to?" - -"Well, I'm not certain. There's Tom Oaks looney about her; and there's -that good-looking Englishman, all you girls are dying for. You like -soldiers, don't you, Miss Olive?" - -"Not particularly. Especially soldiers who never smell powder except on -parade-day, and whose only battles are sham ones. I like those poor -fellows who are fighting and dying down South, but carpet-knights I -don't greatly affect. - -"That's a rap over the head, Mr. Darcy," cried Laura, with sparkling -eyes. "I wish he heard you, Miss Henderson." - -"He might if he liked," said the heiress, scornfully. - -"Well," said the lawyer, taking the "rap" good-humoredly, "he can make -whom he marries, 'my lady,' some day. Is not that an inducement, my -dear?" - -"Is he of the nobility, then?" asked Olive Henderson, indifferently, and -not replying to the question. - -"He is next heir to a baronetcy. Lady Olive Cavendish does not sound -badly, does it?" - -"He used to come here often enough in the old days," Laura said, -looking at the gloomy old mansion; "he was all devotion to poor -Nathalie." - -Miss Henderson's beautiful short upper-lip curled. - -"He seems to have got wonderfully well over it in so brief a time, for a -love so devoted." - -"It is man's nature, my dear," said Mr. Darcy; "here's the house, will -you go through?" - -Laura absolutely screamed at the idea. - -"Good gracious, Mr. Darcy! I would not go in for all the world. Don't -go, Olive--I mean Miss Henderson." - -"Oh, call me Olive! I hate Miss Henderson. No, I don't care for going -in--the place has given me the horrors already." - -As they walked back to the carriage, Laura asked her what she thought of -Mr. Darcy's plan of the villa. - -"I shall think about it," was the reply. "Meantime, Mr. Darcy, I wish -you would look out for a nice house for me, one with a garden attached, -and a stable, and in some nice street, with a view of the water." - -"But, dear me!" said Laura, "I should think it would be ever so much -nicer and handier to board. It will be such a bother, housekeeping and -looking after servants, and all that kind of thing. If I were you I -would board." - -She turned upon Laura Blair, her eyes, her face, her voice, so -passionate, that that young lady quite recoiled. - -"Laura!" she cried out, in that passionate voice, "I must have a home. A -home, do you hear, not a boarding-house. Heaven knows I have had enough -of them to last me my life, and the sound of the word is hateful to me. -I must have a home where I will be the mistress, free to do as I please, -to come and go as I like, to receive my friends and go to them as it -suits me, unasked and unquestioned. I must have a home of my own, or I -shall die." - -Mr. Darcy looked out a house for the heiress; and after a fortnight's -search, found one to suit. It belonged to a certain major, who was going -with his bride, a fair Speckportian, home to old England, on a prolonged -leave of absence. It was to be let, all ready furnished; it was situated -around the corner from Golden Row, commanding a fine view of the -harbor, and with two most essential requisites, a garden and a stable. -It was a pretty little cottage house, with a tiny drawing-room opening -into a library, and a parlor opening into a dining-room. There was a -wide hall between, with a delightful glass porch in front, a garden -fronting the street, and the door at the other end of the hall opening -into a grass-grown backyard. Altogether it was a pleasant little house, -and Miss Henderson took it at once, as it stood, on the major's own -terms, and made arrangements for removing there at once. - -"I must have a horse, Laura, you know," she said to Miss Blair, as they -inspected the cottage together, for the two girls had grown more and -more intimate, with every passing day. "I must have a horse, and a man -to take care of him; and besides, I shall feel safer with a man in the -house. Then I must have a housekeeper, some nice motherly old lady, who -will take all that trouble off my hands; and a chambermaid, who must be -pretty, for one likes to have pretty things about one; and I shall get -new curtains and pictures, and send to Boston for a piano and lots of -music, and oh, Laura! I shall be just as happy as a queen here all day -long." - -She waltzed round the room where they were alone, in her new glee, for -she was as fitful of temper as an April day--all things by turns, and -nothing long. Laura, who was lolling back in a stuffed rocker, looked at -her lazily. "A housekeeper, Olly! There's Mrs. Hill, that widow you told -me once you thought had such a pleasant face. She is the widow of a -pilot, and has no children. She lives with her brother-in-law, Mr. -Clowrie, and would be glad of the place." - -Miss Henderson gave a last whirl and wheeled breezily down upon a -lounge. - -"Would she? But perhaps she wouldn't suit. I want some one that can get -up dinners, and oversee everything when I have a party. I must have a -cook, too--I forgot that." - -Laura laughed. - -"If you went dinnerless one day, you would be apt to remember it -afterward. Mrs. Hill is quite competent to a dinner, or any other -emergency, for she was housekeeper in some very respectable English -family, before she married that pilot. I am sure she would suit, and I -know she would like to come." - -"And I know I would like to have her. I'll go down to Mr. Clowrie's -to-morrow, and make her hunt me up a cook and housemaid, and stableman. -I shall want a gardener, too--that's another thing I forgot." - -"Old Nettleby will do that. I say, Olly, you ought to give us a -house-warming." - -"I mean to; but they never can dance in these little rooms. Oh, how nice -it is to have a house of one's own!" - -Laura wondered at the morbid earnestness of Miss Henderson on this -subject. She knew very little of the prior history of the heiress, -beyond that from great wealth she had fallen to great poverty, and had -had unpleasant experience in New York boarding-houses; the probable -origin of this desperate heart-sick longing for a house of her own--a -home where she would be the mistress, the sovereign queen. - -Mrs. Hill, the pilot's widow, was very glad of Miss Henderson's offer, -and gratefully closed with it at once. Perhaps the bread of dependence, -never very sweet, was unusually bitter, when sliced by the fair hand of -Miss Catty. She was a tall, portly old lady, with a fair, pleasing, -unwrinkled face, and kindly blue eyes, that had a motherly tenderness in -them for the rich young orphan girl. - -"And I want you to find me a cook, and a groom, and a housemaid, Mrs. -Hill," Olive said; "and the girl must be pretty. I mean to have nothing -but pretty things about me. I am going to the cottage on Monday, and you -must have them all before then." - -Mrs. Hill was a treasure of a housekeeper. Before Saturday night she had -engaged a competent cook, whose husband knew all about horses, and took -the place of groom and coachman. She got, too, a chambermaid, with a -charmingly pretty face and form; and the new window-draperies of snowy -lace and purple satin were festooned from their gilded cornices; and the -new furniture was arranged; and the new pictures, lonely little -landscape-scenes, hung around the walls. It was a perfect little bijou -of a cottage, and the heiress danced from room to room on Monday morning -with the glee of a happy child delighted with its new toy, and hugged -Laura at least a dozen times over. - -"Oh, Laura, Laura, how happy I am! and how happy I am going to be here! -I feel as if this great big world were all sunshine and beauty, and I -were the happiest mortal in it!" - -"Yes, dear," said Laura, "but don't strangle me, if you can help it. The -rooms are beautiful, and your dear five hundred are dying to behold -them. When does that house-warming come off?" - -Miss Henderson was whirling round and round like a crazy teetotum, and -now stopped before Miss Blair with a sweeping courtesy that ballooned -her dress all out around her. - -"On Thursday night, mademoiselle, Miss Henderson is 'At Home'. The cards -will be issued to-day. Come and practice 'Come Where my Love Lies -Dreaming.' Captain Cavendish takes the tenor, and Lieutenant Blank the -bass. We must charm our friends with it that night." - -Miss Henderson did not invite all her dear five hundred friends that -Thursday night--the cottage-rooms would not have held them. As it was, -the pretty dining-room and parlor were well filled, and the heiress -stood receiving her guests with the air of a royal princess holding a -drawing-room. She looked brilliantly beautiful, in her dress of rich -mauve silk sweeping the carpet with its trailing folds, its flounces of -filmy black lace, a circlet of red gold in her dead black hair, twisted -in broad shining plaits around her graceful head, a diamond necklace and -cross blazing like a river of light around her swanlike throat, and a -diamond bracelet flashing on one rounded arm. Speckport, ah! -ever-envious Speckport, said these were but Australian brilliants, and -that the whole set had not cost three hundred dollars in New York; but -Speckport had nothing like them, and Speckport never looked on anything -so beautiful as Olive Henderson that night. She was no longer wan and -haggard; her dark cheeks had a scarlet suffusion under the brown skin, -and the majestic eye a radiance that seemed more and more glorious every -time you saw her. - -No one could complain that night of caprice or coquetry, or partiality; -all were treated alike; Tom Oaks, Lieutenant Blank, Mr. Val Blake, and -Captain Cavendish; she had enchanting smiles, and genial hostess-like -courtesies for all, love for none. Whatever beat in the heart throbbing -against the amber silk, the lace and the diamonds of her bodice, she -only knew--the beautiful dark face was a mask you could not read. - -Miss Henderson's reception was a grand success; Mrs. Hill's supper -something that immortalized her forever after in Speckport. The guests -went home in the gray morning light with a dazed feeling that they had -been under a spell all night, and were awakening uncomfortably from it -now. They were under the spell of those magical smiles, of that -entrancing face and voice--a spell they were powerless to withstand, -which fascinated all against their better judgment, which made poor Tom -Oaks wander up and down in the cold, before the cottage, until sunrise, -to the imminent risk of catching his death; which made half a score of -his young towns-men lose their sleep and their appetite, and which made -Captain George Percy Cavendish pace up and down his room in a sort of -fever for two mortal hours, thrilling with the remembrance of the -flashing light in those black eyes, in the bewildering touch of those -hands. For you see, Captain Cavendish, having set a net to entrap an -heiress, was getting hopelessly entangled in its meshes himself, and was -drunk with the draught he would have held to her lips. - -And so the reeling world went round, and she who wove the spell, who -turned the heads, and dazed the hot brains of these young men, lay -tossing on a sleepless pillow, sleepless with the excitement of the dead -hours, sleepless with something far worse than excitement--remorse! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -THE SPELL OF THE ENCHANTRESS. - - -The changes which Mr. Darcy had prophesied were going on at Redmon. -Before the middle of May, the transformation had begun. The weird old -red-brick house, haunted by so many dismal associations, lay on the -ground a great heap of broken bricks and mortar, and the villa was going -up with a rapidity only surpassed by Aladdin's palace. Miss Henderson -had drawn out the plans herself, and superintended the works, with a -clear head and a bright eye for all shortcomings and deficiencies. She -rode over every day from the cottage, mounted on her black steed -Lightning, her black-velvet cap with its long scarlet-tipped plume -flashing in among the workmen, as, with gathered-up skirt, she inspected -the progress of the building. - -She entered with a true womanly interest into the erection and -beautifying of this new home, and had quite got over her superstitious -awe of the place. Perhaps this was owing to an artfully-laid plan of -that scheming lawyer, Mr. Darcy, who, being absurdly fond of the -dark-eyed heiress, and fearful of her depriving Speckport of the light -of her beautiful countenance, by flying off somewhere, resolved she -should like Redmon, and reside there. Accordingly, about a week after -Miss Henderson had gone to the cottage, he had gotten-up a picnic to -Redmon--a select picnic, with the military band and a platform for -dancing. - -The picnic day had dawned in cloudless splendor. Coquettish April, -finding she must yield in spite of all her tears and smiles to her -fairer sister, May, seemed resolved to put up with the inevitable with a -good grace; and the day was more like sunny June than early spring. -Before ten in the morning the party were on the grounds, swinging among -the trees, dancing on the shaded platform, wandering among the grand -old woods, or fishing in the clear streams running through them. The -string band, perched up in a gallery, played away merrily; and what with -sunshine and music, and gay laughter and bright faces, Redmon was a very -different-looking place from the Redmon of a few weeks before. Miss -Henderson had driven Laura Blair up in a little pony-carriage she had -purchased, and owned that Redmon was not so lifeless after all. But she -did not enter into the spirit of the thing with any great zest. Laura -whispered it was one of her "dark days" to those who noticed the silent, -abstracted, almost gloomy manner of the heiress. She danced very little, -and had walked moodily through the quadrille, chafing at its length, and -then had broken from her partner, and gone wandering off among the -trees. Laura Blair made up in herself for all that was wanting in her -friend. She was everywhere at once; now flying through a crazy cotillon; -now on the swings, flashing in and out among the trees; now -superintending the unpacking, and assisting Mrs. Hill and Catty Clowrie -to set the table. The cloth was laid on the grass; the cold hams and -fowls; the hot tea and coffee; the pies, and cakes, and sandwiches; the -hungry picnickers called, and great and mighty was the eating thereof. - -After dinner, the house was to be explored, the sight of ghosts, Mr. -Darcy considered, being unfavorable to digestion. Some weak-minded -persons declined with a shiver; they had no desire for cold horrors -then, or the nightmare when they went to bed; and among the number was -Captain Cavendish. He had no fancy for exploring ratty old buildings, he -said; he would lie on the grass, and smoke his cigar while they were -doing the house. Did any thought of unfortunate Nathalie Marsh obtrude -itself upon the selfish Sybarite as he lay there, smoking his cigar, on -the fresh spring grass, and looking up through the leafy arcades at the -serene April sky? Did any thought of the old days, and she who had loved -him so true and so well, darken for one moment that hard, handsome -mask--his face? Did any more terrible recollection of a ghostly midnight -scene that old house had witnessed, come back, terribly menacing? Who -can tell? The past is haunted for the whole of us; but we banish the -specter as speedily as possible, and no doubt Captain Cavendish did the -same. - -Miss Henderson, of course, was one of the party, leaning on Mr. Darcy's -arm; but her face was very pale, and her great eyes filled with a sort -of nameless fear, as she crossed its gloomy portal. Laura Blair clung -tightly, with little delightful shudders of apprehension, to the arm of -Mr. Val Blake, who took it all unconcernedly, as usual, and didn't put -himself out any to reassure Miss Blair. The house had a damp and earthy -odor, as of the grave; and their footsteps echoed with a dull, dismal -sound, as footsteps always do in a deserted house. Dark, dreary, and -forlorn, it looked, indeed, a haunted house, and every voice was silent -in awe; the gayest laugh hushed; the most fearless feeling a cold chill -creeping over him. Rats ran across their path; black beetles swarmed -everywhere; the walls were slimy, and fat bloated spiders swung from -vast cobwebs wherever they went. It was all dismal, but in the chamber -of the tragedy most dismal of all. They hurried out of it almost before -they had entered it, and went into the next room, the room that had been -Nathalie's. In the darkness, something caught Val Blake's eye in one -corner, he picked it up. It was "Paul and Virginia," bound in blue and -gold; and on the title-page was written, in a man's hand: "To Nathalie, -from hers in life and death--G. P. C." The book passed from hand to -hand. No one spoke, but all knew those initials, and all wondered what -the heiress thought of it. That young lady had not spoken one word since -they had entered the house, and her face was as white as the dress she -wore. But they had seen enough now, and they hurried out, heartily -thankful when the front door boomed slowly behind them, and they were in -the sunshine and fresh air once more. Every tongue was at once unloosed, -and ran with a vengeance, as if to make up for lost time. Captain -Cavendish started from the grass, flung away his cigar, and approached. - -"Well, ladies--well, Miss Laura," he asked, "have you seen the ghost?" - -"Yes," said Laura, gravely. "Here is a ghost we found in Nathalie's -room. I presume you have the best right to it!" - -She handed him the book before them all, and every eye was turned upon -him as he glanced at the title-page. His face changed, in spite of all -his self-control, turning nearly as colorless as Miss Henderson's. - -"I believe I did give Miss Marsh this once," he said, trying to be at -his ease. "I suppose you gave the rats a rare fright! There's the music. -Miss McGregor, I believe I have this dance?" - -The band was playing the "Aline Polka," and no mortal feet could resist -that. All the girls were soon whirling about like teetotums, and the -elderly folks sat down for a game of euchre on the grass. Olive -Henderson, declining, coldly, a dozen eager aspirants for the honor of -her hand in the polka, strolled off unsociably herself, as she had done -before. They were too busy enjoying themselves to notice her absence at -first, and only one followed her. That one was poor Tom Oaks; and to -him, in her absence, the sun was without light, the world empty, since -the universe held but her. She did not hear him--she was leaning against -a tree, looking out with that darkly-brooding face of hers, over the -spreading fields and wood, sloping down to the sea, and all her own. -Looking out over that wide sea, with a dreary stare, that told plainly -all the wealth she had inherited, all the love and admiration she had -won, had not the power to make her happy. Her white dress fluttered in -the spring breeze; her shawl, of rich gold-colored crape, fell in loose, -graceful folds, like sunlight-drapery, around her, held together with -one little brown hand. Her head was bare, and the shining profusion of -thick black hair was twisted in great serpent-like coils around her -head. She looked more sultana-like than ever, holding that mass of -glowing golden drapery around her, a woman to command a kingdom, not to -be wooed for a household-angel; but that poor Tom Oaks was down on the -grass at her feet, before she knew he was near, imploring her to take -pity upon him. Heaven only knows what he said--Tom never did; but he was -pouring out his whole heart in a vehement outburst of passionate -pleading. The man had chosen an unpropitious moment. - -"Get up, Mr. Oaks," the cold sweet voice said; "don't make such a scene! -Hush! some one will hear you." - -She might as well have told a rushing waterfall to hush. Tom got up, -pleading vehemently, passionately, wildly, for what seemed to him--poor, -foolish fellow!--more than life. - -"No, no, no!" she said, impatiently; "go away, Mr. Oaks. It is of no -use." - -It seemed like the old parable of asking for bread and receiving a -stone. Tom Oaks turned away, but something in his despairing face -touched her woman's heart. She laid her hand lightly on his arm, and -looked compassionately into his white face. - -"I am sorry," she said, in a voice that faltered a little, "I am sorry! -I did not think you cared for me like this, but I cannot help you! You -must forget me, Mr. Oaks!" - -There was one other witness to this little love-passage besides the -birds, singing their songs, in the green branches. Captain Cavendish had -seen Tom Oaks follow Olive Henderson off the grounds, and knew, by the -prescience of jealousy, as well what was going to happen, as he did -after the scene was over. He had followed the young man, and, in the -tangled green heart of the wood, had heard every word, and watched the -white and amber figure flit out of sight. He leaned against a tree now, -almost as pale as Tom Oaks had been. But if she should refuse him, too! -It was the first time in his life he had ever asked himself that -question; and he had made love, and offered marriage even, to more than -Winnifred Rose and Nathalie Marsh. What if she should refuse him like -this? Pride, love, ambition, all were at stake with Captain Cavendish -now, and what if he should lose her? He set his breath and clenched his -hand at the thought. - -"I will not lose her!" he said to himself. "I will not! I should go as -mad as that idiot on the grass there is, if I lost that glorious girl!" - -He might have gone after her, and proposed on the spot, had he not -possessed so fully that sixth sense, tact. Like the lady immortalized in -the Irish poem of "Paddy, Would You Now," she must be taken when she was -"in the humor," and that most decidedly was not to-day. So he strolled -back to the rest, and had the satisfaction of seeing her waltzing with -his superior officer, Major Marwood, who was unmarried, and rich, and -one of her most obedient very humble servants. - -The picnic was to wind up with what Mr. Blake called a "danceable tea," -at Mr. Darcy's, whither they all drove, in the pleasant April twilight, -and the handsome captain enjoyed the privilege of sitting beside the -heiress in the pony carriage, to the great envy of every one else. They -drove very slowly, watching the moon rise in a long glory of silvery -radiance over the sleeping sea, while he told her of Italian moon-rises, -and Alpine sunsets, he had gazed upon; and she listened, lying back with -half-vailed eyes, and a longing sensation of pleasure in it all at her -heart. Was she in love with Captain Cavendish? No; but she liked him -best of all her admirers; and there were few women who would not have -listened with pleased interest to those vivid word-pictures of far-off -lands, and looked with admiration, at least, into that pale, high-bred, -classically handsome face. - -Captain Cavendish retained his advantage all that evening, and left -competitors far behind. He sang duets with Miss Henderson, danced with -her, took her in to supper, and folded the shawl around her when they -were going home. She might be the veriest iceberg to-morrow, the -haughtiest and most imperious Cleopatra; but she was gentle, and -graceful, and all feminine sweetness to-night. His hopes were high, his -heart all in a glow of thrilling ecstasy, as he went home, under the -serene stars. The cup of bliss was almost at his lips, and the many -slips were quite forgotten. - -The afternoon following the picnic, Olive sat in her cottage -drawing-room entertaining some callers. The callers were Major Marwood, -Lieutenant Blank, and Captain Cavendish. Mrs. Darcy, who was spending -the day with her, sat at a window crotcheting, and playing propriety, -with Mrs. Hill and Mrs. Hill's niece, Miss Clowrie. Somehow this young -lady was very fond of dropping in to see her aunt, and staying for -dinner, and often all night. The heiress sat at the piano, playing some -exquisite "song without words," when a servant entered and ushered in -Miss Blair. The officers, who had been there some time, took their -departure, and Laura burst out into thanksgiving. - -"Now, thank goodness! they're gone. Run up and get your hat, Olly, and -come down to see the boat come in." - -"I don't care about seeing the boat come in," said the heiress, lazily, -lying back in a fauteuil. "I feel comfortable where I am." - -"But you must come, I tell you!" cried Laura, "there's a lot of -delegates coming from somewhere, about something, and everybody will be -there, and I want to see them." - -Miss Henderson laughed at this lucid explanation. - -"I shan't go," she said. - -Miss Blair changed from the imperative mood to the potential, exhorting, -entreating. - -"Now, Olly, don't be hateful, but go and put your things on, like a -darling. I am just dying to go, and I can't go without you, so do come, -there's a dear!" - -"But don't you see I have company," laughed Olive; "I can't be rude; I -can't leave them." - -"Nonsense, Olive, my love," cut in Mrs. Darcy; "you don't call Catty and -I strangers, I hope. Go down to the wharf; the sea-breeze will sharpen -your appetite for dinner." - -"A very romantic reason, certainly," said Olive, sauntering out of the -room, however. "You had better come too, Miss Clowrie." - -This was said for politeness' sake, for the attorney's daughter was no -favorite with the heiress. Catty, only too glad to be seen in public -with Miss Henderson, accepted at once, and went up to dress. - -"Is it true, Laura," asked Mrs. Darcy, "that Miss Rose came back last -night?" - -"Yes," said Laura, "she called this morning, and I was so glad to see -her. She looks extremely well. England must have agreed with her." - -"Where is she stopping? I should like to see her." - -"At ---- House, with Mrs. and Major Wheatly. She told me she would be at -the boat this afternoon, when she would see all the old faces, if -Speckport had not changed greatly in her absence." - -"Tell her to call and see me," said Mrs. Darcy; "I always liked Miss -Rose. I think she has the sweetest face I ever saw." - -"Now, then, Laura," exclaimed Olive, appearing at the door with Catty, -"I am ready, and I hear the steamer blowing." - -The three young ladies walked down to the wharf, which, as usual, was -crowded. One of the first persons they met was Val Blake, watching the -passengers, who were beginning to come up the floats, running the -gauntlet of all eyes. He was telling them something about Tom Oaks, who -had started off up the country, when he stopped in the middle of what he -was saying with a sort of shout of astonishment, and stared at a -gentleman coming up the floats, with a valise in one hand, and an -overcoat across his arm. - -"Now, of all the people coming and going on the face of the earth," -cried out Mr. Blake, in his amazement, "whatever has sent Paul Wyndham -to Speckport?" - -The next instant he was off, flinging the crowd right and left out of -his way, and arresting the traveler with a sledge-hammer tap on the -shoulder. The girls laughingly watched him, as he shook the stranger's -hand as vigorously as if he meant to wrench it off, crying out in a -voice that everybody heard: "Why, Wyndham, old fellow! what the deuce -drove you here?" - -Mr. Wyndham smiled quietly at his impetuous friend, and walked away with -him to a cab, which they both entered, and Olive Henderson, still -laughing at Mr. Blake, looked carelessly after them, and never dreamed -that she had met her fate. No; who ever does dream it, when they meet -that fate first! - -So Paul Wyndham passed Olive Henderson, and the curtain of the future -shrouded the web of life destiny was weaving. She forgot him as soon as -seen, and turned to Laura, who was speaking animatedly. - -"Look, Olly! there's the Miss Rose you have heard me speaking of so -often--that little girl with the black silk dress and mantle, and black -straw hat, talking to Miss Blake. Look! hasn't she the sweetest face! -I'll call her over." - -The crowd of men, women and children, thronging the wharf and floats, -were strangely startled a moment after, and every eye turned in one -direction. There had been a long, wild, woman's shriek, and some one had -reeled and fallen to the ground like a log. There was a rushing and -swaying, and startled talking among the people; and Dr. Leach, coming -along, took the Rev. Augustus Tod by the button, and wanted to know what -was the matter. - -"Miss Olive Henderson had fainted," the Rev. Augustus said, with a -startled face. "She had been standing on the wharf, apparently quite -well, only a second before, when she had suddenly screamed out and -fallen down in a fainting-fit. It was really quite shocking." - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -THE DOUBLE COMPACT. - - -Olive Henderson lay on a sofa in her bedroom, her face half buried among -the pillows, her cloud of tar-black hair all loose and disordered, -falling about her, and still wearing the out-door dress of yesterday. -Bright streaks of crimson glory, in the dull dawn sky, heralded the -rising of another sun, of another day to the restless, feverish little -planet below. Dressed in that uncomfortable attire for repose, Olive -Henderson, while the red morning broke, lay there and slept. Stuff! It -was more stupor than sleep, and she had only sank into it half an hour -before, from sheer physical exhaustion. Those in the cottage had been -disturbed all night long, by the sound of restless footsteps pacing up -and down the chamber where she now lay, up and down, up and down, -ceaselessly, the livelong night. When they had lifted her up, and -carried her home in that death-faint, and Dr. Leach had brought her to, -her first act had been to turn every soul of them out of her room, Laura -Blair included, to lock the door, and remain there alone by herself, -ever since. Everybody wondered; Catty Clowrie, most of all, and -tender-hearted Laura cried. That sympathizing confidante had gone to the -locked door, and humbly and lovingly entreated "Olly" to let her in; but -Olly turned a deaf ear to all her entreaties, and never even -condescended to reply. Mrs. Hill felt deeply on the subject of -refreshments--if her young lady would but partake of some weak tea and -dry toast, or even water-gruel, and go to bed comfortable, and sleep it -off, she would be all right to-morrow; but to shut herself up, and her -friends out, was enough to give her her death. Catty Clowrie said very -little, but she thought a good deal. She had remained all night at the -cottage, and had listened to that troubled footstep, and had mused -darkly, instead of sleeping. At day-dawn the restless pacing had ceased, -and Olive Henderson lay sleeping, a deep, stupor-like sleep. Her face, -lying among the pillows, contrasting with her black hair, looked ghastly -white in the pale dawn, and her brows were drawn, and her position -strangely wretched and unnatural. - -Mrs. Hill came to the door several times and tried to get in, but in -vain. Her feeble knocks failed to awake her young mistress from that -deep sleep, and the sun was high in the purple arch outside, before the -dark eyes slowly opened to this mortal life again. She sat up feeling -stiff, and cold, and cramped, and unrefreshed, and put the black cloud -of hair away from her face, while memory stepped back to its post. With -something like a groan she dropped her face once more among the pillows, -but this time not to sleep. She lay so still for nearly half an hour, -that not a hair of her head moved, thinking, thinking, thinking. A -terrible fear came upon her, a horrible danger threatened her, but she -was not one easily to yield to despair. She would battle with the rising -tide, battle fiercely to the last, and if the black waves engulfed her -at the end, she would die waging war against relentless doom, to the -close. - -Olive Henderson rose up, twisted her disordered tresses away from her -face, searched for her ink and paper, and sat down to a little rosewood -desk, to write. It was very short, the note she rapidly scrawled, but -the whole passionate heart of the girl was in it. - - "For God's sake come to me!" (this abrupt note began) "every second - is an age of agony till I see you. I thought you were dead--as - Heaven is my witness, I did, or I should never have come here! By - the memory of all the happy days we have spent together, by the - memory of your dead father, I conjure you be silent, and come to me - at once! - - "H." - -The note had neither date, address, nor signature, save that one capital -letter, but when it was folded and in the envelope, she wrote the -address:--"Miss W. Rose, ---- House, Queen Street, Speckport." - -Then, rising, she exchanged the crumpled robe in which she had slept for -one of plain black silk, hastily thrust her hair loose into a chenille -net, put on a long black silk mantle, a bonnet and thick brown vail, -placed the letter in her pocket, and went down stairs. There was no -possibility of leaving the house unseen; Mrs. Hill heard her opening the -front door and came out of the dining-room. Her eyes opened like full -moons at the sight of the street costume, and the young lady's white, -resolute face. - -"My patience, Miss Olive, you're never going out?" - -"Yes," Miss Henderson said, constraining herself to speak quietly. "My -head aches, and I think a walk in the air will do it good. I will be -back directly." - -"But, do take something before you go. Some tea, now, and a little bit -of toast." - -"No, no! not any, thank you, until I come back." - -She was gone even while she spoke; the thick vail drawn over her face, -her parasol up, screening her effectually. Catty Clowrie, watching her -from the window, would have given considerable to follow her, and see -where she went. She had little faith in that walk being taken for the -sake of walking; some covert meaning lay hidden beneath. - -"I declare to you, Catty," exclaimed Mrs. Hill, coming back, "she gave -me quite a turn! She was as white as a ghost, and those big black eyes -of hers looked bigger and blacker than ever. She is turning bilious, -that's what she's doing." - -Miss Henderson walked to Queen Street by the most retired streets, and -passed before the hotel, where Major and Mrs. Wheatly boarded. She had -some idea of putting the letter in the post-office when she started, but -in that case Miss Rose would not receive it until evening, and how could -she wait all that time, eating out her heart with mad impatience? There -was a man standing in the doorway of the ladies' entrance, a waiter, and -quite alone. With her vail closely drawn over her face, Miss Henderson -approached him, speaking in a low voice: - -"There is a young lady--a governess, called Miss Rose, stopping here--is -there not?" - -"Yes, ma'am." - -"Is she in now?" - -"Yes'm." - -"Will you please give her this letter! give it into her own hand, and at -once!" - -She gave him the letter, and a fee that made him stare, and was gone. -The man did not know her, and Olive reached home without once meeting -any one who recognized her. - -Miss Catty Clowrie did not leave the cottage all that day. She was -sewing for Mrs. Hill; and, seated at the dining-room window, she -watched Miss Henderson furtively, but incessantly, under her white -eyelashes. That young lady seemed possessed of the very spirit of -restlessness, since her return from her walk. It had not done her much -good, apparently, for it had neither brought back color nor appetite; -and she wandered from room to room, and up-stairs and down-stairs, with -a miserable feverish restlessness, that made one fidgety to look at her. -And all the time in her dark colorless face there was only one -expression, one of passionate, impatient waiting. Waiting, waiting, -waiting! For what? Catty Clowrie's greenish-gray eyes read the look -aright, but for what was she waiting? - -"I'll find it out, yet," Miss Clowrie said, inwardly. "She is a very -fine lady, this Miss Olive Henderson, but there is an old adage about -'All that glitters is not gold.' I'll wait and see." - -There were a great many callers in the course of the morning, but Miss -Henderson was too indisposed to see any of them. Even Miss Blair was -sent away with this answer, when she came; but Miss Henderson had left -word, Mrs. Hill said, that she would be glad to see Miss Laura -to-morrow. Miss Henderson herself, walking up and down the drawing-room, -heard the message given, and the door closed on her friend, and then -turned to go up-stairs. She stopped to say a word to her housekeeper as -she did so. - -"There is a person to call to-day, Mrs. Hill," she said, not looking at -the pilot's widow, "and you may send her up to my room when she comes. -It is Miss Rose, Mrs. Major Wheatly's governess!" - -Her foot was on the carpeted stair as she said this, and she ran up -without giving her housekeeper time to reply. Catty Clowrie, -industriously sewing away, listened, and compressed her thin lips. - -"Miss Rose coming to see her, and admitted to a private interview, when -every one else is excluded! Um--m--m! That is rather odd; and Miss Rose -is a stranger to her--or is supposed to be! I wonder why she fainted at -sight of Miss Rose, on the wharf, yesterday, and why Miss Rose's face -turned to pale amazement at sight of her. She did not ask any questions, -I noticed; but Miss Rose was always discreet; and no one observed her -but myself, in the hubbub. There is something odd about all this!" - -She threaded her needle afresh, and went on with her sewing, with the -patient perseverance of all such phlegmatic mortals. Mrs. Hill came in, -wondering what Miss Henderson could possibly want of Miss Rose, but her -niece could throw no light on the subject. - -"Perhaps she wants a companion," Miss Clowrie remarked; "fine ladies -like Miss Henderson are full of freaks, and perhaps she wants some one -to play and sing and read to her, when she feels too lazy to do it -herself." - -Catty Clowrie had read a good many novels in her life, full of all sorts -of mysteries, and secret crimes, and wicked concealments, and -conspiracies--very romantic and unlike every-day life--but still liable -to happen. She had never had the faintest shadow of romance, to cover -rosily her own drab-hued life--no secret or mystery of any sort to -happen to herself, or any of the people among whom she mingled. The most -romantic thing that had ever occurred within her personal knowledge was -the fact of this new heiress, this Olive Henderson, rising from the -offal of New York, from the most abject poverty, to sudden and great -wealth. - -Miss Clowrie sat until three o'clock, sewing at the dining-room window. -Luncheon-hour was two, but Miss Henderson would not descend, and asked -to have a cup of strong tea sent up, so Mrs. Hill and her niece partook -of that repast alone. As the clock was striking three, a young lady, -dressed in half-mourning, came down the street and rang the door-bell; -and Catty, dropping her work, ran to open it, and embrace with effusion -the visitor. She had not spoken to Miss Rose before since her return, -and kissed her now, as though she were really glad to see her. - -"I am so glad you are back again, dear Miss Rose!" the young lady cried, -holding both Miss Rose's hands in hers; "you cannot think how much we -have all missed you since you went away!" - -Now, it was rather unfortunate for Miss Clowrie, but nature, who will -always persist in being absurdly true to herself, had given an insincere -look to the thin, wide mouth, and a false glimmer to the greenish-gray -eyes, and a clammy, limp moistness to the cold hand, that made you feel -as if you had got hold of a dead fish, and wished to drop it again as -soon as possible. Miss Rose had taken an instinctive aversion to Miss -Clowrie the first time she had seen her, and had never been quite able -to get over it since, though she had conscientiously tried; but she -never betrayed it, and smiled now in her own gentle smile, and thanked -Miss Clowrie in her own sweet voice. She turned to Mrs. Hill, though, -when that lady appeared, with a far different feeling, and returned the -kiss that motherly old creature bestowed upon her. - -"It does my heart good to see you again, Miss Rose," the housekeeper -said. "I haven't forgotten all you did for me last year when poor, dear -Hill was lost, going after that horrid ship. You can't think how glad I -was when I heard you were come back." - -"Thank you, Mrs. Hill," the governess said. "It is worth while going -away for the sake of such a welcome back. Is Miss--" she hesitated a -moment, and then went on, with a sudden flush lighting her face; "is -Miss Henderson in?" - -"Yes, my dear; I will go and tell her you are here." - -The housekeeper went up-stairs, but reappeared almost immediately. - -"You are to go up-stairs, my dear," she said; "Miss Henderson is not -very well, and will see you in her own room." - -Miss Rose ascended the stairs, entered the chamber of the heiress, and -Catty heard the door closed and locked after her. As Mrs. Hill -re-entered the dining-room, she found her gathering up her work. - -"I left the yokes and wristbands in your room, aunt," she explained. "I -must go after them, and I'll just go up and finish this nightgown -there." - -There were four rooms up-stairs, with a hall running between each two. -The two on the left were occupied by Miss Henderson, one being her -bedroom, the other a bath-room. Mrs. Hill had the room opposite the -heiress, the other being used by Rosie, the chambermaid. - -Miss Clowrie (one hates to tell it, but what is to be done?) went -deliberately to Miss Henderson's door, and applied first her eye, then -her ear, to the key-hole. Applying her eye, she distinctly beheld Miss -Olive Henderson, the heiress of Redmon, the proudest woman she had ever -known, down upon her knees, before Miss Rose, the governess--the -ex-school-mistress; holding up her closed hands, in wild supplication, -her face like the face of a corpse, and all her black hair tumbled and -falling about her. - -To say that Miss Catty Clowrie was satisfied by this sight, would be -doing no sort of justice to the subject. The first words she caught were -not likely to lessen her astonishment--wild, strange words. - -"I thought you were dead! I thought you were dead!" in a passion of -consternation, that seemed to blot out every thought of prudence. "I -thought you were dead! As Heaven hears me, I thought you were dead, or I -never would have done it." - -Miss Rose was standing with her back to the door, and the eavesdropper -saw her trying to raise the heiress up. - -"Get up, Harriet," she distinctly heard her say, though she spoke in a -low voice; "I cannot bear to see you like this; and do not speak so -loud--some one may hear you." - -If they had only known of the pale listener at the door, hushing her -very heart-beating to hear the better. But Miss Henderson would not -rise; she only knelt there, white and wild, and holding up her clasped -hands. - -"I will never get up," she passionately cried. "I will never rise out of -this until you promise to keep my secret. It is not as a favor, it is as -a right I demand it! Your father robbed my mother and me. But for him I -would have never known poverty and misery--and God only knows the misery -that has been mine. But for him, I should never have known what it is to -suffer from cold and hunger, and misery and insult; but for him I would -have been rich to-day; but for him my mother might still be alive and -happy. He ruined us, and broke her heart, and I tell you it is only -justice I ask! I should never have come here had I not thought you dead; -but now that I have come, that wealth and comfort have been mine once -more, I will not go. I will not, I tell you! I will die before I yield, -and go back to that horrible life, and may my death rest forever on your -soul!" - -Catty Clowrie, crouching at the door, turned as cold as death, listening -to these dreadful words. Was she awake--was she dreaming? Was this Olive -Henderson--the proud, the beautiful, the queenly heiress--this mad -creature, uttering those passionate, despairing words. She could not see -into the room, her ear was at the keyhole--strained to a tension that -was painful, so absorbed was she in listening. But at this very instant -her strained hearing caught another sound--Rosie, the chambermaid, -coming along the lower hall, and up-stairs. Swift as a flash, Catty -Clowrie sprang up, and darted into her aunt's room. She did not dare to -close the door, lest the girl should hear her, and she set her teeth -with anger and suppressed fury at the disappointment. - -Rosie had come up to make her bed, and set her room to rights, and was -in no wise disposed to hurry over it. She sang at her work; but the -pale-faced attorney's daughter in the next room, furious with -disappointment, could have seen her choked at the moment with the -greatest pleasure. Half an hour passed--would the girl never go? -Yes--yes, there was Mrs. Hill, at the foot of the stairs, calling her, -and Rosie ran down. Quick as she had left it, Catty was back at her -post, airing her eye at the keyhole once more. - -The scene she beheld was not quite so tragic this time. The heiress and -the governess were seated opposite one another, an inlaid table between -them. There was paper and ink on the table; Miss Henderson held a pen in -her hand, as if about to write, and Miss Rose was speaking. Her voice -was sweet and low, as usual; but it had a firm cadence, that showed she -was gravely in earnest now. - -"You must write down these conditions, Harriet," she was saying, "to -make matters sure; but no one shall ever see the papers, and I pledge -you my solemn word, your secret shall be kept inviolable. Heaven knows -I have done all I could to atone for my dead father's acts, and I will -continue to do it to the end. He wronged your mother and you, I know, -and I am thankful it is in my power to do reparation. I ask nothing for -myself--but others have rights as well as you, Harriet, and as sacred. -Two hundred pounds will pay all the remaining debts of my father now. -You must give me that. And you must write down there a promise to pay -Mrs. Marsh one hundred pounds a year annuity, as long as she lives. Her -daughter should have had it all, Harriet, and neither you nor I; and the -least you can do, in justice, is to provide for her. You will do this?" - -"Yes--yes," Miss Henderson cried; "that is not much to do! I want to do -more. I want you to share with me, Olly." - -"No," said Miss Rose, "you may keep it all. I have as much as I want, -and I am very well contented. I have no desire for wealth. I should -hardly know what to do with it if I had possessed it." - -"But you will come and live with me," Miss Henderson said, in a voice -strangely subdued; "come and live with me, and let us share it together, -as sisters should." - -That detestable housemaid again! If Catty Clowrie had been a man, she -might have indulged in the manly relief of swearing, as she sprang up a -second time, and fled into Mrs. Hill's room. This time, Rosie was not -called away, and she sat for nearly an hour, singing, at her chamber -window, and mending her stockings. Catty Clowrie, on fire with impotent -fury, had to stay where she was. - -Staying there, she saw Miss Henderson's door opened at last; and, -peeping cautiously out, saw the two go down-stairs together. Miss Rose -looked as if she had been crying, and her face was very pale, but the -fierce crimson of excitement burned on the dark cheeks and flamed in the -black eyes of Miss Henderson. It was the heiress who let Miss Rose out, -and then she came back to her room, and resumed the old trick of walking -up and down, up and down, as on the preceding night. - -Catty wondered if she would never be tired. It was all true, then; and -there was a dark secret and mystery in Olive Henderson's life. "Olive!" -Was that her name, and if so, why had Miss Rose called her "Harriet." -And if the governess's name was Winnie, why did the heiress call her -"Olly?" - -Catty Clowrie sat thinking while the April day faded into misty -twilight, and the cold evening star glimmered down on the sea. She sat -there thinking while the sun went low, and dipped into the bay, and out -of sight. She sat thinking while the last little pink cloud of the -sunset paled to dull gray, and the round white moon came up, like a -shining shield. She sat there thinking till the dinner-bell rang, and -she remembered she was cold and hungry, and went slowly -down-stairs--still thinking. - -To her surprise, for she had been too absorbed to hear her come out of -her room, Miss Henderson was there, beautifully dressed, and in high -spirits. She had such a passion for luxury and costly dress, this young -lady, that she would array herself in velvets and brocades, even though -there were none to admire her but her own servants. - -On this evening, she had dressed herself in white, with ornaments of -gold and coral in her black braids, broad gold bracelets on her superb -arms, and a cluster of scarlet flowers on her breast. She looked so -beautiful with that fire in her eyes, that flush on her cheek, that -brilliant smile lighting up her gypsy face, that Mrs. Hill and Catty -were absolutely dazzled. She laughed--a clear, ringing laugh--at Mrs. -Hill's profuse congratulations on her magical recovery. - -"You dear old Mrs. Hill!" she said, "when you are better used to mo, you -will cease to wonder at my eccentricities! It is a woman's privilege to -change her mind sixty times an hour, if she chooses--and I choose to -assert all the privileges of my sex!" - -She rose from the table as she spoke, still laughing, and went into the -drawing-room. The gas burned low, but she turned it up to its full -flare, and, opening the piano, rattled off a stormy polka. She twirled -round presently, and called out: - -"Mrs. Hill!" - -Mrs. Hill came in. - -"Tell Sam to go up to Miss Blair's, and fetch her here. Let him tell her -I feel quite well again, and want her to spend the evening, if she is -not engaged. He can take the gig, and tell him to make haste, Mrs. -Hill." - -Mrs. Hill departed on her errand, and Miss Henderson's jeweled fingers -were flying over the polished keys once more. Presently she twirled -around again, and called out: "Miss Clowrie." - -"I wish Laura would come!" Miss Henderson said, pulling out her watch, -"and I wish she would fetch a dozen people with her. I feel just in the -humor for a ball to-night." - -She talked to Catty Clowrie vivaciously, and to Mrs. Hill, because she -was just in the mood for talking, and rattled off brilliant sonatas -between whiles. But she was impatient for Laura's coming, and kept -jerking out her watch every five minutes, to look at the hour. - -Miss Blair made her appearance at last, and not alone. There was a -gentleman in the background, but Miss B. rushed with such a frantic -little scream of delight into the arms of her "dear, darling Olly," and -so hugged and kissed her, that, for the first moment or two, it was not -very easy to see who it was. Extricating herself, laughing and -breathless, from the gushing Miss Blair, Olive looked at her companion, -and saw the amused and handsome face of Captain Cavendish. - -"I hope I am not an intruder," that young officer said, coming forward, -"but being at Mr. Blair's when your message arrived, and hearing you -were well again, I could not forbear the pleasure of congratulating you. -The Princess of Speckport can be ill dispensed with by her adoring -subjects." - -Some one of Miss Henderson's innumerable admirers had dubbed her -"Princess of Speckport," and the title was not out of place. She laughed -at his gallant speech, and held out her hand with frank grace. - -"My friends are always welcome," she said, and here she was interrupted -by a postman's knock at the door. - -"Dear me! who can this be?" said Mrs. Hill, looking up over her -spectacles, as Rosie opened the door. - -It proved to be Mr. Val Blake. That gentleman being very busy all day, -had found no time to inquire for Miss Henderson, until after tea, when, -strolling out, with his pipe in his mouth, for his evening -constitutional, he had stepped around to ask Mrs. Hill. Miss Henderson -appeared in person to answer his friendly inquiries, and Mr. Blake came -in, nothing loth, and joined the party. - -Some one proposed cards, after a while; and Mr. Blake, and Miss Blair, -and Mrs. Hill, and Miss Clowrie, gathered round a pretty little -card-table, but Miss Henderson retained her seat at the piano, singing, -and playing operatic overtures. Captain Cavendish stood beside her, -turning over her music, and looking down into the sparkling, beautiful -face, with passionately loving eyes. For the spell of the sorceress -burdened him more this night than ever before, and the man's heart was -going in great plunges against his side. He almost fancied she must hear -its tumultuous beating, as she sat there in her beauty and her pride, -the red gold gleaming in her black braids and on her brown arms. It had -always been so easy before for him to say what was choking him now, and -he had said it often enough, goodness knows, for the lesson to be easy. -But there was this difference--he loved this black-eyed sultana; and the -fever called love makes a coward of the bravest of men. He feared what -he had never feared before--a rejection; and a rejection from her, even -the thought of one, nearly sent him mad. - -And all this while Miss Olive Henderson sat on her piano-stool, and sang -"Hear me, Norma," serenely unconscious of the storm going on in the -English officer's breast. He had heard that very song a thousand times -better sung, by Nathalie Marsh. Ah! poor forgotten Nathalie!--but he was -not listening to the singing. For him, the circling sphere seemed -momentarily standing still, and the business of life suspended. He was -perfectly white in his agitation, and the hand that turned the leaves -shook. His time had come. The card-party were too much absorbed in -scoring their points to heed them, and now, or never, he must know his -fate. What he said he never afterward knew--but Miss Henderson looked -strangely startled by his white face and half incoherent sentences. The -magical words were spoken; but as the self-possessed George Cavendish -had never spoken thus before, and the supreme question, on which his -life's destiny hung, asked. - -The piano stood in a sort of recess, with a lace-draped window to the -right, looking out upon Golden Row. Miss Henderson sat, all the time he -was speaking, looking straight before her, out into the coldly moonlit -street. Not once did her color change--no tremor made the scarlet -flowers on her breast rise and fall--no flutter made the misty lace -about her tremble. She was only very grave, ominously grave, and the -man's heart turned sick with fear, as he watched her unchanging face and -the dark gravity of her eyes. She was a long time in replying--all the -while sitting there so very still, and looking steadfastly out at the -quiet street; not once at him. When she did reply, it was the strangest -answer he had ever received to such a declaration. The reply was another -question. - -"Captain Cavendish," she said, "I am an heiress, and you--pardon -me--have the name of a fortune-hunter. If I were penniless, as I was -before this wealth became mine--if by some accident I were to lose it -again--would you say to me what you have said now?" - -Would he? The answer was so vehement, so passionate, that the veriest -skeptic must have believed. His desperate earnestness was written in -every line of his agitated face. - -"I believe you," she said; "I believe you, Captain Cavendish. I think -you do love me; but I--I do not love you in return." - -He gave a sort of cry of despair, but she put up one hand to check him. - -"I do not love you," she steadily repeated, "and I have never loved any -one in this way. Perhaps it is not in me, and I do not care that it -should be: there is misery enough in the world, Heaven knows, without -that! I do not love you, Captain Cavendish, but I do not love any one -else. I esteem and respect you; more, I like you: and if you can be -content with this, I will be your wife. If you cannot, why, we will be -friends as before, and----" - -But he would not let her finish. He had caught her hand in his, and -broke out into a rhapsody of incoherent thanks and delight. - -"There, there!" she smilingly interposed, "that will do! Our friends at -the card-table will hear you. Of one thing you may be certain: I shall -be true to you until death. Your honor will be safe in my hands; and -this friendly liking may grow into a warmer feeling by-and-by. I am not -very romantic, Captain Cavendish, and you must not ask me for more than -I can give." - -But Captain Cavendish wanted no more. He was supremely blessed in what -he had received, and his handsome face was radiant. - -"My darling," he said, "I ask for no more! I shall think the devotion of -a whole life too little to repay you for this." - -"Very well," said Miss Henderson, rising; "and now, after that pretty -speech, I think we had better join our friends, or my duty as hostess -will be sadly neglected." - -She stood behind Miss Laura Blair for the rest of the evening, watching -the fluctuations of the game, and with no shadow of change in her -laughing face. She stood there until the little party broke up, which -was some time after ten, when Mr. Blair called around for Laura himself. -Miss Laura was not to say over and above obliged to her pa for this act -of paternal affection--since she would have infinitely preferred the -escort of Mr. Blake. That gentleman hooked his arm within that of -Captain Cavendish, and bade Miss Blair good-night, with seraphic -indifference. - -Miss Henderson's bedroom windows commanded an eastward view of the bay, -and when she went up to her room that night, she sat for a long time -gazing out over the shining track the full moon made for herself on the -tranquil sea. "Gaspereaux month" had come around again, and the whole -bay was dotted over with busy boats. She could see the fishermen -casting their nets, now in the shadow, now in the glittering moonlight, -and the peaceful beauty of the April night filled her heart with a deep, -sweet sense of happiness. Perhaps it was the first time since her -arrival in Speckport she had been really happy--a vague dread and -uncertainty had hung over her, like that fabled sword, suspended by a -single hair, and ready to fall at any moment. But the fear was gone, she -was safe now--her inheritance was secure, and she was the promised wife -of an honorable gentleman. Some day, perhaps, he might be a baronet, and -she "my lady," and her ambitious heart throbbed faster at the thought. -She sat there, dreaming and feeling very happy, thinking of the double -compact ratified that most eventful day, but she never once thanked -God--never gave one thought to him to whom she owed it all. She sat -there far into the night, thinking, and when she laid her head on the -pillow and fell asleep, it was to act it all over in dreamland again. - -Some one else lay awake a long time that night, thinking, too. Miss -Clowrie, in the opposite chamber, did not sit up by the window; Mrs. -Hill would, no doubt, not have permitted it, and Miss Clowrie was a -great deal too sensible a person to run the risk of catching cold. But, -though she lay with her eyes shut she was not asleep, and Olive -Henderson might not have dreamed quite such happy dreams had she known -how dark and ominous were the thoughts the attorney's pale daughter was -thinking. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -MR. PAUL WYNDHAM. - - -On the morning after the day fraught with so many events to the heiress -of Redmon, the mother of the late heiress sat in the sitting-room of her -pleasant seaside home, reading a novel. The firelight shone on her -mourning-dress, but the inward mourning was not very profound. She had -cried a good deal at first for the loss of her son and daughter; she -cried sometimes still when people talked to her about them; but she -cried quite as much over the woes of her pet heroes and heroines, bound -in paper and cloth, and slept just as soundly, and took her meals with -as good a relish as ever she had done in her life. Mrs. Marsh was not -greatly given to borrowed trouble; she took the goods the gods provided, -and let to-morrow take care of itself, so long as she had enough for -to-day. Mr. Val Blake paid the butcher's, and baker's, and grocer's -bills quarterly; settled with Betsy Ann, and Miss Jo saw that she was -well dressed; and Mrs. Marsh took all as a matter of course, and I don't -think even once thanked Mr. Blake for his kindness. - -On this sunny spring morning Mrs. Marsh sat comfortably reading, so -absorbed in her book as to be out of the reach of all mundane affairs. -The book had a bright yellow cover, with a striking engraving of one man -grasping another by the throat, and presenting a pistol at his head, and -was called the "Red Robber of the Rocky Mountains"--a sequel to the -"Black Brigand,"--when, just in the middle of a most thrilling chapter, -Mrs. Marsh was disturbed by a knock at the front door. Betsy Ann -answered the summons, and stood transfixed at the shining apparition she -beheld. A beautiful young lady, with big black eyes, that shone on Betsy -Ann like two black diamonds, arrayed in rustling silk, and a rich -creamy crape shawl, with a bonnet fine enough for the queen of England, -stood before her, asking, in a silvery voice, if Mrs. Marsh were at -home. Standing before the door was a small open carriage, drawn by two -milk-white ponies; and Miss Laura Blair sat within, nodding pleasantly -to her, Betsy Ann, and holding the reins. The girl, quite dazzled by the -splendor of this early visitor, ushered the radiant vision into the room -where her mistress sat, and Mrs. Marsh arose with an exclamation of -surprise she could not repress. They had met a few times before at the -houses of mutual friends, but this was the young lady's first call. - -"Miss Henderson," Mrs. Marsh stammered, utterly at a loss what to -say--"I am sure I am very glad to see you; I have not had many visitors -of late." - -Tears rose to her eyes as she spoke, with the thoughts of the pleasant -days gone by, when the friends of Nathalie and Charley, the friends of -their prosperity, had made the cottage more gay with laughter and music. -Miss Henderson was not looking at her, but into the red coal-fire. - -"I have come on a little matter of business, Mrs. Marsh," she said. "I -have come to fulfill a duty I owe to you. I know the story of the past, -and, I am afraid, you must feel in some degree as if I had taken from -you what should have been yours. Your--your daughter had no doubt a -prior claim to what I now possess, and common justice requires you -should not be defrauded. I am aware of Mr. Blake's great generosity, but -the duty--and, I assure you, it is a pleasure to me--lies with me, not -with him. I have, therefore, settled upon you, for life, an annuity of -one hundred pounds per annum, which will be paid to you at my banker's, -monthly or quarterly, as you may prefer. It was to say this I came so -early this morning, but, if you will permit me, this visit shall be but -the forerunner of many others." - -She was standing up as she finished, with a look of intense relief at -having accomplished her task, and Mrs. Marsh altogether too dazed and -bewildered to utter a word. - -"And I shall be very, very happy, my dear Mrs. Marsh," the heiress said, -bending over her, and taking her hand, "if you will sometimes come up -and see me. I have no mother, and I will look upon you as such, if you -will let me." - -Mrs. Marsh saw her go, feeling as though she were in a dream, or acting -a chapter out of one of her own romances. - -Miss Henderson took her place beside Laura in the pony carriage, and -they drove slowly along Cottage Street, looking at the broad blue bay, -sparkling in the sunshine, as if sown with stars. The beach, with its -warm, white sands, edged the sea like a silver streak; and the waves -sang their old music, as they crept up on its breast. - -"How beautiful it all is!" the heiress cried, her dark face lighting up -as it always did at sight of the ocean. "Let us get out, Laura; I could -stay here listening to those sailors singing forever." - -There were some idle boys at play on an old wharf, overgrown with moss -and slimy seaweed, its tarry planks rotting in the sun. - -Miss Henderson dropped a bright silver shilling into the dirty palm of -one, and asked him to hold the ponies for ten minutes; and the two girls -walked along the decaying and deserted old wharf together. - -"My solemn Laura!" the heiress said, looking at her friend's grave face; -"what a doleful countenance you wear! Of what are you thinking?" - -"I am thinking of poor Nathalie Marsh," Laura answered; "it was on this -very wharf she met her death, that wild, windy night. I have never been -near the place since." - -It is a remarkable trait of these swarthy faces that emotion does not -pale them as it does their blonde neighbors--they darken. Miss -Henderson's face darkened now--it always seemed to do so when the name -of the dead girl was mentioned. She turned away from her friend, and -stood staring moodily out to sea, until an exclamation from that young -lady caused her to turn round and perceive that either the sea-wind or -some other cause had very perceptibly heightened Miss Blair's color. - -"I declare if that's not Val," Laura cried, "and that strange gentleman -with him that came from New York the other day. There! they see us, and -are coming here." - -Miss Henderson looked indifferently as Mr. Blake and his friend -approached. Val introduced his companion to the ladies as Mr. Paul -Wyndham, of New York, and that gentleman was received graciously by Miss -Blair, and coldly, not to say haughtily, by Miss Henderson. - -The heiress did not like people from New York. She never talked about -that city, if she could help it, and rather avoided all persons coming -from it. She stood, looking vacantly out at the wide sea, and listening -to the sailors' song, taking very little part in the conversation. She -turned round, when the singing ceased, in the direction of her carriage, -with a listless yawn she was at little trouble to suppress, and a bored -look she took no pains to conceal. The gentlemen saw them safely off, -and then loitered back to the old wharf. - -"Well, Wyndham," Val asked, "and what do you think of the Princess of -Speckport?" - -Mr. Paul Wyndham did not immediately reply. He was leaning lazily -against a rotten beam, lighting a cigar, for he was an inveterate -smoker. - -Mr. Wyndham was not handsome, he was not dashing--he had neither -mustache nor whisker, nor an aquiline nose; and he could not dance or -sing, or do anything else like any other young Christian gentleman. He -was very slight and boyish of figure, with a pale, student-like face, a -high forehead, deep-set eyes, a characteristic nose, and a thin and -somewhat cynical mouth. There was character in everything about him, -even in the mathematical precision of his dress, faultlessly neat in the -smallest particular, and scrupulously simple. He looked like a gentleman -and a student, and he was both. More, he was an author, a Bohemian, with -a well-earned literary fame, at the age of seven-and-twenty. When he -was a lad of seventeen he had started with his "knapsack on his back," -containing a clean shirt, and a quire of foolscap, and had traveled -through Europe and Asia, and had written two charming books of travel, -that filled his pockets with dollars, and established his fame as an -author. Since then he had written some half-dozen delightful novels, -over which Laura Blair herself had cried and laughed alternately, -although she did not know now that Mr. Wyndham and ---- ---- were one -and the same. He had written plays that had run fifty nights at a time, -and his sketches were the chief charm of one or two of the best American -magazines. He was a poet, an author, a dramatist, sometimes an actor, -when he took the notion, and a successful man in all. He looked as those -inspired men who chain us with their wonderful word-painting should -look, albeit I reiterate he was not handsome. He stood now leaning -against the rotten beam, smoking his cigar, and looking dreamily over -the shining sea, while Mr. Blake repeated his question. - -"I say, Wyndham, how do you like her--the beauty, the belle, the -Princess of Speckport?" - -"She is a fine-looking girl," Mr. Wyndham quietly replied. "And those -big black eyes of hers are very handsome, indeed. It strikes me I should -like to marry that girl!" - -"Yes," said Mr. Blake, composedly, "I dare say. I know several other -gentlemen in Speckport who would like to do the same thing, only they -can't, unfortunately." - -"Can't they? Why?" - -"Because there is an absurd law against bigamy in this province, and the -young lady has promised to marry one man already." - -"Ah! who is he?" - -"Captain Cavendish. You met him yesterday, you remember. He proposed the -other night at the house, and told me about it coming home. She accepted -him; but the affair has not yet been made public, by the lady's express -desire." - -Mr. Wyndham took out his cigar, knocked off the ashes with the end of -his little finger, and replaced it. - -"Captain Cavendish is a lucky fellow," he said. "But yet I don't -despair. Until the wedding-ring actually slips over the lady's finger, -there is room for hope." - -"But, my dear fellow, she is engaged." - -"_C'est bien!_ There is many a slip. I don't believe she will ever be -Mrs. Cavendish." - -Mr. Blake stared at his friend; but that gentleman looked the very -picture of calm composure. - -"My dear Wyndham," Mr. Blake remarked, compassionately, "you are simply -talking nonsense. I know you are very clever, and famous, and all that -sort of thing, and brain is excellent in its way; but I tell you it has -no chance against beauty." - -"By which you would imply, I stand no chance against Captain Cavendish. -Now, if you'll believe me, I am not so sure of that. I generally manage -to accomplish whatever I set my heart upon; and I don't think--I really -don't, old boy--that I shall fail in this. Besides, if it does come to -beauty, I am not such a bad-looking fellow, in the main." - -To say that Mr. Blake stared after hearing this speech would be but a -feeble description of the open-mouthed-and-eyed gape with which he -favored its deliverer. To do Mr. Wyndham justice, he was that phenomenon -not often seen--a modest author. He never bored his enemy about "My last -book, sir!" he never alluded to his literary labors at all, unless -directly spoken to on the subject; and certainly had never before -displayed any vanity. Therefore, Mr. Blake stared, not quite decided -whether he had heard aright; and Mr. Wyndham, seeing the look, did what -he did not often do, burst out laughing. - -"My dear old Val," he cried, slapping him on the shoulder, "I have not -lost my senses; so there is no need of that look. I should like to have -a tall wife--small men always do, you know--with black eyes and two -hundred thousand dollars; and I shall enter the lists with this -fascinating Captain Cavendish, and bear off the prize if I can, in spite -of his sword, and uniform, and handsome face. I think, on the whole, I -shall make the young lady quite as good a husband as he." - -"Well," said Mr. Blake, drawing a long breath, and appealing to the -deep, "for cool impudence and self-conceit, Paul Wyndham hasn't his -match in broad America. Here he comes from New York; and before he is a -week in the place he talks of marrying the richest and handsomest girl -it contains, as coolly as if he were Sultan of all Turkey, and she a -Circassian slave. Yes, Mr. Wyndham, ask her, by all means, and when you -get your _conge_, let me know--it will be one of the happiest days of my -life." - -"But I don't think I shall get my _conge_" persisted Paul Wyndham. "Do -you know if she is in love with this Captain Cavendish?" - -"I never asked her," responded Mr. Blake. "I leave that for Mr. Wyndham -to ascertain." - -"Because I don't think she is," went on his friend. "When she stood here -a few minutes ago, you and the other young lady, Miss--what's her -name?--were talking of the gallant captain, and she listened with a face -of perfect indifference. I was watching her, and I don't think she cares -about him." - -"I saw you watching her," said Val, "and so did she, and I don't think -she liked it. I saw those black brows of hers contract once or twice, -and that is an ominous sign with Miss Henderson." - -"Miss Henderson could fly into a dickens of a passion, too, if she -liked. Your black-eyed, black-haired, brown-skinned women raise the very -old diable herself, if you stroke them the wrong way. They are something -like big black cats. I tell you, Blake, I don't believe she cares about -that military popinjay, Cavendish." - -"Don't you," said Mr. Blake, with his hands in his pockets. "Of course, -if you say so it must be so." - -"No; but I really think so. Are his family anything in England?" - -"It is currently believed he is next heir to a baronetcy. But the -baronet got married in his old days, and there is a little shaver in -petticoats to cut Master George out. Still, he lives in hope. The new -baronet has the measles and the mumps, and the whooping-cough, and the -scarlatina, and the chicken-pox, and a tribe of other diseases, his -teeth included, to struggle through, before he reaches man's estate. -There is no telling but Cavendish may be a baronet yet." - -"That is it, then!" said Wyndham. "It is for his prospective baronetcy -the girl has promised to marry him. Pride and ambition, the two sins -that hurled Lucifer from heaven to hell, are strong in that woman." - -"Oh, come now," said Val, starting up, "I think we had better get out of -this, and drop the subject. It strikes me your language is rather -forcible, Mr. Wyndham; and there is no telling what you may work -yourself up to, if you keep on. It wouldn't be healthy for you, I'm -thinking, if Miss Henderson heard you." - -"Nevertheless," Paul Wyndham persisted, flinging away his smoked-out -weed, "I shall marry Miss Henderson." - -The two friends walked away together to the office in Queen Street--Mr. -Blake disdaining all reply to the last remark. - -On their way they met Captain Cavendish, mounted on his favorite bay, -and looking the very beau ideal of a military rider, slowly cantering -beside the pretty pony-carriage where the Princess of Speckport sat in -state. The contrast between the handsome officer on horseback and the -young author on foot was great; but Mr. Wyndham bowed to the soldier and -his fair friends with undisturbed placidity. - -"You see!" said Mr. Blake, significantly. - -"I see," serenely answered Mr. Wyndham; "and I repeat. I shall marry -Miss Olive Henderson!" - -There was nothing at all of boasting in the tone of Mr. Paul Wyndham in -saying this--simply one of deep, quiet determination. You had only to -look at his face--that pale, steadfast face--if you were any judge of -physiognomy, to perceive that his assurance to Mr. Blake, of seldom -failing in any undertaking, was no idle bravado. He was one of those men -of iron inflexibility, of invincible daring, of over mastering strength -of will, bending all other wills to their own. Men of the Napoleon -Bonaparte stamp, made to sway empires, and move about other men, kings -and knights, queens and bishops, as they please, on the great chessboard -of life. Mr. Val Blake, knowing Paul Wyndham, had some dim perception of -this; but he knew, too, that Olive Henderson was no ordinary woman. He -had a strong will, and so had she; but it was only a woman's will after -all, and with it went womanly weakness, passion, and impulse, and the -calm, passionless man was the master-mind. - -"But I think she will baffle him here, after all," Mr. Blake said to -himself, as he ceased thinking about the matter. "I don't believe Olive -Henderson will ever marry Paul Wyndham, not but what he's a great deal -better fellow than Cavendish, after all!" - -It seemed as though he was right, for a whole week passed before Mr. -Wyndham and Miss Henderson met again. The engagement of the heiress with -Captain Cavendish, though not formally announced, was pretty generally -known; and it was rumored that the wedding was to take place early in -June. May had come in, draped in a sodden sheet of gray wet fog; but the -villa at Redmon went steadily up, despite of wind and weather. -Landscape-gardeners were turning the potato-patches and broad meadows -and turnip-fields into a little heaven below, and the place was to be -completed in July, when Mrs. Grundy said the happy pair would be -returning from their bridal-tour, and take up their abode therein. - -Mr. Paul Wyndham heard all this as he smoked his cigars and wrote away -placidly at his new novel, and was in nowise disturbed. Mr. Val Blake -heard it, and grinned as he thought of the egotistical young author -getting baffled for once. Miss Henderson's innumerable admirers heard -it, and gnashed their teeth with impotent, jealous fury, and, lastly, -Miss Henderson herself heard it, and frowned and laughed alternately. - -"This horrid gossiping town of yours, Laura!" she said impatiently; "how -do they find out everything as soon as one knows it one's self, I -wonder! I wish people would mind their own business and let me alone!" - -"Great people must pay the penalty of greatness, my dear," Miss Blair -answered, philosophically; "and, besides, it is only a question of time, -so don't get into a gale about it! It doesn't matter much whether it is -known this minute or the next." - -The conversation between the young ladies took place in Miss Henderson's -room, and while dressing for a ball. It was to be a very grand ball -indeed, given by the officers, and to which only the tiptop cream of the -cream of Speckport society was to be invited. Of course Miss Henderson -was the first lady thought of, and of course her friend Miss Blair came -next; but Mr. Val Blake, who didn't belong to the crême at all, was to -be there too. But Mr. Blake was such a good fellow, and hand and glove -with the whole barracks, and was so useful to puff their concerts and -theatricals in the "Spouter," and praise the bass of Lieutenant the -Honorable L. H. Blank, and the tenor-solo of Captain G. P. Cavendish, -etc., etc., that it would have been an unpardonable breach to have -omitted him. Mr. Paul Wyndham, whose fame as an author had by this time -reached Speckport, was also to be there; and the ball was expected to be -the most brilliant thing of the season. - -As far as weather went, it was rather a failure already. The dismal, -clammy fog had subsided at last into rain, and the rain lashed the -windows of Miss Henderson's room, and the wind shrieked about the -cottage, and roared out at sea as if bent on making a night of it. The -heiress, with Rosie, the maid, putting the finishing touches to her -toilette, stood listening to the storm, and drearily watching the -reflection of her own face and figure in the tall glass. She had taken a -fancy to be grandly somber to-night, and wore black velvet and the -diamonds Speckport talked so much of, ablaze on throat and arms. There -were blood-red flowers in her tar-black hair, and in her bouquet which -lay on the dressing table, but she looked more superb in her sable -splendor than ever. - -Was Miss Laura Blair, with her commonplace prettiness of fair skin, pink -cheeks, and waving brown hair, laying herself out as a foil to the -black-eyed siren? She was dressed in white moire antique, gemmed with -seed-pearls, and with a train of richness that swept half way across the -room. She had white roses in her hair, on her breast, and in her -bouquet. She wore pearl bracelets and necklace, and looked fair as a -lily--a vivid contrast to her black and crimson neighbor. - -Miss Henderson sent Rosie out of the room, and stood listening in -silence for a while to the raging of the storm. Presently she turned to -Laura, who was all absorbed settling her laces and jewels, with a rather -singular inquiry on her lips. - -"Laura," she said, abruptly, "what is the matter with me to-night? Why -am I afraid to go to the ball?" Miss Blair turned round and gazed aghast -at this question. The shadow that sometimes lay on her friend's face was -there now, like a dark vail. - -"Dear me, Olly! I'm sure I don't know what you mean! Afraid to go to the -ball?" - -"Yes," repeated Olive, "afraid! I feel as though something were going to -happen! I have a presentiment that some misfortune is before me! I have -had it all day!" - -"It's the weather, dear," said Laura, retiring to the toilet, "or else -it's indigestion. Don't be foolish!" - -Olive Henderson was in no laughing humor, but she did laugh, half -fretfully, though, at this reply. "It's not the weather, and it's not -the indigestion, Miss Blair," she said, "it is the moral barometer -giving warning of a coming storm--it is coming events casting their -shadows before. I have half a mind not to go to the ball to-night." - -"Nonsense, Olly!" exclaimed Laura, in some alarm, knowing very well -Olive was just the girl not to go if she took it in her head, "how -absurd you are. Presentiments! pooh! You've been reading some German -trash--that's what you've been doing, and you have caught some absurd -German silliness! I should like to see you try to stay away from the -ball, the last, the best, the brightest of the season, and you looking -divine, too, in that black velvet! What could possibly happen you at -the ball, I should like to know?" - -Miss Henderson and Miss Blair were rather late in arriving--nearly every -one was there before them. There were two gentlemen who came -considerably late, but no one noticed them much, being only Mr. Val -Blake and his New York friend, Mr. Paul Wyndham. Mr. Blake was fond of -dancing, and was captured by Miss Blair almost as soon as he entered, -and led off; for Miss Laura did make love to this big stupid Val in -pretty roundabout feminine fashion, as women have a way of doing all the -world over. Mr. Wyndham did not dance, and as he was not at liberty to -smoke, the ball was rather a bore than otherwise. He stood leaning -against a pillar, watching the dancers; his pale, grave, quiet face and -thoughtful gray eyes ever turned in one direction. A great many more -gentlemen's faces turned presently in the same quarter, for the -loadstone of the ball shone there, magnificent, in black velvet, and -with eyes that outshone her diamonds. Was there rapport between them? -Was it some inward magnetism that made the belle of the ball, in the -height of her triumph and power, aware of this fixed, steadfast gaze, -and uneasy under it? Flatterers and sycophants surrounded her on every -hand, but she had to turn restlessly away from them and look over every -now and then to that pale, watchful face, and those fixed, grave gray -eyes. - -Paul Wyndham still watched her. She grew nervously miserable at last, -and enraged with herself for becoming so. If this strange man stared -rudely, what was it to her? She would take no further notice of him, she -would not look at him; and saying this to herself, she floated away in -the waltz, with her eyes persistently fixed on her partner or on the -floor. - -The waltz concluded, and Miss Henderson, being tired and hot, her -partner led her to a seat, and left her to get an ice. It was the first -time all that evening she had been for a moment alone, and she lay back -among the cushions of her chair and listened to the raging of the storm -without. - -The seat was in the recess of a bay window, partly shut out from the -room by scarlet drapery, and she was glad to think she was alone. Alone! -No, for there opposite to her stood Paul Wyndham, his magnetic eyes -fixed with powerful intensity on her face. A cold thrill of fear, vague -and chilling, crept through every vein--she would have risen, in -undefined panic, but he was by her side directly, speaking quietly the -commonest of commonplace words. - -"Good evening, Miss Henderson. I trust I see you well and enjoying -yourself. It is the first time I have had the pleasure of approaching -you, you have been so surrounded all the evening." - -She did not speak; a cold bend of the head answered him, and she rose -up, haughty and pale. But he would not let her go; the power of his -fixed gaze held her there as surely as if she had been chained. - -"I fear," he said, in that quiet voice of his, "I fear you thought me -rude in watching you, as I must own to having done. But I assure you, -Miss Henderson, it was no intentional rudeness; neither was it my -admiration, which, pardon me, is great! I watched, Miss Henderson, -because I find you bear a most startling, a most wonderful resemblance -to a person--a young girl--I once knew in New York." - -She caught her breath, feeling the blood leaving her face, and herself -growing cold. Paul Wyndham never took his pitiless eyes off her charming -face. - -"In saying I knew this young girl," he slowly went on, "I am wrong; I -only saw her in the city streets. You came from New York, but you could -not have known her, Miss Henderson, for she was abjectly poor. She lived -in a mean and dirty thoroughfare called Minetta Street; she lodged in a -house filled with rough factory-women, and kept by one Mrs. Butterby; -and the young woman's name was Harriet Wade." - -A moment after Mr. Wyndham said this, he came out of the curtained -recess, and crossed the ballroom rapidly. On his way he met Laura Blair, -and paused to speak. - -"I am going for a glass of water," he said, "for Miss Henderson. I was -talking to her at that window when she was taken suddenly ill. You had -better go to her, Miss Blair. I am afraid she is going to faint." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -MR. WYNDHAM'S WOOING. - - -A bleak and rainy morning in Speckport--a raw and windy morning, with a -sky all lead-color, except where it was inky black. A wild, wet, rainy -day, on which nobody wanted to stir out if they could help it. An -utterly black and miserable day, that which followed the officers' ball. - -On this wretchedly wet and windy day Olive Henderson sat at her chamber -window, and looked out over the black and foam-crested bay. The room -looked very cozy and pleasant, with its soft, warm, bright-hued Brussels -carpet, its cushioned easy-chairs and lounges, its white-draped bed, its -pretty pictures and tables, and bright coal fire burning in the -glittering steel grate, its costly window-draperies of lace and damask, -looking all the more pleasant and luxurious by contrast with the black, -bleak day outside. - -A delightful room this bad May morning, a room to bask and luxuriate in, -this chamber of Olive Henderson. But Olive Henderson herself, sitting by -the window, staring blankly out, seemed to take very little enjoyment in -its comfort and beauty. She wore a white loose muslin wrapper, tied -carelessly round the slender waist with a crimson cord, its every fold, -as it hung straight about her, telling how indifferently the simple -toilette had been made. All her profuse black hair was drawn away from -her face, haggard and worn in the gray morning light, and fastened in a -great careless knot behind. But, somehow, the stateliness that was a -part of herself characterized her as strikingly in this primitive -simplicity as when robed in velvet and diamonds last night. Perhaps -Semiramis, Queen of Assyria, when in trouble with foreign parts, wore -white muslin wrappers, and her black hair disheveled, before her -subjects, and managed to look Queen Semiramis withal. It isn't likely, -you know, but she may. - -Rain, rain, rain! How ceaselessly it lashed the windows, and how -piteously it beat on the heads of the poor little newsboys, passing up -and down Golden Row, and chanting, disconsolately, "Morning Snorter," -the "Sn-o-o-or-ter!" Perhaps, looking up at the curtained-window, where -the young lady sat, these newsboys thought it was a fine thing to be -Miss Olive Henderson, the heiress of Redmon, and live in a handsome -house, with servants to wait on her, and nothing to do but play the -piano, and drive about in her carriage all day long. But, I am pretty -sure, there was not a pug-nosed urchin coming there that particular -morning, who was not a thousand times happier than the heiress of -Redmon. - -Discovered--disgraced--in the power of this man--this stranger! Liable -to be exposed as a liar and a cheat to the world at any hour! Liable to -have all this wealth and luxury, for which she had done so much--for -which she had risked her very soul--torn from her at any instant, and -she herself thrust out to fight the battle of life, with poverty and -labor and misery once more. She seemed to have grown old in -four-and-twenty hours, with her haggard cheeks and great hollow eyes. -She had sat as she was sitting now for hours, her hands clasped loosely -in her lap, her vacant gaze fixed on the wretched day, but seeing -nothing. Only yesterday, and she had been so sure, so secure, so happy, -and now--and now! - -She had not fainted the night before. Laura Blair found her lying back -ghastly and white in her chair, but not insensible. The ballroom had -been filled with consternation, and she was so surrounded immediately -that Mr. Wyndham, returning with his glass of water, could find no -possibility of approaching her. They had led her into the ladies' -dressing-room, and Captain Cavendish had gone for a cab; and when she -was a little better, they took her home, and the rest went back to the -ballroom. People began to think that in spite of Miss Henderson's -apparent physical perfection, she was subject to fainting fits, and -pitied her very much, as they resumed their dancing. But the eclipsed -belles of Speckport rejoiced, I am afraid, in their wicked little -hearts, that the conqueress was gone, and held up their pretty heads, -which had drooped in the sunlight of her shining presence before. - -Once at home, Miss Henderson professed herself perfectly restored, and -insisted on Laura and her mamma, who had been their chaperone, and -Captain Cavendish, going back to the ball once more. - -"I shall do well enough now," she said, wearily. "I am very foolish, -but----" - -Her voice died away, and her head drooped forward on her arm. Captain -Cavendish bent tenderly over her, as she lay on a sofa, with a pale and -anxious face. - -"My darling," he said, "I am afraid you are very ill. Let me go for Dr. -Leach--this may be something serious." - -But Miss Henderson positively refused, and insisted on their returning -to the ball. - -"I shall lie down and go asleep," she said, "and I will be quite -restored to-morrow. Go at once." - -"I shall go," the captain said, holding her hands, "but not back to the -ball. Do you think there could be any pleasure for me there, and you -absent, Olive? Good night, my love--get rid of this white face before I -see you to-morrow." - -Olive Henderson slept that night, but it was more like stupor than -healthful sleep, and she awoke with a dully throbbing headache, and a -numbing sense of misery at her heart. She had arisen in the black and -wretched dawn of that miserable May morning, and had sat staring -vacantly out at the ceaseless rain, and dark and turbid sea. She was not -thinking--she was sitting there in a dull torpor of despair, waiting for -the end. - -There was a knock at the door. It had to be repeated two or three times -before she comprehended what it meant, and then she arose and opened the -door. It was Rosie, the housemaid; and the girl recoiled at sight of -her, as if she had seen a ghost. - -"My patience, Miss! how bad you do look! I am afraid you are worse than -you was last night." - -"No. What is it you want?" - -"It's a gentleman, Miss, that has called, and is in the drawing-room, -although it is raining cats and dogs." - -She presented a card to her mistress, and Olive read the name of "Paul -Wyndham." She turned sick at sight of that name--that name so lately -heard for the first time, but so terribly familiar now; and looked at -the girl with a sort of terror in her great black eyes. - -"Is this man--is this Mr. Wyndham here?" - -"Down in the drawing-room, Miss, and his overcoat and umbrella making -little streams of rain-water all along the hall. Will you go down, -Miss?" - -Olive Henderson's hand had closed on the pasteboard with so convulsive a -pressure, that the card was crushed into a shapeless mass. Her stupor -was ending in a sort of sullen desperation. Let the worst come, it was -Fate; and she was powerless to battle with so formidable a foe. Whatever -brought this man now, his coming was merciful; the most dreadful -certainty was better than this horrible suspense, which had made the -past night a century of misery. - -Rosie, the pretty housemaid, watched her young lady's changing face, as -she walked rapidly up and down, her eyes staring straight before her -with a fierce and feverish luster, and her lips so rigidly set. Rosie -saw all this, and greatly marveled thereat. A gentleman had called very -early on a very wet morning; but that was no reason why Miss Henderson -should be prancing up and down her room, with the look of an inmate of a -lunatic asylum. - -"Will I tell him you'll come down, Miss?" Rosie ventured to ask, when -she thought the silence had lasted long enough. - -The voice of the girl drew Olive out of her darkly-brooding fit, and she -turned to close her door. - -"Yes," she said. "Tell him I will be down in five minutes." - -She walked to the glass, and looked at herself. I dare say Lady Jane -Grey and Mary Queen of Scots did the same before they were led to the -block; and I doubt if either wore a more ghostly face at that horrible -moment than the girl standing there did now. She smiled in bitter scorn -of herself, as she saw the haggard face and the hollow, burning eyes. - -"I look as if I had grown old in a night," she said. "Where is the -beauty now that so many have praised since I came here?" - -She made no attempt to change her dress, but with the loose white muslin -wrapper trailing in long folds around her, and girdled with scarlet, she -descended the stairs, and entered the drawing-room. - -Mr. Paul Wyndham was sitting at a window, watching the ceaseless rain -beating against the glass. At that very window, looking out at the -silvery moonlight, she herself had sat a few nights before, while she -promised Captain Cavendish she would be his wife. Perhaps she thought of -this as she swept past, à la princesse, just deigning to acknowledge her -visitor's presence by her haughtiest bow. She could not have acted -otherwise, had a hundred fortunes depended on it, and she did not sit -down. - -She stood beside the mantel, her arm, from which the flowing white -sleeves dropped away, leaning on it, her eyes fixed steadily upon the -man before her, waiting in proud silence for what he had to say. Any one -else might have been disconcerted; but Mr. Wyndham did not look as if he -was. He looked pale and quiet and gentlemanly, and entirely -self-possessed. - -"You do not ask the object of my visit, Miss Henderson," he said, -"although the hour is unfashionably early, and the day not such as -callers usually select. But I presume you have been expecting me, and -are not surprised." - -"I am not surprised," she said, coldly. - -"I thought that at this hour I should be most certain of finding you at -home and alone. Therefore, I have come, knowing that after what passed -last night, the sooner we come to an understanding the better." - -"How have you found out my secret?" she abruptly demanded. "You never -knew me in New York?" - -"That is my secret, Miss Henderson--I presume you prefer being called by -that name--that is my secret, and you will pardon me if I do not reveal -it. I do know your secret, and it is that knowledge which has brought me -to this place." - -"And knowing it, what use do you intend to make of it?" - -He smiled slightly. - -"You are very straightforward, Miss Henderson. It is almost as easy -getting on with you as if you were a man. I foresee that we shall settle -this little matter pleasantly, after all." - -Olive Henderson contracted her black brows, and reiterated her question. - -"Knowing this secret, sir, what use do you intend making of it?" - -"That depends upon yourself, madam." - -"How?" - -"I shall keep your secret, Miss Henderson," Paul Wyndham said, "I shall -keep it inviolably; you shall still be Olive Henderson, heiress of -Redmon, the lady paramount of Speckport, on one condition." - -Her heart beat so fast and thick that she had to press her hands over it -to still its tumultuous throbbing. Her hollow, burning black eyes never -left his face, they were strained there in suspense too intense for -words. - -"You are aware, Miss Henderson," the cold, clear, yet melodious voice of -Paul Wyndham went on, "of the position in which you stand. You have -usurped the place of another--your stepsister--you have assumed a name -which does not belong to you, and you have come here to dupe the people -of this place, to pass yourself off for what you are not, and possess -yourself of wealth to which you have no shadow of claim. In doing this, -Miss Henderson, you must be aware you are guilty of a felony, punishable -by law, punishable by trial, imprisonment, and life-long disgrace. All -this you know, and knowing it, must be aware how entirely and -irrevocably you are in my power!" - -"Irrevocably and completely in my power," the pitiless voice went on, -"you see it yourself as well as I. You know also much better than I do, -the misery, the shame, the degradation exposure must bring. Your name -published, your crime published far and wide, yourself the scoff and -jeer of every boor in the town, the horrors of a jail, of a criminal -cell, of a public trial before gaping thousands, of----" - -Paul Wyndham stopped. It was not a cry she had uttered, but a gasping -sob, telling more of the unutterable agony, the intense misery she was -suffering, than any wild outbreak of womanly shrieks. She put out her -hands with a passionate cry. - -Paul Wyndham looked at the disturbed, crouching form, convulsed with -despairing agony, with Heaven only knows how much of pity in his face. - -"Miss Henderson! Miss Henderson!" he cried, "I did not mean--I did not -think what I said would affect you like this. I only told you what might -be, but it never will be, for you will listen to what I have yet to say, -and I never will reveal your secret to a living soul!" - -She lifted her head, and looked at him as a hunted stag might, with the -knife at its throat. - -"Mr. Wyndham," she said, with that dignity which is born of extreme -misery, "what have I ever done to you that you should come here and -torment me like this?" - -Paul Wyndham turned away from that reproachful face, with a dark shadow -on his own. - -"Heaven knows, Miss Henderson, I hate the necessity which compels me to -cause you this pain, but it is a necessity, and I must do it; you never -have wronged me--I have no wish to give you a moment's suffering, but a -fatality against which I am powerless, urges me on. I hate myself for -what I am doing--but what can I do--what can I do?" - -He seemed to ask himself the question, as he sprang up and took, like -herself, to walking excitedly up and down. His face was so darkly -troubled that Olive Henderson looked at him with searching, wondering -eyes. - -"I do not understand you," she said, chilled with a new fear, "does any -one but yourself know my secret?" - -She was still sitting, and never ceasing to watch him. Paul Wyndham -leaned against the mantel, as she had done a moment before, and looked -down at her. - -"Miss Henderson, I can tell you nothing but that your secret is safe -with me if you will comply with the condition I have to name. You may -trust me; I shall never reveal it!" - -"And that condition is----" - -There was a pause, during which Olive could have counted the raindrops -on the window or the loud beating of her heart. - -Paul Wyndham's large, clear, bright gray eyes steadily met her own. - -"The condition is, that you become my wife." - -She gave a cry, she was so utterly astonished, and sat staring at him, -speechless. - -"Your--wife!" she slowly said, when her returned senses enabled her to -speak. - -"Yes, Miss Henderson, my wife! I am no more insensible to the power of -wealth than you are. You have risked everything for the future; you can -only hold it now, on condition of becoming my wife!" - -Olive Henderson rose up, white and defiant, "I never will!" she said, "I -never will! I will lose every shilling of it, I will die before I -consent!" - -"Oh, no!" Mr. Wyndham said, quietly, "I do not think you will, when you -come to reflect, it is not pleasant to die when one is young and -handsome and prosperous, particularly if one has not been very good, and -not at all sure of going to Heaven. You will not die, Miss Henderson; -you will keep the fortune and marry me." - -"I never will!" she vehemently cried; "what if I told you my stepsister, -the real Olive Henderson, were alive, that I have seen her lately, and -that she has made over everything to me. What if I told you this?" - -He smiled incredulously. - -"You do not believe me, but I swear to you I state the truth. Olive -Henderson lives, though I thought her dead; and I have seen her, I tell -you, and she has consented to my keeping all." - -"Well," said Mr. Wyndham quietly, "supposing, for argument's sake, what -you say to be true, it does not alter your position in the least. Should -I go to a lawyer and tell him your story, the arrest, the exposure, the -disgrace all follow as inevitably as ever. The rightful heiress may, as -you say, be alive, and willing you should usurp her birthright, though -it does not sound very likely; but even if so, Harriet Wade is too proud -a woman to incur life-long disgrace and humiliation, when she can avert -it so easily." - -She turned away from him, dropped into her seat, and laid her hand on a -table near. The action, the attitude, told far more than words, of the -cold, dark despair thickening around her. - -She never lifted her head. She was suffering, as other women have -suffered, dumbly. - -"In asking you to be my wife, Miss Henderson," Mr. Wyndham still -continued, "I make no pretense of being in love with you myself. I am -not--I may as well tell you plainly--and I shall never ask love from -you. In becoming my wife, you will go through a legal ceremony that will -mean nothing. I shall never intrude upon you one single moment out of -all the twenty-four hours, unless you desire it, or when the presence of -others makes our being together unavoidable. We may dwell under the same -roof, and yet live as far apart as if hemispheres divided us. Believe -me, I shall not force myself upon you against your will; but for your -own sake, Miss Henderson, and to still the whispers of busy tongues, it -would be as well to keep your sentiments regarding me to yourself, as -well we should be apparently on cordial terms. Are you listening, Miss -Henderson?" - -He really thought she was not. She was lying so still, so rigid, with -her poor white face on the table, and the thick coils of her dead-black -hair unloosing themselves, and trailing and twining about her like -black snakes. She was not hysterical now; she was lying there in a sort -of dumb anguish, that none but very proud and sensitive hearts, crashed -to the very dust in shame and humiliation, can ever feel. - -"Miss Henderson," Mr. Wyndham repeated, looking at the drooping, girlish -figure, its very attitude speaking so much of supreme misery, "I am -waiting for my answer." - -She lifted her head and looked at him, with something the look of a deer -at bay. - -"Have you no pity?" she said. "Will you not spare me? I am only a girl, -alone in the world, and you might pity me and be merciful. I have done -wrong, I know, but Heaven alone knows what I have suffered from poverty, -and the degradation it inevitably entails. I was tempted, and I yielded; -but I think I never was so miserable in the worst days of my suffering -as I have been at times since I came here. I am not good, I know, but I -am not used to wickedness and plotting like this, and I think I am the -most miserable creature on the face of this wide earth. But I never -wronged you, sir; and you might pity me and spare me." - -Her head dropped down again with a sort of sob, and the pitiful pleading -was touching to hear from those proud lips. If Paul Wyndham had -possessed the hardest heart that ever beat in a man's breast since the -days of Nero, I think it must have been touched by the sight of that -haughty spirit so bowed and crushed before him. His face showed no sign -of whatever he might feel, but his clear voice shook a little as he -replied. - -"It is of little use, Miss Henderson, for me to say how deeply I do pity -you--how sorely against my will I wage this unequal warfare, since the -battle must go on all the same. It would only sound like mockery were I -to say how grieved I am to give you this pain, since I should still -remain inexorable." - -"Will nothing bribe you?" she asked. "Half the wealth I possess shall be -yours if----" - -She had lifted her face again in eager hopefulness, but he interrupted -with a gesture. - -"I said I was inexorable, Miss Henderson, and I must repeat it. -Besides," he added, with a slight smile, that showed how credulous he -was about the story, "the real heiress, though she might make over the -fortune to you, might object to your handing the half of it over to a -stranger. No, Miss Henderson, there is only the one alternative--be my -wife, or else----" - -"Or else you will tell all?" - -He did not speak. He stood, quietly waiting his answer--quiet, but very -inflexible. - -Olive rose up and stood before him. - -"Must you have your answer now?" she asked, "or will you not even give -me a few hours respite to think it over?" - -"As many as you please, Miss Henderson." - -"Then you shall have it to-night," she said, with strange, cold -calmness. "I promised Miss Blair to go to the theater--you will see me -there, and shall have your answer." - -Mr. Wyndham bowed, and with a simple "Good morning," walked out of the -room. As he shut the door behind him, he felt as though he were shutting -Olive Henderson in a living tomb, and he her jailer. - -"Poor girl! poor girl!" he was thinking, as he put on his overcoat; -"what a villain I must seem in her eyes, and what a villain I am, ever -to have consented to this. But it is only retribution after all--one ill -turn deserves another." - -Paul Wyndham walked to his hotel through the drenching rain and cold -sea-wind, and Olive Henderson listened to the tumult of the storm, with -another storm quite as tumultuous in her own breast. - -The play that night was the "Lady of Lyons." There is only one theater -in Speckport, so Mr. Wyndham was not likely to get bewildered in his -search. The first act was half over when he came in, and looked round -the dress circle, and down in the orchestra stalls. In the glare of the -gaslight Olive Henderson looked superb. Never had her magnificent black -eyes shone with such streaming luster as to-night, and a crimson glow, -quite foreign to her usual complexion, beamed on either cheek--the -crimson glow, rouge, worn for the first time in her life; and though she -was a New York lady, she had the grace to be ashamed of the paint, and -wear a thin black vail over her face. She took her eyes off Mademoiselle -Pauline for a moment, to fix them on Mr. Wyndham, who came along to pay -his respects, and to find a seat directly behind that of the heiress, -but she only bent her head in very distant acknowledgment of his -presence, and looked at Pauline again. - -The curtain fell on the first act. Miss Henderson was very thirsty--that -feverish thirst had not left her yet, and Captain Cavendish went out for -a glass of ice-water. Laura was busy chattering to Mr. Blake, and Paul -Wyndham bent forward and spoke to the heiress, who never turned her -head. - -"I have come for my answer, Miss Henderson," he said; "it is 'Yes,' I -know." - -"It is 'Yes,' Mr. Wyndham, and, with my consent, take the knowledge that -I hate and despise you more than any other creature on the face of the -earth." - -She never turned while saying this. She stared straight before her at -the row of gleaming footlights. The music was croaking out, every one -was talking busily, and not one of the young ladies who looked enviously -at the beautiful and brilliant heiress, nor the men who worshiped her at -a distance, and who hated the young New Yorker for the privilege he -enjoyed of talking to her--not one of them all dreamed ever so faintly -of that other play being enacted off the stage. - -Captain Cavendish came back with the water, the play went on, but I -doubt if Olive Henderson heard a word, or knew whether they were playing -"Othello" or the "Lady of Lyons," but none of the others knew that; that -serviceable mask, the human face, is a very good screen for the heart. - -The play was over, and they were all going out. Mr. Wyndham had not -addressed her since, but she knew he was behind her all the time, and -she knew nothing else. He was by her side as they descended the stairs, -and the cold night-wind struck them on the face. She was leaning on the -arm of Captain Cavendish, but how was that conquering hero to know it -was for the last time? - -"I will have the pleasure of calling on you to-morrow, Miss Henderson," -he distinctly said, as he bowed an adieu and was lost in the crowd. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -MR. WYNDHAM'S WEDDING. - - -Captain Cavendish, sitting at the window of his room in the hotel, -stared at the red sunset with a clouded face and a gloomy abstraction of -manner, that told how utterly its lurid glory was lost upon him. - -Captain Cavendish had been sitting there since four in the afternoon, -thinking this over and over again, and never able to get beyond it. His -day of retribution had come. He was feeling the torture he had so often -and so heartlessly made others feel; he was learning what it meant to be -jilted in cold blood. Olive Henderson had turned out the veriest, the -most capricious, the most heartless of flirts, and Captain Cavendish -found himself incontinently snubbed! He had asked for no explanation -yet, but the climax had come to-day. He had ridden over to escort the -heiress on her breezy morning gallop, and had found Mr. Wyndham just -assisting her into the saddle. She had bowed distantly to him, cut her -horse a stinging blow across the neck, and had galloped off, with Paul -Wyndham close beside her. Catty Clowrie looked out of the cottage -window, and laughed a voiceless laugh, to see the captain's blank -consternation. - -"Tit for tat!" Catty said; "you are getting paid back in your own coin, -Captain George Cavendish!" - -So, while the fierce red sun blazed itself out in the purple arch, and -the big round yellow moon rose up, like another Venus, out of the -bluish-black bay, Captain Cavendish sat at his window, telling the same -refrain over and over in his mind, as perseveringly as ever any holy -monk told the Ave Maria on his rosary:--"What has changed her? what has -changed her? what has changed her?" - -The moon was high in the sky before he roused himself from his long and -somber musing-fit, and, pulling out his watch, looked at the hour. - -"Half-past seven," he said; "they were to start at eight, and she -promised to go. I shall ask for an explanation to-night." - -He rang for his servant, and desired that young man, when he appeared, -to fetch him his overcoat. Mr. Johnston brought that garment, and -assisted his master into it, and the captain put on his hat and gloves, -and with his cane under his arm (for, of course, as an officer of the -British army, it was his duty at all times to carry a cane under his -arm), he set off for the cottage of my Lady Caprice. - -The whole front of the pretty cottage was in a state of illumination, as -he opened the little gate and walked up the gravel path, and men's -shadows moved on the curtained windows as he rang the bell. Rosie, with -pink ribbons in her hair, and her Sunday dress on, opened the door and -showed him into the drawing-room. - -"I'll tell Miss Olive you're here," she said; "she is engaged with -company just now." - -Captain Cavendish said nothing. He walked over to the low chimney-piece, -and leaned moodily against it, as Paul Wyndham had done that rainy -morning, little better than a week before. He had seen something as he -came in that had not tended to raise his spirits. The dining-room door -stood half-open, and glancing in as he passed, he perceived that Miss -Henderson had given a dinner-party, and that the company was still -lingering around the table. He saw the Rev. Augustus Tod and his -sister--and the Tods were the very cream of Speckport society--Major -and Mrs. Wheatly, and Mr. Paul Wyndham. That was all; but he, her -betrothed husband, her accepted suitor, had known nothing of it--had -never been invited! - -Captain Cavendish, leaning against the mantel, listened to the laughter, -and pleasant mingling of voices, and the jingling of glasses in the -dining-room, and he could plainly distinguish the musical laughter of -Olive, and her clear voice as she talked to her guests. He stood there -for upward of half an hour, raging with inward fury, all the more fierce -for having to be suppressed. Then he heard the dining-room door open, a -rustle of silk in the passage, an odor of delicate perfume in the air, -and then the drawing-room door opened. - -Miss Henderson swept into the room, bowing and smiling as she passed -him, and sinking gracefully into a low violet-velvet chair, her rosy -skirts and misty white lace floating all about her like pink and white -clouds, and she looked up at him with the same glance of inquiry she -might have given any lout of a fisherman in Speckport, had such a person -presumed to call. - -"I fear I intrude, Miss Henderson," he said, suppressing, as a gentleman -must, his rage. "I did not know there was a dinner-party at the -cottage." - -"Oh, it is of no consequence," Miss Henderson said, carelessly, toying -with her watch and chain; "my guests are all friends, who will readily -excuse me. Will you not take a seat, Captain Cavendish?" - -"No, Miss Henderson! in a house where I am made to feel I am an intruder -I must decline being seated. I believe you promised to join the -sailing-party on the bay to-night, but I suppose it is useless to ask -you if you are going now." - -"Why, yes," in the same careless way, "it is hardly probable I should -leave my friends, even for the moonlight excursion. Are you going? I am -sure you will have a very pleasant time; the night is lovely." - -"Yes," said Captain Cavendish, "I am likely to have a pleasant time, as -I have had, you must be aware, all through the past week. If you can -spare a few minutes from these very dear friends of yours, Miss -Henderson, I should be glad to have an explanation of your conduct." - -"Of my conduct?" still in that careless way. "How?" - -Captain Cavendish choked down an oath, but there was a subdued -fierceness in his voice when he spoke. - -"Miss Olive Henderson, has it quite escaped your memory that you are my -promised wife? It strikes me your conduct of late has not been -altogether in keeping with this fact. Will you have the goodness to -explain the contempt, the slights, the strangeness of your conduct?" - -"It is very easily explained," Miss Henderson answered, with supreme -indifference, which, whether real or assumed, was very natural. "I have -repented that rash promise, and now retract it. I have changed my mind; -it is a woman's privilege, Captain Cavendish, and here is your -engagement ring." - -She drew the little golden circlet off her finger and held it out to -him, as she might have returned it to some jeweler who had asked her to -purchase it. He did not take it--he only stood looking at her, stunned! - -"Olive!" - -"I am sorry to give you pain, Captain Cavendish," Miss Henderson replied -to that cry, still toying with her chain; "but you know I told you that -night I did not love you, so you ought not to be surprised. I suppose it -seems heartless, but then I am heartless; so what can you expect." - -She laughed to herself a little hard laugh, and looked up at him with -coldly-shining eyes. He was white, white even to his lips; for, -remember, he loved this woman--this cold-blooded and capricious -coquette. - -"Olive! Olive!" was all he could cry, and there was nothing but wild -astonishment and passionate reproach in his voice. There was no room for -anger now. He loved her, and it made him a coward, and he faltered and -broke down. - -Olive Henderson rose up as if to end the interview. - -"Better we should understand one another now, Captain Cavendish, than -later. Perhaps the day may come and sooner than you expect, when you -will thank me for this. I am not good, and I should not have made you a -good wife, and you have more cause for thankfulness than regret. Here is -your ring, and with it I renounce all claim to you! We are from -henceforth what we were before you spoke--friends! In that character I -shall at all times be happy to see you. Good evening, Captain -Cavendish!" - -Captain Cavendish walked back to his hotel in a stunned and stupefied -sort of way, much as a man might who had received a heavy blow on the -head, and was completely benumbed. He had received a blow, a most -unexpected and terrible blow; a blow so inconceivable, he could hardly -realize it had really fallen. His worst enemy could scarcely have wished -him a more miserable night than that which he spent, ceaselessly walking -his room, and acting over and over again the scene that had so lately -passed. O Nathalie Marsh! could you have risen up in spirit before him -then, surely you would have thought yourself completely avenged. - -Was Miss Olive Henderson, lying in luxurious ease among the satin -pillows of a lounge in the dining-room, next morning, wearing a most -becoming matin neglige, and listlessly turning over the leaves of a -novel, thinking of her rejected lover, I wonder? Catty Clowrie, sitting -sewing industriously at the window--for Catty was not above doing plain -sewing for the heiress--and watching her stealthily between the -stitches, wondered if she were really reading, or only thinking, as she -lay there, turning over the leaves with restless fingers, and jerking -out her pretty little watch perpetually to look at the hour. It was very -early, only nine o'clock, too soon for her to expect visitors--even that -indefatigable Mr. Wyndham, who came like clockwork every day, could -hardly have made his appearance so early. Catty, thinking this, stopped -suddenly, for a gentleman was ringing the door-bell--a gentleman with a -white, fierce face, and a look about him, altogether, Miss Clowrie had -never seen him wear before. Olive sat up and looked at Catty. - -"Who is it?" she asked. - -"Captain Cavendish." - -The black brow contracted suddenly, and Catty saw it. She, as well as -all Speckport, knew there was a breach between the two, and she and all -Speckport set Mr. Wyndham down as the cause. - -Olive Henderson rose up, with her brows still contracted, and walked -into the drawing-room. She shut the door behind her; and oh! what would -not Catty Clowrie have given had the painted panels of that door been -clear glass, that she might see what was going on. She could hear, not -their words, but the voice of the captain, passionate and then -reproachful, then pleading, then passionately angry again. Once she -crept to the door; it was after an unusually vehement outburst on his -part; and when her curiosity was excited beyond all bounds, she affixed -her ear to the keyhole. - -"It hardly becomes you, Captain Cavendish," she heard the voice say, in -a tone of cold disdain; "it does not become you to talk like this of -infidelity. If all tales be true, you have been rather faithless -yourself in your time. People who live in glass houses are always the -readiest to throw stones, I think!" - -Catty dared not stay, lest they should suddenly open the door, and went -back to her work. - -"She has refused him!" she thought. "What new mystery is this?" - -Had Miss Clowrie been able to look into the room, she would have seen -Captain Cavendish pacing it like a caged tiger, and Miss Henderson -standing up and leaning against the mantel, and looking icily at him out -of her great black eyes. He stopped abruptly before her, controlling his -passion, and steadfastly returned her gaze. - -"And is it for Mr. Paul Wyndham," he asked, with sneering emphasis, "the -little pitiful quill-driver, that I am rejected?" - -The black eyes of Olive Henderson flashed flame at the gibing tone. - -"Yes!" she flashed, impetuously, "it is for Mr. Paul Wyndham, whose name -is a household word in lands where he has never been--who will be -remembered by thousands when you are dead and forgotten!" - -If Captain Cavendish could, with any propriety, have knocked the defiant -young lady down at that moment, I think he would have done it. He set -his strong white teeth, and clenched his hands, in the impotence of his -fury. - -"And this insult, am I to understand, is your final answer?" - -"The answer is final," Olive said, frigidly. "The insult, if such it be, -you provoked yourself, by first insulting me. I wished to part friends -with you; if you prefer we should part enemies, it is immaterial to me. -I do not know why you have come to make this scene this morning, when -you received your answer last night." - -The morning sunshine was streaming brightly into the room; but, as she -spoke, it was suddenly darkened, and Paul Wyndham, riding past, strung -his horse at the door. An instant after, Catty Clowrie saw Captain -Cavendish leave the house, his hat slouched over his eyes, and stride -away as if shod with seven-league boots. Mr. Wyndham had come to escort -Miss Henderson on her customary morning-ride to Redmon, and Olive ran -up-stairs to put on her riding-habit. But not until Catty had seen how -haughtily cold her reception of Mr. Wyndham was, and how ghostly pale -she looked as she ran up-stairs. - -Catty Clowrie was not the only young lady in Speckport puzzled by Miss -Henderson's remarkable conduct. Laura Blair was bothering her poor -little brain with the enigma, and could not solve it, though she tried -ever so. - -"Olly, dear," she said, in a perplexed tone, when she came to the -cottage next day, and up in Olive's room seated herself for a -confidential chat, "have you quarreled with Captain Cavendish?" - -Olive was reclining in a vast Sleepy Hollow of an armchair, looking pale -and fagged; for she had been at a ball the previous night, and lay with -her hands folded listlessly in her lap, and the lazy lids hiding the -splendor of her eyes. She hardly took the trouble to lift these heavy -eyelids, as she replied: - -"No--yes. Why?" - -"Because, he's gone away, dear! I thought you knew it. He has gone off -on leave of absence to Canada, I believe." - -"Indeed!" Miss Henderson said, indifferently. "When did he go?" - -"He left in the steamer for Portland, Maine, this morning. Olly, -dearest, will you not tell me what it is all about?" - -"All what is about?" asked Olive, impatiently. - -Laura looked frightened; she always got scared when Miss Henderson's big -black eyes flashed. - -"You won't be angry, my darling Olly? but I thought--every one -thought--you were going to marry Captain Cavendish." - -"Did they? Then it's a pity 'every one' must be disappointed, for I am -not going to marry Captain Cavendish." - -Laura sat silent after this quencher. She was seated on a low stool at -her friend's feet, with her brown head lying on her lap. The heiress -bent down and kissed the pretty face. - -"My poor, silly, inquisitive little Laura!" she said, "you would like a -wedding, I know. You have a feminine love of bridal-vails and -orange-wreaths, and you would like to look pretty in white silk and -Honiton lace, as my bridemaid--wouldn't you, now?" - -"Yes," said Miss Blair. - -"Well, then, Laura, you shall!" - -Laura started up, and stared. - -"What?" - -"I say," repeated Olive, quietly, "you shall be gratified. You shall -wear the white silk and the Honiton lace, my dear, and be first -bridemaid, for I am going to be married!" - -Laura Blair clasped her hands. - -"Oh, Olly! and to Mr. Wyndham?" - -"Yes; to Mr. Wyndham." - -Laura sat like one transfixed, digesting the news. Somehow, she was not -so much surprised, but the suddenness of the intelligence stunned her. - -Olive Henderson laughed outright as she looked at her. - -"Well, Miss Blair," she said, "if I had told you I had committed a -murder, and was going to be hanged for it, you could hardly look more -aghast! Pray, is there anything so very terrible in my marrying Mr. -Wyndham?" - -"It's not that," said Laura, recovering herself slowly, "but the news -came so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that----" - -"Unexpectedly! Is it possible, Laura, Speckport has not decided before -now I should marry Mr. Wyndham?" - -"Speckport doesn't know what to think," said Laura; "it decided upon -your marriage with Captain Cavendish; it said that you were engaged, and -that all was settled, when, lo! this Mr. Wyndham appears, and presto! -all is changed. Captain Cavendish flies out of the country, and Mr. -Wyndham becomes the hero of the story. Speckport never was so pleased -before; you are as erratic as a comet, Miss Henderson, and it is as -useless trying to account for your vagaries." - -"I am glad Speckport has found that out. Well, Laura, you will be -bridemaid?" - -"Of course. Oh how strange it all seems! When is it to come off?" - -"What, the wedding? Oh, near the end of next month, I believe. Mr. -Wyndham, like any other ardent lover, objects to long engagements." - -She laughed, as she spoke, a little disdainful laugh, that made Laura -fix her brown eyes thoughtfully on her face. - -"Olly--don't be angry, please--do you love Mr. Wyndham?" - -"Of course, you silly child," the heiress laughed, carelessly, "if not, -should I marry him? You have read a great many novels, my Laura, of the -high-pressure school, and have formed your own ideas of lovers from the -rapturous proceedings therein recorded. But Mr. Wyndham and I are not -romantic; it is not in my nature to be, and all the romance in his he -reserves as his stock-in-trade for his books, and has none left for this -prosy every-day life. He is sufficiently well-looking, he is gentlemanly -and attentive, and he is famous, and he has asked me to marry him, and I -have said yes; and I will do it, too, if I don't change my mind before -the day comes." - -"Does Mr. Wyndham love you, Olly?" she asked, after a long, grave pause, -during which Olive had been humming an opera air. - -"Of course, my love! How can he help it?" - -"And you are really going to be married so soon, and to this stranger? -Oh, Olly! take care!" - -"You absurd Laura! Take care of what? Are you afraid Mr. Wyndham will -beat me after the magic words are spoken?" - -"I suppose it is the suddenness of it all that makes me feel so strange -about it. I like Mr. Wyndham very much, and I think his books are -lovely! I dare say you will be very happy with him, after all. How many -bridemaids are you going to have, and what are we to wear?" - -After this truly feminine turn to the conversation, love and happiness -were forgotten in the discussion of silks and moire antiques, and the -rival merits of pink or white for the bridemaids' bonnets. They were a -very long time deciding; for somehow Olive Henderson, with all her -inborn love of dress, did not seem to take much interest in the matter. - -"We'll settle it all again, Laura," she said, impatiently, "there's no -hurry--six weeks is a long time. Come, and let us have a drive." - -As the young ladies entered the little pony-carriage, Mr. Wyndham rode -up on his bay, looking his best, as good riders always do on horseback. -Laura, who was on very friendly, not to say familiar, terms with the -young author, held out her hand. - -"Accept my congratulations," she said, "I am to be bridemaid-in-chief on -the happy occasion; and, next to being married myself, there is nothing -we girls like better than that!" - -Mr. Wyndham smiled, lifted her hand to his lips gallantly, and made some -complimentary reply; but there was no rapture in his face, Laura -noticed, even although his bride-elect, in the dark splendor of her -beauty, sat before him among the rich cushions, like an Egyptian queen. - -"He does not love her," thought Laura; "he is like all the rest; he -wants to marry her because she is handsome, and the fashion, and the -heiress of Redmon. I wonder, if I were in her place, if that stupid Val -would ever come to the point. I know he likes me, but the tiresome -creature won't say so." - -Mr. Wyndham had but just left Mr. Blake's office, after having -bewildered that gentleman with the same news Olive had imparted to her -friend. - -Mr. Blake's hands were very deep in his pockets, and he was whistling a -dismally perplexed whistle, as the young author left his sanctum. - -"It's very odd!" Mr. Blake was thinking, "it's very odd, indeed! He said -he would do it, and I didn't believe him, and now it's done. It's very -odd! I know she doesn't care about him, rather the reverse; and then, -she was promised to Cavendish. What can she be marrying him for? -Wyndham, too, he isn't in love with her; it's not in him to be in love -with any one. What can he want marrying her? It can't be her money--at -least, it's not like Paul Wyndham, if it is. And then he's a sort of -novel-writing hermit, who would live on bread and water as fast as -turtle-soup, and doesn't care a button for society. It's odd--it's -uncommonly odd!" - -Speckport found it odd, too, and said so, which Mr. Blake did not, -except to himself. But then the heiress with the imperious beauty and -flashing eyes was a singular being, anyhow, and they put it down as the -last coquetry of my Lady Caprice. And while they talked of it, and -conjectured about it, and wondered if she would not jilt him for -somebody else before the day came round--while Speckport gossiped -ravenously, Mr. Wyndham was a daily visitor at the cottage, and -Speckport beheld the betrothed pair galloping together out along the -lovely country-roads and over the distant tree-clad hills, and saw the -new villa at Redmon going up with magical rapidity, and the once bleak -and dreary grounds being transformed into a fairy-land of beauty. All -the head dressmakers and milliners of the town were up to their eyes in -the wedding-splendors, and such a lot of Miss Henderson's dear five -hundred had been invited to the wedding that the miracle was how the -cottage was going to hold them all. Speckport knew all about the -arrangements beforehand; how they were to be married in Trinity Church, -being both High-Church people; how they were going on a bridal-tour -through the Canadas, and would return toward the close of August, when -the villa would be ready to receive them. - -Speckport talked of all this incessantly, and of the five bridemaids; of -whom Laura Blair, Jeannette McGregor and Miss Tod, were the chief; and -while they talked, the day came round. A dull and depressing day, with a -clammy yellow fog that stuck to everything, and a bleak wind that -reddened the pretty noses of the bridemaids, and made them shiver in -their white satin shoes. The old church was crowded. Young and old, -gentle and simple, all flocked to see the beautiful black-eyed heiress -who had set so many unhappy young men crazy, married at last to the man -of her choice. The dismal weather had no effect on her, it seemed; for -she swept up the aisle, leaning on the arm of Mr. Darcy, who was to play -papa, in a dress whose splendor electrified Speckport, and which had -been imported direct from Paris; all in white, an immense vail floating -all around her like a silvery mist, she didn't, as scandalized Speckport -said, for all, look a bit like a bride. Where was the drooping of the -long eye-lashes; where the paling and flushing cheek; where the shy and -timid graces of virginhood? Was it not the height of impropriety to walk -up the aisle with her head erect, her black eyes bright and defiant, her -lips compressed, and her color never varying? It was the vulgarity and -brazenness of the New York grisette breaking out, or the spangles and -sawdust of the circus-rider. But Speckport said all this under their -breath; and when it was all over, and the names down in the register, -kissed the bride, at least female Speckport did, the beings in -broadcloth and white vests only looking as if they would like to. And -then they drove back to the cottage; and Miss Henderson--no, it was Mrs. -Wyndham now--went to her room at once to put on her traveling-dress, for -the steamer started in half an hour. There was a great crowd on the -wharf to see them off; and the bride and bridegroom stood to be looked -at--he, pale, quiet, and calm; she, haughty and handsome, and uplifted -to the end. - -So it was all over, and the heiress of Redmon was safely married at -last! The news came out in next day's "Spouter," with a string of good -wishes from the editorial chair for the happy pair. Two young -men--Captain George P. Cavendish, in the reading-room of a Montreal -hotel, and Mr. Tom Oaks, in an Indian's tent up the country, where he -shot and fished--read it, and digested the bitter pill as best they -might. Some one else read it, too; Mr. Wyndham, with his own hands, -posted the first copy of that particular "Spouter" he received to a -young lady, who read it with strange eagerness in her own room in a -quaint New York hotel. A lady who read it over and over and over again, -as often and as eagerly as Miss Wade had read that advertisement long -before in the Canadian paper shown her in Mrs. Butterby's lodgings, by -the pale actress. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -MR. WYNDHAM'S MOTHER. - - -Mr. Wyndham and Miss Henderson had had but one confidential interview -after that first one, during the length of their brief engagement. It -was the day after the evening at the theater. Mr. Wyndham had called -early and found the heiress waiting for him in the drawing-room. There -was no terror, no humiliation in her manner now, nothing but reckless, -scornful defiance, and fierce pride, with which she seemed to dare him -and Fate to do their worst. - -"I was afraid of you yesterday, Mr. Paul Wyndham," she said, with an -unpleasant laugh. "I shall never be afraid of you again. I see that it -is of no use to struggle against Destiny--Providence, good people would -say, but I make no pretense of goodness. The French have a saying that -embodies the character of the nation: '_Couronnons nous des roses avant -qu'elles ne se fleurissent._' I take that for my motto from henceforth, -and crown myself with roses before they fade. I shall dress and spend -money and enjoy this fortune while I may--when it goes, why, let it -go,--I, shall know what to do when that time comes!" - -Mr. Wyndham bowed in grave silence, and waited to hear all she might -have to say. "To retain this wealth," she went on in the same reckless -tone, and with her black deriding eyes seeming to mock him, "I consent -to marry you; that is, I consent to go through a civil and religious -ceremony which the world will call a marriage, and which to us will -simply mean nothing but an empty form. It will give you a right to my -money, which is all you want; it will give you a right to dwell under -the same roof, but no right ever to intrude yourself upon me for one -second, except when others are present and it is necessary to avoid -suspicion. The world will call me by your name; but I shall still remain -Olive Henderson, free and unfettered--free to come and go and do as I -please, without interference or hindrance from you. Do I make myself -understood?" - -"Perfectly," Mr. Wyndham said, coolly, "and express my views entirely. I -am delighted with your good sense, Miss Henderson, and I foresee we -shall make a model couple, and get on together famously. Now, as to our -wedding arrangements. When is it to be?" - -"Whenever you please," she said, scornfully; "it is a matter of perfect -indifference to me." - -"I do not like to hurry you too much, but if the end of June----" - -Olive made a careless gesture with her ringed hand: - -"That will do! One tune is as good as another." - -"And our bridal tour? There must be a bridal tour, you know, or people -will talk." - -"I told you," she said, impatiently, "it was of no consequence to me! -Arrange it as you please--I shall make no objection." - -"Then suppose we go to Canada for a couple of months? The villa at -Redmon can be ready upon our return." - -And this tender tête-à-tête between the plighted pair settled the -matter. And in due time the solemn mockery was performed by the Rev. -Augustus Tod, and Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham departed on their wedding tour. -The upholsterer had received his orders, and the villa would be in -readiness upon their return, and there would be a famous house-warming, -to which half Speckport was to be invited. About three weeks after the -amicable adjustment of affairs between the author and the heiress, Mr. -Wyndham made a little investment in landed property on his own account. -There was a delightful little dwelling, known as "Rosebush Cottage," for -sale. A real bijou of a cottage, painted cream color, with vivid green -window-shutters and door, and with a garden in front that was a perfect -sea of roses--crimson roses, and monthly roses, and damask roses, and -bridal roses, all kinds bloomed here, until the air became faint with -perfume; and behind there was a gnarled old orchard, where apple-trees -and plum-trees nearly covered the creamy cottage with their long green -arms. This delicious Rosebush Cottage was for sale; and Mr. Wyndham, who -had for some time been quietly on the look-out for just such a place, -became its purchaser. When asked what he could possibly want of it, Mr. -Wyndham answered it was for his mother. - -"For your mother!" exclaimed Mr. Blake, when Mr. Wyndham first told him. -"You never mean to say, Wyndham, your mother is going to exchange the -genial and spicy breezes of Westchester County for our bleak -province--hey?" - -"Westchester County is a delightful place, no doubt," responded Mr. -Wyndham; "but in my absence, it is only vanity and vexation of spirit to -my poor mother. What are all the Westchester Counties in America to her -without her Paul, her only one! I shall send for her as soon as I return -from Canada, to come here." - -"Perhaps she won't come," said Val; "perhaps she will think of the old -adage, 'My son's my son till he gets him a wife,' and prefer remaining -where she is." - -"No," said Mr. Wyndham, "my mother knows her son will be her son all the -days of his life. She is very much changed, Blake, since you knew her; -she never was very fond of society, as you are aware; but of late she -has become a perfect recluse, shutting herself in and shutting the world -out. Rosebush Cottage will make her a very nice hermitage, I think, and -it is conveniently near Redmon. The next thing is to look out for a -competent and trustworthy servant--not a young girl, you know, giddy and -frivolous, but a quiet and sensible woman, who would not object to the -loneliness." - -Mr. Blake put on his considering-cap. - -"There's Midge," he said, "she's out of place, and stopping with us--you -saw her at our house last night, you remember; but I'm afraid she -mightn't suit." - -"That little dwarf, do you mean? She would do well enough, as far as -looks are concerned, if that is the only objection." - -"But that isn't the only objection," said Val; "more's the pity, for she -is perfectly trustworthy, and can work like a horse. As for the -loneliness, she would rather prefer it on that very account." - -"Then what is the objection?"' - -"Why, you see," said Mr. Blake, "we're none of us perfect in this lower -world, and Midge, though but one remove from an angel in a general point -of view, has yet her failings. For instance, there's her temper." - -"Bad?" inquired Mr. Wyndham. - -Mr. Blake nodded intelligently. - -"It never was of the best, you know; but after she lost Nathalie Marsh, -it became--well, she is never kept in any place over a week, and then -she comes to us and makes a purgatory of No. 16 Great St. Peter Street, -until she finds another situation. I'm afraid she wouldn't do." - -Mr. Blake, smelling audibly at the roses as he said this, did not see -the sudden change that had come over Mr. Wyndham's face nor the -eagerness hardly repressed in his voice when he spoke. - -"She was formerly a servant, then, of this Miss Nathalie Marsh, of whom -I have heard so many speak since I came here?" - -"Yes, for years, and devotedly attached to her. Poor Natty! I think -Midge felt her loss ten degrees more than her own mother; but grief, I -regret to say, hasn't a sweetening effect on Midge's temper." - -"Still I think I shall try her," said Paul Wyndham, carelessly. "My -mother is very quiet and easy, and I don't believe they will quarrel. I -will see Midge about it this very day." - -Which he did accordingly, sending her off at once to keep the cottage -until his mother's arrival. The upholsterer furnishing Redmon Villa had -his orders for Rosebush Cottage also, and both were to be in readiness -when September came round. - -Olive Henderson heard with extreme indifference of the expected arrival -of Mr. Wyndham's mother, from the lips of Miss Jo Blake, next day. - -"Ah! is she?" the heiress said, suppressing a yawn; "well, as she is to -reside a mile and a half from Redmon, I don't suppose she will be much -trouble to me. If the mistress be like the maid, Laura," said the -heiress, turning with a scornful laugh to her friend, "I am likely to -have a charming mamma-in-law." - -Good Miss Jo, who thought the motherless heiress would rejoice at the -tidings she brought her, was scandalized at the speech. Indeed, Miss -Jo--the best of women and old maids--did not approve of Miss Henderson's -capers at all. She had always thought her too proud; for Miss Jo's -simple Irish belief was, that we earthly worms have no business at all -with that sin which drove Lucifer, Star of the Morning, from Paradise, -and was sorry to see her favorite Laura so much taken up with the -queenly coquette. - -"Laura was such a nice little girl, Val," Miss Jo said, to the editor of -the "Speckport Spouter," across the tea-table that evening; "and now, I -am afraid, she will fall into the ways of that young girl, whom -everybody is running crazy after. If Miss Henderson was like poor Natty, -or that little angel, Miss Rose, now!" - -"How is Miss Rose, Jo?" asked Val; "I haven't seen her this month of -Sundays?" - -"She isn't out much," said Miss Blake; "Mrs. Wheatly keeps her busy; and -when she does come out, it's to Mrs. Marsh's she goes, or to see her -poor pensioners. Miss Henderson asked her to be one of her bridemaids, I -hear, but she refused." - -"Stuff!" said Val, politely. "Miss Henderson isn't the woman to ask a -governess to be her bridemaid. Not but that Miss Rose is as good as she -is!" - -"As good!" cried Miss Jo, in shrill indignation, "she's fifty thousand -times better. Miss Rose is a little pale-faced angel on the face of the -earth; and that rich young woman with the big black eyes is no more an -angel than I am!" - -Miss Jo manifested her disapprobation of the heiress by not going to see -her married, and by declining an invitation to the wedding-breakfast; -neither of which slights, had she known of them, which she didn't, would -have troubled the high-stepping young lady in the least. - -But Miss Jo was destined to become an heiress herself; for, a fortnight -after the great wedding, and just as Speckport was getting nicely round -after the shock, it received another staggerer in the news that a great -fortune had been left to Miss Jo Blake. Thirty thousand pounds, the -first startling announcement had it; thirteen, the second; and three, -the final and correct one. - -Yes; Miss Jo had been left the neat little sum of three thousand pounds -sterling, and was going home to take possession of the fortune. An old -maiden aunt, after whom Miss Joanna had been named, and from whom she -had long had expectations--as all Speckport had heard a million times, -more or less--had died at last, and left Miss Jo the three thousand and -her blessing. - -Upon receiving the tidings, Miss Blake was seized with a violent desire -to revisit the scenes of her infantile sports, and gave warning of her -intention of starting in the first vessel bound for Liverpool. - -"And it's not in one of them dirty steamboats I'll go," said Miss Jo, -decisively, "that's liable to blow up any minute; but I'll go an a ship -that's slow and sure, and not put a hand in my own life by trusting to -one of them new-fangled inventions!" - -Mr. Blake expostulated with his sister on the impropriety of leaving him -alone and unprotected to the mercies of heartless servant-girls. Miss Jo -was inexorable. - -"If you don't like keeping house and fighting with the servants," said -Miss Blake, "go and board. If you don't like boarding, why, go and get -married! it won't hurt your growth any, I'm sure!" - -As Mr. Blake was on the wrong side of thirty, and had probably done -growing, there was a great deal of sound truth in Miss Jo's remark. Mr. -Blake, however, only stood aghast at the proposal. - -"It's time you were getting married, Val," pursued Miss Jo, busily -packing; "particularly now, that I'm going to leave you. You're well -enough off, and there's lots of nice girls in Speckport who would be -glad to snap at you. Not that I should like to see you marry a -Bluenose--Lord forbid! if it could be helped; but there's Miss Rose, or -there's Laura Blair, both of them as nice girls as you will find. Now, -why can't you take and marry one of them?" - -Mr. Blake was beyond the power of replying. He could only stare in blank -and helpless consternation at his brisk, match-making sister. - -"I would rather you took Miss Rose," pursued Miss Blake, "she's the best -of the two, and a rock of sense; but Laura's very fond of you, -and--where are you going now?" - -For Mr. Blake had snatched up his hat and started out, banging the door -after him. The first person he met, turning the corner, was Mr. Blair. - -"So you're going to lose Jo, Blake," he said, taking his arm. "Laura -tells me she is off next week in the Ocean Star. What are you going to -do with yourself when you lose her?" - -"Become a monk, I think," said Mr. Blake, helplessly. "I don't know -anything else for it! Jo talks of boarding, but I hate boarding-houses, -and where else can I go?" - -"Come to us," cried Mr. Blair, heartily. "Mrs. B. thinks there's nobody -like you, and you and I will have a fine chance to talk things over -together. Come to us, old boy, and make our house your home!" - -Mr. Blake closed with this friendly offer at once, on condition that the -ladies of the house were satisfied. - -"No danger of that," said Laura's father; "they will be in transports. -Come up this evening and have a smoke with me, and see if they don't." - -Laura Blair's eyes danced in her head when her father told them the -news; but the little hypocrite affected to object. - -"It will make so much trouble, pa," the young lady said, in a -dissatisfied tone, "trouble for ma and me, I mean. I wish he wasn't -coming." - -Mr. Blair listened to the shocking fib with the greatest indifference. -He didn't care whether she liked it or not, and said so, with paternal -frankness. - -So Miss Jo kissed everybody and departed, and Val translated his Lares -and Penates to Mr. Blair's; at least, such of them as were not disposed -of by public auction. - -Speckport was just settling its nerves after this, when it was thrown -into another little flutter by the unexpected return of Captain -Cavendish. - -Yes, Captain Cavendish, the defeated conqueror, came back to the scene -of his defeat, rather swaggering than otherwise, and carrying things -with a high hand. Perhaps the gallant captain wanted to show Speckport -how little he cared for being jilted; perhaps he wanted to see what kind -of life Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham would lead together; perhaps he found -himself too well known as a roué and gambler in Montreal; or perhaps he -was not tired bleeding young Alick McGregor and young Speckport -generally, in that quiet house in Prince Street. He was back, anyway, -handsome, and nonchalant, and unprincipled as ever. - -Miss Blair received a letter from her friend three weeks after her -departure, dated Niagara. Mrs. Wyndham was not a good correspondent, it -seemed; her letter was very brief and unsatisfactory, and she only -mentioned her husband once, and then merely to say Mr. Wyndham was well. -She signed the letter simply, "Olive," not using her real name, and told -Laura that Montreal was tiresome and the Canadians stupid. Miss Blair -sent her half a quire of note-paper by way of answer, recording every -item of information, and every possible scrap of news, and imploring a -speedy reply. But Olive never replied, although August wore itself out -while Laura waited. On the last day of that month, Mrs. Hill received a -telegram from Portland, Me., from Mr. Wyndham, informing her her master -and mistress would arrive next day. - -It was a glorious September afternoon that on which the wedded pair -returned from their short bridal-tour. The steamer swept up to the -crowded wharf in a sort of sun-burst of glory, and the air was opaque -with amber mist, as if it were raining impalpable gold-dust. Not a sign -of fog in the cloudless blue sky; it might have been Venice instead of -Speckport, so luminously brilliant was sky and earth that afternoon. - -The passengers poured out of the steamer, and came up the bustling -floats, where cabmen, porters, hotel-runners and the steamer-hands were -making a Babel of discord, and the passengers wondered to see the crowd -of people looking curiously down upon them from the wharf above. Laura -Blair stood straining her eyes for a sight of her friend. Olive -Henderson, with her dangerous gift of fascination, had won the girl's -love as it had never been won before, and Laura had missed her sadly -during these two last months. As she stood impatiently waiting, she was -thinking of that pleasant March evening when Olive Henderson had first -come to Speckport, and they had watched her walk up these very floats, -stately and tall, leaning on Mr. Darcy's arm, and wearing a vail over -her face. And while Laura thought of it, and could scarcely believe it -was only six months ago, she saw the same Olive--Olive Wyndham -now--coming toward her on her husband's arm. She was not vailed this -time, although a long drab gossamer vail floated back from the pretty -jockey-hat she wore, and Laura saw how pale and fagged and spiritless -she looked. The next moment, she had thrown her arms impetuously around -her, and was kissing her rapturously. - -"My darling Olly! my darling Olly!" she was crying out. "Oh, how glad I -am to see you again!" - -Her darling Olly did not return the embrace very enthusiastically, -though her face lit up at sight of her friend. Laura shook hands with -Mr. Wyndham, who was smiling at her effusions, and then turned again to -the friend she loved. - -"Oh, Olly! how dull it has been since you went away, and how cruel of -you never to write to me! Why didn't you write?" - -"Writing is such a bore," Olive said, drearily. "I hate writing. Is that -the carriage waiting up there?" - -"Yes," said Laura; "and how did you enjoy your travel? You look pale and -tired." - -"I am tired to death," Mrs. Wyndham said, impatiently, "and I have not -enjoyed myself at all. Every place was stupid, and I am glad to be home! -Do let us get out of this mob, Mr. Wyndham!" - -Mr. Wyndham had paused for a moment to give some directions about the -baggage, and his wife addressed him so sharply that Laura stared. Laura -noticed during the homeward drive how seldom she spoke to her husband, -and how cold her tone always was when she addressed him. But Mr. Wyndham -did not seem to mind much. He talked to Laura--and Mr. Wyndham knew how -to talk--and told her about their travels, and the places they had -been, and the people they had met, and the adventures they had -encountered. - -"Olive reigned Lady Paramount wherever we went," he said, smiling (he -never called her Mrs. Wyndham or "my wife," always Olive). "Our tour was -a long succession of brilliant triumphs for her." - -Olive merely shrugged her shoulders disdainfully, and looked at the -swelling meadows as they drove along Redmon road. A beautiful road in -summer time, and the Nettleby cottage was quite lost in a sea of green -verdure, sprinkled with red stars of the scarlet-runners. Ann Nettleby -stood in the door as they drove by in a cloud of dust--in that doorway -where pretty Cherrie used to stand, pretty, flighty little Cherrie, whom -Speckport was fast learning to forget. - -And Redmon! Could Mrs. Leroy have risen from her grave and looked on -Redmon, she might well have stared aghast at the magical changes. A -lovely little villa, with miniature peaks and turrets, and a long piazza -running around it, and verdant with climbing roses and sweetbrier. A -sloping velvety lawn, on which the drawing-room and dining-rooms windows -opened, led from the house to the avenue; and fair flower-gardens, where -fountains played in marble basins, and bees and butterflies disported in -the September sunshine, spread away on all sides. Beyond them lay the -swelling meadows, the dark woods; and, beyond all, the shining sea -aglitter in the summer sunshine. The groom came up to lead away the -horse, and Mrs. Hill, in a black silk dress and new cap, stood in the -doorway to receive them. The dark, sunless face of Olive lit up and -became luminous for the first time as she saw all this. - -"How pretty it is, Laura!" she said. "I am glad I am home." - -The servants were gathered in the hall to welcome their master and -mistress as they entered arm-in-arm. The upholsterer had done his work -well, the drawing-room was one long vista of splendor, the dining-room -almost too beautiful for eating in, and there was a conservatory the -like of which Speckport had never seen before. Mrs. Wyndham had a suite -of rooms, too--sleeping-room, dressing-room, bath-room, and boudoir--all -opening into one another in a long vision of brightness and beauty, and -there was a library which was a library, and not a mockery and a -delusion, and was lined with books from floor to ceiling. Speckport had -been shown the house, and pronounced it perfection. - -Olive Wyndham forgot her languor and weariness, and broke out in her old -delighted way as she went through it. - -"How beautiful it all is!" she cried, "and it is all mine--my own! I am -going to be happy here--I will be happy here!" - -Her black eyes flashed strangely upon her husband walking by her side, -and the hand clenched, as if she defied Fate from henceforth. - -"I hope so," Paul Wyndham said, gravely. "I hope, with all my heart, you -may be happy here." - -Laura looked from one to the other in silent wonder. Mr. Wyndham turned -to her as they finished the tour of the house. - -"I suppose Rosebush Cottage is hardly equal to this, Miss Laura? Have -you been there lately?" - -"Yes," said Laura. "Val and I--he stops with us now, you know--went -through it last week. The rooms are very pretty, and the garden is one -wilderness of roses; and Midge reminds me of Eve in Eden, only there is -no Adam." - -"And Midge does not exactly correspond with our ideas of our fair first -mother," laughed Mr. Wyndham. "I must go there to-morrow and see the -place. Will you come, Olive?"' - -"No, thank you," she said, coldly. "Rosebush Cottage has very little -interest for me." - -Again Laura stared. - -"Why is she so cross?" she thought. "How can she be cross, when he seems -so kind? How soon do you expect your mother, Mr. Wyndham?" she said -aloud. - -"This is Friday--I shall leave on Monday morning for New York to fetch -her." - -There was an announcement that dinner was ready, and nothing more was -said of Mr. Wyndham's mother. He rode over to Rosebush Cottage early -next morning, attended only by a big Canadian wolf-hound, of which -animals he had brought two splendid specimens with him, and told Midge -he was going to leave him as guardian of the premises. Before he left -the cottage, he called Midge into the pretty drawing-room, and held a -very long and very confidential interview with her, from which she -emerged with her ruddy face blanched to the hue of a sheet. Whatever was -said in that long conversation, its effect was powerful on Midge; for -she remained in a dazed and bewildered state for the rest of the day, -capable of doing nothing but sitting with her arms folded on the -kitchen-table, staring very hard at vacancy with her little round eyes. - -Mr. Wyndham departed for New York on Monday morning, taking the other -big dog, Faust, with him. Mrs. Wyndham took his departure with superb -indifference--it was nothing to her. John, the coachman, was of as much -consequence in her eyes as the man she had promised to love, honor, and -obey. She did not ask him when he was coming back--what was it to her if -he never came?--but he volunteered the information. "I will be back next -week, Olive," he said. "Good-bye." And Olive had said good-bye, icily, -and swept past him in the hall, and never once cast a look after him, as -he drove down the long avenue in the hazy September sunshine. - -The house-warming at Redmon could not very well come off until Mr. -Wyndham's return; and the preparations for that great event being going -on in magnificent style, and Olive eager for it to take place, she was -not sorry when, toward the close of the following week, she learned her -husband had returned. It was Miss McGregor who drove up to the villa to -make a call, and related the news. - -"The boat got in about two o'clock, my dear Mrs. Wyndham," Jeannette -said, "and Mr. Wyndham and his mother came in her. I chanced to be on -the wharf, and I saw them go up together, and enter a cab and drive -off. I am surprised they are not here." - -"They drove to Rosebush Cottage, I presume," Olive said, rather -haughtily. "Everything is in readiness for Mrs. Wyndham there." - -"What is she like, Jeannette?" asked Laura, who was always at Redmon, -familiarly. "I suppose she was dressed in black?" - -"Yes," Miss McGregor said, "she was dressed in black, and wore a thick -black vail over her face, and they had driven off before any one had -time to speak to them. No doubt, she would be present at the -house-warming, and then they could call on her afterward." - -But Mrs. Wyndham, Senior, did not appear at the house-warming; and -society was given to understand, very quietly, by Mr. Wyndham, that his -mother would receive no callers. Her health forbade all exertion or -excitement, it appeared. She seldom, if ever, crossed her own threshold, -from week's end to week's end; and it was her habit to keep her room, -and she did not care to be disturbed by any one. Her health was not so -very poor as to require medical attendance; but Mr. Wyndham owned she -was somewhat eccentric, and he liked to humor her. Speckport was quite -disappointed, and said it thought Mr. Wyndham's mother was a very -singular person, indeed! - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -VERY MYSTERIOUS. - - -The house-warming at Redmon was such a house-warming as Speckport never -saw before; for, as Mr. Blake with his customary good sense remarked, -"When Mrs. P. Wyndham did that sort of thing, she did do it." In the -luminous darkness of the September evening, the carriages of the guests -drove through the tall iron gates up the back avenue, all aglow with -red, and blue, and green lamps, twinkling like tropical fireflies among -the trees. The whole front of the beautiful villa blazed with -illumination, and up in the gilded gallery the musicians were filling -the scented air with delicious melody. It was not Redmon, this; it was -fairy-land; it was a scene out of the Arabian Nights, and the -darkly-beautiful lady in ruby velvet and diamonds, welcoming her -friends, was the Princess Badelbradour, lovely enough to turn the heads -of a brigade of poor Aladdins. Society went through the house that -night, and had the eyes dazzled in their heads by the blinding radiance -of light, and the glowing coloring and richness of all. The ladies went -into raptures over Mrs. Wyndham's rooms, and the literary people cast -envious eyes over the book-lined library, with its busts of poets, and -pictures of great men, dead and gone. There was a little room opening -off this library that seemed out of keeping in its severe plainness with -the magnificence of the rest of the house--a bare, severe room, with -only one window, looking out upon the velvety sward of the lawn at the -back of the villa; a room that had no carpet on the floor, and very -little furniture, only two or three chairs, a baize-covered -writing-table, a leather-covered lounge under the window, a few pictures -of dogs and horses, a plaster head of John Milton, a selection of books -on swinging shelves, a bureau, a dressing-table, a lavatory, a -shaving-glass, and a sofa-bedstead. Except the servants' apartments, -there was nothing at all so plain as this in the whole house; and when -people asked what it was, they were told by Mrs. Hill, who showed the -house, that it was Mr. Wyndham's room. Yes, this was Mr. Wyndham's room, -the only room in that house he ever entered, save when he went to -dinner, or when visitors required his presence in the drawing-room or -library. His big dog Faust slept on a rug beside the table, his canaries -sung to him in their cages around the window, he wrote in that hard -leathern armchair beside the green-baize table, he lay on that lounge -under the open window in the golden breeze of the September weather, -and smoked endless cigars; late into the night his lamp glimmered in -that quiet room; and when it went out after midnight, he was sleeping -the sleep of the just on the sofa-bedstead. The servants at Redmon -talked, as servants will talk, about the palpable estrangement between -master and mistress, about their never meeting, except at dinner, when -there always was company; for Mrs. Wyndham breakfasted in the boudoir -and Mr. Wyndham never ate luncheon. He was quite hermit-like in his -habits, this pale, inscrutable young author--one glass of wine sufficed -for him--he was out of bed and at work before the stable-boys or -scullery-maids were stirring, and his only extravagance was in the way -of cigars. From the day he had married Olive Henderson until this, he -had never asked or received one stiver of her money; he had more than -sufficient of his own for his simple wants and his mother's, and had -Olive been the hardest virago of a landlady, she could hardly have -brought in a bill against him, even for board and lodging, for he more -than repaid her for both. He was always courteous, genial, and polite to -her--too polite for one spark of her affection; always deferring to her -wishes, and never attempting in the smallest iota to interfere with her -caprices, or thwart her desires, or use his husbandly authority. She was -in every way as much her own mistress as she had ever been; so much so -that sometimes she wondered, and found it impossible to realize that she -was really married. No, she was not married; these two had never been -united either in heart or desire; they were bound together by a compact -never mentioned now. What had he gained by this marriage? Olive -sometimes wonderingly asked herself. He told her, or as good as told -her, he wanted her for her money; but now that money was at his -disposal, and he never made use of it. What had he married her for? - -"How proud you must be of your husband, Mrs. Wyndham!" other women had -said to her, when abroad; and sometimes, in spite of herself, a sharp -pang cut to the center of her haughty heart at the words. Why, these -very women had as much right to be proud of him, to speak to him, to be -near him, as she had. Proud of him! She thought she had cause to hate -him, she was wicked enough to wish to hate him, but she could not. -Neither could she despise him; she might treat him as coldly as she -pleased, but she never could treat him with contempt. There was a -dignity about the man, the dignity of a gentleman and a scholar, that -asserted itself, and made her respect him, as she never had respected -any other man. Once or twice a strange thought had come across her; a -thought that if he would come to her and tell her he was growing to love -her, and ask her not to be so cruelly cold and repellent, she might lay -her hand on his shoulder with the humility of a little child, and trust -him, and yield herself to him as her friend and protector through life, -and be simply and honestly happy, like other women. But he never did -this; his manner never changed to her in the slightest degree. She had -nothing to complain of from him, she had every cause to be grateful for -his kindness and clemency. And so she shut herself up in her pride, and -silenced fiercely her mutinous heart, and sought happiness in costly -dress and jewelry, and womanly employment, and incessant visiting, and -party-giving, and receptions and money-spending--and failed miserably. -Was she never to be happy? She had everything her heart could desire--a -beautiful house, servants to attend her, rich garments to wear, and she -fared sumptuously every day; but for all that, she was wretched. I do -not suppose Dives was a happy man. There is only one receipt in this -wide world for happiness, believe me, and that is goodness. We may be -happy for a brief while, with the brief happiness of a lotus-eater; but -it cannot last--it cannot last! and the after-misery is worse than -anything we ever suffered before. Olive Henderson had said she would be -happy, she had tried to compel herself to be happy; and thought for a -few poor minutes, sometimes, when she found herself the belle of some -gay party, dancing and laughing, and reigning like a queen, that she had -succeeded. But "Oh, the lees are bitter, bitter!" Next day she would -know what a ghastly mockery it had all been, and she would watch Paul -Wyndham, mounted on his pony, with his dog behind him, riding away to -his mother's cottage, with a passionately rebellious and bitter heart, -and wonder if he or any one else in the wide world would really care if -they found her lying on the floor of her costly boudoir, stark and dead, -slain by her own hand. - -Paul Wyndham appeared to be very fond of his mother, if he was not of -his wife. He rode over to Rosebush Cottage every day, rain or shine, and -sometimes staid there two or three days together. - -Mr. Wyndham's mother, for all her age and her ill-health, could play the -piano, it seemed. People going past Rosebush Cottage had often heard the -piano going, and played, too, with masterly skill. At first, it was -thought to be Mr. Wyndham himself, who was quite a musician, but they -soon found out the piano-playing went on when he was known to be at -Redmon. Olive heard all this, and, like Speckport, would have given a -good deal to see Mr. Wyndham's mother; but she never saw her. She had -asked him, carelessly, if his mother would come to the house-warming, -and he had said "No, she never went out;" and so the house-warming had -come off without her. - -There was one person present on that occasion whom Speckport was -surprised to see, and that was Captain Cavendish. Captain Cavendish had -received a card of invitation, and, having arrayed himself in his -uniform, made his appearance as a guest, in the house he once hoped to -call his own. Those floating stories, whispered by the servants, and -current in the town, of the cold disunion between husband and wife, had -reached him, and delighted him more than words can tell. After all, -then, she had loved him! Doubtless she spent her nights in secret -weeping and mourning for his loss, fit to tear her black hair out by the -roots, in her anguish at having lost him. He was very late in arriving -at Redmon, purposely late; and he could imagine her straining her eyes -toward the drawing-room door, her heart throbbing at every fresh -announcement, and turning sick with disappointment when she found it was -not he. Would she betray any emotion when she met him? Would her voice -falter, her eyes droop, her color rise, or her hand turn cold in his -own? - -Oh, Captain Cavendish! you might have spared yourself the trouble of all -these conjectures. Not one poor thought had she ever given you; not once -had your image crossed her mind, until you stood bowing before her; and -then, when she spoke to you, every nerve was as steady as when, an -instant later, she welcomed old Squire Tod. Her eyes were following -furtively another form, nothing like so tall, or stately, or gallant as -your own, Captain Cavendish; another form that went in and out through -the crowd--the form of her husband, who welcomed every one with a face -infinitely kind and genial, who found partners for forlorn damsels, who -stopped to talk courteously to neglected wall-flowers, and who came to -where his wife stood every now and then, and addressed her as any other -gentleman in his own house might address his wife, showing no sign of -coldness or disunion on his part, at least. - -Captain Cavendish was disappointed, and all Speckport with him. Where -was the cold neglect on Mr. Wyndham's part, they had come prepared to -see and relish? where the haughty disdain of the neglected and resentful -wife? They were calmly polite to one another, and what more was -required? As long as Mr. Wyndham did not beat her, or Mrs. Wyndham -showed no sign of intending to elope with any other man, Speckport could -see no reason why it should set them down as other than a very -well-matched couple. - -It was noticeable that Mr. Wyndham that night paid rather marked -attention to one of the lady guests present; but as the lady wore black -bombazine and crape, a widow's cap, and was on the frosty side of fifty, -no scandal came of it. The lady was poor Mrs. Marsh, who had come, -nothing loth, and who simpered a good deal, and was fluttered and -flattered to find herself thus honored by the master of Redmon. - -"Her story is a very sad one, Olive," he said; "I am glad you settled -that annuity upon her; it does you credit." - -Olive said nothing; but a dark red streak flushed across her face--a -burning glow of shame. She was thinking of Mrs. Major Wheatly's -governess--what would Paul Wyndham say of that pale little girl if he -knew all? Mrs. Wyndham had repeatedly invited Miss Rose to Redmon; and -Miss Rose had come two or three times, but never when there was company. - -Mr. Wyndham led Mrs. Marsh in to supper, and sat beside her, and filled -her plate with good things, and talked to her all through that repast. -His wife, sitting between Major Wheatly and the Rev. Augustus Tod, still -watched him askance, and wondered what he could find to say to that -insipid and faded nonentity, who simpered like a school-girl as she -listened to him. But shortly after conducting Mrs. Marsh back to the -ballroom, and seeing her safely seated at a card-table, he disappeared, -and was nowhere to be seen. Every one was so busy dancing, and flirting, -and card-playing, that his absence was quite unnoticed--no, not quite, -his wife had observed it. It was strange the habit she had insensibly -contracted, of watching this man, for whom she did not care--or -persuaded herself she did not--of listening for his voice, his step, and -feeling better satisfied, somehow, to see him in the room. Where had he -gone to? What was he doing? How could he be so rude as to go and leave -their guests? She grew distrait, then fidgety, then feverishly and -foolishly anxious to know what he could be about, and who he was with; -and gliding unobserved from the crowded ballroom, she visited the -dining-room, the library, peeped into his own room, which she never -condescended to enter; all in vain. Mr. Wyndham was nowhere to be seen. - -"It is very strange!" said Mrs. Wyndham to herself, knitting her black -brow--always her habit when annoyed. "It is most extraordinary conduct! -I think he might show a little more attention to his guests." - -The library windows opened on the velvet lawn, and were opened now to -their widest extent, to admit the cool night air. She stepped out into -the pale starlit night, her rich ruby velvet dress and starry diamonds -glowing dimly in the luminous darkness. As she walked across the lawn, -glad to be alone for a moment, a figure all in white flew past her with -a rush, but not before she had recognized the frightened face of Laura -Blair. - -"Laura!" she said, "is it you? What is the matter?" - -Laura stopped, and passed her hands over her beating heart. - -"I have had such a scare! I came out of the conservatory five minutes -ago, on to the lawn to get cool, when I saw a figure that had been -standing under the trees dart behind one of them, as if to hide. The -person seemed to have been watching the house, and was trying to hide -from me. It frightened me, and I ran." - -Olive Wyndham was physically as brave as a man: she never screamed, or -ran, or went into hysterics, from palpable terror. Now, she drew Laura's -arm within her own, and turned in the direction that young lady had -come. - -"You little goose," she said, "it was some of the people here, out to -get cool like yourself. We will go and see who they are." - -"I don't believe it is any of the people here. I think it was a woman in -a long cloak, with the hood over her head. Oh, I had rather not go!" - -"Nonsense! it was some of the servants, or some curious, inquisitive -straggler, come to----" - -She stopped, for Laura had made a warning gesture, and whispered, "Look -there!" Olive looked. Directly opposite the house, and shrinking behind -a clump of cedar trees, on the edge of a thickly-wooded portion of the -grounds, she could see a figure indistinctly in the star-light--the -figure of a female it looked, wearing, as Laura said, a long cloak, with -the hood drawn over the head and shrouding the face. They were in deep -shadow themselves, and Laura hid her white dress behind some laurel -bushes. Olive's curiosity was excited by the steadfast manner in which -the shrouded figure watched the house--through those large, lighted -windows, Olive knew the person could distinctly see into the -drawing-room, if not distinguish the people there. - -"Laura," she whispered, "I must find out who that is. I can get round -without being seen--you remain and wait for me here." - -Keeping in the shadow, Olive skirted the lawn and round the cedar clump, -without being seen or heard by the watcher. She glided behind the -stunted trees; but though she was almost near enough to touch the -singular apparition, she could not see its face, it was so shrouded by -the cowl-like hood. While she stood waiting for it to turn round, a man -crossed the lawn hurriedly, excitedly, and, with a suppressed -exclamation, clasped the cloaked figure in his arms. Olive hardly -repressed a cry--the man was her husband, Paul Wyndham! - -"My darling!" she heard him say, in a voice she never forgot--a voice so -full of infinite love and tenderness, that it thrilled to her very -heart--"my darling, why have you done this? I have been searching for -you everywhere since I heard you were here. My love! my love! how could -you be so rash?" - -"I was so lonely, Paul, without you!" a woman's voice answered--a voice -that had a strangely-familiar sound, and Olive saw the cloaked figure -clinging to him, trustingly. "I was so lonely, and I wanted to see them -all. But I am very cold now, and I want to go home!" - -"I shall take you home at once, my darling! Your carriage is waiting at -the gate. Come, I know a path through this wood that will lead us -out--it will not do to go down the avenue. Oh, my dearest! never be so -rash again! You might have been seen." - -They were gone; disappearing into the black cedar woods, like two dark -specters, and Olive Wyndham came out from her place of concealment, and -stood an instant or two like one who has been stunned by a blow. Laura -Blair rose up at her approach with a startled face, and saw that she was -ghastly white. - -"Olly!" Laura said, in a scared voice, "wasn't that Mr. Wyndham who went -away with--with--that person?" - -Olive Wyndham turned suddenly upon her, and grasped her arm, with a -violence that made Laura cry out with pain. - -"Laura Blair!" she cried, with passionate fierceness in her voice, "if -ever you say a word of what you have seen to-night, I will kill you!" - -With which remark, Mrs. Wyndham walked away, stepped through the library -window, and into the house. She was in the drawing-room when poor Laura -ventured in, sitting at the piano, enchanting her guests with some new -and popular music, but with a face that had blanched to a sickly white. -She might play, she might talk, she might laugh and dance, but she could -not banish that frozen look from her face; and her friends, looking at -her, inquired anxiously if she was ill; no, she said she was not ill; -but she had been out in the grounds a short time before, and had got -chilled--that was all. - -Half an hour later, Mr. Wyndham re-appeared in the drawing-room, with a -calm face that hid his secret guilt well. Some of the people were -already beginning to depart, and his absence was unknown to all save -two. Once he spoke to his wife, remarking on her paleness, and telling -her she had fatigued herself dancing; and she had laughed strangely and -answered, yes, it had been a delightful evening all through, and she had -never enjoyed herself so much. And then she was animatedly bidding the -last of her guests good-night, and the lights were fled, the garlands -dead, and the banquet-hall deserted. And Paul Wyndham bade her good -night, and left her alone in her velvet robes and diamond necklace, and -splendid misery, and never dreamed that he was found out. - -Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham did not meet again until Sunday. The next day, -Friday, the young author had gone over to Rosebush Cottage with his MSS. -and fishing-rod, and there spent the rest of the week. The dissipation -at Redmon, the constant round of dressing, and visiting, and -party-giving, knocked him up, he told Val Blake, and unfitted him for -work; and, at the cottage, he could recruit, and smoke, and get on with -his writing. - -Speckport saw Mrs. Wyndham driving, and riding, and promenading through -its streets, that day and the next, beautifully dressed and looking -beautiful, but Speckport never once dreamed of the devouring jealousy -that had eaten its way to her inmost heart, and must hitherto be added -to her other tortures. Yes, Olive Wyndham was jealous, with the fierce -jealousy of such natures as hers--and your dark women can be jealous of -your fair women with a vengeance. And as real jealousy without love is -simply an impossibility, the slow truth broke upon Olive Wyndham that -she had grown to love her husband. - -How it had come about, Heaven only knows; she had honestly done her best -to hate him. But that mischievous little blind god, flying his arrows at -random, had shot one straight to her haughty heart. This, then, was the -secret of all her anxiety and watchfulness, though she had never -suspected it--she might have been a long time in suspecting it, but for -the discovery made in the grounds that night. She loved him who would -never love her. She knew him indifferent to herself; but while she -thought him equally indifferent to every one else, she had not cared -much; but now, but now! Who was this woman who had stepped between her -and the man to whom she was married? - -Who was she? who was she? she asked herself the miserable question a -hundred times a minute--she could think of nothing else--but she never -could answer it. In all Speckport she could not fix upon any one she -knew Paul Wyndham was likely to address such words as she had heard to. -How their memory thrilled her--those tones so full of passionate -love--it made her grind her teeth to think of them. - -"If I had her here, whoever she is," she thought, "I could tear the eyes -out of her head, and send her back to him streaming blood! Oh, who can -she be? who can she be?" - -It was Catty Clowrie who first changed the course of her ideas, and set -her off at a new tangent. Catty was sewing at the villa; and, as Mrs. -Wyndham, in her miserable restlessness, wandered from room to room, she -came at last to a pleasant vine-grown glass porch at the back of the -house, where Miss Clowrie sat stitching away in the afternoon sunshine. -An open book lay beside her, as if she had just been reading, and Olive -saw it was Mr. Wyndham's volume of travels. She took it up with a -strange contradictory feeling of tenderness for the insensate thing. - -"How do you like it?" she asked, looking at his portrait in front, the -deep, thoughtful eyes gazing back at her from the engraving, with the -same inscrutable look she knew so well. - -"I think it is lovely," said Catty. "I wish I could finish it, but I -must get on with my work. Mr. Wyndham must be wonderfully clever; his -descriptions set the places before you as if you saw them." - -Olive sat down, and began talking to this girl, whom she instinctively -disliked, about her husband and her husband's books. Catty, snapping off -her thread, asked at last: - -"Mr. Wyndham is not at home to-day, is he? I haven't seen him." - -"No," said his wife, carelessly, "he has gone over to Rosebush Cottage." - -Miss Clowrie gave an unpleasant little laugh. - -"Of course he is at Rosebush Cottage! Every one knows Mr. Wyndham never -goes anywhere else! If he had a Fair Rosamond shut up there, he could -not be fonder of going there. Mr. Wyndham must be very much attached to -his mother." - -There was a long blank pause after her cruel speech, during which the -mistress of Redmon never took the book from before her face. She felt -that she was deadly pale, and had sense enough left not to wish Catty -Clowrie to see it. She rose up presently, throwing the book on the -ground as she did so, and walked out of the porch with such fierce -rebellious bitterness in her heart, as never at her worst of misery had -she felt before. A Fair Rosamond! Yes, the secret was out! and what a -blind fool she must have been not to have seen it before! It was no -sickly old mother Paul Wyndham had shut up in Rosebush Cottage, but a -fair inamorata. It was she, too, whom they had seen in the grounds the -previous night; she who, wearied of her pretty prison without him, and -fall of curiosity, doubtless, had come to Redmon. "I was so lonely -without you, Paul!"--she remembered the sweet and strangely-familiar -voice that had said those words, and the tender caress which had -answered them; and she sank down in her jealous rage and despair in her -own room, hating herself and all the world. Oh, my poor Olive! Surely -retribution had overtaken you, surely judgment had fallen upon you even -in this life, for your sins of ambition and pride! - -Mrs. Wyndham was not much of a church-goer, but rather the reverse. She -had a heathenish way of lolling in her boudoir Sundays, and listening -with a dreamy sensuous pleasure to the clashing of bells, and falling -asleep when they ceased, and awakening to read novels until dinner-time. - -But sometimes she went to the fashionable Episcopal church, and yawned -in the face of the Rev. Augustus Tod, expounding the word rather -drawlingly in his white surplice, and sometimes she went to the -cathedral with Laura Blair. She took the same sensuous, dreamy pleasure -in going there that she did in listening to the bells, or in reading -Owen Meredith's poetry. She liked to watch the purple, and violet, and -ruby, and amber glows from the stained-glass windows on the heads of the -faithful; she liked to listen to the grand solemn music of the old -church, to inhale the floating incense, and listen to the chanting of -the robed priests. And best of all she liked to see the Sisters of -Charity glide noiselessly in through some side-door, with vailed faces -and bowed heads, and to weave romances about them all the time high mass -was going on. Matter-of-fact Catholics about her wondered why Mrs. -Wyndham stared so at the Sisters, and it is probable the Sisters -themselves would have laughed good-naturedly had they known of the tale -of romance with which the dark-eyed heiress invested them. But it was -not to look at the nuns--though she did look at them, almost wishing she -were one too, and at rest from the great world strife--it was not to -look at them she had come to the cathedral to-day, but to listen to a -celebrated preacher somewhere from the United States. Laura had told -her he was a Jesuit--those terrible Jesuits!--and Olive had almost as -much curiosity to see a Jesuit as a nun. So she drove to the cathedral -in her carriage, and sat in Mr. Blair's cushioned pew, and watched the -people filling the large building, and listened to the grand, solemn -strains of the organ touched by the masterly hand; and all listlessly -enough. But suddenly her heart gave a quick plunge, and all listlessness -was gone. There, coming up the aisle, behind the sexton, was a gentleman -and a lady; a gentleman whose step she would have known the wide world -over, and a lady she was more desirous of seeing than any other being on -earth. It was Mr. Wyndham and his mother, and dozens of heads turned in -surprise and curiosity, to look at that hitherto invisible mother. But -she was invisible still, at least her face was, for the long black crape -vail she wore was so impenetrably thick, no human eyes could pierce it. -They saw she was tall and very slender, although she wore a great double -black woolen shawl that would have made the slightest girlish form look -clumsy and stout. She bent forward slightly as she walked, but the stoop -was not the stoop of age--Olive Wyndham saw that. Mr. Wyndham, hat in -hand, his mother hanging on his arm, his pale face gravely reverent, -entered the pew the sexton indicated, after his mother. - -It was directly in front of Mr. Blair's, facing the grand altar, and the -jealous wife had an excellent chance of watching her husband and his -companion. - -Paul Wyndham was not a Catholic--he did not pretend to be anything in -particular, a favorite creed with his countrymen, I think--but he was a -gentleman; so he rose and sat and knelt as the worshipers about him did, -and never once turned his back to the altar to stare at the choir. - -Mrs. Wyndham, Senior, made no attempt to raise her vail during the whole -service. She knelt most of the time with her face lying on the front -rail of the pew, as if in prayer--a good deal to the surprise of those -who saw her and imagined her not of their faith. - -Olive never took her eyes off her--the Sisters of Charity, the swinging -censers, the mitred bishop, the robed priests, the solemn ceremonies, -the swelling music, were all unheard and unseen--that woman in front -absorbed every sense she possessed. Even when the Jesuit mounted to the -pulpit, she only gave him one glance, and saw that he was tall and thin -and sallow, and not a bit oily and Jesuit-like, and returned to her -watching of Mr. Wyndham's mother. That lady seemed to pay attention to -the sermon, if her daughter-in-law did not, and a very impressive sermon -it was, and one Olive Wyndham would have done well to heed. He took for -his text that solemn warning of our Lord, "What will it avail a man to -gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" and the hearts of his -hearers thrilled within them with wholesome fear as they listened to the -discourse which followed. "You are here to-day, but you may be gone -to-morrow. O my brethren!" the sonorous voice, which rang from aisle to -aisle, like the trump of the last angel, cried; "the riches you are -laboring so hard to amass you may never enjoy. The riches for which you -toil by day and by night mean nothing if your poor span of existence -permits you to accomplish them. Stop and think, oh, worldlings, while -time remains. Work while it is yet day, for the night is at hand, and -work for the glory which shall last for eternity. The road over which -you are walking leads nowhere, but ends abruptly in the yawning grave. -The fame for which you suffer and struggle and give up ease and rest, -will be when over but a hollow sound, heard for one poor, pitiful -moment, ere your ears are stilled in death, and your laurel crown dust -and ashes. The great of this world--who made kings their puppets, and -the nations of the earth their toys--have lived their brief space and -are gone, and what avails them now the glory and the greatness they won? -The fame of Shakespeare, of Alexander, of Napoleon of France, of a -Byron, and a Milton, and all other great men--great in this -life--remains to posterity, but what availed it all to them at the -judgment-seat of God. There, at that awful tribunal, where we all must -stand, nothing but their good works--if they ever did good works--could -soften the rigor of Divine Justice. The world is like an express-train, -rushing madly on, with a fathomless precipice at the end; and you laugh -and sing on your way to it, consoling yourself with the thought, 'At the -last moment I will repent, and all will be well.' But the Divine Justice -has answered you beforehand--terribly answered you--'You shall seek me -and you shall not find me, and you shall die in your sins!'" - -The sermon was a very long one, and a very terrible one, likely to stir -the dead souls of the most hardened sinner there. It was noticeable that -Mr. Wyndham's mother never lifted her head all the time, but that it lay -on the pew-rail, and that she was as immovable as a figure carved in -ebony. Olive Wyndham had to listen, and her cheek blanched as she did -so. Was this sermon preached for her? Was she bartering her immortal -soul for dross, so soon to be taken from her? And then a wild terror -took possession of her, and she dared think no longer. She could have -put her fingers to her ears to shut out the inexorable voice, thundering -awfully to her conscience: "You shall seek me and you shall not find me, -and you shall die in your sins." There was a dead silence of dumb fear -in the cathedral when the eloquent preacher descended, and very devout -were the hearers until the conclusion of mass. Then they poured out, a -good deal more subdued than when they had entered, and Olive had to go -with the rest. Mr. Wyndham and his mother showed no sign of stirring, -nor did they leave their pew until the last straggler of the -congregation was gone. The carriage from Rosebush Cottage was waiting -outside the gates, and Mr. Wyndham assisted his mother in, and they -drove off. - -Olive dined at Mr. Blair's that day, and heard them discussing the -sermon, and the unexpected appearance of Mr. Wyndham and his mother. -Olive said very little--the panic in her soul had not ceased. The -shortness of time, the length of eternity--that terrible eternity!--had -never been brought so vividly before her before. Was the express-train -in which she was flying through life near the end--near that awful chasm -where all was blackness and horror? Human things frittered -away--earthly troubles, gigantic before, looked puny and insignificant -seen in the light of eternity--so soon to begin, never to end! She had -been awakened--she never could sleep again the blind, heathenish sleep -that had been hers all her life, or woe to her if she could. - -Mr. Blake and Miss Blair walked home with her in the hazy September -moonlight. They found Mr. Wyndham sitting in one of the basket-chairs in -the glass porch, looking up at the moon as seen through the smoke of his -cigar, and Olive's inconsistent heart throbbed as if it would break from -its prison and fly to him. Oh, if all this miserable acting could end; -if he would only love her, and let her love him, she would yield forever -the wealth that had never brought her happiness, and be his true and -loving wife from henceforth, and try and atone for the sins of the past. -She might be a good woman yet, if her life could only be simple and true -like other women, and all this miserable secresy at an end. But, though -the silken skirt of her rich robe touched him, they could not have been -further apart if the wide world divided them. She could have laid her -head down on the table there, and wept passionate, scalding tears, so -utterly forlorn and wretched and lonely and unloved did she feel. She -could not talk--something rose in her throat and choked her--but she -listened to Mr. Wyndham telling in his quiet voice how he had persuaded -his mother to go out that day to hear the famous preacher, and how he -thought it had done her good. - -Val and Laura did not stay long, but set out on their moonlit homeward -way. Ann Nettleby sat in her own doorway, and Val paused to speak to -her. - -"No news of Cherrie, yet, Ann?" - -Ann made the usual reply, "No," and they walked on, talking of lost -Cherrie. - -"I'll find her out yet," Mr. Blake said, determinedly. "I don't despair, -even though--well, what's the matter?" - -Laura had uttered an exclamation, and clung suddenly to his arm. Redmon -road was lonely, as you know, and not a creature was to be seen; but -Laura was pointing to where, under the trees, in the moonlight, a woman -was standing still. A woman or a spirit, which? For it was robed in -white from head to foot, and a shower of pale hair drifted over its -shoulders. The face turned toward them as they approached, a face as -white as the dress, and Laura Blair uttered a loud shriek as she saw it, -reeled and would have fallen, had not Val caught her in his arms. - -Val had turned white himself, for the pale shadow under the trees had -worn the dead face of Nathalie Marsh! As Laura shrieked it had vanished, -in a ghostly manner enough, among the trees, and Val Blake was left -standing gaping in the middle of Redmon road, holding a fainting lady in -his arms. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -VAL'S DISCOVERY. - - -Mr. Blake was in a predicament. Some men there are who would by no means -turn aghast at being obliged to hold a fair, fainting damsel in their -arms, but Mr. Blake was none of these. Should he lay her down on the -road while he went for help, or should he carry her to the Nettleby -Cottage? Yes, that was the idea; and Mr. Blake lifted the fair fainted -in his stalwart arms, and bore her off like a man. The cottage was very -near, and Mr. Blake was big and strong; but for all that he was in a -very red and panting state when he gave a thundering knock at the -cottage-door. One hundred and twenty pounds of female loveliness is no -joke to carry, even for a short distance; and he leaned Miss Blair up -against the door-post in such a way that she nearly toppled over on Miss -Ann Nettleby's head, when that young lady opened the door. Ann screamed -at the sight, but Mr. Blake pushed past her with very little ceremony. - -"She's only fainted, Ann! Don't make a howling. Get some water, or -hartshorn, or something, and bring her to." - -Miss Ann Nettleby was a young lady of considerable presence of mind, and -immediately began to apply restoratives. Whether it was that nature was -coming round of her own accord, or from the intrinsic merit of burnt -feathers held under her nose, and cold water doused in her face, Miss -Blair, with a long, shivering sigh, consented at last to come to, and -looked around her with a blank, bewildered stare. - -"Well, Laura," said Val, stooping over her, "how do you find yourself, -now?" - -At the sound of his voice, recollection seemed to flash vividly across -Laura's mind. She was lying on the couch in the front room; but she -started up with a scream, her eyes dilating, and, to Mr. Blake's dismay, -flung herself into his arms. - -"Oh, Val!" she cried, clinging wildly to him, "the ghost! the ghost! I -saw the ghost of Nathalie Marsh." - -Ann Nettleby's eyes grew as round as saucers. - -"The ghost of Nathalie Marsh!" she repeated. "Lor! Miss Laura, you -haven't seen her ghost, have you?" - -"Come, Laura, don't be frightened," said Val, soothingly, though sorely -perplexed himself. "There is no ghost here, at all events. Perhaps you -had better go back to Redmon, and stay with Mrs. Wyndham all night." - -But Laura, gasping and hysterical, protested she would not venture out -that night again for all the world, and ended the declaration by falling -back on the lounge in a violent fit of hysterics. Val seized his hat and -made for the door. - -"You look after her, Ann," he said, "and I'll run up to Redmon for Mrs. -Wyndham. She'll die before morning if she keeps on like this." - -Mr. Blake's long limbs never measured off the ground so rapidly before, -as they did now the distance between the cottage and the villa. In the -whole course of his life, Val Blake had never received such a staggerer -as he had this night. He did not believe in ghosts; he was as devoid of -imagination as a pig; he had not eaten a heavy supper, nor drank one -single glass of wine, yet he had seen the ghost of Nathalie Marsh! They -had not been talking of the dead girl; they had not been thinking of -her; yet she had stood before them, wearing the face, and looking at -them out of the blue eyes they knew so well. It was all very fine to -talk of the freaks of the sense of vision, of optical illusions, and all -that sort of thing. It was no illusion, optical or otherwise. Nathalie -Marsh was dead and buried, and they had seen her ghost on Redmon Road. - -The servant who answered Mr. Blake's ring looked rather surprised, but -showed him into the library, and went in search of his mistress. Olive -came in, wearing the dress in which they had left her, and Val told his -story with blunt straightforwardness. Olive's black eyes opened to their -widest extent. - -"Seen a ghost! My dear Mr. Blake, do I understand you aright?" - -Mr. Blake gave one of his nods. - -"Yes. It was a ghost, and it frightened Laura into a fit; and she's in -one still, down there at Nettleby's. It was a ghost, I'll take my oath -of it; for it had Nathalie Marsh's face, and Nathalie Marsh is dead and -buried." - -There was a slight noise at the door. Olive Wyndham's quick ear -recognized it, and she turned round. Mr. Blake followed her eyes, and -saw Paul Wyndham standing in the doorway. But what ailed him? His face -was always pale; but it looked ghastly at this moment, turning from its -natural hue to an awful ashen white. - -"Hallo, Wyndham!" cried Val, "what's gone wrong with you? You look as if -you had seen a ghost yourself." - -"There is nothing the matter with me," said Mr. Wyndham, coming quietly -forward. "What is that about ghosts, and where have you left Miss -Blair?" - -"At Nettleby's, fit to die of fright. We saw a woman who has been dead -for more than a year, on the road; and Laura screamed out, and dropped -down like a stone!" - -"My dear Blake!" - -"I wanted her to come up here," pursued Val, "and stay all night, but -she went off into strong hysterics in the middle of what I was saying; -so I left her with Ann Nettleby, and came up here for Mrs. Wyndham." - -"I will go to her at once," Olive said, ringing the bell; "but, Mr. -Blake, I don't understand this at all. Seen a ghost! It is -incomprehensible!" - -"Just so!" said Mr. Blake, with constitutional composure, "but it's -true, for all that. Nathalie Marsh is dead, and buried over there in the -cemetery; but, for all that, I saw her as plainly this night on Redmon -road as ever I saw her in my life!" - -There was something in Mr. Blake's manner that carried conviction with -it, and Mr. Blake was not the man to tell a cock-and-bull story, or let -himself be easily deceived. Had Laura Blair, a fanciful and romantic -girl, alone told the story, every one would have laughed incredulously, -but Val Blake was another story. Matter-of-fact Val had no fancies, -natural or supernatural, and told his story with a resolute air of -conviction now that perplexed his hearers. Mr. Wyndham affected to -laugh; but, somehow, the laugh was mirthless, and his face and lips -remained strangely colorless. - -"It was some one playing a practical joke, depend upon it," he said; -"perhaps that imp of mischief, Sam's brother. As to ghosts--why, Blake, -where have your wits gone to?" - -"All right," said Val; "I don't ask you to believe it, you know; but if -it wasn't Nathalie Marsh's spirit, then it was Nathalie Marsh in the -flesh, and we have all been deceived, and the woman buried in Speckport -cemetery is not the woman I took her to be." - -Paul Wyndham turned round suddenly, and walked to the window and looked -out. He turned round so suddenly that neither his wife nor his friend -saw the awful change that came over his face when these words were -said. A servant brought Mrs. Wyndham her hat and shawl, and he did not -turn round again until they were leaving the room. Olive's heart stood -still at sight of the white change in his face. - -"You are ill, Mr. Wyndham," she said, looking at him sharply and -wistfully. - -"You're as pale as a ghost," said Mr. Blake; "don't come with us--what's -the matter?" - -Mr. Wyndham gave them his former answer, "Nothing," and watched them -walking down the moonlit avenue together, until they were out of sight. -Then he left the room, put on his hat and overcoat, locked his own door, -and dropped the key in his pocket, and followed them. Half an hour -later, while Olive and Val were persuading Laura to come with them to -Redmon, he was knocking at the door of Rosebush Cottage, and being -admitted by Midge, whose ruddy face wore a look of blanched -consternation at sight of him. - -Mr. Val Blake walked home in the moonlight alone. As he passed the spot -where, under the tree, the ghostly-white figure with the hazy hair and -deathlike face had stood, he felt a cold thrill in spite of himself; but -the spot was vacant now--not a soul, in the flesh or out of it, was to -be seen on Redmon road. Mr. Blake, as I said, walked home in the -moonlight alone, and astounded the whole Blair family by the unearthly -tidings. For good Mrs. Blake's sake he omitted that part concerning -Laura's fainting-fits--merely saying she was frightened, and he had -thought it best to leave her at Redmon. Mrs. Blair turned pale, Master -Bill grinned, and Mr. Blair pooh-poohed the story incredulously. - -"A ghost! What nonsense, Blake! I always thought you a sensible man -before; but if you draw the long bow like that, I shall have to change -my opinion." - -"Very well," said Val, in nowise disturbed at having his veracity -doubted, "seeing's believing! You may think what you please, and so -shall I!" - -Before it took its breakfast next morning, Speckport had heard the -story--the astounding story--that the ghost of Nathalie Marsh had -appeared to Mr. Blake and Miss Blair on Redmon road, and had frightened -the young lady nearly to death. Speckport relished the story -amazingly--it was nothing more than they had expected. How could that -poor suicide be supposed to rest easy in her grave! Mrs. Marsh, over her -eternal novels, heard it, and cried a little, and wondered how Mr. Blake -could say such cruel things on purpose to worry her. Captain Cavendish -heard it, and laughed incredulously in Mr. Blake's face. - -"Why, Val," he cried, "are you going loony, or getting German, or taken -to eating cold pork before going to bed? Cold pork might account for it, -but nothing else could ever excuse you for telling such a -raw-head-and-bloody-bones story as that, and expecting sensible people -to believe it. As to Laura, any gatepost or white birch tree in the -moonlight would pass for a ghost with her." - -Mr. Blake was entirely too much of a philosopher to waste his time in -controversy with these unbelievers. He knew well enough it was no -gatepost or white birch he had seen, but the subject was full of mystery -and perplexity, and he was glad to let it drop. It could not be Nathalie -Marsh; he had seen her dead and buried; and ghosts were opposed to -reason and common sense, and all the beliefs of his life. It was better -to let the subject drop then; so he only whistled when people laughed at -him, or cross-questioned him, and told them if they didn't believe him -the less they said about it the better. - -But the strange story was not so soon to die out. Mr. Blake, about a -fortnight after, was suddenly and unexpectedly confirmed. The ghost of -Nathalie Marsh had been seen again--this time in Speckport Cemetery, -kneeling beside her own grave; and the person who saw it had fled away, -shrieking and falling in a fit at the sexton's door. It was the sexton's -nephew, a lad of fifteen or thereabouts, who, going at nightfall to -close the cemetery-gates, had seen some one kneeling on one of the -graves. This being nothing unusual, the boy had gone over, to desire the -person to leave, when, to his horror, it slowly turned round its -face--the face of one buried there a twelvemonth before. With an -unearthly yell, the boy turned tail and fled, and had been raving -delirious ever since. The alarmed sexton had gone out to prove the truth -of the incoherent story, but had found the cemetery deserted, and no -earthly or unearthly visitant near the grave of the doomed girl. - -Here was a staggerer for Speckport! People began to look blankly at each -other, and took a sudden aversion to being out after nightfall. The -"Snorter" and the "Bellower" and the "Puffer" reluctantly recorded this -new marvel, confirming, as it did, the truth of Mr. Blake's story; but -opined some evil person was playing off a practical joke, and hinted to -the police to be on the look-out, and pin the ghost the first -opportunity. It was the talk of the whole town--the boy was dangerously -ill, and young ladies grew nervous and hysterical, and would not stay a -moment in the dark, for untold gold. Laura Blair was worst of all; she -was hysterical to the last degree, and shrieked if a door shut loudly, -and fell into hysterics if they left her alone an instant night or day. -Olive Wyndham's dark face paled with terror as she listened. Was the -dead and defrauded heiress rising from her grave because her earthly -wrongs would not let her rest there? Would she appear to her next? - -Was it superstitious fear that had taken all the color--and he never at -best had much to spare--out of Paul Wyndham's face, and left him the -ghost of his former self. The servants at Redmon could have told you how -little he ate, and perhaps that accounted for his growing as thin as a -shadow. A dark look of settled gloom over-shadowed his pale face always -now. He spent more of his time than ever at his mother's cottage, and -when asked what was the matter--was he ill?--he answered no, but his -mother was. Why, then, did he not have medical advice, sympathizers -asked; and Mr. Wyndham replied that his mother declined--she was very -peculiar, and positively refused. What did he suppose was the matter -with her? and Mr. Wyndham had told them it was her nervous system--she -was hypochondriacal--in fact; and he made the admission very -reluctantly, and with a painful quivering about the mouth--she was not -quite herself--her mind had lost its balance. And the sympathizers going -their way, informed other sympathizers that all old Mrs. Wyndham's -oddities were accounted for--the woman was mad! - -Speckport pitied poor Mr. Wyndham, saddled with an insane mother, very -much, when they saw his pale, worn face, and that gloomy look that never -left it. Olive pitied him, too; and would have given the world, had it -been hers to give, to comfort him in his great trouble; but she was -nothing to him, and her heart turned to gall and bitterness, as she -thought of it. No, she was nothing to him, she scarcely ever saw him at -all now, and he seemed unconscious of her presence when they were -together. But it was a relief to know the secret of Rosebush -Cottage--however dreadful that secret was, it were better than the first -diabolical thought suggested by Catty Clowrie. Once Olive Wyndham, in -the humility born of this new love, had descended from the heights of -high and mightydom on which she dwelt, and ate humble pie at her cold -lord's feet. She might have left the unsavory dish alone--her humility -was no more to him than her pride, and she had been repulsed. Not -rudely, or unkindly. Mr. Wyndham was a gentleman, every inch of him, and -would not be harsh to a woman; but still she was repulsed, and her proud -heart quivered to its inmost core with the degradation. - -She had found him, one evening on entering the library, sitting alone -there, his forehead bowed on his hand, a look that was so like despair -on his face; but she forgot everything but that she loved him, and that -he was suffering a sorrow too great for words to tell. Had she not a -right to love him, to comfort him--was she not his wife? She would not -listen to her woman's nature, which revolted, and ordered her sternly -back. She only knew that she loved him; and she went over and touched -him lightly on the shoulder. It was the first time they had ever so -met--therefore the look of surprise which came into his eyes when he -looked up, was natural enough. He rose up, looking with that quiet air -of surprise on the downcast eyes and flushed face, and waited silently. - -"Mr. Wyndham," she said, her voice trembling so, her words were scarcely -intelligible. "I--I am sorry to see you in such trouble? Can--can I do -anything to alleviate it?" - -"Thank you!" he said, "No!" - -"If," still tremulously, "if I could do anything for your mother--visit -her----" - -She broke down entirely. In Mr. Wyndham's face there was nothing but -cold surprise. - -"You are very good," he said, "but you can do nothing." - -He bowed and left the room. And Olive, humbled, repulsed, mortified to -death, hating, for the moment, herself and him and all the world, flung -herself upon a sofa, and wept such a scalding rush of tears, as only -those proud, sensitive hearts can ever shed. They might have been tears -of blood, so torn and wounded was the poor heart from whence they -sprang; and when they dried, and she rose up, they had left her like a -stone. - -Between Nathalie Marsh's ghost and Mr. Wyndham's mad mother, Speckport -was kept so busy talking, it had scarcely time to canvas the movement, -when Captain George Cavendish announced his intention of selling out and -going home. Mr. Blake was the only one, with the exception of some -milk-and-water young ladies who were in love with the dashing Englisher, -whom the announcement bothered; and it was not for the captain's sake, -but for poor lost Cherrie's. Where was Cherrie? Val had vowed a vow to -find her out, but this turn of affairs knocked all his plans in the -head. - -"If he does go," said Val to himself, "I'll send him off with a flea in -his ear! I must find Cherrie, or Charley Marsh will be an exile -forever!" - -"But how?" Mr. Blake was at his wit's end thinking the matter over, and -trying to hit on some plan. He was still thinking about it, when he -sallied off to the post-office for his papers and letters, and -encountered Mr. Johnston, the captain's man, coming out with a handful -of letters. He was sorting them as he walked, and never noticed that he -dropped one as he passed Mr. Blake. Val picked it up to return it, -glancing carelessly at the superscription as he did so. His glance was -magical--a red flush crimsoned his sallow face, and he turned it over to -look at the postmark. Then he saw Mr. Johnston had missed it, and was -turning round--he dropped it again, and walked on, and the captain's -valet pounced upon it and walked off. - -Blake strode straight to his boarding-house, informed Mr. Blair sudden -business required him to go up the country for a week or so, scrawled -off a note to his foreman, flung a few things into a valise, and started -for the cars. He was just in time to take a through ticket to S----, -before the evening train started, and was whirled off in the amber haze -of a brilliant September sunset. - -It was past midnight when the train reached the terminus, but Mr. Blake -was not going to stop at S----. The steamer which started at eight next -morning for Charlottetown, Prince Edward's Island, lay at the wharf, and -Mr. Blake went on board immediately, and turned in. When the boat -started next morning, he was strolling about the deck, smoking a pipe -and watching the passengers come on board. There were not many, and he -knew none of them, which was just what he wanted. It was a long, -delightful day on the Gulf; and in the yellow glory of another sunset, -Mr. Blake landed in Charlottetown, and, valise in hand, sauntered up to -one of the principal hotels. - -Mr. Blake took his tea, and then set off for a ramble through the town. -A quiet town, with grass-grown red-clay streets, and only a few -stragglers abroad. A beautiful town, with a few quiet shops, and a -drowsiness pervading the air, and a general stillness and torpor -pervading everywhere. Val retired early; but he arose early also, and -was out with his hands in his pocket and a cigar in his mouth, wandering -about again, staring at the Government House and the Colonial Buildings, -and the fly-specked books in the stationers' shops, and the deserted -drygoods'-stores, and going into the cathedral where morning-service -was going on, and contemplating the pretty nuns of Notre Dame reading -their missals with devoutly downcast eyes, in their pew. He was out -again the moment he had swallowed his breakfast and made a few inquiries -of the clerk, traversing the town-streets once more. These inquiries of -his were concerning a lady, a young lady, he told the polite clerk, a -friend of his whom he was most anxious to find out, but whose precise -residence he was ignorant of. He was pretty certain she was in -Charlottetown, but he could not exactly tell where. Perhaps the clerk -had seen her--a black-eyed young lady with black curls and red cheeks, -and not tall? No!--the clerk did not remember; he had seen a good many -black-eyed young ladies in his time, but he did not know that he had -seen this particular one. Mr. Blake pursued these inquiries in other -places, chiefly in dry goods' or milliners' stores, and in one of these -latter, the lady in attendance informed him that she knew such a person, -a young lady, a Miss Smith, she believed, who used to shop there, and -generally walked by every afternoon. - -Mr. Blake never went home to dinner that day. It was a hot, sunshiny -day, and he lounged about the milliner's shop, attracting a good deal of -curiosity, and suspicion that he might have designs on the bonnets. But -Val did not care for their suspicions; he was looking out for some one -he felt sure would be along presently, if she were living and well. The -watch was a very long one, but he kept it patiently, and about three in -the afternoon he met with his reward. There, swinging along the street, -with the old jaunty step he remembered so well, was a black-eyed, -black-ringleted young lady, turban on head, parasol in hand. Mr. Blake -bounced up, walked forward, and accosted her with the simple -remark--sublime in its simplicity--"How are you, Cherrie?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -CHERRIE TELLS THE TRUTH. - - -It was a fortunate thing, perhaps, that that quiet, grass-grown -Charlotte Street was almost deserted; else the scream and recoil with -which Cherrie--our old and long-lost-sight-of friend, Cherrie--received -this salutation, might have attracted unpleasant attention. - -Mr. Blake took the matter with constitutional phlegm. - -"Oh, come now, Cherrie, no hysterics! How have you been all these -everlasting ages?" - -"Mis-ter Blake?" Cherrie gasped, her eyes starting in her head with the -surprise. "Oh, my goodness! What a turn you gave me!" - -"Did I?" said Val. "Then I'll give you another; for I want you to turn -back with me, and take me to wherever you live, Mrs. Smith. That's the -name you go by here, isn't it?" - -"Who told you so?" - -"A little bird! I say, Cherrie, you've lost your red cheeks! Doesn't -Prince Edward's Island agree with you?" - -Cherrie had lost her bright bloom of color; but save that she was much -thinner and paler, and far less gaudily dressed, she was the same -Cherrie of old. - -"Agree with me!" exclaimed Cherrie, in rather a loudly-resentful tone, -considering that they were on the street. "I hate the place, and I am -nearly moped to death in it. I never was so miserable in all my life as -I have been since I came here!" - -"Then why didn't you leave it?" inquired Mr. Blake. - -"Leave it!" reiterated Cherrie, like an angry echo. "It's very easy to -say leave it; but when you have no money or nothing, it's not quite so -easy doing it. I've been used shamefully; and if ever I get back to -Speckport, I'll let some of the folks there know it, too! Did he send -you?" - -"Who?" - -"You know well enough! Captain Cavendish!" - -"He send me!" said Val. "I should think not. There isn't a soul in -Speckport knows whether you are alive or dead; and he takes care they -shan't, either. I have been trying to find you out ever since you left; -and I have asked Captain Cavendish scores of times, but he always vowed -he knew nothing about you--that you had run off after Charley Marsh. It -was only by chance I saw a letter from you to him the other day, posted -here, and I started off in a trice. Why didn't you write to your folks, -Cherrie?" - -"I daren't. He wouldn't let me. He told me, if I didn't stay here and -keep quiet, he never would have anything more to say to me. I have been -shamefully used!"--and here Cherrie began to cry on the street--"and I -wish I was dead. There!" - -"Perhaps you will before long," said Val, significantly. - -Cherrie looked at him. - -"What?" - -"Perhaps you won't be let live long! You'll have to stand your trial -when you go back, for helping in the murder of Mrs. Leroy; and maybe -they'll hang you! Now, don't go screaming out and making such an -infernal row on the street--will you?" - -Cherrie did not scream. She suppressed a rising cry, and turned ashen -white. - -"I had nothing to do with the murder of Mrs. Leroy," she said, with lips -that trembled. "You know I hadn't. You know I left Speckport the -afternoon it happened. You have no business saying such things to me, -Val Blake." - -She laid her hand on her heart while she spoke, as if to still its -clamor. Val saw by her white and parted lips how that poor, fluttering, -frightened heart was throbbing. - -"Oh, yes; I know you left Speckport that afternoon, Cherrie; but you and -Cavendish had it all made up beforehand. You were to write Charley that -note, and appoint a meeting in Redmon grounds, promising to run away -with him, and making him wait for you there, while Cavendish got in -through the window, and robbed the old woman. You never intended meeting -Charley, you know; and you are just as much accessory to the murder as -if you had stood by and held the lamp while he was choking Lady Leroy." - -They had left the dull streets of the town, and were out in a lovely -country road. Swelling meadows of golden grain and scented hay spread -away on either hand, until they melted into the azure arch; and the -long, dusty road wound its way under pleasant, shadowy trees, without a -living creature to be seen. Cherrie, listening to these terrible words, -spoken in the same tone Mr. Blake would have used had he been informing -her the day was uncommonly fine, sank down on a green hillock by the -roadside, and, covering her face with her hands, broke out in a passion -of tempestuous tears. He had taken her so by surprise--he had given her -no time to prepare--the sight of him had brought back the recollection -of the old pleasant days, and the wretched dullness of the present. She -was weak, and sick, and neglected, and miserable; and now this last turn -was coming to crush her. Poor Cherrie sat there and cried the bitterest -tears she had ever shed in her life; her whole frame shaking with her -convulsive sobs, her distress touched Val; for pretty Cherrie had always -been a favorite of his, despite her glaring faults and folly; and a -twinge of remorse smote his conscience at what he had done. - -"Oh, now, Cherrie, don't cry! People will be coming along, and what will -they think? Come, get up, like a good girl, and we'll talk it over when -we get to your house. Perhaps it may not be so bad after all." - -Cherrie looked up at him with piteous reproach through her tears. - -"Was it for this you wanted to find me out so bad, Mr. Blake? Was it to -make me a prisoner you came over here?" - -"Well," said Val, with another twinge of conscience, "ye-e-es, it was -partly. But you must recollect, Cherrie, you have done worse. You let -Charley Marsh--poor Charley! who loved you a thousand times better than -that scamp of an Englishman--be sentenced for a deed he never committed, -when you could have told the truth and freed him. Worse still, you -helped to inveigle him into as horrible a plot as ever was concocted." - -"I couldn't help it!" sobbed Cherrie. "I didn't want to do it, but he -made me! I wish I had ran away with Charley that night. He never would -have left me like this!" - -"No; that he wouldn't! Charley was as true as steel, poor fellow! and -loved you as no one ever will love you again, in this world! He is a -soldier now, fighting down South; and perhaps he's shot before this; and -if he is, his death lies at your door, Cherrie." - -Cherrie's tears flowed faster than ever. - -"As for Cavendish," went on Val, "he's the greatest villain unhung! Not -to speak of his other atrocities--his gambling, his robbing, his -murdering, his breaking the heart of Nathalie Marsh--he has been the -biggest rascal that ever lived, to you, my poor Cherrie." - -"Yes, he has!" wept Cherrie, all her wrongs bleeding afresh. "He's a -villain, and I hate him. Oh dear me, I wish I was dead!" - -"You don't know half the wrong he has done you and means to do," said -Val. "Come, Cherrie, get up, and I'll tell you about it as we go along. -Do you live far from this?" - -"No; it's the first house you meet; the dullest old place on the face of -the earth! He wouldn't let me leave it; and I know they despise me, and -think I'm no better than I ought to be. There never was a girl in this -world so ill-used as I have been! Why did he marry me, if he is ashamed -of me? Why can't he stay with me as he ought to stay with his wife?" - -"His wife!" repeated Val, staring at her as they walked along. "Why, -Cherrie, is that all you know about it? Hasn't he told you that you are -not his wife?" - -"Not his wife!" shrieked Cherrie. "Val Blake, what do you mean?" - -"Bless my soul!" cried Mr. Blake, appealing in dismay to the scarecrows -in the fields, "I thought he had told her. Why, you unfortunate Cherrie, -don't you know the marriage was a sham one?" - -Cherrie gasped for breath. The surprise struck her speechless. - -"I thought you knew all about it!" said Val; "I'll take my oath I did! -Why, you poor little simpleton, how could you ever be idiot enough to -think a fellow like Cavendish would marry the like of you! If you had -two grains of sense in your head," said Mr. Blake, politely, "you must -have seen through it. He planned the whole thing himself--a sham from -beginning to end!" - -"It isn't! it can't be! I don't believe it! I won't believe it!" panted -Cherrie, recovering her breath. "You helped him, and the minister was -there; and I am his wife, his lawful wedded wife. You are only trying to -frighten me to death." - -"No, I'm not," said Val; "and you're no more his wife than I am. The -minister wasn't a minister, but a fellow who played the part. If you -hadn't been the greatest goose that ever lived, Cherrie, you couldn't -have been so taken in!" - -Cherrie's breath went and came, and her tears seemed turned to sparks of -fire, as she turned her eyes upon her companion. - -"And you helped him to do this, Mr. Blake?" - -"Well, Cherrie, what could I do? If I hadn't helped him, some one else -would; and, anyhow, you would have run away with him, marriage or no -marriage. Now, don't deny it--you know you would!" - -"And you mean to say I'm not married to Captain Cavendish?" - -"Yes, I do. I only wonder he hasn't let you find it out long ago. He -came to me and persuaded me to help him, telling me you were ready to -run off with him any time he asked you, which I knew myself. I'm sorry -for it now, but it can't be helped." - -"Very well, Mr. Blake," said Cherrie, whose cheeks were red, and whose -eyes were flashing, "you may both be proud of your work. You are fine -gentlemen, both of you, to distress a poor girl like me, as you have -done. But I'll go back to Speckport, and I'll tell every soul in it how -I have been taken in; and I hope they'll tar and feather the two of you -for what you have done." - -"Well," said Mr. Blake, in a subdued tone, "we deserve it, I dare say, -but Cavendish is the worst after all. Why, Cherrie, my girl, you don't -know half the wrong he has done you. He would have been married three -mouths ago, if the lady had not changed her mind and married another -man." - -"Would he?" said Cherrie, vindictively, between her closed teeth. "Oh, -if ever I get a chance, won't I pay him off! Who was the lady?" - -"The new heiress of Redmon--Miss Henderson she was then, Mrs. Wyndham -she is now. He was crazy about her, as all Speckport can tell you; and -he asked her to marry him; and she consented first, and backed out -afterward. You never saw any one in the state he was in, Cherrie; and he -started off to Canada, because he couldn't bear to stay in the place and -see her married to another man." - -"But he's back, now," said Cherrie. "I had a letter from him two weeks -ago, with a couple of pounds in it. He's the meanest, stingiest miser on -the face of the earth, and I have to write and write, before I get -enough from him to pay my board. I haven't had a decent dress these six -months; and I can't leave the place, because I never have enough to pay -my way back. I'm the worst-treated and most unfortunate creature in the -whole world!" - -And here poor Cherrie's tears broke out afresh. - -"And that's not the worst, either," pursued Mr. Blake. "Do you know what -has brought him back to Speckport, as you say? Of course, you don't--you -are the last he would tell; but it is because he is selling out of the -army, and going back to England for good. He wants to be rid of you -entirely; and once he is there, and married to some one else with a -fortune, many a fine laugh he will have at you." - -"Never!" cried Cherrie, wrought up to the right pitch of indignation; -"never shall he leave Speckport, if I can help it! I'll tell all, if I -was to hang for it myself, sooner than let him get off like that, the -villain!" - -"But you won't hang for it, Cherrie, if you tell; it's only if you -refuse to tell, that you are in danger. Whoever turns Queen's evidence -gets off scot free, you know; and if you only do what is right, and take -my advice, which means the same thing, you may triumph over Captain -George Percy Cavendish yet." - -"I'll do it!" said Cherrie, her lips compressed and her eyes flashing, -and the memory of all her wrongs surging back upon her at once. "I'll do -it, and be revenged on the greatest scoundrel that ever called himself a -gentleman! But, mind, Val Blake, I must be sure that this is all true--I -must be sure that I am not his wife." - -"It will be very easy convincing you of that, once you are back in -Speckport. You shall hear it from his own lips, without his knowing you -are listening. Oh, is this the place?" - -For Cherrie had stopped before a little farmhouse, garnished with a -potato garden in front, and adorned with numerous pigsties on either -hand. She led the way to the front room of the establishment; which was -carpetless, and curtainless, and unfurnished, and impoverished-looking -enough. - -"Well," Val said, "this is rather different, Cherrie, from the days when -you used to dress in silks and sport gold chains, and do nothing but -flirt, and be petted and made love to from week's-end to week's-end. But -never mind--the worst's over, now that I've found you out, and you'll -have good times yet in Speckport." - -"If it hadn't been for you," sobbed Cherrie, "it never would have -happened. I hate you, Mr. Blake! There!" - -"Now, Cherrie, you know right well you would have run away with Captain -Cavendish that time, married or not married. Oh! you may deny it, and -perhaps you think so now; but I know better. But he's the greatest -rascal that ever went unhung, to use you as he has; and if you had the -spirit of a turnip, you would be revenged." - -"I will!" cried Cherrie, clenching her little fist resolutely; "I will! -I'll let him see I'm not the dirt under his feet! I've stood it long -enough! I'll stand it no longer!" - -Mr. Blake's eyes sparkled at the spirited declaration. - -"That's my brave Cherrie! I always knew you were spunky! You shall hear -from his own lips the avowal of his false marriage, and then you will go -before a magistrate and swear to all you know about that night of the -robbery and murder. There is a steamer to leave Charlottetown to-morrow, -at nine. Will you be ready if I drive up here for you?" - -"Yes," said Cherrie; "I haven't so much to pack, goodness knows! and I'm -sick and tired of this place. How's all our folks? It's time to ask." - -"They are all well, and will be very glad to get pretty Cherrie back -again. Speckport's been a dull place since you left it. Cheer up, -Cherrie! There's bright days in store for you yet." - -Cherrie did not reply, and she did not look very hopeful. She was crying -quietly; and Val's heart was touched as he looked at the pale, -tear-stained face, and thought how bright and pretty and rosy and -smiling it used to be. He bent over her, and--well, I shouldn't like -Miss Blair to know it--but Mr. Blake deliberately kissed her! - -"Keep up a good heart, little Cherrie; it will be all right yet, and -we'll fix the flint of Captain G. P. Cavendish. I'll drive up here for -you at eight to-morrow. Be all ready. Good-bye." - -Cherrie was all ready and waiting at the gate, next morning, when Mr. -Blake drove up through the slanting morning sunlight, dressed in her -best. She was in considerably better spirits than on the previous day, -and much more like the Cherrie of other days, glad to get home and eager -for the journey. The lady passengers, during the day, asked her if "the -tall gentleman" was her husband. That gentleman had a great deal to tell -her; of poor Nathalie's death, and Charley's flight; of the new -heiress, who had turned so many heads, and had given the worst turn of -all to Captain Cavendish; of that gentleman's despair when she married -Mr. Wyndham; of the changes and gay doings at Redmon; and lastly, of -Nathalie's ghost. This last rather scared Cherrie. What if Nathalie -should appear to her--to her, who had wronged her so deeply through her -brother. - -"Oh, no!" said Mr. Blake, to whom she imparted her fears; "I don't think -she will, if you tell the truth; or, at all events, she will be a most -unreasonable ghost if she does. You tell all, Cherrie, and Charley will -come back to Speckport; and by that time you'll have got your red cheeks -back again, and who knows what may happen?" - -Mr. Blake whistled as he threw out this artful insinuation; but Cherrie -caught at it eagerly, and her face lit up. Charley's handsome visage -rose before her--blue-eyed, fair-haired Charley--who had always loved -her, and never would have treated her as Captain Cavendish had done. Who -knew what might happen! Who, indeed! - -"I'll tell the whole truth," said Cherrie, aloud. "I'll tell everything, -Mr. Blake, when I'm once sure I'm not Captain Cavendish's real wife. I -know I did wrong to treat poor Charley as I did; but I will do all I can -now to make up for it." - -They reached S---- at dark, and remained there all night and the -following morning. They might have gone down to Speckport in the eight -P.M. train; but Val preferred to remain for the two A.M., for reasons of -his own. - -"If we land in Speckport at noon, Cherrie," he said, "we may be seen and -recognized. We will go down in the afternoon and get there about nine, -when it will be dark, and you can pass unnoticed. I don't want Captain -Cavendish to find out you are there, until I am ready." - -So Cherrie, thickly vailed, took her place in the car, after dinner; and -was whirled through the pleasant country, with its fields and forests -and villages, toward good old Speckport--that dull, foggy town that her -heart had grown sick with longing many a time to see. - -There were no lamps lit in the streets of Speckport that night. When the -waning September moon shone out in such brilliance, surrounded by such -a crowd of stars as persuaded one to believe all the constellations were -flaming at once, gas became superfluous, and the city fathers spared it. -The vailed lady was handed out by Mr. Blake; a proceeding which -considerably excited the curiosity of some of Mr. Blake's friends, -loafing around the platform. - -"Blake can't have got married up the country, can he?" drawled out -Lieutenant the Honorable L. H. Blank to young McGregor. "Who's the -woman?" - -"Blessed if I know," replied Alick. - -Val hurried his charge into a cab, sprang in after her, and gave the -order, "Wasson's Hotel." - -"It's a new place, and not much patronized," he explained to Cherrie. -"You won't be recognized there; and I'll tell them to fetch you your -meals up to your room. And to-morrow, Cherrie, I want you to come round -to my office at about eleven. Come in the back way off Brunswick street, -you know; so you won't have to pass through the outer office, and be -recognized by Clowrie and Gilcase, and the rest of 'em. I'll be waiting -for you; and if Cavendish doesn't drop in, which he does to kill time -about that hour every day, I'll send for him, and you'll hear his -confession without being seen." - -Mr. Blake walked home that night, chuckling inwardly all the way. - -"I said I would pay you off, Cavendish," he soliloquized, "for leading -Charley Marsh astray, and cutting up those other little cantrips of -yours; and I think the time has come at last--I really think, my dear -boy, the time has come!" - -It was some time after ten when Mr. Blake presented himself at Mr. -Blair's, and found the family about retiring for the night. Laura was -not at home, she was up at Redmon--Laura's mamma said--stopping with -Mrs. Wyndham, who seemed to be very unhappy. - -"What was she unhappy about?" Mr. Blake inquired. But Mrs. Blair only -sighed, and shook her head, and hinted darkly about hasty marriages. - -"Eh?" said Val, "Wyndham doesn't thrash her, does he? She's big and -buxom, and he's only a little fellow; and I think, on the whole, she -would be a match for him in a free fight!" - -Mr. Blair laughed, but Mrs. Blair looked displeased. - -"My dear Mr. Blake, how can you say such things? Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham -are not a happy couple, that is clear; but whose is the fault I cannot -undertake to say. He is greatly changed of late. I suppose he worries -about his mother." - -"Oh, his mother! Has anybody seen that most mysterious lady yet?" - -"Not that I am aware of! He has not even called in medical advice." - -"And the ghost," said Val, lighting his bedroom-lamp, "has it been -figuranting since?" - -"No," said Mr. Blair; "the ghost hasn't showed since you left. I say, -Blake, did you settle your country-business satisfactorily?" - -"Very!" replied Mr. Blake, with emphasis. "I never settled any business -more to my satisfaction in the whole course of my life!" - -Mr. Blake was in his office bright and early next morning, hard at work. -At about eleven he descended the stairs, and opened the back door, which -fronted on a dull little street, through which a closely-vailed female -figure was daintily picking her way. Val admitted the lady, and ran -before her up-stairs. - -"Up to time, Cherrie, there's nothing like it! I sent Bill Blair round -to Cavendish's rooms to tell him to look in before twelve, and I expect -them back every moment. By Jove! there's his voice outside now. Get in -here quick, and sit down! There's a crack in the partition, through -which you can see and hear. Not a chirp out of you, now. Come in!" - -Mr. Blake raised his voice; and in answer, the door opened, and Captain -Cavendish, smoking a cigar, lounged in. Val gave one glance at the -buttoned door of the little closet in which he had hidden Cherrie, and -nodded familiarly to his visitor. - -"Good-morning, captain! find a chair. Oh, pitch the books on the -floor--they're of no account. I'm to notice them all favorably in the -'Spouter'--the author sent a five-dollar bill for me to do it!" - -"Young Blair said you wanted to see me," remarked the captain, tilting -back his chair, and looking inquiringly through his cigar-smoke. - -"Why, so I did. I heard before I went up the country a rumor that you -were going to leave us--going to leave the army, in fact, and return to -England. Is it so?" - -"Yes. I'm confoundedly tired of Speckport, and this from-hand-to-mouth -life. It is time I retired on my fortune, and I am going to do it." - -"How?" - -"Well, I mean to return home--run down to Cumberland, and saddle myself -on my old uncle. He was always fond of me as a boy, and I know is yet, -in spite of his new wife and heir. Perhaps I may drop into a good thing -there--heiresses are plenty." - -"I should think you had got your heart-scald of that," said Val, -grinning. "You bait your hook for heiresses often enough, but the -gold-fish don't seem to bite." - -Captain Cavendish colored and frowned. - -"All heiresses are not Miss Hendersons," he said, with a cold sneer. "I -might know what to look for from your Bluenose and Quaker tradesmen's -daughters. I shall marry an English lady--one whose father did not make -his money selling butter or hawking fish." - -"Oh, come now, Cavendish! You have been in love in Speckport. Don't deny -it!" - -"I do deny it," said the captain, coldly. - -"Nonsense! You were in love with Nathalie Marsh." - -"Never! Azure-eyed and fair-haired wax dolls never were any more to my -taste than boiled chicken! I never cared a jot for Nathalie Marsh." - -"Well, you did for Olive Henderson--you can't deny that! She is not of -the boiled chicken order, and all Speckport knows you were mad about -her." - -"Speckport knows more than its prayers. I did admire Miss Henderson--I -don't deny it; but she had the temper of the old devil, and I am glad I -escaped her!" - -"And Cherrie--have you quite forgotten Cherrie? You were spooney enough -about her." - -"Bah!" said Captain Cavendish, with infinite contempt; "don't sicken me -by talking of Cherrie! I had almost forgotten there ever was such a -little fool in existence!" - -"And you never cared for Cherrie, either?" - -Captain Cavendish broke into a laugh. - -"You know how I cared for her. The woman a man can marry is another -thing altogether!" - -"Some far higher up in the world than Captain Cavendish have stooped to -fall in love and marry girls as poor as Cherrie. You never could, I -suppose?" - -"Never! The idea is absurd! I wouldn't marry a girl like Cherrie if she -had the beauty of the Venus de Medicis!" - -"Did you ever undeceive Cherrie about that marriage affair? Did you let -her know she was not your wife?" - -"Not I," said Captain Cavendish, coolly. "I never took so much trouble -about her! I was heartily sick of her before a week!" - -"Well, it seems hard," said Val. "Poor little thing! She was very fond -of you, too." - -"Stuff! She was as fond of me as she was, or would be, of any other -decently good-looking man. She was ready to rum off with any one who -asked her, whether it were I, or young Marsh, or any of the rest. I know -what Cherrie was made of." - -"And so she thinks she is still your wife?" - -"I don't know what she thinks!" exclaimed the young officer, -impatiently; "and what's more, I don't care! What do you talk to me of -Cherrie Nettleby for? I tell you I know nothing about her!" - -"And I tell you I don't believe it," said Val. "You have her hid away -somewhere, Cavendish; and if you are an honorable man, you will tell her -the truth, and provide for her before you leave Speckport." - -Captain Cavendish might have flown into a rage with any other man, but -he only burst into a loud laugh at Val. - -"Tell her the truth and provide for her! Why, you blessed innocent, do -you suppose Cherrie, wherever she is, has been constant to me all this -time? I tell you I know nothing of her, and care nothing! Make your mind -easy, old fellow! the girl is off with somebody else long before this! -What's that?" - -Captain Cavendish looked toward the buttoned door of the closet. There -had been a strange sound, between a gasp and a cry, but Mr. Blake took -no notice. - -"It's only the rats! So you will leave Speckport, and do nothing for -Cherrie? Cavendish, I am sorry I ever had a hand in that night's work!" - -"Too late now, my dear boy!" laughed the Englishman. "Make your mind -easy about Cherrie! She's just the girl can take care of herself! If -ever she comes back to Speckport, give her my regards!" - -He pulled out his watch, still laughing, and arose to go. - -"Half-past eleven--I have an engagement at twelve, and must be off. -By-by, Blake! don't fret about Cherrie!" - -Mr. Blake did not reply, and his face was very grave as he shut and -locked the door after his visitor. - -"You're a greater villain, Captain Cavendish," he said to himself, "than -even I took you to be! Come out, Cherrie--have you heard enough?" - -Yes, she had heard enough! She was crouching on the door, her hands -clenched, her eyes flashing. She leaped up like a little tigress as he -opened the door. - -"Take me to a magistrate!" she cried. "Let me tell all I know! I'll hang -him! I'll hang him, if I can!" - -"Sit down, Cherrie," said Val, "and compose yourself. It won't do to go -in such a gale as this before the authorities. Tell me first. By that -time you will be settled!" - -An hour afterward, Mr. Blake left his office by the back-door, -accompanied by the vailed lady. Cherrie had told all. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -OVERTAKEN. - - -Mr. Blake had made little notes of Cherrie's discourse, and had the -whole story arranged in straightforward and business-like shape, for the -proper authorities. He did not lead his fair companion straight to those -authorities, as she vindictively desired, but back to her hotel. - -"I think I'll hand over the case to Darcy, Cherrie," he said; "and he is -out of town, and won't be back till to-morrow afternoon.--There's no -hurry--Cavendish won't leave Speckport yet awhile. We'll wait until -to-morrow, Cherrie." - -Cherrie had to obey orders; and passed the time watching the passers-by -under her window. There were plenty of passers-by, for the window -fronted on Queen Street, and Cherrie knew almost every one. It was hard -sometimes to hide behind the curtain instead of throwing open the -casement and hailing those old friends who brought back so vividly the -happy days when she had been the little black-eyed belle, and Captain -Cavendish was unknown. It seemed only like yesterday since she had -tripped down that sunlit street, in glittering silk, with all the men -bowing, and smiling, and tipping their hats jocosely to her; only -yesterday since the good-looking young drygoods clerks vaulted airily -over the counters to do her bidding. And now, and now! She never could -be what she had been again. And to this man, this false and treacherous -Englishman, for whom she had sacrificed noble-hearted Charley Marsh, she -owed it all. She set her teeth vindictively, and clenched her little -fist at the thought. - -"But I'll pay him for it! I'll teach him to despise me! I only hope they -may hang him--the villain! Hard labor for life would not be half -punishment enough for him!" - -They talk of presentiments! Surely, there never was such a thing, else -why had George Cavendish no dim foreshadowing of the doom darkening so -rapidly around him. He had told Val Blake he had an engagement. So he -had; it was in Prince Street, with Mr. Tom Oaks, who had returned to -Speckport, and who was going the road to ruin faster than any victim -Captain Cavendish had ever in hand before. It was growing dusk when they -left the gambling-hell; and Mr. Oaks was poorer and Captain Cavendish -richer by several hundred pounds than when they entered. The gorgeous -coloring of the sunset yet flared in the sky, though the crimson and -amber were flecked with sinister black. Captain Cavendish drew out a -gold hunting-watch, and looked at the hour. "Past six," he said, -carelessly; "I shall be late at Redmon, I fear. The hour is seven, I -believe. Do you drive there this evening?" - -"No," said Mr. Oaks, with a black scowl, "I hope my legs will be palsied -if ever they cross the threshold of that woman! I'm not a hound, to fawn -on people who kick me!" - -Captain Cavendish only smiled--he rarely lost his temper--and went off -to his hotel, whistling an opera air. He passed under Cherrie's window; -but no prescience of the flashing black eyes above troubled the serenity -of his mind. He was walking steadily to his fate, as we all -walk--blindly, unconsciously. - -Captain Cavendish was the last to arrive at Redmon--all the other guests -were assembled in the drawing-room when he entered, and they had been -discussing him and his departure for the last quarter of an hour. - -The dinner party at Redmon was a very pleasant one; and every one, -except, perhaps, the stately hostess herself, was very gay and animated. -Mr. Wyndham, despite the trouble he was in about his poor mad mother, -was the most entertaining and agreeable of hosts. The ladies, when they -flocked back to the drawing-room, enthusiastically pronounced Mr. -Wyndham "a perfect love!" and declared they quite envied Mrs. Wyndham a -husband who could tell such charming stories, and who was so -delightfully clever and talented. And Olive Wyndham smiled, and sat -down at the piano to do her share of the entertaining, with that dreary -pain at her beating and rebellious heart that never seemed to leave it -now. Yes, it was a very pleasant evening; and Captain Cavendish found it -so, and lingered strangely, talking to his hostess after all the rest -had gone. Lieutenant the Honorable L. H. Blank, who was waiting for him -on the graveled drive outside, grew savage as he pulled out his watch -and saw it wanted only a quarter of twelve. - -"Confound the fellow!" he muttered, "does he mean to stay all night -talking to Mrs. Wyndham, and I am sleepy. Oh, here he is at last! I say, -Cavendish, what the dickens kept you?" - -Captain Cavendish laughed, as he vaulted into his saddle. - -"What's your hurry, my dear fellow? I was talking to Mrs. Wyndham, and -common politeness forbade my cutting the conversation short." - -"Common bosh! Mrs. Wyndham was yawning in your face, I dare say! My -belief is, Cavendish, you are as much in love with that black-eyed -goddess now as ever." - -"Pooh! it was only a flirtation all through; and I would as soon flirt -with a married lady any day as a single one. She looked superb to-night, -did not she, in that dress that flashed as she walked--was it pink or -white--and that ivy crown on her head?" - -"She always looks superb! I should like to fetch such a wife as that -back to old England. A coronet would sit well on that stately head." - -A strangely-bitter regret for what he had lost smote the heart of -Captain Cavendish. It might have been. He might have brought that -black-eyed divinity as his wife to England, but for Paul Wyndham. Why -had she preferred that man to him? - -"I wonder if she loves him?" he said aloud. - -"Who?--her husband? Do you know, Cavendish, she puzzles me there. She -treats him with fearfully frigid politeness, but she never ceases to -watch him. If he were any kind of man but the kind he is, I should say -she was jealous of him. He is a capital fellow, anyhow, and I like him -immensely." - -They rode through the iron gates as he spoke, which clanged noisily -behind them. The night was not very bright, for the moon struggled -through ragged piles of black cloud, and only glimmered with a wan and -pallid light on the earth. The trees loomed up black against the clear -sky, and cast vivid and unearthly shadows across the dusty road. A -sighing wind moaned fitfully through the wood, and the trees surged and -groaned, and rocked to and fro restlessly. It was a spectral night -enough, and the young lieutenant shivered in the fitful blast. - -"I feel as if I had taken a shower-bath of ice-water," he said. "Wasn't -it somewhere near here that Val Blake saw the ghost? Good Heavens! -What's that?" - -As he spoke, there suddenly came forth from the shadow of the tree, as -if it took shape from the blackness, a figure--a woman's figure, with -long disordered fair hair, and a face white as snow. Captain Cavendish -gave an awful cry as he saw it; the cry startled his horse--only a -half-tamed thing at best--and, with a loud neigh, it started off like an -arrow from a bow. The horse of Lieutenant Blank, either taking this as a -challenge, or frightened by the sudden appearance of the woman, pricked -up its ears and fled after, with a velocity that nearly unseated his -rider. The lieutenant overtook his companion as they clattered through -the streets of the town, and the face of Captain Cavendish was livid. - -"For Heaven's sake, Cavendish!" cried the young man, "what was that? -What was that we saw?" - -"It was Nathalie Marsh!" Captain Cavendish said, in an awful voice. -"Don't speak to me, Blank! I am going mad!" - -He looked as if he was, as he galloped furiously out of sight, waking -the sleeping townsfolk with the thunder of his horse's hoofs. He had -heard the story of the ghost, and had laughed at it, with the rest; but -he had heard it in broad daylight, and the most timid of us can laugh at -ghost-stories then. He had not been thinking of her, and he had seen -her--he had seen her at midnight--true ghostly hour--on the lonesome -Redmon road, with her death-white face and streaming hair! He had seen -her--he had seen the ghost of Nathalie Marsh! - -Mr. Johnston, the sleepy valet, sitting up for his master, recoiled in -terror as that master crossed the threshold of the room. Captain -Cavendish only stared vaguely as the man spoke to him, and strode by him -and into his room, with an unearthly glare in his eyes and the horrible -lividness of death in his face. Mr. Johnston stood appalled outside the -door, wondering if his master had committed a murder on the way -home--nothing less could excuse his looking like that. Once, half an -hour after, Captain Cavendish opened his door, still "looking like -that," and ordered brandy, in a voice that did not sound like his own; -and Mr. Johnston brought it, and got the door slammed in his face -afterward. - -The usually peaceful slumbers of Mr. Johnston were very much disturbed -that night by this extraordinary conduct on the part of his master. He -lost at least three hours' sleep perplexing himself about it, for never -since he had had the honor of being the captain's man, had that -gentleman behaved so singularly, or exhibited so ghastly and deathlike a -face. When, in the early watches of the morning, he presented himself at -his master's door with towels and water, it was in a state of mingled -curiosity and terror; but he found there was no call for the latter -emotion. Beyond looking uncommonly pale and hollow-eyed (sure tokens of -a sleepless night), Captain Cavendish was perfectly himself again; and -whether this was owing to the brandy he had drank or the exhilarating -effect of the morning sunshine, Mr. Johnston could not tell, but he was -inclined to set it down to the brandy. Even the paleness and -hollow-eyedness was not noticeable after he had shaved and dressed, and -partaken of his breakfast, and sauntered out, swinging his cane and -smoking his cigar, to kill thought in the bustling streets of the town. -Val Blake, standing in his office-door, hailed him as he passed. - -"How are you, Cavendish? Heavenly morning, isn't it? Have you any -particular engagement for this afternoon?" - -"This afternoon? What hour?" - -"Oh, about three. You must postpone your engagements to accommodate me." - -"I have none so early. I dine with the mess at six. What is it?" - -"A little surprise that I have in store for you. Drop into Darcy's -office about five, and we'll give you a little surprise!" - -"A little surprise! Of what nature, pray?" - -"Honor bright!" said Val, turning to run up-stairs. "I won't tell. Will -you come?" - -"Oh, certainly! It will kill time as well as anything else." - -He sauntered on unsuspiciously, never dreaming he was sealing his own -fate, Val Blake had no compunctions about entrapping him. He was so -artful a villain he must be taken by surprise, or he might baffle them -yet. - -"So slippery an eel," argued Mr. Blake to himself, "must not be handled -with gloves. He may as well walk into Darcy's office himself, as be -brought there by a couple of police-officers." - -Captain Cavendish returned to his hotel early, and avoided all places -where he was likely to meet Lieutenant Blank. Of all people, he wanted -to shun him from henceforth; of all subjects, he never wanted to speak -of the terrible fright he had received the previous night. So he -returned to his rooms, and smoked and read, and wrote letters, and dined -at two, and as the town clock was striking five, he was opening the door -of Mr. Darcy's office. And still no presentiment of what was so near -dawned darkly upon him; no weird foreboding thrilled in nameless dread -through his breast; no dim and gloomy shadowing of the awful retribution -overtaking him so fast, made his step falter or his heart beat faster as -he opened that door. Perhaps it is only to good men that their -angel-guardians whisper in that "still small voice" those mystic -warnings, that tell us poor pilotless mariners on the sea of life of the -shoals and quicksands ahead. Perhaps it is only men like this man, -whose souls are stone-blind, that cannot see dimly the hidden shipwreck -at hand. He saw nothing, felt nothing; he walked in carelessly, and saw -Mr. Darcy, old Squire Tod, and Mr. Blake, sitting close together and -talking earnestly. He wondered why they all looked so grave, and why two -constables, who had been looking out of a window, should place -themselves one on each side of the door, as if on guard, as he came in. -He wondered, but nothing more. Mr. Darcy arose very gravely, very -gravely bowed, and presented him with a chair. - -"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said, indifferently, "I have dropped in -on my way to the mess-room, at the request of Mr. Blake, who told me -there was a surprise in store for me here." - -"There is, sir," replied Mr. Darcy, in a strange tone. "There is a -surprise in there for you, and not a very pleasant one, either. Mr. -Blake was quite right." - -Something in his voice chilled Captain Cavendish, for the first time; -but he stared at him haughtily, and pulled out his gold hunting-watch. - -"I dine at six," he said coldly. "It is past five now. I beg you will -let me know what all this means, as fast as possible. I have no time to -spare." - -"You will make time for our business, Captain Cavendish; and as for the -mess-dinner, I think you must postpone that altogether to-day." - -"Sir," cried Captain Cavendish, rising; but Mr. Darcy returned his gaze -stonily. - -"Sit down, sir, sit down! The business that rendered your presence here -necessary is of so serious a nature--so very serious a nature, that all -other considerations must yield before it. You will not go to the -mess-dinner, I repeat. I do not think you will ever dine at the -mess-table again." - -The face of Captain Cavendish turned ghastly, in spite of every effort, -and he turned with a look of suppressed fury at Val Blake. - -"You traitor!" he said, "you have done this. Your invitation was only a -snare to entrap me." - -"Honest men, Captain Cavendish," said Mr. Blake, composedly, "fear no -snare, dread no trap. It is only criminals, living in daily dread of -detection, who need fear their fellow-men. I preferred you should enter -here of your own accord, to being brought here handcuffed by the -officials of the law." - -Every drop of blood had left the face of the Englishman; but he strove -manfully to brave it out. - -"I cannot comprehend what you mean by these insults," he said. "Who dare -talk to me, an English officer and a gentleman, of handcuffs and -crimes?" - -"We dare," replied Mr. Darcy. "We, in whom the laws of the land are -invested. These laws you have vilely broken, Mr. Cavendish--for I -understand you have sold out of the service, and have no longer claim to -military rank. In the name of the law, George Cavendish, I arrest you -for the willful murder of Jane Leroy!" - -It was an utter impossibility for the white face of the man to grow -whiter than it had been for the last ten minutes; but at the last words -he gave a sort of gasp, and caught at the arms of the chair on which he -sat. If they had wanted moral conviction before of his guilt, they -wanted it no longer--it was written in every line of his bloodless face, -in every quiver of his trembling lips, in every choking gasp of breath -he drew. They sat looking at him with solemn faces, but no one spoke. -They were waiting for him to recover from the shock, and break the -silence. He did break it at last; but in a voice that shook so, the -words seemed to fall to pieces in his mouth. - -"It is false!" he said, trying to steady his shaky voice. "I deny the -charge. Charley Marsh was tried and found guilty long ago. He is the -murderer!"' - -"Charley Marsh is an innocent man--you are the murderer. Your own face -is your accuser," said Mr. Darcy. "I never saw guilt betrayed more -plainly in all my life. You murdered Jane Leroy--yes, strangled her for -her pitiful wealth." - -"Who has told you this infernal story?" exclaimed the infuriated -captive, glaring upon the lawyer. "Has that d--d scoundrel found----" He -stopped suddenly, nearly choking himself with his own words, and the -phlegmatic lawyer finished the sentence. - -"Found Cherrie?--yes! You see there is no hope for you now. Here, -Cherrie, my girl, come out!" - -There was a door standing ajar opposite them, that looked as if it led -into some inner and smaller office. As the door opened wide, the -prisoner caught a glimpse of two men, only a glimpse; for the next -moment Cherrie stood before him. The last faint glimmer of hope died out -in his breast at sight of her with that vindictive look in her face. - -"Oh, you villain!" screamed Cherrie, shaking her fist at him, her black -eyes flashing fire. "You mean, lying, deceitful villain! I'll fix you -off for the way you have treated me! I'll tell everything--I have told -it, and I'll tell it again, and again, and again; and I hope they'll -hang you, and I'll go to see you hung with the greatest pleasure, I -will!" - -Here Cherrie, who had not drawn breath, and was scarlet in the face, had -to stop for a second, and Mr. Darcy struck in: - -"Hold your tongue, Cherrie! Not another word! Stick to facts--abuse is -superfluous. You see, Captain Cavendish, with the evidence of this -witness, nothing more is needed but drawing out a warrant for your -arrest. She is prepared to swear positively to your guilt." - -"I don't doubt it," said Captain Cavendish, with a bitter sneer; "such a -creature as she is would swear to anything, I dare say. We all know the -character of Cherrie Nettleby." - -"Silence, sir!" thundered Mr. Darcy; "you are the very last who should -cast a stone at her--you, who have deliberately led her to her ruin!" - -"He told me I was his wife," sobbed Cherrie, hysterically, "or I never -should have gone. I never knew it was a sham marriage, until Mr. Blake -told me so down in Charlottetown. We were married in the Methodist -meeting-house, and I thought it was a minister; and Mr. Blake was there, -and I thought it was all right! Oh, dear me!" sobbed Cherrie, the -hysterics growing alarming; "everybody was in a wicked plot against me, -and I was only a poor girl, and not up to them; and I wish I had never -been born--so there!" - -Squire Tod and Mr. Darcy turned with looks of stern inquiry upon Mr. -Blake. - -"What does this mean?" asked old Squire Tod. "You never said anything -about this, Blake." - -"No," said Val, perfectly undisturbed; "I only told you Cherrie had run -away with Captain Cavendish." - -"That is my irreproachable accuser, you see," said Captain Cavendish, -with sneering sarcasm. "What that woman says is true; I did inveigle her -into a sham marriage, but Mr. Val Blake managed the whole affair--got -the church and the sham clergyman, and deceived that crying fool there -fifty times more than I did; for she trusted him!" - -Squire Tod's face darkened into a look of stern severity as he turned -upon Val. - -"Mr. Blake," he said, "I am more astonished and shocked by this than -anything I have heard yet. That you should be guilty of so base and -unmanly an act--you, whom we all respected and trusted--as to entrap a -poor weak-minded child (for she was only a child) to misery and ruin! -Shame, shame on you, sir, for such a coward's act!" - -Very few people ever suspected Val Blake of dignity. One would have -thought he must have shrunk under these stern words, abashed. But he did -not--he held his head proudly erect--he rose with the occasion, and was -dignified. - -"One moment!" he said, "wait one moment, squire, before you condemn me! -Gentlemen," he rose up and threw wide the door of the room from which -Cherrie had emerged, "gentlemen, please to come out." - -Everybody looked, curious and expectant. Cherrie ceased the sobbing to -look, and even Captain Cavendish forgot for a moment his supreme peril, -in waiting for what was to come next. - -Two gentlemen, the Reverend Mr. Drone, of the Methodist persuasion, and -another clerical and white neck-clothed gentleman, came out and stood -before the company. Mr. Drone was well known, the other was a stranger, -a young man, with rather a dashing air, considering his calling, and a -pair of bright, roving dark eyes. Captain Cavendish had only seen him -once in his life before, but he recognized him instantaneously. - -"You all know Mr. Drone, gentlemen," said Val, "this other is the -Reverend Mr. Barrett, of Narraville. Mr. Barrett, it is a year since you -were in Speckport is it not?" - -"It is," replied Mr. Barrett, with the air of a witness under -cross-examination. - -"Will you relate what occurred on the last night of your stay in this -town, on the occasion of that visit?" - -"With pleasure, sir! I am a minister of the Gospel, gentlemen, as you -may see," said Mr. Barrett, bowing to the room, "and a cousin of Mr. -Drone's. I had been settled about two years up in Narraville last -summer, when I took it into my head to run down here for a week or so on -a visit to Mr. Drone. I had known Mr. Blake for years, and had a very -high respect for his uprightness and integrity, else I never should have -complied with the singular request he made me the day before I left." - -"What was the request?" asked Mr. Darcy, on whom a new light was -bursting. - -"He came to me," said Mr. Barrett, "and having drawn from me a promise -of strict secrecy, told me a somewhat singular story. A gentleman of -rank and position, an English officer, had fallen in love with a -gardener's pretty daughter, a young lady with more beauty than common -sense, and wanted to entrap her into a sham marriage. He had intrusted -the case to Mr. Blake, whose principles, he imagined, were as loose as -his own, and Mr. Blake told me he would inevitably succeed in his -diabolical plot if we did not frustrate him. Mr. Blake's proposal was, -that I should marry them in reality, while letting him think it was only -a mockery of a holy ordinance. He urged the case upon me strongly; he -said the man was a gambler, a libertine, and a fortune-hunter; that he -was striving to win for his wife a most estimable young lady--Miss -Marsh--for her fortune merely; that if he succeeded, she would be -miserable for life, and that this was the only way to prevent it. He -told me the man was so thoroughly bad, that all compunctions would be -thrown away on him; and at last I consented. To prevent a great crime, I -married them privately in Mr. Drone's church. Mr. Blake was the witness, -and the marriage is inserted in the register. I told Mr. Drone before I -left, and he consented to keep the matter secret until such time as it -was necessary to divulge it. I married George Percy Cavendish and -Charlotte Nettleby the night before I left Speckport, and took a copy of -the certificate with me; and I am ready to swear to the validity of the -marriage at any time and in any place. I recognize them both, and that -man and woman are lawfully husband and wife!" - -Mr. Barrett bowed and was silent. Poor Cherrie, with one glad cry, -sprang forward and fell on her knees before Mr. Val Blake, and did him -theatrical homage on the spot. Val lifted her up, and looked in calm -triumph at the baffled Englishman, and saw that that gentleman's face -was purple with furious rage. - -"Liar!" he half screamed, glaring with tigerish eyes as he heard Mr. -Barrett, "it is false! You never performed it--I never saw you before!" - -"You have forgotten me, I dare say," said Mr. Barrett, politely, "but I -had the pleasure of marrying you to this lady, nevertheless. It is -easily proved, and I am prepared to prove it on any occasion." - -"You may as well take it easy, Cavendish," said Val. "Cherrie is your -wife fast enough! Don't cry, Cherrie, it's all right now, and you're -Mrs. Cavendish as sure as Church and State can make you." - -"It's a most extraordinary story," said Squire Tod, "and I hardly know -what to say to you, Blake. How came you to let him get engaged to Miss -Henderson, knowing this?" - -"Oh," said Val, carelessly, "Miss Henderson never cared a snap about -him; and then Paul Wyndham came along and cut him out, just as I was -getting ready to tell the story. I meant to make him find Cherrie before -he left Speckport, and publish the marriage; only Providence let me find -her out myself, to clear the innocent, and bring this man's guilt home. -I had to keep Cherrie in the dark, as I never would have got that -confession out of her." - -"Well," said Mr. Darcy, rising, "it is growing dark, and I think there -is no more to be done this evening. Burke, call a cab. Captain -Cavendish, you will have to exchange the mess-room for the town-jail -to-night." - -Captain Cavendish said nothing. His fury had turned to black, bitter -sullenness, and his handsome face was disturbed by a savage scowl. - -"You, gentlemen, and you, Mrs. Cavendish," said Mr. Darcy, bowing to -Cherrie, and smiling slightly, "will hold yourselves in readiness to -give evidence at the trial. I think we will have no difficulty in -bringing out a clear case of willful murder." - -An awful picture came before the mind of the scowling and sullen -captain. A gaping crowd in the raw dawn of a cheerless morning, a -horrible gallows, the dangling rope, the hangman's hand adjusting it -round his neck, the drop, a convulsed figure quivering in the air in -ghastly agony, and then----Great beads of cold sweat broke out on his -forehead, and his livid face was contracted by a spasm of mortal agony. -Then he saw the two clergymen, Mr. Blake, and Cherrie standing up to go. - -"I think I'll take you home, Cherrie," said Val, "I'll get another cab -for you! Won't they open their eyes when they see you, though?" - -Mr. Blake and Cherrie departed, followed by the two clergymen; and no -one spoke to the ghastly-looking man, sitting, guarded by the constable, -staring at the floor, with that black, desperate scowl, that so changed -his face that his nearest friend would hardly have known it. Cherrie -trembled and shrank away as she passed him, and did not breathe freely -until she was safely seated in the cab beside Val, and rattling away -through the streets on her way home. - -Home! how poor Cherrie's heart longed for the peace of that little -cottage where those who loved her, and had mourned her, dwelt. She was -crying quietly, as she sat silently away in a corner, thinking what a -long, and wretched, and forlorn, and dreary year the last had been, and -what a foolish girl she had been, and how much she owed to Val Blake. - -Mr. Blake did not disturb her reflections; he was thinking of wronged -Charley Marsh, exiled from home, branded as a felon. - -The cab, for which Mr. Darcy had sent one of the constables, drew up at -the office door, as Mr. Blake's drove away; and the prisoner, between -the two officials, with Mr. Darcy following close behind, came -down-stairs. - -Captain Cavendish had gone down-stairs very quietly between his two -guards, neither speaking nor offering the slightest resistance; but his -eyes were furtively taking in everything, and the captive's instinct of -flight was strong upon him. One of the constables went forward to open -the cab-door, the other had but a slight grasp of his arm. The murky -darkness, the empty street, favored him. - -With the rapidity of lightning, he wheeled round, struck the constable a -blinding blow in the face with his fist, that forced him to release his -hold, and, like a flash, he sped off, turned sharp round a corner, and -was gone! The whole thing had been the work of two seconds. Before any -one among them could quite comprehend he had really gone, he was -entirely out of sight. - -The next instant, the still street was in an uproar, the two constables -and Mr. Darcy, shouting for assistance as they went, started in pursuit. -The corner round which Captain Cavendish had cut, and which they now -took, led to a dirty waterside street, branching off into numerous -wharves, crowded with hogsheads, bales, barrels, and piles of lumber, -affording a secure and handy hiding-place for any runaway. It was like -looking for a needle in a hay-stack even in daylight; and now, in the -thick fog and darkness, it was the wildest of wildgoose-chases. They ran -from one wharf to another, collecting a crowd about them wherever they -went; and all the time, he for whom they were searching was quietly -watching them in a black and filthy alley, that cut like a dirty vein of -black mud from that waterside street to the one above. - -Drawing his hat far down over his eyes, Captain Cavendish started up the -alley, and found himself again in the street he had left. The cab still -stood before the office door of Mr. Darcy; he gave it one derisive -glance as he strode rapidly along, and struck into another by-street. If -he could only make good his escape; if he could baffle them yet! Hope -sent his heart in mad plunges against his side--if he could only escape! - -Suddenly, a thought flashed upon him--the cars. There had been a picnic -that day, and an excursion-train, he knew, left at half-past seven to -fetch the picnickers home. If he could only get to the depot in time, he -might stay in hiding about the country until the first hue and cry was -over, then, in disguise, make his way to S----, and take the steamer for -Quebec. He had a large sum of money about him; he might do it--he might -escape yet. - -He pulled out his watch as he almost ran along, twenty-five minutes past -seven; only five minutes, and a long way off still. He fled through the -dark streets like a madman, but no one knew him, and reached the depot -at last, panting and breathless. A crowd lingered on the platform, a -bell was clanging, and the train was in motion. Desperation goaded him -on; he made a furious leap on board, and--there was a wild cry of horror -from the bystanders, an awful shriek of "O my God!" from a falling man, -and then all was uproar, and confusion, and horror, and dismay. Whether -in his blind haste he had missed his footing, whether the darkness of -the night deceived him, whether the train was moving faster than he had -supposed, no one ever knew; but he was down, and ground under the -remorseless wheels of the terrible Juggernaut. - -The train was stopped, and everybody flocked around in consternation. -Two of the brakemen lifted up something--something that had once been a -man, but which was crushed out of all semblance of humanity now. No one -there recognized him; they had only heard that one agonized cry wrung -from the unbelieving soul in that horrible moment--giving the lie to -his whole past life--but they had heard or knew nothing more. Some one -brought a door; and they laid the bloody and mangled mass upon it, and -now raised it reverentially on their shoulders, and carried it slowly to -the nearest house. A cloth was thrown over the white, staring face, the -only part of him, it seemed, not mangled into jelly; and so they carried -him away from the spot, a dreadful sight, which those who saw never -forgot. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -THE VESPER HYMN. - - -He was not dead. He was not even insensible. While they carried him -carefully through the chill, black night, and when they carried him into -the nearest house, and laid him tenderly on a bed, the large, dark eyes -were wide open and fixed, but neither in death nor unconsciousness. It -was a hotel they had carried him to; and one of the pretty chambermaids, -who owned a sentimentally-tender heart, and read a great many novels, -cried as she looked at him. - -"Poor fellow!" she said, to another pretty chambermaid; "it's such a -pity, ain't it--and he so handsome?" - -"Who is he, I wonder?" the other chambermaid wanted to know; but no one -could tell her. - -"He looks like an officer," some one remarked; "I think I've seen him in -the town before, and I'm pretty sure he's one of the officers." - -"The doctor will know, maybe," suggested the land-lord. "Poor fellow! -I'm afraid it's all up with him. I don't think he can speak." - -He had never spoken but that once, when the soul of the infidel, in that -supreme moment of mortal agony, in spite of the infidel creed of his -life, had uttered that awful invocation--"O my God!" But the power of -speech was not gone, nor of hearing; he retained all his senses, and, -strangely enough, did not seem to suffer much. He lay quiescent, his -dark eyes wide open, and staring vacantly straight ahead, his dark hair, -dabbled with blood, falling loose on the pillow and around his bloodless -face. They had drawn a white spread over him; and he had a strangely -corpse-like look, with his white set face, and marble-like rigidity. But -life burned yet in the strained, wide-open eyes. - -The doctor came--it was Dr. Leach; and he knew him immediately, and told -the gaping and curious bystanders who he was. He was very much shocked, -and more shocked still when the white spread was drawn away, and the -terrible truth revealed. The eyes of the wounded man followed him as he -made his examination, but with no eagerness or hopefulness--only with a -dull and awful sort of apathy. - -"Do you know me, Captain Cavendish?" Dr. Leach asked, tenderly touching -the heavy, dark hair falling over his face. - -"Yes. How long----?" - -He did not finish the sentence, not because he was unable to do it, but -that he evidently thought he had finished it, and his eyes never once -left the physician's face. - -Dr. Leach looked very sadly down in the dark, inquiring eyes. - -"My poor fellow!" he said, "it is hard, I know, and for one so young and -so far from all your friends. It is hard to die like this; but it is -Heaven's will, and we must submit." - -"How long?" repeated the sufferer, as if he had not heard him, and with -that steady, inquiring gaze. - -"You mean, how long can you last? I am afraid--I am afraid, my poor boy, -but a short time; not over three hours at the most." - -The dark, searching eyes turned slowly away from his face, and fixed -themselves on vacancy as before; but he showed no signs of any emotion -whatever. Physical and mental sense of suffering and fearing seemed -alike to have forsaken him in this last dreadful hour. He had been a -bad man; the life that lay behind him was a shameful record. He had been -a gamester, a swindler, a libertine, a robber, and a murderer; and now -he was dying in his sins, in a dull stupor, without remorse for the past -or fear of the awful future. Dr. Leach stooped over him again, wondering -at his unnatural apathy. - -"Would you like a clergyman, my poor boy?" he said. - -"No!" - -"Is there any one you would like to see? Your time is very short, -remember." - -Captain Cavendish turned to him with something like human interest in -his glance, for the first time. - -"I should like to see Val Blake," he said, "and Mr. Darcy." - -"I'll send for them," said the doctor, going out, and dispatching a -couple of messengers in hot haste. "He wants to make his will, I -suppose," Dr. Leach thought, as he returned to the bedroom. "Poor -fellow; and Val Blake was his friend!" - -Dr. Leach had requested one of the messengers to go for the army-surgeon -before he came back. He knew the case was utterly hopeless, but still it -was better to have the surgeon there. He found his patient lying as he -had left him, staring blankly at a lamp flaring on a table under the -window, while the slow minutes trailed away, and his short span of life -wore away. His last night on earth! Did he think of it as he lay there, -never taking his eyes from the lamp-flame, even when the doctor came to -his bedside again and held something to his lips. - -"My dear," Dr. Leach said, feeling as though he were speaking to a -woman, and again stroking back his hair with a tender touch; "hadn't you -better see a clergyman? You are dying, you know." - -"Did you send for them?" said Captain Cavendish, looking at him. - -"For Blake and Darcy? Yes. But will I not send for a clergyman too?" - -"No." - -"Would you like me to read to you, then? There is a Bible on the table?" - -"No." - -He sank back into his lethargic indifference once more and looked at the -lamp again. Dr. Leach sighed as he sat down beside him, to watch and -wait for the coming of the others. - -They came at last--Val Blake and Mr. Darcy--knowing all beforehand. -Their presence seemed to rouse him. Dr. Leach would have left the room, -but the lawyer detained him. - -"You may as well stay," he said, "it can make no difference to him now -if all the world hears him. It is not his will--it is a confession he -has to make." - -Mr. Darcy was right. Strangely enough he wanted to do that one act of -justice before he went out of life, and he seemed to make an effort to -rally, and rouse himself to do it. The doctor gave him a stimulant, for -he was perceptibly sinking, and the lawyer sat down to write out the -broken sentences of that dying confession. It was not long; but it was -long enough to triumphantly vindicate Charley Marsh before any court in -the world, and just as it was completed the surgeon came. But a more -terrible visitor was there too, before whom they held their breath in -mute awe. Death stood terrible and invisible in their midst, and no word -was spoken. They stood around the bed, pale and silent, and watched him -go out of life with solemn awe at their hearts. There was no frightful -death struggles--he died peacefully as a little child, but it was a -fearful deathbed for all that. The soul of the unbeliever had gone to be -judged. "God be merciful to him!" Dr. Leach had said, and they had all -answered, "Amen." They drew the counterpane over the marble face, -beautiful in death, and left the room together. All were pale, but the -face of Val Blake was ghastly. He leaned against an open window, with a -feeling of deadly sickness at his heart. It was all so awful, so -suddenly awful; they, poor erring mortals, had judged and condemned him, -and now he had gone before the Great Judge of all mankind--and the dark -story had ended in the solemn wonder of the winding-sheet. - -"Speak nothing but good of the dead," a pitiful old proverb says. "We -were friends once," Val Blake thought. "I never want to speak of him -again." - -The body of the dead man was to be taken to his hotel. The surgeon and -Mr. Darcy volunteered to arrange it, and Dr. Leach and Val left. The -doctor had his patients to attend to, and Val was going to tell Cherrie. -She was his wife and ought to know, and Val remembered how she had loved -the dead man once. But that love had died out long ago, under his cruel -neglect; and though she cried when she heard the tragic end of the man -to whom she had been bound by the mysterious tie of marriage, they were -no very passionate tears. And before the Nettleby family had quite -learned to comprehend she was a wife they found that Mrs. Cherrie -Cavendish was a widow! - -Of all the shocks which Speckport had received within the last twenty -years, there was none to equal this. Charley Marsh innocent, Captain -Cavendish guilty! Cherrie Nettleby come back, his wife, his widow! And -still it spread, and "still the wonder grew;" and it was like a play or -a sensation novel, and the strange old proverb, "Truth is stranger than -fiction," was on the tongues of all the wiseacres in the town. - -And while the good people talked and exclaimed and wondered, and told -the story over and over and over again to one another, and found it ever -new, the dead man lay in his own elegant room in the hotel, and Cherrie, -his widow, sat at his bedhead, feeling she had become all at once a -heroine, and making the most of it. - -Among the visitors to that darkened room were Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham, Miss -Blair, and Mr. Blake. Olive Wyndham, stately and beautiful, as ever, but -paler and thinner, and less defiantly bright than of old, stood beside -the bed of death, and looked down on the white, beautiful face of the -dead man, with a strange, remorseful pang at her heart. How her soul -bowed down before the disembodied spirit, and how touching was the -marble beauty of that rigid face! If he had been old and ugly, perhaps -people would not have felt so sadly pitiful about his dreadful fate; but -he was so young and so handsome, that tears came into their eyes, and -they forgot he had been a villain in life, and went away shaking their -heads and saying, "Poor fellow! Poor fellow! It's such a pity!" - -Laura Blair--but Laura was always tender-hearted--cried as she looked at -him, and thought how much she had liked him, and what pleasant hours -they had spent together. He was very bad, of course, but still----Laura -never could get any further, for the tears came so fast they choked her -words. - -She actually kissed Cherrie, who cried from sympathy, and Val Blake -looked at her with a more tender glance than any one had ever seen in -Val's unsentimental eyes before. - -The pony-phaeton from Redmon was in waiting at the hotel door. Mr. -Wyndham assisted the ladies in, and touched his hat as if in -leave-taking. - -"Are you not going back?" his wife asked, with strange timidity. She was -in the habit now of speaking to him, and always in that -strangely-hurried tone so foreign to her character. - -"No," Mr. Wyndham said, "not just now. I shall return before dinner." - -The carriage drove off. Mr. Wyndham took Val's arm, lit a cigar, and -strolled with him down Queen Street. - -"It's a very sad business!" he said, thoughtfully. "I am sorry for him, -poor fellow!--one can't help it; but, after all, I don't know that it is -not a merciful deliverance. The public disgrace, the imprisonment, the -trial, the sentence, would have been to him far more terrible. There are -worse things than death!" - -He said the last words with a sudden bitterness that made Val look at -him. "It's his mother he is thinking of," said Mr. Blake to himself. -"Poor woman, she's mad!" - -"And it is really true that he confessed all before he died?" Mr. -Wyndham asked; "and exculpated, beyond all doubt, Charley Marsh?" - -"Yes," said Val; "Charley Marsh is free to return to Speckport whenever -he pleases now. I always knew he was innocent. I had a letter from him -last night, too, inclosing one to his mother." - -"Indeed!" Mr. Wyndham said, with a look of interest. "Is he well? Is he -still in the army?" - -"Yes; but his time is nearly up, it appears. I shall write to him -to-day, and tell him to come back to us. I have a note--she called it a -note, though it's four sheets of paper closely written, and she sat up -until three this morning to finish it--from Laura Blair, to inclose to -him. If he is proof against four sheets of entreaty from a lady, all I -can say to him will not avail much." - -"Laura is a good little girl," said Mr. Wyndham, "and very much in -earnest about all her friends. You ought to marry her, Blake." - -"Eh!" said Mr. Blake, aghast. - -"You ought to marry her," repeated Mr. Wyndham, as composedly as though -he were saying, "You ought to smoke another cigar." "I am sure you will -never come across one more suited to the purpose, if you live to be as -old as Methuselah's cat!" - -"My dear Wyndham," expostulated Mr. Blake, rather shocked than -otherwise, "what are you talking about? I give you my word I never -thought of such a thing in my life." - -"I don't doubt it, in the least; but you know the proverb, 'Better late -than never.'" - -"Nonsense! What do I want with a wife?" - -"A good deal, I should think; if only to save the trouble of boarding -out, and securing some one to darn your stockings and button your -shirt-collar. Have you never indulged in any vision, O most prosaic of -men! of a quiet domestic fireside, garnished on one side by yourself, -with your feet in slippers, and on the other by a docile cat and a Mrs. -Blake?" - -"Never!" responded Mr. Blake, emphatically. - -"Then it's time you did! Your hair's turning gray, man, and your sister -has left you! Come, rouse up, old fellow, and secure that little prize, -Laura Blair, before some more ardent wooer bears her off, and leaves you -in the lurch." - -Mr. Blair stared at him. - -"I say, Wyndham, what crotchet have you got in your head to-day? Marry -Laura Blair! What should I marry her for, more than any one else?" - -"Well, for pure artlessness, Mr. Blake," he said, "I'll back you against -the world! Why should you marry Laura Blair, indeed! Why you overgrown -infant, because you are in love with her! That's why!" - -"Am I?" responded Mr. Blake, helplessly. "I didn't know it. Is she in -love with me, too?" - -"Ask her," said Mr. Wyndham, still laughing. "Here we are at the office. -Good-morning to you." - -"Won't you come in?" - -"Not this morning; I am going to Rosebush Cottage." - -"Oh," said Val, hesitatingly, for it was an understood thing the subject -was very painful, "how is your mother?" - -"She is no better," said Mr. Wyndham, briefly. "Good-morning!" - -Mr. Blake went into his sanctum, and the first thing he did was to write -to Charley and tell him all. - -"Come back to Speckport, dear old boy," wrote Val, "everybody is in a -state of remorse, you know, and dying to see you. Come back for your -mother's sake, and we will give you such a reception as no man has had -since the Prince of Wales, long life to him! visited our town. Come -back, Charley, and cheer us again with the sight of your honest sonsie -face." - -It took some time for Speckport to recover thoroughly from the severe -shock its nervous system had received in the death of Captain Cavendish, -and the various wonderful facts that death brought to light. It was -fully a month before the wonder quite subsided, and people could talk of -other things over the tea-table. - -Cherrie, the bereaved, was safely back again in the parental nest. -Creditors had flocked in with the dead man's long bills; and when all -was settled, nothing was left for the widow. But some good men among -them made up two hundred pounds, and Mrs. Wyndham added another hundred, -and the three were presented to Mrs. Cavendish, with the sympathy of the -donors. It was a little fortune for Cherrie, though a pitiful ending of -the brilliant match she had made; and she took it, crying very much, and -was humbly thankful. Once more she tripped the streets of her native -town, and her crape, and bombazine, and widow's cap, were charmingly -becoming; and when the roses began to return to her cheeks, she was -prettier than ever. - -The town was quiet, and October was wearing away. The last week of that -month brought a letter from Charley Marsh--a letter that was not like -Charley, but was very grave, almost sad. - -"Under God, my dear Val," he wrote, "I owe the restoration of my good -name to you. I know all you have done for me and mine--my poor mother -has told me; but I cannot thank you. I am sure you do not want me to -thank you; but it is all written deep in my heart, and will be buried -with me. I am coming back to Speckport--ah! dear old Speckport! I never -thought it could be so dear! I shall be with you in November, and -perhaps I may say to you then what I cannot write now. I am coming back -a man, Val; I went away a hot-headed, passionate, unreasoning boy. I -have learned to be wise, I hope, and if the school has been a hard one, -I shall only remember its lessons the longer. I am coming back rich; -blessings as well as misfortunes do not come alone. I have been left a -fortune--you will see an account of it in the paper I send you. Our -colonel, a gallant fellow, and a rich Georgian planter, has remembered -me in his will. I saved his life shortly after I came here, almost at -the risk of my own, I believe. They promoted me for it at the time, and -I thought I had got my reward; but I was mistaken. He died last week of -a bayonet-thrust, and when his will was read, I found I was left thirty -thousand dollars. He was a childless widower, with no near relatives; so -no one is wronged. You see I shall not have to fall back upon Dr. -Leach's hand on my return, and my mother need depend no more on Mrs. -Wyndham's generosity. I am very grateful to that lady all the same." - -"I believe I'll show this letter to Father Lennard," said Val to -himself; "he asked me on Sunday if I had heard from Charley lately, and -told me to let him know when I did. Charley was always a favorite of -his, since the day when he was a little shaver and an acolyte on the -altar." - -Mr. Blake was not the man to let grass grow under his feet when he took -a notion in his head; so he started off at once, at a swinging pace, for -the cathedral. The October twilight was cold and gray. A dreary evening, -in which men went by with pinched noses and were buttoned up in -greatcoats, and women had vails over their faces, and shivered in the -street--a melancholy evening, speaking of desolation, and decay, and -death, and the end of all things earthly. - -Mr. Blake, to whom it was only a rawish evening, strode along, and -reached the cathedral in the bleak dusk. The principal entrances were -all closed, but he went in through a side door, and looked into the side -chapel for the priest. Not finding him, he entered the cathedral through -one of the transepts, but neither was Father Lennard there. The gray -twilight shone but dimly through the painted windows, and the long and -lofty aisles were very dim and shadowy. There was but one light in the -great church--a tiny lamp burning on the grand altar--a lamp that never -went out by night or day. Two or three shadowy female figures knelt -around the altar-rails in silent prayer, and Val thought one of them -looked like Miss Rose. He knew she was in the habit of coming in the -twilight here; but something else had caught his attention, and he -turned away and went on tiptoe down the echoing nave, staring up at the -choir. Some one was singing softly there--singing so softly that it -seemed but the sighing of the autumn-wind, and seemed to belong to it. -But Val had a quick ear, and the low melancholy cadences struck him with -a nameless thrill. What was there that sounded so strangely familiar in -that voice? It was a woman's voice--a sweet, full soprano, that could -rise to power at its owner's will. But what did it remind him of? A -thought flashed through him--a sudden and startling thought--that -brought the blood in a red gush to his face, and then left him cold and -white. He softly ascended the stairs, the low, mournful voice breaking -into a sweetly-plaintive vesper hymn as he went. - -Val Blake trembled from head to foot, and a cold sweat broke out on his -face. He paused a moment before he entered into the choir, his heart -beating faster than it ever had beat before. A woman sat before the -organ, not playing, but with her fingers wandering noiselessly over the -keys, her face upraised in the ghostly light. She looked like the -picture of St. Cecilia, with a cloud of tressed hazy golden hair falling -about that pale, earnest, upraised face. Her mantle had fallen back--a -white cashmere mantle, edged with ermine and lined with blue satin--and -she sung, unconscious, as it seemed, of all the world. Val Blake stood -like a man paralyzed--struck dumb and motionless--and the sweet voice -sang on: - - "Ave Maria! Oh, hear when we call, - Mother of Heaven, who is Saviour of all; - Feeble and fearing, we trust in thy might; - In doubting and darkness thy love be our light. - Let us sleep on thy breast while the night-taper burns. - And wake in thine arms when the morning returns! - Ave Maria! Ave Maria! Ave Maria! audi nos!" - -The singing ceased, the fingers were motionless, and the pale face -drooped and sunk down on the pale hands. And still Val Blake stood mute, -motionless, utterly confounded. For there before him, with only the -moonlight shadow of her former loveliness left, sat and sang, not the -dead, but the living, Nathalie Marsh! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -"QUOTH THE RAVEN, 'NEVERMORE!'" - - -How long Mr. Val Blake stood there, staring at that sight of wonder, -neither he nor I ever knew; but while it drooped in a strange, -heartbroken way over the instrument, and he stood looking at it, -powerless to speak or move, a hand was laid on his shoulder, and looking -round he saw the pale face of Paul Wyndham. Pale always, but deadly -white, Mr. Blake saw, in the spectral October gloaming. - -"Blake," he said, in a hoarse whisper, that did not sound like Paul -Wyndham's peculiarly clear and melodious voice, "if ever you were my -friend, be silent now! Help me to get away from here unseen." - -Some dim foreshadowing of the truth dawned on the slow mind of Val -Blake. The ghost of Nathalie Marsh--the invisible and mysterious woman -shut up in Rosebush Cottage--could they, after all, be connected, and -was the mad mother only a blind. The question passed through Val's mind -in a vague sort of way, while he watched Paul Wyndham bend over the -drooping figure, as tenderly as a mother over the cradle of her -first-born. His voice too, had changed when he spoke to her, and was -infinitely gentle and loving. - -"My darling," he said, "you must not stay here. I have come to fetch you -home." - -She lifted up her head at once, and held out her arms to him, like a -little child that wants to be taken. All the pale, misty hair floated -softly back from her wan face. Oh! how altered from the bright face Val -Blake once knew, and the blue eyes she lifted to his face had a strange, -meaningless light, that chilled the blood in the veins of the looker-on. - -"Yes, take me away," she said, wearily; but in Nathalie Marsh's own -voice. "I knew you would come. Where's Midge? I am cold here." - -"Midge is at home, my darling. Here is your mantle--stand up while I put -it on." - -She arose; and Val saw she was dressed in white--a sort of white -cashmere morning-gown, lined with quilted blue silk. Mr. Wyndham -arranged the long white mantle around the wasted figure, drawing the -hood over the head and face. Ghostly enough she looked, standing there -in the gloom; and Val knew she must have been dressed in the same manner -on the night she so startled him and Laura. But Mr. Wyndham, who wore a -long black cloak himself these chilly evenings, took it off and arranged -it over her white robes, effectually concealing them, as he drew her -forward. - -"Go down-stairs, Blake," he said, "a cab is waiting outside the gates. -Come with us, and I will tell you everything." - -Mr. Blake mechanically obeyed. He was not quite sure it was not all the -nightmare, and not at all certain he was not asleep in his own room, and -dreaming this singular little episode, and would awake presently to -smile at it all. He went down-stairs in silent bewilderment, never -speaking a word, and hardly able to think. Nathalie Marsh was dead--or -at least some one was dead, and buried out there in the cemetery, that -he had taken to be Nathalie Marsh--how then did she come to be walking -down-stairs behind him, supported by that extraordinary man, Paul -Wyndham? - -The cathedral was quite deserted when they got down, and the sexton was -just locking it up for the night. He stared a little at the three forms -going by him; but he was an old man, with sight not so good as it might -be, and he did not recognize them. They met no one within the inclosed -grounds. At the side gate a cab stood waiting; Mr. Blake opened the -door, and Mr. Wyndham helped in his silent companion, who yielded -herself, "passive to all changes." - -"Come with us, Blake," Mr. Wyndham said, as he entered and seated -himself by the lady. "Rosebush Cottage, driver. Make haste!" - -Not a word was spoken during the drive. The slight figure of the woman -lay back in a corner, her head drooping against the side of the -carriage. Paul Wyndham sat by her, looking at her often, but not -addressing her; and Mr. Blake, in a hopeless morass of doubt and -mystification, sat staring at the living ghost, and wondering when he -was going to wake from his dream. - -The distance was short. In ten minutes they stopped in front of the -pretty cottage, from whose curtained windows a bright light shone. The -roses in the garden were dead long ago, and only gaunt stalks and bare -vines twined themselves, like ugly brown snakes, where the climbing -roses grew. A queer figure stood at the gate--an ugly, dwarfed, and -unwieldy figure, with a big head set on no neck at all, and a broad, -florid face, and little pin-hole eyes. But the eyes were big enough to -express a great deal of anxiety; and she flung the gate open and rushed -out as the carriage door opened and Mr. Wyndham got out. - -"Have you found her?" she cried. "Oh, dear! oh, dear! Where was she, -now?" - -Mr. Wyndham did not notice her. - -"Get out, Blake," he said; and Midge recoiled with a cry of -consternation at sight of Val's towering form. The next instant, he had -lifted the lady out in his arms, as if she were a baby, and carried her -within the gate. "Take her into the house," he said, sternly. "I shall -talk to you about this again!" - -Midge obeyed meekly--Val wondered as much at that meekness as at -anything he had seen yet--and led the passive girlish creature into the -house. Mr. Wyndham paid and dismissed the cabman, and held the gate open -for Val. - -"Come in, Blake," he said gravely; "the time has come when my secret can -be no longer kept, and I would sooner tell it to you than to any other -human being in existence." - -"Tell me," said Val, finding voice for the first time, "is that really -Nathalie Marsh?" - -"She was Nathalie Marsh--she is Nathalie Wyndham now. She is my wife!" - -Mr. Blake fairly gasped for breath. - -"Your wife!" he exclaimed, "are you going mad, Mr. Wyndham? Olive is -your wife!" - -"No," said Paul Wyndham, with cold sternness, "she is not--she never has -been. The compact I made with her was a formal matter of business, which -gave me the right to dwell under the same roof with her, but never made -me her husband. She and I understand each other perfectly. Nathalie is -my wife--my dear and cherished wife, and was so before I ever came to -Speckport." - -"Then, Mr. Wyndham," said Val, with gravity, "you are a scoundrel!" - -"Perhaps so. Come in." - -Val Blake took off his hat and crossed the threshold of Rosebush Cottage -for the first time since it was inhabited. - -"And your mother was only a myth?" he asked, as Mr. Wyndham closed and -locked carefully the front door. - -"Only a myth. My mother is in Westchester County yet." - -Val asked no more questions, but looked around him. The hall was long, -with beautiful proof-engravings, and lit by pendant chandeliers. There -was a door to either hand--Midge came out of the one to the left, still -wearing that anxious face. - -"Now, then," said Mr. Wyndham, sternly, "how did this happen?" - -"It wasn't my fault," snapped Midge, her usual manner returning. "I did -my best, and she'd behaved herself for so long, I'd no idee she was -going to scud off again. The door wasn't open ten minutes, and I was out -in the kitchen bakin' the pies, and when I came back she was gone. I put -after her and met you, and I couldn't help it now; so talk's of no use. -Where did you find her?" - -"In the cathedral. She was speaking of it this morning, and asking me to -take her there, so I knew she would make for that." - -"What made you fetch him here?" inquired Midge, poking one stubby -index-finger at Mr. Blake. - -"He saw her and recognized her before I did. Get out of the way, Midge, -we are going in." - -Midge went away, snorting to herself, and Mr. Wyndham opened the door, -and preceded Mr. Blake into the drawing-room of the cottage. Such a -pretty drawing-room, lit by the rosy blaze of a clear coal-fire in a -grate of shining steel, and pendent chandeliers of glittering glass and -frosted silver. A small, high-ceilinged room, the walls hung with white -and gold paperhangings, and adorned with perfect gems of art. The -windows were draped in blue satin and white lace, and there was a -Brussels carpet on the floor, where violets, and bluebells, and -morning-glories ran wild on a white ground, and looked like pale spring -flowers blooming in a snow bank. The chairs were of white enameled -wood--the legs and back touched up with gold, and cushioned in blue -satin. There were inlaid tables, laden with superbly bound books of -beauty, annuals, albums, and portfolios of engravings; and a rosewood -piano stood in one corner, with the music scattered about. There was an -open door to the left, leading into a bed-room furnished in much the -same style; but Val scarcely looked at it--all his attention was taken -by the white girlish form lying back in a great carved and gilded chair -in front of the fire. What a wreck she was! The transparent skin, the -hollow cheeks, the sunken eyes, the wasted little hands, the shadowy -figure--what a wreck of the blonde loveliness of other days. Her head -lay back among the blue satin pillows, her hands dropped listless over -the arms of the chair, and her eyes were fixed on the leaping jets of -flame, in a meaningless stare. She never turned to look at them when -they came in; she did not even turn when Val Blake crossed over and bent -above her. - -"Nathalie," he said, a little tremor in his voice; "Nathalie, don't you -know me?" - -She lifted her blue eyes vacantly to his face, murmured an inarticulate -something, moved her head restlessly, and then went back to staring at -the fire. Val rose up, white even to his lips. - -"Wyndham, what is it?" he asked, afraid, while he spoke, to hear the -answer. "Why does she look like that?" - -Paul Wyndham was leaning against the mantel, his head drooping. Now he -lifted it, and Val saw the dark despair that filled his eyes. - -"Its meaning," he said, "has nearly broken my heart. If I have done -wrong, I have been terribly punished, and even you, Blake, might be -merciful now. My poor darling's mind is gone!" - -There was a pause, a pause of mute consternation on Val's part. Mr. -Wyndham bent over Nathalie, with that look of unspeakable tenderness -that made his face something new to Val--a face entirely new. - -"My darling, you are tired, I know," he said, "and want to go to bed. -Don't you, Natty?" - -The old name! It brought a pang to Val's heart to hear it. Paul Wyndham -spoke to her as he would have spoken to a child of three years; and Val -thought he would sooner she were indeed lying under the sods in the -cemetery than see her as he saw her now--dead in life. - -"Yes, Paul," she said, rising wearily, but at once. - -"Or, perhaps," Mr. Wyndham said, looking at her thoughtfully, "you would -like to sing before you go. You told me the other day, you know, you -always slept better if you sang before going to bed." - -"Oh, yes!" Nathalie said, her face lighting suddenly with animation. -"What shall I sing, Paul?" - -"Anything you like, my dearest." - -He led her to the piano, and opened it, while she took her seat on the -stool, and ran her fingers lightly over the keys at random. Val Blake -closed his eyes to listen. How long--how long ago it seemed since he had -heard Nathalie Marsh's melodious voice ringing through the -cathedral-aisles! The thin fingers wandered off into a plaintive little -prelude, that had something wild and melancholy in its wailing minor -key. The song was as sadly-sweet as the air, and the voice that sung was -full of pathos. - - * * * * * - -The song died out as mournfully as the last cadence of a funeral-hymn, -and the pale singer arose. - -"I am very tired, Paul," Nathalie said, in a spiritless sort of way, -"and I think my head is aching. Tell Midge to come." - -He rang the bell and put his arm round her to lead her away. - -"Say good night to Mr. Blake, Nathalie. You remember Val Blake, don't -you, my darling?" - -"Yes," she said; but the smile she turned upon him was meaningless, and -as cold as moonlight in snow. "Good-night!" - -Something was choking Val's voice, and his answering good-night was very -husky. Paul Wyndham led her into the inner room, and Midge bustled in -after the old fashion, and Nathalie was left in her charge to be -undressed for the night. Mr. Wyndham left the room and returned -presently, bearing wine and cigars. - -"If I am what you called me a while ago, Blake," Mr. Wyndham said, with -a smile that had very much of sadness in it, "there are extenuating -circumstances that may lighten my guilt." - -"Wrong is wrong," said Mr. Blake, gravely, "and no extenuating -circumstances can make it right. You are a bigamist, by your own -confession, and you know how the civil law punishes that." - -"Yes, Blake, I know it," said Mr. Wyndham, "and, knowing it, I have -risked all to win her, my poor lost darling within that room! Heaven -knows, I have hardly had a day's peace since. The broad road may be -strewn with roses, as preachers say it is, but the thorns in the flowers -sting very sharply sometimes, too." - -Mr. Blake made no reply to this aphorism, he was lighting his cigar, -with a listening face, waiting for the story his companion had to tell. -Midge came out of the bed-room while he waited, threw more coal on the -fire, and left the room. But still Paul Wyndham did not begin. He was -smoking, and looking thoughtfully into the red fire and the falling -cinders, and the ticking of an ormolu clock on the chimney-piece, and -the dreary sighing of the night-wind without alone broke the silence. -The clock struck eight, and Val lost patience. - -"Well, Wyndham, why wait? Go on. I am waiting to hear this most -extraordinary affair explained." - -"You all here in Speckport thought Nathalie Marsh committed suicide--did -you not?" said Mr. Wyndham, looking up. "It is such a charitable place -this town of yours, and your good people are so wonderfully ready to -place the worst construction on everything, that you never thought she -might have fallen in by accident--did you? - -"It looked very suspicious," said Val. "Heaven knows how some of us -pitied her, poor girl! but still----" - -"But still you gave her credit for suicide. Let me restore her -character. She never for a moment thought of self-destruction. I have -her own solemn word for it. She was heart-broken,--despairing--my own -injured darling!--but all the teachings of her life told her suicide was -the only crime for which God has no mercy. She never thought of suicide -on the night she wandered down to the old wharf. Most miserable she was. -Perhaps the wretched night was in harmony with her great trouble; but -she did not go there to look for death. She missed her footing on the -slimy, rotten plank, and fell in, and from that moment her story--as far -as you know it--ends." - -Val nodded. He was smoking, and it was too much trouble to remove the -cigar to speak. - -"She was saved almost by a miracle. A passing boat heard the splash and -her cry for help, and rowed to the spot. They saw her as she arose, and -saved her, and one man on board recognized her. The man's name was -Captain Locksley. Do you remember it?" - -"Locksley!" cried Val. "Captain Frank Locksley of the 'Southern Cross?' -Know him? Yes, as well as I know you! He was over head and ears in love -with Nathalie, himself." - -"Yes, I know. He recognized her, and would have returned with her to the -shore; but she positively refused to go. She would die, she cried out, -if she did not get away from this horrible place. Captain Locksley took -her on board of his ship. There was a woman there, the wife of the -steward, and she took charge of the poor, deranged girl. Captain -Locksley sailed that night. He was off on a three-years' voyage; but on -his way he was to touch at New York. The evening before they reached -that city, he made an offer of his hand to the poor girl he had saved. -He knew her story. He loved her and pitied her; but she refused. She -only wanted to be away from Speckport. She would remain in New York. One -place was as good as another, and a great city the best of all; but her -lot was dust and ashes. She would never marry, she told him. Captain -Locksley had a cousin, the wealthy manager of a fashionable Broadway -theater, and, as a favor, the manager consented to receive Nathalie into -his corps. Her rôle was a very simple one--walking lady at first, coming -on only to stare at the audience at first. But my poor girl's beauty, -though the shadow only of the brightness that had been, made her rise. -She took minor parts, and they made her sing when they found what a -superb voice she possessed. Her voice, the manager told me once, might -make her fortune--at least it would have made the fortune of any other -woman; but my darling had lost life, and with it all ambition. She never -would be a good actress, but the audience looked at her a great deal; -and the mournful melody of her voice, whether she talked or sang, had a -charm for all. It paid the manager; so he kept her, and doled out her -weekly pittance, and she took it uncomplainingly. I have sometimes -wondered since how it was no one from Speckport ever saw and recognized -her; but, I dare say, if they did, they would merely set it down as an -odd chance resemblance. They were all so certain of her death, and then -the false name and the disguising stage-dresses helped to baffle them. -It was at the theater I first met her. They took my dramas when I -turned dramatist, and I was always there. She attracted me from the -beginning. She interested me strongly the first time I saw her, and I -found myself pitying her somehow without knowing anything about her. I -could not cease thinking of her after. The pale face and mournful blue -eyes haunted me wherever I went. I found out she was called Miss -Johnson, and that she lodged in a shabby house in a shabby street; and -that was all any one heard. But of my own knowledge I knew she was good -and fair, and that great sorrow, not sin, had darkened her young life. -Why it was I loved her, I never could tell. It way my fate, I suppose; -for my struggles were vain, and only left me more helplessly entangled. -The manager laughed at me; my friends talked of acts of lunacy and -genteel private lunatic asylums for me; but it was all useless. I loved -her, and was not to be laughed out of it, and one night the truth broke -from me. I begged her to tell me who she was and to become my wife; but -she refused. She refused, Blake, to do either; but she was very gentle -and womanly saying the cruel words. She was very grateful to me, she -said, my poor dear! but she could not be unjust enough to take me at my -word. The fancy for her would soon leave me. She was not worthy to be -the wife of any good man. I must forget her. I must never speak to her -like this again. Blake, I went home that night in a sort of despair. I -hated and despised myself for my pitiful weakness. I tried to conquer -myself, and failed miserably. I could not stay away from the theater. I -could not forget her. I could not do anything I ought to do. I went to -the house where she lodged, and found out all they knew about her there. -It was very little; but it was all good. I made the manager tell me -again what his cousin, Captain Locksley, had told him of her, and I -ascertained that Captain Locksley was an honorable and truthful man. He -had said she had undergone a great deal of trouble, and had met with -heavy reverse of fortune, but that she was the best and purest of -beings, and he trusted his cousin would always be her true friend. He -told him he had long loved her, and that he had asked her to be his -wife, and she had refused. I knew, therefore, there was nothing worse -than worldly misfortune in the past life of the woman I had loved. Once -again I sought her out, and implored her to leave her hard life and be -my wife, keeping her past life secret if she chose; and once again I was -refused. - -"After that second refusal," Mr. Wyndham said, throwing his smoked-out -cigar in the fire, and lighting another, "I gave up hope entirely. There -was such a steady, inflexible resolution on her poor, pale, worn face, -that a despairing conviction of the uselessness of all further attempts -came upon me. Still I could not go away--I despised myself for my -pitiful weakness--but I could not, Blake, I could not! I loved her, and -I was a weak, irresolute coward, and lingered about the theater only to -get a word from her, a look at her, as she went past, or follow her at a -distance through the city streets, to see that she got safely home. I -despaired, but I could not fly. And one cold March morning, as I sat at -the window of my hotel, staring dreamily out, she passed by; trying to -fix my thoughts on the manuscript before me, and unable to think of -anything but the pale actress, a waiter came in and handed me a letter. -It was a very large letter, in a strange female hand I had never seen -before; but I knew it was from her--my darling! I tore off the envelope; -it contained half a dozen closely-written sheets, and was signed -"Nathalie Marsh." I knew the actress only as Miss Johnson; but I never -thought it was her real name. I knew now what it was. It was a very long -letter; she told me where she came from, and why she was here, an -actress. She told me her whole story; her sad, pitiful story of wrong -and suffering; the fortune she had lost; the brother wrongfully -condemned; and the treachery--the false, cruel, shameful treachery--of -the man she had loved and trusted. She told me all, in a simple, -truthful, earnest way that went to my heart; and then she told me her -reasons for telling it. I was her only friend, she said. I had always -been good and kind to her--my poor, little, forlorn lamb!--and she -trusted and believed in me. She did not love me; she never could love -any one again; but she honored and esteemed me, and if I could be -content with that, she would be my wife--faithful and true until -death--on one condition." - -Paul Wyndham paused. He had been gazing dreamily into the fire whilst -talking, but now he looked hesitatingly at Val Blake. - -"I hardly know how to go on," he said, "without involving others, whom I -have no right to name, but I must, I suppose; there is no alternative -after the discovery you have made to-night. Another had become possessed -of the fortune that should have been hers; a fortune that was hers by -every law of right and justice. Another, who had no claim upon it, -except, perhaps, that of mere chance--and the new heiress had been a -fellow-lodger of hers in Minetta street. She was young and handsome, and -had been a lady. I knew her by sight, for she had accompanied my darling -often to the theater. She would go to Speckport; she would possess the -thousands that should have been my Nathalie's--the fatal thousands for -which her heart had been broken, her young life ruined. She would be -honored and flattered and happy; she would marry, perhaps, the very man -who had so wronged herself. He was a notorious fortune-hunter; she was -sure he would be at her feet in a month, and was almost equally sure he -would be accepted. She could not endure the thought--not that she loved -him now--that had all gone long ago; but she wanted to baffle him, to -make him suffer as he had made her suffer, and to possess after all a -portion of the wealth which should have been all hers. She would be my -wife, she said, if I would bring this about. She knew a secret in the -life of this new heiress that placed her completely in her power, and -she confided that secret to me. She would be my wife as soon as I -pleased, if I would only help her in this scheme--if, after our -marriage, I would go to Speckport, compel the heiress into a formal -union with myself that should mean nothing but a business compact on -either side, and so battle Captain Cavendish, and win for my lawful wife -after all the fortune that was hers by right. You stare, Blake; it -sounds very extraordinary and improbable, but it is the simple truth, -nevertheless, and I saw no reason to see why it could not be carried -out. The secret I held placed the heiress utterly in my power and would -force her to comply with my every wish. Mind, Blake, it was not the sort -of secret that causes divorce cases; it was a crime committed, no doubt; -a crime of falsehood and ambition, not of shame, else that woman at -Redmon would never for one poor instant, under any temptation whatever, -have borne my name. - -"I read the strange letter over a half a dozen times, and Val, old boy, -I consented. You don't need to tell me how miserably weak and despicable -it was. I know it all, and knew it then just as well. But I want you to -think of me at my best. If the heiress had been a good woman, I would -have lain down and died sooner than disturb her; but I knew she was not. -I knew she was a bad, bold, crafty, ambitious creature, without a heart; -with only a cold, calculating brain, capable of committing a great crime -for her own ends; and I had no pity for her. I consented, for I loved my -poor, pale girl with a passionate devotion you never can realize, and -felt all her wrongs burning in my own breast, and longed to take them -upon myself and go forth and avenge her. I did not know then, as I do -now, that it was a diseased brain that prompted that letter. I did not -know that reason had left her throne, with that constant brooding on one -theme, and that my love was mad when she asked me to commit a crime. I -did not know. I wrote her a long answer, promising anything, everything, -if she would be my wife. My poor girl! My poor, poor Nathalie!" - -Mr. Blake sat staring stoically at the coals, making no comment whatever -on anything he heard, even when Paul Wyndham made that pause, with a -face full of tender pity and love. - -"We were married, Val," he said, looking up again, "and the month that -followed was the happiest I ever knew. Our marriage was very recent, and -I took my darling on a Southern tour, hoping that would make her forget -the past and be happy. But it did not. Nothing could ever make her -happy, she said, but seeing retribution fall on the unjust, and -returning to her native town. Not openly, that was out of the -question--but in secret, where she could know for herself that her -wrongs had been avenged. So I left her in New York, and came here, and, -Blake, you know the rest. I did frustrate that bad man, of whom I do not -wish to speak since he is dead. I did marry the heiress, or we went -through the ceremony that our friends took to be such. We understood -each other perfectly from the first. I found her precisely what I had -thought her--a bold, ambitious woman, reveling in wealth that was the -birthright of another; ready to marry a man for whom she did not care a -jot, because she hoped he would some day place a coronet on her head. I -had little pity for such a woman, and besides, I was bound by a solemn -promise to my dear one, who never would see me again if I failed. I -married the heiress of Redmon, and had a legal right to share the wealth -that should have been all my own true wife's. I purchased this -cottage--I brought Nathalie here--I secured the services of her faithful -old servant, and Speckport thought it was my sick mother! - -"Very slowly some dim shadow of the truth came into my mind--very -slowly--for I turned cold with horror only at the thought. Her mind was -going--I saw it now--and the horror and anguish and despair of that -discovery is known only to Heaven and myself. I had been so happy in -spite of all--happy in this cottage with my darling wife--and now my -punishment was coming, and was heavier than I could bear. My own act -brought on the crisis. I was always urging her to let me take her out--I -knew it would do her good; but she had such a dread of discovery that I -never could persuade her. You remember the Sunday you saw us at the -cathedral. She had often said she would like to go there, and that day I -persuaded her to go, to hear the popular preacher. The sermon was a -fearful one--you recollect it--and it completed the work remorse and -suffering had begun. My wife was a hopeless lunatic from that day. O my -love! my love! surely your punishment was greater than your sin!" - -Val did not speak. The white anguish on Paul Wyndham's face was beyond -all wordy consolation. - -"It was after that she took to wandering out. She was haunted by one -idea now--the sin she had committed against Olive; and tormented by a -ceaseless desire to find her out, and kneel at her feet for forgiveness. -She wandered to the Redmon road on the night you saw her first, with -some such idea, and fled in terror at Laura's scream. Midge had followed -and found her, and led her home. From that time, Midge had to watch her -ceaselessly to keep her in; but sometimes, in spite of all, she would -make her way out. She went to the cemetery to see her own grave, poor -child! and Midge found her there, too; she went to the cathedral this -evening in the same way. All the old familiar places drew her to them -with an irresistible power of attraction, and I knew this discovery must -come, sooner or later. I am deeply thankful you were the first to make -it, for I can trust you, dear old Val! I dare not call in medical -service, but I know her case is quite hopeless. She is never otherwise -than gentle and patient--she is like a little child, and I know reason -has gone forever. Blake, I know I have done wrong. I know I have -deserved this, but it breaks my heart!" - -"And this is the end of your story," said Val, looking at him with a -stony face. - -"This is the end--a pitiful story of weakness and wrong-doing, isn't -it?" - -"Yes," said Val, rising, and flinging his smoked-out cigar in the fire, -"it is. A bad and cruel story as ever I heard. A story I never should -have given you the credit of being the hero of, Paul Wyndham. You have -profaned a holy rite--you have broken the laws of God and man--you have -committed a felony, for which life-long imprisonment is the penalty. You -are a bigamist, sir. The laws of this matter-of-fact land recognize no -romantic glossing over of facts. You have married two wives--that humbug -about one marriage meaning nothing, being only a business arrangement, -is only bosh. You are a bigamist, Mr. Wyndham, and you cannot expect me -to hoodwink your crime from the eyes of the land." - -"No," said Mr. Wyndham, bitterly, "I expect nothing. You will turn -Rhadamanthus, and have justice, though the heavens fall, I dare say. You -will publish my misdoings on the house-tops, and at the street-corners. -It will be a rare treat for Speckport, and Mr. Val Blake will awake all -at once, and find himself famous!" - -Mr. Blake listened with the same face of stone. - -"I will do what is right and above-board, Mr. Wyndham. I will have no -act or part in any plot as long as I live. The only one I ever had a -hand in was that affair of Cherrie's, and I was sorry enough for that -afterward. If Nathalie Marsh were my sister, I could scarcely care more -for her than I do; but I tell you I would sooner know she was dead and -buried out there, than living, and as she is. I am sorry for you, Mr. -Wyndham, for I had some faith in you; but it is out of all reason to ask -me to conceal such a crime as this." - -"I ask for nothing," Paul Wyndham said, more in sorrow than in anger. "I -am entirely at your mercy. Heaven knows it does not matter much what -becomes of me, but it is hard to think of her name--my poor -dear!--dragged through the slime of the streets." - -Perhaps Val Blake was sorry for him in his secret heart--for it was a -kindly heart, too, was Val's--but his face did not show it. He lifted -his hat, and turned to go. - -"I shall be as merciful as is compatible with justice," he said; "before -I make this matter known to the proper authorities, you shall be warned. -But there are others who must be told to-morrow. She must have medical -advice at once, for she is evidently dying by inches; her mother must -know, and--" His hand was on the lock of the door as he stopped, and -faced round--"and the woman you have wronged. As to your secret power -over her, you need not make such a mystery of it. I know what it is!" - -"You!" Paul Wyndham said, turning his powerful gray eyes upon him. "You, -Blake! Impossible!" - -Mr. Blake nodded intelligently. - -"She is not the true heiress! Ah! I see I am right! I have had reason -to think so for some time past; but I never was sure until to-night. Oh, -yes! I know the secret, and I know more. I think I can put my hand on -one who is the heiress, before to-morrow's sun goes down." - -There flashed through Paul Wyndham's mind what Olive had said, in that -first stormy interview they had held, about the true heiress, who had -made over to her the true estate. What if it had been true? - -"Who is it?" he asked. "You cannot! She is dead!" - -"Not a bit of it. She is worth half a dozen dead people yet! I shall see -her to-morrow, and find out if I am not right." - -"See her to-morrow! Then she is in Speckport?" - -"To be sure she is! I will visit the other one, too--Harriet, you know. -She must be told at once." - -"You know her name! Blake, who has told you all this?" - -"Not now!" said Val, opening the door; "some other time I will tell you. -You are at liberty to make what use of your time you please. You have -between this and to-morrow." - -"I shall not make use of it to fly," said Mr. Wyndham, coolly; "whatever -comes, I shall stay here and meet it. I have only one request to -make--be as tender with that poor girl at Redmon as you can. I do not -think she is happy, and I believe she is a far better woman than I took -her to be. I am sorry for the wrong I have done her, but it is too late -in the day for all that now. I do not ask you to spare me, but do spare -her?" - -"I shall not add to the truth--be sure of it. Good night!" - -"Good night!" Paul Wyndham said, locking and closing the door after him, -and returning to the room they had left. So it was all over, and the -discovery he had dreaded and foreseen all along, had come at last. It -was all over, and the scheme of his life was at an end. He had been -happy here--oh, very, very happy! with the wife he loved, and who had -trusted and clung to him, as a timid child does to a father. How often -he had sat in this very room, reading to her dreamy, misty Shelley, or -Byron, or Owen Meredith, and she had sat on a low stool at his feet, her -blue eyes looking up in his face, her hazy gold hair rippling loose -about her, like a cloud of sunlight, or with that golden head pillowed -on his knee, while she dropped asleep in the blue summer twilight, -listening. Yes, he had been unspeakably happy there, while some one had -sat unthought of at Redmon, eating out her own heart in her grand -miserable solitude. He had been very happy here; but it was all over -now, and his life seemed closing black around him, like a sort of iron -shroud. It would all pass, and he would exist for years, perhaps, yet, -and eat, and drink, and sleep, and go on with the dull routine of -existence, but his life was at an end. He had sinned, and the -retribution that always follows sin in this world, or the next, -had overtaken him. He had been happy here, but it was gone -forever--nevermore to be--nevermore--nevermore! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - -DRIFTING OUT. - - -In Mrs. Major Wheatly's pretty drawing-room in their new house in Golden -Row sat Miss Winnie Rose, the governess. She is dressed in slight -mourning, very simple, as becomes a governess, but fitting the small, -light figure with exquisite neatness, and she is counting time for Miss -Wheatly, who sits strumming out her music-lesson at the piano. Mrs. -Wheatly lies on a sofa at the window, dawdling over a novel and looking -listlessly at the passers-by, and wishing some one would call. She -started up, thinking her mental prayer was granted, as a servant -entered with a card. But it was not for her. It was handed to the -governess. - -"Mr. Blake!" said Miss Rose, hesitatingly. "This cannot be for me, -Margaret." - -"O yes'm, it is! He requested particularly to see Miss Rose." - -"Is it Mr. Blake?" inquired Mrs. Wheatly. "What can he want with you, I -wonder?" - -Miss Rose smiled as she got up. - -"I am sure I don't know. I may go down, I suppose?" - -"Oh, certainly, my dear!" said Mrs. Wheatly, yawning. "And ask him if he -has heard from his sister lately. Stop your strumming, Louisa, it makes -my head ache." - -Mr. Blake was sitting in what was called the morning-room, and shook -hands with Miss Rose when she came in. But how strangely grave he was! -What could he want with her? Her heart fluttered a little as she looked -at him. - -"My dear young lady!" he began, with an ominously grave face, "it is -very serious business that brings me here this morning. Are you quite -sure no one can overhear us?" - -Awful beginning! The little governess turned pale as she listened. - -"No one," she faltered. "What is it you mean, Mr. Blake?" - -"My dear," said Mr. Blake, as if he were speaking to a young lady of ten -years, "don't look so frightened. I want to ask you a question, and you -must pardon me if it sounds impertinent. Is your name, your family-name, -really Rose?" - -The governess uttered a low cry, and covered her face with both hands. - -"I am answered," said Val. "Your name is Henderson--Olive Henderson; and -you should be heiress of Redmon, instead of--of the person whose name is -Harriet, and who reigns there now. Oh, my dear young lady, how is this? -Is there no one in the world to be trusted?" - -She rose from her seat suddenly, and sank on her knees at his feet with -a gushing sob. - -"I have done wrong," she cried, "for all deceit is wrong; and though -Rose is my name, it is not my father's. But oh, Mr. Blake! if you only -knew all, I don't think you would blame me so much. It was not I who -changed it. It has been the name by which I have gone for years, and I -could not resume my rightful one without suspicion and explanation that -involved the honor of the dead; and so I was silent. No one was wronged -by it--no one in the wide world; and I did not think it so very wrong." - -She sobbed out as she spoke, in a sudden outbreak of distress. Val -stooped kindly and raised her up. - -"My dear child, I only doubted you for a moment. You are too good to -willfully deceive any one to their harm. But you must calm yourself and -listen to me; for right must be done to all. Who is that woman at -Redmon? Is she your stepsister?" - -The governess's only reply was to clasp her hands piteously. - -"Oh, Mr. Blake, what have you done? How have you found this out? Oh, I -am so sorry, so very sorry; for you don't know the misery you will -make!" - -"Misery! Do you mean to yourself?" - -"No, no! but to her. Poor Harriet! Oh, Mr. Blake, who can have told you -this?" - -"Sit down and calm yourself, my dear Miss Rose, and you shall hear all. -Do you recollect one day, very shortly after your return here, visiting -Miss Henderson at her cottage down the street here?" - -"Yes, yes." - -"You and she had along conversation in her chamber that day, part of -which was overheard. Miss Catty Clowrie was in the house at the time, -and she overheard--how, I don't pretend to say; but she heard enough to -excite her suspicions that all was not as it should be. She heard you -addressed as 'Olly', and heard you call Miss Henderson 'Harriet.' She -saw her down on her knees before you, pleading desperately for -something, Miss Clowrie could not quite make out what; and she heard -you promise to comply with her request, on condition of her paying over -to Mrs. Marsh a certain annuity. All this looked very odd, you know; and -Miss Clowrie, who is a good deal of an attorney, they tell me, scented a -criminal case. She consulted with her father on the subject, and was -overheard by her brother Jacob, who is in my office. Jake communicated -the story next morning in confidence to Bill Blair, and Bill related it -in confidence to me. I cross-questioned Jake, and got out of him all he -knew, and then pooh-poohed the story, and told them Catty must have been -dreaming. But the annuity was paid, and I suspected the whole thing at -once. It was none of my business, however, so I held my tongue; and as -Mr. and Miss Clowrie hadn't facts enough to go upon, they held theirs, -too, and waited for something to turn up. There is the story to you, -Miss Rose; and now why on earth, if you are the true Olive Henderson, -have you slaved here as a governess, while you let another, who had no -right, usurp your place and wealth?" - -The governess lifted her head with some spirit. - -"It is no slavery, Mr. Blake! They are very kind to me here, Mr. Blake, -and I have every reason to be happy; and Harriet has a right, a strong -right, which I never mean to dispute, to possess whatever belongs to me. -She is no usurper, for I have made over to her fully and sincerely the -legacy bequeathed to Philip Henderson. - -"I understand. You are very generous and self-sacrificing, Miss -Rose--but still she has no right there, and--" But Miss Rose -interrupted, clasping her hands in passionate appeal. - -"Oh, Mr. Blake, what are you going to do? Oh, I entreat of you, if you -have any regard for me or poor Harriet, not to reveal what you know. -Indeed, indeed, I don't want it! What should I do with half that money? -I have everything I want, and am as happy as the day is long. Do you -think I could ever be happy again if I turned poor Harriet out; do you -think I could ever live in that grand place, knowing I had made her -miserable for life? Oh, no, Mr. Blake! You are good and kind-hearted, -and would not make any one unhappy, I know! Then let things go on as -they are; and don't say anything about this?" - -"But I cannot, my dear little martyr!" said Val, "and I must speak of it -to her, at least, because it is involved in another story she must -hear." - -"In another story?" - -"Yes, Miss Rose--for I suppose I must still call you by that name--in -another story, stranger than anything you ever heard out of a novel. A -cruel and shameful story of wrong and revenge, that I have come here to -tell you this morning, and to which all this has been but the preface." - -The governess lifted her pale, wondering face in mute inquiry, and Val -began the story Paul Wyndham had related the night before. The brown -eyes of the little governess dilated, and her lips parted as she -listened, but she never spoke or interrupted him until he had finished. -She sat with her clasped hands in her lap, her eyes never leaving his -face, her lips apart and breathless. - -"So you see, Miss Rose," Val wound up, "in telling that unfortunate girl -at Redmon that she is not, and never has been, legally the wife of Paul -Wyndham, it is of absolute impossibility to shirk the other story. Had -she never falsely possessed herself of that to which she had no claim, -this dishonor would have been saved her. She might have been poor, but -not disgraced, as she is now." - -"Oh, Mr. Blake! what have I heard? Nathalie Marsh alive and here?" - -"Not Nathalie Marsh--Nathalie Wyndham. Whatever your stepsister may be, -Nathalie at least is his lawful wife!" - -"Oh, my poor, poor, Nathalie! And is she really insane--hopelessly -insane?" - -"Hopelessly, I fear, but she does not look as if her life would last -long. She is only the shadow of what she was--a poor, thin, frail -shadow. - -"And Harriet, who is so proud, what will she say when this is told her? -Oh, how could Mr. Wyndham do her such a wrong? It was cruel! it was -unmanly!" - -"So it was," nodded Val, "and it's not like him, either; for Wyndham is -a pretty honorable fellow, as the world goes. But man, even at the -best," said Mr. Blake, modestly, thinking of his own short-comings, "is -weak, and temptation is strong. I think he is sorry enough for it -now--not selfishly sorry, either. And now, Miss Rose, what I want is -this. I know you are a sort of unprofessed Sister of Charity where the -sick are concerned, and you and poor Natty used to be friends. I want to -know if you will come and stay with her for awhile; she hasn't a soul of -the female kind but Midge. If Joanna were here, I wouldn't have to -trouble you; but in her absence you are the only one I can think of. Of -course, her mother must go; but poor Mrs. Marsh is of no more use in a -sick room than a big wax doll. She will play propriety while you stay." - -"Yes, yes; I will go at once!" exclaimed Miss Rose, starting up in -womanly impulsiveness. "Wait one moment while I run and tell Mrs. -Wheatly." - -"Oh, there's no such hurry! It will do this afternoon, when I will call -for you, with Mrs. Marsh. Don't tell Mrs. Wheatly who it is you are -going to see, mind--the secret will get out, of course, but we don't -want everybody to know it just yet." - -"I will not tell. What time will you call?" - -"About three. I am going to Redmon now. She ought to know at once!" - -"My poor, poor Harriet! Oh, Mr. Blake! She is so proud and sensitive. -You will spare her as much as you can?" - -Mr. Blake took the two little clasped hands between his own broad palms, -and looked down kindly in the pale, pleading face. - -"I think I could spare my worst enemy if you pleaded for him, my little -friend. Don't be afraid of me, Miss Winnie. I don't think it is in me to -strike a fallen foe--and that poor girl at Redmon never injured me. -Good-bye, until then!" - -Mr. Blake's composure, as we know, was not easily disturbed; but he rang -the bell at Redmon with much the same sensation a miserable sufferer -from toothache rings at a dentist's door. - -Yes, Mrs. Wyndham was in, the servant said, taking the visitor's card -and ushering him into the library, where a bright fire blazed, for the -lady of Redmon liked fires. Val sat and stared at it, wondering how he -would begin his disagreeable task, and how she would take it. - -"She's such a flarer anyway!" thought Mr. Blake, "that I dare say she'll -fly out at me like a wildcat! What a mess it is! I wish I never had got -into it!" - -The door opened while he was thinking, and Olive came in. She was -dressed in a loose morning negligee, every fold showing how -indifferently her toilet had been made. Val saw, too, how pale, and wan, -and weary her dark face looked; how hollow, and earthen, and melancholy -her large black eyes. She had had her own share of the suffering, and -her pride and haughty defiance seemed subdued now. - -"Does she know already?" wondered Val; "if not, why does she look like -that? Have you been ill, Mrs. Wyndham?" he asked, aloud. - -"Oh, no," she said, drearily; "but I have not been out much of late, and -so have got low-spirited, I suppose. This wretched autumn weather, too, -always makes me dismal." - -"How shall I begin?" thought Val, staring moodily in the fire. But the -cheering blaze gave forth no answer, and it was Olive herself who broke -the ice. - -"Has anything happened, Mr. Blake, to make you wear that serious face? -Mr. Wyndham----" - -She paused--her voice quivering a little. Val looked up. - -"Mr. Wyndham is at Rosebush Cottage," he said. "Did you know it?" - -"I thought he was. It is three days since he was here." - -The tremor was in her voice again. - -"What does it mean, at all?" thought Val; "it can't be that she cares -for the fellow, surely!" - -"Is his mother worse, do you know?" she asked, her spirit rebelling -against the question her torturing anxiety forced from her. - -"Now it is coming!" thought Val; "bless my soul! but it is hard to get -out! It sticks in my throat like Macbeth's amen! Madam," he said, aloud, -facing round and plunging into the icy shower-bath at once, "there has -been a terrible mistake, which only came to my knowledge last night. A -great wrong has been done you by Mr. Wyndham, and it is to inform you of -it I have come here to-day." - -Her pale face turned blood-red, and then ghastly white. - -"You need not tell me," she cried, "I know it! She is not his mother!" - -"She is not!" said Val, very much surprised; "but how in the world did -you find it out?" - -She did not speak. She sat looking at him with a dreadful fixed stare. - -"Tell me all," she said; "tell me all! Who is she?" - -"She is his wife! I don't think you can know that. He was a married man -before he ever saw you here." - -A low cry of despair broke from Olive's white lips. This was not what -she had expected--at the worst, she had never thought of this. - -"His wife!" she cried, "and what, then, am I?" - -Val sat dumb. It was not a very pleasant question to answer; and, to -tell the truth, he was more than a little afraid of the lightning -flashing from those midnight eyes. - -"What am I?" she repeated, in a voice almost piercing in its shrillness. -"What am I? If she is his wife, what am I?" - -"My dear madam, it is a most wicked affair from beginning to end, and -you have been most shamefully duped. Believe me, I pity you from the -very bottom of my heart." - -With a cry that Val Blake never forgot, in its broken-hearted anguish -and despair, she dropped down on the sofa, and buried her face among the -pillows, as if she would have shut out the world and its miseries, as -she did the sight of the man before her. - -Mr. Blake, not knowing any panacea for misery such as this, and fearing -to turn consoler, lest he should make a mess of it, did the very best -thing he could have done, let it alone, and began the story he had to -tell. So, lying there in her bitter humiliation, this woman heard that -her miserable secret was a secret no longer, and that the pale, silent -actress of Mrs. Butterby's lodgings had been Nathalie Marsh, and was now -Paul Wyndham's beloved wife. That was the misery--she scarcely heeded, -in the supreme suffering of that thought, the discovery of her own -trickery and deceit--she only knew that the man she had thought her -husband, and who, in spite of herself, she had learned to love, had -cruelly and shamefully deceived her. She had never for one poor moment -been his wife, never for an instant had a right to his name; she was -only the poor despised tool, whom he used at the bidding of the wife he -loved. The horrible agony she suffered lying there, and thinking of -those things, no human pen can tell--no heart conceive. - -Mr. Blake rose up when he finished his narrative, thankful it was over. -She had never moved or spoken all the time, but he knew she had heard -him, and he paused, with his hand on the door, to make a last remark. - -"I beg, my dear young lady, you will not be overcome by this unfortunate -affair. It will be kept as close as possible, and you need not be -disturbed in the possession of Redmon, since such is Miss Rose's wish. I -have done my duty in telling you, though the duty has been a very -unpleasant one, good-morning, madam." - -She never moved. Val looked at the prostrate figure with a vague -uneasiness, and remembered it was just such women as this that swallowed -poison, or went down to the river and drowned themselves. He thought of -it all the way to Mrs. Marsh's, growing more and more uneasy all the -time. - -"Oh, hang it," thought Mr. Blake, "I wish Paul Wyndham had been at -Jericho before I ever got mixed up in his dirty doings. If that -black-eyed young woman goes and does something desperate, I shall feel -as if I had a hand in her death. I am always getting into other people's -scrapes, somehow! I suppose it's my luck!" - -Val knocked at the cottage door, and was admitted to the pleased -presence of Mrs. Marsh. And to her, once again, the story of plot and -counterplot had to be told; but it was a long time before she could -quite comprehend it. She cried a good deal when she fully took in the -sense of the thing, said she wondered at Mr. Wyndham, and thought it was -dreadful to have Nathalie restored, only to find she was out of her -mind. She wanted to go to her at once, she said--poor dear Natty! and so -Mr. Blake went for a cab without more ado, and found Mrs. Marsh shawled -and bonneted, and all ready, upon his return. They drove up Golden Row -and stopped at Mrs. Wheatly's for Miss Rose, whom Val handed in, in a -few minutes, and then packed himself up beside the driver. - -Midge opened the door of Rosebush Cottage to the visitors, and stared -aghast upon seeing who they were. - -"Is Mr. Wyndham in?" asked Val. - -Midge nodded, and jerked her head toward the room he had been in the -preceding night, and, unconscious Val tapped at it, and then walked in, -followed by the two ladies. - -Paul Wyndham stood up as they entered, pale and quiet as ever. Nathalie, -wrapped in a loose white morning-dress, lay on a lounge, a pile of -pillows under her head, and a mingled odor of vinegar and cologne and a -number of saturated cloths showed he had been bathing her forehead when -they came in. Mrs. Marsh never noticed him, but fell down on her knees -beside the lounge, in an outburst of motherly grief and joy, raining -kisses on the feverish face. Alas! that now-flushed, feverish face! the -cheeks crimson, the forehead shining, and burning with raging fever, the -golden hair all tossed and disordered over the pillows, and the hot, -restless head turning ceaselessly from side to side, vainly trying to -cool its fire. The blue eyes shone with fever's luster; but no light of -recognition came into them at her mother's passionate words and kisses. -Miss Rose, throwing off her hat and mantle, knelt beside her and dipped -the cloths in vinegar and water, and laid them on the burning brow of -the poor stricken girl. Val looked inquiringly at Mr. Wyndham. - -"She must have taken cold last evening in the church," he answered, in a -low tone; "she became delirious in the night, and has continued so ever -since." - -"I'll be off for the doctor at once," said Val, briskly; "she's in a bad -way, I know. I'll fetch Dr. Leach, he was their family physician, and -won't tell." - -Energetic Mr. Blake stalked out of the room without more ado. Paul -Wyndham followed him to the door. - -"They know?" he inquired, motioning toward the room they had quitted. - -"All about it," said Val, "and so does that unhappy young woman at -Redmon, and if she doesn't commit suicide before night it will be a -mercy. And oh, Wyndham, by the way, you had better not show yourself. It -isn't a very creditable affair, you know, to any of the parties -concerned, and the best atonement you can make is to keep out of sight." - -He strode off, without waiting for a reply, in search of Dr. Leach, and -had the good fortune to find that gentleman taking his dinner. Mr. Blake -hurried him through that meal with little regard to calm digestion, and -on the road had to relate, for the fourth time, the story, of which he -was by this time heartily sick. - -Dr. Leach listened like a man who cannot believe his own ears. - -"Bless my soul!" he exclaimed, "is it a story out of the Arabian Nights -you are telling me? Nathalie Marsh alive, and Mr. Wyndham's wife! The -mother all a hoax, and the young woman at Redmon a--what is she, Blake?" - -"Blamed if I know!" replied Mr. Blake; "but, whatever she is, Nathalie -was the first wife. It's a very uncommon story, but it is true as -preaching for all that, only I am getting tired of telling it so often." - -"Well, well, well! Wonders will never cease! Natty returned to life, -Cherrie back in Speckport, and Charley coming! Why, Val, we will have -the old merry time all over again before long." - -"I am afraid not! I am afraid poor Nathalie is beyond even your skill, -doctor. She was almost at death's door before, and this fever will -finish her." - -Mr. Wyndham was not in the room when the doctor and Val returned. Mrs. -Marsh and Miss Rose were still keeping cooling applications to the hot -forehead, but nothing could cool the fever that consumed her. Val drew -Miss Rose aside as the doctor bent over his patient. - -"Where is Wyndham?" he asked. - -"I don't know. He has not been here since you left." - -"What do you think of her?" nodding toward the fever-stricken girl on -the lounge. - -The governess, whose experience among the sick poor made her no -unskillful leech, looked out of the window through a mist of tears. - -"We have found her to lose her again, I fear. Look at Dr. Leach's face! -Can you not read his verdict there?" - -The old physician certainly was looking seriously grave, and shook his -head at Mrs. Marsh's eager questioning. - -"We must hope for the best, ma'am, and do what we can. The result is in -the hands of Providence." - -"Then you think there is danger, doctor?" said Val, coming forward. - -"Imminent danger, sir! It is typhoid fever, and a very serious case, -too. A strong constitution would stand a chance, but she has no -constitution at all. Gone, sir! gone! she is as feeble as an infant." - -"Then there is no hope at all?" - -"None!" replied Dr. Leach, solemnly; "she will never leave this room -alive. And better so, better so than as she was." - -"Yes," said Val, sadly; "it is better as it is! My dear Mrs. Marsh, -don't distress yourself so. Think that her mind is entirely gone, and -never could be restored, I believe, and you will be thankful that her -earthly troubles are so nearly ended." - -Dr. Leach was giving directions in a low tone to Miss Rose, and Val, at -his desire, lifted the slight form of the sufferer in his strong arms, -carried her into the inner room, and laid her on the bed. - -"I will call in again before night," said the doctor. "Remember my -directions, Miss Rose. Come, Blake; you're going, I suppose?" - -"Yes; in a moment. I want to see Wyndham." - -Paul Wyndham was walking up and down the hall as they came out, his pale -face expressive of but one thing--intensest anxiety. Dr. Leach, with a -stiff bow, passed on and went out, but Val halted. - -"Well?" Mr. Wyndham asked, eagerly. - -"No hope," said Val; "no earthly power can save her. It's typhoid--the -most malignant kind. She will die, thank God!" - -Paul Wyndham leaned against the wall and covered his face, with a bitter -groan. - -"As to you," pursued Val, sternly, "you must leave this house at once, -and enter it no more. Do not forget that we are acting criminally in -screening you from the law, and that we can enforce our commands. Go at -once, and do not come here again until all is over!" - -He left the house as he spoke, and joined the doctor, who had gained the -highroad. Some people passing stared to see them coming from Rosebush -Cottage, and surmised Mr. Wyndham's mad mother must be worse than ever. - -"How long can she last, doctor?" Val asked, before they parted. - -"Not over two weeks, I fancy, at the most. This fever will carry her off -at once." - -Late in the evening Dr. Leach returned, and found Nathalie worse. Mr. -Wyndham had left the cottage, after taking one last look at the wife he -loved so passionately. The agony in his face had gone to Mrs. Marsh's -heart, and she cried now, as she spoke of it to the doctor. - -"Yes, I dare say," the old man returned, shortly, "he's very sorry, no -doubt, but he's a villain for all that; and, only for poor Natty's sake, -I'd have him arrested for bigamy this minute!" - -Miss Rose did not go home that night; she would never leave Nathalie -now. She sent a note to Mrs. Wheatly by the doctor, explaining that it -was a case of typhoid, and that she feared to bring the infection into -the family. All further explanation she left to the doctor, only -desiring that her clothes might be sent to her. Mrs. Marsh dispatched a -similar message to Betsy Ann, and before night everybody knew that Mr. -Wyndham's mother was very bad, that Dr. Leach and Val Blake had been -there, and that Mrs. Marsh and Miss Rose were staying to take care of -her. - -And what did Speckport say to all this? Oh, Speckport had a great deal -to say, and surmise, and inquire. How was it, Speckport wanted to know, -in the first place, that Mrs. Marsh and Miss Rose should be especially -selected as the sick woman's nurses? To which Dr. Leach replied that -Miss Rose, being such a capital hand at the business, and so fond of it -into the bargain, he thought that there was no one in the town so fitted -for the task; and Mrs. Marsh, having nothing else to do, could play -propriety and read novels there as well as in Cottage Street. What was -Mr. Wyndham's mother like, was she a violent lunatic, and was her -present disease infectious? Speckport further inquired. To which Dr. -Leach said, Mrs. Wyndham was the wreck of a very handsome woman, that -she was not violent, only imbecile, and that her fever was highly -infectious, and made it extremely dangerous for any one but the -physician and nurses to enter the house; on which account Mr. Wyndham -would absent himself from Redmon, and Mrs. Olive from Rosebush Cottage, -until all was over. After which ominous phrase the doctor would hurry -away, and Speckport was satisfied. - -Mr. Blake, to be consistent, took up his quarters elsewhere, and visited -the cottage every day to inquire. Paul Wyndham, who was stopping at the -Farmer's Hotel, very near the cottage, came two or three times a day to -ask, but no one invited him to enter, and a sense of honor forbade his -intruding. The answer to all inquiries was continually the same, "No -better." No, Nathalie was no better--never would be better in this -world! She lay tossing on her feverish bed, raving wildly, consumed with -burning heat, never resting night or day. All the scenes of her life -were acted over again in that burning chasm. Now she babbled of her -schoolgirl-days, her mathematics and her music, or berrying and nutting -frolics with Charley. Now she was with Captain Cavendish, loving and -trusting and happy; and now she was shrieking out again that she saw the -murdered woman, and covering her eyes to shut out the ghastly sight. Now -the days of her misery had come; now she was at sea with Captain -Locksley, and in the New York lodging-house; now on the stage, making -rambling, incoherent speeches, and singing stage-songs. Now she was with -Paul Wyndham, his wife; now she was in the cathedral listening to the -stern preacher. And here she would shriek out, and toss her arms wildly, -and ask them to take her to Redmon, that she must tell her all--she -must! she must! And Miss Rose and her mother would have to hold her down -by force to prevent her from rising from the bed in her excitement, and -soothe her with promises that she should go there--only to wait a little -while. And the poor sufferer would fall back exhausted, and perhaps go -back to the old days when she played with Charley, a child. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - -DIES IRÆ, DIES ILLA. - - -The November day broke bleak and gloomy. The dismal dawn was laden with -thick, sodden fog, and wretched, drizzling rain. The wind, full of the -wail of coming winter, was cold and raw; and the sky, seen dimly through -the fog-bank, was of sullen lead, the earth black and dreary; and the -sea and the fog so mixed that you could hardly tell where one began and -the other ended. - -In the Farmers' Hotel, a rambling wooden building, standing by itself on -a quiet country road, all was still as the grave at this early hour of -the miserable November morning. Even in the kitchen and halls there was -as yet no step, and the servants slept the sleep of the just in their -own dormitories. Perhaps of all in the house the man who stood at his -chamber window, blurred and smeared with clammy wet, and stared -hopelessly out through the full blank of fog and mist, was the only one -astir in the house. - -In the murky dawn of this bad November morning, Paul Wyndham, with -hollow creases under his eyes, and deep plowshares of silent suffering -about his mouth and forehead, stood looking out of the stained window, -at the flat waste of desolation without. It was hardly two poor weeks, -but it seemed a lifetime; and a horrible numbness was coming over him -and blunting all sense of pain. Would it always go on like this--this -dull, dead blank in life--would it last forever? All things were -beginning to look unreal, and lose their significance, nothing seemed -palpable or as it used to be. He was conscious that the crisis had come; -that in the long, black, sluggish watches of that wet November night a -battle had been fought between life and death, in the cottage whose -lighted window he could see from his own; but only conscious in a dull, -numb sort of way, to which the sharpness of the torture had given force. - -The pale, cold dawn crept shining in while he stood there blankly -staring out at the hopeless dreariness, and he roused himself from his -torpor by a great effort at last. A loud-voiced clock somewhere in the -silent house struck six as he put on his overcoat and hat and went down -stairs. - -Paul Wyndham waded on through the sea of mud, in the cold morning rain, -not meeting a soul, until he stood before Rosebush Cottage. The red -light in the window burned still; but had that other light, that light -of a beloved life, gone out in the night? It had been the crisis of the -fever--that low, miserable, burning, delirious fever, in which for so -many weary days and endless nights, the poor, unconscious sufferer had -tossed. Ah! that dreary time of probation--when the faithful watchers -had seen her sink day by day; when they had to force her clenched teeth -apart to admit teaspoonfuls of beef-tea; when they had listened with -aching hearts to her meaningless babble, or the songs the weak voice -sang. But that sad time of waiting had dragged itself out, and the night -came which must end all suspense. Does hope ever entirely leave the -human heart, until the blank face actually grows rigid and the -death-rattle sounds? Those sad and silent watchers in that darkened room -hoped against hope through the slow lingering hours of that night. They -were all there--Dr. Leach, Val, Mrs. Marsh, Miss Rose, and Midge, all -mutely watching the pale shadow of Nathalie lying so still and white on -the bed. You might have thought her dead had you entered, and looked at -her lying with closed eyes, and no perceptible respiration. But she was -only sleeping, and a faint breath still came from the colorless -lips--sleeping a sleep from which the doctor, at least, knew she could -only awake to die. He had a strong hope she might awake free from fever, -and that reason might return before the last hour. He sat by the -bedside, holding her wrist in his fingers, never taking his eyes off her -face. Mrs. Marsh had fallen asleep quietly in her chair, and Mr. Blake -was dozing; so when, as the pale morning broke, and the blue eyes -opened to life once more, there was only the doctor and Miss Rose to -bend over her. - -"Nathalie, darling!" the governess said, with trembling lips, "don't you -know me?" - -The blue eyes turned upon the sweet face with the clear light of -restored reason, and a faint smile dawned on the wasted face. - -"Miss Rose," she said, in a voice so faint that it sounded scarcely -above a whisper. "You here?" - -"I am here, too, Natty," said the physician. "Don't you know the old -doctor?" - -Yes, she knew him--she knew them all when they came crowding around her, -and looked up at them with faint wonder in her fever-dimmed blue eyes. - -"I have been ill, haven't I?" she said, feebly, glancing at her poor, -transparent, wasted hands. "Have I been ill long?" - -"Not very long, Natty dear," her mother answered, kissing her, "only two -weeks, and you will be better soon now, won't she, doctor?" - -But Dr. Leach did not reply. How could he deceive that dying girl? She -looked into his grave, sad face, and a solemn shadow fell on her own, a -shadow of the dark truth. - -"Oh, doctor!" she cried out, "am I dying?" - -He bent over her, and stroked away tenderly the full dark hair off her -forehead. - -"My poor child! my dear child! God knows I would save you if I could; -but the power of life and death lies in higher hands. Has this world -been such a pleasant place to you that you should wish to stay in it? -Think of that better world, my poor little girl, that lies beyond the -grave. It would be cruel in me to deceive you now." - -She drew the hand he held out of his suddenly, and turned her face away -from them. Mrs. Marsh broke out into strong sobbing, but the doctor -sternly hushed her. But the dulled, dying ear caught the sound, and she -turned to them again. - -"How long have I to live?" she asked. - -He could not tell an untruth with those earnest eyes fixed on his face, -and his voice was husky as he replied: - -"Not long! not long, my poor girl! But long enough to prepare for the -world to which you are going." - -"Will I die to-day?" - -Her mother's sobs broke out again; but Nathalie looked only at the -doctor. - -"Yes, dear child, you will last to-day, I think; but try and be calm, -and not disturb yourself at the shortness of the time." - -Her hands dropped in a kind of collapse of despair. - -"So soon, so soon!" she said, "and so much to do--so much to atone for!" - -"Shall we send for a clergyman?" the doctor asked. - -"Shall I fetch you Father Lennard?" inquired Val, stooping over her. - -Her face brightened a little. The gray old priest had baptized her, an -infant, had confirmed her a young girl, rind she had loved and -reverenced him more than any one else on earth. - -"Yes, yes," she said, eagerly. "Bring Father Lennard. Oh, how short the -time is, and so much to be done." - -Mr. Blake found Father Lennard at home, and had to go over again the -weary story of wrong-doings and falsehood. He was a very old man; his -hair had grown gray in his holy calling, and he was long used to tales -of sorrow and sin--sorrow and sin, that go so surely hand in hand. He -had learned to listen to such recitals--as a pitiful doctor, who knows -all the ailments poor human nature is subject to, does to stories of -bodily suffering--tenderly, sadly, but with no surprise. He had known -Nathalie Marsh from babyhood; he had had a father's affection for the -pretty, gentle, blue-eyed little girl, who had knelt at his confessional -so often, lisping out her childish faults; he had moaned for her tragic -fate; and he had nothing but pity, and prayer, and sorrow for her now. - -Mrs. Marsh and Miss Rose were in the room with the dying girl when they -returned; Mrs. Marsh sitting at the foot of the bed, weeping -incessantly, and the pale governess kneeling beside the pillows, -holding the cold thin hands in hers, and reading prayers for the sick -out of a missal. Both arose when the Father entered, and the dying face -lit up with a sudden light of recognition and hope. - -"My poor child! my poor baby!" the old man said, tenderly, bending over -her. "Is it thus I find my little Natty again? Thank God that reason has -returned to you in your last hours." - -The mother and friend of the dying girl quitted the room, leaving the -old priest alone to prepare the departing soul for its last great -journey. Miss Rose knelt in silent, fervent prayer all the time; but -Mrs. Marsh--poor weak soul!--could do nothing but sit and cry. Val had -found Mr. Wyndham in the kitchen, leaning against the wooden -chimney-piece, with a white, despairing face; and, pitying him in spite -of his misdoings, turned comforter as best he could. He walked up and -down the hall restlessly between whiles, feeling in the solemn hush of -the house as if he were in the tomb. His watch, which he was perpetually -jerking out, pointed to ten; and he was thinking he would have to run -down to the office presently, when, opening the parlor-door to announce -that intention, he saw Father Lennard come out of the sick-room. - -"Well, Father?" Val said, anxiously. - -"All is well, thank God! She is quite resigned now; and if sincere -contrition ever atoned for sin, hers will surely be pardoned. Are you in -a hurry, Val?" - -"I should be very much hurried indeed, Father, if I could not do -anything you or she may desire! What is it?" - -"Will you go to Redmon, and fetch that unhappy young lady here. The poor -child says she cannot die until she has heard her pardon her." - -"I'll go," said Val, "but I'm not so sure Mrs. Wyndham will come. You -see, she is one of your proud and high-stepping people, and is in such -trouble herself that----" - -"Let me go with you, Mr. Blake," cried Miss Rose, starting up; "I think -she will come with me." - -"All right, then! Put your bonnet on while I run round and make Peter -get out the buggy." - -The buggy came round to the front door, and Val assisted the governess -in and drove off. - -Father Lennard returned to the sick-room, and sat there holding the hand -of the dying, whose sad, sunken blue eyes never left his face, and -talking of that merciful Redeemer, who once said to another poor sinful -creature, "Neither do I condemn thee!" Nathalie lay, clasping a crucifix -to her breast, her pale lips moving in ceaseless inward prayer, while -she listened, her face calm and beautiful in its holy hope. The hours -that intervened seemed very short, and then the carriage wheels crunched -over the gravel, and Nathalie caught her breath with a sort of gasp. - -"Oh, Father, do you think she has come?" - -"I trust so, dear child! I will go and see." - -As he entered the drawing-room, the front door opened. Val stalked in, -followed by Miss Rose and--yes, by a figure stately and tall, dressed -very plainly, and closely vailed. The priest knew that majestic figure, -although the face, seen dimly through the vail, was so changed that he -hardly knew it. - -"You may go in," he said, in reply to Miss Rose's appealing look; "she -is waiting for you." - -As the door closed upon the tall vailed form, and the two women, united -to the same man, were face to face, Father Lennard took his hat to go. - -"I shall return again in the afternoon," he said; "I would stay all day -if I could, but it is impossible." - -"I will drive you into town," said Val; "Peter can fetch the traps back. -Oh, here's the doctor!" - -Dr. Leach opened the garden-gate as they came out, and lifted his hat to -the clergyman. - -"How is she?" he asked. - -"Failing fast," said Father Lennard. "I do not think she will wear the -night through!" - -"You are coming back, I suppose?" - -"I shall endeavor to do so. I promised her I would, poor child!" - -The doctor went into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Marsh, through her -tears, told him who was with her. The old doctor looked dissatisfied. - -"They'll agitate her too much--I know they will, with their crying and -taking on. If they stay long, I will go and turn them out!" - -He waited for a quarter of an hour, watch in hand, frowning impatiently -at the dial-plate, and then the chamber-door reopened and the -half-sisters came out. The swollen eyes of the governess told how she -had been weeping, but the other had dropped her vail once more, and was -invisible. Dr. Leach bowed to her, but she passed on without seeming to -see him. Miss Rose followed her to the door, and looked wistfully out at -the wet, foggy November weather, and the hopeless slough of mud. - -"You cannot walk back, Harriet. I will send Peter to Redmon for the -carriage. You will get your death of cold to walk there, unused as you -are to walking." - -"What does it matter?" she said, in a strangely hollow voice, "the -sooner I get my death the better. If I could only die like her, I should -rejoice however soon it came!" - -"But, Harriet----" - -But Harriet was gone, even while she spoke, walking rapidly through the -drizzling rain and clammy mud--she, who had had a fastidious horror of -mud on her dainty boots--and knowing nothing of either. All that was -best in her nature had been roused into life by that dying-bed, but -still that utter sense of despair and desolation filled her soul. Her -life was done--there was no future for her--in all the wide universe -there was not such another miserable woman as herself, she -thought--desolate, unloved, and alone. - -There were not many people abroad that bad November day; but those who -were, and who recognized Mrs. Wyndham through her vail, and bowed -ceremoniously, felt themselves outraged at receiving the cut direct. She -never saw them--she walked straight forward to that stately home that -was hers no longer, as people walk in sleep, with eyes wide open and -staring straight before her, but seeing nothing. - -Dr. Leach went into the sick-room as the others left it; but he returned -presently, frowning again. - -"Where is the fellow to be found?" he asked, impatiently; "she will -excite herself in spite of all I can say. She must see him, she says, if -only for ten minutes." - -"Is it Mr. Wyndham?" asked Miss Rose; and the doctor nodded crossly. - -It was the first time that the dying girl had spoken of him; and Miss -Rose, who knew he was in the house, left the room without a word. - -"Oh, he is here, is he?" said Dr. Leach. "I might have known it! Hem! -Here he comes!" - -Paul Wyndham followed the governess into the parlor, looking so haggard -that even the old doctor pitied him. - -"Now, Mr. Wyndham," he said, "my patient is not to be unnecessarily -excited, remember! I give you just ten minutes, not a second more!" - -Mr. Wyndham bowed his head and passed into the chamber; and Dr. Leach, -watch in hand, planted himself at the door, and grimly counted the -minutes. When the ten had passed, he opened the door. - -"Time's up," he said; "say good-bye, Mr. Wyndham, and come out!" - -They were all merciful enough not to look at him as he obeyed. Dr. Leach -went in and found poor Nathalie lying with her eyes closed, clasping her -crucifix, her lips still moving in voiceless prayer. She looked up at -him with her poor, pleading eyes. - -The old doctor departed, and the two women were left alone with the -dying wife of Paul Wyndham. Miss Rose sat by the bedside, reading, in -her sweet, low voice, the consoling prayers for the sick, while poor, -weak, useless Mrs. Marsh only rocked backward and forward in the -rocking-chair, moaning and crying in feeble helplessness. And Paul -Wyndham, in the room on the other side of the hall, walking restlessly -up and down, or stopping to gaze out of the window, or running to Midge -every five minutes to go and inquire how she was--felt and suffered as -men only can feel and suffer once in a lifetime. - -The leaden hours of the twilight deepened into night--black, somber, -starless. With the night came the wind and fell the rain. The storm had -been gathering sullenly all day, and broke with the night fast and -furious. The rain lashed the windows, and the melancholy autumn winds -shrieked and wailed alternately around the cottage, waking a surging -roar in the black cedar woods beyond. The feeble hands still fold -themselves over the precious crucifix--that "sign of hope to man"--but -the power of speech has gone. She cannot move, either; her eyes and lips -are all that seem alive, but her sense of hearing remains. She hears the -sound of carriage-wheels outside, and hears when Father Lennard, Dr. -Leach, and faithful Val enter the drawing-room. The old priest takes -Miss Rose's place, to administer the last solemn rites to the dying, and -Nathalie smiles faintly up in his face and kisses the cross he holds to -her lips. Val Blake goes into the room where he knows Paul Wyndham must -be, and finds him lying as Midge found him a quarter of an hour before. -He stoops down and finds he is asleep--Ah! when had he slept night or -day before?--and his face looks so haggard and heart-broken in repose -that Val says "Poor fellow!" and goes softly out. - -And so, with death in their midst, the faithful watchers sit and keep -vigil, while the stormy night wore on. Ah! Heaven strengthen us all for -that dread death-watch, when we sit beside those we love, and watch and -wait for the soul to take its fight. No one spoke, except in hushed -whispers, and the roaring of the wild storm sounded awfully loud in the -stillness. They can hear the voice of the old priest as he reads, or -talks, or prays with that fluttering spirit, already in the shadow of -the valley of death. As the watch of Val points to eleven, Miss Rose -glides softly out, with a face like snow, and tells them to kneel, while -Father Lennard reads the prayers for the dying. So they kneel and bow -their heads with awe-struck spirits, while the solemn and beautiful -prayers of the old church are read, and thrill as they hear that awful -adjuration: "Depart, Christian soul, out of this world!" and then, as it -is finishing, there is a pause. What does it mean? The service for the -dying is not ended. A moment later and they know--Father Lennard goes -on, but it is prayers for the dead he renders now, and they know all is -over; and Val Blake leans his head on his arm and feels it grow wet, -while the sad and solemn voice of the old priest goes on. Then they all -arise, Father Lennard reverentially closes the blue eyes, that have -looked their last on this mortal life, and there is a wild outbreak of -motherly love from poor Mrs. Marsh; and Miss Rose, with her face buried -in the pillow, is crying as she has not cried for many a day; and Val -and the old doctor go softly in and look on the beautiful dead face, and -think of the bright, happy Nathalie Marsh of last year--for whom all the -world might have prophesied a long and happy life--and feel that neither -youth, nor health, nor beauty, nor all the glory of the world, can save -us one hour from death. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - -OUT OF THE CROOKED WAYS. - - -And so all was over; and Speckport found out that the poor, miserable -creature, Mr. Wyndham's mother, was dead. It must have been a merciful -release for her, poor soul! they said; but the fever was infectious, and -they sympathized at a respectful distance. But Mr. Wyndham's wife left -Redmon and went to the cottage as soon as she heard it, and staid there -through all the weary time that intervened between the death and the -burial. There had been a consultation about the funeral and the grave, -and it was decided that that other grave, marked with the white cross, -and bearing the name of Nathalie Marsh, should not be disturbed. -By-and-by, Val said, the name can be erased; to disturb it now would -involve the telling of the whole story. Let Mr. Wyndham erect what sort -of monument he pleases. So the grave was dug in a sunny inclosure, under -a tamarack tree, and the funeral-service was held in the cathedral, and -a long file of carriages followed the hearse to the cemetery. Paul -Wyndham, in his deep mourning, stood bareheaded in the cold November -sunlight while the coffin was being lowered and the sods rattled heavily -on the lid; and Speckport, as represented by the funeral cortege, -whispered that Mr. Wyndham looked ten years older since his mother's -death. - -So Rosebush Cottage was left once more to the sole care of Midge, and -Mr. Wyndham returned to his late quarters at the "Farmer's Hotel." Mrs. -Marsh was driven to Cottage Street, and Mr. Blake, having fumigated -himself thoroughly, delighted the home of Miss Laura Blair once more -with the light of his presence. Poor Laura had led rather a lonely life -of late; for her darling Olly, wrapped up in her own troubles, had no -time to attend to her, and Val had deserted them altogether. She was -sitting, pale and listless, turning over the leaves of a new and popular -novel, with an indifference not very flattering to the author, when the -opening of the door made her start up, with a flush on her pretty face -and a light in her bright eyes, to whose flattering interest even Mr. -Blake could not be insensible. - -"Yes, I've come back to poor Laura," Mr. Blake said, shaking hands with -more warmth than perhaps there was any real necessity for. "I find I -can't stay away from you somehow. How's everybody?" - -"Pa and ma are well, if you mean them by 'everybody.' So poor Mr. -Wyndham's mother has gone?" - -Mr. Blake nodded. - -"And what is Mr. Wyndham going to do with that love of a cottage now, I -wonder?" - -"I," said Mr. Blake, imperiously, "am going to purchase that love of a -cottage myself!" - -"You! Why, Val! What will you ever do with a house?" - -"Live in it, Miss Blair, like any other Christian!" - -"Oh, yes; of course; I suppose you will send for Miss Jo to keep house -for you again?" - -"Why, no," said Mr. Blake, thoughtfully. "I think not. Do you know, -Laura, what I have been thinking of lately?" - -"No; how should I?" - -"Well, then," said Val, in a confidential tone, "I have been thinking of -getting married! You need not mention it just yet, until I see more -about it. In fact, I have not asked the lady yet, and don't know what -she may say." - -"And who is the happy lady, pray?" - -"A particular friend of mine," nodded Val, sagely, "and of yours, too, -Laura. The nicest girl in Speckport." - -"It is Miss Rose," thought Laura, with a sudden sinking of the heart. -"He always admired her, and they have been so much together lately!" - -"I'll buy the cottage from Wyndham as it stands," pursued Val, serenely -unconscious of the turn Miss Blair's thoughts had taken, "and fetch my -wife there, and live in clover all the rest of my life. So hold yourself -in readiness, Miss Laura, to dance at the wedding." - -Miss Laura might have replied but for a sudden choking sensation in the -throat, and the entrance of her portly mamma. Under cover of that lady's -entrance, she made her exit, and going up to her room, flung herself, -face downward, on the bed, and cried until her eyes were as red as a -ferret's. And all the time Mr. Blake was in a state of serene -complacency at the artful way in which he had prepared her for what was -to come. - -"I couldn't speak much plainer," he thought, blandly. "How pretty she -looked, blushing and looking down. Of course I'll get married. I wonder -I never thought of it before. Dear little Laura! I'll never forget the -first time I heard her sing, 'We won't go home till morning!' I thought -her the jolliest girl then I ever met." - -Mr. Blake was a gentleman in the habit of striking while the iron was -hot. He called round at the office, rapped Master Bill Blair over the -head with the tongs for standing on his hands instead of his feet, and -then started off for the Farmer's Hotel, without more ado, and was -ushered by a waiter into Mr. Wyndham's room. - -"Blake, I owe you more than I can ever repay," he said; "you have been -my true friend through all this miserable time; and believe me, I feel -your goodness as much as a man can feel, even though I cannot express -it! Please God, this trouble of my life shall make me a better man, if I -can never be a happy one." - -"Oh, you'll be happy," said Mr. Blake. "Get into the straight path -again, Wyndham, and keep there. I don't set up for a preacher, goodness -knows! but you may depend there is nothing like it." - -"The straight path!" Paul Wyndham repeated, with a weary, regretful -sigh; "yes, I have been straying sadly out of the straight path of truth -and honor and rectitude into the crooked ways of falsehood and treachery -and deceit. Heaven help me, it never was with a contented heart! No one -on this earth could ever despise me half so much as I despised myself -all the time!" - -"All right," cried Val, cheerily, "it's never too late to mend. Keep -straight now, and we can all forgive and forget the past. I suppose you -will be for leaving us shortly now?" - -"Immediately. This is Tuesday--I shall depart in Thursday's boat." - -"Will you," said Val, lighting a cigar; "that soon? What are you going -to do with Rosebush Cottage?" - -"The cottage! Oh, I shall leave it as it is--that is, shut it up. In -time--a year or two, perhaps--I may return and sell it, if any one will -purchase." - -"Don't wait a year or two. Sell it now." - -"Who wants it?" - -"I do," said Val, with one of his nods. - -"You! What do you want of the place, may I ask." - -"Well, now, I don't see any just cause or impediment to my possessing a -house any more than the rest of mankind, that everybody should be so -surprised. I want the house to live in, of course--what else?" - -Paul Wyndham looked at him and smiled. The great trouble of his life had -changed him to a grave, sad man; but being only human, he could still -smile. - -"I wish you joy with all my heart! Laura has said yes, then?" - -"Why, no, not exactly--that is to say, I haven't asked her out-and-out -yet. I wanted to settle about the house first. But I gave her a pretty -broad hint, and I guess it's all right. I think I should like to live -there particularly, and now what will you take for it as it stands?" - -Mr. Wyndham arose, opened a desk, and took out a bundle of papers, which -he laid before Val. - -"Here is the deed and all the documents connected with the place. You -can see what it cost me yourself. Here is the upholsterer's bill, but -you must deduct from that, for it is only second-hand furniture now. I -leave the matter entirely to yourself." - -With such premises, bargaining was no very difficult matter; and half an -hour after, Val had the deed in his pocket, and was the happy owner of -Rosebush Cottage. - -"You stay here, I suppose, until Thursday," he said, rising to go. - -"Yes." - -"And how about that poor girl at Redmon? What is to become of her?" - -Mr. Wyndham laid his hand on Val's shoulder, and looked very gravely up -in his face. - -"Val, before she died, in that last brief interview, she spoke of -Harriet, and I gave her a promise then which I shall faithfully keep. -The devotion of a whole life can scarcely atone to her for the wrong I -have done her; but if she will accept that atonement, Heaven knows it -will make me happier now than anything else on earth. If she does not -utterly loathe and hate me--if she will be my wife in reality, as she -has hitherto been in name--we will leave this place together; and -whether my life be long or short, it shall be entirely devoted to her -alone." - -Val's face turned radiant. He seized Mr. Wyndham's other hand, and shook -it with crushing heartiness. - -"My dear Wyndham! My dear old boy! I always knew your heart was in the -right place, in spite of all your shortcomings. Oh, you'll be all right -now! You've got the stuff in you that men are made of!" - -With which Mr. Blake strode off, fairly beaming with delight, and -whistling all the way home. He sprang up the outer steps at a bound, -rang the bell with emphasis, and shooting past the astonished servant, -bolted whirlwind-fashion into the dining-room. At first he thought there -was no one there, but, disturbed by the noisy entrance, from a sofa -before the fire, and from out a heaving sea of pillows, Laura lifted up -her head and looked at him. Poor Laura! That feminine luxury, a "real -good cry," had brought on a raging headache, and now her face was -flushed, her eyes dim and heavy, and her head throbbing and hot. She -dropped that poor but aching head again as she saw who it was, with a -rebellious choking in the throat, and a sudden filling of the eyes. - -"Oh, I say, Laura," cried Mr. Blake, in considerable consternation, -"you're not sick, are you? What's the matter?" - -"My head aches," Laura got out, through her tears. - -"Poor little head!" Mr. Blake piteously remarked, and Laura sobbed -outright; "don't cry, Laura, it will be better before you are twice -married. Look, here's a plaster I've brought you for it!" - -He put the deed of Rosebush Cottage in her feverish hand. Laura stayed -her tears, and looked at it, blankly. - -"What is it?" she asked. - -"Can't you see? It's the deed of Rosebush Cottage. I've bought it, -furniture and all--and the furniture is very pretty, Laura--from Paul -Wyndham. I'll let you keep that paper, if you'll promise to take good -care of it." - -"I don't understand you! Oh, Val!" cried Miss Blair, her heart beginning -to flutter wildly again, "what is it you mean?" - -"Why, didn't I tell you this morning? I'm going to be married--that is, -if you will have me, Laura!" - -Happy Laura! Such a rosy tide swept over her fair face, and dyed it -radiant red to the roots of her hair. - -"Oh, Val! I thought it was Miss Rose." - -Val stared. - -"Miss Rose! What the dickens put that in your head? I never thought of -Miss Rose--I meant you all the time. Is it all right, Laura?" - -All right! He need hardly have asked that question, seeing the radiant -face before him. Laura laughed and cried, and blushed, and forgot all -about her headache, and for the next fifteen minutes was completely and -perfectly happy. It was one of those little glimpses of Eden that we -poor pilgrims of the desert sometimes catch fleetingly as we wander -wearily through long dreary wastes of sand, of sluggish marshes, or -briery roads. Transient gleams of perfect joy, when we forget the past, -and ask nothing of the future--when we hold the overflowing cup of bliss -to our lips and drink to our heart's content. - -"Dinner on the table!" Somebody made this announcement in a stentorian -voice, and Val insisted on Laura's taking his arm, and accompanying him -to the dining-room. Papa and Mamma Blair and Master Bill were waiting -there; and Mr. Blake, ever prompt and business-like, led the blushing -and shrinking fair one to the parental side, and boldly demanded their -blessing. To say that Mr. and Mrs. Blair were astonished, would be doing -no sort of justice to the subject; to say they were delighted, would be -doing still less; and Miss Laura was formally made over to Mr. Blake -before grace was said. Dinner was only a matter of form that day with -Miss Blair--her appetite was effectually gone; and even -Val--matter-of-fact, unromantic, unsentimental Val--ate considerably -less underdone roast-beef than usual, and looked a good deal more across -the table at the rosy, smiling face of his vis-a-vis than at the -contents of his plate. But dinner was over at last, and an extra bottle -of crusty old port drank to the happy event; and then Papa Blair -buttoned up his overcoat and set off to business again, and Master Bill -started full gallop for the office, to retail the news to Mr. Clowrie; -and Mamma Blair went about her domestic concerns, and the lovers were -alone together. But Mr. Blake was not at all "up" in the rôle of Romeo, -and stood beside Laura at the window, looking at the pale moon rising, -and using his toothpick. - -"What a lovely night!" Laura said; for all the world, so lately a -howling wilderness, was moonlight and couleur de rose to her now, with -plain Val Blake standing by her side. "How beautifully the moon is -rising over the bay!" - -"Yes," said Mr. Blake, eying it with the glance of a connoisseur in -moonshine. "It's rather a neat thing in the way of moonrise. What -whistle's that?" - -"It's the American boat getting in. Suppose we go down, Val, and see -who's coming?" - -"All right!" said Val. "Run and put your things on, and don't be an hour -about it, if you can help it." - -Laura ran off, and reappeared in a quarter of the allotted time, -turbaned and mantled, and furred, and tripped along through the moonlit -and gaslit streets, with her new fiancé down to the wharf. The fine -night had, as usual, drawn crowds down there, and the wharf was all -bustle, and excitement, and uproar. Miss Blair, clinging confidingly to -Mr. Blake's arm, watched the passengers making their way through the -tumult to where the cabs were waiting, when all of a sudden she dropped -the arm she held, with a little shrill feminine scream, and darting -forward, plumped head foremost into the arms of a gentleman coming up -the wharf, valise in hand. To say that Mr. Blake stared aghast would be -a mild way of putting it; but stare he undoubtedly did, with might and -main. The gentleman wore a long, loose overcoat, heavily furred, and his -face was partially shaded by a big, black, California hat; but Val saw -the handsome, sun-browned face beneath for all that, with its thick, -dark mustache and beard. Could it be? surely not, with all those -whiskers and that brown skin; and yet--and yet, it did look like: but by -this time Laura had got out of the mustached stranger's coat-sleeves, -and was back, breathless with excitement, beside the staring editor. - -"Oh, Val! it's Charley!--it's Charley Marsh! Charley Marsh!" Charley, -sure enough, in spite of the whiskers and the sun-brown. Val was beside -him in two strides, shaking both hands as if he meant to wrench the arms -from their sockets. - -"My dear boy! my dear boy! my dear boy!" was all Mr. Blake could get -out, while he spoke, and shook poor Charley's hands; and Laura performed -a little jig of ecstasy around them, to the great delight of sundry -small boys looking on. As for Charley himself, there were tears in his -blue eyes, even while he laughed at Val. - -"Dear old Val!" he said, "it is a sight for sair een to look at your -honest face again! Dear old boy! there is no place like home!" - -"Come along," cried Val, hooking his arm in Charley's. "The people are -gaping as if we had two heads on us! Here's a cab; get in, Laura; jump -after her, Charley. Now, then, driver, No. 12 Golden Row!" - -"Hold on!" exclaimed Charley, laughing at his phlegmatic friend's sudden -excitement, "I cannot permit myself to be abducted in this manner. I -must go to Cottage Street." - -"Come home with us first," said Val, gravely. "I have something to tell -you--something you ought to know before you go to Cottage Street." - -"My mother!" Charley cried, in sudden alarm; "she is ill--something is -wrong." - -"No, she's not! Your mother is well, and nothing is wrong. Be patient -for ten minutes, and you'll find out what I mean!" - -The cab stopped with a jerk in front of Mr. Blair's; and, as they got -out, a gentleman galloped past on horseback, and turned round to look at -them. Val nodded, and the rider, touching his hat to Laura, rode on. - -"Where is Mr. Wyndham going, I wonder?" said Laura. - -"To Redmon, I think," Val answered. "Come in, Charley! Won't the old -folks stare, though, when they see you?" - -Miss Rose--her name is Rose, you know--had gone from Rosebush Cottage to -Redmon, at the earnest entreaties of her half-sister. She had wished to -return to Mrs. Wheatly's, and let things go on as before; but Harriet -Wade--the only name to which she had any right--had opposed it so -violently, and pleaded so passionately, that she had to have her way. - -"Stay with me, Olive, stay with me while I am here!" had been the -vehement cry. "I shall die if I am left alone!" - -"Very well, I will stay," her sister said, kissing her; "but, please, -Harriet, don't call me Olive, call me Winnie. I like it best, and it is -the name by which they know me here." - -So Winnie Rose Henderson went to Redmon--her own rightful home, and hers -alone--and on the night of Charley Marsh's return, when Paul Wyndham -entered the house, her small, light figure crossing the hall was the -first object he saw. She came forward with a little womanly cry at sight -of him. - -"Oh, Mr. Wyndham, I am so glad you have come! I want you to talk to -Harriet. She is going away." - -"Going away! Where?" - -"Back to New York, she says--anywhere out of this. Back to the old life -of trouble and toil. Oh, Mr. Wyndham, talk to her. All I say is useless. -But you have influence over her, I know." - -"Have I?" Mr. Wyndham said, with a sad, incredulous smile. "What is it -you want her to do, Miss Henderson?" - -"I want you to make her stay here. I want you to persuade her to let -everything go on as before. I mean," the governess said, coloring -slightly, "as regards myself and her, of course." - -Mr. Wyndham took her hand and looked down at her, with that grave, sad -smile still on his face. - -"My dear Miss Henderson," he said, "--for by that name I must call -you--you are the best and noblest woman in the world, and I shall -venerate all womankind henceforth for your sake. But we would be as -selfish as you are noble did we accept the sacrifice you are so willing -to make. I have come to offer the only atonement it is in my power to -make for the wrong I have done her. On the result depends what her -future life shall be." - -The governess understood him, and the color deepened on her face. - -"She is in the library," she said, withdrawing her hand and moving away. -"You have my best wishes." - -Paul Wyndham tapped at the library-door, and the familiar voice of the -woman he sought called "Come in!" She was lying on a lounge, drawn up -before a glowing coal-fire, listlessly lying there, its ruddy glow -falling on her face, and showing how wan and worn it was. At sight of -him, that pale face turned even paler, and she rose up and looked at -him, as some poor criminal under trial for her life might look at her -judge. - -"Have I frightened you?" he said, noticing that startled glance. "Pray -resume your seat. You hardly look well enough to stand up." - -She sank back on the lounge, holding one hand over her throbbing heart. -Paul Wyndham stood leaning against the marble mantel, looking down at -the fire, and thinking of that other interview he had held with this -woman, when he had to tell her she must be his wife. How few months had -intervened since then, but what a lifetime of trouble, and secrecy, and -suspicion, and guilt it seemed; and how she must hate and despise him! -She had told him so once. How useless, then, it seemed, for him to -approach her again! But, whether refused or not, that way duty lay; and -he had deserved the humiliation. She sat before him, but not looking at -him. He could not see her face, for she held up a dainty little toy of a -hand-screen between it and the firelight; but he could see that the hand -which held it shook, and that the lace on her breast fluttered, as if -with the beating of the heart beneath. And seeing it, he took courage. - -"I scarcely know," he began, "how I can say to you what I have come here -to-night to say. I scarcely know how I dare speak to you at all. Believe -me, no man could be more penitent for the wrong I have done you than I -am. If my life could atone for it, I would give it, and think the -atonement cheaply purchased. But my death cannot repair the sin of the -past. I have wronged you--deeply, cruelly wronged you--and I have only -your woman's pity and clemency to look to now. I can scarcely hope any -feeling can remain for me in your heart but one of abhorrence, and that -abhorrence I have deserved; but I owe it to you to say what I have come -here to utter. You know all the story of the past. You heard it from the -lips that are cold in death now, and those dying lips encouraged me to -make this poor reparation. Harriet, my poor, wronged girl, if you will -take her place, if you will be to me what the world here has for so many -months thought you--what she really was--if you will be my wife, my dear -and cherished wife, I will try what a lifetime of devotion will do to -atone for the sorrowful past. Perhaps, my poor dear, you will be able to -care for me enough in time to forgive me--almost to love me--and Heaven -knows I will do my best to be all to you a husband should be to a -beloved wife!" - -He stopped, looking at her; but she did not stir, only the hand holding -the screen trembled violently, and the fluttering breast rose and fell -faster than ever. - -"Harriet," he said, gently, "am I so hateful to you that you will not -even look at me? Can you never forgive me for what I have done?" - -She dropped the screen and rose up, her face all wet with a rain of -happy tears, and held out both hands to him--all pride gone forever now. - -"I do not forgive you," she said. "I love you, and love never has -anything to forgive. O Paul, I have loved you ever since you made me -your wife!" - -So Paul Wyndham found out at last what others had known so long, and -took his poor, forlorn wife to his arms with a strange, remorseful sort -of tenderness, that, if not love, was near akin to it. So, while the -fire burned low, and cast weird shadows on the dusky, book-lined walls, -and the November wind wailed without, these two, never united before, -sat side by side, and talked of a future that was to be theirs, far from -Speckport and those who had heard the sinful and sorrowful story of the -past. - -By and by, a servant coming in to replenish the fire found them sitting -peacefully together, as he had never seen his master and mistress sit -before, and was sent to find Miss Rose and bring her to them. And I -think Harriet herself was hardly happier in her new bliss than her -gentle stepsister in witnessing it. - -So, while Charley Marsh, up in Val Blake's room, that cold November -night, listened in strange amazement to all that had been going on of -late--to the romance-like story in which his unhappy sister had played -so prominent a part--the two sat in the luxurious library at Redmon in -this new happiness that had come to them from Nathalie Marsh's grave! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - -IN HOPE. - - -In the pale November sunlight of the next morning, in the plain, dark -traveling-carriage from Redmon, a little party of four persons drove -rapidly along the country-roads to a quiet little out-of-the-way church, -some fifteen miles out of town. They were Mr. and Mrs. Paul Wyndham, Mr. -Blake, and Miss Rose Henderson; and in the quiet church a quiet ceremony -was performed by special license, which made Paul Wyndham and Harriet -Wade man and wife, beyond the power of earthly tribunals to dispute. The -clergyman was quite young, and the parties were all strangers to him, -and he had a private opinion of his own that it was a runaway match. -There were no witnesses but the two, and when it was over they drove -back again to Redmon, and Harriet's heart was at peace at last. She had -a trial to undergo that day--a great humiliation to endure--but it was a -voluntary humiliation; and with her husband--hers now--she could undergo -anything. The old, fierce, unbending pride, too, that had been her sin -and misfortune all her life, had been chastened and subdued, and she -owed to the society she had deceived the penance self-inflicted. - -Val Blake had all the talking to himself on the way home, and, to do him -justice, there wasn't much silence during the drive. He was talking of -Charley Marsh, who had come home a far finer fellow than he had gone -away, a brave and good and rich man. - -They were all to meet that evening at a quiet dinner-party at Redmon--a -farewell dinner party, it was understood, given by Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham, -before their departure from Speckport to parts unknown. The invited -guests were Mrs. Marsh and her son, Dr. Leach, Mr. Blake, and Miss -Blair, Father Lennard (the old priest), and Mr. Darcy (the lawyer). A -very select few, indeed, and all but Mr. Darcy acquainted with the story -of the woman who had died at Rosebush Cottage, and the other story of -the true and false heiress. He, too, was to be enlightened this evening, -and Harriet Wyndham was publicly to renounce and hand over to her -half-sister, Winnifred Rose Henderson, the fortune to which she never -had possessed a claim. That was her humiliation; but with her husband by -her side, she was great enough for that or anything else. - -So the wedding-day passed very quietly at Redmon, and in the pale early -twilight the guests began to arrive. Among the first to arrive was Mrs. -Marsh and her son; the next to appear was Val, with Laura tucked under -his arm; and Laura, with a little feminine scream of delight, dropped -into Mrs. Wyndham's arms, and rained upon that lady a shower of gushing -tears. - -"Oh, what an age it is since I have seen my darling Olly before!" Miss -Blair cried, "and I have been fairly dying for this hour to arrive." - -Mrs. Paul Wyndham kissed the rosy rapturous face, with that subdued and -chastened tenderness that had come to her through much sorrow; and her -dark eyes filled with tears, as she thought, perhaps, loving little -Laura might leave Redmon that night with all this pretty girlish love -gone, and nothing but contempt in its place. - -Half an hour after, all the guests had arrived, and were seated around -the dinner table; but the party was not a very gay one, somehow. The -knowledge of what had passed was in every mind; but Mr. Darcy was yet in -ignorance, and he set the dullness down to the recent death of Mr. -Wyndham's mother. Once, too, there was a little awkwardness--Wyndham, -speaking to Miss Rose, had addressed her as Miss Henderson, and Mr. -Darcy stared. - -"Henderson!" he exclaimed, "you are talking to Miss Rose, Wyndham! Are -you thinking of your courting days and Miss Olive Henderson?" - -But Mrs. Wyndham and her half-sister colored, and everybody looked -suddenly down at their plates. Mr. Darcy stared the more; but Paul -Wyndham, looking very grave, came to the rescue. - -"Miss Rose is Miss Rose Henderson! Eat your dinner, Mr. Darcy; we will -tell you all about it after." - -So, when all returned to the drawing-room, Val Blake told Mr. Darcy how -he had been outwitted by a girl. Not that Mr. Blake put it in any such -barbarous way, but glossed over ugly facts with a politeness that was -quite unusual in straightforward Val. But Mrs. Paul Wyndham herself rose -up, very white, with lips that trembled, and was brave enough and strong -enough to openly confess her sin and her sister's goodness. She looked -up, with pitiful supplication, in the face of her husband, as she -finished, with the imploring appeal of a little child for pardon; and he -put his protecting arm around her, and smiled tenderly down in the -mournful black eyes, once so defiantly bright to him. Mr. Darcy's -amazement was beyond everything. - -"Bless my soul!" was his cry, "and little Miss Rose is Miss Henderson, -after all, and the heiress of Redmon." - -Miss Henderson, on whom all eyes were admiringly bent, was painfully -confused, and shrank so palpably, that the old lawyer spared her, and no -one was sacrilegious enough to tell the little heroine what they thought -of her noble conduct. And when Mrs. Marsh burst unexpectedly out in a -glowing eulogy on all her goodness, not only to herself and Nathalie, -but to all who were poor and friendless in the town, the little heiress -broke down and cried. So no more was said in her hearing, and the -gentlemen gathered together, and talked the matter over apart from the -ladies, and settled how the news was to be taken to Speckport. - -It was late when the party broke up, and good-night and good-bye was -said to Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham, who were to leave to-morrow at eight. Val -and Laura promised to be at the boat to see them off; and they were down -true to their word, before the Redmon carriage arrived. Charley was -there, too, and so was Cherrie, in crape to the eyes, looking very -pretty in her widow's weeds, and all in a flutter at the thought of -seeing Charley again. But this bearded and mustached and grave-looking -young man was not the hot-headed, thoughtless Charley her pretty face -had nearly ruined for life; and as he held out his hand to her, with a -grave, almost sad smile, Cherrie suddenly recollected all the evil she -had caused him, and had the grace to burst into tears, much to the -horror of Mr. Blake, who had a true masculine dread of scenes. - -"Don't cry, Cherrie," Charley said, "it's all over now, and it has done -me good." - -If any lingering hope remained that the old time might be renewed, that -question and the smile that accompanied it banished forever from poor -Cherrie's foolish heart and her punishment that moment was bitterer than -all that had gone before. - -Miss Henderson was in the carriage with Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham, and went -on board with them, as did the rest of their friends, and lingered until -the last bell rang. Then, as Mrs. Wyndham threw back her vail for a -parting kiss, they all saw that her eyes were swollen with crying. Paul -Wyndham held both the little hands of the heiress in his own, and looked -down in the gentle face with tender reverence. - -"Good-bye, little sister," he said; "good-bye, and God bless you!" - -The others were crowding around, and hasty farewells were spoken; and -then the steamer was moving away from the wharf, and Charley led Miss -Henderson, who was crying behind her vail, ashore; and they stood on the -wharf to watch the steamer out of sight. They saw Paul Wyndham with his -wife on his arm, waving a last farewell from the deck; and then the -steamer was down the bay, and all the people on the wharf were going -home. Charley Marsh assisted Miss Henderson into her carriage, and she -was driven away to her new home. - -Speckport knew everything--the murder was out, and Speckport, from one -end to the other, was agape at the news. There was one thing about the -affair they could not understand, and that was, how the rightful -heiress, knowing herself to be so, and perfectly able to prove it, could -wear out her life as a pitiful governess, and leave a princely fortune -in the hands of a usurping stepsister. Speckport could not understand -this--never could understand it, and set her down as an insipid little -nonentity, with no will of her own, and easily twisted around the finger -of that bold, bad, ambitious woman, Mrs. Paul Wyndham. Speckport did not -spare its late enchantress, and for all their contempt of that "insipid -thing" the present heiress, were very well satisfied to be noticed by -her in public, and only too happy to call at Redmon. It was in her -favor, they said, that she put on no airs in consequence of her sudden -rise in the world, but was as gentle, and humble, and patient, and -sweet, as heiress of Redmon as she had been when Mrs. Wheatly's -governess. A few there were who understood and appreciated her; and when -old Father Lennard laid his hand on her drooping head and fervently -exclaimed, "God bless you, my child!" her eyes filled, and she felt more -than repaid for any sacrifice she had ever made. Speckport said--but -Speckport was always given to say a good deal more than its -prayers--Speckport said Mr. Charles Marsh appreciated her, too, and that -the estate of Redmon would eventually go, in spite of Mrs. Leroy's -unjust will, to the Marsh family. But it was only gossip, this, and -nobody knew for certain, and Mrs. Marsh and Miss Rose Henderson had -always been the best of friends. - -And just about this time, too, Speckport found something else to talk -about--no less a matter, indeed, than the marriage of Valentine Blake, -Esq., to Miss Laura Amelia Blair. Such a snapper of a day as the -wedding-day was--cold enough to freeze the leg off an iron pot--but for -all that, the big cathedral was half filled with curious -Speckportonians, straining their necks to see the bride and bridegroom, -and their aiders and abettors. Mr. Blake stood it like a man, and looked -almost good-looking in his neatly-fitting wedding suit; and Charley -Marsh by his side looked like a young prince--handsomer than any prince -that ever wore a crown, poor Cherrie thought, as she made eyes at him -from her pew. - -There was a wedding-breakfast to be eaten at Mr. Blair's, and a very -jolly breakfast it was. And then Mrs. V. Blake exchanged her bridal-gear -for a traveling-dress, and was handed into the carriage that was to -convey her to the railway station, by her husband; and the bridemaids -were kissed all round by the bride, and good-bye was said, and the happy -pair were fairly started on their bridal tour. - -It took Speckport a week to fairly digest this matter, and by the end of -that time it got another delectable morsel of gossip to swallow. Charley -Marsh was going away. He was a rich man, now; but for all that he was -going to be a doctor, and was off to New York right away, to finish his -medical studies and get his diploma. - -It was a miserably wet and windy day, that which preceded the young -man's departure. A depressing day, that lowered the spirits of the most -sanguine, and made them feel life was a cheat, and not what it is -cracked up to be, and wonder how they could ever laugh and enjoy -themselves at all. A dreary day to say good-bye; but Charley, buttoned -up in his overcoat, and making sunshine with his bright blue eyes and -pleasant smile, went through with it bravely, and had bidden his dear -five hundred adieu in the course of two brisk hours. There was only one -friend remaining to whom he had yet to say "that dear old word -good-bye;" and in the rainy twilight he drove up the long avenue of -Redmon, black and ghastly now, and was admitted by Mrs. Hill herself. - -"Oh, Mr. Charley, is it you?" the good woman said. "You're going away, -they tell me. Dear me, we'll miss you so much!" - -"That's right, Mrs. Hill! I like my friends to miss me; but I don't mean -to stay away forever. Is Miss Henderson at home?" - -"She is in the library. Walk right in!" - -Charley was quite at home in Redmon Villa. The library door stood ajar. -Some one was playing, and he entered unheard. The rain lashed and -blustered at the windows; and the wail of the wind, and sea, and woods -made a dull, roaring sound of dreariness without; but a coal-fire glowed -red and cheery in the steel grate; and curtained, and close, and warm, -the library was a very cozy place that bad January day. The twilight -shadows lurked in the corners; but, despite their deepening gloom, the -visitor saw a little, slender, girlish shape sitting before a small -cottage-piano and softly touching the keys. Old, sad memories seemed to -be at work in her heart; for the chords she struck were mournful, and -she broke softly into singing at last--a song as sad as a funeral-hymn: - - "Rain! rain! rain! - On the cold autumnal night! - Like tears we weep o'er the banished hope - That fled with the summer light. - - "O rain! rain! rain! - You mourn for the flowers dead; - But hearts there are, in their hopeless woe, - That not even tears may shed! - - "O rain! rain! rain! - You fall on the new-made grave - Where the loved one sleeps that our bitter prayers - Were powerless to save! - - "O fall! fall! fall! - Thou dreary and cheerless rain! - But the voice that sang with your summer-chime - Will never be heard again!" - -The song died away like a sigh; and she arose from the instrument, -looking like a little, pale spirit of the twilight, in her flowing white -cashmere dress. The red firelight, flickering uncertainly, fell on a -young man's figure leaning against the mantel, and the girl recoiled -with a faint cry. Charley started up. - -"I beg your pardon, Miss Henderson--Winnie" (they had all grown to call -her Winnie of late). "I am afraid I have startled you; but you were -singing when I came in, and the song was too sweet to be broken. I am -rather late, but I wanted to say good-bye here last." - -"Then you really go to-morrow?" she said, not looking at him. "How much -your mother will miss you!" - -"Yes, poor mother! but," smiling slightly, "I shall send her a box full -of all the new novels when I get to New York, and that will console her. -I wish somebody else would miss me, Winnie." - -Is a woman ever taken by surprise, I wonder, in these cases? Does she -not always know beforehand when that all-important revelation is made -that it is coming, particularly if she loves the narrator? I am pretty -sure of it, though she may feign surprise ever so well. She can tell the -instant he crosses the threshold what he has come to say. So Winnifred -Rose Henderson knew what Charles Marsh had come to tell her from the -moment she looked at him; and sitting down on a low chair before the -glowing fire, she listened for a second time in her life to the old, old -story. What a gulf lay between that time and this--a girl then, a woman -now! And how different the two men who had told it! - -Worthy Mrs. Hill, trotting up-stairs and down-stairs, seeing to fires -and bed-rooms, and everything proper to be seen to by a good -housekeeper, suddenly remembered the fire in the library must be getting -low, and that it would be just like the young people saying good-bye to -one another to forget all about it, rapped to the door some half an hour -after. "Come in!" the sweet voice of Miss Henderson said, and Mrs. Hill -went in and found the young lady and Mr. Marsh sitting side by side on a -sofa, and both wearing such radiant faces, that the dear old lady saw at -once through her spectacles how matters stood, and kissed Miss Henderson -on the spot, and shook hands with Mister Charley, and wished him joy -with all her honest heart. So the momentous question had been asked and -answered, and on Miss Henderson's finger glittered an engagement-ring, -and Charley Marsh, in the bleak dawn of the next morning, left Speckport -once more, the happiest fellow in the universe. - - * * * * * - -The story is told, the play played out, the actors off the stage, and -high time for the curtain to fall. But the audience are dissatisfied -yet, and have some questions to ask. "How did Val Blake and Laura get -on, and Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham? What became of Cherrie and Catty Clowrie? -and have Charley and Miss Henderson got married yet? and who was at the -wedding? and who were the bridemaids? and what did the bride wear?" -Well, let me see. I'll answer as they come. It is six months after, -red-hot July--not a sign of fog in Speckport, picnics and jollifications -every day, and the blessed little city (it is a city, though I have -stigmatized it as a town) out in its gala-dress. Do you see that -handsome house in Golden Row? There is a shining door-plate on the front -door, and you can read the name--"V. Blake." Yes, that is Mr. Blake's -house, and inside it is sumptuous to behold; for the "Spouter" increases -its circulation every day, and Mr. B. keeps his carriage and pair now, -and is a rising man--I mean out of doors. In his own single nook, I -regret to say, he is hen-pecked--unmercifully hen-pecked. The gray mare -is the better horse; and Mr. Blake submits to petticoat-government with -that sublime good-nature your big man always manifests, and knocks -meekly under at the first flash of Mistress Laura's bright eye--not that -that lady is any less fond of Mr. Val than of yore. Oh, no! She thinks -there is nobody like him in this little planet of ours; only she -believes in husbands keeping their proper place, and acts up to this -belief. She is becoming more and more literary every day--fearfully -literary, I may say; and the first two fingers of the right hand are -daily steeped to the bone in ink. - -Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham are in New York, and are very busy. Charley Marsh -was a frequent visitor at their house last winter, and says he never saw -a happier and more loving husband and wife. Mr. Wyndham is high in the -literary world; and Mrs. Wyndham is very much admired in society, as -much, perhaps, for her gentleness and goodness as for her beauty. They -are happy and at peace; and so we leave them. - -Cherrie Nettleby (nobody thinks of calling her Mrs. Cavendish) is going -to be married next week. The happy man is Sergeant O'Shaughnessy, a big -Irishman, six feet four in his stockings, with a laugh like distant -thunder, rosy cheeks, and curly hair. A fine-looking fellow, Sergeant -O'Shaughnessy, with a heart as big as his body, who adores the ground -Cherrie walks on. - -And Charley is married, and happier than I can ever tell. He is rich and -honored, and does a great deal of good, and is a great man in -Speckport--a great and good man. And his wife--but you know her--and she -is the same to-day, and will be the same unto death, as you have known -her. Mrs. Marsh, Senior, lives with them, and reads as much as ever; and -is waited on by Midge, who lives a life of luxurious leisure in Redmon -kitchen, and queens it over the household generally. - -There is a quiet little grave out in the country which Charles Marsh and -his wife visit very often, and which they never leave without loving -each other better, and feeling more resolute, with God's help, to walk -down to the grave in the straight and narrow path that leads to -salvation. They are only human. They have all erred, and sinned, and -repented; and in that saving repentance they have found the truth of the -holy promise: "There shall be light at the eventide." - - -THE END. - - * * * * * - -[Transcriber's Note: Hyphen variations left as printed. - -page 136 We go press to to-morrow ==> We go to press to-morrow] - - * * * * * - - - - - POPULAR NOVELS. - - BY MAY AGNES FLEMING. - - - 1.--GUY EARLSCOURT'S WIFE. - - 2.--A WONDERFUL WOMAN. - - 3.--A TERRIBLE SECRET. - - 4.--NORINE'S REVENGE. - - 5.--A MAD MARRIAGE. - - 6.--ONE NIGHT'S MYSTERY. - - 7.--KATE DANTON. - - 8.--SILENT AND TRUE. - - 9.--HEIR OF CHARLTON. - - 10.--CARRIED BY STORM. - - 11.--LOST FOR A WOMAN. - - 12.--A WIFE'S TRAGEDY. - - 13.--A CHANGED HEART. - - 14.--PRIDE AND PASSION. - - 15.--SHARING HER CRIME. - - 16.--A WRONGED WIFE (_New_). - - "Mrs. Fleming's stories are growing more and more popular every day. - Their delineations of character, life-like conversations, flashes of - wit, constantly varying scenes, and deeply interacting plots, - combine to place their author in the very front rank of Modern - Novelists." - - All published uniform with this volume. Price, $1.50 each, and sent - _free_ by mail on receipt of price, - - BY - G. W. 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